[
    {
        "title": "(The Lymond Chronicles 2) Queen's Play",
        "author": "Dorothy Dunnett",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "16th century",
            "Scotland"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "THE VULGAR LYRE",
                "text": "[ The Fork Is Chosen ]\n\nThe cauldron is exempt from its boiling when the food, the fire and the cauldron are properly arranged, but that the attendant gives notice of his putting the fork into the cauldron. That is, but so he warns: 'Take care,' says he. 'Here goes the fork into the cauldron.'\n\nShe wanted Crawford of Lymond. His nerves flinching from the first stir of disaster, the Chief Privy Councillor understood his mistress at last.\n\nRegal, humourless, briskly prosaic, the Queen Dowager of Scotland had conducted the audience with her usual French competence and was bringing it to its usual racing conclusion. She was a big woman, boxed in quilting in spite of the weather, and Tom Erskine was limp with her approaching visit to France.\n\nTo the most extravagant, the most cultured, the most dissolute kingdom in Europe the Queen Mother was shortly to sail, and her barons, her bishops and her cavalry with her. And now, it appeared, she wanted one man besides.\n\nThe Queen Mother was a subtle woman, and not Scots. The thick oils of statesmanship ran in Mary of Guise's veins, and she rarely handed through the door what she could throw in by the cat's hole. So she talked of safe conducts and couriers, of precedents and programmes, of gifts and people to meet and to avoid before she added, 'And I want intelligence, good intelligence, of French affairs. We had better place some sort of observer.'\n\nHer Privy Councillor had never found her foolish before. From the Duke de Guise downwards, every member of that privileged family, with its quarterings of eight sovereign houses, its Cardinals, its Abbesses and its high and influential posts at the French Court, might be worldly, might be charming, would almost certainly be a congenital gambler; but would never be foolish.\n\nThese were the Queen Dowager's brothers and sisters\u2014good God, where better could she go for intimate news? Granted, it was now twelve years since, a young French widow, she had come to Scotland as King James V's bride, and eight years since he died, leaving her with a war, a baby Queen and a parcel of rebellious nobles. True, again, that she would be watched, by her Scottish barons no less than by the enemies of her brothers in France. Only, for a French King, however friendly, to find an informer at Court would be disaster. Erskine said aloud, 'Madam\u2026 you are supposed to be joining your daughter, nothing else.'\n\n'\u2014Some sort of observer,' she was repeating, quite unruffled. 'Such as Crawford of Lymond.'\n\nWith an elegant yellow head in his mind's eye, and in his ears a tongue like sword cutler's emery, Tom Erskine said bluntly, 'His name and face are known the length of France. And I'm damned sure he'll not be persuaded.' Notoriously, at some time, every faction in the kingdom had tried to buy Lymond's services. Nor was the bidding restricted to Scotland, or to statesmen, or to men. Europe, whenever he wished, could provide him\u2014and probably did\u2014with either a workshop or a playground.\n\nThe Queen Mother's manner remained bland. 'He is possibly tired of trifling at home?'\n\n'He isn't dull enough to commit himself to a contract.'\n\n'But he might come to France?'\n\nOh, God! 'To entertain himself,' said Tom Erskine warningly. 'But for nothing else.'\n\nThe Queen Mother smiled, and he knew that he had misjudged her again, and that, as usual, streets and palaces and prisons beyond anyone's grasp lay under her thoughts. She said, 'If he is in France for the term of my visit, I shall be satisfied. You will tell him so.'\n\nTom Erskine thought briefly that it would be pleasant to fall ill, to be unable to ride, to become deaf. 'It will be a pleasure, madam,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Silent in the Boat",
                "text": "If there be a hand-party there, and a rowing party, and a party of middle-sport, the hand-party is the swamping-party, the middle-sport party is the rowing party, and the spectators are they who are silent in the boat.\n\nON the last Thursday in September, and the fourteenth day out of Ireland, the wind dropped to a flat calm, forcing the galley called La Sauv\u00e9e to approach Dieppe under oar.\n\nThe best ships, the reliable crews and the senior captains had just brought the Scottish Queen Dowager to France. La Sauv\u00e9e, built in 1520, was only fetching some Irish guests to the French Court, a common errand enough. But her captain, an able courtier, was no seaman; her seamen, through a misplaced concession, were far from sober; and her bo's'n had been taking hashish for months. Thus, two hours off Dieppe, the flags and streamers lay ready on deck, a little too early; the oarsmen, capping shaved heads, were resting and re-engaging oars; and the pilot, involved with banners, was far too busy to attend to the wind.\n\nRobin Stewart, baulked of small talk, had found a chair in the poop beside the fat Irishman, who was asleep. There were three of them, and it was Stewart's task as one of the Royal Guard of Scottish Archers in France to bring them safely to Court. For a century and a half, Scottish Archers had guarded the King of France day and night, had crowned him, fought with him, buried him, and were looked on, by others as well as by themselves, as the \u00e9lite of the men-at-arms who served the French Crown. Thus Robin Stewart was used to odd jobs; ferrying the King's less sophisticated guests to and fro was just one of them.\n\nAhead was a reception party on the quay, a speech, a meal at the best Dieppe inn, and a good night's rest on a bed before the ride inland to deliver his guests. Nothing difficult there; but little to earn him money or fame either. Heir to nothing but an old suit of armour and a vacant post in the Guard, Robin Stewart had always been deeply interested in money and fame, and had for a long time been convinced that in a world of arms, skill and hard work would still take you to the top, however doubtful your background.\n\nIt had only latterly become plain that success in the world of arms ran a poor second to success in the world of intrigue; and that while no one worked harder, a good many people seemed to be more skilful than Robin Stewart.\n\nThis was palpably impossible. He applied a good analytical brain to discovering how other people managed to give this appearance of excellence. He also spent a good deal of time trying to breach the stockade between reasonably paid routine soldiery and the inner chamber of princes or of bankers, or even at a pinch of the fashionable theologians. At the same time, he could not afford to lose ground in his regular job, however irritating its calls on him.\n\nHe looked round now, counting heads. At his side, the Prince's secretary was still asleep, in a poisonous aura of wine, his black head bound like a pot roast by the sliding shadow-pattern of the rigging. Whether from panic or habit, Thady Boy Ballagh had been asleep or stupefied for two weeks.\n\nFurther off, Piedar Dooly the Prince's servant was just visible, fitted into a recess, like something doubtful on the underside of a leaf. And beyond them was the Prince himself, their master, and his third and most important charge.\n\nPhelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, son of Milesians, descendant of Carbery Cathead, of Art the Solitary, Tuathal the Legitimate and Fergus of the Black Teeth, cousin to Maccon whose two calves were as white as the snow of one night, was thin and middle-sized, with a soft egg-shaped face thatched and cupped with blond whiskers. And at this moment, Stewart saw, he was bent double in fruitless converse with a coal-black bow oar from Tunis; thereby closing the main thoroughfare of the galley to seamen, oarsmen, timoneers, soldiers, warders, ensigns, lieutenants and captain alike.\n\nThe sweating Moor, bearing down on fifty feet of solid beechwood, crashed back regularly and wordlessly on the five-man bench like a piston, rowing twenty-four strokes to a minute, while the voice of The O'LiamRoe, Chief of the Name, Prince of Barrow and feudal lord of the Slieve Bloom in the country of Ireland, warmly cordial, went on and on.\n\n'\u2026And it would be queer if we didn't agree, with leverage itself the great wonder of the world, as my own father knew, and my grandfather twenty-two stones and bedridden. When they came from sluicing him down at the pump they would lay the coffin lid over the turf stack next the bed and sit my grandfather at one end. They had a heifer trained to jump on the other. When the lid was nailed over him at the end my grannie was blithe, blithe at the wake; for she got a powerful lot of bruising when he landed.\u2026'\n\nRobin Stewart winced. He had had two weeks of it. At Dalkey, Ireland, he had had his first sight of the great man, as The O'LiamRoe had shinned ineptly and eagerly up the ladder, to stand revealed on the tabernacle of La Sauv\u00e9e, a carefree, mild and hilarious savage in a saffron tunic and leggings. His entire train, for which Mr. Stewart had cleared a compartment, consisted of two: the small wild Firbolg called Dooly and the comatose Mr. Ballagh.\n\nRobin Stewart had been mortified: not by O'LiamRoe's looks, or his dress, or his simple enjoyment of useless knowledge, but because he not only invited questions, he answered them. As a student of human nature, Stewart enjoyed a long, difficult analysis; his onslaughts were memorable. A man talking amicably about the art of the longbow would find that, by means known only to Mr. Stewart, this led straight to God, his total income, and where his schooling had taken place, if any. In one day, the Archer knew that O'LiamRoe was thirty, unmarried, and resident in a large, coarse Irish castle. He knew that there was a widowed mother, a string of servants and five tuaths filled with clansmen and the minimum wherewithal to sustain life with no money to speak of. He knew that, in terms of followers, O'LiamRoe was one of the mightiest chieftains in English-occupied Ireland, except that it had never yet occurred to him to lead them anywhere.\n\nWatching the lord of the Slieve Bloom straighten and move happily off, tripping over an old pennant with a salamander on it, the Scotsman was moved to an irritation almost maternal. 'And anyway, what in God's name's a tuath?'\n\nHe had said it aloud. A voice replied in his ear. 'Thirty ballys, my dear. And if you ask what in God's name does a bally do, it holds four herds of cows without one cow, desperate lonely that they are, touching another.' The fat Irishman in the next chair scratched his black poll and recrossed his hands over his comfortable little stomach 'Surely The O'LiamRoe told you that? Bring in any little fact and O'LiamRoe will wet-nurse it for you.'\n\nMr. Ballagh, asleep or drunk, had so far escaped the Archer's attentions. In the dark-skinned, slothful, unshaven face he thought he saw disillusionment, intelligence, the remains of high aspirations perhaps, all soaked and crumbled into servitude and cynicism. He said easily, 'Ye'll have been a long time with the Prince?'\n\nMr. Ballagh's answer was succinct. 'Three weeks.'\n\n'Three weeks too much, eh? You should have made enquiries about him beforehand.'\n\n'So I could, then; but who would answer me? The fellow lives in a bog and devil the person has laid eyes on him from one end of the country to the other. I heard from a friend of a cousin of a cousin,' said Mr. Ballagh on a little wave of wine-coloured confidence, 'that he was wild for a true-bred ollave who could talk in French for him, and here I am.'\n\nThe O'LiamRoe had no French. That he had English was a welcome surprise. France, from the lowest of motives, had entertained not a few of the powerful leaders of her downtrodden neighbour, and had sweated over their plots and counterplots in Gaelic and Latin. 'What's an ollave?' asked Mr. Stewart.\n\nMaster Ballagh recited. 'A hired ollave is a sweet-stringed timpan, and a sign, so they say, that the master of the house is a grand, wealthy fellow, and him for ever reading books. An ollave of the highest grade is professor, singer, poet, all in the one. His songs and tales are of battles and voyages, of tragedies and adventures, of cattle raids and preyings, of forays, hostings, courtships and elopements, hidings and destructions, sieges and feasts and slaughters; and you'd rather listen to a man killing a pig than hear half of them through. I,' said Mr. Ballagh bitterly, 'am an ollave of the highest grade.'\n\n'Well, you're wasting your time here,' Robin Stewart pointed out. 'You should be getting grand money for all yon, surely. And what made you take up poetry anyway, for heaven's sake?'\n\n'Grand money, is it; and everyone forced by legislation to speak the English?' snarled Mr. Ballagh. He calmed down. 'The O'Coffey, who ran the bardic school near my home, had a hurley team would make your mouth water and the blood come out at your ears. I was the fifteenth child, and the nippiest, so why should I object to what my father and The O'Coffey might arrange? The fifteenth. And the nippiest\u2026'\n\nMaster Thady Boy Ballagh smoothed the doubtful black of his pourpoint, flicked the limp grey frills of his cuff, and wrapped the stained folds of his robe over his knees. 'Hand me that bottle, will you?'\n\nAnd by then it was too late. The squall was already coming, a streaming blemish over the water, and lying over before it the Gouden Roos, a three-masted galliasse caught with every rag on the yards. For a moment still, La Sauv\u00e9e slid peacefully along. Claret flowed from the leather down Master Ballagh's throat. Stewart, his arms folded, watched O'LiamRoe's head bob and the fifty blades rise, catch the red sun and fall into glassy green shadow.\n\nThey rose again, but this time the shadow remained. The whole galley disappeared from the sun in the fair blue waters of the English Channel as a thousand tons of galliasse drove at them broadside on.\n\nShe was Flemish and foul-bottomed, her sheets paid out on a lee helm so that the westerly squall had caught her and was spinning her leeward on top of them, hurled on by wind pressure on sides, sails and gear. Then the wind caught La Sauv\u00e9e too. Master Ballagh's bottle fell from his hand; the chairs in the poop slid, and the galley heeled, her shrouds whining and the long lattice of her shells spiked and quilled along its 150 feet by the oars, clenched, thrashing or rattling loose. The shadow of the galliasse darkened and the captain jumped, shouting, on the gangway. The oarsmen on the starboard side were on their feet. Spray hissed and then clattered on the bared benches, and for a moment the stentorian voice of O'LiamRoe, sliding with twenty others in the mess of pennants and tenting around the open holds, was heard bellowing: 'The key! The key for the leg irons, ye clod of a Derry-born bladder-worm!'\n\nStewart, out and gripping the handrail, heard that, and saw that the galliasse, white faces fringing the prow castle, was close-hauling at last, pulling the sheets hard in and bringing up the tiller to head her into the wind. She was a heavy ship, and badly handled. She turned beamside on to the galley and pointed into the wind, her sails shaking, but she was already moving too fast to leeward. The leaping water between the ships shrank and vanished; there was a moment's shudder; and then wood met wood with a grinding scream of a crash. Twenty great oars to starboard stubbed to needles with the impact, and as the top side of La Sauv\u00e9e's low freeboard gave way, twenty shanks in vengeful hunger closed on blood and muscle within, pinning Christian thief and pagan pirate alike with polished beech and spliced lead. The world stopped as the boats locked; then the Gouden Roos, obeying the helm, lurched off as the sea leaped into the hole in La Sauv\u00e9e's side.\n\nHorror, panic and ignorance held Stewart fast to the ship's side. He saw that the undrilled crew, leaderless, shocked and decimated, had no idea what to do. The bo's'n had vanished. The captain, wet with spray, was clinging hard to the mainmast and mouthing at the heaving galliasse. There was no sign of the Irish party; then the Archer, taking a step on the jumping, slippery deck, saw O'LiamRoe disappearing down the poop ladder and two black-headed Celts capering down the main gangway closing hatchways and hurling the tangle of pulped bunting in the sea.\n\nLa Sauv\u00e9e began to settle. On her port side she was dry and firm yet; on the roll to starboard she took in green sea with a slap and suck. The galliasse, her timbers buffed and splintered, pitched still at their side. The helmsman had brought the Gouden Roos up to the wind, but with the impact she had lost all her way. She lay clumsily in stays, helpless to sail out of the galley's hapless path, and the September wind, pranking from side to side, gripped her broad upperworks and began grimly to drive her again, backwards and up to the flank of the stricken galley once more.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe, crowbar in hand, appeared for an instant under Stewart and vanished to starboard into the pit of overturned flesh. It seemed a futile errand of mercy. Ashamed of the thought, Stewart leaped down himself and was belaboured like a log in a millrace. The free men, silent with terror, were fighting towards the single spare boat, followed by the first of the unlocked slaves. As he was dragged, twisting with them, a sea broke and hissed on the rambade. They cowered, and then scattered screaming. For the last time the galliasse overshadowed the clotted and struggling ship.\n\nIt was then that the whistle blew. It blew twice, and the second time they heard the order, clear, succinct and calm. 'On va faire voile. Casse trinquet! Timonier, orser!'\n\nThere were just enough sane men left to obey; and Robin Stewart was one of them. With violent purpose they leaped for the running tackle of the furled lateen sail, high above them. Willing hands un-clewed the rope; and in the very throat of all the malignant crab-gods of the ocean, they mustered in fright and foreboding the mighty snap of a tug needed to break the sail from its withies and gather the wind to their rescue. The hemp snaked and crashed as they pulled\u2014and the sail stayed hard-tied to the yardarm.\n\nStewart, glaring swollen-eyed at the masthead, dragged with the others a second time and a third at the sheet. Nothing moved. The galliasse nudged nearer. To leeward the sea suddenly bobbed with a cluster of heads; then more. The skiff, freed on a starboard roll, fell badly and overturned. The slap and crash of the sea, louder than wind-voice and wood-groan and the air-swallowed scream from the injured, rose to a thunder as the ships neared. Stewart, the burrowed skin white and red off his palms, pulled again in heart-gouging unison in vain.\n\nRound, compact and shining with salt, a scrubby figure whisked up the loose foremast rope, its wind-torn black flying, its unclean hands warping the wind-scoured skies to its chest. Master Thady Boy Ballagh, ollave, poet, professor, the fifteenth and the nippiest, climbed straight to the yardarm, made his way to the peak, and sixty feet up over a listing deck, knife in hand, probed the lashings. He used his blade sparingly and with care; then sliding quickly back to the masthead, gave a signal. They pulled.\n\nWith a slithering crack, 400 yards of canvas dropped from the arm, swelled, and went tight. La Sauv\u00e9e shuddered, throwing every last man of her 400 flat. She shuddered; she steadied; then, leaning softly from the wind, the ship raised her broken side from the sea, gathered strength, and heeling round the gross stern of the galliasse, drew tranquilly off. Behind, the Gouden Roos began to pick up the swimmers.\n\nRobin Stewart, feeling faint, and with his hands in his armpits, was counting heads. He had just found Piedar Dooly, chopping off leg irons, when a golden head rose from the benches and addressed the red evening sky.\n\n'Liam aboo!' screeched Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow and lord of the Slieve Bloom, in princely paean to his fathers.\n\n'Liam aboo!' returned his ollave concisely from the yardarm, and like a soiled raindrop, slid down to the deck."
            },
            {
                "title": "Dieppe: The Pitfalls and the Deer",
                "text": "As to the pitfall of the unlawful hunter; the deer which he rouses and the deer which he does not rouse come equally to him.\n\nDieppe, city of limes, was asleep. On the walls, at the bridge, on the broad city ports, the watch kept guard. The fishing boats had moved out. In the river, lanterns flickered where the galleys lay like whales, prow to quay, and the lighthouse shone over the bar. Inside, the streets smelt of herring and the new paint still fresh from the Scottish Queen's visit; here and there an overlooked flag fluttered darkly, with the de Guise emblem on it.\n\nAll these dignitaries had now moved inland. Tomorrow the Irish guests of the King of France would follow them; but tonight the comfort of the Porc-\u00e9pic's mattresses claimed them after the rigours of the sea, and the windows were dark.\n\nLa Pens\u00e9e, the beautiful house of Jean Ango, late Governor of the Castle, was not lit; but at least one man there was awake. Unmoving by the quiet fountains of the terrace, looking down on the moonlit river through Jean Ango's bowers, glimmering with the marble bones of Attic deities, Tom Erskine waited without impatience for a visitor.\n\nThe uneasy peace lately fallen on Europe had meant hard travelling and harder talking for Scottish statesmen. Erskine was here now on his way to Flanders because he was his nation's chief Privy Councillor, and because his common sense was the needle and the battering ram which Mary of Guise could trust him to use.\n\nCommon sense had not brought him out here on the terrace, but curiosity to discover what path his visitor would take. He lingered in the mild September night, square, good-tempered, reliable; but like the artist of quiet movement that he was, the other man arrived without sign or sound. There was somewhere a breath of laughter and a stirring of cooler air, and a pleasant, familiar voice spoke from the shadows. 'How delicate, love! Shall we dally?'\n\n'Are you there?' Tom Erskine turned quickly, searching the darkness. 'Where are you?'\n\n'Sitting, as it happens, on Clotho's distaff and keeping an eye out for the scissors. One of the rarer benefits of a classical education.' And indeed, on one of the nearer pieces of statuary a dark shadow moved, swung, and dropped lightly to the ground. A cool hand took his arm.\n\n'Enter the wily fox, the widow's enemy. Let's go indoors,' said Crawford of Lymond.\n\nLymond was masked. Slender in black silk, the bright hair hidden by cap and caul, he suited the room like a piece of Ango's Florentine silver. He pulled off the mask, and Erskine was caught in the heavy blue gaze; saw again the ruthless mouth; the thinly textured fair skin neatly tailored over its bones.\n\nNot for a moment, carrying the Queen Mother's request, had he thought that Lymond would agree. Not for a moment, bringing back Lymond's ultimatum, had he expected the Queen Mother to accept. And yet the absurd relationship, neither of employer and employee nor of allies nor of partners, had been born. Here, reporting his presence as a free agent, was Crawford of Lymond, who would remain in France for the winter of the Queen's visit, and who would tell her as much or as little as he chose of the world of plots, of secrets and of intriguing he had undertaken to enter. On the other hand, the Queen Dowager owed him nothing, and least of all protection if he were caught. It was an arrangement, it appeared, which pleased them both.\n\nLymond and Tom Erskine had little in common, and their personal exchanges took no longer than the pouring of two cups of the King of France's wine. As they sat, Tom raised his in elaborate salute. 'Welcome to France.'\n\n'Thank you. I gather our excellent Queen Mother arrived safely.'\n\n'Last week. The French King is outside Rouen, waiting to make one of those damned ceremonial entries. She's off to join him, and they'll install her in Rouen for the festivities. Then the whole Court goes south for the winter.'\n\n'While you go to Brussels: there's no justice.' There was a little silence, occasioned by the Special Ambassador wondering, rather despairingly as usual, how much Lymond knew. He was on his way to Brussels and Augsburg to conclude a peace treaty with the Emperor Charles, or with the Queen of Hungary on her absent brother's behalf. It was a treaty not much wanted in Scotland, whose abler mariners liked to be able to raid Flemish galliasses in peace. But under French pressure, the Scottish Governor had agreed; and for that agreement, no doubt, the Queen Dowager of Scotland would receive due reward in due time from France.\n\nIt was a peace of which the Emperor himself, at Augsburg, was also wary, and of which he would be warier still if he knew that Tom Erskine was coming to him fresh from London, where he had just opened negotiations for a treaty with England, the Emperor's current enemy. No peace treaty had yet been signed between Scotland and her neighbour, only a truce. Erskine could say, hand on heart, at Brussels, that there was no trade or contact between England and Scotland without safe conducts; that the Queen Dowager's visit to France meant nothing more than a mother's natural anxiety to see her daughter the Queen; that his own visits to France now and after this embassy were merely to satisfy himself for the Government as to the welfare of Mary of Scotland.\n\nHe hoped to God that Lymond believed so too; from the malice hardly concealed in his face he doubted it. But Lymond himself merely said, 'And Mary Queen of Scots, our illustrious princess?'\n\n'With her mother.' Erskine hesitated to go on, distrusting the other man's tone. In the stiff ceremonies at Dieppe it had been one of the picturesque moments of the Queen Dowager's arrival: the meeting with her child Mary, now seven, cheerful and self-willed after two years in France. Queen and Queen Mother had been in tears; the Dowager's visit was limited, after all, and when she left Mary would still be in France, and in six or seven years would marry the King's heir. She was the reigning Queen of Scotland, and had forgotten most of her Scots.\n\nLymond said, 'And now, tell me: which of your charming colleagues came with the Queen Mother from Scotland?'\n\nErskine's face cleared. 'By God, Francis, that's a pack of weasels she has in her train this time\u2026 the whole Privy Council, pretty nearly. All the rogues she can't trust at home. You'll need to be careful.'\n\nThere was a little inlaid spinet in the corner. Lymond had put down his wine; getting up, he wandered over to the instrument and perched before it. 'They won't know me. Who?'\n\nErksine reeled them off. The Earl of Huntly was amongst them; and Lord Maxwell, and Lord James Hamilton, heir to the Governor of Scotland. He added, watching Lymond, 'And two Douglases. James Douglas of Drumlanrig and Sir George.'\n\nFrancis Crawford and the Douglas family were old opponents, and he looked pleased. 'This is promising. Anyone else?'\n\n'A pack of Erskines.' Tom was grinning. His family, father to son, were among the staunchest next the throne. Margaret his wife was here as a lady of honour; Jenny, Lady Fleming, his wife's mother, was the little Queen's governess; his wife's young sisters and brother were her playmates. His own two brothers were in the train, and his father, now invalided and absent, small Mary's guardian since she came to live in France.\n\nHe went over the dispositions, and Lymond listened and remarked, 'And with Erskines so plentiful, what am I doing here?'\n\n'Playing the spinet,' said the Special Ambassador. 'Too damned well.'\n\nThe neat and tingling flow of notes continued. 'It will cover our voices. None of your friends realize how gifted you are.'\n\n'Practically all of my friends know I can't play on that thing. What else do you want to know? You don't need to be told what the French court is like. It's the most\u2014'\n\n'It's a hand-set maggot mound,' said Francis Crawford. 'I could teach you more than you would want to know about it.' His fingers running over the keys, he spoke without rancour. 'The universities, the prisons, the boudoirs and the brothels, the palaces and the paintings, the serenades, the banquets, the love-making, the hoof and hair of a heretic frying. Bed-talk and knife-talk and whip-talk. I know where it breeds. If there's danger, I'll find it. \u2014I must go.'\n\nRising at the same time, Erskine controlled his impulse to protest. Lymond had engaged to report his presence in France, and no more; and he had come promptly to his appointment. Tom said, 'Have you been waiting long in Dieppe?'\n\nHe caught Lymond's raised brows; but the answer was perfectly matter-of-fact. 'Five hours, that's all.'\n\nComprehension, like a searing stir in hot water, ran stinging over the skin. 'Christ\u2026 you didn't come in today with that boat with the hole?'\n\n'Come in?' For a moment Lymond showed genuine feeling. 'I damned nearly paddled in with the thing in my teeth. There was a catastrophic collision in the roads; the tavern flooded; nineteen dead and twenty-five injured; the master a ninny and the comite with enough bhang inside him to float an anvil.'\n\nIn his excitement, Erskine strode to the windows and back. 'I saw it. Saw her come in on her ear with the cannon all to port and her anchors rigged abeam, dammit. Rammed by a galliasse, weren't you? Nine-tenths bad seamanship, they said, and one-tenth filthy luck.'\n\n'The Gouden Roos thought it was bad luck, I should think,' said Lymond, amused. 'After all, she was paid off to sink us.'\n\nErskine sat down. 'Are you sure?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Has it occurred to anyone else?'\n\n'I doubt it. You've heard the accepted version of the crash.'\n\nRoused, Tom Erskine's verdict was blunt. 'This Irish masquerade is madness. How can you work if you're being assaulted before you've even begun? Do I take it you are using the name of an actual person?'\n\n'Yes, of course. But one whose appearance is little known. Credit us with a little intelligence.'\n\nLymond's Irish sister-in-law Mariotta would have helped. Erskine exclaimed. 'And so you are proceeding to the French Court to be indoctrinated by the French Crown on how to kick the English out of Ireland.' He broke off. It was, he had always felt, the scheme of a power-drunk idiot. But he did not say so, and received the rare compliment of an explanation.\n\n'Yes. It remains,' said Lymond, 'a simple way of reaching the inner circle unidentified. My guess is that King Henri will allow O'LiamRoe a long, luxurious stay in which to savour the delights of an alliance with France. I hope so.'\n\nErskine's voice was still sharper than he knew. 'And what about this attack? You can't ask French protection and have a bodyguard dogging your heels. Who's behind it?'\n\nLymond's voice was pure malice. 'Won't it be amusing to find out? What do you think the Queen Mother fears for most\u2014her alliances or her life?' He withdrew the bolt from the shuttered windows.\n\n'Without French troops and French money, she thinks Scotland will never fight free from the English.'\n\n'And there is a faction in France, they say, which disapproves of the de Guise family sending good French money abroad. I hope,' said Lymond opening the window, 'that nothing serious occurs. My intentions are purely frivolous.'\n\nStanding beside him, Erskine put a blunt question. 'Why did you come here? Not because the Queen Mother asked it?'\n\n'The Queen Mother,' said Lymond, 'as you and she are well aware, has suggested this entirely as a means of committing me to her party, and is going to be disappointed. She has a hundred informers to hand.'\n\n'And every one of them watched,' said Tom Erskine dryly. 'Including my wife.'\n\n'I am aware,' said Lymond distinctly, 'that I am expected to do nothing in particular but raise the devil with ten pitch candles and a pipe of dead children. But I am prepared to spread my small benignities among my friends. I have time to spare.'\n\nThere was a pause, heavier perhaps than either man intended. Then Lymond raised his hand and laid it, unjewelled and unfamiliar, on the Councillor's broad shoulder. 'Go to Flanders and your contracts, and leave the orgies to me.' He withdrew his gaze and turning, slipped over the window-sill. 'Sweet Clotho, where are you?'\n\nThe night was dark. Tom Erskine, leaning out, saw the grim goddess suffer a flamboyant embrace; then the shadows moved, and the affronted fates were alone.\n\nLater that same night a watchman, passing the Porc-\u00e9pic, saw one of its latticed windows glow red. He hammered on the door; the kitchen boys roused the house, and cooks, ostlers and turnspits surged upstairs to The O'LiamRoe's room.\n\nThe bed hangings were a whispering curtain of flame, and seams of fire had begun on the panelling. With brooms and carpets and pails they rushed to the bed, the bitter smoke in their eyes, and hurled the flaming cloths wide.\n\nThe bed was empty, but for a shrivelled, untenanted nightshirt.\n\nThe stabler himself, with Robin Stewart, led the wild search which went on while the fire died. They found Master Ballagh fast asleep in his cupboard bed reeking of aqua vitae; and left him there. They discovered The O'LiamRoe in the loft, curled up in the straw next to Dooly. He viewed with mild surprise the circle of lamplit faces above him, and as the agitated tale unfolded, slipped in his graceful condolences to the stabler. He had felt, he explained, a touch of cold between sheets, and had climbed out to join Piedar Dooly in his nest where, praise be, they were sleeping in no time as cosy as two new-laid eggs. He rose and, wrapped in his salt-splashed frieze cloak, went to look at the damage.\n\nThe cross-questioning, the accusations, the polite enquiries went on for an hour between the servants, the innkeeper, the night watch and O'LiamRoe before Stewart finally forced the incident shut and sent everyone off to bed. Two things only had emerged from it. The inn staff were probably guiltless, and were convinced that some wild Irish practice had started the fire. The O'LiamRoe had no idea who started it, and was enjoying the excitement too much to care.\n\nWhen the throng had left him in his room, alone with a new bed and Thady Boy, aroused at last, to share it with him, Phelim O'LiamRoe threw back his golden head, yawned, and letting the frieze cloak fall where it would, climbed into bed. The ollave's dark face watched him. 'Saints alive! Was that the one nightshirt you brought to the fair lands of France?'\n\n'True for you. And wasn't it the lucky thing I didn't have it on me at the time? D'you think that was an accident?' said O'LiamRoe from the pillow.\n\n'I do not.'\n\n'Oh, you don't? And,' said the Prince of Barrow, one mild blue eye unexpectedly open, 'did you think the sinking this afternoon was an accident?'\n\nThe sweet-stringed timpan hardly bothered to look up. 'I doubt it,' he said, and drawing his outer garments carefully off, rolled them into a ball. 'Your quarrels are your own affair. But I would say there is a lad or two anxious that you should not reach the King of France.'\n\nThe Chieftain stretched, clasping his hands behind his uncouth head. 'I was wondering,' he agreed. 'Yet can I think of a single slieveen who would work at it the like of that. Take a peck at me, maybe, with a morsel of steel on a black night; but it's mortal lazy the worst of them are in the Slieve Bloom.'\n\n'What about the English?' suggested Thady.\n\n'True for you. They're the boys for being uncivil at sea. But I think,' said O'LiamRoe, grinning quietly on the pillow, 'that the English would rather have me on their side, and alive, than two rows of teeth on the underside of a boat. How would you fancy a free stay in England as well?' And as the ollave shrugged, Phelim added, 'Come here, lad.'\n\nSlowly, Thady Boy approached the bed. O'LiamRoe leaned on one elbow, and for a moment his blue eyes studied the dark, self-contained face of his secretary. Then he said, 'Regretting you took the post, is it?'\n\n'Not yet.'\n\n'You are so, Master Ballagh. A spruce, tender prince of a master the like of a dead sheep for quietness would suit your book better, would he not?'\n\nThe ollave did not move. 'Are you turning me off?' he said.\n\n'God save you, no,' said O'LiamRoe hospitably. 'Would I live with one eye? It's no secret that I haven't a word of French and my English sprains its elbow now and then in the rush. Stay by all means if you want.'\n\nThe ollave's attentive face relaxed. He turned, and shying his coat neatly into a chair, continued to undress. 'If Piedar Dooly has managed for twenty years, I can subsist, surely, for a matter of months,' he said.\n\n'Piedar Dooly's a born liar. Never look for a true word out of a man with his two front teeth crossed. It's a poor omen when his very dentures are scandalized with the tales of him. Did you hear his latest?'\n\n'Was it worth hearing?'\n\n'It was, too. At the time of the fire, our Piedar heard someone open a window, and he cast about outside afterwards for traces. You know the false sea they're putting up in the market-place?'\n\n'I remember.'\n\n'Our inflaming friend in a hurry did not. He fell into it, and left great muddy footprints all up the street until Dooly lost him.'\n\n'If he lost him, it was hardly worth telling.'\n\n'True for you, except for this thing: the footprints were of a man lacking the right heel.'\n\n'Or with his heel hurt?'\n\n'If you had set fire to the bedcurtains of a guest of the King of France and were running away, there would be a time or two when even a sore heel would hit the ground; and his did not. I wonder,' said O'LiamRoe thoughtfully, 'why he didn't just stab me outright, now.'\n\n'Because you weren't there?' suggested the ollave, with a certain acidity.\n\n'I have a notion,' said O'LiamRoe comfortably, 'that it was a fright only they were hoping to give me,' and turning over, he closed his eyes.\n\nThere was silence. Thady Boy brooded. Then he scratched his dusty curls, ran a soot-blackened hand over his chin; considered, clearly, having a wash and thought better of it; and then, lifting up the ball of his jerkin, delved into a recess and brought out a bottle of spirits. He glanced across at O'LiamRoe. O'LiamRoe was fast asleep.\n\n'And devil the splash of fright there is on you, you great marmalade puss,' said he. 'And for an Irishman, you have the sorrow's own want of common sense. So.'\n\nAnd he blew out the candles.\n\nThe next day at breakfast, they had flattering news. A Court dignitary was arriving that morning to escort them, with Stewart, to Rouen. O'LiamRoe was pleased and interested. He had already admired the inn, the food and the Archer, whose padded silver and white, with spotless collar, fine hose and soft riding boots filled out a figure far from robust.\n\nNo thought of his own attire, clearly, had crossed O'LiamRoe's cloudless mind. The carpetbags, when pulled out to the linings, had produced one change of clothes; but though whole and clean, the Prince of Barrow's dress was as bizarre as before; and Mr. Ballagh was in threadbare black and one or two smears from his breakfast. Only Robin Stewart appreciated that their appearance and manners constituted an emergency, and knew that Lord d'Aubigny had been called in to deal with it.\n\nBefore he arrived, O'LiamRoe was asking eager questions. Would his lordship, for example, have the English?\n\n'Yes. He's a Scotsman by origin,' had said Stewart painstakingly. 'Of the same surname as myself.' He wondered how much about John Stewart of Aubigny he could suitably tell. That he was a cultivated gentleman who had once captained the King's Garde de Corps of a hundred Scottish men-at-arms, but was now a Gentleman in Ordinary of the King's Chamber, with a company of sixty lances to his name?\n\nJohn Stewart had once been his own captain. He was still, in a sense his superior\u2014on duty the Archer was answerable, more often than not, to the behests of the King's Gentlemen. So he could have told the fools more than they wanted to know of this Stewart, of royal name, whose ancestors had been Kings of Scotland. One branch of the family had remained in Scotland, and as lords of Lennox, had been among the greatest in the land. The other had married in France\u2014powerful marriages, which made John Stewart now the relative, if only distantly, of both the Queen of France and the King's mistress, Diane. And they had served France brilliantly in war, captaining the King's Bodyguard for generations and giving France a marshal as famous as Bayard: services rewarded with position, money and land.\n\nAll this, the Great John, present Lord d'Aubigny, had inherited, and it had done him as much good as Robin Stewart's old suit of armour. For his brother the Earl of Lennox, having failed to marry the Queen Dowager and obtain the power he wanted in Scotland, had defected to her enemy England, with 10,000 stolen French crowns in his pocket, and had thereby forfeited all his Scottish estates. Brother Matthew, as it happened, had come out of all that little the worse, having had the forethought to marry Margaret, King Henry VIII's niece, which brought him wealth and asylum in England, and the promise that one day he would govern Scotland on Henry's behalf.\n\nBut the King of France, where young Lennox had grown up, had been in no mood to be charitable, especially about the lost money; and since he could not touch Lennox, had seized his brother, John Stewart of Aubigny, instead, and thrown him into prison, deprived of office and honours. From there the present King had released him, on coming to the throne. The incarceration, in Stewart's view, had not done his former captain much good.\n\n'A Scotsman!' O'LiamRoe was saying. 'Then roll out the Latin, boy! Air your astronomy! We mustn't let down the old country before the great chief ones, with the silver buttons like mill wheels on their shirts!'\n\nVery soon after that, Lord d'Aubigny arrived, very creditably got up in blistered velvet, with a curled beard, and a diamond or two, and a neat, small cap on his head, sewn with pearls. With him were two young noblemen and a priest.\n\nStewart smelled the scent even before they came in, and knew which of the boys had come. They had amused themselves dressing in full court style, with their fans; as the introductions were made he saw O'LiamRoe's eyebrows shoot up. The priest, master of the hydrography school, started to bow and considerately stopped; the young men, with joyous accord, bowed three times each, right knee bent, bonnet low in the left hand, gloves gripped at the stomach in the right.\n\nO'LiamRoe smiled widely. Lord d'Aubigny sketched a bow, advanced steadily and kissed the Prince of Barrow on both cheeks.\n\n'Man, you smell nice,' said The O'LiamRoe appreciatively as they sat. 'I see how it is. The O'Donnell, God save him, came back from France the very same, tasselled like a cushion and with a particular smell. Excuse me.' And grasping his secretary, he drew him into the circle. 'My travelling ollave. You'll forgive him. He had the manners all bled out of him in the water, and is dead sober on me today besides. He can talk Greek itself when he has the drop in: I got him to sing at the milking and every cow in it gave off pure alcohol.'\n\nLord d'Aubigny was not quick-witted. For a moment he was wordless, the big handsome face reddening under the pearls. Behind, the two gallants were scarlet; and it was the priest who stepped in, his eye twinkling. 'We are all glad to see you; and sorry to hear of the shocking voyage into harbour.'\n\n'Shocking! A Flemish galliasse. You can't trust them. Criminally poor seamanship. Letters have been sent,' said Lord d'Aubigny sharply, to reduce the levity he sensed behind him and suspected in front. 'The King himself will make amends.'\n\n'Ah, no apologies,' said O'LiamRoe, his oval, soft-whiskered face alight with freckles and good humour. 'If you'd seen Thady Boy saving the navy: a kick, step and a lep and his hocks over the yardarm like a handful of syboes.\u2026'\n\nMaster Ballagh stood for a good deal; but he brought that to a halt. He said sourly, 'The O'LiamRoe is sensible of course, my lord, of the honour done him by his grace the King in inviting him to France. Ireland is not a country of wealth naturally. Our crops are few and our roads are bad, so that\u2014'\n\n'\u2014Damn you!' said O'LiamRoe with surprise. 'There's a fine bothar road to the Slieve Bloom alone that two cows would fit on, one lengthwise and the other athwart.'\n\n'\u2014But the Prince of Barrow is as consequential and scholarly a man as you would be hard put to it to see in a city. And I am not saying so,' added Thady painstakingly, 'for the pay he gives me, for you would quarter yourself looking for it did you drop it from between your finger and thumb on a white sheet at midday itself.'\n\nThere was an explosion, hardly covered, from the young men, but Lord d'Aubigny grimly persevered. 'You and your principal know a little, I take it, of the present Court of France? You will be presented shortly to King Henri, and to the Queen who is, of course, Italian born. There are five young children.\u2026' He described, as plainly as he could, the public faces of the Crown and its suite, without a hint that the King's wife and his mistress were at loggerheads; that the King's friend the Constable supported the Queen; and that everyone distrusted the de Guises, who held the King's love and most of his higher offices apportioned between them, and at altar, campaign or council table were first with their advice.\n\n'It is,' said Lord d'Aubigny, 'a gathering of people who cannot fail to impress you. A blossoming culture. A taste for beauty and considerable wealth. And consequently a certain state; a formality; a feeling for polite usage of some sort\u2014'\n\n'We are not,' said a bored voice from behind him, 'permitted to duel'.\n\n'\u2014And the wearing of hair on every part of the face,' said its neighbour suavely, 'is not now acceptable.'\n\nWithout looking round, his lordship went on. 'Fashions change, of course. But the King himself decides style and colour for his gentlemen, and it is usual for those at Court to conform. Please do not hesitate, if in need of a tailor, to seek my advice.'\n\nAs an appeal to the aesthetic leanings of O'LiamRoe, it was a dead failure. 'Ah, faith, is he one of those?' said the Chieftain with pity. 'The late King Henry VIII of England thought the same: that every drop of us should dress, talk and pray like the English, and shave off the face hair as well. It was a grand thing for my father that the hair grew on him like wire; and did he shave off the moustaches at night, there they were, glorious as ever, by morning.'\n\nA brief silence fell, honouring this speech. O'LiamRoe, unaffected by it, glanced round. 'Are you not for making some remark, Thady?' And to the priest: 'The tongue on him is green-moulded for want of exercise. There's nothing he'd like better than a word on the hydrography.'\n\nThe ollave's black face turned, stamped with affront.\n\n'Hydrography, is it? It's hydrography we were wanting last night, God help us, and the smoke curling like an old, dried cow out of your nightshirt. I'm clean out of my nerves entirely, with your burnings and your sinkings; and \"talk here\" and \"talk there\" on top of it.'\n\n'Have I offended you?' said O'LiamRoe, looking narrowly at his ollave.\n\n'Burnings!' It was Lord d'Aubigny's exclamation.\n\n'You have, so.'\n\n'But a small sup of wine, now, would put the extremities back into your bloodstream, Thady?'\n\n'It might, so,' said the ollave, sulkily.\n\n'Burnings? What's all this, Stewart?'\n\nSo, to the Archer's chagrin, the news of the night's unfortunate incident was prematurely unfolded, while Lord d'Aubigny's handsome, high-coloured face set in extreme irritation. The fat fool and the thin fool, with their scarecrow wardrobe, were clearly of no consequence. The accident, obviously, had been slight; the guests of the King of France had been discomfited in no way that mattered. He cast a chastening glance at Stewart, uttered a few routine words of regret and began to move. The party was actually on its feet, its baggage collected, scores paid and horses engaged to take them to Rouen, when Lord d'Aubigny recalled Madame Baule.\n\nHe stopped dead. 'Before we leave, O'LiamRoe, we've a call to make first. There's a countrywoman of yours in the house, a charming lady who's going to Rouen for the Entry. She hoped to see you before you left.'\n\n'Oh?' said O'LiamRoe.\n\n'Madame Baule, she's called. Married a Frenchman years ago\u2014he's dead\u2014and keeps a most unusual house in Touraine. A delightful person, an original; cherished, I assure you, in every well-bred home she visits. But of course, you know her,' said Lord d'Aubigny, sweeping the two Irishmen incontinently into a side passage.\n\n'Do I?' said O'LiamRoe weakly.\n\n'From the lady, I certainly assumed so. Here, I think.\u2014Yes, the lady herself certainly knew all about you. Come along.' And he scratched at the door. It opened, and he pushed the Prince of Barrow inside. 'Here he is: The O'LiamRoe, lord of the Slieve Bloom, and his secretary. Madame Baule, late of Limerick. You two, I'm sure, are acquainted.'\n\nHad he known it, Lord d'Aubigny was being amply rewarded for his embarrassments of a short time before.\n\nOn the wreathed marmalade figure in the doorway fell the pinlike scrutiny of two round, pale eyes in a firm, weatherbeaten face packed with teeth. There was an impression of piled, plaited hair, caterpillar-heaped with ornaments, of a square neck filled with nooses of jewellery. A broad hand gripped his lordship's silvery sleeve. 'Boyle!' screeched a voice high as a bat's, thin, jolly, encouraging. 'Boyle! You can call yourselves d'Aubignys all you want, John, my darling, but keep your expatriate, hand-licking tongue off a good Irish name.\u2026 O'LiamRoe!'\n\n'Madam,' said O'LiamRoe politely, and quite subdued.\n\nThe ropes swung and jangled. 'You've the sorrow's own whiskers on you, have you not?'\n\n'There's worse at the back of me,' said O'LiamRoe apologetically. 'It's two great-six-nights since I was clipped.'\n\n'Hum! I would never forget those whiskers,' said Mistress Boyle in a light scream. 'They would put nightmares on you, the moustaches alone. O'LiamRoe, we have never met, but here's my hand to you. You may kiss me.'\n\nIt was a sight; and Robin Stewart, had he been there, would have been afraid to see the woman hooked there for ever, in uncurried skeins round his clavicles, had they not come suddenly apart, Mistress Boyle saying with composure, 'Whirroo, that's Irish blood you've brought with you past the ninth wave.\u2026 We were worn thin as a cat's ear waiting for it\u2026 o'n aird tuaid tic in chabair, as the old tale has it. And who's the cailleach-chearc there at your back?'\n\n'Ah.\u2026'Tis a bard out of Banachadee. My little, weeshy ollave, Mistress Boyle.'\n\n'Death alive! What's your name, man?' she screamed at Thady Boy. The secretary edged away. 'Ballagh, mistress.'\n\n'One of the tinker tribes, surely. And you take no offence at the name cailleach-chearc?'\n\n'Buddha,' volunteered Thady Boy unexpectedly, 'was born in an egg. A fine duty, a mhuire, to lay on a henwife. The henwives are queens and kings, to be sure, in that country.'\n\n'But that country, a mhic, was not Ireland.'\n\n'Indeed, when was a god born that way in Ireland?' said Thady politely. 'With the loud-mouthed hens there are, and the folk with their two keen ears, one engaged for the hen and the other for the boil on the cooking water?'\n\nShe screamed like a kittiwake. 'Oh! Oh! You have a sharp knife at your hip here, O'LiamRoe, and God attend you; for it's the quick tongue and the clever tongue that's all these poor French worship, the heathens, and heaven knows the Leinster pudding-brains that have shamed me this year. Sit and tell me of home. Is your mother well?'\n\nSo, innocently, was ushered in a formidable interrogation on the social history of Limerick and Leix. Stewart of Aubigny, half-listening, thought that between them, the two seemed to know more of genealogy and gynaecology both than any Scotsman would admit to. He had known Mistress Boyle for many years; did not dream of stopping her as she worried O'LiamRoe unstintedly about next, his corn, his fishings and his cattle. The Chieftain's answers were quite cheerful, even when she went so far as to question them.\n\n'The Cross o' Christ about us,' said Mistress Boyle at length, sinking back in her chair. 'But the great, gorgeous butterfly you'll be among those quiet worker bees up at Court.'\n\n'Not so quiet,' said Lord d'Aubigny, reasserting himself. 'Antechamber's full of Scotsmen, arguing like the damned. Half of them have seen Mason already.'\n\n'Mason?'\n\n'Sir James Mason, the English Ambassador. That small girl will be lucky if the Scottish throne waits for her to grow up. There are some of her mother's nobles who would prefer a fine post under England to a shabby one under a Scottish queen. Are you uncomfortable, O'LiamRoe?'\n\n'No, no,' said the Chief, sitting up quickly. 'Only there is a kind of glitter in my head that has come straight off my eyeballs. Is there a dryad in the room?'\n\nA woman had come in from her chamber. All her life, she had made men dumb by her presence, and she was young yet. Pausing, not shy, she stood by the rain-drenched window, and you could see she was Irish as a Murr\u00faghach\u2014not the wide-shouldered, fair Milesian, but dark and neat-boned, with neck and shoulders a single stem for an oval face, wide at the cheekbones and light-eyed, with the black hair piled in pillows and coils about her crown and ears, and on the nape of her neck and down her back. She was dressed in dark blue, with no jewels; and when she saw them all on their feet, curtseyed to Mistress Boyle and Lord d'Aubigny, and stood waiting again.\n\nStewart of Aubigny, his fingertips together, watched her with a connoisseur's eye. Thady Boy, liverish and morose, stared, unloosing his dark, stubbled jaw. Nor did O'LiamRoe acquire any pretensions to grace, but he rose, and his long-lashed blue eyes were wider and steadier than before.\n\n'Ah, the devil, bad end to the girl!' screeched Mistress Boyle, spinning round, and ropes swinging, skirts swaying, she pounced on the newcomer, her face hot with delight. 'Pay no heed to them, Oonagh. It's a party of Irish come to Court; the very same kind of silly fowl you left in Donegal. You're not to look twice at them. Gentlemen, my niece Oonagh O'Dwyer, over from Ireland to stay with her old aunt awhile and pick the flower of the French Court for a husband if I have my way. Oonagh, my child, The O'LiamRoe, Chief of the Name\u2014ah, don't curtsey too close, you'll step on his whiskers\u2026 and Mr. Ballagh, his secretary. You should hear him. He can rhyme rats to death like Senchan Torpest himself.'\n\nWith a soft flush of blue wool, the girl sat, her calm gaze on the Irishmen, and said in Gaelic, speaking impartially between them: 'They have been sparse in the woods, the ollaves, for this time past. Is the season on us again?'\n\nWith the change of language, the warmer impulses of chatter were halted. In a little silence, Master Ballagh coughed, and as O'LiamRoe glanced at him he plumped down, settling his shiny trunk hose in his chair, and said politely in English, 'The ratio, now I think of it, is one ollave per inhabited and manured quarter of ground. Do you miss them, it may be that the other conditions are lacking.'\n\nThe young woman's light eyes turned to O'LiamRoe. 'The Prince of Barrow, as I heard it, had a bard called Patrick O'Hooley.'\n\n'You heard right,' said O'LiamRoe composedly. ' 'Tis like the Birach-derc, now. Put Patrick O'Hooley on a boat and show him the blessed Saint Peter himself, and it would stretch four stout men with hooks to lift the lid of his eye.'\n\nShe was contemptuous. 'He gets seasick.'\n\n'He does, too, and him a bard only, without lawful learning but his own intellect; whereas Master Ballagh here is a comely professor of the canon, a stream of pleasing praise issuing from him, and a stream of wealth to him. But would you grudge it, and the epigrams pouring off him like a man straight from the Inishmurray sweating-house?'\n\nThe talk was straying in these dangerous shoals when Robin Stewart came to the door, seeking permission to borrow or buy replacements for O'LiamRoe's saddlery. On top of sheer old age and neglect, the salt air of the journey had completed its ruin; and in its present state no one at all could travel to Rouen.\n\nThankfully, Lord d'Aubigny left, taking O'LiamRoe with him, and the Irish accents rolled back along the passage, giving an untrammeled account of some fantasy-life of his horse harness. Mistress Boyle pulled in Robin Stewart and shut the door. 'Come in, for the sake of God, and the two of you tell me something of that champion of the Slieve Bloom, that would fetch his price cut into two hairy hearthrugs and cured. I heard tell he was queer, but not as terrible queer as all that.'\n\nShe had poured them wine, and Thady Boy, working diligently, was almost restored to his normal condition. He relaxed. 'You've seen him. What else is there? It was O'LiamRoe's misfortune to be born a prince with a smart lot of followers instead of a little, mad-like professor with a wife and a pension and a shining day-long circle of pupil-philosophers; not a one over twelve. I met him at his castle, a great slab of wet rock with rats in it. He will talk you dry on any subject you wish; it's all in his head. And, of course, he is the unhandiest thing in life. Not one finger of him is on speaking terms with the next.'\n\nStewart grinned. Thady Boy raised his wine in faltering salute to the girl, whose gaze had not moved from his face, and slammed it back on the chair arm as Mistress Boyle said, 'You are nippy enough yourself, we were hearing, and a terrible smart fellow up a rope. Are they putting games on you, in the long training you have, now?' And she shrieked with laughter. The girl did not smile.\n\n'And teaching us to run like the wind too; 'Tis fundamental', said Thady Boy sourly. 'And when serving such as the Prince of Barrow, it would be a great help and comfort to be invisible as well.'\n\nOonagh O'Dwyer got up. Silent as a cat, she walked over and removed from Thady Boy's lax hands his dry cup. 'Why come to France with him?' she said. 'To set your epigrams pimping for a little free drink?'\n\n'Free, is it?' said Thady. 'I thought I was paying for it.'\n\n''Tis a little polished living the fellow is after,' said Mistress Boyle comfortably.\n\n'Polished living! With The O'LiamRoe stuck on me, and the jaws of him going like the leper clappers?'\n\n'Ballagh's here for asylum,' said Robin Stewart, grinning. 'He'll tell you he's come for the money, but it's woman trouble, mark me.'\n\n'And O'LiamRoe, has he woman trouble too?' asked Oonagh O'Dwyer of Thady.\n\nMr. Ballagh was exasperated. 'Have I the second sight? I was one week at his castle, and there was no woman in it barring his ma and the kitchens; and two weeks at sea when he passed his time on his two knees splicing ropes like the wind in the barley fields. I never caught him so much as wink at the figurehead.'\n\nThe older woman sat back in her seat, chuckling; but Oonagh O'Dwyer spoke like an ancient goddess in her black hair. 'He doesn't mind being laughed at?'\n\n'Not if he can laugh first.'\n\n'Well, cock's blood,' said Robin Stewart with annoyance. 'He was asked over to discuss ways and means of throwing the English out of Ireland. Is it a joke, just?'\n\n'Oh, he's got a brain in him. He'll talk all you want,' said the ollave, wildly airy. 'And maybe the King'll get one or two good ideas off him, if he can stand him at all. But first and last and in the middle, The O'LiamRoe plans to treat himself to a small private survey on how the rich live\u2026 and it paid for by somebody else.'\n\nMistress Boyle shook with laughter and Robin Stewart was delighted. But the black-haired girl turned on her heel and walked out of the room."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rouen: The Nut Without Fruit",
                "text": "Thou shall not bind anyone to pay in kine\u2026 who has not kine; thou shalt not bind anyone to pay in land, who is wandering;\u2026 thou shalt not bind a naked person to pay in clothes unless he has got raiment: it is as a nut without fruit to adjudicate in this manner.\n\nVulnerable as a crab at the moult, The O'LiamRoe rode, mild, unwashed and hoary, into the splendid bosom of Rouen. And by the grace of all the old and mischievous gods, his arrival, with Thady Boy Ballagh and Piedar Dooly, passed that day unremarked by the townspeople. For four days, the Sacred Majesty of the Most Christian King of France, the most magnanimous, powerful and victorious King Henri, Second of that name, would enter his Norman capital for the first time in the three years of his reign, and the preparations for that joyous Entry had worn the Rouennois into tatters.\n\nThey were lucky to miss the Court, which had blocked the Rouen road all that morning, settling into the Priory of Bonne-Nouvelle across the river to sit out the days till the Entry. Lord d'Aubigny, who had escorted the Irish party from Dieppe and last night had secured them an unexceptionable inn for their comfort, took his leave there with his lances to join the gentlemen about the King, leaving Robin Stewart with his small retinue to see O'LiamRoe safely lodged in the city.\n\nThey had reached the suburbs in the plain of Grandmont when a whale came out of a house on a trolley and crossed the road, with four men pushing it. Every horse in Robin Stewart's party snubbed its owner and O'LiamRoe's mare reared. The Chieftain was nothing if not a good rider. He bore her down, the horsecloth all over him, and instantly bestowed his fond attention on the situation. 'Dhia! I see you have a great care for your fishing industry, to improve them with wooden legs. Will you look at that, Thady?'\n\nMr. Ballagh leaned over. The whale at their feet, its plaster sides sweating in the sun, clapped open its jaws and a jet of Seine water hit the air. The horses, thoroughly shaken, plunged and danced to the tune of Scots swearing, and O'LiamRoe this time very neatly fell off.\n\nIt was a scene of unqualified extravagance. Before them lay the lit walls of Rouen veiled with rigging; the crowded bridge and the yellow, slapping water; but the city was all but masked by the white canvas of tents and marquees sprung like land-ships on the near bank before them. A half-finished pavilion covered with crescents and fleurs-de-lis stood by the roadside, crawling with joiners, and behind, a square of horse lines was busy with men, and a knot of six or seven soaked geldings being rubbed down. Someone had left a streaky chariot in the mud, a trident stuck by a wheel; and inside one of the tents, where a city archer gossiped on guard, a dozen fresh green canvas fishtails were drying in a row.\n\nThe sandy mud of the banks boiled with dripping men and small boats; the islands were messy with scaffolding; and somewhere a rather poor choir was practising hard. The air was filled, like birds flying, with shouts and hammer blows and arguing voices, and at the entrance to the bridge a woman halfway up a ladder with a boy under her arm was screeching at a painter curled on a pediment high above, decorating a niche. The four men, no doubt regretting their exuberance, had disappeared with the whale to the water. Leaving his horse blithely loose, and with never a glance at his surroundings, O'LiamRoe followed.\n\nRobin Stewart, of the King's Bodyguard of Scots Archers, gave a hard-pressed sigh and turned to share his despair with his bowmen. Instead, the acid, droopbrowed face of the ollave caught his eye.\n\n'France, m\u00e8re des arts, des armes et des lois,' observed Thady Boy, without altering a muscle. 'I take it you wish to enter Rouen. Unless you divert O'LiamRoe's mind instantly, he will feed on his whale like a prawn on the seethings of drowned men.' Robin Stewart opened his mouth.\n\nBut the diversion came from another direction. Over the bridge before them, two women came riding, satins fluttering and furs blowing; and the servants mounted behind were all in a livery Stewart knew as well as he knew the redheaded owner in front. It was Jenny Fleming.\n\nJanet, Lady Fleming, was pretty, and Scottish, and a widow. She was a natural daughter of King James IV of Scotland. She was also royal aunt and governess of Mary Queen of Scots, whom she had brought to France two years before as a little girl of five, and whose mentor she had been ever since.\n\n'Governess' as applied to Jenny Fleming was the most irrational of terms. Mary had her teachers for every art and science, and her faithful Janet Sinclair for nurse. Jenny, who could govern nothing, and least of all herself, was her companion in mischief. A king her father, an earl her grandfather, her dead husband a great and wealthy Scots baron, she had been born like a honeycomb moth into silk and soft living; and despite seven children, had preserved in her thirties the vivid, autocratic and expensive sparkle of her youth.\n\nNow, leaving her escort by the bridge, she plunged down with her horse to the shore, her companion following. She waved to Robin Stewart as she passed and Stewart flushed and waved back, and wondered who the quiet, plump young girl behind her might be. He did not know Margaret Erskine.\n\n'A whale! Does it swim? Does it spout? May I look at it?'\n\nThe enormous creature lay in the shallow water. As its attendants grinned and chattered, an impossible jaw dropped and the whiskers of O'LiamRoe rose, tadpole-like, from the Leviathan depths. He bowed, and smiled like a sickle. ''Tis better still inside: the Eighth Wonder surely, but a small bit damp for the very Rose of Jericho like yourself.'\n\nShe laughed at him, her firm, dimpled face sparkling. 'You're the Irishman!'\n\n'One of them. The other's behind you.'\n\nShe turned. The unkempt figure of Thady Boy Ballagh stood gloomily waiting. 'He's angry. What's he angry about?' she said.\n\n'He wants to get to Rouen and start his drinking. But there was a serious situation here, will you note, to be dealt with first.\u2026 You're a Scotswoman, surely. Do you stay here?'\n\nJenny was alight with mischief; had been joyous with excitement from her flaming hair to her cork-soled shoes since she arrived. She opened her mouth, but Margaret Erskine's quiet voice forestalled her. 'We stay at Court. Perhaps we shall have the pleasure of seeing you there. Mother, we must go.'\n\n'Yes, but we must introduce ourselves first. You are O'LiamRoe\u2014I can tell. And this? Aren't there three of you?'\n\n'The richest soil,' said Mr. Ballagh's cutting voice from behind, 'is known for its three weeds. An old Irish saying. You will excuse us. We are expecting an audience with the King.'\n\nA square body; a quiet voice; brown eyes in a plain, country-woman's face\u2014Margaret Erskine, twice-married at twenty and with a son of her own, controlled her mother as no one had done since her father died. She drew her now from this dangerous amusement as she had done many another; and gave no hint, as she and Jenny remounted, and called greetings, and moved off, that she knew whom she was facing.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe barely watched them go. He turned, rubbing his hands, to Thady Boy. 'Is it not like the Great Fair of Carman, which the forty-seven kings came to?'\n\n'Would it strike you that the kings now and then ate?' said the ollave. 'Here's Master Stewart waiting for you like Job, and Piedar Dooly with the eyes in his face set with glassing bands. And where will you be if the King sends and you are not yet in your other frieze cloak?'\n\n'This is\u2014' began O'LiamRoe, and broke off, mildly annoyed. 'There's a powerful lot of fussing about the clothes on me.'\n\n'Faith, well,' said Thady Boy patiently. 'But it's a prince he's expecting, man; not a Water Sheerie.' And they set off side by side to the horses, leaving the riverbank, the whale and the four men, one of whom, as any inquisitive passer-by might see, had no heel to one foot.\n\nThe party from Ireland, it was understood, was to be struck by the magnificence of the King of France, and by the wealth and loyalty of his subjects, as a prelude to any personal talks which might follow. So a bedroom and a parlour had been put at their disposal in the Croix d'Or, a large new inn off the Place du March\u00e9; and that, as Robin Stewart remarked, was just about worth the monthly returns of Notre Dame, accommodation being what it was at an Entry.\n\nHe saw them settled in before leaving for Bonne-Nouvelle over the bridge. They had three days to wait in Rouen before the festivities. He had given up thinking too much about their habits and their clothes. He had been told to come each day and look after them, show them the sights, and fulfil their reasonable wishes. When the Entry was over, they would move with the Court to its winter quarters and the serious business of the visit would no doubt begin.\n\nRobin Stewart, who above all things was fascinated by success, found no particular enjoyment in handling his Irishmen. He introduced them to the innkeeper, made Piedar Dooly acquainted with the kitchens, and left. As he rode out of the street a Gentleman of the Bedchamber rode into it, bearing a message for Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, from His Most Christian Majesty Henri II of France. He welcomed the party, in the heartiest terms, to the hospitable shores of France, and invited The O'LiamRoe to visit His Majesty at noon that day in the Priory of Bonne-Nouvelle, dressed for tennis.\n\n'Dear God,' said Thady Boy Ballagh, when the courtly messenger had bowed himself out; and lowered his round form on the bed.\n\nThere had already been a remarkably sharp argument about what to do with the half-footed man: O'LiamRoe allowed that without proof they could make no accusations, but had decided in the end that Piedar Dooly might well be asked to keep an eye from time to time on the maimed Jonah and his whale. And now\u2014'Dear God,' said Thady Ballagh, 'you can barely walk as it is in that lather of saffron and pig's hair you've got on. How the tatteration will you lep about with a racquet, and those leggings, and the little wee ball that's in it?'\n\nThe sun, bright for autumn still, fell on O'LiamRoe's head as he stood at their parlour window looking down. Heads hooded and bare passed and repassed below; a scarlet plume in a man's cap tossed, and satin gleamed; then white gauze and blue velvet from a woman's head and cloak as she passed with her servant. A cart went by, full of beer kegs, and a maid with her trailing skirt black-wet came along from the fountain with a pail in one hand. A man strolled past and leaned on the doorpost opposite, stroking his black beard.\n\n'Ah, you're a faint-heart, Thady Boy. If a man can give a breeze-fly a clap in a byre, he can smite a great baby's plaything like that. But it's a strange, heathen way to welcome a guest.'\n\n'He's offering you the privilege of a friendly meeting before the formal courtesies,' said his secretary patiently. 'Dress as neat as you can, for the sake of us all, and stay outside the nets streaming flattery like a honey cane on the hot roof of the world.'\n\n'Look at this,' said O'LiamRoe, instead of answering. Outside, the bearded man had moved. Taking off his plain black brimmed hat, he scratched a head of thick dark hair, while his gaze roved the rooftops with idle vagueness; the sun, patched with stack-shadows, fell on his opaque white skin and straight nose, and the black plangent eyebrows. He had a short, white coat, plainly cut and showing dark full sleeves and a coarse doublet under; but they lay on a big, heavy-shouldered form vaguely familiar. Bad drawings of the man were everywhere, and the coins in their two purses had his likeness.\n\n'It's the King,' said Thady Boy. 'No, it can't be.'\n\n'Then it's his double,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nThere was silence, then a crooning sound broke from Thady Boy. 'It is so,' he said. 'Of course. The terrible show on Wednesday they're so full of. Was there not to be a chariot all done up with the double of the King and his family for the procession?'\n\nHe was right. Looking closely, you could see that a rough likeness had been emphasized by the exact trim of hair and beard; the man was a natural for the part. Unaccountably, O'LiamRoe was ruffled. 'I'd have said it was damned dangerous to have two kings in a harebrained country like this one.'\n\nThe man darkly preening in the doorway, if he had had notions of practising a kingly fantasy, had quickly abandoned it. A child had hopped round the corner, a girl of seven perhaps, and flung herself with audible grief on her father. They could not hear what she said, but the black-haired man, rehatted, bent hastily and shook her, and as the ear-piercing whine continued, seized her arm and hauled her off with the look of all fathers with publicly importunate young. Of the regal bearing of a moment since, there was no trace.\n\n'Thady Boy, you are right,' said O'LiamRoe. 'And you are maybe worth your hire to me after all, for all the expense you are. Let you go downstairs and have a sup with Piedar, and I shall see what cloth I can put on my back for a game with those bloodsucking clegs in their gold lace, bad cess to them. Is he good?'\n\n'Who?'\n\n'King Henri. Is he a fair man with a ball?'\n\n'Middling good. He's the best athlete in the kingdom, or thereby,' said Thady Boy cruelly, and went out.\n\nHe did his adequate best. Since he left the Slieve Bloom, O'LiamRoe had never looked so memorably neat. The saffron tunic abandoned, he had sent out for breech hose, brought in at Thady's back, and a holland shirt, and a doublet of near fit and bold colour. Not to waste money on slippers, he had pulled his half boots on top, but cleaned, and had got a small cap with a feather which sat flatly on his combed yellow head. Only the beard, unregenerately floating, hinted at the rebel inside the silk cords.\n\nWhen the latch rattled, he thought it was Ballagh. Cursing under his breath, his hat under his arm and cloak over it, he strode to open the door. He was very late, and the King's Gentleman, back on the hour, had been waiting some time for him below.\n\nOn his threshold stood Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nO'LiamRoe stood still without speaking, the latch in his hand. It was his visitor who showed her surprise, unexpected colour flooding her brown skin and revealing the light, limpid eyes. Then she said shortly, 'It's wonderfully grand you are this day. I feel enough of a prostitute as it is, without standing side by side with you on your doorstep. Will you let me pass?'\n\nShe was alone; something unheard of in a young woman of standing. He shut the door, stood still as she marched past, and made no comment until she turned to face him. 'I am not in the habit of doing this,' she said.\n\n'It is not a bad habit, now it's started,' he said. 'If you confine it to one person.'\n\nIt was the worst line he could have taken; he recognized it instantly. Her lips went hard, her body tautened; and for a moment he expected a blow. It did not come, but when she spoke he realized that in her mind she had closed a human relationship and opened a business meeting.\n\n'I have just come from Bonne-Nouvelle. My aunt is there with a friend who is in the Queen's train. I have a word from her.'\n\n'Have you so?' He did not offer her a seat.\n\nThey were of a height and otherwise utterly in contrast: the handfuls of hair under her hood were wood-black where his were tortoise-shell to the pellicle. She looked him straight in the eye, and her small, round mouth curled. 'They are an idle cageful of mockingbirds; always fresh for a new victim.'\n\nHe knew then. His bearing relaxed a little, and he leaned back against the painted panelling, his blue eyes attentive on hers. 'Let them laugh till it sends the Adam's apples on them up and down like cerbottana balls, my dear. It won't hurt me.'\n\nHer strong, soft brows stayed level. 'However, you have spent some money on yourself, I see, this day?'\n\n'Yes,' said O'LiamRoe calmly. 'That was a mistake. I am thinking that I shall just change back to the saffron. Is there an ostrich of your acquaintance would like a tail feather?'\n\nShe ignored the flourish of his hat. 'It does not affect me, O'LiamRoe, one way or the other. I came to tell you that the Household are having sport with you. You will get a summons that is not from the King.'\n\nHe smiled a little, among the flosslike whiskers. 'The like of an appointment to meet his double?'\n\n'How did you know?'\n\nHe turned from her wide eyes, and gestured outside. 'He stood there for a while to get our view. A dark man with a beard.'\n\nOonagh O'Dwyer said dryly, 'Yes, that's likely. Some of the younger Court mignons have hired the man who'll play King in Wednesday's procession. Your fame preceded you from Dieppe. They are hoping to confront you with the false King and make the world's fool of you.'\n\nNot in the least upset, he said merely, 'A dangerous game, surely, to put a discourtesy on the King's guest the like of that?'\n\n'Would you have the courage to complain to the King?' she said impatiently. 'You maybe would, but they think you would not. They think that since peace has been made with England, and a new coolness with the Emperor, France is not so hot to appropriate Ireland, and would hardly be troubled if a lordling, offended, took the first galley back home.'\n\n'I am tempted,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nFor a moment longer she studied him; then with her square-tipped boy's hands pulled her green cloth hood forward. 'That is all. I promised to tell you. I hope,' she said pointedly, 'that your philosophy does not leak on you under stress.'\n\n'Do not disturb yourself,' said the Prince of Barrow, and the sunlight carried his raw shadow and laid it like a plinth at her feet. 'If they come close to tickle, they can't complain of the fleas. Is Thady Boy expected to join in my folly?'\n\n'No. He speaks French. It is you alone they are baiting. I am sorry,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer unexpectedly, raising her light grey eyes straight to his. 'It is not the sweetest news from a woman.'\n\n'No,' said O'LiamRoe slowly. 'No, it is not. There must be vanity in me somewhere yet. But it was not an easy errand you gave yourself either, and my thanks to you and Mistress Boyle.' He opened the door as she moved forward, his oval, whiskered face quite benevolent. 'But God help me, I was raised on all the wrong sports in the Slieve Bloom,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe.\n\nAn hour later, in his saffron, his leggings and his frieze cloak, Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, walked into the royal residence at the Priory of Bonne-Nouvelle, hairy as a houseleek; and the thick cream of French espi\u00e8glerie closed over his head.\n\nIt was a young, supple Court, with the sap still in its veins. Henri, absolute lord of nineteen million Frenchmen, was thirty-one; and of the ten de Guises in whose hands half the power of ruling France lay, the eldest, the Queen Mother of Scotland, was only thirty-five. It followed that the courtiers, too, were mostly young. Those of an older generation had been born into the world of Henri's predecessor Francis I, the enchanting rake, the Caesar, the Sunflower, who did not care for dreamy, sullen, sleepy children and had committed his two sons without a thought to the prisons at Pedraza in his place when he lost his Italian war and his liberty at the battle of Pavia.\n\nHenri came back from Spain an uncouth eleven-year-old, unable to speak his native language; and the gay Court noted him in passing\u2014'M. d'Orl\u00e9ans, a large, round face, who does nothing but give blows, and whom no man can master.' When he was King, he kept a court still of marzipan and kisses, but a tough, esoteric, gamey core also persisted: the patronage of scholars and master craftsmen; the habit of good talk and private accomplishments, with the poet and the professor familiarly at the elbow.\n\nBut although the personal triumphs of the sullen, sleepy prisoner were now established, not without pains; although the swiftest runner, the best horseman, the finest lute player in France, was her King; although he had ended the English wars successfully, regained possession of Boulogne, would have Scotland when his son married the little Queen, and was in a fair way to frightening the Emperor with his league of German princes\u2014in spite of all these, Henri of France kept two things from the world of his father as a child keeps its cradle rag: his beloved Montmorency, shrewd old warrior whom Francis had exiled from Court; and Diane de Poitiers, for fourteen years Henry's mistress.\n\nToo wealthy, too powerful, too blunt for King Francis's liking, Anne Duke de Montmorency had been none the less one of the bulwarks of the kingdom; and it was not until the old King's latter years, when Montmorency was already nursing the young heir, that the final clash came, and Francis threw him into the exile from which King Henri rescued him.\n\nDiane, widow of the Grand Seneschal of Normandy and familiar with courts, had come, at thirty-six\u2014some said straight from the old King's pillow; and with wit, address and a natural kindness perfectly disarming, had begun teaching the future Henri II, then seventeen, his roles of lover and prince. It was unlucky that before his father died, Henri had become too attached to Diane his mistress, that Montmorency had become too helpful to Henri his prospective master, and that Henri had talked a little too freely of the appointment he would make and banishments he would cancel when his father was dead\u2026 selling the skin, said the Court, before the bear was killed. Francis did not like it; and it was as well, on the whole, that Francis had died when he did.\n\nO'LiamRoe, who was well informed in his magpie way, needed little or no material briefing from the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber who had waited with remarkable patience for two hours to take him to the presence of the King. He received an unbelievable amount of information about etiquette; about bowing, about titles, about the gentlemen he might meet\u2014for, as the interview would take place in the tennis courts, ladies were unlikely to be there. He listened with a thoughtful tolerance as he was handed through the guard posts into the Priory, pricked with golden fleurs-de-lis and busy as a Michaelmas market. Archers, steward, equerries, pages came at him in waves, and keeping him off the main corridors, channelled O'LiamRoe and his escort into a side room, a side door and a grassy courtyard where someone had hastily pinned up a net. The Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who was red in the face and sweating slightly under his satin, gripped O'LiamRoe's sleeve with soft fingers and said, 'Here you are. Wait. There is the King.'\n\nThe square had a look of disuse. Built up on three sides, it was overhung by nothing but shuttered windows. Benches, hung with fine cloths, had been put up hastily on its paved edges with food and drink laid out, and there were stools and one or two chairs, with a doublet or a racquet left lying. Because of the height of the building, the sun was nearly off them, but the four or five men talking at the far end of the court were in shirt sleeves. In the centre a man, big, broad-shouldered and black-bearded, stood listening, with an arm on either shoulder of the flanking players. He was dressed entirely in white. 'The King,' repeated The O'LiamRoe's guide; and pointed.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe's oval face craned forward. 'Do you tell me,' said the Chief, fascinated. 'He'll be at them for the scrofula.' Two of the men in the group had been with d'Aubigny at Dieppe: the scent of them carried downwind.\n\nThe Gentleman of the Bedchamber, whose English was not quite perfect, opened his mouth, thought better of it, and ended by saying, 'He has seen us. Come forward, my lord prince, and I shall present you.'\n\n'Faith, he's complete,' was O'LiamRoe's next remark, as they moved forward, 'and as black as a crow. I heard he'd greyed early; does he dip it, now? There's a fine receipt of my mother's: two pottles of tar to a pottle of pitch. From the hour we put a brush to it, we lost never a sheep. And is this the King's grace?'\n\nThe two parties had met. In a loud voice, the escorting courtier made the introductions; and as his titles hung quaintly on the warm air\u2014Monseigneur Auleammeaux, Prince de Barrault et Seigneur des Monts Salif Blum\u2014O'LiamRoe stood like an amiable chaffbin, the day's merciless noon on the dreadful nap on his frieze cloak and the dreadful lack of it on the saffron tunic below; like an exercise in the assembly of rubbish, to be dismantled shortly and given away to the poor. He stood at ease, without the shadow of a reverence, and when de Genstan of the Royal Guard of Scottish Archers, slipping forward, hissed in his ear, 'Sir, it is customary to bow,' he merely widened his disarming grin and said, 'Do you tell me. And here am I born like the devil with my knees at the backs of my legs. What's he blathering on about, the poor man?'\n\nM. de Genstan, with the faintest sign to his allies, slipped into the role of interpreter. 'His Majesty is welcoming you to France, sir. He would have had you meet their graces the Duke and the Cardinal of Guise, and the Constable Montmorency as well, but they have pressing business to attend to.'\n\n'Ah, devil take it; and I had made up my mind that wee little one there was the Cardinal,' said O'LiamRoe agreeably. 'Will you tell the King's grace he's a happy man, surely, with the kingdom running itself while he can lep about after a ball. What's he saying?'\n\nSpeaking through an interpreter imposes its own languors and strains on an encounter, and this one was in any case, with astounding clarity, failing to take the course expected of it. The sieur de Genstan, his face flaming, was trying hard to prolong the interview by censoring his translations. The man in white, at least aware that some of the courtesies were lacking, was still a little at a loss. In a slow, carrying voice he addressed his interpreter. M. de Genstan said to O'LiamRoe, 'His grace asks you to be seated and take wine with him.'\n\n'Ah, now,' said O'LiamRoe comfortably. 'Thank his grace, will you, and say I'd ten times sooner see him finish his fine game of ball. It's plain to see he's as nimble as a pea on a drumhead, and the nearest I've seen to it was a priest fighting-drunk with a censer.'\n\nTo this, expurgated, the King replied with a question. 'Will you play with him?'\n\nThe blue eyes twinkled. 'Dressed like this? God help us, I'd be mince-boiled in my sweat like a deer. At home we have the one dress, suitable for all occasions, and that is all.'\n\nThe black-bearded man replied cautiously, through M. de Genstan. 'You do not have this sport in Ireland?'\n\nWholly at ease, O'LiamRoe sat down. Round the courtyard a sigh ran like the flight of a shuttlecock. Cheerfully aware of it, he went on 'Sport, do you say? Pat-ball is not in it; no. But sport we have, surely and many a good man has died on the field of it with his honour bright, bright as the sun. Hurley for instance. Do you know it?'\n\nThey did not.\n\n'It is played with a stick, then; and dress is no matter, for you have to trouble about the one thing only, and that is getting off the sports-field alive. And whatever dress you came on with, there will likely be none on you at the end. It's a good way of filling in time if there are no wars. I don't play it myself, being a peaceable man. But go to it; let me see you,' said O'LiamRoe with unfeigned interest. 'It is never a fault to see what other folk do.'\n\nBecause they were at a loss, because they could not immediately see what had happened, because, finally, anything was better than continuing to talk, they took him at his word. As The O'LiamRoe lounged at ease, one elbow on the velvet table at his side and the speechless courtiers beside him, the bearded leader chose a single partner, without ceremony, and launched into a hard game.\n\nThey were both excellent players; and being excellent, they took risks, and sometimes suffered from them. There was no netted ball, no fruitless leap, no dropped racquet, no lonely stance, mouth agape while the ball landed neatly behind, which escaped the soft undertone of O'LiamRoe's commentary. Excruciating, unforgivable, fluent, unerring, pitched to the trembling octave of Straw Street irony, he noted the clouted thumb, the missed serve, the sweat, the split in the seam and the single, hissing, green-bottomed slide on the turf. He noted the uncurling hair, the throttling dive at the net; he observed and reported, serenely and without mercy until under the pressure of it de Genstan, who was listening and softly translating, laughed aloud, and the infection of it burst the decorum of the rest. There was a bellow of laughter. Already sensitive to the undercurrent of two voices, the players turned, their faces printed with anger; and with a glorious, earsplitting crack, the tennis ball shot through a window.\n\nThe mild, Irish voice had at last ceased, but they were still laughing, in small helpless sobs, when the man in white, flinging down his racquet, seized his partner by the arm and strode over. The laughter stopped. O'LiamRoe, his fair brows raised, looked up at the sieur de Genstan, who from red had gone suddenly white. 'And now,' he said comfortably, 'supposing after all that you get the fellow here, and we talk.'\n\nThat they obeyed was the result of sheer self-protection. They had aligned themselves by their laughter on the wrong side of the fence. The players were clearly furious, and from a distance, M. de Genstan could be seen inventing explanations and excuses far more plausible than O'LiamRoe could have produced, if excuses had been anywhere in his remotest thoughts. He waited, rising, grinning as the black-bearded one, still flushed, left the crowd of men and approached him at last.\n\n'I'll take that wine now, if it's offered me,' said O'LiamRoe cheerfully, 'and give a word in your ear to go with it. For, God save us, you're an insular lot, you Frenchmen; and it's time you learned a thing or two about your more cultured neighbours such as the Irish. And translate it all, de Genstan me boy, this time; none of your three words to every three hundred, divina proportio and a wink and a shrug for the rest of it.'\n\nCrested cups were being filled. 'His Majesty says,' said the harassed interpreter from behind the bearded man's chair: 'He says that he would wish the differences between Ireland and France to be less.'\n\n'Ah, never mind the English in it,' said O'LiamRoe. 'We've had them lording it over us these three hundred years and swallowed them whole, same as you did, though the ones that came from Normandy were devils for taxes the same as yourself.'\n\n'His Majesty asks,' said de Genstan, 'if you are comparing his rule by any chance to that of England?'\n\n'Faith, would I do the like of that?' said O'LiamRoe with his freckled smile. 'And it so superior. There's the Concordat, now. Why destroy yourself making out you're the world's head of the church when your Concordat lets you whistle up the abbeys and the bishops and the archbishops to your liking; all found money and a pet of a way to make friends?'\n\nThere was a pause. 'The King says,' said M. de Genstan, 'that these subjects are not a matter for discussion at this meeting, which is only meant\u2014'\n\nO'LiamRoe's smile had malice in it. 'Not a matter for discussion! My dear boy, in Ireland the midwife uses one hand to hold the baby's best fighting arm from the font water, and grips its jaws with the other lest the child goes to litigation about it.' He put down the cup and rising, laid a commiserating hand on de Genstan's shoulder. 'Scrub off the civet and spit out the sugar plums and the next time choose an arguing, manly violent sort of king for yourselves. Sure, if that one's hair were shaved off, like Bandinello's Hercules, there's not enough skull in it for his brains, so.'\n\nThere was a deathly silence. The bearded man, rising also, glanced in turn at The O'LiamRoe and at the interpreter, who had gone even paler. De Genstan, appealing helplessly to the blank faces of his fellows, muttered something.\n\nThe man in white drew a deep breath, curled his fist, and brought it down on the table with a thud that brought the cups cracking on their sides. A stream of red leaped on the velvet. 'Traduisez!' he exclaimed. And the young man, stumbling, began to translate.\n\nListening, Blackbeard snapped his fingers. Pages ran. A surcoat was slipped on his shoulders, and fastened with gold knots. A chain was brought, and laid over his head. A pair of embroidered slippers was put on his feet in place of the plain shoes for tennis; and white leather gloves and a plumed hat were put in his hand.\n\nWith the entwined crescents of his monogram leaping with his ill-compressed, angry breathing, Henri II, Elect of God and Most Christian Majesty of France and her peoples, heard O'LiamRoe's translated words falter to a close. 'If his hair were shaved off, there's not enough skull in it for brains,' said the sieur de Genstan; and looked anywhere but at O'LiamRoe.\n\nFor a long moment, many things hung in the balance, and not the least of them O'LiamRoe's life. But Henri was not quite committed to an alliance with England. His need of Ireland might return. And royal dignity, in the long run, mattered more than royal vanity. He prepared to speak.\n\nO'LiamRoe's face, as realization struck him, went quite blank. Then he drew himself quietly together, his fair skin hotly red, his blue eyes steady; and by a visible effort of will, detachment, cynicism, amusement even flowed back into his bearing as, slow, heavy, measured, the King's words proceeded, shadowed by the light, hurried English of de Genstan.\n\n'You claim a culture. You speak of a common ancestry. You call yourself the son of a king. You show scorn for our customs and make fun of our person.'\n\n'It was a mistake,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nThe King's hands were clasped behind him; his voice continued unchanged. 'We are aware of your poverty. We are aware of your claims to learning. We are aware of the racial distinction of your people. But we had expected certain courtesies of the person and of the tongue. We were prepared to entertain you at our Court as an equal; and without offering you or dreaming of offering you the insult of our compassion. You had better, Prince of Barrow,' said the King, and the gilded gloves in his hand were wrung like a rag, 'you had better think well and invite that insult from us now.'\n\nO'LiamRoe looked round the circle. Shocked and shaken, they avoided his eye. The Prince's fair face hardened. Rubbing his nose with one finger, he cast a mild blue eye on the controlled and angry figure before him. 'Dear, dear,' said O'LiamRoe in concern, in contrition and with, at the back of his eyes, the faintest unregenerate spark of joy. 'Dear, dear. I have fallen into a small error of judgment. I thought the King here, you see, was a play-actor.'\n\nThere was another silence. Then, with an explosion of disgust, Henri strode off, pacing the court, and de Genstan seized O'LiamRoe's arm. 'Go now. Quickly,' he said.\n\nWith a strength quite unlooked-for, the other man resisted. 'Not at all, so. It will never do to be losing our heads.'\n\n'My God,' said de Genstan, who had lost his a good time ago. 'You'll come to table tomorrow with an apple in your mouth.'\n\n'Not at all, now. Wait. Here he is,' said O'LiamRoe, as the King swung to a halt before him. 'Ah, bad cess to it, it's a damned heathen language, the French. What's all that about?'\n\nDe Genstan translated. 'Since you have proved your ignorance in these matters, it might please you to study the monarchy of France and her peoples in their great moment of accord. His grace desires you to stay in Rouen at his expense until and during the celebration of his Joyous Entry on Wednesday. On Thursday you and your party will be escorted to Dieppe and at the first fair wind a galley will be at your service to return immediately to Ireland. Between now and Wednesday, his grace expects to hold no further communication with you.'\n\nO'LiamRoe had flushed again; but beyond that, there was no trace of anger or of chagrin on the disingenuous face. 'Tell him I agree so. Why would I not? The Emperor is the King of Kings, so they say; the Catholic King is the King of Men, and the King of France is King of Beasts, \"therefore whatever he commands he is instantly obeyed.\" And who am I, a mere gentleman, to deny him?'\n\nHe waited, to do him justice, until it was translated; he bowed three times in the doorway like the unrolling of some primitive carpet, and he departed. Thus Phelim O'LiamRoe, Chief of the Name, Prince of Barrow and lord of the Slieve Bloom, left his audience with the King of France, his principles firmly unblemished amid the smoking shambles of his personal impact, and his deportation pending.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe had no pressing wish to tell his henchmen of the event. As it turned out, he had no need. Profiting by his chief's absence, Thady Boy had visited every alehouse in Rouen, picked up the rumour, and returned rocking slightly to hear the details.\n\nHe bore these with more philosophy than Piedar Dooly, who, enthralled with his new role of bloodhound, could hardly wait, said O'LiamRoe, to see him half-assassinated another time. 'But I doubt,' he added, 'that there will be no luck in it for him, for who'll bother himself with me, now I'm leaving? Ochone, ochone,' said the Prince of Barrow, who, to finish it off, had taken a good drink himself. 'For it will be dull, dull in this town from now till Thursday, and with nothing happening and no one killing us at all, the spoiled souls.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Rouen: Fine, Scientific Works Without Warning",
                "text": "In the case of all fine, scientific works which can be done without being seen or heard, it is required by law to apply the rule of notice and removal: warning is to be given to sensible adults; beasts and non-sensible persons are to be turned away, and sleepers are to be awakened; deaf and blind persons to be removed.\n\nThough none of the King's circle, naturally, would tell tales out of Court, the whole city of Rouen had the news of the royal baiting in the tennis court in an hour, and like Leo X, said O'LiamRoe, who came to power like a fox, reigned like a lion and died like a dog, the rise and demise of Ireland in the bosom of Father France was not without note.\n\nVery soon in the afternoon, a drift of small boys began to appear outside O'LiamRoe's lodging, and to pass observations on the traffic therein. A man called Augr\u00e9d\u00e9 whose brother had died in the salt tax revolt called on the Chief, and had to be shown out incontinently. A Scotsman spoke to them in the street when, unwilling to lurk at home like a malefactor, O'LiamRoe had insisted on strolling out; and another one, young and speaking good French, had accosted Thady Boy in a tavern, and after a good deal of double talk, hinted that he could get O'LiamRoe an interview with the English Resident, Sir James Mason. Children followed them, and a man or two smiled discreetly, but no fellow Irishmen darkened the door.\n\nAfter some thought, O'LiamRoe sent a letter to Mistress Boyle with a lighthearted account of what had passed, forestalling visit or apology, and courteously taking his leave. They had, after all, to live in the country; Oonagh, after all, would marry a Frenchman.\n\nThe Queen Dowager of Scotland sent for Tom Erskine. There was no idle laughter this afternoon in the H\u00f4tel Prudhomme, where the Queen had lodged since her State Entry, waiting as the Irish party were doing, though in considerably more state, for the King's own Royal Entry on Wednesday.\n\nIt was only a week since Mary of Guise, the Queen Mother of Scotland, had re-entered her native France on her first visit for twelve years, and already she had lost weight, so that the long sleeves dragged on her large-boned, hollow shoulders. She was the Queen Mother of a sister kingdom which France had just helped to rescue from the hands of the English. She was the oldest member of the de Guise family, the most powerful in France and dearly cherished by the King. But she was also a twice-widowed woman who, in the space of a day, had been reunited with the son of her first marriage, the pale Duke de Longueville whom she had not seen for a decade; and with Mary, the seven-year-old Queen of Scotland and the only child of her second marriage, whom King Henri had brought to France two years since as the betrothed of his heir.\n\nFor a motherly woman, which the Queen Dowager was not, a double meeting of distressing joy. For a politician, which she was, an extra agony of behaviour to confuse the already terrible complications of her visit. For she was not on good terms with all her late husband's subjects. The war with England was over, but England was still giving shelter to disgruntled Scots; and reminding others with promises and pensions of her ancient claims to the Scottish crown. The Earl of Arran, ruling Scotland in the little Queen's stead, was weak: half-wooed by England and the Reformed religion England stood for; easy game for the powerful families eager to oust him and control the Regency. And France, having poured men and money and munitions into Scotland to help her win the late war, was reaping a fury of wounded pride and growing resentment as her reward. Looking at their forts, their castles, their streets and their beds stuffed full of idle, boasting, quarrelsome French, the Scottish half of the Old Alliance was coming very close to a wholehearted upheaval which might send both the foreigners and their ancient religion flying out of the window.\n\nShe had thought of all this. She had met that danger as best she could simply by removing the worst elements of danger and carrying them with her. But even so, before even she came to Dieppe, the powerful and violent men in her train were nipping and kicking and plunging at one another and at the ribbons which held them.\n\nAnd in the face of this she must move correctly, with haughtiness and with splendour through the excessive and appalling round of ceremony that had been prepared for her; must behave to the King and his Court, to her own family and their rivals and the ambassadors of every nation in Europe who came to pay court to her, as if she had come merely to visit her child, and as if, given her own way, she would not have smashed the gilded bubble of dance and laughter with a blow, so that these damned lackadaisical, self-important, rich, preening men would be hurled by circumstance round the conference table, where she would have them, to discuss with all the gifts in their power, the future policies of France and of Scotland.\n\nSo she sat restless in the H\u00f4tel Prudhomme after a morning of state receptions, with Lady Fleming and Margaret Erskine at her side; and said abruptly, 'Madame Erskine. I wish to speak with your husband.'\n\nThe page found him when he was paying his last calls before leaving, on Friday, for Flanders. The Chief Privy Councillor had also heard the rumours. As he hurried back to the H\u00f4tel Prudhomme, Tom Erskine knew very well he was going to be asked about Lymond.\n\nIt was hurled at him as he stepped over the threshold. 'I hear the Irishmen are being sent home. What does this mean?'\n\nSince Dieppe, he had heard nothing. He wished he had not told her of Lymond's identity. Now, in the presence of his wife and his wife's mother, he attempted to reason with the Queen. With so much else, God knew, to harass them, she could not afford to pursue indefinitely this curious whim, or allow its failures to distract her. Lymond's visit had no vital purpose; he was not her agent. His presence or his absence would make no difference.\n\nBut the Queen Mother's patience had run out. 'For whom is he working?'\n\n'Himself. No one.'\n\n'And whom will he be working for in a year's time?'\n\nThere was a silence. Then Erskine said, 'He won't be committed. He told me himself.'\n\nMary of Guise checked her temper, waited and then spoke in an even voice. 'You call yourself his friend. Consider him then. He has now his reputation, his possessions, his wealth. Yet at home his future is uncertain. It is his elder brother Lord Culter who has the barony, and the child which Lady Culter is expecting will oust our friend Lymond from his inheritance and even from his title, if it is a son.\u2026 He is idle then; he has no attachments, no dependants, no followers; he is ready, my dear Chancellor, for the dedication. In one year's time,' said the Queen Dowager of Scotland explicitly, 'I want his allegiance to be mine. I need it. But far more than that, the Queen will need it. This is the moment most critical in his life and ours. If I do not seize him now, we shall never have him. And now, now is the moment; for I mean to take this man in his failure, Master Erskine\u2014in his failure, and not in his success.'\n\nAs she spoke, the door had opened on a scratch, and a page entered, bending double in silence. 'Bring him in,' said the Queen Dowager, and turned her cold eyes on Tom Erskine and the two women. 'I suspected there was only one way to find the truth; and so I sent for him,' she said. 'M. Crawford of Lymond is here.'\n\nThe page scuttled; the door shut. The masked man in black, whom Tom Erskine had last seen at Dieppe in Jean Ango's moonlit garden, stepped delicately from the shadows. He appeared to be quelling a strong impulse to laugh.\n\n'I must apologize for these damned entrances,' said Francis Crawford of Lymond. 'I feel Tom here never knows if he should send for a bishop or start a round of applause.' And lifting finger and thumb, he slid the mask from his face, disclosing the intelligent, sardonic features of Thady Boy Ballagh.\n\nIt was late when Lymond returned to his lodging, walking silently under the rocking lamps skeined sagging over the crooked streets. Behind him lay an interview remarkable for its courtesy, its cool vigour and, from the Dowager's point of view, for its total lack of success.\n\nTom Erskine might have warned her, had she given him time, that it was a mistake to allude to O'LiamRoe's shortcomings. Personally he shared her doubts about Lymond's choice of travelling companion. Whether or not the sinking of La Sauv\u00e9e had been an attempt on O'LiamRoe's life, O'LiamRoe's present actions had certainly led to his and Lymond's dismissal from France. About the Prince of Barrow's innocence in all this Tom was perfectly confident: Lymond had not only studied the Chief in that preliminary week in the Slieve Bloom before sailing for France; he had set on foot an investigation of appalling thoroughness into O'LiamRoe's character before ever O'LiamRoe was approached.\n\nAnd Lymond had been right. O'LiamRoe was the one man in ten who would look with amusement and even enthusiasm on the prospect of duping his royal hosts by passing off a foreigner as his Irish secretary and bard. Unhappily, it was this very irresponsibility which had brought the scheme to a halt.\n\nThe Queen Dowager only got halfway towards speaking her mind about that, when Lymond stopped her. She turned next to the future, and to the prospect of closer cooperation, object unspecified, between the Master of Culter and herself. The Master of Culter simply reminded her, with unvarying deference, that what he did in France or out of it, by their mutual agreement, was his own affair and not hers. For Lymond, who could explode into fire and brimstone when he chose, could be equally formidable in the language of etiquette; and had already managed to give Jenny Fleming a chaste verbal trouncing for her morning's work at the bridge, unnoticed by either Tom or the Dowager.\n\nIt was at this point that the Queen Mother played her master card, and startled even her Chief Privy Councillor. 'And what,' she had said, 'if the Queen my daughter's safety were in question?'\n\nIn the ensuing silence, 'Is it, ma'am?' had asked Lymond.\n\nBut already, she was retreating. 'Of course, we know of nothing. Where could the child have better care than among our dear friends in France? But if her life were threatened, by some madman, let us say\u2026'\n\n'Then double your bodyguard, madam,' he had coolly replied. 'They are not in your confidence either, but they are in your service.'\n\nThey let him go after that, with something like relief; and after he had gone, Margaret Erskine was very silent, counting up in her mind the frequent illnesses and the unexplained accidents that had befallen Mary Queen of Scots, during her sojourn in France. Her thought had reached her husband. Tom began a single, hazy question, 'Does your grace suspect that\u2026?' and received the snub of his life for his pains. Her grace was visibly regretting that the subject had ever been raised.\n\nTo Lymond, presumably, the interview meant no more than an irritation brushed aside. Retiring, exploring, the swinging lights as he walked lit an emotionless face.\n\nThe streets were not empty. Light shone from most houses, seeping in slits round baffled shutters where shields were painted, swords burnished, jewels embroidered in the great, consuming fever of the Entry. A troop of the de Guise household went quickly by, banner held at thigh and wrist, and the lamps tripped and rocked afresh as the silver eaglets of Lorraine, the quartered lilies of Anjou and Sicily, the crimson bars of Hungary and the double cross of Jerusalem brushed by.\n\nA girl stepped back out of an open doorway, laughing, and Francis Crawford sidestepped softly and went on his way. More even than Lyons, than Avignon or Paris, Rouen's women were notorious. A mocking voice called after him, and below the mask, momentarily was the twitch of a smile.\n\nVery soon after that, he vanished altogether for a moment; and when he took the cobbled crown of the street again, it was in the portly, potbellied, unmasked and alcoholic person of O'LiamRoe's secretary.\n\nRobin Stewart saw him wander along the Rue St.-L\u00f4, pass the Palace of Justice and stop looking up at the newly finished tower of St. Andr\u00e9. The church lantern shone on the ollave's Adam's apple and upturned, stubbled chin and Stewart himself glanced up at the tower. He laid a hand on Thady Boy's shoulder.\n\nHis purpose, in a muddled way, was to give comfort; his need was to receive it. Thady Boy Ballagh turned round slowly, and said, 'Well, well, Mr. Stewart. The Orcades flowed with Saxon gore this day, and Thule became warm with the blood of the Picts, and icy Erin wept for her heaps of slaughtered Scots. We're to take the next boat home on Thursday, you'll have heard.'\n\n'If I had my way of it, those dewy young madcaps at Court would hang like catkins on a willow tree. It's plain to anyone the insolence was unintentional.'\n\n'And yet, do you know, I have an awful feeling that O'LiamRoe himself had a wee, little suspicion, a hint, a first trickle of a notion, that it was maybe the King he was facing after all,' said Thady Boy placidly. 'He wasn't very sure of being courtly, but he knew he could make a smart success of being outrageous.\u2014Were you going somewhere?'\n\nRobin Stewart recalled suddenly that he had been struck before with this man. 'I was going just a step up the road,' he said, 'for a word and a drink in the back parlour of a friend of mine. Would it interest you?' He grinned with sudden candour. 'You'll need to make the most of your days left in France.'\n\nWhich was exactly the opinion of Francis Crawford of Lymond, accepting.\n\nThe house to which he had been so impulsively invited was not far off: a handsome, dormered merchant's mansion behind a high wall, entered by a door recently widened. Outside, Robin Stewart stopped dead in his bony, marionnette's walk to discuss Master Ballagh's religion. 'Have you strong views, maybe, on Lutherism and all yon trash?'\n\nThady Boy's eyes were twin pools of maidenly blue. 'I have strong views on nothing at all, a mhic, save women and drink, and maybe money. I can content me barefoot or bareheaded, and keep Lent or Ramadan, such little weedy views on religion do I have.'\n\n'Aye, well. The fellow we're to visit is a sculptor. A retired sculptor. And an inventor. He whiles invents machines, you understand.'\n\n'Like Leonardo.'\n\n'Like Leonardo,' agreed Robin Stewart with great promptitude, and knocked on the gates.\n\nThey were not admitted at once. There was a whispered colloquy, and a short wait; then a man with a lantern appeared and led them through the inner courtyard and into the house, talking amicably in good English as they went. They passed, at his direction, up a narrow wooden staircase and at the top stood dazzled in the light of a door already open. Two powerful hands reached for them; two powerful arms hauled them inside; and a rolling bass voice intoned, treading strongly, like monks at a vintage, on the mangled accents of Paris and Perth: 'Robin! My sweet conscience, my great buck in velvet, touch me at your peril. I'm all swelled like a foxglove with the gout, and damned glad to see you. Bring him in, whoever he is, and sit down.'\n\nMichel H\u00e9risson was a big man, with loose white hair lit by the spare wax candles behind, and powerful hands rubbed by the hafts and handles, the wood and metal and stone of his profession into premature cracked monuments of themselves. Shouting cheerfully, he made them free of a comfortable, chair-scattered room with a fire at one end, where three or four Scots and French, already gathered, rose and offered their welcome.\n\nThe room looked what it was: an unofficial club, where men of like mind and diverse background could meet away from the hubbub of public taverns. The greetings over, Stewart pulled Thady apart and seated him. 'He's a good fellow, H\u00e9risson\u2014a brilliant artist in his day, before the gout. His brother in London was one of the best friends I ever had.' He picked up two tankards from the deep sill at his side and got up. 'We help ourselves. Get your drouth in good order, Master Ballagh. It's a grand wine Michel H\u00e9risson serves, and he doesna measure your mou'.' And he walked away, leaving behind him for five minutes the competent gaze of Crawford of Lymond.\n\nOne of the group before the fire was a minor member of the Queen Dowager's train; he was talking, in fluent French, about Tom Erskine's present embassy. From the number of used tankards, the circle had recently been much bigger; and yet the fire was quite fresh, with no long-seated bed of ash. Also, below the talk and laughter, and the chink of wood and metal on stools, there existed a rhythm that was no sound, but a pressure on the soles of the feet. No sooner had it made itself felt than it stopped; and Robin Stewart came back.\n\nHe spoke abruptly, after the first pledging draught. 'Thank God O'LiamRoe isn't to stay. I canna thole the man, Master Ballagh; and that's the truth.'\n\n'It's fairly dispiriting, I know,' said Thady Boy, 'when he makes a virtue of the very things that you would be after being sorry at him for.'\n\nStewart's voice slid, aggrieved, into its common note. 'Shambling here and yon, looking at the Seven Wonders of the world as if they were pared from his toenails, and making such a parade of his poorness and silliness that no man of feeling could bring himself to discomfit him. And all the while you've got a gey queer feeling that he thinks you're the fool and he's the wise, tolerant fellow laughing up the holes in his sleeve.'\n\n'Whereas it's yourself is the wise, tolerant fellow,' said Thady Boy; and ignoring the Archer's sudden flush, he stirred a wine ring on the table with a long slender finger. 'Tell me, since he's such a wise, scholarly fellow\u2014and he is, make no doubt of that\u2014why he's brought an ollave to France?'\n\n'Oh, to add to the splendour of his train, surely,' said Stewart sarcastically.\n\n'While parading his lack of polish and his poverty? O'LiamRoe brought a secretary although he is a fairly good humanist, my dear, because he was afraid he mightn't be quite good enough. He brought his saffron and frieze\u2014'\n\n'That I respect,' said Stewart. 'I can see that. It was a matter of principle because the English proscribed it.'\n\n'The English proscribed it, true for you; but devil a man, woman or child in the whole of Ireland is paying any regard to it. The O'LiamRoe himself has six silk suits in his wardrobe, but none so grand, let you see, as the gentlemen have in France. Detached irony about the world's work is O'LiamRoe's rule; and that is where he is to be pitied, if you are dead keen to be pitying us some way.'\n\nA calmness had come to Robin Stewart: a calmness wrought, had he recognized it, by a man used to dealing with men, who had taken time to feed the lions of envy, curiosity and aggression with these titbits and set them temporarily asleep. He said suddenly, watching the fat man's dark face, 'You're a great one for dissecting, I can see. What do you make, I wonder, of the likes of me?'\n\n'Ah, the touch I have is only for Irishmen. You've no need of an outside opinion, surely. You know yourself, Robin Stewart.'\n\n'I know myself,' said the Archer, and his bony hands tightened white on his tankard. 'And I don't need to like what I know. But, God, do we know other people?'\n\n'Who is it\u2014d'Aubigny?\u2014that you dislike? You needn't see much of him, surely?'\n\n'He knows the secret of a good life\u2014'\n\n'Has he taught you it?'\n\n'I can learn,' said Stewart with the same suppressed violence. 'I haven't a title\u2014I haven't money or education\u2014I've not even a decent name. I've got to learn; and I tell you this: I'll work like a dog for the man that'll teach me.'\n\n'Teach you what? Success?'\n\n'Success\u2014or how to do without it,' said Robin Stewart bitterly.\n\nThe ollave lay back. The waxlight shone on the black, lightless hair, the stained gown limp on his stomach and the hand, idly playing which still lay on the table. The trace of wine, like a jewel on the timber, was tremulous with a hundred wax lights. 'And the best way to success\u2014or the other thing\u2014is an illegal printing press?' said Thady.\n\nBy speechless instinct, the Archer's hand moved to his sword. Then his face relaxed; his hand dropped. Here was a decent, drunken crony who would be gone in three days. The presses were not normally used at this hour; he had never contemplated Mr. Ballagh detecting them. But Dod\u2026 what harm could a man do who would be thrown out on his ear if he so much as breathed on the King's boots? Most of his thought lingering all too clearly on his face, he rescued the pause, just too late; saying, 'How did you guess?'\n\n'Blubbering Echo, hid in a hollow hole, crying her half answer\u2026 In the cellar, is it?' said Thady Boy. 'I've heard the sound of night printing in Paris. What students of religion pay to read isn't always ripe for a Faculty of Theology certificate; and a retired artist with a fancy for machinery is surely God's gift to the theologians. Is there a great prejudice against ollaves of the more heathen sort; or could I see it, do you suppose?' Master Ballagh enquired.\n\nStuffy, stinking, choked with tallow smoke and reeking of humanity and hot metal, the cellars of the H\u00f4tel H\u00e9risson resembled nothing so much as neap tide in a nailmakers' graveyard. The half-cut sinews of monumental grey gods nursed tottering towers of type frames; from its seething copper, varnish fumes wreathed the eyelids of some armless oracle; a muscular goddess, hand outstretched, had a bucket of fresh-mixed glue on her arm.\n\nAnd everywhere, like inky bunting, the wet, new-printed sheets hung; while presses chattered and clanged, supervised by Michel H\u00e9risson, who, gouty leg notwithstanding, was turning out proscribed theological literature with one hand, and arguing its obscurer points with a ghoulish gusto the while. Milling, laughing, drinking, arguing around him, squashed and wadded among the litter, was the cheerful company which had left its traces in the parlour upstairs.\n\nRobin Stewart was already running down the stone stairs to join them. Thady Boy, pod-shaped behind him, paused a moment on the landing, his heavy-lidded blue gaze on the gathering. No one from Court, obviously, was there. There were some richer tradesmen, one or two evident lawyers and a good many students. Somewhere German was being spoken, and somewhere, Scots. He saw Kirkcaldy of Grange, whose name he knew perfectly well, and who had made the afternoon's clumsy approach in the tavern. There were some resident Franco-Scots, another Archer and Sir George Douglas and his brother-in-law Drumlanrig.\n\nFor a second Lymond paused, the thick smoke surging in the draught. The House of Douglas, splendid, ambitious, once the greatest in Scotland next to the King's, had recovered once already from a long exile in the 'twenties when George Douglas and the Earl of Angus his brother had been forced to abandon their plotting and hurry to France\u2014where they were no strangers. More than 130 years before, Archibald, Earl of Douglas, had been created Duke of Touraine for helping to drive the English out of France, and many a Douglas was among the Scottish veterans who settled in France with him then.\n\nBut it was a long time since then, and still longer since King Robert the Bruce had sent the Good Sir James Douglas to carry his heart to the Holy Land. The Douglas's most recent crusades had been largely to do with cradle-snatching. Angus, head of the family, had seized his chance after Flodden to marry Margaret Tudor, widow of the Scots King James IV, and sister of King Henry VIII. The marriage was less than idyllic in practically every facet, and the resulting child, Margaret, had gone to England, married the Earl of Lennox and besides being a possible contender for several crowns, was embarrassingly prone to demand her father's allegiance to England at moments when he was being made by main force to prove his loyalty in quarters quite different.\n\nThe Earl of Angus and his brother Sir George had tried to control the childhood of the late King James V, and of the present young Queen Mary; but despite English bribes and English pensions, they had failed. Now Angus was old, and there remained only Sir George, smooth, clever, nimble-witted; of dwindling account in the world of affairs, but with a son whose heritage he was guarding and for whom he snatched at what honours he could. And there was something else. In a fertile jungle of treachery and betrayal, George Douglas and Lymond had more than once matched their wits. Of all the Scots at Court except Erskine, Sir George alone knew Francis Crawford of Lymond really well.\n\nThere was still time to retreat. Robin Stewart turned round, enquiring, at the foot of the stairs. A rare smile flickered over the ollave's dark face: and he ran downstairs lightly to join him.\n\nDown below, the climate was scholarly, part-inebriated and wholly sporting. Michel H\u00e9risson seized them both as they tussled through the back-thumping crowd, ale in hand: Stewart's white silk shoulder was scarlet with claret and Thady Boy, squeezing in grease-spattered motley past a man killing himself on a double-bellows, was exuberant: 'Ah, dear God: how The O'LiamRoe would come into his own here now. But'\u2014as Stewart's face froze\u2014'how could we risk it, and him born with thumbs on his feet: you would find him flat in the very next edition of Servetus, folded duodecimo.'\n\nMichel H\u00e9risson winked broadly at the Archer. 'How's your learning, Master Ollave? Have you Latin?'\n\n'Are you asking an Irishman? Do we breathe?' said Thady Boy, and bent over the printed pages. 'Ah, dhia, he was a woeful fool that one; and the words coming off him like a dog shedding mud.\u2026'\n\nThe more precocious uses of a portable printing press held no interest for Michel H\u00e9risson, whose cheerful and disrespectful exploit it was; but an attack on one of his authors was Nirvana. He and the ollave plunged in, tongues flailing, while Robin Stewart stood by, full of proprietorial pride and black jealousy. In the end, he broke in. 'You've a cellarful tonight, man. How in God's name can you work in this crowd?'\n\n'They're here for the fun. There's paper coming.'\n\nIt was the kind of recklessness that Stewart could not stand. He raised a prickly eyebrow. 'Getting a bit cocksure, aren't you? You're taking in paper tonight, with the King at the gates and the whole place heaving like an anthill?'\n\n'Why not? They'll think it is another patch for the Pegasus Arch.'\n\nHe was probably right. His paper mill was twenty miles away; his arrangements were typically neat. The cart would arrive at Rouen, bearing his marble or his clay, his new furnace or his fuel; and in the false bottom lay the quires, ready to drop by grille and chute straight into the cellars while the cart stood, innocently unloading, in the inner courtyard. In the cellar, there were cupboards everywhere: in the base of a vast sculpture, with the armatures showing like the ribs of a bog-corpse; in the floor; in the bottom of the paste trough. Stewart thought he would take Thady Boy home.\n\nThady Boy had gone. Instead, a tall man in handsome blue lounged at his side. 'Hullo, Stewart. Who's your portly friend?' It was Sir George Douglas; and Stewart reacted typically.\n\n'I wouldna call him friend, just. It's Ballagh, one of the two Irish I'm bear-leading till Thursday.'\n\n'You ought to keep an eye on him. He's over there with Abernaci. Does he talk English?'\n\n'Oh, aye, and Irish and Irish-French and Irish-Latin for good measure, the times that he's not snoring drunk. All you can say for him is that he's under no illusions about his master. They're going on Thursday.'\n\nIt happened to be news. Sir George said, 'Oh, they're going?' and immediately lost all interest in whatever speculation had inspired his enquiry. He moved off, and Stewart pressed on to where he knew the turbaned head and talbot-hound features of Abernaci would be crouching.\n\nHe was in his usual place, with Thady Boy Ballagh seated before him, the worse for drink. Thady's breeches were stained with vermilion, and his idle gaze was focussed on Abernaci, cross-legged on the floor, his dark face hidden and his long, brown fingers curled round a knife. He was wearing robes, finely laundered and brilliantly printed, and a jewelled turban on his head. From a block of pearwood in his left hand the shavings were falling, tender and curled in the light.\n\n'Woodcuts. He's fair away with himself making pictures,' said Stewart ironically, towering over Thady's right shoulder. 'H\u00e9risson found him doing it one day, and asked him over to see it on the press. It'd surprise you sometimes what these natives can do. You wouldn't credit him with a thought barring slitting your throat one dark night for your buttons. Wait till you see the face on him. Abernaci!'\n\nThe carver looked up. Under the fine turban, the brown face was small and seamed like a walnut. Years of Indian sun had dried a skin possibly middle-aged to look like the sloughed hide of a serpent; his nose was broken-backed and ignoble, and he had a scar, running from brow to cheek, which clenched one eyebrow unnaturally high. He glanced at the two men, and then resumed his carving without a word.\n\n'Will you look at yon!' said Robin Stewart, who was no longer feeling so remote from his guest. 'And he can take a drop, too. Abernaci!' He bent over the silent figure. 'Drink\u2014good, yes?' He made a motion of drinking. 'More?'\n\nWithin the black beard, the thick lips moved. 'More,' said the man Abernaci gutturally; and Stewart, laughing, turned away.\n\nIn an untidy, stained heap on his hocks, the ollave remained, watching.\n\nThe carver looked up. The knife, razor-sharp, lay still in his hand; but his grip suddenly had changed. On the opposite wall a leather ink bottle hung with a table just below it, and on the table Robin Stewart's white jacket lay.\n\nThe hand with the knife moved. There was a flash, a hiss, and the blade, arching slim through the air, slit the fat-bellied bottle clean through. Ink, in a thin black stream, began to issue and splash on the table. The brown hands clasped, the robes were still, and Abernaci was passive once more, his dark eyes resting on Thady.\n\nThere was a knife in Thady's hand, too, although no sign of how it came there. He turned, balancing it thoughtfully, waiting until he might be unperceived; then he judged it, and threw. It was a more difficult target than Abernaci's. The knife hurtled straight to the bottle cord, and parting it, let the spouting ink flask fall free to spill its black pool harmlessly on the floor. Black eyes met blue in mutual speculation; and Lymond, speaking softly, said, 'More?'\n\nAnd then the shouting began.\n\nThe voice of H\u00e9risson's steward began it; a door banged, and his calling rang suddenly through the packed cellar. The paper cart had reached the Porte Cochoise and was entering the city. Stewart, fighting back to collect Thady, watched for two minutes while the scene dissolved into pandemonium, with H\u00e9risson in the middle sonorously making his dispositions to take the illegal consignment. Then he hurried Thady outside.\n\nIt was the ollave, cheerful with much drink, who wandered immediately from Stewart's side and was found presently halfway up the adjacent scaffolding. And it was Thady Boy, rocking slightly on the steeple top, oblivious to the Archer's angry hissings below, who spotted the spark of gorget, the glint of arquebus and the bristling shadow of pikes under the housetops in the Rue aux Juifs.\n\nThey raised the alarm in the H\u00f4tel H\u00e9risson as the cart arrived from the north. The grille was lifted, the base unbolted, and the bales were sliding into the cellar while the city guard was two streets away. Bouncing like a cork, Thady Boy ran downstairs to the cellar; and when Stewart, scrambling, got there after him, the ollave's voice, raised in charitable zeal, was already making drunken, flamboyant and shatteringly practical suggestions on how to deal with an imminent raid.\n\nFor years after, in H\u00e9risson's circle, they told the story of that night: how with a cordon round the whole house the bailly and his sergeants burst into the cellars to find nothing worse going on than an uproarious, a scurrilous rehearsal for part of tomorrow's great Entry, with charade following monologue and lampoon following charade under the direction of a potbellied, black-headed Irishman representing the Spirit of France, suspended gently swaying above the packed audience from the blocks and pulleys on the roof.\n\nAnd when, reluctantly at length, the city guard tore themselves away, the entertainment was only beginning, for they had forgotten to let down the Spirit of France and that fluent person, not at all willing to be ignored, had captured the hand bellows and, declaiming, was coating the seething heads below with black varnish.\n\nIt was Michel H\u00e9risson himself, draped half-naked in a sheet and almost helpless with laughter, who jumped for the cable operating the hook and let go, so that Thady Boy hurtled down through the air, past the dais under which lay the portable printing presses, past the bales of paper disguised behind scenery and the bales of paper disguised as scenery, and straight into a full trough of paste. A wall of white porridge three feet deep rose with a glottal smack and dropped in knackery-haunted gouts on the company.\n\nIt was as if a divine signal had come. The audience stood to a man. Into the nameless, lung-scouring gas which replaced air a clay ball shot; then another; then one with lead in it knocked someone out. Benches began to rise. The Delphic Oracle, tackled low, sagged with godlike indifference and stuffed her august nose at last into the copper. Abrupt as an overtaxed weight lifter, other deities fell. Someone whirled a stone elbow, skirling; paste-soggy clothes ripped; and in the glorious, semi-inebriated whirl of pounding flesh, the thicket of flailing arms and belling throats and the shouts of damnable hilarity, blood and ink became one.\n\nThey delivered Thady Boy, damp, clean and singing at the Croix d'Or at three in the morning.\n\nNot a few people heard him arrive. A door banged after repeated farewells, and an uneven satisfied chanting ascended the stairs interrupted by innumerable thuds and clatters:\n\n\u2003'Cows, pigs, horses, sheep, goats,\n\n\u2003Dogs, cats, hens, geese\u2014noisy goods\u2014'\n\nThe O'LiamRoe heard it. He awoke from his fireside snooze in the parlour and turned a speculative blue eye on the door.\n\n\u2003'\u2014Noisy goods,\n\n\u2003Little bees that stick to all flowers:\n\n\u2003These are the ten beasts of the world's men.\n\n\u2003The reason I love Derry\u2026'\n\n'Death alive, the world's only liquid chapbook,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\n\u2003'\u2014The reason I love Derry\u2026'\n\nThe solemn voice was outside the parlour. There was a prodigious fumbling, a scrape, and the door shook.\n\n'The reason I love Derry is for its quietness, for its purity and for its crowds of white angels. Still up?' Thady Boy Ballagh strolled in, locked the door, slung a spattered cloak on a chair and stuck out his tongue at a mirror. 'God, I'm full of sour wine and cows' feet and you could make scones from my underwear.' His voice was pleasant, without accent, and clear as a bell.\n\nO'LiamRoe, while philosophic enough about a reverse of his own, did have a conscience, and had been out of temper ever since Lymond's summons from his Dowager Queen. Addressing his prodigal ollave, his voice had an edge to it. 'The Queen Mother of Scotland surely has a queer style of entertaining?'\n\n'Oh Lord, no. I spent the evening elsewhere. Playing at paper games. With your admirer Robin Stewart.'\n\n'In Ireland,' said The O'LiamRoe shortly, 'that man would be put into petticoats and set to milking the goats. He's a terrible let-down to his sex.\u2026 So the royal audience was brief? Fruitless her corn, fruitless her rivers, milkless her cattle, plentiless her fruit, for there was but one acorn upon the stalk, and it failed her?'\n\nQuickly, methodically, Lymond was stripping. Under his soaked shirt the false stomach sagged in its leather covers. He unbuckled it, his face unruffled, and examined it before laying it by the hearth. 'She has her worries. No need to concern yourself.'\n\n'What did she say?' asked O'LiamRoe, driven to being explicit.\n\nLymond paused. His black hair, damply curling, showed a tinge of gold at the roots; and only the dye ingrained in his skin disguised the gold stubble of his beard. In the slack-lidded eyes lived an echo of something hilarious and vital. O'LiamRoe felt a sudden obscure drag at his entrails. If he could, he would have withdrawn the question.\n\n'What did she say? \"I have brought you to the ring\u2014hop it if you can.\" Quotation,' said Lymond.\n\nO'LiamRoe stood up. 'My life for you, it's another master you're needing. Is there not a smart, orthodox rebel of an Irishman that would do? There's young Gerald of Kildare now; but he's in Rome and maybe a thought too small for the hire of an ollave. Or Cormac O'Connor, then. His father's between four walls in the Tower of London and Cormac is wild, wild to kick the English out of Ireland; Henri would see that he came to Court and sat soft in the crook of his arm, and his ollave too. You would need only another name, and pink hair maybe.'\n\nLymond glanced at him, and picked up a towel. 'What'll you wager I can't enter the royal circle as Thady Boy Ballagh?'\n\n'Before Wednesday?' O'LiamRoe spoke sarcastically, the exaggerated ease out of his manner.\n\n'Or Thursday.' Below the collarbone, Lymond's skin was surprisingly brown, and the contouring was neat-muscled and shapely, despite the flawing of scars. He added, glancing up from his towelling, 'If I achieved a foothold at Court, would you stay?'\n\nO'LiamRoe's freckled face gleamed as he enjoyed the idea. 'As your ollave? Let you not be tempting me.'\n\nLymond flung a bedsheet round his shoulders and hugged his knees, his gaze on the hot charcoal, and this time gave his mind to it. 'As O'LiamRoe. This nonsense will sort itself out. And after the pleasure of berating the King's Majesty, it might be pleasant to spend the winter at his expense.'\n\n'Ah! The powerful old women there are in it,' said O'LiamRoe. 'This nonsense is to be sorted out, is it? And Francis Crawford of Lymond needs a sponsor, if that awkward clod of an Irishman will drop his pretensions to pride?'\n\nLymond was not drunk. But even taking a tenth of what he appeared to take, his head was not at its clearest to deal with O'LiamRoe in this mood, and he knew it. He said finally, 'You'd better play tennis with them on T\u00edr-nan-\u00f3g, my dear, if you're going to call thirty-five old. The Queen Mother isn't going to stir a little finger in this affair; and I'm not at all sure that I want to meddle in hers. I suggested a sporting wager; but if you're bored with France or with myself, no doubt you'll take ship on Thursday.'\n\nThe marmalade head was cocked on one side. O'LiamRoe felt like being difficult. It was the other man who was in his debt. He had brought the fellow to France as his secretary to please his cousin Mariotta, who was also Lymond's sister-in-law. He knew Lymond was Scots and not Irish, and he knew he was here with a mission. Indeed, it was out of a kind of schoolboy amusement that he had offered to help the deception. He therefore grinned, stretched, yawned an ear-cracking yawn and said, 'Will I stay, now, if someone kindly gives me a chance? Who knows? Ask me after the King and yourself have had a talk about it.\u2026 And that puts me in mind of a thing. Piedar Dooly has a morsel of news. You recall our half-footed friend of the whale?'\n\nThis time he had the other man's full attention. 'Who fairly spoiled your one nightshirt? Yes.'\n\n'Well, now. He's called Pierre Destaiz, it seems; and plaster whales are a passing concern. He's one of the royal keepers at St. Germain. He's an expert on elephants.'\n\nLymond's eyes narrowed. His gaze, suddenly impersonal, rested thoughtfully on the accustomed idleness in O'LiamRoe's soft face. Then he buried his face in his sheet, laughing noiselessly. His voice, muffled, came to Phelim. 'And he's come to Rouen for the collier \u00e0 toutes b\u00eates. Go on.'\n\n'He's been sent from the Royal Menagerie as he's a native of Rouen\u2014'\n\n'\u2014And the elephants are to be used in the procession. With the enemies of France painted on the soles of their feet. With a dugong, a pill-rolling beetle, and a full squadron of horse of three pashas. And the little bees that stick to all flowers,' said Lymond, laughing harder. 'Ah, my simple orchidaceous, rotten, fertile, maimed, beloved fool of a France. Tomorrow,' he said, sitting up with an effort, 'tomorrow we go, web-footed country cousins that we are, to see the elephants.'\n\n'Tomorrow,' said O'LiamRoe placidly, 'we stay in this room. And on Monday. And on Tuesday. By urgent request of the authorities. The Elect of God has had enough of visiting natives, and them not using their handkerchiefs and leaving marks on the walls, and we are confined to this building henceforth. \"Achieve a foothold at Court\" is it?' said the Prince of Barrow cordially, raising a limpid blue eye. 'Well, well. Busy child, I think I shall just take that wager up.'\n\nThey had three days to pass indoors before the Entry on Wednesday. They spent them drinking, arguing and nourishing a concatenation of visitors.\n\nTheir first, on Sunday morning, not too early, was Robin Stewart. Lord d'Aubigny was the official watchdog, but besides finding the task uncongenial he was involved in the day's dreadful events. Stewart had been told not to let the Croix d'Or party out of his sight until Wednesday, when he and his lordship would take them, under leash, to the great Entry before shipping them post haste for Ireland.\n\nHe took the job eagerly. Slit-eyed and thickheaded, he arrayed his numberless ball and socket joints on the Croix d'Or fireplace and analysed Thady Boy's recent performance. But still, after all his questions, it was hard to find out why to Mr. Ballagh inspiration seemed to come easily, and to Robin Stewart it came not at all.\n\nThen Michel H\u00e9risson arrived, his coat streaked with clay and strained across his broad shoulders, his white hair plastered wet from a sobering water jug. He leaped at Thady, his outstretched hand a flat boulder of cracked and cooled pumice; and thumped him mightily on the shoulder blades. 'Man, man, I wouldn't have missed that if it had cost me my presses instead of saving 'em.\u2026'\n\nThe O'LiamRoe and the sculptor took to one another. If the Irishman was surprised by his secretary's exploit he did not show it. He launched forth at some length on a parallel adventure and set the older man laughing so that Stewart was able to concentrate on Thady Boy once again.\n\nThe callers that day were largely members of the previous night's audience. They did not come empty-handed, and among other things brought a lively account of the Earl of Huntly becoming a Knight of the Order of St. Michael, with thirty-odd members of the Chapter trailing about Rouen clinking with what Thady Boy had irreverently described as the collier \u00e0 toutes b\u00eates, or Every Quadruped's Free Chain.\n\nBy Monday a small court had sprung up, with the Irishmen at its centre, and patronized by those of a liberal or unorthodox turn of mind who were willing to risk royal displeasure\u2014a minor risk, for Stewart was discreet. The O'LiamRoe, expanding in a climate he knew, was outrageous and entertaining at his ease; and Thady Boy, while visited by no wild inspiration under the eye of his master, produced sotto voce at intervals a caustic commentary which the newcomers cherished. On Tuesday afternoon there were some half-dozen there, including Stewart, sitting cross-boned in the corner cleaning his nails, when the door opened to admit a small party which included Mistress Boyle and Oonagh, her dark and singular niece.\n\nO'LiamRoe greeted them, his freckled face alight with pleasure dimmed by the merest crumb of a fret. Her headdress askew, her cloak pinned with three different brooches and long, unsuitable earrings wagging like some hair-controlled scale for hysteria, Madame Boyle beat into the room. 'Will ye look at him! He no sooner sets foot on the land than he ups and gives the holy King of it the desperate scold that a cow hand would be sorry to get.\u2026'\n\nShe flung back her head, emitted a peal of laughter, and lowering a face wiped clean of levity said, 'O'LiamRoe, I've been fairly bothered out of my senses with that thing. Had I never sent you a message, you would have behaved like a dove and be sitting at Court with your two shoes on the white neck of a lady-in-waiting, with respect and deference and fine meals and a sweet kiss in a corner to keep you warm this winter.'\n\n'Indeed; and it's quilted frieze I prefer,' said O'LiamRoe politely, beginning the introductions. 'And with Thady Boy at the criminality too, we have fairly enjoyed ourselves putting a blot or two in the terrible rule books they have.'\n\n'Sweet, sweet is your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' said Mistress Boyle, sitting. 'But I'll not count myself pardoned till I hear the whole tale; and what the King said; and what our pretty de Genstan got out of his mouth, and the hairs on him stiff as a hog brush with fright.'\n\nAs O'LiamRoe told it, it was a rollicking story. While her aunt howled and chortled, mopping her eyes, Oonagh withdrew to where Robin Stewart sat, grinning, beside Thady Boy, who was engaged puff-eyed and scowling over a solitary game of cards. Acid in her low voice, she addressed the secretary. 'The tale is beneath the notice of an ollave of the highest grade?'\n\nHe picked up a card and laid it down doubtfully. 'The novelty, I would say, is the least thing worn off. But the first time I heard it, surely, the balls of my eyes set to whirling like mill paddles from fright.'\n\nShe was cold. 'Why? You had nothing to lose.'\n\n'A man with a deficient helmet is not called to pay forfeit,' said Thady Boy calmly. He shuffled the cards.\n\n'A man who helps to hide printing presses might have to forfeit more than he bargained for,' said Oonagh. 'You flatter yourself, my jolly boy.'\n\nFor a moment he was quite still. Then he lifted his head. Oonagh O'Dwyer, cold, hard-wrought with unleashed storms and eaten with pride, looked full into his eyes. The heavy gaze, warm, cloudless and deliberate, held hers as long as it needed, and tossed it aside. Deep lines of mischief and laughter sprang to Thady Boy's dark face. He laughed. 'No. I flatter you, my dear, don't you think?' he said, and returned placidly to his game.\n\nHer breath beating unregarded in her throat, she got up then, her hands taut, and looked down on his bent head. In Irish, she said, 'Thady Boy Ballagh: would you not expect the name Boy on a yellow-haired man?'\n\nO'LiamRoe heard it. He gave a quick glance at his ollave; but Lymond's Gaelic was adequate, he was certain, and the black hair had been re-dyed that morning. Thady answered in English.\n\n'I pushed up through the sod yellow as a crocus, they tell me, and so they christened me after Papa. Boy was all they ever knew of his name; but he left the English version well accredited and they had no reason to disbelieve him in Gaelic. Oh, bad end to it!' He glanced up, gathering together the cards. 'Ah, the dear sympathy in that sweet eye\u2026 I haven't the least objection, mind; but it's fairly taking my mind off my game.'\n\nHer voice was quiet. 'Women grow in the fields of France like turnips. Don't you care for them?'\n\nThady Boy smiled, running the cards lightly through long fingers. 'Experiments have been a little restricted by the curfew.'\n\nShe watched his hands too. 'La Veuve at Dieppe will be son to the heart. Won't you miss her down there on the Loire?'\n\nThe cards danced without a pause. Behind them, amid the laughter and talk, O'LiamRoe had become quiet. Thady Boy took his time. He dealt himself a hand, turned up a card, and drew one from the pack before he said, 'No. A dear, neat little soul like a pot of strawberries, would you say; but hard, hard on the purse.' And he paid no more attention. She turned on her heel.\n\nIt was a long time before she and her aunt left, and still longer before the other visitors followed, and at last they were left alone with their Archer as guard. For once O'LiamRoe sat silent, hunched by the fire, his eyes straying to the dark, withdrawn face of Francis Crawford. They were sitting there still when the bell spoke, announcing midnight, and the morning of Wednesday, October first, 1550: the day of the Royal Entry of King Henri the Second into his good town of Rouen; and their last day in France."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rouen: Fast Drivings for the Purpose of Killing",
                "text": "The following are fast drivings and unlawful drivings for the purpose of killing: Driving into the sea; driving into a puddle; driving into mud; driving with malice and neglect, by which some are lost.\u2026\n\nThe wounds of beasts are as the wounds of human beings, from death to white blow.\n\nTwo scented red heads, fresh from morning worship, hung cheek by cheek like two peonies in a garland, window-gazing at the crowds.\n\nMary Queen of Scotland spoke first, dreamily, her face cupped in warm palms. 'I regret,' she said in English, 'that I bit your marmoset, my aunt.'\n\nNo regret was visible on her lucent, seven-year-old face. On one of her fingers was a small piece of bandage.\n\n'Don't apologize,' said Jenny Fleming, lifting her firm, pretty hand from the little girl's shoulder. 'Our nerves aren't what they were; and the brute had the last word anyway. Glory, child, if you get the rabies on top of today's little gadding, they'll bring the skin up over my ears like the widow did to the Judge.'\n\nTurning, the Queen eyed her favourite aunt for a long moment. She said piercingly, 'You're afraid! You're afraid we'll be caught!'\n\nAlthough a good many in despair had accused her of it, Jenny Fleming had never been afraid in her life. Her soul was fanned with peacocks' tails and nourished with stardust; her appetite for excitement was a child's. Children loved her. Mary, future bride of the Dauphin and treasure of the royal nurseries, was her own special care; but the six-year-old fianc\u00e9 Louis himself was an ally, and the small French princesses Elizabeth and Claude were her fondest admirers.\n\nThirty-seven children were being reared with the Children of France, to serve them and play with them and bear them company, and mischief and measles broke out in the nurseries with equal facility. This month one of the smallest princes was ill\u2014was dying, had they known it\u2014and the great household of babies, with its 150 officials and 57 cooks, was at Mantes. So that instead of the paralysing sea-growth of maids of honour, grooms, pages and ladies-in-waiting, Queen Mary was here at Court with her mother and with only her aunt and her aunt's four Fleming offspring to look after her.\n\nAnd today, not even these. James, Lord Fleming, fifteen, sandy and solemn, was to ride with the King in his Entry. Margaret Erskine, with her husband, would watch the procession from the state pavilion with the Queen Dowager's retinue. And here, at a magnificent window in the Faubourg St.-Sever, Mary Queen of Scots was to see it with her aunt Jenny Fleming, with her two small Fleming cousins and with no nurse, groom or page other than two members of the Royal Bodyguard of Archers outside the door. A situation with many attractions for Jenny Fleming, and which she had planned for some days to use to the full.\n\nNow, half an hour before the procession was due to begin, she glanced at the clock, jumped up and began distributing cloaks. 'Caught! Lord, we shall be if we're late!' And catching their hands, she ran for the door, the three children spinning behind her.\n\nOutside, the Archers stared straight ahead as the muffled figures emerged, although one of them winked at the trim, unmistakable Fleming back. My lady the Queen's aunt could make surprisingly effective arrangements when she chose; and today as always, her wishes were law. In making historic Entry into his loyal town of Rouen, the tr\u00e8s magnanime, tr\u00e8s puissant et victorieux Roy de France, Henri, Deuxi\u00e8me de ce nom, was, unwittingly, to be royally supported. Nothing, uniformed or not, was going to dissuade a parcel of irresponsible redheads from the iron path of a whim.\n\nAt dawn the same morning, leaving Piedar Dooly behind, The O'LiamRoe and his secretary left the Croix d'Or under strong escort to cross town and bridge and take up their stance outside for the Entry. Lord d'Aubigny, in a dress of unbearable magnificence, had collected them, and Robin Stewart, highly polished to the best of his conscientious ability, was at the rear with a handful of men.\n\nAlready the streets were all but impassable. Half Normandy was taking part in King Henri's processional Entry and the other half had turned out to watch. The streets had been crammed to the crown since midnight and the processional route, the Rue Grand Pont, the Cross, the Rue St.-Ouen, St.-Maclou, the Pont Robec and the Cathedral, was lined with tapestries and flowers, and the draped and garlanded windows were thick with heads.\n\nSomewhere a trumpet called, threadlike above the trampling, and the pace suddenly quickened. The trumpet sounded again.\n\n'God, we're going to be late,' said Robin Stewart; and Lord d'Aubigny, hearing, swore. The mistiming was his, not the Archer's, but his place for the procession, unlike theirs, was public and prominent. 'There's a cart,' said O'LiamRoe mildly.\n\nThe stresses of the journey had made speech so far impossible, but both the King of France's guests had seemed more tickled than impressed by the occasion, although The O'LiamRoe, industriously craning, had twice tripped and been saved by his armpits from being trodden flat underfoot.\n\nThe cart he had noticed held the last of the cort\u00e8ge: a huddle of garlanded nymphs clutching baskets; several men with cardboard castles on poles, or with antique trumpets or amphorae; two gloomy mock-captives with their hands tied; and three withdrawn figures in square-necked Roman costume and bare knees, burdened each with a struggling lamb. 'Come on,' said O'LiamRoe, and scrabbled diligently at the side of the vehicle. Thady Boy gave him a heave and followed, and Stewart and his men piled after.\n\nLord d'Aubigny hesitated. The decision was not his, but he could see no alternative. He had no intention, however, of personally riding in the cart. He had a brief, charming conversation with the nearest embroidered young man on horseback and was helped up to share his saddle. In a short while he had disappeared.\n\nThe cart with its habromaniac burden trundled on. The O'LiamRoe, wound like the Laoco\u00f6n on a trumpet, raised his voice in amiable strictures on victory processions that were a dead copy of the Ptolemies, and one of the dryads crushed close to an Archer gave a giggle. Yellow light burst from the sun. Shadows sprang fresh and lively over the crowd; gilt shone and paint sparkled, and cold, neurotic, bad-tempered faces warmed and coloured and relaxed. There were bursts of laughter, and bursts of cheering, and a surge of noise from behind them as the cart, reaching the gates, rumbled on to the bridge, and the fresh river air greeted it.\n\nThe Seine was covered with ships. On their right, the big merchantmen were crowded to the yardarms; and on the left smaller boats, brightly painted and pinned all over with armorial shields, darted backwards and forwards. On the far shore Orpheus waited by the Triumphal Arch chatting to Hercules. Beside them on the beach Neptune, a cloak over his blue robes, was sitting huddled beside a Seven-Headed Hydra which was lying on its back and eating a sausage. Beyond that sat three men next to a plaster whale.\n\nThe noise, the splashing, the flag-strewn spread of colour beyond, where the whole pageant wheeled and formed and shifted ready to move, like some private army conscripted by gods, jewellers and theatrical costumiers, was too much for the lambs. They broke loose. One got over the side of the cart. One, struggling, was hooked by O'LiamRoe's trumpet, and the third was silenced, threshing, by a pot on its head. To laughter, shouts, bleating and a shower of triumphant toots O'LiamRoe arrived at the muster point like chariot-borne Dionysus with his Pans, Menads and Satyrs but without Thady Boy Ballagh who, to Stewart's rib-squeezing chagrin, was no longer there.\n\nThere was no time to search. A fanfare sounded. Running, they reached the pavilion as the drums rolled and the voice of the Georges d'Amboise, over the river, declared the King in his chair.\n\nO'LiamRoe and Stewart found their obscure benches and sat. With glint, twitter, rustle, like the flight of small costly birds, the Court of France and its guests settled around them. Silence fell, into which, quavering, rose the Exaudiat te Dominus of the first advancing procession.\n\nBedded in scent and blinded with cloth of gold, The O'LiamRoe watched with the rest as, blackhooded, tall crosses trembling, a file of clergy appeared and paced slowly towards them. The Triumphant and Joyous Entry had begun.\n\nThe Chariot of Happy Fortune was in the middle of it, after the councillors and the corporations and the parliamentarians and two overdecorated floats. Drawn by unicorns and surrounded by nymphs, spearmen and halberdiers, it represented King Henri, enthroned, with four of his children at his feet, and a winged figure loftily poised at his back, offering a paper crown to his bonneted head.\n\nIt received a great welcome. Phalanx after phalanx of worthy bodies, however splendid, had had time to pall. The unicorns, led by costumed grooms, were behaving well about their horns, and the painted rhapsodies all round the cart were more than flattering while the pseudo-king, sceptred in ermine, was positively handsome, as well as resembling the real one quite a lot. The small boy acting as the Dauphin, was obviously his son. It was easy to guess that the angel and the other three children, demure on tasselled cushions, were also related. Reminded by the red heads before her, the Queen Dowager spoke absently to Margaret Erskine. 'I must tell your mother to destroy that marmoset. Mary teases it, and it bites.'\n\nHer gaze, resting idly on the float, suddenly focussed, slid down a familiar small body, and stopped at a hand adorned with a small piece of bandage. The Queen Mother of Scotland drew a long, shuddering breath and brought her fingers hard down on Margaret Erskine's soft wrist. 'It isn't possible!'\n\nJenny Fleming's daughter, pressing her lips tightly together, caught her husband's eye. There must be no scene. But, of course, except in private, there would be no scene. The Dowager's hand was already relaxing. 'It is, you know,' said Margaret Erskine. 'Look who the angel is.'\n\nThe Chariot of Happy Fortune reached the Pavilion. It paused; king bowed to king, flowers were thrown and cheering broke out; then the unicorns took the strain and it rumbled on in its turn, bearing with it, unnoticed by its less observant French audience, Lady Fleming, Mary Fleming, Agnes Fleming, and Her Majesty the Queen of Scotland.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe was very taken with it also, mentioning to his neighbour that it would be a grand cart for market day, and the hens fairly cross-eyed peering and marvelling at the pictures. The elephants which followed, tasselled, crescented and harnessed, pacing in three pairs between their turbaned attendants, fascinated him even more.\n\nLong trunks docile, brush tails lightly twitching, they patiently paced with shaky replicas of ships, forts and captured castles on the mighty massif of each back. The finest beasts led, a monolithic pair with the noble head and bright hazel eye of a healthy animal in the prime of its life. The bull elephant, with a certain amount of planned forethought, carried on its back four bronze ewers smoking with scented oils. On its high brow there lay a broad and shallow serenity, and its small, searching ingenious eye was irregularly gay.\n\nThey passed, and the foot cort\u00e8ge came, and the mounted Children of Honour. As the end of the procession came in sight the King rose, the princes and peers of his retinue with him, and prepared to mount and follow his burghers into his good city of Rouen.\n\nThe head of the procession reached the bridge and began to cross it. In silence the trample of hooves and the tread of feet rumbled over the boards. Gaunt and splendid in the October air, the Cathedral bell spoke. It rang in great strokes, beating on the wind as the Court, glittering silver and white, moved in a drift after the long laborious ribbon of the pageant. The Marie d'Estouteville, high and sweet, joined her voice to the Georges d'Amboise and from church to church and belfry to belfry the pealing anthems of pomp and tribute sprang to life. From the Grosse-Horloge itself Rouvel and Cache-Ribaud swung and vied until the crack of gun salvoes told that the King was nearing the bridge.\n\nFrom all the theatres, music rose and fluttered like flags beyond and within the crowds. A burst of cannon from the river told that the water pageant had begun. The crowds cheered, debris floated, and a firecracker, mistimed in the excitement, coughed, exploded and sparked under the bellies of the Queen of Scotland's four unicorns as the Chariot of Happy Fortune entered the bridge.\n\nAnother went off. The leading horse, sweating, jerked its head, horn askew, and with a plunge whipped its bridle free and turned round. The harness jangled, the wheels rumbled and skidded, and the groom, losing grip, ran forward and shouted just as the horses, jammed flat on the rail, came to a stop in a tangle of traces. The Chariot, swinging behind them, struck the float in front, split, and stopped broadside on the bridge, with four startled children upset on the floor and a king, prostrate, with a descending angel in his arms.\n\nThe six elephants hesitated. By the great bull at their head a man in Oriental dress spoke sharply. There was a pause; and in that small instant, unnoticed by the crowd, a plaster whale at the bridge end ran up on quiet wheels. Swift, white-faced and gruesome, it sped towards the last pair of elephants, and as their eyes whitened and their vast loins gathered, it opened its jaws and ejected, squealing, bloody and blinded, the one missing lamb. Like blown paper in a grey, petrified forest of limbs it hurled itself, insane, among the elephants; and the elephants, screaming, began to lumber away.\n\nThere was only one way for them to go; and that was forward to the bridge. The man, woman and children in the jammed cart, the watching crowd and all the impacted mass of the procession filling the far bridge watched them come in a trance of fright. The turbaned men began to run; the great beasts gathered speed. There were perhaps ten yards of road, densely lined with spectators, between the bull elephant and the bridge when the chief Keeper, running lightly, caught him with his iron hook.\n\nIt might have been a fly whisk. The bull brushed past, great feet thudding, housings swaying; and there was a crash as the powerful hind leg, lashing out, found the drifting side of the whale and made it powder. The Keeper dropped the goad, and laying hands on the crupper straps, tried to mount as the beast passed, but was shaken off, hands bleeding, before he could find a hold for his feet.\n\nOn the bridge, the trapped float rocked and crashed as its horses, frantic, splintered and smashed the bridge rails. Lumbering steadily, the six elephants made straight for the threshold, the bull leading, eyes white, tusks alight in the sun, burning oil jars rocking spilt on his back.\n\nOn the arch over the bridge, something moved. Plump, nimble, fluttering black, light as leaf on lind, a man dropped from the pediment and clung firm among the upset, steaming urns on the bull elephant's back. Then, gripping the harness with one hand, he plunged spur and knife both into the animal's right flank.\n\nThe bull raised his taut, dripping trunk, screamed, and stopped dead like a log in a jam. With a shuddering thud, his harem ran into him. For a moment they plunged, trumpeting, edging and thudding on to the bridge; then the bull's rider used the goads again quickly, shouting, and the Keeper, running up, added his strange gibberish to the noise. Frantic, infuriated, blind with fright and seared and scalded by the oil, the bull heeled like an undermined fortress and made for the river.\n\nThady Boy Ballagh, filthy, blistered and smelling like an in-season civet cat, slid off the bull elephant's back as it went under. A turbaned figure, sleek as an eel, with one eyebrow pulled high by a scar, passed him running and got to the great back before it submerged. The elephant ducked, and the Keeper, with the ease of long practice, wrapped his fists round the harness and prepared, standing, to be taken for a swim. The other five followed; and with heaving flank and spraying trunk and bright eyes turned suddenly from panic to pure mischief, began to put the fear of God into the mermaids, the monsters, the little boats and Father Neptune himself in the Seine.\n\nFor a moment Thady Boy watched; then streaming river water and perfume he turned, a little stiffly, to wade back to the shore.\n\nHe was still in the water when they reached him, back-slapping, shouting, talking, exclaiming, streaming down from the road. He was hustled from the beach to where a heavy, grey-bearded man in his fifties waited on horseback, a sword of ceremony stuck temporarily in his pommel. The rider bent down. 'You, sir!'\n\nBehind them, the procession was jerkily resuming its way; the wreckage was being cleared, and the shocked performers had vanished. Thady Boy was white, but his voice had a lilt in it. 'Your lordship's servant.'\n\n'Your brave action was marked by the King's Majesty. He desires to thank you.'\n\n'It was nothing,' said Thady Boy with modesty. 'A middling piece of invention, all patched up with cat and clay.'\n\nThe royal party was beginning to pass. The Constable Montmorency brought his horse to the side of the road, and Thady Boy followed. 'His grace desires to do your courage honour. I am commanded to ask your name and designation and to invite you to sup with the King and his friends at St. Ouen tonight.'\n\n'Indeed, now, isn't that kindness itself?' said Thady Boy. 'And I would think shame to refuse, except that the King himself was for having me leave the city this night. Thady Boy Ballagh is my name, and I am paid secretary to The O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow; and himself unlucky with his small chat the other day.'\n\nThere was a short silence. The Constable cleared his throat. 'I am sure that your departure can be deferred for at least a day. You will be advised. I am to tell you also that clothes will be sent to replace those you have spoiled.'\n\n'Ah, dhia, the sweet generosity that spouts from his heart's veins,' said Thady Boy. 'And the loving forgiveness. And then Sir Gawaine wept, and King Arthur wept, and then they swooned both. Mallory might have had this very thing in his mind.'\n\n'I am not empowered,' said the First Christian Baron, Marshal and Grand Master and Constable of France, Knight of the King's Order and of the Garter and First Gentleman of the Chamber and Governor of Languedoc, 'to invite the Prince of Barrow.'\n\n'And that is a power of good news in itself,' said Thady Boy with composure, 'for it would take an elephant, no less, to persuade him to come there.'\n\nThe procession was moving quickly now, and the Swiss Guards were almost on them. Montmorency sat back in his saddle, gathering the reins, his small shrewd eyes above the squat nose and rough beard outstaring the ollave. 'But you, my friend, have no objections?'\n\n'May I be struck by a mallet of lightning like Lewy if I lie. You couldn't stop me,' said Thady Boy Ballagli.\n\nLong after the Court had gone, crowds still jammed the roads and access to the city was blocked for an hour. The affair at the bridge, seen by them merely as a distant upheaval, had by that time been detailed ten times to O'LiamRoe and Robin Stewart. While the Irishman seemed only mildly amused, Robin Stewart, red-faced and a little upset, was avid to discover Thady and explore every nuance. They made the attempt to get back eventually, pushing through the picnicking crowds; but although they met plenty who had seen him, Thady Boy himself in his temporarily restored dignity was not to be found.\n\nAlone on the plains of Grandmont, disgraced in the trampled grass and litter, far from the celebrated procession, the six elephants stood, roped each by the foreleg side by side in the vast thirty-foot tent put up several days since for their comfort; their trunks peacefully swaying as the cowardie scuttled back and forth with limp forkloads of hay. Small puffs of steam came from their mouths. Their breath was sweet, filling the sun-warmed, crisp air; and their hides, soothed, clean and lustrous from the water, lay calm on their great hips like the skin of the moon. Only at the end of the line the great bull stirred a little, the towering back swathed and padded and the knowing eye blurred.\n\nLymond, who had been standing quietly at the entrance, moved a little; and the workboy, pulling his fork out of a bin, saw him and whispered in Urdu. 'M. Abernaci?' said Francis Crawford.\n\nThe boy was frightened. He walked sideways for three steps, saying nothing; then suddenly scuttled and vanished. Within the Keeper's own tent beyond, the door flap in his hand, a silent, turbaned figure stood watching. Scarred, bearded and withered, the brooding Djinn of the printing presses, Archembault Abernaci, head Keeper of the King of France's elephants, smiled, displaying gapped, broken black teeth, and summoned with a noiseless raised hand. Lymond passed the elephants and went in.\n\nInside, it was comfortable, with a bench and several stools, a small chest and a mattress in one corner. There was a cloth of coarse saye on the floor and a stove with the remains of somebody's meal beside it. Against the canvas was a stand of weapons: a hook, a spear, a sword, several knives and a mahout's wristband, the five lead-heeled tails hanging limp.\n\nAbernaci stood now by his armoury, immaculate in the high-collared coat, his face within the shining folds of his turban like one of the jewelled crocodiles of Arsino\u00eb. The black eyes stared unmoving at Lymond.\n\nLymond, weaponless, tattered and damp, gazed back, his head tilted. Then, still silent, he slipped his hand inside the scaly mess of his clothes and brought it out holding a square block of pearwood. It was the block Abernaci had been carving four days before.\n\nThe dark man's eyes flickered. There was a pause; then he broke the silence at last with a soft exclamation in Urdu.\n\n'I trust,' said Lymond pleasantly, 'that the sentiment was polite. You guessed, I should imagine, who had taken it.'\n\nThe mahout bowed.\n\nAmusement, irrepressible, pulled at Francis Crawford's long mouth. 'God keep us from gyrcarlings and all long nebbit things from the East. There is no need,' he said, 'to be so cautious, my butty. I'm from Scotland myself.'\n\nThe scar lifted, the black eyes narrowed, and the dreadful teeth within the curling black beard were exposed. 'Christ. It's yourself, Mr. Crawford,' said Archembault Abernaci, Keeper of the Menageries of France, in the purest cadences of Partick, Glasgow, Scotland. 'It's yourself; and here I never said sids for fear I was wrong\u2014heigh, heigh.' And the mahout sank down on the bench puffing and cheeping like a hen with a cold. 'Heigh, heigh; and the grand head ones of France with a scrape or two where they hadna an itch, but for twa clever lads from the Clyde.'\n\nLymond laughed aloud; and spinning the block of wood in the air, let it impale itself on the razor-sharp spear, engraved side uppermost. The arms of the house of Culter, crudely peeled from the wood under his eyes by Abernaci in the murk of the sculptor's big cellar, stared down at them both. Abernaci, his head cocked, studied it fondly, and Lymond said, 'You left it lying at H\u00e9risson's, for me to take. How did you guess who I was?'\n\n'We fought together, you and I,' said Abernaci, and grinning, hauled off the silk turban. Underneath was a fringed head, trimly bald. Below that, by some alchemy, the nutlike face was pure Scots. 'When I was between jobs. Ye willna remember. But my brother ye knew. A grand man at arms in his day; and he was with you and your men a good while. He's dead, I've heard tell, but whether it was the drink or the English I never found out.'\n\nLymond's voice was sharp. 'What's your name?'\n\n'Abernethy. Erchie Abernethy,' said the King of France's mahout, his face blithe.\n\n'So Turkey Mat was your brother\u2026' said Lymond, and went on with barely a pause. 'He's dead, yes. He died in my service. I can tell you about it if you wish. And then I'll go. I'm not proposing to make it a family custom.'\n\nThe athletic small figure jumped to its feet. 'Christ, man, there's nothing more I want tae hear. He was going anyway: what better way would he want it?\u2026 I formed my ain opinion of Crawford of Lymond, I'll say to your face, yon time I served with you; and Turkey formed the same. It was the only time in our two lives we ever agreed about anything.\u2026 There was a scar or two ye had then that ye carry now, and I was nine-tenths sure of ye. Sure enough to give a hint that there was a friend handy at least\u2026\n\n'\u2026Fegs,' said Erchie Abernethy in a vexed voice. 'Fegs, I'm right buffle-heidit\u2014sit down\u2014I'm that pleased tae see ye I forgot the state you'd be in. I'd a chancy half hour with yon big bull in there, I'm telling you. A nicer, kinder-hearted big bairn of a beastie you'd be hard pushed tae find. Heathens! Foreigners! I'll have the law on them, so I will\u2026'\n\nHopping, chattering, his arms full of cloths, he came to rest at last. 'Sit down, man. It'll pass off. I'll ease it for you in a minute. Man or beast, the treatment's the same. But I'm ettlin' tae know,' said Erchie Abernethy, tenderly lifting the ruined cloth off Francis Crawford's shoulders, 'I'm fairly bursting tae ken how ye guessed I spoke Scots?'\n\nLymond looked up. Superficial pain, withstood or ignored for quite a long time, had made his eyes heavy, but they were brimming with laughter. 'Well, God,' he said. 'In the water, you were roaring your head off at a bloody bull elephant called Hughie.'\n\nSkilfully doctored and done up in balm and bandages, Lymond slept on Archie Abernethy's pallet like the dead and woke up fresh, collected, and in command of a stream of cool, sarcastic invective.\n\nThe Keeper was impervious.\n\n'Ye needed it. It was part of the treatment. Ye ken the tale of the lassie and her pastille of virgin Cretan bhang\u2014'\n\n'Whereof if an elephant smelt a dirham's weight, he would sleep from year to year. Quite,' said Lymond. 'But I am not Ali Nur al-Din and you, save the mark, are not Miriam the Girdle-Girl. I can stand twitching my tail like Hughie any damned day of the week. Meanwhile, my time is short.'\n\nThe Keeper had unbuttoned his brocade coat, displaying a wonderful silk shirt and breech hose beneath. Sitting hands on knees, he studied his fellow Scot with a cracked black-stumped grin. 'I heard you were with the Irish prince, him that's soft in the heid,' he said. 'And under guard these last three days forbye. How would you be so sore short of sleep, I wonder? Picking locks, maybe, of a night?'\n\nSitting on the low pallet, Lymond picked up Abernaci's dress scimitar and made a cut at the air. 'No need. The guard was Robin Stewart.'\n\nThe walnut face filled with a malicious joy. 'Och, yon speldron. King Harry's prize Archer, all sense and no wits. He'd let a mouse out of a mousehole if it put on drawers and a mask. Anything by-ordinary, and Robin Stewart's fair flummoxed: you can dodge him blindfold, I suppose. They let him in to Michel H\u00e9risson's, ye know, and lay wagers on what he'll do next.'\n\n'Do you go there often?'\n\nArchie Abernethy rose. He caught the scimitar deftly in midair by its handle and hung it on the stand with the rest. 'I enjoy the carving. And whiles I like to hear Scots spoken\u2014a lot of exiles, and English too, go there.'\n\n'I noticed as much. The English Resident calls it a hotbed of intrigue.'\n\n'Och, it's a cheery crowd of irreligious rascals. They don't care. You've been making night calls on Sir James Mason then? And you the guests of the King of France?'\n\n'The estranged guests. We antagonized our host so much that one of Mason's men was bold enough to approach me next day. Our English friends are interested, of course, in attracting O'LiamRoe's alienated affections. O'LiamRoe hasn't given it a thought. But I have been discussing it on his behalf. I wanted to find out, and quickly, whether it was myself or O'LiamRoe someone is trying to kill.'\n\nThe Keeper's dark eyes were entranced. 'Why should anyone want to kill you?'\n\nLymond said ruminatively, 'That's what I wondered until today. I have an unspecified commission from the Queen Mother to be on hand during her visit to France. Which is why I am formed so fowle. I now know why she wants me, by God. Did you see the float on the bridge?'\n\nAbernethy shook his bald head.\n\n'Mary, Queen of Scotland, was in it, my merry mahout,' said Lymond coolly. 'And her aunt and two of her cousins. A private prank which one person too many knew about. Someone tried to assassinate that small child today, and it was the same person who tried to kill either O'LiamRoe or myself. Who is Pierre Destaiz's employer?'\n\nWell past its zenith, the October sun shone red into the grain of the canvas, spilling curious shadows on the wall. Beyond the flap, an elephant could be heard siphoning hay with a dry rustle over her back, and whining breathily as the cowardie checked her.\n\nThere was a silence. 'I am,' said Archie Abernethy at length. 'When he's here to employ.'\n\n'Who is he?'\n\n'A Rouen man. He was at the St. Germain menagerie when I went there in '48, with two others. They had one animal each\u2014Dod, think of it!' said the Keeper, showing his teeth. 'The beasts they had in the old King's day: hundreds of livres' of them\u2014lions, ostriches, bears, birds. Peter Giles did nothing but travel around and send him stock. And then the old King died, and what was left? A lion, a bear and a dromedary. That's what was left. I'm telling you,' said the mahout, rocking himself, 'it was pitiful.'\n\n'What brought you?' asked Lymond.\n\nThe Keeper shrugged. 'I'm getting old. But after Constantinople and Tarnassery I couldna see myself in a bit hutch in some lady's garden, looking after a wee puckle peacocks, or an old done lion and some doos. Giles told me King Henri here was building a grand new place at St. Germain and restocking, so I got the elephants together and came. You can't beat experience. I was in charge of them all, the birds and the hunting cats too, in six months. Yon one Destaiz didn't like it.'\n\n'Did he know you were Scots?'\n\nAbernethy spat. 'Would I get a job, would I keep a job anywhere with elephants, if it was known I was Scots? I'm Abernaci of St. Germain, the King's Keeper and Hughie's mahout; and in the whole of France, the only ones who know different are one or two travelling showmen, a moneylender, and a woman who lives in a house called Doubtance and kens not only my name but my soul, if I have one.\u2014And yourself.' His shrewd eyes turned on the other man. 'I know I can trust you, but you've only my tale to believe. You've been gey confiding for a man of your sort, Crawford of Lymond.'\n\n'You don't need reassurance,' said Lymond. 'And neither do I. You identified me at H\u00e9risson's and told me so. You ran your guts out with those elephants today. You're Turkey Mat over again without your nightcap; and I remember you more clearly than I want to for a murderous, reliable Partickhead rat.\u2014But I wish to God you'd tell me all you know about Pierre Destaiz. He's attempted arson and bulk murder both in less than a week.'\n\n'I've done you a good turn you don't even know about,' said the Keeper complacently. 'I told Sir George Douglas I'd met you in Ireland, passing through five years since. He was giving you a gey queer look in yon cellar. But what with the tale and the hash I made of it with my English, he was ready to laugh himself into fits and forget it. As for Destaiz\u2026 He was heading for trouble. I never took to him. He was in the procession with me, but he'd put in days helping his friends with yon damned whale, and he'd disappear for twenty-four hours at a time. But if he was working for someone else, I never heard of it.'\n\n'He was,' said Lymond mildly. 'But he knew he was being followed. Piedar Dooly's enquiries the first day possibly put him on guard.\u2026 Destaiz filled the urns and strapped them on Hughie's back?'\n\n'He did. And would Piedar Dooly be a wee, dour black fellow like a goat, that was haunting us all day Saturday, and upsetting the elephants?'\n\n'It sounds like him. He's O'LiamRoe's servant,' said Lymond gravely. 'They both know who I am.'\n\n'By God,' said Archie Abernethy. 'He nearly got served with a kick on the bottom. I was nearly sure Destaiz was plotting something myself, and then he turned as cautious as a dog with his first flea\u2014Are ye wanting to see him?'\n\n'I have been trying,' said Francis Crawford, 'to indicate as much for ten minutes.'\n\n'Yes. Well. There's a wee difficulty,' said Archie Abernethy; and standing, he began to button up the gorgeous silk of his coat. 'There's a wee difficulty. He's deid.'\n\n'You surprise me,' said Lymond dryly. 'How?'\n\n'Oh, drowning. He got dragged in this morning, and he was no swimmer, poor chap. We had to send the elephant back in after him.'\n\n'May I see him?' asked Lymond.\n\nThe Keeper hesitated. Then he said, 'Oh, aye. Come away. He's just next door', and led the way through to the elephants, nimble fingers resettling the turban on his head. In the darkest corner he bent, and hauling back a layer of sacking, disclosed the undignified and sodden corpse of a man with half a foot missing. 'That's Pierre.'\n\nHe had probably drowned as indicated; but he had certainly been knifed first. Proof or none, Hughie, the kindhearted big bairn of a beastie, had been swiftly avenged.\n\nCrawford of Lymond, looking down, kept his counsel, and the man Abernaci, equally wordless, softly replaced the sheet. They walked together outside, and faced each other.\n\n'Aye. It was a pity he drowned,' said Archie Abernethy, a genuine frown on his face. 'For I fancy if they're after the little Queen, someone else will have a try.'\n\n'Yes. Unless we find out who it is.'\n\n'We?'\n\n'I thought I might rely on your benevolent eye\u2014and that of Hughie,' said Lymond. 'How strict is your secret? If I send friends of mine to you, will they have to speak Urdu?'\n\n'If they're Scots, and you trust them, then I'll take my chance,' said Abernaci. 'Tell them what you want, and ye can count on me if ye need me. Of course the Irish, I've always held, are a different matter\u2026 but I'm willing tae make an exception for your Doolys and such\u2014provided, ye understand, it doesna spread. But, man\u2014ye're leaving France yourself tomorrow, are ye not?'\n\n'My dear Archie, were not you and I and Hughie all that lay between the King's triumphant Entry and a sad calamity today?'\n\n'Even so\u2014'\n\n'And has not the King invited me to appear at his supper at St. Ouen tonight?'\n\n'It's the least he could do. But still\u2014'\n\n'There is a saying of my adoptive ancestors. Though he performs a miracle, or two miracles, if he refuses the third miracle, it is not as profit to him. I shall dine at the Court of France tonight, and in the course of that evening, acquire the royal consent for O'LiamRoe and myself to stay as long as we please. For, to be perfectly frank,' said Lymond, gently reflective, 'to be perfectly frank, I can't wait to sink my teeth into the most magnificent, the most scholarly and the most dissolute Court in Europe, which so lightly slid out The O'LiamRoe, Chief of the Name, on his kneecaps and whiskers.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Rouen: The Difficult and the Impossible",
                "text": "The difference between the difficult and the impossible is as follows: the difficult is troublesome to procure, but though troublesome it is still procured; whereas the impossible is a thing which it is impossible for a person to procure, because it is not natural for anybody to get it at all.\n\nOne of the pleasures of Lord d'Aubigny's fastidious middle age was to see the Court dine, properly served, housed and habited. In diamonds, music and spice, in good talk, in good taste, in the secure knowledge that nearly every man present was of a higher rank than his own, Lord d'Aubigny felt that his life was worth while; that the great deeds of his forebears and the high honours of his brother Lennox were being outstripped by the splendour of his days; and that winged Comus was his bedfellow.\n\nIn all this glory, the promised presence of an Irish princeling's toadlike secretary was a blight and an affront. At Court, his distaste was shared. And when after Mass the Court resettled itself finally into the Abbatial Logis of St. Ouen amid a roar of talk in which with irony, with ridicule, with parody, with ruthless observation, the municipal efforts of the day were analysed, the cruellest and the wittiest quips concerned the King's forthcoming reluctant discharge of his elephantine obligations.\n\nMeanwhile, the ollave, of course, was still missing. It was one of the occasions when Lymond asleep wrecked the peace of mind of more people than Lymond awake. Lord d'Aubigny was if anything relieved. Robin Stewart became very short-tempered, but was persuaded to allow The O'LiamRoe, unruffled as usual, to take advantage of the relaxed atmosphere to visit his friends under guard. In the smouldering ruins of a major explosion, which left the child Mary's face swollen with angry tears and Jenny Fleming in bed, boiled to rags in the seething vat of the Queen Mother's rage, Tom Erskine was trapped by the Dowager's remorseless determination that nothing whatsoever should prevent Thady Boy Ballagh from making the most suave, the most accomplished and the most glittering debut of the century at the French Court that night.\n\nSo, in the utmost secrecy, there was despatched to Thady Boy's lodging a case of soaps, scents and jewels, a sword, a sword belt, a dagger, a paper for a horse of up to 150 crowns, and a set of garments stiff with gold buckles and embroidery. It lay sealed in his room all afternoon beside a similar parcel, of a soberer kind, containing a selection of garments from the King of France's tailor. O'LiamRoe, returning at five from a successful series of visits, beginning with Michel H\u00e9risson and ending with Mistress Boyle, found both boxes locked and untouched in the empty bedroom at the Croix d'Or, and beside them a litter of tattered black clothing.\n\nThady Boy Ballagh had returned, had climbed into his spare and salt-stained black suit, and abjuring even the modest standards of grace and hygiene enjoined on O'LiamRoe, had trailed off on foot to the Abbey Lodging of St. Ouen looking, as Piedar Dooly observed, like a potboiling of chimney sweeps' handkerchiefs. For, where The O'LiamRoe had an obstinate humour all his own, Francis Crawford of Lymond had genius.\n\nEach in its nest of gauze and gilt thread, of tissue and taffeta, swathed in silver and satin, in velvet and white fur sugared with diamonds, each face painted, each brow plucked, hair hidden by sparkling hair of raw silk, the wellborn of France sat in waxlight and flowers like half a hundred candied sweets in a basket. Last at the last table, soggy gristle next the sugar plums, sat Thady Boy Ballagh.\n\nComing in with the Queen Mother's train, Erskine had seen him at once, and noticed by the hardening of her face that Mary of Guise had also been taken aback. He sat, taking care not to meet his wife's eyes, or the carefully restored face of Jenny Fleming. He was familiar up to and beyond the point of boredom with these affairs. Plain food was his preference and plain clothes his unfulfilled dream; below his solid face, fresh as prawn butter, the whitest velvet looked slatternly. He sat; rose again for the royal entrance; noted Lord d'Aubigny's miraculous bow and the trumpeter who had drunk a little too much. There was a second, more brilliant fanfare, and the supper began. Erskine's eyes, irresistibly, travelled once more down the table.\n\nA weed in the fairest orchard of France, Thady Boy had been placed, with a malice both deadly and deliberate, next to the curled and painted, the earringed, the chypre-strewn young person of Louis first Prince of Cond\u00e9. Brother of the Duke of Vend\u00f4me, Cond\u00e9 was at that time just over twenty, a Bourbon of the blood royal; spare, sallow and of an extraordinary agility despite the crooked shoulder which he quite simply ignored, having no need of either an incentive or an excuse. The Prince of Cond\u00e9 was a younger brother with the tastes of a king. Below the paint lay the potential greatness which was marking him already as a man to watch in the field. Idle, he was a force to be reckoned with, one of the four men in the King's circle about which happily scandalized gossip most frequently flew.\n\nThe second was his older brother, Jean de Bourbon, sieur d'Enghien, olive and beautiful, who sat at the same table, newly back from London with one of the younger de Guises, with his favourite love lock dyed rose. No wealthier than Cond\u00e9, d'Enghien liked a mode of life equally self-indulgent, a shade wilder, and decidedly more eccentric in its scope. It was difficult not to like him, and few people tried.\n\nIn London, d'Enghien had left the third gallant, Fran\u00e7ois de Vend\u00f4me, Vidame of Chartres. A favourite of the Queen Mother of Scotland, the Vidame combined brilliance and charm with the subtle mind of a diplomat: if treaty making with an elderly queen was in question, the Vidame was the man to send. In London at this moment he was enchanting the ladies of England with four-thousand-crown parties into which even the stiffer noblemen of the Court threw themselves with abandon\u2014d'Enghien had brought to France a highly witty rendering of the Duke of Suffolk at one of the Vidame's parties, dressed as a nun. Lively, superstitious, enthusiastically scheming, the Vidame was the best company of all.\n\nAnd lastly, close to the King stood Jacques d'Albon, seigneur de St. Andr\u00e9, Marshal of France; soldier, courtier, wellborn son of the Governor of Lyons, who was twenty years older than these three young men; rich, adventurous and at the height of his power.\n\nFourteen years before, when Henri became heir to the French throne, St. Andr\u00e9 had been brought to his side to make of him a king of courtiers and a commander of armies, where Diane had been installed to instruct in the gentler arts. As with Diane, the growing love between the Dauphin and his tutor earned St. Andr\u00e9 the dislike of King Francis. As soon as Francis was dead, the new King Henri made of St. Andr\u00e9 a member of his Privy Council and a Marshal of France, appointed him Chevalier of the Order of St. Michael, and First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and later gave him his father's post as Governor of Lyons. Shrewd, courageous and intimate friend of the King, St. Andr\u00e9 shared with these three men, with the younger de Guises and with the other quick-witted, cultured and happily immoral lights of the Court, a talent for profligate luxury which was a byword in Europe.\n\nOf the four courtiers, three had suffered the displeasure of the old King; a matter of near poverty to men like Cond\u00e9 and the Vidame, who had survived on a pittance of twelve hundred crowns yearly as chamberlains-in-ordinary to Francis. They had used their wits, and contrived: the Vidame by refusing to marry Diane's younger daughter, which had endeared him to the Queen; and the Prince by judicious friendships among the married ladies at Court. Since taking his place tonight, for example, Conde had expertly avoided the eye of Madame la Mar\u00e9chale de St. Andr\u00e9, and instead lavished all his public attention on the handsome, arid presence of the Princess de la Roche-sur-Yon on his right. Divining with a sure courtier's instinct the King's dilemma and his desires, the Prince of Cond\u00e9 carried them out as best he could by presenting to Thady Boy Ballagh without courtesy or compromise, a permanent view of his round, jewelled back.\n\nThady Boy paid no attention. He sat like a blackbird in cold weather at the table end and applied himself with both hands to his food.\n\nThere were nine courses, served feathered and ribboned by good-looking pages in cloth of silver to the interminable blasting of trumpets. Knife in hand, nose to plate, Thady Boy muttered from time to time. ' 'Tis marvellous, surely. One toot for the ham, and another for the capons; and wouldn't you think it, at the third you get attacking the pages.'\n\nLouis of Cond\u00e9 faltered only a moment in his chatter. He was far enough from the royal table to exchange a little current gossip; philosophic dialogues with Marguerite of France were well enough in their place, but with the Princess he could relax. They had finished discussing the sale of chastity belts at the last St. Germain fair, which had temporarily doubled the locksmiths' trade before the unfortunate salesman had to flee the Court gallants, and were now into a little triangular affair of some years before between d'Estouteville, his mistress and a young widow of a Rouen Parliamentary President which was still having repercussions.\n\nA recipe for chestnut hair was bandied about, causing a good deal of laughter, some of it high-pitched as the strong Hungarian wine went round; and a conscientious consort of assorted wind and percussion followed the lutenist in the gallery. In a fleeting lull, the voice of Madame la Princesse de la Roche-sur-Yon was heard saying suavely, 'And what is this I hear of our dear Constable and the Lady Fleming?'\n\n'Nothing, I fear, that can be repeated at table,' said the Prince of Cond\u00e9, presenting her with a piece of wrought marzipan. 'Remember our friend on my left.'\n\nShe peered round him, her silver wig spooled, veiled and jewelled, her long buckram bodice coated with satin and jewels. 'The Irishman? Is he alive, my dear?'\n\nThe Prince neither looked round nor lowered his voice. 'Vivit, et est vitae nescius ipse suae.'\n\nHaving just enough Latin to recognize an expression of contempt, the Princess gave out a peal of laughter. Against the whine of the music, the roar of chatter and the clatter of sugar almonds bleached and milling in his teeth, the ollave droned comfortably on to himself: 'De una mula que haze hin, y de un hijo que habla latin, lib\u00e9ranos, Domine!\u2026 Tell me,' said Thady Boy, swallowing busily as the Prince of Cond\u00e9 whipped round, 'is it the King's fool, the fellow in black and white by the top table there?'\n\nThere was a little silence. The lazy eye of the Prince fell on the replete ollave, travelled from his black-rimmed hands to his mud-splashed boots and rose again. 'Yes. That is M. Brusquet. Allow me to invite him over,' he said smoothly, and spoke to a page. His eyes, and those of the Princess, were wide, vacant and impersonal. Further up the table, someone pressed a fan on someone else's arm and smiled.\n\nThe last course had been served. Soon the boards would be removed. Meanwhile the players had given place to tumblers. They came up the centre carpet springing and whirling and took their stance, the acrobats before the royal dais, the jugglers at the other end. The royal fool Brusquet, a hard-working man, strolled down from the top table and placed a privileged hand on the shoulders of Cond\u00e9 and his Irishman. 'Welcome, Master Ollave, fresh from the kingly castles of Ireland. Can we hope to match them in splendour at this poor Court of France?'\n\nThe Irishman thought, chewing. 'Well, at home, 'Tis not the fools only who make converse at table.'\n\nBefore Brusquet could reply, Cond\u00e9's dark, painted face turned. 'You would teach us how to be courtiers?'\n\nThady Boy bowed meekly. 'I would leave that to Madame la Princesse.'\n\nUrgent with epigram, Brusquet rushed in, as the lady exchanged raised brows with Cond\u00e9. 'The courtier's task, like garlic, sir, is to flavour his master with his own wit and skill.'\n\nThady Boy licked his fingers and wiped them fastidiously on the sleeves of his gown. 'Do you tell me now. I would put it nearer the surgeons', M. Brusquet: to bring together the separated, to separate those abnormally united, and to extirpate what is superfluous.'\n\n'And what, sir,' said the fool silkily, 'has proved superfluous in Ireland?'\n\n'Ah, did I say we needed courtiers in Ireland?' said Thady, surprised.\n\nA light had come into Cond\u00e9's eye, but the King's fool, his colour high, was again first. He was acid. 'We had forgotten. If you can manage one elephant, no doubt you can manage them all.' He lowered his voice suddenly. A page, sent from the top table, requested silence for the tumblers. Up and down the room, conversation and laughter fell to a mellow buzz.\n\nA resounding hiccough pock-marked the silence, like an arrow in the gold.\n\nThady Boy apologized. 'Strange, strange are your ways. In Ireland, now, princes are not known as elephants, and them walking about with their castles on their backs.' The glance he gave at Cond\u00e9's superb satin was politely fleeting. 'But there is a saying. A fool, though he live in the company of the wise, understands nothing of the true doctrine as a spoon tastes not the flavour of the soup.' He choked, but failed to stifle another shattering hiccough.\n\nCond\u00e9 said softly, forestalling Brusquet, 'The spoon has compensations. Of washing thrice daily, for example.' He had an audience of perhaps half a dozen, and at the hiccoughs more were turning.\n\n'Not in Ireland,' said Thady Boy, his blue eyes innocent; at ease from his tangled black crown to his fine, dirty hands. ''Tis not the gentlefolk but the beans that we put into water, so that they swell and go soft.\u2026 To turn to these hiccoughs, now. There's a thing you do with a cup to stop them?'\n\n'What?' The Prince of Cond\u00e9, drawn into extraordinary t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate, was momentarily at a loss. Another report like a pistol shot escaped the Irishman's glottis, and more heads turned. Distantly, by the King's chair, Lord d'Aubigny moved restively. The tumblers, leaping, looked resigned.\n\nDiamonds flashing, Cond\u00e9 picked up his silver drinking cup and offered it to the sufferer, his face suddenly contorted. Thady Boy shook his head, exploded and explained. The cure sounded incredible. The Princess said, 'Give him water!' She was amused, and in a lifetime of boredom, the moment was worth keeping. A laugh rippled up the table, and Cond\u00e9 jerked his head.\n\nA page, misunderstanding, brought a fingerbowl, the rose leaves still floating, and Thady Boy, between two explosions, had his chin in it when Cond\u00e9 pulled it away. A silver tankard was brought. 'Oh, Jesus, no!' said Thady Boy, and hiccoughed. 'Two ears, the thing must have.\u2026 It's clean infallible. Ah, wait you now. There she is!' And rising, The O'LiamRoe's ollave tipped the royal flowers from their tall vase before him, lifted it, and inserting his chin, attempted to suck the far rim. Brackish water poured round his ears. It soaked his jerkin and streamed on the cloth, and jellied leaves, slipping through, came to rest on Cond\u00e9's white satin. From about them, there was a muffled round of applause and a low cheer; and opening watery eyes Thady acknowledged it, before exploding like the tuck of a drum. '\u2026Infallible,' he was heard to say; and his two hands grasped the handles again.\n\nThree people pulled him back from it, and as many more offered advice, some less sober than others. 'Something cold.' 'A key.' 'A coin.' 'Madame de Valentinois,' said someone else, sotto voce.\n\nThe Prince of Cond\u00e9, who had started to laugh, opened his purse on the table and then stopped. He was too late. Thady Boy's long fingers had already darted inside the mesh. 'The very thing, so!' And he held up a key: a very fine one of silver gilt, with leaves and flowers and a crest on the stem. Cond\u00e9 snatched. Madame la Mar\u00e9chale de St. Andr\u00e9 was not watching\u2014she was deep in low talk with de Lorges. But her husband, from across the carpet, stared at the pretty key with his thoughts plain on his face. The eyes of the two men met; and the limpid blue gaze of Thady Boy, after dwelling on them both, turned and surveyed his audience. One eye closed, then both, in the most stupendous upheaval yet, and he slipped the key down his spine and wriggled. 'Although, dhia, you are all wrong; it is for a nosebleed, so.\u2026' From along the table, Jean de Bourbon's silvery laugh rang out.\n\nWith practised ease, his neighbours softened the pause. They chattered to Cond\u00e9; they called gentle advice; they summoned pages to mop up the water while their perceptive senses descended like locusts on the immediate conduct of Cond\u00e9, of St. Andr\u00e9 and of his wife. At the top table, the King sent to know the reason for the flurry. In a low and private whisper the details, discreetly censored, began their journey up the scented tablecloths. A sense of tolerance and even of indebtedness began to settle on the Irishman's neighbours. Cond\u00e9 was perhaps a little quiet; but the others, drawling, vied with each other as the tables were removed in trying to cure Thady Boy's hiccoughs; and Cond\u00e9's brother, smiling, watchful, had begun to flicker his fan.\n\nIt was then that the jugglers got involved. Ignoring the laughter, eyes snakelike, arms whirling in particoloured costume, they sent blunt-edged daggers in a stream to each other, their hands a pink blur in the slipstream of silver. Thady Boy exploded, his arms full of remedies, and somehow a two-handled vase flashed alien into the glittering stream. Cramp-fingered and incredulous, the first juggler waited for it, changed grip desperately, and sent it back to his partner in a shower of knives. The next convoy of daggers brought a key; and then a cup appeared. The juggler caught it and hurled it to the side, where Thady Boy with no apparent effort received it.\n\nSwift, timely, in perfect position, one of the juggler's little knives came back from the same quarter; then another; then the cup. His embrace slipping with objects, Thady Boy seemed to have acquired a whirlpool of possessions in mid-air: dishes and salt-cellars began to join it. His object seemed to be to regain possession of the amphora; but instead a stream of incoming knives began mysteriously to shoot at him. With combined and deadly malice, the jugglers had begun to incorporate Thady Boy in the act. From knives, they fed the rest of their stock into the air. The knives turned to balls, the balls to rings, the rings to eggs. He returned them all.\n\nBy now the whole room was watching. From a rustle of amusement rose a few cheers; then the King, leaning forward, was seen to smile, and the cheering became louder. From the top table Lord d'Aubigny, his handsome face on fire, strode down to the ollave; then backed a step as an egg, mishandled, landed, thickly soggy, in his shirt. Another, slipping badly astray, splashed M. Brusquet, talking hoarsely and unheard in what was approaching a din. The jugglers themselves began to suffer.\n\nTheir clothes were not cheap. To preserve their garments and the shreds of their professionalism they with one accord moved backwards, out of range and towards the end of the room. The alien objects\u2014the cup, the key, the vase\u2014dropped to the floor. A last tremendous hiccough shook Thady. Clothes streaming with egg yolk and water, hair erect as the crest on a jay, he leaped and fell on the amphora in the exact moment that Cond\u00e9 leaped and fell on the key. There was a squelching collision. Thady Boy tripped, rocked and collapsed, and falling, snatched at the carpet. Far off at the end, in front of the dais, the pyramid of tumblers, wreathed in dazzling smiles, planed a moment, genuflected and shot into space.\n\nThe King of France laughed. And like the well-bred bone and tinkle of an ancient and imperial sepulchre on the eve of All Hallows, the bored and over-refined flower of French civilization gave way to its mirth.\n\nThe tumblers had gone; the mess had been cleared up, and in the muted, end-of-meal light, diamonds flickered, caught like stars in quick water, as the company talked and laughed, and the King summoned Thady Boy to his chair.\n\nAs Lymond walked past without a sign, Tom Erskine at last allowed his eyes to meet the Queen Dowager's with gentle triumph in his gaze. Thady Boy's face was childlike in its innocence, and the wide, fringed blue eyes met the King's with confidence, with a trust perfectly endearing. Henri of France addressed him in his deep, pleasant voice. 'You have made chaos of my supper and a shambles of my supper room, sir. Are dinners so conducted in Ireland?'\n\n'We repel sadness if we can. It is a duty of our profession.'\n\n'You were not invited, I believe,' said the King, 'to repel sadness.'\n\n'I was not invited, I believe, to repel elephants,' said Thady Boy with serenity. 'We turn our hand to whatever we may.'\n\nThe royal eyes searched for presumption and found none. The royal face relaxed a little. 'It is true, both your endeavours today have made you remarkably damp.'\n\n'It is not my favourite element. I had no choice.\n\n\u2003'A la fontaine je voudrais\n\n\u2003Avec ma belle aller jouer.\n\n'Ma belle being a cow elephant called Annie.'\n\n'Ah, you quote poetry,' said Henri. 'But you prefer horseplay to music?'\n\n'It depends on the music,' said Thady Boy with the gentlest gravity.\n\nBeside the King, Catherine, Queen of France, had made leisurely study of him, her nimble mind and blanched cultures weighing his answers. She now spoke, her voice muted. 'You dislike the King's lutenist?' The consort, she was aware, had been unspeakable.\n\n'I should be proud to have trained him,' said the ollave.\n\nShe sat back and a little drift of comment ran along the table, with a laugh. The King was smiling. 'You think you could do as well?'\n\n'It is my profession.'\n\n'As well as elephant riding and juggling?'\n\n'These are my field sports.'\n\nWithout looking round, the King snapped his fingers. Lord d'Aubigny, blank and deferential, stepped forward. 'Fetch Alberto quickly.' To Thady Boy Ballagh, the King spoke slyly. 'We have heard the buffoon; show us the bard, Master Ballagh. Play for us, sing, perform as well as M. de Ripa, and you shall have a full purse to take back to Ireland tomorrow.'\n\nSlowly Thady Boy shook his black head. 'Money, now, that is not the price of a song. The reward we would ask, O'LiamRoe and myself, is leave to enjoy a little longer the wonders and delights of your country, and to atone for the innocent mistake which led the Prince of Barrow, to his sorrow, into such misfortune the other day.'\n\nThere was a silence. 'I cannot,' said the King at last. 'I cannot under any circumstances have your master here at Court.'\n\n'The O'LiamRoe,' said Thady Boy delicately, 'is not accustomed to Court life. He asks only to remain and study the grand country it is.'\n\nThe King hesitated. De Ripa had come in, looking startled, and carrying his lute. Further along the table, the Dowager of Scotland chatted softly to her neighbour, ignoring the little audience. The Constable of France, excusing himself, rose and bending over the King's chair, murmured in his ear.\n\nHenri turned, collected the unspoken agreement of his Queen, and said pleasantly to the Irishman, 'If these are the only conditions under which you will play, then we must of course agree. But we wish it understood that we propose passing the winter at Blois, and that none but the finest in each profession accompany us there. The lute is my own instrument. Her grace the Queen, my lady sister, and my sweet sister of Scotland besides M. de Ripa and myself will judge you.' Somewhere under the white and silver, there was an amiable spirit. 'In Ireland, the standards for such things may be different. Do not be disappointed. You will not leave the poorer,' said Henri of France.\n\nThe bundle of wattle and daub which was Thady Boy Ballagh straightened up. His gaze wandered past the King to the Queen Mother, to Erskine, to Margaret, to Jenny Fleming, to Lord d'Aubigny behind them, and down the long tables to Cond\u00e9 and the Princess, d'Enghien and St. Andr\u00e9\u2014all the bored, chattering faces. Then he turned and, bowing elaborately, accepted the challenge.\n\nIn the softly lit hall the command was passed; the noise died. Heavy with food and wine, warm and weakened with laughter, and laden with visiting dreams of the night hours ahead, the predatory and feckless flower of France lay wreathed in its velvets, and the Bodyguard, in sparkling white, stood silent behind.\n\nThere was a low chair for the player, and a stool for his foot. Thady Boy took the satiny, pear-sliced lute from the Italian and smiled at him; the dark eyes were inimical for a moment longer, then smiled back. Drowned in the coloured darks of the floor, Thady Boy sat with the frail waxlight over his head, bearded stubble and obesity sunk in the darkness. From his right hand came a hardly heard brushing of sound; then he spoke in his skilful, velvety Irish-French.\n\n'To the ladies of France, who win music and love as their birthright. To the ladies of France, the tale of the King of Kerry's daughter whose greenan was thatched with eagles' wings, and their breasts made her pillow.'\n\nFor years he had commanded men and knew the trick of controlling and throwing out tone. He knew others too. His fingers flowed over the shining wood, plucking, snapping; dipping the phrases into acid and wiping them pure again. Then Thady's voice joined the music, and the spare, tragic story was told, reaching into the carved room where the silence was the same as the night silence of a deep Kerry meadow. Moving to its end the music was strict and steely light; the pull at the heart extraordinary. In that company wholly spoiled, wholly self-centred, ruthless, neurotic, worldly-wise, more than one woman bit her lip to avoid tears and ridicule.\n\nIt ended; and there was silence, and then a rattle of cautious, genuine approval; and Marguerite of France, her jewels running like light over her dress, rose and knelt by the ollave. 'I pray you\u2026 play Palestrina for me. And sing me this.' And she stayed, watching his hands, as the fastidious music was made, watching his face as he sang the words she had requested.\n\n\u2003'Si la noche se hace oscura,\n\n\u2003y tan corto es el camino,\n\n\u2003i c\u00f3mo no ven\u00eds, amore?\u2026\n\n\u2003C\u00f3mo no ven\u00eds, amore?'\n\nThe stamp of her approval, the vivid attention on Henri's face, the concentration on de Ripa's, broached the brittle defences of pride, and opened the golden floodgates of fashion. During the poem, someone sighed. Towards the end, the Duchess de Guise pulled out her handkerchief. As it finished, a wave of sensitive acclamation engulfed the singer and, charmingly, other ladies surrounded him. He glanced at them thoughtfully, and roused the strings this time to gentle satire. The song was new, and it pleased them. He sang again, settings by Jannequin and Certon; Il n'est soing que quant on a fain; Belle Doette, Mout me desagree; and songs even older. He sang in Gaelic, s\u00edrechtach music; and drawn like the tides by the wordless drag of the pain, they wept this time and were proud of it. And later, he sang them songs which were spicy as well as romantic, and they laughed and cheered and joined in with the catch phrases. But he took no risks, yet.\n\nThey were all, or nearly all, his patrons. Cond\u00e9, for dignity's sake, was his loudest admirer. Marguerite of Savoy addressed him softly between songs, and Jean de Bourbon, sieur d'Enghien, thoughtfully fluttered his fan. The two senior de Guises smiled with tolerant approval. Did they know who Thady Boy was? Erskine thought it unlikely. The risks were too great.\n\nOnly two people reacted differently. Margaret Erskine sat in silence, as she had done the whole evening, her candid gaze on the ollave. Only when he sang, her face changed to something very like pain. And Brusquet, angered, had left.\n\nTowards the end, when the circle about the singer overflowed, and people were moving freely, talking, singing and drinking wine, Sir George Douglas leaned confidentially on Thady Boy's shoulder as he sat, head downbent, tuning the lute. 'My dear man, how fortunate that your friend Abernaci was in charge of the elephants.'\n\nThe implication was obvious. The Bourbon beside him looked up. 'You're wrong this time, my Scots Machiavelli. Abernaci would never permit the big U\u00e9 to be fried\u2014not for His Holiness himself.' And Cond\u00e9 chimed in, yawning. 'The scents must have been worse than usual. They ruined the poor creature's skin. Let that be a lesson to you, my dear.'\n\nIt was the oldest woman there who took the point. Diane de Poitiers, Duchess de Valentinois, was not easily moved, but she was intensely curious about the newcomer; and had no intention of competing with the flattering circle on the floor. Neither Cond\u00e9 nor his absent friend the Vidame was a favourite of hers. She moved coolly to remove their prot\u00e9g\u00e9 to rarer climes. 'If the elephant was hurt,' said Madame de Valentinois, 'did M. Ballagh not suffer injury?'\n\nLike a thunderclap, watching Lymond's taut back, Erskine realized that she had hit on the truth; and further, that this was no part of the evening's improvisations. His personal state, both spiritual and physical, was Lymond's own affair; and injury, if he were injured, spelled nothing but inefficiency within his creed. Nervously, Erskine saw the idea spread among Thady's admirers; heard the mellow cries of well-bred curiosity; and saw St. Andr\u00e9, more than a little in drink, lay hands on the ollave's soiled shirt.\n\nLymond sprang to his feet.\n\nHe's going to throw it away, thought Erskine. Step out of character, wreck the whole evening's work. He's going to turn round and treat them like bloody servants\u2026 Christ! For Lymond's sharp blue gaze, swinging round, had caught the stiff face of the Queen Mother of Scotland. With every nerve end in his body, Tom Erskine willed the Dowager to school her face. The shadow of a threat, the shadow of an appeal, the slightest effort to prompt him, and she had ceded the evening; she had lost Thady Boy Ballagh; and she had lost Lymond for good.\n\nThe Queen Mother stared at Lymond, the sea-cold gaze without focus, and, scratching her nose, turned to ask her neighbour a question. But already the danger had passed. Lymond, standing, had looked beyond her and caught the flare of pure anger in Margaret Erskine's brown eyes. His own narrowed. He hesitated for a second; then turning, allowed St. Andr\u00e9 without protest to claw open his doublet.\n\nUnder the egg-stained shirt, the burns were obvious where the acid had caught his shoulders and back. Madame de Valentinois rose. 'Bring M. Ballagh to me.'\n\nFrom the high chair the King spoke to Lord d'Aubigny and his lordship moved also towards the ollave. John Stewart's manner had undergone a slight change. A wit, a poet, a singer of sorts who had caught the imagination of the Court, was a different proposition from the shabby bundle of sops he had chivvied from inn parlour to inn.\n\nHe halted by Master Ballagh. 'The King wishes me to say that he had of course no idea of your hurt, or he would not have thrust this entertainment upon you. He bids me say that you are welcome to join his Court for its winter sojourn on the Loire; and that if he so wishes, the Prince of Barrow may remain also in France. I am to offer you a bed in this lodging for tonight, and to give you the King's permission to retire.' He had won.\n\nHe also had, by any standards a memorable couch\u00e9e that night in the King's Lodging of the Abbey of St. Ouen, painted with egg yolk and turpentine and bandaged under the supervision of the Duchess of Valentinois herself, until at length, unrecognizable in borrowed night robes, he had his bedroom to himself.\n\nWhen, late that night, the knock came to his door, Lymond was by no means asleep. His occupation since the last servant left was shatteringly clear from his too-steady gaze and his less than steady hands. Wrapped in a furred bedgown, he had been drinking seriously for a long time. Behind him, the little room was cracklingly neat: a characteristic of his own which was quite foreign to Thady Boy. What he had expected as he opened the door no one could have guessed. What he saw made him stop short, vigilant and more than half sobered.\n\nOutside was Margaret Erskine.\n\nShapeless, brown-eyed, rather pale, neat as a nun in her day dress, with a single good jewel pinned to her breast, Jenny Fleming's daughter seemed quite composed; visiting wild younger sons in their sleeping quarters might have been a nightly occupation.\n\nA smile, bracketing his still mouth, spread like bane over Lymond's pale face. 'Come in, sweeting. I have a friendly bed.'\n\nShe disregarded it, entering prosaically and shutting the door at her back. 'Why drown your victories?' she asked. 'You have succeeded, have you not? You need not leave France.'\n\nFor answer, Lymond tossed the tangled hair back from his eyes and broke into an accurate parody of the Queen Mother's fractured Franco-Scots. 'I mean to take this man in his failure, Master Erskine\u2014in his failure and not in his success.' He shook his head, mourning. 'I have succeeded; but unless I'm careful, by God, the Dowager will have me trussed and indented as her servingman yet.'\n\nMargaret Erskine drew out a chair and, sitting, looked up at the sweat-beaded, sardonic face. 'You heard that. I'm sorry.'\n\n'Like The O'LiamRoe,' said Lymond with a large and positive gesture, 'I feel I deserve a little amusement at someone else's expense. That is all. I have worked for it. I have paid for it. And I propose to have it. Don't you approve of me?' His voice mocked her. 'I had a suspicion back there tonight that you didn't want me to quarrel with our playful friends.'\n\nHer own voice was quite level. 'Will you really find it enough to fill the next months? Sharpening your claws on them between foolhardy pranks?\u2026 The women were already drawing lots for you when you left.'\n\n'And you won?' His eyes matched his words.\n\nShe bit her lip, the first sign of discomfiture she had shown. 'I came because a visit from Tom would be dangerous. Whereas a visit from myself would be merely\u2026 compromising.'\n\n'God, how patriotic,' said Lymond. 'And considering the relatives you have, what fool would imagine you'd come to talk politics.\u2014Damn it,' he added with a sudden interest. 'Only the ladies?'\n\nHer voice remained level. 'No.' She drew a deep breath. 'If you will not serve the Dowager, why are you troubling to stay with the Court?'\n\nHe had roved away from her, kicking the preposterous velvet skirts out of his way. He turned, unnecessarily expansive, interested in nothing as yet except being difficult. 'Because in this sweet realm of France, my dear, lives a small, venal animal who will drown a shipload of men or trample a gathering of women and children to death on the strength of a whim; and I mean to peel his knees with his backbone before I leave.'\n\nPale, persistent, she outfaced his restlessness and his boredom. 'I know nothing about La Sauv\u00e9e except what I have heard from Tom. But today's accident\u2014Tom, my mother, the Dowager, are all sure of it\u2014was an attempt to kill or injure the Queen. It has persuaded the Dowager to tell us plainly what you guessed, perhaps, when she talked to you last. There have been other accidents to Mary, and other coincidences. It was because of these that the Queen Mother asked you to come to France. Openly, she dared say or do nothing without seeming to question the good faith of France, or their capacity to look after the child.\u2026 Instead, she relied on you.'\n\nAgainst the far wall, the window shutters were open. Lounging between them, Lymond took no time for reflection. 'Why interfere?' he said airily, over one velvet shoulder. 'Why interfere? The Dauphin may have plans to marry again.'\n\nA personal attack, this, against her own marriage, following so fast on the death of Tom's first fianc\u00e9e, Christian Stewart, killed tragically in Lymond's service two years before. She knew, and Lymond knew, that only after Christian had gone did Tom Erskine notice the plain person of the widowed Margaret Fleming, who for years had been his silent admirer. She had not been prepared for such a challenge, but she was equal to it. She said quietly, 'You hate me because I am Christian's successor\u2014even if inadequately; even if only in Tom's eyes. But you didn't love her. You know that perfectly. Love has never struck you yet, and you should thank God for it. Be honest, at least. You are not refusing to help because of me.'\n\nShe waited, while Lymond stood looking out over the quiet cobbled courtyard and the lantern-lit trees of St. Ouen. Then, stepping back, he closed and flicked the latch of the shutters, and turning, faced her again. 'I'm tired,' said Lymond,' of funerals. Show me a project, and I'll promise you that before it is ended half my so-called friends will have thrown their illusions, their safety and their virtue into the grave. There was Christian Stewart, about whom we need not speak. There was a man called Turkey Mat. And a number of others. I have refused to become a royal informer, my dear, to spare my associates the pains of paying for it.' There was a difficult pause. Then his cold blue stare softened. 'I am not really fit to talk to you,' he said. 'I think you should go.'\n\n'But I have something more to say,' said Margaret Erskine placidly. 'And I could say it more easily if you were sitting down.'\n\nThis worked. After a moment's hesitation he walked forward, and finding a fireside seat opposite hers, dropped into it and propped his head on his fists. Margaret, watching, chose her moment. 'You made the point I thought you might make,' she said. 'It's none of my business if you choose to raise a poor kind of monument to your friends. They might well deny, were they alive to say so, that Mary's life is worth your care. But you are already committed, surely, to your precious project? You want to find a dangerous man, who has the inclination to kill. For that you will need friends; how will you preserve them? And surely, if this man has designs on the little Queen you are likeliest to find him while you are protecting her? Or is she merely the bait in your philanthropic trap?'\n\nHe did not stir. 'Of course not. The Queen Dowager's purposes and mine are the same; but you must excuse me from promises. This time at least I am quite free. Anything I set out to do I can abandon\u2014and if need be, I will.'\n\n'And if,' said Margaret Erskine in a careful voice, 'I stand surety for your promises? If I say, kindle your fires for us, let them burn freely and light up what they will, and I shall do my utmost to see that no innocent bystander is burnt? Would you accept from the Queen Mother, through me, the task of protecting the young Queen, and trust me to watch over your friends?\u2026 Or being Tom Erskine's second choice,' said Margaret, her round, unremarkable face pale, 'am I forever beneath your notice, as well as your trust?'\n\nAt which Lymond swore without apology, dropped his hands and fixing her with a stare of numbing austerity remarked, 'I can grasp the situation without being bludgeoned over the head with either rhetoric or hangman's humility. However. I gather I have been lecturing you. I apologize. It was a matter of irresponsible timing on your part. As far as your offer goes\u2014'\n\nMargaret had recovered her placidity. 'Tell me later. You may feel differently,' she said. 'But I really shouldn't let the Queen Dowager drive you to drink. Did Madame de Valentinois make any advances?'\n\n'Considering,' said Lymond with a little constraint, 'that she is twenty years older than even the King.\u2026 No. But then she had a large escort with her. She was surprisingly effective, as it happens. And most thoughtful. Is it likely to continue?'\n\n'On an intellective level, I believe. She nurses all the royal children. And Lord d'Aubigny is also liable to take you up now. You will visit La Verrerie, admire Goujon and Limousin, take wine with the professors of the College, take lessons in drawing from Primaticcio, listen to readings by the Brigade and recitals by Arkadelt. You will be expected to like Chambord.'\n\n'I am prepared to like anything,' said Lymond, 'except his lordship of Aubigny. But he did me a service tonight with his glum, heifer's face. There was a moment when I thought they were going to throw me out. And now\u2014'\n\n'And now?' She could not keep the hopefulness out of her face.\n\nJaded, nervy, sober at last, he watched her with a bleak amusement. 'Yes. The game is yours. It seemed rather likely from the beginning that Her Highness would win. We shall merely hope that under your sheltering wings, no fingers will be burnt other than my own in protecting this one child from her fate.'\n\nOver the turbulence within, 'My natural place is by the hearthstone,' said Margaret Erskine dryly. 'No one will notice me there.'\n\n'They will be the losers,' said Lymond; and as Margaret looked down, her skin red, altered his tone. 'Very well, my lady. If we are to protect the young Queen, there are some pertinent questions to be asked. About this rumour linking Montmorency and your mother, for a start. Tell me: is Jenny the Constable's mistress?'\n\nIt was a subject on which, in adult life, Margaret felt nothing but a resigned tolerance, or an amused exasperation, depending on her mother's current fancy. Irregular relationships among a royal family and its adherents were a matter of course; often a matter of business; and only occasionally a matter of love. The arrangement, temporary or otherwise, was usually public and acknowledged when at the highest level; only when it was clandestine and conducted to the injury of legitimate relatives did it become untenable in the oblique moral eye of society.\n\nBut such considerations only applied on home ground. As guests of foreign royalty, the Scottish party's behaviour was required to be impeccable. So exasperation informed Margaret Erskine's quiet voice as she replied. 'Montmorency? Heavens, no. The Constable isn't Mother's bedfellow,' she said. 'Mother's lover is the King.'\n\nFor the first time in his restless evening, Lymond genuinely shouted with laughter. 'Oh, God, oh, God. Why didn't I guess? Oh, for Christ's sake\u2014the Chair of Happy Fortune.\u2026 Isn't she a priceless, beautiful, giddy queen of a woman?'\n\nHe dissolved into silent mirth. 'If Diane finds out she has a royal competitor\u2014if the Queen finds out he has two mistresses\u2014' He stopped suddenly. 'Who else knows?'\n\nShe had flushed. 'The Constable. One of the King's Gentlemen. My mother's maid. And me.'\n\n'She has dreams, of course, of establishing herself in the aging Diane's place. Are you sure Queen Catherine doesn't know?' asked Lymond more soberly. 'For unless you're sure, I should strongly suspect her of throwing Jenny and her husband together. It would be a stroke of genius. In one move, ousting the permanent ma\u00eetresse en titre, discrediting Jenny and the Queen Mother, reducing Scotland's worth as an ally, and weakening all the related de Guises in France\u2014'\n\n'\u2014And also,' said Margaret, 'throwing doubt on the little Queen's moral standards and general fitness to marry the Dauphin.\u2026 This is habitual. Mother flutters her wings, and every institution within sight tumbles flat.'\n\n'She must put a stop to it, I'm afraid. Tell her. No, I'll tell her myself. Then I'll want some help. You'll find you're being watched by the King's people quite apart from our conjectural friend with designs on the Queen, and nothing we do, naturally, must seem to question French goodwill or French security.' He added suddenly, 'Whom does the Queen Mother suspect?'\n\nShe had come hoping for help, and was beginning to realize, to her anguished relief, that she had called in a professional. For a moment she stammered. 'I\u2014don't know.'\n\n'Someone at Court, obviously. Or she would have confided in the King, or at least in her own family. Who, I wonder. The possibilities are interesting. Queen Catherine? She hates the de Guises. The Constable, or his nephews? He's said to favour a different marriage for the Dauphin; they wouldn't mind a snub for the de Guises, and there's a rumour they wouldn't mind a change of religion either. Have any of the King's other close friends a motive? Or what about some of the Scottish nobles\u2026 I shouldn't trust the Douglases or their relations, for example; and some of the others lean towards England and Lutherans rather than a Scotland allied to Catholicism and France. The Dowager would hesitate to call in a Frenchman to deal with a situation like that.\u2026 Now what else? Which of the child's maids of honour are Scottish? Whom can we trust absolutely? Can her food be privately supervised? Her play? Her lessons? Her travelling\u2026?'\n\nExhaustingly, it went on. At length\u2014'Has it struck you,' said Lymond suddenly, 'that everything that has happened so far, barring the elephants, has been directed at O'LiamRoe? The fire at the Porc-\u00e9pic was in his room, not mine. The tennis-court frolic was devised to get O'LiamRoe into trouble. The Gouden Roos which tried to sink us off Dieppe was captained by a well-known adventurer who was paid to do it, and told on no account to bring back O'LiamRoe alive.'\n\n'How do you know?'\n\n'I asked. For reliable information, apply to a lawyer, a barber or prostitute. My informant hasn't found out so far who paid the captain.'\n\n'But she will,' said Margaret, her face grave.\n\n'I hope so,' he said with equal gravity, and continued unshaken. 'It is possible that these attacks are purely against O'LiamRoe. It is also possible that O'LiamRoe is being frightened or driven back to Ireland in order to remove me as well. But not likely. I might remain; I might assume another identity. No attempt has been made on my life, although God knows I've given them enough chances. And really, no one with any information about my concerns would attempt to do me damage at sea. Which leaves only one other possibility.'\n\n'What?' Her deadened brain attempted to keep track with his.\n\n'That O'LiamRoe is being attacked because someone has mistaken him for me.'\n\nThere was a silence. His composure was quite unchanged. In face of it, Margaret struggled to remain matter-of-fact. 'Of course. That must be it. But\u2026 the elephants stampeding was no accident? How can that be accounted for?'\n\n'It was organized,' Lymond said. 'The man who planned it was killed before he could speak. The man he paid to push out that hell-begotten whale knew nothing beyond his orders and will trouble us no more.\u2026 Which reminds me. O'LiamRoe and Dooly, as you know, are aware at least who I am. But if you, or Tom, or Jenny, or anyone connected with protecting the Queen should need help and you cannot find me, go and see Abernaci, the King's Menagerie Keeper. He will do what he can. Meantime, we've two forms of incredibly careless plotting: one against O'LiamRoe, and one against the small Queen. In both, Destaiz, the dead man, was used. Everything has been done at second or third hand, and on a ridiculously distorted scale; as if by someone who had no means of scouring the alleyways for the usual paid assassin. A Destaiz presents himself, or some rogue of a captain; and the hint is dropped. If it is successful, so much the better. If it isn't, there is no hurry, and plenty of money for next time.'\n\n'It may not be a person,' said Margaret bluntly. 'It may be a nation.'\n\nLymond smiled. 'It leaps to the eye, doesn't it? The obvious inspiration for both kinds of attack\u2014anti-Irish, anti-Scottish\u2014is England, and I've kept close to Mason to feel my way there. But he's too patently anxious to have O'LiamRoe on his side; and anyone can see he'd be more valuable to England alive. Which leaves us in delicious confusion, with one good thing to look forward to, and one bad. It's going to be hard to detect any attack on Queen Mary, because it won't be blatant; every attempt so far has been made to look like an accident. On the other hand, O'LiamRoe is staying, which is helpful. Someone is bound to try to murder him again.'\n\nIt was said seriously, but she caught the glint in his eyes, and laughed. Then she sobered. 'But are you sure The O'LiamRoe will choose to stay in France? Won't he find it too humiliating? You will be with the Court, and he will be on the fringes.'\n\n'It needs a little energy to be humiliated,' said Lymond dryly. 'He will stay.'\n\nMargaret was on her feet, making at last for the door, blind with fatigue. He was committed to help the Queen. She could report it thankfully to Tom before he left, to the Dowager, to her mother, and to all those in the Queen's inner, most trusted circle with whom he would be working henceforth. Lymond had risen too, still talking, his face fine-drawn with tiredness.\n\nMargaret Erskine spoke abruptly. 'I seldom quote Tom, but not because he isn't capable of producing hard common sense. He thinks you're mad to tie yourself to O'LiamRoe. The Prince may be a wag, but he's lazy and foolish and unreliable to boot. Tom says he's so damned harmless he'll kill you.'\n\n'Nonsense,' said Lymond. 'Why should I suffer moral blackmail and The O'LiamRoe escape unfettered? He is an educated man. He has a brain. He shall be made to use it. I shall make him drunk on the palm wine of power,' said Lymond sweepingly, 'until he falls out of his tree.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "DANGEROUS JUGGLES",
                "text": "The person is exempt who multiplies the juggling spears up, or the juggling balls up. If they be dangerous juggles, there is a fine of foul-play for injuries for them. 'Dangerous juggles' means all juggles in which pointed or edged instruments are used."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rouen to St. Germain: The Inexpugnable Drone",
                "text": "It is not easy for Brehons to decide concerning bees that have taken up their lodging in the trees of a noble dignitary; with respect to which it is not easy to cut the tree.\n\nThe news of Thady Boy's unlooked-for success was brought his employer the next morning by Robin Stewart, who had risen very early for this privilege. O'LiamRoe, listening, scratched his feathered golden head.\n\nAt the end, he looked pleased. 'Ah, 'Tis a tearing fellow, a noble champion itself. To the devil with your pearldrops and your parroty manners. A filled mind and an apt wit will earn you all the respect any man has the means to deserve.'\n\n'Man, ye canna trust them. Look how choosy they were with you thon day at the tennis. And now they expect you to sit here on suffrance while the wee smart fat ones go about arm in arm with the dukes,' said Robin Stewart, employing tact much as O'LiamRoe employed fine clothes as a blandishment.\n\nHis cheekbones grinding, the Irishman yawned. 'If Thady Boy is desperate to squeeze kisses on to princesses, my dear, O'LiamRoe won't begrudge it.'\n\n'You'll scour France at his shirttails, and sit behind the closed door? They'll have him at every supper like physic. I've seen a fancy take them before.'\n\n'I believe you. He'll be clean worn down and fit to pass through a dog stirrup before he sees Ireland again. What of it? I'll not lack entertainment.'\n\nQuarrelling with the Prince of Barrow was like fighting a curtain. Robin Stewart gave up.\n\nIt was a busy day for O'LiamRoe. His next caller was d'Aubigny, bearing the King's deferential request for the continued company at Blois of the Prince of Barrow's gifted ollave, Thady Ballagh. No mention was made of O'LiamRoe's mooted departure, but the letter implied, and Lord d'Aubigny confirmed, that he himself would be at O'LiamRoe's service, and that on the journey south and beyond, he need have no worry about tolls, fares or fodder, or about his nights' lodgings. O'LiamRoe was delighted. 'Dhia! It's like being cuckolded.'\n\nWith Lord d'Aubigny was the small, red-haired, pretty woman O'LiamRoe had first met at Rouen on the other side of a whale. Jenny Fleming had seized the excuse to survey him.\n\nThe Prince of Barrow's interest in Lymond's affairs was minuscule. But he knew wilful curiosity when he saw it. She and d'Aubigny seemed on good terms: he was, after all, also of royal Stewart descent; their forebears were the same. Her liveliness and her graces fitted elegantly into the fiddling pattern of her kinsman's behaviour The reservoirs of his speech flowed freely for her entertainment; his voice mellowed. Listening, you could guess how he had impressed the gauche boy who became King.\n\nO'LiamRoe amused her with Irish nonsense, let her tease him, and contrived one or two exchanges with his lordship which almost reached the dignity of serious conversation and probably startled both men. In fact, a shade of puzzlement occasionally crossed d'Aubigny's face and once, unexpectedly, he addressed Lady Fleming less than civilly.\n\nShe had been talking of home; but at the tone she lifted her clear eyes to his lordship. 'John, if you wish to leave so badly, you may wait for me below.'\n\nAnd huffily, to O'LiamRoe's mild astonishment, Lord d'Aubigny left. As the door closed behind him with unnecessary firmness, Jenny, triumphant, turned to the Irishman. 'And what do you make of our darling?'\n\nShe had come, breaking every prohibition, to talk about Lymond. O'LiamRoe, amused, picked up her furred cloak and said, 'Thady Boy? He'll be in crumbs in a year, with all that scurrying about; but he makes a middling good Irishman.'\n\n'Then don't show me a bad one. He came to my room and read me a lecture this morning\u2014' She broke off. It was no part of Jenny's technique to destroy her own charming image.\n\nAffairs of status meant nothing to O'LiamRoe. He hitched the cloak round her straight shoulders, and patted it, dispatching her. 'He's a quaint fellow, to be sure; but dead lucky with women.'\n\nShe must have realized then that no confidences would be forthcoming. He was simply not interested.\n\nAt the door, she paused. 'Don't tell him I came. Or he'll do it again.'\n\nO'LiamRoe, who knew a little more about Lymond than she bargained for, noted that occasionally Lady Fleming had a conscience. 'I don't need to,' he said. 'It'll be all over Court by nightfall, surely.'\n\nHe was right. Tom Erskine was among the first to hear it, and the news added to a certain uneasiness which already tinged his confidence in Thady Boy Ballagh. The situation made him hesitate, but it was nearly time to leave on his embassy to Augsberg. He made his final calls, formal and informal, and at the end of them lost his escort and slipped unseen into the room where Thady Boy Ballagh as guest of the kingdom of France had spent his interrupted night.\n\nHindered by visits from the Constable, from Madame de Valentinois's matron of honour, and from the Queen's page, Lymond was preparing, among the ruins of an uneaten meal, to return to the Croix d'Or, where he and O'LiamRoe were to stay until the Court left. At the click of the latch he looked up.\n\n'Sacr\u00e9 chat d'Italie!' said Francis Crawford. 'The wife, the wife's dam, and now the husband. Let's have the Schawms of Maidstone in a pack on the doormat. Secrecy was your idea, wasn't it?'\n\nErskine might bow to a superior brain, but he had no patience with temper. 'The visit to Jenny, I understand, was initiated by you.'\n\n'My dear Thomas,' said Lymond, 'any man can visit Lady Fleming without comment. Unhappily she formed a low opinion of the night's events, or lack of them, and took her complaints, I suspect, to O'LiamRoe. The much revered mother of your wife needs to be turned on her stomach and bladed on the back of a captured Bacchante.'\n\nErskine was sharp. 'I've been taking formal leave of the King. And it was d'Aubigny who took Jenny to visit O'LiamRoe.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'They get on well together.'\n\n'Well, get her away from him. Tell her it's incest. And keep her apart from O'LiamRoe as well. She would have her work cut out anyway. He could thigh you a pigeon and disfigure a peacock and unlace a coney, but I'm damned sure he couldn't undress a\u2014'\n\n'\u2014Particularly as he knows just who Jenny is, and no doubt, admires your restraint more than she does. This is rubbish. You're talking as if she were someone from the Pont Truncat. We'll interfere with you as little as possible; have no fear. Remember that you also have accepted an obligation.'\n\n'Oh, yes,' said Lymond. 'Margaret worked very hard last night; you should be proud of her. I gather that if our deceased friends and lovers could see us, they would be proud of us. Even including, she seems to believe, Christian\u2014'\n\nErskine's face stopped him. For a moment their eyes met; then Lymond turned away, his lip curling. 'All right. You're leaving for Brussels and Augsburg and Margaret stays. You'll be back when?'\n\n'After Christmas. Then home via England. Meanwhile, the little Queen, so far as we can manage it, will stay with the Queen Mother and not the royal children. All the safeguards you suggested will be applied. Everything she eats and everything she does will be watched; there will be a day and night guard. It can't be complete, for above all, we must work invisibly. It mustn't look as if we don't trust her safety in France. That is our work. Yours is outside.'\n\nLymond said nothing. He had finished his sketchy packing and was lounging discouragingly by the door. Erskine wondered if he knew what was ahead of him. He said, 'It'll take God knows what time to get to Blois. You'll go mostly by river, stopping off at lodges and palaces and staying exactly as long as the game lasts in each place. Nothing in this lunatic country matters as much as the hunt. Fifteen thousand people, this man's father went about with, their beds, their clothes and their furniture on their backs, signing state papers on horseback and heralds running after him yearning in couples. They never stayed above fifteen days in one place, unless they were at war, and every ambassador in Europe hated hunting for life.'\n\nIt was a favourite subject; but something in Lymond's manner made him stop. 'But of course, you know France quite well.'\n\n'Once,' said Lymond, 'when I had too much money, I laid out some of it here. Sevigny is mine.'\n\nNicholas Applegarth of Sevigny was a friend of Tom Erskine. He began cautiously, 'But Nick\u2014'\n\n'\u2014Is a tenant of mine.' The tone of voice was dismissive. 'And how will the Queen Mother's coup d'\u00e9tat prosper when you go?'\n\nIt was then that Tom Erskine, finding a mine at his feet, temporarily lost his wits. The Queen Dowager's purposes in France were many, but only one of them could properly be called an attempt at a coup d'\u00e9tat, and that so far was strictly secret. It must be obvious enough, God knew, that the Scots lords were being honoured: that pensions were hailing down indiscriminately like rice at a wedding, while Governor Arran's heir, without a syllable of French, was now captain of the Scots troops in France and drawing twelve thousand crowns a year.\n\nBut no one could know for certain what he knew: that a meeting between the Queen Mother of Scotland and Henri of France would presently settle once and for all whether France would help the Dowager towards her greatest ambition\u2014to oust the Earl of Arran from the Governorship of Scotland, and to rule as Governor herself for the rest of her daughter's minority.\n\nThe Queen Mother wanted Lymond, and Lymond suspected the truth. Now, if ever, in this delicate matter of state, was the time to engage his concern. But she wanted him, as Erskine knew, for his sword-arm, not his mind. In her tortuous ways, a trained and meddlesome intelligence was the last thing she sought.\n\nSo, his hands tied, Tom Erskine hesitated, and delivered the fateful rebuff. 'The Queen Mother's affairs are her own, as you probably know. We can trust her, I think, to do what is best. In any case, there is really no alternative.'\n\nCrawford of Lymond raised his delicate, dyed brows. 'There is union with England.'\n\nHe had guessed, then, what was afoot. 'There is suicide,' said Tom Erskine, his voice flat.\n\n'Not while you may come to me,' rejoined Lymond, and rising elegantly, sketched a sardonic bow. 'And buya fit of mirth fora groat.'\n\nThere was nothing to say. Erskine didn't need that to tell him that, somehow, at some level too subtle to be understood, he had not done quite well enough by the Dowager, and perhaps in some way by Lymond himself. In his heart he knew that if Lymond had not chosen to speak coarsely of Christian, his impulse would have been different. It did not help to guess that Lymond's words were not a matter of impulse at all.\n\nRobin Stewart arrived, just after Erskine had gone, to escort Thady Boy to the inn. He was the picture of cynical amusement. 'You'll be fairly joco this morning?'\n\n'I am, then.'\n\n'Dicing for you all night, they tell me.'\n\n'So I've been told three\u2014no, four\u2014times. No one mentions the only aspect that interests me. Who won?'\n\n'I believe,' said the Archer stiffly, 'it was the sieur d'Enghien,' and watched disapprovingly as Thady Boy choked with laughter. 'In some circles, vice doesna matter,' said Robin Stewart. 'Some people will do anything to get into a certain type of company, never mind is it coarse as cat's dirt.'\n\n'It's little I'd know,' said Thady Boy, his eyes guilelessly clear. 'I've not been at either end of this trade up till now.'\n\nThe austere voice softened. 'Some people,' said Stewart, 'get carried away when the women behave yon way, and think their fortune's made, and that from now on they're something special. They don't know French ladies. I've seen them turn in a night, and what they fancied before they'll fling in the moat. You'd be as well to understand\u2014'\n\n'I understand,' said Thady Boy concisely, 'that I have a headache. Come along.'\n\nLymond, as it happened, spoke the truth. Looking narrowly, Stewart launched the theme which was to dog Thady Boy, in tenor and soprano, for four stricken months. 'Man, you'll need to watch that! You'll need to cut down the drinking! They'll egg you on for sheer devilment and it can fairly strip your inside.\u2026 Did ye get those burns looked at?'\n\n'Yes. My tail is plaited like a Barbary ram. Do you want to see it? Mary Mother, come on.'\n\nAt the Croix d'Or, having shaken off the solicitous Stewart, Lymond arrived at last at the door of O'LiamRoe's room and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. The silence, as the two men stared at one another, was fat with danger. Then a smile pulled at the corner of O'LiamRoe's whiskered mouth and he gave tongue mellowly.\n\n'Busy child, if I read it right, there is the father and mother of all headaches on you which you surely deserve. Sit down. As you may have forgotten, in the long dereliction from your duty, I had better remind you that Phelim O'LiamRoe is the unnatural sort of fellow who has no need to be handled and who can even on occasion hold his tongue. I hear you are the finest lute player since Heremon. You can prove it to me tomorrow.'\n\n'Thank God for that,' said Lymond. He passed by, resting his hand for a moment on the other man's shoulder, and dropped limply into a chair. In five minutes, he was asleep.\n\nIn the ten days still left in Rouen, they learned the rudiments of Court routine which would affect them both, willy-nilly, for four months. The King rose at dawn, held his lev\u00e9e, read his dispatches and talked them over with his Privy Council before ten o'clock Mass. Then the privileged traffic began: the secretaries and couriers and ambassadors and heralds and diplomats and soldiers and clergy with news and courtesies and gifts and complaints.\n\nRoutine reports came in: from the master masons on the King's building work, or Madame Diane's; from St. Germain about a valued bird fallen sick; a gentle reminder, routed through the Constable's kind offices, that someone had been promised a present of wine, and someone's butler had come for it; news of the children, with a painting. News of a death in Paris that left a benefice vacant; you could see by the new face lined up waiting who had already bought that titbit of news from the dying man's doctor. Gossip about a new lawsuit in Toulouse, brought by an ambassador anxious to ingratiate himself; and you could tell by the needy face absent at supper who had borrowed enough money to go there and try to buy it.\n\nDinner was at noon. After it, the General Council might meet, but not now with the urgency of the days when France still had high hopes of Italy, and when, triumphant over England, they were engaged in tweaking Boulogne from her tail. Not that the prospects for next year were particularly serene, in spite of the nominal peace with England's little King; the new Pope and the Emperor Charles, France's traditional Hapsburg enemy, were too friendly for that.\n\nAt the beginning of his reign and his freedom, Henri had found it intoxicating to fondle his favourites. Diane, the Constable, St. Andr\u00e9, d'Aubigny and the rest had half-emptied the treasury among them. But the proper exercise of the King's divine power, obviously, was to encourage upheavals in Germany. By linking arms with Protestant and pagan\u2014German princeling and Turkish infidel\u2014he might defeat Charles. Unfortunately, the money was lacking. All the General Council could propose was prevarication\u2014prevaricate with his dear sister Scotland; hold off his eager Irish friends; and make a cool social gesture or two in the direction of England, herself split in two with the old story, the struggle for baronial power during small Edward's minority.\n\nHenri of France could prevaricate without even thinking. He attended the Queen's evening parties, gave large suppers, spent what time he could, which was quite a lot, with Diane; and in rare moments of privacy could be heard practising his lute. The rest of the waking hours, for these ten days at Rouen, were filled with ceremony.\n\nThe capital of Normandy, perfectly capable of turning down flat a Grand S\u00e9n\u00e9chal wanting an Entry on the eve of vacation, was prone by the same token to extract the last ounce from a really royal occasion, once they had set their minds to it; particularly with Lyons to outshine. There was the State Entry of Queen Catherine; the speech-girt presentation of vase and saltcellar and other tabernacle-like trifles; the solemn dinner and the lugubrious farce by one of the two Rouen burlesque societies, torn between pride and a natural anxiety to do with the disappointed company.\n\nThere was a solemn procession to the Palace to hear a case on the King's Bed of Justice which gave Brusquet his only real chance of the visit. After a morning of well-rehearsed speeches by the advocates and the King's procureur-general\u2014'Levez-vous: le roi l'entend'\u2014and an equally well-rehearsed judgment thick with classical and flattering allusions, a private burlesque of the whole thing was performed extempore by the King's fool in the empty chamber for the benefit of the royal ladies in their box.\n\nThey laughed, but not quite enough. The King changed his clothes, made appearances diligently, patiently and with charm, and entertained himself and his Court in privacy with the music of Thady Boy Ballagh, his breath sweet as a rose chafer and his lyrics strenuously unexceptionable. Thady Boy was working quite hard.\n\nO'LiamRoe was amused. As rumours of the long evenings of romances eruditos and romances art\u00edsticos reached him, he was heard on occasion to express a left-handed pride that the sweetest finger that ever slid upon a fingerboard here should be Irish. At length the King left to make his State Entry to Dieppe, and then, by F\u00e9camp and Havre, back to the River Seine for the water journey south.\n\nFive Kings had wintered on the shores of the Loire, as it flowed wide and sandy through central France from Orl\u00e9ans to the Atlantic with castle and palace, town and village and vineyard, mill and fishery and hunting lodge on its mild chalky banks. For twelve hundred years pilgrims had gone by river and river bank to Tours, one of the holiest shrines in Europe after Rome; and the Gallo-Romans had built their villas there, and the Plantagenets for a while had made it English until their overthrow, when a grateful France had replaced them with Scots.\n\nBut it was a long time since a Douglas had ruled in Touraine. The Kings of France had developed a taste for the country and made it their centre. They governed from Blois and Amboise and Plessis and came back there from their wars to plant their booty and rear their children and try out their notions of modern building. The Chancellors, the Treasurers, the Admirals and the Constables built their houses there too; park and chase and garden were laid out; and even when, latterly, Henri's father had turned aside to use Paris and Fontainebleau more and more, the well-worn journey was still made: Rouen, Mantes, St. Germain, Fontainebleau, Corbeil and Melun; overland to Gien like a migration of guinea fowl, cart, mule, horse and litter, the packs of servants and gentlemen, the endless baggage train, the men at arms, the filles publiques whose prescience about morning moves was both marked and relied upon.\n\nAnd from Gien, through Ch\u00e2teauneuf, Orl\u00e9ans, Amboise, Blois, the barges floated them home. Pleasant, equable, healthy and full of red deer, the valley of the Loire was a place where many an unwanted embassy had grazed its knees and barked its knuckles and gone home unhappily neither satisfied nor affronted. The Court of France was going there to spend Christmas.\n\nIt started off, but amoeba-like, before it arrived its one cell had split into two. Louis, the King's two-year-old son, died at Mantes. The royal household and the officials involved stayed or returned. The staff, the grooms and the younger element of the Court, among whom was the Irish party, continued to St. Germain-en-Laye.\n\nAs guide and conductor, vice Lord d'Aubigny, of Phelim O'LiamRoe's trio, Robin Stewart had sensed, long before then, that the mignons were out for Thady Boy's blood. O'LiamRoe as a garrulous and discredited foreigner they ignored. But Cond\u00e9 and de Genstan and St. Andr\u00e9 and d'Enghien, with their friends, had taken cool note of undue diligence among the monarchs. Stewart, who had discovered Thady Boy before anybody, watched sardonically as d'Enghien, young, witty, ambitious, lightly unfaithful even to the fortunate succession of friends who maintained him, decided calmly to teach his prize a small lesson. Thady Boy Ballagh was to be given, rumour affably reported, a good bob with the bag.\n\nThe bag was the quintain, a wooden Saracen on a post, to be charged on horseback and hit three times with a lance. A poor hit, because of its pivoting arrangements, gave the rider a crippling clout on the ear. It was a popular spectator sport.\n\nHow Thady Boy was brought to compete, Stewart never knew. But on a mild grey afternoon in October The O'LiamRoe and the Archer and every idle sophisticate on the premises turned their backs on the newly renovated castle of St. Germain, on its wide terraces above the flat panorama of the Seine, and strolled off to the tilting ground to see the courses.\n\nFar from being technical, the talk in Stewart's vicinity was largely about someone's new boots, straying lightly now and then into the recent boudoir history of the combatants. But whatever they sounded like, they were soldiers judging soldiers. There was some wit on the changes which other times and other alliances had brought to the quintain itself: instead of the Turk there hung a crude painted barrel with eyes, nose, chin and a string midriff to mark the points of high scoring.\n\nIt rocked slightly in the light wind, causing a moment's alarm to those in the plot, who had gone to a great deal of trouble to struggle it off and fill it up to the brim with cold water.\n\nAnd of course, the first rider selected by blind fate to try his three stabs at the wood was Thady Boy Ballagh, hatless and gently fuddled on what appeared to be the highest peak of a very tall horse.\n\nThere were a hundred paces of a run up to the barrier. At the far end the barrel gaudily swayed; the circle of judges and spectators was suspiciously wide. Thady Boy stuck his heels into the tall horse; along the fence the hoofbeats redoubled; beyond the fence the stout post with its burden lay in wait.\n\nThe squat, black figure reached it, raised its lance, aimed and thrust. So far from scoring, the mark was not even over the belt. The lance nocked into the wood, with a thud which could be heard, and came out fast as Thady Boy ducked to dodge the swing of the pivot. A great and derisive cheer rose into the clear air of the St. Germain plateau, and Jean de Bourbon, sieur d'Enghien, flushed. No icy douche had soaked Thady Boy from the gash. The barrel, inexplicably, was dry.\n\nThree times Thady Boy Ballagh ran the prescribed course, and the mignons applauded the cheerful constancy of his incompetence and rallied Cond\u00e9 and his brother in the same merciless breath on the collapse of their scheme. Since no other entertainment offered, the tilt continued. D'Enghien himself trotted up as Thady Boy came back, and spurred into the first course.\n\nSlender and dark, with his pretty lashes and red, Bourbon lips, the sieur d'Enghien was an expert jouster. The lance, aimed true and straight, transfixed the very nose on the staves. There was a thud, a hiss, a light puff of steam, and from the stab in the wood a trembling arc of hot water started to play on the noble rider below.\n\nThey made him run the three prescribed courses before cutting down and examining the barrel. It had been floored midway and top-filled from a copper; Thady Boy, he remembered, had aimed consistently low.\n\nMusic, seeping out from the lounging throng of his friends, told Jean de Bourbon where to find his ingenious prize. His fur weeping, his boots full of water, d'Enghien for a moment looked like sinking his teeth, like the Archbishop of Pisa, in his neighbour. On second thoughts he bent, arm on elegant knee, and said, 'For that, my dear, I shall want my revenge.'\n\nThady Boy looked up. Garlanded with young men, he sat squat on the grass, boots crossed, expression pure as a halcyon hatching an egg. '\u00bfCon que la lavar\u00e9, La tez de la mi cara\u2026?' he sang, and smiled at the unfolded hair and the sleek, wet painted face. '\u2026That depends on the sport.'\n\nThey all stayed five days at St. Germain, and St. Germain would as soon have suffered a plague. From the quintain they passed to rovers, played with hackbuts until someone's page came out at dusk to complain of the noise. They reverted, all contrition, to their bows and resumed silently at dawn, with whistles tied to their barbs. The graveyard screech that unfurled every sleeper was a deathless victory for Thady Boy.\n\nThey roamed the neighbourhood. Sightseeing in Paris, they stopped at the Pineapple and ordered the first ten men they met to eat pork and mustard in their gloves. De Genstan left the Pineapple on a ladder. The rest were more fortunate, but lost Thady Boy, who was removed by Lord d'Aubigny for a quick cultural tour of the city. After St. Denis, Notre Dame and the unfinished Louvre, Stewart reclaimed him for display at the Mouton, but before he could be primed sufficiently to sing, his lordship was back to escort him to see the jumping at Tournelles. Stewart sulked. He could tolerate the mignons and Thady Boy's half day at Anet. But Lord d'Aubigny's patronage roused him to rage.\n\nOn the last day at St. Germain, Thady Boy put himself in Stewart's hands for a visit to the menagerie. Lymond handling a disciple had all the address of a surgeon.\n\nWith Thady went Piedar Dooly and The O'LiamRoe who, like Maximilian's pelican, followed him everywhere except into the royal presence and who, in private, uproarious sessions in Gaelic, was evolving a brilliantly bigoted new philosophy to meet the occasion.\n\nIt was a mild, damp day, with a haze over the valley, beading the cobwebs, and with grit and bladdered leaves underfoot. Stewart led the way, his starched collar limp on his cuirass, and the three Irishmen followed through the castle park to the Porte au Pecq. The kennels by the Parc des Loges were empty; the famous pack of black and white hounds had gone south. The Falconry too was denuded.\n\nThe elephants were not travelling yet. Abernaci, warned beforehand by a call from Stewart, met them with his primitive English at the barred gates, bowing softly in his turban and silks. Not by a flicker of his opaque black eyes did he betray interest in either O'LiamRoe or his ollave. The Keeper's words were blandly welcoming, and at Stewart's prompting, he led them inside.\n\nThis building was new, a hollow square two storeys high enclosing a courtyard. On the ground floor were the cages, each divided into two compartments by a door operated by chains from above. Upstairs, stores, offices and sleeping quarters gave on to a gallery running round the entire court. The Irish party, looking down from the gallery, were shown the arena where the animals exercised and fought; and at their feet the traps, one for each cage, where the meat was thrown down to the lions and bears and hunting cats far below.\n\nRobin Stewart had seen it already that morning. While The O'LiamRoe, all honey hair and plum-coloured vowels, went off to sink his teeth into zoology, Robin Stewart was waiting edgily by the door with a groom. He established, automatically, what the local butcher wanted for mutton, and whether a keeper's monthly wage matched his oncosts. He asked if the groom's wife approved of his work, if he had ever caught anything off the beasts, if he'd been clawed.\n\nThe man was reluctantly opening his shirt when O'LiamRoe interrupted. There was an empty lodge just below which he wanted to see. The groom, relieved, scuttled away and Stewart took the Prince down, while Thady Boy remained to watch Abernaci wind the chains.\n\nIt was difficult to tell afterwards how the mechanism stuck. Stewart and O'LiamRoe entered the windowless rear half of the cage and Abernaci shut the door from above. There it remained immovable for some considerable time. As every ablebodied man on the premises worked cheerfully with crowbars to release the two men, Thady Boy and Abernaci watched from above. Then, 'Aweel,' said Archie, pushing back his turban to scratch his bald head. 'They'll be some time at that. Come on away ben where it's comfy. I hear you're having a grand time playing Roi Ca'penny at Court.' And firmly shutting the door of his sanctum, he gave the ollave a broad and confidential wink.\n\nLymond's dark face was amused. 'I am being fattened like a thrush on flour balls and figs.' He hitched a stool to himself neatly and sat on it. 'I hear you are going to Blois with the cats and Mary's little menagerie. Who goes with you?'\n\n'Two men I can trust. And there'll be more there. The travelling trainers aye come in when the court arrives. It's a grand fraternity; ye can trust them. I ken them all. Tosh'll be there. D'ye mind Tosh?'\n\nLymond shook his black head. The place was a store. On one side of him was a sink, and at his elbow a high cupboard and table flap loaded with bowls and mortar, spoons, gallipots, balances. Stretching an arm, he took down and opened a stone jar, and sniffed it cautiously. 'Christ, Archie, you could blow up the whole tedious stewing of them if you wanted to, and establish a Court of Beasts. Who's Tosh?'\n\n'Thomas Ouschart's his name. Tosh they called him when he was a builder's laddie in Aberdeen, and a good friend you'll find him at need. He was fairly born in the shape of a ladder; he could lift the whiskers out of a gallant's beard-box without giving a tweak to his chin. Tosh'd take the meat off your foot.' Abernaci rocked, incandescent with gossip.\n\n'He'd to get out of Scotland in a hurry, of course, but you should see him now with his tightrope\u2014a rare act he has, him and his donkey. Gets its horoscope read whiles in Blois by the woman I told you of, that lives at Doubtance by the moneylender's; but you won't get him to tell you much about that.' He broke off, his gaze following Lymond's, and added in his matter-of-fact voice, 'I saw your eye on these pots at Rouen. Ye ken that stuff, do ye?'\n\nCarefully Lymond put another stoppered jar back. 'Yes, Archie. I thought your range was a bit startling when I was being washed in warm water by Sakra-deva's diamond hand. What drugs do you keep?'\n\nIn the withered face, the darting black eyes were steady. 'All the ones you're thinking of. If you knew elephants, ye wouldna be surprised.'\n\n'Such as\u2014?'\n\n'Belladonna for their coughs, and sweet oils. You had them on you at Rouen. And soap and salt and Aak ka jur Mudar\u2026 that's a narcotic. Bhang, ganja and kuchla when their bowels are upset.' The wrinkled face filled with compassion. 'Awful bad with their bowels, some of them can be.'\n\n'I can imagine,' said Lymond. 'What else?'\n\n'Well. Lime water\u2014that went on Hughie's back. Opium for a sedative. Resin and beeswax against the flies; arsenic and nux vomica for a tonic\u2026 that's the most of it. You can see it all. There's big supplies,' said Abernaci informatively, 'because elephants is big beasties.'\n\nBelow, the banging had become intermittent and joined with occasional noises of rending. Lymond was thoughtful. 'How many people know of these poisons?'\n\n'The whole Court, I should think,' said Abernaci. 'We had to lock up the hashish and the opium in the end\u2014they were aye daring each other to try it. The worst of the pharmacies hand it out. Bordeaux, Bayonne, Pamplona\u2014they all sell freely. And they get it when the spice ships come in, if only from the seamen and their women. If you've money, it's not hard.'\n\n'All the same, don't lock it up any more' said Lymond. 'Don't lock anything up. We want it to be easy.'\n\n'It is easy,' said Abernaci simply. 'Since I checked them this morning, a hundred grains of arsenic have gone.'\n\nIn the silence, the brazen blows from below sounded Ogygian: some ritual call to intercession. Then Lymond said, 'Who has been in? The keepers? The carters, for example?'\n\nAbernaci shook his head. 'Not the keepers. They're my own lads. And not the carters; not with the cats ready to travel. They're excited enough without a wheen of heavy-footed labourers stirring them up. We had the joiners to look at the travelling cages, and the butcher's cart, and the man with the buckets, and fifteen bushels of hempseed for the canaries; but they all stayed outside, and had one of my men with them forbye. As for the ones we let in\u2026 there were your four selves, and the Prince of Cond\u00e9, to see a bear he's betting on, and the children\u2014Queen Mary and the Dauphin and the aunt Lady Fleming and her boy, and Pellaquin, a man of mine that looks after the wee Queen's pets\u2014'\n\n'Why did they come?'\n\n'It was about a leveret, a sick leveret that needed a dose. They're aye giving her wee things. Pellaquin's about daft with it, because she won't turn them off when they're full grown. He's having a grand time, I can tell you, with a full-sized she-wolf the now\u2026 Oh. The Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 was with her, and his wife. The leveret was their present. Nobody else\u2026 No. I'm telling a lie. George Douglas came to pass the time of day and speir whether I knew my friend Master Ballagh was the sensation of Rouen. The midwife should have clipped yon one's mouth with black ants.'\n\n'The Queen Mother's very words. What a pity; they've got the gate open. That's Stewart's carping tract of sweet Berla-speech, I'll swear. And that's the final tally? How very competent, Archie. Unless someone simply wants to put down some mice, we have at least a list of possible culprits.'\n\nAbernaci grinned. At the door he said, 'Well, look out. It's tasteless, and there's just about no known antidote.'\n\nFor a moment Lymond, irritated, did not answer. Then he said succinctly, 'Every crumb the little Queen eats has been tested first, from the time she left Rouen.'\n\nThe Keeper snorted. 'What d'you test it on? Her aunty?'\n\n'One of your animals. If you're dead keen, I'll make it the she-wolf,' said Lymond. 'In Brehon Law, they call it setting the charmed morsel for the dog. We want to see them try out that arsenic. Because then, with a little luck, my dear, we shall know who they are.'\n\nThey were packing the monkeys in baskets as, returning, the three Irishmen and Robin Stewart passed the little garden of pets. Mary was helping, a piece of bandage on her other hand, and her red hair streaked over her face. The she-wolf was still in its cage, and a bear, together with a wild pig and the female parent of the leveret, wearing a small, gold-chased collar. Its name, Suzanne, was picked out visibly in stones uncommonly like emeralds. The twenty-two lapdogs now whirling in squeak-girt and telepathic unrest in the castle were collared also, Robin Stewart informed them, in precious ore. His grimly ossified face relaxed, however, when the little girl turned, and he answered her questions as readily as acute uneasiness would allow. Robin Stewart was unused to children.\n\n'Vernom-tongue of Loughbrickland,' said The O'LiamRoe to his secretary, 'you did not tell me she was a pearl in a clear glass of mead.'\n\nHer grace the Queen of Scotland was not much interested in O'LiamRoe, although he got a practised smile and a fine-grained, downy wrist to kiss. She said immediately to Thady Boy, 'It is you who throws eggs in the air?'\n\nThady Boy's hands were still over his small, shoddy stomach. 'Question me, doorkeeper. I am a sorcerer.'\n\nShe instantly flung back her head and looked down her stained nose. 'I am no doorkeeper.'\n\n'It would be a terrible presumption, would it not, to call you so. I was speaking of an old tale, noble person, which you may hear one day.'\n\nWith Janet Sinclair behind her, and the little girls standing waiting Mary dropped like a twig on to a pile of sacking and folded her hands. 'Tell me,' she said.\n\n'Please your noble grace,' said O'LiamRoe, his face solemn. 'But it is a terrible long tale, that one; and I hear the juggles of him are the wonder of the world. He is better than Aengus the Subtle-hearted, that drew live frogs out of his ears.'\n\nLady Fleming had come across to the group, and with her, her son and the Dauphin. Sallow and ill-grown, smaller and feebler than his red-haired fianc\u00e9e, Fran\u00e7ois of France crossed to ask her a question. She answered him in her disconcerting Scots-French and, gabbling absently through the courtesies, pulled him peremptorily down beside her. Jenny retreated to the nurse's side and Robin Stewart, backing also, attached his joints to the small menagerie fence. If anything went amiss, he couldn't be blamed.\n\n'Juggle,' commanded Mary.\n\nIn two minutes Thady had what he wanted: some oranges from the monkey house; the Dauphin's scabbard; a fan. On the wild red hair was a small brimmed hat, very smart, with a feather curling at an angle; and he got that from her too. Then he began to juggle. He caught the oranges a foot from their upturned faces; he dropped the hat neatly on the little Queen's crown, to scoop it up the next moment; he sent fan, scabbard, spheres vivid as fish in the grey air.\n\nHer face scarlet, Mary was squealing with pleasure. The Dauphin hunched his shoulders a little and Jenny, laughing beyond them, applauded sharply with her two plump palms. Cross-legged in the mud, O'LiamRoe watched, a forgotten grin on his face.\n\nWhen the bell rang for Vespers they had found how to make the fan unfurl descending, and were experimenting, hazel eyes and blue gazing upwards, Thady's hands flying just above Mary's ruffled head. Then the bell clanged and instantly he sent his implements flying; oranges lobbed each child on the skull, the fan struck Jenny Fleming and the hat dropped precisely on Mary's own head. Warm with pleasure, forgetful, she swung on his arm, ignoring her nurse's purposeful moves. 'Master Thady, Master Thady, do you tell me a riddle?'\n\nIt was the first time, thought Robin Stewart, amused, that he had seen Thady Boy pulled up short. Anyone can seize a child's interest for a moment. To keep it needs rather more than one trick.\n\nThady Boy looked down at her, her weight on his arm, swinging her a little while he thought. 'It is time to go in. Ask your lady aunt about the three thousand monkeys of Catusaye who came at bell stroke to take their supper by hand. Is there a particular riddle you want?'\n\nThey were moving out of the paddock. She turned back, pulled Fran\u00e7ois to his feet, and returned, holding his hand. 'Anything. A new one.'\n\nJenny Fleming had come forward. She laid a hand on Mary's shoulder, a glint of mischief on her face. 'Don't bother folk, child. You know all the riddles there are.'\n\nTrue for you, lady,' said Thady Boy Ballagh, 'but there is no woman so great that she knows all the answers there are. There is the one on the monks and the pears, now, what about the like of that? The answer you must work out for yourself.'\n\nIt was new to Stewart as well.\n\n\u2003'Trois moines passoient\n\n\u2003Trois poires pendoient\n\n\u2003Chascun en prist une\n\n\u2003Et s'en demeura deux.'\n\nLater, without success, he tried to get the solution out of the ollave; it annoyed him to be left out. He became irritatedly aware that he had to add the royal children to the list of his rivals. If O'LiamRoe had not been there, Stewart would have tried to quarrel with Ballagh again.\n\nBut Thady Boy was extraordinarily forbearing; and O'LiamRoe was silent all the way back to the castle, pricked for the first time in his life by the terrible innocence of childhood.\n\nThe next day they resumed their journey, and Thady and his patrons were restored to adult pursuits. They raced. They shot. At Fontainebleau they set fire to a birch grove and hurled their mounts through it. At Corbeil they paid the boatmen to exchange clothes and in blue caps and wide breeches towed the women's dress boxes to a side stream and held them to ransom.\n\nBy that time, the gaming was at a fairly high level. Between Melun and Gien, Thady lost Piedar Dooly as his last stake at the tables; and stark sober and hissing the little Firbolg was in pledge for ten days, eating black bread and beans. None of the others was approaching sober, except O'LiamRoe. Surprised and interested, and gifted by nature with no compelling urge to join in, he understood that this, in an unfettered form, was what Lymond meant by taking a holiday. When shortly before Gien, the all-night escapades on strong wine bowled the last of them over, O'LiamRoe captured a donkey, loaded his ollave into a pannier, and paid a boy two silver carlins to see him on to a boat. There Lymond, who was by no means incapable, curled up peacefully and slept."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: Red Tracks in the Wood",
                "text": "The dog that follows a woman and that has on a tested muzzle, and the dog that follows on the red track of a stark naked man in the wood, and the lawful hunting dog, and the lawful stag-hound, and the dog with time and notice: all these are fully lawful dogs.\n\nSafe and untouched, Queen Mary also reached Blois, with a fresh piece of bandage and the monkeys. The household staff and O'LiamRoe were already in, with some of the courtiers. The Queen Dowager and her Scotsmen arrived in the same fleet of barges, and the Duke de Guise and Madame de Valentinois came later. Only the royal suite and the Constable had not yet travelled south.\n\nHome and birthplace of kings, Blois was rich; Scotland had nothing so precious. Robin Stewart had watched, along the waterway from Gien, as the blue roofs and white towers slid by at every turn of the Loire, and the flaming swords of Charles, the porcupine of Louis, the cord and ermines of Anne, the salamander of Francis and the double crescents of Henri franked every stone. Then landing, he climbed with the rest to the basse-cour of the castle and saw the familiar ch\u00e2teau before him diced red and white, the dormers high as rose mallows, and through the deep arch the inner court, through which every man but the King must walk on foot.\n\nRound the hollow square inside, Charles of Orl\u00e9ans, Louis and Francis had each built a wing, each the best of its day. Everywhere the eye was beguiled by griffins and crockets, puttis and niches; by the strange crested staircase, and the stone worked like brocade.\n\nTo most of the Scots there, it was too familiar for comment. They entered, and after the usual interval of chaos, settled into their quarters. The Queen Dowager of Scotland used the suite set aside for the de Guises, in the Louis XII wing, overlooking the basse-cour. Her brothers, who were at the castle most of the day, slept in the Rue Chemonton and her lords were farmed out, among hosts willing and unwilling, throughout the town. In the opposite wing, the old Charles of Orl\u00e9ans block, were the Irishmen.\n\nFinding them was no trouble. Setting off some days later, Jenny Fleming simply followed the far sound of music across the inner courtyard. Her hood held tight over her traitorous hair, she picked her way across the paving and up the staircase on its southwestern side, and her excellent hearing led her from there.\n\nThe thick door, carved and painted, opened into a comfortable room. The ma\u00eetre d'h\u00f4tel, in the end, had been generous to O'LiamRoe and his entourage. The floor was tiled, the white walls pinned with tapestries, and the pillared bed, Lady Fleming was charmed to see, envisaging Thady Boy and O'LiamRoe side by side on the feathered bolster, was of tortoiseshell and ivory. There were several coffers and a secretaire; two benches and a heavy chair, several stools and a prie-dieu; a balcony; and a cabinet off, where Piedar Dooly sat and slept.\n\nThere was also a spinet, bearing Diane de Poitiers's monogram, at which she could see Thady Boy's back, a split across the main seam. He was playing steadily and correctly, his mind clearly elsewhere. When the latch clicked he said, unmoving, 'Go away.'\n\nJenny, Lady Fleming, shut the door, alive to a ravishing situation. 'You don't know who it is.'\n\nStill he made no effort to turn. 'I do. Go away, Lady Fleming.'\n\nShe smiled, and swinging her little cosmetic case on one finger, moved in and tapped him with it. 'Do you know that you are alone? Soul as the turtil that hath lost hir make.' And still smiling, Jenny Fleming walked round him, rested her arms on the spinet, and, holding the open case between her two hands, communed with her reflection inside. 'My sweet ollave, you have lost O'LiamRoe again.'\n\n'Plan, plan, ta ti ta, ta ti ta, tou, touf, touf; boute selle.\u2026 He can go to hell.' One finger parodied the drums for alarm. 'I'm tired,' said Lymond, 'of playing cache-cache with O'LiamRoe.'\n\nLeaning there, she studied him. Last night's stubble was still there, and the faint slackness of high living. The uncombed, dyed hair, tumbling forward, had robbed the face of any distinction. 'You look a little overdrawn on sleep,' she said.\n\n'I could sleep in a candle mould.'\n\n'I thought you were supposed to be at O'LiamRoe's hip, booted to the groin, whenever he moved.'\n\nOne long finger remained pressed silently on the last key. 'Then you would lose the pleasure of telling me where he is.'\n\n'In the kennels.'\n\n'Dripping like a clepsydra with useless information. Ollaves' powers are unconscionably limited. I could recite an a\u00e9r before breakfast and he should break out in bolga by dinnertime. But get him to remain in one room I cannot.'\n\n'Is he nervous?'\n\n'Not as far as I know.'\n\n'Then he ought to be, my dear, if only of you.\u2026 You thought I was d'Enghien, didn't you?'\n\n'No. He uses a different scent. I think you should go.'\n\nHe had curbed his tongue, always, when dealing with Lady Fleming; and she was far too expert to court the unforgivable. Instead, she turned the mirror towards him, so that he faced the dregs of his elegance; then closed the little case with a click. 'There is no need to be nervous,' she said.\n\nHe waited until she had gone, and then laughed at the sheer effrontery of it.\n\nThat same afternoon, O'LiamRoe lay on his back in the grass, fending off a loosely upholstered, unkempt mat of a deerhound called Luadhas.\n\nIt was a sweet, well-nourished day with a ruddy sun and crisp air and an early shower of rain which had soaked the Prince's breeches and shoulder blades black from the grass. He was alone. The dogs were out, rolling, yapping, scampering in the paddock: tumblers and lurchers; spaniels for hawking and fowling; the hare-hounds, light and nervy; the mastiffs with their flop ears for boar; the flat-headed, vicious allaunts and the white, fleet children of Souillard, the famous Royal White Hounds, which never gave tongue without cause. With them were the wolfhounds, Luadhas and her brother, each three feet high; 120 pounds of big-boned, brindled dog with thin muzzles and arched loins and mild flat-browed noble heads, who could catch and slaughter a wolf.\n\nTuned to the din, O'LiamRoe and his deerhound heard the footfalls at once. Shaggy brindle next to hispid gold, the two Irish heads turned as Thady Boy Ballagh strolled over the grass. Mildly and inaudibly, O'LiamRoe swore. For Luadhas, he had found, was for sale, at a price. And he had just bought her as a present for Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nWhen his secretary was near enough therefore, the Prince spoke softly, a glint in his gentle blue eye. 'Busy child, you've been a middling long while finding me this time. I could be killed, dried and folded flat in a drawer like Callimachus' corpse and no one the wiser.'\n\n'A little co-operation would help,' said Thady Boy, and dropping on his haunches, picked up Luadhas's big paw, with its strong, curving nails. He spoke without heat. It was his self imposed task to keep O'LiamRoe in sight. O'LiamRoe was free to put whatever value on his own life he chose.\n\n'My grief,' said that person with interest. ' 'Tis a hard time you have, with those delicate interests besides. Modify your enthusiams, busy child. France is a dangerous tutor. What joy? What laughter? Let us recall the everlasting burnings.'\n\nLymond said, smiling down at the grass, 'Their arguments get more heated than yours do, that's all.'\n\nBeguiled as ever by the sweet pipe of a theory, O'LiamRoe pondered. 'True. There is one thing that you Scots and this kindle of latter-day Romans have got that the angry lads back home with the hatchets will miss sorely if they break out against England. And that's Royalty to lead you: the divine vessel of kings that cannot err. Bring on the Vice-Gerent of God, and you've enlisted a nation. Bring on Sean O'Grady from Cork, and you've merely got Cork.'\n\nThady Boy, careless also of the wet grass, was flat on his back, taking leisurely soundings. 'And what about the cult of the full man? How do you fancy life lived in the round?'\n\n'Forty-one million livres' worth of coats from Italy and the rest? Ah, 'Tis as old as the world,' said O'LiamRoe. 'From the Celtic Kings downwards you have it: high power and high living; art and sculpture and music; strong campaigns, hard sport, splendid talk. Three of the fine lords good at it; or maybe four; and all the others worked up to look very creditable, unless you get them to yourself for too long on a wet day; and then all the artists start cutting their throats. Half of them,' said O'LiamRoe mildly, 'could do with a dirty big scrub on the flat before they lay a hand on the round.'\n\n'Stewart thinks it's perfect,' said Thady Boy idly. 'The joy unspeakable, the comfort inestimable, the pleasure without murmuring, the hilarity without care. He can't get into it\u2014that's his only complaint.'\n\n'He could have my room.\u2026' The former owner of Luadhas came round the corner of the paddock, a promised leash in his hand. 'I'm after buying the Irish wolfhound there,' added O'LiamRoe quickly.\n\n'Why in God's name,' said Lymond, 'do you want a dog?'\n\nAnd, studying O'LiamRoe's pink face, answered himself instantly. 'Of course,' said Thady Boy. 'To corrupt a lady of gentle bearing, vide Fr\u00e8re Lubin.\u2026 A formidable wooing, my dear. I'm willing to wager the O'Dwyer kennels are awash with wolfhounds; but please yourself. Does the creature run well? You'd better let Piedar try her for you tomorrow.'\n\nThe wolfhound Luadhas rose, lifting her long, Byzantine face. Shoulders bunched, forelegs taut, flanks shuddering, she stretched; and collapsing, shook herself. O'LiamRoe sneezed. There was a peal of laughter from Thady Boy. The great bony mat of a dog, stalking forward, gazed anxiously at the Prince of Barrow and licked his hand. O'LiamRoe was pleased, and rather touched, and not a whit embarrassed, now the story was out.\n\nRobin Stewart, who was viewing the progress of O'LiamRoe's glacierlike wooing with some private pleasure, also derived some entertainment from the news of the purchase. It was he who, passing Neuvy, mentioned to Mistress Boyle that the Irishman and his intended gift would be on display at the chase the next morning. The girl he found unstirred to the point of impatience; but not Theresa Boyle, who, ablaze with jolly malice, made instant plans for herself and Oonagh O'Dwyer to be invited to hunt the king of venery, the melancholy hare, next morning from Blois.\n\nThe chase was launched from a little wood, white with dawn frost, threaded with rimed oak and hornbeam, and one or two wide-girthed chestnuts.\n\nIt had been a sharp night; but now the early sun, glaring cross-grained through the branches, laid fresh black contours, thinly prowling, over the people below.\n\nThey wore grey velvet under the pewter trees; and they laughed, dismounted, and warmed themselves at the braziers patched red like salamanders here and there in the white dusk. Grooms, pages, kennelmen, muleteers, wheeled and whisked through the throng; low tables appeared under the trees, and crested hampers began to yield up their patties and wine while the dogs, tongues lolling, tails swaying, were chased off the cloths.\n\nMargaret Erskine was late, as was all the little Queen's entourage. Mary had been sick and Janet Sinclair and she had been up half the night until, hot-eyed, they had seen her drop into slumber. Rising at five this morning, seeing that James and Agnes were awake, soothing Janet, getting a sleepy child dressed and out to the courtyard, and finally collecting Tom's brothers and their grooms, together with their own equerries and pages, had been a formidable task, made no sweeter by the thought that Jenny, retiring radiant for the night in clouds of musk and lynx trimmings, had planned to sleep late and avoid the hunt. Whatever fascination Lymond held for her mother, it had no power at five in the morning.\n\nFrancis, Duke de Guise, young, splendid, finely bearded, with his pleasant, full-lipped smile and long nose, was master of the day's hunt. A jewel mine of courtesies and a living casket of diplomacy, he would in any case have paid tribute to the King's mistress by asking her advice. Today, by mutual consent, both Diane and the Duke treated the small Queen as their patron. Kneeling, her uncle gravely discussed where the formes were, which hares to chase, and where to establish the stables where the berners released the fresh hounds should the prey come their way. Then Margaret saw the little girl mounted, unmarked by the night's languors, and went off herself to her Brittany hackney, arranging her looped grey skirt with both feet on the board.\n\nDespite herself, she looked for the Irishmen and found them, Thady long-stirruped on a jennet whose belly tickled the grass. Above him towered O'LiamRoe on a mouse-dun stallion. The Archer Stewart swung off to mount beside a pack of his colleagues. Bit by bit, the coursing dogs vanished to take their place in the relays. The picnic, dismantled, had gone. She saw O'LiamRoe bend down to speak to Dooly, who was moving off with two whining couples hardelled in his fists. Then a rustle of brushwood, a chime of metal and a scriech of greeting announced the Irishwomen from Neuvy.\n\nQuilled like a porcupine, her hood leaking grey hair, and her strong, crowded teeth active in the leathery face, Mistress Boyle knew how to make her apologies to a de Guise. She soothed him, amused him and left him, pulling Oonagh's horse with her own.\n\nAt O'LiamRoe's side both horses stopped dead, under the idle, observant eyes of every waiting soul in the wood, while Theresa Boyle gazed at the mounted huddle of frieze and the matted, calf-high dog at his side. 'Father in heaven. I'd not have believed it, though 'twas the buzz of the court. They did say that splendid great prince O'LiamRoe had bought a dog was the most handsome thing ever made; more beauteous than the sun in his wheels of fire, so they said. And whatever do you want with a fine thing like that, Prince of Barrow?'\n\nThe two pairs of eyes, dog and man, turned to Mistress Boyle and the young woman at her side. The waiting horses, impatient, trampled a little in the quiet; and far off you could hear the berners, speaking low to their greyhounds as they went. The lymhounds, trained to silence, sat and scratched.\n\nMargaret Erskine, who knew O'LiamRoe from the river bank at Rouen, and from her mother's sophisticated hilarity, felt her face harden with anger, and leaning over, spoke to the Queen, her back to the clear, expressionless profile of Thady Boy's face.\n\nInto the silence, only a little flushed, O'LiamRoe spoke evenly. 'She is not Failnis itself, but she is sweet-mouthed and fleet, so they say. Her name is Luadhas, and she and I had great hopes that you and your lady niece would accept her.'\n\nLike a tall sea goddess, stonelike on her horse sat Oonagh O'Dwyer, her black hair blowing a little, the only moving thing, on her trailing mantle. Mistress Boyle, releasing a thin scream, leaned over and dug her fingers in the girl's quilted arm. 'Is he not the darling knight of the kennels, and shy too, with the two little blushes on his cheeks? Thank him, Oonagh. N\u00e1 buail do choin gen chinaid, they say.'\n\nIt was doubtful whether any part of this speech reached Oonagh O'Dwyer. At the first words she had pulled off her glove, leaned down, and cracked her long, boy's fingers once. The wolfhound turned its flat head and, trailed by a sullen Dooly, first walked and then trotted to her side. The long, hairless white arm caressed the dog briefly; then she straightened, drew on her glove and renewed her firm grasp of the reins.\n\n'A fair beast and a good purchase, Prince of Barrow,' she said, straight-faced and straight-backed, and clear as a bell. 'Now let us see how she runs.' And with her movement, as at a signal, the company, circling, swinging, trampling, returned to its affairs. With the rustle and pad of perfect control, the Duke trotted past, and into the lead. With him went the Duchess and the Queen, their entourage following. Then they paused; the Duke turned, and they saw his arm raised, and heard the ululation of the horn.\n\nTaut, merry, nervous, expertly mounted, exquisitely clothed, haughty in their bright youth, the chevaliers of France poured from the dishevelled clearing. Sunlit, all that morning, they spanned the glittering woods: diamond on diamond, grey on grey, riches on riches; bough and limb indistinguishable; skirts and meadows sewn in the same silks; skulls in antique fantasy knotted with rhizome and leafy with fern frond. Webs, manes, beards, spun the same smokelike filament; rime flashed; jewels sparked, red and fat, on rosebush and ring. Earth and animals wore the same livery. Jazerained in its berries, the oak tree matched their pearls, and paired their brilliant-sewn housings with low mosses underfoot, freshets winking half-ice in the pile. O'LiamRoe's mild face was suffused like a god's; Diane's alert, sweat-bathed cream; Margaret's and the child's a bright, comely red; and the Duke de Guise, like the sun, threw off splendours and had majesty at his command.\n\nThere were many hares. Four miles she might run at her best, the lovers' creature, the God-given Hermaphrodite; and thirty grey hounds might she still outpace. Fast, keen-nosed, cunning, jack or puss, they leaped from form or feeding ground as the lymhounds came. Big-jointed, white-tailed, they ran, jumped, doubled as the three motes rang out mellow behind them and the first relay of hare-hounds left the liams.\n\nThey hunted not in an enclosed park, but in a chase; in woods and scattered covert of nut tree and beech, poplar and ash, and in scrub and heath with elder and alder on the ground, gorse and blackthorn and the stubble of reaped corn. There the great hares started, with three years of cunning behind them, ears and scut couched, leaving the form cantering, not yet at full stretch. Then the running dogs would pass the slow lymers, the leader opening a single note as the hare ran and the 'Laisser courrer' sounded. Other hounds doubled and trebled their tongue as the hunt swept uphill, horns stuttering du gr\u00eale, the yeomen berners addressing the dogs.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, golden hair streaming on streaming wool frieze, with his queer, inbred instinct had chosen his dog well. In the third relay, the best, the parfiti\u00e8res, ran Luadhas with her great bones and long back swaying, swimming; the flat brow and Roman nose high and delicately held. O'LiamRoe watched her, his soul in his eyes, and did not even know that Oonagh O'Dwyer was watching him in her turn.\n\nNothing in the situation escaped Robin Stewart. Pounding along, never quite abreast of the hunt, he caught Thady Boy's eye at last and heavily winked. Thady Boy, who had pressing concerns of his own, took the first chance to spur his pied jennet and draw off.\n\nThe next hare was a fast one\u2014eight pounds of her, grey in her winter coat, but with the wisdom to spare herself, squat when she could, and exhaust the dogs seeking her, questing, yearning in circles. They headed her at last to the stable where the last relay stood, and O'LiamRoe was not the only one who, elated with the sun, the cold wind, the warm saddle, the music of hunt horn and voice, strained to see the noble, waiting head of his lovely dog Luadhas.\n\nShe was there, but tight in hardel as were all the braches in that place, the rough hair lifted stark at her spine. Next to her stood a royal groom, a great thong round his wrist. And among the grey-yellow dusty filaments of last year's flowering weeds was a low spread of dappled fur, staunch elbows, and great pads laid flat, and, above them, motionless in the quiet grass, a shallow, masked head. In a moment you could see the wide-spaced, tufted ears, the bottle nose, and the cheetah's lyre mark sealing ancient secrets round the white muzzle. One of the hunting cats had been brought.\n\nIt was not hard to tell who had engineered it. Through Robin Stewart, mischievous in his jealousy, O'LiamRoe had already been forced to present his lady prematurely with his self-conscious gift of the hound. So much Thady Boy had already ascertained. Now the display of Luadhas was destroyed at a stroke, and Robin Stewart, who had laid his plans well, admitted as much buoyantly, with his knowing smile seeking Thady Boy's eye yet again as they stood arrested, the tired dogs hard-leashed, the horses still. In the bare field before them, nothing moved but the hare.\n\nThe Duke de Guise raised a hand. The groom, bending, whipped off the cat's mask. There was an arc of something pale-spotted, all shoulder and leg; then the plushy shoulders and weird, thick-jointed shanks worked silently through the long grass so that it leaned a little and stirred, as if a snake had passed through. The blemish sprang across the wide field like a shadow, and then stopped. With a thin scream, the big hare died.\n\nOonagh O'Dwyer knelt by the groom, her pale eyes blazing, as the cat drank its reward and, masked and manacled, leaped in a flash of white fur on its keeper's crupper. Soon, pleased with their new toy, they were galloping at full stretch again; and the sun at its height patched the white shadows with colour and lit them like a book of hours in vermilion and gold as they streamed through the little woods, black-fanned by tree shadows. On the boldest horse, erect and still, masked like an executioner, sat the cheetah. Nearest to him rode Oonagh, her black hair freed and streeling in the wind, her mermaid's eyes green-lit and intent as the cat's. The running dogs, leashed, were still with them, but they were not used again. The reign of Luadhas had been short.\n\nThe check came with the last hare of the day. The mechanical killing, the silken violence of the cat, had added a fulsome excitement to the hunt but drained it of skill. A good while before, O'LiamRoe, without comment, had dropped to the back; and immediately the pied jennet also had slackened its pace.\n\nThis hare had waited in her form till unharboured and had left it like a thunderbolt, running hard in the open for over a mile before clapping; and then trying every trick. She doubled over gates, bobbed along a boundary wall, leaped long-short, long-short on the straight for a while, and then, jumping at right angles to her own track, made off in a fresh direction. In a little while she began to run mostly straight, and they knew she was lost. Then the scent, weakened over the stubble by the morning's bright sun, suddenly redoubled, fresh and strong, and the lymers quickened, tongues lolling; and then checking, flung here and there searching. She had come back on her tracks, doubling scent, and then vanished. The riders stopped and the horns blew the ritual bewilderment of the stynt.\n\nThey were not sorry to stop. In twos and threes, they gathered at the edge of another wood, steam rising from riders and horses. Before them, a wide mole-combed meadow unrolled, dipping distantly to a grey, ice-clogged stream and rising beyond in the same rolling yellow grass and gorse, with low bushes and a rare copse beyond.\n\nWaiting, they chatted. Margaret Erskine, pausing briefly at his side, complimented O'LiamRoe pleasantly on his dog; but he wanted to speak of the little Queen, who certainly rode well, even boisterously, for her age. St. Andr\u00e9 on foot at Mary's side was checking a saddle girth. The horses chafed a little, sidling as the cold penetrated; and O'LiamRoe, his face thoughtful, looked down at the ollave heaped at his side. 'Thady Boy, between this and no one murdering me at all, it's a poor day you've had.'\n\n'Ah, be still. The day is not over. There are worse off,' said Thady, acknowledging the unexpected thrust neither in dark face nor flat voice. 'Look at Piedar, and the legs on him like honeybags.' Then the horn, blowing the rights, told the hare had been found, and like split pulses the party tumbled apart.\n\nA beaten hare, far from landmarks, forgets to run in a ring. A beaten hare runs uphill; and if she is old and shrewd and there is a fresh young hare at hand, she will clap and lie by the young one, and let her spring up first, if she will, so that the simpler braches, the pups, the addlepates, would bob and babble after the different scent.\n\nIt happened here. But the older hare, rising, fled the meadow with half the company following, as the braches in the wood gave tongue after a different prey. For a space, two hares held the field and split the pack between them, one crossing the open in great bounds with the leaders\u2014the Duke, Diane, the little Queen, the Neuvy party\u2014after her, and the other skirting the wood, with the dogs in full cry.\n\nIt was bad hunting and improper coursing, but the day was ending and etiquette relaxed. The rival hunts swept after their respective hares, neither knowing nor greatly troubling about which pack was following the original prey, and which was hunting change. Then, with the width of the meadow between them, the de Guise party killed.\n\nThe ironic whoops, the waves, the horn blowing from the ridge, reached the less fortunate party down below; the second hare, now patently a fresh one, was far ahead, and both horses and riders were tired. But St. Andr\u00e9, riled by the shouting, followed grimly, with O'LiamRoe at his elbow. And behind, among the running berners and the leashed dogs, the cheetah rode stiff-legged on its cushion, the mask dark above the silent muzzle.\n\nThey had no break for horn blowing now. Stream and ridge far on their left, they raced along the wooded edge of the meadow until the turf turned to a weedy tilth and began to show the bones of the underlying lime. Small quarries, holes and underworkings patched the distant ground; and it was apparent that they were now very close indeed to the banks of the Loire. Stewart, loose-seated in the middle, could hear O'LiamRoe swearing. Once into the broken ground, their hare was as good as lost.\n\nThen their luck turned. Out of the ground far ahead materialized a man, a middle-aged man dressed in working clothes who waved his woollen cap and shouted and jumped so that his breeches clapped in mid-air. It had perhaps been worth a crown to him once before, and it certainly earned him as much again. The hare veered, hesitated, and then altering course grimly, began to forge back over the meadow.\n\nIt lay before them, a long field of close grass rolling uphill, dipping to the stream, rising to the ridge where the others waited, black and derisive against the frosty blue of the sky. If they chased her, they would simply drive her into the Duke's hands.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9's arm came up. They halted, sweating, jolting, behind him, the latecomers padding through the crumbling lime; and at an order the groom thrust past with the silent cat. The Marshal spoke. Fast and smoothly, the thong was slipped, the mask peeled off; and the cheetah's peat-brown eyes, glassy full, were directed to their prey. Then with gloved hands the man lifted the cat by its flanks and flung it to the ground. For a moment the cat crouched, pale-spotted, furry, the tufted ears pricked; then the spine rose thin and raw like a lash, the thick joints folded, and the cheetah launched itself, clinging, inescapable as a dream and, undulating, began to cross the wide field after the hare.\n\nSoftly as she went, the sound reached the hare. Her thews responded, flinging her forward in great jumps, eight feet and nine feet between her pricking, her dark-tipped ears surging above the high grass. She jumped; and from the short fur on her neck a blaze of green flared into life and died again in the shade.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9 suddenly froze in the saddle. On the pied jennet, Thady's blue eyes narrowed. But Robin Stewart, closer to the household than any, knew at once what it was. As the hunting cat, smooth as lava, unfurled to the rhythm of its most perfect pace, Stewart flung his horse forward, shouting, the words floating thinly through the ice-clear, sunny air. 'Damn you. It's the leveret! It's the Queen's hare you're hunting!'\n\nThey heard on the ridge. On both sides of the field, for a single second, no one moved. An outsider looking at the flushed faces would have seen fright and irritation and anger. The death of a royal pet was not the best way to win favour. Of all the faces beside St. Andr\u00e9, only O'LiamRoe's showed pity. Thady Boy was as still as the cheetah on his leashed pillion had been. For clearly the little hare was doomed. Already, it had swum, big-headed, bobbing, over the stream and was halfway up the long meadow; and already, far behind, the long spine and the padded, working shoulders of the cat, yellow like smoke, smoothly loping, had begun to narrow the gap. And hopelessly behind on a tired horse, Robin Stewart was going to be too late. For no horse on either side could now reach Queen Mary's pet hare before the cheetah did.\n\nThe hare was tiring. Little lovers' gift, consecrated to Venus, fed on wild thyme and summoned by flutes, the young puss with her emerald collar was unused to enemies, had had no dreams of the bamboo forests of the Ganges and the glib death lurking there. She ran white-eyed and unbreathing, sensing the thick soft pads closing and feeding horror from every sense to her loaded heart until, clear above the sifting grasses, the far-off barking, the distant beat of a tired horse, the voices muted and uneasy and the tinkle of bit and hardel, a familiar voice cried, a little porcelain mare started forward, and someone with a familiar smell and look and shape called 'Suzanne!'\n\nWith all the strength in her bleeding paws, the little hare turned from the open, unyielding horizon and made for the small Queen. Far behind, the cheetah turned too, and pinned its mesmeric, passionless gaze on the white scut and the little palfrey and its red-haired rider beyond.\n\nOn the ridge, the Duke de Guise, his spurs instant and cruel, hurled his horse after his niece. Below, helplessly, the mounted and unmounted surged forward in their fear. But before that, a hand like steel closed on O'LiamRoe's wrist, and Lymond's clear voice said 'Luadhas.'\n\nFor a second the silence lay between them, aching. Then O'LiamRoe moved and spoke. Unbelieving, the little Firbolg heard, bent and, slipping the fine shackles, sent the wolfhound Luadhas hurtling after the cat.\n\nShe was a noble bitch, high in heart and honest after her calling. She could overthrow a wolf, but the alien, wicked beauty slipping through the grasses ahead was of an element she had never known. She raced uphill, tail streaming, rough hair blown and parted with her speed, loping high on her long legs; and fast as the gap was closing between cheetah and hare, the gap between dog and cat began to close faster still. The hazel rod in O'LiamRoe's right hand broke in two.\n\nThe hare was at its end. Thrashed by its heartbeats, suffocated with exhaustion and fear, its thick sight blinded, it was running by sound alone to its mistress's voice, the fortune on its neck winking and sparkling in the unsparing sun.\n\nAnd the porcelain horse, with the lightest and smallest of riders, had flown, skidded, stumbled downhill faster than any. Within yards of the creature Mary kicked her feet from the planchon and slid to the ground as the Duke's gelding reached her. She rushed forward; the little horse fled; and her uncle, one-handed, snatched at her cloak.\n\nMary stumbled. She was weeping, her hair tangled about her hot face, the tears rushing off nose and chin. The leveret gave a mighty, last leap and stopped, rigid, in the naked ground out of her reach. Mary tore herself from her uncle's grasp and flung herself forward as, in the distance, the grass shook and parted.\n\nIn an act as brave as any in his whole young, foolhardy career, the Duke de Guise leaped from his horse, seized the girl, and scooping up the leveret with one hand, flung it to the nearest rider. Robin Stewart caught the inert, warm, fatigue-sodden weight in his arms as the Duke flung the child on his plunging horse and followed her into the saddle.\n\nFrom above and below, horses were rushing towards them; but the cheetah arrived before them all. The grasses stirred and he was there: lyre-marked face and strong forelegs and silken, yellow-white belly. He came upon the big gelding as the little girl clutched at the saddle and the topaz eyes followed the red head. He did not even pause. Cheated of his rightful prey he landed, turned and sprang. The Duke, the child in his arms, dragged the terrified horse sideways, but the spread needles did not reach them. Instead, a matted, brindled shape breasted the grass. A slender, pointed muzzle struck the air; long legs, rough-haired and uncombed, paused a little; and then the deerhound Luadhas, with the courage of her inheritance, gathered her powers and sprang on the cat.\n\nIt was a fight well remembered for years afterwards by the company who gathered there to watch it that day. No weapon existed which could now separate cheetah and dog, and no man could hope to pull them apart. As the child, sobbing, was swept to safety, the rest in terrible fascination stood and looked.\n\nThere was never a doubt as to its end. As O'LiamRoe had known, as Lymond had known, the dog had no chance. Hound and cheetah rolled over and over, compacted silk hair and rough, mean, triangular head and long-nosed Byzantine; then Luadhas, lips bared, would seek a grip on the spotted spine and the sinuous snakelike fur would unroll and untwine; the heavy soft paw would flash, and on the skull of the dog the brindled hair sank, wet and dark, as the deep lifeblood welled.\n\nShe was a brave dog. As she bled she bit, her strong teeth sunk again and again in the dirty yellow-white plush. She shook her head and the cat, blood-spotted and scarred, wrenched free and staggered a pace: a dancer tripped, inelegant and baleful. There was a pause. Then, his haunches tightened, the cheetah called on the great muscles of thigh and hock and with all his power sprang quiet, curved and deadly into the sunlit air. The soft body fell and its great paws, needle-sharp and fatal, sank into the great cords and vessels of Luadhas's neck and spine. The bitch screamed, rolling over; and on the squeaking, flattened grass her great body opened and shut, the soft fur like a woman's twined about it, the cat's claws deep in her back. She threshed for a long while, panting in her blood and whining softly, but the cheetah's grip never relaxed; and after a while the whimpering stopped and the pointed muzzle opened, and the cheetah withdrew its claws.\n\nIts keeper, white with the premonition of royal doom, leaped down, chain in hand and, cajoling, approached the cat. The flat brainpan, the haughty lyre, the chestnut eyes turned, and he stopped. Delicately, in a high remote ecstasy of some icy bloodlust, the cheetah stalked by. Fastidiously he stepped over the heaving thing of torn fur, bloody on the crushed ground, and his topaz eyes, roving, saw the wide circle of faces and of horses which, unbroken, encompassed him. One horse was nearer than the others and there, forgotten, was his true prey. Evilly, without warning, like some eerie familiar, he sprang at Robin Stewart where he sat, the leveret gripped in his cold hands.\n\nThe Archer's elderly mare could suffer no more. As the hot fur brushed by, she neighed shrilly, reared, and throwing Stewart hard to the ground, galloped wildly downhill. On the trampled grass the cat crouched, watching Robin Stewart as he lay, the forgotten leveret tight in his arms, the mature amusement, the detached contempt quite disappeared.\n\nUrgent and quiet, a voice said, 'Throw it.' But that would be professional ruin. In a kind of petulant stupor born of fright, Stewart lay and watched as the cat gathered its limbs for a jump. Then it was airborne. In the same kind of trance, he saw its belly above him, smelled the blood, saw the sun spark on the claws. And saw, torn from his dream, sick and fiery with hope, something hit and enfold the scarred, arching body, swaddling the spare head, muffling the peaty eyes, twisting and trapping the powerful limbs.\n\nIt was Thady Boy's saddlecloth. As the cheetah, hurtling threshing against them, began to fight its way free, the ollave's strong hands jerked Stewart, staggering, to his feet and, one steadying hand under his elbow, made him run.\n\nWith stones, with rods, pulling the horses as near as they dared to separate victim from cat, the others did what they could; but they were not quick enough. Insane for its baulked blood, the cheetah drove through them, wet with fresh wounds, and settled into its stride in the tracks of the two running men.\n\nIt reached them as, sprinting, jumping, twisting over uneven ground, Thady brought the Archer to the edge of the meadow where turf gave way to scrub and rank grass and the pitted limestone banks of the Loire. A wisp of smoke, the dying breath of some oracle, rose for a moment in the bright air and died away. Stewart turned, his bony hands tight on Suzanne's fat body; and in a flash of torrid fur, the cheetah rose.\n\nAt that point, the automatic obedience which had brought Stewart so far came to an end. He could run no further. He couldn't fight a hunting cat with his bare hands, nor could Thady. He began to duck, in pure reflex action, but in his mind was only a dead wilderness which did not even anticipate pain. Then something took him by the collar. As the cat was in mid-spring, Thady Boy ducked, twisted, and hurled Stewart forward with all the strength of his shoulder into the ground.\n\nAnd the ground gave way. In a kind of trauma of exhaustion and fright the Archer felt himself falling not merely forward on his knees in the scrub but sucked downwards, blundering, banging hip, knee and elbow on unyielding surfaces, losing his breath, and not merely from concussion; losing his sight, and not merely from panic. Slipping, sliding, skidding, in utter amazement, Robin Stewart tumbled head over heels into darkness.\n\nThere was a lung-flattening jolt, a burst of light, a choking flurry of smoke, and a scream. The Archer opened his eyes. He was sitting half-disgorged from a twisting stone chimney, on a hearth with a little wood fire: a discovery he made painfully and fast as Thady Boy, tumbling down on his tracks, landed plump on his lap. In that age-old limestone landscape, all colonized with caves, he had dropped on to the troglodyte hearthstone of the man with the cap. And ringing in his ears was a soft voice which had surely just spoken, back there in the field, before the bed of the fire burned his seat. 'For O'LiamRoe's sake, my dear,' it had said, 'you deserve to fall first.'\n\nBefore they left, the Archer got Thady Boy by the arm. 'You saved my life,' he said. 'You'd no need to do yon for me.' Then, being Stewart, he spared a glance for the little hare. Her eyes were open and her soft ears laid back, but already her brown fur was cold.\n\n'She died of fright just after you got her,' said Thady Boy Ballagh. 'I told you to throw her.'\n\nA less worldly society would have cheered their reappearance from the cave. The Court of France cheered the cheetah, laughed, and went about their business. Someone brought up Thady's jennet, and Stewart, sitting tenderly in the saddle, posted stiff-legged after the rest. The cheetah, masked and leashed, sat rock-still and silent once more on her groom's crupper; and strung out, the horns speaking their message, the hunt was making for home. Long ago the Queen's party had gone. The younger men trotted beside Thady; and St. Andr\u00e9 himself held him in light conversation, his hand on his knee. The leveret hung from his saddlebow, the jewelled collar winking green.\n\nBack in the field, one horse still stood waiting; one man was not quite ready to go. Mistress Boyle noticed it, glancing over her shoulder; lightly she skirled, and winked at her friends. 'Ah, Oonagh, there goes the fine present our noble friend was after making you. Is it paid for, do you think, or will he be needing to ask a loan of us next?'\n\nThere was a long laugh. It rolled clear over the crushed stalks and bruised grass, the smeared weeds and wet earth to where O'LiamRoe knelt, his golden hair blowing, by the shuddering rags of the dog Luadhas, and drew his knife in charity along her long throat."
            },
            {
                "title": "Aubigny: Boldness of Denial",
                "text": "Four things sustain crime: temptation, consent, urging, and boldness of denial.\n\nThat autumn, Margaret Erskine wrote to her husband, 'Your lantern lissom of light is possessed of devils'; and far off in Augsburg, with its vineyards and walnut trees, its sandy, stony terraces and its ageing, weakening Emperor, the Ambassador, knowing Lymond, wondered what barbaric enfranchisement of soul or of body he was devising for himself and for his sponsors now.\n\nBefore the cheetah hunt was a week old, the full Court arrived at Blois, streaming uphill from the river to the broad court of the ch\u00e2teau. The sun on the King's mail splashed through the dark archway, slid over the thick, eely salamanders on his father's great wing and winked from the stony case of the stairway as the Court in silver, satin and jewels was sucked up in his wake, as O'LiamRoe observed, like crabmeat in a gullery.\n\nWith King, Queen and Constable had come the nursery. Mary was delighted to see them. In the old days she had enjoyed sleeping with Elizabeth and Claude, but she liked sharing her room with Aunt Fleming even better and was looking forward to mentioning it.\n\nThe death of the leveret had been a two days' agony. After it, on her charming uncle's advice, the small Queen was taken, her face still white with crying, to see and thank O'LiamRoe.\n\nShe was only seven. Halfway through, the speech came to an end; and she stood before him, breathing heavily, her lip transfixed by her teeth and a tear in each lid. The Prince of Barrow, who had been suffering an embarrassment almost as acute, instantly knelt, stumbling slightly, and said, 'What is on you, Princess? There goes Luadhas, hunting with the old gods and the noble champions at the great Feis of Samhantide, with golden Cormac himself, without blemish or reproach; and after, Bran and Luadhas and Conbec lie all at the King's feet, fed and sleeping. For this day, to be sure, the wolfhound and the little hare have shared the two sides of a dish of new milk; and when we have years and years on us they will be running yet up there on the blue speckled Curragh, with their pink tongues and their sharp, young, white teeth. Thady Boy there will tell you.'\n\nLymond did not speak. Watching O'LiamRoe from the fireplace, he and Margaret Erskine, who had brought her, had already exchanged all their news; she had no wish to provoke him further to speech. The towering, icy rage of the Queen Mother after the hunt had been easier to bear than Lymond's smooth tongue. Here was another attempt to endanger the Queen and her friends. On the face of it, a travel-split cage explained the hare's escape from the menagerie; coincidence explained its presence there in the woods. It was Lymond, combing the bushes on his own, who had found the anonymous game bag afterwards, not far from where the hunt had paused during the final stint. Stiff, roughly perforated, offensive with crotel, it showed by a torn buckle where someone had wrenched it off in his haste, and then abandoned it. So the hare had been carried throughout the chase, it now seemed, its bag probably cloaked; and had been released just there, deliberately, to do what harm it could. And but for the dog, braver than anyone could have calculated, the trick might have succeeded.\n\nSince that day, the tourniquet of their duties about the Queen had tightened. By Lymond's laws they were bound now, in an unbreakable fence about the Queen. There was no second of the day when an Erskine or a Fleming was not at her side. Only Jenny, popular, resilient, was exempt, while they waited for the shadow of death or accident to fall again.\n\nO'LiamRoe, silent on the subject of Luadhas, struggling perhaps himself with an unaccustomed need for privacy, was ignorant and content to be ignorant of his ollave's affairs. And since Mistress Boyle, in her positive, eccentric way, had apparently forgotten the whole episode, he resumed his relationship with the lady and her niece, adopting with pleasure their wide circle of friends and finding in Oonagh, now and then, a trace of courtesy lacking before.\n\nFresh, night-long cronies from the Franco-Irish circle at Blois in turn visited him, and so did the English and some of the Scots. The big room shared by Prince and ollave was seldom empty of convivial company disputing hotly in French, Irish, English, Latin. Occasionally Thady Boy's sardonic voice was heard, and O'LiamRoe's face would admit a certain avuncular pride. Thady Boy could talk. And he was a pet of a listener as well.\n\nBarred himself from the ultimate presence of the sovereign, the Prince of Barrow missed the solid hard work which was making Thady Boy indispensable at Court. At lev\u00e9e and reception, at ball and after sport, during meals and after supper parties, Thady was expected as a matter of course. His playing had become as fashionable as a drug. He made music in public and in private for them all: the King, the Queen, Diane, the Constable and Cond\u00e9, d'Enghien, the de Guises, Marguerite, and already they thought nothing and less than nothing of how he looked. Then, that goal reached, he hardened his long fingers in their entrails of icing and sugar and started to twist.\n\nIt was then that O'LiamRoe, coming back to his chamber now and then, found the door locked against him, and a woman's voice, sweet and unrecognizable, spoke once when he rattled. 'Non si puo: il signor \u00e8 accompagnato.' The next time the voice was a man's; but it ceased as soon as O'LiamRoe rapped.\n\nOnly Robin Stewart upbraided Thady Boy, and then on the eve of their sole journey: a two-day visit by ceremonial invitation to Lord d'Aubigny's home. Since Thady Boy's first, carefree days in France, Lymond had kept his finger lightly on the pulse of Robin Stewart's troubles, for little reason other than habit. Attention to weaker vessels had been for years a fighter's necessity. It was also the sign of a born teacher, although this was not an aspect of Thady Boy which leaped to the eye.\n\nOn Stewart's side through all this, a grudging admiration had succeeded distrust. Even before the hunt he had started to seek out Thady. After it, aggressively, he showed signs of haunting him, and Thady Boy, who by this time had his own reasons, did nothing to stop him. Faced now with one of the Archer's more popular tirades, Thady Boy listened patiently, unrolling a doublet and beginning to put it on. Stewart's lecture ended, and his bony hand rubbed over his face, stirring his already disordered hair and flicking his shirt collar awry. Unnoticing, he said suddenly, 'Ballagh\u2014why d'ye stay with O'LiamRoe? Any God's number of dukes and lords here would be blithe to employ you, if it's money you want.'\n\nThady Boy pulled shut the paned windows. 'I thought you'd got O'LiamRoe out of your pate. What's wrong with him now?'\n\nThe Archer said brusquely, 'I don't know.' Then bending, he picked up his cloak and swung round, his face red. 'It's not worth speaking of. But\u2026 hell fry them\u2026 there they sit in their fancy clothes, with their lapdogs and their boy friends and the carbuncles bluff on their pinkies; and unless you're Michael Scott or Michaelangelo, or Duns Scotus or Bayard, or a six-headed sow that can play prick-song on a jew's harp, they've no use for you.'\n\nThady Boy, too, had slung his cloak over his shoulder and was standing, legs apart, hands clasped behind him, watching. 'And which of O'LiamRoe's spanking successes is irritating you?' he asked. 'Being turned off the tennis court or your cheetah clawing his wolfhound to death?\u2014That hurt, by the way.'\n\n'I'm pleased to hear it,' said Stewart viciously. 'You'd never know it. He's mediocre, and he doesna care. He doesn't even bother with\u2014' He stopped.\n\n'With what? Women? That remains to be seen. You may think you've endeared yourself to the Boyle family, my dear, but I doubt it. And is he mediocre?' asked Thady Boy. 'He upsets your philosophy by being happy; but I find him irritating for other reasons entirely.'\n\n'Then why stay with him?' Blundering, Stewart renewed the attack. 'Do you think you owe him loyalty? Do we owe any jack of them loyalty? If you made one slip yourself, they'd have your liver under their nails.'\n\nHis voice was thick; Thady's, mellow and cool as the Liffey. ' 'Tis yourself, my fellow, who needs to leave this fine country. Quit off and go back to Scotland. Why not?'\n\nRobin Stewart drew a deep breath. The waves of heat from the hearth oppressed them both, fully dressed for the journey. Stewart's coarse skin was moist with heat; the brows indented, line upon line, where the fretful pressures of his spirit squeezed into his flesh day and night. 'I'll be sorry I said it,' said the Archer suddenly. 'But I'd liefer you knew. I would have left many a long week ago, if it wasn't for you.'\n\nNeither surprise nor pleasure showed on the dark face opposite, only hard-held patience and something else so efficiently suppressed that Stewart missed it altogether. The ollave loosed his clasped hands and laid two fingers on the latch. 'They are waiting for us. I hope you will regret nothing you do from this out. But because of me\u2026 because of me, gallant man, I think you should leave.'\n\nFor a moment, in silence, they faced each other. Then, without waiting for an answer, Ballagh opened the door and moving quickly and lightly, ran downstairs to the horses.\n\nOn a little river south of Orl\u00e9ans, at the eastern edge of the rolling green fens of La Sologne, lay the moated town of Aubigny-sur-N\u00e8re, given to John Stewart, High Officer of the Scots Army fighting in France, by a grateful nation a century and a quarter before this. Twice burned by the English and once by accident, it had risen on its ashes neat, prosperous and comely, with its statue of St. Martin, its shops, stables, gardens, houses, smithy, fountain, worksheds and its elegant castle where, beneath the lions and salamanders of a bygone Stewart the present owner, lordly in silk, welcomed the arrival of O'LiamRoe, Thady, Dooly and their guide Robin Stewart. And with Lord d'Aubigny were his two Scottish relatives by marriage, Sir George Douglas and Sir James.\n\nBlandly, the visit began.\n\nOnce before, John Stewart of Aubigny had been surprised by the range of O'LiamRoe's interests. Now, displaying his treasures to the trained mind of the ollave, he found again an unwilling kinship with the ollave's queer master. O'LiamRoe could and did alarm with unseemly fables of the Gobbam Saer; but Delorme, god of masons, could reduce him to silence; and the names of Limousin and Duret, of Rosso and del Sarto, Cellini and Da Vinci, Primaticcio and Grolier rose familiarly to his lips. With Robin Stewart sour and Thady discreet behind him, he wandered happily though Castle Aubigny and, next day, through Stewart's other beautiful house on the N\u00e8re, touching silverwork and embroidery, admiring paintings, savouring gem-bound books and tapestries, imported tiles and Milanese beds and Florentine marquetry, the frescoes and the grave, Italian marbles. The houses were large; the staffs\u2014stewards, equerries, ladies-in-waiting to his wife, tutors and pages for his son, chambermaids, waiting women, priest, surgeon, butler, cook, gatekeepers and porters, baker, cobbler and baron-court sergeants of the wards\u2014were immense.\n\nWatching d'Aubigny, his big, firm hands turning over a piece of enamel, his cultured Scots-French voice expatiating on the P\u00e9nicauds, it was hard to imagine him in the field, his company of arquebusiers mounted behind him, the smell of horseflesh drowning the pomades. Yet he had fought; he had been in prison, if for political reasons only; he commanded a company. And judged by the unfairest standards, set against a scourging aesthetism bloodily acquired, his tastes were easy and his appreciation oddly slack.\n\nHe showed them, at La Verrerie, a Cellini saltcellar given him by the King. 'Some years ago now, of course,' said Lord d'Aubigny. 'He has certain other continuing drains on his income. It isn't easy for him to be as generous as he would like. Except in some quarters. Chenonceaux\u2014have you seen Chenonceaux? Prettier than Anet, in my view. She's hardly ever there. Thirteen thousand aubergines, she has in the garden; and nine thousand strawberry plants he sent her last year. It will be a pity if she spoils it. They like throwing money about. Have you seen \u00c9couen and Chantilly? It's a pity when the taste isn't there. They talk a lot of the Queen\u2014these pearls from Florence, the furniture she has there at Blois. Of course, Florence was at its height very recently. She married at thirteen, a cradle between two coffins\u2014you won't remember the phrase\u2014and learned all she knows about a court under Fran\u00e7ois au Grand Nez. And we know what that means.\u2026'\n\nBehind them, on their tours, sauntered the Douglases. Once, as Thady Boy leaned his idle weight on a table, a hand came down sharply and silently on his wrist, pinning it on the rich wood where the flexible fingers lay exposed in relief. Holding it thus, 'Don't you sometimes regret, John, that something like that can't be bought?' said George Douglas. 'Or can it, I wonder?'\n\nAfter the first second, Thady Boy's right hand lay relaxed in his grip. The others all turned to look. O'LiamRoe grinned, but Stewart, forced to look at that elegant hand, found rising within him a profound and inexplicable annoyance. He said nastily, 'They're not so bonny on the other side, are they? I doubt Master Ballagh caught a few knives wrong end up when he was learning to juggle.\u2026 Yon's the arcade his lordship was speaking of.' Lord d'Aubigny cleared his throat; Sir George, smiling, loosed his hard grasp; and the little party, dismissing the scene, shuffled after.\n\nAnd once, when Lord d'Aubigny touched with a certain wit on Stewart's recent ordeal by fire, Sir George smiled. 'Life at Court seems to be uncommonly risky. I hope, Stewart, both you and your rescuer had read your Pynson. You know it? The Art and Craft to Know Well to Dye:\n\nThe greater part of his audience looked amiably blank. O'LiamRoe picked up a piece of rock crystal and whistled. The book Douglas mentioned, he seemed to remember in the unfiled rubbish heap of his mind, dealt not with mortality but with tinting. A grin of pure joy lined the smooth, egg-round face; and the Prince of Barrow, returning the crystal, addressed his ollave over his shoulder. 'Busy child, you have surely read that.'\n\n'Ah,' said Thady. 'The Douglases are expert on titles. I would never contradict them.'\n\nAnd paid for it that same evening when, neatly noosed by courtesies and polite insistence, he was drawn alone into Sir George's room and heard the door close crisply behind him.\n\n'And now,' said the most intelligent of the Douglases, removing his superb cloak and smoothing his doublet, while watching the fat, sweep-headed creature before him. 'And now, Francis Crawford of Lymond, let us talk.'\n\nFrom his black head to his scuffed mockado shoes, Thady Boy was relaxed. A point of light from the fire danced under his lids. 'You are speaking, maybe, to the fairies?'\n\nMoving with grace, Douglas dropped into a tall tapestried chair and put his fingers together. 'You forget. I know your face, my dear Crawford. I know it better than any of my colleagues do. I had the pleasure on several occasions of causing you trouble, and I bear you no grudge for having on occasion made use of me. At times, as I remember, we have even helped one another. For the future.\u2026 Who knows?' His eyes rested thoughtfully on Thady Boy's calm face. 'I thought the Queen would have had you at today's meeting. Doesn't she trust you yet? Or is it the other way round?'\n\nThe room was exquisitely furnished. Detaching himself in all his bleary satin from the door, Thady Boy took from the wall an Aztec mask fiery with jewels, its nose and ears of beaten gold. He put it on. The bone teeth grinned, and his voice came hollow through the metal. 'Quetzalcoatl, Lord of the Toltecs.'\n\nSir George waited, but the voice added nothing more. 'Shall I spell it out, then?' he said. 'The Queen Dowager of Scotland and her brothers had a meeting with King Henri this morning. They reached an agreement, as a result of which our dear Scottish friend the Earl of Arran will be asked to give up the Governship of Scotland, on the promise that if little Mary dies childless, he will rule Scotland as King. And in Arran's place the new Governor of Scotland in Mary's minority will of course be that well-known Frenchwoman, the Queen Dowager Mary of Guise.\u2026 Interesting?'\n\n'Very.' The mask had descended.\n\n'So that at all costs the little Queen must be kept alive so that her mother, during the minority, may run Scotland as she wishes; so that Mary in time may marry the heir to the French throne; and so that the Dauphin may in time become King of France, Ireland and Scotland, with the entire family of Guise at, if not on, his right hand. This conception of the future is not universally popular in the kingdom of France.'\n\n'Do you tell me?'\n\n'No. Diane, it is rumoured, is becoming a little jealous of the de Guises, and did she know what, for example, some ladies of my acquaintance suspect, she would be very angry indeed.'\n\n'They're easy vexed, so, the women here.'\n\n'On the other hand, the Constable is said to favour reducing the power of both the de Guises and Diane, and marrying the little Queen off to a lesser duke instead of to the Dauphin as planned.'\n\n'There does be a power of scheming among the grand, high folk there are,' said Thady Boy humbly.\n\n'\u2014Finally, Queen Catherine, we know, dislikes sharing her husband with Diane, with the de Guises, and even with his old crony the Constable, though she's capable of allying with the Constable at a pinch. She dislikes England intensely. She has seen to it that d'Aubigny here, for example, will never rise in the hierarchy since his brother Lennox, my revered relative who hates you, my dear Lymond, so cordially, is at the English Court and a strong contender, if not a strong favourite, for both the English and the Scottish crowns. He, we must not forget, is descended from Scottish Kings, and his wife\u2014my niece\u2014was niece also to the late King of England. No one shakes the King's loyalties lightly. The Constable was made to release d'Aubigny from prison because the King loved d'Aubigny. The love has perhaps weakened, but the regard is still there. Neither Catherine nor the Constable can injure d'Aubigny; but they will see that he is kept out of the royal mind.\n\n'The King has other favourites besides the de Guise family. You know them well. St. Andr\u00e9. Cond\u00e9 and d'Enghien. The absent Vidame. Each in turn hates his or her rival; nearly all without exception hate the de Guises. So that if someone is trying to kill the little Queen, the little Queen's mother is in quite a predicament. The foreign assassin is soon dealt with. But the assassin within the Court is another matter entirely. For example, if it were Queen Catherine herself?'\n\nWith a smooth rustle, Thady Boy slid down his stool, settling his potbelly on his knees and gazing at the segmented ceiling.\n\n\u2003'A Madame la Dauphine\n\n\u2003Rien n'assigne\n\n\u2003Elle a ce qu'il faut avoir\n\n\u2003Mais je voudrais bien la voir.\u2026\n\nOr Diane?' said Thady Boy. 'Vieille rid\u00e9e, vieille edent\u00e9e? As you see, I know a verse about her too.\u2026'\n\n'I have no doubt you do,' said Sir George, his voice grating very slightly. 'Do I have to be more precise? The Queen Dowager has to protect her daughter. And she must do it covertly, without knowledge of King or Court. So the man she chose, unknown to the King, is pranking at his very table. Are you listening?'\n\nThe ollave's blank stare, very slightly unfocussed, dropped from the ceiling. 'Am I not here sober, celibate and buttoned like a March stag? What must I do else?'\n\n'Dance,' said Sir George succinctly.\n\nA smile, starting somewhere on the scalp, crawled downwards over the dark, slovenly skin. Thady brought his chin down and his hands up, and sketching an unmistakable gesture, replied. 'The answer is a doux Nenny, my dear.'\n\nA refusal, sweet or otherwise, was no use to Sir George. He sat up. 'You understand at least what I'm talking about?'\n\n'Devil a word,' said Thady Boy cheerfully. 'But three months in this fair land have taught me something, surely. Five words, to be precise. A doux Nenny, my dear.'\n\nFor a moment Douglas was silent. But he was not of a race easily daunted. He said pleasantly, 'You would find it helpful to have the friendship of the next Scots Ambassador in France.'\n\nThe smile, remaining, matched the abandoned lilt in the voice. 'Does the Queen Mother know who the next Ambassador is to be?'\n\n'She will, when you have told her,' said George Douglas. 'Myself.'\n\n'Otherwise\u2014?'\n\n'Otherwise Henri of Valois, Second of that name, will be told why Queen Mother of Scotland has brought a spy with her, and who he is.'\n\nThady Boy's soft voice was sad. 'It all sounds terrible unlucky. Would it not be a better thing, surely, to put the problem to the Queen Mother yourself? Or would the tale, maybe, fall faint on her ears? I doubt you have axe-land to cultivate there, my hero.'\n\n'It wouldn't fall faint, I dare think, on the ears of King Henri,' said Douglas comfortably. 'As you are aware, the Queen Mother will disown you instantly.'\n\nThady Boy shook his head. 'Logic, logic; why then should the lady ever agree to your wants?'\n\n'It wounds me to say it, but for quite a sound reason I believe,' said Sir George Douglas. 'She disapproves of me, I do believe; but she wants Lymond more.'\n\nThere was a thoughtful silence, filled with the hiss and crack of the fire. Thady Boy stirred. He rose to his feet, picked up the Aztec mask, and clapping it on, Janus-like, back to front, surveyed Sir George who also had risen, not quite so smoothly. ' 'Tis a neat, pretty scheme; but you overrate friend Quetzalcoatl here and underrate the Queen Mother. If his stock were as high as you think, he would have been at this meeting you speak of, surely. And to exert pressure and still be refused would be intolerable, would it not? So that it is lucky that there is no Quetzalcoatl, but only a Druimcli of the seven degrees with a simple negative in his mouth.'\n\nHe strolled away, replaced the mask, and turned to the door. Sir George Douglas followed him. They understood each other. Lymond knew that Sir George would take just as much as he could snatch, this side of danger; and Sir George knew that Lymond had quite cheerfully called his bluff. The situation, however, was still full of plums for the picking. He said mildly, 'The seven degrees of self-confidence, I take it. You deserve to be made a little uncomfortable, my friend.'\n\n'Dhia, you are forestalled,' said Thady Boy absently, his hand on the latch. 'I will add, however, a true piece of advice.\n\n'The country is stronger than the lord, noble Douglas. Stronger than the lord and equal to the power of her songs\u2014Do you sing, now?'\n\nSir George did not sing. He turned to Quetzalcoatl, empty-eyed on the wall, and as the door shut, exchanged a bald grin.\n\nThe Douglas was sufficiently piqued to retaliate next day, when maliciously he dragged the small talk to Scotland, the third baron Cutler and his Irish wife, and the third baron's brother and heir, Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter.\n\nThe secret of Lymond's identity, Sir George believed, was his own and O'LiamRoe's. But surprisingly, O'LiamRoe with a flood of animated questions was his ally. Drumlanrig, who disliked the Culters, was typically gloomy and the Archer Stewart looked merely angry and bored. But Lord d'Aubigny, surely, knew that Lymond was a notorious enemy of Lennox, his brother in London, his name even having been linked with Margaret, Lennox's wife.\n\nYet far from slandering the Culters and unwittingly giving help with the baiting, Lord d'Aubigny listened almost without comment, and only once contradicted. 'The fellow's yellow-headed, surely; the same as my brother. That's why my dear Matthew found it infuriating when Margaret\u2014' He broke off. Margaret, he had perhaps remembered, was George Douglas's niece.\n\nIt was what Douglas had been angling for. 'Yellow hair can be dyed, John. They say the man is now somewhere in France.'\n\nThere was a dreary silence; to his irritation he felt the topic founder at his feet. Lord d'Aubigny said with surprise, 'My dear George\u2026 must we pass the whole day talking about a provincial adventurer, a galley slave even at one time, I believe? The man Ouschart is coming, and I was hoping Master Ballagh here would play for us.'\n\n'Ah, tattheration. Any day of the week you can hear Thady Boy; there is nothing like a good, stout tale of a rogue.' O'LiamRoe, elaborating, was not going to let his private entertainment lapse.\n\nProne on the window seat, his instrument on his stomach, Thady Boy took no part in the discussion. Later, after some brilliant rope dancing by Thomas Ouschart, whose other name was Tosh, Thady Boy beat O'LiamRoe unmercifully at backgammon, gave a brief and unquestionably fine recital for his host, and then in company with O'LiamRoe, Robin Stewart and Piedar Dooly took his departure for Blois, the visit ended.\n\nThey were to break their journey at Neuvy. Sir George Douglas, who was returning to Blois via Chambord, along with Sir James and Lord d'Aubigny, returning to duty, let the ollave go without comment.\n\nOn the journey, Stewart edged up to Thady. 'Your Prince was awful interested in this fellow Lymond.'\n\nThe ollave was patient. 'Your Lord d'Aubigny is terrible interested in Italian silver. 'Tis the same thing; only O'LiamRoe collects useless facts.' His eyes were on Stewart's bony, tight face. 'Don't you agree?'\n\n'Italian silver! A small trifle by Primaticcio,' mimicked Stewart viciously. They had all caught the edge of a flaming row conducted behind closed doors between Lord d'Aubigny and the Archer. 'What would he do, faced with a hunting cat in the grass? Throw a bracelet at it?'\n\nThen they came to Neuvy. Mistress Boyle's modest, pretty ch\u00e2teau where they broke their journey that night was stretched to the jowls with relations and visitors and rocking these two days with the news that the great Cormac O'Connor himself was coming to stay with them. Francophiles and Anglophobes to a woman, the Boy les and the O'Dwyers would always worship a rebel. O'LiamRoe, ollave and servingman, stepping into the ferment, were welcomed with the bursting of kisses and passed a night there that never hinted at a pillow through midnight to dawn, so fierce were the arguments. Thady Boy shone; O'LiamRoe spoke fitfully. Oonagh was not at home. She had gone to Blois itself two days before, staying with a second cousin, to attend a function at Court.\n\nNext morning, dressing, Thady Boy was unduly entertaining on the subject of O'LiamRoe's reticence.\n\nThe Prince of Barrow, putting on his snubnosed boots, got up, stamped each foot with great care, and spoke with some deliberation to his ollave. 'It would be a great saving for everyone, would it not, if you passed a little time on your own affairs, before you came interfering with mine.'\n\nShocked, Thady Boy looked round. ' 'Tis my affairs I am returning to Blois for, surely.' And then, after a moment, added indulgently, 'But to take heed to the luck of another, Prince of Barrow, 'Tis a true friend you are.'\n\n'I'm happy you think so,' said O'LiamRoe dryly. Behind him, the eyes of his ollave were tenderly blank."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: All the Mean Arts",
                "text": "Musicians and sport-makers in general, viz. equestrians, and chariot-drivers, pilots and conjurers, and companies, and scarifiers, and jugglers, and buffoons, and podicicinists; and all the mean arts in like manner. It is on account of the person with whom they are\u2014it is out of him they are paid: there is no nobility for them severally at all.\n\nThey returned to Blois to find the Court full of women. The King, together with Lord d'Aubigny and his officers, was boar-hunting at Chambord. To the ladies at home the arrival of Thady Boy, all pale acid and invention, was as welcome as the warty toad with his ruby.\n\nTired of walking in the frosty labyrinths and exchanging stale barbs round high fires of rosemary and juniper, tired of the tumblers, tired even of watching Tosh and Tosh's donkey in their wooden harness skimming from steeple to steeple, they closed around him in clouds of patchouli, and peeled his brain like a walnut. O'LiamRoe found Oonagh at her friends' house, riding, hawking, playing chess with her suitors, and attached himself, jocular and uncomplaining, to their number. He had bought her a new wolfhound. It was good, but not a Luadhas.\n\nJust before the King returned, Queen Catherine invited O'LiamRoe to one of her afternoon entertainments. The offence of the tennis court, it was clear, had been nearly effaced by his ollave; soon the last ban might be lifted. He attended, pink, smiling, verbose. The tumult of luxury entertained him: the blasts of chypre from the birds, the hissing farthingales and Hainault lace, the net stockings and gem-stuck pumps, the headdresses starched and spangled and meshed and fluted, the plucked eyebrows and frizzled hair, the lynx, genet and Calabrian sable stinking in the wet, the gauzy cache-nez drawn over nose and chin in the gardens and referred to in the careless vulgarity of the mode as coffins \u00e0 roupies. Thady Boy, absent on this occasion, translated after.\n\nAfterwards, he was presented to the Scottish Dowager. The meeting took place in her own rooms, and only Lady Fleming and her daughter Margaret attended. O'LiamRoe, who had been stubborn about changing his saffron for one of Thady Boy's clever old women, was conscious, under the lightly detached calm, that she hadn't even noticed the frieze cloak. The interview was formal and pleasant. At the end, with a suddenness which alarmed him, she thanked him in her firm, strongly measured English for creating and preserving the alter ego of Crawford of Lymond.\n\nThe Prince of Barrow had drawn a certain mild amusement from the idea of flouting authority. He had preferred to forget that if Lymond was the Queen Mother's busy tool then so, to a certain degree, was he. As if guessing his thought, Mary of Guise said, 'I am sorry he has proved a little\u2026 unorthodox.'\n\n'But, ma'am,' said O'LiamRoe, touched on his dearest theory. 'When a man draws the blood out of his heart and the marrow out of his bones to make an art, there's little sense in bemoaning the frayed suit or the poor table or the angular manners. 'Tis the liberty of mind, and annulment of convention and a fine carefree richness of excesses itself sets the soul whirling and soaring.'\n\n'You've certainly hit on Thady Boy's receipt,' said Lady Fleming with asperity. 'I should think his soul is whirling and soaring like a Garonne windmill. His habits are low enough.'\n\nO'LiamRoe smiled, but the smile turned a little absent on his face. He had noticed a rag doll left asprawl on a cabinet, its linen split, its hair torn, its head limp. And in his stomach, smooth, clean, washed in wholesome juices and diligent as the churns in a dairy, something altered in beat.\n\nNext day, the King came back. Archembault Abernaci stopped fussing with his cages in the outer reaches of the ch\u00e2teau gardens and retired to the town lodging he shared with his assistants, several bears and the saltimbanque Tosh. The donkey, foreseeing hard days ahead, brayed irritatingly from the castle terrace. Oonagh O'Dwyer, on her second last day in Blois, received her second last visit from O'Li mRoe. And the brothers of Bourbon and the other young gentlemen, released like puppies from the whalebone of Chambord, raced upstairs to Thady Boy.\n\nBy now, they expected something more than his music. He gave them freely an idea which had occurred to him at Neuvy and they embraced it instantly and fell to planning.\n\nWhat he proposed was a race in pairs, from the cathedral hill to the castle, following a route determined by clues which some of the King's Guards could lay. News of it spread uncommonly fast. By evening, with the Court settled to watch its after-supper wrestling, the Guard alone was seething with it; and Lord d'Aubigny, one of the few men on duty with long experience of such things, was clearly suspicious of the general air of vivacity. An Archer was brought in with a broken leg, and the hilarity increased. The King had not been made aware of the project\u2014a natural precaution in this sort of race. It was Thady Boy's idea that they should run it at nightfall, over the housetops of Blois.\n\nThe evening wore on. The wrestlers ended. The Queen rose; the King retired; and half the French Court, with torchbearers, Archers, men-at-arms, servants and a few discreetly cloaked women, melted out of the ch\u00e2teau precincts and uphill to the highest region of Blois. At its head, along with the Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 and the Colignys and the young Bourbons and the young de Guises and the musicians, trotted Thady Boy Ballagh explaining, to their polite applause, why he wished to break his journey halfway in order to deliver a serenade.\n\nThe H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier in the Rue des Papegaults, with its turrets and dormers, its fountain and its orange trees, its courtyard paved with Venetian mosaic and its small-paned windows with the marble sills, was built high in one of the precipitous lanes which plunged downhill from the Cathedral on the far side of Blois. All the way up from the Carrefour St.-Michel the walled houses faced each other, leaning together so close over brick paving and worn steps that dormer breathed into dormer and the inlaid chimneys mingled their juniper-scented smoke. Sometimes a man of property might bridge the street with his own windowed gallery. Behind the moving shadows of the trees, gargoyles and griffins and painted cherubim flickered in the lantern light from the courtyards. Here the rich merchants lived, the town officers, and the great officers and their families from this Court and the last. Cond\u00e9's own house was nearby; and the de Guises lived further down the hill nearer the foot of the castle plateau.\n\nAlthough thickly crowded, the Rue des Papegaults was not noisy. Late at night, horsemen were rare. The sound of the hooves would patter like sea spray off the brick paving and walls; three streets away a group of riders would sound like the muted rumble of a storm. But most people kept inside after dark, or walked with swords and torchbearers; and a party intending to launch a serenade or run a race, if they valued privacy, would travel on foot.\n\nH\u00e9lie and Anne Mo\u00fbtier were leaving Blois next day to winter in the south, as was their custom; and Oonagh O'Dwyer, accordingly, was on the point of returning to Neuvy and her aunt. All her suitors free of duty at Court had come to the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier for her last evening in Blois, together with a good number of the friends of her host and hostess. Among them was Phelim O'LiamRoe, proving himself capable of a questionable branle and endless good-natured obstinacy.\n\nBy midnight the dancing was over, the wine had been drunk and the guests had departed. All except O'LiamRoe. Before the hissing, murmuring fire where H\u00e9lie sat, mouth open, hands clasped on unlaced doublet, fast asleep beside his young wife, O'LiamRoe stretched his mud-splashed shanks beside the brocade table and raised an eyebrow at Oonagh O'Dwyer, her black hair tumbled by the dance, who sat dreaming in a high chair. The firelight winked on the silver on the cloth at his elbow and touched on gilding and well-kept wooden panels, waxed against heat and smoke, and slid over the carving of the high chimney cope. H\u00e9lie Mo\u00fbtier, even half-undressed looked what he was, a prosperous mercer; and Anne, now frankly asleep at his side, had her sleeves set with pearls.\n\nO'LiamRoe turned. Oonagh, her head laid back in the deep velvet, was handsomely gowned too, but she wore it all like sea riches, prodigally and carelessly, leaving the rack to bring her fresh gifts tomorrow. The fire, merciless in its glare, printed two sleepless arcs in a face otherwise vacant of moulding. It was the first time since the Croix d'Or that he had ever had her undivided attention; and he spoke quietly, not to waken her cousins. ' 'Twas a queer thing, now, to come to France to pick a husband; and all the splendid Saxons and the susceptible Celts and the endless mixtures of the one and the other ye might come across in Ireland?'\n\nIn the revealing firelight a small muscle moved; but neither irritation nor animation showed in her voice, and she did not stir when she answered. 'It is a better thing, surely, than sitting in a mud hut with salt herring and garlic and kale boiled in a soup bowl between your two knees? Why else are you here?'\n\n'My grief, for the change of company, surely,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Ever since our great lord Henry the Eighth of England and Ireland went to his account, it has been a thought crowded in the green fields, with the secret French emissaries, and the secret Scots emissaries and the secret Papal envoys, all anxious to lead the old country into the rare pathways of independence and light.'\n\nHer head turned. 'You have no truck, yourself, with independence?'\n\n'My own self?' said O'LiamRoe, shocked. 'No, no. Politics are for the politicals, and the sons of Liam are content with a castle and a spread of heather and the chance of a good talk over a dried cod in the Slieve Bloom\u2014leavened, you understand, with the occasional gadding to neighbouring heaths.'\n\nHer black brows drawn in thought, she turned from him to the fire and, her grey-green eyes on the flames, considered the phenomenon. 'You are happy under the rule of English Viceroys and the Star Chamber. It doesn't disturb you to know that you can be sent to London and executed or imprisoned untried. The Scots occupy Ulster from the Giant's Causeway to Belfast and James MacDonnell himself rules the Glens of Antrim beside ten thousand Hebridean Redshanks. You have no care. You are content with the garrisons and the debased coinage and the fact that no Parliament has sat in Ireland for seven years?'\n\nThere was a pause, broken by O'LiamRoe's mild voice. 'The last supreme King of Ireland, mo chridhe, was three and a half hundred years ago. And rig-domna I am not.'\n\nThe blood, rare under the white skin, suffused her face unexpectedly to the eyes. H\u00e9lie, sunk deeper in his chair, had begun to snore. Oonagh's retort, across the rich table, was necessarily low. 'You have no care for your country, none at all? I find it hard to believe.'\n\nO'LiamRoe was gently reproving. 'Ah, with all the great brains and fine lords fussing over it, what for should I add to the noise? Caritas generi humani I can understand; if you press me, I'll lend it my passive support. But where would balance, where would detachment, where would proportion end up did no person stroll here and there outside the fence, and put his chin on the gate from time to time, to click his tongue?' His tone was severe. 'There's no chance of inciting me, my dear. As the Pope said of Hippolito, \"He's crazy, the devil; he's crazy. He doesn't want to be a priest.\"'\n\nHe was unmistakably sincere. There was a blank interval, then she said accusingly, 'Then why stay in France? It must surely be obvious\u2014'\n\nHe broke in quickly. 'It is obvious. But I have a plan to present you, between now and your wedding, with seven hounds with chains of silver and a golden apple between them\u2014do I ever get them to you alive\u2014so that when you race through the woods and fell your deer and see him undone and brittled there, you will bethink you of O'LiamRoe.'\n\nThe words were wry, but the tone, with whatever effort, was one of lightest amusement. Her mood opened to him suddenly, the white brow patterned with fine, dry lines which had not been there before, and her eyes searching his. 'I have had dogs enough, O'LiamRoe; and lovers enough.'\n\n'You have no friends,' he said, 'man or dog. I had thought to be a small bit of both.'\n\n'What happened to Luadhas,' said Oonagh, 'is what happens to my friends. Your place\u2014you have said it yourself\u2014is outside the fence. Did I like you or did I love you, I would tell you the same.'\n\nO'LiamRoe said, his voice light and his face rigid, 'And do you like me or do you love me at all?'\n\nWhich was the moment Lymond selected to set the drums rolling. The skull-splitting crash rocketed bumping along the walled street, shaking the high houses into light. In the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier it sent H\u00e9lie tumbling, snorting to his feet; wakened his wife Anne with a gasp; and gripped Oonagh O'Dwyer like saltless frost in her chair, the moment, the mood, the answer all gone.\n\nO'LiamRoe was the first to thrust his way to the balcony; the first to peer over the yard, where the little trees trembled black in the yellow lantern light and where the narrow causeway beyond was packed with young men, thick as seedlings, their diamonds, their boredom, their wit outrageous below upflung windows. The side drums in their midst rattled like cannonball and then stopped. There was a brief pause, a mighty inhalation; and the cog-mouthed trumpeters from the Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9's own suite split the night with a fanfare ripening like the Bishop of Winchester's organ into a prodigy of praise.\n\nAnne Mo\u00fbtier saying 'What is it?' could hardly make herself heard; but O'LiamRoe answered directly, his voice neither mellow nor amused. 'Several trumpets, a hautboy, a fife, a viol, two side drums, a trio of flutes, and that rare youth of two parts for whom the hazel trees stoop, Master Thady Boy Ballagh.' Under the worldly stare of the Court, the pitiless serenade to Oonagh O'Dwyer was under full way.\n\nEven then the blandly sportive intent did not strike home until she saw Thady Boy himself, conducting his clangorous consort from a gatepost. Her furious plunge into the house was stopped short by H\u00e9lie Mo\u00fbtier's wise arm. 'No, child. If it's not meant as a compliment, it's meant as a test. Either way, it calls for good nature. Stay and smile.'\n\n'Smile!' She stared at him, cold outrage sleek in her eyes. 'At that pack of incompetent sow-gelders?'\n\n'There is no need. I shall stop him,' said O'Liam Roe.\n\n'And make us both the butt of the palace?' Her voice rooted him to the floor. 'If I need a champion, you fool, I'll choose someone better than the fat, white-fronted cat of the Breasal Breac' He fell back; and the music went on.\n\nBrumel they played, and Certon, Goudimel and de Lassus, Willaert and Le Jeune\u2014all badly. The watch put in an appearance and hurried away, gold in hand. A word, an appraising glance from d'Aumale, from St. Andr\u00e9, from d'Enghien, were enough for the angriest sleeper. O'LiamRoe, from the shadows, watched Oonagh's straight back as she stood on the balcony listening. Presently she turned to him and, without apology, asked him for a service. He complied gravely out of his wisdom, honouring the impulse as he had once seen Luadhas do. Embracing the gatepost down below, Thady Boy was carolling in Gaelic.\n\n\u2003'To whomsoever of women we arrived\n\n\u2003Of Scotland and of Ireland\n\n\u2003She is the goat-haired woman\n\n\u2003She is the rambler among rocks.\u2026'\n\nHer eyes flickered then; and O'LiamRoe, silently watching, was filled again with his rare, slothful anger.\n\nShortly afterwards she left the balcony, and the gates of the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier swung open, with good grace, to admit the performers to the courtyard for soup and wine. With them came the thirstier servants, some men-at-arms and several hopeful passers-by. The courtiers, losing interest, had moved on.\n\nExposed to all that crowded, craning street, Oonagh walked through the courtyard, giving soup with her own hands, the steam white in the moonlight. So, with the veil coiling between them, she met Thady Boy.\n\nSmiling, flickering in the lamplight, his face was Quetzalcoatl's again, maliciously observant. She set the bowl in his palms and spoke evenly. 'Thank you, Master Ballagh. I was wondering how to bring the great folk of France to take notice of me.'\n\nHe dipped a long finger in the soup and held it up. 'Larks' tongues, is it? Ah, 'twas a cultural triumph for Ireland this night. Three flutes we had, mark you, and a flute is not at all cheerful at being out of his bed after nine o'clock at all, I can tell you.\u2026 Was that a whisker of O'LiamRoe I had a sight of up there?'\n\n'It was.'\n\n'My own lord and master. He will be a proud man this night. Is he not for coming down?'\n\n'He is not; and it is better for you, I can tell you, that he is not. Do you think he is pleased?' said Oonagh.\n\nThady Boy's actor face was crestfallen. 'Is he not?'\n\n'He is not,' said O'LiamRoe's curt voice at his elbow. The Prince of Barrow, his back squarely to his ollave, went on: 'Your cousins kindly pressed me, but after all I'd liefer not stay. There are things to be done and said which are better done at the ch\u00e2teau.'\n\nOonagh took one step after him and then halted. Thady Boy did not even do so much. When she turned back he was buried, intoning, in a pack of drunken trumpeters, and two of St. Andre's men, dispatched from the road end, were trying to hurry him into the street. The race was due to begin.\n\nOonagh heard of it from a viol player, morosely returning his instrument to its bag. He was cold, tired, and humourless, and had no intention of waiting to see young men run over housetops from the cathedral hill to the ch\u00e2teau in the dark. 'They're mad,' he said. 'They're drunk,' he added. 'They'll break their necks.'\n\n'That,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer dryly, 'would be an excellent idea.'\n\nThe bald, moonlit square above the Rue des Papegaults was heaped with people, sliding and darting like iron filings stirring under a magnet, the smoke shadows and copper glare of the torches streaming across the face of the half-finished cathedral. Older Blois, hearing the noise and watching the gallants laughing below, had stuffed its ears and turned back to bed, muttering; but sycophantic Blois, and working Blois, and gambling Blois, as well as all the rival followings of the twenty competitors, were here in the square to see the race begin on the blue slate roof of the Inn of St. Louis.\n\nRobin Stewart, returning unsuspecting from an errand for Lord d'Aubigny, was caught in the updraught and swirled to the top of the hill before he could stop himself, there crashing into the soft black spread of Master Ballagh. He found his arms gripped. 'What Moses, I pray, called you? What God's minister bade you rise?' Thady Boy had spent some time in the inn. 'I thought you were on guard.'\n\n'I am. I'm on my way back. What's this rubbish they're telling me? You're never going to run that damned steeplechase in that state?'\n\nThe dark, sweaty face was reproachful. 'What state?'\n\n'And at night. You'll kill yourself. My God, don't you know how the King loves St. Andr\u00e9? If he falls and it was all your fault\u2026'\n\n'If he fallsh\u2014falls,' said Thady, releasing him, 'there's a lady every five paces to catch him.'\n\n'Well, you don't want to be killed. You're coming with me,' said Robin Stewart, and took firm hold of the ollave in his turn.\n\nThere was a wrench and a twist, and an empty doublet sagged from his hand. From the vine-covered walls of the inn Thady laughed, swung, and climbed until his untended, tousled head appeared black against the broad moon-washed sky. He called to Stewart. 'Come up. I need a partner up here.'\n\n'Don't be a fool. Come back.'\n\n'Afraid?'\n\nThe Archer tightened his thin lips. 'Come down, you fool. Let the others be killed if they want to. It's not your damned country.'\n\n'Or yours. Show them what your country is like. Come on up.'\n\nA crude catcall from below reached them both. Stewart began to say, his upturned eyes white in their horny sockets, 'It takes a lot more courage not to do a crazy thing than it does to fall in with the\u2014'\n\nCrisp, pod-shaped and fiend-inspired on the ceiling of Blois, Lymond kicked off his shoes in two shining arcs into the packed causeway far below. Then he knelt, hand outstretched. 'Friend Robin.\u2026 Come running with me.'\n\nHe went.\n\nIt was a night Robin Stewart would recall all his life. It was a night memorable too for the Prince of Barrow, striding home with Piedar Dooly at his back, struggling with a new emotion and an untoward rebellion of the mind, and unmindful of the shadows shifting unseen in corners. Memorable for Jenny Fleming, in her pretty room at the castle, where she was not lying alone. And memorable, at last, for Oonagh O'Dwyer, sitting alone and unseeing for half that long night in the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier before a dead fire."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: Wickedness Is the Rule",
                "text": "The King is exempt from liability for accidents caused by a chasm that he may have in his green. If the chasm be one that could have been made safe by levelling or filling, up, but was not, wickedness is the rule respecting it.\n\nFew of those running ever finished the course. But ten pairs started, moonlit and insubstantial as fawns on the slanting roof of the Inn of St. Louis, in their white shirts and long hose and brief, elegant trunks. Below, the narrow streets were knee-deep in discarded velvets, and the gutters sparkled with shoes. Then St. Andr\u00e9 leaned over and shouted for torches.\n\nLike fireflies they sprang into the air, the red sparks jerking and darting below; and the young men on the roof caught them, cursing and laughing, and sprang erect, each pair with a cresset held high.\n\nThady Boy caught his last. Within the sluttish casing, the indulgently fat body, Robin Stewart recognized the white blaze of vitality which had struck at his manhood at Rouen, at St. Germain, at Blois. It drove him to make one final attempt. Stone sober\u2014alone of the twenty\u2014he stretched out an arresting hand. At the touch, Thady wheeled, read his face, and without listening to a word that he said, drew the Archer's wide-brimmed hat from his head and set fire to it. 'You won't need that. Gare le chapeau!' And holding it between finger and thumb, he dropped the flaming thing into the street as d'Enghien's hand, this time, held him fast.\n\n'Set fire to the rest of him, my dear, and drop him below.'\n\nThady's teeth shone white, and his eyes blazed with drink and with laughter. 'Robin is my partner, monseigneur.'\n\nThe ringed fingers on his shirt tightened. 'You are racing with me.' In his smiling, sleepless face, d'Enghien's eyes were black and glittering. 'You're very drunk, my dear. Entrust to me those beautiful hands. We must not risk a fall.'\n\nLymond, staring back, did not move. 'Find yourself a new l\u00e1mdhia. My hands are for the only fellow among you who has not had the drop in him since suppertime.'\n\nJean de Bourbon, sieur d'Enghien, no more vicious than the rest, had his own style of wildness. He answered the rebuff quite simply by a neat jab which knocked Robin Stewart staggering down the roof. At the gutter he fell. As the edge struck his back Thady Boy flung himself full length in the gulley and brought his arm hard down on the somersaulting body. Then a hand beneath his head gave Stewart the leverage he needed. He swung himself half round and, using a gargoyle at his hand, threw his weight up and back to the roof. Thady Boy gave him a parting shove and sat up, rubbing his grazed palms and gazing sardonically at d'Enghien who was standing still, breathing rather hard.\n\nOf the rest, only St. Andr\u00e9 was clearheaded enough to have noticed. He gripped the young man's satin arm, speaking briefly, and d'Enghien answered tartly; then, staring at Robin Stewart, made a three-word apology and turned his back. St. Andr\u00e9, catching Thady Boy's eye, smiled and shrugged and then, to a roll on the side drum, bent in the sudden silence to catch a white packet thrown up from below. In it were the first clues. The rules they knew. To set foot on ground level was to be disqualified. Each clue would lead them to a fresh house. In each house was a new clue and a word they must memorize. The couple to reach the ch\u00e2teau first, over the rooftops with the whole message, would be the winners.\n\nOn the roof, in the red glare of pitch torches, the heat was surprising. Below them, splayed, crooked, jostling, the impacted rooftops of Blois like some dental nightmare sloped down from the hill to where the plateau of the ch\u00e2teau rose blue-black against the green-black of the sky, iced and prickled with lights. On their left, beyond serried chimneys, the river Loire lay like pewter, braided with dark trees. Above, it was cool, sparkling and silent: a gracious winter sky below which earth's younglings could rest. With a roar that rattled the windows, the steeplechase began.\n\nAt first the danger lay in the numbers. They ran shoulder to shoulder, pushing, joking and jostling for position along the flat-topped sloping roof, twisting past the hot chimney, and sliding down the blue tiles. The next house, a yard away, was lower. Stewart hesitated but beside him Thady Boy leaped into space and landed, bouncing on the crown of the thatch. Stewart jumped, was caught, and ran.\n\nFor the space of three houses, the levels were uneven, but just feasible. At the fourth they were faced with a blank wall, a brick and stone house a full three stories above their heads. It was just possible to get a toehold among the packed bricks. Thady Boy watched the leaders start to climb. Then he looked up at the sky, glanced back at his partner, and backing a little, deliberately put out his torch. Turning his face to the street, he started to run. Stewart saw him launch into his jump from the gutter, arms outflung, hurtling across the narrow gap of paving below. The width was not excessive; the roof opposite was flat. Tumbling, he landed on the edge, somersaulted forward and leaped up as Robin Stewart, elbows flailing, arrived smash in his wake. When the Archer got to his feet Thady Boy, running lightly, was already halfway down the street. Stewart followed, his teeth clenched and a splendid schoolboy bravado burning bright in his breast.\n\nThey re-crossed further down the road and found by the bobbing torchlight they had gained two housetops by the man\u0153uvre. Then they were in the Carrefour St.-Michel, and next to the high sloping roof of Diane de Poitiers's town house.\n\nShe was not there; always at Blois she slept at the ch\u00e2teau when the King was in residence. The clues they sought, one for each pair, were in the attic. It was a tricky climb round the twisted columns of the dormer and on to the carved sill. Thady Boy moved in like a marmoset while Stewart waited, anxiously watching the torches; and the next two competitors arrived as the ollave climbed out and up. He gave de Genstan a deft flick with his toe as he went, so that the young Franco-Scot, shouting, dived neatly into the room; and then, grinning, joined Stewart on the rooftop to read the clue by the bright moon. He stayed for some moments\u2014too long for Stewart's liking\u2014before saying, 'All right. Come on\u2026' and hurling the crumpled paper to the street. Stewart followed blindly. Acrostics in French or acrostics in Hebrew were still Greek to him.\n\nThe Rue des Juifs led out of the square, and this time the house they wanted was at the far end. Their lead now was much reduced. Three couples were hard on their heels: d'Enghien, with his brother Cond\u00e9 as partner; Tom Erskine's brother Arthur with Claude de Guise, Duke of Aumale; and St. Andr\u00e9, running with Laurens de Genstan. More distantly were two others, and behind that four more partners were following slavishly, having failed either to enter the attic or interpret the clue. These alone now kept their torches; the leaders, like Thady Boy, had preferred to trust to darkness. And lacking the word cypher the others had memorized, they had no chance of winning, although they might be ready to run for the sport.\n\nBelow, their audience ran too, lamps swinging, torches streaming, and shouted insults and encouragement. Sliding, jumping, Stewart hardly saw them. Once, when a cat sprang, spitting, from a corner, he stopped with a gasp; and once, as a tile broke loose under his foot, he froze, gripping the gutter as the thing clanked and slid to drop tinkling below. 'Good God, there's no time to spit,' exclaimed Thady, passing his shoulder; and grinning, Stewart picked himself up and ran after.\n\nThen, minutes ahead of their rivals, they stood high on the pinnacle of some merchant's house, looking across a twelve-foot gap to the roof slope of the house they next wanted, soaring high over their heads to the fretted, stalk-chimneyed ridge and plunging below to inaccessible gutters, below which was the only window in the whole facing wall. It was a large window, with a small balcony, and the balcony rails ended in spikes. On either side of the two men, the roof they were crossing planed down, blue and silver in the moonlight, to overhang the packed street. It offered a standing jump across twelve feet to a gradient too steep to walk on; and it was impossible.\n\nStewart, clinging to his side of the chimney and breathing fast, found Thady Boy had hardly hesitated. Sliding, slipping, using his hands as brakes, he made his way down the overlapping Angevin tiles to the roof's edge and with infinite care swung himself over. Then, his fingers in the gutter, his shadow moving and jerking on the cobbles far below, he began to move along the timber face of the building.\n\nStewart followed. He let himself down, found a toehold in the wood, and instantly found what Thady Boy had seen from above: a window facing out across the gap they must cross, with a balcony. To reach it meant leaving the gutter: for some steps their only foothold and their only grasp would be the uneven surface of the wood. Stewart, spread-eagled, his heart cold, saw the dark head turn towards him and something gleam. Then Thady Boy, pressing his soft bulk against the building, felt downwards with one shoeless foot, found a toehold and began to transfer his weight. Then there was another spark of metal, a thud, a spiderlike flurry of movement; and Thady Boy was on the balcony. In the moonlight, the haft of a knife glinted, deep in the timbering: he had left a new-made handhold for Stewart.\n\nYears of summer expeditions, of interminable chases, of public tournaments and duty matches with bow and stave had made the Archer physically as adept as his shambling frame and harried spirit would allow. With thought bludgeoned from his brain he concentrated on crossing to the balcony, foot here and here and here as Thady had done; and did the extra thing that last week, last month, last year he would never have dreamed of: he clung sweating to the wood and jerked the knife out, taking it with him in his last spring.\n\nHe arrived. The balcony windows were open, the shutters gaped and inside, very close, a woman's voice said 'Ah!\u2014Ah! Assassin! Voleur!'\n\n'O faix, be quiet, woman dear,' said the voice of Thady Boy Ballagh, cheerfully drunk. 'For if you let out but one weeny screigh you'll have eighteen of us here; and yourself with your teeth on the table and your hair on the bedpost and your sense just nowhere to be seen at all\u2026 God bless this good house and all belonging to it.' Then, under Stewart's horrified gaze he emerged, a halo of auburn curls straddling his black head and under his arm a prodigious roll of somebody's tapestry.\n\nThe crowd below had reached the house now. Torches jogging they swarmed round its foot, their heads upturned to the night. With a flap and a crack the canvas flew out, to drop and fix itself on the spiked balcony. Then, as Thady held it secure, the Archer half scrambled, half slid down the soft matlike bridge to the balcony as leaping figures poured over the skyline.\n\nD'Enghien began to descend the roof in their wake just as the Archer clenched the spiked slack in his fists and nodded. After one swift glance upwards, Thady gripped the strong cloth at either corner and dropped.\n\nLike some forgotten flag, the tapestry with its load plunged between the two houses, stretched taut, kicked, and swung back with the strain. Above, hoarsely ripping, the fabric gave way at one spike. The others held. Jerkily, hand over hand, gripping the cloth with knees and feet, Thady began to climb up; and a moment later Stewart seized him. As d'Enghien and the Prince of Cond\u00e9, dropping on to the balcony opposite, met a screeching beldame, bald as an egg, the ollave ripped the cloth free and flung it into the street. A moment later he was indoors and the window was empty but for the auburn curls of a wig, fluttering free on a spike.\n\nThe clue was easy to find. Thady Boy read it, grinned, and led the way upstairs. 'Pierre-de-Blois next. How is Cond\u00e9?'\n\n'Across. They've got some rope from his own house nearby. They ringed a spike with it and then pulled it in after them.'\n\n'Do you tell me,' said Thady Boy, and under the sleek lids his blue eyes were graceless. ' 'Twould be an uneasy day in Heaven, now, if two mortal sinners such as that had the good of it much longer. Do you agree with me, Robin?'\n\nLight, well-knit and agile in spite of the drink they were carrying, the Prince and his brother were capable of making expert use of their ropes; and each high-born gentleman, for his own reasons, was coolly intent on taking the lead in this race with as little obvious effort as possible.\n\nThe rope made for speed. The Rue Pierre-de-Blois was lined with a jumble of houses. Turrets and gables, flat roofs and sloping, balconies and galleries, machicolations and turrets met one another in a confusion of angles and levels sometimes easy, sometimes accessible by crawling, sometimes by leaping from chimney to chimney, and sometimes only feasible by rope.\n\nWhere the others, Thady and Stewart among them, had to make use of the bridges which now and then crossed the street, or descended a storey or more for a foothold, Cond\u00e9 and his brother swung across, looped to grilles, to chimneys, to butcher's hooks straight to their object.\n\nThis time they were first at the clue. Reading it where they found it, by an inside window in the dim moonlight, they heard nothing of the soft footsteps entering overhead. Only when they made fast their rope and throwing one end out of the window, prepared to climb down, were they dumbfounded when the rope-tail dangling under them was whipped out of their grasp, hooked from above by the long shaft of a candle snuffer. Above their heads a blade flashed, and the frayed stub of one of their two great cartwheels of immaculate cord sharply expired at their feet. Thady Boy, from the window above had captured the rest.\n\nAt the third clue, with ten to go, the two leading couples had a coil of rope each, three couples had dropped out and five were still following, with St. Andr\u00e9 partnered by Laurens de Genstan leading Arthur Erskine and Claude de Guise. Running softly for the Place St.-Louis, his hand on Stewart's arm, Thady Boy spoke in his ear. 'My dilsy, I foresee trouble now. We are too even, and some fine fellow is going to try and set that to rights. Go as quiet as you can. If one is held up, the other goes on. There is a word with each clue to memorize, as certain proof we have seen it, and you have a stark sober mind to hold them. Honneur, Esp\u00e9rance and Noblesse are behind us, and were I to choose, I would surely nominate R\u00e9gurgitation the next.'\n\nIt was, in fact, Renomm\u00e9e, nestling with its clues in the carved frontage of a draper's house in the Place; and when the next, in the Rue du Palais, turned out to be Justice, Stewart saw what he meant.\n\nBallagh had been right also about the horseplay. They were all on top of one another again, and it was both drunken and rough. Ropes were hacked at without mercy for those suspended; gutters kicked down and tiles dislodged; elbows, knees and feet brought brutally into play. Stewart, tripped up neatly from the shadows, had a fall of twenty feet, ultimately and safely ended in thatch. De Genstan, who perpetrated it, was caught, as he ran along an exposed upper gallery, by the contents of some sleeper's slop bucket, hurled with a soft Irish benediction full in his face.\n\nStewart himself saw it, his eyes shining. Outside himself at last, he had no fear. Even when hurtling down among the chimneys he had an absolute belief in his own salvation, and rose unharmed and unshaken.\n\nIt was as well, for a new challenge was appearing. As much as a steeplechase now, it was hide and seek. Their brains were well matched. The subtleties of the acrostics gave them pause more than once, but only briefly. The real test was one of agility and ingenuity and pure stamina.\n\nAnd here, taking over as the Constable's nephews, the Colignys and the de Guises\u2014tripping each other up, exploding into laughter, clattering down the rooftops on tin trays and pelting one another with eggs from some long defunct nest\u2014began to lose the sharp sense, of contest, were Jacques d'Albon, Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9, and de Genstan his partner. Courtier, diplomat and fighting man, hated by the King's father and most dearly loved by the King, St. Andr\u00e9 was trained to an inch, sinew, muscle and brain. As windows lit behind them in street after street, as the spectators, the admirers, the rabble coursing below them along the route roared their acclaim; he began to press forward.\n\nMany of the locations properly vacant in the daytime were far from so in the middle of the night. Ten little girls in a convent dormitory giggled, squealed, or hid under the bedclothes, as one by one, the window was darkened by six or seven gallants, each in turn dropping to the floor and subjecting the fireplace to a search. The Mother Superior arrived running as the last well-muscled leg shot round the shutters and, trapped in a fog of hysteria, did not find until morning the discarded shift blatant on the highest finial of all.\n\nIt was about this time that St. Andr\u00e9 and de Genstan passed them and Thady Boy, who had prepared for the circumstance two streets ago, cracked a jar of rose attar and lobbed the contents at the Marshal as he went. The crowd yelled; the victim swore, choking, in rivers of pomade; and Robin Stewart laughed till he cried.\n\nThen it was their eleventh call, in the market square near the quays, with the Loire running black under the arches of the bridge. Above and behind them loomed the high town they had left. They were nearly home.\n\nThe H\u00f4tel-Dieu in the Place Louis XII had an orchard behind. They crossed from tree to tree like Saurians and pelted each other with apples until, from shed to storehouse to attics, they took to the rooftops again. There, the youngest pair made a discovery, and two more, exhilarated with exercise and drink, knelt with them and cheered loudly and sardonically at a lit window whose light suddenly went out. In the shadow of a gable end Thady Boy landed softly and rose to his feet. Stumbling, Stewart was beside him. 'Where now? D'Enghien's ahead of us. And St. Andr\u00e9.'\n\n'There's not the least hurry in the world.' The liquid cadences comforted. 'Let you take breath a little. My life for you, in a little short while it will be either d'Enghien or St. Andr\u00e9 who's ahead of us\u2014but not both, a mhic; not both.'\n\nFour o'clock on a weekday morning was no unusual time for the public roaster to begin his work. Red in the scented glare, with grease spattering his apron and sweat spreading in his neckcloth, he worked half-sleeping over the crackling spit, while a thin-shanked child in cotton shirt and bare feet cranked at the treadle. And inside his shop was the last clue but two.\n\nFor all the attention he paid, he might have been deaf to the noise outside his door as the crowds surged and swayed, moving with the dark figures, jumping and scrambling far over their heads. Heavy as it was, the wagering among the contestants was nothing compared to the money which had changed hands in the streets. Half the Scots Guard off duty, as Stewart well knew, were among the brawling, struggling mass down below.\n\nLying hidden in the shadows beside Thady Boy, Robin Stewart prayed only that he might reach the castle and the last clue before Laurens de Genstan. It was the happiest day of his life.\n\nJean de Bourbon, sieur d'Enghien, was the first to force open the steamy roof-light on the roaster's house and drop cautiously through.\n\nThere was a shelf running high along the wall, from which in the daytime hung the sides of beef, the sheep and the poultry bought and waiting to be cooked; and below that, a table on which d'Enghien and his brother Cond\u00e9 could step without touching ground and thereby infringing the rules. D'Enghien, his curling hair plastered over his dirty face, silk doublet gaping and hose ripped and blotched black, green and white from lime and tar and moss-grown copings, was aware that St. Andr\u00e9 and St. Genstan were almost on him and in no mood for waiting.\n\nAs the roaster tipped a pool of hot fat over the meat, put the ladle carefully down, wiped his hands on the limp stuff of his apron and turned, the young man hopped from table to stool, from stool to dresser and from the dresser to the neighbourhood of the fireplace. Built into the stonework, ridged and scored by the honing of generations of knives, was the salt recess. In it was absolutely nothing but blocks and boulders of drying salt.\n\nThe roaster, porklike arms akimbo, his round beard a wet fuzz of grease, watched him without sympathy. 'You seek some papers, monseigneur?'\n\nAbove, the roof-light rattled as St. Andr\u00e9 attained it.\n\n'Yes, you fool. They should be here. Where are they?'\n\nThe roaster turned his head and the boy, who had stopped cranking, mouth open, hurriedly began again. He turned back. 'They were put in the fire. What a pity. An accident.'\n\n'An accident!' Behind, there was a scuffle. The Prince of Cond\u00e9, as tattered as his brother, was back on the shelf, gripping the roof entrance fast shut against the onslaught of the two men outside. Urgently d'Enghien harried the roaster. 'Can you remember what it said? What was the clue?'\n\nHis red face blank, the man gazed up. 'I have a bad memory.'\n\nFeverishly, d'Enghien dug into his purse. Gold gleamed. 'What was the single word, then? You must at least remember that?'\n\nThe roaster caught the coin, bit it, and allowed himself a brief smile. 'The word was Ob\u00e9dience, monseigneur.'\n\n'And the verse?' Meeting the same vacant face d'Enghien, empty-pursed, gritted his teeth. Foursquare on the grease-splashed floor, the man could defy him indefinitely. 'Louis!' he called; and the Prince of Cond\u00e9, turning, snarled in reply. 'I have no money, idiot!'\n\nThe answer cost him his post. In that second's inattention, the two on the roof, lunging, flung open the trap, and St. Andr\u00e9 dropped beside his rival on the shelf. 'But I have. Where's the Irishman?'\n\n'Not here.' The Marshal had remained within a step of the trapdoor and Laurens de Genstan was kneeling on the roof, looking in. It was patent that as soon as the vital words had left the roaster's lips\u2014if he ever remembered them\u2014St. Andr\u00e9 and his partner would have a head start.\n\nBut he also had the money. Impotent, d'Enghien watched him slip the whole purse from his belt and throw it, sagging, into the roaster's powerful red hands. The big man opened it, and grinned.\n\n'Ob\u00e9dience, like I told you, was the word one had put there. For the rest, there were only five lines. Like this, as I remember\u2026' And above the hiss and spit of the fire, he raised his hoarse voice in elocution.\n\n\u2003'Marie sonne\n\n\u2003Marie ne donne\n\n\u2003Rien sinon\n\n\u2003Collier et hale\n\n\u2003Pour la S\u00e9n\u00e9chale.'\n\nIn Blois there was only one church bell named Marie: the tenor bell of St. Lomer.\n\nAs the words left the roaster's mouth, Cond\u00e9 sprang. But the Marshal was ready for him. An arm jerked, a strong hand pushed, and caught off balance in the cramped place, Cond\u00e9 shot forward.\n\nIt was no purpose of St. Andre's to crack the man's skull for him. As the roaster, the gold stuffed into his shirt, plodded thoughtfully to the great doors of his shop and, wheezing, began to unbolt them, the Marshal caught Cond\u00e9 under the armpits and thrust him, hooked by his collar, on to the stout prongs below, transferring the coiled rope as he did so to his own shoulder. There the Prince kicked, livid as a newly caught heifer, while d'Enghien, cursing, swung himself up to free him.\n\nBut the shelf was built to withstand the hanging weight of dead carcases, and not as a springboard for live ones. It creaked once as d'Enghien's two hands clutched it, groaned as he swung his feet round, and collapsed with a rending crash as he landed. The heaving, shouting throng in the street, bursting through the half-open door to see the state of the race, saw only the Prince of Cond\u00e9 and his brother d'Enghien battered, bruised and disqualified on the floor amid the debris of the roast shop.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9 hadn't waited. De Genstan helping, he shot through the roof window on to the tiles and took a hasty casting look for possible rivals. Behind was no one. In front, the torchlight from the street lit a tattered once-white shirt and glittered on the crescent of an Archer, flying batlike towards the tall huddle of spires that was the Abbey of St. Lomer.\n\n'It isn't possible!' wailed de Genstan.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9 flung himself forward. The red, squat mouth of the roast-shop chimney loomed before them, belching smoke. Jacques d'Albon, Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9, slapped it as he passed with a furious and masochistic intent. 'It is possible\u2026 if they were lying listening at the lip of that: For a moment they were both silent, negotiating the chasm between one building and the next. Then, slipping short-legged along the spine of an almshouse, St. Andr\u00e9 spoke again. 'The last crossing will be from the bell tower to the ch\u00e2teau. Whoever climbs the ch\u00e2teau wall first is certain to win.'\n\nIn both their minds was the same picture. The church of St. Lomer with its high bell tower stood between the ch\u00e2teau hill and the Loire, its highest spire just below the lowest part of the castle wall. The space between spire and ch\u00e2teau was three times as long as the ropes which both parties now carried; but this had no bearing.\n\nFor the chasm was bridged already by the stout cable put there a week before by the saltimbanque Tosh, down which he slid, torches flaming, to the cheers of the crowd. The moon had set, but dimly, behind the black bulk of St. Lomer, that thin sickle of rope could be seen, up which the victors must climb. There was the means of victory; and there at St. Lomer was the crux of the race. For whoever crossed the rope first had only to cut it, and the last clue was theirs.\n\nA long time ago, the crowd had discovered Thady Boy; or Thady Boy had invited the attachment of the crowd. In the last stages of the race, the excitement was frenetic. The whole of Blois was a network of light. Catcalls, screams, jibes, encouragement and insults were flung at them all; but Thady Boy received the compliment of laughter.\n\nNone of them now was either fresh or sure-footed. After a chase equal to a hard climb at speed up the most difficult mountain he had ever attempted, Stewart's knee muscles were on fire, his shoulders ached and his heart burned in his chest. Thady Boy could hardly have fared better, but his inbred sense of the ludicrous never failed. Someone far below played a guitar, and he trod a half measure with a chimney. Of the three clocks they had passed, none was ever straight, timely or decent again. Shutters were for swinging on and roof gardens for plucking and bestowing, nymphlike, on unsuspecting persons below. One angry gentleman, complaining from his window, was mysteriously smoked out of doors three minutes later by his bedroom fire.\n\nAs window after window in the quarter lit up and opening doors threw their light golden on the running Bl\u00e9sois below, hands waved to the dark figures slithering by. Someone reached up a hot sausage on a stick, and a trio of tousle-headed kitchenmaids, kicking bare heels at an attic window, passed up and tossed them a stolen bottle of wine, and received three kisses, at speed; and three more, alarmingly, from a hilarious Stewart.\n\nThady and his partner drank the wine as they scrambled on, St. Andre and de Genstan two houses behind. Then they were among the Benedictines' sloping roofs and ahead of them was the squat, foursquare tower of St. Lomer.\n\nIt was an outside climb, vertical from base to belfry, with no unbarred window which would admit them. Nothing they had attempted so far had been a tenth as difficult. It was Thady who, speaking soberly for once, insisted that they should be roped together. 'Lean inwards, keep your hands low and use my footholds Let me make the pace. If you're worried, use the free rope to belay yourself and give a shout. Forget the audience. A hay ladder is all they could climb.' He smiled suddenly, a carefree, friendly, uncalculated smile; then turning, black head upflung, began the ascent.\n\nSometimes in nightmares, Stewart re-created that climb. The tower was three hundred years old, and its weathered fabric offered crevices; but by the same token nothing\u2014gutter or stringcourse, cornice or coping stone\u2014could be taken for granted. A parapet, firm under one foot, might crumble under the other; a louvre break beneath the fingers. To the upturned faces in the street, the two climbers moved infinitely slowly. To St. Andr\u00e9, leaping and stumbling over the remaining roofs, it was faster than he thought possible. Eyes stinging with sweat, he strained to watch every foothold. When he and Laurens climbed, it would be quicker. Then the other two had to find the word to be memorized, and the clue, and disentangle it. If he or de Genstan could so much as lay hands on the funambulist's rope before it was cut, they stood a chance. No Scots Guard, no Irishman, however mad or however drunk, would cut it while St Andr\u00e9 was crossing, and send the King's friend to die on the rocks.\n\nShoulder to shoulder with Laurens de Genstan he climbed the rooftops that cluttered the south shoulder of the church, and the crowds at the foot of the fa\u00e7ade, with its three great doors, its arcades, its twin towers and rose window, surged round to watch. Then reaching the sloped roof of St. Lomer itself, the two men scrambled to the base of the tower and started to climb.\n\nBetween Thady Boy and Robin Stewart the rope hung slack. The fat man was moving gently, testing foot and handholds half seen in the dark, and Stewart crawled up after, paying rope in or out, the night air cold on his body. Directions, clear and precise, came now and then from above. Once Thady Boy, secure on a ledge, was able to lay hands on the rope and draw the Archer bodily up to his level. Breathing was difficult; the cramp in his fingers, the stitch in his side, were agony; but looking down was no hardship. The church of St. Lomer rose like a lighthouse from a silting of faces, winking, glinting, shifting in the radiance of lantern and torch. Their own shadows, grotesquely, had climbed the first twenty feet of tower before them. Now they were in darkness above the black equator of night. Across the hollow was the cathedral on its hill, and the crooked down-running streets they had just toilsomely left; and beyond the chimneys, the flat black pool of the Loire, the houselights from the bridge caught there trembling.\n\nHe had taken his eyes from his leader to look at it; had failed to watch Thady's movements and to match them with precautions of his own. The first he knew was a crack of a stone at his ear which disappeared chattering into the void. There was a quick movement, then the sound of a breath sharply drawn and then held. The linking rope whipped and swayed.\n\nHe looked up. Faced with a space of sheer wall, Thady Boy had done the only thing possible. He had flung the free end of his rope to noose a stone crocket high above his head near the belfry, and bringing his weight to bear slowly on the doubled rope, was climbing the open face with its help.\n\nThe crocket bore his weight. It was the rope which, fraying on some unseen neck of the spire, had given way, bringing him slithering down to the fine ledge of his starting point. And under the sharp impact of his foot, the stone had broken.\n\nHorrified, Stewart watched. Thady Boy had saved himself, for the moment, by throwing himself inwards, hands flat on the wall, feet arrested in inadequate cracks; but he had almost no purchase, no belaying projection within reach and no safeguard but the remaining intact rope linking his waist with Stewart's. And Stewart, cramped like a moth himself to the stonework, nails dug into crevices, could not support another man's falling weight.\n\nLymond knew it too. Economically, using as little as possible of his vanishing store of balance, of energy and of time, he cut the rope between himself and the Archer.\n\nThought that night came godlike to Robin Stewart; dilemma and master plan appearing from nowhere printed themselves on the wax tables of his brain. In the half minute before the fat man fell, he knew exactly what he must do.\n\nThere was a barred window on his left, just out of arm's reach. For a moment, each in turn had rested on its sill, looking longingly at the inaccessible staircase inside. Stewart had no time to wonder if the stone was rotten there too, or if the bars would hold. To reach it, he must leave hand and foothold and jump: a jump of life and death, with below him the gaping chimneys and the blue slates and the waiting bricks of the streets.\n\nHe turned his back on Thady Boy and leaped. As his bony hands, like a grip from the tomb, closed hard on the cold bars, his feet swung free over the void; then his knee found the sill, his shifting elbow the bar, and ramming body and arms like some iron throttling plant within the lifesaving cangs and cavities, wearing the window like a harness, he spun the dark rope through the night, unfolding the coils he had held spare in his hand, sending the hemp hissing along the stone surface level with Thady Boy's head.\n\nIn his turn, Lymond took the life-or-death chance as had Stewart. Loosing all his inadequate, sliding grip, he watched the dim rope coming, and jumped.\n\nStewart braked his fall. The bars, though he didn't know it till later, squeezed his arms black; and the rope running harsh through his hands left raw flesh, whipped and bloody, behind it. Then came the drag at his body he was waiting for, the pulsing strain at his waist rope as the man below swung and span at the bottom arc of his fall. Stewart braced his aching body across the width of the window and gave his whole strength as an anchor. And the bars held.\n\nThe rope had stilled. Then, as if his ears were unstopped after deafness, Stewart heard a roar rise from the sunken radiance of the streets, and the strain on his back and pelvis lifted. Thady Boy had found a foothold and, using the rope as sparingly as he could, was climbing back up.\n\nPresently, black against the black night, the unkempt head appeared at his feet; the light, acrobatic bulk gave a wriggle and a twist, and Thady Boy, breathing hard, was sitting beside him. Thady snorted. 'Dear God, is that all the distance you've got? I could have been up and down the damned thing twice in the time.' In the dark, his teeth flashed in a smile. 'I told d'Enghien you were worth ten of him.'\n\nThen they were climbing again. As he watched the Irishman above him moving steadily, delicately exploring, there stirred in Stewart something life-giving: a surprised gratitude for what Thady had tried to do; a fierce pride in what he himself had done. Strong, confident and free, for one evening envious of no man, Robin Stewart followed his leader up and into the belfry.\n\nBy the reaction of the crowd St. Andr\u00e9 also knew that something had occurred. The route he and de Genstan had chosen gave them no very clear view; but seeking footholds presently round a corner he realized that in spite of the setback the other two must be already inside.\n\nFingers bleeding, bruised and grazed by the stone, he was quite unaware of discomfort; only of the need to reach the belfry fast\u2026 at the very worst, before the rope-crossing from church to ch\u00e2teau had been completed. He gazed upwards, impatient of the noble Franco-Scot labouring in his wake.\n\nAbove his head, trailing, abandoned and God-given, was a length of rope. Upwards it wound, above his head, as far as he could see, and disappeared, if it ended at all, not far short of the belfry itself. In two steps he had reached it and, firmly straddled, had tested it with one hand and then both. Then, slowly and cautiously, he began to edge up.\n\nIt bore his weight without difficulty. After a moment, accepting the calculated risk as calmly as in battle, he brought his feet to grip the rope also, and climbed up.\n\nFar below in the street they watched it; saw the free end whip beneath him and the rope sway and jerk over the uneven stones of the tower. Far above their heads, something moved in the night air, something mighty and echoing, as if a hollow wind had passed over and, passing, sucked in its breath. It came again, a shaking of the air, a word spoken a universe away by an awful and inhuman tongue.\n\nThey saw the white face of Laurens de Genstan look up, and St. Andr\u00e9 himself pausing, a foot on the stone to keep steady. The rope jerked, and the mighty bass bell of St. Lomer bawled out over the sleeping vale of the Loire. The rope swung, and again the bell spoke. St. Andr\u00e9, close enough to be deafened, looked up frantically, and then down at his partner. Then he pronounced a stream of curses, heard rarely on land or sea, but properly suited to a position halfway up a cable lashed to the hand rope of a church bell. The choice was simple. They could lose the race, or climb the bell rope for all Blois to hear.\n\nThe Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 did not even hesitate. Fist over fist he sped up the rope, and de Genstan after him; and as the great tocsin boomed and bellowed over the country, the remaining lights of Blois sprang to life until town and palace on their two hills sparkled in the black night like an oasis of pleasure, a queer winter revelry of some antique city of vice. With pikes rattling the town guard answered the alarm. Streaming with them, nightcapped, sheeted, quilted, the citizenry sank through the streets to St. Lomer like fussing aphids set awash in a flowerpot. The ch\u00e2teau blazed.\n\nThe belfry was empty, but for the silent tenor Marie and the great moving mouth of the bass bell, lumbering to a halt. On the floor, the penultimate paper gave them their key word, and their final clue. To win, they had to reach the ch\u00e2teau, and the Archer on duty outside the King's suite.\n\nA wooden platform had been built out, extending the size of the bell chamber, and a small handrope railed it. A metal post, strutted into the stone, held one end of the cable which rose upwards before their eyes, shining in the new light, above the ravine separating the church of St. Lomer from the ch\u00e2teau on its rock. Two-thirds of the way along, arms scissoring, legs swaying, an angular figure was moving, suspended above the vault. A second was already over, climbing the crowded wall, busying himself, distantly and mysteriously, on the far side. Three yards, or four, and Stewart would have landed also.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9 reached the platform and ducked under the rail. As on the far side Stewart struggled off the cable to the blessed safety of the ch\u00e2teau wall, the Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 bent, found a grip, and swung off into space.\n\nShort of murder, the cable could not now be cut. And there was a chance\u2014a slim but real chance\u2014of snatching the lead in that crowded courtyard where, as he could see, the huddle of bobbing heads had not parted even to let Thady Boy and Robin Stewart through. St. Andr\u00e9 was three arm spans from the church wall, and de Genstan was just stopping to grip the wire when a roar of acclaim\u2014a double roar\u2014reached his ears. Hung in black space, arms cracking, palms hard on the rope, he looked to his right.\n\nOn the wall of the ch\u00e2teau a queer, misshapen bulk had appeared. On its flanking harness holstered torches spluttered and burned. Under its knees and haunches a wooden platform was bound. Between its heavy ears, black and gross in the wild, smoking darkness, were two rolling eyes and a lip that curled back, showing long teeth and an open throat that lanced the cheers, the screaming, the laughter, the remembered beats of the great bell, with an ear-splitting bray. Tosh's donkey, untied and in full working array, was about to make its solo celebrated cable-swoop on the church of St. Lomer. With all the power of his shoulders St. Andr\u00e9 set himself, grimly, to race back to the safety of the church.\n\nIt was Tosh's donkey's finest moment. With a whine and a hiss she left the wall and, torches streaming, tail flying, ears laid back and braying fit to drive back the waters of the Loire, whizzed over the abyss on smoking timber to plunge, hot, hairy and kicking, into the crowded belfry of St. Lomer.\n\nWhat St. Andr\u00e9 said was never recorded. What the donkey said rang from wall to wall and spire to spire and house to house of Blois. Robin Stewart, watching filthy, exhausted and triumphant from the walls of the ch\u00e2teau, cried tears of laughter at the sound until he found himself swung off his feet and riding shoulder-high side by side with his friend through courtiers, colleagues, well-wishers, failed competitors, over the courtyard to the castle.\n\nJohn Stewart, Lord d'Aubigny, on duty in the King's cabinet, came out at the noise, already sufficiently irritated by his overdue Archer. But the scene in the wide guardroom had in it such a flamboyant smell of success that his lordship paused. His Archer and the Court's darling, Master Ballagh, in a state only describable as revolting, led a vociferous and excited crowd, struggling to tack up on the beautiful woodwork a paper which Robin Stewart had just finished writing, in his round, difficult hand, to the ollave's dictation.\n\n-Honneur\n\n-Esp\u00e9rance\n\n-Noblesse\n\n-Renomm\u00e9e\n\n-Justice\n\n-Diligence\n\n-Equit\u00e9\n\n-V\u00e9rit\u00e9\n\n-Amour\n\n-Lib\u00e9ralit\u00e9\n\n-Ob\u00e9dience\n\n-Intelligence\n\n-Sapience\n\nHis lordship of Aubigny smiled, and moved forward to congratulate them.\n\nMuch later, when the wine was finished and the songs were wavering, Robin Stewart, half-clean in borrowed clothes, went back to duty, still a little tending to pant, a stressful ache in his larynx and throat base and a shrunken cabbage inside his ribs.\n\nAll the rest of him was happy. He had attempted to analyze the night's events with Thady Boy, but the ollave had cut him short. 'You did a good thing or two this night, Robin Stewart. A few small exploits more, and you have this Court eating out of the palm of your hand\u2026 do you never want to see your fingers again.'\n\nHe had been embarrassed. 'If the King ever hears of it. According to d'Aubigny he's been out the whole night, and came in the back way only just now with his nose white; and the Constable behind him with his nose red. The lady didn't suit him tonight, I jalouse.'\n\n'He'll hear of it.' Thady, trailing his recovered doublet, was at the guardroom door. Stewart suddenly wanted to stop him. 'Ballagh, listen\u2026'\n\nPatiently the fat man turned. 'I have been making terrible free with the Robin, so you had better put your tongue to Thady Boy.'\n\nFull of drink and success and his new, frail, fledgling trust, the Archer stood over him. 'Leave O'LiamRoe. Leave him,' he said. 'Yon serena was gey funny, and he fairly needed the lesson, but it isn't enough. Leave him. He's no good. They'll spoil you, the lot of them\u2014och, it's recognition, I know, of a sort: the kind I once thought I was desperate to have. But it'll wreck you, body and mind. Better find an honest master and do an honest day's work; and if success comes, you can be proud of it.'\n\nHis friend Thady Boy was able, at least, to put something of its proper value on this newborn and unwonted solicitude. After a second he said, 'The O'LiamRoe and I will part soon enough in Ireland. We talked of this once before. If you dislike the Court so much, why not leave?'\n\nStewart's unpractised, eager emotion carried him forward too quickly. 'And come to Ireland with you?'\n\nThere was a pause. Then, relaxing, Stewart heard what he had wanted to hear. 'If you wish to,' said Thady Boy slowly, and bearing Stewart's inarticulate pleasure with patience, won his way at last out of the room. Presently he lost the last of his escorts and was able to make his way straight to Jenny Fleming's pretty room.\n\nShe was not in bed; not even surprised, it seemed, to see him, although it was nearly dawn and the paint on her face, over the feathered bedrohe, was cracked and moist. 'Francis\u2026? I gather you have sounded the tocsin and ruined the sleep of every living person in Blois. Margaret will be beating her breast.'\n\nHe stood stock-still inside the door, his doublet thrown over one burst and filthy shoulder. 'Pray tell me, Lady Fleming\u2026 Why is no one on duty outside the Queen's door?'\n\nJenny Fleming never shirked an issue; she enjoyed it. Backing up the velvet steps to the great bed, she perched on the end. 'Do I need to tell you?'\n\nHis eyes and voice remained bleak. 'No. The King has been here, and probably the Constable. Is the child always unguarded when the King comes?'\n\nMary's room adjoined hers. Lymond's voice had been quiet. Even late hours could not make Jenny's smile less than delicious. 'You would like me to have Janet, and James, and Agnes in chairs round the room? The doors from the Queen's room to mine and to the passage are both locked. And the King's valet and the Constable are usually in the anteroom.'\n\n'But not always. What happened tonight?'\n\n'Happened?' Her fair lashes rose like stars with the stretching of her brows. Then as Lymond's stare stayed immovable, she laughed. 'The Duchesse de Valentinois surprised the King leaving my room. She accused the King of being unfaithful, and the King was hurt to the quick at the lady's lack of faith. \"Madame, il n'y a l\u00e0 aucun mal. Je n'ai fait que bavarder\".'\n\nHer laughter, light as it was, had the finest edge to it. 'Are you wondering if he cut her off after fifteen years? If so, you are wrong. He apologized.'\n\n'And Diane?'\n\n'Accused the Constable of procuring. There was a considerable scene, with some high language, at the end of which the Duchess and the Constable were not on speaking terms. The King promised not to see me again. He also promised'\u2014she laughed\u2014'not to tell the Duke or the Cardinal of Lorraine.'\n\n'And,' said Lymond, 'where were you all this time?'\n\n'Here,' said Jenny simply. 'At the keyhole, listening.' She rose lightly and, drifting down the steps in a shiver of satin, came close and caught his two wrists. She clicked her tongue. 'What a state to come visiting in. It was rather silly, and very amusing. Margaret will laugh. No, perhaps she won't. But in point of fact, it doesn't matter. The ma\u00eetresse en titre was a little late. Whether he likes it or not the King will have to admit, I fear, that he did a little more than gossip.'\n\nAnd holding his hands, she laid one over the other to her heart. 'Feel it beat strongly, my dear. It rings out like your tocsin for a son or a daughter of France.'\n\nThe violence of his disengagement staggered her. Strong wine and stretched muscles disregarded, Lymond strode to the window and stayed there, gripping his anger hard until he could speak.\n\n'\"A girl of spirit need never lack children,\" as was said on another celebrated occasion. You are with child by the King of France. It will be born when?'\n\nStraight-backed she eyed him. 'In May.'\n\n'Do you imagine, after what happened tonight, that the King will install you instead of Diane?'\n\nThe red hair fell streaming over her silken robe, and her brown Stewart eyes shone. 'I think,' said Jenny Stewart, Lady Fleming, 'you are forgetting who I am.'\n\nFat, battered and dirty, a hireling, an adventurer, a guest in her room, he showed not one shred of the mercy he had shown to a Scots Archer.\n\n'You are a bastard,' said Francis Crawford. 'Your son will be a bastard. Who is the Duchess? A cousin of the Queen. The wealthiest woman in France. The finest huntress in Europe. The patron of every high official at the Court. The ruler of Henri's lightest action for fifteen long years. The virtual ruler of France for three years. Her boudoir is the political axis of the kingdom; the Cardinal dines daily at her table; the children of France are her creation by training, if not by bearing. Her position is known, recognized, assured, accepted in public, long accepted by the Queen, free of scandal, stable, built into the King's daily routine. There is no woman alive, were she Guinevra herself, who could eject her now.'\n\nShe stood by the bedpost listening to him, her eyes sparkling with anger, and one blue-veined arm caressed the ebony. 'Will you take a wager?' said Jenny.\n\nLevelly, Lymond answered. 'You will be sent back to Scotland with a pension, my lady. That is your fortune. But first, nothing can now stop a scandal. And every name the bourgeoisie of France chooses to call you will attach itself, in double measure, to the Queen.'\n\n'Nonsense.' For Jenny, her voice was sharp. 'We are not touching on hay parties and inn wenches and simple fun in a close, my dear. Things are arranged a little differently at Court.'\n\n'Do you think,' said Lymond softly in a voice which recalled, suddenly, many things\u2014'Do you think I don't know exactly how they are arranged?'\n\nThere was a long silence, and it was Jenny's gaze which dropped first. He said, 'How often are the pages and the maids of honour dismissed?'\n\n'Once or twice a week. She couldn't possibly come to harm.' She paused, and said sulkily, 'It won't happen again, in any case. He won't come back here.'\n\n'\u2014You will go to him. By all means, if you want to. You can hardly do any more harm. Within the unguarded doors, what could be tampered with?'\n\nShe was already a good deal exasperated. 'They were locked. And the Constable\u2014'\n\n'I heard you. Every locksmith in the kingdom knows how to make false keys. Do you keep drugs here?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Drink of any kind?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Oh, for God's sake,' said Lymond, and flinging from the window, caught her by her two shoulders. 'Think. You want Mary to die; and you can get access secretly to her room and to the cabinet. What harm might you do?'\n\nJenny's eyes flamed back at him. 'Nothing. She's perfectly safe; has been always. Do you think we shouldn't hear\u2026?'\n\n'No,' said Lymond brutally. 'I don't. Think. What could be done with that arsenic?'\n\nFrom below his fingers she dropped to sit, her hair fallen, her back straight as a rod in spite of all she had been through. She had never looked more a King's daughter than now, when her face told its own story.\n\n'I suppose\u2026 there are\u2026 the sweets: the cotignac,' she said.\n\nEight-year-old, sweet-loving Mary. The Duchess de Valentinois had forbidden her sweetmeats and Janet, Lady Fleming, had made them for her; giggling together over a midnight fire: the Queen, the small maids of honour, James and Jenny. From Chastain, the apothecary, they had the cinnamon and the sugar\u2014four pounds of it, at ten sols a pound. Nothing was too much trouble. Jacques Alexander had supplied the boxes. The kitchens, secretly, had provided the fruit. Peeled, quartered and cored, the quinces had been boiled and strained and pounded in a stone mortar with the sugar and spice, all the children beating in turn; and then the paste was boxed and, after a little, cut into strips.\n\nThey had done all that a long time ago. The boxes, stacked in Jenny's garde-robe, full of thick fingers dusted sugary white, had become fewer and fewer, until less than half a dozen were now left.\n\nWith Jenny silent beside him, Lymond pulled out box after box, piling them opened on the floor. All looked innocent and all looked alike. From the last one he lifted some of the sweetmeat, marked the lid, and closed it. Then he left the room and Jenny could hear his voice, two doors away, and one of the loyal grooms, Geoffrey de Sainct, answering. Her son James, whom she had sent away earlier in the night, suddenly appeared, sleepy-eyed from next door, and she made him go back. Then Lymond returned.\n\n'Put the boxes away in your own coffer, and lock it. Tomorrow, search everything in these rooms and tell me if anything has been disturbed. We shall know shortly if the cotignac was touched.'\n\n'How?' Her face, drained of its vivid daytime colour, was still pretty and positive.\n\n'The old lapdog has been given some. You needn't weep for him.' The hostile, soft voice made not the slightest concession. 'He deserves an end to his misery.' He paused. 'You realize, of course, that the Queen's life is in danger; that poison is known to be missing; and that every morsel she has eaten since she came to Blois has been protected, tested and passed as safe first, except for your cotignac? Do you expect your love child to inherit the throne?'\n\nRoused, she answered with asperity. 'If we are to be serious, we still needn't be silly. If you think something has gone wrong, then do what you can to put it right. I shall help as far as I can. But to be frank, I think this commotion is a little foolish. You have no shadow of proof that the cotignac or anything else has been touched.\u2026' Her voice softened. 'The romantic trappings of leadership are hard to give up, are they not? Francis?'\n\nHe had not even listened; had only paused, half turned to the door, to run his eyes for the last time over her possessions: the table, the bed, the coffer, the shelves, the prie-dieu, the chairs. Between his eyes, a thin line of sleeplessness showed.\n\nJenny said again, 'Francis? I am going to need help. I don't want to quarrel.'\n\n'Are we quarrelling?' said Lymond.\n\n'We were insulting one another like brother and sister.' She paused. 'I must go to bed, my dear. Am I forgiven?' She had laid her hand, still endearingly young, on his steady arm. Now she slid her fingers up, and drawing him gently downwards, kissed him full on the mouth.\n\nUnder hers, his lips were taut and wholly inexpressive. But her own kiss was warm and loving, and she held him lightly, so that he breathed in her natural freshness, her costly scents and her human harmlessness.\n\nShe had thought, if she had thought at all, that he was tired enough to respond. But his fingers opened and he stepped smoothly back, boredom and a jaded, forbearing courtesy dry as meal on his face. 'I ceased discriminating a long time ago. Good night, Lady Fleming,' said Lymond; and in the precise pressure on her name and her title she glimpsed at last the chasm that lay and always would lie between them. Then the door closed at his back.\n\nBehind him, as he crossed the courtyard, the night sky was already aware of the dawn. Beside the black coil of the staircase, the guardroom windows were lit, and opposite, men's voices stirred from the chapel. The guards, appointed at every door, paid no attention. Thady Boy's nocturnal habits were nothing new; and ignorance, at this Court, was often best.\n\nHe climbed the staircase to his own wing automatically and blundered once, blindly, crossing a passage. Robin Stewart had remembered it with pleassure; Jenny Fleming as yet knew nothing about it; but Lymond had lived that evening with the memory of Oonagh O'Dwyer's serenade and the knowledge that there awaited him in his room neither sleep nor peace but the Prince of Barrow.\n\nOutside his own room he rested for a moment, his palm on the door, and for a moment looked neither brutal nor romantic nor indifferent. Then he heaved the door open and went in.\n\nInside, the storm was waiting for him; but it was not of O'LiamRoe's making. The candles were burning, the fire was lit, but the room was empty except for Piedar Dooly, his black eyes venomous, the rawhide flanks of his face blotched with passion and prickled with the onset of his overnight beard. Thady Boy shut the door, and the fumes of strong wine from his clothes, stiff with spilled drink and dried sweat, filled the room. 'Where's His Highness?'\n\nO'LiamRoe's indifference to his ollave's double identity had never been shared by his little Firbolg retainer. Dooly's Wicklow accent was silky. 'Isn't it troubles enough you have without bothering yourself over O'LiamRoe? I hear you and the great gentlemen have been walking the length of the stars in your woollen stockings, and came back with the universe set in a ring.' He broke off.\n\nThady, moving swiftly, stood over him. 'Where is he?'\n\nBetween double lids, the Irishman's eyes were full of hate. 'You had wrestlers at Court this evening, I heard tell. A power of strong lads they must have been, and a terror for horseplay.\u2026 They jumped on O'LiamRoe, on his way home from Mistress O'Dwyer's.'\n\n'And you were there?' said Thady Boy.\n\n'Just behind. He'd been asked to stay at the house, Master Scotsman. He only left to discuss a certain thing with yourself.' Again he stopped.\n\nThady Boy, leaning hands clasped over the back of a chair, said quietly, 'There is no mark on you. So I have a fair idea, you see, that O'LiamRoe is not much hurt. But I think you should tell me.'\n\nThe colour high in his face, Piedar Dooly said, 'There was a party of men in the next alley who heard us, and turned back to help. Two of the wrestlers were killed and one ran away\u2014the Cornishman, we thought, but no one could swear to it. O'LiamRoe himself took a slash on the arm, and it pouring blood more than was correct for it; so he walked back to Mistress O'Dwyer's.' He paused. 'I left him there. She has asked him back to Neuvy, tomorrow. I was to tell you that in the course of a piece maybe, he'll be back.'\n\n'It would be better,' said Thady Boy, 'if he stayed at Blois.'\n\nThe Firbolg's face had resumed the impassivity of leather. 'He assumed you would say that. I was to tell you that, after looking at it this way and that, he preferred to go tomorrow to Neuvy. And the lady sent to tell you the same.'\n\nThady Boy's voice was soft. 'How did the lady put it precisely?'\n\n'Mistress O'Dwyer? She sent to say there was a welcome for you, the kind you might expect, at Neuvy; but did you prefer to stay with the Queens, she would look after himself for you. So she said.'\n\nFinishing, he was aware of being subjected again to that dispiriting blue scrutiny. Then Ballagh said, 'Is she fond of him? How fond?'\n\nThe irony on Piedar Dooly's hollow-boned red face eased into contempt. 'What call have I to discover a fondness between ladies and gentlemen? Yourself she don't fancy at all. That I can swear to; but that will be no news to your lordship. God save us, 'Tis a highroad at your front door this night. Someone is scratching.'\n\nLymond had heard it. He got to the door, unlocked it, and had already made up his mind when young Lord Fleming, entering and shutting it, asked permission with his eyebrows to deliver his message.\n\n'Go on,' said Lymond. He had returned to the fireplace and put his elbows on the stone, his grazed and battered hands hanging limp. Tell all. The ineffectiveness of my measures is no news to Piedar Dooly.'\n\nJenny's son, wooden-faced and straight, made his report. 'The dog is dead, sir.'\n\n'I see.' Lymond did not stir. 'So a hundred grains of arsenic would have been taken by the Queen before she left Blois. Who do you think did it, James?'\n\nLord Fleming avoided looking at Dooly. 'Anyone could have. There was no guard.' He hesitated, and then went on doggedly, 'I was to say: she is exceedingly upset. She is, sir. And to ask you what to do.'\n\nLymond's uncomfortable manner slackened, and straightening, he dropped his arms. 'I know she must be upset. Tell her to burn the cotignac and the boxes, that's all. I'll do the rest.'\n\n'What will you do, sir?'\n\nHis eyes were shining. Francis Crawford turned his head away, letting his gaze dwell instead on the saturnine Irish face at his elbow. 'Tell The O'LiamRoe from me, friend Piedar, that I wish him Godspeed at Neuvy, for what it is worth.\u2026'\n\nDooly had risen to go. Fleming, lingering, was hoping still for an answer. Lymond rubbed his strained eyes with the back of one filthy hand, and measured the distance between the fireplace and the bed. 'As for me: there have been enough scapegoats, and a damned nuisance they are. From this time on, God help me, I shall be my own bait.'\n\nThey left; and as dawn lit the scuffed, the tileless, the broken and well-trodden rooftops of Blois and pricked at the eyelids of its weary sleep-ridden citizens, Francis Crawford of Lymond at last rolled into bed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: The Forfeited Feast",
                "text": "There are three banquets: godly banquets, human banquets and demon feasts; i.e. banquets given to the sons of death and bad men; i.e. the lewd persons and satirists and jesters and buffoons and mountebanks and outlaws and heathens and harlots and bad people in general; which is not given for earthly obligation and is not given for heavenly reward. Such a feast is forfeited to the demon.\n\nAt Neuvy, O'LiamRoe's arm healed. He stayed there longer than he had intended; rode, hunted, argued and played chess with Mistress Boyle, with Oonagh and their friends, and was not further molested. When Cormac O'Connor did not arrive as expected, he was far from disappointed, but wise enough not to take undue advantage of the vacancy. He sent word, by a fellow house-guest, that he would come back to Blois within the week.\n\nThe message was brought to Blois by George Paris, a rangy Irishman gifted with considerable powers of intrigue, who happened to be on his way home to Ireland. But first he had an interview with the Constable; and another with the King, accompanied by the Duke de Guise, who charged him with errands of a diplomatic sort, and promised him Robin Stewart as escort.\n\nFor some time, Stewart was ignorant of this. He had not carried out his threats to leave the Court and now knew that as long as Thady Boy was there he was unlikely to do so. But the decayed brilliance that had infected the Court since the moonlight steeplechase that night was beginning to frighten the Archer, as it had already frightened Margaret Erskine. Tom, returning fresh from the Low Countries with a peace treaty signed and a six years' war ended, had been disquieted, though he did not say so, by the disciplined strain on his wife's face; and when he spoke lightheartedly: 'I've brought you herbs, as you wanted, for your fiend-sick patient,' she said, with a grimness new to her, 'Have you brought enough for the whole Court of France?'\n\nAt Court, everything halted for Christmas. Financial worries might be pressing, but at least both the season and the threat of penury made it unnecessary to think of war. Honour could be sought in other fields: in wrestling, in leaping, in tilting at the ring, in jousting and casting the bar, in hunting and hawking, in shooting at rounds and at rovers, in tennis and pall-mall and bear fighting and dancing, in dressing as gypsies and Greeks and Arabian knights.\n\nThey gambled and sang and made love lightly and expertly. In all they did, they were experts. The men about the King were chosen for their grace and gifts in the arts of sport and chivalry as well as for diplomacy and war; and the King used them as touchstones for his own manifold skills.\n\nHenri of France was a moderate man, but short of disrespect for the throne, licence at this feast time was nearly boundless. Copied, encouraged, cosseted by the younger Court, Thady Boy had now the amused applause of the royal family; and on the King's orders someone, generally Stewart, was always at hand at midnight, at dawn, or whenever the wayward day ended, to roll Thady Boy out of the pothouse, the ballroom floor or the gutter and see him safely to bed. Solicitude, of one sort or another, was remarkably widespread. Completely charming, completely drunk, completely irresponsible, he accepted it all.\n\nThe Scottish Court watched him do it. The Erskines and Jenny, a little subdued, observed in silence. The Queen Mother, retreating gratefully from her state discussions, continued to smile superbly at her hosts, in a bold effort to deny the billowing and tramping behind the curtains, where the ambitious, half-bribed lords of her retinue were quarrelling like henwives. And Sir George Douglas took time to write an anonymous letter to the Queen of France, suggesting that one Richard, Lord Culter, should be invited to Court. Catherine de M\u00e9dicis received it next day.\n\nIt was the day, chilly with sleet and early dark, that they danced a pavane on horseback in the Gran' Salle, weaving between the bright pillars, fire sparking from the chipped tiles. The clatter of hooves drowned the music as they moved, laughing, through their paces, and Thady Boy, threading sideways, plucked the candles from their brackets one by one and threw them, juggling, to his scorch-fingered partners, swearing, laughing and plunging, until hysteria and ultimate darkness crowned the exercise.\n\nLeaning watching on the fretted balustrade, the King read the letter his wife had given him, while the large, shallow M\u00e9dicis eyes marshalled the scene. 'Does this wildness distress you?'\n\nGlancing up from the letter, he followed her gaze. 'Art roots in mouldering soils. I suppose that is always the answer.'\n\n'He is of a fresh and original talent, even when outside himself, certainly,' said the Queen. 'But I had thought lately that even the bloom was becoming a little tainted. What do you make of the letter?'\n\nHenri scanned the paper. 'The name is a famous one. But who exactly is Richard Crawford of Culter?'\n\nCatherine's lashes lay discreetly on her coarse-grained, powdered cheek. 'I enquired of Madame the Queen Dowager. He is the third baron of the name, with considerable power and money in Scotland, and a supporter of the young Queen. The story runs that he has remained behind until his wife should be brought to bed of an heir.\u2026 By now the child will have been born. Since he is free, we might well suggest to Madame the Queen Dowager that it would delight us to see him.'\n\nShe was right. France had promised to do all in her power to install Mary of Guise as Regent of her daughter's kingdom. It was only common sense, given the hint, to inspect whatever influence, for good or for evil, she had found it politic to leave behind her at home.\n\nBelow, sleeves flying, fringes swaying, the riders streamed past. The King, leaning down, snapped his fingers; and Thady Boy, lifting his eyes, sent a torch flying with a flick of his wrist. Henri caught it, raising it a little in salute; and turning, held the flame thoughtfully to the edge of Sir George Douglas's letter.\n\nThree weeks after that, Robin Stewart heard that he was to travel once more to Ireland, this time with an agent, to bring back Cormac O'Connor. It precipitated one of the great crises of his life: the day he stood up to John Stewart of Aubigny.\n\nRobin Stewart had been seconded to his lordship in order to help with the O'LiamRoe visit. For his extra work with the Irishman, and for all the special services he had rendered Lord d'Aubigny for far longer than that, Stewart had expected one day to receive an appropriate reward: a minor household post, perhaps with the promise of advancement; maybe even a captaincy later on\u2026 something at least, which would lead him at last towards the inner sphere of influence and the high life.\n\nAll these were in d'Aubigny's power to give, but all Stewart had received so far was money, and that sparingly. And now the conceited fool seemed to be indicating\u2014but could not be indicating\u2014that he had no further use for Stewart's special services, and that he was turning him off to some routine duty abroad.\n\nLantern jaw jutting, Stewart stated his case. 'I've already been to Ireland, your lordship. I understood I was to assist you for the whole of the Irishmen's visit. I believe that so far I've given satisfaction.'\n\nA buckle of his cuirass had come undone, and his hair needed cutting. Noting these things irritably, 'Do you?' said d'Aubigny. You botched their arrival at Dieppe. You botched one of them at Rouen. You let O'LiamRoe's dog run wild for some petty purpose of your own, and made a thorough fool of yourself falling off your horse like a fisherman and bolting next down a rabbit hole.' He yawned. The couch\u00e9e had been long and boring last night. 'It's my own fault ultimately, I suppose. For this kind of work you need a touch of breeding, a little finesse. You will feel happier, I'm sure, with more familiar tasks. When O'Connor comes, I shall see to him myself. One of the men\u2014perhaps Cholet\u2014will help.'\n\nHe was turning him off. And Stewart suddenly thought he saw why. In ugly patches, the angry blood stained the Archer's gaunt face and neck, and turned his ears scarlet. 'I've noticed you can hardly bear to be civil since we won yon night steeplechase. It's hardly my fault he chose me to run.\u2026 And remember this, my lord. The name Robin Stewart means something to the King and his courtiers now.'\n\nOpposite, the handsome, thick-skinned face was merely contemptuous. 'More than d'Aubigny, do you think? One more word out of turn, Stewart, and I'll be the first, believe me, to put it to the test. Threats to a friend of the King in this land come very near treason, you know.'\n\nIt was not the insubordination that made d'Aubigny's hand shake on the onyx inkwell before him; it was the crude mirror held up to his bright-eyed stalking of Thady Boy Ballagh. That Stewart should regard himself as a rival had never entered his head, and he resented the intrusion of brutish feet in the precious gardens of his conoisseurship.\n\nHe stood up, shuddering a little in his displeasure. 'There is no point in searching out your weaknesses, Stewart; we are both, I am sure, quite aware of them. You have done the best that you can, and I am grateful. But you should be content now with the duties laid upon you. You will not find me ungenerous.' Bending, he drew from his desk a hide bag and laid it, clinking, between them. 'That will, perhaps, enable you to buy some aqua vitae or pleasant evenings with your friends in Ireland.'\n\nYears of training, of poverty and repression had stolen the secret of spontaneous anger from Stewart, leaving him without the courage even now to fling his career in the other man's face. But something newly nurtured within him baulked at walking to the table and picking up that limp rawhide bag. 'Keep it,' he said shortly. 'And buy a new inkwell with it for yourself. You've gey near cracked yon one in two, playing Almighty God in your fancy new necklaces. I'll go to Ireland. Cock's blood, I will. And,' said Robin Stewart furiously, producing the worst threat he could think of, and hitting with the the only weapon he possessed at Lord d'Aubigny's indifference and complacency, 'And I'll take Ballagh back with me.'\n\nIt was a boast he had hardly hoped to realize. But Thady Boy had looked at him, as narrowly as he could out of eyes that did not focus very well, and said that he was beginning to think the Court of France was overrated, himself, and that he would consider it.\n\nHe had had, it was clear, no breakfast apart from some strong wine before the day's sport; and was unlikely to bother with supper. Stewart, bitterly aware of the amusement roused by his missionary zeal, stopped himself in the midst of an angry and solicitous tirade. Whether Thady came with him or not, they had only one more week of each other's company left here in France.\n\nThat day, Thady Boy hunted three-quarters drunk and came back with a slashed hand. It was Stewart, who, off duty, crossed the gardens to the postern and called at the house of Dame Pillonne to beg some balm from the keepers.\n\nAbernaci was away. In his place, one of his friends in the trade sat in the jar-laden room above the brown bears, and returned Stewart's greetings, and added, at the sound of his accent, a genuine welcome in the broad chanting vowels of Aberdeen. Detached from his donkey, Thomas Ouschart was a gentlemanly little man, with small bones and a pale face in spite of a lifetime of travelling. He had a cough which spoke sometimes of rough-dried bricks in a builder's yard, and his calf muscles spoiled the particoloured set of his stockings. Stewart, his need riding him like a parcel of fleas, sat down and sent off a straight volley of questions about his personal attitude to ropewalking and the monetary expectations therefrom.\n\nTosh, a good-humoured man, answered plainly but was not in the least backward with a negative when the Archer touched on matters best left private. They got on well together; and the Aberdeen man, who had turned his hand to many things other than tightropes, mixed a very competent ointment from Abernaci's store for Thady Boy's hand, and then went rummaging neat-fingered for an empty jar in the piles of papers, bottles and wood shavings which covered every available surface.\n\nStewart, rising to help, said, 'Mind, if there's a scar on Thady Boy's lute finger, you'll have to answer for it to three Queens. So put the best you know into it, for God's sake.' He found a jar, cleared a space with a sweep of his arm, and sat down again.\n\nTosh, filling it, laughed. 'If you believe Abernaci, there's hardly room on him for a fresh-made scar anyway. You've seen his hands. And the galleys fairly made a show of his back.'\n\nRobin Stewart sat still, his hands on his knees, his feet planted apart on the littered floor. After a pause he said, 'I never heard he was on the galleys.'\n\n'I don't suppose he'd go about describing it,' said Tosh with passing irony. 'But he's got the brand on him. The cowardie saw it at Rouen, for one.' He glanced at Stewart's frowning face and grinned. 'A queer customer, Thady Boy Ballagh. But aren't we all? You'll need to get him into a rowboat and see if he'll show you his paces.' He finished packing the balm jar in linen and turning, studied the Archer, lost in meditation. 'It's likely no secret. The fancy bitches up yonder'd find it thrilling, I shouldn't wonder.'\n\nHe had no need to put Thady Boy in a rowing boat. Crisp in Stewart's ears rang that decisive 'On va faire voile' which had commanded the struggling half-wreck of La Sauv\u00e9e four months ago. He said, making his voice pleasant, 'What else do you know about our Irish friend?'\n\nBut Tosh had only met the ollave through Abernaci, and told Stewart nothing else that was new. From the litter on the floor, the Archer selected an old, used woodblock and fiddled with it. He had assumed that Thady Boy's history was all his, as well as his friendship. The ollave had been far from overflowing with his confidences, as The O'LiamRoe was, but he had not been reticent. And this violent and blighting episode in his life, for so it must have been, had not been entrusted to Stewart.\n\nThe Archer, stirring from his insubstantial dream of mutual confidence, waited for the familiar plucking of pain at his guts. Tosh was still talking when Stewart got up and, taking his leave a good deal more abruptly than was polite, strode off, forgetting his ointment.\n\nWhen he went back for it later he found, to his relief, that the blunt little Aberdonian was out.\n\nThe Archer's first impulse had been to go up and have it out with the ollave. Instead, he went directly to Lord d'Aubigny and presently got himself a mission which took him away from Blois for the six days before he was due to leave with George Paris for Ireland. A message, bald in the extreme, was sent to Thady Boy announcing the date and time of his departure.\n\nPuzzlement, as he read it, showed briefly through the disordered rubbish-heap of Thady Boy's face. Then he brushed it aside, and swept into the bizarre and engrossing activity of the moment.\n\nThen, at last, O'LiamRoe was on his way back to Blois.\n\nHe had his last ride with Oonagh the day before, jogging out through the park at Neuvy, the new wolfhound loping at their side. It was one of the few times they had been alone together since the unfortunate night of the serendade, when O'LiamRoe had appeared, dogged and apologetic, his arm streaming blood on the Mo\u00fbtiers' threshold. Now they trotted, shoulder to shoulder, finding silent pleasure in the stinging air, the thin woods worn dry and silver with wind and ice, the spent grass rustling at their knees. Soon they reached open ground and the horses pulled unchecked into a canter, and then a gallop, racing neck and neck, his frieze billowing alongside her black hair and her furs.\n\nSide by side they jumped ditches and followed dykes, and fled at last down a dry-tussocked hillside full in the yellow sun, leaving their breath white behind them, the blood whipped bright under the skin. Then, at the edge of another copse, they drew rein in pity for the sweating horses, and he walked them and then hobbled them while Oonagh flung herself among the bracken and the thin, dead spokes of bush and branch and bough which nested the ground.\n\nThere was a flask at his saddlebow. Kneeling, he offered it and she drank deeply, like a man. When he had drunk and laid it by, he came back and, finding a boulder at her side, leaned on it looking down at her. Throughout the morning, against the whole grain of his being, he had hardly spoken. Now it was she who broke the silence, her green eyes watching him. 'I have news for you, O'LiamRoe. Your ollave is leaving you.'\n\n'Is he now?' He waited. They had never discussed Thady Boy, or spoken of the serenade.\n\n'I heard today. Robin Stewart leaves for Ireland on Friday, and has threatened, it seems, to take Ballagh with him. The attachment I gather, is a little one-sided, so you may preserve your suite intact yet. On the other hand, Thady Boy may simply be waiting to persuade you to go, too.'\n\n'He would sooner help to ship me off, I am sure, and stay on here for ever, indulging himself. Has he wearied so soon? The life must all have run out of him with his songs.'\n\n'Or maybe he has a sense of responsibility?' suggested the black-haired woman. 'Ah now, but I forgot. You believe there is no such thing at all. Only a fool's craving for power, the dream of the officious, the corruption of the mediocre. There is no natural leader alive who should not have this throat slit directly he has led.'\n\n'You have a bully of a memory,' O'LiamRoe agreed peacefully. 'I never knew a being on two legs yet that got a pennyworth of power and so much as treated his hound-dog the same. Or his women.'\n\nShe almost did not answer; but she could not quite keep her temper from showing. 'Men have taken up that particular burden who would give their souls to be able to shed it.'\n\nO'LiamRoe's retort was mild and sunny and disbelieving. 'Who? Who has there ever been? Do you know such a one?'\n\nThe wild colour had come up under her skin; couched in it, her two eyes looked like clear, green-grey water. She said, 'You cut Luadhas's throat for the sake of a Queen who is no more than a senseless baby, and a foreigner at that. Are your own people worth less to you?'\n\nHis head cocked, he was revolving on his knees his broad, helpless pink thumbs. 'Now that you mention it, I had never thought of the King of England's sheriffs as so many cheetahs.'\n\nShe raised herself on one hand and swung round to lean her back on the rock where O'LiamRoe sat. Her head tilted back, she watched him, her expression not unfriendly. 'You feel for the man you can see; not the nation you cannot.'\n\n'You may have the right of it,' said O'LiamRoe. It was not the wittiest of ripostes. Against the rock, her head was very close. He could by moving his arm have brushed the warm, heaped, blue-shining black of her hair. He tried again. 'I find it difficult, for example, to feel for the Kingdom of France. You peel it away, as you might an artichoke\u2014the music, the sculpture, the pictures and the palaces\u2014and there, soggy at the bottom, are hereditary parliaments and absolutism, a dumb States-General, the primitive taxes, the gifts, the favouritism. England breathes a coarser air, but it seems healthier to me.'\n\nLazily, she replied. 'Do not delude youself, Phelim O'LiamRoe\u2014or me. Were you faced with eternal night and chaos you would poke up the fire and theorize till your blood itself boiled under the skin. Why stay if you no longer enjoy it? Go back to your heathery nook on the Slieve Bloom, where Edward's sheriffs pass you by; and take Ballagh with you. If you have a new master, someone doubtless will tell you.'\n\nO'LiamRoe's gaze, for once, was unreadable. He said, 'I didn't say, I believe, that I was wearying. I told you once why I intended to stay.\u2026 And I asked you a question, but we were interrupted.'\n\n'Then ask it again,' she said.\n\nThere was a long silence. At the side of his neck, in the baby's skin, a pulse was beating, although outwardly he was still perfectly tranquil. 'And do you like me or do you love me at all?' he had asked, that night in the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier. 'If I were fifteen years old again, I might,' he said. 'But now I know the answer.'\n\n'Do you? I think you should know,' said Oonagh, 'that you are not alone in your view of the artichoke.'\n\nLooking down, he could see her high brow, her thinking eyes, the firm body under the piled, thick folds of her robe. He said innocently, 'That might make it awkward when you take a French husband.'\n\nOne angular, boy's wrist lay on her lap; the other hand was tucked under her head. He saw the tendons sharpen suddenly, and was not surprised when she said, 'I have had dogs enough.' There was a little interval; then she added, hearking back still to their previous talk, 'I have reached a queer conclusion. There is a thing or two worse than sitting in a mud hut with salt herring and a kale bowl between your two knees.'\n\nO'LiamRoe did not know that he himself had turned rigid. He said only, 'I always said it. It depends on the company.'\n\nShe did not remove her eyes. Instead she gave a little twist so that instead of her back, she had one elbow on the rock, the other hand laid idly on the grass. Dead leaves, like flotsam on a web, scattered her fur. Unbelieving, he read in her eyes a kind of testy, unassumed kindness. 'I like you, Phelim O'LiamRoe. For my own good, I ought to love you.' She scanned his face. On it were small unaccustomed marks; of strain, of some measure of need or defence. She said with wholly unexpected anger, 'You are the very soul of detachment, are you not? Can you do nothing to make me love you, since you are so wise?'\n\nThere was a racking silence. Then he slipped to one knee beside her, crushing her dress, and, catching her idle hand, drew her into his arm. She came lightly, holding up her face for the kiss.\n\nIt was a strange embrace. The woman, it was clear, was the more experienced of the two; and she made no effort to hide it. O'LiamRoe's own simple nature came to his rescue. At this ultimate moment he felt no awkwardness; nor did he strive fora sophistication beyond his means. Instead, his own basic qualities, his speculative mind, his adventurousness, his essential decency, all brought to that first kiss something perfectly well integrated, of its kind; and to Oonagh O'Dwyer, quite new.\n\nSo new that for a moment it confused her. He sensed something wrong and broke away, his whole face shaped in a queer, unaccustomed way; then found her hand on his back had hardened disturbingly. She brought her other hand up, the heavy sleeve falling back, and drew his head down to her own. During this kiss she let him know, without speaking, that what he wanted, he could have.\n\nHumility\u2026 intelligence\u2026 insecurity: one of them spread its message through his brain, and then his nerves, and made his hands slacken, his head move, his eyes open. She did not realize it. She lay lithe in the grass, where she had slipped, and said in a gentling voice, her brogue broadened and warmed, 'Are you afraid of bankruptcy? I'm not asking the impossible, my dear. You will go to Ireland with Stewart and wait for me. This is a beginning; not an end.'\n\nHe sat back on his heels. Among the silken down of his hair, the features were still not his own, and oddly held, as if broken against some unheeding obstacle, and clenched again into defect and misshapen pain. 'You are very kind,' he said; and it was impossible to tell whether or not he was being sarcastic. 'But as it has not begun, it can be neither a beginning nor an end.'\n\nHe had moved himself out of her field of vision, whether for her relief or his own, she did not know. Lying quite still, her taut gaze on the sky, she said, 'What is it? You had better tell me what it is.'\n\n'Nothing,' he said. Her outflung arm was very white. On it, he could see the impress of his rough frieze, a pink trough of interlocking chainwork, where she had gripped him so hard. Her own dress was so fine, he bore no marks anywhere. He said conversationally, 'It is the first time, surely, that my poor, negative principles have brought me anything so charming. I doubt I couldn't bring myself to collect a revenue on them. I had thought them worth something less, or something more.'\n\nThen she sat up; and he saw that she was pale, her brain behind frowning eyes following the possible burden of his. 'I have nothing more to give that you would take.'\n\n'I would take honesty,' said O'LiamRoe. And after a pause, 'Or should I change my principles and turn firebrand first?'\n\nHe had been right. Her impulse had been kind. But it had not been selfless, and she was exceedingly proud. Her first reply to him died on her lips. Instead, she said, 'Change them if you want to; why not? No one will ever notice the difference, and the exercise will surely do you some good.'\n\nOn the way home, she did not speak at all. Nor did O'LiamRoe make any attempt to put it right. And no one but he knew that under the thick frieze cloak, he was shivering.\n\nBy next day, he and Piedar Dooly were back in their old room at Blois.\n\nThady Boy, when they arrived, was out, f\u00eating up river with the Court. Stewart's ambitious plan to remove him had all too obviously come to nothing.\n\nO'LiamRoe was aware that he himself had not been helpful. He could understand the exasperation, of even the dislike which he supposed had prompted Thady Boy's ill-natured riposte of the serenade. It was the abuse of Oonagh's good name and hospitality which he found regrettable. O'LiamRoe, from his detached side of the fence, rarely thought of anything as unforgivable.\n\nSo for the next few days he stayed in his room, seeing few people, quietly coming to terms with himself, and only smiled a little at the irony when a Gentleman of the King's called to invite him to a royal banquet on the following day. Recognition had come at last. When the puppetry had palled and no reason but pride was left to hold him in France, the innermost door, long forced by Thady Boy, had opened to him also.\n\nThat same afternoon Stewart came back, rattling in his caked spurs and yellower in the face than usual. Finding Thady out he remained only briefly. He and Paris were leaving on the first stage of their journey to Ireland next day.\n\nThen the Court returned, late at night and hilarious. O'LiamRoe was wakened by the arrival of Lymond with a whole drinking party, introduced thickly and meticulously, who then stayed until dawn. O'LiamRoe gave him Stewart's message when at first light the rabble tumbled at last through the door, and Thady Boy kicked off his boots.\n\n'Oh God, yes of course. You took your bruises to Neuvy. I could almost hear them begging you to go home with me before the end of it. What did she offer you to leave her?'\n\nHe couldn't have known. But the foul taste of it, the casual accuracy of the guess, made him feel suddenly physically ill. So far from being detached, with another man O'LiamRoe might have blundered into violence. As it was, he left the room abruptly, without seeing the sudden stillness on Thady Boy's face.\n\nThe next day, Friday the 16th of January, opened quietly. Blois slept late these days, for the King, never privileged to share his own father's council, gave his own the least possible regard; and during a season of sport or f\u00eating abandoned it with relief to the de Guises, to the Constable, to the Marshals and the cool, overseeing glance of Diane, who never slept.\n\nThis year, the pleasure seeking hid more than the King's ingrained resentment and his wish to please and renew the love of his friends. Beneath the surface were new tensions, no less disturbing for being petty. About this time rumour, unavoidably, had begun to play about the appearance of Lady Fleming. She, moving serenely about her daily adventures, was undisturbed; but the rift between the Constable and the Duchess de Valentinois was now perfectly patent.\n\nIt could be guessed also, without pretence of secrecy, that the Queen Dowager of Scotland was finding it harder to harness her unruly nobles. Honours, pensions, ready money in the purse, had done nothing but sharpen their hunger. Failing the bribery they were worth, their minds turned again to power and to their duty to their religion, belligerently recalled. Tom Erskine, lingering on his way back from Augsburg and cumbered with transactions to do with papal legations and bishoprics, and with arrangements for the French garrisons and armies at home, was still there, doing his best to doctor the mess, while waiting to leave in due time to complete his last treaty of peace back in England, and to return to Stirling and Margaret's small son at their home.\n\nThe invitation to Richard Crawford, which it had been totally impossible not to send, was now a month old. Lymond had been told, with extreme circumspection, that his brother had been sent for, but it was hard to say if he either listened particularly or understood.\n\nThe entertainment for this evening had been designed by the Constable and Queen Catherine, not with a new guest in mind, but in an effort to rationalize the feverish gaiety in the castle, and to reduce the tension. It was to be a private festival held by the inner Court for itself, and the only guests apart from the two Irishmen would be less guests than pensioners: the professors and scholars and scientists and wits who came by invitation to Blois, and sitting at the King's elbow, turned somersaults for him in the swept galleries of thought. From Paris, Toulouse, Angers, not all of them had heard of Thady Boy. The King, amused, did not enlighten them. The new toy, wound up, clicking and jumping, was to be set among the pedants unawares.\n\nFor this reason perhaps, Thady Boy was not much in evidence during the day. The O'LiamRoe saw him twice only. The first time, as the ollave was dressing, he had sat himself astride a chair and said mildly, 'In my day, as I remember, it was customary to ask permission before leaving one's employment\u2014The Lord guard us, are these all the clothes you have?' And flinching aside from the shirt and trunks and doublet the ollave was donning, Phelim had opened the clothes chest. Piled and screwed up within were the other costumes, jewelled, embroidered and beribboned, given Thady Boy by the King of France. They had all been handled like rags.\n\nLymond was ready, in a hurry, and not interested in O'LiamRoe. 'You've no need to believe every tale I tell Robin Stewart. It was the only way at the time to get rid of him. He's welcome to sail back to Ireland and stay there, if he wants to. I'll go soon enough\u2026 in better company than that.'\n\nHe hadn't mentioned, but Piedar Dooly had, the incident of the arsenic. Watching him now, lute in hand, hurrying off to Diane, or to d'Enghien, to St. Andr\u00e9, to Marguerite, or any of a score of his acolytes, masters, or mistresses, O'LiamRoe was conscious of a sourness in his mouth which recalled suddenly the taste of other wretchedness recently endured. He had to force himself to remember that the creations of an original mind were seldom bought nor were they offered without a price.\n\nThe second time, coming to dress for the banquet, he heard Robin Stewart with Thady. He had come at the wrong moment. The conversation, to begin with, must have been a stumbling one. The Archer by now was at his most abrupt and nervously aggressive, his voice splitting a little as his feelings ran beyond it. O'LiamRoe heard that; and heard Thady's voice in a tone he did not at first recognize, quiet and clear-phrased and sane. He was still, he noticed, using his Irish accent. He spoke for some time; then Stewart replied, but a good deal of the edge had gone. Then Thady said something quite brief, and there was a little silence. It was getting late. O'LiamRoe, feeling that he had done more than enough for Scotland, pushed the door open and went in.\n\nThady Boy was sitting on the edge of their decorated chest, rather still, looking with calm attention at Robin Stewart's face. The Archer, evidently just risen, had come forward and had laid a hand, gingerly and enquiringly, like a nervous schoolboy, on Thady arm. Then, without seeing O'LiamRoe, he dropped to his knees.\n\nO'LiamRoe made the next step a heavy one. The Archer looked round. His long-jawed face, hollow with hard work and recent travelling, went scarlet, and then white. He jumped up. Tired of the limp and foetid atmosphere of badly controlled emotion, the Prince of Barrow sailed across to his side of the bedroom, and sitting down, began to fight off his boots. 'Ah! Don't let him have you deceived, Stewart. How would he leave? He's supping with the Cardinal tomorrow, and hunting the day after, and playing quoits with the King the day after that. Let you make haste to make your own plans with friend Paris and leave, for it's that gay he is, there's no knowing where he will stop. But, by God, if there was any sense in me, I'd come with you myself.'\n\nFor a burning second, no one said anything. Then Robin Stewart, all the sting returned to his voice, said shrilly, 'God's curse, I hope not. For five months I've had Irishmen falling out of my clothes like lice. I can't wait to get done with them.'\n\nHe saw Thady shake his head; whether at himself or at the Archer was not quite clear. He had time to experience a happy sense of fulfilment before the door burst open and half Stewart's comrades-in-arms tumbled in, tired of waiting to give him his send-off, and seizing the excuse to capture a better prize at the same time.\n\nBy invitation, O'LiamRoe went along with them and, dressed in a brave creation of pastel silk, a little niggardly at the seams, drank mulled wine and added his mite to the loud laughter and wild invention set afloat in the copious backwash of hot mace and ginger. Stewart, who had very little to say anyway, had no need to speak a word. Thady Boy, at his elbow, haunted possibly by his forthcoming exhibition, tipped down the thick, scented liquor, choked, swore, and was the first to stalk off when pages brought the early summons to supper.\n\nFrom his discreet afternoons with the ladies, O'LiamRoe had sized up the great Court of France and considered that he had its measure. He stepped into the blazing Salle d'Honneur that night, and the reality hit him like a blow on the head.\n\nAbout him were all the famous, high-browed faces pink-flushed in the firelight, the little pearls and crystals winking in every ear as the restless, chattering heads turned. Tonight, the colours were all different, heaped, tangled and flowing one on top of the other: velvet orang\u00e9, tann\u00e9, green, cendr\u00e9, blue, yellow, red cramoisie, white, gold, copper, violet. In her high chair the Queen had thrown back a cloak of white fur sewn with gems; the King was in cloth of gold, Brusquet and the Archers and the dwarfs in attendance.\n\nEverything was here that he could not help but know was beautiful: a good taste made better by wealth, but which would have managed without it; intelligence on a scale which made him remember ruefully his once cynical words; and a brittle, assured and scholarly wit as detached and ironic as his own. He recognized that in pursuit of his theories, he had nearly fallen over the most remarkable signpost he was ever likely to meet. And while nursing the barked shins of his amour-propre, O'LiamRoe was still capable of honest admiration.\n\nHis neighbours he found pleasant, in a casual way. There had been no place yet for serious conversation, but it was well within his powers to make them laugh with him; and he supposed he did not care if they laughed about him afterwards. In any case, the ear of the Court was pitched, not to him, but to Thady Boy.\n\nDuring supper, the ollave had been asked to sing, and did so readily, unprepossessing but reasonably clean, and almost quite sober. Palestrina and the caquet des femmes O'LiamRoe enjoyed; but he had not expected the purities of the Gen-traige, the Gol-traige, the Suan-traige. In what nether vert Thady Boy had learned the great music of the bard he did not know; but he played in the austere tradition of the monasteries, stretching from Pavia to Roth, which once made the music of Ireland free of every harpstring in Europe. Whatever he was, the justification was there in his art. The familiar music, precisely chosen, decorated the beautiful room as if it had been a painting, and O'LiamRoe, his heart tight, thought, This is my country. Whatever she may become, she has conquered the world. Then the meal ended, and the singing; and the other entertainments began.\n\nThese were pleasant enough. Nothing, in fact, hinted at a change in the tenor of the evening until the display of the savages was reached\u2014a dance by some captured Brazilians, sent down from the latest expedition in charge of the Keeper. Abernaci, in a cloth of gold turban, was amongst them, supervising his men as they bustled the confused captives in. Suddenly the entertainment had changed from the civilized to the freakish: was that why the Scottish Dowager's face was immovable; and Catherine fidgeted a little, as if prepared for imminent boredom? But the men of the Court on the contrary had come alive. The King, leaning away a little from his gathering of scholars, had caught St. Andre's eye, and a smile of common understanding had passed. O'LiamRoe counted six men and one woman who had obviously had too much to drink. The rest, presumably, could hold it better. This surprised him too, for he had expected the standard of behaviour here at least to be rigid to the point of fussiness.\n\nFor the Prince of Barrow, the urgency and beauty of the dance, in their own way, complemented the handsomeness of the setting no less than the music had done. The dancers were all men, black-haired and naked. Copper-skinned, they whirled and padded on the smooth tiles, bare feet slapping, the swinging blue-black curtain of their hair blown sticky on to their jerking, round muscled arms. Sweat, gold in the firelight, slid down the smooth channels of breastbone and spine, between the flat bronze pads of the breasts and round the taut horseshoe of the rib cage. Their eyes, cut round and small above the taut cheekbones, were hot and blank.\n\nAt first, O'LiamRoe and those around him heard only the music from the embrasure where the small drums thudded and the flutes whistled. Then under that, he began to hear laughter and exclamations, and one familiar voice; and between the leaping, silent, shifting figures he began to see three in particular, directly in front of the King, whose bearded mouth showed suddenly a flash of white laughter. Between the curled toes and knotted calves, a little flurry of feathers dived out, glinted and changed direction, like small, silvery fish in a shoal.\n\nA rustle passed along the cushions. The ranks of dancers suddenly cleared to give an excellent view of Thady Boy Ballagh giving a spirited rendering of New World agility, flanked on one side by a nude Brazilian and on the other by an Archer, stripped to his netherstocks and crimson with shame and a violent determination to win the wager undoubtedly in the offing.\n\nThe Brazilian, who probably had hopes of a square meal at last, was making the best job of it, and in any case could not understand the braying Archers by the wall. But he was nearly matched by Thady Boy. Glassy-eyed, light as a spider, O'LiamRoe's ollave kicked and flung like a maid shaking a mop; and at every stamp, a forest of feathers would fly fighting out of his boots\u2026 stuffed full at some point today, or yesterday, or the day before, against the cold and never removed.\n\nO'LiamRoe gazed. This thick-faced Silenus, pouch-eyed, diligent, was something he had glimpsed in the privacy of his room, but had never, even in nightmares, expected to witness here. He felt the hairs of his neck rise, and his stomach lodged in his throat. Then he took in the fact that the King was laughing.\n\nThe figures came nearer. The dancers, shuffled into bewildered disorder, had already made way. In a vortex of ecstatic improvisation Thady Boy led, scraping a phrase from a snatched fiddle, dousing the steaming Archer with a wine jug, directing a figure from a table top; dancing suddenly in a flicker of parodied styles which brought each its calls of recognition and laughter. He began to dance a Volta with the Archer. Then, grasping an arm each of of his acolytes, Thady Boy whirled them faster and faster and then set them at each other. Helpless, captive and Scot cracked together in a ringing of skulls and slithered bemused to the floor. Thady Boy sat straight-legged, looking up, the blue, blurred eyes unfocussed; then he closed his mouth, climbed into one of the dog baskets and fell firmly asleep.\n\nHe may have thought the performance sufficient, but the courtiers did not. O'LiamRoe, watching dumbly, saw St. Andr\u00e9 and someone else slide the basket to the door and shake him awake, the black head joggling back and forth on his shoulders. Thady Boy came to life suddenly, with a snort, and burst into song.\n\n\u2003'I cannot eat but little meat\n\n\u2003My stomach is not good;\n\n\u2003But sure I think that I can drink\n\n\u2003With him that wears a hood.\u2026'\n\nIn O'LiamRoe's ear, his lordship of Aubigny had hardly ceased to pour a stream of amused comment, tolerant, civilized and worldly-wise. He seemed not in the least put out by anything they had just witnessed; he gave more the appearance, in fact, of enjoying within himself some enormous private joke. O'LiamRoe, his nerves on edge, found it intolerable. Did they imagine that this was how Ballagh ought to behave? Or think that he knew no better? Then he saw that, during the act which followed the dancers, Thady Boy had been taken into the King's own circle.\n\nThey were just within earshot. The earlier part of the evening had been made memorable for O'LiamRoe by the famous faces pointed out round the King: Turn\u00e8be and Muret from Bordeaux and Paris, de Ba\u00efff, Pasquier the lawyer and Bodin the philosopher. Already, on the edge of their conversation the Irishman had heard, without being near enough to share, the stir and swirl of ideas; through the condition of human society, the nature of liberty, the purpose of law, to the topical sciences: astronomy, medicine, natural history. They spoke in Latin, so that all might understand; but the quotations they flung at each other were Greek and Hebrew, Turkish, Persian. At the mention of Bud\u00e9, caps were touched.\n\nBut they had accorded Thady's music the perfect compliment of silence; and produced for him, when he joined them, a genuine interest which expressed itself in a patter of dry, courteous and intellectual questions about his art. It evidently annoyed Thady Boy to be questioned about his art. Selecting the oldest and the most persistent of his enquirers, the ollave replied politely in a phrase off the streets.\n\nMore than taken aback, the professor glanced first at his colleagues, then tried again. Thady Boy's answer this time was coarse; but wittily coarse. Even the King smiled inadvertently and Thady Boy himself dissolved into laughter. Almost immediately it became apparent that no one thought it necessary to rush to the scholars' defence. Vinet, finding St. Andr\u00e9 at his elbow, said dryly, 'The catgut has got into their manners, I see. A pity. The years of English rule have stamped something out.'\n\nAs the King's guest, the Prince of Barrow had to stay. He sat through the short farce, and a cushion dance, where Thady invented the forfeits, and some impromptu versemaking which defined the tone of the evening more harshly than anything so far had done. Thady Boy gave no sign of remembering that his employer was there. In between bouts of frenzy his bloodshot eyes were now perfectly glazed. He sat in disarray, regurgitating wind and brushing off minor, well-meaning helpers until a burst of vitality stirred him to movement again. Through it all, consistently, he drank.\n\nIt seemed unlikely that this could go on indefinitely. Yet there was no move to stop it; and O'LiamRoe suddenly had the feeling that all this had happened before, and that the evening was to be exactly delineated by Thady Boy's capacity. By now everyone was restive, roused by the neurotic gaiety. Even with the coolest temperaments\u2014Queen Catherine's, Charles de Guise's\u2014some degree of involvement had been reached. The young men suddenly had become wild, and a series of violent Italian games had started. Thady Boy, now showing a marked tendency to slip quietly to the ground, was shaken awake and made to play. Sallow faced and unsavoury he clowned, his feet tripping each other, until presently he turned a somersault in his wine-soaked satin, fell, belched, and rolled soggily at O'LiamRoe's feet.\n\nA nimble, glowing, sleepily loving little person, springing out from among the heaped cushions, caught the ollave's threshing arm, and with her own two white hands began to tug him to his feet. 'Master Ballagh, juggle for me! Master Ballagh, I know your riddle!' Lulled to sleep by the music, Mary, Queen of Scotland, had sunk nodding and forgotten by Jenny Fleming's generously cut skirts and had awaked, rapt-eyed, to find her mountebank delivered clean at her feet.\n\nWith immense trouble, Thady Boy got on to his feet. He took a step, paying no attention to the little girl. He took another, and lines of worry engraved themselves on his lathered brow. 'Dhia, my best right leg's broken.'\n\nShe clasped her hands round his arm and swung on it, as she had at St. Germain, forgetting, in the sleepy strangeness of the hour, to bother with her royalty. 'The monks and the pears? You said each took a pear and there were still two left?\u2014I know why.'\n\nStiltedly Thady Boy was progressing down the room, one leg buckling short under him, worry crumpling his face. 'My leg is broke\u2026 that's for sure.'\n\nUpturned to his, the pointed, fresh face lost the first brightness of her joy. She loosed one light hand to brush the red hair coiling at her brow and said, a thread of appeal in her broken childish French, 'One of the monks was called Chascun. Am I not right? So that only one took a pear?'\n\nHe paid no more attention than if she had been a ewer-servant. Margaret Erskine, moving swiftly forward, caught the little girl by the shoulders and turned her completely away.\n\nThady Boy continued on his agonized march. His face hollow with worry, he plodded short legged to his friends, fell over, got up, was sick, was set on his feet, prodded, given more wine and made to walk. Limping, lurching and whining he knocked over a torch\u00e8re, crashed into royal chairs and flattened a royal dog while Fernel, the royal physician, was sent for.\n\nThis was likely to be, O'LiamRoe saw, the accepted end of the entertainment. There was no doubt that they thought of him as their prot\u00e9g\u00e9: round him as he lay whimpering on the floor was a close circle of women and more than a few men, all eager to help. Catherine remained in her chair, faintly smiling, but the King, genuinely concerned, walked with his doctor to the injured man.\n\nFernel, his nightshirt showing underneath his doublet, displayed commendable patience. The shortened leg was examined all over and the boot drawn off, without finding anything amiss. Then the other leg was first prodded, then raised. Something red beaded to the rim of the leather and trickling, soaked into the dirty stuff of the hose.\n\nWith a deft movement, his face grave, Fernal slipped off Thady's boot. The ollave, craning, started to moan. Then with his knife the physician peeled off the soaked stocking and, cleaning his way gently down the crippled limb, revealed every inch of it to be intact and enjoying the most unsullied good health.\n\nThere was a blank pause. It was d'Enghien, idly fondling one of the mastiffs, who sensed the canine worry in the air. Fastidiously he lifted the bloody calfboot; ruminating, he peered into it; and triumphantly he plucked out and held high a nice portion of giblets, squeezed quite flat by the bardic toes. The mastiff barked.\n\nAs the shrieking laughter seared through the air, O'LiamRoe damned etiquette and escaped. He was in his room when by considerate royal command, twenty drunken young men, raucous and singing-merry, swept out of the Salle d'Honneur with Thady Boy limply weaving in their midst, and set out to take his ollave to bed. John Stewart, Lord d'Aubigny, was among those who watched, standing at the tall windows as the chosen escort surged down the twisted staircase and across the broad courtyard outside, screeching, struggling and swaying, and letting down all the cross-hung oil lamps as they passed in order to drink from them one by one.\n\nAnd it was Lord d'Aubigny, shaking his handsome head, who pronounced the epitaph on the evening. 'Per qual dignitade,' said his lordship sorrowfully to anyone who would listen, 'L'uom si creasse.' Margaret Erskine was among those who heard him; but she could not trust herself to reply.\n\nBy the time Thady Boy was brought to his door, O'LiamRoe was completely packed.\n\nPiedar Dooly, summoned brusquely from the kitchens, had found the carpetbags open on the bed, and their meagre belongings heaped on the floor. When the stamp and slither of a score of unsteady pairs of feet, a volley of bumps and a cackle of uninhibited laughter arrived outside the door, and then burst through it, he was finished. With a jerk of his combed golden head, O'LiamRoe dismissed Dooly, with saddles and bags, and addressed the incoming party. 'Leave him and get out.'\n\nThey revolved round him like Bacchantes, screeching, and one whipped off the bedsheet and, draping himself in a rough copy of O'LiamRoe's tunic and frieze, released a squall of synthetic Erse. They sang, harangued one another, and vomited, clinging to the bedposts and the prie-dieu; they scuttled round the room in search of more wine and, finding it, poured it over each other and attempted to pour it over him. Then they aimed roughly at O'LiamRoe's door and fell through it.\n\nThe door slammed shut, leaving the Prince of Barrow in the stinking wreck of his bedroom, standing alone over Thady Boy, heaving drunk on the floor. In a voice unrecognizable even to himself, he said, 'Get up.'\n\nHe had to repeat it twice before anything happened, and then, conquering a disgust which possessed him like a sickness, he had to touch him, to wrench him by the defiled and oozing stuff of his sleeve. Then Thady Boy lurched to his feet, spluttering, his eyes oily black under slack lids.\n\nWithout turning, O'LiamRoe unhooked the Irish harp from the wall and flung it. It struck the other man, jangling, and fell uncaught to the floor. Thady Boy, blankly aggrieved, sank after it, precipitated into his most undignified spasm yet. 'Take it up, then!' said O'LiamRoe. 'What about the Prelude to the Salt! Sing me the Riding of O'Neill! Are the great, epic songs not to be in it tonight?\u2026 Mother of God, Francis Crawford of Lymond, you've made a slut of your art, have you not, as well as a whore of yourself?'\n\nThrough the harpstrings, like an inebriated jackdaw's, one distended eye cocked skittishly at O'LiamRoe; but the next moment Thady Boy had lost interest, was on his feet and single-mindedly setting off somewhere else.\n\nThere was a keg of wine in Piedar Dooly's cabinet. O'LiamRoe in two calm strides barred the way as his ollave tacked towards it. One hand on both his wrists was sufficient to hold Thady off. 'Tell me a thing. Why did you ever come to France? Can you recall?'\n\nThe two wet hands twisted in his. 'To see how the rich people live.' Below the dyed hair, his face was blotched with crimson and lard. O'LiamRoe, his pulse hammering, could not take his eyes from its ruined intelligence. Thady Boy began to buckle gently again. Even the frenetic gaity had now evidently worn off, and his closing eyes showed a sort of sluggish content. O'LiamRoe pulled him erect. 'You are rich. Or so they tell me. Have you forgotten who you are? What is your name?'\n\nThe sodden mass hung obedient from his hands. 'I don't know,' said Thady Boy.\n\n'You are the Master of Culter, God forgive you and all who made you. Why are you here?'\n\nThere was a long pause. 'I can't remember,' said the drunk man very courteously.\n\nO'LiamRoe let him go. 'You don't recall a child who is liable to be killed?'\n\nThere was a long silence. Then Thady Boy Ballagh and Lymond, the one at last fused into the other, huddled loose in his haphazard corner and sighed. 'Richard will look after it.'\n\nO'LiamRoe said, 'You bloody plague's meat,' and stopped himself short, to resume in measured tones. 'Your brother is a marked man,' he said. 'He can do nothing.'\n\n'Neither can I, then. I'm busy,' said the satisfied voice.\n\n'You are indeed,' said O'LiamRoe cuttingly. 'You are busy destroying. What hope has a soft, vain, inward-looking society against such as you?'\n\nLike river water coming smooth down a dam, Thady Boy began to slide down his wall. 'I can't make music and live like a choirboy,' he said.\n\nA memory of the divine theory of self-expression floated through O'LiamRoe's head, followed by another about the universal sanctity of high art. He said flatly, 'You weren't hired to make music. If you're going to abuse the power it gives you, then you'd better not make it at all,'\n\nLymond started to giggle. With an effort, O'LiamRoe stuck to the important thing he had to say, his breathing passionately fast, his face pale. 'Your job is with the young Queen. Maybe there is a man or a woman alive who can wring the wine from your guts and send you back there to do it. Myself, I can see no need to help. I am for leaving tonight.'\n\nSitting on the floor, Thady Boy was laughing so hard now that he made himself retch. When he could speak, 'Leaving the other bitch to cut her own throat,' he said.\n\nThere was a cup half full of wine at O'LiamRoe's side. He flung it like a stone at Thady Boy's head. A wash of pink malmsey, like rain on a window, slipped over the ollave's sickly, glistening face and Thady Boy, staring open-eyed through it, heaved with laughter and the vaulting admixture of crude oil and wine and rich food.\n\nThere was a fair store of liquid in the room, both water and wine. O'LiamRoe gave Lymond it all, in shock after icy shock, hurled two-handed into his face; pursuing him with silent savagery as he rolled and paddled and scraped on all fours over the floor, stopped again and again, choking, panting, convulsed with idiot laughter as the next bucketful caught him like a blow.\n\nThen, as suddenly as it had come, the blistering rage died away. Suddenly cold and shaking, O'LiamRoe lowered his pitcher.\n\nHuddled like a water rat at his feet, Thady Boy was laughing still, in the high, whistling gasps of near hysteria, and at his movements ripples ran out over the floor. A finger of water, hissing, fled into the fire. The dark stains of wine joined, in moist red falls, over bedclothes and tapestries; the ivory and tortoise-shell posts were streaked and beaded; the secretaire dripped. The smell of food, of sweat, of stale and fresh wine was unbearable.\n\nSo were his thoughts. Driving leaden feet over the splashing, slippery floor, O'LiamRoe strode, and nearly ran, from the room. Behind him, the laughter came to an unsteady halt, and was replaced by a cracked and insalubrious voice.\n\n\u2003'They shall heap sorrow on their heads\n\n\u2003Which run as they were mad\n\n\u2003To offer to the idle gods.\n\n\u2003Alas, it is too bad.'\n\nThere was a brief silence. Then, 'Alash, it is too bad,' said the voice again, reflectively; and giggled; and said nothing more.\n\nMargaret Erskine arrived white-faced half an hour later. The floor had begun to dry by then, in islanded patches in front of the big lively fire. She moved through the room like someone running a race, checking neither at the stench nor the gross usage exposed all about her. There was only the firelight to see by, since someone had put out the candles: the room was filled by shadows, running back from the great hearth. The atmosphere of the place stirred chokingly like some deadly tide, to the disordered rhythm of the fire. It was clammily hot.\n\nDuring wars lasting as long as she could remember, through two young marriages and all the familiar and malodorous all-night sessions of the peer and the bonnet-laird, she knew with precision what to expect, and with resignation what to do about it.\n\nBut this was going to be different. Thady Boy had been travelling about since O'LiamRoe left him. That much was obvious by the overturned chairs, the avalanche of bedclothes, the rucked tapestry all pressed into service to keep him erect.\n\nThis persevering activity had now ended. It was quiet\u2014too quiet. Flouting her fears, she hoped stoutly that he could at least recognize her, and somehow manage to move. She could not lift him alone.\n\nIn all this, she had forgotten that Lymond simply might not have heard her. In fact, he was standing, held up by two chairs, in the shadows beyond the fireplace, most of his sodden clothing thrown off, and his dripping, tangled head turned to the wall. The long fingers of one hand, cramped fast on the wood, were clearly picked out by the fire, and she could hear the thick force of his breathing.\n\nThen he must have sensed she was there. The tortured nerves of his stomach, raw to the point where a thought, a perfume, can be cathartic, revolted as he swung round. He doubled up, closing his arms over his head, but before that, she had caught a glimpse of his dilated eyes, and the queer surprise on his face. He had, she realized, expected to endure it alone.\n\nShe pushed the chairs away and gripped him like a nurse, with a practical and impersonal firmness. Then, when it was over, she said in her sensible voice, 'You know you've been made to drink poison. You must walk, my dear.'\n\nThe pupils of his eyes were vast and black; in a bright light he would be virtually blind. On her arm his weight was unconsciously relaxed. He said serenely, 'I don't need to walk any more.'\n\n'Oh, yes, you do,' said Margaret Erskine sharply, and taking a double grip of the reeking shirt, forced him to move. He was full of nightshade, his brain drugged with it. While he could, he had done a good deal himself to get it out of his system. It was her task somehow to keep him roused sufficiently to finish the job.\n\nShe bore his full weight during that first turn of the room. Then, blearily, he began to relieve her of the burden, to take a leaden step of his own accord and then, stumbling from wall to wall, with her help to keep moving. She did not look at his face; and afterwards was glad, when she saw his nail marks bloody on his own palms. He had been nearer proper awareness than she had believed.\n\nAt the time, he seemed frighteningly distant; and then, when the stupefaction wore off, exhausted by the unending nausea to a point far beyond speech. Presently, in this blind state he came to a halt and, steadying him, she looked and saw what the belladonna and his own extravagance together had done to Francis Crawford. And she also saw that she could not afford the luxury of tears, for now he had reached the end of his resources. Whether any poison remained or not, she had to let him rest.\n\nShe brought him to the hearth, where she had made a rough bed; and he lay breathing fast, racked by dwindling spasms. His eyes, in their chasms of bone, were sealed shut. When, thus immobile, he spoke, her heart lurched with the shock. 'Mignonne,' said Lymond placidly, 'Je vous donne ma mort pour vos \u00e9trennes.'\n\nEven in this extremity, damn him, the quotation hurt. 'I don't want your death for my dowry,' said Margaret. 'Give your rewards to Master Abernaci. He saw you from among the Brazilians, knew at once what was wrong, and came to me.'\n\n'Nightshade,' said the quiet voice. 'Put, I suppose, into the mulled wine. They put it on elephants for a skinned bottom,' said Lymond, and laughed suddenly and incautiously; then pressed his hands, sweating, against his face.\n\nAfter a moment she said, 'If you recognized it, why didn't you get help? O'LiamRoe\u2014'\n\n'O'LiamRoe has gone.' The statement was laconic. 'If someone is going to be disappointed tomorrow\u2026 they may as well believe it to be drunkard's\u2026 good luck.'\n\nSilence fell. The huge fire had roared and flamed its way down to a great, silky pillar of heat, and the burning air shook. The floor had dried. In the steady red light the mired and fingermarked walls, the upset furniture, the ravaged bed, looked urbanely dramatic, as if done in stained glass. Nothing had sublimated the stench. It would have made a fitting tomb, she supposed, for Thady Boy Ballagh. That it was fitting for Francis Crawford she would not believe.\n\nHis eyes were shut. On its shadowed side, his face gave away nothing. His profile was rimmed with light, convincing in its purity; reflected light touched the underlid, and the highest part of the cheekbone, and the thick muscle joining cheekbone to jaw. In the darkness, the rest was mercifully lost.\n\nMargaret sat without moving until the first, finest sounds told her that somewhere people were dressing for a new day. Then she stirred, and learned for the first time that he was not asleep. His eyes opened, heavy-lidded but blue, and he said, 'Yes, you must go,' and paused, then added, dry-voiced, 'As a family, the Erskines always seem to be saving me from myself.'\n\nHer own shaken nerves shied from emotion quite as much as his disordered ones. She wondered how much stoicism it had taken to continue playing the fool, knowing the poison was working, and trusting to drink, to oil, to God knew what other impromptu expedients, to preserve his life and also his appearance of ignorance. Understanding, she had made no effort to tidy the room.\n\nNow, there was so much to say and so little it was possible to put into words without going beyond her control and his own. In the end she bent, adjusting the blanket underneath his head, and said, 'I told you my role was to sit by the hearth.'\n\nUnder his eyes, the light deepened. She had never seen a conscious man lie so still. He said, 'My role has been less to light fires than to extinguish them, it seems. I was sorry about the little girl. But it couldn't be helped.'\n\nHe had seen Mary's face, then. She said, 'You will be able to put it right one day,' and knew sinkingly that she must bring herself to go, even while he looked like this. And he was alone; there was no one she could confide him to.\u2026 God knew what abuses he would lay upon his strength tomorrow, next week, next month\u2014whatever murderous terms this abominable undertaking would occupy. Out of her despair, resting irresolute by his pillow, she burst out, 'If only Robin Stewart, even, were here. Who will look after you?'\n\nEven without looking, she felt beneath her the little shock of his surprise. Then he gave a stifled sound not far distant from a laugh, arrested it, then unfolding his arm slowly, like a man in a dream, touched her hand and then lightly held it. His fingers felt cool and insubstantial, and thoughtlessly indulgent. 'But, my dear,' said Lymond. 'Robin Stewart is the murderer.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "LONDON: THE EXCITEMENT OF BEING HUNTED",
                "text": "The excitement of being hunted takes half off it; just as the excitement of being ridden takes half off the horse, when it is a sensible adult that excites both."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: The Mill in Motion",
                "text": "As to the mill, however, inasmuch as it could not do anything illegal if it were not set in motion; it is right that the person who set it in motion should be responsible for it.\n\nIN the weeks that followed, Margaret Erskine found herself sorely tried. Stewart's journey to Ireland and back could take a month, even without a delay there on his mission. A month to wait, and observe Thady Boy's return to carefree excesses. A month to watch Jenny, glorious Jenny, coolly set out to build a court for herself, dazzling her admirers; drawing the benefice seekers to her side. The royal child, Margaret's half-brother or sister, was due in less than four months, and Margaret knew how the women about the King were reacting. Jenny herself paid no attention. She had never demanded deference. She simply assumed, once the news became public, that they would defer.\n\nBut in much less than a month there came the check on Lymond which Margaret was silently praying for. Sooner than they had thought possible, Richard Crawford, third baron Culter, with his short and glittering train, answered his summons to Blois.\n\nEarly that day, John Stewart of Aubigny also came back to Court, after a spell at his castle of La Verrerie, and heard for the first time a mildly surprising item of news. As soon as he could, he sought out Thady, taking George Douglas with him, to ask why O'LiamRoe had gone.\n\nThe ollave had been on the terrace, with a small and exuberant party, playing quoits. Sir George's speculative eye, looking him over, noticed the suffused eyes and the softer weight and the decisive air of abandon. He also noted, privately, that this young man had been sharply ill, and was not yet quite recovered.\n\nThady Boy answered his lordship, however, with unfettered buoyancy. 'Are you not for believing all you're told? He had an urgent message from home. Or that's what he said.'\n\n'I know,' said Lord d'Aubigny quickly. 'But\u2014'\n\n''Tis a real student of humanity you are,' said Thady cheerfully. 'But, of course, he got no such message. Sickly, impotent, inable and unmeet was Phelim O'LiamRoe. The lady of his heart upset all his plans, and he could think of nothing but home. Oonagh O'Dwyer was all that was keeping O'LiamRoe in France; surely all the world knows that thing.'\n\n'All the world knows, of course,' offered George Douglas politely, 'of his ollave's famous serena last month.'\n\nLord d'Aubigny, relieved, paid no attention. 'I'm glad. I had a notion, Ballagh, it might have been something Stewart had done. He's a good man, Robin, but unstable, you know. A little erratic. He took a fancy to you, I expect you know; was threatening one day recently to leave and go with you back to Ireland. Then he went quite the opposite way. Last time I saw him, he was consigning every Irishman to the devil. Unstable. So I hoped nothing had been said.\u2026'\n\nThady Boy's dark smile grew. ' 'Tis a fine Archer you have there, true, but a thought clinging. No blame to him that O'LiamRoe went. Quite the other way. It was O'LiamRoe telling him to his face that I had no intention of going with him to Ireland\u2014a true word, but I would have put it more sweetly myself\u2014that put the pot on the boil. I saw Robin myself before he went. I doubt, my lord, that you won't see that fine fellow again.'\n\nLord d'Aubigny showed no signs of sorrow at this. He said kindly, 'And what of you, Ballagh? I hope you're staying?'\n\n'As long as the King wants me.'\n\n'Then you must come to La Verrerie again. I have some friends who want to hear that fine playing.' Objets d'art were Lord d'Aubigny's business. 'You're staying at Blois, then?'\n\nPart of the Court was moving upriver shortly. 'So they say. I go where I'm taken.' The silken arm of d'Enghien suddenly encircled his shoulders. Jean de Bourbon, smiling cursorily at the others, said, 'You're holding up the whole game, my dear. Are you feeling well?'\n\nSir George Douglas's smile was quite masterly, and almost won a response from Francis Crawford. Sir George said, 'He'd better be, after challenging that Cornishman.'\n\nThady Boy's surprise was guarded. Discovering his quoit, he hooked the iron abstractedly on d'Enghien's high-bred hand, then queried, 'What Cornishman?'\n\nThere followed the small silence of the faux pas. Then d'Enghien said, 'You're going to the Cardinal's tonight, Thady? But of course you are. Everyone is.'\n\nSir George Douglas continued for him. 'He is having wrestlers after supper. The story is that you challenged one of them to a bout. Is it not true?'\n\nSurprise, annoyance, acceptance and a wild and untrustworthy enthusiasm informed the ollave's sallow face. 'No, it isn't,' said Thady Boy cheerfully. 'Someone, I would guess, is wanting to contrive a piquant sauce for the dish\u2014probably that very Cardinal Charles. But it's a matter, you know, of a challenge; and dhia, I never refused a challenge of any kind yet.'\n\nHe did not, as it happened, know that as he uttered the words, his brother had ridden into the open courtyard beyond the quadrangle at his back, and dismounting, had entered the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nBecause her dear brother the King had made certain, quite properly, that the Scottish Dowager and her friends would be watched, no one in her suite was able to warn Lymond that Lord Culter had arrived. In any case, while his lordship was being welcomed by the Constable, taken to the King, and confronted, in the royal presence, with the Dowager with tranquil assurance on both sides, Lymond was launching a fruitless search for a wrestler.\n\nBy late afternoon, the Cornishman had still not been found; a fact significant enough in itself. Lymond wasted no more time on it. He went straight to his room and, lying flat on the tortoise-shell bed, forced himself to rest for an hour. There, after making an inadequate toilet for the Cardinal of Lorraine's supper party, he was collected by a party of fellow guests, already too talkative and exchanging aqua vitae and bad puns. Then, avoiding the official party which included the royal family, the Constable and Diane, they set out for the H\u00f4tel de Guise. The Cardinal's sister Mary, Queen Dowager of Scotland, was already there, together with her brother the Duke, the Erskines and Lord Culter.\n\nBy then Richard Crawford of Culter knew all that he needed to know about his younger brother.\n\nErskine had prepared him, as best he could, with a swift narration of all Lymond had done, followed by an unadorned account of his conduct. Lord Culter heard it with complete calm; at one or two points his mouth twitched. At the end he said, 'Well, Tom; you know Francis as well as I do. Your confidence isn't shaken, surely?'\n\nErskine's answer had no hesitation. 'No. But my God, Richard, be prepared.'\n\n'A fan, and his clothes hung with bells?' Then, as Erskine hesitated, 'No. Obviously. One of his grosser deceptions. It would be irresistible, given the Court of France and O'LiamRoe.' Richard Crawford's grey eyes were amused. 'Thank you, Tom. I am amply warned.'\n\nThis steadiness, this quality of tough-minded tranquillity which could sometimes seem stolid, was balm to the disease of danger and unrest which was preying on them all. In this was Culter's great strength. Now in his mid-thirties, quiet, stocky and unremarkable, he was still nearly unique for his time in that he was perfectly reliable. It seemed as if he had set himself since boyhood to outweigh all the wanton recklessness of the younger brother; and had brought to it much the same deliberate power. Where Francis had ranged Europe in blazing notoriety, Richard had stayed at home, husbanding his wide estates, fighting for them when he must. Beyond this, and the joy he now possessed with Mariotta, his dark Irish wife, there was nothing more he desired.\n\nWhen, black-headed and sardonic, Lymond had departed for France, Lord Culter and his mother had been, in their different ways, thankful to see him set off at last, wholly on pleasure bent. For family reasons, Richard himself had not wished to go with the Queen Dowager to France. She, in turn, had been as anxious for him to stay: one of the few watchdogs she could trust. So that the bare, censored terms of her message, arriving at Midculter with the King of France's pressing invitation, were enough to confirm that the summons was not of her seeking, and that her reactions to it were being watched. They had even included an invitation to his mother. Lord Culter had hesitated a moment; then, ashamed, had taken it to her.\n\nAll the fair delicacy which had been Lymond's at birth could be seen in Sybilla. White-haired, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, she read the two messages and said instantly, 'Francis, of course, embarking on some nutritive project, while all within hearing drop prone and their matins madly say.\u2026 Do you think they expect me to appear, unworldly and strongly maternal, like a Scotch clocking hen? It will be a pleasure to refuse.'\n\nLong ago it had been recognized by all who knew Sybilla that, though she doted on her two sons, her astringent soul belonged to the younger. Richard did not grudge it. He had sufficient happiness at home here in Midculter not to deny Francis any comfort he could snatch. And always, as she had proved yet again, Sybilla's quick mind and formidable intelligence kept her impulses controlled and her judgment sound.\n\nShe was watching him. 'Such a pity. Not a time to be away.'\n\nHe was thinking, too, of Mariotta. And it was because of her that he said, almost before his mother stopped speaking, 'Either the Queen is in trouble, or Francis\u2026 or both. The sooner I go and find out what that fool of a son of yours is doing, the sooner we shall both be back.'\n\nIn all her long life, Sybilla had perfected a blithe self-control which was absolute; if she had gone, the watchers, whoever they were, would have learned nothing from her face.\n\nBut she knew, who knew him through and through, that they might have learned something from Lymond's.\n\nBut Richard, obviously, was another matter.\n\nA good quarter drunk, the Bourbon party arrived in the Rue Chemonton, Thady Boy in its midst, and swept into the wide, low-ceilinged room in the H\u00f4tel de Guise where their host's scarlet gown glowed by the silks of his sister.\n\nMargaret Erskine saw them come; saw Culter's grey eyes rest on his brother, flatten and glance smoothly away; saw Lymond's blue gaze return the look and continue unbroken to deposit its bloodshot burden of greeting on his major ecclesiastical target. In neither face was there a trace of recognition. They were a capable pair.\n\nThe meal was a princely one, perfectly served. Lord Culter without evident effort created small talk in an impeccable flow, and only Margaret, her senses unnaturally raw, saw that he was watching his brother throughout. Lymond's behaviour, as always, went to the limits of polite usage and then hurtled off into space. Bursts of laughter rose like cannon-shot from his side of the table, and his voice was blurring, as it always did by this time. When the boards were drawn, he had drunk enough, and so had most of the men, to be ready for whatever outrageous feat of inventiveness sprang into his head. No one had troubled to ask him to play.\n\nAt this point, judging the ollave's condition with skill, the Cardinal signed to bring on the wrestlers.\n\nJousting, fencing, fighting with staffs\u2014this kind of knockabout combat was an old distraction; fresh, lively and painful, boisterous, sometimes malicious, they rejoiced in it to a man. Only Margaret, it seemed, was aware tonight of the queer tension in the air; only to her mind had the breathing space of good company and laughter suddenly shrunk, as if a door had shut in some lukewarm brood chamber, and something uncouth and organic had started to grow. Rumour had it that the chief wrestler, the Cornishman, had been challenged by Thady. True or not, the ollave seemed to be ready to wrestle; as the first exhibition bout started she saw something like eagerness on Lymond's slackened face. It disturbed her. His mind was never, as a rule, so simple to read.\n\nDuring the bout, her uneasiness grew. One man, the smaller, was quite new. The other, the Cornishman, had fought already at Court on that December night when Thady had roused all Blois with his race. He was a big man, over six feet and solid, with the vast limbs and the cream and rose-flooded flesh of the sandy-haired. His head was shaved, like his partner's. They were both in soft boiled leather, a second skin sewn on them, body and limbs, and their clipped feet slapped bare on the tiles. The weapons were as usual: the cudgel and the shield with the iron prong at its foot. The straining, thinly gloved muscles glistened with oil; as the bodies groaned and grunted and collided and gasped the firelight varnished them, dripping, bald, squat and scarlet as Burmese teak.\n\nWatching, Margaret became aware of yet one thing more. Whenever the Cornishman's attention was free, the white-lashed eyes turned towards Thady. In them was very little of intelligence and nothing of amity. They expressed scorn, she thought, and excitement, and something else she could not properly name. Only Lymond, close by the two men, plainly saw in the pale, pink-rimmed eyes a pleasurable anticipation of murder.\n\nThe present bout was soon ended. It had been reasonably exciting. The mild applause, the circling wine, the little stir of gossip and change filled the moment that was suddenly on them, on all those that knew and were concerned, like a burden of unbearable weight. Then the floor was clear, and on it was Thady Boy, portentously solemn, stripped to creased shirt and fat, silk-puffed haunches, club and shield in his hands. Long ago, the stuffed and elaborate clothing he wore had let him dispense with additional padding; his way of life was bringing illusion near enough reality, for the rest. Opposite him now, loosely bent, waited the supple-skinned ox of a Cornishman, the fire red on his skull and his eyes and the silver spike of his shield.\n\nMargaret, feeling her face grow cold, and therefore white, looked away quickly. Beside her, the square, short-nosed profile of Richard Crawford showed no kind of change. No muscle altered; no apprehension showed in his eyes. Margaret wondered briefly if he felt any warmth for his brother or only a sense of duty, doggedly preserved.\n\nThe bout began at great speed, because the Cornishman wanted quickly to disarm his opponent. The rubbery hulk of him pattered in, lightfooted; but there was less still of Thady Boy. He blew like a wind ball, vagrant on the periphery in untraceable patterns, and the heavy cudgel, thrashing hard through the air, whined empty on the place where the ollave had been standing. Behind him, Thady Boy whistled; and as the Cornishman turned, hit two melodious notes from the wrestler's own shield and set words to it, before he had to skip fast to shelter.\n\nHe was busy then for quite a few moments, for the Cornishman, annoyed, was impatient. The cudgels cracked, on the shields and on each other, but adroitly missed flesh and bone. That would come. They were fresh as yet, although the ollave's breathing was thick and fast; and Erskine, who had seen him, weightless, fight his brother tempered like a sword, watched with a troubled face all this blunted skill. Then Thady Boy ran backwards, his round shadow swift before him, and without an instant's warning hurled his shield away from him with all his strength.\n\nYou could hear the impact of the blow. It hit the wrestler's leather wrist, fell, bounced, and wheeled straight to a dark corner, skidding the Cornishman's dropped cudgel with it. Thady now had his club only; and the wrestler nothing but his shield.\n\nThe wave of comment stopped in mid-flight. The circling had begun again, but this time more slowly. The wrestler's white-lashed eyes had narrowed. He moved, crab-legged, his right hand splayed and his oil-sleek muscles shifting until he had the other within reach. Then, like a snake striking, a foot flashed upwards to Thady's groin. As the pounded flock filling his preposterous breeches took the blow, Thady's cudgel swung out. The wrestler jerked his head\u2014in vain.\n\nFor the club was aimed, not at his head, but at the uppermost rim of the shield. It landed. And splitting it with a high crack from end to end, it drove the spike underneath into the Cornishman's own shin, With a sharp, strangled grunt the wrestler hopped back, clutching his leg, and Thady, the sweat sparkling on his face, grinned and tossed up his baton. The grunting stopped. The hubbub of laughter and talk died away. In a growling silence, elbows out, hands beseeching, the Cornishman began to advance crouching on Thady.\n\nThe Cornishman was now quite unarmed. But he had assets Thady lacked: a hug that could kill and an ungreased body to seize. Above all, he was a professional: a dangerous man, a thug, and not quick witted, but with all the tricks of the game sunk deep in his battered bones.\n\nHe advanced, feinted, and double-feinted. His solid, well-trained body answered him this time a fraction quicker than the abused one of Thady's. Lymond guessed right once, but not twice; even so, dodging, his cudgel touched the other man's shoulder. The resilient, thick-knotted muscles accepted the blow. The Cornishman grunted, but continued unshaken. The jaws of a rocklike embrace advanced, hovered and snapped shut. Then the Cornishman pressed; and Thady Boy, held tight as a parcel, was lifted slowly into the air.\n\nIt was a perfect move, spoiled by overconfidence in the end. In the instant before the big man drew breath to hurl him wholesale to the ground, Lymond flung his weight forward. His legs alone were quite free. With the last ounce of his breath, the ollave lunged with one foot and brought it sharply, heel down, on the back of the other man's knee.\n\nA lighter man would have fallen. The Cornishman stumbled, opaque surprise on his face turning to anger at the orthodox, classical reply. Already the ollave was half-free. Sheer rage lending him speed, the Cornishman recovered first. He could not, as he planned, smash his opponent flat on the ground. But he twisted, heeled, and diverted his own stumbling weight so that they collapsed together, the ollave underneath, shoulder pinned to the floor. Thady Boy had yielded first fall.\n\nThen they were circling each other again. To win, Thady would have to throw the Cornishman twice. And he still had the cudgel.\n\nHe used it now, to keep the other man off. Although the lead-paned windows were flung wide to the night, the room was suffocatingly hot. It had a stuffy smell, left over from the liver and ginger and the pastries and the venison with Milan cheese; and the company, pressed back in their crumpled satins against the fine, split-oak wainscotting and watching in well-bred passivity, brought to mind nothing so much as a cageful of moulting sparrow hawks. Lord Culter, passing a box full of sugary sweetmeats, had to speak twice before Margaret even heard. Then he turned back calmly to watch.\n\nAny wrestler in his senses would have made it his first aim to seize Thady's club. The Cornishman set out to do it with no nonsense: after all, the ollave might be in poor trim, but the wrestler had fought one bout already. So, dodging and ducking the whirling wood, he took one swift step and, grasping Thady's right arm, twisted. It was perfect. In inescapable reflex, the ollave's hand opened and the cudgel flew out and hit the floor, skidding, as Thady wrenched himself free. In the same moment the big man turned and dived for the weapon himself.\n\nAs the sole of his receding foot came up, Lymond struck it viciously with his own, and the Cornishman, hand still outstretched, came down hard on one knee. Then the ollave's hands gripped his ankle, found leverage, and heaved. Eighteen stone of Cornishman rose in the air and fell crashing to the ground. Second fall to Master Ballagh.\n\nThe pure shock of the experience held the wrestler prone, if only for seconds. It was long enough for Thady Boy, breathing wildly and dripping with sweat, to upend three boxes of marzipan, over him. Emitting a thick roar, the first voluntary sound he had made, the wrestler rolled over and got to his feet, closely covered in a kind of sparkling white suede. At last, with his oil coated in sugar, he was susceptible to his opponent's mischievous hands.\n\nIn the utter silence, as they faced up again, the Cornishman's whistling grunt was queerly disturbing. It continued, at the back of his throat, all the time that he circled. With one fall each, this time they were equal, with no weapons but their hands and feet, their speed, and the tortile strength of their muscles. Thady, periwinkle-gay in the silver cloud of spilled sugar, had become smoothly taut. The Cornishman, soft-footed, ranged round and gently round; the pink-rimmed eyes, like a butcher's, probing and thoughtful. Then, with a sudden, double hiss of forced air, the two men came to grips.\n\nOne of the toughest of sports, it could be the most brutal, and the Cornishman knew every trick. A spatulate thumb, sliding into the eye, was his answer to Thady's quick knee lock, and as the ollave's head jerked to protect himself, the wrestler's hard foot flashed up and in, and his hands, deep in Thady's black hair, jerked his scalp hard to the ground. Lymond's hands, outspread, met the tiles a split second before his head. He somersaulted, and his stockinged legs, swinging up, scissored the Cornishman's neck and hurled him off balance backwards.\n\nIt was a good escape; but no more than that, for Thady Boy landed first, and on his stomach at that, with the wrestler on top of him. Then they were up and close-grasped again. Beneath the dyed skin, Francis Crawford was livid, and breathing in fast, retching gasps. The Cornishman set his joints. Then, twisting, tearing, wrenching, kicking, he fought for one thing and got it. He trapped Thady at last in the cage of a full hug and without attempting to throw him, set himself, to his whining monody, to burst the lighter man's ribs.\n\nThe pressure mounted, bit by bit. Flat against the hot, sticky leather Thady's face looked darkly congested. His hands moved weaving behind the Cornishman's back. They moved till they rested on the fleshy pads of the ribs, and then gripped and wrung, through leather and skin. Shaken, the big man grunted; and in that second, Lymond hooked his inside left leg with his own right. It was not enough, by a long way, for a fall; but enough to shake the intensity of the hug. The Cornishman changed his mind. Slackening his own hold, he spun round so that he was underneath Lymond's belly and prepared to throw him bodily over his head.\n\nFrom that height, and on those tiles, it meant possible death. As soon as the grasp on him slackened, Lymond changed and tightened his own. When the wrestler applied his leverage, it was counteracted by a lock which not only equalled his but bent him double, as he crouched, until he knelt on the floor. Then the grip under his arms began to shift and extend. There was a grunt, a twist and a deep, shaken sigh. The next moment Lymond's two clasped hands met at the back of the Cornishman's neck.\n\nThe knuckles whitened. A vein, rapidly beating, appeared in the dark skin of his temple. Then, slowly, the thick-jointed shining bald head started to bow, to sink, to press lower and lower, to be pushed inexorably into the wrestler's great chest, pushed with the last, deadly, unanswerable thrust that drives bone asunder from bone.\n\nIt was then, in the small, breathing silence that was theirs, in the midst of the rustling ring of their audience, the cries, the murmurs, the rapt and riveted gaze of the Court, that Thady Boy spoke to the Cornishman.\n\nWhat he said could not be heard by the spectators. But the wrestler understood; the veined eyes glared white and the sweat dripped, greasily warm, as he listened. Then, squeezing the words from compressed throat and chest, he answered. 'They're lying. Ils mentirent, donc.'\n\nThady Boy addressed him again. Under the long and pitiless fingers the glittering head was sinking still, the sandy skin darkening to purple. Again, patently the answer was negative.\n\nWhat happened next was a matter of idle dispute afterwards among all those who watched. The ollave spoke, and this time relaxed his pressure a fraction. The wrestler answered, his voice stifled and raucous, and after another exchange Thady seemed satisfied.\n\nHe loosened his grasp, shifted, and as the Cornishman drew a first, shuddering breath, Thady's arm flashed under his chin, gripped, tightened, and pulled up and back. There was a click, clearly audible all through the engrossed room. Then the great bulk of the wrestler, his eyes white and open, his mouth ajar, his neck queerly awry, heeled with momentous precision and, slumping, slid prone on the tiles.\n\nThady Boy rocked on his hunkers and sat down, looking at once pleased, alarmed and vaguely apologetic. 'Ah, clumsy fellow that I am. Would you think it: I've killed him stone dead.'\n\nIt was delicious, the climax of the evening. You could sense their satisfaction and their lack of surprise as the exaggerated laughter and bravas filled the room. They had assumed that their blissful sluggard would pay for his drink in good coin. Rimed and sparkling with sugar, the wrestler lay like some child's flaccid sweetmeat in death, and the dogs licked his eyelids.\n\nThe evening was soon over. The King and his suite left, and then the Queen; but Thady Boy Ballagh, full of spirits, scraped precariously through his obeisances and stayed on with his flask and his admirers. Then Mary of Guise rose to go, and at the same moment Thady got to his feet and went pattering unsteadily towards the Scottish Court.\n\nUnbelieving, Margaret Erskine saw him approach, saw him favour her with a tipsy smile, and then pass by to tug at Lord Culter's fine sleeve. Richard Crawford, his face rigid, found himself looking straight into his brother's blue gaze, the stink of sweat and wine and drunken humanity rising to his nostrils.\n\nThady Boy's sibilants were precocious, but his sentiments were candidly warm. 'Come and see me, if you want to, my dear. One day soon, before you leave us for Amboise.'\n\nMargaret saw Richard's grey eyes flicker, checking. No one else within earshot; but the exchange was obvious, of course, to all who cared to look. Richard said, carefully, 'The sieur d'Enghien is watching you.'\n\n'He's jealous,' said Thady Boy, and giggling archly, showed signs of moving off.\n\nSmiling, speaking quietly in the same even voice, Culter said, 'People will talk. How can I come?'\n\nA long, unclean finger caressed him under the chin. 'How prudent you are,' said Thady Boy plaintively. 'The only people who matter know now exactly who I am. But you may show me and them marvellous stratagems, if you like. Sleep well, my sweet, and have modest dreams\u2026'\n\nHe drifted away none too soon, for Madame Marguerite had come to claim him, and then d'Enghien brought him more drink. Margaret Erskine did not see with whom he went home.\n\nNext morning, as the Scottish Court of Queen Mary of Guise was preparing to shift to fresh quarters at Amboise, Thady Boy, under pressure, moved to occupy more accessible rooms in the vacated wing.\n\nHe was half-packed by midmorning when Lord Culter arrived at his door. On the threshold he stood still. Lymond, left to speak first, said agreeably, 'Quite so. I, King of Flesh, flourishing in my flowers. Come in. I am sensible, sober, and have no designs on your virtue.'\n\nRichard's reserve, so swiftly noted, broke and vanished. Smiling in return, he shut the door and came forward to give Francis his embrace. Beneath his hands he felt the extra flesh and was sorry. And as his eyes took in the dry, blackened hair, the unresilient skin, the shortened focus of far-seeing eyes, reduced and reddened by late nights and smoke\u2014'You are a devil, Francis,' he said.\n\nHe had expected to find this difficult, but in fact talk came quite easily. He gave the family tidings, answered some light questions and noted that Lymond was in reality much less interested in the new building at Midculter than he was in the political news.\n\nThey talked of Scottish affairs. Outside, a black winter's rain had been falling all morning. The dismantled room was untidy and dark, and hardly cheered by a new fire full of whimsy and smoke. The open box at his feet caught Lymond's attention. Rising, he disappeared into the little cabinet next door and returned, after a space, with a towel and his baggage straps. He added them to the general litter, then shutting the empty coffer and sitting on it, said, 'What about the Morton inheritance? George Douglas is ready to be bought if she needs him. He wants ambassadorial power, but that would be madness.'\n\nThere were three claimants to the earldom of Morton, and Lord Maxwell and George Douglas's son were the only two that mattered. Richard said, 'I hear he has threatened to expose you,' and regretted it, for his brother looked surprised and said, 'Oh, Lord, that was nothing. Mischief. He's the ingenious conspirator who had you sent for, I should be fairly sure. He always appears to be maintaining great structures of intrigue, but half the time if you subtracted George Douglas the erection would stand just as before. Stronger, probably. But he would come to her for Morton and she needn't lose Maxwell. He has power enough. He'd be perfectly happy with money. She'll need all the support she can get to cancel the crass stupidity\u2026 You've heard of Jenny's little exercise?'\n\nRichard's mouth twitched. 'Scotland is ringing with it. It must have caused quite a stir.'\n\nLymond got to his feet, tardier in his movements than once he had been. 'Oh, it did. Fair Diana, the lantern of the night, became dim and pale. The Constable has retracted, and so has the King. And Catherine, of course, is simply waiting her chance to send Jenny home. All most desirable, of course.'\n\n'Tom and Margaret did their best to put a stop to it. I know you did, too.'\n\n'Oh yes,' said Lymond mildly. 'She was flattered. I had to fight, positively, for my reputation.'\n\nHe again began to pack, talking intermittently as he did so. Richard listened to a quiet and dispassionate analysis of leading members of King Henri's court. It was exceedingly funny and tearingly precise; it rang true, alarmingly, as if the wax tablets of the Recording Angel were being leafed through on a lectern. They had not touched at all on the business which had brought Lymond to France. In the middle of it Lymond said, without a break, in the same conversational tone, 'Wait a moment, will you?' and went off, swiftly, through the same door as before.\n\nThe lack of fuss for a moment deceived even Richard. Then he saw the unpacked litter and realized that for five minutes he had been watching a private rearguard action of Francis's own. In two strides he was out of his chair and across to the other room.\n\nThe attack this time had been a bad one. There had been no real hope of disguising it, as Lymond must have known. Even Culter, who had hardly led a sheltered life, had seldom seen a man so mercilessly sick. His breath coming hard, Richard dropped to his knees at his brother's side and supported him until it was over. Then, smoothly powerful, he lifted Francis in his arms and carried him expertly through to the fancy tortoise-shell bed.\n\nLymond's eyes were shut; the dead man's pinches, like freckles, blue on the skin. His face, in the clearing light, was as Margaret Erskine had said. Last night, in the kind glow of the candles, it had been possible to recall, comfortably, his impudent talent for acting. When presently he stirred, Richard hanging over his bed spoke with something near malevolence. 'You damned young fool. I know you, remember? I suppose that was just something you ate; or are you bloody well pregnant as well?'\n\nLymond waited a long time, apparently unwilling to take a breath, and then said, 'Richard. Rescues on the hour, like one of Purves's clocks. Would you bring me\u2014?'\n\n'No.' Richard, pitiless, answered him.\n\n'\u2014Only a twopenny pint of claret?' For an instant, his driving need was visible behind the coolly brazening eyes. Then he resigned from Richard's grey stare and drank, without further comment, the water which was all Richard brought.\n\nPresently he sat up, with caution, embracing one string-gartered knee. 'Forgive me. My guts are unmantled and my sinews unmanned. God knows, it's an offence against decent living; but it will go.'\n\n'When,' said Richard, face and voice quite unaltered, 'did you last taste solid food?'\n\n'Liquids,' said Lymond. 'I thrive best on strong fermented liquids. Saffron milk, like the fairies.' He laughed a little, and then sobered. 'I don't starve, I promise you. If Nicholas the hermit could do it, so can I. It isn't for long.'\n\n'How long?' Ruthlessly, Richard was coursing evasions. 'The Erskines believe you want proof of Stewart's guilt in case he comes back.'\n\nLymond's stained hands were still. 'Partly true. The proof I have would be quite hopeless at law. A prostitute from Dieppe. A Scotsman posing as an Indian. Another Scotsman passing for Irish. We need something better than that. But as for Stewart\u2026 I don't think he'll come back.'\n\n'In that case\u2014' With some trouble, Richard controlled his temper. 'Getting evidence is a simple matter. Leave Erskine to do it. I'll help. There is no need whatever for you to stay. If you are perfectly sure, we can deal with him, if need be, without a trial.'\n\n'A plain killing? No, I won't have that, Richard. He was born into gall like a fly in an oak tree. He tried quite hard to get free.'\n\nRichard was sarcastic. 'Like the Cornishman?'\n\nThere was silence from the bed. Then Lymond said, 'O'LiamRoe was in danger most of the time he was here, largely because someone took him for me. You know about Abernaci. He has friends, a man called Tosh among them. Wherever O'LiamRoe went, Tosh or someone else or several of them followed. They were only needed once, in an ambush one night at Blois here. The Cornishman was one of the band who attacked O'LiamRoe. He killed two of Tosh's men.'\n\nRichard said carefully, 'A little dangerous then, surely, for the Cornish wrestler to show himself here again?'\n\n'The only person who saw him was a man who later died. He came last night to rid himself of me, too. I didn't challenge him.'\n\nFor a second, Richard didn't see it. Then he said sharply, looking into Francis's quiet face, 'How could he know that you were concerned?'\n\nHis brother smiled. 'Because Robin Stewart knows who I am. Obviously. Why else should he poison me?'\n\nObviously. Richard said evenly, 'How did he find out?'\n\n'Stewart? It's a long story. We had to make it easy for him, in the end. He isn't very clever, you know. If you are interested, we sent Stewart on a pretext to the Keeper's lodging, where Tosh shattered his simple faith by revealing that Thady Boy had been in the galleys. This was not only suspicious and alarming, but it linked up with an incident at Aubigny where his lordship had made a graceful reference to the Master of Culter as a provincial ex-galley slave. Don't let it disturb you. It is, after all, true. That; and we let Stewart pick up a wood block Abernaci had made with the Culter arms on it. I hope friend Robin assumes it is a commission.\u2026 The block has a certain rough vigour, by the way. You should get Abernaci to sell it to you.'\n\nIt had been a long journey from Scotland, and he had not slept very well last night. Raising a hand, Richard rubbed his tired eyes. Then he dropped it and said, 'You wanted Stewart to find out who you were?'\n\n'I thought I did,' said Lymond, a tinge of irony in his voice, and paused. After a moment he went on. 'I knew, you see, that he was trying to kill Mary, and he had to be stopped. The supposition was that he would come to me. Or lead us to any accomplice he had. Or at worst, leave the country. In fact, what he did was go straight back to the Keeper's lodging, steal some poison, and attempt to rescue his self-respect by dosing my hippocras\u2026 I must say I hadn't quite bargained for deadly nightshade. An error of judgment. Sown east and west at the wrong time of the moon. Although to be fair, Stewart did come to me before administering the poison, but O'LiamRoe came in at the wrong moment and matters went astray. Not O'LiamRoe's fault either. I didn't have my wits about me, or I should have expected it.'\n\nSolid, intent, Richard did not lift his eyes from his brother's face. 'You say you knew that Stewart was attempting to injure the Queen?'\n\n'Oh, well,' said Lymond slowly, 'it had been a strong possibility for a long time. Margaret Erskine may have told you about the poisoned cotignac. During Jenny's little weekly escapades, she dismissed her own guard on that door. Anyone could have got in during the six weeks or so the stuff was there, and smothered it in arsenic. But no one easier than an Archer of the King's own personal Bodyguard. The arsenic for that, Richard, was stolen at St. Germain. Apart from the Queen and the Dauphin, whom we can exclude, and Pellaquin, whom Abernaci trusts absolutely, only six people were admitted to the menagerie that morning before the theft\u2014Cond\u00e9, St. Andr\u00e9 and his wife, Jenny and her son and Sir George Douglas. And\u2014Abernaci forgot in his reckoning\u2014Robin Stewart, who had of course called earlier to warn Abernaci of our visit.\n\n'Now, the next real attempt was at the cheetah hunt\u2026 I assume they have also told you about that. The Queen's pet hare was carried to the field and released by someone travelling with the hunt, during a pause before the final run. Of all the people I've mentioned, only Stewart and St. Andr\u00e9 were both at the menagerie and at the hunt; and St. Andr\u00e9 was in full view adjusting a girth during the entire wait. Besides, neither St. Andr\u00e9 nor his wife has any real motive. He is doing better under the present r\u00e9gime than he could hope to do anywhere else; he has nothing to gain.\n\n'But Stewart could have organized the fire-raising at the first inn we stayed at. He could have stolen the arsenic. Only Madame de Valentinois and a few huntsmen and he knew before the hunt that the cheetah would be brought\u2014I made enquiries and found that, as indeed he hinted, the silly fellow, he had suggested the cat. So who else could have known to arrange for the hare on that day too? And finally, he was exactly the man I should have looked for: hard-working, friendless, restless, miserable; longing for Elysian fields of power and admiration, and getting very little return from his present duties and masters. The news we gave him the other day at the Keeper's lodging through Tosh would have meant nothing to Stewart unless he already knew that a man called Francis Crawford was here secretly, and why. So that by stealing that poison from Tosh, he actually gave us the final proof of his guilt.\u2026 Anyway, he has gone.'\n\nThe conclusion was unavoidable. Richard had felt it in his bones all along. 'Therefore,' he said slowly, 'if the Cornishman really meant to kill you\u2026 someone else must have sent him?'\n\nLymond had both elbows on his updrawn knees, his forehead on his wrists. Studying the mattress, he said, 'Robin Stewart isn't a leader, he's a web looking for a spider. He found one. A man who wants to kill Queen Mary and who thought O'LiamRoe was me. He knows differently now. What's more, with any luck, he knows that the Cornishman spoke to me before he died.'\n\nThere was a pause. 'He spoke all right,' said Lymond shortly. 'He had to. He thought his breastbone was going. He told me all he knew so that I would spare his life.'\n\nIn Richard's ears there sounded again the click, the dry snapping of bone, as the Cornishman's neck was broken. 'Clumsy fellow that I am,' his brother had said, and laughed. Flatly, Lord Culter asked, 'And what did you learn?'\n\n'Nothing,' said Lymond, and laughed unguardedly, lifting his head. 'Oh, God, I'm going to be sick again. Nothing. That's why I had to kill him.'\n\nThere followed a silence. The man in the bed was holding his breath, his head averted on his crossed arms, his muscles hard. He had always been able to drink without showing it: the whole furnishing of his body must be in rags. Richard waited grimly, keeping perfectly still. How often did this kind of thing happen? And how could he possibly take his place at Court in this state?\n\nAnswering the unspoken thought, Lymond spoke without moving. 'It's mostly only at night. Then the soles of my feet come up like Empedocles' sandals. Guts six shillings the dozen.' He had apparently got himself under control. Richard waited a moment, then said, 'You were telling me that Robin Stewart had an employer, and that the employer thinks you learned something that matters from the Cornishman. Therefore he will try to kill you again. And that is why you are waiting in France. The turtle dove bound in the ivy. Your favourite role.' In spite of himself, his helpless anger was showing.\n\nThe Queen Dowager's eminent observer replied reasonably, as he had done throughout. 'Tell me another way.'\n\nThere was a handkerchief rolled tightly in Lymond's left hand, which he had used to stifle the coughing. With a brusque movement, his brother pulled it away, and wordlessly flattened it between his brown, capable fingers. In streaks and patches, the linen was stiff with fresh blood. 'Dear God, Francis,' said Richard Crawford, his voice suddenly stifled by the agony in his throat. '\u2014Dear God, dear God, what do you want of me? Must I choose between my own child and you?'\n\nHe stopped. The silence stretched on. After the first moment of shock, Lymond's face was unreadable. But his voice when he spoke was deliberate and undramatic. 'I have promised to ride in the Mardi Gras procession two weeks from now. On the following day, I shall go home. Will that do?'\n\nRichard did not at first reply. Whatever he had expected, it was not a surrender, clean and complete, of this sort. In three sentences, Francis had abandoned his mission, his hopes of trapping a murderer, his justification for killing a man waiting for mercy. It was a brutal gift, and one which, without compunction, Lord Culter meant to accept.\n\nConsidering Lymond, flat now on the bed in wordless communion with the ceiling, Richard spoke. 'My dear, you are only a boy. You have all your life still before you.'\n\nOn the tortoise-shell bed, his brother did not move. But there was no irony for once in his voice when he answered. 'Oh, yes, I know. The popular question is, For what?'\n\nMardi Gras was two weeks away. Next day, the Queen Dowager and all her train moved off to Amboise. Shortly afterwards Thady Boy, a little less noisy than usual, crossed the bridge too, to call on Mistress Boyle and her niece Oonagh at Neuvy. The aunt was away, but relatives and house guests, as usual, filled the rooms. After laying before them, like cherries, all the gossip of Blois, entering into a satisfactory, hard-drinking argument with a party of guests and skilfully avoiding a meal, Thady got Oonagh O'Dwyer to himself; or she got him.\n\n'Well?' They were in the little oratory, their voices echoing from the cut stone, their clothing coloured by the handsome windows. There was an organ he had to see.\n\n'A pet of a lady,' said Thady gratifyingly, of the organ. 'See you to the bellows, now, while I try her.'\n\nOonagh O'Dwyer did not stir. She had ridden that afternoon, letting the wind whip her coiling black hair, and had left it to hang free, silky-swinging on her furred brocade. She said, 'And so Phelim O'LiamRoe has gone. You had better luck with that fellow than I had.'\n\nThady Boy's face, looking up from the keys, was innocently clear. 'He disliked me more,' he said gravely. 'A stout child, O'LiamRoe. Between us, maybe, we did him a little good. Is there any message you have I should tell to him?'\n\nHer lips parted, but she did not speak. Instead, she stepped up on the platform and taking the bellows, glanced at him through the glittering pipes. 'You are going home, then?'\n\n'By Shrove Tuesday. I haven't put my two hands round my mouth with the news as yet. Indeed, formal leave-taking is a thing I don't care for. Explanations are far better left unsaid. Faix, girl, it's a positive organ. Your blowing would be just fine for a standpipe of mice.' And as, irritated, she gave the two bellows a sudden, bad-tempered beating, he put one finger hard on the keys.\n\nAn acute, tinny buzz, mercilessly sustained, seared at her nerves. She sat back on her heels, bellows loosed, as the sound drily expired. They eyed one another. Thady, hatless in a soiled concoction of yellow, performed a silent arpeggio up and down the dumb keys, and launched into a memorable parody of the chapel organist's politely faded technique. After watching judicially for a while, she gave him air for it. The organ sang out, filling the church, while she looked down at his hands on the keys and the sliders.\n\nShe had known he could play. She knew also, or guessed, how much of his mind it occupied. As, abandoning parody, he wandered abstractedly through quiet passages, some familiar, some not, Oonagh, facing him beyond the lead barrier of the pipes, her hands ceaselessly working, said, 'Do you imagine, now, that Robin Stewart will ever come back?'\n\nUnhurried, Thady Boy played two bars of a lament. 'I do not, the silly creature that he is. I told him myself he had every reason to get out of France.' Two used blue eyes looked at her over the smallest pipes. 'Is it pining you are?'\n\nThe air died on him. A silence fell, explicit of impatience and anger; then, whistling an air of supplication under his breath, Ballagh changed his fingering and accompanied himself on the silent keys until, relenting, she pumped again. 'I thought,' he said above it, 'that with O'LiamRoe gone, there might be hope for me.'\n\nThe melody hesitated, then acquired such volume that the silver candlesticks rang. 'Where you're concerned,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer, 'O'LiamRoe gone makes no difference at all.'\n\n'Does it not, so?' Thady Boy was unperturbed. 'Strange news, my dear. You are moving in high circles, it seems.'\n\nShe did not answer. For a time, he played and she pumped in the thought-filled silence. The little, arched room was empty; though beyond the robing room and out in the passages the normal stir of the household could be heard. The quick notes of the organ ran about the oratory, over the white stone and the Ghent tapestries and the polished wood, then vanished all at once. She had the bellows still working automatically in her fists, but Thady Boy had taken his hands from the keys and was watching her in the wheezing silence.\n\nHer arms were aching, and she knew that the red showed, rising, under her thin skin. She rose, standing over him from the advantage of the table. 'And we are to lose all this steaming banquet of wit? Why so set on leaving us now?'\n\nThady Boy, sideways on his stool, was hugging his knees. 'As the song says, \"A grey eye looks back towards Erin; a grey eye full of tears.\" 'Tis a queer thing, for a creature so silly, but there's a craving on me that won't be gainsaid, to set eyes once again on Robin Stewart. On Ash Wednesday I go; and between now and then is all the time left for this great land to produce its best to impress me. Would you say,' said Thady, his eyes bright, 'that I have a chance of being impressed?'\n\nHer hands on either side of the gilded posts, she looked at him with a closed face. 'I cannot say.'\n\n'Can you not?' said Thady Boy, and reaching up, freed her wrist-lace from a beading. 'It's no manner of use, is it? What a pity.'\n\nShe snatched her boy's hand away, and unaided sprang down from the platform. He rose. 'I told you. O'LiamRoe made no difference,' said Oonagh. Facing him, she was breathing fast from the jump. 'Do you think I haven't escorts enough? That I can't take my pick, then? I hear there's a fine lord come to Court now, rich as they are made, to take his young brother back home. Nursemaids must come dear in Scotland these days.'\n\nThady's hand on the keyboard didn't move. 'He will succeed, no doubt,' he said, a small thread of amusement barely kept out of his voice. ''Tis a dour race for certain sure, but his lordship is a tolerable specimen, with a taste for Irishwomen, withal. You might do worse than trust yourself to that one.'\n\nIf he had expected to bring her into the open, he failed. Her eyes were contemptuous. 'That's a futile custom if you like. Lord Dunghill's heir is never plain Billy Dunghill, but the Master of this, or the Master of that. Lord Culter's heir, I believe, is called the Master of Culter, who cannot even master himself.'\n\nFrancis Crawford, once Master of Culter, pondered a moment on this piece of sarcasm. At length, gravely\u2014'A pity,' he agreed. 'But people do make allowances. And after all, the Master of Culter, my darling, is lying there in his cradle at Midculter, just seven weeks old.'\n\nHe had risen as he spoke, and lingered, smiling angelically at the arched door, now opened. 'So whatever you do,' Thady Boy said, carefully explanatory, his smile sweeter than ever, 'it makes no odds to the Culters, you see.' And turning, he went.\n\nThe door closed. Tight-faced, Oonagh O'Dwyer watched it; and heard nothing until a blow took her, like the clap of a shovel, first on her right cheek and then her left, rocking her back among the spindly gilt stools. 'You greedy, beef-witted slut,' said Theresa Boyle from behind her, her face blotched, her hair wild. 'Did I bring you here to come jolly into your season at the first taste of a man?' The loud, able, jocular figure of the Porc-\u00e9pic at Dieppe had quite gone. But in Mistress Boyle's face, with its vizored teeth, its reddened, weather-glazed skin, its staring eyes, its grey spiky hair about the strong jaws, there was visible the brisk malice of the cheetah hunt on the day that the little hare died.\n\nIt was, obviously, a foray in what had been a long battle, with sores on each side. Oonagh, recovering with a twist of her body, laid her hand to the altar and would have retorted, violently, with one of the candlesticks had not her aunt caught her wrist. Oonagh said, in a strange voice like thin foil, 'I should be careful.' Then, after a moment 'You have the mind of a cockroach. If anything pulls us down in the mire, it will be you. I told that fellow nothing. You would hear that, devil mend you, since you were listening.'\n\n'I was watching also,' said Theresa Boyle. 'And my two eyes gave me news. It was a fine welcome, that, after the journey I have had.'\n\nReleased, the younger woman sat down; then, finding the candlestick still in her hands, replaced it. 'You went to see our honourable friend?'\n\n'I did.'\n\n'And he knows that Ballagh is Crawford of Lymond?'\n\n'Naturally he knows. He sent a message for you.'\n\nOonagh's eyes, frowning, were on the strong, embattled mouth. 'Why for me?'\n\nMistress Boyle laughed, a familiar, wholehearted screech. 'Did you get comfortable with the notion that I would take all the blame? \"Oonagh O'Dwyer deceived me,\" he says. \"Oonagh O'Dwyer let me believe that Lymond and Phelim O'LiamRoe were one and the same man. She deceived me unwittingly, she says. Then let her prove it, by God.\"'\n\nThere was a short silence. Oonagh said, 'How?'\n\nSmiling, Theresa Boyle turned, and with a broad, horsewoman's hand, slapped the wood of the organ. An uneasy sound, muffled and metallic, answered back. 'Thady Boy Ballagh will be dead in two sennights.'\n\n'The plan is to go on?' The oval, pale-skinned face showed nothing now.\n\n'The plan to deal with your musical friend is to go on. And if you warn Master Ballagh, or divert him, or if he escapes in any way, whether with your help or not, you and our cause, Oonagh O'Dwyer, are both lost.'\n\nThe broad, brown fingers with their grained nails were lying spread on the keys. Oonagh glanced at them; then rising, turned to the door. 'What are we now?' she said bitterly, opening it to the warm bustling world just outside. 'We and our cause?'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Amboise: An Accident Happens",
                "text": "If a sensible adult brings a horse to the structure and an accident happens, a fine according to the nature of the case is due from the sensible adult.\n\nCharacteristically, the plan to brush Lymond finally from the path was so expensive, so wasteful and so baroque that no one guessed it or anticipated it, and Francis Crawford himself was neither warned nor, certainly, diverted.\n\nHe had not, patently, told his brother all he knew, and Richard did not press it, trusting to his promise that in two weeks he would be gone. In Scotland Lord Culter was known, with cause, as a good man to find beside you in trouble. He took from the Erskines' willing shoulders the burden of safeguarding the Queen and set a watch on all Lymond's movements.\n\nOf this last, Lymond was ignorant. They met once, on the eve of Richard's departure for Amboise, long enough for the ollave to observe, in passing, 'You may relax, my dear, No elixir \u00e0 successions as yet in my soup.' He looked magnificently lightheaded, trapped in his own image like a fighting fish attacking a mirror. After that, they did not meet for two weeks.\n\nThe Scottish Queen Dowager's sojourn at Amboise, together with her son and daughter and their attendants and all her seething parcel of nobles, was an expedient hit upon largely by the Queen of France and the Constable for several excellent reasons, the first being the anomalous and burgeoning presence of Jenny Fleming at court. This removed her from the physical presence of the royal household, if not from its delighted thoughts. Catherine was sleeping for Maecenas, and nobody else.\n\nA second consideration had to do directly with George Paris's errand to fetch Cormac O'Connor, and with a little uneasiness growing in Blois over the less disciplined of the Scottish Dowager's noblemen. And lastly, having interviewed Richard Crawford and found him uncompromising, uncomplicated and personally likable, Catherine de M\u00e9dicis had been content to dismiss him to Amboise with his Queen and a discreet observer to hand. Anonymous advice was always better investigated, but Lord Culter's presence in France seemed unlikely to bring either profit or anxiety to the crown, and the letter which inspired it came, no doubt, from some private malice.\n\nIn this Queen Catherine was right. She was also right in guessing the incident closed, although she could hardly know why. For motives all her own, the Queen Dowager had forestalled Lymond's suggestion and had granted Sir George Douglas what he wanted: the earldom of Morton for his son. Sir George had enjoyed thanking her in suitable terms, but had not so far made the decision public, even to his closest relative in France, since he took pleasure in encouraging Lord d'Aubigny's occasional mild hysteria on the ingratitude of princes. It amused him to listen to his lordship comparing with acrimony the rewards brought him by a life of devotion to the arts, and the attention being showered by the Court of France on the head of Thady Boy Ballagh.\n\nSir George, too, had noted how, during all those wild weeks of festivities that lasted from Candlemas up to Shrove\u2014the revels, the pageants, the masques and the balls, the baiting and tournaments and battles of oranges\u2014the gay, crude libidinous life of the private parlour and supper table began to lick at the stiff, sugary edges of etiquette.\n\nThe Vidame de Chartres arrived, fresh from conquests in London, where he had spent half a year, along with d'Enghien among others, as nominal hostages for France's final payments on Boulogne. D'Enghien and d'Aumale had put in a formal few months, made the most of the festivities, and had come home. The Vidame had stayed, to charm the young King, to entice the Marquis of Northampton's handsome wife, to attend weddings, give banquets and visit Scotland, as he pleased.\n\nThe Vidame, an ally of Mary of Guise, called on her at Amboise and Ch\u00e2teaudun, and entertained the rest of the Court with tales of his boudoir. He also cast his large, practised brown eyes on d'Enghien's new ami, and gently made himself known to Master Ballagh.\n\nHowever tumultuous the ungartered life of the Court, the old King had never allowed vulgarity to penetrate the Throne Room. Now, under the debilitating impact of Thady Boy and the relaxations of the season, affairs were being made to wait which could not wait, or were going by default. The historic half-cast of political frivolity in the fine eye of France had become something like blindness.\n\nIt was a bad February. Although never doubting that Lymond would keep his word, Richard had said nothing of it to the Erskines, to Lady Fleming or to the Queen Mother. This was a promise undertaken to his brother. With Lymond gone, and the Special Ambassador due home very shortly, the mantle of protector would have to fall on himself, and he knew well that the Queen Mother was as anxious for him to go back to Scotland as he was to return. It would go badly against the grain to keep him here in France to look after young Mary. But whom else could she trust? Moreover, he had no illusions about the danger. The assassin, if he still remained, knew quite well who Thady Boy was. All he had to do was transfer the attack to Thady Boy's brother.\n\nRichard understood that all this would be even clearer to Francis. Hence the guard. His flourish of renunciation notwithstanding, Lymond would, his brother knew, use every means in his power to provoke an attack during these two weeks, keeping silent, even to his patrons, about his impending departure. And until Lymond was out of the way, the small Queen was probably safe.\n\nIn fact, the days passed and no attack was made on Queen or ollave. Marguerite, the two Bourbons, St. Andr\u00e9, the Vidame, the young de Guises and their wives and the bright fraternity of the Archers nursed, scolded, and encouraged to fresh excesses the fuelless blaze which was Thady Boy Ballagh, living tumour-sick on his nerves. Then, without warning, came the message he was waiting for.\n\nIt reached him at eight o'clock on a raw night on the Saturday before Shrove, when dressed in John Stewart of Aubigny's mask and a cloak of green feathers, he rode with a party of twenty Aztecs and as many Turks led by his lordship to the inn on the Isle d'Or, outside Amboise.\n\nThat day, the jousting had ended early because the King had an attack of toothache. It was the only ailment which ever troubled him, and he met it as always with the frightened anger of the robust. The afternoon's revels were cancelled, and the Court was left disguised in turban and feathers with a collective explosion of unused energy to let off.\n\nThe day had been reasonably fair. Mounted on their heterogeneous coursers and cobs, robes flapping, feathers streaming, gourds rattling aloft, the two jousting teams, Turks and Aztecs, flew calling along the Amboise road, jumping, chasing, belabouring one another, ducking the discourteous in the flat Loire and drying them with gold pieces. It was dusk when they came to the first leg of the double bridge over the Loire, and crossing to the little island in the middle, stormed into the Sainte Barbe for hot food and wine. Astounded by the costumes but flattered by the presence of all these young lords, the staff fled to obey. Thady Boy threw his mask on a table, drank a solid tankard of strong wine straight off, and led the rendering of a new song he had just devised. Then, the pain not deadening at all, he waited until all eyes were on the Vidame, in feathers, attempting a clog dance, and wandered restlessly outside.\n\nIt was a still night and very dark, with a thin, wet mist rising grey from the river and turning yellow in the window lights from the two bridges to right and to left. Behind, the roof of St. Sauveur showed black, and there were lights in the cottages grouped round the inn, showing fitfully the strip of white beach and the water parting, smooth, oily and black, round the creaming shoal of the isle.\n\nThe mist hid the far shore. He could see only the spires of St. Florentin and St. Denis, the tops of the town wall, its towers and the belfry, with all the huddled chimneys within. The outline of tiled roofs slid down into the misty cleft of the River Amasse, then emerged on the far side as a great bastion of rock, overlaid and braided and terraced by the cameo-like intricacies of the King's castle of Amboise. Above the fog, the ranking windows were lit, and the trees in the long garden glimmered with lanterns. The Queen Dowager was in residence.\n\nIt was cold. Lymond wondered prosaically if he were going to faint; and again, with clinical interest, whether his health would give out before either the term of his promise or the assassin completed the task.\n\nThe shiver of metal, striking sweet on the ear, revived him like cold water. He wore his sword, as usual, on his skin dress. Drawing it, he slid from the white wall and felt the stable hard at his back as another chink, this time of spurs, sounded to one side. He had his hand on the stable door when the crack of swordplay shatteringly broke out in front.\n\nLymond stopped breathing. Somewhere in the dark, the spurred unknown, abandoning silence, drew his sword with a whine and thrust past, his footsteps sharp and light on the small cobbles. A man shouted, then bit it off, and in the inn someone opened a shutter, solving the problem instantly with a latticed trapeze of bright light. In a corner of the stableyard a small man, heavily muffled and splashed to the hatbrim, fought for his life against two others, one of whom wore spurs.\n\nThe same light fell on Thady Boy. As the inn door banged open and his shadow sprang black on the loosebox door, the small man cried again. They had him by the collar by then, his sword gone when Lymond reached them, his skin boots making no sound, and threw the spurred man off with a twist to the shoulder that made him gasp. The other turned too; and in the second of grace, the beleaguered traveller ducked, twisted and ran.\n\nThe attackers took one step to follow, and then halted as Lymond just above the threshold of sound, requested them searingly to stand still. Voices came from the inn door. Someone shouted, and someone else answered. There was a pause, as the silent night was consulted. Then, without troubling to hunt unduly for trouble, the speakers went in. The door banged, and shortly after the shutters closed, plunging the yard into darkness.\n\n'Now?' said Lymond. 'Jockie's Rob from Hartree and Fishy James from Tinto. Lord Culter's orders?'\n\nThe broad feet on the cobbles didn't shufflle; merely remained stolidly firm. 'Yes, sir.'\n\n'You imagine,' said Francis Crawford of Lymond, 'that something five feet two inches tall with a rapier is going to disturb my pattern of life?'\n\n'No, Master. That's to say\u2014' Jockie's Rob was peevish enough to make that point. 'No, sir.' He didn't need the warning pressure of Fishy James on his arm. The small, soft edge on the dressed-up man's voice was enough. He had rarely met the younger one, back at Midculter, but he had heard about him. It beat him how the Master\u2026 how young Crawford knew their names.\n\n'Well,' said Lymond pleasantly. 'You'd better find him for me, hadn't you?'\n\nIn the darkness, they looked at one another, and got no support. 'For to question?' hazarded Fishy James weakly, at length.\n\n'In order,' said Lymond smoothly, 'to apologize. And to receive from him, if he is now in any condition to give it, the message he has come here expressly to deliver.'\n\nThey found him in the horse box, quiet under the straw. He had a thin cut on one shoulder. Lymond dressed it while his two protectors, strangely subdued, kept lookout. Then, soothed, comforted and assuaged with linen and gold, the traveller made his succinct report.\n\n'Landfall safely at Dalkey, sir, the Prince of Barrow leaving direct for his home. Mr. Stewart accompanied Mr. Paris to O'Connor's house, but O'Connor was away. They split two ways to find him, and after a while Mr. Paris comes back unsuccessful, having found out O'Connor is in the far north, and not due back for a week. Mr. Stewart didn't come back at all.'\n\n'He was still searching for O'Connor?' Lymond's voice was merely disposing of an improbability.\n\n'No. He had taken a post-horse and got a ship. Mr. Paris thought he was making probably for Scotland. Then\u2014'\n\n'Then\u2014?' said Lymond, and all the sharpness had left his voice.\n\n'Mr. Paris found that another ship had put in, off Dublin itself this time, and taken The O'LiamRoe on board, with a great trumpeting and bonnet-sweeping and twittering from the poop deck. There was a row of soldiers on the jetty to see himself off, and the sea gulls saluting their breastplates, it was a scandal to see. And O'LiamRoe in his best silken suit, an honoured guest.'\n\n'\u2014Bound for London,' said Lymond suddenly, hilariously, his blue eyes alight in the dark.\n\n'\u2014Bound for London,' agreed George Paris's messenger sourly.\n\nAs always now, the reaction was almost more than he could bear. It took a major effort of will, after the messenger had gone and he had dispatched his brother's two abashed nursemaids, to return to the inn for the drink which would smother it and let him go on. When he got there, braced for the buffeting jocularity which would greet his return, Francis Crawford found a fresh idea had already caught fire.\n\nSt. Andr\u00e9 had challenged the Prince of Cond\u00e9, who led the Aztecs against the Turks, to swim his team from the Isle d'Or to Amboise: a challenge which, if you knew the currents under that smooth river, added an intriguing new chapter to the story of the key and the Marshal de St. Andre's wife.\n\nTo this, Lord d'Aubigny, leader for the day, had added refinements. The route was to be reversed. Mexicans and Turks, heralded by a nearly sober young captain with curling hair, would seek admission to the King's castle of Amboise, would foregather at the top of the Tour des Minimes, and racing down the spiral carriage ramp for which the Tower was famous, would debouch over the drawbridge on to the shore and across the near arm of the river to finish midstream at the Isle d'Or, where they now were.\n\nThe nearly sober young captain, who had to ingratiate himself with the Queen Dowager and the King's commander, had gone; and to keep him nearly sober, an Archer called Andr\u00e9 Spens had gone with him.\n\nIn due course the rest of the grotesque party followed too, howling, over the second bridge, Thady Boy in the thick of them. He was not, by then, thinking very clearly, part of his mind being distantly occupied with analysing the significance of what he had just learned. Another part, philosophically, recognized that the crisis he had been waiting for was probably on him, and that he had sent his brother's men home. The rest of him did not care; for by then he was blessedly, exceedingly drunk.\n\nHe retrieved the mask from Lord d'Aubigny who seemed, with reason, to have lost his fancy for it, and tried and failed to order his vagrant senses as they rode up the incline from the bridge and through the Lion Gate into the castle.\n\nBy then, the mist had risen higher, glooming off the dark river like pillowed figures. Mattresses of fog lay round the castle and behind them the lanterns showed faded, with cannibal rainbows, hazy and parched, all around them. Below, the river stirred, black and sluggish in the raw night air.\n\nBut no one crossed the Loire swimming that night. The tragedy happened in the castle itself, where all the Scottish Court gathered under the great awning outside the King's lodging to watch the cavorting, careless delinquents of the King of France's train.\n\nThe two processional towers of Amboise, up which carts and gun carriages could crawl, climbing the steep, cobbled slope, winding round and round a newel post itself nearly thirty feet wide, could take four horsemen abreast on its slopes. Tonight, it was empty. All down the steep ramp, coiling from palace to shore, torches flared beside the tall windows, night-black slits in the twelve-foot walls, hung with arras, and the fog, curling up from the river, past the convent, filling the moat, drifting smokelike through the wide, crested door, climbed the damp walls below with soft fingers.\n\nAt the top, the horses jostled in the wide courtyard, lining up, breaking line and reforming. The still-lanterns made fireflies of their jewels; the cloaks swung, hissing, like thick-winged birds; a scimitar flashed; the awning cords, draught-borne, lifted weblike as quipus; a conch blew, and St. Andr\u00e9's face, earringed and turbaned, melted in the queer, slanting glare into an eminently fungoid growth, throwing disjointed shadows.\n\nRichard, watching in silence beside the Queen Mother, his face disciplined to be still, saw the Vidame, nearly too drunk to ride, thickly rallying his forces; Laurens de Genstan, heavily scented in red brocade, groping for his gelding's dropped reins; Lord d'Aubigny, half wishing himself elsewhere and half pleased to be exercising his higher sensibilities; and last, merging into the night, an odd and gruesome mask at his saddlebow, the slack form of his brother being thrust forward to Cond\u00e9's green feathered side.\n\nA handkerchief was raised. As it went up, Lymond turned, vaguely, towards the faceless body of Scots and raised a hand in a perfunctory wave. In the obscure light his face was both fuddled and strained, as it had been two weeks ago in his room. He looked half-stupefied; but impulsively Richard waved back. Then the white linen dropped, and the surging body of horsemen leaped for the ramp of the Tour des Minimes.\n\nLike heifers pouring, knee on shoulder, through the Martinmas hurdle, like dolphins soaring, back under belly, in a jubilant pack, like Aztecs, like Muslems, like rich and wanton young men, the horsemen choked the wide gateway and rushed over the lip, manes, hair, cloaks flying, to drop down the steep slope of the ramp.\n\nCrushed by flank, saddle and stirrup, rough-dragged by the stone wall, jamming the broad spiral from wrenched arras to arras, the riders flowed down, skidding, struggling in a sluggish miasma of damp and ordure and sweat. And as the open night flashed behind them, and the thick walls curled, and the high, groined roof whirled twisting from their feet to their heads, the noise deadened all thought.\n\nUnknowing, every man shouted. Bits clinked, harness jangled, horses neighed; hooves, striking out, clashed on stone or metal or flesh and rattled fiery on the cobbles below, knitting with their own echoes a mesh of unendurable sound to drive the mind mad. In the lead was an Archer, followed by Cond\u00e9 and de Genstan. Thady Boy came next, riding by instinct in the tumbling avalanche; and d'Enghien, who had been watching him, pressed to his side. The Vidame and St. Andr\u00e9 followed, and a dozen others. D'Aubigny, his handsome face concentrated, flew with the remainder behind.\n\nAlready, stumbling, slipping, thrust over-violently from the way, some riders were down. As the staircase unwound, yellow, hazy with fog and smoke, steeper and steeper, faster and faster, impelled by the loosening fabric of their numbers, by the ramrod of impetus, the wild young blood of France on its splendid horseflesh flew like peacocks, short-reined, teeth bared, saddleback hard on the spine, the thick air swirling at their backs.\n\nThe rope was stretched across before the last bend. Laurens de Genstan, leading, could never have known why he fell. His hands spread, he was hurled sideways, one foot still trapped; and hit the wall with an impact whose violence, in that inferno of sound, was all in mime. He died, his powdered face shining with blood; but his horse lived to kill the next man who hurtled downhill into his great, threshing shoulders and his iron foot. Then, like a torrent lipping a rock, the oncoming horses smashed uprearing against the heaving barrier of the fallen, and fell broken and sliding down the ramp.\n\nAmong them, his reins running hot through d'Enghien's snatching hands, was Francis Crawford of Lymond: crashing, rolling, sliding to lie broken-slack, a mess of scarlet-stained feathers, like a week-old kill in some queer, spiral mews.\n\nIn the falling douche of horse and humanity, the torches in one entire volute of the stair had gone out, abandoning it to night and the white fog. Piled like marionettes, splintered men on broken horse, the last were luckiest except for those, rushing down in the dark, who somersaulted over the thick and struggling mass and slid below, ricocheting and crumbling at each bend. The debris, human and material, stretched downhill a long way.\n\nRichard was among those who, in the flickering hazed light of new torches, began the heart-stopping work of rescue from above and from below. Richard saw them all taken up, one by one; dragged, carried, laid on improvised stretchers. St. Andr\u00e9, the precious St. Andr\u00e9, had fallen soft, cushioned by a rival's green feathers and the dead rump of a horse, and had a gashed leg; that was all. The Vidame, groaning, was taken off half-unconscious with a broken collarbone and a wrenched knee. De Genstan was dead. D'Aubigny was unconscious, his clothes bloodstained, but his pulse was steady; d'Enghien also was badly bruised, but otherwise safe. The Prince of Cond\u00e9 had fallen nimbly enough, but had been crushed twice, once by his horse and then by St. Andre's. His hip was broken, and one of his arms; whatever else could not be learned, as he fought off any effort to help him, half-unconscious and screaming. Two more men were taken out, their faces covered. Richard bent over them both, and lifted the cloths. Both were strangers.\n\nAt some point, Tom Erskine had appeared at his side. As, one by one, the horses were dragged off and killed and the riders in all their blood-soaked disguises were pulled and shifted, Richard and he worked unsparingly, looking always for one man. More torches were brought. They lit what was best left unlit: the sodden marc of the avalanche; the horsemen who had borne the full weight of the fall. It was Richard who knelt and took the dead hands in his, the unremarkable hands, square and bony and plump, cut by their own jewels, and then laid them each time gently back in their place.\n\nThe last horse was removed. Men with candles turned over the looming bundles of cloth, the cloaks, the horse trappings, the over-robes which littered the slopes, black and greasy with blood. The lackeys came out and gathered these up, and the Tour des Minimes was empty but for the fog and the blood: empty, although they visited it again, disbelieving, after climbing up to look again among the rows of hurt, of dying and of dead.\n\nIn the end, dirty, stained and exhausted, they and all Lymond's wild young disciples understood only one thing. Thady Boy Ballagh, who had been seen to fall hurt by half the riders about him, was no longer there.\n\nGone too was the man who, looking down at the death lying about him, had exclaimed, unheard in the uproar, contempt in his reflective, soft voice, '\u2026Ta sotte muse, avec ta rude Lyre! The devil give you his bed now, Master Thady Boy Ballagh!'\n\nEvery doctor and every apothecary in Amboise was at the castle that night; and next day the Constable came too, sitting, thick-veined hands over straddled knees, listening to St. Andre's white-lipped account. For this time the assassins had been careless. The planned accident, the perfect picture of a chance stumble bringing inevitable result, had been destroyed at the very start by the fact that the murderers, frightened, had abandoned the trip rope stretched from side to side of the ramp.\n\nWhile suspicion grew, faint and thickening like the river fog, Richard and Tom Erskine searched in vain for any trace of Thady Boy. With infinite care, preserving at all costs his masquerade, Richard visited the mahout Abernaci. The Keeper had been all night at Blois and knew nothing.\n\nThen, five days after the disaster, Tosh appeared, pulling his donkey and trailing his ropes, and a group of Scotsmen, leaving thankfully behind them the makeshift hospital that was Amboise castle, walked down to the bridge where, watched by a throng, the lower end of one of the funambulist's great cables was being lashed.\n\nRichard was not among them. It was George Douglas who after a while returned to his lodging, and catching Culter just back from one of his tiring, unexplained rides, said casually, 'Relax, my dear man. Your teeth will rattle like sounding-bones if you wear yourself out in this fashion. Leave your obscure pursuits and go and see Ouishart. He is quite a remarkable man. He ought to be wearing the mask instead of that unfortunate donkey. Quetzalcoatl, lord of the Toltecs.'\n\n'The donkey's wearing a mask?' This was, he knew, the Douglas method of imparting information; but even so, he felt himself redden with the shock. 'An Aztec mask, good God?'\n\nSir George smiled. 'A great, grinning thing in mosaic, with gold ears. It used to have inlays and teeth too, by the look of it, but someone's tried hard to smash it to bits. Presumably the donkey. Go and see it. You'll laugh.'\n\nHe went; but hardly to laugh. Struggling through the crowd, he found the grotesque thing, bound crudely to the beast's furry head, cracked and blackened with the glaze of some stain. It was the mask Lymond had had at his saddlebow, at the start of that fated night's race.\n\nAnd Tosh's news, delivered with practised discretion, was disastrous. For he himself had found that much-advertised mask that morning\u2014not in the castle, not in its precincts, not in the town of Amboise at all. He had found it in Blois, trampled underfoot by spectators like himself, in the crowded courtyard of H\u00e9lie and Anne Mo\u00fbtier's empty house. And before him, a roaring torch, hidden in sheeted flame forty feet high, was the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier on fire.\n\nNo one could have entered then and lived. Tosh, after searching fruitlessly in the neighbourhod for any traces of Thady Boy, had sent messages to Abernaci and had set off himself to the Scottish Court at Amboise with the news, bearing the mask as his grim badge.\n\nThat night, Erskine used all his powers short of physical force to prevent Richard riding openly to Blois. And he kept vigil at his side as Lord Culter sat, sleepless before the red fire of his fine chamber at Amboise, trying to fathom the truth. Witness after witness among the riders in the Tower had told how Thady Boy had been injured. How then had he found his way from Amboise to the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier in Blois? Had he in fact gone there to hide? For if so, it seemed probable that he had died there, in that inexplicable fire."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blois: Distress Is Not Released",
                "text": "For there are residences in which a distress is not released. If carried into concealment, if carried into a wilderness, if carried into a wood, if carried into a dark place; for these are the residences of thieves and outlaws. Until every distress is brought into light and manifestations, it is not released.\n\nA voice, somewhere, was speaking. What it said was not easy to follow. Indeed, thought the man in the bed, it would be stupid to try. Beyond the barrier of understanding were wakefulness, frustration, even pain: a world as remote as the remote, unremitting voice which seemed to repeat itself, over and over again.\n\nIt was a voice no one could have called soothing, an impatient voice, an acid voice even. 'Your eyes are open,' it said sharply. 'Look at me. You can see. You can have opium again later, if you want.\u2026'\n\nThat, thought the man in the bed sardonically, was kind. Memory, pricked into action by pain, recalled vividly just what had happened at the Tour des Minimes. Cond\u00e9's horse, he remembered, had plunged towards him as he fell. There had followed a series of memorable impacts and, he had assumed, death.\n\nHe did not appear to be dead. His leg was splinted, and it hurt him to breathe however, and there were bandages, he could feel, round his ribs. Through the aftermath of strong drugs he could recognize the irritating torpor of bloodlessness. God. Richard, or Tom Erskine, or whichever waxen-faced nursemaid was going to patch him up this time would have to work hard.\u2026 Sheer anger, sudden and life-giving, fought with his weakness and mastered it. Explosively, Francis Crawford of Lymond turned his head.\n\nAbove him, misty in a grey daylight, her hair like a veil, her own eyes caught wide, was Oonagh O'Dwyer. Had he looked, he could have seen his own reflection, startlingly, in her mirrored gaze. As it was, the voice had stopped. For a breath or two, there was silence; then she moved, and he saw a painted ceiling in the place where she had been. Then, reflectively, she resumed somewhere out of his sight, her movements sheathing and unsheathing her voice.\n\n'And are you not the stubborn man to awake?' she said. 'And I longing to know how it feels to be feeble, and in my debt?'\n\nOonagh O'Dwyer. And as she knew, he would meet that kind of challenge in any state short of dissolution itself. Pitching his voice for clarity and not for strength, 'To be vigorous and in your\u2026 debt would be nicer. Did you bring me here?' he said.\n\nShe came back and looked down, her voice crisp. 'I dislike being coerced. I decided that if you lived, I should bring you away. You were fortunate, lying near the foot of the Tower, and I had a boat waiting in the fog, and two to help me.'\n\n'How long is it since then?'\n\n'Have you really no idea?' She laughed. 'You have been helpless for five days, Mr. Crawford.'\n\nFive days! His brain recorded the surprise, and then deadened under the thundering onslaught of pain. The room had gone again, and the face above him was queerly detached, the painted leaves filling her hair. But he met her contemptuous stare and held it as long as he could, until he began to cough, the iron stale in his throat, and the dark came quickly and coldly again.\n\nThe next time he woke to the light of a different day. The straps round his body were still in place; but the windows were wide on a sunlit balcony and the candles, sourly smoking, had been freshly doused. From the violent paradisaical dreams he remembered, and the heavy, throttled sense of incipient pain, he knew that the taper fumes had been used to keep him asleep.\n\nThe peace it had brought him was probably the best treatment his abused and broken body could have had. But it had been done, of course, for her own ends. Nothing had ever deceived Lymond about Oonagh O'Dwyer. He watched her now as she sat, unaware of him, by the fire where she and O'LiamRoe had talked before his own unforgivable serenade, her cheekbones shadowed, her high, full brow bright with clear light; the two fine half-arcs of sleeplessness, of high-tempered strain, like a tread in snow beneath her two eyes; her hard, mobile lips shut. He said, his voice carefully preserved, 'Who are you waiting for? Your aunt?'\n\nHer hands closed together, a cage of white bone. Then, leaning back, she settled her gaze on the low, temporary bed, the bracing only visible in the brittle line of her jaw. Worn by solitariness and unconceded fears and an absence of sleep she was more than ever a beautiful woman with no time for beauty. She said, choosing her words this time with cold care, 'If it were, you would be dead.'\n\nThere was no sound from inside the house: no clanking of pails, no kitchen chatter, no footsteps on the stairs. It was an empty house, then, and her aunt did not know. Beyond the balcony, the cast of the rooftops was familiar. He thought of the Tour des Minimes and wondered what the tale of injured had been; but decided against wasting questions. He said, 'You and the gentleman attempting to kill me have parted company?'\n\nOonagh smiled. 'You might say that we disagreed on a minor point,' she said. 'But don't run away with the idea that you're going to be freed. For his purposes and mine you are as well imprisoned as dead; and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.'\n\nLymond lay still, trying to think. A long time ago, in Scotland, Mariotta had told him about Oonagh O'Dwyer. Even before Rouen and O'LiamRoe's shame in the tennis courts he had been wary; yet she had resisted every effort to draw her, while hardly troubling to conceal that she knew who Thady Boy was. The man she had wished out of the way had been O'LiamRoe. Robin Stewart and his master, too, had tried to assail O'LiamRoe in the belief that he was Lymond. She knew better, but she had not enlightened them.\n\nBut then, Stewart had been allowed to discover Lymond's identity and, it must be assumed, had told his principal; the accident at the Tour des Minimes had resulted. And Oonagh, who disliked coercion, and whose prevarication over O'LiamRoe had just come to light, knew of the scheme and had decided in advance, typically, not to save him\u2026 but to rescue him if he lived. So that the gentleman whose demands she resented, and Robin's master, were the same.\n\nWho? She had not said. Think again. Her aunt did not know of the rescue. If he himself was lying, as he guessed, in the empty H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier, Oonagh could not be free to come here very often. And the only servants of her own were an elderly maid and two grooms. She did not propose to risk freeing him, yet now he was awake, how could she keep him? Delicately he tried her. 'Are you not afraid that your gentleman friend will discover your act of mercy and even trace us both here? My disappearance from Amboise must have had its element of mystery. Dead bodies don't walk.'\n\n'Sick people talk too much,' said Oonagh. 'And so do the habitually intemperate. The mind of my gentleman friend, as you call him, works on well-defined lines. He thinks you have disappeared, I would guess, because your own people have taken a step or two to protect themselves from exposure. He would think it an act of God in his favour.'\n\n'Do I take it,' said Lymond, 'that he will transfer his attentions now to my brother?' He was not employing much finesse.\n\nThere was, he noted the briefest pause. Then she said, 'He is unlikely to move in any direction until he has traced Robin Stewart.'\n\nAnd that meant that Stewart's disappearance had surprised his own principal, surprised and worried him. Was he afraid Stewart would betray him? Or had he merely been counting on Stewart to blame if any future scheme went wrong? And how had this unknown gentleman\u2014God, he must beg this woman to tell him his name\u2014how had he learned that Stewart had vanished?\n\nThe pain, drawing together its forces, began to concentrate in a kind of white haze. He said disingenuously, 'But Stewart, surely, should be due back by now?' and knew instantly, by her face, what her rejoinder would be. She smiled. 'Oh come, my dear. George Paris serves anyone who will pay him. Did you think your little interview at the Isle d'Or was going to be exclusive?'\n\nHer voice was thin; the sunlight darkening. There was not much time. Sacrificing everything to precision, his voice spiderlike in his own ears, Lymond said, 'If this man is exposed, he will drag you down with him. If he is not, he will turn on you sooner or later in self-defence. Tell me his name and let me deal with him. This is my training and my vocation; and no one else can do it. I promise you that. Give me your discretion. You have a unique power. You can do something here and now that will give you in hundreds and thousands the posterity you will never have of your own. If you wait, you lose everything. I promise you that, too. And losing it, what will you be?'\n\nShe had risen as he was speaking, a lighted spar in her hand. Shielding it with her palm she crossed to one side of the pallet, then the other, and delicately lit the fine tapers. A sweet and sickly odour stirred in the room. Then she stood, head tilted, and looked at him, the heavy coiling black hair all bronzed by the light.\n\n'\u2026What shall I be? Like Thady Boy Ballagh, surely,' she said in her worn, bitter voice; and lying open-eyed and still under the smoke, Francis Crawford did not reply.\n\nAt the door, Oonagh turned. 'I would sooner let Phelim O'LiamRoe deal with any secret of mine than I should entrust it to you. You will stay here until I bring someone to see you, and whatever he thinks fit will be done. If you escape to your Scottish friends, I shall inform the French King where you are. If you escape to your French friends, if you are seen abroad in the street, if you move from this room, you will be tried for heresy, theft and high treason. The catch-thieves have been searching Amboise and Blois for you since last week. Every boat leaving Nantes has been watched. They have indisputable proof that the trip-rope accident at the Tour des Minimes was conceived by you. They have found royal jewels in your room and are already questioning your identity. Even without further evidence, the slightest investigation into your credentials will be enough to have you hanged for a spy. A fascinating situation. Think it over next time you are awake.\u2026 Good night. Sleep well,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nShe had made only one error. The news she had just given him roused nothing but a sense of challenge and an instant, reluctant admiration. But what she had said just before had set free his cold, quick, terrifying temper. His legs and left arm were strapped down to the bed, but his right arm, slung because of the collarbone and wrist, was quite free. Violently, belabouring the pain for one instant back from his senses, he pulled the arm from its sling and struck the nearest torch\u00e8re at his side as hard as he could.\n\nIt succeeded better than he had blindly hoped. The floor had been left piled thick with dry rushes. The oily tapers, rolling, bestowed a rosy carpet of fire which lit all the bright waxen wood, and the wrench of the cracked clavicle, sagging with its own weight, forced him, gasping, into blackness. Oonagh, no more than two steps from the door, saw the dark head buried in the dragged linen, the hand falling, lit by the fire. Then she screamed, once for her groom, and plunged back into the room.\n\nThe flashing pain, as they cut his strappings and dragged him free, roused him for a moment; and he opened his eyes on her angry, feverish face and laughed. Then they had him through the door. Behind, the room had become golden red, a fierce and beautiful monochrome, with detail of bed and chair and table, hangings and woodwork in frail skeletal tracery of gold on gold, red on red. The fire, as they came downstairs, was beginning to show on the ceiling below.\n\nThe house was built of wood, and so were many of its neighbours. Already the street was roused: from the burning balcony black smoke rolled over the courtyard. Outside, someone smashed the lock of the gates and, bucket in hand, ran for the well.\n\nThe house was supposed to be empty. Oonagh could not be found there with Lymond. Nor, carrying him, could they escape unobserved. Under cover of the thickening smoke they abandoned him near a door, in a wing untouched as yet by fire, with Oonagh's cloak for a blanket. In a heap, flung there where she brought him from Amboise, were the clothes he had been wearing that night. For a moment she checked, then picking up the Aztec mask she tossed it into the courtyard, to influence fate as it would. Then breathlessly she turned, and slipping through the thick smoke, escaped unseen with her servant to melt into the gathering crowds in the streets round about.\n\nBehind her, Lymond lay still. Oddly, he could hear very well: a single, conscious sense left to him, like the threadlike limb of a crane fly, trapped under a stone. As he lay on the stone flags every sound from the courtyard reached him with great clarity: slippered feet running on the cobbles, the squeak of the pulley, the thin, silvery sound of spilled water jolting from a full pail. Voices shouting. Windows creaking. The rumble of a handcart bringing more water, at speed. A dog barking, very high and fluting, like an owl. And near him, the hollow roar of the spreading fire, spitting and exploding on its fissile diet, extinguishing the home of H\u00e9lie and Anne Mo\u00fbtier.\n\nJust before the roof fell, two pillagers bolder than the rest managed to enter the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier from the back, and found what they took to be a fellow plunderer overcome by smoke. Kicked awake out of a simple curiosity, the stranger offered them what appeared to be an excellent proposition: a large sum of money in exchange for a private trip in their handcart to a certain address.\n\nSince there was nothing worth taking, the two men lost no time in arguing; which was lucky for them. Between them they had no trouble in getting the fellow doubled up under sheets in the cart, and were trundling off down the packed street, away from the fire, just as Tosh, without seeing them, picked his way up it.\n\nThe house called Doubtance in the Rue des Papegaults had no signboard; its trade was well known.\n\nAbove the usurer occupying the ground floor, lived the Dame de Doubtance, of whom he was her keeper, some said, or her owner; an unredeemed pledge like the others which heaped and lined all his rooms, naked and mouldering like picked mice in an eyrie.\n\nThe Dame de Doubtance was old; but her private world was even older: the world of France three hundred years before when chivalry was in flower, and the troubadours sang. Moving, in her mediaeval robes, from books to lute to embroidery, she never emerged into the raw, humanist light of sixteenth-century Blois; but many people came visiting her for the out-of-the-way things she could tell them, if she chose. Sometimes, if she did not choose, they came stumbling down the steep stairs of Doubtance with a scratched arm or the graze of a thrown vase on one cheek. For she was not a mouse; but rather a tall, half-plumed predator, pale-spot eyes glaring, mouth flatly downturned into the jaw. And she had a temper.\n\nThe usurer Gaultier she never assaulted. Periodically, his clients repaired the deficiency. It was a risk of his trade. Small, opinionative, shrewd, he was no more rapacious than any merchant in Blois, and loved the rough and tumble of business with a passion almost Italian-ate. He also had a true eye for workmanship; and a fine piece of statuary, once in his hands, rarely found itself redeemed.\n\nIt was his treasures which he first thought, naturally, of saving, that grey February day when fire broke out at the top of the road. With his clerk and an apprentice to help, he began loading his wheelbarrow, stopping often to engage his clerk in raucous arguments about workmanship and costing. Soon the wheelbarrow was full and dispatched down the steep road to the river, already crowded with the womenfolk and possessions of the richer and wiser residents.\n\nIt was the only conveyance he had, and he could do nothing until it returned. Ma\u00eetre Gaultier went back alone to his dark nest of bric-\u00e0-brac and, fierce-eyed, began to cull his other favourites therefrom. As he emerged for the sixth time to his threshold, bearing a clock dear to his heart, he saw a miracle coming towards him in the flurried bustle of the street: a four-wheeled handcart, propelled by one heated individual and steadied by another, which bumped down the steep incline of the street, headed straight towards Doubtance and stopped flat beside Master Gaultier's astrolabe clock as if scenting its destiny.\n\nAlmost before the owners of the cart had pushed it into the forecourt and had uncovered and explained the unconscious man inside, Georges Gaultier had bought the cart and its contents and had dismissed the disreputable pair. He had no time just then to consider the implications of what they told him, or even to do more than compare briefly the face of the man they had brought with a description once given him by Archie Abernethy. The moneylender was accustomed to job lots. Drunk or not drunk, the less important item could wait. With a deft heave, Georges Gaultier removed the senseless man lumbering the bottom of his precious conveyance, and stowed him out of the way under the stairs to recover.\n\nStacking the handcart after that, Georges Gaultier from time to time looked all around him; he at least had no quarrel with his fellow men.\n\nOnce, imagining a stirring behind, he turned his head on his shoulder and said practically, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening; 'My friend, you will need to put on a better face than that before your wife sees you. If you go upstairs, Madame will clear the fumes from your head. The fire will only come this way should the wind change, and men walk faster than clocks.'\n\nIn the end, he snatched time from his labours to turn indoors, and grasping the man's singed and dusty cloak, lifted him six steps out of the way to the first quarter landing. The fellow opened his eyes. Master Gaultier grinned, and raising his pebbly voice, addressed the inhabitant upstairs. 'Madame! A visitor!'\n\nThey were the first coherent words Francis Crawford understood since leaving the burning house up the street. Dimly, he remembered the plunderers who had carried him out; the bargain he had made in the hope that Gaultier, knowing his history from Abernaci, might pay; the subsequent bumping journey in the cart to this house whose address Abernaci had given him, long ago. And now a voice, hoarse and offhand, bawling, 'Madame! A visitor!'\n\nAnd by then Lymond, with a kind of brutal persistence, had got himself upright. His good hand, groping, felt the cold wood of a stair rail. He leaned on it, all his weight on his serviceable leg, and looked up, straight into the pouched eyes of a woman, whose papery skin, in soft, unfolded swags, hung from her brittle, down-peering bones. Two long braids, thickly plaited and impossibly gold, dangled gently swaying from a wimpled headdress out of fashion a century ago. Her robes were long, flat and flowing, without a farthingale, and her nostrils above the creased and confident mouth were antique and wide.\n\nThere was a pause, which Lymond occupied at some cost by standing straight and still, his head thrown back and his breathing nicely controlled. The Gothic face in the gloom far above him seemed to smile. 'Aucassins, damoisiax, sire!' the Dame de Doubtance observed, in brisk mediaeval quotation; and Christ! thought Lymond, thrown into mild hysteria by the greeting. And hazily he sought an apt quotation in return.\n\nHe never did recollect much, except in nightmares, of the subsequent exchange; although he never felt quite the same again about the ballad Aucassin and Nicolette. At one point out of dire necessity, he was driven to saying, 'H\u00e9 Dieus, douce cr\u00e9ature.\u2026 If I fall, sweet being, I shall fracture my neck; and if I remain here, they will take and burn me at the stake.'\n\nAnd after a moment, thinly autocratic, her voice had observed, 'Aucassin: le beau, le blond.\u2026 You are hurt: le sang vous coule des bras. You are bleeding in fifty places at least.\u2026' And at last, collecting her skirts with smooth deliberation, the woman began to move downstairs towards him even as he spoke.\n\n\u2003'Douce suer, com me plairoit\n\n\u2003Se monter povie droit\n\n\u2003Que que fust du recaoir\n\n\u2003Que fuisse lassus o toi!\n\n\u2003\u2026 How I wish to be up there:\n\n\u2003Up there with thee!'\n\nAfterwards, he remembered looking up at her, the brocade robe hooked over her arm, her old, ribbed ankle in its pointed slipper two steps above. Remotely entertained, even then, by the crazy parallel between his affairs and the ballad, he remembered trying very hard, halfway into a thorough faint, to pay her the obvious compliment: 'And thus the pilgrim was cured.' He did succeed in saying it, but that was all; and of his final journey upstairs to the Dame de Doubtance's bed he had no recollection.\n\nHe wakened twice: once out of a feverish dream to the sound of virginals. He was then in her chamber, a dark, thick-walled cave filled with old books and embroidery, watching her yellow, high-nosed profile as she played. He seemed to be strapped up again; under the bandaging the pain already, surely, seemed to be less.\n\nHe saw her finish playing and, rising, come over. A reader of horoscopes, Abernaci had said. Hazily, other things one had heard about the Dame de Doubtance came back. Uncannily well-informed, endlessly inquisitive and unnaturally detached, they said. In her day, she had been accused of practising the black arts, but nothing had ever been proved.\u2026 Certainly she seemed to have no interest in acquiring money or power for herself. Her charts were her children; her life was devoted to collecting the facts with which to plot them. Unshockable, old in years and in wisdom, her philosophy of life was just, they said, but harshly just. All the troubles of the soul, after all, were merely a line upon a chart.\n\nWhen she was close enough, Lymond spoke: a sentence of thanks; a sentence asking her to tell Abernaci of his presence.\n\nStupidly, he had used English. The old face on its long, gristly neck was attentive, the thick braids still. Then her groined, flamboyant right hand, heavy with queer rings, touched his lips, sealing them. 'Or se chante,\" she said, 'Rumours fly. They are searching from house to house. Speak your own tongue to me or Gaultier if you must, but to no one else.\u2026 What was the day and hour of your birth?'\n\nIt was the English, mauled and unregarded, of a person who spoke many languages and left them broken-hinged and crumbled like clams, solely attacked for the meat. She had not asked when he was born. When he told her what she wanted to know she stared at him for a long time with her squinting, intense gaze, and it came to him suddenly that she knew this already. As the thought entered his head she smiled, the narrow, rubbery cheeks crushed apart, the mouth wide, authoritative and tight. 'You are perceptive. I knew your grandfather,' she said. 'Sometimes he speaks to me still.'\n\nLymond said, 'He is dead.' That was true, of course. The first Lord Culter, his brilliant grandfather, beloved in Scotland and France, after whom he was named, had died many years before. Only, spoken to her, the words were foolish; he had uttered them as a defence. Somehow, he realized, she had known his grandfather. Certainly she had known he was dead. What else she knew he could not guess. But in the stillness he could sense her mind, firm, powerful, grotesque, scaling the ramparts of his.\n\nHe did not know how long the silence lasted, their wills interlocked; but somewhere someone let out a long breath, slowly and nearly inaudibly, and the grey, crocketed fingers lay again for a moment on his brow. 'You keep your secrets well,' she said. 'Make my compliments to Sybilla.' Then, as if a gentle harness had collapsed, he lost all sense of her and of the room once again.\n\nThe next time was brief. He was not in bed, but lying cold on some sacks, sharing a minute closet with a little treasury of precious articles; and the room outside the closet was being searched.\n\nHe heard stiff questions and unaccustomed civilities: the men at arms and their lieutenant were a good deal in awe of the Dame de Doubtance. A peephole, through which he had no strength to look, threw a single arc of blue light. With idle fingers, Lymond touched the mother-of-pearl and the bronze, the little lacquers and the bracelets so close to his head.\n\nThen the searchers had gone, apparently satisfied; and the door of the little treasure house opened, and he was carried from his hiding place back to bed. For a moment he had the illusion that it was Oonagh O'Dwyer bent over him, with long, incongruous gold hair; then he realized that it was the Dame de Doubtance herself, with the little usurer's head at her shoulder; and behind that, smiling, the dark, turbaned face of Abernaci.\n\nAnd now it was simple. All he had to do was frame the instruction which had been gripped clearly in his mind since he wakened, the four words he had rehearsed over and over to say.\n\nJammed by God knew what tensions, by fever and drugs, by lacerated muscles and an exhaustion of mind and body, his voice would not answer him. For a moment, in the stress, sight vanished too, and he was left in a void, silent, blinded, able to communicate nothing.\n\nBut he must. But he would.\n\nHis eyes shut, Lymond lay and forced panic out of his brain; freed his mind and found, waiting, a block of clear, untrodden thought standing silent for his message.\n\nThere was a pause, which to the watchers round the bed seemed interminable. Then the Dame de Doubtance, an odd light in her faded eyes, turned from the silent bed and addressed the mahout in brisk French. 'Take him to Sevigny,' she said.\n\nThe next day, demolishing the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier for safety, they passed through the stone-flagged basement and found the stained clothing and the ruined feather cloak. The rest of the house was destroyed and if, as rumour said, Thady Boy Ballagh died in its ashes, there was no other trace.\n\nFor a day and a half, his brother, his Queen, Lady Fleming and the Erskines believed with the rest that Lymond was dead; and Erskine, desperately sorry himself, became afraid of what, behind the white numbness, was growing in Richard's blank face. Then Abernaci's message came, with its bare command. Lymond was at his own home of Sevigny and was to be approached by no one\u2014not by Richard nor by the Erskines or their friends.\n\nFebruary wore into March and the weeks passed, but no new message came. Richard rode past Sevigny once as the trees were beginning to bud, and saw its white towers above the mist of dark pink and chrome; but its walls were too high and its wooded gardens too wide to offer more. He had not known it existed. The next day, moving in some endless, purposeless void, he went with an irresponsible young party to an astrologer in an eccentric building called Doubtance. It was a woman. She cast his horoscope and gave him only one piece of advice, regarding him with an irritating kind of tolerance down her high-nostrilled nose. 'Spring is pleasant in France. You should stay.'\n\nTom Erskine was going home at the end of the month. And it seemed very likely, despite her confidence, that Jenny Fleming would be going, too. They would stop in Paris and then would cross the Channel to England where Erskine would pause to pay his respects to the monarch before going north. By sea or litter, Jenny's journey would be more direct.\n\nRichard wondered whether he should join them. Even before today, he had no desire. He had no wish, he realized, to face Sybilla without news to give her; or with news of such a kind. And yet he had exhausted every approach to the mystery here that his mind could devise.\n\nHe had taken over the safeguards for the young Queen, but nothing had happened for weeks. Lymond was not, could not be dead, or Abernaci at least would have told them. But how badly he must be maimed, to enforce this isolation, this enervating silence, was a thought carried bitterly, day and night. And any reappearance had been made impossible by this new attack: the extraordinary revelation, in the most circumstantial detail, of theft and perfidy.\n\nTo Richard, at least, that condemnation, astonishing as it had been, had brought a queer kind of relief. In some respects, at least, Francis was safe, if only from himself. And it was proof incontrovertible of something he and Erskine had sometimes doubted: that Stewart's sponsor was not overseas; nor had Stewart been working alone in the hope of selling his services unsolicited. It was proof that there was another mind here in France behind Stewart's, and that of someone actively concerned with the plot.\n\nWith Erskine eagerly at his side, he had followed every possible clue. They went to Neuvy to see the Irishwoman, Oonagh O'Dwyer, whom Thady Boy had serenaded in the house so mysteriously burned. She was not there. She had joined the Mo\u00fbtiers, her aunt informed them, in their southern home; and firmly she refused to give the direction. 'Is it not enough to be pitied they are, and their house burned by vagabond jugglers from over their heads?'\n\nShe and Oonagh had been living at Neuvy all through the Tour des Minimes accident and later; the Mo\u00fbtiers, it seemed plain from their neighbours, were unequivocably harmless and well known. For all they knew, Richard bitterly recognized, Lymond might have struggled there by himself, knowing the house was deserted, guessing for some reason that he was about to be exposed or maligned. They were hamstrung by their ignorance, as Lymond himself must have planned. For in their ignorance lay their safety.\n\nMeanwhile the Queen Mother, the young Queen at her side, made no plans to return to Scotland; and the French Court, with impenetrable charm, continued to make her harried stay pleasant.\n\nIt was not the lustrous pleasance it had been. No one in Blois put the whores on cows' backs again and whipped them through the town. Lent passed at Blois and Amboise and ended, still, sour and withered, without laughter or lampoon or quick, scurrilous song. Thady was dead and better dead; and every occasion lacked him.\n\nEverything they did wore a different cast. What had been vulgarly clever, in the light of bare exhumation looked bleakly coarse; what had been vivid looked vulgar; what had been witty looked common; what had been forthright looked outrageous. Etiquette\u2014edged etiquette\u2014came heavily back into place; there were ripostes which were overwitty and reactions which were over-sullen. A sense of acute spiritual discomfort hung over the flower of France, the aftermath of its brilliant flare of indulgence. If Thady Boy had come back\u2014a Thady Boy even absolved from the treachery imputed to him\u2014they would have had him beaten from the room by their valets."
            },
            {
                "title": "London: Wolves All Around Him",
                "text": "A cow-grazer of a green is a man who grazes his cows upon a green on every property, between wolves all around him; and this is his wealth.\n\nLike St. Patrick, who requested the protection of God against the spells of women, druids and smiths, The O'LiamRoe took instant remedy for his ills. Flinching from the unkind pastures of France, he retreated home but found there only a mirror for the amour-propre so fundamentally hurt. The Lord Deputy's offer came pat. England was glad to invite him\u2014rumours of French invasion were at their height again. It seemed, for a moment, a sardonic triumph to carry his patched self-esteem into the world of affairs on the opposite side.\n\nTo begin with, he had been delighted. Englishmen, he found, differed remarkably from the French. Here, the King was a boy. The undercurrents at Court dealt less with the naked clash of cold temperaments and fiery ambition than with opposing factions of barons who were no less ambitious, but who added to their ambition a concern, on some days more serious than others, for the land, for the people, for religion.\n\nTo his own startled amusement, he was staying in the Hackney mansion of the Earl and Countess of Lennox. Shuttling curiously between Whitehall and Holborn, Greenwich and Hampton Court at the tail of the Court, O'LiamRoe had more than once met the pallid, pouch-eyed Scottish Earl, with his light hair and his air of faintly bewildered suspicion. Then, a little later, he had met Lennox's wife Margaret, too, and she had suggested that he should come for a spell as their guest.\n\nAt the back of O'LiamRoe's mind lay something he had once heard about his late ollave and Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox. He made no effort to pursue it; for together with France, O'LiamRoe had abandoned Thady Boy and all his affairs.\n\nIn the forefront of his mind, however, was one other vivid fact. Matthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, was older brother to John Stewart, Lord d'Aubigny. And thus, at second or third hand, O'LiamRoe might have news of the only person in the whole Court of France for whom he felt sympathy\u2014the threatened Scottish child Queen Mary. He had gone, therefore, to Hackney with the Lennoxes.\n\nIt had disappointed him. The family were often away. Like himself, they were summoned regularly to Court, in spite of their religion, which he suspected was stubbornly Papish; for Margaret was a full cousin of the boy King and indeed, had she not been disinherited by her uncle King Henry, might have had a strong claim to be next heir to the throne not only of England but of Scotland, where her mother had been Queen, and where her husband's great-grandfather had also reigned.\n\nThere were other difficulties. The busy barons at the Court, while polite, had no spare time for him; the Irish he met were all busy lisping about their pensions and their farms; and he was tired of amusing himself with brisk, politically minded Englishmen with prejudices to sell.\n\nEven now, riding through Cheapside to vist the Strand, he was distressed, unreasonably, because among the bawling, huckstering, hurrying crowds, no heads turned as he passed. For England he had abandoned his saffron and frieze; and with it, the raffish, engaging detachment which had served him so well had somehow slipped away. It was too late now to aspire to the splendid hauteur of the wealthy chief ones whom he had diligently baited all his life. Under the soft body and the sandy pelt there lurked horrifically, transparent as a jellyfish, a grey, inferior personality, with whom he might have to live all his days. The O'LiamRoe had sloughed off Francis Crawford, but he was not happy in his new skin.\n\nAmong the rich mansions backing on the Strand, with their bowered gardens running down to the river, was the little house rented by Michel H\u00e9risson's younger brother, with its elegant door, its tall, paned windows and its striking rooms betraying the static elegance and oddly edgy effect of a house furnished for entertaining, not for living in.\n\nTo this house, followed by Piedar Dooly, the Prince of Barrow was riding, in a last effort to find in this famous city of London a warm, uninhibited and friendly face to give him relief. With him he carried a letter from the big Rouen sculptor.\n\nArriving, he was amused and in no way chilled at first by the contrast between Brice Harisson's style of living and the openhanded carelessness of the sculptor, with his boisterous unofficial club and his illegal printing. He saw Piedar Dooly and his two horses led off quickly and quietly to a splendid small stable; and after a succession of liveried encounters, found himself waiting in a leather-hung parlour for his host.\n\nWhat little O'LiamRoe knew of this only brother of Michel's was promising. Scottish by birth, unmarried, adventurous, Brice had been brought up, like Michel, in France, and like Michel had no philosophy other than the cultivation of his own talents and prejudices in whatever soil could best accommodate them.\n\nBrice's gift was an ear for languages. Able to mimic anything, he could remember dialect like music, idiom like the phrase of a tune. He had met Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, when the future Protector of England had been stationed with the English army on the north coast of France. And when Somerset returned to London, to lead England during the first years of the boy King Edward's reign, Brice Harisson went with him, as interpreter and congenial, if junior, member of the Somerset secretarial staff.\n\nNow Somerset's power was in eclipse, and he had ceded control of the nation to the Earl of Warwick. So Harisson had leisure, a little money saved, a house not too far from Somerset's palace and time to introduce the Prince of Barrow, O'LiamRoe hoped, to the more intimate circles of London life.\n\nSo, when the door opened and Brice Harisson came in, his brother's letter of introduction in his hand, O'LiamRoe's only concern, as he rose smiling, was whether to clasp hands or use the double embrace, as Michel habitually did. His host stood in the open doorway, small, dark, spare, dressed in thin-legged black with a high collar closely goffered to the ears\u2014ears widely hinged, and for that reason covered on one side by a fall of thick, flat grey hair.\n\n'The Prince of Barrow, I understand?' said Brice Harisson, in a voice in which disbelief struggled with boredom. 'My brother, I fear, always rates too highly the time to spare in a busy Court such as ours. I have an appointment almost immediately. May I be of service to you first?'\n\nSomething had happened, clearly, to put him out of temper. O'LiamRoe had seen Michel, foiled in his plans, carry just this high colour, though with much less restraint. He said peaceably, 'There is no reason to trouble you at all, at this minute. I will come back another time, surely, and we could settle down to a fine evening's talk. There is a tavern up the street that could give a sup to us both.'\n\nThe door stood ajar, and the other man neither closed it nor made any move into the room. Impatience had added itself to the boredom; but even so O'LiamRoe was unprepared. Brice Harisson said, 'If you will tell my steward precisely what you are selling, he will give you an answer to your lodgings. An introduction to the Duke, I am afraid I cannot contrive. He does not care for Irish hides and finds your cheeses a good deal too coarse. Roberts!'\n\nThere was a pause. Then, with the footsteps of the approaching steward in his ears, O'LiamRoe spoke, his vowels prodigiously round. 'Isn't that a Scot for you, now: never a new acquaintance but he looks for a bargain from it, as the mermaid said to the herring fisherman. I was here for friendship's sake, and with news of your brother, that is all.'\n\nThe steward had reached Harisson's elbow. He didn't send him away. The brown eyes owl-like under high, brief tufted brows, he said, 'I have no money to lend, either. Forgive me. My appointment is pressing. Roberts?'\n\nAt his side, the steward snapped fingers. Sword, cloak, gloves, were brought. He was booted already, and a flat hat, discreet and feathered, lay on his smooth head. Dressed, he stood aside so that O'LiamRoe had room to leave. 'I shall get the case from the study, Roberts, myself. I am sorry, Prince, to disappoint you. I fear my brother and I parted company some time ago now and he outwore my patience before that with his procession of supplicants. I hope your stay in London is a profitable one.'\n\n'Ah, God save you, I make what profit I can out of the experiences that come my way,' said O'LiamRoe. 'That big boast of a man Michel would have knocked the head off me did I not sample the hospitality of his small, clever brother that has all the strange tongues so pat. And devil mend it, I would say you use your own tongue in the strangest way. The nearest I heard to it in nature was a retired streetwalker in Galway protecting her virtue.'\n\nAnd, opening his purse, O'LiamRoe took out an \u00e9cu and pressed it into Brice Harisson's neat hand at the door. 'Drink my health in a noggin on the way to your appointment,' he said. 'Our hides are stinking and our cheeses unkempt, but our loving hearts are strong and golden and shining like kingcups in the peat, and you look lonesome, little man.' Only when he reached the stables and found his two hands hard clenched, did O'LiamRoe realize that he had been prepared for actual physical assault.\n\nPiedar Dooly had been looking for him. As he entered the comfortable, manured warmth of the stables the Firbolg sank one wiry hand into his shrunk satin and, hoarsely whispering, tugged him aside. O'LiamRoe, intent on leaving Brice Harisson's premises before Harisson himself entered the yard, cut him short in terse Gaelic.\n\nThen he saw where Piedar Dooly's free hand had pointed, and the meaning of it reached his brain. There were four animals in that stable: his own, a mule, a fine mare in Harisson's colours, and a hack, whose mended harness and saddle, accoutred for campaigning, were as familiar to him as his own. He had ridden behind it from Dieppe to Blois, had stared at it, sliding next to his own on shipboard, down the Seine and the Loire, had watched it at the ill-fated cheetah hunt and had accompanied it to Aubigny and back. It was Robin Stewart's.\n\nO'LiamRoe, who seldom disliked anyone who could supply him with amusement, had found it unusually hard, even before the day of Luadhas, to tolerate the Archer's uneasy ways. Unsettled at present himself, he would have abandoned the m\u00e9nage with some firmness had several thoughts not come into his head.\n\nFirst, the sheer unpleasantness of the scene in the house had recalled that other scene over two months before in his ollave's reeking bedchamber at Blois. He had told Oonagh O'Dwyer that authority made monsters of mankind; but he had seen what authority abandoned could do.\n\nRobin Stewart had been sent to Ireland with George Paris to bring Cormac O'Connor to France. Instead, he was here in London with one of Somerset's men, who was at great pains to conceal it. England and France were not now at war; but they were hardly close friends; and certainly not close enough to account for an Archer of the Guard in intimate talk with a Government official, albeit one at present slightly outmoded. Harisson, of course, was Scottish like Stewart; and he was, O'LiamRoe remembered, certainly one of Stewart's old friends. But then, what part in all this did O'Connor play, whom Stewart had been directed to fetch?\n\nIt was this last irresistible question, in the end, that led Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, never a man to hoard dignity and always trusting to a bright tongue to make his queerer paths smooth for him, to ride noisily out of the yard, followed by Piedar Dooly and the sharp eye of the steward, and, dismounting down the street, to leave the horses with his follower while he slipped over two walls and down an alley, soothed an inquisitive dog and dodged at last into the garden behind Brice Harisson's stylish Strand house.\n\nThere, by a process of elimination, he located the study window. It was open, and there was a porch roof just below it. In the purple gloom presaging a brisk March downpour The O'LiamRoe seized a barrel and, tearing his stockings, ripping his breeches and sticking an elbow clean through the skin-tight silk of his sleeve, hitched himself up and made ready to listen.\n\nThey were speaking in Gaelic. Stewart, nearest the study window, was not sure of his; more than once he stumbled, filling in with French or with English. Harisson's was impeccable. O'LiamRoe could hear him lightly questioning, commenting, occasionally dissenting. His manner, in staggering contrast to his reception of the Prince himself, was quiet, intimate and understanding; and in the very aptness of its handling of all Robin Stewart's quirks argued a very long friendship indeed. He said now, his singing Gaelic nostalgic to O'LiamRoe's listening ears, 'All the same, Robin, why the boat? The Thames itself is a public place to speak with a man like Warwick. It was sure that he would refuse to hear you.'\n\nStewart swore. 'Did I not try every other way? The messages never reached him. I knew he was sailing to Greenwich that day. The rest was easy.'\n\nHarisson's voice was still agreeable. 'Were you plain with him?'\n\n'I said I had news for him that would do great good to England, and that because it was secret, I wished that he would speak to me alone.'\n\n'And\u2014?'\n\n'He said he did not mean to discuss anything forced upon him by intrusion. I was to think myself lucky not to be put in the river and carried to Newgate; and if I had had anything to say, I would need have written him in the proper way. But he was interested.'\n\n'He does not sound interested.'\n\nStewart's aggressive voice was smooth with complacency. 'He was, then. I lifted the edge of my cloak and showed him the Archer's insignia.'\n\nFor the first time, Harisson's voice sharpened. 'Who else saw this?'\n\n'Not anyone. Good God, is it foolish I am? The boat was full of servants and officials\u2014not anyone who knew me at all. Then they waved to a ferryboat and threw me off. But the next letter I will write, by God, he will read.' His voice, in his excitement, had risen. 'Now is the time. I know it. A fresh message, Brice. We shall ask him to speak to us. And if he will not do that, we shall suggest place and time for a meeting with any man he may appoint. He cannot refuse. And once he knows what we offer, our fortune is made. That brat Mary married to France would mean a French menace at the Scottish Border for all time; whereas if she were dead Arran would likely rule Scotland, and Arran favours the English and could be got for a groat. Warwick might even get them persuaded to let Lennox rule\u2014he's got a good enough claim.\n\n'As it is\u2014' Stewart's voice, hoarse with enthusiasm, pounded on. 'As it is, Mary's a downright threat to the English throne. If the Catholics came back into power, France might well incite them to push her claims here to the crown. She's the granddaughter of Henry VIII's sister. Considering the mess he made of his marriages, you could say her claim was as strong nearly as his daughter Mary's.'\n\n'Or that of the Earl and Countess of Lennox?' Brice Harisson mused. 'I was thinking you had taken your offer first there.'\n\n'Well, then,' said Stewart. There was a long pause, during which the Prince of Barrow had time to think that the tiles below him would begin to drum under the lashing of his heart. Then Stewart said, with uneasy brusqueness, 'I said something once, as I remember. But I don't have a kindness for the family, and that's the truth.'\n\n'Oh, I agree.' And, his voice amiable and unchanged, Brice Harisson used an expression about the Lennoxes which O'LiamRoe had heard in the gutters of Dublin. Then without pausing he said, 'Then we shall write to Warwick; that I agree, too. Give him time to consider, and a place to meet. A bookseller's is always useful. There are too many ears at an inn.\u2026 Would you think of letting me go? I have, to my cost, a long experience of this Court, and I think they would give me a good hearing. No one would question your standing, but your name, naturally, is not so readily known.'\n\n'I was going to say the same,' said Robin Stewart; and in his capitulation O'LiamRoe read relief disguised as intelligent realism. Then they fell to discussing time and place for the suggested meeting and, this done, began the preliminaries of parting.\n\nIt was then, when O'LiamRoe was preparing to leave, that his own name was spoken. Harisson was answering a question. 'They went off\u2014I told you. And he won't be in it again. I made sure of that too. He couldn't be knowing you were here. It was purest chance; my fool of a brother had sent him.'\n\nStewart's voice, thin with worry, said, 'I can't understand it. I left him in Ireland.'\n\n'My dear Robin,' said Harisson dryly, 'he wouldn't be the first man to wish to change masters. If the man you called Thady Boy Ballagh were alive and in London, you would have had reason to worry.'\n\n'Well, he isn't,' said Stewart quickly in English; and his roughened voice, like succeeding strokes of a bell feared and half-heard on the wind, beat its intimation into O'LiamRoe's senses. 'How often do I have to say it? I put enough nightshade into him the evening I left to kill him outright. Folk like that, I hate them.\u2026 They go through life sure of everything, meddling with people. Why don't they leave them alone? No one asked him to interfere. He had land, and plenty of money\u2014everything easy from the day he was born into a dry silk towel by the fire. Why did he want to come meddling with me?'\n\n'So you said. You would think sometimes, Robin, that he was the first man you had killed. Forget him. It was well done, and it is past. Now\u2014'\n\nThe interview was ending. O'LiamRoe slid off his roof and escaped to where Dooly awaited him in the street, his body chilled, his stomach tight with the recollection of a sick man hurled to the ground under bucket after thrown bucket of water, of his dilated eyes and the free sound of his laughter.\n\nIt was a long ride back to Hackney, and The O'LiamRoe did not make it at once. He chose to go to an inn, a good long way from the Strand; and in the solitude of its common room in midmorning, with the rain beating on the oiled linen, did some elliptical thinking which came closer and closer, as the consoling tankards went down, to the vulnerable point he knew in his heart he would reach.\n\nThere, at last, he found his inexorable decision staring him in the face. His blue eyes vacant with solitary communion and drink, The O'LiamRoe mutinously recalled why he had gone back to Harisson's house in the first place. 'By Bridget, and the Dagda, and Cliona of the Wave, and by Finvaragh whose home is under Cruachma, and Aoibheal and Red Aodh and Dana the Moth\u2014Cormac O'Connor, you have a power to answer for!' said Phelim O'LiamRoe. And getting up, he found Piedar Dooly and in two hours' hard work made all the necessary arrangements for his Firbolg follower to take ship to France, there to inform the Scottish Queen Dowager that Robin Stewart, the Archer, the likely author of all the attempts on her daughter and the murderer of Francis Crawford as well, was now in London seeking English help for a further attempt.\n\nHe sold Piedar Dooly's horse and his own to raise ready money for the trip and saw him off by post-horse on his way to Portsmouth before setting off himself on the long, wet walk back to Hackney. Lady Lennox met him as he came in and commented, with her double-edged humour, on his state. He made some excuse. He had money enough in his room to buy a new horse; and he was not conspirator enough to be sure of smoothing his face at the moment before either of the Lennoxes, so disparagingly discussed by Robin Stewart and his friend.\n\nMargaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, tall, splendid and tawny niece of King Henry, who had been a conspirator all her life, looked after the muddy, horseless figure, unattended by lackey, and changing her direction, moved into her boudoir. There, she summoned Graham Douglas, who had been with her from birth, who would spy for her and had killed for her, and told him pleasantly to follow every movement of O'LiamRoe's.\n\nThree weeks later, the Prince of Barrow, leaving a tedious Court function at Whitehall, rode through the red brick gate, past the tilting yard, round by the Cross at Charing and into the noble precincts of Durham House, the official residence of Raoul de Ch\u00e9mault, French Ambassador to the Court of King Edward, where he had himself announced.\n\nConsidering that he had been nearly flung out of France in the first place, and that he had since exchanged French hospitality for English with quite unseemly speed, it required a good deal of moral courage to accomplish this.\n\nAt the back of his mind was the plain hope that the Ambassador would refuse to see him. In this he was cheated. M. de Ch\u00e9mault, a thick, olive-skinned Latin from southern France with black hair and short legs, was nervously incapable of selection and saw everybody, even at night. O'LiamRoe was shown into a stolid English room entirely furnished from France, like a leather trunk full of butterflies. And like a harassed caterpillar who could not achieve his metamorphosis, the Ambassador held out a short, inelegant arm, and seated him. Then he talked about the weather.\n\nIt was O'LiamRoe, who could tell more stories about the weather than anyone south of Antrim, who cut him short in the end. 'The business I have is a queer one for an Irishman,' said he. 'But live comfortably with myself I could not, until I had told one of you. There is a man I met in France, a Scottish Archer called Stewart, who is now in England offering to do away with the young Scottish Queen when he gets back\u2014and it would not be his first effort at that. And the Earl of Warwick himself, the clever fellow, is near accepting it.'\n\nThe Prince of Barrow, who had a low opinion of any kind of officialdom, had been ready for disbelief, or a cursory politeness which would have shown him the door. But Raoul de Ch\u00e9mault owed his finicky alertness to a lifetime of commissions, agencies and embassies over Europe, and knew better than to discount information from however unexpected a source. The doors were closed on himself, O'LiamRoe and the Ambassador's secretary, and O'LiamRoe described, with wonderful brevity, the meeting he had overheard between Stewart and Brice Harisson, the letter Harisson had proposed writing to Warwick, and the meeting which had come of it. At that meeting, held at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Churchyard the previous day, Warwick's appointed agent had met Harisson, who had put the Archer's proposal. And Warwick's agent, so far from being indifferent, had brought Warwick's command that both Stewart and Brice Harisson should come before him to discuss the plan further.\n\nTo overhear that had taxed all O'LiamRoe's inventiveness. The wry pleasure he took from his success was mixed still with a fearful irritation: from time to time his clean, pink fingers wandered to his face. The fine baby skin of chin and upper lip was naked. Had Brice Harisson, idling in a book-filled corner of the Red Lion, met O'LiamRoe face to face, he would hardly have recognized him; for all the waving golden whiskers had gone. To that, and his long robes and the black, ear-covering hat of the professor, borrowed blithely from the physician at Hackney, O'LiamRoe owed his triumph.\n\nHe had heard Brice Harisson meet Warwick's man, and had heard all that mattered of what they said. He had then watched them severally leave, and had left himself, only to be retrieved by a breathless shopkeeper laying claim to the new book absently tucked under his arm.\n\nAll this the French Ambassador heard. At the end, in his good English with an unexpected aptness of thought, he thanked O'LiamRoe, and complimented him. 'All this will be made known to the King my lord, who will express his thanks better than I.' He hesitated. A flicker of a glance passed between de Ch\u00e9mault and his secretary; then the Ambassador said, 'You may guess our interest, monseigneur, when I tell you that M. Brice Harisson has already honoured us with a visit.'\n\nThe sandy brows floated. 'Brice Harisson's been here?'\n\n'Yes. Seeking my aid, and my interest with the Queen Dowager of Scotland to enable him to escape from his English employment and return to some well-pensioned office in Scotland or France. I assumed from what he did not say that he guessed Somerset's day was reaching an end. In return,' said de Ch\u00e9mault, watching his secretary marshal the stack of papers on which O'LiamRoe's words had been taken down, 'he has offered to sell me an unspecified political secret of some value.'\n\n'In other words,' said O'LiamRoe, a rare disgust in his voice, 'Harisson is planning to betray Robin Stewart to the French?'\n\n'From what you say, it seems likely. I have told him to give me time to make enquiries, and return. Now that I know what is behind his offer, I shall make it as simple for him as I can; thus the affair will solve itself. As soon as Harisson gives us positive proof of what this man Stewart has done, the Archer can be arrested.' He rose. 'You are to be in England, monseigneur, for some little time?'\n\nHe was due the courtesy of a fair answer, at least. O'LiamRoe mentioned that he was the guest of the Earl and Countess of Lennox, and would remain there at least until the affair was cleared up. If his evidence was required, M. de Ch\u00e9mault had only to call.\n\nM. de Ch\u00e9mault made no comment. At the door he took a serious farewell, and laying one broad, brown hand on the Irishman's sleeve said, 'You know your own business best. But should you wish to go back to France, there would be many who would welcome you for your own sake only. And whatever your conclusions or your policies, the friendship of the French Court can be assured.'\n\n'Ah, no,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, smiling. 'I was never easy with ghosts; and France there is bursting full of them. I shall never go back\u2014God save us, no.\u2026 I might meet the shade of Phelim O'LiamRoe face to face.'\n\nThat afternoon, Piedar Dooly came back. He had delivered his master's message with some trouble to the Scottish Queen Dowager, and had been provided with more than enough money to cover the double journey, and an obscurely worded message of thanks.\n\nHe also had news. Stewart's attempt on Thady Boy Ballagh's life had not been successful\u2026 but a later accident had. From Piedar Dooly, in Gaelic with spectrum-like detail, The O'LiamRoe heard the story of the Tour des Minimes at Amboise, of Lord Culter's investigation and of the burning of the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier with Ballagh inside.\n\nThat night the Lennoxes, chaffing lightly through the supper courses from their heavy, crested gold plate, found him erratic and even unresponsive to their quips. Margaret, her dark eyebrows raised, more than once caught her husband's eye over the sensationally cropped silky head, and afterwards redoubled her solicitous concern for her guest, expressed in the cool voice with which Margaret Douglas's sentiments were most often presented, ice-fresh and bloody, like newly caught fish. She made little headway. O'LiamRoe, clearly, had other things on his mind.\n\nRobin Stewart, who dared not be seen by any man, Scot, Frenchman or Londoner, was hiding in the brickfields at Islington, and making the rarest visits to the Strand. He did not know that on the morning before the momentous interview with Lord Warwick, his faithful friend Brice rode round the corner to Durham House and, passing through courtyards hazy with young green, was closeted ten minutes later with the French Ambassador and addressing him in fluent French. 'M. de Ch\u00e9mault, I hope you have news for me. I come to tell you that tomorrow I shall be able to give you information of some considerable value.'\n\nThis time there were three of them in the room: de Ch\u00e9mault himself, seated at his fine desk, an undersecretary, and someone's herald, deep in conversation with them both. They were all speaking French. Harisson meticulously did the same.\n\nM. de Ch\u00e9mault heard him out. At the end, he said, 'We have not been slow, sir, in extending our powers to help you. The gentleman beside me is Vervassal, herald to the Princess Mary of Guise, Queen Mother of Scotland. Address your wishes to him. On the other matters you have just mentioned we should of course be interested to hear more.'\n\nHarisson was sure they would. But he wanted to find out what they would pay, first. He bowed. The man called Vervassal smiled; then picking up a handsome, light stick, came over and sat down beside him. The discussion began.\n\nThe conversation was conducted in French. Brice Harisson's requirements were soon told, confined as they were to simple matters of land, money and security, and a safe haven in Scotland. The herald, dealing with them point by point, was excellent, quick, accurate and fair; and his powers of treaty seemed to be unlimited. Harisson, no novice at bargaining, could admire his skill while jarred by something underneath the words.\n\nTwice, he found himself caught out in a foolish error of grammar. To Harisson, this was staggering; as shocking as if he had become partially undressed. Indeed he, always penguin-neat, felt ruffled beside this elegant person, fine as a fan stick carved under warm water, from pale hair to the pale, moving light of his rings. Harisson did not care for his eyes.\n\nHe did his business, which was to obtain a firm promise of satisfactory reward from the Queen Dowager of Scotland, and in return he undertook at midnight the next day to bring information of the most pressing importance to the French and the Scottish Crowns. More, he utterly refused to say. De Ch\u00e9mault indeed pressed him almost beyond his patience, but the other man had sense at least to say nothing and wait. And by midnight tomorrow, thought Brice Harisson, he would have evidence\u2014if all went well, even written evidence\u2014which would dispose of Robin Stewart for ever and earn him a fat Commendatorship in Perth.\n\nThe thing had gone just as he wanted. In spite of that, he took out a perfect handkerchief and wiped his brow before remounting his horse, and trotting back up the Strand.\n\nBack at Durham House they watched him go, from the tall windows of de Ch\u00e9mault's library.\n\n'Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone attend you, and may you be embalmed with the guts of a civet-rat,' said the man called Vervassal pleasantly, in English; and walking over, opened a door. When he used the stick, especially, the hesitation in his walk was hardly noticeable. 'Come in, Tom. Harisson propissimus, honestissimus et eruditissimus has gone.'\n\nAnd the Master of Erskine joined them, the distaste which they all felt on his face, but his practical good sense already discounting it. 'No sense in cursing the man. You'll have to pay him and use him. We can't find Stewart without him, and we can't arrest Stewart without his evidence.\n\n'Officially, we know nothing of Warwick's share in the plot, and for the sake of peace, we want to know nothing. Let Harisson come here tomorrow night and betray his partners ten times over. All that matters is that we should be able to get hold of Stewart and quietly take him to France, with Harisson's unshakable testimony to convict him. Your obligations there, Francis, are ended.'\n\nM. de Ch\u00e9mault had the sensation of being surrounded. The transaction had demanded speed. After Harisson's initial approach the Ambassador had written immediately to Panter, his Scottish counterpart in Paris. His reply had not yet come when Erskine, the Scottish Councillor and Special Ambassador, appeared in London on his way home from France, and de Ch\u00e9mault thankfully turned to him.\n\nErskine had helped swiftly and effectively. Messages crossed the Channel, back and forth. Within a matter of days, the Scottish herald Mr. Crawford had arrived, accredited by every kind of document to the Court of the Queen Dowager of Scotland, and with full powers to treat.\n\nIt was excellent service, and under other circumstances, M. de Ch\u00e9mault would have accepted it with surprised relief. But Stewart had been an Archer in the company of John, Lord of Aubigny; and Lord d'Aubigny and his wife Anne had been the firmest friends of the de Ch\u00e9maults for many years.\n\nSo, nibbling now at a biscuit and pouring wine for himself, his secretary and his two dynamic guests, the Ambassador watched, with divided feelings, the burden being removed from his shoulders. Or more particularly, he continued to watch Mr. Crawford, Vervassal Herald, as he talked. 'Don't count too much, Tom, on a tidy conclusion. Stewart, I would remind you, is a lamentable conspirator, and Harisson is a lazy fool. His arrival just now in broad daylight would strike any qualified spy with the ague.'\n\nBut the Councillor belittled it. 'He's Somerset's man. He has the entr\u00e9e anywhere.\u2026 My God,' said the Master of Erskine, 'why have I to go back to Scotland? What I would give to see Robin Stewart's face when he finds out you aren't\u2014'\n\nBut the man Crawford rose, the knuckles sharp on the silver knob of his stick, and broke in without haste. 'Will they not be expecting you at Holborn if you are to set off north today?'\n\nReminded of his own business, Tom Erskine hurried to take leave of the Ambassador. Vervassal, who was staying now at Durham House, went with him to the yard. Outside, the Councillor turned and met the neutral eyes of his companion, who had once been Thady Boy Ballagh and was now, openly, Francis Crawford, herald, in a solution so simple that only Francis Crawford had thought of it. Tom Erskine said quickly, 'Do you think you can make Stewart speak?'\n\n'Yes,' said Lymond, in the same pleasant voice.\n\n'Because if you don't, it must be done in France, by whatever means they can find. Whoever employed Robin Stewart in the first place must still be in France, and you owe him a debt. I understand that. Go back to France after Stewart's taken if you must\u2014you can go quite openly as Crawford of Lymond, the Dowager's herald. No one will connect you with Ballagh except those who know already. And if you've no wish to go, you can trust your brother to do what is best. He'll stay with the Dowager until it's all over.\u2026 You should be rather pleased,' said Tom Erskine, 'with O'LiamRoe?'\n\n'Well. Yes. He got drunk on the palm wine of power,' said Lymond dryly. 'That was all right. But it was I who fell out of the tree.'\n\nAt twelve o'clock on the following night, Monday the 19th of April, the French Ambassador waited again, behind the tall shuttered windows of Durham House, for Brice Harisson and his promised betrayal. With him were Lymond, de Ch\u00e9mault's senior officials, and his secretariat.\n\nThey waited in vain. Half an hour passed of the new day, and then an hour, and no Harisson appeared. At three, taking a risk, de Ch\u00e9mault sent a junior to go on foot to the Strand. He came tack at dawn, to where Francis Crawford and the Ambassador waited alone in the library under splayed candles; eyes, throats and minds thick with long conjecturing and the consuming heat of the fire. He brought the news that at half past eleven the previous night, Brice Harisson had been arrested on Warwick's command.\n\nBy midday, they knew that Harisson had been taken with two servants and lodged in the private custody of Sir John Atkinson, one of the two sheriffs of the City of London\u2014a mark less of respect for the prisoner than for his nominal employer Somerset. By early afternoon, they knew the ostensible reason: three letters, written by Harisson to the Queen Dowager of Scotland and to two of her lords had been confiscated in transit. In them, Harisson had expressed his gratitude for the Queen's promise to take him into her service, and had begged them all for their continued interest so that on leaving England, where he had handsomely benefited from the King, he would have means to live in the service of his gracious Queen.\n\nOne further item of news was forthcoming. The incriminating letters had been seized and taken to Warwick by one of the Earl of Lennox's men."
            },
            {
                "title": "London: The Intentional Betrayal",
                "text": "Every betrayal, intentional or with concealment, is false: there are equal fines for the theft which is concealment, and the concealment which is robbery. Thou shalt not kill a captive unless he be thine.\n\nHad he been trapped by a peasant walking on all fours in a goatskin, Brice Harisson couldn't have been more confused. His jostling languages littered chipped and useless in his mind, he passed his first days of polite captivity in Sir John Atkinson's best room in Cheapside in a state of raging anxiety almost equalled by his burning wrath with the Lennoxes.\n\nMatthew Lennox he had always disliked. Somerset had distrusted him, and had shown it; Margaret Lennox had crossed him again and again, and in the bank of ill will which now lay solidly between the two factions, Harisson had had his full share.\n\nBut who would have expected Lennox to intercept these damnable letters, and to have betrayed him in this way to Warwick? And, thought Brice Harisson, pacing round the packed furniture on Sir John's polished floor, how could he hope to persuade Warwick that his correspondence with the Scots was to disarm suspicion only? Long before the apprentices' bell in the morning, the two liveried bodyguards outside Sir John's parlour door heard the secretary inside, exercising his worries.\n\nWhen, late in the afternoon, the door opened on Sir John Atkinson accompanied by the herald Vervassal, Harisson's sheer, frozen panic could have been axed in the cask and sold off by the pound. He dared not even burst into recriminations before the sheriff's cold eye. John Atkinson was a merchant, a guild master and accustomed to judging cloth and men. It was in fact Lymond's tailoring, although the sheriff may not have known it, which led him, after a brief and minatory preamble, to allow the herald to interview his prisoner alone.\n\nToday Lymond wore the tabard of his office. Before the armorial blaze of blue and red and cloth of gold Harisson was aware, for the second time, of his own imperfect state: his immaculate grey hair unkempt; his linen unchanged. Cap in hand, the herald was assuring the sheriff that he might call on the resources of his nation to clear up this unfortunate and unauthorized attempt to change allegiance. Then, as the sheriff left, Vervassal pulled on the crimson velvet hat turned up with ermine and, shutting the door with his stick, addressed Harisson with the clear fluency he remembered.\n\n'Since neither of us is the host, we may as well both sit down. Spare me your fury. I know I have ruined your defence; but at least I have rescued your skin. My lord of Warwick is perfectly aware that you have promised to betray him to the French Ambassador, and the French Ambassador is quite aware that the secret you promised to sell him concerned Robin Stewart's plot. The confiscated letters were only a pretext. Warwick wants you out of the way until he finds out how much de Ch\u00e9mault knows.'\n\nVervassal paused. He had spoken in English as excellent as his French had been. Harisson realized, as his brain darted shrilling among the impossible obstacles of this fresh landscape, that this man, whose own name he did not know, must be not French but Scots. He sat down.\n\n'Better,' said Francis Crawford, and choosing a high chair, seated himself quietly, the links shivering on his broad chain. An idea struggled in the chaos of Brice Harisson's mind. 'Lennox!' he said sharply. 'Lennox has told Warwick these things?' And, as Vervassal inclined his head, 'But how the devil could he know?'\n\n'It's a long story,' said the herald calmly. 'But the Prince of Barrow, it seems, understands Gaelic; and the Earl of Lennox is suspicious enough of his guest to see that he is followed. O'LiamRoe was at the Red Lion.'\n\nHe waited until Harisson had finished swearing and said, 'Quite. The fact remains that, so far as Warwick knows, he has only to rid himself of you, and he may proceed with the scheme without the French Ambassador or anyone else knowing what secret you were about to confide. An excuse for death or life imprisonment won't be hard, I fancy, to find. In fact, he has already found it.'\n\nIt was coming too fast now for Harisson. The cold was in every dapper limb, and his face and posture spelled their fear unregarded. 'But you say de Ch\u00e9mault does know.'\n\n'Unofficially only.'\n\n'Warwick will deny his interest. He'll lie about it.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Then how could he touch me?' cried Brice Harisson, harried by this clear-eyed messenger of fate into perspicacity. 'A false charge against me would only admit his own guilt. He should be begging me to protect him!'\n\n'That is why,' said Lymond gently, 'you are here, and not in Newgate. He is waiting to see how much de Ch\u00e9mault knows. It is for you to make sure, here, now, publicly and through me, that the French Ambassador knows everything, and that Warwick is aware that he knows. Let me call in Atkinson and tell the whole story of Robin Stewart to us both. You will be free by the morning.'\n\nMomentarily discarding the picture of himself confessing publicly to a sheriff of the City of London that he had attempted to sell to France the most intimate details of an English-inspired attempt to poison a future French Queen, Harisson seized another ghoul by the hind leg and flung it to the fate snapping at his heels. 'Free to get a knife in my back from Robin Stewart. How long do you think I'll live once he knows I've sold him to France? De Ch\u00e9mault would have had him under lock and key before he knew it, if this hadn't happened.'\n\n'The Ambassador can have him safely under lock and key still,' said Vervassal, 'if you tell me now where he is.'\n\nThere was a silence. Harisson suddenly felt exhausted, physically battered as if he had been fighting; his hands, knotted between his calves, were tensed, ready to fling out, to strike the table, to sweep through his hair as fresh evils appeared. He needed help, and he had nowhere to look; for Somerset, walking in the shadow of the block, couldn't protect him. 'Get me out of here, and I'll tell you,' Brice Harisson said.\n\nVervassal's reply was perfectly tranquil. 'I can do nothing for you that would impute guilt of conspiracy to my mistress. Only Warwick can free you. And then only if you publicly confess.'\n\nBy now, it was too much. 'If he's arrested me on suspicion of going to de Ch\u00e9mault,' said Brice Harisson sarcastically, 'he'll be damned sure to free me when he knows why.\u2026 I'll get out of it somehow.'\n\n'Do you think so?' said Vervassal. 'Then your mind is not very quick. I have shown you the only way. Warwick is unlikely to stir until he thinks he has de Ch\u00e9mault's position clear. You have one day's grace, perhaps two. When you have considered what I have said, send for me. In the meantime I make you this offer. I cannot contrive your escape. But the Ambassador and I from this moment will use all our powers to have your offence mitigated on the grounds of these letters, and will try to prevent Warwick bringing forward any charges more serious. In return we must have the means of preventing Warwick's share of the plot going further. Tell me where Robin Stewart is.'\n\nThe comfortable room, with its wood and tapestry and leather was growing dark. In the jewelled light from the fire the herald's gold tissue glistened flatly, and the Scottish leopards in their silken pastures, rising lean from the shadows, offered haunch, head and claw to the glow.\n\n'No,' said Harisson.\n\n'You wish Stewart and Lord Warwick to pursue this plan to their joint profit?' continued the light, ironical voice from the darkness.\n\nThe word Harisson used to describe Robin Stewart escaped unwanted from his congested mind, and was not in Gaelic. It was then, indeed, that not only his logic left him, but the thin veneer of accomplishment which had handsomely covered a soul and mind much less than handsome. 'God damn Robin Stewart to hell,' said his friend furiously, the pliant voice sliding high on the thin scale of hysteria. 'I want to get out of here alive\u2014that's all I want!' And to the voice of irony and reason he simply repeated, higher and harder, 'No! No! No! No!'\n\nVervassal waited no longer. He rose, dim in the near-dark, and bending, lit a taper from the fire and carried it delicately to the sconce by the door. A branch of silver candlesticks sprang to life, sparkling on his tabard and the feathered gold of his hair round the red velvet cap. His face was shadowed.\n\n'I shall be back in two days,' said the herald. 'Send to de Ch\u00e9mault when you want me.'\n\nLike a bird's, Harisson's two hands clung to his chair, and his skull and ears, undisguised, made a foolish patch of shade on the back. 'I don't want you,' he said. 'You devil, whoever you are, I don't want you.'\n\nBeneath the golden light the other man's face was luminous as alabaster. 'Dear me, you are appallingly ignorant of affairs. Haven't you found out?' said the herald gently. 'The Ambassador knows\u2014it is no secret, I assure you. My name is Francis Crawford of Lymond. My brother is Culter. I am not, of course, an officer of the Lyon Court. But temporarily Herald to the high and mighty Princess Mary, Queen Dowager of Scotland, in absence of better.'\n\nOn Harisson's chair, the small, wishbone hands had sprung open; in the darkness the round, desperate eyes strained. 'That's the man\u2014' Harisson broke off, then, raggedly, gave a high laugh. 'You're Lymond? My God, did he even bungle that one as well? You're the man Robin Stewart thinks he murdered!'\n\n'Not one of his most resounding successes, then, we must admit. You see therefore why I should like to meet him. Also, as you may know, the Earl of Lennox is an old and dear enemy of mine, and by now he also should know where I am. Which means that he will do all he can to encourage Warwick to preserve Robin Stewart and to foil the Ambassador and myself. Think out all I've said, my dear Harisson. Your choice is France; or Warwick, Lennox and death.'\n\nFor a moment longer, Vervassal remained in the doorway, his head a little bent, his expression strict, as if condemning the dramatic vulgarity of this speech. Then with a kind of shrug of impatience and distaste, he opened the door and went out. The bodyguards outside shut it and Harisson, crouching, remembered not to put his head in his hands and disarrange his hair.\n\nTo de Ch\u00e9mault, the account by Lymond of this affair was retiary in its lack of substance. In effect, the herald said only, 'I am sorry. We have lost him. I rather think I mishandled it. I was counting on some metal in the core, like his brother, but he collapsed like wet fruit. He'll do precisely what Warwick tells him.'\n\nHe had discarded the bright tunic on returning. Now, as he moved to a chair, de Ch\u00e9mault noticed that the hesitation in his walk was after all quite a serious limp. The Ambassador said, 'It would have served well to have this confession, but no great harm will come of it. It needs only a hint to Warwick that we are aware of the plot. We have no evidence, true, except at second hand, but a hint would deter him. Of that I am sure.'\n\n'Oh, God, so am I,' said the man Crawford with the first hint of impatience de Ch\u00e9mault had seen. 'Even Harisson might have guessed as much if he had had control of his wits for two minutes. The loathsome little muck-worm can confess or hold his tongue, as he likes. I just want to lay hands on Robin Stewart before anyone else does; that is all.'\n\nBrice Harisson did not send for Vervassal. But when two days later Lymond went as he had promised for his answer, Harisson greeted him with smooth affability, and ran on, light as stucco, sparkling with handfuls of Spanish and German, to inform the herald that on second thoughts he had confessed.\n\nAnd to prove it, he confessed again to the herald, to the sheriff, and to anyone who would listen, the complete tale of his plot with Stewart, his association with Warwick, and of his attempt to sell out Stewart to France. He told it firmly, bravely, and with a masochistic enjoyment which clearly baffled the sheriff, who could hardly understand this sudden eagerness to brand himself traitor. There was a glibness indeed about the whole thing which confirmed Lymond's own suspicions. In the end he had five minutes only alone with the delicately contrite predicant. He had no need to speak. Harisson did all the talking.\n\n'I fear,' said Brice Harisson, 'that you must think me very stupid. The sense in what you said struck me directly you had gone.' He gave his unexpected, high laugh. 'I think the poor sheriff was quite startled when I began to tell him. It has gone to Warwick already, and now they will know, of course, that I have told you. It will all be very simple. Now I was to tell you about Stewart?'\n\n'Yes.' His left arm always had to bear the weight of his stick; he moved a little, so that the wall took some of the strain.\n\n'He's at the brickworks in Islington. You go to a certain place, and whistle and a boy will fetch him.' Graphically, Harisson described the place. There was nothing to do but note it, and leave.\n\nLymond went alone to Islington, and on horseback\u2014something not easy for him yet; but though he whistled, no boy arrived; and though he searched, Robin Stewart had gone.\n\nThe bare fields, the lime kilns, the mud and the rubble of Islington had fitted Robin Stewart for all these weeks as an ancient landscape frames and nurtures its fossils.\n\nFlung in grating revulsion from Thady Boy's perfidy back into the caustic stewardship of his lordship of Aubigny, Stewart had accepted the hated commission to travel to Ireland, and had reached with his lordship the tacit understanding that on his return, he would be tolerated in his lordship's vicinity.\n\nOn board ship, this arrangement lost most of its attraction. Stewart suffered George Paris's bland self-confidence all the way to Ireland. There was no future with Lord d'Aubigny. There was no future with any of the gentlemen whom he served and envied and criticized so bitterly. What he had to sell, he would market in England.\n\nThe violence of the decision was in itself a deliverance. He held to it through all the difficulty of getting to London: the curricle; the fishing boat up to Scotland; the horse bought with the gold provided by the Kingdom of France to pay for the journey of Cormac O'Connor.\n\nOnce in London, he had found Harisson, and he was no longer alone. The plotting he had enjoyed. He had always found it satisfying, since his earliest efforts in France, quite apart from the rewards he hoped it would bring him. When, stepping ashore at Dieppe, Destaiz had brought him the news that O'LiamRoe was a danger to them and was to be removed, he had decided on a casual gesture, as flamboyant as Thady Boy's ascent of the rigging, and with Destaiz had arranged for the fire at the inn.\n\nThat had failed. Someone else had got O'LiamRoe into trouble over the tennis court meeting with the King, and he had kept out of the affair with the elephants. But he had found the hunting of the Queen's hare exhilarating. He could still picture O'LiamRoe's face when the woman O'Dwyer had arrived and he had been forced to present her with the dog. And when he saw the cheetah arrive. That had not been difficult to arrange: a respectful suggestion just beforehand to the old mistress had been enough.\n\nSo there he was, with a very good chance of involving both O'LiamRoe and the child Mary before the day was over; his only worry, to keep the scent of the leveret he carried from the dogs. How was he to know that O'LiamRoe's bitch would actually tackle the cat?\n\nAfter that, he had begun to think that he might do better on his own. He had the arsenic he had stolen at St. Germain\u2014he had told Harisson about that. He had mentioned also that the way was open, now and then, into Mary's anteroom, where the cotignac was. There was no harm in Harisson or Warwick being aware of his special chances, and also of his special ingenuity. He said nothing, discreetly, of having doctored the tablet already; nor of the discovery, made just before he left, that all the poisoned sweetmeat had gone. He was only beginning, in bloodshot snatches of retrospect, to realize the part Lymond had played.\n\nThe name of Thady Boy Ballagh he could barely bring himself to mention. Nor, with belated wisdom, had he betrayed the fact that nearly all he had done had been done under direction. He wanted Harisson to admire his proficiency. And he felt, common sense struggling dimly through the smoking wreck of his ardours, that Brice, tender friend that he was, would be less likely to aid him find a new sponsor if he realized that, back in France, was an employer he had abandoned already.\n\nAll that he put behind him. He might find it difficult to explain abandoning O'Connor in Ireland, of course. He might have to return anonymously, and work and bribe under cover. But that would be easy. He would have money from Warwick; he knew the weak links, the irresponsible guards, the kitchenmaids. And once the thing was done, he could leave France for good and find prestige, wealth and security at Warwick's fine English Court.\n\nNo one suspected him. Lymond might have come to it\u2014sullenly, you have to recognize the man's perverted skill. But Lymond was poisoned and dead. The arrival of O'LiamRoe, left safely in Ireland, had shaken him, disturbed his precarious confidence. But there had been in it nothing ominous: a typical piece of foolishness by a foolish man.\n\nThrusting these thoughts behind him, Stewart smiled. Someone else might even attack the small Queen before him. And that would be even funnier. For Warwick would surely give him credit for it, just the same. No one else was likely to come forward; that was sure.\n\nIn the weeks he spent alone, or during the rare, discreet visits to Harrisson, the image of Mary, the living child he was to murder, never took shape in Stewart's mind. His half-set, vulnerable emotions, trodden underfoot too hard and too early, had become a cage lined with mirrors in which daily, nightly, he could examine the shrinking image of himself. And the people he met who spoke to him through the bars, and pushed him, and directed him, and exercised him, were his food.\n\nMuch of this, in his queer way, Harisson must have understood. In Scotland, long ago, he had endured Stewart's pricking aggression without riposte or impatience: on a creature as confined in his way as the Archer, Stewart's shafts had simply missed their mark. Also, as a matter of vanity, Harisson happened to enjoy, from time to time, using his neat-fingered charm. Coming back to Harisson, for Stewart, had been like returning to a private, mossy plateau after wading rotting through the treachery of some infested swamp.\n\nWhen Harisson had concluded his interview with Warwick, he was to send for the Archer. The summons came: the rendezvous was not at Harisson's house, but in Cheapside. Full of firm, purposeful efficiency, Stewart pulled his bonnet low over his long, bony face, and set off.\n\nJust past the High Cross of Cheap, next to the rich gables of Goldsmiths' Row, the sun gay on its sinewy carvings, the painted balconies, the gilded statues, was the house Harisson had designated. Cheapside was thronged. Its sparkling conduits, its church spires, its inns, its calling apprentices ('What d'ye lack?'), its thrusting bustle of men and women, cheerful, noisy, decently dressed, were all kindly to Stewart's eyes: a fat token of promise for the leisure to come. He dismounted at the gate; a boy ran forward to take his horse, and he was conducted instantly to the sunny parlour overlooking the garden, where he found Brice Harisson waiting.\n\nExcitement, suspense, pleasure, had never altered the middle-aged smartness of Brice's face. He was dressed as usual, with extreme care, his doublet braided and his cuffs showing, a slit of frill above the small hands. He wore a dark puffed cap on his brushed hair, and the flat of his cheeks and his thin nose shone.\n\nHe represented success, amity, excitement, and a haven from the brickfields of Islington. Stewart grinned, his Adam's apple moving untidily, before he noticed that Brice was not alone. Beside, him in black and scarlet robes and the gold chain of his office, was a sheriff of the City of London, with his usher and clerk.\n\nBy God, thought the Archer, and paused, controlling his delight. By God, Warwick is with us. We've got a sheriff to deal with the affair. Next it'll be the Mayor, Alderman and Recorder. But naturally he won't risk getting the Council openly involved. An intermediary, this would be. And a very nice house, thought Robin Stewart, looking round appreciatively, to conspire in. There were two men standing at the door.\n\n'That is the man,' said Brice, the pliant voice flat, not taking time to answer the grin. Stewart looked round, but no one had come in. Instead the sheriff, a stout man marbled in puce, unrolled a paper, depressed a firm pink underlip as overture, and read, 'Robin Stewart, late of the Royal Guard of Scottish Archers in France and now in London and in no known abode: know ye that I, John Atkinson, Sheriff of the City of London, am bid and empowered to seize and hold you on the charge of conspiring against the body and person of the high and mighty Princess Mary, by the grace of God Queen of our dear sister kingdom of Scotland, while under the roof and domicile of the Most Christian King and our dear ally, Henry II of France. And until instruction be received from France or Scotland as to your disposal, I have here a warrant that you may be put under ward and guard, from this day onwards, in the King's Tower of London. Take him.'\n\nThere was a soldier at either of his elbows. Robin Stewart didn't heed them. His long face yellow, the grain exposed by the sinking blood, he stared, unfocussed, at the sheriff. Then his ruffled head, on its long neck, swung round to Brice.\n\nNo soldier stood at Brice's elbow; nor did Brice, in any of his languages, utter a word.\n\n'I thank God,' said Sir John Atkinson, rolling up his parchment and passing it to the clerk, 'that a warning of this wicked plot was given by Master Harisson here to an emissary of the French Ambassador, so that the affair could be prevented in time. I have no doubt what your fate will be. The King of France will have a short way with intended murder and high treason.'\n\nStewart heard the first half of this; then, with a conscious suspension of understanding, stood thinking of nothing at all. A distorted picture, slipping glutinously from nowhere into his vacant mind, showed him Tosh, chatting amiably among the wood shavings, and a pearwood block with the Culter arms.\n\nThen Tosh's asthmatic face gave way to Brice's, flat and white; and Brice's voice, higher-pitched than usual, saying, 'That's all, then. That's all, isn't it? I assume he can go away now. He had better go before Crawford comes back.'\n\nStewart missed it. Because understanding was only now coming dizzily into his brain, like the agony of blood refilling a limb long benumbed, he missed it and bleated, his own voice breathlessly tight, 'You gave it away!'\n\nHarisson looked quickly at the sheriff and away again, saying nothing.\n\nThis time Stewart's voice was louder. 'You went to the Ambassador! You told them what we were doing! You sent for me just now! You pretended to go to Warwick and help, and all the time\u2026 An impossible truth, a dreadful certainty, burst upon Robin Stewart, raking back wildly among Harisson's recent affairs. 'Ah, dear Christ send you to hell, you filthy tattle-bearing runt\u2014you're in league with O'LiamRoe!'\n\n'I really wish you would take him away,' said Brice Harisson angrily. He faced Stewart, the veins of his dark, high forehead standing out, his hands clenched behind his flat back. 'No one could have gone on with it, I tell you. My God, you might as well conspire with an elephant. Blundering in and out of boats in broad daylight, putting your horse in my stables. You never did one thing well in your life\u2014Christ, not even killing that fellow you talked about. O'LiamRoe didn't persuade me to make a clean breast of it, Stewart. Only one man did that\u2014tried to force me to tell the French Ambassador the whole transaction, and begged me to betray you. Not O'LiamRoe, you fool, you stupid, long, witless fool. But your friend Crawford of Lymond.'\n\nThere was a shocking silence. When you least expect it, the true, rending blow falls. 'He's dead,' said Robin Stewart, his voice bleached of colour.\n\n'He was here in this room a few hours ago. Laughing,' said Brice Harisson spitefully. 'You and your vile plots and your deadly nightshade. They must be fair palsied with laughter in the Loire Valley by now. High treason! You poor, puking villain,' said Harisson, carried back in his nervous hysteria to the frightened defiance of boyhood, 'you couldna knock the head off a buttercup!'\n\nThe numb nerves were alive now. The blood was boiling in his veins; his head and heart were full as the stiff core of the earth with hard-packed purpose and power. On either side, the two men still stood, but neither crowded him; carelessly, they had left him his sword. He did not even think. As Harisson spoke, the Archer drew his blade and took a step forward.\n\nHarisson backed, his voice choking off in mid-air. Stewart took another step. Harisson screamed, a dry, unexpected sound which continued for a long time; he was jammed, now, against the window, as far away as he could get. Through the window the apprentices' calls floated, thinly, like gulls. The sheriff said, 'Stop him!' in a loud voice. The clerk and the usher hesitated, and the two guards ran uncertainly forward.\n\nThey were far too late. Staring down into the sallow face, the grey hair wild, the braided epaulettes twisted\u2014'It's about time I practised then, isn't it? Go to hell where you belong,' said Robin Stewart, his eyes stiff, his breath noisy as a man under drugs. And raising both hands with the long sword between, he brought the blade, like an axe in a shambles, upon the quailing body beneath.\n\nThat same Thursday night, Lymond returned from his fruitless journey to Islington, changed, and armed with de Ch\u00e9mault's authority and his own powerful insignia of office, went straight to Warwick to express his formal concern at the plot which had come to light involving a Scot in his custody named Brice Harisson, to request that Harisson should be permitted to visit de Ch\u00e9mault for questioning, and to ask English help in tracing and capturing Harisson's accomplice, the Scot Stewart.\n\nIt was the routine opening in a game imposed now on both sides: every move must be made in public, and its predestined course was quite clear. The French Ambassador had no doubt that the man Vervassal would handle it competently.\n\nAnd aside from this competence, there was an understanding of the unseen balances of the situation which went deeper than de Ch\u00e9mault's own. When, unguardedly, he had spoken of Stewart to his wife and she had exclaimed, 'An assassin! Ah, not from John and Anne's own company! How he will feel it!'\u2014he had felt, without seeing it, the flick of Lymond's attention. He knew that, convalescing from some injury, Crawford had been pressed into duty by the Queen Dowager in the absence of other accredited messenger\u2014a thing not uncommon for a well-born younger son. He knew a little, even, of his past history, for Tom Erskine was an old friend. He would have liked to have known more. Jehanne, his wife, he guessed was afraid of the queer, catlike young man with the stick.\n\nThey had begun supper when Lymond returned, served privately tonight in the Ambassador's own quarters, the men moving quietly with the mutton and quail, their livery caps neatly laid on the buffet. On the tapestry cloth Jehanne's silver sparkled in the late April sun.\n\nIt was she who heard the step pass the door, and was driven by her housewifely instincts to rise and bring him in. He turned as she called after him, 'M. Crawford, we have kept supper for you!' and came in. But although he took his place courteously at their table and made conversation fluently, he crumbled his way absently through the meal, unimpressed by her cooking; clearly interested only in making an end so that he could inflict business on Raoul.\n\nHe began, in fact, before they had finished, when she had barely ended her best story of the baby's attack on the cat. Certainly he smiled at her, and said something she must try to recall next time she wrote to Maman. But the next instant he had turned to her husband and broached the subject of his interview with the Lord Great Master of the King's Majesty's most Honourable Household with no apology at all.\n\nShe did not, of course, fully understand the details. She watched him instead play with a silver cup filled with their best wine, untouched, while he said, 'Exactly the kind of story you would expect Warwick and his friends to concoct. According to him, three weeks ago Stewart came to them with an offer, but Lord Warwick was perfectly ignorant of what it might be until today. He is shocked, appalled, disgusted, and will do everything in his power to help us.'\n\nRaoul did not seem put out at having his favourite meal interrupted; indeed his voice was less testy than she had often heard it, at the end of a long day of work. 'And Stewart and Harisson?'\n\n'Harrison was arrested, of course, for reasons quite unconnected with this affair. The letters to the Queen Dowager. That is their story, and they are bound to keep to it.' The herald paused. The despised wine, beneath his spare fingers, rinsed the rim of the cup, and Jehanne tensed in her seat. The tapestry was expensive.\n\nThen Vervassal said, 'I had no need to ask them to help find Robin Stewart. My talk with Harisson evidently had some effect, even if it was not quite what I intended. In his rather tardy efforts to pacify Warwick, Harisson sold the Archer to him instead of to us. In other words, Harisson confessed to the sheriff that Stewart had approached him to act as middleman in a plan to poison Mary of Scotland, and that he, Harisson, had betrayed the plot to the French Ambassador, who knew all. The sheriff told Warwick, who of course knew all about Stewart and the plot, but not that you were aware of it. From that moment the English Council, for the sake of their relations with France, were forced, of course, to sever all their connections with the scheme. In return for God knows what promises, Harisson was instructed by the sheriff to send for Stewart, who was captured this afternoon and bundled off to Ely Place for a complete confession\u2014the poor idiot thought apparently he might still win Warwick's support and told them again, with some pride, all his qualifications as a hired assassin\u2014and that, according to Warwick of course, was the first direct news he had of the plot\u2026\n\n'\u2026I can imagine Stewart's feelings,' said Lymond, 'when his lordship, instead of opening his arms, began to shriek for every guard in the Palace. Stewart is in the Tower. Warwick has undertaken to have his confession written out and sent to us, and will send him to you or straight to the French Court for punishment. He will take that up with you himself.'\n\n'It is for the King to say. I shall write him tonight. And Harisson?' Raoul asked.\n\n'Harisson?' said the man Crawford, and got quietly to his feet, an appalling solecism, with the curious quick lurch he had which covered whatever was wrong with his leg. 'He and Stewart were brought face to face, for identification, at the sheriff's house, and Stewart killed him. No one, obviously, rushed nobly upon the blade. So there is no evidence against Warwick, and no evidence but Warwick's, and O'LiamRoe's, against Stewart, come to that. You must get Stewart's confession out of the Council. You can hardly act against him otherwise.'\n\nAdding rudeness to rudeness, her husband had risen too.\n\n'I shall take Stewart into my own custody. He will confess then.'\n\nThere was a fractional pause. Then, 'I think not,' said Crawford calmly. 'My advice to you, on the contrary, is to insist that Warwick keeps Stewart and is wholly responsible for sending him to France. England is desperately anxious to avoid an incident. That is already clear. The surest way of delivering Stewart alive to France is to let Warwick do it. He dare not let him die.'\n\nYou would think something ominous had been said. The two men stood facing each other, eye to eye, without saying a word; then Raoul, saying, 'Nothing would happen to him here,' suddenly grasped Crawford's arm and added loudly, 'Go! Go, go. You wish to go. I should not have kept you.'\n\nStartled, Jehanne got up and looked first at the herald, and then her husband. Lymond, who had not in fact moved, went on as if nothing had occurred. 'If it did happen, you could not prevent it. You realize why we must have Stewart's confession: it is a weapon we shall have to use. He has a superior unknown, still living in France. You must make Warwick send him to Calais, and you must extract that written confession with every shred of power you have. They may seem willing, but they won't want to supply it. From Calais he will have a French guard to take him back to the Loire. I shall concern myself with him there.'\n\nFrom his face, Jehanne de Ch\u00e9mault guessed, with uncharitable pleasure, that the prospect was anything but convenient. Raoul had thrown open the door. 'I understand you. We shall speak again in the morning. The urgency in all this, you must remember, is relative.'\n\nLymond, his weight on his stick, stood facing the door. 'Je vous remercie,' was all he said, but she could see Raoul smiling with the undue warmth of relief, and then the herald, recalling his duty at last, turned and made her some sort of apology and withdrew making, as she saw through the half-closed door, straight for his room.\n\nAnd all very well for that gentleman to burst in halfway through supper, leave Raoul with a deskful of work and then go off to bed; but the sooner he left Durham House, thought Jehanne de Ch\u00e9mault and wrathfully said so, the better she would be pleased.\n\nLymond did leave Durham House the following day; but only to visit the Earl and Countess of Lennox, from whose rooftree he had made up his mind to remove Phelim O'LiamRoe."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Nettle and the Venom",
                "text": "It is not the tooth of old age that merits it: it is not age that shares the tribe-lands; it is not the age of nettles that gives them venom.\n\nHe is entitled to full honour-price out of his confidential, talking or discoursing amus.\n\nAS a child might toy with a squirrel, Margaret Lennox had played with O'LiamRoe in the three weeks which followed his first critical visit to Brice Harisson's house, the heroic venture in the bookseller's, and the visit to de Ch\u00e9mault which had ended his share of the affair.\n\nShe played with him idly, softly, skilfully; and he knew it. Lazy to the bone, he was also perspicacious. A few weeks ago, he would have taken all the amusement he could get out of the situation, and at the first twinge of discomfort escaped. This time he did his level best, cursing wildly under his breath, to hit the ball back.\n\nHe had not gone to de Ch\u00e9mault again. Lennox, whose fair, sagging charm O'LiamRoe could not find funny, came sweeping into the great reception room one afternoon, flung his hat on a chair, and said, 'Well, they've got him. They've got both of them. Now he can damned well take his foot off my neck.\u2026'\n\nThen Lady Lennox had followed him into his study and they had discussed the rest privately. But that evening as Phelim himself was nicely launched on a favourite tale about the two little dogs and the eggshell, the Countess of Lennox broke in, her robes as sheerly pure in the firelight as they fell from the loom, the pearls milky in her greenish-fair hair. 'I have news for you tonight worth more than two dogs and an eggshell. You should go to Cheapside, Prince, now and then; we can match Dublin, nearly, for excitement.'\n\n'How so?' O'LiamRoe was busily interested.\n\n'The Archer who took you to Ireland was arrested today at Cheapside, and has confessed to planning the death of Scotland's Queen Mary.'\n\n'Do you tell me?' O'LiamRoe's blue eyes were round. 'And myself sitting easy on that deck, within a foot of the rail, and he might have had me over in a winking. A would-be assassin!'\n\n'An assassin in fact,' said the Countess. Across the hearth, her firm, well-made features were bathed in innocent light. 'As he was taken, he ran a sword through his betrayer\u2014a man Harisson who had been his friend.'\n\n'Ah, the devil,' said the Prince. 'That's the French for you. There was Harisson smoothing the way for them. The least they could do, you would think, is protect him.'\n\nIn the ensuing silence, Margaret Lennox's fine eyes fixed on his, within them the faintest spark of amusement. 'Now why ever should you think he confessed to the French? It was the English who took him. He's in the Tower tonight.'\n\nHe heard the story through, and wondered vaguely what had gone wrong. It did not seem greatly to matter. Robin Stewart had confessed, and justice could be done. The name of the herald Vervassal had cropped up briefly. It meant nothing to him, but thinking it over later he wondered if this was the man whom the Queen Dowager, on receiving his message, had decided to send off to London. He spent some time that night thinking about Margaret Lennox.\n\nShe had been interested, of course, in his visit to France. He had become used to that after Paget and the rest, politely questioning, had tried to find out what he had been offered, and what he knew. The January rumour had taken a long time to die: the rumour that a vast French fleet was preparing to invade Ireland and throw out the English neck and crop. He could have told them that since she had repossessed Boulogne, France was sitting back in comfort watching Croft and all the rest of the English Council's minions in Ireland crying wolf. He didn't say so. O'LiamRoe's feelings, to himself, were not at all clear.\n\nOther people had done extremely well out of England. Long ago, Ireland had been ruled by English-born deputies, but all this had given way sixty years before to home rule by the great, noble families, and the great, noble families had feathered their nests like eider ducks in a snowstorm. They had ruled, Ormond, Desmond, Kildare, as if they were kings, giving state offices to their families and using state funds for themselves.\n\nOld King Henry hadn't stood for it. The Viceroys came back, or the Lords Deputy as they were called, and after a cracking rebellion during which an O'Neill actually got himself crowned King at Tara, the whole drove of nobles had been killed, or had been deserted or been bribed over to England. The ten-year-old Gerald of Kildare, whose family's claim to rule had wrecked the Kildares for good, had fled to Italy, and the uprising had almost expired.\n\nThen the earldoms flew like henfeed. Forty chiefs and lords submitted and got their English titles, renounced the Pope and promised to help the Lord Deputy's raids; got houses and land near Dublin for their horses and servants when they trooped into Parliament, and sent their sons to be educated in England, or in the Pale.\n\nAnd now, as the whole upheaval began to settle, crumbling, only one name stood out among the unpardoned. Brian O'Connor, lord of Offaly, brother-in-law of Silken Thomas, done to death after the notorious Pardon of Maynooth, and the strongest supporter of young Gerald, had had all his lands confiscated and had been flung into the Tower, still defiant. But his son Cormac was free, landless, unpardoned, and swearing revenge.\n\nO'LiamRoe thought of that; and he thought, too, of the oath sworn by the ex-rebel Conn O'Neill, once crowned King at Tara, as he knelt before the King of England to be elevated to the title of Earl of Tyrone. 'That I may utterly forsake the name of O'Neill. That I and my heirs shall use English habits. That I shall be obedient to the King's law; and shall not maintain or succour any of the King's enemies, traitors or rebels.\u2026'\n\nAnd he thought of the dog Luadhas and did not mention to Margaret Douglas when she probed, sewing with her women one sunlit afternoon after that, that had the King of France offered him ten thousand men and the ring of Gyges, he would still have shaken his head, related the tale of the two dogs and the eggshell, and trotted obstinately back home.\n\nHe told her instead, when she asked, about the grand ollave he had had, that was called Thady Boy Ballagh; and the time he filled the quintain with hot water at St. Germain, and wrecked the river pageant at Rouen with a herd of elephants, and upset the tumblers and began a riot in a cellar and climbed the steeple of St. Lomer in a race after dark.\n\nHe was aware of his glib tongue checking here and there, for the story did not come lightly to him. But her questions went on for ever, and her women giggled. At the end she said, 'And your splendid Thady Boy, what happened to him? You told me he was still in France when you left.'\n\nThe ready pink moved up into O'LiamRoe's clean-shaven face. He absently pawed the short, silky hair that would not disarrange, patted his padded silk chest and said, 'No.\u2026'twas a sad tale. In fact, the poor soul is dead.'\n\nFor a moment her eyes widened; then the lashes fell. Her strong fingers, idle for the moment, drifted among the silks in her alabaster box. 'You didn't tell me this. Of what?'\n\n'I only learned of the thing recently.' Again the ready flow had stopped. O'LiamRoe said angrily, 'He was a crazy fellow, with a devil at him, and going the foolish way to his grave.'\n\nThere was an odd look on Lady Lennox's face: a look of astonishment mixed with a kind of satisfaction, as if he had confirmed something she had already suspected. In the midst of O'LiamRoe's uneasiness, a piece of information dropped suddenly into place. Once, Lymond and Margaret Lennox had been lovers, and she had betrayed him nearly to his death, to be tricked and mishandled in return when he redeemed himself. George Douglas was this woman's uncle. And George Douglas knew that Thady Boy and Lymond were one. Lady Lennox had made him show her Lymond, deliberately, through his, O'LiamRoe's eyes.\n\nThe same, blue, space-filled eyes were perfectly able to hide this discovery. He did not interrupt the little silence that fell. The ladies whispered, the silver dust from the silks moved and danced in the sun, and the Countess's monkey, slipping its tether, flew unnoticed along the long silken wall from shining table to table top and, reaching the end, hung poised from a painting and leaped, its pink fingers outspread, for the great stucco architrave above the white double doors. It was sitting there, its eyes bright, its gold chain tinkling, when the doors opened on the announcement that the herald Vervassal was waiting outside.\n\nShe had got rid of her women. Only O'LiamRoe remained by Margaret Lennox's side as the doors reopened and in the shadows a man came to stand, fair, lightly made and dimly sparkling, like crystal half-seen in the dark, a young page carrying a baton at his back. Then he moved out into the fine room and the monkey, shrilling, dropped on to the cloth of gold tabard, thick and dazzling as the sun on the sea. 'Hallo! A family welcome,' said Lymond. 'How kind, Lady Lennox.'\n\nContemplating all this cool symmetry, O'LiamRoe was pleasurably startled. Heralds, in his experience, rarely addressed ladies of royal birth with quite so much edge. He looked at the Countess. Her unusually bleached good looks which he had been admiring a moment before had given way to a sudden queer heightening of her splendour. She drew a long, unsteady breath. The air, which had been alive as an eel bath with brilliant unchosen words, became abruptly quite dead. Sensing it, on a queer Celtic wavelength of his own, O'LiamRoe felt his skin prick. Turning, he look at Vervassal again.\n\nThe shrillness of temperament you might have suspected from that opening sentence was not in fact there; rather there was, nearly concealed, a sort of residual power, clear as blown glass, piercing and concentrated as a needle of ice. O'LiamRoe became conscious that the man was looking at him, and turned away. The herald's gaze turned to Lady Lennox, who, O'LiamRoe could not know, saw none of these things: saw an untouched boy's face of eight years before and another, more recent, with the new hammer-shapes of leadership plainly on it. And now here was a face she had never quite seen, circumstances she did not know, an intellect she recognized, an illness he could not easily hide, pressed and frozen together into a detachment as dark and icy as O'LiamRoe's, for example, was shallow and warm.\n\nFor all these reasons, for the surge of a blind force within her that she had throttled all these years before and abandoned for dead, Margaret Lennox looked back at Lymond and was silent. O'LiamRoe, glancing back and forth inquisitively, met the curious, direct gaze again, was taken and vaguely disturbed by what he saw, and smiled.\n\nThe blue eyes glinted. The herald, drawing the monkey gently on to his hand, said, 'La guerre a ses douceurs, l'hymen a ses alarmes. You are forgetting your duties, Margaret, in all this excitement. Won't you introduce me?'\n\nIt was the quality of the voice, a timbre it had held even when most abysmally drunk, that held O'LiamRoe paralyzed where he stood. His heart gave a single loud beat that drove it straight into his stomach, and he felt his whole comfortable interior recoil, leaving his exposed skin naked and cold.\n\nThe words, miraculously, brought Margaret back her balance. Using her strong, steady voice like a weapon, 'Mr. Francis Crawford,' she said, 'The O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, and lord of the Slieve Bloom in Ireland.'\n\n'I am honoured indeed,' said this unknown resurrected Thady Boy Ballagh with exquisite courtesy, his gaze dropped to his hands. 'But, my God, it's a damned silly name for a monkey.'\n\nAnd then, as he dizzily came to realize, except as a whetstone O'LiamRoe was forgotten.\n\nSitting straight, for once, in his chair opposite the Countess, Phelim saw the fair man take a seat, the monkey bounding from his fingers like a ball, and observed for the first time the passive right hand. Flurried speculation over that was broken by Margaret's sardonic voice. 'Pray don't allow the shock of it all to confuse you she said. 'Popular resurrections are a tedious pastime of Francis's. Had I known he would do this, I need not have played out our particular farce.'\n\n'My dear, the shock is mine. De par cinq cens mille millions de charret\u00e9es de diables.' said Lymond; and catching the monkey on his knee by the hairs of its chin, gazed from it to O'LiamRoe with bland enquiry. '\u2014Le cancre vous est venu aux moustaches. Your whiskers, Phelim! Did your revulsion impel you to a general lustration?'\n\nThe Countess's voice was calm. She lifted her sewing and spread it flat on her knee. 'Don't work so hard, Francis. The Red Lion. He needed them off for his disguise.'\n\nThe only method of dealing with that was to look as if one had known the fact was public property all along. While doing this, O'LiamRoe, his senses raw as a burned man's on the side where Francis Crawford was seated, realized that in some way Lady Lennox had scored. In the second's pause before Lymond answered, the Prince of Barrow said apologetically, 'I was hard-set to look like an Englishman; a fine race but not as much hair with it as would furnish a Meath man with eyelashes.'\n\n'God,' said Lymond. 'Would they want them? Any Meath man I knew had his eyes pickled like radishes; you could wipe your feet on them and never a blink. In any case. Tu ne fais pas miracles, mais merveilles.'\n\n'He doesn't understand French,' said Margaret Lennox, lifting the little, precious box with her silks. She had recovered all her serenity. 'Don't you remember? Although from what I hear of your behaviour in France, your whole recollection is presumably blank. Someone gave you a slender excuse, and you drank yourself raving into the ditch. Degraded to the point of stupidity when you neglected the simplest precautions. How like you, Francis. And then, rescued no doubt by someone else, at considerable risk, you dress in diamonds, promenade the sodden pieces of your brain and wear your pitiful bruises soulfully like a cross. Are you even injured? Or are you walking like that for a wager?'\n\nFrom his chair, in absolute disbelief, O'LiamRoe saw the alabaster box coming, cast with casual accuracy to pitch against the limbs so exquisitely exposed by the high cut of the tabard. It was a right-handed catch, for a quick man. Lymond flung up his left hand to intercept the blow, but it was O'LiamRoe's arm, shooting forward, which diverted the box. It brought him down on his knees, blundering unavoidably against Lymond's chair as he fell. The heavy case, grazed by his hand, shot off sideways, half-opening its alabaster mouth, and struck the monkey hard on the neck.\n\nThe blow was mortal. Without a sound, the furry thing dropped; and O'LiamRoe, crouching, caught it loose in his hands and laid it down, the winking chain dangling. Above him Francis Crawford, his face like a mask, bent too, but looked at neither O'LiamRoe nor the monkey. Lingering helpfully, after one curious glance, the Prince of Barrow looked at the white and tawny beauty of Margaret Lennox and thought of another animal and another death.\n\n'He smelt,' said the Countess, and sitting back, watched O'LiamRoe resume his seat. Lymond, scooping up the dead monkey, laid it on the table beside his chair. 'But at least we have enjoyed, my dear, the harrowing display of your impotence. What do you wish of me? Money? Or work?'\n\n'\u2026For to give good smell and odour to the Emperor, and to void away all wicked airs and corruptions? Margaret, this air of chaste reproof\u2014you have joined the Reformed religion, I know it. No more transubstantiation and other naughtiness? Matthew has turned Lutheran?'\n\nIn some way, in his turn he had silenced her. He added chidingly, 'No?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Then I should advise,' said Lymond gently, 'that he should give it serious thought. Meantime, to save you the trouble of asking him to leave, I have come for The O'LiamRoe.' And the Prince of Barrow, thinking fast, found his former ollave addressing him. 'Will you come to Durham House with me? I can wait outside while Piedar packs.'\n\nThey were involving him in something bitter and dangerous, in which he had neither responsibility nor concern. O'LiamRoe had no intention of spending a minute more than he need now at Hackney. But equally he was bent, single-mindedly, on shutting Francis Crawford's affairs out of his life. He had no wish to go to Durham House. He would go to an inn. He intimated this last, briefly.\n\nMargaret smiled at them both, her ribboned sleeves slack in her lap. 'My dear man, your charming juggler, your Abdallah al Kaddah here, won't allow that. He wants you to help him take Robin Stewart back to France.' And holding the herald's eyes with her own, she laughed.\n\nHis bright head resting on the chair, Lymond watched her undisturbed. 'Would you care to wager?' he said.\n\n'Wager with me.' It was a new voice: a grating tenor, breaking in from the open door at their backs. O'LiamRoe turned as Matthew Lennox came in, his pouched eyes glittering, something black and gold turning between his white hands. 'Your boy was loth to give it up, Crawford, but I felt you might need its support.' He threw the herald's baton lightly, and Vervassal caught it. 'Wager with me,' said Matthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, standing hands clasped before the fire, his bright gaze on them all. 'I have more to lose.'\n\nThen, smoothly, he moved to refresh their wine. 'If you set foot in France you will be arrested as the late Master Ballagh, who designed the treasonable accident in Amboise castle. George is no lover of yours.'\n\n'George's son's wife is now the heiress of Morton,' said Francis Crawford. 'And however much anyone may suspect that Thady Boy Ballagh and I are one, no one can prove it.'\n\n'Forgive me,' said O'LiamRoe. They all looked at him, and he twiddled his fingers. ' 'Tis over-curious I am, that I know\u2014but tell me, why should any of us escort Robin Stewart to France? Has he not confessed?'\n\nLennox smiled; and after a moment Lymond acknowledged it. 'Yes, quite. Thus perishes a minor state secret, que Dieus assolile.\u2014He has confessed, Phelim; but for his own manly reasons Warwick is unlikely to provide us with a copy of the confession, however expurgated. It is, after all, the only direct evidence against Stewart, and if Warwick withholds it, Stewart might be persuaded to be discreet in what he says about his lordship himself. And lacking that confession, my dear, Stewart might possibly prove hard to convict. Hence the desire for your testimony.'\n\n'What a shame, now,' said O'LiamRoe blandly, his smooth face milk-warm in the sun, his shining elbows raised, smoothing his hair. 'The ill-lucky thing that it is; but I shall be needed straight back in the Slieve Bloom this summer, and time to travel to France I have not.'\n\n'You needn't trouble,' said Matthew Lennox. 'You won't be needed. Stewart'll never leave the Tower alive.'\n\nO'LiamRoe was tired of being regarded as foolish. 'Do you say so? I would say, from my reading of matters, that Warwick's whole standing depends on Stewart getting safely to France.'\n\nIt was the Countess who answered, out of the brittle silence, her husband knew so well how to induce. 'Naturally Lord Warwick wants him alive,' she said. 'No one is more concerned about this than his lordship. But Stewart, you see, has attempted suicide twice and is now trying to starve himself to death.' She rose slowly, a tall woman, splendidly built. 'Matthew, the Prince is leaving us. Forgive me; I have things to arrange.'\n\nIn this vast house, packed with servants, there was no need for her to go. Lymond's voice pleasantly said, 'Don't retreat, Countess. You are not being pursued.'\n\nShe halted, her head up; but her husband broke in. Where do you go, O'LiamRoe? To an inn?'\n\n'The Master of Culter will maybe advise me.' In this bandying of titles he had remembered, suddenly, Lymond's own.\n\n'Who?' It was Lady Lennox's voice. Then she laughed, a laugh of free and genuine amusement, her eyes not on him but on Lymond, his head back, his gaze perfectly unmoved. 'Prince, you have a good deal to learn. Did you think he was a gentleman's heir, with his borrowed tabard and his gems? Ireland has triumphed, O'LiamRoe\u2014the traditional stab in the back. Mariotta, Culter's wife, has given birth to a son. A per robert, my dear. Whose, of course\u2026'\n\nThere was a tiny silence. Then O'LiamRoe saw her take a quick breath, her eyes flying to Francis Crawford, but Crawford was not looking at her. Between Lennox and Lymond there passed something unsaid: a single, white-hot flash of enmity that could be felt. Then with a curious, smooth-looking twist, Lymond got to his feet. 'Do these things matter?' he said.\n\n'Dhia, they matter to the lucky ones, so,' said O'LiamRoe placidly. 'There's Lady Fleming, now. The news came down from Scotland just yesterday, and the whole court agog. A boy, it is. A fine, bastard boy for the great King of France.'\n\nIt was well meant; but although he knew quite a lot, the reaction found him nonplussed. Standing still at his side, his clothes aflame in the sun, his eyes half-closed against the glare, Lymond turned, and laying the herald's baton deliberately down, stood empty-handed before the Countess of Lennox. Her face pale, her eyes sparkling, she laughed. 'The Flemings? Whores to a woman,' she said.\n\nHer husband, O'LiamRoe saw, had moved away. Francis Crawford said nothing. But his gaze, even and cold, continued to hold hers until, in the end, the woman's eyes shifted. 'Some love for a living,' said Lymond. 'And some kill.' And raising the corpse of the monkey in his jewelled hands, he laid it in her arms like a chrisom child, and bending the golden head, bowed.\n\nThey left together in the end; O'LiamRoe outwardly calm over a jumble of uneasy emotion, fidgeting to be free of this rare and troublesome ghost but chained, for the hour at least, by the burden of a vague and indefinable debt. In the street Lymond, his page dismissed, said, 'There is an inn not very far away. I don't suggest that you stay there, but we could rent a room for an hour and talk. I'm sorry you had to witness so much private unpleasantness, as well as my sudden resuscitation. I might have guessed she wouldn't have told you.'\n\nHe paused again and said, 'If you were enjoying your stay, I must apologize again. But they have fallen out with Warwick, and in fact would have found it unwise to keep you much longer. But you probably have gathered a little about all that.'\n\n'A little,' said O'LiamRoe. After a moment he said, 'Is it far, this inn?' And when Lymond did not answer him, he said, 'Give me your reins.' But at the touch of his hand the other man, withdrawing suddenly, said, 'Good God, no. It isn't far. The chimney pots there, over the trees.' And they rode on after that, separately in silence.\n\nIt was O'LiamRoe who sent for food and wine and O'LiamRoe, in the end, who ate, discoursing at gallant length in his most prodigious blossoming of whimsy, on every topic in heaven and earth open to a literary-minded Celt in their private room at the Swan. In between eating, he scowled at Piedar Dooly who, in between serving, scowled at the bleached and resurrected ollave, blazing with undeserved riches that would have dazzled the Pope, who lay on his back before the jumping wood fire, his tabard off, his head sunk in a cushion, juggling absently, over and over, one-handed, with a crown and some testons.\n\nO'LiamRoe, who had expected to find him a good deal less formidable lying flat like a schoolboy under his feet, became aware, as he ended his meal, that Lymond was merely waiting for him to finish. The Prince of Barrow got up, remarked, 'Piedar Dooly, let you look for a fine lady scowler somewhere else down below,' and as the door slammed, came and curled his comfortable unhandy person at the end of the hearth.\n\n'Talk away,' he said. 'So long as this thing is quite clear. A week on Tuesday, 'Tis the Slieve Bloom for me. Neither England nor France, I find, is quite to my taste.'\n\nThe little coins showered through the thin fingers. Trapping the crown piece, Lymond flipped it sideways into the flames and lay with one arm under his head, watching the silver run, the king's face sagging over his armour, miserably, until it mixed with his horse. 'What did they offer you for your goodwill and your horse and your kernes and your gallowglasses?'\n\n'Enough,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Or even too much, depending on how you look at it. I didn't care for the look of the Irish pages they have. I admit the Slieve Bloom isn't Upper Ossory, but it would be a sad, unnatural thing to beget a silly foreign creature like those to sit at my fireside and table.' He paused, and then said, 'They are in a queer taking, surely, over this man Stewart. Why should they not wish him convicted?'\n\nLymond, who had turned, moved his eyes back to the fire. 'Because Warwick is working hard towards a closer alliance with France; and he greeted with just a little more warmth than he would have anyone know Stewart's offer to dispose of Mary in return for cash and favour and a nice little manor somewhere. He must, sooner or later, hand him over to France. But Warwick has probably offered at least to hold back all the English evidence against Stewart, if Stewart keeps quiet. There is no other proof worth speaking of, and Stewart can always claim that Harisson was mad. He might have a chance.'\n\n'Well, God save you. Whether they can prove it or not, the French won't let him out of their sight,' said O'LiamRoe easily. 'There seems little need to chew up your tongue on that score, unless it's dead set you are on flaming swords and the like. Did you suspect Stewart in France, now? Was that why he poisoned you?'\n\nAn odd expression, half-understanding, half-rueful, rested for a moment on Lymond's face. Then he said, 'I did. But that wasn't why he tried to kill me.'\n\n'Why then?' O'LiamRoe, speaking in idleness, recalled suddenly Stewart on his knees, in that bedroom in Blois.\n\n'He had found out who I was. He knew, you see, that it was one of us. He guessed at the wrong one.\u2026 But you knew that, Phelim.'\n\nHe had known. Open-eyed, staring across the fireplace to the blank plaster wall, he saw the flaming curtains of the Porc-\u00e9pic, the tennis court, the looming galliasse, the helmeted footpads jumping out of the shadows in a dark street in Blois. But his roused understanding showed him the edge of something else too, which fumblingly he tried to disentangle, his face blank as the wall. Lymond said quickly, 'But the point was that the attacks didn't stop when you and Robin Stewart left. They simply transferred to me.\n\n'Since, at the end of it, I was supposed to be dead, I let it appear that I was dead. And to make quite sure that I should inconvenience no one any longer, the rumour has been put about that I was the author of the accident in the first place. Hence Lennox's kindly suggestion that I should find it difficult to re-enter France. We shall see. In fact, apart from the Erskines, the Queen Dowager and my brother, and one or two allies, only one person that matters knows for sure that I'm not dead.'\n\nLymond had not moved. He spoke into the fire, lucidly as O'LiamRoe had heard him sometimes in the early days demolish some wild argument of Michel H\u00e9risson's. Yet the Irishman, his soft hands clasped firm on his knees, felt his stretched nerves begin to play with his breathing. He said, striving to push it all aside, 'You are saying there is another man in it, who wished the little Queen dead?'\n\n'I'm sorry,' said Francis Crawford, and turning, looked with reflective eyes at the flushed fair face of O'LiamRoe. 'I've given you no reason, I suppose, to think me other than bent on sport or revenge. But the facts are these. Robin Stewart had an employer. I hoped to draw him away from this man, and failed. Whether of his own accord, or because the two quarrelled, Stewart abandoned his principal and fled home to try to sell his services elsewhere. Whatever happens to Stewart, somewhere in France there lives still a man who has sworn to try to make away with the little Queen. Stewart knows who he is. So does one other person who might talk. I have to choose which to\u2026 persuade.'\n\nO'LiamRoe didn't know that his face had suddenly grown white. Sharply he said, 'That great silly fellow would be wax in your hands. There he is in the Tower, and you a herald with all your great powers. What ails you to visit him?'\n\nThere was a little silence. Then Lymond moved, drew a sharp breath, and relaxed. 'I have, Phelim,' he said. 'He won't see me. And he is fasting to death.'\n\n'The devil choke him,' said O'LiamRoe deliberately. 'I am not going to France.'\n\nIt was an admission; as the words left him, he realized it. But Lymond took it no further. He merely said, staring still into the fire, 'I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to visit Robin Stewart in the Tower, and either to get from him the name of his patron, or force him somehow to see me.'\n\nRetreating wildly, bruised already by the forces gathering about him, The O'LiamRoe said, 'I thank you kindly, but I've had my true fill of secrets. With the whole force of these old Queens behind you, and Warwick half out of his skin in case the poor fellow dies, you can hardly fail, surely.'\n\n'I think not,' said Lymond. O'LiamRoe could hear the hiss as the other man let go his breath; then with a movement on the surface perfectly easy, Lymond turned over at his feet and, lying still, his head invisible beneath his long fingers, said, 'Tell me. Why would you not go back to France?'\n\nSo this was how it was coming. With a grimness new to him, O'LiamRoe said, 'Let you be still. There is nothing more of this to discuss.'\n\n'We shall discuss no more than is necessary,' the even voice said. 'Why would you not go back? You must know that she tried to protect you. She tried to keep you from returning to the castle that night. And she offered you\u2026 almost anything you desired, I would guess, to go away from Blois. Your face told as much.'\n\nThe name of Oonagh O'Dwyer, lying like a banked fire under their words for these ten minutes past, had never yet been spoken. There was no need. Illumination and despair equally in his heart, O'LiamRoe said, 'After the accident\u2026 she helped you too?'\n\nBronze as a penny in the firelight, the head at his feet moved assent. Then without looking up, Lymond said, 'She knows for whom Robin Stewart was working\u2014she was working for the same man herself. If Stewart dies, either you or I must go back to France and force her to tell us.'\n\n'No!' said O'LiamRoe sharply.\n\nThe hands came down flat from Francis Crawford's face, but he stared still at the rug. 'No? Why not? She likes you. We must find out what she knows. Or the child dies.'\n\n'I have told you.' O'LiamRoe's own voice was colourless. 'I will not go back.'\n\n'Why, Phelim? Why? Why? Why?'\n\nBlazing, blue, the eyes fastened on him like live things in Lymond's uplifted, white face. 'Why?'\n\n'Because,' said O'LiamRoe baldly and terribly, 'she is the mistress of Cormac O'Connor.'\n\nIn the face below him there died slowly both the anger and the light. Other changes were there, but in the shadows O'LiamRoe could not see them: only the top of Francis Crawford's head, held in his hand. Then Lymond spoke, without triumph, without indeed any emotion at all. 'I didn't know,' he said, 'whether you knew.'\n\nThe circle was complete. All the turmoil of feeling sown in him by the creature lying at his feet slammed and spouted in a gush of pure, boiling anger: the anger of abused innocence and hurt pride and stubborn blindness leaping back from the light. O'LiamRoe stuck out a booted foot, and with a jerk that nearly sent him on his own face, threw Lymond head and shoulders back to the light. 'You're so damned brilliant,' said Phelim. 'You know everything. It's hard-set you'd be to give yourself a dull Saturday afternoon. We're all puppets\u2014not the old Queens only, but the rest of us, man, woman and child, looking the fools of the world.'\n\n'Not of my making,' said Lymond. His eyes, in the full light, were animal-bright.\n\n'Ah, no, my fine, busy fellow. But you have them there, on their strings, all curled tight to your littlest finger; and you little heeding as you swing them what soul you may bruise. Francis Crawford knows all about Oonagh, does he? Or enough to send her rocking on her dizzy bit thread, while he shifted the rest of us to and fro?\n\n'I was sorry for the unchristian drouth on you, and the slack hand on your duty. When did you decide to put pity on me for that? And why? When you used the small girl herself, pricking Robin Stewart, or O'LiamRoe, to tumble them like sheep's knuckles the way you would want? I would not wonder,' said O'LiamRoe, his bitterness flooding his voice, 'did Robin Stewart kill himself this day or the next. You have roused your bright words before him the like of a king, and you a halflin gallowglass in the top folly of youth, with a tongue to make the blood leap from the bone only.\u2026 She nursed you well, did she?' The deepest place of his hurt, unaware, burst into words. 'And you two laughed over your secrets?'\n\n'She held me bound and drugged in the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier for Cormac O'Connor to deal with. Nothing but violence would make her talk about her share or his.' Deeply breathing, lying still on his elbow, face averted, the other man hadn't stirred.\n\n'And since you cannot cast me now in the role of lover, violence is what you are planning to use?'\n\nThere was a pause. Then in a voice unlike his own, 'I have my duty,' Crawford said.\n\nO'LiamRoe swore. Swearing, he got stumbling to his feet, and striding over the floor, picked up his hat and his cloak and the bag Piedar Dooly had not yet unpacked, flung some coins on the table and returning, stood astride the golden head and the holland shirt and the long hose as Vervassal reclined still, watching his rings frosty in the light, his face groomed and inexpressive, pastured by the costly jewels in his ears.\n\n'Robin Stewart was little joy ever to me, or to himself, I would suppose; but there is not the least heart in me to see him rolling fish-cold and choking in the great, godly stream of Francis Crawford's duty. I will go to the Tower. There is money on the table,' said O'LiamRoe, in one of the rare, consciously wounding attacks of his life, 'to pay for your keep this evening. I cannot afford more than one night of you.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "London: Pledge to Fasting",
                "text": "He who does not give a pledge to fasting is an evader of all: he who disregards all things shall not be paid by God or man.\n\nHe is a man who has lost his patrimony, who does not possess anything visibly or invisibly, and the supply of whose stores is chaff. He is not entitled to be advised, in sickness or in cure; and his meals even are empty unless he steals, or unless he sells his honour in the same way. His green is empty to him too, unless a person gives him something for God's sake. His freedom too is empty; and his honour-price.\n\nThey had put Stewart in one of the tall towers, in a thick flagged stone room with a window and a fire, for he was an Archer, a political prisoner, and the citizen of a friendly power.\n\nTo The O'Liam Roe, climbing the worn stairs with Markham, the Lieutenant, the place smelled less of despair than of a sort of threadbare vanity\u2014the damask powder over the dirt. Markham was muttering about the conditions: 'He's suicidal. How do they expect me to keep him in a room like a boudoir? I've had to put one of my best men in to live with him, wasting his time.' Then, as O'LiamRoe was silent, the Lieutenant said irritably, 'I hope at least you'll have more success than the last man they sent. When we got in, the prisoner had slashed his wrists. Blood everywhere. The fellow had to leave without setting eyes on him, and we had all the mess to clear up.'\n\nLymond hadn't told him that. Heavily, his accustomed insouciance dead within him, O'LiamRoe wondered just how he had expected to rescue Stewart from the egotistical shadow of Francis Crawford when disillusionment itself was the reason for Stewart's despair. Then Markham stopped in front of a door and put his key in the lock.\n\nStewart had heard the voices, dreamlike, as a child in bed hears older children speak and laugh in the free air outside. He recognized O'LiamRoe's, but this time he was tired. For three days he had refused his food and on Friday half his blood had drained from him; he had no energy for the surge of passion with which he had heard the soft cadence of Thady Boy Ballagh's voice outside his door. Stripped of its brogue, he would yet have recognized it at the ends of the earth. Sometimes, after he had killed Harisson, it had come to him that the little traitor was lying. For Ballagh\u2014Lymond\u2014was surely dead.\n\nBut he was not, and it was true. Afterwards, his wrists bandaged, a guard brought, sulkily, to watch the door, he had lain in the window and watched them leave, down below. Markham had come out first, half-turning, fussily expatiating; and then a silvery head he did not know. They had gone off together under the trees: Markham and his slender companion\u2014the latter with a stick, Robin noticed, in his hand. Then unexpectedly the limping figure had turned, and in the uplifted face, drained of colour by the wide, pale sky, he had seen the ghost of Thady Boy Ballagh. For the moment, he had the illusion that the searching eyes looked straight into his; then presently the fair head had turned and the man he, Stewart, had poisoned walked steadily away.\n\nHe had sent O'LiamRoe now, presumably to gloat, perhaps to persuade him to tell the thing that Warwick had promised him his life to keep quiet, perhaps to try to force him to live until he could be gratifyingly punished, in France. Warwick's offer to suppress his confession had no meaning for Stewart; he was going to die anyway. But he saw no reason to oblige O'LiamRoe with that or anything else.\n\nSo the Prince of Barrow entering the small, lived-in room with its heavy table, its stools and its boxes, its camp bed set up in a corner, its barred sunlit window, its pale fire, was conscious of the worn, inexorable barrier of Robin Stewart's enmity even before the door was locked fast behind him, leaving them quite alone. But he spoke steadfastly; only his vowels were perhaps a shade rounder than usual. 'I want your help,' O'LiamRoe said, 'to trim a bowelless devil named Francis Crawford until there's a human place on his soul to put the mark of grace on.'\n\nThis was, of course, a trick. Sunk in his chair, his eyes fallen on bone, the folds pressed dark and moist in his wrecked face, Stewart lay without speaking while the Irish nouns buzzed in his ears like bees laboriously moving a hive.\n\nFor a long time he did not listen at all. The voice swung to and fro, like sealight on driftwood, without affecting him, crushed hard as he was in the blackness, his nostrils crammed with the endless, sliding rubble of his failures and his inadequacies. Robin Stewart had resented all his life the fact that he, of all others, was always imposed upon; that he had been forced to work hard for all he possessed, without the magical mercy of accident or fortune to make smooth the path.\n\nThree times, from this undeserved isolation, he had found another man to broach the gap into the golden world of smooth affairs and easy friendships, and three times he had been abandoned and betrayed. And now he knew, with dry finality, that these things happened, not because of what he was not, but because of what he was. He was a painstaking fool with less than average gifts, who had been led to believe that hard work would take you anywhere you wished to go.\n\nIt did, if you were a person of ordinary, likable disposition, whose talents could be made to grow. His lay stopped within him, mean and static and immalleable, and would never alter while he lived. He did not care to live. Then he realized, as the warm, patient rubbing of O'LiamRoe's voice went on, that the Prince of Barrow was relating, slowly, clearly and without expression, the whole story so far as he knew it of Lymond's mission in France. And as it continued, it came to Robin Stewart, with the first dull stirring of thought, that here was a fellow victim.\n\nO'LiamRoe told him all he knew, all that a night's hurtful thought had made plain to him. Lymond had used him and had dispatched him, in his own lordly way, when his usefulness was done; administering a passing kick of adjustment as he went. All had been seized upon and used, even his friendship with Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nO'LiamRoe brought out the name flatly. This tale, told to a man he had no time for, and searching into the personal minutiae instead of the great verities which were his proper concern, was the hardest thing\u2014perhaps the only hard thing\u2014he had ever done in his life. Stewart, listening, felt whisper within him, as in the old, difficult days, the sardonic, bitter flame of accusation and jealousy. He said, 'You were fair away with yourself over that cold-faced kitty, weren't you man? God\u2026' And feeling again the strong hands holding him, that vital, glorious night on the rooftops in Blois, 'You and me\u2014we're damned ninnies both. She's O'Connor's whore\u2026 she tried to kill you. You know that?'\n\nSchooling the naked, baby's face, O'LiamRoe said, 'She tried to kill O'Connor's rival.'\n\n'Ye should have whipped her,' said Robin Stewart, with a faint and sluggish contempt. 'Whipped her and taken the woman and O'Connor's place both. You have men and land and a name of your own; you're as good a man as Cormac O'Connor to rule Ireland, if rule Ireland you must.' From the stark threshold he was crossing, advice was easy and problems were light.\n\n'There is no wish on me to rule Ireland,' said The O'LiamRoe with, astonishingly, the vehemence of utter honesty in his voice. 'I wish only to be rid this day of the devil on my back.'\n\nThe colourless grain of the starving man's skin moved; the lids lifted; the Adam's apple moved convulsively and the dry lips opened. Robin Stewart laughed. 'He's sucking the blood from out of you as well, the bastard, isn't he? What do you want me to tell you? I'd make a rare teacher, so I would, on how to handle Crawford of Lymond. An empty sack won't stand, man. And I'm empty, scoured, drained and cast aside. Do you fancy the road? It's easy taken. You put faith in one other man of Crawford's sort, or maybe two, and you end up here.'\n\n'You dealt with Harisson,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nStewart's eyes, in their darkened cavities, were fleetingly bitter. 'Because I was meant to. They stood aside, Warwick's men, and let it happen. So that Harisson and his evidence needn't trouble him any more. D'you think I haven't had time to realize that?'\n\n'But you settled the score,' said O'LiamRoe. 'If you did no more with the others who cast you aside, there'd be little in it to complain of.'\n\n'It'd be grand, wouldn't it, if it were as simple,' said the sick man's slow voice. 'With me, ye ken it's never simple. If there's a man I would fain send to hell, there's another that would pluck cream and kisses out of the sending. God give him lack\u2026 My curse on Francis Crawford is my silence.'\n\nNothing showed in O'LiamRoe's blue eyes. He said, 'I am sorry. I had come to beg for your tongue. It seemed to me that once you and I were back in France, there are a powerful lot of people who would be shocked to know that the fine herald Crawford was the fellow who fooled the whole Court of France as Thady Boy Ballagh.'\n\nLow behind the extinct spirit, something was burning. 'Expose him?'\n\n'Why not? Himself will be waiting for you in France. And it would give that great champion,' said O'LiamRoe, 'some small thing to think about other than the moral aptitudes of his fellow men.'\n\nWith a sharp effort, the rickle of bones that had been Robin Stewart, Archer of the Scots Guard of the Most Christian Monarch of France, struggled up in his chair. 'Who would believe me? Unless yourself\u2026 Would you back me?' he said.\n\n'With the four quarters of my soul,' O'LiamRoe replied. 'Provided that you denounce the man you have been working for, too.'\n\nThere was a long pause. 'Whatna man?' said the Archer slowly.\n\n'Father in Heaven, how would I know?' said O'LiamRoe. 'But it's an open secret, you may as well know, that there's someone, and I dare say you and he would as soon do each other an ill turn as not. I've a mind to see that child safe, and she won't be, with another of your adventurous brotherhood abroad. I'm not asking you for his name. But denounce him, tell all you know of him once you're in France, and I'll support all you want to say about Thady Boy Ballagh.'\n\nHalfway through this painstaking speech, he knew that he had won.\n\nThen, 'Christ,' Stewart said. 'Christ\u2026' His eyes starry, hooded with bone, his thin chest pumping, he saw something beyond the stone walls that lit the seams and hollows of hunger in his long face and fired his dull eyes. 'I could soup them up clean. First the tane, then the tother. Christ, I'll have the two of them yet.'\n\nThe hollow eyes, shifting, found the window, dancing in the bright sun, with the smells of dust and greenery and horses and all the life of the great, living fortress bursting soft on the wind. Then Stewart turned, and his gaze, newly clear, rested on O'LiamRoe's pale, placid face. 'Sakes alive,' said the Archer, and stared. 'Whatever came to your whiskers? Man, man, you'd break the heart of a fresh-clippit yowe!'\n\nBack at his inn, where he had booked a private room indefinitely, O'LiamRoe wrote a brief message for Francis Crawford at Durham House. It said simply, 'He will travel to France, and he has agreed to give evidence against his employer, but so far will mention no names. His only condition is that you should not travel with him but that both you and I should be at hand, if not present, when he answers these charges before the French King. This I have promised. It is for you to arrange. I can be found at this address when the time comes to leave.'\n\nThen he settled to wait. His summons came in the end; but not for three weeks\u2014weeks during which Stewart, aided by his gaolers, nursed himself back to health while both the French Ambassador and Lymond awaited instructions from France. On the 7th of May they came. Nestling among expressions of fierce delight and admiring pleasure in the stout English honesty thus displayed was King Henri's demand that the person of Stewart be delivered across the Channel forthwith (at English expense) and a signed confession with him.\n\nThe English King and Council, reiterating horror at the whole affair and favouring the severest punishment as an example and a deterrent, thought that the French Ambassador ought to take charge of the crossing. M. de Ch\u00e9mault demurred. The English Council argued. There was a polite and pointed wrangle, ending in agreement to send Stewart to Calais, under strong English guard, from whence he would be the responsibility of France. England would also obtain and hand over a written confession.\n\nThe written confession, however, never materialized. Twice approached on de Ch\u00e9mault's behalf, Warwick was both honest and apologetic but produced only promises. In the end, on a windy, grey morning in the middle of May, the Ambassador went himself to Holborn to see his lordship. Later on the same day, O'LiamRoe received his summons to Durham House.\n\nThe stick had gone, and with it any undue need to exercise the humanities. 'I got your note,' said Lymond, inclining his fair head and crossing smoothly to the study fireplace where O'LiamRoe stood. 'How did you persuade him? A pact of resistance aimed at me?'\n\n'More or less,' said O'LiamRoe steadily.\n\n'Of course.' The steely, restless figure dropped into a chair. 'Well, think twice before you do anything piquant. Our nations, yours and mine, are exceedingly open to hurt, and I personally am not. You realize, of course, that O'Connor will be there?'\n\nThere was no smile on O'LiamRoe's likable face. 'Of course.'\n\n'He and Paris, I am told, have asked for an army of 5,000 men to rouse all Ireland and even Wales. The Queen Dowager and my friend the Vidame think he should get them. The Constable is not so sure.'\n\n'The Queen Dowager is still in France?'\n\nLymond was examining his delicate fingers. 'Her departure from Amboise is delayed, it is rumoured, by the King's fancy for one in her train. The first hints about Stewart have got to the Loire. The Dowaager will stay at least until that is settled. In fact, I fancy she is in trouble of another kind, too; but that is by the way. We shall arrive, my dear Phelim, in the vanguard of a large embassy from England coming to invest our good and gracious King Henri for his sins and ours with the knightly insignia of the Garter.'\n\n'Good God!' said O'LiamRoe, taken unawares.\n\n'Quite. At the head of it will be our good Marquis of Northampton. And in the large and glittering train will travel the Earl and Countess of Lennox. They are due at Ch\u00e2teaubriant on the 19th of June; and before the end of their stay, they will request the hand of Mary of Scotland for their King.\n\n'\u2026But since,' the light voice continued, forestalling O'LiamRoe's openmouthed intervention, 'since Queen Mary is affianced to the Dauphin of France, and no French party has so far appeared strong enough to break the betrothal, the King of France will with sorrow refuse and will offer his daughter Elizabeth instead. It is as well,' said Lymond, 'to have all this quite clear. Because the murder of Mary with a hint even of English backing would burst asunder all these beautiful overtures of friendship between England and France. You might even expect France, if sufficiently piqued, to be ready to stir up trouble in Ireland again. In which case Cormac will probably get his 5,000 men and a French blessing to kick the English out of his country.'\n\nO'LiamRoe sat down. 'Meanwhile,' continued Lymond, ignoring him, 'Robin Stewart has confessed to Warwick, and Warwick has repeated to de Ch\u00e9mault, the names of the other men in the conspiracy. One of them is Lennox: a fact which Lennox has most strenuously denied. The other is the man we are after. I knew it, every sign pointed to it, but I must have Stewart's confirmation. It isn't in writing yet; but once in France\u2026'\n\nLymond paused, eying the ceiling. 'The last thing Stewart wants is to afford Thady Boy Ballagh the chance of covering himself or anyone associated with him with glory. Once in France, he has plans, I take it, for the direst sort of retribution. Hence the scattering of these passing favours. Lennox will warn him, of course. Stewart's probably laying wagers, the bastard,' said Lymond, laughter aflame in his eyes, 'on who's going to kill whom. Is that fair?'\n\nO'LiamRoe cleared his throat. 'You go too fast for me. Stewart named two men. One was Lennox, and he's denied it. Who was the other?'\n\nLymond rose, and O'LiamRoe watched him come, walking like a cat over the polished floor, his hands clasped, his fair head tilted, his face grave. There was no trace of a limp, and a world of malice in his eye. 'Oh, come, Phelim,' he said. 'You've spoken to Stewart. If he's going to France for your sake, he's surely bequeathed you some of his handsomer secrets.'\n\nAnd the Prince of Barrow was silent, for Lymond was perfectly right. He knew, and had known since leaving the Tower, that the man behind the conspiracy was John Stewart, Lord d'Aubigny, Robin Stewart's own captain\u2014the foolish sybarite who was thrown into prison and then inadequately soothed; the man with whom Robin Stewart had quarrelled, and through whose wiser, subtler, clever English relatives the whole wasteful business had probably started."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE LOAN AND THE LIMIT",
                "text": "The law of loan among the Feine: A loan with limit; viz, Yield me my property after this limited day. A loan without limit, its time not tied or determined, is the right of him who takes it. For the world even is the loan of a house to man; for from this is the world: God gave it to thee. Thou gavest it to me. Until God shall reckon whose right it is, I shall not take it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Dieppe: Illegal After Screaming",
                "text": "She is free to the man with whom she has made an assignation until she screams, and after she screams. The man with whom she has made no assignation is safe till she screams; but it is illegal after screaming.\n\nOn Friday the 14th of May, Francis Crawford and Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, took ship for Dieppe, France, for the second time together. Under the fond grey-green wind of the west, the sea set to hissing like silk, the timbers dipped, and the wheaten canvas ripe in the pod spilled cold air into the poop, where O'LiamRoe sat and sneezed.\n\nIntimations of doom had attended the Prince of Barrow at last. There was a woman he did not intend to see; a hypocrite he meant to see chastened; an autocratic courtier he wished to chastise. Grimly bolstered by these evidences of his caprice, O'LiamRoe was being hard pushed in private to deny he was going to France because, like sawteeth on a crown wheel, his destiny was locked hard in theirs.\n\nLymond, ranging the boat, his neat head stirred by the wind, tended rather to song. ('Les Dames de Dieppe font Confi\u00e2mes qui belles sont.') Presumably, he knew perfectly what was before him. Nothing of violence; d'Aubigny's guilt would take care of that. But a fine ripping of masks and shredding of tinsel: the awful denunciation of the elegant herald as none other than their old drinking crony Thady Boy.\n\nHe would be able, in his own defence, to quote all that he had done to capture Stewart and expose d'Aubigny. A waste of breath. The embarrassed rage of his lords and lovers would rise to him in his safe place, thought O'LiamRoe lyrically, and tarnish every shallow spur of pseudo-gold.\n\nFrom Portsmouth to Dieppe, no responsible word passed between O'LiamRoe and his former ollave. In the city of limes, the Prince of Barrow and Piedar Dooly would take horse for the Loire, there to enjoy the hospitality of Scottish Queens and French King alike until Robin Stewart should arrive for his reckoning.\n\nFrancis Crawford was not travelling with them. Lymond, it seemed, had business first in Dieppe. He paused once to explain that the name of his business was Martine.\n\n'Busy child,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, and in his voice was the sharp derision of their earliest acquaintance. 'Do you not be plotting too hard, or the strings of your charm will fall down.'\n\nThey parted, with dry exactitude, on the quay; and by afternoon O'LiamRoe was on his way south.\n\nLa Belle Veuve, whose other name was Martine, took an open breath, the two dimples like fingermarks in her cheeks, and half shut the door on the princely dark blue silk on the threshold. 'Wait, monsieur. Do I remember you?'\n\n'Let us see,' said Lymond helpfully. She had forgotten how quickly he moved. 'You remember me now. The travelling gleeman.'\n\nThe demonstration was brief and rather savagely efficient. Wrenching free, composed, bright-eyed, to lead him into her parlour she said, 'Well, Dionysius. You are yourself again.'\n\nHe was uninformative. 'Bathed overnight in a pan of new milk. And you needn't think I am here because of the manifest comforts. My mind is purely on commerce.'\n\n'Mine also,' said La Belle Veuve placidly. She was a slender, clever woman, no longer young, who had been salaried gouvernante to the filles publiques in the old King's day, when a travelling army of young and distinguished prostitutes was by no means easy to rule. 'But pray be seated, none the less. We thought you had been roasted to death.'\n\n'Singed a little, I must admit,' said Lymond. 'But you should have seen the Druid.\u2026 Has she come in?'\n\n'A week ahead of time.'\n\nHe did not need to explain. The Flemish galliasse of that September attack on La Sauv\u00e9e, repaired at her home port and dispatched then abroad, had been a care of Martine's for many months, and it was she who had found the one jettisoned matelot who had told them all they so far knew. She listened now to the particular oath Lymond used and said, 'Is it now of such moment?'\n\nHe laughed, his annoyance gone, and examined the fine rings on her hand. 'Have you seen the Three Queens and the Three Dead Men? You will, if this doesn't succeed. Did Mathhias come to you?'\n\nMathhias was captain of the Gouden Roos, which had had orders, all these months ago, to ram and drown O'LiamRoe. La Belle Veuve watched Lymond from under her long lashes. 'I went to him,' she said. He would not, and did not, think it necessary to comment on the magnitude of the service. She added, 'The Roos was financed by Antonius Beck of Rouen.'\n\n'A French merchant controlling a Flemish trading ship?'\n\n'His father came from Bruges. He has made a fortune in illegal trading and a second fortune out of piracy. That is Mathhias's work. The Spanish treasure ships don't begin to run until they see the cannon mounted. This is where he stays in Rouen.\u2026 Why are you laughing? Francis,' said Martine, who in her own way was a great and powerful woman, 'You are Hell's own Apollo.'\n\n'Quetzalcoatl,' said Lymond, and shutting his eyes, crowed like a fiend. 'Ma belle, ma belle, you have rebuilt the walls of Rome.' And setting himself, lightly, to please her, he would explain nothing else.\n\nFrom Rouen he sent her a little barrel, plated with gold, with a string of twelve-carat pearls in it, from which she guessed he had discovered the warehouses of M. Antonius Beck.\n\nThe presses were silent and the house empty of society when Lymond called at the H\u00f4tel H\u00e9risson, Rouen; for the sculptor was working, the chisel sweet as a dulcimer over the rumbling ground-bass of oaths.\n\nThe name Crawford of Lymond meant nothing to him. The chime of the chisel stopped and, waiting outside the cellar door, his visitor listened with amusement to a profane exchange between Michel H\u00e9risson and the steward sent to announce him. After a moment, Lymond pushed open the door and wandered down the steps by himself.\n\nThe statue was of the giant Tityus, felled and twisted, with the vulture sitting on his chest. Lymond had seen it, hewn into half-detailed torment when gout, in classical retribution, had forced the sculptor to break off. The gout, you could see, had not left him. He was working in spite of it, his thick forearms knotted in his white fustian gown, an old dust-cap buttoned under his chin, the grooves in his broad, high-coloured face wet and silted with dust. Round his neck, as he turned, was visible a sad rag half stuffed into his collar. Lymond recognized it, shrunken and sweaty, as Brice Harisson's smart, braided doublet. He said quietly, 'I have a message from the Prince of Barrow, M. H\u00e9risson. I shall not take up much of your time.'\n\nBelow tufted brows like his brother's, Michel H\u00e9risson's hot, round eyes ran over his visitor, from the brushed yellow hair to the dark jewels and the thoughtful clothes. He said, 'My god, a Fatimite!' without undue force, and dismissed the steward with a thumb. Francis Crawford's eyes were on the Tityus. There in the dust-filled cavity of the mouth, the arched ribs and splayed hands, the stony gougings of gut was all one needed to know of the mind of Michel H\u00e9risson, whose late brother Brice had so gallantly served his country by exposing Robin Stewart's perfidy to the French.\n\n'Damn you,' said Lymond pleasantly. 'I'm working like a horse treadle in an iron furnace. Look again.'\n\nThe big, dirty face glared, suddenly impatient. 'Christ\u2014'\n\nThrough the haze their eyes met, and held. 'Christ.' repeated the sculptor with an intonation totally different. 'It's Thady Boy Ballagh!' And with a roar of joyous recognition, Michel H\u00e9risson leaped to embrace him.\n\nUnconstitutional activity was H\u00e9risson's life-force. It was enough for him to be told Lymond's purpose in France and to shriek at his assorted escapades and at the whole inspired lunacy of his masquerade without requiring to know for whom, if anybody, he was doing these things. The visit had been worth the risk. Michel H\u00e9risson's kind of morality was highly personal and was based on fierce and passionately defended convictions. He would have hounded to death for bowelless principles and shoddy thinking any man setting out to murder a child from some sort of distorted crusading zeal. For Robin Stewart and his hurried, muddle-minded expediencies, he had nothing but careless contempt, tempered by a fairly accurate understanding. In the fallen giant and the vulture were all that the sculptor would ever say of the sword stroke with which Robin Stewart had killed his brother.\n\nRumour had told Michel H\u00e9risson what all France knew, that the Archer was on his way now to Court; the sad embassy from London with Brice's effects had told him part of that story. He now heard for the first time of Lord d'Aubigny's share, and his own hurt exploded into fury against Robin Stewart's corrupt master. Lymond nursed it, delicately, and introduced the name of Antonius Beck.\n\n'Yon raddled neep-end!' said Michel H\u00e9risson, overflowing joyfully into the doric. 'Keeps his lordship supplied with stolen silver at half the market price. Used to buy off me, too, till I found what he was up to. By God, I could tell you\u2014'\n\n'Do,' said Lymond; and at the end of a vitriolic recital, related what he knew of him. 'I want proof from him, Michel, that it was for d'Aubigny that he arranged to wreck La Sauv\u00e9e last year.'\n\nThe sculptor, spread on a box with his swollen feet on a bracket, looked from under his eyebrows at the other man. 'Stewart will tell everything about d'Aubigny, won't he? D'ye think his lordship will wriggle out of it?'\n\n'Yes,' said Lymond placidly.\n\nThe round eyes continued to stare. 'I see. Have you seen Beck?'\n\n'He's not at home. I haven't managed to trace him in three somewhat rigorous days. And I can't afford to stay any longer.'\n\n'Have you any other source of proof, man?'\n\n'One. A last resort, only.'\n\n'With that lamentable mess,' said Michel H\u00e9risson tartly, 'nothing should be a last resort. If it's proof, use it. I'll look after Beck. I know enough about him to bring his scalp out in quills. He'll confess\u2026 once I find him. But if I were you, man, I would go and make sure of your witness.'\n\n'With a bloody great chisel,' said Lymond.\n\nAt the tone, the sculptor's light lashes flickered. 'A woman, is it? Why get dainty over that? The alchemy's different, but the claws are the same.'\n\n'Not my property,' said Lymond pleasantly. 'The alchemy, at least. I've had a taste of the claws. Right so came an adder out of a little heath bush, and it stung the knight on the foot. You confine yourself to tearing the God's truth in handfuls out of the elusive M. Beck.'\n\nH\u00e9risson got to his feet. 'Christ, I'm going to enjoy it. Let's go and eat. Man, I wouldn't have known you. You've\u2014'\n\n'\u2014Sinned against my brother the ass. I trust the rulers of France are going to be equally deceived. My brother is at Orl\u00e9ans, waiting for me with the Court news. O'LiamRoe was to arrange that.'\n\n'You think you can fool them a second time?' Michel H\u00e9risson, his gaze critical, helped himself, limping, to Lymond's near shoulder. '\u2026God, I'm glad I'm not your brother. If they find out you're Thady Boy and d'Aubigny's still in favour, then\u2014'\n\n'Then how happy we shall be,' said Lymond gently, 'to have the confession of M. Beck.'\n\nIn Orl\u00e9ans Richard Lord Culter, whom Michel H\u00e9risson did not envy, awaited his brother in the inn called the Little God of Love; a choice on Lymond's part reassuring in its felicity. Elsewhere in the inn also awaited the main portion of Vervassal's considerable luggage, his page, his valet, his trumpet, his three men at arms and his groom, as supplied by the Queen Dowager, dispatched directly to await their master's arrival.\n\nRichard, admitted late to the Queen Mother's confidence and owing the better part of his new information to O'LiamRoe, could find nothing either chastened or repentant in the image Phelim had drawn for him\u2014an account in which O'LiamRoe had not seen fit to include any mention of Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nWith mild curiosity therefore, and no more, Richard from the Dowager's side had noted the coming of another Irishman brought by George Paris to the hospitable Court of France: a burly man of great height, with filbert cheeks, black brows and a round calyx of satin-black hair trimmed just above. After his initial reception at Court, Cormac O'Connor stayed at Neuvy, with the Irishwoman Richard had already met: a retiral advised because he proved greatly given to fighting, a pastime which also appealed to the Queen Dowager's disgruntled Scotsmen.\n\nThe Queen Dowager approved of Cormac O'Connor; the Prince of Barrow did not. In his mind's eye Richard cherished a picture of the only occasion, to his knowledge, when O'LiamRoe and Cormac O'Connor had so far come face to face. O'Connor, from his meaty eminence, tanned shiny as horn, had turned narrow eyes on the washed and rose-pink person below him, and had said, 'My faith, but the Slieve Bloom have been hard put to it, surely, to pick up a prince. Did they feed you well, now, in London?'\n\n'Nearly as well,' said O'LiamRoe mildly, 'as in the Slieve Bloom, in the one year in six that some bodach isn't making his hero's mark battle-marching across it.'\n\n'Fair weather after you,' the big man had said, with something approaching a laugh. 'If slavery with a full belly appeals to you. You will excuse me if Cormac O'Connor is not in it.'\n\n'Ah, the silly fellow you are,' had replied O'LiamRoe, opening his pale eyes wide, the growing hair silky over his brow. 'What for would I be wanting Cormac O'Connor any time of my life, or any possession of Cormac O'Connor's, or any ambition of Cormac O'Connor's, or any thing which he thinks he has and he does not have at all?'\n\nAnd the big man, at that, had raised the glazed brown back of his hand as if to strike the other; but Richard had moved forward and Cormac, wheeling, had marched without speaking away.\n\n'Ah, 'tis a Crawford,' the Prince of Barrow had said, an odd, breathless look on his tender-skinned face. 'Gallant champions all. If you catch sight of a girl called Martine, you might tell her to make short work of it; for the steam is fairly beginning to come off the darling situation here.'\n\nThen Francis arrived, exactly on time. In the private room he had hired, sparing comment on either illness or recovery, 'You incredible liar,' said Lord Culter calmly. 'You promised to be out of the country by Lent.'\n\n'Always excepting a damnum fatale. I had a damnum fatale,' said Lymond, settling luxuriously in a doublet as soft as a glove. 'I'll take you to Sevigny some day. Nick Applegarth looks after it for me\u2014he left a leg on one of our common battlefields. And how is Robin Stewart, by nature privily mixed?'\n\n'On his way to Angers, I understand,' said Richard. 'Throwing off confessions like a fire stick. His best so far was at Calais, so they tell me. A copy is on its way to the King now.'\n\nRecently Lymond had acquired a direct gaze which his brother found vaguely disquieting. 'So O'LiamRoe's testimony will not be required,' said Francis Crawford. 'And where is the Prince of Barrow now studying the hazels of scientific composition?'\n\n'He's going to Angers as well. He got an informal welcome, but not unfriendly,' said Richard. 'He and Dooly are in lodgings, but come to Court quite a lot,' And he related the tale of the great confrontation.\n\n'Oh, God,' said Lymond. 'O'Connor will toss him one-handed from Neuvy straight into T\u00edr-Tairngiri. And the Queen? D'Aubigny won't attempt anything now, of course. He must be sitting at home in quite a ferment wondering whether Robin Stewart will denounce him.'\n\nLord Culter said sharply, 'I thought he had already.'\n\n'He has hinted to Warwick. But he's unlikely to amplify the hint. It makes no difference to him; he's going to die anyway. And where his dear John Stewart is concerned, the King as you know would believe nothing without proof; and probably nothing with it either. And proof is what I have come back to find.\u2026 Other people have been working for d'Aubigny, after all,' said Lord Culter's brother, his gaze limpid. 'I have hopes of tracing one of them already. Someone in Dieppe has found out for me a connection between d'Aubigny and the owner of the galliasse which nearly sank O'LiamRoe and myself on arrival\u2014a man called Antonius Beck, who has probably done a good deal, one way or another, for d'Aubigny. I have a friend in Rouen who seems to think he can trace Master Beck without any trouble, and who is quite certain he can make him confess. And in addition,' said Lymond, doing his work thoroughly, 'there is a woman who knows at least as much as Robin Stewart about what has been going on. I shall deal with her myself.'\n\nAnswering amusement lit Richard's eyes. 'Rumours of the new herald have come from London already. From the de Ch\u00e9maults, I believe,' Lord Culter said maliciously. 'Don't disappoint them. And for God's sake don't slip into the Coiniud, or the One-horned Cow, or they'll quarter you,'\n\nLymond smiled. He said, 'I have something for you to take home. You are going back now, I suppose?'\n\nRichard's sense of complacency increased. He had already told himself that, with Francis back, and obviously better, his tour of duty could be concluded. The Queen Dowager, he knew, needed his steadying presence in Scotland. And he wanted to go back.\n\nThinking therefore of ships and packhorses, he took the box Lymond held out. On the lid was written Kevin. Margaret Erskine, he remembered, had chaffed him about that. 'An Irish name for a Crawford! What says Sybilla to that?'\n\nWhat Sybilla had said, in fact, was a flat negative to his first choice: No to Francis and No to Gavin. 'He's black amber, child. Name him after Mariotta's people,' she had said. And Kevin Crawford his heir had become. Richard, his head bent, opened the box.\n\nInside was a silver rosebush, just six inches high; and on its stark, leafy stem bloomed a single, night-black rose, carved half-open in jet. Their crest, in blue and silver, was set in the base. Lymond spoke, as he sat staring at it. 'I hope you like it. Send him to me when he is eighteen and needs the money; and I shall direct him to a man called Gaultier who will give him a good price for it.'\n\nThey took leave of each other that evening\u2014a definitive parting, because Richard suddenly decided that he could not leave France too soon. Lymond was to join the Court Richard himself had just left, on its way to Ch\u00e2teaubriant for the visit of the English Embassy. Lord Culter himself would ride on north.\n\nIn the hour or two they had left together they avoided matters of moment, and Lymond applied himself otherwise to marking the day. The Little God of Love, which had never before witnessed a dice game conducted on a forfeit system connected with clothing, nearly had to call in the watch. There was a good deal of verse making and some singing in the public rooms. And then Lymond, perfectly sober and dangerously playful, collected his grinning train and set off, declaiming.\n\nHis brother's voice, mournfully receding, rang in Richard Crawford's ears long after the irrepressible party had gone. Turning from the vanished shadows and the misty river, he walked indoors quietly and sat down, the silver rose tree in his palm."
            },
            {
                "title": "Angers: Boarshead and Apple",
                "text": "There are three periods at which the world dies: the period of a plague, of a general war, of the dissolution of verbal contracts. In like manner is fixed the contract by word of mouth, as Adam was condemned for his red fraud: all the world died for one apple.\n\n\"Another Scot! T\u00eate Dieu, they're spreading like mildew,' Louis de Bourbon, first Prince of Cond\u00e9 was remarking; and baring his white teeth he enunciated grotesquely. 'A haile Karolus, man\u2014what's it worth? It's worth five pennies, nae mair, in Scotland this day; and a hauf Karolus tuppence ha'penny. Corruption and thievery, man! Sinful corruption and illegal thievery off the Queen's puir hapless childer the Scots!'\n\nHe and his decorative brother, passing the time with backgammon in the Gran' Salle at Chinon, both laughed excessively, and a large, healthy man with black hair, hanging restlessly behind d'Enghien's gilt stool, exclaimed, 'Ah, wait you until we beat at the gates of England, you and I, with thirty thousand Irish at our backs, and the True Church rises and kicks her tormentors in the face. Then the snivelling Scots in their backyards nursing their bent swords can look at heroes and chew on their shame.\u2026 Is he the old Queen's man? I thought the woman was due long since back home.'\n\nDisposing swiftly of an excellent move, d'Enghien reached up absently and patted the big Irishman's hand. 'How improvident you are! Do you need money? Don't malign the Dowager, mon cher. She is a staunch supporter of your designs. She will stay merely to see the assassin Stewart hanged at Angers and the English Embassy safely over without any surreptitious pact concerning herself and the child. Then you may be sure she will hurry home. Thrones speedily cool. Twenty crowns?'\n\n'Faith,' said the big man, laying a broad hand on Jean de Bourbon's satin shoulder. 'There is no finer gentleman on Irish soil or under it than the like of yourself. If you had thirty in your purse, it would clear my honour of a sore offence of a debt. And he is with the Constable, you say?'\n\n'Who?' said Cond\u00e9, who was losing, and willing to beguile his brother's attention from the game.\n\n'The herald. Crawford of Lymond. The Scot you were discussing.'\n\n'Oh.' D'Enghien was examining the contents of his purse. 'He carries London dispatches.\u2014I believe so, yes.'\n\nThe Prince of Cond\u00e9, sitting in the only chair with a back to it, leaned back and laughed. 'Ask him for forty, my dear. Then ask him what de Ch\u00e9mault's secretary scribbled under the report he sent the other week. C'est une belle, mais frigide. Une belle, vois-tu!'\n\nFor a second, the third man's narrow eyes, their contempt undisguised, ranged over the two careless, painted faces. Then, his voice flattened with effort, he said, 'A smooth-skinned bag of curds, brought up by an Edinburgh dominie and turned silly on a cup of pear juice. The red blood is all run out of the Lowlands, they say.'\n\n'My brother,' said the Prince of Cond\u00e9 maliciously, 'has had a sufficiency, I believe, of red blood. Better make it fifty crowns, my dear.' The game was his, after all.\n\n'\u2014No dissensions, my lords, I pray you,' said an unannounced voice, of serenest reproach. 'Mother Church has enough to bear. Faut-il que P\u00e8re \u00c9ternel gagne Pater Noster, et Haile Carolus suit Ave Maria quandm\u00eame?'\n\nIn the doorway, an elegant gentleman smiled at d'Enghien, and d'Enghien, to his own delight, blushed. Mr. Crawford, Vervassal Herald, had arrived.\n\nFate and Francis Crawford, in wary collaboration, had arranged that the re-entry of Thady Boy Ballagh should take place in two steps.\n\nFirst, he was to deliver de Ch\u00e9mault's dispatches at Chinon, rocky fortress south of the Loire where King Henri and his favourite gentlemen were plunging through the forests and vineyards of the Chinonais in pursuit of venery. Thus in new dress, new colouring, new name and new accent, he would meet the King and the Constable, the Vidame and St. Andr\u00e9, Cond\u00e9, d'Enghien and the rest in a new setting also.\n\nThen he would accompany the Court west along the Loire to Angers, where the Scottish Court and the rest of the French courtiers waited with the Queen. For Angers was the last station in the Court's pilgrimage to meet the English Embassy next month near Nantes. It was also the prison where Robin Stewart, nearing the end of his own abject journey from London, was being purposefully brought. Which meant that The O'LiamRoe would be there too.\n\nArriving at Chinon, its Plantagenet masonry thick on the sky, Lymond showed no apprehension, and his followers, unaware of past reincarnations, certainly expected none. Scaling the steep streets to the escarpment, he was received with courtesy at the castle, and taken presently to the Grand Logis, where the Constable awaited him. The King was out hunting.\n\nThe roebuck season had opened at Easter; so had the season for evaluating the current shifting of power, ecclesiastical and temporal, in the wealthier regions of Europe, and the chances of benefiting thereby. It was approaching the time when the well-fed, well-rested and well-exercised in the kingdom with ambitions to satisfy began looking for trouble; and old men turned up old antagonisms like truffles, and dressed them in valorous tinsel to lure on the brash.\n\nIt was approaching the time too when, sniffing cautiously, the old war dogs of England and France should cease their circling and approach. The Ambassage Extraordinary now setting out from London was to do much more than invest the French King with the highest English Order of Chivalry; and a similar embassy soon to leave the Loire for London under the Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 would carry more than the St. Michael to England. A pact of friendship was afoot, a political and military alliance, and a tacit understanding that should my lord of Warwick, Earl Marshal of England, find it necessary to deal firmly with the Duke of Somerset, the English King's appointed Protector, Henri of France, would be in no way abashed.\n\nOn Anne de Montmorency, Constable of France, lay the weight of sustaining this relationship. Alone with Mr. Crawford and a secretary, the Constable broke the seal and read Raoul de Ch\u00e9mault's edited account, addressed to the King, of all that had happened in London. He then accepted with a shrewd glance and read a second report from de Ch\u00e9mault. This was addressed expressly to the Constable himself, and contained, for the Constable's ear alone, Stewart's hint that the Earl of Lennox and Lord d'Aubigny his brother were involved.\n\nIn his report, as de Ch\u00e9mault and Lymond both knew, lay the explosive crux of the affair. For the seigneur of Aubigny, high-born, florid, aesthetic, unstrung, was in the enchanted brotherhood of Henri II's cronies, whom another crony might touch at his peril. The Constable read the dispatch through, picking his nose, and then laying it down, spread his broad, swordsman's hand flat on the page.\n\n'Yes. M. de Ch\u00e9mault did well. Such an accusation should not reach the ears of the King until better substantiated. Unfortunately, M. de Ch\u00e9mault's precaution was unnecessary. The charge against Lord d'Aubigny has already been made public. The Archer Stewart was questioned at Calais, and has made a full written confession implicating his lordship, which was sent on by courier ahead. The King knows of the accusation against his lordship.'\n\nFrom beyond the desk, the herald showed no surprise. 'Can monseigneur say whether Lord d'Aubigny has replied to the charge?'\n\nThe Constable of France used, absently, a brief and forceful expression. 'As you might expect, M. Crawford, Lord d'Aubigny flatly denies it, and his highness the King fully believes him. Unless the man Stewart brings concrete proof of Lord d'Aubigny's guilt, the seigneur will not be touched.'\n\n'If Mr. Stewart had such testimony he would have produced it, I feel, before now,' said the herald. 'Should my mistress the Queen Dowager obtain proof against his lordship, either independently or in communion with the Archer, would she have monseigneur's aid and support?'\n\nTo this, the Constable's reply was most cordial. Nothing in the well-anointed precision before him recalled a battered figure on the roadside at Rouen. As for Lymond, chatting in the Constable's company just outside the Gran' Salle door, he yet found time to register, in the docketed stream of his thoughts, that the Prince of Cond\u00e9 and his brother d'Enghien and someone else were having an interesting discussion inside. Presently, it was obvious from the brogue that the third speaker must be Cormac O'Connor. It was then that he prevailed on the Constable to open the door.\n\nThroughout the introductions, d'Enghien's gaze did not leave him: moving slowly over the burnished head, the indolent face, the beguiling limbs. For a long time after that, without quite realizing it, he stared at Mr. Crawford's polished features until something the herald said, by the very fluency of its delivery, broke his train of thought.\n\n'M. O'Cluricaun, you said?'\n\n'Mr. O'Connor.' The Constable, who was taking a good deal of trouble over Lymond, wondered why the big Irishman had flushed. '\u2014Cormac O'Connor. Offaly's son.'\n\nThe herald was apologetic. 'Of course\u2014I have it. The Cluricaun is the fairy, is it not? Who makes himself drunk in gentlemen's cellars? On pear juice, perhaps?'\n\nThere was a light in d'Enghien's lustrous eyes; a familiar light, a light which the Prince of Cond\u00e9 noticed and understood.\n\n'Une belle!' said Jean de Bourbon to the air, in sotto-voce delight. 'Une belle, mais pas frigide! Pas frigide du tout!'\n\nThat evening, Lymond met the King and discussed de Ch\u00e9mault's report without incident. Lord d'Aubigny's name was not mentioned, and there was no flicker on the royal, black-bearded face of anything other than doggedly upheld hauteur. To every question the herald's response was detached, graceful and proper; and remained so throughout the stay at Chinon, at Montpensier's palace of Champigny, at Saumur and during the arrival, to trumpets, at Angers.\n\nWithin the feudal fortress with its seventeen hooped drum towers, tunnelled out of black Tr\u00e9laz\u00e9, were Queen Catherine and her guests the two Queens of Scotland, with Margaret Erskine in their train. In the stony cells of the western tower was Robin Stewart. And living in the crowded, painted town, all florid with stone and appled wood and sliced and medal-packed slate, were the Scottish nobles, among whom was Sir George Douglas; the humble lodging of the Prince of Barrow and his servant Dooly; and the pied \u00e0 terre of the lively Mistress Boyle and her fine niece Oonagh.\n\nAll this Lymond knew from the Vidame and from the Bourbons' merciless chatter. And riding with his silken banner and his servants and his own blazing livery of red and blue and tasselled gold over the River Maine and past the monolithic bastions, tower after black tower rising two hundred feet high over his head, Lymond nearly allowed Cormac O'Connor to succeed in picking a quarrel with him at last. For his main emotion, approaching his friends, the Scottish Court, all those knowledgeable eyes which knew him for the former Thady Boy Ballagh, was one of anger: sheer, helpless anger because, prinked like a cake baker at a ball, he had condemned himself to a tawdry transformation which would label him juvenile, would label him apostate, as surely as The O'LiamRoe's silk suits and shaved chin had done.\n\nRiding, then, across the north bridge into the castle of Angers, Lymond addressed his absent friends bitterly under his breath. 'Don't show your satisfaction too much. Don't smile; don't signal your congratulations. Or by God, ladies and gentlemen, you shall have Thady Boy Ballagh back for life.'\n\nIt was Saturday, the 6th of June, and on the 19th the English were due. That afternoon, Robin Stewart was examined before the King's Grand Council at Angers. Lymond, who was having a briefly momentous interview with the Queen Dowager, was not present, but The O'LiamRoe and his lordship of Aubigny were. All that emerged, and all that the attendant flock of lawyers and clerks were able to reduce from it, was proof after damning proof of Robin Stewart's confessed guilt, together with an utterly unsubstantiated accusation against Lord d'Aubigny which his lordship, high-coloured and angry, coldly denied.\n\nO'LiamRoe, his evidence unwanted, was silent throughout. His most powerful memory of an unpleasant experience was the little silence after Stewart's diatribe against his former captain, when the Archer's eyes, passionate in his sunk, meagre face, had turned on him. The look had held a fearful triumph, and an accusation as well. Stewart had carried out his share of the bargain. It remained for O'LiamRoe to support him in the other half, when he chose to call on him to expose Francis Crawford of Lymond.\n\nHis other recollection came at the end, when sentence had been passed. It was not a quick or dainty death they had devised for Stewart; but he must have expected that. What he had not expected, clearly, was the smooth jettisoning of the entire case against Lord d'Aubigny. It was then that he began to shout, and they took him away. O'LiamRoe, his round face pale, wanted to leave, but had to wait until the King rose. The hearing had been short because of the bearbaiting in the moat. Stewart had not even had time, at the end, to mention Lymond. It came to O'LiamRoe that Stewart would only do that anyway, if humanly possible, in Lymond's presence, and with the largest audience he could get.\n\nIt was at this moment that he heard Lord d'Aubigny, laughing, suggest to his grace that in view of the discomfort he personally had suffered, the Court was entitled to a little amusement, not to say revenge. He proposed that Robin Stewart should be exposed in the moat; and the suggestion, with some pleasantries, was accepted.\n\nThe Court, such as it was, rose. O'LiamRoe, looking grim, went off immediately to try to find Vervassal but did not succeed, being only just in time himself to take his place at the baiting.\n\nTraditionally, at Angers, such shows were held in the ditch, a hundred feet wide and forty deep, which circled the castle. The tame deer this time had been cleared out, and for the time of the royal visit Abernaci and his staff had restored the moat and the castle gardens to something of the redolent vivacity of Roi Rene's time, when lions roared from the river bank, the pond was stocked with swans, ducks and wild geese, and there were ostriches and donkeys, dromedaries and ibexes, and lodges of boars, ewes, deer and porcupines in the moat.\n\nNow a miscellany of instruments, somewhere, had started to play and Brusquet, the King's fool, had descended a ladder into the moat and was performing, in mime, both sides of an encounter between a very shy lady goat and her suitor. The townspeople, on the far side of the ditch, were amused to the point of hysterics; Brusquet, who had mistimed his programme a little, capered on, smiling harshly, while the royal stand remained empty.\n\nThen the trumpets blew, drowning the viols; but for the entrance of the Queen Dowager of Scotland with her ladies and noblemen, pacing between the great doors of the castle and on to the canopied drawbridge where the gold fringe whipped in the wind, and the gilded chairs, neatly arrayed, had dust and grass seed caught already in their cushions. The thick clouds tumbled over the sky, jerking shadow back and forth, as if dispensing sunlight from a badly made drawer; and Margaret Erskine, as she walked between the Dowager and the child Queen, did her best to keep her eyes from the new face in the torrid, familiar crowd.\n\nReserved and correct, Vervassal had arrived that morning. They had all seen him enter and leave the Queen Dowager's cabinet. He had not sought their company since. She saw, from George Douglas's sudden halt, that Lymond's arrival was new to him. After a second Sir George, having failed to catch Vervassal's own gaze, turned and threw a vast query in her direction, suggestive of a reeling astonishment laced with malice.\n\nShe turned away. Mary, thank God, had noticed nothing. The Dowager, although a little flushed, was of the order of superb politicians to whom dissimulation was life. Her brothers, at her other side, obviously had met the herald fleetingly, if at all, and had dismissed him utterly. Lymond himself, looking like ice, had not put a foot wrong; nor had he looked at her. She found, without realizing it, that she was watching him again, and took her place hurriedly along the side rail of the drawbridge. Even two years ago, he had not looked like that.\n\nThen the fanfares burst out afresh, and the long gallery on the castle face at right angles to theirs became filled. Henri. Catherine. The Constable. Diane. The courtiers. The Ambassadors, the mayor and \u00e9chevins, the castle Governor, the guests. On one side, in an indifferent seat, was O'LiamRoe. At the other, much nearer the front, the man O'Connor. And next to O'Connor was John Stewart, Lord d'Aubigny.\n\nHe was handsome still; magnificent in his puffed and slashed doublet, the shoulder knots sparkling, the jewels on his slanting bonnet flaring as the flickering canopy admitted the sun. But he took no time to gaze down at the arena. Instead, fists in his lap, he turned his well-shaped, long-lashed eyes on the crowded drawbridge.\n\nMargaret could have told the very second he found what he sought. His lordship of Aubigny drew a deep breath. Whatever, from his brother's warning, he had been expecting, it was clearly not this. Then slowly, as he gazed still at Lymond, the colour returned to his face and Margaret realized she was watching an open challenge. D'Aubigny was intent on capturing Lymond's gaze. Then, suddenly, he had it. Between gallery and gallery each man looked silently into the other's eyes and conveyed, not an ultimatum but a judgment. Then below, the first bear and the dogs were let in.\n\nIt was an old sport, a little run-down now, popular since the days of the Triple Goddess when lions by the hundred, elephants, bulls, giraffes, were killed in internecine combat in the Roman ring. It was a little difficult, now, to find new and interesting combinations. Once the old King had cheered the Court for a fortnight by laying his drunken dinner guests in the lionhouse, \u00e0 la Heliogabalus, and then introducing a very old beast with its teeth drawn, to shock them awake; it was not repeated, as the lion shortly afterwards went into a decline. Modern baiting was simpler: between bear and bear, or boar and mastiffs, or bull and lion; rarely between beast and man. The animals were brought in wheeled carts, pushed close to the arena gates. Outside, Abernaci and his staff stood waiting, with swords and spears and lighted torches, ready for accidents.\n\nThey were not needed. The first two combats took their course. The bear, ponderous and flat-handed, bare-rumped with disease, still managed to strangle one of the mastiffs pitted against him, and broke the spine of the second. They pelted his bleeding muzzle with flowers as he was led off.\n\nThe boar was a different matter. A bolster of fat and muscle, plated with spikes, he hurtled sud-strewn through the gates and stopped, skidding, under the straw dummies they had dangled over his head. This was not a sanglier, but a fresh-caught wild boar of the third year. The arms and grinders stuck dripping out of his mouth were nearly two fingers thick; and in the heavy head, sunk below the strong flesh of his shoulders, the eyes were needle-sharp and red.\n\nHe was angry, excited and frightened; and the grotesque, wind-jolted dummies catching his eye, he raced towards them and gored. There was a cheer, and a spatter of straw whisked into august faces. The two bigger tushes, contrary to appearance, were harmless; they existed only to whet the two lower. With these he kills. Grunting, the boar turned in its small feet and made for the next figure.\n\nAmid the cheers Sir George Douglas at last worked to Vervassal's glittering shoulder. For a moment he studied the downcast lashes and the imprint of well-bred deference held, evidently without effort, on that harlequin face. Then he turned his own eyes to the boar and said, just loud enough for Francis Crawford to hear, 'It is a proud beast, and fierie and perilous; for some have seen him slit a man from knee up to the breast and slay him all stark dead, so that he never spake thereafter.\u2014You know that Robin Stewart is about to take the arena?'\n\nHe got Lymond's attention then; all of it, except that the man's eyes in the event looked through him and not at him. 'Dear me, really?' said Lymond slowly. 'I wonder why.'\n\nThe answer to that was easy. Sport. They wouldn't permit him to be badly damaged; indeed, if he were skilful, he might make his kill and escape unhurt until his official disembowelling. Sir George was not fool enough to give Lymond the easy answer. He waited, alive with curiosity, and after a moment the other man said reflectively, 'Of course, a little public odium would be helpful,' and turned back to the ditch as if satisfied. Resignedly, Sir George settled to watch.\n\nBehind the gates, the keepers had launched into the agere aprum, the shouting and horn blowing calculated to rouse the beast and bring him to frenzy. The third dummy, exploding on the wet tusks, snapped free and flounced over the grass. The boar's head dipped, and with a rustle the dummy soared into the crowd on a flying carpet of straw rack and glitter. The King, glancing at Lord d'Aubigny, leaned forward and raised his baton. As the boar turned, dripping, and paused, the gates opened and Robin Stewart was pushed inside.\n\nFrom the Archers lining the stands and the passages, there was rigid silence. From the townspeople, long since primed by rumour with tales of more deeds than he had ever done, there rose a clamour of shrieks, hissings and mock threats. He was the fourth dummy. They did not much care what he had done, if it made good gossip and good burning. From the Court, according to rank and nationality, there was impatience, anger and disgust, and ordinary pleasurable anticipation. The Dowager's features were set in their harshest mould; but then a great many people were looking at her. A trumpet blew.\n\nA boar trusts to his strength and his tushes, and not to his feet, which are slow and less than nimble. To kill him, a man needs a spear of exceptional strength, razor-sharp, with a crossbar of great staying power. This is to prevent the spear, once driven in, from sinking so deep that the man is brought within range of the boar's last, formidable charge.\n\nRobin Stewart had one of these; and in his other hand a sword. He had also, invisibly, the years of his profession, when from Christmas to Candlemas every year a chosen escort of Archers had helped the monarch bait, net and spear his boar. And more than these was a violent anger, driving out even fear, at the fate which could strip him of the dignity of death and the pleasures of denunciation at one stroke.\n\nHe did not suppose he would be left deliberately to die. Someone would intervene\u2014if they could. But he was there to make sport, with the beast of this world that is strongest armed, and can sooner slay a man than any other. In the last resort, the man his life depended on was himself. And Thady Boy\u2014Lymond\u2014wherever he was, was still untrammelled, still feted and free.\n\nA gust of wind rocked the last dummy. The boar, hearing, started round at it and then paused. The heavy head turned again, and the small, thick-veined eyes hunted, stiffly, for the man-figure the delicate nose had picked out. The young boar, the animal gregale, the stinking beast born to rip, sidled, stopped, gathered his haunches and, shaking his leather hide, his shield and his straw-spattered spikes, launched into a straight charge at the Archer.\n\nAs if Beelzebub, god of Accaron, oracle of Ochazias, had dragged her by the hair, Margaret Erskine looked round. She met, disconcertingly, the direct gaze of George Douglas, who raised his eyebrows in even more exaggerated enquiry this time. Beside him was an empty seat. Circumspectly, controlling all her impulses, she searched the crowds, to realize presently that the Queen Dowager, calling on her herald for some service, had kept him at her side. Lymond was folded neatly beside Mary of Guise's chair, distracting the attention of several nearby ladies and enjoying an uninterrupted view of Robin Stewart sidestepping the first rush of the boar.\n\nRobin Stewart's view being equally unimpeded, he glanced up, gasping, from this endeavour in which he had slit, but not impaled, the boar's hide, and discovered that Heliogabalus, fair, exquisite and untouched in cloth of gold, was in the front row, savouring him. He turned on the boar, and the boar backed.\n\nThen, transfigured with anger. Robin Stewart fought, and fought well: well enough for the laughter and the drawled abuse to alter to excitement. A direct hit he could not get. But as time went on, the black mess on the animal's hide showed how near he had come; and Stewart's gashed left arm, the stained doublet and the sword split in the grass told of something stoical and persevering which had always been there, but seldom drawn out in other than low causes and grumbling.\n\nMan and beast were by that time tired, shaken with effort and the loss of much blood. The boar, sustained more than Stewart now by stubborn anger, slid and threshed on the grassy tilth, and turning, lowered his head afresh.\n\nNow, if ever, was the moment for Henri to end it: to drop the baton and let the Archer serve his days of waiting with honourable wounds. It was Lord d'Aubigny who stayed his hand, and his own passionate love of sport which left the baton untouched. For Stewart, in Roman style, was kneeling, his back to the castle wall and the shaft of the spear tight in both hands, waiting for the boar face to face. And for the flicker of a second, as the lumbering creature gathered speed, Stewart's eyes turned, searching, to the crowded faces above his head. Some of his audience, in this ultimate moment, had risen craning to their feet. And among them, suddenly, was the herald Vervassal.\n\nSomething happened to Stewart's face\u2014an intake of breath, a grimace of hatred, the beginning of a smile, even. Then his whole attention, blazing, meticulous, was on the charging boar.\n\nIt was the boar's own weakness which made him falter in the last dizzying second before the spear. The point took him, not through the yielding, breathing flesh but near the snout, where the near tush caught it, deflected it, and left the ponderous body, stumbling sideways, to take the shaft askew in the shoulder and twist it, shuddering, out of Stewart's wet hands. The slobbering bulk crushed him, the stinking breath took him in the face; then he was on his feet weaponless, while the boar, grazing the wall for a dozen, staggering yards, turned and faced him, tusks chattering like glass, the metal in him vibrating in the wind. The Queen Mother of Scotland dropped her scarf.\n\nIt whisked into the arena with an efficient air and lay twisted in elastic abandon, sparkling. There was silver embroidery on the hem. 'Fetch it for me, M. Crawford?' said the Queen.\n\nFor an interminable moment, Lymond did not move. The ladder Brusquet had used to enter the ditch lay at his feet. Such an order, capricious and intolerable as it might be, was royal. It was a command performance of chivalry; and to disobey it in public was something no man there would have done. After waiting just long enough, the herald turned and bowed; meeting the cool gaze under his lifted brows, Mary of Guise smiled. Then he swung over the rail and down the ladder, thrown swiftly into place. He stood there, gripping the rungs, while Stewart, unaware, backed towards him, the boar trampling the far side of the square.\n\nThe boar had seen and smelled the newcomer if Stewart, dazed with injuries, had not. He sidled nearer, approaching the Archer in small runs and halting as the whickering spear twisted within. Stewart waited, hands spread, oblivious of all but the tusks, the eyes, and the quivering haft of his spear. All the strength of his badly knit body, all the grudging, drearily acquired skills, came to his fingertips. He waited, traitor, conspirator, confessed assassin, in his single moment of solitary public achievement; his one honest treasure found just this side of the axe.\n\nWith the low, snoring groan of his kind the boar charged. It ran onesided, furiously, pounding the mangled earth, spitting blood and foam as it went, the spear whipping at its side. It ran past Stewart, past his hands outstretched to grasp the shaft, past the embroidered gauze snake lying supine on the soil, and straight up to the ladder. Lymond left it till the last second. Then he leaped aside as the boar sheared clean with his tusks the bottom rungs of the ladder where the herald had been. Lymond let him pass, took a single step, and laying both hands on the spear stuck in the animal's hide, gave a powerful jerk. It caught the half-rearing creature off balance. Squealing, the boar tottered, lurched and tumbled backwards among the debris of the ladder, as Lymond pulled the spear free of the wound.\n\nThe herald got to his feet like a cat, his tabard washed with boar's blood, lithe and gravely intent, and faced the dripping animal, the red spear in his hands. Then as the boar charged heavily for the last time, Lymond sunk the spear upright, with both hands, between the broad shoulders. The beast screamed, and its naked, neatly turned knees suddenly shook. Then, shapeless, unshackled, spiritless as a sack of wet peat, it fell on its side, the tushes scoring the turf.\n\nAcross the bulk of it, as the dust seethed and settled, swaying, bleeding, Robin Stewart faced his daemon. The flowers were already beginning to fall, clinging to the wet tabard. Lymond caught one up and walked with it, slowly, past the dead animal. The broadsword, shattered in the early play, lay at his feet. Lifting it, Francis Crawford impaled the spray on its split point and, moving straight up to Stewart, offered the sword, balanced on his two palms.\n\nThe blood sticking about his burst clothing, his hopeless hair glued on his cheeks, his lip bitten, his eyes aching, his head ready to burst, Stewart stared at the graceful gesture, the cool splendour, the careless thief of success, and seizing the sword by its pommel, aimed at Thady Boy's face.\n\nLymond was fresh, and moreover knew exactly what he was doing. The message he had failed to transmit, walking steadily to Robin Stewart, had been a warning against just this. He ducked, and brought his foot up in the same smooth, practised movement and Stewart, tripped, ended his lunge on the ground where, buffeted and bleeding, he rolled over and lay.\n\nTo a casual observer, nothing had occurred except Stewart's collapse. Already the keepers were running on, and with them two or three Archers, in whose charge he nominally was. The cheering, except on the part of the townspeople, was dying away: excess in anything was ill-bred, and there was a need for collective speculation. The Queen Mother's herald, moving easily over the grass to retrieve her highness's scarf, was being given points like a greyhound, and probably knew it. Any hopes Lymond might have had of discreet anonymity on his second appearance in France had been decisively dashed. His second entr\u00e9e, as it turned out, was quite as spectacular in its way as his first.\n\nWhen he could walk, Stewart was taken to the King at his own request. Two tumblers were in the arena, along with a goat. From the height of the royal stand you could see plainly across to the drawbridge, where the sun shone on a cluster of admiring heads, the middle one yellow.\n\nHe had the King's ear: filthy though he was, prisoner though he was, he had fought well. And the Queen, the Duchess, the Vidame, the Court all about him, were watching and listening too; only Lord d'Aubigny, in the last moments, had risen and gone.\n\nRobin Stewart raised his voice, aiming it at the King, and at O'LiamRoe sitting beyond. 'About the man calling himself Crawford of Lymond,' said Stewart loudly and plainly, blood springing as the muscles jerked in his cut face. 'There's something this Court ought to know. The Prince of Barrow there will be my witness.'\n\nHe had their attention, at least. Within sound of his voice, conversation drawled to a halt; there was a second's silence. The Constable broke it sharply. 'You presume, sir. The gentleman is a herald of her grace the Queen Dowager of Scotland, and is no concern of yours.'\n\n'Is he no? Is he no? Then he's a concern of yours, monseigneur, and a concern of the King's, and a concern of everybody who doesna care to be made a fool of, whether he's a pet of the de Guise family or a dressedup tumbler with a chapman's tongue in his heid.\u2026 Ask The O'LiamRoe. Listen to the Prince of Barrow, then,' said Robin Stewart, his voice an uncontrolled shout. 'Tak' tent o' this!'\n\nMysteriously, like a simple-minded jack-in-the-box, O'LiamRoe's face appeared at his side. The kind, oval face glanced over over the arena before O'LiamRoe said, 'Death alive! Listen to what? The only soul I ever knew anything about was Thady Boy Ballagh, and him due for the block for mass murder now that our other suspect is proved white, white as the driven snow. Lymond? I met him in London. Aside from that, I know nothing of the fellow at all.'\n\nIn a single, ripe-vowelled breath out of Ireland, Stewart's one, sweet hope of revenge had thus gone. For a moment, as he stared dizzily at O'LiamRoe's steadfast, scarlet face, he was on the verge of denouncing Lymond regardless, in face of the ridicule and denial and the final, damning opposition of O'LiamRoe. He struggled with it, breathing heavily, while the translation was going on, aware that he was losing their attention. The King, his eye straying impatiently to the goat, said, 'Eh bien, monsieur?'\n\nStewart opened his mouth.\n\n'Body of me, take him away,' said the Constable briefly. 'This is a man already half crazed. Who else would lift a sword just now against one who had just saved his life?'\n\nThe King said, 'Did he do so?' in the same moment as Stewart exclaimed, 'I could have turned off the beast by myself. Devil draw me to hell, I didna need that mincing mountebank\u2014'\n\nThe royal brow cleared. 'Stole your audience, did he? And receives a fine reward, I see. Below.'\n\nThey cleared him away, shouting. He had let them bring him to France for two reasons: to implicate Lord d'Aubigny, and to expose Lymond as Thady Boy. Because of the King, Lord d'Aubigny was still free. And as a direct consequence of that, he had lost his only corroborative evidence against Lymond.\n\nO'LiamRoe wanted Lymond exposed and degraded; but he was too soft in the guts, it seemed, to make him suffer for another man's crimes. Robin Stewart was not. He was not to face the wheel for the better part of a week. And before he died or after it, Robin Stewart would make sure that on Robin Stewart's behalf, if on no other, Thady Boy Ballagh would suffer.\n\nGossip, bright-eyed and smiling, brought the news of this exchange to Lymond later in the afternoon and went away empty-handed. The final verdict on Robin Stewart he already knew. It meant that the affair of the Tour des Minimes and the spurious thefts were still attached to the name of Thady Boy Ballagh, and he was finding the evidence, despite his own formidable efforts, to be of a vaguely damning nature very hard to disprove. If this disquieted him, nothing of it showed to his companions of the afternoon. In the logis he shared with two others he received visitors and abstractedly exercised his charm.\n\nThere was nothing else he could do. In casting her pearls so casually before the enraged swine, the Dowager had not only risked his life. She herself made no further demands on his time; he was free, and in the absence of his afflicted tabard, in ordinary clothes. But so successfully had she marked him that he could safely go and see neither Abernaci, whom he had not met since his return, nor O'LiamRoe, whom he had last seen at Dieppe, until darkness fell.\n\nBlack Angers, from which all England was once ruled, was overflowing with the French Court and its outriders; with Scots, Irish, Italians and assorted Ambassadors, with officials, couriers, huntsmen, wagoners and other staff of the toiles, with experts on foraging and requisitioning, with prelates and physicians, with lawyers, archers and halberdiers, people's servants, Gentlemen of the Household, musicians, pages, equerries, barbers, ushers, secretaries, hawkers, entertainers, prostitutes and officers of the college of arms. Among the throng, in a flattened way, were the Angevins themselves, making what profit they could out of the situation before the food supplies ran out and the Court passed from this grazing to the next.\n\nIt was a dark night, and the narrow streets, packed as they were, had only irregular lanterns: a discreet man who took care to avoid the liveried torch-bearing servants had every chance of escaping notice. Lymond arrived without incident at the small lodging where O'LiamRoe had taken a room; found the back door and a shutter which opened, and followed the sound of O'LiamRoe's voice, discussing elephantine habits in Gaelic with another which was almost certainly that of Abernaci. Without knocking, Lymond opened the door and went in.\n\nO'LiamRoe, who had only been filling time anyway, stopped abruptly in what he was saying; and Archie Abernethy, incognito out of turban and without his Oriental silks, split his dark, dry-seamed face in a grin. 'I guessed you'd be here. Man,' said Abernaci, 'you're looking a sight better set up than the last time I saw ye.\u2026 Yon was a lovely stroke at the pig.\u2026 It's a case of finding proof against yon bastard of Aubigny, I take it?'\n\n'Yes. Well done, Archie. I wanted to see you. I'll tell you why in a moment. Phelim\u2014'\n\n'D'ye think,' said Abernaci, who had something he wanted clear in his mind, 'd'ye think he'd really try to harm her again? He would have to be wud.'\n\n'The smart answer to that,' said Lymond patiently, 'is that we are all mad. But in fact men who wreck whole ships and stampede elephants and destroy cavalcades of riders out of hand are probably less balanced than the rest. Lord d'Aubigny, if it hasn't already struck you, is a slightly stupid man of exquisite culture who has been living for years off the fat of his ancestors' reputations. Up until quite recently he assumed that being the King of France's dear friend meant that you became a Marshal of France like Bernard, or Regent of Scotland as Stewart, Duke of Albany, did. When Henri took him out of prison on coming to the throne, d'Aubigny arrived fully primed for his role in history as the man behind, beside and very nearly on the throne of France. Instead, he found himself merely a foundation member of the Valois old comp\u00e8re society, the circle of dear old friends whom Henri had rescued from the displeasure of his father. And inside, in an exclusive circle around the King were his mistress, the Queen, the Constable the de Guises, St. Andr\u00e9. Lord d'Aubigny wasn't going to be the Great Man of Europe.'\n\n'So that after a bit he goes seeking a different throne to support.' O'LiamRoe, his voice austere, tried a guess in spite of himself.\n\n'Of course. Lennox, his brother, had a claim to the Scottish throne and even to the English throne though his wife. Mary's death would give Lennox at least a chance with the Scottish succession. And if the English King were to die, Catholicism would come back with his sister Mary\u2014or even before, if there were a Catholic revival. The Lennox family are dear friends of Princess Mary Tudor. You can see\u2014or at least d'Aubigny could see\u2014a Lord Chancellorship waiting for the man who should put all this into motion by disposing of Mary of Scotland. He was going to make a new career of being brother to royalty\u2014I shouldn't be surprised if the original hint even came from the Earl of Lennox. So Lord d'Aubigny set out to sweep aside Mary of Scotland\u2014of course; but also to teach a lesson to the French Court he was attempting to despise. He devised his murders like a masque\u2026 a poor, perverted vehicle for all the ingenuity of his fathers. And I think he will want to end Mary's life with equal ceremony, now that he has the perfect theatre. I think he hopes to kill her during the English envoys' visit, before brother Lennox's very eyes. A triumph indeed.'\n\nLymond's soft, even voice paused a moment to give point to this, and then went on unaltered. 'Robin Stewart in prison is an embarrassment to him. Robin Stewart dead,' as we have seen today, would be better. Robin Stewart free would be best of all. Phelim, have you seen Stewart?'\n\n'Since the boar fight? No,' said O'LiamRoe politely. 'They're taking him to Plessis-Mac\u00e9 tomorrow, you know?'\n\n'Have you tried to see him?' said Lymond directly.\n\nO'LiamRoe flushed. Then he said, 'I have, then. He's in the north tower this minute, with a power of young men guarding him. No one is allowed through.' He paused, his lips pressed with uncommon firmness against their wreathing habit of irony, and then said, 'You may as well know this thing: that Stewart and myself\u2014'\n\n'Oh, the pact. I know,' said Lymond with brief contempt. 'God, did you think there was anything new in it? And you are going home now, are you?'\n\n'You have the right of it.' It was amusing to note, said the Prince of Barrow's mind to him angrily, that whatever humanitarian impulse prompted him that afternoon, he was getting no thanks for it. 'I am for home after the execution,' O'LiamRoe continued, ignoring Abernaci's jerk of surprise. 'I owe it to the fellow to stay the length of that, at least.' He did not add, You can live for seventy hours on the wheel.\n\n'And the woman?' said Lymond.\n\nHe had expected that. He had known, when Stewart's denunciation of Lord d'Aubigny failed, that all this pitiless excellence would turn against Oonagh. 'The woman is no concern of mine,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Nor of yours either, if you are wise.'\n\n'If you won't go to see her, my dear,' said Lymond, ignoring the threat, 'you may be quite sure that I shall. Haven't you seen Cormac O'Connor?'\n\n'I have done more than that,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, and his pleasant voice was quite changed. 'I have seen Oonagh O'Dwyer; and I have written her a letter asking her would she say nothing at all about either Lord d'Aubigny or herself.'\n\n'That was large-spirited of you,' said Lymond. 'And his lordship may now do as he fancies?'\n\n'I am sure,' said O'LiamRoe on a deep breath, 'that you or some other busy fellow will find a way of stopping him. Go and sit in front of his lordship and show your little sharp teeth. He might even confess.'\n\n'Oonagh O'Dwyer knew beforehand about the Tour des Minimes,' said Lymond. 'If she knows the name of even one man to connect it with d'Aubigny, it is enough. Your opinion of O'Connor is so high, I gather, that you are willing to concede him the lady and the run of your native land? Or are you afraid that once you have her, you cannot hold her, so you prefer to resign? If she is any man's leavings, you may be right.'\n\nO'LiamRoe was on his feet, the pale eyes shining. 'You have a delicate way with a lady's name, for a hired sniffer at chairs and a licker of footmarks.'\n\n'It's damned picturesque,' said Lymond bitterly, 'but it doesn't alter facts. Is that cunning, crib-biting lout your notion of a prince or a lover? And if I'm warned off, what do you mean to do? Wait for the execution, and then leave for home? \"You owe it to the fellow\".' The mimicry was merciless. 'What do you owe to Ireland? To yourself? To Oonagh O'Dwyer?'\n\nThe Prince of Barrow, standing foursquare and steady, lifted his smooth chin. 'The grace to leave her alone, my deaf and blind apostle of frenetic employment. Alone with her chosen life and her bruised face and the white and red weals on her arms.'\n\nIt was a hit. He saw it, bread to his famished ego, in the flicker of Lymond's eyes. He let the silence lengthen and then said, 'Go and see her. They live quite near at hand. After all, you can't be after making a pudding without slitting a\u2014'\n\n'You left her with him?' said Lymond.\n\n'She has no desire to leave him,' said O'LiamRoe simply. 'Whatever he thinks fit, she will accept.'\n\n'And O'LiamRoe also.' For a long moment Lymond stared at him, then got up and with a rigid, exasperated gesture, laid both fists on the chimney piece. 'Phelim, Phelim\u2014a normal man would be there making knife handles out of his bones.'\n\n'And of her a keening vampire at a martyr's grave,' said O'LiamRoe, his face pale. 'Or become any man's leavings.' His lids fell; he looked, with a familiar vagueness, at Lymond's flat back. 'I have some business to do. Stay and have out your talk with Mr. Abernaci if you wish. I leave you to whet your tools and to pluck up the weeds and to cut down the tree of error.' He stared at them both for a moment, then with Dooly behind like a shadow, he left his own room.\n\nLymond, his head between his arms, continued to look at the fire. After a while: 'He's sore in love with that one, the fushionless loon,' said Abernaci, not without sympathy. 'You're smitten a wee bit yourself, I shouldna wonder.'\n\n'Maybe.' It was not the voice of a man in love.\n\n'She was his father's before she was his; that's why she won't leave him.'\n\n'I know. But if we give her up,' said Lymond, straightening, his white face full of mockery, 'as with Faustina, we give up her dowry the Empire.' He paused, smiling with charm, at Abernaci's chair. 'What would you give to change places with me?'\n\n'A night in my lioness's cage,' said Abernaci calmly. 'Robin Stewart's skin is saved, but the lass is let suffer?'\n\n'I have a spare card up my sleeve,' said Francis Crawford. 'In case of need. And if you are comparing the two, I did Robin Stewart no service today, and I shall probably do none for Oonagh O'Dwyer tonight. Thus I distribute my favours impartially.' A little later he left; and after a suitable interval, the Keeper also departed.\n\nO'LiamRoe himself came back to the house very late and rather drunk. The next day, reporting thickheaded to the castle, he found the Court in labour, preparing yet another majestic move. Robin Stewart, under heavy guard, had already left for his last prison at Plessis-Mac\u00e9, where the King was also due that day.\n\nThe news was given him by an Archer. Pausing irresolute outside the guardroom, where the blue-tiled city lay spread below him, the smooth Maine to his left, the cathedral spire lifting ahead, he heard the rattle of a hard-ridden horse on the cobbles and was there still, intuitively waiting, when the rider, dismounting, flung himself indoors to announce that Robin Stewart had escaped.\n\nLiking or sympathy for that difficult man The O'LiamRoe could never find. But he did understand, in part, the mark left on him by Crawford of Lymond's careless hand. His first reaction to the news was relief and even pity: no sort of life remained now for Robin Stewart but the life of a failure and an outlaw. Then he realized, with a slow chill in his stomach, the one inevitable and Damoclean result. With Robin Stewart at large, the would-be killers of Mary had been given carte blanche to finish their work."
            },
            {
                "title": "Ch\u00e2teaubriant: A Bed-Tick Full of Harpstrings",
                "text": "A woman who offers upon a difficult condition: she offers herself for a wonderful or difficult dowry; i.e. a bed-tick full of harpstrings, or a fistful of fleas, or a white-faced jet black kid with a bridle of red gold to it, or nine green-tipped rushes, or the full of a carrog of fingernail scrapings, or the full of a crow's house of wren's eggs.\u2026\n\nThere is no fine for forcing these women.\n\nBY this time, the English Ambassage Extraordinary, three hundred strong, with its aching diplomacy and its groaning digestions, with its cliques, its amateurs, its professionals and with the Earl and Countess of Lennox, was already at Orl\u00e9ans, not much more than two hundred miles away.\n\nExcept for the Lennoxes, they were all Warwick's men. Most of them were familiar with France, because you could not be a soldier or a statesman under Henry or Edward without sitting at a French siege or a French conference table at some point in your career. By the same token, most of them had also fought in Scotland.\n\nNone of these facts was at all likely to embarrass the Embassy or its distinguished leader and chairman, William Parr of Kendall, Marquis of Northampton and Lord Great Chamberlain of England, and brother to the old King's last wife; a grand gentleman of limited gifts who had never quite lived down his military shortcomings during the recent rebellion.\n\nSo far, all had gone smoothly. A week ago, they had been met at Boulogne by a charming and efficient Gentleman of the Chamber who had escorted them to Paris and then further south with their trains of horses and mules, their wagon teams and guard dogs and their interminable luggage.\n\nThey had been feted. They had been entertained. At each town on their route, mayors and \u00e9chevins had made their speeches of welcome; presents had been exchanged. The political factions in the Embassy kept to themselves; the diplomats were diplomatic; the arguments\u2014even the arguments in and on Greek\u2014had been staid.\n\nMy lord of Northampton hoped to God it would remain so. For they were ahead of time. In a fortnight's time, the Embassy was due at Ch\u00e2teaubriant, and before them lay only a simple journey by boat down the Loire.\n\nThey were due at Ch\u00e2teaubriant for the symbolic service of Investiture. They were due also for other and momentous affairs: to arrange a treaty of strict alliance and defence between England and France; to demand the Queen of Scots in marriage with the King of England and in the event of refusal, to solicit the hand of the King's daughter Elizabeth instead. They were due to appoint commissioners to visit Scotland and settle all the vexed points not yet comprehended in their treaty there; and they were due to introduce Sir William Pickering, the new English Ambassador to France.\n\nAnd now, the retiring Ambassador, Sir James Mason, wrote anxiously from Angers enjoining delay. The Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 had not even left on his duplicate journey to England; the great preparations at Ch\u00e2teaubriant were unfinished still.\n\nThe Marquis of Northampton read this dispatch, ejaculating at intervals, with his gentlemanly face flushed. The Scottish Archer accused of attempting to murder the young Queen was at Angers, and had been condemned. He knew enough to be thankful that the affair was to finish, it seemed, without any awkward revelations implicating the Earl of Warwick more closely in the attempt. The Earl and Countess of Lennox, for whom he personally had little time, were attached to his Embassy, he well knew, in case such a thing happened. If England were accused, by Stewart or anyone else, of helping or condoning Stewart's murder attempts, Northampton's orders were to saddle the Lennoxes with the blame. Lennox himself was in no doubt, presumably, about the situation, but was in no case to protest.\n\nThey would not get the little Queen for Edward, of course. Or if they were offered her at all, it would be on terms so ruinous that he could not accept. But even so, the Queen Dowager of Scotland could not be too pleased about any sort of alliance between her enemy and France, even an alliance on paper as frail as this would be. And she and her family were a power in France. They could point to Edward, schismatic, excommunicated, as no fit bridegroom for Elizabeth or Mary. And they might seize any excuse, any false step on Warwick's part, to persuade the French King to drop these overtures of friendship.\n\nOn the other hand he knew from Mason, the faithful Mason, that Scotland was becoming restive under the French yoke; that they watched with mistrust the rebuilding of forts which might turn out to be as much for their discipline as their defence. And in France, the de Guises had their ill-wishers. The Constable, notoriously, wanted the proposed wedding between Mary and the Dauphin deferred, and even the King had jibbed at presenting the Queen Dowager with the whole of her annual fifty-thousand-franc pension to take home in gold. Last month, Northampton knew the Receiver General of Brittany had been heard to comment that nearly two million francs had so far been spent on the Queen Mother, and he wished that Scotland were in a fishpool. Northampton, irritable with his responsibilities and the delay, wished the same.\n\nSir Gilbert Dethick, Knight, alias Garter Principal King at Arms, tried not to think either of fishpools or rivers. For twenty shillings a day, he had to take and deliver to His Majesty of France the two trunks with the livery of the Noble Order of the Garter, all wrapped in a pair of fine holland sheets with a couple of taffeta sweet bags inside. They had crossed the Channel safely. But it was with a heart chafed raw with anxiety that he contemplated confiding them for two long, slow weeks to the Loire.\n\nScattered between Angers and Ch\u00e2teaubriant, where grandstands, spectacles and temporary housing had been six weeks in the making, the French and Scottish Courts accordingly took their time, having purchased leisure, cheeringly, at English expense.\n\nThe Queen Dowager's party, although not Mary of Guise or her daughter themselves, spent two nights in the fields outside Cand\u00e9 and enjoyed it. Reclining in the garden of France under the soft sky of June with half the Privy Council given up and gone home, they slept, ate, read, talked, and did a little desultory hawking, denigrated their hosts and the English with some thoroughness and dispersed a good deal in gentle company. In the free air, the bickering sank and died.\n\nNothing could have suited Robin Stewart better. During the second day, moving quietly from cover to cover, he found where, among the cockleshells of buckram, Lymond shared his pavilion. Now, at leisure, you could see how pitilessly right had been the whirling impression of the boar ring, the distorted glimpse at the Tower. Under the honest earth of Thady Boy was somebody's precious gallant quite alien to the uproarious creature of the hunt and the race. It made it in a way quite easy to kill the one without even touching the image of the other.\n\nThady Boy\u2014Lymond\u2014had been called over by a group of his fellow countrymen. He was treated, Stewart saw, with the easy familiarity due his name, and with a certain guarded respect. What Lymond would do, in the end, with himself and his talents mattered, after all, more to these men than to anybody. And this singular, if temporary, metamorphosis as a state servant of the Queen Mother's would have been analyzed from Chinon to Cand\u00e9.\n\nIt was the first chance many of them had had of meeting Francis Crawford of Lymond. Stewart guessed, from the gravity of his face, that he was playing with them. He saw George Douglas, bland, ironical, his manner verging on the exhibitor's, abandon all his attitudes with a thud as some intellectual morass received him, leaving him to climb out with what dignity he could. Lymond was evidently not feeling patient tonight.\n\nThe day had been hot. Lying among the lukewarm grasses, stifling his hunger as dusk fell. Stewart watched the cones of marquees all silken yellow with candlelight; and beyond, the sprinkled windows of Cand\u00e9, the village and castle all ablaze. In the meadows, there was still a whole tapestry of space-dwindled noise. Men spoke and laughed; pails clanked; dogs and horses responded, and the forked banners changed direction under the light evening wind with the soft night-noises of birds. A blackbird sang.\n\nWhen the light had gone, and the fires gave gold and red to the eye like the jewels of an icon, Stewart held his stolen cloak tight at the throat with his one free hand, and walked forward from under the trees.\n\nSomewhere, a company was parting. A tent flap stirred; hosts and guests, stooping, came out, rimmed and vesicled with flurried light, the words and laughter unmasked by the cloth. The clear, pleasant voice refusing escort was immediately recognizable, accentless though it was. Someone made a faintly edged joke. '\u2014Le monde est ennuy\u00e9 de moy, Et moy pareillement de lui. I would prefer, forgive me, to promenade my bad humour alone.'\n\nAnd turning, his hair edged with silver and his face faintly amused, like some professor escaping a dull class, Francis Crawford walked steadily through the tented grass and out beyond, to the open flanks of the meadow. For a long time he stood there alone, his back to Stewart, his eyes on the ranks of tents, now extinguished and dim; and Stewart in the distant shadows waited, watching, his throat closed, blinded, exalted by the peerless moment of victory.\n\nThen the longbow came, cool and heavy to his hand; the clothyard nocked, razor-sharp, the aspen with its grey goosefeathers smooth to the touch. Noiselessly Robin Stewart drew the cord to his ear, the lovely instrument aiming true, the even weight of the pull on each finger pad, every muscle answering by instinct the one skill above all others he had been made to acquire. He aimed, and shot.\n\nThe whine of the flight was no more than an indrawn breath in the night; the whicker as it buried itself as soft as a harp. Vibrating, the arrow sank into the ground a yard from Lymond's right hand and Lymond himself, collected suddenly like an animal, turned his head.\n\nIn the broad, dark meadow he was alone. The tents were silent: no sentries had seen. With a puff of dust the second arrow, bracketing him, had arrived.\n\nHe might have shouted, or run, or drawn his sword, or done all three\u2014all equally useless. There is no reply, in clear terrain, to an archer in cover. But Lymond made no sound, though his face, colourless in the moonlight, was turned to the trees whence the second arrow had come. Neither did he draw a weapon. Instead, silent on the grass, he began to run towards the source of the flight.\n\nRobin Stewart's mouth was paper dry. Somewhere, for the first time, a tremor began within his worn nerves. But he raised the bow for the third time, nocked his bodkin point, with its four barbs and its sweet chisel head, and standing tall, rawboned, firm, aimed and let fly for Lymond's breast as he came.\n\nIt struck him true, in the centre of the breastbone, and fell to the ground. For an instant, the running man checked. Then, one hand firm on his scabbard, choking the rattle and keeping the bastard sword out of his way, Lymond came steadily on. Which meant only one, devastating thing: he was wearing shirt of mail. And he was coming now so quickly that Stewart halted with the shock, had no time left to aim. As Lymond hurled himself into the wood the Archer threw aside his useless bow, and drawing the sword singing from its sheath, plunged forward under the trees to meet and slice the vulnerable, pale flash of bare hands and face.\n\nLymond had not drawn his sword. For a second they confronted each other, Stewart's blade descending already. Then the other man swerved violently, the steel grating on his protected shoulder, sparks glinting blue from the mesh; and disengaging, ran on into the shadows away from Stewart, deeper and deeper into the wood.\n\nHe had no chance of escape. The Archer's long legs pounded behind him, losing ground sometimes a little, sometimes baffled by the echelonned trees; but always led, like a drumbeat, by the crackle and thud of Lymond's light feet. Then, a long way out of earshot of the camp, where the trees thinned for a space and the moonlight fell like frost on the grass, Stewart overtook him, and Lymond turned, his sword drawn, at bay at last. For a moment the steel glowed in the darkness, caught in the queer opal light like green fire; then Robin Stewart raised his own sword and cut.\n\nThey breathed like animals, the sweat streaming down Stewart's face, a moment ago so dry and cold. From the beginning, no word had been spoken. None was necessary. Lymond had expected him; Stewart knew that now. Equally, he supposed, Lymond realized that this was the end. The death of a herald could mean nothing to a man with nothing to lose. The chain mail couldn't save a man's legs. It couldn't save his hands, or his head, or his eyes. It couldn't save his neck. Using all the lying shadows, the floating beech boughs, the leaded moonlight, Robin Stewart, gaunt and invincible, crossed swords with his private devil at last.\n\nHe had never been brilliant, but he was thoroughly trained in a hard school. He knew the joy of the first sweet tingle of contact which taught you your enemy's calibre. There was a long, fiery exchange, the sparks red in the darkness; a pause; and then a briefer one. Stewart fell back, the dried saliva stiff round his grinning mouth. They were matched. And he, who had nothing on earth left to fear, had the stronger will of the two. He paused, on an involuntary snort of pleasure that closed the back of this throat, swallowed, renewed his grip on the pommel, and began to play, delicately, for one thing only: the pale skin of the other man's face.\n\nAnd that, clearly, his opponent did not relish. An excellent parry suddenly appeared, to defend those thick lashes from a cut which would have sliced the bridge of his nose. Then Lymond's blade swept low to save himself from being hamstrung. In dumb and desperate battle, Robin Stewart realized elatedly, the golden voice was silent.\n\nIt was silent, had he known it, because in the midst of these very real difficulties, Francis Crawford was also wrestling with an urgent desire to laugh.\n\nSwordplay in a wooded clearing at night has its own special hazards: you must turn your eyes up as well as forwards, or the annihilating blade may sink deep in some curtseying bough. Creeper and rabbit hole await you; a shocked bird blunders, and the hair springs cold on your skin.\n\nAs it was, they pranced knee-deep like player-goblins, their breath in the silence like saws, the soft palate registering each truncated, tight-mouthed gasp. Stewart's blade had touched once, near the beginning, and a thread of black showed from a scratch under Lymond's bright hair. Stewart himself was unharmed.\n\nFern and knotted root pulling at their feet, they tired quickly. Between Stewart, with the boar's marks on his skin and Lymond with his illness behind him, there was physically not much to choose. The ear became as important as the straining eye: where the enemy's glance delivered no warning, you gleaned news instead from the rustling shift of his weight.\n\nTo Stewart, his body slippery inside his doublet, it seemed that his opponent was becoming unnecessarily nimble, but he felt no inclination to laugh. High, low, to one side or the other, the flat blades cracked and crashed, wringing his arm. With grim exaltation he aimed the deliberate, maiming blows, and made the other man hop. The sparks blossomed, bright as smithy-work suddenly, as he touched the chain mail and very nearly the neck; Lymond drew a short breath and disengaged. Stewart fell back, his eyes joyous, his dedication a holy thing; and a girl's voice, high, shaky and French, said from beyond the clearing, 'Georges! Qu'est-ce que c'est? Ah, non, ne me laisses pas!'\n\nThere was a shocking pause. Then the bushes parted. Through them bounced a half-dressed, half-drunk and wholly belligerent young man whom Stewart recognized in a single, hate-filled glance as one of those sharing Lymond's tent. 'What in the name's going on here\u2026 Crawford!'\n\nFor Lymond in three dancing steps had moved into the moonlight from under the lee of Stewart's high, arrested blade and said, almost stripped of breath, 'Thank God, George. Did you see him? He ran past over there.' And pointed, with his sword, to the trees directly opposite the shadows which hid Robin Stewart.\n\nStewart, girded with muscle and sick resolution which somehow were to help him fight and kill two men instead of one, stood, his chest heaving, stopped on the verge. The young man said short-temperedly, 'Who?' and Lymond answered: 'One of the venturieri\u2014a robber. Or so I suppose. When he heard you, he ran.'\n\n'A\u00efe! Bertrand!' The girl's voice scraped through the silence. 'C'aurait d\u00fb \u00eatre Bertrand!' She had appeared at the edge of the clearing, Stewart saw; a local girl obviously, her hair in a mess. The long gown was kirtled, country style; otherwise, unlike the lady who by tight-lacing bought hell very dear, she was singularly untrammelled. Neither she nor anyone else had glanced behind Lymond's back, where the bushes were comfortingly thick. The Archer hesitated, then stepped softly among them.\n\n'Was he a stout man?' The enquiries of the hasty lover had suddenly become a good deal more cogent. 'Black-bearded, with a stinking jerkin half-cured?'\n\n'Christ, yes,' said Lymond, after the briefest possible pause. His voice sounded odd. 'Not as the fragrance of him who walks according to the precepts. Her brother?'\n\n'Mon mari,' said the girl, and moaned. 'He will follow you, Georges. He will kill you. Quickly!' She tugged at him. 'You must run!'\n\n'Try that way,' said Lymond, and indicated the way they had come. 'It'll take you back quickest.' He paused. 'You fool, you haven't a sword?'\n\nGeorge, swaying very slightly, fired up. 'I'll kill him with my bare\u2014'\n\n'You won't get a chance. Here, take mine.'\n\nThe young ensign held out his hand, then drew it back. 'But what about\u2014'\n\n'He won't trouble me again. He's had a taste of the steel. Besides, he knows by now he had made a mistake. Hurry, you imbecile. Good luck.'\n\nPulled by the lady of his heart, George hesitated no longer. Seizing the weapon and the girl, one in each hand, he disappeared into the undergrowth, and Lymond, alone in the moonlight, collapsed breathless on to the ferns, helpless with laughter. '\u2026The next lesson,' said Francis Crawford, sitting up at length, 'will be some Quick and Merry Dialogues. Before you cut my throat, dear Robin, may we talk?'\n\nMuch later, Stewart realized that fate had improved on some original plan. At the time he only knew, fumbling to recover the blind paths of his wrath, that Lymond had seized the chance neither to betray him nor to escape; but had made instead the one unanswerable affirmation of neutrality: he had disarmed himself.\n\nBut for themselves, the wood was empty. You could sense it, vacant around you after the running footsteps died away. Even the wild life, flinching from the metal and the angry voices, had abandoned the arena to Lymond and him. Shakily, cold with overstrain and post-battle nausea, Stewart walked out sword in hand to where his enemy was sitting.\n\nLooking down at the long, exposed throat, 'What did you do that for?' said the Archer angrily, 'Something you want off me, eh? Something you couldna survive, just, without. I hope so. For you'll lack it and life both before I get out of this wood.'\n\n'Hanged in irons within the floodmarks of thy pride. I know it. How did Lord d'Aubigny contrive your escape?'\n\n'Lord d'Aubigny!' After a second, flummoxed both by the suggestion and the unexpectedness of the subject, Stewart exclaimed, 'I escaped with no man's help, thank you. Are ye wud? His lordship as you well know has more reason to want me executed than anyone.'\n\n'Why? Your cannon misfired last time, my dear. Free, you can do him nothing but good.'\n\n'How?' It was guttural in its contempt.\n\n'By killing me, for one thing,' said Lymond gently. 'And when he kills the Queen, by taking the blame. Afterwards, your body will be found.' He paused. 'Someone in the escort was sympathetic, wasn't he? And made sure that after you had escaped, you would know how to reach him? Someone rather clever, by the way; for a man of mine who was following you quite closely saw nothing at all.'\n\nNo one had helped him escape. He said as much again, blasphemously, with Andr\u00e9 Spens's address burning in his pouch, and Andr\u00e9 Spens's bow lying back there in the wood. The man had been friendly, yes. But as to conniving at his escape\u2026\n\nHis expression, as he worked it out from that point, must have told its own story, for Lymond said quietly, 'I thought you might prefer to know. Mary's death might make of d'Aubigny a very exalted person indeed. Do you want him to kill her?'\n\nSuccess for that aesthetic gentleman was the last thing he wanted. But how, anyway, to prevent it? Stewart said coarsely, 'I forgot\u2014you were raised in a coven. A bit juggle here and a puff of smoke there, and his lordship vanishes into a bottle\u2014if I spare you.'\n\n'I'm not indispensable,' said Lymond surprisingly. 'Not to you, anyway. If you want to kill me, I should find you hard to stop. No. The only certain way of embarrassing d'Aubigny\u2014surely\u2014is for you to give yourself up.' And, as Stewart's snort of disbelief grew into a single, outraged laugh, Lymond added coolly, 'Why not? What else in God's name did you escape for? You claim you don't want to live.'\n\nBut the Archer's mind was busy. 'Why didn't you have yon silly loon come and help take me, then? Ah, of course! For greed, come ben! Witness wanted against his lordship! Ye thought out of gratitude I'd help you trace my escape back to him!'\n\n'Perhaps,' said Francis Crawford. During all this exchange he had remained seated, his weight thrown back on his hands, his expression obliterated by the dark, like a face seen through gauze. 'It seems likely that the man suborned for your escape might well have been used, or might be used yet on an actual murder attempt. You could injure d'Aubigny to my benefit by telling me who. The only way you can injure us both is by killing me now, and by giving yourself instantly up to the Constable, throwing in the facts about your escape for good measure. With you once more in prison, d'Aubigny really dare not try; and in the meantime, proof may appear against him through your helper.'\n\nAnd having stated his premise, Lymond took out a square of linen, unfolded it, and removed neatly, by touch, the trace of blood on his face.\n\nStewart, staring at him in the milky light, the mild leaves still and undemanding about them, listened to the exposition of logic which, half an hour ago, in his blood fever, would have meant nothing at all. You had to admire the skill which had brought this about; you had to say, however unwillingly, 'If you'd taken me between you, just now, I'd still have overthrown Lord d'Aubigny, very likely, by telling the facts, as you call it, of my escape.' His first conclusions, obviously, needed amending. 'Why then do as you did?'\n\n'I owe you a little free will,' said Lymond shortly. 'The crossroads may not be of your seeking, but at least the road you choose will be your own.'\n\nStewart advanced. It was impossible to see the other man's face. Standing so that the sword threw its shadow across the white gullet, the Archer said, 'Take off that mail shirt of yours, then.'\n\nThe silence lengthened. Then Lymond, without speaking, untied and dragged off his doublet, and pulled off the mail. It rustled tinnily, a far-off tambourine, a far-off anchor chain spilling sweet in the locker: which last anchor had been raised? Lymond said, 'It's off. Are you happy?'\n\nCommonplace words, to achieve what they did. But, straining, Stewart at last had made out his enemy's features. There was no fear in Lymond's face. The thin, long bones of it were set in thought, and there was a line between the shadowy eyes. It all said, plainly enough, that Francis Crawford did not know what he, Stewart, would do; and that patiently he was giving Stewart himself time to decide.\n\nThe sheer weight of the blade in his hand reminded the Archer. Tightening his grip, he lifted it afresh. The soft light, like strung sequins, spilled off its edge. Lymond said impersonally, 'Are you happy?' and the leaden tangle between Stewart's ribs, where every bearing rein of his body was whipped hard and knotted, grew until his thin throat with its coarse tendons and its comic Adam's apple shut tight. He dropped to his knees, the sword falling flat and unheeded on the dark grass, and clapping his two bony hands to his beaten face, wept.\n\nFrancis Crawford, who had his own laws, did not move. 'Je t'en ferai si grant venjance Qu'on le savra par tote France,' someone had once written. 'I shall wreak such a vengeance that all France shall know it.' It had a noble ring.\n\nThere was nothing noble about the dishevelled head snivelling harshly at his feet. After this show of cleansing emotion, Stewart would doubtless feel much restored. Already, wiping his smeared face with his hand, he had opened his eyes, glaring, on the earth and was catching his breath to speak.\n\nIt was going to be sentimental; the very cast of the mouth foretold it. The bloody fool could not realize, even yet, that anyone trained as Lymond was could have outplayed him, disarmed him and manhandled him back to camp shirtless, swordless and without intervention from half-naked young idiots with their mistresses or anybody else.\n\nThe Archer lifted his furrowed face to speak, and Lymond said, 'But really, bastardy is no excuse for all this. Look at Bayard. And who was your father? The last lord of Aubigny? Old Robert?'\n\nThe other man's face stayed upturned, the mouth half opened. The resemblance to d'Aubigny was not striking, but that would explain it. The great-uncle had been a vigorous old man. Stewart swallowed. Then he said hesitantly, 'I canna prove it. Anyway, she was out of the bakehouse; they didna marry. Had they married\u2014'\n\n'You would have been Lord d'Aubigny. Not, I suppose, an uncommon trouble really. Would you have made a good seigneur, do you think?'\n\nStewart, who had been caught on all fours, crept to a log and sat down. He said roughly, 'As good as him, then.'\n\n'Do you think so?' said Lymond idly. 'You might have harried your Protestants\u2014yes\u2014but would you have cherished your beautiful buildings and dressed them with works of art? Would you have spent your money on jewels and fine clothes, on music and tapestries? Neither of you can lead. Neither of you has made a wild success of the profession of arms. If you are not going to be practical, you must perfect the lusty arts of leisure.'\n\n'Living on what?' With the tingling resurgence of anger and prejudice the Archer stiffened like a hog. 'John Stewart of Aubigny will live on manchets and muscatel all his days, out of his parents' marriage lines. The same as you did. You treat life, all of you, as if the world was a tilting ground. The lusty arts of leisure! When you're born to a mean spoon and a worn thread, when the only food in your mouth and the only clothes on your back and the only turf on your roof is your own bloody sweat, you get good heart out of all your braw hours of leisure, I can tell you!'\n\n'In other words,' said the voice in the darkness, profoundly unimpressed, 'your enforced m\u00e9tier was to be practical. Very well. When you ran that roof race with me you started with one stocking marked, a loose row of bullion on your hoqueton, and your hair needing a cut. Your manners, social and personal, derive directly from the bakehouse; your living quarters, any time I have seen them, have been untidy and ill-cleaned. In the swordplay just now you cut consistently to the left, a habit so remarkable that you must have been warned time and again; and you cannot parry a coup de Jarnac. I tried you with the same feint for it three times tonight.\u2026 These are professional matters, Robin. To succeed as you want, you have to be precise; you have to have polish; you have to carry polish and precision into everything you do. You have no time to sigh over seigneuries and begrudge other people their gifts. Lack of genius never held anyone back,' said Lymond. 'Only time wasted on resentment and daydreaming can do that. You never did work with your whole brain and your whole body at being an Archer; and you ended neither soldier nor seigneur, but a dried-out huddle of grudges strung cheek to cheek on a withy.'\n\nHe stopped again, his eyes running over the rigid, tattered figure on the log. 'I wish,' said Lymond with the same surgical incisiveness, 'I wish you had come to me five years ago. You would have hated me, as you do now, but the Stewarts might have found themselves with a man.'\n\n'Created by you!' Rising, Stewart's head blocked out the moon.\n\nLymond's voice sardonically deferred. 'You don't need to excel at anything in order to teach.'\n\n'Except hypocrisy,' said Robin Stewart. 'You taught me to respect you, and all the time you were a spy. What did you teach O'LiamRoe?' He laughed, quite out of his usual key. 'I notice he's shaved. He broke his oath to me without a backward glance the day you got hold of him again. He's neither the seigneur nor the practical man either, is he?'\n\n'On the contrary,' said Lymond, 'he is very nearly both.'\n\n'And by the time Francis Crawford has finished with him he'll be neither,' said Stewart. His hands swung loose at his sides, unregarded, like rough-tackle. 'He'll be kneelin' greetin' at your feet.' The thick voice choked, cut off with self-loathing, then with a new breath Stewart said, 'You're gey unsympathetic with bastardy, aren't ye, man? Gey unwilling to let us crawl over the clean floors until our manners have been trimmed? What does Richard Culter say to that?'\n\nSilence. Then\u2014'To what?' said Lymond quietly.\n\n'To the habits of his famous grandfather. By all accounts a grand family man, if a mite careless where he slept. How does his lordship enjoy all the rumours?'\n\nLymond rose. Not quite as tall as the Archer, he had a voice which cut the space between them to ribbons. 'What rumours, Stewart?'\n\nThe Archer, fleering, did not answer directly. 'The new heir to the title's cried Kevin, is he not? I heard the Erskine woman talk of it once. The old lady wouldn't have Francis, and she wouldn't have it after your da. You can understand it, right enough.'\n\nHe didn't see Lymond's right arm go back. He only felt the brutal snap of the blow on the ridgy bones of his face. The moon dissolved into a powder of planets and the air swept his cheek as he fell.\n\nWhen he woke he was alone, in the thick of the bushes, with his sword and his bow at his side. The bow must have taken some time and trouble to find.\n\nRobin Stewart rolled over, and pressing his fists to his face, cursed Francis Crawford with hate and yearning raw in his voice.\n\nIt was hot. At Ch\u00e2teaubriant, in the new palace and the old feudal fortress, with their gardens and parks, where the old King's mistress had lived until her husband had opened her veins, where the poetry they wrote each other spoke still in the air, the garlands drooped and the new paint boiled into tremulous cabuchons. Here, in one of the Constable's splendid castles, the Court was to gather and the principal members of the Ambassage Extraordinary were to stay. In hall and audience chamber and arcade, outside in the new tilting ground, the new lake, the tone was one of severe efficiency: ceremonial inventiveness stiff-corseted\u2014propped up sometimes, indeed\u2014by precedent and etiquette.\n\nThe Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9, bound for London with a train of seven hundred, several shiploads of wheat, a band of the King's best musicians, a kitchen staff of vast proportions and Boisdaulphin, the new French Ambassador, with a hundred barrels of wine for his own use alone, called and was f\u00eated, before setting off in a leisurely way to present the Order of St. Michael and a number of interesting propositions to His Majesty of England.\n\nIf he regretted leaving his own newborn son, he did not show it. If there were more reasons than appeared on the surface for the recall of de Ch\u00e9mault, the Constable did not explain. The Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 went on his way, and called on the English Embassy at Saumur as he passed. Sir James Mason, thankfully nearing the moment when his year's French embassy would end and he could pass the two thousand seven hundred ounces of silver and gilt plate on to his lucky successor, left likewise to join his fellow countrymen on their slow journey to Nantes.\n\nAt Ch\u00e2teaubriant, the preparations drew to a close. This was what France did best. The guests on her soil, willing and unwilling, were forced to admire as the splendid, costly machine blandly continued to work. O'LiamRoe lingered, smitten with uncomfortable awe.\n\nHe had stayed, in spite of himself, because of the little Queen. Stewart was still at large. Since the cheetah hunt, O'LiamRoe himself had been amiably received at the Queen Dowager's little Court, but he kept in touch circumspectly, lest he compromise Lymond.\n\nHis feelings towards Francis Crawford were still close to bitter; but he could not bring himself to see him denounced for something he did not do. Moreover, it had to be recognized that in this one man, however pagan, however despotic, however lawless, lay the little Queen's main hope of safety. It had also to be recognized, with a pain at your vitals that grew as day followed critical day, that Lymond's surest means of doing just that lay to hand, in the person of Oonagh O'Dwyer.\n\nO'Connor was not to be at the castle for obvious reasons of diplomacy from which the Prince in his state of registered neutrality was exempt. Mistress Boyle and her niece likewise, harmless residents, were permitted to attend, and had rented lodgings for themselves in the town, which O'Connor would doubtless inhabit until the Embassy had gone on its laborious way.\n\nThey had not arrived yet. But the Queen Dowager's train had. Presently O'LiamRoe went off by Madame de Paroy's permission to visit Mary\u2014Madame Fran\u00e7oise d'Estamville, Dame de Paroy, the plain martinet who had replaced Jenny Fleming at five times Jenny Fleming's (ostensible) salary; and had heard a familiar, pleasant voice behind the door.\n\n'King and Queen of Cantelon, How many miles to Babylon?'\n\nA young voice laughed. 'Go on,' said Lymond; and the young voice obediently, strongly French, continued.\n\n'Eight and eight and other eight\u2014Don't,' said the young voice warningly, 'pray me to add them.'\n\n'I don't need to,' said Lymond, affronted. 'I can do it myself.'\n\nThere was a long pause. 'You're taking a very long time,' said Mary.\n\n'Don't hurry me.'\n\n'I can do it quicker than that,' she said. 'It's twenty-four.'\n\n'Unfair! Unfair! Bestiall and untaught,' said the pleasant voice, ringing like a wedding bell. 'I have ten fingers and ten toes, and beyond that I must rely on my good and noble princess Mary. Again?' 'Again.'\n\n'King and Queen of Cantelon, How many miles to Babylon?'\n\n'Eight and eight and other eight.'\n\n'Will I get there by candlelight?'\n\n'If your horse be good and your spurs be right.'\n\n'How many men have ye?'\n\n'Mair nor ye daur come and see.' And both voices laughed.\n\nThen a page opened the door.\n\nOn the way out, Lymond spoke as they passed each other, lingering, in the doorway. 'Hallo. Minerva covered with sweat. No attempt so far, as you see. Smile, Phelim. I called on your lady and she was not at home.'\n\nTaking a deep and painful breath, O'LiamRoe said, 'Is there nothing I can do to stop you?'\n\nLymond's face closed hard. 'Go in there,' he said, his hand on the door. 'And then ask me again.'\n\nO'LiamRoe did not drop his pale gaze. Instead he said, 'And Robin Stewart? Is there any news?'\n\n'It depends,' said Lymond evenly, 'on what you call news. I saw him yesterday.\u2026 The interview was interesting but indeterminate.'\n\n'My faix,' said O'LiamRoe a little blankly. 'Did he speak to you?' And added quickly, 'Then how did it end? Where is he now, then? Did he get away again?'\n\nLymond did not answer at once. Then he said, looking consideringly at O'LiamRoe's agitated face, 'It ended in my knocking him unconscious and coming away. He's free still, so far as I know.'\n\n'But\u2014' began O'LiamRoe loudly, and hurriedly modified his voice. 'But that leaves the child exposed to Lord d'Aubigny\u2026 unless you've found real evidence against him?'\n\nLymond shook his fair head. 'I have told you. Our mutual friend is proving hard to trace. Mistress Boyle's doing, I should guess. But she will have to come to Court for the Great English Lupercalia.'\n\nIn the single moment he, O'LiamRoe, had had with her, Oonagh had flung her head up, a bruise yellow under the stretched white skin, and had said, 'What comfort do you owe there, Phelim O'LiamRoe? Are you away in your head?' And later, grimly, she had said, 'All right. I tell you, he is safe from me. Were I to name him Thady Boy Ballagh I should have a question or two to answer myself. But let him try to lay his harness on me while better men are breaking their hearts and I will scorn him clean out of France.'\n\nAnd now Lymond was telling him that he had spared the Archer at Oonagh's expense. 'This sudden tenderness for the unfortunate Robin,' said O'LiamRoe, 'would fairly bring you out in the purples. You prefer to sacrifice Oonagh?'\n\n'I hope,' said Lymond precisely, 'not to sacrifice anybody. As far as Stewart is concerned, I preferred not to deliver the log to the sawpit, that's all.'\n\n'And Oonagh?'\n\n'My dear Phelim,' said Lymond, moving away. 'Cease to worry. You know my tenets. The mind is the origin of all that is; the mind is the master, the mind is the cause.'\n\n'Try telling that,' said the Prince of Barrow grimly, 'to Cormac O'Connor.'\n\nThe Court waited. During all this time, its manner to Lord d'Aubigny had never changed. Only the charges against him were mentally docketed against future indiscretions, and the suavest exchanges invisibly edged with black. D'Aubigny expected it. Despite the graceful attentions shown him by Henri, the added courtesies and warmth, Lord d'Aubigny travelled in childish fury from Angers to Ch\u00e2teaubriant, and on his first off-duty day, rode to Nantes and brought back some smoked crystal and an authenticated statue by Phidias, eighteen inches high.\n\nExamining its dry ivory and gold, his fellow-courtiers were polite, but he was in need of a therapy deeper than that. It was Francis Crawford, Vervassal Herald, bending over the lovely carving, who said, 'There is one like it in Rome. But I never saw a finer. This, and this, for example.' And, his manner lyrical, Lymond expounded, while his lordship with angry reluctance feasted on these tainted sweets.\n\nBut then, neither now nor at any time could you have told that they were enemies. For a week now, the herald had attached himself to John Stewart of Aubigny and had sat at his feet, a fellow Scot and admirer. There were many times\u2014at night, and when his lordship was on duty\u2014when he and his acolyte were forced to part. But for the rest, it was surprising how often John Stewart looked up from cup or gem or manuscript to find the lazy, well-dressed person of the Queen Mother's herald somewhere nearby. Even to Lord d'Aubigny, who had no keen sense of the ridiculous, this was trying, but he did his best to keep his manner both placid and cool. After all, it was not for long.\n\nIn the intervals when Lymond was free, Margaret Erskine sometimes saw him. From Richard, before he left, she had learned a little of what to expect. Francis himself, at their first encounter shortly after the episode of the boar, had described O'LiamRoe's brief embrace of Saxon culture until she was speechless with laughter, and had been otherwise uninformative. His eyes were clear, his movements resilient as a whip. What had cured his broken bones had mended, clearly, the damage other things had done. He made no reference to that.\n\nOn the Friday of Northampton's arrival, Lymond swept through the Queen Mother's empty rooms airily. 'My sweet, the pennants are hanging like gutter cloths and they are writing sonnets on the statues: will the cool northern blood be enchanted, do you think?'\n\n'According to O'LiamRoe,' said Margaret placidly, 'every statue in Westminster has its bottom covered with verse.'\n\n'But in France, my dear, they sign them,' said Lymond. He had come straight from somebody's perfume room and was furled in attar of roses and expert goldsmith work; clearly he was going to the ball. Sir George Douglas, also exquisitely dressed, smiled as he passed by. 'Such \u00e9lan, my dear. Lady Lennox will worship you,' he said.\n\nBut it was Matthew Stewart, Margaret's husband, he saw first at the ceremonial meeting between Northampton and the two Scottish Queens. This Lymond attended, inhumanly grave, while Mary of Guise, mollusced like a sea wall with jewels, acknowledged the triple obeisance, and the young Queen and the Marquis touched hands. The child's face under Moncel's fine pearl cap was scarlet, less because of the Latin sentence she had to recite than that the tight lacing, the gartered stockings, the long sleeves and silk attires, and the floor-length soieries de luxe were throttling them all.\n\nNor were the gentlemen, with chemise, camisole and pourpoint, with trac\u00e9 tunic and high bouffant breeches and pushed-in waists, better off. Even the Duke of Guise, godly in his calm, was leaving dark fingermarks on his scabbard and the crisped point of George Douglas's beard sadly hung. Afterwards, when the Queens were greeting the chosen few brought up to the dais, the Earl of Lennox strolled over to his wife's uncle.\n\nMatthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, was at home here, as Douglas was at home. For eleven years he had lived and fought in France; had indeed left for richer pastures only eight years before. For his defection to England he had been anathema to the old King of France; d'Aubigny his brother had been imprisoned because of it. But that was over. England and France were about to become allies; d'Aubigny was one of the present King's dearest friends; and if Warwick, so hastily Reformed, was not a very dear friend of Lennox at present, all might be well if Margaret were circumspect in her encounters with that shifty gentleman Crawford of Lymond; and if nothing untoward happened to the young Queen of Scotland\u2014or at least, so ran his prayer, nothing that could be traced to Matthew Stewart of Lennox. For since that first, delicate conversation with brother John long ago, he had been horrified to notice how the sparks from the d'Aubigny activities in France kept flying towards the Lennoxes in London. Whatever was happening, he wanted nothing to do with it; as Catholics, he and Margaret found life risky enough.\n\nIn defiance of all these morbid shadows, Matthew Stewart was wearing all his portable wealth. Sir George, not patently impressed by gold lace, watched his approach, amused. When he was within earshot\u2014'What surprising encounters one does have,' he said. 'Is this visit wise, Matthew? I thought the French had taken a little against you.'\n\nThe washed-out, over-relaxed eyes were angry. 'I bow to your definition of wisdom of course', but a little leavening among the dogmatists might not come amiss on this Embassy. You heard about the scene at Saumur where none of my Reformed colleagues would bow to the pix. At Orl\u00e9ans, they distributed consecrated bread to the populace; and at Angers the whole legation would have been massacred if the dear Marquis had not intervened.'\n\n'I didn't hear,' said Douglas, interested. 'What did they do?'\n\n'Abstracted a holy image from the church,' said Lord Lennox bluntly. 'And carried it about the streets with a hat on its head.'\n\nSir George laughed.\n\n'It was not, at the time, very mirth-provoking,' said Lennox. 'At Nantes they had to hide the statues in their houses from the Commissioners who have, of course, eaten flesh regularly throughout the whole trip. It is not,' said Lord Lennox, a red spot on either dry cheek, 'really the best of times to try how far French patience will stretch. Jokes about the Hollow Father do not always appeal.'\n\n'Then you must make jokes about my lord of Warwick instead. How fortunate,' said Sir George, not at all to be put off, 'that Robin Stewart is no longer with us, at least. Your brother has been looking out for you quite assiduously ever since you arrived. Have you seen him?'\n\n'No,' said Matthew Stewart briefly. 'I find John's passions a little irksome.'\n\n'Do you now?' said Sir George, his eyes opening in delighted surprise. 'Not drawn to our dear d'Aubigny, are you? Then what about the Queen Mother? The lady doesn't bear grudges. After all, she turned down Bothwell's marriage offer as well as yours. And she has a charming Officer-at-Arms. Make a point of meeting him.'\n\nBut long before that, as Sir George well knew, the faded blue eyes had made their exploration. The Earl of Lennox turned his back on the very presentable Court of Queen Mary of Scotland, in the middle of which winked the blue and red and gold tabard of Vervassal, now restored, and said thinly, 'If you mean Lymond, I have met him already, in London. These men's lives are very short. I should not pin my faith, Douglas, on a giddy gentleman who will carry a hod for anyone willing to pay.'\n\n'Usually, in my experience, to use in browbeating his would-be patron. And giddy?' said Sir George. 'We are all giddy, loitering here begging with a golden cup. But certainly, like Jack Straw, our friend is enflamed with presumption and pride; and I for one will applaud his first serious mistake. So, I am sure, will Margaret. I should even trust her to help him to make it.'\n\nThe wandering gaze of Margaret's husband, like a ball from a racquet, slapped back into Sir George's bland face. '\u2014In which case,' Sir George added, smiling more broadly still, 'I should say, more power to her elbow.'\n\nIn this last speech, the hesitation between one word and the next was fractional. But it was enough to turn the Earl's pale face paler, as he gazed after the retreating speaker; and to make the more informed of the bystanders wince.\n\nSir George, whose son was married to the heiress of Morton, was undisturbed.\n\nAfter the receptions the banquet; after the banquet, the masque; after the masque, the ball, in the great courtyard where new fountains were filled with ros\u00e9 wine and drowned insects, and the trellis between dancers and stars was hung with muscatel grapes.\n\nThe formal music for the branle and galliard, the charconne and allemande and pavane and the Spanish minuet blew pattering like tinfoil through the peach trees, suffocated by the drawling French of English thoraxes and the polite, beautiful French of the most highly cultured courtiers in the world. In the long arcade adjoining the Ch\u00e2teau Neuf, Queen Catherine watched with her ladies, Margaret Lennox among them, and the pages glinted like rudd in between.\n\nMoving in the dance, pair by pair in their worked satins and Tardif velvet and their gem-embroidered silks, in silver lace and cloth of gold, the ostrich feathers tilting the grapes; with the men with their bleached hands, long-legged, broad-shouldered, smiling and negligent; the women with their jewelled breasts and high, plucked brows, the long oversleeves glinting, the train lifted to show an inch of stocking and Venice satin pump\u2014the high blood of three nations bowed, swayed, paused, dispersed and re-formed as time dallied past.\n\nCupids filled the cleared floor and danced a moresca with torches. Veiled ladies sang flattering verses and masked knights recited. There were tonight no gigantic pies, no lions, no living statues\u2026 fantasy would come another day. Instead, the pages brought garlands of flowers, and wine, and wicker baskets filled with cat masks.\n\nThey were beautiful. Oonagh O'Dwyer, her black hair cauled and jewelled, her long limbs hidden under stiff damask, was masked in the ash-grey fur of a Persian, the emerald eyes drawing fire from her own. Below, the spare, smiling lips with their thumbnail soffit underneath, drawn in silver with sweat, were holding the attention of Black Tom Butler, tenth Earl of Ormond, one of the smooth boy Irishmen who had entertained O'LiamRoe in London, and a member of the English Ambassage. Ormond had been brought up with Edward of England, knew no other nation and, so far, desired to know none.\n\nOonagh, watching him through her mask scrutinize her body at leisure, continued with the sly and slightly malicious story she had embarked on. As Aunt Theresa had said, he could be quickly attracted. And Cormac, his eyes sparkling with the sheer joy of planning, had said, 'But can she keep him so? There's the challenge, my cold, black darling from the sea. My cold, black, ageless darling, you will need a charm, and another charm, and all the spells there are to bind that soft, oiled puppy kicking from his English nest. But\u2014' And, lifting a lazy finger, he had drawn it round her fine jaw, where the skin was tight drawn at the edge, and under the heavy eyes, where lack of sleep had stepped like a bird. 'But for love of me, you will do it. It will be hard, but you will do it, my heart.'\n\nSo she had hidden the marks of his disapproval under her mask, and accepted a dance with the tenth Earl of Ormond, knowing that somewhere under this awning, in the warm, scented night, was the man who had come to France solely to challenge her. She was dancing, and for a moment she had forgotten that he might be there\u2014among the dancers, in the spangled darkness of the gardens, in the mellow lights of the ch\u00e2teau and arcade. She did not even see him, as she and her partner moved up the line, until a voice of virgin honey spoke in her ear. Moved by the exigencies of the dance it died away, returned, shifted focus but remained always just audible through the music and talk.\n\nThen she turned, against her training, and saw him.\n\nHe was not even masked, the man she last remembered as the drugged and bandaged prisoner at Blois. And of all the knowing eyes that looked at him, as on the ride to Angers he had foreseen, hers alone did not change. As she turned, the music stopped, the dance was stilled, and her partner, turning, came face to face with Francis Crawford, who continued speaking as if nothing had happened, his blue eyes lit with untrustworthy joy. 'C'est Belaud, mon petit chat gris. C'est Belaud, la mort aux rats\u2026 Petit museau, petites dents.'\n\nButler, who had no French, said now in his high, cold English lisp, 'Pardon me. You are a herald, sir?'\n\n'To the Right High and Excellent Princess, the Dowager of Scotland's Grace. My name, my lord, is Crawford, and I seek your permission to lead this lady to my Queen.'\n\nThere was a little pause. The high voice was annoyed. 'The Queen Dowager wishes to see Mistress O'Dwyer?'\n\n'If it please you\u2014and her.'\n\n'Just now?'\n\n'As soon as I may lead her there.'\n\nDiscontentedly the Irishman who had spent most of his life a page in London said, 'It is not an opportune moment, but naturally\u2026'\n\n'Naturally,' said Lymond with tranquillity, and offered the lady his arm.\n\nShe took it, not because she believed for a moment that the Queen Dowager wanted her, but because she could do nothing else. They moved off, the lovely woman and the fair-haired man at her side, leaving the Earl of Ormond irresolute in the middle of the floor, and Mistress Boyle starting out wildly from the distant arcade, where Margaret Lennox, blank-faced, sat and watched. Then the music struck up, the dancers linked hands, and fifty couples slowly weaving a pavane barred Aunt Theresa's desperate way.\n\nBy the time she had stumbled through the crowded grass of the gardens, Lymond and her niece had both gone.\n\nBy whatever munificence of bribery, the unlit room to which he brought her had no guard at the door, nor had it any signs of occupation at all, although its windows gave on to the latticed ballroom below. It was a bedchamber, small, orderly and smelling of some heavy and unidentifiable scent.\n\nTomorrow, her arm would be bruised where he had held it, chatting, smiling, drawing her smoothly through the crowds. As they both knew, she could not afford a scene. She was trapped, and behind the soft mask was responding like an animal to the challenge, her eyes wide and dangerous, her breathing quick and hard. In the dark room in the Ch\u00e2teau Neuf, facing him silent at last, she was able to clear her mind of all but what she had long ago primed herself to do. His face, like hers, was obscured; his skin and sparkling clothes blemished by the fountain drops strewn on the panes. As soon as they had entered the room, he dropped his hands and stood still.\n\nShe had moved instantly to the window. There, now, she looked out. Among the politely discoursing spectators, an eddy betrayed Mistress Boyle's purposeful grey head, making for the ch\u00e2teau. She would not be permitted to enter; and even if she did, it was too big to search; and Lymond, moreover, had locked the door.\n\nAmong the dancers, the Earl of Ormond had found another escort and was smiling again, his polished English smile. Her task for Cormac had had to be abandoned too. But she could handle Cormac. In the last resort he might use his fist, but that was because he had already conceded the case with his brain. Anyhow, she was prepared for this encounter, schooled like an athlete about to take the arena, the muscles of her mind firm and hard. She turned sideways in the faint glow of the window, and lifting her hands, she took the mask from her marked face.\n\nDim in the shadows by the door, Lymond showed neither alarm nor surprise. Instead he said sardonically, 'It's quite a price to pay for being the Petite Pucelle of Ireland, my dear. There are worse things than passing from hand to sweaty hand, much as the prospect appalls you.'\n\nShe did not make the woman's answer: 'Who told you so\u2026 Martine of Dieppe?' Instead she said, 'Before you spend yourself loosening my chains, you had better find out what they are. I never did anything yet out of fear\u2026 even fear of common harlotry, Francis Crawford. The O'LiamRoe, you must remember, is a sentimental man. If he told you I am tied to Cormac's side by any fear of the future, he was wrong.'\n\n'Was he? What was Cormac like as a young nobleman, Oonagh, ablaze for G\u00e9raldine Ireland? The splendour there must have been.'\n\n'The young man is there in him yet,' she said, and went on quickly. 'What would you have him? A spectator, or a spy?'\n\n'A man,' said the pleasant voice, undisturbed, 'who does not need a woman to lead him.'\n\nTwo of her fingers were at the bruise on her cheek; she did not know how they got there. Dropping them, she said with soft bitterness, 'Do you think I want power?'\n\n'I think you have staked your life on Cormac O'Connor,' said Lymond. 'And have kept his young love and his young crusade green under the ice while the reality has rotted. He is not ambitious for Ireland, he is ambitious for Cormac O'Connor. He may still love your body, but he keeps you for your brain.'\n\nHer throat closed; but through the anger rising like thunder through her head she managed to speak. 'And what would you keep me for? The graveyards and prisons of Europe are full enough of half-made souls created by Francis Crawford and loneliness and God.'\n\nWhen he spoke, his voice was dry. 'I was not proposing, my dear, to support you for life, or even to seduce you in lieu of a fee. I am offering you a chance to define and revise your ideals. It is impossible that they should quire with mine?'\n\n''Tis a lavish offer, if a trifle obscure,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer. 'If in my burning patriotism, I betray someone else's scheming, you will refrain from the cruder gestures of appreciation. You return triumphant to Scotland, the golden stripling; Cormac languishes no doubt in a French prison for attempting the life of an Irish rival and I, with my eyes averted from this unworthy Messiah, am cast into a dull but healthier void.'\n\n'It is still an improvement,' said Lymond, 'on the Tour des Minimes. What aspect of Cormac's homely charm made that experiment worth while? Lord d'Aubigny had found out, perhaps, that Francis Crawford was not O'LiamRoe, and began to suspect that you had been helping him kill the wrong man for your own ends? And as she moved suddenly, before she could stop herself\u2014'Oh, yes,' Lymond added calmly. 'We know that d'Aubigny is the villain. Don't let's labour the point. So when Stewart told him who Thady Boy was, his lordship realized you had deceived him?'\n\nShe said shortly, 'Give me credit for sense. I had discovered long ago that Phelim O'LiamRoe was no rival that Cormac need fear.' Then, as he was silent, she said, 'I risked my safety to pull you free from the Tower that night. What more are you worth? It was Cormac or all of you.'\n\n'Cormac, or all of us,' said the voice from the darkness, reflectively. 'Cormac's ambitions, Ireland's future, to be bought at the price of our lives, and the life of Queen Mary as well.\u2026 You know that Lord d'Aubigny meant her to die? But of course you did. He had been in your confidence and your aunt's for a long time, I suspect. He was trying to kill me because I had been induced to come and protect her\u2026 how did he know that, I wonder? From someone in Scotland who was haunting the Queen Dowager hoping for favours\u2014and not receiving them; someone who has an excessive interest in the Culters and with relatives in both London and France\u2026 someone like d'Aubigny's own relation, Sir George Douglas?'\n\nThis time she did not move; and wondered afterwards if her very stillness had given her away, for he laughed and went on. 'And you, of course, knew from George Paris that the Queen Dowager at just this moment had proposed the unknown O'LiamRoe's visit to France. There was no time to attack him in Ireland, but it seemed easy to have an accident at sea. Then Robin Stewart encouraged Destaiz in his little piece of fire-raising at the Porc-\u00e9pic: a foolish move, not at all easy to explain as an accident, for which d'Aubigny duly berated him. And the next attempt to get rid of him was yours, at Rouen, when you arranged for O'LiamRoe to make a fool of himself at the tennis court, when he was nearly sent home. But by then, of course, you had guessed the truth.\u2026 What gave away Thady Boy's identity, I wonder? Bad acting or bad grammar, or a certain aura which is neither flesh nor fisshe?'\n\n'An Appin man taught you your Gaelic long since, and a Leinsterman has recently corrected you well; but you still forget to lay stress on the first syllable instead of the second, now and then. It is not a thing a Scotsman would notice.'\n\n'So Stewart and his lordship continued to believe that O'LiamRoe was their proper victim, and you allowed them to think so.\u2026 D'Aubigny took poor Jenny Fleming to the Croix d'Or and confronted them with each other. He must have had the highest opinion of their dissimulation. How foolish he must have felt when he learned the true facts. And how angry he will be, my dear, should he ever find out that you knew these all the time.'\n\n'My life is my own,' she said, her voice thin in her own ears. 'You asked me last time to leave you to deal with this man. What ails you? Deal with him!'\n\n'You know what I want,' said the quiet voice. 'Evidence against Lord d'Aubigny. Destaiz is dead. Someone besides Stewart must have helped him at times. He didn't tie that rope at Amboise himself. One name would do.'\n\nShe thought, her hands gripping the windowsill, the dim, merry lights on her grazed face. She thought of the organ at Neuvy, made to magnify her breath, her heartbeats, her fears, instead of the Almighty; of the humiliating serenade at the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier, so mercilessly timed for the one space when she had hoped to reach Lord d'Aubigny's ear with the news of Cormac's arrival. For two days she had waited at Blois for the Court to return, so that she could warn d'Aubigny that O'Connor was coming, and that it was time for him to keep his promise and influence the King in Cormac's favour. And Lymond, she now realized, had waited too\u2014had he had her watched?\u2014to see if her sudden departure from Neuvy had to do with Cormac, and if so, whom she might meet when the Court came back to Blois, for she had to meet someone that night, if at all. Next day the Mo\u00fbtiers would leave, and she must return to Neuvy.\n\nHe had not only waited, damn him. He had taken half the Court to her. Transfixed on her balcony, full in the public eye, she had been forced to ask O'LiamRoe's help. Piedar Dooly, unwatched, had slipped from the H\u00f4tel Mo\u00fbtier to the castle, and in response to her message, Robin Stewart had come to receive her news and bear it to d'Aubigny. And even that had played into Lymond's hands, for it had brought the Archer to run with him on the rooftops and had nearly suborned him from his purpose. She wondered, briefly, if her borrowing of Piedar Dooly that night had been mentioned by O'LiamRoe; and then dismissed the thought from her mind. It was the hour for harshness and for strength: neither symptomatic of Phelim O'LiamRoe. She said, 'There is nothing I can do.'\n\nThe whole width of the room lay between them; there was no sound. Then Lymond said calmly, 'Let us try a little sentiment, then. Queen Mary is eight years old.'\n\n'She is eight, and has food in her mouth and down in her bed, a nurse to dress her and a great chest for her jewels. The jewel of an Irish child is a handful of meal.'\n\n'And a rebellion under Cormac will bring plenty?'\n\n'It will bring freedom. The rest will come.'\n\n'You talk as if Mary were free,' said Lymond. 'Her death will set brother against brother in Scotland as it has already with you. Can you look no further than one nation and one man?'\n\n'You do not know me,' she said.\n\n'I know your pride. As your lover shrunk in stature his cause had to grow. A humbler woman would have knifed him.'\n\nShe stared at the blur of his face in the twinkling dark, her rage bursting its self-imposed locks. 'Then there are two of us,' she said hardily. 'A man of smaller vanity would have killed him before she had need.'\n\n'Thinking death the only division. I could not imagine,' said Lymond, 'ever so insulting you. In any case, you are committed to your cause, are you not? You would need only another Messiah. The Prince of Barrow, perhaps.'\n\n'Perhaps.' Under the heavy damask the sweat was cold on her skin; her eyes, open in the scented darkness, ached with the strain of the fight; her lashes dragged like fire from their roots.\n\nFor it was a struggle. She was under no illusions. He meant to have the help she could give. His moderation was a debt he owed to other women, not to her, and eventually it would break.\u2026 Placed between these steely levers, face to face with her own mind, she must use what weapons she had. Choosing her words, she said, '\u2026But that you would frighten him out of it. No matter. Ambitious princes in Ireland are as thick as the sands of the sea. Any one of them will do.'\n\nDeeply she had planned this inevitable duel of theirs; her blood heavy in her veins she waited to hear him reply. The silence went on, drowning the shallow murmurs of talk and laughter, the remote beat and pipe of music outside. Then Lymond said, 'So you have never loved.'\n\nOonagh said, 'Have you?'\n\nHe did not answer. Instead he said, his voice attuned to a deeper breath, so that her hands closed suddenly, 'There is a man already half-awake in O'LiamRoe. I should not prevent you. How could I?'\n\nShe let him hear the contempt in her voice. 'And in the loving leaf-beds of France I should let drop the starved skull of a nation, and watch it roll into the weeds? Show me the man, awake or half-awake, whose lips could teach me to do that!'\n\nHer own words chimed in her head. They sounded unconvincing, the words that were meant to persuade as the spade persuades the deep earth. Standing in that dark room, gambling mind and body against this silken, disembodied voice, she had begun, strong as she had made herself to be, to tremble. She had to wrench from him her secret, her identity, her pride all intact, and to buy security for Cormac in the future. Oh, God\u2026 she thought furiously, shaking. How frigid was he? Mary Mother, how much wooing must she do?\n\nShe had thought herself open as a sounding board to every move of his body; she had killed her sight on his dim, jewelled dress. But blind with stress she missed the move when at last it was quietly made; was aware only of his perfume behind, and of two peaceful hands lying under her throat. His voice in her ear said, 'I gave you my word, a while back, that I proposed to be continent\u2026 but are you and your song, my green-haired morrow, attempting by any chance to seduce me?'\n\nBefore her, his shadow lay superimposed on her own upon the empty tiles; his breath was sweet; his smiling lips in her hair. Her chin lifted. Staring open-eyed before her, 'Are you afraid?' she said. And raising her hands, slid apart his light ones and turned.\n\nShe had studied his sleeping face, exposed under the dye. Lymond asserting his full powers she had never met at close quarters before. Without touching her, he was so near she could feel the warmth of his skin; the lamps from the garden struck a sudden, dense blue from under his lashes. In the broken light, the short hair clasped his head like lit silver. He spoke again, his voice steady; but she could hear that, at last, he was controlling his breath.\n\n'The star of Gormluba was fair. White were the rows within her lips, and like the down of the mountain under her new robe was her skin. Circle on circle formed her fairest neck. Like hills beneath their soft snowy fleeces rose her two breasts of love. The melody of music was in her voice. The rose beside her lip was not red: nor white beside her hand the foam of the streams. Her eyes were bright as sunbeams; and altogether perfect was the form of the fair.\u2026 Maid of Gormluba, who can describe thy beauty!'\n\nIn the timbre of the Gaelic, you remembered his gifts, his hands on the strings and his thoughts in them. She answered him in the same tongue and kind, her body graced by his voice, her glimmering face and shoulders and breasts small and deep in his eyes.\n\nWithout looking, he put out his hand and drew the great shutter slowly closed. Behind her, the lit square dwindled on the fine tiles and was gone; in his eyes the last spark of light, reflected from her own, flamed and was extinct. In the soft darkness, smoothly, he found her two hands and brought them high under his own before gathering her for his kiss.\n\nWithin the boy's frame and the armoured violence of her soul came a response stronger than her will: a surge of triumph so great that she would have stopped him, if she had been strong enough, in that moment before the glory could be dimmed. Then she was held fast in a sudden turbulence as suddenly leashed, as if an iron door had closed on a fire. Attentively, his lips visited her skin, exploring the way to her dry mouth, and found it.\n\nHe spoke, in the end, lifting his lips from hers; but she did not hear. Consumed like a spar in the flame she had incited, born like some parched changeling on the white bed of its heat, she was sealed by that spare kiss from words. When she came to herself she found him kneeling, and herself taut in his hands. 'My dear, you are weeping,' he said. 'Welcome with hautbois, clarions and trumpets, noble lady. Welcome to the company of those who can be hurt.'\n\nShe had guessed, and she had gambled on one fact: that Francis Crawford's ultimate stake in this war between them, unsought by either, would be the same as her own. And in this one thing she was his equal, and thought to find herself even his peer. She had almost loved O'LiamRoe for his innocence. She had come tonight, sure that Lymond would try to assail her mind in the end, in the long run, by trying to captivate her body. And grimly, icily, she had come prepared to show a conceited trifler ten years her junior a glimpse of what he had never known. She had come ready to serve him well, her anger cloaked, so that by morning, wordless, he would know that he had nothing of this coin with which to bid. And then, perhaps, he would let her and Cormac go.\n\nHer plan was ashes. Braced for the torrid and the fanciful, she had met instead a strength steady and firm, easy in its ways and controlled\u2014a mhuire, why had she not expected it? She had known it when his hands touched her, long before that blinding, terrible kiss\u2014controlled as any other instrument he used, his hands subtle on the keys. It was little she knew of him, after all, and less of herself; and the slow tears felt their way down her skin as she said, 'My heart is scalded.'\n\nHe had become very still; the warmth from him was like the smell of a meal on a frosty day, at the end of a hard ride. He said, 'Yours is not to lead now: we go side by side. Rest from your travels.' Then the soft silk of his shoulder closed her eyes. He caressed her, smoothing laces and clasps from his way so that her body, unimpeded learned his hands; speaking softly, until her mind sank back numb, the pressures in the room, in herself, in him, stealing her breath.\n\nHis hands searched her, touching her passions one by one and shaping with his musician's fingers the growing, thunderous chord. The darkness shook, like the bursting crust of the earth, fissured red with the wildfire within. Under a discipline she could not bear to contemplate he drew together in her and united in a single, raging anthem, all the craving strands of her sleepless years. With all the life in her between his two palms, he slid wide his hands and quickly lifting her, swaying, like warm wine in too tender a lapping, took and laid her on the dark bed where, crudely, she had always meant to surrender.\n\nOutside, the dancing had stopped. For a while, the voices scratched the night air, coalescing, thinning, joining again in wine-eased laughter. Then they dispersed, and you heard only the pad of servants' feet, aching for bed, the chink of cup on tray, the pang of moved lutes and the hiss of brushes, and finally, in the dark Ch\u00e2teau Neuf and Ch\u00e2teau Vieux, only the harp-fall of the fountains, and silence.\n\nBehind more than one window the satins lay strewn in the moonlight, and the night passed sleepless, playing at love. For one person only the music stayed all night long, losing no magnificence, demanding more sometimes than she could support. She knew neither where she was nor whom she was with; for Lymond had given her the greatest gift in his possession. For one night he had severed Oonagh O'Dwyer's soul from her mind; for one single night, she was free.\n\nIt was the first time; and the last. They did not know each other when it began, and when it was over they knew nothing still, for they embraced visions and not flesh; his eyes lifted, considering, to wider horizons, and her soul, a stranger to warm earth and harvests, bent on snatching its hour.\n\nOonagh woke soon after dawn, the blackbirds loud in the orange trees and turned her head, not remembering, against the black swathes of her hair. It was not Cormac's head, pillowed and assuaged, lying beside her. Francis Crawford was watching her, the sheet pushed back from his shoulders, his chin on his folded arms. He looked as if he had lain a long time, quietly thinking without sleep. He smiled now instantly, a brilliant, fleeting smile of mischief and friendship, and said in her own tongue, 'It is superb you are, my lady; and a gallant night we made, you and I. But if you would have me lay stress on any syllable at all, I shall have to pray God for the strength.'\n\nShe saw the long-nailed hand, lying at ease under the tilted chin, the pale, ruffled hair, the thinly timbered face with its inbred austerity giving the lie to his words; and through the dawnlight and the peace and the unturned memories, like drowned jewels, of the night, she remembered why it was done.\n\nShe had meant to show him that he had nothing to barter. He had given her instead the price of her secret, her pride, herself twenty times over. And defying all the great laws, the laws of hospitality, the laws of humanity, the laws of her own people, being what she was, she must fling it back in his face. She looked at him, and for a long moment he answered the look, before turning away. He buried his elbows in the down, and cradling his brow in his laced hands, closed his eyes. 'Well, Oonagh?'\n\nWith bitter smoothness, she sat up, the heavy silk of her hair falling straight by her straight arms, and answered. 'There was a King called Cormac,' she said flatly, 'who knew women. Forgetful in love, he called them. Not to be trusted with secrets; ever ready with an excuse. Scampers of work; feeble in contests; termagants in strife; deaf to instruction; futile in society; dumb on useful matters; eloquent on trifles. To be feared as wild beasts. Better to be whipped than humoured, he said; better to be crushed than cherished.' She paused; then went on evenly. 'They are true words, and better in my mouth than yours. It is not well, so. It will not be well until Temair is the habitation of heroes once more.'\n\nHis disordered head did not move, but the profile fretted, as if his closed eyes had suddenly clenched. It was the expected answer, made no sweeter for being defiantly florid; never tender with words, she was dragging them at her wanton plough tail anyhow. Without condemning anything she had said or done, he said only, 'I have failed, then. I thought so.' His voice was dry.\n\nShe said, turning to clasp her knees, her voice low. 'We are both traders in snow. It is our kind, Francis.' His mother had used these words to her once: she did not tell him. Nor did she tell him the other thing he did not know. With a quick movement he slid on to his back. His face looked merely thoughtful; she could see on his brown skin the scars of the Tour des Minimes. He said, 'I do not feel like Diogenes.'\n\n'Nor I like\u2014' She broke off, her voice failed. And then a moment later, whipping herself for the weakness, she said baldly, her voice vacant of colour, 'I will sell you the information you want for five thousand Frenchmen out of Scotland.'\n\nHe took so long that she thought he would not reply at all. Then he said, not quite in his usual register, 'And if I discredit you and Cormac by exposing d'Aubigny, who will lead your wonderful army?'\n\n'Be at ease. I would not ask O'LiamRoe to destroy himself on the bare rocks of my little liking. I should find some man else.' She turned. 'Would the Dowager not contrive it, to save her daughter? The whole of Scotland and half France wishes the French occupation ended. Or is your heart set on being one of the Dowager's new pensioned pups?'\n\n'Be still,' he said; and putting his two hands on her arms, brought her to lie on the pillow, white and quick-breathing, the circles dark under her eyes. 'Be still. I owe no allegiance; I have no ambition; but what you ask is impossible. The throne is too insecure. Without the Queen Mother's good credit here and in Scotland it would topple, and the child might as well die.'\n\nSharply she turned her head, and caught the wry amusement still in his eyes. He did not hide it. 'Stop tormenting the morning; lie with me and be still,' he said. 'My bed is not a market place, whatever you may think. I had nothing, ever, but a little self-knowledge to offer you. If you will not tell me for that, I have nothing more I can sell.'\n\nAnd it was then, strangely, in the face of this calm and undramatic statement of truth, that Oonagh O'Dwyer's composure broke down. Turning her black, weary head into his arm, she closed her green eyes and wept, and he lent her his comfort for, like Luadhas, she had been pitched against something too fierce for her race.\n\nHe had one more hurdle for her to cross. On her way home, by back stair and postern, planned with practised adroitness to arouse, at another time, her ironical smile, he stopped before a stout door and turning, said, 'I have no wish to distress you. But you owe it to your crusade to see clearly the bodies on which you build. Will you come with me?'\n\nThen she knew he was taking her to Mary. The helpless child Queen was to be his final weapon. And the very triteness of it made her look at him afresh. She did not understand him: she had assumed he understood her surprisingly well.\n\nThere were three doors to pass, and an attendant before each, unobtrusively armed. The last, she saw, was young Fleming himself, with the page Melville beside him. Inside, Margaret Erskine admitted them, her manner quiet, her intuition busy. The early light on Lymond's face left her with an impression of swift assurance; his voice and his bearing had an exceptional clarity. The Irishwoman with him she remembered most clearly at the start of the cheetah hunt, snapping her fingers at O'LiamRoe's lovely dog. And she, on the other hand, was quite different. Under the long cloak she wore you could see last night's damask. Defiantly, on entering, she had flung back the hood from her heavy, undressed black hair. Within it, her eyes looked half-dazed. Margaret's own eyes dropped, hiding her exasperation, while Lymond was speaking. You fools, why do you let him? Another lesson; another experiment; another flawed vessel that would break.\n\nHe was saying, 'During the night she is safe, and part of the day. We cannot guard her fully in public. Today she need not go out at all until afternoon; she is safe therefore until then. In the afternoon she goes with her retinue and her mother's to watch the Breton sports and the jousting in the tilting-field. All the people we can trust will be about her, but she will be in public, and therefore exposed. At night she will be unwell. In that way the torchlight hunt will be avoided, and the alfresco supper later on. Tomorrow\u2014'\n\n'Tomorrow she will be on view all day as a courtesy to the English. The King has just ordered it. You can do nothing about it,' said Margaret wearily, 'without drawing attention. Do you want to see her now?'\n\n'If Janet will allow,' said Lymond. Oonagh, behind, thought, Now it comes. The curving cheek, the nestling hand, the red-gold hair on the pillow. The charming snap at the heartstrings\u2026\n\n'Wait.' It was Lymond's voice again, edged. 'She isn't asleep?' And as Margaret nodded, 'Oh, for Christ's sake\u2026 is the girl a turnip? We haven't come to dote on her lev\u00e9e.'\n\nAnd he meant what he said. When presently they came face to face with the child Mary, she was nearly dressed, sitting grousing like a harridan at having her tangled red hair combed. Janet Sinclair, annoyed at the interruption, sagged in a brief curtsey and stood back. Two maids of honour, one of them Margaret's own sister, were put outside the door with a groom. Lymond said, 'Your grace, this is Mistress Oonagh O'Dwyer of Ireland, whom you may have met. My lady your royal mother knows her quite well.'\n\nBelow the enraged brow, the hazel eyes had become quite clear; between the child Queen and the herald was seen to exist an amiable affinity with a faintly ecclesiastical air. Disbelieving, Oonagh heard him address his monarch again. 'The lady wishes to drive out the English from Ireland, and suggests that your noble grace might assist by transferring all the Frenchmen from Scotland to an Irish rebel command. Do you agree?'\n\nOonagh thought, impatiently, The child is eight, God help us. He has already told me\u2014and heaven knows I knew it before\u2014that the Dowager would never want it. The young face, she saw, had gone scarlet; head up, the child confronted her. 'My Frenchmen are protecting my domains from the English.'\n\n'I don't see the force of that,' said Oonagh, 'when you're at peace with the English.' There was no point in making much of this. 'The treaty itself was due to be signed a week ago, and England is the weaker party now. There is no threat under Lord Warwick.'\n\n'You are at peace also, are you not? And my Frenchmen keep the law between lord and lord, for many jealous nobles weaken a nation.'\n\n'We are occupied,' said Oonagh. The sense of the ridiculous faded a little. 'We are wanting to drive the usurpers out. So should you wish the foreigners to leave your soil.'\n\n'They are my mother's people. And mine,' said the girl.\n\n'True enough,' said Lymond judicially, speaking for the first time. 'Your Norman lords went native enough, Oonagh, and gave the English their thorniest problem in the end. Just wait and see what our Norman-Scotsmen will do.'\n\nOver the child's head, Oonagh's grey-green eyes met his. 'Children are dying; freedom is failed, while this child on a foreign soil clings to luxury like two cold crow's feet on the back of a ewe.'\n\n'She is insolent,' said the girl, and turned her straight back. 'Tell her, M. Crawford, that I came here to find safety from the English.'\n\n'But Lord, child!' said Oonagh, suddenly forgetting her state. 'The English are here this minute, in solemn embassy, to ask your hand in marriage for their King.'\n\nMary swung round, the creamy skin hot, the eyes angry. 'Because they cannot seize and wed me by force, as they so often tried! We are too strong, we and our Frenchmen!'\n\n'And we are weak,' said Oonagh, and stopped short. How in five minutes had she passed from anger to appeal?\n\nMary was watching, clearly thinking hard. Her face was grave. 'But my mother wishes you to have help. She constantly asks the King my father to help you. But not with soldiers from Scotland. That would be\u2014'\n\n'Robbing a sea wall to build a byre,' said the dry voice of Francis Crawford. 'You won't persuade the lady, your grace. She would hold even your life cheap.'\n\nDocile in the dark gown, the tangled hair bright at her ears, Mary listened, her eyes on Oonagh. Then shatteringly she smiled, her cheeks round. 'Did she tell you so?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\nThe sparkling smile became enormous. 'Do you think she has a dagger there? Do you? Ask her, M. Francis? For,' said the most noble and most powerful Princess Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland, delving furiously under all the stiff red velvet, showing shift, hose and garters, shoes, knees and a long ribboned end of something recently torn loose, and emerging therefrom with a fist closed tight on an object short and hard and glittering, 'for I have!'\n\nAnd breathlessly, flinging back her head, with the little knife offered like a quill, 'Try to stab me!' she encouraged her visitor.\n\nThere was a queer silence, during which the eyes of Oonagh O'Dwyer and her love of one night met and locked like magnet and iron. The child, waiting a moment, offered again, the ringing, joyful defiance still in her voice. 'Try to stab me!\u2026 Go on, and I'll kill you all dead!'\n\nHer throat dry, Oonagh spoke. 'Save your steel for those you trust. They are the ones who will carry your bier; the men who cannot hate, nor can they know love. Send away the cold servants.'\n\nThe red mouth had opened a little; the knife hung forgotten in her hand. 'I would,' said Mary, surprised. 'But I do not know any.' And, anxiously demonstrating her point, she caught Lymond by the hand.\n\nBetween Oonagh's closed lips was forced a sound\u2014a cry, a sob, a laugh\u2014no one present could tell. She stopped it herself, her teeth clenched, and turning swiftly left them, walking fast. The door opened and closed. She had gone.\n\n'Quoi?' said Mary, her round brow wrinkled, peering upwards past their clasped hands to Lymond's still face.\n\n'Excellent,' said that comely person smoothly. 'She becomes easily upset. But was it necessary, my Queen, to prove me warm-blooded on the spot?'\n\nThe cut, made in her forgetfulness, was small, but the child, all contrition, rushed for wrappings. Silently Margaret Erskine held open the door. Lymond's eyebrows shot up. 'My dear, have patience. My wounds are to be salved.'\n\n'Go away and bleed to death,' said his onetime saviour sharply. 'On behalf of the female sex I feel I may cheer every lesion.'\n\nThe laughter left his eyes. 'It was necessary.'\n\n'But it failed,' she said. 'Didn't it?\u2014I sometimes think that dull, deformed or even wittingly vicious, you would be of more use to the Queen. Go.\u2026 Go. I don't want you here.'\n\nAnd as he followed after the Irishwoman, Margaret Erskine, most levelheaded of women, picked up a Palissy vase, looked at it earnestly and smashed it clean on the floor."
            },
            {
                "title": "Ch\u00e2teaubriant: The Price of Satire",
                "text": "Is payment for praise, or satire, commanded in the laws? If according to the law of the divine house, there is no command but for the praise of God alone; and heaven is its price.\n\nFrom then onwards, it was possible to trace the altering atmosphere, as Lymond caustically observed, by the periodic ringing of bells, and the deliquescence of O'LiamRoe.\n\nBarred by conscience from denouncing Thady Boy, who would then pay for Lord d'Aubigny's lapses, he found himself uselessly in France, in the same town as Cormac and Oonagh, whom he had forbidden himself to see, and without even his sour kinsman in misfortune, the Archer Stewart.\n\nIt was Piedar Dooly, who had no delicacy in matters of the heart, who informed him that Oonagh O'Dwyer had been at the ch\u00e2teau all night, and that her aunt was fit to swell up and blacken with rage. Ch\u00e2teaubriant was a small place. Issuing to seek balm for his raw soul, he met Lymond, on his way back from escorting his night's companion to her home.\n\nThe fair, agreeable face and modest fortune about the clothes inflamed the Prince of Barrow beyond the point of caution in a public street. He said, 'And had she any good in her now, or did she deserve the pasting she will be having from her other lover this morning?'\n\nHe expected a blow; he urgently wanted a fight. But after a second's hesitation the other man only said, 'She has told me nothing. Unfortunately. Phelim, go and get drunk.'\n\nAnd he did.\n\nThere were a number of others at the Cher Saincte on the same errand. Its rooms, public and private, were filled with refugees from the nerve-storming, playing-card propriety of the Ambassage. The Archers not actually on duty, of which there were few, were forced indeed to share the same parlour as the Swiss Guard off duty, which had already led to some stridency.\n\nNewly returned from a mission to Nantes, and by no means the quietest of that company, Lieutenant Andr\u00e9 Spens hardly noticed the beggar's urchin at his elbow at first. It was not until the all-important words pierced the din that he jumped a little, thought, and after excusing himself with a few well-chosen oaths and a telling improvisation, followed the child out of the inn.\n\nHalf an hour later, in someone's tumbledown shack outside the town, Lieutenant Spens came face to face with Robin Stewart, whom he had been instructed to befriend, keep in touch with, and eventually to kill. The delight on the lieutenant's well-shaven face was only equalled by the pleasure on Robin Stewart's, who was about to forestall him.\n\nIt was typical, even at this hour, of Robin Stewart's farcical and humourless affairs that some two hours later the same urchin should return, with the same errand, to the crowded Cher Saincte; and finding the Prince of Barrow totally senseless in drink, should persuade Piedar Dooly to accompany him instead.\n\nFor his final dramatic intervention in the world's affairs, Robin Stewart had taken residence in a stone and turf erection he had found in a forest clearing near B\u00e9r\u00e9, just outside Ch\u00e2teaubriant and a little to the northwest. There, untroubled by monkish ghosts, dragons or nymphs, he had lived by his bow for ten days; a thing which gave him no trouble, but which gave a little extra savour, like garlic in the bowl, to his present relative affluence.\n\nTo Piedar Dooly, however, grim and silent, locked in his passionate Irish soul, the journey through the tepid summer trees with their market-day smell was something to get over quickly, so that he could return to where his master lay curled like a record roll on a rented table pushed in a cupboard. Storage of the eminent incapable was routine to the Cher Saincte.\n\nHe gazed acidly at the balding ground, the patch of sky, the fence, and the crumbling house, built for a hermit or a herdboy at acorn time; and when Stewart came to the door he observed nothing significant about his person or about the single room into which he was ushered when the Archer with a coin and a word had sent off the boy. Dooly said, 'It's cosy you are for a dead man, surely, and will make a beautiful corpse. Himself is busy.'\n\nGently Stewart hitched his long bones on the deep windowsill. 'The lad says he's fou',' said the Archer without rancour, but with a thread of contempt unconcealed in his voice. 'It's not to be wondered at. Anyway, you'll do. I can't get hold of Mr. Crawford\u2026 that was Thady Boy, ye ken. Him. He's not at the castle. And I've a message for him about the Queen.'\n\nThe little man, barely listening, hopped to his feet. 'Am I a pageboy, then? That man may learn it another way, or not at all.'\n\n'Do you want to go home?' said Stewart quickly. And as the little servant stopped, watching, Stewart went on. 'He's staying, isn't he, because of the brat? Then he'll want to know this. It'll be all done by tomorrow. They're to finish her on the lake, while they're all in their flichtmafleathers getting the Garter in the morning.'\n\n'How?' said Dooly, his black eyes sharp. 'And did you learn of it in this world or the next?'\n\n'I got it from an Archer, a fellow who helped me escape. It turns out,' said Robin Stewart reflectively, 'that he's Lord d'Aubigny's man. Or was.'\n\n'Goodness be about us.' It was a sneer. 'Has the poor man told all and perished?' It was not long after midday, but his beard was there already, black under the skin. Until May, like his master, he had been whiskered.\n\n'Unhappily. Knifed in the back, I think,' said Stewart complacently. 'At least, dead with a knife in his back, a long way from here. The girl will be killed by the man who arranged the accident at the Tour des Minimes. D'Aubigny is as good as condemned. The man can be caught in the act. The ceremony's at ten; she'll go out on the lake just after. D'Aubigny himself will see she gets the idea, and they won't oppose it. Provided the boat's safe\u2014and it will be\u2014and she's surrounded by friends\u2014and she will be\u2014they'll see no possible harm. It'll look the safest retreat there can be: the Lake of Menteith all over again.'\n\n'I wouldn't know,' said Piedar Dooly, 'what you're blathering about. If it's that safe it is, how is she killed? There's only little boats on the lake, with poppin's in them, ready for tomorrow night.'\n\n'That's right,' said Stewart cheerfully. 'Clods, squibs, fire darts, bombards, and a floating ordnance store of gunpowder, packed in a full day before. She'll be sent off birling like a wheel at a fair; and no one to know there was powder in it at all. A wee thing wasteful, but bonny to watch. It's got to have pigment in it, and plasterwork, and a Latin verse or two to set it off, before his lordship can get cosy with a murder.'\n\nHis cheeks brown as two uncured hides, his eyes hollow, his mouth thin as a twig, Piedar Dooly heard, repeated over and over for clarity, all Robin Stewart had to tell him. And as he spoke, Stewart thought of the news reaching Thady Boy-Lymond; of Lymond's quick grasp, his private surprise, his recognition of something vital, well done. He doubted if Dooly would read English, but he had written it all out, too: the times, the places, the name. Only when he was satisfied that the Irishman had grasped it all, did he come to the point of the highest importance.\n\n'And you must say,' he said carefully, 'that in giving this information I trust Mr. Ballagh\u2014Mr. Crawford\u2014to see I take no skaith and no blame for it all. I shall need to give myself up, and before the explosion takes place. Mr. Crawford must come here, with a proper guard and officer, and I will put myself in their hands. Otherwise, he doesna need to be told, they'll shoot me on sight.\u2026 I'll wait here at nine tomorrow morning. Tell him I'll expect him then, to share my bread. He won't be disappointed in my table.' He had written that, too, at the foot of his notes. And he had added, 'I have been unfair no less than you; I can see it now. As one gentleman to another, I offer apologies with my meat.'\n\nThere was no understanding in Dooly's fixed eyes, only contempt. 'I'll tell him,' he said. 'If he's risen from his kissing couch yet.'\n\nSuddenly Stewart was still. 'The O'Dwyer woman? What did she tell?'\n\nA chuckle, creaking and eerie, rose from the black Firbolg's throat. 'The darling devil that's in her, she took all and gave nothing. She would not tell.'\n\nThe bony jaw-strings relaxed, the thin cheeks wrinkled, and Stewart smiled. 'Women.\u2026 They'll thin him like poor cloth, body and soul. Give him the message.'\n\n'There will be no trumpet in the country earning his shilling that will be equal to me,' said Piedar Dooly, and spat.\n\nWhen his servant got back to the Cher Saincte O'LiamRoe was already groaning. They needed the table for other gentlemen and were glad when Dooly dragged him, stumbling, to their lodging, where he applied various sobering agents at no great speed. Presently, soaked and silky head in his hands, The O'LiamRoe enquired the time, which was three o'clock, and swore fuzzily, getting to his feet. To him, but not to Cormac had been extended an invitation to the jousting that afternoon.\n\n'I must have slept in that damned inn for hours.\u2014Holy Mother, my head. And do you tell me you sat beside me and made never a move? Did it never hit you to push me on a mattress, at least? I have the graining drawn on my haunches of every knot in the deal.'\n\n''Twas a long, drouthy wait, and that's no lie,' admitted Piedar Dooly, his black eyes unwinking on the gold head. 'But there'll be a grand reward for my patience in heaven, since there's no thanks for it here.\u2026 You will never take yourself to Court, then, in that state. Lie back, so, and sleep it off. I doubt will they miss you.'\n\n'No.' Like a visitor at a sickbed, he had to be there, although he knew that under that caustic blue eye his detachment would become dense and dusty, like a stuffed owl foolishly glasseyed in its case. The birds of hell shall devour them with bitter breath; and the gall of the dragon shall be their drink, and the venom of the dragon their morsels\u2026 'No. The morning seems to be lost on us; let the devil do us good with the afternoon.'\n\nDooly did not try again to dissuade him. It would do no harm. By tomorrow the Scotch Queen would be dead and The O'LiamRoe on his way where he belonged, in the heather breasts of the purple Slieve Bloom, untroubled by all but the squirrel-hoarding of knowledge.\n\nTo Stewart and to Lymond he gave no further thought. He disliked them both, and found much stimulation in tearing up the Archer's long message and sealing it inside his bags, in between attiring O'LiamRoe for Court. O'LiamRoe, noting a slight lift in the customary dourness, put it down to a willing wench at the Cher Saincte, and was aware, in passing, of a crabbed sliver of envy.\n\nThe French Court meanwhile was engaged, as ever, in a competition in courtesy, in etiquette and riches, in intelligence, accomplishments, in knightly prowess, in sport, and in the exercises of the mind. The King, carefree amid the hubbub of diplomacy, civil, legal, international, leaned as always on his dear confr\u00e8res and amies the Constable, the de Guises, his distinguished mistress and his pregnant Queen, and his cherished sister of Scotland whose visit, surely, was drawing to a close.\n\nHe might, and did, feel impatience at times with them all; but he was a man whose love ran in deep channels. Not one of his dearest cronies would have seen a denouncement of Lord d'Aubigny or any other of that trusted circle as anything but suicide\u2014social, financial and very likely actual as well.\n\nSir George Douglas, with whom the Lennoxes were staying, recognized the dilemma very well, and got a good deal of entertainment from it. The circle of the Queen Dowager did not.\n\nMary of Guise herself had had no interview with Lymond in recent days; so much Margaret Erskine knew. Of what went on in her mistress's mind she had no inkling. More than ever she was missing the sane interpretations of Tom, now on his way to the English Border to conclude the formal peace between Scotland and England, with all the tangled and difficult issues this involved.\n\nTomorrow's conference concerning Mary's marriage appeared, of course, to be the crux of the stay; that and the money promised by the French treasury for the security of Scotland, over which daily haggling continued.\n\nOnce only, twisting the rings from her swollen fingers, the Dowager had said to her lady-in-waiting, 'Why does that man believe the attack will be so soon? The guard for Sunday is prodigious.' And then, hardly listening to Margaret's answer, she had added suddenly, 'If the child dies, every hour I have spent on French soil has been a folly, and every transaction a waste.'\n\nIn her carrying voice, more French even in its Scots, the weariness and the flat foreboding were plain. She was vain of Mary, and skilful in ready-made relationships: mother-daughter, mother-son. With the puppylike magnetism of the toddler far behind, Mary's mother had found reborn no inconvenient torrent of warmth. In France the princes drugged the child Queen with gifts; her mother had no need to court her. 'A folly,' she said, and frowned, pinching her nose; then spoke incisively about something else.\n\nThe English were enjoying it rather more than they had thought. The technique was much the same as in England, though the monarch was older: show respect for his toys. And the food was good.\n\nBy Saturday afternoon, when The O'LiamRoe had joined them, pink-nosed, his eyelids half-fixed like a boa's, the daily exhibition of craft, dexterity and brawn was well under way. Like a man answering the beat of a drum he made for the jousting ground laid out along the great lake in the parks of Ch\u00e2teaubriant, followed by the silent Piedar Dooly; and pressing unhandily past the ranked knees, joined the Scottish Court in the streamered pavilion.\n\nTo reach his vacant place he had to pass George Douglas. 'Smile, my prince,' said the lazy voice. 'You have the better part. Samson en perdit ses lunettes; Bien heureux est qui riens n'y a!' Beyond him, a woman laughed; he did not need to struggle with the French to divine the subject of the joke.\n\nThe woman was Margaret Douglas, Lady Lennox. Passing, he bowed, his oval face blank. By the holy cross of Jesus, how did these things become known? She was dressed in a light, blowing robe, in white, her splendour bold in the sun. 'Samson is below there'\u2014her voice, gay and fresh, followed his buffeting scabbard\u2014'if you desire him. His own desires are humble today, I am told.' During the preposterous journey she had had time to shape her attitude, both to Francis Crawford and to O'LiamRoe.\n\nHe turned. 'There is a laughing time, and a time for speech. I am in my hour for breathing only.' She laughed again, but not with her eyes.\n\nWhen he sat down, not six rows behind the Scottish Dowager, with her daughter and Margaret Erskine at her side, he found the airy yellow head a little below him on the right; and from all the poisoned corridors of his lazy senses, dislike ran fuming.\n\nBecause of Francis Crawford he was here, tail docked, pepper in the nose, turned loose for minstrels to pursue. Watching, with vacant mind, the impact of metalled monsters, feathered, gauntletted, on aproned horses, flying past the coloured barriers, he wondered what Lymond was thinking. Round the little feathered hat bobbing on the Dowager's left was a thicket of Fleming heads; beyond the ladies, the Dowager's own suite pressed closer. The little Queen was well guarded.\n\nBut in George Douglas's voice had been a chord of something other than mockery; in Lady Lennox's, a glitter of tension. Fear was in the air: fear of nothing so explicit as a single killing, but an almost pleasurable fear that somewhere, this day or the next, a wanton hand would snip, and the whole frail net of treaties, understandings and expediency over states German and Italian, over England, Scotland and Ireland, over divided France herself, would sink to the ground.\n\nBruised with loathing, O'LiamRoe could yet comprehend the real issue; and through the tilting his eyes were on the man on whose shoulders the whole burden lay. Lymond was half-turned, his wrist on the rail, listening to Chester Herald, leaning over to comment. Phelim could hear Flower's Yorkshire accent from where he sat. Lymond said something, and the herald laughed. On the tilting ground, there was an English victory. Sir John Perrott, brawling bastard of the English King's father, flung back his vizor, grinning, and stuck a foot in mock heroics on his fallen foe, while the French politely cheered. He allowed a page to unhelm him, loosing the rough chestnut hair to the breeze, and strode off bellowing: bluff King Hal, wearing out his ten horses a day.\n\nA Gentleman of the Household, smiling, left the royal benches and sidling along the packed seats, addressed the Queen Dowager. The King wished her Scottish lords to show their skill now against these Englishmen. 'He hears,' said the gentleman affably, 'that your herald Mr. Crawford is a notable warrior and would have him take the field, if you will permit, at the quintain.'\n\nAlong the bench, Flower's laugh rang out again. The straight, plump back of Margaret Erskine had become quite still; and O'LiamRoe, his attention cuffed into place, thought of a fat black figure at St. Germain, flying like a witch on a broomstick at a barrel of hot water, lance couched.\n\nThey had seen Thady Boy's style then; and how often since? 'Pray tell his grace,' said Mary of Guise kindly, 'that our herald is notable for much, but not as a performer in the field. If he will allow us, we shall find another.'\n\nWith enviable polish, the emissary hid his surprise. 'He excels perhaps at national sports? The King would willingly see him matched at putting the stone, or the bar of iron perhaps?'\n\nA long hand touched the King's Gentleman on his stooped shoulder. 'My mistress the Queen feels perhaps that she has tested her herald's valour sufficiently in the boarpit at Angers. Allow me to take his place.' And bowing to the Dowager and to the envoy, Sir George Douglas strolled down to the field, his attendants struggling after.\n\nChester Herald, drawing out of his story, laughed again, clapped Vervassal on the shoulder, and turned off. Lymond, swinging back in his seat, caught Sir George's eye and with perfect naturalness bowed. The Douglas, well-built, handsome, a notable knight in his day, returned the smile, mocking, and went off to pay his self-imposed debt to the Queen.\n\nHe was joined by others. Uneasily O'LiamRoe watched the grim playfulness with lance and spear and blunted sword, with iron and stone, between the great houses of Scotland and the soldier-diplomats, the soldier-scholars, the knights of England: Dethick who had marched with Somerset to the bloody massacre of Pinkie and Throckmorton who had been knighted for taking news of it to the King; Rutland who had demolished the walls of Haddington and Sir Thomas Smith whose historian's voice had helped form the English claims of feudal sovereignty over Scotland; Essex whose son had been killed in the Scottish wars. The blows were hard and the laughter loud, but nothing unseemly occurred; Mary of Guise just then had power to ride them hard. And Lymond, at ease, chatting soberly with his neighbours, hardly watched.\n\nIt was nearly over when the cold-eyed face of Sir John Perrott laid itself, like a prime kill on a slab, on the ledge of the Queen Mother's stand, and addressed Crawford of Lymond. 'Sir, they tell me you wrestle, and I have much surplus energy and some skill at the craft. If your mistress permits, will you try a fall with me?'\n\nCool under the awning, the herald rose. Knightly pursuits were, or should be, part of his calling, temporary though that calling might be. Neither he nor the Queen Dowager could ignore an invitation twice. For a fleeting moment, O'LiamRoe saw the pale head lift to where, among his Queen, his mistress, his great officials, his courtiers and his friends of the heart, Henri King of France waited, with Lord d'Aubigny, beautiful, modest, detached, at his side.\n\nThen Lymond said, 'With pleasure; if my lady will allow?' And the Queen Dowager, her eyes not on him but on some angering sight at his back, gave her slow nod. To protect him with her refusal would have argued complicity; he had accepted to save her that, as it was. For plain as the white sun in the purple-blue of the lake, as the green grass and the red dust and the jingling colour of shield and standard, flags, pennants and canopies, as the Court robes, serried, bright as bolsters in a sultan's rich playbed, was the truth, plain to them all, that Lord d'Aubigny had chosen today, here, now, to open his war, his series of broadsides which would reveal Francis Crawford and Thady Boy Ballagh to be one and the same man.\n\nJacketless in the sunlight, the Queen's herald stirred no meaty chords of remembrance; there was no whiff of Thady's highhanded flavour in all this pale precision. But to O'LiamRoe, his heart beating sodden inside its pink cushion, the dilemma was without solution. Fight well, and Lymond would invite comparison, by every trained move that he made, with the twin moves of Thady Boy. Fight badly, and he brought his Queen into ridicule, invited suspicion, offered himself even to injury. And in his freedom and mobility lay their last hopes.\n\nHe had stripped quickly. As they waited for Perrott, the trumpets soared; the talk and laughter rushed round. It was the last fight of the day, and already the pleasures of evening were pressing on them: the torchlight hunt of red deer, the midnight supper. There was a ripple of movement in one of the passages, and a lady-in-waiting bent down and spoke to Sir John Perrott's page, who trotted off. A moment later Perrott himself reappeared, and the English stands were restrainedly enthusiastic.\n\n'Happy mortal,' observed Sir George Douglas, his eyes on Lymond, his neckband black with sweat, sliding into the vacant seat at O'LiamRoe's elbow. He had used his lance more than adequately, enough at any rate to match any of the late King Henry's illegitimate sons. 'Happy mortal, invariably licensed to lechery, forced by duty like clockwork into sin and indulgence.\u2026 Even here, all he need do is fail.'\n\n'After the boar fight?' said O'LiamRoe sardonically. But the two men on the field had closed with one another, and Sir George Douglas, his hands unconsciously fast on his chair, said nothing at all until some long minutes later, when releasing his pent breath softly, he observed, 'Well, Irishman, if he is wise he will get himself thrown, fast. I fancy Sir John has had a little advice. He is following the same moves exactly as our friend the Cornishman.'\n\nIf the same thought had occurred to Vervassal, it was obvious that, short of throwing himself abjectly on his back, there was very little he could do about it. Sir John Perrott was built on the same scale as his father, and to weight was added training and temper. Perrott was angry, he was out to do damage, and he was being very careful indeed not to throw his opponent too soon.\n\nThis left Lymond, clearly, to improvise a series of defences which should be safe, unspectacular, and quite unlike his habitual responses to the recognized moves.\n\nThere are not so many ways of solving a sudden problem of leverage; especially when the problems are presented in prearranged sequence. The Englishman, his fringed jaw like a quarry block, hugged and hoisted, heeled and thrust with knee and foot, and was parried with an adequacy which was less than enthusiastic. After a good deal of this, when both men were blotched with bruises but otherwise unimpaired, Sir John Perrott released the Queen Dowager's herald, rasped, 'Well, here is a bastard, sir, who will dirty his hands on you,' and opened his thicketed hands.\n\nArrested for the second, whether in admiration for Lord d'Aubigny's inventiveness or in a kind of silent snort of hysteria at the prodigies expected of him\u2014a condition, O'LiamRoe recognized, to which Lymond was all too prone\u2014Francis Crawford was off guard for the one moment that mattered.\n\nIn the pavilion, attention already weakened by the Breton sports, the tilting, the jousting, was left cold by the undistinguished contest, spiderlike on the big field to all but the nearest benches. People were moving, tongues were chattering. Although no one physically could leave until the King rose, mentally most were by now back in the castle and climbing into their next change of clothes.\n\nSo perhaps only those who had heard Lord d'Aubigny mention Vervassal's supposed prejudice against bastardy, only those sharing willy-nilly the King's diplomatic engrossment, and those, finally, who knew who Thady Boy was, saw the quick succession of moves that brought Lymond to the ground under hip, knee and calf locked in a tightening wedge intended to crush.\n\nFor an agile man, there was one feasible retort: the move which had put the Cornishman's neck under Thady Boy's hand and then broke it. Watching the two immobile, straining figures, O'LiamRoe in his anxious ignorance jumped to hear Sir George Douglas swear. 'He can choose,' said Sir George informatively, 'between having his leg snapped and declaring himself to be Thady Boy. Full of interest, isn't it?'\n\nIn the rows about the Queen and the Queen Dowager silence had fallen. Across the passage, the faces in the King's pavilion, sewn like freshwater pearls on its tapestry, were turned also on the Englishman's broad back, straining pink through the oiled film of his shirt; on the rough russet head and fat hips, sinuous under the cloth; and on the jagged line of pelvis, elbow and throat belonging to the Queen's herald, gripped fast underneath. And Lymond made no move, for the only one he could make would have branded him, like a confession, as Thady Boy Ballagh.\n\nAt the edge of the field, someone in the de Guise colours moved quickly; a man bent over the King. Then, unexpectedly, a trumpet blew, and the rattle of conversation hesitated and stopped. The King's baton fell and rose again; the King got up. The fight had been ended.\n\nSir John Perrott had not noticed, or hearing, had decided to ignore. He lifted his body a little, giving them a glimpse of his ripe, beaded skin, the splendid teeth bared in stress and eagerness. Lymond's hands, resisting, were white to the bone and O'LiamRoe said, 'Mother of God, that leg\u2014' and stopped.\n\nFrom in front, Will Flower, Chester Herald, turned round, his plain Yorkshire face animated with knowledge. 'A good fellow, that is. His own people sent to stop it, and I can't say I'm sorry. He has some war wound, they say, and he's not just himself again yet; and you'd want to be at your best, my word you would, to stand against Perrott. A brave effort, I'd say; and no shame to the lad\u2014no shame at all.'\n\nInto the silence: 'No shame to him; but a very great pity. Since he was at it,' said George Douglas succinctly, 'he might as well have broken Sir John Perrott's neck.'\n\nIt was true. Watching as the Constable's officers smoothly prised the combatants apart, O'LiamRoe realized that this opening round Lord d'Aubigny had won. For in spite of all Francis Crawford's care, the association of Lymond with recent injury alone was enough to make an observant man think. In saving him, the Queen Dowager had opened the breach.\n\nOn the pavilions, everyone had risen, shaking their skirts, regrouping, embracing. Perrott, dragged up, had marched off across the clearing field without a salute. Vervassal, after waiting a moment, rose in one collected movement and was standing, with extreme care, looking towards the King's bench.\n\nThere, among the baring seats, someone else stood, the sun, through a chink in the awning, proclaimed the day's blue dress of the Household. To John, seigneur d'Aubigny, Lymond raised his left arm in formal salute and then, moving smoothly, walked off the field.\n\nMary was still safe.\n\nThey returned to the ch\u00e2teau. Mary was still safe. She looked from her window at dusk as the long cavalcade left, apple-green under an apple-green sky, the torches like embers amongst them, to hunt the red deer in the forest.\n\nYou would not think it possible to isolate one man out of hundreds, to illumine him with accident, admiration, solicitude, so that in every episode of the hunt the French Court was made aware of Lymond. He dropped back finally, melting into the darkness in preparation for a quick return home; and d'Aubigny's Archers blocked the way with an unanswerable request. The King desired his presence, with the Queen Dowager's, at supper.\n\nDouglas, never far away, touched Lymond on the shoulder then. 'Christ, get away, man. Feign sickness. You mustn't think of going. They'll take your ashes away in a tigerskin sack.'\n\nThe voice of Quetzalcoatl answered him. 'Be calm! Be calm!' said Francis Crawford soothingly. 'To dispel doubt and error, one must exercise the light of supreme wisdom. If his lordship is really determined to expose me tonight as Thady Boy Ballagh, nothing I can do will stop him.'\n\n'You can escape,' said Douglas.\n\n'To do what?' In the torchlit darkness, under the green and black trees, the jewels bright in his ears, Lymond laughed. 'Mary is as well guarded as love and duty can make her. The information that will save her will save me. Three people can do it\u2014Oonagh O'Dwyer, Robin Stewart, or Michel H\u00e9risson from Rouen. Perhaps they will do for me on my prison pallet what they would not do for me in my\u2014'\n\n'You're a naughty, cold-blooded devil named Jeroboam, son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin,' said George Douglas dispassionately. 'And you know that if they recognize you as Ballagh and convict you of the Tour des Minimes and the rest, they'll light a large fire and toast you brown on a dungfork.' He looked curiously, in the torchlight, at the other man's unrevealing serenity. 'What do you hope for that you haven't got? What can that child give you?'\n\nThere was a little silence. 'A virgin audience for my riddles, I believe,' said Lymond thoughtfully, at length. 'But it certainly poses an ungallant question. Shall we join his grace?'\n\nAnd riding off through the long layered ranks of warmcoated kill, he reached the wide spaces, filled with firelit satin and jewels, where the supper was; and as lute, rebec and vihuelas played like unborn voices through the trees and gilded Pan children danced, he fumbled the scented oranges they threw him, or tossed them away, and defended his long-fingered dexterity from the charms of legerdemain. And yet, as the bright, tempting fruit left his hands, the Vidame, stretched loose on the grass, looked nowhere from that moment but at the profile above him; the Duchess de Valentinois, at the King's side, broke off once or twice to watch, and the Prince of Cond\u00e9 and his brother exchanged looks.\n\nIt was the Princess de la Roche-sur-Yon, no friend of the Constable's, whose very castle of Ch\u00e2teaubriant he had filched from her hands, who leaned over at last, and laid a lute on his lap. 'M. Crawford, you cannot deny that you play. Honour us.'\n\nThey had hung arras between the barks of the trees, and laid velvet over the dried roots and beaver tracks; in this forest clearing in the exhausted heat of midnight, every accustomed artifice was imposed. From their wreathed tables the Embassy, slackly comfortable, shifted a little, sensing a change, sniffing at abature and blemish to distinguish the prey.\n\nO'LiamRoe, watching, wondered fleetingly, since exposure had to come, if Lymond would not have preferred to stand on his scholarship: to reveal himself in argument with Pickering or Smith or Thomas rather than as a tumbler, a clown, a singer.\n\nLymond himself gave no sign, but took the lute and touched the strings, thinking. O'LiamRoe became aware of many eyes watching: of Catherine, of the Dowager, of her brothers the Duke and the Cardinal, of the Constable himself. By now, surely, they knew or guessed. Refusal itself was an admission by now.\n\nCouched within the torches they had brought him, head bent over the dark lute on one knee, Lymond struck one scattered chord. The sound of it attracted wandering eyes, and silence enough. The first phrase with its unaltered texture named the singer, and to a blind man had described the proper contours of his face.\n\n\u2003'My lute, awake! perform the last\n\n\u2003Labour that thou and I shall waste\n\n\u2003And end that I have now begun:\n\n\u2003And when this song is sung and past\n\n\u2003My lute! be still, for I have done.\u2026'\n\nEasily, bright with irony, the voice rose and fell, and the lute lapped it like water.\n\nRelaxed after the hunt, warm under the limpid trees, a little stirred by the romance and the artifice, the English Ambassage lay listening, smiling, and watched the young man who had given Sir John Perrott a poor game, but had clearly been selected by the Scottish Queen for quite different talents.\n\nLord Lennox, thumb to cheek, heard the opening and then found matters to discuss, low-voiced, with his neighbour. Beside him, his wife's eyes, leaving the singer, explored the cushioned groups on the spread tapestries and the faces turning like leaves in a light wind to watch. Then, pulled by another gaze, Lady Lennox looked round and in her turn met the wordless challenge of Margaret Erskine's flat stare as the song ended.\n\n\u2003'Now cease, my lute! This is the last\n\n\u2003Labour that thou and I shall waste\n\n\u2003And ended is that we begun:\n\n\u2003Now is thy song both sung and past\n\n\u2003My lute! be still, for I have done.'\n\nHe did not allow them to applaud him. As the notes died, he forced his thumb through the strings, then again, then again, hurling them into a fury of sound, and launched like an armed man into battle, into one of the paramount Irish epics, the greatest perhaps of all, which he had given them again and again unstinted from his extravagance. O'LiamRoe, drunk, had listened to Thady Boy, drunk, creating this passion and had wept, snorting unawares, the oval face caged with tears. Then he had wept for himself; for the human pain and valour and grief he knew and recognized in the song. This time he did not weep, but pressed his lips on his clenched hands with a stubborn pain in his throat, for he had never heard it as, cold sober, Lymond created it now. And about him, involuntarily, each listener tightened as if called into tune. The double pull on sense and intellect was final, exposing the small places of self to universal challenges. The Queen Dowager of Scotland looked away; George Douglas, his brows raised, studied his knees; and Margaret Lennox, her eyes wide on the singer, sunk her teeth in her lip.\n\nLymond himself flung what he had made at John Stewart of Aubigny, standing broad and still by the King, ornamental as some Ionian pillar, perfect in column and capital, waiting.\n\nThe paean ended, properly served, dying until the brush of the forest leaves hid it. There was a vacant quiet into which all their bruised emotions pooled and ran, filling it, splash by splash, with exclamations and the stir of revived movement, and the mounting dash and eddy of applause. From his stance behind the King, Lord d'Aubigny moved forward smiling and dropped on one knee. No one in the Scottish Court heard what he said, but it was cut short by the King's own hand summoning the singer.\n\nOnly Margaret Erskine, close to Lymond, saw that he was shivering. He waited a second until the fires of his own making left him; then with a minimum of gesture he rose, laid the lute neatly down and walked across the soft dunes of tapestry. The torchboys followed the tabard, bright as a wave breaking at night, their shadows chequered in the cross lighting. Lymond knelt.\n\nFrom Northampton's circle, it looked merely like a called-for bestowal of praise. King Henri, keeping his voice level, preserved the illusion. 'M. Vervassal. How are you called?'\n\n'My name is Francis Crawford of Lymond, your grace.' The reply also was sober. 'I commend me to your justice.'\n\n'Francis Crawford of Lymond. You are known also as Thady Boy Ballagh?'\n\n'I have been so,' said Lymond. Beside the King, the sieur d'Enghien looked suddenly up and away again; the King's sister had not removed her gaze throughout. D'Aubigny smiled.\n\nThe bearded, fine-drawn face of the King studied the other man at his feet; and in Henri's hardened muscles and pressed nostrils was plainly the temper he did not propose to unleash. 'Here is a matter for judges,' he said. 'My Archers will bring you before me tonight. Go.'\n\nAnd Stewart of Aubigny, bending, raised the former Thady Boy Ballagh to his feet and drew him among the guard with a grip framed expressly to cripple. Lymond sustained it, his eyes alight, while the applause broke out again, and across the carpet someone held out his lute. But Henri, smiling briefly, indicated the interval closed. It was time to stir, to leave the night and prepare to return.\n\nFrancis Crawford turned his fair head on Lord d'Aubigny's shoulder and looked up at him, with his right arm hanging numb and the bog-gravel irony of Thady Boy plain in his face. 'A bull for the cows in time of bulling; a stallion for the mares in time of covering; a boar for the sows in time of their heat. A foot for a foot; an eye for an eye; a life for a life,' said Francis Crawford. 'So says the Senchus Mor, my darling. And Robin Stewart is still free, and hot bent on revenge.'\n\nPiedar Dooly heard, and spat, grinning, as the yellow head in a huddle of Archers took to horse. Far through the forest, on the flank leading to B\u00e9re, Robin Stewart, he supposed, was waiting patiently for his fine guest tomorrow. O'LiamRoe heard too, his mind busy. As Thady Boy's master, he would have some explaining to do. But not as much, Christ, as Lymond. With thought working, cold as acid, on the stately procession home, the King would not rest, nor would his lords, the perfect image of learning and chivalry, until this small and festering dart was removed from their side.\n\nIt was done in the King's cabinet at Ch\u00e2teaubriant that night.\n\nWhen they brought O'LiamRoe into the brightly lit room, lined with bitter night-faces, the Prince of Barrow's tongue was creaming over with quip and insult to let fly at the master figures. It was for this that he had stayed.\n\n\u2014Of course he knew Thady Boy was no ollave; what of it? he would say. Thady Boy only existed because the Queen Dowager of Scotland desired it. Lymond had risked his own safety to remain and protect the child and draw off her enemies so that the Franco-Scottish talks might proceed unimpaired, and no dire change of crown or impolitic accusation might destroy them.\n\nThat in exposing himself, Francis Crawford had foundered\u2014that, surely, they could understand. If he had no positive evidence of another's guilt, he had indirect evidence of his innocence: the elephants at Rouen, the impressive performance in London, the injuries he had received in the Tower at Amboise. Jenny's son could speak of the arsenic.\u2026 But no, Jenny's son was perhaps better left out. And to summon Abernaci would destroy his livelihood; to call Tosh would be to endanger his safety. And Oonagh\u2026\n\nThought stopped, and restarted, freshly armoured. They would laugh at the old women, he and Lymond. He and Lymond, outside the fence together, shrugging off involvement and the poison all run out.\n\nThen Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, was ushered into the little cabinet, through the heat and the drawling, arguing voices, to find Lymond standing tabardless, his hair in his eyes, his scraped hands lashed tight behind him; and saw foolishly that there are circumstances under which it is a little hard to sparkle with provocative wit. 'Et dis-donc', said the King, his voice flat with distaste. 'Whom do you serve?'\n\nWith a slow and studied exasperation, Crawford of Lymond shook his head. His eyes, brilliant in his pale face, passed over O'LiamRoe, ignoring him; rested for a second on the Queen Mother, and flickered back again. What message he had received or conveyed, O'LiamRoe could not tell. 'I sell experience\u2026 and buy it; and pay due tax on the merchandise as you see. I serve my own whims, that is all.'\n\n'You are here,' said the slow voice, 'as an accredited herald to Madame ma bonne soeur, the Queen Dowager of Scotland. It would appear to us that Madame my sister is your mistress and that the Prince of Barrow was your knowing accomplice.'\n\nNo one spoke. In the recesses of the silence crowded all the weary weeks of this sojourn in France; the gold almost promised, the marriage contract almost confirmed, the regency almost achieved. In it lay coiled the absent power of Cormac O'Connor, the beckoning fame and treasure of the Italian wars, the sweet compliance of England, balm to smooth minds overfretted by Scots.\n\nLord d'Aubigny had less patience than the others. Stretching his well-kept hand, he removed the whip from the sergeant beside him, and with an easy snap, touched the flat back across and across, like a lion tamer.\n\nLymond turned, so fast that he almost took the last lash in his face, and d'Aubigny, taken by surprise, stepped back.\n\n'If you have a case, make it. If you have a question, put it. It is interesting, I admit, but it would take more time than you can spare to thrash me into compliance.'\n\nA whip cracked again, a small whip, razor-sharp across the legs, and one of the Queen's dwarfs, hopped back sniggering, 'Keep a civil tongue in this gathering,' said Catherine de M\u00e9dicis coolly in the Italian-French she had had to learn so quickly after her marriage, together with the patience she had afterwards taken so long to master. 'You cannot deceive us. The Queen your mistress is here.'\n\nHer long chin sunk on her chest, Mary of Guise shook out her sleeve smartly, and laying her wrist on her knee, engaged Catherine and then the King with her strongly marked brows. 'The old women that are in it,' said O'LiamRoe's mind to him softly; and his memory said, 'You'd better play tennis with them on T\u00edr-nan-\u00f3g, my dear, if you're going to call thirty-five old.' And it added, 'The Queen Mother isn't going to stir a little finger in this affair\u2026 and I'm not at all sure that I want to meddle in hers.' The whip cracked, thoughtfully.\n\n'I love a brave man,' said the Queen Dowager of Scotland. 'And the Crawfords are brave men who have served me well in the past. But a sly, high-stomached swaggering man I cannot abide. Had I known a Scot of mine was engaged in this mummery I should have sent you his tongue and his hands. As it is, you are welcome to pluck your restitution from him as you wish. I cannot believe him guilty of theft and prodigal of murder. I do find he has mocked both you and me, gentle brother, in deceiving us boldly not once, but twice in this fashion. Do as you wish with him.'\n\nShe had repudiated him. The unspoken words filled O'LiamRoe's mouth. In Lymond's face there was no line of anger or surprise; even dusty and uncombed he contrived to look acidly collected. He gazed at Mary of Guise through half-shut, lazy lids and said, 'Madame, what king should I sing to in Scotland? Even Lyon is old.'\n\nShe had repudiated him and he had accepted it. Drawing breath, the Prince of Barrow felt the warning pressure on his arm. Margaret Erskine had moved up beside him. The Queen Dowager icily answered. 'Had you come as Francis Crawford, you might have done your country honour. Instead of taking all Ireland in your mouth and spitting it at our feet.'\n\n'But Francis Crawford,' Lymond said simply, 'was not invited.'\n\n'And Francis Crawford is known,' said Lord d'Aubigny. The late hour had made no hollows in his well-furnished face, but the spread of pink was uneven from cheek to brow; he was, after all, breaking a desirable vessel.\n\n'We are not forgetting the jewels he had ready to take, the rope in his room, the friendship with my wretched man Stewart. Robin saved his life, climbing\u2014many of you saw that. They worked hand in glove over the pretended accident of the cheetah. Only because M. d'Enghien held the reins was he made to run in the forefront of that ride downhill in Amboise\u2014he intended, I am sure, to be safe behind. And Crawford and his friend O'LiamRoe between them, I am told, rescued Stewart yet again from near death in the Tower and persuaded him that he should do better to live and return to France. And mysteriously, as soon as he reaches the Loire, Stewart escapes. If his Irish disguise was simply a discourteous and foolish masquerade,' said Lord d'Aubigny, his voice shade high, 'why did Lord Culter his brother, of that brave and so serviceable family, refrain from halting these excesses, or at least informing the Queen his mistress of Mr. Ballagh's real name?'\n\nThe prominent brown eyes of Queen Catherine, tight-rimmed in the sleepless white skin, moved to stare at the Dowager. 'Why, indeed? Look to your lords, my sister. The family appears to be less reliable than you thought.'\n\nThe old women! For the second time, O'LiamRoe opened his mouth. To his left, Piedar Dooly, his strained black eyes intent, stirred at his side. At his right, Margaret Erskine moved, her body blocking his view of the King, her eyes nearly level with his own. 'He does not want it,' she said, in a voice which carried only to him. 'He does not want it. How can you help him unless you are free?'\n\nLymond laughed. Shivering round the small room it sounded indelicate, like the rubbing of crystals over some robust Arabian couch. 'The worthy Prince of Barrow left France on the day he discovered my identity, and has been trying to make amends for me ever since. Do you suppose any accomplice of mine would have risked total exile from France as he did within the first week of our stay? M. O'LiamRoe, as you have found for yourselves, despises diplomacy, laughs at statesmanship, pokes fun at pretension, ridicules wealth. You did not know what a jewel you had. A man who wanted nothing from you but fuel for his wit. Phelim is welcome, you should have said\u2014' The light voice indulged in cool parody:\n\n\u2003'Phelim is welcome\n\n\u2003Phelim son of Liam\n\n\u2003Place where dwells a champion\n\n\u2003Heart of ice\n\n\u2003Tail of a swan\n\n\u2003Strong chariot-warrior in battle\n\n\u2003Warlike ocean\n\n\u2003Lovely, eager bull\n\n\u2003Phelim son of Liam\u2026\n\n'Lovely, eager bull,' said Lymond lingeringly again, this time in Irish; and O'LiamRoe, the ducts of his brain half choked by the mud and gold Lymond had flung him together, said clearing his throat, 'Bad scran to it. What about you? There is great music in you, I can tell you now. A new-made angel put beside you would sound like an old nail scraping on glass.\u2026 What call had you to name yourself an Irishman, and use the first chance to let drink and decadence murder your gifts?'\n\nThe innocent, deceiving eyes turned to the Prince. 'Art cannot live without licence.'\n\nThere was a little silence. O'LiamRoe grasped that the barbarous spectacle of accusation and blow had somehow been replaced by a match of quite another kind, to which the Court was tacitly granting a hearing. He hesitated only a moment before letting his own worn-out theories slip for the last time through his hands. He said, 'Ah yes, my fine gean-canach, but how much licence? A man's art is only as good as his liver. Who decides when to stop?'\n\n'The artist?' said Lymond, his voice grave, his eyes nakedly derisive.\n\n'He knows the inspiration he needs to begin, but after that you'd be hard set to halt his little indulgences. Death alive, you know that. Then you'll have nothing out of him but bad art and worse manners, fit to be copied by every journeyman who can dip his brush in a paintpot or stitch together a tavern lampoon.'\n\n'Does that trouble you?' said Lymond. 'It won't trouble posterity. Nous devons \u00e0 la Mort et nous et nos ouvrages, you know. Both ourselves and our creations are a debt owed to Death. If you sober us and church us and rob us of our Bella Simonettas and our Vittoria Colonnas at this pace, there will be no inspiration and no works of art left to hand on.'\n\n'Not every artist that's in it must find balance in drink or drugs or nameless indulgences.'\n\n'But those who do? Must they be stopped? Must posterity suffer in the cause of the corruptible present?'\n\nO'LiamRoe was silent. Here lay the core of the matter. The accusations of theft and treason Lord d'Aubigny had made were without real foundation; however eagerly the Court had seized on them to salve their raw pride, it was not on these counts that Lymond would be condemned.\n\nHe would be crushed for the trick he had played on them, for the power he had held over them, and for the attentions he had forced them to pay him. To save his skin, since he would not call on either the Queen or O'LiamRoe, Lymond was salving their pride. For that, he had turned against O'LiamRoe just now every argument O'LiamRoe himself had used in order to show the French Court to itself in a new light: not as his companions, his victims in some deliberate essay in decadence, but as ministers to his art. And arguing against him, playing his part, O'LiamRoe heard his own philosophy in another man's mouth, and found it lacking. '\u2026Feeling,' Lymond was saying, ending his exposition on the inspiring properties of drink, debauchery and general freedom from convention, 'feeling needs a respite from thought, and thought returns refreshed after.'\n\n'Yes, M. Crawford.' It was Catherine, her fine ankles crossed, her ringed hands still. 'But example kills, and the example of genius kills quicker than any.'\n\n'And the artist with them,' said O'LiamRoe. 'The holocaust which nearly sieved your flesh through its bones at the Tour des Minimes was your salvation, and you know it. When you kicked out your self-control, your art walked out after it.'\n\n'I came to France to find freedom,' said Lymond. About him, the Archers had fallen back, leaving him standing alone, his arms bent to the lashing. Impatience had gone; he looked alive and alert in the soft light.\n\n'You have found a prison, it seems,' said the King, and let his eyes rest for a moment on the still face of the Constable, his old comp\u00e8re. Then he drew a long breath and let it hiss as a sigh in the quiet room. 'Is this not the truth then; that such a talent, working only when freed, must also be caged? From adversity, illness, poverty, persecution, comes the discipline necessary for perfect creation?\u2026 And yet,' said the careful voice thoughtfully, 'you do not appear a man lacking in self-control. This is, perhaps, a man who studies other men, and himself in relation to other men? An amateur of modulated conduct; a man who traps mutations, freakish properties of the soul and sets them in conflict; a keeper of menageries\u2026'\n\nHe paused. 'You did this, intending theft or worse, for which your doom will be death; or you did this with no purpose other than mischief inspired by the devil. I should condemn you if you had meddled with potboys on these terms. It may please you to think that, had you not succumbed yourself, you might have pushed apart the fabric of a nation and turned our very greatness against us. I regret,' said Henri of France, turning his dark eyes to the Dowager, upright and still in her chair, to his wife, the Constable, the silent faces of all his courtiers and the pale oval grimness of O'LiamRoe and addressing at length the contained presence of Thady Boy Ballagh, who had been their treasure, 'I regret; but art without conscience is a hunting cat no mansuetarius alive should be expected to tame. At a place appointed you will be broken; and your music with you.'\n\nWith no purpose other than mischief! 'Mother of God!' said O'LiamRoe furiously, and took three thrashing steps towards Mary of Guise. The big, passive face did not even turn.\n\n'My dear Phelim.' It was Lymond who had moved, his voice prosaic, a shade of irritation and something else in his face. 'I appear to be committed, even though you may not be. Since you cannot improve matters, at least allow me the fruits of my own husbanding. Go and get drunk.'\n\nIt was said quite kindly. Phelim O'LiamRoe and his ollave stared at each other for a long moment, blue eyes meeting blue; then the Prince of Barrow turned and, uncaring whom he buffeted, strode headlong from the room.\n\nPiedar Dooly had been caught unawares. Unfolding hastily in a pentagon of angles, he jumped behind his master, whistling under his breath. 'Heaven protect us, there's some sense in the creatures,' said O'LiamRoe's familiar, scurrying along. 'And where now, Prince of Barrow?'\n\nThe face that turned on his he hardly knew for Phelim O'LiamRoe, Chief of the Name, so angular was it with purpose and a kind of harsh and miserable anger. 'The likes of you, fortunate man, will be going home to your bed,' it said.\n\nFor a moment, in his surprise, Dooly dropped back. Then catching up, he put his question cautiously. 'And yourself, Prince? Where do you be going?'\n\n'To the house of Cormac O'Connor, fellow. Where else?' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, artist in living, the very core and prototype of detachment.\n\nIt was already Sunday, the 20th of June; and the first grey-veiled light of the new day would hint soon at the trees in Ch\u00e2teaubriant park, and breathe on the dark confines of its lake."
            },
            {
                "title": "Ch\u00e2teaubriant: Proof, Without Love or Hatred",
                "text": "Test is not easy without proof. Proof of certain necessity may be demanded with the Feine, without love or hatred.\n\nWhat is the reason that there is more for them as foreign slaves than as Irish slaves? Is it that the Irish slave has greater hope of becoming free than the foreign slave has, and so it is proper, though there be more for him as a foreign slave than as an Irish slave?\n\nThey would not admit him: who would unlock to a foolish Irishman, a moonstruck compatriot, at half-past three in the morning? Mistress Boyle's hollow-faced steward slammed the grille, and O'LiamRoe climbed two walls, forced a shutter and tumbled into the parlour where Cormac O'Connor lay felled and snarling in sleep among all the spilled ashes, where the night before he had rustled drunk from the table.\n\nO'LiamRoe gazed at him with interest; then stepping over his buttocks, threw open the hithermost door.\n\nGreen moonlight filled a bedroom, unperfumed, undecorated, filled with a woman's clothes and the scoured, herbal smell of the schoolroom. Without stopping, Phelim strode to the wooden travelling-bed, dim in the corner, where the sleeper, cramped under thin sheeting, lay drowned and veiled in the black weeds of her hair.\n\nNext door, a candle still guttered. With a taper deftly lit, O'LiamRoe walked from bracket to bracket, from lamp to torch\u00e8re in both bedroom and parlour, binding light upon light until the air gasped and glittered in a tourniquet of searing dazzle and Oonagh O'Dwyer, white face and black brows, white pillow and black hair, white elbows and black, sodden shadow where the sharp bones, urgent, pressed down the limp bed, stared at him dazed, with distended eyes black as flowers in her white face, and said harshly, 'Is he dead?'\n\n'Tres vidit et unum adoravit. He's before the fire, my dear, like a pricked pudding\u2026 if that is the he you mean.' And his eyes, round, pale, innocent, dared her to deny it.\n\nShe obliged him, direct and stormy, without a second thought, both palms flat on the bedclothes. 'You know what I mean. Why are you here? Is the Queen killed, then? Why has he sent you?'\n\n''Tis pigeons you have got in your head. Sweet, fat pigeons,' said O'LiamRoe warmly. 'No one sends me, and the Queen is not killed yet. But Thady Boy Ballagh, ochone, is sent by royal command to be broken as whipping boy for his lordship of Aubigny, of unsullied fame, and no one but you and I, my love, no one but you and I can save that child now.'\n\nThe blurring of sleep was leaving her face; her eyes and brow and wide cheekbones clearing, precision restored to her spare, warm lips. He remembered them, as she threw a bedgown over her robed shoulders, her gaze going beyond him. 'Mary Mother\u2026 Put out those lights! The child is nothing to me, and will be as easy in the grave.'\n\n'I put them on,' said O'LiamRoe agreeably. 'I want O'Connor's fine brain to help us convince John Stewart of Aubigny's royal patron that the man is a would-be assassin and, I should wager, half-mad.'\n\nSlowly Oonagh spoke. 'Aubigny has exposed Lymond as Thady Boy Ballagh?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Then accusing d'Aubigny won't save him. His offences as Thady Boy alone would have him ended. You know that.'\n\n'Not,' said O'LiamRoe, 'if he could prove that his masquerade had the purpose of saving the Queen.'\n\n'Then go to the Dowager,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer. 'Or has she denied him?' And as O'LiamRoe's silence answered her, she widened her queer eyes and smiled. 'And so do I. He is unlucky, our amateur, our sweet ollave.'\n\n'I would not have said that thing,' said O'LiamRoe and, startlingly, she flushed. 'In small things, yes. He will not ask the Queen Dowager to admit she called him to France to protect the small Queen. He will not call on me to admit I knew he was in France because of the Queen. That would be merely my word against theirs. He cannot suggest he came to France as his own master to do this work without accusing d'Aubigny, and he has no more proof against d'Aubigny than they have against him. So the word you and your friend here are going to give me will damn John Stewart and save the girl and deliver our sweet ollave, as you call him, all at once. As neat a conclusion as ever I saw.'\n\n'And when,' said the woman in the bed, 'did Francis Crawford become the friend of your soul?'\n\n'I was wondering myself.' O'LiamRoe's reply was perfectly equable. 'I rather fancy 'twas when it came to me that the black roaring Irishman we had there was only half the actor in Francis Crawford; the rest was that unnatural animal being human for once.'\n\n'Do you think so?' For a moment the green eyes, diverted, looked at him curiously.\n\n'I think the rope at the Tour des Minimes\u2014and your regard for him\u2014saved him. You have protected us both, hate us though you may. There is one thing still to be done.'\n\n'I do not hate you. Nor do I delude myself I can read his mind, human or otherwise.\u2026 Go over,' said Oonagh, her voice, clear and low, reaching his ears on a note of sudden, desperate anger. 'Go over; go home! Whatever my body may be, my mind is my own. Let him pat and prick your soul as he wishes. I will not be touched.'\n\nExasperated, O'LiamRoe raised his voice. 'He has no wish to involve you.'\n\n'He is involving me this minute, fool that you are. Why else are you free? The rest of that person was human, do you say? A mhuire!' said the black-haired woman, her dry eyes wide and bitter. 'Dacent crathur, go home. He is beyond you, that sweet ollave with the love of every girl in the breast of his shirt.\u2026 We are the fools, struggling, planning, begging at foolish doors, giving suck to the craven from all our sunken stock of force and eagerness and passion, while you court a strange brat and pare rhymes in Latin.'\n\nShe stopped, and for a moment O'LiamRoe faced her in silence. Then, 'Wait you,' he said evenly. 'Since you are so hearty in handing forth blows, let me slip in a small dab of a word. To watch you would be sorrow's own fun; but it is coming to me that I would not at all fancy being ruled by King Cormac.'\n\nShe studdied him, her mind only half arrested. 'The French King would be your monarch.'\n\n'You're complete,' said O'LiamRoe heartily. 'The first thing Cormac O'Connor will do when he kicks out the English is to kick out the Frenchmen who helped him. Cock's bones, if England can barely keep off her elegant knees, what hope has France, with Scotland to look to, and the Pope and the Emperor gnawing at all her fine frontiers?'\n\n'You would rather have England?' said Oonagh with contempt. 'Or your own self, perhaps?'\n\n'The Cross of Christ,' said a rolling voice, a round-bellied orator's organ, just a little hoarse with drink. O'LiamRoe backed. The sleeper had been roused at last. In the doorway, swaying gently, thick-veined brawn enclosed in soiled shirting, his smallcut eyes sparkling, hung Cormac O'Connor.\n\n'The Cross of Christ about us.\u2026 Are we having visitors, girl, and meself not advised? Have you pleased my dilsy, Phelim O'LiamRoe? She's hard to please, but the kernel's sweet\u2014as others know.\u2026 Ah!' said Cormac, and strode forward to the woman straight-backed in the bed, the classical, obstinate jaw plain as a melon from ear to chin. 'Ah, is it your old nightgown you have\u2026 will you not make the least set to please us\u2026 and the fine, white jewels you have?'\n\nAnd bending, in one jerk he ripped apart bedgown and robe, baring her from elbow to elbow between his two fists.\n\nShe was made small and white, like the green-eyed morrow Lymond had called her, and on the veined skin the week-old bruises were faded yellow. 'The darling you are!' said Cormac easily, and turned. 'A mhuire.\u2026 Look at his face! Sure, I woke up too early! Have you had none of the cream, Prince?\u2026 Have I given you an appetite?' And looking from O'LiamRoe's witless face to the stony one of the woman, he exploded into mirth.\n\nShe did not move; even when he flung the two torn edges of her nightrobe crossed and closed, and sank sprawling in her bedside chair, his beard stuck writhing skywards, his black head dug into her thigh. He said, still in a voice of laughter, 'Or must you wait for a unicorn?' and twisting, upside down, gave Oonagh a wink before returning to O'LiamRoe.\n\n'She sent to me\u2014did you know, fine prince?\u2014to set my mind at rest. She said \"Cormac love\"\u2014and drawing her docile arm over his shoulder, he laid its long palm against his wet, bearded cheek\u2014\"Cormac, love, life is an illusion. The great lord of the Slieve Bloom is a blushing small virgin, one of nature's doorkeepers. You have no rival to fear.\"'\n\n'Faith, you're a modest man,' said Phelim calmly. Throwing his battered cap on the nearest chest, he folded his arms and gazed at the two, his round shoulders comfortable against the wall. 'Do you fancy that your fists will preach better than the honey tongue in your head? We are two reasonable men; and if you have the right of it, I just ask to be convinced.' He stood at ease, the high collar hiding the slide of his gullet, and the folded arms over the fluttering ribs. 'It would take a bold man, would it not, to claim the Six Titles?'\n\nFrom Cormac O'Connor's upturned throat came a fanfare of derision. The beard dropped, and the two knowledgeable eyes surveyed O'LiamRoe. 'Ten years since, Henry proclaimed himself King of Ireland, and annexed us like a glove to the Imperial English Crown\u2014\"From henceforth, Irishmen be not enemies, but subjects.\" ' Cormac swore, and laughed again, looking at O'LiamRoe. 'It hardly stirs your thick blood, does it, it barely lifts your snout from the bog to see the Lord Deputy mouthing orders at Kilmainham, and the bought earls meek as mice in Dublin Castle hall?'\n\n'Three hundred years under England is a long time,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Even a French invasion, save you, is only an old tune in a different key. Desmond tried to bring in the French thirty years ago, poor silly Ireland, to make war on Henry VIII, and Kildare himself boasted that he would do the same with twelve thousand Spaniards in his tail. Well, the great Earl of Kildare is dead, his family attainted, his heir a child with an Italian accent living in Florence these ten years. True for you, your own mother was daughter to the ninth Earl, your lands are gone, your father fast in the Tower, your ten brothers and sisters homeless or on alien soil; but 'Tis fifteen years since the English took Kildare's son Tomas at Maynooth Castle and broke their pledged word to him; and three hundred and fifty years since an O'Connor was supreme monarch of Ireland.'\n\nThe black head had lifted, and Cormac's brosy gourd of a face stared at the Prince. 'There speaks the creeping son of the swamp. Fifteen years since Tomas an tSioda, my own mother's brother, and five G\u00e9raldine uncles were murdered at Tyburn after they had surrendered in all good faith at Maynooth; and the heir to all Ireland escaping like a trickle of dirty water into the sea. 'Tis a throne for Gerald of Kildare that I and the woman there are after making.'\n\n'Does he speak English?' enquired O'LiamRoe neatly.\n\nThe snarl of impatience echoed in O'Connor's throat; but from behind him, Oonagh's cold voice spoke for the first time since her lover had entered. 'As much as the child Mary will speak,' she said.\n\n'And will rule as freely, I take it,' said O'LiamRoe. 'We're become a nation of uncles. All Europe is a cradle of naked emperors lulled by a jackboot; Warwick and Somerset in England; Arran and de Guises in Scotland; the last of the Geraldines with us. Faix, two Earls of Kildare were Lords Deputy for England, and sore lords they were for both Ireland and her masters. \"All Ireland cannot rule this Earl,\" they told the Council, and \"Then in good faith, this Earl shall rule all Ireland,\" the Council replied. Young Gerald would be off the throne in a fortnight, in favour of some grand buailim-sciath such as yourself; and we should be tossed straight back into the midden of anarchy. Our royal tradition is broken. There is no living vein of divinity with us; there is no heritage but one of wind-seeded vivacity. Can you not rest,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, his oval face damp and rose-coloured, 'and let the corn hear itself grow?'\n\nLike sword cutting through glass, a high, hard voice said, 'He loves them, the household of hell.'\n\nBundled cabbage-like in creased linen, the iron hair stiffly upholstered in two angry plaits, Theresa Boyle straddled the doorway, and her eyes on O'LiamRoe were shining with anger and hate. 'He would kneel in his basket at an English lord's hearth for a joke and a kind word; he would take the scarlet cloth and the silver cups they bring us wooing like savages, spurn the old Apish toys of Antichrist, yoke malicious mischief to his heart, reject the laws of six hundred years and customs eleven centuries old\u2014'\n\n'Were I eleven centuries old, I would follow them,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Today I would follow the man who raised good beasts and crops, who mined his own land, and cut passes and made roads and ploughed up moor and bog and barbered the woods. I'd follow the man who carded and weaved and brought in new seed, who used his own dyes and set his own silver and made old men as well as laws and medicine and poems in Latin: old men in good, decent houses, making fellowship with their neighbours whether Celt or Irish-Norman or Irish-English; whether in the sea ports or in the Pale. We are a million people lightsome from birth to death as the froth of the sea, and leaving no more behind us.\u2026 Seize your battleaxe and lead out the MacSheehys,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, hardily, his fists nail and bone at his sides. 'Turn kern against kern, gallowglass against gallowglass, live the past, murder the future; and I promise you, when you have extorted your living tax of cracked pride and savage frivolity, France or England or Charles in his little suit of Florentine serge will stroll whistling across the bare fields, kicking the stones.'\n\n''Tis a glorious poem, so,' said Mistress Boyle. 'And yourself, Prince, has cut off your fine whiskers to make bowstrings? You'll oppose us, Lackpenny?'\n\n'He is deserting us. Alas, the loss of it!' said Oonagh coolly. 'He is Francis Crawford's new lover.'\n\nO'LiamRoe did not even look at her; he answered Mistress Boyle direct, his mild face sober. 'I am opposing you.'\n\n'In the name of God, what with?' said Cormac O'Connor, and turned to Oonagh, and barked.\n\n'With force,' said O'LiamRoe mildly. 'I have sent word to the Slieve Bloom today. Do you land, with your French or without, you will get such a blow you will never need another.'\n\nNobody laughed. In the white, stark glare of the lights, in the antiseptic heat of the air, Mistress Boyle drew a sharp breath and was still; Cormac, his thick wrists outflung on the counterpane, lost his smile and Oonagh, behind him, rising to her knees with the night robe paged taut by the pillow, said 'Phelim!' and tugging the heavy stuff free, slid astonishingly to the ground and moving swiftly, caught his shoulder.\n\nSwung round, he looked down into clear, grey-green eyes searching his own. 'But Phelim\u2014The meaty haunches who grunt and whack while the knowing ones smile and bide their time.\u2026 The world to be fairly divided among the small, calm men who watch and think\u2026?' They were his own words. 'This is Francis's doing?'\n\n'Equally I oppose Mary Dowager of Scotland,' said O'LiamRoe quietly, 'should she lean her elbow on Ireland. Though I will help her to know what Francis Crawford would do for her daughter. Sad, sad is a recusant. I was the world's bully at four, so they say. I have been made to learn a thing: that like a garden of windflowers, our nature is talk. But good talk has its roots in the earth; like a turnip it thrusts its feet in the soil and its head in the clear air, thrusts with vigour, moves, swells, ripens and is harvested.\u2026 I, a miscast, rambling thing, am ready to plough up this field.'\n\nShe had dropped her hand, holding his gaze with her own. 'There is a death in it,' said Oonagh.\n\nO'LiamRoe smiled. 'There was always death in it, since La Sauv\u00e9e sailed. Your fears have come true, that is all.'\n\n'There is death in it. She is right.' The harsh voice of Mistress Boyle spoke not to Oonagh but to Cormac. 'God show you your duty.'\n\n''Tis no duty with our philosopher's maidservant here, but a pleasure entirely,' said Cormac O'Connor, and he rose to his feet.\n\n'Get back, Phelim,' said Oonagh.\n\nO'LiamRoe did not move. 'It's this way will be best. My cousin is tanist heir, so. I have sent word, and he will do as I would. You can tell the King of France that Ireland is lost to him.'\n\nShe had her back to him, her eyes on Cormac, moving slowly from the bed. Her aunt stood still in the far doorway. 'Escape while you can. Himself will kill you.'\n\n'Maybe,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nStanding full in front of him, her voice sounded oddly dry. 'Francis Crawford depends on your help.'\n\n'No offence in life,' said O'LiamRoe, 'but he depends on you, not myself. I am at my extreme end. Will you move, now?'\n\nCormac took another step, smiling. 'Yes, move now, me darling slut,' he said. 'God bless you kindly, my brave black bitch, with no sweet oasis in her white body she would not have ready to bless the thirsty traveller with. Move, my delicate whore, and let me kill him.' The steel was out of his scabbard, but O'LiamRoe had not drawn his sword\u2014the mishandled, miswielded blade which he had never mastered and never bothered to use.\n\n'Why do that?' said Oonagh. Her face was dry and grey as earthenware in the kiln, but the clear voice was cold. 'You will save nothing and have the King at you, only.'\n\nWithin touching distance, Cormac stopped. In the coloured rind of his skin, the red lips parted and smiled. In his hands the blade lifted and stilled. 'Kill him,' said Mistress Boyle from behind, and the grey plaits jerked, like bell ropes weaving an echo. 'Kill him and the woman too. That is something the French will understand.'\n\nOonagh had been leaning a little against the Prince of Barrow, her black hair caught in his shirt, the soft robe brushing his feet. At that, she flung up her arm, and then collecting herself, moved a step forward and faced the great black bull-shape of O'Connor, her pride, her king and her lover. 'Leave troubling, Cormac. Let him go.'\n\nHer voice was sane and quiet. The stab of the sword cut across it like a battle cry, as Cormac raised the blade, high and true, and drove it at O'LiamRoe's heart through hers.\n\nO'LiamRoe was made badly by unresented ill-luck\u2014strung stiffly, knotted wrongly, animated faultily. But he had a brain; and he had seen that move coming. As the sword flashed, he gave Oonagh a great shove, and as she struck and rolled on the floor he threw himself to one side so that the missed blade pulled the swordsman staggering past his quarry and brought him up short beside Theresa Boyle. Then as O'LiamRoe recovered, Cormac O'Connor jumped forward again.\n\nO'LiamRoe fled. He did it hastily, and with a frantic lack of address which was its own grace. Chairs rocked and tumbled in O'Connor's way. The bed curtains ripped, dropped and draped him as he followed the others over the counterpane; kicked pillows tripped him; the jogging end of O'LiamRoe's own scabbard at one point caught the big man and nearly felled him. Oonagh, rising, was crouched hard in a corner; Mistress Boyle, eyes wild, had retreated to the parlour and watched from there. No one attempted to fetch help. If this was to be a crime passionnel, the fewer witnesses the better. And no servant, knowing Theresa Boyle and knowing O'Connor, would dare intervene.\n\nIn the crowded space, the sword was not easy to use. It stuck, became impaled on the panelling, or impeded the wielder with its weight. O'LiamRoe, jumping on a fine marquetry table, had it knocked from under him by Cormac's boot and falling, found a shield quite by accident as Cormac's steel sank deep in the wood.\n\nCormac left it there and jumped on the soft somersaulting body of the other man. As he hit him, O'LiamRoe's arm shot out with the impact, found the poker laid in the nearly dead hearth, and swinging it over the big Irishman's back, branded him like a heifer. With a screech O'Connor flung free, and in the stench of wool and hide his curses found habitat.\n\nO'LiamRoe got out his sword and scrambled to his feet as the other man, his fists opening and shutting, rose likewise and faced him. In the parlour there sounded, briefly, a sharp crash. O'Connor's attention left his victim for a second; long enough to catch the broken-necked glass tossed to him diamond-bright by Mistress Boyle. Holding it queerly before him, flashing, pure as a bride's bouquet, he feinted neatly and leaned to stroke the jagged glass down O'LiamRoe's face.\n\nO'LiamRoe was not even looking. His kind face, printed with surprise and dislike, was turned to Theresa Boyle. He opened his mouth, shifted his weight, and with perfect simplicity sat down, just as the arched blow approached him. It passed over his head, stirring the marmalade hair, and Oonagh, moved beyond even her steely strength, let out a high sharp note of laughter.\n\nO'LiamRoe had dropped his sword. On all fours he was fumbling to lift it when with a rustle Mistress Boyle swept through the doorway and bent down to seize it.\n\n'Ah, no!' said Oonagh O'Dwyer. 'Ah, no, wild hag, we are not heeding you this night at all.' And laying hands on the two wiry grey plaits, she made to drag the older woman like a drowned thing to her feet.\n\nIn that moment, for the second time, the bright glass aimed at O'LiamRoe descended. Like the grey shears of Atropos, grim among the late flowers in Jean Ango's garden, the needle edge dropped, cleaving the thick plait with a tug clean between hand and scalp; and falling, bit into Theresa Boyle's neck.\n\nThe scream, when it came, was like a man's, gross and brutal, and all the folds of the bundled cabbage, screwed featureless on the floor, had become poured over with red. His mouth open, the up-wrenched bottle still fast in his hand, Cormac O'Connor bent over the woman while O'LiamRoe rising backed, his face sick.\n\nHe turned and ran.\n\nHe had reached the parlour door when Cormac came back to himself. O'Connor said nothing; the curses and threats all cut off by the weight of the shock. Then rage came. Like a man spiritually harmed, like one who has looked on the symbols of a diabolical Mass, he put out his hand and armed himself, lifting the heavy sword from its deep cut as if it were paper and presenting it, across the width of two rooms, at O'LiamRoe's unarmed body.\n\nOonagh saw it. Rising stony-faced from the fallen woman's side she jumped at O'Connor, her two hands firm on his arm, and without looking he hurled her off like a cur. As she crashed clutching into the far wall, O'LiamRoe's hands moved.\n\nIt was only a small sling, and the stone was small too, round, silvery and warm from his pocket. But slinging was an ancient art, a lost custom, a piece of erudite and unnecessary knowledge which only O'LiamRoe would have bothered to gain, and an art which only O'LiamRoe would have thought it worth while practising. With the soft, craftless fingers which, right hand or left, could split a held hair, the Prince of Barrow fitted his little stone, lifted the sling and let fly.\n\nThe first struck O'Connor in the mouth, breaking in the fleshy lip and like a wrecked forum razing his teeth. The second, stinging sharp in the middle of the round, suffused brow, felled him like a tree; slowly, buffeting shrub and sapling and undergrowth, flat to the ground. Holding hard to the wall, Oonagh watched him.\n\nAbove the old woman's harsh moaning, 'Never fear,' said O'LiamRoe breathlessly. He cleared his throat, gasped, and moving stiffly nearer, ran a dirty hand through his hair. 'He won't be dead.'\n\nIn her white face the younger woman's pale eyes looked almost black. 'And if he were?'\n\nStill breathlessly, he spoke at a tangent. 'The woman will need help.'\n\nAgain she faced him without moving. 'She is past helping.'\n\nHe said, 'It had to be done\u2026 and at this minute I do not know yet if it is done.'\n\n'It is done,' said Oonagh O'Dwyer. The woman moaned, and was quiet.\n\nHis oval face had no smile. 'Twenty years of my thinking life have said their seven curses over him. He has won, too, in his way. It is a triumph of violence over culture, force over thought.\u2026 I have come to the crossroads you feared, and passed them. It may be a true road, or it may be the first step into all the kind, easy turnings of decay.'\n\n'Maybe. There is no knowing for either of us until judgment day.' She passed him, remote as she had always been, dreamlike with her white face and her streaming black fall of hair, the stained robe dragging the floor; and opening the door, turned and faced him. 'The back door is quiet to unlock, and not overlooked. Go quickly. The light is not far off.'\n\nHe came beside her, but no nearer than that. 'I will not leave you with them.'\n\nShe turned her head. Raw, rumpled, stiff as an ox on the spit, Cormac lay in the smashed room, and at his feet the woman lay still, her thick hands at her neck. 'It is time to go,' she said. 'I must take my road, too. From this out you will hear nothing of me, and will do nothing to search me out. That is my price.'\n\nHe did not reply all at once. Then, 'For what, mo chiall; a chiall mo chridhe?' he said steadily.\n\nBut he knew already what his ignorance was to buy: the name he had wanted, the name of the man serving Lord d'Aubigny which was to deliver both Lymond and the Queen.\n\nTelling him, her eyes were compassionate. 'Leave me go kindly,' she said. 'My body will not want, and my thoughts you will have. There is a strong path before you, and a forced door you need not be ashamed of. Only violence could have sundered this man and myself, and the violence which parted us was the force that was born fresh in your mind, not the coarse work it has had to put its hand to tonight. It will find nobler tasks yet to do.'\n\nHer hands lay cold in his. Searching her empty face he said, 'We shall meet?'\n\n'At the fall of night, on the far side of the north wind,' she said.' 'Love me.'\n\n'All my days,' said Phelim O'LiamRoe, Prince of Barrow, dropping into the tongue of his land. 'Dear stranger, dear mate of my soul: all my days.'\n\nAnd walking quiet and blind, he let slip her two hands and left.\n\n'His name is Artus Cholet, Lord d'Aubigny's other henchman,' Oonagh O'Dwyer had said. 'He is of the district, a master gunner who has fought for any well-paying captain in his day. He will not show himself at Ch\u00e2teaubriant, but if he has been given work to do, he won't be far away. Take the. Angers road, and at the Auberge des Trois Mari\u00e9s ask for Georges Gaultier, and tell him what you want.'\n\nDark in the misty June morning, Ch\u00e2teaubriant was still. Dim through the painted shutters, the hoof beats of a single horse burst, applauding the cobbles, and were gone.\n\nNo one saw O'LiamRoe go. He had not taken time to find Dooly, curled on the straw in his dark lodging, watching the lightening sky. In another street, handsomely lodged, Lord d'Aubigny slept, ready to wake fresh and serene to his harvest at last. The English, courtiers and servants, lay exhausted by heat and diplomacy in rooms and lodgings, hospices and barns all through Ch\u00e2teaubriant. At the Ch\u00e2teau Neuf Northampton slept, well bedded, well content, under the three flags of Scotland, England and France. The Court of France. King and Queen and Constable, de Guises, Diane, fulfilled the allotted hours of slumber, precisely as automata, as part of the long-learned, accustomed framework of rite.\n\nA heap of red hair in an immaculate bed, the Queen of Scotland slept; but in her mother's room the candle burned and spluttered by the outflung arm of a sleeper who had counted most of the night hours away. Beyond, Margaret Erskine lay still with open eyes.\n\nIn the Vieux Ch\u00e2teau, Lymond's two warders, both Constable's men, were having an unexpectedly tedium-free night. The tall one, rattling the dice box, was the more impressionable. 'That's a good song.'\n\n'This is a better,' said Lymond; and sang it, while they listened to each bawdy verse, whimpering. At the end, sitting curled on his pallet, Francis Crawford spoke idly. 'Anton, why does a man leave his mistress?'\n\n'He loves another,' said the tall gaoler promptly, and threw.\n\nThe short one chimed in. 'Or she does. Or she grows fat and ugly, or pesters him for marriage.'\n\n'Or has too many children,' said the tall gaoler gloomily.\n\nLymond's face remained grave. 'And why, do you think, might a mistress part from her lover?'\n\n'Your case?' asked the tall man, and laid down the dice.\n\nLymond shook his head. 'Another's.'\n\n'She leaves him for a better lover,' said the short one aggressively.\n\n'No,' said Lymond gravely. 'That has been tried.'\n\nCuriously, the eyes of the tall gaoler searched the cool face. 'For money, then? Marriage? Position?'\n\n'That has been tried, too.'\n\n'She's not a mistress, that one; she's a leech,' said the short gaoler, and he picked up the dice.\n\n'She suffers the child in man,' said Lymond. 'I would guess, because she thinks with his shoulders in the clouds, his head must see further than other men. But in time\u2014'\n\n'She finds his eyes are shut,' said the short man, and threw 'Or that she has been invisible for so long that he has forgotten she is there. The clear skies above all that cloud no longer bewitch her. She looks for a man with a Godsent vocation, a brilliant vocation but a different vocation, who will either put her before it\u2026 or change it for her.'\n\n'And then she will leave her first lover. It sounds unlikely to me,' said the tall man, and threw in his turn.\n\n'It is beginning to sound unlikely to me,' said Francis Crawford after some thought. 'What about another song?'\n\nMuch later, when the short guard was asleep and Lymond, stretched prone on his face, lay open-eyed and abstracted in bed, the tall man swung his chair to the floor, saying, 'But would she be happy with him?'\n\nThe fair, bloody head jerked round. 'What? Who happy with whom?'\n\n'With the other. If he altered his ideals, would the woman stay even with him?'\n\n'Christ,' said Lymond. 'Mild and eloquent Balder, the woman would never even think of him. His office is purely to sunder; neither he nor any man has power to do more than that.'\n\n'Then where is his reward?' said the tall gaoler, and began to swing rhythmically again.\n\n'Round as Giotto's \"O\",' said Francis Crawford. 'His reward is nothing, nullity, negation, an absence, a lack. His golden reward, equal to its own weight of shaved beard, is this, that the lady did not accept him.'\n\n'She is ugly?'\n\n'She is beautiful as the tides of the sea,' said the pleasant voice from the bed. 'Warm, silken and fathomless; and familiar with mysteries.'\n\n'They all are, the bitches,' said the tall man, and went on rocking, slowly, in silence.\n\nThe Inn of the Trois Mari\u00e9s, outside St. Julien-de-Vouvantes and nine miles from Ch\u00e2teaubriant, had brought Ma\u00eetre Gaultier as close to his clients at Court as the congested billeting situation would allow. He was not disturbed, confident in the belief that a needy gentleman will sniff out a usurer, as the mastiffs of Rhodes were said to distinguish Turk from Christian by the smell.\n\nThe O'LiamRoe, launched upstairs with the first sunlight, was given audience without question; but Georges Gaultier's listening face was vacant. He heard the Prince of Barrow through, hummed a line of some obscure monody, his patched eyebrows scaling his brow, then disappeared without excuse.\n\nTen minutes later O'LiamRoe found himself greeting the tall, brooding figure and eaglet face of the Dame de Doubtance, seated at a little spinet and picking out with one thin, tight-cuffed claw the notes of an astonishingly bawdy song O'LiamRoe hoped she had never heard sung. Clearly Gaultier had conveyed all his news. The flat, downturned mouth tightened, then moved as she swung round for his bow. 'The woman is a fool.'\n\nHe faced her out, all his clothes whitened with dust, and dust in his wild golden hair. 'You will never see a braver,' he said.\n\n'And you are a fool,' said the Lady harshly. 'She has the gift, that black-haired woman, and she gave herself like carrion, to feed her own pride.'\n\n'She has left him.' His face thinned with sleeplessness, O'LiamRoe kept his temper.\n\n'Left him? Dotard, schoolboy, unleavened bread, can you believe I speak of Cormac O'Connor?'\n\nErect, drawn to her full height, she peered down at him from her archaic headdress, the golden plaits thonged on her breast. 'Ah, you are pleasant,' she said. 'Many a starving man will come to you, seeing you starving and able to laugh. You appear pleasant, as drowning leaves in a pond.'\n\nAnger had gone. 'He has shown me,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\n'He has shown himself; that is all that matters,' said the Dame de Doubtance. 'Artus Cholet lives with the woman Berthe at St. Julien. The house is thatched; with St. John over the door.' Still speaking, she reseated herself, the long robes shifting, and resumed at her spinet.\n\nStiff-backed, O'LiamRoe stood and watched. 'If man can do it, I shall save them both.'\n\n'Run, then,' she said encouragingly. 'And try hard. I would have told this sooner\u2026 I might have told this sooner, but Artus Cholet is my sister's son, though a fool. You may kill him. He has come to the end.'\n\nHe left her, predatory, frowning over her fingering hands. As he closed the door he heard her address them: 'Sleep, mes enfants\u2014but can you not sleep? This day you must wake fresh as a rosebud. Right hand, you have left hand to meet in the lists.'\n\nOut of the inn; through the stirring life of a country road, and past the unlocked door of a cottage with St. John over the threshold.\n\nBerthe, fat, frightened and wary, had been sleeping alone, but another head at some time had crumpled the pillow and, outside, a horse had recently been watered and fed. He threatened her, hoarseness and tension disguising his lack of skill, until she spoke.\n\nArtus had left early for Ch\u00e2teaubriant; where and for what purpose she did not know. She knew nothing of use, it appeared, but his description; and this, cringing, she gave.\n\nThere was another mare in the littered stable. O'LiamRoe changed saddles and, freshly mounted, started back. He had had to beat her, in the end; but it was plain she knew nothing more. After all his efforts, after the agony at Mistress Boyle's, after the ride to the inn and to St. Julien, he was no further on. The man he wanted had vanished into Ch\u00e2teaubriant, and by the time he came back to his Berthe, it might well be too late.\n\nFlying through the first heat of the morning, double-printing the track he had taken such a short time before, it came to O'LiamRoe that it was no longer one man's work. Lord d'Aubigny notwithstanding, the English visitors notwithstanding, despite the Queen Dowager and the delicate balance of power she had betrayed Lymond to preserve, his share in all the bitter complexity of the day's work was to beat the drum; to rouse the jungle; and to call friend and enemy alike into the open.\n\nHis bones ached, under the sun; and when carters cursed him, he did not turn.\n\nOn the new lake, the painted boats moved no more than a mirage, barring the satiny water with candy-bright troughs. Mary, solid and rosy with heat, was being dressed by a cat's cradle of nurse, governess, maids of honour, femmes de chambre, valets, pages, grooms and a drum she had fallen in love with the previous evening and had demanded, screaming, to attend her at dawn. Quickly, and with tact, Margaret Erskine got rid of him before he passed the outermost door of the suite. Today, none but trusted faces were allowed in these rooms; no food or drink passed the child's lips that one of them had not tasted; none but friends and servants would surround her when she walked abroad.\n\nThe Queen Dowager came in, the Cardinal cool and fair at her back; kissed the child, and went out. This morning, her r\u00f4le was to wait.\n\nIn the darkness of the Vieux Ch\u00e2teau, Lymond waited, too, with tired patience. Miraculously, after a while he slept, in the shirt of coarse wool which was all they could bring him.\n\nHe was sleeping when the Countess of Lennox came upon him, his head buried in his bare arms. She had come prepared to bribe handsomely for the ten minutes' pleasure she wanted, but had found the tall gaoler surprisingly modest in his needs. His smile had puzzled her, too.\n\nThen the cell door closed behind her and locked, and she watched but could not tell what second he woke, for he looked up lazily after a moment and said, 'Welcome, Countess.' And added immediately, swinging with grace to the floor, 'Lady, this is most indiscreet. Warwick's brutish eye is everywhere, you know.'\n\n'They are gathering for the ceremony.' He looked neither anxious nor angry, damn his kingfisher soul. 'I feared we might not meet before you suffer at last for your crimes.' She seated herself on the bare bed he had vacated, arranging her gown. 'You see what happens when you lose your head.'\n\n'You warned me.' He bowed in acknowledgment; the odd shirt over his long hose recalled, involuntarily, the cloth of gold tabard at Hackney. He said dryly, 'Don't look so surprised. Coronez est \u00e0 tort, granted; but not for the first time in the world. Let's not sing a fourpenny dirge over it.' He twitched up a stool and perched on it, patiently embracing his knees. 'Well. On which aspect of our ill-advised doings are we about to lecture each other? I have very little to say. As I recall, I exhausted the matter on several other occasions.'\n\n'But this godlike magnanimity is new.' Under the high-dressed, green-wheat hair, Margaret Douglas's eyes were wary. 'Such forbearance, when your own Queen has forsaken you!'\n\n'Identify your Queens,' said Lymond promptly. 'You forget, we have a pack. The cells are bearing Queens as if every one were a coining iron, with a fat, laurel-wreathed face in the wax. If you mean the Dowager\u2014'\n\n'Of course I mean the Dowager,' said Margaret.\n\n'\u2014She is a tough lady to woo. Matthew will tell you. Jenny Fleming's stepfather, even. King Henry of England\u2014'\n\n'I had not supposed,' said Lady Lennox sarcastically, 'that you were asking her hand. Your practices are quite other.'\n\nAbruptly Lymond got up. 'Oh, no. Not this. Not again. If you must dispute, dispute the living issues: Rome and Mary Tudor, Lutherism and Scotland, Spain and the German princes, France and Suleiman's new empire, the rich new world and starving Ireland, and everywhere the new steel-founder's war. These are the events you and Matthew are moving. I don't want to know how small the mainspring may be.'\n\nShe had risen as well. 'Then you would have done well to have found out. For that is why you are here, my dear: because you will not learn that in each of us the mainspring is the smallest thing in the world\u2014is just the single word \"I\".'\n\nIn the dim light they faced each other. 'God help us both,' said Lymond, his mouth straight, his eyes level for once. 'But if I live, and if you live, I will bring you a nation of souls that will give you the lie.'\n\nBut he recovered his good humour, it seemed, quickly; for as she left she could hear his voice, at ease with villancico, carolling Ninguno cierre las puertas behind the grille of his door.\n\nMuffled under the tinsel of birdsong, the bells for Tierce ran their oiled course. Robin Stewart heard them at the door of his cottage, the green light flecking his groomed hair and the painstaking white of his shirt; in the deep grass his boots shone, nutbrown, vigorously tended in their turn.\n\nInside, it was the same. Hard work had turned a hovel into a soldier's room, clean, orderly and shining; the one chair mended, the bed folded, the scrubbed table spread with the best food he could buy or steal: farm butter and milk in a crock, a cheese, a board of patties and a thick jug of wine. In the corner, his canvas bag lay, packed like a surgeon's, with his spurs and sword like silver beside it. On the long, rawboned unshackled frame as he waited lay pride and confidence and calm expectation. The scrubbed hands hung at his side and the angry eyes, sunk in skin darkened by harsh work and harsh purpose, were serene.\n\nThe Queen was to die during the Investiture, which would open at ten. An hour earlier, he had asked, Lymond should bring the King's troops to take him into the custody which would prove to the world that of this, at least, he was innocent. And through his information, Artus Cholet would be taken in the act; d'Aubigny would be inculpated and the shadow of Thady Boy's guilt removed from Lymond himself.\n\nHe would bring perhaps a dozen Archers; or perhaps only a few of the Constable's own men from the castle, with an officer. There must be an officer, so that the testimony would be quite clear. He would hear them coming: first the pealing alarm of the birds, then the drum and rustle of hoofbeats; and the trees would lift above the helmeted heads, toss and curtsey and lift again until they were all past. Then Francis Crawford and the officer would dismount and come forward, and he would offer them food.\n\nHe would say nothing, but the new face of Thady Boy would note everything, the clean shirt and the hard work; and as they left, they would walk shoulder to shoulder, sure of each other, as they were on the tower at St. Lomer.\n\nThe bells for Tierce stopped ringing, but Robin Stewart stood and watched by the door.\n\nDethick had lost his temper. Hearing the thick Dutch-French ringing from the Privy Chamber the Constable banged with his blue-robed thickset shoulder through the tambours and fifes, the silver-tissued Gentlemen nursing axes, the Audiencier and the Commis du Controlleur de l'Audience in black velvet, the heralds at arms, lined up uneasily in silk and gold fleurs de lis, the mob of silver-hoquetoned Archers and the ground-matting of pages into the King's room.\n\nHe was not there yet. Garter, his crown pushed back, his beard limp as a lapdog's front paw, was demanding the upholsterer. The French heralds hung by uneasily and Chester, embarrassed, was on his way out to fetch help. There were, he saw, only two tables instead of three, and the carpet had not been spread. He silenced Garter, his courtesies a little belated, and got a third table in.\n\nThere was half an hour yet before the Investiture. He opened the door of the French robing room; the dresses were blinding, and so was the scent. Three Knights of the Order of St. Michael jangled together in their shells and white velvet; he missed the red velvet hat of the Chancellor and came away dissatisfied. His white ostrich feathers bobbed, and the thirty ounces of gold, troy weight, round his neck clinked garter to garter as he strode along.\n\nThe English Embassy Extraordinary, similarly dressed, waited about rather silently in a room nearby. Anne, Duke de Montmorency and Constable of France, sent a page to tell the drummers to begin, and all but trampled on the boy de Longueville, Mary of Guise's French son, with extraordinary news.\n\nWaving a thick hand at the plaintive business around him, Montmorency heaved about him his blue robes the colour of heaven, and hurried off.\n\n'Witness against Lord d'Aubigny is clear,' he was saying ten minutes later, standing again, his clothes gathered ready to leave. 'And this man Cholet, when we can trace him, will no doubt be made to confess. But until that moment, remember, there is nothing to say that the Tour des Minimes was d'Aubigny's doing. I cannot release Crawford without clearer proof. As it is, the affair of d'Aubigny, evidently, will require the most gentle attentions.\u2026 Madame, I must go.'\n\nHe had no special liking for the Queen Dowager of Scotland, but he could admire her gift for negotiation; he had never before caught her with her timing at fault. Hurried by the boy, he had found her with only one of her ladies, the mad Irishman O'LiamRoe who had insulted the King, and a big man he recognized vaguely as some sculptor.\n\nListening to the tale, he realized that the unfortunate was happening. The sculptor H\u00e9risson had evidently in his keeping a man called Beck, a Flemish merchant who would swear to d'Aubigny's guilt at Rouen. On top of that, the Irishman had just come in with a tale of a man loose in Ch\u00e2teaubriant who meant to do the little Queen harm.\n\nIf he were caught, it meant the convenient scapegoat in the Vieux Ch\u00e2teau must be freed, and the King must be coaxed to put aside the friendship of d'Aubigny. While his heart could wish for no more, the Constable knew this particular diplomatic labour was beyond him. He said, staring at Mary of Guise, 'We can do nothing while the Embassy is here\u2026 corbleu; envisage the Commissioners sent to ask our princess's hand watching the grounds being combed for a French assassin intent on killing the girl\u2026 especially if the assassin is inspired by some English minority.\u2014You have no firm reason to believe the attempt will be made today?'\n\nO'LiamRoe answered. 'Only that the man has left his home for Ch\u00e2teaubriant. And it seems likely that it will be done while Robin Stewart is at large and while Lord d'Aubigny himself is plainly on duty. A house-to-house search, monseigneur\u2014'\n\n'No. Unthinkable,' said the Constable. 'No. I must go. And you, M. le duc. Thank you, M. H\u00e9risson, and you, my lord of the Salif Blum. My officers will call on you after the Investiture and M. Beck will be taken au secret. Meanwhile, the child must be doubly guarded. My lieutenant will present himself to you. Take as many men as you need, and surround her. She need not be frightened; they will hide their arms. You will give my lieutenant also your designation of Cholet. One may not search, but all men may observe. Between the banquet and the conference if I can, I shall return to the matter. Madame\u2026 messieurs.'\n\nThe grand rabroueur had gone. His leaf-gold tresses on end, his eyes in baskets from the long night without sleep, Phelim O'LiamRoe smacked his two fists together and cursed. The Queen Dowager, hardly aware of him, had turned her erect body to the window, followed by Margaret Erskine's wide eyes. But Michel H\u00e9risson, who had arrived so unexpectedly on the Irishman's heels, ran his hacked and gouty hands through the wild white hair and said through his teeth, 'Liam aboo, son, Liam aboo! My Gaelic's all out in holes, the way my arse is ridden out through my breeches; but if you are saying what I hope you are saying, Liam aboo, my son, Liam aboo!'\n\nOn the lake, the early mist had all gone and the little boats had been moved into the middle. A small gathering of musicians, moving tenderly about a flower-decked raft, were tuning rebec, lute and viol for a rehearsal, thin as oyster-catchers in the still air. Elsewhere, on the shore, in the tilting ground, about the pavilions and stands, men were busy.\n\nIt was magnificent, if not very new. The theme and costumes for today had been used before: they did the English Commissioners sufficient honour. Industriously classical, Sibec de Carpi's stands lining the tilting ground were redecorated with vine garlands and busts, cartouches and winged genii bearing the three royal flags; for after the Investiture, after the banquet, after the conference, there would be jousting that night.\n\nAnd later still, a water pageant. Round the lake, low gardens had been laid out, a fountain erected at each end and a pavilion put up overlooking the water, draped with eye-blinding cloth of gold and fitted with lamps and torch sockets. From here, where the painters worked stripped to the waist, the Court would sit after dinner and watch the spectacle of Ida, la berg\u00e8re phrygienne, driving cautiously round the lake, her chariot harnessed to geese and nymphs and satyrs, Pans and centaurs gambolling round. Some of these, lured by the sun and an authorized negligence of dress, were already there, spread on the dry grass: a Victory with gold wings sat under a pear tree playing a whistle, and two priestesses crowned with snakes chaffed a Bacchus in purple sitting on the paving, knees akimbo, and feet spread green in the cool pond.\n\nBehind the gardens, the accessories were stacked: the hero's flask of leopardskin destined to spray the paths with cheap wine; the chariots to be drawn by elephants, ostriches, deer; the Fortune forwarded from Angers, wheel and apple in hand; the carts with statues of kings and gods stacked inside. Among a group of forest maids admiring them was Diana herself, Madame de Valentinois, in black cloth of gold sewn with silver stars and amazingly brief, though not as short as the nymphs' dresses, turned up to mid-thigh. Their bows and darts, of carved and gilded hardwood, were piled among the crowns and the torches and the cages of doves. Her ladies, in violet lustring, looked hot and rather cheerful: the workmen were not shy of tongue.\n\n'The auld quean,' said the Keeper of the Menageries, watching mask-faced from under his turban on the distant side of the lake. Hughie the elephant, half-dressed in expensive gold harness, eructated with sonorous calm, and Piedar Dooly, his bees' legs in fustian black hating the ground they stood on, said coldly, 'It's the King's woman. Would you need three eyes to see it? And if he isn't here, where is he?'\n\nThe brocaded figure, cross-legged before the biggest pavilion, watched keepers and cowardies move about the tents and cages, listened to the soft animal sounds and breathed through bean-wide nostrils the pattern of smells that reveal the well-regulated menagerie. He did not turn his head. 'If ye dinna know, then likely you're not meant to ken,' said Abernaci. The camel, which was supposed to carry the incense, had thrown a fit in the night. Mules would have to do; he wouldn't trust any more cats. The grass rustled to approaching feet, and another figure slid on its haunches beside him. 'If you mean the Prince of Barrow, he's at the castle,' said Tosh. 'Christ, what does it remind you of?'\n\n'Paris. Lyons. Rouen. Dieppe. Amboise. Angers,' said Abernaci. 'There's a kind of sameness. Only this time we're untying our very own purse, so we're a wee thing skimped as to hay. D'ye mind Hughie upsetting the\u2014No. Ye werena at Rouen.'\n\n'They play at gods,' said Piedar Dooly, and spat. 'French and English alike. Gods out of hell would you say, harrowing green land for their tennis courts and dressing lapdogs in treasure that would keep half Ireland in bread for a year. The heroes of Tara would have put them face to schisty face and used them for millstones.'\n\nDropping back on the burned grass, Tosh stretched his arms under his head. 'Ye needna miscall the French. They drove the English fairly out of their country.'\n\nIn two wiry steps, Dooly lowered over the funambulist. 'With eight thousand Irishmen to help them!' he exclaimed. 'Are you saying that Ireland won't send the English off her shores with a blow that will make these fat folk look seven ways at once\u2014and the Scots too? Doesn't every man know that the great Scottish nation has got so soft all out that France has to fight all her wars for her? Women ruled by women\u2026 and there's the great war-lord chief of you all, in her petticoats, scarce off the breast of her nurse, come to preside at the weapon showing there.'\n\nTosh, an even-tempered man, caught Abernaci's eye and rolled over. 'Oh, aye, there's great bullocks in Ireland,' he said. 'But they canna get them shipped for their long horns, they say.' Abernaci, having observed that the child Queen had indeed come to the far edge of the lake, hopped to his feet and stood astride, shading his brown cracked face with his hand. 'Christ. The governess. The Erskine woman. The Fleming boy. Two of the children, and six men-at-arms. They're examining the boat the way it was a good case of beggar's leprosy.\u2026 They're getting in.'\n\n'They'll be as safe in mid-water as anywhere, if the boat's all right,' said Tosh. 'What's the rest of the armada?' In the middle of the lake, twelve little boats bobbed, roped to each other and then to a buoy: gondolas, brigantines, galleys in small.\n\n'Nothing to harm her,' said Abernaci. 'Brigantines and galleys for the mock fight, the state barge, and boats with squibs and canes of fire darts and clods and moulins \u00e0 feu. Even were they all set off at once, they couldn't hurt; and they can hardly be set off. There's not a lit torch been allowed near the lake. You'll have heard\u2014Man,' he broke off, turning on Piedar Dooly, craning at his elbow. 'Are ye not for finding O'LiamRoe, now ye ken whaur he is?'\n\n'Ah, get comfortable,' said the Irishman contemptuously, and turned his back on the water. 'I was there when they threw the ollave into prison, and a better thing the fools never did. It's no news to me.'\n\nFor the second time, the eyes of the other two met. 'Nor to me,' said Tosh briefly. '\u2014I hear also that Cormac O'Connor is sick.'\n\nPiedar Dooly dropped to the grass. 'O'LiamRoe\u2014would you know it?' he said. 'I tell you, were I not to let the wind out of him this while and that, we would never see the Slieve Bloom again.' And he hugged his knees, his raw face complacent.\n\nIt was Abernaci, used to reading the speechless, who stood as if graven, receiving the first signals of danger; then, like a snake striking, flicked into the grass and came up with Piedar Dooly's shoulder pinched flat in one hand. Tosh, jumping to his feet, took one look and gripped Dooly's other arm, a question on his broad Aberdeen face. 'Would you say,' said Abernaci kindly, 'that he was waiting for something?'\n\nPiedar Dooly was too wise to shout, and too stupid to keep his mouth shut entirely. 'Stad thusa ort!\u2014It's too late, anyway,' he said smiling, and spat.\n\nThe King's Keeper looked over his head at Thomas Ouschart, and then spoke aside briefly in Urdu. Then, holding the little Firbolg very carefully between them, they carried him silently into the pavilion.\n\nAt five minutes to ten the King, hatless in white, entered the Privy Chamber, and the Archers of the Guard, the gentlemen and princes lining the walls uncovered and bowed. The music stopped.\n\nOutside the far door, the Garter procession had been formed for ten minutes, talking in low voices, sweating in velvet. The Constable, incongruous among all the English faces, had arrived, a little late, to take his place next to Mason. Ahead of him was the Bishop, Sir Thomas Smith and Black Rod; in the middle, Northampton was talking to Dethick, a Christian act for all concerned. The file of servants stretched in front up to the doors, not speaking at all. Their necks were clean.\n\nThe trumpets blew, and they moved in.\n\nYou had to grant they were good at it. Like machines, the Lord Ambassador's staff paced into the Presence, lined with diamond-studded foreigners, moving straight up to the tables to let the tail of the Embassy get in. The door shut, the three reverences were made, and as the trumpets burst into a fantasy of sound the two ranks separated, exposing the advancing officers of arms: Flower, tramping steadily in Chester Herald's brilliant coat, his arms full of material, and Garter King of Arms, his beard combed, his crown straight, in his furred robe with the blue and red quartered tabard V-necked over it, gleaming with gold lions and fleurs-de-lis. He carried the cushion of purple velvet, tasselled with gold, on which sparkled the Garter, the Collar, the Book of Statutes in gold lace and velvet and the scroll with their Commission of Legation\u2014most of which must be pinned\u2014nothing slid or even moved.\n\nWith a marvellous bow to the sovereign's state, Dethick deposited the Ensigns on the long table beside the Mantle, Surcoat, Hood and Cap, and made way for Northampton. The oration began. The Commission of Legation, handed over to Henri, was read aloud by his secretary. 'Edward VI, by the grace of God, King of England and Lord of Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Sovereign of our Most Noble Order of the Garter, to our right truly and right entirely beloved Cousin, the Marquis of Northampton\u2026 will and authorize you\u2026 accept and admit to the said Order, and receive his oath.\u2026'\n\nExtraordinary how well their robes became them. Parr, who hadn't the wits of a trumpet on the field, could pass for a King. There was d'Aubigny. Henri looked nervous. Devil take the de Guises, thought the Constable. He would like to see the Dowager's face if Edward agreed to hand over Calais in return for marrying her daughter after all, compensation or no compensation.\n\nHe suppressed a sigh. It wasn't likely to happen; merely an interesting gambit, nothing more. But it was a triumph for his own party that the thing had even been agreed. He hoped to God that St. Andr\u00e9 would be circumspect. The last marriage embassy they had sent in old King Henry's day had nearly ruined their mission, selling off the contents of their baggage at cut prices to their hosts before the puddings were set on the table; the Tailors' Hall had looked like a market stall, and the guilds had all been up in arms, and quite rightly too. However, he could trust St. Andr\u00e9. Unlike the de Guises. Pasque-Dieu, the Duke wasn't here. No, he was; come in late.\u2026 God, it was hot.\n\nIt was the short guard who came at a run and unlocked and flung open the door; the men behind him were de Guise's. Lymond was amongst them in a second, his hand on O'LiamRoe, white and breathless at their head. '\u2014She told you?'\n\n'Robin Stewart sent word. Dooly held it back. It's only reached us this minute. The attempt is now, on the lake.'\n\nThey were running, the armed men rattling behind. As they ran, O'LiamRoe managed to speak. 'We must go quietly. Your release is unlawful. There's no proof as yet, and the King would never agree.\u2026 Tosh brought Piedar; Abernaci's gone back. The Queen's on the lake, but even if the explosive is there, Cholet has no means of firing it,' said the Prince of Barrow, reaching dizzily for some sane element in a rocking world. 'And listen\u2014Stewart is wanting you. He was after you to come for him this morning at nine, to keep the blame off him for all this. There's a message.'\n\n'Oh\u2014Stewart,' said Lymond. 'He'll bustle in with a knife and a bloody lecture, both wide of the mark, when it's all over. To the sea. To the sea, thou that art initiated!'\n\nRunning past the tiltyard, the sweat dripping from the chin\u2014'Michel H\u00e9risson is there,' said O'LiamRoe. 'They've got Beck.\u2026 The man we're looking for is fortyish, small, thick, black haired, with a ginger beard.'\n\n'God!' said Lymond and laughed, panting; to O'LiamRoe he seemed vibrant with life. He ran like a dancer, outstripping the other man's stumbling feet, the soldiers in their leather jerkins at his elbow. But at the lake he stopped dead. 'My God, what are they doing? She's still there. Look!'\n\nThey stopped. It was true. The Queen's barge, gaily painted and stuffed with children and men-at-arms, was tied up in the centre of the lake, with the twelve little vessels alongside.\n\n'No boats,' said O'LiamRoe, a shade late. 'They took the last for the Queen. And the musicians are drowning the shouting.'\n\n'If there's a slow match\u2026'\n\n'There isn't,' said O'LiamRoe. 'Abernaci swears no one has been out to these boats since last night. There isn't a master gunner alive who could judge a slow match for that long.'\n\n'Then it's going to be a fire arrow,' said Lymond, without apparently taking any thought at all. 'The menagerie is clear of strangers?'\n\n'We can depend on that.'\n\n'Then it must come from the pavilion, or the end of the lake where the chariots are. You can see this end is empty. Take three men and scour the carriages. I'll do the\u2014'\n\nIt was Michel H\u00e9risson, without greeting, who interrupted him. 'Thady, there are Diana's bows over there, and flint by the stand\u2014'\n\n'Find the fountains and put them on. Can you swim? No? Phelim? God\u2014no, look. Abernaci is in.' The file of running men, stringing out, began to spread round the box paths. Lymond, H\u00e9risson at his side, started up to the lakeside stand, glaring cloth of gold, with the workmen resting, staring, on its roof. One of them began to run.\n\nLymond whistled. The high, sweet call stopped O'LiamRoe in his tracks, halfway over to the carts. The de Guise men below halted and looked up. By now the men-at-arms in the Queen's boat had caught sight of the flurry. From the shore their sun-reddened faces could be seen gazing distrustfully towards land. They had raised their shields in a kind of barricade; behind it, not even Mary's red hair could be seen. They must have thought, with relief, that she was quite safe; they made no move to row to land.\n\nThe man on the roof disappeared. But not before they had seen the small barrel body, and the chestnut grizzle on the chin. It was Cholet. Lymond seized one of the stout Roman pilasters and began to climb like a goat\u2014O'LiamRoe could see the flying black coat of the ollave, racing up the mast of La Sauv\u00e9e, knife in his teeth. He had no knife now. To free his arms he had stripped off even the wide canvas shirt; against his brown, scarred back his hair looked less yellow than silver.\n\nCholet reappeared, bow in hand, on the thick cartouche crowning the front of the stand. Against the white disc of the sun, flame was pale as air, but they could see the grey smoke rising, thin and wandering, from the flaming arrow as he nocked.\n\nHe shot three burning arrows swiftly, one after the other. The first dropped hissing into the water. The second and the third sank firmly into the wood of the ninth vessel in the lake, the small galley next the canopied barge of state. Then Artus Cholet threw down the bow and kindling on the flat roof beneath him. The varnished wood and baked metal cloth of the stand received it like some worldly friar his martyrdom, and laid between Cholet and Francis Crawford, racing towards him, a sudden lurching barrier of fire.\n\nThe Latin was over, thank God, and the worst of the affair: Ely with a cursed long-winded oration and de Guise replying, silky in red camelot\u2014a foreigner; one would say English himself. Now Henri, in plain white sewn with silver aiglettes, his black hair shining, looking well, touched the Book, kissed the Cross and was taking the oath.\n\nIt was going smoothly after all. Garter, well into his stride, took the blue silk Garter with its gold letters and buckle from the cushion, kissed it and gave it to Northampton. Flinging back his own mantle the Marquis took it and, kneeling, bound it round the muscular left leg of the King, combining reverence with deftness in a way that betrayed well-spent time with an equerry.\n\nD'Aubigny was looking smug. Why had Fran\u00e7ois de Guise been late? That fellow who played the Irishman had been his sister's spy; you could tell that. The play acting over the boar had been typically \u00e0 deux visages\u2014a disclaimer of her interest at the time, and an excuse for her to be lenient later, if she needed one. And she had cast him off pretty sharply in the end. It was surprising that he permitted it. Not that you could blame her. As events proved, she had been right.\n\nYou could guess, too, the kind of game she would be playing in Scotland. A de Guise Regent of Scotland; a de Guise Pope at Rome; a de Guise virtually King of France.\u2026 Well. They would see about that. But with this fellow at her back\u2026?\n\nWell, they would see about that, too. The King had liked him; he would give the M\u00e9dicis something to think about, too.\n\nCapito vestem hanc purpuream.\u2026 God, it was hot.\n\nThe ninth galley was on fire. On Mary's boat they had seen it. Someone, head and shoulders over the gunwale, was hacking at ropes. Then the whole linked cluster of boats rocked, and began to drift slowly forward. In his haste, the would-be helper had cut all the vessels free of the buoy, and the dozen roped boats were still drifting shoulder to shoulder in the same moving mass with his own.\n\nCholet, on the far side of the roof, had started to slither down. Beyond, O'LiamRoe with his three men were running back. Lymond called to him; then turning, slid to the ground and made fast for the lake. The fountains came on, two delicate blizzards of light on either side of the water.\n\nThe Duchess de Valentinois had long since gone in; the nymphs had absented themselves, with Bacchus, at the first sign of trouble; the men-at-arms in Mary's boat, still obviously fearing nothing worse than an illicit fireworks display, were fending off the empty fleet with their oars. The brigantines, the painted galleys with their dragon prows, rocked; and a spurt of flame showed at the side and deck of the ninth. A sudden gift from heaven: the musicians, gaping, had fallen silent. Lymond, already running in water, cupped his hands. 'Gunpowder in the boats. Row away.' And turning quickly, caught the knife someone tossed him.\n\nAbernaci, halfway from the menagerie shore, was treading water. Already the drifting boats were nearer Lymond than himself. He heard Lymond shout again, this time in Gaelic, just before he struck out. It was an instruction to harness the elephant.\n\nIt was meant for Abernaci, but it was O'LiamRoe who heard and acted on it, shouting to the cowardie, thonging new rope into Hughie's harness. He stood at the water's edge, hemp in hand, and threw it in unfolding yellow fakes into Abernaci's wet hands as Francis Crawford slid through the water, green and white, to the boats. Under the sudden, urgent drive of two pairs of long oars, the Queen's boat shot towards him, and the flotilla, sucked by the wake and the rush of fire near its tail, curtseyed after.\n\nThe white surcoat was off, and the new crimson gown on, the sword girded without incident; and Garter was kissing the Mantle and Hood. 'Accipe Clamidem hanc caelici coloris\u2026 Take ye this Mantle of heavenly colour, with the shield of the Cross of Christ garnished, by whose strength and virtue ye always be defended\u2026'\n\nThe fresh-tied tassels hung still; the powdering of garters on the blue shone steadily, silver-gilt in the bright light. Henri was becoming bored.\n\nThere was only the Collar left, and the usual homily; then Chapel; then the meal. There was this: Scotland no longer had such value to France, now the English threat was so weak. If the girl died, the Dauphin would be free to marry elsewhere. For example\u2026 By God, it was hot. A man might go to sleep, heavily robed in this heat.\n\nAt the last moment, the cowardie would not go. So the big male elephant, moving lazily through the lake, had O'LiamRoe on its back, O'LiamRoe who could not swim, with his ears clouded with water, clinging to the sodden leathers on big Hughie's brow and watching Abernaci, ahead, continuing steadily towards the burning boats.\n\nLymond got there first. Margaret Erskine saw it, holding Mary loosely in her arms behind the rattling barricade of shields, tossing everyday conversation between James, herself and the children, bracing herself against the great tug of the oars as the four men drove the boat through the water. The smoke behind them smelled acrid. 'What a shame,' she said brightly. 'All the beautiful feux de joie meant for tonight. I fear, ch\u00e9rie, you are about to have the most costly display of squibs ever set off in broad daylight.'\n\n'M. Crawford will stop it,' said the girl, and poked her ruffled red head out between the lattice of arms. She was afraid\u2014Margaret could sense it\u2014but gallantly she too subscribed to the fiction. What a pity\u2026 the squibs would be put to waste.\n\nThe fair head, the dark chevron in the water, were almost level with them now. He must have known, halfway there, that the fire was now too strong to put out. His eyes lifted every few strokes gauging distances, watching O'LiamRoe and Abernaci drawing close from the far side of the lake. Once, perhaps hearing his name, he turned and lifted an arm quickly, in a shower of sunlit drops, in brief salute to the Queen. Then he was at the first of the boats, and pulling himself, wet as a starfish, up to its flanks.\n\nIt was one of the display boats. Smoothly though he climbed, the hull kissed the brigantine tied poop to prow, and the little shock ran jarring down the flotilla. The boats danced and for a second even the stranded players, clinging hoarse to their raft, were quite still. A cloud of sparks sprang from the burning galley, two-thirds along the swaying pack, and fell radiant against the rush of black smoke, thickly metallic with the smell of burned paint. The shadow of it netted them all: the clutter of boats; the Queen's barge straining to burst free at one side; and at the other, Abernaci's brown arms whirling nearer, with O'LiamRoe beyond, the bull elephant halted just within its own depth, hauling and barking at it in Gaelic to make it turn.\n\nFrom the paved shore, as the startled water bumped and splashed at their feet, the men-at-arms and the workmen, streaming down to the edge, joined moment by moment by men and women from the castle, saw the sparks drop soundlessly into the smoke. The galley's carved rails were crowded with fire. All her detail was printed black on burgeoning gold, and her pennants, pointing to the blue sky, were run up afresh by the flames.\n\nWith a crack, the fire wheel on the ultimate barge burst into light. The pale gold head of Vervassal, slipping fast through the smoke, was haloed suddenly with coloured fire. The great wheel, near enough to touch, began to turn with gathering speed, and with crack after crack the little charges within it began to fire and revolve, sparkling within the grey haze, jewelling Lymond's glittering skin as he hopped through.\n\nOn the sailyard a second wheel began to whirl, and in the foreship another. On the flaming boat, the fire had reached the deckhouse, and the little brigantine in front had begun to show a pilling of flame. Lymond crossed from the last boat to the next, his feet like velvet, slid from there to a barge, and moving from boat to boat with unbelievable softness, had reached the burning galley before the wheels behind him had gathered full speed.\n\nHe must have checked each boat as he passed. Margaret Erskine, her light sleeves flying with their own gathered speed, realized it as she saw him poised on the eighth, the burning galley before him. He was standing on the barge of state. The cloth of gold draping the top castle had caught. Lymond ripped it off in passing, flinging it to hiss in the lake. The painted windows of the stateroom whirled and glowed, eye to eye with the spitting feux de joie in the rear. Then he jumped on to the blistered deck and, blazing prow and port rails bright at his back, cut the lashing to set all the boats he had just traversed free.\n\nIt was just possible to pass to the foreship with the deckhouse giving shelter between. Lymond stopped once, to glance in the well. Then he was gone, darting like a dragonfly down, up, along, regardless of caution, crossing three boats to where Abernaci, flying turbaned through the water, was ready with the rope.\n\nThe mahout lifted himself up, his scarred face enamelled with light, and raising one thin, powerful arm, sent the hemp flying. Lymond caught it. He had found a belaying place. He lashed the cable to the leading prow, raised an arm, and as O'LiamRoe kicked and Abernaci called, saw it tighten as thirty-eight hundredweight of elephant took the strain. It was all he waited to see. As the truncated convoy, heavy, squinting, stirred and started to move, Lymond made his way back to the fire.\n\nO'LiamRoe looked back. Bleached as a raisin inside his pulped clothes, clinging to the horny grey loins with numb hands, his legs bumping awash, he could feel the big bull beneath him walking steadily and well, brow, trunk and back breaking the water, obeying the odd sounds of his mahout's distant voice.\n\nIt was a long way to the shore, but the water was empty, and the ground before them was vacant of buildings, or men or even animals to take harm. The musicians' raft, never very close, was now far away; between the four boats he was pulling and the rest of the flotilla the swirling debris-flecked gap grew and grew. Beyond that, the royal boat had pulled clear at last, skimming out of the shadow with the helmets of the rowers alight in the sun. The children's gowns showed, red and blue beyond the woman's encircling arms, and, bobbing and tousled, an excited red head. How much gunpowder was there? Christ.\u2026 Well, even if all four boats were full, in another few minutes the children would be safe.\n\nAbernaci, nearer, had seen Lymond scan the leading boat as he passed. He saw something hit the water from the second, and sink gobbling; Lymond had found powder there. He saw, in between the queer cries to Hughie, that Lymond was back now on the burning ship, using his knife to get under canvas, the moving air of their passage fringing every yard and tassel with flame. He also saw that, gathering momentum, the four ships, like four coals in their pall, were beginning to swim free in the water, answering the pull of the rope merrily, skimming the glassy water faster than the elephant could pull. The ships were overtaking their pilot.\n\nO'LiamRoe turned and saw it too. He saw two packets spin from the burning galley, followed by Lymond himself, moving swiftly, passing from ship to ship calling. What he said was not audible to O'LiamRoe, but he saw Francis Crawford raise his knife so that the wreathed sun shone on the blade, and throw it accurately and fast into Abernaci's outstretched hand. The mahout gripped it and slashed.\n\nThe cord tied to Hughie's harness sank, free. At the same moment Abernaci's voice, in Gaelic, roared 'Hold tight!' and followed with something else bellowed in Urdu. The elephant turned beneath O'LiamRoe's knees and ducking, started to swim.\n\nGreen water hit the Irishman like a scarf across mouth and teeth. Cramped fingers knotted hard in the leather, he hung on, deaf and blinded; it seemed that every box and tube in his guts was stretched and swollen with water, such was the pain. Then he broke surface, took a great, foaming mouthful of air, and saw Lymond reach the foremost boat and dive. He saw, too, Abernaci throw his wiry body kicking along the water, the cut rope fast in his fist. The mahout swam till he saw the boats veer, clear of O'LiamRoe, clear of Hughie, moving away from the rising wet head of Lymond; then he dropped the rope, took a deep breath and dived.\n\nBefore he dived like the murdered Hugh of Lincoln, he yelled. O'LiamRoe heard the call, but Hughie understood it. He squealed once, good-humouredly, because as he knew it, this was moderately good sport; and rolling flat over sank, taking O'LiamRoe with him, just as the four boats blew up\u2014squibs, fusillades, gunpowder and all.\n\nTake ye and bear this Collar, with the image of the most glorious Martyr St. George, Patron of this Order, about your neck, by the help whereof you may the better pass through both the prosperity and adversity of this world\u2026'\n\nThe Collar shone round Henri's shoulders, the twenty-six Garters with their white and red roses and the Great George blazing below. Northampton, faultless to the end, had congratulated the Stranger in the name of Edward and all the Knights Companion, and had delivered the black velvet cap, diamonds winking at the base of the plume, and the Book of the Statutes in its red velvet cover\u2026 'non temporariae modo militae gloriam, sed et perennis victoriae palmam denique recipere valeas. Amen.'\n\nAmen. The trumpets had piped faintingly out, everyone had bowed, and there was the guarded ruffling of a gathering, stiff, thirsty, and overclad, which had a Solemn Mass to get through before food.\n\nSensibly, no one began to orate. Henri, smiling, summoned both Northampton and Garter to his side and addressed them courteously; in a moment, Mason and Pickering also went. Behind, someone had opened the doors. There was an attentive rustling among the Archers, among the servants and the gentlemen with axes. The Constable, with an eye on the sun, guessed that they had kept well up to time. He caught Stewart of Aubigny's eye, returning from the same survey, and knew a moment's unease, allied to a kind of defiant unconcern. Let the Gods, Popish, Classical or Reformed, take care of it. Warwick was no fool; Warwick had included Lennox and his royal wife in this Embassy just in case of accidents, and would slough them as fast as the de Guise woman had put down that fellow, should the occasion arise.\n\nAnd France in his view should do the same. There was nothing in Ireland for France: let England pour her own money down that open drain. And let England think France her ally.\u2026 What could the Emperor do against both?\n\nThe King was talking a little too long. Pasque-Dieu, that fellow d'Aubigny looked green. Something was afoot, then. Montmorency, observing with small eyes, caught the Duke de Guise's limpid gaze and sustained it warily, for a long moment.\n\nWith a sweet and tintinnabulant crash, every window in the room cracked and blew in. The great boom which had followed the crash split into a chain of detonations, ranting like brother cannon breaching a town. Round the crackling centre of sound rose its echo, a great, sonorous wall of air which seemed to seep in through the shattered glass and fill all the stuffed room.\n\nAs puppets, every plumed head jerked round. Alone, among every pinched and startled countenance, the handsome face of Lord d'Aubigny looked at ease.\n\nThe Constable, absorbing the sense of the room in one glance, noted it and sighed. The clamour broke; it sounded like a boxful of geese. Deep in the heart of it, he heard the King's voice.\n\nNot unpleasurably, Anne de Montmorency heaved another sigh.\n\nThe noyade was over. Queen Mary of Scotland, presumably, was dead. His wife had dressed her dolls. A pretty child, last of her race, born within days of her royal father's death. The Constable was fond of children; he had seven daughters although, of course, now all grown up.\n\nThinking hard, he moved forward and took his King by the arm. 'Some accident, Sire, which should not be allowed to discommode our friends. With your permission, I shall send to find the cause while we proceed to Chapel as planned.'\n\n'John Stewart will go,' said the King. For a second only, the Constable hesitated; he saw the Duke de Guise's eyes narrow like his own. Then\u2014'As you desire, Monseigneur,' he said.\n\nThe wall of shock, moving through the turmoil of water, saved O'LiamRoe's life. Turning even the great elephant back to belly, it lifted Phelim and wheeled him like a dolphin into the air, air scarcely less dangerous with falling wood and flaming fabric, with random fire shells and lights white and coloured, and in the midst, the white coalesced furnace of what had been four ships, blustering and hissing, hammering like a molten mallet on the jerking black waves.\n\nFar away, an untouched boat was reaching the shore, an untouched royal head in the bows. Nearer, a raftful of prone musicians trotted and leaped with the water as they lay, eyes squeezed tight, heads helmed with pocked lute and snake-gutted viol.\n\nNearer still, converging towards him through the splashing water, their heads rimmed with light from the conflagration, were Lymond and Archie Abernethy, swimming matched side by side. Hands gripped his arms, a naked shoulder bore him into the air, and as Abernaci, smiling, slipped past, calling to the rearing waterfall of trumpeting anger which was Hughie, Francis Crawford held O'LiamRoe, vomiting water, firmly under his arms and set off with him to the shore; set off shearing through the smacking water like a honed blade as the feux de joie danced and sparkled, pink and blue and gold under the pall of black smoke between themselves and the sun; and crooning under his breath into O'LiamRoe's blocked red ears.\n\nAnd he did not need, after all, to swim all the way. O'LiamRoe, emerging from his stupor, found himself brought to a little rowing barge, one of those Lymond had cut free, rocking gently on its own with two pairs of oars for cargo. In a moment more he was amidships, with the shafts in his soft hands, trying to match Lymond's unthinking, professional pull. The boat bucketed over the settling waves, making straight for the menagerie. Abernaci and the elephant, he noticed, were already halfway there.\n\n\u2003Lymond was singing:\n\n\u2003'Un myrte je d\u00e9dierai\n\n\u2003Dessus les rives de Loire\n\n\u2003Et sur l'ecorce \u00e9crirai\n\n\u2003Ces quatre vers \u00e0 ta gloire.\u2026'\n\nO'LiamRoe, for the first time in what seemed like hours, essayed human speech. A quack burst from him, with a good deal of spit. He hiccoughed, his green face returning to pink-. The intrusive C,' said Lymond's voice like a lilt over his shoulder. 'Did the Slieve Bloom and your sitting-skins seem dear to you just now?'\n\nOver his shoulder, half choked, 'Last night, they seemed dear to me,' said O'LiamRoe.\n\nThe abandoned voice behind him, speaking beat for beat with the rowlocks, altered arbitrarily in timbre. 'I dreamed,' said Lymond, 'that\u2026 Cormac O'Connor was alone.'\n\n'He is,' said O'LiamRoe, his eyes on the festival of lights. 'And the woman Oonagh O'Dwyer, she is alone also.'\n\nFor a moment, the boat glided in silence. Then\u2014'We are two pedants, Phelim, guarding the moon from wolves. But better\u2014I suppose better\u2014than electing to be of the moon, or of the wolves.'\n\nThey had pulled out of the smoke. The sun struck them, cosy as an old nurse, happing them with heat and stillness and lazy security. Above, the sky was measureless, blue upon blue.\n\n'What now?' said O'LiamRoe suddenly, catching something of the power and gaiety struck from the pure light and the mood of the man sitting behind him. 'The menagerie?'\n\n'Certainly the menagerie,' said Lymond. 'Where are your ears? The menagerie, where Artus Cholet has been trying to escape from a fat Rouen sculptor ever since you began to swallow the King of France's new pond.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Ch\u00e2teaubriant: Satin and Scarlet",
                "text": "In the distraint of a chained dog, let a stick be placed across his dog-trough and a prohibition made that he be not fed; if he is fed after this, there shall a man trespass upon him.\n\nAs to the distraint of a poet: let his horsewhip be taken up, and a warning given that he is not to make use of it until he cede justice to thee.\n\nSatin and scarlet are for the son of the King of Erin, and silver on his scabbards, and brass rings upon his hurling-sticks. The son of the chief is to have all his clothes coloured, and is to wear clothes of two colours every day, each of them better than the other.\n\nScandal, outrage and unauthorized bedlam were the comforts of Michel H\u00e9risson's gouty years.\n\nWhen the three arrows arched flaming into the centre of the pond and the water filled like Palissy's crayfish with swimming forms, when the workmen and the men at arms and all the openmouthed spectators stood limply gazing after Lymond's vigorous head, or else scrambled with filled helmets to the flaming stand, Michel H\u00e9risson hopped and hobbled and finally hurtled, forgetting his gout altogether, after the thickset scampering form of Artus Cholet.\n\nGingerbeard, to begin with, did not see him. Gingerbeard flashed down the far side of the stand like a lizard and set off, twisting and dodging, round the end of the lake where the stacked baubles and accoutrements for that evening's pageant offered unusual cover. Past the chariots and the plaster gods lay the way to the menagerie; beyond the menagerie was the edge of the forest and freedom.\n\nArtus Cholet ran, head down, round the wreathed wheels, past the gilded lamps for the Satyrs, into and out of a grove of grey deities. A Jupiter rocked and H\u00e9risson, heaving his knotty bulk on to a cart-shaft, roared from his vantage point: 'Aye, shoogle, ye pie-maker's huddle of ooze, take to the skies! Ye'd best get back to the Nymphaeum, for by God, ye havena the tibias for a socle on earth!'\n\nAnd as the maligned King of Heaven fell with a crash, disclosing the black head and ginger beard arrested popeyed behind, the sculptor let loose a bellow that roused all the keepers, and leaped from the cart. 'To me! To me!'\n\nA cage of doves crashed, and a frightened turtle, wings ajar, clung to his chest. He clutched it. 'A sign! Noah, we are saved! To me! To me!'\n\nIn the distance, a lion roared. 'Ah, puss!' said Michel H\u00e9risson, running like a hare, hearing ahead of him the frantic crash of Cholet's escape and beyond that the first questioning calls of Tosh and Pellaquin and all Abernaci's subtle crew. 'Sing. Sing like one of Hero's own birds piping out of a siphon. I have a naughty man here, meet to be skewered.' And laughing like a fool at his own doubtful wit, he plunged after Artus Cholet past the first of the cages.\n\nHis broad back was the first thing O'LiamRoe saw when, already half-dried with the sun and exertion, he and Francis Crawford reached the shore. It was the first thing Abernaci saw as, comfortable on Hughie's mighty back as a lotus erect on its pad, he bade Hughie drink his fill and bless Michel's cotton poll with his trunk.\n\nBy then, the noise was prodigious. The explosion had rocked the menagerie, already distraught with scampering men. Among the loose animals, the Keeper's sick camel, a lady of brittle temper, had bobbed her tassels and sunk her yellow teeth three times into unguarded flesh; the dwarf ass brayed itself hoarse and the lion cubs, dear to Abernaci's heart, had shambled off, humping their fat, sandy rumps, to feast among the spilled milk in the wrecked kitchens.\n\nAmongst it all Cholet ran, no longer the compact bully, the master-gunner, the man who had snored last night in Berthe's hot bed. Trapped in a labyrinth of tent, cage and pavilion, of sudden foot-encumbering messes of food and straw, of alleys which ejected liveried men with pitchforks, black men with horsewhips, bears, drunk on rice and reeds and primed for the arena; distraught with chained leopards whose leap checked a yard from his face, by stones accurately thrown by caged apes, by the roaring bulls and trampling, screeching elephants, by the whorls of black smoke and impossible blossoming of fire and squibs and fire darts and bombards booming, cracking and detonating in the quiet lake behind him, Artus Cholet finally came to the most wilful challenge to his resources. He came face to face with a lion.\n\nIt was a very large lion, shaved to a tawny velvet, tail to ruff. The frenzied mane, fit for a Cardinal or a Chancellor and thick with gold dust, framed a blunt tulip muzzle, a seamed mouth and two pale golden eyeballs. The mouth opened, showing the pink ridges of arch and palate; the lion roared.\n\nThere was a cage at his elbow. His wet hands slipping on the metal, Cholet jumped for it and started to climb. As he struggled upwards, he could see that the stinking little alleyways of box and cage immediately around him were empty. Further afield, he discovered the reason: the menagerie itself was surrounded. Someone had organized the frolic and dispersed the volunteers; and a ring of men, keepers, mahouts, waterboys, was moving inwards quickly, the bright sun on their weapons. Nearer still was the white head of the big man who had chased him, and not far from that the turbaned head of the Keeper. Two others, fair and auburn, followed.\n\nOver his shoulder, Michel H\u00e9risson, avidly following every development, was addressing Lymond as he stalked forward, breathing hard, his white hair blush-pink at the roots. 'Ha! Ye can swim like a blue-bellied viper, but what have ye done about Robin Stewart?'\n\nHis drying hair lifted about his head, someone's short sword ready in his hand, Lymond was not responsive. 'Left him to go his own gait for five minutes.\u2026 Christ, Michel, my leisure in the last half hour has been a little circumscribed. What does it matter? Cholet's as good as caught in the act. D'Aubigny can't make Stewart take the blame now, can't do anything against Beck's testimony, and Cholet's, as well as Piedar Dooly's account of what Stewart told him. Lord d'Aubigny's guilt is clear.'\n\nMichel H\u00e9risson, a spear in his horny hand, dropped suddenly back. 'But Stewart doesn't know that. He summoned you, and you didn't come. In Stewart's terms, that means a knife in your back. If you don't want three Queens mourning their darling boy, my advice would be\u2014go and find him first, fast.'\n\nOn his other side, O'LiamRoe's damp head unexpectedly turned. 'There's truth in that. He's a queer, violent fellow, Francis; and he's rightly vexed. You'd look the world's fool if you or your precious Queen had a little accident in that quarter now.'\n\n'All right, give me a jacket,' said Lymond. 'Since you're all so damned glib\u2026 I was going, naturally, as soon as we have Cholet; but not naked, for preference.'\n\nHe was pulling on Michel's elephant-drenched taffeta when the lion roared. The mouth of Abernaci, stump-toothed in his sun-blackened face, unclasped in a charming smile of pure pleasure. 'Per Dinci, it's Betsy,' he said. 'Betsy, ma doo! Betsy, ma cabbage! Do you have him, Betsy, love?'\n\nArtus Cholet, three-quarters way up the chimpanzees' cage, and pinned there forever by two hairy hands tight on his buttons, saw the little turbaned figure dance into the alley, saw the lion at his heels turn its great head, and saw the Keeper walk up and scratch it cheerfully under the ear. The lion purred. 'Ma bonny wee flower,' the Indian said. 'Hae ye a buss for your auld mither today?' There was a sound of a dreadful embrace.\n\n'My God,' said Lymond, halting with H\u00e9risson and O'LiamRoe at his side. 'Mother and daughter.'\n\n'Eh, tiens\u2014and there's Cholet like a side of beef on the cage there. Hi!' H\u00e9risson, pleased, waved his arms to attract his victim's attention while Abernaci, catching Lymond's eye, blew his whistle. The beaters began to run in. The monkey startled by the blast, dropped its hands. Cholet, dizzy with chagrin and exhaustion, clung, hesitated, then collecting himself suddenly, clambered to the cage top.\n\nAt its foot, Michel H\u00e9risson spread himself in luxurious stance, arms folded, head back, eyes surveying the multiplying audience and finishing, at last, on Lymond's calm face. For a moment, under the splendid hair, the florid brow creased. 'With the compliments of\u2026 the H\u00e9risson family,' he said.\n\nRound him, his friends were silent. Above him, squat against the dying pall from the lake, Artus Cholet stared speechlessly at his fate. He had nowhere to run to; he could make nothing worthy now but sport; but unreasoning, nevertheless, he twisted suddenly and made to run. And silent through the noise of the square came a shaft of grey feathers which said that he would not run anywhere, any more.\n\nThe arrow, shot from beyond all the crowding heads of keepers and friends, took Cholet full in the throat. He turned, bent like a withy, and fell; and the monkeys clawed at his buttons in passing. Then, like a dam, the space between the cages was filled with white and silver, girded with steel. It poured amongst the livery, the wet and turbaned heads, turning them aside; it cleared a path sheer to the little group around Cholet's dead body and surrounded it. Then practised hands fell like levers on Lymond's damp arms, wrenched the sword from his grasp, gripped him neck and body and turned him, held fast, to face the oncoming flood. The sun glittered on white plumes and on drawn steel, and on the silver-gilt crescents of the Archers of the Royal Guard, still now, filling all the paths, crushing out the royal livery of the menagerie and leaving just room enough for their lieutenant to come forward together with a Gentleman of the King's Household; broad, handsome, his fine dress immaculate, his face set like lard. 'In the name of the King,' said John Stewart of Aubigny, his voice pleasant, his bearing that of a temple god condescending to a ragged recalcitrant. 'The King whose despicable prisoner you are\u2026 Return to your cell to await his good justice.'\n\nAnd Lymond, his eyes sparkling, called clearly and cheerfully to the Keeper, 'Here is a mate for your camel, friend.'\n\nIt was Michel H\u00e9risson who lost his head, because in this matter more than his head was engaged. As Lymond spoke, Abernaci played to his thought with the ease of old experience and, stepping forward, exposed the lion. The lion roared. The grip on Lymond slackened, and he might have taken his chance had not H\u00e9risson also seized the moment to whip the sword from his neighbour's scabbard and brandish it in Lord d'Aubigny's face.\n\n'You mis-hacked boulder of butter rock, did I trap that man Cholet with my brain and my guts and my two gouty legs for you to kill off like pigmeat? I'll split ye! I'll smash that fine neb like a cup handle, if I have to seethe quick in a pot for it!' And elbows flailing, he leaped, blind with fury, at his lordship.\n\nThe guards dropped their grasp and started forward, but Lymond got there first, swiftly, from behind, wrenching the sword from the sculptor's furious hand. 'For God's sake, Michel, in law he is right. It would suit him to kill.'\n\nHe was too late in one way. H\u00e9risson fell back, fuming, without drawing blood; but d'Aubigny, ready to fight for his life, was in no mind to let any man off so easily. As Lymond wrenched away the steel, John Stewart stepped forward, in all the avenging grandeur of his dress, and cut low, hard and deliberately at the sculptor's legs.\n\nThe sword was still in Lymond's hand. He drove it straight between the sculptor and the oncoming blow, the blades meeting flat on flat like the hammer of a bell. Then, disengaging, he jumped back, the sword steady, a threat as plain in the blue eyes above. Lord d'Aubigny hesitated, halted, and before they could try to disarm him, Lymond raised his sword and threw it from him, rattling on the ground. H\u00e9risson stood panting, O'LiamRoe's hand on his arm, but no on touched him.\n\nThen they lashed Lymond's arms, as they had once before; and the seigneur of Aubigny looked about. The crowd was increasing. So far, what had happened within the tight circle of the Archers had not been public; only the killing of Cholet had been seen by all, and that could be justified, to those who did not know, as d'Aubigny had known, that the man had no chance of escape.\n\nLikewise, it was reasonable to restore an escaped criminal to custody, whatever he had achieved, to await the King's pleasure.\n\nBut still, the fellow had achieved a dashing performance; men admired such things. 'You,' said Lord d'Aubigny to Abernaci. 'Is there a tent here we can use?'\n\nThe nutlike face cracked. The Keeper answered fully in Urdu; then led his lordship, his lordship's Archers and the prisoner to the great tent where the elephants stood. 'Good. We shall stay here,' said Lord d'Aubigny, running his eye over the orderly, mountainous backs, 'until the menagerie and lakeside have been cleared. Then, Crawford, you will be taken back to your cell.'\n\nLymond's eyes were direct; his voice unmoved. 'Play it out,' he said. 'But we have Beck. It makes no matter now.'\n\nH\u00e9risson had gone, hurried roughly by the guards. O'LiamRoe likewise had been forced to go; but first he had said something in Gaelic. 'Leig leis. Do not answer provocation. He is in sore need of a chance to kill. I shall find Stewart.'\n\nAnd then only Abernaci was left, cross-legged in a corner in a freshly glorious coat, bent over a block of wood. Leaving Lymond deliberately to stand, Lord d'Aubigny sat on a stool specially provided, twisting his fingers, and his personal bodyguard patiently waited, the canvas hot at their backs.\n\nThen, obsessively as a man opening box within box who knows that, irrevocably, he has come to the last, and that the last will be empty; obsessively, he began to revile the man standing before him, because he had deceived him, because he had cheated him, and because he was a man and not made of ivory and gold. And also because, as O'LiamRoe had guessed, he intended to kill him if Lymond gave him one reasonable excuse.\n\nThe outcome of that would depend on Lymond himself. The matter of Robin Stewart, Phelim O'LiamRoe had taken on his shoulders. And since there seemed no possible means of tracing, in this seething town, one furious man bent on mischief, O'LiamRoe concluded that his only hope of success was to make first for the cabin in the forest where Piedar Dooly had been taken, and try to trace him from there.\n\nThe instructions Dooly had given were quite explicit, and they were written again on the handful of torn-up paper he had recovered from the near-unconscious Firbolg. Neither Abernaci nor Tosh had been gentle with Dooly. He himself, before they got all the truth out of him and after, had thrashed him until the stick broke. The thought of it curdled his stomach yet.\n\nFor he was tired, more tired than he remembered being ever in his life. Even Lymond's trained body, he guessed, after the double swim, the nervous work of the boats, the hard row, must be bone-weary by now.\n\nTo find his horse and mount it, to shake off the well-meaning offers of H\u00e9risson and Tosh, to jolt cantering through the park and into the village, and then beyond the village on to the forest road, was a triumph of unreasoning instinct over the sedate, ironic soul which had lounged in the Slieve Bloom commenting with some wit, every now and then, on just some such dramatic embassy.\n\nAt one hour past midday, when at Ch\u00e2teaubriant the French Court and the English Embassy, both thickly robed, both smiling, both primed, in private, with the news of what had occurred and both ignoring it, were ending their banquet, O'LiamRoe rode through the vacant trees and saw the cabin before him.\n\nDismounting, he tied his horse to a tree and paused. He was not, after all, armed; and Stewart was no crony of his. If not already in Ch\u00e2teaubriant, sharpening a knife for Lymond's throat, Stewart could be here, bursting with understandable anger and waiting to show it.\n\nCircumspectly O'LiamRoe walked over the mounded grass, his shoes shivering last year's oak leaves, rattling pebbles, snapping slivers of wood. The windows of the hovel, clear and glossy as jet, remained black; from the chimney rose a snatch of spangled grey ash. O'LiamRoe walked to the window and looked in. On the verge of cupping his eyes, boylike, to spy, he thought better of it, and turned at last to the door.\n\nIt was a little ajar. He said 'Stewart?' and knocked, at the same time, on the wood.\n\nHe was out. Or asleep. Or behind the door with a sword.\n\n'Oh, well,' said O'LiamRoe, in speechless benediction to himself, to Stewart, and to the general situation at this ultimate moment. 'God save all here.' And pushing the door, he walked in.\n\nHe had waited a long time, in his swept and mirror-bright cottage, with the food set out as best he could on the table, and his new life and his new resolutions waiting, painfully created and painfully offered, for his last, jealous trust; his last friend.\n\nHe had waited a long time. The hours had passed, unmarked by the birds. The fire, raked out and raked out again, had begun to sink into ash; the fresh bread to stiffen; the wine to swim, greasily warm, in the jug.\n\nWhen the explosion came and the birds were silent, then left the trees in a calling cloud of alarm, he had received notice of his ultimate failure. Then indeed, Robin Stewart had taken out his knife and held it high in his fist; but not to use it against Lymond. To use, instead, conscientiously, doggedly, steadfastly, against the man even a Lymond could not befriend. He had killed himself.\n\n'Ma mie\u2026' said the Queen Dowager. It would not become her to run, even with her child's life at stake. She had walked to the lake with her ladies unobtrusively, getting there just as the first fireworks went off. It was later, with the noise and then the explosion, that all the castle people who were free and many from the town, including her own Scottish lords, had crowded with her to the shore.\n\nBy her side, as the long boat with her daughter pulled to the shore, Lady Lennox was standing, and beyond her, Sir George Douglas her uncle. Lady Lennox: half-Tudor, half-sister to Mary of Guise's own late husband the King; Catholic, and dangerous. Without shifting, the Dowager took note.\n\nBut Margaret was watching the flaming boats, not the red head flying to safety: the boats, and the man who dived, like a gannet, just before the great white explosion came. Then\u2014'Ma mie!' And the Dowager had bent to plant a soothing kiss on the child's hot, splashed cheek, to receive Mary's curtsey and to see her rush off to Janet Sinclair, waiting grimly behind. 'Did you see? Did you see? The boats go bang, and all the fire darts are gone!' And, true emotion suddenly tapped, the brittle excitement came all untied, and fatigue and fright bursting through, spent themselves on Janet's broad chest.\n\n'Ma'am\u2026' There was nothing to say. Margaret Erskine faced the Dowager and curtsied, seeing in the big-boned fair face a strain at least as great as her own; but for different reasons. Behind, tight in her nurse's embrace, Mary was being taken away. Margaret held her own little sisters by the hand. They had understood less, and they had James on their other side, his eyes sparkling.\n\n'You did excellently well. The assassin was caught, it seems.'\n\n'If not, he will be soon.' Sir George's voice, breaking in, was urbane. 'Lord d'Aubigny and half a company of Archers went by a moment ago.'\n\nThere was a little silence. Then\u2014'Indeed,' said the Dowager. 'In that case, events may be worth watching. We shall wait. Margaret, you may take the children.'\n\nWhat did she fear? Collecting Mary and Agnes, curtseying, walking over to James, Tom Erskine's wife became aware of someone addressing her.\n\n'You are Margaret Fleming, otherwise Graham, otherwise Erskine? Is that right?'\n\nThe woman she disliked above any other blocked her way smiling.\n\n'Yes. I am Margaret Fleming,' she said.\n\nThe tawny eyes which had studied her last night in the wood did so again, to the verge of impertinence. 'Jenny's daughter. One would never suspect it\u2026 I wondered,' said the other Margaret. '\u2026But you are a sensible woman, I can see.'\n\nThe clear, unremarkable eyes turned up to hers. 'We cannot all think of nothing but ourselves,' said Margaret plainly and, curtseying, turned.\n\n'A sensible woman. Yes. And lucky, lucky for the man you were watching there that sensible is what I am,' said Margaret Erskine to herself, angry tears in her eyes, as she marched to the Ch\u00e2teau Neuf, her sisters and brother at her side. 'Or neither he nor the child Mary would be here this day.'\n\nThose who stayed by the lake had not long to wait. The news came, faster than Lord d'Aubigny would have liked, like an infection out of the empty blue sky.\n\n'The assassin\u2014'\n\n'He is caught?'\n\n'He is dead.'\n\nThe musicians were ashore. The loose boats, their squibs all spent, their deckwork flaked and blackened with sparks, were being collected and tied. In the middle, the burned-out galleys sagged, half-sunk, black on the satiny blue, smoke climbing sluggishly still over the sun. And beyond, from the menagerie, the press of many bodies, the glitter of pikes, the voices of a vociferous crowd, pierced by the small, sharp voices of command. Then, news again.\n\nSir George collected it and brought it, together with his niece, to where the Queen Mother was sitting with her ladies in the gold-hung stand. Around her swarmed the workmen, already cutting, hanging, painting, repairing, removing traces of the fire. It was not for them to decide whether royalty would come after all to sit and stare at the empty boats. Arms on the fine cushions, she watched Douglas come. 'Well, sir?'\n\n'My nephew has, happily, apprehended the assassin, but unhappily has also seen fit to kill him.' He paused. 'He has also seen fit to place Mr. Crawford under arrest. His friends, foolishly, even fear for Mr. Crawford's safety.'\n\nMargaret spoke. 'Whoever fears for Mr. Crawford's safety is a fool.'\n\n'I have also heard,' said Sir George tentatively, 'that testimony of some kind has appeared which may even connect my nephew d'Aubigny with these attempts against her grace your daughter. If this is so, then Mr. Crawford is clearly innocent, and may indeed be in danger.'\n\n'If so, the King will see to it.' It was Lady Lennox to whom this challenge was being directed, and it was she who spoke. The Dowager, understanding, waited her time.\n\n'The King is engaged. Action is necessary now.'\n\n'But who,' said Mary of Guise, her hands helpless before her, 'who can command his lordship of Aubigny? I have no powers.'\n\n'His brother,' said Sir George, and in the long pause that ensued, gave an avuncular squeeze to Lady Lennox's arm. 'My dear, I know how hard you have struggled against Lord Warwick's conviction that the Protector Somerset has all your loyalty. He knows your love for Mary Tudor, your loyal love for your Church. Since the Archer Stewart babbled in London he must have wondered\u2014unreasonably, I know, but nevertheless wondered\u2014if Matthew was by any chance involved.\u2026 How awkward if, at this very moment, while the amity of France and England is being sealed over a chivalrous capon, on this very day when an English embassy is to ask for Mary's\u2014or is it Elizabeth's?\u2014hand, it transpires that Lennox's brother has attempted murder, and that Lord Lennox is by no means dissociated with the act.'\n\nSilence. The Queen Mother, watching, added nothing. Sir George's suave voice, after a space, said only, 'You must disown d'Aubigny, Margaret, quickly, publicly, now. Or your hopes\u2026 your most legitimate hopes\u2026 are as dust.'\n\nHe knew those eyes. He had looked into them often before; the magnificent, formidable eyes of Henry of England. She waited to force his gaze down, and succeeded, before transferring her regard to the Dowager. 'Mr. Crawford has performed a service for us all,' she said directly. 'My Lord of Northampton will certainly wish to congratulate him. I shall desire my husband to relieve Lord d'Aubigny of his\u2026 misapprehension.'\n\n'So kind.' The Dowager's eyes, of cold Lorraine blue, were the masters of anything a Douglas could offer. 'And there is not the smallest need for you to leave us. As it happens, I sent to wait on Lord Lennox quite some time ago now\u2026 and here he is.'\n\nIt was true that he was overtired; but even standing you could in some measure rest, if you knew how. And it took the edge off the other sort of strain and dulled the smell of decay.\n\nA mind responsive to beauty is a storehouse with many rooms; words, sounds, textures, all the nobler exercises of the senses leave some image filed and folded to be summoned at need.\n\nThere, too, the brutal images are kept: the sights and smells and hurts, real and imagined, which the responsive mind accepts and has bedded deep.\n\nAll these, the uglinesses that other men forget, were there waiting when Lord d'Aubigny turned the forbidden handle and, half-licensed by logic, opened the door. Upon Lymond, standing exposed before the Archers, the cowardies, before Abernaci crouched in his corner, this poured in a knocking downpour of insult, sneer and obscenity, noduled with bitter fact and relentless incident, thick with the combings of every rumour, gross and foul, which had ever played about Lymond's habits and deeds.\n\nFacts were there: facts he recognized as half-true, built up out of the legend other people had created for him; facts he had never troubled to deny. Conjecture was there, and in this also, distorted, one could see the original image, the original flaw from which it sprang. He stood still, in the presence of other men, and heard applied to Sybilla his own mother a string of terms he had learned long ago in the galleys, but had rarely heard since.\n\nAnd still, he managed to keep his temper. He could not move, unless he wished to commit suicide. He could only speak, and hope to channel the dirt. He waited until the big man paused for breath, his face yellow with loathing, his fine-cut lips wet. 'Don't stop,' said Lymond pleasantly. 'You've my father, my brother, my late sister and a whole clecking of aunts to get through. Auntie May is a good one to start with. Fifteen stone, and every spring she goes broody; and we find her out in the hen run on a clutch of burst yolks; except the year mother got there first and hard-boiled them.'\n\nNo one breathed; but under the bent mask of Abernaci's face, something cracked.\n\nLord d'Aubigny said, 'So they're mad in the whorehouse as well, are they? And how many mad brats have you sired?'\n\n'Ask your sister-in-law,' said Lymond. 'Do they ever rule England, you can be proud.\u2026' But before he finished, he felt the silence alter, and turned. Framed in the doorway was Matthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, Lord d'Aubigny's dear older brother, white hatred in his face. Behind him, shadows outside his tent, were his men. Slowly, unshackling his white hands, Lord d'Aubigny rose.\n\nThey had been brought up as boys together in the long exile in France. Because of Matthew, three years of John's life had passed in the Bastille. Nine years since, John had elected to stay, his great-uncle's heir, and Matthew had gone to betray France, to betray Scotland, to marry England in his frantic search for a crown\u2014a crown which had seemed within reach, but for one weak child's body; a crown a younger brother, surely, could share.\n\n'I have come,' said the Earl of Lennox, ignoring Lymond, staring straight at the bright-fleshed face of his brother, 'to escort this man to receive the praise and thanks of all good citizens, whether of England, Scotland or France. It is plain that you serve no one in keeping him in custody, and I take upon myself the duty of release.'\n\n'The King has sent you?' The cultured voice was harsh.\n\n'No one has sent me. The banquet continues. Sergeant, untie him.'\n\nFast-moving in spite of his size, formidable in spite of his dress, John Stewart strode forward and placed himself, his hand on his hilt, between the man-at-arms and the prisoner. 'Are you crazy? No one has sent you? Then, by God, you'll have to use force first. You've no right to take this man!'\n\n'I am taking him by right,' said Lennox coldly, 'of the grave doubts now expressed about your own past conduct, and my judgment, as a citizen, of your unfitness to continue in this post. For God's sake, are you tying or untying him?'\n\nThe sergeant, who had simply sidestepped Lord d'Aubigny to go on with his task, stepped back, rope in hand. 'He's free, sir.'\n\nAnd free he was. Bare, dirty, unsteady with fatigue, Lymond looked from one brother to the other, brows raised, as he massaged his arms, and glancing beyond, to the Keeper's dim corner, allowed one heavy eyelid to droop. Lord d'Aubigny, rigid, remained where he was, all the implications of the events dizzy in his brain. He was outnumbered. And in any case, what use to resist? This, before him, was Matthew disowning him; draining his future, like blown bladders rupturing his hopes. There was no purpose in anything now, except revenge. He said harshly, 'Leave him. Damn you, leave him. The King will take you to law over this.'\n\nSilence.\n\n'He can deal with foreigners who interfere with his justice. You'll find yourself in the Bastille\u2014you, next. And what will Warwick make of you then?'\n\nSilence again.\n\n'Did I ever tell you,' said Lymond pausing on the afterthought, on his way to the flap, 'that that aunt of mine once hatched an egg?'\n\nHe paused, deep in thought, and walked slowly to the door before turning again. His lordship of Aubigny, staring after the vanishing form of his brother, received the full splendour of Lymond's smile.\n\n'It was a cuckoo,' said Francis Crawford prosaically, and followed Lennox out.\n\nHe rode with him, in borrowed clothes, as far as the town so that he and Lennox could be seen and the rescue, as Lymond pointed out with some irony, should not have been made in vain. Once, outside the tent, Lord Lennox had betrayed a leaning to violence\u2026 and had stopped short, halted by the hilarious blue eyes, and the recollection of what he was doing. Thereafter he said not a word.\n\nOutside the grounds they parted, by Lymond's desire; Lennox riding tight-lipped back to his royal wife. Fate, this time, had been rough-fingered with the Lennoxes.\n\nLymond rode on, and in a leisurely way set about keeping his belated appointment with Robin Stewart.\n\nPhelim O'LiamRoe saw him come; and before he saw him, saw the avenue of trees lift and curtsey to the passing of his horse. There was no one with him.\n\nHe had taken all the time he needed, O'LiamRoe saw, to change and wash; to call on Michel H\u00e9risson, probably, and discover O'LiamRoe had not returned; to obtain directions and follow them competently, well-dressed, beautifully mounted, his affairs now doubtless fully in order. How he had got out of d'Aubigny's jealous grasp, O'LiamRoe could not guess, and at the moment did not care.\n\nLymond noticed him, smiled, and dismounting, strolled across the humped grass. 'Hullo. You needn't have waited. The man will be prowling his tedious way round Ch\u00e2teaubriant, muttering threats. To tell you the truth,' said Lymond, dropping full length on the sweet grass and rolling over, face to the green light, 'I've had a surfeit of Stewarts, one way or another.'\n\nThere was a pause. 'I expect,' said O'LiamRoe grimly, 'that one or two of the Stewarts might feel the same way.'\n\nLymond's eyes were shut. For a while they stayed shut; then he opened them very slowly, his blue gaze heavy and firm on O'LiamRoe's. 'Well?'\n\nStanding still and sturdy in the little clearing, the triphammer of his heart beating the bones out of his flesh, O'LiamRoe inclined his head to the blank and glossy panes of the cabin. 'Robin Stewart is in there,' he said.\n\nThe movement that brought Lymond to his feet was so immediate that O'LiamRoe missed its component parts. He only saw him running, neat-footed over the grass, as fast as he had run today from his prison to the lakeside; running to the shut door, where he fetched up short, silent, a hand on either post. He raised his fingers to knock, but dropped them; and instead, pressing the handle slowly like some living thing he might crush, Francis Crawford opened Stewart's door and went in.\n\nMice had been at the table. The new cheese and the horny bread were half eaten, and the scrubbed table was scattered with mice dirt and crumbs. The fire was out. But all the rest of the room was as Robin Stewart had left it: the mended chair and the clean floor, the perfect pack and the shining sword; the signs of thought and decision and a painfully meticulous striving. 'As one gentleman to another,' had said the neatly penned note O'LiamRoe had pieced together in his sick time of waiting, 'I offer apologies with my meat.'\n\nHe lay before the hearth, the author of it all, the scoured hands idle on the floor, the dagger fallen, his lifeblood jellied on the blade. The loose-jointed sprawl was Robin Stewart, characteristic, not to be helped, outwith his last desperate control. But from the burnished hair so laboriously cut to the straight hose and waxed boots he was Lymond; Lymond in a last furious attempt to defy his stars; Lymond even in the privacy of his failure.\n\nThat O'LiamRoe had recognized also, in the two hours he had waited. He sat down now heavily, with a fierce emotion that was very near pleasure, and watched Francis Crawford pass in through the door.\n\nMors sine morte, finis sine fine.\u2026 Dim through the mesh of birdsong in the trees, the bell for Nones boomed and stopped. No sound came from the hut. What was he doing?\n\nAt Ch\u00e2teaubriant, the conference must be under way. Soon it would be over, and Lymond, the hero of the day, Lymond would be missed.\n\nWhat was he doing? Contemptuous, angry, defensive, whatever his mood, you would expect him to turn and come out, and make of O'LiamRoe his first audience. But still he did not come.\n\nPresently, his own heat gone, his heart shrunk in his throat, his hands cold, O'LiamRoe got up and went in.\n\nNothing was changed. Stewart lay in death as he had fallen; the man for whom he had waited was not likely to rouse him now. The carefully spread table was the same, and the pack. Then he saw Lymond, at the deep side window, his hands clasped before him on the sill. On his face, a little averted, were none of the more dramatic aspects of anger or remorse. He stood staring down at his linked hands as a man might, merely considering a disturbing problem, had you not seen Stewart's blood on his shirt, and his knuckles and nails yellow-white with presssure on the cold whitewashed ledge. He did not move, although aware surely that O'LiamRoe had come in. The Prince of Barrow, suddenly in deep water, hesitated, his well-fed body too tight an envelope for his lungs and his heart.\n\nOnce, philosophy in hand and irony buried as best he could, he would have walked forward confidently and dealt with this. As it was\u2026 What Lymond's philosophy might be, he did not know. In irony he could outmatch himself, in width of vision he was, he suspected, his peer.\n\nWhat was there left to say? Take him by the shoulder, said the O'LiamRoe of a year ago, the small parchment figure, complacent in its two dimensions, and say, kind but firm, 'When you got his message, it was already too late. There was nothing before him, anyway, but exile and the gallows. He was not even worth saving. He was a murderer. He was a man who thought of himself only, who, if it suited him, would brush anything from his way, busy, unthinking\u2014even a child\u2026 even his friends\u2026 even you.'\n\nIt was the new O'LiamRoe who answered grimly. 'But the issue is quite other. The issue is that Francis Crawford set out to capture the mind of this man, and having used it, dismissed it like one of his whores. Had the message come in time, he would quite probably have ignored it. To say that he did not realize how far Stewart was his was no justification; he should have made it his business to know. Nous devons \u00e0 la Mort et nous et nos ouvrages. That, thought O'LiamRoe bleakly, was one piece of French at least he had learned to understand.\n\n'Thinking hard, Phelim?' said Lymond suddenly, and turned. 'There must be some excuse you could mention.' His face was brutally composed, his eyes wide open in the gloom.\n\n'You learn,' said O'LiamRoe's voice quietly, of its own accord.\n\n'I do not,' said Lymond without expression, his eyes on the thin, badly jointed shoulders on the floor. Presently he said, 'I seem to be armoured with scythes no one can see. Every breath I draw seems to twist some blameless planet from its orbit.' And after a moment, 'I suppose you are right. A cell is safest; or a tower, or a bog. To discuss the world of men, and laugh at it, or even pray for it. But not to meddle with it.'\n\nO'LiamRoe braced his tired bones. 'Pause,' he said, 'for a sympathetic groan of assent. From Will Scott of course, at the very least. And from the shade of Christian Stewart. From Oonagh O'Dwyer. And certainly, the man at your feet.' And cutting short, again, the blank pause which followed, he said sardonically, 'You won't have noticed, but the argument you've just used used to be mine. I'm a graduate of your academy too. You might have the grace to wince at my little, fledgling scythes.'\n\nLymond, still resting with his back to the window, put up a hand suddenly for no obvious reason, and dropped it again. He said coolly, 'How did you know about these people?'\n\n'Margaret Erskine,' said O'LiamRoe dryly. 'She made sure from time to time I knew exactly whom I was damning to hell.\u2026 God knows why I should cosset your conscience, but I could tell you, as a last piece of interference, some advice that the same sensible woman gave me once about you.'\n\n'Spare me,' said Lymond briefly.\n\nHe had said already, in spite of himself, more than he wished; no one but himself need be obsessed by the clever decision to lay by soft handling, so that Stewart might stand up for himself. 'I wish you had come to me five years ago. You would have hated me, as you do now; but the Stewarts might have found themselves with a man'\u2026 God.\u2026\n\nThen it struck him that O'LiamRoe deserved to know something, and he said, 'I could have forced him to tell me all he knew the other week, but\u2014Christ, how bloody pompous can you be?\u2014I thought he would hate himself so much.\u2026 He ought to be left to tell me out of his own conscience and conviction, not out of\u2014'\n\n'\u2014Love for Francis Crawford,' said O'LiamRoe quietly.\n\n'It wasn't love,' said Lymond in a queer, rather desperate voice. 'It was a kind of\u2026 oh, God, I don't know. Hero worship, I suppose. It's the only oozing emotion I seem able to inspire. It leads to nothing but misery.'\n\n'Yet but for that,' said O'LiamRoe concisely, 'Robin Stewart would be alive, and none of this need have happened. I should be back in the Slieve Bloom with no past and no stake in the future. And Oonagh O'Dwyer would be with O'Connor still. You see, you did right.'\n\nHe paused. Lymond, breathing shallowly and fast, lifted his chin suddenly but did not speak. O'LiamRoe went on. 'You were angry with Margaret Lennox because she mocked my first, stumbling steps in the way of human responsibility. And an hour later, you had to draw me a picture of your duty as you knew it, that you believed would poison the very word in my mouth. I am telling you now that you did right with Robin Stewart and I am telling you that the error you made came later, when you took no heed of his call. It was too late then, I know it. But he should have been in your mind. He was your man. True for you, you had withdrawn the crutch from his sight, but still it should have been there in your hand, ready for him. For you are a leader\u2014don't you know it? I don't, surely, need to tell you?\u2014And that is what leadership means. It means fortifying the fainthearted and giving them the two sides of your tongue while you are at it. It means suffering weak love and schooling it till it matures. It means giving up your privacies, your follies and your leisure. It means you can love nothing and no one too much, or you are no longer a leader, you are the led.'\n\n'And that, you think, I should find easy,' Lymond said; and even to himself his voice sounded odd. It was cold. O'LiamRoe spoke and it came to Lymond, only then, that something was happening to him, and that he did not know if his eyes were closed or foolishly open, or even if he were moving or not. It was the last, bloody, squeak-gutted, pusillanimous straw.\n\nAs O'LiamRoe began to run towards him, Lymond swept round to the window and with a force that jarred the hair loose on his brow, smashed his fist clean through the glass. The mild, herbal airs of the forest welled through the space, and O'LiamRoe stopped.\n\nFor a long moment, neither man moved. Then the air, or the pain, did its work. Lymond opened his eyes, straightened, and after hesitating for a second, walked past O'LiamRoe to the table. He sat down, holding his injured hand tight with the other, Robin Stewart's blood and his own mixed on his sleeve.\n\n'That is the work of a child,' said the Prince of Barrow, and opening the beautiful pack on the floor, began to search it for bandages. After a moment he got up from the litter and came over. 'Here.' Lymond, his gaze on his hand, had not moved.\n\nThere were flies in the warm wine. O'LiamRoe tipped them out and slapped the jug back on the table. 'He got it for you, so you might as well have it. Give me your hand.'\n\nThe thinned mouth tightened. Then Francis Crawford gave up his wrist, pushing the jug untasted away, and said in his ordinary voice, 'Yes, of course. Pure melodrama. How my brother would agree.' And added, after a moment, 'Thank you, Phelim. It was all well intentioned, I know\u2026 and very likely true.'\n\nTwo of the cuts were deep, but nothing was severed: the old bands round the thick glass had given way. By the time he had finished, Lymond was sitting quite collectedly, watching him with a sort of desiccated courtesy. 'Now what?' said O'LiamRoe.\n\n'Now for the funeral,' said Lymond flatly, and got up.\n\nThe forest floor was soft. They dug in the small clearing; with stones, with their hands, and finally with a shovel O'LiamRoe unearthed from an old midden. In his pack was the Archer's cloak they wrapped him in; and the twined crescents of Henri and his mistress glittered up from the rich dark mould.\n\nLymond, looking down for the last time, saluted, as O'LiamRoe had done, the meticulous shadow of himself, then bent, with O'LiamRoe, to obliterate it for ever.\n\nIt was a pleasant grave; gentler than the gibbet, or the town spikes, or the cold yard of uncaring, distant kin. They buried his pack with him, and put his hands on his sword, and put the turf like a living mosaic where he had been.\n\n'Let us be tidy at all costs,' said Lymond. He came to where O'LiamRoe had flung himself, the last task done, and stood swaying a little, his face emptied of emotion, the blood drying on the soiled bandage round his hand. 'What, in the event, did Margaret Erskine say? Now, if ever, seems the time to tell me.'\n\nO'LiamRoe looked up, sweat spilled in the soft cup of his throat.\n\n'Ah, dhia.\u2026 Have I not attacked you enough? It was a piece of advice only, and aimed at myself as much, I suppose, as at you.\u2014For those of easy tongues, she said. Remember, some live all their lives without discovering this truth; that the noblest and most terrible power we possess is the power we have, each of us, over the chance-met, the stranger, the passer-by outside your life and your kin. Speak, she said, as you would write: as if your words were letters of lead, graven there for all time, for which you must take the consequences. And take the consequences.'\n\nBringing down his gaze from the still, golden-green of the trees, Lymond was for a long time silent. Then he turned squarely to meet O'LiamRoe's blue eyes and in his own, remotely, a familiar irony showed. 'Now, that at least I seem able to do,' said Lymond dryly, and dropping beside the Prince of Barrow, rolled like a weary animal on his back and lay still.\n\nNow the sounds of labour had ceased, birdsong had come back to the wood. You could even see them, high up: a dove, a couple of finches, the swinging flight of a tit. In the trees, the light had changed and ripened; it must be midafternoon by now. Their horses, content with the shade and the deep grass, cropped complacently, the unstrapped bits tinkling like Mass bells. Otherwise the quiet was absolute; the peace heavy as wine.\n\nOut of a warm and billowing mist of some comforting colour, O'LiamRoe realized suddenly that, beside him, Lymond's breathing was making no sound. With a grunt, forcing his strained eyes open, he lurched to one elbow and looked.\n\nHe need not have worried. Francis Crawford and Thady Boy Ballagh were both asleep, noiselessly, the clever hands quiet, the ruffled head sunk in the grass; as still as that other, unendowed face they had just laid to rest.\n\n'I want your help,' O'LiamRoe had said to that face, 'to trim a bowelless devil named Francis Crawford until there's a human place on his soul to put the mark of grace on.'\n\nThe living Robin Stewart had failed. But the dead, thought O'LiamRoe, sinking back, his eyes on the green grass and the cottage from which now no smoke came\u2014Perhaps the dead Robin Stewart would achieve it one day.\n\n'Lord d'Aubigny,' said Henri of France, 'will not leave this realm. Is that sufficiently clear to you all?'\n\nAnne de Montmorency, Marshal, Grand Master and Constable of France, avoided looking at the Queen; by a stroke of good fortune they were without Madame de Valentinois just now.\n\nThe conference was over. They knew where they stood, though the arguments over dates and dowry would go on for a long time yet. Magnificent, manly and frank, my lord of Northampton on his King's behalf had demanded the Queen of Scotland in marriage with his master Edward of England, and had introduced the subject with a short homily of the kind familiar to all diplomats abroad.\n\nHis Majesty daily showed himself the towardest prince that ever England had to be her King. The estate of the realm was in good case, and quiet. The Commissioners on the frontiers of Scotland, as they knew, had concluded peace with the Scots. Ireland grew daily towards a good policy: justice and law were being set in good hand in parts where before they were unknown; the base money had been called down and commercial exchange had been reformed. Now, said the Marquis, looking King and Constable straight in the eye, now was the ripest time to carry out the age old promise between his nation and the Scots, and join their two monarchs in promised matrimony.\n\n'No,' said the French monarch politely and at even greater length. She was affianced, as everyone knew already, to the Dauphin. 'We have been at too great pains and spent too many lives for her,' the French King replied.\n\nAnd that was over. Northampton, withdrawing without ever having advanced, asked for and was granted the hand of the Princess Elizabeth, Henri's daughter of six, for his junior King. Provided a suitable dowry could be agreed.\n\nThe matter was at length finished. The compact of mutual alliance and defence was virtually sealed. And here in the privacy of his chamber was his Constable, producing witness after witness and argument after argument to demand that Stewart of Aubigny should be put under arrest.\n\nThe accusation was true. Even the wronged boy of the Spanish prisons could understand that; its very obstinacy in being blatantly true blinded him with rage. However the Constable gentled him, however calmly Catherine reasoned, the hurt pride was there. Stewart loved him.\u2026 Had loved him, once.\n\n'You have appropriated Scotland today for your son,' said the Constable painstakingly. 'To keep by your side Mary's murderer would be an insult no nation would bear.'\n\n'Let her leave, the Queen Dowager, if she does not like it. Let her take her begging train back to Scotland.'\n\n'Insult her people?' asked the Constable.\n\n'Insult her family?' said Catherine's collected voice.\n\n'Then,' said the Constable thoughtfully, 'there is the charming M. Thady. He will wish satisfaction, and no doubt will expect a reward. My men are daily discovering interesting news of M. Crawford of Lymond. You know he owns the manor of Sevigny?'\n\n'He is my dear sister the Queen's,' said Henri.\n\nCatherine smoothed her fine dress with small, thickly ringed hands, and pursed her big mouth. 'My guess is\u2014not yet,' she remarked.\n\nThere was a little silence. 'Then we shall make of Sevigny a comt\u00e9,' said the King; and Catherine, smiling, played with her jewels. 'It is in my mind also to give his lordship of Aubigny work for his company of lances to do, on the frontiers.'\n\nThe Constable shifted his elderly bulk. 'Yes. But he must be shown, Monseigneur\u2026 It must be publicly understood that\u2026'\n\n'As you know,' said Henri abruptly, 'we have placed a ban on duelling in this kingdom. A ban not as perfectly kept as I should like.\u2026 It does not apply, of course, to sport in the tilting ground, with blunted steel. Before supper, we had planned a display of this kind. It shall be held in place of the water pageant. Advise Lord d'Aubigny and M.\u2026 M. de Sevigny that they will be permitted to relieve any hard feelings between them harmlessly in this fashion\u2026 and that Lord d'Aubigny, since he, I understand, received the first blow this afternoon, is in the position of challenger.'\n\nSilently the grizzled face of the Constable turned to the Queen and silently, without lifting her eyes from her lap, Caterina Maria Romola smiled acknowledgment.\n\nThe Constable would take the news to Francis Crawford, Comte de Sevigny; the Constable, not Diane nor the de Guises, would report the King's wisdom and clemency.\n\nA new star was being born. Not a star of Lorraine, or of Stewart, or Douglas; and she and the Constable were its sponsors. She looked on her husband's black head, and in the shallow, prominent eyes was love.\n\nThe hot, brilliant day was sinking at last. In Ch\u00e2teaubriant, the lights sprang small and pale; in the castles, new and old, there were more; and a beading of lamps lined the walks. In the parks, the lake shone like a scale from the sky, buttoned with unwanted boats, black sitting on black without motion. Next the water, the great stand was unlit and silent, gazing emptily at the moving lights from the menagerie, where the small, clear jungle sounds, the chink of chains, the easy phrase of command, dwindled in the still air.\n\nBut between the lake and the ch\u00e2teaux, an arena sprang to the eye. The tiltyard, twenty-four yards long and forty wide, was garlanded with lights. Pale as new stars under the rosy sky they wreathed without illumining the great rectangle: the long, flower-packed stands for the Court; the tents to right and left for the champions; the striped silk raised like panniers to display the gilt stools; the gilded towers at the four corners for the pursuivants-at-arms.\n\nRose and pewter, flat as puppets under the great, dwindling sky, the audience bobbed and gestured and swarmed under the dark eaves, their splendours drained to grisaille; grey and grey among the small lights. Flatly the morions shone, pearly in the dead light; the silver trumpets, greyly flagged, were grey as water. Into all the riches of tissue and gems, into the silver brocade of the Archers edging the stand, into the bullion of the canopy, the cloth of gold on the champions' table, the armoured squires in the lists, sank the thin, pellucid light, levelling as ashes, ancient as the dry air from some staring rock.\n\nThen the long day exhaled its last, and blue, liquid night rushed in. Then the clusters of lights shone golden as fruit, and the diamonds blazed. Then in the bed of each light, colour\u2014living, vibrant\u2014was suddenly reborn; then the warm, painted faces nodded and laughed; then the drums beat and rolled. Lovely night had come; and the lists were open.\n\nThey opened gallantly, gay as France could make it gay. The laughing companies came and went in their plumes and bright skirted armour: the side of youth, flamboyant, vicious against the side of riches; the side of the Bretons against the teams of the Loire. They shot at an inch board under the flaring torches and tilted at the ring in their ballroom dress, with diamond rings in their ears. Black-bearded, smiling, the King watched from his tribunal in the middle, the English Commission on his right.\n\nSince the royal summons directly after their return, O'LiamRoe had not laid eyes on Lymond. The story he heard was the story put about all the Court: that after some unfortunate breach of conduct, Lord d'Aubigny and Mr. Crawford were to settle their differences formally in the arena, for the sport of the King. The charges of theft and treachery laid against Mr. Crawford, it was understood, had been dismissed.\n\nThat being so, it seemed a queer way of congratulating the quick-witted swimmer of the morning. It was, perhaps, more in the way of a last, sour riposte to the memory of Thady Boy. So thought The O'LiamRoe, sitting cautiously where he was placed, alarmingly near the lockjaw splendour of the Ambassage Extraordinary. Queen Catherine, to the left of the King, caught O'LiamRoe's wandering blue eye with a flutter of her fan, and smiled. The Prince of Barrow, amazed, produced a bow. He at any rate, it seemed, had entered the fairy circle.\n\nThe Queen Dowager's ceremonial thanks he had already, for the second time, received. Faith, thought O'LiamRoe. And not a decent creature among them thought to say that the only rule in it is for a man to have a fine, steady seat for an elephant.\n\nLennox sat stiffly, blond head facing front, sagging mouth pursed; looking neither to Warwick's fool Northampton nor to the Scottish seats, where Sir George's smooth face was turned, feasting on subtle discomforts.\n\nThe voice in Lennox's ears was not that of his brother; it was the voice of Robin Stewart, an unknown Archer now, pray God, dead, who had bleated to Warwick. Who had told Warwick that they could easily enter Scotland, having at their hand Lennox, nearest the crown after the Queen.\n\nBut Warwick had settled for alliance with France. And he and Margaret had saved their necks\u2014if they had saved their necks\u2014at brother John's expense. He hated them both: John Stewart, who had put him in this ludicrous quandary; and Lymond, of course, Lymond, But if the fight had been real, he would have wished his brother first dead.\n\nThe jousting was over, with all the buttoned lances; the foot matches with vizors open, with blunted lances and swords, had ended too. Pages were running; horses trotted off, tassels swaying; sheared plumes were recovered, sand reswept.\n\nMusic replaced the trumpets for the space of the interval, and there was a tumble of dwarfs. Brusquet, a little wary, not now so carefree as of old, was among them.\n\n'Well, my dear,' said Sir George Douglas to Margaret Erskine at his side, 'this, I believe, is when the holy relics at St. Denis are usually taken down and exposed, by all right-minded people, against fiends, bogles and your friend Mr. Crawford. The fatal cartels have been exchanged by heralds, I hear, no less. And his Most Christian Majesty in his desire to look all ways at once, has forgotten the most vital thing of all, which is\u2014'\n\n'What?' Pushed into this extended strain, angry and worried, as she had been angry and worried for eight months about her wild, wayward prot\u00e9g\u00e9, on top of the shattering relief of knowing that at last Mary was safe, Margaret Erskine had begun to feel above all else the need to get out of France; to fly back to her own cool, green country, her baby, and the gentle, loving steadfastness of Tom.\n\nShe had sat by the hearth, as she had promised, but the other promise she had made to Lymond she had never meant to keep. He was afraid of his power; he had had to learn to live with its effects. Three people had suffered by his presence in France, and she had done nothing to help them or him, for the strength to sustain this burden was the very backbone of leadership, and he had to acquire it.\n\nShe knew now, from O'LiamRoe, how Lymond had been forced to face this issue at length. She knew, too, that other barriers had gone. He was free at last of all constraint with herself; and free too of Sybilla his mother, whose wits were as sharp as his own, and whose company he had precipitately left because it was so congenial and safe. Thinking of something else O'LiamRoe had once said, she had asked Francis Crawford that afternoon, 'And now will you marry?'\n\nHe had looked startled, and then amused. 'And whom do you suggest?'\n\n'Is there no one?' she had said.\n\n'A name has been put forward,' he had answered, looking even more entertained. 'If I could remember what it was.'\n\nShe did not know what he meant; she did know that he was not interested. At her expression, evidently, he had laughed aloud then. 'Better to be whipped than humoured; better to be crushed than cherished.\u2026 It was a woman told me that. I live in a world of men, my dear,' Lymond had said. 'I love you all, but I shall never marry you.'\n\nAnd so, looking up at Sir George, Margaret Erskine snapped. 'He has forgotten what?'\n\n'My dear, never underestimate a Stewart. He has forgotten that my dear Lord of Aubigny can prescribe the choice of weapon. As defender, Lymond has got to supply every piece of armour, every weapon, every item of horseflesh that his lordship conceives he might need to fight with. And if I know d'Aubigny, his requirements will be so large and so elaborate and so inordinately, impossibly expensive that Lymond will be able to do nothing but ingloriously retire. Sad,' said Sir George cheerfully, 'but as Periander and your friend Francis also once said, \"Forethought in all things.\u2026\"'\n\n'When is he coming?' said Mary, Queen of Scots. 'And will he have the black hair again?'\n\n'How did.\u2026 No,' said Mary of Guise, a little helplessly. 'M. Crawford has no black hair now. You must watch.'\n\nThe dwarfs had gone. 'Will they kill each other?' asked Mary.\n\n'No. Naturally. This is mock fighting only, my child. Be quiet,' added her mother.\n\nThere was a brief silence. Then\u2014'Do they fight for a lady?' the girl demanded.\n\nThe impatient reply did not leave Mary of Guise's lips. She hesitated, looking down. 'In truth, no. But if you wish it, one of them might wear your gauge. Do you wish it?'\n\n'Oh, mon dieu yes!' said Mary, carried slightly further than she intended, her hazel eyes enormous. 'A scarf! Maman, I have no\u2014'\n\n'Tais-toi. Your glove. Madame Erskine, procure me a large pin,' said the Queen Dowager of Scotland. 'I have yet to meet a man who can lay hands on a pin when there is need for it.'\n\nThe banners came first, as the trumpets proclaimed them down the lists to the royal tribune: Stewart of Aubigny and Crawford of Lymond, never before side by side.\n\nAnd after them, the double line of servants: d'Aubigny's lances, steadily marching in the Stewart livery, halberds precisely angled, glittering in the streaming light; and Lymond's retinue, in new colours, in dress which Margaret Erskine found vaguely familiar and which Lord Northampton wakened up slightly to admire. They reached the table and there divided, so that the two protagonists stood revealed, walking steadily forward to the King.\n\nJohn Stewart of Aubigny, on trial as he knew before his enemies, succoured as he believed by the clemency of his King, stood before him in all the riches of his heritage and estate. Below his justaucorps his shirt was embroidered and re-embroidered with gold; his dress of satin was sewn an inch thick with oystered pearls, and diamond-fire leaped on his shoes.\n\nBeside him, Lymond had the desperate expression which more spectators than he knew in that audience recognized as a devastating impulse to laugh. With d'Aubigny's imperial grandeur he had simply not troubled to compete; either that, or had shrieked down all efforts to compel him.\n\nHe had no need. Lymond wore black silk, the shirt edge at neck and cuffs snowy white, and a twelve-thousand-ducat diamond on his shoulder, pinning a little girl's glove. On the glove, specific in the dazzle, the crown of Scotland was plainly embroidered. They bowed, the heralds stepped forward with the Master of the Lists, and the ceremony was under way.\n\nLymond lifted his eyes. All over the stand were faces he knew: the Dowager and her lords, who had so busily courted him at Cand\u00e9; the child\u2014he smiled and bowed, hand elaborately on heart; Margaret, the quiet, deep woman who was older now than her own mother ever would be; George Douglas, whom France had treated kindly, and who might not find Scotland so kind.\n\nThe Lennoxes, Margaret blanched in the light, staring at him; he bowed lightly to her too. Diane, enemy of the Constable and of Jenny Fleming, who had not unbent. The de Guises, who had freed him\u2014how Mary of Guise had laid her subtle stress on that point\u2014but who had lost the diplomatic threads, in the end, to another faction.\n\nThe allies and good companions: O'LiamRoe, grinning sardonically, his new-grown whiskers gold in the lamps; Michel H\u00e9risson, squashed in a corner, shouting something and being silenced by a Guard; and lurking among the performers, the flags, the tents, the stands of armour, the rare crooked smile of Abernaci and the shameless stare of Tosh.\n\nInescapable in the herald's strong, trained voice, his extraordinary title. Francis Crawford of Lymond, Comte de Sevigny. No longer Master of Culter as he had always been.\u2026 Well, that was an old story now. Mary of Guise, too, had heard. He had accepted from Henri the title he would not have from her; and that only for his brother's sake, she had guessed. His loyalty, if loyalty he had, was given to the lions, not to the Crown. He would not join, he had said politely, handsomely and finally, as a satellite of divinity, even for sweet Mary's sake.\n\nHe had said a great deal else that afternoon, and so had she. She had been so sure. It was true, she had hoped for his craft and strength only; she had refused him, out of very fear for her own eminence and her own policies, any exercise of his other abilities.\n\nThirteen years before, she had been married by proxy here on the Loire at Ch\u00e2teaudun to the King of Scotland, and for thirteen years had made Scotland her home. Ch\u00e2teaudun had not changed; but coming back, long-widowed, hungry for troops, for money, for power to fashion and maintain an undisputed and orderly throne for the grandson who one day, surely, would reign over Ireland, Scotland and France, she had found that in thirteen years France had altered.\n\nWith her eyes on the riches of Italy, and with her old enemy England weak and busy with internal struggles for power, France was no longer so tender towards Ireland or towards Scotland itself. France would have been content, she found, to have her abandon her self-imposed, stormy exile and stay with her child, while a Frenchman governed in Edinburgh in her place and Frenchmen remained inexpensively garrisoning the country's best forts, without pouring gold and promises, as she was doing, into the pockets of her Scottish nobles to buy their allegiance for their Queen.\n\nHer brothers opposed that; but her brothers' power, though great, was not unlimited. The King was obstinate; there were times when neither the Duke nor the Constable, when not Diane herself, could move him. She had been right, whatever happened, to take her own measures, in secret, to safeguard Mary; there had been no one in this, her own country, to whom she could give absolute trust.\n\nAnd few enough in Scotland. The Erskines: plain, honest, undemanding\u2014she did not need to be told what she owed to her Chief Privy Councillor and Special Ambassador. Ten days ago at the kirk of Norham in England her well-beloved Thomas, Master of Erskine, with Lord Maxwell and the Bishop of Orkney and the French emissary de Lansac, had concluded a peace treaty between Scotland and England with the Bishop of Norwich and Sir Robert Bowes. In it, England contracted to give up the southern fortresses and her Tweed fishings within Scotland; had engaged that the debatable land in the west marches between the two nations should be neutral as before; and had agreed to release without ransom the hostages lying in English prisons since the fateful battle of Solway Moss nearly ten years before. Erskine, writing wryly, had quoted the English preamble. Though England, by conquest might justly claim enlargement of its own limits; yet the King agrees to a friendly and indifferent view of the old, true bounds; and that these should be the same as before the late wars.' Thus England in four years had shrunk.\n\nBut at the same time, England had become the refuge of the new religion, and a greater temptation to her own unsettled nobles\u2014for intriguers like Balnaves, for so long a prisoner in Rouen himself; for Kirkcaldy of Grange, whom she knew to be in France, earning English pay. Douglas's allegiance she had, temporarily at least. Maxwell, though discomfited, was at the moment hers. Lord Chancellor Huntly was staunchly Catholic and a present support, but his ambitions were great. The Governor had been soothed with a dukedom, and a post for his young heir in France, but it would be hard to reconcile him, she knew, to abandoning his title to her.\n\nThe Earls of Glencairn and Drumlanrig were both of uncertain loyalty, and both had been displeased with their stay in France. Cassillis also was unhappy with his rewards, but might have enough to do, together with Maxwell and Huntly and the Douglases, in settling their own long-standing feuds at home. Livingstone, the stalwart guardian of her daughter, had died in France. Lord Erskine, her other guardian, was ill. Her husband's bastard sons, growing up, were restless already.\u2026 If Edward of England died, his successor would be the Catholic Mary Tudor, and her nobles could look for no sympathy there. On the other hand, Mary Tudor had the Emperor her cousin's support, and England might well be forced to break her new friendship with France, thus cutting off Scotland again. And the Lennoxes, Catholic, royal, and potential usurpers, were Mary Tudor's dear friends.\n\nSo Mary of Guise had come to recognize that she needed help. 'If he is in France for the term of my visit, I shall be satisfied,' she had said of Lymond, without pretending to mean it. 'In one year's time, his allegiance must be mine,' she had added, and had meant every word.\n\nBut she had cast him, in her mind, simply as a picturesque adventurer; and that, grimly, was what he had shown her from first to last. Only in London, after O'LiamRoe's message had come and her hand had been forced had he sardonically accepted and brilliantly played the role which at last had come fitly to his hand. And then, that done, had come back to the confines of his undertaking.\n\nHis undertaking was to save Mary, and that he had done. What secrets he had listened to on the loving shoulder of France she did not know; what the cajoleries of the Constable and the Queen might lead to she could only fear; what the flatteries of her brothers and the growing attention of the King might stir in him she could only guess.\n\nShe had designed the incident of the boarbaiting for her own ends: to prove to the suspicious her lack of regard; to give her, if need be, an excuse to beg clemency in the end, were he to be exposed; to present to him a stage on which he might exhibit himself, as he seemed to delight, to the best advantage, a promise of the applause and admiration in store for him, a favourite at her side.\n\nAnd when she had read the disgust in his eyes she had known, again, that she had been wrong. She had been wrong; and she had lost him. He had saved Mary and he had safeguarded England's new burgeoning relationship with France. He had discredited the Lennoxes and won the attention of the French Council. He had George Douglas's admiration, for what it was worth; had he come in time, he could have swayed Jenny Fleming, she knew. What he had been busy about in the affairs of O'LiamRoe and Ireland she could only suspect. He had only to exert himself and he could make a following in Scotland; he had only to stay, and he could draw together for her all the Scottish allegiance in France.\n\nIn that queer afternoon audience, she had said none of this. Instead, she had spoken with feeling of all he had done, leaning lightly on the performances and the risks, stressing heavily the political sense and perception, coming as near humility as a Queen and a princess of Lorraine might safely do over the stupidities and exigencies of her station. And all the time she knew that it was not for her sake that he had kept quiet, when she denied him, but for her adopted country.\n\nShe had spoken of her plans. Soon she would return home. Only, meantime, her son was not well. And she waited to hear, with anxiety, what news the Marshal de St. Andr\u00e9 would send of his offer to England of her daughter in exchange for the English possessions in France.\n\nHe had known about that. It shook her, again and again, to discover how much he knew. They will never give up Calais on a promise as vague as that,' he had said. 'You need have no fear.'\n\nAnd then she had asked him to stay in France. 'Men fall short of your desire, and so you abandon men. The Crown falls short of your expectations, and you abandon the Crown. A leader with no following is an aerolite unloosed, M. Crawford, its power blinding and blistering where it wantonly falls, until it burns itself out. To take a puny man and make him great is your gift. I offer you a child to fashion and make worthy of your soil.'\n\nShe had added much more. There would be a knighthood. His estate of Lymond should be made great: French architects would rebuild; the storehouses and purse of a grateful state would be his. In Scotland, when he chose finally to return, he could re-create the beauty and brilliance of France.\n\nNot even her ladies had been present at this interview. She had dressed herself with care; she had given him her hand and permitted him to sit. And it was she, accustomed to dealing with male minds, barely aware of her sex, who found herself irritatingly aware that, sitting motionless, answering laconically and fast, he had formed his opinion long ago about her mind and her abilities, and was addressing himself solely to the pitch of these\u2026 as he might have done to a bullfrog similarly endowed, she thought with a sudden flash of anger, who had happened to be the Queen Mother of Scotland.\n\n'I offer you a child to fashion,' she had said; and his tone, even and courteous, did not change. 'Then you must send her to Scotland\u2014for that is where I shall be,'\n\nAfter a long while she said slowly, 'I do not think you understand what I offer.'\n\nAnd he had answered, rising as she rose, his eyes clear under the smooth brow where youth sat; the youth she would close in her fists if she could, the youth she coveted, raging, to fling against the mewing pack of wild creatures, the Douglases, the Stewarts, the Hamiltons, the ambitious sons and the kingly bastards and all young, young, young who would one day snap at her vacant throne.\n\nAnd in all his enviable youth he stood before her and said, 'I have understood and I have refused. If you wish me to lead, I shall lead. In Scotland I shall make a company of men who can match any fighting men in the world; and for twelve months in Scotland they and I shall be. If you want me, send.\u2026 But I may not always come.'\n\n'Even for the child?' she had said.\n\n'Even for the child.' And his eyes had betrayed for one moment the life she knew must be there, but did not know how to reach. 'The brilliance and beauty of France were all ours, and more, forty years ago. They ended with Flodden, and they cannot be pinned on afresh, like a decaying rose. They must grow again, and in security. It has been merry,' said Francis Crawford. 'But the time for follies is over.'\n\nHe was waiting peaceably now, the child's glove on his shoulder; but d'Aubigny was watching the Master of the Lists, was waiting for the paper which the Master took now in his hand, and adjusting the spectacles which, to his sorrow, he could not do without, perused and then read.\n\n'To messire Jean Stewart, Chevalier, Seigneur d'Aubigny, la Verrerie et le Crotet, fell the choice of arms to be used in this match, the fullest choice as the said seigneur demands to be provided, under pain of forfeiting the match.' And, licking his lips, he proceeded to read out the list of arms from which Lord d'Aubigny desired to choose.\n\nAnd the quick Douglas mind had guessed right. Notorious among the malicious, sometimes done in sport, sometimes for a wager, this shift was the most ill-mannered and peremptory in the whole game of arms. The injured party had this right: to force his opponent to bring together an adequate choice of weapons, such as gentlemen might use. He had the right, if he chose to exert it, of stating sword by sword and plate by plate from what weapons and what armour and what horseflesh he desired to select.\n\nStewart of Aubigny had done just this. As the Master's voice launched forth, spoke, and then rolled on through phrase after phrase, first exclamations and then gathering laughter answered him from the stirring stands.\n\n'Item. Horse. A pair of Turkish mares in harness, with ears and tails clipped, and furnished with military saddles; a pair of cobs, saddled in plaited armour and a pair of Spanish jennets with leather saddles and clipped tails. Two asses, caparisoned in velvet, with t\u00eati\u00e8res of brass.\n\n'Item. Two partisans, damascened in gold. Two halberds, with silk tassels; two pikes. A pair of the new Italian pistols. Two hand arquebuses, furnished with balls. Two cutlasses; two poniards with double edges and St. Hubert in the hilt, and two single-edged, with a honed point. Two rapiers, and two Swiss bastard swords with plain quillons, double-edged.\n\n'Item. Two suits of goffered leather, with chain mail over. Two engraved corselets, damascened gold and silver. Two brassards in Milanese steel, and two in German. Two cuirasses the same. Two bucklers, decorated in silver, with leather straps; and two with steel. Two pairs of gauntlets. Two morions, plumed, with\u2026'\n\nLong before the list ended, the laughter died. The form of mockery did not seem particularly witty; and they had all at least expected to witness a fight. In silence, the Master reached the end and folded the paper. D'Aubigny's eyes, large, flashing with life, looked at Lymond and then, head high and smiling, his lordship turned to the King. The trumpets blew.\n\n'Do you produce these arms, M. le Comte?' asked the Master, of Lymond.\n\nAnd\u2014'I do,' said Francis Crawford, with the clarity, the abandon, the felicity of some royal bridegroom; and you could hear the sound, throughout all the pavilions, of the torches burning. Then, two by two through the barrier came the men of his short retinue in their brilliant dress which you remembered seeing, suddenly, on the King's pages a day or two before, with other servants to help them. And two by two they paced to the cloth of gold table and laid on it the most precious armour in Europe.\n\nGamber made the engraved armour Henri had worn at Blois; the golden cuirasses were wrought with lions; the morions with rams' horns and ostrich feathers, with diamond buckles at their roots. The swords had each their own scabbards, rubies on velvet, pearls on silk. The pistols lay in leather cases, the hackbuts with damascened stocks lay each with its pile of balls. The horses were brought on, shying a little at each other and the queerly muted noise, their housings sparkling with gold, their saddles waxed.\n\nThe English Embassy sat up, and made brief and privately astonished noises of admiration. Every Frenchman round the King was prudently silent. For every courtier there recognized the armour, horses and weapons of Henri, King of France.\n\nIt was the greatest rebuff John Stewart of Aubigny had ever received in his life; and the greatest he ever would receive until he ended his days in undistinguished obscurity after undistinguished service far from Court. And it was public as a proclamation to every French courtier there. Death, to Lord d'Aubigny, might have been less unkind.\n\nHe stood, his gaze on the King for a long time, sparing only a glance for the glittering arms on the table, and none for Lymond. He said, his voice a little high, 'I am satisfied,' and the Master of the Lists, looking in vain for guidance from the King, the Constable or the defendant himself, said desperately, 'State, then: what is your choice?'\n\nHe was a captain of lances, and he tried, at the end, to gather about him some tatters of pride. The handsome face, ignoring the Master, looked again up past the cloth of gold and the embossed fleurs-de-lis to the royal tribune, its crest the same as the one he had worn once on his own breast and back. Lord d'Aubigny, his eyes on the King, said, 'I make no choice. I forfeit my injury and withdraw my cartel of challenge.'\n\nAbove him, Henri's schooled face did not change. He said, 'Pray do not disappoint us. We and our friends here had hoped to see some sport.'\n\n'The sport is done,' said John Stewart, his voice faded, and received the King's permission to go.\n\nHe walked firmly, in the midst of his retinue, banner high, and the glittering procession threading the undisturbed sand received neither cheers nor catcalls as it became dim in the night distances and dissolved. The fall of a favourite is celebrated with discreet music at Court.\n\nOn the field the Vidame, his hand on Lymond's shoulder, gently caressing, was inviting him to fight; and the English delegation, shifting a little in their seats, were careful not to meet each other's eyes. Northampton was smiling again.\n\nThey fought on jennets, for exhibition only, and the bout was pretty to watch. The Vidame, not unaccustomed to doing his courting with a poniard, talked all the way through.\n\nFrancis Crawford fought delicately, like an automaton, his eyes largely elsewhere, and won. At the end, kissed, congratulated and bewreathed, still preoccupied, he took his jennet past the cushioned ledges where the Scottish Court was watching, and pausing, his little horse stayed between his knees, he unpinned his gauge.\n\nThen he looked up, the light striking gold from his hair and resting on the high planes of brow and cheekbone and nose as he studied the child's face.\n\nMary unseated herself and sat again angrily, one fold of red hair fallen down the outside ledge of the box. 'But you didn't fight M. d'Aubigny!'\n\n'No.\u2026 The King did that,' said Francis Crawford.\n\nHer eyes opened. 'I didn't see him!'\n\n'It was done another way. But I did fight someone, you know. Will he not do?'\n\n'M. le Vidame?' It was the voice of proprietory scorn. 'He brings me cats!'\n\nOh. Does he?' said Lymond with interest. 'It's one thing he hasn't brought me yet. How difficult it is. Then if he will not serve, I fear I must keep the glove until I find someone who will. What about that?'\n\n'But yes, excellent. Do you keep it, M. Crawford. For someone truly dangerous. Such as the Irishwoman who wished me some harm?'\n\n'No. We were wrong, you and I. The lady is a friend.' Lymond, no doubt sensing the Dowager's sharpened interest, changed the subject. 'I must go, your grace. There is word that The O'LiamRoe is to show the Court how to play hurley, and they will need a few sober men, and a physician and a priest too, before they are done. But if I am to take your glove, I ought to leave you some token at least.' And, reaching up, he laid something on the little Queen's outstretched palm.\n\nIt was the enormous diamond. The Dowager caught it from her. 'Ma mie, no! M. Crawford, she cannot accept that. It is greatly too much.'\n\n'It is the King's,' said Lymond cheerfully. 'I understand that, unlike the pots and pans, he does not expect it returned.'\n\nUnder his own gauntlet, the edge of a bandage showed. She understood him too well. No duties; no obligations; no responsibilities\u2014except to himself. And yet\u2026 he had kept the glove.\n\n'Say me a riddle,' said the Queen.\n\nThe jennet was becoming impatient; he had paused long enough. 'We are not private enough,' he said. 'Your servant, my lady.' And smiling, tightened the reins.\n\n'Sing me a song, then,' she pressed. He was hers; he had worn her gauge; others should see how pleasant they were together. But he only smiled again, and bowed, and moved off, the applause rattling down the stands, and the equerries closing in behind, his banner held high over his head.\n\nMary, watching half-annoyed, half-absorbed, raised her voice chanting; hardly heard, Margaret Erskine was thankful to notice, in the noise and movement around. Then she broke into full song, taking both parts herself, in a very good imitation of the famous voice: the voice which through a long winter had sung to the King and courtiers of France, and had played with her Queens.\n\n\u2003'King and Queen of Cantelon\n\n\u2003How many miles to Babylon?\n\n\u2003Eight and eight and other eight.\n\n\u2003Will I get there by candlelight?\n\n\u2003If your horse be good and your spurs be bright.\n\n\u2003How many men have ye?\n\n\u2003\u2026Mair nor ye daur come and see.'"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Le Morte d'Arthur",
        "author": "Thomas Malory",
        "genres": [
            "fantasy"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Arthurian"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "Chronology:\n\nc.545: Gildas' account of recent British history refers to some possibly Arthurian events.\n\nc.600: The northern poem Gododdin cities Arthur as being a familiar hero.\n\nc.800: Nennius' chronicle lists twelve battles fought by Arthur against the Saxons.\n\nc.960: The Annales Cambriae mentions the death of Arthur and Medraut at Camlann.\n\nc.1000: Origins of the earliest Welsh Arthurian story, Culhwch and Olwen.\n\nc.1136: Geoffrey of Monmouth compiles the basic outline of Arthur's biography in his History of the Kings, of Britain,\n\nc.1155: Wace's French adaptation of Geoffrey, the Brut, contains the first mention of the Round Table.\n\nc.1160\u201390: Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes' French Arthurian verse romances,\n\nc.1200: Robert de Boron begins the spiritualizing of the Grail.\n\nc.1210: Layamon's Brut contains the first account of Arthur in English.\n\nc.1215\u201325: French prose Vulgate Cycle (Lancelot-Graal).\n\nc.1240: French prose Tristan brings the Tristan story into the Arthurian orbit.\n\nc.1300: First Arthurian verse romances in English.\n\nc.1380: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.\n\nc.1390: Alliterative Morte Arthure.\n\nc.1400: Stanzaic Morte Arthur.\n\nc.1450: First English Arthurian prose romance (Merlin).\n\n1469\u201370: Malory completes the Morte Darthur.\n\n1485: Caxton prints the Morte Darthur.\n\n1488\u20139: First printing of French prose Lancelot and Tristan.\n\n\u2042\n\nIt befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against him long time; and the duke was called the Duke of Tintagel. And so by means King Uther sent for this duke, charging him to bring his wife with him, for she was called a fair lady, and a passing wise; and her name was called Igraine.\n\nSo when the duke and his wife were come unto the King, by the means of great lords they were accorded both. The King liked and loved this lady well, and he made them great cheer out of measure, and desired to have lain by her. But she was a passing good woman, and would not assent unto the King.\n\nAnd then she told the duke her husband, and said, 'I suppose that we were sent for that I should be dishonoured; wherefore, husband, I counsel you that we depart from hence suddenly, that we may ride all night unto our own castle.' And in like wise as she said so they departed, that neither the King nor none of his council were ware of their departing.\n\nAs soon as King Uther knew of their departing so suddenly, he was wonderly wroth. Then he called to him his privy council, and told them of the sudden departing of the duke and his wife. Then they advised the King to send for the duke and his wife by a great charge: 'And if he will not come at your summons, then may ye do your best; then have ye cause to make mighty war upon him.'\n\nSo that was done; and the messengers had their answers, and that was this shortly, that neither he nor his wife would not come at him. Then was the King wonderly wroth. And then the King sent him plain word again, and bade him be ready and stuff him and garnish him, for within forty days he would fetch him out of the biggest castle that he hath.\n\nWhen the duke had this warning, anon he went and furnished and garnished two strong castles of his, of the which the one hight Tintagel, and the other castle hight Terrabil. So his wife Dame Igraine he put in the castle of Tintagel, and himself he put in the castle of Terrabil, the which had many issues and posterns out. Then in all haste came Uther with a great host and laid a siege about the castle of Terrabil, and there he pitched many pavilions. And there was great war made on both parties, and much people slain.\n\nThen for pure anger and for great love of fair Igraine the King Uther fell sick. So came to the King Uther Sir Ulfius, a noble knight, and asked the King why he was sick.\n\n'I shall tell thee,' said the King. 'I am sick for anger and for love of fair Igraine, that I may not be whole.'\n\n'Well, my lord,' said Sir Ulfius, 'I shall seek Merlin, and he shall do you remedy, that your heart shall be pleased.'\n\nSo Ulfius departed. And by adventure he met Merlin in a beggar's array, and there Merlin asked Ulfius whom he sought; and he said he had little ado to tell him.\n\n'Well,' said Merlin, 'I know whom thou seekest, for thou seekest Merlin; therefore seek no further, for I am he. And if King Uther will well reward me, and be sworn unto me to fulfil my desire, that shall be his honour and profit more than mine, for I shall cause him to have all his desire.'\n\n'All this will I undertake,' said Ulfius, 'that there shall be nothing reasonable but thou shalt have thy desire.'\n\n'Well,' said Merlin, 'he shall have his intent and desire. And therefore,' said Merlin, 'ride on your way, for I will not be long behind.'\n\nThen Ulfius was glad, and rode on more than apace till that he came to King Uther Pendragon, and told him he had met with Merlin.\n\n'Where is he?'said the King.\n\n'Sir,' said Ulfius, 'he will not dwell long.'\n\nTherewith Ulfius was ware where Merlin stood at the porch of the pavilion's door. And then Merlin was bound to come to the King. When King Uther saw him, he said he was welcome.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin 'I know all your heart every deal. So ye will be sworn unto me, as ye be a true king anointed, to fulfil my desire, ye shall have your desire.'\n\nThen the King was sworn upon the four Evangelists.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'this is my desire: the first night that ye shall lie by Igraine ye shall get a child on her, and when that is born, that it shall be delivered to me for to nourish there as I will have it; for it shall be your worship, and the child's avail as mickle as the child is worth.'\n\n'I will well,' said the King, 'as thou wilt have it.'\n\n'Now make you ready,' said Merlin, 'this night ye shall lie with Igraine in the castle of Tintagel; and ye shall be like the duke her husband, Ulfius shall be like Sir Brastias, a knight of the duke's, and I will be like a knight that hight Sir Jordanus, a knight of the duke's. But wait ye make not many questions with her nor her men, but say ye are diseased, and so hie you to bed and rise not on the morn till I come to you; for the castle of Tintagel is but ten miles hence.'\n\nSo this was done as they devised. But the Duke of Tintagel espied how the King rode from the siege of Terrabil, and therefore that night he issued out of the castle at a postern for to have distressed the King's host. And so, through his own issue, the duke himself was slain or ever the King came at the castle of Tintagel.\n\nSo after the death of the duke, King Uther lay with Igraine more than three hours after his death, and begot on her that night Arthur; and, or day came, Merlin came to the King and bade him make him ready, and so he kissed the lady Igraine and departed in all haste. But when the lady heard tell of the duke her husband, and by all record he was dead or ever King Uther came to her, then she marvelled who that might be that lay with her in likeness of her lord; so she mourned privily and held her peace.\n\nThen all the barons by one assent prayed the King of accord betwixt the lady Igraine and him. The King gave them leave, for fain would he have been accorded with her; so the King put all the trust in Ulfius to entreat between them. So by the entreaty at the last the King and she met together.\n\n'Now will we do well,' said Ulfius. 'Our king is a lusty knight and wifeless, and my lady Igraine is a passing fair lady; it were great joy unto us all and it might please the King to make her his queen.'\n\nUnto that they all well accorded and moved it to the King. And anon, like a lusty knight, he assented thereto with good will, and so in all haste they were married in a morning with great mirth and joy. And King Lot of Lothian and of Orkney then wedded Morgause that was Gawain's mother, and King Nentres of the land of Garlot wedded Elaine. All this was done at the request of King Uther. And the third sister Morgan le Fay was put to school in a nunnery, and there she learned so much that she was a great clerk of necromancy; and after she was wedded to King Uriens of the land of Gore, that was Sir Uwain le Blanchemains' father.\n\nThen Queen Igraine waxed daily greater and greater. So it befell after within half a year, as King Uther lay by his queen, he asked her, by the faith she owed to him, whose was the child within her body; then was she sore abashed to give answer.\n\n'Dismay you not,' said the King, 'but tell me the truth, and I shall love you the better, by the faith of my body.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'I shall tell you the truth. The same night that my lord was dead, the hour of his death, as his knights record, there came into my castle of Tintagel a man like my lord in speech and in countenance, and two knights with him in likeness of his two knights Brastias and Jordanus, and so I went unto bed with him as I ought to do with my lord. And the same night, as I shall answer unto God, this child was begotten upon me.'\n\n'That is truth,' said the King, 'as ye say; for it was I myself that came in the likeness, and therefore dismay you not, for I am father to the child.' And there he told her all the cause, how it was by Merlin's counsel. Then the queen made great joy when she knew who was the father of her child.\n\nSoon came Merlin unto the King, and said, 'Sir, ye must purvey you for the nourishing of your child.'\n\n'As thou wilt,' said the King, 'be it.'\n\n'Well,' said Merlin, 'I know a lord of yours in this land that is a passing true man and a faithful, and he shall have the nourishing of your child; and his name is Sir Ector, and he is a lord of fair livelihood in many parts in England and Wales; and this lord, Sir Ector, let him be sent for, for to come and speak with you, and desire him yourself, as he loveth you, that he will put his own child to nourishing to another woman, and that his wife nourish yours. And when the child is born, let it be delivered to me at yonder privy postern unchristened.'\n\nSo like as Merlin devised it was done. And when Sir Ector was come he made affiance to the King for to nourish the child like as the King desired; and there the King granted Sir Ector great rewards. Then when the lady was delivered, the King commanded two knights and two ladies to take the child, bound in a cloth of gold, 'and that ye deliver him to what poor man ye meet at the postern gate of the castle.' So the child was delivered unto Merlin, and so he bore it forth unto Sir Ector, and made a holy man to christen him, and named him Arthur; and so Sir Ector's wife nourished him with her own pap.\n\nThen within two years King Uther fell sick of a great malady. And in the meanwhile his enemies usurped upon him and did a great battle upon his men, and slew many of his people.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'ye may not lie so as ye do, for ye must to the field though ye ride in a horse-litter; for ye shall never have the better of your enemies but if your person be there, and then shall ye have the victory.'\n\nSo it was done as Merlin had devised, and they carried the King forth in a horse-litter with a great host toward his enemies; and at St Albans there met with the King a great host of the north. And that day Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias did great deeds of arms, and King Uther's men overcame the northern battle and slew many people, and put the remnant to flight. And then the King returned unto London, and made great joy of his victory.\n\nAnd then he fell passing sore sick, so that three days and three nights he was speechless; wherefore all the barons made great sorrow, and asked Merlin what counsel were best.\n\n'There is no other remedy,' said Merlin, 'but God will have his will. But look ye all, barons, be before King Uther tomorrow, and God and I shall make him to speak.'\n\nSo on the morn all the barons with Merlin came before the King; then Merlin said aloud unto King Uther, 'Sir, shall your son Arthur be king, after your days, of this realm with all the appurtenance?'\n\nThen Uther Pendragon turned him, and said in hearing of them all, 'I give him God's blessing and mine; and bid him pray for my soul, and righteously and worshipfully that he claim the crown, upon forfeiture of my blessing.'\n\nAnd therewith he yielded up the ghost; and then was he interred as longed to a king, wherefore the queen, fair Igraine, made great sorrow, and all the barons.\n\nThen stood the realm in great jeopardy long while, for every lord that was mighty of men made him strong, and many weened to have been king. Then Merlin went to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and counselled him for to send for all the lords of the realm, and all the gentlemen of arms, that they should to London come by Christmas, upon pain of cursing; and for this cause: that Jesus, that was born on that night, that He would of His great mercy show some miracle, as He was come to be king of mankind, for to show some miracle who should be rightwise king of this realm. So the archbishop, by the advice of Merlin, sent for all the lords and gentlemen of arms that they should come by Christmas even unto London. And many of them made them clean of their life, that their prayer might be the more acceptable unto God. So in the greatest church of London (whether it were Paul's or not the French book maketh no mention), all the estates were long or day in the church for to pray. And when matins and the first Mass was done, there was seen in the churchyard, against the high altar, a great stone four square, like unto a marble stone; and in the midst thereof was like an anvil of steel a foot on high, and therein stuck a fair sword naked by the point, and letters there were written in gold about the sword that said thus: 'Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England.'\n\nThen the people marvelled, and told it to the archbishop.\n\n'I command,' said the archbishop, 'that ye keep you within your church and pray unto God still; and that no man touch the sword till the High Mass be all done.'\n\nSo when all Masses were done all the lords went to behold the stone and the sword. And when they saw the scripture, some assayed, such as would have been king. But none might stir the sword nor move it.\n\n'He is not here,' said the archbishop, 'that shall achieve the sword, but doubt not God will make him known. But this is my counsel,' said the archbishop, 'that we let purvey ten knights, men of good fame, and they to keep this sword.'\n\nSo it was ordained, and then there was made a cry that every man should assay that would, for to win the sword. And upon New Year's Day the barons let make a jousts and a tournament, that all knights that would joust or tourney there might play. And all this was ordained for to keep the lords together and the commons, for the archbishop trusted that God would make him known that should win the sword. So upon New Year's Day, when the service was done, the barons rode unto the field, some to joust and some to tourney.\n\nAnd so it happed that Sir Ector, that had great livelihood about London, rode unto the jousts, and with him rode Sir Kay his son, and young Arthur that was his nourished brother; and Sir Kay was made knight at All Hallowmas before. So as they rode to the jousts-ward, Sir Kay had lost his sword, for he had left it at his father's lodging, and so he prayed young Arthur for to ride for his sword.\n\n'I will well,' said Arthur, and rode fast after the sword. And when he came home the lady and all were out to see the jousting. Then was Arthur wroth, and said to himself, 'I will ride to the churchyard, and take the sword with me that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this day.'\n\nSo when he came to the churchyard, Sir Arthur alit and tied his horse to the stile, and so he went to the tent, and found no knights there, for they were at jousting; and so he handled the sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the stone, and took his horse and rode his way until he came to his brother Sir Kay and delivered him the sword. And as soon as Sir Kay saw the sword, he wist well it was the sword of the stone, and so he rode to his father Sir Ector, and said: 'Sir, lo here is the sword of the stone, wherefore I must be king of this land.'\n\nWhen Sir Ector beheld the sword, he returned again and came to the church, and there they alit all three and went into the church. And anon he made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he came to that sword.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Kay, 'by my brother Arthur, for he brought it to me.'\n\n'How got ye this sword?' said Sir Ector to Arthur.\n\n'Sir, I will tell you. When I came home for my brother's sword, I found nobody at home to deliver me his sword, and so I thought my brother Sir Kay should not be swordless; and so I came hither eagerly and pulled it out of the stone without any pain.'\n\n'Found ye any knights about this sword?' said Sir Ector.\n\n'Nay,' said Arthur.\n\n'Now,' said Sir Ector to Arthur, 'I understand ye must be king of this land.'\n\n'Wherefore I,' said Arthur, 'and for what cause?'\n\n'Sir,' said Ector, 'for God will have it so, for there should never man have drawn out this sword, but he that shall be rightwise king of this land. Now let me see whether ye can put the sword there as it was, and pull it out again.'\n\n'That is no mastery,' said Arthur, and so he put it in the stone; therewith Sir Ector assayed to pull out the sword and failed.\n\n'Now assay,' said Sir Ector unto Sir Kay. And anon he pulled at the sword with all his might, but it would not be.\n\n'Now shall ye assay,' said Sir Ector to Arthur.\n\n'I will well,' said Arthur, and pulled it out easily. And therewith Sir Ector knelt down to the earth, and Sir Kay. 'Alas,' said Arthur, 'my own dear father and brother, why kneel ye to me?'\n\n'Nay, nay, my lord Arthur, it is not so, I was never your father nor of your blood, but I wot well ye are of a higher blood than I weened ye were.'\n\nAnd then Sir Ector told him all, how he was betaken him for to nourish him, and by whose commandment, and by Merlin's deliverance. Then Arthur made great dole when he understood that Sir Ector was not his father.\n\n'Sir,' said Ector unto Arthur, 'will ye be my good and gracious lord when ye are king?'\n\n'Else were I to blame,' said Arthur, 'for ye are the man in the world that I am most beholden to, and my good lady and mother your wife, that as well as her own hath fostered me and kept. And if ever it be God's will that I be king as ye say, ye shall desire of me what I may do, and I shall not fail you\u2014God forbid I should fail you!'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Ector, 'I will ask no more of you, but that ye will make my son, your foster brother, Sir Kay, seneschal of all your lands.'\n\n'That shall be done,' said Arthur, 'and more, by the faith of my body, that never man shall have that office but he, while he and I live.'\n\nTherewith they went unto the archbishop, and told him how the sword was achieved and by whom. And on Twelfth-day all the barons came thither, and to assay to take the sword, who that would assay. But there before them all, there might none take it out but Arthur; wherefore there were many lords wroth, and said it was great shame unto them all and the realm, to be over-governed with a boy of no high blood born. And so they fell out at that time, that it was put off till Candlemas, and then all the barons should meet there again; but always the ten knights were ordained to watch the sword day and night, and so they set a pavilion over the stone and the sword, and five always watched.\n\nSo at Candlemas many more great lords came thither for to have won the sword, but there might none prevail. And right as Arthur did at Christmas, he did at Candlemas, and pulled out the sword easily, whereof the barons were sore aggrieved and put it off in delay till the high feast of Easter. And as Arthur sped before, so did he at Easter, yet there were some of the great lords had indignation that Arthur should be king, and put it off in a delay till the feast of Pentecost. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury by Merlin's providence let purvey then of the best knights that they might get, and such knights as Uther Pendragon loved best and most trusted in his days. And such knights were put about Arthur as Sir Baudwin of Britain, Sir Kay, Sir Ulfius, Sir Brastias\u2014all these, with many other, were always about Arthur, day and night, till the feast of Pentecost.\n\nAnd at the feast of Pentecost all manner of men assayed to pull at the sword that would assay, but none might prevail but Arthur, and pulled it out before all the lords and commons that were there; wherefore all the commons cried at once, 'We will have Arthur unto our king, we will put him no more in delay; for we all see that it is God's will that he shall be our king. And who that holdeth against it, we will slay him.'\n\nAnd therewith all they kneeled at once, both rich and poor, and cried Arthur mercy because they had delayed him so long. And Arthur forgave them, and took the sword between both his hands and offered it upon the altar where the archbishop was, and so was he made knight of the best man that was there.\n\nAnd so anon was the coronation made. And there was he sworn unto his lords and the commons for to be a true king, to stand with true justice from thenceforth the days of this life. Also then he made all lords that held of the crown to come in, and to do service as they ought to do. And many complaints were made unto Sir Arthur of great wrongs that were done since the death of King Uther, of many lands that were bereft lords, knights, ladies, and gentlemen, wherefore King Arthur made the lands to be given again unto them that owned them.\n\nWhen this was done, that the King had established all the countries about London, then he let make Sir Kay seneschal of England; and Sir Baudwin of Britain was made constable; and Sir Ulfius was made chamberlain; and Sir Brastias was made warden to wait upon the north from Trent forwards, for it was that time the most part the King's enemies. But within few years after, Arthur won all the north, Scotland, and all that were under their obeisance. Also Wales, a part of it, held against Arthur, but he overcame them all, as he did the remnant, through the noble prowess of himself and his knights of the Round Table.\n\nThen the King removed into Wales, and let cry a great feast that it should be held at Pentecost after the coronation of him at the city of Caerleon. Unto the feast came King Lot of Lothian and of Orkney, with five hundred knights with him; also there came to the feast King Uriens of Gore with four hundred knights with him; also there came to that feast King Nentres of Garlot, with seven hundred knights with him; also there came to the feast the King of Scotland with six hundred knights with him, and he was but a young man; also there came to the feast a king that was called the King with the Hundred Knights, but he and his men were passing well beseen at all points; also there came the King Carados with five hundred knights. And King Arthur was glad of their coming, for he weened that all the kings and knights had come for great love, and to have done him worship at his feast; wherefore the King made great joy, and sent the kings and knights great presents. But the kings would none receive, but rebuked the messengers shamefully, and said they had no joy to receive no gifts of a beardless boy that was come of low blood; and sent him word they would none of his gifts, but that they were come to give him gifts with hard swords betwixt the neck and the shoulders. And therefore they came thither, so they told to the messengers plainly, for it was great shame to all them to see such a boy to have a rule of so noble a realm as this land was.\n\nWith this answer the messengers departed and told to King Arthur this answer. Wherefore, by the advice of his barons, he took him to a strong tower with five hundred good men with him; and all the kings aforesaid in a manner laid a siege before him, but King Arthur was well victualled.\n\nAnd within fifteen days there came Merlin among them into the city of Caerleon. Then all the kings were passing glad of Merlin, and asked him, 'For what cause is that boy Arthur made your king?'\n\n'Sirs,' said Merlin, 'I shall tell you the cause: for he is King Uther Pendragon's son, born in wedlock, begotten on Igraine, the Duke's wife of Tintagel.'\n\n'Then is he a bastard,' they said all.\n\n'Nay,' said Merlin, 'after the death of the duke, more than three hours, was Arthur begotten, and thirteen days after, King Uther wedded Igraine; and therefore I prove him he is no bastard. And whoever saith nay, he shall be king and overcome all his enemies; and, or he die, he shall be long king of all England, and have under his obedience Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, and more realms than I will now rehearse.'\n\nSome of the kings had marvel of Merlin's words, and deemed well that it should be as he said; and some of them laughed him to scorn, as King Lot; and more others called him a witch. But then were they accorded with Merlin that King Arthur should come out and speak with the kings, and to come safe and to go safe: such assurance there was made.\n\nSo Merlin went unto King Arthur and told him how he had done, and bade him fear not, 'but come out boldly and speak with them, and spare them not, but answer them as their king and chieftain; for ye shall overcome them all, whether they will or nill.'\n\nThen King Arthur came out of his tower, and had under his gown a jesseraunt of double mail; and there went with him the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Sir Baudwin of Britain, and Sir Kay, and Sir Brastias: these were the men of most worship that were with him. And when they were met, there was no meekness, but stout words on both sides; but always King Arthur answered them, and said he would make them to bow and he lived. Wherefore they departed with wrath, and King Arthur bade keep them well, and they bade the King keep him well. So the King returned to the tower again and armed him and all his knights.\n\n'What will ye do?' said Merlin to the kings. 'Ye were better for to stint, for ye shall not here prevail though ye were ten so many.'\n\n'Be we well advised to be afraid of a dream-reader?' said King Lot.\n\nWith that Merlin vanished away, and came to King Arthur, and bade him set on them fiercely. And in the meanwhile there were three hundred good men of the best that were with the kings, that went straight unto King Arthur; and that comforted him greatly.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin to Arthur, 'fight not with the sword that ye had by miracle, till that ye see ye go unto the worse: then draw it out and do your best.'\n\nSo forthwith King Arthur set upon them in their lodging. And Sir Baudwin, Sir Kay, and Sir Brastias slew on the right hand and on the left hand that it was marvel; and always King Arthur on horseback laid on with a sword and did marvellous deeds of arms, that many of the kings had great joy of his deeds and hardiness. Then King Lot broke out on the back side, and the King with the Hundred Knights, and King Carados, and set on Arthur fiercely behind him. With that Sir Arthur turned with his knights, and smote behind and before, and ever Sir Arthur was in the foremost press till his horse was slain underneath him; and therewith King Lot smote down King Arthur. With that his four knights received him and set him on horseback. Then he drew his sword Excalibur, but it was so bright in his enemies' eyes that it gave light like thirty torches. And therewith he put them aback, and slew much people. And then the commons of Caerleon arose with clubs and staves and slew many knights; but all the kings held them together with their knights that were left alive, and so fled and departed. And Merlin came unto Arthur, and counselled him to follow them no further.\n\nSo after the feast and journey, King Arthur drew him unto London, and so by the counsel of Merlin the King let call his barons to council, for Merlin had told the King that the six kings that made war upon him would in all haste be awroke on him and on his lands; wherefore the King asked counsel at them all. They could no counsel give, but said they were big enough.\n\n'Ye say well,' said Arthur; 'I thank you for your good courage, but will ye all that loveth me speak with Merlin? Ye know well that he hath done much for me, and he knoweth many things, and when he is before you, I would that ye prayed him heartily of his best advice.'\n\nAll the barons said they would pray him and desire him. So Merlin was sent for, and fair desired of all the barons to give them best counsel.\n\n'I shall say you,' said Merlin, 'I warn you all, your enemies are passing strong for you, and they are good men of arms as be alive, and by this time they have gotten to them four kings more and a mighty duke; and unless that our king have more chivalry with him than he may make within the bounds of his own realm, and he fight with them in battle, he shall be overcome and slain.'\n\n'What were best to do in this cause?' said all the barons.\n\n'I shall tell you', said Merlin, 'my advice: there are two brethren beyond the sea, and they be kings both and marvellous good men of their hands; and the one hight King Ban of Benwick, and the other hight King Bors of Gaul, that is France. And on these two kings warreth a mighty man of men, the King Claudas, and striveth with them for a castle, and great war is betwixt them; but this Claudas is so mighty of goods whereof he getteth good knights, that he putteth these two kings the most part to the worse. Wherefore this is my counsel: that our king and sovereign lord send unto the kings Ban and Bors by two trusty knights with letters well devised, that and they will come and see King Arthur and his court, and to help him in his wars, that he would be sworn unto them to help them in their wars against King Claudas. Now, what say ye unto this counsel?' said Merlin.\n\n'This is well counselled,' said the King.\n\n[King Ban and King Bors agree to help Arthur, and they meet in battle with the eleven kings.]\n\nBy then came into the field King Ban as fierce as a lion, with bands of green and thereupon gold.\n\n'A ha!' said King Lot, 'we must be discomfited, for yonder I see the most valiant knight of the world, and the man of most renown. For such two brethren as is King Ban and King Bors are not living, wherefore we must needs avoid or die. And but if we avoid manly and wisely there is but death.'\n\nSo when these two kings, Ban and Bors, came into the battle, they came in so fiercely that the strokes rebounded again from the wood and the water; wherefore King Lot wept for pity and dole that he saw so many good knights take their end. But through the great force of King Ban they made both the northern battles that were departed hurtle together for great dread. And the three kings and their knights slew on ever, that it was pity to see and to behold the multitude of the people that fled. But King Lot and the King with the Hundred Knights and King Morganor gathered the people together passing knightly, and did great prowess of arms, and held the battle all the day alike hard.\n\nWhen the King with the Hundred Knights beheld the great damage that King Ban did, he thrust unto him with his horse, and smote him on high on the helm a great stroke, and astoned him sore. Then King Ban was wood wroth with him, and followed on him fiercely; the other saw that, and cast up his shield and spurred his horse forward. But the stroke of King Ban down fell and carved a cantle off the shield, and the sword slid down by the hauberk behind his back, and cut through the trapper of steel and the horse even in two pieces, that the sword fell to the earth. Then the King of the Hundred Knights voided the horse lightly, and with his sword he broached the horse of King Ban through and through. With that King Ban voided lightly from the dead horse, and smote at that other so eagerly on the helm that he fell to the earth. Also in that ire he felled King Morganor, and there was great slaughter of good knights and much people.\n\nBy that time came into the press King Arthur, and found King Ban standing among the dead men and dead horses, fighting on foot as a wood lion, that there came none nigh him as far as he might reach with his sword but he caught a grievous buffet; whereof King Arthur had great pity. And King Arthur was so bloody that by his shield there might no man know him, for all was blood and brains that stuck on his sword and on his shield. And as King Arthur looked beside him he saw a knight that was passingly well horsed; and therewith King Arthur ran to him and smote him on the helm that his sword went unto his teeth, and the knight sank down to the earth dead. And anon King Arthur took the horse by the rein and led him unto King Ban, and said, 'Fair brother, have ye this horse, for ye have great mister thereof, and me repents sore of your great damage.'\n\n'It shall be soon revenged,' said King Ban, 'for, I trust in God, my hurt is none such but some of them may sore repent this.'\n\n'I will well,' said King Arthur, 'for I see your deeds full actual; nevertheless, I might not come to you at that time.'\n\nBut when King Ban was mounted on horseback, then there began a new battle which was sore and hard, and passing great slaughter. And so through great force King Arthur, King Ban, and King Bors made their knights a little to withdraw them to a little wood, and so over a little river, and there they rested them; for on the night before they had no great rest in the field. And then the eleven kings put them on a heap all together, as men adread and out of all comfort. But there was no man that might pass them, they held them so hard together both behind and before, that King Arthur had marvel of their deeds of arms and was passing wroth.\n\n'Ah, Sir Arthur,' said King Ban and King Bors, 'blame them not, for they do as good men ought to do. For, by my faith,' said King Ban, 'they are the best fighting men, and knights of most prowess, that ever I saw or heard speak of. And those eleven kings are men of great worship; and if they were belonging to you there were no king under heaven that had such eleven kings, nor of such worship.'\n\n'I may not love them,' said King Arthur, 'for they would destroy me.'\n\n'That know we well,' said King Ban and King Bors, 'for they are your mortal enemies; and that hath been proved beforehand. And this day they have done their part, and that is great pity of their wilfulness.'\n\nThen all the eleven kings drew them together. And then said King Lot, 'Lords, ye must do otherwise than ye do, or else the great loss is behind. For ye may see what people we have lost, and what good men we lose, because we wait always on these foot-men; and ever in saving of one of these foot-men we lose ten horsemen for him. Therefore this is my advice: let us put our foot-men from us, for it is near night. For this noble King Arthur will not tarry on the foot-men, for they may save themselves; the wood is near hand. And when we horsemen be together, look every each of you kings let make such ordinance that none break upon pain of death. And who that seeth any man dress him to flee, lightly that he be slain; for it is better we slay a coward, than through a coward all we be slain. How say ye?' said King Lot, 'Answer me, all ye kings.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said King Nentres. So said the King with the Hundred Knights; the same said King Carados, and King Uriens; so said King Idres and King Brandegoris; so did King Cradelmas, and the Duke of Caudebenet; the same said King Clariancc, and so did King Angwissance, and swore they would never fail other for life nor for death. And whoso that fled, all they should be slain.\n\nThen they amended their harness and righted their shields, and took new spears and set them on their thighs, and stood still as it had been a plumb of wood.\n\nWhen King Arthur and King Ban and Bors beheld them and all their knights, they praised them much for their noble cheer of chivalry, for the hardiest fighters that ever they heard or saw.\n\nSo there came into the thick of the press Arthur, Ban, and Bors, and slew downright on both hands, that their horses went in blood up to the fetlocks. But ever the eleven kings and the host was ever in the visage of Arthur. Wherefore King Ban and Bors had great marvel, considering the great slaughter that there was; but at the last they were driven aback over a little river.\n\nWith that came Merlin on a great black horse, and said unto King Arthur, 'Thou hast never done, hast thou not done enough? Of three score thousand this day hast thou left alive but fifteen thousand, therefore it is time to say \"Whoa!\" For God is wroth with thee, for thou wilt never have done. For yonder eleven kings at this time will not be overthrown; but and thou tarry on them any longer, thy fortune will turn and they shall increase. And therefore withdraw you unto your lodging and rest you as soon as ye may, and reward your good knights with gold and with silver, for they have well deserved it; there may no riches be too dear for them, for of so few men as ye have, there were never men did more worshipfully in prowess than ye have done today. For ye have matched this day with the best fighters of the world.'\n\n'That is truth,' said King Ban and Bors.\n\nThen Merlin bade them, 'Withdraw where ye list, for these three years I dare undertake they shall not dere you; and by that time ye shall hear new tidings.' Then Merlin said unto Arthur, 'These eleven kings have more on hand than they are aware of. For the Saracens are landed in their countries, more than forty thousand, and burn and slay, and have laid siege to the Castle Wandesborough, and make great destruction; therefore dread you not these three years. Also, sir, all the goods that be gotten at this battle, let it be searched, and when ye have it in your hands, let it be given friendly unto these two kings, Ban and Bors, that they may reward their knights withal; and that shall cause strangers to be of better will to do you service at need. Also ye be able to reward your own knights at what time soever it liketh you.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Arthur, 'and as thou hast devised, so shall it be done.'\n\nWhen it was delivered to these kings, Ban and Bors, they gave the goods as freely to their knights as it was given to them. Then Merlin took his leave of King Arthur and of the two kings for to go see his master Bloise, that dwelled in Northumberland; and so he departed and came to his master, that was passing glad of his coming. And there he told how Arthur and the two kings had sped at the great battle, and how it was ended, and told the names of every king and knight of worship that was there. And so Bloise wrote the battle word by word as Merlin told him, how it began, and by whom; and in like wise how it was ended, and who had the worst. And all the battles that were done in Arthur's days, Merlin did his master Bloise write them; also he did write all the battles that every worthy knight did of Arthur's court.\n\nSo after this Merlin departed from his master and came to King Arthur, that was in the castle of Bedgraine, that was one of the castles that standeth in the forest of Sherwood. And Merlin was so disguised that King Arthur knew him not, for he was all befurred in black sheepskins, and a great pair of boots, and a bow and arrows, in a russet gown, and brought wild geese in his hand. And it was on the morn after Candlemas Day. But King Arthur knew him not.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin unto the King, 'will ye give me a gift?'\n\n'Wherefore,' said King Arthur, 'should I give thee a gift, churl?'\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'ye were better to give me a gift that is not in your hand than to lose great riches. For here, in the same place where the great battle was, is great treasure hid in the earth.'\n\n'Who told thee so, churl?'\n\n'Sir, Merlin told me so,' said he.\n\nThen Ulfius and Brastias knew him well enough, and smiled. 'Sir,' said these two knights, 'it is Merlin that so speaketh unto you.'\n\nThen King Arthur was greatly abashed, and had marvel of Merlin; and so had King Ban and Bors. So they had great disport at him.\n\nThen in the meanwhile there came a damosel that was an earl's daughter\u2014his name was Sanam, and her name was Lionors, a passing fair damosel\u2014and so she came thither for to do homage, as other lords did after that great battle. And King Arthur set his love greatly on her, and so did she upon him; and so the King had ado with her and begot on her a child. And his name was Borre, that was after a good knight, and of the Table Round.\n\nThen there came word that King Roince of North Wales made great war on King Lodegreance of Camelard, for the which King Arthur was wroth, for he loved him well, and hated King Roince, for always he was against him.\n\nAnd then King Arthur, King Ban, and King Bors departed with their fellowship, a twenty thousand, and came within six days into the country of Camelard, and there rescued King Lodegreance, and slew there much people of King Roince unto the number often thousand, and put them to flight. And then had these three kings great cheer of King Lodegreance, that thanked them of their great goodness, that they would revenge him of his enemies. And there had Arthur the first sight of Queen Guenivere, the king's daughter of the land of Camelard, and ever after he loved her; and after, they were wedded, as it telleth in the book.\n\nSo, briefly to make an end, they took their leave to go into their own countries, for King Claudas did great destruction on their lands. Then said Arthur, 'I will go with you.'\n\n'Nay,' said the kings, 'ye shall not at this time, for ye have much to do yet in this land. Therefore we will depart; with the great goods that we have gotten in this land by your gifts, we shall wage good knights and withstand the King Claudas' malice. For by the grace of God, and we have need, we will send to you for succour. And ye have need, send for us, and we will not tarry, by the faith of our bodies.'\n\n'It shall not need', said Merlin, 'these two kings to come again in the way of war. But I know well King Arthur may not be long from you; for within a year or two ye shall have great need, then shall he revenge you of your enemies as ye have done on his. For these eleven kings shall die all in one day by the great might and prowess of arms of two valiant knights' (as it telleth after; their names were Balin le Savage and Balan, his brother, that were marvellous knights as any was then living).\n\nThen after the departing of King Ban and Bors, King Arthur rode unto Caerleon. And thither came unto him King Lot's wife of Orkney, in manner of a message, but she was sent thither to espy the court of King Arthur; and she came richly beseen, with her four sons Gawain, Gaheris, Agravain, and Gareth, with many other knights and ladies, for she was a passing fair lady. Wherefore the King cast great love unto her, and desired to lie by her. And so they were agreed, and he begot upon her Sir Mordred, and she was sister on the mother's side, Igraine, unto Arthur. So there she rested her a month, and at the last she departed.\n\nThen the King dreamed a marvellous dream whereof he was sore adread. But all this time King Arthur knew not King Lot's wife was his sister.\n\nBut thus was the dream of Arthur: he thought there was come into his land griffins and serpents, and he thought they burnt and slew all the people in the land; and then he thought he fought with them and they did him great harm and wounded him full sore, but at the last he slew them.\n\nWhen the King waked, he was passing heavy of his dream. And so to put it out of thought, he made him ready with many knights to ride on hunting; and as soon as he was in the forest the King saw a great hart before him.\n\n'This hart will I chase,' said King Arthur, and so he spurred his horse, and rode after long.\n\nAnd so by fine force often he was like to have smitten the hart; wherefore as the King had chased the hart so long, his horse lost his breath and fell down dead. Then a yeoman fetched the King another horse. So the King saw the hart imbossed and his horse dead, he set him down by a fountain, and there he fell down in great thought. And as he sat so, him thought he heard a noise of hounds, to the sum of thirty. And with that the King saw coming toward him the strangest beast that ever he saw or heard of. So this beast went to the well and drank, and the noise was in the beast's belly like unto the questing of thirty couple hounds; but all the while the beast drank there was no noise in the beast's belly. And therewith the beast departed with a great noise, whereof the King had great marvel; and so he was in a great thought, and therewith he fell asleep.\n\nRight so there came a knight on foot unto Arthur and said, 'Knight full of thought and sleepy, tell me if thou saw any strange beast pass this way.'\n\n'Such one saw I,' said King Arthur, 'that is passed nigh two miles. What would ye with that beast?' said Arthur.\n\n'Sir, I have followed that beast long and killed my horse, so would God I had another to follow my quest.'\n\nRight so came one with the King's horse; and when the knight saw the horse, he prayed the King to give him the horse: 'for I have followed this quest this twelvemonth, and either I shall achieve him, or bleed of the best blood in my body.' (His name was King Pellinore that that time followed the Questing Beast, and after his death Sir Palomides followed it.)\n\n'Sir knight,' said the King, 'leave that quest and suffer me to have it, and I will follow it another twelvemonth.'\n\n'Ah, fool,' said the king unto Arthur, 'it is in vain thy desire, for it shall never be achieved but by me, or by my next kin.' And therewith he started unto the King's horse and mounted into the saddle, and said, 'Gramercy, for this horse is my own.'\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'thou mayst take my horse by force, but and I might prove it I would wit whether thou were better worthy to have him or I.'\n\nWhen the king heard him say so, he said, 'Seek me here when thou wilt, and here nigh this well thou shalt find me,' and so passed on his way.\n\nThen the King sat in a study, and bade his men fetch another horse as fast as they might.\n\nRight so came by him Merlin like a child of fourteen years of age, and saluted the King, and asked him why he was so pensive.\n\n'I may well be pensive,' said the King, 'for I have seen the most marvellous sight that ever I saw.'\n\n'That know I well,' said Merlin, 'as well as thyself, and of all thy thoughts, but thou art a fool to take thought for it: that will not amend thee. Also I know what thou art, and who was thy father, and of whom thou were begotten; for King Uther was thy father, and begot thee on Igraine.'\n\n'That is false,' said King Arthur. 'How shouldst thou know it?\u2014for thou art not so old of years to know my father.'\n\n'Yes,' said Merlin, 'I know it better than ye or any man living.'\n\n'I will not believe thee,' said Arthur, and was wroth with the child.\n\nSo departed Merlin, and came again in the likeness of an old man of fourscore years of age, whereof the King was passing glad, for he seemed to be right wise. Then said the old man, 'Why are ye so sad?'\n\n'I may well be sad,' said Arthur, 'for many things; for right now there was a child here, and told me many things that me seemeth he should not know, for he was not of age to know my father.'\n\n'Yes,' said the old man, 'the child told you truth, and more would he have told you and ye would have suffered him. But ye have done a thing late that God is displeased with you, for ye have lain by your sister, and on her ye have begotten a child that shall destroy you and all the knights of your realm.'\n\n'What are ye,' said Arthur, 'that tell me these tidings?'\n\n'Sir, I am Merlin, and I was he in the child's likeness.'\n\n'Ah,' said the King, 'ye are a marvellous man! But I marvel much of thy words that I must die in battle.'\n\n'Marvel not,' said Merlin, 'for it is God's will that your body should be punished for your foul deeds. But I ought ever to be heavy,' said Merlin, 'for I shall die a shameful death, to be put in the earth quick, and ye shall die a worshipful death.'\n\nAnd as they talked thus, came one with the King's horse, and so the King mounted on his horse and Merlin on another, and so rode unto Caerleon. And anon the King asked Ector and Ulfius how he was begotten; and they told him how King Uther was his father and Queen Igraine his mother.\n\n'So Merlin told me. I will that my mother be sent for, that I might speak with her; and if she say so herself, then will I believe it.'\n\nSo in all haste the queen was sent for, and she brought with her Morgan le Fay, her daughter, that was a fair lady as any might be; and the King welcomed Igraine in the best manner. Right so came in Ulfius, and said openly that the King and all might hear that were feasted that day, 'Ye are the falsest lady of the world, and the most treacherous unto the King's person.'\n\n'Beware,' said King Arthur, 'what thou sayest; thou speakest a great word.'\n\n'Sir, I am well aware', said Ulfius, 'what I speak, and here is my glove to prove it upon any man that will say the contrary, that this Queen Igraine is the causer of your great damage, and of your great war; for, and she would have uttered it in the life of Uther, of the birth of you and how ye were begotten, then had ye never had the mortal wars that ye have had; for the most part of your barons of your realm knew never whose son ye were, nor of whom ye were begotten. And she that bore you of her body should have made it known openly in excusing of her worship and yours, and in like wise to all the realm. Wherefore I prove her false to God and to you and to all your realm; and who will say the contrary I will prove it on his body.'\n\nThen spoke Igraine and said, 'I am a woman and I may not fight; but rather than I should be dishonoured, there would some good man take my quarrel! But thus,' she said, 'Merlin knoweth well, and ye, Sir Ulfius, how King Uther came to me into the castle of Tintagel in the likeness of my lord, that was dead three hours before, and there begot a child that night upon me; and after the thirteenth day King Uther wedded me. And by his commandment, when the child was born it was delivered unto Merlin and fostered by him, and so I saw the child never after, nor wot not what is his name, for I knew him never yet.'\n\nThen Ulfius said unto Merlin, 'Ye are then more to blame than the queen.'\n\n'Sir, well I wot I bore a child by my lord King Uther; but I wot never where he is become.'\n\nThen the King took Merlin by the hand, saying these words, 'Is this my mother?'\n\n'For sooth, sir, yea.'\n\nAnd therewith came in Sir Ector, and bore witness how he fostered him by King Uther's commandment. And therewith King Arthur took his mother Queen Igraine in his arms and kissed her, and either wept upon other. Then the King let make a feast that lasted eight days.\n\nSo on a day there came into the court a squire on horseback leading a knight before him wounded to the death, and told how there was a knight in the forest that had reared up a pavilion by a well, 'that hath slain my master, a good knight\u2014his name was Miles\u2014wherefore I beseech you that my master may be buried; and that some knight may revenge my master's death.'\n\nThen the noise was great of that knight's death in the court, and every man said his advice. Then came Griflet that was but a squire, and he was but young of age. So he besought the King, for all his service that he had done him, to give him the order of knighthood.\n\n'Thou art but young and tender of age,' said Arthur, 'for to take so high an order upon you.'\n\n'Sir,' said Griflet, 'I beseech you to make me knight.'\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'it were pity to lose Griflet, for he will be a passing good man when he is of age, and he shall abide with you the term of his life. And if he adventure his body with yonder knight at the fountain, it is in great peril if ever he come again, for he is one of the best knights of the world and the strongest man of arms.'\n\n'Well,' said Arthur, 'at thy own desire thou shalt be made knight. Now,' said Arthur unto Griflet, 'sith I have made thee knight thou must give me a gift.'\n\n'What ye will,' said Griflet.\n\n'Thou shalt promise me by thy faith of thy body, when thou hast jousted with that knight at the fountain, whether it fall ye be on horseback or on foot, that right so ye shall come again unto me without making any more debate.'\n\n'I will promise you,' said Griflet, 'as your desire is.'\n\nThen took Griflet his horse in great haste, and dressed his shield and took a spear in his hand, and so he rode a great gallop till he came to the fountain. And thereby he saw a rich pavilion, and thereby under a cloth stood a horse well saddled and bridled, and on a tree hung a shield of divers colours and a great spear thereby. Then Griflet smote on the shield with the butt of his spear, that the shield fell down.\n\nWith that the knight came out of the pavilion, and said, 'Fair knight, why smote ye down my shield?'\n\n'Sir, for I will joust with you,' said Griflet.\n\n'Sir, it is better ye do not,' said the knight, 'for ye are but young, and late made knight, and your might is naught to mine.'\n\n'As for that,' said Griflet, 'I will joust with you.'\n\n'That is me loath,' said the knight, 'but sithen I must needs, I will dress me thereto. Of whence be ye?' said the knight.\n\n'Sir, I am of King Arthur's court.'\n\nSo the two knights ran together that Griflet's spear all to-shivered. And therewith he smote Griflet through the shield and the left side, and broke the spear that the truncheon stuck in his body, and horse and man fell down to the earth.\n\nWhen the knight saw him lie so on the ground, he alit, and was passing heavy for he weened he had slain him; and then he unlaced his helm and got him wind. And so with the truncheon set him on his horse and got him wind, and so betook him to God, and said he had a mighty heart; and said, if he might live, he would prove a passing good knight. And so rode forth Sir Griflet unto the court, whereof passing great dole was made for him. But through good leeches he was healed and saved.\n\nRight so came into the court twelve knights that were aged men, which came from the Emperor of Rome. And they asked of Arthur truage for his realm, or else the emperor would destroy him and all his land.\n\n'Well,' said King Arthur, 'ye are messengers, therefore ye may say what ye will, or else ye should die therefor. But this is my answer: I owe the emperor no truage, nor none will I yield him, but on a fair field I shall yield him my truage: that shall be with a sharp spear or else with a sharp sword. And that shall not be long, by my father's soul, Uther.' And therewith the messengers departed passingly wroth, and King Arthur as wroth, for in an evil time came they.\n\nBut the King was passingly wroth for the hurt of Sir Griflet. And so he commanded a privy man of his chamber that or it were day his best horse and armour, 'and all that longeth to my person, be without the city or tomorrow day.'\n\nRight so he met with his man and his horse, and so mounted up and dressed his shield and took his spear, and bade his chamberlain tarry there till he came again. And so Arthur rode a soft pace till it was day. And then was he ware of three churls chasing Merlin, and would have slain him. Then the King rode unto them, and bade them, 'Flee, churls!' Then they feared sore when they saw a knight come, and fled.\n\n'Ah, Merlin,' said Arthur, 'here hadst thou been slain for all thy crafts had not I been.'\n\n'Nay,' said Merlin, 'not so, for I could have saved myself and I had willed. But thou art more near thy death than I am, for thou goest to thy death ward and God be not thy friend.'\n\nSo as they went thus talking they came to the fountain and the rich pavilion there by it. Then King Arthur was ware where sat a knight armed in a chair.\n\n'Sir knight,' said Arthur, 'for what cause abidest thou here, that there may no knight ride this way but if he joust with thee? I rede thee to leave that custom.'\n\n'This custom,' said the knight, 'have I used and will use maugre who saith nay. And who that is aggrieved with my custom, let him amend it.'\n\n'That shall I amend,' said Arthur.\n\n'And I shall defend thee,' said the knight.\n\nAnd anon he took his horse and dressed his shield and took a great spear in his hand, and they came together so hard that either smote other in midst the shields, that all to-shivered their spears. Therewith anon Arthur pulled out his sword.\n\n'Nay, not so,' said the knight, 'it is better that we twain run more together with sharp spears.'\n\n'I will well,' said Arthur, 'and I had any more spears here.'\n\n'I have enough,' said the knight. So there came a squire and brought forth two spears; and Arthur chose one and he another. So they spurred their horses and came together with all their might, that either broke their spears to their hands. Then Arthur set hand on his sword.\n\n'Nay,' said the knight, 'ye shall do better, ye are a passing good jouster as ever I met with; and once for the high order of knighthood let us joust again.'\n\n'I assent me,' said Arthur.\n\nAnd anon there were brought forth two great spears, and anon every knight got a spear, and therewith they ran together that Arthur's spear all to-shivered. But this other knight smote him so hard in midst the shield that horse and man fell to the earth. And therewith Arthur was eager, and pulled out his sword and said, 'I will assay thee, sir knight, on foot; for I have lost the honour on horseback,' said the King.\n\n'Sir, I will be on horseback still to assay thee.'\n\nThen was Arthur wroth, and dressed his shield toward him with his sword drawn. When the knight saw that, he alit; for him thought no worship to have a knight at such avail, he to be on horseback and his adversary on foot, and so he alit and dressed his shield unto Arthur. And there began a strong battle with many great strokes, and so they hewed with their swords that the cantles flew unto the fields, and much blood they bled both, that all the place there as they fought was overbled with blood; and thus they fought long and rested them. And then they went to the battle again, and so hurtled together like two rams, that either fell to the earth. So at the last they smote together that both their swords met even together. But King Arthur's sword broke in two pieces, wherefore he was heavy.\n\nThen said the knight unto Arthur, 'Thou art in my danger whether me list to save thee or slay thee; and but thou yield thee to me as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die.'\n\n'As for that,' said King Arthur, 'death is welcome to me when it cometh; but to yield me unto thee, I will not.'\n\nAnd therewith the King leapt unto King Pellinore, and took him by the middle and overthrew him, and rased off his helm. So when the knight felt that, he was adread, for he was a passing big man of might. And so forthwith he wrothe Arthur under him, and rased off his helm and would have smitten off his head.\n\nAnd therewith came Merlin and said, 'Knight, hold thy hand, for and thou slay that knight thou puttest this realm in the greatest damage that ever was realm, for this knight is a man of more worship than thou wotest of.\n\n'Why, what is he?' said the knight.\n\n'For it is King Arthur,' said Merlin.\n\nThen would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, and so he lifted up his sword. And therewith Merlin cast an enchantment on the knight, that he fell to the earth in a great sleep. Then Merlin took up King Arthur, and rode forth on the knight's horse.\n\n'Alas,' said Arthur, 'what hast thou done, Merlin? Hast thou slain this good knight by thy crafts?\u2014for there liveth not so worshipful a knight as he was. For I had liever than the stint of my land a year that he were alive.'\n\n'Care ye not,' said Merlin, 'for he is wholer than ye; he is but asleep, and will awake within this hour. I told you', said Merlin, 'what a knight he was. Now here had ye been slain had I not been. Also there liveth not a bigger knight than he is one; and after this he shall do you good service. And his name is King Pellinore; and he shall have two sons that shall be passing good men as any living\u2014save one, in this world they shall have no fellows of prowess and of good living, and their names shall be Percival and Sir Lamorak of Gales. And he shall tell you the name of your own son begotten of your sister that shall be the destruction of all this realm.'\n\nRight so the King and he departed and went unto a hermitage, and there was a good man and a great leech; so the hermit searched the King's wounds and gave him good salves. And so the King was there three days; and then were his wounds well mended, that he might ride and go, and so departed.\n\nAnd as they rode, King Arthur said, 'I have no sword.'\n\n'No force,' said Merlin, 'hereby is a sword that shall be yours, and I may.'\n\nSo they rode till they came to a lake that was a fair water and broad. And in the midst Arthur was ware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword in that hand.\n\n'Lo,' said Merlin, 'yonder is the sword that I spoke of.'\n\nSo with that they saw a damosel going upon the lake.\n\n'What damosel is that?' said Arthur.\n\n'That is the Lady of the Lake,' said Merlin. 'And within that lake there is a great rock, and therein is as fair a palace as any on earth, and richly beseen. And this damosel will come to you anon; and then speak ye fair to her that she may give you that sword.'\n\nSo anon came this damosel to Arthur and saluted him, and he her again.\n\n'Damosel,' said Arthur, 'what sword is that yonder that the arm holdeth above the water? I would it were mine, for I have no sword.'\n\n'Sir Arthur,' said the damosel, 'that sword is mine. And if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall have it.'\n\n'By my faith,' said Arthur, 'I will give you what gift that ye will ask.'\n\n'Well,' said the damosel. 'Go ye into yonder barge and row yourself to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with you; and I will ask my gift when I see my time.'\n\nSo King Arthur and Merlin alit and tied their horses unto two trees, and so they went into the barge; and when they came to the sword that the hand held, then King Arthur took it up by the handles and bore it with him, and the arm and the hand went under the water. And so he came unto the land and rode forth. And King Arthur saw a rich pavilion.\n\n'What signified! yonder pavilion?'\n\n'Sir, that is the knight's pavilions that ye fought with last, Sir Pellinore; but he is out, he is not at home, for he hath had ado with a knight of yours that hight Eglam, and they had fought together. But at the last Eglam fled, and else he had been dead; and he hath chased him even to Caerleon. And we shall meet with him anon in the highway.'\n\n'That is well said!' said Arthur. 'Now I have a sword, I will wage battle with him and be avenged on him.'\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'not so; for the knight is weary of fighting and chasing, that ye shall have no worship to have ado with him; also, he will not lightly be matched of one knight living. And therefore it is my counsel, let him pass, for he shall do you good service in short time, and his sons after his days. Also ye shall see that day in short space that ye shall be right glad to give him your sister to wed for his good service. Therefore have not ado with him when ye see him.'\n\n'I will do as ye advise me.'\n\nThen King Arthur looked on the sword, and liked it passing well. Then said Merlin, 'Whether like ye better the sword or the scabbard?'\n\n'I like better the sword,' said Arthur.\n\n'Ye are the more unwise, for the scabbard is worth ten of the sword; for while ye have the scabbard upon you, ye shall lose no blood be ye never so sore wounded. Therefore keep well the scabbard always with you.'\n\nSo they rode unto Caerleon, and by the way they met with King Pellinore; but Merlin had done such a craft unto him that King Pellinore saw not King Arthur, and so passed by without any words.\n\n'I marvel', said Arthur, 'that the knight would not speak.'\n\n'Sir, he saw you not, for had he seen you, he had not lightly parted.'\n\nSo they came unto Caerleon, whereof his knights were passing glad. And when they heard of his adventures, they marvelled that he would jeopard his person so, alone. But all men of worship said it was merry to be under such a chieftain that would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did.\n\nSo this meanwhile came a messenger from King Roince of North Wales, and king he was of all Ireland and of the Isles. And this was his message, greeting well King Arthur in this manner of wise, saying that King Roince had discomfited and overcome eleven kings, and each of them did him homage. And that was thus to say, they gave their beards clean flayed off, as much beard as there was; wherefore the messenger came for King Arthur's beard. For King Roince had purfiled a mantle with kings' beards, and there lacked one place of the mantle; wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his lands and burn and slay, and never leave till he have the head and the beard both.\n\n'Well,' said Arthur, 'thou hast said thy message, the which is the most orgulous and lewdest message that ever man had sent unto a king. Also, thou mayest see my beard is full young yet to make of a purfile. But tell thou thy king thus, that I owe him no homage, nor none of my elders; but or it be long, he shall do me homage on both his knees, or else he shall lose his head, by the faith of my body, for this is the most shamefullest message that ever I heard speak of. I have espied thy king never yet met with worshipful man. But tell him I will have his head without he do me homage.' Then this messenger departed.\n\n'Now is there any here that knoweth King Roince?'\n\nThen answered a knight that hight Naram, 'Sir, I know the king well; he is a passing good man of his body as few be living, and a passing proud man. And sir, doubt ye not, he will make war on you with a mighty puissance.'\n\n'Well,' said Arthur. 'I shall ordain for him in short time.'\n\nThen King Arthur let send for all the children that were born on May-day, begotten of lords and born of ladies; for Merlin told King Arthur that he that should destroy him and all the land should be born on Mayday. Wherefore he sent for them all, on pain of death; and so there were found many lords' sons and many knights' sons, and all were sent unto the King. And so was Mordred sent by King Lot's wife; and all were put in a ship to the sea, and some were four weeks old, and some less. And so by fortune the ship drove unto a castle and was all to-riven, and destroyed the most part save that Mordred was cast up; and a good man found him and fostered him till he was fourteen years of age, and then brought him to the court, as it rehearseth afterwards and toward the end of the Morte Arthur.\n\nSo many lords and barons of this realm were displeased for their children were so lost, and many put the wite on Merlin more than on Arthur. So what for dread and for love, they held their peace.\n\nBut when the messenger came to the King Roince, then was he wood out of measure, and purveyed him for a great host, as it rehearseth after in the book of Balin le Savage that followeth next after: that was the adventure how Balin got the sword.\n\nSo it befell on a time when King Arthur was at London, there came a knight and told the King tidings how the King Roince of North Wales had reared a great number of people, and were entered in the land, and burnt and slew the King's true liege people.\n\n'If this be true,' said Arthur, 'it were great shame unto my estate but that he were mightily withstood.'\n\n'It is truth,' said the knight, 'for I saw the host myself'.\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'I shall ordain to withstand his malice.'\n\nThen the King let make a cry that all the lords, knights, and gentlemen of arms should draw unto the castle called Camelot in those days, and there the King would let make a council-general and a great jousts. So when the King was come thither with all his baronage, and lodged as they seemed best, also there was come a damosel the which was sent from the great Lady l'Isle of Avilion. And when she came before King Arthur, she told from whence she came, and how she was sent on message unto him for these causes. Then she let her mantle fall that was richly furred; and then was she girt with a noble sword, whereof the King had marvel, and said, 'Damosel, for what cause are ye girt with that sword? It beseemeth you not.'\n\n'Now shall I tell you,' said the damosel. 'This sword that I am girt withal doth me great sorrow and encumbrance, for I may not be delivered of this sword but by a knight, and he must be a passing good man of his hands and of his deeds, and without villainy or treachery, and without treason. And if I may find such a knight that hath all these virtues, he may draw out this sword out of the sheath. For I have been at King Roince's, for it was told me, there were passing good knights; and he and all his knights have assayed and none can speed.'\n\n'This is a great marvel,' said Arthur. 'If this be sooth, I will assay myself to draw out the sword, not presuming myself that I am the best knight, but I will begin to draw your sword in giving an example to all the barons that they shall assay every one after other when I have assayed.'\n\nThen Arthur took the sword by the sheath and girdle and pulled at it eagerly, but the sword would not out.\n\n'Sir,' said the damosel, 'you need not for to pull half so sore, for he that shall pull it out shall do it with little might.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Arthur. 'Now assay ye, all my barons.'\n\n'But beware ye be not defiled with shame, treachery, nor guile, for then it will not avail,' said the damosel, 'for he must be a clean knight without villainy, and of gentle strain of father side and of mother side.'\n\nThe most part of all the barons of the Round Table that were there at that time assayed all by row, but there might none speed. Wherefore the damosel made great sorrow out of measure, and said, 'Alas! I weened in this court had been the best knights of the world without treachery or treason.'\n\n'By my faith,' said Arthur, 'here are good knights, as I deem, as any be in the world. But their grace is not to help you, wherefore I am sore displeased.'\n\nThen it befell so that time there was a poor knight with King Arthur, that had been prisoner with him half a year for slaying of a knight which was cousin unto King Arthur. And the name of this knight was called Balin, and by good means of the barons he was delivered out of prison, for he was a good man named of his body, and he was born in Northumberland. And so he went privily into the court, and saw this adventure; whereof it raised his heart, and would have assayed as other knights did, but for he was poor and poorly arrayed he put him not far in press. But in his heart he was fully assured to do as well, if his grace happed him, as any knight that there was. And as the damosel took her leave of Arthur and of all the barons, so departing, this knight Balin called unto her, and said, 'Damosel, I pray of your courtesy, suffer me as well to assay as these other lords; though that I be poorly arrayed, yet in my heart me seemeth I am fully assured as some of these other, and me seemeth in my heart to speed right well.'\n\nThis damosel then beheld this poor knight, and saw he was a likely man; but for his poor arrayment she thought he should not be of no worship without villainy or treachery. And then she said unto that knight, 'Sir, it needeth not you to put me to no more pain, for it seemeth not you to speed there as all these other knights have failed.'\n\n'Ah, fair damosel,' said Balin, 'worthiness, and good tatches and also good deeds, is not only in arrayment; but manhood and worship is within a man's person, and many a worshipful knight is not known unto all people. And therefore worship and hardiness is not in arrayment.'\n\n'By God,' said the damosel, 'ye say sooth; therefore ye shall assay to do what ye may.'\n\nThen Balin took the sword by the girdle and sheath, and drew it out easily; and when he looked on the sword it pleased him much. Then had the king and all the barons great marvel that Balin had done that adventure; many knights had great despite at him.\n\n'Certes,' said the damosel, 'this is a passing good knight, and the best that ever I found, and most of worship without treason, treachery, or felony, and many marvels shall he do. Now, gentle and courteous knight, give me the sword again.'\n\n'Nay,' said Balin, 'for this sword will I keep, but it be taken from me with force.'\n\n'Well,' said the damosel, 'ye are not wise to keep the sword from me, for ye shall slay with that sword the best friend that ye have, and the man that ye most love in the world, and that sword shall be your destruction.'\n\n'I shall take the adventure,' said Balin, 'that God will ordain for me. But the sword ye shall not have at this time, by the faith of my body.'\n\n'Ye shall repent it within short time,' said the damosel, 'for I would have the sword more for your advantage than for mine, for I am passing heavy for your sake; for and ye will not leave that sword, it shall be your destruction, and that is great pity.' So with that departed the damosel, and great sorrow she made.\n\nAnd anon after, Balin sent for his horse and armour, and so would depart from the court, and took his leave of King Arthur.\n\n'Nay,' said the King, 'I suppose ye will not depart so lightly from this fellowship. I suppose that ye are displeased that I have showed you unkindness; but blame me the less, for I was misinformed against you. But I weened ye had not been such a knight as ye are of worship and prowess. And if ye will abide in this court among my fellowship, I shall so advance you as ye shall be pleased.'\n\n'God thank your highness,' said Balin, 'your bounty may no man praise half unto the value; but at this time I must needs depart, beseeching you always of your good grace.'\n\n'Truly,' said the King, 'I am right wroth of your departing. But I pray you, fair knight, that ye tarry not long from me; and ye shall be right welcome unto me and to my barons, and I shall amend all miss that I have done against you.'\n\n'God thank your good grace,' said Balin, and therewith made him ready to depart. Then the most part of the knights of the Round Table said that Balin did not this adventure only by might, but by witchcraft.\n\nSo the meanwhile that this knight was making him ready to depart, there came into the court the Lady of the Lake. And she came on horseback, richly beseen, and saluted King Arthur, and there asked him a gift that he promised her when she gave him the sword.\n\n'That is sooth,' said Arthur, 'a gift I promised you; but I have forgotten the name of my sword that ye gave me.'\n\n'The name of it,' said the lady, 'is Excalibur, that is as much to say as Cut-steel.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said the King, 'ask what ye will and ye shall have it, and it lie in my power to give it.'\n\n'Well,' said this lady, 'then I ask the head of this knight that hath won the sword, or else the damosel's head that brought it; I take no force though I have both their heads, for he slew my brother, a good knight and a true, and that gentlewoman was causer of my father's death.'\n\n'Truly,' said King Arthur, 'I may not grant you neither of their heads with my worship, therefore ask what ye will else, and I shall fulfil your desire.'\n\n'I will ask no other thing,' said the lady.\n\nSo when Balin was ready to depart, he saw the Lady of the Lake, which by her means had slain his mother; and he had sought her three years before. And when it was told him how she had asked his head of King Arthur, he went to her straight and said, 'Evil be ye found; ye would have my head, and therefore ye shall lose yours.' And with his sword lightly he smote off her head before King Arthur.\n\n'Alas, for shame!' said the King. 'Why have ye done so? Ye have shamed me and all my court, for this lady was a lady that I was much beholden to, and hither she came under my safe-conduct. Therefore I shall never forgive you that trespass.'\n\n'Sir,' said Balin, 'me forthinketh of your displeasure, for this same lady was the untruest lady living, and by enchantment and by sorcery she hath been the destroyer of many good knights. And she was causer that my mother was burnt, through her falsehood and treachery.'\n\n'For what cause soever ye had,' said Arthur, 'ye should have forborne in my presence. Therefore, think not the contrary, ye shall repent it, for such another despite had I never in my court; therefore withdraw you out of my court in all the haste that ye may.'\n\nThen Balin took up the head of the lady and bore it with him to his hostelry, and there met with his squire, that was sorry he had displeased King Arthur; and so they rode forth out of town.\n\n'Now,' said Balin, 'we must part; therefore take thou this head and bear it to my friends, and tell them how I have sped, and tell them in Northumberland how my most foe is dead. Also tell them how I am out of prison, and what adventure befell me at the getting of this sword.'\n\n'Alas!' said the squire, 'ye are greatly to blame for to displease King Arthur.'\n\n'As for that,' said Balin, 'I will hie me in all haste that I may to meet with King Roince and destroy him, or else to die therefor. And if it may hap me to win him, then will King Arthur be my good friend.'\n\n'Sir, where shall I meet with you?' said the squire.\n\n'In King Arthur's court,' said Balin. So his squire and he parted at that time.\n\nThen King Arthur and all the court made great dole and had great shame of the Lady of the Lake. Then the King buried her richly.\n\nAnd Balin turned his horse and looked towards a fair forest. And then was he ware, by his arms, that there came riding his brother Balan. And when they were met they put off their helms and kissed together, and wept for joy and pity. Anon the knight Balin told his brother of his adventure of the sword, and of the death of the Lady of the Lake.\n\n'Truly,' said Balin, 'I am right heavy that my lord Arthur is displeased with me, for he is the most worshipful king that reigneth now in earth, and his love will I get or else I will put my life in adventure, for King Roince lieth at the siege of the Castle Terrabil, and thither will we draw in all goodly haste to prove our worship and prowess upon him.'\n\n'I will well,' said Balan, 'that ye so do, and I will ride with you and put my body in adventure with you, as a brother ought to do.'\n\nAnd as they rode together they met with Merlin, disguised so that they knew him not.\n\n'But whitherward ride ye?' said Merlin.\n\n'We had little ado to tell you,' said these two knights. 'But what is thy name?' said Balin.\n\n'At this time', said Merlin, 'I will not tell.'\n\n'It is an evil sign', said the knights, 'that thou art a true man, that thou wilt not tell thy name.'\n\n'As for that,' said Merlin, 'be as it be may. But I can tell you wherefore ye ride this way, for to meet with King Roince; but it will not avail you without ye have my counsel.'\n\n'Ah,' said Balin, 'ye are Merlin; we will be ruled by your counsel.'\n\n'Come on,' said Merlin, 'and ye shall have great worship, and look that ye do knightly, for ye shall have need.'\n\n'As for that,' said Balin, 'dread you not, for we will do what we may.'\n\nThen there lodged Merlin and these two knights in a wood among the leaves beside the highway, and took off the bridles of their horses and put them to grass, and laid them down to rest till it was nigh midnight. Then Merlin bade them rise and make them ready, 'For here cometh the king nigh hand,' that was stolen away from his host with three score horses of his best knights; and twenty of them rode before the lord to warn the Lady de Vance that the king was coming, for that night King Roince should have lain with her.\n\n'Which is the king?' said Balin.\n\n'Abide,' said Merlin, 'for here in a strait ye shall meet with him.' And therewith he showed Balin and his brother the king. And anon they met with him and smote him down, and wounded him freshly, and laid him to the ground; and there they slew on the right hand and on the left hand more than forty of his men, and the remnant fled. Then went they again to King Roince and would have slain him had he not yielded him unto their grace.\n\nThen said he thus, 'Knights full of prowess, slay me not, for by my life ye may win, and by my death little.'\n\n'Ye say sooth,' said the knights, and so laid him on a horse-litter.\n\nSo with that Merlin vanished, and came to King Arthur beforehand and told him how his most enemy was taken and discomfited.\n\n'By whom?' said King Arthur.\n\n'By two knights', said Merlin, 'that would fain have your lordship, and tomorrow ye shall know what knights they are.'\n\nSo anon after came the Knight with the Two Swords and his brother, and brought with them King Roince of North Wales, and there delivered him to the porters and charged them with him; and so they two returned again in the dawning of the day. Then King Arthur came to King Roince and said, 'Sir king, ye are welcome. By what adventure came ye hither?'\n\n'Sir,' said King Roince, 'I came hither by a hard adventure.'\n\n'Who won you?' said King Arthur.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'the Knight with the Two Swords and his brother, which are two marvellous knights of prowess.'\n\n'I know them not,' said Arthur, 'but much am I beholden to them.'\n\n'Ah, sir,' said Merlin, 'I shall tell you: it is Balin that achieved the sword, and his brother Balan, a good knight; there liveth not a better of prowess nor of worthiness, and it shall be the greatest dole of him that ever I knew of knight, for he shall not long endure.'\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur, 'that is great pity; for I am much beholden unto him, and I have evil deserved it again for his kindness.'\n\n'Nay, nay' said Merlin, 'he shall do much more for you, and that shall ye know in haste. But, sir, are ye purveyed?' said Merlin, 'for tomorrow the host of King Nero, King Roince's brother, will set on you or noon with a great host, and therefore make you ready, for I will depart from you.'\n\nThen King Arthur made his host ready in ten battles, and Nero was ready in the field before the Castle Terrabil with a great host, and he had ten battles, with many more people than King Arthur had. Then Nero had the vanguard with the most part of his people.\n\nAnd Merlin came to King Lot of the Isle of Orkney, and held him with a tale of prophecy, till Nero and his people were destroyed.\n\nSo in the meanwhile came one to King Lot, and told him while he tarried there how Nero was destroyed and slain with all his host.\n\n'Alas,' said King Lot, 'I am ashamed, for in my default there is many a worshipful man slain, for and we had been together there is no host under heaven were able to have matched us. But this faitor with his prophecy hath mocked me.'\n\nAll that did Merlin, for he knew well that and King Lot had been with his body at the first battle, King Arthur had been slain and all his people distressed. And well Merlin knew the one of the kings should be dead that day, and loath was Merlin that any of them both should be slain; but of the twain, he had liever King Lot of Orkney had been slain than Arthur.\n\n'What is best to do?' said King Lot. 'Whether is me better to treat with King Arthur or to fight?\u2014for the greater part of our people are slain and distressed.'\n\n'Sir,' said a knight, 'set ye on Arthur, for they are weary and forfoughten and we be fresh.'\n\n'As for me,' said King Lot, 'I would that every knight would do his part as I would do mine.'\n\nThen they advanced banners and smote together and bruised their spears; and Arthur's knights, with the help of the Knight with the Two Swords and his brother Balan, put King Lot and his host to the worse. But always King Lot held him in the forefront, and did marvellous deeds of arms; for all his host was borne up by his hands, for he abode all knights. Alas, he might not endure, the which was great pity; so worthy a knight as he was one, that he should be overmatched, that of late time before he had been a knight of King Arthur's, and wedded the sister of him. And for because that King Arthur lay by his wife and begot on her Sir Mordred, therefore King Lot held ever against Arthur.\n\nSo there was a knight that was called the Knight with the Strange Beast, and at that time his right name was called Pellinore, which was a good man of prowess as few in those days living; and he struck a mighty stroke at King Lot as he fought with his enemies, and he failed of his stroke and smote the horse's neck that he foundered to the earth with King Lot, and therewith anon King Pellinore smote him a great stroke through the helm and head unto the brows. Then all the host of Orkney fled for the death of King Lot, and there they were taken and slain, all the host. But King Pellinore bore the wite of the death of King Lot, wherefore Sir Gawain revenged the death of his father the tenth year after he was made knight, and slew King Pellinore with his own hands.\n\nAlso there was slain at that battle twelve kings on the side of King Lot with Nero, and were buried in the church of Saint Stephen's in Camelot, and the remnant of knights and others were buried in a great rock.\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'look ye keep well the scabbard of Excalibur, for ye shall lose no blood while ye have the scabbard upon you, though ye have as many wounds upon you as ye may have.'\n\nSo after, for great trust, Arthur betook the scabbard unto Morgan le Fay his sister, and she loved another knight better than her husband King Uriens or King Arthur. And she would have had Arthur her brother slain, and therefore she let make another scabbard for Excalibur like it by enchantment, and gave the scabbard Excalibur to her love; and the knight's name was called Accolon, that after had near slain King Arthur. But after this Merlin told unto King Arthur of the prophecy that there should be a great battle beside Salisbury, and Mordred his own son should be against him.\n\nSo within a day or two King Arthur was somewhat sick, and he let pitch his pavilion in a meadow, and there he laid him down on a pallet to sleep, but he might have no rest. Right so he heard a great noise of a horse, and therewith the King looked out at the porch door of the pavilion and saw a knight coming even by him making great dole.\n\n'Abide, fair sir,' said Arthur, 'and tell me wherefore thou makest this sorrow.'\n\n'Ye may little amend me,' said the knight, and so passed forth to the castle of Meliot.\n\nAnd anon after that came Balin, and when he saw King Arthur he alit off his horse and came to the King on foot, and saluted him.\n\n'By my head,' said Arthur, 'ye be welcome. Sir, right now came riding this way a knight making great moan, and for what cause I cannot tell; wherefore I would desire of you of your courtesy and of your gentleness to fetch again that knight either by force or by his good will.'\n\n'I shall do more for your lordship than that,' said Balin, 'or else I will grieve him.'\n\nSo Balin rode more than apace and found the knight with a damosel under a forest, and said, 'Sir knight, ye must come with me unto King Arthur, for to tell him of your sorrow.'\n\n'That will I not,' said the knight, 'for it will harm me greatly, and do you no avail.'\n\n'Sir,' said Balin, 'I pray you make you ready, for ye must go with me, or else I must fight with you and bring you by force; and that were me loath to do.'\n\n'Will ye be my warrant,' said the knight, 'and I go with you?'\n\n'Yea,' said Balin, 'or else by the faith of my body I will die therefore.'\n\nAnd so he made him ready to go with Balin, and left the damosel still. And as they were even before Arthur's pavilion, there came one invisible, and smote the knight that went with Balin throughout the body with a spear.\n\n'Alas,' said the knight, 'I am slain under your conduct with a knight called Garlonde. Therefore take my horse, that is better than yours, and ride to the damosel, and follow the quest that I was in as she will lead you, and revenge my death when ye may.'\n\n'That shall I do,' said Balin, 'and that I make avow to God and knighthood.' And so he departed from King Arthur with great sorrow.\n\nSo King Arthur let bury this knight richly, and made mention on his tomb how here was slain Berbeus and by whom the treachery was done, of the knight Garlonde. But ever the damosel bore the truncheon of the spear with her that Sir Harleus le Berbeus was slain withal.\n\nSo Balin and the damosel rode into the forest, and there met with a knight that had been hunting. And that knight asked Balin for what cause he made so great sorrow.\n\n'Me list not to tell,' said Balin.\n\n'Now,' said the knight, 'and I were armed as ye be, I would fight with you but if ye told me.'\n\n'That should little need,' said Balin, 'I am not afraid to tell you,' and so told him all the case how it was.\n\n'Ah,' said the knight, 'is this all? Here I assure you by the faith of my body never to depart from you while my life lasteth.'\n\nAnd so they went to their hostelry and armed them, and so rode forth with Balin. And as they came by a hermitage even by a churchyard, there came Garlonde invisible, and smote this knight, Perin de Mount Beliard, through the body with a glaive.\n\n'Alas,' said the knight, 'I am slain by this traitor knight that rideth invisible.'\n\n'Alas,' said Balin, 'this is not the first despite that he hath done me.'\n\nAnd there the hermit and Balin buried the knight under a rich stone and a tomb royal; and on the morn they found letters of gold written, how that Sir Gawain shall revenge his father's death on King Pellinore.\n\nAnd anon after this Balin and the damosel rode forth till they came to a castle, and anon Balin alit and went in. And as soon as he was within, the portcullis was let down at his back, and there fell many men about the damosel and would have slain her. When Balin saw that, he was sore grieved, for he might not help her. But then he went up into a tower, and leapt over the walls into the ditch, and hurt not himself; and anon he pulled out his sword and would have fought with them. And they all said nay, they would not fight with him, for they did nothing but the old custom of this castle; and told him how that their lady was sick and had lain many years, and she might not be whole but if she had blood in a silver dish full, of a clean maid and a king's daughter. 'And therefore the custom of this castle is that there shall no damosel pass this way but she shall bleed of her blood a silver dish full.'\n\n'Well,' said Balin, 'she shall bleed as much as she may bleed, but I will not lose the life of her while my life lasteth.'\n\nAnd so Balin made her to bleed by her good will, but her blood helped not the lady. And so she and he rested there all that night and had good cheer, and in the morning they passed on their ways. And as it telleth after in the Sangrail, that Sir Percival's sister helped that lady with her blood, whereof she was dead.\n\n[Balin is told that he will find Garlonde at the court of King Pellam, and goes there to seek him.]\n\nSo after this Balin asked a knight and said, 'Is there not a knight in this court which his name is Garlonde?'\n\n'Yes, sir, yonder he goeth, the knight with the black face; for he is the marvellest knight that is now living. And he destroyeth many good knights, for he goeth invisible.'\n\n'Well,' said Balin, 'is that he?' Then Balin advised him long, and thought, 'If I slay him here I shall not escape. And if I leave him now, peradventure I shall never meet with him again at such a Steven, and much harm he will do and he live.'\n\nAnd therewith this Garlonde espied that Balin visaged him, so he came and slapped him on the face with the back of his hand, and said, 'Knight, why beholdest thou me so, for shame? Eat thy meat and do that thou came for.'\n\n'Thou sayest sooth,' said Balin, 'this is not the first spite that thou hast done me. And therefore I will do that I came for,' and rose him up fiercely and cleft his head to the shoulders. 'Now give me your truncheon,' said Balin to his lady, 'that he slew your knight with.' And anon she gave it him, for always she bore the truncheon with her. And there-with Balin smote him through the body and said openly, 'With that truncheon thou slewest a good knight, and now it sticketh in thy body.'\n\nSo anon all the knights rose from the table for to set on Balin. And King Pellam himself arose up fiercely and said, 'Knight, why hast thou slain my brother? Thou shall die therefore before thou depart.'\n\n'Well,' said Balin, 'do it yourself.'\n\n'Yes,' said King Pellam, 'there shall no man have ado with thee but I myself, for the love of my brother.'\n\nThen King Pellam caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at Balin, but he put his sword betwixt his head and the stroke, and therewith his sword brast asunder. And when Balin was weaponless he ran into a chamber for to seek a weapon, from chamber to chamber, and no weapon could he find; and always King Pellam followed after him. And at the last he entered into a chamber which was marvellously dight and rich, and a bed arrayed with cloth of gold, the richest that might be, and one lying therein. And thereby stood a table of clean gold; and upon the table stood a marvellous spear strangely wrought.\n\nSo when Balin saw the spear, he got it in his hand and turned to King Pellam, and felled him and smote him passingly sore with that spear, that King Pellam fell down in a swoon. And therewith the castle broke, roof and walls, and fell down to the earth. And Balin fell down and might not stir hand nor foot; and for the most part of that castle was dead through the dolorous stroke.\n\nRight so lay King Pellam and Balin three days. Then Merlin came thither and took up Balin, and got him a good horse, for his was dead, and bade him void out of that country.\n\n'Sir, I would have my damosel,' said Balin.\n\n'Lo,' said Merlin, 'where she lieth dead.'\n\nAnd King Pellam lay so many years sore wounded, and might never be whole till that Galahad the haut prince healed him in the quest of the Sangrail. For in that place was part of the blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, which Joseph of Arimathea brought into this land, and there himself lay in that rich bed. And that was the spear which Longius smote Our Lord with to the heart. And King Pellam was nigh of Joseph's kin, and that was the most worshipful man alive in those days, and great pity it was of his hurt, for through that stroke it turned to great dole, tray, and tene.\n\nThen departed Balin from Merlin, for he said, 'Never in this world we part nor meet no more.' So he rode forth through the fair countries and cities, and found the people dead, slain on every side. And all that ever were alive cried and said, 'Ah, Balin, thou hast done and caused great vengeance in these countries! For the dolorous stroke thou gave unto King Pellam, these three countries are destroyed. And doubt not but the vengeance will fall on thee at the last.'\n\nBut when Balin was past those countries he was passing fain.\n\nAnd within three days he came by a cross, and thereon were letters of gold written, that said, 'It is not for no knight alone to ride towards this castle.'\n\nThen saw he an old hoar gentleman coming toward him, that said, 'Balin le Savage, thou passest thy bounds to come this way, therefore turn again and it will avail thee.' And he vanished away anon.\n\nAnd so he heard a horn blow as it had been the death of a beast. 'That blast', said Balin, 'is blown for me, for I am the prize; and yet am I not dead.'\n\nAnon withal he saw a hundred ladies and many knights, that welcomed him with fair semblant and made him passing good cheer unto his sight, and led him into the castle, and there was dancing and minstrelsy and all manner of joy.\n\nThen the chief lady of the castle said, 'Knight with the Two Swords, ye must have ado and joust with a knight hereby that keepeth an island, for there may no man pass this way, but he must joust or he pass.'\n\n'That is an unhappy custom,' said Balin, 'that a knight may not pass this way but if he joust.'\n\n'Ye shall not have ado but with one knight,' said the lady.\n\n'Well,' said Balin, 'since I shall, thereto I am ready; but travelling men are oft weary, and their horses too. But though my horse be weary, my heart is not weary. I would be fain there my death should be.'\n\n'Sir,' said a knight to Balin, 'me thinketh your shield is not good, I will lend you a bigger, thereof I pray you.'\n\nAnd so he took the shield that was unknown and left his own, and so rode unto the island, and put him and his horse in a great boat. And when he came on the other side he met with a damosel, and she said, 'O knight Balin, why have ye left your own shield? Alas, ye have put yourself in great danger, for by your shield ye should have been known. It is great pity of you as ever was of knight, for of thy prowess and hardiness thou hast no fellow living.'\n\n'Me repenteth', said Balin, 'that ever I came within this country; but I may not turn now again for shame, and what adventure shall fall to me, be it life or death, I will take the adventure that shall come to me.' And then he looked on his armour, and understood he was well armed, and therewith blessed him and mounted upon his horse.\n\nThen before him he saw come riding out of a castle a knight, and his horse trapped all red, and himself in the same colour. When this knight in the red beheld Balin, him thought it should be his brother Balin because of his two swords, but because he knew not his shield he deemed it was not he.\n\nAnd so they aventred their spears and came marvellously fast together, and they smote other in the shields, but their spears and their courses were so big that it bore down horse and man, that they lay both in a swoon. But Balin was bruised sore with the fall of his horse, for he was weary of travel. And Balan was the first that rose on foot and drew his sword, and went towards Balin, and he arose and went against him. But Balan smote Balin first, and he put up his shield and smote him through the shield and tamed his helm. Then Balin smote him again with that unhappy sword, and well nigh had felled his brother Balan, and so they fought there together till their breaths failed.\n\nThen Balin looked up to the castle and saw the towers stand full of ladies. So they went unto battle again, and wounded each other dolefully, and then they breathed ofttimes; and so went unto battle that all the place where they fought was blood red. And at that time there was none of them both but they had either smitten other seven great wounds, so that the least of them might have been the death of the mightiest giant in this world. Then they went to battle again so marvellously that doubt it was to hear of that battle for the great blood-shedding. And their hauberks unnailed, that naked they were on every side.\n\nAt last Balan, the younger brother, withdrew him a little and laid him down.\n\nThen said Balin le Savage, 'What knight art thou? For or now I found never no knight that matched me.'\n\n'My name is', said he, 'Balan, brother unto the good knight Balin.'\n\n'Alas,' said Balin, 'that ever I should see this day,' and therewith he fell backward in a swoon.\n\nThen Balan yede on all four feet and hands, and put off the helm of his brother, and might not know him by the visage, it was so full hewn and bled; but when he awoke he said, 'O Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me and I thee, wherefore all the wide world shall speak of us both.'\n\n'Alas,' said Balan, 'that ever I saw this day, that through mishap I might not know you! For I espied well your two swords, but because ye had another shield I deemed ye had been another knight.'\n\n'Alas,' said Balin, 'all that made an unhappy knight in the castle, for he caused me to leave my own shield to our both's destruction. And if I might live, I would destroy that castle for ill customs.'\n\n'That were well done,' said Balan, 'for I had never grace to depart from them since that I came hither, for here it happed me to slay a knight that kept this island, and since might I never depart; and no more should ye, brother, and ye might have slain me as ye have and escaped yourself with the life.'\n\nRight so came the lady of the tower with four knights and six ladies and six yeomen unto them, and there she heard how they made their moan either to other, and said, 'We came both out of one womb, that is to say one mother's belly, and so shall we lie both in one pit.'\n\nSo Balan prayed the lady of her gentleness, for his true service, that she would bury them both in that same place where the battle was done. And she granted them with weeping it should be done richly in the best manner.\n\n'Now, will ye send for a priest, that we may receive our sacrament, and receive the blessed body of Our Lord Jesus Christ?'\n\n'Yea,' said the lady, 'it shall be done.' And so she sent for a priest and gave them their rites.\n\n'Now,' said Balin, 'when we are buried in one tomb, and the mention made over us how two brethren slew each other, there will never good knight nor good man see our tomb but they will pray for our souls.'\n\nAnd so all the ladies and gentlewomen wept for pity. Then anon Balan died, but Balin died not till the midnight after. And so were they buried both, and the lady let make a mention of Balan how he was there slain by his brother's hands, but she knew not Balin's name.\n\nIn the morn came Merlin and let write Balin's name on the tomb with letters of gold, that 'Here lieth Balin le Savage that was the Knight with the Two Swords, and he that smote the dolorous stroke.' Also Merlin let make by his subtlety that Balin's sword was put into a marble stone standing upright, as great as a mill stone, and it hoved always above the water and did many years. And so by adventure it swam down by the stream unto the city of Camelot, that is in English called Winchester. And that same day Galahad the haut prince came with King Arthur; and so Galahad achieved the sword that was there in the marble stone hoving upon the water. And on Whitsunday he achieved the sword, as it is rehearsed in the Book of the Sangrail.\n\nSoon after this was done Merlin came to King Arthur and told him of the dolorous stroke that Balin gave King Pellam, and how Balin and Balan fought together the marvellest battle that ever was heard of, and how they were buried both in one tomb.\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur, 'this is the greatest pity that ever I heard tell of two knights, for in this world I knew never such two knights.'\n\nThus endeth the tale of Balin and of Balan, two brethren that were born in Northumberland, that were two passing good knights as ever were in those days.\n\nIn the beginning of Arthur, after he was chosen king by adventure and by grace, for the most part of the barons knew not he was Uther Pendragon's son but as Merlin made it openly known, but yet many kings and lords held him great war for that cause. But well Arthur overcame them all. The most part the days of his life he was ruled much by the counsel of Merlin. So it fell on a time King Arthur said unto Merlin, 'My barons will let me have no rest, but needs I must take a wife, and I would none take but by thy counsel and advice.'\n\n'It is well done', said Merlin, 'that ye take a wife, for a man of your bounty and noblesse should not be without a wife. Now is there any,' said Merlin, 'that ye love more than another?'\n\n'Yea,' said King Arthur, 'I love Guenivere the king's daughter of Lodegreance, of the land of Camelard, the which holdeth in his house the Table Round that ye told me he had it of my father Uther. And this damosel is the most valiant and fairest that I know living, or yet that ever I could find.'\n\n'Certes,' said Merlin, 'as of her beauty and fairness she is one of the fairest alive. But and ye loved her not so well as ye do, I should find you a damosel of beauty and of goodness that should like you and please you, and your heart were not set. But there as man's heart is set, he will be loath to return.'\n\n'That is truth,' said King Arthur.\n\nBut Merlin warned the King covertly that Guenivere was not wholesome for him to take to wife, for he warned him that Lancelot should love her, and she him again; and so he turned his tale to the adventures of the Sangrail. Then Merlin desired of the King for to have men with him that should enquire of Guenivere, and so the King granted him; and so Merlin went forth unto King Lodegreance of Camelard, and told him of the desire of the King that he would have unto his wife Guenivere his daughter.\n\n'That is to me', said King Lodegreance, 'the best tidings that ever I heard, that so worthy a king of prowess and noblesse will wed my daughter. And as for my lands, I would give it him if I wist it might please him; but he hath lands enough, he needeth none. But I shall send him a gift shall please him much more, for I shall give him the Table Round, which Uther, his father, gave me. And when it is fully complete, there is a hundred knights and fifty; and as for a hundred good knights, I have myself; but I want fifty, for so many have been slain in my days.'\n\nAnd so King Lodegreance delivered his daughter Guenivere unto Merlin, and the Table Round with the hundred knights; and so they rode freshly with great royalty, what by water and by land, till that they came nigh unto London.\n\nWhen King Arthur heard of the coming of Queen Guenivere and the hundred knights with the Table Round, then King Arthur made great joy for her coming, and that rich present, and said openly, 'This fair lady is passingly welcome to me, for I have loved her long, and therefore there is nothing so lief to me; and these knights with the Table Round please me more than right great riches.'\n\nAnd in all haste the King let ordain for the marriage and the coronation in the most honourable wise that could be devised.\n\n'Now, Merlin,' said King Arthur, 'go thou and espy me in all this land fifty knights which be of most prowess and worship.'\n\nSo within short time Merlin had found such knights that should fulfil twenty and eight knights, but no more would he find. Then the bishop of Canterbury was fetched, and he blessed the sieges with great royalty and devotion, and there set the eight and twenty knights in their sieges. And when this was done Merlin said, 'Fair sirs, you must all arise and come to King Arthur for to do him homage; he will the better be in will to maintain you.' And so they arose and did their homage. And when they were gone Merlin found in every siege letters of gold that told the knights' names that had sat there, but two sieges were void.\n\nAnd so anon came in young Gawain and asked the King a gift.\n\n'Ask,' said the King, 'and I shall grant you.'\n\n'Sir, I ask that ye shall make me knight that same day that ye shall wed dame Guenivere.'\n\n'I will do it with a good will,' said King Arthur, 'and do unto you all the worship that I may, for I must by reason ye are my nephew, my sister's son.'\n\nForthwith there came a poor man into the court, and brought with him a fair young man of eighteen years of age riding upon a lean mare. And the poor man asked all men that he met, 'Where shall I find King Arthur?'\n\n'Yonder he is,' said the knights. 'Wilt thou anything with him?'\n\n'Yea,' said the poor man, 'therefore I came hither.'\n\nAnd as soon as he came before the King, he saluted him and said, 'King Arthur, the flower of all kings, I beseech Jesu save thee! Sir, it was told me that at this time of your marriage ye would give any man the gift that he would ask you, except it were unreasonable.'\n\n'That is truth,' said the King, 'such cries I let make, and that will I hold, so it appair not my realm nor my estate.'\n\n'Ye say well and graciously,' said the poor man. 'Sir, I ask nothing else but that ye will make my son knight.'\n\n'It is a great thing thou askest of me,' said the King. 'What is thy name?' said the King to the poor man.\n\n'Sir, my name is Aries the cowherd.'\n\n'Whether cometh this of thee, or else of thy son?' said the King.\n\n'Nay, sir,' said Aries, 'this desire cometh of my son and not of me. For I shall tell you, I have thirteen sons; and all they will fall to what labour I put them and will be right glad to do labour, but this child will not labour for nothing that my wife and I may do, but always he will be shooting or casting darts, and glad for to see battles and to behold knights. And always day and night he desireth of me to be made knight.'\n\n'What is thy name?' said the King unto the young man.\n\n'Sir, my name is Tor.'\n\nThen the King beheld him fast, and saw he was passingly well-visaged and well made of his years.\n\n'Well,' said King Arthur unto Aries the cowherd, 'go fetch all thy sons before me that I may see them.'\n\nAnd so the poor man did, and all were shaped much like the poor man. But Tor was not like him neither in shape nor in countenance, for he was much more than any of them.\n\n'Now,' said King Arthur unto the cowherd, 'where is the sword he shall be made knight withal?'\n\n'It is here,' said Tor.\n\n'Take it out of the sheath,' said the King, 'and require me to make you knight.'\n\nThen Tor alit off his mare and pulled out his sword, kneeling, and requiring the King to make him knight, and that he made him knight of the Table Round.\n\n'As for a knight, I will make you,' and therewith smote him in the neck with the sword. 'Be ye a good knight, and so I pray to God ye may be, and if ye be of prowess and worthiness ye shall be of the Table Round. Now, Merlin,' said Arthur, 'whether this Tor shall be a good man?'\n\n'Yea, hardily, sir, he ought to be a good man, for he is come of good kindred as any alive, and of king's blood.'\n\n'How so, sir?' said the King.\n\n'I shall tell you,' said Merlin. 'This poor man, Aries the cowherd, is not his father, he is no sib to him; for King Pellinore is his father.'\n\n'I suppose not,' said the cowherd.\n\n'Well, fetch thy wife before me,' said Merlin, 'and she shall not say nay.'\n\nAnon the wife was fetched forth, which was a fair housewife. And there she answered Merlin full womanly, and there she told the King and Merlin that when she was a maid and went to milk her kine, 'there met with me a stern knight, and half by force he had my maidenhood; and at that time he begot my son Tor, and he took away from me my greyhound that I had that time with me, and said he would keep the greyhound for my love.'\n\n'Ah,' said the cowherd, 'I weened it had not been thus, but I may believe it well, for he had never no tatches of me.'\n\nSir Tor said unto Merlin, 'Dishonour not my mother.'\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'it is more for your worship than hurt, for your father is a good knight and a king. And he may right well advance you and your mother both, for ye were begotten or ever she was wedded.'\n\n'That is truth,' said the wife.\n\n'It is the less grief unto me,' said the cowherd.\n\nSo on the morn King Pellinore came to the court of King Arthur. And he had great joy of him, and told him of Sir Tor, how he was his son, and how he had made him knight at the request of the cowherd. When King Pellinore beheld Sir Tor, he pleased him much. So the King made Gawain knight; but Sir Tor was the first he made at that feast.\n\n'What is the cause', said King Arthur, 'that there is two places void in the sieges?'\n\n'Sir,' said Merlin, 'there shall no man sit in those places but they that shall be most of worship. But in the Siege Perilous there shall never man sit but one, and if there be any so hardy to do it he shall be destroyed. And he that shall sit therein shall have no fellow.'\n\nAnd therewith Merlin took King Pellinore by the hand, and in that one hand next the two sieges and the Siege Perilous he said, in open audience, 'This is your place, for best are ye worthy to sit therein of any that here is.'\n\nAnd thereat had Sir Gawain great envy and told Gaheris his brother, 'Yonder knight is put to great worship, which grieveth me sore, for he slew our father King Lot. Therefore I will slay him,' said Gawain, 'with a sword that was sent me that is passing trenchant.'\n\n'Ye shall not so', said Gaheris, 'at this time, for as now I am but your squire; and when I am made knight I will be avenged on him. And therefore, brother, it is best to suffer till another time that we may have him out of court, for and we did so we shall trouble this high feast.'\n\n'I will well,' said Gawain.\n\nThen was this feast made ready, and the King was wedded at Camelot unto Dame Guenivere in the church of Saint Stephen's, with great solemnity.\n\nThen as every man was set as his degree asked, Merlin went to all the knights of the Round Table and bade them sit still, 'that none of you remove, for ye shall see a strange and a marvellous adventure.'\n\nRight so as they sat there came running in a white hart into the hall, and a white brachet next him, and thirty couple of black running hounds came after with a great cry; and the hart went about the Round Table, and as he went by the side boards the brachet ever bit him by the buttock and pulled out a piece, wherethrough the hart leapt a great leap and overthrew a knight that sat at the side board. And therewith the knight arose and took up the brachet, and so went forth out of the hall, and took his horse and rode his way with the brachet.\n\nRight so came in a lady on a white palfrey, and cried aloud unto King Arthur and said, 'Sir, suffer me not to have this despite, for the brachet is mine that the knight hath led away.'\n\n'I may not do therewith,' said the King.\n\nSo with this there came a knight riding all armed on a great horse and took the lady away with force with him, and ever she cried and made great dole. So when she was gone the King was glad, for she made such a noise.\n\n'Nay,' said Merlin, 'ye may not leave it so, this adventure, so lightly, for these adventures must be brought to an end, or else it will be disworship to you and to your feast.'\n\n'I will', said the King, 'that all be done by your advice.'\n\nThen he let call Sir Gawain, for he must bring again the white hart.\n\nHere beginneth the first battle that ever Sir Gawain did after he was made knight.\n\nSir Gawain rode more than apace, and Gaheris his brother rode with him in the stead of a squire to do him service. And they let slip at the hart three couple of greyhounds; and so they chased the hart into a castle, and in the chief place of the castle they slew the hart, and Sir Gawain and Gaheris followed after. Right so there came a knight out of a chamber with a sword drawn in his hand and slew two of the greyhounds even in the sight of Sir Gawain, and the remnant he chased with his sword out of the castle. And when he came again, he said, 'Ah, my white hart, me repents that thou art dead, for my sovereign lady gave thee to me, and evil have I kept thee; and thy death shall be evil bought and I live.' And anon he went into his chamber and armed him, and came out fiercely.\n\nAnd there met he with Sir Gawain; and he said, 'Why have ye slain my hounds? I would that ye had wrought your anger upon me rather than upon a dumb beast.'\n\n'Thou sayest truth,' said the knight, 'I have avenged me on thy hounds, and so I will on thee or thou go.'\n\nThen Sir Gawain alit on foot and dressed his shield, and struck together mightily, and cleft their shields and stooned their helms and broke their hauberks that the blood thirled down to their feet. So at the last Sir Gawain smote so hard that the knight fell to the earth; and then he cried mercy and yielded him, and besought him as he was a gentle knight to save his life.\n\n'Thou shall die,' said Sir Gawain, 'for slaying of my hounds.'\n\n'I will make amends,' said the knight, 'to my power.'\n\nBur Sir Gawain would no mercy have, but unlaced his helm to have struck off his head. Right so came his lady out of a chamber and fell over him, and so he smote off her head by misfortune.\n\n'Alas,' said Gaheris, 'that is foul and shamefully done, for that shame shall never from you! Also ye should give mercy unto them that ask mercy, for a knight without mercy is without worship.'\n\nSo Sir Gawain was sore astoned of the death of this fair lady that he wist not what he did, and said unto the knight, 'Arise, I will give thee mercy.'\n\n'Nay, nay,' said the knight, 'I take no force of thy mercy now, for thou hast slain with villainy my love and my lady that I loved best of all earthly thing.'\n\n'Me sore repenteth it,' said Sir Gawain, 'for I meant the stroke unto thee. But now thou shalt go unto King Arthur and tell him of thy adventure, and how thou art overcome by the knight that went in the quest of the white hart.'\n\n'I take no force,' said the knight, 'whether I live or die.' But at the last for fear of death he swore to go unto King Arthur.\n\nRight so Sir Gawain rode forth unto Camelot. And anon as he was come, Merlin did make King Arthur that Sir Gawain was sworn to tell of his adventure, and how he slew the lady, and how he would give no mercy unto the knight, wherethrough the lady was slain. Then the King and the Queen were greatly displeased with Sir Gawain for the slaying of the lady; and there by ordinance of the Queen there was set an inquest of ladies upon Sir Gawain, and they judged him for ever while he lived to be with all ladies and to fight for their quarrels, and ever that he should be courteous, and never to refuse mercy to him that asketh mercy. Thus was Gawain sworn upon the four Evangelists that he should never be against lady nor gentlewoman, but if he fight for a lady and his adversary fighteth for another.\n\nAnd thus endeth the adventure of Sir Gawain that he did at the marriage of Arthur.\n\nThen the King established all the knights, and gave them riches and lands; and charged them never to do outrage nor murder, and always to flee treason, and to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfeiture of their worship and lordship of King Arthur for evermore; and always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen and widows succour; strengthen them in their rights, and never to enforce them, upon pain of death. Also, that no man take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no love, nor for no worldly goods. So unto this were all the knights sworn of the Table Round, both old and young. And every year so were they sworn at the high feast of Pentecost."
            },
            {
                "title": "Explicit the Wedding of King Arthur",
                "text": "Then it befell that Merlin fell in a dotage on the damosel that King Pellinore brought to court, and she was one of the damosels of the Lady of the Lake, that hight Nenive. But Merlin would not let her have no rest, but always he would be with her. And ever she made Merlin good cheer till she had learned of him all manner of thing that she desired; and he was besotted upon her, that he might not be from her.\n\nSo on a time he told to King Arthur that he should not endure long, but for all his crafts he should be put into the earth quick. And so he told the King many things that should befall, but always he warned the King to keep well his sword and the scabbard, for he told him how the sword and the scabbard should be stolen by a woman from him, that he most trusted. Also he told King Arthur that he should miss him, 'And yet had ye liever than all your lands have me again.'\n\n'Ah,' said the King, 'since ye know of your evil adventure, purvey for it, and put it away by your crafts, that misadventure.'\n\n'Nay,' said Merlin, 'it will not be.'\n\nHe departed from the King; and within a while the damosel of the Lake departed, and Merlin went with her evermore wheresoever she yede, and oftentimes Merlin would have had her privily away by his subtle crafts. Then she made him to swear that he should never do no enchantment upon her if he would have his will, and so he swore. Then she and Merlin went over the sea unto the land of Benwick, there as King Ban was king that had great war against King Claudas.\n\nAnd there Merlin spoke with King Ban's wife, a fair lady and a good, her name was Elaine; and there he saw young Lancelot. And there the queen made great sorrow for the mortal war that King Claudas made on her lord.\n\n'Take no heaviness,' said Merlin, 'for this same child young Lancelot shall within these twenty years revenge you on King Claudas, that all Christendom shall speak of it; and this same child shall be the most man of worship of the world. And his first name is Galahad, that know I well,' said Merlin, 'and since ye have confirmed him Lancelot.'\n\n'That is truth,' said the queen, 'his name was first Galahad. Ah, Merlin,' said the queen, 'shall I live to see my son such a man of prowess?'\n\n'Yea, hardily, lady, on my peril ye shall see it, and live many winters after.'\n\nThen soon after the lady and Merlin departed. And by ways he showed her many wonders, and so came into Cornwall. And always he lay about to have her maidenhood, and she was ever passing weary of him and would have been delivered of him, for she was afraid of him for cause he was a devil's son, and she could not be shift of him by no mean. And so on a time Merlin did show her in a rock where as was a great wonder, and wrought by enchantment, that went under a great stone. So by her subtle working she made Merlin to go under that stone to let her wit of the marvels there, but she wrought so there for him that he came never out for all the craft he could do. And so she departed and left Merlin.\n\n[There follows a brief war against five kings, in which Sir Kay, Sir Gawain, and Sir Griflet particularly distinguish themselves.]\n\nAnd King Arthur called King Pellinore unto him and said, 'Ye understand well that we have lost eight knights of the best of the Table Round, and by your advice we must choose eight knights of the best we may find in this court.'\n\n'Sir,' said Pellinore, 'I shall counsel you after my conceit the best wise. There are in your court full noble knights both of old and young; and by my advice ye shall choose half of the old and half of the young.'\n\n'Which be the old?' said King Arthur.\n\n'Sir, me seemeth King Uriens that hath wedded your sister Morgan le Fay; and the King of the Lake; and Sir Hervis de Revel, a noble knight; and Sir Galagars, the fourth.'\n\n'This is well devised,' said Arthur, 'and right so shall it be. Now, which are the four young knights?'\n\n'Sir, the first is Sir Gawain, your nephew, that is as good a knight of his time as is any in this land. And the second as me seemeth best is Sir Griflet le Fils de Dieu, that is a good knight and full desirous in arms, and who may see him live he shall prove a good knight. And the third as me seemeth is well worthy to be one of the Table Round, Sir Kay the Seneschal, for many times he hath done full worshipfully; and now at your last battle he did full honourably for to undertake to slay two kings.'\n\n'By my head,' said Arthur, 'ye say sooth: he is best worthy to be a knight of the Round Table of any that is rehearsed yet, and he had done no more prowess his life days.'\n\n'Now,' said King Pellinore, 'choose you of two knights that I shall rehearse which is most worthy, of Sir Bagdemagus, and Sir Tor, my son. But for because he is my son I may not praise him, but else, and he were not my son, I durst say that of his age there is not in this land a better knight than he is, nor of better conditions, and loath to do any wrong, and loath to take any wrong.'\n\n'By my head,' said Arthur, 'he is a passing good knight as any ye spoke of this day. That wot I well,' said the King, 'for I have seen him proved; but he saith but little, but he doth much more, for I know none in all this court, and he were as well born on his mother's side as he is on your side, that is like him of prowess and of might. And therefore I will have him at this time, and leave Sir Bagdemagus till another time.'\n\nSo when they were chosen by the assent of the barons, so were there found in their sieges every knight's name that here are rehearsed, and so were they set in their sieges; whereof Sir Bagdemagus was wonderly wroth that Sir Tor was advanced before him, and therefore suddenly he departed from the court and took his squire with him, and rode long in a forest.\n\nSo, as Sir Bagdemagus rode to see many adventures, so it happed him to come to the rock there as the Lady of the Lake had put Merlin under the stone, and there he heard him make a great dole; wherefore Sir Bagdemagus would have helped him, and went unto the great stone, and it was so heavy that a hundred men might not lift it up. When Merlin wist that he was there, he bade him leave his labour, for all was in vain, for he might never be helped but by her that put him there. And so Bagdemagus departed and did many adventures, and proved after a full good knight, and came again to the court and was made knight of the Round Table.\n\nSo on the morn there befell new tidings and many other adventures. Then it befell that Arthur and many of his knights rode on hunting into a great forest. And it happed King Arthur and King Uriens and Sir Accolon of Gaul followed a great hart, for they three were well horsed; and so they chased so fast that within a while they three were more than ten miles from their fellowship. And at the last they chased so sore that they slew their horses underneath them, and the horses were so free that they fell down dead. Then were they all three on foot, and ever they saw the hart before them passing weary and imbossed.\n\n'What shall we do?' said King Arthur. 'We are hard bestead.'\n\n'Let us go on foot,' said King Uriens, 'till we may meet with some lodging.'\n\nThen were they ware of the hart that lay on a great water bank, and a brachet biting on his throat, and more other hounds came after. Then King Arthur blew the prize and dight the hart. Then the King looked about the world, and saw before him in a great water a little ship, all apparelled with silk down to the water; and the ship came right unto them and landed on the sands. Then Arthur went to the bank and looked in, and saw no earthly creature therein.\n\n'Sirs,' said the King, 'come thence, and let us see what is in this ship.'\n\nSo at the last they went into the ship all three, and found it richly behung with cloth of silk. So by that time it was dark night, there suddenly was about them a hundred torches set upon all the ship-boards, and it gave great light. And therewith there came twelve fair damosels and saluted King Arthur on their knees, and called him by his name, and said he was right welcome, and such cheer as they had he should have of the best. Then the King thanked them fair. Therewith they led the King and his fellows into a fair chamber, and there was a cloth laid richly beseen of all that longed unto a table, and there were they served of all wines and meats that they could think of. But of that the King had great marvel, for he never fared better in his life as for one supper.\n\nAnd so when they had supped at their leisure, King Arthur was led into a chamber\u2014a richer beseen chamber saw he never none. And so was King Uriens served, and led into such another chamber; and Sir Accolon was led into the third chamber passing richly and well beseen. And so they were laid in their beds easily, and anon they fell asleep and slept marvellously sore all the night.\n\nAnd on the morn King Uriens was in Camelot abed in his wife's arms, Morgan le Fay. And when he woke he had great marvel how he came there, for on the even before he was two days' journey from Camelot. And when King Arthur awoke he found himself in a dark prison, hearing about him many complaints of woeful knights.\n\n'What are ye that so complain?' said King Arthur.\n\n'We be here twenty knights, prisoners, and some of us have lain here eight year, and some more and some less.'\n\n'For what cause?' said Arthur.\n\n'We shall tell you,' said the knights. 'This lord of this castle, his name is Sir Damas; and he is the falsest knight that liveth and full of treason, and a very coward as liveth. And he hath a younger brother, a good knight of prowess; his name is Sir Outlake. And this traitor Damas, the elder brother, will give him no part of his lands, but as Sir Outlake keepeth through prowess of his hands; and so he keepeth from him a full fair manor and a rich, and therein Sir Outlake dwelleth worshipfully, and is well beloved with all people. And this Sir Damas our master is as evil beloved, for he is without mercy, and he is a coward, and great war hath been betwixt them. But Outlake hath ever the better, and ever he proffereth Sir Damas to fight for the livelihood, body for body, but he will not of it; or else to find a knight to fight for him. Unto that Sir Damas hath granted, to find a knight, but he is so evil beloved and hated that there is no knight will fight for him. And when Damas saw this, that there was never a knight would fight for him, he hath daily lain await with many a knight with him, and taken all the knights in this country to see and espy their adventures; he hath taken them by force and brought them to his prison. And so he took us severally as we rode on our adventures; and many good knights have died in this prison for hunger, to the number of eighteen knights. And if any of us all that here is, or hath been, would have fought with his brother Outlake, he would have delivered us. But for because this Damas is so false and so full of treason we would never fight for him to die for it. And we be so meagre for hunger that uneath we may stand on our feet. God deliver you, for His great mercy!'\n\nAnon withal there came a damosel unto Arthur, and asked him what cheer.\n\n'I cannot say,' said Arthur.\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'and ye will fight for my lord, ye shall be delivered out of prison, and else ye escape never with the life.'\n\n'Now,' said Arthur, 'that is hard, yet had I liever to fight with a knight than to die in prison. With this,' said Arthur, 'I may be delivered and all these prisoners, I will do the battle.'\n\n'Yes,' said the damosel.\n\n'Then I am ready,' said Arthur, 'and I had horse and armour.'\n\n'Ye shall lack none,' said the damosel.\n\n'Me seemeth, damosel, I should have seen you in the court of Arthur.'\n\n'Nay,' said the damosel, 'I came never there. I am the lord's daughter of this castle.' Yet was she false, for she was one of the damosels of Morgan le Fay.\n\nAnon she went unto Sir Damas, and told him how he would do battle for him; and so he sent for Arthur. And when he came, he was well coloured and well made of his limbs, that all knights that saw him said it were pity that such a knight should die in prison. So Sir Damas and he were agreed that he should fight for him upon this covenant, that all the other knights should be delivered; and unto that was Sir Damas sworn unto Arthur, and also he to do the battle to the uttermost. And with that all the twenty knights were brought out of the dark prison into the hall and delivered, and so they all abode to see the battle.\n\nNow turn we unto Accolon of Gaul, that when he awoke he found him-self by a deep well's side, within half a foot, in great peril of death. And there came out of that fountain a pipe of silver, and out of that pipe ran water all on high in a stone of marble. When Sir Accolon saw this, he blessed him and said, 'Jesu save my lord King Arthur and King Uriens, for these damosels in this ship have betrayed us\u2014they were fiends and no women, and if I may escape this misadventure I shall destroy them all that I may find of these false damosels that fare thus with their enchantments.'\n\nAnd right with that there came a dwarf with a great mouth and a flat nose, and saluted Sir Accolon, and told him how he came from Queen Morgan le Fay. 'And she greets you well, and biddeth you be of strong heart, for ye shall fight tomorrow with a knight at the hour of prime. And therefore she hath sent thee Excalibur, Arthur's sword, and the scabbard, and she biddeth you as ye love her that ye do that battle to the uttermost, without any mercy, like as ye promised her when ye spoke last together in private. And what damosel that bringeth her the knight's head, which ye shall fight withal, she will make her a queen.'\n\n'Now I understand you,' said Accolon, 'I shall hold that I have promised her now I have the sword. Sir, when saw ye my lady Morgan le Fay?'\n\n'Right late,' said the dwarf.\n\nThen Accolon took him in his arms and said, 'Recommend me unto my lady the queen, and tell her all shall be done that I promised her, and else I will die for it. Now I suppose,' said Accolon, 'she hath made all these crafts and enchantment for this battle.'\n\n'Sir, ye may well believe it,' said the dwarf.\n\nRight so there came a knight and a lady with six squires, and saluted Accolon, and prayed him to arise, and come and rest him at his manor. And so Accolon mounted upon a void horse and went with the knight unto a fair manor by a priory; and there he had passing good cheer.\n\nThen Sir Damas sent unto his brother Outlake, and bade make him ready by tomorrow at the hour of prime, and to be in the field to fight with a good knight, for he had found a knight that was ready to do battle at all points. When this word came to Sir Outlake he was passing heavy, for he was wounded a little before through both his thighs with a glaive, and he made great dole; but as he was, wounded, he would have taken the battle on hand.\n\nSo it happed at that time, by the means of Morgan le Fay, Accolon was lodged with Sir Outlake. And when he heard of that battle, and how Outlake was wounded, he said that he would fight for him, because that Morgan le Fay had sent him Excalibur and the sheath for to fight with the knight on the morn. This was the cause Sir Accolon took the battle upon him. Then Sir Outlake was passing glad, and thanked Sir Accolon with all his heart that he would do so much for him. And therewith Sir Outlake sent unto his brother Sir Damas that he had a knight ready that should fight with him in the field by the hour of prime.\n\nSo on the morn Sir Arthur was armed and well horsed, and asked Sir Damas, 'When shall we to the field?'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Damas, 'ye shall hear Mass.'\n\nAnd so Arthur heard a Mass; and when Mass was done there came a squire and asked Sir Damas if his knight were ready, 'for our knight is ready in the field.'\n\nThen Sir Arthur mounted upon horseback; and there were all the knights and commons of that country, and so by all their advice there were chosen twelve good men of the country for to wait upon the two knights. And right as Arthur was on horseback there came a damosel from Morgan le Fay, and brought unto Sir Arthur a sword like unto Excalibur, and the scabbard, and said unto Arthur, 'She sends here your sword for great love.' And he thanked her, and weened it had been so; but she was false, for the sword and the scabbard was counterfeit, and brittle, and false.\n\nThen they dressed them on two parts of the field, and let their horses run so fast that either smote other in the midst of the shield; and their spears held, that both horse and man went to the earth. And then they started up both, and pulled out their swords.\n\nThe meanwhile that they were thus at the battle, came the Damosel of the Lake into the field, that put Merlin under the stone; and she came thither for the love of King Arthur; for she knew how Morgan le Fay had ordained, for Arthur should have been slain that day, and therefore she came to save his life.\n\nAnd so they went eagerly to the battle, and gave many great strokes. But always Arthur's sword bit not like Accolon's sword; and for the most part, every stroke that Accolon gave, he wounded Sir Arthur sore, that it was marvel he stood, and always his blood fell from him fast. When Arthur beheld the ground so sore be-bled he was dismayed, and then he deemed treason that his sword was changed; for his sword bit not steel as it was wont to do, therefore he dread him sore to be dead, for ever him seemed that the sword in Accolon's hand was Excalibur, for at every stroke that Accolon struck he drew blood on Arthur.\n\n'Now, knight,' said Accolon unto Arthur, 'keep thee well from me!'\n\nBut Arthur answered not again, but gave him such a buffet on the helm that he made him to stoop nigh falling to the earth. Then Sir Accolon withdrew him a little, and came on with Excalibur on high, and smote Sir Arthur such a buffet that he fell nigh to the earth. Then were they both wroth out of measure, and gave many sore strokes. But always Sir Arthur lost so much blood that it was marvel he stood on his feet, but he was so full of knighthood that he endured the pain. And Sir Accolon lost not a deal of blood; therefore he waxed passing light. And Sir Arthur was passing feeble, and weened verily to have died; but for all that he made countenance as he might well endure, and held Accolon as short as he might. But Accolon was so bold because of Excalibur that he waxed passing hardy. But all men that beheld them said they saw never knight fight so well as Arthur did, considering the blood that he bled. But all that people were sorry that these two brethren would not accord. So always they fought together as fierce knights.\n\nAnd at the last King Arthur withdrew him a little for to rest him; and Sir Accolon called him to battle and said, 'It is no time for me to suffer thee to rest.' And therewith he came fiercely upon Arthur. But Arthur therewith was wroth for the blood that he had lost, and smote Accolon on high upon the helm so mightily that he made him nigh fall to the earth; and therewith Arthur's sword brast at the cross and fell on the grass among the blood, and the pommel and the sure handles he held in his hand. When King Arthur saw that, he was in great fear to die, but always he held up his shield and lost no ground, nor bated no cheer.\n\nThen Sir Accolon began with words of treason, and said, 'Knight, thou art overcome and mayst not endure, and also thou art weaponless, and lost thou hast much of thy blood; and I am full loath to slay thee. Therefore yield thee to me recreant.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Arthur, 'I may not so. For I promised by the faith of my body to do this battle to the uttermost while my life lasteth; and therefore I had liever to die with honour than to live with shame. And if it were possible for me to die a hundred times, I had liever to die so often than yield me to thee, for though I lack weapon, yet shall I lack no worship. And if thou slay me weaponless, that shall be thy shame.'\n\n'Well,' said Accolon, 'as for that shame I will not spare. Now keep thee from me, for thou art but a dead man.'\n\nAnd therewith Accolon gave him such a stroke that he fell nigh to the earth, and would have had Arthur to have cried him mercy. But Sir Arthur pressed unto Accolon with his shield, and gave him with the pommel in his hand such a buffet that he reeled three strides aback.\n\nWhen the Damosel of the Lake beheld Arthur, how full of prowess his body was, and the false treason that was wrought for him to have had him slain, she had great pity that so good a knight and such a man of worship should so be destroyed. And at the next stroke, Sir Accolon struck at him such a stroke that by the damosel's enchantment the sword Excalibur fell out of Accolon's hand to the earth. And therewith Sir Arthur lightly leapt to it and got it in his hand, and forthwith he knew it, that it was his sword Excalibur.\n\n'Ah,' said Arthur, 'thou hast been from me all too long, and much damage hast thou done me,' and therewith he espied the scabbard by his side, and suddenly he started to him and pulled the scabbard from him, and threw it from him as far as he might throw it.\n\n'Ah, sir knight,' said King Arthur, 'this day hast thou done me great damage with this sword. Now are ye come unto your death, for I shall not warrant you but ye shall be as well rewarded with this sword or ever we depart as ye have rewarded me, for much pain have ye made me to endure and much blood have I lost.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Arthur rushed on him with all his might and pulled him to the earth, and then rased off his helm and gave him such a buffet on his head that the blood came out at his ears, nose, and mouth.\n\n'Now will I slay thee,' said Arthur.\n\n'Slay me ye may well,' said Sir Accolon, 'and it please you, for ye are the best knight that ever I found, and I see well that God is with you. But for I promised', said Accolon, 'to do this battle to the uttermost and never to be recreant while I lived, therefore shall I never yield me with my mouth, but God do with my body what He will.'\n\nThen Sir Arthur remembered him, and thought he should have seen this knight.\n\n'Now tell me,' said Arthur, 'or I will slay thee, of what country ye be, and of what court.'\n\n'Sir knight,' said Sir Accolon, 'I am of the royal court of King Arthur, and my name is Accolon of Gaul.'\n\nThen was Arthur more dismayed than he was beforehand, for then he remembered him of his sister Morgan le Fay, and of the enchantment of the ship.\n\n'Ah, sir knight, I pray you, who gave you this sword, and by whom ye had it?'\n\nThen Sir Accolon bethought him, and said, 'Woe worth this sword, for by it I have gotten my death!'\n\n'It may well be,' said the King.\n\n'Now, sir,' said Accolon, 'I will tell you. This sword hath been in my keeping the most part of this twelvemonth; and Morgan le Fay, King Uriens' wife, sent it me yesterday by a dwarf, to the intent to slay King Arthur, her brother\u2014for ye shall understand that King Arthur is the man in the world that she hateth most, because he is most of worship and of prowess of any of her blood. Also she loveth me out of measure as paramour, and I her again; and if she might bring it about to slay Arthur by her crafts, she would slay her husband King Uriens lightly. And then had she devised to have me king in this land, and so to reign, and she to be my queen. But that is now done,' said Accolon, 'for I am sure of my death.'\n\n'Well,' said King Arthur, 'I feel by you ye would have been king of this land; yet it had been great damage to have destroyed your lord,' said Arthur.\n\n'It is truth,' said Accolon, 'but now I have told you the truth; where-fore I pray you tell me of whence ye are, and of what court.'\n\n'Ah, Accolon,' said King Arthur, 'now I let thee wit that I am King Arthur that thou hast done great damage to.'\n\nWhen Accolon heard that, he cried aloud, 'Fair sweet lord, have mercy on me, for I knew you not.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Accolon,' said King Arthur, 'mercy thou shalt have, because I feel by thy words at this time thou knewest me not. But I feel by thy words that thou hast agreed to the death of my person, and therefore thou art a traitor. But I wite thee the less, for my sister Morgan le Fay by her false crafts made thee to agree to her false lusts. But I shall be sore avenged upon her, that all Christendom shall speak of it. God knoweth I have honoured her and worshipped her more than all my kin, and more have I trusted her than my wife and all my kin after.'\n\nThen King Arthur called the keepers of the field and said, 'Sirs, cometh hither, for here are we two knights that have fought unto great damage unto us both, and likely each of us to have slain other; and had any of us known other, here had been no battle, nor no stroke stricken.'\n\nThen all aloud cried Accolon unto all the knights and men that were there, and said, 'Ah, lords, this knight that I have fought with is the most man of prowess and of worship in the world, for it is himself King Arthur, our all liege lord, and with mishap and misadventure have I done this battle with the lord and king that I am withheld with.'\n\nThen all the people fell down on their knees and cried King Arthur mercy.\n\n'Mercy shall ye have,' said Arthur. 'Here may ye see what sudden adventures befall often of errant knights, how that I have fought with a knight of my own unto my great damage and his both. But sirs, because I am sore hurt, and he both, and I had great need of a little rest, ye shall understand this shall be the opinion betwixt you two brethren. As to thee, Sir Damas, for whom I have been champion and won the field of this knight, yet will I judge, because ye, Sir Damas, are called an orgulous knight and full of villainy, and not worthy of prowess of your deeds. Therefore will I that ye give unto your brother all the whole manor with the appurtenance, under this form: that Sir Outlake hold the manor of you, and yearly to give you a palfrey to ride upon, for that will become you better to ride on than upon a courser. Also I charge thee, Sir Damas, upon pain of death, that thou never distress no knights errant that ride on their adventure; and also that thou restore these twenty knights that thou hast kept long prisoners, of all their harms, that they be content. For and any of them come to my court and complain on thee, by my head thou shalt die therefor.\n\n'Also, Sir Outlake, as to you, because ye are named a good knight and full of prowess, and true and gentle in all your deeds, this shall be your charge I will give you: that in all goodly haste ye come unto me and my court. And ye shall be a knight of mine; and if your deeds be thereafter, I shall so prefer you, by the grace of God, that ye shall in short time be in ease as for to live as worshipfully as your brother Damas.'\n\n'God thank your largeness of your great goodness and of your bounty! I shall be from henceforward in all times at your commandment. For,' said Sir Outlake, 'as God would, I was hurt but late with an adventurous knight through both the thighs, and else had I done this battle with you.'\n\n'God would', said Sir Arthur, 'it had been so, for then had not I been hurt as I am. I shall tell you the cause why: for I had not been hurt as I am, had not been my own sword that was stolen from me by treason; and this battle was ordained aforehand to have slain me, and so it was brought to the purpose by false treason and by enchantment.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Outlake, 'that is great pity that ever so noble a man as ye are of your deeds and prowess, that any man or woman might find in their hearts to work any treason against you.'\n\n'I shall reward them,' said Arthur. 'Now tell me,' said Arthur, 'how far am I from Camelot?'\n\n'Sir, ye are two days' journey.'\n\n'I would be at some place of worship,' said Sir Arthur, 'that I might rest me.'\n\n'Sir,' said Outlake, 'hereby is a rich abbey of your elders' foundation, of nuns, but three miles hence.'\n\nSo the King took his leave of all the people, and mounted upon horseback, and Sir Accolon with him. And when they were come to the abbey, he let fetch leeches and searched his wounds and Sir Accolon's both. But Sir Accolon died within four days, for he had bled so much blood that he might not live, but King Arthur was well recovered. So when Accolon was dead he let send him in a horse-bier with six knights unto Camelot, and bade, 'Bear him unto my sister Morgan le Fay, and say that I send her him as a present. And tell her I have my sword Excalibur and the scabbard.'\n\nSo they departed with the body.\n\nThe meanwhile Morgan le Fay had weened King Arthur had been dead. So on a day she espied King Uriens lay asleep on his bed, then she called unto her a maiden of her counsel and said, 'Go fetch me my lord's sword, for I saw never better time to slay him than now.'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said the damosel, 'and ye slay my lord ye can never escape.'\n\n'Care thee not,' said Morgan, 'for now I see my time is best to do it; and therefore hie thee fast and fetch me the sword.'\n\nThen the damosel departed and found Sir Uwain sleeping upon a bed in another chamber; so she went unto Sir Uwain and awaked him and bade him arise, 'and wait on my lady your mother, for she will slay the king your father sleeping on his bed, for I go to fetch his sword.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Uwain, 'go on your way, and let me deal.'\n\nAnon the damosel brought the queen the sword with quaking hands; and lightly she took the sword and pulled it out, and went boldly unto the bed's side and awaited how and where she might slay him best. And as she heaved up the sword to smite, Sir Uwain leapt unto his mother and caught her by the hand and said, 'Ah, fiend, what wilt thou do? And thou were not my mother, with this sword I should smite off thy head. Ah', said Sir Uwain, 'men said that Merlin was begotten of a fiend, but I may say an earthly fiend bore me.'\n\n'Ah, fair son Uwain, have mercy upon me! I was tempted with a fiend, wherefore I cry thee mercy. I will never more do so; and save my worship and discover me not.'\n\n'On this covenant,' said Sir Uwain, 'I will forgive you, so ye will never be about to do such deeds.'\n\n'Nay, son, and that I make you assurance.'\n\nThen came tidings unto Morgan le Fay that Accolon was dead, and his body brought unto the church, and how King Arthur had his sword again. But when Queen Morgan wist that Accolon was dead, she was so sorrowful that nigh her heart tobrast; but because she would not it were known out, she kept her countenance, and made no semblant of dole. But well she wist, and she abode till her brother Arthur came thither, there should no gold go for her life. Then she went unto the Queen Guenivere, and asked her leave to ride into her country.\n\n'Ye may abide,' said the Queen, 'till your brother the king come home.'\n\n'I may not, madam,' said Morgan le Fay, 'for I have such hasty tidings.'\n\n'Well,' said the Queen, 'ye may depart when ye will.'\n\nSo early on the morn, or it was day, she took her horse and rode all that day and most part of the night, and on the morn by noon she came to the same abbey of nuns where lay King Arthur; and she wist that he was there. And anon she asked where he was; and they answered and said how he was laid him on his bed to sleep, for he had but little rest these three nights.\n\n'Well,' said she, 'I charge you that none of you awake him till I do.'\n\nAnd then she alit off her horse, and thought for to steal away Excalibur his sword. And she went straight unto his chamber, and no man durst disobey her commandment. And there she found Arthur asleep on his bed, and Excalibur in his right hand naked. When she saw that, she was passing heavy that she might not come by the sword without she had awaked him, and then she wist well she had been dead. So she took the scabbard and went her way on horseback.\n\nWhen the King awoke and missed his scabbard, he was wroth, and so he asked who had been there; and they said his sister Queen Morgan le Fay had been there, and had put the scabbard under her mantle, 'and is gone.'\n\n'Alas,' said Arthur, 'falsely have ye watched me.'\n\n'Sir,' said they all, 'we durst not disobey your sister's commandment.'\n\n'Ah,' said the King, 'let fetch me the best horse that may be found, and bid Sir Outlake arm him in all haste and take another good horse and ride with me.'\n\nSo anon the King and Outlake were well armed, and rode after this lady. And so they came by a cross and found a cowherd, and they asked the poor man if there came any lady late riding that way.\n\n'Sir,' said this poor man, 'right late came a lady riding this way with forty horses, and to yonder forest she rode.'\n\nAnd so they followed fast, and within a while Arthur had a sight of Morgan le Fay; then he chased as fast as he might. When she espied him following her, she rode a great pace through the forest till she came to a plain. And when she saw she might not escape, she rode unto a lake thereby, and said, 'Whatsoever come of me, my brother shall not have this scabbard.' And then she let throw the scabbard in the deepest of the water. So it sank, for it was heavy of gold and precious stones.\n\nThen she rode into a valley where many great stones were, and when she saw she must be overtaken, she shaped herself, horse and man, by enchantment unto great marble stones. And anon withal came Sir Arthur and Sir Outlake there as the King might not know his sister and her men, and one knight from another.\n\n'Ah,' said the King, 'here may ye see the vengeance of God, and now am I sorry this misadventure is befallen.'\n\nAnd then he looked for the scabbard, but it would not be found; so he returned to the abbey where she came from. So when Arthur was gone, they turned all their likeness as she and they were before, and said, 'Sirs, now may we go where we will.'\n\nAnd so she departed into the country of Gore, and there was she richly received, and made her castles and towns strong, for always she dreaded much King Arthur.\n\nWhen the King had well rested him at the abbey, he rode unto Camelot and found his queen and his barons right glad of his coming. And when they heard of his strange adventures, as it is before rehearsed, then all had marvel of the falsehood of Morgan le Fay; many knights wished her burnt.\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'she is a kind sister! I shall so be avenged on her and I live, that all Christendom shall speak of it.'\n\nSo on the morn there came a damosel on message from Morgan le Fay to the King, and she brought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen in the court, for it was set all full of precious stones as one might stand by another, and therein were the richest stones that ever the King saw. And the damosel said, 'Your sister sendeth you this mantle and desireth that ye should take this gift of her; and what thing she hath offended, she will amend it at your own pleasure.'\n\nWhen the King beheld this mantle it pleased him much; he said but little.\n\nWith that came the Damosel of the Lake unto the King and said, 'Sir, I must speak with you in private.'\n\n'Say on,' said the King, 'what ye will.'\n\n'Sir,' said this damosel, 'put not upon you this mantle till ye have seen more; and in no wise let it not come on you nor on no knight of yours till ye command the bringer thereof to put it upon her.'\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'it shall be as you counsel me.'\n\nAnd then he said unto the damosel that came from his sister, 'Damosel, this mantle that ye have brought me, I will see it upon you.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'it will not beseem me to wear a king's garment.'\n\n'By my head,' said Arthur, 'ye shall wear it or it come on my back, or on any man's back that here is.'\n\nAnd so the King made to put it upon her, and forthwith she fell down dead, and never spoke word after, and burnt to coals. Then was the King wonderly wroth, more than he was beforehand, and said unto King Uriens, 'My sister, your wife, is always about to betray me, and well I wot either ye, or my nephew, your son, is of counsel with her to have me destroyed. But as for you,' said the King unto King Uriens, 'I deem not greatly that ye be of counsel, for Accolon confessed to me by his own mouth that she would have destroyed you as well as me, therefore I hold you excused. But as for your son, Sir Uwain, I hold him suspect; therefore I charge you, put him out of my court.'\n\nSo Sir Uwain was discharged.\n\nAnd when Sir Gawain wist that, he made him ready to go with him, 'for whoso ba'nisheth my cousin germain shall banish me.'\n\nSo they two departed, and rode into a great forest; and so they came unto an abbey of monks, and there were well lodged. But when the King wist that Sir Gawain was departed from the court, there was made great sorrow among all the estates.\n\n'Now,' said Gaheris, Gawain's brother, 'we have lost two good knights for the love of one.'\n\n[Gawain and Uwain decide to go separate ways.]\n\nNow Sir Gawain held that way till that he came to a fair manor where dwelled an old knight and a good householder; and there Sir Gawain asked the knight if he knew of any adventures.\n\n'I shall show you tomorrow', said the knight, 'marvellous adventures.'\n\nSo on the morn they rode into the forest of adventures till they came to a laund, and thereby they found a cross; and as they stood and hoved, there came by them the fairest knight and the seemliest man that ever they saw, but he made the greatest dole that ever man made. And then he was ware of Sir Gawain, and saluted him, and prayed to God to send him much worship.\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Gawain, 'gramercy; also I pray to God send you honour and worship.'\n\n'Ah,' said the knight, 'I may lay that aside, for sorrow and shame cometh unto me after worship.'\n\nAnd therewith he passed unto the one side of the laund; and on the other side saw Sir Gawain ten knights that hoved and made them ready with their shields and with their spears against that one knight that came by Sir Gawain. Then this one knight fewtered a great spear, and one of the ten knights encountered with him; but this woeful knight smote him so hard that he fell over his horse's tail. So this dolorous knight served them all, that at the least way he smote down horse and man; and all he did with one spear. And so when they were all ten on foot, they went to that one knight, and he stood stone still and suffered them to pull him down off his horse, and bound him hand and foot and tied him under the horse's belly, and so led him with them.\n\n'Ah, Jesu!' said Sir Gawain, 'this is a doleful sight, to see the yonder knight so to be treated! And it seemeth by the knight that he suffereth them to bind him so, for he maketh no resistance.'\n\n'Ah,' said the knight, 'that is the best knight I trow in the world, and the most man of prowess. And it is the greatest pity of him as of any knight living, for he hath been served so as he was this time more than ten times. And his name hight Sir Pelleas; and he loveth a great lady in this country, and her name is Ettard. And so when he loved her there was cried in this country a great jousts three days, and all the knights of this country were there and gentlewomen. And who that proved him the best knight should have a passing good sword and a circlet of gold; and that circlet, the knight should give it to the fairest lady that was at that jousts. And this knight Sir Pelleas was far the best of any that was there, and there were five hundred knights, but there was never man that ever Sir Pelleas met but he struck him down, or else from his horse. And every day of three days he struck down twenty knights, and therefore they gave him the prize. And forthwith he went there as the lady Ettard was, and gave her the circlet, and said openly she was the fairest lady that there was, and that would he prove upon any knight that would say nay.\n\n'And so he chose her for his sovereign lady, and never to love other but her. But she was so proud that she had scorn of him, and said that she would never love him though he would die for her; wherefore all ladies and gentlewomen had scorn of her that she was so proud. For there were fairer than she; and there was none that was there, but, and Sir Pelleas would have proffered them love, they would have showed him the same for his noble prowess. And so this knight promised Ettard to follow her into this country, and never to leave her till she loved him. And thus he is here the most part nigh her, and lodged by a priory; and every week she sends knights to fight with him. And when he hath put them to the worse, then will he suffer them wilfully to take him prisoner, because he would have a sight of this lady. And always she doth him great despite, for sometimes she maketh her knights to tie him to his horse's tail, and sometimes bind him under the horse's belly. Thus in the most shamefullest wise that she can think he is brought to her. And all she doth it for to cause him to leave this country, and to leave his loving; but all this cannot make him to leave, for and he would have fought on foot he might have had the better of the ten knights as well on foot as on horseback.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Gawain, 'it is great pity of him! And after this night I will seek him tomorrow in this forest, to do him all the help I can.'\n\nSo on the morrow Sir Gawain took his leave of his host Sir Carados, and rode into the forest; and at the last he met with Sir Pelleas, making great moan out of measure. So each of them saluted other, and asked him why he made such sorrow. And as it above rehearseth, Sir Pelleas told Sir Gawain.\n\n'But always I suffer her knights to fare so with me as ye saw yesterday, in trust at the last to win her love; for she knoweth well all her knights should not lightly win me and me list to fight with them to the uttermost. Wherefore and I loved her not so sore, I had liever die a hundred times, and I might die so oft, rather than I would suffer that despite; but I trust she will have pity upon me at the last. For love causeth many a good knight to suffer to have his intent, but alas, I am unfortunate.'\n\nAnd therewith he made so great dole and sorrow that uneath he might hold him on his horse's back.\n\n'Now,' said Sir Gawain, 'leave your mourning, and I shall promise you by the faith of my body to do all that lieth in my power to get you the love of your lady, and thereto I will plight you my troth.'\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Pelleas, 'of what court are ye?'\n\n'Sir, I am of the court of King Arthur and his sister's son, and King Lot of Orkney was my father, and my name is Sir Gawain.'\n\n'And my name is Sir Pelleas, born in the Isles, and of many isles I am lord; and never loved I lady nor damosel till now. And, sir knight, since ye are so nigh cousin unto King Arthur, and are a king's son, therefore betray me not, but help me, for I may never come by her but by some good knight. For she is in a strong castle here fast by, within this four mile, and over all this country she is lady. And so I may never come to her presence but as I suffer her knights to take me; and but if I did so that I might have a sight of her, I had been dead long or this time, and yet fair word had I never none of her. But when I am brought before her she rebuketh me in the foulest manner; and then they take me, my horse, and harness, and put me out of the gates, and she will not suffer me to eat nor drink. And always I offer me to be her prisoner, but that she will not suffer me; for I would desire no more, what pains that ever I had, so that I might have a sight of her daily.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Gawain, 'all this shall I amend and ye will do as I shall devise. I will have your armour, and so will I ride unto her castle and tell her that I have slain you, and so shall I come within her to cause her to cherish me. And then shall I do my true part, that ye shall not fail to have the love of her.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Gawain plight his troth unto Sir Pelleas to be true and faithful unto him; so each one plight their troth to other, and so they changed horses and harness. And Sir Gawain departed and came to the castle, where stood her pavilions without the gate. And as soon as Ettard had espied Sir Gawain she fled in toward the castle. But Sir Gawain spoke on high and bade her abide, for he was not Sir Pelleas: 'I am another knight that have slain Sir Pelleas.'\n\n'Then do off your helm,' said the Lady Ettard, 'that I may see your visage.'\n\nSo when she saw that it was not Sir Pelleas, she made him alight and led him into her castle, and asked him faithfully whether he had slain Sir Pelleas; and he said yea. Then he told her his name was Sir Gawain, of the court of King Arthur, and his sister's son, and how he had slain Sir Pelleas.\n\n'Truly,' said she, 'that is great pity, for he was a passing good knight of his body. But of all men alive I hated him most, for I could never be quit of him; and for ye have slain him I shall be your woman, and to do anything that may please you.' So she made Sir Gawain good cheer.\n\nThen Sir Gawain said that that he loved a lady, and by no means she would love him.\n\n'She is to blame,' said Ettard, 'and she will not love you; for ye that be so well born a man and such a man of prowess, there is no lady in this world too good for you.'\n\n'Will ye,' said Sir Gawain, 'promise me to do what that ye may do, by the faith of your body, to get me the love of my lady?'\n\n'Yea, sir, and that I promise you, by my faith.'\n\n'Now,' said Sir Gawain, 'it is yourself that I love so well, therefore hold your promise.'\n\n'I may not choose,' said the Lady Ettard, 'but if I should be forsworn.' And so she granted him to fulfil all his desire.\n\nSo it was in the month of May, that she and Sir Gawain went out of the castle and supped in a pavilion; and there was made a bed. And there Sir Gawain and Ettard went to bed together; and in another pavilion she laid her damosels, and in the third pavilion she laid part of her knights, for then she had no dread of Sir Pelleas. And there Sir Gawain lay with her in the pavilion two days and two nights.\n\nAnd on the third day on the morn early, Sir Pelleas armed him, for he had never slept since Sir Gawain departed from him; for Sir Gawain had promised him by the faith of his body to come to him unto his pavilion by the priory within the space of a day and a night. Then Sir Pelleas mounted upon horseback and came to the pavilions that stood without the castle, and found in the first pavilion three knights in three beds, and three squires lying at their feet. Then went he to the second pavilion and found four gentlewomen lying in four beds. And then he yode to the third pavilion and found Sir Gawain lying in the bed with his Lady Ettard, and either clipping other in arms. And when he saw that, his heart well nigh brast for sorrow, and said, 'Alas, that ever a knight should be found so false!'\n\nAnd then he took his horse and might not abide no longer for pure sorrow. And when he had ridden nigh half a mile, he turned again and thought for to slay them both. And when he saw them lie so, both sleeping fast, then uneath he might hold him on horseback for sorrow, and said thus to himself: 'Though this knight be never so false, I will never slay him sleeping, for I will never destroy the high order of knighthood, and therewith he departed again.\n\nAnd or he had ridden half a mile he returned again and thought then to slay them both, making the greatest sorrow that ever man made. And when he came to the pavilions he tied his horse to a tree, and pulled out his sword naked in his hand, and went to them there as they lay; and yet he thought shame to slay them, and laid the naked sword overthwart both their throats, and so took his horse and rode his way.\n\nAnd when Sir Pelleas came to his pavilions he told his knights and his squires how he had sped, and said thus unto them: 'For your good and true service ye have done me I shall give you all my goods, for I will go unto my bed and never arise till I be dead. And when that I am dead, I charge you that ye take the heart out of my body and bear it her betwixt two silver dishes, and tell her how I saw her lie with that false knight Sir Gawain.'\n\nRight so Sir Pelleas unarmed himself, and went unto his bed making marvellous dole and sorrow.\n\nThen Sir Gawain and Ettard awoke of their sleep, and found the naked sword overthwart their throats. Then she knew it was the sword of Sir Pelleas.\n\n'Alas,' she said, 'Sir Gawain, ye have betrayed Sir Pelleas and me! But had he been so uncourteous unto you as ye have been to him, ye had been a dead knight. But ye have deceived me, that all ladies and damosels may beware by you and me.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Gawain made him ready, and went into the forest.\n\nSo it happed the Damosel of the Lake, Nenive, met with a knight of Sir Pelleas', that went on his foot in this forest making great dole, and she asked him the cause. And so the woeful knight told her all how his master and lord was betrayed through a knight and a lady, and how 'he will never arise out of his bed till he be dead.'\n\n'Bring me to him,' said she, 'anon, and I will warrant his life he shall not die for love. And she that hath caused him so to love, she shall be in as evil plight as he is or it be long, too; for it is no joy of such a proud lady that will not have no mercy of such a valiant knight.'\n\nAnon that knight brought her unto him. And when she saw him lie on his bed, she thought she saw never so likely a knight; and therewith she threw an enchantment upon him, and he fell asleep. And then she rode unto the Lady Ettard, and charged that no man should awake him till she came again. So within two hours she brought the Lady Ettard thither, and both ladies found him asleep.\n\n'Lo,' said the Damosel of the Lake, 'ye ought to be ashamed for to murder such a knight.' And therewith she threw such an enchantment upon her that she loved him so sore that well nigh she was near out of her mind.\n\n'Ah, Lord Jesu,' said this Lady Ettard, 'how is it befallen unto me that I love now that I have hated most of any man alive?'\n\n'That is the righteous judgement of God,' said the damosel.\n\nAnd then anon Sir Pelleas awaked and looked upon Ettard; and when he saw her he knew her, and then he hated her more than any woman alive, and said, 'Away, traitress, and come never in my sight.'\n\nAnd when she heard him say so, she wept and made great sorrow out of mind.\n\n'Sir knight Pelleas,' said the Damosel of the Lake, 'take your horse and come forthwith out of this country, and ye shall love a lady that will love you.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Pelleas, 'for this lady Ettard hath done me great despite and shame.' And there he told her the beginning and ending, and how he had never purposed to have risen again till he had been dead. 'And now such grace God hath sent me, that I hate her as much as I have loved her.'\n\n'Thank me therefor,' said the Lady of the Lake.\n\nAnon Sir Pelleas armed him and took his horse, and commanded his men to bring after his pavilions and his stuff where the Lady of the Lake would assign them. So this Lady Ettard died for sorrow, and the Damosel of the Lake rejoiced Sir Pelleas, and loved together during their life.\n\nSo against the feast of Pentecost came the Damosel of the Lake and brought with her Sir Pelleas. And at the high feast there was great jousts; of all knights that were at that jousts, Sir Pelleas had the prize, and Sir Marhalt was named next. But Sir Pelleas was so strong that there might but few knights stand him a buffet with a spear. And at that next feast Sir Pelleas and Sir Marhalt were made knights of the Round Table; for there were two sieges void, for two knights were slain that twelvemonth. And great joy had King Arthur of Sir Pelleas and of Sir Marhalt. But Pelleas loved never after Sir Gawain. But as he spared him for the love of the King, oftentimes at jousts and at tournaments Sir Pelleas quit Sir Gawain, for so it rehearseth in the book of French.\n\nHere endeth this tale, as the French book saith, from the marriage of King Uther unto King Arthur that reigned after him and did many battles. And this book endeth there as Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram came to court. Who that will make any more, let him seek other books of King Arthur or of Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram; for this was drawn by a knight prisoner, Sir Thomas Malory. That God send him good recovery, amen!\n\nIt befell when King Arthur had wedded Queen Guenivere and fulfilled the Round Table, and so after his marvellous knights and he had vanquished the most part of his enemies, then soon after came Sir Lancelot du Lake unto the court, and Tristram came that time also. And then so it befell that the Emperor of Rome, Lucius, sent unto Arthur messengers commanding him for to pay his truage that his ancestors have paid before him. When King Arthur wist what they meant, he looked up with his grey eyes, and angered at the messengers passing sore. Then were these messengers afraid, and kneeled still and durst not arise, they were so afraid of his grim countenance.\n\nThen one of the knights messengers spoke aloud and said, 'Crowned king, misdo no messengers, for we be come at his commandment as servitors should.'\n\nThen spoke the conqueror, 'Thou recreant and coward knight, why fearest thou my countenance? There be in this hall, and they were sore aggrieved, thou durst not for a dukedom of land look in their faces.'\n\n'Sir,' said one of the senators, 'so Christ me help, I was so afraid when I looked in thy face that my heart would not serve for to say my message. But sithen it is my will for to say my errand: thee greets well Lucius, the Emperor of Rome, and commands thee, upon pain that will fall, to send him the truage of this realm that thy father Uther Pendragon paid; or else he will bereave thee all thy realms that thou wieldest.'\n\n'Thou sayest well,' said Arthur, 'but for all thy breme words I will not be too over-hasty; and therefore thou and thy fellows shall abide here seven days. And I shall call unto me my council of my most trusty knights and dukes and regent kings and earls and barons and of my most wise doctors; and when we have taken our advisement ye shall have your answer plainly, such as I shall abide by.'\n\nThen the noble King commanded Sir Clegis to look that these men be settled and served with the best, that there be no dainties spared upon them, that neither child nor horse faulted nothing\u2014'For they are full royal people; and though they have grieved me and my court, yet we must remember on our worship.' So they were led into chambers, and served as richly of dainties that might be gotten. So the Romans had thereof great marvel.\n\nThen the King unto counsel called his noble knights, and within a tower there they assembled, the most part of the knights of the Round Table. Then the King commanded them of their best counsel.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Cador of Cornwall, 'as for me, I am not heavy of this message, for we have been many days rested. Now the letters of Lucius the Emperor like me well, for now shall we have war and worship.'\n\n'By Christ, I believe well,' said the King, 'Sir Cador, this message likes thee; but yet they may not be so answered, for their spiteous speech grieveth so my heart that truage to Rome I shall never pay. Therefore counsel me, my knights, for Christ's love of heaven. For this much have I found in the chronicles of this land, that Sir Beline and Sir Brine, of my blood elders, that born were in Britain, they have occupied the empireship eight score winters. And after, Constantine our kinsman conquered it, and dame Helena's son of England was Emperor of Rome; and he recovered the cross that Christ died upon. And thus was the empire kept by my kind elders, and thus we have evidence enough to the empire of whole Rome.'\n\nSo when the sevennight was at an end, the senators besought the King to have an answer.\n\n'It is well,' said the King. 'Now say ye to your emperor that I shall in all haste make me ready with my keen knights, and by the river of Rome hold my Round Table. And I will bring with me the best people of fifteen realms, and with them ride on the mountains in the mainlands, and mine down the walls of Milan the proud, and sith ride unto Rome with my royallest knights. Now ye have your answer, hie you that ye were hence, and from this place to the port where ye shall pass over; and I shall give you seven days to pass unto Sandwich. Now speed you, I counsel you, and spare not your horses; and look ye go by Watling Street and no way else. And where night falls on you, look ye there abide, be it fell or town, I take no keep; for it longeth not to no aliens for to ride on nights. And may any be found a spear-length out of the way, and that ye be in the water by the sevennight's end, there shall no gold under God pay for your ransom.'\n\n'Sir,' said these senators, 'this is a hard conduct! We beseech you that we may pass safely.'\n\n'Care ye not,' said the King. 'Your conduct is able.'\n\nThus they passed from Carlisle unto Sandwich-ward, that had but seven days for to pass through the land. And so Sir Cador brought them on their ways. But the senators spared for no horse, but hired them hackneys from town to town; and by the sun was set at the seven days' end they came unto Sandwich\u2014so blithe were they never. And so the same night they took the water, and passed into Flanders, and after that over the great mountain that hight Gotthard, and so after through Lombardy and through Tuscany. And soon after they came to the Emperor Lucius, and there they showed him the letters of King Arthur, and how he was the gastfullest man that ever they looked on. When the Emperor Lucius had read the letters and understood them well of their credence, he fared as a man that were razed of his wit.\n\n'I weened that Arthur would have obeyed you and served you unto your hands, for so he beseemed\u2014or any king christened\u2014for to obey any senator that is sent from my person.'\n\n'Sir,' said the senators, 'let be such words, for that we have escaped alive, we may thank God ever; for we would not pass again to do that message for all your broad lands. And therefore, sirs, trust to our saws, ye shall find him your utter enemy. And seek ye him and ye list, for into these lands will he come, and that shall ye find within this half year; for he thinks to be emperor himself. For he saith ye have occupied the empire with great wrong, for all his true ancestors save his father Uther were emperors of Rome. And of all the sovereigns that we saw ever, he is the royallest king that liveth on earth; for we saw on New Year's Day at his Round Table nine kings, and the fairest fellowship of knights are with him that dures alive, and thereto of wisdom and of fair speech and all royalty and riches they fail of none. Therefore, Sir, by my counsel, rear up your liege people and send kings and dukes to look unto your marches, and that the mountains of Almain be mightily kept.'\n\n'By Easter,' said the Emperor, 'I cast me for to pass Almain, and so forth into France, and there bereave him his lands. I shall bring with me many giants of Genoa, that one of them shall be worth a hundred of knights; and perilous passage shall be surely kept with my good knights.'\n\nAnd so Lucius came unto Cologne, and thereby besieges a castle; and won it within a while, and feoffed it with Saracens. And thus Lucius within a while destroyed many fair countries that Arthur had won before of the mighty King Claudas. So this Lucius dispersed abroad his host, sixty miles large, and commanded them to meet with him in Normandy, in the country of Constantine.\n\n'And at Barfleet, there ye me abide; for the Duchy of Britanny, I shall thoroughly destroy it.'\n\nNow leave we Sir Lucius; and speak we of King Arthur, that commanded all that were under his obedience after the utas of St Hilary that all should be assembled for to hold a parliament at York, within the walls. And there they concluded shortly, to arrest all the ships of this land and within fifteen days to be ready at Sandwich.\n\n'Now, sirs,' said Arthur, 'I purpose me to pass many perilous ways, and to occupy the Empire that my elders before have claimed. Therefore I pray you, counsel me what may be best and most worship.'\n\nThe kings and knights gathered them unto counsel, and were condescended for to make two chieftains: that was Sir Baudwin of Britain, an ancient and an honourable knight, for to counsel and comfort Sir Cador's son of Cornwall, that was at that time called Sir Constantine, that after was king after Arthur's days. And there in the presence of all the lords, the King resigned all the rule unto these two lords and Queen Guenivere.\n\nAnd Sir Tristram at that time left with King Mark of Cornwall for love of La Belle Isode, wherefore Sir Lancelot was passing wroth.\n\nThen Queen Guenivere made great sorrow that the King and all the lords should so be departed, and there she fell down in a swoon; and her ladies bore her to her chamber. Then the King commended them to God and left the Queen in Sir Constantine's and Sir Baudwin's hands, and all England to rule as themselves deemed best.\n\nAnd when the King was on horseback he said, in hearing of all the lords, 'If that I die in this journey, here make I thee, Sir Constantine, my true heir, for thou art next of my kin save Sir Cador thy father; and therefore, if that I die, I will that ye be crowned king.'\n\nRight so he and his knights sought towards Sandwich, where he found before him many galliard knights; for there were the most part of all the Round Table ready on those banks for to sail when the King liked. Then in all haste that might be, they shipped their horses and harness and all manner of ordinance that falleth for the war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Here followeth the dream of King Arthur",
                "text": "As the King was in his cog and lay in his cabin, he fell in a slumbering; and dreamed how a dreadful dragon did drown much of his people, and came flying on wing out of the west parts. And his head, him seemed, was enamelled with azure, and his shoulders shone as the gold, and his womb was like mail of a marvellous hue; and his tail was full of tatters, and his feet were flourished as it were fine sable, and his claws were like clean gold. And a hideous flame of fire there flowed out of his mouth, like as the land and water had flamed all on fire.\n\nThen him seemed there came out of the Orient a grimly bear all black, in a cloud; and his paws were as big as a post. He was all wrinkled with lowering looks, and he was the foulest beast that ever any man saw. He roamed and roared so rudely that marvel it were to tell. Then the dreadful dragon dressed him against him and came in the wind like a falcon, and freshly strikes the bear. And again the grisly bear cuts with his grisly tusks, that his breast was bloody, and the blood railed all over the sea. Then the worm winds away and flies upon high, and came down with such a sough, and touched the bear on the ridge that from the top to the tail was ten foot large. And so he rends the bear and burns him up clean, that all fell in powder, both the flesh and the bones; and so it fluttered abroad on the sea.\n\nAnon the King waked of his dream; and in all haste he sent for a philosopher, and charged him to tell what signified his dream.\n\n'Sir,' said the philosopher, 'the dragon thou dreamest of betokens thy own person, that thus here sails with thy sure knights; and the colour of his wings is thy kingdoms that thou hast with thy knights won; and his tail that was all tattered signified your noble knights of the Round Table. And the bear that the dragon slew above in the clouds betokens some tyrant that torments thy people; or thou art likely to fight with some giant boldly in battle by thyself alone. Therefore of this dreadful dream dread thee but a little, and care not now, sir conqueror, but comfort thyself.'\n\nThen within a while they had a sight of the banks of Normandy, and at the same tide the King arrived at Barfleet and found there many of his great lords, as he had himself commanded at Christmas before.\n\nThen came there a husbandman out of the country and talked unto the King wonderful words, and said, 'Sir, here is a foul giant of Genoa that tormenteth thy people\u2014more than five hundred, and many more of our children, that hath been his sustenance all these seven winters. Yet is the sot never ceased, but in the country of Constantine he hath killed all our knave children. And this night he hath cleight the Duchess of Brittany as she rode by a river with her rich knights, and led her unto yonder mountain to lie by her while her life lasteth. Many folks followed him, more than five hundred barons and bachelors and knights full noble; but ever she shrieked wonderly loud, that we shall never cure the sorrow of that lady. She was thy cousin's wife, Sir Howell the hend, a man that we call nigh of thy blood. Now, as thou art our righteous king, rue on this lady and on thy liege people, and revenge us as a noble conqueror should.'\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur, 'this is a great mischief. I had liever than all the realms I wield unto my crown that I had been before that freke a furlong way for to have rescued that lady, and I would have done my pain. Now, fellow,' said Arthur, 'wouldst thou ken me where that carl dwells? I trow I shall treat with him before I further pass.'\n\n'Sir conqueror,' said the good man, 'behold yonder two fires, for there thou shalt find that carl beyond the cold strands. And treasure out of number there mayst thou surely find\u2014more treasure, as I suppose, than is in all France after.'\n\nThe King said, 'Good man, peace, and carp to me no more. Thy sooth saws have grieved sore my heart.' Then he turned towards his tents, and carped but little.\n\nThen the King said unto Sir Kay in counsel, and to Sir Bedivere the bold thus said he: 'Look that ye two after evensong be surely armed, and your best horses, for I will ride on pilgrimage privily, and none but we three. And when my lords are served, we will ride to St Michael's Mount, where marvels are showed.'\n\nAnon Sir Arthur went to his wardrobe and cast on his armour, both his jesseraunt and his basinet with his broad shield. And so he busked him to his steed that on the bent hoved; then he started up aloft and hent the bridle, and stirred him stoutly. And soon he found his two knights full cleanly arrayed; and then they trotted on stilly together over a blithe country full of many merry birds. And when they came to the foreland, Arthur and they alit on foot.\n\n'Now fasten,' said Arthur, 'our horses, that none nigh other; for I will seek this saint by myself alone, and speak with this master man that keeps this mountain.'\n\nThen the King yode up to the crest of the crag, and then he comforted himself with the cold wind. And then he yode forth by two well-streams, and there he found two fires flaming full high; and at the one fire he found a careful widow wringing her hands, sitting on a grave that was new marked. Then Arthur saluted her, and she him again, and asked her why she sat sorrowing.\n\n'Alas,' she said, 'careful knight, thou carps overloud. Yonder is a warlock will destroy us both: I hold thee unhappy! What dost thou on this mountain? Though here were fifty such, ye were too feeble for to match him all at once. Whereto bears thou armour? It may thee little avail, for he needs no other weapon but his bare fist. Here is a duchess dead, the fairest that lived. He hath murdered that mild without any mercy: he forced her by filth of himself, and so after slit her unto the navel.'\n\n'Dame,' said the King, 'I am come from the conqueror Sir Arthur, for to treat with that tyrant for his liege people.'\n\n'Fie on such treaties!' she said then, 'for he sets nought by the King, nor by no man else. But and thou have brought Arthur's wife, Dame Guenivere, he will be more blither of her than thou hadst given him half France. And but if thou have brought her, press him not too nigh. Look what he hath done unto fifteen kings: he hath made him a coat full of precious stones, and the borders thereof is the beards of fifteen kings, and they were of the greatest blood that dured on earth. This present was sent him this last Christmas\u2014they sent him in faith for saving of their people. And for Arthur's wife he lodges him here, for he hath more treasure than ever had Arthur or any of his elders. And now thou shalt find him at supper with six knave children, and there he hath made pickle and powder with many precious wines, and three fair maidens that turns the broach that bide to go to his bed, for they three shall be dead within four hours or the filth is fulfilled that his flesh asks.'\n\n'Well,' said Arthur, 'I will fulfil my message, for all your grim words.'\n\n'Then fare thou to yonder fire that flames so high, and there thou shalt find him surely, for sooth.'\n\nThen he passed forth to the crest of the hill, and saw where he sat at his supper alone, gnawing on a limb of a large man; and there he baked his broad loins by the bright fire, and breeches-less he seemed. And three damsels turned three broaches, and thereon were twelve children but lately born; and they were broached in manner like birds. When the King beheld that sight, his heart was nigh bleeding for sorrow. Then he hailed him with angerful words:\n\n'Now He that all wields, give thee sorrow, thief, where thou sittest! For thou art the foulest freke that ever was formed, and fiendly thou feedest thee, the devil have thy soul! And by what cause, thou carl, hast thou killed these Christian children? Thou hast made many martyrs by murdering in these lands; therefore thou shalt have thy meed, through Michael that owneth this mount. And also, why hast thou slain this fair duchess? Therefore dress thee, dog's son, for thou shalt die this day through the dint of my hands.'\n\nThen the glutton glared, and grieved full foul. He had teeth like a greyhound; he was the foulest wight that ever man saw, and there was never such one formed on earth, for there was never devil in hell more horribly made, for he was from the head to the foot five fathom long and large. And therewith sturdily he started up on his legs, and caught a club in his hand all of clean iron. Then he swapped at the King with that kid weapon; he crushed down with the club the coronet down to the cold earth. The King covered himself with his shield and reached a box even-informed in the midst of his forehead, that the slipped blade reached unto the brain. Yet he shaped at Sir Arthur, but the King shunted a little and reached him a dint high upon the haunch, and there he swapped his genitals asunder. Then he roared and brayed, and yet angerly he struck, and failed of Sir Arthur and hit the earth, that he cut into the swarf a large sword-length and more. Then the King started up unto him and reached him a buffet and cut his belly asunder, that out went the gore that the grass and the ground was become all foul. Then he cast away the club and caught the King in his arms, and handled the King so hard that he crushed his ribs. Then the baleful maidens wrung their hands, and kneeled on the ground and called to Christ. With that the warlock writhed Arthur under, and so they weltered and tumbled over the crags and bushes, and either clenched other full fast in their arms. And other whiles King Arthur was above and other whiles under; and so they never left till they fell there as the flood marked. But ever in the weltering, Arthur hit him with a short dagger up to the hilts, and in his falling there brast of the giant's ribs three even at once; and by fortune they fell there as the two knights abode with their horses.\n\nWhen Sir Kay saw the King and the giant so clenched together, 'Alas,' said Sir Kay, 'we are forfeit for ever! Yonder is our overlord, overfallen with a fiend.'\n\n'It is not so,' said the King, 'but help me, Sir Kay, for this corsaint have I clegged out of the yonder doughs.'\n\n'In faith,' said Sir Bedivere, 'this is a foul carl,' and caught the corsaint out of the King's arms; and there he said, 'I have much wonder, and Michael be of such making, that ever God would suffer him to abide in Heaven! And if saints be such that serve Jesu, I will never seek for none, by the faith of my body.'\n\nThe King then laughed at Bedivere's words and said, 'This saint have I sought nigh unto my great danger. But strike off his head and set it on a truncheon of a spear, and give it to thy servant that is swift-horsed and bear it unto Sir Howell that is in hard bonds; and bid him be merry, for his enemy is destroyed. And after, in Barfleet, let brace it on a barbican, that all the commons of this country may behold it.'\n\nThen the King and they started upon their horses; and so they rode from thence there as they came from. And anon the clamour was huge about all the country; and then they went with one voice before the King, and thanked God and him that their enemy was destroyed.\n\n'All thank ye God,' said Arthur, 'and no man else.'\n\nThen he commanded his cousin, Sir Howell, to make a church on that same crag in the worship of St Michael.\n\n[Arthur and his forces leave Barfleet and engage in various skirmishes with the Emperor's supporters, culminating in a great battle against Lucius himself in which Lancelot, Gawain, Kay, Cador, and many others notably distinguish themselves, Arthur himself kills Lucius in hand-to-hand combat, and a hundred thousand of their enemies are killed.]\n\nThen the King rode straight there as the Emperor lay, and gart lift him up lordly with barons full bold. And the Sultan of Syria and the King of Ethiopia, and two knights full noble of Egypt and of India, with seventeen other kings were taken up also, and also sixty senators of Rome that were honoured full noble men, and all the elders. The King let embalm all these with many good gums, and sithen let lap them in sixtyfold of sendal large, and then let lap them in lead that for chafing or changing they should never savour; and sithen let close them in chests full cleanly arrayed, and their banners above on their bodies and their shields turned upwards, that every man might know of what country they were.\n\nSo on the morn they found in the heath three senators of Rome. When they were brought to the King, he said these words:\n\n'Now to save your lives I take no great force, with that ye will move on my message unto great Rome and present these corpses unto the proud Potentate, and after them my letters and my whole intent. And tell them in haste they shall see me, and I trow they will beware how they bourde with me and my knights.'\n\nThen the Emperor himself was dressed in a chariot, and every two knights in a chariot sued after other, and the senators came after by couples in accord.\n\n'Now say ye to the Potentate and all the lords after, that I send them the tribute that I owe to Rome; for this is the true tribute that I and mine elders have lost these ten score winters. And say them as me seems I have sent them the whole sum; and if they think it not enough, I shall amend it when that I come.'\n\nSo on the morrow these senators raked unto Rome; and within eighteen days they came to the Potentate and told him how they had brought the tax and the truage often score winters, both of England, Ireland, and of all the East lands. 'For King Arthur commands you, neither tribute nor tax ye never none ask, upon pain of your heads, but if your title be the truer than ever any of your elders owned. And for these causes we have fought in France, and there us is foul happed; for all is chopped to the death, both the better and the worse. Therefore I rede you, store you with stuff, for war is at hand.'\n\nNow turn we to Arthur and his noble knights, that entered straight into Luxemburg; and so through Flanders and then to Lorraine he laught up all the lordships, and sithen he drew him into Almain and unto Lombardy the rich, and set laws in that land that endured long after; and so into Tuscany, and there destroyed the tyrants. And there were captains full keen that kept Arthur's coming, and at strait passages slew much of his people. And there they victualled and garnished many good towns.\n\nBut soon after, on a Saturday, sought unto King Arthur all the senators that were alive, and of the cunningest cardinals that dwelled in the court, and prayed him of peace and proffered him full large; and besought him as a sovereign, most governor under God, for to give them licence for six weeks large that they might be assembled all, and then in the city of Syon that is called Rome to crown him there kindly with chrismed hands, with sceptre for sooth as an emperor should.\n\n'I assent me,' said the King, 'as ye have devised, and comely by Christmas to be crowned; hereafter to reign in my estate and to keep my Round Table, with the rents of Rome to rule as me likes; and then, as I am advised, to get me over the salt sea with good men of arms, to deem for His death that for us all on the Rood died.'\n\nWhen the senators had this answer, unto Rome they turned and made ready for his crowning in the most noble wise; and at the day assigned, as the romance tells, he was crowned Emperor by the Pope's hands, with all the royalty in the world to wield for ever. There they sojourned that season till after the time and established all the lands from Rome unto France, and gave lands and rents unto knights that had them well deserved: there was none that complained on his part, rich nor poor.\n\nThen he commanded Sir Lancelot and Sir Bors to take keep unto their fathers' lands that King Ban and King Bors wielded, and their fathers: 'Look that ye take seisin in all your broad lands and cause your liege men to know you as for their kind lord; and suffer never your sovereignty to be alledged with your subjects, nor the sovereignty of your person and lands. Also, the mighty King Claudas I give you for to part betwixt you even, for to maintain your kindred that be noble knights, so that ye and they to the Round Table make your repair.'\n\nSir Lancelot and Sir Bors de Ganis thanked the King fair, and said their hearts and service should ever be his own. Thus the King gave many lands; there was none that would ask that might complain of his part, for of riches and wealth they had all at their will.\n\nThen the knights and lords that longed to the King called a council upon a fair morn, and said, 'Sir King, we beseech thee for to hear us all. We are under your lordship well stuffed, blessed be God, of many things, and also we have wives wedded. We will beseech your good grace to release us to sport with our wives, for, worshipped be Christ, this journey is well overcome.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said the King, 'for enough is as good as a feast; for to tempt God overmuch, I hold it not wisdom. And therefore make you all ready, and return we into England.'\n\nThen there was trussing of harness with carriage full noble. And the King took his leave of the Holy Father the Pope, and patriarchs and cardinals and senators full rich, and left good governance in that noble city and all the countries of Rome for to ward and to keep on pain of death, that in no wise his commandment be broken. Thus he passeth through the countries of all parts; and so King Arthur passed over the sea unto Sandwich haven.\n\nWhen Queen Guenivere heard of his coming, she met with him at London, and so did all other queens and noble ladies. For there was never a solemner meeting in one city together, for all manner of riches they brought with them at the full.\n\nHere endeth the tale of the noble King Arthur that was, emperor himself through the dignity of his hands; and here followeth after many noble tales of Sir Lancelot du Lake.\n\nExplicit the noble tale betwixt King Arthur and Lucius the Emperor of Rome.\n\nSoon after that King Arthur was come from Rome into England, then all the knights of the Table Round resorted unto the King and made many jousts and tournaments. And some there were, that were but knights, increased in arms and worship that passed all other of their fellows in prowess and noble deeds, and that was well proved on many. But in especial it was proved on Sir Lancelot du Lake, for in all tournaments, jousts, and deeds of arms, both for life and death, he passed all other knights; and at no time was he overcome but if it were by treason or enchantment. So this Sir Lancelot increased so marvellously in worship and honour: therefore he is the first knight that the French book maketh mention of after King Arthur came from Rome. Where-fore Queen Guenivere had him in great favour above all other knights, and so he loved the Queen again above all other ladies days of his life, and for her he did many deeds of arms, and saved her from the fire through his noble chivalry.\n\nThus Sir Lancelot rested him long with play and game; and then he thought to prove himself in strange adventures, and bade his nephew, Sir Lionel, for to make him ready, 'for we must go seek adventures.' So they mounted on their horses, armed at all rights, and rode into a deep forest and so into a plain.\n\nSo the weather was hot about noon, and Sir Lancelot had great lust to sleep. Then Sir Lionel espied a great apple tree that stood by a hedge, and said, 'Sir, yonder is a fair shadow; there may we rest us and our horses.'\n\n'It is truth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for these seven years I was not so sleepy as I am now.'\n\nSo there they alit and tied their horses unto sundry trees, and Sir Lancelot laid him down under this apple tree, and his helmet under his head. And Sir Lionel waked while he slept.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot slept passing fast; and in the meanwhile came there three knights riding, as fast fleeing as they might ride, and there followed them three but one knight. And when Sir Lionel saw him, he thought he saw never so great a knight, nor so well-faring a man and well apparelled unto all rights. So within a while this strong knight had overtaken one of the three knights, and there he smote him to the cold earth that he lay still. And then he rode unto the second knight, and smote him so that man and horse fell down; and so straight unto the third knight, and smote him behind his horse's arse a spear-length. And then he alit down and reined his horse on the bridle, and bound all three knights fast with the reins of their own bridles.\n\nWhen Sir Lionel had seen him do thus, he thought to assay him, and made him ready, and privily he took his horse, and thought not for to awake Sir Lancelot; and so mounted upon his horse and overtook the strong knight. He bade him turn, and so he turned and smote Sir Lionel so hard that horse and man he bore to the earth; and so he alit down and bound him fast and threw him overthwart his own horse as he had served the other three, and so rode with them till he came to his own castle. Then he unarmed them and beat them with thorns all naked, and after put them in deep prison where were many more knights that made great dole.\n\nSo when Sir Ector de Maris wist that Sir Lancelot was passed out of the court to seek adventures, he was wroth with himself and made him ready to seek Sir Lancelot. And as he had ridden long in a great forest, he met with a man was like a forester.\n\n'Fair fellow,' said Sir Ector, 'dost thou know this country, or any adventures that be nigh hand?'\n\n'Sir,' said the forester, 'this country know I well. And hereby within this mile is a strong manor, and well dyked; and by that manor, on the left hand there is a fair ford for horses to drink of, and over that ford there grows a fair tree, and thereon hangeth many fair shields that good knights sometime wielded, and at the body of the tree hangs a basin of copper and latten. And strike upon that basin with the butt of thy spear three times, and soon after thou shalt hear new tidings; and else hast thou the fairest grace that ever had knight this many years that passed through this forest.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said Sir Ector, and departed and came unto this tree, and saw many fair shields. And among them all he saw his brother's shield, Sir Lionel, and many more that he knew that were of his fellows of the Round Table, the which grieved his heart, and promised to revenge his brother. Then anon Sir Ector beat on the basin as he were wood, and then he gave his horse drink at the ford. And there came a knight behind him and bade him come out of the water and make him ready. Sir Ector turned him shortly, and in fewter cast his spear, and smote the other knight a great buffet that his horse turned twice about.\n\n'That was well done,' said the strong knight, 'and knightly thou hast struck me!' And therewith he rushed his horse on Sir Ector and caught him under his right arm and bore him clean out of the saddle; and so rode with him away into his castle and threw him down in the middle of the floor.\n\nThen this said Tarquin said unto Sir Ector, 'For thou hast done this day more unto me than any knight did these twelve years, now will I grant thee thy life so thou wilt be sworn to be my true prisoner.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Ector, 'that will I never promise thee, but that I will do my advantage.'\n\n'That me repents,' said Sir Tarquin. Then he gan unarm him, and beat him with thorns all naked, and sithen put him down into a deep dungeon; and there he knew many of his fellows. But when Sir Ector saw Sir Lionel, then made he great sorrow.\n\n'Alas, brother,' said Sir Ector, 'how may this be, and where is my brother, Sir Lancelot?'\n\n'Fair brother, I left him asleep when that I from him yode, under an apple tree; and what is become of him I cannot tell you.'\n\n'Alas,' said the prisoners, 'but if Sir Lancelot help us we shall never be delivered, for we know now no knight that is able to match with our master Tarquin.'\n\nNow leave we these knights prisoners, and speak we of Sir Lancelot du Lake that lieth under the apple tree sleeping about the noon. So there came by him four queens of great estate; and, for the heat should not nigh them, there rode four knights about them and bore a cloth of green silk on four spears betwixt them and the sun. And the queens rode on four white mules. Thus as they rode they heard a great horse beside them grimly neigh. Then they looked and were ware of a sleeping knight lay all armed under an apple tree. And anon as they looked on his face, they knew well it was Sir Lancelot, and began to strive for that knight; and each of them said they would have him to her love.\n\n'We shall not strive,' said Morgan le Fay, that was King Arthur's sister. 'I shall put an enchantment upon him that he shall not awake of all these seven hours, and then I will lead him away unto my castle. And when he is surely within my hold, I shall take the enchantment from him, and then let him choose which of us he will have unto paramour.'\n\nSo this enchantment was cast upon Sir Lancelot, and then they laid him upon his shield and bore him so on horseback betwixt two knights, and brought him unto the Castle Chariot; and there they laid him in a chamber cold, and at night they sent unto him a fair damosel with his supper ready dight\u2014by that, the enchantment was past. And when she came she saluted him, and asked him what cheer.\n\n'I cannot say, fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for I wot not how I came into this castle but it be by enchantment.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'ye must make good cheer, and if ye be such a knight as is said ye be, I shall tell you more to-morrow by prime of the day.'\n\n'Gramercy, fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'of your good will.'\n\nAnd so she departed; and there he lay all that night without any comfort. And on the morn early came these four queens passingly well beseen, and all they bidding him good morrow, and he them again.\n\n'Sir knight,' the four queens said, 'thou must understand thou art our prisoner. And we know thee well that thou art Sir Lancelot du Lake, King Ban's son; and because that we understand your worthiness, that thou art the noblest knight living, and also we know well there can no lady have thy love but one, and that is Queen Guenivere, and now thou shalt lose her love for ever, and she thine. For it behoveth thee now to choose one of us four: for I am Queen Morgan le Fay, queen of the land of Gore; and here is the Queen of Northgales, and the Queen of Eastland, and the Queen of the Out Isles. Now choose one of us which that thou wilt have to thy paramour, or else to die in this prison.'\n\n'This is a hard case,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that either I must die or to choose one of you. Yet had I liever die in this prison with worship, than to have one of you to my paramour maugre my head. And therefore ye be answered, I will none of you, for ye be false enchanters. And as for my lady, Dame Guenivere, were I at my liberty as I was, I would prove it on yours that she is the truest lady unto her lord living.'\n\n'Well,' said the queens, 'is this your answer, that ye will refuse us?'\n\n'Yea, on my life,' said Sir Lancelot, 'refused ye be of me.' So they departed and left him there alone that made great sorrow.\n\nSo after that noon came the damosel unto him with his dinner, and asked him what cheer.\n\n'Truly, damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'never so ill.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'that me repents; but and ye will be ruled by me, I shall help you out of this distress, and ye shall have no shame nor villainy, so that ye hold me a promise.'\n\n'Fair damosel, I grant you; but sore I am afraid of these queens' crafts, for they have destroyed many a good knight.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'that is sooth; and for the renown and bounty that they hear of you they will have your love. And, sir, they say your name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, the flower of knights; and they be passing wroth with you that ye have refused them. But sir, and ye would promise me to help my father on Tuesday next coming, that hath made a tournament betwixt him and the King of Northgales, for the last Tuesday past my father lost the field through three knights of Arthur's court\u2014and if ye will be there on Tuesday next coming and help my father, tomorrow by prime by the grace of God I shall deliver you clean.'\n\n'Now, fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'tell me your father's name, and then shall I give you an answer.'\n\n'Sir knight,' she said, 'my father's name is King Bagdemagus, that was foul rebuked at the last tournament.'\n\n'I know your father well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for a noble king and a good knight; and by the faith of my body, your father shall have my service, and you both, at that day.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'gramercy, and tomorrow look ye be ready betimes, and I shall deliver you and take you your armour, your horse, shield, and spear. And hereby within these ten miles is an abbey of white monks; and there I pray you to abide me, and thither shall I bring my father unto you.'\n\n'And all this shall be done,' said Sir Lancelot, 'as I am true knight.'\n\nAnd so she departed, and came on the morn early and found him ready. Then she brought him out of twelve locks, and took him his armour and his own horse; and lightly he saddled him, and took his spear in his hand and so rode forth, and said, 'Damosel, I shall not fail, by the grace of God.'\n\nAnd so he rode into a great forest all that day and never could find no highway, and so the night fell on him; and then was he ware in a slade of a pavilion of red sendal.\n\n'By my faith,' said Sir Lancelot, 'in that pavilion will I lodge all this night.' And so he there alit down and tied his horse to the pavilion, and there he unarmed him. And there he found a bed, and laid him therein and fell asleep sadly.\n\nThen within an hour there came that knight that owned the pavilion; he weened that his leman had lain in that bed, and so laid him down by Sir Lancelot and took him in his arms and began to kiss him. And when Sir Lancelot felt a rough beard kissing him, he started out of the bed lightly, and the other knight after him; and either of them got their swords in their hands, and out at the pavilion door went the knight of the pavilion. And Sir Lancelot followed him; and there by a little slade Sir Lancelot wounded him sore, nigh unto the death. And then he yielded him unto Sir Lancelot, and so he granted him, so that he would tell him why he came into the bed.\n\n'Sir,' said the knight, 'the pavilion is my own; and as this night, I had assigned my lady to have slept with her, and now I am likely to die of this wound.'\n\n'That me repenteth,' said Lancelot, 'of your hurt, but I was adread of treason, for I was late beguiled. And therefore come on your way into your pavilion and take your rest, and as I suppose I shall staunch your blood.'\n\nAnd so they went both into the pavilion, and anon Sir Lancelot staunched his blood. Therewith came the knight's lady, that was a passing fair lady; and when she espied that her lord Belleus was sore wounded, she cried out on Sir Lancelot, and made great dole out of measure.\n\n'Peace, my lady and my love,' said Belleus, 'for this knight is a good man, and a knight of adventures.' And there he told her all the case how he was wounded. 'And when that I yielded me unto him, he left me goodly, and hath staunched my blood.'\n\n'Sir,' said the lady, 'I require thee, tell me what knight thou art, and what is your name.'\n\n'Fair lady,' he said, 'my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'So me thought ever by your speech,' said the lady, 'for I have seen you often or this, and I know you better than ye ween. But now would ye promise me of your courtesy, for the harms that ye have done to me and to my lord Sir Belleus, that when ye come unto King Arthur's court for to cause him to be made knight of the Round Table? For he is a passing good man of arms, and a mighty lord of lands of many out isles.'\n\n'Fair lady,' said Sir Lancelot, 'let him come unto the court the next high feast, and look ye come with him, and I shall do my power; and he prove him doughty of his hands, he shall have his desire.'\n\nSo within a while the night passed, and the day shone.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot armed him and took his horse, and so he was taught to the abbey. And soon as he came thither, the daughter of King Bagdemagus heard a great horse trot on the pavement; and she then arose and yode to a window, and there she saw Sir Lancelot. And anon she made men fast to take his horse from him and let lead him into a stable, and himself unto a chamber, and unarmed him. And this lady sent him a long gown, and came herself and made him good cheer; and she said he was the knight in the world that was most welcome unto her.\n\nThen in all haste she sent for her father Bagdemagus, that was within twelve miles of that abbey; and before eve he came with a fair fellowship of knights with him. And when the king was alit off his horse, he yode straight unto Sir Lancelot's chamber, and there he found his daughter. And then the king took him in his arms, and either made other good cheer.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot made his complaint unto the king how he was betrayed, and how he was brother unto Sir Lionel, which was departed from him he wist not where, and how his daughter had delivered him out of prison. 'Therefore while that I live I shall do her service and all her kindred.'\n\n'Then am I sure of your help', said the king, 'on Tuesday next coming?'\n\n'Yea, sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I shall not fail you, for so have I promised my lady your daughter. But, sir, what knights be those of my lord King Arthur's that were with the King of Northgales?'\n\n'Sir, it was Sir Mador de la Porte, and Sir Mordred, and Sir Gahalantine that all forfared my knights, for against them three I nor none of mine might bear no strength.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'as I hear say, that the tournament shall be here within these three miles of this abbey. But sir, ye shall send unto me three knights of yours such as ye trust, and look that the three knights have all white shields, and no picture on their shields, and ye shall send me another of the same suit; and we four will come out of a little wood in midst of both parties, and we shall fall on the front of our enemies and grieve them that we may. And thus shall I not be known what manner a knight I am.'\n\nSo they took their rest that night, and this was on the Sunday; and so the king departed, and sent unto Sir Lancelot three knights with four white shields. And on the Tuesday they lodged them in a little leaved wood beside where the tournament should be. And there were scaffolds and towers, that lords and ladies might behold and give the prize.\n\nThen came into the field the King of Northgales with nine score helms; and then the three knights of King Arthur's stood by themselves. Then came into the field King Bagdemagus with four score helms. And then they fewtered their spears, and came together with a great dash, and there were slain of knights at the first encounter twelve knights of King Badgemagus' party, and six of the King of Northgales' side and party; and King Bagdemagus' party were far set aside and aback.\n\nWith that came in Sir Lancelot, and he thrust in with his spear in the thickest of the press; and there he smote down with one spear five knights, and of four of them he broke their backs. And in that throng he smote down the King of Northgales, and broke his thigh in that fall. All this doing of Sir Lancelot saw the three knights of Arthur's.\n\n'Yonder is a shrewd guest,' said Sir Mador de la Porte, 'therefore have here once at him.'\n\nSo they encountered, and Sir Lancelot bore him down horse and man, that his shoulder went out of joint.\n\n'Now it befalleth me,' said Mordred, 'to stir me, for Sir Mador hath a sore fall.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot was ware of him, and got a spear in his hand and met with him. And Sir Mordred broke his spear upon him, and Sir Lancelot gave him such a buffet that the arson of the saddle broke, and so he drove over the horse's tail that his helm smote into the earth a foot and more, that nigh his neck was broken; and there he lay long in a swoon.\n\nThen came in Sir Gahalantine with a great spear, and Sir Lancelot against him in all that they might drive, that both their spears to-brast even to their hands; and then they flung out with their swords and gave many sore strokes. Then was Sir Lancelot wroth out of measure, and then he smote Sir Gahalantine on the helm that his nose, ears, and mouth brast out on blood, and therewith his head hung low; and with that his horse ran away with him, and he fell down to the earth.\n\nAnon therewith Sir Lancelot got a spear in his hand, and or ever that spear broke he bore down to the earth sixteen knights, some horse and man, and some the man and not the horse; and there was none that he hit surely but that he bore no arms that day. And then he got a spear and smote down twelve knights, and the most part of them never throve after. And then the knights of the King of Northgales' party would joust no more; and there the gree was given to King Bagdemagus.\n\nSo either party departed unto his own, and Sir Lancelot rode forth with King Bagdemagus unto his castle; and there he had passing good cheer both with the king and with his daughter, and they proffered him great gifts. And on the morn he took his leave, and told the king that he would seek his brother Sir Lionel that went from him when he slept. So he took his horse, and betaught them all to God. And there he said unto the king's daughter, 'If that ye have need any time of my service, I pray you let me have knowledge, and I shall not fail you as I am true knight.'\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot departed, and by adventure he came into the same forest where he was taking his sleep before. And in the midst of a highway he met a damosel riding on a white palfrey, and there either saluted other.\n\n'Fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'know ye in this country any adventures near hand?'\n\n'Sir knight,' said the damosel, 'here are adventures nigh, and thou durst prove them.'\n\n'Why should I not prove?' said Sir Lancelot. 'For for that cause came I hither.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'thou seemest well to be a good knight; and if thou dare meet with a good knight, I shall bring thee where is the best knight and the mightiest that ever thou found, so thou wilt tell me thy name and what knight thou art.'\n\n'Damosel, as for to tell you my name, I take no great force: truly, my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Sir, thou seemest well; here is adventures fast by that falleth for thee. For hereby dwelleth a knight that will not be overmatched for no man I know but ye do overmatch him, and his name is Sir Tarquin. And, as I understand, he hath in his prison, of Arthur's court, good knights three score and four, that he hath won with his own hands. But when ye have done that journey, ye shall promise me as ye are a true knight for to go and help me and other damosels that are distressed daily with a false knight.'\n\n'All your intent, damosel, and desire I will fulfil, so ye will bring me unto this knight.'\n\n'Now, fair knight, come on your way.'\n\nAnd so she brought him unto the ford and the tree where hung the basin. So Sir Lancelot let his horse drink, and sithen he beat on the basin with the butt of his spear till the bottom fell out; and long did he so, but he saw no man. Then he rode endlong the gates of that manor nigh half an hour. And then was he ware of a great knight that drove a horse before him, and overthwart the horse lay an armed knight bound. And ever as they came near and near, Sir Lancelot thought he should know him. Then was he ware that it was Sir Gaheris, Gawain's brother, a knight of the Table Round.\n\n'Now, fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I see yonder a knight fast bound that is a fellow of mine, and brother he is unto Sir Gawain. And at the first beginning I promise you, by the leave of God, for to rescue that knight. But if his master sit the better in his saddle, I shall deliver all the prisoners that he hath out of danger, for I am sure he hath two brethren of mine prisoners with him.'\n\nBut by that time that either had seen other, they gripped their spears unto them.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Lancelot, 'put that wounded knight off that horse and let him rest awhile, and let us two prove our strengths; for as it is informed me, thou dost and hast done me great despite and shame unto knights of the Round Table; and therefore now defend thee.'\n\n'And thou be of the Round Table,' said Tarquin, 'I defy thee and all thy fellowship.'\n\n'That is overmuch said', Sir Lancelot said, 'of thee at this time.'\n\nAnd then they put their spears in their rests, and came together with their horses as fast as they might run; and either smote other in midst of their shields that both their horses' backs brast under them, and the knights were both astoned. And as soon as they might, they avoided their horses, and took their shields before them and drew out their swords, and came together eagerly; and either gave other many strong strokes, for there might neither shields nor harness hold their strokes. And so within a while they had both many grim wounds, and bled passing grievously. Thus they fared two hours and more, tracing and razing each other where they might hit any bare place. Then at the last they were breathless both, and stood leaning on their swords.\n\n'Now, fellow,' said Sir Tarquin, 'hold thy hand a while, and tell me what I shall ask of thee.'\n\n'Say on,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen Sir Tarquin said, 'Thou art the biggest man that ever I met withal, and the best breathed, and as like one knight that I hate above all other knights; so be it that thou be not he, I will lightly accord with thee. And for thy love I will deliver all the prisoners that I have, that is three score and four, so thou would tell me thy name. And thou and I will be fellows together, and never to fail thee while that I live.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'but sithen it is so that I may have thy friendship, what knight is that that thou hatest above all thing?'\n\n'Faithfully,' said Sir Tarquin, 'his name is Sir Lancelot du Lake; for he slew my brother, Sir Carados, at the Dolorous Tower, that was one of the best knights alive. And therefore him I except of all knights, for may I him once meet, the one shall make an end, I make my avow. And for Sir Lancelot's sake I have slain a hundred good knights, and as many I have maimed all utterly that they might never after help themselves; and many have died in prison. And yet have I three score and four, and all shall be delivered so thou wilt tell me thy name, so be it that thou be not Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Now see I well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that such a man I might be, I might have peace; and such a man I might be, that there should be mortal war betwixt us. And now, sir knight, at thy request I will that thou wit and know that I am Lancelot du Lake, King Ban's son of Benwick, and very knight of the Table Round. And now I defy thee, and do thy best.'\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Tarquin, 'thou art to me most welcome of any knight, for we shall never depart till the one of us be dead.'\n\nThen they hurtled together as two wild bulls, rushing and lashing with their shields and swords, that sometimes they fell both on their noses. Thus they fought still two hours and more and never would have rest; and Sir Tarquin gave Sir Lancelot many wounds, that all the ground there as they fought was all besparkled with blood.\n\nThen at the last Sir Tarquin waxed faint, and gave somewhat aback, and bore his shield low for weariness. That espied Sir Lancelot, and leapt upon him fiercely and got him by the beaver of his helmet, and plucked him down on his knees; and anon he rased off his helm and smote his neck in sunder. And when Sir Lancelot had done this, he yode unto the damosel and said, 'Damosel, I am ready to go with you where ye will have me, but I have no horse.'\n\n'Fair sir,' said this wounded knight, 'take my horse; and then let me go into this manor, and deliver all these prisoners.' So he took Sir Gaheris' horse, and prayed him not to be grieved.\n\n'Nay, fair lord, I will that ye have him at your commandment, for ye have both saved me and my horse. And this day I say ye are the best knight in the world, for ye have slain this day in my sight the mightiest man and the best knight except you that ever I saw. But, fair sir,' said Gaheris, 'I pray you tell me your name.'\n\n'Sir, my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that ought to help you of right for King Arthur's sake, and in especial for my lord Sir Gawain's sake, your own brother. And when that ye come within yonder manor, I am sure ye shall find there many knights of the Round Table, for I have seen many of their shields that I know hanging on yonder tree. There is Sir Kay's shield, and Sir Galihud's shield, and Sir Brian de Listenoise's shield, and Sir Aliduke's shield, with many more that I am not now advised of; and Sir Marhalt's, and also my two brethren's shields, Sir Ector de Maris and Sir Lionel. Wherefore I pray you greet them all from me, and say that I bid them to take such stuff there as they find, that in any wise my two brethren go unto the court and abide me there till that I come. For by the feast of Pentecost I cast me to be there; for as at this time I must ride with this damosel for to save my promise.'\n\nAnd so they departed from Gaheris; and Gaheris yode into the manor, and there he found a yeoman porter keeping many keys. Then Sir Gaheris threw the porter unto the ground and took the keys from him, and hastily he opened the prison door, and there he let all the prisoners out, and every man loosed other of their bonds. And when they saw Sir Gaheris, all they thanked him, for they weened that he had slain Sir Tarquin because that he was wounded.\n\n'Not so, sirs,' said Sir Gaheris, 'it was Sir Lancelot that slew him worshipfully with his own hands. And he greets you all well, and prayeth you to haste you to the court; and as unto you, Sir Lionel and Sir Ector de Maris, he prayeth you to abide him at the court of King Arthur.'\n\n'That shall we not do,' said his brethren, 'we will find him and we may live.'\n\n'So shall I', said Sir Kay, 'find him or I come to the court, as I am true knight.'\n\nThen they sought the house there as the armour was, and then they armed them; and every knight found his own horse and all that longed unto him.\n\nSo forthwith there came a forester with four horses laden with fat venison. And anon Sir Kay said, 'Here is good meat for us for one meal, for we had not many a day no good repast.' And so that venison was roasted, seethed, and baked; and so after supper some abode there all night. But Sir Lionel and Sir Ector de Maris and Sir Kay rode after Sir Lancelot to find him if they might.\n\nNow turn we to Sir Lancelot, that rode with the damosel in a fair highway.\n\n'Sir,' said the damosel, 'here by this way haunts a knight that distresses all ladies and gentlewomen, and at the least he robbeth them or lieth by them.'\n\n'What,' said Sir Lancelot, 'is he a thief and a knight and a ravisher of women? He doth shame unto the order of knighthood, and contrary unto his oath; it is pity that he liveth. But, fair damosel, ye shall ride on before, yourself, and I will keep myself in covert; and if that he trouble you or distress you, I shall be your rescue and learn him to be ruled as a knight.'\n\nSo this maid rode on by the way a soft ambling pace. And within a while came out a knight on horseback out of the wood, and his page with him; and there he put the damosel from her horse, and then she cried. With that came Sir Lancelot as fast as he might till he came to the knight, saying, 'Ah, false knight and traitor unto knighthood, who did learn thee to distress ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen?'\n\nWhen the knight saw Sir Lancelot thus rebuking him he answered not, but drew his sword and rode unto Sir Lancelot. And Sir Lancelot threw his spear from him, and drew his sword, and struck him such a buffet on the helmet that he cleft his head and neck unto the throat.\n\n'Now hast thou thy payment that long thou hast deserved.'\n\n'That is truth,' said the damosel. 'For like as Tarquin watched to distress good knights, so did this knight attend to destroy and distress ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen. And his name was Sir Peris de Forest Savage.'\n\n'Now, damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'will ye any more service of me?'\n\n'Nay, sir,' she said, 'at this time, but almighty Jesu preserve you wheresoever ye ride or go, for the most courteous knight thou art and meekest unto all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. But one thing, sir knight, me thinks ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman. For I could never hear say that ever ye loved any of no manner of degree, and that is great pity. But it is noised that ye love Queen Guenivere, and that she hath ordained by enchantment that ye shall never love no other but her, nor no other damosel nor lady shall rejoice you; wherefore there be many in this land of high estate and low that make great sorrow.'\n\n'Fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may not warn people to speak of me what it pleaseth them; but for to be a wedded man, I think it not; for then I must couch with her, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures. And as for to say to take my pleasance with paramours, that will I refuse, in principal for dread of God. For knights that be adventurous should not be adulterers nor lecherous, for then they be not happy nor fortunate unto the wars; for either they shall be overcome with a simpler knight than they be themselves, or else they shall slay by unhap and their cursedness better men than they be themselves. And so who that useth paramours shall be unhappy, and all thing unhappy that is about them.'\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot and she parted. And then he rode in a deep forest two days and more, and had strait lodging. So on the third day he rode on a long bridge, and there started upon him suddenly a passing foul churl; and he smote his horse on the nose that he turned about, and asked him why he rode over that bridge without licence.\n\n'Why should I not ride this way?' said Sir Lancelot. 'I may not ride beside.'\n\n'Thou shalt not choose,' said the churl, and lashed at him with a great club shod with iron. Then Sir Lancelot drew his sword and put the stroke aback, and cleft his head unto the paps. And at the end of the bridge was a fair village, and all the people, men and women, cried on Sir Lancelot and said, 'Sir knight, a worse deed didst thou never for thyself, for thou hast slain the chief porter of our castle.'\n\nSir Lancelot let them say what they would, and straight he rode into the castle. And when he came into the castle he alit, and tied his horse to a ring on the wall; and there he saw a fair green court, and thither he addressed him, for there him thought was a fair place to fight in. So he looked about him, and saw much people in doors and windows that said, 'Fair knight, thou art unhappy to come here.'\n\nAnon withal came there upon him two great giants, well armed all save their heads, with two horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Lancelot put his shield before him and put the stroke away of that one giant, and with his sword he cleft his head asunder. When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were wood, and Sir Lancelot after him with all his might, and smote him on the shoulder and cleft him to the navel.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot went into the hall, and there came before him three score of ladies and damosels, and all kneeled unto him and thanked God and him of his deliverance.\n\n'For,' they said, 'the most part of us have been here these seven years prisoners, and we have worked all manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all great gentlewomen born. And blessed be the time, knight, that ever thou were born; for thou hast done the most worship that ever did knight in this world, that will we bear record. And we all pray you to tell us your name, that we may tell our friends who delivered us out of prison.'\n\n'Fair damosels,' he said, 'my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Ah, sir,' said they all, 'well mayest thou be he, for else, save yourself, as we deemed, there might never knight have the better of these giants; for many fair knights have assayed, and here have ended. And many times have we here wished after you, and these two giants dreaded never knight but you.'\n\n'Now may ye say', said Sir Lancelot, 'unto your friends, and greet them all from me. And if that I come in any of your marches, show me such cheer as ye have cause. And what treasure that there is in this castle, I give it you for a reward for your grievances. And the lord that is owner of this castle, I would he received it as is his right.'\n\n'Fair sir,' they said, 'the name of this castle is called Tintagel, and a duke owned it sometime that had wedded fair Igraine. And so after that she was wedded to Uther Pendragon, and he begot on her Arthur.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I understand to whom this castle belongeth.'\n\nAnd so he departed from them and betaught them unto God; and then he mounted upon his horse, and rode into many strange countries and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. And at the last by fortune him happened against night to come to a fair curtilage, and therein he found an old gentlewoman that lodged him with good will; and there he had good cheer for him and his horse. And when time was, his host brought him into a garret over the gate to his bed. There Sir Lancelot unarmed him and set his harness by him, and went to bed; and anon he fell asleep.\n\nSo after, there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. When Sir Lancelot heard this, he arose up and looked out at the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights come riding after that one man, and all three lashing on him at once with swords; and that one knight turned on them knightly again and defended him.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'yonder one knight shall I help, for it were shame for me to see three knights on one. And if he be there slain, I am partner of his death.'\n\nAnd therewith he took his harness, and went out at a window by a sheet down to the four knights. And then Sir Lancelot said on high, 'Turn you knights unto me, and leave this fighting with that knight.'\n\nAnd then they three left Sir Kay and turned unto Sir Lancelot, and assailed him on every hand. Then Sir Kay dressed him for to have helped Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Nay, sir,' said he, 'I will none of your help; therefore as ye will have my help, let me alone with them.'\n\nSir Kay, for the pleasure of that knight, suffered him for to do his will, and so stood aside. Then anon within seven strokes, Sir Lancelot had stricken them to the earth. And then they all three cried, 'Sir knight, we yield us unto you as man of might matchless.'\n\n'As to that, I will not take your yielding unto me, but so that ye will yield you unto this knight: and on that covenant I will save your lives, and else not.'\n\n'Fair knight, that were us loath, for as for that knight, we chased him hither, and had overcome him had not ye been. Therefore to yield us unto him it were no reason.'\n\n'Well, as to that, advise you well, for ye may choose whether ye will die or live; for and ye be yielded, it shall be unto Sir Kay.'\n\n'Now, fair knight,' they said, 'in saving of our lives we will do as thou commandest us.'\n\n'Then shall ye,' said Sir Lancelot, 'on Whitsunday next coming, go unto the court of King Arthur; and there shall ye yield you unto Queen Guenivere and put you all three in her grace and mercy, and say that Sir Kay sent you thither to be her prisoners.'\n\n'Sir,' they said, 'it shall be done by the faith of our bodies, and we be men living.' And there they swore every knight upon his sword, and so Sir Lancelot suffered them so to depart.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot knocked at the gate with the pommel of his sword; and with that came his host, and in they entered, he and Sir Kay.\n\n'Sir,' said his host, 'I weened ye had been in your bed.'\n\n'So I was; but I arose and leapt out at my window for to help an old fellow of mine.'\n\nSo when they came nigh the light, Sir Kay knew well it was Sir Lancelot; and therewith he kneeled down and thanked him of all his kindness, that he had helped him twice from the death.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I have nothing done but that me ought for to do, and ye are welcome; and here shall ye repose you and take your rest.'\n\nWhen Sir Kay was unarmed, he asked after meat. Anon there was meat fetched for him, and he ate strongly. And when he had supped, they went to their beds and were lodged together in one bed.\n\nSo on the morn Sir Lancelot arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping. And Sir Lancelot took Sir Kay's armour and his shield, and armed him; and so he went to the stable and saddled his horse, and took his leave of his host and departed. Then soon after arose Sir Kay and missed Sir Lancelot; and then he espied that he had his armour and his horse.\n\n'Now by my faith, I know well that he will grieve some of the court of King Arthur; for on him knights will be bold, and deem that it is I, and that will beguile them. And because of his armour and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace.'\n\nAnd then soon Sir Kay departed and thanked his host.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot rode into a deep forest, and there in a slade he saw four knights hoving under an oak, and they were of Arthur's court: one was Sir Sagramore le Desirous, and Sir Ector de Maris, and Sir Gawain, and Sir Uwain. And anon as these four knights had espied Sir Lancelot, they weened by his arms it had been Sir Kay.\n\n'Now by my faith,' said Sir Sagramore, 'I will prove Sir Kay's might,' and got his spear in his hand and came towards Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Lancelot was ware of his coming and knew him well, and fewtered his spear against him and smote Sir Sagramore so sore that horse and man went both to the earth.\n\n'Lo, my fellows,' said Sir Ector, 'yonder may ye see what a buffet he hath given. Methinketh that knight is much bigger than ever was Sir Kay. Now shall ye see what I may do to him.'\n\nSo Sir Ector got his spear in his hand and galloped toward Sir Lancelot, and Sir Lancelot smote him even through the shield and his shoulder, that man and horse went to the earth; and ever his spear held.\n\n'By my faith,' said Sir Uwain, 'yonder is a strong knight, and I am sure he hath slain Sir Kay; and I see by his great strength it will be hard to match him.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Uwain got his spear and rode toward Sir Lancelot; and Sir Lancelot knew him well, and let his horse run on the plain and gave him such a buffet that he was astoned, and long he wist not where he was.\n\n'Now see I well,' said Sir Gawain, 'I must encounter with that knight,' and dressed his shield and got a good spear in his hand and let run at Sir Lancelot with all his might; and either knight smote other in midst of the shield. But Sir Gawain's spear brast, and Sir Lancelot charged so sore upon him that his horse reversed upside down; and much sorrow had Sir Gawain to avoid his horse.\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot passed on apace and smiled, and said, 'God give him joy that made this spear, for there came never a better in my hand.'\n\nThen the four knights went each one to other and comforted each other and said, 'What say ye by this guest,' said Sir Gawain, 'that with one spear hath felled us all four?'\n\n'We commend him to the devil,' they said all, 'for he is a man of great might.'\n\n'Ye may say it well,' said Sir Gawain, 'that he is a man of might, for I dare lay my head it is Sir Lancelot: I know him well by his riding.'\n\n'Let him go,' said Sir Uwain, 'for when we come to the court we shall wit.'\n\nThen had they much sorrow to get their horses again.\n\nNow leave we there, and speak we of Sir Lancelot, that rode a great while in a deep forest. And as he rode he saw a black brachet, seeking in manner as it had been in the feute of a hurt deer, and therewith he rode after the brachet; and he saw lie on the ground a large feute of blood.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot rode faster, and ever the brachet looked behind her. And so she went through a great marsh, and ever Sir Lancelot followed. And then was he ware of an old manor; and thither ran the brachet, and so over a bridge. So Sir Lancelot rode over that bridge that was old and feeble; and when he came in the midst of a great hall, there he saw lie dead a knight that was a seemly man, and that brachet licked his wounds. And therewith came out a lady weeping and wringing her hands, and said, 'Knight, too much sorrow hast thou brought me.'\n\n'Why say ye so?' said Sir Lancelot, 'I did never this knight no harm, for hither by the feute of blood this brachet brought me; and therefore, fair lady, be not displeased with me, for I am full sore grieved for your grievance.'\n\n'Truly, sir,' she said, 'I trow it be not ye that hath slain my husband, for he that did that deed is sore wounded and is never likely to be whole, that shall I ensure him.'\n\n'What was your husband's name?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Sir, his name was called Sir Gilbert the Bastard, one of the best knights of the world, and he that hath slain him I know not his name.'\n\n'Now God send you better comfort,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd so he departed and went into the forest again, and there he met with a damosel the which knew him well. And she said aloud, 'Well be ye found, my lord; and now I require you of your knighthood, help my brother that is sore wounded and never stinteth bleeding; for this day he fought with Sir Gilbert the Bastard and slew him in plain battle, and there was my brother sore wounded. And there is a lady, a sorceress, that dwelleth in a castle here beside, and this day she told me my brother's wounds should never be whole till I could find a knight that would go into the Chapel Perilous, and there he should find a sword and a bloody cloth that the wounded knight was lapped in; and a piece of that cloth and that sword should heal my brother, with that his wounds were searched with the sword and the cloth.'\n\n'This is a marvellous thing,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But what is your brother's name?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'Sir Meliot de Logris.'\n\n'That me repents,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for he is a fellow of the Table Round, and to his help I will do my power.'\n\nThen she said, 'Sir, follow ye even this highway, and it will bring you to the Chapel Perilous; and here I shall abide till God send you again. And if you speed not, I know no knight living that may achieve that adventure.'\n\nRight so Sir Lancelot departed, and when he came to the Chapel Perilous he alit down and tied his horse unto a little gate. And as soon as he was within the churchyard, he saw on the front of the chapel many fair rich shields turned upside down, and many of those shields Sir Lancelot had seen knights bear beforehand. With that he saw by him there stand thirty great knights, more by a yard than any man that ever he had seen; and all they grinned and gnashed at Sir Lancelot. And when he saw their countenance he dreaded him sore, and so put his shield before him, and took his sword in his hand ready unto battle; and they were all armed all in black harness, ready with their shields and their swords ready drawn.\n\nAnd as Sir Lancelot would have gone through them, they scattered on every side of him and gave him the way; and therewith he waxed bold and entered into the chapel. And there he saw no light but a dim lamp burning, and then was he ware of a corpse hilled with a cloth of silk. Then Sir Lancelot stooped down and cut a piece away of that cloth, and then it fared under him as the ground had quaked a little; therewith he feared. And then he saw a fair sword lie by the dead knight, and that he got in his hand and hied him out of the chapel. Anon as ever he was in the chapel yard all the knights spake to him with grim voices, and said, 'Knight Sir Lancelot, lay that sword from thee or thou shalt die.'\n\n'Whether that I live or die,' said Sir Lancelot, 'with no great words get ye it again, therefore fight for it and ye list.'\n\nThen right so he passed throughout them. And beyond the chapel yard there met him a fair damosel, and said, 'Sir Lancelot, leave that sword behind thee, or thou will die for it.'\n\n'I leave it not,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for no threatening.'\n\n'No,' said she, 'and thou didst leave that sword, Queen Guenivere should thou never see.'\n\n'Then were I a fool and I would leave this sword.'\n\n'Now, gentle knight,' said the damosel, 'I require thee to kiss me but once.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that God me forbid.'\n\n'Well, sir,' said she, 'and thou hadst kissed me, thy life days had been done; and now, alas,' she said, 'I have lost all my labour, for I ordained this chapel for thy sake, and for Sir Gawain. And once I had him with me, and at that time he fought with this knight that lieth dead in yonder chapel, Sir Gilbert the Bastard, and at that time he smote the left hand off Sir Gilbert. And, Sir Lancelot, now I tell thee, I have loved thee these seven years; but there may no woman have thy love but Queen Guenivere. And sithen I might not rejoice thee nor thy body alive, I had kept no more joy in this world but to have thy body dead. Then would I have embalmed it and cered it, and so to have kept it my life days, and daily I should have clipped thee and kissed thee, despite of Queen Guenivere.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Lancelot. 'Jesu preserve me from your subtle crafts.'\n\nAnd therewith he took his horse and so departed from her. And as the book saith, when Sir Lancelot was departed she took such sorrow that she died within a fortnight. And her name was called Hallewes the sorceress, Lady of the Castle Nigramous.\n\nAnd anon Sir Lancelot met with the damosel, Sir Meliot's sister; and when she saw him she clapped her hands and wept for joy. And then they rode into a castle thereby where lay Sir Meliot. And anon as Sir Lancelot saw him he knew him, but he was passing pale as the earth for bleeding.\n\nWhen Sir Meliot saw Sir Lancelot he kneeled upon his knees and cried on high, 'Ah, lord Sir Lancelot, help me anon!'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot leapt unto him and touched his wounds with Sir Gilbert's sword, and then he wiped his wounds with a part of the bloody cloth that Sir Gilbert was wrapped in; and anon a wholer man in his life was he never. And then there was great joy between them, and they made Sir Lancelot all the cheer that they might.\n\nAnd so on the morn Sir Lancelot took his leave, and bade Sir Meliot hie him 'to the court of my lord Arthur, for it draweth nigh to the feast of Pentecost. And there by the grace of God ye shall find me.' And therewith they departed.\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot rode through many strange countries, over moors and valleys, till by fortune he came to a fair castle; and as he passed beyond the castle him thought he heard bells ring. And then was he ware of a falcon came over his head flying toward a high elm, and long lunes about her feet; and as she flew unto the elm to take her perch, the lunes overcast about a bough. And when she would have taken her flight she hung by the legs fast; and Sir Lancelot saw how she hung, and beheld the fair P\u00e9rigord falcon, and he was sorry for her.\n\nThe meanwhile came a lady out of a castle and cried on high, 'Ah, Lancelot, Lancelot, as thou art flower of all knights, help me to get me my hawk, for and my hawk be lost my lord will destroy me; for I kept the hawk and she slipped from me. And if my lord my husband wit it, he is so hasty that he will slay me.'\n\n'What is your lord's name?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'his name is Sir Phelot, a knight that longeth unto the King of Northgales.'\n\n'Well, fair lady, since that ye know my name and require me of knighthood to help, I will do what I may to get your hawk. And yet, God knoweth, I am an evil climber, and the tree is passing high, and few boughs to help me withal.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot alit and tied his horse to the same tree, and prayed the lady to unarm him. And so when he was unarmed, he put off all his clothes unto his shirt and his breeches, and with might and great force he climbed up to the falcon and tied the lunes to a great rotten bough, and threw the hawk down with the bough; and anon the lady got the hawk in her hand. And therewith came out Sir Phelot out of the groves suddenly, that was her husband, all armed and with his naked sword in his hand, and said, 'Ah, knight, Sir Lancelot, now I have found thee as I would,' he standing at the bole of the tree to slay him.\n\n'Ah, lady,' said Sir Lancelot, 'why have ye betrayed me?'\n\n'She hath done', said Sir Phelot, 'but as I commanded her, and therefore there is no other boot but thine hour is come that thou must die.'\n\n'That were shame unto thee,' said Sir Lancelot, 'thou an armed knight to slay a naked man by treason.'\n\n'Thou gettest no other grace,' said Sir Phelot, 'and therefore help thyself and thou can.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that shall be thy shame! But since thou wilt do no other, take my harness with thee, and hang my sword there upon a bough that I may get it, and then do thy best to slay me and thou can.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Phelot, 'for I know thee better than thou weenest; therefore thou gettest no weapon and I may keep thee therefrom.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever a knight should die weaponless!' And therewith he waited above him and under him, and over him above his head he saw a rough spike, a big bough leafless, and therewith he broke it off by the body. And then he came lower and awaited how his own horse stood, and suddenly he leapt on the further side of the horse fromward the knight. And then Sir Phelot lashed at him eagerly to have slain him; but Sir Lancelot put away the stroke with the rough spike and therewith took him on the head, that he fell in a swoon to the ground. So then Sir Lancelot took his sword out of his hand, and struck his neck in two pieces.\n\n'Alas,' then cried the lady, 'why hast thou slain my husband?'\n\n'I am not causer,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But with falsehood ye would have had me slain with treason, and now it is fallen on you both.'\n\nAnd then she swooned as though she would die. And therewith Sir Lancelot got all his armour as well as he might, and put it upon him for dread of more receit, for he dreaded him that the knight's castle was so nigh him. And as soon as he might he took his horse and departed, and thanked God that he had escaped that hard adventure.\n\nNow Sir Lancelot du Lake came home two days before the feast of Pentecost; and the King and all the court were passing fain. And when Gawain, Sir Uwain, Sir Sagramore, and Sir Ector de Maris saw Sir Lancelot in Kay's armour, then they wist well that it was he that smote them down all with one spear. Then there was laughing and smiling among them. And ever now and now came all the knights home that were prisoners with Sir Tarquin, and they all honoured Sir Lancelot.\n\nWhen Sir Gaheris heard them speak, he said, 'I saw all the battle from the beginning to the ending.' And there he told King Arthur all how it was, and how Sir Tarquin was the strongest knight that ever he saw except Sir Lancelot; and there were many knights bore him record, three score. Then Sir Kay told the King how Sir Lancelot had rescued him when he should have been slain, and how 'he made the three knights yield them to me, and not to him.' And there they were all three, and bore record. 'And by Jesu,' said Sir Kay, 'Sir Lancelot took my harness and left me his; and I rode in God's peace, and no man would have ado with me.'\n\nAnd then Sir Meliot de Logris came home, and told the King how Sir Lancelot had saved him from the death.\n\nAnd all his deeds were known, how the queens, sorceresses four, had him in prison, and how he was delivered by the king Bagdemagus' daughter. Also there was told all the great arms that Sir Lancelot did betwixt the two kings, that is for to say the King of Northgales and King Bagdemagus. All the truth Sir Gahalantine did tell, and Sir Mador de la Porte and Sir Mordred, for they were at that same tournament. Then came in the lady that knew Sir Lancelot when that he wounded Sir Belleus at the pavilion; and there, at the request of Sir Lancelot, Sir Belleus was made knight of the Round Table.\n\nAnd so at that time Sir Lancelot had the greatest name of any knight of the world, and most he was honoured of high and low.\n\nExplicit a noble tale of Sir Lancelot du Lake. Here followeth Sir Gareth's tale of Orkney, that was called Beaumains by Sir Kay.\n\nIn Arthur's days, when he held the Round Table most plenour, it fortuned the King commanded that the high feast of Pentecost should be held at a city and a castle, in those days that was called Kinkenadon, upon the sands that marched nigh Wales. So ever the King had a custom that at the feast of Pentecost in especial before other feasts in the year, he would not go that day to meat until he had heard or seen of a great marvel. And for that custom all manner of strange adventures came before Arthur as at that feast before all other feasts.\n\nAnd so Sir Gawain, a little before the noon of the day of Pentecost, espied at a window three men upon horseback and a dwarf upon foot; and so the three men alit, and the dwarf kept their horses, and one of the three men was higher than the other two by a foot and a half.\n\nThen Sir Gawain went unto the King and said, 'Sir, go to your meat, for here at hand come strange adventures.'\n\nSo the King went unto his meat with many other kings; and there were all the knights of the Round Table, unless that any were prisoners or slain at encounters. Then at the high feast evermore they should be fulfilled the whole number of a hundred and fifty, for then was the Round Table fully accomplished.\n\nRight so came into the hall two men well beseen and richly, and upon their shoulders there leaned the goodliest young man and the fairest that ever they all saw; and he was large and long and broad in the shoulders, well visaged, and the largest and the fairest hands that ever man saw. But he fared as he might not go nor bear himself but if he leaned upon their shoulders. Anon as the King saw him there was made peace and room, and right so they yode with him unto the high dais, without saying of any words.\n\nThen this young much man pulled him aback and easily stretched upright, saying, 'The most noble king, King Arthur, God you bless and all your fair fellowship, and in especial the fellowship of the Table Round. And for this cause I come hither, to pray you and require you to give me three gifts; and they shall not be unreasonably asked, but that ye may worshipfully grant them me, and to you no great hurt nor loss. And the first gift I will ask now, and the other two gifts I will ask this day twelvemonth, wheresoever ye hold your high feast.'\n\n'Now ask ye,' said King Arthur, 'and ye shall have your asking.'\n\n'Now, sir, this is my petition at this feast: that ye will give me meat and drink sufficiently for this twelvemonth, and at that day I will ask my other two gifts.'\n\n'My fair son,' said King Arthur, 'ask better, I counsel thee, for this is but a simple asking; for my heart giveth me to thee greatly, that thou art come of men of worship. And greatly my conceit faileth me but thou shall prove a man of right great worship.'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'thereof be as be may, for I have asked that I will ask at this time.'\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'ye shall have meat and drink enough; I never forbade it my friend nor my foe. But what is thy name, I would wit?'\n\n'Sir, I cannot tell you.'\n\n'That is marvel,' said the King, 'that thou knowest not thy name, and thou art one of the goodliest young men that ever I saw.'\n\nThen the King betook him to Sir Kay the steward, and charged him that he had of all manner of meats and drinks of the best, and also that he had all manner of finding as though he were a lord's son.\n\n'That shall little need', said Sir Kay, 'to do such cost upon him; for I undertake he is a villein born, and never will make man. For and he had been come of gentle men he would have asked horse and armour, but as he is, so he asketh. And sithen he hath no name, I shall give him a name which shall be called Beaumains, that is to say Fair-hands. And into the kitchen I shall bring him; and there he shall have fat broths every day, that he shall be as fat at the twelvemonth's end as a pork hog.'\n\nRight so the two men departed and left him with Sir Kay, that scorned him and mocked him. Thereat was Sir Gawain wroth, and in especial Sir Lancelot bade Sir Kay leave his mocking, 'for I dare lay my head he shall prove a man of great worship.'\n\n'Let be,' said Sir Kay, 'it may not be by reason, for he desireth ever meat and drink and broth; upon pain of my life he was fostered up in some abbey, and, howsoever it was, they failed meat and drink, and so hither he is come for his sustenance.'\n\nAnd so Sir Kay bade get him a place and sit down to meat. So Beaumains went to the hall door and set him down among boys and lads, and there he ate sadly. And then Sir Lancelot after meat bade him come to his chamber, and there he should have meat and drink enough. And so did Sir Gawain; but he refused them all, for he would do no other but as Sir Kay commanded him, for no proffer. But as touching Sir Gawain, he had reason to proffer him lodging, meat, and drink, for that proffer came of his blood, for he was nearer kin to him than he wist of; but that Sir Lancelot did was of his great gentleness and courtesy.\n\nSo thus he was put into the kitchen, and lay nightly as the kitchen boys did. And so he endured all that twelvemonth, and never displeased man nor child, but always he was meek and mild. But ever when he saw any jousting of knights, that would he see and he might. And ever Sir Lancelot would give him gold to spend and clothes, and so did Sir Gawain. And where there were any masteries doing, thereat would he be, and there might none cast bar nor stone to him by two yards. Then would Sir Kay say, 'How liketh you my boy of the kitchen?'\n\nSo this passed on till the feast of Whitsuntide. And at that time the King held it at Caerleon in the most royalest wise that might be, like as he did yearly. But the King would no meat eat upon Whitsunday until he heard of some adventures. Then came there a squire unto the King and said, 'Sir, ye may go to your meat, for here cometh a damosel with some strange adventures.' Then was the King glad and set him down. Right so there came a damosel unto the hall and saluted the King, and prayed him of succour.\n\n'For whom?' said the King. 'What is the adventure?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I have a lady of great worship to my sister, and she is besieged with a tyrant, that she may not out of her castle; and because here are called the noblest knights of the world, I come to you for succour.'\n\n'What is your lady called, and where dwelleth she? and who is he and what is his name that hath besieged her?'\n\n'Sir King,' she said, 'as for my lady's name, that shall not ye know for me as at this time, but I let you wit she is a lady of great worship and of great lands. And as for that tyrant that besiegeth her and destroyeth her lands, he is called the Red Knight of the Red Launds.'\n\n'I know him not,' said the King.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'I know him well, for he is one of the most perilous knights of the world; men say that he hath seven men's strength, and from him I escaped once full hard with my life.'\n\n'Fair damosel,' said the King, 'there be knights here would do their power for to rescue your lady; but because you will not tell her name, nor where she dwelleth, therefore none of my knights that here be now shall go with you by my will.'\n\n'Then must I seek further,' said the damosel.\n\nSo with these words came Beaumains before the King while the damosel was there, and thus he said: 'Sir king, God thank you, I have been this twelvemonth in your kitchen and have had my full sustenance; and now I will ask my other two gifts that be behind.'\n\n'Ask on now, upon my peril,' said the King.\n\n'Sir, this shall be my first gift of the two gifts: that ye will grant me to have this adventure of this damosel, for it belongeth unto me.'\n\n'Thou shall have it,' said the King, 'I grant it thee.'\n\n'Then, sir, this is that other gift that ye shall grant me: that Sir Lancelot du Lake shall make me knight, for of him I will be made knight and else of none. And when I am passed, I pray you let him ride after me and make me knight when I require him.'\n\n'All this shall be done,' said the King.\n\n'Fie on thee,' said the damosel, 'shall I have none but one that is your kitchen knave?' Then was she waxed angry, and anon she took her horse.\n\nAnd with that there came one to Beaumains and told him his horse and armour was come for him; and a dwarf had brought him all thing that him needed in the richest wise. Thereat the court had much marvel from whence came all that gear. So when he was armed there was none but few so goodly a man as he was; and right so he came into the hall and took his leave of King Arthur and Sir Gawain, and of Sir Lancelot, and prayed him to hie after him. And so he departed and rode after the damosel.\n\nBut there went many after to behold how well he was horsed and trapped in cloth of gold, but he had neither spear nor shield.\n\nThen Sir Kay said all openly in the hall, 'I will ride after my boy of the kitchen, to wit whether he will know me for his better.'\n\n'Yet', said Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain, 'abide at home.'\n\nSo Sir Kay made him ready and took his horse and his spear, and rode after him. And right as Beaumains overtook the damosel, right so came Sir Kay and said, 'Beaumains, what, sir, know ye not me?'\n\nThen he turned his horse and knew it was Sir Kay, that had done all the despite to him, as ye have heard before. Then said Beaumains, 'Yea, I know you well for an ungentle knight of the court, and therefore beware of me.'\n\nTherewith Sir Kay put his spear in the rest and ran straight upon him. And Beaumains came as fast upon him with his sword, and with a foin thrust him through the side that Sir Kay fell down as he had been dead. Then Beaumains alit down and took Sir Kay's shield and his spear, and started upon his own horse and rode his way.\n\nAll that saw Sir Lancelot, and so did the damosel. And then Beaumains bade his dwarf start upon Sir Kay's horse, and so he did. By that Sir Lancelot was come, and anon he proffered Sir Lancelot to joust; and either made them ready, and came together so fiercely that either bore other down to the earth, and sore were they bruised. Then Sir Lancelot arose and helped him from his horse; and then Beaumains threw his shield from him, and proffered to fight with Sir Lancelot on foot. So they rushed together like two boars, tracing and traversing and foining the mountenance of an hour. And Sir Lancelot felt him so big that he marvelled of his strength, for he fought more like a giant than a knight; and his fighting was so passing durable and passing perilous, for Sir Lancelot had so much ado with him that he dreaded himself to be shamed, and said, 'Beaumains, fight not so sore! Your quarrel and mine is not so great but we may soon leave off.'\n\n'Truly that is truth,' said Beaumains, 'but it doth me good to feel your might; and yet, my lord, I showed not the utterance.'\n\n'In God's name,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for I promise you by the faith of my body, I had as much to do as I might have to save myself from you unshamed; and therefore have ye no doubt of no earthly knight.'\n\n'Hope ye so that I may any while stand a proved knight?'\n\n'Do as ye have done to me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I shall be your warrant.'\n\n'Then I pray you,' said Beaumains, 'give me the order of knighthood.'\n\n'Sir, then must ye tell me your name of right, and of what kin ye be born.'\n\n'Sir, so that ye will not discover me, I shall tell you my name.'\n\n'Nay, sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and that I promise you by the faith of my body, until it be openly known.'\n\nThen he said, 'My name is Gareth, and brother unto Sir Gawain of father's side and mother's side.'\n\n'Ah, sir, I am more gladder of you than I was; for ever me thought ye should be of great blood, and that ye came not to the court neither for meat nor for drink.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot gave him the order of knighthood. And then Sir Gareth prayed him for to depart, and so he to follow the lady. So Sir Lancelot departed from him and came to Sir Kay, and made him to be borne home upon his shield, and so he was healed hardly with the life. And all men scorned Sir Kay; and in especial Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot said that it was not his part to rebuke no young man, 'for full little know ye of what birth he is come of, and for what cause he came to the court.'\n\nAnd so we leave off Sir Kay, and turn we unto Beaumains: when that he had overtaken the damosel, anon she said, 'What dost thou here? Thou stinkest all of the kitchen, thy clothes be bawdy of the grease and tallow. What, weenest thou', said the lady, 'that I will allow thee for yonder knight that thou killed? Nay truly, for thou slewest him unhappily and cowardly; therefore turn again, thou bawdy kitchen knave! I know thee well, for Sir Kay named thee Beaumains. What art thou but a lusk and a turner of broaches and a ladle-washer?'\n\n'Damosel,' said Sir Beaumains, 'say to me what ye will, yet will I not go from you whatsoever ye say; for I have undertaken to King Arthur for to achieve your adventure, and so shall I finish it to the end, or else I shall die therefore.'\n\n'Fie on thee, kitchen knave, wilt thou finish my adventure? Thou shalt anon be met with, that thou wouldst not for all the broth that ever thou supped once to look him in the face.'\n\n'As for that, I shall assay,' said Beaumains.\n\nSo right thus as they rode in the wood, there came a man fleeing all that ever he might.\n\n'Whither wilt thou?' said Beaumains.\n\n'Ah, lord,' he said, 'help me, for here by in a slade are six thieves that have taken my lord and bound him sore, and I am afraid lest that they will slay him.'\n\n'Bring me thither,' said Beaumains.\n\nAnd so they rode together until they came there as was the knight bound; and straight he rode unto them, and struck one to the death and then another, and at the third stroke he slew the third. And then the other three fled, and he rode after them and overtook them; and then they three turned again and assailed Sir Beaumains hard, but at the last he slew them, and returned and unbound the knight. And the knight thanked him, and prayed him to ride with him to his castle there a little beside, and he should worshipfully reward him for his good deeds.\n\n'Sir,' said Beaumains, 'I will no reward have. Sir, this day I was made knight of noble Sir Lancelot, and therefore I will no reward have but God reward me. And also I must follow this damosel.'\n\nSo when he came nigh to her she bade him ride outer, 'For thou smellest all of the kitchen. What, weenest thou that I have joy of thee for all this deed? For that thou hast done is but mishap; but thou shalt see soon a sight that shall make thee to turn again, and that lightly.'\n\nThen the same knight rode after the damosel and prayed her to lodge with him all that night. And because it was near night, the damosel rode with him to his castle, and there they had great cheer; and at supper the knight set Sir Beaumains before the damosel.\n\n'Fie, fie,' then said she. 'Sir knight, ye are uncourteous to set a kitchen page before me; him seemeth better to stick a swine than to sit before a damosel of high parage.'\n\nThen the knight was ashamed at her words, and took him up and set him at a side board, and set himself before him. So all that night they had good cheer and merry rest.\n\nAnd on the morn the damosel took her leave and thanked the knight, and so departed and rode on her way until they came to a great forest; and there was a great river and but one passage, and there were ready two knights on the further side to let the passage.\n\n'What say you?' said the damosel. 'Will ye match yonder two knights, or else turn again?'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Beaumains, 'I will not turn again and they were six more.'\n\nAnd therewith he rushed unto the water, and in midst of the water either broke their spears upon other to their hands; and then they drew their swords, and smote eagerly at other. And at the last Sir Beaumains smote the other upon the helm that his head astoned, and therewith he fell down in the water, and there was he drowned. And then he spurred his horse upon the land, and therewith the other knight fell upon him and broke his spear; and so they drew their swords and fought long together. But at the last Sir Beaumains cleaved his helm and his head down to the shoulders; and so he rode unto the damosel and bade her ride forth on her way.\n\n'Alas,' she said, 'that ever such a kitchen page should have the fortune to destroy such two knights. Yet thou weenest thou hast done doughtily, that is not so; for the first knight's horse stumbled, and there he was drowned in the water, and never it was by thy force nor by thy might. And the last knight, by mishap thou camest behind him, and by misfortune thou slewest him.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'ye may say what ye will; but whomsoever I have ado withal, I trust to God to serve him or I and he depart. And therefore I reck not what ye say, so that I may win your lady.'\n\n'Fie, fie, foul kitchen knave, thou shalt see knights that shall abate thy boast.'\n\n'Fair damosel, give me goodly language, and then my care is past; for what knights soever they be, I care not, nor I doubt them not.'\n\n'Also,' said she, 'I say it for thy avail, for yet mayest thou turn again with thy worship; for and thou follow, thou art but slain, for I see all that ever thou dost is by misadventure, and not by prowess of thy hands.'\n\n'Well, damosel, ye may say what ye will, but wheresoever ye go I will follow you.'\n\nSo this Beaumains rode with that lady till evensong, and ever she chid him and would not rest. So at the last they came to a black laund, and there was a black hawthorn; and thereon hung a banner, and on the other side there hung a black shield, and by it stood a black spear great and long, and a great black horse covered with silk, and a black stone fast by. Also there sat a knight all armed in black harness, and his name was called the Knight of the Black Launds. Then the damosel, when she saw that knight, she bade him flee down that valley, for his horse was not saddled.\n\n'Gramercy,' said Beaumains, 'for always ye would have me a coward.'\n\nSo when the black knight saw her, he said, 'Damosel, have ye brought this knight from the court of King Arthur to be your champion?'\n\n'Nay, fair knight, this is but a kitchen knave that was fed in King Arthur's kitchen for alms.'\n\nThen said the knight, 'Why cometh he in such array? For it is shame that he beareth you company.'\n\n'Sir, I cannot be delivered of him, for with me he rideth maugre my head. God would,' said she, 'that ye would put him from me, or to slay him and ye may, for he is an unhappy knave, and unhappily he hath done this day through mishap; for I saw him slay two knights at the passage of the water, and other deeds he did before right marvellous and through unhappiness.'\n\n'That marvels me,' said the black knight, 'that any man of worship will have ado with him.'\n\n'Sir, they know him not,' said the damosel. 'And for because he rideth with me, they ween that he be some man of worship born.'\n\n'That may be,' said the black knight. 'Howbeit as ye say that he is no man of worship born, he is a full likely person, and full like to be a strong man. But this much shall I grant you,' said the knight, 'I shall put him down on foot, and his horse and his harness he shall leave with me; for it were shame to me to do him any more harm.'\n\nWhen Sir Beaumains heard him say thus, he said, 'Sir knight, thou art full large of my horse and harness; I let thee wit it cost thee nought, and whether thou like well or evil, this laund will I pass maugre thy head, and horse nor harness gettest thou none of mine but if thou win them with thy hands. Therefore let see what thou canst do.'\n\n'Sayest thou that?' said the black knight. 'Now yield thy lady from thee, for it beseemed never a kitchen knave to ride with such a lady.'\n\n'Thou liest,' said Beaumains, 'I am a gentleman born, and of more high lineage than thou, and that will I prove on thy body.'\n\nThen in great wrath they departed their horses and came together as it had been thunder, and the black knight's spear broke; and Beaumains thrust him through both sides, and therewith his spear broke, and the truncheon was left still in his side. But nevertheless the black knight drew his sword, and smote many eager strokes of great might, and hurt Beaumains full sore. But at the last the black knight, within an hour and a half, he fell down off his horse in a swoon and there died.\n\nAnd when Sir Beaumains saw him so well horsed and armed, then he alit down and armed him in his armour, and so took his horse and rode after the damosel.\n\nWhen she saw him come nigh, she said, 'Away, kitchen knave, out of the wind, for the smell of thy bawdy clothes grieveth me. Alas,' she said, 'that ever such a knave should by mishap slay so good a knight as thou hast done\u2014but all is thine unhappiness. But hereby is one that shall pay thee all thy payment, and therefore yet I rede thee flee.'\n\n'It may happen me', said Beaumains, 'to be beaten or slain, but I warn you, fair damosel, I will not flee away neither leave your company, for all that ye can say; for ever ye say that they will slay me or beat me, but howsoever it happeneth, I escape and they lie on the ground. And therefore it were as good for you to hold you still thus all day rebuking me, for away will I not till I see the uttermost of this journey, or else I will be slain, or thoroughly beaten; therefore ride on your way, for follow you I will whatsoever happen me.'\n\nThus as they rode together, they saw a knight come driving by them all in green, both his horse and his harness. And when he came nigh the damosel, he asked her, 'Is that my brother the black knight that ye have brought with you?'\n\n'Nay, nay,' she said, 'this unhappy kitchen knave hath slain thy brother through unhappiness.'\n\n'Alas,' said the green knight, 'that is great pity, that so noble a knight as he was should so unhappily be slain, and namely of a knave's hand, as ye say that he is. Ah, traitor,' said the green knight, 'thou shall die for slaying of my brother; he was a full noble knight!' (And his name was Sir Perard.)\n\n'I defy thee,' said Sir Beaumains, 'for I let thee wit I slew him knightly and not shamefully.'\n\nTherewith the green knight rode unto a horn that was green, and it hung upon a thorn; and there he blew three deadly motes, and anon there came two damosels and armed him lightly. And then he took a great horse, and a green shield and a green spear; and then they ran together with all their mights, and brake their spears unto their hands. And then they drew their swords and gave many sad strokes, and either of them wounded other full ill. And at the last, at an overthwart stroke Sir Beaumains with his horse struck the green knight's horse upon the side, that he fell to the earth. And then the green knight voided his horse deliverly and dressed him on foot. That saw Beaumains, and therewith he alit; and they rushed together like two mighty kemps a long while, and sore they bled both.\n\nWith that came the damosel and said, 'My lord the green knight, why for shame stand ye so long fighting with that kitchen knave? Alas, it is shame that ever ye were made knight, to see such a lad to match you as the weed groweth over the corn.'\n\nTherewith the green knight was ashamed, and therewith he gave a great stroke of might and cleft his shield through. When Beaumains saw his shield cloven asunder, he was a little ashamed of that stroke and of her language. And then he gave him such a buffet upon the helm that he fell on his knees, and so suddenly Beaumains pulled him on the ground grovelling; and then the green knight cried him mercy and yielded him unto Beaumains, and prayed him not to slay him.\n\n'All is in vain,' said Beaumains, 'for thou shalt die but if this damosel that came with me pray me to save thy life.' And therewith he unlaced his helm like as he would slay him.\n\n'Fie upon thee, false kitchen page! I will never pray thee to save his life, for I will not be so much in thy danger.'\n\n'Then shall he die,' said Beaumains.\n\n'Not so hardy, thou bawdy knave,' said the damosel, 'that thou slay him.'\n\n'Alas,' said the green knight, 'suffer me not to die for a fair word speaking. Fair knight,' said the green knight, 'save my life, and I will forgive thee the death of my brother, and for ever to become thy man, and thirty knights that hold of me for ever shall do you service.'\n\n'In the devil's name,' said the damosel, 'that such a bawdy kitchen knave should have thirty knights' service, and thine!'\n\n'Sir knight,' said Beaumains, 'all this availeth thee not but if my damosel speak to me for thy life.' And therewith he made a semblant to slay him.\n\n'Let be,' said the damosel, 'thou bawdy kitchen knave! Slay him not, for and thou do thou shalt repent it.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'your charge is to me a pleasure, and at your commandment his life shall be saved, and else not.' Then he said, 'Sir knight with the green arms, I release thee quit at this damosel's request; for I will not make her wroth, for I will fulfil all that she chargeth me.' And then the green knight kneeled down and did him homage with his sword.\n\nThen said the damosel, 'Me repents of this green knight's damage and of your brother's death, the black knight; for of your help I had great mister, for I dread me sore to pass this forest.'\n\n'Nay, dread you not,' said the green knight, 'for ye all shall lodge with me this night, and tomorrow I shall help you through this forest.'\n\nSo they took their horses and rode to his manor that was fast by. And ever this damosel rebuked Beaumains and would not suffer him to sit at her table, but as the green knight took him and sat with him at a side table.\n\n'Damosel, marvel methinketh,' said the green knight, 'why ye rebuke this noble knight as ye do, for I warn you he is a full noble man, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore ye do great wrong so to rebuke him, for he shall do you right good service. For whatsoever he maketh himself, he shall prove at the end that he is come of full noble blood and of king's lineage.'\n\n'Fie, fie,' said the damosel, 'it is shame for you to say him such worship.'\n\n'Truly,' said the green knight, 'it were shame to me to say him any disworship, for he hath proved himself a better knight than I am. And many is the noble knight that I have met with in my days; and never or this time found I no knight his match.'\n\nAnd so that night they yode unto rest, and all night the green knight commanded thirty knights privily to watch Beaumains for to keep him from all treason.\n\nAnd so on the morn they all arose, and heard their Mass and broke their fast. And then they took their horses and rode their way, and the green knight conveyed them through the forest. Then the green knight said, 'My lord Sir Beaumains, my body and these thirty knights shall be always at your summons, both early and late, at your calling, and whither that ever ye will send us.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Beaumains. 'When that I call upon you, ye must yield you unto King Arthur, and all your knights, if that I so command you.'\n\n'We shall be ready at all times,' said the green knight.\n\n'Fie, fie upon thee, in the devil's name,' said the damosel, 'that any good knight should be obedient unto a kitchen knave!'\n\nSo then parted the green knight and the damosel.\n\nAnd then she said unto Beaumains, 'Why followest thou me, kitchen knave? Cast away thy shield and thy spear, and flee away; yet I counsel thee betimes or thou shalt say right soon \"alas!\" For and thou were as wight as Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristram, or the good knight Sir Lamorak, thou shalt not pass a pass here that is called the Pass Perilous.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'who is afraid, let him flee; for it were shame to turn again sith I have ridden so long with you.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'ye shall soon, whether ye will or will not.'\n\nSo within a while they saw a white tower as any snow, well machicolated all about and double dyked; and over the tower gate there hung fifty shields of divers colours. And under that tower there was a fair meadow, and therein were many knights and squires to behold, scaffolds and pavilions; for there upon the morn should be a great tournament. And the lord of the tower was within his castle, and looked out at a window and saw a damosel, a dwarf, and a knight armed at all points.\n\n'So God me help,' said the lord, 'with that knight will I joust, for I see that he is a knight errant.'\n\nAnd so he armed him and horsed him hastily. When he was on horseback with his shield and his spear, it was all red, both his horse and his harness and all that to him belonged. And when that he came nigh him he weened it had been his brother the black knight; and then loud he cried and said, 'Brother, what do ye here in these marches?'\n\n'Nay, nay,' said the damosel, 'it is not he; for this is but a kitchen knave that was brought up for alms in King Arthur's court.'\n\n'Nevertheless,' said the red knight, 'I will speak with him or he depart.'\n\n'Ah,' said this damosel, 'this knave hath slain your brother, and Sir Kay named him Beaumains; and this horse and this harness was thy brother's, the black knight. Also I saw thy brother the green knight overcome of his hands. But now may ye be revenged on him, for I may never be quit of him.'\n\nWith this every knight departed in sunder and came together all that they might drive; and either of their horses fell to the earth. Then they avoided their horses, and put their shields before them and drew their swords, and either gave other sad strokes, now here, now there, tracing, traversing, and foining, razing and hurling like two boars, the space of two hours. Then she cried on high to the red knight, 'Alas, thou noble red knight, think what worship hath evermore followed thee! Let never a kitchen knave endure thee so long as he doth.'\n\nThen the red knight waxed wroth and doubled his strokes, and hurt Beaumains wonderly sore, that the blood ran down to the ground, that it was wonder to see that strong battle; yet at the last Sir Beaumains struck him to the earth. And as he would have slain the red knight, he cried, 'Mercy, noble knight! Slay me not, and I shall yield me to thee with fifty knights with me that be at my commandment, and forgive thee all the despite that thou hast done to me, and the death of my brother the black knight and the winning of my brother the green knight.'\n\n'All this availeth not,' said Beaumains, 'but if my damosel pray me to save thy life.' And therewith he made semblant to strike off his head.\n\n'Let be, thou Beaumains, and slay him not, for he is a noble knight; and not so hardy, upon thy head, but that thou save him.'\n\nThen Beaumains bade the red knight to stand up, 'and thank this damosel now of thy life.' Then the red knight prayed him to see his castle and to repose them all that night. So the damosel granted him, and there they had good cheer. But always this damosel said many foul words unto Beaumains, whereof the red knight had great marvel. And all that night the red knight made three score knights to watch Beaumains, that he should have no shame nor villainy. And upon the morn they heard Mass and dined; and the red knight came before Beaumains with his three score knights, and there he proffered him his homage and fealty at all times, he and his knights to do him service.\n\n'I thank you,' said Beaumains, 'but this ye shall grant me: when I call upon you, to come before my lord King Arthur, and yield you unto him to be his knights.'\n\n'Sir,' said the red knight, 'I will be ready, and my fellowship, at your summons.'\n\nSo Sir Beaumains departed and the damosel; and ever she rode chiding him in the foulest manner wise that she could.\n\n'Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'ye are uncourteous so to rebuke me as ye do, for me seemeth I have done you good service; and ever ye threaten me I shall be beaten with knights that we meet, but ever for all your boast they all lie in the dust or in the mire. And therefore I pray you, rebuke me no more; and when ye see me beaten or yielded as recreant, then may you bid me go from you shamefully. But first, I let you wit I will not depart from you, for then I were worse than a fool and I would depart from you all the while that I win worship.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'right soon shall meet thee a knight that shall pay thee all thy wages, for he is the most man of worship of the world except King Arthur.'\n\n'I will well,' said Beaumains. 'The more he is of worship, the more shall be my worship to have ado with him.'\n\nThen anon they were ware where was before them a city rich and fair, and betwixt them and the city, a mile and more, there was a fair meadow that seemed new mown, and therein were many pavilions fair to behold.\n\n'Lo,' said the damosel, 'yonder is a lord that owneth yonder city, and his custom is when the weather is fair to lie in this meadow to joust and to tourney. And ever there is about him five hundred knights and gentlemen of arms, and there is all manner of games that any gentleman can devise.'\n\n'That goodly lord', said Beaumains, 'would I fain see.'\n\n'Thou shalt see him time enough,' said the damosel. And so as she rode near she espied the pavilion where the lord was.\n\n'Lo,' said she, 'seest thou yonder pavilion that is all of the colour of inde, and all manner of thing that there is about?'\u2014men and women, and horses trapped, shields and spears, were all of the colour of inde. 'And his name is Sir Persant of Inde, the most lordliest knight that ever thou looked on.'\n\n'It may well be,' said Sir Beaumains, 'but be he never so stout a knight, in this field I shall abide till that I see him under his shield.'\n\n'Ah, fool,' said she, 'thou were better to flee betimes.'\n\n'Why?' said Beaumains, 'and he be such a knight as ye make him, he will not set upon me with all his men; for and there come no more but one at once, I shall him not fail whilst my life may last.'\n\n'Fie, fie,' said the damosel, 'that ever such a stinking kitchen knave should blow such a boast!'\n\n'Damosel,' he said, 'ye are to blame so to rebuke me, for I had liever do five battles than so to be rebuked. Let him come, and then let him do his worst.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I marvel what thou art and of what kin thou art come; for boldly thou speakest, and boldly thou hast done, that have I seen. Therefore I pray thee, save thyself and thou may, for thy horse and thou have had great travail, and I dread that we dwell over long from the siege; for it is hence but seven mile, and all perilous passages we are passed save all only this passage, and here I dread me sore lest ye shall catch some hurt\u2014therefore I would ye were hence, that ye were not bruised nor hurt with this strong knight. But I let you wit this Sir Persant of Inde is nothing of might nor strength unto the knight that lieth at the siege about my lady.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Beaumains, 'be as be may; for sithen I am come so nigh this knight I will prove his might or I depart from him, and else I shall be shamed and I now withdraw from him. And therefore, damosel, have ye no doubt, by the grace of God I shall so deal with this knight that within two hours after noon I shall deliver him, and then shall we come to the siege by daylight.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu, marvel have I,' said the damosel, 'what manner a man ye be, for it may never be other but that ye be come of gentle blood; for so foul and shamefully did never woman revile a knight as I have done you, and ever courteously ye have suffered me, and that came never but of gentle blood.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'a knight may little do that may not suffer a gentlewoman, for whatsoever ye said unto me I took no heed to your words; for the more ye said the more ye angered me, and my wrath I wreaked upon them that I had ado withal. The missaying that ye missaid me in my battle furthered me much, and caused me to think to show and prove myself at the end what I was; for peradventure though it list me to be fed in King Arthur's court, I might have had meat in other places, but I did it for to prove my friends, and that shall be known another day whether that I be a gentleman born or none. For I let you wit, fair damosel, I have done you gentleman's service; and peradventure better service yet will I do or I depart from you.'\n\n'Alas,' she said, 'fair Beaumains, forgive me all that I have missaid or done against you.'\n\n'With all my will,' said he, 'I forgive it you, for ye did nothing but as ye should do, for all your evil words pleased me. Damosel,' said Beaumains, 'since it liketh you to say thus fair unto me, wit ye well it gladdeth my heart greatly, and now me seemeth there is no knight living but I am able enough for him.'\n\nWith this Sir Persant of Inde had espied them as they hoved in the field, and knightly he sent unto them whether he came in war or in peace.\n\n'Say to thy lord I take no force, but whether as him list.'\n\nSo the messenger went again unto Sir Persant and told him all his answer.\n\n'Well, then will I have ado with him to the utterance.' And so he purveyed him and rode against him.\n\nWhen Beaumains saw him, he made him ready, and met with all their mights together as fast as their horses might run, and either brast their spears in three pieces, and their horses down to the earth. And deliverly they avoided their horses and put their shields before them, and drew their swords and gave many great strokes, that sometimes they hurled so together that they fell grovelling on the ground. Thus they fought two hours and more, that their shields and hauberks were all forhewn, and in many places were they wounded. So at the last Sir Beaumains smote him through the cost of the body, and then he retrayed him here and there, and knightly maintained his battle long time. And at the last, though him loath were, Beaumains smote Sir Persant above upon the helm, that he fell grovelling to the earth; and then he leapt upon him overthwart and unlaced his helm to have slain him. Then Sir Persant yielded him and asked him mercy. With that came the damosel and prayed him to save his life.\n\n'I will well,' he said, 'for it were pity this noble knight should die.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said Sir Persant, 'for now I wot well it was ye that slew my brother the black knight at the black thorn; he was a full noble knight, his name was Sir Perard. Also, I am sure that ye are he that won my other brother the green knight, his name is Sir Pertolepe. Also ye won my brother the red knight, Sir Perimones. And now, sir, ye have won me. This shall I do for to please you: ye shall have homage and fealty of me and of a hundred knights to be always at your commandment, to go and ride where ye will command us.'\n\nAnd so they went unto Sir Persant's pavilion and drank wine and ate spices. And afterward Sir Persant made him to rest upon a bed until supper time, and after supper to bed again. So when Sir Beaumains was abed, Sir Persant had a daughter, a fair lady of eighteen year of age, and there he called her unto him, and charged her and commanded her upon his blessing to go unto the knight's bed and lie down by his side, 'and make him no strange cheer, but good cheer, and take him in your arms and kiss him; and look that this be done, I charge you, as ye will have my love and my good will.'\n\nSo Sir Persant's daughter did as her father bade her; and so she yode unto Sir Beaumains' bed, and privily she despoiled her and laid her down by him. And then he awoke and saw her, and asked her what she was.\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I am Sir Persant's daughter, that by the commandment of my father I am come hither.'\n\n'Be ye a pucelle or a wife?'\n\n'Sir,' she said 'I am a clean maiden.'\n\n'God defend me,' said he then, 'that ever I should defile you to do Sir Persant such a shame. Therefore I pray you, fair damosel, arise out of this bed or else I will.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I came not hither by my own will, but as I was commanded.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Beaumains, 'I were a shameful knight and I would do your father any disworship.'\n\nBut so he kissed her, and so she departed and came unto Sir Persant her father, and told him all how she had sped.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Persant, 'whatsoever he be, he is come of full noble blood.'\n\nAnd so we leave them there till on the morn.\n\nAnd so on the morn the damosel and Sir Beaumains heard Mass and broke their fast, and so took their leave.\n\n'Fair damosel,' said Sir Persant, 'whitherward are ye away leading this knight?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'this knight is going to the Castle Dangerous there as my sister is besieged.'\n\n'Aha,' said Sir Persant, 'that is the Knight of the Red Launds, which is the most perilous knight that I know now living, and a man that is without mercy; and men say that he hath seven men's strength. God save you, Sir Beaumains, from that knight, for he doth great wrong to that lady, and that is great pity, for she is one of the fairest ladies of the world, and me seemeth that your damosel is her sister: is not your name Lyonet?'\n\n'Sir, so I hight; and my lady my sister hight Dame Lyonesse.'\n\n'Now shall I tell you,' said Sir Persant. 'This Red Knight of the Red Launds hath lain long at that siege, well-nigh this two years, and many times he might have had her and he had would; but he prolongeth the time to this intent, for to have Sir Lancelot du Lake to do battle with him, or with Sir Tristram, or Sir Lamorak de Gales, or Sir Gawain, and this is his tarrying so long at the siege. Now my lord,' said Sir Persant of Inde, 'be ye strong and of good heart, for ye shall have ado with a good knight.'\n\n'Let me deal,' said Sir Beaumains.\n\n'Sir,' said this damosel Lyonet, 'I require you that ye will make this gentleman knight or ever he fight with the Red Knight.'\n\n'I will with all my heart,' said Sir Persant, 'and it please him to take the order of knighthood of so simple a man as I am.'\n\n'Sir,' said Beaumains, 'I thank you; for I am better sped, for certainly the noble knight Sir Lancelot made me knight.'\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Persant, 'of a more renowned man might ye not be made knight; for of all knights he may be called chief of knighthood; and so all the world saith, that betwixt three knights is departed clearly knighthood, that is Sir Lancelot du Lake, Sir Tristram de Lionesse, and Sir Lamorak de Gales: these bear now the renown. Yet there be many other noble knights, as Sir Palomides the Saracen and Sir Safer his brother; also Sir Bleoberis and Sir Blamor de Ganis, his brother; also Sir Bors de Ganis and Sir Ector de Maris and Sir Percival de Gales\u2014these and many more be noble knights, but there be none that bear the name but these three above said. Therefore God speed you well,' said Sir Persant, 'for and ye may match that Red Knight, ye shall be called the fourth of the world.'\n\n'Sir,' said Beaumains, 'I would fain be of good fame and of knighthood. And I let you wit, I am come of good men, for I dare say my father was a nobleman. And so that ye will keep it in close, and this damosel, I will tell you of what kin I am come of.'\n\n'We will not discover you,' said they both, 'till ye command us, by the faith we owe to Jesu.'\n\n'Truly then,' said he, 'my name is Sir Gareth of Orkney, and King Lot was my father, and my mother is King Arthur's sister, her name is Dame Morgause. And Sir Gawain is my brother, and Sir Agravain and Sir Gaheris, and I am youngest of them all. And yet wot not King Arthur nor Sir Gawain what I am.'\n\nSo the book saith that the lady that was besieged had word of her sister's coming by the dwarf, and a knight with her, and how he had passed all the perilous passages.\n\n'What manner a man is he?' said the lady.\n\n'He is a noble knight truly, madam,' said the dwarf, 'and but a young man; but he is as likely a man as ever ye saw any.'\n\n'What is he, and of what kin', said the lady, 'is he come, and of whom was he made knight?'\n\n'Madam,' said the dwarf, he was 'king's son of Orkney, but his name I will not tell you as at this time; but wit ye well, of Sir Lancelot was he made knight, for of none other would he be made knight. And Sir Kay named him Beaumains.'\n\n'How escaped he', said the lady, 'from the brethren of Sir Persant?'\n\n'Madam,' he said, 'as a noble knight should. First, he slew two brethren at a passage of a water.'\n\n'Ah!' said she, 'they were two good knights, but they were murderers. That one hight Sir Garrard le Breuse, and that other hight Sir Arnold le Breuse.'\n\n'Then, madam, he encountered the black knight, and slew him in plain battle; and so he took his horse and his armour, and fought with the green knight and won him in plain battle. And in like wise he served the red knight, and after in the same wise he served the blue knight and won him in plain battle.'\n\n'Then,' said the lady, 'he hath overcome Sir Persant of Inde, that is one of the noblest knights of the world.'\n\n'Truly, madam,' said the dwarf, 'he hath won all the four brethren and slain the black knight, and yet he did more before: he overthrew Sir Kay and left him nigh dead upon the ground. Also he did a great battle with Sir Lancelot, and there they departed on even hands; and then Sir Lancelot made him knight.'\n\n'Dwarf,' said the lady, 'I am glad of these tidings. Therefore go thou unto a hermitage of mine hereby, and bear with thee of my wine in two flagons of silver, they are of two gallons; and also two cast of bread with the fat venison baked and dainty fowls; and a cup of gold here I deliver thee, that is rich of precious stones. And bear all this to my hermitage, and put it in the hermit's hands; and sithen go thou to my sister and greet her well, and commend me unto that gentle knight, and pray him to eat and drink and make him strong. And say him I thank him of his courtesy and goodness, that he would take upon him such labour for me that never did him bounty nor courtesy. Also pray him that he be of good heart and courage himself, for he shall meet with a full noble knight, but he is neither of courtesy, bounty, nor gentleness, for he attendeth unto nothing but to murder; and that is the cause I cannot praise him nor love him.'\n\nSo this dwarf departed, and came to Sir Persant, where he found the damosel Lyonet and Sir Beaumains, and there he told them all as ye have heard. And then they took their leave; but Sir Persant took an ambling hackney and conveyed them on their ways, and then betook he them unto God. And so within a little while they came to the hermitage, and there they drank the wine, and ate the venison and the fowls baked.\n\nAnd so when they had repasted them well, the dwarf returned again with his vessel unto the castle. And there met with him the Red Knight of the Red Launds, and asked him from whence he came, and where he had been.\n\n'Sir,' said the dwarf, 'I have been with my lady's sister of the castle and she hath been at King Arthur's court, and brought a knight with her.'\n\n'Then I account her travail but lorn; for though she had brought with her Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristram, and Sir Lamorak or Sir Gawain, I would think myself good enough for them all.'\n\n'It may well be,' said the dwarf, 'but this knight hath passed all the perilous passages, and slain the black knight and other two more, and won the green knight, the red knight, and the blue knight.'\n\n'Then is he one of these four that I have before rehearsed.'\n\n'He is none of these,' said the dwarf, 'but he is a king's son.'\n\n'What is his name?' said the Red Knight of the Red Launds.\n\n'That will I not tell you; but Sir Kay in scorn named him Beaumains.'\n\n'I care not,' said the knight, 'whatsoever he be, for I shall soon deliver him; and if I overmatch him he shall have a shameful death, as many others have had.'\n\n'That were pity,' said the dwarf, 'and it is pity that ye make such shameful war upon noble knights.'\n\nNow leave we the knight and the dwarf and speak we of Beaumains, that all night lay in the hermitage; and upon the morn he and the damosel Lyonet heard their Mass and broke their fast, and then they took their horses and rode throughout a fair forest. And then they came to a plain, and saw where were many pavilions and tents, and a fair castle, and there was much smoke and great noise. And when they came near the siege, Sir Beaumains espied on great trees, as he rode, how there hung full goodly armed knights by the neck, and their shields about their necks with their swords, and gilt spurs upon their heels. And so there hung nigh forty knights shamefully with full rich arms. Then Sir Beaumains abated his countenance and said, 'What meaneth this?'\n\n'Fair sir,' said the damosel, 'abate not your cheer for all this sight, for ye must courage yourself, or else ye be all shent. For all these knights came hither to this siege to rescue my sister Dame Lyonesse; and when the Red Knight of the Red Launds had overcome them, he put them to this shameful death without mercy and pity, and in the same wise he will serve you but if ye quit you the better.'\n\n'Now Jesu defend me', said Beaumains, 'from such villainous death and shondship of harms; for rather than I should so be fared withal, I will rather be slain in plain battle.'\n\n'So were ye better,' said the damosel, 'for trust not, in him is no courtesy, but all goeth to the death or shameful murder. And that is pity,' said the damosel, 'for he is a full likely man and a noble knight of prowess, and a lord of great lands and of great possessions.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Beaumains, 'he may well be a good knight, but he useth shameful customs. And it is marvel that he endureth so long, that none of the noble knights of my lord Arthur's have not dealt with him.'\n\nAnd then they rode unto the dykes, and saw them double-dyked with full warlike walls; and there were lodged many great lords nigh the walls, and there was great noise of minstrelsy. And the sea beat upon that one side of the walls, where were many ships and mariners' noise with 'hale and ho'. And also there was fast by a sycamore tree, and thereon hung a horn, the greatest that ever they saw, of an elephant's bone; 'and this Knight of the Red Launds hath hung it up there to this intent, that if there come any errant knight, he must blow that horn, and then will he make him ready and come to him to do battle. But, sir, I pray you,' said the damosel, 'blow ye not the horn till it be high noon; for now it is about prime, and now increaseth his might, that as men say he hath seven men's strength.'\n\n'Ah, fie, for shame, fair damosel, say ye never so more to me! For and he were as good a knight as ever was any, I shall never fail him in his most might, for either I will win worship worshipfully, or die knightly in the field.'\n\nAnd therewith he spurred his horse straight to the sycamore tree, and so blew the horn eagerly that all the siege and the castle rang thereof. And then there leapt out many knights out of their tents and pavilions; and they within the castle looked over the walls and out at windows.\n\nThen the Red Knight of the Red Launds armed him hastily, and two barons set on his spurs on his heels, and all was blood-red, his armour, spear, and shield; and an earl buckled his helm on his head, and then they brought him a red spear and a red steed; and so he rode into a little vale under the castle, that all that were in the castle and at the siege might behold the battle.\n\n'Sir,' said the damosel Lyonet unto Sir Beaumains, 'look ye be glad and light, for yonder is your deadly enemy; and at yonder window is my lady, my sister Dame Lyonesse.'\n\n'Where?' said Beaumains.\n\n'Yonder,' said the damosel, and pointed with her finger.\n\n'That is truth,' said Beaumains. 'She beseemeth afar the fairest lady that ever I looked upon; and truly,' he said, 'I ask no better quarrel than now for to do battle, for truly she shall be my lady, and for her will I fight,' and ever he looked up to the window with glad countenance. And this lady Dame Lyonesse made curtsey to him down to the earth, holding up both her hands.\n\nWith that the Red Knight called unto Beaumains and said, 'Sir knight, leave thy beholding and look on me, I counsel thee; for I warn thee well, she is my lady, and for her I have done many strong battles.'\n\n'If thou so have done,' said Beaumains, 'me seemeth it was but waste labour, for she loveth none of thy fellowship; and thou to love that loveth not thee is but great folly. For and I understood that she were not right glad of my coming, I would be advised or I did battle for her. But I understand by the sieging of this castle, she may forbear thy fellowship. And therefore wit thou well, thou Red Knight, I love her and will rescue her, or else to die therefor.'\n\n'Sayest thou that?' said the Red Knight. 'Me seemeth thou oughtest of reason to be ware by yonder knights that thou sawest hang on yonder trees.'\n\n'Fie, for shame,' said Beaumains, 'that ever thou shouldest say so, or do so evil, for in that thou shamest thyself and all knighthood; and thou mayest be sure there will no lady love thee that knoweth thee and thy wicked customs. And now thou weenest that the sight of those hanged knights should fear me. Nay truly, not so; that shameful sight causeth me to have courage and hardiness against thee much more than I would have against thee and thou were a well-ruled knight.'\n\n'Make thee ready,' said the Red Knight, 'and talk no more with me.'\n\nThen they put their spears in the rest and came together with all the might that they had both, and either smote other in the midst of their shields that the paytrels, surcingles, and cruppers brast, and fell to the earth both, and the reins of their bridles in their hands. And so they lay a great while sore astoned, that all that were in the castle and in the siege weened their necks had been broken. Then many a stranger and other said the strange knight was a big man, and a noble jouster, 'for or now we saw never no knight match the Red Knight of the Red Launds'. Thus they said both within and without.\n\nThen lightly and deliverly they avoided their horses and put their shields before them and drew their swords, and ran together like two fierce lions; and either gave other such two buffets upon their helms that they reeled backward both two strides. And then they recovered both, and hewed great pieces off other's harness and their shields, that a great part fell in the fields.\n\nAnd then thus they fought till it was past noon, and never would stint, till at the last they lacked wind both; and then they stood wagging, staggering, panting, blowing, and bleeding, that all that beheld them for the most part wept for pity. So when they had rested them a while they yode to battle again, tracing, traversing, foining, and razing as two boars. And at some time they took their bere as it had been two rams and hurled together, that sometime they fell grovelling to the earth; and at some time they were so amated that either took other's sword instead of his own. And thus they endured till evensong, that there was none that beheld them might know which was like to win the battle. And their armour was so forhewen that men might see their naked sides; and in other places they were naked, but ever the naked places they did defend. And the Red Knight was a wily knight in fighting, and that taught Beaumains to be wise; but he bought it full sore or he did espy his fighting.\n\nAnd thus by assent of them both they granted either other to rest; and so they set them down upon two molehills there besides the fighting place, and either of them unlaced their helms and took the cold wind; for either of their pages was fast by them, to come when they called them to unlace their harness and to set them on again at their commandment. And then Sir Beaumains, when his helm was off, he looked up to the window. And there he saw the fair lady Dame Lyonesse, and she made him such countenance that his heart waxed light and jolly; and therewith he bade the Red Knight of the Red Launds make him ready, 'and let us do our battle to the utterance.'\n\n'I will well,' said the knight.\n\nAnd then they laced on their helms, and avoided their pages, and yede together and fought freshly. But the Red Knight of the Red Launds awaited him at an overthwart and smote him that his sword fell out of his hand; and yet he gave him another buffet upon the helm that he fell grovelling to the earth, and the Red Knight fell over him for to hold him down.\n\nThen cried the maiden Lyonet on high and said, 'Ah, Sir Beaumains, where is thy courage become? Alas, my lady my sister beholdeth thee, and she shrieks and weeps so that it maketh my heart heavy.'\n\nWhen Sir Beaumains heard her say so, he abraided up with a great might and got him upon his feet, and lightly he leapt to his sword and gripped it in his hand, and doubled his pace unto the Red Knight, and there they fought a new battle together. But Sir Beaumains then doubled his strokes, and smote so thick that his sword fell out of his hand; and then he smote him on the helm that he fell to the earth. And Sir Beaumains fell upon him and unlaced his helm to have slain him; and then he yielded him and asked mercy, and said with a loud voice, 'Ah, noble knight, I yield me to thy mercy.'\n\nThen Sir Beaumains bethought him on his knights that he had made to be hanged shamefully; and then he said, 'I may not with my worship to save thy life, for the shameful deaths that thou hast caused many full good knights to die.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Red Knight, 'hold your hand, and ye shall know the causes why I put them to so shameful a death.'\n\n'Say on,' said Sir Beaumains.\n\n'Sir, I loved once a lady fair, and she had her brother slain; and she said it was Sir Lancelot du Lake, or else Sir Gawain; and she prayed me as I loved her heartily, that I would make her a promise by the faith of my knighthood for to labour in arms daily until that I had met with one of them; and all that I might overcome, I should put them to villainous death. And so I assured her to do all the villainy unto Arthur's knights, and that I should take vengeance upon all these knights. And, sir, now I will tell thee that every day my strength increaseth till noon until I have seven men's strength.'\n\nThen came there many earls and barons and noble knights, and prayed that knight to save his life, 'and take him to your prisoner.' And all they fell upon their knees and prayed him of mercy that he would save his life.\n\n'And, sir,' they all said, 'it were fairer to take homage and fealty of him and let him hold his lands of you than for to slay him, for by his death ye shall have no advantage; and his misdeeds that be done may not be undone. And therefore make ye amends for all parties, and we all will become your men and do you homage and fealty.'\n\n'Fair lords,' said Beaumains, 'wit you well I am full loath to slay this knight; nevertheless he hath done passing ill and shamefully. But insomuch as all that he did was at a lady's request, I blame him the less; and so for your sake I will release him, that he shall have his life, upon this covenant: that he go into this castle and yield him to the lady. And if she will forgive and acquit him, I will well; with this, he make her amends of all the trespass he hath done against her and her lands. And also, when that is done, that he go unto the court of King Arthur, and that he ask Sir Lancelot mercy, and Sir Gawain, for the evil will he hath had against them.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Red Knight, 'all this will I do as ye command me, and siker assurance and borrows ye shall have.'\n\nSo then when the assurance was made, he made his homage and fealty, and all those earls and barons with him. And then the maiden Lyonet came to Sir Beaumains and unarmed him and searched his wounds, and staunched the blood, and in like wise she did to the Red Knight of the Red Launds; and there they sojourned ten days in their tents. And ever the Red Knight made all his lords and servants to do all the pleasure that they might unto Sir Beaumains that they might do.\n\nAnd so within a while the Red Knight yode unto the castle and put him in her grace; and so she received him upon sufficient surety, so that all her hurts were well restored of all that she could complain. And then he departed unto the court of King Arthur, and there openly the Red Knight put himself in the mercy of Sir Lancelot and of Sir Gawain. And there he told openly how he was overcome and by whom, and also he told all the battles from the beginning to the ending.\n\n'Jesu mercy,' said King Arthur and Sir Gawain, 'we marvel much of what blood he is come, for he is a noble knight.'\n\n'Have ye no marvel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for ye shall right well know that he is come of full noble blood; and as for his might and hardiness, there be but full few now living that is so mighty as he is, and of so noble prowess.'\n\n'It seemeth by you,' said King Arthur, 'that ye know his name, and from whence he came.'\n\n'I suppose I do so,' said Lancelot, 'or else I would not have given him the high order of knighthood; but he gave me such charge at that time that I should never discover him until he require me, or else it be known openly by some other.'\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Beaumains, that desired Dame Lyonet that he might see her lady.\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I would ye saw her fain.'\n\nThen Sir Beaumains all armed took his horse and his spear, and rode straight unto the castle. And when he came to the gate he found there men armed, and pulled up the drawbridge and drew the portcullis. Then he marvelled why they would not suffer him to enter. And then he looked up to the window; and there he saw fair Dame Lyonesse, that said on high, 'Go thy way, Sir Beaumains, for as yet thou shalt not have wholly my love, unto the time that thou be called one of the number of the worthy knights. And therefore go and labour in worship this twelvemonth, and then ye shall hear new tidings.'\n\n'Alas, fair lady,' said Sir Beaumains, 'I have not deserved that ye should show me this strangeness. And I had weened I should have had right good cheer with you, and unto my power I have deserved thanks; and well I am sure I have bought your love with part of the best blood within my body.'\n\n'Fair courteous knight,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'be not displeased, neither be not over-hasty; for wit you well your great travail nor your good love shall not be lost, for I consider your great labour and your hardiness, your bounty and your goodness, as me ought to do. And therefore go on your way, and look that ye be of good comfort, for all shall be for your worship and for the best; and pardie, a twelvemonth will soon be done. And trust me, fair knight, I shall be true to you and never betray you, but to my death I shall love you and none other.' And therewith she turned from the window.\n\nAnd Sir Beaumains rode awayward from the castle making great dole. And so he rode now here, now there, he wist not whither, till it was dark night. And then it happened him to come to a poor man's house, and there he was harboured all that night. But Sir Beaumains had no rest, but wallowed and writhed for the love of the lady of that castle.\n\nAnd so upon the morn he took his horse and rode until evening, and then he came to a broad water. And there he alit to sleep, and laid his head upon his shield and betook his horse to the dwarf, and commanded the dwarf to watch all night.\n\nNow turn we to the lady of the same castle, that thought much upon Beaumains. And then she called unto her Sir Gringamore, her brother, and prayed him, in all manner, as he loved her heartily, that he would ride after Sir Beaumains.\n\n'And ever have ye wait upon him till ye may find him sleeping, for I am sure in his heaviness he will alight down in some place and lay him down to sleep. And therefore have ye your wait upon him in privy manner, and take his dwarf and come your way with him as fast as ye may; for my sister Lyonet telleth me that he can tell of what kindred he is come of. And in the meanwhile I and my sister will ride unto your castle to await when ye bring with you the dwarf; and then will I have him in examination myself, for till that I know what is his right name and of what kindred he is come, shall I never be merry at my heart.'\n\n'Sister,' said Sir Gringamore, 'all this shall be done after your intent.'\n\nAnd so he rode all that other day and the night till he had lodged him. And when he saw Sir Beaumains fast asleep, he came stilly stalking behind the dwarf and plucked him fast under his arm, and so he rode away with him unto his own castle. And this Sir Gringamore was all in black, his armour and his horse and all that to him longeth. But ever as he rode with the dwarf toward the castle, he cried unto his lord and prayed him of help. And therewith awoke Sir Beaumains, and up he leapt lightly and saw where the black knight rode his way with the dwarf, and so he rode out of his sight.\n\nThen Sir Beaumains put on his helm and buckled on his shield, and took his horse, and rode after him all that ever he might through moors and fells and great sloughs, that many times his horse and he plunged over their heads in deep mires; for he knew not the way, but took the gainest way in that woodness, that many times he was like to perish. And at the last him happened to come to a fair green way, and there he met with a poor man of the country and asked him whether he met not with a knight upon a black horse and all black harness, and a little dwarf sitting behind him with heavy cheer.\n\n'Sir,' said the poor man, 'here by me came Sir Gringamore the knight with such a dwarf; and therefore I rede you not to follow him, for he is one of the periloust knights of the world, and his castle is here nearhand but two mile. Therefore, we advise you, ride not after Sir Gringamore, but if ye owe him good will.'\n\nSo leave we Sir Beaumains riding toward the castle, and speak we of Sir Gringamore and the dwarf. Anon as the dwarf was come to the castle, Dame Lyonesse and Dame Lyonet her sister asked the dwarf where was his master born, and of what lineage was he come. 'And but if thou tell me,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'thou shalt never escape this castle, but ever here to be prisoner.'\n\n'As for that,' said the dwarf, 'I fear not greatly to tell his name and of what kin he is come of. Wit you well he is a king's son and a queen's; and his father hight King Lot of Orkney and his mother is sister to King Arthur, and he is brother to Sir Gawain, and his name is Sir Gareth of Orkney. And now I have told you his right name, I pray you, fair lady, let me go to my lord again, for he will never out of this country till he have me again. And if he be angry he will do harm or that he be stinted, and work you wrack in this country.'\n\n'As for that, be as be may.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Gringamore, 'as for that threating, we will go to dinner.'\n\nAnd so they washed and went to meat, and made them merry and well at ease; because the Lady Lyonesse of the Castle Perilous was there, they made the greater joy.\n\n'Truly, madam,' said Lyonet unto her sister, 'well may he be a king's son, for he hath many good tatches; for he is courteous and mild, and the most suffering man that ever I met withal. For I dare say there was never gentlewoman reviled man in so foul a manner as I have rebuked him; and at all times he gave me goodly and meek answers again.'\n\nAnd as they sat thus talking, there came Sir Gareth in at the gate with his sword drawn in his hand, and cried aloud that all the castle might hear, 'Thou traitor knight, Sir Gringamore, deliver me my dwarf again, or by the faith that I owe to God and to the high order of knighthood, I shall do thee all the harm that may lie in my power.'\n\nThen Sir Gringamore looked out at a window and said, 'Sir Gareth of Orkney, leave thy boasting words, for thou gettest not thy dwarf again.'\n\n'Then, coward knight,' said Gareth, 'bring him with thee, and come and do battle with me, and win him and take him.'\n\n'So will I do,' said Sir Gringamore, 'and me list, but for all thy great words thou gettest him not.'\n\n'Ah, fair brother,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'I would he had his dwarf again, for I would he were not wroth; for now he hath told me all my desire, I keep no more of the dwarf. And also, brother, he hath done much for me, and delivered me from the Red Knight of the Red Launds. And therefore, brother, I owe him my service before all knights living; and wit you well that I love him before all other knights living, and full fain I would speak with him. But in no wise I would not that he wist what I were, but as I were another strange lady.'\n\n'Well, sister,' said Sir Gringamore, 'sithen that I know now your will, I will obey me now unto him.'\n\nAnd so therewith he went down and said, 'Sir Gareth, I cry you mercy, and all that I have misdone I will amend it at your will. And therefore I pray you that ye would alight, and take such cheer as I can make you in this castle.'\n\n'Shall I have my dwarf?' said Sir Gareth.\n\n'Yea, sir, and all the pleasure that I can make you; for as soon as your dwarf told me what ye were and of what kind ye are come, and what noble deeds ye have done in these marches, then I repented me of my deeds.'\n\nThen Sir Gareth alit, and there came his dwarf and took his horse.\n\n'Ah, my fellow,' said Sir Gareth, 'I have had much adventures for thy sake!'\n\nAnd so Sir Gringamore took him by the hand and led him into the hall where his own wife was. And then came forth Dame Lyonesse arrayed like a princess; and there she made him passing good cheer, and he her again, and they had goodly language and lovely countenance. And Sir Gareth thought many times, 'Jesu, would that the lady of this Castle Perilous were so fair as she is.'\n\nAnd there was all manner of games and plays, of dancing and singing. And evermore Sir Gareth beheld that lady; and the more he looked on her, the more he burned in love, that he passed himself far in his reason. And forth towards night they yode unto supper; and Sir Gareth might not eat, for his love was so hot that he wist not where he was.\n\nAll these looks espied Sir Gringamore; and then after supper he called his sister Dame Lyonesse unto a chamber, and said, 'Fair sister, I have well espied your countenance betwixt you and this knight, and I will, sister, that ye wit he is a full noble knight; and if ye can make him to abide here I will do him all the pleasure that I can, for and ye were better than ye are, ye were well bewared upon him.'\n\n'Fair brother,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'I understand well that the knight is a good knight, and come he is out of a noble house. Notwithstanding, I will assay him better, howbeit I am most beholden to him of any earthly man; for he hath had great labour for my love, and passed many dangerous passages.'\n\nRight so Sir Gringamore went unto Sir Gareth and said, 'Sir, make ye good cheer, for ye shall have no other cause; for this lady, my sister, is yours at all times, her worship saved, for wit you well she loveth you as well as ye do her, and better if better may be.'\n\n'And I wist that,' said Sir Gareth, 'there lived not a gladder man than I would be.'\n\n'Upon my worship,' said Sir Gringamore, 'trust unto my promise. And as long as it liketh you ye shall sojourn with me, and this lady shall be with us daily and nightly to make you all the cheer that she can.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Gareth, 'for I have promised to be nigh this country this twelvemonth. And well I am sure King Arthur and other noble knights will find me where that I am within this twelvemonth, for I shall be sought and found if that I be alive.'\n\nAnd then Sir Gareth went unto the lady Dame Lyonesse and kissed her many times, and either made great joy of other; and there she promised him her love certainly to love him and none other days of her life. Then this lady Dame Lyonesse by the assent of her brother told Sir Gareth all the truth what she was, and how she was the same lady that he did battle for, and how she was lady of the Castle Perilous; and there she told him how she caused her brother to take away his dwarf, 'for this cause, to know the certainty what was your name, and of what kin ye were come.'\n\nAnd then she let fetch before him her sister Lyonet, that had ridden with him many a wildsome way. Then was Sir Gareth more gladder than he was before. And then they troth-plight, other to love and never to fail while their life lasteth. And so they burnt both in hot love that they were accorded to abate their lusts secretly. And there Dame Lyonesse counselled Sir Gareth to sleep in no other place but in the hall, and there she promised him to come to his bed a little before midnight.\n\nThis counsel was not so privily kept but it was understood; for they were but young both, and tender of age, and had not used such crafts before. Wherefore the damosel Lyonet was a little displeased, and she thought her sister Dame Lyonesse was a little over-hasty, that she might not abide the time of her marriage; and for saving of her worship she thought to abate their hot lusts. And she let ordain by her subtle crafts that they had not their intents either with other as in their delights, until they were married.\n\nAnd so it passed on at after-supper was made a clean avoidance, that every lord and lady should go unto his rest. But Sir Gareth said plainly he would go no further than the hall, for in such places, he said, was convenient for an errant knight to take his rest in. And so there was ordained great couches and thereon feather beds, and there laid him down to sleep. And within a while came Dame Lyonesse, wrapped in a mantle furred with ermine, and laid her down by the side of Sir Gareth; and therewith he began to clip her and to kiss her.\n\nAnd therewith he looked before him and saw an armed knight with many lights about him; and this knight had a long giserne in his hand, and made a grim countenance to smite him. When Sir Gareth saw him come in that wise, he leapt out of his bed, and got in his hand a sword and leapt toward that knight. And when the knight saw Sir Gareth come so fiercely upon him, he smote him with a foin through the thick of the thigh, that the wound was a shaftmon broad and had cut a-two many veins and sinews. And therewith Sir Gareth smote him upon the helm such a buffet that he fell grovelling; and then he leapt over him and unlaced his helm, and smote off his head from the body. And then he bled so fast that he might not stand, but so he laid him down upon his bed, and there he swooned and lay as he had been dead.\n\nThen Dame Lyonesse cried aloud, that Sir Gringamore heard it and came down. And when he saw Sir Gareth so shamefully wounded he was sore displeased, and said, 'I am shamed that this noble knight is thus dishonoured. Sister,' said Sir Gringamore, 'how may this be, that this noble knight is thus wounded?'\n\n'Brother,' she said, 'I can not tell you, for it was not done by me, nor by my assent; for he is my lord, and I am his, and he must be my husband. Therefore, brother, I will that ye wit I shame not to be with him, nor to do him all the pleasure that I can.'\n\n'Sister,' said Gringamore, 'and I will that ye wit it, and Gareth both, that it was never done by me, nor by my assent this unhappy deed was never done.'\n\nAnd there they staunched his bleeding as well as they might, and great sorrow made Sir Gringamore and Dame Lyonesse. And forthwith came Dame Lyonet, and took up the head in the sight of them all, and anointed it with an ointment there as it was smitten off; and in the same wise she did to the other part there as the head stuck. And then she set it together, and it stuck as fast as ever it did; and the knight arose lightly up, and the damosel Lyonet put him in her chamber. All this saw Sir Gringamore and Dame Lyonesse, and so did Sir Gareth; and well he espied that it was Dame Lyonet, that rode with him through the perilous passages.\n\n'Ah well, damosel,' said Sir Gareth, 'I weened ye would not have done as ye have done.'\n\n'My lord Sir Gareth,' said Lyonet, 'all that I have done I will avow it, and all shall be for your worship and us all.'\n\nAnd so within a while Sir Gareth was nigh whole, and waxed light and jocund, and sang and danced, that again Sir Gareth and Dame Lyonesse were so hot in burning love that they made their covenants at the tenth night after, that she should come to his bed. And because he was wounded before, he laid his armour and his sword nigh his bed's side.\n\nAnd right as she promised she came; and she was not so soon in his bed but she espied an armed knight coming toward the bed, and anon she warned Sir Gareth. And lightly through the good help of Dame Lyonesse he was armed; and they hurled together with great ire and malice all about the hall. And there was great light as it had been the number of twenty torches both before and behind. So Sir Gareth strained him, so that his old wound brast again on bleeding; but he was hot and courageous and took no keep, but with his great force he struck down the knight, and voided his helm and struck off his head. Then he hewed the head upon a hundred pieces, and when he had done so he took up all those pieces and threw them out at a window into the ditches of the castle. And by this done, he was so faint that uneath he might stand for bleeding; and by then he was almost unarmed, he fell in a deadly swoon on the floor. Then Dame Lyonesse cried, that Sir Gringamore heard her; and when he came and found Sir Gareth in that plight he made great sorrow, and there he awaked Sir Gareth, and gave him a drink that relieved him wonderly well. But the sorrow that Dame Lyonesse made there may no tongue tell, for she so fared with herself as she would have died.\n\nRight so came this damosel Lyonet before them all, and she had fetched all the gobbets of the head that Sir Gareth had thrown out at the window, and there she anointed it as she did before, and put them to the body in the sight of them all.\n\n'Well, damosel Lyonet,' said Sir Gareth, 'I have not deserved all this despite that ye do unto me.'\n\n'Sir knight,' she said, 'I have nothing done but I will avow it, and all that I have done shall be to your worship, and to us all.'\n\nThen was Sir Gareth staunched of his bleeding; but the leeches said there was no man that bore the life should heal him thoroughly of his wound but if they healed them that caused the stroke by enchantment.\n\nSo leave we Sir Gareth there with Sir Gringamore and his sisters, and turn we unto King Arthur, that at the next feast of Pentecost there came the green knight and fifty knights with him, and yielded them all unto King Arthur. Then there came the red knight his brother, and yielded him to King Arthur with three score knights with him. Also there came the blue knight his brother with a hundred knights, and yielded them to King Arthur; and the green knight's name was Sir Pertolepe, and the red knight's name was Sir Perimones, and the blue knight's name was Sir Persant of Inde. These three brethren told King Arthur how they were overcome by a knight that a damosel had with her, and called him Sir Beaumains.\n\n'Jesu,' said the King, 'I marvel what knight he is, and of what lineage he is come. Here he was with me a twelvemonth, and poorly and shamefully he was fostered; and Sir Kay in scorn named him Beaumains.'\n\nSo right as the King stood so talking with these three brethren, there came Sir Lancelot du Lake and told the King that there was come a goodly lord with five hundred knights with him. Then the King was at Caerleon, for there was the feast held; and thither came to him this lord and saluted the King with goodly manner.\n\n'What would ye,' said King Arthur, 'and what is your errand?'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I am called the Red Knight of the Red Launds, but my name is Sir Ironside. And sir, wit you well, hither I am sent to you from a knight that is called Sir Beaumains, for he won me in plain battle hand for hand, and so did never knight but he that ever had the better of me these twenty winters. And I am commanded to yield me to you at your will.'\n\n'Ye are welcome,' said the King, 'for ye have been long a great foe of ours, to me and to my court, and now I trust to God I shall so entreat you that ye shall be my friend.'\n\n'Sir, both I and these five hundred knights shall always be at your summons to do you such service as may lie in our powers.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said King Arthur, 'I am much beholden unto that knight that hath so put his body in devoir to worship me and my court. And as to thee, Sir Ironside, that is called the Red Knight of the Red Launds, thou art called a perilous knight; and if thou wilt hold of me I shall worship thee and make thee knight of the Table Round\u2014but then thou must be no man-murderer.'\n\n'Sir, as to that, I have made my promise unto Sir Beaumains never more to use such customs, for all the shameful customs that I used I did it at the request of a lady that I loved. And therefore I must go unto Sir Lancelot and unto Sir Gawain, and ask them forgiveness of the evil will I had unto them; for all those that I put to death was all only for their love of Sir Lancelot and of Sir Gawain.'\n\n'They be here', said the King, 'before thee: now may ye say to them what ye will.'\n\nAnd then he kneeled down unto Sir Lancelot and to Sir Gawain, and prayed them of forgiveness of his enmity that he had against them. Then goodly they said all at once, 'God forgive you, and we do. And we pray you that ye will tell us where we may find Sir Beaumains.'\n\n'Fair lord,' said Sir Ironside, 'I cannot tell you, for it is full hard to find him; for such young knights as he is, when they be in their adventures be never abiding in no place.'\n\nBut to say the worship that the Red Knight of the Red Launds and Sir Persant and his brethren said by him, it was marvel to hear.\n\n'Well, my fair lords,' said King Arthur, 'wit you well I shall do you honour for the love of Sir Beaumains, and as soon as ever I may meet with him I shall make you all upon a day knights of the Table Round. And as to thee, Sir Persant of Inde, thou hast been ever called a full noble knight, and so have evermore thy three brethren been called. But I marvel,' said the King, 'that I hear not of the black knight your brother: he was a full noble knight.'\n\n'Sir,' said Pertolepe the green knight, 'Sir Beaumains slew him in an encounter with his spear: his name was Sir Perard.'\n\n'That was great pity,' said the King, and so said many knights; for these four brethren were full well known in King Arthur's court for noble knights, for long time they had held war against the knights of the Round Table.\n\nThen Pertolepe the green knight told the King that at a passage of the water of Mortaise there encountered Sir Beaumains with two brethren that ever for the most part kept that passage, and they were two deadly knights. And there he slew the eldest brother in the water, and smote him upon the head such a buffet that he fell down in the water, and there he was drowned; and his name was Sir Garrard le Breuse. And after he slew the other brother upon the land; his name was Sir Arnold le Breuse.\n\nSo then the King went to meat and were served in the best manner. And as they sat at the meat there came in the Queen of Orkney with ladies and knights a great number. And then Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain, and Sir Gaheris arose and went to their mother and saluted her upon their knees and asked her blessing, for of fifteen years before they had not seen her. Then she spake upon high to her brother King Arthur, 'Where have ye done my young son Sir Gareth? For he was here amongst you a twelvemonth, and ye made a kitchen knave of him, the which is shame to you all. Alas, where have ye done mine own dear son that was my joy and bliss?'\n\n'Ah, dear mother,' said Sir Gawain, 'I knew him not.'\n\n'Nor I,' said the King. 'That now me repents! But thanked be God he is proved a worshipful knight as any that is now living of his years; and I shall never be glad till that I may find him.'\n\n'Ah, brother,' said the queen unto King Arthur, 'ye did yourself great shame when ye amongst you kept my son in the kitchen and fed him like a hog.'\n\n'Fair sister,' said King Arthur, 'ye shall right well wit that I knew him not, neither no more did Sir Gawain nor his brethren. But sith it is so,' said the King, 'that he thus is gone from us all, we must shape a remedy to find him. Also, sister, me seemeth ye might have done me to wit of his coming, and then if I had not done well to him ye might have blamed me; for when he came to this court, he came leaning upon two men's shoulders, as though he might not have gone. And then he asked me three gifts; and one he asked that same day, and that was that I would give him meat enough that twelvemonth. And the other two gifts he asked that day twelvemonth, and that was that he might have the adventure of the damosel Lyonet; and the third, that Sir Lancelot should make him knight when he desired him. And so I granted him all his desire. And many in this court marvelled that he desired his sustenance for a twelvemonth, and thereby we deemed, many of us, that he was not come out of a noble house.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Queen of Orkney unto King Arthur her brother, 'wit you well that I sent him unto you right well armed and horsed and worshipfully beseen of his body, and gold and silver plenty to spend.'\n\n'It may be so,' said the King, 'but thereof saw we none, save that same day that he departed from us, knights told me that there came a dwarf hither suddenly, and brought him armour and a good horse full well and richly beseen; and thereat all we had marvel from whence that riches came. Then we deemed all that he was come of men of worship.'\n\n'Brother,' said the queen, 'all that ye say we believe it, for ever sithen he was grown he was marvellously witted, and ever he was faithful and true of his promise. But I marvel,' said she, 'that Sir Kay did mock and scorn him, and gave him to name Beaumains; yet Sir Kay', said the queen, 'named him more righteously than he weened; for I dare say he is as fair a handed man, and he be alive, as any living.'\n\n'Sister,' said Arthur, 'let this language now be still, and by the grace of God he shall be found and he be within these seven realms. And let all this pass, and be merry, for he is proved a man of worship, and that is my joy.'\n\nThen said Sir Gawain and his brethren unto King Arthur, 'Sir, and ye will give us leave, we will go seek our brother.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that shall not need.' And so said Sir Baudwin of Britain: 'for as by our advice, the King shall send unto Dame Lyonesse a messenger and pray her that she will come to the court in all haste that she may, and doubt ye not she will come; and then she may give you the best counsel where ye shall find Sir Gareth.'\n\n'This is well said of you,' said the King.\n\nSo then goodly letters were made, and the messenger sent forth, that went night and day till he came to the Castle Perilous. And then the lady Dame Lyonesse was sent for, there as she was with Sir Gringamore her brother and Sir Gareth. And when she understood this messenger, she bade him ride on his way unto King Arthur, and she would come after in all the most goodly haste. Then she came unto Sir Gringamore and to Sir Gareth, and told them all how King Athur had sent for her.\n\n'That is because of me,' said Sir Gareth.\n\n'Now advise ye me,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'what I shall say, and in what manner I shall rule me.'\n\n'My lady and my love,' said Sir Gareth, 'I pray you in no wise be ye knowing where I am. But well I wot my mother is there and all my brethren, and they will take upon them to seek me; I will that they do. But this, madam, I will ye say and advise the King when he questions with you of me: then may ye say this is your advice, that and it like his good grace, ye will do make a cry against the Assumption of Our Lady, that what knight that proveth him best, he shall wield you and all your land. And if so be that he be a wedded man that wins the degree, he shall have a coronal of gold set with stones of virtue to the value of a thousand pounds, and a white gerfalcon.'\n\nSo Dame Lyonesse departed. And to brief this tale: when she came to King Arthur she was nobly received, and there she was sore questioned of the King, and of the Queen of Orkney. And she answered, where Sir Gareth was she could not tell. But this much she said unto King Arthur: 'Sir, by your advice I will let cry a tournament that shall be done before my castle at the Assumption of Our Lady, and the cry shall be this: that you, my lord Arthur, shall be there, and your knights, and I will purvey that my knights shall be against yours; and then I am sure I shall hear of Sir Gareth.'\n\n'This is well advised,' said King Arthur.\n\nAnd so she departed; and the King and she made great provision to the tournament.\n\nWhen Dame Lyonesse was come to the Isle of Avilion\u2014that was the same isle there as her brother Sir Gringamore dwelled\u2014then she told them all how she had done, and what promise she had made to King Arthur.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Gareth, 'I have been so sore wounded with unhappiness sithen I came into this castle that I shall not be able to do at that tournament like a knight; for I was never thoroughly whole since I was hurt.'\n\n'Be ye of good cheer,' said the damosel Lyonet, 'for I undertake within these fifteen days to make you as whole and as lusty as ever ye were.'\n\nAnd then she laid an ointment and salve to him as it pleased her, that he was never so fresh nor so lusty as he was then.\n\nThen said the damosel Lyonet, 'Send you unto Sir Persant of Inde, and summon him that he be ready there with his whole summons of knights like as he made his promise. Also, that ye send unto Ironside that is Knight of the Red Launds, and charge him that he be there with you with his whole sum of knights, and then shall ye be able to match with King Arthur and his knights.'\n\nSo this was done, and all the knights were sent for unto the Castle Perilous.\n\n[The tournament is announced, and many knights prepare to come.]\n\nNow let us speak of the great array that was made within the castle and about the castle; for this lady Dame Lyonesse ordained great array upon her part for her noble knights, for all manner of lodging and victual that came by land and by water, that there lacked nothing for her party nor for the other party; but there was plenty to be had for gold and silver for King Arthur and all his knights. And then there came the harbingers from King Arthur for to harbour him and his kings, dukes, earls, barons, and knights.\n\nThen Sir Gareth prayed Dame Lyonesse and the Red Knight of the Red Launds, and Sir Persant and his brethren and Sir Gringamore, that in no wise there should none of them tell his name, and make no more of him than of the least knight that there was, 'for,' he said, 'I will not be known of neither more nor less, neither at the beginning nor at the ending.'\n\nThen Dame Lyonesse said unto Sir Gareth, 'Sir, I would leave with you a ring of mine; but I would pray you, as ye love me heartily, let me have it again when the tournament is done, for that ring increaseth my beauty much more than it is of myself. And the virtue of my ring is this: that that is green it will turn to red, and that that is red will turn in likeness to green, and that that is blue will turn to white, and that that is white will in likeness to blue, and so it will do of all manner of colours; also who that beareth this ring shall lose no blood. And for great love I will give you this ring.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said Sir Gareth, 'mine own lady, for this ring is passing meet for me; for it will turn all manner of likeness that I am in, and that shall cause me that I shall not be known.'\n\nThen Sir Gringamore gave Sir Gareth a bay courser that was a passing good horse; also he gave him good armour and sure, and a noble sword that sometime Sir Gringamore's father won upon a heathen tyrant. And so thus every knight made him ready to that tournament.\n\nAnd King Arthur was come two days before the Assumption of Our Lady. And there was all manner of royalty, of all manner of minstrelsy that might be found. Also there came Queen Guenivere and the Queen of Orkney, Sir Gareth's mother.\n\nAnd upon the Assumption Day, when Mass and matins was done, there were heralds with trumpets commanded to blow to the field. And so there came out Sir Epinogris, the king's son of Northumberland, from the castle, and there encountered with him Sir Sagramore le Desirous, and either of them broke their spears to their hands. And then came in Sir Palomides out of the castle, and there encountered with him Sir Gawain, and either of them smote other so hard that both good knights and their horses fell to the earth. And then the knights of either party rescued other.\n\nAnd then came in the Red Knight of the Red Launds and Sir Gareth from the castle, and there encountered with them Sir Bors de Ganis and Sir Bleoberis. And there the Red Knight and Sir Bors smote other so hard that their spears brast and their horses fell grovelling to the earth. Then Sir Blamor broke another spear upon Sir Gareth, but of that stroke Sir Blamor fell to the earth.\n\nThat saw Sir Galihodin, and bade Sir Gareth keep him; and Sir Gareth smote him anon to the earth. Then Sir Galihud got a spear to avenge his brother, and in the same wise Sir Gareth served him. And in the same manner Sir Gareth served Sir Dinadan and his brother, Sir La Cote Mai Taill\u00e9, and Sir Sagramore le Desirous, and Sir Dodinas le Savage. All these knights he bore down with one spear.\n\nWhen King Angwish of Ireland saw Sir Gareth fare so, he marvelled what knight he was; for at one time he seemed green, and another time at his again coming he seemed blue. And thus at every course that he rode to and fro he changed white to red and black, that there might neither king nor knight have ready cognizance of him.\n\n'So God me help,' said King Arthur, 'that same knight with the many colours is a good knight.' Wherefore the King called unto him Sir Lancelot and prayed him to encounter with that knight.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may well find in my heart for to forbear him as at this time, for he hath had travail enough this day. And when a good knight doth so well upon some day, it is no good knight's part to let him of his worship, and namely when he seeth a good knight hath done so great labour. For peradventure,' said Sir Lancelot, 'his quarrel is here this day, and peradventure he is best beloved with this lady of all that be here; for I see well he paineth him and enforceth him to do great deeds. And therefore,' said Sir Lancelot, 'as for me, this day he shall have the honour; though it lay in my power to put him from it, yet would I not.'\n\nThen when this was done there was drawing of swords, and then there began a sore tournament. And there did Sir Lamorak marvellous deeds of arms; and betwixt Sir Lamorak and Sir Ironside, that was the Red Knight of the Red Launds, there was a strong battle. Then came in Sir Lancelot, and he smote Sir Tarquin and he him; and then came in Sir Carados his brother, and both at once they assailed him, and he as the most noblest knight of the world worshipfully fought with them both and held them hot, that all men wondered of the noblesse of Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd then came in Sir Gareth, and knew that it was Sir Lancelot that fought with those perilous knights, and parted them in sunder; and no stroke would he smite Sir Lancelot. That espied Sir Lancelot, and deemed it should be the good knight Sir Gareth. And then Sir Gareth rode here and there, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, that all folks might well espy where that he rode. And by fortune he met with his brother Sir Gawain, and there he put him to the worse, for he put off his helm; and so he served five or six knights of the Round Table, that all men said he put him in most pain, and best he did his devoir. For when Sir Tristram beheld him how he first jousted and after fought so well with a sword, then he rode unto Sir Ironside and to Sir Persant of Inde, and asked them by their faith, 'What manner a knight yonder knight is that seemeth in so many divers colours? Truly, me seemeth', said Sir Tristram, 'that he putteth himself in great pain, for he never ceaseth.'\n\n'Wot ye not what he is?' said Ironside.\n\n'No,' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Then shall ye know that this is he that loveth the lady of the castle, and she him again; and this is he that won me when I besieged the lady of this castle; and this is he that won Sir Persant of Inde and his three brethren.'\n\n'What is his name,' said Sir Tristram, 'and of what blood is he come?'\n\n'Sir, he was called in the court of King Arthur Beaumains; but his right name is Sir Gareth of Orkney, brother unto Sir Gawain.'\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Tristram, 'he is a good knight, and a big man of arms; and if he be young he shall prove a full noble knight.'\n\n'Sir, he is but a child,' he said, 'and of Sir Lancelot he was made knight.'\n\n'Therefore is he much the better,' said Sir Tristram.\n\nAnd then Sir Tristram, Sir Ironside, Sir Persant, and his brethren rode together for to help Sir Gareth; and then there were many sad strokes.\n\nAnd then Sir Gareth rode out on the one side to amend his helm. Then said his dwarf, 'Take me your ring, that ye lose it not while that ye drink.' And so when he had drunk, he got on his helm and eagerly took his horse and rode into the field, and left his ring with his dwarf; and the dwarf was glad the ring was from him, for then he wist well he should be known.\n\nAnd when Sir Gareth was in the field, all folks saw him well and plainly that he was in yellow colours. And there he rased off helms and pulled down knights, that King Arthur had marvel what knight he was, for the King saw by his horse that it was the same knight, 'but before he was in so many colours, and now he is but in one colour, and that is yellow. Now go,' said King Arthur unto divers heralds, and bade them ride about him, 'and espy if ye can see what manner of knight he is; for I have spered of many knights this day that is upon his party, and all say they know him not.'\n\nBut at the last a herald rode nigh Sir Gareth as he could; and there he saw written about his helm in gold, saying, 'This helm is Sir Gareth's of Orkney.' Then the herald cried as he were wood, and many heralds with him: 'This is Sir Gareth of Orkney in the yellow arms!' Thereby all the kings and knights of King Arthur's party beheld and awaited, and then they pressed all to behold him, and ever the heralds cried and said, 'This is Sir Gareth, King Lot's son of Orkney!'\n\nAnd when Sir Gareth espied that he was discovered, then he doubled his strokes and smote down there Sir Sagramore, and his brother Sir Gawain.\n\n'Ah, brother,' said Sir Gawain, 'I weened ye would not have smitten me so.'\n\nWhen he heard him say so he thrang here and there, and so with great pain he got out of the press, and there he met with his dwarf.\n\n'Ah, boy,' said Sir Gareth, 'thou hast beguiled me foul this day of my ring. Give it me fast, that I may hide my body withal.' And so he took it him, and then they all wist not where he was become.\n\nAnd Sir Gawain had in manner espied where Sir Gareth rode, and then he rode after with all his might. That espied Sir Gareth and rode wightly into the forest; for all that Sir Gawain could do, he wist not where he was become. And when Sir Gareth wist that Sir Gawain was passed, he asked the dwarf of best counsel.\n\n'Sir,' said the dwarf, 'me seemeth it were best, now that ye are escaped from spying, that ye send my lady Dame Lyonesse of the castle her ring.'\n\n'It is well advised,' said Sir Gareth. 'Now have it here and bear it her, and say that I recommend me unto her good grace; and say her I will come when I may, and pray her to be true and faithful to me as I will be to her.'\n\n'Sir,' said the dwarf, 'it shall be done as ye command.' And so he rode his way, and did his errand unto the lady.\n\nThen said she, 'Where is my knight, Sir Gareth?'\n\n'Madam, he bade me say that he would not be long from you.'\n\nAnd so lightly the dwarf came again unto Sir Gareth, that would full fain have had a lodging, for he had need to be reposed. And then fell there a thunder and a rain, as heaven and earth should go together. And Sir Gareth was not a little weary, for of all that day he had but little rest, neither his horse nor he.\n\n[Gareth proceeds to have various adventures in the forest.]\n\nAnd as Sir Gareth stood he saw an armed knight on horseback coming toward him. Then Sir Gareth mounted upon horseback, and so with out any words they ran together as thunder. And there that knight hurt Sir Gareth under the side with his spear; and then they alit and drew their swords and gave great strokes, that the blood trailed down to the ground, and so they fought two hours. So at the last there came the damosel Lyonet, that some men call the Damosel Savage, and she came riding upon an ambling mule; and there she cried all on high, 'Sir Gawain, leave thy fighting with thy brother Sir Gareth!'\n\nAnd when he heard her say so, he threw away his shield and his sword, and ran to Sir Gareth and took him in his arms, and sithen kneeled down and asked him mercy.\n\n'What are ye,' said Sir Gareth, 'that right now were so strong and so mighty, and now so suddenly is yielded to me?'\n\n'Ah, Sir Gareth, I am your brother Sir Gawain, that for your sake have had great labour and travail.'\n\nThen Sir Gareth unlaced his helm, and kneeled down to him and asked him mercy. Then they arose both, and embraced either other in their arms, and wept a great while or they might speak; and either of them gave other the prize of the battle, and there were many kind words between them.\n\n'Alas, my fair brother,' said Sir Gawain, 'I ought of right to worship you and ye were not my brother; for ye have worshipped King Arthur and all his court, for ye have sent more worshipful knights this twelvemonth than five the best of the Round Table have done, except Sir Lancelot.'\n\nThen came the lady Savage that was the lady Lyonet that rode with Sir Gareth so long; and there she did staunch Sir Gareth's wounds and Sir Gawain's.\n\n'Now what will ye do?' said the damosel Savage. 'Me seemeth that it were best that King Arthur had witting of you both, for your horses are so bruised that they may not bear.'\n\n'Now, fair damosel,' said Sir Gawain, 'I pray you ride unto my lord, my uncle King Arthur, and tell him what adventure is betid me here, and I suppose he will not tarry long.'\n\nThen she took her mule and lightly she rode to King Arthur, that was but two mile thence. And when she had told her tidings to the King, the King bade, 'Get me a palfrey.' And when he was on horseback he bade the lords and ladies come after and they would; and there was saddling and bridling of queens' and princes' horses, and well was he that soonest might be ready.\n\nSo when the King came there, he saw Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth sit upon a little hillside. Then the King avoided his horse, and when he came nigh to Sir Gareth he would have spoken and might not; and therewith he sank down in a swoon for gladness. And so they started unto their uncle, and required him of his good grace to be of good comfort. Wit you well the King made great joy, and many a piteous complaint he made to Sir Gareth, and ever he wept as he had been a child.\n\nSo with this came his mother, the Queen of Orkney, Dame Morgause; and when she saw Sir Gareth readily in the visage she might not weep, but suddenly fell down in a swoon, and lay there a great while like as she had been dead. And then Sir Gareth recomforted her in such wise that she recovered and made good cheer.\n\nThen the King commanded that all manner of knights that were under his obeisance should make their lodging right there for the love of his two nephews. And so it was done, and all manner of purveyance purveyed, that there lacked nothing that might he gotten for gold nor silver, neither of wild nor tame. And then by the means of the damosel Savage Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth were healed of their wounds; and there they sojourned eight days.\n\nThen said King Arthur unto the damosel Savage, 'I marvel that your sister, Dame Lyonesse, cometh not hither to me, and in especial that she cometh not to visit her knight, my nephew Sir Gareth, that hath had so much travail for her love.'\n\n'My lord,' said the damosel Lyonet, 'ye must of your good grace hold her excused, for she knoweth not that my lord Sir Gareth is here.'\n\n'Go ye then for her,' said King Arthur, 'that we may be appointed what is best to do, according to the pleasure of my nephew.'\n\n'Sir,' said the damosel, 'it shall be done.'\n\nAnd so she rode unto her sister; and as lightly as she might make her ready she came on the morn with her brother Sir Gringamore, and with her forty knights. And so when she was come she had all the cheer that might be done, both of the King, and of many other knights and also queens. And among all these ladies she was named the fairest, and peerless. Then when Sir Gareth met with her, there was many a goodly look and goodly words, that all men of worship had joy to behold them.\n\nThen came King Arthur and many other kings, and Dame Guenivere and Queen Morgause his mother. And there the King asked his nephew Sir Gareth whether he would have this lady as paramour, or else to have her to his wife.\n\n'My lord, wit you well that I love her above all ladies living.'\n\n'Now, fair lady,' said King Arthur, 'what say ye?'\n\n'My most noble king,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'wit you well that my lord Sir Gareth is to me more liever to have and wield as my husband than any king or prince that is christened; and if I may not have him, I promise you I will never have none. For, my lord Arthur,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'wit you well he is my first love, and he shall be the last; and if ye will suffer him to have his will and free choice I dare say he will have me.'\n\n'That is truth,' said Sir Gareth; 'and I have not you and wield you as my wife, there shall never lady nor gentlewoman rejoice me.'\n\n'What, nephew,' said the King, 'is the wind in that door? For wit you well, I would not for the stint of my crown to be causer to withdraw your hearts; and wit you well, ye cannot love so well but I shall rather increase it than decrease it. And also ye shall have my love and my lordship in the uttermost wise that may lie in my power.' And in the same wise said Sir Gareth's mother.\n\nSo anon there was made a provision for the day of marriage; and by the King's advice it was provided that it should be at Michaelmas following, at Kinkenadon by the seaside, for there is a plenteous country. And so it was cried in all the places through the realm. And then Sir Gareth sent his summons to all those knights and ladies that he had won in battle before, that they should be at his day of marriage at Kinkenadon by the seaside.\n\nAnd then Dame Lyonesse and the damosel Lyonet, with Sir Gringamore, rode to their castle; and a goodly and a rich ring she gave to Sir Gareth, and he gave her another. And King Arthur gave her a rich bee of gold; and so she departed. And King Arthur and his fellowship rode toward Kinkenadon; and Sir Gareth brought his lady on the way, and so came to the King again and rode with him.\n\nLord, the great cheer that Sir Lancelot made of Sir Gareth, and he of him! For there was no knight that Sir Gareth loved so well as he did Sir Lancelot; and ever for the most part he would be in Sir Lancelot's company. For after Sir Gareth had espied Sir Gawain's conditions, he withdrew himself from his brother Sir Gawain's fellowship, for he was ever vengeable, and where he hated he would be avenged with murder; and that hated Sir Gareth.\n\nSo it drew fast to Michaelmas, that thither came the lady Dame Lyonesse, the lady of the Castle Perilous, and her sister the damosel Lyonet, with Sir Gringamore her brother with them, for he had the conduct of these ladies; and there they were lodged at the device of King Arthur. And upon Michaelmas Day the Bishop of Canterbury made the wedding between Sir Gareth and Dame Lyonesse with great solemnity. And King Arthur made Sir Gaheris to wed the damosel Savage, Dame Lyonet; and Sir Agravain King Arthur made to wed Dame Lyonesse's niece, a fair lady\u2014her name was Dame Laurel.\n\nAnd so when this solemnity was done, then came in the green knight, Sir Pertolepe, with thirty knights, and there he did homage and fealty to Sir Gareth, and these knights to hold their lands of him for evermore. Also Sir Pertolepe said, 'I pray you that at this feast I may be your chamberlain.'\n\n'With good will,' said Sir Gareth, 'sith it like you to take so simple an office.'\n\nThen came in the red knight with three score knights with him, and did to Sir Gareth homage and fealty, and all those knights to hold of him for evermore. And then Sir Perimones prayed Sir Gareth to grant him to be his chief butler at the high feast.\n\n'I will well', said Sir Gareth, 'that ye have this office, and it were better.'\n\nThen came in Sir Persant of Inde with a hundred knights with him, and there he did homage and fealty, and all his knights should do him service and hold their lands of him for ever; and there he prayed Sir Gareth to make him his sewer-chief at that high feast.\n\n'I will well', said Sir Gareth, 'that ye have it, and it were better.'\n\nThen came the Red Knight of the Red Launds that hight Sir Ironside, and he brought with him three hundred knights; and there he did homage and fealty, and all those knights to hold their lands of him for ever. And then he asked of Sir Gareth to be his carver.\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Gareth, 'and it please you.'\n\nSo then the kings, queens, princes, earls, barons, and many bold knights went to meat; and well may ye wit that there were all manner of plenty and all manner of revels and game, with all manner of minstrelsy that was used those days. Also there was great jousts three days; but the King would not suffer Sir Gareth to joust, because of his new bride, for, as the French book saith, that Dame Lyonesse desired of the King that none that were wedded should joust at that feast.\n\nBut when these jousts were done, Sir Lamorak and Sir Tristram departed suddenly and would not be known, for the which King Arthur and all the court was sore displeased.\n\nAnd so they held the court forty days with great solemnity. And this Sir Gareth was a noble knight, that wedded Dame Lyonesse of the Castle Perilous. And also Sir Gaheris wedded her sister, Dame Lyonet, that was called the damosel Savage. And Sir Agravain wedded Dame Laurel, a fair lady with great and mighty lands with great riches given with them, that royally they might live till their lives' end.\n\nAnd I pray you all that readeth this tale to pray for him that this wrote, that God send him good deliverance soon and hastily. Amen.\n\nHere endeth the tale of Sir Gareth of Orkney.\n\nHere beginneth the first book of Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, and who was his father and mother; and how he was born and fostered, and how he was made knight of King Mark of Cornwall.\n\nThere was a king that hight Meliodas, and he was lord of the country of Lyonesse; and this Meliodas was a likely knight as any was that time living. And by fortune he wedded King Mark's sister of Cornwall, and she was called Elizabeth, that was called both good and fair.\n\nSo when this King Meliodas had been with his wife, within a while she waxed great with child. And she was a full meek lady, and well she loved her lord, and he her again; so there was great joy betwixt them.\n\nSo there was a lady in that country that had loved King Meliodas long, and by no mean she never could get his love. Therefore she let ordain upon a day, as King Meliodas rode an-hunting (for he was a great chaser of deer), and there by enchantment she made him chase a hart by himself alone till that he came to an old castle, and there anon he was taken prisoner by the lady that loved him.\n\nWhen Elizabeth, King Meliodas' wife, missed her lord, she was nigh out of her wit; and also, as great with child as she was, she took a gentlewoman with her, and ran into the forest suddenly to seek her lord. And when she was far in the forest she might no further, but right there she began to travail fast of her child; and she had many grimly throes, but her gentlewoman helped her all that she might. And so by miracle of Our Lady of Heaven she was delivered with great pains; but she had taken such cold for the default of help that the deep draughts of death took her, that needs she must die and depart out of this world, there was no other boot.\n\nWhen this Queen Elizabeth saw that she might not escape, she made great dole, and said unto her gentlewoman, 'When ye see my lord, King Meliodas, recommend me unto him, and tell him what pains I endure here for his love, and how I must die here for his sake for default of good help; and let him wit that I am full sorry to depart out of this world from him, therefore pray him to be friend to my soul. Now let me see my little child, for whom I have had all this sorrow.' And when she saw him she said thus: 'Ah, my little son, thou hast murdered thy mother! And therefore, I suppose, thou that art a murderer so young, thou art full likely to be a manly man in thine age. And because I shall die of the birth of thee, I charge my gentlewoman that she pray my lord, the King Meliodas, that when he is christened let call him Tristram, that is as much to say as a sorrowful birth.'\n\nAnd therewith the queen gave up the ghost and died. Then the gentlewoman laid her under an umber of a great tree, and then she lapped the child as well as she might from cold.\n\nRight so there came the barons of King Meliodas following after the queen; and when they saw that she was dead, and understood none other but that the king was destroyed, then certain of them would have slain the child, because they would have been lords of that country of Lyonesse. But then through the fair speech of the gentlewoman and by the means that she made, the most part of the barons would not assent thereto. But then they let carry home the dead queen, and much sorrow was made for her.\n\nThen this meanwhile Merlin had delivered King Meliodas out of prison, on the morn after his queen was dead; and so when the king was come home, the most part of the barons made great joy. But the sorrow that the king made for his queen there might no tongue tell. So then the king let inter her richly, and after he let christen his child as his wife had commanded before her death. And then he let call him Tristram, the sorrowful-born child.\n\nThen King Meliodas endured after that seven years without a wife, and all this time Tristram was fostered well. Then it befell that the King Meliodas wedded King Howell of Brittany's daughter, and anon she had children by King Meliodas. Then was she heavy and wroth that her children should not rejoice the country of Lyonesse, wherefore this queen ordained for to poison young Tristram. So at the last she let poison be put in a piece of silver in the chamber where Tristram and her children were together, unto that intent that when Tristram were thirsty he should drink that drink. And so it fell upon a day, the queen's son, as he was in that chamber, espied the piece with poison, and he weened it had been good drink; and because the child was thirsty he took the piece with poison and drank freely, and therewith the child suddenly brast and was dead.\n\nSo when the queen of Meliodas wist of the death of her son, wit ye well that she was heavy. But yet the king understood nothing of her treason. Notwithstanding, the queen would not leave by this, but eft she let ordain more poison and put it in a piece. And by fortune King Meliodas her husband found the piece with wine wherein was the poison, and as he that was thirsty took the piece for to drink. And as he would have drunk thereof, the queen espied him and ran unto him, and pulled the piece from him suddenly. The king marvelled of her why she did so, and remembered him suddenly how her son was slain with poison. And then he took her by the hand, and said, 'Thou false traitress, thou shall tell me what manner of drink this is, or else I shall slay thee.'\n\nAnd therewith he pulled out his sword, and swore a great oath that he should slay her but if she told him the truth.\n\n'Ah, mercy, my lord,' said she, 'and I shall tell you all.' And then she told him why she would have slain Tristram, because her children should rejoice his land.\n\n'Well,' said the king, 'and therefore ye shall have the law.'\n\nAnd so she was damned by the assent of the barons to be burnt; and then was there made a great fire, and right as she was at the fire to take her execution, this same young Tristram kneeled before his father King Meliodas and besought him to give him a done.\n\n'I will well,' said the king.\n\nThen said young Tristram, 'Give me the life of your queen, my stepmother.'\n\n'That is unrightfully asked,' said the King Meliodas. 'For thou ought of right to hate her, for she would have slain thee with poison; and for thy sake most is my cause that she should be dead.'\n\n'Sir,' said Tristram, 'as for that, I beseech you of your mercy that ye will forgive her; and as for my part, God forgive her, and I do. And it liked so much your highness to grant me my boon, for God's love I require you hold your promise.'\n\n'Sithen it is so,' said the king, 'I will that ye have her life,' and said, 'I give her you, and go ye to the fire and take her, and do with her what ye will.'\n\nSo thus Sir Tristram went to the fire, and by the commandment of the king delivered her from the death. But after that King Meliodas would never have ado with her as at bed and at board. But by the means of young Tristram, he made the king and her accorded. But then the king would not suffer young Tristram to abide but little in his court.\n\nAnd then he let ordain a gentleman that was well learned and taught, and his name was Gouvernail; and then he sent young Tristram with Gouvernail into France to learn the language and nurture and deeds of arms, and there was Tristram more than seven years. So when he had learned what he might in those countries, then he came home to his father King Meliodas again.\n\nAnd so Tristram learned to be a harper passing all other, that there was none such called in no country; and so he applied him for to learn in harping and on instruments of music in his youth. And after, as he grew in might and strength, he laboured in hunting and in hawking, never gentleman more that ever we heard read of. And as the book saith, he began good measures of blowing of beasts of venery, and beasts of chase, and all manner of vermins, and all the terms we have yet of hawking and hunting. And therefore the book of venery, of hawking and hunting, is called the book of Sir Tristram.\n\nWherefore, as me seemeth, all gentlemen that beareth old arms ought of right to honour Sir Tristram for the goodly terms that gentlemen have and use, and shall do unto the day of doom, that thereby in a manner all men of worship may dissever a gentleman from a yeoman, and a yeoman from a villein. For he that gentle is will draw him to gentle tatches, and to follow the noble customs of gentlemen.\n\nThus Tristram endured in Lyonesse until that he was strong and big, unto the age of eighteen years. And then King Meliodas had great joy of young Tristram, and so had the queen his wife; for ever after in her life, because Sir Tristram saved her from the fire, she did never hate him more after, but ever loved him and gave him many great gifts. For every estate loved him, where that he went.\n\nThen it befell that King Angwish of Ireland sent unto King Mark of Cornwall for his truage, that Cornwall had paid many winters; and all that time King Mark was behind of the truage for seven years. And King Mark and his barons gave unto the messengers of Ireland these words and answer, that they would none pay; and bade the messengers go unto their king Angwish, 'and tell him we will pay him no truage, but tell your lord, and he will always have truage of us of Cornwall, bid him send a trusty knight of his land that will fight for his right, and we shall find another for to defend us.'\n\nSo the messengers departed into Ireland. And when King Angwish understood the answer of the messengers, he was wroth; and then he called unto him Sir Marhalt, the good knight, that was nobly proved and a knight of the Round Table; and this Marhalt was brother unto the Queen of Ireland.\n\nThen the king said thus: 'Fair brother, Sir Marhalt, I pray you go unto Cornwall for my sake, to do battle for our truage that we of right ought to have. And whatsoever ye spend, ye shall have sufficiently more than ye shall need.'\n\n'Sir,' said Marhalt, 'wit ye well that I shall not be loath to do battle in the right of you and your land with the best knight of the Table Round, for I know them, for the most part, what be their deeds; and for to advance my deeds and to increase my worship, I will right gladly go unto this journey.'\n\nSo in all haste there was made purveyance for Sir Marhalt, and he had all thing that him needed; and so he departed out of Ireland, and arrived up in Cornwall even by the castle of Tintagel. And when King Mark understood that he was there arrived to fight for Ireland, then made King Mark great sorrow when he understood that the good knight Sir Marhalt was come, for they knew no knight that durst have ado with him; for at that time Sir Marhalt was called one of the famousest knights of the world.\n\nAnd thus Sir Marhalt abode in the sea, and every day he sent unto King Mark for to pay the truage that was behind seven years, or else to find a knight to fight with him for the truage. This manner of message Sir Marhalt sent unto King Mark.\n\nThen they of Cornwall let make cries that what knight would fight for to save the truage of Cornwall, he should be rewarded to fare the better, term of his life. Then some of the barons said to King Mark, and counselled him to send to the court of King Arthur for to seek Sir Lancelot du Lake, that was that time named for the marvellest knight of the world. Then there were other barons that said that it was labour in vain, because Sir Marhalt was a knight of the Round Table, therefore any of them would be loath to have ado with other, but if it were so that any knight at his own request would fight disguised and unknown. So the king and all his barons assented that it was no boot to seek after no knight of the Round Table.\n\nThis meanwhile came the language and the noise unto King Meliodas, how that Sir Marhalt abode fast by Tintagel, and how King Mark could find no manner of knight to fight for him. So when young Tristram heard of this he was wroth and sore ashamed that there durst no knight in Cornwall have ado with Sir Marhalt of Ireland. Therewith Tristram went unto his father, King Meliodas, and asked him counsel what was best to do for to recover Cornwall from bondage. 'For as me seemeth,' said Tristram, 'it were shame that Sir Marhalt, the queen's brother of Ireland, should go away unless that he were fought withal.'\n\n'As for that,' said King Meliodas, 'wit you well, son Tristram, that Sir Marhalt is called one of the best knights of the world; and therefore I know no knight in this country is able to match him.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'that I were not made knight! And if Sir Marhalt should thus depart into Ireland, God let me never have worship. And sir,' said Tristram, 'I pray you give me leave to ride to King Mark; and so ye will be not displeased, of King Mark will I be made knight.'\n\n'I will well', said King Meliodas, 'that ye be ruled as your courage will rule you.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram thanked his father, and then he made him ready to ride into Cornwall.\n\nSo in the meanwhile there came letters of love from King Faramon of France's daughter unto Sir Tristram, that were piteous letters; but in no wise Tristram had no joy of her letters nor regard unto her. Also she sent him a little brachet that was passing fair. But when the king's daughter understood that Tristram would not love her, as the book saith, she died. And then the same squire that brought the letters and the brachet came again unto Sir Tristram, as after ye shall hear in the tale following.\n\nSo after this young Tristram rode unto his erne King Mark of Cornwall. And when he came there he heard say that there would no knight fight with Sir Marhalt.\n\n'Sir,' said Tristram, 'if ye will give me the order of knighthood, I will do battle with Sir Marhalt.'\n\n'What are ye,' said the king, 'and from whence be ye come?'\n\n'Sir,' said Tristram, 'I come from King Meliodas that wedded your sister; and a gentleman wit you well I am.'\n\nSo King Mark beheld Tristram and saw that he was but a young man of age, but he was passingly well made and big.\n\n'Fair sir,' said the king, 'what is your name, and where were ye born?'\n\n'Sir, my name is Tristram, and in the country of Lyonesse was I born.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said the king, 'and if ye will do this battle I shall make you knight.'\n\n'Therefore came I to you,' said Sir Tristram, 'and for no other cause.'\n\nBut then King Mark made him knight. And therewith, anon as he had made him knight, he sent unto Sir Marhalt that he had found a young knight ready for to take the battle to the utterance.\n\n'It may well be so,' said Sir Marhalt. 'But tell King Mark I will not fight with no knight but he be of blood royal, that is to say either king's son or queen's son, born of princes or of princesses.'\n\nWhen King Mark understood that, he sent for Sir Tristram de Lyonesse and told him what was the answer of Sir Marhalt. Then said Sir Tristram, 'Sithen that he sayeth so, let him wit that I am come of father side and mother side of as noble blood as he is. For sir, now shall ye know that I am King Meliodas' son, born of your own sister, Dame Elizabeth, that died in the forest in the birth of me.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu!' said King Mark, 'ye are welcome, fair nephew, to me.'\n\nThen in all the haste the king horsed Sir Tristram, and armed him in the best manner that might be gotten for gold or silver. And then King Mark sent unto Sir Marhalt, and did him to wit that a better man born than he was himself should fight with him: 'and his name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, begotten of King Meliodas and born of King Mark's sister.'\n\nThen was Sir Marhalt glad and blithe that he should fight with such a gentleman. And so by the assent of King Mark they let ordain that they should fight within an island nigh Sir Marhalt's ships. And so was Sir Tristram put into a vessel, both his horse and he, and all that to him longed both for his body and for his horse, that he lacked nothing. And when King Mark and his barons of Cornwall beheld how young Sir Tristram departed with such a carriage to fight for the right of Cornwall, there was neither man nor woman of worship but they wept to see and understand so young a knight to jeopard himself for their right.\n\nSo to shorten this tale, when Sir Tristram arrived within the island he looked to the further side, and there he saw at an anchor six other ships nigh to the land; and under the shadow of the ships upon the land there hoved the noble knight Sir Marhalt of Ireland. Then Sir Tristram commanded to have his horse upon the land. And then Governail, his servant, dressed his harness at all manner of rights; and then Sir Tristram mounted upon his horse, and when he was in his saddle well apparelled and his shield dressed upon his shoulder, so Sir Tristram asked Gouvernail, 'Where is this knight that I shall have ado withal?'\n\n'Sir,' said Gouvernail, 'see ye him not? I weened that ye had seen him, for yonder he hoveth under the umber of his ships, on horseback with his spear in his hand and his shield upon his shoulder.'\n\n'That is truth,' said Sir Tristram, 'now I see him.'\n\nThen he commanded Gouvernail to go to his vessel again; 'and commend me unto mine eme King Mark, and pray him, if that I be slain in this battle, for to inter my body as him seemeth best. And as for me, let him wit I will never be yielded for cowardice; and if I be slain and flee not, then they have lost no truage for me. And if so be that I flee or yield me as recreant, bid mine eme bury me never in Christian burials. And upon thy life,' said Sir Tristram unto Gouvernail, 'that thou come not nigh this island till that thou see me overcome or slain, or else that I win yonder knight.'\n\nSo either departed from other sore weeping.\n\nAnd then Sir Marhalt avised Sir Tristram, and said thus: 'Young knight, Sir Tristram, what dost thou here? Me sore repents of thy courage, for wit thou well I have been assayed with many noble knights, and the best knights of this land have been assayed of my hands; and also the best knights of the world, I have matched them. And therefore by my counsel return again unto thy vessel.'\n\n'Ah, fair knight and well-proved,' said Sir Tristram, 'thou shalt well wit I may not forsake thee in this quarrel, for I am for thy sake made knight. And thou shall well wit that I am a king's son born, and begotten upon a queen; and such promise I have made at my uncle's request and my own seeking, that I shall fight with thee unto the uttermost and deliver Cornwall from the old truage. And also wit thou well, Sir Marhalt, that this is the greatest cause that thou couragest me to have ado with thee, for thou art called one of the most renowned knights of the world; and because of that noise and fame that thou hast thou givest me courage to have ado with thee, for never yet was I proved with good knight. And sithen I took the order of knighthood this day, I am right well pleased and to me most worship that I may have ado with such a knight as thou art. And now wit thou well, Sir Marhalt, that I cast me to get worship on thy body; and if that I be not proved, I trust to God to be worshipfully proved upon thy body, and to deliver the country of Cornwall for ever from all manner of truage from Ireland for ever.'\n\nWhen Sir Marhalt had heard him say what he would, he said thus again: 'Fair knight, sithen it is so that thou castest to win worship of me, I let thee wit, worship may thou none lose by me if thou may stand me three strokes. For I let thee wit, for my noble deeds proved and seen King Arthur made me knight of the Table Round.'\n\nThen they began to fewter their spears, and they met so fiercely together that they smote each other down, both horse and man. But Sir Marhalt smote Sir Tristram a great wound in the side with his spear; and then they avoided their horses and pulled out their swords and threw their shields before them, and then they lashed together as men that were wild and courageous. And when they had stricken together long, that their arms failed, then they left their strokes, and foined at breasts and visors; and when they saw that that it might not prevail them, then they hurtled together like rams to bear either other down. Thus they fought still together more than half a day, and either of them were wounded passing sore, that the blood ran down from them upon the ground.\n\nBy then Sir Tristram waxed more fiercer than he did, and Sir Marhalt feebled, and Sir Tristram ever more well-winded and bigger; and with a mighty stroke he smote Sir Marhalt upon the helm such a buffet that it went through his helm and through the coif of steel and through the brain-pan, and the sword stuck so fast in the helm and in his brain-pan that Sir Tristram pulled three times at his sword or ever he might pull it out from his head. And there Sir Marhalt fell down on his knees, and the edge of the sword left in his brain-pan. And suddenly Sir Marhalt rose grovelling and threw his sword and his shield from him, and so he ran to his ships and fled his way; and Sir Tristram had ever his shield and his sword.\n\nAnd when Sir Tristram saw Sir Marhalt withdraw him, he said, 'Ah, sir knight of the Round Table, why withdrawest thou thee? Thou dost thyself and thy kin great shame, for I am but a young knight; or now I was never proved. And rather than I should withdraw me from thee, I had rather be hewn in piecemeal.'\n\nSir Marhalt answered no word, but yede his way sore groaning.\n\n'Well, sir knight,' said Sir Tristram, 'I promise thee thy sword and thy shield shall be mine; and thy shield shall I wear in all places where I ride on my adventures, and in the sight of King Arthur and all the Round Table.'\n\nSo Sir Marhalt and his fellowship departed into Ireland. And as soon as he came to the king his brother, they searched his wounds; and when his head was searched, a piece of Sir Tristram's sword was therein found, and might never be had out of his head for no leechcraft. And so he died of Sir Tristram's sword; and that piece of the sword the queen, his sister, kept it for ever with her, for she thought to be revenged and she might.\n\nNow turn we again unto Sir Tristram, that was sore wounded and sore for-bled, that he might not within a little while stand when he had taken cold, and uneath stir him of his limbs. And then he set him down softly upon a little hill, and bled fast. Then anon came Gouvernail, his man, with his vessel. And the king and the most part of his barons came with procession against Sir Tristram; and when he was come unto the land, King Mark took him in his arms, and he and Sir Dinas the Seneschal led Sir Tristram into the castle of Tintagel, and then was he searched in the best manner, and laid in his bed. And when King Mark saw his wounds he wept heartily, and so did all his lords.\n\n'So God me help,' said King Mark, 'I would not for all my lands that my nephew died.'\n\nSo Sir Tristram lay there a month and more, and ever he was like to die of the stroke that Sir Marhalt smote him first with the spear; for as the French book saith, the spearhead was envenomed, that Sir Tristram might not be whole. Then was King Mark and all his barons passing heavy, for they deemed none other but that Sir Tristram should not recover. Then the king let send after all manner of leeches and surgeons, both unto men and women, and there was none that would behote him the life.\n\nThen came there a lady that was a witty lady; and she said plainly unto King Mark and to Sir Tristram and to all his barons, that he should never be whole but if that Sir Tristram went into the same country that the venom came from, and in that country should he be helped or else never\u2014thus said the lady unto the king. So when the king understood it, he let purvey for Sir Tristram a fair vessel and well victualled, and therein was put Sir Tristram, and Gouvernail with him; and Sir Tristram took his harp with him. And so he was put into the sea to sail into Ireland.\n\nAnd so by good fortune he arrived up in Ireland even fast by a castle where the king and the queen was. And at his arrival he sat and harped in his bed a merry lay\u2014such one heard they never none in Ireland before that time. And when it was told the king and the queen of such a sick knight that was such a harper, anon the king sent for him and let search his wounds, and then he asked him his name. Then he answered and said, 'I am of the country of Lyonesse; and my name is Tramtrist, that was thus wounded in a battle as I fought for a lady's right.'\n\n'So God me help,' said King Angwish, 'ye shall have all the help in this land that ye may have here. But in Cornwall but late I had a great loss as ever had king, for there I lost the best knight of the world; his name was Sir Marhalt, a full noble knight, and knight of the Table Round.' And there he told Sir Tramtrist wherefore Sir Marhalt was slain. So Sir Tramtrist made semblant as he had been sorry, and better he knew how it was than the king.\n\nThen the king for great favour made Tramtrist to be put in his daughter's ward and keeping, because she was a noble surgeon. And when she had searched him, she found in the bottom of his wound that therein was poison, and so she healed him in a while; and therefore Sir Tramtrist cast great love to La Belle Isode, for she was at that time the fairest lady and maiden of the world. And there Tramtrist learned her to harp, and she began to have a great fancy unto him.\n\nAnd at that time Sir Palomides the Saracen was in that country, and well cherished with the king and the queen. And every day Sir Palomides drew unto La Belle Isode and proffered her many gifts, for he loved her passingly well. All that espied Tramtrist, and full well knew he Palomides for a noble knight and a mighty man. And wit you well, Sir Tramtrist had great despite at Sir Palomides, for La Belle Isode told Tramtrist that Palomides was in will to be christened for her sake. Thus was there great envy betwixt Tramtrist and Sir Palomides.\n\nThen it befell that King Angwish let cry a great jousts and a great tournament for a lady that was called the Lady of the Launds, and she was nigh cousin unto the king; and what man won her, four days after should wed her and have all her lands. This cry was made in England, Wales, and Scotland, and also in France and in Brittany.\n\nSo it befell upon a day, La Belle Isode came unto Sir Tramtrist and told him of this tournament. He answered and said, 'Fair lady, I am but a feeble knight, and but late I had been dead had not your good ladyship been. Now, fair lady, what would ye that I should do in this matter? Well ye wot, my lady, that I may not joust.'\n\n'Ah, Tramtrist,' said La Belle Isode, 'why will ye not have ado at that tournament? For well I wot that Sir Palomides will be there, and to do what he may. And therefore, Sir Tramtrist, I pray you for to be there, for else Sir Palomides is like to win the degree.'\n\n'Madam, as for that, it may be so, for he is a proved knight, and I am but a young knight and late made; and the first battle that ever I did, it mishapped me to be sore wounded as ye see. But and I wist that ye would be my better lady, at that tournament will I be, on this covenant: so that ye will keep my counsel and let no creature have knowledge that I shall joust, but yourself and such as ye will to keep your counsel, my poor person shall jeopard there for your sake, that peradventure Sir Palomides shall know when that I come.'\n\n'Thereto,' said La Belle Isode, 'do your best; and as I can, I shall purvey horse and armour for you at my device.'\n\n'As ye will, so be it,' said Sir Tramtrist. 'I will be at your commandment.'\n\nSo at the day of jousts there came Sir Palomides with a black shield, and he overthrew many knights, that all people had marvel; for he put to the worse Sir Gawain, Gaheris, Agravain, Bagdemagus, Kay, Dodinas le Savage, Sagramore le Desirous, Gumret le Petit, and Griflet le Fils de Dieu\u2014all these the first day Sir Palomides struck down to the earth. And then all manner of knights were adread of Sir Palomides, and many called him the Knight with the Black Shield. So that day Sir Palomides had great worship.\n\nThen came King Angwish unto Tramtrist, and asked him why he would not joust.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I was but late hurt, and as yet I dare not adventure.'\n\nThen there came the same squire that was sent from the king's daughter of France unto Sir Tramtrist, and when he had espied Sir Tristram he fell flat to his feet; and that espied La Belle Isode, what courtesy the squire made to Tramtrist. And therewith suddenly Sir Tristram ran unto the squire (his name was called Hebes le Renowne) and prayed him heartily in no wise to tell his name.\n\n'Sir,' said Hebes, 'I will not discover your name but if ye command me.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram asked him what he did in these countries.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I came hither with Sir Gawain for to be made knight; and if it please you, of your hands that I may be made knight.'\n\n'Well, await on me tomorrow secretly, and in the field I shall make you knight.'\n\nThen had La Belle Isode great suspicion unto Tramtrist that he was some man of worship proved; and therewith she comforted herself, and cast more love unto him, for well she deemed he was some man of worship.\n\nAnd so on the morn Sir Palomides made him ready to come into the field as he did the first day, and there he smote down the King with the Hundred Knights, and the King of Scots. Then had La Belle Isode ordained and well arrayed Sir Tramtrist with white horse and white arms, and right so she let put him out at a privy postern; and he came so into the field as it had been a bright angel. And anon Sir Palomides espied him, and therewith he fewtered his spear unto Sir Tristram, and he again unto him; and there Sir Tristram smote down Sir Palomides unto the earth. And then there was a great noise of people: some said Sir Palomides had a fall, some said, 'The Knight with the Black Shield hath a fall!' And wit you well La Belle Isode was passing glad. And then Sir Gawain and his fellows nine had marvel who it might be that had smitten down Sir Palomides. Then would there none joust with Tramtrist, but all that there were forsook him, most and least.\n\nThen Sir Tristram made Hebes a knight, and caused him to put himself forth, and he did right well that day. So after that, Sir Hebes held him with Sir Tristram.\n\nAnd when Sir Palomides had received his fall, wit ye well that he was sore ashamed, and as privily as he might he withdrew him out of the field. All that espied Sir Tramtrist, and lightly he rode after Sir Palomides and overtook him and bade him turn, for better he would assay him or ever he departed. Then Sir Palomides turned him, and either lashed at other with their swords; but at the first stroke, Sir Tristram smote down Sir Palomides, and gave him such a stroke upon the head that he fell to the earth. So then Sir Tristram bade him yield him and do his commandment, or else he would slay him. When Sir Palomides beheld his countenance, he dreaded his buffets so, that he granted all his askings.\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tramtrist, 'this shall be your charge. First, upon pain of your life, that ye forsake my lady La Belle Isode, and in no manner of wise that ye draw no more to her. Also, this twelvemonth and a day that ye bear no arms nor no harness of war. Now promise me this, or here shalt thou die.'\n\n'Alas,' said Palomides, 'for ever I am shamed.'\n\nThen he swore as Sir Tristram had commanded him. So for despite and anger Sir Palomides cut off his harness and threw them away. And so Sir Tristram turned again to the castle where was La Belle Isode; and by the way he met with a damosel that asked after Sir Lancelot, that won the Dolorous Gard. And this damosel asked Sir Tristram what he was, for it was told her that it was he that smote down Sir Palomides, by whom the ten knights of Arthur's were smitten down. Then the damosel prayed Sir Tristram to tell her what he was, and whether that he were Sir Lancelot du Lake, for she deemed that there was no knight in the world that might do such deeds of arms but if it were Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Wit you well that I am not Sir Lancelot, fair damosel, for I was never of such prowess. But in God is all; He may make me as good a knight as that good knight Sir Lancelot is.'\n\n'Now, gentle knight, put up thy visor.' And when she beheld his visage, she thought she saw never a better man's visage, nor a better-faring knight.\n\nSo when the damosel knew certainly that he was not Sir Lancelot, then she took her leave and departed from him. And then Sir Tristram rode privily unto the postern where kept him La Belle Isode; and there she made him great cheer, and thanked God of his good speed.\n\nSo anon within a while the king and the queen and all the court understood that it was Sir Tramtrist that smote down Sir Palomides; and then was he much made of, more than he was before.\n\nThus was Sir Tramtrist long there well cherished with the king and with the queen, and namely with La Belle Isode. So upon a day the queen and La Belle Isode made a bain for Sir Tramtrist. And when he was in his bain the queen and Isode her daughter roamed up and down in the chamber the while Gouvernail and Hebes attended upon Tramtrist. The queen beheld his sword as it lay upon his bed, and then at unhap the queen drew out his sword and beheld it a long while. And both they thought it a passing fair sword; but within a foot and a half of the point there was a great piece thereof out broken of the edge. And when the queen had espied that gap in the sword, she remembered her of a piece of a sword that was found in the brain-pan of Sir Marhalt, that was her brother.\n\n'Alas,' then said she unto her daughter La Belle Isode, 'this is the same traitor knight that slew my brother, thine eme.'\n\nWhen Isode heard her say so she was passing sore abashed, for passing well she loved Tramtrist, and full well she knew the cruelness of her mother the queen.\n\nSo anon therewith the queen went unto her own chamber and sought her coffer, and there she took out the piece of the sword that was pulled out of Sir Marhalt's brain-pan after that he was dead. And then she ran with that piece of iron to the sword, and when she put that piece of steel and iron unto the sword, it was as meet as it might be when it was new broken. And then the queen gripped that sword in her hand fiercely, and with all her might she ran straight upon Tramtrist where he sat in his bain. And there she had rived him through, had not Sir Hebes been: he got her in his arms and pulled the sword from her, and else she had thrust him through. So when she was let of her evil will she ran to the king her husband and said, 'Ah, my lord!' On her knees kneeling, she said, 'Here have ye in your house that traitor knight that slew my brother and your servant, the noble knight Sir Marhalt.'\n\n'Who is that,' said the king, 'and where is he?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'it is Sir Tramtrist, the same knight that my daughter healed.'\n\n'Alas,' said the king, 'therefore I am right heavy, for he is a full noble knight as ever I saw in field. But I charge you,' said the king, 'that ye have not ado with that knight, but let me deal with him.'\n\nThen the king went into the chamber unto Sir Tramtrist; and then was he gone unto his own chamber, and the king found him all ready armed to mount upon his horse. So when the king saw him all ready armed to go unto horseback, the king said, 'Nay, Tramtrist, it will not avail to compare against me; but thus much I shall do for my worship and for thy love. In so much as thou art within my court, it were no worship to slay thee; therefore upon this condition I will give thee leave for to depart from this court in safety, so thou wilt tell me who was thy father and what is thy name, and also if thou slew Sir Marhalt, my brother.'\n\n'Sir,' said Tramtrist, 'now I shall tell you all the truth. My father's name is Sir Meliodas, King of Lyonesse, and my mother hight Elizabeth, that was sister unto King Mark of Cornwall; and my mother died of me in the forest, and because thereof she commanded or she died that when I was christened they should christen me Tristram. And because I would not be known in this country, I turned my name and let call me Tramtrist. And for the truage of Cornwall I fought for my eme's sake and for the right of Cornwall that ye had been possessed many years. And wit you well,' said Sir Tristram unto the king, 'I did the battle for the love of my uncle King Mark, and for the love of the country of Cornwall, and for to increase my honour; for that same day that I fought with Sir Marhalt I was made knight, and never or then did I no battle with no knight. And from me he went alive, and left his shield and his sword behind him.'\n\n'So God me help,' said the king, 'I may not say but ye did as a knight should do, and it was your part to do for your quarrel, and to increase your worship as a knight should do. Howbeit I may not maintain you in this country with my worship but that I should displease many of my barons and my wife and my kin.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I thank you of your good lordship that I have had within here with you, and the great goodness my lady your daughter hath showed me. And therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'it may so be that ye shall win more by my life than by my death; for in the parts of England it may happen I may do you service at some season, that ye shall be glad that ever ye showed me your good lordship. With more I promise you as I am true knight, that in all places I shall be my lady your daughter's servant and knight in all right and in wrong, and I shall never fail her to do as much as a knight may do. Also I beseech your good grace that I may take my leave at my lady your daughter, and at all the barons and knights.'\n\n'I will well,' said the king.\n\nThen Sir Tristram went unto La Belle Isode and took his leave of her. And then he told what he was, and how a lady told him that he should never be whole 'until I came into this country where the poison was made wherethrough I was near my death, had not your ladyship been.'\n\n'Ah, gentle knight,' said La Belle Isode, 'full woe I am of thy departing, for I saw never man that I owed so good will to.' And therewith she wept heartily.\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye shall understand that my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, begotten of a king and born of a queen. And I promise you faithfully, I shall be all the days of my life your knight.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said La Belle Isode, 'and I promise you thereagainst, I shall not be married this seven years but by your assent; and whom that ye will, I shall be married to him and he will have me, if ye will consent thereto.' And then Sir Tristram gave her a ring, and she gave him another.\n\nAnd therewith he departed and came into the court among all the barons, and there he took his leave at most and least. And openly he said among them all, 'Fair lords, now it is so that I must depart. If there be any man here that I have offended unto, or that any man be with me grieved, let him complain him here before me or that ever I depart, and I shall amend it unto my power. And if there be any man that will proffer me wrong, or say me wrong or shame me behind my back, say it now or else never; and here is my body to make it good, body against body.'\n\nAnd all they stood still: there was not one that would say one word. Yet were there some knights that were of the queen's blood, and of Sir Marhalt's blood, but they would not meddle with him.\n\nSo Sir Tristram departed and took the sea, and with good wind he arrived up at Tintagel in Cornwall. And when King Mark was whole in his prosperity there came tidings that Sir Tristram was arrived, and whole of his wounds. Thereof was King Mark passing glad, and so were all the barons. And when he saw his time he rode unto his father King Meliodas, and there he had all the cheer that the king and the queen could make him. And then largely King Meliodas and his queen parted of their lands and goods to Sir Tristram.\n\nThen by the licence of his father he returned again unto the court of King Mark. And there he lived long in great joy long time, until at the last there befell a jealousy and an unkindness betwixt King Mark and Sir Tristram, for they loved both one lady; and she was an earl's wife that hight Sir Segwarides. And this lady loved Sir Tristram passingly well, and he loved her again; for she was a passing fair lady, and that espied Sir Tristram well. Then King Mark understood that and was jealous, for King Mark loved her passingly well.\n\nSo it befell upon a day, this lady sent a dwarf unto Sir Tristram and bade him as he loved her that he would be with her the next night following. 'Also she charged you that ye come not to her but if ye be well armed'\u2014for her lord was called a good knight.\n\nSir Tristram answered to the dwarf and said, 'Recommend me unto my lady and tell her I will not fail, but I shall be with her the term that she hath set me.' And therewith the dwarf departed.\n\nAnd King Mark espied that the dwarf was with Sir Tristram upon message from Segwarides' wife; then King Mark sent for the dwarf, and when he was come he made the dwarf by force to tell him all why and wherefore that he came on message to Sir Tristram, and then he told him.\n\n'Well,' said King Mark, 'go where thou wilt, and upon pain of death that thou say no word that thou spake with me.' So the dwarf departed.\n\nAnd that same night that the Steven was set betwixt Segwarides' wife and Sir Tristram, so King Mark armed and made him ready, and took two knights of his counsel with him. And so he rode before for to abide by the ways for to await upon Sir Tristram. And as Sir Tristram came riding upon his way with his spear in his hand, King Mark came hurtling upon him, and his two knights, suddenly, and all three smote him with their spears; and King Mark hurt Sir Tristram on the breast right sore. And then Sir Tristram fewtered his spear, and smote King Mark so sore that he rushed him to the earth and bruised him that he lay still in a swoon; and long it was or he might wield himself. And then he ran to the one knight, and after to the other, and smote them to the cold earth, that they lay still.\n\nAnd therewith Sir Tristram rode forth sore wounded to the lady, and found her abiding him at a postern. And there she welcomed him fair, and either halsed other in arms; and so she let put up his horse in the best wise, and then she unarmed him. And so they supped lightly, and went to bed with great joy and pleasance. And so in his raging he took no keep of his green wound that King Mark had given him; and so Sir Tristram be-bled both the over sheet and the nether sheet, and the pillows and the head sheet. And within a while there came one before, that warned her that her lord Sir Segwarides was near hand, within a bow draught. So she made Sir Tristram to arise, and he armed him and took his horse and so departed. So by then was Sir Segwarides her lord come; and when he found his bed troubled and broken, he went near and looked by candlelight and he saw that there had lain a wounded knight.\n\n'Ah, false traitress,' he said, 'why hast thou betrayed me?' And therewith he swung out a sword and said, 'But if thou tell me all, now shalt thou die!'\n\n'Ah, my lord, mercy!' said the lady, and held up her hands, 'and slay me not, and I shall tell you all who hath been here.'\n\n'Then anon,' said Segwarides, 'say and tell me the truth.'\n\nAnon for dread she said, 'Here was Sir Tristram with me, and by the way as he came to me-ward, he was sore wounded.'\n\n'Ah, false traitress, where is he become?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'he is armed, and departed on horseback not yet hence half a mile.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Segwarides.\n\nThen he armed him lightly and got his horse, and rode after Sir Tristram the straight way unto Tintagel. And within a while he overtook Sir Tristram, and then he bade him, 'Turn, false traitor knight!'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Segwarides smote Sir Tristram with a spear, that it all tobrast; and then he swung out his sword and smote fast at Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir knight,' said Sir Tristram, 'I counsel you, smite no more, howbeit for the wrongs that I have done you I will forbear you as long as I may.'\n\n'Nay,' said Segwarides, 'that shall not be, for either thou shalt die or else I.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram drew out his sword and hurled his horse unto him freshly, and through the waist of the body he smote Sir Segwarides that he fell to the earth in swoon; and so Sir Tristram departed and left him there. And so he rode unto Tintagel and took his lodging secretly, for he would not be known that he was hurt. Also Sir Segwarides' men rode after their master, and brought him home on his shield; and there he lay long or he were whole, but at the last he recovered.\n\nAlso King Mark would not be known of that he had done unto Sir Tristram when he met that night; and as for Sir Tristram, he knew not that King Mark had met with him. And so the king came askance to Sir Tristram to comfort him as he lay sick in his bed. But as long as King Mark lived he loved never after Sir Tristram. So after that, though there were fair speech, love was there none.\n\nSo when this was done King Mark cast all the ways that he might to destroy Sir Tristram; and then imagined in himself to send Sir Tristram into Ireland for La Belle Isode. For Sir Tristram had so praised her for her beauty and her goodness that King Mark said that he would wed her; whereupon he prayed Sir Tristram to take his way into Ireland for him on message\u2014and all this was done to the intent to slay Sir Tristram. Notwithstanding, he would not refuse the message for no danger nor peril that might fall, for the pleasure of his uncle. So he made him ready to go in the most goodliest wise that might be devised; for he took with him the most goodliest knights that he might find in the court, and they were arrayed after the guise that was used in that time in the most goodliest manner.\n\nSo Sir Tristram departed and took the sea with all his fellowship. And anon as he was in the sea a tempest took them, and drove them into the coast of England; and there they arrived fast by Camelot, and full fain they were to take the land. And when they were landed Sir Tristram set up his pavilion upon the land of Camelot, and there he let hang his shield upon the pavilion.\n\nAnd that same day came two knights of King Arthur's: that one was Sir Ector de Maris, and that other was Sir Morganor. And these two touched the shield, and bade him come out of the pavilion for to joust and he would.\n\n'Anon ye shall be answered,' said Sir Tristram, 'and ye will tarry a little while.'\n\nSo he made him ready, and first he smote down Sir Ector and then Sir Morganor, all with one spear, and sore bruised them. And when they lay upon the earth they asked Sir Tristram what he was, and of what country he was knight.\n\n'Fair lords,' said Sir Tristram, 'wit you well that I am of Cornwall.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Ector, 'now am I ashamed that ever any Cornish knight should overcome me.' And then for despite Sir Ector put off his armour from him and went on foot, and would not ride.\n\nThen it befell that Sir Bleoberis and Sir Blamor de Ganis, that were brethren, they had summoned King Angwish of Ireland for to come to King Arthur's court upon pain of forfeiture of King Arthur's good grace; and if the King of Ireland came not in to the day assigned and set, the king should lose his lands. So by King Arthur it was happened that day that neither he nor Sir Lancelot might not be there where the judgement should be given, for King Arthur was with Sir Lancelot at Joyous Gard. And so King Arthur assigned King Carados and the King of Scots to be there that day as judges.\n\nSo when these kings were at Camelot, King Angwish of Ireland was come to know his accusers. Then was Sir Blamor de Ganis there that appealed the King of Ireland of treason, that he had slain a cousin of theirs in his court in Ireland by treason. Then the king was sore abashed of his accusation for why he was at the summons of King Arthur, and or that he came at Camelot he wist not wherefore he was sent for. So when the king heard him say his will, he understood well there was none other remedy but to answer him knightly; for the custom was such in those days, that and any man were appealed of any treason or of murder he should fight body for body, or else to find another knight for him. And all manner of murders in those days were called treason. So when King Angwish understood his accusing he was passing heavy, for he knew Sir Blamor de Ganis that he was a noble knight and of noble knights come. So the King of Ireland was but simply purveyed of his answer; therefore the judges gave him respite by the third day to give his answer. So the king departed unto his lodging.\n\nThen when Sir Tristram was in his pavilion, Gouvernail, his man, came and told him how that King Angwish of Ireland was come thither, and he was in great distress; and there he told him how he was summoned and appealed of murder.\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Tristram, 'this is the best tidings that ever came to me these seven years, for now shall the King of Ireland have need of my help; for I dare say there is no knight in this country that is not in Arthur's court dare do battle with Sir Blamor de Ganis. And for to win the love of the King of Ireland I will take the battle upon me; and therefore, Gouvernail, bear me this word, I charge thee, to the king.'\n\nThen Gouvernail went unto King Angwish of Ireland and saluted him full fair. So the king welcomed him and asked what he would.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'here is a knight near hand that desireth to speak with you, for he bade me say that he would do you service.'\n\n'What knight is he?' said the king.\n\n'Sir, it is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, that for the good grace ye showed him in your lands he will reward you in these countries.'\n\n'Come on, fellow,' said the king, 'with me anon, and bring me unto Sir Tristram.'\n\nSo the king took a little hackney and but few fellowship with him, till that he came unto Sir Tristram's pavilion. And when Sir Tristram saw the king he ran unto him and would have held his stirrup; but the king leapt from his horse lightly, and either halsed other in their arms.\n\n'My gracious lord,' said Sir Tristram, 'gramercy of your great goodnesses that ye showed unto me in your marches and lands. And at that time I promised you to do you service and ever it lay in my power.'\n\n'Ah, gentle knight,' said the king unto Sir Tristram, 'now have I great need of you\u2014never had I so great need of no knight's help.'\n\n'How so, my good lord?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'I shall tell you,' said the king. 'I am summoned and appealed from my country for the death of a knight that was kin unto the good knight Sir Lancelot; wherefore Sir Blamor de Ganis and Sir Bleoberis his brother hath appealed me to fight with him or for to find a knight in my stead. And well I wot,' said the king, 'these that are come of King Ban's blood, as Sir Lancelot and these others, are passing good hard knights, and hard men for to win in battle as any that I know now living.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'for the good lordship ye showed unto me in Ireland, and for my lady your daughter's sake, La Belle Isode, I will take the battle for you upon this condition, that ye shall grant me two things: one is that ye shall swear unto me that ye are in the right, and that ye were never consenting to the knight's death. Sir, then,' said Sir Tristram, 'when I have done this battle, if God give me grace to speed, that ye shall give me a reward, what thing reasonable that I will ask you.'\n\n'So God me help,' said the king, 'ye shall have whatsoever ye will.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Tristram. 'Now make your answer that your champion is ready, for I shall die in your quarrel rather than to be recreant.'\n\n'I have no doubt of you,' said the king, 'that and ye should have ado with Sir Lancelot de Lake.'\n\n'As for Sir Lancelot, he is called the noblest of the world of knights, and wit you well that the knights of his blood are noble men, and dread shame; therefore upon my head it is no shame to call him a good knight.'\n\n'Sir, it is noised', said the king, 'that Sir Blamor is the hardier knight.'\n\n'As for that, let him be. He shall not be refused and he were the best knight that beareth shield or spear.'\n\nSo King Angwish departed unto King Carados and the kings that were that time as judges, and told them how that he had found his champion ready. Then by the commandment of the kings Sir Blamor de Ganis and Sir Tristram de Lyonesse were sent for to hear their charge. And when they were come before the judges there were many kings and knights that beheld Sir Tristram, and much speech they had of him because he slew Sir Marhalt the good knight, and because he forjousted Sir Palomides the good knight. So when they had taken their charge they withdrew them to make them ready to do battle.\n\nThen said Sir Bleoberis to his brother Sir Blamor, 'Fair dear brother,' said he, 'remember of what kin we be come of, and what a man is Sir Lancelot du Lake, neither further nor nearer but brothers' children; and there was never none of our kin that ever was shamed in battle. But rather, brother, suffer death than to be shamed.'\n\n'Brother,' said Sir Blamor, 'have ye no doubt of me, for I shall never shame none of my blood. How be I am sure that yonder knight is called a passing good knight as of his time as any in the world, yet shall I never yield me nor say the loath word. Well may he happen to smite me down with his great might of chivalry, but rather shall he slay me than I shall yield me recreant.'\n\n'God speed you well,' said Sir Bleoberis, 'for ye shall find him the mightiest knight that ever ye had ado withal.'\n\n'God me speed!' said Sir Blamor. And therewith he took his horse at the one end of the lists, and Sir Tristram at the other end of the lists, and so they fewtered their spears and came together as it had been thunder. And there Sir Tristram through great might smote down Sir Blamor and his horse to the earth. Then anon Sir Blamor avoided his horse and pulled out his sword and took his shield before him, and bade Sir Tristram alight, 'For though my horse hath failed, I trust to God the earth will not fail me.'\n\nAnd then Sir Tristram alit and dressed him unto battle; and there they lashed together strongly, razing, foining, and dashing many sad strokes, that the kings and knights had great wonder that they might stand, for ever they fought like wood men. There was never seen of two knights that fought more fiercely, for Sir Blamor was so hasty he would have no rest, that all men wondered that they had breath to stand on their feet, that all the place was bloody that they fought in. And at the last Sir Tristram smote Sir Blamor such a buffet upon the helm that he there sank down upon his side, and Sir Tristram stood still and beheld him.\n\nSo when Sir Blamor might speak, he said thus: 'Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, I require thee, as thou art a noble knight and the best knight that ever I found, that thou wilt slay me out, for I would not live to be made lord of all the earth, for I have liever die here with worship than live here with shame. And needs, Sir Tristram, thou must slay me, or else thou shalt never win the field, for I will never say the loath word. And therefore if thou dare slay me, slay me, I require thee.'\n\nWhen Sir Tristram heard him say so knightly, in his heart he wist not what to do with him, remembering him of both parts, of what blood he was come of, and for Sir Lancelot's sake he would be loath to slay him; and in the other part, in no wise he might not choose but that he must make him say the loath word, or else to slay him.\n\nThen Sir Tristram started aback and went to the kings that were judges; and there he kneeled down before them, and besought them of their worships, and for King Arthur's love and for Sir Lancelot's sake, that they would take this matter in their hands.\n\n'For, my fair lords,' said Sir Tristram, 'it were shame and pity that this noble knight that yonder lieth should be slain; for ye hear well, shamed will he not be, and I pray to God that he never be slain nor shamed for me. And as for the king whom I fight for, I shall require him, as I am his true champion and true knight in this field, that he will have mercy upon this knight.'\n\n'So God me help,' said King Angwish, 'I will for your sake, Sir Tristram, be ruled as ye will have me, for I will heartily pray the kings that be here judges to take it in their hands.'\n\nThen the kings that were judges called Sir Bleoberis to them and asked his advice.\n\n'My lords,' said Sir Bleoberis, 'though my brother be beaten and have the worse in his body through might of arms, he hath not beaten his heart, and thank God he is not shamed this day. And rather than he be shamed, I require you,' said Sir Bleoberis, 'let Sir Tristram slay him out.'\n\n'It shall not be so,' said the kings. 'For his part, his adversary, both the king and the champion, have pity on Sir Blamor's knighthood.'\n\n'My lords,' said Sir Bleoberis, 'I will right as ye will.'\n\nThen the kings called the King of Ireland, and found him goodly and treatable. And then, by all their advices, Sir Tristram and Sir Bleoberis took up Sir Blamor, and the two brethren were made accorded with King Angwish, and kissed together and made friends for ever. And then Sir Blamor and Sir Tristram kissed together, and there they made their oaths that they would never none of them two brethren fight with Sir Tristram, and Sir Tristram made the same oath. And for that gentle battle all the blood of Sir Lancelot loved Sir Tristram for ever.\n\nThen King Angwish and Sir Tristram took their leave; and so he sailed into Ireland with great noblesse and joy. So when they were in Ireland the king let make it known throughout all the land how and in what manner Sir Tristram had done for him. Then the queen and all that there were made the most of him that they might. But the joy that La Belle Isode made of Sir Tristram there might no tongue tell, for of all men earthly she loved him most.\n\nThen upon a day King Angwish asked Sir Tristram why he asked not his boon. Then said Sir Tristram, 'Now it is time. Sir, this is all that I will desire, that ye will give La Belle Isode, your daughter, not for myself, but for my uncle King Mark shall have her to wife, for so have I promised him.'\n\n'Alas,' said the king, 'I had liever than all the land that I have that ye would have wedded her yourself.'\n\n'Sir, and I did so, I were shamed for ever in this world and false of my promise. Therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'I require you, hold your promise that ye promised me; for this is my desire, that ye will give me La Belle Isode to go with me into Cornwall for to be wedded unto King Mark, my uncle.'\n\n'As for that,' King Angwish said, 'ye shall have her with you to do with her what it please you; that is for to say, if that ye list to wed her yourself, that is me lievest, and if ye will give her unto King Mark your uncle, that is in your choice.'\n\nSo to make short conclusion, La Belle Isode was made ready to go with Sir Tristram, and Dame Brangwain went with her for her chief gentlewoman, with many other. Then the queen, Isode's mother, gave Dame Brangwain unto her to be her gentlewoman. And also she and Gouvernail had a drink of the queen, and she charged them that where King Mark should wed, that same day they should give him that drink, that King Mark should drink to La Belle Isode. 'And then,' said the queen, 'either shall love other days of their life.' So this drink was given unto Dame Brangwain and unto Gouvernail.\n\nSo Sir Tristram took the sea; and when he and La Belle Isode were in their cabin, it happed so they were thirsty; and then they saw a little flacket of gold stand by them, and it seemed by the colour and the taste that it was noble wine. So Sir Tristram took the flacket in his hand and said, 'Madam Isode, here is a draught of good wine that Dame Brangwain your maiden and Gouvernail my servant have kept for themselves.'\n\nThen they laughed and made good cheer, and either drank to other freely, and they thought never drink that ever they drank so sweet nor so good to them. But by that drink was in their bodies, they loved either other so well that never their love departed, for weal nor for woe. And thus it happed first the love betwixt Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode, the which love never departed days of their life.\n\nAnd in the meanwhile word came to Sir Tristram that King Carados, the mighty king that was made like a giant, fought with Sir Gawain and gave him such strokes that he swooned in his saddle; and after that he took him by the collar and pulled him out of the saddle, and bound him fast to the saddle-bow, and so rode his way with him toward his castle. And as he rode, Sir Lancelot by fortune met with King Carados, and anon he knew Sir Gawain that lay bound before him.\n\n'Ah', said Sir Lancelot unto Sir Gawain, 'how standeth it with you?'\n\n'Never so hard,' said Sir Gawain, 'unless that ye help me, for so God me help, without ye rescue me I know no knight that may, but you or Sir Tristram.' Wherefore Sir Lancelot was heavy at Sir Gawain's words.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot bade Sir Carados, 'Lay down that knight and fight with me.'\n\n'Thou art but a fool,' said Sir Carados, 'for I will serve thee in the same wise.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'spare me not, for I warn thee I will not spare thee.'\n\nAnd then he bound Sir Gawain hand and foot, and so threw him to the ground. And then he got his spear in his hand of his squire, and departed from Sir Lancelot to fetch his course; and so either met with other and brake their spears to their hands. And then they pulled out their swords and hurtled together on horseback more than an hour, and at last Sir Lancelot smote Sir Carados such a buffet on the helm that it pierced his brain-pan. So then Sir Lancelot took Sir Carados by the collar and pulled him under his horse's feet, and then he alit and pulled off his helm and struck off his head. Then Sir Lancelot unbound Sir Gawain.\n\nSo this same tale was told to Sir Tristram, and said, 'Now may ye hear the noblesse that followeth Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'and I had not this message in hand with this fair lady, truly I would never stint or that I had found Sir Lancelot.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode came into Cornwall, and there all the barons met them.\n\nAnd anon they were richly wedded with great noblesse. But ever, as the French book saith, Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode loved ever together. Then was there great jousts and great tourneying, and many lords and ladies were at that feast, and Sir Tristram was most praised of all other.\n\nSo thus dured the feast long; and after that feast was done, within a little while after, by the assent of two ladies that were with the queen, they ordained for hate and envy for to destroy Dame Brangwain, that was maiden and lady unto La Belle Isode. And she was sent into the forest for to fetch herbs; and there she was bound hand and foot to a tree, and so she was bound three days. And by fortune Sir Palomides found Dame Brangwain, and there he delivered her from the death, and brought her to a nunnery therebeside for to be recovered.\n\nWhen Isode the queen missed her maiden, wit you well she was right heavy as ever any queen might be, for of all earthly women she loved her best, and most cause why, she came with her out of her country. And so upon a day Queen Isode walked into the forest to put away her thoughts, and there she went herself unto a well and made great moan. And suddenly there came Sir Palomides unto her and heard all her complaint, and said, 'Madam Isode, and ye will grant me my boon, I shall bring again to you Dame Brangwain safe and sound.'\n\nThen the queen was so glad of his proffer that suddenly unadvised she granted all his asking.\n\n'Well, madam,' said Sir Palomides, 'I trust to your promise, and if ye will abide half an hour here I shall bring her to you.'\n\n'Sir, I shall abide you,' said the queen.\n\nThen Sir Palomides rode forth his way to that nunnery, and lightly he came again with Dame Brangwain; but by her good will she would not have come to the queen, for cause she stood in adventure of her life. Notwithstanding, half against her will, she came with Sir Palomides unto the queen. And when the queen saw her she was passing glad.\n\n'Now, madam,' said Sir Palomides, 'remember upon your promise, for I have fulfilled my promise.'\n\n'Sir Palomides,' said the queen, 'I wot not what is your desire, but I will that ye wit, howbeit that I proffered you largely, I thought no evil, neither, I warn you, no evil will I do.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Palomides, 'as at this time ye shall not know my desire.'\n\n'But before my lord my husband, there shall ye know that ye shall have your desire that I promised you.'\n\nAnd then the queen rode home unto the king, and Sir Palomides rode with her. And when Sir Palomides came before the king, he said, 'Sir king, I require thee as thou art righteous king, that ye will judge me the right.'\n\n'Tell me your cause,' said the king, 'and ye shall have right.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Palomides, 'I promised your queen, my lady Dame Isode, to bring again Dame Brangwain that she had lost, upon this covenant, that she should grant me a boon that I would ask; and without grudging or advisement, she granted me.'\n\n'What say ye, my lady?' said the king.\n\n'It is as he saith, so God me help, to say the sooth,' said the queen. 'I promised him his asking for love and joy I had to see her.'\n\n'Well, madam!' said the king. 'And if she were hasty to grant what boon he would ask, I would well that she performed her promise.'\n\nThen said Sir Palomides, 'I will that ye wit that I will have your queen to lead her and to govern her where as me list.'\n\nTherewith the king stood still, and bethought him of Sir Tristram, and deemed that he would rescue her. And then hastily the king answered and said, 'Take her to thee, and the adventures withal that will fall of it, for as I suppose thou wilt not enjoy her no while.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Palomides, 'I dare right well abide the adventure.'\n\nAnd so, to make short tale, Sir Palomides took her by the hand and said, 'Madam, grudge not to go with me, for I desire nothing but your own promise.'\n\n'As for that,' said the queen, 'wit thou well, I fear not greatly to go with thee, howbeit thou hast me at advantage upon my promise; for I doubt not I shall be worshipfully rescued from thee.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Palomides, 'be as it be may.'\n\nSo Queen Isode was set behind Sir Palomides, and rode his way. And anon the king sent unto Sir Tristram, but in no wise he would not be found, for he was in the forest an-hunting; for that was always his custom, but if he used arms, to chase and to hunt in the forest.\n\n'Alas,' said the king, 'now am I shamed forever, that by my own assent my lady and my queen shall be devoured.'\n\nThen came there forth a knight that hight Lambegus, and he was a knight of Sir Tristram's.\n\n'My lord,' said the knight, 'sith that ye have such trust in my lord Sir Tristram, wit you well for his sake I will ride after your queen and rescue her, or else shall I be beaten.'\n\n'Grantmercy,' said the king. 'And I live, Sir Lambegus, I shall deserve it.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lambegus armed him and rode after them as fast as he might; and then within a while he overtook them. And then Sir Palomides left the queen and said, 'What art thou?' said Sir Palomides, 'art thou Sir Tristram?'\n\n'Nay,' he said, 'I am his servant, and my name is Sir Lambegus.'\n\n'That me repents,' said Sir Palomides, 'I had liever thou had been Sir Tristram.'\n\n'I believe you well,' said Sir Lambegus, 'but when thou meetest with Sir Tristram, thou shalt have both thy hands full.'\n\nAnd then they hurtled together and all tobrast their spears; and then they pulled out their swords and hewed on their helms and hauberks. At the last Sir Palomides gave Sir Lambegus such a wound that he fell down like a dead man to the earth. Then he looked after La Belle Isode; and then she was gone, he wist not where. Wit you well that Sir Palomides was never so heavy!\n\nSo the queen ran into the forest, and there she found a well; and therein she had thought to have drowned herself. And as good fortune would, there came a knight to her that had a castle there beside, and his name was Sir Adtherp. And when he found the queen in that mischief, he rescued her and brought her to his castle. And when he wist what she was, he armed him and took his horse, and said he would be avenged upon Sir Palomides; and so he rode unto the time he met with him. And there Sir Palomides wounded him sore, and by force he made him to tell the cause why he did battle with him; and he told him how he led the queen La Belle Isode into his own castle.\n\n'Now bring me there,' said Sir Palomides, 'or thou shalt of my hands die.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Adtherp, 'I am so sore wounded I may not follow; but ride you this way, and it shall bring you to my castle, and therein is the queen.'\n\nSir Palomides rode till that he came to the castle; and at a window La Belle Isode saw Sir Palomides. Then she made the gates to be shut strongly. And when he saw he might not enter into the castle, he put off his horse's bridle and his saddle, and so put his horse to pasture; and set himself down at the gate like a man that was out of his wit, that recked not of himself.\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Tristram, that when he was come home and wist that La Belle Isode was gone with Sir Palomides, wit you well he was wroth out of measure.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'I am this day shamed.' Then he called Gouvernail, his man, and said, 'Haste thee that I were armed and on horseback, for well I wot Sir Lambegus hath no might nor strength to withstand Sir Palomides. Alas I had not been in his stead!'\n\nSo anon he was armed and horsed and rode after into the forest; and within a while he found his knight Sir Lambegus almost to death wounded. And Sir Tristram bare him to a forester, and charged him to keep him well. And then he rode forth and found Sir Adtherp sore wounded. And he told all, and how 'the queen had drowned herself had I not been, and how for her sake I took upon me to do battle with Sir Palomides.'\n\n'Where is my lady?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir,' said the knight, 'she is sure enough within my castle, and she can hold her within it.'\n\n'Grantmercy,' said Sir Tristram, 'of thy great goodness.'\n\nAnd so he rode till that he came nigh his castle. And then Sir Palomides sat at the gate and saw where Sir Tristram came; and he sat as had slept, and his horse pastured before him.\n\n'Now go thou, Gouvernail,' said Sir Tristram, 'and bid him awake and make him ready.'\n\nSo Gouvernail rode unto him and said, 'Sir Palomides, arise and take thy harness!'\n\nBut he was in such a study that he heard not what he said. So Gouvernail came again to Sir Tristram, and told him he slept, or else he was mad.\n\n'Go thou again,' said Sir Tristram, 'and bid him arise, and tell him I am here, his mortal foe.'\n\nSo Gouvernail rode again, and put upon him with the butt of his spear, and said, 'Sir Palomides, make thee ready, for wit thou well Sir Tristram hoveth yonder, and sendeth thee word he is thy mortal foe.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Palomides arose stilly without any words, and got his horse anon and saddled him and bridled him; and lightly he leapt upon him, and got his spear in his hand. And either fewtered their spears and hurled fast together, and anon Sir Tristram smote down Sir Palomides over his horse's tail. Then lightly Sir Palomides put his shield before him and drew his sword; and there began strong battle on both parts, for both they fought for the love of one lady. And ever she lay on the walls and beheld them, how they fought out of measure, and either were wounded passing sore, but Sir Palomides was much sorer wounded. For they fought thus, tracing and traversing, more than two hours, that well nigh for dole and sorrow La Belle Isode swooned, and said, 'Alas, that one I loved and yet do, and the other I love not, that they should fight! And yet it were great pity that I should see Sir Palomides slain, for well I know by that the end be done Sir Palomides is but a dead man because that he is not christened, and I would be loath that he should die a Saracen.'\n\nAnd therewith she came down and besought them for her love to fight no more.\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Tristram, 'what mean you? Will ye have me shamed? For well ye know that I will be ruled by you.'\n\n'Ah, my own lord,' said La Belle Isode, 'full well ye wot I would not your dishonour, but I would that ye would for my sake spare this unhappy Saracen Sir Palomides.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will leave for your sake.'\n\nThen said she to Sir Palomides, 'This shall be thy charge: thou shalt go out of this country while I am queen thereof.'\n\n'Madam, I will obey your commandment,' said Sir Palomides, 'which is sore against my will.'\n\n'Then take thy way,' said La Belle Isode, 'unto the court of King Arthur; and there recommend me unto Queen Guenivere, and tell her that I send her word that there be within this land but four lovers, and that is Sir Lancelot and Dame Guenivere, and Sir Tristram and Queen Isode.'\n\nAnd so Sir Palomides departed with great heaviness. And Sir Tristram took the queen and brought her again unto King Mark; and then was there made great joy of her homecoming. Then who was cherished but Sir Tristram! Then Sir Tristram let fetch home Sir Lambegus his knight from the forester's house; and it was long or he was whole, but so at the last he recovered.\n\nAnd thus they lived with joy and play a long while. But ever Sir Andret, that was nigh cousin unto Sir Tristram, lay in wait betwixt Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode for to take him and devour him.\n\nAnd then the king and the queen went an-hunting, and Sir Tristram. So the king and the queen made their pavilions and their tents in that forest beside a river; and there was daily jousting and hunting, for there was ever ready thirty knights to joust unto all that came at that time. And there by fortune came Sir Lamorak de Gales and Sir Driant; and there Sir Driant jousted well, but at the last he had a fall. Then Sir Lamorak proffered, and when he began he fared so with the thirty knights that there was not one of them but he gave a fall, and some of them were sore hurt.\n\n'I marvel,' said King Mark, 'what knight he is that doth such deeds of arms.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I know him well for a noble knight as few now be living, and his name is Sir Lamorak de Gales.'\n\n'It were shame', said the king, 'that he should go thus away unless that he were manhandled.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'me seemeth it were no worship for a nobleman to have ado with him, and for this cause: for at this time he hath done overmuch for any mean knight living. And as me seemeth,' said Sir Tristram, 'it were shame to tempt him any more, for his horse is weary and himself both; for the deeds of arms that he hath done this day, well considered, it were enough for Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'As for that,' said King Mark, 'I require you, as ye love me and my lady the queen La Belle Isode, take your arms and joust with Sir Lamorak de Gales.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye bid me do a thing that is against knight-hood; and well I can think that I shall give him a fall, for it is no mastery, for my horse and I be fresh, and so is not his horse and he. And wit you well that he will take it for great unkindness, for ever one good knight is loath to take another at advantage. But because I will not displease, as ye require me, so must I do, and obey your commandment.'\n\nAnd so Sir Tristram armed him and took his horse and put him forth. And there Sir Lamorak met him mightily; and what with the might of his own spear and of Sir Tristram's spear, Sir Lamorak's horse fell to the earth, and he sitting in the saddle. So as soon as he might, he avoided the saddle and his horse, and put his shield before him and drew his sword. And then he bade Sir Tristram, 'Alight, thou knight, and thou darest!'\n\n'Nay, sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will no more have ado with you, for I have done thee overmuch unto my dishonour and to thy worship.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lamorak, 'I can thee no thank. Since thou hast forjousted me on horseback, I require thee and beseech thee, and thou be Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, fight with me on foot.'\n\n'I will not,' said Sir Tristram. 'And wit you well, my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, and well I know that ye be Sir Lamorak de Gales. And this have I done to you against my will, but I was required thereto; but to say that I will do at your request as at this time, I will not have no more ado with you at this time, for me shameth of that I have done.'\n\n'As for the shame,' said Sir Lamorak, 'on thy part or on mine, bear thou it and thou will; for though a mare's son hath failed me now, yet a queen's son shall not fail thee. And therefore, and thou be such a knight as men call thee, I require thee alight and fight with me.'\n\n'Sir Lamorak,' said Sir Tristram, 'I understand your heart is great; and cause why ye have, to say the sooth, for it would grieve me and any good knight should keep him fresh and then to strike down a weary knight!\u2014for that knight nor horse was never formed that always may endure. And therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will not have ado with you, for me forthinks of that I have done.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lamorak, 'I shall requite you and ever I see my time.'\n\nSo he departed from him with Sir Driant; and by the way they met with a knight that was sent from Dame Morgan le Fay unto King Arthur. And this knight had a fair horn harnessed with gold, and the horn had such a virtue that there might no lady nor gentlewoman drink of that horn but if she were true to her husband; and if she were false she should spill all the drink, and if she were true to her lord she might drink thereof peaceably. And because of the Queen Guenivere and in the despite of Sir Lancelot, this horn was sent unto King Arthur. And so by force Sir Lamorak made that knight to tell all the cause why he bore the horn; and so he told him all whole.\n\n'Now shalt thou bear this horn', said Sir Lamorak, 'to King Mark, or choose to die! For in the despite of Sir Tristram thou shalt bear it him, that horn, and say that I sent it him for to assay his lady; and if she be true he shall prove her.'\n\nSo this knight went his way unto King Mark and brought him that rich horn, and said that Sir Lamorak sent it him; and so he told him the virtue of that horn. Then the king made his queen to drink thereof, and a hundred ladies with her; and there were but four ladies of all those that drank cleanly.\n\n'Alas,' said King Mark, 'this is a great despite!', and swore a great oath that she should be burned and the other ladies also.\n\nThen the barons gathered them together and said plainly they would not have those ladies burned for a horn made by sorcery, that came 'from the false sorceress and witch most that is now living'. For that horn did never good, but caused strife and debate; and always in her days she was an enemy to all true lovers. So there were many knights that made there a vow that and ever they met with Morgan le Fay, that they would show her short courtesy. Also Sir Tristram was passing wroth that Sir Lamorak sent that horn unto King Mark, for well he knew that it was done in the despite of him; and therefore he thought to requite Sir Lamorak.\n\nThen Sir Tristram used daily and nightly to go to Queen Isode ever when he might; and ever Sir Andret, his cousin, watched him night by night for to take him with La Belle Isode. And so upon a night Sir Andret espied his hour and the time when Sir Tristram went to his lady. Then Sir Andret got unto him twelve knights, and at midnight he set upon Sir Tristram secretly and suddenly; and there Sir Tristram was taken naked abed with La Belle Isode, and so was he bound hand and foot and kept till day.\n\nAnd then by the assent of King Mark and of Sir Andret and of some of the barons, Sir Tristram was led unto a chapel that stood upon the sea rocks, there for to take his judgement. And so he was led bound with forty knights.\n\nAnd when Sir Tristram saw that there was no other boot but needs he must die, then said he, 'Fair lords, remember what I have done for the country of Cornwall, and what jeopardy I have been in for the weal of you all! For when I fought with Sir Marhalt the good knight, I was promised to be better rewarded, when ye all refused to take the battle. Therefore, as ye be good gentle knights, see me not thus shamefully to die; for it is shame to all knighthood thus to see me die. For I dare say,' said Sir Tristram, 'that I met never with no knight but I was as good as he, or better.'\n\n'Fie upon thee,' said Sir Andret, 'false traitor thou art, with thine advantage! For all thy boast, thou shalt die this day.'\n\n'Ah, Andret, Andret,' said Sir Tristram, 'thou shouldst be my kinsman, and now art to me full unfriendly. But and there were no more but thou and I, thou wouldst not put me to death.'\n\n'No?' said Sir Andret, and therewith he drew his sword and would have slain him.\n\nSo when Sir Tristram saw him make that countenance, he looked upon both his hands that were fast bound unto two knights, and suddenly he pulled them both unto him and unwrast his hands, and leaped unto his cousin Sir Andret and writhed his sword out of his hands. And then he smote Sir Andret that he fell down to the earth; and so he fought that he killed ten knights. So then Sir Tristram got the chapel and kept it mightily.\n\nThen the cry was great, and people drew fast unto Sir Andret, more than a hundred. So when Sir Tristram saw the people draw unto him, he remembered he was naked, and sparred fast the chapel door and broke the bars of a window, and so he leapt out and fell upon the crags in the sea. And so at that time Sir Andret nor none of his fellows might not get him. But when they were departed, Gouvernail and Sir Lambegus and Sir Sentrail de Lushon, that were Sir Tristram's men, sought sore after their master when they heard he was escaped. And so on the rocks they found him, and with towels pulled him up. And then Sir Tristram asked where was La Belle Isode.\n\n'Sir,' said Gouvernail, 'she is put in a lazar-cote.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'that is a full ungoodly place for such a fair lady, and if I may she shall not be long there.'\n\nAnd so he took his men and went there as was La Belle Isode, and fetched her away, and brought her into a fair forest to a fair manor; and so he abode there with her.\n\nSo now this good knight bade his men depart, for at that time he might not help them. And so they departed, all save Gouvernail. And so upon a day Sir Tristram yode into the forest for to disport him, and there he fell asleep. And so happened there came to Sir Tristram a man that he had slain his brother. And so when this man had found him, he shot him through the shoulder, and anon Sir Tristram started up and killed that man.\n\nAnd in the meantime it was told unto King Mark how Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode were in that same manor. And thither he came with many knights to slay Sir Tristram; and when he came there he found him gone. And anon he took La Belle Isode home with him and kept her strait, that by no means she might never write nor send. And when Sir Tristram came toward the manor, he found the track of many horses, and looked about in the place and knew that his lady was gone. And then Sir Tristram took great sorrow, and endured with great sorrow and pain long time, for the arrow that he was hurt withal was envenomed.\n\nSo by the means of La Belle Isode, she bade a lady that was cousin unto Dame Brangwain, and she came unto Sir Tristram and told him that he might not be whole by no means, 'for thy lady Isode may not help thee. Therefore she biddeth you, haste you into Brittany unto King Howell, and there shall ye find his daughter that is called Isode les Blanches Mains, and there shall ye find that she shall help you.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram and Gouvernail got them shipping, and so sailed into Brittany. And when King Howell knew that it was Sir Tristram, he was full glad of him.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I am come unto this country to have help of your daughter.'\n\nAnd so she healed him.\n\nThere was an earl that hight Gripe; and this earl made great war upon the king, and put him to the worse and besieged him. And on a time Sir Kehydius that was son to the King Howell, as he issued out he was sore wounded nigh to the death.\n\nThen Gouvernail went to the king and said, 'Sir, I counsel you to desire my lord Sir Tristram as in your need to help you.'\n\n'I will do by your counsel,' said the king. And so he yode unto Sir Tristram and prayed him as in his wars to help him, 'for my son Sir Keyhidius may not go unto the field.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will go to the field and do what I may.'\n\nSo Sir Tristram issued out of the town with such fellowship as he might make, and did such deeds that all Brittany spoke of him. And then at the last by great force he slew the Earl Gripe with his own hands, and more than a hundred knights he slew that day. And then Sir Tristram was received into the city worshipfully with procession.\n\nThen King Howell embraced him in his arms and said, 'Sir Tristram, all my kingdom I will resign to you.'\n\n'God defend!' said Sir Tristram, 'for I am beholden thereto for your daughter's sake to do for you more than that.'\n\nSo by the great means of the king and his son, there grew great love betwixt Isode and Sir Tristram; for that lady was both good and fair and a woman of noble blood and fame, and for because that Sir Tristram had such cheer and riches and all other pleasance that he had almost forsaken La Belle Isode.\n\nAnd so upon a time Sir Tristram agreed to wed this Isode les Blanches Mains; and so at the last they were wedded, and solemnly held their marriage. And so when they were abed both, Sir Tristram remembered him of his old lady La Belle Isode, and then he took such a thought suddenly that he was all dismayed. And other cheer made he none but with clipping and kissing; as for fleshly lusts, Sir Tristram had never ado with her\u2014such mention maketh the French book. Also it maketh mention that the lady weened there had been no pleasure but kissing and clipping.\n\nAnd in the meantime there was a knight in Brittany, his name was Sir Suppinabiles, and he came over the sea into England. And so he came into the court of King Arthur, and there he met with Sir Lancelot du Lake and told him of the marriage of Sir Tristram.\n\nThen said Sir Lancelot, 'Fie upon him, untrue knight to his lady! That so noble a knight as Sir Tristram is should be found to his first lady and love untrue, that is the queen of Cornwall! But say ye to him thus,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that of all knights in the world I have loved him, and all was for his noble deeds. And let him wit that the love between him and me is done for ever, and that I give him warning, from this day forth I will be his mortal enemy.'\n\nSo departed Sir Suppinabiles unto Brittany again, and there he found Sir Tristram and told him that he had been in King Arthur's court.\n\nThen Sir Tristram said, 'Heard ye anything of me?'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Suppinabiles, 'there I heard Sir Lancelot speak of you great shame, and that ye are a false knight to your lady. And he bade me do you to wit that he will be your mortal foe in every place where he may meet with you.'\n\n'That me repenteth,' said Sir Tristram, 'for of all knights I loved most to be in his fellowship.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram was ashamed and made great moan, that ever any knights should defame him for the sake of his lady.\n\nAnd so in this mean while La Belle Isode made a letter unto Queen Guenivere, complaining her of the untruth of Sir Tristram, how he had wedded the king's daughter of Brittany. So Queen Guenivere sent her another letter and bade her be of good comfort, for she should have joy after sorrow; for Sir Tristram was so noble a knight called, that by crafts of sorcery ladies would make such noble men to wed them. But the end Queen Guinevere said should be thus: 'that he shall hate her and love you better than ever he did.'\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Tristram de Lyonesse that was in Brittany, that when La Belle Isode understood that he was wedded, she sent to him by her maiden, Dame Brangwain, piteous letters as could be thought and made; and her conclusion was thus, that if it pleased Sir Tristram, to come to her court and bring with him Isode les Blanches Mains, and they should be kept as well as herself.\n\nThen Sir Tristram called unto him Sir Kehydius, and asked him whether he would go with him into Cornwall secretly: he answered him and said that he was ready at all times. And then he let ordain privily a little vessel, and therein they sailed, Sir Tristram, Sir Kehydius, and Dame Brangwain and Gouvernail, Sir Tristram's squire. So when they were in the sea a contrarious wind blew them unto the coasts of North Wales, nigh the Forest Perilous.\n\nThen said Sir Tristram, 'Here shall ye abide me these ten days, and Gouvernail my squire with you. And if so be I come not again by that day, take the next way into Cornwall; for in this forest are many strange adventures, as I have heard say, and some of them I cast to prove or that I depart. And when I may I shall hie me after you.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram and Sir Kehydius took their horses and departed from their fellowship; and so they rode within that forest a mile and more. And at the last Sir Tristram saw before them a likely knight sitting armed by a well, and a strong mighty horse stood passing nigh him tied to an oak, and a man hoving and riding by him leading a horse loaded with spears. And this knight that sat at the well seemed by his countenance to be passing heavy.\n\nThen Sir Tristram rode near him and said, 'Fair knight, why sit you so drooping? Ye seem to be a knight errant by your arms and harness, and therefore dress you to joust with one of us, or with both.'\n\nTherewithal that knight made no words, but took his shield and buckled it about his neck, and lightly he took his horse and leapt upon him; and then he took a great spear of his squire, and departed his way a furlong.\n\nThen Sir Kehydius asked leave of Sir Tristram to joust first.\n\n'Sir, do your best,' said Sir Tristram.\n\nSo they met together, and there Sir Kehydius had a fall, and was sore wounded on high above the paps.\n\nThen Sir Tristram said, 'Knight, that is well jousted! Now make you ready unto me.'\n\n'Sir, I am ready,' said the knight.\n\nAnd anon he took a great spear and encountered with Sir Tristram; and there by fortune and by great force that knight smote down Sir Tristram from his horse, and had a great fall. Then Sir Tristram was sore ashamed, and lightly he avoided his horse, and put his shield before his shoulder, and drew his sword. And then Sir Tristram required that knight of his knighthood to alight upon foot and fight with him.\n\n'I will well,' said the knight.\n\nAnd so he alit upon foot and avoided his horse, and cast his shield upon his shoulder and drew out his sword; and there they fought a long battle together nigh two hours.\n\nThen Sir Tristram said, 'Fair knight, hold thy hand a little while, and tell me of whence thou art and what is thy name.'\n\n'As for that,' said the knight, 'I will be advised; but and ye will tell me your name, peradventure I will tell you mine.'\n\n'Now, fair knight,' he said, 'my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse.'\n\n'Sir, and my name is Sir Lamorak de Gales.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Lamorak,' said Sir Tristram, 'well be we met! And bethink thee now of the despite thou didst me of the sending of the horn unto King Mark's court, to the intent to have slain or dishonoured my lady, queen La Belle Isode. And therefore wit thou well,' said Sir Tristram, 'the one of us two shall die or we depart.'\n\nSo Sir Tristram would make no longer delays, but lashed at Sir Lamorak; and thus they fought long till either were weary of other.\n\nThen Sir Tristram said unto Sir Lamorak, 'In all my life met I never with such a knight that was so big and so well-breathed. Therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'it were pity that any of us both should here be mischieved.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lamorak, 'for your renown and your name I will that ye have the worship, and therefore I will yield me unto you.' And therewith he took the point of his sword to yield him.\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye shall not do so, for well I know your proffers are more of your gentleness than for any fear or dread ye have of me.' And therewithal Sir Tristram proffered him his sword and said, 'Sir Lamorak, as an overcome knight I yield me to you as a man of most noble prowess that I ever met.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lamorak, 'I will do you gentleness, I require you! Let us be sworn together that never none of us shall after this day have ado with other.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorak swore that never none of them should fight against other, for weal nor for woe.\n\nAnd this meanwhile there came Sir Palomides, the good knight, following the Questing Beast, that had in shape like a serpent's head, and a body like a leopard, buttocked like a lion and footed like a hart; and in his body there was such a noise as it had been twenty couple of hounds questing, and such noise that beast made wheresoever he went. And this beast evermore Sir Palomides followed, for it was called his quest. And right so as he followed this beast it came by Sir Tristram, and soon after came Sir Palomides. And to brief this matter, he smote down Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorak both with one spear, and so he departed after the Beast Glatissant, that was called the Questing Beast; wherefore these two knights were passing wroth that Sir Palomides would not fight with them on foot.\n\nHere men may understand that be men of worship, that man was never formed that all times might attain, but some time he was put to the worse by malfortune; and at some time the weaker knight put the bigger knight to a rebuke.\n\nThen Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorak got Sir Kehydius upon a shield betwixt them both. And so they rode with him to the ship where they left Dame Brangwain and Gouvernail, and so they sailed into Cornwall all whole together.\n\nAnd by assent and by information of Dame Brangwain, when they were landed they rode unto Sir Dinas the Seneschal, a trusty friend of Sir Tristram's. And so Sir Dinas and Dame Brangwain rode to the court of King Mark, and told the queen La Belle Isode that Sir Tristram was nigh her in the country. Then for very pure joy La Belle Isode swooned; and when she might speak, she said, 'Gentle seneschal, help that I might speak with him, or my heart will brast.'\n\nThen Sir Dinas and Dame Brangwain brought Sir Tristram and Sir Kehydius privily unto the court, unto her chamber where as La Belle Isode assigned them. And to tell the joys that were betwixt La Belle Isode and Sir Tristram, there is no maker can make it, nor no heart can think it, nor no pen can write it, nor no mouth can speak it.\n\nAnd as the French book maketh mention, at the first time that ever Sir Kehydius saw La Belle Isode he was so enamoured upon her that for very pure love he might never withdraw it; and at the last, as ye shall hear or the book be ended, Sir Kehydius died for the love of Isode. And then privily he wrote unto her letters and ballads of the most goodliest that were used in those days. And when La Belle Isode understood his letters she had pity of his complaint, and unadvised she wrote another letter to comfort him withal.\n\nAnd Sir Tristram was all this while in a turret at the commandment of La Belle Isode, and when she might she yode and came to Sir Tristram.\n\nSo on a day King Mark played at the chess under a chamber window; and at that time Sir Tristram and Sir Kehydius were within the chamber over King Mark. And as it mishapped, Sir Tristram found the letter that Sir Kehydius sent unto La Belle Isode; also he had found the letter that she wrote unto Sir Kehydius, and at the same time La Belle Isode was in the same chamber.\n\nThen Sir Tristram came unto La Belle Isode and said, 'Madam, here is a letter that was sent unto you, and here is the letter that ye sent unto him that sent you that letter. Alas, madam, the good love that I have loved you, and many lands and great riches have I forsaken for your love; and now ye are a traitress unto me, which doth me great pain. But as for thee, Sir Kehydius, I brought thee out of Brittany into this country, and thy father, King Howell, I won his lands. Howbeit I wedded thy sister Isode les Blanches Mains for the goodness she did unto me, and yet, as I am a true knight, she is a clean maiden for me. But wit thou well, Sir Kehydius, for this falsehood and treason thou hast done unto me, I will revenge it upon thee.' And therewith Sir Tristram drew out his sword and said, 'Sir Kehydius, keep thee!' And then La Belle Isode swooned to the earth.\n\nAnd when Sir Kehydius saw Sir Tristam come upon him, he saw no other boot but leapt out at a bay-window even over the head where sat King Mark playing at the chess. And when the king saw one come hurling over his head, he said, 'Fellow, what art thou, and what is the cause thou leap out at that window?'\n\n'My lord king,' said Kehydius, 'it fortuned me that I was asleep in the window above your head, and as I slept I slumbered, and so I fell down.'\n\nThus Sir Kehydius excused him, and Sir Tristram dread him lest he were discovered unto the king that he was there; wherefore he drew him to the strength of the tower, and armed him in such armour as he had for to fight with them that would withstand him.\n\nAnd so when Sir Tristram saw there was no resistance against him he sent Gouvernail for his horse and his spear, and knightly he rode forth out of the castle openly, that was called the castle of Tintagel. And even at the gate he met with Sir Gingalin, Sir Gawain's son; and anon Sir Gingalin put his spear in the rest, and ran upon Sir Tristram and broke his spear. And Sir Tristram at that time had but a sword, and gave him such a buffet upon the helm that he fell down from his saddle, and his sword slid down and carved asunder his horse's neck. And so Sir Tristram rode his way into the forest.\n\nAnd all this doing saw King Mark. And then he sent a squire unto the hurt knight and commanded him to come to him, and so he did. And when King Mark wist that it was Sir Gingalin, he welcomed him and gave him another horse, and so he asked him what knight it was that encountered with him.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gingalin, 'I wot not what knight it was, but well I wot he sigheth and maketh great dole.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram within a while met with a knight of his own (his name was Sir Fergus), and when he had met with him he made such sorrow that he fell down off his horse in a swoon; and in such sorrow he was in three days and three nights. Then at the last Sir Tristram sent unto the court by Sir Fergus, for to spere what tidings. And so as he rode by the way he met with a damosel that came from Sir Palomides to know and seek how Sir Tristram did. Then Sir Fergus told her how he was almost out of his mind.\n\n'Alas,' said the damosel, 'where shall I find him?'\n\nIn such a place, said Sir Fergus.\n\nThen Sir Fergus found Queen Isode sick in her bed, making the greatest dole that ever any earthly woman made.\n\nAnd when the damosel found Sir Tristram, she made great dole because she might not amend him, for the more she made of him the more was his pain. And at the last Sir Tristram took his horse and rode away from her; and then was it three days or that she could find him, and then she brought him meat and drink, but he would none. And then another time Sir Tristram escaped away from the damosel, and it happened him to ride by the same castle where Sir Palomides and Sir Tristram did battle when La Belle Isode parted them. And there by fortune the damosel met with Sir Tristram again, making the greatest dole that ever earthly creature made; and she yode to the lady of that castle and told of the misadventure of Sir Tristram.\n\n'Alas,' said the lady of that castle, 'where is my lord Sir Tristram?'\n\n'Right here by your castle,' said the damosel.\n\n'In good time', said the lady, 'is he so nigh me: he shall have meat and drink of the best. And a harp I have of his whereupon he taught me, for of goodly harping he beareth the prize of the world.'\n\nSo this lady and damosel brought him meat and drink, but he ate little thereof. Then upon a night he put his horse from him and unlaced his armour, and so he yode unto the wilderness, and brast down the trees and boughs. And otherwhile, when he found the harp that the lady sent him, then would he harp and play thereupon and weep together. And sometime when he was in the wood the lady wist not where he was; then would she set her down and play upon the harp. And anon Sir Tristram would come to the harp and hearken thereto, and sometime he would harp himself.\n\nThus he there endured a quarter of a year. And so at the last he ran his way, and she wist not where he was become; and then was he naked and waxed lean and poor of flesh. And so he fell in the fellowship of herdmen and shepherds, and daily they would give him some of their meat and drink. And when he did any shrewd deed they would beat him with rods; and so they clipped him with shears and made him like a fool.\n\nThen Sir Andret, that was cousin unto Sir Tristram, made a lady that was his paramour to say and to noise it that she was with Sir Tristram or ever he died. And this tale she brought unto King Mark's court, that she buried him by a well, and that or he died he besought King Mark to make his cousin Sir Andret king of the country of Lyonesse, of the which Sir Tristram was lord of. And all this did Sir Andret because he would have had Sir Tristram's lands.\n\nAnd when King Mark heard tell that Sir Tristram was dead he wept and made great dole. But when Queen Isode heard of these tidings she made such sorrow that she was nigh out of her mind. And so upon a day she thought to slay herself, and never to live after the death of Sir Tristram. And so upon a day La Belle Isode got a sword privily and bore it into her garden, and there she pitched the sword through a plum tree up to the hilts, so that it stuck fast, and it stood breast high. And as she would have run upon the sword and to have slain herself, all this espied King Mark, how she kneeled down and said, 'Sweet Lord Jesu, have mercy upon me, for I may not live after the death of Sir Tristram de Lyonesse! For he was my first love, and shall be the last.'\n\nAnd with these words came King Mark and took her in his arms. And then he took up the sword, and bore her away with him into a tower; and there he made her to be kept, and watched her surely. And after that she lay long sick, nigh at the point of death.\n\nSo this meanwhile ran Sir Tristram naked in the forest, and so he came to a hermitage, and there he laid him down and slept; and in the meanwhile the hermit laid meat down by him. Thus was he kept there ten days; and at the last he departed and came to the herdmen again.\n\nAnd there was a giant in that country that hight Tauleas, and for fear of Sir Tristram more than seven years he durst never much go at large, but for the most part he kept him in a sure castle of his own. And so this Tauleas heard tell that Sir Tristram was dead, by the noise of the court of King Mark. Then this giant Tauleas yode daily at his large. And so he happed upon a day he came to the herdmen wandering and lingering, and there he set him down to rest among them. And in the meanwhile there came a knight of Cornwall that led a lady with him, and his name was Sir Dinant; and when the giant saw him he went from the herdmen and hid him under a tree. And so the knight came to that well, and there he alit to repose him; and as soon as he was from his horse, this giant Tauleas came betwixt this knight and his horse and leapt upon him. And so forthwith he rode unto Sir Dinant and took him by the collar and pulled him before him upon his horse, and would have stricken off his head.\n\nThen the herdmen said unto Sir Tristram, 'Help yonder knight!'\n\n'Help ye him,' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'We dare not,' said the herdmen.\n\nThen Sir Tristram was ware of the sword of the knight there as it lay, and so thither he ran and took up the sword and smote to Sir Tauleas and so struck off his head, and so he yode his way to the herdmen.\n\nThen Sir Dinant took up the giant's head and bore it with him unto King Mark, and told him what adventure betided him in the forest, and how a naked man rescued him from the grimly giant Sir Tauleas.\n\n'Where had ye this adventure?' said King Mark.\n\n'Forsooth,' said Sir Dinant, 'at the fair fountain in the forest where many adventurous knights meet, and there is the mad man.'\n\n'Well,' said King Mark, 'I will see that wood man.'\n\nSo within a day or two King Mark commanded his knights and his hunters to be ready, and said that he would hunt on the morn. And so upon the morn he went into that forest; and when the king came to that well he found there lying a fair naked man, and a sword by him. Then King Mark blew and straked, and therewith his knights came to him; and then he commanded his knights to take the naked man with fairness, 'and bring him to my castle'. And so they did safely and fair, and cast mantles upon Sir Tristram, and so led him unto Tintagel. And there they bathed him and washed him and gave him hot suppings, till they had brought him well to his remembrance. But all this while there was no creature that knew Sir Tristram, nor what manner man he was.\n\nSo it befell upon a day that the queen, La Belle Isode, heard of such a man that ran naked in the forest, and how the king had brought him home to the court. Then La Belle Isode called unto her Dame Brangwain and said, 'Come on with me, for we will go see this man that my lord brought from the forest the last day.'\n\nSo they passed forth and spered where was the sick man; and then a squire told the queen that he was in the garden taking his rest to repose him against the sun. So when the queen looked upon Sir Tristram she was not remembered of him; but ever she said unto Dame Brangwain, 'Me seems I should have seen this man here before in many places.'\n\nBut as soon as Sir Tristram saw her he knew her well enough; and then he turned away his visage and wept.\n\nThen the queen had always a little brachet that Sir Tristram gave her the first time that ever she came into Cornwall, and never would that brachet depart from her but if Sir Tristram were nigh there as was La Belle Isode; and this brachet was first sent from the king's daughter of France unto Sir Tristram for great love. And anon this little brachet felt a savour of Sir Tristram, she leapt upon him and licked his leres and his ears; and then she whined and quested, and she smelled at his feet and at his hands and on all the parts of his body that she might come to.\n\n'Ah, my lady,' said Dame Brangwain, 'alas, I see it is mine own lord, Sir Tristram.'\n\nAnd thereupon La Belle Isode fell down in a swoon, and so lay a great while. And when she might speak she said, 'Ah, my lord Sir Tristram, blessed be God ye have your life! And now I am sure ye shall be discovered by this little brachet, for she will never leave you. And also I am sure, as soon as my lord King Mark do know you he will banish you out of the country of Cornwall, or else he will destroy you. And therefore, for God's sake, my own lord, grant King Mark his will. And then draw you unto the court of King Arthur, for there are ye beloved; and ever when I may I shall send unto you. And when ye list ye may come to me; and at all times early and late I will be at your commandment, to live as poor a life as ever did queen or lady.'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Tristram, 'go from me, for much anger and danger have I escaped for your love.'\n\nThen the queen departed, but the brachet would not from him; and therewith came King Mark, and the brachet set upon him and bayed at them all. And therewith Sir Andret spake and said, 'Sir, this is Sir Tristram, I see well by that brachet.'\n\n'Nay,' said the king, 'I cannot suppose that.'\n\nThen the king asked him upon his faith what he was, and what was his name.\n\n'So God me help,' said he, 'my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse. Now do by me what ye list.'\n\n'Ah,' said King Mark, 'me repents of your recovering.'\n\nAnd so he let call his barons to give judgement unto Sir Tristram to the death. Then many of his barons would not assent thereto, and in especial Sir Dinas the Seneschal and Sir Fergus. And so by the advice of them all Sir Tristram was banished out of the country for ten years, and thereupon he took his oath upon a book before the king and his barons. And so he was made to depart out of the country of Cornwall; and there were many barons brought him unto his ship, that some were of his friends and some were of his foes.\n\nAnd in the meanwhile there came a knight of King Arthur's, and his name was Sir Dinadan; and his coming was for to seek after Sir Tristram. Then they showed him where he was, armed at all points, going to the ship.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Dinadan, 'or ye pass this court, that ye will joust with me!'\n\n'With a good will,' said Sir Tristram, 'and these lords will give me leave.'\n\nThen the barons granted thereto; and so they ran together, and there Sir Tristram gave Sir Dinadan a fall. And then he prayed Sir Tristram of his gentleness to give him leave to go in his fellowship.\n\n'Ye shall be right welcome,' said he.\n\nAnd then Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan took their horses and rode to their ships together.\n\nAnd when Sir Tristram was in the sea, he said, 'Greet well King Mark and all mine enemies, and say to them I will come again when I may. And say him, well am I rewarded for the fighting with Sir Marhalt, and delivered all his country from servage. And well am I rewarded for the fetching and costs of Queen Isode out of Ireland, and the danger that I was in first and last. And well am I rewarded when I fought with Sir Blamor de Ganis for King Angwish, father unto La Belle Isode. And well am I rewarded when I smote down the good knight Sir Lamorak de Gales at King Mark's request. And well I am rewarded for the slaying of Tauleas, the mighty giant. And many other deeds have I done for him; and now have I my warison. And tell King Mark that many noble knights of the Round Table have spared the barons of this country for my sake. And also I am not well rewarded when I fought with the good knight Sir Palomides and rescued Queen Isode from him; and at that time King Mark said afore all his barons I should have been better rewarded.'\n\nAnd forthwith he took the sea.\n\nAnd at the next landing, fast by the sea, there met with Sir Tristram and with Sir Dinadan, Sir Ector de Maris and Sir Bors de Ganis; and there Sir Ector jousted with Sir Dinadan, and he smote him and his horse down. And then Sir Tristram would have jousted with Sir Bors, and Sir Bors said that he would not joust with no Cornish knights, for they are not called men of worship. And all this was done upon a bridge. And with this came Sir Bleoberis and Sir Driant, and Sir Bleoberis proffered to joust with Sir Tristram, and there Sir Tristram smote down Sir Bleoberis.\n\nThen said Sir Bors de Ganis, 'I wist never Cornish knight of so great valour nor so valiant as that knight that beareth the trappings embroidered with crowns.'\n\nAnd then Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan departed from them into a forest, and there met them a damosel that came for the love of Sir Lancelot to seek after some noble knights of King Arthur's court for to rescue Sir Lancelot. For he was ordained for by the treason of Queen Morgan le Fay to have slain him, and for that cause she ordained thirty knights to lie in wait for Sir Lancelot; and this damosel knew this treason, and for this cause she came for to seek noble knights to help Sir Lancelot. For that night, or the day after, Sir Lancelot should come where these thirty knights were. And so this damosel met with Sir Bors and Sir Ector and with Sir Driant, and there she told them all four of the treason of Morgan le Fay; and then they promised her that they would be nigh her when Sir Lancelot should meet with the thirty knights. 'And if so be they set upon him, we will do rescues as we can.'\n\nSo the damosel departed, and by adventure she met with Sir Tristram and with Sir Dinadan, and there the damosel told them all the treason that was ordained for Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Now, fair damosel,' said Sir Tristram, 'bring me to that same place where they should meet with Sir Lancelot.'\n\nThen said Sir Dinadan, 'What will ye do? It is not for us to fight with thirty knights, and wit you well I will not thereof! As to match one knight, two or three is enough and they be men; but for to match fifteen knights, that I will never undertake.'\n\n'Fie, for shame,' said Sir Tristram, 'do but your part.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I will not thereof but if ye will lend me your shield, for ye bear a shield of Cornwall; and for the cowardice that is named to the knights of Cornwall, by your shields ye be ever forborne.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will not depart from my shield for her sake that gave it me. But one thing,' said Sir Tristram, 'I promise thee, Sir Dinadan: but if thou wilt promise me to abide with me, right here I shall slay thee, for I desire no more of thee but answer one knight. And if thy heart will not serve thee, stand by and look upon.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I will promise you to look upon, and to do what I may to save myself; but I would I had not met with you!'\n\nSo then anon these thirty knights came fast by these four knights, and they were ware of them, and either of other; and so these thirty knights let for this cause, that they would not wrath them if case be that they had ado with Sir Lancelot. And the four knights let them pass to this intent, that they would see and behold what they would do with Sir Lancelot. And so the thirty knights passed on and came by Sir Tristram and by Sir Dinadan; and then Sir Tristram cried on high, 'Lo, here is a knight against you for the love of Sir Lancelot!'\n\nAnd there he slew two with a spear and ten with his sword; and then came in Sir Dinadan, and he did passing well. And so of the thirty knights there yode but ten away, and they fled.\n\nAnd all this battle saw Sir Bors de Ganis and his three fellows, and then they saw well it was the same knight that jousted with them at the bridge. Then they took their horses and rode unto Sir Tristram, and praised him and thanked him of his good deeds; and they all desired Sir Tristram to go with them to their lodging, and he said he would not go to no lodging. Then they four knights prayed him to tell his name.\n\n'Fair lords,' said Sir Tristram, 'as at this time I will not tell you my name.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan rode forth their way till they came to shepherds and to herdmen, and there they asked them if they knew any lodging there nearhand.\n\n'Sir,' said the herdmen, 'hereby is good harbour in a castle; but there is such a custom that there shall no knight harbour there but if he joust with two knights, and if he be but one knight he must joust with two knights. And as ye be, soon shall ye be matched.'\n\n'There is shrewd harbour,' said Sir Dinadan. 'Lodge where ye will, for I will not lodge there.'\n\n'Fie, for shame,' said Sir Tristram, 'are ye not a knight of the Table Round?\u2014wherefore ye may not with your worship refuse your lodging.'\n\n'Not so,' said the herdmen, 'for and ye be beaten and have the worse, ye shall not be lodged there, and if ye beat them ye shall well be harboured.'\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I understand they are two good knights.'\n\nThen Sir Dinadan would not lodge there in no manner, but as Sir Tristram required him of his knighthood; and so they rode thither. And to make short tale, Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan smote them down both, and so they entered into the castle and had good cheer as they could think or devise. And when they were unarmed, and thought to be merry and in good rest, there came in at the gates Sir Palomides and Sir Gaheris, requiring to have the custom of the castle.\n\n'What array is this?' said Sir Dinadan, 'I would fain have my rest.'\n\n'That may not be,' said Sir Tristram. 'Now must we needs defend the custom of this castle, insomuch as we have the better of these lords of this castle. And therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'needs must ye make you ready.'\n\n'In the devil's name', said Sir Dinadan, 'came I into your company!'\n\nAnd so they made them ready, and Sir Gaheris encountered with Sir Tristram, and Sir Gaheris had a fall; and Sir Palomides encountered with Sir Dinadan, and Sir Dinadan had a fall; then was it fall for fall. So then must they fight on foot; and that would not Sir Dinadan, for he was sore bruised of that fall that Sir Palomides gave him. Then Sir Tristram laced on Sir Dinadan's helm, and prayed him to help him.\n\n'I will not,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for I am sore wounded of the thirty knights that we had ado withal. But ye fare,' said Sir Dinadan, 'as a man were out of his mind that would cast himself away. And I may curse the time that ever I saw you, for in all the world are not two such knights that are so wood as is Sir Lancelot and ye, Sir Tristram; for once I fell in the fellowship of Sir Lancelot as I have done now with you, and he set me so a work that a quarter of a year I kept my bed. Jesu defend me', said Sir Dinadan, 'from such two knights, and specially from your fellowship.'\n\n'Then,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will fight with them both.' And anon Sir Tristram bade them come forth both, 'for I will fight with you.'\n\nThen Sir Palomides and Sir Gaheris dressed and smote at them both. Then Sir Dinadan smote at Sir Gaheris a stroke or two, and turned from him.\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Palomides, 'it is too much shame for us two knights to fight with one.' And then he did bid Sir Gaheris, 'Stand aside with that knight that hath no list to fight.'\n\nThen they rode together and fought long, and at the last Sir Tristram doubled his strokes and drove Sir Palomides aback more than three strides. And then by one assent Sir Gaheris and Sir Dinadan went betwixt them and departed them in sunder. And then by the assent of Sir Tristram they would have lodged together; but Sir Dinadan would not lodge in that castle, and then he cursed the time that ever he came in their fellowship, and so he took his horse and his harness and departed. Then Sir Tristram prayed the lords of that castle to lend him a man to bring him to a lodging; and so they did, and overtook Sir Dinadan, and rode to their lodging two mile thence with a good man in a priory, and there they were well at ease.\n\nAnd that same night Sir Bors and Sir Bleoberis and Sir Ector and Sir Driant abode still in the same place there as Sir Tristram fought with the thirty knights. And there they met with Sir Lancelot the same night, and had made promise to lodge with Sir Colgrevance the same night. But anon as Sir Lancelot heard of the shield of Cornwall, he wist well it was Sir Tristram that had fought with his enemies; and then Sir Lancelot praised Sir Tristram, and called him the man of most worship in the world.\n\nAnd on the next day following, Sir Tristram met with pursuivants, and they told him that there was made a great cry of tournament between King Carados of Scotland and the King of Northgales, and either should joust against other before the Castle of Maidens. And these pursuivants sought all the country after good knights, and in especial King Carados let make great seeking for Sir Lancelot, and the King of Northgales let seek specially for Sir Tristram de Lyonesse. And at that time Sir Tristram thought to be at that jousts.\n\n[Sir Tristram appears at the tournament with a black shield, and over the course of three days overthrows all his opponents including Sir Palomides.]\n\nThen Sir Lancelot got a great spear in his hand, and cried, 'Knight with the Black Shield, make ye ready to joust with me!'\n\nWhen Sir Tristram heard him say so, he got his spear in his hand; and either abased their heads down low and came together as thunder, that Sir Tristram's spear broke in pieces. And Sir Lancelot by malfortune struck Sir Tristram on the side a deep wound nigh to the death; but yet Sir Tristram avoided not his saddle, and so the spear broke therewithal. And yet Sir Tristram got out his sword, and he rushed to Sir Lancelot and gave him three great strokes upon the helm, that the fire sprang out, and Sir Launcelot abased his head low toward his saddle-bow. And so therewith Tristram departed from the field, for he felt him so wounded that he weened he should have died; and Sir Dinadan espied him and followed him into the forest. Then Sir Lancelot abode and did marvellous deeds.\n\nSo when Sir Tristram was departed by the forest's side, he alit, and unlaced his harness and freshed his wound. Then weened Sir Dinadan that he should have died, and wept.\n\n'Nay, nay,' said Sir Tristram, 'never dread you, Sir Dinadan, for I am heart-whole, and of this wound I shall soon be whole, by the mercy of God.'\n\nAnd anon Sir Dinadan was ware where came Palomides riding straight upon them. Then Sir Tristram was ware that Sir Palomides came to have destroyed him; and so Sir Dinadan gave him warning, and said, 'Sir Tristram, my lord, ye are so sore wounded that ye may not have ado with him, therefore I will ride against him and do to him what I may; and if I be slain, ye may pray for my soul. And so in the meanwhile ye may withdraw you and go into the castle or into the forest, that he shall not meet with you.'\n\nSir Tristram smiled and said, 'I thank you, Sir Dinadan; but ye shall understand that I am able to handle him.'\n\nAnd anon hastily he armed him and took his horse, and a great spear in his hand, and said to Sir Dinadan adieu, and rode toward Sir Palomides a soft pace. When Sir Palomides saw him, he alit and made a countenance to amend his horse, but he did it for this cause, for he abode Sir Gaheris that came after him. And when he was come he rode toward Sir Tristram.\n\nThen Sir Tristram sent unto Sir Palomides and required him to joust with him; and if he smote down Sir Palomides he would do no more to him, and if Sir Palomides smote down Sir Tristram, he bade him do his utterance. And so they were accorded and met together; and Sir Tristram smote down Sir Palomides, that he had a villainous fall and lay still as he had been dead. And then Sir Tristram ran upon Sir Gaheris, and he would not have jousted; but whether he would or not, Sir Tristram smote him over his horse's croup, that he lay still. And Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan rode to an old knight's place to lodge them; and this old knight had five sons at the tournament, that prayed God heartily for their coming home.\n\nAnd so forthwith came Sir Gaheris and told King Arthur how Sir Tristram had smitten down Sir Palomides, and it was at his own request.\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur, 'that was great dishonour to Sir Palomides, inasmuch as Sir Tristram was so sore wounded. And may we all, kings and knights and men of worship, say that Sir Tristram may be called a noble knight, and one of the best knights that ever I saw days of my life. For I will that ye all, kings and knights, know,' said King Arthur, 'that I never saw knight do so marvellously as he hath done these three days; for he was the first that began and longest that held on, save this last day. And though he were hurt, it was a manly adventure of two noble knights. And when two noble men encounter, needs must the one have the worse, like as God will suffer at that time.'\n\n'As for me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for all the lands that ever my father left, I would not have hurt Sir Tristram and I had known him at that time that I hurt him, for I saw not his shield. For and I had seen his black shield, I would not have meddled with him for many causes,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for but late he did as much for me as ever did knight, and that is well known that he had ado with thirty knights, and no help save only Sir Dinadan. And one thing shall I promise you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'Sir Palomides shall repent it as in his unknightly dealing, so for to follow that noble knight that I by misfortune hurt him thus.'\n\nSo Sir Lancelot said all the worship that might be spoken by Sir Tristram. Then King Arthur made a great feast to all that would come. And thus we let pass King Arthur.\n\nAnd a little we will turn unto Sir Palomides, that after he had a fall of Sir Tristram, he was nigh-hand raged out of his wit for despite of Sir Tristram, and so he followed him by adventure. And as he came by a river, in his woodness he would have made his horse to have leapt over the water; and the horse failed footing and fell in the river, wherefore Sir Palomides was adread lest he should have been drowned. And then he avoided his horse and swam to the land, and let his horse go down by adventure. And when he came to the land he took off his harness, and sat roaring and crying as a man out of his mind.\n\nRight so came a damosel even by Sir Palomides, and he and she had language together which pleased neither of them. And so this damosel rode her ways till she came to that old knight's place, and there she told that old knight how she met with the woodest knight by adventure that ever she met withal.\n\n'What bore he in his shield?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir, it was indented with white and black,' said the damosel.\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Tristram, 'that was Palomides, the good knight. For well I know him,' said Sir Tristram, 'for one of the best knights living in this realm.'\n\nThen that old knight took a little hackney, and rode for Sir Palomides, and brought him unto his own manor. And full well knew Sir Tristram him, but he said but little. For at that time Sir Tristram was walking upon his feet and well amended of his hurts; and always when Sir Palomides saw Sir Tristram he would behold him full marvellously, and ever him seemed that he had seen him. Then would he say unto Sir Dinadan, 'And ever I meet with Sir Tristram, he shall not escape my hands.'\n\n'I marvel,' said Sir Dinadan, 'that ye do boast behind Sir Tristram so, for it is but late that he was in your hands and ye in his hands: why would ye not hold him when ye had him? For I saw myself twice or thrice that ye got but little worship of Sir Tristram.'\n\nThen was Sir Palomides ashamed.\n\nSo there came a damosel that told Sir Darras that three of his sons were slain at that tournament, and two grievously wounded so that they were never like to help themselves; and all this was done by a noble knight that bore a black shield, and that was he that bore the prize. Then came one and told Sir Darras that the same knight was within his court that bore the black shield. Then Sir Darras yode unto Sir Tristram's chamber, and there he found his shield and showed it to the damosel.\n\n'Ah, sir,' said the damosel, 'this same is he that slew your three sons.'\n\nThen without any tarrying Sir Darras put Sir Tristram, Sir Palomides, and Sir Dinadan within a strong prison, and there Sir Tristram was like to have died of great sickness; and every day Sir Palomides would reprove Sir Tristram of old hate betwixt them, and ever Sir Tristram spake fair and said little. But when Sir Palomides saw that Sir Tristram was fallen in sickness, then was he heavy for him, and comforted him in all the best wise he could.\n\nSo Sir Tristram endured there great pain, for sickness had undertaken him, and that is the greatest pain a prisoner may have; for all the while a prisoner may have his health of body he may endure under the mercy of God and in hope of good deliverance. But when sickness toucheth a prisoner's body, then may a prisoner say all wealth is him bereft, and then hath he cause to wail and to weep. Right so did Sir Tristram when sickness had undertaken him, for then he took such sorrow that he had almost slain himself.\n\nAnd every day Sir Palomides brawled and said language against Sir Tristram.\n\nThen said Sir Dinadan, 'I marvel of thee, Sir Palomides, whether and thou hadst Sir Tristram here, I trow thou wouldst do no harm; for and a wolf and a sheep were together in a prison, the sheep would suffer the wolf to be in peace. And wit thou well,' said Sir Dinadan, 'this same is Sir Tristram, at a word, and now mayst thou do thy best with him, and let see ye now skift it with your hands.'\n\nThen was Sir Palomides abashed and said little.\n\nThen said Sir Tristram to Sir Palomides, 'I have heard much of your maugre against me, but I will not meddle with you as at this time by my will, because the lord of this place that hath us in governance, and I dread him not more than I do thee, soon it should be skift.'\n\nAnd so they peaced themselves.\n\nThen soon after this Sir Tristram fell sick, that he weened to have died. Then Sir Dinadan wept, and so did Sir Palomides, among them both making great sorrow. So a damosel came in to them and found them mourning. Then she went unto Sir Darras, and told him how the mighty knight that bore the black shield was likely to die.\n\n'That shall not be,' said Sir Darras, 'for God defend, when knights come to me for succour, that I should suffer them to die within my prison. Therefore,' said Sir Darras to the damosel, 'go fetch me that sick knight and his fellows before me.'\n\nAnd when Sir Darras saw Sir Tristram brought before him, he said, 'Sir knight, me repenteth of your sickness, for ye are called a full noble knight, and so it seemeth by you. And wit yeu well, it shall never be said that I, Sir Darras, shall destroy such a noble knight as ye are in prison, howbeit that ye have slain three of my sons, wherefore I was greatly aggrieved. But now shalt thou go, and thy fellows, and take your horse and your armour, for they have been fair and clean kept. And ye shall go where it liketh you upon this covenant, that ye, knight, will promise me to be good friend to my sons two that be now alive, and also that ye tell me thy name.'\n\n'Sir, my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, and in Cornwall was I born, and nephew I am unto King Mark. And as for the death of your three sons, I might not do withal; for and they had been the next kin that I have, I might have done none otherwise. And if I had slain them by treason or treachery, I had been worthy to have died.'\n\n'All this I consider,' said Sir Darras, 'that all that ye did was by force of knighthood, and that was the cause I would not put you to death. But sith ye be Sir Tristram, the good knight, I pray you heartily to be my good friend, and my sons'.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I promise you by the faith of my body, ever while I live I will do you service, for ye have done to us but as a natural knight ought to do.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram reposed him there a while till that he was amended of his sickness; and when he was big and strong they took their leave. And every knight took their horses and harness, and so departed and rode together till they came to a crossway.\n\n'Now, fellows,' said Sir Tristram, 'here will we depart in sunder.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram departed, and in every place he asked after Sir Lancelot, but in no place he could hear of him whether he were dead or alive; wherefore Sir Tristram made great dole and sorrow.\n\nSo Sir Tristram rode by a forest, and then was he ware of a fair tower by a marsh on the one side, and on that other side was a fair meadow, and there he saw ten knights fighting together. And ever the nearer he came, he saw how there was but one knight did battle against nine knights, and that one knight did so marvellously that Sir Tristram had great wonder that ever one knight might do so great deeds of arms. And then within a little while he had slain half their horses and unhorsed them, and their horses ran into the fields and forests. Then Sir Tristram had so great pity of that one knight that endured so great pain, and ever him thought it should be Sir Palomides by his shield. So he rode unto the knights and cried unto them and bade them cease of that battle, for they did themselves great shame, so many knights to fight with one.\n\nThen answered the master of those knights\u2014his name was called Sir Breunis sans Pit\u00e9, that was at that time the most mischievoust knight living\u2014and said thus: 'Sir knight, what have ye ado with us to meddle? And therefore, and ye be wise, depart on your way as ye came, for this knight shall not escape us.'\n\n'That were great pity,' said Sir Tristram, 'that so good a knight as he is should be slain so cowardly; and therefore I make you ware, I will succour him with all my puissance.'\n\nSo Sir Tristram alit off his horse because they were on foot, that they should not slay his horse. And then Sir Tristram dressed his shield, with his sword in his hand, and he smote on the right hand and on the left hand passing sore, that well nigh every stroke he struck down a knight. And when they espied his strokes they fled, both Sir Breunis sans Pit\u00e9 and his fellowship, unto the tower, and Sir Tristram followed fast after with his sword in his hand; but they escaped into the tower and shut Sir Tristram without the gate. And when Sir Tristram saw that, he returned back unto Sir Palomides, and found him sitting under a tree sore wounded.\n\n'Ah, fair knight,' said Sir Tristram, 'well be ye found.'\n\n'Gramercy,' said Sir Palomides, 'of your great goodness, for ye have rescued me of my life and saved me from my death.'\n\n'What is your name?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir, my name is Sir Palomides.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Tristram, 'thou hast a fair grace of me this day that I should rescue thee, and thou art the man in the world that I most hate! But now make thee ready, for I shall do battle with thee.'\n\n'What is your name?' said Sir Palomides.\n\n'My name is Sir Tristram, your mortal enemy.'\n\n'It may be so,' said Sir Palomides, 'but ye have done over much for me this day that I should fight with you; for inasmuch as ye have saved my life it will be no worship for you to have ado with me, for ye are fresh and I am sore wounded. And therefore, and ye will needs have ado with me, assign me a day, and then I shall meet with you without fail.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Tristram. 'Now I assign you to meet me in the meadow by the river of Camelot, where Merlin set the perron.'\n\nSo they were agreed. Then Sir Tristram asked Sir Palomides why the nine knights did battle with him.\n\n'For this cause,' said Sir Palomides. 'As I rode upon my adventures in a forest here beside, I espied where lay a dead knight, and a lady weeping beside him. And when I saw her making such dole, I asked her who slew her lord. \"Sir,\" she said, \"the falsest knight of the world, and most he is of villainy, and his name is Sir Breunis sans Pil\u00e9.\" Then for pity I made the damosel to leap on her palfrey, and I promised her to be her warrant, and to help her to inter her lord. And suddenly, as I came riding by this tower, there came out Sir Breunis sans Pite, and suddenly he struck me from my horse; arid or ever I might recover my horse, this Sir Breunis slew the damosel. And so I took my horse again, and I was sore ashamed; and so began this mel\u00e9e betwixt us, and this is the cause wherefore we did this battle.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tristram, 'now I understand the manner of your battle. But in any wise, that ye have remembrance of your promise that ye have made with me, to do battle this day fortnight.'\n\n'I shall not fail you,' said Sir Palomides.\n\n[Sir Tristram meets various knights as he rides.]\n\nThen Sir Tristram rode straight to Camelot, to the perron that Merlin had made before. So when Sir Tristram came to the tomb of stone he looked about him after Sir Palomides. Then was he ware where came a seemly knight riding against him all in white, and the shield covered.\n\nWhen he came nigh Sir Tristram, he said on high, 'Ye be welcome, sir knight, and well and truly have ye held your promise.'\n\nAnd then they dressed their shields and spears, and came together with all their mights of their horses. And they met so fiercely that both the horses and knights fell to the earth, and as fast as they might avoid their horses and put their shields before them; and they struck together with bright swords, as men that were of might, and either wounded other wonderly sore, that the blood ran out upon the grass. And thus they fought the space of four hours, that never one would speak to other. And of their harness they had hewn off many pieces.\n\n'Ah, lord Jesu,' said Gouvernail, 'I marvel greatly of the great strokes my master hath given to your master.'\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Lancelot's servant, 'your master hath not given him so many but your master hath received so many, or more.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Gouvernail, 'it is too much for Sir Palomides to suffer, or Sir Lancelot; and yet pity it were that either of these good knights should destroy other's blood.'\n\nSo they stood and wept both, and made great dole when they saw the bright swords over-covered with blood of their bodies.\n\nThen at the last Sir Lancelot spake and said, 'Knight, thou fightest wonder well as ever I saw knight! Therefore, and it please you, tell me your name.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'that is me loath, to tell any man my name.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I were required, I was never loath to tell my name.'\n\n'It is well said,' said Sir Tristram. 'Then I require you to tell me your name.'\n\n'Fair knight, my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'what have I done? For ye are the man in the world that I love best.'\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Lancelot, 'tell me your name.'\n\n'Truly, sir, I hight Sir Tristram de Lyonesse.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what adventure is befallen me!'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot kneeled down and yielded him up his sword. And therewith Sir Tristram kneeled down and yielded him up his sword; and so either gave other the degree. And then they both forthwith went to the stone and set them down upon it, and took off their helms to cool them, and either kissed other a hundred times. And then anon after they took their horses and rode to Camelot; and there they met with Sir Gawain and with Sir Gaheris, that had made promise to Arthur never to come again to the court till they had brought Sir Tristram with them.\n\n'Return again,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for your quest is done, for I have met with Sir Tristram: lo, here is his own person!'\n\nThen was Sir Gawain glad, and said to Sir Tristram, 'Ye are welcome, for now have ye eased me greatly of my great labour. For what cause', said Sir Gawain, 'came ye into this country?'\n\n'Fair sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I came into this country because of Sir Palomides; for he and I had assigned at this day to have done battle together at the perron, and I marvel I hear not of him. And thus by adventure my lord Sir Lancelot and I met together.'\n\nSo with this came King Arthur; and when he wist that Sir Tristram was there, he yode unto him and took him by the hand and said, 'Sir Tristram, ye are as welcome as any knight that ever came unto this court.'\n\nAnd when the King heard how Sir Lancelot and he had fought, and either had wounded other wonderly sore, then the King made great dole.\n\nThen King Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand and went to the Table Round. Then came Queen Guenivere and many ladies with her, and all those ladies said at one voice, 'Welcome, Sir Tristram!' 'Welcome,' said the damosels.\n\n'Welcome,' said King Arthur, 'for one of the best knights and the gentlest of the world, and the man of most worship. For of all manner of hunting thou bearest the prize, and of all measures of blowing thou art the beginning; of all the terms of hunting and hawking ye are the beginner; of all instruments of music ye are the best. Therefore, gentle knight,' said King Arthur, 'ye are welcome to this court. And also, I pray you,' said Arthur, 'grant me a done.'\n\n'Sir, it shall be at your commandment,' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Well,' said King Arthur, 'I will desire that ye shall abide in my court.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'thereto me is loath, for I have to do in many countries.'\n\n'Not so,' said King Arthur. 'Ye have promised me; ye may not say nay.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will as ye will.'\n\nThen went King Arthur unto the sieges about the Round Table, and looked on every siege which were void that lacked knights. And then the King saw in the siege of Sir Marhalt letters that said, 'This is the siege of the noble knight Sir Tristram.' And then King Arthur made Sir Tristram a knight of the Round Table, with as great noblesse and feast as might be thought.\n\nSo leave we Sir Tristram and turn we unto King Mark.\n\nSo when Sir Tristram was departed out of Cornwall into England, King Mark heard of the great prowess that Sir Tristram did there, with the which he grieved. So he sent on his part men to espy what deeds he did; and the queen sent privily on her part spies to know what deeds he had done, for full great love was between them. So when the messengers were come home they told the truth as they heard, and how he passed all other knights but if it were Sir Lancelot. Then King Mark was right heavy of those tidings, and as glad was La Belle Isode.\n\nThen great despite King Mark had at him; and so he took with him two knights and two squires, and disguised himself, and took his way into England, to the intent to slay Sir Tristram. And one of those knights hight Sir Bersules, and the other knight was called Amant. So as they rode, King Mark asked a knight that he met, where he should find King Arthur.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'at Camelot.'\n\nAlso he asked that knight after Sir Tristram, whether he heard of him in the court of King Arthur.\n\n'Wit you well,' said that knight, 'ye shall find Sir Tristram there for a man of worship most that is now living; for through his prowess he won the tournament of the Castle of Maidens that standeth by the Roche Dure. And sithen he hath won with his hands thirty knights that were men of great honour; and the last battle that ever he did he fought with Sir Lancelot, and that was a marvellous battle. And by love not by force Sir Lancelot brought Sir Tristram to the court. And of him King Arthur made passing great joy and so made him knight of the Table Round, and his seat is in the same place where Sir Marhalt the good knight's seat was.'\n\nThen was King Mark passing sorry when he heard of the honour of Sir Tristram; and so they departed. Then said King Mark unto his two knights, 'Now will I tell you my counsel, for ye are the men that I most trust alive. And I will that ye wit my coming hither is to this intent, for to destroy Sir Tristram by some wiles or by treason; and it shall be hard and ever he escape our hands.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Bersules, 'my lord, what mean you? For and ye be set in such a way, ye are disposed shamefully; for Sir Tristram is the knight of most worship that we know living, and therefore I warn you plainly I will not consent to the death of him\u2014and therefore I will yield him my service, and forsake you.'\n\nWhen King Mark heard him say so, suddenly he drew his sword and said, 'Ah, traitor!' and smote Sir Bersules on the head, that the sword went to his teeth. When Sir Amant, his fellow, saw him do that villainous deed, and his squire also, they said to the king it was foully done, and mischievously: 'Wherefore we will do you no more service; and wit you well, we will appeal you of treason before King Arthur.'\n\nThen was King Mark wonderly wroth and would have slain Amant; but he and the two squires held them together, and set nought by his malice. So when King Mark saw he might not be revenged on them, he said thus unto the knight Amant, 'Wit thou well, and thou impeach me of treason I shall thereof defend me before King Arthur; but I require thee that thou tell not my name, that I am King Mark, whatsoever come of me.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Amant, 'I will not discover your name.'\n\nAnd so they departed, and Amant and his fellows took the body of Bersules and buried it.\n\n[King Mark encounters Sir Lamorak lamenting for the love of Queen Morgause, and then Sir Dinadan; he proves himself a notable coward in their company. He also overhears Sir Palomides lamenting for the love of La Belle Isode.]\n\nAnd so King Mark rode as fast as he might unto Camelot; and the same day he found there Sir Amant, the knight, ready, that before King Arthur had appealed him of treason; and so, lightly the King commanded them to do battle. And by misadventure King Mark smote Sir Amant through the body, and yet was Sir Amant in the righteous quarrel. And right so he took his horse and departed from the court for dread of Sir Dinadan, that he would tell Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides what he was.\n\nThen was there damosels that La Belle Isode had sent to Sir Tris tram, that knew Sir Amant well. Then by the licence of King Arthur they went to him and spoke with him, for while the truncheon of the spear stuck in his body he spoke.\n\n'Ah, fair damosels,' said Amant, 'recommend me unto La Belle Isode, and tell her that I am slain for the love of her and of Sir Tristram.' And there he told the damosels how cowardly King Mark had slain him, and Sir Bersules, his fellow. 'And for that deed I appealed him of treason, and here am I slain in a righteous quarrel; and all was because Sir Bersules and I would not consent by treason to slay the noble knight Sir Tristram.'\n\nThen the two maidens cried aloud that all the court might hear, and said, 'Ah, sweet Jesu that knowest all hidden things, why sufferest Thou so false a traitor to vanquish and slay a true knight that fought in a righteous quarrel?'\n\nThen anon it was sprung to the King and the Queen and to all the lords that it was King Mark that had slain Sir Amant, and Sir Bersules beforehand, wherefore they did there that battle. Then was King Arthur wroth out of measure, and so was all other knights. But when Sir Tristram wist all, he wept for sorrow for the loss of Sir Bersules and of Sir Amant. When Sir Lancelot espied Sir Tristram weep, he went hastily to King Arthur, and said, 'Sir, I pray you, give me leave to return again yonder false king and knight.'\n\n'I pray you,' said King Arthur, 'fetch him again; but I would not ye slew him, for my worship.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot armed him in all haste, and mounted upon a great horse, and took a spear in his hand and rode after King Mark. And from thence three miles English, Sir Lancelot overtook him and bade him turn him: 'Recreant king and knight! for whether thou wilt or not, thou shalt go with me to King Arthur's court.'\n\nThen King Mark returned and looked upon Sir Lancelot, and said, 'Fair sir, what is your name?'\n\n'Wit you well, my name is Sir Lancelot, and therefore defend thee.'\n\nAnd when King Mark knew that it was Sir Lancelot and came so fast upon him with a spear, he cried then aloud and said, 'I yield me to thee, Sir Lancelot, honourable knight.'\n\nBut Sir Lancelot would not hear him, but came fast upon him. King Mark saw that, and made no defence, but tumbled down out of his saddle to the earth as a sack, and there he lay still and cried, 'Sir Lancelot, have mercy upon me.'\n\n'Arise, recreant king and knight!'\n\n'Sir, I will not fight,' said King Mark, 'but whither that ye will I will go with you.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that I might not give thee one buffet for the love of Sir Tristram and of La Belle Isode, and for the two knights that thou hast slain traitorly.'\n\nAnd so he mounted upon his horse and brought him to King Arthur; and there King Mark alit in that same place, and threw his helm from him upon the earth, and his sword, and fell flat to the earth at King Arthur's feet, and put him in his grace and mercy.\n\n'So God me help,' said King Arthur, 'ye are welcome in a manner, and in a manner ye are not welcome. In this manner ye are welcome, that ye come hither maugre your head, as I suppose.'\n\n'That is truth,' said King Mark, 'and else I had not been here now, for my lord Sir Lancelot brought me hither by fine force, and to him am I yielded to as recreant.'\n\n'Well,' said King Arthur, 'ye ought to do me service, homage, and fealty; and never would ye do me none, but ever ye have been against me, and a destroyer of my knights. Now how will ye acquit you?'\n\n'Sir,' said King Mark, 'right as your lordship will require me, unto my power, I will make a large amends.' For he was a fair speaker, and false thereunder.\n\nThen for great pleasure of Sir Tristram, to make them two accorded, the King withheld King Mark as at that time, and made a broken love day between them.\n\n[Sir Dinadan meets Sir Palomides, who reveals that he was in prison at the time when he should have encountered Sir Tristram for their promised combat.]\n\nSo within three days after, the King let make a jousting at a priory, and there made them ready many knights of the Round Table. And Sir Gawain and his brethren made them ready to joust; but Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristram, nor Sir Dinadan would not joust, but suffered Sir Gawain, for the love of King Arthur, with his brethren to win the degree if they might. So on the morn they apparelled them to joust, Sir Gawain and his four brethren; they did great deeds of arms, and Sir Ector de Maris did marvellously well. But Sir Gawain passed all that fellowship, wherefore King Arthur and all the knights gave Sir Gawain the honour at the beginning.\n\nRight so was King Arthur ware of a knight and two squires that came out of a forest side, with a covered shield of leather. Then he came in stiffly and hurtled here and there, and anon with one spear he had smitten down two knights of the Round Table. And so with his hurtling he lost the covering of his shield; then was the King and all others ware that he bore a red shield.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said King Arthur, 'see where rideth a strong knight, he with the red shield.'\n\nAnd there was a noise and a great cry, 'Beware the knight with the red shield!'\n\nSo within a little while he had overthrown three brethren of Sir Gawain's.\n\n'So God me help,' said King Arthur, 'me seemeth yonder is the best jouster that ever I saw.'\n\nSo he looked about and saw him encounter with Sir Gawain, and he smote him down with so great force that he made his horse to avoid his saddle.\n\n'How now?' said the King to Sir Gawain, 'methinketh ye have a fall; well were me and I knew what knight he were with the red shield.'\n\n'I know him well enough,' said Sir Dinadan, 'but as at this time ye shall not know his name.'\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Tristram, 'he jousteth better than Sir Palomides, and if ye list to know, his name is Sir Lamorak de Gales.'\n\nAnd as they stood thus, they saw Sir Gawain and he encountered together again; and there he smote Sir Gawain from his horse and bruised him sore. And in the sight of King Arthur he smote down twenty knights, beside Sir Gawain; and so clearly was the prize given him as a knight peerless. Then slyly and marvellously Sir Lamorak withdrew him from all the fellowship into the forest's side. All this espied King Arthur, for his eye went never from him. Then the King, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan took their hackneys, and rode straight after the good knight Sir Lamorak de Gales, and there found him. And thus said the King, 'Ah, fair knight, well be ye found.'\n\nWhen he saw the King, he put off his helm and saluted him; and when he saw Sir Tristram he alit down off his horse and ran to take him by the stirrup. But Sir Tristram would not suffer him, but he alit or that he came, and either took other in arms and made great joy of other.\n\nThen the King was glad, and so was all the fellowship of the Round Table, except Sir Gawain and his brethren. And when they wist that it was Sir Lamorak, they had great despite of him, and were wonderly wroth with him that he had put him to such a dishonour that day.\n\nThen he called to him privily in council all his brethren, and to them said thus: 'Fair brethren, here may ye see, whom that we hate King Arthur loveth, and whom that we love he hateth. And wit you well, my fair brethren, that this Sir Lamorak will never love us, because we slew his father, King Pellinore, for we deemed that he slew our father, King Lot of Orkney. And for the death of King Pellinore, Sir Lamorak did us a shame to our mother; therefore I will be revenged.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain's brethren, 'let see devise how ye will be revenged, and ye shall find us ready.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Gawain, 'hold ye still, and we shall espy our time.'\n\nNow pass we on our matter, and leave we Sir Gawain; and speak we of King Arthur, that on a day said unto King Mark, 'Sir, I pray you give me a gift that I shall ask you.'\n\n'Sir,' said King Mark, 'I will give you what gift I may give you.'\n\n'Sir, gramercy,' said King Arthur. 'This will I ask you: that ye be good lord unto Sir Tristram, for he is a man of great honour; and that ye will take him with you into Cornwall and let him see his friends, and there cherish him for my sake.'\n\n'Sir,' said King Mark, 'I promise you by my faith and by the faith that I owe unto God and to you, I shall worship him for your sake all that I can or may.'\n\n'Sir,' said King Arthur, 'and I will forgive you all the evil will that ever I owed you, and ye swear that upon a book before me.'\n\n'With a good will,' said King Mark; and so he there swore upon a book before him and all his knights, and therewith King Mark and Sir Tristram took each other by the hands hard knit together. But for all this King Mark thought falsely, as it proved after; for he put Sir Tristram in prison, and cowardly would have slain him.\n\nThen soon after, King Mark took his leave to ride into Cornwall; and Sir Tristram made him ready to ride with him, whereof the most part of the Round Table were wroth and heavy, and in especial Sir Lancelot and Sir Lamorak and Sir Dinadan were wroth out of measure. For well they wist King Mark would slay or destroy Sir Tristram.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Dinadan, 'that my lord Sir Tristram shall depart!'\n\nAnd Sir Tristram took such a sorrow that he was amazed.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot unto King Arthur, 'what have ye done? for ye shall lose the man of most worship that ever came into your court.'\n\n'Sir, it was his own desire,' said King Arthur, 'and therefore I might not do withal; for I have done all that I can and made them at accord.'\n\n'Accord?' said Sir Lancelot, 'now fie on that accord! For ye shall hear that he shall slay Sir Tristram or put him in prison, for he is the most coward and the villainest king and knight that is now living.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot departed, and came to King Mark and said to him thus: 'Sir king, wit you well the good knight Sir Tristram shall go with thee. Beware, I rede thee, of treason, for and thou mischief that knight by any manner of falsehood or treason, by the faith I owe to God and to the order of knighthood, I shall slay thee with mine own hands.'\n\n'Sir Lancelot, overmuch have ye said unto me, and I have sworn and said over-largely before King Arthur in hearing of all his knights, and overmuch shame it were to me to break my promise.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'but ye are called so false and full of felony that no man may believe you. Pardieu, it is known well for what cause ye came into this country, and for none other cause but to slay Sir Tristram.'\n\nSo with great dole King Mark and Sir Tristram rode together; for it was by Sir Tristram's will and his means to go with King Mark, and all was for the intent to see La Belle Isode, for without the sight of her Sir Tristram might not endure.\n\nNow turn we again unto Sir Lamorak, and speak we of his brethren: Sir Tor, which was King Pellinore's first son and begotten of Aries' wife the cowherd, for he was a bastard; and Sir Agloval was his first son begotten in wedlock; Sir Lamorak, Dornar, Percival, these were his sons too in wedlock.\n\nSo when King Mark and Sir Tristram were departed from the court there was made great dole and sorrow for the departing of Sir Tristram. Then the King and his knights made no manner of joys eight days after. And at the eight days' end there came to the court a knight with a young squire with him; and when this knight was unarmed, he went to the King and required him to make the young squire a knight.\n\n'Of what lineage is he come?' said King Arthur.\n\n'Sir,' said the knight, 'he is the son of King Pellinore, that did you some time good service, and he is brother unto Sir Lamorak de Gales, the good knight.'\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'for what cause desire ye that of me, that I should make him knight?'\n\n'Wit you well, my lord the king, that this young squire is brother to me as well as to Sir Lamorak, and my name is Agloval.'\n\n'Sir Agloval,' said Arthur, 'for the love of Sir Lamorak and for his father's love, he shall be made knight tomorrow. Now tell me,' said Arthur, 'what is his name?'\n\n'Sir,' said the knight, 'his name is Percival de Gales.'\n\nSo on the morn the King made him knight in Camelot; but the King and all the knights thought it would be long or that he proved a good knight. Then at the dinner, when the King was set at the table, and every knight after he was of prowess, the King commanded him to be set among mean knights; and so was Sir Percival set as the King commanded.\n\nThen was there a maiden in the Queen's court that was come of high blood, and she was dumb and never spoke word. Right so she came straight into the hall, and went unto Sir Percival, and took him by the hand and said aloud, that the King and all the knights might hear it, 'Arise, Sir Percival, the noble knight and God's knight, and go with me.'\n\nAnd so he did; and there she brought him to the right side of the Siege Perilous, and said, 'Fair knight, take here thy siege, for that siege appertaineth to thee and to none other.'\n\nRight so she departed and asked a priest; and as she was confessed and houselled, then she died. Then the King and all the court made great joy of Sir Percival.\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Lamorak, that much was there praised. Then by the mean of Sir Gawain and his brethren, they sent for their mother there besides, fast by a castle beside Camelot; and all was to that intent to slay Sir Lamorak. The Queen of Orkney was there but a while, but Sir Lamorak wist of her being, and was full fain; and for to make an end of this matter, he sent unto her, and there betwixt them was a night assigned that Sir Lamorak should come to her. Thereof Sir Gaheris was ware, and rode before the same night, and waited upon Sir Lamorak. And then he saw where he came riding all armed, and where he alit and tied his horse to a privy postern, and so he went into a parlour and unarmed him. And then he went unto the queen's bed, and she made of him passing great joy, and he of her again, for either loved other passing sore.\n\nSo when Sir Gaheris saw his time, he came to their bedside all armed, with his sword naked, and suddenly he got his mother by the hair and struck off her head. When Sir Lamorak saw the blood dash upon him all hot, which was the blood that he loved passing well, wit you well he was sore abashed and dismayed of that dolorous sight. And therewith Sir Lamorak leapt out of the bed in his shirt as a knight dismayed, saying thus, 'Ah, Sir Gaheris, knight of the Table Round, foul and evil have ye done, and to you great shame. Alas, why have ye slain your mother that bore you? For with more right ye should have slain me.'\n\n'The offence hast thou done,' said Gaheris, 'notwithstanding a man is born to offer his service; but yet shouldst thou beware with whom thou meddlest, for thou hast put my brethren and me to a shame. And thy father slew our father; and thou to lie by our mother is too much shame for us to suffer. And as for thy father, King Pellinore, my brother Sir Gawain and I slew him.'\n\n'Ye did the more wrong,' said Sir Lamorak, 'for my father slew not your father: it was Balin le Savage. And as yet, my father's death is not revenged.'\n\n'Leave those words,' said Sir Gaheris, 'for and thou speak villainously I will slay thee!\u2014but because thou art naked I am ashamed to slay thee. But wit thou well, in what place I may get thee I will slay thee. And now is my mother quit of thee, for she shall never shame her children. And therefore hie thee and withdraw thee and take thine armour, that thou were gone.'\n\nSo Sir Lamorak saw there was no other boot, but fast armed him, and took his horse and rode his way making great sorrow. But for shame and sorrow he would not ride to King Arthur's court, but rode another way. But when it was known that Sir Gaheris had slain his mother, the King was passing wroth and commanded him to go out of his court. Wit you well Sir Gawain was wroth that Sir Gaheris had slain his mother and let Sir Lamorak escape. And for this matter was the King passing wroth, and many other knights.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'here is a great mischief befallen by felony and by forecast, that your sister is thus shamefully slain. And I dare say it was wrought by treason; and I dare say also that ye shall lose that good knight, Sir Lamorak. And I wot well, and Sir Tristram wist it, he would never come within your court.'\n\n'God defend,' said King Arthur, 'that I should lose Sir Lamorak!'\n\n'Yes,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for Sir Gawain and his brethren will slay him by one mean or by another.'\n\n'That shall I let,' said King Arthur.\n\nNow leave we of Sir Lamorak, and speak we of Sir Gawain's brethren Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred. As they rode on their adventures they met with a knight flying sore wounded, and they asked him what tidings.\n\n'Fair knights,' said he, 'here cometh a knight after me that will slay me.'\n\nSo with that came Sir Dinadan fast riding to them by adventure, but he would promise them no help. But Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred promised him to rescue him, and therewith came that knight straight unto them, and anon he proffered to joust. That saw Sir Mordred and rode to him and struck him, but he smote Sir Mordred over his horse's tail. That saw Sir Agravain; and right so as he served Sir Mordred, so he served Sir Agravain, and said, 'Wit you well, sirs both, that I am Sir Breunis sans Pit\u00e9 that hath done this to you.' And yet he rode over Sir Agravain five or six times.\n\nWhen Sir Dinadan saw this, he must needs joust with him for shame, and so Sir Dinadan and he encountered together. But with pure strength Sir Dinadan smote him over his horse's tail; then he took his horse and fled, for he was on foot one of the valiant knights in Arthur's days, and a great destroyer of all good knights. Then rode Sir Dinadan unto Sir Mordred and unto Sir Agravain.\n\n'Sir knight, well have ye done, and well have ye revenged us, where-fore we pray you tell us your name.'\n\n'Fair sirs, ye ought to know my name, which is called Sir Dinadan.'\n\nWhen they understood that it was Sir Dinadan they were more wroth than they were before, for they hated him out of measure because of Sir Lamorak. For Sir Dinadan had such a custom that he loved all good knights that were valiant, and he hated all those that were destroyers of good knights. And there was none that hated Sir Dinadan but those that ever were called murderers.\n\nThen spake the hurt knight that Breunis sans Pit\u00e9 had chased\u2014his name was Dalan\u2014and said, 'If thou be Sir Dinadan, thou slew my father.'\n\n'It might well be so,' said Dinadan, 'but then it was in my defence and at his request.'\n\n'By my head,' said Dalan, 'thou shalt die therefore.' And therewith he dressed his spear and his shield; and to make short tale, Sir Dinadan smote him down off his horse, that his neck was nigh broken, and in the same wise he smote Sir Mordred and Sir Agravain. And after, in the quest of the Sangrail, cowardly and feloniously they slew Sir Dinadan, which was great damage, for he was a great bourder and a passing good knight.\n\nNow turn we again unto King Arthur. There came a knight out of [Cornwall\u2014his name was Sir Fergus, a fellow of the Round Table\u2014and there he told the King and Sir Lancelot good tidings of Sir Tristram, and there was brought goodly letters, and how he left him in the castle of Tintagel. Then came a damosel that brought goodly letters unto King Arthur and unto Sir Lancelot, and there she had passing good cheer of the King and of the Queen and of Sir Lancelot, and so they wrote goodly letters again. But Sir Lancelot bade ever Sir Tristram beware of King Mark, for ever he called him in his letters King Fox, as who saith, he fareth always with wiles and treason. Whereof Sir Tristram in his heart thanked Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen the damosel went unto La Belle Isode, and bore her letters from the King and from Sir Lancelot, whereof she was in great joy.\n\n'Fair damosel,' said Isode, 'how fareth my lord Arthur, and Queen Guenivere, and the noble knight Sir Lancelot?'\n\nShe answered, and to make short tale, 'Much the better that ye and Sir Tristram be in joy.'\n\n'God reward them,' said La Belle Isode, 'for Sir Tristram hath suffered great pain for me, and I for him.'\n\nSo the damosel departed and brought the letters to King Mark. And when he had read them and understood them, he was wroth with Sir Tristram, for he deemed that he had sent the damosel to King Arthur. For King Arthur and Sir Lancelot in a manner threatened King Mark in his letters, and as King Mark read these letters he deemed treason by Sir Tristram.\n\n'Damosel,' said King Mark, 'will ye ride again and bear letters from me unto King Arthur?'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I will be at your commandment to ride when ye will.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said the king. 'Come ye again tomorrow and fetch your letters.'\n\nThen she departed and came to La Belle Isode and to Sir Tristram, and told them how she should ride again with letters to King Arthur.\n\n'Then we pray you,' said they, 'that when ye have received your letters, that ye would come by us, that we may see the privity of your letters.'\n\n'All that I may do, madam, ye wot well I must do for Sir Tristram, for I have been long his own maiden.'\n\nSo on the morn the damosel went unto King Mark to have received his letters and to depart.\n\n'Damosel, I am not advised,' said King Mark, 'as at this time to send my letters.'\n\nBut so privily and secretly he sent letters unto King Arthur and unto Queen Guenivere and unto Sir Lancelot. So the varlet departed, and found the King and Queen in Wales, at Caerleon. And as the King and the Queen were at Mass the varlet came with the letters; and when Mass was done, the King and the Queen opened the letters privily. And to begin, the king's letters spoke wonderly short unto King Arthur, and bade him entermete with himself and with his wife, and of his knights, for he was able to rule his wife and his knights.\n\nWhen King Arthur understood the letter, he mused of many things, [and thought on his sister's words, Queen Morgan le Fay, that she had said betwixt Queen Guenivere and Sir Lancelot; and in this thought he studied a great while. Then he bethought him again how his own sister was his enemy, and that she hated the Queen and Sir Lancelot to the death, and so he put that all out of his thought. Then King Arthur read the letter again, and the latter clause said that King Mark took Sir Tristram for his mortal enemy; wherefore he put King Arthur out of doubt he would be revenged of Sir Tristram. Then was King Arthur wroth with King Mark.\n\nAnd when Queen Guenivere read her letter and understood it, she was wroth out of measure, for the letter spoke shame by her and by Sir Lancelot; and so privily she sent the letter unto Sir Lancelot. And when he wist the intent of the letter he was so wroth that he laid him down on his bed to sleep, whereof Sir Dinadan was ware, for it was his manner to be privy with all good knights. And as Sir Lancelot slept, he stole the letter out of his hand and read it word by word; and then he made great sorrow for anger. And Sir Lancelot so wakened, and went to a window and read the letter again, which made him angry.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Dinadan, 'wherefore be ye angry? I pray you, discover your heart to me; for pardieu, ye know well that I would you but well, for I am a poor knight and a servitor unto you and to all good knights. For though I be not of worship myself, I love all those that be of worship.'\n\n'It is truth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye are a trusty knight, and for great trust I will show you my counsel.'\n\nAnd when Sir Dinadan understood it well, he said, 'Sir, this is my counsel: set you right nought by these threatenings, for King Mark is so villainous a knight that by fair speech shall never man get aught of him. But ye shall see what I shall do: I will make a lay for him, and when it is made I shall make a harper to sing it before him.'\n\nAnd so anon he went and made it, and taught it to a harper that hight Eliot; and when he could it he taught it to many harpers. And so by the will of King Arthur and of Sir Lancelot, the harpers went into Wales and into Cornwall to sing the lay that Sir Dinadan made of King Mark, which was the worst lay that ever harper sang with harp or with any other instrument.\n\nThen came Eliot the harper with the lay that Sir Dinadan had made, and secretly brought it unto Sir Tristram, and told him the lay that Sir Dinadan had made by King Mark. And when Sir Tristram heard it, he said, 'O lord Jesu, that Sir Dinadan can make wonderly well, and ill where he should make evil!'\n\n'Sir,' said Eliot, 'dare I sing this song before King Mark?'\n\n'Yea, on my peril,' said Sir Tristram, 'for I shall be thy warrant.'\n\nSo at the meat, in came Eliot the harper among other minstrels, and began to harp. And because he was a curious harper, men heard him sing the same lay that Sir Dinadan made, which spoke the most villainy by King Mark and of his treason that ever man heard. And when the harper had sung his song to the end, King Mark was wonderly wroth, and said, 'Harper, how durst thou be so bold, on thy head, to sing this song before me?'\n\n'Sir,' said Eliot, 'wit thou well I am a minstrel, and I must do as I am commanded of those lords that I bear the arms of. And sir, wit you well that Sir Dinadan, a knight of the Table Round, made this song, and made me to sing it before you.'\n\n'Thou sayest well,' said King Mark, 'and because thou art a minstrel thou shalt go quit. But I charge thee, hie thee fast out of my sight.'\n\nSo Eliot the harper departed, and went to Sir Tristram and told him how he had sped. Then Sir Tristram let make letters as goodly as he could to Camelot and to Sir Dinadan, and so he let conduct the harper out of the country. But King Mark was wonderly wroth, for he deemed that the lay that was sung before him was made by Sir Tristram's counsel; wherefore he thought to slay him and all his well-willers in that country.\n\n[Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince holds a seven-day tournament at Surluse, at which Sir Dinadan, among others, does many feats of arms.]\n\nThen by all the assent they gave Sir Lancelot the prize; the next was Sir Lamorak de Gales, and the third was Sir Palomides, the fourth was King Bagdemagus. So these four knights had the prize, and there was great joy and great noblesse in all the court.\n\nAnd on the morn Queen Guenivere and Sir Lancelot departed unto King Arthur, but in no wise Sir Lamorak would not go with them.\n\n'Sir, I shall undertake,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that and ye will go with us, King Arthur shall charge Sir Gawain and his brethren never to do you hurt.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lamorak, 'I will not trust to Sir Gawain nor none of his brethren. And wit you well, Sir Lancelot, and it were not for my lord King Arthur's sake, I should match Sir Gawain and his brethren well enough. But for to say that I shall trust them, that shall I never. And I pray you recommend me unto King Arthur and all my lords of the Round Table. And in what place that ever I come, I shall do you service to my power.'\n\nThen Sir Lamorak departed from Sir Lancelot and all the fellowship, and either of them wept at their departing.\n\nNow turn we from this matter and speak of Sir Tristram, of whom this book is principally of; and leave we the King and the Queen and Sir Lancelot and Sir Lamorak; and here beginneth the treason of King Mark, that he ordained against Sir Tristram.\n\nAnd there was cried by the coasts of Cornwall a great tournament and jousts, and all was done by Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince and King Bagdemagus, to the intent to slay Sir Lancelot, or else utterly to destroy him and shame him, because Sir Lancelot had evermore the higher degree. Therefore this prince and this king made this jousts against Sir Lancelot, and thus their counsel was discovered unto King Mark, whereof he was glad. Then King Mark bethought him that he would have Sir Tristram unto the tournament disguised that no man should know him, to that intent that the Haut Prince should ween that Sir Tristram were Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd so at that jousts came in Sir Tristram; and at that time Sir Lancelot was not there. But when they saw a knight disguised do such deeds of arms, they weened it had been Sir Lancelot, and in especial King Mark said it was Sir Lancelot plainly. Then they set upon him, both King Bagdemagus and the Haut Prince; and their knights said that it was wonder that ever Sir Tristram might endure that pain. Nothwithstanding for all the pain that they did him, he won the degree at that tournament, and there he hurt many knights and bruised them wonderly sore.\n\nSo when the jousts was all done they knew well that he was Sir Tristram de Lyonesse; and all they that were on King Mark's party were glad that Sir Tristram was hurt, and all the remnant were sorry of his hurt. For Sir Tristram was not so hated as was Sir Lancelot, not within the realm of England.\n\nThen came King Mark unto Sir Tristram and said, 'Fair nephew, I am heavy of your hurts.'\n\n'Gramercy, my lord,' said Sir Tristram.\n\nThen King Mark made him to be put in a horse litter in great tokening of love, and said, 'Fair cousin, I shall be your leech myself.'\n\nAnd so he rode forth with Sir Tristram, and brought him into a castle by daylight. And then King Mark made Sir Tristram to eat, and after that he gave him a drink; and anon as he had drunk he fell asleep. And when it was night he made him to be carried to another castle, and there he put him in a strong prison, and a man and a woman to give him his meat and his drink. So there he was a great while.\n\nThen was Sir Tristram missed, and no creature wist where he was become.\n\nWhen Queen Isode understood that Sir Tristram was in prison, she made great sorrow as ever made lady or gentlewoman. Then Sir Tristram sent a letter unto La Belle Isode and prayed her to be his good lady, and said, if it pleased her to make a vessel ready for her and him, he would go with her unto the realm of Logris, that is this land.\n\nWhen La Belle Isode understood Sir Tristram and his intent, she sent him another and bade him be of good comfort, for she would do make the vessel ready and all manner of thing to purpose. Then La Belle Isode sent unto Sir Dinas and to Sir Sadok, and prayed them in any wise to take King Mark and put him in prison unto the time that she and Sir Tristram were departed unto the realm of Logris. When Sir Dinas the Seneschal understood the treason of King Mark, he promised her to do her commandment, and sent her word again that King Mark should be put in prison; and so as they devised it was done. And then Sir Tristram was delivered out of prison; and anon in all haste Queen Isode and Sir Tristram went and took their counsel, and so they took with them what them list best, and so they departed.\n\nThen La Belle Isode and Sir Tristram took their vessel, and came by water into this land; and so they were not four days in this land but there was made a cry of a jousts and tournament that King Arthur let make. When Sir Tristram heard tell of that tournament he disguised himself, and La Belle Isode, and rode unto that tournament. And when he came there he saw many knights joust and tourney; and so Sir Tristram dressed him to the range, and to make short conclusion, he overthrew fourteen knights of the Round Table. When Sir Lancelot saw these knights thus overthrown, he dressed him to Sir Tristram; and that saw La Belle Isode, how Sir Lancelot was come into the field. Then she sent unto Sir Lancelot a ring to let him wit it was Sir Tristram de Lyonesse. When Sir Lancelot understood that he was Sir Tristram, he was full glad, and would not joust. And then Sir Lancelot espied whither Sir Tristram yode, and after him he rode; and then either made great joy of other. And so Sir Lancelot brought Sir Tristram and Isode unto Joyous Gard, that was his own castle, and he had won it with his own hands; and there Sir Lancelot put them in, to wield it for their own. And wit you well, that castle was garnished and furnished for a king and a queen royal there to have sojourned. And Sir Lancelot charged all his people to honour them and love them as they would do himself.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot departed unto King Arthur; and then he told Queen Guenivere how he that jousted so well at the last tournament was Sir Tristram. And there he told her how he had with him La Belle Isode maugre King Mark, and so Queen Guenivere told all this to King Arthur. And when King Arthur wist that Sir Tristram was escaped and come from King Mark and had brought La Belle Isode with him, then was he passing glad. So because of Sir Tristram King Arthur let make a cry, that on May Day should be a jousts before the Castle of Lonazep; and that castle was fast by Joyous Gard.\n\nAnd thus King Arthur devised, that all the knights of this land, of Cornwall, and of North Wales, should joust against all these countries: Ireland and Scotland and the remnant of Wales, and the country of Gore, and Surluse, and of Listinoise, and they of Northumberland, and all those that held lands of King Arthur's on this half the sea. So when this cry was made many knights were glad and many were sad.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot unto Arthur, 'by this cry that ye have made ye will put us that be about you in great jeopardy, for there be many knights that hath envy to us; therefore when we shall meet at the day of jousts there will be hard shift for us.'\n\n'As for that,' said King Arthur, 'I care not; there shall we prove who shall be best of his hands.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot understood wherefore King Arthur made this jousting, then he made such purveyance that La Belle Isode should behold the jousts in a secret place that was honest for her estate.\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Tristram and to La Belle Isode, how they made joy together daily with all manner of mirths that they could devise. And every day Sir Tristram would go ride an-hunting, for he was called that time the chief chaser of the world, and the noblest blower of a horn of all manner of measures; for as books report, of Sir Tristram came all the good terms of venery and of hunting, and all the sizes and measures of all blowing with a horn; and of him we had first all the terms of hawking, and which were beasts of chase and beasts of venery, and which were vermin; and all the blasts that longed to all manner of game\u2014that all manner gentlemen have cause to the world's end to praise Sir Tristram, and to pray for his soul. Amen, said Sir Thomas Malory.\n\nSo on a day La Belle Isode said unto Sir Tristram, 'I marvel me [much that ye remember not yourself, how ye be here in a strange country, and here be many perilous knights, and well ye wot that King Mark is full of treason; and that ye will ride thus to chase and to hunt unarmed, ye might be soon destroyed.'\n\n'My fair lady and my love, merci. I will no more do so.'\n\nSo then Sir Tristram rode daily an-hunting armed, and his men bearing his shield and his spear.\n\nNow as Sir Tristram rode an-hunting he met with Sir Dinadan, that was come into the country to seek Sir Tristram. And anon Sir Dinadan told Sir Tristram his name, but Sir Tristram would not tell his name, wherefore Sir Dinadan was wroth.\n\n'For such a foolish knight as ye are,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I saw but late this day lying by a well, and he fared as he slept; and there he lay like a fool grinning, and would not speak, and his shield lay by him, and his horse also stood by him. And well I wot he was a lover.'\n\n'Ah, fair sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'are not ye a lover?'\n\n'Marry, fie on that craft!' said Sir Dinadan.\n\n'Sir, that is evil said,' said Sir Tristram, 'for a knight may never be of prowess but if he be a lover.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Dinadan. 'Now I pray you tell me your name, sith ye be such a lover; or else I shall do battle with you.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'it is no reason to fight with me but if I tell you my name. And as for my name, ye shall not wit as at this time for me.'\n\n'Fie, for shame, are ye a knight and dare not tell your name to me? Therefore, sir, I will fight with you.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will be advised, for I will not do battle but if me list. And if I do battle with you,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye are not able to withstand me.'\n\n'Fie on thee, coward,' said Sir Dinadan.\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Tristram, 'I will not joust as at this time, but take your horse and let us go hence.'\n\n'God defend me', said Sir Dinadan, 'from thy fellowship, for I never sped well since I met with thee.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tristram, 'peradventure I could tell you tidings of Sir Tristram.'\n\n'God save me', said Sir Dinadan, 'from thy fellowship, for Sir Tristram were mickle the worse and he were in thy company.' And they departed.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'yet it may happen that I may meet with you in other places.'\n\nSo rode Sir Tristram unto Joyous Gard, and there he heard in that town great noise and cry.\n\n'What is this noise?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir,' said they, 'here is a knight of this castle that hath been long among us, and right now he is slain with two knights, and for none other cause but that our knight said that Sir Lancelot was better knight than Sir Gawain.'\n\n'That was a simple cause,' said Sir Tristram, 'for to slay a good knight for saying well by his master.'\n\n'That is little remedy to us,' said the men of the town. 'For and Sir Lancelot had been here, soon we should have been revenged upon those false knights.'\n\nWhen Sir Tristram heard them say so, he sent for his shield and for his spear; and lightly so within a while he had overtaken them, and bade them turn and amend that they had misdone.\n\n'What amends wouldst thou have?' said the one knight.\n\nAnd therewith they took their course, and either met other so hard that Sir Tristram smote down that knight over his horse's tail. Then the other knight dressed him to Sir Tristram, and in the same wise he served the other knight. And then they got off their horses as well as they might, and dressed their shields and swords to do battle to the utterance.\n\n'Now, knights,' said Sir Tristram, 'will ye tell me of whence ye be, and what are your names? For such men ye might be ye should hard escape my hands, and also ye might be such men and of such a country that for all your evil deeds ye might pass quit.'\n\n'Wit thou well, sir knight,' said they, 'we fear not much to tell thee our names, for my name is Sir Agravain, and my name is Sir Gaheris, brethren unto the good knight Sir Gawain, and we be nephews unto King Arthur.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tristram, 'for King Arthur's sake I shall let you pass as at this time. But it is shame,' said Sir Tristram, 'that Sir Gawain and ye be come of so great blood, that ye four brethren are so named as ye be, for ye be called the greatest destroyers and murderers of good knights that is now in this realm of England. And as I have heard say, Sir Gawain and ye, his brethren, among you slew a better knight than ever any of you was, which was called the noble knight Sir Lamorak de Gales. And it had pleased God,' said Sir Tristram, 'I would I had been by him at his death day.'\n\n'Then shouldst thou have gone the same way,' said Sir Gaheris.\n\n'Now, fair knights, then must there have been many more good knights than ye of your blood.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Tristram departed from them toward Joyous Gard. And when he was departed they took their horses, and the one said to the other, 'We will overtake him and be revenged upon him in the despite of Sir Lamorak.'\n\nSo when they had overtaken Sir Tristram, Sir Agravain bade him, ['Turn, traitor knight.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Tristram; and therewith he pulled out his sword and smote Sir Agravain such a buffet upon the helm that he tumbled down off his horse in a swoon, and he had a grievous wound. And then he turned to Sir Gaheris, and Sir Tristram smote his sword and his helm together with such a might that Sir Gaheris fell out of his saddle.\n\nAnd so Sir Tristram rode unto Joyous Gard, and there he alit and unarmed him. So Sir Tristram told La Belle Isode of all this adventure, as ye have heard before. And when she heard him tell of Sir Dinadan, 'Sir,' she said, 'is not that he that made the song by King Mark?'\n\n'That same is he,' said Sir Tristram, 'for he is the best bourder and japer that I know, and a noble knight of his hands, and the best fellow that I know; and all good knights loveth his fellowship.'\n\n'Alas, sir,' said she, 'why brought ye him not with you hither?'\n\n'Have ye no care,' said Sir Tristram, 'for he rideth to seek me in this country; and therefore he will not away till he have met with me.' And there Sir Tristram told La Belle Isode how Sir Dinadan held against all lovers.\n\nRight so came in a varlet and told Sir Tristram how there was come an errant knight into the town, with such colours upon his shield.\n\n'By my faith, that is Sir Dinadan,' said Sir Tristram. 'Therefore, madam, wit ye what ye shall do: send ye for him, and I will not be seen, and ye shall hear the merriest knight that ever ye spake withal, and the maddest talker. And I pray you heartily that ye make him good cheer.'\n\nSo anon La Belle Isode sent unto the town, and prayed Sir Dinadan that he would come into the castle and repose him there with a lady.\n\n'With a good will,' said Sir Dinadan; and so he mounted upon his horse and rode into the castle, and there he alit, and was unarmed and brought into the hall.\n\nAnd anon La Belle Isode came unto him, and either saluted other. Then she asked him of whence that he was.\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I am of the court of King Arthur, and a knight of the Table Round, and my name is Sir Dinadan.'\n\n'What do ye in this country?' said La Belle Isode.\n\n'For sooth, madam, I seek after Sir Tristram, the good knight, for it was told me that he was in this country.'\n\n'It may well be,' said La Belle Isode, 'but I am not ware of him.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I marvel at Sir Tristram and more other such lovers. What aileth them to be so mad and so besotted upon women?'\n\n'Why,' said La Belle Isode, 'are ye a knight and are no lover? For sooth, it is great shame to you; wherefore ye may not be called a good knight by reason but if ye make a quarrel for a lady.'\n\n'God defend me,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for the joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof is duras over long.'\n\n'Ah,' said La Belle Isode, 'say ye nevermore so, for here fast by was the good knight Sir Bleoberis de Ganis, that fought with four knights at once for a damosel, and he won her before the King of Northumberland\u2014and that was worshipfully done,' said La Belle Isode.\n\n'For sooth, it was so,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for I know him well for a good knight and a noble, and come he is of noble blood; and all be noble knights of the blood of Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Now I pray you, for my love,' said La Belle Isode, 'will ye fight for me with three knights that do me great wrong? And insomuch as ye be a knight of King Arthur's, I require you to do battle for me.'\n\n'Then,' Sir Dinadan said, 'I shall say you ye be as fair a lady as ever I saw any, and much fairer than is my lady Queen Guenivere; but wit you well, at one word, I will not fight for you with three knights\u2014Jesu me defend!'\n\nThen Isode laughed, and had good game at him. So he had all the cheer that she might make him, and there he lay all that night. And on the morn early Sir Tristram armed him, and La Belle Isode gave him a good helm. And then he promised her that he would meet with Sir Dinadan, and so they two would ride together unto Lonazep, where the tournament should be. 'And there shall I make ready for you where ye shall see all the sight.'\n\nSo departed Sir Tristram with two squires that bore his shield and his spears that were great and long. So after that Sir Dinadan departed, and rode his way a great shake until he had overtaken Sir Tristram; and when Sir Dinadan had overtaken him he knew him anon, and hated the fellowship of him of all other knights.\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Dinadan, 'art thou that coward knight that I met with yesterday? Well, keep thee, for thou shalt joust with me maugre thy head.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tristram, 'and I am passing loath to joust.'\n\nAnd so they let their horses run, and Sir Tristram missed of him on purpose, and Sir Dinadan brake his spear all to shivers; and therewith Sir Dinadan dressed him to draw out his sword.\n\n'Not so, sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'why are ye so wroth? I am not disposed to fight at this time.'\n\n'Fie on thee, coward,' said Sir Dinadan, 'thou shamest all knights.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'I care not, for I will wait upon you and be under your protection, for cause ye are so good a knight that ye may save me.'\n\n'God deliver me of thee!' said Sir Dinadan. 'For thou art as goodly a man of arms and of thy person as ever I saw, and also the most coward that ever I saw. What wilt thou do with great spears and such weapons as thou carriest with thee?'\n\n'Sir, I shall give them', said Sir Tristram, 'to some good knight when I come to the tournament; and if I see that you do best, sir, I shall give them to you.'\n\nSo thus as they rode talking they saw where came an errant knight before them, that dressed him to joust.\n\n'Lo,' said Sir Tristram, 'yonder is one that will joust: now dress you to him.'\n\n'Ah, shame betide thee,' said Sir Dinadan.\n\n'Nay, not so,' said Sir Tristram, 'for that knight seemeth a shrew.'\n\n'Then shall I,' said Sir Dinadan.\n\nAnd so they dressed their shields and their spears, and there they met together so hard that the other knight smote down Sir Dinadan from his horse.\n\n'Lo,' said Sir Tristram, 'it had been better ye had left.'\n\n'Fie on thee, coward,' said Sir Dinadan.\n\nAnd then he started up and got his sword in his hand, and proffered to do battle on foot.\n\n'Whether in love or in wrath?' said the other knight.\n\n'Sir, let us do battle in love,' said Sir Dinadan. 'What is your name?' said that knight, 'I pray you tell me.'\n\n'Sir, wit you well my name is Sir Dinadan.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Dinadan,' said that knight, 'and my name is Sir Gareth, youngest brother unto Sir Gawain.'\n\nThen either made of other great cheer, for this Sir Gareth was the best knight of all the brethren, and he proved a good knight. Then they took their horses, and there they spoke of Sir Tristram, how such a coward he was; and every word Sir Tristram heard, and laughed them to scorn. Then were they ware where came a knight before them well horsed and well armed, and he made him ready to joust.\n\n'Now, fair knights,' said Sir Tristram, 'look betwixt you who shall joust with yonder knight, for I warn you I will not have ado with him.'\n\n'Then shall I,' said Sir Gareth.\n\nAnd so they encountered together, and there that knight smote down Sir Gareth over his horse's croup.\n\n'How now?' said Sir Tristram unto Sir Dinadan. 'Now dress you and revenge the good knight Sir Gareth.'\n\n'That shall I not,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for he hath struck down a much bigger knight than I am.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Dinadan,' said Sir Tristram, 'now I see and feel that your heart faileth you, and therefore now shall ye see what I shall do.' And then Sir Tristram hurtled unto that knight, and smote him quite from his horse.\n\nAnd when Sir Dinadan saw that, he marvelled greatly; and then he deemed that it was Sir Tristram. And anon this knight that was on foot pulled out his sword to do battle.\n\n'Sir, what is your name?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Wit you well,' said that knight, 'my name is Sir Palomides.'\n\n'Ah, sir knight, which knight hate ye most in the world?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'For sooth,' said he, 'I hate Sir Tristram most, to the death, for and I may meet with him the one of us shall die.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Tristram. 'And now, wit you well that my name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse; and now do your worst.'\n\nWhen Sir Palomides heard him say so he was astonished. And then he said thus: 'I pray you, Sir Tristram, forgive me all my evil will! And if I live, I shall do you service before all knights that be living; and there as I have owed you evil will, me sore repents. I wot not what aileth me, for me seemeth that ye are a good knight; and that any other knight that nameth himself a good knight should hate you, me sore marvelleth. And there-fore I require you, Sir Tristram, take no displeasure at my unkind words.'\n\n'Sir Palomides,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye say well, and well I wot ye are a good knight, for I have seen you proved; and many great enterprises ye have done, and well achieved them. Therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'and ye have any evil will to me, now may ye right it, for I am ready at your hand.'\n\n'Not so, my lord Sir Tristram, for I will do you knightly service in all thing as ye will command me.'\n\n'Sir, right so I will take you,' said Sir Tristram.\n\nAnd so they rode forth on their ways talking of many things.\n\nThen said Sir Dinadan, 'Ah, my lord Sir Tristram, foul have ye mocked me, for God knoweth I came into this country for your sake, and by the advice of my lord Sir Lancelot; and yet would he not tell me the certainty of you where I should find you.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Tristram, 'and Sir Lancelot wist best where I was, for I abide in his own castle.'\n\nAnd thus they rode until they were ware of the coast of Lonazep; and then were they ware of four hundred tents and pavilions, and marvellous great ordinance.\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Tristram, 'yonder I see the greatest ordinance that ever I saw.'\n\n'Sir,' said Palomides, 'me seemeth that there was as great ordinance at the Castle of Maidens upon the rock, where ye won the prize, for I saw myself where ye for-jousted thirty knights.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Dinadan, 'and in Surluse, at the tournament that Sir Galahalt of the Long Isles made, which there dured seven days; for there was as great a gathering as is here, for there were many nations.'\n\n'Sir, who was the best there?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir, it was Sir Lancelot du Lake and the noble knight, Sir Lamorak de Gales.'\n\n'By my faith,' said Sir Tristram, 'and Sir Lancelot were there, I doubt not', said Sir Tristram, 'but he won the worship, so he had not been overmatched with many knights. And of the death of Sir Lamorak,' said Sir Tristram, 'it was over-great pity, for I dare say he was the cleanest-mighted man and the best-winded of his age that was alive; for I knew him that he was one of the best knights that ever I met withal, but if it were Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Dinadan and Sir Tristram, 'that full woe is us for his death! And if they were not the cousins of my lord King Arthur that slew him, they should die for it, all that were consenting to his death.'\n\n'And for such things,' said Sir Tristram, 'I fear to draw unto the court of King Arthur; sir, I will that ye wit it,' said Sir Tristram unto Sir Gareth.\n\n'As for that, I blame you not,' said Sir Gareth, 'for well I understand the vengeance of my brethren, Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Mordred. But as for me,' said Sir Gareth, 'I meddle not of their matters, and therefore there is none of them that loveth me. And for cause that I understand they be murderers of good knights, I left their company; and would God would I had been beside Sir Gawain when that most noble knight Sir Lamorak was slain.'\n\n'Now as Jesu be my help,' said Sir Tristram, 'it is passingly well said of you, for I had liever', said Sir Tristram, 'than all the gold betwixt this and Rome I had been there.'\n\n'Iwis,' said Sir Palomides, 'so would I, and yet had I never the degree at no jousts nor tournament and that noble knight Sir Lamorak had been there, but either on horseback or else on foot he put me ever to the worse. And that day that Sir Lamorak was slain he did the most deeds of arms that ever I saw knight do in my life. And when he was given the degree by my lord King Arthur, Sir Gawain and his three brethren, Sir Agravain, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Mordred, set upon Sir Lamorak in a privy place, and there they slew his horse. And so they fought with him on foot more than three hours, both before him and behind him; and so Sir Mordred gave him his death's wound behind him at his back, and all to-hewed him; for one of his squires told me that saw it.'\n\n'Now fie upon treason,' said Sir Tristram, 'for it slayeth my heart to hear this tale.'\n\n'And so it doth mine,' said Sir Gareth, 'brethren as they be mine.'\n\n'Now speak we of other deeds,' said Sir Palomides, 'and let him be, for his life ye may not get again.'\n\n'That is the more pity,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for Sir Gawain and his brethren, except you, Sir Gareth, hateth all good knights of the Round Table for the most part; for well I wot, privily they hate my lord Sir Lancelot and all his kin, and great privy despite they have at him; and that is my lord Sir Lancelot well ware of, and that causeth him the more to have the good knights of his kin about him.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Tristram, 'we must forward as tomorrow.' And then he devised how it should be; and there Sir Tristram devised to send his two pavilions to set them fast by the well of Lonazep, 'and therein shall be the queen, La Belle Isode.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Dinadan.\n\nBut when Sir Palomides heard of that, his heart was ravished out of measure; notwithstanding, he said but little. So when they came to Joyous Gard, Sir Palomides would not have gone into the castle, but as Sir Tristram led him by the hand into Joyous Gard. And when Sir Palomides saw La Belle Isode, he was so ravished that he might uneath speak. So they went unto meat; but Sir Palomides might not eat. And there was all the cheer that might be had.\n\nAnd so on the morn they were apparelled for to ride toward Lonazep.\n\n'Now, sirs, upon what party is it best,' said Sir Tristram, 'to be with tomorrow?'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Palomides, 'ye shall have my advice to be against King Arthur as tomorrow, for on his party will be Sir Lancelot and many good knights of his blood with him; and the more men of worship that they be, the more worship shall we win.'\n\n'That is full knightly spoken,' said Sir Tristram, 'and so shall it be, right as ye counsel me.'\n\n'In the name of God,' said they all.\n\nSo that night they were reposed with the best. And in the morn when it was day, they were arrayed all in green trappings, both shields and spears, and La Belle Isode in the same colour, and her three damsels. And right so these four knights came into the field, endlong and thorough, and so they led La Belle Isode thither as she should stand and behold all the jousts in a bay window; but always she was wimpled, that.no man might see her visage. And then these four knights rode straight unto the party of the King of Scots.\n\nWhen King Arthur had seen them do all this, he asked Sir Lancelot what were these knights and this queen.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I cannot tell you for no certain; but if Sir Tristram be in this country, or Sir Palomides, sir, wit you well it be they, and there is Queen La Belle Isode.'\n\n[The tournament gets under way]\n\nAnd this meanwhile Sir Tristram rode through the thickest press, and smote down knights on the right hand and on the left hand, and rased off helms, and so passed forth unto his pavilions, and left Sir Palomides on foot. And then Sir Tristram changed his horse and disguised himself all in red, horse and harness.\n\nAnd when Queen Isode saw Sir Tristram unhorsed and she wist not [where he was become, then she wept heartily. But Sir Tristram when he was ready came dashing lightly into the field, and then La Belle Isode espied him. And so he did great deeds of arms with one spear that was great, for Sir Tristram smote down five knights or ever he stinted.\n\nSo when La Belle Isode espied Sir Tristram again upon his horse's back she was passing glad, and then she laughed and made good cheer. And as it happened, Sir Palomides looked up toward her; she was in the window, and Sir Palomides espied how she laughed. And there-with he took such a rejoicing that he smote down, what with his spear and with his sword, all that ever he met; for through the sight of her he was so enamoured in her love that he seemed at that time, that and both Sir Tristram and Sir Lancelot had been both against him they should have won no worship of him. And in his heart, as the book saith, Sir Palomides wished that with his worship he might have ado with Sir Tristram before all men, because of La Belle Isode.\n\nThen Sir Palomides began to double his strength, and he did so marvellously that all men had wonder; and ever he cast his eye unto La Belle Isode. And when he saw her make such cheer he fared like a lion, that there might no man withstand him. And then Sir Tristram beheld him how he stirred about, and said unto Sir Dinadan, 'So God me help, Sir Palomides is passing well enduring! But such deeds saw I him never do, nor never erst heard I tell that ever he did so much in one day.'\n\n'Sir, it is his day,' said Sir Dinadan, and he would say no more unto Sir Tristram; but to himself he said thus, 'And Sir Tristram knew for whose love he doth all these deeds of arms, soon would he abate his courage.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram, 'that Sir Palomides is not christened.' So said King Arthur, and so said all those that beheld them. Then all people gave him the prize as for the best knight that day, and he passed Sir Lancelot or else Sir Tristram.\n\n'Well,' said Sir Dinadan to himself, 'all this worship that Sir Palomides hath here this day, he may thank the Queen Isode; for had she been away this day, had not Sir Palomides gotten the prize.'\n\nAnd then the King let blow to lodging; and because Sir Palomides began first, and never he went nor rode out of the field to repose him, but ever he was doing on horseback or on foot, and longest enduring, King Arthur and all the kings gave Sir Palomides the honour and the degree as for that day.\n\nThen Sir Tristram commanded Sir Dinadan to fetch the queen, La Belle Isode, and bring her to his two pavilions by the well; and so Sir Dinadan did as he was commanded. But when Sir Palomides understood and wist that Sir Tristram was he that was in the red armour and on the red horse, wit you well that he was glad, and so was Sir Gareth and Sir Dinadan, for all they weened that Sir Tristram had been taken prisoner.\n\nAnd then every knight drew to his inn. And then King Arthur and every king spoke of those knights; but of all men they gave Sir Palomides the prize, and all knights that knew Sir Palomides had wonder of his deeds.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot unto King Arthur, 'as for Sir Palomides, and he be the green knight, I dare say as for this day he is best worthy to have the degree, for he reposed him never, nor never changed his weeds, and he began first and longest held on. And yet well I wot,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that there was a better knight than he, and that ye shall prove or we depart from them, on my life.'\n\nThus they talked on either party; and so Sir Dinadan railed with Sir Tristram and said, 'What the devil is upon thee this day? For Sir Palomides' strength feebled never this day, but ever he doubled. And Sir Tristram fared all this day as he had been asleep, and therefore I call him a coward.'\n\nAnd so Sir Tristram was in manner wroth with Sir Dinadan. But all this language Sir Dinadan said because he would anger Sir Tristram, for to cause him to wake his spirits; for well knew Sir Dinadan that, and Sir Tristram were thoroughly wroth, Sir Palomides should win no worship upon the morrow. And for this intent Sir Dinadan said all this railing and language against Sir Tristram.\n\nSo on the morn Sir Tristram was ready, and La Belle Isode with Sir Palomides and Sir Gareth. And so they rode all in green full freshly beseen unto the forest. And Sir Tristram left Sir Dinadan sleeping in his bed.\n\nThen Sir Tristram sent Queen Isode unto her lodging into the priory, there to behold all the tournament.\n\nThen there was a cry unto all knights made, that when they heard the horn blow they should make jousts as they did the first day. And then came in Sir Tristram de Lyonesse and smote down Sir Uwain and Sir Lucanor, and Sir Palomides smote down other two knights; and then came Sir Gareth and smote down other two good knights.\n\nThen said King Arthur unto Sir Lancelot, 'Ah, see yonder three knights do passingly well, and namely the first that jousted.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that knight began not yet, but ye shall see him do marvellously.'\n\nAnd then came into the place the knights of Orkney, and then they began to do many deeds of arms. When Sir Tristram saw them so begin, he said to Sir Palomides, 'How feel ye yourself? May ye do this day as ye did yesterday?'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Palomides, 'I feel myself so weary and so sore bruised of the deeds of yesterday, that I may not endure as I did.'\n\n'That me repenteth,' said Sir Tristram, 'for I shall lack you this day.'\n\n'But help yourself,' said Sir Palomides, 'and trust not to me, for I may not do as I did.' And all these words said Palomides but to beguile Sir Tristram.\n\nThen said Sir Tristram unto Sir Gareth, 'Then must I trust upon you; wherefore I pray you be not far from me to rescue me and need be.'\n\n'Sir, I shall not fail you,' said Sir Gareth, 'in all that I may do.'\n\nThen Sir Palomides rode by himself; and then in despite of Sir Tristram he put himself in the thickest press amongst them of Orkney. And there he did so marvellous deeds of arms that all men had wonder of him, for there might none stand him a stroke. When Sir Tristram saw Sir Palomides do such deeds, he marvelled and said to himself, 'Me thinketh he is weary of my company.'\n\nSo Sir Tristram beheld him a great while and did but little else, for the noise and cry was so great that Sir Tristram marvelled from whence came the strength that Sir Palomides had there.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gareth unto Sir Tristram, 'remember ye not of the words that Sir Dinadan said to you yesterday, when he called you coward? Pardieu, sir, he said it for none ill, for ye are the man in the world that he loveth best, and all that he said was for your worship. And therefore,' said Sir Gareth, 'let me know this day what ye be! And wonder ye not so upon Sir Palomides, for he forceth himself to win all the honour from you.'\n\n'I may well believe it,' said Sir Tristram. 'And sithen I understand his evil will and his envy, ye shall see, if that I enforce myself, that the noise shall be left that is now upon him.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram rode into the thickest of the press, and then he did so marvellously well and did so great deeds of arms that all men said that Sir Tristram did double so much deeds of arms as did Sir Palomides beforehand. And then the noise went clean from Sir Palomides, and all the people cried upon Sir Tristram and said, 'Ah, Jesu, ah, see how Sir Tristram smiteth with his spear so many knights to the earth! And see,' said they all, 'how many knights he smiteth down with his sword, and how many knights he raseth off their helms and their shields!'\n\nAnd so he beat all of Orkney before him.\n\n'How now?' said Sir Lancelot unto King Arthur, 'I told you that this day there would a knight play his pageant, for yonder rideth a knight: ye may see he doth all knightly, for he hath strength and wind enough.'\n\n'So God me help,' said King Arthur to Sir Lancelot, 'ye say sooth, for I saw never a better knight, for he passeth far Sir Palomides.'\n\n'Sir, wit you well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'it must be so of right, for it is himself that noble knight Sir Tristram.'\n\n'I may right well believe it,' said King Arthur.\n\nBut when Sir Palomides heard the noise and the cry was turned from him, he rode out on one side and beheld Sir Tristram. And when he saw him do so marvellously well, he wept passingly sore for despite, for he wist well then he should no worship win that day; for well knew Sir Palomides, when Sir Tristram would put forth his strength and his manhood, that he should get but little worship that day.\n\nThen came King Arthur, and the King of Northgales, and Sir Lancelot du Lake; and Sir Bleoberis and Sir Bors de Ganis and Sir Ector de Maris, these three knights came into the field with Sir Lancelot. And so they four did so great deeds of arms that all the noise began upon Sir Lancelot. And so they beat the King of Northgales and the King of Scots far aback, and made them to void the field. But Sir Tristram and Sir Gareth abode still in the field and endured all that ever there came, that all men had wonder that ever any knight endured so many great strokes. But ever Sir Lancelot and his three kinsmen forbore Sir Tristram and Sir Gareth.\n\nThen said King Arthur, 'Is that Sir Palomides that endureth so well?'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well it is the good knight Sir Tristram, for yonder ye may see Sir Palomides beholdeth and hoveth, and doth little or nought. And sir, ye shall understand that Sir Tristram weeneth this day to beat us all out of the field. And as for me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I shall not meet him, meet him whoso will. But sir,' said Lancelot, 'ye may see how Sir Palomides hoveth yonder as though he were in a dream; and wit you well he is full heavy that Sir Tristram doth such deeds of arms.'\n\n'Then is he but a fool,' said King Arthur, 'for never was Sir Palomides such a knight, nor never shall be of such prowess. And if he have any envy at Sir Tristram,' said King Arthur, 'and cometh in with him upon his side, he is a false knight.'\n\nAnd as the King and Sir Lancelot thus spoke, Sir Tristram rode privily out of the press, that no man espied him but La Belle Isode and Sir Palomides; for they two would not leave off their eyesight of him. And when Sir Tristram came to his pavilions he found Sir Dinadan in his bed asleep.\n\n'Awake,' said Sir Tristram, 'for ye ought to be ashamed so to sleep when knights have ado in the field.'\n\nThen Sir Dinadan arose lightly and said, 'Sir, what will ye do?'\n\n'Make you ready', said Sir Tristram, 'to ride with me into the field.'\n\nSo when Sir Dinadan was armed he looked upon Sir Tristram's helm and on his shield, and when he saw so many strokes upon his helm and upon his shield he said, 'In good time was I thus asleep; for had I been with you I must needs for shame have followed you, more for shame than for any prowess that is in me! For I see well now by thy strokes that I should have been truly beaten, as I was yesterday.'\n\n'Leave your japes,' said Sir Tristram, 'and come off, that we were in the field again.'\n\n'What,' said Sir Dinadan, 'is your heart up now? Yesterday ye fared as ye had dreamed.'\n\nSo then Sir Tristram was arrayed all in black harness.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Dinadan, 'what aileth you this day? Me seemeth that ye be more wilder than ye were yesterday.'\n\nThen smiled Sir Tristram and said to Sir Dinadan, 'Await well upon me if ye see me overmatched, and look that ever ye be behind me, and I shall make you ready way, by God's grace.'\n\nSo they took their horses. And all this espied Sir Palomides, both the going and the coming; and so did La Belle Isode, for she knew Sir Tristram passing well.\n\nThen Sir Palomides saw that Sir Tristram was disguised, and thought to shame him. And so he rode unto a knight that was sore wounded, that sat under a thorn a good way from the field.\n\n'Sir knight,' said Sir Palomides, 'I pray you to lend me your armour and your shield, for mine is over-well known in this field, and that hath done me great damage. And ye shall have my armour and my shield that is as sure as yours.'\n\n'I will well,' said the knight, 'that ye have my armour and my shield; if they may do you any avail, I am well pleased.'\n\nSo Sir Palomides armed him hastily in that knight's armour and his shield that shone like any crystal or silver, and so he came riding into the field. And then there was neither Sir Tristram nor none of his party nor of King Arthur's that knew Sir Palomides. And as soon as he was come into the field Sir Tristram smote down three knights, even in the sight of Sir Palomides. And then he rode against Sir Tristram, and either met other with great spears, that they all to-brast to their hands, and then they dashed together with swords eagerly. Then Sir Tristram had marvel what knight he was that did battle so mightily with him.\n\nThen was Sir Tristram wroth, for he felt him passing strong, and he deemed that he could not have ado with the remnant of the knights because of the strength of Sir Palomides. So they lashed together and gave many sad strokes together, and many knights marvelled what knight he was that so encountered with the black knight, Sir Tristram. And full well knew La Belle Isode that it was Sir Palomides that fought with Sir Tristram, for she espied all in her window where that she stood, how Sir Palomides changed his harness with the wounded knight; and then she began to weep so heartily for the despite of Sir Palomides that wellnigh she swooned.\n\nThen came in Sir Lancelot with the knights of Orkney; and when the other party had espied Sir Lancelot, they cried and said, 'Return, for here cometh Sir Lancelot.'\n\nSo there came in a knight unto Sir Lancelot and said, 'Sir, ye must needs fight with yonder knight in the black harness' (which was Sir Tristram), 'for he hath almost overcome that good knight that fighteth with him with the silver shield' (which was Sir Palomides).\n\nThen Sir Lancelot rode betwixt them, and Sir Lancelot said unto Sir Palomides, 'Sir knight, let me have this battle, for ye have need to be reposed.'\n\nSir Palomides knew well Sir Lancelot, and so did Sir Tristram. But because Sir Lancelot was far hardier knight and bigger than Sir Palomides, he was right glad to suffer Sir Lancelot to fight with Sir Tristram; for well wist he that Sir Lancelot knew not Sir Tristram, and there he hoped that Sir Lancelot should beat or shame Sir Tristram, and thereof Sir Palomides was full fain. And so Sir Lancelot lashed at Sir Tristram many sad strokes; but Sir Lancelot knew not Sir Tristram, but Sir Tristram knew well Sir Lancelot. And thus they fought long together, which made La Belle Isode wellnigh out of her mind for sorrow.\n\nThen Sir Dinadan told Sir Gareth how that knight in the black harness was their lord Sir Tristram; 'and that other is Sir Lancelot that fighteth with him, that must needs have the better of him, for Sir Tristram hath had overmuch travail this day.'\n\n'Then let us smite him down,' said Sir Gareth.\n\n'So it is best that we do,' said Sir Dinadan, 'rather than Sir Tristram should be shamed, for yonder hoveth the strange knight with the silver shield to fall upon Sir Tristram if need be.'\n\nAnd so forthwith Sir Gareth rushed upon Sir Lancelot and gave him a great stroke upon the helm, that he was astonied. And then came in Sir Dinadan with his spear, and he smote Sir Lancelot such a buffet that horse and man yode to the earth and had a great fall.\n\n'Now fie, for shame,' said Sir Tristram unto Sir Gareth and Sir Dinadan, 'why did ye so, to smite down so good a knight as he is, and namely when I had ado with him? Ah, Jesu, ye do yourself great shame, and him no disworship, for I held him reasonably hot though ye had not helped me.'\n\nThen came Sir Palomides which was disguised, and smote down Sir Dinadan from his horse. Then Sir Lancelot, because Sir Dinadan had smitten him down beforehand, therefore he assailed Sir Dinadan passing sore, and Sir Dinadan defended him mightily. But well understood Sir Tristram that Sir Dinadan might not endure against Sir Lancelot, wherefore Sir Tristram was sorry.\n\nThen came Sir Palomides fresh upon Sir Tristram; and when Sir Tristram saw Sir Palomides come so freshly, he thought to deliver him at once, because that he would help Sir Dinadan that stood in peril with Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Tristram hurtled unto Sir Palomides and gave him a great buffet, and then Sir Tristram got Sir Palomides and pulled him down underneath his horse's feet. And then Sir Tristram lightly leapt up and left Sir Palomides, and went betwixt Sir Lancelot and Sir Dinadan, and then they began to do battle together.\n\nAnd right so Sir Dinadan got Sir Tristram's horse, and said on high that Sir Lancelot might hear, 'My lord Sir Tristram, take your horse.'\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot heard him name Sir Tristram, 'Ah, Jesu, what have I done?' said Sir Lancelot, 'for now am I dishonoured,' and said, 'Ah, my lord Sir Tristram, why were ye now disguised? Ye have put yourself this day in great peril. But I pray you to pardon me, for and I had known you we had not done this battle.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'this is not the first kindness and goodness that ye have showed unto me.'\n\nAnd anon they were horsed both again. So all the people on the one side gave Sir Lancelot the honour and the degree, and all the people on the other side gave Sir Tristram the honour and the degree. But Sir Lancelot said nay thereto: 'For I am not worthy to have this honour, for I will report me to all knights that Sir Tristram hath been longer in the field than I, and he hath smitten down many more knights this day than I have done. And therefore I will give Sir Tristram my voice and my name, and so I pray all my lords and fellows so to do.'\n\nThen there was the whole voice of kings, dukes and earls, barons and knights, that 'Sir Tristram de Lyonesse this day is proved the best knight.'\n\nThen they blew unto lodging, and Queen Isode was led unto her pavilions. But wit you well she was wroth out of measure with Sir Palomides, for she saw all his treason from the beginning to the ending. And all this while neither Sir Tristram, Sir Gareth, nor Sir Dinadan knew not of the treason of Sir Palomides. But afterward ye shall hear how there befell the greatest debate betwixt Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides that might be.\n\nSo when the tournament was done, Sir Tristram, Sir Gareth, and Sir Dinadan rode with La Belle Isode to his pavilions; and ever Sir Palomides rode with them in their company, disguised as he was. But when Sir Tristram had espied him that he was the same knight with the shield of silver that held him so hot that day, then said Sir Tristram, 'Sir knight, wit thou well here is none that hath need of your fellowship, and therefore I pray you depart from us.'\n\nThen Sir Palomides answered again as though he had not known Sir Tristram, 'Wit you well, sir knight, that from this fellowship will I not depart, for one of the best knights of the world commanded me to be in this company, and till he discharge me of my service I will not be discharged.'\n\nSo by his language Sir Tristram knew that it was Sir Palomides, and said, 'Ah, sir, are ye such a knight? Ye have been named wrong, for ye have been called ever a gentle knight, and as this day ye have showed me great ungentleness, for ye had almost brought me to my death. But, as for you, I suppose I should have done well enough, but Sir Lancelot with you was overmuch; for I know no knight living but Sir Lancelot is too over-good for him, and he will do his uttermost.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Palomides, 'are ye my lord Sir Tristram?'\n\n'Yea, sir, and that know you well enough.'\n\n'By my knighthood,' said Sir Palomides, 'until now I knew you not; for I weened that ye had been the King of Ireland, for well I wot that ye bore his arms.'\n\n'I bore his arms,' said Sir Tristram, 'and that will I abide by, for I won them once in a field of a full noble knight whose name was Sir Marhalt; and with great pain I won that knight, for there was no other recover. But Sir Marhalt died through false leeches; and yet was he never yielded to me.'\n\n'Sir,' said Palomides, 'I weened that ye had been turned upon Sir Lancelot's party, and that caused me to turn.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Tristram, 'and so I take you, and forgive you.'\n\nSo then they rode to their pavilions; and when they were alit they unarmed them and washed their faces and their hands, and so yode unto meat, and were set at their table. But when La Belle Isode saw Sir Palomides, she changed then her colour for wrath\u2014she might not speak. Anon Sir Tristram espied her countenance and said, 'Madam, for what cause make ye us such cheer? We have been sore travailed all this day.'\n\n'Mine own lord,' said La Belle Isode, 'for God's sake be ye not displeased with me, for I may no otherwise do. I saw this day how ye were betrayed and nigh brought unto your death\u2014truly, sir, I saw every deal, how and in what wise. And therefore, sir, how should I suffer in your presence such a felon and traitor as is Sir Palomides? For I saw him with mine eyes how he beheld you when ye went out of the field, for ever he hoved still upon his horse till that he saw you come again-ward, and then forthwith I saw him ride to the hurt knight and changed his harness with him; and then straight I saw him how he sought you all the field. And anon as he had found you he encountered with you, and wilfully Sir Palomides did battle with you. And as for him, sir, I was not greatly afraid, but I dread sore Sir Lancelot, which knew you not.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Palomides, 'ye may say what ye will, I may not contrary you; but by my knighthood I knew not my lord Sir Tristram.'\n\n'No force,' said Sir Tristram unto Sir Palomides, 'I will take your excuse, but well I wot ye spared me but little. But no force: all is pardoned as on my part.'\n\nThen La Belle Isode held down her head and said no more at that time.\n\nAnd therewith two knights armed came into the pavilion, and there they alit both, and came in armed at all pieces.\n\n'Fair knights,' said Sir Tristram, 'ye are to blame to come thus armed at all pieces upon me while we are at our meat. And if ye would anything with us when we were in the field, there might ye have eased your hearts.'\n\n'Not so, sir,' said the one of those knights. 'We come not for that intent. But wit you well, Sir Tristram, we be come as your friends; and I am come hither for to see you, and this knight is come for to see your queen Isode.'\n\nThen said Sir Tristram, 'I require you, do off your helms, that I may see you.'\n\n'Sir, that will we do at your desire,' said the knights.\n\nAnd when their helms were off, Sir Tristram thought that he should know them. Then spake Sir Dinadan privily unto Sir Tristram, 'That is my lord King Arthur, and that other that spake to you first is my lord Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Ah, madam, I pray you arise,' said Sir Tristram, 'for here is my lord, King Arthur.'\n\nThen the King and the queen kissed, and Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram embraced either other in arms, and then there was joy without measure. And at the request of La Belle Isode, King Arthur and Sir Lancelot were unarmed, and then there was merry talking.\n\n'Madam,' said King Arthur, 'it is many a day ago sithen I desired first to see you, for ye have been praised so fair a lady! And now I dare say ye are the fairest that ever I saw, and Sir Tristram is as fair and as good a knight as any that I know. And therefore me seemeth ye are well beset together.'\n\n'Sir, God thank you,' said Sir Tristram and La Belle Isode. 'Of your goodness and of your largesse ye are peerless.'\n\nAnd thus they talked of many things and of all the whole jousts.\n\n'But for what cause,' said King Arthur, 'were ye, Sir Tristram, against us? And ye are a knight of the Table Round, and of right ye should have been with us.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'here is Sir Dinadan, and Sir Gareth your own nephew, caused me to be against you.'\n\n'My lord Arthur,' said Sir Gareth, 'I may bear well, for my back is broad enough; but for sooth, it was Sir Tristram's own deeds.'\n\n'By God, that may I repent,' said Sir Dinadan, 'for this unhappy Sir Tristram brought us to this tournament, and many great buffets he hath caused us to have.'\n\nThen the King and Sir Lancelot laughed that uneath they might sit.\n\n'But what knight was that,' said King Arthur, 'that held you so short?'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'here he sitteth at this table.'\n\n'What,' said King Arthur, 'was it Sir Palomides?'\n\n'Sir, wit you well that it was he,' said La Belle Isode.\n\n'So God me help,' said King Arthur, 'that was unknightly done of you as of so good a knight, for I have heard many people call you a courteous knight.'\n\n'Sir,' said Palomides, 'I knew not Sir Tristram, for he was so disguised.'\n\n'So God help me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'it may well be, for I knew him not myself.'\n\n'Sir, as for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'I have pardoned him, and I would be right loath to leave his fellowship, for I love right well his company.'\n\nAnd so they left off and talked of other things; and in the evening King Arthur and Sir Lancelot departed unto their lodging.\n\nBut wit you well Sir Palomides had great envy heartily, for all that night he had never rest in his bed, but wailed and wept out of measure. So on the morn Sir Tristram, Sir Gareth, and Sir Dinadan arose early and went unto Sir Palomides' chamber, and there they found him fast asleep, for he had all night watched. And it was seen upon his cheeks that he had wept full sore.\n\n'Say ye nothing,' said Sir Tristram, 'for I am sure he hath taken anger and sorrow for the rebuke that I gave him, and La Belle Isode.'\n\n[After the tournament is concluded, Sir Palomides rides off alone, and meets with his brother Sir Safer.]\n\nSo on the morn Sir Safer and Sir Palomides rode all that day until after noon. And at the last they heard a great weeping and a great noise down in a manor.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Safer, 'let us wit what noise this is.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Palomides.\n\nAnd so they rode till that they came to a fair gate of a manor, and there sat an old man saying his prayers and beads. Then Sir Palomides and Sir Safer alit and left their horses, and went within the gates, and there they saw full goodly men weeping.\n\n'Now, fair sirs,' said Sir Palomides, 'wherefore weep ye and make this sorrow?'\n\nAnd anon one of those knights of the castle beheld Sir Palomides and knew him, and then he went to his fellows and said, 'Fair fellows, wit you well all, we have within this castle the same knight that slew our lord at Lonazep, for I know him well for Sir Palomides.'\n\nThen they went unto harness, all that might bear harness, some on horseback and some upon foot, to the number of three score. And when they were ready they came freshly upon Sir Palomides and upon Sir Safer with a great noise, and said thus, 'Keep thee, Sir Palomides, for thou art known! And by right thou must be dead, for thou hast slain our lord. And therefore wit thou well we may do thee none other favour but slay thee, and therefore defend thee.'\n\nThen Sir Palomides and Sir Safer, the one set his back to the other, and gave many sad strokes, and also took many great strokes. And thus they fought with twenty knights and forty gentlemen and yeomen nigh two hours. But at the last though they were never so loath, Sir Palomides and Sir Safer were taken and yielded, and put in a strong prison. And within three days twelve knights passed upon them, and they found Sir Palomides guilty, and Sir Safer not guilty, of their lord's death. And when Sir Safer should be delivered there was great dole betwixt his brother and him, and many piteous complaints that was made at their departition; there is no maker can rehearse the tenth part.\n\n'Now, fair brother, let be your dolour,' said Sir Palomides, 'and your sorrow, for and I be ordained to die a shameful death, welcome be it! But and I had wist of this death that I am deemed unto, I should never have been yielded.'\n\nSo departed Sir Safer, his brother, with the greatest sorrow that ever made knight. And on the morrow they of the castle ordained twelve knights for to ride with Sir Palomides unto the father of the same knight that Sir Palomides slew; and so they bound his legs under an old steed's belly, and then they rode with Sir Palomides unto a castle by the seaside, that hight Pelownes, and there Sir Palomides should have his justice\u2014thus was their ordinance. And so they rode with Sir Palomides fast by the castle of Joyous Gard. And as they passed by that castle there came riding one of that castle by them that knew Sir Palomides; and when that knight saw him led bound upon a crooked courser, then the knight asked Sir Palomides for what cause he was so led.\n\n'Ah, my fair fellow and knight,' said Sir Palomides, 'I ride now toward my death for the slaying of a knight at the tournament of Lonazep; and if I had not departed from my lord Sir Tristram as I ought to have done, now might I have been sure to have had my life saved. But I pray you, sir knight, recommend me unto my lord Sir Tristram, and unto my lady Queen Isode, and say to them, if ever I trespassed to them, I ask them forgiveness. And also I beseech you recommend me unto my lord King Arthur, and to all the fellowship of the Round Table, unto my power.'\n\nThen that knight wept for pity, and therewith he rode unto Joyous Gard as fast as his horse might run; and lightly that knight descended down off his horse and went unto Sir Tristram, and there he told him all as ye have heard. And ever the knight wept as he were wood.\n\nWhen Sir Tristram knew how Sir Palomides went to his death, he was heavy to hear thereof, and said, 'Howbeit that I am wroth with him, yet I will not suffer him to die so shameful a death, for he is a full noble knight.'\n\nAnd anon Sir Tristram asked his arms; and when he was armed he took his horse and two squires with him, and rode a great pace through a forest after Sir Palomides, the next way unto the Castle of Pelownes where Sir Palomides was judged to his death. And as the twelve knights led him before them, there was the noble knight Sir Lancelot which was alit by a well, and had tied his horse to a tree, and had taken off his helm to drink of that well. And when he saw such a rout which seemed knights, Sir Lancelot put on his helm and suffered them to pass by him. And anon was he ware of Sir Palomides, bound and led shamefully toward his death.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what misadventure is befallen him that he is thus led toward his death? Yet, pardieu,' said Sir Lancelot, 'it were shame to me to suffer this noble knight thus to die and I might help him; and therefore I will help him whatsoever come of it, or else I shall die for his sake.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot mounted on his horse and got his spear in his hand, and rode after the twelve knights which led Sir Palomides.\n\n'Fair knights,' said Sir Lancelot, 'whither lead ye that knight? For it beseemeth him full evil to ride bound.'\n\nThen these twelve knights turned suddenly their horses and said to Sir Lancelot, 'Sir knight, we counsel thee not to meddle of this knight, for he hath deserved death, and unto death he is judged.'\n\n'That me repenteth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that I may not borrow him with fairness, for he is over good a knight to die such a shameful death. And therefore, fair knights,' said Sir Lancelot, 'then keep you as well as ye can, for I will rescue that knight or else die for it.'\n\nThen they began to dress their spears, and Sir Lancelot smote the foremost down, horse and man, and so he served three more with one spear; and then that spear brast, and therewith Sir Lancelot drew his sword, and then he smote on the right hand and on the left hand. And so within a while he left none of those knights but he had laid them to the earth, and the most part of them were sore wounded. And then Sir Lancelot took the best horse, and loosed Sir Palomides and set him upon that horse; and so they returned again unto Joyous Gard. And then was Sir Palomides ware of Sir Tristram, how he came riding. And when Sir Lancelot saw him he knew him well, but Sir Tristram knew not him because he had on his shoulder a golden shield. So Sir Lancelot made him ready to joust with Sir Tristram, because he should not ween that he were Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen Sir Palomides cried aloud to Sir Tristram and said, 'Ah, my lord, I require you, joust not with this knight, for he hath saved me from my death.'\n\nWhen Sir Tristram heard him say so he came a soft trotting pace toward him. And then Sir Palomides said, 'My lord Sir Tristram, much am I beholden unto you of your great goodness, that would proffer your noble body to rescue me undeserved, for I have greatly offended you. Notwithstanding,' said Sir Palomides, 'here met we with this noble knight that worshipfully and manly rescued me from twelve knights, and smote them down all and sore wounded them.'\n\n'Fair knight,' said Sir Tristram unto Sir Lancelot, 'of whence be ye?'\n\n'I am a knight errant,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that rideth to seek many deeds.'\n\n'Sir, what is your name?' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir, at this time I will not tell you.' Then Sir Lancelot said unto Sir Tristram and to Sir Palomides, 'Now are ye met together either with other, and now I will depart from you.'\n\n'Not so,' said Sir Tristram, 'I pray you and require you of knight-hood to ride with me unto my castle.'\n\n'Wit you well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may not ride with you, for I have many deeds to do in other places, that at this time I may not abide with you.'\n\n'Ah, mercy Jesu,' said Sir Tristram, 'I require you as ye be a true knight to the order of knighthood, play you with me this night.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram had a grant of Sir Lancelot; howbeit, though he had not desired him, he would have ridden with them or soon have come after him, for Sir Lancelot came for no other cause into that country but for to see Sir Tristram.\n\nAnd when they were come within Joyous Gard they alit, and their horses were led into a stable. And then they unarmed them; for Sir Lancelot, as soon as his helm was off, Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides knew him. Then Sir Tristram took Sir Lancelot in his arms, and so did La Belle Isode; and Sir Palomides kneeled down upon his knees and thanked Sir Lancelot. And when he saw Sir Palomides kneel, he lightly took him up and said thus: 'Wit thou well, Sir Palomides, that I, and any knight of worship in this land, must of very right succour and rescue so noble a knight as ye are proved and renowned, throughout all this realm endlong and overthwart.'\n\nThen was there great joy among them. And the oftener that Sir Palomides saw La Belle Isode, the heavier he waxed day by day. Then Sir Lancelot within three or four days departed, and with him rode Sir Ector de Maris and Sir Dinadan; and Sir Palomides was left there with Sir Tristram a two months and more. But ever Sir Palomides faded and mourned, that all men had marvel wherefore he faded so away. So upon a day, in the dawning, Sir Palomides went into the forest by himself alone; and there he found a well, and then he looked into the well, and in the water he saw his own visage, how he was discoloured and defaded, nothing like as he was.\n\n'Lord Jesu, what may this mean?' said Sir Palomides; and thus he said to himself: 'Ah, Palomides, Palomides, why art thou thus defaded, and ever was wont to be called one of the fairest knights of the world? Forsooth, I will no more live this life, for I love that I may never get nor recover.'\n\nAnd therewith he laid him down by the well, and so began to make a rhyme of La Belle Isode. And in the meanwhile Sir Tristram was ridden into the same forest to chase a hart of grease; but Sir Tristram would not ride an-hunting never more unarmed, because of Sir Breunis sans Pit\u00e9. And so Sir Tristram rode into the forest up and down, and as he rode he heard one sing marvellously loud, and that was Sir Palomides which lay by the well. And then Sir Tristram rode softly thither, for he deemed there was some knight errant which was at the well. And when Sir Tristram came nigh he descended down from his horse and tied his horse fast to a tree; and so he came near on foot, and soon after he was ware where lay Sir Palomides by the well and sang loud and merrily. And ever the complaints were of La Belle Isode, which was marvellously well said, and piteously and full dolefully. And all the whole song Sir Tristram heard word by word; and when he had heard all Sir Palomides' complaint, he was wroth out of measure, and thought for to slay him there as he lay.\n\nThen Sir Tristram remembered himself that Sir Palomides was unarmed, and of so noble a name that Sir Palomides had, and also the noble name that himself had, then he made a restraint of his anger. And so he went unto Sir Palomides a soft pace and said, 'Sir Palomides, I have heard your complaint, and of your treason that ye have owed me long, and wit you well, therefore ye shall die. And if it were not for shame of knighthood thou shouldst not escape my hands, for now I know well thou hast awaited me with treason. And therefore,' said Sir Tristram, 'tell me how thou wilt acquit thee.'\n\n'Sir, I shall acquit me thus: as for Queen La Belle Isode, thou shalt wit that I love her above all other ladies in this world; and well I wot it shall befall by me as for her love as befell the noble knight Sir Kehydius, that died for the love of La Belle Isode. And now, Sir Tristram, I will that ye wit that I have loved La Belle Isode many a long day, and she hath been the causer of my worship; and else I had been the most simplest knight in the world, for by her, and because of her, I have won the worship that I have. For when I remembered me of Queen Isode I won the worship wheresoever I came, for the most part, and yet I had never reward nor bounty of her days of my life, and yet I have been her knight long guerdonless. And therefore, Sir Tristram, as for any death I dread not, for I had as lief die as live. And if I were armed as ye are, I should lightly do battle with thee.'\n\n'Sir, well have ye uttered your treason,' said Sir Tristram.\n\n'Sir, I have done to you no treason,' said Sir Palomides, 'for love is free for all men, and though I have loved your lady, she is my lady as well as yours. Howbeit that I have wrong if any wrong be, for ye rejoice her and have your desire of her; and so had I never, nor never am like to have, and yet shall I love her to the uttermost days of my life as well as ye.'\n\nThen said Sir Tristram, 'I will fight with you to the uttermost.'\n\n'I grant,' said Sir Palomides, 'for in a better quarrel keep I never to fight. For and I die of your hands, of a better knight's hands might I never be slain. And sithen I understand that I shall never rejoice La Belle Isode, I have as good will to die as to live.'\n\n'Then set ye a day,' said Sir Tristram, 'that we shall do battle.'\n\n'Sir, this day fifteen days,' said Sir Palomides, 'I will meet with you hereby, in the meadow under Joyous Gard.'\n\n'Now fie, for shame,' said Sir Tristram, 'will ye set so long a day? Let us fight tomorrow.'\n\n'Not so,' said Sir Palomides, 'for I am meagre, and have been long sick for the love of La Belle Isode; and therefore I will repose me till I have my strength again.'\n\nSo then Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides promised faithfully to meet at the well that day fifteen days.\n\nRight so departed Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides.\n\nAnd so in the meanwhile Sir Tristram chased and hunted at all manner of venery; and about three days before the battle that should be, as Sir Tristram chased a hart, there was an archer shot at the hart, and by misfortune he smote Sir Tristram in the thick of the thigh, and the same arrow slew Sir Tristram's horse under him. When Sir Tristram was so hurt he was passing heavy, and wit ye well he bled passing sore; and then he took another horse and rode unto Joyous Gard with great heaviness, more for the promise that he had made with Sir Palomides to do battle with him within three days after.\n\nAnd so when the fifteenth day was come, Sir Palomides came to the well with four knights with him of King Arthur's court and three sergeants-of-arms. And for this intent Sir Palomides brought those knights with him and the sergeants-of-arms, for they should bear record of the battle betwixt Sir Tristram and him. And one sergeant brought in his helm, and the other his spear, and the third his sword. So Sir Palomides came into the field, and there he abode nigh two hours; and then he sent a squire unto Sir Tristram and desired him to come into the field to hold his promise.\n\nWhen the squire was come unto Joyous Gard, anon as Sir Tristram heard of his coming he let command that the squire should come to his presence there as he lay in his bed.\n\n'My lord Sir Tristram,' said Sir Palomides' squire, 'wit you well, my lord Sir Palomides abideth you in the field, and he would wit whether ye would do battle or not.'\n\n'Ah, my fair brother,' said Sir Tristram, 'wit you well that I am right heavy for these tidings. But tell your lord Sir Palomides, and I were well at ease I would not lie here, neither he should have no need to send for me and I might either ride or go. And for thou shalt see that I am no liar'\u2014Sir Tristram showed him his thigh, and the deepness of the wound was six inches deep. 'And now thou hast seen my hurt, tell thy lord that this is no feigned matter, and tell him that I had liever than all the gold that King Arthur hath that I were whole. And let him wit that as for me, as soon as I may ride I shall seek him endlong and overthwart this land, and that I promise you as I am a true knight. And if ever I may meet him, tell your lord Sir Palomides, he shall have of me his fill of battle.'\n\nAnd so the squire departed. And when Sir Palomides knew that Sir Tristram was hurt, then he said thus: 'Truly, I am glad of his hurt, and for this cause: for now I am sure I shall have no shame. For I wot well, and we had meddled, I should have had hard handling of him; and by likelihood I must needs have had the worse, for he is the hardest knight in battle that now is living except Sir Lancelot.' And then departed Sir Palomides where as fortune led him.\n\nAnd within a month Sir Tristram was whole of his hurt; and then he took his horse and rode from country to country, and all strange adventures he achieved wheresoever he rode. And always he enquired for Sir Palomides, but of all that quarter of summer Sir Tristram could never meet with Sir Palomides.\n\nBut thus as Sir Tristram sought and enquired after Sir Palomides, Sir Tristram achieved many great battles, wherethrough all the noise and bruit fell to Sir Tristram, and the name ceased of Sir Lancelot. And therefore Sir Lancelot's brethren and his kinsmen would have slain Sir Tristram because of his fame. But when Sir Lancelot wist how his kinsmen were set, he said to them openly, 'Wit you well that and any of you all be so hardy to await my lord Sir Tristram with any hurt, shame, or villainy, as I am true knight I shall slay the best of you all with mine own hands. Alas, fie for shame, should ye for his noble deeds await to slay him! Jesu defend', said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever any noble knight as Sir Tristram is should be destroyed with treason.'\n\nSo of this noise and fame sprang into Cornwall and unto them of Lyonesse, whereof they were passing glad and made great joy. And then they of Lyonesse sent letters unto Sir Tristram of recommendation, and many great gifts to maintain Sir Tristram's estate. And ever between, Sir Tristram resorted unto Joyous Gard where as La Belle Isode was, that loved him ever.\n\nNow leave we Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, and speak we of Sir Lancelot du Lake, and of Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot's son, how he was begotten, and in what manner, as the book of French maketh mention.\n\nBefore the time that Sir Galahad was begotten or born, there came in a hermit unto King Arthur upon Whitsunday, as the knights sat at the Table Round. And when the hermit saw the Siege Perilous, he asked the King and all the knights why that siege was void. Then King Arthur for all the knights answered and said, 'There shall never none sit in that siege but one, but if he be destroyed.'\n\nThen said the hermit, 'Sir, wot ye what he is?'\n\n'Nay,' said King Arthur and all the knights, 'we know not who he is yet that shall sit there.'\n\n'Then wot I,' said the hermit. 'For he that shall sit there is yet unborn and unbegotten, and this same year he shall be begotten that shall sit in that Siege Perilous, and he shall win the Sangrail.'\n\nWhen this hermit had made this mention, he departed from the court of King Arthur.\n\nAnd so after this feast Sir Lancelot rode on his adventure, till on a time by adventure he passed over the Pont de Corbin; and there he saw the fairest tower that ever he saw, and thereunder was a fair little town full of people. And all the people, men and women, cried at once, 'Welcome, Sir Lancelot, the flower of knighthood, for by thee we shall be helped out of danger.'\n\n'What mean ye,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ye cry thus upon me?'\n\n'Ah, fair knight,' said they all, 'here is within this tower a dolorous lady that hath been there in pains many winters and days, for ever she boileth in scalding water. And but late,' said all the people, 'Sir Gawain was here and he might not help her, and so he left her in pain still.'\n\n'Peradventure so may I,' said Sir Lancelot, 'leave her in pain as well as Sir Gawain.'\n\n'Nay,' said the people, 'we know well that it is ye, Sir Lancelot, that shall deliver her.'\n\n'Well,' said Lancelot, 'then tell me what I shall do.'\n\nAnd so anon they brought Sir Lancelot into the tower; and when he came to the chamber there as this lady was, the doors of iron unlocked and unbolted. And so Sir Lancelot went into the chamber that was as hot as any stew; and there Sir Lancelot took the fairest lady by the hand that ever he saw, and she was as naked as a needle. And by enchantment Queen Morgan le Fay and the Queen of Northgales had put her there in that pains, because she was called the fairest lady of that country; and there she had been five years, and never might she be delivered out of her pains unto the time the best knight of the world had taken her by the hand.\n\nThen the people brought her clothes; and when she was arrayed, Sir Lancelot thought she was the fairest lady that ever he saw, but if it were Queen Guenivere.\n\nThen this lady said to Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, if it please you, will ye go with me hereby into a chapel, that we may give loving to God?'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'cometh on with me, and I will go with you.'\n\nSo when they came there they gave thankings to God, all the people both learned and lewd, and said, 'Sir knight, since ye have delivered this lady, ye must deliver us also from a serpent, which is here in a tomb.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot took his shield and said, 'Sirs, bring me thither, and what that I may do to the pleasure of God and of you I shall do.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot came thither he saw written upon the tomb with letters of gold that said thus: 'Here shall come a leopard of kings' blood, and he shall slay this serpent; and this leopard shall engender a lion in this foreign country, which lion shall pass all other knights.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot had lifted up the tomb, there came out a horrible and a fiendly dragon spitting wild fire out of his mouth. Then Sir Lancelot drew his sword and fought with that dragon long, and at the last with great pain Sir Lancelot slew that dragon.\n\nAnd therewith came King Pelles, the good and noble king, and saluted Sir Lancelot, and he him again.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said the king, 'what is your name? I require you of your knighthood, tell ye me.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'And my name is King Pelles, king of the foreign country, and cousin nigh unto Joseph of Arimathea.'\n\nAnd then either of them made much of other, and so they went into the castle to take their repast. And anon there came in a dove at a window, and in her mouth there seemed a little censer of gold; and there-with there was such a savour as all the spicery of the world had been there. And forthwith there was upon the table all manner of meats and drinks that they could think upon.\n\nSo there came in a damosel passing fair and young, and she bore a vessel of gold betwixt her hands; and thereto the king kneeled devoutly and said his prayers, and so did all that were there.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what may this mean?'\n\n'Sir,' said the king, 'this is the richest thing that any man hath living, and when this thing goeth abroad, the Round Table shall be broken for a season. And wit you well,' said the king, 'this is the Holy Sangrail that ye have here seen.'\n\nSo the king and Sir Lancelot led their life the most part of that day together. And fain would King Pelles have found the means that Sir Lancelot should have lain by his daughter, fair Elaine, and for this intent: the king knew well that Sir Lancelot should beget a pucel, upon his daughter, which should be called Sir Galahad, the good knight, by whom all the foreign country should be brought out of danger; and by him the Holy Grail should be achieved.\n\nThen came forth a lady that hight Dame Brusen, and she said unto the king, 'Sir, wit you well Sir Lancelot loveth no lady in the world but all only Queen Guenivere; and therefore work ye by my counsel, and I shall make him to lie with your daughter, and he shall not wit but that he lieth by Queen Guenivere.'\n\n'Ah, fair lady,' said the king, 'hope ye that ye may bring this matter about?'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'upon pain of my life let me deal.' For this Dame Brusen was one of the greatest enchanters that was that time in the world. And so anon by Dame Brusen's wit she made one to come to Sir Lancelot that he knew well, and this man brought a ring from Queen Guenivere like as it had come from her. And when Sir Lancelot saw that token, wit you well he was never so fain.\n\n'Where is my lady?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'In the castle of Case,' said the messenger, 'but five miles hence.'\n\nThen thought Sir Lancelot to be there the same night. And then this Dame Brusen, by the commandment of King Pelles, let send Elaine to this castle with five and twenty knights. Then Sir Lancelot against night rode unto the castle, and there anon he was received worshipfully with such people to his seeming as were about Queen Guenivere secret.\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot was alit, he asked where the queen was; so Dame Brusen said she was in her bed. And then the people were avoided, and Sir Lancelot was led into her chamber. And then Dame Brusen brought Sir Lancelot a cup of wine, and anon as he had drunk that wine he was so besotted and mad that he might make no delay; but without any let he went to bed, and so he weened that maiden Elaine had been Queen Guenivere. And wit you well that Sir Lancelot was glad, and so was that lady Elaine that she had got Sir Lancelot in her arms; for well she knew that that same night should be begotten Sir Galahad upon her, that should prove the best knight of the world. And so they lay together until undern of the morn; and all the windows and holes of that chamber were stopped that no manner of day might be seen. And anon Sir Lancelot remembered him, and arose up and went to the window; and anon as he had unshut the window the enchantment was passed. Then he knew himself, that he had done amiss.\n\n'Alas,' he said, 'that I have loved so long, for now I am shamed!'\n\nAnd anon he got his sword in his hand and said, 'Thou traitress, what art thou that I have lain by all this night? Thou shalt die right here of my hands.'\n\nThen this fair lady Elaine skipped out of her bed all naked and said, 'Fair courteous knight Sir Lancelot,'\u2014kneeling before him\u2014'ye are come of kings' blood, and therefore I require you have mercy upon me, and as thou art renowned the most noble knight of the world, slay me not; for I have in my womb begotten of thee that shall be the most noblest knight of the world.'\n\n'Ah, false traitress, why hast them betrayed me? Tell me anon', said Sir Lancelot, 'what thou art.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I am Elaine, the daughter of King Pelles.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will forgive you.' And therewith he took her up in his arms and kissed her, for she was a fair lady, and thereto lusty and young, and wise as any was that time living.\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may not wite you; but her that made this enchantment upon me and between you and me, and I may find her, that same lady Dame Brusen shall lose her head for her witchcrafts, for there was never knight deceived as I am this night.'\n\nThen she said, 'My lord Sir Lancelot, I beseech you see me as soon as ye may, for I have obeyed me unto the prophecy that my father told me. And by his commandment to fulfil this prophecy I have given thee the greatest riches and the fairest flower that ever I had, and that is my maidenhood that I shall never have again; and therefore, gentle knight, owe me your good will.'\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot arrayed him and armed him, and took his leave mildly at that lady young Elaine. And so he departed, and rode to the castle of Corbin, where her father was.\n\nAnd as fast as her time came she was delivered of a fair child, and they christened him Galahad; and wit you well, that child was well kept and well nourished. And he was so named Galahad because Sir Lancelot was so named at the fountain stone; and after that, the Lady of the Lake confirmed him Sir Lancelot du Lake.\n\nAnd so the noise sprang in King Arthur's court that Sir Lancelot had begotten a child upon Elaine, the daughter of King Pelles; wherefore Queen Guenivere was wroth, and she gave many rebukes to Sir Lancelot, and called him false knight. And then Sir Lancelot told the Queen all, and how he was made to lie by her 'in the likeness of you, my lady the queen'. And so the Queen held Sir Lancelot excused.\n\nAnd as the book saith, King Arthur had been in France, and had warred upon the mighty king Claudas and had won much of his lands. And when the King was come again he let cry a great feast, that all lords and ladies of all England should be there but if it were such as were rebellious against him.\n\nAnd when Dame Elaine, the daughter of King Pelles, heard of this feast she yode to her father and required him that he would give her leave to ride to that feast.\n\nThe king answered and said, 'I will that ye go thither, but in any wise as ye love me and will have my blessing, look that ye be well beseen in the richest wise, and look that ye spare not for no cost. Ask, and ye shall have all that needeth unto you.'\n\nThen by the advice of Dame Brusen, her maiden, all thing was apparelled unto the purpose, that there was never no lady richlier beseen. So she rode with twenty knights and ten ladies and gentle-women, to the number of a hundred horses; and when she came to Camelot, King Arthur and Queen Guenivere said with all the knights that Dame Elaine was the best beseen lady that ever was seen in that court.\n\nAnd anon as King Arthur wist that she was come he met her and saluted her, and so did the most part of all the knights of the Round Table, both Sir Tristram, Sir Bleoberis, and Sir Gawain, and many more that I will not rehearse. But when Sir Lancelot saw her he was so ashamed, because he drew his sword to her on the morn after that he had lain by her, that he would not salute her nor speak with her; and yet Sir Lancelot thought she was the fairest woman that ever he saw in his life days. But when Dame Elaine saw Sir Lancelot would not speak unto her, she was so heavy she weened her heart would have to-brast; for wit you well, out of measure she loved him. And then Dame Elaine said unto her woman, Dame Brusen, 'The unkindness of Sir Lancelot near slayeth my heart.'\n\n'Ah, peace, madam,' said Dame Brusen, 'I shall undertake that this night he shall lie with you, and ye will hold you still.'\n\n'That were me liever', said Dame Elaine, 'than all the gold that is above earth.'\n\n'Let me deal,' said Dame Brusen.\n\nSo when Dame Elaine was brought unto the Queen, either made other good cheer as by countenance, but nothing with their hearts. But all men and women spoke of the beauty of Dame Elaine. And then it was ordained that Dame Elaine should sleep in a chamber nigh by the Queen, and all under one roof; and so it was done as the King commanded. Then the Queen sent for Sir Lancelot and bade him come to her chamber that night, 'Or else,' said the Queen, 'I am sure that ye will go to your lady's bed, Dame Elaine, by whom ye begot Galahad.'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'never say ye so, for that I did was against my will.'\n\n'Then,' said the Queen, 'look that ye come to me when I send for you.'\n\n'Madam' said Sir Lancelot, 'I shall not fail you, but I shall be ready at your commandment.'\n\nSo this bargain was not so soon done and made between them but Dame Brusen knew it by her crafts, and told it unto her lady Dame Elaine.\n\n'Alas,' said she, 'how shall I do?'\n\n'Let me deal,' said Dame Brusen, 'for I shall bring him by the hand even to your bed, and he shall ween that I am Queen Guenivere's messenger.'\n\n'Then well were me,' said Dame Elaine, 'for all the world I love not so much as I do Sir Lancelot.'\n\nSo when time came that all folks were to bed, Dame Brusen came to Sir Lancelot's bedside and said, 'Sir Lancelot du Lake, sleep ye? My lady Queen Guenivere lieth and awaiteth upon you.'\n\n'Ah, my fair lady,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I am ready to go with you whither ye will have me.'\n\nSo Lancelot threw upon him a long gown, and so he took his sword in his hand; and then Dame Brusen took him by his finger and led him to her lady's bed, Dame Elaine, and then she departed and left them there in bed together. And wit you well this lady was glad, and so was Sir Lancelot, for he weened that he had had another in his arms.\n\nNow leave we them kissing and clipping, as was a kindly thing; and now speak we of Queen Guenivere, that sent one of her women that she most trusted unto Sir Lancelot's bed. And when she came there, she found the bed cold, and he was not therein; and so she came to the Queen and told her all.\n\n'Alas,' said the Queen, 'where is that false knight become?'\n\nSo the Queen was nigh out of her wit, and then she writhed and weltered as a mad woman, and might not sleep four or five hours.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot had a condition, that he used of custom to clatter in his sleep and to speak often of his lady Queen Guenivere. So Sir Lancelot had waked as long as it had pleased him, and so by course of kind he slept and Dame Elaine both. And in his sleep he talked and clattered as a jay of the love that had been betwixt Queen Guenivere and him; and so he talked so loud that the Queen heard him there as she lay in her chamber, and when she heard him so clatter she was wroth out of measure. And then she coughed so loud that Sir Lancelot awaked, and anon he knew her hemming, and then he knew well that he lay by the lady Elaine; and therewith he leapt out of his bed as he had been a wood man, in his shirt. And anon the Queen met him in the floor, and thus she said: 'Ah, thou false traitor knight, look thou never abide in my court, and lightly that thou void my chamber! And not so hardy, thou false traitor knight, that evermore thou come in my sight.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot; and therewith he took such a heartly sorrow at her words that he fell down to the floor in a swoon. And there-with Queen Guenivere departed; and when Sir Lancelot awoke out of his swoon, he leapt out at a bay window into a garden, and there with thorns he was all to-scratched of his visage and his body. And so he ran forth he knew not whither, and was as wild as ever was man; and so he ran two years, and never man had grace to know him.\n\nNow turn we unto Queen Guenivere and to the fair lady Elaine, that when Dame Elaine heard the Queen so rebuke Sir Lancelot, and how also he swooned and how he leapt out of the bay window\u2014then she said unto Queen Guenivere, 'Madam, ye are greatly to blame for Sir Lancelot, for now have ye lost him, for I saw and heard by his countenance that he is mad for ever. And therefore alas, madam, ye have done great sin and yourself great dishonour, for ye have a lord royal of your own, and therefore it were your part for to love him; for there is no queen in this world that hath such another king as ye have. And if ye were not, I might have got the love of my lord Sir Lancelot; and a great cause I have to love him, for he had my maidenhood, and by him I have borne a fair son whose name is Sir Galahad; and he shall be in his time the best knight of the world.'\n\n'Well, Dame Elaine,' said the Queen, 'as soon as it is daylight I charge you to avoid my court. And for the love ye owe unto Sir Lancelot, discover not his counsel, for and ye do, it will be his death.'\n\n'As for that,' said Dame Elaine, 'I dare undertake he is marred for ever, and that have you made. For neither ye nor I are likely to rejoice him, for he made the most piteous groans when he leapt out at yonder bay window that ever I heard man make. Alas,' said fair Elaine, and 'Alas,' said the Queen, 'for now I wot well that we have lost him for ever.'\n\nSo on the morn Dame Elaine took her leave to depart and would no longer abide. Then King Arthur brought her on her way with more than a hundred knights throughout a forest; and by the way she told Sir Bors de Ganis all how it betided that same night, and how Sir Lancelot leapt out at a window araged out of his wit.\n\n'Alas,' then said Sir Bors, 'where is my lord Sir Lancelot become?'\n\n'Sir,' said Dame Elaine, 'I wot not where.'\n\n'Now alas,' said Sir Bors, 'betwixt you both ye have destroyed a good knight.'\n\n'As for me, sir' said Dame Elaine, 'I said never nor did thing that should in any wise displease him. But with the rebuke, sir, that Queen Guenivere gave him I saw him swoon to the earth; and when he awoke he took his sword in his hand, naked save his shirt, and leapt out at a window with the grisliest groan that ever I heard man make.'\n\n'Now farewell, Dame Elaine,' said Sir Bors, 'and hold my lord King Arthur with a tale as long as ye can, for I will turn again unto Queen Guenivere and give her a hete. And I require you, as ever ye will have my service, make good watch and espy if ever it may happen you to see my lord Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Truly,' said Dame Elaine, 'I shall do all that I may do, for I would lose my life for him rather than he should be hurt.'\n\n'Madam,' said Dame Brusen, 'let Sir Bors depart and hie him as fast as he may to seek Sir Lancelot, for I warn you he is clean out of his mind; and yet he shall be well helped, and but by miracle.'\n\nThen wept Dame Elaine, and so did Sir Bors de Ganis, and anon they departed. And Sir Bors rode straight unto Queen Guenivere; and when she saw Sir Bors she wept as she were wood.\n\n'Now fie on your weeping,' said Sir Bors de Ganis, 'for ye weep never but when there is no boot. Alas,' said Sir Bors, 'that ever Sir Lancelot or any of his blood ever saw you, for now have ye lost the best knight of our blood, and he that was all our leader and our succour. And I dare say and make it good that all kings, christened nor heathen, may not find such a knight, for to speak of his nobleness and courtesy, with his beauty and his gentleness. Alas,' said Sir Bors, 'what shall we do that be of his blood?'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Ector de Maris, and 'Alas,' said Sir Lionel.\n\nAnd when the Queen heard them say so she fell to the earth in a dead swoon. And then Sir Bors took her up, and dawed her; and when she was awaked she kneeled before those three knights and held up both hands and besought them to seek him, 'and spare not for no goods but that he be found, for I wot well that he is out of his mind.'\n\nAnd Sir Bors, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel departed from the Queen, for they might not abide no longer for sorrow. And then the Queen sent them treasure enough for their expense, and so they took their horses and their armour and departed. And then they rode from country to country, in forests and in wildernesses and in wastes; and ever they laid watch both at forests and at all manner of men as they rode, to hearken and to spere after him, as he that was a naked man, in his shirt, with a sword in his hand. And thus they rode nigh a quarter of a year, endlong and overthwart, and never could hear word of him; and wit you well, these three knights were passing sorry. And so at the last Sir Bors and his fellows met with a knight that hight Sir Melion de Tartare.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Bors, 'whither be ye away?'\u2014for they knew each other aforetime.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Melion, 'I am in the way to the court of King Arthur.'\n\n'Then we pray you,' said Sir Bors, 'that ye will tell my lord Arthur and my lady Queen Guenivere, and all the fellowship of the Round Table, that we cannot in no wise hear tell where Sir Lancelot is become.'\n\nThen Sir Melion departed from them, and said that he would tell the King and the Queen and all the fellowship of the Round Table as they had desired him.\n\nAnd when Sir Melion came to the court he told the King and the Queen and all the fellowship as they had desired him, how Sir Bors had said of Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Gawain, Sir Uwain, Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Agloval, and Sir Percival de Gales took upon them by the great desire of the King, and in especial by the Queen, to seek all England, Wales, and Scotland to find Sir Lancelot, and with them rode eighteen knights more to bear them fellowship; and wit you well, they lacked no manner of spending. And so were they three and twenty knights.\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Lancelot, and speak we of his care and woe, and what pain he there endured; for cold, hunger, and thirst he had plenty.\n\nAnd thus as these noble knights rode together, they by assent departed, and then they rode by two and by three, and by four and by five, and ever they assigned where they should meet.\n\nAnd now will we turn unto Sir Percival that rode long; and in a forest he met a knight with a broken shield and a broken helm, and as soon as either saw other they made them ready to joust. And so they hurtled together with all their might, and they met together so hard that Sir Percival was smitten to the earth; and then Sir Percival arose deliverly, and cast his shield on his shoulder and drew his sword, and bade the other knight alight and do battle unto the uttermost.\n\n'Well, sir, will ye more yet?' said that knight; and therewith he alit, and put his horse from him. And then they came together an easy pace and lashed together with noble swords, and sometimes they struck and sometimes they foined, that either gave other many sad strokes and wounds. And thus they fought nearhand half a day and never rested but little, and there was none of them both that had less wounds but he had fifteen; and they bled so much that it was marvel they stood on their feet. But this knight that fought with Sir Percival was a proved knight and a wise fighting knight, and Sir Percival was young and strong, not knowing in fighting as the other was.\n\nThen Sir Percival spoke first, and said, 'Sir knight, hold thy hand a while, for we have fought over long for a simple matter and quarrel. And therefore I require thee, tell me thy name, for I was never or this time thus matched.'\n\n'So God me help,' said that knight, 'and never or this time was there never knight that wounded me so sore as thou hast done, and yet have I fought in many battles. And now shalt thou wit that I am a knight of the Table Round, and my name is Sir Ector de Maris, brother unto the good knight Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Percival, 'and my name is Sir Percival de Gales, which hath made my quest to seek Sir Lancelot; and now I am sure that I shall never finish my quest, for ye have slain me with your hands.'\n\n'It is not so,' said Sir Ector, 'for I am slain by your hands, and may not live. And therefore I require you,' said Sir Ector unto Sir Percival, 'ride ye here fast by to a priory and bring me a priest that I may receive my Saviour, for I may not live. And when ye come to the court of King Arthur, tell not my brother Sir Lancelot how that ye slew me, for then he will be your mortal enemy. But ye may say that I was slain in my quest as I sought him.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Percival, 'ye say that thing that never will be, for I am so faint for bleeding that I may uneath stand. How should I then take my horse?'\n\nThen they made both great dole out of measure.\n\n'This will not avail,' said Sir Percival, and then he kneeled down and made his prayer devoutly unto Almighty Jesu; for he was one of the best knights of the world at that time, in whom the very faith stood most in. Right so there came by the holy vessel, the Sangrail, with all manner of sweetness and savour; but they could not see readily who bore the vessel. But Sir Percival had a glimmering of the vessel and of the maiden that bore it, for he was a perfect maiden. And forthwith they were as whole of hide and limb as ever they were in their life. Then they gave thankings to God with great mildness.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said Sir Percival, 'what may this mean, that we be thus healed, and right now we were at the point of dying?'\n\n'I wot full well,' said Sir Ector, 'what it is. It is a holy vessel that is borne by a maiden, and therein is a part of the holy blood of Our Lord Jesu Christ. But it may not be seen,' said Sir Ector, 'but if it be by a perfect man.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Percival, 'I saw a damosel, as me thought, all in white, with a vessel in both her hands, and forthwith I was whole.'\n\nSo then they took their horses and their harness, and mended it as well as they might that was broken; and so they mounted up and rode talking together. And there Sir Ector de Maris told Sir Percival how he had sought his brother Sir Lancelot long, and never could hear witting of him; 'In many hard adventures have I been in this quest.'\n\nAnd so either told other of their great adventures. Of Sir Lancelot, that suffered and endured many sharpshowers.\n\nAnd now leave we off a while of Sir Ector and of Sir Percival, and speak we of Sir Lancelot that suffered and endured many sharp showers, that ever ran wild wood from place to place, and lived by fruit and such as he might get, and drank water two years; and other clothing had he but little but in his shirt and his breeches.\n\nAnd thus as Sir Lancelot wandered here and there, he came into a fair meadow where he found a pavilion; and thereby upon a tree there hung a white shield, and two swords hung thereby, and two spears leaned thereby to a tree. And when Sir Lancelot saw the swords, anon he leapt to the one sword and clutched that sword in his hand and drew it out; and then he lashed at the shield that all the meadow rang of the dints, that he gave such a noise as ten knights had fought together. Then came forth a dwarf and leapt unto Sir Lancelot, and would have had the sword out of his hand. And then Sir Lancelot took him by the both shoulders and threw him unto the ground, that he fell upon his neck and had nigh broken it; and therewith the dwarf cried help.\n\nThen there came forth a likely knight, and well apparelled in scarlet furred with minever; and anon as he saw Sir Lancelot, he deemed that he should be out of his wit. And then he said with fair speech, 'Good man, lay down that sword, for as me seemeth thou hadst more need of a sleep and of warm clothes than to wield that sword.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'come not too nigh, for and thou do, wit thou well I will slay thee.'\n\nAnd when the knight of the pavilion saw that, he started backward into his pavilion. And then the dwarf armed him lightly; and so the knight thought by force and might to have taken the sword from Sir Lancelot. And so he came stepping upon him; and when Sir Lancelot saw him come so armed with his sword in his hand, then Sir Lancelot flew to him with such a might and smote him upon the helm such a buffet, that the stroke troubled his brain, and therewith the sword broke in three. And the knight fell to the earth and seemed as he had been dead, the blood bursting out of his mouth, nose, and ears. And then Sir Lancelot ran into the pavilion, and rushed even into the warm bed, and there was a lady that lay in that bed. And anon she got her smock and ran out of the pavilion; and when she saw her lord lie at the ground like to be dead, then she cried and wept as she had been mad. And so with her noise the knight awaked out of his swoon, and looked up weakly with his eyes; and then he asked where was that mad man which had given him such a buffet, 'For such a one had I never of man's hand.'\n\n'Sir,' said the dwarf, 'it is not your worship to hurt him, for he is a man out of his wit; and doubt ye not he hath been a man of great worship, and for some heartly sorrow that he hath taken he is fallen mad. And me seemeth,' said the dwarf, 'that he resembleth much unto Sir Lancelot, for him I saw at the tournament of Lonazep.'\n\n'Jesu defend,' said that knight, 'that ever that noble knight Sir Lancelot should be in such a plight! But whatsoever he be,' said that knight, 'no harm will I do him.'\n\nAnd this knight's name was Sir Bliant, the which said unto the dwarf, 'Go thou fast on horseback unto my brother, Sir Selivant, which is in the Castle Blank, and tell him of my adventure, and bid him bring with him a horse litter; and then will we bear this knight unto my castle.'\n\nSo the dwarf rode fast, and he came again and brought Sir Selivant with him, and six men with a horse litter; and so they took up the feather bed with Sir Lancelot, and so carried all away with them unto the Castle Blank, and he never awaked till he was within the castle. And then they bound his hands and his feet, and gave him good meats and good drinks, and brought him again to his strength and his fairness; but in his wit they could not bring him, nor to know himself. And thus was Sir Lancelot there more than a year and a half, honestly arrayed and fair faren withal.\n\nThen upon a day this lord of that castle, Sir Bliant, took his arms, on horseback with a spear to seek adventures. And as he rode in a forest there met him two knights adventurous: the one was Sir Breunis sans Pit\u00e9, and his brother, Sir Bartelot. And these two ran both at once on Sir Bliant and broke their spears upon his body. And then they drew out their swords and made great battle, and fought long together. But at the last Sir Bliant was sore wounded and felt himself faint, and anon he fled on horseback toward his castle. And as they came hurling under the castle, there was Sir Lancelot at a window and saw how two knights laid upon Sir Bliant with their swords. And when Sir Lancelot saw that, yet as wood as he was, he was sorry for his lord Sir Bliant. And then in a brade Sir Lancelot broke his chains off his legs and off his arms, and in the breaking he hurt his hands sore; and so Sir Lancelot ran out at a postern, and there he met with those two knights that chased Sir Bliant. And there he pulled down Sir Bartelot with his bare hands from his horse, and therewith he wrothe out the sword out of his hand; and so he leapt unto Sir Breunis, and gave him such a buffet upon the head that he tumbled backward over his horse's croup. And when Sir Bartelot saw his brother have such a buffet, he got a spear in his hand and would have run Sir Lancelot through; and that saw Sir Bliant, and struck off the hand of Sir Bartelot. And then Sir Breunis and Sir Bartelot got their horses and fled away as fast as they might.\n\nSo when Sir Selivant came and saw what Sir Lancelot had done for his brother, then he thanked God, and so did his brother, that ever they did him any good. But when Sir Bliant saw that Sir Lancelot was hurt with the breaking of his irons, then was he heavy that ever he bound him.\n\n'I pray you, brother Sir Selivant, bind him no more, for he is happy and gracious.'\n\nThen they made great joy of Sir Lancelot; and so he abode there-after a half year and more.\n\nAnd so on a morn, Sir Lancelot was ware where came a great boar with many hounds after him. But the boar was so big there might no hounds tarry him; and the hunters came after, blowing their horns, both upon horseback and some upon foot. And then Sir Lancelot was ware where one alit and tied his horse to a tree and leaned his spear against the tree. So there came Sir Lancelot and found the horse, and a good sword tied to the saddle bow; and anon Sir Lancelot leapt into the saddle and got that spear in his hand, and then he rode fast after the boar. And anon he was ware where he set his arse to a rock fast by a hermitage. And then Sir Lancelot ran at the boar with his spear and all to-shivered his spear; and therewith the boar turned him lightly, and rove out the lungs and the heart of the horse, that Sir Lancelot fell to the earth. And or ever he might get from his horse, the boar smote him on the brawn of the thigh up unto the hough bone. And then Sir Lancelot was wroth, and up he got upon his feet, and took his sword and smote off the boar's head at one stroke. And therewith came out the hermit, and saw him have such a wound; anon he bemoaned him, and would have had him home unto his hermitage. But when Sir Lancelot heard him speak, he was so wroth with his wound that he ran upon the hermit to have slain him. Then the hermit ran away; and when Sir Lancelot might not overget him, he threw his sword after him, for he might no further for bleeding. Then the hermit turned again and asked Sir Lancelot how he was hurt.\n\n'Ah, my fellow,' said Sir Lancelot, 'this boar hath bitten me sore.'\n\n'Then come ye with me,' said the hermit, 'and I shall heal you.'\n\n'Go thy way,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and deal not with me.'\n\nThen the hermit ran his way, and there he met with a goodly knight.\n\n'Sir,' said the hermit, 'here is fast by my place the goodliest man that ever I saw, and he is sore wounded with a boar, and yet he hath slain the boar. But well I wot,' said the good man, 'and he be not helped, he shall die of that wound, and that were great pity.'\n\nThen that knight at the desire of the hermit got a cart, and therein he put the boar and Sir Lancelot; for he was so feeble that they might right easily deal with him. And so Sir Lancelot was brought unto the hermitage, and there the hermit healed him of his wound. But the hermit might not find him his sustenance, and so he impaired and waxed feeble both of body and of his wit; for default of sustenance he waxed more wooder than he was aforetime.\n\nAnd then upon a day Sir Lancelot ran his way into the forest; and by adventure he came to the city of Corbin, where Dame Elaine was, that bore Galahad, Sir Lancelot's son. And so when he was entered into the town he ran through the town to the castle; and then all the young men of that city ran after Sir Lancelot, and there they threw turfs at him and gave him many sad strokes. And ever as Sir Lancelot might reach any of them, he threw them so that they would never come in his hands no more, for of some he broke the legs and arms, and so he fled into the castle; and then came out knights and squires and rescued Sir Lancelot. When they beheld him and looked upon his person, they thought they saw never so goodly a man, and when they saw so many wounds upon him, they deemed that he had been a man of worship. And then they ordained him clothes to his body, and straw and litter under the gate of the castle to lie in; and so every day they would throw him meat and set him drink. But there was but few that would bring him meat to his hands.\n\nSo it befell that King Pelles had a nephew whose name was Castor; and so he desired of the king to be made knight, and at his own request the king made him knight at the feast of Candlemas. And when Sir Castor was made knight, that same day he gave many gowns. And then Sir Castor sent for the fool, which was Sir Lancelot; and when he was come before Sir Castor, he gave Sir Lancelot a robe of scarlet and all that longed unto him. And when Sir Lancelot was so arrayed like a knight, he was the seemliest man in all the court, and none so well made.\n\nSo when he saw his time he went into the garden, and there he laid him down by a well and slept. And so at after noon Dame Elaine and her maidens came into the garden to sport them; and as they roamed up and down one of Dame Elaine's maidens espied where lay a goodly man by the well sleeping.\n\n'Peace,' said Dame Elaine, 'and say no word, but show me that man where he lieth.'\n\nSo anon she brought Dame Elaine where he lay. And when that she beheld him, anon she fell in remembrance of him and knew him verily for Sir Lancelot; and therewith she fell on weeping so heartily that she sank even to the earth. And when she had thus wept a great while, then she arose and called her maidens and said she was sick. And so she yode out of the garden as straight to her father as she could, and there she took him by herself apart; and then she said, 'Ah, my dear father, now have I need of your help, and but if that ye help me now, farewell my good days for ever.'\n\n'What is that, daughter?' said King Pelles.\n\n'In your garden I was to sport me, and there by the well I found Sir Lancelot du Lake sleeping.'\n\n'I may not believe it,' said King Pelles.\n\n'Truly, sir, he is there,' she said, 'and me seemeth he should be yet distract out of his wit.'\n\n'Then hold you still,' said the king, 'and let me deal.'\n\nThen the king called unto him such as he most trusted, a four persons, and Dame Elaine, his daughter, and Dame Brusen, her servant. And when they came to the well and beheld Sir Lancelot, anon Dame Brusen said to the king, 'We must be wise how we deal with him, for this knight is out of his mind; and if we awake him rudely, what he will do we all know not. And therefore abide ye a while, and I shall throw an enchantment upon him that he shall not awake of an hour.' And so she did. And then the king commanded that all people should avoid, that none should be in that way there as the king would come.\n\nAnd so when this was done, these four men and these ladies laid hand on Sir Lancelot, and so they bore him into a tower and so into a chamber where was the holy vessel of the Sangrail, and before that holy vessel was Sir Lancelot laid. And there came an holy man and unbilled that vessel, and so by miracle and by virtue of that holy vessel Sir Lancelot was healed and recovered. And as soon as he was awaked he groaned and sighed, and complained him sore of his woodness and strokes that he had had. And as soon as Sir Lancelot saw King Pelles and Dame Elaine, he waxed ashamed and said thus, 'Ah, Lord Jesu, how I came hither? For God's sake, my fair lord, let me wit how that I came hither.'\n\n'Sir,' said Dame Elaine, 'into this country ye came like a mazed man, clean out of your wit. And here have ye been kept as a fool; and no creature here knew what ye were, until by fortune a maiden of mine brought me unto you where as ye lay sleeping by a well. And anon as I verily beheld you, then I told my father; and so were ye brought before this holy vessel, and by the virtue of it thus were ye healed.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu, mercy,' said Sir Lancelot. 'If this be sooth, how many be there that knoweth of my woodness?'\n\n'So God me help,' said Dame Elaine, 'no more but my father, and I, and Dame Brusen.'\n\n'Now for Christ's love,' said Sir Lancelot, 'keep it counsel, and let no man know it in the world; for I am sore ashamed that I have been misfortuned, for I am banished the country of England.'\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot lay more than a fortnight or ever that he might stir for soreness. And then upon a day he said unto Dame Elaine these words: 'Fair lady Elaine, for your sake I have had much care and anguish\u2014it needeth not to rehearse it, ye know how. Notwithstanding I know well I have done foully to you when that I drew my sword to you to have slain you upon the morn after when that I had lain with you, and all was for the cause that ye and Dame Brusen made me for to lie by you maugre my head; and as ye say, Sir Galahad your son was begotten.'\n\n'That is truth,' said Dame Elaine.\n\n'Then will ye for my sake,' said Sir Lancelot, 'go unto your father and get me a place of him wherein I may dwell? For in the court of King Arthur may I never come.'\n\n'Sir,' said Dame Elaine, 'I will live and die with you, only for your sake; and if my life might not avail you and my death might avail you, wit you well I would die for your sake. And I will to my father, and I am right sure there is nothing that I can desire of him but I shall have it. And where ye be, my lord Sir Lancelot, doubt ye not but I will be with you, with all the service that I may do.'\n\nSo forthwith she went to her father and said, 'Sir, my lord Sir Lancelot desireth to be here by you in some castle of yours.'\n\n'Well, daughter,' said the king, 'sithen it is his desire to abide in these marches he shall be in the castle of Bliant, and there shall ye be with him, and twenty of the fairest young ladies that be in this country, and they shall be all of the greatest blood in this country, and ye shall have twenty knights with you; for, daughter, I will that ye wit we all be honoured by the blood of Sir Lancelot.'\n\nThen went Dame Elaine unto Sir Lancelot, and told him all how her father had devised.\n\nThen came a knight which was called Sir Castor, that was nephew unto King Pelles, and he came unto Sir Lancelot and asked him what was his name.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'my name is \"Le Chevaler Malfait\"\u2014that is to say, \"the knight that hath trespassed\".'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Castor, 'it may well be so. But ever me seemeth your name should be Sir Lancelot du Lake, for or now I have seen you.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye are not gentle; for I put a case that my name were Sir Lancelot and that it list me not to discover my name, what should it grieve you here to keep my counsel, and ye not hurt thereby? But wit you well, and ever it lie in my power, I shall grieve you and ever I meet with you in my way.'\n\nThen Sir Castor kneeled down and besought Sir Lancelot of mercy, 'for I shall never utter what ye be while that ye are in these parts.' Then Sir Lancelot pardoned him.\n\nAnd so King Pelles with twenty knights and Dame Elaine with her twenty ladies rode unto the castle of Bliant, that stood in an island beclosed environ with a fair water deep and large. And when they were there Sir Lancelot let call it the Joyous Isle; and there was he called none otherwise but Le Chevaler Malfait, 'the knight that hath trespassed'.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot let make him a shield all of sable, and a queen crowned in the midst of silver, and a knight clean armed kneeling before her. And every day once, for any mirths that all the ladies might make him, he would once every day look toward the realm of Logris, where King Arthur and Queen Guenivere was; and then would he fall upon a weeping as his heart should to-brast.\n\nSo it befell that time Sir Lancelot heard of a jousting fast by, within three leagues. Then he called unto him a dwarf, and he bade him go unto that jousting: 'And or ever the knights depart, look that thou make there a cry in hearing of all knights, that there is one knight in Joyous Isle, which is the castle of Bliant, and say that his name is Le Chevaler Malfait, that will joust against knights all that will come. And who that putteth that knight to the worse, he shall have a fair maiden and a gerfalcon.'\n\nSo when this cry was cried, unto Joyous Isle drew the number of five hundred knights. And wit you well, there was never seen in King Arthur's days one knight that did so much deeds of arms as Sir Lancelot did three days together; for as the book maketh truly mention, he had the better of all the five hundred knights, and there was not one slain of them. And after that Sir Lancelot made them all a great feast.\n\nAnd in the meanwhile came Sir Percival de Gales and Sir Ector de Maris under that castle which was called the Joyous Isle. And as they beheld that gay castle they would have gone to that castle, but they might not for the broad water, and bridge could they find none. Then were they ware on the other side where stood a lady with a sparrowhawk on her hand, and Sir Percival called unto her and asked that lady who was in that castle.\n\n'Fair knights,' she said, 'here within this castle is the fairest lady in this land, and her name is Dame Elaine. Also we have in this castle one of the fairest knights and the mightiest man that is I dare say living, and he calleth himself Le Chevaler Malfait.'\n\n'How came he into these marches?' said Sir Percival.\n\n'Truly,' said the damosel, 'he came into this country like a mad man, with dogs and boys chasing him through the city of Corbin, and by the holy vessel of the Sangrail he was brought into his wit again. But he will not do battle with no knight but by undern or noon. And if ye list to come into the castle,' said the lady, 'ye must ride unto the further side of the castle, and there shall ye find a vessel that will bear you and your horse.'\n\nThen they departed, and came unto the vessel. And then Sir Percival alit, and said unto Sir Ector de Maris, 'Ye shall abide me here until that I wit what manner a knight he is; for it were shame unto us, inasmuch as he is but one knight, and we should both do battle with him.'\n\n'Do as ye list,' said Sir Ector, 'and here I shall abide you until that I hear of you.'\n\nThen passed Sir Percival the water, and when he came to the castle gate he said unto the porter, 'Go thou to the good knight of this castle, and tell him here is come an errant knight to joust with him.'\n\nThen the porter yode in and came again, and bade him ride 'into the common place there as the jousting shall be, where lords and ladies may behold you'.\n\nAnd so anon as Sir Lancelot had a warning he was soon ready, and there Sir Percival and Sir Lancelot were come both. They encountered with such a might, and their spears were so rude, that both the horses and the knights fell to the ground. Then they avoided their horses and flung out their noble swords, and hewed away many cantles of their shields, and so hurtled together like two boars, and either wounded other passing sore. And so at the last Sir Percival spoke first, when they had fought there long, more than two hours.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Percival, 'I require you of your knight-hood to tell me your name, for I met never with such another knight.'\n\n'Sir, as for my name,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will not hide it from you, but my name is Le Chevaler Malfait. Now tell me your name,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I require you.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Percival, 'my name is Sir Percival de Gales, that was brother unto the good knight Sir Lamorak de Gales; and King Pellinore was our father, and Sir Agloval is my brother.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what have I done to fight with you, which are a knight of the Table Round?\u2014and some time I was your fellow.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot kneeled down upon his knees, and threw away his shield and his sword from him. When Sir Percival saw him do so, he marvelled what he meant, and then he said thus: 'Sir knight, whatsoever ye be, I require you upon the high order of knighthood to tell me your true name.'\n\nThen he answered and said, 'So God me help, my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, King Ban's son of Benwick.'\n\n'Alas,' then said Sir Percival, 'what have I now done? For I was sent by the Queen for to seek you, and so I have sought you nigh these two years; and yonder is Sir Ector de Maris, your brother, which abideth me on the yonder side of the water. And therefore, for God's sake,' said Sir Percival, 'forgive me my offences that I have here done.'\n\n'Sir, it is soon forgiven,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen Sir Percival sent for Sir Ector de Maris, and when Sir Lancelot had a sight of him, he ran unto him and took him in his arms; and then Sir Ector kneeled down, and either wept upon other, that all men had pity to behold them.\n\nThen came forth Dame Elaine; and she made them great cheer as might be made. And there she told Sir Ector and Sir Percival how and in what manner Sir Lancelot came into that country, and how he was healed. And there it was known how long Sir Lancelot was with Sir Bliant and with Sir Selivant, and how he first met with them, and departed from them because he was hurt with a boar; and how the hermit healed him of his great wound, and how that he came to the city of Corbin.\n\nSo it befell on a day that Sir Ector and Sir Percival came unto Sir Lancelot and asked of him what he would do, and whether he would go with them unto King Arthur.\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that may I not do by no means, for I was so vengeably defended the court that I cast me never to come there more.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Ector, 'I am your brother, and ye are the man in the world that I love most; and if I understood that it were your disworship, ye may understand I would never counsel you thereto. But King Arthur and all his knights, and in especial Queen Guenivere, maketh such dole and sorrow for you that it is marvel to hear and see. And ye must remember the great worship and renown that ye be of, how that ye have been more spoken of than any other knight that is now living; for there is none that beareth the name now but ye and Sir Tristram. And therefore, brother,' said Sir Ector, 'make you ready to ride to the court with us. And I dare say and make it good,' said Sir Ector, 'it hath cost my lady the queen twenty thousand pound the seeking of you.'\n\n'Well, brother,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will do after your counsel, and ride with you.'\n\nSo then they took their horses and made ready, and anon they took their leave at King Pelles and at Dame Elaine. And when Sir Lancelot should depart, Dame Elaine made great sorrow.\n\n'My lord, Sir Lancelot,' said Dame Elaine, 'this same feast of Pentecost shall your son and mine, Galahad, be made knight, for he is fully now fifteen winters old.'\n\n'Madam, do as ye list,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and God give him grace to prove a good knight.'\n\n'As for that,' said Dame Elaine, 'I doubt not he shall prove the best man of his kin, except one.'\n\n'Then shall he be a good man enough,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo anon they departed, and within fifteen days' journey they came unto Camelot, that is in English called Winchester. And when Sir Lancelot was come among them, the King and all the knights made great joy of his homecoming. And there Sir Percival and Sir Ector de Maris began and told the whole adventures: how Sir Lancelot had been out of his mind in the time of his absence, and how he called himself Le Chevaler Malfait, the knight that had trespassed; and in three days within Joyous Isle Sir Lancelot smote down five hundred knights. And ever as Sir Ector and Sir Percival told these tales of Sir Lancelot, Queen Guenivere wept as she should have died. Then the Queen made him great cheer.\n\n'Ah, Jesu,' said King Arthur, 'I marvel for what cause ye, Sir Lancelot, went out of your mind. For I and many other deem it was for the love of fair Elaine, the daughter of King Pelles, by whom ye are noised that ye have begotten a child, and his name is Galahad; and men say that he shall do many marvellous things.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'if I did any folly, I have that I sought.'\n\nAnd therewith the King spoke no more. But all Sir Lancelot's kin knew for whom he went out of his mind.\n\nAnd then there was made great feasts, and great joy was there among them; and all lords and ladies made great joy when they heard how Sir Lancelot was come again unto the court.\n\nNow will we leave off this matter, and speak we of Sir Tristram, and of Sir Palomides that was the Saracen unchristened.\n\nWhen Sir Tristram was come home unto Joyous Gard from his adventures (and all this while that Sir Lancelot was thus missed, two years and more, Sir Tristram bore the bruit and renown through all the realm of Logris, and many strange adventures befell him, and full well and worshipfully he brought them to an end), so when he was come home La Belle Isode told him of the great feast that should be at Pentecost next following. And there she told him how Sir Lancelot had been missed two years, and all that while he had been out of his mind, and how he was helped by the holy vessel of the Sangrail.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Tristram. 'That caused some debate betwixt him and Queen Guenivere.'\n\n'Sir,' said Dame Isode, 'I know it all, for Queen Guenivere sent me a letter all how it was done, for because I should require you to seek him. And now, blessed be God,' said La Belle Isode, 'he is whole and sound and come again to the court.'\n\n'Ah, Jesu, thereof am I fain,' said Sir Tristram. 'And now shall ye and I make us ready, for both ye and I will be at that feast.'\n\n'Sir,' said Dame Isode, 'and it please you, I will not be there, for through me ye be marked of many good knights, and that causeth you to have much more labour for my sake than needeth you to have.'\n\n'Then will I not be there,' said Sir Tristram, 'but if ye be there.'\n\n'God defend,' said La Belle Isode, 'for then shall I be spoken of shame among all queens and ladies of estate; for ye that are called one of the noblest knights of the world, and a knight of the Round Table, how may ye be missed at that feast? For what shall be said of you among all knights? \"Ah, see how Sir Tristram hunteth, and hawketh, and cowereth within a castle with his lady, and forsaketh us. Alas,\" shall some say, \"it is pity that ever he was made knight, or ever he should have the love of a lady.\" Also, what shall queens and ladies say of me? It is pity that I have my life, that I would hold so noble a knight as ye are from his worship.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Tristram unto La Belle Isode, 'it is passingly well said of you, and nobly counselled! And now I well understand that ye love me, and like as ye have counselled me I will do a part thereafter; but there shall no man nor child ride with me, but myself alone. And so I will ride on Tuesday next coming, and no more harness of war but my spear and my sword.'\n\nAnd so when the day came Sir Tristram took his leave at La Belle Isode, and she sent with him four knights, and within half a mile he sent them again. And within a mile way after, Sir Tristram saw before him where Sir Palomides had struck down a knight, and almost wounded him to the death. Then Sir Tristram repented him that he was not armed, and therewith he hoved still. And anon as Sir Palomides saw Sir Tristram he cried on high, 'Sir Tristram, now be we met, for or we depart we shall redress all our old sores!'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'there was never yet no Christian man that ever might make his boast that ever I fled from him. And wit ye well, Sir Palomides, thou that art a Saracen shall never make thy boast that ever Sir Tristram de Lyonesse shall flee from thee.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Tristram made his horse to run, and with all his might he came straight upon Sir Palomides and brast his spear upon him in a hundred pieces; and forthwith Sir Tristram drew his sword, and then he turned his horse and struck together six strokes upon his helm. And then Sir Palomides stood still and beheld Sir Tristram, and marvelled greatly at his woodness and of his folly.\n\nAnd then Sir Palomides said unto himself, 'And this Sir Tristram were armed, it were hard to cease him from his battle; and if I turn again and slay him, I am shamed wheresoever I go.'\n\nThen Sir Tristram spoke and said, 'Thou coward knight, what casteth thou to do? and why wilt thou not do battle with me? For have thou no doubt I shall endure thee and all thy malice.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Tristram,' said Palomides, 'full well thou wotest I may not have ado with thee for shame, for thou art here naked and I am armed; and if that I slay thee, dishonour shall be mine. And well thou wotest,' said Sir Palomides unto Sir Tristram, 'I know thy strength and thy hardiness to endure against a good knight.'\n\n'That is truth,' said Sir Tristram. 'I understand thy valiantness.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Sir Palomides. 'Now, I require you, tell me a question that I shall say unto you.'\n\n'Then tell me what it is,' said Sir Tristram, 'and I shall answer you of the truth, as God me help.'\n\n'Sir, I put a case,' said Sir Palomides, 'that ye were armed at all rights as well as I am, and I naked as ye be, what would ye do to me now, by your true knighthood?'\n\n'Ah,' said Sir Tristram, 'now I understand thee well, Sir Palomides, for now must I say my own judgement; and as God me bless, that I shall say shall not be said for no fear that I have of thee, Sir Palomides. But this is all: wit thou well, Sir Palomides, as at this time thou shouldst depart from me, for I would not have ado with thee.'\n\n'No more will I,' said Sir Palomides, 'and therefore ride forth on thy way.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Tristram, 'I may choose either to ride or to abide. But Sir Palomides,' said Sir Tristram, 'I marvel greatly of one thing, that thou that art so good a knight, that thou wilt not be christened\u2014and thy brother, Sir Safer, hath been christened many a day.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Palomides, 'I may not yet be christened for a vow that I have made many years ago, howbeit in my heart and in my soul I have had many a day a good belief in Jesu Christ and his mild mother Mary. But I have but one battle to do, and were that once done I would be baptized.'\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Tristram, 'as for one battle, thou shalt not seek it long! For God defend,' said Sir Tristram, 'that through my default thou shouldst longer live thus a Saracen. For yonder is a knight that ye have hurt and smitten down: now help me then that I were armed in his armour, and I shall soon fulfil thy vows.'\n\n'As ye will,' said Palomides, 'so shall it be.'\n\nSo they rode both unto that knight that sat upon a bank, and then Sir Tristram saluted him, and he weakly saluted him again.\n\n'Sir knight,' said Sir Tristram, 'I require you tell me your right name.'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'my right name is Sir Galleron of Galway, and a knight of the Table Round.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Tristram, 'I am right heavy of your hurts. But this is all, I must pray you to lend me your whole armour, for ye see I am unarmed, and I must do battle with this knight.'\n\n'Sir, ye shall have it with a good will, but ye must beware, for I warn you that knight is a hardy knight as ever I met withal. But, sir,' said Sir Galleron, 'I pray you tell me your name, and what is that knight's name that hath beaten me.'\n\n'Sir, as for my name, wit you well it is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse; and as for him, his name is Sir Palomides, brother unto the good knight Sir Safer, and yet is Sir Palomides unchristened.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Galleron, 'that is great pity that so good a knight and so noble a man of arms should be unchristened.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Tristram, 'either he shall slay me or I him, but that he shall be christened or ever we depart in sunder.'\n\n'My lord Sir Tristram,' said Sir Galleron, 'your renown and worship is well known through many realms, and God save you this day from senship and shame!'\n\nThen Sir Tristram unarmed Sir Galleron, the which was a noble knight, and had done many deeds of arms; and he was a large knight of flesh and bone. And when he was unarmed he stood on his feet, for he was sore bruised in the back with a spear; yet as well as Sir Galleron might, he armed Sir Tristram. And then Sir Tristram mounted upon his horse, and in his hand he got Sir Galleron's spear. And therewith Sir Palomides was ready, and so they came hurtling together, and either smote other in midst of their shields; and therewith Sir Palomides' spear broke, and Sir Tristram smote down Sir Palomides, horse and man, to the earth. And then Sir Palomides as soon as he might avoided his horse, and dressed his shield and pulled out his sword. That saw Sir Tristram, and therewith he alit and tied his horse to a tree. And then they came together eagerly as two wild boars, and so they lashed together, tracing and traversing as noble men that often had been well proved in battle. But ever Sir Palomides dreaded passing sore the might of Sir Tristram, and therefore he suffered him to breathe him, and thus they fought more than two hours; but oftentimes Sir Tristram smote such strokes at Sir Palomides that he made him to kneel. And Sir Palomides brake and cut many pieces of Sir Tristram's shield, and then Sir Palomides wounded Sir Tristram passing sore, for he was a well-fighting man.\n\nThen Sir Tristram waxed wood wroth out of measure and rushed upon Sir Palomides with such a might that Sir Palomides fell grovelling to the earth, and therewith he leapt up lightly upon his feet. And then Sir Tristram wounded sore Sir Palomides through the shoulder; and ever Sir Tristram fought still alike hard, and Sir Palomides failed him not but gave him many sad strokes again. And at the last Sir Tristram doubled his strokes upon him; and by fortune Sir Tristram smote Sir Palomides' sword out of his hand, and if Sir Palomides had stooped for his sword he had been slain. And then Sir Palomides stood still and beheld his sword with a sorrowful heart.\n\n'How now,' said Sir Tristram, 'for now I have thee at advantage,' said Sir Tristram, 'as thou hadst me this day; but it shall never be said in no court nor among no good knights that Sir Tristram shall slay any knight that is weaponless. And therefore take thou thy sword, and let us make an end of this battle.'\n\n'As for to do this battle,' said Sir Palomides, 'I dare right well end it; but I have no great lust to fight no more, and for this cause,' said Sir Palomides: 'my offence to you is not so great but that we may be friends, for all that I have offended is and was for the love of La Belle Isode. And as for her, I dare say she is peerless of all other ladies, and also I proffered her never no manner of dishonour; and by her I have gotten the most part of my worship. And sithen I offended never as to her own person, and as for the offence that I have done, it was against your own person, and for that offence ye have given me this day many sad strokes, and some I have given you again; and now I dare say I felt never man of your might, nor so well-breathed, but if it were Sir Lancelot du Lake. Wherefore I require you, my lord, forgive me all that I have offended unto you. And this same day, have me to the next church, and first let me be clean confessed, and after that see yourself that I be truly baptized. And then will we all ride together unto the court of King Arthur, that we may be there at the next high feast following.'\n\n'Then take your horse,' said Sir Tristram, 'and as ye say, so it shall be. And all thy evil will, God forgive it you, and I do. And hereby within this mile is the suffragan of Carlisle, which shall give you the sacrament of baptism.'\n\nAnd anon they took their horses, and Sir Galleron rode with them; and when they came to the suffragan, Sir Tristram told him their desire. Then the suffragan let fill a great vessel with water, and when he had hallowed it he then confessed clean Sir Palomides. And Sir Tristram and Sir Galleron were his two godfathers.\n\nAnd then soon after they departed and rode toward Camelot, where that King Arthur and Queen Guenivere was, and the most part of all the knights of the Round Table were there also. And so the King and all the court were right glad that Sir Palomides was christened.\n\nAnd that same feast, in came Sir Galahad that was son unto Sir Lancelot du Lake, and sat in the Siege Perilous. And so therewith they departed and dissevered, all the knights of the Round Table. And then Sir Tristram returned unto Joyous Gard, and Sir Palomides followed after the Questing Beast.\n\nHere endeth the second book of Sir Tristram de Lyonesse, which was drawn out of French by Sir Thomas Malory, knight, as Jesu he his help: amen. But here is no rehearsal of the third book. But here followeth the noble tale of the Sangrail, which is called the holy vessel, and the signification of the blessed blood of Our Lord Jesu Christ, which was brought into this land by Joseph of Arimathea. Therefore on all sinful souls, blessed Lord, and on thy knight have mercy. Amen.\n\nAt the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellowship of the Round Table were come unto Camelot and there heard their service, so at the last the tables were set ready to the meat. Right so entered into the hall a full fair gentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse was all besweat. Then she there alit, and came before the King and saluted him; and he said, 'Damosel, God you bless.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'for God's sake, tell me where is Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'He is yonder: ye may see him,' said the King.\n\nThen she went unto Sir Lancelot and said, 'Sir Lancelot, I salute you on King Pelles' behalf, and I also require you to come on with me hereby into a forest.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot asked her with whom she dwelled.\n\n'I dwell', she said, 'with King Pelles.'\n\n'What will ye with me?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Ye shall know', she said, 'when ye come thither.'\n\n'Well,' said he, 'I will gladly go with you.'\n\nSo Sir Lancelot bade his squire saddle his horse and bring his arms in haste; so he did his commandment. Then came the Queen unto Sir Lancelot, and said, 'Will ye leave us now alone at this high feast?'\n\n'Madam,' said the gentlewoman, 'wit you well, he shall be with you tomorrow by dinner time.'\n\n'If I wist', said the Queen, 'that he should not be here with us tomorrow, he should not go with you by my good will.'\n\nRight so departed Sir Lancelot, and rode until that he came into a forest and into a great valley where they saw an abbey of nuns; and there was a squire ready and opened the gates, and so they entered and descended off their horses. And anon there came a fair fellowship about Sir Lancelot, and welcomed him, and then they led him unto the abbess's chamber and unarmed him. And right so he was ware upon a bed lying two of his cousins, Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, and anon he waked them; and when they saw him they made great joy.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors unto Sir Lancelot, 'what adventure hath brought you hither?\u2014for we weened to have found you tomorrow at Camelot.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Lancelot, 'a gentlewoman brought me hither, but I know not the cause.'\n\nSo in the meanwhile that they thus talked together, there came in twelve nuns that brought with them Galahad, the which was passing fair and well made, that uneath in the world men might not find his match; and all those ladies wept.\n\n'Sir,' said they all, 'we bring you here this child the which we have nourished; and we pray you to make him knight, for of a more worthier man's hand may he not receive the order of knighthood.'\n\nSir Lancelot beheld this young squire and saw him seemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that he weened of his age never to have seen so fair a form of a man. Then said Sir Lancelot, 'Cometh this desire of himself?'\n\nHe and all they said yes.\n\n'Then shall he', said Sir Lancelot, 'receive the order of knighthood at the reverence of the high feast.'\n\nSo that night Sir Lancelot had passing good cheer; and on the morn at the hour of prime, at Galahad's desire he made him knight and said, 'God make you a good man, for of beauty faileth you none as any that is now living. Now, fair sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'will ye come with me unto the court of King Arthur?'\n\n'Nay,' said he, 'I will not go with you at this time.'\n\nThen he departed from them and took his two cousins with him; and so they came unto Camelot by the hour of undern on Whitsunday. So by that time the King and the Queen were gone to the minster to hear their service. Then the King and the Queen were passing glad of Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, and so was all the fellowship.\n\nSo when the King and all the knights were come from service, the barons espied in the sieges of the Round Table all about, written with golden letters, 'Here ought to sit he', and 'He ought to sit here'. And thus they went so long till that they came to the Siege Perilous, where they found letters newly written of gold which said: 'Four hundred winters and four and fifty accomplished after the Passion of Our Lord Jesu Christ ought this siege to be fulfilled.'\n\nThen all they said, 'This is a marvellous thing, and an adventurous.'\n\n'In the name of God!' said Sir Lancelot; and then accounted the term of the writing from the birth of Our Lord until that day. 'It seemeth me', said Sir Lancelot, 'that this siege ought to be fulfilled this same day, for this is the feast of Pentecost after the four hundred and four and fiftieth year. And if it would please all parties, I would none of these letters were seen this day, till that he be come that ought to achieve this adventure.'\n\nThen made they to ordain a cloth of silk for to cover these letters in the Siege Perilous. Then the King bade haste unto dinner.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Kay, the Steward, 'if ye go now unto your meat ye shall break your old custom of your court, for ye have not used on this day to sit at your meat or that ye have seen some adventure.'\n\n'Ye say sooth,' said the King, 'but I had so great joy of Sir Lancelot and of his cousins, which be come to the court whole and sound, that I bethought me not of no old custom.'\n\nSo as they stood speaking, in came a squire that said unto the King, 'Sir, I bring unto you marvellous tidings.'\n\n'What be they?' said the King.\n\n'Sir, there is here beneath at the river a great stone which I saw float above the water, and therein I saw sticking a sword.'\n\nThen the King said, 'I will see that marvel.'\n\nSo all the knights went with him, and when they came unto the river they found there a stone floating, as it were of red marble, and therein stuck a fair rich sword, and the pommel thereof was of precious stones wrought with letters of gold subtly. Then the barons read the letters, which said in this wise: 'Never shall man take me hence but only he by whose side I ought to hang; and he shall be the best knight of the world.'\n\nSo when the King had seen the letters, he said unto Sir Lancelot, 'Fair sir, this sword ought to be yours, for I am sure ye be the best knight of the world.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot answered full soberly, 'Sir, it is not my sword; also I have no hardiness to set my hand thereto, for it belongeth not to hang by my side. Also, who that assayeth to take it and faileth of that sword, he shall receive a wound by that sword that he shall not be whole long after. And I will that ye wit that this same day shall the adventure of the Sangrail begin, that is called the holy vessel.'\n\n'Now, fair nephew,' said the King unto Sir Gawain, 'assay ye, for my love.'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'save your good grace, I shall not do that.'\n\n'Sir,' said the King, 'assay to take the sword for my love and at my commandment.'\n\n'Sir, your commandment I will obey.'\n\nAnd therewith he took the sword by the handles, but he might not stir it.\n\n'I thank you,' said the King.\n\n'My lord Sir Gawain,' said Sir Lancelot, 'now wit you well, this sword shall touch you so sore that ye would not ye had set your hand thereto for the best castle of this realm.'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I might not withsay my uncle's will.'\n\nBut when the King heard this he repented it much, and said unto Sir Percival, 'Sir, will ye assay, for my love?'\n\nAnd he assayed gladly, for to bear Sir Gawain fellowship; and therewith he set his hand on the sword and drew at it strongly, but he might not move it. Then were there no more that durst be so hardy to set their hands thereto.\n\n'Now may ye go to your dinner,' said Sir Kay unto the King, 'for a marvellous adventure have ye seen.'\n\nSo the King and all they went unto the court, and every knight knew his own place and set him therein; and young men that were good knights served them. So when they were served, and all sieges fulfilled save only the Siege Perilous, anon there befell a marvellous adventure, that all the doors and windows of the palace shut by themselves; not for that the hall was not greatly darkened, and therewith they abashed, both one and other.\n\nThen King Arthur spoke first and said, 'By God, fair fellows and lords, we have seen this day marvels, but or night I suppose we shall see greater marvels.'\n\nIn the meanwhile came in a good old man and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no knight knew from whence he came. And with him he brought a young knight, and both on foot, in red arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging by his side. And these words he said: 'Peace be with you, fair lords.'\n\nThen the old man said unto King Arthur, 'Sir, I bring you here a young knight the which is of kings' lineage, and of the kindred of Joseph of Arimathea, whereby the marvels of this court and of strange realms shall be fully accomplished.'\n\nThe King was right glad of his words, and said unto the good man, 'Sir, ye be right welcome, and the young knight with you.'\n\nThen the old man made the young man to unarm him; and he was in a coat of red sendal, and bore a mantle upon his shoulder that was furred with ermine, and put that upon him. And the old knight said unto the young knight, 'Sir, sueth me.'\n\nAnd anon he led him to the Siege Perilous, where beside sat Sir Lancelot; and the good man lifted up the cloth and found there letters that said thus: 'This is the siege of Galahad, the haut prince.'\n\n'Sir,' said the old knight, 'wit you well that place is yours.'\n\nAnd then he set him down surely in that siege; and then he said to the old man, 'Now may ye, sir, go your way, for well have ye done in that that ye were commanded. And recommend me unto my grandsire King Pelles, and unto my lord King Pecheur, and say them on my behalf, I shall come and see them as soon as ever I may.'\n\nSo the good man departed; and there met him twenty noble squires, and so took their horses and went their way.\n\nThen all the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly of Sir Galahad, that he durst sit there and was so tender of age, and wist not from whence he came but all only by God. All they said, 'This is he by whom the Sangrail shall be achieved, for there sat never none but he there but he were mischieved.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot beheld his son and had great joy of him. Then Sir Bors told his fellows, 'Upon pain of my life, this young knight shall come to great worship.'\n\nSo this noise was great in all the court, that it came unto the Queen; and she had marvel what knight it might be that durst adventure him to sit in that Siege Perilous. Then some said he resembled much unto Sir Lancelot.\n\n'I may well suppose', said the Queen, 'that Sir Lancelot begot him on King Pelles' daughter, which made him to lie by her by enchantment, and his name is Galahad. I would fain see him,' said the Queen, 'for he must needs be a noble man, for so his father is that him begot, I report me unto all the Table Round.'\n\nSo when the meat was done, that the King and all were risen, the King yode to the Siege Perilous and lifted up the cloth, and found there the name of Galahad. And then he showed it unto Sir Gawain, and said, 'Fair nephew, now have we among us Sir Galahad, the good knight that shall worship us all. And upon pain of my life he shall achieve the Sangrail, right as Sir Lancelot had done us to understand.' Then came King Arthur unto Sir Galahad and said, 'Sir, ye be right welcome, for ye shall move many good knights to the quest of the Sangrail, and ye shall achieve that many other knights might never bring to an end.' Then the King took him by the hand, and went down from the palace to show Galahad the adventures of the stone.\n\nThen the Queen heard thereof and came after with many ladies, and they showed her the stone where it hoved on the water.\n\n'Sir,' said the King unto Sir Galahad, 'here is a great marvel as ever I saw, and right good knights have assayed and failed.'\n\n'Sir,' said Galahad, 'it is no marvel, for this adventure is not theirs but mine; and for the surety of this sword, I brought none with me, but here by my side hangeth the scabbard.' And anon he laid his hand on the sword and lightly drew it out of the stone, and put it in the sheath, and said unto the King, 'Now it goeth better than it did beforehand.'\n\n'Sir,' said the King, 'a shield God may send you.'\n\n'Now have I the sword that sometime was the good knight's, Balin's le Savage, and he was a passing good knight of his hands; and with this sword he slew his brother Balan, and that was great pity, for he was a good knight. And either slew other through a dolorous stroke that Balin gave unto King Pellam, the which is not yet whole, nor naught shall be till that I heal him.'\n\nSo therewith the King had espied come riding down the river a lady on a white palfrey a great pace toward them. Then she saluted the King and the Queen, and asked if that Sir Lancelot were there; and then he answered himself and said, 'I am here, my fair lady.'\n\nThen she said all with weeping cheer, 'Ah, Sir Lancelot, how your great doing is changed sithen this day in the morn!'\n\n'Damosel, why say ye so?'\n\n'Sir, I say you sooth,' said the damosel, 'for ye were this day in the morn the best knight of the world; but who should say so now, he should be a liar, for there is now one better than ye be. And well it is proved by the adventure of the sword whereto ye durst not set to your hand\u2014and that is the change of your name, and leaving. Wherefore I make unto you a remembrance, that ye shall not ween from henceforth that ye be the best knight of the world.'\n\n'As touching unto that,' said Lancelot, 'I know well I was never none of the best.'\n\n'Yes,' said the damosel, 'that were ye, and are yet, of any sinful man of the world. And, sir king, Nacien the hermit sendeth thee word that thee shall befall the greatest worship that ever befell king in Britain, and I say you wherefore: for this day the Sangrail appeared in thy house and fed thee and all thy fellowship of the Round Table.'\n\nSo she departed and went the same way that she came.\n\n'Now,' said the King, 'I am sure at this quest of the Sangrail shall all ye of the Table Round depart, and never shall I see you again whole together. Therefore I will see you all whole together in the meadow of Camelot to joust and to tourney, that after your death men may speak of it that such good knights were here such a day whole together.'\n\nAs unto that counsel and at the King's request they accorded all, and took on the harness that longed unto jousting. But all this moving of the King was for this intent, for to see Galahad proved; for the King deemed he should not lightly come again unto the court after this departing.\n\nSo were they assembled in the meadow, both more and less. Then Sir Galahad, by the prayer of the King and the Queen, did on a noble jesseraunt upon him, and also he did on his helm, but shield would he take none for no prayer of the King. So then Sir Gawain and other knights prayed him to take a spear; right so he did.\n\nSo the Queen was in a tower with all her ladies for to behold that tournament. Then Sir Galahad dressed him in midst of the meadow and began to break spears marvellously, that all men had wonder of him; for he there surmounted all other knights, for within a while he had defouled many good knights of the Table Round save only twain, that was Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival.\n\nThen the King at the Queen's desire made him to alight and to unlace his helm, that the Queen might see him in the visage. When she avised him she said, 'I dare well say soothly that Sir Lancelot begot him, for never two men resembled more in likeness. Therefore it is no marvel though he be of great prowess.'\n\nSo a lady that stood by the Queen said, 'Madam, for God's sake, ought he of right to be so good a knight?'\n\n'Yea, forsooth,' said the Queen, 'for he is of all parts come of the best knights of the world and of the highest lineage; for Sir Lancelot is come but of the eighth degree from Our Lord Jesu Christ, and this Sir Galahad is the ninth degree from Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore I dare say they be the greatest gentlemen of the world.'\n\nAnd then the King and all the estates went home unto Camelot, and so went unto evensong to the great monastery; and so after upon that to supper, and every knight sat in his own place as they were beforehand. Then anon they heard cracking and crying of thunder, that them thought the palace should all to-drive. So in the midst of the blast entered a sunbeam more clearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they were lighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight to behold other, and either saw other, by their seeming, fairer than ever they were before. Not for that there was no knight might speak one word a great while, and so they looked every man on other as they had been dumb.\n\nThen entered into the hall the Holy Grail covered with white samite, but there was none that might see it, nor whom that bore it. And there was all the hall fulfilled with good odours, and every knight had such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when the Holy Grail had been borne through the hall, then the holy vessel departed suddenly, that they wist not where it became. Then had they all breath to speak; and then the King yielded thankings to God of His good grace that he had sent them.\n\n'Certes,' said the King, 'we ought to thank Our Lord Jesu Christ greatly for that he hath showed us this day, at the reverence of this high feast of Pentecost.'\n\n'Now,' said Sir Gawain, 'we have been served this day of what meats and drinks we thought on; but one thing beguiled us, that we might not see the Holy Grail, it was so preciously covered. Wherefore I will make here a vow, that tomorrow, without longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of the Sangrail, and that I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or more if need be, and never shall I return unto the court again till I have seen it more openly than it hath been showed here. And if I may not speed I shall return again, as he that may not be against the will of God.'\n\nSo when they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawain say so, they arose up the most part and made such vows as Sir Gawain had made. Anon as King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wist well he might not gainsay their vows.\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur unto Sir Gawain, 'ye have nigh slain me for the vow that ye have made, for through you ye have bereft me the fairest and the truest of knighthood that ever was seen together in any realm of the world. For when they depart from hence, I am sure they all shall never meet more together in this world, for they shall die many in the quest. And so it forthinketh me not a little, for I have loved them as well as my life. Wherefore it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of this fellowship; for I have had an old custom to have them in my fellowship.' And therewith the tears fell in his eyes; and then he said, 'Sir Gawain, ye have set me in great sorrow, for I have great doubt that my true fellowship shall never meet here more again.'\n\n'Ah, sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'comfort yourself; for it shall be unto us a great honour, and much more than if we died in other places, for of death we be sure.'\n\n'Ah, Lancelot,' said the King, 'the great love that I have had unto you all the days of my life maketh me to say such doleful words; for there was never Christian king that ever had so many worthy men at his table as I have had this day at the Table Round, and that is my great sorrow.'\n\nWhen the Queen, ladies, and gentlewomen knew of these tidings, they had such sorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell, for those knights had held them in honour and charity. But above all other Queen Guenivere made great sorrow.\n\n'I marvel', said she, 'that my lord will suffer them to depart from him.'\n\nThus was all the court troubled for the love of the departing of these knights. And many of those ladies that loved knights would have gone with their loves; and so had they done, had not an old knight come among them in religious clothing, and spoke all on high and said: 'Fair lords, which have sworn in the quest of the Sangrail, thus Nacien the hermit sendeth you word, that none in this quest lead lady nor gentle-woman with him, for it is not to do in so high a service as they labour in. For I warn you plain, he that is not clean of his sins, he shall not see the mysteries of Our Lord Jesu Christ.' And for this cause they left these ladies and gentlewomen.\n\nSo after this the Queen came unto Sir Galahad and asked him of whence he was, and of what country. Then he told her of whence he was; and son unto Sir Lancelot, as to that, he said neither yea or nay.\n\n'So God me help,' said the Queen, 'of your father ye need not shame you, for he is the goodliest knight, and of the best men of the world come, and of the strain of all parts of kings; wherefore ye ought of right to be of your deeds a passing good man. And certain,' she said, 'ye resemble him much.'\n\nThen Sir Galahad was a little ashamed and said, 'Madam, sithen ye know in certain, wherefore do ye ask it me? For he that is my father shall be known openly and all betimes.'\n\nAnd then they went to rest them. And in honour of the highness of knighthood, Sir Galahad was led into King Arthur's chamber, and there rested in his own bed. And as soon as it was day the King arose, for he had no rest of all that night for sorrow. Then he went unto Sir Gawain and unto Sir Lancelot that were arisen for to hear Mass; and then the King again said, 'Ah, Gawain, Gawain, ye have betrayed me! For never shall my court be amended by you, but ye will never be so sorry for me as I am for you,' and therewith the tears began to run down by his visage. And therewith the King said, 'Ah, courteous knight, Sir Lancelot, I require you that ye counsel me, for I would that this quest were at an end and it might be.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye saw yesterday, so many worthy knights there were sworn that they may not leave it in no manner of wise.'\n\n'That wot I well,' said the King, 'but it shall so heavy me at their departing that I wot well there shall no manner of joy remedy me.'\n\nAnd then the King and the Queen went unto the minster. So anon Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain commanded their men to bring their arms; and when they all were armed save their shields and their helms, then they came to their fellowship, which were all ready in the same wise, for to go to the monastery for to hear their Mass and service. Then after service the King would wit how many had undertaken the quest of the Holy Grail. Then found they by tally a hundred and fifty, and all those were knights of the Round Table. And then they put on their helms and departed, and recommended them all wholly unto the King and the Queen; and there was weeping and great sorrow. Then the Queen departed into her chamber and held her there, that no man should perceive her great sorrows.\n\nWhen Sir Lancelot missed the Queen he went to her chamber, and when she saw him she cried aloud and said, 'Ah, Sir Lancelot, Lancelot, ye have betrayed me and put me to the death, for to leave thus my lord.'\n\n'Ah, madam, I pray you be not displeased, for I shall come again as soon as I may with my worship.'\n\n'Alas,' said she, 'that ever I saw you! But He that suffered death upon the cross for all mankind, He be unto you good conduct and safety, and all the whole fellowship.'\n\nRight so departed Sir Lancelot, and found his fellowship that abode his coming. And then they took their horses and rode through the street of Camelot, and there was weeping of rich and poor; and the King turned away and might not speak for weeping.\n\nSo within a while they rode all together till that they came to a city and a castle that hight Vagon, and so they entered into the castle; and the lord thereof was an old man and good of his living, and set open the gates and made them all the cheer that he might. And so on the morn they were all accorded that they should depart each from other. And on the morn they departed with weeping cheer, and then every knight took the way that him liked best.\n\nNow rideth Galahad yet without shield, and so rode four days without any adventure. And at the fourth day after evensong he came to a white abbey, and there was he received with great reverence and led unto a chamber, and there was he unarmed. And then was he ware of two knights of the Table Round, one was Sir Bagdemagus, and Sir Uwain. And when they saw him they went to Sir Galahad and made of him great solace, and so they went unto supper.\n\n'Sirs,' said Sir Galahad, 'what adventure brought you hither?'\n\n'Sir,' they said, 'it is told us that in this place is a shield, that no man may bear it about his neck but he be mischieved or dead within three days, or maimed for ever.'\n\n'But, sir,' said King Bagdemagus, 'I shall bear it tomorrow for to assay this adventure.'\n\n'In the name of God,' said Sir Galahad.\n\n'Sir,' said Bagdemagus, 'and I may not achieve the adventure of this shield ye shall take it upon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail.'\n\n'Sir, I right well agree me thereto, for I have no shield.'\n\nSo on the morn they arose and heard Mass; then King Bagdemagus asked where the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind an altar where the shield hung, as white as any snow, but in the midst was a red cross.\n\n'Sirs,' said the monk, 'this shield ought not to be hung about the neck of no knight but he be the worthiest knight of the world: therefore I counsel you, knights, to be well advised.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Bagdemagus, 'I wot well I am not the best knight, but I shall assay to bear it'; and so bore it out of the monastery. Then he said unto Sir Galahad, 'And it please you to abide here still, till that ye wit how that I speed.'\n\n'Sir, I shall abide you,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nThen King Bagdemagus took with him a good squire, to bring tidings unto Sir Galahad how he sped. Then they rode two miles and came to a fair valley before a hermitage; and then they saw a knight come from that part in white armour, horse and all, and he came as fast as his horse might run, and his spear in his rest. Then Sir Bagdemagus dressed his spear against him and broke it upon the white knight; but the other struck him so hard that he brast the mails and thrust him through the right shoulder, for the shield covered him not as at that time. And so he bore him from his horse; and therewith he alit and took his white shield from him, saying, 'Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly, for this shield ought not to be borne but by him that shall have no peer that liveth.' And then he came to Bagdemagus' squire and bade him, 'Bear this shield to the good knight Sir Galahad that thou left in the abbey, and greet him well by me.'\n\n'Sir,' said the squire, 'what is your name?'\n\n'Take thou no heed of my name,' said the knight, 'for it is not for thee to know, nor no earthly man.'\n\n'Now, fair sir,' said the squire, 'at the reverence of Jesu Christ, tell me by what cause this shield may not be borne but if the bearer thereof be mischieved.'\n\n'Now since thou hast conjured me so,' said the knight, 'this shield behoveth unto no man but unto Sir Galahad.'\n\nThen the squire went unto Bagdemagus and asked him whether he were sore wounded or no.\n\n'Yea, forsooth,' said he, 'I shall escape hard from the death.'\n\nThen he fetched his horse, and led him with great pain till they came unto the abbey. Then was he taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in his bed and looked there to his wounds. And as the book telleth, he lay there long, and escaped hard with the life.\n\n'Sir Galahad,' said the squire, 'that knight that wounded Bagdemagus sendeth you greeting, and bade that ye should bear this shield, wherethrough great adventures should befall.'\n\n'Now blessed be good fortune,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nAnd then he asked his arms, and mounted upon his horse's back and hung the white shield about his neck, and commended them unto God. So Sir Uwain said he would bear him fellowship if it pleased him.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Galahad, 'that may ye not, for I must go alone.' And so departed Sir Uwain.\n\nThen within a while came Sir Galahad there as the white knight abode him by the hermitage, and each saluted other courteously.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Galahad, 'by this shield be many marvels fallen?'\n\n'Sir,' said the knight, 'it befell after the passion of Our Lord Jesu Christ two and thirty years, that Joseph of Arimathea, that gentle knight the which took down Our Lord off the holy Cross, at that time he departed from Jerusalem with a great party of his kindred with him. And so he laboured till they came to a city which hight Sarras; and that same hour that Joseph came to Sarras, there was a king that hight Eveslake that had great war against the Saracens. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of Arimathea, went to King Evelake and told him he should be discomfited and slain but he left his belief of the old law and believed upon the new law, and anon he showed him the right belief of the Holy Trinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart. And there this shield was made for King Evelake, in the name of Him that died on the Cross.\n\n'So soon after, Joseph would depart, and King Evelake would needs go with him whether he would or not. And so by fortune they came into this land, that at that time was called Great Britain; and there they found a great felon paynim, that put Joseph into prison. And so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mordrains, and he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of Joseph; and so he came into the land of Great Britain and disinherited this felon paynim and confounded him, and therewith delivered Joseph out of prison. And after that all the people turned to the Christian faith.\n\n'So not long after, Joseph was laid in his deadly bed; and when King Evelake saw that, he had much sorrow, and said, \"For thy love I left my country, and sith ye shall depart from me out of this world, leave me some token of yours that I may think on you.\"\n\n'Joseph said, \"That will I do full gladly; now bring me your shield that I took you.\" Then Joseph bled sore at the nose, so that he might not by no mean be staunched; and there upon that shield he made a cross of his own blood, and said, \"Now may ye see a remembrance that I love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall think on me. And never shall man bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the time that Galahad, the good knight, bear it, and, last of my lineage, have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellous deeds.\"'\n\nAnd then the white knight vanished away.\n\nAnd so Sir Galahad took his horse and departed, and rode many journeys forward and backward; and departed from a place that hight Abblasour, and had heard no Mass. Then Sir Galahad came to a mountain where he found a chapel passing old, and found therein nobody, for all was desolate; and there he kneeled before the altar, and besought God of good counsel. And so as he prayed he heard a voice that said, 'Go thou now, thou adventurous knight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there do thou away the wicked customs.'\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard this he thanked God, and took his horse; and he had not ridden but a while but he saw in a valley before him a strong castle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river that hight Severn. And there he met with a man of great age, and either saluted other, and Sir Galahad asked him the castle's name.\n\n'Fair sir,' said he, 'it is the Castle of Maidens, that is a cursed castle, and all they that be conversant therein; for all pity is out thereof, and all hardiness and mischief is therein. Therefore I counsel you, sir knight, to turn again.'\n\n'Sir,' Sir Galahad said, 'wit you well that I shall not turn again.'\n\nThen looked Sir Galahad on his arms that nothing failed him, and then he put his shield before him. And anon there met him seven fair maidens, the which said unto him, 'Sir knight, ye ride here in great folly, for ye have the water to pass over.'\n\n'Why should I not pass the water?' said Sir Galahad.\n\nSo rode he away from them and met with a squire that said, 'Knight, those knights in the castle defy you, and defend you ye go no further till that they wit what ye would.'\n\n'Fair sir,' said Sir Galahad, 'I come for to destroy the wicked custom of this castle.'\n\n'Sir, and ye will abide by that ye shall have enough to do.'\n\n'Go ye now,' said Sir Galahad, 'and haste my needs.'\n\nThen the squire entered into the castle; and anon after there came out of the castle seven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw Sir Galahad they cried, 'Knight, keep thee, for we assure you nothing but death.'\n\n'Why,' said Sir Galahad, 'will ye all have ado with me at once?'\n\n'Yea,' said they, 'thereto mayst thou trust.'\n\nThen Galahad put forth his spear and smote the foremost to the earth, that nearhand he broke his neck. And therewith the other six smote him on his shield great strokes, that their spears broke. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set upon them so hard that it was marvel, and so through great force he made them to forsake the field. And Sir Galahad chased them till they entered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at another gate.\n\nAnd anon there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religious clothing, and said, 'Sir, have here the keys of this castle.'\n\nThen Sir Galahad opened the gates, and saw so much people in the streets that he might not number them; and all they said, 'Sir, ye be welcome, for long have we abided here our deliverance.'\n\nThen came to him a gentlewoman and said, 'Sir, these knights be fled, but they will come again this night, and here to begin again their evil custom.'\n\n'What will ye that I do?' said Sir Galahad.\n\n'Sir,' said the gentlewoman, 'that ye send after all the knights hither that hold their lands of this castle, and make them all to swear for to use the customs that were used here of old time.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nAnd there she brought him a horn of ivory, bound with gold richly, and said, 'Sir, blow this horn, which will be heard two miles about.'\n\nWhen Sir Galahad had blown the horn he set him down upon a bed. Then came a priest to Galahad, and said, 'Sir, it is past seven years ago that these seven brethren came into this castle, and harboured with the lord of this castle, that hight the Duke Lianour, and he was lord of all this country. And when they had espied the duke's daughter, that was a full fair woman, then by their false covin they made a bate betwixt themselves; and the duke of his goodness would have parted them, and there they slew him and his eldest son. And then they took the maiden and the treasure of the castle, and so by great force they held all the knights of this country under great servage and truage. So on a day the duke's daughter said to them, \"Ye have done great wrong to slay my father and my brother, and thus to hold our lands. Not for that,\" she said, \"ye shall not hold this castle many years, for by one knight ye shall all be overcome.\" Thus she prophesied seven years ago. \"Well,\" said the seven knights, \"sithen ye say so, there shall never lady nor knight pass this castle but they shall abide maugre their heads, or die therefore, till that knight be come by whom we shall lose this castle.\" And therefore it is called the Maidens' Castle, for they have devoured many maidens.'\n\n'Now,' said Sir Galahad, 'is she here for whom this castle was lost?'\n\n'Nay, sir,' said the priest, 'she was dead within three nights after that she was thus forced; and sithen have they kept her younger sister, which endureth great pain, with more other ladies.'\n\nBy this were the knights of the country come, and then he made them to do homage and fealty to the duke's daughter, and set them in great ease of heart. And in the morn there came one and told Sir Galahad how that Sir Gawain, Sir Gareth, and Sir Uwain had slain the seven brethren.\n\n'I suppose well,' said Sir Galahad, and took his armour and his horse, and commended them unto God.\n\nHere leaveth the tale of Sir Galahad, and speaketh of Sir Gawain.\n\nNow saith the tale, after Sir Gawain departed, he rode many journeys both toward and forward; and at the last he came to the abbey where Sir Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawain learned the way to sue after Sir Galahad.\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Gawain, 'I am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for and I may meet with him I will not depart from him lightly; for all marvellous adventures Sir Galahad achieveth.'\n\n'Sir,' said one of the monks, 'he will not of your fellowship.'\n\n'Why so?' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'for ye be wicked and sinful, and he is full blessed.'\n\nSo right as they thus talked there came in riding Sir Gareth, and then they made great joy either of other. And on the morn they heard Mass, and so departed. And by the way they met with Sir Uwain le Avoutres; and there Sir Uwain told Sir Gawain how he had met with no adventures sith he departed from the court.\n\n'Nor yet we,' said Sir Gawain.\n\nAnd so either promised other of those three knights not to part while they were in that quest but if sudden fortune caused it. So they departed and rode by fortune till that they came by the Castle of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied the three knights, and said, 'Sithen we be flemed by one knight from this castle, we shall destroy all the knights of King Arthur's that we may overcome, for the love of Sir Galahad.'\n\nAnd therewith the seven knights set upon them three knights; and by fortune Sir Gawain slew one of the brethren, and each one of his fellows overthrew another, and so slew all the remnant. And then they took the way under the castle, and there they lost the way that Sir Galahad rode. And there each of them departed from other.\n\nAnd Sir Gawain rode till he came to a hermitage, and there he found the good man saying his evensong of Our Lady; and there Sir Gawain asked harbour for charity, and the good man granted him gladly. Then the good man asked him what he was.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I am a knight of King Arthur's that am in the quest of the Sangrail, and my name is Sir Gawain.'\n\n'Sir,' said the good man, 'I would wit how it standeth betwixt God and you.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'I will with a good will show you my life if it please you.' There he told the hermit how 'a monk of an abbey called me wicked knight'.\n\n'He might well say it,' said the hermit, 'for when ye were first made knight ye should have taken you to knightly deeds and virtuous living; and ye have done the contrary, for ye have lived mischievously many winters. And Sir Galahad is a maid and sinned never, and that is the cause he shall achieve where he goeth what ye nor none such shall never attain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye have used the most untruest life that ever I heard knight live. For certes, had ye not been so wicked as ye are, never had the seven brethren been slain by you and your two fellows; for Sir Galahad himself alone beat them all seven the day before, but his living is such that he shall slay no man lightly.\n\n'Also I may say you that the Castle of Maidens betokeneth the good souls that were in prison before the Incarnation of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And the seven knights betoken the seven deadly sins that reigned that time in the world. And I may liken the good knight Galahad unto the son of the High Father, that alit within a maiden, and bought all the souls out of thrall: so did Sir Galahad deliver all the maidens out of the woeful castle. Now, Sir Gawain,' said the good man, 'thou must do penance for thy sin.'\n\n'Sir, what penance shall I do?'\n\n'Such as I will give thee,' said the good man.\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Gawain, 'I may do no penance; for we knights adventurous many times suffer great woe and pain.'\n\n'Well,' said the good man, and then he held his peace.\n\nAnd on the morn, then Sir Gawain departed from the hermit and betaught him unto God. And by adventure he met with Sir Agloval and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Round Table; and so they three rode four days without finding of any adventure. And at the fifth day they parted, and each held as befell them by adventure.\n\nHere leaveth the tale of Sir Gawain and his fellows.\n\nSo when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle of Maidens he rode till he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival; but they knew him not, for he was new disguised. Right so his father, Sir Lancelot, dressed his spear and broke it upon Sir Galahad, and Sir Galahad smote him so again that he bore down horse and man. And then he drew his sword and dressed him unto Sir Percival, and smote him so on the helm that it rove to the coif of steel; and had not the sword swerved Sir Percival had been slain. And with the stroke he fell out of his saddle.\n\nSo this jousts was done before the hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahad ride, she said, 'God be with thee, best knight of the world! Ah, certes,' said she all aloud, that Sir Lancelot and Percival might hear, 'and yonder two knights had known thee as well as I do, they would not have encountered with thee.'\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard her say so, he was adread to be known, and therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode a great pace from them. Then perceived they both that he was Sir Galahad, and up they got on their horses and rode fast after him; but within a while he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavy cheer, and said, 'Let us spere some tidings', said Percival, 'at yonder recluse.'\n\n'Do as ye list,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nWhen Sir Percival came to the recluse she knew him well enough, and Sir Lancelot both. But Sir Lancelot rode overthwart and endlong a wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony cross which departed two ways in waste land; and by the cross was a stone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Lancelot might not wit what it was. Then Sir Lancelot looked beside him and saw an old chapel, and there he weened to have found people; and anon Sir Lancelot fastened his horse to a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung it upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found it waste and broken. And within he found a fair altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of clean silk, and there stood a clean fair candlestick which bore six great candles therein, and the candlestick was of silver. And when Sir Lancelot saw this light he had great will for to enter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might enter. Then was he passing heavy and dismayed, and returned again and came to his horse, and did off his saddle and bridle and let him pasture him; and unlaced his helm and ungirt his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross.\n\nAnd so he fell asleep; and half waking and half sleeping, he saw coming by him two palfreys all fair and white, which bore a litter, and therein lying a sick knight; and when he was nigh the cross he there abode still. All this Sir Lancelot saw and beheld it, for he slept not verily; and he heard him say, 'Ah, sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me wherethrough I shall be healed? For I have endured thus long for little trespass.'\n\nA full great while thus complained the knight, and always Sir Lancelot heard it. So with that Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers come before the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also there came a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangrail, which Sir Lancelot had seen beforetime in King Pecheur's house. And therewith the sick knight sat him up and held up both his hands, and said, 'Fair sweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel, take heed unto me that I may be whole of this malady.'\n\nAnd therewith on his hands and on his knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it, and anon he was whole. And then he said, 'Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am healed of this sickness.'\n\nSo when the holy vessel had been there a great while, it went unto the chapel with the chandelier and the light, so that Sir Lancelot wist not where it was become. For he was overtaken with sin, that he had no power to rise against the holy vessel; wherefore after that many men said him shame, but he took repentance after that.\n\nThen the sick knight dressed him up and kissed the cross. Anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his lord how he did.\n\n'Certes,' said he, 'I thank God, right well: through the holy vessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this sleeping knight, that he had no power to awake when this holy vessel was brought hither.'\n\n'I dare well say,' said the squire, 'that he dwelleth in some deadly sin whereof he was never confessed.'\n\n'By my faith,' said the knight, 'whatsoever he be, he is unhappy; for as I deem he is of the fellowship of the Round Table which is entered in the quest of the Sangrail.'\n\n'Sir,' said the squire, 'here I have brought you all your arms save your helm and your sword; and therefore, by my assent, now may ye take this knight's helm and his sword.'\n\nAnd so he did; and when he was clean armed he took there Sir Lancelot's horse, for he was better than his, and so departed they from the cross.\n\nThen anon Sir Lancelot woke and sat him up, and bethought him what he had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard he a voice that said, 'Sir Lancelot, more harder than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the leaf of the fig tree! Therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from these holy places.'\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot heard this, he was passing heavy and wist not what to do; and so departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was born, for then he deemed never to have worship more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knew wherefore he was called so.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot went to the cross and found his helm, his sword, and his horse away. And then he called himself a very wretch and most unhappy of all knights; and there he said, 'My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great dishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires, I ever achieved them and had the better in every place, and never was I discomfited in no quarrel, were it right, were it wrong. And now I take upon me the adventures to seek of holy things, now I see and understand that my old sin hindereth me and shameth me, that I had no power to stir nor speak when the holy blood appeared before me.'\n\nSo thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls sing; then somewhat he was comforted. But when Sir Lancelot missed his horse and his harness, then he wist well God was displeased with him. And so he departed from the cross on foot into a fair forest; and so by prime he came to a high hill, and found a hermitage and a hermit therein which was going unto Mass. And then Lancelot kneeled down and cried on Our Lord mercy for his wicked works. So when Mass was done, Sir Lancelot called him, and prayed him for saint charity for to hear his life.\n\n'With a good will,' said the good man, and asked him whether he was of King Arthur's, and of the fellowship of the Table Round.\n\n'Yea, forsooth; and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that hath been right well said of. And now my good fortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world.'\n\nThe hermit beheld him, and had marvel why he was so abashed.\n\n'Sir,' said the hermit, 'ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath caused you to have more worldly worship than any knight that is now living. And for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in His presence where His flesh and His blood was, which caused you ye might not see it with your worldly eyes: for He will not appear where such sinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt or unto their shame. And there is no knight now living that ought to yield God so great thanks as ye, for He hath given you beauty, bounty, seemliness, and great strength over all other knights. And therefore ye are the more beholden unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, for your strength and your manhood will little avail you and God be against you.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot wept with heavy heart and said, 'Now I know well ye say me sooth.'\n\n'Sir,' said the good man, 'hide no old sin from me.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that were me full loath to discover; for this fourteen years I never discovered one thing that I have used, and that may I now wite my shame and my disadventure.'\n\nAnd then he told there the good man all his life, and how he had loved a queen unmeasurably and out of measure long. 'And all my great deeds of arms that I have done, for the most part was for the queen's sake, and for her sake would I do battle were it right or wrong; and never did I battle all only for God's sake, but for to win worship and to cause me the better to be beloved, and little or nought I thanked never God of it.' Then Sir Lancelot said, 'Sir, I pray you counsel me.'\n\n'Sir, I will counsel you,' said the hermit. 'Ye shall assure me by your knighthood that ye shall no more come in that queen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot promised him that he would not, by the faith of his body.\n\n'Sir, look that your heart and your mouth accord,' said the good man, 'and I shall assure you ye shall have the more worship than ever ye had.'\n\n'Holy father,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I marvel of the voice that said to me marvellous words, as ye have heard beforehand.'\n\n'Have ye no marvel', said the good man, 'thereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you. For men may understand, a stone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another; and that is to understand by thee, Sir Lancelot, for thou wilt not leave thy sin for no goodness that God hath sent thee. Therefore thou art more harder than any stone, and wouldst never be made nesh neither by water nor by fire: and that is the heat of the Holy Ghost may not enter in thee. Now take heed: in all the world men shall not find one knight to whom Our Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath lent thee, for He hath given thee fairness with seemliness; also He hath given thee wit, and discretion to know good from ill. He hath also given prowess and hardiness, and given thee to work so largely that thou hast had the better all thy days of thy life wheresoever thou came. And now Our Lord would suffer thee no longer but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or not. And why the voice called thee bitterer than the wood: for wheresoever much sin dwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou art likened to an old rotten tree.\n\n'Now have I showed thee why thou art harder than the stone and bitterer than the tree, now shall I show thee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig tree. It befell that Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem, and there He found in the people that all hardness was harboured in them, and there He found in all the town not one that would harbour him. And then He went out of the town, and found in midst the way a fig tree which was right fair and well garnished of leaves, but fruit had it none. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bore no fruit; that betokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and no fruit. So thou, Sir Lancelot, when the Holy Grail was brought before thee, He found in thee no fruit, nor good thought nor good will, and defouled with lechery.'\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Lancelot, 'all that ye have said is true. And from henceforward I cast me, by the grace of God, never to be so wicked as I have been, but as to pursue knighthood and to do feats of arms.'\n\nThen this good man enjoined Sir Lancelot such penance as he might do and to pursue knighthood, and so assoiled him, and prayed him to abide with him all that day.\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for I have neither helm, horse, nor sword.'\n\n'As for that,' said the good man, 'I shall help you or tomorrow at even of a horse, and all that longeth unto you.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot repented him greatly of his misdeeds.\n\nHere leaveth the tale of Sir Lancelot and beginneth of Sir Percival de Gales.\n\nNow saith the tale that when Sir Lancelot was ridden after Sir Galahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percival turned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that knight that Sir Lancelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and the recluse opened it and asked Sir Percival what he would.\n\n'Madam,' he said, 'I am a knight of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Percival de Gales.'\n\nWhen the recluse heard his name she had great joy of him, for mickle she loved him passing any other knight, for she ought so to do, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates to be open, and there he had great cheer, as great as she might make him, or lay in her power. So on the morn Sir Percival went to the recluse and asked her if she knew that knight with the white shield.\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'why will ye wit?'\n\n'Truly, madam,' said Sir Percival, 'I shall never be well at ease till that I know of that knight's fellowship, and that I may fight with him; for I may not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame as yet.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Percival,' said she, 'would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to be slain, as your father was through outrageousness slain.'\n\n'Madam, it seemeth by your words that ye know me.'\n\n'Yea,' said she, 'I well ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a poor place. For some men called me some time the Queen of the Waste Lands, and I was called the queen of most riches in the world. And it pleased me never so much my riches as doth my poverty.'\n\nThen Percival wept for very pity when that he knew it was his aunt.\n\n'Ah, fair nephew,' said she, 'when heard you tidings of your mother?'\n\n'Truly,' said he, 'I heard none of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wot not whether she be dead or alive.'\n\n'Certes, fair nephew, your mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such a sorrow that anon as she was confessed, she died.'\n\n'Now God have mercy on her soul,' said Sir Percival. 'It sore forthinketh me; but all we must change the life. Now, fair aunt, what is that knight? I deem it be he that bore the red arms on Whitsunday.'\n\n'Wit you well,' said she, 'that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do but to go in red arms. And that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and he shall never be overcome of no earthly man's hand.'\n\n'Now, madam,' said Sir Percival, 'so much have I heard of you, that by my good will I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of goodness; and for God's love, fair aunt, can ye teach me where I might find him? For much I would love the fellowship of him.'\n\n'Fair nephew,' said she, 'ye must ride straight unto the Castle of Carbonek, where the Maimed King is lying, for there shall ye hear true tidings of him.'\n\nThen departed Sir Percival from his aunt, either making great sorrow. And so he rode till after evensong, and then he heard a clock smite; and anon he was ware of a house closed well with walls and deep ditches, and there he knocked at the gate and anon he was let in, and he was led unto a chamber and soon unarmed. And there he had right good cheer all that night, and on the morn he heard his Mass. And in the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar, and on the right side he saw a pew closed with iron; and behind the altar he saw a rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then Sir Percival espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage was covered. Then he left off his looking and heard his service. And when it came to the sacring, he that lay within the perclose dressed him up, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing old man, and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were naked and unhilled unto his navel. And then Sir Percival espied his body was full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. And ever he held up his hands against Our Lord's body, and cried, 'Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, forget not me.'\n\nAnd so he lay not down, but was always in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to be of the age of three hundred winters. And when the Mass was done the priest took Our Lord's body and bore it unto the sick king. And when he had used it, he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on the altar. Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren what he was.\n\n'Sir,' said the good man, 'ye have heard much of Joseph of Arimathea, how he was sent into this land for to teach and preach the holy Christian faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions, the which the enemies of Christ did unto him. And in the city of Sarras he converted a king whose name was Evelake; and so the king came with Joseph into this land, and ever he was busy to be there as the Sangrail was. And on a time he nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeased with him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him almost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said, \"Fair Lord, let me never die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be come, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sangrail, and that I might kiss him.\" When the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said, \"Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he hath kissed thee. And when that knight shall come, the clearness of your eyes shall come again, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed; and erst shall they never close.\"\n\n'And thus befell of King Evelake, and this same king hath lived four hundred years this holy life, and men say the knight is in this court that shall heal him. Sir,' said the good man, 'I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of the Round Table.'\n\n'Yes, forsooth; and my name is Sir Percival de Gales.'\n\nAnd when the good man understood his name he made great joy of him.\n\nAnd then Sir Percival departed and rode till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about twenty men of arms, which bore in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they saw Sir Percival they asked him of whence he was; and he said, of the court of King Arthur. Then they cried at once, 'Slay him!'\n\nThen Sir Percival smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. And then seven of the knights smote upon his shield at once, and the remnant slew his horse, that he fell to the earth, and had slain him or taken him, had not the good knight Sir Galahad with the red arms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all those knights upon one knight, he said, 'Save me that knight's life!'\n\nAnd then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in his rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand that it was marvel to see. And at every stroke he smote down one or put him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percival saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away. And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad, and cried aloud and said, 'Fair knight, abide and suffer me to do you thankings, for much have ye done for me.'\n\nBut ever Sir Galahad rode fast, that at the last he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percival might he went after him on foot, crying.\n\nSo in this sorrow there he abode all that day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till it was midnight. And then he awoke and saw before him a woman which said unto him right fiercely, 'Sir Percival, what dost thou here?'\n\n'I do neither good nor great ill.'\n\n'If thou wilt assure me', said she, 'that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I shall lend thee mine own horse which shall bear thee whither thou wilt.'\n\nSir Percival was glad of her proffer, and assured her to fulfil all her desire.\n\n'Then abide me here, and I shall go fetch you a horse.'\n\nAnd so she came soon again and brought a horse with her that was inly black. When Sir Percival beheld that horse, he marvelled that he was so great and so well apparelled; and not for that he was so hardy he leapt upon him and took no heed of himself. And anon as he was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so rode by a forest; and the moon shone clear. And within an hour and less he bore him four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water which roared, and that horse would have borne him into it.\n\nAnd when Sir Percival came nigh the brim, he saw the water so boisterous he doubted to pass over it; and then he made a sign of the cross in his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged he shook off Sir Percival, and he went into the water crying and making great sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water burnt. Then Sir Percival perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him unto perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed Our Lord to keep him from all such temptations. And so he prayed all that night till on the morn that it was day; and anon he saw he was in a wild mountain which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that he might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild beasts.\n\nAnd then he went down into a valley, and there he saw a serpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir Percival. So with that came a great lion crying and roaring after the serpent. And as fast as Sir Percival saw this he hied him thither; but the lion had overtaken the serpent and began battle with him. And then Sir Percival thought to help the lion, for he was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew his sword and set his shield before him, and there he gave the serpent such a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, he made no semblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer that a beast might make a man.\n\nWhen Sir Percival perceived it, he cast down his shield, which was broken, and then he did off his helm for to gather wind, for he was greatly chafed with the serpent; and the lion went always about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he stroked him on the neck and on the shoulders, and thanked God of the fellowship of that beast.\n\nAnd about noon the lion took his little whelp and trussed him and bore him there he came from. Then was Sir Percival alone. And as the tale telleth, he was at that time one of the men of the world which most believed in Our Lord Jesu Christ, for in those days there were but few folks at that time that believed perfectly; for in those days the son spared not the father no more than a stranger. And so Sir Percival comforted himself in Our Lord Jesu, and besought Him that no temptation should bring him out of God's service, but to endure as his true champion.\n\nThus when Sir Percival had prayed, he saw the lion come toward him and couched down at his feet; and so all that night the lion and he slept together. And when Sir Percival slept he dreamed a marvellous dream: that two ladies met with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a serpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; and the youngest, him thought, said, 'Sir Percival, my lord saluteth thee, and sendeth thee word thou array thee and make thee ready, for tomorrow thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And if thou be overcome, thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thy members, but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world's end.' And then he asked her what was her lord; and she said, the greatest lord of the world. And so she departed suddenly that he wist not where.\n\nThen came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent; and she said, 'Sir Percival, I complain unto you of that ye have done unto me, and I have not offended unto you.'\n\n'Certes, madam,' he said, 'unto you nor no lady I never offended.'\n\n'Yes,' said she, 'I shall say you why. I have nourished in this place a great while a serpent which pleased me much, and yesterday ye slew him as he got his prey. Say me for what cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours.'\n\n'Madam, I know well the lion was not mine. But for the lion is more of gentler nature than the serpent, therefore I slew him; and me seemeth I did not amiss against you, madam,' said he. 'What would ye that I did?'\n\n'I would,' said she, 'for the amends of my beast that ye become my man.'\n\nAnd then he answered and said, 'That will I not grant you.'\n\n'No,' said she, 'truly ye were never my servant since ye received the homage of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore I you assure that in what place I may find you without keeping I shall take you as he that sometime was my man.'\n\nAnd so she departed from Sir Percival and left him sleeping, which was sore travailed of his vision. And on the morn he arose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble.\n\nThen was Sir Percival ware in the sea where came a ship sailing toward him; and Sir Percival went unto the ship and found it covered within and without with white samite. And at the helm stood an old man clothed in a surplice, in likeness of a priest.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Percival, 'ye be welcome.'\n\n'God keep you,' said the good man.' And of whence be ye?'\n\n'Sir, I am a knight of King Arthur's court and a knight of the Round Table, which am in the quest of the Sangrail; and here I am in great duress, and never like to escape out of this wilderness.'\n\n'Doubt ye not,' said the good man. 'And ye be so true a knight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to be, ye should not doubt that no enemy should slay you.'\n\n'What are ye?' said Sir Percival.\n\n'Sir, I am of a strange country, and hither I come to comfort you.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Percival, 'what signifieth my dream that I dreamed this night?' And there he told him all together.\n\n'She which rode upon the lion, it betokeneth the New Law of Holy Church, that is to understand, faith, good hope, belief, and baptism. For she seemed younger than that other it is great reason, for she was born in the resurrection and the passion of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And for great love she came to thee to warn thee of thy great battle that shall befall thee.'\n\n'With whom', said Sir Percival, 'shall I fight?'\n\n'With the most doubtful champion of the world; for as the lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou shalt not be quit by losing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world's end. And she that rode on the serpent signifieth the Old Law, and that serpent betokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest her servant, it betokeneth nothing but the serpent ye slew; that betokeneth the devil that thou rodest on to the rock, and when thou madest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him and put away his power. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, then thou saidst nay, that was to make thee to believe on her and leave thy baptism.'\n\nSo he commanded Sir Percival to depart; and so he leapt over the board, and the ship and all went away he wist not whither. Then he went up into the rock and found the lion which always bore him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had great joy of him.\n\nBy that Sir Percival had abided there till midday, he saw a ship come sailing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it; and so it landed under that rock. And when Sir Percival saw this he hied him thither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any bear. And therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was clothed richly, there might be none better. And when she saw Sir Percival she asked him who brought him into this wilderness, 'where ye be never like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger and mischief.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Sir Percival, 'I serve the best man of the world, and in His service He will not suffer me to die; for who that knocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that seeketh Him, He hideth Him not unto his words.'\n\nBut then she said, 'Sir Percival, wot ye what I am?'\n\n'Who taught you my name now?' said Sir Percival.\n\n'I know you better than ye ween: I came but late out of the waste forests where I found the red knight with the white shield.'\n\n'Ah, fair damosel,' said he, 'that knight would I fain meet with.'\n\n'Sir knight,' said she, 'and ye will assure me by the faith that ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time I summon you, I shall bring you unto that knight.'\n\n'Yes,' he said, 'I shall promise you to fulfil your desire.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'now shall I tell you. I saw him in the waste forest chasing two knights unto the water which is called Mortaise, and they drove into that water for dread of death. And the two knights passed over, and the red knight passed after, and there his horse was drowned, and he through great strength escaped unto the land.'\n\nThus she told him, and Sir Percival was passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had eaten any meat late.\n\n'Nay, madam, truly I ate no meat nigh these three days; but late here I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and refreshed me greatly.'\n\n'Ah, sir knight, that same man', said she, 'is an enchanter and a multiplier of words. For and ye believe him ye shall be plainly shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger and be eaten with wild beasts. And ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and I shall help you and ye will.'\n\n'What are ye,' said Sir Percival, 'that proffereth me thus so great kindness?'\n\n'I am,' said she, 'a gentlewoman that am disinherited, which was the richest woman of the world.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Sir Percival, 'who hath disinherited you? For I have great pity of you.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'I dwelled with the greatest man of the world, and he made me so fair and clear that there was none like me; and of that great beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to have had. Also I said a word that pleased him not. And then he would not suffer me to be no longer in his company, and so he drove me from my heritage and disinherited me for ever; and he had never pity of me nor of none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, it hath befallen me to be so overthrown, and all mine, yet have I benome him some of his men and made them to become my men; for they ask never nothing of me but I give them that and much more. Thus I and my servants were against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight nor no good man, but I get them on my side and I may. And for that I know that ye are a good knight, I beseech you to help me, and for ye be a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail no gentlewoman which is disinherited and she besought you of help.'\n\nThen Sir Percival promised her all the help that he might, and then she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she called unto her a gentlewoman and bade her bring forth a pavilion; and so she did, and pitched it upon the gravel.\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'now may ye rest you in this heat of this day.'\n\nThen he thanked her, and she put off his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. And so he awoke and asked her if she had any meat, and she said, 'Yea, ye shall have enough.'\n\nAnd anon there was laid a table, and so much meat was set thereon that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that he could think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, him thought, and therewith he was chafed a little more than he ought to be. With that he beheld that gentlewoman, and him thought she was the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percival proffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused him in a manner when he required her, for cause he should be the more ardent on her; and ever he ceased not to pray her of love.\n\nAnd when she saw him well enchafed, then she said, 'Sir Percival, wit you well I shall not fulfil your will but if ye swear from henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing but that I shall command you. Will ye assure me this as ye be a true knight?'\n\n'Yea,' said he, 'fair lady, by the faith of my body.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'now shall ye do with me what ye will; and now wit ye well ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire to.'\n\nAnd then two squires were commanded to make a bed in midst of the pavilion, and anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then Sir Percival laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace he saw his sword lie on the earth naked, where in the pommel was a red cross and the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his knighthood and his promise made unto the good man beforehand; and then he made a sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion turned upside down, and then it changed unto a smoke and a black cloud. And then he dreaded sore and cried aloud, 'Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, let me not be shamed, which was nigh lost had not Thy good grace been.'\n\nAnd then he looked unto her ship and saw her enter therein, which said, 'Sir Percival, ye have betrayed me!' And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed all the water burnt after her.\n\nThen Sir Percival made great sorrow and drew his sword unto him, and said, 'Sithen my flesh will be my master, I shall punish it.' And therewith he rove himself through the thigh that the blood started about him, and said, 'Ah, good Lord, take this in recompense of that I have misdone against Thee, Lord.'\n\nSo then he clothed him and armed him, and called himself, 'Wretch of all wretches, how nigh I was lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten again, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it is once lost.' And then he stopped his bleeding wounds with a piece of his shirt.\n\nThus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come from the orient that the good man was in the day before. And this noble knight was sore ashamed of himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon; and when he awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted the good man.\n\nAnd then he asked Sir Percival, 'How hast thou done sith I departed?'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'here was a gentlewoman, and led me into deadly sin.' And there he told him all together.\n\n'Knew ye not that maid?' said the good man.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'nay, but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame me.'\n\n'Ah, good knight,' said he, 'thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was the master fiend of hell, which hath poust\u00e9 over all other devils. And that was the old lady that thou saw in thy vision riding on the serpent.'\n\nThen he told Sir Percival how Our Lord Jesu Christ beat him out of heaven for his sin, which was the most brightest angel of heaven, and therefore he lost his heritage. 'And that was the champion that thou fought withal, which had overcome thee had not the grace of God been. Now, Sir Percival, beware, and take this for an example.'\n\nAnd then the good man vanished. Then Sir Percival took his arms and entered into the ship, and so he departed from thence.\n\nSo leaveth this tale, and turneth unto Sir Lancelot.\n\nWhen the hermit had kept Sir Lancelot three days, then the hermit got him a horse, a helm, and a sword; and then he departed and rode until the hour of noon. And then he saw a little house, and when he came near he saw a little chapel. And there beside he saw an old man which was clothed all in white full richly; and then Sir Lancelot said, 'Sir, God save you.'\n\n'Sir,' said the good man, 'be ye not Sir Lancelot du Lake?'\n\n'Yea, sir,' said he.\n\n'Sir, what seek you in this country?'\n\n'I go, sir, to seek the adventures of the Sangrail.'\n\n'Well,' said he, 'seek ye it ye may well, but though it were here ye shall have no power to see it, no more than a blind man that should see a bright sword. And that is long on your sin, and else ye were more abler than any man living.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot began to weep.\n\nThen said the good man, 'Were ye confessed since ye entered into the quest of the Sangrail?'\n\n'Yea, sir,' said Sir Lancelot. 'Father, what shall I do?'\n\n'Now,' said the good man, 'I require you take this hair and put it next thy skin, and it shall avail thee greatly.'\n\n'Sir, then will I do it,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Also, sir, I charge thee that thou eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the Sangrail, neither ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear Mass daily and ye may come thereto.'\n\nSo he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departed at evensong and so rode into a forest; and there he met with a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him, 'Sir knight, whither ride ye?'\n\n'Certes, damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I wot not whither I ride but as fortune leadeth me.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Lancelot,' said she, 'I wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were beforetime nearer than ye be now, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that shall ye understand in short time.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot asked her where he might be harboured that night.\n\n'Ye shall none find this day nor night, but tomorrow ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be in doubt of.'\n\nAnd then he commended her unto God, and so he rode till that he came to a cross, and took that for his host as for that night.\n\nAnd so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his shield, and made his prayers unto the cross that he never fall in deadly sin again; and so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was asleep, it befell him there a vision, that there came a man before him all becompassed with stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his head; and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights, and all these worshipped the cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding up their hands toward the heaven. And all they said, 'Fair sweet Father of Heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto each of us as we have deserved.'\n\nThen looked Sir Lancelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the clouds did open, and an old man came down with a company of angels and alit among them, and gave unto each his blessing and called them his servants and his good and true knights. And when this old man had said thus he came to one of the knights and said, 'I have lost all that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a warrior and used wrong wars with vainglory for the pleasure of the world more than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded without thou yield me my treasure.'\n\nAll this vision saw Sir Lancelot at the cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till midday; and there by adventure he met with the same knight that took his horse, helm, and his sword when he slept when the Sangrail appeared afore the cross. So when Sir Lancelot saw him he saluted him not fair, but cried on high, 'Knight, keep thee, for thou didst me great unkindness.'\n\nAnd then they put before them their spears, and Sir Lancelot came so fiercely that he smote him and his horse down to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then Sir Lancelot took the knight's horse that was his own beforehand, and descended from the horse he sat upon and mounted upon his horse, and tied the knight's own horse to a tree, that he might find that horse when that he was arisen. Then Sir Lancelot rode till night; and by adventure he met a hermit, and each of them saluted other. And there he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse such as he might get.\n\nThen said the good man unto Sir Lancelot, 'Of whence be ye?'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'I am of Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that am in the quest of the Sangrail. And therefore, sir, I pray you counsel me of a vision that I saw this night.' And so he told him all.\n\n'Lo, Sir Lancelot,' said the good man, 'there might thou understand the high lineage that thou art come of, that thy vision betokeneth.'\n\n[The hermit describes Lancelot's genealogy from the time of Joseph of Arimathea.]\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot and he went to supper, and so laid them to rest; and his hair pricked fast and grieved him sore, but he took it meekly and suffered the pain. And so on the morn he heard his Mass and took into a forest and held no highway. And as he looked before him he saw a fair plain, and beside that a fair castle, and before the castle were many pavilions of silk and of divers hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred knights riding on horseback, and there were two parties: they that were of the castle were all on black horses and their trappings black, and they that were without were all on white horses and trappings. So there began a great tournament, and each hurtled with other that it marvelled Sir Lancelot greatly. And at the last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Then thought Sir Lancelot for to help there the weaker party in increasing of his chivalry.\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot thrust in among the party of the castle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth; and then he rushed here and there and did many marvellous deeds of arms. And then he drew out his sword and struck many knights to the earth, that all that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do so great deeds of arms.\n\nBut always the white knights held them nigh about Sir Lancelot for to tire him and wind him; and at the last Sir Lancelot was so weary of his great deeds that he might not lift up his arms for to give one stroke, that he weened never to have borne arms. And then they all took and led him away into a forest, and there made him to alight to rest him. And then all the fellowship of the castle were overcome for the default of him.\n\nThen they said all unto Sir Lancelot, 'Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship, for we shall hold you in our prison.' And so they left him with few words.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot made great sorrow, 'For never or now was I never at tournament nor at jousts but I had the best. And now I am shamed, and am sure that I am more sinfuller than ever I was.'\n\nThus he rode sorrowing half a day, out of despair, till that he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Lancelot saw he might not ride up unto the mountain, he there alit under an apple tree, and there he left his helm and his shield and put his horse unto pasture; and then he laid him down to sleep. And then him thought there came an old man before him, which said, 'Ah, Lancelot, of evil wicked faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly toward deadly sin?' And when he had said thus he vanished away, and Sir Lancelot wist not where he became.\n\nThen he took his horse, and armed him; and as he rode by the highway he saw a chapel where was a recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar. And all aloud she called Sir Lancelot, for that he seemed a knight errant. And then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place, and where about he went to seek. And then he told her all together word by word, and the truth how it befell him at the tournament; and after that he told her his vision that he had that night in his sleep.\n\n'Ah, Lancelot,' said she, 'as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the most marvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now,' said the lady, 'sithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if adventure fall contrary have ye no marvel, for that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And not for that there was no enchantment, for they at the tournament were earthly knights. Of these earthly knights which were clothed all in black, the covering betokeneth the sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering of white betokeneth virginity, and they that hath chosen chastity; and thus was the quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the good men, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclined to that party for bobaunce and pride of the world, and all that must be left in that quest. For in this quest thou shalt have many fellows, and thy betters. But anon thou turned to the sinners; and that caused thy misadventure, that thou should know good from vainglory of the world\u2014it is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest great sorrow that thou hadst not overcome all the white knights, therefore God was wroth with you, for in this quest God loveth no such deeds; and that made the vision to say to thee that thou were of evil faith and of poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit of hell if thou keep thee not better. Now have I warned thee of thy vainglory and of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker. Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have most pity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthly sinful man.'\n\nAnd so she commanded Sir Lancelot to dinner. And after dinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a deep valley; and there he saw a river that hight Mortaise, and through the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous. And then in the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came over he saw an armed knight, horse and man all black as a bear. Without any word he smote Sir Lancelot's horse to the death; and so he passed on, and wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and his shield, and thanked God of his adventure.\n\nHere leaveth the tale of Sir Lancelot, and speaketh of Sir Gawain.\n\nWhen Sir Gawain was departed from his fellowship he rode long without any adventure, for he found not the tenth part of adventures as they were wont to have; for Sir Gawain rode from Whitsuntide till Michaelmas and found never adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell that Gawain met with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other; and so they told each other and complained them greatly that they could find no adventure.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Gawain, 'I am nigh weary of this quest, and loath I am to follow further in strange countries.'\n\n'One thing marvelleth me much,' said Sir Ector. 'I have met with twenty knights that be fellows of mine, and all they complain as I do.'\n\n'I have marvel', said Sir Gawain, 'where that Sir Lancelot, your brother, is.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Ector, 'I cannot hear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors.'\n\n'Let them be,' said Sir Gawain, 'for they four have no peers. And if one thing were not, Sir Lancelot had no fellow of an earthly man; but he is as we be, but if he take the more pain upon him. But and these four be met together they will be loath that any man meet with them; for and they fail of the Sangrail, it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it.'\n\nThus Sir Ector and Sir Gawain rode more than eight days; and on a Saturday they found an ancient chapel which was wasted, that there seemed no man nor woman thither repaired. And there they alit and set their spears at the door; and so they entered into the chapel and there made their orisons a great while. And then they sat them down in the sieges of the chapel; and as they spoke of one thing and of other, for heaviness they fell asleep, and there befell them both marvellous adventures.\n\nSir Gawain him seemed he came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and there he saw a rack of bulls, a hundred and fifty, that were proud and black, save three of them were all white, and one had a black spot. And the other two were so fair and so white that they might be no whiter; and these three bulls which were so fair were tied with two strong cords. And the remnant of the bulls said among them, 'Go we hence to seek better pasture.' And so some went, and some came again, but they were so meagre that they might not stand upright. And of the bulls that were so white, that one came again, and no more. But when this white bull was come again and among these others, there rose up a great cry for lack of viand that failed them; and so they departed, one here and another there. This vision befell Gawain that night.\n\nBut to Sir Ector de Maris befell another vision, the contrary. For it seemed him that his brother Sir Lancelot and he alit out of a chair and leapt upon two horses, and the one said to the other, 'Go we to seek that we shall not find.' And him thought that a man beat Sir Lancelot, and despoiled him, and clothed him in another array which was all full of knots, and set him upon an ass. And in the meanwhile he trowed that himself, Sir Ector, rode till that he came to a rich man's house where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king which said, 'Sir knight, here is no place for you.' And then he turned again unto the chair that he came from.\n\nAnd so within a while both Sir Gawain and Sir Ector awoke, and either told other of their vision, which marvelled them greatly.\n\n'Truly,' said Ector, 'I shall never be merry till I hear tidings of my brother Sir Lancelot.'\n\nSo as they sat thus talking they saw a hand showing unto the elbow, and was covered with red samite, and upon that a bridle not right rich, that held within the fist a great candle which burned right clear; and so passed before them and entered into the chapel, and then vanished away they wist not whither. And anon came down a voice which said, 'Knights of full evil faith and of poor belief, these two things have failed you, and therefore ye may not come to the adventures of the Sangrail.'\n\nThen first spoke Sir Gawain and said, 'Sir Ector, have ye heard these words?'\n\n'Yea, truly,' said Sir Ector, 'I heard all. Now go we,' said Sir Ector, 'unto some hermit that will tell us of our vision, for it seemeth me we labour all in waste.'\n\nAnd so they departed and rode into a valley; and there they met with a squire which rode on a hackney, and anon they saluted him fair.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'can thou teach us to any hermit?'\n\n'Sir, here is one in a little mountain; but it is so rough there may no horse go thither, and therefore ye must go on foot, and there ye shall find a poor house. And therein is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest man in this country.'\n\nAnd so they departed either from other. And then in a valley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered them to fight and joust as soon as he saw them.\n\n'In the name of God,' said Sir Gawain, 'for sithen I departed from Camelot there was none that proffered me to joust but once, and now.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Ector, 'let me joust with him.'\n\n'Nay, ye shall not; but if I be beaten, it shall not then forthink me if ye go to him.'\n\nAnd then either embraced other to joust; and so they came together as fast as they might run, that they brast their shields and mails, and the one more than the other. But Sir Gawain was wounded in the left side, and this other knight was smitten through the breast that the spear came out on the other side. And so they fell both out of their saddles, and in the falling they broke both their spears. And anon Sir Gawain arose and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield before him. But all for naught was it, for the knight had no power to arise against him.\n\nThen said Sir Gawain, 'Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else I must slay you.'\n\n'Ah, sir knight,' he said, 'I am but dead! Therefore for God's sake and of your gentleness, lead me here unto an abbey that I may receive my Creator.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'I know no house of religion here nigh.'\n\n'Sir, set me on a horse before you, and I shall teach you.'\n\nSo Sir Gawain set him up in the saddle, and he leapt up behind him to sustain him; and so they came to the abbey, and there were well received. And anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then he prayed Sir Gawain to draw out the truncheon of the spear out of his body. Then Sir Gawain asked him what he was.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I am of King Arthur's court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we were sworn together; and now Sir Gawain, thou hast slain me. And my name is Sir Uwain le Avoutres, that sometime was son unto King Uriens; and I was in the quest of the Sangrail. And now God forgive thee, for it shall be ever rehearsed that the one sworn brother hath slain the other.'\n\n'Alas,' said Gawain, 'that ever this misadventure befell me.'\n\n'No force,' said Sir Uwain, 'sithen I shall die this death, of a much more worshipfuller man's hand might I not die. But when ye come to the court, recommend me unto my lord Arthur and to all them that be left alive. And for old brotherhood think on me.'\n\nThen began Sir Gawain to weep, and also Sir Ector. And then Sir Uwain bade him draw out the truncheon of the spear; and then Sir Gawain drew it out, and anon departed the soul from the body. Then Sir Gawain and Sir Ector buried him as them ought to bury a king's son, and made it written upon his tomb what was his name and by whom he was slain.\n\nThen departed Sir Gawain and Sir Ector as heavy as they might for their misadventure, and so rode till they came to the rough mountain, and there they tied their horses and went on foot to the hermitage. And when they were come up they saw a poor house, and beside the chapel a little curtilage where Nacien the hermit gathered worts to his meat, as he which had tasted no other meat of a great while. And when he saw the errant knights he came to them and saluted them, and they him again.\n\n'Fair lords,' said he, 'what adventure brought you hither?'\n\nThen said Sir Gawain, 'To speak with you for to be confessed.'\n\n'Sir,' said the hermit, 'I am ready.'\n\nThen they told him so much that he wist well what they were; and then he thought to counsel them if he might.\n\nThen began Sir Gawain and told him of his vision that he had in the chapel; and Ector told him all as it is before rehearsed.\n\n'Sir,' said the hermit unto Sir Gawain, 'by the fair meadow and the rack therein ought to be understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to be understood humility and patience: those be the things which be always green and quick. At the rack ate a hundred and fifty bulls; but they ate not in the meadow, for if they had, their hearts should have been set in humility and patience; and the bulls were proud and black save only three. And by the bulls is understood the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin and their wickedness be black: blackness is as much to say without good virtues or works. And the three bulls which were white save only one had been spotted, the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percival, for they be maidens and clean without spot; and the third that had a spot signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in his virginity, but sithen he keepeth himself so well in chastity that all is forgiven him and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by the necks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there is no pride smitten in them.\n\n'And the black bulls which said, \"Go we hence,\" they were those which at Pentecost at the high feast took upon them the quest of the Sangrail without confession: they might not enter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore they turned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shall die many of them. For each of them shall slay other for sin, and they that shall escape shall be so meagre that it shall be marvel to see them. And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again, and the other two never.'\n\nThen spake Nacien unto Sir Ector, 'Sooth it is that Lancelot and ye came down off one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship which ye two came down from. But ye two knights,' said the hermit, 'ye go to seek that ye shall not find, that is the Sangrail; for it is the secret things of Our Lord Jesu Christ. But what is to mean that Sir Lancelot fell down off his horse: he hath left pride and taken to humility, for he hath cried mercy loud for his sin and sore repented him, and Our Lord hath clothed him in his clothing which is full of knots, that is the hair that he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is a beast of humility, for God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon no palfrey, in an example that an ass betokeneth meekness; that thou saw Sir Lancelot ride in thy sleep.\n\n'Now will I tell you what betokeneth the hand with the candle and the bridle: that is to understand the Holy Ghost where charity is ever. And the bridle signifieth abstinence, for when she is bridled in a Christian man's heart she holdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin. And the candle which showeth clearness and light signifieth the right way of Jesu Christ. And when they went he said, \"Knights of poor faith and of wicked belief, these three things failed, charity, abstinence, and truth: therefore ye may not attain this adventure of the Sangrail.\"'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'it seemeth me by your words that for our sins it will not avail us to travel in this quest.'\n\n'Truly,' said the good man, 'there be a hundred such as ye be shall never prevail but to have shame.'\n\nAnd when they had heard these words they commended him unto God. Then the good man called Sir Gawain and said, 'It is long time passed sith that ye were made knight, and never since served thou thy Maker; and now thou art so old a tree that in thee is neither leaf nor grass nor fruit. Wherefore bethink thee that thou yield to Our Lord the bare rind, sith the fiend hath the leaves and the fruit.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'and I had leisure I would speak with you; but my fellow Sir Ector is gone, and abideth me yonder beneath the hill.'\n\n'Well,' said the good man, 'thou were better to be counselled.'\n\nThen departed Sir Gawain and came to Sir Ector, and so took their horses and rode till that they came to a forester's house, which harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed from their host, and rode long or they could find any adventure.\n\nNow turneth this tale unto Sir Bors de Ganis.\n\nWhen Sir Bors was departed from Camelot he met with a religious man riding on an ass, and anon Sir Bors saluted him. And anon the good man knew that he was one of the knights errant that was in the quest of the Sangrail.\n\n'What are ye?' said the good man.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'I am a knight that fain would be counselled, that is entered into the quest of the Sangrail; for he shall have much earthly worship that may bring it to an end.'\n\n'Certes,' said the good man, 'that is sooth without fail, for he shall be the best knight of the world and the fairest of the fellowship. But wit you well there shall none attain it but by cleanness, that is pure confession.'\n\nSo rode they together till that they came unto a little hermitage, and there he prayed Sir Bors to dwell all that night. And so he put off his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed; and so they went into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed. And so they ate bread and drank water together.\n\n'Now,' said the good man, 'I pray thee that thou eat none other till that thou sit at the table where the Sangrail shall be.'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'I agree me thereto; but how know ye that I shall sit there?'\n\n'Yes,' said the good man, 'that know I well, but there shall be but few of your fellows with you.'\n\n'All is welcome,' said Sir Bors, 'that God sendeth me.'\n\n'Also,' said the good man, 'instead of a shirt, and in sign of chastisement, ye shall wear a garment; therefore I pray you do off all your clothes and your shirt.'\n\nAnd so he did; and then he took him a scarlet coat, so that should be his instead of his shirt till he had fulfilled the quest of the Sangrail. And this good man found him in so marvellous a life and so stable that he felt he was never greatly corrupt in fleshly lusts, but in one time that he begat Helian le Blanc.\n\nThen he armed him and took his leave, and so departed. And so a little from thence he looked up into a tree, and there he saw a passing great bird upon that old tree, and it was passing dry, without leaf; so he sat above, and had birds which were dead for hunger. So at the last he smote himself with his beak, which was great and sharp, and so the great bird bled so fast that that he died among his birds; and the young birds took life by the blood of the great bird. When Sir Bors saw this he wist well it was a great tokening; for when he saw the great bird arose not, then he took his horse and yode his way. And so by adventure by evensong time, he came to a strong tower and a high, and there was he harboured gladly. And when he was unarmed they led him into a high tower where was a lady, young, lusty, and fair; and she received him with great joy and made him to sit down by her. And anon he was set to supper with flesh and many dainties. But when Sir Bors saw that, he bethought him on his penance, and bade a squire to bring him water. And so he brought him, and he made sops therein and ate them.\n\n'Ah,' said the lady, 'I trow ye like not your meat.'\n\n'Yes, truly,' said Sir Bors, 'God thank you, madam, but I may eat no other meat today.'\n\nThen she spoke no more as at that time, for she was loath to displease him. Then after supper they spoke of one thing and of other.\n\nSo with that there came a squire and said, 'Madam, ye must purvey you tomorrow for a champion, for else your sister will have this castle and also your lands, except ye can find a knight that will fight tomorrow in your quarrel against Sir Pridam le Noir.'\n\nThen she made great sorrow and said, 'Ah, Lord God, wherefore granted Ye me to hold my land whereof I should now be disinherited without reason and right?'\n\nAnd when Sir Bors had heard her say thus, he said, 'I shall comfort you.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'I shall tell you. There was here a king that hight Aniause, which held all this land in his keeping. So it mishapped he loved a gentlewoman a great deal elder than I; and so he took her all this land in her keeping and all his men to govern, and she brought up many evil customs whereby she put to death a great part of his kinsmen. And when he saw that, he commanded her out of this land, and betook it me, and all this land in my domains. But anon as that worthy king was dead, this other lady began to war upon me, and hath destroyed many of my men and turned them against me, that I have wellnigh no man left me; and I have nought else but this high tower that she left me. And yet she hath promised me to have this tower, without I can find a knight to fight with her champion.'\n\n'Now tell me,' said Sir Bors, 'what is that Pridam le Noir?'\n\n'Sir, he is the most doubted man of this land.'\n\n'Then may ye send her word that ye have found a knight that shall fight with that Pridam le Noir in God's quarrel and yours.'\n\nSo that lady was then glad, and sent her word that she was provided. And so that night Sir Bors had passing good cheer; but in no bed he would come, but laid him on the floor, nor never would do otherwise till that he had met with the quest of the Sangrail.\n\nAnd anon as he was asleep him befell a vision, that there came two birds, the one white as a swan, and the other was marvellous black; but he was not so great as was the other, but in the likeness of a raven. Then the white bird came to him and said, 'And thou wouldst give me meat and serve me, I should give thee all the riches of the world, and I shall make thee as fair and as white as I am.' So the white bird departed; and then came the black bird to him and said, 'And thou serve me tomorrow and have me in no despite though I be black, for wit thou well that more availeth my blackness than the other's whiteness.' And then he departed.\n\nThen he had another vision: that he came to a great place which seemed a chapel, and there he found a chair set, on the left side of which was a worm-eaten and feeble tree beside it; and on the right hand were two flowers like a lily, and the one would have benome the others their whiteness. But a good man parted them, that they touched not one another; and then out of each flower came out many flowers, and fruit great plenty. Then him thought the good man said, 'Should not he do great folly that would let these two flowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, that it fell not to the earth?'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'it seemeth me that this wood might not avail.'\n\n'Now keep thee,' said the good man, 'that thou never see such adventure befall thee.'\n\nThen he awoke and made a sign of the cross in midst of the forehead, and so he arose and clothed him. And anon there came the lady of the place, and she saluted him and he her again, and so went to a chapel and heard their service. And anon there came a company of knights that the lady had sent for to lead Sir Bors unto the battle. Then asked he his arms; and when he was armed, she prayed him to take a little morsel to dine.\n\n'Nay, madam,' said he, 'that shall I not do till I have done my battle, by the grace of God.'\n\nAnd so he leapt upon his horse and departed, and all the knights and men with him.\n\nAnd as soon as these two ladies met together, she which Sir Bors should fight for, she complained her and said, 'Madam, ye have done great wrong to bereave me of my lands that King Aniause gave me, and full loath I am there should be any battle.'\n\n'Ye shall not choose,' said the other, 'or else let your knight withdraw him.'\n\nThen there was the cry made, which party had the better of the two knights, that his lady should rejoice all the lands.\n\nThen departed the one knight here and the other there; then they came together with such raundom that they pierced their shields and their habergeons and their spears flew in pieces, and they sore wounded. Then hurtled they together so that they beat each other to the earth, and their horses between their legs; and anon they arose and set hands to their swords, and smote each one other upon their heads that they made great wounds and deep, that the blood went out of their bodies. For there found Sir Bors greater defence in that knight more than he weened; for this Sir Pridam was a passing good knight and wounded Sir Bors full evil, and he him again, but ever Sir Pridam held the stour alike hard. That perceived Sir Bors, and suffered him till he was nigh attaint; and then he ran upon him more and more, and the other went back for dread of death. So in his withdrawing he fell upright; and Sir Bors drew his helm so strongly that he rent it from his head and gave him many sad strokes with the flat of his sword upon the visage, and bade him yield him or he should slay him.\n\nThen he cried him mercy and said, 'Fair knight, for God's love slay me not, and I shall ensure thee never to war against thy lady, but be always toward her.' So Sir Bors gave him his life, and anon the old lady fled with all her knights.\n\nThen called Sir Bors all those that held lands of his lady, and said he should destroy them but if they did such service unto her as longed to their lands. So they did her homage, and they that would not were chased out of their lands, that it befell that the young lady came to her estate again by the mighty prowess of Sir Bors de Ganis.\n\nSo when all the country was well set in peace, then Sir Bors took his leave and departed; and she thanked him greatly, and would have given him great gifts, but he refused it.\n\nThen he rode all that day till night, and so he came to a harbour to a lady which knew him well enough and made of him great joy. So on the morn, as soon as the day appeared, Sir Bors departed from thence, and so rode into a forest unto the hour of midday; and there befell him a marvellous adventure. So he met at the departing of the two ways two knights that led Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked, bound upon a strong hackney, and his hands bound before his breast. And each of them held in their hands thorns wherewith they went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in a hundred places of his body, so that he was all bloody before and behind; but he said never a word, as he which was great of heart suffered all that they did to him as though he had felt no anguish. And anon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother.\n\nAnd so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight which brought a fair gentlewoman and would have set her in the thick of the forest for to have been the more surer out of the way from them that sought her. And she which was nothing assured cried with a high voice, 'Saint Mary, succour your maid.'\n\nAnd anon as she saw Sir Bors she deemed him a knight of the Round Table; then she conjured him by the faith that he owed 'unto Him in whose service thou art entered, for King Arthur's sake which I suppose made thee knight, that thou help me and suffer me not to be shamed of this knight.'\n\nWhen Sir Bors heard her say thus, he had so much sorrow that he wist not what to do. 'For if I let my brother be in adventure he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth. And if I help not the maid she is shamed, and she shall lose her virginity which she shall never get again.' Then lifted he up his eyes and said weeping, 'Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ whose creature I am, keep me Sir Lionel my brother that these knights slay him not; and for pity of You and for mild Mary's sake, I shall succour this maid.'\n\nThen dressed he him unto the knight which had the gentlewoman, and then he cried, 'Sir knight, let your hand off your maiden, or ye be but dead.'\n\nAnd then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces save he lacked his spear. Then he dressed his shield and drew his sword; and Sir Bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and habergeon on the left shoulder, and through great strength he beat him down to the earth. And at the pulling out of Sir Bors' spear he there swooned.\n\nThen came Sir Bors to the maid and said, 'How seemeth it you? Of this knight ye be delivered at this time.'\n\n'Now sir,' said she, 'I pray you lead me there as this knight had me.'\n\n'So shall I do gladly,' and took the horse of the wounded knight and set the gentlewoman upon him, and so brought her as she desired.\n\n'Sir knight,' said she, 'ye have better sped than ye weened, for and I had lost my maidenhood, five hundred men should have died therefor.'\n\n'What knight was he that had you in the forest?'\n\n'By my faith, he is my cousin. So wot I never with what engine the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me from my father privily; for I nor none of my father's men mistrusted him not. And if he had had my maidenhood he had died for the sin of his body, and shamed and dishonoured for ever.'\n\nThus as she stood talking with him there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anon she told them all how Sir Bors had delivered her. Then they made great joy and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcome.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Bors, 'that may not be at this time, for I have a great adventure to do in this country.' So he commended them to God and departed.\n\nThen Sir Bors rode after Sir Lionel his brother, by the trace of their horses. Thus he rode seeking a great while; and anon he overtook a man clothed in a religious weed, and rode on a strong black horse blacker than a berry, and said, 'Sir knight, what seek you?'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'I seek my brother, that I saw erewhile beaten with two knights.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Bors, discomfort you not, nor fall not into no wanhope for I shall tell you tidings, such as they be, for truly he is dead.'\n\nThen showed he him a new-slain body lying in a bush, and it seemed him well that it was the body of Sir Lionel his brother; and then he made such sorrow that he fell to the earth in a swoon, and so lay a great while there. And when he came to himself he said, 'Fair brother, sith the company of you and me is departed shall I never have joy in my heart. And now He which I have taken unto my master, He be my help!' And when he had said thus he took his body lightly in his arms and put it upon the arson of his saddle. And then he said to the man, 'Can ye show me any chapel nigh where that I may bury this body?'\n\n'Come on,' said he, 'here is one fast by.'\n\nAnd so long they rode till they saw a fair tower, and before it there seemed an old feeble chapel. And then they alit both, and put him in the tomb of marble.\n\n'Now leave we him here,' said the good man, 'and go we to our harbour, till tomorrow we come here again to do him service.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'be ye a priest?'\n\n'Yea, forsooth,' said he.\n\n'Then I pray you tell me a dream that befell me the last night.'\n\n'Say on,' said he.\n\nSo he began so much to tell him of the great bird in the forest, and after told him of his birds one white and another black, and of the rotten tree and of the white flowers.\n\n'Sir, I shall tell you a part now, and the other deal tomorrow. The white fowl betokeneth a gentlewoman fair and rich, which loved thee paramours and hath loved thee long. And if that thou warn her love she shall die anon; and if thou have no pity on her, that signifieth the great bird which shall make thee to warn her. Now for no fear that thou hast, nor for no dread that thou hast of God, thou shalt not warn her; for thou wouldst not do it for to be held chaste, for to conquer the love of the vainglory of the world. For that shall befall thee now and thou warn her, that Sir Lancelot, the good knight, thy cousin, shall die. And then shall men say that thou art a manslayer, both of thy brother Sir Lionel and of thy cousin Sir Lancelot\u2014which thou might have rescued easily, but thou went to rescue a maid which pertaineth nothing to thee. Now look thou whether it had been greater harm, of thy brother's death, or else to have suffered her to have lost her maidenhood.' Then said he, 'Now hast thou heard the tokens of thy dream?'\n\n'Yea,' said Sir Bors.\n\n'Then is it by thy fault if Sir Lancelot thy cousin die.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'that were me loath, for there is nothing in the world but I had liever do it than to see my lord Sir Lancelot die by my fault.'\n\n'Choose ye now the one or the other.'\n\nThen he led him into the high tower, and there he found knights and ladies that said he was welcome; and so they unarmed him, and when he was in his doublet they brought him a mantle furred with ermine and put it about him. So they made him such cheer that he had forgotten his sorrow; and anon came out of a chamber unto him the fairest lady that ever he saw, and more richer beseen than ever was Queen Guenivere or any other estate.\n\n'Lo,' said they, 'Sir Bors, here is the lady unto whom we owe all our service; and I trow she be the richest lady and the fairest of the world, which loveth you best above all other knights, for she will have no knight but you.'\n\nAnd when he understood that language he was abashed. Not for that she saluted him, and he her; and then they sat down together and spoke of many things, in so much that she besought him to be her love, for she had loved him above all earthly men, and she should make him richer than ever was man of his age.\n\nWhen Sir Bors understood her words he was right evil at ease, but in no wise would he break his chastity, and so he wist not how to answer her.\n\n'Alas, Sir Bors,' said she, 'will ye not do my will?'\n\n'Madam,' said he, 'there is no lady in this world whose will I would fulfil as of this thing. She ought not desire it, for my brother lieth dead which was slain right late.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Bors,' said she, 'I have loved you long for the great beauty I have seen in you and the great hardiness that I have heard of you, that needs ye must lie by me tonight; therefore I pray you grant me.'\n\n'Truly,' said he, 'I shall do it in no manner wise.'\n\nThen anon she made him such sorrow as though she would have died.\n\n'Well, Sir Bors,' said she, 'unto this have ye brought me, nigh to mine end.' And therewith she took him by the hand and bade him behold her. 'And ye shall see how I shall die for your love.'\n\nAnd he said then, 'I shall it never see.'\n\nThen she departed and went up into a high battlement, and led with her twelve gentlewomen; and when they were above, one of the gentle-women cried, 'Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight, have mercy on us all, and suffer my lady to have her will; and if ye do not we must suffer death with our lady, for to fall down off this high tower. And if ye suffer us thus to die for so little a thing, all ladies and gentlewomen will say you dishonour.'\n\nThen looked he upward and saw they seemed all ladies of great estate, and richly and well beseen. Then had he of them great pity; not for that he was not uncounselled in himself that he had liever they all had lost their souls than he his soul. And with that they fell all at once unto the earth; and when he saw that, he was all abashed and had thereof great marvel. And with that he blessed his body and his visage.\n\nAnd anon he heard a great noise and a great cry, as all the fiends of hell had been about him; and therewith he saw neither tower, lady, nor gentlewoman, nor no chapel where he brought his brother to. Then held he up both his hands to the heaven and said, 'Fair sweet lord, Father and God in Heaven, I am grievously escaped!' And then he took his arms and his horse and set him on his way.\n\nAnd anon he heard a clock smite on his right hand; and thither he came to an abbey which was closed with high walls, and there was he let in. And anon they supposed that he was one of the knights of the Round Table that was in the quest of the Sangrail, so they led him into a chamber and unarmed him.\n\n'Sirs,' said Sir Bors, 'if there be any holy man in this house, I pray you let me speak with him.'\n\nThen one of them led him unto the abbot, which was in a chapel. And then Sir Bors saluted him and he him again.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'I am a knight errant,' and told him the adventures which he had seen.\n\n'Sir knight,' said the abbot, 'I wot not what ye be, for I weened that a knight of your age might not have been so strong in the grace of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Not for that, ye shall go unto your rest, for I will not counsel you this day: it is too late. And tomorrow I shall counsel you as I can.'\n\nAnd that night was Sir Bors served richly, and on the morn early he heard Mass. And then the abbot came to him and bade him good morrow, and Sir Bors to him again; and then he told him he was fellow of the quest of the Sangrail, and how he had charge of the holy man to eat bread and water.\n\n'Then Our Lord showed him unto you in the likeness of a fowl, that suffered great anguish for us when He was put upon the cross and bled His heart blood for mankind: there was the token and the likeness of the Sangrail that appeared before you, for the blood that the great fowl bled raised the chicks from death to life. And by the bare tree betokeneth the world, which is naked and needy, without fruit but if it come of Our Lord.\n\n'Also the lady for whom ye fought: and King Aniause, which was lord thereto, betokeneth Jesu Christ which is king of the world. And that ye fought with the champion for the lady, thus it betokeneth: when ye took the battle for the lady, by her shall ye understand the law of Jesu Christ and Holy Church; and by the other lady ye shall understand the Old Law and the fiend, which all day warreth against Holy Church. Therefore ye did your battle with right, for ye be Jesu Christ's knight, therefore ye ought to be defenders of Holy Church. And by the black bird might ye understand Holy Church, which sayeth \"I am black,\" but he is fair. And by the white bird may men understand the fiend; and I shall tell you how the swan is white without and black within: it is hypocrisy, which is without yellow or pale, and seemeth, without, the servants of Jesu Christ, but they be within so horrible of filth and sin, and beguile the world so evil.\n\n'Also when the fiend appeared to you in likeness of a man of religion and blamed thee that thou left thy brother for a lady, and he led thee where thou seemed thy brother was slain\u2014but he is yet alive; and all was for to put thee in error, and to bring thee into wanhope and lechery, for he knew thou were tender hearted, and all was for thou shouldst not find the adventure of the Sangrail. And the third fowl betokeneth the strong battle against the fair ladies, which were all devils.\n\n'Also the dry tree and the white lilies: the sere tree betokeneth thy brother Sir Lionel, which is dry without virtue, and therefore men ought to call him the rotten tree and the worm-eaten tree, for he is a murderer and doth contrary to the order of knighthood. And the two white flowers signify two maidens: the one is a knight which ye wounded the other day, and the other is the gentlewoman which ye rescued; and why the one flower drew nigh the other, that was the knight which would have defouled her and himself both. And Sir Bors, ye had been a great fool and in great peril for to have seen the two flowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, for and they had sinned together they had been damned; and for ye rescued them both, men might call you a very knight and the servant of Jesu Christ.'\n\nThen went Sir Bors from thence and commended the abbot to God. And then he rode all that day, and harboured with an old lady; and on the morn he rode to a castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeoman going a great pace toward a forest.\n\n'Say me,' said Sir Bors, 'canst thou tell me of any adventure?'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'here shall be under this castle a great and a marvellous tournament.'\n\n'Of what folks shall it be?' said Sir Bors.\n\n'The Earl of Plains shall be on the one party, and the Lady's nephew of Hervin on the other party.'\n\nThen Sir Bors thought to be there to assay if he might meet with his brother Sir Lionel, or any other of his fellowship which were in the quest of the Sangrail. Then he turned to a hermitage that was in the entry of the forest; and when he was come thither he found there Sir Lionel his brother, which sat all unarmed at the entry of the chapel door for to abide there harbour till on the morn that the tournament should be. And when Sir Bors saw him he had great joy of him, that no man could tell of greater joy. And then he alit off his horse and said, 'Fair sweet brother, when came ye hither?'\n\nAnd as Sir Lionel saw him he said, 'Ah, Sir Bors, ye may not make no avaunt, but as for you I might have been slain. When ye saw two knights lead me away beating me, ye left me to succour a gentlewoman, and suffered me in peril of death; for never erst did no brother to another so great an untruth. And for that misdeed I ensure you now but death, for well have ye deserved it. Therefore keep you from me from henceforward, and that shall ye find as soon as I am armed.'\n\nWhen Sir Bors understood his brother's wrath, he kneeled down before him to the earth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed him to forgive him his evil will.\n\n'Nay, nay,' said Sir Lionel, 'that shall never be and I may have the higher hand, that I make my vow to God: thou shalt have death, for it were pity ye lived any longer.'\n\nRight so he went in and took his harness, and lighted upon his horse and came before him and said, 'Sir Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to thee as I would do to a felon or a traitor; for ye be the untruest knight that ever came out of so worthy a house as was King Bors' de Ganis, which was our father. Therefore start upon thy horse, and so shalt thou be most at thy advantage. And but if thou wilt, I will run upon thee there as thou art on foot, and so the shame shall be mine and the harm yours; but of that shame reck I nought.'\n\nWhen Sir Bors saw that he must fight with his brother or else to die, he wist not what to do; so his heart counselled him not thereto, inasmuch as Sir Lionel was his elder brother, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence. Yet kneeled he down again before Sir Lionel's horse's feet and said, 'Fair sweet brother, have mercy upon me and slay me not, and have in remembrance the great love which ought to be between us two.'\n\nSo whatsoever Sir Bors said to Sir Lionel he recked not, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay him. So when Sir Lionel saw he would do none other, nor would not rise to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smote Sir Bors with his horse's feet upward to the earth, and hurt him so sore that he swooned for distress which he felt in himself to have died without confession. So when Sir Lionel saw this, he alit off his horse to have smitten off his head; and so he took him by the helm and would have rent it from his head.\n\nTherewith came the hermit running unto him, which was a good man and of great age, and well had heard all the words. He leapt between them, and so fell down upon Sir Bors, and said unto Sir Lionel, 'Ah gentle knight, have mercy upon me and upon thy brother! For if thou slay him thou shalt be dead of that sin; and that were great sorrow, for he is one of the worthiest knights of the world and of best conditions.'\n\n'So God me help, sir priest, but if ye flee from him I shall slay you, and he shall never the sooner be quit.'\n\n'Certes,' said the good man, 'I had liever ye slay me than him, for as for my death shall not be great harm, not half so much as will be for his.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Lionel, 'I am agreed,' and set his hand to his sword and smote him so hard that his head yode off backward. And not for that he recovered him not of his evil will, but took his brother by the helm and unlaced it to have smitten off his head, and had slain him had not a fellow of his of the Round Table come, whose name was called Sir Colgrevance, that came thither as Our Lord's will would; and when he saw the good man slain he marvelled much what it might be. And then he beheld Sir Lionel that would have slain his brother, Sir Bors, which he loved right well. Then started he down and took Sir Lionel by the shoulders and drew him strongly aback from Sir Bors, and said to Sir Lionel, 'Will ye slay your brother, one the worthiest knight of the world? That should no good man suffer.'\n\n'Why so?' said Sir Lionel, 'will ye let me thereof? For if ye entermete thereof, I shall slay you too, and him thereafter.'\n\n'Why,' said Sir Colgrevance, 'is this sooth that ye will slay him?'\n\n'Yea, slay him will I, whoso say the contrary, for he hath done so much against me that he hath well deserved it,' and so ran upon him, and would have smitten off the head.\n\nAnd so Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them, and said, 'And ye be so hardy to do so more, we two shall meddle together.'\n\nSo when Sir Lionel understood his words, he took his shield before him, and asked him what that he was.\n\n'Sir, my name is Sir Colgrevance, one of his fellows.'\n\nThen Sir Lionel defied him, and so he started upon him and gave him a great stroke through the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and defended him right manfully. And so long dured there the battle that Sir Bors sat up all anguishly and beheld Sir Colgrevance, the good knight that fought with his brother for his quarrel. Thereof he was full heavy, and thought if Sir Colgrevance slew his brother he should never have joy; also, and if his brother slew Sir Colgrevance, 'the same shame should ever be mine.'\n\nThen would he have risen to have parted them, but he had not so much might to stand on foot. And so he abode so long that Sir Colgrevance was overthrown, for this Sir Lionel was of great chivalry and passing hardy; for he had pierced the hauberk and the helm so sore that he abode but death, for he had lost much blood that it was marvel that he might stand upright. Then beheld he Sir Bors which sat dressing upward himself, and said, 'Ah, Sir Bors, why come ye not to rescue me out of peril of death, wherein I have put me to succour you which were right now nigh death?'\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Lionel, 'that shall not avail you, for none of you shall be other's warrant, but ye shall die both of my hand.'\n\nWhen Sir Bors heard that he said so much, he arose and put on his helm. And then he perceived first the hermit priest which was slain; then made he a marvellous sorrow upon him.\n\nThen Sir Colgrevance cried often upon Sir Bors and said, 'Why will ye let me die here for your sake? No force, sir, if it please you that I shall die, the death shall please me the better; for to save a worthier man might I never receive the death.'\n\nWith that word Sir Lionel smote off the helm from his head. And when Sir Colgrevance saw that he might not escape, then he said, 'Fair sweet Jesu Christ, that I have misdone, have mercy upon my soul. For such sorrow that my heart suffereth for goodness and for alms-deed that I would have done here, be to me alliegement of penance unto my soul's health.'\n\nAnd so at these words Sir Lionel smote him so sore that he bore him dead to the earth. And when he had slain Sir Colgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him such a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humility prayed him for God's love to leave his battle, 'For if it befell, fair brother, that I slay you or ye me, we both shall die for that sin.'\n\n'So God me help, I shall never have other mercy and I may have the better hand.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Bors, and drew his sword, all weeping, and said, 'Fair brother, God knoweth my intent; for ye have done full evil this day to slay a holy priest which never trespassed. Also ye have slain a gentle knight, and one of our fellows. And well ye wot that I am not afraid of you greatly, but I dread the wrath of God; and this is an unkindly war, therefore God show His miracle upon us both. And God have mercy upon me, though I defend my life against my brother.'\n\nAnd so with that Sir Bors lifted up his hand and would have smitten his brother. And with that he heard a voice which said, 'Flee, Sir Bors, and touch him not, or else thou shalt slay him.'\n\nRight so alit a cloud betwixt them in likeness of a fair and a marvellous flame, that both their two shields burnt. Then were they sore afraid and fell both to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came to themselves, Sir Bors saw that his brother had no harm; then he held up both his hands, for he dreaded lest God had taken vengeance upon him. So with that he heard a voice that said, 'Sir Bors, go hence, and bear thy fellowship no longer with thy brother; but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percival abideth thee there.'\n\nThen he said to his brother, 'For God's love, fair sweet brother, forgive me my trespass.'\n\nThen he answered and said, 'God forgive you, and I do gladly.'\n\nSo Sir Bors departed from him and rode the next way to the sea.\n\nAnd at the last by fortune he came to an abbey which was nigh the sea, and that night he rested him there. And as he slept, there came a voice and bade him go to the sea. Then he started up and made a sign of the cross, and took him to his harness and made ready his horse; and at a broken wall he rode out, and by fortune he came to the sea. And upon the sea strand he found a ship that was covered all with white samite. Then he alit and betook him to Jesu Christ. And as soon as he was entered, the ship departed into the sea, and to his seeming it went fleeing; but it was soon dark, that he might know no man. Then he laid him down and slept till it was day.\n\nAnd when he was waked, he saw in the midst of the ship a knight lie all armed save his helm. And anon he was ware it was Sir Percival de Gales, and then he made of him right great joy; but Sir Percival was abashed of him and asked him what he was.\n\n'Ah, fair sir,' said Sir Bors, 'know ye me not?'\n\n'Certes,' said he, 'I marvel how ye came hither, but if Our Lord brought you hither Himself.'\n\nThen Sir Bors smiled and did off his helm; and anon Sir Percival knew him, and either made great joy of other that it was marvel to hear. Then Sir Bors told him how he came into the ship, and by whose admonishment. And either told other of their temptations, as ye have heard beforehand.\n\nSo went they driving in the sea, one while backward, another while forward, and each man comforted other, and ever they were in their prayers.\n\nThen said Sir Percival, 'We lack nothing but Sir Galahad, the good knight.'\n\nNow turneth the tale unto Sir Galahad.\n\nNow saith the tale, when Sir Galahad had rescued Sir Percival from the twenty knights, he rode then into a waste forest wherein he did many journeys and found many adventures which he brought all to an end, whereof the tale maketh here no mention.\n\nThen he took his way to the sea. And on a day, as it befell, as he passed by a castle there was a wonder tournament; but they without had done so much that they within were put to the worse, and yet were they within good knights enough. So when Sir Galahad saw those within were at so great mischief that men slew them at the entry of the castle, then he thought to help them, and put a spear forth and smote the first that he flew to the earth, and the spear yode in pieces. Then he drew his sword and smote there as they were thickest; and so he did wonderful deeds of arms, that all they marvelled.\n\nAnd so it happened that Sir Gawain and Sir Ector de Maris were with the knights without. But then they espied the white shield with the red cross, and anon the one said to the other, 'Yonder is the good knight Sir Galahad, the haut prince. Now forsooth me thinketh he shall be a great fool that shall meet with him to fight.'\n\nBut at the last by adventure he came by Sir Gawain, and he smote him so sore that he cleft his helm and the coif of iron unto the head, that Sir Gawain fell to the earth; but the stroke was so great that it slanted down and cut the horse's shoulder in two. So when Sir Ector saw Sir Gawain down, he drew him aside, and thought it no wisdom for to abide him; and also for natural love, because he was his uncle.\n\nThus through his hardiness he beat aback all the knights without; and then they within came out and chased them all about. But when Sir Galahad saw there would none turn again, he stole away privily, and no man wist where he was become.\n\n'Now by my head,' said Sir Gawain unto Sir Ector, 'now are the wonders true that were said of Sir Lancelot, that the sword which stuck in the stone should give me such a buffet that I would not have it for the best castle in the world; and soothly now it is proved true, for never ere had I such a stroke of man's hand.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Ector, 'me seemeth your quest is done; and mine is not done.'\n\n'Well,' said he, 'I shall seek no further.'\n\nThen was Sir Gawain borne into the castle, and unarmed him and laid him in a rich bed, and a leech was found to heal him. And Sir Ector would not depart from him till he was nigh whole.\n\nAnd so this good knight Sir Galahad rode so fast that he came that night to the Castle of Carbonek. And so it befell him that he was benighted, and came unto a hermitage. So the good man was fain when he saw he was a knight errant.\n\nSo when they were at rest, there befell a gentlewoman came and knocked at the door and called Sir Galahad; and so the good man came to the door to wit what she would.\n\nThen she called the hermit, Sir Ulfin, and said, 'I am a gentlewoman that would fain speak with the knight which is with you.'\n\nThen the good man awaked Sir Galahad and bade him arise, 'and speak with a gentlewoman that seemeth she hath great need of you.'\n\nThen Sir Galahad went and asked her what she would.\n\n'Sir Galahad,' said she, 'I will that ye arm you, and light upon this horse and sue me, for I shall show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever any knight saw.'\n\nSo anon Sir Galahad armed him and took his horse, and commended the hermit to God; and so he bade the gentlewoman to ride, and he would follow there as she liked.\n\nSo she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her till that she came to the sea, which was called Collibie. And by night they came unto a castle in a valley, enclosed with a running water, which had strong walls and high; and so she entered into the castle with Sir Galahad, and there had he great cheer, for the lady of that castle was the damosel's lady. So was he unarmed.\n\nThen said the damosel, 'Madam, shall we abide here all this day?'\n\n'Nay,' said she, 'but till he hath dined and slept a little.'\n\nAnd so he ate and slept a while; and this maid then called him and armed him by torchlight. And when the maiden was horsed and he both, the lady took Sir Galahad a fair shield and rich, and so they departed from the castle and rode till they came to the sea. And there they found the ship that Sir Bors and Sir Percival were in, which said on the shipboard, 'Sir Galahad, ye be welcome, for we have abided you long.'\n\nAnd when he heard them he asked them what they were.\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'leave your horse here, and I shall leave mine also,' and took their saddles and their bridles with them, and made a cross on them, and so entered into the ship. And the two knights received them both with great joy, and each knew other. And so the wind arose and drove them through the sea into a marvellous place; and within a while it dawned. Then did Sir Galahad off his helm and his sword, and asked of his fellows from whence came that fair ship.\n\n'Truly,' said they, 'ye wot as well as we, but it come of God's grace.'\n\nAnd then they told each to other of all their hard adventures, and of their great temptations.\n\n'Truly,' said Galahad, 'ye are much bound to God, for ye have escaped right great adventures. Certes, had not this gentlewoman been, I had not come hither at this time; for as for you two, I weened never to have found you in these strange countries.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Galahad,' said Sir Bors, 'if Sir Lancelot your father were here then were we well at ease, for then me seemed we failed nothing.'\n\n'That may not be,' said Galahad, 'but if it pleased Our Lord.'\n\nBy then the ship had run from the land of Logris many miles. So by adventure it arrived up betwixt two rocks passing great and marvellous; but there they might not land, for there was a swallow of the sea, save there was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger.\n\n'Now go we thither,' said the gentlewoman, 'and there shall we see adventures, for so is Our Lord's will.'\n\nAnd when they came thither they found the ship rich enough, but they found neither man nor woman therein. But they found in the end of the ship two fair letters written, which said a dreadful word and a marvellous:\n\n'Thou man which shalt enter into this ship, beware that thou be in steadfast belief, for I am Faith. And therefore beware how thou enterest but if thou be steadfast, for and thou fail thereof I shall not help thee.'\n\nAnd then said the gentlewoman, 'Sir Percival,' said she, 'wot ye what I am?'\n\n'Certes,' said he, 'nay; unto my witting I saw you never erst.'\n\n'Wit you well,' said she, 'I am thy sister, which was daughter unto King Pellinore, and therefore wit you well ye are the man that I most love. And if ye be not in perfect belief of Jesu Christ, enter not in no manner of wise; for then should ye perish in the ship, for he is so perfect he will suffer no sinner within him.'\n\nSo when Sir Percival understood she was his very sister he was inwardly glad, and said, 'Fair sister, I shall enter in, for if I be a miscreature or an untrue knight there shall I perish.'\n\nSo in the meanwhile Sir Galahad blessed him, and entered therein; and so next the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bors, and then Sir Percival. And when they were in, it was so marvellous fair and rich, and amidst the ship was a fair bed; and anon Sir Galahad went thereto, and found thereon a crown of silk. And at the feet was a sword, rich and fair, and it was drawn out of the sheath a foot and more. And the sword was of divers fashions; and the pommel was of stone, and there was in it all manner of colours that any man might find, and each of the colours had divers virtues. And the scales of the haft were of two ribs of two divers beasts: the one was a serpent which is conversant in Caledonia and is called the serpent of the fiend; and the bone of him is of such virtue that there is no hand that handleth him shall never be weary nor hurt. And the other bone is of a fish which is not right great and haunteth the flood of Euphrates, and that fish is called Ertanax; and the bones be of such manner of kind that who that handleth them shall have so much will that he shall never be weary, and he shall not think on joy nor sorrow that he hath had, but only that thing that he beholdeth before him. And as for this sword, there shall never man grip him\u2014that is to say, the handles\u2014but one; and he shall pass all other.\n\n'In the name of God,' said Sir Percival, 'I shall assay to handle it.' So he set his hand to the sword, but he might not grip it. 'By my faith,' said he, 'now have I failed.'\n\nThen Sir Bors set to his hand, and failed.\n\nThen Sir Galahad beheld the sword, and saw letters like blood that said, 'Let see who dare draw me out of my sheath but if he be more hardier than any other; for who that draweth me out, wit you well he shall never be shamed of his body, nor wounded to the death.'\n\n'Par fay,' said Sir Galahad, 'I would draw this sword out of the sheath, but the offending is so great that I shall not set my hand thereto.'\n\n'Now, sirs,' said the gentlewoman, 'the drawing of this sword is warned to all save only to you.'\n\nAnd then beheld they the scabbard; it seemed to be of a serpent's skin, and thereon were letters of gold and silver. And the girdle was but poorly to come to, and not able to sustain such a rich sword. And the letters said, 'He which shall wield me ought to be more hardy than any other, if he bear me as truly as me ought to be borne. For the body of him which I ought to hang by, he shall not be shamed in no place while he is girt with the girdle. Nor never none be so hardy to do away this girdle: for it ought not to be done away but by the hands of a maid, and that she be a king's daughter and a queen's. And she must be a maid all the days of her life, both in will and in work, and if she break her virginity she shall die the most villainous death that ever did any woman.'\n\n'Sir,' said she, 'there was a king that hight Pelles, which men called the Maimed King; and while he might ride he supported much Christendom and Holy Church. So upon a day he hunted in a wood of his which lasted unto the sea; so at the last he lost his hounds and his knights save only one. And so he and his knight went till that they came toward Ireland, and there he found the ship. And when he saw the letters and understood them, yet he entered, for he was right perfect of life; but his knight had no hardiness to enter. And there found he this sword, and drew it out as much as ye may see. So therewith entered a spear wherewith he was smitten him through both thighs; and never since might he be healed, nor nought shall before we come to him. Thus,' said she, 'was King Pelles, your grandsire, maimed for his hardiness.'\n\n'In the name of God, damosel,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nSo they went toward the bed to behold all about it; and above the bed there hung two swords. Also there were spindles which were white as snow, and others that were red as blood, and others above green as any emerald: of these three colours were these spindles, and of natural colour within, and without any painting.\n\n'These spindles,' said the damosel, 'were when sinful Eve came to gather fruit, for which she and Adam were put out of paradise, she took with her the bough which the apple hung on. Then perceived she that the branch was fresh and green, and she remembered her of the loss which came of the tree. Then she thought to keep the branch as long as she might; and for she had no coffer to keep it in, she put it in the earth. So by the will of Our Lord the branch grew to a great tree within a little while, and was as white as any snow, branches, boughs, and leaves: that was a token that a maiden planted it. But after that, Our Lord came to Adam and bade him know his wife fleshly as nature required. So lay Adam with his wife under the same tree; and anon the tree which was white fell to green as any grass, and all that came out of it. And in the same time that they meddled together, Abel was begotten. Thus was the tree long of green colour.\n\n'And so it befell many days after, under the same tree Cain slew Abel, whereof befell great marvel. For as Abel had received death under the green tree, it lost the green colour and became red; and that was in tokening of blood. And anon all the plants died thereof, but the tree grew and waxed marvellously fair, and it was the fairest tree and the most delectable that any man might behold and see; and so did the plants that grew out of it before that Abel was slain under it.\n\n'And so long endured the tree till that Solomon, King David's son, reigned and held the land after his father. So this Solomon was wise, and knew all the virtues of stones and trees; also he knew the course of the stars and of many other divers things. So this Solomon had an evil wife, wherethrough he weened that there had been no good woman born, and therefore he despised them in his books. So there answered a voice that said to him thus: \"Solomon, if heaviness come to a man by a woman, ne reck thou never; for yet shall there come a woman whereof there shall come greater joy to a man a hundred times than this heaviness giveth sorrow, and that woman shall be born of thy lineage.\" So when Solomon heard these words he held himself but a fool. That proof had he by old books, the truth; also the Holy Ghost showed him the coming of the glorious Virgin Mary. Then asked he the voice if it should be of the yard of his lineage.\n\n'\"Nay,\" said the voice, \"but there shall come a man which shall be a maid, and last of your blood; and he shall be as good a knight as Duke Joshua, thy brother-in-law. Now have I certified thee of that thou standest in doubt.\"\n\n'Then was Solomon glad that there should come any such of his lineage, but ever he marvelled and studied who that should be, and what his name might be. So his wife perceived that he studied, and thought she would know at some season; and so she waited her time, and came to him and asked him. And there he told her altogether how the voice had told him.\n\n'\"Well,\" said she, \"I shall let make a ship of the best wood and most durable that any man may find.\"\n\n'So Solomon sent for carpenters, of all the land the best. And when they had made the ship the lady said to Solomon, \"Sir, since it is so that this knight ought to pass all knights of chivalry which have been before him and shall come after him, moreover I shall learn you,\" said she, \"ye shall go into Our Lord's temple, where is King David's sword, your father, which is the marvelloust and the sharpest that ever was taken in any knight's hands. Therefore take ye that, and take off the pommel, and thereto make ye a pommel of precious stones; let it be so subtly made that no man perceive it but that they be all one. And after make there a hilt so marvellously that no man may know it; and after that make a marvellous sheath. And when ye have made all this, I shall let make a girdle thereto, such one as shall please me.\"\n\n'So all this King Solomon did let make as she devised, both the ship and all the remnant. And when the ship was ready in the sea to sail, the lady let make a great bed and marvellous rich, and set her upon the bed's head covered with silk, and laid the sword at the feet. And the girdles were of hemp, and therewith the king was right angry.\n\n'\"Sir, wit you well that I have none so high a thing which were worthy to sustain so high a sword. And a maid shall bring other knights thereto; but I wot not when it shall be, nor what time.\"\n\n'And there she let make a covering to the ship of cloth of silk that should never rot for no manner of weather. Then this lady went and made a carpenter to come to the tree which Abel was slain under.\n\n'\"Now,\" said she, \"carve me out of this tree as much wood as will make me a spindle.\"\n\n'\"Ah, madam,\" said he, \"this is the tree the which our first mother planted.\"\n\n'\"Do it,\" said she, \"or else I shall destroy thee.\"\n\n'Anon as he began to work there came out drops of blood; and then would he have left, but she would not suffer him. And so he took as much wood as might make a spindle; and so she made him to take as much of the green tree, and so of the white tree. And when these three spindles were shaped, she made them to be fastened upon the selar of the bed. So when Solomon saw this, he said to his wife, \"Ye have done marvellously, for though all the world were here right now, they could not devise wherefore all this was made, but Our Lord Himself; and thou that hast done it wot not what it shall betoken.\"\n\n'\"Now let it be,\" said she, \"for ye shall hear tidings peradventure sooner than ye ween.\"\n\n'Now here is a wonderful tale of King Solomon and of his wife.\n\n'That night lay Solomon before the ship with little fellowship; and when he was asleep, him thought there came from heaven a great company of angels and alit into the ship, and took water which was brought by an angel in a vessel of silver and besprent all the ship. And after he came to the sword and drew letters on the hilt; and after went to the ship's board, and wrote there other letters which said, \"Thou man that wilt enter within me, beware that thou be full in the faith, for I ne am but Faith and Belief.\"\n\n'When Solomon espied those letters he was so abashed that he durst not enter, and so he drew him aback; and the ship was anon shoved in the sea. He went so fast that he had lost the sight of him within a little while. And then a voice said, \"Solomon, the last knight of thy kindred shall rest in this bed.\"\n\n'Then went Solomon and awaked his wife, and told her the adventures of this ship.'\n\nNow saith the tale that a great while the three fellows beheld the bed and the three spindles; then they were at a certainty that they were of natural colours without any painting. Then they lifted up a cloth which was above the ground, and there found a rich purse by seeming. And Sir Percival took it and found therein a writ, and so he read it; and it devised the manner of the spindles and of the ship, whence it came, and by whom it was made.\n\n'Now,' said Sir Galahad, 'where shall we find the gentlewoman that shall make new girdles to the sword?'\n\n'Fair sirs,' said Percival's sister, 'dismay you not, for by the leave of God I shall let make a girdle to the sword, such one as should belong thereto.'\n\nAnd then she opened a box and took out girdles which were seemly wrought with golden threads, and upon that were set full precious stones and a rich buckle of gold.\n\n'Lo, lords,' she said, 'here is a girdle that ought to be set about the sword. And wit you well, the greatest part of this girdle was made of my hair, which some time I loved well while that I was a woman of the world. But as soon as I wist that this adventure was ordained me, I clipped off my hair and made this girdle.'\n\n'In the name of God, ye be well found,' said Sir Bors, 'for certes ye have put us out of great pain wherein we should have entered had not your tidings been.'\n\nThen went the gentlewoman and set it on the girdle of the sword.\n\n'Now,' said the fellowship, 'what is the name of the sword, and what shall we call it?'\n\n'Truly,' said she, 'the name of the sword is the Sword with the Strange Girdles; and the sheath, Mover of Blood; for no man that hath blood in him shall never see the one part of the sheath which was made of the tree of life.'\n\nThen they said, 'Sir Galahad, in the name of Jesu Christ, we pray you to gird you with this sword which hath been desired so much in the realm of Logris.'\n\n'Now let me begin', said Galahad, 'to grip this sword for to give you courage; but wit you well it longeth no more to me than it doth to you.'\n\nAnd then he gripped about it with his fingers a great deal; and then she girt him about the middle with the sword.\n\n'Now reck I not though I die, for now I hold me one of the best blessed maidens of the world, which hath made the worthiest knight of the world.'\n\n'Damosel,' said Sir Galahad, 'ye have done so much that I shall be your knight all the days of my life.'\n\nThen they went from that ship, and went to the other. And anon the wind drove them into the sea a great pace, but they had no victual. So it befell that they came on the morn to a castle that men call Carteloise, that was in the marches of Scotland. And when they had passed the port, the gentlewoman said, 'Lords, here be men arrived that, and they wist that ye were of King Arthur's court, ye should be assailed anon.'\n\n'Well, damosel, dismay you not,' said Sir Galahad, 'for He that cast us out of the rock shall deliver us from them.'\n\nSo it befell as they talked thus together, there came a squire by them and asked what they were.\n\n'Sir, we are of King Arthur's house.'\n\n'Is that sooth?' said he. 'Now by my head,' said he, 'ye be evil arrayed,' and then turned again unto the chief fortress, and within a while they heard a horn blow. Then a gentlewoman came to them and asked them of whence they were; anon they told her.\n\n'Now, fair lords,' she said, 'for God's love turn again if ye may, for ye be come to your death.'\n\n'Nay, for sooth,' they said, 'we will not turn again, for He should help us into whose service we were entered in.'\n\nSo as they stood talking there came ten knights well armed, and bade them yield or else die.\n\n'That yielding', said they, 'shall be noyous unto you.'\n\nAnd therewith they let their horses run, and Sir Percival smote the first that he bore him to the earth, and took his horse and bestrode him. And the same wise did Sir Galahad, and also Sir Bors served another so; for they had no horses in that country, for they left their horses when they took their ship. And so when they were horsed then began they to set upon them; and they of the castle fled into strong fortresses, and these three knights after them into the castle, and so alit on foot and with their swords slew them down, and got into the hall. Then when they beheld the great multitude of people that they had slain, they held themselves great sinners.\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Bors, 'I ween, and God had loved them, that we should not have had power to have slain them thus. But they have done so much against Our Lord that He would not suffer them to reign no longer.'\n\n'Say ye not so,' said Galahad, 'for if they misdid against God, the vengeance is not ours, but to Him which hath power thereof.'\n\nSo came there out of a chamber a good man which was a priest, and bore God's body in a cup; and when he saw them which lay dead in the hall he was abashed. Anon Sir Galahad did off his helm and kneeled down, and so did his two fellows.\n\n'Sir,' said they, 'have ye no dread of us, for we be of King Arthur's court.'\n\nThen asked the good man how they were slain so suddenly, and they told him.\n\n'Truly,' said the good man, 'and ye might live as long as the world might endure, might ye not have done so great an alms-deed as this.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Galahad, 'I repent me greatly inasmuch as they were christened.'\n\n'Nay, repent you not,' said he, 'for they were not christened. And I shall tell you how that I know of this castle. Here was a lord earl, whose name was Hernox, not but one year; and he had three sons, good knights of arms, and a daughter, the fairest gentlewoman that men knew. So those three knights loved their sister so sore that they burned in love; and so they lay by her maugre her head. And for she cried to her father they slew her, and took their father and put him in prison and wounded him nigh to the death; but a cousin of hers rescued him. And then did they great untruth, for they slew clerks and priests and made beat down chapels, that Our Lord's service might not be said. And this same day her father sent unto me for to be confessed and houseled. But such shame had never man as I had this same day with the three brethren; but the old earl made me to suffer, for he said they should not long endure, for three servants of Our Lord should destroy them. And now it is brought to an end, and by this may you wit that Our Lord is not displeased with your deeds.'\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Galahad, 'and it had not pleased Our Lord, never should we have slain so many men in so little a while.'\n\nAnd they brought the Earl Hernox out of prison into the midst of the hall, the which knew well Sir Galahad, and yet saw he him never before but by revelation of Our Lord. Then he began to weep right tenderly, and said, 'Long have I abided your coming! But for God's love, hold me in your arms, that my soul may depart out of my body in so good a man's arms as ye be.'\n\n'Full gladly,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nAnd then one said on high, that all folk heard, 'Sir Galahad, well hast thou been avenged on God's enemies. Now behoveth thee to go to the Maimed King as soon as thou mayst, for he shall receive by thee health which he hath abided so long.'\n\nAnd therewith the soul departed from the body; and Sir Galahad made him to be buried as he ought to be.\n\nAnd then they dwelled there all that day; and upon the morn, when they had heard Mass, they departed and commended the good man to God. And so they came to a castle and passed by; so there came a knight armed after them and said, 'Lords, this gentlewoman that ye lead with you, is she a maid?'\n\n'Yea, sir,' said she, 'a maid I am.'\n\nThen he took her by the bridle and said, 'By the Holy Cross, ye shall not escape me before ye have yielded the custom of this castle.'\n\n'Let her go,' said Sir Percival. 'Ye be not wise, for a maid in what place she cometh is free.'\n\nSo in the meanwhile there came out ten or twelve knights armed out of the castle, and with them came gentlewomen the which held a dish of silver. And then they said, 'This gentlewoman must yield us the custom of this castle.'\n\n'Why,' said Sir Galahad, 'what is the custom of this castle?'\n\n'Sir,' said a knight, 'what maid passeth hereby should fill this dish full of blood of her right arm.'\n\n'Blame have he,' said Galahad, 'that brought up such customs! And so God save me, ye may be sure that of this, gentlewomen, shall ye fail while that I have health.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Percival, 'I had liever be slain.'\n\n'And I also,' said Sir Bors.\n\n'By my faith,' said the knight, 'then shall ye die, for ye may not endure against us though ye were the best knights of the world.'\n\nThen let they run each horse to other, and these three knights beat the ten knights, and then set their hands to their swords and beat them down. Then there came out of the castle sixty knights armed.\n\n'Now, fair lords,' said these three knights, 'have mercy on yourselves and have not ado with us.'\n\n'Nay, fair lords,' said the knights of the castle, 'we counsel you to withdraw you, for ye be the best knights of the world; and therefore do no more, for ye have done enough. We will let you go with this harm, but we must needs have the custom.'\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Galahad, 'for nought speak ye.'\n\n'Well,' said they, 'will ye die?'\n\n'Sir, we be not yet come thereto,' said Sir Galahad.\n\nThen began they to meddle together; and Sir Galahad, with the strange girdles, drew his sword and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, and slew whom that ever abode him, and did so marvellously that they had marvel of him, and his two fellows helped him passingly well. And so they held their journey each alike hard till it was nigh night\u2014then must they needs part.\n\nSo there came a good knight and said to these three knights, 'If ye will come in tonight and take such harbour as here is, ye shall be right welcome; and we shall assure you by the faith of our bodies and as we be true knights, to leave you in such state tomorrow as here we find you, without any falsehood. And as soon as ye know of the custom, we dare say we will accord.'\n\n'Therefore for God's love,' said the gentlewoman, 'go we thither, and spare not for me.'\n\n'Well, go we,' said Sir Galahad; and so they entered into the castle, and when they were alit they made great joy of them. So within a while the three knights asked the custom of the castle and wherefore it was used.\n\n'Sir, what it is we will say you the sooth. There is in this castle a gentlewoman, which both we and this castle is hers, and many other. So it befell many years ago, there happened on her a malady; and when she had lain a great while she fell into a mesel, and no leech could remedy her. But at the last an old man said and she might have a dish full of blood of a maid, and a clean virgin in will and in work, and a king's daughter, that blood should be her health, for to anoint her withal. And for this thing was this custom made.'\n\n'Now,' said Sir Percival's sister, 'fair knights, I see well that this gentlewoman is but dead without help, and therefore let me bleed.'\n\n'Certes,' said Sir Galahad, 'and ye bleed so much ye must die.'\n\n'Truly,' said she, 'and I die for the health of her I shall get me great worship and soul's health, and worship to my lineage; and better is one harm than twain. And therefore there shall no more battle be, but tomorrow I shall yield you your custom of this castle.'\n\nAnd then there was made great joy over there was made before, for else had there been mortal war upon the morn; notwithstanding she would none other, whether they would or would not. So that night were these three fellows eased with the best; and on the morn they heard Mass, and Sir Percival's sister bade them bring forth the sick lady. So she was brought forth, which was full evil at ease.\n\nThen said she, 'Who shall let me blood?'\n\nSo one came forth and let her blood, and she bled so much that the dish was full. Then she lifted up her hand and blessed her, and said to this lady, 'Madam, I am come to my death for to heal you, therefore for God's love pray for me.'\n\nAnd with that she fell in a swoon. Then Sir Galahad and his two fellows started up to her and lifted her up and staunched her blood, but she had bled so much that she might not live.\n\nSo when she was awaked, she said, 'Fair brother Sir Percival, I die for the healing of this lady. And when I am dead, I require you that ye bury me not in this country, but as soon as I am dead put me in a boat at the next haven, and let me go as adventure will lead me. And as soon as ye three come to the city of Sarras, there to achieve the Holy Grail, ye shall find me under a tower arrived; and there bury me in the spiritual palace. For I shall tell you for truth, there shall Sir Galahad be buried, and ye both, in the same place.'\n\nWhen Sir Percival understood these words, he granted her all weepingly. And then said a voice unto them, 'Lords, tomorrow at the hour of prime ye three shall depart each from other, till the adventure bring you unto the Maimed King.'\n\nThen asked she her Saviour; and as soon as she had received Him the soul departed from the body. So the same day was the lady healed, when she was anointed with her blood.\n\nThen Sir Percival made a letter of all that she had helped them as in strange adventures, and put it in her right hand; and so laid her in a barge, and covered it with black silk. And so the wind arose and drove the barge from the land, and all manner of knights beheld it till it was out of their sight. Then they drew all to the castle, and forthwith there fell a sudden tempest of thunder and lightning and rain, as all the earth would have broken. So half the castle turned upside down. So it passed evensong or the tempest were ceased.\n\nThen they saw before them a knight armed and wounded hard in the body and in the head, which said, 'Ah, good Lord, succour me, for now it is need.'\n\nSo after this knight there came another knight and a dwarf, which cried to them afar, 'Stand, ye may not escape!'\n\nThen the wounded knight held up his hands, and prayed God that he might not die in such tribulation.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Galahad, 'I shall succour him, for His sake that he calleth on.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'I shall do it, for it is not for you, for he is but one knight.'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'I grant you.'\n\nSo Sir Bors took his sword and commended him to God, and rode after to rescue the wounded knight.\n\nNow turn we to Sir Galahad and to Sir Percival.\n\nNow turneth the tale unto Sir Galahad and Sir Percival, that were in a chapel all night in their prayers for to save them Sir Bors. So on the morrow they dressed them in their harness toward the castle, to wit what was fallen of them therein. And when they came there, they found neither man nor woman that he was not dead by the vengeance of Our Lord. So with that they heard a voice that said, 'This vengeance is for blood-shedding of maidens.'\n\nAlso they found at the end of the castle a churchyard, and therein they might see sixty fair tombs; and that place was fair, and so delectable that it seemed them there had been no tempest. And there lay the bodies of all the good maidens which were martyred for the sick lady. Also they found there names of each lady, and of what blood they were come of; and all were of kings' blood, and eleven of them were kings' daughters.\n\nThen they departed and went into a forest.\n\n'Now,' said Sir Percival unto Sir Galahad, 'we must part; and therefore pray we Our Lord that we may meet together in short time.'\n\nThen they did off their helms and kissed together, and sore wept at their departing.\n\nNow turneth this tale unto Sir Lancelot.\n\nNow saith the tale, that when Sir Lancelot was come to the water of Mortaise, as it is rehearsed before, he was in great peril. And so he laid him down and slept, and took the adventure that God would send him.\n\nSo when he was asleep there came a vision unto him, that said, 'Sir Lancelot, arise up and take thine armour, and enter into the first ship that thou shalt find.'\n\nAnd when he heard these words he started up and saw great clearness about him; and then he lifted up his hand and blessed him. And so he took his arms and made him ready; and at the last he came by a strand, and found a ship without sail or oar. And as soon as he was within the ship, there he had the most sweetness that ever he felt, and he was fulfilled with all things that he thought on or desired. Then he said, 'Sweet Father, Jesu Christ, I wot not what joy I am in, for this joy passeth all earthly joys that ever I was in.'\n\nAnd so in this joy he laid him down to the shipboard, and slept till day. And when he awoke he found there a fair bed, and therein lying a gentlewoman dead, which was Sir Percival's sister. And as Sir Lancelot avised her, he espied in her right hand a writ which he read, that told him all the adventures ye have heard before, and of what lineage she was come.\n\nSo with this gentlewoman Sir Lancelot was a month and more. If ye would ask how he lived, He that fed the children of Israel with manna in the desert, so was he fed; for every day when he had said his prayers he was sustained with the grace of the Holy Ghost.\n\nAnd so on a night he went to play him by the water's side, for he was somewhat weary of the ship. And then he listened and heard a horse come, and one riding upon him; and when he came nigh, him seemed a knight. And so he let him pass and went there as the ship was; and there he alit, and took the saddle and the bridle and put the horse from him, and so went into the ship. And then Sir Lancelot dressed him unto the ship and said, 'Sir, ye be welcome.'\n\nAnd he answered and saluted him again, and said, 'Sir, what is your name? For much my heart giveth unto you.'\n\n'Truly,' said he, 'my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'then be ye welcome, for ye were the beginner of me in this world.'\n\n'Ah, sir, are ye Sir Galahad?'\n\n'Yea, forsooth.'\n\nAnd so he kneeled down and asked him his blessing, and after took off his helm and kissed him. And there was great joy betwixt them, for no tongue can tell what joy either made of other. And there each of them told other the adventures that had befallen them sith that they departed from the court.\n\nAnd anon as Sir Galahad saw the gentlewoman dead in the bed, he knew her well, and said great worship of her, that she was one of the best maidens living, and it was great pity of her death. But when Sir Lancelot heard how the marvellous sword was gotten, and who made it, and all the marvels rehearsed before, then he prayed Sir Galahad that he would show him the sword; and so he brought it forth, and kissed the pommel and the hilts and the scabbard.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'never erst knew I of so high adventures done, and so marvellous strange.'\n\nSo dwelled Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad within that ship half a year, and served God daily and nightly with all their power. And often they arrived in isles far from folk, where there repaired none but wild beasts, and there they found many strange adventures and perilous which they brought to an end; but for those adventures were with wild beasts, and not in the quest of the Sangrail, therefore the tale maketh here no mention thereof, for it would be too long to tell of all those adventures that befell them.\n\nSo after, on a Monday, it befell that they arrived in the edge of a forest before a cross; and then saw they a knight armed all in white, and was richly horsed, and led in his right hand a white horse. And so he came to the ship and saluted the two knights in the high Lord's behalf, and said unto Sir Galahad, 'Sir, ye have been long enough with your father. Therefore come out of the ship, and take this horse and go where the adventures shall lead you in the quest of the Sangrail.'\n\nThen he went to his father and kissed him sweetly, and said, 'Fair sweet father, I wot not when I shall see you more till I see the body of Jesu Christ.'\n\n'Now for God's love,' said Sir Lancelot, 'pray to the Father that He hold me still in His service.'\n\nAnd so he took his horse; and there they heard a voice that said, 'Each of you think for to do well, for nevermore shall one see the other of you before the dreadful day of doom.'\n\n'Now, my son, Sir Galahad, sith we shall depart and neither of us see other more, I pray to that High Father, conserve me and you both.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Galahad, 'no prayer availeth so much as yours.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Galahad entered into the forest; and the wind arose, and drove Sir Lancelot more than a month through the sea, where he slept but little, but prayed to God that he might see some tidings of the Sangrail.\n\nSo it befell on a night, at midnight, he arrived before a castle on the back side, which was rich and fair, and there was a postern opened toward the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shone right clear. Anon Sir Lancelot heard a voice that said, 'Lancelot, go out of this ship and enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a great part of thy desire.'\n\nThen he ran to his arms, and so armed him, and so went to the gate and saw the lions; then set he hand to his sword and drew it. So there came a dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm so sore that the sword fell out of his hand. Then heard he a voice say, 'O man of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore trustest thou more on thy harness than in thy Maker? For He might more avail thee than thine armour in that service that thou art set in.'\n\nThen said Sir Lancelot, 'Fair Father Jesu Christ, I thank thee of Thy great mercy that Thou reprovest me of my misdeed! Now see I that Thou holdest me for one of Thy servants.'\n\nThen took he his sword again and put it up in his sheath, and made a cross in his forehead, and came to the lions; and they made semblant to do him harm. Notwithstanding he passed by them without hurt, and entered into the castle to the chief fortress. And there were they all at rest.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot entered so armed, for he found no gate nor door but it was open. And at the last he found a chamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to have opened it, but he might not. Then he enforced him mickle to undo the door.\n\nThen he listened and heard a voice which sang so sweetly that it seemed no earthly thing; and him thought the voice said, 'Joy and honour be to the Father of Heaven.'\n\nThen Lancelot kneeled down before the chamber door, for well wist he that there was the Sangrail within that chamber. Then said he, 'Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that pleased Thee, Lord, for Thy pity have me not in despite for my sins done beforetime, and that Thou show me something of that I seek.'\n\nAnd with that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright as all the torches of the world had been there. So came he to the chamber door, and would have entered. And anon a voice said unto him, 'Sir Lancelot, flee, and enter not, for thou ought not to do it; and if thou enter thou shalt forthink it.' Then he withdrew him aback right heavy.\n\nThen looked he up into the midst of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel covered with red samite, and many angels about it, whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and the other held a cross and the ornaments of an altar. And before the holy vessel he saw a good man clothed as a priest; and it seemed that he was at the sacring of the Mass. And it seemed to Sir Lancelot that above the priest's hands were three men, whereof the two put the youngest by likeness between the priest's hands; and so he lifted them up right high, and it seemed to show so to the people. And then Sir Lancelot marvelled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatly charged of the figure that him seemed that he should fall to the earth. And when he saw none about him that would help him, then came he to the door a great pace, and said, 'Fair Father Jesu Christ, take it not for no sin though I help the good man which hath great need of help.'\n\nRight so entered he into the chamber, and came toward the table of silver; and when he came nigh it, he felt a breath that him thought it was intermeddled with fire, which smote him so sore in the visage that him thought it burnt his visage; and therewith he fell to the earth and had no power to arise, as he that had lost the power of his body and his hearing and sight. Then felt he many hands which took him up and bore him out of the chamber door, and left him there seeming dead to all people.\n\nSo upon the morrow when it was fair day, they within were risen, and found Sir Lancelot lying before the chamber door. All they marvelled how that he came in; and so they looked upon him, and felt his pulse to wit whether there were any life in him. And so they found life in him, but he might not stand nor stir no member that he had. And so they took him by every part of the body and bore him into a chamber and laid him in a rich bed far from folk, and so he lay four days. Then one said he was alive, and another said nay, he was dead.\n\n'In the name of God,' said an old man, 'I do you verily to wit he is not dead, but he is as full of life as the strongest of us all. Therefore I rede you all that he be well kept till God send life in him again.'\n\nSo in such manner they kept Sir Lancelot four and twenty days and all so many nights, that ever he lay still as a dead man; and at the twenty-fifth day befell him after midday that he opened his eyes. And when he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said, 'Why have ye awaked me?\u2014for I was more at ease than I am now. Ah, Jesu Christ, who might be so blessed that might see openly Thy great marvels of secretness there where no sinner may be?'\n\n'What have ye seen?' said they about him.\n\n'I have seen,' said he, 'so great marvels that no tongue may tell, and more than any heart can think; and had not my sin been beforetime, else I had seen much more.'\n\nThen they told him how he had lain there four and twenty days and nights. Then him thought it was punishment for the four and twenty years that he had been a sinner, wherefore Our Lord put him in penance the four and twenty days and nights. Then looked Lancelot before him, and saw the hair which he had borne nigh a year; for that he forthought him right much that he had broken his promise unto the hermit, which he had vowed to do.\n\nThen they asked how it stood with him.\n\n'For sooth,' said he, 'I am whole of body, thanked be Our Lord; therefore, for God's love tell me where I am.' Then said they all that he was in the Castle of Carbonek.\n\nTherewith came a gentlewoman and brought him a shirt of small linen cloth; but he changed not there, but took the hair to him again.\n\n'Sir,' said they, 'the quest of the Sangrail is achieved now right in you, and never shall ye see of the Sangrail more than ye have seen.'\n\n'Now I thank God,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for His great mercy of that I have seen, for it sufficeth me. For as I suppose no man in this world hath lived better than I have done to achieve that I have done.'\n\nAnd therewith he took the hair and clothed him in it, and above that he put a linen shirt, and after that a robe of scarlet, fresh and new. And when he was so arrayed they marvelled all, for they knew him well that he was Sir Lancelot, the good knight. And then they said all, 'Ah, my lord Sir Lancelot, ye be he!'\n\nAnd he said, 'Yea, truly I am he.'\n\nThen came word to the King Pelles that the knight that had lain so long dead was the noble knight Sir Lancelot. Then was the king right glad, and went to see him; and when Sir Lancelot saw him come he dressed him against him, and then made the king great joy of him. And there the king told him tidings how his fair daughter was dead. Then Sir Lancelot was right heavy, and said, 'Me forthinketh of the death of your daughter, for she was a full fair lady, fresh and young, and well I wot she bore the best knight that is now on earth, or that ever was since God was born.'\n\nSo the king held him there four days, and on the morrow he took his leave at King Pelles and at all the fellowship, and thanked them of the great labour.\n\nRight so as they sat at their dinner in the chief hall, it befell that the Sangrail had fulfilled the tables with all meats that any heart might think. And as they sat they saw all the doors of the palace and windows shut without man's hand; so they were all abashed. So a knight which was all armed came to the chief door and knocked, and cried, 'Undo!' But they would not; and ever he cried, 'Undo!' So it annoyed them so much that the king himself arose and came to a window there where the knight called. Then he said, 'Sir knight, ye shall not enter at this time while the Sangrail is here, and therefore go into another fortress. For ye be none of the knights of the Quest, but one of them which have served the fiend, and hast left the service of Our Lord.'\n\nThen he was passing wroth at the king's words.\n\n'Sir knight,' said the king, 'since ye would so fain enter, tell me of what country ye be.'\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I am of the realm of Logris, and my name is Sir Ector de Maris, brother unto my lord Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'In the name of God,' said the king, 'me forthinks of that I have said, for your brother is herein.'\n\nWhen Sir Ector de Maris understood that his brother was there, for he was the man in the world that he most dreaded and loved, then he said, 'Ah, good Lord, now doubleth my sorrow and shame! Full truly said the good man of the hill unto Gawain and to me of our dreams.' Then went he out of the court as fast as his horse might, and so throughout the castle.\n\nThen King Pelles came to Sir Lancelot and told him tidings of his brother; anon he was sorry therefor, that he wist not what to do. So Sir Lancelot departed and took his arms, and said he would go see the realm of Logris which he had not seen afore in a year; and therewith commended the king to God, and so rode through many realms.\n\nAnd at the last he came to a white abbey, and there they made him that night great cheer. And on the morn he arose and heard Mass; and before an altar he found a rich tomb, which was newly made. And then he took heed and saw the sides written with gold which said, 'Here lieth King Bagdemagus of Gore, which King Arthur's nephew slew'\u2014and named him, Sir Gawain. Then was he not a little sorry, for Sir Lancelot loved him much more than any other (and had it been any other than Sir Gawain, he should not escape from the death); and said to himself, 'Ah, Lord God, this is a great hurt unto King Arthur's court, the loss of such a man.'\n\nAnd then he departed and came to the abbey where Sir Galahad did the adventure of the tombs and won the white shield with the red cross. And there had he great cheer all that night, and on the morn he turned to Camelot, where he found King Arthur and the Queen. But many of the knights of the Round Table were slain and destroyed, more than half. And so three of them were come home, Sir Ector, Gawain, and Lionel, and many other that needeth not now to rehearse. And all the court was passing glad of Sir Lancelot, and the King asked him many tidings of his son Sir Galahad.\n\nAnd there Sir Lancelot told the King of his adventures that befell him since he departed. And also he told him of the adventures of Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors, which that he knew by the letter of the dead maiden, and also as Sir Galahad had told him.\n\n'Now would God', said the King, 'that they were all three here.'\n\n'That shall never be,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for two of them shall ye never see; but one of them shall come home again.'\n\nNow leaveth this tale and speaketh of Sir Galahad.\n\nNow saith the tale that Sir Galahad rode many journeys in vain; and at the last he came to the abbey where King Mordrains was, and when he heard that, he thought he would abide to see him. And so upon the morn, when he had heard Mass, Sir Galahad came unto King Mordrains; and anon the king saw him, which had lain blind of long time. And then he dressed him against him, and said, 'Sir Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ and very knight, whose coming I have abided long, now embrace me and let me rest on thy breast, so that I may rest between thine arms. For thou art a clean virgin above all knights, as the flower of the lily in whom virginity is signified; and thou art the rose which is the flower of all good virtue, and in colour of fire. For the fire of the Holy Ghost is taken so in thee that my flesh which was all dead of oldness is become again young.'\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard his words, then he embraced him and all his body. Then said he, 'Fair Lord Jesu Christ, now I have my will, now I require Thee, in this point that I am in, Thou come and visit me.'\n\nAnd anon Our Lord heard his prayer, and therewith the soul departed from the body. And then Sir Galahad put him in the earth as a king ought to be; and so departed, and came into a perilous forest where he found the well the which boiled with great waves, as the tale telleth before. And as soon as Sir Galahad set his hand thereto, it ceased, so that it burned no more, and anon the heat departed away. And cause why that it burned, it was a sign of lechery, that was that time much used; but that heat might not abide his pure virginity. And so this was taken in the country for a miracle, and so ever after was it called Galahad's well.\n\nAnd so he rode five days till that he came to the Maimed King. And ever followed Sir Percival the five days where he had been; and so one told him how the adventures of Logris were achieved. So on a day it befell that he came out of a great forest, and there met they at traverse with Sir Bors, which rode alone\u2014it is no rede to ask if they were glad. And so he saluted them, and they yielded to him honour and good adventure, and each told other how they had sped.\n\nThen said Bors, 'It is more than a year and a half that I lay ten times where men dwelled, but in wild forests and in mountains; but God was ever my comfort.'\n\nThen rode they a great while till that they came to the castle of Carbonek. And when they were entered within, King Pelles knew them; so there was great joy, for he wist well by their coming that they had fulfilled the Sangrail.\n\nAnd anon alit a voice among them, and said, 'They that ought not to sit at the table of Our Lord Jesu Christ, avoid hence, for now there shall very knights be fed.'\n\nSo they went thence, all save King Pelles and Eliazar his son, which were holy men, and a maid which was his niece; and so these three knights and these three were there\u2014else were no more. And anon they saw knights all armed that came in at the hall door and did off their helms and arms, and said unto Sir Galahad, 'Sir, we have hied right much for to be with you at this table where the holy meat shall be departed.'\n\nThen said he, 'Ye be welcome; but of whence be ye?' So three of them said they were of Gaul, and other three said they were of Ireland, and other three said they were of Denmark.\n\nAnd so as they sat thus there came out a bed of tree from a chamber, which four gentlewomen brought; and in the bed lay a good man sick, and had a crown of gold upon his head. And there in the midst of the palace they set him down, and went again.\n\nThen he lifted up his head and said, 'Sir Galahad, good knight, ye be right welcome; for much have I desired your coming, for in such pain and in such anguish I have suffered long. But now I trust to God the term is come that my pain shall be allayed and I soon pass out of this world, so as it was promised me long ago.'\n\nAnd therewith a voice said, 'There be two among you that be not in the quest of the Sangrail, and therefore depart.'\n\nThen King Pelles and his son departed. And therewith beseemed them that there came an old man and four angels from heaven, clothed in likeness of a bishop, and had a cross in his hand; and these four angels bore him up in a chair, and set him down before the table of silver whereupon the Sangrail was. And it seemed that he had in the midst of his forehead letters which said, 'See you here Joseph, the first bishop of Christendom, the same which Our Lord succoured in the city of Sarras in the spiritual palace.'\n\nThen the knights marvelled, for that bishop was dead more than three hundred years before.\n\n'Ah, knights,' said he, 'marvel not, for I was sometime an earthly man.'\n\nSo with that they heard the chamber door open, and there they saw angels; and two bore candles of wax, and the third bore a towel, and the fourth a spear which bled marvellously, that the drops fell within a box which he held with his other hand. And anon they set the candles upon the table, and the third the towel upon the vessel, and the fourth the holy spear even upright upon the vessel. And then the bishop made semblant as though he would have gone to the sacring of a Mass, and then he took an oblay which was made in likeness of bread. And at the lifting up there came a figure in likeness of a child, and the visage was as red and as bright as any fire, and smote himself into the bread, that they all saw it that the bread was formed of a fleshly man. And then he put it into the holy vessel again, and then he did that longed to a priest to do Mass.\n\nAnd then he went to Sir Galahad and kissed him, and bade him go and kiss his fellows; and so he did anon.\n\n'Now,' said he, 'the servants of Jesu Christ, ye shall be fed afore this table with sweet meats that never knights yet tasted.' And when he had said, he vanished away. And they set them at the table in great dread, and made their prayers.\n\nThen looked they and saw a man come out of the holy vessel, that had all the signs of the passion of Jesu Christ bleeding all openly, and said, 'My knights and my servants and my true children, which be come out of deadly life into the spiritual life, I will now no longer cover me from you, but ye shall see now a part of my secrets and of my hidden things. Now hold and receive the high order and meat which ye have so much desired.'\n\nThen took He Himself the holy vessel and came to Sir Galahad; and he kneeled down and he received his Saviour. And after him so received all his fellows; and they thought it so sweet that it was marvellous to tell.\n\nThen said He to Sir Galahad, 'Son, wotest thou what I hold betwixt my hands?'\n\n'Nay,' said he, 'but if Ye tell me.'\n\n'This is,' said He, 'the holy dish wherein I ate the lamb on Easter Day. And now hast thou seen that thou most desired to see; but yet hast thou not seen it so openly as thou shalt see it in the city of Sarras in the spiritual palace. Therefore thou must go hence and bear with thee this holy vessel; for this night it shall depart from the realm of Logris, and it shall never more be seen here. And knowest thou wherefore? For it is not served nor worshipped to its right by them of this land, for they be turned to evil living; and therefore I shall disinherit them of the honour which I have done them. And therefore go ye three unto the sea, where ye shall find your ship ready; and with you take the sword with the strange girdles, and no more with you but Sir Percival and Sir Bors. Also I will that ye take with you of this blood of this spear for to anoint the Maimed King, both his legs and his body, and he shall have his health.'\n\n'Sir,' said Galahad, 'why shall not these other fellows go with us?'\n\n'For this cause: for right as I departed my apostles one here and another there, so I will that ye depart. And two of you shall die in my service, and one of you shall come again and tell tidings.' Then gave He them His blessing and vanished away.\n\nAnd Sir Galahad went anon to the spear which lay upon the table, and touched the blood with his fingers, and came after to the Maimed King and anointed his legs and his body. And therewith he clothed him anon, and started upon his feet out of his bed as a whole man, and thanked God that He had healed him. And anon he left the world and yielded himself to a place of religion of white monks, and was a full holy man.\n\nAnd that same night about midnight came a voice among them which said, 'My sons and not my chief sons, my friends and not my enemies, go ye hence where ye hope best to do, and as I bade you do.'\n\n'Ah, thanked be Thou, Lord, that Thou wilt vouchsafe to call us Thy sons. Now may we well prove that we have not lost our pains.'\n\nAnd anon in all haste they took their harness and departed. But the three knights of Gaul\u2014one of them hight Claudine, King Claudas' son, and the other two were great gentlemen\u2014then prayed Sir Galahad to each of them, that and they came to King Arthur's court, 'to salute my lord Sir Lancelot, my father, and them all of the Round Table'\u2014if they came on that part, not to forget it.\n\nRight so departed Sir Galahad, and Sir Percival and Sir Bors with him. And so they rode three days, and then they came to a rivage and found the ship whereof the tale speaketh of before. And when they came to the board they found in the midst the table of silver which they had left with the Maimed King, and the Sangrail which was covered with red samite. Then were they glad to have such things in their fellowship, and so they entered and made great reverence thereto.\n\nAnd Sir Galahad fell on his knees and prayed long time to Our Lord, that at what time he asked, he might pass out of this world. And so long he prayed till a voice said, 'Sir Galahad, thou shalt have thy request; and when thou askest the death of thy body thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou have the life of thy soul.'\n\nThen Sir Percival heard him a little, and prayed him of fellowship that was between them wherefore he asked such things.\n\n'Sir, that shall I tell you,' said Sir Galahad. 'This other day when we saw a part of the adventures of the Sangrail, I was in such joy of heart that I trow never earthly man was. And therefore I wot well, when my body is dead my soul shall be in great joy to see the Blessed Trinity every day, and the majesty of Our Lord Jesu Christ.'\n\nAnd so long were they in the ship that they said to Sir Galahad, 'Sir, in this bed ye ought to lie, for so saith the letters.' And so he laid him down and slept a great while. And when he awoke he looked before him and saw the city of Sarras; and as they would have landed, they saw the ship wherein Sir Percival had put his sister in.\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Percival, 'in the name of God, well hath my sister held us covenant.'\n\nThen took they out of the ship the table of silver, and he took it to Sir Percival and to Sir Bors to go before, and Sir Galahad came behind, and right so they went into the city. And at the gate of the city they saw an old man crooked; and anon Sir Galahad called him and bade him, 'Help to bear this heavy thing!'\n\n'Truly,' said the old man, 'it is ten years ago that I might not go but with crutches.'\n\n'Care thou not,' said Sir Galahad, 'arise up and show thy good will.'\n\nAnd so he assayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was. Then ran he to the table, and took one part against Galahad. Anon rose there a great noise in the city, that a cripple was made whole by marvellous knights that entered into the city.\n\nThen anon after, the three knights went to the water, and brought up into the palace Sir Percival's sister, and buried her as richly as they ought a king's daughter.\n\nAnd when the king of that country knew that and saw that fellowship\u2014his name was Estorause\u2014he asked them of whence they were, and what thing it was that they had brought upon the table of silver. And they told him the truth of the Sangrail, and the power which God had set there. Then this king was a great tyrant and was come of the line of paynims, and took them and put them in prison in a deep hole. But as soon as they were there Our Lord sent them the Sangrail, through whose grace they were always filled while they were in prison.\n\nSo at the year's end it befell that this king lay sick, and felt that he should die. Then he sent for the three knights, and they came before him; and he cried them mercy of that he had done to them, and they forgave him goodly, and he died anon.\n\nWhen the king was dead all the city stood dismayed, and wist not who might be their king. Right so as they were in counsel, there came a voice down among them and bade them choose the youngest knight of three to be their king: 'For he shall well maintain you and all yours.'\n\nSo they made Sir Galahad king by all the assent of the whole city, and else they would have slain him. And when he was come to his land, he let make above the table of silver a chest of gold and of precious stones that covered the holy vessel; and every day early these three knights would come before it and make their prayers.\n\nNow at the year's end, and the self Sunday after that Sir Galahad had borne the crown of gold, he arose up early and his fellows, and came to the palace; and saw before them the holy vessel, and a man kneeling on his knees in likeness of a bishop that had about him a great fellowship of angels, as it had been Jesu Christ Himself. And then he arose and began a Mass of Our Lady. And so he came to the sacring, and anon made an end.\n\nHe called Sir Galahad unto him and said, 'Come forth, the servant of Jesu Christ, and thou shalt see that thou hast much desired to see.'\n\nAnd then he began to tremble right hard when the deadly flesh began to behold the spiritual things. Then he held up his hands toward heaven and said, 'Lord, I thank Thee, for now I see that that hath been my desire many a day. Now, my blessed Lord, I would not live in this wretched world no longer, if it might please Thee, Lord.'\n\nAnd therewith the good man took Our Lord's body betwixt his hands and proffered it to Sir Galahad, and he received it right gladly and meekly.\n\n'Now wotest thou what I am?' said the good man.\n\n'Nay, sir,' said Sir Galahad.\n\n'I am Joseph, the son of Joseph of Arimathea, which Our Lord hath sent to thee to bear thee fellowship. And wotest thou wherefore He hath sent me more than any other? For thou hast resembled me in two things: that thou hast seen the marvels of the Sangrail; and for thou hast been a clean maid, as I have been and am.'\n\nAnd when he had said these words, Sir Galahad went to Sir Percival and kissed him, and commended him to God. And so he went to Sir Bors and kissed him, and commended him to God, and said, 'My fair lord, salute me unto my lord Sir Lancelot, my father, and as soon as ye see him, bid him remember of this world unstable.'\n\nAnd therewith he kneeled down before the table and made his prayers; and so suddenly departed his soul to Jesu Christ, and a great multitude of angels bore it up to heaven even in the sight of his two fellows.\n\nAlso these two knights saw come from heaven a hand, but they saw not the body. And so it came right to the vessel and took it and the spear, and so bore it up to heaven. And sithen was there never man so hardy to say that he had seen the Sangrail.\n\nSo when Sir Percival and Sir Bors saw Sir Galahad dead, they made as much sorrow as ever did men; and if they had not been good men they might lightly have fallen in despair. And so people of the country and city, they were right heavy. But so he was buried; and as soon as he was buried Sir Percival yielded him to a hermitage out of the city, and took religious clothing. And Sir Bors was always with him, but he changed never his secular clothing, for that he purposed him to go again into the realm of Logris.\n\nThus a year and two months lived Sir Percival in the hermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of the world. Then Sir Bors let bury him by his sister and by Sir Galahad in the spiritualities.\n\nSo when Sir Bors saw that he was in so far countries as in the parts of Babylon, he departed from the city of Sarras, and armed him and came to the sea, and entered into a ship. And so it befell him by good adventure he came unto the realm of Logris; and so he rode apace till he came to Camelot, where the King was. And then was there made great joy of him in all the court, for they weened he had been lost forasmuch as he had been so long out of the country.\n\nAnd when they had eaten, the King made great clerks to come before him, for cause they should chronicle of the high adventures of the good knights. So when Sir Bors had told him of the high adventures of the Sangrail such as had befallen him and his three fellows, which were Sir Lancelot, Percival, and Sir Galahad and himself, then Sir Lancelot told the adventures of the Sangrail that he had seen. And all this was made in great books, and put up in almeries at Salisbury.\n\nAnd anon Sir Bors said to Sir Lancelot, 'Sir Galahad, your own son, saluted you by me, and after you my lord King Arthur and all the whole court, and so did Sir Percival; for I buried them both with mine own hands in the city of Sarras. Also, Sir Lancelot, Sir Galahad prayed you to remember of this unsure world, as ye behight him when ye were together more than half a year.'\n\n'This is true,' said Sir Lancelot. 'Now I trust to God his prayer shall avail me.' Then Sir Lancelot took Sir Bors in his arms and said, 'Cousin, ye are right welcome to me, for ye and I shall never depart asunder whilst our lives may last.'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'as ye will, so will I.'\n\nThus endeth the tale of the Sangrail, that was briefy drawn out of French, which is a tale chronicled for one of the truest and of the holiest that is in this world; by Sir Thomas Malory, knight. O blessed Jesu, help him through His might Amen.\n\nSo after the quest of the Sangrail was fulfilled, and all knights that were left alive were come home again unto the Table Round, as the Book of the Sangrail maketh mention, then was there great joy in the court; and in especial King Arthur and Queen Guenivere made great joy of the remnant that were come home. And passing glad was the King and the Queen of Sir Lancelot and of Sir Bors, for they had been passing long away in the quest of the Sangrail.\n\nThen, as the book saith, Sir Lancelot began to resort unto Queen Guenivere again, and forgot the promise and the perfection that he made in the quest. For, as the book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in his mind so set inwardly to the Queen as he was in seeming outward to God, there had no knight passed him in the quest of the Sangrail, but ever his thoughts were privily on the Queen. And so they loved together more hotter than they did beforehand, and had many such privy draughts together that many in the court spoke of it, and in especial Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain's brother, for he was ever open-mouthed.\n\nSo it befell that Sir Lancelot had many resorts of ladies and damosels that daily resorted unto him to be their champion: in all such matters of right Sir Lancelot applied him daily to do for the pleasure of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And ever as much as he might he withdrew him from the company of Queen Guenivere for to eschew the slander and noise, wherefore the Queen waxed wroth with Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo on a day she called him to her chamber, and said thus 'Sir Lancelot, I see and feel daily that thy love beginneth to slacken, for ye have no joy to be in my presence, but ever ye are out of this court. And quarrels and matters ye have nowadays for ladies, maidens, and gentlewomen, more than ever ye were wont to have beforehand.'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'in this ye must hold me excused, for divers causes. One is, I was but late in the quest of the Sangrail, and I thank God of His great mercy, and never of my deserving, that I saw in that my quest as much as ever saw any sinful man living, and so was it told me. And if that I had not had my privy thoughts to return to your love again as I do, I had seen as great mysteries as ever saw my son Sir Galahad, Percival, or Sir Bors. And therefore, madam, I was but late in that quest, and wit you well, madam, it may not be yet lightly forgotten the high service in whom I did my diligent labour.\n\n'Also, madam, wit you well that there be many men speak of our love in this court and have you and me greatly in await, as this Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred. And madam, wit you well I dread them more for your sake than for any fear I have of them myself, for I may happen to escape and rid myself in a great need, where, madam, ye must abide all that will be said unto you. And then if that ye fall in any distress through wilful folly, then is there no other help but by me and my blood. And wit you well, madam, the boldness of you and me will bring us to shame and slander; and that were me loath to see you dishonoured. And that is the cause I take upon me more for to do for damosels and maidens than ever I did before, that men should understand my joy and my delight is my pleasure to have ado for damosels and maidens.'\n\nAll this while the Queen stood still and let Sir Lancelot say what he would. And when he had all said she burst out weeping, and so she sobbed and wept a great while. And when she might speak she said, 'Sir Lancelot, now I well understand that thou art a false recreant knight and a common lecher, and lovest and boldest other ladies, and of me thou hast disdain and scorn. For wit thou well, now I understand thy falsehood I shall never love thee more. And look thou be never so hardy to come in my sight; and right here I discharge thee this court, that thou never come within it, and I forfend thee my fellowship, and upon pain of thy head that thou see me nevermore.'\n\nRight so Sir Lancelot departed with great heaviness, that uneath he might sustain himself for great dole-making. Then he called Sir Bors, Ector de Maris, and Sir Lionel, and told them how the Queen had forfended him the court, and so he was in will to depart into his own country.\n\n'Fair sir,' said Sir Bors de Ganis, 'ye shall not depart out of this land by my advice; for ye must remember you what ye are, and renowned the most noblest knight of the world, and many great matters ye have in hand. And women in their hastiness will do oftentimes that, after, them sore repenteth. And therefore by my advice ye shall take your horse and ride to the good hermit here beside Windsor, that sometime was a good knight: his name is Sir Brastias. And there shall ye abide till that I send you word of better tidings.'\n\n'Brother,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well I am full loath to depart out of this realm, but the Queen hath defended me so highly, that me seemeth she will never be my good lady as she hath been.'\n\n'Say ye never so,' said Sir Bors, 'for many times or this she hath been wroth with you, and after that she was the first repented it.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said Lancelot, 'for now will I do by your counsel, and take my horse and my harness and ride to the hermit Sir Brastias; and there will I repose me till I hear some manner of tidings from you. But, fair brother, in that ye can, get me the love of my lady Queen Guenivere.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'ye need not to move me of such matters, for well ye wot I will do what I may to please you.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot departed suddenly, and no creature wist where he was become but Sir Bors. So when Sir Lancelot was departed, the Queen outward made no manner of sorrow in showing, to none of his blood nor to no other; but wit ye well, inwardly, as the book saith, she took great thought, but she bore it out with a proud countenance as though she felt no thought nor danger.\n\nSo the Queen let make a privy dinner in London unto the knights of the Round Table, and all was for to show outward that she had as great joy in all other knights of the Round Table as she had in Sir Lancelot. So there was all only at that dinner Sir Gawain and his brethren, that is for to say Sir Agravain, Sir Gaheris, Sir Gareth, and Sir Mordred. Also there was Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Blamor de Ganis, Sir Bleoberis de Ganis, Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Lionel, Sir Palomides, Sir Safer his brother, Sir La Cote Mai Taill\u00e9, Sir Persant, Sir Ironside, Sir Brandiles, Sir Kay le Seneschal, Sir Mador de la Porte, Sir Patrise (a knight of Ireland), Sir Aliduke, Sir Ascamore, and Sir Pinel le Savage, which was cousin to Sir Lamorak de Gales, the good knight that Sir Gawain and his brethren slew by treason.\n\nAnd so these four and twenty knights should dine with the Queen in a privy place by themselves, and there was made a great feast of all manner of dainties. But Sir Gawain had a custom that he used daily at meat and at supper, that he loved well all manner of fruit, and in especial apples and pears. And therefore whosoever dined or feasted Sir Gawain would commonly purvey for good fruit for him, and so did the Queen: for to please Sir Gawain she let purvey for him all manner of fruit, for Sir Gawain was a passing hot knight of nature. And this Sir Pinel hated Sir Gawain because of his kinsman Sir Lamorak's death; and therefore for pure envy and hate, Sir Pinel empoisoned certain apples for to empoison Sir Gawain.\n\nSo this was well yet unto the end of meat; and so it befell by misfortune a good knight, Sir Patrise, which was cousin unto Sir Mador de la Porte, took an apple, for he was enchafed with heat of wine, and it mishapped him to take a poisoned apple. And when he had eaten it he swelled sore till he brast, and there Sir Patrise fell down suddenly dead among them.\n\nThen every knight leapt from the board ashamed and enraged for wrath out of their wits, for they wist not what to say; considering Queen Guenivere made the feast and dinner, they had all suspicion unto her.\n\n'My lady, the Queen,' said Sir Gawain, 'madam, wit you that this dinner was made for me and my fellows. And for all folks that know my condition understand that I love well fruit, now I see well I had near been slain. Therefore, madam, I dread me lest ye will be shamed.'\n\nThen the Queen stood still, and was so sore abashed that she wist not what to say.\n\n'This shall not so be ended,' said Sir Mador de la Porte, 'for here have I lost a full noble knight of my blood; and therefore upon this shame and despite I will be revenged to the utterance.' And there openly Sir Mador appealed the Queen of the death of his cousin Sir Patrise.\n\nThen stood they all still, that none would speak a word against him; for they all had great suspicion unto the Queen because she let make that dinner. And the Queen was so abashed that she could no other ways do, but wept so heartily that she fell in a swoon. So with this noise and cry came to them King Arthur, and when he wist of the trouble he was a passing heavy man.\n\nAnd ever Sir Mador stood still before the King and appealed the Queen of treason; for the custom was such at that time that all manner of shameful death was called treason.\n\n'Fair lords,' said King Arthur, 'me repenteth of this trouble, but the case is so I may not have ado in this matter, for I must be a rightful judge. And that repenteth me that I may not do battle for my wife, for, as I deem, this deed came never by her. And therefore I suppose she shall not be all distained, but that some good knight shall put his body in jeopardy for my queen rather than she should be burnt in a wrong quarrel. And therefore, Sir Mador, be not so hasty, for pardieu it may happen she shall not be all friendless. And therefore desire thou thy day of battle, and she shall purvey her of some good knight that shall answer you; or else it were to me great shame, and to all my court.'\n\n'My gracious lord,' said Sir Mador, 'ye must hold me excused, for though ye be our king, in that degree ye are but a knight as we are, and ye are sworn unto knighthood as well as we be; and therefore I beseech you that ye be not displeased, for there is none of the four and twenty knights that were bidden to this dinner but all they have great suspicion unto the Queen. What say ye all, my lords?' said Sir Mador.\n\nThen they answered by and by and said they could not excuse the Queen; for why she made the dinner, and either it must come by her or by her servants.\n\n'Alas,' said the Queen, 'I made this dinner for a good intent, and never for no evil; so Almighty Jesu me help in my right, as I was never purposed to do such evil deeds, and that I report me unto God.'\n\n'My lord the King,' said Sir Mador, 'I require you as ye be a righteous king, give me my day that I may have justice.'\n\n'Well,' said the King, 'this day fifteen days, look thou be ready armed on horseback in the meadow beside Winchester. And if it so fall that there be any knight to encounter against you, there may you do your best, and God speed the right. And if it so befall that there be no knight ready at that day, then must my queen be burned; and there she shall be ready to have her judgement.'\n\n'I am answered,' said Sir Mador. And every knight yode where him liked.\n\nSo when the King and the Queen were together, the King asked the Queen how this case befell. Then the Queen said, 'Sir, as Jesu be my help,' she wist not how nor in what manner.\n\n'Where is Sir Lancelot?' said King Arthur. 'And he were here he would not grudge to do battle for you.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Queen, 'I wot not where he is, but his brother and his kinsmen deem that he be not within this realm.'\n\n'That me repenteth,' said King Arthur, 'for and he were here he would soon stint this strife. Well, then, I will counsel you', said the King, 'that ye go unto Sir Bors and pray him for to do battle for you for Sir Lancelot's sake; and upon my life he will not refuse you. For well I see,' said the King, 'that none of the four and twenty knights that were at your dinner where Sir Patrise was slain will do battle for you, nor none of them will say well of you; and that shall be great slander to you in this court. But now I miss Sir Lancelot, for and he were here he would soon put me in my heart's ease. What aileth you,' said the King, 'that ye cannot keep Sir Lancelot upon your side? For wit you well,' said the King, 'who that hath Sir Lancelot upon his party hath the most man of worship in this world upon his side. Now go your way,' said the King unto the Queen, 'and require Sir Bors to do battle for you for Sir Lancelot's sake.'\n\nSo the Queen departed from the King, and sent for Sir Bors into the chamber; and when he came she besought him of succour.\n\n'Madam,' said he, 'what would ye that I did? For I may not with my worship have ado in this matter, because I was at the same dinner, for dread that any of those knights would have me in suspicion. Also, Madam,' said Sir Bors, 'now miss ye Sir Lancelot, for he would not have failed you in your right nor in your wrong, for when ye have been in right great dangers he hath succoured you. And now ye have driven him out of this country, by whom ye and all we were daily worshipped\u2014therefore, madam, I marvel how ye dare for shame to require me to do any thing for you, in so much ye have chased him out of your court by whom we were up borne and honoured.'\n\n'Alas, fair knight,' said the Queen, 'I put me wholly in your grace, and all that is amiss I will amend as ye will counsel me.' And therewith she kneeled down upon both her knees and besought Sir Bors to have mercy upon her, 'Or else I shall have a shameful death, and thereto I never offended.'\n\nRight so came King Arthur, and found the Queen kneeling; and then Sir Bors took her up and said, 'Madam, ye do me great dishonour.'\n\n'Ah, gentle knight,' said the King, 'have mercy upon my queen, courteous knight, for I am now certain she is untruly defamed. And therefore, courteous knight,' the King said, 'promise her to do battle for her, I require you for the love ye owe unto Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Bors, 'ye require me the greatest thing that any man may require me; and wit you well, if I grant to do battle for the Queen I shall wrath many of my fellowship of the Table Round. But as for that,' said Sir Bors, 'I will grant for my lord Sir Lancelot's sake and for your sake, I will at that day be the Queen's champion unless that there come by adventure a better knight than I am to do battle for her.'\n\n'Will ye promise me this,' said the King, 'by your faith?'\n\n'Yea sir,' said Sir Bors, 'of that I shall not fail you, nor her, but if there came a better knight than I am: then shall he have the battle.'\n\nThen was the King and the Queen passing glad, and so departed, and thanked him heartily.\n\nThen Sir Bors departed secretly upon a day and rode unto Sir Lancelot there as he was with Sir Brastias, and told him of all this adventure.\n\n'Ah Jesu,' Sir Lancelot said, 'this is come happily as I would have it. And therefore I pray you make you ready to do battle, but look that ye tarry till ye see me come as long as ye may. For I am sure Sir Mador is a hot knight when he is enchafed, for the more ye suffer him the hastier will he be to battle.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'let me deal with him. Doubt ye not ye shall have all your will.'\n\nSo departed Sir Bors from him and came to the court again. Then was it noised in all the court that Sir Bors should do battle for the Queen; wherefore many knights were displeased with him, that he would take upon him to do battle in the Queen's quarrel, for there were but few knights in all the court but they deemed the Queen was in the wrong and that she had done that treason. So Sir Bors answered thus to his fellows of the Table Round, 'Wit you well, my fair lords, it were shame to us all and we suffered to see the most noble queen of the world to be shamed openly, considering her lord and our lord is the man of most worship christened, and he hath ever worshipped us all in all places.'\n\nMany answered him again, 'As for our most noble King Arthur, we love him and honour him as well as ye do; but as for Queen Guenivere, we love her not, because she is a destroyer of good knights.'\n\n'Fair lords,' said Sir Bors, 'me seemeth ye say not as ye should say, for never yet in my days knew I never nor heard say that ever she was a destroyer of good knights. But at all times as far as ever I could know she was a maintainer of good knights; and ever she hath been large and free of her goods to all good knights, and the most bounteous lady of her gifts and her good grace that ever I saw or heard speak of. And therefore it were shame to us all and to our most noble king's wife, whom we serve, and we suffered her to be shamefully slain. And wit you well,' said Sir Bors, 'I will not suffer it, for I dare say so much, for the Queen is not guilty of Sir Patrise's death; for she owed him never no evil will, nor none of the four and twenty knights that were at that dinner, for I dare say for good love she bade us to dinner and not for no mal engine. And that I doubt not shall be proved hereafter, for howsoever the game goeth, there was treason among us.'\n\nThen some said to Sir Bors, 'We may well believe your words.' And so some were well pleased, and some were not.\n\nSo the day came on fast until the eve that the battle should be. Then the Queen sent for Sir Bors and asked him how he was disposed.\n\n'Truly, madam,' said he, 'I am disposed in like wise as I promised you, that is to say I shall not fail you, unless there by adventure come a better knight than I am to do battle for you; then, madam, I am of you discharged of my promise.'\n\n'Will ye', said the Queen, 'that I tell my lord the King thus?'\n\n'Do as it pleaseth you, madam.'\n\nThen the Queen yode unto the King and told the answer of Sir Bors.\n\n'Well, have ye no doubt', said the King, 'of Sir Bors, for I call him now that is living one of the noblest knights of the world, and most perfect man.'\n\nAnd thus it passed on till the morrow; and so the King and the Queen and all manner of knights that were there at that time drew them unto the meadow beside Winchester where the battle should be. And so when the King was come with the Queen and many knights of the Table Round, so the Queen was then put in the constable's ward, and a great fire made about an iron stake, that and Sir Mador de la Porte had the better, she should there be burned. For such custom was used in those days, for favour, love, nor affinity there should be none other but righteous judgement, as well upon a king as upon a knight, and as well upon a queen as upon another poor lady.\n\nSo this meanwhile came in Sir Mador de la Porte, and took his oath before the King how that the Queen did this treason unto his cousin Sir Patrise. 'And unto my oath I will prove it with my body, hand for hand, who that will say the contrary.'\n\nRight so came in Sir Bors de Ganis, and said that as for Queen Guenivere, 'she is in the right, and that will I make good that she is not culpable of this treason that is put upon her.'\n\n'Then make thee ready,' said Sir Mador, 'and we shall prove whether thou be in the right or I.'\n\n'Sir Mador,' said Sir Bors, 'wit you well, I know you for a good knight; not for that I shall not fear you so greatly but I trust to God I shall be able to withstand your malice. But thus much have I promised my lord Arthur and my lady the Queen, that I shall do battle for her in this cause to the utterest, unless that there come a better knight than I am and discharge me.'\n\n'Is that all?' said Sir Mador, 'Either come thou off and do battle with me, or else say nay.'\n\n'Take your horse,' said Sir Bors, 'and as I suppose, I shall not tarry long but ye shall be answered.'\n\nThen either departed to their tents and made them ready to horseback as they thought best. And anon Sir Mador came into the field with his shield on his shoulder and his spear in his hand, and so rode about the place crying unto King Arthur, 'Bid your champion come forth, and he dare!'\n\nThen was Sir Bors ashamed, and took his horse and came to the lists' end. And then was he ware where came from a wood there fast by a knight all armed upon a white horse, with a strange shield of strange arms; and he came driving all that his horse might run. And so he came to Sir Bors, and said thus: 'Fair knight, I pray you be not displeased, for here must a better knight than ye are have this battle, therefore I pray you withdraw you. For wit you well, I have had this day a right great journey, and this battle ought to be mine; and so I promised you when I spoke with you last. And with all my heart I thank you of your good will.'\n\nThen Sir Bors rode unto King Arthur and told him how there was a knight come that would have the battle to fight for the Queen.\n\n'What knight is he?' said the King.\n\n'I wot not,' said Sir Bors, 'but such covenant he made with me to be here this day. Now my lord,' said Sir Bors, 'here I am discharged.'\n\nThen the King called to that knight, and asked him if he would fight for the Queen.\n\nThen he answered and said, 'Sir, therefore came I hither. And therefore, sir king, tarry me no longer; for anon as I have finished this battle I must depart hence, for I have to do many battles elsewhere. For wit you well,' said that knight, 'this is dishonour to you and to all knights of the Round Table, to see and know so noble a lady and so courteous as Queen Guenivere is, thus to be rebuked and shamed amongst you.'\n\nThen they all marvelled what knight that might be that so took the battle upon him, for there was not one that knew him but if it were Sir Bors.\n\nThen said Sir Mador de la Porte unto the King, 'Now let me wit with whom I shall have ado.'\n\nAnd then they rode to the lists' end, and there they couched their spears and ran together with all their mights; and Sir Mador's spear broke all to pieces, but the other's spear held, and bore Sir Mador's horse and all backward to the earth a great fall. But mightily and deliverly he avoided his horse from him, and put his shield before him and drew his sword, and bade the other knight alight and do battle with him on foot.\n\nThen that knight descended down from his horse, and put his shield before him and drew his sword; and so they came eagerly unto battle, and either gave other many sad strokes, tracing and traversing and foining together with their swords as it were wild boars, thus fighting nigh an hour; for this Sir Mador was a strong knight, and mightily proved in many strong battles. But at the last this knight smote Sir Mador grovelling upon the earth, and he stepped near him to have pulled Sir Mador flatling upon the ground; and therewith Sir Mador arose, and in his rising he smote that knight through the thick of the thighs that the blood brast out fiercely. And when he felt himself so wounded and saw his blood, he let him arise upon his feet; and then he gave him such a buffet upon the helm that he fell to the earth flatling, and therewith he strode to him to have pulled off his helm off his head. And so Sir Mador prayed that knight to save his life, and so he yielded him as overcome, and released the Queen of his quarrel.\n\n'I will not grant thee thy life,' said that knight, 'only that thou freely release the Queen for ever, and that no mention be made upon Sir Patrise's tomb that ever Queen Guenivere consented to that treason.'\n\n'All this shall be done,' said Sir Mador. 'I clearly discharge my quarrel for ever.'\n\nThen the knights parters of the lists took up Sir Mador and led him to his tent, and the other knight went straight to the stair-foot where sat King Arthur. And by that time was the Queen come to the King, and either kissed other heartily. And when the King saw that knight, he stooped down to him and thanked him, and in like wise did the Queen; and the King prayed him to put off his helmet and to repose him and to take a sop of wine. And then he put off his helmet to drink, and then every knight knew him that it was Sir Lancelot. And anon as the King wist that, he took the Queen in his hand, and yode unto Sir Lancelot and said, 'Sir, grantmercy of your great travail that ye have had this day for me and for my queen.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well I ought of right ever in your quarrel and in my lady the Queen's quarrel to do battle; for ye are the man that gave me the high order of knighthood, and that day my lady, your Queen, did me worship, and else had I been shamed; for that same day that ye made me knight, through my hastiness I lost my sword, and my lady your queen found it and lapped it in her train, and gave me my sword when I had need thereto, and else had I been shamed among all knights. And therefore, my lord Arthur, I promised her at that day ever to be her knight in right or in wrong.'\n\n'Grantmercy,' said the King, 'for this journey! And wit you well,' said the King, 'I shall acquit your goodness.'\n\nAnd evermore the Queen beheld Sir Lancelot, and wept so tenderly that she sank almost to the ground for sorrow that he had done to her so great kindness where she showed him great unkindness. Then the knights of his blood drew unto him, and there either of them made great joy of other. And so came all the knights of the Table Round that were there at that time, and welcomed him. And then Sir Mador was healed through leechcraft, and Sir Lancelot was healed of his plaie; and so there was made great joy, and many mirths were made in that court.\n\nAnd so it befell that the Damosel of the Lake that hight Nenive, which wedded the good knight Sir Pelleas, and so she came to the court; for ever she did great goodness unto King Arthur and to all his knights through her sorcery and enchantments. And so when she heard how the Queen was grieved for the death of Sir Patrise, then she told it openly that she was never guilty; and there she disclosed by whom it was done, and named him, Sir Pinel; and for what cause he did it, there it was openly known and disclosed, and so the Queen was excused. And this knight Sir Pinel fled unto his country, and was openly known that he empoisoned the apples at that feast to that intent to have destroyed Sir Gawain, because Sir Gawain and his brethren destroyed Sir Lamorak de Gales, which Sir Pinel was cousin unto.\n\nThen was Sir Patrise buried in the church of Westminster in a tomb, and thereupon was written: 'Here lieth Sir Patrise of Ireland, slain by Sir Pinel le Savage, that empoisoned apples to have slain Sir Gawain. And by misfortune Sir Patrise ate one of the apples, and then suddenly he brast.' Also there was written upon the tomb that Queen Guenivere was appealed of treason of the death of Sir Patrise by Sir Mador de la Porte; and there was made mention how Sir Lancelot fought with him for Queen Guenivere and overcame him in plain battle. All this was written upon the tomb of Sir Patrise in excusing of the Queen.\n\nAnd then Sir Mador sued daily and long to have the Queen's good grace; and so by the means of Sir Lancelot he caused him to stand in the Queen's good grace, and all was forgiven.\n\nThus it passed until Our Lady Day of the Assumption. Within fifteen days of that feast the King let cry a great jousts and a tournament that should be at that day at Camelot, otherwise called Winchester; and the King let cry that he and the King of Scots would joust against all the world. And when this cry was made, thither came many good knights.\n\nSo King Arthur made him ready to depart to his jousts, and would have had the Queen with him; but at that time she would not, she said, for she was sick and might not ride.\n\n'That me repenteth,' said the King, 'for these seven years ye saw not such a noble fellowship together, except the Whitsuntide when Sir Galahad departed from the court.'\n\n'Truly,' said the Queen, 'ye must hold me excused: I may not be there.'\n\nAnd many deemed the Queen would not be there because of Sir Lancelot; for he would not ride with the King, for he said that he was not whole of the plaie of Sir Mador, wherefore the King was heavy and passing wroth; and so he departed toward Winchester with his fellowship. And so by the way the King lodged at a town that was called Ascolat, that is in English Guildford, and there the King lay in the castle.\n\nSo when the King was departed, the Queen called Sir Lancelot unto her and said thus: 'Sir, ye are greatly to blame thus to hold you behind my lord. What will your enemies and mine say and deem? \"See how Sir Lancelot holdeth him ever behind the King, and so the Queen doth also, for that they would have their pleasure together.\" And thus will they say,' said the Queen.\n\n'Have ye no doubt, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I allow your wit; it is of late come since ye were waxed so wise. And therefore, madam, at this time I will be ruled by your counsel, and this night I will take my rest, and tomorrow betimes I will take my way toward Winchester. But wit you well,' said Sir Lancelot unto the Queen, 'at that jousts I will be against the King, and against all his fellowship.'\n\n'Sir, ye may there do as ye list,' said the Queen, 'but by my counsel ye shall not be against your king and your fellowship, for there be full many hardy knights of your blood.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I shall take the adventure that God will give me.'\n\nAnd so upon the morn early he heard Mass and dined, and so he took his leave of the Queen and departed. And then he rode so much unto the time he came to Ascolat; and there it happened him that in the eveningtide he came to an old baron's place that hight Sir Barnard of Ascolat. And as Sir Lancelot entered into his lodging, King Arthur espied him as he did walk in a garden beside the castle: he knew him well enough.\n\n'Well, sirs,' said King Arthur unto his knights that were by him beside the castle, 'I have now espied one knight,' he said, 'that will play his play at the jousts, I undertake.'\n\n'Who is that?' said the knights.\n\n'At this time ye shall not wit for me,' said the King, and smiled, and went to his lodging.\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot was in his lodging and unarmed in his chamber, the old baron Sir Barnard came to him and welcomed him in the best manner; but he knew not Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Fair sir,' said Sir Lancelot to his host, 'I would pray you to lend me a shield that were not openly known, for mine is well known.'\n\n'Sir,' said his host, 'ye shall have your desire, for me seemeth ye be one of the likeliest knights that ever I saw, and therefore, sir, I shall show you friendship. And sir, wit you well I have two sons that were but late made knights, and the eldest hight Sir Tirry; and he was hurt that same day he was made knight, and he may not ride. And his shield ye shall have, for that is not known I dare say but here, and in no place else.' And his younger son hight Sir Lavain; 'and if it please you, he shall ride with you unto that jousts, for he is of his age strong and wight. For much my heart giveth unto you that ye should be a noble knight; and therefore I pray you to tell me your name,' said Sir Barnard.\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye must hold me excused as at this time; and if God give me grace to speed well at the jousts, I shall come again and tell you my name. But I pray you, in any wise let me have your son Sir Lavain with me, and that I may have his brother's shield.'\n\n'Sir, all this shall be done,' said Sir Barnard.\n\nSo this old baron had a daughter that was called that time the Fair Maiden of Ascolat; and ever she beheld Sir Lancelot wonderfully. And as the book saith, she cast such a love unto Sir Lancelot that she could never withdraw her love, wherefore she died; and her name was Elaine la Blanche.\n\nSo thus, as she came to and fro she was so hot in love that she besought Sir Lancelot to wear upon him at the jousts a token of hers.\n\n'Damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and if I grant you that, ye may say that I do more for your love than ever I did for lady or gentlewoman.'\n\nThen he remembered himself that he would go to the jousts disguised; and because he had never before borne no manner of token of no damosel, he bethought him to bear a token of hers, that none of his blood thereby might know him. And then he said, 'Fair maiden, I will grant you to wear a token of yours upon my helmet. And therefore, what is it?\u2014show ye it me.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'it is a red sleeve of mine of scarlet, well embroidered with great pearls.' And so she brought it him.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot received it, and said, 'Never did I erst so much for no damosel.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot betook the fair maiden his shield in keeping, and prayed her to keep it until time that he came again. And so that night he had merry rest and great cheer, for this damosel Elaine was ever about Sir Lancelot all the while she might be suffered.\n\nSo upon a day, on the morn, King Arthur and all his knights departed, for there the King had tarried three days to abide his noble knights. And so when the King was ridden, Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavain made them ready to ride, and either of them had white shields, and the red sleeve Sir Lancelot let carry with him; and so they took their leave at Sir Barnard the old baron, and at his daughter the fair maiden. And then they rode so long till that they came to Camelot, that time called Winchester; and there was great press of kings, dukes, earls, and barons, and many noble knights. But there Sir Lancelot was lodged privily by the means of Sir Lavain with a rich burgess, that no man in that town was ware what they were. And so they reposed them there till Our Lady Day of the Assumption, that the great jousts should be.\n\nSo when trumpets blew unto the field, and King Arthur was set on high upon a chaflet to behold who did best\u2014but as the French book saith, the King would not suffer Sir Gawain to go from him, for never had Sir Gawain the better and Sir Lancelot were in the field, and many times was Sir Gawain rebuked so when Sir Lancelot was in the field in any jousts disguised\u2014then some of the kings, as King Angwish of Ireland and the King of Scots, were that time turned to be upon the side of King Arthur. And then the other party was the King of Northgales, and the King with the Hundred Knights, and the King of Northumberland, and Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince. But these three kings and this duke were passing weak to hold against Arthur's party, for with him were the noblest knights of the world.\n\nSo then they withdrew them, either party from other, and every man made him ready in his best manner to do what he might. Then Sir Lancelot made him ready, and put the red sleeve upon his helmet and fastened it fast. And so Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavain departed out of Winchester privily, and rode unto a little leaved wood behind the party that held against King Arthur's party; and there they held them still till the parties smote together.\n\nAnd there began a great medley; and fifteen knights of the Round Table with more other came in together, and beat aback the King of Northumberland and the King of Northgales. When Sir Lancelot saw this as he hoved in the little leaved wood, then he said unto Sir Lavain, 'See yonder is a company of good knights, and they hold them together as boars that were chased with dogs.'\n\n'That is truth,' said Sir Lavain.\n\n'Now,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and ye will help a little, ye shall see the yonder fellowship that chaseth now these men on our side, that they shall go as fast backward as they went forward.'\n\n'Sir, spare ye not for my part,' said Sir Lavain, 'for I shall do what I may.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavain came in at the thickest of the press, and there Sir Lancelot smote down Sir Brandiles, Sir Sagramore, Sir Dodinas, Sir Kay, Sir Griflet; and all this he did with one spear. And Sir Lavain smote down Sir Lucan the Butler and Sir Bedivere. And then Sir Lancelot got another spear, and there he smote down Sir Agravain and Sir Gaheris, Sir Mordred, Sir Meliot de Logris; and Sir Lavain smote down Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi. And then the knights of the Table Round withdrew them aback, after they had gotten their horses as well as they might.\n\n'Ah, mercy Jesu,' said Sir Gawain, 'what knight is yonder that doth so marvellous deeds in that field?'\n\n'I wot what he is,' said the King, 'but as at this time I will not name him.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'I would say it were Sir Lancelot by his riding and his buffets that I see him deal; but ever me seemeth it should not be he for that he beareth the red sleeve upon his helmet, for I wist him never bear token at no jousts of lady nor gentlewoman.'\n\n'Let him be,' said King Arthur, 'he will be better known and do more or ever he depart.'\n\nThen the party that was against King Arthur were well comforted, and then they held them together that beforehand were sore rebuked. Then Sir Bors, Sir Ector de Maris, and Sir Lionel called unto them the knights of their blood; and so these knights of Sir Lancelot's kin thrust in mightily, for they were all noble knights. And they of great hate and despite thought to rebuke that noble knight Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavain, for they knew them not. And so they came hurling together, and smote down many knights of Northgales and of Northumberland. And when Sir Lancelot saw them fare so, he got a great spear in his hand; and there encountered with him all at once Sir Bors, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel, and they three smote him at once with their spears, and with force of themselves they smote Sir Lancelot's horse reverse to the earth. And by misfortune Sir Bors smote Sir Lancelot through the shield into the side, and the spear broke, and the head left still in the side.\n\nWhen Sir Lavain saw his master lie on the ground, he ran to the King of Scots and smote him to the earth; and by great force he took his horse and brought him to Sir Lancelot, and maugre them all he made him to mount upon that horse. And then Sir Lancelot got a spear in his hand, and there he smote Sir Bors, horse and man, to the earth; and in the same wise he served Sir Ector and Sir Lionel, and Sir Lavain smote down Sir Blamor de Ganis. And then Sir Lancelot drew his sword, for he felt himself so sore hurt that he weened there to have had his death.\n\nAnd by this was Sir Bors horsed again and in came with Sir Ector and Sir Lionel, and all they three smote with their swords upon Sir Lancelot's helmet. And when he felt their buffets, and with that his wound grieved him grievously, then he thought to do what he might while he could endure. And then he gave Sir Bors such a buffet that he made him bow his head passing low; and therewith he rased off his helm and might have slain him; but when he saw his visage, so pulled him down, and in the same wise he served Sir Ector and Sir Lionel. For as the book saith, he might have slain them, but when he saw their visages his heart might not serve him thereto, but left them there. And there Sir Lancelot with his sword smote down and pulled down, as the French book saith, more than thirty knights, and the most part were of the Table Round. And there Sir Lavain did full well that day, for he smote down ten knights of the Table Round.\n\n'Mercy Jesu,' said Sir Gawain unto King Arthur, 'I marvel what knight that he is with the red sleeve.'\n\n'Sir,' said King Arthur, 'he will be known or ever he depart.'\n\nAnd then the King blew unto lodging, and the prize was given by heralds unto the knight with the white shield that bore the red sleeve. Then came the King of Northgales, and the King of Northumberland, and the King with the Hundred Knights, and Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince, and said unto Sir Lancelot, 'Fair knight, God you bless, for much have ye done for us this day; and therefore we pray you that ye will come with us, that ye may receive the honour and the prize as ye have worshipfully deserved it.'\n\n'Fair lords,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well, if I have deserved thanks I have sore bought it; and that me repenteth, for I am never likely to escape with the life. Therefore, my fair lords, I pray you that ye will suffer me to depart where me liketh, for I am sore hurt. And I take no force of no honour, for I had liever repose me than to be lord of all the world.'\n\nAnd therewith he groaned piteously, and rode a great gallop away from them until he came under a wood's eaves. And when he saw that he was from the field nigh a mile, that he was sure he might not be seen, then he said with a high voice and with a great groan, 'Ah, gentle knight, Sir Lavain, help me that this truncheon were out of my side, for it sticketh so sore that it nigh slayeth me.'\n\n'Ah, my own lord,' said Sir Lavain, 'I would fain do that might please you, but I dread me sore and I pull out the truncheon that ye shall be in peril of death.'\n\n'I charge you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'as ye love me, draw it out.'\n\nAnd therewith he descended from his horse, and right so did Sir Lavain. And forthwith he drew the truncheon out of his side; and he gave a great shriek and a grisly groan that the blood brast out nigh a pint at once, that at the last he sank down upon his arse, and so swooned down pale and deadly.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lavain, 'what shall I do?' And then he turned Sir Lancelot into the wind, and so he lay there nigh half an hour as he had been dead.\n\nAnd so at the last Sir Lancelot cast up his eyes and said, 'Ah, Sir Lavain, help me that I were on my horse, for here is fast by within these two miles a gentle hermit that some time was a full noble knight and a great lord of possessions. And for great goodness he hath taken him to willing poverty and forsaken mighty lands, and his name is Sir Baudwin of Britain; and he is a full noble surgeon and a good leech. Now let see and help me up that I were there, for ever my heart giveth me that I shall never die of my cousin germain's hands.'\n\nAnd then with great pain Sir Lavain helped him upon his horse; and then they rode a great gallop together, and ever Sir Lancelot bled that it ran down to the earth. And so by fortune they came to a hermitage was under a wood, and a great cliff on the other side, and a fair water running under it. And then Sir Lavain beat on the gate with the butt of his spear and cried fast, 'Let in, for Jesu's sake.' And anon there came a fair child to them, and asked them what they would.\n\n'Fair son,' said Sir Lavain, 'go and pray thy lord the hermit for God's sake to let in here a knight that is full sore wounded. And this day, tell thy lord, I saw him do more deeds of arms than ever I heard say that any man did.'\n\nSo the child went in lightly, and then he brought the hermit which was a passing likely man. When Sir Lavain saw him, he prayed him for God's sake of succour.\n\n'What knight is he?' said the hermit. 'Is he of the house of King Arthur, or not?'\n\n'I wot not,' said Sir Lavain, 'what is he, nor what is his name; but well I wot I saw him do marvellously this day as of deeds of arms.'\n\n'On whose party was he?' said the hermit.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lavain, 'he was this day against King Arthur, and there he won the prize of all the knights of the Round Table.'\n\n'I have seen the day,' said the hermit, 'I would have loved him the worse because he was against my lord King Arthur, for sometime I was one of the fellowship; but now I thank God I am otherwise disposed. But where is he? Let me see him.'\n\nThen Sir Lavain brought the hermit to him. And when the hermit beheld him as he sat leaning upon his saddle-bow ever bleeding piteously, and ever the knight hermit thought that he should know him; but he could not bring him to knowledge because he was so pale for bleeding.\n\n'What knight are ye,' said the hermit, 'and where were ye born?'\n\n'My fair lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I am a stranger and a knight adventurous, that laboureth throughout many realms for to win worship.'\n\nThen the hermit avised him better, and saw by a wound on his cheek that he was Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Alas,' said the hermit, 'mine own lord, why lain you your name from me? Pardieu, I ought to know you of right, for ye are the most noblest knight of the world, for well I know you for Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'sith ye know me, help me and ye may, for God's sake, for I would be out of this pain at once either to death or to life.'\n\n'Have ye no doubt,' said the hermit, 'for ye shall live and fare right well.'\n\nAnd so the hermit called to him two of his servants, and so they bore him into the hermitage and lightly unarmed him and laid him in his bed. And then anon the hermit staunched his blood, and made him to drink good wine, that he was well revigored and knew himself. For in those days it was not the guise as it is nowadays, for there were no hermits in those days but that they had been men of worship and of prowess, and those hermits held great households and refreshed people that were in distress.\n\nNow turn we unto King Arthur, and leave we Sir Lancelot in the hermitage. So when the kings were come together on both parties and the great feast should be held, King Arthur asked the King of Northgales and their fellowship where was that knight that bore the red sleeve.\n\n'Let bring him before me, that he may have his laud and honour and the prize, as it is right.'\n\nThen spoke Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince and the King with the Hundred Knights and said, 'We suppose that knight is mischieved so that he is never likely to see you nor none of us all, and that is the greatest pity that ever we wist of any knight.'\n\n'Alas,' said King Arthur, 'how may this be? is he so sore hurt? But what is his name?' said King Arthur.\n\n'Truly,' said they all, 'we know not his name, nor from whence he came, nor whither he would.'\n\n'Alas,' said the King, 'this is the worst tidings that came to me these seven years, for I would not for all the lands I wield to know and wit it were so that that noble knight were slain.'\n\n'Sir, know ye ought of him?' said they all.\n\n'As for that,' said King Arthur, 'whether I know him or not, ye shall not know for me what man he is; but Almighty Jesu send me good tidings of him.' And so said they all.\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Gawain, 'if it so be that the good knight be so sore hurt, it is great damage and pity to all this land, for he is one of the noblest knights that ever I saw in a field handle spear or sword. And if he may be found I shall find him, for I am sure he is not far from this country.'\n\n'Sir, ye bear you well', said King Arthur, 'and ye find him, unless that he be in such a plight that he may not wield himself.'\n\n'Jesu defend,' said Sir Gawain, 'but wit well, I shall know what he is and I may find him.'\n\nRight so Sir Gawain took a squire with him upon hackneys, and rode all about Camelot within six or seven miles, but so he came again and could hear no word of him. Then within two days King Arthur and all the fellowship returned unto London again. And so as they rode by the way, it happened Sir Gawain to lodge at Ascolat with Sir Barnard, there as was Sir Lancelot lodged. And so as Sir Gawain was in his chamber to repose him, Sir Barnard, the old baron, came in to him, and his daughter Elaine, to cheer him and to ask him what tidings, and who did best at the tournament of Winchester.\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Gawain, 'there were two knights that bore two white shields, but one of them bore a red sleeve upon his head, and certainly he was the best knight that ever I saw joust in field. For I dare say,' said Sir Gawain, 'that one knight with the red sleeve smote down forty knights of the Table Round, and his fellow did right well and worshipfully.'\n\n'Now blessed be God,' said this Fair Maiden of Ascolat, 'that that knight sped so well! For he is the man in the world that I first loved, and truly he shall be last that ever I shall love.'\n\n'Now, fair maiden,' said Sir Gawain, 'is that good knight your love?'\n\n'Certainly, sir,' she said, 'he is my love.'\n\n'Then know ye his name?' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'Nay, truly, sir,' said the damosel, 'I know not his name nor from whence he came; but to say that I love him, I promise God and you I love him.'\n\n'How had ye knowledge of him first?' said Sir Gawain.\n\nThen she told him as ye have heard before, and how her father betook him her brother to do him service, and how her father lent him her brother's, Sir Tirry's, shield; 'And here with me he left his own shield.'\n\n'For what cause did he so?' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'For this cause,' said the damosel, 'for his shield was full well known among many noble knights.'\n\n'Ah, fair damosel,' said Sir Gawain, 'please it you to let me have a sight of that shield.'\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'it is in my chamber covered with a case, and if ye will come with me ye shall see it.'\n\n'Not so,' said Sir Barnard to his daughter, 'but send ye for that shield.'\n\nSo when the shield was come Sir Gawain took off the case, and when he beheld that shield he knew anon that it was Sir Lancelot's shield and his own arms.\n\n'Ah, Jesu mercy,' said Sir Gawain, 'now is my heart more heavier than ever it was before.'\n\n'Why?' said this maid Elaine.\n\n'For I have a great cause,' said Sir Gawain. 'Is that knight that owneth this shield your love?'\n\n'Yea, truly,' she said, 'my love is he. God would that I were his love!'\n\n'So God me speed,' said Sir Gawain, 'fair damosel, ye have right, for and he be your love, ye love the most honourable knight of the world, and the man of most worship.'\n\n'So me thought ever,' said the damosel, 'for never or that time loved I never erst no knight that ever I saw.'\n\n'God grant,' said Sir Gawain, 'that either of you may rejoice other, but that is in a great adventure. But truly,' said Sir Gawain unto the damosel, 'ye may say ye have a fair grace, for why I have known that noble knight these four and twenty years, and never or that day I\u2014nor no other knight, I dare make good\u2014saw never, nor heard say, that ever he bore token or sign of no lady, gentlewoman, nor maiden at no jousts nor tournament. And therefore, fair maiden, ye are much beholden to him to give him thanks. But I dread me,' said Sir Gawain, 'that ye shall never see him in this world, and that is as great pity as ever was of any earthly man.'\n\n'Alas,' said she, 'how may this be? is he slain?'\n\n'I say not so,' said Sir Gawain, 'but wit you well he is grievously wounded, by all manner of signs, and more likelier to be dead than to be alive. And wit you well he is the noble knight Sir Lancelot, for by this shield I know him.'\n\n'Alas,' said the Fair Maiden of Ascolat, 'how may this be, and what was his hurt?'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Gawain, 'the man in the world that loved him best hurt him. And I dare say,' said Sir Gawain, 'and that knight that hurt him knew the very certainty that he had hurt Sir Lancelot, it were the most sorrow that ever came to his heart.'\n\n'Now, fair father,' said then Elaine, 'I require you give me leave to ride and seek him, or else I wot well I shall go out of my mind. For I shall never stint till that I find him and my brother, Sir Lavain.'\n\n'Do ye as it liketh you,' said her father, 'for me sore repents of the hurt of that noble knight.'\n\nRight so the maid made her ready and departed before Sir Gawain, making great dole. Then on the morn Sir Gawain came to King Arthur, and told him all how he had found Sir Lancelot's shield in the keeping of the Fair Maiden of Ascolat.\n\n'All that knew I beforehand,' said King Arthur, 'and that caused me I would not suffer you to have ado at the great jousts; for I espied him when he came unto his lodging full late in the evening into Ascolat. But great marvel have I,' said King Arthur, 'that ever he would bear any sign of any damosel, for or now I never heard say nor knew that ever he bore any token of no earthly woman.'\n\n'By my head, sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'the Fair Maiden of Ascolat loveth him marvellously well; what it meaneth I cannot say. And she is ridden after to seek him.'\n\nSo the King and all came to London, and there Gawain openly disclosed it to all the court that it was Sir Lancelot that jousted best. And when Sir Bors heard that, wit you well he was a heavy man, and so were all his kinsmen. But when the Queen wist that it was Sir Lancelot that bore the red sleeve of the Fair Maiden of Ascolat, she was nigh out of her mind for wrath; and then she sent for Sir Bors de Ganis in all the haste that might be. So when Sir Bors was come before the Queen, she said, 'Ah, Sir Bors, have ye not heard say how falsely Sir Lancelot hath betrayed me?'\n\n'Alas, madam,' said Sir Bors, 'I am afraid he hath betrayed himself and us all.'\n\n'No force,' said the Queen, 'though he be destroyed, for he is a false traitor knight.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Bors, 'I pray you say ye no more so, for wit you well I may not hear such language of him.'\n\n'Why so, Sir Bors?' said she. 'Should I not call him traitor when he bore the red sleeve upon his head at Winchester at the great jousts?'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Bors, 'that sleeve-bearing repents me, but I dare say he did bear it to no evil intent; but for this cause he bore the red sleeve, that none of his blood should know him. For or then we nor none of us all never knew that ever he bore token or sign of maiden, lady, nor gentlewoman.'\n\n'Fie on him,' said the Queen, 'yet, for all his pride and bobaunce, for there ye proved yourself better man than he.'\n\n'Nay, madam, say ye never more so, for he beat me and my fellows, and might have slain us and he had willed.'\n\n'Fie on him,' said the Queen, 'for I heard Sir Gawain say before my lord Arthur that it were marvel to tell the great love that is between the Fair Maiden of Ascolat and him.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Bors, 'I may not warn Sir Gawain to say what it pleaseth him; but I dare say, as for my lord Sir Lancelot, that he loveth no lady, gentlewoman, nor maiden, but as he loveth all alike much. And therefore, madam,' said Sir Bors, 'ye may say what ye will, but wit you well I will haste me to seek him, and find him wheresoever he be; and God send me good tidings of him.'\n\nAnd so leave we them there, and speak we of Sir Lancelot that lay in great peril.\n\nAnd so as this fair maiden Elaine came to Winchester she sought there all about, and by fortune Sir Lavain her brother was ridden to sport him to enchafe his horse. And anon as this maiden Elaine saw him she knew him, and then she cried aloud to him; and when he heard her he came to her, and anon with that she asked her brother, 'How doth my lord Sir Lancelot?'\n\n'Who told you, sister, that my lord's name was Sir Lancelot?'\n\nThen she told him how Sir Gawain by his shield knew him. So they rode together till that they came to the hermitage, and anon she alit. So Sir Lavain brought her in to Sir Lancelot; and when she saw him lie so sick and pale in his bed she might not speak, but suddenly she fell down to the earth in a swoon, and there she lay a great while. And when she was relieved, she shrieked and said, 'My lord Sir Lancelot, alas, why lie ye in this plight?' And then she swooned again.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot prayed Sir Lavain to take her up, 'and bring her hither to me'. And when she came to herself Sir Lancelot kissed her and said, 'Fair maiden, why fare ye thus?\u2014for ye put me to more pain. Wherefore make ye no such cheer, for and ye be come to comfort me ye be right welcome; and of this little hurt that I have I shall be right hastily whole, by the grace of God. But I marvel', said Sir Lancelot, 'who told you my name.'\n\nAnd so this maiden told him all how Sir Gawain was lodged with her father, 'and there by your shield he discovered your name'.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that repenteth me that my name is known, for I am sure it will turn unto anger.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot compassed in his mind that Sir Gawain would tell Queen Guenivere how he bore the red sleeve, and for whom; that he wist well would turn unto great anger.\n\nSo this maiden Elaine never went from Sir Lancelot, but watched him day and night, and did such attendance to him that the French book saith there was never woman did never more kindlier for man.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot prayed Sir Lavain to make aspies in Winchester for Sir Bors if he came there, and told him by what tokens he should know him\u2014by a wound in his forehead. 'For I am sure,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that Sir Bors will seek me, for he is the same good knight that hurt me.'\n\nNow turn we unto Sir Bors de Ganis, that came unto Winchester to seek after his cousin Sir Lancelot. And so when he came to Winchester, Sir Lavain laid watch for Sir Bors; and anon he had warning of him, and so he found him. And anon he saluted him and told him from whence he came.\n\n'Now, fair knight,' said Sir Bors, 'ye be welcome! And I require you that ye will bring me to my lord Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lavain, 'take your horse, and within this hour ye shall see him.'\n\nSo they departed and came to the hermitage. And when Sir Bors saw Sir Lancelot lie in his bed dead pale and discoloured, anon Sir Bors lost his countenance, and for kindness and pity he might not speak, but wept tenderly a great while. But when he might speak he said thus:\n\n'Ah, my lord, Sir Lancelot, God you bless, and send you hasty recovering! For full heavy am I of my misfortune and of my unhappiness, for now I may call myself unhappy. And I dread me that God is greatly displeased with me, that he would suffer me to have such a shame for to hurt you that are all our leader and all our worship; and therefore I call myself unhappy. Alas, that ever such a caitiff knight as I am should have power by unhappiness to hurt the most noblest knight of the world! Where I so shamefully set upon you and over-charged you, and where ye might have slain me, ye saved me; and so did not I, for I and all our blood did to you their utterance. I marvel', said Sir Bors, 'that my heart or my blood would serve me! Wherefore, my lord Sir Lancelot, I ask you mercy.'\n\n'Fair cousin,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye be right welcome. And wit you well, overmuch ye say for the pleasure of me\u2014which pleaseth me nothing, for why I have the same I sought, for I would with pride have overcome you all. And there in my pride I was near slain, and that was in my own fault, for I might have give you warning of my being there, and then had I had no hurt. For it is an old-said saw, there is hard battle there as kin and friends do battle either against other, for there may be no mercy, but mortal war. Therefore, fair cousin,' said Sir Lancelot, 'let this language overpass, and all shall be welcome that God sendeth. And let us leave off thy matter and speak of some rejoicing, for this that is done may not be undone; and let us find a remedy how soon that I may be whole.'\n\nThen Sir Bors leaned upon his bedside, and told Sir Lancelot how the Queen was passing wroth with him, 'because ye wore the red sleeve at the great jousts'. And there Sir Bors told him all how Sir Gawain discovered it\u2014'by your shield, that ye left with the Fair Maiden of Ascolat'.\n\n'Then is the Queen wroth?' said Sir Lancelot. 'Therefore am I right heavy; but I deserved no wrath, for all that I did was because I would not be known.'\n\n'Sir, right so excused I you,' said Sir Bors, 'but all was in vain, for she said more largelier to me than I say to you now. But sir, is this she,' said Sir Bors, 'that is so busy about you, that men call the Fair Maiden of Ascolat?'\n\n'For sooth, she it is,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that by no means I cannot put her from me.'\n\n'Why should ye put her from you?' said Sir Bors, 'for she is a passing fair damosel, and well beseen and well taught. And would God, fair cousin,' said Sir Bors, 'that ye could love her\u2014but as to that I may not nor dare not counsel you. But I see well,' said Sir Bors, 'by her diligence about you that she loveth you entirely.'\n\n'That me repents,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Well,' said Sir Bors, 'she is not the first that hath lost her pain upon you, and that is the more pity.' And so they talked of many more things.\n\nAnd so within three or four days Sir Lancelot waxed big and light.\n\nThen Sir Bors told Sir Lancelot how there was sworn a great tournament betwixt King Arthur and the King of Northgales, that should be upon All Hallowmas Day beside Winchester.\n\n'Is that truth?' said Sir Lancelot. 'Then shall ye abide with me still a little while until that I be whole, for I feel myself reasonably big and strong.'\n\n'Blessed be God,' said Sir Bors.\n\nThen were they there nigh a month together, and ever this maiden Elaine did ever her diligence and labour night and day unto Sir Lancelot, that there was never child nor wife more meeker to father and husband than was this Fair Maiden of Ascolat; wherefore Sir Bors was greatly pleased with her. So upon a day, by the assent of Sir Lavain, Sir Bors, and Sir Lancelot, they made the hermit to seek in woods for divers herbs, and so Sir Lancelot made fair Elaine to gather herbs for him to make him a bain. So in the meanwhile Sir Lancelot made Sir Lavain to arm him at all pieces; and there he thought to assay himself upon horseback with a spear, whether he might wield his armour and his spear for his hurt or not. And so when he was upon his horse he stirred him freshly, and the horse was passing lusty and frick because he was not laboured of a month before. And then Sir Lancelot bade Sir Lavain give him that great spear, and so Sir Lancelot couched that spear in the rest, and the courser leapt mightily when he felt the spurs; and he that was upon him was the noblest horseman of the world, strained him mightily and stably, and kept still the spear in the rest. And therewith Sir Lancelot strained himself so straitly with so great force to get the courser forward that the bottom of his wound brast both within and without; and therewith the blood came out so fiercely that he felt himself so feeble that he might not sit upon his horse. And then Sir Lancelot cried unto Sir Bors, 'Ah, Sir Bors and Sir Lavain, help, for I am come to my end.' And therewith he fell down on the one side to the earth like a dead corpse.\n\nAnd then Sir Bors and Sir Lavain came unto him with sorrow-making out of measure. And so by fortune this maiden Elaine heard their mourning; and then she came, and when she found Sir Lancelot there armed in that place she cried and wept as she had been wood. And then she kissed him, and did what she might to awake him; and then she rebuked her brother and Sir Bors, and called them false traitors, and said, 'Why would ye take him out of his bed? for and he die, I will appeal you of his death.'\n\nAnd so with that came the hermit, Sir Baudwin of Britain; and when he found Sir Lancelot in that plight he said but little, but wit you well he was wroth. But he said, 'Let us have him in.' And anon they bore him into the hermitage and unarmed him, and laid him in his bed; and evermore his wound bled piteously, but he stirred no limb of him. Then the knight hermit put a thing in his nose and a little deal of water in his mouth, and then Sir Lancelot waked of his swoon; and then the hermit staunched his bleeding. And when Sir Lancelot might speak, he asked why he put his life so in jeopardy.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'because I weened I had been strong enough. And also Sir Bors told me that there should be at Hallowmas a great jousts betwixt King Arthur and the King of Northgales; and therefore I thought to assay myself, whether I might be there or not.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Lancelot,' said the hermit, 'your heart and your courage will never be done until your last day. But ye shall do now by my counsel. Let Sir Bors depart from you, and let him do at that tournament what he may. And by the grace of God,' said the knight hermit, 'by that the tournament be done and he come hither again, sir, ye shall be whole, so that ye will be governed by me.'\n\nThen Sir Bors made him ready to depart from him; and Sir Lancelot said, 'Fair cousin, Sir Bors, recommend me unto all those ye ought recommend me unto. And I pray you, enforce yourself at that jousts that ye may be best, for my love; and here shall I abide you at the mercy of God till your again-coming.'\n\nAnd so Sir Bors departed and came to the court of King Arthur, and told him in what place he left Sir Lancelot.\n\n'That me repents,' said the King, 'but since he shall have his life we all may thank God.'\n\nAnd then Sir Bors told the Queen what jeopardy Sir Lancelot was in when he would assay his horse. 'And all that he did was for the love of you, because he would have been at this tournament.'\n\n'Fie on him, recrayed knight,' said the Queen, 'for wit you well I am right sorry and he shall have his life.'\n\n'Madam, his life shall he have,' said Sir Bors, 'and who that would otherwise, except you, madam, we that be of his blood would help to shorten their lives. But madam,' said Sir Bors, 'ye have been often-times displeased with my lord Sir Lancelot, but at all times at the end ye found him a true knight.' And so he departed.\n\nAnd then every knight of the Round Table that were there that time present made them ready to that jousts at All Hallowmas, and thither drew many knights of divers countries. And so that day Sir Gawain did great deeds of arms, and began first; and the heralds numbered that Sir Gawain smote down twenty knights. Then Sir Bors de Ganis came in the same time, and he was numbered he smote down twenty knights; and therefore the prize was given betwixt them both, for they began first and longest endured. Also Sir Gareth, as the book saith, did that day great deeds of arms, for he smote down and pulled down thirty knights; but when he had done those deeds he tarried not but so departed, and therefore he lost his prize. And Sir Palomides did great deeds of arms that day, for he smote down twenty knights, but he departed suddenly, and men deemed that he and Sir Gareth rode together to some manner adventures.\n\nSo when this tournament was done Sir Bors departed, and rode till he came to Sir Lancelot, his cousin; and then he found him walking on his feet, and there either made great joy of other. And so he told Sir Lancelot of all the jousts like as ye have heard.\n\n'I marvel', said Sir Lancelot, 'that Sir Gareth, when he had done such deeds of arms, that he would not tarry.'\n\n'Sir, thereof we marvelled all,' said Sir Bors, 'for but if it were you, or the noble knight Sir Tristram, or the good knight Sir Lamorak de Gales, I saw never knight bear down so many knights and smite down in so little a while as did Sir Gareth; and anon as he was gone we all wist not where he became.'\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Lancelot, 'he is a noble knight, and a mighty man and well-breathed; and if he were well assayed,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I would deem he were good enough for any knight that beareth the life. And he is gentle, courteous and right bounteous, meek, and mild; and in him is no manner of mal engine, but plain, faithful, and true.'\n\nSo then they made them ready to depart from the hermitage. And so upon a morn they took their horses, and this Elaine la Blanche with them; and when they came to Ascolat there were they well lodged, and had great cheer of Sir Barnard, the old baron, and of Sir Tirry, his son. And so upon the morn when Sir Lancelot should depart, fair Elaine brought her father with her, and Sir Lavain, and Sir Tirry, and thus she said:\n\n'My lord Sir Lancelot, now I see ye will depart from me. Now, fair knight and courteous knight,' said she, 'have mercy upon me, and suffer me not to die for your love.'\n\n'Why, what would you that I did?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Sir, I would have you to my husband,' said Elaine.\n\n'Fair damosel, I thank you heartily,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But truly,' said he, 'I cast me never to be wedded man.'\n\n'Then, fair knight,' said she, 'will ye be my paramour?'\n\n'Jesu defend me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for then I rewarded your father and your brother full evil for their great goodness.'\n\n'Alas then,' said she, 'I must die for your love.'\n\n'Ye shall not do so,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for wit you well, fair maiden, I might have been married and I had would, but I never applied me yet to be married. But because, fair damosel, that ye love me as ye say ye do, I will for your good will and kindness show to you some goodness\u2014that is this: that wheresoever ye will set your heart upon some good knight that will wed you, I shall give you together a thousand pounds yearly to you and to your heirs. This much will I give you, fair maiden, for your kindness; and always while I live to be your own knight.'\n\n'Sir, of all this,' said the maiden, 'I will none, for but if ye will wed me, or to be my paramour at the least, wit you well, Sir Lancelot, my good days are done.'\n\n'Fair damosel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'of these two things ye must pardon me.'\n\nThen she shrieked shrilly and fell down in a swoon; and then women bore her into her chamber, and there she made overmuch sorrow. And then Sir Lancelot would depart, and there he asked Sir Lavain what he would do.\n\n'Sir, what should I do,' said Sir Lavain, 'but follow you, but if ye drive me from you or command me to go from you?'\n\nThen came Sir Barnard to Sir Lancelot and said to him, 'I cannot see but that my daughter will die for your sake.'\n\n'Sir, I may not do withal,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for that me sore repenteth; for I report me to yourself that my proffer is fair. And me repenteth', said Sir Lancelot, 'that she loveth me as she doth, for I was never the causer of it; for I report me unto your son, I never early nor late proffered her bounty nor fair behests. And as for me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I dare do that a knight should do, and say that she is a clean maiden for me, both for deed and will. For I am right heavy of her distress, for she is a full fair maiden, good and gentle and well taught.'\n\n'Father,' said Sir Lavain, 'I dare make good she is a clean maiden as for my lord Sir Lancelot; but she doth as I do, for sithen I saw first my lord Sir Lancelot, I could never depart from him, nor nought I will and I may follow him.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot took his leave; and so they departed, and came to Winchester. And when King Arthur wist that Sir Lancelot was come whole and sound, the King made great joy of him, and so did Sir Gawain and all the knights of the Round Table except Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred. Also Queen Guenivere was wood wroth with Sir Lancelot, and would by no means speak with him, but estranged herself from him; and Sir Lancelot made all the means that he might for to speak with the Queen, but it would not be.\n\nNow speak we of the Fair Maiden of Ascolat, that made such sorrow day and night that she never slept, ate, nor drank, and ever she made her complaint unto Sir Lancelot. So when she had thus endured ten days, that she feebled so that she must needs pass out of this world, then she shrove her clean, and received her Creator. And ever she complained still upon Sir Lancelot. Then her ghostly father bade her leave such thoughts.\n\nThen she said, 'Why should I leave such thoughts? Am I not an earthly woman? And all the while the breath is in my body I may complain me, for my belief is that I do no offence, though I love an earthly man, unto God; for He formed me thereto, and all manner of good love cometh of God, and other than good love loved I never Sir Lancelot du Lake. And I take God to record, I loved never none but him, nor never shall, of earthly creatures; and a clean maiden I am for him and for all others. And sithen it is the sufferance of God that I shall die for so noble a knight, I beseech the High Father of Heaven have mercy upon me and my soul, and upon my innumerable pains that I suffer may be allegiance of part of my sins. For sweet Lord Jesu,' said the fair maiden, 'I take God to record I was never to Thee great offender, nor against Thy laws, but that I loved this noble knight Sir Lancelot out of measure. And of myself, good Lord, I had no might to withstand the fervent love, wherefore I have my death.'\n\nAnd then she called her father Sir Barnard and her brother Sir Tirry, and heartily she prayed her father that her brother might write a letter like as she did indite; and so her father granted her. And when the letter was written word by word like as she devised it, then she prayed her father that she might be watched until she were dead. 'And while my body is hot let this letter be put in my right hand, and my hand bound fast to the letter until that I be cold; and let me be put in a fair bed with all the richest clothes that I have about me, and so let my bed and all my richest clothes be led with me in a chariot unto the next place where the Thames is. And there let me be put within a barget, and but one man with me such as ye trust to steer me thither, and that my barget be covered with black samite over and over. And thus, father, I beseech you let it be done.'\n\nSo her father granted her faithfully all things should be done like as she had devised; then her father and her brother made great dole for her. And when this was done, anon she died. And when she was dead the corpse and the bed all was led the next way unto the Thames, and there a man and the corpse and all things as she had devised was put in the Thames. And so the man steered the barget unto Westminster, and there it rubbed and rolled a great while to and fro or any man espied it.\n\nSo by fortune King Arthur and Queen Guenivere were talking together at a window, and so as they looked into the Thames they espied that black barget, and had marvel what it meant. Then the King called Sir Kay and showed it him.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Kay, 'wit you well there is some new tidings.'\n\n'Therefore go ye thither,' said the King to Sir Kay, 'and take with you Sir Brandiles and Sir Agravain, and bring me ready word what is there.'\n\nThen these three knights departed and came to the barget and went in; and there they found the fairest corpse lying in a rich bed that ever they saw, and a poor man sitting in the barget's end, and no word would speak. So these three knights returned unto the King again and told him what they found.\n\n'That fair corpse will I see,' said the King.\n\nAnd so the King took the Queen by the hand and went thither. Then the King made the barget to be held fast, and then the King and the Queen went in with certain knights with them; and there he saw the fairest woman lie in a rich bed, covered unto her middle with many rich clothes, and all was of cloth of gold. And she lay as she had smiled.\n\nThen the Queen espied the letter in her right hand, and told the King. Then the King took it and said, 'Now am I sure this letter will tell us what she was, and why she is come hither.'\n\nSo then the King and the Queen went out of the barget, and so commanded a certain to wait upon the barget. And so when the King was come to his chamber, he called many knights about him, and said that he would wit openly what was written within that letter. Then the King broke it and made a clerk to read it, and this was the intent of the letter:\n\n'Most noble knight, my lord Sir Lancelot, now hath death made us two at debate for your love. And I was your lover, that men called the Fair Maiden of Ascolat. Therefore unto all ladies I make my moan; yet for my soul ye pray and bury me at the least, and offer ye my mass-penny; this is my last request. And a clean maiden I died, I take God to witness. And pray for my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless.'\n\nThis was all the substance in the letter. And when it was read, the King, the Queen, and all the knights wept for pity of the doleful complaints. Then was Sir Lancelot sent for, and when he was come King Arthur made the letter to be read to him. And when Sir Lancelot heard it word by word, he said, 'My lord Arthur, wit you well I am right heavy of the death of this fair lady. And God knoweth I was never causer of her death by my willing, and that will I report me unto her own brother that here is, Sir Lavain. I will not say nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'but that she was both fair and good, and much I was beholden unto her; but she loved me out of measure.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Queen, 'ye might have showed her some bounty and gentleness which might have preserved her life.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'she would no other ways be answered but that she would be my wife or else my paramour, and of these two I would not grant her. But I proffered her, for her good love that she showed me, a thousand pounds yearly to her and to her heirs, and to wed any manner of knight that she could find best to love in her heart. For, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I love not to be constrained to love; for love must only arise of the heart's self, and not by no constraint.'\n\n'That is truth, sir,' said the King. 'And with many knights, love is free in himself and never will be bound; for where he is bound, he looseth himself.' Then said the King unto Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, it will be your worship that ye oversee that she be interred worshipfully.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that shall be done as I can best devise.'\n\nAnd so many knights yode thither to behold that fair dead maiden. And so upon the morn she was interred richly, and Sir Lancelot offered her mass-penny; and all the knights of the Table Round that were there at that time offered with Sir Lancelot. And then the poor man went again with the barget.\n\nThen the Queen sent for Sir Lancelot, and prayed him of mercy for why that she had been wroth with him causeless.\n\n'This is not the first time', said Sir Lancelot, 'that ye have been displeased with me causeless, but, madam, ever I must suffer you. But what sorrow that I endure, ye take no force.'\n\nSo this passed on all that winter, with all manner of hunting and hawking; and jousts and tourneys were many betwixt many great lords. And ever in all places Sir Lavain got great worship, that he was nobly famed among many knights of the Table Round.\n\nThus it passed on till Christmas, and then every day there was jousts made for a diamond: who that jousted best should have a diamond. But Sir Lancelot would not joust but if it were at a great jousts cried. But Sir Lavain jousted there all the Christmas passingly well, and was best praised, for there were but few that did so well; wherefore all manner of knights deemed that Sir Lavain should be made knight of the Table Round at the next feast of Pentecost.\n\nSo at after Christmas King Arthur let call unto him many knights, and there they advised together to make a party and a great tournament and jousts. And the cry was made that the day of jousts should be beside Westminster upon Candlemas Day, whereof many knights were glad, and made them ready to be at that jousts in the freshest manner.\n\nThen Queen Guenivere sent for Sir Lancelot, and said thus: 'I warn you that ye ride no more in no jousts nor tournaments but that your kinsmen may know you; and at these jousts that shall be ye shall have of me a sleeve of gold. And I pray you for my sake to force yourself there, that men may speak you worship. But I charge you as ye will have my love, that ye warn your kinsmen that ye will bear that day the sleeve of gold upon your helmet.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'it shall be done.' And either made great joy of other.\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot saw his time he told Sir Bors that he would depart, and no more with him but Sir Lavain, unto the good hermit that dwelled in the forest of Windsor whose name was Sir Brastias; and there he thought to repose him and to take all the rest that he might, because he would be fresh at that day of jousts. So Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavain departed, that no creature wist where he was become but the noble men of his blood. And when he was come to the hermitage, wit you well he had great cheer. And so daily Sir Lancelot used to go to a well by the hermitage, and there he would lie down and see the well spring and burble, and sometimes he slept there.\n\nSo at that time there was a lady that dwelled in that forest, and she was a great huntress, and daily she used to hunt; and ever she bore her bow with her, and no men went never with her, but always women. And they were all shooters and could well kill a deer at the stalk and at the trist; and they daily bore bows, arrows, horns, and wood knives, and many good dogs they had, both for the string and for abait. So it happened the lady the huntress had abaited her dog for the bow at a barren hind; and so she took the flight over hedges and woods, and ever this lady and part of her women coasted the hind and checked it by the noise of the hound, to have met with the hind at some water. And so it happened that the hind came to the same well there as Sir Lancelot was sleeping and slumbering.\n\nAnd so the hind, when she came to the well, for heat she went to soil, and there she lay a great while; and the dog came after and cast about, for she had lost the very perfect feute of the hind. Right so came that lady the huntress, that knew by her dog that the hind was at the soil by that well; and there she came straight and found the hind. And anon as she had spied her she put a broad arrow in her bow and shot at the hind; and so she overshot the hind, and so by misfortune the arrow smote Sir Lancelot in the thick of the buttock, over the barbs. When Sir Lancelot felt himself so hurt he whirled up woodly, and saw the lady that had smitten him. And when he knew she was a woman, he said thus: 'Lady or damosel, whatsoever ye be, in an evil time bore ye this bow: the devil made you a shooter.'\n\n'Now mercy, fair sir,' said the lady, 'I am a gentlewoman that useth here in this forest hunting, and God knoweth I saw you not; but as here was a barren hind at the soil in this well, and I weened I had done well, but my hand swerved.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye have mischieved me.'\n\nAnd so the lady departed. And Sir Lancelot as he might pulled out the arrow, and left the head still in his buttock, and so he went weakly unto the hermitage evermore bleeding as he went. And when Sir Lavain and the hermit espied that Sir Lancelot was so sore hurt, wit you well they were passing heavy; but Sir Lavain wist not how that he was hurt nor by whom, and then were they wroth out of measure. And so with great pain the hermit got out the arrowhead out of Sir Lancelot's buttock, and much of his blood he shed. And the wound was passing sore, and unhappily smitten, for it was in such a place that he might not sit in no saddle.\n\n'Ah, mercy, Jesu,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may call myself the most unhappy man that liveth, for ever when I would fainest have worship there befalleth me ever some unhappy thing. Now so Jesu me help,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and if no man would but God, I shall be in the field on Candlemas Day at the jousts, whatsoever fall of it.' So all that might be gotten to heal Sir Lancelot was had.\n\nSo when the day was come Sir Lancelot let devise that he was arrayed, and Sir Lavain and their horses, as they had been Saracens; and so they departed and came nigh to the field.\n\nAnd King Arthur himself came into the field with two hundred knights, and the most part were knights of the Round Table that were all proved noble men; and there were old knights set on scaffolds for to judge with the Queen who did best.\n\nThen they blew unto the field. And there the King of Northgales encountered with the King of Scots, and there the King of Scots had a fall; and the King of Ireland smote down King Uriens; and the King of Northumberland smote down King Howell of Brittany; and Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince smote down Duke Chalance of Clarence. And then King Arthur was wood wroth and ran to the King with the Hundred Knights, and so King Arthur smote him down; and after with that same spear he smote down other three knights, and then his spear broke, and did passingly well. And so therewith came in Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, and there each of them smote down a knight, and Sir Gawain smote down four knights. And then there began a great mel\u00e9e, for then came in the knights of Sir Lancelot's blood and Sir Gareth and Sir Palomides with them, and many knights of the Round Table; and they began to hold the four kings and the mighty duke so hard that they were nigh discomfited. But this Sir Galahalt the Haut Prince was a noble knight, and by his mighty prowess of arms he held the knights of the Table Round strait.\n\nSo all this doing saw Sir Lancelot, and then he came into the field with Sir Lavain with him as it had been thunder. And then anon Sir Bors and the knights of his blood espied Sir Lancelot anon, and said unto them all, 'I warn you beware of him with the sleeve of gold upon his head, for he is himself my lord Sir Lancelot.' And for great goodness Sir Bors warned Sir Gareth.\n\n'Sir, I am well paid', said Sir Gareth, 'that I may know him.'\n\n'But who is he', said they all, 'that rideth with him in the same array?'\n\n'Sir, that is the good and gentle knight Sir Lavain,' said Sir Bors.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot encountered with Sir Gawain, and there by force Sir Lancelot smote down Sir Gawain and his horse to the earth. And so he smote down Sir Agravain and Sir Gaheris, and also he smote down Sir Mordred, and all this was with one spear. And then met Sir Lancelot with Sir Palomides, and there Sir Palomides had a fall. And so Sir Lancelot, or ever he stinted, and as fast as he might get spears, he smote down thirty knights, and the most part were knights of the Round Table. And ever the knights of his blood withdrew them, and made them ado in other places where Sir Lancelot came not.\n\nAnd then King Arthur was wroth when he saw Sir Lancelot do such deeds; and then the King called unto him Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravain, Sir Mordred, Sir Kay, Sir Griflet, Sir Lucan the Butler, Sir Bedivere, Sir Palomides, and Sir Safer his brother; and so the King with these nine knights made them ready to set upon Sir Lancelot and upon Sir Lavain. And all this espied Sir Bors and Sir Gareth.\n\n'Now I dread me sore,' said Sir Bors, 'that my lord Sir Lancelot will be hard matched.'\n\n'Now by my head,' said Sir Gareth, 'I will ride unto my lord Sir Lancelot for to help him, whatsoever me betide, for he is the same man that made me knight.'\n\n'Sir, ye shall not do so,' said Sir Bors, 'by my counsel, unless that ye were disguised.'\n\n'Sir, ye shall see me soon disguised,' said Sir Gareth. And therewith he had espied a Welsh knight where he was to repose him, for he was sore hurt before of Sir Gawain. And unto him Sir Gareth rode, and prayed him of his knighthood to lend him his shield for his.\n\n'I will well,' said the Welsh knight.\n\nAnd when Sir Gareth had his shield (the book saith it was green, with a maiden which seemed in it), then Sir Gareth came driving unto Sir Lancelot all that ever he might, and said, 'Sir knight, take keep to thyself, for yonder cometh King Arthur with nine noble knights with him to put you to a rebuke; and so I am come to bear you fellowship for the old love ye have showed unto me.'\n\n'Grantmercy,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'But sir,' said Sir Gareth, 'encounter ye with Sir Gawain, and I shall encounter with Sir Palomides; and let Sir Lavain match with the noble King Arthur. And when we have delivered them, let us three hold us sadly together.'\n\nSo then came in King Arthur with his nine knights with him, and Sir Lancelot encountered with Sir Gawain and gave him such a buffet that the arson of his saddle brast, and Sir Gawain fell to the earth. Then Sir Gareth encountered with Sir Palomides, and he gave him such a buffet that both his horse and he dashed to the earth. Then encountered King Arthur with Sir Lavain, and there either of them smote other to the earth, horse and all, that they lay both a great while. Then Sir Lancelot smote down Sir Agravain, and Sir Gaheris, and Sir Mordred; and Sir Gareth smote down Sir Kay, Sir Safer, and Sir Griflet. And then Sir Lavain was horsed again, and he smote down Sir Lucan the Butler and Sir Bedivere; and then there began great throng of good knights.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot hurtled here and there, and rased and pulled off helms, that at that time there might none sit him a buffet with spear nor with sword. And Sir Gareth did such deeds of arms that all men marvelled what knight he was with the green shield, for he smote down that day and pulled down more than thirty knights. And as the French book saith, Sir Lancelot marvelled when he beheld Sir Gareth do such deeds what knight he might be. And Sir Lavain smote and pulled down more than twenty knights. And yet for all this Sir Lancelot knew not Sir Gareth; for and Sir Tristram de Lyonesse or Sir Lamorak de Gales had been alive, Sir Lancelot would have deemed he had been one of them twain.\n\nSo this tournament and jousts endured long, till it was near night, for the knights of the Round Table relieved ever unto King Arthur; for the King was wroth out of measure that he and his knights might not prevail that day.\n\nThen Sir Gawain said to the King, 'Sir, I marvel where are all this day Sir Bors de Ganis and his fellowship of Sir Lancelot's blood, that all this day they be not about you. And therefore I deem it is for some cause,' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'By my head,' said Sir Kay, 'Sir Bors is yonder all this day upon the right hand of this field, and there he and his blood do more worshipfully than we do.'\n\n'It may well be,' said Sir Gawain, 'but I dread me ever of guile; for on pain of my life, that same knight with the red sleeve of gold is himself Sir Lancelot, for I see well by his riding and by his great strokes; and the other knight in the same colours is the good young knight Sir Lavain. And that knight with the green shield is my brother Sir Gareth, and yet he hath disguised himself, for no man shall make him be against Sir Lancelot, because he made him knight.'\n\n'By my head,' said King Arthur, 'nephew, I believe you. And therefore now tell me what is your best counsel.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'my counsel is to blow unto lodging; for and he be Sir Lancelot du Lake, and my brother Sir Gareth with him, with the help of that good young knight Sir Lavain, trust me truly it will be no boot to strive with them but if we should fall ten or twelve upon one knight\u2014and that were no worship, but shame.'\n\n'Ye say truth,' said the King. 'It were shame for us, so many as we be, to set upon them any more. For wit ye well,' said King Arthur, 'they be three good knights, and namely that knight with the sleeve of gold.'\n\nAnd anon they blew unto lodging. But forthwith King Arthur let send unto the four kings and to the mighty duke, and prayed them that the knight with the sleeve of gold depart not from them, but that the King may speak with him. Then forthwith King Arthur alit and unarmed him, and took a little hackney and rode after Sir Lancelot, for ever he had espy upon him. And so he found him among the four kings and the duke; and there the King prayed them all unto supper, and they said they would with good will. And when they were unarmed, King Arthur knew Sir Lancelot, Sir Gareth, and Sir Lavain.\n\n'Ah, Sir Lancelot,' said King Arthur, 'this day ye have heated me and my knights.'\n\nAnd so they yode unto King Arthur's lodging all together, and there was a great feast and great revel. And the prize was given unto Sir Lancelot, for by heralds they named him that he had smitten down fifty knights, and Sir Gareth five and thirty knights, and Sir Lavain four and twenty. Then Sir Lancelot told the King and the Queen how the lady huntress shot him in the forest of Windsor, in the buttock, with a broad arrow, and how the wound was that time six inches deep and alike long.\n\nAlso King Arthur blamed Sir Gareth because he left his fellowship and held with Sir Lancelot.\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Gareth, 'he made me knight, and when I saw him so hard bestead, me thought it was my worship to help him. For I saw him do so much deeds of arms, and so many noble knights against him, that when I understood that he was Sir Lancelot du Lake I shamed to see so many good knights against him alone.'\n\n'Now truly,' said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, 'ye say well, and worshipfully have ye done, and to yourself great worship. And all the days of my life,' said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, 'wit you well I shall love you and trust you the more better. For ever it is,' said King Arthur, 'a worshipful knight's deed to help and succour another worshipful knight when he seeth him in danger; for ever a worshipful man will be loath to see a worshipful man shamed. And he that is of no worship and meddleth with cowardice, never shall he show gentleness nor no manner of goodness where he seeth a man in danger, for then will a coward never show mercy. And always a good man will do ever to another man as he would be done to himself.'\n\nSo then there were made great feasts unto kings and dukes, and revel, game, and play, and all manner of noblesse was used. And he that was courteous, true, and faithful to his friend was that time cherished.\n\nAnd thus it passed on from Candlemas until after Easter, that the month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom and to burgeon. For like as trees and herbs burgeoneth and and flourisheth in May, in like wise every lusty heart that is any manner of lover springeth, burgeoneth, buddeth, and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May, in some thing to constrain him to some manner of thing more in that month than in any other month, for diverse causes: for then all herbs and trees reneweth a man and woman, and in like wise lovers calleth to their mind old gentleness and old service, and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence.\n\nFor like as winter rasure doth alway erase and deface green summer, so fareth it by unstable love in man and woman. For in many persons there is no stability; for we may see all day, for a little blast of winter's rasure, anon we shall deface and lay apart true love for little or nought, that cost much thing. This is no wisdom nor no stability, but it is feebleness of nature and great disworship, whosoever useth this.\n\nTherefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in every man's garden, so in like wise let every man of worship flourish his heart in this world, first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he promised his faith unto. For there was never worshipful man nor worshipful woman, but they loved one better than another; and worship in arms may never be foiled. But first reserve the honour to God, and secondly thy quarrel must come of thy lady. And such love I call virtuous love.\n\nBut nowadays men cannot love seven night but they must have all their desires. That love may not endure by reason; for where they be soon accorded and hasty, heat soon cooleth. And right so fareth the love nowadays, soon hot, soon cold\u2014this is no stability. But the old love was not so; for men and women could love together seven years, and no lecherous lusts were betwixt them, and then was love truth and faithfulness. And so in like wise was used such love in King Arthur's days. Wherefore I liken love nowadays unto summer and winter; for like as the one is cold and the other is hot, so fareth love nowadays. And therefore all ye that be lovers, call unto your remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenivere; for whom I make here a little mention, that while she lived she was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end.\n\nSo it befell in the month of May, Queen Guenivere called unto her ten knights of the Table Round, and she gave them warning that early upon the morn she would ride on maying into woods and fields beside Westminster: 'And I warn you that there be none of you but he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed all in green, either in silk or in cloth; and I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady by him. And every knight shall have a squire and two yeomen, and I will that all be well horsed.'\n\nSo they made them ready in the freshest manner. And these were the names of the knights: Sir Kay le Seneschal, Sir Agravain, Sir Brandiles, Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Dodinas le Savage, Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi, Sir Ladinas of the Forest Savage, Sir Persant of Inde, Sir Ironside that was called the Knight of the Red Launds, and Sir Pelleas the lover. And these ten knights made them ready in the freshest manner to ride with the Queen.\n\nAnd so upon the morn or it were day, in a May morning, they took their horses with the Queen and rode on maying in woods and meadows as it pleased them, in great joy and delights; for the Queen had cast to have been again with King Arthur at the furthest by ten of the clock, and so was that time her purpose.\n\nThen there was a knight which hight Sir Meliagaunt, and he was son unto King Bagdemagus; and this knight had that time a castle of the gift of King Arthur within seven miles of Westminster. And this knight Sir Meliagaunt loved passing well Queen Guenivere, and so had he done long and many years. And the book saith he had lain in wait for to steal away the Queen, but evermore he forbore for because of Sir Lancelot; for in no wise he would meddle with the Queen and Sir Lancelot were in her company, or else and he were nearhand.\n\nAnd that time was such a custom that the Queen rode never without a great fellowship of men of arms about her, and they were many good knights, and the most part were young men that would have worship; and they were called the Queen's Knights. And never in no battle, tournament, nor jousts, they bore none of them no manner of knowledging of their own arms, but plain white shields, and thereby they were called the Queen's Knights. And when it happed any of them to be of great worship by his noble deeds, then at the next feast of Pentecost, if there were any slain or dead\u2014as there was no year that there failed but there were some dead\u2014then was there chosen in his stead that was dead, the most men of worship that were called the Queen's Knights. And thus they came up first before they were renowned men of worship, both Sir Lancelot and all the remnant of them.\n\nBut this knight, Sir Meliagaunt, had espied the Queen well and her purpose, and how Sir Lancelot was not with her, and how she had no men of arms with her but the ten noble knights all arrayed in green for maying. Then he purveyed him twenty men of arms and a hundred archers for to distress the Queen and her knights, for he thought that time was best season to take the Queen.\n\nSo as the Queen was out on maying with all her knights, which were bedashed with herbs, mosses, and flowers in the freshest manner, right so there came out of a wood Sir Meliagaunt with eight score men, all harnessed as they should fight in a battle of arrest, and bade the Queen and her knights abide, for maugre their heads they should abide.\n\n'Traitor knight,' said Queen Guenivere, 'what cast thou to do? Wilt thou shame thyself? Bethink thee how thou art a king's son and a knight of the Table Round, and thou thus to be about to dishonour the noble king that made thee knight!\u2014thou shamest all knighthood and thyself and me. And I let thee wit thou shalt never shame me, for I had liever cut my own throat in twain rather than thou should dishonour me.'\n\n'As for all this language,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'be as it be may, for wit you well, madam, I have loved you many a year, and never or now could I get you at such avail; and therefore I will take you as I find you.'\n\nThen spoke all the ten noble knights at once and said, 'Sir Meliagaunt, wit thou well thou art about to jeopardy thy worship to dishonour, and also ye cast to jeopardy your persons, howbeit we be unarmed and ye have us at a great advantage, for it seemeth by you that ye have laid watch upon us. But rather than ye should put the Queen to a shame and us all, we had as lief to depart from our lives; for and we other ways did, we were shamed for ever.'\n\nThen said Sir Meliagaunt, 'Dress you as well ye can, and keep the Queen!'\n\nThen the ten knights of the Round Table drew their swords, and these others let run at them with their spears; and the ten knights manly abode them, and smote away their spears that no spear did them no harm. Then they lashed together with swords, and anon Sir Kay, Sir Sagramore, Sir Agravain, Sir Dodinas, Sir Ladinas, and Sir Ozanna were smitten to the earth with grimly wounds. Then Sir Brandiles and Sir Persant, Sir Ironside and Sir Pelleas fought long, and they were sore wounded; for these ten knights, or ever they were laid to the ground, slew forty men of the boldest and the best of them.\n\nSo when the Queen saw her knights thus dolefully wounded, and needs must be slain at the last, then for pity and sorrow she cried and said, 'Sir Meliagaunt, slay not my noble knights, and I will go with thee upon this covenant, that thou save them and suffer them no more to be hurt; with this, that they be led with me wheresoever thou leadest me. For I will rather slay myself than I will go with thee, unless that these noble knights may be in my presence.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'for your sake they shall be led with you into my own castle, with that ye will be ruled, and ride with me.'\n\nThen the Queen prayed the four knights to leave their fighting, and she and they would not part.\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Pelleas, 'we will do as ye do, for as for me I take no force of my life nor death.'\n\nFor as the French book saith, Sir Pelleas gave such buffets there that no armour might hold him.\n\nThen by the Queen's commandment they left battle and dressed the wounded knights on horseback, some sitting and some overthwart their horses, that it was pity to behold. And then Sir Meliagaunt charged the Queen and all her knights that none of her fellowship should depart from her; for full sore he dreaded Sir Lancelot du Lake, lest he should have any knowledging. And all this espied the Queen, and privily she called unto her a child of her chamber which was swiftly horsed, of a great advantage.\n\n'Now go thou,' said she, 'when thou seest thy time, and bear this ring unto Sir Lancelot du Lake, and pray him as he loveth me that he will see me and rescue me, if ever he will have joy of me. And spare not thy horse,' said the Queen, 'neither for water nor for land.'\n\nSo this child espied his time, and lightly he took his horse with spurs and departed as fast as he might. And when Sir Meliagaunt saw him so flee, he understood that it was by the Queen's commandment for to warn Sir Lancelot. Then they that were best horsed chased him and shot at him, but from them all the child went deliverly.\n\nAnd then Sir Meliagaunt said unto the Queen, 'Madam, ye are about to betray me, but I shall ordain for Sir Lancelot that he shall not come lightly at you.'\n\nAnd then he rode with her and all the fellowship in all the haste that they might. And so by the way Sir Meliagaunt laid in ambush of the best archers that he had thirty to await upon Sir Lancelot, charging them that if they saw such a manner of knight come by the way upon a white horse, 'that in any wise ye slay his horse, but in no manner have ye ado with him bodily, for he is over hard to be overcome.'\n\nSo this was done, and they were come to his castle. But in no wise the Queen would never let none of the ten knights and her ladies out of her sight, but always they were in her presence. For the book saith, Sir Meliagaunt durst make no masteries for dread of Sir Lancelot, insomuch he deemed that he had warning.\n\nSo when the child was departed from the fellowship of Sir Meliagaunt, within a while he came to Westminster, and anon he found Sir Lancelot. And when he had told his message and delivered him the Queen's ring, 'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'now am I shamed for ever, unless that I may rescue that noble lady from dishonour.'\n\nThen eagerly he asked his arms; and ever the child told Sir Lancelot how the ten knights fought marvellously, and how Sir Pelleas, Sir Ironside, Sir Brandiles, and Sir Persant of Inde fought strongly, but namely Sir Pelleas, there might no harness hold him; and how they all fought till they were laid to the earth; and how the Queen made appointment for to save their lives and to go with Sir Meliagaunt.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that most noble lady, that she should be so destroyed! I had liever', said Sir Lancelot, 'than all France, that I had been there well armed.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot was armed and upon his horse, he prayed the child of the Queen's chamber to warn Sir Lavain how suddenly he was departed, and for what cause. 'And pray him as he loveth me, that he will hie him after me; and that he stint not until he come to the castle where Sir Meliagaunt abideth, for there', said Sir Lancelot, 'he shall hear of me, and I be a man living.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot rode as fast as he might; and the book saith he took the water at Westminster Bridge, and made his horse swim over the Thames unto Lambeth. And so within a while he came to the same place there as the ten noble knights fought with Sir Meliagaunt; and then Sir Lancelot followed the track until that he came to a wood, and there was a strait way. And there the thirty archers bade Sir Lancelot turn again and follow no longer that track.\n\n'What commandment have ye,' said Sir Lancelot, 'to cause me that am a knight of the Round Table to leave my right way?'\n\n'This way shalt thou leave, or else thou shalt go it on thy foot; for wit thou well thy horse shall be slain.'\n\n'That is little mastery,' said Sir Lancelot, 'to slay my horse; but as for myself, when my horse is slain, I give right nought of you, not and ye were five hundred more.'\n\nSo then they shot Sir Lancelot's horse, and smote him with many arrows. And then Sir Lancelot avoided his horse and went on foot; but there were so many ditches and hedges betwixt them and him that he might not meddle with none of them.\n\n'Alas, for shame,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever one knight should betray another knight. But it is an old-said saw, \"A good man is never in danger but when he is in the danger of a coward.\"'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot walked on a while, and was sore encumbered of his armour, his shield, and his spear; wit you well, he was full sore annoyed, and full loath he was for to leave anything that longed unto him, for he dreaded sore the treason of Sir Meliagaunt. Then by fortune there came a chariot that came thither to fetch wood.\n\n'Say me, carter,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what shall I give thee to suffer me to leap into thy chariot, and that thou wilt bring me unto a castle within these two miles?'\n\n'Thou shalt not enter into this chariot,' said the carter, 'for I am sent for to fetch wood.'\n\n'Unto whom?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Unto my lord, Sir Meliagaunt,' said the carter.\n\n'And with him would I speak,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Thou shalt not go with me,' said the carter.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot leapt to him, and gave him backward with his gauntlet a rearmain that he fell to the earth stark dead. Then the other carter, his fellow, was afraid, and weened to have gone the same way; and then he said, 'Fair lord, save my life, and I shall bring you where ye will.'\n\n'Then I charge thee,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that thou drive me and this chariot unto Sir Meliagaunt's gate.'\n\n'Then leap ye up into the chariot,' said the carter, 'and ye shall be there anon.'\n\nSo the carter drove on a great gallop, and Sir Lancelot's horse followed the chariot with more than forty arrows in him.\n\nAnd more than an hour and a half Dame Guenivere was awaiting in a bay window; then one of her ladies espied an armed knight standing in a chariot.\n\n'Ah, see, madam,' said the lady, 'where rides in a chariot a goodly armed knight, and we suppose he rideth unto hanging.'\n\n'Where?' said the Queen.\n\nThen she espied by his shield that it was Sir Lancelot; and then was she ware where came his horse after that chariot, and ever he trod his guts and his paunch under his feet.\n\n'Alas,' said the Queen, 'now I may prove and see that well is that creature that hath a trusty friend. Ah,' said Queen Guenivere, 'I see well that ye were hard bestead when ye ride in a chariot.' And then she rebuked that lady that likened Sir Lancelot to ride in a chariot to hanging. 'For sooth, it was foul mouthed,' said the Queen, 'and evil likened, so for to liken the most noble knight of the world unto such a shameful death. Ah, Jesu defend him and keep him,' said the Queen, 'from all mischievous end.'\n\nSo by this was Sir Lancelot come to the gates of that castle, and there he descended down, and cried, that all the castle might ring, 'Where art thou, thou false traitor, Sir Meliagaunt, and knight of the Table Round? Come forth, thou traitor knight, thou and thy fellowship with thee! For here I am, Sir Lancelot du Lake, that shall fight with you all.'\n\nAnd therewith he bore the gate wide open upon the porter, and smote him under the ear with his gauntlet, that his neck brast in two pieces.\n\nWhen Sir Meliagaunt heard that Sir Lancelot was come, he ran unto the Queen and fell upon his knee, and said, 'Mercy, madam, now I put me wholly in your good grace.'\n\n'What ails you now?' said Queen Guenivere. 'Pardieu, I might well wit that some good knight would revenge me, though my lord King Arthur knew not of this your work.'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'all this that is amiss on my part shall be amended right as yourself will devise, and wholly I put me in your grace.'\n\n'What would ye that I did?' said the Queen.\n\n'Madam, I would no more,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'but that ye would take all in your own hands, and that ye will rule my lord Sir Lancelot. And such cheer as may be made him in this poor castle, ye and he shall have, until tomorrow, and then may ye and all they return again unto Westminster; and my body and all that I have I shall put in your rule.'\n\n'Ye say well,' said the Queen, 'and better is peace than evermore war, and the less noise the more is my worship.'\n\nThen the Queen and her ladies went down unto Sir Lancelot, that stood wood wroth out of measure to abide battle; and ever he said, 'Thou traitor knight, come forth!'\n\nThen the Queen came unto him and said, 'Sir Lancelot, why be ye so moved?'\n\n'Ah, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'why ask ye me that question? For me seemeth ye ought to be more wroth than I am, for ye have the hurt and the dishonour. For wit you well, madam, my hurt is but little in regard for the slaying of a mare's son, but the despite grieveth me much more than all my hurt.'\n\n'Truly,' said the Queen, 'ye say truth. But heartily I thank you,' said the Queen, 'but ye must come in with me peaceably, for all thing is put in my hand, and all that is amiss shall be amended; for the knight full sore repents him of this misadventure that is befallen him.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'sith it is so that ye be accorded with him, as for me I may not gainsay it, howbeit Sir Meliagaunt hath done full shamefully to me, and cowardly. And, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I had wist that ye would have been so lightly accorded with him, I would not have made such haste unto you.'\n\n'Why say ye so?' said the Queen. 'Do ye forthink yourself of your good deeds? Wit you well,' said the Queen, 'I accorded never with him for no favour nor love that I had unto him, but of wisdom to lay down every shameful noise.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye understand full well I was never willing nor glad of shameful slander nor noise. And there is neither king, queen, nor knight that beareth the life, except my lord King Arthur and you, madam, that should let me but I should make Sir Meliagaunt's heart full cold or ever I departed from hence.'\n\n'That wot I well,' said the Queen, 'but what will ye more? Ye shall have all thing ruled as ye list to have it.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'so ye be pleased, as for my part ye shall soon please me.'\n\nRight so the Queen took Sir Lancelot by the bare hand, for he had put off his gauntlet, and so she went with him to her chamber; and then she commanded him to be unarmed. And then Sir Lancelot asked the Queen where were her ten knights that were wounded with her. Then she showed them unto him, and there they made great joy of the coming of Sir Lancelot, and he made great sorrow of their hurts. And there Sir Lancelot told them how cowardly and traitorly he set archers to slay his horse, and how he was fain to put himself in a chariot. And thus they complained each to other; and full fain they would have been revenged, but they kept the peace because of the Queen.\n\nThen, as the French book saith, Sir Lancelot was called many days after le Chevalier de Chariot, and so he did many deeds and great adventures. And so we leave off here of le Chevalier de Chariot, and turn we to this tale.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot had great cheer with the Queen; and then he made a promise with the Queen that the same night he should come to a window outward toward a garden\u2014and that window was barred with iron\u2014and there Sir Lancelot promised to meet her when all folks were asleep.\n\nSo then came Sir Lavain driving to the gates, saying, 'Where is my lord Sir Lancelot?' And anon he was sent for; and when Sir Lavain saw Sir Lancelot, he said, 'Ah, my lord, I found how ye were hard bestead, for I have found your horse that is slain with arrows.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I pray you, Sir Lavain, speak ye of other matters, and let this pass, and right it another time and we may.'\n\nThen the knights that were hurt were searched, and soft salves were laid to their wounds; and so it passed on till supper time, and all the cheer that might be made them there was done unto the Queen and all her knights. And when season was, they went unto their chambers, but in no wise the Queen would not suffer her wounded knights to be from her, but that they were laid in withdraughts by her chamber upon beds and pallets, that she might herself see unto them that they wanted nothing.\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot was in his chamber which was assigned unto him, he called unto him Sir Lavain, and told him that night he must speak with his lady, Queen Guenivere.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lavain, 'let me go with you and it please you, for I dread me sore of the treason of Sir Meliagaunt.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I thank you, but I will have nobody with me.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot took his sword in his hand, and privily went to the place where he had espied a ladder beforehand; and that he took under his arm and bore it through the garden, and set it up to the window. And anon the Queen was there ready to meet him; and then they made their complaints to other of many diverse things. And then Sir Lancelot wished that he might have come in to her.\n\n'Wit you well,' said the Queen, 'I would as fain as ye that ye might come in to me.'\n\n'Would ye so, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'with your heart, that I were with you?'\n\n'Yea, truly,' said the Queen.\n\n'Then shall I prove my might,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for your love.'\n\nAnd then he set his hands upon the bars of iron, and pulled at them with such a might that he brast them clean out of the stone walls; and therewith one of the bars of iron cut the brawn of his hands throughout to the bone. And then he leapt into the chamber to the Queen.\n\n'Make ye no noise,' said the Queen, 'for my wounded knights lie here fast by me.'\n\nSo, to pass upon this tale, Sir Lancelot went to bed with the Queen and took no force of his hurt hand, but took his pleasance and his liking until it was the dawning of the day; for wit you well, he slept not, but watched. And when he saw his time that he might tarry no longer, he took his leave and departed at the window, and put it together as well as he might again, and so departed unto his own chamber; and there he told Sir Lavain how that he was hurt. Then Sir Lavain dressed his hand and put upon it a glove, that it should not be espied. And so they lay long abed in the morning till it was nine of the clock. Then Sir Meliagaunt went to the Queen's chamber, and found her ladies there ready clothed.\n\n'Ah, Jesu mercy,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'what ails you, madam, that ye sleep this long?'\n\nAnd therewith he opened the curtain for to behold her; and then was he ware where she lay, and all the headsheet, pillow, and oversheet was all be-bled of the blood of Sir Lancelot and of his hurt hand. When Sir Meliagaunt espied that blood, then he deemed in her that she was false to the King, and that some of the wounded knights had lain by her all that night.\n\n'Ha, madam,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'now I have found you a false traitress unto my lord Arthur; for now I prove well it was not for nought that ye laid these wounded knights within the bounds of your chamber, therefore I will call you of treason before my lord King Arthur. And now I have proved you, madam, with a shameful deed; and that they be all false, or some of them, I will make it good, for a wounded knight this night hath lain by you.'\n\n'That is false,' said the Queen, 'that I will report me unto them.'\n\nBut when the ten knights heard of Sir Meliagaunt's words, then they spoke all at once and said, 'Sir Meliagaunt, thou falsely beliest my lady the Queen, and that we will make good upon thee, any of us. Now choose which thou list of us, when we are whole of the wounds thou gavest us.'\n\n'Ye shall not; away with your proud language, for here ye may all see that a wounded knight this night hath lain by the Queen.'\n\nThen they all looked, and were sore ashamed when they saw that blood; and wit you well Sir Meliagaunt was passing glad that he had the Queen at such advantage, for he deemed by that to hide his own treason. And so in this rumour came in Sir Lancelot, and found them at a great affray.\n\n'What array is this?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen Sir Meliagaunt told them what he had found, and so he showed him the Queen's bed.\n\n'Now truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye did not your part, nor knightly, to touch a queen's bed while it was drawn, and she lying therein. And I dare say,' said Sir Lancelot, 'my lord King Arthur himself would not have displayed her curtains, she being within her bed, unless that it had pleased him to have lain him down by her. And therefore, Sir Meliagaunt, ye have done unworshipfully and shamefully to yourself.'\n\n'Sir, I wot not what ye mean,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'but well I am sure there hath one of her hurt knights lain with her this night; and that will I prove with my hands, that she is a traitress unto my lord King Arthur.'\n\n'Beware what ye do,' said Lancelot, 'for and ye say so and will prove it, it will be taken at your hands.'\n\n'My lord Sir Lancelot,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'I rede you beware what ye do; for though ye are never so good a knight, as I wot well ye are renowned the best knight of the world, yet should ye be advised to do battle in a wrong quarrel, for God will have a stroke in every battle.'\n\n'As for that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'God is to be dreaded! But as to that I say nay plainly, that this night there lay none of these ten knights wounded with my lady Queen Guenivere; and that will I prove with my hands, that ye say untruly in that. Now what say ye?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Thus I say,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'here is my glove that she is a traitress unto my lord King Arthur, and that this night one of the wounded knights lay with her.'\n\n'Well, sir, and I receive your glove,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd anon they were sealed with their signets, and delivered unto the ten knights.\n\n'At what day shall we do battle together?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'This day eight days,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'in the field beside Westminster.'\n\n'I am agreed,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'But now,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'sithen it is so that we must needs fight together, I pray you, as ye be a noble knight, await me with no treason nor no villainy the meanwhile, nor none for you.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye shall right well wit that I was never of no such conditions, for I report me to all knights that ever have known me, I fared never with no treason, nor I loved never the fellowship of him that fared with treason.'\n\n'Then let us go unto dinner,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'and after dinner the Queen and ye may ride all unto Westminster.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nThen Sir Meliagaunt said unto Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, pleaseth you to see the estures of this castle?'\n\n'With a good will,' said Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd then they went together from chamber to chamber, for Sir Lancelot dreaded no perils; for ever a man of worship and of prowess dreads but little of perils, for they ween that every man be as they be\u2014but ever he that fareth with treason putteth often a true man in great danger. And so it befell upon Sir Lancelot that dreaded no peril, as he went with Sir Meliagaunt he trod on a trap and the board rolled, and there Sir Lancelot fell down more than ten fathom into a cave full of straw. And then Sir Meliagaunt departed and made no fare, no more than he that wist not where he was.\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot was thus missed they marvelled where he was become; and then the Queen and many of them deemed that he was departed as he was wont to do, suddenly. For Sir Meliagaunt made suddenly to put aside Sir Lavain's horse, that they might all understand that Sir Lancelot was departed suddenly, so that it passed on till after dinner. And then Sir Lavain would not stint until that he had horse-litters for the wounded knights, that they might be carried in them, and so with the Queen, both ladies and gentlewomen, they rode unto Westminster. And there the knights told how Sir Meliagaunt had appealed the Queen of high treason and how Sir Lancelot received the glove of him, 'and this day eight days they shall do battle before you'.\n\n'By my head,' said King Arthur, 'I am afraid Sir Meliagaunt hath charged himself with a great charge! But where is Sir Lancelot?' said the King.\n\n'Sir, we wot not where he is, but we deem he is ridden to some adventure as he is ofttimes wont to do, for he had Sir Lavain's horse.'\n\n'Let him be,' said the King, 'for he will be found, but if he be trapped with some treason.'\n\nThus leave we Sir Lancelot lying within that cave in great pain; and every day there came a lady and brought him his meat and his drink, and wooed him to have lain by her. And ever the noble knight Sir Lancelot said her nay.\n\nThen said she, 'Sir, ye are not wise, for ye may never out of this prison but if ye have my help. And also your lady, Queen Guenivere, shall be burnt in your default, unless that ye be there at the day of battle.'\n\n'God defend', said Sir Lancelot, 'that she should be burnt in my default. And if it be so', said Sir Lancelot, 'that I may not be there, it shall be well understood, both at the King and at the Queen and with all men of worship, that I am dead, sick, or in prison, for all men that know me will say for me that I am in some evil case and I be not that day there. And thus well I understand that there is some good knight, either of my blood or some other that loves me, that will take my quarrel in hand. And therefore,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well ye shall not fear me; and if there were no more women in all this land but ye, yet shall not I have ado with you.'\n\n'Then are ye shamed,' said the lady, 'and destroyed for ever.'\n\n'As for world's shame, now Jesu defend me; and as for my distress, it is welcome whatsoever it be that God sends me.'\n\nSo she came to him again the same day that the battle should be, and said, 'Sir Lancelot, bethink you, for ye are too hard-hearted. And therefore, and ye would but once kiss me, I should deliver you and your armour, and the best horse that was within Sir Meliagaunt's stable.'\n\n'As for to kiss you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I may do that and lose no worship. And wit you well, and I understood there were any disworship for to kiss you, I would not do it.'\n\nAnd then he kissed her; and anon she got him up unto his armour, and when he was armed she brought him to a stable where stood twelve good coursers, and bade him to choose of the best. Then Sir Lancelot looked upon a white courser, and that liked him best; and anon he commanded him to be saddled with the best saddle of war, and so it was done. Then he got his own spear in his hand and his sword by his side; and then he commended the lady unto God, and said, 'Lady, for this day's deed I shall do you service if ever it lie in my power.'\n\nNow leave we here Sir Lancelot, all that ever he might gallop, and speak we of Queen Guenivere that was brought to a fire to be burnt; for Sir Meliagaunt was sure, him thought, that Sir Lancelot should not be at that battle, and therefore he ever cried upon Sir Arthur to do him justice, or else bring forth Sir Lancelot. Then was the King and all the court full sore abashed and shamed that the Queen should be burnt in the default of Sir Lancelot.\n\n'My lord King Arthur,' said Sir Lavain, 'ye may understand that it is not well with my lord Sir Lancelot, for and he were alive, so he be not sick or in prison, wit you well he would have been here; for never heard ye that ever he failed yet his part for whom he should do battle for. And therefore,' said Sir Lavain, 'my lord King Arthur, I beseech you that ye will give me licence to do battle here this day for my lord and master, and for to save my lady the Queen.'\n\n'Grantmercy, gentle Sir Lavain,' said King Arthur, 'for I dare say all that Sir Meliagaunt putteth upon my lady the Queen is wrong; for I have spoken with all the ten wounded knights, and there is not one of them, and he were whole and able to do battle, but he would prove upon Sir Meliagaunt's body that it is false that he putteth upon my queen.'\n\n'And so shall I,' said Sir Lavain, 'in the defence of my lord Sir Lancelot, and ye will give me leave.'\n\n'And I give you leave,' said King Arthur, 'and do your best, for I dare well say there is some treason done to Sir Lancelot.'\n\nThen was Sir Lavain armed and horsed, and deliverly at the lists' end he rode to perform his battle. And right as the heralds should cry, 'Lessez les aller,' right so came Sir Lancelot driving with all the might of his horse. And then King Arthur cried, 'Whoa!' and 'Abide!'\n\nAnd then was Sir Lancelot called before King Arthur, and there he told openly before the King all how that Sir Meliagaunt had served him first and last. And when the King and Queen and all the lords knew of the treason of Sir Meliagaunt they were all ashamed on his behalf. Then was the Queen sent for, and set by the King in the great trust of her champion.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot and Sir Meliagaunt dressed them together with spears as thunder, and there Sir Lancelot bore him quite over his horse's croup. And then Sir Lancelot alit and dressed his shield on his shoulder and took his sword in his hand, and so they dressed to each other and smote many great strokes together. And at the last Sir Lancelot smote him such a buffet upon the helmet that he fell on the one side to the earth.\n\nAnd then he cried upon him loud and said, 'Most noble knight Sir Lancelot, save my life, for I yield me unto you, and I require you, as ye be a knight and fellow of the Table Round, slay me not, for I yield me as overcome. And whether I shall live or die I put me in the King's hands and yours.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot wist not what to do, for he had had liever than all the goods in the world that he might be revenged upon him. So Sir Lancelot looked upon the Queen, if he might espy by any sign or countenance what she would have done. And anon the Queen wagged her head upon Sir Lancelot, as who saith, 'Slay him.' And full well knew Sir Lancelot by her signs that she would have him dead.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot bade him, 'Arise, for shame, and perform this battle with me to the utterance.'\n\n'Nay,' said Sir Meliagaunt, 'I will never arise until that ye take me as yielded and recreant.'\n\n'Well, I shall proffer you a large proffer,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that is for to say I shall unarm my head and my left quarter of my body, all that may be unarmed as for that quarter, and I will let bind my left hand behind me where it shall not help me, and right so I shall do battle with you.'\n\nThen Sir Meliagaunt started up and said on high, 'Take heed, my lord Arthur, of this proffer, for I will take it, and let him be disarmed and bound according to his proffer.'\n\n'What say ye?' said King Arthur unto Sir Lancelot. 'Will ye abide by your proffer?'\n\n'Yea, my lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for I will never go from that I have once said.'\n\nThen the knights parters of the field disarmed Sir Lancelot, first his head and then his left arm and his left side, and they bound his left arm fast to his left side behind his back, without shield or anything; and anon they yode together. Wit you well there was many a lady and many a knight marvelled that Sir Lancelot would jeopardy himself in such wise.\n\nThen Sir Meliagaunt came with sword all on high, and Sir Lancelot showed him openly his bare head and the bare left side; and when he weened to have smitten him upon the bare head, then lightly he avoided the left leg and the left side, and put his hand and his sword to that stroke, and so put it aside with great sleight. And then with great force Sir Lancelot smote him on the helmet such a buffet that the stroke carved the head in two parts. Then there was no more to do, but he was drawn out of the field.\n\nAnd at the great instance of the knights of the Table Round, the King suffered him to be interred, and the mention made upon him who slew him and for what cause he was slain. And then the King and the Queen made more of Sir Lancelot, and more he was cherished than ever he was beforehand.\n\nThen as the French book maketh mention, there was a good knight in the land of Hungary whose name was Sir Urry; and he was an adventurous knight, and in all places where he might hear of any adventurous deeds and of worship, there would he be. So it happened in Spain there was an earl, and his son's name was called Sir Alpheus; and at a great tournament in Spain this Sir Urry, knight of Hungary, and Sir Alpheus of Spain encountered together for very envy, and so either undertook other to the utterance. And by fortune this Sir Urry slew Sir Alpheus, the earl's son of Spain; but this knight that was slain had given Sir Urry, or ever he were slain, seven great wounds, three on the head and three on his body and one upon his left hand. And this Sir Alpheus had a mother which was a great sorceress; and she, for the despite of her son's death, wrought by her subtle crafts that Sir Urry should never be whole, but ever his wounds should one time fester and another time bleed, so that he should never be whole until the best knight of the world had searched his wounds. And thus she made her avaunt, wherethrough it was known that this Sir Urry should never be whole.\n\nThen his mother let make a horse litter, and put him therein with two palfreys carrying him; and then she took with him his sister, a full fair damosel whose name was Filelolie, and a page with them to keep their horses; and so they led Sir Urry through many countries. For as the French book saith, she led him so seven years through all lands christened, and never could find no knight that might ease her son. So she came into Scotland and into the bounds of England; and by fortune she came unto the feast of Pentecost unto King Arthur's court, that at that time was held at Carlisle. And when she came there, she made it to be openly known how that she was come into that land for to heal her son.\n\nThen King Arthur let call that lady and ask her the cause why she brought that hurt knight into that land.\n\n'My most noble king,' said that lady, 'wit you well I brought him hither to be healed of his wounds, that of all these seven years might never be whole.' And thus she told the King, and where he was wounded and with whom, and how his mother discovered it in her pride how she had wrought by enchantment that he should never be whole until the best knight of the world had searched his wounds. 'And so I have passed all the lands christened through to have him healed, except this land; and if I fail here in this land, I will never take more pain upon me, and that is great pity, for he was a good knight and of great noblesse.'\n\n'What is his name?' said King Arthur.\n\n'My good and gracious lord,' she said, 'his name is Sir Urry of the Mount.'\n\n'In good time,' said the King, 'and sithen ye are come into this land, ye are right welcome. And wit you well, here shall your son be healed and ever any Christian man may heal him. And for to give all other men of worship courage, I myself will assay to handle your son, and so shall all the kings, dukes, and earls that be here present at this time; not presuming upon me that I am so worthy to heal your son by my deeds, but I will courage other men of worship to do as I will do.'\n\nAnd then the King commanded all the kings, dukes, and earls and all noble knights of the Round Table that were there that time present to come into the meadow of Carlisle. And so at that time there were but a hundred and ten of the Round Table, for forty knights were that time away. And so here we must begin at King Arthur, as is kindly to begin at him that was that time the most man of worship christened.\n\nThen King Arthur looked upon Sir Urry, and he thought he was a full likely man when he was whole. And then the King made to take him down off the litter and laid him upon the earth, and anon there was laid a cushion of gold that he should kneel upon.\n\nAnd then King Arthur said, 'Fair knight, me rueth of thy hurt; and for to courage all other knights, I will pray thee softly to suffer me to handle thy wounds.'\n\n'My most noble christened king, do as ye list,' said Sir Urry, 'for I am at the mercy of God, and at your commandment.'\n\nSo then King Arthur softly handled him, and then some of his wounds renewed upon bleeding.\n\nThen King Clariance of Northumberland searched, and it would not be. And then Sir Barrant le Apres that was called the King with the Hundred Knights, he assayed and failed. So did King Uriens of the land of Gore; so did King Angwish of Ireland, and so did King Nentres of Garlot. So did King Carados of Scotland; so did the duke Sir Galahalt, the Haut Prince; so did Duke Chalance of Clarence; so did the Earl of Ulbawes; so did the Earl Lambaile; so did the Earl Aristance.\n\nThen came in Sir Gawain with his three sons, Sir Gingalin, Sir Florence, and Sir Lovell\u2014these two were begotten upon Sir Brandiles' sister\u2014and all they failed. Then came in Sir Agravain, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Mordred, and the good knight Sir Gareth that was of very knighthood worth all the brethren.\n\nSo came in the knights of Sir Lancelot's kin, but Sir Lancelot was not that time in the court, for he was that time upon his adventures. Then Sir Lionel, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Blamor de Ganis, Sir Bleoberis de Ganis, Sir Gahalantine, Sir Galihodin, Sir Menaduke, Sir Villiars the Valiant, Sir Hebes le Renowne\u2014all these were of Sir Lancelot's kin, and all they failed.\n\nThen came in Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Dodinas le Savage, Sir Dinadan, Sir Breunor le Noir that Sir Kay named La Cote Mai Taill\u00e9, and Sir Kay le Seneschal; Sir Kay I'Estrange, Sir Meliot de Logris, Sir Petipace of Winchelsea, Sir Galleron of Galway, Sir Melion of the Mountain, Sir Cardok, Sir Uwain le Avoutres, and Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi. Then came in Sir Ascamore and Sir Grummor Grummorson; Sir Crosselm; Sir Severause le Breuse, that was called a passing strong knight\u2014for as the book saith, the chief Lady of the Lake feasted Sir Lancelot and Sir Severause le Breuse, and when she had feasted them both at sundry times she prayed them to give her a done, and anon they granted her. And then she prayed Sir Severause that he would promise her never to do battle against Sir Lancelot, and in the same wise she prayed Sir Lancelot never to do battle against Sir Severause, and so either promised her. For the French book saith that Sir Severause had never courage nor great lust to do battle against no man but if it were against giants, and against dragons and wild beasts.\n\nSo leave we this matter, and speak we of them that at the King's request were at the high feast as knights of the Round Table for to search Sir Urry. And to this intent the King did it, to wit which was the most noblest knight among them all.\n\nThen came in Sir Agloval, Sir Dornar, and Sir Tor that was begotten upon the cowherd's wife (but he was begotten before Aries wedded her; and King Pellinore begat them all\u2014first Sir Tor; Sir Agloval; Sir Dornar; Sir Lamorak, the most noblest knight alone of them that ever was in King Arthur's days as for a worldly knight; and Sir Percival that was peerless, except Sir Galahad, in holy deeds, but they died in the quest of the Sangrail).\n\nThen came in Sir Griflet le Fils de Dieu; Sir Lucan the Butler; Sir Bedivere, his brother; Sir Brandiles; Sir Constantine, Sir Cador's son of Cornwall, that was king after Arthur's days; and Sir Clegis, Sir Sadok, Sir Dinas le Seneschal de Cornwall, Sir Fergus, Sir Driant, Sir Lambegus, Sir Clarrus of Cleremont, Sir Clodrus, Sir Hectimere; Sir Edward of Caernarvon, Sir Dinas, Sir Priamus which was christened by means of Sir Tristram the noble knight, and these three were brethren; Sir Helian le Blanc that was son unto Sir Bors, for he begot him upon King Brandegoris' daughter; and Sir Brian de Listinoise; Sir Gauter, Sir Reynold, Sir Gillimer, were three brethren which Sir Lancelot won upon a bridge in Sir Kay's arms; Sir Gumret le Petit; Sir Bellenger le Beau, that was son to the good knight Sir Alexander le Orphelin, that was slain by the treason of King Mark.\n\nAlso that traitor king slew the noble knight Sir Tristram, as he sat harping before his lady La Belle Isode, with a trenchant glaive, for whose death was the most wailing of any knight that ever was in King Arthur's days; for there was never none so bewailed as was Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorak, for they were with treason slain, Sir Tristram by King Mark, and Sir Lamorak by Sir Gawain and his brethren.\n\nAnd this Sir Bellenger revenged the death of his father Sir Alexander, and Sir Tristram, for he slew King Mark. And La Belle Isode died swooning upon the corpse of Sir Tristram, whereof was great pity. And all that were with King Mark which were of assent of the death of Sir Tristram were slain, as Sir Andret and many others.\n\nThen came Sir Hebes, Sir Morganor, Sir Sentrail, Sir Suppinabiles; Sir Belliance le Orgulous, that the good knight Sir Lamorak won in plain battle; Sir Neroveus and Sir Plenorius, two good knights that Sir Lancelot won; Sir Damas; Sir Harry le Fils Lake; Sir Herminde, brother to King Hermance, for whom Sir Palomides fought at the Red City with two brethren; and Sir Selises of the Dolorous Tower; Sir Edward of Orkney; Sir Ironside, that was called the noble Knight of the Red Launds that Sir Gareth won for the love of Dame Lyonesse; Sir Arrok; Sir Degrevant; Sir Degrave sans Villainy that fought with the giant of the Black Lowe; Sir Epinogris, that was the King's son of Northumberland; Sir Pelleas, that loved the lady Ettard (and he had died for her sake had not been one of the ladies of the lake whose name was Dame Nenive, and she wedded Sir Pelleas; and she saved him ever after, that he was never slain by her days, and he was a full noble knight); and Sir Lamiel of Cardiff that was a great lover, Sir Plaine de Fors, Sir Melias de l'Isle, Sir Borre le Coeur Hardi that was King Arthur's son, Sir Mador de la Porte, Sir Colgrevance, Sir Hervis de la Forest Savage; Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed by his wife, for she made him seven year a werewolf; Sir Persant, Sir Pertolepe his brother that was called the Green Knight, and Sir Perimones, brother unto them both, which was called the Red Knight, that Sir Gareth won when he was called Beaumains.\n\nAll these hundred knights and ten searched Sir Urry's wounds by the commandment of King Arthur.\n\n'Mercy Jesu,' said King Arthur, 'where is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that he is not here at this time?'\n\nAnd thus, as they stood and spoke of many things, there one espied Sir Lancelot that came riding toward them, and anon they told the King.\n\n'Peace,' said the King, 'let no man say nothing until he be come to us.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot had espied King Arthur, he descended down from his horse and came to the King and saluted him and them all. And anon as the damsel, Sir Urry's sister, saw Sir Lancelot, she roamed to her brother there as he lay in his litter, and said, 'Brother, here is come a knight that my heart giveth greatly unto.'\n\n'Fair sister,' said Sir Urry, 'so doth my heart light greatly against him, and my heart giveth me more unto him more than to all these that have searched me.'\n\nThen said King Arthur unto Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, ye must do as we have done,' and told him what they had done, and showed him them all that had searched him.\n\n'Jesu defend me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'while so many noble kings and knights have failed, that I should presume upon me to achieve that all ye, my lords, might not achieve.'\n\n'Ye shall not choose,' said King Arthur, 'for I command you to do as we all have done.'\n\n'My most renowned lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I know well I dare not nor may not disobey you; but and I might or durst, wit you well I would not take upon me to touch that wounded knight in that intent that I should pass all other knights\u2014Jesu defend me from that shame.'\n\n'Sir, ye take it wrong,' said King Arthur, 'for ye shall not do it for no presumption, but for to bear us fellowship in so much as ye be a fellow of the Round Table. And wit you well,' said King Arthur, 'and ye prevail not and heal him, I dare say there is no knight in this land that may heal him. And therefore I pray you, do as we have done.'\n\nAnd then all the kings and knights for the most part prayed Sir Lancelot to search him. And then the wounded knight, Sir Urry, set him up weakly, and said unto Sir Lancelot, 'Now, courteous knight, I require thee for God's sake heal my wounds, for methinks ever sithen ye came here my wounds grieve me not so much as they did.'\n\n'Ah, my fair lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'Jesu would that I might help you! For I shame sore with myself that I should be thus required, for never was I able in worthiness to do so high a thing.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot kneeled down by the wounded knight, saying, 'My lord Arthur, I must do your commandment, which is sore against my heart.'\n\nAnd then he held up his hands and looked unto the east, saying secretly unto himself, 'Now blessed Father and Son and Holy Ghost, I beseech Thee of Thy mercy that my simple worship and honesty be saved; and Thou blessed Trinity, Thou mayst give me power to heal this sick knight by the great virtue and grace of Thee, but, good Lord, never of myself.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot prayed Sir Urry to let him see his head. And then, devoutly kneeling, he ransacked the three wounds that they bled a little; and forthwith the wounds fair healed, and seemed as they had been whole seven years. And in like wise he searched his body of other three wounds, and they healed in like wise. And then the last of all he searched his hand, and anon it fair healed. Then King Arthur and all the kings and knights kneeled down and gave thankings and loving unto God and unto His blessed Mother. And ever Sir Lancelot wept as he had been a child that had been beaten.\n\nThen King Arthur let ravish priests and clerks in the most devoutest wise to bring in Sir Urry into Carlisle, with singing and loving to God. And when this was done, the King let clothe him in rich manner; and then were there but few better made knights in all the court, for he was passingly well made and bigly. Then King Arthur asked Sir Urry how he felt himself.\n\n'Ah, my good and gracious lord, I felt myself never so lusty.'\n\n'Then will ye joust and do any arms?' said King Arthur.\n\n'Sir, and I had all that longed unto jousts I would be soon ready.'\n\nThen King Arthur made a party of a hundred knights to be against a hundred; and so upon the morn they jousted for a diamond, but there jousted none of the dangerous knights. And so, for to shorten this tale, Sir Urry and Sir Lavain jousted best that day, for there was none of them but he overthrew and pulled down thirty knights. And then, by assent of all the kings and lords, Sir Urry and Sir Lavain were made knights of the Table Round. And then Sir Lavain cast his love unto Dame Filelolie, Sir Urry's sister, and then they were wedded with great joy. And so King Arthur gave to each of them a barony of lands.\n\nAnd this Sir Urry would never go from Sir Lancelot, but he and Sir Lavain waited evermore upon him. And they were in all the court accounted for good knights, and full desirous in arms; and many noble deeds they did, for they would have no rest, but ever sought upon their deeds.\n\nThus they lived in all that court with great noblesse and joy long time. But every night and day Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain's brother, awaited Queen Guenivere and Sir Lancelot to put them both to a rebuke and a shame.\n\nAnd so I leave here of this tale, and overleap great books of Sir Lancelot, what great adventures he did when he was called le Chevalier de Chariot. For as the French book saith, because of despite that knights and ladies called him 'the knight that rode in the chariot' like as he were judged to the gibbet, therefore in the despite of all them that named him so, he was carried in a chariot a twelvemonth; for but little after that he had slain Sir Meliagaunt in the Queen's quarrel, he never of a twelvemonth came on horseback. And as the French book saith, he did that twelvemonth more than forty battles. And because I have lost the very matter of le Chevalier du Chariot, I depart from the tale of Sir Lancelot; and here I go unto the morte Arthur, and that caused Sir Agravain.\n\nAnd here on the other side followeth the most piteous tale of the Morte Arthur sans guerdon, par le chevalier Sir Thomas Malory, knight. Jesu, aide-le pour votre bonne merci Amen.\n\nIn May, when every heart flourisheth and burgeoneth\u2014for as the season is lusty to behold and comfortable, so man and woman rejoiceth and gladdeth of summer coming with his fresh flowers, for winter with his rough winds and blasts causeth lusty men and women to cower and to sit by fires\u2014so this season it befell in the month of May a great anger and unhappy, that stinted not till the flower of chivalry of the world was destroyed and slain. And all was long upon two unhappy knights which were named Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, that were brethren unto Sir Gawain; for this Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred had ever a privy hate unto the Queen, Dame Guenivere, and to Sir Lancelot. And daily and nightly they ever watched upon Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo it misfortuned Sir Gawain and all his brethren were in King Arthur's chamber, and then Sir Agravain said thus openly, and not in no counsel, that many knights might hear,\n\n'I marvel that we all be not ashamed both to see and to know how Sir Lancelot lieth daily and nightly by the Queen; and all we know well that it is so, and it is shamefully suffered of us all that we should suffer so noble a king as King Arthur is to be shamed.'\n\nThen spoke Sir Gawain and said,' Brother Sir Agravain, I pray you and charge you, move no such matters no more before me; for wit you well, I will not be of your counsel.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, 'we will not be knowing of your deeds.'\n\n'Then will I,' said Sir Mordred.\n\n'I believe you well,' said Sir Gawain, 'for ever unto all unhappiness, Sir, ye will grant. And I would that ye left all this, and make you not so busy! For I know', said Sir Gawain, 'what will fall of it.'\n\n'Fall whatsoever fall may,' said Sir Agravain, 'I will disclose it to the King.'\n\n'Not by my counsel,' said Sir Gawain. 'For and there arise war and wrack betwixt Sir Lancelot and us, wit you well, brother, there will many knights and great lords hold with Sir Lancelot. Also, brother Sir Agravain,' said Sir Gawain, 'ye must remember how oftentimes Sir Lancelot hath rescued the King and the Queen; and the best of us all had been full cold at the heart root had not Sir Lancelot been better than we, and that hath he proved himself full oft. And as for my part,' said Sir Gawain, 'I will never be against Sir Lancelot for one day's deed: that was when he rescued me from King Carados of the Dolorous Tower, and slew him and saved my life. Also, brother Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, in like wise Sir Lancelot rescued you both, and three score and two, from Sir Tarquin. And therefore, brother, methinks such noble deeds and kindness should be remembered.'\n\n'Do as ye list,' said Sir Agravain, 'for I will lain it no longer.'\n\nSo with these words came in Sir Arthur.\n\n'Now, brother,' said Sir Gawain, 'stint your strife.'\n\n'That will I not,' said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred.\n\n'Well, will ye so?' said Sir Gawain. 'Then God speed you, for I will not hear of your tales, neither be of your counsel.'\n\n'No more will I,' said Sir Gaheris.\n\n'Neither I,' said Sir Gareth, 'for I shall never say evil by that man that made me knight.'\n\nAnd therewith they three departed, making great dole.\n\n'Alas!' said Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth. 'Now is this realm wholly destroyed and mischieved, and the noble fellowship of the Round Table shall be disparbled.' So they departed; and then King Arthur asked them what noise they made.\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Agravain, 'I shall tell you, for I may keep it no longer. Here is I and my brother Sir Mordred broke unto my brother Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris, and to Sir Gareth\u2014for this is all, to make it short: we know all that Sir Lancelot holdeth your queen, and hath done long. And we be your sister's sons; we may suffer it no longer. And all we wot that ye should be above Sir Lancelot; and ye are the king that made him knight, and therefore we will prove it that he is a traitor to your person.'\n\n'If it be so,' said the King, 'wit you well, he is none other; but I would be loath to begin such a thing but I might have proofs of it. For Sir Lancelot is a hardy knight, and all ye know that he is the best knight among us all; and but if he be taken with the deed he will fight with him that bringeth up the noise, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore, and it be sooth as ye say, I would that he were taken with the deed.'\n\nFor as the French book saith, the King was full loath that such a noise should be upon Sir Lancelot and his queen. For the King had a deeming of it; but he would not hear thereof, for Sir Lancelot had done so much for him and for the Queen so many times that, wit you well, the King loved him passingly well.\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Agravain, 'ye shall ride tomorrow an-hunting; and doubt ye not, Sir Lancelot will not go with you. And so, when it draweth toward night, ye may send the Queen word that ye will lie out all that night, and so ye may send for your cooks. And then, upon pain of death, that night we shall take him with the Queen, and we shall bring him unto you quick or dead.'\n\n'I will well,' said the King. 'Then I counsel you to take with you sure fellowship.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Agravain, 'my brother Sir Mordred and I will take with us twelve knights of the Round Table.'\n\n'Beware,' said King Arthur, 'for I warn you, ye shall find him wight.'\n\n'Let us deal,' said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred.\n\nSo on the morn King Arthur rode an-hunting and sent word to the Queen that he would be out all that night. Then Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred got to them twelve knights, and hid themselves in a chamber in the castle of Carlisle. And these were their names: Sir Colgrevance, Sir Mador de la Porte, Sir Gingalin, Sir Meliot de Logris, Sir Petipace of Winchelsea, Sir Galleron of Galloway, Sir Melion de la Mountain, Sir Ascamore, Sir Gromore Somer Jour, Sir Curselain, Sir Florence, and Sir Lovell. So these twelve knights were with Sir Mordred and Sir Agravain, and all they were of Scotland, or else of Sir Gawain's kin, or well-willers to his brother.\n\nSo when the night came, Sir Lancelot told Sir Bors how he would go that night and speak with the Queen.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'ye shall not go this night by my counsel.'\n\n'Why?' said Sir Lancelot.\n\n'Sir, for I dread me ever of Sir Agravain, that waiteth upon you daily to do you shame, and us all. And never gave my heart against no going that ever ye went to the Queen so much as now, for I mistrust that the King is out this night from the Queen because peradventure he hath laid some watch for you and the Queen; therefore I dread me sore of some treason.'\n\n'Have ye no dread,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for I shall go and come again and make no tarrying.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'that me repents, for I dread me sore that your going this night shall wrath us all.'\n\n'Fair nephew,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I marvel me much why ye say thus, sithen the Queen hath sent for me; and wit you well, I will not be so much a coward, but she shall understand I will see her good grace.'\n\n'God speed you well,' said Sir Bors, 'and send you sound and safe again!'\n\nSo Sir Lancelot departed and took his sword under his arm; and so he walked in his mantle, that noble knight, and put himself in great jeopardy, and so he passed on till he came to the Queen's chamber. And so lightly he was had into the chamber; for as the French book saith, the Queen and Sir Lancelot were together. And whether they were abed or at other manner of disports, me list not thereof make no mention, for love that time was not as love is nowadays. But thus as they were together, there came Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred with twelve knights with them of the Round Table, and they said with great crying and scaring voice, 'Thou traitor Sir Lancelot, now art thou taken!' And thus they cried with a loud voice, that all the court might hear it. And these fourteen knights were armed at all points, as they should fight in a battle.\n\n'Alas!' said Queen Guenivere, 'now are we mischieved both.'\n\n'Madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'is there here any armour within your chamber that might cover my body withal? And if there be any, give it me, and I shall soon stint their malice, by the grace of God!'\n\n'Now truly,' said the Queen, 'I have no armour, neither helm, shield, sword nor spear, wherefore I dread me sore our long love is come to a mischievous end. For I hear by their noise there be many noble knights, and well I wot they be surely armed; and against them ye may make no resistance, wherefore ye are likely to be slain, and then shall I be burnt. For and ye might escape them,' said the Queen, 'I would not doubt but that ye would rescue me, in what danger that I ever stood in.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'in all my life thus was I never bestead, that I should be thus shamefully slain for lack of my armour.'\n\nBut ever Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred cried, 'Traitor knight, come out of the Queen's chamber, for wit thou well thou art beset so that thou shalt not escape!'\n\n'Ah, Jesu mercy!' said Sir Lancelot. 'This shameful cry and noise I may not suffer! For better were death at once than thus to endure this pain.' Then he took the Queen in his arms and kissed her and said, 'Most noblest Christian queen, I beseech you, as ye have ever been my special good lady, and I at all times your poor knight and true unto my power, and as I never failed you in right nor in wrong sithen the first day King Arthur made me knight, that ye will pray for my soul if that I be slain. For well I am assured that Sir Bors, my nephew, and all the remnant of my kin, with Sir Lavain and Sir Urry, that they will not fail you to rescue you from the fire. And therefore, mine own lady, comfort yourself, whatsoever come of me, that ye go with Sir Bors, my nephew; and they all will do you all the pleasure that they may, and ye shall live like a queen upon my lands.'\n\n'Nay, Sir Lancelot, nay!' said the Queen, 'wit thou well that I will never live long after thy days. But and ye be slain, I will take my death as meekly as ever did martyr take his death for Jesu Christ's sake.'\n\n'Well, madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'sith it is so that the day is come that our love must depart, wit you well I shall sell my life as dear as I may. And a thousandfold,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I am more heavier for you than for myself. And now I had liever than to be lord of all Christendom that I had sure armour upon me, that men might speak of my deeds or ever I were slain.'\n\n'Truly,' said the Queen, 'and it might please God, I would that they would take me and slay me and suffer you to escape.'\n\n'That shall never be,' said Sir Lancelot. 'God defend me from such a shame! But Jesu Christ, be Thou my shield and mine armour.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot wrapped his mantle about his arm well and surely; and by then they had got a great form out of the hall, and therewith they all rushed at the door.\n\n'Now, fair lords,' said Sir Lancelot, 'leave your noise and your rushing, and I shall set open this door; and then may ye do with me what it liketh you.'\n\n'Come off,' then said they all, 'and do it, for it availeth thee not to strive against us all. And therefore let us into this chamber, and we shall save thy life\u2014until thou come to King Arthur.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot unbarred the door, and with his left hand he held it open a little that but one man might come in at once. And so there came striding a good knight, a much man and a large, and his name was called Sir Colgrevance of Gore. And he with a sword struck at Sir Lancelot mightily; and so he put aside the stroke, and gave him such a buffet upon the helmet that he fell grovelling dead within the chamber door. Then Sir Lancelot with great might drew the knight within the chamber door. And then Sir Lancelot, with help of the Queen and her ladies, he was lightly armed in Colgrevance's armour. And ever stood Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred crying, 'Traitor knight, come forth out of the Queen's chamber!'\n\n'Sirs, leave your noise,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for wit you well, Sir Agravain, ye shall not prison me this night. And therefore, and ye do by my counsel, go ye all from this chamber door and make you no such crying and such manner of slander as ye do. For I promise you by my knighthood, and ye will depart and make no more noise, I shall tomorrow appear before you all and before the King; and then let it be seen which of you all, or else ye all, that will deprave me of treason. And there shall I answer you as a knight should, that hither I came to the Queen for no manner of mal engine; and that will I prove and make it good upon you with my hands.'\n\n'Fie upon thee, traitor!' said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, 'for we will have thee maugre thy head, and slay thee and we list\u2014for we let thee wit we have the choice of King Arthur to save thee or slay thee.'\n\n'Ah, sirs,' said Sir Lancelot, 'is there no other grace with you? Then keep yourself!'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot set all open the chamber door, and mightily and knightly he strode in among them; and anon at the first stroke he slew Sir Agravain, and anon after twelve of his fellows\u2014within a while he had laid them down cold to the earth, for there was none of the twelve knights might stand Sir Lancelot one buffet. And also he wounded Sir Mordred, and therewith he fled with all his might.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot returned again unto the Queen and said, 'Madam, now wit you well, all our true love is brought to an end, for now will King Arthur ever be my foe. And therefore, madam, and it like you that I may have you with me, I shall save you from all manner adventures dangerous.'\n\n'Sir, that is not best,' said the Queen, 'me seemeth, for now ye have done so much harm, it will be best that ye hold you still with this. And if ye see that tomorrow they will put me to death, then may ye rescue me as ye think best.'\n\n'I will well,' said Sir Lancelot. 'For have ye no doubt, while I am a man living I shall rescue you.' And then he kissed her, and either of them gave other a ring. And so the Queen he left there, and went unto his lodging.\n\nWhen Sir Bors saw Sir Lancelot, he was never so glad of his home-coming.\n\n'Jesu mercy,' said Sir Lancelot, 'why be ye all armed? What meaneth this?'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'after ye were departed from us, we all that be of your blood, and your well-willers, were so a-dreamed that some of us leapt out of our beds naked, and some in their dreams caught naked swords in their hands. And therefore,' said Sir Bors, 'we deemed there was some great strife on hand; and so we deemed that ye were betrapped with some treason, and therefore we made us thus ready, what need that ever ye were in.'\n\n'My fair nephew,' said Sir Lancelot unto Sir Bors, 'now shall ye wit all, that this night I was more hard bestead than ever I was days of my life; and thanked be God, I am myself escaped their danger.' And so he told them all how and in what manner, as ye have heard beforehand. 'And therefore, my fellows,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I pray you all that ye will be of heart good, and help me in what need that ever I stand, for now is war come to us all.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'all is welcome that God sendeth us. And as we have taken much weal with you and much worship, we will take the woe with you as we have taken the weal.'\n\nAnd therefore they said, all the good knights, 'Look ye take no discomfort; for there is no bands of knights under heaven but we shall be able to grieve them as much as they us, and therefore discomfort not yourself by no manner. And we shall gather together all that we love and that love us, and what that ye will have done shall be done. And therefore let us take the woe and the joy together.'\n\n'Grantmercy,' said Sir Lancelot, 'of your good comfort, for in my great distress, fair nephew, ye comfort me greatly. But thus, my fair nephew, I would that ye did, in all haste that ye may, for it is far past day: that ye will look in their lodgings that be lodged nigh here about the King, which will hold with me and which will not, for now I would know which were my friends from my foes.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bors, 'I shall do my pain, and or it be seven of the clock I shall wit of such as ye have done for who that will hold with you.'\n\nThen Sir Bors called unto him Sir Lionel, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Blamor de Ganis, Sir Gahalantine, Sir Galihodin, Sir Galihud, Sir Menaduke, Sir Villiars the Valiant, Sir Hebes le Renowne, Sir Lavain, Sir Urry of Hungary, Sir Neroveus, Sir Plenorius (for these two were knights that Sir Lancelot won upon a bridge, and therefore they would never be against him); and Sir Harry le Fils Lake, and Sir Selises of the Dolorous Tower, Sir Melias de l'Isle, and Sir Bellenger le Beau that was Sir Alexander le Orphelin's son\u2014because his mother was kin unto Sir Lancelot, he held with him. So came Sir Palomides and Sir Safer, his brother; Sir Clegis, Sir Sadok, Sir Dinas, and Sir Clarrus of Cleremont. So these four-and-twenty knights drew them together; and by then they were armed and on horseback, they promised Sir Lancelot to do what he would. Then there fell to them, what of North Wales and of Cornwall, for Sir Lamorak's sake and Sir Tristram's sake, to the number of four score knights.\n\nThen spoke Sir Lancelot, 'Wit you well, I have been ever since I came to this court well-willed unto my lord Arthur, and unto my lady Queen Guenivere unto my power. And this night, because my lady the Queen sent for me to speak with her\u2014I suppose it was made by treason; how be it, I dare largely excuse her person, notwithstanding I was there nearhand slain, but as Jesu provided for me.' And then that noble knight Sir Lancelot told them how he was hard bestead in the Queen's chamber, and how and in what manner he escaped from them. 'And therefore wit you well, my fair lords, I am sure there is but war unto me and to mine, and for cause I have slain this night Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain's brother, and at the least twelve of his fellows. And for this cause now am I sure of mortal war, for these knights were sent by King Arthur to betray me. And therefore the King will in this heat and malice judge the Queen unto burning, and that may not I suffer that she should be burned for my sake. For and I may be heard and suffered and so taken, I will fight for the Queen, that she is a true lady unto her lord. But the King, in his heat, I dread will not take me as I ought to be taken.'\n\n'My lord Sir Lancelot,' said Sir Bors, 'by my advice, ye shall take the woe with the weal; and sithen it is fallen as it is, I counsel you to keep yourself\u2014for and ye will keep yourself, there is no fellowship of knights christened that shall do you wrong. And also I will counsel you, my lord, that my lady Queen Guenivere, and she be in any distress, in so much as she is in pain for your sake, that ye knightly rescue her; for and ye did any otherwise, all the world would speak you shame to the world's end. Insomuch as ye were taken with her, whether ye did right or wrong, it is now your part to hold with the Queen, that she be not slain and put to a mischievous death; for and she so die, the shame shall be evermore yours.'\n\n'Now Jesu defend me from shame,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and keep and save my lady the Queen from villainy and shameful death, and that she never be destroyed in my default! Wherefore, my fair lords, my kin and my friends,' said Sir Lancelot, 'what will ye do?'\n\nAnd anon they all said with one voice, 'We will do as ye will do.'\n\n'Then I put this case unto you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that my lord King Arthur by evil counsel will tomorrow in his heat put my lady the Queen unto the fire, and there to be burned. Then, I pray you, counsel me what is best for me to do.'\n\nThen they said all at once with one voice, 'Sir, us thinks best that ye knightly rescue the Queen: insomuch as she shall be burned, it is for your sake. And it is to suppose, and ye might be handled, ye should have the same death, or else a more shamefuller death. And, sir, we say all that ye have rescued her from her death many times for other men's quarrels; therefore it seemeth it is more your worship that ye rescue the Queen from this quarrel, insomuch that she hath it for your sake.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot stood still and said, 'My fair lords, wit you well I would be loath to do that thing that should dishonour you or my blood, and wit you well I would be full loath that my lady the Queen should die such a shameful death. But and it be so that ye will counsel me to rescue her, I must do much harm or I rescue her, and peradventure I shall destroy there some of my best friends. And if so be that I may win the Queen away, where shall I keep her?'\n\n'Sir, that shall be the least care of us all,' said Sir Bors. 'For how did the most noble knight Sir Tristram? By your good will kept he not with him La Belle Isode near three years in Joyous Gard, the which was done by your althers advice? And that same place is your own, and in like wise ye may do and ye list, and take the Queen knightly away with you if so be that the King will judge her to be burned. And in Joyous Gard may ye keep her long enough until the heat be passed of the King. And then it may fortune you to bring the Queen again to the King with great worship, and peradventure ye shall have then thanks for your bringing home where others may happen to have magr\u00e9.'\n\n'That is hard for to do,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for by Sir Tristram I may have a warning. For when by means of treaty Sir Tristram brought again La Belle Isode unto King Mark from Joyous Gard, look ye now what befell in the end, how shamefully that false traitor King Mark slew him as he sat harping before his lady, La Belle Isode\u2014with a grounden glaive he thrust him in behind to the heart; which grieveth me sore', said Sir Lancelot, 'to speak of his death, for all the world may not find such another knight.'\n\n'All this is truth,' said Sir Bors, 'but there is one thing shall courage you and us all. Ye know well that King Arthur and King Mark were never like of conditions, for there was never yet man that ever could prove King Arthur untrue of his promise.'\n\nBut so to make short tale, they were all condescended that for better or for worse, if so were that the Queen were brought on that morn to the fire, shortly they all would rescue her. And so, by the advice of Sir Lancelot, they put them all in a wood as nigh Carlisle as they might, and there they abode still to wit what the King would do.\n\nNow turn we again, that when Sir Mordred was escaped from Sir Lancelot, he got his horse and came to King Arthur sore wounded and all for-bled, and there he told the King all how it was, and how they were all slain save himself alone.\n\n'Ah, Jesu mercy! how may this be?' said the King. 'Took ye him in the Queen's chamber?'\n\n'Yea, so God me help,' said Sir Mordred, 'there we found him unarmed. And anon he slew Sir Colgrevance and armed him in his armour.' And so he told the King from the beginning to the ending.\n\n'Jesu mercy,' said the King, 'he is a marvellous knight of prowess. And alas,' said the King, 'me sore repenteth that ever Sir Lancelot should be against me, for now I am sure the noble fellowship of the Round Table is broken for ever, for with him will many a noble knight hold. And now it is fallen so', said the King, 'that I may not with my worship but my Queen must suffer death'\u2014and was sore moved.\n\nSo then there was made great ordinance in this ire, and the Queen must needs be judged to the death. And the law was such in those days, that whosoever they were, of what estate or degree, if they were found guilty of treason there should be none other remedy but death, and either the mainour or the taking with the deed should be causer of their hasty judgement. And right so was it ordained for Queen Guenivere: because Sir Mordred was escaped sore wounded, and the death of thirteen knights of the Round Table, these proofs and experiences caused King Arthur to command the Queen to the fire, and there to be burned.\n\nThen spoke Sir Gawain and said, 'My lord Arthur, I would counsel you not to be over hasty, but that ye would put it in respite this judgement of my lady the Queen, for many causes. One is this: though it were so that Sir Lancelot were found in the Queen's chamber, yet it might be so that he came thither for no evil. For ye know, my lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'that my lady the Queen hath oftentimes been greatly beholden unto Sir Lancelot, more than to any other knight, for often-times he hath saved her life and done battle for her when all the court refused the Queen. And peradventure she sent for him for goodness and for no evil, to reward him for his good deeds that he had done to her in times past. And peradventure my lady the Queen sent for him to that intent, that Sir Lancelot should have come privily to her, weening that it had been best in eschewing of slander; for oftentimes we do many things that we ween be for the best, and yet peradventure it turneth to the worst. For I dare say,' said Sir Gawain, 'my lady your Queen is to you both good and true. And as for Sir Lancelot, I dare say he will make it good upon any knight living that will put upon him villainy or shame, and in like wise he will make good for my lady the Queen.'\n\n'That I believe well,' said King Arthur. 'But I will not that way work with Sir Lancelot, for he trusteth so much upon his hands and his might that he doubteth no man. And therefore for my queen he shall never more fight, for she shall have the law. And if I may get Sir Lancelot, wit you well he shall have as shameful a death.'\n\n'Jesu defend me,' said Sir Gawain, 'that I never see it nor know it.'\n\n'Why say you so?' said King Arthur. 'For pardieu, you have no cause to love him, for this last night past he slew your brother Sir Agravain, a full good knight. And almost he had slain your other brother, Sir Mordred; and also there he slew thirteen noble knights. And also remember you, Sir Gawain, he slew two sons of yours, Sir Florence and Sir Lovell.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'of all this I have a knowledge, which of their deaths sore repents me. But in so much as I gave them warning and told my brother and my sons beforehand what would fall in the end, and in so much as they would not do by my counsel, I will not meddle me thereof, nor revenge me nothing of their deaths, for I told them there was no boot to strive with Sir Lancelot. How be it, I am sorry of the death of my brother and of my two sons; but they are the causers of their own death, for oftentimes I warned my brother Sir Agravain, and I told him of the perils.'\n\nThen said King Arthur unto Sir Gawain, 'Make you ready, I pray you, in your best armour, with your brethren Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, to bring my queen to the fire and there to have her judgement.'\n\n'Nay, my most noble king,' said Sir Gawain, 'that will I never do! For wit you well I will never be in that place where so noble a queen as is my lady Dame Guenivere shall take such a shameful end. For wit you well,' said Sir Gawain, 'my heart will not serve me for to see her die; and it shall never be said that ever I was of your counsel for her death.'\n\nThen said the King unto Sir Gawain, 'Suffer your brethren Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth to be there.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'wit you well they will be loath to be there present because of many adventures that is like to fall; but they are young, and full unable to say you nay.'\n\nThen spoke Sir Gaheris and the good knight Sir Gareth unto King Arthur, 'Sir, ye may well command us to be there, but wit you well it shall be sore against our will. But and we be there by your strait commandment, ye shall plainly hold us there excused: we will be there in peaceable wise, and bear no harness of war upon us.'\n\n'In the name of God,' said the King, 'then make you ready, for she shall have soon her judgement.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Gawain, 'that ever I should endure to see this woeful day!'\n\nSo Sir Gawain turned him and wept heartily, and so he went into his chamber. And so the Queen was led forth without Carlisle, and anon she was despoiled into her smock. And then her ghostly father was brought her, to be shriven of her misdeeds. Then was there weeping and wailing and wringing of hands of many lords and ladies; but there were but few in comparison that would bear any armour for to strengthen the death of the Queen.\n\nThen was there one that Sir Lancelot had sent unto, which went to espy what time the Queen should go unto her death. And anon as he saw the Queen despoiled into her smock and shriven, then he gave Sir Lancelot warning anon. Then was there but spurring and plucking up of horses, and right so they came unto the fire. And who that stood against them, there were they slain, full many a noble knight: for there was slain Sir Belliance le Orgulous, Sir Segwarides, Sir Griflet, Sir Brandiles, Sir Agloval, Sir Tor; Sir Gauter, Sir Gillimer, Sir Reynold, three brethren; and Sir Damas, Sir Priamus, Sir Kay l'Estrange, Sir Driant, Sir Lambegus, Sir Herminde; Sir Pertolepe and Sir Perimones, two brethren which were called the Green Knight and the Red Knight. And so in this rushing and hurling, as Sir Lancelot thrang here and there, it misfortuned him to slay Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, the noble knight, for they were unarmed and unwares. As the French book saith, Sir Lancelot smote Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth upon the brain-pans, where through that they were slain in the field; how be it, in very truth, Sir Lancelot saw them not. And so they were found dead among the thickest of the press.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot, when he had thus done, and slain and put to flight all that would withstand him, then he rode straight unto Queen Guenivere and made cast a kirtle and a gown upon her, and then he made her to be set behind him, and prayed her to be of good cheer. Now wit you well, the Queen was glad that she was at that time escaped from the death, and then she thanked God and Sir Lancelot. And so he rode his way with the Queen, as the French book saith, unto Joyous Gard, and there he kept her as a noble knight should. And many great lords and many good knights were sent him, and many full noble knights drew unto him. When they heard that King Arthur and Sir Lancelot were at debate, many knights were glad, and many were sorry of their debate.\n\nNow turn we again unto King Arthur, that when it was told him how and in what manner the Queen was taken away from the fire, and when he heard of the death of his noble knights, and in especial Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth\u2014then he swooned for very pure sorrow. And when he awoke of his swoon, then he said,\n\n'Alas, that ever I bore crown upon my head, for now have I lost the fairest fellowship of noble knights that ever Christian king held together. Alas, my good knights be slain and gone away from me, that now within these two days I have lost nigh forty knights, and also the noble fellowship of Sir Lancelot and his blood; for now may I never more hold them together with my worship. Now alas, that ever this war began! Now, fair fellows,' said the King, 'I charge you that no man tell Sir Gawain of the death of his two brethren, for I am sure,' said the King, 'when he heareth tell that Sir Gareth is dead, he will go nigh out of his mind. Mercy Jesu,' said the King, 'why slew he Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth? for I dare say as for Sir Gareth, he loved Sir Lancelot of all men earthly.'\n\n'That is truth,' said some knights, 'but they were slain in the hurling, as Sir Lancelot thrang in the thickest of the press; and as they were unarmed, he smote them and wist not whom that he smote, and unhappily they were slain.'\n\n'Well, said Arthur, 'the death of them will cause the greatest mortal war that ever was; for I am sure that when Sir Gawain knoweth hereof, that Sir Gareth is slain, I shall never have rest of him till I have destroyed Sir Lancelot's kin and himself both, or else he to destroy me. And therefore,' said the King, 'wit you well, my heart was never so heavy as it is now. And much more am I sorrier for my good knights' loss than for the loss of my fair queen; for queens I might have enough, but such a fellowship of good knights shall never be together in no company. And now I dare say,' said King Arthur, 'there was never Christian king that ever held such a fellowship together. And alas, that ever Sir Lancelot and I should be at debate! Ah, Agravain, Agravain,' said the King, 'Jesu forgive it thy soul, for thy evil will that thou hadst, and Sir Mordred thy brother, unto Sir Lancelot, hath caused all this sorrow.' And ever among these complaints the King wept and swooned.\n\nThen came there one to Sir Gawain and told how the Queen was led away with Sir Lancelot, and nigh four-and-twenty knights slain.\n\n'Ah, Jesu save me my two brethren,' said Sir Gawain. 'For full well wist I', said Sir Gawain, 'that Sir Lancelot would rescue her, or else he would die in that field; and to say the truth, he were not of worship but if he had rescued the Queen, insomuch as she should have been burned for his sake. And as in that,' said Sir Gawain, 'he hath done but knightly, and as I would have done myself and I had stood in like case. But where are my brethren?' said Sir Gawain. 'I marvel that I see not of them.'\n\nThan said that man, 'Truly, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth be slain.'\n\n'Jesu defend!' said Sir Gawain. 'For all this world I would not that they were slain, and in especial my good brother Sir Gareth.'\n\n'Sir,' said the man, 'he is slain, and that is great pity.'\n\n'Who slew him?' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'Sir Lancelot,' said the man, 'slew them both.'\n\n'That may I not believe,' said Sir Gawain, 'that ever he slew my good brother Sir Gareth, for I dare say my brother loved him better than me and all his brethren and the King both. Also I dare say, and Sir Lancelot had desired my brother Sir Gareth with him, he would have been with him against the King and us all. And therefore I may never believe that Sir Lancelot slew my brethren.'\n\n'Verily, sir,' said the man, 'it is noised that he slew him.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Gawain, 'now is my joy gone!' And then he fell down and swooned, and long he lay there as he had been dead. And when he arose out of his swoon he cried out sorrowfully and said, 'Alas!' And forthwith he ran unto the King, crying and weeping, and said, 'Ah, my uncle, King Arthur, my good brother Sir Gareth is slain, and so is my brother Sir Gaheris, which were two noble knights.'\n\nThen the King wept and he both, and so they fell on swooning. And when they were revived, then spoke Sir Gawain and said, 'Sir, I will go and see my brother Sir Gareth.'\n\n'Sir, ye may not see him,' said the King, 'for I caused him to be interred and Sir Gaheris both, for I well understood that ye would make overmuch sorrow, and the sight of Sir Gareth should have caused your double sorrow.'\n\n'Alas, my lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'how slew he my brother Sir Gareth? I pray you tell me.'\n\n'Truly,' said the King, 'I shall tell you as it hath been told me. Sir Lancelot slew him and Sir Gaheris both.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Gawain, 'they bore no arms against him, neither of them both.'\n\n'I wot not how it was,' said the King, 'but as it is said, Sir Lancelot slew them in the thick press and knew them not. And therefore let us shape a remedy for to revenge their deaths.'\n\n'My king, my lord, and mine uncle,' said Sir Gawain, 'wit you well, now I shall make you a promise which I shall hold by my knighthood, that from this day forward I shall never fail Sir Lancelot until that one of us have slain the other; and therefore I require you, my lord and king, dress you unto the wars, for wit you well, I will be revenged upon Sir Lancelot. And therefore, as ye will have my service and my love, now haste ye thereto and assay your friends. For I promise unto God,' said Sir Gawain, 'for the death of my brother Sir Gareth, I shall seek Sir Lancelot throughout seven kings' realms, but I shall slay him, or else he shall slay me.'\n\n'Sir, ye shall not need to seek him so far,' said the King, 'for as I hear say, Sir Lancelot will abide me and us all within the castle of Joyous Gard; and much people draweth unto him, as I hear say.'\n\n'That may I right well believe,' said Sir Gawain. 'But my lord,' he said, 'assay your friends, and I will assay mine.'\n\n'It shall be done,' said the King, 'and as I suppose, I shall be big enough to drive him out of the biggest tower of his castle.'\n\nSo then the King sent letters and writs throughout all England, both the length and the breadth, for to summon all his knights. And so unto King Arthur drew many knights, dukes, and earls, that he had a great host; and when they were assembled the King informed them how Sir Lancelot had bereft him his queen. Then the King and all his host made them ready to lay siege about Sir Lancelot where he lay within Joyous Gard. And anon Sir Lancelot heard thereof and purveyed him of many good knights; for with him held many knights, some for his own sake and some for the Queen's sake. Thus they were on both parties well furnished and garnished of all manner of things that longed unto the war.\n\nBut King Arthur's host was so great that Sir Lancelot's host would not abide him in the field; for he was full loath to do battle against the King. But Sir Lancelot drew him unto his strong castle with all manner of victual plenty, and as many noble men as he might suffice within the town and the castle. Then came King Arthur with Sir Gawain with a great host, and laid siege all about Joyous Gard, both the town and the castle, and there they made strong war on both parties. But in no wise Sir Lancelot would ride out of the castle of long time, and neither he would not suffer none of his good knights to issue out, neither of the town nor of the castle, until fifteen weeks were past.\n\nSo it fell upon a day that Sir Lancelot looked over the walls and spoke on high unto King Arthur and to Sir Gawain, 'My lords both, wit you well all this is in vain that ye make at this siege, for here win ye no worship, but magr\u00e9 and dishonour; for and it list me to come myself out and my good knights, I should full soon make an end of this war.'\n\n'Come forth,' said King Arthur unto Sir Lancelot, 'and thou darest! And I promise I shall meet thee in the midst of this field.'\n\n'God defend me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever I should encounter with the most noble king that made me knight.'\n\n'Now fie upon thy fair language!' said the King, 'for wit thou well and trust it, I am thy mortal foe, and ever will to my death day; for thou hast slain my good knights and full noble men of my blood, that shall I never recover again. Also thou hast lain by my queen and held her many winters, and sithen, like a traitor, taken her away from me by force.'\n\n'My most noble lord and king,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye may say what ye will, for ye wot well, with yourself I will not strive. But thereas ye say that I have slain your good knights, I wot well that I have done so; and that me sore repenteth. But I was forced to do battle with them in saving of my life, or else I must have suffered them to have slain me. And as for my lady Queen Guenivere: except your person of your highness and my lord Sir Gawain, there is no knight under heaven that dare make it good upon me that ever I was traitor unto your person. And where it please you to say that I have held my lady your queen years and winters, unto that I shall ever make a large answer, and prove it upon any knight that beareth the life, except your person and Sir Gawain, that my lady Queen Guenivere is as true a lady unto your person as is any lady living unto her lord; and that will I make good with my hands. How be it, it hath liked her good grace to have me in favour and cherish me more than any other knight; and unto my power again I have deserved her love, for oftentimes, my lord, ye have consented that she should have been burned and destroyed in your heat, and then it fortuned me to do battle for her, and or I departed from her adversary they confessed their untruth, and she full worshipfully excused. And at such times, my lord Arthur,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye loved me and thanked me when I saved your queen from the fire; and then ye promised me for ever to be my good lord, and now me thinketh ye reward me evil for my good service. And my lord, me seemeth I had lost a great part of my worship in my knighthood and I had suffered my lady your queen to have been burned, insomuch as she should have been burned for my sake. For sithen I have done battles for your queen in other quarrels, then in my own quarrel me seemeth now I had more right to do battle for her in her right quarrel. And therefore, my good and gracious lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'take your queen unto your good grace, for she is both true and good.'\n\n'Fie on thee, false recrayed knight!' said Sir Gawain, 'for I let thee wit, my lord, my uncle King Arthur, shall have his queen and thee both, maugre thy visage, and slay you both and save you whether it please him.'\n\n'It may well be,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But wit thou well, my lord Sir Gawain, and me list to come out of this castle, ye should win me and the queen more harder than ever ye won a strong battle.'\n\n'Now fie on thy proud words!' said Sir Gawain. 'As for my lady the Queen, wit thou well I will never say her shame. But thou false and recrayed knight,' said Sir Gawain, 'what cause hadst thou to slay my good brother Sir Gareth, that loved thee more than me and all my kin? And alas, thou madest him knight with thine own hands! Why slewest thou him that loved thee so well?'\n\n'For to excuse me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'it booteth me not; but by Jesu and by the faith that I owe unto the high order of knighthood, I would with as good a will have slain my nephew Sir Bors de Ganis. And alas, that ever I was so unhappy,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that I had not seen Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris.'\n\n'Thou liest, recrayed knight,' said Sir Gawain, 'thou slewest him in the despite of me, and therefore wit thou well, Sir Lancelot, I shall make war upon thee, and all the while that I may live be thine enemy.'\n\n'That me repents,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for well I understand it booteth me not to seek no accord while ye, Sir Gawain, are so mischievously set. And if ye were not, I would not doubt to have the good grace of my lord King Arthur.'\n\n'I believe well, false recrayed knight, for thou hast many long days overled me and us all, and destroyed many of our good knights.'\n\n'Sir, ye say as it pleaseth you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'yet may it never be said on me and openly proved that ever I by forecast of treason slew no good knight, as ye, my lord Sir Gawain, have done; and so did I never but in my defence, that I was driven thereto in saving of my life.'\n\n'Ah, thou false knight,' said Sir Gawain, 'that thou meanest by Sir Lamorak. But wit thou well I slew him!'\n\n'Sir, ye slew him not yourself,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for it had been overmuch for you, for he was one of the best knights christened of his age; and it was great pity of his death.'\n\n'Well, well, Sir Lancelot,' said Sir Gawain, 'sithen thou upbraidest me of Sir Lamorak, wit thou well I shall never leave thee till I have thee at such avail that thou shalt not escape my hands.'\n\n'I trust you well enough,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and ye may get me, I get but little mercy.'\n\nBut the French book saith, King Arthur would have taken his queen again and to have been accorded with Sir Lancelot; but Sir Gawain would not suffer him by no manner of mean. And so Sir Gawain made many men to blow upon Sir Lancelot, and so all at once they called him false recrayed knight. But when Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Ector de Maris, and Sir Lionel heard this outcry, they called unto them Sir Palomides and Sir Lavain and Sir Urry, with many more knights of their blood, and all they went unto Sir Lancelot and said thus:\n\n'My lord, wit you well we have great scorn of the great rebukes that we have heard Sir Gawain say unto you; wherefore we pray you and charge you, as ye will have our service, keep us no longer within these walls; for we let you wit plainly, we will ride into the field and do battle with them. For ye fare as a man that were afraid; and for all your fair speech it will not avail you, for wit you well, Sir Gawain will never suffer you to accord with King Arthur. And therefore fight for your life and right, and ye dare.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for to ride out of this castle and to do battle I am full loath.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot spoke on high unto King Arthur and Sir Gawain, 'My lord, I require you and beseech you, sithen that I am thus required and conjured to ride into the field, that neither you, my lord King Arthur, nor you, Sir Gawain, come not into the field.'\n\n'What shall we do, then?' said Sir Gawain. 'Is not this the King's quarrel to fight with thee? And also it is my quarrel to fight with thee, because of the death of my brother Sir Gareth.'\n\n'Then must I needs unto battle,' said Sir Lancelot. 'Now wit you well, my lord Arthur and Sir Gawain, ye will repent it whensoever I do battle with you.'\n\nAnd so then they departed either from other; and then either party made them ready on the morn for to do battle, and great purveyance was made on both sides. And Sir Gawain let purvey many knights for to wait upon Sir Lancelot, for to overset him and to slay him; and on the morn at undern King Arthur was ready in the field with three great hosts. And then Sir Lancelot's fellowship came out at the three gates in full good array. And Sir Lionel came in the foremost battle, and Sir Lancelot came in the middle, and Sir Bors came out at the third gate; and thus they came in order and rule as full noble knights. And ever Sir Lancelot charged all his knights in any wise to save King Arthur and Sir Gawain.\n\nThen came forth Sir Gawain from the King's host, and proffered to joust. And Sir Lionel was a fierce knight, and lightly he encountered with him, and there Sir Gawain smote Sir Lionel throughout the body, that he dashed to the earth like as he had been dead. And then Sir Ector de Maris and other more bore him into the castle. And anon there began a great stour, and much people were slain. And ever Sir Lancelot did what he might to save the people on King Arthur's party; for Sir Bors and Sir Palomides and Sir Safer overthrew many knights, for they were deadly knights, and Sir Blamor de Ganis and Sir Bleoberis with Sir Bellenger le Beau\u2014these six knights did much harm. And ever was King Arthur about Sir Lancelot to have slain him, and ever Sir Lancelot suffered him and would not strike again. So Sir Bors encountered with King Arthur; and Sir Bors smote him, and so he alit and drew his sword and said to Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, shall I make an end of this war?'\u2014for he meant to have slain him.\n\n'Not so hardy,' said Sir Lancelot, 'upon pain of thy head, that thou touch him no more! For I will never see that most noble king that made me knight neither slain nor shamed.' And therewith Sir Lancelot alit off his horse and took up the King and horsed him again, and said thus: 'My lord the king, for God's love, stint this strife, for ye get here no worship and I would do my utterance. But always I forbear you, and ye nor none of yours forbear not me. And therefore, my lord, I pray you remember what I have done in many places, and now am I evil rewarded.'\n\nSo when King Arthur was on horseback he looked on Sir Lancelot; then the tears burst out of his eyes, thinking of the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. And therewith the King rode his way and might no longer behold him, saying to himself, 'Alas, alas, that yet this war began!'\n\nAnd then either party of the battles withdrew them to repose them, and buried the dead and searched the wounded men, and laid to their wounds soft salves; and thus they endured that night till on the morn. And on the morn by undern they made them ready to do battle; and then Sir Bors led the vanguard. So upon the morn there came Sir Gawain as breme as any boar, with a great spear in his hand.\n\nAnd when Sir Bors saw him, he thought to revenge his brother Sir Lionel of the despite Sir Gawain gave him the other day. And so, as they that knew either other, fewtered their spears, and with all their might of their horses and themselves, so fiercely they met together and so feloniously that either bore other through, and so they fell both to the bare earth. And then the battle joined, and there was much slaughter on both parties.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot rescued Sir Bors and sent him into the castle; but neither Sir Gawain nor Sir Bors died not of their wounds, for they were well helped. Then Sir Lavain and Sir Urry prayed Sir Lancelot to do his pain, 'And fight as they do, for we see that ye forbear and spare, and that doth us much harm; and therefore we pray you, spare not your enemies no more than they do you.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I have no heart to fight against my lord Arthur, for ever me seemeth I do not as I ought to do.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Palomides, 'though ye spare them never so much, all this day they will never can you thank; and if they may get you at avail, you are but a dead man.'\n\nSo when Sir Lancelot understood that they said him truth, then he strained himself more than he did beforehand; and because his nephew Sir Bors was sore wounded, he pained himself the more. And so within a little while, by evensong time, Sir Lancelot's party the better stood, for their horses went in blood past the fetlocks, there were so many people slain. And then for very pity Sir Lancelot withheld his knights, and suffered King Arthur's party to withdraw them aside. And so he withdrew his meinie into the castle; and either party buried the dead and put salve unto the wounded men. So when Sir Gawain was hurt, they on King Arthur's party were not so orgulous as they were beforehand to do battle.\n\nSo of this war that was between King Arthur and Sir Lancelot it was noised through all Christian realms; and so it came at last by relation unto the Pope. And then the Pope took consideration of the great goodness of King Arthur and of the high prowess of Sir Lancelot, that was called the most noblest knight of the world. Wherefore the Pope called unto him a noble clerk that at that time was there present\u2014the French book saith it was the Bishop of Rochester; and the Pope gave him bulls under lead and sent them unto the King, charging him upon pain of interdicting of all England that he take his queen again and accord with Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo when this bishop was come unto Carlisle he showed the King his bulls; and when the King understood them, he wist not what to do, but full fain he would have been accorded with Sir Lancelot. But Sir Gawain would in no wise suffer the King to accord with Sir Lancelot; but as for the Queen, he consented. So the bishop had of the King his great seal and his assurance, as he was a true and anointed king, that Sir Lancelot should go safe and come safe, and that the Queen should not be said unto of the King nor of none other for nothing done of time past; and of all these appointments the bishop brought with him sure writing to show unto Sir Lancelot. So when the bishop was come to Joyous Gard, there he showed Sir Lancelot how he came from the Pope with writing unto King Arthur and unto him. And there he told him the perils if he withheld the Queen from the King.\n\n'Sir, it was never in my thought', said Sir Lancelot, 'to withhold the Queen from my lord Arthur. But I keep her for this cause: insomuch as she should have been burned for my sake, me seemed it was my part to save her life and put her from that danger till better recovery might come. And now I thank God,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that the Pope hath made her peace. For God knoweth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will be a thousandfold more gladder to bring her again than ever I was of her taking away, with this: I may be sure to come safe and go safe, and that the Queen shall have her liberty, and never for nothing that hath been surmised before this time that she never from this stand in no peril. For else,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I dare adventure me to keep her from a harder shower than ever yet I had.'\n\n'Sir, it shall not need you,' said the bishop, 'to dread thus much. For wit you well, the Pope must be obeyed; and it were not the Pope's worship, nor my poor honesty, to know you distressed nor the Queen, neither in peril nor shamed.' And then he showed Sir Lancelot all his writing both from the Pope and King Arthur.\n\n'This is sure enough,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for full well I dare trust my lord's own writing and his seal, for he was never shamed of his promise. Therefore,' said Sir Lancelot unto the bishop, 'ye shall ride unto the King before, and recommend me unto his good grace; and let him have knowledging that this same day eight days, by the grace of God, I myself shall bring the Queen unto him. And then say ye to my most redoubted king that I will say largely for the Queen, that I shall none except for dread nor for fear but the King himself and and my lord Sir Gawain; and that is for the King's love more than for himself.'\n\nSo the bishop departed and came to the King to Carlisle, and told him all how Sir Lancelot answered him; so that made the tears fall out at the King's eyes. Then Sir Lancelot purveyed him a hundred knights, and all well clothed in green velvet, and their horses trapped in the same to the heels; and every knight held a branch of olive in his hand in tokening of peace. And the Queen had four-and-twenty gentle-women following her in the same wise; and Sir Lancelot had twelve coursers following him, and on every courser sat a young gentleman, and all they were arrayed in white velvet with sarpes of gold about their quarters, and the horses trapped in the same wise down to the heels, with many owches set with stones and pearls in gold to the number of a thousand. And in the same wise was the Queen arrayed and Sir Lancelot in the same, of white cloth of gold tissue. And right so as ye have heard, as the French book maketh mention, he rode with the Queen from Joyous Gard to Carlisle; and so Sir Lancelot rode throughout Carlisle and so into the castle, that all men might behold them. And there was many a weeping eye. And then Sir Lancelot himself alit and voided his horse, and took down the Queen, and so led her where King Arthur was in his seat. And Sir Gawain sat before him, and many other great lords. So when Sir Lancelot saw the King and Sir Gawain, then he led the Queen by the arm, and then he kneeled down and the Queen both.\n\nWit you well, then was there many a bold knight with King Arthur that wept as tenderly as they had seen all their kin dead before them. So the King sat still and said no word.\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot saw his countenance, he arose up and pulled up the Queen with him, and thus he said full knightly:\n\n'My most redoubted King, ye shall understand, by the Pope's commandment and yours I have brought to you my lady the Queen, as right requireth. And if there be any knight, of what degree that ever he be of, except your person, that will say or dare say but that she is true and clean to you, I here myself, Sir Lancelot du Lake, will make it good upon his body that she is a true lady unto you.\n\n'But sir, liars ye have listened, and that hath caused great debate betwixt you and me. For time hath been, my lord Arthur, that ye were greatly pleased with me when I did battle for my lady your queen; and full well ye know, my most noble king, that she hath been put to great wrong or this time. And sithen it pleased you at many times that I should fight for her; and therefore me seemeth, my good lord, I had more cause to rescue her from the fire when she should have been burned for my sake. For they that told you those tales were liars, and so it fell upon them; for by likelihood, had not the might of God been with me, I might never have endured with fourteen knights and they armed and before purposed, and I unarmed and not purposed, for I was sent for unto my lady, your queen, I wot not for what cause. But I was not so soon within the chamber door, but anon Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred called me traitor and false recrayed knight.'\n\n'By my faith, they called thee right!' said Sir Gawain.\n\n'My lord Sir Gawain,' said Sir Lancelot, 'in their quarrel they proved not themselves the best, neither in the right.'\n\n'Well, well, Sir Lancelot,' said the King, 'I have given you no cause to do to me as ye have done, for I have worshipped you and yours more than any other knights.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'so ye be not displeased, ye shall understand that I and mine have done you oftentimes better service than any other knights have done, in many divers places; and where ye have been full hard bestead, divers times I have rescued you from many dangers; and ever unto my power I was glad to please you and my lord Sir Gawain. In jousts and in tournaments and in battles set, both on horseback and on foot, I have often rescued you, and you, my lord Sir Gawain, and many more of your knights in many divers places. For now I will make avaunt,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will that ye all wit that as yet I never found no manner of knight but that I was over hard for him and I had done my utterance, God grant mercy! How be it I have been matched with good knights, as Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorak, but ever I had favour unto them and a deeming what they were; and I take God to record, I never was wroth nor greatly heavy with no good knight and I saw him busy and about to win worship, and glad I was ever when I found a good knight that might anything endure me on horseback and on foot.\n\n'How be it, Sir Carados of the Dolorous Tower was a full noble knight and a passing strong man. And that wot ye, my lord Sir Gawain; for he might well be called a noble knight when he by fine force pulled you out of your saddle and bound you overthwart before him to his saddle-bow, and there, my lord Sir Gawain, I rescued you and slew him before your sight. Also I found your brother Sir Gaheris, and Sir Tarquin leading him bound before him; and there also I rescued your brother and slew Sir Tarquin, and delivered three score and four of my lord Arthur's knights out of his prison. And now I dare say,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I met never with so strong a knight, nor so well-fighting, as was Sir Carados and Sir Tarquin, for they and I fought to the uttermost. And therefore,' said Sir Lancelot unto Sir Gawain, 'me seemeth ye ought of right to remember this; for and I might have your good will, I would trust to God for to have my lord Arthur's good grace.'\n\n'Sir, the King may do as he will,' said Sir Gawain. 'But wit thou well, Sir Lancelot, thou and I shall never be accorded while we live; for thou hast slain three of my brethren, and two of them thou slew traitorously and piteously, for they bore no harness against thee, nor none would do.'\n\n'Sir, God would they had been armed!' said Sir Lancelot, 'for then had they been alive. And for Gareth, I loved no kinsman I had more than I loved him; and ever while I live,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will bewail Sir Gareth's death, not all only for the great fear I have of you, but for many causes which cause me to be sorrowful. One is that I made him knight. Another is, I wot well he loved me above all other knights. And the third is, he was passing noble and true, courteous and gentle and well-conditioned. The fourth is, I wist well, anon as I heard that Sir Gareth was dead, I knew well that I should never after have your love, my lord Sir Gawain, but everlasting war betwixt us. And also I wist well that ye would cause my noble lord King Arthur for ever to be my mortal foe. And as Jesu be my help, and by my knighthood, I slew never Sir Gareth nor his brother by my willing; but alas that ever they were unarmed that unhappy day!\n\n'But this much I shall offer me to you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'if it may please the King's good grace and you, my lord Sir Gawain. I shall first begin at Sandwich, and there I shall go in my shirt barefoot; and at every ten miles' end I shall found and gar make a house of religious, of what order that ye will assign me, with a whole convent to sing and read day and night in especial for Sir Gareth's sake and Sir Gaheris', and this shall I perform from Sandwich unto Carlisle. And every house shall have sufficient livelihood; and this shall I perform while that I have any livelihood in Christendom. And there is none of all these religious places but they shall be performed, furnished, and garnished with all things as a holy place ought to be. And this were fairer and more holier and more perfect to their souls than ye, my most noble king, and you, Sir Gawain, to war upon me, for thereby shall ye get no avail.'\n\nThen all the knights and ladies that were there wept as they were mad, and the tears fell on King Arthur's cheeks.\n\n'Sir Lancelot,' said Sir Gawain, 'I have right well heard thy language and thy great proffers. But wit thou well, let the King do as it pleaseth him, I will never forgive thee my brothers' death, and in especial the death of my brother Sir Gareth. And if my uncle King Arthur will accord with thee, he shall lose my service; for wit thou well,' said Sir Gawain, 'thou art both false to the King and to me.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'he beareth not the life that may make it good! And ye, Sir Gawain, will charge me with so high a thing, ye must pardon me, for then needs must I answer you.'\n\n'Nay, nay,' said Sir Gawain. 'We are past that as at this time; and that causeth the Pope, for he hath charged my uncle the King that he shall take again his queen, and to accord with thee, Sir Lancelot, as for this season, and therefore thou shalt go safe as thou came. But in this land thou shalt not abide past fifteen days, such summons I give thee; for so the King and we were condescended and accorded or thou came. And else,' said Sir Gawain, 'wit thou well, thou should not have come here but if it were maugre thy head. And if it were not for the Pope's commandment,' said Sir Gawain, 'I should do battle with thee, with my own hands, body for body, and prove it upon thee that thou hast been both false unto my uncle King Arthur and to me both; and that shall I prove on thy body when thou art departed from hence, wheresoever that I find thee.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot sighed, and therewith the tears fell on his cheeks; and then he said thus: 'Most noblest Christian realm, whom I have loved above all other realms, and in thee have I got a great part of my worship! And now that I shall depart in this wise, truly me repents that ever I came in this realm, that I should be thus shamefully banished, undeserved and causeless. But fortune is so variant and the wheel so mutable that there is no constant abiding; and that may be proved by many old chronicles, as of noble Hector of Troy and Alexander the mighty conqueror, and many more other. When they were most in their royalty, they alighted passing low. And so fareth it by me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for in this realm I had worship, and by me and mine all the whole Round Table hath been increased more in worship than ever it was by any of you all. And therefore wit thou well, Sir Gawain, I may live upon my lands as well as any knight that here is. And if ye, my most redoubted King, will come upon my lands with Sir Gawain to war upon me, I must endure you as well as I may. But as to you, Sir Gawain, if that ye come there, I pray you charge me not with treason nor felony, for and ye do, I must answer you.'\n\n'Do thou thy best,' said Sir Gawain, 'and therefore hie thee fast that thou were gone. And wit thou well, we shall soon come after, and break thy strongest castle that thou hast upon thy head.'\n\n'It shall not need that,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for and I were as orgulous set as ye are, wit you well I should meet you in midst of the field.'\n\n'Make thou no more language,' said Sir Gawain, 'but deliver the Queen from thee, and pick thee lightly out of this court.'\n\n'Well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I had wist of this short coming, I would have advised me twice or that I had come here. For and the Queen had been so dear unto me as ye noise her, I durst have kept her from the fellowship of the best knights under heaven.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot said unto Queen Guenivere in hearing of the King and them all, 'Madam, now I must depart from you and this noble fellowship for ever; and sithen it is so, I beseech you to pray for me, and I shall pray for you. And tell ye me and if ye be hard bestead by any false tongues; but lightly my good lady, send me word, and if any knight's hands under the heaven may deliver you by battle, I shall deliver you.'\n\nAnd therewith Sir Lancelot kissed the Queen, and then he said all openly, 'Now let see whatsoever he be in this place that dare say the Queen is not true unto my lord Arthur: let see who will speak, and he dare speak.' And therewith he brought the Queen to the King.\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot took his leave and departed; and there was neither king, duke, earl, baron, nor knight, lady, nor gentlewoman, but all they wept as people out of their mind, except Sir Gawain. And when this noble knight Sir Lancelot took his horse to ride out of Carlisle, there was sobbing and weeping for pure dole of his departing. And so he took his way to Joyous Gard; and then ever after he called it the Dolorous Tower. And thus departed Sir Lancelot from the court for ever.\n\nAnd so when he came to Joyous Gard, he called his fellowship unto him and asked them what they would do. Then they answered all wholly together with one voice, they would do as he would do.\n\n'Then, my fair fellows,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I must depart out of this most noble realm; and now I shall depart it grieveth me sore, for I shall depart with no worship, for a flemed man departeth never out of a realm with no worship. And that is to me great heaviness, for ever I fear after my days that men shall chronicle upon me that I was flemed out of this land. And else, my fair lords, be ye sure, and I had not dreaded shame, my lady Queen Guenivere and I should never have parted.'\n\nThen spoke noble knights\u2014as Sir Palomides and Sir Safer his brother, and Sir Bellenger le Beau and Sir Urry with Sir Lavain, with many other\u2014'Sir, and ye will so be disposed to abide in this land, we will never fail you; and if ye list not abide in this land, there is none of the good knights that here be that will fail you, for many causes. One is, all we that be not of your blood shall never be welcome unto the court; and sithen it liked us to take a part with you in your distress in this realm, wit you well, it shall like us as well to go in other countries with you, and there to take such part as ye do.'\n\n'My fair lords,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I well understand you, and as I can, I thank you. And ye shall understand, such livelihood as I am born unto I shall part with you in this manner of wise: that is for to say, I shall part all my livelihood and all my lands freely among you, and myself will have as little as any of you. For have I sufficient that may long unto my person, I will ask no other riches nor array; and I trust to God to maintain you on my lands as well as ever ye were maintained.'\n\nThen spoke all the knights at once, 'Have he shame that will leave you! For we all understand, in this realm will be never quiet, but ever debate and strife, now the fellowship of the Round Table is broken. For by the noble fellowship of the Round Table was King Arthur upborne, and by their noblesse the King and all the realm was ever in quiet and rest; and a great part', they said all, 'was because of your most noblesse, Sir Lancelot.'\n\n'Now truly, I thank you all of your good saying, how be it I wot well that in me was not all the stability of this realm, but in that I might I did my devoir. And well I am sure, I knew many rebellions in my days that by me and mine were peaced; and that I trow we all shall hear of in short space, and that me sore repenteth. For ever I dread me', said Sir Lancelot, 'that Sir Mordred will make trouble, for he is passing envious, and applieth him much to trouble.'\n\nAnd so they were accorded to depart with Sir Lancelot to his lands; and to make short this tale, they trussed and paid all that would ask them. And wholly a hundred knights departed with Sir Lancelot at once, and made their vows they would never leave him for weal nor for woe. And so they shipped at Cardiff, and sailed unto Benwick (some men call it Bayonne, and some men call it Beaune, where the wine of Beaune is). But to say the sooth, Sir Lancelot, and his nephews, was lord of all France and of all the lands that longed unto France; he and his kindred rejoiced it all through Sir Lancelot's noble prowess. And then he stuffed and furnished and garnished all his noble towns and castles. Then all the people of the lands came unto Sir Lancelot on foot and hands. And so when he had established all those countries, he shortly called a parliament, and there he crowned Sir Lionel king of France. And Sir Bors he crowned him king of all King Claudas' lands; and Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Lancelot's younger brother, he crowned him king of Benwick and king of all Guienne, which was Sir Lancelot's own lands, and he made Sir Ector prince of them all. And thus he departed his lands and advanced all his noble knights. And first he advanced them of his blood, as Sir Blamor, he made him duke of Limousin in Guienne; and Sir Bleoberis, he made him duke of Poitiers; and Sir Gahalantine, he made him duke of Auvergne; and Sir Galihodin, he made him duke of Saintonge; and Sir Galihud, he made him earl of P\u00e9rigord; and Sir Menaduke, he made him earl of Rouergue; and Sir Villiars the Valiant, he made him earl of Beam; and Sir Hebes le Renowne, he made him earl of Comminges; and Sir Lavain, he made him earl of Armagnac; and Sir Urry, he made him earl of Astarac; and Sir Neroveus, he made him earl of Pardiac; and Sir Plenorius, he made him earl of Foix; and Sir Selises of the Dolorous Tower, he made him earl of Marsan; and Sir Melias de l'Isle, he made him earl of Tursan; and Sir Bellenger le Beau, he made him earl of the Landes; and Sir Palomides, he made him duke of Provence; and Sir Safer, he made him duke of Languedoc. And Sir Clegis, he gave him the earldom of Agen; and Sir Sadok, he gave him the earldom of Sarlat; and Sir Dinas le Seneschal, he made him duke of Anjou; and Sir Clarrus, he made him duke of Normandy. Thus Sir Lancelot rewarded his noble knights, and many more that me seemeth it were too long to rehearse.\n\nSo leave we Sir Lancelot in his lands, and his noble knights with him; and return we again unto King Arthur and unto Sir Gawain, that made a great host ready to the number of three score thousand, and all thing was made ready for shipping to pass over the sea to war upon Sir Lancelot and upon his lands. And so they shipped at Cardiff; and there King Arthur made Sir Mordred chief ruler of all England. And also he put the Queen under his governance, because Sir Mordred was King Arthur's son, he gave him the rule of his land and of his wife. And so the King passed the sea and landed upon Sir Lancelot's lands, and there he burned and wasted through the vengeance of Sir Gawain all that they might overrun.\n\nSo when this word was come unto Sir Lancelot, that King Arthur and Sir Gawain were landed upon his lands and made full great destruction and waste\u2014then spoke Sir Bors and said, 'My lord Sir Lancelot, it is shame that we suffer them thus to ride over our lands. For wit you well, suffer ye them as long as ye will, they will do you no favour and they may handle you.'\n\nThen said Sir Lionel that was ware and wise, 'My lord Sir Lancelot, I will give you this counsel: let us keep our strong walled towns until they have hunger and cold, and blow on their nails. And then let us freshly set upon them and shred them down as sheep in a fold, that ever after aliens may take example how they land upon our lands.'\n\nThen spoke King Bagdemagus to Sir Lancelot and said, 'Sir, your courtesy will shend us all, and your courtesy hath waked all this sorrow; for and they thus override our lands, they shall by process bring us all to nought, while we thus in holes us hide.'\n\nThen said Sir Galihud unto Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, here be knights come of kings' blood, that will not long droop and dare within these walls. Therefore give us leave, like as we be knights, to meet them in the field, and we shall so deal with them that they shall curse the time that ever they came into this country.'\n\nThen spoke seven brethren of North Wales which were seven noble knights (for a man might seek seven kings' lands or he might find such seven knights), and these seven noble knights said all at once, 'Sir Lancelot, for Christ's sake let us ride out with Sir Galihud, for we were never wont to cower in castles nor in noble towns.'\n\nThen spoke Sir Lancelot, that was master and governor of them all, and said, 'My fair lords, wit you well I am full loath to ride out with my knights for shedding of Christian blood; and yet my lands, I understand, be full bare for to sustain any host a while, for the mighty wars that whilom King Claudas made upon this country, and upon my father King Ban and on my uncle King Bors. How be it, we will as at this time keep our strong walls. And I shall send a messenger unto King Arthur a treaty for to take; for better is peace than always war.'\n\nSo Sir Lancelot sent forth a damosel with a dwarf with her, requiring King Arthur to leave his warring upon his lands; and so she started upon a palfrey, and the dwarf ran by her side. And when she came to the pavilion of King Arthur, there she alit; and there met her a gentle knight, Sir Lucan the Butler, and said, 'Fair damosel, come ye from Sir Lancelot du Lake?'\n\n'Yea, sir,' she said, 'therefore came I hither, to speak with my lord the King.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lucan, 'my lord Arthur would accord with Sir Lancelot, but Sir Gawain will not suffer him.' And then he said, 'I pray to God, damosel, that ye may speed well, for all we that be about the King would that Lancelot did best of any knight living.' And so with this, Sir Lucan led the damosel to the King where he sat with Sir Gawain, for to hear what she would say.\n\nSo when she had told her tale, the water ran out of the King's eyes. And all the lords were full glad for to advise the King to be accorded with Sir Lancelot, save all only Sir Gawain. And he said, 'My lord, my uncle, what will ye do? Will ye now turn again, now ye are passed this far upon your journey? All the world will speak of you villainy and shame.'\n\n'Now,' said King Arthur, 'wit you well, Sir Gawain, I will do as ye advise me. And yet me seemeth,' said King Arthur, 'his fair proffers were not good to be refused. But sithen I am come so far upon this journey, I will that ye give the damosel her answer; for I may not speak to her for pity, for her proffers be so large.'\n\nThen Sir Gawain said unto the damosel, 'Thus say ye to Sir Lancelot, that it is waste labour now to sue to my uncle; for tell him, and he would have made any labour for peace, he should have made it or this time, for tell him, now it is too late. And say to him that I, Sir Gawain, so send him word, that I promise him by the faith that I owe to God and to knighthood, I shall never leave him till he hath slain me or I him.'\n\nAnd so the damosel wept and departed; and so there was many a weeping eye. And then Sir Lucan brought the damosel to her palfrey, and so she came to Sir Lancelot where he was among all his knights.\n\nAnd when Sir Lancelot had heard her answer, then the tears ran down by his cheeks. And then his noble knights came about him and said, 'Sir Lancelot, wherefore make ye such cheer? Now think what ye are and what men we are, and let us noble knights match them in midst of the field.'\n\n'That may be lightly done,' said Sir Lancelot, 'but I was never so loath to do battle; and therefore I pray you, sirs, as you love me, be ruled at this time as I will have you. For I will always flee that noble king that made me knight; and when I may no further, I must needs defend me. And that will be more worship for me and us all than to compare with that noble king whom we have all served.'\n\nThen they held their language, and that night they took their rest. And upon the morning early, in the dawning of the day, as the knights looked out, they saw the city of Benwick besieged round about, and began fast to set up ladders. And they within kept them out of the town and beat them mightily from the walls.\n\nThan came forth Sir Gawain, well armed upon a stiff steed, and he came before the chief gate with his spear in his hand, crying, 'Where art thou, Sir Lancelot? Is there none of all your proud knights that dare break a spear with me?'\n\nThen Sir Bors made him ready and came forth out of the town. And there Sir Gawain encountered with Sir Bors, and at that time he smote him down from his horse, and almost he had slain him. And so Sir Bors was rescued and borne into the town.\n\nThen came forth Sir Lionel and thought to revenge him, and either fewtered their spears and so ran together, and there they met dispiteously. But Sir Gawain had such a grace that he smote Sir Lionel down, and wounded him there passingly sore; and then Sir Lionel was rescued and borne into the town. And thus Sir Gawain came every day, and failed not but that he smote down one knight or other. So thus they endured half a year, and much slaughter was of people on both parties.\n\nThen it befell upon a day that Sir Gawain came before the gates armed at all pieces, on a noble horse, with a great spear in his hand. And then he cried with loud voice and said, 'Where art thou now, thou false traitor Sir Lancelot? Why boldest thou thyself within holes and walls, like a coward? Look out, thou false traitor knight, and here I shall revenge upon thy body the death of my three brethren.'\n\nAnd all this language heard Sir Lancelot every deal. Then his kin and his knights drew about him, and all they said at once unto Sir Lancelot, 'Sir, now you must defend you like a knight, or else ye be shamed for ever; for now ye be called upon treason, it is time for you to stir, for ye have slept overlong and suffered overmuch.'\n\n'So God me help,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I am right heavy at Sir Gawain's words, for now he chargeth me with a great charge; and therefore I wot as well as ye, I must needs defend me, or else to be recreant.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot bade saddle his strongest horse, and bade let fetch his arms and bring all to the tower of the gate. And then Sir Lancelot spoke on high unto the King and said, 'My lord Arthur, and noble king that made me knight, wit you well, I am right heavy for your sake that ye thus sue upon me; and always I forbear you, for and I would be vengeable I might have met you in midst the field or this time, and there to have made your boldest knights full tame. And now I have forborne you and suffered you half a year, and Sir Gawain, to do what ye would do. And now I may no longer suffer to endure, but needs must I defend myself in so much as Sir Gawain hath becalled me of treason; which is greatly against my will that ever I should fight against any of your blood. But now I may not forsake it, for I am driven thereto as a beast to a bay.'\n\nThen Sir Gawain said unto Sir Lancelot, 'And thou darest do battle, leave thy babbling and come off, and let us ease our hearts!'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot armed him and mounted upon his horse, and either of them got great spears in their hands. And so the host without stood still all apart. And the noble knights of the city came a great number, that when King Arthur saw the number of men and knights he marvelled and said to himself, 'Alas that ever Sir Lancelot was against me, for now I see that he hath forborne me.'\n\nAnd so the covenant was made, there should no man nigh them nor deal with them till the one were dead or yielded.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain departed a great way asunder; and then they came together with all their horses' mights as fast as they might run, and either smote other in midst of their shields. But the knights were so strong and their spears so big that their horses might not endure their buffets, and so their horses fell to the earth. And then they avoided their horses and dressed their shields before them. Then they came together and gave many sad strokes on divers places of their bodies, that the blood brast out on many sides.\n\nThen had Sir Gawain such a grace and gift that a holy man had given him, that every day in the year from undern till high noon, his might increased those three hours as much as thrice his strength; and that caused Sir Gawain to win great honour. And for his sake, King Arthur made an ordinance that all manner of battles for any quarrels that should be done before King Arthur should begin at undern. And all was done for Sir Gawain's love, that by likelihood, if Sir Gawain were on the one party, he should have the better in battle while his strength endured three hours. But there were that time but few knights living that knew this advantage that Sir Gawain had, but King Arthur all only.\n\nSo Sir Lancelot fought with Sir Gawain. And when Sir Lancelot felt his might evermore increase, Sir Lancelot wondered and dreaded him sore to be shamed; for as the French book saith, he weened, when he felt Sir Gawain double his strength, that he had been a fiend and no earthly man. Wherefore Sir Lancelot traced and traversed, and covered himself with his shield, and kept his might and his breath during three hours. And that while Sir Gawain gave him many sad brunts, that all knights that beheld Sir Lancelot marvelled how he might endure him; but full little understood they that travail that Sir Lancelot had to endure him. And then when it was past noon, Sir Gawain's strength was gone, and he had no more but his own might.\n\nWhen Sir Lancelot felt him so come down, then he stretched him up and strode near Sir Gawain, and said thus: 'Now I feel ye have done your worst! And now, my lord Sir Gawain, I must do my part, for many great and grievous strokes I have endured you this day with great pain.' And so Sir Lancelot doubled his strokes, and gave Sir Gawain such a stroke upon the helmet that sidelong he fell down upon his one side; and Sir Lancelot withdrew from him.\n\n'Why withdrawest thou thee?' said Sir Gawain. 'Turn again, false traitor knight, and slay me outright, for and thou leave me thus, anon as I am whole I shall do battle with thee again.'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I shall endure you, by God's grace! But wit thou well, Sir Gawain, I will never smite a felled knight.'\n\nAnd so Sir Lancelot departed and went unto the city. And Sir Gawain was borne unto King Arthur's pavilion, and anon leeches were brought unto him of the best and searched and salved him with soft ointments. And then Sir Lancelot said, 'Now have good day, my lord the King, for wit you well, ye win no worship at these walls. For and I would my knights out bring, there should many a doughty man die. And therefore, my lord Arthur, remember you of old kindness, and howsoever I fare, Jesu be your guide in all places.'\n\n'Now alas,' said the King, 'that ever this unhappy war began! For ever Sir Lancelot forbeareth me in all places, and in like wise my kin; and that is seen well this day, what courtesy he showed my nephew Sir Gawain.' Then King Arthur fell sick for sorrow of Sir Gawain, that he was so sore hurt, and because of the war betwixt him and Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo after that, they on King Arthur's party kept the siege with little war without; and they within kept their walls, and defended them when need was.\n\nThus Sir Gawain lay sick and unsound three weeks in his tents with all manner of leechcraft that might be had. And as soon as Sir Gawain might go and ride, he armed him at all points and bestrode a stiff courser and got a great spear in his hand, and so he came riding before the chief gate of Ben wick. And there he cried on high and said, 'Where art thou, Sir Lancelot? Come forth, thou false traitor knight and recrayed, for I am here, Sir Gawain, that will prove this that I say upon thee!'\n\nAnd all this language Sir Lancelot heard, and said thus: 'Sir Gawain, me repents of your foul saying, that ye will not cease your language. For ye wot well, Sir Gawain, I know your might, and all that ye may do. And well ye wot, Sir Gawain, ye may not greatly hurt me.'\n\n'Come down, traitor knight,' said he, 'and make it good the contrary with thy hands! For it mishapped me the last battle to be hurt of thy hands, therefore wit thou well I am come this day to make amends, for I ween this day to lay thee as low as thou laidest me.'\n\n'Jesu defend me,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever I be so far in your danger as ye have been in mine, for then my days were done. But, Sir Gawain,' said Sir Lancelot, 'ye shall not think that I shall tarry long. But sithen that ye unknightly call me thus of treason, ye shall have both your hands full of me.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot armed him at all points and mounted upon his horse, and got a great spear in his hand and rode out at the gate; and both their hosts were assembled, of them without and within, and stood in array full manly. And both parties were charged to hold them still to see and behold the battle of these two noble knights; and then they laid their spears in their rests and so came together as thunder. And Sir Gawain broke his spear in a hundred pieces to his hand; and Sir Lancelot smote him with a greater might, that Sir Gawain's horse's feet raised, and so the horse and he fell to the earth. Then Sir Gawain deliverly avoided his horse, and put his shield before him and eagerly drew his sword; and bade Sir Lancelot 'Alight, traitor knight!' and said, 'If a mare's son hath failed me, wit thou well a king's son and a queen's son shall not fail thee.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot avoided his horse and dressed his shield before him and drew his sword; and so they came eagerly together and gave many sad strokes, that all men on both parties had wonder. But when Sir Lancelot felt Sir Gawain's might so marvellously increase, he then withheld his courage and his wind, and so he kept him under cover of his might and of his shield; he traced and traversed here and there to break Sir Gawain's strokes and his courage. And ever Sir Gawain enforced himself with all his might and power to destroy Sir Lancelot, for, as the French book saith, ever as Sir Gawain's might increased, right so increased his wind and his evil will. And thus he did great pain unto Sir Lancelot three hours, that he had much ado to defend him. And when the three hours were past, that he felt Sir Gawain was come home to his own proper strength, then Sir Lancelot said,\n\n'Sir, now I have proved you twice that ye are a full dangerous knight and a wonderful man of might, and many wondrous deeds have ye done in your days, for by your might increasing ye have deceived many a full noble knight. And now I feel that ye have done your mighty deeds, now wit you well I must do my deeds.'\n\nAnd then Sir Lancelot strode near Sir Gawain and doubled his strokes; and ever Sir Gawain defended him mightily. But nevertheless, Sir Lancelot smote such a stroke upon his helm, and upon the old wound, that Sir Gawain sank down and swooned. And anon as he awoke he waved and foined at Sir Lancelot as he lay, and said, 'Traitor knight, wit thou well I am not yet slain. Therefore come thou near me, and perform this battle to the utterance!'\n\n'I will no more do than I have done,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for when I see you on foot I will do battle upon you all the while I see you stand upon your feet; but to smite a wounded man that may not stand, God defend me from such a shame.'\n\nAnd then he turned his way toward the city, and Sir Gawain ever-more calling him traitor knight, and said, 'Traitor knight, wit thou well, Sir Lancelot, when I am whole I shall do battle with thee again, for I shall never leave thee till the one of us be slain.'\n\nThus as this siege endured, and as Sir Gawain lay sick nearhand a month; and when he was well recovered, and ready within three days to do battle again with Sir Lancelot; right so came tidings unto King Arthur from England that made King Arthur and all his host to remove.\n\nAs Sir Mordred was ruler of all England, he let make letters as though that they had come from beyond the sea, and the letters specified that King Arthur was slain in battle with Sir Lancelot. Wherefore Sir Mordred made a parliament and called the lords together, and there he made them to choose him king; and so was he crowned at Canterbury, and held a feast there fifteen days. And afterward he drew him unto Winchester, and there he took Queen Guenivere and said plainly that he would wed her, which was his uncle's wife and his father's wife. And so he made ready for the feast, and a day prefixed that they should be wedded, wherefore Queen Guenivere was passing heavy; but she durst not discover her heart, but spoke fair and agreed to Sir Mordred's will. And anon she desired of Sir Mordred to go to London to buy all manner of things that longed to the bridal; and because of her fair speech, Sir Mordred trusted her and gave her leave. And so when she came to London she took the Tower of London, and suddenly in all haste possible she stuffed it with all manner of victual, and well garnished it with men, and so kept it.\n\nAnd when Sir Mordred wist this, he was passing wroth out of measure; and short tale to make, he laid a mighty siege about the Tower and made many assaults, and threw engines unto them and shot great guns. But all might not prevail, for Queen Guenivere would never, for fair speech nor for foul, never trust unto Sir Mordred to come in his hands again.\n\nThen came the Bishop of Canterbury, which was a noble clerk and a holy man, and thus he said unto Sir Mordred: 'Sir, what will ye do? Will ye first displease God, and sithen shame yourself and all knight-hood? For is not King Arthur your uncle, and no further but your mother's brother, and upon her he himself begot you, upon his own sister? therefore how may ye wed your own father's wife? And therefore, sir,' said the bishop, 'leave this opinion, or else I shall curse you with book, bell, and candle.'\n\n'Do thou thy worst,' said Sir Mordred, 'and I defy thee.'\n\n'Sir,' said the bishop, 'wit you well I shall not fear me to do that me ought to do. And also ye noise that my lord Arthur is slain, and that is not so; and therefore ye will make a foul work in this land.'\n\n'Peace, thou false priest,' said Sir Mordred, 'for and thou chafe me any more, I shall strike off thy head.'\n\nSo the bishop departed, and did the cursing in the most orgulest wise that might be done; and then Sir Mordred sought the Bishop of Canterbury for to have slain him. Then the bishop fled and took part of his goods with him, and went nigh unto Glastonbury; and there he was a priest hermit in a chapel, and lived in poverty and in holy prayers, for well he understood that mischievous war was at hand.\n\nThen Sir Mordred sought upon Queen Guenivere by letters and sondes, and by fair means and foul means, to have her to come out of the Tower of London; but all this availed nought, for she answered him shortly, openly and privily, that she had liever slay herself than to be married with him.\n\nThen came there word unto Sir Mordred that King Arthur had raised the siege from Sir Lancelot and was coming homeward with a great host to be avenged upon Sir Mordred; wherefore Sir Mordred made writs unto all the barony of this land, and much people drew unto him. For then was the common voice among them that with King Arthur was never other life but war and strife, and with Sir Mordred was great joy and bliss. Thus was King Arthur depraved and evil said of. And many there were that King Arthur had brought up of nought, and given them lands, that might not then say him a good word. Lo ye all Englishmen, see ye not what a mischief was here? For he that was the most king and noblest knight of the world, and most loved the fellowship of noble knights, and by him they all were upheld, and yet might not these Englishmen hold them content with him. Lo, thus was the old custom and usages of this land; and men say that we of this land have not yet lost that custom. Alas, this is a great default of us Englishmen, for there may nothing please us no term.\n\nAnd so fared the people at that time; they were better pleased with Sir Mordred than they were with the noble King Arthur, and much people drew unto Sir Mordred and said they would abide with him for better and for worse. And so Sir Mordred drew with a great host to Dover, for there he heard say that King Arthur would arrive, and so he thought to beat his own father from his own lands. And the most part of all England held with Sir Mordred, the people were so new-fangle.\n\nAnd so as Sir Mordred was at Dover with his host, so came King Arthur with a great navy of ships and galleys and carracks. And there was Sir Mordred ready awaiting upon his landing, to let his own father to land upon the land that he was king over. Then there was launching of great boats and small, and full of noble men of arms; and there was much slaughter of gentle knights, and many a full bold baron was laid full low on both parties. But King Arthur was so courageous that there might no manner of knight let him to land, and his knights fiercely followed him; and so they landed maugre Sir Mordred's head and all his power, and put Sir Mordred aback and all his people.\n\nSo when this battle was done, King Arthur let search his people that were hurt and dead. And then was noble Sir Gawain found in a great boat, lying more than half dead. When King Arthur knew that he was laid so low, he went unto him and so found him; and there the King made great sorrow out of measure and took Sir Gawain in his arms, and thrice he there swooned. And then when he was waked, King Arthur said, 'Alas, Sir Gawain, my sister's son, here now thou liest, the man in the world that I loved most, and now is my joy gone; for now, my nephew Sir Gawain, I will discover me unto you, that in your person and in Sir Lancelot I most had my joy and my affiance. And now have I lost my joy of you both, wherefore all my earthly joy is gone from me.'\n\n'Ah, mine uncle,' said Sir Gawain, 'now I will that ye wit that my death-day be come; and all I may wite mine own hastiness and my wilfulness, for through my wilfulness I was causer of my own death. For I was this day hurt and smitten upon my old wound that Sir Lancelot gave me, and I feel myself that I must needs be dead by the hour of noon. And through me and my pride ye have all this shame and disease, for had that noble knight Sir Lancelot been with you, as he was and would have been, this unhappy war had never been begun, for he through his noble knighthood and his noble blood held all your cankered enemies in subjection and danger. And now,' said Sir Gawain, 'ye shall miss Sir Lancelot. But alas that I would not accord with him! And therefore, fair uncle, I pray you that I may have paper, pen, and ink, that I may write unto Sir Lancelot a letter written with my own hand.'\n\nSo when paper, pen, and ink was brought, then Sir Gawain was set up weakly by King Arthur (for he was shriven a little before); and then he took his pen and wrote thus, as the French book maketh mention:\n\n'Unto thee, Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I heard of or saw by my days, I, Sir Gawain, King Lot's son of Orkney and sister's son unto the noble King Arthur, send thee greeting, letting thee to have knowledge that the tenth day of May I was smitten upon the old wound that thou gave me before the city of Benwick, and through that wound I am come to my death-day. And I will that all the world wit that I, Sir Gawain, knight of the Table Round, sought my death, and not through thy deserving, but my own seeking. Wherefore I beseech thee, Sir Lancelot, to return again unto this realm, and see my tomb and pray some prayer more or less for my soul. And this same day that I wrote this same sedle, I was hurt to the death, which wound was first given of thy hand, Sir Lancelot; for of a more nobler man might I not be slain.\n\n'Also, Sir Lancelot, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all the goodly haste that ye may with your noble knights, and rescue that noble king that made thee knight; for he is full straitly bestead with a false traitor, which is my half-brother Sir Mordred. For he hath crowned himself king, and would have wedded my lady Queen Guenivere, and so had he done had she not kept the Tower of London with strong hand. And so the tenth day of May last past, my lord King Arthur and we all landed upon them at Dover, and there he put that false traitor Sir Mordred to flight; and so there it misfortuned me to be smitten upon the stroke that ye gave me of old. And the date of this letter was written but two hours and a half before my death, written with my own hand, and subscribed with part of my heart's blood. And therefore I require thee, most famous knight of the world, that thou wilt see my tomb.'\n\nAnd then he wept and King Arthur both, and swooned. And when they were awaked both, the King made Sir Gawain to receive his sacrament. And then Sir Gawain prayed the King for to send for Sir Lancelot, and to cherish him above all other knights. And so at the hour of noon Sir Gawain yielded up the ghost.\n\nAnd then the King let inter him in a chapel within Dover Castle; and there yet all men may see the skull of him, and the same wound is seen that Sir Lancelot gave in battle.\n\nThen was it told the King that Sir Mordred had pitched a new field upon Barham Down. And so upon the morn King Arthur rode thither to him, and there was a great battle betwixt them and much people were slain on both parties. But at the last King Arthur's party stood best, and Sir Mordred and his party fled unto Canterbury. And then the King let search all the downs for his knights that were slain, and interred them; and salved them with soft salves that full sore were wounded.\n\nThen much people drew unto King Arthur, and then they said that Sir Mordred warred upon King Arthur with wrong. And anon King Arthur drew him with his host down by the seaside westward toward Salisbury. And there was a day assigned betwixt King Arthur and Sir Mordred, that they should meet upon a down beside Salisbury and not far from the seaside, and this day was assigned on Monday after Trinity Sunday; whereof King Arthur was passing glad that he might be avenged upon Sir Mordred.\n\nThen Sir Mordred raised much people about London, for they of Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, Essex, Suffolk, and Norfolk held the most part with Sir Mordred; and many a full noble knight drew unto him, and also to the King. But they that loved Sir Lancelot drew unto Sir Mordred.\n\nSo upon Trinity Sunday at night, King Arthur dreamed a wonderful dream; and in his dream him seemed that he sat upon a chaflet in a chair, and the chair was fast to a wheel, and thereupon sat King Arthur in the richest cloth of gold that might be made. And the King thought there was under him, far from him, a hideous deep black water, and therein was all manner of serpents and worms and wild beasts, foul and horrible. And suddenly the King thought that the wheel turned upside down, and he fell among the serpents, and every beast took him by a limb. And then the King cried as he lay in his bed, 'Help, help!'\n\nAnd then knights, squires, and yeomen awaked the King, and then he was so amazed that he wist not where he was. And then so he waked until it was nigh day, and then he fell on slumbering again, not sleeping nor thoroughly waking.\n\nSo the King seemed verily that there came Sir Gawain unto him with a number of fair ladies with him. So when King Arthur saw him, he said, 'Welcome, my sister's son! I weened ye had been dead, and now I see thee alive, much am I beholden unto almighty Jesu. Ah, fair nephew, what be these ladies that hither be come with you?'\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'all these be ladies for whom I have fought when I was man living, and all these are those that I did battle for in righteous quarrels; and God hath given them that grace at their great prayer, because I did battle for them for their right, that they should bring me hither unto you. Thus much hath God given me leave, for to warn you of your death; for and ye fight tomorrow with Sir Mordred as ye both have assigned, doubt ye not ye shall be slain, and the most part of your people on both parties. And for the great grace and goodness that almighty Jesu hath unto you, and for pity of you and many more other good men there shall be slain, God hath sent me to you of His special grace to give you warning that in no wise ye do battle tomorrow, but that ye take a treaty for a month day, and proffer you largely so that tomorrow ye put in a delay. For within a month shall come Sir Lancelot with all his noble knights, and rescue you worshipfully, and slay Sir Mordred and all that ever will hold with him.'\n\nThen Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished; and anon the King called upon his knights, squires, and yeomen, and charged them wightly to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. And when they were come, the King told them of his vision, that Sir Gawain had told him and warned him that and he fought on the morn he should be slain. Then the King commanded Sir Lucan the Butler and his brother Sir Bedivere the bold, with two bishops with them, and charged them in any wise to take a treaty for a month day with Sir Mordred, 'and spare not, proffer him lands and goods as much as ye think reasonable.'\n\nSo then they departed, and came to Sir Mordred where he had a grim host of a hundred thousand; and there they entreated Sir Mordred long time. And at the last Sir Mordred was agreed for to have Cornwall and Kent by King Arthur's days, and after that all England, after the days of King Arthur.\n\nThen were they condescended that King Arthur and Sir Mordred should meet betwixt both their hosts, and each of them should bring fourteen persons; and so they came with this word unto Arthur. Then said he, 'I am glad that this is done'; and so he went into the field.\n\nAnd when King Arthur should depart, he warned all his host that and they see any sword drawn, 'Look ye come on fiercely, and slay that traitor Sir Mordred, for in no wise trust him.'\n\nIn like wise Sir Mordred warned his host, that 'and ye see any manner of sword drawn, look that ye come on fiercely, and so slay all that ever before you standeth; for in no wise I will not trust for this treaty.' And in the same wise said Sir Mordred unto his host, 'for I know well my father will be avenged upon me'.\n\nAnd so they met as their appointment was, and were agreed and accorded thoroughly; and wine was fetched, and they drank together. Right so came out an adder of a little heath bush, and it stung a knight in the foot. And so when the knight felt him so stung, he looked down and saw the adder; and anon he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought no other harm. And when the host on both parties saw that sword drawn, then they blew beams, trumpets, and horns, and shouted grimly; and so both hosts dressed them together. And King Arthur took his horse and said, 'Alas, this unhappy day!' and so rode to his party; and Sir Mordred in like wise.\n\nAnd never since was there seen a more dolefuller battle in no Christian land; for there was but rushing and riding, foining and striking, and many a grim word was there spoken of either to other, and many a deadly stroke. But ever King Arthur rode throughout the battle of Sir Mordred many times, and did full nobly as a noble king should do, and at all times he fainted never. And Sir Mordred did his devoir that day, and put himself in great peril.\n\nAnd thus they fought all the long day, and never stinted till the noble knights were laid to the cold earth. And ever they fought still till it was near night, and by then was there a hundred thousand laid dead upon the earth. Then was King Arthur wood wroth out of measure, when he saw his people so slain from him. And so he looked about him, and could see no more of all his host and good knights left no more alive but two knights; the one was Sir Lucan the Butler, and his brother Sir Bedivere, and yet they were full sore wounded.\n\n'Jesu mercy,' said the King, 'where are all my noble knights become? Alas, that ever I should see this doleful day! For now', said King Arthur, 'I am come to my end. But would to God', said he, 'that I wist now where were that traitor Sir Mordred, that hath caused all this mischief\n\nThen King Arthur looked about, and was ware where stood Sir Mordred leaning upon his sword among a great heap of dead men.\n\n'Now give me my spear,' said King Arthur unto Sir Lucan, 'for yonder I have espied the traitor that all this woe hath wrought.'\n\n'Sir, let him be,' said Sir Lucan, 'for he is unhappy; and if ye pass this unhappy day ye shall be right well revenged. And, good lord, remember ye of your night's dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawain told you tonight, and yet God of His great goodness hath preserved you hitherto. And for God's sake, my lord, leave off this, for blessed be God, ye have won the field; for yet we be here three alive, and with Sir Mordred is not one alive. And therefore if ye leave off now, this wicked day of destiny is past.'\n\n'Now tide me death, tide me life,' said the King, 'now I see him yonder alone he shall never escape my hands, for at a better avail shall I never have him.'\n\n'God speed you well,' said Sir Bedivere.\n\nThen the King got his spear in both his hands and ran toward Sir Mordred, crying and saying, 'Traitor, now is thy death-day come!'\n\nAnd when Sir Mordred saw King Arthur, he ran unto him with his sword drawn in his hand; and there King Arthur smote Sir Mordred under the shield with a foin of his spear, throughout the body, more than a fathom. And when Sir Mordred felt that he had his death's wound, he thrust himself with the might that he had up to the bur of King Arthur's spear; and right so he smote his father, King Arthur, with his sword holding in both his hands, upon the side of the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the tay of the brain. And there-with Mordred dashed down stark dead to the earth.\n\nAnd noble King Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth, and there he swooned oftentimes. And Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere ofttimes heaved him up, and so weakly betwixt them they led him to a little chapel not far from the sea; and when the King was there, he thought him reasonably eased. Then heard they people cry in the field.\n\n'Now go thou, Sir Lucan,' said the King, 'and do me to wit what betokens that noise in the field.'\n\nSo Sir Lucan departed, for he was grievously wounded in many places. And so as he yode, he saw and hearkened by the moonlight how that pillagers and robbers were come into the field to pillage and to rob many a full noble knight of brooches and bees, and of many a good ring and many a rich jewel. And who that were not dead all out, there they slew them for their harness and their riches.\n\nWhen Sir Lucan understood this work, he came to the King as soon as he might, and told him all what he had heard and seen.\n\n'Therefore by my rede,' said Sir Lucan, 'it is best that we bring you to some town.'\n\n'I would it were so,' said the King, 'but I may not stand, my head works so. Ah, Sir Lancelot,' said King Arthur, 'this day have I sore missed thee. And alas that ever I was against thee, for now have I my death, whereof Sir Gawain warned me in my dream.'\n\nThen Sir Lucan took up the King the one part, and Sir Bedivere the other part, and in the lifting up the King swooned; and in the lifting Sir Lucan fell in a swoon, that part of his guts fell out of his body, and therewith the noble knight's heart brast. And when the King awoke, he beheld Sir Lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth, and part of his guts lay at his feet.\n\n'Alas,' said the King, 'this is to me a full heavy sight, to see this noble duke so die for my sake; for he would have helped me, that had more need of help than I. Alas that he would not complain him, for his heart was so set to help me! Now Jesu have mercy upon his soul.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere wept for the death of his brother.\n\n'Now leave this mourning and weeping, gentle knight,' said the King, 'for all this will not avail me; for wit thou well, and I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me evermore. But my time passeth on fast,' said the King. 'Therefore,' said King Arthur unto Sir Bedivere, 'take thou here Excalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder water's side; and when thou comest there, I charge thee throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me what thou seest there.'\n\n'My lord,' said Sir Bedivere, 'your commandment shall be done, and lightly bring you word again.'\n\nSo Sir Bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld that noble sword; and the pommel and the haft was all precious stones. And then he said to himself, 'If I throw this rich sword in the water, thereof shall never come good, but harm and loss.' And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree. And so as soon as he might he came again unto the King, and said he had been at the water, and had thrown the sword into the water.\n\n'What saw thou there?' said the King.\n\n'Sir,' he said, he saw nothing but waves and winds.\n\n'That is untruly said of thee,' said the King. 'And therefore go thou lightly again, and do my commandment; as thou art to me lief and dear, spare not, but throw it in.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere returned again, and took the sword in his hand; and yet him thought sin and shame to throw away that noble sword. And so eft he hid the sword, and returned again, and told the King that he had been at the water and done his commandment.\n\n'What sawest thou there?' said the King.\n\n'Sir,' he said, 'I saw nothing but waters wap and waves wan.',\n\n'Ah, traitor unto me and untrue,' said King Arthur, 'now hast thou betrayed me twice! Who would ween that thou that hast been to me so lief and dear, and also named so noble a knight, that thou would betray me for the riches of the sword? But now go again lightly, for thy long tarrying putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for I have taken cold. And but if thou do now as I bid thee, if ever I may see thee, I shall slay thee with my own hands; for thou wouldst for my rich sword see me dead.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword and lightly took it up, and so he went unto the water's side; and there he bound the girdle about the hilts, and threw the sword as far into the water as he might. And there came an arm and a hand above the water and took it and clutched it, and shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished with the sword into the water. So Sir Bedivere came again to the King, and told him what he saw.\n\n'Alas,' said the King, 'help me hence, for I dread me I have tarried over long.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere took the King upon his back, and so went with him to the water's side. And when they were there, even fast by the bank hoved a little barge with many fair ladies in it, and among them all was a queen. And all they had black hoods, and all they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.\n\n'Now put me into that barge,' said the King.\n\nAnd so he did softly; and there received him three ladies with great mourning. And so they set them down, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head. And then the queen said, 'Ah, my dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from me? Alas, this wound on your head hath caught over-much cold.'\n\nAnd anon they rowed from the land, and Sir Bedivere beheld all those ladies go from him. Then Sir Bedivere cried and said, 'Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies?'\n\n'Comfort thyself,' said the King, 'and do as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust for to trust in. For I will into the vale of Avilion to heal me of my grievous wound; and if thou hear never more of me, pray for my soul.'\n\nBut ever the queen and ladies wept and shrieked, that it was pity to hear. And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest and went all that night. And in the morning he was ware betwixt two holts hoar, of a chapel and a hermitage. Then was Sir Bedivere fain, and thither he went; and when he came into the chapel, he saw where lay a hermit grovelling on all fours, fast there by a tomb was new graven. When the hermit saw Sir Bedivere he knew him well, for he was but little before Bishop of Canterbury, that Sir Mordred flemed.\n\n'Sir,' said Sir Bedivere, 'what man is there here interred that ye pray so fast for?'\n\n'Fair son,' said the hermit, 'I wot not verily, but by deeming. But this same night at midnight, here came a number of ladies, and brought here a dead corpse, and prayed me to inter him; and here they offered a hundred tapers, and they gave me a thousand bezants.'\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Bedivere, 'that was my lord King Arthur, which lieth here graven in this chapel.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit that he might abide with him still, there to live with fasting and prayers. 'For from hence will I never go,' said Sir Bedivere, 'by my will, but all the days of my life here to pray for my lord Arthur.'\n\n'Sir, ye are welcome to me,' said the hermit, 'for I know you better than ye ween that I do: for ye are Sir Bedivere the bold, and the full noble duke Sir Lucan the Butler was your brother.'\n\nThen Sir Bedivere told the hermit all as ye have heard before. And so he beleft with the hermit that was beforehand Bishop of Canterbury, and there Sir Bedivere put upon him poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers.\n\nThus of Arthur I find no more written in books that be authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death heard I never read, but thus was he led away in a ship wherein were three queens; that one was King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgan le Fay, the other was the Queen of Northgales, and the third was the Queen of the Waste Lands. Also there was Dame Nenive, the chief lady of the lake, which had wedded Pelleas the good knight, and this lady had done much for King Arthur. And this Dame Nenive would never suffer Sir Pelleas to be in no place where he should be in danger of his life, and so he lived to the uttermost of his days with her in great rest.\n\nNow more of the death of King Arthur could I never find, but that these ladies brought him to his grave; and such one was interred there which the hermit bore witness, that sometime was Bishop of Canterbury. But yet the hermit knew not in certain that he was verily the body of King Arthur; for this tale Sir Bedivere, a knight of the Table Round, made it to be written.\n\nYet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had by the will of Our Lord Jesu into another place; and men say that he shall come again, and he shall win the Holy Cross. Yet I will not say that it shall be so; but rather I would say, here in this world he changed his life. But many men say that there is written upon the tomb this:\n\nHie iacet Arthurus, rex quondam rexque futurus.\n\nAnd thus leave I here Sir Bedivere with the hermit, that dwelled that time in a chapel beside Glastonbury, and there was his hermitage. And so they lived in prayers and fastings and great abstinence.\n\nAnd when Queen Guenivere understood that King Arthur was dead and all the noble knights, Sir Mordred, and all the remnant, then she stole away with five ladies with her, and so she went to Amesbury; and there she let make herself a nun, and wore white clothes and black, and great penance she took upon her as ever did sinful woman in this land. And never creature could make her merry; but ever she lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds, that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed.\n\nNow leave we the Queen in Amesbury, a nun in white clothes and black, and there she was abbess and ruler as reason would. And now turn we from her, and speak we of Sir Lancelot du Lake.\n\nWhen he heard in his country that Sir Mordred was crowned king in England, and made war against King Arthur, his own father, and would let him to land in his own land; also it was told him how Sir Mordred had laid a siege about the Tower of London, because the Queen would not wed him\u2014then was Sir Lancelot wroth out of measure, and said to his kinsmen,\n\n'Alas, that double traitor Sir Mordred, now me repenteth that ever he escaped my hands, for much shame hath he done unto my lord Arthur. For I feel by this doleful letter that Sir Gawain sent me, on whose soul Jesu have mercy, that my lord Arthur is full hard bestead. Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'that ever I should live to hear of that most noble king that made me knight thus to be overset with his subject in his own realm! And this doleful letter that my lord Sir Gawain hath sent me before his death, praying me to see his tomb, wit you well his doleful words shall never go from my heart, for he was a full noble knight as ever was born. And in an unhappy hour was I born that ever I should have that mishap to slay first Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris the good knight, and my own friend Sir Gareth that was a full noble knight. Now, alas, I may say I am unhappy that ever I should do thus, and yet, alas, might I never have hap to slay that traitor, Sir Mordred.'\n\n'Now leave your complaints,' said Sir Bors, 'and first revenge you of the death of Sir Gawain, on whose soul Jesu have mercy, and it will be well done that ye see his tomb. And secondly, that ye revenge my lord Arthur and my lady Queen Guenivere.'\n\n'I thank you,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for ever ye will my worship.'\n\nThen they made them ready in all haste that might be, with ships and galleys, with him and his host to pass into England. And so at the last he came to Dover; and there he landed with seven kings, and the number was hideous to behold.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot spered of men of Dover where was the King become. And anon the people told him how he was slain and Sir Mordred too, with a hundred thousand that died upon a day; and how Sir Mordred gave King Arthur the first battle there at his landing, and there was Sir Gawain slain; and upon the morn Sir Mordred fought with the King on Barham Down, and there the King put Sir Mordred to the worse.\n\n'Alas,' said Sir Lancelot, 'this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to my heart. Now, fair sirs,' said Sir Lancelot, 'show me the tomb of Sir Gawain.'\n\nAnd anon he was brought into the castle of Dover, and so they showed him the tomb. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down by the tomb and wept, and prayed heartily for his soul. And that night he let make a dole for all that would come of the town or of the country: they had as much flesh and fish and wine and ale, and every man and woman he dealt twelve pence, come whoso would. Thus with his own hand dealt he this money, in a mourning gown; and ever he wept heartily, and prayed the people to pray for the soul of Sir Gawain. And on the morn all the priests and clerks that might be gotten in the country and in the town were there, and sang Masses of requiem. And there offered first Sir Lancelot, and he offered a hundred pounds; and then the seven kings offered, and each of them offered forty pounds. Also there was a thousand knights, and each of them offered a pound; and the offering dured from the morn to night. And Sir Lancelot lay two nights upon his tomb in prayers and in doleful weeping.\n\nThen on the third day, Sir Lancelot called the kings, dukes, and earls, with the barons and all his noble knights, and said thus: 'My fair lords, I thank you all of your coming into this country with me. But wit you well, all we are come too late, and that shall repent me while I live; but against death may no man rebel. But sithen it is so,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I will myself ride and seek my lady, Queen Guenivere; for as I hear say she hath had great pain and much disease, and I hear say that she is fled into the west. And therefore ye all shall abide me here, and but if I come again within these fifteen days, take your ships and your fellowship and depart into your country, for I will do as I say you.'\n\nThen came Sir Bors and said, 'My lord Sir Lancelot, what think ye for to do now for to ride in this realm? Wit you well ye shall find few friends.'\n\n'Be as be may as for that,' said Sir Lancelot. 'Keep you still here, for I will forth on my journey, and no man nor child shall go with me.'\n\nSo it was no boot to strive, but he departed and rode westerly, and there he sought seven or eight days; and at the last he came to a nunnery. And anon Queen Guenivere was ware of Sir Lancelot as she walked in the cloister; and anon as she saw him there she swooned thrice, that all ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the Queen from the earth.\n\nSo when she might speak, she called her ladies and gentlewomen to her, and then she said thus: 'Ye marvel, fair ladies, why I make this fare. Truly,' she said, 'it is for the sight of yonder knight that yonder standeth; wherefore I pray you call him hither to me.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot was brought before her; then the Queen said to all those ladies, 'Through this same man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God's grace and through His Passion of His wounds wide, that after my death I may have a sight of the blessed face of Christ Jesu, and at Doomsday to sit on His right side; for as sinful as ever I was, now are saints in heaven. And therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me no more in the visage. And I command thee, on God's behalf, that thou forsake my company; and to thy kingdom look thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, my heart will not serve now to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realm, and there take ye a wife and live with her with joy and bliss. And I pray thee heartily to pray for me to the everlasting Lord that I may amend my misliving.'\n\n'Now, my sweet madam,' said Sir Lancelot, 'would ye that I should turn again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promised. But the self destiny that ye have taken you to, I will take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu; and ever for you I cast me specially to pray.'\n\n'Ah, Sir Lancelot, if ye will do so and hold thy promise! But I may never believe you,' said the Queen, 'but that ye will turn to the world again.'\n\n'Well, madam,' said he, 'ye say as it pleaseth you, for yet wist ye me never false of my promise. And God defend but I should forsake the world as ye have done, for in the quest of the Sangrail I had that time forsaken the vanities of the world had not your love been. And if I had done so at that time with my heart, will, and thought, I had passed all the knights that ever were in the Sangrail except Sir Galahad, my son. And therefore, lady, sithen ye have taken you to perfection, I must needs take me to perfection, of right. For I take record of God, in you I have had mine earthly joy; and if I had found you now so disposed, I had cast me to have had you into mine own realm. But sithen I find you thus disposed, I ensure you faithfully, I will ever take me to penance and pray while my life lasteth, if that I may find any hermit, either grey or white, that will receive me. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me, and never no more.'\n\n'Nay,' said the Queen, 'that shall I never do, but abstain you from such works.' And they departed; but there was never so hard a hearted man but he would have wept to see the dolour that they made, for there was lamentation as they had been stung with spears. And many times they swooned, and the ladies bore the Queen to her chamber. And Sir Lancelot awoke, and went and took his horse, and rode all that day and all night in a forest, weeping.\n\nAnd at last he was ware of a hermitage and a chapel stood betwixt two cliffs; and then he heard a little bell ring to Mass, and thither he rode and alit and tied his horse to the gate, and heard Mass, and he that sang Mass was the Bishop of Canterbury. Both the bishop and Sir Bedivere knew Sir Lancelot, and they spoke together after Mass; but when Sir Bedivere had told his tale all whole, Sir Lancelot's heart almost brast for sorrow. And Sir Lancelot threw his arms abroad and said, 'Alas, who may trust this world?'\n\nAnd then he kneeled down on his knee, and prayed the bishop to shrive him and assoil him; and then he besought the bishop that he might be his brother. Then the bishop said, 'I will gladly,' and there he put a habit upon Sir Lancelot. And there he served God day and night with prayers and fastings.\n\nThus the great host abode at Dover. And then Sir Lionel took fifteen lords with him, and rode to London to seek Sir Lancelot; and there Sir Lionel was slain, and many of his lords. Then Sir Bors de Ganis made the great host for to go home again; and Sir Bors, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, with more other of Sir Lancelot's kin, took on them to ride all England overthwart and endlong to seek Sir Lancelot.\n\nSo Sir Bors by fortune rode so long till he came to the same chapel where Sir Lancelot was; and so Sir Bors heard a little bell knell that rang to Mass, and there he alit and heard Mass. And when Mass was done, the bishop, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Bedivere came to Sir Bors; and when Sir Bors saw Sir Lancelot in that manner clothing, then he prayed the bishop that he might be in the same suit. And so there was a habit put upon him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. And within half a year, there was come Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars, Sir Clarrus, and Sir Gahalantine. So all these seven noble knights there abode still; and when they saw Sir Lancelot had taken him to such perfection, they had no lust to depart, but took such a habit as he had.\n\nThus they endured in great penance six years; and then Sir Lancelot took the habit of priesthood of the bishop, and a twelve-month he sang Mass. And there was none of these other knights but they read in books, and helped for to sing Mass, and rang bells, and did lowly all manner of service. And so their horses went where they would, for they took no regard of no worldly riches; for when they saw Sir Lancelot endure such penance in prayers and fastings, they took no force what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean.\n\nAnd thus upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot, and charged him, in remission of his sins, to haste him unto Amesbury: 'And by then thou come there, thou shalt find Queen Guenivere dead. And therefore take thy fellows with thee and purvey them of a horse bier, and fetch thou the corpse of her, and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur.' So this vision came to Sir Lancelot thrice in one night.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot rose up or day, and told the hermit.\n\n'It were well done', said the hermit, 'that ye made you ready, and that ye disobey not the vision.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot took his seven fellows with him, and on foot they yede from Glastonbury to Amesbury, the which is little more than thirty miles. And thither they came within two days, for they were weak and feeble to go. And when Sir Lancelot was come to Amesbury within the nunnery, Queen Guenivere died but half an hour before. And the ladies told Sir Lancelot that Queen Guenivere told them all or she passed, that Sir Lancelot had been priest near a twelvemonth, 'And hither he cometh as fast as he may to fetch my corpse; and beside my lord, King Arthur, he shall bury me.' Wherefore the Queen said in hearing of them all, 'I beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Lancelot with my worldly eyes.' 'And thus,' said all the ladies, 'was ever her prayer these two days, till she was dead.'\n\nThen Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the dirge, and on the morn he sang Mass. And there was ordained a horse bier; and so with a hundred torches ever burning about the corpse of the Queen, and ever Sir Lancelot with his seven fellows went about the horse bier singing and reading many a holy orison, and frankincense upon the corpse incensed.\n\nThus Sir Lancelot and his seven fellows went on foot from Ames-bury unto Glastonbury; and when they were come to the chapel and the hermitage, there she had a dirge with great devotion, and on the morn the hermit that sometime was Bishop of Canterbury sang the Mass of requiem with great devotion. And Sir Lancelot was the first that offered, and then all his eight fellows. And then she was wrapped in cered cloth of Rennes, from the top to the toe, in thirtyfold; and after she was put in a web of lead, and then in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth, Sir Lancelot swooned and lay long still, while the hermit came and awaked him, and said, 'Ye be to blame, for ye displease God with such manner of sorrow-making.'\n\n'Truly,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth my intent. For my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never have end. For when I remember of her beauty and of her noblesse, that was both with her king and with her, so when I saw his corpse and her corpse so lie together, truly my heart would not serve to sustain my careful body. Also when I remember me how by my fault, my orgule, and my pride that they were both laid full low, that were peerless that ever was living of Christian people\u2014wit you well,' said Sir Lancelot, 'this remembered of their kindness and my unkindness sank so to my heart, that I might not sustain myself.' So the French book maketh mention.\n\nThen Sir Lancelot never after ate but little meat, nor drank, till he was dead; for then he sickened more and more, and dried and dwindled away. For the bishop nor none of his fellows might not make him to eat, and little he drank, that he was waxen by a cubit shorter than he was, that the people could not know him. For evermore, day and night, he prayed, but sometime he slumbered a broken sleep; ever he was lying grovelling on the tomb of King Arthur and Queen Guenivere. And there was no comfort that the bishop, nor Sir Bors, nor none of his fellows could make him, it availed not.\n\nSo within six weeks after, Sir Lancelot fell sick and lay in his bed; and then he sent for the bishop that there was hermit, and all his true fellows. Then Sir Lancelot said with dreary Steven, 'Sir bishop, I pray you give to me all my rites that longeth to a Christian man.'\n\n'It shall not need you,' said the hermit and all his fellows, 'it is but heaviness of your blood, ye shall be well mended by the grace of God tomorrow.'\n\n'My fair lords,' said Sir Lancelot, 'wit you well my careful body will into the earth, I have warning more than now I will say; therefore give me my rites.'\n\nSo when he was houselled and eneled, and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the bishop that his fellows might bear his body to Joyous Gard\u2014some men say it was Alnwick, and some men say it was Bamborough\u2014'howbeit,' said Sir Lancelot, 'me repenteth sore, but I made my vow some time, that in Joyous Gard I would be buried. And because of breaking of my vow, I pray you all, lead me thither.' Then there was weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows.\n\nSo at a season of the night they all went to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber. And so after midnight, against day, the bishop that was hermit, as he lay in his bed asleep, he fell upon a great laughter. And therewith the fellowship awoke and came to the bishop, and asked him what he ailed.\n\n'Ah, Jesu mercy,' said the bishop, 'why did ye wake me? I was never in all my life so merry and so well at ease.'\n\n'Wherefore?' said Sir Bors.\n\n'Truly,' said the bishop, 'here was Sir Lancelot with me with more angels than ever I saw men in one day. And I saw the angels heave up Sir Lancelot unto heaven, and the gates of heaven opened against him.'\n\n'It is but dretching of swevens,' said Sir Bors, 'for I doubt not Sir Lancelot aileth nothing but good.'\n\n'It may well be,' said the bishop. 'Go ye to his bed, and then shall ye prove the sooth.'\n\nSo when Sir Bors and his fellows came to his bed, they found him stark dead; and he lay as he had smiled, and the sweetest savour about him that ever they felt. Then was there weeping and wringing of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made men. And on the morn the bishop did his Mass of requiem; and after, the bishop and all the nine knights put Sir Lancelot in the same horse bier that Queen Guenivere was laid in before that she was buried. And so the bishop and they all together went with the body of Sir Lancelot daily till they came to Joyous Gard, and ever they had a hundred torches burning about him. And so within fifteen days they came to Joyous Gard; and there they laid his corpse in the body of the choir, and sang and read many psalters and prayers over him and about him. And ever his visage was laid open and naked, that all folks might behold him. For such was the custom in those days, that all men of worship should so lie with open visage till that they were buried. And right thus as they were at their service, there came Sir Ector de Maris that had seven years sought all England, Scotland, and Wales seeking his brother Sir Lancelot.\n\nAnd when Sir Ector heard such noise and light in the choir of Joyous Gard, he alit and put his horse from him, and came into the choir, and there he saw men sing and weep; and all they knew Sir Ector, but he knew not them.\n\nThen went Sir Bors unto Sir Ector, and told him how there lay his brother Sir Lancelot, dead; and then Sir Ector threw his shield, sword, and helm from him. And when he beheld Sir Lancelot's visage, he fell down in a swoon. And when he woke, it were hard any tongue to tell the doleful complaints that he made for his brother.\n\n'Ah, Lancelot,' he said, 'thou were head of all Christian knights! And now I dare say,' said Sir Ector, 'thou, Sir Lancelot, there thou liest, that thou were never matched of earthly knight's hand. And thou were the courteoust knight that ever bore shield; and thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. And thou was the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies, and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest.'\n\nThen there was weeping and dolour out of measure.\n\nThus they kept Sir Lancelot's corpse aloft fifteen days, and then they buried it with great devotion. And then at leisure they went all with the Bishop of Canterbury to his hermitage, and there they were together more than a month.\n\nThen Sir Constantine, that was Sir Cador's son of Cornwall, was chosen king of England; and he was a full noble knight, and worship-fully he ruled this realm. And then this King Constantine sent for the Bishop of Canterbury, for he heard say where he was; and so he was restored unto his bishopric, and left that hermitage. And Sir Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end.\n\nThen Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Gahalantine, Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars le Valiant, Sir Clarrus of Cleremont, all these knights drew them to their countries\u2014howbeit King Constantine would have had them with him, but they would not abide in this realm. And there they all lived in their countries as holy men. And some English books make mention that they went never out of England after the death of Sir Lancelot, but that was but favour of makers. For the French book maketh mention, and is authorized, that Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Bleoberis went into the Holy Land there as Jesu Christ was quick and dead, and anon as they had established their lands. For the book saith, so Sir Lancelot commanded them for to do or ever he passed out of this world. And these four knights did many battles upon the miscreants or Turks; and there they died upon a Good Friday for God's sake.\n\nHere is the end of the whole book of King Arthur, and of his noble knights of the Round Table, that when they were whole together there was ever a hundred and forty. And here is the end of the death of Arthur. I pray you, all gentlemen and gentlewomen that readeth this book of Arthur and his knights from the beginning to the ending, pray for me while I am alive, that God send me good deliverance, and when I am dead, I pray you all pray for my soul.\n\nFor this book was ended the ninth year of the reign of King Edward the Fourth by Sir Thomas Malory, knight, as Jesu help him for His great might, as he is the servant ofjesu both day and night\n\nAfter that I had accomplished and finished divers histories, as well of contemplation as of other historical and worldly acts of great conquerors and princes, and also certain books of examples and doctrine, many noble and divers gentlemen of this realm of England came and demanded me, many and ofttimes, wherefore that I have not done made and imprinted the noble history of the Sangrail, and of the most renowned Christian king, first and chief of the three best Christian and worthy, King Arthur, which ought most to be remembered among us English men before all other Christian kings.\n\nFor it is noteworthily known through the universal world that there be nine worthy and the best that ever were, that is to wit, three paynims, three Jews, and three Christian men. As for the paynims, they were before the Incarnation of Christ, which were named: the first, Hector of Troy, of whom the history is common both in ballad and in prose; the second, Alexander the Great; and the third, Julius Caesar, Emperor of Rome, of whom the histories be well-known and had. And as for the three Jews, which also were before the Incarnation of our Lord, of whom the first was Duke Joshua, which brought the children of Israel into the land of behest; the second David, King of Jerusalem; and the third Judas Maccabaeus\u2014of these three the Bible rehearseth all their noble histories and acts. And sith the said Incarnation have been three noble Christian men installed and admitted through the universal world into the number of the nine best and worthy, of whom was first the noble Arthur, whose noble acts I purpose to write in this present book here following. The second was Charlemagne, or Charles the Great, of whom the history is had in many places both in French and in English; and the third and last was Godfrey of Bouillon, of whose acts and life I made a book unto the excellent prince and king of noble memory, King Edward the Fourth.\n\nThe said noble gentlemen instantly required me to imprint the history of the said noble king and conqueror, King Arthur, and of his knights, with the history of the Sangrail, and of the death and ending of the said Arthur, affirming that I ought rather to imprint his acts and noble feats, than of Godfrey of Bouillon or any of the other eight, considering that he was a man born within this realm, and king and emperor of the same; and that there be in French divers and many noble volumes of his acts, and also of his knights. To whom I answered, that divers men hold opinion that there was no such Arthur; and that all such books as be made of him be but feigned and fables, because that some chronicles make of him no mention nor remember him nothing, nor of his knights.\n\nWhereto they answered, and one in special said that in him that should say or think that there was never such a king called Arthur might well be aretted great folly and blindness; for he said that there were many evidences of the contrary. First, ye may see his sepulchre in the monastery of Glastonbury; and also in Polychronicon in the fifth book the sixth chapter, and in the seventh book the twenty-third chapter, where his body was buried, and after found and translated into the said monastery. Ye shall see also in the history of Boccaccio, in his book De casu principum, part of his noble acts, and also of his fall. Also Galfridus in his Brutish book recounteth his life. And in divers places of England many remembrances be yet of him and shall remain perpetually, and also of his knights. First in the Abbey of Westminster, at Saint Edward's shrine, remaineth the print of his seal in red wax closed in beryl, in which is written 'Patricius Arthurus, Britannie, Gallie, Germanie, Dacie, Imperator.' Item in the castle of Dover ye may see Gawain's skull and Craddock's mantle; at Winchester, the Round Table; in other places, Lancelot's sword and many other things. Then all these things considered, there can no man reasonably gainsay but there was a king of this land named Arthur. For in all places, Christian and heathen, he is reputed and taken for one of the nine worthy, and the first of the three Christian men. And also he is more spoken of beyond the sea, more books made of his noble acts than there be in England: as well in Dutch, Italian, Spanish, and Greek, as in French. And yet of record remain in witness of him in Wales, in the town of Camelot, the great stones and marvellous works of iron lying under the ground, and royal vaults, which divers now living hath seen. Wherefore it is a marvel why he is no more renowned in his own country, save only it accordeth to the word of God, which saith that no man is accepted for a prophet in his own country.\n\nThen, all these things foresaid alleged, I could not well deny but that there was such a noble king named Arthur, and reputed one of the nine worthy, and first and chief of the Christian men. And many noble volumes be made of him and of his noble knights in French, which I have seen and read beyond the sea, which be not had in our maternal tongue; but in Welsh be many and also in French\u2014and some in English, but nowhere nigh all. Wherefore, such as have late been drawn out briefly into English I have after the simple cunning that God hath sent to me, under the favour and correction of all noble lords and gentlemen, enprised to imprint a book of the noble histories of the said King Arthur and of certain of his knights, after a copy unto me delivered; which copy Sir Thomas Malory did take out of certain books of French, and reduced it into English.\n\nAnd I, according to my copy, have done set it in imprint, to the intent that noble men may see and learn the noble acts of chivalry, the gentle and virtuous deeds that some knights used in those days, by which they came to honour; and how they that were vicious were punished and oft put to shame and rebuke; humbly beseeching all noble lords and ladies, with all other estates, of what estate or degree they be of, that shall see and read in this said book and work, that they take the good and honest acts in their remembrance, and to follow the same; wherein they shall find many joyous and pleasant histories, and noble and renowned acts of humanity, gentleness, and chivalries. For herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. Do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renown.\n\nAnd for to pass the time this book shall be pleasant to read in; but for to give faith and belief that all is true that is contained herein, ye be at your liberty. But all is written for our doctrine, and for to beware that we fall not to vice nor sin, but to exercise and follow virtue, by which we may come and attain to good fame and renown in this life, and after this short and transitory life, to come unto everlasting bliss in heaven: the which he grant us that reigneth in heaven, the blessed Trinity. Amen."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Fire Watch",
        "author": "Connie Willis",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "science fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "time travel",
            "medieval",
            "Oxford Time Travel"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Fire Watch",
                "text": "\u2002Time is the fire in which we burn. \u2014Delmore Schwartz\n\n\u2002History hath triumphed over time, which besides it nothing but eternity hath triumphed over. \u2014Sir Walter Raleigh\n\nSeptember 20: Of course the first thing I looked for was the fire watch stone. And of course it wasn't there yet. It wasn't dedicated until 1951, accompanying speech by the Very Reverend Dean Walter Matthews, and this is only 1940. I knew that. I went to see the fire watch stone only yesterday, with some kind of misplaced notion that seeing the scene of the crime would somehow help. It didn't.\n\nThe only things that would have helped were a crash course in London during the Blitz and a little more time. I had not gotten either.\n\n\"Traveling in time is not like taking the tube, Mr. Bartholomew,\" the esteemed Dunworthy had said, blinking at me through those antique spectacles of his. \"Either you report on the twentieth or you don't go at all.\"\n\n\"But I'm not ready,\" I'd said. \"Look, it took me four years to get ready to travel with St. Paul. St. Paul. Not St. Paul's. You can't expect me to get ready for London in the Blitz in two days.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy had said. \"We can.\" End of conversation.\n\n\"Two days!\" I had shouted at my roommate Kivrin. \"All because some computer adds an 's. And the esteemed Dunworthy doesn't even bat an eye when I tell him. 'Time travel is not like taking the tube, young man,' he says. 'I'd suggest you get ready. You're leaving day after tomorrow.' The man's a total incompetent.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"He isn't. He's the best there is. He wrote the book on St. Paul's. Maybe you should listen to what he says.\"\n\nI had expected Kivrin to be at least a little sympathetic. She had been practically hysterical when she got her practicum changed from fifteenth- to fourteenth-century England, and how did either century qualify as a practicum? Even counting infectious diseases they couldn't have been more than a five. The Blitz is an eight, and St. Paul's itself is, with my luck, a ten.\n\n\"You think I should go see Dunworthy again?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And then what? I've got two days. I don't know the money, the language, the history. Nothing.\"\n\n\"He's a good man,\" Kivrin said. \"I think you'd better listen to him while you can.\" Good old Kivrin. Always the sympathetic ear.\n\nThe good man was responsible for my standing just inside the propped-open west doors, gawking like the country boy I was supposed to be, looking for a stone that wasn't there. Thanks to the good man, I was about as unprepared for my practicum as it was possible for him to make me.\n\nI couldn't see more than a few feet into the church. I could see a candle gleaming feebly a long way off and a closer blur of white moving toward me. A verger, or possibly the Very Reverend Dean himself. I pulled out the letter from my clergyman uncle in Wales that was supposed to gain me access to the dean, and patted my back pocket to make sure I hadn't lost the microfiche Oxford English Dictionary, Revised, with Historical Supplements, I'd smuggled out of the Bodleian. I couldn't pull it out in the middle of the conversation, but with luck I could muddle through the first encounter by context and look up the words I didn't know later.\n\n\"Are you from the ayarpee?\" he said. He was no older than I am, a head shorter and much thinner. Almost ascetic looking. He reminded me of Kivrin. He was not wearing white, but clutching it to his chest. In other circumstances I would have thought it was a pillow. In other circumstances I would know what was being said to me, but there had been no time to unlearn sub-Mediterranean Latin and Jewish law and learn Cockney and air raid procedures. Two days, and the esteemed Dunworthy, who wanted to talk about the sacred burdens of the historian instead of telling me what the ayarpee was.\n\n\"Are you?\" he demanded again.\n\nI considered whipping out the OED after all on the grounds that Wales was a foreign country, but I didn't think they had microfilm in 1940. Ayarpee. It could be anything, including a nickname for the fire watch, in which case the impulse to say no was not safe at all. \"No,\" I said.\n\nHe lunged suddenly toward and past me and peered out the open doors. \"Damn,\" he said, coming back to me. \"Where are they then? Bunch of lazy bourgeois tarts!\" And so much for getting by on context.\n\nHe looked at me closely suspiciously; as if he thought I was only pretending not to be with the ayarpee. \"The church is closed,\" he said finally I held up the envelope and said, \"My name's Bartholomew. Is Dean Matthews in?\"\n\nHe looked out the door a moment longer as if he expected the lazy bourgeois tarts at any moment and intended to attack them with the white bundle; then he turned and said, as if he were guiding a tour, \"This way, please,\" and took off into the gloom.\n\nHe led me to the right and down the south aisle of the nave. Thank God I had memorized the floor plan or at that moment, heading into total darkness, led by a raving verger, the whole bizarre metaphor of my situation would have been enough to send me out the west doors and back to St. John's Wood. It helped a little to know where I was. We should have been passing number twenty-six: Hunt's painting of \"The Light of the World\"\u2014Jesus with his lantern\u2014but it was too dark to see it. We could have used the lantern ourselves.\n\nHe stopped abruptly ahead of me, still raving. \"We weren't asking for the bloody savoy, just a few cots. Nelson's better off than we are\u2014at least he's got a pillow provided.\" He brandished the white bundle like a torch in the darkness. It was a pillow after all. \"We asked for them over a fortnight ago, and here we still are, sleeping on the bleeding generals from Trafalgar because those bitches want to play tea and crumpets with the tommies at victoria and the hell with us!\"\n\nHe didn't seem to expect me to answer his outburst, which was good, because I had understood perhaps one key word in three. He stomped on ahead, moving out of sight of the one pathetic altar candle and stopping again at a black hole. Number twenty-five: stairs to the Whispering Gallery the Dome, the library (not open to the public). Up the stairs, down a hall, stop again at a medieval door and knock. \"I've got to go wait for them,\" he said. \"If I'm not there they'll likely take them over to the Abbey. Tell the Dean to ring them up again, will you?\" and he took off down the stone steps, still holding his pillow like a shield against him.\n\nHe had knocked, but the door was at least a foot of solid oak, and it was obvious the Very Reverend Dean had not heard. I was going to have to knock again. Yes, well, and the man holding the pinpoint had to let go of it, too, but even knowing it will all be over in a moment and you won't feel a thing doesn't make it any easier to say, \"Now!\" So I stood in front of the door, cursing the history department and the esteemed Dunworthy and the computer that had made the mistake and brought me here to this dark door with only a letter from a fictitious uncle that I trusted no more than I trusted the rest of them.\n\nEven the old reliable Bodleian had let me down. The batch of research stuff I cross-ordered through Balliol and the main terminal is probably sitting in my room right now, a century out of reach. And Kivrin, who had already done her practicum and should have been bursting with advice, walked around as silent as a saint until I begged her to help me.\n\n\"Did you go to see Dunworthy?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes. You want to know what priceless bit of information he had for me? 'Silence and humility are the sacred burdens of the historian.' He also told me I would love St. Paul's. Golden gems from the Master. Unfortunately, what I need to know are the times and places of the bombs so one doesn't fall on me.\" I hopped down on the bed. \"Any suggestions?\"\n\n\"How good are you at memory retrieval?\" she said.\n\nI sat up. \"I'm pretty good. You think I should assimilate?\"\n\n\"There isn't time for that,\" she said. \"I think you should put everything you can directly into long-term.\"\n\n\"You mean endorphins?\" I said.\n\nThe biggest problem with using memory-assistance drugs to put information into your long-term memory is that it never sits, even for a microsecond, in your short-term memory; and that makes retrieval complicated, not to mention unnerving. It gives you the most unsettling sense of d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu to suddenly know something you're positive you've never seen or heard before.\n\nThe main problem, though, is not eerie sensations but retrieval. Nobody knows exactly how the brain gets what it wants out of storage, but short-term is definitely involved. That brief, sometimes microscopic, time information spends in short-term is apparently used for something besides tip-of-the-tongue availability. The whole complex sort-and-file process of retrieval is apparently centered in short-term, and without it, and without the help of the drugs that put it there or artificial substitutes, information can be impossible to retrieve. I'd used endorphins for examinations and never had any difficulty with retrieval, and it looked like it was the only way to store all the information I needed in anything approaching the time I had left, but it also meant that I would never have known any of the things I needed to know, even for long enough to have forgotten them. If and when I could retrieve the information, I would know it. Till then I was as ignorant of it as if it were not stored in some cobwebbed corner of my mind at all.\n\n\"You can retrieve without artificials, can't you?\" Kivrin said, looking skeptical.\n\n\"I guess I'll have to.\"\n\n\"Under stress? Without sleep? Low body endorphin levels?\" What exactly had her practicum been? She had never said a word about it, and undergraduates are not supposed to ask. Stress factors in the Middle Ages? I thought everybody slept through them.\n\n\"I hope so,\" I said, \"Anyway, I'm willing to try this idea if you think it will help.\"\n\nShe looked at me with that martyred expression and said, \"Nothing will help.\" Thank you, St. Kivrin of Balliol.\n\nBut I tried it anyway. It was better than sitting in Dunworthy's rooms having him blink at me through his historically accurate eyeglasses and tell me I was going to love St. Paul's. When my Bodleian requests didn't come, I overloaded my credit and bought out Blackwells, Tapes on World War II, Celtic literature, history of mass transit, tourist guidebooks, everything I could think of. Then I rented a high-speed recorder and shot up. When I came out of it, I was so panicked by the feeling of not knowing any more than I had when I started that I took the tube to London and raced up Ludgate Hill to see if the fire watch stone would trigger any memories. It didn't.\n\n\"Your endorphin levels aren't back to normal yet,\" I told myself and tried to relax, but that was impossible with the prospect of the practicum looming up before me. And those are real bullets, kid. Just because you're a history major doing his practicum doesn't mean you can't get killed. I read history books all the way home on the tube and right up until Dunworthy's flunkies came to take me to St. John's Wood this morning.\n\nThen I jammed the microfiche OED in my back pocket and went off feeling as if I would have to survive by my native wit and hoping I could get hold of artificials in 1940. Surely I could get through the first day without mishap, I thought, and now here I was, stopped cold by almost the first word that was spoken to me.\n\nWell, not quite. In spite of Kivrin's advice that I not put anything in short-term, I'd memorized the British money, a map of the tube system, a map of my own Oxford. It had gotten me this far. Surely I would be able to deal with the Dean.\n\nJust as I had almost gotten up the courage to knock, he opened the door, and as with the pinpoint, it really was over quickly and without pain. I handed him my letter and he shook my hand and said something understandable like, \"Glad to have another man, Bartholomew.\" He looked strained and tired and as if he might collapse if I told him the Blitz had just started. I know, I know: Keep your mouth shut. The sacred silence, etc.\n\nHe said, \"We'll get Langby to show you round, shall we?\" I assumed that was my Verger of the Pillow, and I was right. He met us at the foot of the stairs, puffing a little but jubilant.\n\n\"The cots came,\" he said to Dean Matthews. \"You'd have thought they were doing us a favor. All high heels and hoity-toity. 'You made us miss our tea, luv,' one of them said to me. 'Yes, well, and a good thing, too,' I said. 'You look as if you could stand to lose a stone or two.'\"\n\nEven Dean Matthews looked as though he did not completely understand him. He said, \"Did you set them up in the crypt?\" and then introduced us. \"Mr. Bartholomew's just got in from Wales,\" he said. \"He's come to join our volunteers.\" Volunteers, not fire watch.\n\nLangby showed me round, pointing out various dimnesses in the general gloom and then dragged me down to see the ten folding canvas cots set up among the tombs in the crypt, also in passing, Lord Nelson's black marble sarcophagus. He told me I don't have to stand a watch the first night and suggested I go to bed, since sleep is the most precious commodity in the raids. I could well believe it. He was clutching that silly pillow to his breast like his beloved.\n\n\"Do you hear the sirens down here?\" I asked, wondering if he buried his head in it.\n\nHe looked round at the low stone ceilings. \"Some do, some don't. Brinton has to have his Horlich's. Bence-Jones would sleep if the roof fell in on him. I have to have a pillow. The important thing is to get your eight in no matter what. If you don't, you turn into one of the walking dead. And then you get killed.\"\n\nOn that cheering note he went off to post the watches for tonight, leaving his pillow on one of the cots with orders for me to let nobody touch it. So here I sit, waiting for my first air raid siren and trying to get all this down before I turn into one of the walking or non-walking dead.\n\nI've used the stolen OED to decipher a little Langby Middling success. A tart is either a pastry or a prostitute (I assume the latter, although I was wrong about the pillow.) Bourgeois is a catchall term for all the faults of the middle class. A Tommy's a soldier. Ayarpee I could not find under any spelling and I had nearly given up when something in long-term about the use of acronyms and abbreviations in wartime popped forward (bless you, St. Kivrin) and I realized it must be an abbreviation. ARP. Air Raid Precautions. Of course. Where else would you get the bleeding cots from?\n\nSeptember 21: Now that I'm past the first shock of being here, I realize that the history department neglected to tell me what I'm supposed to do in the three-odd months of this practicum. They handed me this journal, the letter from my uncle, and ten pounds in pre-war money and sent me packing into the past. The ten pounds (already depleted by train and tube fares) is supposed to last me until the end of December and get me back to St. John's Wood for pickup when the second letter calling me back to Wales to sick uncle's bedside comes. Till then I live here in the crypt with Nelson, who, Langby tells me, is pickled in alcohol inside his coffin. If we take a direct hit, will he burn like a torch or simply trickle out in a decaying stream onto the crypt floor, I wonder. Board is provided by a gas ring, over which are cooked wretched lea and indescribable kippers. To pay for all this luxury I am to stand on the roofs of St. Paul's and put out incendiaries.\n\nI must also accomplish the purpose of this practicum, whatever it may be. Right now the only purpose I care about is staying alive until the second letter from uncle arrives and I can go home.\n\nI am doing make-work until Langby has time to \"show me the ropes.\" I've cleaned the skillet they cook the foul little fishes in, stacked wooden folding chairs at the altar end of the crypt (flat instead of standing because they tend to collapse like bombs in the middle of the night), and tried to sleep.\n\nI am apparently not one of the lucky ones who can sleep through the raids. I spent most of the night wondering what St. Paul's risk rating is. Practica have to be at least a six. Last night I was convinced this was a ten, with the crypt as ground zero, and that I might as well have applied for Denver.\n\nThe most interesting thing that's happened so far is that I've seen a cat. I am fascinated, but trying not to appear so, since they seem commonplace here.\n\nSeptember 22: Still in the crypt. Langby comes dashing through periodically cursing various government agencies (all abbreviated) and promising to take me up on the roofs. In the meantime I've run out of make-work and taught myself to work a stirrup pump. Kivrin was overly concerned about my memory retrieval abilities. I have not had any trouble so far. Quite the opposite. I called up fire-fighting information and got the whole manual with pictures, including instructions on the use of the stirrup pump. If the kippers set Lord Nelson on fire, I shall be a hero.\n\nExcitement last night. The sirens went early and some of the chars who clean offices in the City sheltered in the crypt with us. One of them woke me out of a sound sleep, going like an air raid siren. Seems she'd seen a mouse. We had to go whacking at tombs and under the cots with a rubber hoot to persuade her it was gone. Obviously what the history department had in mind: murdering mice.\n\nSeptember 24: Langby took me on rounds. Into the choir, where I had to learn the stirrup pump all over again, assigned rubber boots and a tin helmet. Langby says Commander Allen is getting us asbestos firemen's coats, but hasn't yet, so it's my own wool coat and muffler and very cold on the roofs even in September. It feels like November and looks it, too, bleak and cheerless with no sun. Up to the dome and onto the roofs, which should be flat but in fact are littered with towers, pinnacles, gutters, statues, all designed expressly to catch and hold incendiaries out of reach. Shown how to smother an incendiary with sand before it burns through the roof and sets the church on fire. Shown the ropes (literally) lying in a heap at the base of the dome in case somebody has to go up one of the west towers or over the top of the dome. Back inside and down to the Whispering Gallery.\n\nLangby kept up a running commentary through the whole tour, part practical instruction, part church history. Before we went up into the Gallery he dragged me over to the south door to tell me how Christopher Wren stood in the smoking rubble of Old St. Paul's and asked a workman to bring him a stone from the graveyard to mark the cornerstone. On the stone was written in Latin, \"I shall rise again,\" and Wren was so impressed by the irony that he had the word inscribed above the door. Langby looked as smug as if he had not told me a story every first-year history student knows, but I suppose without the impact of the fire watch stone, the other is just a nice story.\n\nLangby raced me up the steps and onto the narrow balcony circling the Whispering Gallery. He was already halfway round to the other side, shouting dimensions and acoustics at me. He stopped facing the wall opposite and said softly, \"You can hear me whispering because of the shape of the dome. The sound waves are reinforced around the perimeter of the dome. It sounds like the very crack of doom up here during a raid. The dome is one hundred and seven feet across. It is eighty feet above the nave.\"\n\nI looked down. The railing went out from under me and the black-and-white marble floor came up with dizzying speed. I hung onto something in front of me and dropped to my knees, staggered and sick at heart. The sun had come out, and all of St. Paul's seemed drenched in gold. Even the carved wood of the choir, the white stone pillars, the leaden pipes of the organ, all of it golden, golden.\n\nLangby was beside me, trying to pull me free. \"Bartholomew,\" he shouted, \"what's wrong? For God's sake, man.\"\n\nI knew I must tell him that if I let go, St. Paul's and all the past would fall in on me, and that I must not let that happen because I was an historian. I said something, but it was not what I intended because Langby merely tightened his grip. He hauled me violently free of the railing and back onto the stairway; then let me collapse limply on the steps and stood back from me, not speaking.\n\n\"I don't know what happened in there,\" I said. \"I've never been afraid of heights before.\"\n\n\"You're shaking,\" he said sharply \"You'd better lie down.\" He led me back to the crypt.\n\nSeptember 25: Memory retrieval: ARP manual. Symptoms of bombing victims. Stage one\u2014shock; stupefaction; unawareness of injuries; words may not make sense except to victim. Stage two\u2014shivering; nausea; injuries, losses felt; return to reality Stage three\u2014talkativeness that cannot be controlled; desire to explain shock behavior to rescuers.\n\nLangby must surely recognize the symptoms, but how does he account for the fact there was no bomb? I can hardly explain my shock behavior to him, and it isn't just the sacred silence of the historian that stops me.\n\nHe has not said anything, in fact assigned me my first watches for tomorrow night as if nothing had happened, and he seems no more preoccupied than anyone else. Everyone I've met so far is jittery (one thing I had in short-term was how calm everyone was during the raids) and the raids have not come near us since I got here. They've been mostly over the East End and the docks.\n\nThere was a reference tonight to a UXB, and I have been thinking about the Dean's manner and the church being closed when I'm almost sure I remember reading it was open through the entire Blitz. As soon as I get a chance, I'll try to retrieve the events of September. As to retrieving anything else, I don't see how I can hope to remember the right information until I know what it is I am supposed to do here, if anything.\n\nThere are no guidelines for historians, and no restrictions either. I could tell everyone I'm from the future if I thought they would believe me. I could murder Hitler if I could get to Germany. Or could I? Time paradox talk abounds in the history department, and the graduate students back from their practica don't say a word one way or the other. Is there a tough, immutable past? Or is there a new past every day and do we, the historians, make it? And what are the consequences of what we do, if there are consequences? And how do we dare do anything without knowing them? Must we interfere boldly hoping we do not bring about all our downfalls? Or must we do nothing at all, not interfere, stand by and watch St. Paul's burn to the ground if need be so that we don't change the future?\n\nAll those are fine questions for a late-night study session. They do not matter here. I could no more let St. Paul's burn down than I could kill Hitler. No, that is not true. I found that out yesterday in the Whispering Gallery. I could kill Hitler if I caught him setting fire to St. Paul's.\n\nSeptember 26: I met a young woman today. Dean Matthews has opened the church, so the watch have been doing duties as chars and people have started coming in again. The young woman reminded me of Kivrin, though Kivrin is a good deal taller and would never frizz her hair like that. She looked as if she had been crying. Kivrin has looked like that since she got back from her practicum. The Middle Ages were too much for her. I wonder how she would have coped with this. By pouring out her fears to the local priest, no doubt, as I sincerely hoped her look-alike was not going to do.\n\n\"May I help you?\" I said, not wanting in the least to help. \"I'm a volunteer.\"\n\nShe looked distressed. \"You're not paid?\" she said, and wiped at her reddened nose with a handkerchief. \"I read about St. Paul's and the fire watch and all, and I thought perhaps there's a position there for me. In the canteen, like, or something. A paying position.\" There were tears in her red-rimmed eyes.\n\n\"I'm afraid we don't have a canteen,\" I said as kindly as I could, considering how impatient Kivrin always makes me, \"and it's not actually a real shelter. Some of the watch sleep in the crypt. I'm afraid we're all volunteers, though.\"\n\n\"That won't do, then,\" she said. She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. \"I love St. Paul's, but I can't take on volunteer work, not with my little brother Tom back from the country.\" I was not reading this situation properly. For all the outward signs of distress she sounded quite cheerful and no closer to tears than when she had come in. \"I've got to get us a proper place to stay. With Tom back, we can't go on sleeping in the tubes.\"\n\nA sudden feeling of dread, the kind of sharp pain you get sometimes from involuntary retrieval, went over me. \"The tubes?\" I said, trying to get at the memory.\n\n\"Marble Arch, usually,\" she went on. \"My brother Tom saves us a place early and I go...\" She stopped, held the handkerchief close to her nose, and exploded into it. \"I'm sorry,\" she said, \"this awful cold!\"\n\nRed nose, watering eyes, sneezing. Respiratory infection. It was a wonder I hadn't told her not to cry. It's only by luck that I haven't made some unforgivable mistake so far, and this is not because I can't get at the long-term memory. I don't have half the information I need even stored: cats and colds and the way St. Paul's looks in full sun. It's only a matter of time before I am stopped cold by something I do not know. Nevertheless, I am going to try for retrieval tonight after I come off watch. At least I can find out whether and when something is going to fall on me.\n\nI have seen the cat once or twice. He is coal-black with a white patch on his throat that looks as if it were painted on for the blackout.\n\nSeptember 27: I have just come down from the roofs. I am still shaking.\n\nEarly in the raid the bombing was mostly over the East End. The view was incredible. Searchlights everywhere, the sky pink from the fires and reflecting in the Thames, the exploding shells sparkling like fireworks. There was a constant, deafening thunder broken by the occasional droning of the planes high overhead, then the repeating stutter of the ack-ack guns.\n\nAbout midnight the bombs began falling quite near with a horrible sound like a train running over me. It took every bit of will I had to keep from flinging myself flat on the roof, but Langby was watching. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of watching a repeat performance of my behavior in the dome. I kept my head up and my sand bucket flrmly in hand and felt quite proud of myself.\n\nThe bombs stopped roaring past about three, and there was a lull of about half an hour, and then a clatter like hail on the roofs. Everybody except Langby dived for shovels and stirrup pumps. He was watching me. And I was watching the incendiary.\n\nIt had fallen only a few meters from me, behind the clock tower. It was much smaller than I had imagined, only about thirty centimeters long. It was sputtering violently, throwing greenish-white fire almost to where I was standing. In a minute it would simmer down into a molten mass and begin to burn through the roof. Flames and the frantic shouts of firemen, and then the white rubble stretching for miles, and nothing, nothing left, not even the fire watch stone.\n\nIt was the Whispering Gallery all over again. I felt that I had said something, and when I looked at Langby's face he was smiling crookedly.\n\n\"St. Paul's will burn down,\" I said. \"There won't be anything left.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Langby said. \"That's the idea, isn't it? Burn St. Paul's to the ground? Isn't that the plan?\"\n\n\"Whose plan?\" I said stupidly.\n\n\"Hitler's, of course,\" Langby said. \"Who did you think I meant?\" and, almost casually, picked up his stirrup pump.\n\nThe page of the ARP manual flashed suddenly before me. I poured the bucket of sand around the still sputtering bomb, snatched up another bucket and dumped that on top of it. Black smoke billowed up in such a cloud that I could hardly find my shovel. I felt for the smothered bomb with the tip of it and scooped it into the empty bucket, then shoveled the sand in on top of it. Tears were streaming down my face from the acrid smoke. I turned to wipe them on my sleeve and saw Langby.\n\nHe had not made a move to help me. He smiled. \"It's not a bad plan, actually. But of course we won't let it happen. That's what the fire watch is here for. To see that it doesn't happen. Right, Bartholomew?\"\n\nI know now what the purpose of my practicum is. I must stop Langby from burning down St. Paul's.\n\nSeptember 28: I try to tell myself I was mistaken about Langby last night, that I misunderstood what he said. Why would he want to burn down St. Paul's unless he is a Nazi spy? How can a Nazi spy have gotten on the fire watch? I think about my faked letter of introduction and shudder.\n\nHow can I find out? If I set him some test, some fatal thing that only a loyal Englishman in 1940 would know, I fear I am the one who would be caught out. I must get my retrieval working properly.\n\nUntil then, I shall watch Langby. For the time being at least that should be easy. Langby has just posted the watches for the next two weeks. We stand every one together.\n\nSeptember 30: I know what happened in September. Langby told me.\n\nLast night in the choir, putting on our coats and boots, he said, \"They've already tried once, you know.\"\n\nI had no idea what he meant. I felt as helpless as that first day when he asked me if I was from the ayarpee.\n\n\"The plan to destroy St. Paul's. They've already tried once. The tenth of September. A high explosive bomb. But of course you didn't know about that. You were in Wales.\"\n\nI was not even listening. The minute he had said \"high explosive bomb,\" I had remembered it all. It had burrowed in under the road and lodged on the foundations. The bomb squad had tried to defuse it, but there was a leaking gas main. They decided to evacuate St. Paul's, but Dean Matthews refused to leave, and they got it out after all and exploded it in Barking Marshes. Instant and complete retrieval.\n\n\"The bomb squad saved her that time,\" Langby was saying. \"It seems there's always somebody about.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"there is,\" and walked away from him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "October 1: I thought last night's retrieval of the events of September tenth meant some sort of breakthrough, but I have been lying here on my cot most of the night trying for Nazi spies in St. Paul's and getting nothing. Do I have to know exactly what I'm looking for before I can remember it? What good does that do me?\n\nMaybe Langby is not a Nazi spy. Then what is he? An arsonist? A madman? The crypt is hardly conducive to thought, being not at all as silent as a tomb. The chars talk most of the night and the sound of the bombs is muffled, which somehow makes it worse. I find myself straining to hear them. When I did get to sleep this morning, I dreamed about one of the tube shelters being hit, broken mains, drowning people.\n\nOctober 4: I tried to catch the cat today. I had some idea of persuading it to dispatch the mouse that has been terrifying the chars. I also wanted to see one up close. I took the water bucket I had used with the stirrup pump last night to put out some burning shrapnel from one of the antiaircraft guns. It still had a bit of water in it, but not enough to drown the cat, and my plan was to clamp the bucket over him, reach under, and pick him up, then carry him down to the crypt and point him at the mouse. I did not even come close to him.\n\nI swung the bucket, and as I did so, perhaps an inch of water splashed out. I thought I remembered that the cat was a domesticated animal, but I must have been wrong about that. The eat's wide complacent face pulled back into a skull-like mask that was absolutely terrifying, vicious claws extended from what I had thought were harmless paws, and the cat let out a sound to top the chars.\n\nIn my surprise I dropped the bucket and it rolled against one of the pillars. The cat disappeared. Behind me, Langby said, \"That's no way to catch a cat.\"\n\n\"Obviously,\" I said, and bent to retrieve the bucket.\n\n\"Cats hate water,\" he said, still in that expressionless voice.\n\n\"Oh,\" I said, and started in front of him to take the bucket back to the choir. \"I didn't know that.\"\n\n\"Everybody knows it. Even the stupid Welsh.\"\n\nOctober 8: We have been standing double watches for a week\u2014bomber's moon. Langby didn't show up on the roofs, so I went looking for him in the church. I found him standing by the west doors talking to an old man. The man had a newspaper tucked under his arm and he handed it to Langby, but Langby gave it back to him. When the man saw me, he ducked out. Langby said, \"Tourist. Wanted to know where the Windmill Theater is. Read in the paper the girls are starkers.\"\n\nI know I looked as if I didn't believe him because he said, \"You look rotten, old man. Not getting enough sleep, are you? I'll get somebody to take the first watch for you tonight.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said coldly. \"I'll stand my own watch. I like being on the roofs,\" and added silently, where I can watch you.\n\nHe shrugged and said, \"I suppose it's better than being down in the crypt. At least on the roofs you can hear the one that gets you.\"\n\nOctober 10: I thought the double watches might be good for me, take my mind off my inability to retrieve. The watched-pot idea. Actually, it sometimes works. A few hours of thinking about something else, or a good night's sleep, and the fact pops forward without any prompting, without any artificials.\n\nThe good night's sleep is out of the question. Not only do the chars talk constantly, but the cat has moved into the crypt and sidles up to everyone, making siren noises and begging for kippers. I am moving my cot out of the transept and over by Nelson before I go on watch. He may be pickled, but he keeps his mouth shut.\n\nOctober 11: I dreamed Trafalgar, ships' guns and smoke and falling plaster and Langby shouting my name. My first waking thought was that the folding chairs had gone off. I could not see for all the smoke.\n\n\"I'm coming,\" I said, limping toward Langby and pulling on my boots. There was a heap of plaster and tangled folding chairs in the transept. Langby was digging in it. \"Bartholomew!\" he shouted, flinging a chunk of plaster aside. \"Bartholomew!\"\n\nI still had the idea it was smoke. I ran back for the stirrup pump and then knelt beside him and began pulling on a splintered chair back. It resisted, and it came to me suddenly, There is a body under here. I will reach for a piece of the ceiling and find it is a hand. I leaned back on my heels, determined not to be sick, then went at the pile again.\n\nLangby was going far too fast, jabbing with a chair leg. I grabbed his hand to stop him, and he struggled against me as if I were a piece of rubble to be thrown aside. He picked up a large flat square of plaster, and under it was the floor. I turned and looked behind me. Both chars huddled in the recess by the altar. \"Who are you looking for?\" I said, keeping hold of Langby's arm.\n\n\"Bartholomew,\" he said, and swept the rubble aside, his hands bleeding through the coating of smoky dust.\n\n\"I'm here,\" I said. \"I'm all right.\" I choked on the white dust. \"I moved my cot out of the transept.\"\n\nHe turned sharply to the chars and then said quite calmly, \"What's under here?\"\n\n\"Only the gas ring,\" one of them said timidly from the shadowed recess, \"and Mrs. Calbraith's pocketbook.\" He dug through the mess until he had found them both. The gas ring was leaking at a merry rate, though the flame had gone out.\n\n\"You've saved St. Paul's and me after all,\" I said, standing there in my underwear and boots, holding the useless stirrup pump. \"We might all have been asphyxiated.\"\n\nHe stood up. \"I shouldn't have saved you,\" he said.\n\nStage one: shock, stupefaction, unawareness of injuries, words may not make sense except to victim. He would not know his hand was bleeding yet. He would not remember what he had said. He had said he shouldn't have saved my life.\n\n\"I shouldn't have saved you,\" he repeated. \"I have my duty to think of.\"\n\n\"You're bleeding,\" I said sharply. \"You'd better lie down.\" I sounded just like Langby in the gallery.\n\nOctober 13: It was a high explosive bomb. It blew a hole in the Choir, and some of the marble statuary is broken, but the ceiling of the crypt did not collapse, which is what I thought at first. It only jarred some plaster loose.\n\nI do not think Langby has any idea what he said. That should give me some sort of advantage, now that I am sure where the danger lies, now that I am sure it will not come crashing down from some other direction. But what good is all this knowing, when I do not know what he will do? Or when?\n\nSurely I have the facts of yesterdays bomb in long-term, but even falling plaster did not jar them loose this time. I am not even trying for retrieval, now. I lie in the darkness waiting for the roof to fall in on me. And remembering how Langby saved my life.\n\nOctober 15: The girl came in again today. She still has the cold, but she has gotten her paying position. It was a joy to see her. She was wearing a smart uniform and open-toed shoes, and her hair was in an elaborate frizz around her face. We are still cleaning up the mess from the bomb, and Langby was out with Allen getting wood to board up the Choir, so I let the girl chatter at me while I swept. The dust made her sneeze, but at least this time I knew what she was doing.\n\nShe told me her name is Enola and that she's working for the WVS, running one of the mobile canteens that are sent to the fires. She came, of all things, to thank me for the job. She said that after she told the WVS that there was no proper shelter with a canteen for St. Paul's, they gave her a run in the City. \"So I'll just pop in when I'm close and let you know how I'm making out, won't I just?\"\n\nShe and her brother Tom are still sleeping in the tubes. I asked her if that was safe and she said probably not, but at least down there you couldn't hear the one that got you and that was a blessing.\n\nOctober 18: I am so tired I can hardly write this. Nine incendiaries tonight and a land mine that looked as though it was going to catch on the dome till the wind drifted its parachute away from the church. I put out two of the incendiaries. I have done that at least twenty times since I got here and helped with dozens of others, and still it is not enough. One incendiary, one moment of not watching Langby, could undo it all.\n\nI know that is partly why I feel so tired. I wear myself out every night trying to do my job and watch Langby, making sure none of the incendiaries falls without my seeing it. Then I go back to the crypt and wear myself out trying to retrieve something, anything, about spies, fires, St. Paul's in the fall of 1940, anything. It haunts me that I am not doing enough, but I do not know what else to do. Without the retrieval, I am as helpless as these poor people here, with no idea what will happen tomorrow.\n\nIf I have to, I will go on doing this till I am called home. He cannot burn down St. Paul's so long as I am here to put out the incendiaries. \"I have my duty,\" Langby said in the crypt.\n\nAnd I have mine.\n\nOctober 21: It's been nearly two weeks since the blast and I just now realized we haven't seen the cat since. He wasn't in the mess in the crypt. Even after Langby and I were sure there was no one in there, we sifted through the stuff twice more. He could have been in the Choir, though.\n\nOld Bence-Jones says not to worry \"He's all right,\" he said. \"The jerries could bomb London right down to the ground and the cats would waltz out to greet them. You know why? They don't love anybody. That's what gets half of us killed. Old lady out in Stepney got killed the other night trying to save her cat. Bloody cat was in the Anderson.\"\n\n\"Then where is he?\"\n\n\"Someplace safe, you can bet on that. If he's not around St. Paul's, it means we're for it. That old saw about the rats deserting a sinking ship, that's a mistake, that is. It's cats, not rats.\"\n\nOctober 25: Langby's tourist showed up again. He cannot still be looking for the Windmill Theatre. He had a newspaper under his arm again today and he asked for Langby, but Langby was across town with Allen, trying to get the asbestos firemen's coats. I saw the name of the paper. It was The Worker. A Nazi newspaper?\n\nNovember 2: I've been up on the roofs for a week straight, helping some incompetent workmen patch the hole the bomb made. They're doing a terrible job. There's still a great gap on one side a man could fall into, but they insist it'll be all right because, after all, you wouldn't fall clear through but only as far as the ceiling, and \"the fall can't kill you.\" They don't seem to understand it's a perfect hiding place for an incendiary. And that is all Langby needs. He does not even have to set a fire to destroy St. Paul's. All he needs to do is let one burn uncaught until it is too late.\n\nI could not get anywhere with the workmen. I went down into the church to complain to Matthews, and saw Langby and his tourist behind a pillar, close to one of the windows. Langby was holding a newspaper and talking to the man. When I came down from the library an hour later, they were still there. So is the gap. Matthews says we'll put planks across it and hope for the best.\n\nNovember 5: I have given up trying to retrieve. I am so far behind on my sleep I can't even retrieve information on a newspaper whose name I already know. Double watches the permanent thing now. Our chars have abandoned us altogether (like the cat), so the crypt is quiet, but I cannot sleep.\n\nIf I do manage to doze off, I dream. Yesterday I dreamed Kivrin was on the roofs, dressed like a saint. \"What was the secret of your practicum?\" I said. \"What were you supposed to find out?\"\n\nShe wiped her nose with a handkerchief and said, \"Two things. One, that silence and humility are the sacred burdens of the historian. Two\"\u2014she stopped and sneezed into the handkerchief\u2014\"don't sleep in the tubes.\"\n\nMy only hope is to get hold of an artificial and induce a trance. That's a problem. I'm positive it's too early for chemical endorphins and probably hallucinogens. Alcohol is definitely available, but I need something more concentrated than ale, the only alcohol I know by name. I do not dare ask the watch. Langby is suspicious enough of me already. It's back to the OED, to look up a word I don't know.\n\nNovember 11: The cat's back. Langby was out with Allen again, still trying for the asbestos coats, so I thought it was safe to leave St. Paul's. I went to the grocer's for supplies, and hopefully an artificial. It was late, and the sirens sounded before I had even gotten to Cheapside, but the raids do not usually start until after dark. It took awhile to get all the groceries and to get up my courage to ask whether he had any alcohol\u2014he told me to go to a pub\u2014and when I came out of the shop, it was as if I had pitched suddenly into a hole.\n\nI had no idea where St. Paul's lay, or the street, or the shop I had just come from. I stood on what was no longer the sidewalk, clutching my brown-paper parcel of kippers and bread with a hand I could not have seen if I held it up before my face. I reached up to wrap my muffler closer about my neck and prayed for my eyes to adjust, but there was no reduced light to adjust to. I would have been glad of the moon, for all St. Paul's watch cursed it and called it a fifth columnist. Or a bus, with its shuttered headlights giving just enough light to orient myself by. Or a searchlight. Or the kickback flare of an ack-ack gun. Anything.\n\nJust then I did see a bus, two narrow yellow slits a long way off. I started toward it and nearly pitched off the curb. Which meant the bus was sideways in the street, which meant it was not a bus. A cat meowed, quite near, and rubbed against my leg. I looked down into the yellow lights I had thought belonged to the bus. His eyes were picking up light from somewhere, though I would have sworn there was not a light for miles, and reflecting it flatly up at me.\n\n\"A warden'll get you for those lights, old tom,\" I said, and then as a plane droned overhead, \"Or a jerry.\"\n\nThe world exploded suddenly into light, the searchlights and a glow along the Thames seeming to happen almost simultaneously, lighting my way home.\n\n\"Come to fetch me, did you, old tom?\" I said gaily \"Where've you been? Knew we were out of kippers, didn't you? I call that loyalty.\" I talked to him all the way home and gave him half a tin of the kippers for saving my life. Bence-Jones said he smelled the milk at the grocer's.\n\nNovember 13: I dreamed I was lost in the blackout. I could not see my hands in front of my face, and Dunworthy came and shone a pocket torch at me, but I could only see where I had come from and not where I was going.\n\n\"What good is that to them?\" I said. \"They need a light to show them where they're going.\"\n\n\"Even the light from the Thames? Even the light from the fires and the ack-ack guns?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes. Anything is better than this awful darkness.\" So he came closer to give me the pocket torch. It was not a pocket torch, after all, but Christ's lantern from the Hunt picture in the south nave. I shone it on the curb before me so I could find my way home, but it shone instead on the fire watch stone and I hastily put the light out.\n\nNovember 20: I tried to talk to Langby today. \"I've seen you talking to the old gentleman,\" I said. It sounded like an accusation. I meant it to. I wanted him to think it was and stop whatever he was planning.\n\n\"Reading,\" he said. \"Not talking.\" He was putting things in order in the choir, piling up sandbags.\n\n\"I've seen you reading then,\" I said belligerently, and he dropped a sandbag and straightened.\n\n\"What of it?\" he said. \"It's a free country I can read to an old man if I want, same as you can talk to that little WVS tart.\"\n\n\"What do you read?\" I said.\n\n\"Whatever he wants. He's an old man. He used to come home from his job, have a bit of brandy and listen to his wife read the papers to him. She got killed in one of the raids. Now I read to him. I don't see what business it is of yours.\"\n\nIt sounded true. It didn't have the careful casualness of a lie, and I almost believed him, except that I had heard the tone of truth from him before. In the crypt. After the bomb.\n\n\"I thought he was a tourist looking for the Windmill,\" I said.\n\nHe looked blank only a second, and then he said, \"Oh, yes, that. He came in with the paper and asked me to tell him where it was. I looked it up to find the address. Clever, that. I didn't guess he couldn't read it for himself.\" But it was enough. I knew that he was lying.\n\nHe heaved a sandbag almost at my feet. \"Of course you wouldn't understand a thing like that, would you? A simple act of human kindness?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said coldly. \"I wouldn't.\"\n\nNone of this proves anything. He gave away nothing, except perhaps the name of an artificial, and I can hardly go to Dean Matthews and accuse Langby of reading aloud.\n\nI waited till he had finished in the choir and gone down to the crypt. Then I lugged one of the sandbags up to the roof and over to the chasm. The planking has held so far, but everyone walks gingerly around it, as if it were a grave. I cut the sandbag open and spilled the loose sand into the bottom. If it has occurred to Langby that this is the perfect spot for an incendiary, perhaps the sand will smother it.\n\nNovember 21: I gave Enola some of \"uncle's\" money today and asked her to get me the brandy. She was more reluctant than I thought she'd be, so there must be societal complications I am not aware of, but she agreed.\n\nI don't know what she came for. She started to tell me about her brother and some prank he'd pulled in the tubes that got him in trouble with the guard, but after I asked her about the brandy, she left without finishing the story.\n\nNovember 25: Enola came today, but without bringing the brandy. She is going to Bath for the holidays to see her aunt. At least she will be away from the raids for a while. I will not have to worry about her. She finished the story of her brother and told me she hopes to persuade this aunt to take Tom for the duration of the Blitz but is not at all sure the aunt will be willing.\n\nYoung Tom is apparently not so much an engaging scapegrace as a near criminal. He has been caught twice picking pockets in the Bank tube shelter, and they have had to go back to Marble Arch. I comforted her as best I could, told her all boys were bad at one time or another. What I really wanted to say was that she needn't worry at all, that young Tom strikes me as a true survivor type, like my own tom, like Langby, totally unconcerned with anybody but himself, well-equipped to survive the Blitz and rise to prominence in the future.\n\nThen I asked her whether she had gotten the brandy.\n\nShe looked down at her open-toed shoes and muttered unhappily, \"I thought you'd forgotten all about that.\"\n\nI made up some story about the watch taking turns buying a bottle, and she seemed less unhappy, but I am not convinced she will not use this trip to Bath as an excuse to do nothing. I will have to leave St. Paul's and buy it myself, and I don't dare leave Langby alone in the church. I made her promise to bring the brandy today before she leaves. But she is still not back, and the sirens have already gone.\n\nNovember 26: No Enola, and she said their train left at noon. I suppose I should be grateful that at least she is safely out of London. Maybe in Bath she will be able to get over her cold.\n\nTonight one of the ARP girls breezed in to borrow half our cots and tell us about a mess over in the East End where a surface shelter was hit. Four dead, twelve wounded. \"At least it wasn't one of the tube shelters!\" she said. \"Then you'd see a real mess, wouldn't you?\"\n\nNovember 30: I dreamed I took the cat to St. John's Wood.\n\n\"Is this a rescue mission?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"No, sir,\" I said proudly \"I know what I was supposed to find in my practicum. The perfect survivor. Tough and resourceful and selfish. This is the only one I could find. I had to kill Langby, you know, to keep him from burning down St. Paul's. Enola's brother has gone to Bath, and the others will never make it. Enola wears open-toed shoes in the winter and sleeps in the tubes and puts her hair up on metal pins so it will curl. She cannot possibly survive the Blitz.\"\n\nDunworthy said, \"Perhaps you should have rescued her instead. What did you say her name was?\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" I said, and woke up cold and shivering.\n\nDecember 5: I dreamed Langby had the pinpoint bomb. He carried it under his arm like a brown paper parcel, coming out of St. Paul's Station and around Ludgate Hill to the west doors.\n\n\"This is not fair,\" I said, barring his way with my arm. \"There is no fire watch on duty.\"\n\nHe clutched the bomb to his chest like a pillow. \"That is your fault,\" he said, and before I could get to my stirrup pump and bucket, he tossed it in the door.\n\nThe pinpoint was not even invented until the end of the twentieth century; and it was another ten years before the dispossessed communists got hold of it and turned it into something that could be carried under your arm. A parcel that could blow a quarter mile of the City into oblivion. Thank God that is one dream that cannot come true.\n\nIt was a sunlit morning in the dream, and this morning when I came off watch the sun was shining for the first time in weeks. I went down to the crypt and then came up again, making the rounds of the roofs twice more, then the steps and the grounds and all the treacherous alleyways between where an incendiary could be missed. I felt better after that, but when I got to sleep I dreamed again, this time of fire and Langby watching it, smiling.\n\nDecember 15: I found the cat this morning. Heavy raids last night, but most of them over toward Canning Town and nothing on the roofs to speak of. Nevertheless the cat was quite dead. I found him lying on the steps this morning when I made my own, private rounds. Concussion. There was not a mark on him anywhere except the white blackout patch on his throat, but when I picked him up, he was all jelly under the skin.\n\nI could not think what to do with him. I thought for one mad moment of asking Matthews if I could bury him in the crypt. Honorable death in war or something. Trafalgar, Waterloo, London, died in battle. I erded by wrapping him in my muffler and taking him down Ludgate Hill to a building that had been bombed out and burying him in the rubble. It will do no good. The rubble will be no protection from dogs or rats, and I shall never get another muffler. I have gone through nearly all of uncle's money.\n\nI should not be sitting here. I haven't checked the alleyways or the rest of the steps, and there might be a dud or a delayed incendiary or something that I missed.\n\nWhen I came here, I thought of myself as the noble rescuer, the savior of the past. I am not doing very well at the job. At least Enola is out of it. I wish there were some way I could send St. Paul's to Bath for safekeeping. There were hardly any raids last night. Bence-Jones said cats can survive anything. What if he was coming to get me, to show me the way home? All the bombs were over Canning Town.\n\nDecember 16: Enola has been back a week. Seeing her, standing on the west steps where I found the cat, sleeping in Marble Arch and not safe at all, was more than I could absorb. \"I thought you were in Bath,\" I said stupidly.\n\n\"My aunt said she'd take Tom but not me as well. She's got a houseful of evacuation children, and what a noisy lot. Where is your muffler?\" she said. \"It's dreadful cold up here on the hill.\"\n\n\"I...\" I said, unable to answer, \"I lost it.\"\n\n\"You'll never get another one,\" she said. \"They're going to start rationing clothes. And wool, too. You'll never get another one like that.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I said, blinking at her.\n\n\"Good things just thrown away,\" she said. \"It's absolutely criminal, that's what it is.\"\n\nI don't think I said anything to that, just turned and walked away with my head down, looking for bombs and dead animals.\n\nDecember 20: Langby isn't a Nazi. He's a communist. I can hardly write this. A communist.\n\nOne of the chars found The Worker wedged behind a pillar and brought it down to the crypt as we were coming off the first watch.\n\n\"Bloody communists,\" Bence-Jones said. \"Helping Hitler, they are. Talking against the king, stirring up trouble in the shelters. Traitors, that's what they are.\"\n\n\"They love England same as you,\" the char said.\n\n\"They don't love nobody but themselves, bloody selfish lot. I wouldn't be surprised to hear they were ringing Hitler up on the telephone,\" Bence-Jones said. \"Ello, Adolf, here's where to drop the bombs.\"\n\nThe kettle on the gas ring whistled. The char stood up and poured the hot water into a chipped teapot, then sat back down. \"Just because they speak their minds don't mean they'd burn down old St. Paul's, does it now?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" Langby said, coming down the stairs. He sat down and pulled off his boots, stretching his feet in their wool socks. \"Who wouldn't burn down St. Paul's?\"\n\n\"The communists,\" Bence-Jones said, looking straight at him, and I wondered if he suspected Langby too.\n\nLangby never batted an eye. \"I wouldn't worry about them if I were you,\" he said. \"It's the jerries that are doing their bloody best to burn her down tonight. Six incendiaries so far, and one almost went into that great hole over the choir.\" He held out his cup to the char, and she poured him a cup of tea.\n\nI wanted to kill him, smashing him to dust and rubble on the floor of the crypt while Bence-Jones and the char looked on in helpless surprise, shouting warnings to them and the rest of the watch. \"Do you know what the communists did?\" I wanted to shout. \"Do you? We have to stop him.\" I even stood up and started toward him as he sat with his feet stretched out before him and his asbestos coat still over his shoulders.\n\nAnd then the thought of the Gallery drenched in gold, the communist coming out of the tube station with the package so casually under his arm, made me sick with the same staggering vertigo of guilt and helplessness, and I sat back down on the edge of my cot and tried to think what to do.\n\nThey do not realize the danger. Even Bence-Jones, for all his talk of traitors, thinks they are capable only of talking against the king. They do not know, cannot know, what the communists will become. Stalin is an ally. Communists mean Russia. They have never heard of Karinsky or the New Russia or any of the things that will make \"communist\" into a synonym for \"monster.\" They will never know it. By the time the communists become what they became, there will be no fire watch. Only I know what it means to hear the name \"communist\" uttered here, so carelessly, in St. Paul's.\n\nA communist. I should have known. I should have known.\n\nDecember 22: Double watches again. I have not had any sleep and I am getting very unsteady on my feet. I nearly pitched into the chasm this morning, only saved myself by dropping to my knees. My endorphin levels are fluctuating wildly; and I know I must get some sleep soon or I will become one of Langby's walking dead, but I am afraid to leave him alone on the roofs, alone in the church with his communist party leader, alone anywhere. I have taken to watching him when he sleeps.\n\nIf I could just get hold of an artificial, I think I could induce a trance, in spite of my poor condition. But I cannot even go out to a pub. Langby is on the roofs constantly, waiting for his chance. When Enola comes again I must convince her to get the brandy for me. There are only a few days left.\n\nDecember 28: Enola came this morning while I was on the west porch, picking up the Christmas tree. It has been knocked over three nights running by concussion. I righted the tree and was bending down to pick up the scattered tinsel when Enola appeared suddenly out of the fog like some cheerful saint. She stooped quickly and kissed me on the cheek. Then she straightened up, her nose red from her perennial cold, and handed me a box wrapped in colored paper.\n\n\"Merry Christmas,\" she said. \"Go on then, open it. It's a gift.\"\n\nMy reflexes are almost totally gone. I knew the box was far too shallow for a bottle of brandy Nevertheless. I believed she had remembered, had brought me my salvation. \"You darling,\" I said, and tore it open.\n\nIt was a muffler. Gray wool. I stared at it for fully half a minute without realizing what it was. \"Where's the brandy?\" I said.\n\nShe looked shocked. Her nose got redder and her eyes started to blur. \"You need this more. You haven't any clothing coupons and you have to be outside all the time. It's been so dreadful cold.\"\n\n\"I needed the brandy,\" I said angrily.\n\n\"I was only trying to be kind,\" she started, and I cut her off.\n\n\"Kind?\" I said. \"I asked you for brandy. I don't recall ever saying I needed a muffler.\" I shoved it back at her and began untangling a string of colored lights that had shattered when the tree fell.\n\nShe got that same holy martyr look Kivrin is so wonderful at. \"I worry about you all the time up here,\" she said in a rush. \"They're trying for St. Paul's, you know. And it's so close to the river. I didn't think you should be drinking. I-it's a crime when they're trying so hard to kill us all that you won't take care of yourself. It's like you're in it with them. I worry someday I'll come up to St. Paul's and you won't be here.\"\n\n\"Well, and what exactly am I supposed to do with a muffler? Hold it over my head when they drop the bombs?\"\n\nShe turned and ran, disappearing into the gray fog before she had gone down two steps. I started after her, still holding the string of broken lights, tripped over it, and fell almost all the way to the bottom of the steps.\n\nLangby picked me up. \"You're off watches,\" he said grimly.\n\n\"You can't do that,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I can. I don't want any walking dead on the roofs with me.\"\n\nI let him lead me down here to the crypt, make me a cup of tea, put me to bed, all very solicitous. No indication that this is what he has been waiting for. I will lie here till the sirens go. Once I am on the roofs he will not be able to send me back without seeming suspicious. Do you know what he said before he left, asbestos coat and rubber boots, the dedicated fire watcher? \"I want you to get some sleep.\" As if I could sleep with Langby on the roofs. I would be burned alive.\n\nDecember 30: The sirens woke me, and old Bence-Jones said, \"That should have done you some good. You've slept the clock round.\"\n\n\"What day is it?\" I said, going for my boots.\n\n\"The twenty-ninth,\" he said, and as I dived for the door. \"No need to hurry. They're late tonight. Maybe they won't come at all. That'd be a blessing, that would. The tides out.\"\n\nI stopped by the door to the stairs, holding on to the cool stone. \"Is St. Paul's all right?\"\n\n\"She's still standing,\" he said. \"Have a bad dream?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, remembering the bad dreams of all the past weeks\u2014the dead cat in my arms in St. John's Wood, Langby with his parcel and his Worker under his arm, the fire watch stone garishly lit by Christ's lantern. Then I remembered I had not dreamed at all. I had slept the kind of sleep I had prayed for, the kind of sleep that would help me remember.\n\nThen I remembered. Not St. Paul's, burned to the ground by the communists. A headline from the dailies. \"Marble Arch hit. Eighteen killed by blast.\" The date was not clear except for the year. 1940. There were exactly two more days left in 1940. I grabbed my coat and muffler and ran up the stairs and across the marble floor.\n\n\"Where the hell do you think you're going?\" Langby shouted to me. I couldn't see him.\n\n\"I have to save Enola,\" I said, and my voice echoed in the dark sanctuary. \"They're going to bomb Marble Arch.\"\n\n\"You can't leave now,\" he shouted after me, standing where the fire watch stone would be. \"The tide's out. You dirty\u2014\"\n\nI didn't hear the rest of it. I had already flung myself down the steps and into a taxi. It took almost all the money I had, the money I had so carefully hoarded for the trip back to St. John's Wood. Shelling started while we were still in Oxford Street, and the driver refused to go any farther. He let me out into pitch blackness, and I saw I would never make it in time.\n\nBlast. Enola crumpled on the stairway down to the tube, her open-toed shoes still on her feet, not a mark on her. And when I try to lift her, jelly under the skin. I would have to wrap her in the muffler she gave me, because I was too late. I had gone back a hundred years to be too late to save her.\n\nI ran the last blocks, guided by the gun emplacement that had to be in Hyde Park, and skidded down the steps into Marble Arch. The woman in the ticket booth took my last shilling for a ticket to St. Paul's Station. I stuck it in my pocket and raced toward the stairs.\n\n\"No running,\" she said placidly, \"To your left, please.\" The door to the right was blocked off by wooden barricades, the metal gates beyond pulled to and chained. The board with names on it for the stations was x-ed with tape, and a new sign that read all trains was nailed to the barricade, pointing left.\n\nEnola was not on the stopped escalators or sitting against the wall in the hallway I came to the first stairway and could not get through. A family had set out, just where I wanted to step, a communal tea of bread and butter, a little pot of jam sealed with waxed paper, and a kettle on a ring like the one Langby and I had rescued out of the rubble, all of it spread on a cloth embroidered at the corners with flowers. I stood staring down at the layered tea, spread like a waterfall down the steps.\n\n\"I\u2014Marble Arch\u2014\" I said. Another twenty killed by flying tiles. \"You shouldn't be here.\"\n\n\"We've as much right as anyone,\" the man said belligerently, \"and who are you to tell us to move on?\"\n\nA woman lifting saucers out of a cardboard box looked up at me, frightened. The kettle began to whistle.\n\n\"It's you that should move on,\" the man said. \"Go on then.\" He stood off to one side so I could pass. I edged past the embroidered cloth apologetically.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said. \"I'm looking for someone. On the platform.\"\n\n\"You'll never find her in there, mate,\" the man said, thumbing in that direction. I hurried past him, nearly stepping on the tea cloth, and rounded the corner into hell.\n\nIt was not hell. Shopgirls folded coats and leaned back against them, cheerful or sullen or disagreeable, but certainly not damned. Two boys scuffled for a shilling and lost it on the tracks. They bent over the edge, debating whether to go after it, and the station guard yelled to them to back away. A train rumbled through, full of people. A mosquito landed on the guards hand and he reached out to slap it and missed. The boys laughed. And behind and before them, stretching in all directions down the deadly tile curves of the tunnel like casualties, backed into the entranceways and onto the stairs, were people. Hundreds and hundreds of people.\n\nI stumbled back onto the stairs, knocking over a teacup. It spilled like a flood across the cloth.\n\n\"I told you, mate,\" the man said cheerfully \"It's hell in there, ain't it? And worse below.\"\n\n\"Hell,\" I said. \"Yes.\" I would never find her. I would never save her. I looked at the woman mopping up the tea, and it came to me that I could not save her either. Enola or the cat or any of them, lost here in the endless stairways and cul-de-sacs of time. They were already dead a hundred years, past saving. The past is beyond saving. Surely that was the lesson the history department sent me all this way to learn. Well, fine, I've learned it. Can I go home now?\n\nOf course not, dear boy. You have foolishly spent all your money on taxicabs and brandy, and tonight is the night the Germans burn the City. (Now it is too late, I remember it all. Twenty-eight incendiaries on the roofs.) Langby must have his chance, and you must learn the hardest lesson of all and the one you should have known from the beginning. You cannot save St. Paul's.\n\nI went back out onto the platform and stood behind the yellow line until a train pulled up. I took my ticket out and held it in my hand all the way to St. Paul's Station. When I got there, smoke billowed toward me like an easy spray of water. I could not see St. Paul's.\n\n\"The tide's out,\" a woman said in a voice devoid of hope, and I went down in a snake pit of limp cloth hoses. My hands came up covered with rank-smelling mud, and I understood finally (and too late) the significance of the tide. There was no water to fight the fires.\n\nA policeman barred my way and I stood helplessly before him with no idea what to say. \"No civilians allowed here,\" he said. \"St. Paul's is for it.\" The smoke billowed like a thundercloud, alive with sparks, and the dome rose golden above it.\n\n\"I'm fire watch,\" I said, and his arm fell away, and then I was on the roofs.\n\nMy endorphin levels must have been going up and down like an air raid siren. I do not have any short-term from then on, just moments that do not fit together: the people in the church when we brought Langby down, huddled in a corner playing cards, the whirlwind of burning scraps of wood in the dome, the ambulance driver who wore open-toed shoes like Enola and smeared salve on my burned hands. And in the center, the one clear moment when I went after Langby on a rope and saved his life.\n\nI stood by the dome, blinking against the smoke. The City was on fire and it seemed as if St. Paul's would ignite from the heat, would crumble from the noise alone. Bence-Jones was by the northwest tower, hitting at an incendiary with a spade. Langby was too close to the patched place where the bomb had gone through, looking toward me. An incendiary clattered behind him. I turned to grab a shovel, and when I turned back, he was gone.\n\n\"Langby!\" I shouted, and could not hear my own voice. He had fallen into the chasm and nobody saw him or the incendiary. Except me. I do not remember how I got across the roof. I think I called for a rope. I got a rope. I tied it around my waist, gave the ends of it into the hands of the fire watch, and went over the side. The fires lit the walls of the hole almost all the way to the bottom. Below me I could see a pile of whitish rubble. He's under there, I thought, and jumped free of the wall. The space was so narrow there was nowhere to throw the rubble. I was afraid I would inadvertently stone him, and I tried to toss the pieces of planking and plaster over my shoulder, but there was barely room to turn. For one awful moment I thought he might not be there at all, that the pieces of splintered wood would brush away to reveal empty pavement, as they had in the crypt.\n\nI was numbed by the indignity of crawling over him. If he was dead I did not think I could bear the shame of stepping on his helpless body. Then his hand came up like a ghost's and grabbed my ankle, and within seconds I had whirled and had his head free.\n\nHe was the ghastly white that no longer frightens me. \"I put the bomb out,\" he said. I stared at him, so overwhelmed with relief I could not speak. For one hysterical moment I thought I would even laugh, I was so glad to see him. I finally realized what it was I was supposed to say.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, and tried to raise himself on one elbow. \"So much the worse for you.\"\n\nHe could not get up. He grunted with pain when he tried to shift his weight to his right side and lay back, the uneven rubble crunching sickeningly under him. I tried to lift him gently so I could see where he was hurt. He must have fallen on something.\n\n\"It's no use,\" he said, breathing hard. \"I put it out.\"\n\nI spared him a startled glance, afraid that he was delirious and went back to rolling him onto his side.\n\n\"I know you were counting on this one,\" he went on, not resisting me at all. \"It was bound to happen sooner or later with all these roofs. Only I went after it. What'll you tell your friends?\"\n\nHis asbestos coat was torn down the back in a long gash. Under it his back was charred and smoking. He had fallen on the incendiary. \"Oh, my God,\" I said, trying frantically to see how badly he was burned without touching him. I had no way of knowing how deep the burns went, but they seemed to extend only in the narrow space where the coat had torn. I tried to pull the bomb out from under him, but the casing was as hot as a stove. It was not melting, though. My sand and Langby's body had smothered it. I had no idea if it would start up again when it was exposed to the air. I looked around, a little wildly for the bucket and stirrup pump Langby must have dropped when he fell.\n\n\"Looking for a weapon?\" Langby said, so clearly it was hard to believe he was hurt at all. \"Why not just leave me here? A bit of overexposure and I'd be done for by morning. Or would you rather do your dirty work in private?\"\n\nI stood up and yelled to the men on the roof above us. One of them shone a pocket torch down at us, but its light didn't reach.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" somebody shouted down to me.\n\n\"Send for an ambulance,\" I said. \"He's been burned.\"\n\nI helped Langby up, trying to support his back without touching the burn. He staggered a little and then leaned against the wall, watching me as I tried to bury the incendiary, using a piece of the planking as a scoop. The rope came down and I tied Langby to it. He had not spoken since I helped him up. He let me tie the rope around his waist, still looking steadily at me. \"I should have let you smother in the crypt,\" he said.\n\nHe stood leaning easily, almost relaxed against the wooden supports, his hands holding him up. I put his hands on the slack rope and wrapped it once around them for the grip I knew he didn't have. \"I've been onto you since that day in the Gallery. I knew you weren't afraid of heights. You came down here without any fear of heights when you thought I'd ruined your precious plans. What was it? An attack of conscience? Kneeling there like a baby, whining, 'What have we done? What have we done?' You made me sick. But you know what gave you away first? The cat. Everybody knows cats hate water. Everybody but a dirty Nazi spy.\"\n\nThere was a tug on the rope. \"Come ahead,\" I said, and the rope tautened.\n\n\"That WVS tart? Was she a spy, too? Supposed to meet you in Marble Arch? Telling me it was going to be bombed. You're a rotten spy, Bartholomew. Your friends already blew it up in September. It's open again.\"\n\nThe rope jerked suddenly and began to lift Langby. He twisted his hands to get a better grip. His right shoulder scraped the wall. I put up my hands and pushed him gently so that his left side was to the wall. \"You're making a big mistake, you know,\" he said. \"You should have killed me. I'll tell.\"\n\nI stood in the darkness, waiting for the rope. Langby was unconscious when he reached the roof. I walked past the fire watch to the dome and down to the crypt.\n\nThis morning the letter from my uncle came and with it a five-pound note.\n\nDecember 31: Two of Dunworthy's flunkies met me in St. John's Wood to tell me I was late for my exams. I did not even protest. I shuffled obediently after them without even considering how unfair it was to give an exam to one of the walking dead. I had not slept in how long? Since yesterday when I went to find Enola. I had not slept in a hundred years.\n\nDunworthy was in the Examination Buildings, blinking at me. One of the flunkies handed me a test paper and the other one called time. I turned the paper over and left an oily smudge from the ointment on my burns. I stared uncomprehendingly at them. I had grabbed at the incendiary when I turned Langby over, but these burns were on the backs of my hands. The answer came to me suddenly in Langby's unyielding voice. \"They're rope burns, you fool. Don't they teach you Nazi spies the proper way to come up a rope?\"\n\nI looked down at the test. It read, \"Number of incendiaries that fell on St. Paul's\u2014Number of land mines\u2014Number of high explosive bombs\u2014Method most commonly used for extinguishing incendiaries land mines\u2014high explosive bombs\u2014Number of volunteers on first watch\u2014second watch Casualties Fatalities\u2014\" The questions made no sense. There was only a short space, long enough for the writing of a number, after any of the questions. Method most commonly used for extinguishing incendiaries. How would I ever fit what I knew into that narrow space? Where were the questions about Enola and Langby and the cat?\n\nI went up to Dunworthy's desk. \"St. Paul's almost burned down last night,\" I said. \"What kind of questions are these?\"\n\n\"You should be answering questions, Mr. Bartholomew, not asking them.\"\n\n\"There aren't any questions about the people,\" I said. The outer casing of my anger began to melt.\n\n\"Of course there are,\" Dunworthy said, flipping to the second page of the test. \"Number of casualties, 1940. Blast, shrapnel, other.\"\n\n\"Other?\" I said. At any moment the roof would collapse on me in a shower of plaster dust and fury \"Other? Langby put out a fire with his own body. Enola has a cold that keeps getting worse. The cat...\" I snatched the paper back from him and scrawled \"one cat\" in the narrow space next to \"blast.\" \"Don't you care about them at all?\"\n\n\"They're important from a statistical point of view,\" he said, \"but as individuals they are hardly relevant to the course of history.\"\n\nMy reflexes were shot. It was amazing to me that Dunworthy's were almost as slow. I grazed the side of his jaw and knocked his glasses off. \"Of course they're relevant!\" I shouted. \"They are the history, not all these bloody numbers!\"\n\nThe reflexes of the flunkies were very fast. They did not let me start another swing at him before they had me by both arms and were hauling me out of the room.\n\n\"They're back there in the past with nobody to save them. They can't see their hands in front of their faces and there are bombs falling down on them and you tell me they aren't important? You call that being an historian?\"\n\nThe flunkies dragged me out the door and down the hall. \"Langby saved St. Paul's. How much more important can a person get? You're no historian! You're nothing but a\u2014\" I wanted to call him a terrible name, but the only curses I could summon up were Langby's. \"You're nothing but a dirty Nazi spy!\" I bellowed. \"You're nothing but a lazy bourgeois tart!\"\n\nThey dumped me on my hands and knees outside the door and slammed it in my face. \"I wouldn't be an historian if you paid me!\" I shouted, and went to see the fire watch stone.\n\nDecember 31: I am having to write this in bits and pieces. My hands are in pretty bad shape, and Dunworthy's boys didn't help matters much. Kivrin comes in periodically wearing her St. Joan look, and smears so much salve on my hands that I can't hold a pencil.\n\nSt. Paul's Station is not there, of course, so I got out at Holbom and walked, thinking about my last meeting with Dean Matthews on the morning after the burning of the city. This morning.\n\n\"I understand you saved Langby's life,\" he said. \"I also understand that between you, you saved St. Paul's last night.\"\n\nI showed him the letter from my uncle and he stared at it as if he could not think what it was. \"Nothing stays saved forever,\" he said, and for a terrible moment I thought he was going to tell me Langby had died. \"We shall have to keep on saving St. Paul's until Hitler decides to bomb something else.\"\n\nThe raids on London are almost over, I wanted to tell him. He'll start bombing the countryside in a matter of weeks. Canterbury, Bath, aiming always at the cathedrals. You and St. Paul's will both outlast the war and live to dedicate the fire watch stone.\n\n\"I am hopeful, though,\" he said. \"I think the worst is over.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" I thought of the stone, its letters still readable after all this time. No, sir, the worst is not over.\n\nI managed to keep my bearings almost to the top of Ludgate Hill. Then I lost my way completely, wandering about like a man in a graveyard. I had not remembered that the rubble looked so much like the white plaster dust Langby had tried to dig me out of. I could not find the stone anywhere. In the end I nearly fell over it, jumping back as if I had stepped on a body.\n\nIt is all that's left. Hiroshima is supposed to have had a handful of untouched trees at ground zero. Denver the capitol steps. Neither of them says, \"Remember men and women of St. Paul's Watch who by the grace of God saved this cathedral.\" The grace of God.\n\nPart of the stone is sheared off. Historians argue there was another line that said, \"for all time,\" but I do not believe that, not if Dean Matthews had anything to do with it. And none of the watch it was dedicated to would have believed it for a minute. We saved St. Paul's every time we put out an incendiary, and only until the next one fell. Keeping watch on the danger spots, putting out the little fires with sand and stirrup pumps, the big ones with our bodies, in order to keep the whole vast complex structure from burning down. Which sounds to me like a course description for History Practicum 401. What a fine time to discover what historians are for when I have tossed my chance for being one out the windows as easily as they tossed the pinpoint bomb in. No, sir, the worst is not over.\n\nThere are flash burns on the stone, where legend says the Dean of St. Paul's was kneeling when the bomb went off. Totally apocryphal, of course, since the front door is hardly an appropriate place for prayers. It is more likely the shadow of a tourist who wandered in to ask the whereabouts of the Windmill Theatre, or the imprint of a girl bringing a volunteer his muffler. Or a cat.\n\nNothing is saved forever, Dean Matthews, and I knew that when I walked in the west doors that first day, blinking into the gloom, but it is pretty bad nevertheless. Standing here knee-deep in rubble out of which I will not be able to dig any folding chairs or friends, knowing that Langby died thinking I was a Nazi spy, knowing that Enola came one day and I wasn't there. It's pretty bad.\n\nBut it is not as bad as it could be. They are both dead, and Dean Matthews too, but they died without knowing what I knew all along, what sent me to my knees in the Whispering Gallery, sick with grief and guilt: that in the end none of us saved St. Paul's. And Langby cannot turn to me, stunned and sick at heart, and say, \"Who did this? Your friends the Nazis?\" And I would have to say, \"No, the communists.\" That would be the worst.\n\nI have come back to the room and let Kivrin smear more salve on my hands. She wants me to get some sleep. I know I should pack and get gone. It will be humiliating to have them come and throw me out, but I do not have the strength to fight her. She looks so much like Enola.\n\nJanuary 1: I have apparently slept not only through the night, but through the morning mail drop as well. When I woke up just now, I found Kivrin sitting on the end of the bed holding an envelope. \"Your grades came,\" she said.\n\nI put my arm over my eyes. \"They can be marvelously efficient when they want to, can't they?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Well, let's see it,\" I said, sitting up. \"How long do I have before they come and throw me out?\"\n\nShe handed the flimsy computer envelope to me. I tore it along the perforation. \"Wait,\" she said. \"Before you open it, I want to say something.\" She put her hand gently on my burns. \"You're wrong about the history department. They're very good.\"\n\nIt was not exactly what I expected her to say. \"Good is not the word I'd use to describe Dunworthy,\" I said and yanked the inside slip free.\n\nKivrin's look did not change, not even when I sat there with the printout on my knees where she could surely see it.\n\n\"Well,\" I said.\n\nThe slip was hand-signed by the esteemed Dunworthy I have taken a first. With honors.\n\nJanuary 2: Two things came in the mail today. One was Kivrin's assignment. The history department thinks of everything, even to keeping her here long enough to nursemaid me, even to coming up with a prefabricated trial by fire to send their history majors through.\n\nI think I wanted to believe that was what they had done, Enola and Langby only hired actors, the cat a clever android with its clockwork innards taken out for the final effect, not so much because I wanted to believe Dunworthy was not good at all, but because then I would not have this nagging pain at not knowing what had happened to them.\n\n\"You said your practicum was England in 1400?\" I said, watching her as suspiciously as I had watched Langby.\n\n\"1349,\" she said, and her face went slack with memory. \"The plague year.\"\n\n\"My God,\" I said. \"How could they do that? The plague's a ten.\"\n\n\"I have a natural immunity,\" she said, and looked at her hands.\n\nBecause I could not think of anything to say, I opened the other piece of mail. It was a report on Enola. Computer-printed, facts and dates and statistics, all the numbers the history department so dearly loves, but it told me what I thought I would have to go without knowing: that she had gotten over her cold and survived the Blitz. Young Tom had been killed in the Baedaker raids on Bath, but Enola had lived until 2006, the year before they blew up St. Paul's.\n\nI don't know whether I believe the report or not, but it does not matter. It is, like Langby's reading aloud to the old man, a simple act of human kindness. They think of everything.\n\nNot quite. They did not tell me what happened to Langby. But I find as I write this that I already know: I saved his life. It does not seem to matter that he might have died in hospital next day, and I find, in spite of all the hard lessons the history department has tried to teach me, I do not quite believe this one: that nothing is saved forever. It seems to me that perhaps Langby is.\n\nJanuary 3: I went to see Dunworthy today I don't know what I intended to say\u2014some pompous drivel about my willingness to serve in the fire watch of history, standing guard against the falling incendiaries of the human heart, silent and saintly.\n\nBut he blinked at me nearsightedly across his desk, and it seemed to me that he was blinking at that last bright image of St. Paul's in sunlight before it was gone forever and that he knew better than anyone that the past cannot be saved, and I said instead, \"I'm sorry that I broke your glasses, sir.\"\n\n\"How did you like St. Paul's?\" he said, and like my first meeting with Enola, I felt I must be somehow reading the signals all wrong, that he was not feeling loss, but something quite different.\n\n\"I loved it, sir,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"So do I.\"\n\nDean Matthews is wrong. I have fought with memory my whole practicum only to find that it is not the enemy at all, and being an historian is not some saintly burden after all. Because Dunworthy is not blinking against the fatal sunlight of the last morning, but into the gloom of that first afternoon, looking in the great west doors of St. Paul's at what is, like Langby like all of it, every moment, in us, saved forever."
            },
            {
                "title": "Service for the Burial of the Dead",
                "text": "I should not have come, Anne thought, clenching her gloved hands in her lap. She had come early so that she could sit well to the back, but not so early that people would talk. She had hesitated at the back of the church for only a moment, to take a deep breath and put her head up proudly, and in that moment old Mr. Finn had swooped down on her, taken her arm, and led her to the empty pew behind the one tied off with black ribbon for the mourning family.\n\nI should not have come alone, she thought. I should have made my father come. Even as she thought it she saw her father's red and angry face as she tied on her black bonnet.\n\n\"You are going to the funeral, then?\" he had said.\n\n\"Yes, Father.\" She had buttoned her gray pelisse over her gray silk, tied her chip bonnet under her chin.\n\n\"And not even wear black?\"\n\nShe had calmly put on her gloves. \"My black cloak is ruined,\" she had said, thinking of his face that night when she came in, the black wool cloak soaked with frozen rain, the hem of her black merino heavy with mud. He had thought she'd killed Elliott even then, before the news that he was missing, before they had started dragging the river. He still believed it and would have shown it in his red, guilty face when he walked her down the aisle at the funeral. But he would at least have walked her to a safe corner, protecting her from the talk of the townspeople, if not from their thoughts. Perhaps they thought she had murdered Elliott, too, or perhaps they only thought she had no pride, and that at least was true.\n\nShe had lost what little pride she had that night, waiting on the island for Elliott. She had not even thought what it would mean when she agreed to meet him. She had thought only of wearing her warmest clothes against the November rain, the black merino, the black wool cloak, her sturdy boots. Only after she had stood in the rain for hours under the oak tree, its bare branches no protection from the wind or the approaching dark, had she thought what a terrible thing she was doing. When he comes, I must say no, she thought, the winter rain dripping off her ruined bonnet.\n\nHe had no intention of throwing Victoria over as he had thrown her over. Victoria was small and fair and had a wealthy father. The marriage was set for Christmas. Victoria's brother, now at sea, had been sent for to be best man at the wedding. Elliott had not even been kind enough to tell her of his engagement. Her father had told her. \"No,\" she had said, and thought as she said it that it must be true because she had never, in all the time she had loved Elliott, been able to say no to him.\n\nWas that why she had agreed to meet him on the island? Because she still could not say \"no,\" even when it meant her downfall? It did not matter. He had not come. She had waited nearly all night, and when she crept home, chilled to the bone, she knew she would not have been able to say no if he had. She could summon no anger at him, and when they found his boat, no grief. She did not feel anything and that had helped her to walk with old Mr. Finn to the front of the church, her eyes dry, no guilty color in her cheeks.\n\nBut I cannot, cannot sit here and face Victoria, she thought. I cannot do that to her. She has never done anything to me.\n\nIt was already too late for her to walk back down the aisle. There was a side door quite close to her that the minister entered by. It led down a hall to the choirs robing room and the vestry. There was a door just outside the vestry that led to the sideyard of the church. If she hurried, she could escape that way before Reverend Sprague brought the family in.\n\nEscape. Was that how it would look? The murderess overcome by guilt? The discarded sweetheart overcome by remorse or grief or shame? It doesn't matter what they think, Anne thought. I cannot do this to Victoria.\n\nShe put her gloved hand on the back of the pew in front of her. Behind her a man coughed, trying to muffle the sound with his hand. Anne pulled her handkerchief from her muff and put it to her mouth. She coughed twice, paused, coughed again, and stood up and walked quickly to the side door.\n\nShe shut the door behind her and hurried along the drafty hall, shivering in the thin silk and the light pelisse.\n\n\"Let us pray,\" Reverend Sprague said, and she found herself almost upon the family. They stood in a dejected little knot, their heads bowed, Victoria and her father and Elliott's father. The face of Elliott's father was gray, and he leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes open and staring blindly at the wall.\n\nAnn backed hastily down the hall to the robing room. The door was locked, but there was a large key in the keyhole. She turned it, rattling it loudly in her haste. \"Anne,\" she could hear Reverend Sprague say, and she pulled the key free, opened the door and slipped inside, pulling the door to behind her. It was very dark. Anne felt along the wall for a lamp sconce. Her foot brushed against something, and she bent down. It was a candle in a metal holder. Two phosphorus matches lay in the candleholder, and she struck one, lit the candle, and still kneeling, looked at the room.\n\nIt looked as if it had not been used in years. Reverend Sprague did not approve of robes and other \"papist trappings\" except at Christmas. The black robes hanging on their pegs were heavy with dust. Two black-varnished pews stood against one wall, and several wooden chairs. Anne stood up, holding the candle. She shook the dust from the hem of her dress and went to the door. The organ had begun.\n\nShe blew out the candle and set it on one of the dusty pews, still listening. The organ stopped, and then started again, and she could hear the low rumble of the congregation singing. She felt her way to the door and opened it a little to make certain no one was in the hall. Then she let herself out and replaced the key in the lock. The organ ground into the amen. She nearly ran down the hall.\n\nAnne was almost at the door before she saw the man. He had just come in and had turned to close the door gently behind him. Anne did not recognize him. He had reddish-brown hair under a soft, dark cap and was wearing a short dark coat and heavy boots. Victoria's brother, Anne thought, and waited for him to turn.\n\nHe seemed to be having some trouble with the door. He could not seem to shut it, and when he straightened, Anne could see a thin line of light where the door was still open. The man turned around.\n\n\"Elliott,\" Anne said.\n\nHe smiled disarmingly. \"You look as though you'd seen a ghost,\" he said. \"Did I frighten you?\" he said, as though he were amused at the idea. The organ began again.\n\n\"Elliott,\" she said. He didn't seem to hear her. He was looking toward the sanctuary. Under the dark open coat he was wearing a white silk shirt and a black damask vest. Anne thought of her own ruined cloak. He had not come to meet her after all. He had left her standing on the island in the rain all night long. He had left them all thinking he was dead. \"Where have you been?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Away,\" he said lightly. \"When you didn't come to meet me I decided to go up to Hartford. What's going on in there? A funeral?\"\n\n\"Your funeral,\" she said. She could not get her voice above a whisper. \"We thought you were drowned. They dragged the river.\"\n\n\"I have always liked funerals,\" Elliott said as if he had not heard her. \"The weeping fianc\u00e9e, the distraught father, the minister extolling the deceased's virtues. Are there flowers?\"\n\n\"Flowers?\" Anne said blankly. \"They found the boat, Elliott. It was all broken apart.\"\n\n\"Of course there are flowers. Hothouse lilies. Victoria's father will have sent all the way to New York for them. Well, he can afford it. Tell me, are little Vicky's pretty gray eyes red from weeping?\"\n\nAnne did not answer him. He turned suddenly away from her. \"As you won't tell me anything, I shall have to go see for myself.\" He started down the hall, his boots making a terrible noise on the wooden floor.\n\n\"You mustn't go in there, Elliott,\" Anne said. She started to put her hand on Elliott's arm, but she drew it back.\n\nElliott wheeled to face her. \"First you won't meet me on the island, and now you keep me from my own funeral. Yet you never said no to me when we met on the island, our island, last summer, did you, sweet Anne?\"\n\n\"I did meet you...\" she stammered. \"I waited all night\u2014I\u2014Elliott, your father collapsed when he heard the news. His heart\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014might stop at the sight of me. I should like to see that. You see, sweet Anne, you give me even more reason to attend my funeral. Unless you are trying to keep me to yourself. Is that it, Anne? Are you sorry now you didn't meet me on the island?\"\n\nShe stood there, thinking miserably, I cannot stop him. I have not ever been able to stop him from doing anything he wanted.\n\nHe had turned again and was nearly to the door of the sanctuary. \"Wait,\" Anne said. She hurried to him, brushing past the door of the robing room as she did. The key clattered out of the lock, and the door swung open.\n\nElliott stopped and looked at the key on the floor between them. \"You would lock me in a hideaway and keep me all to yourself, is that it?\"\n\n\"You mustn't go in there, Elliott,\" she repeated stolidly thinking of his father leaning on his cane, of Victoria's bent head, of Elliott's easy smile when he went into the sanctuary to greet them. \"You look as if you'd seen a ghost,\" he would say lightly, and watch the color leave his father's face.\n\n\"I won't let you,\" she said.\n\n\"How are you going to stop me?\" he said. \"Did you plan to lock me in the robing room and come to me at night, as you came to the island last summer? If you long for me so much, how can I resist you? Very well, sweet Anne, lock me in.\" He stepped inside the door and stood there smiling easily. \"It is sad that I must miss my own funeral, but I do it to please you, Anne.\"\n\nThe organ had stopped again, and in the sudden silence Anne knelt and picked up the key.\n\n\"Elliott,\" she said uncertainly He folded his arms across his chest. \"You want me all to yourself. Then you shall have me. No one, not even Vicky, will know that I am here. It will be our secret, sweet Anne. I will be your prisoner, and you will come to me.\" He gestured toward the door. \"Lock me in, Anne. The funeral is nearly over.\"\n\nAnne looked at the heavy key in her hand. There was a sudden burst of music and singing from the sanctuary Anne looked uneasily toward the sanctuary door. In a moment Reverend Sprague would open that door.\n\n\"You will come, won't you, Anne?\" Elliott said. He was leaning against the wall. \"You won't forget?\"\n\n\"There's a candle on the pew,\" Anne said, and shut the door in his face. She turned the key in the lock, and then, not knowing what else to do, thrust the key into her muff, and ran for the sideyard door.\n\nShe was too late. People were already spilling out the double doors onto the dead brown grass of the sideyard. The biting wind caught the door and slammed it shut. Everyone stopped and looked up at Anne.\n\nAnne walked through them as if they were not even there, unmindful of how she held her head, of how she looked in the gray pelisse and the guilty chip bonnet. She did not even hear the light footsteps behind her until a soft voice called to her.\n\n\"Anne? Miss Lawrence? Please wait.\"\n\nShe turned. It was Victoria Thatcher, her pretty gray eyes red with weeping. She was clutching a little black prayer book. \"I wanted to tell you how grateful I am you came,\" she said.\n\nAnne was suddenly furious with her tearstained face, her gentle words. He doesn't love you, she almost said. He wanted to meet me at night on the island, and I went. He's in the robing room now, waiting for me. He isn't dead, but I wish he were and so should you.\n\n\"Your kindness means a great deal to me,\" Victoria said haltingly. \"I\u2014my father has just now gone to Hartford to attend to some business of Elliott's, and I have no friends here. Elliott's father has been kindness itself, but he is not well, and I\u2014you were very kind to come. Please say you will be kind again and come to tea someday.\"\n\n\"I...\"\n\nVictoria bit her lip and ducked her head, then looked straight up at Anne. \"I know what they are saying about Elliott's death. I want you to know that I don't believe them. I know you didn't...\" She stopped and ducked her head again. \"I know you pray for his soul, as I do.\"\n\nHe doesn't have a soul, Anne thought. You should pray for his father and for yourself. And what is it that you don't believe? That I murdered him? Or that I met him on the island?\n\nVictoria looked up at Anne again, her gray eyes filled with tears. \"Please, if you loved Elliott, too, then that is all the more reason to be friends now that he is gone.\"\n\nBut he isn't gone, Anne thought desperately. He is sitting in the robing room laughing to think of us standing here. He is not dead, but I wish that he were. For your sake. For all our sakes.\n\n\"Thank you for inviting me to tea,\" Anne said, and walked rapidly away.\n\nAnne went to the church after supper, taking ham and cake wrapped in brown paper. Elliott was sitting in the dark. \"I had to wait until my father had his supper,\" Anne said, lighting the candle. \"I had to sneak out of the house.\"\n\nElliott grinned. \"It's not the first time, is it?\"\n\nShe put the parcel down on the pew next to the candle. \"You cannot stay here,\" she said.\n\nHe opened up the package. \"I rather like it here. It is dry at least, too cold, but otherwise very comfortable. I have good food and you to do my bidding. There will be few enough tears of joy at my resurrection. Why shouldn't I stay here?\"\n\n\"Your father has taken to his bed.\"\n\n\"From joy? Has the bereaved fianc\u00e9e taken to her bed, too? She never would take to mine.\"\n\n\"Victoria is caring for your father. Her own father has gone to Hartford to settle your affairs. You can't let them persist in thinking you are dead.\"\n\n\"Ah, but I can. And must. At least until Victoria's father pays my debts. And until you pay for not meeting me at the island.\"\n\n\"It is wrong to do this, Elliott,\" she said. \"I shall tell.\"\n\n\"I do not think so,\" he said. \"For I should have to say then that I had never gone on the river at all, but only hidden away with you. And then what will happen to my poor stayabed father and my rich Victoria? You will not tell.\"\n\n\"I will not come again,\" she said. \"I will not bring you your supper.\"\n\n\"And leave the minister to find my bones? Oh, you will come again, sweet Anne.\"\n\n\"No,\" Anne said. \"I won't.\" She did not lock the door, in the hope that he would change his mind, but she took the key. In case, she thought, without even knowing the meaning of her own words. In case I need it.\n\nAnne's father answered the door before she could get halfway down the stairs. She saw the sudden stiffening of his back, the sudden grayness of his ears and neck, and she thought, It is Elliott.\n\nShe had gone to the church every night for three days, taking him food and candles and once a comforter because he complained of the cold, taking the same useless arguments. Victoria's father came home, spent a morning at the bank, and left again. Victoria went past every morning on her way to visit Elliott's father, looking smaller and more pale every day There was still no word from her brother. On the third day she wrote asking Anne to tea.\n\nAnne had shown the note to Elliott. \"How can you do this to her?\" she said.\n\n\"To you, you mean. You accepted, of course. It should be rather a lark.\"\n\n\"I refused. You must think about what you are putting her through, Elliott.\"\n\n\"And what about what I've been through? In an open boat in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm. I don't even remember getting ashore. I had to walk halfway to Haddam before I was able to borrow a horse at an inn. Think what you've put me through, Anne, all because you didn't choose to meet me. Now I don't choose to meet them.\" He fumbled with the comforter, trying to cover his knees.\n\nAnne had felt too tired to fight him anymore. She had put the packet of food down on the pew and turned away.\n\n\"Leave the door open,\" Elliott had said. \"I don't like being shut in this coffin of a room. And tell me when Victoria's father comes in again with all my debts honored.\"\n\nHe will never come out, Anne had thought despairingly, but now, standing on the landing watching her father, she thought, He has come out after all, and hurried down the steps. When she reached the foot of the stairs, her father turned to her and said accusingly, \"It is Miss Thatcher. She has come to call.\" He walked past her up the stairs without another word.\n\n\"It was improper of me to come,\" Victoria said. \"Now your father is angry with me.\"\n\n\"He is angry with me. You have done nothing improper, unless showing kindness is improper.\" They were still standing in the wind at the door. \"Won't you come in?\" Anne said. \"I'll make some tea.\"\n\nVictoria put her hand on Anne's arm. \"I did not come to call. I\u2014now I must ask a kindness of you.\" She had not worn gloves, and her hand was icy even through the wool of Anne's sleeve.\n\n\"Come in and tell me,\" she said, and once more she thought, It's Elliott. Victoria stepped into the hall, but she would not let Anne take her black cloak or bonnet, and when Anne went to shut the door, she said, \"I cannot stay I must go to Dr. Sawyers. He\u2014a body has been found in the river. Near Haddam. I must go to see if it is Elliott.\"\n\nA tremendous wave of anger swept over Anne at Elliott. She almost said, \"He is not dead. He's in the robing room,\" but Victoria, once she had started, could not seem to stop. \"My father has gone to Hartford,\" she said. \"There was some trouble about gambling debts of Elliott's. My brother is still at sea. We have had no news of his ship. Elliott's father is too ill to go. My father went in his place to Hartford, and now there is no one to see to this. I cannot ask Elliott's father. It would kill him to see. I came to ask your father, but now I fear I have angered him and there is no one else to\u2014\"\n\n\"I will go with you,\" Anne said, throwing on her gray pelisse. It was far too light for the cold day, but she was afraid to take the time to go back upstairs for something heavier for fear Victoria would be too distraught to wait. I cannot let Elliott do this, she thought. I will tell her what he has done.\n\nBut there was no chance. Victoria walked so fast that Anne nearly ran to keep up with her, and the words flowed out of her in great painful spurts, as if an artery had been cut somewhere. \"My brother should be here by now. There's been no word from New London, where they are to dock. He cannot have been delayed in port. But the storms have been so fierce I fear for his ship. I wrote him on the day that Elliott was first missed. I knew that he was dead, that first day. My father said not to worry, that he was only delayed, that we must not give up hope, and now my brother Roger is delayed, and there is no one to tell me not to worry.\"\n\nThey were on Dr. Sawyer's doorstep. Victoria knocked, her bare hands red from the cold, and the doctor let them in immediately. He did not take their wraps. \"It will be cold,\" he said, and led them swiftly down the hall past his office to the back of his house. \"I am so sorry your father is not here. It is no work for young ladies.\" If they would only stop, she would tell them, but they did not stop, even for a moment. Anne hurried after them.\n\nThe doctor opened the door into a large square room. It made Anne think of a kitchen because of the long table. There was a sheet over the table, dragging almost to the floor. Victoria was very pale. \"I do not like this at all, Victoria,\" Dr. Sawyer said, speaking more and more rapidly \"If your father were here\u2014It is a nasty business.\"\n\nAnne thought, As soon as she sees it isn't Elliott, I will tell them. Dr. Sawyer pulled the sheet back from the body.\n\nIt was as if the time, so hurried along by them, had stopped stock-still. The man had been dead several days. Since the storm, Anne thought. He was drowned in the storm. His black coat was still damp and stained like her cloak had been when she had tried to wash away the mud. He was wearing a white silk shirt and a black damask vest. There was a gray silk handkerchief in the vest pocket, wrinkled and water-spotted. He looked cold.\n\nVictoria put her hand out toward the body and then drew it back and groped for Anne's hand. \"I'm sorry,\" Dr. Sawyer said, and looked down at the body lying on the table.\n\nIt was Elliott.\n\n\"It's about time you got here,\" Elliott said, getting up. He had been lying on the pew, his coat folded up under his head. He had unbuttoned his shirt and opened his black vest. \"I've been wasting away.\"\n\nAnne handed him the parcel silently, looking at him. There was a gray silk handkerchief in the pocket of his vest.\n\n\"Did you go to tea at Vickys?\" he said, unwrapping the brown paper from the slices of bread, the baked ham, the russets. He was having some difficulty with the string. \"Comforting the bereaved and all that? What fun!\"\n\n\"No,\" Anne said. She watched him, waiting. He could not untie the string. He laid the packet on the seat beside him. \"We went to Dr. Sawyer's.\"\n\n\"Why? Is my revered father Sinking or does pretty Vicky have the vapors?\"\n\n\"We went to see a body to see if we could identify it.\"\n\n\"Ugh. A grisly business, I should imagine. Pretty Vicky fainting with relief at the sight of some bloated stranger, Dr. Sawyer ready with the smelling salts\u2014\"\n\n\"It was your body, Elliott.\"\n\nShe had expected him to look shocked or furtive or frightened. Instead, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back against them, smiling at her. \"How is that possible, sweet Anne? Or have you been having the vapors, too?\"\n\n\"How did you get from the river to Haddam, Elliott? You never told me.\"\n\nHe did not change his position. \"A horse was grazing by the riverside. I leaped upon his back, the true horseman, and galloped home to you.\"\n\n\"You said you got the horse at an inn.\"\n\n\"I didn't want to offend your sensibilities by telling you I stole the horse. Perhaps I overjudged your sense of delicacy. You seem to have no qualms about accusing me of\u2014what is it exactly you're accusing me of? Murdering some harmless passerby and dressing him in my clothes? Impossible. As you can see, I am still wearing them.\"\n\n\"My cloak is ruined beyond repair,\" she said slowly. \"My boots were caked with mud. The hem of my dress was stained and torn. How did you manage to ride a horse all the way from Haddam in a storm and arrive with your boots polished and your coat brushed?\"\n\nHe sat up suddenly and grabbed for her hands. She stepped back. \"You did all that for me, Anne?\" he said. \"Waiting on the island, drenched and dirty? No wonder you are angry. But this is no way to punish me. Locking me in this dusty room, telling me ghost stories. I'll buy you a new cloak, darling.\"\n\n\"Why haven't you eaten anything I've brought you? You said you were famished. You said you hadn't eaten for days.\"\n\nHe let go of her hands. \"When should I have eaten it? You've been here all this time, badgering me with silly questions. I'll eat it now.\" He picked up the paper packet and set it on his lap.\n\nAnne watched him. His hands were windburned to a dark red. The body's hands had had no color. It was as if the river had washed it away.\n\nElliott fumbled with the brown paper on the bread. \"Bread and cake and my own sweet Anne. What man could ask for more?\" But he still didn't open the packet, and after a few minutes he replaced it on the seat. \"I'll eat it after you've gone,\" he said petulantly \"You've made me lose my appetite with all this talk of dead men.\"\n\nWhen she went back the next day, he was fully dressed, his gray handkerchief neatly folded in his vest pocket, his coat on. \"What time's the funeral?\" he said gaily \"The second funeral, of course. How many funerals shall I have, I wonder? And will I have to pay for all the flowers when I return?\"\n\n\"It is this afternoon,\" Anne said, wondering as soon as she said it if she should not have lied to him. She had dressed for the funeral, thinking all the while she would not go see him, that it was too dangerous, concentrating on dressing warmly in her brushed and cleaned wool merino, on taking her muff. But the key was in her muff, and as soon as she saw it, she knew that she had meant to go see him all along. It was just like the night she had gone to meet him on the island. She had not cared about warmth then, only about not being seen, and she had dressed in her black cloak and her black dress, her black bonnet, as if she were going someplace else altogether. As if, she realized now, she were dressing for a funeral.\n\n\"This afternoon,\" he repeated. \"Then Victoria's father is back from Hartford?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And my father, is he well enough to attend? Leaning on his cane and murmuring, 'A bad end. I knew he would come to a bad end.' Is it to be a graveside service?\" Elliott said, picking up his hat.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said in alarm. \"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"With you, of course. To the funeral. I missed my first one.\"\n\n\"You can't,\" she said, and backed slightly toward the door, clutching the key inside her muff.\n\n\"I think,\" he said coldly, \"that this little game has gone on long enough. I never should have let you dissuade me from walking in on the first funeral. I certainly shall not let you keep me from this one.\"\n\nAnne was so horrified she could not move. \"You'll kill your father,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, and good riddance. You shall have someone to bury then besides this poor stranger who is masquerading as me.\"\n\n\"We are burying you, Elliott,\" she said, and there was something in his face when she said that that gave him away \"You know you're dead, don't you, Elliott?\" she said quietly.\n\nHe put his hat on. \"We shall see if my fianc\u00e9e thinks I am dead. Or her father. How glad he will be to see me alive and free of debt! He shall welcome me with open arms, his son-in-law to be. And pretty Vicky; she shall be a bride instead of a widow.\"\n\nAnne thought of Victoria's kind gray eyes, her little hand holding Anne's hand in the doctors kitchen, of Victoria's father, grim-faced and protective, his hand on his daughter's shoulder. \"Why are you doing this terrible thing, Elliott?\" Anne said.\n\n\"I do not like coffins. They are small and dark and dusty. And cold. Like this room. I will not let them lock me in the grave as you have locked me in.\"\n\nAnne sucked in her breath sharply.\n\n\"They will be so overjoyed they will quite forget what they have gone to the cemetery to do.\" He smiled disarmingly at her. \"They will quite forget to bury me.\"\n\nAnne backed against the door. \"I won't let you,\" she said.\n\n\"Dear Anne, how will you stop me?\"\n\nShe had not locked him in, not since the funeral. She had left the door unlocked each night in the hope that he would come out. \"Leave the door open,\" he had shouted after her, but he had not opened it himself. When she went back the door was still shut, as if she had locked him in. \"I will lock you in,\" she said aloud, and clutched the key inside her muff.\n\nElliott laughed. \"What good will that do? If I am a ghost, I should be able to pass through the walls and come floating across the cemetery to you, shouldn't I, Anne?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said steadily \"I won't let you.\"\n\n\"No?\" he said, and laughed again. \"When have you ever said no to me and meant it? You do not mean it now.\" He took a step toward her. \"Come. We will go together.\"\n\n\"No!\" she said, and whirled, opening and shutting the door behind her in one motion, pulling on the knob with all her strength till she could get the key into the lock and turn it. Elliott's hand was on the knob on the other side, turning it.\n\n\"Stop this foolishness and let me out, Anne,\" he said, half laughing, half stern.\n\n\"No,\" she said.\n\nShe put the key in the muff, and then, as if that had taken all her strength, she walked a few steps into the sanctuary and sank down on a pew. It was the one she had sat in that day of the funeral, and she put her arms down on the pew in front of her and buried her head in them. Inside the muff, her hand still clutched the key.\n\n\"Can I be of help, Miss Lawrence?\" Reverend Sprague said kindly. He was wearing his heavy black coat and carrying The Service for the Burial of the Dead.\n\n\"Yes,\" Anne said, and stood up to go to the cemetery with him.\n\nThe coffin was already in the grave. The dirt was heaped around the edges, as dry and pale as the grass. The sky was heavy and gray. It was very cold. Victoria came forward to greet Reverend Sprague and speak to Anne. \"I am so glad you came,\" she said, taking Anne's gloved hand. \"We have only just heard,\" she said, her gray eyes filling with tears, and Anne thought suddenly, He has already been here.\n\nVictoria's father came and put his arm around his daughter. \"We have had word from New London,\" he said. \"My son's ship was lost in a storm. With all hands.\"\n\n\"No,\" Anne said. \"Your brother.\"\n\n\"We still hope and pray he may not be lost,\" Victoria's father said. \"They were very near the coast.\"\n\n\"He is not lost,\" Anne said, almost to herself, \"he will come today,\" and she did not know of whom she spoke.\n\n\"Let us pray,\" Reverend Sprague said, and Anne thought, Yes, yes, hurry. They all moved closer to the grave as if that could somehow shelter them from the iron-gray sky \"In the midst of life we are in death,\" Reverend Sprague read. \"Of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord?\"\n\nAnne closed her eyes.\n\n\"For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.\" It was beginning to snow. Reverend Sprague stopped to look at the flakes falling on the book and lost the page altogether. When he found it, he said, \"Pardon me,\" and began again. \"In the midst of life...\"\n\nHurry, Anne thought. Oh, hurry.\n\nFar away, at the other side of the cemetery, across the endless stretch of grayish-brown grass and gray-black stones, someone was coming. The minister hesitated. Go on, Anne thought. Go on.\n\n\"That every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.'\"\n\nIt was a man in a dark coat. He was carrying his hat in his hand. His hair was reddish-brown. There were flakes of snow on his coat and in his hair. Anne was afraid to look at him for fear the others would see him. She bowed her head. Reverend Sprague bent and scooped up a handful of dirt from the edge of the grave. \"Unto the mercy of Almighty God, our heavenly Father, we commend the soul of our brother departed and commit his body to the ground, earth to earth\u2014\" He stopped, still holding the handful of earth.\n\nAnne looked up. The man was much closer, walking rapidly between the graves. Victoria's father looked up. His face went gray.\n\n\"Unto the mercy of Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother departed,\" Reverend Sprague read, and stopped again, and stared.\n\nVictoria's father put his arm around Victoria. Victoria looked up. The man began to run toward them, waving his hat in the air.\n\n\"No,\" Anne said. With the toe of her boot she kicked at the dirt heaped around the grave. The dislodged clumps of dirt clattered on the coffin. Reverend Sprague looked at her, his face red and angry. He thinks I murdered Elliott, Anne thought despairingly, but I didn't. She clenched the useless key inside her muff and looked down at the forgotten coffin. I tried, Victoria. For your sake. For all our sakes. I tried to murder Elliott.\n\nVictoria gave a strangled cry and began to run, her father close behind her. Reverend Sprague closed his book with an angry slap. \"Roger!\" Victoria cried, and threw her arms around his neck. Anne looked up.\n\nVictoria's father slapped him on the back again and again. Victoria kissed him and cried. She took his large hand in her small gloved one and led him over to meet Anne. \"This is my brother!\" she said happily. \"Roger, this is Miss Lawrence, who has been so kind to me.\"\n\nHe shook Anne's hand.\n\n\"We heard your ship was lost,\" she said.\n\n\"It was,\" he said, and looked past her at the open grave.\n\nAnne stood outside the door of the choir room with the key in her hand until her fingers became stiff with cold and she could hardly put the key in the lock.\n\nThere was no one in the church. Reverend Sprague had gone home with Victoria and her father and brother to tea. \"Please come,\" Victoria had said to Anne. \"I do so want you and Roger to be friends.\" She had squeezed Anne's gloved hand and hurried off through the snow. It was nearly dusk. The snow had begun falling heavily by the time they finished burying Elliott's body. Reverend Sprague had read the service for the burial of the dead straight through to the end, and then they had stood, heads bowed against the snow, while old Mr. Finn filled in the grave. Then they had gone to tea and Anne had come back here to the church.\n\nShe turned the key in the lock. The rattling sound of the key seemed to be followed by an echo of itself, and she thought for a fleeting second of Elliott on the other side of the door, his hand already on the knob, ready to hurtle past her. Then she opened the door.\n\nThere was no one there. She knew it before she lit the candle. There had been no one there all week except herself. Her small heeled footprints stood out clearly in the dust. The pew where Elliott had sat was thick with undisturbed dust, and in one corner of it lay the comforter she had brought him.\n\nThe toe of her foot hit against something on the floor, half under the pew. She bent to look. The packets of food, untouched in their brown paper wrappings, lay where Elliott had hidden them. A mouse had nibbled the string on one of them, and it lay spilled open, the piece of ham, the russet apple, the crumbling slice of cake she had brought him that first night. A schoolboy's picnic, Anne thought, and left the parcels where they were for Reverend Sprague to find and think whatever it was he would think about the footprints, the candle, the scattered food.\n\nLet him think the worst, Anne thought. After all, it's true. I have murdered Elliott. It was getting very cold in the room. \"I must go to tea at Victoria's,\" she said, and blew out the candle. By the dim light from the hall she picked up the comforter and folded it over her arm. She dropped the key on the floor and left the door open behind her.\n\n\"So there I was, all alone,\" Roger said, \"in the middle of a rough sea, my shirt frozen to my back, not one of my shipmates in sight, when what should I spy but the whaling boat.\" He paused expectantly.\n\nAnne pulled the comforter around her shoulders and leaned forward over the fire to warm her hands.\n\n\"Would you like some tea?\" Victoria said kindly \"Roger, we're eager to hear your story, but we must get poor Anne warmed up. I'm afraid she got a dreadful chill at the cemetery.\"\n\n\"I'm feeling much warmer now, thank you,\" Anne said, but she didn't refuse the tea. She wrapped her hands around the warmth of the thin china cup. Roger left his story to jab clumsily at the fire with the poker.\n\n\"Now then,\" Victoria said when the coals had roared up into new flames, \"you may tell us the rest of your story, Roger.\"\n\nRoger still squatted by the hearth, holding the poker loosely in his rough, windburned hands.\n\n\"There's nothing else to tell,\" he said, looking up at Anne. \"The oars were still in the whaling boat. I rowed for shore.\" He had gray eyes like Victoria's. His hair in the firelight was darker than hers and with a reddish cast to it. Almost as dark as Elliott's. \"I walked to an inn and hired a horse. When I got here, they told me you were at the cemetery. I was afraid you'd given up hope and were burying me.\"\n\nHis smile was more open than Elliott's, and his eyes more kind. His windburned hands looked strong and full of life, but he held the poker clumsily, as if his hands were cold and he could not get a proper grip on it. Anne took the comforter from around her shoulders and put it across her knees.\n\n\"You haven't eaten a thing since you got home,\" Victoria said. \"And after all that time in an open boat, I'd think you would be starving.\"\n\nRoger put the poker down on the hearth and took the cup of tea his sister gave him in both hands. He held it steadily enough, but he did not drink any. \"I ate at the inn where I hired the horse,\" he said.\n\n\"How did you say you found the horse?\" Anne said, as if she had not heard them. She held out a slice of cake to him on a thin china plate.\n\n\"I borrowed it from the man at the inn. He gave me some clothes to wear, too. Mine were ruined, and I'd lost my boots in the water. I must have been a sorry sight, knocking at his door late at night. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost.\" He smiled at Anne, and his eyes were kinder than Elliott's had ever been. \"So did all of you,\" he said. \"I felt for a moment as if I'd come to my own funeral.\"\n\n\"No,\" Anne said, and smiled back at him, but she watched him steadily as he took the slice of cake, and waited for him to eat it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Lost and Found",
                "text": "\"Is it the end of the world?\" Megan asked. \"Losing your cup, I mean?\" Finney had come up to the Reverend Mr. Davidson's study to see if he might have left it there and found Megan at her father's desk, pasting bits of cotton wool to a sheet of blue paper.\n\n\"No, of course not,\" Finney said. \"Its only annoying. It's the third time this week I've lost it.\" He pulled the desk drawers open one by one. The top two were empty. The bottom was full of construction paper. He limped around the desk to a chair and dropped down onto it.\n\nHe watched Megan. The top two buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, and she was leaning forward over the paper, so Finney had a nice view of her bosom, though she was unaware of it. She was making a botch of the pasting, daubing the brown glue onto the cotton instead of the paper. The glue leaked through the cotton wool when she pounded it down with the flat of her hand, and sticky bits of it clung to her palm. The face of an angel and the body of a woman and she could not paste as well as her nursery church school class. It was her father the Reverend Mr. Davidson's voice one heard when she spoke, his learned speech patterns and quotations of scripture, but the effect was strong enough that one forgot she recited them without understanding. Finney constantly had to remind himself that she was only a child, even if she was eighteen, that her words were children's words with children's meanings, inspired though they might sound.\n\n\"Why did you ask if it were the end of the world?\" Finney said.\n\n\"Because then you might find your cup. 'Of all which he hath given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day.' When is Daddy coming home?\"\n\nFinney's foot began to throb. \"When he's finished with his business.\"\n\n\"I hope he comes soon,\" Megan said. \"There are only the three of us till he comes.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Finney said, thinking of the other teacher, Mrs. Andover. A fine threesome to hold down the fort: a middle-aged spinster, an eighteen-year-old child, and a thirty-year-old... what? Church school teacher, he told himself firmly. His foot began to ache worse than ever. Lame church school teacher.\n\n\"I hope he comes soon,\" Megan said again.\n\n\"So do I. What are you making?\"\n\n\"Sheep,\" Megan said. She held up the paper. White bits of the cotton wool were stuck randomly to the blue paper. They looked like clouds in a blue sky. \"My class is going to make them after tea.\"\n\n\"Where are your children then?\" Finney said, trying to keep his voice casual.\n\nShe looked at him with round blue eyes. \"We were playing a game outside before. About sheep. So I came in to make some.\"\n\nSt. John's at End sat on a round island in the middle of the River End. The river on both sides was so shallow one could walk across it, but it was possible to drown in only a foot of water, wasn't it? Finney nearly had.\n\n\"I'll find them,\" he said.\n\n\"The lost shall be found,\" Megan said, and patted a bit of wool with her hand.\n\nHe collided with Mrs. Andover on the stairs. \"Megan's let her class out with no one to watch them,\" he said rapidly. \"She's in there pasting and the children are God knows where. My boys are out, but they won't think to watch out for them.\"\n\nMrs. Andover turned and walked slowly down the stairs ahead of him, as if she were purposely impeding his progress. \"The children are perfectly all right,\" she said calmly. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and faced Finney, her arms folded across her matronly bosom. \"I set one of the older girls to watch them,\" she said. \"She has been spying for me all week, seeing that nothing happens to them.\"\n\nFinney was a little taken aback. Mrs. Andover was so much the Oxford tour guide, prim blue skirt and sturdy walking shoes. He would have thought a word like \"spying\" beneath her.\n\n\"You needn't worry,\" she said, mistaking Finney's surprise for concern. \"I'm paying her. Two pounds the week. Money's the root of all loyalty, isn't it, then?\"\n\n\"Sometimes,\" Finney said, even more surprised. \"At any rate I think I'll go make sure of them.\"\n\nMrs. Andover lifted an eyebrow and said, \"Whatever you think best.\" She turned at the landing and went into the sanctuary, Finney started out the side door and then stopped, wondering what Mrs. Andover could possibly be doing in there. She had not had a pocket torch with her, and the sanctuary was nearly pitch-black. He hesitated, then turned painfully around, using the stone lintel for support, and followed her into the sanctuary.\n\nAt first he could not see her. The spaces where the stained glass windows had been were boarded up with sheets of plywood. Only the little arch at the top was left: open to let in light. The windows had been the first to go, of course, even before the government had decided that a state church should by definition help support the state. The windows had been sold because the cults could afford to buy them and the churches needed the money. The government had seen at once that the churches could be a source of income as well as grace, and the systematic sacking had begun. The great cathedrals, like Ely and Salisbury, were long since stripped bare, and it would not be long before the looting reached St. John's.\n\nSt. John's will becrammed with spies, Finney thought. The Reverend Mr. Davidson, Mrs. Andover's girl, the government spies, and myself, all working undercover in one way or another. We shall have to sell the pews to make room for everyone. He stood perfectly still, balancing on his good foot. He let his eyes adjust, waiting to get his bearings from the marble angel that always shone dimly near the doors. The little curved triangles of sky were thick with gray clouds that absorbed the light like Megan's cotton wool absorbed the brown glue.\n\nHe caught a glimpse of white to the left, but it was not the angel. It was Mrs. Andover's white blouse. She was bending over one of the pews. \"I say,\" he called out cheerfully, \"this would make a good hiding place, wouldn't it?\"\n\nShe straightened abruptly.\n\n\"What are you looking for?\" Finney said, making his way toward her with the pew backs for awkward crutches.\n\n\"Your cup,\" Mrs. Andover said nervously \"I heard you tell Megan you'd lost it again. I thought one of the children might have hidden it.\"\n\nMrs. Andover was full of surprises today. Finney did not really know her at all, had not really thought about her presence though she had come after he did. Finney had ticketed her from the start as a schoolmistress spinster and not thought any more about her. Now he was not certain he should have dismissed her so easily \"What are you doing here?\" he said aloud.\n\n\"I was not aware the sanctuary was off-limits,\" she snapped. Finney was amazed. She looked as properly guilty as one of his upper form boys.\n\n\"I didn't mean to be rude,\" he said. \"I was only wondering how you came to be here at St. John's.\"\n\nShe looked even guiltier, which was ridiculous. What had she been doing in here?\n\n\"One might wonder the same thing about you, Mr. Finney.\" She looked coldly at his stub of a foot. \"You apparently came here through violent means.\"\n\nVery good, thought Finney. \"A shark bit it off,\" he said. \"In the River End. I was wading.\"\n\n\"It is no wonder you are so concerned about the children then. Perhaps you'd better go see to them.\" She started past him. He put out his hand to stop her, not even sure what he wanted to say. She stopped stock-still. \"I shouldn't question other people's fitness to teach, Mr. Finney,\" she said. \"A lame man and a half-witted girl. The Reverend Mr. Davidson is apparently not in a position to pick and choose who represents his church.\"\n\nFinney thought of Reverend Davidson bending over him, his shoes wet and his trousers splattered with water and Finney's blood. He had propped Finney's arm around his neck, and then, as if Finney were one of his children, picked him up and carried him out of the water. \"Either that,\" Finney said, \"or he has jesuss unfortunate affinity for idiots and cripples. Which are you, Mrs. Andover?\"\n\nShe shook off his hand and brushed angrily past him.\n\n\"What were you looking for, Mrs. Andover?\" Finney said. \"What exactly did you expect to find?\"\n\n\"Hullo,\" Megan said as if on cue. \"Look what I've just found.\"\n\nShe was holding a heavy leather notebook full of yellowing pages. \"I was looking for some nice black construction paper to make shadows with,\" she said. \"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.' I thought how nice it would be if each of the sheep had a nice black shadow and I looked in the bottom drawer of Daddy's desk, where he always keeps the paper, and this is all that was in there. Not any green at all.\" She handed the notebook to Finney.\n\n\"Green shadows?\" he said absently, thinking of the drawer he had pulled out, full of colored paper.\n\n\"Of course not,\" Megan said. \"Green pastures. 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.'\"\n\nHe wasn't really listening to her. He was looking at the notebook. It was made of a soft, dark brown leather, now stiffening at the edges and even peeling off in curling layers at one corner. He started to open the cover. Mrs. Andover made a sound. Finney looked over Megan's bright blond head at her. Her face was lined with triumph.\n\n\"Is it Daddy's?\" Megan said.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Finney said. Megan's sticky fingers had marked the cover with bits of cotton and stuck the first two pages to the cover. Finney looked at the close handwriting on the pages, written in faded blue ink. He gently pried the glued pages from the cover.\n\n\"Is it?\" Megan said insistently.\n\n\"No,\" Finney said finally. \"It appears to belong to T. E. Lawrence. How did it get in your father's desk?\"\n\n\"Megan,\" Mrs. Andover said, \"it's time for the children to come in. Go and fetch them.\"\n\n\"Is it time for tea, then?\" Megan said.\n\nFinney looked at his watch. \"Not yet,\" he said. \"It's only three.\"\n\n\"We'll have it early today,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"Tell them to come in for their tea.\"\n\nMegan ran out. Mrs. Andover came over to stand beside Finney \"It looks like a rough draft of a book or something,\" Finney said. \"Like a manuscript. What do you think?\"\n\n\"I don't need to think,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"I know what it is. It's the manuscript copy of Lawrence's book The Seven Pillars of Wisdom. He wrote it after he became famous as Lawrence of Arabia, before he\u2014succumbed to his unhappiness. It was lost in Reading Railway Station in 1919.\"\n\n\"How did it get here?\"\n\n\"Why don't you tell me?\" Mrs. Andover said.\n\nFinney looked at her, amazed. She was staring at him as if he might actually know something about it. \"I wasn't even born in 1919. I've never even been in Reading Station.\"\n\n\"It wasn't in the desk this morning when I searched it.\"\n\n\"Oh, really,\" Finney said, \"and what were you looking for in Reverend Davidson's desk? Green construction paper?\"\n\n\"I've set the tea out,\" Megan said from the doorway, \"only I can't find any cups.\"\n\n\"I forgot,\" Finney said. \"Jesus was fond of tax collectors, too, wasn't he?\"\n\nFinney went into the kitchen on the excuse of looking for something better than a paper cup for his tea. Instead, he stood at the sink and stared at the wall. If the brown leather notebook were truly a lost manuscript of Lawrence's book, and if Mrs. Andover was one of the state's spies, as he was almost certain she was, Reverend Davidson would lose his church for withholding treasures from the state. That was not the worst of it. His name and picture would be in all the papers, and that would mean an end to the undercover rescue work getting the children out of the cults, and an end to the children.\n\n\"Take care of her, Finney,\" he had said before he left. \"'Into thy hands I commend my spirit.'\" And he had let a government spy loose in the church, had let her roam about taking inventory Finney gripped the linoleum drainboard.\n\nPerhaps she was not from the government. Even if she was, she might be here for a totally different reason. Finney was a reporter, but he was hardly here for a good story He was here because he had nearly bled to death in the End and Davidson had pulled him out. Perhaps Reverend Davidson had rescued Mrs. Andover, too, had brought her into the fold like all the rest of his lost lambs.\n\nFinney was not even sure why he was here. He told himself he was staying until his foot healed, until Davidson found another teacher for the upper form boys, until Davidson got safely back from the north. He did not think it was because he was afraid, although of course he was afraid. They would know he was a reporter by now, they would know he had been working undercover investigating the cults. There would be no question of cutting off a foot for attempting to escape this time. They would murder him, and they would find a scripture to say over him as they did it. 'If thy right hand offend, cut it off.' He had thought he never wanted to hear scripture again. Perhaps that was why he stayed. To hear Megan prattling her sweet and senseless scriptures was like a balm. And what was St. John's to Mrs. Andover? A balm? A refuge? Or an enemy to be conquered and then sacked?\n\nMegan came in, knelt down beside the cupboard below the sink, and began banging about.\n\n\"What are you looking for?\" Finney said.\n\n\"Your cup, of course. Mrs. Andover found some others, but not yours.\"\n\n\"Megan,\" he said seriously kneeling beside her, \"what do you know about Mrs. Andover?\"\n\n\"She's a spy,\" Megan said from inside the cupboard.\n\n\"Why do you think that?\"\n\n\"Daddy said so. He gave her all the treasures. The marble angel and the choir screen and all the candlesticks. 'Render unto Caesar that which is Caesars.' It isn't there,\" she said, pulling her head out of the cupboard. \"Only pots.\" She handed Finney a rusted iron skillet and two banged-about aluminum pots. Finney put them carefully back into the empty cupboard, trying to think how best to ask Megan why she thought Mrs. Andover had stayed on. Her answer might be nonsense, of course, or it might be inspired. It might be scripture.\n\n\"She thinks we didn't give her all the treasures,\" Megan volunteered suddenly, on her knees beside him. \"She asks me all the time where Daddy hid them.\"\n\n\"And what do you tell her?\"\n\n\"'Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths corrupt and thieves break in and steal.'\"\n\n\"Good girl,\" Finney said, and lifted her up. \"What's an old cup? We'll find it later.\" He took her hand and led her into tea.\n\nMrs. Andover was already being mother, pouring out hot milk and tea into a styrofoam cup with a half circle bitten out of it. She handed it to Finney \"Did you and Megan find your cup?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" Finney said. \"But then we aren't experts like you, are we.\"\n\nMrs. Andover did not answer him. She poured Megan's tea. \"When is your father coming back, Megan?\" she said.\n\n\"Not soon enough,\" Finney snapped. \"Are you that eager to arrest him? Or is it hanging you're after, for treasonable offenses?\" He thought of Davidson, crouched by a gate somewhere, waiting for the child to be bundled out to him. \"If the cults don't murder him, the government will, is that the game then? How can he possibly win a game like that?\"\n\n\"The game's not finished yet,\" Megan said.\n\n\"What?\" Finney slopped tea all over his trousers.\n\n\"Go and finish your game,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"Take the children with you. You needn't come in till it's ended.\" Now that Finney was looking for it, he saw her nod to a tall girl with a large bosom. The girl nodded back and went out after the children. What else had he missed because he wasn't looking for it?\n\n\"It's a game of Megan's,\" Mrs. Andover said to Finney \"One child's the shepherd, and he must get all the sheep into the fold by putting them inside a ring drawn on the ground. When he's got them all inside the ring, then it's bang! the end, and all adjourn for tea and cake.\"\n\n\"Bang! the end,\" said Finney. \"Tea and cakes for everyone. I wish it were as simple as that.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you should join one of the cults,\" Mrs. Andover said.\n\nFinney looked up sharply from his tea.\n\n\"They are always preaching the end, aren't they? When it is coming and to whom. Lists of who's to be saved and who's to be left to his own devices. Dates and places and timetables.\"\n\n\"They're wrong,\" Finney said. \"It's supposed to come like a thief in the night so no one will see it coming.\"\n\n\"I doubt there's a thief could get past me without my knowing it.\"\n\n\"Yes, I forgot,\" said Finney \"'It takes a thief to catch a thief.' Isn't that one of Megan's scriptures?\"\n\nShe looked thoughtful. \"Aren't the lost supposed to be safely gathered into the fold before the end can come?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Finney, \"but the good shepherd never does specify just who those lost ones are he's so bent on finding. Perhaps he has a list of his own, and when all the people on it are safely inside some circle he's drawn on the ground\u2014\"\n\n\"Or perhaps we don't understand at all,\" Mrs. Andover said dreamily. \"Perhaps the lost are not people at all, but things. Perhaps it's they that are being gathered in before the end. T. E. Lawrence was a lost soul, wasn't he?\"\n\n\"I'd hardly call Lawrence of Arabia lost,\" Finney said. \"He seemed to know his way round the Middle East rather well.\"\n\n\"He hired a man to flog him, did you know that? He would have had to be well and truly lost to have done that.\" She looked up suddenly at Finney. \"If something else turned up, something valuable, that would prove the end was coming, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"It would prove something,\" Finney said. \"I'm not certain what.\"\n\n\"Where exactly is your Reverend Davidson?\" she asked, almost offhand, as if she could catch him by changing the subject.\n\nHe is out rescuing the lost, dear lady, while you sit here seducing admissions out of me. A thief can't sneak past me either. \"In London, of course,\" Finney said. \"Pawning the crown jewels and hiding the money in Swiss bank accounts.\"\n\n\"Quite possibly,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"Perhaps he should think about returning to St. John's. He is in a good deal of trouble.\"\n\nFinney pulled his class in and sat them down in the crypt. \"Tisn't fair,\" one of the taller boys said. \"The game was still going. It wasn't very nice of you to pull us in like that.\" He kicked at the gilded toe of a fifteenth-century wool merchant.\n\n\"I quite agree,\" Finney said, which remark caused all of them to sit up and look at him, even the kicker. \"It was not fair. Neither was it fair for me to have had to drink my tea from a paper cup.\"\n\n\"It isn't our bloody fault you lost the cup,\" the boy said sulkily.\n\n\"That would be quite true, if indeed the cup were lost. The Holy Grail has been lost for centuries and never found, and that is certainly no one's bloody fault. But my cup is not lost forever, and you are going to find it.\" He tried to sound angry so they would look and not play. \"I want you to search every nook and cranny of this church, and if you find the cup\"\u2014here was the tricky bit, just the right casual tone\u2014\"or anything else interesting, bring it straightaway to me.\" He paused and then said, as if he had just thought of it, \"I'll give fifty pence for every treasure.\"\n\nThe children scattered like players in a game. Finney hobbled up the stairs after them and stood in the side door. The younger children were down by the water and Mrs. Andover was standing near them.\n\nTwo of the boys plummeted past Finney and up the stairs to the study \"Don't...\" Finney said, but they were already past him. By the time he had managed the stairs, the boys had strewn open every drawer of the desk. They were tumbling colored paper out of the bottom drawer, trying to see what was under it.\n\n\"It isn't there,\" one of the boys said, and Finney's heart caught.\n\n\"What isn't?\"\n\n\"Your cup. This is where we hid it. This morning.\"\n\n\"You must be mistaken,\" he said, and led them firmly down the stairs. Halfway down, Mrs. Andover's girl burst in at them.\n\n\"She says you are to come at once,\" she said breathlessly.\n\nFinney released the boys. \"You two can redeem yourselves by finding my cup,\" and then as they escaped down the stairs to the crypt, he shouted, \"and stay out of the study.\"\n\nMrs. Andover was standing by the End, watching the children and Megan wade knee-deep in the clear water. The sun had come out. Finney could see the flash of sunlight off Megan's hair.\n\n\"They're playing a game,\" Mrs. Andover said without looking at him. \"It's an old nursery rhyme about how bad King John lost his clothes in the Wash. The children stand in a circle, and when the rhyme's done, they fall down in the water. Megan stepped on something when she went down. She cut her foot.\"\n\nWater and blood and Davidson reaching out for Finney's hand. \"No!\" Finney had cried, \"not my hand, too!\" Davidson had started to say something and Finney had flailed away from him like a landed fish, afraid it would be holy scripture. But he had said, \"The cults did this to you, didn't they?\" in a voice that had no holiness in it at all, and Finney had collapsed gratefully into his arms.\n\n\"Is she hurt?\" he said, blinded by the sun and the memory.\n\n\"It was just a scratch,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"King John did lose his clothes. In a battle in 1215. His army was fighting in a muddy estuary of the Wash when a tide came in and knocked everyone under. He lost his crown, too.\"\n\n\"And it was never found,\" Finney said, knowing what was coming.\n\n\"Not until now.\"\n\n\"Megan!\" Finney shouted. \"Come here right now!\"\n\nShe ran up out of the water, her bare legs dripping wet. On her head was a rusty circle that looked more like a tin lid than a crown, He did not have the slightest doubt that it was what Mrs. Andover said, the crown of a king dead eight hundred years.\n\n\"Give me the crown, Megan,\" Finney said.\n\n\"Behold I come quickly. Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown,\" she said, handing it to Finney.\n\nFinney scratched through the encrusted minerals to the definite scrape of metal. It was thinner in several spots. Finney poked his little finger into one of the indentations and through it, making a round hole.\n\n\"Those are for the jewels,\" Megan said.\n\n\"What makes you think that?\" Mrs. Andover said. \"Have you seen any jewels?\"\n\n\"All crowns have jewels,\" Megan said. Finney handed the crown back to her and she put it on. Finney looked at the sky behind Megan's head. The clouds had pulled back from a little circlet of blue over the church. \"Can I go back now?\" Megan said. \"The game's almost done.\"\n\n\"This is the End,\" Finney said, watching her walk fearlessly into the water. \"Not the Wash.\"\n\n\"Nor is it Reading Railway Station,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"Nevertheless.\"\n\n\"The water's perfectly clear. I would have seen it. Someone would have seen it. It can't have lain there since 1215.\"\n\n\"It could have been put there,\" Mrs. Andover said. \"After the jewels had been removed.\"\n\n\"So could the colored paper,\" he said without thinking, \"after the book was taken out.\"\n\n\"What about the paper?\" Mrs. Andover said.\n\n\"It's back in the drawer where Megan found the book. I saw it.\"\n\n\"You might have put it back.\"\n\n\"But I didn't.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she said thoughtfully, \"the pious Reverend Davidson has come back without telling us.\"\n\n\"For what purpose?\" Finney said, losing his temper altogether. \"To play some incredible game of hide-and-seek? To race about his church scattering priceless manuscripts and ancient crowns like prizes for us to find? What would we have to find to convince you he's innocent? The Holy Grail?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Mrs. Andover said coldly, and started back toward the church.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Finney shouted.\n\n\"To see for myself this miracle of the colored paper.\"\n\n\"King John was a pretty lost soul, too,\" he shouted at her back. \"Perhaps he's the last on the list. Perhaps it'll all go bang before you even get to the church.\"\n\nBut she made it safely to the vestry door and inside, and Finney hobbled after her, suddenly afraid of what his boys might have found now.\n\nMrs. Andover was staring bleakly into the open drawer as Finney had done, as if it held some answer. Finney felt a pang of pity for her, standing there in her sturdy shoes, believing in no one, alone in the enemy camp. He put his hand out to her shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch. There was a sudden clatter on the stairs, and the two boys exploded into the room with Finney's cup.\n\n\"Look what we found!\" one of them said.\n\n\"And you'll never guess what else,\" the other said, tumbling his words out. \"After you said we shouldn't look in here, we went down to the sanctuary, only it was too dark to see properly. So then we went into where we all have tea and there were no good hiding places at all, so we said to ourselves where would a cup logically be and the answer of course was in the kitchen.\" He stopped to take a breath. \"We pulled everything out of the cupboard, but it was just pots.\"\n\n\"And an iron skillet,\" Finney said.\n\n\"So we were putting them all back when we saw something else, a big old metal sort of thing rather like a cup, and your cup was inside it!\" He handed the china cup triumphantly to Finney.\n\n\"Where is it?\" Mrs. Andover said, as if it were an effort to speak. \"This big old metal cup?\"\n\n\"In the kitchen. We'll fetch it if you like.\"\n\n\"Please do.\"\n\nThe boys dashed out. Finney turned to look at her. \"It wasn't there. Megan and I looked. You know what it is, don't you?\" Finney said, his heart beating sickeningly fast. It was the way he had felt before he lost his foot, when he saw the ax coming down.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"It's what you've been waiting for,\" he said accusingly. \"It's the proof you said you wanted.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, her lip trembling. \"Only I didn't know what it would mean.\"\n\nThe boys were already racketing up the stairs. They burst in the door with it. For one awful endless moment, the steel blade falling against the sound of his own heart, louder than the drone of scripture, Finney prayed that it was an old metal cup.\n\nThe boys set it on the desk. It was badly dented from endless hidings and secretings and journeys. Tarnished like an old spoon. It shone like the cup of the sky.\n\n\"Is it a treasure?\" the boy who had stolen Finney's cup said, looking at their faces. \"Do we get the fifty pence?\"\n\n\"It is the Holy Grail,\" Mrs. Andover said, putting her hands on it like a benediction.\n\n\"I thought it was lost forever.\"\n\n\"It was,\" she said. \"I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day.'\"\n\nFinney rubbed the back of his hand across his dry mouth. \"I think we'd better get the children inside,\" he said.\n\nHe sent the boys downstairs to put the kettle on for tea. Mrs. Andover stood by the desk, holding onto the Grail as if she were afraid of what would happen if she let go.\n\n\"It isn't so bad once it's over,\" Finney said kindly. \"What you think is the end isn't always, and it turns out better than you dreamed.\"\n\nShe set the Grail down gently and turned to him.\n\n\"It is only the last moment before the blade falls that is hard to bear,\" he said.\n\n\"I have never told you,\" Mrs. Andover said, her eyes filling with tears, \"how sorry I am about your foot.\" She fumbled for a handkerchief.\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Finney said. \"At any rate, the way things seem to be going, it might just turn up.\"\n\nShe smiled at that, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief, but when they went down the stairs, she clung to Finney's arm as if she were the one who was lame. Finney sent her into the kitchen to set out the tea things and then went down to the edge of the End to bring the children in.\n\n\"Is Daddy here?\" Megan said, dancing along beside him with one hand on her crown to keep it from falling off. \"Is that why we're having tea again?\"\n\n\"No,\" Finney said. \"But he's coming. He'll be here soon.\"\n\n\"Surely I come quickly,\" Megan said, and ran inside.\n\nFinney looked at the sky. Above the church the clouds peeled back from the blue like the edges of a scroll. Finney shut and barred the double doors to the sanctuary. He bolted the side door on the stairs and wedged a folding chair under the lock. Then he went into tea."
            },
            {
                "title": "All My Darling Daughters",
                "text": "Barrett: I'll have her dog... Octavius.\n\nOctavius: Sir?\n\nBarrett: Her dog must be destroyed. At once.\n\nOctavius: I really d-don't see what the p-poor little beast has d-done to...\n\n\u2014The Barretts of Wimpole Street\n\nThe first thing my new roommate did was tell me her life story. Then she tossed up all over my bunk. Welcome to Hell. I know, I know. It was my own fucked fault that I was stuck with the stupid little scut in the first place. Daddy's darling had let her grades slip till she was back in the freshman dorm and she would stay there until the admin reported she was being a good little girl again. But he didn't have to put me in the charity ward, with all the little scholarship freshmen from the front colonies-frightened virgies one and all. The richies had usually had their share of jig-jig in boarding school, even if they were mostly edge. And they were willing to learn.\n\nNot this one. She wouldn't know a bone from a vaj, and wouldn't know what went into which either. Ugly, too. Her hair was chopped off in an old-fashioned bob I thought nobody not even front kids, wore anymore. Her name was Zibet and she was from some godspit colony called Marylebone Weep and her mother was dead and she had three sisters and her father hadn't wanted her to come. She told me all this in a rush of what she probably thought was friendliness before she tossed her supper all over me and my nice new slickspin sheets.\n\nThe sheets were the sum total of good things about the vacation Daddy Dear had sent me on over summer break. Being stranded in a forest of slimy slicksa trees and noble natives was supposed to build my character and teach me the hazards of bad grades. But the noble natives were good at more than weaving their precious product with its near frictionless surface. Jig-jig on slickspin is something entirely different, and I was close to being an expert on the subject. I'd bet even Brown didn't know about this one. I'd be more than glad to teach him.\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" she kept saying in a kind of hiccup while her face turned red and then white and then red again like a fucked alert bell, and big tears seeped down her face and dripped on the mess. \"I guess I got a little sick on the shuttle.\"\n\n\"I guess. Don't bawl, for jig's sake, it's no big deal. Don't they have laundries in Mary Boning It?\"\n\n\"Marylebone Weep. It's a natural spring.\"\n\n\"So are you, kid. So are you.\" I scooped up the wad, with the muck inside. \"No big deal. The dorm mother will take care of it.\"\n\nShe was in no shape to take the sheets down herself, and I figured Mumsy would take one look at those big fat tears and assign me a new roommate. This one was not exactly perfect. I could see right now I couldn't expect her to do her homework and not bawl giant tears while Brown and I jig-jigged on the new sheets. But she didn't have leprosy, she didn't weigh eight hundred pounds, and she hadn't gone for my vaj when I bent over to pick up the sheets. I could do a lot worse.\n\nI could also be doing some better. Seeing Mumsy on my first day back was not my idea of a good start. But I trotted downstairs with the scutty wad and knocked on the dorm mother's door.\n\nShe is no dumb lady. You have to stand in a little box of an entryway waiting for her to answer your knock. The box works on the same principle as a rat cage, except that she's added her own little touch. Three big mirrors that probably cost her a year's salary to cart up from earth. Never mind\u2014as a weapon, they were a real bargain. Because, Jesus jiggin' Mary, you stand there and sweat and the mirrors tell you your skirt isn't straight and your hair looks scutty and that bead of sweat on your upper lip is going to give it away immediately that you are scared scutless. By the time she answers the door\u2014five minutes if she's feeling kindly\u2014you're either edge or you're not there. No dumb lady.\n\nI was not on the defensive, and my skirts are never straight, so the mirrors didn't have any effect on me, but the five minutes took their toll. That box didn't have any ventilation and I was way too close to those sheets. But I had my speech all ready. No need to remind her who I was. The admin had probably filled her in but good. And I'd get nowhere telling her they were my sheets. Let her think they were the virgies.\n\nWhen she opened the door I gave her a brilliant smile and said, \"My roommate's had a little problem. She's a new freshman, and I think she got a little excited coming up on the shuttle and\u2014\"\n\nI expected her to launch into the \"supplies are precious, everything must be recycled, cleanliness is next to godliness\" speech you get for everything you do on this godspit campus. Instead she said, \"What did you do to her?\"\n\n\"What did I\u2014look, she's the one who tossed up. What do you think I did, stuck my fingers down her throat?\"\n\n\"Did you give her something? Samurai? Float? Alcohol?\"\n\n\"Jiggin' Jesus, she just got here. She walked in, she said she was from Mary's Prick or something, she tossed up.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And what? I may look depraved, but I don't think freshmen vomit at the sight of me.\"\n\nFrom her expression, I figured Mumsy might. I stuck the smelly wad of sheets at her. \"Look,\" I said, \"I don't care what you do. It's not my problem. The kid needs clean sheets.\"\n\nHer expression for the mucky mess was kinder than the one she had for me. \"Recycling is not until Wednesday. She will have to sleep on her mattress until then.\"\n\nMary Masting, she could knit a sheet by Wednesday, especially with all the cotton flying around this fucked campus. I grabbed the sheets back.\n\n\"Jig you, scut,\" I said.\n\nI got two months' dorm restricks and a date with the admin.\n\nI went down to third level and did the sheets myself. It cost a fortune. They want you to have an awareness of the harm you are doing the delicate environment by failing to abide, etc. Total scut. The environment's about as delicate as a senior's vaj. When Old Man Moulton bought this third hand Hell-Five, he had some edge dream of turning it into the college he went to as a boy. Whatever possessed him to even buy the old castoff is something nobody's ever figured out. There must have been a Lagrangian point on the top of his head.\n\nThe realtor must have talked hard and fast to make him think Hell could ever look like Ames, Iowa. At least there'd been some technical advances since it was first built or we'd all be floating around the godspit place. But he couldn't stop at simply gravitizing the place, fixing the plumbing, and hiring a few good teachers. Oh, no, he had to build a sandstone campus, put in a football field, and plant trees! This all cost a fortune, of course, which put it out of the reach of everybody but richies and trust kids, except for Moulton's charity scholarship cases. But you couldn't jig-jig in a plastic bag to fulfill your fatherly instincts back then, so Moulton had to build himself a college. And here we sit, stuck out in space with a bunch of fucked cottonwood trees that are trying to take over.\n\nJesus Bonin' Mary; cottonwoods! I mean, so what if we're a hundred years out of date. I can take the freshman beanies and the pep rallies. Dorm curfews didn't stop anybody a hundred years ago either. And face it, pleated skirts and cardigans make for easy access. But those godspit trees!\n\nAt first they tried the nature-dupe stuff. Freeze your vaj in winter, suffocate in summer, just like good old Iowa. The trees were at least bearable then. Everybody choked in cotton for a month, they baled the stuff up like Mississippi slaves and shipped it down to earth and that was it. But finally something was too expensive even for Daddy Moulton and we went on even-clime like all the other Hell-Fives. Nobody bothered to tell the trees, of course, so now they just spit and drop leaves whenever they feel like it, which is all the time. You can hardly make it to class without choking to death.\n\nThe trees do their dirty work down under, too, rooting happily away through the plumbing and the buried cables so that nothing works. Ever. I think the whole outer shell could blow away and nobody would ever know. The fucked root system would hold us together. And the admin wonders why we call it Hell. I'd like to upset this delicate balance once and for all.\n\nI ran the sheets through on disinfect and put them in the spin. While I was sitting there, thinking evil thoughts about freshmen and figuring how to get off restricks, Arabel came wandering in.\n\n\"Tavvy, hi! When did you get back?\" She is always too sweet for words. We played lezzies as freshmen, and sometimes I think she's sorry it's over. \"There's a great party,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm on restricks,\" I said. Arabel's not the world's greatest authority on parties. I mean, herself and a plastic bone would be a great party. \"Where is it?\"\n\n\"My room. Brown's there,\" she said languidly. This was calculated to make me rush out of my pants and up the stairs, no doubt. I watched my sheets spin.\n\n\"So what are you doing down here?\" I said.\n\n\"I came down for some float. Our machine's out. Why don't you come on over? Restricks never stopped you before.\"\n\n\"I've been to your parties, Arabel. Washing my sheets might be more exciting.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" she said, \"it might.\" She fiddled with the machine. This was not like her at all.\n\n\"What's up?\"\n\n\"Nothing's up.\" She sounded puzzled. \"It's samurai-party time without the samurai. Not a bone in sight and no hope of any. That's why I came down here.\"\n\n\"Brown, too?\" I asked. He was into a lot of edge stuff, but I couldn't quite imagine celibacy.\n\n\"Brown, too. They all just sit there.\"\n\n\"They're on something, then. Something new they brought back from vacation.\" I couldn't see what she was so upset about.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"They're not on anything. This is different. Come see. Please.\"\n\nWell, maybe this was all a trick to get me to one of Arabel's scutty parties and maybe not. But I didn't want Mumsy to think she'd hurt my feelings by putting me on restricks. I threw the lock on the spin so nobody'd steal the sheets and went with her.\n\nFor once Arabel hadn't exaggerated. It was a godspit party, even by her low standards. You could tell that the minute you walked in. The girls looked unhappy the boys looked uninterested. It couldn't be all bad, though. At least Brown was back. I walked over to where he was standing.\n\n\"Tavvy,\" he said, smiling, \"how was your summer? Learn anything new from the natives?\"\n\n\"More than my fucked father intended.\" I smiled back at him.\n\n\"I'm sure he had your best interests at heart,\" he said. I started to say something clever to that, then realized he wasn't kidding. Brown was trust just like I was. He had to be kidding. Only he wasn't. He wasn't smiling anymore either.\n\n\"He just wanted to protect you, for your own good.\"\n\nJiggin' Jesus, he had to be on something. \"I don't need any protecting,\" I said. \"As you well know.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" he said, sounding disappointed. \"Yeah.\" He moved away.\n\nWhat in the scut was going on? Brown leaned against the wall, watching Sept and Arabel. She had her sweater off and was shimmying out of her skirt, which I have seen before, sometimes even helped with. What I had never seen before was the look of absolute desperation on her face. Something was very wrong. Sept stripped, and his bone was as big as Arabel could have wanted, but the look on her face didn't change. Sept shook his head almost disapprovingly at Brown and went down on Arabel.\n\n\"I haven't had any straight-up all summer,\" Brown said from behind me, his hand on my vaj. \"Let's get out of here.\"\n\nGladly. \"We can't go to my room,\" I said. \"I've got a virgie for a roommate. How about yours?\"\n\n\"No!\" he said, and then more quietly, \"I've got the same problem. New guy. Just off the shuttle. I want to break him in gently.\"\n\nYou're lying, Brown, I thought. And you're about to back out of this, too. \"I know a place,\" I said, and practically raced him to the laundry room so he wouldn't have time to change his mind.\n\nI spread one of the dried slickspin sheets on the floor and went down as fast as I could get out of my clothes. Brown was in no hurry, and the frictionless sheet seemed to relax him. He smoothed his hands the full length of my body, \"Tavvy,\" he said, brushing his lips along the line from my hips to my neck, \"your skin's so soft. I'd almost forgotten.\" He was talking to himself.\n\nForgotten what, for fucked's sake, he couldn't have been without any jig-jig all summer or he'd be showing it now, and he acted like he had all the time in the world.\n\n\"Almost forgotten... nothing like...\"\n\nLike what? I thought furiously. Just what have you got in that room? And what has it got that I haven't. I spread my legs and forced him down between them. He raised his head a little, frowning, then he started that long, slow, torturing passage down my skin again. Jiggin' Jesus, how long did he think I could wait?\n\n\"Come on,\" I whispered, trying to maneuver him with my hips. \"Put it in, Brown. I want to jig-jig. Please.\"\n\nHe stood up in a motion so abrupt that my head smacked against the laundry-room floor. He pulled on his clothes, looking... what? Guilty? Angry?\n\nI sat up. \"What in the holy scut do you think you're doing?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't understand. I just keep thinking about your father.\"\n\n\"My father? What in the scut are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Look, I can't explain it. I just can't...\" And left. Like that. With me ready to go off any minute and what do I get? A cracked head.\n\n\"I don't have a father, you scutty godfucker!' I shouted after him.\n\nI yanked my clothes on and started pulling the other sheet out of the spin with a viciousness I would have liked to have spent on Brown. Arabel was back, watching from the laundry-room door. Her face still had that strained look.\n\n\"Did you see that last channing scene?\" I asked her, snagging the sheet on the spin handle and ripping a hole in one corner.\n\n\"I didn't have to. I can imagine it went pretty much the way mine did.\" She leaned unhappily against the door. \"I think they've all gone bent over the summer.\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" I wadded the sheets together into a ball. I didn't think that was it, though. Brown wouldn't have lied about a new boy in his room in that case. And he wouldn't have kept talking about my father. In that edge way I walked past Arabel. \"Don't worry, Arabel, if we have to go lezzy again, you know you're my first choice.\"\n\nShe didn't even look particularly happy about that.\n\nMy idiot roommate was awake, sitting bolt upright on the bunk where I'd left her. The poor brainless thing had probably been sitting there the whole time I'd been gone. I made up the bunk, stripped off my clothes for the second time tonight, and crawled in. \"You can turn out the light any time,\" I said.\n\nShe hopped over to the wall plate, swathed in a nightgown that dated as far back as Old Man Moultons college days, or farther. \"Did you get in trouble?' she asked, her eyes wide.\n\n\"Of course not. I wasn't the one who tossed up. If anybody's in trouble, it's you,\" I added maliciously.\n\nShe seemed to sag against the flat wallplate as if she were clinging to it for support. \"My father\u2014will they tell my father?\" Her face was flashing red and white again. And where would the vomit land this time? That would teach me to take out my frustrations on my roommate.\n\n\"Your father? Of course not. Nobody's in trouble. It was a couple of fucked sheets, that's all.\"\n\nShe didn't seem to hear me. \"He said he'd come and get me if I got in trouble. He said he'd make me go home.\"\n\nI sat up in the bunk. I'd never seen a freshman yet that wasn't dying to go home, at least not one like Zibet, with a whole loving family waiting for her instead of a trust and a couple of snotty lawyers. But Zibet here was scared scutless at the idea. Maybe the whole campus was going edge. \"You didn't get in trouble,\" I repeated. \"There's nothing to worry about.\"\n\nShe was still hanging onto that wallplate for dear life.\n\n\"Come on\". Mary Masting, she was probably having an attack of some kind, and I'd get blamed for that, too. \"You're safe here. Your father doesn't even know about it.\"\n\nShe seemed to relax a little. \"Thank you for not getting me in trouble,\" she said and crawled back into her own bunk. She didn't turn the light off.\n\nJiggin' Jesus, it wasn't worth it. I got out of bed and turned the fucked light off myself.\n\n\"You're a good person, you know that,\" she said softly into the darkness. Definitely edge. I settled down under the covers, planning to masty myself to sleep, since I couldn't get anything any other way, but very quietly I didn't want any more hysterics.\n\nA hearty voice suddenly exploded into the room. \"To the young men of Moulton College, to all my strong sons, I say\u2014\"\n\n\"What's that?\" Zibet whispered.\n\n\"First night in Hell,\" I said, and got out of bed for the thirtieth time.\n\n\"May all your noble endeavors be crowned with success,\" Old Man Moulton said.\n\nI slapped my palm against the wallplate and then fumbled through my still-unpacked shuttle bag for a nail file. I stepped up on Zibets bunk with it and started to unscrew the intercom.\n\n\"To the young women of Moulton College,\" he boomed again, \"to all my darling daughters.\" He stopped. I tossed the screws and file back in the bag, smacked the plate, and fung myself back in bed.\n\n\"Who was that?\" Zibet whispered.\n\n\"Our founding father,\" I said, and then remembering the effect the word \"father\" seemed to be having on everyone in this edge place, I added hastily, \"That's the last time you'll have to hear him. I'll put some plast in the works tomorrow and put the screws back in so the dorm mother won't figure it out. We will live in blessed silence for the rest of the semester.\"\n\nShe didn't answer. She was already asleep, gently snoring. Which meant so far I had misguessed every single thing today. Great start to the semester.\n\nThe admin knew all about the party. \"You do know the meaning of the word restricks, I presume?\" he said.\n\nHe was an old scut, probably forty-five. Dear Daddy's age. He was fairly good-looking, probably exercising like edge to keep the old belly in for the freshman girls. He was liable to get a hernia. He probably jig-jigged into a plastic bag, too, just like Daddy, to carry on the family name. Jiggin' Jesus, there oughta be a law.\n\n\"You're a trust student, Octavia?\"\n\n\"That's right.\" You think I'd be stuck with a fucked name like Octavia if I wasn't?\n\n\"Neither parent?\"\n\n\"No. Paid mother-surr. Trust name till twenty-one.\" I watched his face to see what effect that had on him. I'd seen a lot of scared faces that way.\n\n\"There's no one to write to, then, except your lawyers. No way to expel you. And restricks don't seem to have any appreciable effect on you. I don't quite know what would.\"\n\nI'll bet you don't. I kept watching him, and he kept watching me, maybe wondering if I was his darling daughter, if that expensive jism in the plastic bag had turned out to be what he was boning after right now.\n\n\"What exactly was it you called your dorm mother?\"\n\n\"Scut,\" I said.\n\n\"I've longed to call her that myself a time or two.\"\n\nThe sympathetic buildup. I waited, pretty sure of what was coming.\n\n\"About this party. I've heard the boys have something new going. What is it?\"\n\nThe question wasn't what I'd expected. \"I don't know,\" I said and then realized I'd let my guard down. \"Do you think I'd tell you if I knew?\"\n\n\"No, of course not. I admire that. You're quite a young woman, you know. Outspoken, loyal, very pretty, too, if I may say so.\"\n\nUm-hmm. And you just happen to have a job for me, don't you?\n\n\"My secretary's quit. She likes younger men, she says, although if what I hear is true, maybe she's better off with me. It's a good job. Lots of extras. Unless, of course, you're like my secretary and prefer boys to men.\"\n\nWell, and here was the way out. No more virgie freshmen, no more restricks. Very tempting. Only he was at least forty-five, and somehow I couldn't quite stomach the idea of jig-jig with my own father. Sorry, sir.\n\n\"If it's the trust problem that's bothering you, I assure you there are ways to check.\"\n\nLiar. Nobody knows who their kids are. That's why, we've got these storybook trust names, so we can't show up on Daddy's doorstep: Hi, I'm your darling daughter. The trust protects them against scenes like that. Only sometimes with a scut like the admin here, you wonder just who's being protected from whom.\n\n\"Do you remember what I told my dorm mother?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Double to you.\"\n\nRestricks for the rest of the year and a godspit alert band welded onto my wrist.\n\n\"I know what they've got,\" Arabel whispered to me in class. It was the only time I ever saw her. The godspit alert band went off if I even mastied without permission.\n\n\"What?\" I asked, pretty much without caring.\n\n\"Tell you after.\"\n\nI met her outside, in a blizzard of flying leaves and cotton. The circulation system had gone edge again. \"Animals,\" she said.\n\n\"Animals?\"\n\n\"Little repulsive things about as long as your arm. Tessels, they're called. Repulsive little brown animals.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" I said. \"It's got to be more than beasties. That's elementary school stuff. Are they bio-enhanced?\"\n\n\"You mean pheromones or something?\" She frowned. \"I don't know. I sure didn't see anything attractive about them, but the boys\u2014Brown brought his to a party, carrying it around on his arm, calling it Daughter Ann. They all swarmed around it, petting it, saying things like 'Come to Daddy.' It was really edge.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Well, if you're right, we don't have anything to worry about. Even if they're bio-enhanced, how long can beasties hold their attention? It'll all be over by midterms.\"\n\n\"Can't you come over? I never see you.\" She sounded like she was ready to go lezzy.\n\nI held up the banded wrist. \"Can't. Listen, Arabel, I'll be late to my next class,\" I said, and hurried off through the flailing yellow and white. I didn't have a next class. I went back to the dorm and took some float.\n\nWhen I came out of it, Zibet was there, sitting on her bunk with her knees hunched up, writing busily in a notebook. She looked much better than the first time I saw her. Her hair had grown out some and showed enough curl at the ends to pick up on her features. She didn't look strained. In fact she looked almost happy.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" I hoped I said. The first couple of sentences out of float it's anybody's guess what's going to come out.\n\n\"Recopying my notes,\" she said. Jiggin', the things that make some people happy. I wondered if she'd found a boyfriend and that was what had given her that pretty pink color. If she had, she was doing better than Arabel. Or me.\n\n\"For who?\"\n\n\"What?\" she looked blank.\n\n\"What boy are you copying your notes for?\"\n\n\"Boy?\" Now there was an edge to her voice. She looked frightened.\n\nI said carefully, \"I figure you've got to have a boyfriend.\" And watched her go edge again. Mary doing Jesus, that must not have come out right at all. I wondered what I'd really said to send her off like that.\n\nShe backed up against the bunk wall like I was after her with something and held her notebook flat against her chest. \"Why do you think that?\"\n\nThink what? Holy scut, I should have told her about float before I went off on it. I'd have to answer her now like it was still a real conversation instead of a caged rat being poked with a stick, and hope I could explain later. \"I don't know why I think that. You just looked\u2014\"\n\n\"It's true, then,\" she said, and the strain was right back, blinking red and white.\n\n\"What is?\" I said, still wondering what it was the float had garbled my innocent comment into.\n\n\"I had braids like you before I came here. You probably wondered about that.\" Holy scut, I'd said something mean about her choppy hair.\n\n\"My father...\" she clutched the notebook like she had clutched the wallplate that night, hanging on for dear life. \"My father cut them off.\" She was admitting some awful thing to me and I had no idea what.\n\n\"Why did he do that?\"\n\n\"He said I tempted... men with it. He said I was a\u2014that I made men think wicked thoughts about me. He said it was my fault that it happened. He cut off all my hair.\"\n\nIt was coming to me finally that I had asked her just what I thought I had: whether she had a boyfriend.\n\n\"Do you think I\u2014do that?\" she asked me pleadingly.\n\nAre you kidding? She couldn't have tempted Brown in one of his bone-a-virgin moods. I couldn't say that to her, though, and on the other hand, I knew if I said yes it was going to be toss-up time in dorm land again. I felt sorry for her, poor kid, her braids chopped off and her scut of a father scaring the hell out of her with a bunch of lies. No wonder she'd been so edge when she first got here.\n\n\"Do you?\" she persisted.\n\n\"You want to know what I think,\" I said, standing up a little unsteadily: \"I think fathers are a pile of sent.\" I thought of Arabel's story. Little brown animals as long as your arm and Brown saying, \"Your father only wants to protect you.\" \"Worse than a pile of scut,\" I said. \"All of them.\"\n\nShe looked at me, backed up against the wall, as if she would like to believe me.\n\n\"You want to know what my father did to me?\" I said. \"He didn't cut my braids off. Oh, no, this is lots better. You know about trust kids?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Okay. My father wants to carry on his precious name and his precious jig-juice, but he doesn't want any of the trouble. So he sets up a trust. He pays a lot of money, he goes jig-jig in a plastic bag, and presto, he's a father, and the lawyers are left with all the dirty work. Like taking care of me and sending me someplace for summer break and paying my tuition at this godspit school. Like putting one of these on me.\" I held up my wrist with the ugly alert band on it. \"He never even saw me. He doesn't even know who I am. Trust me. I know about scutty fathers.\"\n\n\"I wish...\" Zibet said. She opened her book and started copying her notes again. I eased down onto my bunk, staring to feel the post-float headache. When I looked at her again, she was dripping tears all over her precious notes. Jiggin' Jesus, everything I said was wrong. The most I could hope for in this edge place was that the boys would be done playing beasties by midterms and I could get my grades up.\n\nBy midterms the circulation system had broken down completely The campus was knee-deep in leaves and cotton. You could hardly walk. I trudged through the leaves to class, head down. I didn't even see Brown until it was too late.\n\nHe had the animal on his arm. \"This is Daughter Ann,\" Brown said. \"Daughter Ann, meet Tavvy.\"\n\n\"Go jig yourself,\" I said, brushing by him.\n\nHe grabbed my wrist, holding on hard and pressing his fingers against the alert band until it hurt. \"That's not polite, Tavvy. Daughter Ann wants to meet you. Don't you sweetheart?\" He held the animal out to me. Arabel had been right. Hideous little things. I had never gotten a close look at one before. It had a sharp little brown face, with dull eyes and a tiny pink mouth. Its fur was coarse and brown, and its body hung limply off Brown's arm. He had put a ribbon around its neck.\n\n\"Just your type,\" I said. \"Ugly as mud and a hole big enough for even you to find.\"\n\nHis grip tightened. \"You can't talk that way to my...\"\n\n\"Hi,\" Zibet said behind me. I whirled around. This was all I needed.\n\n\"Hi,\" I said, and yanked my wrist free. \"Brown, this is my roommate. My freshman roommate. Zibet, Brown.\"\n\n\"And this is Daughter Ann,\" he said, holding the animal up so that its tender pink mouth gaped stupidly at us. Its tail was up. I could see tender pink at the other end, too. And Arabel wonders what the attraction is?\n\n\"Nice to meet you, freshman roommate,\" Brown muttered and pulled the animal back close to him. \"Come to Papa,\" he said, and stalked off through the leaves.\n\nI rubbed my poor wrist. Please, please let her not ask me what a tessel's for? I have had about all I can take for one day I'm not about to explain Brown's nasty habits to a virgie.\n\nI had underestimated her. She shuddered a little and pulled her notebooks against her chest. \"Poor little beast,\" she said.\n\n\"What do you know about sin?\" she asked me suddenly that night. At least she had turned off the light. That was some improvement.\n\n\"A lot,\" I said. \"How do you think I got this charming bracelet?\"\n\n\"I mean really doing something wrong. To somebody else. To save yourself.\" She stopped. I didn't answer her, and she didn't say anything more for a long time. \"I know about the admin,\" she said finally.\n\nI couldn't have been more surprised if Old Scut Moulton had suddenly shouted, \"Bless you, my daughter,\" over the intercom.\n\n\"You're a good person, I can tell that.\" There was a dreamy quality to her voice. If it had been anybody but her I'd have thought she was masting. \"There are things you wouldn't do, not even to save yourself.\"\n\n\"And you're a hardened criminal, I suppose?\"\n\n\"There are things you wouldn't do,\" she repeated sleepily and then said quite clearly and irrelevantly \"My sister's coming for Christmas.\"\n\nJiggin', she was full of surprises tonight. \"I thought you were going home for Christmas,\" I said.\n\n\"I'm never going home,\" she said.\n\n\"Tavvy!\" Arabel shouted halfway across campus. \"Hello!\"\n\nThe boys are over it, I thought, and how in the scut am I going to get rid of this alert band? I felt so relieved I could have cried.\n\n\"Tavvy,\" she said again. \"I haven't seen you in weeks!\"\n\n\"What's going on?\" I asked her, wondering why she didn't just blurt it out about the boys in her usual breakneck fashion.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" she said, wide-eyed, and I knew it wasn't the boys. They still had the tessels, Brown and Sept and all the rest of them. They still had the tessels. It's only beasties, I told myself fiercely, it's only beasties and why are you so edge about it? Your father has your best interests at heart. Come to Daddy.\n\n\"The admin's secretary quit,\" Arabel said, \"I got put on restricks for a samurai party in my room.\" She shrugged. \"It was the best offer I'd had all fall.\"\n\nOh, but you're trust, Arabel. You're trust. He could be your father. Come to Papa.\n\n\"You look terrible,\" Arabel said. \"Are you doing too much float?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Do you know what it is the boys do with them?\"\n\n\"Tavvy, sweetheart, if you can't figure out what that big pink hole is for\u2014\"\n\n\"My roommate's father cut her hair off,\" I said. \"She's a virgie. She's never done anything. He cut off all her hair.\"\n\n\"Hey,\" Arabel said, \"you are really edging it. Listen, how long have you been without jig-jig? I can set you up, younger guys than the admin, nothing to worry about. Guaranteed no trusters. I could set you up.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I don't want any.\"\n\n\"Listen, I'm worried about you. I don't want you to go edge on me. Let me ask the admin about your alert band at least.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said clearly. \"I'm all right, Arabel. I've got to get to class.\"\n\n\"Don't let this tessel thing get to you, Tavvy. It's only beasties.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" I walked steadily away from her across the spitting, leaf-littered campus. As soon as I was out of her line of sight, I slumped against one of the giant cottonwoods and hung on to it like Zibet had clung to that wallplate. For dear life.\n\nZibet didn't say another thing about her sister until right before Christmas break. Her hair, which I had thought was growing out, looked choppier than ever. The old look of strain was back and getting worse every day. She looked like a radiation victim.\n\nI wasn't looking that good myself. I couldn't sleep, and float gave me headaches that lasted a week. The alert band started a rash that had worked its way halfway up my arm. And Arabel was right. I was going edge. I couldn't get the tessels off my mind. If you'd asked me last summer what I thought of beasties, I'd have said it was great fun for everyone, especially the animals. Now the thought of Brown with that hideous little brown and pink thing on his arm was enough to make me toss up. I keep thinking about your father. If it's the trust thing you're worried about, I can find out for you. He has your best interests at heart. Come to Papa.\n\nMy lawyers hadn't succeeded in convincing the admin to let me go to Aspen for Christmas, or anywhere else. They'd managed to wangle full privileges as soon as everybody was gone, but not to get the alert band off. I figured if my dorm mother got a good look at what it was doing to my arm, though, she'd let me have it off for a few days and give it a chance to heal. The circulation system was working again, blowing winds of hurricane force all across Hell. Merry Christmas, everybody.\n\nOn the last day of class, I walked into our dark room, hit the wallplate, and froze. There sat Zibet in the dark. On my bed. With a tessel in her lap.\n\n\"Where did you get that?\" I whispered.\n\n\"I stole it,\" she said.\n\nI locked the door behind me and pushed one of the desk chairs against it. \"How?\"\n\n\"They were all at a party in somebody else's room.\"\n\n\"You went in the boys' dorm?\"\n\nShe didn't answer.\n\n\"You're a freshman. They could send you home for that,\" I said, disbelieving. This was the girl who had gone quite literally up the wall over the sheets, who had said, \"I'm never going home again.\"\n\n\"Nobody saw me,\" she said calmly \"They were all at a party.\"\n\n\"You're edge,\" I said. \"Whose is it, do you know?\"\n\n\"It's Daughter Ann.\"\n\nI grabbed the top sheet off my bunk and started lining my shuttle bag with it. Holy scut, this would be the first place Brown would look. I rifled through my desk drawer for a pair of scissors to cut some air slits with. Zibet still sat petting the horrid thing.\n\n\"We've got to hide it,\" I said. \"This time I'm not kidding. You really are in trouble.\"\n\nShe didn't hear me. \"My sister Henra's pretty. She has long braids like you. She's good like you, too,\" and then in an almost pleading voice, \"she's only fifteen.\"\n\nBrown demanded and got a room check that started, you guessed it, with our room. The tessel wasn't there. I'd put it in the shuttle bag and hidden it in one of the spins down in the laundry room. I'd wadded the other slickspin sheet in front of it, which I felt was a fitting irony for Brown, only he was too enraged to see it.\n\n\"I want another check,\" he said after the dorm mother had given him the grand tour. \"I know it's here.\" He turned to me. \"I know you've got it.\"\n\n\"The last shuttle's in ten minutes,\" the dorm mother said. \"There isn't time for another check.\"\n\n\"She's got it. I can tell by the look on her face. She's hidden it somewhere. Somewhere in this dorm.\"\n\nThe dorm mother looked like she'd like to have him in her Skinner box for about an hour. She shook her head.\n\n\"You lose, Brown,\" I said. \"You stay and you'll miss your shuttle and be stuck in Hell over Christmas. You leave and you lose your darling Daughter Ann. You lose either way, Brown.\"\n\nHe grabbed my wrist. The rash was almost unbearable under the band. My wrist had started to swell, puffing out purplish-red over the metal. I tried to free myself with my other hand, but his grip was as hard and vengeful as his face. \"Octavia here was at a samurai party in the boys' dorm last week,\" he said to the dorm mother.\n\n\"That's not true,\" I said. I could hardly talk. The pain from his grip was making me so nauseated I felt faint.\n\n\"I find that difficult to believe,\" the dorm mother said, \"since she is confined by an alert band.\"\n\n\"This?\" Brown said, and yanked my arm up. I cried out. \"This thing?\" He twisted it around my wrist. \"She can take it off any time she wants. Didn't you know that?\" He dropped my wrist and looked at me contemptuously. \"Tavvy's too smart to let a little thing like an alert band stop her, aren't you, Tavvy?\"\n\nI cradled my throbbing wrist against my body and tried not to black out. It isn't beasties, I thought frantically. He would never do this to me just for beasties. It's something worse. Worse. He must never, never get it back.\n\n\"There's the call for the shuttle,\" the dorm mother said. \"Octavia, your break privileges are canceled.\"\n\nBrown shot a triumphant glance at me and followed her out. It took every bit of strength I had to wait till the last shuttle was gone before I went to get the tessel. I carried it back to the room with my good hand. The restricks hardly mattered. There was no place to go anyway. And the tessel was safe. \"Everything will be all right,\" I said to the tessel.\n\nOnly everything wasn't all right. Henra, the pretty sister, wasn't pretty. Her hair had been cut off, as short as scissors could make it. She was flushed bright red and crying. Zibet's face had gone stony white and stayed that way. I didn't think from the looks of her that she'd ever cry again. Isn't it wonderful what a semester of college can do for you?\n\nRestricks or no, I had to get out of there. I took my books and camped down in the laundry room. I wrote two term papers, read three textbooks, and like Zibet, recopied all my notes. He cut off my hair. He said I tempted men and that was why it happened. Your father was only trying to protect you. Come to Papa. I turned on all the spins at once so I couldn't hear myself think and typed the term papers.\n\nI made it to the last day of break, gritting my teeth to keep from thinking about Brown, about tessels, about everything. Zibet and her sister came down to the laundry room to tell me Henra was going back on the first shuttle. I said goodbye. \"I hope you can come back,\" I said, knowing I sounded stupid, knowing there was nothing in the world that could make me go back to Marylebone Weep if I were Henra.\n\n\"I am coming back. As soon as I graduate.\"\n\n\"It's only two years,\" Zibet said. Two years ago Zibet had the same sweet face as her sister. Two years from now, Henra too would look like death warmed over. What fun to grow up in Marylebone Weep, where you're a wreck at seventeen.\n\n\"Come back with me, Zibet,\" Henra said.\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\nToss-up time. I went back to the room, propped myself on my bunk with a stack of books, and started reading. The tessel had been asleep on the foot of the bunk, its gaping pink vaj sticking up. It crawled onto my lap and lay there. I picked it up. It didn't resist. Even with it living in the room, I'd never really looked at it closely. I saw now that it couldn't resist if it tried. It had tiny little paws with soft pink underpads and no claws. It had no teeth, either, just the soft little rosebud mouth, only a quarter of the size of the opening at the other end. If it had been enhanced with pheromones, I sure couldn't tell it. Maybe its attraction was simply that it had no defenses, that it couldn't fight even if it wanted to.\n\nI laid it over my lap and stuck an exploratory finger a little way into the vaj. I'd done enough lezzing when I was a freshman to know what a good vaj should feel like. I eased the finger farther in.\n\nIt screamed.\n\nI yanked the hand free, balled it into a fist, and crammed it against my mouth hard to keep from screaming myself. Horrible, awful, pitiful sound. Helpless. Hopeless. The sound a woman must make when she's being raped. No. Worse. The sound a child must make. I thought, I have never heard a sound like that in my whole life, and at the same instant, this is the sound I have been hearing all semester. Pheromones. Oh, no, a far greater attraction than some chemical. Or is fear a chemical, too?\n\nI put the poor little beast onto the bed, went into the bathroom, and washed my hands for about an hour. I thought Zibet hadn't known what the tessels were for, that she hadn't had more than the vaguest idea what the boys were doing to them. But she had known. Known and tried to keep it from me. Known and gone into the boys' dorm all by herself to steal one. We should have stolen them all, all of them, gotten them away from those scutting god fucking... I had thought of a lot of names for my father over the years. None of them was bad enough for this. Scutting Jesus-jiggers. Fucking piles of scut.\n\nZibet was standing in the door of the bathroom.\n\n\"Oh, Zibet,\" I said, and stopped.\n\n\"My sister's going home this afternoon,\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"Oh, no,\" and ran past her out of the room.\n\nI guess I had kind of a little breakdown. Anyway, I can't account very well for the time. Which is edge, because the thing I remember most vividly is the feeling that I needed to hurry, that something awful would happen if I didn't hurry.\n\nI know I broke restricks because I remember sitting out under the cottonwoods and thinking what a wonderful sense of humor Old Man Moulton had. He sent up Christmas lights for the bare cottonwoods, and the cotton and the brittle yellow leaves blew against them and caught fire. The smell of burning was everywhere. I remember thinking clearly; smokes and fires, how appropriate for Christmas in Hell.\n\nBut when I tried to think about the tessels, about what to do, the thoughts got all muddy and confused, like I'd taken too much float. Sometimes it was Zibet Brown wanted and not Daughter Ann at all, and I would say, \"You cut off her hair. I'll never give her back to you. Never.\" And she would struggle and struggle against him. But she had no claws, no teeth. Sometimes it was the admin, and he would say, \"If it's the trust thing you're worried about, I can find out for you,\" and I would say, \"You only want the tessels for yourself.\" And sometimes Zibet's father said, \"I am only trying to protect you. Come to Papa.\" And I would climb up on the bunk to unscrew the intercom but I couldn't shut him up. \"I don't need protecting,\" I would say to him. Zibet would struggle and struggle.\n\nA dangling bit of cotton had stuck to one of the Christmas lights. It caught fire and dropped into the brown broken leaves. The smell of smoke was everywhere. Somebody should report that. Hell could burn down, or was it burn up, with nobody here over Christmas break. I should tell somebody. That was it, I had to tell somebody. But there was nobody to tell. I wanted my father. And he wasn't there. He had never been there. He had paid his money, spilled his juice, and thrown me to the wolves. But at least he wasn't one of them. He wasn't one of them.\n\nThere was nobody to tell. \"What did you do to it?\" Arabel said. \"Did you give it something? Samurai? Float? Alcohol?\"\n\n\"I didn't...\"\n\n\"Consider yourself on restricks.\"\n\n\"It isn't beasties,\" I said. \"They call them Baby Dear and Daughter Ann. And they're the fathers. They're the fathers. But the tessels don't have any claws. They don't have any teeth. They don't even know what jig-jig is.\"\n\n\"He has her best interests at heart,\" Arabel said.\n\n\"What are you talking about? He cut off all her hair. You should have seen her, hanging onto the wallplate for dear life! She struggled and struggled, but it didn't do any good. She doesn't have any claws. She doesn't have any teeth. She's only fifteen. We have to hurry.\"\n\n\"It'll all be over by midterms,\" Arabel said. \"I can fix you up. Guaranteed no trusters.\"\n\nI was standing in the dorm mother's Skinner box, pounding on her door. I did not know how I had gotten there. My face looked back at me from the dorm mother's mirrors. Arabel's face: strained and desperate. Flashing red and white and red again like an alert band: my roommate's face. She would not believe me. She would put me on restricks. She would have me expelled. It didn't matter. When she answered the door, I could not run. I had to tell somebody before the whole place caught on fire.\n\n\"Oh, my dear,\" she said, and put her arms around me.\n\nI knew before I opened the door that Zibet was sitting on my bunk in the dark. I pressed the wallplate and kept my bandaged hand on it, as if I might need it for support. \"Zibet,\" I said. \"Everything's going to be all right. The dorm mother's going to confiscate the tessels. They're going to outlaw animals on campus. Everything will be all right.\"\n\nShe looked up at me. \"I sent it home with her,\" she said.\n\n\"What?\" I said blankly.\n\n\"He won't... leave us alone. He\u2014I sent Daughter Ann home with her.\"\n\nNo. Oh, no.\n\n\"Henra's good like you. She won't save herself. She'll never last the two years.\" She looked steadily at me. \"I have two other sisters. The youngest is only ten.\"\n\n\"You sent the tessel home?\" I said. \"To your father?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It can't protect itself,\" I said. \"It doesn't have any claws. It can't protect itself.\"\n\n\"I told you you didn't know anything about sin,\" she said, and turned away.\n\nI never asked the dorm mother what they did with the tessels they took away from the boys. I hope, for their own sakes, that somebody put them out of their misery."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Father of the Bride",
                "text": "I should be happy. Everyone tells me so: my wife, my daughter, my brave new son-in-law. This is the happily ever after for which we have waited all these long years. But I fear we have waited far too long, and now it is too late to be happy.\n\nMy wife tries to jolly me out of this dark mood. \"The roads are better,\" she says. \"There is a new bridge at the ford.\"\n\n\"The better for armies to pass along, burning and killing,\" I answer. There are English already in Crecy; a story I would not believe at first, and they are carrying weapons I never heard of\u2014a bow as tall as a man, a ribaud that spits black smoke and sudden death.\n\n\"You never liked the forest at our gates,\" she says. \"Or the wolves.\"\n\n\"Nor do I like the town. And there are still wolves at our gates,\" I say. \"Merchants and pedlars.\"\n\n\"They bring you the cinnamon and pepper for your food.\"\n\n\"That give me the bellyache.\"\n\n\"And medicines for the bellyache,\" she says, smiling to herself. She is embroidering on a piece of linen. Do women still do that, sitting with their heads bent forward over their work, pulling the fine stitches taut with their white hands? I do not think so. Embroidered cloth can be bought by the length in the town, I suppose. What cannot be bought in that town? Beauty, perhaps. Repose. I have seen nothing of either in this new world.\n\n\"This is a beautiful coat,\" said the insolent tailor they sent me to. Nothing would do but that I have a new coat for the wedding. The tailor shouted in my ear through all the fitting and did not once call me \"my lord.\" \"A beautiful coat. Brocade. From the east.\"\n\n\"Gaudy you mean,\" I said, but he did not hear me. How could he? The water mill runs night and day, sawing the forest into shops, houses, bridges. Soon the whole world will be town. \"The coat is too short,\" I shouted at him. It showed what God intended decent men to hide.\n\n\"You are old-fashioned,\" he said. \"Turn around.\"\n\nThe coat is too short. I am cold all the time. \"Where are the servants?\" I say to my wife. \"I want a fire.\"\n\nShe looks up from her sewing as if she knows the answer will grieve me. \"Gone,\" she says. \"We are getting new ones from the town.\"\n\n\"Gone? Where?\" I say, but I know already. Hardly awake, the cooks have run off to be bakers; the chamberlains, burghers; the pages, soldiers. \"I shall catch my death of cold in this coat.\"\n\n\"The pedlars have medicines for chills,\" she says, and looks sideways at me to make me smile.\n\n\"It is all so changed,\" I say, frowning instead. \"There is nothing about this world that I like.\"\n\n\"Our daughter has a husband and a kingdom,\" she says. \"She did not prick her finger on a spindle and die that terrible day.\"\n\n\"No,\" I say, and have to smile after all. She is so beautiful, so happy with her prince. She would not have minded sleeping a thousand years so long as he kissed her awake. She thinks the forest parted when he rode to find her, and I do not tell her it was not she he came to find, but land for his fields, land for his new town, land to clear and settle and tax. He was as surprised as any of his woodsmen to find us drowsing here. But he seems to love her, and there is no denying he is a brave young man. He moves through this strange time as if it held no terrors. Perhaps the forest does part for him. Or perhaps he has only chopped it down.\n\nOnly a little of the forest remains to the east, and even it is not so dark as before, so full of guarding briars. I went into it one day, looking, or so I said to myself, for the good fairy who saved my daughter, though she had never lived in that part of the forest. I found myself instead near the tower of the old fairy, who by her spite brought us all to this pass.\n\n\"I have come to ask a question,\" I shouted into the silence of the trees. \"Why did you hate us so? What had we done to you that you should have come to our christening bearing curses?\" There was no answer. \"Had you outlived your time so that you hated all things new, even my infant daughter?\" Silence. \"Do you hate us still?\"\n\nIn the answering silence I thought I could hear the town, builders and rumbling wheels. As I came nearer, I saw that the tower had been knocked down, the stones heaped into piles and carted away. I followed the tracks of the wheels and came to a sunny clearing and to men in a holy habit I did not recognize. They told me they are Cistercians (are there new saints as well? Is everything new?) and that they are using the stones to build a church.\n\n\"Are you not afraid of the fairy who lived in this tower?\" I asked them.\n\n\"Old man,\" said one of them, clapping his hand to my shoulder, \"there are no fairies. Only God and his angels.\"\n\nSo I came away with the answer to my questions after all. We have outlived our old enemy, and the only curse upon us is the cruel spell of time.\n\n\"We have lived through the worst of our days,\" my wife says, trying to comfort me.\n\n\"I hope so,\" I say, looking out the window of my castle onto the town, the fields beyond, the sea, onto a world without forests or wolves or fairies, a world with who knows what terrors to replace them? \"I hope so.\"\n\n\"There is not a spinning wheel in all the kingdom,\" she says tearfully \"Not even in the town.\" She has pricked her finger on her embroidery. There are drops of blood on the linen. \"I have not seen a single spinning wheel.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" I say, and pat her shoulder.\n\nThere is at least no danger from that direction. What need have we of spinning wheels when every ship brings velvets, silks, cloth of gold? And perhaps other cargoes, not so welcome. English soldiers from the west. And from the east, tales of a black spell that kills men where they stand and moves like a curse toward France. Perhaps the old fairy is not dead after all but only biding her time in some darker forest to the east.\n\nI have dozed off. My wife comes to wake me for yet another feast. I grumble and turn on my side. \"You're tired,\" she says kindly \"Go back to sleep.\"\n\nWould that I could."
            },
            {
                "title": "A Letter from the Clearys",
                "text": "There was a letter from the Clearys at the post office. I put it in my backpack along with Mrs. Talbot's magazine and went outside to untie Stitch.\n\nHe had pulled his leash out as far as it would go and was sitting around the corner, half strangled, watching a robin. Stitch never barks, not even at birds. He didn't even yip when Dad stitched up his paw. He just sat there the way we found him on the front porch, shivering a little and holding his paw up for Dad to look at. Mrs. Talbot says he's a terrible watchdog, but I'm glad he doesn't bark. Rusty barked all the time and look where it got him.\n\nI had to pull Stitch back around the corner to where I could get enough slack to untie him. That took some doing because he really liked that robin. \"It's a sign of spring, isn't it, fella?\" I said, trying to get at the knot with my fingernails. I didn't loosen the knot, but I managed to break one of my fingernails off to the quick. Great. Mom will demand to know if I've noticed any other fingernails breaking.\n\nMy hands are a real mess. This winter I've gotten about a hundred burns on the back of my hands from that stupid wood stove of ours. One spot, just above my wrist, I keep burning over and over so it never has a chance to heal. The stove isn't big enough and when I try to jam a log in that's too long the same spot hits the inside of the stove every time. My stupid brother David won't saw them off to the right length. I've asked him and asked him to please cut them shorter, but he doesn't pay any attention to me.\n\nI asked Mom if she would please tell him not to saw the logs so long, but she didn't. She never criticizes David. As far as she's concerned he can't do anything wrong just because he's twenty-three and was married.\n\n\"He does it on purpose,\" I told her. \"He's hoping I'll burn to death.\"\n\n\"Paranoia is the number one killer of fourteen-year-old girls,\" Mom said. She always says that. It makes me so mad I feel like killing her. \"He doesn't do it on purpose. You need to be more careful with the stove, that's all,\" but all the time she was holding my hand and looking at the big burn that won't heal like it was a time bomb set to go off.\n\n\"We need a bigger stove,\" I said, and yanked my hand away. We do need a bigger one. Dad closed up the fireplace and put the woodstove in when the gas bill was getting out of sight, but it's just a little one because Mom didn't want one that would stick way out in the living room. Anyway we were only going to use it in the evenings.\n\nWe won't get a new one. They are all too busy working on the stupid greenhouse. Maybe spring will come early, and my hand will have half a chance to heal. I know better. Last winter the snow kept up till the middle of June and this is only March. Stitch's robin is going to freeze his little tail if he doesn't head back south. Dad says that last year was unusual, that the weather will be back to normal this year, but he doesn't believe it either or he wouldn't be building the greenhouse.\n\nAs soon as I let go of Stitch's leash, he backed around the corner like a good boy and sat there waiting for me to stop sucking my finger and untie him. \"We'd better get a move on,\" I told him. \"Mom'll have a fit.\" I was supposed to go by the general store to try and get some tomato seeds, but the sun was already pretty far west, and I had at least a half hour's walk home. If I got home after dark I'd get sent to bed without supper and then I wouldn't get to read the letter. Besides, if I didn't go to the general store today they would have to let me go tomorrow and I wouldn't have to work on the stupid greenhouse.\n\nSometimes I feel like blowing it up. There's sawdust and mud on everything, and David dropped one of the pieces of plastic on the stove while they were cutting it and it melted onto the stove and stinks to high heaven. But nobody else even notices the mess, they're so busy talking about how wonderful it's going to be to have homegrown watermelon and corn and tomatoes next summer.\n\nI don't see how it's going to be any different from last summer. The only things that came up at all were the lettuce and the potatoes. The lettuce was about as tall as my broken fingernail and the potatoes were as hard as rocks. Mrs. Talbot said it was the altitude, but Dad said it was the funny weather and this crummy Pike's Peak granite that passes for soil around here and he went up to the little library in the back of the general store and got a do-it-yourself book on greenhouses and started tearing everything up and now even Mrs. Talbot is crazy about the idea.\n\nThe other day I told them, \"Paranoia is the number one killer of people at this altitude,\" but they were too busy cutting slats and stapling plastic to even pay any attention to me.\n\nStitch walked along ahead of me, straining at his leash, and as soon as we were across the highway, I took it off. He never runs away like Rusty used to. Anyway, it's impossible to keep him out of the road, and the times I've tried keeping him on his leash, he dragged me out into the middle and I got in trouble with Dad over leaving footprints. So I keep to the frozen edges of the road, and he moseys along, stopping to sniff at potholes, and when he gets behind I whistle at him and he comes running right up.\n\nI walked pretty fast. It was getting chilly out, and I'd only worn my sweater. I stopped at the top of the hill and whistled at Stitch. We still had a mile to go. I could see the Peak from where I was standing. Maybe Dad is right about spring coming. There was hardly any snow on the Peak, and the burned part didn't look quite as dark as it did last fall, like maybe the trees are coming back.\n\nLast year at this time the whole Peak was solid white. I remember because that was when Dad and David and Mr. Talbot went hunting and it snowed every day and they didn't get back for almost a month. Mom just about went crazy before they got back. She kept going up to the road to watch for them even though the snow was five feet deep and she was leaving footprints as big as the Abominable Snowmans. She took Rusty with her even though he hated the snow about as much as Stitch hates the dark. And she took a gun. One time she tripped over a branch and fell down in the snow. She sprained her ankle and was frozen stiff by the time she made it back to the house. I felt like saying, \"Paranoia is the number one killer of mother's,\" but Mrs. Talbot butted in and said the next time I had to go with her and how this was what happened when people were allowed to go places by themselves, which meant me going to the post office. And I said I could take care of myself and Mom told me not to be rude to Mrs. Talbot and Mrs. Talbot was right, I should go with her the next time.\n\nShe wouldn't wait till her ankle was better. She bandaged it up and we went the very next day. She wouldn't say a word the whole trip, just limped through the snow. She never even looked up till we got to the road. The snow had stopped for a little while and the clouds had lifted enough so you could see the Peak. It was really neat, like a black-and-white photograph, the gray sky and the black trees and the white mountain. The Peak was completely covered with snow. You couldn't make out the toll road at all. We were supposed to hike up the Peak with the Clearys.\n\nWhen we got back to the house, I said, \"The summer before last the Clearys never came.\"\n\nMom took off her mittens and stood by the stove, pulling off chunks of frozen snow. \"Of course they didn't come, Lynn,\" she said.\n\nSnow from my coat was dripping onto the stove and sizzling. \"I didn't mean that,\" I said. \"They were supposed to come the first week in June. Right after Rick graduated. So what happened? Did they just decide not to come or what?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, pulling off her hat and shaking her hair out. Her bangs were all wet.\n\n\"Maybe they wrote to tell you they'd changed their plans,\" Mrs. Talbot said. \"Maybe the post office lost the letter.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Mom said.\n\n\"You'd think they'd have written or something,\" I said.\n\n\"Maybe the post office put the letter in somebody else's box,\" Mrs. Talbot said.\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Mom said, and went to hang her coat over the line in the kitchen. She wouldn't say another word about them. When Dad got home I asked him about the Clearys, too, but he was too busy telling about the trip to pay any attention to me.\n\nStitch didn't come. I whistled again and then started back after him. He was all the way at the bottom of the hill, his nose buried in something. \"Come on,\" I said, and he turned around and then I could see why he hadn't come. He'd gotten himself tangled up in one of the electric wires that was down. He'd managed to get the cable wound around his legs like he does his leash sometimes, and the harder he tried to get out, the more he got tangled up.\n\nHe was right in the middle of the road. I stood on the edge of the road, trying to figure out a way to get to him without leaving footprints. The road was pretty much frozen at the top of the hill, but down here snow was still melting and running across the road in big rivers. I put my toe out into the mud, and my sneaker sank in a good half inch, so I backed up, rubbed out the toe print with my hand, and wiped my hand on my jeans. I tried to think what to do. Dad is as paranoiac about footprints as Mom is about my hands, but he is even worse about my being out after dark. If I didn't make it back in time he might even tell me I couldn't go to the post office anymore.\n\nStitch was coming as close as he ever would to barking. He'd gotten the wire around his neck and was choking himself. \"All right,\" I said, \"I'm coming.\" I jumped out as far as I could into one of the rivers and then waded the rest of the way to Stitch, looking back a couple of times to make sure the water was washing away the footprints.\n\nI unwound Stitch like you would a spool of thread, and threw the loose end of the wire over to the side of the road, where it dangled from the pole, all ready to hang Stitch next time he comes along.\n\n\"You stupid dog,\" I said. \"Now hurry!\" and I sprinted back to the side of the road and up the hill in my sopping wet sneakers. He ran about five steps and stopped to sniff at a tree. \"Come on!\" I said. \"It's getting dark. Dark!\"\n\nHe was past me like a shot and halfway down the hill. Stitch is afraid of the dark. I know, there's no such thing in dogs. But Stitch really is. Usually I tell him, \"Paranoia is the number one killer of dogs,\" but right now I wanted him to hurry before my feet started to freeze. I started running, and we got to the bottom of the hill about the same time.\n\nStitch stopped at the driveway of the Talbots' house. Our house wasn't more than a few hundred feet from where I was standing, on the other side of the hill. Our house is down in kind of a well formed by hills on all sides. It's so deep and hidden you'd never even know it's there. You can't even see the smoke from our wood stove over the top of the Talbots' hill. There's a shortcut through the Talbots' property and down through the woods to our back door, but I don't take it anymore. \"Dark, Stitch,\" I said sharply, and started running again. Stitch kept right at my heels.\n\nThe Peak was turning pink by the time I got to our driveway. Stitch peed on the spruce tree about a hundred times before I got it dragged back across the dirt driveway. It's a real big tree. Last summer Dad and David chopped it down and then made it look like it had fallen across the road. It completely covers up where the driveway meets the road, but the trunk is full of splinters, and I scraped my hand right in the same place as always. Great.\n\nI made sure Stitch and I hadn't left any marks on the road (except for the marks he always leaves\u2014another dog could find us in a minute. That's probably how Stitch showed up on our front porch, he smelled Rusty) and then got under cover of the hill as fast as I could. Stitch isn't the only one who gets nervous after dark. And besides, my feet were starting to hurt. Stitch was really paranoiac tonight. He didn't even take off running after we were in sight of the house.\n\nDavid was outside, bringing in a load of wood. I could tell just by looking at it that they were all the wrong length. \"Cutting it kind of close, aren't you?\" he said. \"Did you get the tomato seeds?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I brought you something else, though. I brought everybody something.\"\n\nI went on in. Dad was rolling out plastic on the living room floor. Mrs. Talbot was holding one end for him. Mom was holding the card table, still folded up, waiting for them to finish so she could set it up in front of the stove for supper. Nobody even looked up. I unslung by backpack and took out Mrs. Talbot's magazine and the letter.\n\n\"There was a letter at the post office,\" I said. \"From the Clearys.\"\n\nThey all looked up.\n\n\"Where did you find it?\" Dad asked.\n\n\"On the floor, mixed in with all the third-class stuff I was looking for Mrs. Talbot's magazine.\"\n\nMom leaned the card table against the couch and sat down. Mrs. Talbot looked blank.\n\n\"The Clearys were our best friends,\" I said. \"From Illinois. They were supposed to come see us the summer before last. We were going to hike up Pike's Peak and everything.\"\n\nDavid banged in the door. He looked at Mom sitting on the couch and Dad and Mrs. Talbot still standing there holding the plastic like a couple of statues. \"What's wrong?\" he said.\n\n\"Lynn says she found a letter from the Clearys today,\" Dad said.\n\nDavid dumped the logs on the hearth. One of them rolled onto the carpet and stopped at Mom's feet. Neither of them bent over to pick it up.\n\n\"Shall I read it out loud?\" I said, looking at Mrs. Talbot. I was still holding her magazine. I opened up the envelope and took out the letter.\n\n\"'Dear Janice and Todd and everybody,'\" I read. \"'How are things in the glorious west? We're raring to come out and see you, though we may not make it quite as soon as we hoped. How are Carla and David and the baby? I can't wait to see little David. Is he walking yet? I bet Grandma Janice is so proud she's busting her britches. Is that right? Do you westerners wear britches or have you all gone to designer jeans?'\"\n\nDavid was standing by the fireplace. He put his head down across his arms on the mantelpiece.\n\n\"'I'm sorry I haven't written, but we were very busy with Rick's graduation and anyway I thought we would beat the letter out to Colorado, but now it looks like there's going to be a slight change in plans. Rick has definitely decided to join the Army. Richard and I have talked ourselves blue in the face, but I guess we've just made matters worse. We can't even get him to wait to join until after the trip to Colorado. He says we'd spend the whole trip trying to talk him out of it, which is true, I guess. I'm just so worried about him. The Army! Rick says I worry too much, which is true too, I guess, but what if there was a war?'\"\n\nMom bent over and picked up the log that David had dropped and laid it on the couch beside her.\n\n\"'If it's okay with you out there in the Golden West, we'll wait until Rick is done with basic the first week in July and then all come out. Please write and let us know if this is okay I'm sorry to switch plans on you like this at the last minute, but look at it this way: you have a whole extra month to get into shape for hiking up Pike's Peak. I don't know about you, but I sure can use it.'\"\n\nMrs. Talbot had dropped her end of the plastic. It didn't land on the stove this time, but it was so close to it it was curling from the heat. Dad just stood there watching it. He didn't even try to pick it up.\n\n\"'How are the girls? Sonja is growing like a weed. She's out for track this year and bringing home lots of medals and dirty sweat socks. And you should see her knees! They're so banged up I almost took her to the doctor. She says she scrapes them on the hurdles, and her coach says there's nothing to worry about, but it does worry me a little. They just don't seem to heal. Do you ever have problems like that with Lynn and Melissa?\n\n\"'I know, I know. I worry too much. Sonja's fine. Rick's fine. Nothing awfuls going to happen between now and the first week in July, and we'll see you then. Love, the Clearys. P. S. Has anybody ever fallen off Pike's Peak?'\"\n\nNobody said anything. I folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope.\n\n\"I should have written them,\" Mom said. \"I should have told them, 'Come now.' Then they would have been here.\"\n\n\"And we would probably have climbed up Pike's Peak that day and gotten to see it all go blooie and us with it,\" David said, lifting his head up. He laughed and his voice caught on the laugh and kind of cracked. \"I guess we should be glad they didn't come.\"\n\n\"Glad?\" Mom said. She was rubbing her hands on the legs of her jeans. \"I suppose we should be glad Carla took Melissa and the baby to Colorado Springs that day so we didn't have so many mouths to feed.\" She was rubbing her jeans so hard she was going to rub a hole right through them. \"I suppose we should be glad those looters shot Mr. Talbot.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dad said. \"But we should be glad the looters didn't shoot the rest of us. We should be glad they only took the canned goods and not the seeds. We should be glad the fires didn't get this far. We should be glad\u2014\"\n\n\"That we still have mail delivery?\" David said. \"Should we be glad about that too, Dad?\" He went outside and shut the door behind him.\n\n\"When I didn't hear from them I should have called or something,\" Mom said.\n\nDad was still looking at the ruined plastic, I took the letter over to him. \"Do you want to keep it or what?\" I said.\n\n\"I think it's served its purpose,\" he said. He wadded it up, tossed it in the stove, and slammed the door shut. He didn't even get burned. \"Come help me on the greenhouse, Lynn,\" he said.\n\nIt was pitch-dark outside and really getting cold. My sneakers were starting to get stiff. Dad held the flashlight and pulled the plastic tight over the wooden slats. I stapled the plastic every two inches all the way around the frame and my finger about every other time. After we finished one frame I asked Dad if I could go back in and put on my boots.\n\n\"Did you get the seeds for the tomatoes?\" he said, like he hadn't even heard me. \"Or were you too busy looking for the letter?\"\n\n\"I didn't look for it,\" I said. \"I found it. I thought you'd be glad to get the letter and know what happened to the Clearys.\"\n\nDad was pulling the plastic across the next frame, so hard it was getting little puckers in it. \"We already knew,\" he said.\n\nHe handed me the flashlight and took the staple gun out of my hand. \"You want me to say it?\" he said. \"You want me to tell you exactly what happened to them? All right. I would imagine they were close enough to Chicago to have been vaporized when the bombs hit. If they were, they were lucky. Because there aren't any mountains like ours around Chicago. So they got caught in the fire storm or they died of flash burns or radiation sickness or else some looter shot them.\"\n\n\"Or their own family,\" I said.\n\n\"Or their own family.\" He put the staple gun against the wood and pulled the trigger. \"I have a theory about what happened the summer before last,\" he said. He moved the gun down and shot another staple into the wood. \"I don't think the Russians started it or the United States either. I think it was some little terrorist group somewhere or maybe just one person. I don't think they had any idea what would happen when they dropped their bomb. I think they were just so hurt and angry and frightened by the way things were that they just lashed out. With a bomb.\" He stapled the frame clear to the bottom and straightened up to start on the other side. \"What do you think of that theory, Lynn?\"\n\n\"I told you,\" I said. \"I found the letter while I was looking for Mrs. Talbot's magazine.\"\n\nHe turned and pointed the staple gun at me. \"But whatever reason they did it for, they brought the whole world crashing down on their heads. Whether they meant it or not, they had to live with the consequences.\"\n\n\"If they lived,\" I said. \"If somebody didn't shoot them.\"\n\n\"I can't let you go to the post office anymore,\" he said. \"It's too dangerous.\"\n\n\"What about Mrs. Talbot's magazines?\"\n\n\"Go check on the fire,\" he said.\n\nI went back inside. David had come back and was standing by the fireplace again, looking at the wall. Mom had set up the card table and the folding chairs in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Talbot was in the kitchen cutting up potatoes, only it looked like it was onions the way she was crying.\n\nThe fire had practically gone out. I stuck a couple of wadded-up magazine pages in to get it going again. The fire flared up with a brilliant blue and green. I tossed a couple of pine cones and some sticks onto the burning paper. One of the pine cones rolled off to the side and lay there in the ashes. I grabbed for it and hit my hand on the door of the stove.\n\nRight in the same place. Great. The blister would pull the old scab off and we could start all over again. And of course Mom was standing right there, holding the pan of potato soup. She put it on the top of the stove and grabbed up my hand like it was evidence in a crime or something. She didn't say anything, she just stood there holding it and blinking.\n\n\"I burned it,\" I said. \"I just burned it.\"\n\nShe touched the edges of the old scab, like she was afraid of catching something.\n\n\"It's a burn!\" I shouted, snatching my hand back and cramming David's stupid logs into the stove. \"It isn't radiation sickness. It's a burn.\"\n\n\"Do you know where your father is, Lynn?\" she said as if she hadn't even heard me.\n\n\"He's out on the back porch,\" I said, \"building his fucking greenhouse.\"\n\n\"He's gone,\" she said. \"He took Stitch with him.\"\n\n\"He can't have taken Stitch,\" I said. \"He's afraid of the dark.\" She didn't say anything. \"Do you know how dark it is out there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and went and looked out the window. \"I know how dark it is.\"\n\nI got my parka off the hook by the fireplace and started out the door.\n\nDavid grabbed my arm. \"Where the hell do you think you're going?\"\n\nI wrenched away from him. \"To find Stitch. He's afraid of the dark.\"\n\n\"Its too dark,\" he said. \"You'll get lost.\"\n\n\"So what? It's safer than hanging around this place,\" I said and slammed the door shut on his hand.\n\nI made it halfway to the woodpile before he grabbed me again, this time with his other hand. I should have gotten them both with the door.\n\n\"Let me go,\" I said. \"I'm leaving. I'm going to go find some other people to live with.\"\n\n\"There aren't any other people! For Christ's sake, we went all the way to South Park last winter. There wasn't anybody We didn't even see those looters. And what if you run into them, the looters that shot Mr. Talbot?\"\n\n\"What if I do? The worst they could do is shoot me. I've been shot at before.\"\n\n\"You're acting crazy, you know that, don't you?\" he said. \"Comin' in here out of the clear blue, taking potshots at everybody with that crazy letter!\"\n\n\"Potshots!\" I said, so mad I was afraid I was going to start crying. \"Potshots! What about last summer? Who was taking potshots then?\"\n\n\"You didn't have any business taking the shortcut,\" David said. \"Dad told you never to come that way.\"\n\n\"Was that any reason to try and shoot m e? Was that any reason to kill Rusty?\"\n\nDavid was squeezing my arm so hard I thought he was going to snap it right in two. \"The looters had a dog with them. We found its tracks all around Mr. Talbot. When you took the shortcut and we heard Rusty barking, we thought you were the looters.\" He looked at me. \"Mom's right. Paranoia's the number one killer. We were all a little crazy last summer. We're all a little crazy all the time, I guess, and then you pull a stunt like bringing that letter home, reminding everybody of everything that's happened, of everybody we've lost...\" He let go of my arm and looked down at his hand like he didn't even know he'd practically broken my arm.\n\n\"I told you,\" I said. \"I found it while I was looking for a magazine. I thought you'd all be glad I found it.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" he said. \"I'll bet.\"\n\nHe went inside and I stayed out a long time, waiting for Dad and Stitch. When I came in, nobody even looked up. Mom was still standing at the window I could see a star over her head. Mrs. Talbot had stopped crying and was setting the table. Mom dished up the soup and we all sat down. While we were eating, Dad came in.\n\nHe had Stitch with him. And all the magazines. \"I'm sorry, Mrs. Talbot,\" he said. \"If you'd like, I'll put them under the house and you can send Lynn for them one at a time.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" she said. \"I don't feel like reading them anymore.\"\n\nDad put the magazines on the couch and sat down at the card table. Mom dished him up a bowl of soup. \"I got the seeds,\" he said. \"The tomato seeds had gotten water-soaked, but the corn and squash were okay.\" He looked at me. \"I had to board up the post office, Lynn,\" he said. \"You understand that, don't you, that I can't let you go there anymore? It's just too dangerous.\"\n\n\"I told you,\" I said. \"I found it. While I was looking for a magazine.\"\n\n\"The fire's going out,\" he said.\n\nAfter they shot Rusty I wasn't allowed to go anywhere for a month for fear they'd shoot me when I came home, not even when I promised to take the long way around. But then Stitch showed up and nothing happened and they let me start going again. I went every day till the end of summer and after that whenever they'd let me. I must have looked through every pile of mail a hundred times before I found the letter from the Clearys. Mrs. Talbot was right about the post office. The letter was in somebody else's box."
            },
            {
                "title": "And Come from Miles Around",
                "text": "Laynie had to go to the bathroom again. Meg guided her through the crowded cafe to the back. The bathroom was crowded, too. Meg waited in the hall with Laynie. On the wall above the telephone, someone had written in Magic Marker, \"Eclipse or Bust,\" and had drawn a crude sun, a circle with uneven lines radiating from it. Under that someone else had scrawled in pencil, \"It better not be cloudy I came all the way from Houston.\"\n\nWhen Meg came back to the table carrying the little girl, Rich and Paulos had both disappeared. Meg ordered Laynie another Coke and stared out the window, wondering how long it would take a two-year-old to overdose on sugar. Emergency situations required emergency measures, and seven hundred miles in a car with Laynie was an emergency situation. With Rich's colleague Paulos along, Laynie could hardly be allowed to indulge in her usual trip behavior, which was to hang over the backs of their seats, shouting \"cow\" at regular intervals and dropping her gum down their backs. This trip Meg had sat in the back seat with Laynie and a litter of sticker books and doll clothes, popping Lifesavers into her mouth every time she asked how much farther it was to Tana.\n\nAnd now here they were in Montana, and the men had gone God knows where, probably back to the Chamber of Commerce to ask more obscure questions about f-stops and mylar filters. They had already been there once. Meg had stood in the slushy snow outside the crowded office while Laynie ran around and around the towns resident Air Force missile, screaming like a wild Indian. No one had paid any attention to her. People had clustered in little groups, reading over the free brochures and arguing about a line of minuscule clouds in the southwest.\n\nThey were clustered together on the streets, too. The locals were easy to spot. They were the only ones who weren't anxiously watching the sky They were also the only ones not wearing T-shirts that said \"Eclipse '79\" in psychedelic orange and yellow.\n\nThe four men walking down the other side of the street were definitely not locals. They were all talking at once and gesturing wildly at the sky Scientists, thought Meg. You can always tell scientists. Their pants are too short. These four all looked alike: short black pants, short-sleeved shirts with the pocket crammed with pencils and metal clips and a flat calculator. Short sandy hair and black-rimmed glasses. Heads of four science departments somewhere, Meg thought. Scientificus Americanos in the flesh. They were obviously talking about the weather, even threatening it, from the look of some of those gestures, although the sky was perfectly clear as far as Meg could see. And yet oblivious to the weather, too, standing there in the twenty-degree cold in their shirt sleeves. One looked dressed for an eclipse in Hawaii in a flower-splashed orange shirt. She would have thought they were in the wrong place altogether if Rich's coat hadn't still been slung over the back of the booth.\n\nThe men came back. Rich had bought a T-shirt for Laynie. She refused to put it on. \"I think I'd better take her back to the motel so she can have some kind of nap,\" Meg said. \"She's about done in.\"\n\nRich nodded. \"You didn't bring any masking tape, did you? Some guys over at the Chamber of Commerce said an eye patch makes it easier to see the corona at totality.\"\n\n\"Maybe one of the drugstores is open,\" Paulos said. \"The seminars start at two-thirty. Surely we can find a drugstore open.\"\n\n\"What if we meet you at the seminar?\" Rich said. He gave Meg the key to the motel room and took off again, remembering his coat this time. Meg struggled Laynie into her snowsuit, paid the bill, and carried her back to the motel.\n\nTwo redheaded teenage boys were setting up an expensive-looking telescope in the parking lot of the motel. The No Vacancy sign flashed on and off in the sunny afternoon. Laynie was already asleep against Meg's shoulder. She stopped to admire the telescope. The boys were from Arizona. \"Do you know how lucky we are?\" one of them said. \"I mean, how lucky?\"\n\n\"It does look like we're going to have good weather,\" Meg said, shielding her eyes against the sun to look at the clouds in the southwest. They seemed to be dwindling.\n\n\"I don't mean the weather,\" the boy said, with an air of contempt Meg was sure he didn't feel, not when he'd come all the way from Arizona. \"If we lived on Jupiter we wouldn't have this at all.\"\n\n\"No,\" Meg said, smiling, \"I suppose we wouldn't.\"\n\n\"See, the sun is exactly four hundred times bigger than the moon and exactly four hundred times farther away. So they just fit. It doesn't happen like that anyplace else in the whole universe probably!\"\n\nHe was talking very loudly. Laynie shifted uneasily against Meg's shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, a sure sign that she was worn out. Meg smiled at the boys and took Laynie into the room. She turned back the red chenille bedspread and laid Laynie on the blankets, then kicked off her shoes and lay down beside her.\n\nThe boys were still outside when she woke up, loudly telling the landlady how lucky she was not to be living on Venus. The landlady probably already knew how lucky she was. Meg was relatively sure she didn't usually get to use her No Vacancy sign in February. She was positive she didn't usually get thirty-five dollars a room.\n\nMeg had a long chenille-nubbled crease down her cheek from where she'd slept on the folded bedspread. She combed her hair, pulled on a sweater, and sat down on the bed beside Laynie. It was only a little after two. The seminar was supposed to last two and a half hours, with a film at three O'clock. There was no way Laynie could last through the whole thing. She might as well let her sleep.\n\nLaynie was staring at her wide-eyed from the bed. \"Tana?\" she asked sleepily.\n\n\"Yes,\" Meg said. \"Go back to sleep.\"\n\nLaynie sat up. \"Clips?\" she said, and crawled off the bed.\n\n\"Not yet. Would you like to go swing? Let's get your boots on.\"\n\nThe redheaded boys were gone from the parking lot. They had probably gone to the seminar. The landlady directed Meg and Laynie to a park two blocks off the main street. Meg walked slowly, letting Laynie dawdle over a puddle and poke at the piles of dirty snow with a stick she found. On the way, Meg saw the four scientists again. She was relieved to see they were no longer running around without coats. They were all in parkas now and had an assortment of hats, among them an enormous Stetson and a red wool deerstalker with ear flaps. Protective coloration, Meg thought. Now they looked like everybody else. It didn't really matter what they wore, though. They could be wearing clown suits for all anybody would notice. The locals only looked at your money; and everybody else was watching the sky.\n\nThey were still arguing fiercely about the weather, almost frantically although Meg couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded a little like a foreign language, though Meg couldn't be sure. Scientists talking to each other always sounded a little like a foreign language.\n\nThere was no one in the park. Meg wiped a swing dry with the tail of her coat and set Laynie gently going back and forth. She made a circuit of the park, avoiding puddles and forth. She made a circuit of the park, avoiding puddles and thinking it was an awfully small town to have two missiles. This one was not anything like the needle-shaped red, white, and blue one the Chamber of Commerce had. It was short and squat and a painfully nondescript pale khaki color. Army surplus. It had no markings to identify it, but along one side were long, scraggly marks that looked as if they had been scrawled in charcoal. Local graffiti, Meg thought, and moved closer.\n\nIt wasn't graffiti unless it had been put on with a blowtorch. The long row of hash marks had been burned onto the side of the missile. They were slightly uneven in length: Laynie's idea of writing. At the end of the line was a circle with more hash marks radiating from it. The circle reminded her of something, but she couldn't think what.\n\n\"Rocket,\" Laynie said.\n\n\"No, honey it's a missile.\" Actually, it did look a little like a rocket.\n\n\"Rocket,\" Laynie repeated. She was standing behind Meg, in a puddle. Meg couldn't see the tops of her boots.\n\n\"Oh, Laynie,\" Meg said. \"Your good boots!\" She helped her out of the puddle.\n\n\"Boots!\" Laynie wailed. \"Wet!\"\n\n\"Oh, honey,\" Meg said, and picked her up. \"Let's go change into your sneakers, okay? Your pretty red sneakers, okay?\"\n\nLaynie sniffed. \"Wet.\"\n\n\"I know.\" It seemed like a long way back to the motel. \"Let's pretend we're in a rocket,\" Meg said to distract Laynie. \"Where shall we go?\"\n\n\"Tana,\" Laynie said.\n\n\"Montana? Meg laughed. \"Why?\"\n\n\"See clips,\" Laynie said solemnly.\n\nMeg stopped in the middle of the street and looked back at the park.\n\nBy the time Meg got Laynie into dry socks and the red sneakers, it was nearly three-thirty, which meant the questions should be over and the scheduled movie started. Laynie was very good in movies, no matter what they were about, so Meg decided to risk meeting Rich. Thank goodness it was a little town. The high school was only two blocks farther than the park, perched on the top of a hill. The Chamber of Commerce had recommended it as the best viewing site for tomorrow.\n\nMeg had guessed wrong about the movie. They were still asking questions. Rich and Paulos were halfway down the auditorium and in the middle of a row. Meg decided against trying to get to them and sat down in an empty seat almost at the back. She helped Laynie out of her snowsuit and handed her a package of gum.\n\n\"Clips?\" Laynie asked.\n\n\"Not yet,\" Meg said, \"but there'll be a movie soon.\" I hope. She tried to tell from the questions being asked how near they were to being finished, but it was impossible to tell anything. The questions were a jumble about shadow bands, welder's glass, mylar film, Bailey's beads. Meg had the feeling from the look on the face of the man leading the discussion that some of the questions had been asked before. He was probably a teacher, because he didn't know how to hold the microphone right. He was certainly a scientist. He had a calculator and five pencils in his shirt pocket. His pants came almost to the top of his socks.\n\nMeg wondered idly where her four scientists were. She didn't see them in the crowd, though there were several Stetsons and one fluorescent orange deerstalker. And a million parkas. If Holubar were sponsoring the eclipse, Meg thought, this is what it would look like. Laynie stood on her seat and offered gum to the elderly couple behind her.\n\nThe science teacher finally stopped one of the redheaded boys in mid-question and started the movie. It was a National Geographic film of an eclipse out in the ocean somewhere. The scientist who did the narration was the spitting image of Meg's four. He even had on an orange-flowered Hawaiian shirt. He talked for fifteen minutes about the mechanics of eclipses while Laynie stared raptly at the screen, not even chewing her gum.\n\n\"The fact that solar eclipses occur at all is due to a coincidence unique in the solar system, as far as we know, unique in our whole celestial neighborhood. It's all due to the diameter of the moon, which is three thousand four hundred eighty kilometers, being point oh oh two five times the diameter of the sun, which is...\" He was off again, working out chalky equations. Laynie loved it. The gist of it, Meg gathered, was not that there were eclipses, since everything in the universe must sooner or later manage to get in the way of everything else and ruin the view. The amazing coincidence part was that the sun and the moon were an exact geometric fit, so that instead of just darkness there were the corona, the prominences, all the show that people came from miles around to see.\n\nLaynie had to go to the bathroom. Meg trekked her down a locker-lined hall and nearly collided with her scientists. They brushed past her and out a side door onto the schools tennis courts. The courts were heaped with black snow, but they commanded an unbroken view of the sky.\n\nMeg could see now what they had been arguing about. The sky was still clear, with only a few delicate cirrus clouds above the dipping sun, and that threatening line of clouds had disappeared. But there was a faint haze to the west that Meg recognized now as weather coming. A big front, too. It might be overcast by as early as tonight. So why weren't the four worried?\n\nThey did not look worried at all. The argument was coming near to being resolved, Meg thought, watching them through the door, because their expressions were nearly in agreement and their gesturing was on a smaller and more soothing scale. In fact, Meg thought, they looked a little smug, like Rich and Paulos when they had found the mistake in the program and could now go full speed ahead without interference. She wondered what the weather report for tomorrow would be. I don't need to hear, she thought irrationally, I already know. She, watched them through the door for a few more minutes and then took Laynie to the bathroom.\n\nThe questioning in the auditorium went on for almost another hour after the movie, during which time Laynie went through two more packs of gum and a roll of Lifesavers the old couple behind gave her. Meg decided they were saints sent down from heaven to help young mother's through the eclipse. If heaven wasn't too far to come, Meg thought idly while the man with the microphone held forth on the construction of a pinhole viewer from a shoebox, how far was too far to come?\n\nEveryone who had been in the auditorium was in the cafe and then some. The special was something called an \"eclipse burger,\" which turned out to be a hamburger with a fried egg and cheese on top. Laynie took the top bun off and refused to eat anything else. Rich and Paulos talked about the weather while Meg scraped egg and cheese off Laynie's hamburger. They hadn't noticed the haze yet.\n\n\"Do you realize how far some of these people have come?\" Rich said. \"That guy that was sitting next to us was from New York. He drove out.\"\n\n\"Yeah, if it's cloudy tomorrow, there are going to be some mighty unhappy people,\" Paulos said.\n\n\"Ick,\" Laynie said, pointing to the yellow mess beside her hamburger. Meg scraped the offending goo onto her own plate.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" she said, \"that if you had come far enough you would have some way of ensuring that the weather was clear.\" She put the top bun on the hamburger and handed it to Laynie. Rich and Paulos were looking at her as if she had lost her mind.\n\n\"You mean cloudseeding?\" Rich said finally.\n\n\"I just\u2014exactly how far do you think people actually come to something like this?\"\n\nThey looked at each other. \"I don't know,\" Paulos said. \"There are supposed to be some astronomers here from Italy.\"\n\n\"Are there four of them?\" Meg said without thinking, and then stopped. They were looking at her again. \"But they don't have to come, do they? I mean, I thought scientists could see everything they wanted to with the satellite equipment. The corona and all that, I mean,\" she finished weakly.\n\n\"Catch up,\" Laynie said. Meg handed her the catsup bottle. She wouldn't be able to get the lid off and it would keep her occupied.\n\nRich was still frowning. In a minute he would ask, \"What's the matter?\" and she would say, \"There are four scientists here who aren't from Italy,\" and then he would really think she was crazy But he was frowning about something else.\n\n\"You know,\" he said thoughtfully, \"somebody else was saying that same thing this afternoon, that with all the above-the-atmosphere equipment we've got now, there's really no reason for all the elaborate setup every eclipse.\"\n\n\"Then why do they come all the way from Italy?\" Meg persisted. She was not sure what she wanted him to say; perhaps that the distances were dwindling, that nobody came very far anymore just to see an eclipse.\n\nRich hesitated. \"They just\u2014I don't know.\"\n\n\"They come to see the show,\" Paulos said suddenly.\n\n\"Ick,\" Laynie said.\n\n\"They come for the same reason the pilgrims went to Canterbury, Teddy Roosevelt went to Yellowstone, the astronauts went to the moon. To see the show.\"\n\n\"Well, but surely it's more than just that. Scientific curiosity and\u2014\" Rich said.\n\nPaulos shook his head. \"Protective coloration,\" he said.\n\nMeg sucked in her breath.\n\n\"But there's still a lot of information that can't be gotten any other way,\" Rich said. \"Look at\u2014\"\n\n\"Ick,\" Laynie said again. Meg could not see Laynie's plate under the catsup. She had apparently gotten the lid off quite easily.\n\nAfter supper they went back to the motel. The men stood outside with the redheaded boys and debated the weather. The faint haze had become a light film nearly obscuring Jupiter, although the moons could still be seen faintly through Paulos's telescope. Meg gave Laynie her bath and put her to bed. She washed out the catsup-stained T-shirt and the mud-soaked socks and hung them over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom. Then she got ready for bed herself and flicked on the TV.\n\nIt was a Helena station. Helena was worried about early morning fog. They were recommending Lewistown and Grassrange. Apparently Helena hadn't noticed the haze either. There was a guest meteorologist from Denver. He explained how the Russians had used cloudseeding during the last-eclipse to obtain a perfect view through dense cloud cover. He said modern technology had not developed to the sophistication necessary for weather control in the northwest due to complicated arctic flow patterns, but plans were already being made for the eclipse in Hawaii so that hopefully they would be able not only to predict but to guarantee good weather to the people who had traveled so far to see this wonder of nature. Meg turned off the TV and went to bed.\n\nShe woke up at five-thirty frozen stiff. The door of the motel room was standing open. She pulled on her coat, pulled the covers up over Laynie, and went outside. It was just starting to get light. Rich and Paulos stood with their hands in their pockets, looking miserable. The redheaded boys had the back of their orange hatchback open and were slinging sleeping bags and equipment into it. The sky was completely overcast.\n\n\"Where are they going?\" Meg asked Rich.\n\n\"Helena.\" He sounded grim, which meant he was frantic with worry.\n\n\"But Helena's supposed to have fog.\"\n\n\"Fog might burn off. This...\" He waved a hand at the sky. It was getting lighter by the minute. The clouds looked totally impenetrable. A major front. \"What do you think, Paulos?\"\n\n\"I think if we don't make up our minds within the next few minutes it'll be too late to make any difference. We've only got about two hours until it starts.\"\n\nThe redheaded boys came out with a last load. Two backpacks and the camera tripod. They threw them in the back of the car and slammed down the hatch. One of them had drawn \"Eclipse Special\" with his finger in the mud on the back window. Next to it he had drawn a sun. A circle with uneven lines radiating from it.\n\n\"I say Helena,\" Rich said.\n\n\"Great,\" Paulos said, and turned back to the motel.\n\n\"No,\" Meg said.\n\nThey all looked at her, even the redheaded boys. They will never forgive me if it's cloudy and they miss the eclipse, she thought. It's the last one in North America in this century; and they will never forgive me. But Helena has fog and we have...\n\n\"No,\" she said again. They were waiting for her to explain, and to explain would be disastrous. \"There's no need to go anywhere,\" she said clearly \"We'll be able to see the eclipse from here.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\" Rich asked.\n\n\"I know it.\" Her tone sounded convincing even to herself. The redheaded boys looked almost persuaded.\n\n\"How do you know it?\" Paulos asked. \"Women's intuition?\"\n\nShe almost said, \"There's no such thing and you know it,\" but the boys looked as if they might believe that. They were only eighteen. Emergency situations demand emergency measures. \"Yes,\" she said, \"women's intuition. It's going to clear off in time to see the eclipse.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Rich said, \"we stay.\" The boys looked at each other, nodded their heads, and started hauling their stuff back out of the car. Rich took Meg's arm and led her back toward the motel room. \"Meet you for breakfast in fifteen minutes, Paulos,\" he said.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Paulos said, laughing. \"That's one benefit of staying here. We get to eat.\"\n\nRich shut the door behind them. \"Women's intuition,\" he said. \"You know something, don't you?\"\n\nMeg looked at him steadily.\n\n\"You've seen something?\"\n\nYes. Dust marks on a car. Two missiles in a town the size of a pinhole viewer. Four scientists who look so much like scientists they could have been copied out of a National Geographic film who aren't even worried about this storm. A child's drawing of the sun. Laynie. Yes, I've seen lots of things. But I'm the only one. Who's going to notice four scientists in a town full of scientists? Who's going to notice that they're speaking some strange foreign language? Everybody's speaking science, and nothing's stranger than that. Who's going to notice anything? You're all looking at the sky. She kept silent.\n\n\"How on earth can you believe that mess out there is going to clear off by eight-thirty?\"\n\n\"Clips?\" Laynie said from her bed.\n\n\"Clips,\" Meg said firmly. \"Let's get your clothes on so we can go eat breakfast.\"\n\nThey set up in front of the high school. Meg did not see the four anywhere. It was not even possible to see the sun's disc through the gray blanket of clouds, though it was possible to get an image through the telescopes.\n\n\"We have contact,\" one of the redheaded boys said at 8:21, and there was some scattered applause.\n\n\"Sun?\" Laynie said.\n\n\"Behind the clouds,\" Rich said.\n\nEveryone was going through the motions of setting up telescopes, cameras, binoculars for projecting an image on the snow. Nobody looked at the sky. The elderly couple let Laynie look through a pinhold viewer made out of an oatmeal box, even though there was nothing to see. Meg walked Laynie around the outside of the high school and told her all about not looking at the sun unless she had her special glasses on that Daddy had made for her.\n\nAt 9:04 she found her scientists where they had been before, on the tennis courts around the other side of the building. They were setting up their equipment, most of which was short, fat, and the same faded khaki as the missile in the park. They were all talking animatedly at each other and nodding at the sky.\n\nAt 9:05 the clouds around the sun began to be pushed away in a ragged circle and the sun's disc began to shine very thinly through. Meg made Laynie put her special glasses on. At 9:17 the sun came out and everybody cheered. Meg walked Laynie back around to the front of the school where Rich had the telescope set up. Rich looked frantic, which meant he was hopeful. He and Paulos were wearing eye patches made of kleenex and masking tape. It began to get dark in the west, a purple-blue darkness like a summer rainstorm. Meg looked through the telescope at the last sliver of the sun, still shining too bright to look at in the now completely blue eastern half of the sky.\n\nAt 9:24 Paulos said, \"She's a-coming.\" Meg picked Laynie up and started edging away from the men in the direction of the tennis courts. It began to get very dark. Laynie clung to Meg's neck and squeezed her eyes shut under the mylar glasses. Shadows rippled suddenly over Meg like a shudder. She looked up.\n\nAnd was caught by the eclipse. There was a flash, like the captured light from a diamond, and then it was there, suspended in the sky The sky was not totally dark. Reflection from the snow. The science teacher had explained it yesterday in the auditorium. He had not explained how beautiful it would be. The sky was a dawn blue with pink shining from the retreating clouds like a coming sunrise. In the center of the fragile blue the sun flared out on all sides from behind the moon.\n\nMeg pried Laynie's arms loose from around her neck and took her glasses off her. \"This is it, Laynie honey,\" she whispered. \"Look at the clips.\"\n\nLaynie turned around shyly, as if she were being introduced to someone. \"Oh,\" she said in a tiny voice, and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her other hand she kept tight around Meg's neck.\n\n\"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight...\" One of the redheaded boys was counting backwards. It could not possibly have been two minutes already. A fine line of light appeared at one side of the bluish circle. \"Thar she goes!\" somebody said. Meg shoved Laynie's glasses back on her and looked down at the snow. The sun flared back into blindingness and there was a tremendous roar of applause.\n\nThe redheaded boys pounded Meg on the back. \"Boy, was that ever neat!\" they kept saying. \"Boy, are we ever glad we listened to you.\"\n\nRich grinned at her. \"You've set women's lib back a hundred years,\" he said, and squeezed her hand.\n\n\"Quite a show,\" Paulos said, rocking back contentedly on his heels, \"quite a show.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Meg said, and took off through the forest of tripods with Laynie still in her arms. They were already gone, the four of them carrying their equipment down the hill. There was probably time to catch them before they made it to the park. I didn't want to catch them, Meg thought. I just wanted to see what they thought of it, if it was worth it, coming all this way She could see them gesturing. Their gestures had taken on grandiose proportions. Meg decided it must have been.\n\n\"Laynie had to go to the bathroom,\" Meg explained when they got back. The air had turned chilly. Meg put Laynie's hood up.\n\n\"Ten-degree drop of temperature during the eclipse,\" Paulos said. \"It looks like it's turning bad again, too.\" He got into the car. The even layer of clouds was pushing steadily back over the sun.\n\nMeg settled Laynie in the back seat and then helped Rich get the camera tripod maneuvered into the trunk. \"You're not going to tell me, are you?\" Rich said.\n\nMeg looked at him. \"Tell you what?\"\n\nHe slammed the trunk shut. Meg got into the back seat with Laynie. Rich started the car.\n\n\"I sure would like to know what you did back there,\" Paulos said. \"That was some weather predicting!\"\n\n\"Um,\" Meg said. She was straining to see the park as they passed the side street she and Laynie had walked up.\n\n\"Rocket,\" Laynie said. \"Rocket. Tana. Clips.\"\n\n\"What, honey?\" Rich asked.\n\nEmergency situations demand emergency measures. Meg popped a Lifesaver into Laynie's mouth."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Sidon in the Mirror",
                "text": "We are near the spiraldown. I cannot see the mooring lights, and there are no landmarks on Paylay; but I remember how the lights of Jewell's abbey looked from here, a thin disjointed string of Christmas tree lights, red and green and gold. Closer in you can see the red line under the buildings, and you think you are seeing the heat of Paylay, but it is only the reflection of the lights off the ground and the metalpaper undersides of Jewell's and the gaming house.\n\n\"You kin't see the heat,\" Jewell said on our way in from the down, \"but you'll feel it. Your shoes all right?\"\n\nMy shoes were fine, but they were clumsy to walk in. I would have fallen over in them at home, but here the heavier gravity almost clamped them to the ground. They had six-inch plastic soles cut into a latticework as fragile-looking as the mooring tower, but they were sturdier than they looked, and they were not letting any heat get through. I wasn't feeling anything at all, and halfway to Jewell's I knelt and felt the sooty ground. It felt warm, but not as hot as I had thought it would be, walking on a star.\n\n\"Leave your hand there a minute,\" Jewell said, and I did, and then jerked my soot-covered hand up and put it in my mouth.\n\n\"Gits hot fast, din't it?\" she said. \"A tapper kidd fall down out here or kimm out with no shoes on and die inside of an hour of heatstroke. That's why I thought I bitter come out and wilcome you to Paylay. That's what they call this tapped-out star. You're sipposed to be able to pick up minny laying on the ground. You kin't. You have to drill a tap and build a comprissor around it and hope to Gid you don't blow yoursilf up while you're doing it.\"\n\nWhat she did not say, in the high squeaky voice we both had from the helium in the air, was that she had waited over two hours for me by the down's plastic mooring tower and that the bottoms of her feet were frying in the towering shoes. The plastic is not a very good insulator. Open metal ribs would work far better to dissipate the heat that wells up through the thin crust of Paylay; but they can't allow any more metal here than is absolutely necessary, not with the hydrogen and oxygen ready to explode at the slightest spark.\n\nThe downpilot should have taken any potential fire-starters and metal I had away from me before he let me off the spiraldown, but Jewell had interrupted him before he could ask me what I had. \"Doubletap it, will you?\" she said. \"I want to git back before the nixt shift. You were an hour late.\"\n\n\"Sorry, Jewell,\" the pilot said. \"We hit thirty percent almost a kilometer up and had to go into a Fermat.\" He looked down again at the piece of paper in his hand. \"The following items are contraband. Unlawful possession can result in expulsion from Paylay. Do you have any sonic fires, electromags, matches\u2014\"\n\nJewell took a step forward and put her foot down like she was afraid the ground would give way.\n\n\"Of course he din't. He's a pianoboard player.\"\n\nThe pilot laughed and said, \"Okay, Jewell, take him,\" and she grabbed up my tote and walked me back to St. Pierre. She asked about my uncle, she told me about the abbey and the girls and how she'd given them all house names of jewels because of her name. She told me how Taber, who ran the gaming house next door to her abbey had christened the little string of buildings we could see in the distance St. Pierre after the patron saint of tappers, and all the time the bottoms of her feet fried like cooking meat and she never said a word.\n\nI couldn't see her very well. She was wearing a chemiloom lantern strapped to her forehead and she had brought one for me, but they didn't give off much light and her face was in shadow. My uncle had told me she had a big scar, from a fight with a sidon, that ran down the side of her face and under her chin.\n\n\"It nearly cut the jugular,\" my uncle had said. \"It would have if they hadn't gotten it off of her. It cut up quite a few of the tappers, too.\"\n\n\"What was she doing with a sidon anyway?\" I said. I had never seen one, but I had heard about them, beautiful blood-red animals with thick, soft fur and sot-razor claws, animals that could seem tame for as long as a year and then explode without warning into violence. \"You can't tame them.\"\n\n\"Jewell thought she could,\" my uncle said. \"One of the tappers brought it back with him from Solfatara in a cage. Somebody let it out, and it got away. Jewell went after it. Its feet were burned and it was suffering from heatstroke. Jewell sat down on the ground and held it on her lap till someone came to help. She insisted on bringing it back to the abbey, making it into a pet. She wouldn't believe she couldn't tame it.\"\n\n\"But a sidon can't help what it is,\" I said. \"It's like us. It doesn't even know it's doing it.\"\n\nMy uncle did not say anything, and after a minute I said, \"She thinks she can tame us, too. That's why she's willing to take me, isn't it? I knew there had to be a reason she'd take me when we're not allowed on Solfatara. She thinks she can keep me from copying.\"\n\nMy uncle still did not answer, and I took that for assent. He had not answered any of my questions. He had suddenly said I was going, though nobody had gone off-planet since the ban, and when I asked him questions, he answered with statements that did not answer them at all.\n\n\"Why do I have to go?\" I said. I was afraid of going, afraid of what might happen.\n\n\"I want you to copy Jewell. She is a kind person, a good person. You can learn a great deal from her.\"\n\n\"Why can't she come here? Kovich did.\"\n\n\"She runs an abbey on Paylay. There are not more than two dozen tappers and girls on the whole star. It is perfectly safe.\"\n\n\"What if there's somebody evil there? What if I copy him instead and kill somebody like happened on Solfatara? What if something bad happens?\"\n\n\"Jewell runs a clean abbey. No sots, no pervs, and the girls are well-behaved. It's nothing like the happy houses. As for Paylay itself, you shouldn't worry about it being a star. It's in the last stages of burning out. It has a crust almost two thousand feet thick, which means there's hardly any radiation. People can walk on the surface without any protective clothing at all. There's some radiation from the hydrogen taps, of course, but you won't go anywhere near them.\"\n\nHe had reassured me about everything except what was important. Now, trudging along after Jewell through the sooty carbon of Paylay, I knew all about all the dangers except the worst ones myself.\n\nI could not see anything that looked like a tap. \"Where are they?\" I asked, and Jewell pointed back the way we had come.\n\n\"As far away as we kin git thim from St. Pierre and each it her so simm tripletapping fool kin't kill ivverybody when he blows himsilf up. The first sidon's off thit way, ten kilometers or so.\"\n\n\"Sidon,\" I said, frightened. My uncle had told me the tappers had killed the sidon and made it into a rug after it nearly killed Jewell.\n\nShe laughed. \"Thits what they call the taps. Because they blow up on you and you don't even know what hit. They make thim as safe as they can, but the comprission equipmints metal and metal means sparks. Ivvery once in a while that whole sky over there lights up like Chrissmiss. We built St. Pierre as faraway as we kidd, and there in't a scrap of metal in the whole place, but the hydrogen leaks are ivverywhere. And helium. Din't we sound like apairiv vools squeaking at each other?\" She laughed again, and I noticed that as we had stood there looking at the black horizon, my feet had begun to feel uncomfortably hot.\n\nIt was a long walk through the darkness to the string of lights, and the whole way I watched Jewell and wondered if I had already begun to copy her. I would not know it, of course. I had not known I was copying my uncle either. One day he had asked me to play a song, and I had sat down at the pianoboard and played it. When I was finished, he said, \"How long have you been able to do that?\" and I did not know. Only after I had done the copying would I know it, and then only if someone told me. I trudged after Jewell in darkness and tried, tried to copy her.\n\nIt took us nearly an hour to get to the town, and when we got there I could see it wasn't a town at all. What Jewell had called St. Pierre was only two tall metalpaper-covered buildings perched on plastic frameworks nearly two meters high and a huddle of stilt-tents. Neither building had a sign over the door, just strings of multicolored chemiloom lights strung along the eaves. They were fairly bright, and they reflected off the metalpaper into even more light, but Jewell took off the lantern she had had strapped to her head and held it close to the wooden openwork steps, as if I couldn't see to climb up to the front door high above us without it.\n\n\"Why are you walking like thit?\" she said when we got to the top of the steps, and for the first time I could see her scar. It looked almost black in the colored light of the lantern and the looms, and it was much wider than I had thought it would be, a fissure of dark puckered skin down one whole side of her face.\n\n\"Walking like what?\" I said, and looked down at my feet.\n\n\"Like you kin't bear to hivv your feet touch the ground. I got my feet too hot out at the down. You didn't. So din't walk like thit.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said. \"I won't do it anymore.\"\n\nShe smiled at me, and the scar faded a little. \"Now you just kimm on in and meet the girls. Din't mind it if they say simmthing about the way you look. They've nivver seen a Mirror before, but they're good girls.\" She opened the thick door. It was metalpaper backed with a thick pad of insulation. \"We take our shoes off out here and wear shuffles inside the abbey\"\n\nIt was much cooler inside. There was a plastic heat-trigger fan set in the ceiling and surrounded by rose-colored chemilooms. We were in an anteroom with a rack for the high shoes and the lanterns. They dangled by their straps.\n\nJewell sat down on a chair and began unbuckling her bulky shoes. \"Din't ivver go out without shoes and a lantern,\" she said. She gestured toward the rack. \"The little ones with the twillpaper hiddbands are for town. They only list about an hour. If you're going out to the taps or the spiraldown, take one iv the big ones with you.\"\n\nShe looked different in the rosy light. Her scar hardly showed at all. Her voice was different, too, deeper. She sounded older than she had at the down. I looked up and around at the air.\n\n\"We blow nitrogen and oxygen in from a tap behind the house,\" she said. \"The tappers din't like having squeaky little helium voices when they're with the girls. You can't git rid of the helium, or the hydrogen either. They leak in ivverywhere. The bist you can do is dilute it. You shid be glad you weren't here at the beginning, before they tapped an atmosphere. You had to wear vacuum suits thin.\" She pried off her shoe. The bottom of her foot was a mass of blisters. She started to stand up and then sat down again.\n\n\"Yill for Carnie,\" she said. \"Till her to bring some bandages.\"\n\nI hung my outside shoes on the rack and opened the inner door. It fit tightly, though it opened with just a touch. It was made of the same insulation as the outer door. It opened onto a fancy room, all curtains and fur rugs and hanging looms that cast little pools of colored light, green and rose and gold. The pianoboard stood over against one wall on a carved plastic table. I could not see anyone in the room, and I could not hear voices for the sound of the blowers. I started across a blood-red fur rug to another door hung with curtains.\n\n\"Jewell?\" a woman's voice said. The blowers kicked off, and she said, \"Jewell?\" again, and I saw that I had nearly walked past her. She was sitting in a white velvet chair in a little bay that would have been a window if this were not Paylay. She was wearing a white satinpaper dress with a long skirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and there was a string of pearls around her long neck. She was sitting so quietly, with her hands in her lap and her head turned slightly away from me, that I had not even seen her.\n\n\"Are you Carnie?\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" she said, and she didn't look up at me. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Jewell got her feet burned,\" I said. \"She needs bandages. I'm the new pianoboard player.\"\n\n\"I know,\" the girl said. She lifted her head a little in the direction of the stairs and called, \"Carnie. Get the remedy case.\"\n\nA girl came running down the stairs in an orange-red robe and no shoes. \"Is it Jewell?\" she said to the girl in the white dress, and when she nodded, Carnie ran past us into the other room. I could hear the hollow sound of an insulated door opening. The girl had made no move to come and see Jewell. She sat perfectly still in the white chair, her hands lying quietly in her lap.\n\n\"Jewell's feet are pretty bad,\" I said. \"Can't you at least come see them?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, and looked up at me. \"My name is Pearl,\" she said. \"I had a friend once who played the pianoboard.\"\n\nEven then I wouldn't have known she was blind except that my uncle had told me. \"Most of the girls are newcomers Jewell hired for Paylay right off the ships, before the happy houses could ruin them,\" my uncle had said. \"She only brought a couple of the girls with her from Solfatara, girls who worked with her in the happy house she came out of. Carnie, and I think Sapphire, and Pearl, the blind one.\"\n\n\"Blind?\" I had said. Solfatara is a long way out, but anyplace has doctors.\n\n\"He cut the optic nerve was severed. They did orb implants and reattached all the muscles, but it was only cosmetic repair. She can't see anything.\"\n\nEven after all the horrible stories I had heard about Solfatara, it had shocked me to think that someone could do something like that. I remember thinking that the man must have been incredibly cruel to have done such a thing, that it would have been kinder to kill her outright than to have left her helpless and injured like that in a place like Solfatara.\n\n\"Who did it to her?\" I said.\n\n\"A tapper,\" he said, and for a minute he looked very much like Kovich, so much that I asked, \"Was it the same man who broke Kovich's hands?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" my uncle said.\n\n\"Did they kill him?\" I said, and that was not the question I had intended to ask. I had meant did Kovich kill him, but I had said \"they.\"\n\nAnd my uncle, not looking like Kovich at all, had said, \"Yes, they killed him,\" as if that were the right question after all.\n\nThe orb implants, the muscle reattachments had been very good. Her eyes were a beautiful pale gray; and someone had taught her to follow voices with them. There was nothing at all in the angle of her head or her eyes or her quiet hands to tell me she was blind or make me pity her, and standing there looking down at her, I was glad, glad that they had killed him. I hoped that they had cut his eyes out first.\n\nCarnie darted past us with the remedy case, and I said, still looking down at Pearl, \"I'll go and see if I can help her.\" I went back out into the anteroom and watched while Carnie put some kind of oil on Jewell's feet and then a meshlike pad, and wrapped her feet in bandages.\n\n\"This is Carnelian,\" Jewell said. \"Carnie, this is our new pianoboard player.\"\n\nShe smiled at me. She looked very young. She must have been only a child when she worked in the happy house on Solfatara with Jewell.\n\n\"I bit you can do real fancy stuff with those hands,\" she said, and giggled.\n\n\"Don't tease him,\" Jewell said. \"He's here to play the pianoboard.\"\n\n\"I meant on the pianoboard. You din't look like a real Mirror. You know, shiny and ivverything? Who are you going to copy?\"\n\n\"He's not going to copy innybody,\" Jewell said sharply \"He's going to play the pianoboard, and that's all. Is supper riddy?\"\n\n\"No. I was jist in the kitchen and Sapphire wasn't even there yit.\" She looked back up at me. \"When you copy somebody, do you look like them?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"You're thinking of a Chameleon.\"\n\n\"You're not thinking at all,\" Jewell said to her and stood up. She winced a little as she put her weight on her feet. \"Go borrow a pair of Garnet's shuffles. I'll nivver be able to git mine on. And go till Sapphire to doubletap hersilfinto the kitchen.\"\n\nShe let me help her to the stairs, but not up them. \"When Carnie comes back, you hivv her show you your room. We work an eight and eight here, and it's nearly time for the shift. You kin practice till supper if you want.\"\n\nShe went up two steps and stopped. \"If Carnie asks you innymore silly questions, tell her I told her to lit you alone. I don't want to hear any more nonsinse about copying and Mirrors. You're here to play the pianoboard.\"\n\nShe went on up the stairs, and I went back into the music room. Pearl was still there, sitting in the white chair, and I didn't know whether she was included in the instructions to leave me alone, so I sat down on the hard wooden stool and looked at the pianoboard.\n\nIt had a wooden soundboard and bridges, but the strings were plastic instead of metal. I tried a few chords, and it seemed to have a good sound in spite of the strings. I played a few scales and more chords and looked at the names on the hardcopies that stood against the music rack. I can't read music, of course, but I could see by the titles that I knew most of the songs.\n\n\"It isn't nonsense, is it?\" Pearl said. \"About the copying.\" She spoke slowly and without the clipped accent Jewell and Carnie had.\n\nI turned around on the stool and faced her. \"No,\" I said. \"Mirrors have to copy. They can't help themselves. They don't even know who they're copying. Jewell doesn't believe me. Do you?\"\n\n\"The worst thing about being blind is not that things are done to you,\" she said, and looked up at me again with her gray eyes. \"It's that you don't know who's doing them.\"\n\nCarnie came in through the curtained door. \"I'm sipposed to show you around,\" she said. \"Oh, Pearl, I wish you kidd see him. He has eight fingers on each hand, and he's really tall. Almost to the ceiling. And his skin is bright red.\"\n\n\"Like a sidon's,\" Pearl said, looking at me.\n\nCarnie looked down at the blood-red rug she was standing on. \"Jist like,\" she said, and dragged me upstairs to show me my room and the clothes I was to wear and to show me off to the other girls. They were already dressed for the shift in trailing satinpaper dresses that matched their names. Garnet wore rose-red chemilooms in her upswept hair, Emerald an elaborately lit collar.\n\nCarnie got dressed in front of me, stepping out of her robe and into an orange-red dress as if I weren't watching. She asked me to fasten her armropes of winking orange, lifting up her red curls so I could tie the strings of the chemilooms behind her shoulders. I could not decide then if she were trying to seduce me or to get me to copy her or simply to convince me that she was the naive child she pretended to be.\n\nI thought then that whatever she was trying she had failed. She had succeeded only in convincing me of what my uncle had already told me. In spite of her youth, her silliness, I could well believe she had been on Solfatara, had known all of it, the pervs, the sots, the worst the happy houses had to offer. I think now she didn't mean anything by it except that she wanted to be cruel, that she was simply poking at me as if I were an animal in a cage.\n\nAt supper, watching Sapphire set Pearl's plate for her between taped marks, I wondered whether Carnie was ever cruel to Pearl as she had been to me, shifting the plate slightly as she set it down or moving her chair so she could not find it.\n\nSapphire set the rest of the plates on the table, her eyes dark blue from some old bitterness, and I thought, Jewell shouldn't have brought any of them with her from Solfatara except Pearl. Pearl is the only one who hasn't been ruined by it. Her blindness has kept her safe, I thought. She has been protected from all the horrors because she couldn't see them. Perhaps her blindness protects her from Carnie, too, I thought. Perhaps that is the secret, that she is safe inside her blindness and no one can hurt her, and Jewell knows that. I did not think then about the man who had blinded her, and how she had not been safe from him at all.\n\nJewell called the meal to order. \"I want you to make our new pianoboard player wilcome,\" she said. She reached across the table and patted Carnie's hand. \"Thank you for doing the introductions, and for bandaging my foot,\" she said, and I thought, Pearl is safe after all. Jewell has tamed Carnie and all the rest of them. I did not think about the sidon she had tamed, and how it now lay on the floor in front of the card-room door.\n\nThat first shift Jewell decked me out in formals and a black-red dog collar and had me stand at the door with her as she greeted the tappers. They were in formals, too, under their soot-black work jackets. They hung the many-pocketed jackets, heavy with tools, on the rack in the anteroom along with their lanterns and sat down to take off their high shoes with hands almost as red as mine. They had washed their hands and faces, but their fingernails were black with soot, and there was soot in every line of their palms. Their faces looked hot and raw, and they all had a broad pale band across their foreheads from the lantern strap. One of them Jewell called Scorch had singed off his eyebrows and a long strip of hair on top of his head.\n\n\"You'll meet almost all the tappers this shift. The gaming house will close hiffway through and the rist of them will come over. Taber and I stagger the shifts so simmthings always open.\"\n\nShe didn't introduce me, though some of the tappers looked at my eight-fingered hands curiously; and one of the men looked surprised and then angry. He looked as if he was going to say something to me, and then changed his mind, his face getting redder and darker until the lantern line stood out like a scar.\n\nWhen they were all inside the music room, Jewell led me to the pianoboard and had me sit down and spread my hands out over the keyboard, ready to play. Then she said, \"This is my new pianoboard player, boys. Say hillo to him.\"\n\n\"What's his name, Jewell?\" one of the men said. \"You ginna give him a fancy name like the girls?\"\n\n\"I nivver thought about it,\" she said. \"What do you think?\"\n\nThe tapper who had turned so red said loudly, \"I think you shid call him sidon and kick him out to burn on Paylay. He's a Mirror.\"\n\n\"I alriddy got a Carnelian and a Garnet. And I had a sidon once. I giss I'll call him Ruby.\" She looked calmly over at the man who had spoken. \"That okay with you, Jick?\"\n\nHis face was as dark a red as mine. \"I didn't say it to be mean, Jewell,\" he said. \"You're doing what you did with the sidon, taking in simmthing thit'll turn on you. They won't even lit Mirrors on Solfatara.\"\n\n\"I think that's probably a good ricommendation considering what they do lit on Solfatara,\" Jewell said quietly \"Sot-gamblers, tap-stealers, pervers\u2014\"\n\n\"You saw that Mirror kill the tapper. Stid there right in front iv ivverybody and nobody kidd stop him. Nobody. The tapper bigging for mercy, his hands tied in front of him, and thit Mirror coming at him with a sot-razor, smiling while he did it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Jewell said. \"I saw it. I saw a lot of things on Solfatara. But this is Paylay. And this is my pianoboard player Ruby I din't think a man should be outlawed till he does simmthing, di you, Jick?\" She put her hand on my shoulder. \"Do you know 'Back Home'?\" she said. Of course I knew it. I knew all the tapper songs. Kovich had played in every happy house on Solfatara before somebody broke his hands. He had called \"Back Home\" his rope-cutter.\n\n\"Play it, thin,\" she said. \"Show thim what you can do, Ruby.\"\n\nI played it with lots of trills and octave stretches, all the fancy things Kovich could do with five fingers instead of eight. Then I stopped and waited. The nitrogen blowers kicked off, and even the fans made no noise. During the song Jewell had gone and stood next to Jack, putting her hand on his shoulder, trying to tame him. I wondered if she had succeeded. Jack looked at me, and then at Jewell and back at me again. His hand went into his formals shirt, and my heart almost stopped before he brought it out again.\n\n\"Jewell's right,\" he said. \"You shiddn't judge a man till you see what he does. That was gid playing,\" he said, handing me a plastic-wrapped cigar. \"Wilcome to Paylay.\"\n\nJewell nodded at me, and I extended my hand and took the cigar. I fumbled to get the slippery plastic off and then had to look at the cigar a minute to make sure I was getting the right end in my mouth. I stuck it in my mouth and reached inside my shirt for my sparker. I didn't know what would happen when I lit the cigar. For all I understood what was going on, the cigar might be full of gunpower. Jewell did not look worried, but then she had misjudged the sidon, too.\n\nMy hand closed on the sparker inside my shirt, the nitrogen blowers kicked suddenly on, and Jack said lazily, \"Now whit you ginna light that with, Ruby? There in't a match on Paylay!\"\n\nJewell laughed and the men guffawed. I pulled my empty hand sheepishly out of my jacket and took the cigar out of my mouth to look at it. \"I forgot you can't smoke on Paylay,\" I said.\n\n\"You and ivvery tapper that kimms in on the down,\" Jewell said. \"I've seen Jick play that joke on how many newcomers?\"\n\n\"Ivvery one,\" Jack said, looking pleased with himself. \"It even worked on you, Jewell, and you weren't a newcomer.\"\n\n\"It did not, you tripletapping liar,\" she said. \"Lit's hear simmthing else, Ruby,\" she said. \"Whit do you want Ruby to play boys?\"\n\nScorch shouted out a song, and I played it, and then another, but I do not know what they were. It had been a joke, offer the newcomer a cigar and then watch him try to light it on a star where no open flames are allowed. A good joke, and Jack had done it in spite of what he had seen on Solfatara to show Jewell he didn't think I was a sidon, that he would wait to see what I would do before he judged me.\n\nAnd that would have been too late. What would have happened when I lit the cigar? Would the house have gone up in a ball of flame, or all of St. Pierre? The hydrogen-oxygen ratio had been high enough in the upper atmosphere that we had had to shut off the engines above a kilometer and spiral in, and here the fans were pumping in even more oxygen. Half of Paylay might have gone up.\n\nI knew how it had happened. Jewell had interrupted the downpilot before he could ask about sparkers, and now, because her feet had hurt, there was a live sparker in her house. And she had just convinced Jack I was not dangerous.\n\nI had stopped playing, sitting there staring blindly at the keyboard, the unlit cigar clamped so hard between my teeth I had nearly bitten it through. The men were still shouting out the names of songs, but Jewell stepped between them and me and put a hardcopy on the music rack. \"No more riquists,\" she said. \"Pearl is going to sing for you.\"\n\nPearl stood up and walked unassisted from her white chair to the pianoboard. She stopped no more than an inch from me and put her hand down certainly on the end of the keyboard. I looked at the music. It showed a line of notes before her part began, but I did not know that version, only the song that Kovich had known, and that began on the first note of the verse. I could not nod at her, and she could not see my hands on the keys.\n\n\"I don't know the introduction,\" I said. \"Just the verse. What should I do?\"\n\nShe bent down to me. \"Put your hand on mine when you are ready to begin, and I will count three,\" she said, and straightened again, leaving her hand where it was.\n\nI looked down at her hand. Carnie had told her about my hands, and if I touched her lightly with only the middle fingers, she might not even be able to tell it from a human's touch. I wanted more than anything not to frighten her. I did not think I could bear it if she flinched away from me.\n\nNow I think it would have been better if she had, that I could have stood it better than this, sitting here with her head on my lap, waiting. If she had flinched, Jack would have seen her. He would have seen her draw away from me, and that would have been enough for him to grab me by the dog collar and throw me out the door, kick me down the wooden steps so hard that the sparker bounced out, leave me to cook in the furnace of Paylay.\n\n\"Now whit did you do thit for?\" Jewell would have said. \"He din't do innything but tich her hand.\"\n\n\"And he'll nivver do innything ilse to her either,\" he would have said, and handed Jewell the sparker. And I would never have been able to do anything else to her.\n\nBut she did not flinch. She took a light breath that took no longer than it did for my hand to return to the keys and hit the first note on the count of three, and we began together. I did not do any trills, any octave stretches. Her voice was sweet and thready and true. She didn't need me.\n\nThe men applauded after Pearl's song and started calling out the names of other songs. Some I didn't know, and I wondered how I could explain that to them, but Jewell said, \"Now, now, boys. Lets not use up our pianoboard player in one shift. Lit him go to bid. He'll be here next shift. Who wants a game of katmai?\" She reached over and pulled the cover down over the keyboard. \"Use the front stairs,\" she said. \"The tappers take the girls up the back way.\"\n\nPearl bent toward me, said, \"Good night, Ruby,\" and then took Jack's arm as if she knew right where he was and went through the curtained door to the card room. The others followed two by two until all the girls were taken, and then in a straggling line, and Jewell unfastened the heavy drapes so they fell across the door behind them.\n\nI went upstairs and took off the paper shuffles and the uncomfortable collar and sat on the edge of the bed Jewell had fixed for me by putting a little table at the end for extra length. I thought about Pearl and Jack and how I was going to give Jewell the sparker at the beginning of the next shift, and wondered who I was copying. I looked at myself in the little plastic mirror over the bed, trying to see Jewell or Jack in my face.\n\nI had left my cigar on the music rack. I didn't want Jack to find it there and think I had rejected it. I put my shuffles back on and went downstairs. There was nobody in the music room, and the drapes were still drawn across the door of the card room. I went over to the pianoboard and got the cigar. I had bitten it almost through, and now I bit the ragged end off. Then I chomped down on the new end and sat down on the piano stool, spreading out my hands as far as they would go across the keyboard.\n\n\"I understand you're a Mirror,\" a man's voice said from the recesses of Pearl's chair. \"I knew a Mirror once. Or he knew me. Isn't that how it is?\"\n\nI almost said, \"You're not supposed to sit in that chair,\" but I found I could not speak.\n\nThe man stood up and came toward me. He was dressed like the other men, with a broad black dog collar, but his hands and face were almost white, and there was no lighter band across his forehead. \"My name is Taber,\" He said in a slow, drawling voice unlike the fast, vowel-shortening accents of the others. I wondered if he had come from Solfatara. All the rest of them except Pearl shortened their vowels, bit them off like I had bit the end of the cigar. Pearl alone seemed to have no accent, as if her blindness had protected her from the speech of Solfatara, too.\n\n\"Welcome to St. Pierre,\" he said, and I felt a shock of fear. He had lied to Jewell. I did not know who St. Pierre was, but I knew as he spoke that St. Pierre was not the patron saint of tappers, and that Taber's calling the town that was some unspeakably cruel joke that only he understood.\n\n\"I have to go upstairs,\" I said, and my hand shook as I held the cigar. \"Jewell's in the card room.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said lazily taking a cigar from his pocket and unwrapping it. \"Is Pearl there, too?\"\n\n\"Pearl,\" I said, so frightened I could not breathe.\n\nHe patted his formals pockets and reached inside his shirt. \"Yes. You know, the blind girl. The pretty one.\" He pulled a sparker from his inside pocket, cocked it back, and looked at me. \"What a pity she's blind. I wish I knew what happened. She's never told a soul, you know,\" he said, and clicked the sparker.\n\nIt was not a real sparker. I could see, after a frozen moment, that there was no liquid in it at all. He clicked it twice more, held it to the end of his cigar in dreadful pantomime, and replaced it in his pocket.\n\n\"I do wish I could find out,\" he said. \"I could put the knowledge to good use.\"\n\n\"I can't help you,\" I said, and moved toward the stairs.\n\nHe stepped in front of me. \"Oh, I think you can. Isn't that what Mirrors are for?\" he said, and drew on the unlit cigar and blew imaginary smoke into my face.\n\n\"I won't help you,\" I said, so loudly I fancied Jewell would come and tell Taber to let me alone, as she had told Carnie. \"You can't make me help you.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" he said. \"That isn't how it works. But of course you know that,\" and let me pass.\n\nI sat on my bed the rest of the shift, holding the real sparker between my hands, waiting till I could tell Jewell what Taber had said to me. But the next shift was sleeping-shift, and the shift after that I played tapper requests for eight hours straight, and most of that time Taber stood by the pianoboard, flicking imaginary ashes onto my hands.\n\nAfter the shift Jewell came to ask me whether Jack or anyone else had bothered me, and I did not tell her after all. During the next sleeping-shift I hid the sparker between the mattress and the springs of my bed.\n\nOn the waking shifts I kept as close as I could to Jewell, trying to make myself useful to her, trying not to copy the way she walked on her bandaged feet. When I was not playing, I moved among the tappers with glasses of iced and watered-down liquor on a tray and filled out the account cards for the men who wanted to take girls upstairs. On the off-shifts I learned to work the boards that sent out accounts to Solfatara, and to do the laundry; and after a couple of weeks Jewell had me help with the body checks on the girls. She scanned for perv marks and sot scars as well as the standard CBS every abbey has to screen for. Pearl did not have a mark on her, and I was relieved. I had had an idea that Taber might be torturing her somehow.\n\nJewell left us alone while I helped her get dressed after the scan, and I said, \"Taber is a very bad man. He wants to hurt you.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said. She was standing very still while I clipped the row of pearl buttons on the back of her dress together.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said. \"It's like the sidon.\"\n\n\"You mean he can't help himself, that he doesn't know what he's doing?\" I said, outraged. \"He knows exactly what he's doing.\"\n\n\"The tappers used to poke at the sidon with sticks when it was in the cage,\" she said. \"They couldn't reach it to really hurt it, though, and Taber couldn't stand that. He made the tapper give him the key to the cage just so he could get to it. Just so he could hurt it. Now why would he want to hurt the sidon?\"\n\n\"Because it was helpless,\" I said, and wondered if the man who'd blinded Pearl had been like that. \"Because it couldn't protect itself.\"\n\n\"Jewell and I were in the same happy house on Solfatara,\" she said. \"We had a friend there, a pianoboard player like you. He was very tall like you, too, and he was the kindest person I ever knew. Sometimes you remind me of him.\" She walked certainly to the door, as if she were not counting the memorized steps. \"A cage is a safe place as long as nobody has the key Don't worry Ruby. He can't get in.\" She turned and looked at me. \"Will you come and play for me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, and followed her down to the music room. Before the shifts started, while the girls were upstairs dressing, she liked to sit in the white chair and listen to me play. She understood, more than any of the others, that I could only play the songs I had copied from Kovich. Jewell to the end thought I could read music, and Taber even brought me hardcopies from Solfatara. Pearl simply said the names of songs, and I played them. She never asked for one I didn't know, and I thought that was because she listened carefully to the tappers' requests and my refusals, and I was grateful.\n\nI sat down at the pianoboard and looked at Pearl in the mirror. I had asked Jewell for the mirror so I could see over my shoulder. I had told her I wanted it so she could signal me songs and breaks and sometimes the rope-cutter if the men got rough or noisy but it was really so I could keep Taber from standing there without my knowing it.\n\n\"Back Home,\" Pearl said. I could hardly hear her over the nitrogen blowers. I began playing it, and Taber came in. He walked swiftly over to her, and then stood quite still, and between my playing and the noise of the blowers, she did not hear him. He stood about half a meter from her, close enough to touch her, but just out of reach if she had put out her hand to try to find him.\n\nHe took the cigar out of his mouth and bent down as if he were going to speak to her, and instead he pursed his lips and blew gently at her. I could almost see the smoke. At first she didn't seem to notice, but then she shivered and drew her shinethread shawl closer about her.\n\nHe stopped and smiled at her a moment and then reached out and touched her with the tip of his cigar, lightly, on the shoulder, as if he intended to burn her, and then darted it back out of her reach. She swatted at the air, and he repeated the little pantomime again and again until she stood and put her hands up helplessly against what she could not see. As she did so, he moved swiftly and silently to the door so that when she cried out, \"Who is it? Who's there?\" he said in his slow drawl, \"Its me, Pearl. I've just come in. Did I frighten you?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, and sat back down again. But when he took her hand, she flinched away from him as I had thought she would from me. And all the while I had not missed a beat of the song.\n\n\"I just came over to see you for a minute,\" Taber said, \"and to hear your pianoboard player. He gets better every day doesn't he?\"\n\nPearl didn't answer, and I saw in the mirror that her hands lay crossed in her lap again and didn't move.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, and walked toward me, flicking imaginary ashes from his unlit cigar onto my hands. \"Better and better,\" he said softly. \"I can almost see my face in you, Mirror.\"\n\n\"What did you say?\" Pearl said frightenedly.\n\n\"I said I'd better go see Jewell a minute about some business and then get back next door. Jack found a new hydrogen tap today, a big one.\"\n\nHe went back through the card room to the kitchen, and I sat at the pianoboard, watching in the mirror until I saw the kitchen door shut behind him.\n\n\"Taber was in the room the whole time,\" I said. \"He was... doing things to you.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said.\n\n\"You shouldn't let him. You should stop him,\" I said violently, and as soon as I said it, I knew that she knew that I had not stopped him either. \"He's a very bad man,\" I said.\n\n\"He has never locked me in,\" she said after a minute. \"He has never tied me up.\"\n\n\"He has never known how before,\" I said, and knew it was true. \"He wants me to find out for him.\"\n\nShe bent her head to her hands, which still lay crossed at the wrists, almost relaxed, showing nothing of what she was thinking. \"And will you?\" she said.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"He's trying to get you to copy him, isn't he?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you think it's working?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I said. \"I can't tell when I'm copying. Do I sound like Taber?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, so definitely that I was relieved. I had listened to myself with an anxious ear, hoping for Jewell's shortened vowels and tapper slang, waiting in dread for the slow, lazy speech of Taber. I did not think I had heard either of them, but I had been afraid I wouldn't know if I did.\n\n\"Do you know who I'm copying?\" I said.\n\n\"You walk like Jewell,\" she said, and smiled a little. \"It makes her furious.\"\n\nIt was the end of the shift before I realized that, like my uncle, she had not really answered what I had asked.\n\nJack's new tap turned out to be so big that he needed a crew to help put up the compressors, and for several shifts hardly anyone was in the house, including Taber. Because business was so slack, Jewell even let some of the girls go over to the gaming house. Taber didn't go near the tap, but he didn't come over quite so often either, and when he did he spent his time upstairs or with Carnie, talking to her in a low voice and clicking the sparker over and over again, as if he could not help himself. Then, once the compressors were set up and the sidon working, the men poured back into St. Pierre, and Taber was too busy to come over at all.\n\nThe one time he did find Pearl alone, he said, \"It's Taber, Pearl,\" almost before I had banged a loud chord on the keys and said, \"Taber's here.\" He did not have his cigar with him, or his sparker, and he did not even speak to me. Watching Pearl talk to him in the little mirror, her head gracefully turned away from him, her hands quiet in her lap, I could almost believe that he would not succeed, that nothing could hurt her, safe in her blindness.\n\nWe were so busy that Jewell hardly spoke to me, but when she did, she told me sharply that if I had nothing better to do than copy her I should tend bar, and set me to passing out the watered liquor she had brought out in honor of the new sidon. She did the boards for the week herself while I ran the body checks.\n\nPearl, naked under the scan, looked calm and unhurt. Carnie had sot-scars under her arms. I did not report her. If Jewell found out, she would send Carnie back to Solfatara, and I wanted Taber to be working on Carnie, giving her sots and trying to get her to help him, because then I could believe he had given up on me. He had not given up on Pearl, I did not dare believe that, but I did not think that he and Carnie alone could hurt her, no matter what they did to her. Not without my help. Not so long as I was copying Jewell.\n\nI told Pearl about Carnie. \"I think she's on sots,\" I said. We were alone in the music room. Jewell was upstairs, trying to catch up the boards. Carnie was in the kitchen, taking her turn at supper. I saw what looked like scars.\n\n\"I know,\" Pearl said, and I wondered if there was anything she did not see, in spite of her blindness.\n\n\"I think you should be careful. It's Taber that's giving them to her. He's using her to hurt you. Don't tell her anything.\"\n\nShe didn't say anything, and after a minute I turned back to the pianoboard and waited for her to name a song.\n\n\"I was born in the happy house. My mother worked there. Did you know that?\" she said quietly.\n\n\"No,\" I said, keeping my hands spread across the keyboard as though they could support me. I did not look at her.\n\n\"I have told myself all these years that as long as no one knew what happened I was safe.\"\n\n\"Doesn't Jewell know?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"Nobody knows. My mother told them he threatened her with the sot-razor, that there was nothing she could do.\"\n\nThe nitrogen blowers kicked on just then, and I jumped at the sound and looked into the mirror. I could see the sidon in the mirror, and standing on its red murdered, skin, Taber. Carnie had let him in through the kitchen and turned the blowers up, and now he stood between the noisy blowers, smiling and flicking imaginary ash onto the carpet beside Pearl's chair. I took my hands off the keyboard and laid them in my lap. \"Carnie's in the kitchen,\" I said. \"I don't know if the door's shut.\"\n\n\"There was a tapper who came to the house,\" Pearl said. \"He was a very bad man, but my mother loved him. She said she couldn't help herself. I think that was true.\" For a moment she looked directly into the mirror with her blind eyes, and I willed Taber to click the sparker that I knew he was fingering so that Pearl would hear it and withdraw into her cage, safe and silent.\n\n\"It was Christmastime,\" she said, and the blowers kicked off. Into the silence she said, \"I was ten years old, and Jewell gave me a little gold necklace with a pearl on it. She was only fourteen, but she was already working in the house. They had a tree in the music room and there were little lights on it, all different colors, strung on a string. Have you ever seen lights like that, red and green and gold all strung together?\"\n\nI thought of the strings of multicolored chemilooms I had seen from the spiraldown, the very first thing I had seen on Paylay. Nobody has told her, I thought, in all this time nobody has told her, and at the thought of the vast cage of kindness built all around her, my hand jerked up and hit the edge of the keyboard, and she heard the sound and looked up.\n\n\"Is Taber here?\" she said, and my hand hovered above the keyboard.\n\n\"No, of course not,\" I said, and my hand settled back in my lap like the spiraldown coming to rest on its moorings. \"I'll tell you when he comes.\"\n\n\"The tapper sent my mother a dress with lights on it, too, red and green and gold like the tree,\" Pearl said. \"When he came, he said, 'You look like a Chrissmiss tree,' and kissed her on the cheek. 'What do you want for Chrissmiss?' my mother said. 'I will give you anything.' I can remember her standing there in the lighted dress under the tree.\" She stopped a minute, and when I looked in the mirror, she had turned her head so that she seemed to be looking straight at Taber. \"He asked for me.\"\n\n\"What did he do to you?\" I said.\n\n\"I don't remember,\" she said, and her hands struggled and lay still, and I knew what he had done. He had locked her in, and she had never escaped. He had tied her hands together, and she had never gotten free. I looked down at my own hands, crossed at the wrists like hers and not even struggling.\n\n\"Didn't anyone come to help you?\" I said.\n\n\"The pianoboard player,\" she said. \"He beat the door down. He broke both his hands so he could not play anymore. He made my mother call the doctor. He told her he would kill her if she didn't. When he tried to help me, I ran away from him. I didn't want him to help me. I wanted to die. I ran and ran and ran, but I couldn't see to get away.\"\n\n\"Did he kill the tapper who blinded you?\" I said.\n\n\"While he was trying to find me, my mother let the tapper out the back door. I ran and ran and then I fell down and the pianoboard player came and held me in his arms until the doctor came. I made him promise to kill the tapper. I made him promise to finish killing me,\" she said, so softly I could hardly hear her. \"But he didn't.\"\n\nThe blowers kicked on again, and I looked into the mirror, but Taber wasn't there. Carnie had let him out the back way.\n\nHe did not come back for several shifts. When he did, it was to tell Jewell he was going to Solfatara. He told Pearl he would bring her a present and whispered to me, \"What do you want for Christmas, Ruby? You've earned a present, too.\"\n\nWhile he was gone, Jack hit another tap, almost on top of the first one, and Jewell locked up the liquor. The men didn't want music. They wanted to talk about putting in a double, even a triple tap. I was grateful for that. I was not sure I could play with my hands tied.\n\nJewell told me to go meet Taber at the mooring, and then changed her mind. \"I'm worried about those sotted fools out at Jick's sidon. Doubletapping. They kidd blow the whole star. You'd bitter stay here and hilp me.\"\n\nTaber came before the shift. \"I'll bring you your present tonight, Pearl,\" he said. \"I know you'll like it. Ruby helped me pick it out.\" I watched the sudden twitching of Pearl's hands, but my own didn't even move.\n\nTaber waited almost until the end of the shift, spending nearly half of it in the card room with Carnie leaning heavily over his shoulder. She had already gotten her present. Her eyes were bright from the sot-slice, and she stumbled once against him and nearly fell.\n\n\"Bring me a cigar, Ruby,\" he shouted at me. \"And look in the inside jacket pocket. I brought a present back for everybody.\" Pearl was standing all alone in the middle of the music room, her hands in front of her. I didn't look at her. I went straight upstairs to my room, got what I needed, and then went back down into the anteroom to where Taber's tapper jacket was hanging and got the cigar out of Taber's pocket. His sparker was there, too.\n\nThe present was a flat package wrapped in red and green paper, and I took it and the cigar to Taber. He had come into the music room and was sitting in Pearl's chair. Carnie was sitting on his lap with her arm around his neck.\n\n\"You didn't bring the sparker, Ruby,\" Taber said. I waited for him to tell me to go and get it. \"Never mind,\" he said. \"Do you know what day this is?\"\n\n\"I do,\" Carnie said softly; and Taber slid his hand up to hold hers where it lay loosely on his shoulder.\n\n\"It's Chrissmiss Day,\" he said, pronouncing it with the Solfatara accent. He took his hand away from Carnie's so he could lean back and puff on his cigar, and Carnie took her red, bruised hand in her other one and held it up to her bosom, her sot-bright eyes full of pain. \"I said to myself we should have some Chrissmiss songs. Do you know any Chrissmiss songs, Ruby?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said.\n\n\"I didn't think you would,\" Taber said. \"So I brought you a present.\" He waved the cigar at me. \"Go ahead. Open it.\"\n\nI pulled the red and green paper off and took out the hardcopies. There were a dozen Christmas songs. I knew them all.\n\n\"Pearl, you'll sing a Chrissmiss song for me, won't you?\" Taber said.\n\n\"I don't know any,\" she said. She had not moved from where she stood.\n\n\"Of course you do,\" Taber said. \"They played them every Chrissmisstime in the happy houses in Solfatara. Come on. Ruby'll play it for you.\"\n\nI sat down at the pianoboard, and Pearl came and stood beside me with her hand on the end of the keyboard. I stood the hardcopies up against the music rack and put my hands on the keyboard.\n\n\"He knows,\" she said, so softly none of the men could have heard her. \"You told him.\"\n\n\"No, it's a coincidence,\" I said. \"Maybe it really is Chrissmisstime on Solfatara. Nobody keeps track of the year on Paylay. Maybe it is Christmas.\"\n\n\"If you told him, if he knows how it happened, I am not safe anymore. He'll be able to get in. He'll be able to hurt me.\" She took a staggering step away from the pianoboard as if she were going to run. I took hold of her wrist.\n\n\"I didn't tell him,\" I said. \"I would never let him hurt you. But if you don't sing the song, he'll know there's something wrong. I'll play the first song through for you.\" I let go of her wrist, and her hand went limp on the end of the keyboard.\n\nI played the song through and stopped. The version I knew didn't have an introduction, so I spread the fingers of my right hand across the octave and a half of the opening chord and touched her hand with my left.\n\nShe flinched. She did not move her hand away or even make any movement the men, gathered around us now, could have seen. But a tremor went through her hand. I waited a minute, and then I touched her again, with all my fingers, hard, and started the song. She sang the song all the way through, and my hands, which had not been able to come down on a single chord of warning, were light and sure on the keyboard. When it was over, the men called for another, and I put it on the music rack and then sat, as she stood, silent and still, unflinching, waiting for what was to come.\n\nTaber looked up inquiringly, casually and Jewell frowned and half turned toward the door, and Scorch banged through the thick inner door and stopped, trying to get his breath. He still had his lantern strapped to his forehead, and when he bent over trying to catch his breath in gasping hiccups, the strip where the hair had been burned off was as red as his face and starting to blister.\n\n\"One of the sidons blew, didn't it?\" Jewell said, and her scar slashed black as a fissure across her cheek. \"Which one?\"\n\nScorch still couldn't speak. He nodded with his whole body bent over double again, and tried to straighten. \"It's Jick,\" he said. \"He tried to tripletap and the whole thing wint up.\"\n\n\"Oh, my God,\" Sapphire said, and ran into the kitchen.\n\n\"How bad is it?\" Jewell said.\n\n\"Jick's dead and there are two burned bad. Paulsen and the tapper that came in with Taber last shift. I don't know his name. They were right on top of it when it went, pitting the comprissor on.\"\n\nThe tappers had been in motion the whole time he spoke, putting on their jackets and going for their shoes. Taber heaved Carnie off his lap and stood up. Sapphire came back from the kitchen dressed in pants and carrying the remedy case. Garnet put her shawl around Scorch's shoulders and helped him into Pearl's chair.\n\nTaber said calmly, \"Are there any other sidons close?\" He looked unconcerned, almost amused, with Carnie leaning limply against him, but his left hand was clenched, the thumb moving up and down as if he were clicking the sparker.\n\n\"Mine,\" Scorch said. \"It didn't kitch, but the comprissor caught fire and Jick's clothes, and they're still burning.\" He looked up apologetically at Jewell. \"I didn't have nithing to put the fire out with. I dragged the it her two up onto my comprissor platform so they widdn't cook.\"\n\nPearl and I had not moved from the pianoboard. I looked at Taber in the mirror, waiting for him to say, \"I'll stay here, Jewell. I'll take care of things here,\" but he didn't. He disengaged himself from Carnie. \"I'll go get the stretchers at the gaminghouse and meet you back here,\" he said.\n\n\"Let me get your jacket for you,\" I said, but he was already gone.\n\nThe tappers banged out the doors, Sapphire with them. Garnet ran upstairs. Jewell went into the anteroom to put her outside shoes on.\n\nI stood up and went out into the anteroom. \"Let me go with you,\" I said.\n\n\"I want you ti stay here and take care of Pearl,\" she said. She could not squeeze her bandaged foot into the shoe. She bent down and began unwinding the bandage.\n\n\"Garnet can stay. You'll need help carrying the men back.\"\n\nShe dropped the bandage onto the floor and jammed her foot into the shoe, wincing. \"You don't know the way. You kidd git lost and fall into a sidon. You're safer here.\" She tried the other shoe, stood up and jammed her bandaged foot into it, and sat back down to fix the straps.\n\n\"I'm not safe anywhere,\" I said. \"Please don't leave me here. I'm afraid of what might happen.\"\n\n\"Even if the sidons all go up, the fire won't git this far.\"\n\n\"It isn't those sidons I'm afraid of,\" I said harshly \"You let a sidon loose in the house once before and look what happened.\"\n\nShe straighened up and looked at me, the scar as black and hot as lava against her red face. \"A sidon is an animal,\" she said. \"It kin't help itself.\" She stood up gingerly, testing her unbandaged foot. \"Taber's going with me,\" she said.\n\nShe was not as blind as I had feared, but she still didn't see. \"Don't you understand?\" I said gently \"Even if he goes with you, he'll still be here.\"\n\n\"Are you ready, Jewell?\" Taber said. He had a lantern strapped to his forehead, and he was carrying a large red and green wrapped bundle.\n\n\"I've gitta git another lantern from upstairs,\" Jewell said. \"There's nithing left but town lanterns,\" she said, and went upstairs.\n\nTaber held the package out to me. \"You'll have to give Pearl her Chrissmiss present from me, Ruby,\" he said.\n\n\"I won't do it.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\" he said.\n\nI didn't answer him.\n\n\"You were so anxious to get me my jacket when I went next door. Why don't you get it for me now? Or do you think you won't do that either?\"\n\nI took the coat off the hook, waiting for Jewell to come back downstairs.\n\n\"Lits go,\" Jewell said, hardly limping at all as she came down the steps, and I took the jacket over to him. He handed the package to me again, and I took it, watching him put the jacket on, waiting for him to pat the sparker inside the pocket to make sure it was there. Jewell handed him an extra lantern and a bundle of bandages. \"Lits go,\" she said again. She opened the outside door and went down the wooden steps into the heat.\n\n\"Take care of Pearl, Ruby,\" Taber said, and shut the door.\n\nI went back into the music room. Pearl had not moved. Garnet and Carnie were trying to help Scorch out of the chair and up the stairs, though Carnie could hardly stand. I took his weight from Garnet and picked him up.\n\n\"Sit down, Carnie,\" I said, and she collapsed into the chair, her knees apart and her mouth open, instantly asleep.\n\nI carried Scorch up the stairs to Garnet's room and stood there holding him, bracing his weight against the door while Garnet strung a burn-hammock across her bed for me to lay him in. He had passed out in the chair, but while I was lowering him into the hammock, he came to. His red face was starting to blister, so that he had trouble speaking. \"I shidda put the fire out,\" he said. \"It'll catch the it her sidons. I told Jick it was too close.\"\n\n\"They'll put the fire out,\" I said. Garnet tested the hammock and nodded to me. I laid him gently in it, and we began the terrible process of peeling his clothes off his skin.\n\n\"It was thit new tapper thit came down with Taber this morning. He was sotted. And he had a sparker with him. A sparker. The whole star kidda gone up.\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" I said. \"It'll be all right.\" I turned him onto his side and began pulling his shirt free. He smelled like frying meat. He passed out again before we got his shirt off, and that made getting the rest of his clothes off easier. Garnet tied his wrist to the saline hookup and started the antibiotics. She told me to go back downstairs.\n\nPearl was still standing by the pianoboard. \"Scorch is going to be fine,\" I said loudly to cover the sound of picking up Taber's package, and started past her with it to the kitchen. The blowers had kicked on full-blast from the doors opening so much, but I said anyway, \"Garnet wants me to get some water for him.\"\n\nI made it nearly to the door of the card room. Then Carnie heaved herself up in the white chair and said sleepily, \"Thits Pearl's present, isn't it, Ruby?\"\n\nI stopped under the blowers, standing on the sidon.\n\nShe sat up straighter, licking her tongue across her lips. \"Open it, Ruby. I want to see what it is.\"\n\nPearl's hands tightened to fists in front of her. \"Yes,\" she said, looking straight at me. \"Open it, Ruby.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. I walked over to the pianoboard and put the package down on the stool.\n\n\"I'll open it then,\" Carnie said, and lurched out of the chair after it. \"You're so mean, Ruby. Poor Pearl kin't open her own Chrissmiss presents, ivver since she got blind.\" Her voice was starting to slur. I could barely understand what she was saying, and she had to grab at the package twice before she picked it up and staggered back to Pearl's chair with it clutched to her breast. The sots were starting to really take hold now. In a few moments she would be unconscious. \"Please,\" I said without making a sound, praying as Pearl must have prayed in that locked room, ten years old, her hands tied and him coming at her with a razor. \"Hurry, hurry.\"\n\nCarnie couldn't get the package open. She tugged feebly at the green ribbon, plucked at the paper without even tearing it, and subsided, closing her eyes. She began to breathe deeply, with her mouth open, slumped far down in the white chair with her arms flung out over the arms of the chair.\n\n\"I'll take you upstairs, Pearl,\" I said. \"Garnet may need help with Scorch.\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said, but she didn't move. She stood with her head averted, as if she were listening for something.\n\n\"Oh, how pretty!\" Carnie said, her voice clear and strong. She was sitting up straight in the chair, her hands on the unopened package. \"It's a dress, Pearl. Isn't it beautiful, Ruby?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, looking at Carnie, limp again in the chair and snoring softly \"It's covered with lights, Pearl, green and red and gold, like a Christmas tree.\"\n\nThe package slipped out of Carnie's limp hands and onto the floor. The blowers kicked on, and Carnie turned in the chair, pulling her feet up under her and cradling her head against the chair's arm. She began snoring again, more loudly.\n\nI said, \"Would you like to try it on, Pearl?\" and looked over at her, but she was already gone.\n\nIt took me nearly an hour to find her because the town lantern I had strapped to my forehead was so dim I could not see very well. She was lying face down near the mooring.\n\nI unstrapped the lantern and laid it beside her on the ground so I could see her better. The train of her skirt was smoldering. I stamped on it until it crumbled underfoot and then knelt beside her and turned her over.\n\n\"Ruby?\" she said. Her voice was squeaky from the helium in the air and very hoarse. I could hardly recognize it. She would not be able to recognize mine either. If I told her I was Jewell or Carnie, or Taber, come to murder her, she would not know the difference. \"Ruby?\" she said. \"Is Taber here?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"Only the sidon.\"\n\n\"You're not a sidon,\" she said. Her lips were dry and parched.\n\n\"Then what am I?\" I moved the town lantern closer. Her face looked flushed, almost as red as Jewell's.\n\n\"You are my good friend the pianoboard player who has come to help me.\"\n\n\"I didn't come to help you,\" I said, and my eyes filled with tears. \"I came to finish killing you. I can't help it. I'm copying Taber.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, but it was not a \"no\" of protest or horror or surprise, but a statement of fact. \"You have never copied Taber.\"\n\n\"He killed Jack,\" I said. \"He had some poor sotted tapper blow up the sidon so he could have an alibi for your murder. He left me to kill you for him.\"\n\nHer hands lay at her sides, palms down on the ground. When I lifted them and laid them across her skirt as she had always held them, crossed at the wrists, she did not flinch, and I thought perhaps she was unconscious.\n\n\"Jewell's feet are much better,\" she said, and licked her lips. \"You hardly limp at all. And I knew Carnie was on sots before she ever came into the room, by the way you walked. I have listened to you copy all of them, even poor dead Jack. You never copied Taber. Not once.\"\n\nI crawled around beside her and got her head up on my knees. Her hair came loose and fell around her face as I lifted her up, the ends of it curling up in dark frizzes of ash. The narrow fretted soles of my shoes dug into the backs of my legs like hot irons. She swallowed and said, \"He broke the door down and he sent for the doctor and then he went to kill the man, but he was too late. My mother had let him out the back way.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I said. My tears were falling on her neck and throat. I tried to brush them away; but they had already dried, and her skin felt hot and dry. Her lips were cracked, and she could hardly move them at all when she spoke.\n\n\"Then he came back and held me in his arms while we waited for the doctor. Like this. And I said, 'Why didn't you kill him?' and he said, 'I will,' and then I asked him to finish killing me, but he wouldn't. He didn't kill the tapper either because his hands were broken and all cut up.\"\n\n\"My uncle killed him,\" I said. \"That's why we're quarantined. He and Kovich killed him,\" I said, though Kovich had already been dead by then. \"They tied him up and cut out his eyes with a sot-razor,\" I said. That was why Jewell had let me come to Paylay. She had owed it to my uncle to let me come because he had killed the tapper. And my uncle had sent me to do what? To copy whom?\n\nThe lamp was growing much dimmer. The twillpaper forehead strap on the lantern was smoldering now, but I didn't try to put it out. I knelt with Pearl's head in my lap on the hot ground, not moving.\n\n\"I knew you were copying me almost from the first,\" she said, \"but I didn't tell you because I thought you would kill Taber for me. Whenever you played for me, I sat and thought about Taber with a sidon tearing out his throat, hoping you would copy the hate I felt. I never saw Taber or a sidon either, but I thought about my mother's lover, and I called him Taber. I'm sorry I did that to you, Ruby.\"\n\nI brushed her hair back from her forehead and her cheeks. My hand left a sooty mark, like a scar, down the side of her face. \"I did kill Taber,\" I said.\n\n\"You reminded me so much of Kovich when you played,\" she said. \"You sounded just like him. I thought I was thinking about killing Taber, but I wasn't. I didn't even know what a sidon looks like. I was only thinking about Kovich and waiting for him to come and finish killing me.\" She was breathing shallowly now and very fast, taking a breath between almost every word. \"What do sidons look like, Ruby?\"\n\nI tried to remember what Kovich had looked like when he came to find my uncle, his broken hands already infected, his face already red from the fever that would consume him. \"I want you to copy me,\" he had said to my uncle. \"I want you to learn to play the pianoboard from me before I die.\" I want you to kill a man for me. I want you to cut out his eyes. I want you to do what I can't do.\n\nI could not remember what he looked like, except that he had been very tall, almost as tall as my uncle, as me. It seemed to me that he had looked like my uncle, but surely it was the other way around. \"I want you to copy me,\" he had said to my uncle. I want you to do what I can't do. Pearl had asked him to kill the tapper, and he had promised to. Then Pearl had asked him to finish killing her, and he had promised to do that, too, though he could no more have murdered her than he could have played the pianoboard with his ruined hands, though he had not even known how well a Mirror copies or how blindly. So my uncle had killed the tapper, and I have finished killing Pearl, but it was Kovich, Kovich who did the murders.\n\n\"Sidons are very tall,\" I said, \"and they play the pianoboard.\"\n\nShe didn't answer. The twillpaper strap on the lantern burst into flame. I watched it burn.\n\n\"It's all right that you didn't kill Taber,\" she said. \"But you mustn't let him put the blame for killing me on you.\"\n\n\"I did kill Taber,\" I said. \"I gave him the real sparker. I put it in his jacket before he left to go out to the sidons.\"\n\nShe tried to sit up. \"Tell them you were copying him, that you couldn't help yourself,\" she said, as if she hadn't heard me.\n\n\"I will,\" I said, looking into the darkness.\n\nOver the horizon somewhere is Taber. He is looking this way, wondering if I have killed her yet. Soon he will take out his cigar and put his thumb against the trigger of the sparker, and the sidons will go up one after the other, a string of lights. I wonder if he will have time to know he has been murdered, to wonder who killed him.\n\nI wonder, too, kneeling here with Pearl's head on my knees. Perhaps I did copy Pearl, as she says. Or Jewell, or Kovich, or even Taber. Or all of them. The worst thing is not that things are done to you. It is not knowing who is doing them. Maybe I did not copy anyone, and I am the one who murdered Taber. I hope so.\n\n\"You should go back before you get burned,\" Pearl says, so softly I can hardly hear her.\n\n\"I will,\" I say but I cannot. They have tied me up, they have locked me in, and now I am only waiting for them to come and finish killing me."
            },
            {
                "title": "Daisy, in the Sun",
                "text": "None of the others were any help. Daisy's brother, when she knelt beside him on the kitchen floor and said, \"Do you remember when we lived at Grandma's house, just the three of us, nobody else?\" looked at her blankly over the pages of his book, his face closed and uninterested. \"What is your book about?\" she asked kindly. \"Is it about the sun? You always used to read your books out loud to me at Grandma's. All about the sun.\"\n\nHe stood up and went to the windows of the kitchen and looked out at the snow, tracing patterns on the dry window. The book, when Daisy looked at it, was about something else altogether.\n\n\"It didn't always snow like this at home, did it?\" Daisy would ask her grandmother. \"It couldn't have snowed all the time, not even in Canada, could it?\"\n\nIt was the train this time, not the kitchen, but her grandmother went on measuring for the curtains as if she didn't notice. \"How can the trains run if it snows all the time?\" Her grandmother didn't answer her. She went on measuring the wide curved train windows with her long yellow tape measure. She wrote the measurements on little slips of paper, and they drifted from her pockets like the snow outside, without sound.\n\nDaisy waited until it was the kitchen again. The red caf\u00e9 curtains hung streaked and limp across the bottom half of the square windows. \"The sun faded the curtains, didn't it?\" she asked slyly; but her grandmother would not be tricked. She measured and wrote and dropped the measurements like ash around her.\n\nDaisy looked from her grandmother to the rest of them, shambling up and down the length of her grandmother's kitchen. She would not ask them. Talking to them would be like admitting they belonged here, muddling clumsily around the room, bumping into each other.\n\nDaisy stood up. \"It was the sun that faded them,\" she said. \"I remember,\" and went into her room and shut the door.\n\nThe room was always her own room, no matter what happened outside. It stayed the same, yellow ruffled muslin on the bed, yellow priscillas at the window. She had refused to let her mother put blinds up in her room. She remembered that quite clearly. She had stayed in her room the whole day with her door barricaded. But she could not remember why her mother had wanted to put them up or what had happened afterward.\n\nDaisy sat down cross-legged in the middle of the bed, hugging the yellow ruffled pillow from her bed against her chest. Her mother constantly reminded her that a young lady sat with her legs together. \"You're fifteen, Daisy. You're a young lady whether you like it or not.\"\n\nWhy could she remember things like that and not how they had gotten here and where her mother was and why it snowed all the time yet was never cold? She hugged the pillow tightly against her and tried, tried to remember.\n\nIt was like pushing against something, something both yielding and unyielding. It was herself, trying to push her breasts flat against her chest after her mother had told her she was growing up, that she would need to wear a bra. She had tried to push through to the little girl she had been before, but even though she pressed them into herself with the flats of her hands, they were still there. A barrier, impossible to get through.\n\nDaisy clutched at the yielding pillow, her eyes squeezed shut. \"Grandma came in,\" she said out loud, reaching for the one memory she could get to, \"Grandma came in and said...\"\n\nShe was looking at one of her brother's books. She had been holding it, looking at it, one of her brother's books about the sun, and as the door opened he reached out and took it away from her. He was angry about the book? Her grandmother came in, looking hot and excited, and he took the book away from her. Her grandmother said, \"They got the material in. I bought enough for all the windows.\" She had a sack full of folded cloth, red-and-white gingham. \"I bought almost the whole bolt,\" her grandmother said. She was flushed. \"Isn't it pretty?\" Daisy reached out to touch the thin pretty cloth. And... Daisy clutched at the pillow, wrinkling the ruffled edge. She had reached out to touch the thin pretty cloth and then...\n\nIt was no use. She could not get any further. She had never been able to get any further. Sometimes she sat on her bed for days. Sometimes she started at the end and worked back through the memory and it was still the same. She could not remember any more on either side. Only the book and her grandmother coming in and reaching out her hand.\n\nDaisy opened her eyes. She put the pillow back on the bed and uncrossed her legs and took a deep breath. She was going to have to ask the others. There was nothing else to do.\n\nShe stood a minute by the door before she opened it, wondering which of the places it would be. It was her mother's living room, the walls a cool blue and the windows covered with venetian blinds. Her brother sat on the gray-blue carpet reading. Her grandmother had taken down one of the blinds. She was measuring the tall window. Outside the snow fell.\n\nThe strangers moved up and down on the blue carpet. Sometimes Daisy thought she recognized them, that they were friends of her parents or people she had seen at school, but she could not be sure. They did not speak to each other in their endless, patient wanderings. They did not even seem to see each other. Sometimes, passing down the long aisle of the train or circling her grandmother's kitchen or pacing the blue living room, they bumped into each other. They did not stop and say excuse me. They bumped into each other as if they did not know they did it, and moved on. They collided without sound or feeling, and each time they did, they seemed less and less like people Daisy knew and more and more like strangers. She looked at them anxiously trying to recognize them so she could ask them.\n\nThe young man had come in from outside. Daisy was sure of it, though there was no draft of cold air to convince her, no snow for the young man to shrug from his hair and shoulders. He moved with easy direction through the others, and they looked up at him as he passed. He sat down on the blue couch and smiled at Daisy's brother. Her brother looked up from his book and smiled back. He has come in from outside, Daisy thought. He will know.\n\nShe sat down near him, on the end of the couch, her arms crossed in front of her. \"Has something happened to the sun?\" she asked him in a whisper.\n\nHe looked up. His face was as young as hers, tanned and smiling. Daisy felt, far down, a little quiver of fear, a faint alien feeling like that which had signaled the coming of her first period. She stood up and backed away from him, only a step, and nearly collided with one of the strangers.\n\n\"Well, hello,\" the boy said. \"If it isn't little Daisy!\"\n\nHer hands knotted into fists. She did not see how she could not have recognized him before\u2014the easy confidence, the casual smile. He would not help her. He knew, of course he knew, he had always known everything, but he wouldn't tell her. He would laugh at her. She must not let him laugh at her.\n\n\"Hi, Ron,\" she was going to say, but the last consonant drifted away into uncertainty She had never been sure what his name was.\n\nHe laughed. \"What makes you think something's happened to the sun, Daisy-Daisy?\" He had his arm over the back of the couch. \"Sit down and tell me all about it.\" If she sat down next to him he could easily put his arm around her.\n\n\"Has something happened to the sun?\" she repeated more loudly from where she stood. \"It never shines anymore.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" he said, and laughed again. He was looking at her breasts. She crossed her arms in front of her.\n\n\"Has it?\" she said stubbornly, like a child.\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\n\"I think maybe everybody was wrong about the sun.\" She stopped, surprised at what she had said, at what she was remembering now. Then she went on, forgetting to keep her arms in front of her, listening to what she said next. \"They all thought it was going to blow up. They said it would swallow the whole earth up. But maybe it didn't. Maybe it just burned out, like a match or something, and it doesn't shine anymore and that's why it snows all the time and\u2014\"\n\n\"Cold,\" Ron said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Cold,\" he said. \"Wouldn't it be cold if that had happened?\"\n\n\"What?\" she said stupidly.\n\n\"Daisy,\" he said, and smiled at her. She reeled a little. The tugging fear was further down and more definite.\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, and ran, veering around the others milling up and down, up and down, into her own room. She slammed the door behind her and lay down on the bed, holding her stomach and remembering.\n\nHer father had called them all together in the living room. Her mother perched on the edge of the blue couch, already looking frightened. Her brother had brought a book in with him, but he stared blindly at the page.\n\nIt was cold in the living room. Daisy moved into the one patch of sunlight, and waited. She had already been frightened for a year. And in a minute, she thought, I'm going to hear something that will make me more afraid.\n\nShe felt a sudden stunning hatred of her parents, able to pull her in out of the sun and into darkness, able to make her frightened just by talking to her. She had been sitting on the porch today. That other day she had been lying in the sun in her old yellow bathing suit when her mother called her in.\n\n\"You're a big girl now,\" her mother had said once they were in her room. She was looking at the outgrown yellow suit that was tight across the chest and pulled up on the legs. \"There are things you need to know.\"\n\nDaisy's heart had begun to pound. \"I wanted to tell you so you wouldn't hear a lot of rumors.\" She had had a booklet with her, pink and white and terrifying. \"I want you to read this, Daisy. You're changing, even though you may not notice it. Your breasts are developing and soon you'll be starting your period. That means\u2013\"\n\nDaisy knew what it meant. The girls at school had told her. Darkness and blood. Boys wanting to touch her breasts, wanting to penetrate her darkness. And then more blood.\n\n\"No,\" Daisy said. \"No. I don't want to.\"\n\n\"I know it seems frightening to you now, but someday soon you'll meet a nice boy and then you'll understand\"\n\nNo, I won't. Never. I know what boys do to you.\n\n\"Five years from now you won't feel this way, Daisy. You'll see...\"\n\nNot in five years. Not in a hundred. No.\n\n\"I won't have breasts,\" Daisy shouted, and threw the pillow off her bed at her mother. \"I won't have a period. I won't let it happen. No!\"\n\nHer mother had looked at her pityingly \"Why, Daisy, it's already started.\" She had put her arms around her. \"There's nothing to be afraid of, honey.\"\n\nDaisy had been afraid ever since. And now she would be more afraid, as soon as her father spoke.\n\n\"I wanted to tell you all together,\" her father said, \"so you would not hear some other way. I wanted you to know what is really happening and not just rumors.\" He paused and took a ragged breath. They even started their speeches alike.\n\n\"I think you should hear it from me,\" her father said. \"The sun is going to go nova.\"\n\nHer mother gasped, a long, easy intake of breath like a sigh, the last easy breath her mother would take. Her brother closed his book. Is that all? Daisy thought, surprised.\n\n\"The sun has used up all the hydrogen in its core. It's starting to burn itself up, and when it does, it will expand and\u2014\" he stumbled over the word.\n\n\"Its going to swallow us up,\" her brother said. \"I read it in a book. The sun will just explode, all the way out to Mars. It'll swallow up Mercury and Venus and Earth and Mars and we'll all be dead.\"\n\nHer father nodded. \"Yes,\" he said, as if he was relieved that the worst was out.\n\n\"No,\" her mother said. And Daisy thought, This is nothing. Nothing. Her mother's talks were worse than this. Blood and darkness.\n\n\"There have been changes in the sun,\" her father said. \"There have been more solar storms, too many And the sun is releasing unusual bursts of neutrinos. Those are signs that it will\u2014\"\n\n\"How long?\" her mother asked.\n\n\"A year. Five years at the most. They don't know.\"\n\n\"We have to stop it!\" Daisy's mother shrieked, and Daisy looked up from her place in the sun, amazed at her mother's fear.\n\n\"There's nothing we can do,\" her father said. \"It's already started.\"\n\n\"I won't let it,\" her mother said. \"Not to my children. I won't let it happen. Not to my Daisy. She's always loved the sun.\"\n\nAt her mother's words, Daisy remembered something. An old photograph her mother had written on, scrawling across the bottom of the picture in white ink. The picture was herself as a toddler in a yellow sunsuit, concave little girl's chest and pooching toddler's stomach. Bucket and shovel and toes dug into the hot sand, squinting up into the sunlight. And her mother's writing across the bottom: \"Daisy, in the sun.\"\n\nHer father had taken her mother's hand and was holding it. He had put his arm around her brother's shoulders. Their heads were ducked, prepared for a blow, as if they thought a bomb was going to fall on them.\n\nDaisy thought, All of us, in a year or maybe five, surely five at the most, all of us children again, warm and happy in the sun. She could not make herself be afraid.\n\nIt was the train again. The strangers moved up and down the long aisle of the dining car, knocking against each other randomly. Her grandmother measured the little window in the door at the end of the car. She did not look out the window at the ashen snow. Daisy could not see her brother.\n\nRon was sitting at one of the tables that were covered with the heavy worn white damask of dining cars. The vase and dull silver on the table were heavy so they would not fall off with the movement of the train. Ron leaned back in his chair and looked out the window at the snow.\n\nDaisy sat down across the table from him. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest. \"Hi,\" she said. She was afraid to add his name for fear the word would trail away as it had before and he would know how frightened she was.\n\nHe turned and smiled at her. \"Hello, Daisy-Daisy,\" he said.\n\nShe hated him with the same sudden intensity she had felt for her parents, hated him for his ability to make her afraid.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she asked.\n\nHe turned slightly in the seat and grinned at her.\n\n\"You don't belong here,\" she said belligerently \"I went to Canada to live with my grandmother.\" Her eyes widened. She had not known that before she said it. \"I didn't even know you. You worked in the grocery store when we lived in California.\" She was suddenly overwhelmed by what she was saying. \"You don't belong here,\" she murmured.\n\n\"Maybe it's all a dream, Daisy.\"\n\nShe looked at him, still angry, her chest heaving with the shock of remembering. \"What?\"\n\n\"I said, maybe you're just dreaming all this.\" He put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. \"You always had the most incredible dreams, Daisy-Daisy,\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"Not like this. They weren't like this. I always had good dreams.\" The memory was coming now, faster this time, a throbbing in her side where the pink and white book said her ovaries were. She was not sure she could make it to her room. She stood up, clutching at the white tablecloth. \"They weren't like this.\" She stumbled through the milling people toward her room.\n\n\"Oh, and Daisy,\" Ron said. She stopped, her hand on the door of her room, the memory almost there. \"You're still cold.\"\n\n\"What?\" she said blankly.\n\n\"Still cold. You're getting warmer, though.\"\n\nShe wanted to ask him what he meant, but the memory was upon her. She shut the door behind her, breathing heavily and groped for the bed.\n\nAll her family had had nightmares. The three of them sat at breakfast with drawn, tired faces, their eyes looking bruised. The lead-backed curtains for the kitchen hadn't come yet, so they had to eat breakfast in the living room where they could close the venetian blinds. Her mother and father sat on the blue couch with their knees against the crowded coffee table. Daisy and her brother sat on the floor.\n\nHer mother said, staring at the closed blinds, \"I dreamed I was full of holes, tiny little holes, like dotted swiss.\"\n\n\"Now, Evelyn,\" her father said.\n\nHer brother said, \"I dreamed the house was on fire and the fire trucks came and put it out, but then the fire trucks caught on fire and the fire men and the trees and\u2014\"\n\n\"That's enough,\" her father said. \"Eat your breakfast.\" To his wife he said gently, \"Neutrinos pass through all of us all the time. They pass right through the earth. They're completely harmless. They don't make holes at all. It's nothing, Evelyn. Don't worry about the neutrinos. They can't hurt you.\"\n\n\"Daisy, you had a dotted swiss dress once, didn't you?\" her mother said, still looking at the blinds. \"It was yellow. All those little dots, like holes.\"\n\n\"May I be excused?\" her brother asked, holding a book with a photo of the sun on the cover.\n\nHer father nodded and her brother went outside, already reading. \"Wear your hat!\" Daisy's mother said, her voice rising perilously on the last word. She watched him until he was out of the room, then she turned and looked at Daisy with her bruised eyes. \"You had a nightmare too, didn't you, Daisy?\"\n\nDaisy shook her head, looking down at her bowl of cereal. She had been looking out between the venetian blinds before breakfast, looking out at the forbidden sun. The stiff plastic blinds had caught open, and now there was a little triangle of sunlight on Daisy's bowl of cereal. She and her mother were both looking at it. Daisy put her hand over the light.\n\n\"Did you have a nice dream, then, Daisy, or don't you remember?\" She sounded accusing.\n\n\"I remember,\" Daisy said, watching the sunlight on her hand. She had dreamed of a bear. A massive golden bear with shining fur. Daisy was playing ball with the bear. She had in her two hands a little blue-green ball. The bear reached out lazily with his wide golden arm and swatted the blue ball out of Daisy's hands and away. The wide, gentle sweep of his great paw was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Daisy smiled to herself at the memory of it.\n\n\"Tell me your dream, Daisy,\" her mother said.\n\n\"All right,\" Daisy said angrily. \"It was about a big yellow bear and a little blue ball that he swatted.\" She swung her arm toward her mother.\n\nHer mother winced.\n\n\"Swatted us all to kingdom come, Mother!\" she shouted and flung herself out of the dark living room into the bright morning sun.\n\n\"Wear your hat,\" her mother called after her, and this time the last word rose almost to a scream.\n\nDaisy stood against the door for a long time, watching him. He was talking to her grandmother. She had put down her yellow tape measure with the black coal numbers and was nodding and smiling at what he said. After a very long time he reached out his hand and covered hers, patting it kindly.\n\nHer grandmother stood up slowly and went to the window, where the faded red curtains did not shut out the snow, but she did not look at the curtains. She stood and looked out at the snow, smiling faintly and without anxiety.\n\nDaisy edged her way through the crowd in the kitchen, frowning, and sat down across from Ron. His hands still rested flat on the red linoleum-topped table. Daisy put her hands on the table, too, almost touching his. She turned them palm up, in a gesture of helplessness.\n\n\"It isn't a dream, is it?\" she asked him.\n\nHis fingers were almost touching hers. \"What makes you think I'd know? I don't belong here, remember? I work in a grocery store, remember?\"\n\n\"You know everything,\" she said simply.\n\n\"Not everything.\"\n\nThe cramp hit her. Her hands, still palm up, shook a little and then groped for the metal edge of the red table as she tried to straighten up.\n\n\"Warmer all the time, Daisy-Daisy,\" he said.\n\nShe did not make it to her room. She leaned helplessly against the door and watched her grandmother, measuring and writing and dropping the little slips of paper around her. And remembered.\n\nHer mother did not even know him. She had seen him at the grocery store. Her mother, who never went out, who wore sunglasses and long-sleeved shirts and a sun hat, even inside the darkened blue living room\u2014her mother had met him at the grocery store and brought him home. She had taken off her hat and her ridiculous gardening gloves and gone to the grocery store to find him. It must have taken incredible courage.\n\n\"He said he'd seen you at school and wanted to ask you out himself, but he was afraid I'd say you were too young, isn't that right, Ron?\" Her mother spoke in a rapid, nervous voice. Daisy was not sure whether she had said Ron or Rob or Rod. \"So I said why don't you just come on home with me right now and meet her? There's no time like the present, I say. Isn't that right, Ron?\"\n\nHe was not embarrassed by her at all. \"Would you like to go get a Coke, Daisy? I've got my car here.\"\n\n\"Of course she wants to go. Don't you, Daisy?\"\n\nNo. She wished the sun would reach out lazily, the great golden bear, and swat them all away. Right now.\n\n\"Daisy,\" her mother said, hastily brushing at her hair with her fingers. \"There's so little time left. I wanted you to have...\" Darkness and blood. You wanted me to be as frightened as you are. Well, I'm not, Mother. It's too late. We're almost there now.\n\nBut when she went outside with him, she saw his convertible parked at the curb, and she felt the first faint flutter of fear. It had the top down. She looked up at his tanned, smiling face, and thought, He isn't afraid.\n\n\"Where do you want to go, Daisy?\" he asked. He had his bare arm across the back of the seat. He could easily move it from there to around her shoulders. Daisy sat against the door, her arms wrapped around her chest.\n\n\"I'd like to go for a ride. With the top down. I love the sun,\" she said to frighten him, to see the same expression she could see on her mother's face when Daisy told her lies about the dreams.\n\n\"Me, too,\" he said. \"It sounds like you don't believe all that garbage they feed us about the sun, either. It's a lot of scare talk, that's all. You don't see me getting skin cancer, do you?\" He moved his golden-tanned arm lazily around her shoulder to show her. \"A lot of people getting hysterical for nothing. My physics teacher says the sun could emit neutrinos at the present rate for five thousand years before the sun would collapse. All this stuff about the aurora borealis. Geez, you'd think these people had never seen a solar flare before. There's nothing to be afraid of, Daisy-Daisy.\"\n\nHe moved his arm dangerously close to her breast.\n\n\"Do you have nightmares?\" she asked him, desperate to frighten him.\n\n\"No. All my dreams are about you.\" His fingers traced a pattern, casually, easily on her blouse. \"What do you dream about?\"\n\nShe thought she would frighten him like she frightened her mother. Her dreams always seemed so beautiful, but when she began to tell them to her mother, her mother's eyes became wide and dark with fear. And then Daisy would change the dream, make it sound worse than it was, ruin its beauty to make it frighten her mother.\n\n\"I dreamed I was rolling a golden hoop. It was hot. It burned my hand whenever I touched it. I was wearing earrings, little golden hoops in my ears that spun like the hoop when I ran. And a golden bracelet.\" She watched his face as she told him, to see the fear. He traced the pattern aimlessly with his finger, closer and closer to the nipple of her breast.\n\n\"I rolled the hoop down a hill and it started rolling faster and faster. I couldn't keep up with it. It rolled on by itself, like a wheel, a golden wheel, rolling over everything.\"\n\nShe had forgotten her purpose. She had told the dream as she remembered it, with the little secret smile at the memory. His hand had closed over her breast and rested there, warm as the sun on her face.\n\nHe looked as if he didn't know it was there. \"Boy, my psych teacher would have a ball with that one! Who would think a kid like you could have a sexy dream like that? Wow! Talk about Freudian! My psych teacher says-s\u2014\"\n\n\"You think you know everything, don't you?\" Daisy said.\n\nHis fingers traced the nipple through her thin blouse, tracing a burning circle, a tiny burning hoop.\n\n\"Not quite,\" he said, and bent close to her face. Darkness and blood. \"I don't know quite how to take you.\"\n\nShe wrenched free of his face, free of his arm. \"You won't take me at all. Not ever. You'll be dead. We'll all be dead in the sun,\" she said, and flung herself out of the convertible and back into the darkened house.\n\nDaisy lay doubled up on the bed for a long time after the memory was gone. She would not talk to him anymore. She could not remember anything without him, but she did not care. It was all a dream anyway. What did it matter? She hugged her arms to her.\n\nIt was not a dream. It was worse than a dream. She sat very straight on the edge of the bed, her head up and her arms at her side, her feet together on the floor, the way a young lady was supposed to sit. When she stood up, there was no hesitation in her manner. She walked straight to the door and opened it. She did not stop to see what room it was. She did not even glance at the strangers milling up and down. She went straight to Ron and put her hand on his shoulder.\n\n\"This is hell, isn't it?\"\n\nHe turned, and there was something like hope on his face. \"Why, Daisy!\" he said, and took her hands and pulled her down to sit beside him. It was the train. Their folded hands rested on the white damask tablecloth. She looked at the hands. There was no use trying to pull away.\n\nHer voice did not shake. \"I was very unkind to my mother. I used to tell her my dreams just to make her frightened. I used to go out without a hat, just because it scared her so much. She couldn't help it. She was so afraid the sun would explode.\" She stopped and stared at her hands. \"I think it did explode and everybody died, like my father said. I think... I should have lied to her about the dreams. I should have told her I dreamed about boys, about growing up, about things that didn't frighten her. I could have made up nightmares like my brother did.\"\n\n\"Daisy,\" he said. \"I'm afraid confessions aren't quite in my line. I don't\u2014\"\n\n\"She killed herself,\" Daisy said. \"She sent us to my grandmother's in Canada and then she killed herself. And so I think that if we are all dead, then I went to hell. That's what hell is, isn't it? Coming face to face with what you're most afraid of.\"\n\n\"Or what you love. Oh, Daisy,\" he said, holding her fingers tightly, \"whatever made you think that this was hell?\"\n\nIn her surprise, she looked straight into his eyes. \"Because there isn't any sun,\" she said.\n\nHis eyes burned her, burned her. She felt blindly for the white-covered table, but the room had changed. She could not find it. He pulled her down beside him on the blue couch. With him still clinging to her hands, still holding onto her, she remembered.\n\nThey were being sent away, to protect them from the sun. Daisy was just as glad to go. Her mother was angry with her all the time. She forced Daisy to tell her her dreams every morning at breakfast in the dark living room. Her mother had put blackout curtains up over the blinds so that no light got in at all, and in the blue twilight not even the little summer slants of light from the blinds fell on her mother's frightened face.\n\nThere was nobody on the beaches. Her mother would not let her go out, even to the grocery store, without a hat and sunglasses. She would not let them fly to Canada. She was afraid of magnetic storms. They sometimes interrupted the radio signals from the towers. Her mother was afraid the plane would crash.\n\nShe sent them on the train, kissing them goodbye at the train station, for the moment oblivious to the long dusty streaks of light from the vaulted train-station windows. Her brother went ahead of them out to the platform, and her mother pulled Daisy suddenly into a dark shadowed corner. \"What I told you before, about your period, that won't happen now. The radiation\u2014I called the doctor and he said not to worry. It's happening to everyone.\"\n\nAgain Daisy felt the faint pull of fear. Her period had started months ago, dark and bloody as she had imagined. She had not told anyone. \"I won't worry,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh, my Daisy,\" her mother said suddenly. \"My Daisy in the sun,\" and seemed to shrink back into the darkness. But as they pulled out of the station, she came out into the direct sun and waved goodbye to them.\n\nIt was wonderful on the train. The few passengers stayed in their cabins with the shades drawn. There were no shades in the dining car, no people to tell Daisy to get out of the sunlight. She sat in the deserted dining car and looked out the wide windows. The train flew through forests, thin branchy forests of spindly pines and aspens. The sun flickered in on Daisy\u2014sun and then shadows and then sun, running across her face. She and her brother ordered an orgy of milkshakes and desserts and nobody said anything to them.\n\nHer brother read his books about the sun out loud to her. \"Do you know what it's like in the middle of the sun?\" he asked her. Yes. You stand with a bucket and a shovel and your bare toes digging into the sand, a child again, not afraid, squinting up into the yellow light.\n\n\"No,\" she said.\n\n\"Atoms can't even hold together in the middle of the sun. It's so crowded they bump into each other all the time, bump bump bump, like that, and their electrons fly off and run around free. Sometimes when there's a collision, it lets off an X-ray that goes whoosh, all the way out at the speed of light, like a ball in a pinball machine. Bing-hang-bing, all the way to the surface.\"\n\n\"Why do you read those books anyway? To scare yourself?\"\n\n\"No. To scare Mom.\" That was a daring piece of honesty, suitable not even for the freedom of Grandma's, suitable only for the train. She smiled at him.\n\n\"You're not even scared, are you?\"\n\nShe felt obliged to answer him with equal honesty \"No,\" she said, \"not at all.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nBecause it won't hurt. Because I won't remember afterwards. Because I'll stand in the sun with my bucket and shovel and look up and not be frightened. \"I don't know,\" Daisy said. \"I'm just not.\"\n\n\"I am. I dream about burning all the time. I think about how much it hurts when I burn my finger and then I dream about it hurting like that all over forever.\" He had been lying to their mother about his dreams, too.\n\n\"It won't be like that,\" Daisy said. \"We won't even know it's happened. We won't remember a thing.\"\n\n\"When the sun goes nova, it'll start using itself up. The core will start filling up with atomic ash, and that'll make the sun start using up all its own fuel. Do you know it's pitch-dark in the middle of the sun? See, the radiations are X-rays, and they're too short to see. They're invisible. Pitch-dark and ashes falling around you. Can you imagine that?\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter.\" They were passing a meadow and Daisy's face was full in the sun. \"We won't be there. We'll be dead. We won't remember anything.\"\n\nDaisy had not realized how relieved she would be to see her grandmother, narrow face sunburned, arms bare. She was not even wearing a hat. \"Daisy dear, you're growing up,\" she said. She did not make it sound like a death sentence. \"And David, you still have your nose in a book, I see.\"\n\nIt was nearly dark when they got to her little house. \"What's that?\" David asked, standing on the porch.\n\nHer grandmother's voice did not rise dangerously at all. \"The aurora borealis. I tell you, we've had some shows up here lately. It's like the Fourth of July.\"\n\nDaisy had not realized how hungry she had been to hear someone who was not afraid. She looked up. Great red curtains of light billowed almost to the zenith, fluttering in some solar wind. \"It's beautiful,\" Daisy whispered, but her grandmother was holding the door open for her to go in, and so happy was she to see the clear light in her grandmother's eyes, she followed her into the little kitchen with its red linoleum table and the red curtains hanging at the windows.\n\n\"It is so nice to have company,\" her grandmother said, climbing-onto a chair. \"Daisy, hold this end, will you?\" She dangled the long end of a yellow plastic ribbon down to Daisy. Daisy took it, looking anxiously at her grandmother. \"What are you doing?\" she asked.\n\n\"Measuring for new curtains, dear,\" she said, reaching into her pocket for a slip of paper and a pencil. \"What's the length, Daisy?\"\n\n\"Why do you need new curtains?\" Daisy asked. \"These look fine to me.\"\n\n\"They don't keep the sun out,\" her grandmother said. Her eyes had gone coal-black with fear. Her voice was rising with every word. \"We have to have new curtains, Daisy, and there's no cloth. Not in the whole town, Daisy. Can you imagine that? We had to send to Ottawa. They bought up all the cloth in town. Can you imagine that, Daisy?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Daisy said, and wished she could be afraid.\n\nRon still held her hands tightly. She looked steadily at him. \"Wanner, Daisy,\" he said. \"Almost here.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\nHe untwined their fingers and rose from the couch. He walked through the crowd in the blue living room and went out the door into the snow. She did not try to go to her room. She watched them all, the strangers in their endless, random movement, her brother walking while he read, her grandmother standing on a chair, and the memory came quite easily and without pain.\n\n\"You wanna see something?\" her brother asked.\n\nDaisy was looking out the window. All day long the lights had been flickering, even though it was calm and silent outside. Their grandmother had gone to town to see if the fabric for the curtains had come in. Daisy did not answer him.\n\nHe shoved the book in front of her face. \"That's a prominence,\" he said. The pictures were in black and white, like old-fashioned snapshots, only under them instead of her mother's scrawled white ink, it said, \"High Altitude Observatory, Boulder, Colorado.\"\n\n\"That's an eruption of hot gas hundreds of thousands of feet high.\"\n\n\"No,\" Daisy said, taking the book into her own lap. \"That's my golden hoop. I saw it in my dream.\"\n\nShe turned the page.\n\nDavid leaned over her shoulder and pointed. \"That was the big eruption in 1946 when it first started to go wrong only they didn't know it yet. It weighed a billion tons. The gas went out a million miles.\"\n\nDaisy held the book like a snapshot of a loved one.\n\n\"It just went bash, and knocked all this gas out into space. There were all kinds of\u2014\"\n\n\"It's my golden bear,\" she said. The great paw of flame reached lazily out from the suns black surface in the picture, the wild silky paw of flaming gas.\n\n\"This is the stuff you've been dreaming?\" her brother asked. \"This is the stuff you've been telling me about?\" His voice went higher and higher. \"I thought you said the dreams were nice.\"\n\n\"They were,\" Daisy said.\n\nHe pulled the book away from her and flipped angrily through the pages to a colored diagram on a black ground. It showed a glowing red ball with concentric circles drawn inside it. \"There,\" he said, shoving it at Daisy. \"That's what's going to happen to us.\" He jabbed angrily at one of the circles inside the red ball. \"That's us. That's us! Inside the sun! Dream about that, why don't you?\"\n\nHe slammed the book shut.\n\n\"But we'll all be dead, so it won't matter,\" Daisy said. \"It won't hurt. We won't remember anything.\"\n\n\"That's what you think! You think you know everything. Well, you don't know what anything is. I read a book about it, and you know what it said? They don't even know what memory is. They think maybe it isn't even in the brain cells. That it's in the atoms somewhere, and even if we're blown apart, that memory stays. What if we do get burned by the sun and we still remember? What if we go on burning and burning and remembering and remembering forever?\"\n\nDaisy said quietly, \"He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't hurt us.\" There had been no fear as she stood digging her toes into the sand and looking up at him, only wonder. \"He\u2014\"\n\n\"You're crazy!\" her brother shouted. \"You know that? You're crazy. You talk about him like he's your boyfriend or something! It's the sun, the wonderful sun that's going to kill us all!\" He yanked the book away from her. He was crying.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Daisy was about to say; but their grandmother came in just then, hatless, with her hair blowing around her thin, sunburned face.\n\n\"They got the material in,\" she said jubilantly. \"I bought enough for all the windows.\" She spilled out two sacks of red gingham. It billowed out across the table like the northern lights, red over red. \"I thought it would never get here.\"\n\nDaisy reached out to touch it.\n\nShe waited for him, sitting at the white-damask table of the dining car. He hesitated at the door, standing framed by the snow of ash behind him, and then came gaily in, singing.\n\n\"Daisy, Daisy, give me your theory do,\" he sang. He carried in his arms a bolt of red cloth. It billowed out from the bolt as he handed it to her grandmother\u2014she standing on the chair, transfixed by joy, the pieces of paper, the yellow tape measure fallen from her forever.\n\nDaisy came and stood in front of him.\n\n\"Daisy, Daisy,\" he said gaily \"Tell me\u2014\"\n\nShe put her hand on his chest. \"No theory,\" she said. \"I know.\"\n\n\"Everything, Daisy?\" He smiled the easy, lopsided smile, and she thought sadly that even knowing, she would not be able to see him as he was, but only as the boy who had worked at the grocery store, the boy who had known everything.\n\n\"No, but I think I know.\" She held her hand firmly against his chest, over the flaming hoop of his breast. \"I don't think we are people anymore. I don't know what we are\u2014atoms stripped of our electrons maybe, colliding endlessly against each other in the center of the sun while it burns itself to ash in the endless snowstorm at its heart.\"\n\nHe gave her no clue. His smile was still confident, easy \"What about me, Daisy?\" he asked.\n\n\"I think you are my golden bear, my flaming hoop, I think you are Ra, with no end to your name at all, Ra who knows everything.\"\n\n\"And who are you?\"\n\n\"I am Daisy, who loved the sun.\"\n\nHe did not smile, did not change his mocking expression. But his tanned hand closed over hers, still pushing against his chest.\n\n\"What will I be now, an X-ray zigzagging all the way to the surface till I turn into light? Where will you take me after you have taken me? To Saturn, where the sun shines on the cold rings till they melt into happiness? Is that where you shine now, on Saturn? Will you take me there? Or will we stand forever like this, me with my bucket and shovel, squinting up at you?\"\n\nSlowly he gave her hand back to her. \"Where do you want to go, Daisy?\"\n\nHer grandmother still stood on the chair, holding the cloth as if it were a benediction. Daisy reached out and touched the cloth, as she had in the moment when the sun went nova. She smiled up at her grandmother. \"It's beautiful,\" she said. \"I'm so glad it's come.\"\n\nShe bent suddenly to the window and pulled the faded curtains aside as if she thought because she knew she might be granted some sort of vision, might see for some small moment the little girl that was herself, with her little girl's chest and toddler's stomach;... might see herself as she really was: Daisy, in the sun. But all she could see was the endless snow.\n\nHer brother was reading on the blue couch in her mother's living room. She stood over him, watching him read. \"I'm afraid now,\" Daisy said, but it wasn't her brothers face that looked back at her.\n\nAll right, then, Daisy thought. None of them are any help. It doesn't matter. I have come face to face with what I fear and what I love and they are the same thing.\n\n\"All right, then,\" Daisy said, and turned back to Ron. \"I'd like to go for a ride. With the top down.\" She stopped and squinted up at him. \"I love the sun,\" she said.\n\nWhen he put his arm around her shoulder, she did not move away. His hand closed on her breast and he bent down to kiss her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Mail-Order Clone",
                "text": "What throwed me off about this guy was the way he looked. I mean, I ain't no Burt Reynolds, but this guy was just plain ugly And little. He was wearing some of them fancy high-heeled boots, and he still didn't hardly come up to my armpit. He had on a fancy East Coast suit and one of them little bitty black mustaches that look like they been painted on.\n\n\"Hello,\" he says, like I should know who he is.\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\nHe kind of laughs to himself, and then he says, \"You don't recognize me, do you?\"\n\nI shake my head, wondering if now they are hiring midgets at Welfare, which would be a switch. Most of those guys are twice as big as me ever since the Mafia took over the department. If he is one of the Welfare guys I am sure as hell not going to let him in. Last time they grabbed a six-pack of Coors and docked our check fifty bucks. They was looking at Marjean's love magazines, too. Hell, what good is all that money if they won't let you have no fun with it? Anyway, he can just stand outside till I figure out who he is.\n\n\"Don't you remember?\" he says, still kind of laughing. \"Twelve ninety-five postpaid. Delivery guaranteed in three weeks?\"\n\nI was right. They're on to Marjean's love books. Only how'd they find out about this deal? \"I don't know nothing,\" I says.\n\nHe smiles real wide. \"I'm your clone,\" he says.\n\nWell, what do you know? \"Marjean,\" I calls out, pretty cockylike, \"Marjean Ramona, you come on out here. I got something for you to see.\"\n\nShe comes sauntering out in her Indian nightgown which don't have no sides, just strings to hold it together, and which is open in the front just about down to kingdom come. She's got her hair up in braids, too. That means she's in one of her Indian moods, prancing around not letting me touch her 'cause she's got royal Kiowa blood.\n\nI figure she'll be pretty mad when I tell her who this guy is, since she was the one who kept saying the ad was a fake, but she don't act mad at all. She just sort of smiles at the guy and pulls her nightgown together in the front. That don't do no good. She ends up showing more than ever. She flips them black braids at him and says, real breathy, \"Hi. What's your name?\"\n\n\"Marjean,\" I says before he can answer. \"His name's the same as mine. He's my clone.\"\n\nShe's not even listening to me. \"Come on in,\" she says, and the guy sort of scrapes past her into the house.\n\nShe starts right after him, but I got a hold of her arm. \"That's the clone I sent for that you said was a fake.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she says in that dreamylike voice. \"I wonder what his name is.\"\n\n\"I told you, Marjean. Same as mine. He's just like me.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" she says. She licks her lips with her tongue.\n\n\"You gotta be nice to him, Marjean,\" I says, wishing she would show some enthusiasm. \"Get him one of them beers we got hid outback. And take off that nightgown. We got company.\"\n\nShe looks up at me with them big black eyes of hers and says, \"Why, that's just what I had in mind.\"\n\nNow I am not so dumb. Even though Marjean is hiding it pretty good, pretending she likes this guy and all, I can tell she is mad. She was dead sent against my sending for a clone.\n\n\"It's a fake,\" she says.\n\n\"How do you know that? You ain't even read the ad.\"\n\n\"The Kiowa know many things,\" she says real mysteriouslike. She pulls that Kiowa stuff whenever she don't have a good answer. She's no more Indian than them old hippies out on the edge of town. They got long hair and live in tepees, smoking mushrooms and talking a lot of gibberish, but they ain't Indians, and the Welfare guys know it. They don't get no Indian checks and neither does Marjean Ramona. So I don't put no faith in this Kiowa stuff.\n\n\"They can't make clones,\" Marjean says, \"not for twelve ninety-five.\"\n\n\"Sure they can. You send in a piece of your hair or a fingernail, something that's got cells in it. And they put it in a test tube and there you are. One genuine clone.\"\n\nI showed her the story that give me the idea in the first place, seens as how she is so crazy for them stories. \"Mail-Order Family,\" it was called, all about this poor orphan girl who didn't have no family till she got a clone and then how they was just like twins and they both married brothers and everything, but it didn't do no good. She just never wants to send for nothing out of her love magazines. I tried to get her to send for one of them holographic nighties in the Fredericks of Hollywood ad, the ones that promise to show you all sides of the merchandise at once, but she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't even let me send for a box of lubricated bionic ripples, and they was only a dollar.\n\n\"I don't care what you say, Marjean,\" I says. \"I am sending for this clone.\"\n\n\"You're wasting your money,\" she says, \"and even if you had a clone, what would you do with it? What good is a clone anyway?\"\n\n\"What about 'Mail-Order Family'? What about that, huh? A clone's good for lots of stuff, Marjean. Lots of stuff.\"\n\nSo now I got me a clone and I can tell you it is a good feeling to prove old high-and-mighty Marjean wrong for once. But after about two weeks of this guy, I figured Marjean was right about one thing. Clones may be good for lots of stuff, like I said, but I sure as hell couldn't figure out what. When I asked him about getting a job, he just laughed. He said if he started working it would be like I started working and I'd be off the Welfare rolls like a shot. I figured at least he could go cash my check seens as how we both had the same signature and all. He seemed real willing, especially after he seen how big the check was. But then Marjean real fastlike grabs up both checks and says she wants to go. \"You have to cash them at the post office,\" she says to him real seriouslike, and he turns kind of green. After that I can't hardly even get him to go get us Coors at the Indian camp.\n\nAll he wanted to do was set at the kitchen table, talking to Marjean in her nightgown and eating and drinking up every damn thing in the house through that froggy mustache of his. He still didn't look nothing like me. I spent about an hour looking in the mirror trying to imagine what I'd look like with one of them little black mustaches, but it didn't do no good. Marjean come and stood behind me. \"I can see a big resemblance,\" she said, smiling sort of slylike, and sauntered off to the bedroom.\n\n\"Well, I sure as hell can't.\" I said that pretty loud and I guess my clone heard me, 'cause he come and put his arm around me, pal-like, and says, \"The lack of resemblance perplexes you, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"That we look so different. Clones are identical. That's what you've always heard, isn't it?\"\n\nThat made me feel sort of ashamed. The poor guy can't help it he's so little and scrawny. But he didn't act upset. He just kind of laughed and motioned to me to set down at the table. Then he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. I see the paper is one of them copy sheets and on it is the very same ad I sent in. Right there is my own name and address I wrote myself. This made me even more ashamed. To tell the truth, once or twice I have started to think things are not quite on the up-and-up, if you know what I mean.\n\nHe flipped the ad over and started drawing and talking real fast, a whole bunch of stuff about cells and chromosomes. I listened real hard, but it didn't make much sense. Just a bunch of lines and squiggles.\n\nThen he pulls out a quarter and holds it up in front of me. \"What do you see?\" he says.\n\n\"A quarter.\"\n\n\"No. I mean, what do you see on the quarter?\"\n\nThere's some little words and a guy that looks kind of like Nixon only his hair is in a ponytail. \"Some president,\" I say, figuring I am safe that way.\n\nHe turns it over. \"Now what do you see?\"\n\nI recognize this one right off. \"A bird,\" I say.\n\n\"George Washington,\" he says, and flips the quarter over. \"An American eagle.\" Boy, am I glad I didn't go with Nixon. \"They're nothing alike, are they?\"\n\nI am getting pretty nervous with all these questions. \"No,\" I say, only kind of hesitantlike.\n\n\"Oh, but they are. They're two different sides of a quarter. Just as you and I are two different sides of a person.\" He flips the quarter over again. The bird is still there.\n\nWell, that made a whole lot more sense than them squiggly chromosomes. I felt real relieved. I was going to ask him about the job thing again while he was in an explaining mood, but just then Marjean come out dressed up fit to kill and said they was going over to the Indian camp, so I didn't get to.\n\nThey was gone a long time. I did the quarter thing a couple more times, and it always worked, so I figured he must be telling the truth. Long about four I went out on the porch where I could see them coming. Not that I was worried or anything. We were two sides of a quarter, he said, and if you can't trust your flip side, you are in pretty bad shape.\n\nThey wasn't coming yet, but what was scared the pants off me. These two big government cars pulled up in front of the house and four guys got out and come over to the porch. Four guys! Welfare has never sent four before. They only do that when they're gonna beat the hell out of you for violations.\n\nThey already seen me so there was no use pretending nobody was home, and anyway they were wearing suits and didn't look nearly as big as the Welfare guys usually look, so I stayed on the porch. But I kept a sharp eye peeled for Marjean and my clone. I sure as hell wished they would get home.\n\nTwo of the guys stand back with their arms folded and the other two come up on the porch. One of them hands me a piece of paper and says, \"Have you seen this ad before?\"\n\nWell, hell, it's that ad my clone had the copy of scribbling on not two hours ago. It is probably still setting there on the kitchen table. Anyway there is my name and address in my own writing, which is on file down at Welfare. They have got me dead to rights. \"Marjean made me send for it,\" I says, \"but she didn't know it was against the rules. It ain't listed in the Welfare book. Honest. Anyway, she don't read too good.\"\n\nThe two guys in the back whisper to the other two and the two on the porch reach into their pockets. I practically have a heart attack before I see it's just little cards they're reaching for. They hold them out to me. \"United States Post Office,\" one of them says. \"Mail fraud division. Did you send for the clone advertised in this ad?\"\n\nI read the card to make sure, but I knew they wasn't Welfare guys all along. \"Sure,\" I says, \"I sent for one of them clones.\"\n\n\"You sent in twelve ninety-five with your order?\"\n\n\"Yeah. And a lock of my hair so's they could make it.\"\n\n\"How long ago was that?\"\n\nI think about how long it took to get him and how long he's been setting at that kitchen table. \"Two months about.\"\n\n\"This mail-order clone scheme you invested in is one of several mail frauds currently under investigation by our department. Indictments have been issued against Clones, Inc., president Conrad C. Conrad, whereabouts unknown. Claims against Clones, Inc., for the return of your money can be filed by the individual with our department.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" I say I mean, sure, I have lots of reasons to complain about the guy, but it don't seem right getting my money back. I did get my clone and everything.\n\nThey hand me a form to fill out about eight pages long. \"Just take the completed form to the local post office. You will be informed by mail of the priority of your claim. Our toll-free number is at the top. We'd like you to call it in case Conrad C. Conrad tries to get in touch with you.\"\n\nSo far they are real businesslike. But then one of the guys who hasn't said nothing so far comes up to me, flashes a badge that sure don't say United States Post Office on it, and starts asking questions real fastlike.\n\n\"Did you send for a clone as per this ad? Is this your handwriting? Is this the money order you enclosed with your order?\"\n\nI just say yeah to all of it till he gets to this real funny question.\n\n\"Do you know Conrad C. Conrad?\"\n\nNow, how would I know the president of a big company? \"Nope,\" I say.\n\n\"Have you seen anyone of the following description: five foot four, brown eyes, black hair, black mustache.\"\n\nI don't pay much attention to this part 'cause just then I think I see Marjean and my clone coming. Anyway, I ain't seen nobody but them two in two months. \"Nope,\" I say.\n\n\"We have reason to believe Conrad is in this area, probably under an assumed name.\"\n\nThe first mail guy turns to the other one, and says, whisperinglike, \"Another assumed name. The guy's as slippery as an eel. They don't even have a picture of him. He's such a smooth talker he's probably convinced one of his dumb-bunny customers he's a clone and moved in with them.\" The cop shoots him a dirty look.\n\n\"Are you sure you've had no communication with Mr. Conrad or with Clones, Inc?\"\n\n\"Nope. All I got was my clone.\"\n\nAll four guys lean forward. \"You received the doll advertised in the magazine?\"\n\n\"Doll?\" I said. I was gonna say, Hell, no, I wish it hadda been a doll and not some big good-for-nothing guy. Only just then I saw for sure it was Marjean and the big good-for-nothing. They was both bombed out of their minds. I could tell 'cause they was sort of weaving down the road, but that ain't what gets me. Right in the middle of the road my clone stops and plants a big old kiss on Marjean. He's got his hands where they got no business being either. And old Marjean is eating it up.\n\n\"Did you or did you not receive a clone as ordered?\" the cop guy says, annoyedlike.\n\n\"I want to file a complaint,\" I says, real mad.\n\nThey give me a number to call if I see that Conrad guy, and then they go off in their big cars. They drive right past Marjean and the clone guy, who are still feeling each other up. They don't pay no attention, and that makes me know for sure they are not Welfare guys. Those guys don't let you do nothing.\n\nI stand there on the porch, just watching them and thinking. I think about the post office guys and the cop. And then I think about Marjean and how that guy don't look nothing like me even when he's feeling up my wife and pretty soon I get an idea. I am not so dumb.\n\nMarjean knows it, too. When she comes in, smelling like beer and pot, she is pretty sassy, but she ain't sassy now. I heard them talking at the kitchen table yesterday and she says, \"He's figured it out,\" and the clone guy kind of laughs, but not too loud, and says, \"Him? He couldn't figure his way out of a paper bag.\" But he don't sound real convinced.\n\nI been pretty busy. First thing I done I read all of Marjean's love magazines. I found some good stories like \"I Killed My Wife's Lover\" and \"A Husband's Revenge\" and I put them real casual-like on the kitchen table open to that page like I been reading them. Then I real casual-like cut out one of them ads for a laser gun. That disappears like sixty and when I check the other magazines I see she's cut out every gun and knife ad and thrown them all away I keep suggesting she take my clone over to the Indian camp, but she won't go nowhere. All she does is sit at that kitchen table reading stories and biting her fingernails till there ain't nothing left just like I planned. Pretty soon I will leave that complaint form around where the clone guy can see it. Then he will know I am not so dumb. But I think I will wait on that.\n\nSee, while I'm standing there on that porch I figure out I have been looking at this clone thing all wrong. That story about the orphan girl throwed me off, the twin stuff and all. That ain't what clones are for. And any way you look at it, that guy don't look nothing like me at all. So what I figure is, a clone of Marjean's won't look nothing like her neither. It'd be all round and soft and curly blond hair maybe. Not so high-and-mighty neither. I know just what Marjean's clone'd be good for. And I am all set. I got twelve ninety-five and a envelope full of Marjean's chewed-off fingernails and I am sending it in. I am not so dumb."
            },
            {
                "title": "Samaritan",
                "text": "\u2002The people of the Countrie, when they traoaile in the Woods, make fires where they sleepe in the night; and in the morning, when they are gone, the Pongoes [orangutans] will come and sit about the fire, till it goeth out: for they have no understanding to lay the wood together. \u2014Andrew Batiell, 1625\n\nReverend Hoyt knew immediately what Natalie wanted. His assistant pastor knocked on the half-open door of his study and then sailed in, dragging Esau by one hand behind her. The triumphant smile on her face was proof enough of what she was going to say.\n\n\"Reverend Hoyt, Esau has something he wants to tell you.\" She turned to the orangutan. He was standing up straight, something Reverend Hoyt knew was hard for him to do. He came almost to Natalie's shoulder. His thick, squat body was covered almost entirely with long, neatly brushed auburn hair. He had only a little hair on top of his head. He had slicked it down with water. His wide face, inset and shadowed by his cheek flaps, was as impassive as ever.\n\nNatalie signed something to him. He stood silent, his long arms hanging limply at his sides. She turned back to Reverend Hoyt. \"He wants to be baptized! Isn't that wonderful? Tell him, Esau.\"\n\nHe had seen it coming. The Reverend Natalie Abreu, twenty-two and only one year out of Princeton, was one enthusiasm after another. She had vamped the Sunday school, taken over the grief counseling department, and initiated a standard of priestly attire that outraged Reverend Hoyt's Presbyterian soul. Today she had on a trailing cassock with a red-and-gold-embroidered stole edged with fringe. It must be Pentecost. She was short and had close-cropped brown hair. She flew about her official duties like a misplaced choirboy in her ridiculous robes and surplices and chasubles. She had taken over Esau, too.\n\nShe had not known how to use American Sign Language when she came. Reverend Hoyt knew only the bare minimum of signs himself, \"yes\" and \"no\" and \"come here.\" The jobs he wanted Esau to do he had acted out mostly in pantomime. He had asked Natalie to learn a basic vocabulary so they could communicate better with the orang. She had memorized the entire Ameslan handbook. She rattled on to Esau for hours at a time, her fingers flying, telling him Bible stories and helping him with his reading.\n\n\"How do you know he wants to be baptized?\"\n\n\"He told me. You know how we had the confirmation class last Sunday and he asked me all about confirmation and I said, 'Now they are God's children, members of God's family.' And Esau said, 'I would like very much to be God's beloved child, too.'\"\n\nIt was always disconcerting to hear Natalie translate what Esau said. She changed what was obviously labored and fragmented language into rhapsodies of adjectives, clauses, and modifiers. It was like watching one of those foreign films in which the actor rattled on for a paragraph and the subtitle only printed a cryptic, \"That is so.\" This was reversed, of course. Esau had signed something like, \"Me like be child God,\" if that, and Natalie had transformed it into something a seminary professor would say. It was impossible to have any real communication with Esau this way, but it was better than pantomime.\n\n\"Esau,\" he began resignedly, \"do you love God?\"\n\n\"Of course he loves God,\" Natalie said. \"He'd hardly want to be baptized if he didn't, would he?\"\n\n\"Natalie,\" he said patiently, \"I need to talk to Esau. Please ask him, 'Do you love God?'\"\n\nShe looked disgusted, but signed out the question. Reverend Hoyt winced. The sign for \"God\" was dreadful. It looked like a sideways salute. How could you ask someone if they loved a salute?\n\nEsau nodded. He looked terribly uncomfortable standing there. It infuriated Reverend Hoyt that Natalie insisted on his standing up. His backbone simply wasn't made for it. She had tried to get him to wear clothes, too. She had bought him a workman's uniform of coveralls and a cap and shoes. Reverend Hoyt had not even been patient with her that time. \"Why on earth would we put shoes on him?\" he had said. \"He was hired because he has feet he can use like hands. He needs them both if he's going to get up among the beams. Besides which, he is already clothed. His hair covers him far more appropriately than those ridiculous robes you wear cover you!\" After that Natalie had worn some dreadful Benedictine thing made of horsehair and rope until Reverend Hoyt apologized. He had not given in on the matter of clothes for Esau, however.\n\n\"Tell Esau to sit down in the chair,\" he said. He smiled at the orangutan as he said it. He sat down also. Natalie remained standing. The orangutan climbed into the chair frontwards, then turned around. His short legs stuck out straight in front of him. His body hunched forward. He wrapped his long arms around himself, then glanced up at Natalie, and hastily let them hang at his sides. Natalie looked profoundly embarrassed.\n\n\"Esau,\" he began again, motioning to Natalie to translate, \"baptism is a serious matter. It means that you love God and want to serve him. Do you know what serve means?\"\n\nEsau nodded slowly, then made a peculiar sign, tapping the side of his head with the flat of his hand.\n\n\"What did he say, Natalie? And no embellishments, please. Just translate.\"\n\n\"It's a sign I taught him,\" she said stiffly. \"In Sunday school. The word wasn't in the book. It means talents. He means-e\u2014\"\n\n\"Do you know the story of the ten talents, Esau?\"\n\nShe translated. Again he nodded.\n\n\"And would you serve God with your talents?\"\n\nThis whole conversation was insane. He could not discuss Christian service with an orangutan. It made no sense. They were not free agents. They belonged to the Cheyenne Mountain Primate Research facility at what had been the old zoo. It was there that the first orangs had signed to each other. A young one, raised until the age of three with humans, had lost both human parents in an accident and had been returned to the Center. He had a vocabulary of over twenty words in American Sign Language and could make simple commands. Before the end of the year, the entire colony of orangs had the same vocabulary and could form declarative sentences. Cheyenne Mountain did its best to educate their orangs and find them useful jobs out in society, but they still owned them. They came to get Esau once a month to breed him with females at the Center. He didn't blame them. Orangs were now extinct in the wild. Cheyenne Mountain was doing the best they could to keep the species alive and they were not unkind to them, but he felt sorry for Esau, who would always serve.\n\nHe tried something else. \"Do you love God, Esau?\" he asked again. He made the sign for \"love\" himself.\n\nEsau nodded. He made the sign for \"love.\"\n\n\"And do you know that God loves you?\"\n\nHe hesitated. He looked at Reverend Hoyt solemnly with his round brown eyes and blinked. His eyelids were lighter than the rest of his face, a sandy color. He made his right hand into a fist and faced it out toward Reverend Hoyt. He put the short thumb outside and across the fingers, then moved it straight up, then tucked it inside, all very methodically.\n\n\"S-A-M\u2014\" Natalie spelled. \"Oh, he means the good Samaritan, that was our Bible story last week. He has forgotten the sign we made for it.\" She turned to Esau and dropped her flat hand to her open palm. \"Good, Esau. Good Samaritan.\" She made the S fist and tapped her waist with it twice. \"Good Samaritan. Remember?\"\n\nEsau looked at her. He put his fist up again and out toward Reverend Hoyt. \"S\u2014\" he repeated, \"A-M-A-R\u2014\" He spelled it all the way through.\n\nNatalie was upset. She signed rapidly at Esau. \"Don't you remember, Esau? Good Samaritan. He remembers the story. You can see that. He's just forgotten the sign for it, that's all.\" She took his hands and tried to force them into the flattened positions for \"good.\" He resisted.\n\n\"No,\" Reverend Hoyt said, \"I don't think that's what he's talking about.\"\n\nNatalie was nearly in tears. \"He knows all his Bible stories. And he can read. He's read almost all of the New Testament by himself.\"\n\n\"I know, Natalie,\" Reverend Hoyt said patiently.\n\n\"Well, are you going to baptize him?\"\n\nHe looked at the orang sitting hunched in the chair before him. \"I'll have to give the matter some thought.\"\n\nShe looked stubborn. \"Why? He only wants to be baptized. The Ecumenical Church baptizes people, doesn't it? We baptized fourteen people last Sunday. All he wants is to be baptized.\"\n\n\"I will have to give the matter some thought.\"\n\nShe looked as if she wanted to say something. \"Come on, Esau,\" she said, signing to the ape to follow her.\n\nHe got out of the chair clumsily, trying to face forward while he did. Trying to please Natalie, Reverend Hoyt thought. Is that why he wants to be baptized, too, to please Natalie?\n\nReverend Hoyt sat at his desk for some time. Then he walked down the endless hall from his office to the sanctuary. He stood at the side door and looked into the vast sunlit chamber. The church was one of the first great Ecumenical cathedrals, built before the Rapture. It was nearly four stories high, vaulted with great open pine beams from the Colorado mountains. The famous Lazetti window reached the full four stories and was made of stained glass set in strips of steel.\n\nThe first floor, behind the pulpit and the choir loft, was in shadow, dark browns and greens rising to a few slender palm trees. Above that was the sunset. Powerful orange, rich rose, deep mauve dimmed to delicate peach and cream and lavender far over the heads of the congregation. At about the third-floor level the windows changed imperceptibly from pastel-tinted to clear window glass. In the evenings the Denver sunset, rising above the smog, blended with the clouds of the window. Real stars came out behind the single inset star of beveled glass near the peak of the window.\n\nEsau was up among the beams. He swung arm over arm, one hand trailing a white dusting cloth. His long hairy arms moved surely among the crosspieces as he worked. They had tried ladders before Esau came, but they scratched the wood of the beams and were not safe. One had come crashing down within inches of the Lazetti window.\n\nReverend Hoyt decided to say nothing until he had made up his mind on the matter. To Natalie's insistent questions, he gave the same patient answer. \"I have not decided.\" On Sunday he preached the sermon on humility he had already planned.\n\nReading the final scripture, however, he suddenly caught sight of Esau huddled on one of the pine cross-pieces, his arms wrapped around a buttress for support, watching him as he read. \"'But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had well-nigh slipped. I was stupid and ignorant. I was like a beast toward thee.'\"\n\nHe looked out over his congregation. They looked satisfied with themselves, smug. He looked at Esau.\n\n\"'Nevertheless I am continually with thee; thou dost hold my hand. Afterward thou wilt receive me to glory My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.'\" He banged the Bible shut. \"I have not said everything I intend to say on the subject of humility a subject very few of you know anything about.\" The congregation looked surprised. Natalie, in a bright red robe with a yellow silk chasuble over it, beamed.\n\nHe made Natalie shout the benediction over the uproar afterwards and went out the organists door and back to the parsonage. He turned down the bell on the telephone to almost nothing. An hour later Natalie arrived with Esau in tow. She was excited. Her cheeks were as red as her robe. \"Oh, I'm so glad you decided to say something after all. I was hoping you would. You'll see, they'll all think it's a wonderful idea! I wish you'd baptized him, though. Just think how surprised everyone would have beenl The first baptism ever, and in our church! Oh, Esau, aren't you excited! You're going to be baptized!\"\n\n\"I haven't decided yet, Natalie. I told the congregation the matter had come up, that's all.\"\n\n\"But you'll see, they'll think it's a wonderful idea.\"\n\nHe sent her home, telling her not to accept any calls or talk to any reporters, an edict he knew she would ignore completely He kept Esau with him, fixing a nice supper for them both and turning the television on to a baseball game. Esau picked up Reverend Hoyt's cat, an old tom that allowed people in the parsonage only on sufferance, and carried him over to his chair in front of the TV Reverend Hoyt expected an explosion of claws and hurt feelings, but tom settled down quite happily in Esau's lap.\n\nWhen bedtime came, Esau set him down gently on the end of the guest bed and stroked him twice. Then he crawled into the bed forwards, which always embarrassed Natalie so. Reverend Hoyt tucked him in. It was a foolish thing to do. Esau was fully grown. He lived alone and took care of himself. Still, it seemed the thing to do.\n\nEsau lay there looking up at him. He raised up on one arm to see if the cat was still there, and turned over on his side, wrapping his arms around his neck. Reverend Hoyt turned off the light. He didn't know the sign for \"good night,\" so he just waved, a tentative little wave, from the door. Esau waved back.\n\nEsau ate breakfast with the cat in his lap. Reverend Hoyt had turned the phone back up, and it rang insistently. He motioned to Esau that it was time to go over to the church. Esau signed something, pointing to the cat. He clearly wanted to take it with him. Reverend Hoyt signed one rather gentle \"no\" at him, pinching his first two fingers and thumb together, but smiling so Esau would not think he was angry.\n\nEsau put the cat down on the chair. Together they walked to the church. Reverend Hoyt wished there were some way he could tell him it was not necessary for him to walk upright all the time. At the door of Reverend Hoyt's study, Esau signed, \"Work?\" Reverend Hoyt nodded and tried to push his door open. Letters shoved under the door had wedged it shut. He knelt and pulled a handful free. The door swung open, and he picked up another handful from the floor and put them on his desk. Esau peeked in the door and waved at him. Reverend Hoyt waved back, and Esau shambled off to the sanctuary. Reverend Hoyt shut the door.\n\nBehind his desk was a little clutter of sharp-edged glass and a large rock. There was a star-shaped hole above them in the glass doors. He took the message off the rock. It read, \"And I saw a beast coming up out of the earth, and upon his head the names of blasphemy.\"\n\nReverend Hoyt cleaned up the broken glass and called the bishop. He read through his mail, keeping an eye out for her through the glass doors. She always came in the back way through the parking lot. His office was at the very end of the business wing of the church, the hardest thing to get to. It had been intended that way to give him as much privacy as possible. There had been a little courtyard with a crab apple tree in it outside the glass doors. Five years ago the courtyard and the crab apple tree had both been sacrificed to parking space, and now he had no privacy at all, but an excellent view of all comings and goings. It was the only way he knew what was going on in the church. From his office he couldn't hear a thing.\n\nThe bishop arrived on her bicycle. Her short curly gray hair had been swept back from her face by the wind. She was very tanned. She was wearing a light green pantsuit, but she had a black robe over her arm. He let her in through the glass doors.\n\n\"I wasn't sure if it was an official occasion or not. I decided I'd better bring something along in case you were going to drop another bombshell.\"\n\n\"I know,\" he sighed, sitting down behind his littered desk. \"It was a stupid thing to do. Thank you for coming, Moira.\"\n\n\"You could at least have warned me. The first call I got was some reporter raving that the End was coming, I thought the Charles had taken over again. Then some idiot called to ask what the church's position on pigs' souls was. It was another twenty minutes before I was able to find out exactly what you'd done. In the meantime, Will, I'm afraid I called you a number of highly uncharitable names.\" She reached out and patted his hand. \"All of which I take back. How are you doing, dear?\"\n\n\"I didn't intend to say anything until I'd decided what to do,\" he said thoughtfully. \"I was going to call you this week about it. I told Natalie that when she brought Esau in.\"\n\n\"I knew it. This is Natalie Abreu's brainchild, isn't it? I thought I detected the hand of an assistant pastor in all this. Honestly, Will, they are all alike. Isn't there some way to keep them in seminary another ten years until they calm down a little? Causes and ideas and reforms and more causes. It wears me out.\n\n\"Mine is into choirs: youth choirs, boy choirs, madrigals, antiphonals, glees. We barely have time for the sermon, there are so many choirs. My church doesn't look like a church. It looks like a military parade. Battalions of colored robes trooping in and out, chanting responses.\" She paused. \"There are times when I'd like to throttle him. Right now I'd like to throttle Natalie. Whatever put it into her head?\"\n\nReverend Hoyt shook his head. \"She's very fond of him.\"\n\n\"So she's been filling him with a lot of Bible stories and scripture. Has she been taking him to Sunday school?\"\n\n\"Yes. First grade, I think.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you can claim indoctrination, can't you? Say it wasn't his own idea but was forced on him?\"\n\n\"I can say that about three-fourths of the Sunday school class. Moira, that's the problem. There isn't any argument that I can use against him that wouldn't apply to half the congregation. He's lonely. He needs a strong father figure. He likes the pretty robes and candles. Instinct. Conditioning. Sexual sublimation. Maybe those things are true of Esau, but they're true of a lot of people I've baptized, too. And I never said to them, 'Why do you really want to be baptized?'\"\n\n\"He's doing it to please Natalie.\"\n\n\"Of course. And how many assistant pastors go to seminary to please their parents?\" He paced the narrow space behind his desk. \"I don't suppose there's anything in church law?\"\n\n\"I looked. The Ecumenical Church is just a baby, Will. We barely have the organizational bylaws written down, let alone all the odds and ends. And twenty years is not enough time to build a base of precedent. I'm sorry Will. I even went back to pre-unification law, thinking we might be able to borrow something obscure. But no luck.\"\n\nThe liberal churches had flirted with the idea of unification for more than twenty-five years without getting more accomplished than a few statements of good will. Then the Charismatics had declared the Rapture, and the churches had dived for cover right into the arms of ecumenism.\n\nThe fundamentalist Charismatic movement had gained strength all through the eighties. They had been committed to the imminent coming of the End, with its persecutions and Antichrist. On a sultry Tuesday in 1989 they had suddenly announced that the End was not only in sight, but here, and that all true Christians must unite to do battle against the Beast. The Beast was never specifically named, but most true Christians concluded he resided somewhere among the liberal churches. There was fervent prayer on Methodist front lawns. Young men ranted up the aisles of Episcopal churches during mass. A great many stained glass windows, including all but one of the Lazettis, were broken. A few churches burned.\n\nThe Rapture lost considerable momentum when two years later the skies still had not rolled back like a scroll and swallowed up the faithful, but the Charles were a force the newly born United Ecumenical Church refused to take lightly. She was a rather hodgepodgy church, it was true, but she stood like a bulwark against the Charles.\n\n\"There wasn't anything?\" Reverend Hoyt asked. \"But the bishops can at least make a ruling, can't they?\"\n\n\"The bishops have no authority over you in this matter. The United Church of Christ insisted on self-determination in matters within an individual church, including election of officers, distribution of communion, and baptism. It was the only way we could get them in,\" she finished apologetically.\n\n\"I've never understood that. There they were all by themselves with the Charismatics moving in like wolves. They didn't have any choice. They had to come in. So how did they get a plum like self-determination?\"\n\n\"It worked both ways, remember. We could hardly stand by and let the Charles get them. Besides, everyone else had fiddled away their compromise points on trespassers versus debtors and translations of the Bible. You Presbyterians, as I recall, were determined to stick in the magic word 'predestination' everywhere you could.\"\n\nReverend Hoyt had a feeling the purpose of this was to get him to smile. He smiled. \"And what was it you Catholics nearly walked out over? Oh, yes, grape juice.\"\n\n\"Will, the point is I cannot give you bishops counsel on this. It's your problem. You're the one who'll have to come to a fair and rational decision.\"\n\n\"Fair and rational?\" He picked up a handful of mail. \"With advice like this?\"\n\n\"You asked for it, remember? Ranting from the pulpit about humility?\"\n\n\"Listen to this: 'You can't baptize an ape. They don't have souls. One time I was in San Diego in the zoo there. We went to the ape house and right there, in front of the visitors and everything, were these two orangitangs...'\" He looked up from the letter. \"Here she apparently had some trouble deciding what words were most appropriate. Her pen has blotted.\" He continued to read '\"... two orangitangs doing it.' That's underlined. 'The worst of it is that they were laying there just enjoying it. So you see, even if you think they are nice sometimes...' etc. This, from a woman who's had three husbands and who knows how many 'little lapses,' as she calls them. She says I can't baptize him on the grounds that he likes sex.\"\n\nHe flipped through more papers. \"The deacons think it would have what they call a negative effect on the total amount of pledges. The ushers don't want tourists in here with cameras. Three men and nine women think baptizing him would somehow let loose his animal lusts and no one would be safe in the church alone.\"\n\nHe held up another letter triumphantly, this one written on pale pink rosebudded stationery. \"You asked us Sunday what we thought about apes having souls. I think so. I like to sit in back because of my arthritis which is very bad. During the invocation there were three tots in front of me with their little hands folded in prayer and just inside the vestry door was your ape, with his head bowed and his hands folded too.'\" He held up the paper. \"My only ally. And she thinks it's cute to watch a full-grown orangutan fold his little hannies. How am I supposed to come to any kind of decision with advice like this? Even Natalie's determined to make him into something he isn't. Clothes and good manners and standing up straight. And I'm supposed to decide!\"\n\nMoira had listened to his rantings with a patient expression. Now she stood up. \"That's right, Will. It is your decision, not Natalie's, not your congregations', not the Charles'. You're supposed to decide.\"\n\nHe watched her to her bicycle through the star of broken glass. \"Damn the Congregationalists!\" he said under his breath.\n\nHe sorted all the mail into three piles of \"for\" and \"against\" and \"wildly insane,\" then threw all of them into the wastebasket. He called in Natalie and Esau so he could give Esau the order to put up the protective plastic webbing over the big stained glass window. Natalie was alarmed. \"What is it?\" she asked when Esau had left with the storeroom key in his hand. \"Have there been threats?\"\n\nHe showed her the message from the rock, but didn't mention the letters. \"I'll take him home again with me tonight,\" he said. \"When does he have to go to Colorado Springs?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" She had fished a letter out of the wastebasket and was reading it. \"We could cancel. They already know the situation,\" she said and then blushed.\n\n\"No. He's probably safer there than here.\" He let some of the tiredness creep into his voice.\n\n\"You aren't going to do it, are you?\" Natalie said suddenly \"Because of a lot of creeps!\" She slammed the letter down on his desk. \"You're going to listen to them, aren't you? A lot of creeps who don't even know what a soul is and you're going to let them tell you Esau doesn't have one!\" She went to the door, the tails of the yellow stole flying. \"Maybe I should just tell them to keep him tomorrow, since you don't want him.\"\n\nThe doors slamming dislodged another splinter of glass.\n\nReverend Hoyt went to the South Denver Library and checked out books on apes and St. Augustine and sign language. He read them in his office until it was nearly dark outside. Then he went to get Esau. The protective webbing was up on the outside of the window. There was a ladder standing in the sanctuary. The window let in the dark blue evening light and the beginning stars.\n\nEsau was sitting in one of the back pews, his short legs straight out in front of him on the velvet cushions. His arms hung down, palms out. He was resting. The dustcloth lay beside him. His wide face held no expression except the limpness of fatigue. His eyes were sad beyond anything Reverend Hoyt had ever seen.\n\nWhen he saw Reverend Hoyt he climbed down off the pew quite readily They walked to the parish house. Esau immediately went to find the cat.\n\nThe people from Cheyenne Mountain came quite early the next morning. Reverend Hoyt noticed their van in the parking lot. He saw Natalie walk Esau to the van. The young man from the center opened the door and said something to Natalie. She nodded and smiled rather shyly at him. Esau got in the back seat of the van. Natalie leaned in and hugged him goodbye. When the van drove off he was sitting looking out the window, his face impassive. Natalie did not look in Reverend Hoyt's direction.\n\nThey brought him back about noon the next day. Reverend Hoyt saw the van again, and shortly afterward Natalie brought the young man to his office. She was dressed all in white, a childishly full surplice over a white robe. She looked like an angel in a Sunday school program. Pentecost must be over and Trinity begun. She was still subdued, more than the situation of having her friends argue for her would seem to merit. Reverend Hoyt wondered how often this same young man came for Esau.\n\n\"I thought you would like to know how things are going down at the Center, sir,\" the young man said briskly \"Esau passed his physical, though there is some question of whether he might need glasses. He has a slight case of astigmatism. Otherwise he is in excellent physical condition for a male of his age. His attitude toward the breeding program has also improved markedly in the past few months. Male orangs become rather solitary, neurotic beings as they mature, sometimes becoming very depressed. Esau was not, up until a few months ago, willing to breed at all. Now he participates regularly and has impregnated one female.\n\n\"What I came to say, sir, is that we feel Esau's job and the friends he has made here have made him a much happier and better adjusted ape than he was before. You are to be congratulated. We would hate to see anything interfere with the emotional well-being he has achieved so far.\"\n\nThis is the best argument of all, Reverend Hoyt thought. A happy ape is a breeding ape. A baptized ape is a happy ape. Therefore...\n\n\"I understand,\" he said, looking at the young man. \"I have been reading about orangutans, but I have questions. If you could give me some time this afternoon, I would appreciate it.\"\n\nThe young man glanced at his watch. Natalie looked uncomfortable. \"Perhaps after the news conference. That lasts until...\" He turned to Natalie. \"Is it four o'clock, Reverend Abreu?\"\n\nShe tried to smile. \"Yes, four. We should be going. Reverend Hoyt, if you'd like to come\u2014\"\n\n\"I believe the bishop is coming later this afternoon, thank you.\" The young man took Natalie's arm. \"After the press conference,\" Reverend Hoyt continued, \"please have Esau put the ladder away. Tell him he does not need to use it.\"\n\n\"But\u2014\"\n\n\"Thank you, Reverend Abreu.\"\n\nNatalie and her young man went to their press conference. He closed all the books he had checked out from the library and stacked them on the end of his desk. Then he put his head in his hands and tried to think.\n\n\"Where's Esau?\" the bishop said when she came in.\n\n\"In the sanctuary, I suppose. He's supposed to be putting the webbing on the inside of the window.\"\n\n\"I didn't see him.\"\n\n\"Maybe Natalie took him with her to her press conference.\"\n\nShe sat down. \"What have you decided?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Yesterday I managed to convince myself he was one of the lower animals. This morning at three I woke from a dream in which he was made a saint. I am no closer to knowing what to do than I have ever been.\"\n\n\"Have you thought, as my archbishop would say, who cannot forget his Baptist upbringing, about what our dear Lord would do?\"\n\n\"You mean, 'Who is my neighbor? And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves.' Esau said that, you know. When I asked him if he knew that God loved him he spelled out the word Samaritan.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" Moira said thoughtfully \"Did he mean the good Samaritan or\u2014\"\n\n\"The odd thing about it was that Natalie'd apparently taught him some kind of shorthand sign for good Samaritan, but he wouldn't use it. He kept spelling the word out, letter by letter.\"\n\n\"How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"John 4. That's what the Samaritan woman said to Jesus at the well.\"\n\n\"You know, one of the first apes they raised with human parents used to have to do this test where she sorted through a pile of pictures and separated the humans from the apes. She could do it perfectly, except for one mistake. She always put her own picture in the human pile.\" He stood up and went and stood at the doors. \"I have thought all along that the reason he wanted to be baptized was because he didn't know he wasn't human. But he knows. He knows.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the bishop. \"I think he does.\"\n\nThey walked together as far as the sanctuary. \"I didn't want to ride my bicycle today,\" she said. \"The reporters recognize it. What is that noise?\"\n\nIt was a peculiar sound, a sort of heavy wheezing. Esau was sitting on the floor by one of the pews, his chest and head leaning on the seat. He was making the noise.\n\n\"Will,\" Moira said. \"The ladder's down. I think he fell.\"\n\nHe whirled. The ladder lay full-length along the middle aisle. The plastic webbing was draped like fish net over the front pews. He knelt by Esau, forgetting to sign. \"Are you all right?\"\n\nEsau looked up at him. His eyes were clouded. There was blood and saliva under his nose and on his chin. \"Go get Natalie,\" Reverend Hoyt said.\n\nNatalie was in the door, looking like a childish angel. The young man from Cheyenne Mountain was with her. Her face went as white as her surplice. \"Go call the doctor,\" she whispered to him, and was instantly on her knees by Esau. \"Esau, are you all right? Is he sick?\"\n\nReverend Hoyt did not know how to tell her. \"I'm afraid he fell, Natalie.\"\n\n\"Off the ladder,\" she said immediately. \"He fell off the ladder.\"\n\n\"Do you think we should lay him down, get his feet up?\" Moira asked. \"He must be in shock.\"\n\nReverend Hoyt lifted Esau's lip a little. The gums were grayish blue. Esau gave a little cough and spewed out a stream of frothy blood onto his chest.\n\n\"Oh,\" Natalie sobbed and put her hand over her mouth.\n\n\"I think he can breathe better in this position,\" Reverend Hoyt said. Moira got a blanket from somewhere. Reverend Hoyt put it over him, tucking it in at his shoulders. Natalie wiped his mouth and nose with the tail of her surplice. They waited for the doctor.\n\nThe doctor was a tall man with owlish glasses. Reverend Hoyt didn't know him. He eased Esau onto his back on the floor and jammed the velvet pew cushion under his feet to prop them up. He looked at Esau's gums, as Reverend Hoyt had done, and took his pulse. He worked slowly and methodically to set up the intravenous equipment and shave a space on Esau's arm. It had a calming effect on Natalie. She leaned back on her heels, and some of the color came back to her cheeks. Reverend Hoyt could see that there was almost no blood pressure. When the doctor inserted the needle and attached it to the plastic tube of sugar water, no blood backed up into the tube.\n\nThe doctor examined Esau gently having Natalie sign questions to him. He did not answer. His breathing eased a little, but blood bubbled out of his nose. \"We've got a peritoneal hernia here,\" the doctor said. \"The organs have been pushed up into the rib cage and aren't giving the lungs enough space. He must have struck something when he fell.\" The corner of the pew. \"He's very shocky. How long ago did this happen?\"\n\n\"Before I came,\" Moira said, standing to the side. \"I didn't see the ladder when I came.\" She collected herself. \"Before three.\"\n\n\"We'll take him in as soon as we get a little bit more fluid in him.\" He turned to the young man. \"Did you call the ambulance?\"\n\nThe young man nodded. Esau coughed again. The blood was bright red and full of bubbles. The doctor said, \"He's bleeding into the lungs.\" He adjusted the intravenous equipment slowly. \"If you will all leave for just a few moments, I'll try to see if I can get him some additional air space in the lungs.\"\n\nNatalie put both hands over her mouth and hiccuped a sob.\n\n\"No,\" Reverend Hoyt said.\n\nThe doctor's look was unmistakable. You know what's coming. I am counting on you to be sensible and get these people out of here so they don't have to see it.\n\n\"No,\" he said again, more softly. \"We would like to do something first. Natalie, go and get the baptismal bowl and my prayer book.\"\n\nShe stood up, wiping a bloody hand across her tears. She did not say anything as she went.\n\n\"Esau,\" Reverend Hoyt said. Please God, let me remember what few signs I know. \"Esau God's child.\" He signed the foolish little salute for God. He held his hand out waist-high for child. He had no idea how to show a possessive.\n\nEsau's breathing was shallower. He raised his right hand a little and made a fist. \"S-A-M\u2014\"\n\n\"No!\" Reverend Hoyt jammed his two fingers against his thumb viciously He shook his head vigorously \"No! Esau God's child!\" The signs would not say what he wanted them to. He crossed his fists on his chest, the sign for love, Esau tried to make the same sign. He could not move his left arm at all. He looked at Reverend Hoyt and raised his right hand. He waved.\n\nNatalie was standing over them, holding the bowl. She was shivering. He motioned her to kneel beside him and sign. He handed the bowl to Moira. \"I baptize thee, Esau,\" he said steadily, and dipped his hand in the water, \"in the name of the Father\"\u2014he put his damp hand gently on the scraggly red head\u2014\"and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.\"\n\nHe stood up and looked at the bishop. He put his arm around Natalie and led her into the nave. After a few minutes the doctor called them back.\n\nEsau was on his back, his arms flung out on either side, his little brown eyes open and unseeing. \"He was just too shocky,\" the doctor said. \"There was nothing but blood left in his lungs.\" He handed his card to Reverend Hoyt. \"My number's on there. If there's anything I can do.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Reverend Hoyt said. \"You've been very kind.\"\n\nThe young man from Cheyenne Mountain said, \"The Center will arrange for disposal of the body.\"\n\nNatalie was looking at the card. \"No,\" she said. Her robe was covered with blood, and damp. \"No, thank you.\"\n\nThere was something in her tone the young man was afraid to question. He went out with the doctor.\n\nNatalie sat down on the floor next to Esau's body. \"He called a vet,\" she said. \"He told me he'd help me get Esau baptized, and then he called a vet, like he was an animal!\" She started to cry, reaching out and patting the limp palm of Esau's hand. \"Oh, my dear friend,\" she said. \"My dear friend.\"\n\nMoira spent the night with Natalie. In the morning she brought her to Reverend Hoyt's office. \"I'll talk to the reporters for you today,\" she said. She hugged them both goodbye.\n\nNatalie sat down in the chair opposite Reverend Hoyt's desk. She was wearing a simple blue skirt and blouse. She held a wadded Kleenex in her hands. \"There isn't anything you can say to me, is there?\" she asked quite steadily. \"I ought to know, after a whole year of counseling everybody else.\" She sounded sad. \"He was in pain, he did suffer a long time, it was my fault.\"\n\n\"I wasn't going to say any of those things to you, Natalie,\" he said gently.\n\nShe was twisting the Kleenex, trying to get to the point where she could speak without crying. \"Esau told me that you tucked him in when he stayed with you. He told me all about your cat, too.\" She was not going to make it. \"I want to thank you... for being so kind to him. And for baptizing him, even though you didn't think he was a person.\" The tears came, little choking sobs. \"I know that you did it for me.\" She stopped, her lips trembling.\n\nHe didn't know how to help her. \"God chooses to believe that we have souls because He loves us,\" he said. \"I think He loves Esau, too. I know we did.\"\n\n\"I'm glad it was me that killed him,\" Natalie said tearfully. \"And not somebody that hated him, like the Charles or something. At least nobody hurt him on purpose.\"\n\n\"No,\" Reverend Hoyt said. \"Not on purpose.\"\n\n\"He was a person, you know, not just an animal.\"\n\n\"I know,\" he said. He felt very sorry for her.\n\nShe stood up and wiped at her eyes with the sodden Kleenex. \"I'd better go see what can be done about the sanctuary.\" She looked totally and finally humiliated, standing there in the blue dress. Natalie the unquenchable quenched at last. He could not bear it.\n\n\"Natalie,\" he said, \"I know you'll be busy but if you have the time would you mind finding a white robe for Sunday for me to wear. I have been meaning to ask you. So many of the congregation have told me how much they thought your robes added to the service. And a stole perhaps. What is the color for Trinity Sunday?\"\n\n\"White,\" she said promptly, and then looked ashamed. \"White and gold.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Blued Moon",
                "text": "For immediate release: Mowen Chemical today announced implementation of an innovative waste emissions installation at its experimental facility in Chugwater, Wyoming. According to project directors Bradley McMee and Lynn Saunders, nonutilizable hydrocarbonaceous substances will be propulsively transferred to stratospheric altitudinal locations, where photochemical decomposition will result in triatomic allotropism and formation of benign bicarbonaceous precipitates. Preliminary predictive databasing indicates positive ozonation yields without statistically significant shifts in lateral ecosystem equilibria.\n\n\"Do you suppose Walter Hunt would have invented the safety pin if he had known that punk rockers would stick them through their cheeks?\" Mr. Mowen said. He was looking gloomily out the window at the distant six hundred-foot-high smokestacks.\n\n\"I don't know, Mr. Mowen,\" Janice said. She sighed. \"Do you want me to tell them to wait again?\"\n\nThe sigh was supposed to mean, It's after four o'clock and it's getting dark, and you've already asked Research to wait three times, and when are you going to make up your mind? but Mr. Mowen ignored it.\n\n\"On the other hand,\" he said, \"what about diapers? And all those babies that would have been stuck with straight pins if it hadn't been for the safety pin?\"\n\n\"It is supposed to help restore the ozone layer, Mr. Mowen,\" Janice said. \"And according to Research, there won't be any harmful side effects.\"\n\n\"You shoot a bunch of hydrocarbons into the stratosphere, and there won't be any harmful side effects. According to Research.\" Mr. Mowen swiveled his chair around to look at Janice, nearly knocking over the picture of his daughter Sally that sat on his desk. \"I stuck Sally once. With a safety pin. She screamed for an hour. How's that for a harmful side effect? And what about the stuff that's left over after all this ozone is formed? Bicarbonate of soda, Research says. Perfectly harmless, How do they know that? Have they ever dumped bicarbonate of soda on people before? Call Research...\" he started to say, but Janice had already picked up the phone and tapped the number. She didn't even sigh. \"Call Research and ask them to figure out what effect a bicarbonate of soda rain would have.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Mowen,\" Janice said. She put the phone up to her ear and listened for a moment. \"Mr. Mowen...\" she said hesitantly.\n\n\"I suppose Research says it'll neutralize the sulfuric acid that's killing the statues and sweeten and deodorize at the same time.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" Janice said. \"Research says they've already started the temperature-differential kilns, and you should be seeing something in a few minutes. They say they couldn't wait any longer.\"\n\nMr. Mowen whipped back around in his chair to look out the window. The picture of Sally teetered again, and Mr. Mowen wondered if she were home from college yet. Nothing was coming out of the smokestacks. He couldn't see the candlestick-base kilns through the maze of fast-food places and trailer parks. A McDonald's sign directly in front of the smokestacks blinked on suddenly, and Mr. Mowen jumped. The smokestacks themselves remained silent and still except for their blinding strobe aircraft lights. He could see sagebrush-covered hills in the space between the stacks, and the whole scene, except for the McDonald's sign, looked unbelievably serene and harmless.\n\n\"Research says the kilns are fired to full capacity,\" Janice said, holding the phone against her chest.\n\nMr. Mowen braced himself for the coming explosion. There was a low rumbling like distant fire, then a puff of whitish smoke, and finally a deep, whooshing sound like one of Janice's sighs, and two columns of blue shot straight up into the darkening sky.\n\n\"Why is it blue?\" Mr. Mowen said.\n\n\"I already asked,\" Janice said. \"Research says visible spectrum diffraction is occurring because of the point eight micron radii of the hydrocarbons being propelled\u2014\"\n\n\"That sounds like that damned press release,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"Tell them to speak English.\"\n\nAfter a minute of talking into the phone, she said, \"It's the same effect that causes the sunsets after a volcanic eruption. Scattering. Research wants to know what staff members you'd like to have at the press conference tomorrow.\"\n\n\"The directors of the project,\" Mr. Mowen said grumpily, \"and anyone over at Research who can speak English.\"\n\nJanice looked at the press release. \"Bradley McAfee and Lynn Saunders are the directors,\" she said.\n\n\"Why does the name McAfee sound familiar?\"\n\n\"He's Ulric Henry's roommate. The company linguist you hired to\u2014\"\n\n\"I know why I hired him. Invite Henry, too. And tell Sally as soon as she gets home that I expect her there. Tell her to dress up.\" He looked at his watch. \"Well,\" he said. \"It's been going five minutes, and there haven't been any harmful side effects yet.\"\n\nThe phone rang. Mr. Mowen jumped. \"I knew it was too good to last,\" he said. \"Who is it? The EPA?\"\n\n\"No,\" Janice said, and sighed. \"It's your ex-wife.\"\n\n\"I'm shut of that,\" Brad said when Ulric came in the door. He was sitting in the dark, the green glow of the monitor lighting his face. He tapped at the terminal keys for a minute more and then turned around. \"All done. Slicker'n goose grease.\"\n\nUlric turned on the light. \"The waste emissions project?\" he said.\n\n\"Nope. We turned that on this afternoon. Works prettier than a spotted pony. No, I been spending the last hour erasing my fianc\u00e9e Lynn's name from the project records.\"\n\n\"Won't Lynn object to that?\" Ulric said, fairly calmly, mostly because he did not have a very clear idea of which one Lynn was. He never could tell Brad's fianc\u00e9es apart. They all sounded exactly the same.\n\n\"She won't hear tell of it till it's too late,\" Brad said. \"She's on her way to Cheyenne to catch a plane back east. Her mother's all het up about getting a divorce. Caught her husband Adam en' Evein'.\"\n\nIf there was anything harder to put up with than Brad's rottenness, it was his incredibly good luck. While Ulric was sure Brad was low enough to engineer a sudden family crisis to get Lynn out of Chugwater, he was just as sure that he had had no need to. It was a lucky coincidence that Lynn's mother was getting a divorce just now, and lucky coincidences were Brad's specialty. How else could he have kept three fianc\u00e9es from ever meeting each other in the small confines of Chugwater and Mowen Chemical?\n\n\"Lynn?\" Ulric said. \"Which one is that? The redhead in programming?\"\n\n\"Nope, that's Sue. Lynn's little and yellow-haired and smart as a whip about chemical engineering. Kind of a dodunk about everythin' else.\"\n\n\"Dodunk,\" Ulric said to himself. He should make a note to look that up. It probably meant \"one so foolish as to associate with Brad McAfee.\" That definitely included him. He had agreed to room with Brad because he was so surprised at being hired that it had not occurred to him to ask for an apartment of his own.\n\nHe had graduated with an English degree that everyone had told him was worse than useless in Wyoming, and which he very soon found out was. In desperation, he had applied for a factory job at Mowen Chemical and been hired on as company linguist at an amazing salary for reasons that had not yet become clear, though he had been at Mowen for over three months. What had become clear was that Brad McAfee was, to use his own colorful language, a thimblerigger, a pigeon plucker, a homswoggler. He was steadily working his way toward the boss's daughter and the ownership of Mowen Chemical, leaving a trail of young women behind him who all apparently believed that a man who pronounced fianc\u00e9e \"fee-an-see\" couldn't possibly have more than one. It was an interesting linguistic phenomenon.\n\nAt first Ulric had been taken in by Brad's homespun talk, too, even though it didn't seem to match his sophisticated abilities on the computer. Then one day he had gotten up early and caught Brad working on a program called Project Sally.\n\n\"I'm gonna be the president of Mowen Chemical in two shakes of a sheep's tail,\" Brad had said. \"This little dingclinker is my master plan. What do you think of it?\"\n\nWhat Ulric thought of it could not he expressed in words. It outlined a plan for getting close to Sally Mowen and impressing her father based almost entirely on the seduction and abandonment of young women in key positions at Mowen Chemical. Three-quarters of the way down he had seen Lynn's name.\n\n\"What if Mr. Mowen gets hold of this program?\" Ulric had said finally.\n\n\"Not a look-in chance that that'd happen. I got this program locked up tighter than a hog's eye. And if anybody else tried to copy it, they'd be sorrier than a coon romancin' a polecat.\"\n\nSince then Ulric had put in six requests for an apartment, all of which had been turned down \"due to restrictive areal housing availability\" which Ulric supposed meant there weren't any empty apartments in Chugwater. All of the turndowns were initialed by Mr. Mowen's secretary, and there were moments when Ulric thought that Mr. Mowen knew about Project Sally after all and had hired Ulric to keep Brad away from his daughter.\n\n\"According to my program, it's time to go to work on Sally,\" Brad said now \"Tomorrow at this press conference. I'm enough of a rumbustigator with this waste emissions project to dazzlefy Old Man Mowen. Sally's going to be there. I got my fianc\u00e9e Gail in publicity to invite her.\"\n\n\"I'm going to be there, too,\" Ulric said belligerently.\n\n\"Now, that's right lucky,\" Brad said. \"You can do a little honeyfuggling for me. Work on old Sally while I give Pappy Mowen the glad hand. Do you know what she looks like?\"\n\n\"I have no intention of honeyfuggling Sally Mowen for you,\" Ulric said, and wondered again where Brad managed to pick up all these slang expressions. He had caught Brad watching Judy Canova movies on TV a couple of times, but some of these words weren't even in Menoken. He probably had a computer program that generated them. \"In fact, I intend to tell her you're engaged to more than one person already.\"\n\n\"Boy, you're sure wadgetty,\" Brad said. \"And you know why? Because you don't have a gal of your own. Tell you what, you pick out one of mine, and I'll give her to you. How about Sue?\"\n\nUlric walked over to the window. \"I don't want her,\" he said.\n\n\"I bet you don't even know which one she is,\" Brad said.\n\nI don't, Ulric thought. They all sound exactly alike. They use interface as a verb and support as an adjective. One of them had called for Brad and when Ulric told her he was over at Research, she had said, \"Sorry. My wetware's nonfunctional this morning.\" Ulric felt as if he were living in a foreign country.\n\n\"What difference does it make?\" Ulric said angrily. \"Not one of them speaks English, which is probably why they're all dumb enough to think they're engaged to you.\"\n\n\"How about if I get you a gal who speaks English and you honeyfuggle Sally Mowen for me?\" Brad said. He turned to the terminal and began typing furiously \"What exactly do you want?\"\n\nUlric clenched his fists and looked out the window. The dead cottonwood under the window had a kite or something caught in its branches. He debated climbing down the tree and walking over to Mr. Mowen's office to demand an apartment.\n\n\"Makes no never mind,\" Brad said when he didn't answer. \"I've heard you oratin' often enough on the subject.\" He typed a minute more and hit the print button. \"There,\" he said.\n\nUlric turned around.\n\nBrad read from the monitor, \"'Wanted: Young woman who can generate enthusiasm for the Queen's English, needs to use correct grammar and syntax, no gobbledy-gook, no slang, respect for the language. Signed, Ulric Henry.' What do you think of that? It's the spittin' image of the way you talk.\"\n\n\"I can find my own 'gals,'\" Ulric said. He yanked the sheet of paper as it was still coming out of the printer, ripping over half the sheet in a long ragged diagonal. Now it read, Wanted: Young woman who can generate language. Ulric H.\"\n\n\"I'll swop you horses,\" Brad said. \"If this don't rope you in a nice little filly, I'll give you Lynn when she gets back. It'll cheer her up, after getting her name taken off the project and all. What do you think of that?\"\n\nUlric put the scrap of paper down carefully on the table, trying to resist the impulse to wad it up and cram it down Brad's throat. He slammed the window up. There was a sudden burst of chilly wind, and the paper on the table balanced uneasily and then drifted onto the windowsill.\n\n\"What if Lynn misses her plane in Cheyenne?\" Ulric said. \"What if she comes back here and runs into one of your other fianc\u00e9es?\"\n\n\"No chance on the map,\" Brad said cheerfully \"I got me a program for that, too.\" He tore the rest of the paper out of the printer and wadded it up. \"Two of my fianc\u00e9es come callin' at the same time, they have to come up in the elevators, and there's only two of them. They work on the same signals, so I made me up a program that stops the elevators between floors if my security code gets read in more than once in an hour. It makes an override beep go off on my terminal, too, so's I can soft-shoe the first gal down the back stairs.\" He stood up. \"I gotta go over to Research and check on the waste emissions project again. You better find yourself a gal right quick. You're givin' me the flit-flats with all this unfriendly talk.\"\n\nHe grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and went out. He slammed the door, perhaps because he had the flit-flats, and the resultant breeze hit the scrap of paper on the windowsill and sailed it neatly out the window.\n\n\"Flit-flats,\" Ulric mumbled to himself, and tried to call Mowen's office. The line was busy.\n\nSally Mowen called her father as soon as she got home. \"Hi, Janice,\" she said. \"Is Dad there?\"\n\n\"He just left,\" Janice said. \"But I have a feeling he might stop by Research. He's worried about the new stratospheric waste emissions project.\"\n\n\"I'll walk over and meet him.\"\n\n\"Your father said to tell you there's a press conference tomorrow at eleven. Are you at your terminal?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sally said, and flicked the power on.\n\n\"I'll send the press releases for you so you'll know what's going on.\"\n\nSally was going to say that she had already received an invitation to the press conference and the accompanying PR material from someone named Gail, but changed her mind when she saw what was being printed out on the printer. \"You didn't send me the press releases,\" she said. \"You sent me a bio on somebody named Ulric Henry. Who's he?\"\n\n\"I did?\" Janice said, sounding flustered. \"I'll try it again.\"\n\nSally held up the tail of the printout sheet as it came rolling out of the computer. \"Now I've got a picture of him.\" The picture showed a dark-haired young man with an expression somewhere between dismay and displeasure. I'll bet someone just told him she thought they could have a viable relationship, Sally thought. \"Who is he?\"\n\nJanice sighed, a quick, flustered kind of sigh. \"I didn't mean to send that to you. He's the company linguist. I think your father invited him to the press conference to write press releases.\"\n\nI thought the press releases were already done and you were sending them to me, Sally thought, but she said, \"When did my father hire a linguist?\"\n\n\"Last summer,\" Janice said, sounding even more flustered. \"How's school?\"\n\n\"Fine,\" Sally said. \"And no, I'm not getting married. I'm not even having a viable relationship, whatever that is.\"\n\n\"Your mother called today. She's in Cheyenne at a NOW rally,\" Janice said, which sounded like a non sequitur, but wasn't. With a mother like Sally's, it was no wonder her father worried himself sick over who Sally might marry. Sometimes Sally worried, too. Viable relationship.\n\n\"How did Charlotte sound?\" Sally said. \"No, wait. I already know. Look, don't worry about the press conference stuff. I already know all about it. Gail somebody in publicity sent me an invitation. That's why I came home for Thanksgiving a day early.\"\n\n\"She did?\" Janice said. \"Your father didn't mention it. He probably forgot. He's been a little worried about this project,\" she said, which must be the understatement of the year, Sally thought, if he'd managed to rattle Janice. \"So you haven't met anyone nice?\"\n\n\"No,\" Sally said. \"Yes. I'll tell you tomorrow.\" She hung up. They're all nice, she thought. That isn't the problem. They're nice, but they're incoherent. A viable relationship. What on earth was that? And what was \"respecting your personal space\"? Or \"fulfilling each other's socioeconomic needs\"? I have no idea what they are talking about, Sally thought. I have been going out with a bunch of foreigners.\n\nShe put her coat and her hat back on and started down in the elevator to find her father. Poor man. He knew what it was like to be married to someone who didn't speak English. She could imagine what the conversation with her mother had been like. All sisters and sexist pigs. She hadn't been speaking ERA very long. The last time she called, she had been speaking est and the time before that California. It was no wonder Sally's father had hired a secretary that communicated almost entirely through sighs, and that Sally had majored in English.\n\nTomorrow at the press conference would be dreadful. She would be surrounded by nice young men who spoke Big Business or Computer or Bachelor on the Make, and she would not understand a word they said.\n\nIt suddenly occurred to her that the company linguist, Ulric Something, might speak English, and she punched in her security code all over again and went back up in the elevator to get the printout with his address on it. She decided to go through the oriental gardens to get to Research instead of taking the car. She told herself it was shorter, which was true, but she was really thinking that if she went through them, she would go past the housing unit where Ulric Henry lived.\n\nThe oriental gardens had originally been designed as a shortcut through the maze of fast-food places that had sprung up around Mowen Chemical, making it impossible to get anywhere quickly. Her father had purposely stuck Mowen Chemical on the outskirts of Chugwater so the plant wouldn't disturb the natives, trying to make the original buildings and housing blend in to the Wyoming landscape. The natives had promptly disturbed Mowen Chemical, so that by the time they built the Research complex and computer center, the only land not covered with Kentucky Fried Chickens and Arbys was in the older part of town and very far from the original buildings. Mr. Mowen had given up trying not to disturb the natives. He had built the oriental gardens so that at least people could get from home to work and back again without being run over by the Chugwaterians. Actually, he had intended just to put in a brick path that would wind through the original Mowen buildings and connect them with the new ones, but at the time Charlotte had been speaking Zen. She had insisted on bonsais and a curving bridge over the irrigation ditch. Before the landscaping was finished, she had switched to an anti-Watt dialect that had put an end to the marriage and sent Sally flying off east to school. During that same period her mother had campaigned to save the dead cottonwood she was standing under now, picketing her husband's office with signs that read tree murderer!\n\nSally stood under the dead cottonwood tree, counting the windows so she could figure out which was Ulric Henry's apartment. There were three windows on the sixth floor with lights in all three, and the middle window was open for some unknown reason, but it would require an incredible coincidence to have Ulric Henry come and stand at one of the windows while Sally was standing there so she could shout up to him, \"Do you speak English?\"\n\nI wasn't looking for him anyway, she told herself stubbornly I'm on my way to meet my father, and I stopped to look at the moon. My, it certainly is a peculiar blue color tonight. She stood a few minutes longer under the tree, pretending to look at the moon, but it was getting very cold, the moon did not seem to be getting any bluer, and even if it were, it did not seem like an adequate reason for freezing to death, so she pulled her hat down farther over her ears and walked past the bonsais and over the curved bridge towards Research.\n\nAs soon as she was across the bridge, Ulric Henry came to the middle window and shut it. The movement of pulling the window shut made a little breeze. The torn piece of printout paper that had been resting on the ledge fluttered to a place closer to the edge and then went over, drifting down in the bluish moonlight past the kite, and coming to rest on the second lowest branch of the cottonwood tree.\n\nWednesday morning Mr. Mowen got up early so he could get some work done at the office before the press conference. Sally wasn't up yet, so he put the coffee on and went into the bathroom to shave. He plugged his electric razor into the outlet above the sink, and the light over the mirror promptly went out. He took the cord out of the outlet and unscrewed the blackened bulb. Then he pattered into the kitchen in his bare feet to look for another light bulb.\n\nHe put the burned-out bulb gently in the wastebasket next to the sink and began opening cupboards. He picked up the syrup bottle to look behind it. The lid was not screwed on tightly, and the syrup bottle dropped with a thud onto its side and began oozing syrup all over the cupboard. Mr. Mowen grabbed a paper towel, which tore in a ragged, useless diagonal, and tried to mop it up. He knocked the salt shaker over into the pool of syrup. He grabbed the other half of the paper towel and turned on the hot water faucet to wet it. The water came out in a steaming blast.\n\nMr. Mowen jumped sideways to get out of the path of the boiling water and knocked over the wastebasket. The light bulb bounced out and smashed onto the kitchen floor. Mr. Mowen stepped on a large ragged piece. He tore off more paper towels to stanch the blood and limped back to the bathroom, walking on the side of his bleeding foot, to get a bandaid.\n\nHe had forgotten about the light in the bathroom being burned out. Mr. Mowen felt his way to the medicine cabinet, knocking the shampoo and a box of Q-Tips into the sink before he found the bandaids. The shampoo lid wasn't screwed on tightly either. He took the metal box of bandaids back to the kitchen.\n\nIt was bent, and Mr. Mowen got a dent in his thumb trying to pry the lid off. As he was pushing on it, the lid suddenly sprang free, spraying bandaids all over the kitchen floor. Mr. Mowen picked one up, being careful to avoid the pieces of light bulb, ripped the end off the wrapper, and pulled on the orange string. The string came out. Mr. Mowen looked at the string for a long minute and then tried to open the bandaid from the back.\n\nWhen Sally came into the kitchen, Mr. Mowen was sitting on a kitchen chair sucking his bleeding thumb and holding a piece of paper towel to his other foot. \"What happened?\" she said.\n\n\"I cut myself on a broken light bulb,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"It went out while I was trying to shave.\"\n\nShe grabbed for a piece of paper toweling. It tore off cleanly at the perforation, and Sally wrapped Mr. Mowen's thumb in it. \"You know better than to try to pick up a broken light bulb,\" she said. \"You should have gotten a broom.\"\n\n\"I did not try to pick up the light bulb,\" he said. \"I cut my thumb on a bandaid. I cut my feet on the light bulb.\"\n\n\"Oh, I see,\" Sally said. \"Don't you know better than to try to pick up a light bulb with your feet?\"\n\n\"This isn't funny,\" Mr. Mowen said indignantly. \"I am in a lot of pain.\"\n\n\"I know it isn't funny,\" Sally said. She picked a bandaid up off the floor, tore off the end, and pulled the string neatly along the edge of the wrapping. \"Are you going to be able to make it to your press conference?\"\n\n\"Of course I'm going to be able to make it. And I expect you to be there, too.\"\n\n\"I will,\" Sally said, peeling another bandaid and applying it to the bottom of his foot. \"I'm going to leave as soon as I get this mess cleaned up so I can walk over. Or would you like me to drive you?\"\n\n\"I can drive myself,\" Mr. Mowen said, starting to get up.\n\n\"You stay right there until I get your slippers,\" Sally said, and darted out of the kitchen. The phone rang. \"I'll get it,\" Sally called from the bedroom. \"You don't budge out of that chair.\"\n\nMr. Mowen picked a bandaid up off the floor, tore the end off of it, and peeled the string along the side, which made him feel considerably better. My luck must be starting to change, he thought. \"Who's on the phone?\" he said cheerfully as Sally came back into the kitchen carrying his slippers and the phone.\n\nShe plugged the phone cord into the wall and handed him the receiver. \"It's Mother,\" she said. \"She wants to talk to the sexist pig.\"\n\nUlric was getting dressed for the press conference when the phone rang. He let Brad answer it. When he walked into the living room, Brad was hanging up the phone.\n\n\"Lynn missed her plane,\" Brad said.\n\nUlric looked up hopefully. \"She did?\"\n\n\"Yes. She's taking one out this afternoon. While she was shooting the breeze, she let fall she'd signed her name on the press release that was sent out on the computer.\"\n\n\"And Mowen's already read it,\" Ulric said. \"So he'll know you stole the project away from her.\" He was in no mood to mince words. He had lain awake most of the night trying to decide what to say to Sally Mowen. What if he told her about Project Sally and she looked blankly at him and said, \"Sorry. My wetware is inoperable?\"\n\n\"I didn't steal the project,\" Brad said amiably. \"I just sort of skyugled it away from her when she wasn't looking. And I already got it back. I called Gail as soon as Lynn hung up and asked her to take Lynn's name off the press releases before Old Man Mowen saw them. It was right lucky, Lynn missing her plane and all.\"\n\nUlric put his down parka on over his sports coat.\n\n\"Are you heading for the press conference?\" Brad said. \"Wait till I rig myself out, and I'll ride over with you.\"\n\n\"I'm walking,\" Ulric said, and opened the door.\n\nThe phone rang. Brad answered it. \"No, I wasn't watching the morning movie,\" Brad said, \"but I'd take it big if you'd let me gander a guess anyway. I'll say the movie is Carolina Cannonball and the jackpot is six hundred and fifty-one dollars. That's right? Well, bust my buttons. That was a right lucky guess.\"\n\nUlric slammed the door behind him.\n\nWhen Mr. Mowen still wasn't in the office by ten, Janice called him at home. She got a busy signal. She sighed, waited a minute, and tried again. The line was still busy. Before she could hang up, the phone flashed an incoming call. She punched the button. \"Mr. Mowen's office,\" she said.\n\n\"Hi,\" the voice on the phone said. \"This is Gail over in publicity. The press releases contain an inoperable statement. You haven't sent any out, have you?\"\n\nI tried. Janice thought with a little sigh. \"No,\" she said.\n\n\"Good. I wanted to confirm nonrelease before I effected the deletion.\"\n\n\"What deletion?\" Janice said. She tried to call up the press release but got a picture of Ulric Henry instead.\n\n\"The release catalogs Lynn Saunders as co-designer of the project.\"\n\n\"I thought she was co-designer.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Gail said. \"My fianc\u00e9 Brad McAfee designed the whole project. I'm glad the number of printouts is nonsignificant.\"\n\nAfter Gail hung up, Janice tried Mr. Mowen again. The line was still busy Janice called up the company directory on her terminal, got a resume on Ulric Henry instead, and called the Chugwater operator on the phone. The operator gave her Lynn Saunders' number. Janice called Lynn and got her roommate.\n\n\"She's not here,\" the roommate said. \"She had to leave for back east as soon as she was done with the waste emissions thing. Her mother was doing head trips on her. She was really bummed out by it.\"\n\n\"Do you have a number where I could reach her?\" Janice asked.\n\n\"I sure don't,\" the roommate said. \"She wasn't with it at all when she left. Her fianc\u00e9 might have a number.\"\n\n\"Her fianc\u00e9?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Brad McAfee.\"\n\n\"I think if she calls you'd better have her call me. Priority.\" Janice hung up the phone. She called up the company directory on her terminal again and got the press release for the new emissions project. Lynn's name was nowhere on it. She sighed, an odd, angry sigh, and tried Mr. Mowen's number again. It was still busy.\n\nOn Sally's way past Ulric Henry's housing unit, she noticed something fluttering high up in the dead cottonwood tree. The remains of a kite were tangled at the very top, and just out of reach, on the second lowest branch, there was a piece of white paper. She tried a couple of half hearted jumps, swiping at the paper with her hand, but she succeeded only in blowing the paper farther out of reach. If she could get the paper down, she could take it up to Ulric Henry's apartment and ask him if it had fallen out of his window. She looked around for a stick and then stood still, feeling foolish. There was no more reason to go after the paper than to attempt to get the ruined kite down, she told herself, but even as she thought that, she was measuring the height of the branches to see if she could get a foot up and reach the paper from there. One branch wouldn't do it, but two might. There was no one in the gardens. This is ridiculous, she told herself, and swung up into the crotch of the tree.\n\nShe climbed swiftly up to the third branch, stretched out across it, and reached for the paper. Her fingers did not quite reach, so she straightened up again, hanging onto the trunk to get her balance, and made a kind of down-sweeping lunge toward the piece of paper. She lost her balance and nearly missed the branch, and the wind she had created by her sudden movement blew the paper all the way to the end of the branch, where it teetered precariously but did not fall off.\n\nSomeone was coming across the curving bridge. She blew a couple of times on the paper and then stopped. She was going to have to go out on the branch. Maybe the paper is blank, she thought. I can hardly take a blank piece of paper to Ulric Henry, but she was already testing the weight of the branch with her hand. It seemed finn enough, and she began to edge out onto the dead branch, holding onto the trunk until the last possible moment and then dropping into an inching crawl that brought her directly over the sidewalk. From there she was able to reach the paper easily.\n\nThe paper was part of a printout from a computer, torn raggedly at an angle. It read, \"Wanted: Young woman who can generate language. Ulric. H.\" The ge in \"language\" was missing, but otherwise the message made perfect sense, which she would have thought was peculiar if she had not been so surprised at the message. Her area of special study was language generation. She had spent all last week in class doing it, using all the rules of linguistic change on existing words: generalization and specialization of meaning, change in part of speech, shortening, prepositional verb clustering, to create a new-sounding language. It had been almost impossible to do at first, but by the end of the week, she had greeted her professor with, \"Good aft. I readed up my book taskings,\" without even thinking about it. She could certainly do the same thing with Ulric Henry, whom she had been wanting to meet anyway.\n\nShe had forgotten about the man she had seen coming across the bridge. He was almost to the tree now. In approximately ten more steps he would look up and see her crouched there like an insane vulture. How will I explain this to my father if anyone sees me? she thought, and put a cautious foot behind her. She was still wondering when the branch gave way.\n\nMr. Mowen did not leave for the press conference until a quarter to eleven. He had still been on the phone with Charlotte when Sally left, and when he had asked Charlotte to wait a minute so he could tell Sally to wait and he'd drive her over, Charlotte had called him a sexist tyrant and accused him of stifling Sally's dominant traits by repressive male psychological intimidation. Mr. Mowen had had no idea what she was talking about.\n\nSally had swept up the glass and put a new light bulb in the bathroom before she left, but Mr. Mowen had decided not to tempt fate. He had shaved with a disposable razor instead. Leaning over to get a piece of toilet paper to put on the cut on his chin, he had cracked his head on the medicine cabinet door. After that, he had sat very still on the edge of the tub for nearly half an hour, wishing Sally were home so she could help him get dressed.\n\nAt the end of the half hour, Mr. Mowen decided that stress was the cause of the series of coincidences that had plagued him all morning (Charlotte had spoken Biofeedback for a couple of weeks), and that if he just relaxed, everything would be all right. He took several deep, calming breaths and stood up. The medicine cabinet was still open.\n\nBy moving very carefully and looking for hazards everywhere, Mr. Mowen managed to get dressed and out to the car. He had not been able to find any socks that matched, and the elevator had taken him all the way to the roof, but Mr. Mowen breathed deeply and calmly each time, and he was even beginning to feel relaxed by the time he opened the door to the car.\n\nHe got into the car and shut the door. It caught the tail of his coat. He opened the door again and leaned over to pull the coat out of the way. One of his gloves fell out of his pocket onto the ground. He leaned over farther to rescue the glove and cracked his head on the armrest of the door.\n\nHe took a deep, rather ragged breath, snagged the glove, and pulled the door shut. He took the keys out of his pocket and inserted the car key in the ignition. The key chain snapped open and scattered the rest of his keys all over the floor of the front seat. When he bent over to pick them up, being very careful not to hit his head on the steering wheel, his other glove fell out of his pocket. He left the keys where they were and straightened up again, watching out for the turn signals and the sun visor. He turned the key with its still dangling key chain. The car wouldn't start.\n\nVery slowly and carefully he got out of the car and went back up to the apartment to call Janice and tell her to cancel the press conference. The phone was busy.\n\nUlric didn't see the young woman until she was nearly on top of him. He had been walking with his head down and his hands jammed into the pockets of his parka, thinking about the press conference. He had left the apartment without his watch and walked very rapidly over to Research. He had been over an hour early; and no one had been there except one of Brad's fianc\u00e9es whose name he couldn't remember. She had said, \"Your biological clock is nonfunctional. Your biorhythms must be low today,\" and he had told her they were, even though he had no idea what they were talking about.\n\nHe had walked back across the oriental gardens, feeling desperate. He was not sure he could stand the press conference, even to warn Sally Mowen. Maybe he should forget about going and walk all over Chugwater instead, grabbing young women by the arm and saying, \"Do you speak English?\"\n\nWhile he was considering this idea, there was a loud snap overhead, and the young woman fell on him. He tried to get his hands out of his pockets to catch her, but it took him a moment to realize that he was under the cottonwood tree and that the snap was the sound of a branch breaking, so be didn't succeed. He did get one band out of his pocket and he did take one bracing step back, but it wasn't enough. She landed on him full force, and they rolled off the sidewalk and onto the leaves. When they came to a stop, Ulric was on top of her, with one arm under her and the other one hung above her head. Her wool hat had come off and her hair was spread out nicely against the frost-rimed leaves. His hand was tangled in her hair. She was looking up at him as if she knew him. It did not even occur to him to ask her if she spoke English.\n\nAfter a while it did occur to him that he was going to be late to the press conference. The hell with the press conference, he thought. The hell with Sally Mowen, and kissed her again. After a few more minutes of that, his arm began to go numb, and he disengaged his hand from her hair and put his weight on it to pull himself up.\n\nShe didn't move, even when he got onto his knees beside her and extended a hand to help her up. She lay there, looking up at him as if she were thinking hard about something. Then she seemed to come to a decision because she took his hand and let him pull her up. She pointed above and behind him. \"The moon blues,\" she said.\n\n\"What?\" he said. He wondered if the branch had cracked her on the head.\n\nShe was still pointing. \"The moon blues,\" she said again. \"It blued up some last dark, but now it blues moreishly.\"\n\nHe turned to look in the direction she was pointing, and sure enough, the three-quarters moon was a bright blue in the morning sky which explained what she was talking about, but not the way she was talking. \"Are you all right?\" he said. \"You're not hurt, are you?\" She shook her head. You never ask someone with a concussion if they are all right, he thought. \"Does your head hurt?\"\n\nShe shook her head again. Maybe she wasn't hurt. Maybe she was a foreign exchange consultant in Research. \"Where are you from?\" he said.\n\nShe looked surprised. \"I falled down of the tree. You catched me with your face.\" She brushed the cottonwood leaves out of her hair and put her wool hat back on.\n\nShe understood everything he said, and she was definitely speaking English words even though the effect wasn't much like English. You catched me with your face. Irregular verb into regular. The moon blues. Adjective becomes verb. Those were both ways language evolved. \"What were you doing in the tree?\" he said, so she would talk some more.\n\n\"I hidinged in the tree for cause people point you with their faces when you English oddishly.\"\n\nEnglish oddishly. \"You're generating language, aren't you?\" Ulric said. \"Do you know Brad McAfee?\"\n\nShe looked blank, and a little surprised, the way Brad had probably told her to when he put her up to this. He wondered which one of Brad's fianc\u00e9es this was. Probably the one in programming. They had had to come up with all this generated language somewhere. \"I'm late for a press conference,\" he said sharply, \"as you well know. I've got to talk to Sally Mowen.\" He didn't put out his hand to help her up. \"You can go tell Brad his little honeyfuggling scheme didn't work.\"\n\nShe stood up without his help and walked across the sidewalk, past the fallen branch. She knelt down and picked up a scrap of paper and looked at it for a long time. He considered yanking it out of her hand and looking at it since it was probably Brad's language generation program, but he didn't. She folded it and put it in her pocket.\n\n\"You can tell him your kissing me didn't work,\" he said, which was a lie. He wanted to kiss her again as he said it, and that made him angrier than ever. Brad had probably told her he was wadgetty, that what he needed was a half hour in the leaves with her. \"I'm still going to tell Sally.\"\n\nShe looked at him from the other side of the sidewalk.\n\n\"And don't get any ideas about trying to stop me.\" He was shouting now. \"Because they won't work.\"\n\nHis anger got him over the curving bridge. Then it occurred to him that even if she was one of Brad's fianc\u00e9es, even if she had been hired to kiss him in the leaves and keep him from going to the press conference, he was in love with her, and he went tearing back, but she was nowhere in sight.\n\nAt a little after eleven Janice got a call from Gail in publicity. \"Where is Mr. Mowen? He hasn't shown up, and my media credibility is effectively nonfunctional.\"\n\n\"I'll try to call him at home,\" Janice said. She put Gail on hold and dialed Mr. Mowen's apartment. The line was busy. When she punched up the hold button to tell Gail that, the line went dead. Janice tried to call her back. The line was busy.\n\nShe typed in the code for a priority that would override whatever was on Mr. Mowen's home terminal. After the code, she typed, \"Call Janice at office.\" She looked at it for a minute, then back-erased and typed, \"Press conference. Research. Eleven A.M.,\" and pressed RUN. The screen clicked once and displayed the preliminary test results of side effects on the waste emissions project. At the bottom of the screen, she read, \"Tangential consequences statistically negligible.\"\n\n\"You want to bet?\" Janice said.\n\nShe called programming. \"There's something wrong with my terminal,\" she said to the woman on the line.\n\n\"This is Sue in peripherals rectification. Is your problem in implementation or hardware?\"\n\nShe sounded just like Gail in publicity \"You wouldn't know Brad McAfee, would you?\" she said.\n\n\"He's my fianc\u00e9,\" Sue said. \"Why?\"\n\nJanice sighed. \"I keep getting readouts that have nothing to do with what I punch in,\" Janice said.\n\n\"Oh, then you want hardware repair. The numbers in your terminal directory,\" she said, and hung up.\n\nJanice called up the terminal directory. At first nothing happened. Then the screen clicked once and displayed something titled Project Sally. Janice noticed Lynn Saunders' name three-quarters of the way down the screen, and Sally Mowen's at the bottom. She started at the top and read it all the way through. Then she typed in PRINT and read it again as it came rolling out of the printer. When it was done, she tore off the sheet carefully, put it in a file folder, and put the file folder in her desk.\n\n\"I found your glove in the elevator,\" Sally said when she came in. She looked terrible, as if the experience of finding Mr. Mowen's glove had been too much for her. \"Is the press conference over?\"\n\n\"I didn't go,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"I was afraid I'd run into a tree. Could you drive me over to the office? I told Janice I'd be there by nine and it's two-thirty.\"\n\n\"Tree?\" Sally said. \"I fell out of a tree today. On a linguist.\"\n\nMr. Mowen put on his overcoat and fished around in the pockets. \"I've lost my other glove,\" he said. \"That makes fifty-eight instances of bad luck I've had already this morning, and I've been sitting stock-still for the last two hours. I made a list. The pencil broke, and the eraser, and I erased a hole right through the paper, and I didn't even count those.\" He put the single glove in his coat pocket.\n\nSally opened the door for him, and they went down the hall to the elevator. \"I never should have said that about the moon,\" she said. \"I should have said hello. Just a simple hello. So what if the note said he wanted someone who could generate language? That didn't mean I had to do it right then, before I even told him who I was.\"\n\nMr. Mowen punched his security code into the elevator. The reject light came on. \"Fifty-nine,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"That's too many coincidences to just be a coincidence. And all bad. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was trying to kill me.\"\n\nSally punched in her security code. The elevator slid open. \"I've been walking around for hours, trying to figure out how I could have been so stupid,\" Sally said. \"He was on his way to meet me. At the press conference. He had something to tell me. If I'd just stood up after I fell on him and said, 'Hello, I'm Sally Mowen, and I've found this note. Do you really want someone who can generate language?' but oh, no, I have to say, 'The moon blues.' I should have just kept kissing him and never said anything. But oh, no, I couldn't let well enough alone.\"\n\nMr. Mowen let Sally push the floor button in the elevator so no more warning lights would flash on. He also let her open the door of the apartment building. On the way out to the car, he stepped in some gum.\n\n\"Sixty. If I didn't know better, I'd say your mother was behind this,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"She's coming up here this afternoon. To see if I'm minimizing your self-realization potential with my chauvinistic role expectations. That should count for a dozen bad coincidences all by itself.\" He got in the car, hunching far back in the seat so he wouldn't crack his head on the sun visor. He peered out the window at the gray sky. \"Maybe there'll be a blizzard and she won't be able to get up from Cheyenne.\"\n\nSally reached for something under the driver's seat. \"Here's your other glove,\" she said, handed it over to him, and started the car. \"That note was torn in half. Why didn't I think about the words that were missing instead of deciding the message was all there? He probably wanted somebody who could generate electricity and speak a foreign language. Just because I liked his picture and I thought he might speak English I had to go and make a complete fool out of myself.\"\n\nIt started to snow halfway to the office. Sally turned on the windshield wipers. \"With my luck,\" Mr. Mowen said, \"there'll be a blizzard, and I'll be snowed in with Charlotte.\" He looked out the side window at the smokestacks. They were shooting another wavery blue blast into the air. \"It's the waste emissions project. Somehow it's causing all these damn coincidences.\"\n\nSally said, \"I look and look for someone who speaks decent English, and when I finally meet him, what do I say? You catched me with your face. And now he thinks somebody named Brad McAfee put me up to it to keep him from getting to a press conference, and he'll never speak to me again. Stupid! How could I have been so stupid?\"\n\n\"I never should have let them start the project without more testing,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"What if we're putting too much ozone into the ozone layer? What if this bicarbonate of soda fallout is doing something to people's digestion? No measurable side effects, they said. Well, how do you measure bad luck? By the fatality rates?\"\n\nSally had pulled into a parking space directly in front of Mr. Mowen's office. It was snowing hard now. Mr. Mowen pulled on the glove Sally had handed him. He fished in his pocket for the other one. \"Sixty-one,\" he said. \"Sally will you go in with me? I'll never get the elevator to work.\"\n\nSally walked with him into the building. On the way up in the elevator, she said, \"If you're so convinced the waste emissions project is causing your bad luck, why don't you tell Research to turn it off?\"\n\n\"They'd never believe me. Whoever heard of coincidences as a side effect of trash?\"\n\nThey went into the outer office. Janice said, \"Hello!\" as if they had returned from an arctic expedition. Mr. Mowen said, \"Thanks, Sally. I think I can make it from here.\" He patted her on the shoulder. \"Why don't you go explain what happened to this young man and tell him you're sorry?\"\n\n\"I don't think that would work,\" Sally said. She kissed him on the cheek. \"We're in bad shape, aren't we?\"\n\nMr. Mowen turned to Janice. \"Get me Research, and don't let my wife in,\" he said, went into his office, and shut the door. There was a crash and the muffled sound of Mr. Mowen swearing.\n\nJanice sighed. \"This young man of yours,\" she said to Sally. \"His name wouldn't be Brad McAfee, would it?\"\n\n\"No,\" Sally said, \"but he thinks it is.\" On the way to the elevator she stopped and picked up Mr. Mowen's glove and put it in her pocket.\n\nAfter Mr. Mowen's secretary hung up, Sue called Brad. She wasn't sure what the connection was between Brad and Mr. Mowen's secretary's terminal not working, but she thought she'd better let him know that Mr. Mowen's secretary knew his name.\n\nThere was no answer. She tried again at lunch and again on her afternoon break. The third time the line was busy At a quarter of three her supervisor came in and told Sue she could leave early, since heavy snow was predicted for rush hour. Sue tried Brad's number one more time to make sure he was there. It was still busy.\n\nIt was a good thing she was getting off early. She had only worn a sweater to work, and it was already snowing so hard she could hardly see out the window. She had worn sandals, too. Somebody had left a pair of bright blue moon boots in the coatroom, so she pulled those on over her sandals and went out to the parking lot. She wiped the snow off the windshield with the sleeve of her sweater, and started over to Brad's apartment.\n\n\"You didn't meander on over to the press conference,\" Brad said when Ulric came in.\n\n\"No,\" Ulric said. He didn't take off his coat.\n\n\"Old Man Mowen didn't either. Which was right lucky, because I got to jaw with all those reporters instead of him. Where did you go off to? You look colder than an otter on a snowslide.\"\n\n\"I was with the 'gal' you found for me. The one you had jump me so I wouldn't go to the press conference and ruin your chances with Sally Mowen.\"\n\nBrad was sitting at his terminal. \"Sally wasn't there, which turned out to be right lucky because I met this reporter name of Jill who...\" He turned around and looked at Ulric. \"What gal are you talking about?\"\n\n\"The one you had conveniently fall out of a tree on me. I take it she was one of your spare fianc\u00e9es. What did you do? Make her climb out of the apartment window?\"\n\n\"Now let me get this straight. Some gal fell out of that old cottonwood on top of you? And you think I did it?\"\n\n\"Well, if you didn't, it was an amazing coincidence that the branch broke just as I was passing under it and an even more amazing coincidence that she generated language, which was just what that printout you came up with read. But the most amazing coincidence of all is the punch in the nose you're going to get right now.\"\n\n\"Now, don't get so dudfoozled. I didn't drop no gal on you, and if I'm lyin', let me be kicked to death by grasshoppers. If I was going to do something like that, I'd have gotten you one who could speak good English, like you wanted, not\u2014what did you say she did? Generated language?\"\n\n\"You expect me to believe it's all some kind of coincidence?\" Ulric shouted. \"What kind of-of dodunk do you take me for?\"\n\n\"I'll admit it is a pretty seldom thing to have happen,\" Brad said thoughtfully \"This morning I found me a hundred-dollar bill on the way to the press conference. Then I meet this reporter Jill and we get to talking and we have a whole lot in common like her favorite movie is Lay That Rifle Down with Judy Canova in it, and then it turns out she's Sally Mowen's roommate last year in college.\"\n\nThe phone rang. Brad picked it up. \"Well, ginger peachy. Come on over. It's the big housing unit next to the oriental gardens. Apartment 6B.\" He hung up the phone. \"Now that's just what I been talking about. That was that gal reporter on the phone. I asked her to come over so's I could honeyfuggle her into introducing me to Sally and she says she can't 'cause she's gotta catch a plane outta Cheyenne. But now she says the highway's closed, and she's stuck here in Chugwater. Now that kind of good luck doesn't happen once in a blue moon.\"\n\n\"What?\" Ulric said, and unclenched his fists for the first time since he'd come into the room. He went over to look out the window. He couldn't see the moon that had been in the sky earlier. He supposed it had long since set, and anyway it was starting to snow. \"The moon blues,\" he said softly to himself.\n\n\"Since she is coming over here, maybe you should skedaddle so as not to spoil this run of good luck I am having.\"\n\nUlric pulled Collected American Slang out of the bookcase and looked up, \"moon, blue\" in the index. The entry read, \"Once in a blue moon: rare, as an unusual coincidence, orig. rare as a blue moon; based on the rare occurrence of a blue-tinted moon from aerosol particulates in upper atmosphere; see Superstitions.\" He looked out the window again. The smokestacks sent another blast up through the gray clouds.\n\n\"Brad,\" he said, \"is your waste emissions project putting aerosols into the upper atmosphere?\"\n\n\"That's the whole idea,\" Brad said. \"Now I don't mean to be bodacious, but that gal reporter's going to be coming up here any minute.\"\n\nUlric looked up \"Superstitions.\" The entry for \"moon, blue\" read, \"Once in a blue moon; folk saying attrib. SE America; local superstition linked occurrence of blue moon and unusual coincidental happenings; origin unknown.\"\n\nHe shut the book. \"Unusual coincidental happenings,\" he said. \"Branches breaking, people falling on people, people finding hundred-dollar bills. All of those are coincidental happenings.\" He looked up at Brad. \"You wouldn't happen to know how that saying got started, would you?\"\n\n\"Bodacious? It probably was made up by some feller who was waiting on a gal and this other guy wouldn't hotfoot it out of there so's they could be alone.\"\n\nUlric opened the book again. \"But if the coincidences were bad ones, they would be dangerous, wouldn't they? Somebody might get hurt.\"\n\nBrad took the book out of his hands and shoved Ulric out the door. \"Now git!\" he said. \"You're givin' me the flit-flats again.\"\n\n\"We've got to tell Mr. Mowen. We've got to shut it off,\" Ulric said, but Brad had already shut the door.\n\n\"Hello, Janice,\" Charlotte said. \"Still an oppressed female in a dehumanizing male-dominated job, I see.\"\n\nJanice hung up the phone. \"Hello, Charlotte,\" she said. \"Is it snowing yet?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Charlotte said, and took off her coat. It had a red button pinned to the lapel. It read \"NOW... or else!\" \"We just heard on the radio they've closed the highway. Where's your reactionary chauvinist employer?\"\n\n\"Mr. Mowen is busy,\" Janice said, and stood up in case she needed to flatten herself against Mr. Mowen's door to keep Charlotte out.\n\n\"I have no desire to see that last fortress of sadistic male dominance,\" Charlotte said. She took off her gloves and rubbed her hands together. \"We practically froze on the way up. Lynn Saunders rode back up with me. Her mother isn't getting a divorce after all. Her bid for independence crumbled at the first sign of societal disapproval, I'm afraid. Lynn had a message on her terminal to call you, but she couldn't get through. She said for me to tell you she'd be over as soon as she checks in with her fianc\u00e9.\"\n\n\"Brad McAfee,\" Janice said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Charlotte said. She sat down in the chair opposite Janice's desk and took off her boots. \"I had to listen to her sing his praises all the way from Cheyenne. Poor brainwashed victim of male oppressionist propaganda. I tried to tell her she was only playing into the hands of the entrenched male socio-sexual establishment by getting engaged, but she wouldn't listen.\" She stopped massaging her stockinged foot. \"What do you mean, he's busy? Tell that arrogant sexist pig I'm here and I want to see him.\"\n\nJanice sat back down and took the file folder with Project Sally in it out of her desk drawer. \"Charlotte,\" she said, \"before I do that, I was wondering if you'd give me your opinion of something.\"\n\nCharlotte padded over to the desk in her stockinged feet. \"Certainly,\" she said. \"What is it?\"\n\nSally wiped the snow off the back window with her bare hands and got in the car. She had forgotten about the side mirror. It was caked with snow. She rolled down the window and swiped at it with her hand. The snow landed in her lap. She shivered and rolled the window back up, and then sat there a minute, waiting for the defroster to work and blowing on her cold, wet hands. She had lost her gloves somewhere.\n\nNo air at all was coming out of the defroster. She rubbed a small space clean so she could see to pull out of the parking space and edged forward. At the last minute she saw the ghostlike form of a man through the heavy curtain of snow and stamped on the brake. The motor died. The man she had almost hit came around to the window and motioned to her to roll the window down. It was Ulric.\n\nShe rolled the window down. More snow fell in her lap. \"I was afraid I'd never see you again,\" Ulric said.\n\n\"I\u2014\" Sally said, but he waved her silent with his hand.\n\n\"I haven't got much time. I'm sorry I shouted at you this morning. I thought\u2014anyway now I know that isn't true, that it was a lot of coincidences that\u2014anyway I've got to go do something right now that can't wait, but I want you to wait right here for me. Will you do that?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\nHe shivered and stuck his hands in his pockets, \"You'll freeze to death out here. Do you know where the housing unit by the oriental gardens is? I live on the sixth floor, apartment B. I want you to wait for me there. Will you do that? Do you have a piece of paper?\"\n\nSally dug in her pocket and pulled out the folded scrap of paper with \"Wanted: Young woman\" on it. She looked at it a minute and then handed it to Ulric. He didn't even unfold it. He scribbled some numbers on it and handed it back to her.\n\n\"This is my security code,\" he said. \"You have to use it for the elevator. My roommate will let you into the apartment.\" He stopped and looked hard at her. \"On second thought, you'd better wait for me in the hall. I'll be back as soon as I can.\" He bent and kissed her through the window. \"I don't want to lose you again.\"\n\n\"I\u2014\" Sally said, but he had already disappeared into the snow. Sally rolled the window up. The windshield was covered with snow again. She put her hand up to the defroster. There was still no air coming out. She turned on the windshield wipers. Nothing happened.\n\nGail didn't get back to her office until after two. Reporters had hung around after the press conference asking her questions about Mr. Mowen's absence and the waste emissions project. When she did make it back to the office, they began calling, and she didn't get started on her press conference publicity releases until nearly three. She almost immediately ran into a problem. Her notes mentioned particulates, and she knew Brad had said what kind, but she hadn't written it down. She couldn't let the report go without specifying which particulates or the press would jump to all kinds of alarming conclusions. She called Brad. The line was busy. She stuffed everything into a large manila envelope and started over to his apartment to ask him.\n\n\"Did you get Research yet?\" Mr. Mowen said when Janice came into his office.\n\n\"No, sir,\" Janice said. \"The line is still busy. Ulric Henry is here to see you.\"\n\nMr. Mowen pushed against his desk and stood up. The movement knocked over Sally's picture and a pencilholder full of pencils. \"You might as well send him in. With my luck, he's probably found out why I hired him and is here to quit.\"\n\nJanice went out, and Mr. Mowen tried to gather up the pencils that had scattered all over his desk and get them back in the pencil holder. One rolled toward the edge, and Mr. Mowen leaned over the desk to catch it. Sally's picture fell over again. When Mr. Mowen looked up, Ulric Henry was watching him. He reached for the last pencil and knocked the receiver off the phone with his elbow.\n\n\"How long has it been like this?\" Ulric said.\n\nMr. Mowen straightened up. \"It started this morning. I'm not sure I'm going to live through the day.\"\n\n\"That's what I was afraid of,\" Ulric said, and took a deep breath. \"Look, Mr. Mowen, I know you hired me to be a linguist, and I probably don't have any business interfering with Research, but I think I know why all these things are happening to you.\"\n\nI hired you to marry Sally and be vice-president in charge of saying what you mean, Mr. Mowen thought, and you can interfere in anything you like if you can stop the ridiculous things that have been happening to me all day.\n\nUlric pointed out the window. \"You can't see it out there because of the snow, but the moon is blue. It's been blue ever since you turned on your waste emissions project. 'Once in a blue moon' is an old saying used to describe rare occurrences. I think the saying may have gotten started because the number of coincidences increased every time there was a blue moon. I think it may have something to do with the particulates in the stratosphere doing something to the laws of probability. Your waste emissions project is pumping particulates into the stratosphere right now. I think these coincidences are a side effect.\"\n\n\"I knew it,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"It's Walter Hunt and the safety pin all over again. I'm going to call Research.\" He reached for the phone. The receiver cord caught on the edge of the desk. When he yanked it, the phone went clattering over the edge, taking the pencil holder and Sally's picture with it. \"Will you call Research for me?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Ulric said. He punched in the number and then handed the receiver to Mr. Mowen.\n\nMr. Mowen thundered, \"Turn off the waste emissions project. Now. And get everyone connected with the project over here immediately.\" He hung up the phone and peered out the window. \"Okay. They've turned it off,\" he said, turning back to Ulric. \"Now what?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Ulric said from the floor where he was picking up pencils. \"I suppose as soon as the moon starts to lose its blue color, the laws of probability will go back to normal. Or maybe they'll rebalance themselves, and you'll have all good luck for a day or two.\" He put the pencil holder back on the desk and picked up Sally's picture.\n\n\"I hope it changes before my ex-wife gets back,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"She's been here once already, but Janice got rid of her. I knew she was a side effect of some kind.\"\n\nUlric didn't say anything. He was looking at the picture of Sally.\n\n\"That's my daughter,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"She's an English major.\"\n\nUlric stood the picture on the desk. It fell over, knocking the pencil holder onto the floor again. Ulric dived for the pencils.\n\n\"Never mind about the pencils,\" Mr. Mowen said. \"I'll pick them up after the moon gets back to normal. She's home for Thanksgiving vacation. You might run into her. Her area of special study is language generation.\"\n\nUlric straightened up and cracked his head on the desk. \"Language generation,\" he said, and walked out of the office.\n\nMr. Mowen went out to tell Janice to send the Research people in as soon as they got there. One of Ulric's gloves was lying on the floor next to Janice's desk. Mr. Mowen picked it up. \"I hope he's right about putting a stop to these coincidences by turning off the stacks,\" he said. \"I think this thing is catching.\"\n\nLynn called Brad as soon as Charlotte dropped her off. Maybe he knew why Mr. Mowen's secretary wanted to see her. The line was busy. She took off her parka, put her suitcase in the bedroom, and then tried again. It was still busy. She put her parka back, pulled on a pair of red mittens, and started across the oriental gardens to Brad's apartment.\n\n\"Are those nincompoops from Research here?\" Mr. Mowen asked Janice.\n\n\"Yes, sir. All but Brad McAfee. His line is busy.\"\n\n\"Well, put an override on his terminal. And send them in.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Janice said. She went back to her desk and called up a directory on her terminal. To her surprise, she got it. She wrote down Brad's code and punched in an override. The computer printed ERROR. I knew it was too good to last, Janice thought. She punched the code again. This time the computer printed OVERRIDE IN PLACE. Janice thought a minute, then decided that whatever the override was, it couldn't be more important than Mr. Mowen's. She punched the code for a priority override and typed, \"Mr. Mowen wants to see you immediately.\" The computer immediately confirmed it.\n\nExhilarated by her success, Janice called Brad's number again. He answered the phone. \"Mr. Mowen would like to see you immediately,\" she said.\n\n\"I'll be there faster than blue blazes,\" Brad said, and hung up.\n\nJanice went in and told Mr. Mowen Brad McAfee was on the way Then she herded the Research people into his office. When Mr. Mowen stood up to greet them, he didn't knock over anything, but one of the Research people managed to knock over the pencils again. Janice helped him pick them up.\n\nWhen she got back to her desk she remembered that she had superseded an override on Brad's terminal. She wondered what it was. Maybe Charlotte had gone to his apartment and poisoned him and then put an override on so he couldn't call for help. It was a comforting thought somehow, but the override might be something important, and now that she had gotten him on the phone there was really no reason to leave the priority override in place. Janice sighed and typed in a cancellation. The computer immediately confirmed it.\n\nJill opened the door to Brad's apartment building and stood there for a minute trying to get her breath. She was supposed to have driven back to Cheyenne tonight, and she had barely made it across Chugwater. Her car had slid sideways in the street and gotten stuck, and she had finally left it there and come over here to see if Brad could help her put her chains. She fished clumsily in her purse for the numbers Brad had written down for her so she could use the elevator. She should have taken her gloves off.\n\nA young woman with no gloves on pushed open the door and headed for one of the two elevators, punched some numbers, and disappeared into the nearer elevator.\n\nThe doors shut. She should have gone up with her. Jill fished some more and came up with several folded scraps of paper. She tried to unfold the first one, gave up, and balanced them all on one hand while she tried to pull her other glove off with her teeth.\n\nThe outside door opened, and a gust of snowy air blew the papers out of her hand and out the door. She dived for them, but they whirled away in the snow. The man who had opened the door was already in the other elevator. The doors slid shut. Oh, for heaven's sake.\n\nShe looked around for a phone so she could call Brad and tell him she was stranded down here. There was one on the far wall. The first elevator was on its way down, between four and three. The second one was on six. She walked over to the phone, took both her gloves off and jammed them in her coat pocket, and picked up the phone.\n\nA young woman in a parka and red mittens came in the front door, but she didn't go over to the elevators. She stood in the middle of the lobby brushing snow off her coat. Jill rummaged through her purse for a quarter. There was no change in her wallet, but she thought there might be a couple of dimes in the bottom of her purse. The second elevators doors slid open, and the mittened woman hurried in.\n\nShe found a quarter in the bottom of her purse and dialed Brad. The line was busy. The first elevator was on six now. The second one was down in the parking garage. She dialed Brad's number again.\n\nThe second elevators doors slid open. \"Wait!\" she said, and dropped the phone. The receiver hit her purse and knocked its contents all over the floor. The outside door opened again, and snow whirled in. \"Push the hold button,\" the middle-aged woman who had just come in from outside. She had a red, \"NOW... or else!\" button pinned to her coat, and she was clutching a folder to her chest. She knelt down and picked up a comb, two pencils, and Jill's checkbook.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Jill said gratefully.\n\n\"We sisters have to stick together,\" the woman said grimly She stood up and handed the things to Jill. They got into the elevator. The woman with the mittens was holding the door. There was another young woman inside, wearing a sweater and blue moon boots.\n\n\"Six, please,\" Jill said breathlessly trying to jam everything back into her purse. \"Thanks for waiting. I'm just not all together today.\" The doors started to close.\n\n\"Wait!\" a voice said, and a young woman in a suit and high heels, with a large manila envelope under her arm, squeezed in just as the door shut. \"Six, please,\" she said. \"The wind chill factor out there has to be twenty below. I don't know where my head was to try to come over and see Brad in weather like this.\"\n\n\"Brad?\" the young woman in the red mittens said.\n\n\"Brad?\" Jill said.\n\n\"Brad?\" the young woman in the blue moon boots said.\n\n\"Brad McAfee,\" the woman with the \"NOW... or else!\" button said grimly.\n\n\"Yes,\" the young woman in high heels said, surprised. \"Do you all know him? He's my fianc\u00e9.\"\n\nSally punched in her security code, stepped in the elevator, and pushed the button for the sixth floor. \"Ulric, I want to explain what happened this morning,\" she said as soon as the door closed. She had practiced her speech all the way over to Ulric's housing unit. It had taken her forever to get here. The windshield wipers were frozen and two cars had slid sideways in the snow and created a traffic jam. She had had to park the car and trudge through the snow across the oriental gardens, but she still hadn't thought of what to say.\n\n\"My name is Sally Mowen, and I don't generate language.\" That was out of the question. She couldn't tell him who she was. The minute he heard she was the boss's daughter, he would stop listening.\n\n\"I speak English, but I read your note, and it said you wanted someone who could generate language.\" No good. He would ask, \"What note?\" and she would haul it out of her pocket, and he would say, \"Where did you find this?\" and she would have to explain what she was doing up in the tree. She might also have to explain how she knew he was Ulric Henry and what she was doing with his file and his picture, and he would never believe it was all a coincidence.\n\nNumber six blinked on, and the door of the elevator opened. \"I can't,\" Sally thought, and pushed the lobby button. Halfway down she decided to say what she should have said in the first place. She pushed six again.\n\n\"Ulric, I love you,\" she recited. \"Ulric, I love you.\" Six blinked. The door opened. \"Ulric,\" she said. He was standing in front of the elevator, glaring at her.\n\n\"Aren't you going to say something?\" he said. \"Like 'I withspeak myself?' That's a nice example of Germanic compounding. But of course you know that. Language generation is your area of special study isn't that right, Sally?\"\n\n\"Ulric,\" Sally said. She took a step forward and put her hand on the elevator door so it wouldn't close.\n\n\"You were home for Thanksgiving vacation and you were afraid you'd get out of practice, is that it? So you thought you'd jump out of a tree on the company linguist just to keep your hand in.\"\n\n\"If you'd shut up a minute, I'd explain,\" Sally said.\n\n\"No, that's not right,\" Ulric said. \"It should be 'quiet up' or maybe 'mouth-close you.' More compounding.\"\n\n\"Why did I ever think I could talk to you?\" Sally said. \"Why did I ever waste my time trying to generate language for you?\"\n\n\"For me?\" Ulric said. \"Why in the hell did you think I wanted you to generate language?\"\n\n\"Because... oh, forget it,\" Sally said. She punched the lobby button. The door started to shut. Ulric stuck his hand in the closing doors and then snatched them free and pressed the hold button. Nothing happened. He jammed in four numbers and pressed the hold button again. It gave an odd click and began beeping, but the doors opened again.\n\n\"Damn it,\" Ulric said. \"Now you've made me punch in Brad's security code, and I've set off his stupid override.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" Sally said, jamming her hands in her pockets. \"Blame everything on me. I suppose I'm the one who left that note in the tree saying you wanted somebody who could generate language?\"\n\nThe beeping stopped. \"What note?\" Ulric said, and let go of the hold button.\n\nSally pulled her hand out of her pocket to press the lobby button again. A piece of paper fell out of her pocket. Ulric stepped inside as the doors started to close and picked up the piece of paper. After a minute, he said, \"Look, I think I can explain how all this happened.\"\n\n\"You'd better make it snappy,\" Sally said. \"I'm getting out when we get to the lobby.\"\n\nAs soon as Janice hung up the phone Brad grabbed his coat. He had a good idea of what Old Man Mowen wanted him for. After Ulric had left, Brad had gotten a call from Time. They'd talkified for over half an hour about a photographer and a four-page layout on the waste emissions project. He figured they'd call Old Man Mowen and tell him about the article, too, and sure enough, his terminal had started beeping an override before he even hung up. it stopped as he turned toward the terminal, and the screen went blank, and then it started beeping again, double-quick, and sure enough, it was his pappy-in-law to be. Before he could even begin reading the message, Janice called. He told her he'd be there faster than blue blazes, grabbed his coat, and started out the door.\n\nOne of the elevators was on six and just starting down. The other one was on five and coming up. He punched his security code in and put his arm in the sleeve of his overcoat. The lining tore, and his arm went down inside it. He wrestled it free and tried to pull the lining back up to where it belonged. It tore some more.\n\n\"Well, dad fetch it!\" he said loudly The elevator door opened. Brad got in, still trying to get his arm in the sleeve. The door closed behind him.\n\nThe panel in the door started beeping. That meant an override. Maybe Mowen was trying to call him back. He pushed the DOOR OPEN button, but nothing happened. The elevator started down. \"Dagnab it all,\" he said.\n\n\"Hi, Brad,\" Lynn said. He turned around.\n\n\"You look a mite wadgetty,\" Sue said. \"Doesn't he, Jill?\"\n\n\"Right peaked,\" Jill said.\n\n\"Maybe he's got the flit-flats,\" Gail said.\n\nCharlotte didn't say anything. She clutched the file folder to her chest and growled. Overhead, the lights flickered, and the elevator ground to a halt."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Wolf and the Raven",
        "author": "H. A. Culley",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "800s",
            "Kings of Northumbria"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "September 808 AD",
                "text": "Sigvard, King of Agder, stood at the prow of his drekar as his small fleet entered the fjord which led to his capital at Arendal. He had good reason to be pleased. He had spent the summer raiding the coast around the Baltic Sea and, on his way home, the Swedish coast in the straight known as the Kattegat. He had avoided the Danish coast on the west side of the Kattegat for the simple reason that his wife's brother was jarl of the area around the Limfjord in Northern Jutland.\n\nHe wasn't the only king or jarl to be raiding in the Baltic that year and many of the settlements he came across had already been raided. Plunder had therefore been limited and, as his jarls and their warriors followed him because of the rewards to be gained, morale on the voyage home had been low.\n\nThat was why he decided to pillage the east coast of the Kattegat. It was risky as a sensible man doesn't defecate in his own neighbourhood; it's too easy for those raided to retaliate. For that reason they didn't take any prisoners to keep or sell as thralls in case they escaped and identified their captors. So they slaughtered everyone in the five places they attacked. They also took the precaution of rowing into shore, even if the wind was favourable. Sails could be seen from a distance and they were painted with the owner's device - in Sigvard's case a black raven on a red sail - or dyed in distinctive stripes of colour.\n\nEven the infants were killed, but such callous behaviour didn't seem to bother him or his men. Life in Norway was tough and they were unable to survive on what they could grow or catch in the sea. Raiding was a way of life.\n\nHe had left his wife pregnant and the baby would be due about now. They had children before this one but they had all died in infancy. This time the godi had sacrificed several animals to ensure that the child survived. Furthermore Sigvard's sister, who was a v\u00f6lva, had predicted that the baby would be a boy whilst in a trance. He would grow up favoured by Odin, the All-father, and become a great hero.\n\nSigvard was sceptical - his sister had been wrong in the past \u2013 but the prediction that this child would survive had prevented him from disposing of his wife and taking another to his bed.\n\nAs was usual when the longships returned from months away, the whole population of Arendal came down to the jetties that stuck out from the steeply sloping shingle beach like the talons of an eagle to welcome their men home.\n\nAll five ships followed him in, even the three belonging to his jarls. This evening the spoils would be divided and everyone would drink themselves unconscious in celebration of a successful summer's marauding.\n\nThat evening Sigvard had more reason than anyone else present to get uproariously drunk. The day before he returned his wife had given birth to a lusty boy. The child was named Ragnar and in due course he would acquire the nickname Lodbrok \u2013 hairy breeches."
            },
            {
                "title": "RAGNAR LODBROK",
                "text": "[ THE RAVEN ]\n\n[ The Raid ]\n\n[ Summer 821 ]\n\nRagnar felt as if his lungs would burst as he struggled to swim through the icy waters. His limbs were so cold that he couldn't feel them and still he was a long way away from the ship which represented safety. All Norse boys were put through a tough regime from the age of ten onwards and not all survived to start their training as warriors a few years later.\n\nThe games they played as children were intentionally rough. Broken bones were common and those who gave up under the harsh training system would never become warriors. They could remain as bondi but they would have to hire a warrior to fight in their place when necessary.\n\nThat wasn't even an option for Ragnar. As the king's only son he would rather die than fail. How could he expect men to follow him in due course if he couldn't do everything they did, and excel at it?\n\nHe struggled against the numbing cold and his failing limbs which, paradoxically, felt as if they were on fire. He gritted his teeth and struggled to cover the final hundred yards to the waiting snekkja. Now he could faintly hear the encouraging cries of a few of his friends who had reached the longship ahead of him and he put renewed effort into his strokes. Exhausted, he reached the side of the snekkja and willing hands reached down to pull him from the water.\n\nHe collapsed onto the deck and someone wrapped a sheepskin around his shoulders. After a minute or two he felt a bit better and glanced up and saw another boy being helped aboard. There were only two left in the sea now; one was only ten or so yards from the ship but the last one, a close friend of his called Gunnar, was struggling. As Ragnar watched, the boy disappeared beneath the waves. He came up again only to vanish moments later.\n\nStill shivering with fatigue and cold, Ragnar got to his feet and, before anyone could stop him, he dived over the side and started to swim to where he'd last seen Gunnar. When he reached what he thought was the spot he dived down with his eyes open and scanned the clear water for his friend. He was about to give up when he saw him struggling to reach the surface again.\n\nBy now Ragnar was close to blacking out due to lack of air and his limbs felt as though they weighed a ton. Making one last effort he reached Gunnar and, grabbing the belt that held up his trousers, he hauled him to the surface. They both sucked in lungfuls of the icy cold air whilst they struggled to tread water. Thankfully the crew of the snekkja had hauled up the anchor and rowed towards them. A few minutes later both boys were pulled aboard and they fell into blissful unconsciousness.\n\nFar from being praised for his heroism, Ragnar was roundly chastised by Thorkel, an old warrior who everyone called 'uncle' and who was responsible for training the boys.\n\n'You put your own life in danger to save someone who wasn't strong enough to pass the test. Now Gunnar will have to do it again tomorrow and without you there to help him.'\n\n'Tomorrow? But he won't have recovered sufficiently.'\n\n'Do you think that a foe will give you time to recover? There is no such thing as fairness in battle, Ragnar. It's time you learnt that. Furthermore, tomorrow I'll anchor the ship a little further out from the shore, and you will stay well away. Gunnar must pass the test on his own.'\n\nHowever, unbeknownst to anyone, Ragnar stole some goose fat that evening and before dawn he covered Gunnar's body in it. As the swimming test had to be done in the clothes a warrior normally wore on board ship, his thick woollen tunic and trousers would cover the whiteness of the fat.\n\nThis time Gunnar just managed to reach the snekkja unaided. When he was pulled aboard Thorkel lifted his tunic and saw the remains of the goose fat that had coated his back. He knew that the person responsible was Ragnar and for a moment he thought of telling his wife that Ragnar had been pilfering her larder. He would be soundly beaten as any instances of theft were taken seriously, but he admired the boy's initiative and his loyalty to his friend, so he said nothing.\n\nAs was common amongst boys born to jarls and kings, Ragnar had left his father's hall when he was ten and had gone to live with Thorkel. Whereas King Sigvard's hall was a large longhouse capable of housing himself, his wife, his hirdmen and his many thralls, Thorkel lived with his wife, boys he was fostering and his thralls in a much smaller hall. He himself had been a member of Sigvard's father's hird until he married. Now he was called uncle by all; a term reserved for the elderly warrior who was regarded by all as their mentor and example.\n\nThorkel was a hersir \u2013 a leader of warriors \u2013 and a wealthy landowner, but he preferred to live in the main settlement of Arendal. His eldest son managed his extensive estate for him and collected the rents from the various b\u00f3ndis who leased their farms from him. His other son looked after the flotilla of small knarrs he also owned, which were mainly used for fishing.\n\nHe was the shipmaster of the second largest drekar in Arendal - the largest being owned by the king \u2013 and could usually find the seventy men needed to crew it from the b\u00f3ndis who acknowledged him as their hersir; that is his tenants, their families and those involved in the fishing business who were not thralls.\n\nUnlike many hersirs, he owed no fealty to a jarl, but only to the king.\n\nThe last test faced by Ragnar was the games organised to celebrate the end of winter and the start of summer. To a Viking there were only two seasons \u2013 the one where the cold and snow made mere survival something of a struggle and the one where they could go raiding. He was now thirteen and he was determined to prove himself as a warrior so that he could be taken on as a member of a longship's crew.\n\nThe fact that he was the king's son was no guarantee of that. Some kings and jarls favoured their sons but Sigvard didn't believe in spoiling Ragnar. If he was accepted as a warrior after the games he didn't suppose for one minute that the king would take him with him; he would have to find another shipmaster. Only once he'd proved himself during a raiding season would Sigvard consider letting him join him.\n\nIn truth, Ragnar thought of Thorkel as more of a father than Sigvard."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Whilst the men celebrated the end of winter with a marathon session of feasting, drinking and wrestling bouts, the boys who were on the point of leaving their childhood behind were expected to display their stamina in running races and their skills as swordsmen.\n\nThe latter consisted of a knockout contest with the winner of each bout proceeding to the next round. A boy won his fight by either disabling his opponent with a blunt sword or disarming him. Ragnar sized up his first adversary as they circled one another, looking for possible weak points. The boy he was pitted against was six inches taller and had a longer reach than he did. He hadn't practiced against him before because he was the son of a rich b\u00f3ndi, a hersir, who lived in a farming settlement some distance away.\n\nHe hoped that, being bigger, the boy, whose name was Eyjolf, would be slow but he quickly learned that he wasn't; he was fast and agile. It was nearly all over in the first minute. Eyjolf attacked unexpectedly and, banging his shield against Ragnar's, he sent the king's son sprawling onto his back. Eyjolf's sword came down with enough force to have cracked Ragnar's skull had he not rolled away just in time.\n\nThe crowd roared their approval. It wasn't that they disliked their king's son, it was just that they appreciated a good fight where there was every chance that one or other of the fighters would be seriously hurt.\n\nAs he rolled away Ragnar brought his sword around in a scything motion, still lying on the ground. He was lucky. The blade struck Eyjolf's right shin hard and he howled in pain. He hobbled around testing his injured leg, giving Ragnar enough time to scramble to his feet and bring his shield back in front of him.\n\nThis time Ragnar attacked. He feinted with the point of his sword, aiming at the other boy's eyes. Neither wore armour; it was expensive and would have been a waste of money for boys still growing fast. Eyjolf did as Ragnar expected: he brought his shield up to protect his head. Ragnar swiftly dropped onto one knee and stabbed the other lad hard in the thigh. The sword might have been blunt but it was still heavy and the momentum of the thrust was enough to momentarily cripple Eyjolf.\n\nHe fell to one side and Ragnar stamped on his left arm, trapping his shield. He batted away Eyjolf's feeble attempt to hit him with his sword and thrust the point of his blade into the other boy's throat. Ragnar pulled the blow at the last moment so that he bruised his throat instead of crushing his windpipe. Eyjolf was sufficiently disabled for the adjudicator to award the bout to Ragnar.\n\nHe helped the loser to his feet and Eyjolf gave him a rueful smile.\n\n'I was told that you would beat me but no-one ever has in the last two years so I didn't believe them,' he croaked through his damaged throat. 'Good luck in the next round.'\n\nRagnar watched the boy hobble off to be teased by his friends and went to watch another bout, wondering who his next adversary would be. In fact none of the next few rounds were as difficult to win as the one against Eyjolf had been. That changed when he reached the final.\n\nHe had watched Olaf Sigurdson carefully as he won his four bouts. It was obvious that the boy, though small, was very fast and he was clever. Ragnar was fairly certain that of all the boys who won their first round, Olaf would reach the final.\n\nBoth boys were somewhat bruised and battered by the time it came to the final bout. Ragnar had taken a blow to his right biceps, which had weakened his sword arm, and one eye was swollen and closed after the rim of someone's shield had connected with it. Olaf was limping and his shield had split from the rim to the metal boss during the last fight. However, Ragnar wasn't entirely sure that the limp wasn't being exaggerated in order to fool him.\n\nRagnar attacked first, smashing his shield repeatedly against Olaf's, forcing his opponent back and denying him the chance to take the initiative. It wasn't popular but he ignored the odd insult and derogatory comment from the watching crowd. He used his greater weight against Olaf until the latter managed to side step his next push and bring his sword into play. Ragnar had been expecting it though and he turned in time to intercept the blow with his shield.\n\nOlaf's sword glanced off it and Ragnar grunted in triumph as he thrust at where the Olaf had stood a split second earlier. However, he was no longer there and Ragnar was only just in time to parry his opponent's cut at his head from somewhere on his blind side.\n\nHe whirled to face Olaf but he was now standing several paces away, grinning mockingly at him. For an instant he was furious because Olaf had made him look a fool and the crowd were laughing and cheering. Then he remembered what Thorkel had told him.\n\n'Never lose your temper. Your opponent wants the red mist to descend because then you won't think clearly and it'll be easy for him to kill you.'\n\nRagnar took a deep breath and nodded his head at Olaf, forcing himself to smile. The other boy looked annoyed and the crowd hushed in anticipation, wondering who would attack first and what move he would make.\n\nOlaf ran at Ragnar and then, just as Ragnar was bracing himself for the impact of shield against shield, Olaf let go of his damaged shield and leaped high in the air, bringing his sword down onto Ragnar's head. It was totally unexpected and, although Ragnar started to raise his own shield he only got it up far enough up to absorb some of the sword's momentum. The impact of the blow was lessened so that, when it struck his head, it only made him dizzy instead of knocking him unconscious \u2013 or even killing him.\n\nOlaf's body came down on the disorientated Ragnar and the two fell to the ground with Olaf on top. The wind was knocked from Ragnar's lungs and for a moment he was helpless. What saved him was the fact that Olaf had lost his grip on his sword when he fell.\n\nOlaf rolled away and grabbed it again as he rose to his feet. Ragnar still lay on the ground, struggling for breath, but he still had his sword and his shield. He managed to cover his body with the latter and raised his sword to deflect Olaf's second attempt to strike his exposed head.\n\nAs the frustrated Olaf tried once more to attack the prone Ragnar the latter kicked out at the other boy's foot \u2013 the one at the end of the leg with the limp. The foot shot back and, from the cry of pain Ragnar gathered that the limp wasn't feigned. The leap in the air must have damaged it further.\n\nOlaf collapsed beside Ragnar but he quickly rolled away, his face contorted with pain. Ragnar struggled to his feet just in time for Olaf to pull his shield out of the way and strike him hard in the stomach with the blunted tip of his sword. As Ragnar's head came down in reaction, Olaf raised the knee of his injured leg, catching Ragnar's chin as he doubled up.\n\nBlackness enveloped Ragnar and so he wasn't aware until much later that Olaf Sigardson, the youngest son of a poor tenant farmer, had beaten him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Ragnar did his best to contain his excitement but, at thirteen years of age, he was embarking on his first raid. Thorkel had accepted him as a member of his crew and this time they wouldn't be just raiding in the Baltic; they were heading to Orkeyjar as their base for the summer and from there Thorkel planned to raid the west coast of Pictland and even possibly the north coast of Ireland.\n\nRagnar would be one of four ship's boys. Boys on the verge of puberty weren't strong enough to row for any distance, although they each took a turn at the oars for short spells to toughen them up, so they were responsible for other tasks, such as hauling up and trimming the mainsail, preparing and distributing food and drink, keeping the longship clean and, when the warriors were on land, guarding the ship with the helmsman, an old man called Jorun. He didn't mind the menial tasks but he was annoyed that he wouldn't be involved in the actual raiding.\n\nThe other three ship's boys were Olaf, who had beaten him in the final bout at the games, and two fourteen year-olds: Gorm and Hakon. Gorm was friendly and taught the two juniors what to do and how to do it. Hakon was the opposite. He was the elder and liked to throw his weight around. He seemed to delight in belittling Ragnar in particular and made derisive remarks every time he made a mistake.\n\nRagnar was by nature hot blooded and he only kept his temper in check through self-discipline but, by the time that the coastline of the main island of Orneyjar came in sight on the third day out, he decided that he'd had enough. When Hakon made yet another of his sneering remarks about the younger boy's prowess, Ragnar went for him. Fortunately Gorm and Olaf grabbed him in time and held onto him until he'd calmed down. Had he struck Hakon he would have been whipped. Dissention amongst a crew could be fatal and wasn't tolerated.\n\nOf course Thorkel and Jorun were well aware of the animosity between Hakon and the two new hands. His solution was to keep both Ragnar and Hakon at their oars far longer than he would have done normally in the hope that mutual suffering would solve the problem. It didn't and both boys blamed their raw and bloody hands and aching muscles on the other.\n\nIt was Olaf who put an end to a difficult situation. The drekar was large but with seventy four men and four boys on board there was no opportunity for him to do anything about Hakon. However, the first night ashore the men had gathered in groups around campfires whilst the boys brought them ale and cooked food. Finally, with sentries posted in the rocks above the beach where their drekar and a snekkja , whose shipmaster was another hersir called \u00d8ystein, lay beached, everyone settled down to sleep.\n\nThe four ship's boys and their fellows from the other longship had shared a fire and lay down around it. Hakon had continued his verbal abuse of Ragnar and Olaf during the evening, despite being scolded by the senior boy from the other ship.\n\nLater, when the sound of snoring convinced him that everyone was asleep, Olaf slowly crawled over to where Hakon slept wrapped in his cloak. He woke with the point of Olaf's dagger pressing into his neck hard enough to have drawn a few drops of blood.\n\n'If you don't keep your filthy trap shut, Hakon, you won't find my dagger at your throat; I'll use it to cut off your balls.'\n\nLike many bullies, Hakon was a coward at heart and he bolstered his self-confidence by disparaging his juniors. Although Olaf couldn't see the wet patch in the crotch of the other boy's trousers he caught the faint tang of urine and grinned.\n\n'And I'll tell the others you pissed yourself like a baby.'\n\nHe left Hakon shaking with fear and wondering how he was going to get the tell-tale yellow stain out of his cream coloured trousers by morning."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "A few score Norsemen had settled on the main island of Orkneyjar over the past few decades and had enslaved the original inhabitants. They eked out a living by farming and fishing but they also traded with the Picts and the Irish. Now other Norsemen had started to arrive, some to settle with their families, but most wanted to use the islands as a summer base from which to raid. There were over seventy islands and skerries that made up Orkneyjar and only a few of these were inhabited. Skerries were too small to be of use but that still left over twenty uninhabited islands for Thorkel to choose from.\n\nRaiders weren't popular with the permanent settlers as raiding had meant that those they normally traded with were now frightened of all Norse ships. Some could tell the difference between the knarrs used by merchants and the longships used for war, but not all, and some Orkneyjar traders had been killed as soon as they landed. Thus Thorkel avoided them and set up his base on an uninhabited island lying north east of the one with the major settlement. It had a deep inlet on the north coast that provided shelter from the prevailing westerly winds and had a large sandy shoreline on which to beach the two longships.\n\nRagnar had noticed almost immediately that Hakon had suddenly become quiet and withdrawn. He thought it strange that the boy had gone swimming in his trousers first thing the next morning; everyone else had stripped off completely before running into the sea to wash the sweat and grime of the voyage from their bodies. Perhaps he's shy because his manhood is like a shrunken worm Ragnar thought and nearly teased the other boy about it. However, he told himself that would be to sink to Hakon's level, so he didn't.\n\nTwo days later they set sail again heading south. Thorkel had been told that the northernmost part of the island of Britain was inhabited by poor people with nothing worth taking so he continued down the east coast until he encountered a coastline ahead of him which ran horizontally from west to east. As the wind was coming from the west, they turned and sailed eastwards along this coast.\n\nThe sky was blue with a scattering of white and grey clouds and the wind was just strong enough to turn the crests of the waves white. Apart from the odd fishing hamlet they saw nothing of interest on the first day. They found a sheltered cove in which to spend the night and they continued to head east until the land turned south west. After turning the corner they had to tack to and fro as they were now heading south west. The wind gradually grew in strength and veered as the day progressed and the relatively calm sea became agitated with waves five or six feet high crashing into the ship, spraying those inside her with cold, salty water.\n\n'Get the sail down and put two reefs in it,' Thorkel yelled, telling Jorun to put her broadside on to the wind at the same time.\n\nThe ship rocked as waves crashed into her side as the four boys held the sail side on to the howling wind and lowered the yardarm from which it was suspended. Jorun let her run before the wind whilst they were gathering in the bottom half of the sail and tying it to the yardarm using the reefing points. Then, broadside on again, they struggled to haul it into position up the mast and secure the halyard. A second later Jorun leant on the steering oar to bring her back on course whilst the four boys trimmed the ropes attached to the ends of the yardarm to achieve maximum speed from the lithe craft.\n\nRagnar was exhausted but exhilarated. Now the drekar flew before the wind again, but without the risk of tearing the mast out of her. As suddenly as it had arrived, the squall passed and, although the swell continued to make hills and valleys for the ship to climb and skate down, the wind had died enough for the reef to be shaken out again.\n\nThat done, Thorkel looked around for the other longship but there was no sign of her.\n\n'Either she's over the horizon or she's foundered,' his helmsman said unhelpfully.\n\nThen his attention was drawn to the four boys.\n\n'What are you standing there gawping at? Get bailing!'\n\nIt was only then that Ragnar and the others became aware of the sound of water sloshing around in the bilges where the ballast lay. Three of them formed a chain and passed leather buckets full of foul smelling water up to Olaf who threw them over the side to leeward. By the time that Jorun was satisfied they were beyond exhaustion and collapsed where they stood.\n\nTwo hours later the wind died and the men unshipped their oars and started to row. Shortly after that they spotted a cluster of buildings on top of a cliff. Most were built of timber or were timber framed with infill panels of wattle and daub, but one was built of stone. There was what looked like a watchtower near it and they could vaguely hear the monotonous pealing of a bell. At first Thorkel thought that they had been spotted but then he saw a line of men clad in long brown robes heading into the stone building.\n\n'They're going to pray to their god. They call that building a church.' Olaf told the other boys. 'My father told me about what he called monasteries. Their priests live there without women.'\n\nIt seemed an unlikely story to Ragnar but he said nothing. Even at thirteen he'd had more than one tumble with a willing thrall. He couldn't imagine living without sex.\n\n'Perhaps they enjoy each other,' Gorm suggested with a grin and the others laughed, even Hakon.\n\nThe steep cliffs continued for miles and the drekar sailed on, looking for somewhere to land. Presumably the monks thought themselves safe from the Vikings in view of their position, or perhaps their lack of alarm was because they hadn't spotted the ship without its sail raised.\n\nThen Hakon, whose turn it was to climb the mast and act as lookout called down that he could see a shallow bay with a sandy beach on the larboard bow. Thorkel calculated that they were some ten miles south of the monastery they'd seen but it was only a few hours until nightfall so he told Jorun to steer for the bay, then yelled for the men to unship their oars.\n\nAs they were now heading into the wind the boys didn't need to be told to lower the sail and, as soon as Hakon had climbed down from his perch and rushed to the prow to resume his duties as lookout, the other three undid the halyard and carefully lowered the yardarm to which the sail was attached. It wasn't an easy exercise especially with the wind backing the sail, but they managed to get it down, secur the flapping sail and stow it without making any mistakes. Thorkel smiled to himself. They were improving. By the end of the voyage they might even be able to call themselves sailors.\n\nThe next morning Throkel and most of the crew set off to walk the ten miles or so north to the monastery. He left three of the older men with Jorun and the four boys to guard the ship and sent out a pair of men to the low hills that shadowed the path along the coast. They and the two scouts in front of the main body would protect them from a surprise attack.\n\nRagnar watched them depart wistfully. He wondered when he would be allowed to join the men. He was shaken out of his reverie when Jorun yelled at him and Gorm to deploy as sentries on the rise to the west of the beach.\n\nRagnar sat with his back against a rock watching the empty scrubland inland and occasionally looking down at the men on the beach playing knucklebones and drinking. Suddenly he thought he saw movement in the trees off to his left. He watched intently but, after a few minutes, he came to the reluctant conclusion that he must have imagined it; or perhaps it was just an animal. He looked over towards where Gorm was sitting a few hundred yards away but he didn't look as if he had seen anything.\n\nSomething made him look back towards the small wood and, to his horror, he saw about a score of half-naked warriors running towards the beach. They were further away from the ship than he was so he started to run and yell a warning at the same time.\n\nGorm started up from his position and joined Ragnar in slithering down the sandy slope to where the others were rushing to arm themselves. Ragnar scooped up his bow and bent it to fix the string in place. By now the Picts were about three hundred yards away; too far for an arrow to do much damage from where he was. He ran back to the ship, ignoring Hakon's cry of coward, and climbed aboard. He raced to the prow, where he was about ten feet higher than the others.\n\nHis first arrow struck a Pict in the thigh and the next killed one with a hit in the centre of his torso. He downed three more before they were too close to Olaf and the others to risk another shot.\n\nThe Norsemen might be outnumbered two to one but they were disciplined and well-trained, whereas the Picts were a disorganised mass. Jorun and the other three men formed a shield wall with the three boys behind them armed with spears which protruded over the men's shoulders. Instead of flanking them, the Picts charged directly at them and five of them were killed or wounded before the first Viking fell.\n\nHis shield had been pulled down by one Pict whilst another stabbed him in the throat. Both Picts were quickly killed but this wasn't a rate of attrition that the Vikings could stand for very long.\n\nOne more of the Norse warriors was killed and Jorun was fatally wounded before the Pict's frenzied attack ceased and they withdrew. Ragnar had leapt down from the prow, having exchanged his bow for a sword and shield, as soon as the close quarter fighting started. As the Picts withdrew he ran after them and managed to slice through a hamstring before the red mist cleared from his eyes; he realised with a start that he was isolated and about to face nearly a dozen Picts on his own. He turned and walked unhurriedly back towards the one remaining warrior, a man called Fiske, and the other three boys. The Picts were arguing amongst themselves as Ragnar re-joined them.\n\n'What do we do now?' Hakon asked. 'They still outnumber us by over two to one.'\n\nFiske shrugged. 'Fight them until either we're all dead or they are.'\n\nRagnar grabbed Hakon's shoulder and pulled him around to face him. Although he was three inches shorter than the older boy he pushed his face up close to Hakon's. The latter jerked back, thinking that Ragnar was going to butt him in the nose.\n\n'The next time you call me a coward I'll kill you myself,' Ragnar told him through clenched teeth.\n\n'For Odin's sake, haven't you got enough people to battle against without fighting amongst yourselves?' Fiske asked.\n\nRagnar let go of Hakon and both took their place in the shield wall, still glaring at each other.\n\n'Right, we've got three spears' Fiske continued. 'They're useless now we're all in the front rank so throw them at the bastards and make sure you each hit one of them.'\n\nOlaf, Gorm and Hakon took aim and two warriors tumbled to the ground, one with two spears in him. The five stood with shields overlapping and swords poking above or below the shields as the Picts crashed into them. They tried to hack at them with axes, swords and long thin daggers with a sharp point but their opponents pushed forward to limit the Picts' room for manoeuvre. The Vikings' swords stabbed into exposed flesh and Fiske, the only one wearing a helmet, banged it into the face of an opponent, breaking his nose and cheekbone. A moment later and another Pict thrust his spear into Fiske's neck and the old Viking collapsed.\n\nRagnar was at the end of the short shield wall and he sensed rather than saw a Pict to his right. The man was about to thrust a spear into the boy's side when Ragnar sliced sideways with his blade, cutting the point off the spear. He rolled his wrist and the tip of the sword entered the Pict's eye and he collapsed screaming.\n\nHakon was to Ragnar's left and, as he turned his attention back to his front he realised that the other boy had moved away from him to fill the gap left by the death of Fiske. A Pict took advantage of his exposed position and brought an axe down towards his unprotected head. Ragnar just managed to lift his shield to meet it but the blow felt as if it had broken his left hand. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to let go of his shield.\n\nThe axe was embedded in the limewood shield and the Pict tried to pull it out. Ragnar was jerked forward and lost his balance. As he went down on one knee he stabbed upwards into the axeman's groin. He leapt to his feet, only to discover that it was all over. The three remaining Picts had fled.\n\nRagnar darted to where he'd dropped his bow and quiver and scooped them up. He took careful aim and let fly. As soon as the arrow left the bowstring he replaced it with another. The first Pict fell forwards onto his face with an arrow in his back just as the second one reached the top of its trajectory and started to descend. The twang of the bowstring indicated that a third one was on its way.\n\nThe other boys watched as the second one caught a Pict in the calf and he was reduced to hobbling. However, the third one only grazed the shoulder of the last man.\n\n'Quick, after them. They mustn't be allowed to summon reinforcements.'\n\n'Who are you to give orders?' Hakon asked, not moving. 'I'm the eldest.'\n\n'There's no time for your stupidity Hakon. Come on.'\n\nRagnar started to chase after the two Picts and Olaf joined him. Gorm hesitated for a split second and then ran after them. Hakon was left fuming but, after swearing and calling Ragnar every name he could think of he too started to run.\n\nIt took no more than a few minutes to catch the limping Pict and Olaf dispatched him with a chop into his other leg followed by a thrust into his bare back. The other Pict disappeared into the tress but he left a trail of blood from the arrow wound in his shoulder.\n\nTen minutes later Ragnar caught him up and the man turned to face him. He thrust his spear at the Viking boy, which Ragnar easily evaded. He had long ago thrown aside his shield so he was vulnerable as the Pict brought it back in a slashing movement. Had the spear slashed across his belly as intended, his innards would be tumbling out at his feet by now. Ragnar realised that the man was too far away for him to reach with his sword so, instead, he made a grab at the spear and was lucky enough to grasp it. He pulled with all his might and the Pict, caught by surprise, was pulled forward onto Ragnar's sword. As it slid into his belly, the Pict spewed out the contents of his last meal all over Ragnar. The boy let go of his sword in disgust and pushed the dying man away from him.\n\nJust at that moment the other three arrived. Olaf and Gorm stopped, bending over to try and recover their breath now that it was all over, but Hakon leapt at Ragnar calling him a filthy turd as he aimed his sword at Ragnar's head.\n\nRagnar turned as he heard Hakon's voice and his foot slipped in the Pict's entrails. He lost his balance and fell on his back, Hakon's sword cutting though empty air where he'd been standing a split second earlier.\n\nThe momentum of his attack nearly unbalanced Hakon but he recovered swiftly and went to stab Ragnar as he lay on the ground unarmed. Suddenly Hakon arched his body and fell on top of the Pict, Olaf's dagger protruding from his back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "When Thorkel and his men returned laden with plunder and bringing seven monks and a dozen novices to be sold as thralls, he found his ship guarded by just three boys. The Picts had been left for the buzzards and carrion crows to feed on but Jorun and the other Norse dead had been piled on top of a funeral pyre made up of deadwood and wood chopped from the nearby trees using the Picts' axes. Hakon had been laid there with the four men; there was no need for anyone else to know about the ignominious manner of his death.\n\n[ Northumbria ]\n\n[ 821 ]\n\nThorkel appointed an experienced sailor called Sitric as the new helmsman and, to sail the ship efficiently, as well as to even up the number of rowers, he had told the youngest warrior to join the three ship's boys. The young man, whose name was Ketil, had protested, but Thorkel had given him a choice: become a ship's boy or swim to shore and take his chances amongst the Picts.\n\nWhen Ketil tried to throw his weight around, the other boys told him to back off. Olaf pointed out forcefully that Ragnar had killed more Picts than anyone else, so he was their leader. Ketil was sixteen and a warrior; quite naturally he refused to accept a thirteen year old ship's boy as his senior, but when Olaf pricked his neck with the tip of his dagger, he accepted the situation \u2013 for the moment. He was furious with Olaf and Ragnar, but most of all with Thorkel.\n\nThe drekar turned into the entrance to the wide fjord that had opened up to their right and, with the easterly wind behind them, they made good progress. There were several settlements, both on the north coast and to the south, but they were close together and the mighty fortress on the rock a little way down the fjord, which Thorkel later found out was called the Firth of Forth, convinced him to look elsewhere for easier pickings. When several small ships put out from both shores he decided he needed to retrace his steps, and quickly.\n\nThe smaller birlinns had no chance of catching the much larger drekar and they left their pursuers behind well before they reached the open sea again. The Vikings turned south and passed another inlet, probably the mouth of a large river, but it too was guarded by a fortification on the north bank a little way down the river, so they raised the sail once more and pressed on southwards.\n\n'There's what looks like a monastery on an island ahead,' Ragnar, whose turn it was as lookout, called down. 'No, wait I think it's connected to the mainland by a strip of sand.'\n\n'Lindisfarne,' Thorkel muttered to himself.\n\n'There should be a bay on the south side if we're where I think we are.'\n\n'Yes, there is,' Ragnar confirmed as they rounded the tip of the island where a large conical mound of rock rose up from the low lying land around it.\n\nAt that moment smoke began to curl lazily skywards before being whipped away by the wind.\n\n'They've lit a warning beacon by the look of it.'\n\n'Much good may it do them,' Thorkel laughed, thinking that monasteries were seldom defended, and even if this one was, there wouldn't be many guards and he had seventy warriors.\n\nRagnar was about to descend, the need for a lookout having ceased as they prepared to beach the longship, when he looked to the south. He could just make out what looked like a fortress on another, much larger, rock shimmering on the horizon. Then he faintly heard what sounded like the pealing of a bell coming over the water."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Ealdorman Eafa was playing with his three year old son, Ilfrid, when he heard the alarm bell being rung. His wife, Breguswid, looked at him in alarm. They both knew that the most likely cause was another attack on Lindisfarne. After the disastrous raid of 793, there had been two more, the most recent being three years ago.\n\nThe monastery complex was now defended by a palisade and the members of the fyrd amongst the islanders could hold off a small raiding party until help from the fortress could reach them. Eafa hoped that he could make it in time, if what he feared was true.\n\nIt was. From the ramparts he could see the Viking longship turning to run before the wind and then head towards the beach. Monks who had been fishing or working in the fields outside the enclosure were running for the gates, together with the local inhabitants. A few monks stood ready to close and bar them as soon as the last person was inside.\n\nThose who lived too far away from the monastery to reach the safety it offered were heading for the path over the sand to the mainland. Luckily the tide was ebbing and Eafa was confident that they would make the crossing safely. The Vikings had yet to beach their ship and they would most probably concentrate on the monastery first.\n\nHe ran down the steps, only pausing to let Erik, his body servant, help him to don his byrnie, helmet and spurs. A stable boy came running with his horse and, mounting, he took his shield and spear from Erik before kicking the animal into a canter. His fifty men followed him out of the sea gate and, once through it, they upped the pace to a gallop as they made for the jetty in Budle Bay, the natural harbour that lay to the north of the looming bulk of Bebbanburg on the rocky outcrop above it.\n\nThey piled aboard two of the birlinns tied up alongside and cast off. Once clear of the bay, the men shipped their oars and hoisted the sail. The wind was coming directly from the east and they hauled the sail around so that they were sailing on a broad reach as they headed across the six miles that separated them from the beach below the monastery complex. Although they were making a good four knots through the water, it seemed very slow to Eafa. At this rate it would take them an hour and a half to get there.\n\nRagnar glanced across the sea towards the imposing stronghold on the horizon when he reached the top of the shallow cliff above the beach.\n\n'There are two ships heading towards us,' he called out to Thorkel, pointing towards them.\n\n'They're half the size of ours,' the hersir muttered, more to himself than to Ragnar. 'Perhaps fifty men, sixty at most. Still, I can't afford to lose men for no purpose.'\n\nHe looked at the tall wooden stakes that formed the palisade in front of him. Given time, his men could capture the place but time was the one thing he didn't have.\n\nEgbert, the Bishop of Lindisfarne, appeared on the walkway above the gates at that moment and held up a gold cross on a pole. He was cursing the Vikings in Latin, not that they understood a word of what he was shouting, but they got the gist of it. Ragnar strung his bow and took careful aim. At a range of eighty yards it was a difficult shot but when he saw the arrow strike the prelate in the centre of his chest he knew that Odin had guided his aim.\n\nEgbert fell backwards off the walkway to crash onto the hard earth inside the compound. The bishop was dead before he hit the ground. A great cheer went up from the Norsemen, matched by the wail of despair uttered by the monks.\n\n'Well done, Ragnar,' Thorkel called across to him.\n\nRagnar beamed with pleasure whilst Ketil gave him a venomous look. It conveyed all the hatred he felt for the younger boy but nobody noticed it, except for Olaf. He was about to warn Ragnar when Thorkel shouted.\n\n'Back to the ship! If they're looking for a fight we'll give them one; we'll kill the turds and then come back to kill the rest of the White Christians.'\n\nThe men cheered and headed back to the drekar. Thorkel's words had been ones of encouragement, but he had no intention of losing warriors to no good purpose.\n\nEafa sighed with relief as he saw the Viking raiders head back to the beach and push their ship back into the sea. He had achieved his purpose and saw no point in trying to fight the big longship at sea. Vikings had a fearsome reputation for maritime warfare, and deservedly so. Although he had two ships, he knew that the Norsemen would outnumber his men and Northumbrians weren't used to fighting on ships being rocked by the waves.\n\nOnce it was afloat, the men who had pushed her off the beach swam out to the lowest part of the gunwale and were hauled aboard. The oars were pushed through the small holes that served as rowlocks and Eafa counted thirty a side. That meant sixty rowers and probably at least ten more in her crew.\n\n'Spill a little wind from the sails' Eafa called and his ship's boys ran to obey, relieved that their lord evidently wasn't intending to fight.\n\nHis two birlinns slowed by about a knot and he watched as the big Viking ship turned and her crew rowed her into the wind. He was still a good three miles away when it turned to the south-east and hoisted its sail. He could just make out the device on the faded red sail. It looked like a black raven. He glanced up at his own sail. Once it had been a bright yellow but it had now weathered to a dirty cream. Nevertheless, the black wolf's head stood out quite clearly.\n\nThe Viking longship would pass them well out to sea. Even if he wanted a fight, which he didn't, Eafa didn't think that he'd be able to intercept them before they'd be out of reach.\n\n'Farewell Raven. The next time you come raiding I will have a big longship like yours. Then we may be able to engage in a fair fight.'\n\nEafa turned and headed back to Budle Bay wondering how he could build a larger ship than the birlinns. He knew it wasn't just a matter of building bigger; the structure of the hull wouldn't be strong enough to stop it flexing and letting water in. He supposed that it was a matter of either capturing a longship and studying its design or travelling to where they were constructed. An Anglo-Saxon would stand out, but then he thought of Erik and an idea began to take shape in his mind. However, in the event it wasn't necessary."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "The Vikings had spent the night on a deserted beach several miles south of Lindisfarne. Thorkel had studied the stronghold sitting high on its impressive lump of basalt rock rising high above the sea as they sailed past it and realised how difficult it would be to attack. A banner with the black wolf's head on a yellow background flew from the top of the watchtower, the same device as the one on the sails of the two small warships and he wondered idly whose it was.\n\nHe'd seen another birlinn and two knarrs moored in the bay to the north of the fortress. That told him that, whoever the local lord was, he didn't have enough warriors at hand to man more than two ships.\n\nThe next morning the fine weather had gone and they woke to find that they were enveloped in a thick sea mist. Only a fool would put to sea in such weather, especially as they weren't familiar with the coast. It looked like a day of make and mend.\n\nThe ship's boys were kept busy removing the rust from helmets and byrnies. At least they weren't expected to clean and sharpen weapons. Whatever his status, a Norseman looked after his own weapons, even the kings. A man depended on them in battle and they were treated with almost reverential care.\n\nRagnar found broken links in one byrnie and he went in search of its owner to see if he had any spare links with which to effect a repair. Only kings, jarls and the richer bondis could afford to pay an armourer to make them a byrnie, so most had been taken from a captured or a dead enemy. In this case the brown stains around the broken links weren't rust, they were dried blood. Whoever the byrnie now belonged to hadn't bothered to have the damage repaired after he'd acquired it. Ragnar imagined that the owner wasn't a man who took a pride in his appearance, unlike most Norsemen.\n\nDespite the scars that many bore and their fearsome appearance, hygiene and appearance were important to the Norse. Most washed at least once a week and everyone owned combs to groom themselves with. Men grew a beard as soon as they were old enough and they wore their hair long. That meant that they had to spend time each day combing out the tangles and ridding their hair of lice and fleas.\n\nRagnar eventually found the owner of the byrnie. It belonged to Leif the sk\u00e1ld. Although he was a warrior and took his place on the rowing bench with the rest, his real purpose in life was to compose and recite sagas. None of the Scandinavian nations had much in the way of written records. They were all verbal. Whereas the lagm\u00e4n recited the law, sk\u00e1lds narrated stories about the gods and heroic deeds.\n\nAs a child, Ragnar had learned about Norse history, literature and mythology from the sk\u00e1lds. They were the main source of Norse history and culture but, as he grew older, Ragnar learned that sk\u00e1ldic poems could be reverent or boastful, humorous and boisterous, witty, defiant or even obscene, and they weren't necessarily an accurate record of what had actually happened. Skalds were valued for their ability to entertain as much as for their role as the repository of history and myth.\n\nPoetry was regarded as a gift from Odin, the All-father, and many poems were reverent and respectful, if a little exaggerated. However, sk\u00e1lds could also compose mocking stories of unworthy actions and mischance, so it didn't pay to make an enemy of a sk\u00e1ld. Ragnar therefore approached Leif with some trepidation.\n\n'Your byrnie needs some new links to repair it, Leif.'\n\nThe sk\u00e1ld looked at him with an expressionless face for some time and Ragnar found himself getting nervous. The silence dragged on and the boy didn't know whether to turn and leave the man or say something else. In the end he got angry.\n\n'Well, for Odin's sake, say something Leif. Do you want me to repair it or not? If so, I'll need some spare links and the tools to do it with.'\n\nTo his surprise the sk\u00e1ld smiled.\n\n'I was interested to see how long you'd just stand there. A lesser man would have just walked away. It's alright, I've got a better one. You can keep it and, when we reach somewhere with an armourer, you can get it reduced to your size. Make sure you get the mail links he takes out back though; you'll need them to enlarge it as you grow.'\n\nRagnar couldn't believe his luck. By rights he should have had his share of the weapons and armour taken from the Picts, but all he got was a mediocre sword and a little silver. Picts didn't seem to wear chain mail \u2013 or at least their attackers hadn't \u2013 and the few helmets they had were too large for him. One that kept falling down over your eyes was more dangerous than not wearing one.\n\nHe didn't have enough money for an armourer and, in any case he was impatient. There wouldn't be an armourer's shop he could visit this side of Norway. So he spent the rest of the morning using some borrowed tools to remove a section of links down each side and to repair the bloodstained hole. When he tried it on it reached below his knees and the sleeves, which would have come down to cover half a man's upper arms, came to below his elbow, but he didn't care. At thirteen he had his own byrnie.\n\nNeedless to say Ketil was livid. He had a poor quality helmet and a quilted cotton over-tunic but he coveted a byrnie above all things. Even Gorm was a little jealous of Ragnar's good fortune, but Olaf was delighted for his friend. If the byrnie still looked too large on Ragnar, it would have dwarfed the other boy's small frame. A byrnie was also heavy and it took some getting used to before you could fight properly in it.\n\nLike the men, Ragnar would wear his on land but he would stow it in an oiled leather bag when at sea. He might be able to swim fully clothed well enough, but the weight of the chainmail would drag even a strong man down to a watery grave.\n\nJust after midday a gentle breeze began to clear the mist. Soon it had strengthened enough for Thorkel to think about putting to sea but, as the last strands of vapour cleared from the tops of the tall dunes that lined the bay, he saw that the crests were lined with hundreds of armed men, some fifty of them mounted."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "As soon as Eafa saw that the Norse longship was heading south he knew that his intervention had only diverted their search for plunder to somewhere further down the coast. As his shire stretched as far as the River Tyne, he determined to shadow the Vikings and attack them when they next landed.\n\nOnce back at Bebbanburg he sent out messengers to summon the fyrd from the surrounding vills and also to his thegns further down the coast, telling them to muster at Alnwic. Meanwhile he sent out scouts to shadow the drekar, keeping out of sight as much as possible.\n\n'Lord, they've beached their ship in a deserted cove a few miles north of where the River Aln meets the sea. My companions have stayed to keep an eye on them, but I'm sure that they will still be there at dawn. The wind had died and already wisps of fog are appearing.'\n\nEafa's plan was to attack them as the sun rose above the horizon to the east but the sea mist put paid to that idea. Even though he knew the coast between Bebbanburg and where the Aln ran into the German Ocean as well as he knew his wife's face, fog was disorientating. When it settled over his encampment that night he decided to stay at the muster point for now and, in the morning, follow the river to its mouth before turning onto the path along the coast.\n\nIt wasn't much of a path and his scouts had to continually ride to and fro along the column to make sure no-one took a wrong turning. He was relying on the inevitable sounds that came from any armed camp to locate the Vikings. He wasn't disappointed. The problem was that in the mist he couldn't tell where the sounds were coming from. It was frustrating but they would have to halt where they were and wait for better visibility.\n\nAt last the mist inland started to clear, but it remained over the coast. Finally the sun burned it off just before midday and the scouts left behind came in to guide them to the small cove where the longship was beached. Just as the last tendrils of mist vaporised his men reached the sand dunes overlooking the beach and took up their position. He had managed to muster one hundred and fifty members of the fyrd to supplement his permanent warband of fifty mounted warriors and, although the fyrd were inferior in terms of equipment and training, they were nevertheless quite capable of fighting effectively in basic formations such as a shield wall.\n\nEafa watched as the Vikings quickly donned their byrnies and helmets and grabbed their weapons and shields. However, it wasn't his intention to fight these raiders unless it was absolutely necessary. He knew that they were tough fighters and, although he might well annihilate them, they would take many of his own men with them.\n\nWith Erik on one side of him and his banner bearer on the other he rode down to the beach. The sand shifted under their mounts' hooves as they descended and all three had trouble in controlling their horses. He was glad when they arrived on the gently sloping beach without suffering any loss of dignity. He walked his horse forward and stopped a hundred and fifty yards away from the Norse shield wall.\n\nFor a moment he thought he would end up sitting there looking foolish, but then the tightly packed line of shields parted and three Vikings walked forward until they were within fifty yards of the Northumbrians.\n\n'What do you want Saxon?'\n\nWhen Erik had translated for him, Eafa nearly pointed out that he was an Angle rather than a Saxon, but he realised that to these northern barbarians it didn't matter whether he was an Angle, a Saxon or even a Jute.\n\n'I want you to stop trying to raid my lands. Now, we can come to some sort of arrangement and you can sail back whence you came, or you can die here. Either way you will not plunder and pillage Northumbria.'\n\n'Ah, so you want to offer me gold and silver to sail away?'\n\n'No, I'm not like others who think that they can buy peace. That just encourages you to come back again next year and try to extract an even bigger bribe from me.'\n\nThe man's reply wasn't what Thorkel had expected. To buy himself time to think he changed tack.\n\n'I'm puzzled. Who is the Norseman who acts as your interpreter? Did you buy him as a thrall?'\n\nThis time Erik answered for himself.\n\n'I'm no thrall. My father was a bondi, but I was captured during the first raid on Lindisfarne nearly thirty years ago.'\n\n'I see. Where did you come from?'\n\n'To be honest I don't remember the name, but it was somewhere up the west coast of Norway.'\n\n'Ah. We come from the southern tip. Nevertheless, do you want to join us?'\n\nFor a moment Erik was tempted. He had never forgotten that he was a Norseman but he was now in his early forties and he was sure that his parents must have died years ago. There was nothing left for him in Norway. Besides he had a wife and three children at Bebbanburg and they wouldn't want to go and eke out an existence in a foreign land.\n\n'I may have been born a Norse pagan but I'm now a Christian. These Northumbrians are my people now.'\n\nEafa was getting impatient with the exchange in a language he didn't understand.\n\n'What are you two discussing?' he demanded.\n\n'He wanted to know what a Norse speaker was doing here.'\n\n'What did you say?'\n\n'I told him the truth. I also said that I'm a Northumbrian now.'\n\nEafa grunted. He hadn't expected Erik to want to join these barbarians, but they were his people after all. He was pleased by Erik's response though. They'd been together for too many years for him to want to lose him.\n\n'Tell him I will buy his prisoners off him for a fair price if he swears by his gods that he will leave Northumbria and not return.'\n\n'He says that he wants more than that. You can buy his slaves but he wants fifty pounds of silver as well.'\n\n'I've told him I don't bribe pirates to go away; I'll only buy his captives in return for his departure from these shores. You can also tell him that more men are on their way. When they get here I will attack if he's not agreed to my terms.'\n\nWhen Erik had translated this Thorkel went back to his men and explained what had happened. Whilst they were arguing - the majority being in favour of fighting \u2013 another thirty horsemen arrived to join Eafa.\n\n'I'm pleased to see you, Turec,' Eafa said with a broad smile.\n\nThe Ealdorman of Berwic nodded towards the seventy Norsemen on the beach below.\n\n'There's another hundred men from my fyrd coming up behind me. They should be here by nightfall.'\n\n'These barbarians will slip away in the dark. We need to resolve this before then.'\n\n'Do you want to attack now then?'\n\n'I told him that I would do so if he didn't agree to go peaceably; after giving me his oath that he wouldn't just go and raid elsewhere in Northumbria, of course.'\n\n'And you'd trust his word?'\n\n'If he swears to do something, he'll do it. Norsemen do not break their oaths, unlike the Danes and the Swedes,' Erik cut in.\n\n'Aren't they all the same? All Vikings?'\n\n'All Vikings? Yes. All the same? No.'\n\nAt that moment Thorkel strode out of his men as they formed into a shield wall once again and Eafa, Turec and Erik rode down to meet him.\n\n'Well, have you decided? Another hundred of Lord Turec's men will be here shortly.'\n\n'We'll sell you the monks for a hundred pounds of silver and I'll give you my word not to raid here again this year.'\n\n'For seven monks and a handful of young Picts? That's an insult.'\n\n'No, that's just for the monks. If you want the boys as well, it'll cost you two hundred pounds of silver.'\n\n'Fifty pounds of silver for all of them and that's my final offer.'\n\n'You'll lose a lot more men than I will and we'll slit the throats of the Picts.'\n\nEafa shrugged. 'So? They're Picts. Go ahead and kill them; at least it won't be on my conscience, whereas leaving Christians in the hands of pagans would be.'\n\nThorkel had been watching the faces of both Eafa and Erik during this exchange but he couldn't tell whether the ealdorman's indifference was feigned or not. The other ealdorman's face was just as impassive.\n\n'What are we waiting for, Thorkel? Are we going to fight or just stand here clacking like a load of old women?' one of the Norsemen called out.\n\n'One hundred pounds,' Thorkel said. 'My men are eager to kill you so make up your mind quickly.'\n\n'Fifty,' Eafa said obdurately.\n\nThe Viking must have learnt what the word fifty meant by now so, without waiting for Erik to translate, he turned on his heel and re-joined his men. The shield wall waited for the Northumbrians' charge, which never came.\n\nEighty horsemen disappeared behind the dunes whilst the fyrd advanced down onto the beach then stopped. Suddenly the horsemen re-appeared, half with flaming torches in their hands. They galloped around the bewildered Vikings and threw the torches into their longship. The tar soaked cordage caught fire almost immediately and the crew watched helplessly as the flames spread to the mast, then the pitch in the caulking between the strakes of the hull began to smoulder.\n\nThe Vikings prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible. However, the Northumbrians still didn't attack. Instead dozens of archers walked forward and, once they were within range, they sent three volleys of arrows into the Norsemen, who were now hunkered down behind their shields. Most arrows hit the latter or else pinged off helmets but a few found chinks in the linked shields and half a dozen Vikings were wounded.\n\nMeanwhile the monks and the captive Picts had been freed by the horsemen. They ran around the Norsemen and into the safety of the massed fyrd, blessing their saviours as they went. There were two priests with the small Northumbrian army and they took the rescued captives to the camp in the sand dunes to give them food and water. Thankfully they were uninjured apart from a few bruises, minor cuts and abrasions from the ropes with which they'd been tied up.\n\nThe horsemen now lined up and charged the rear of the Norse shield wall, throwing their spears into their foes' unprotected backs. Over twenty men were killed or wounded before the Vikings managed to change their formation into a circle. Thorkel was in despair. He knew that his men would die bravely in the expectation of spending that night feasting and drinking in Valhalla, but he feared that, having lost his ship and crew, Odin's sk\u00e1lds would mock and deride him, making the afterlife a misery for him.\n\nHe therefore stepped out of the circle of shields and, throwing down his weapons, he walked towards where the two ealdormen were sitting on their horses.\n\n'Very well, Saxon. You can have your precious monks back for fifty pounds of silver.'\n\nErik roared with laughter at the hersir's impudence, as did Eafa and Turec when he translated the offer.\n\n'Perhaps you didn't notice, Viking. I already have the monks safe and sound. You no longer have a seaworthy ship and you can't really expect me to allow the rest of you to roam the countryside raping and pillaging, now can you?'\n\n'Then it seems as if we will have to die, but I promise you, Saxon, that we will take many of you with us.'\n\n'It doesn't have to be that way,' Eafa said. 'You are traders as well as pirates, I think?'\n\n'When it suits us.'\n\n'Well, I too am a trader, a merchant. I trade with Frankia and other lands across the German Ocean. However, it is getting more dangerous as the cursed Danes attack my knarrs. I send my birlinns to protect them, but they are smaller than their ships. I need to build longships like yours to protect my trading vessels.'\n\n'That's your problem. What has it got to do with me?'\n\n'If you help me to build two longships I will let you repair yours so that you can sail home.'\n\nThorkel took a little time to think the offer over. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. At first he thought it might be a trick to disarm and enslave his men, but the explanation had the ring of truth to it.\n\n'I'll need to talk to my men,' he said abruptly and returned to them.\n\nRagnar had watched the meeting with narrowed eyes. He was determined not to become a thrall of the cursed Northumbrians and he'd managed to acquire a better sword and a shield from one of the fallen Viking warriors. If necessary he would charge the enemy and die with a sword in his hand.\n\nBeside him Olaf was also carrying a shield. It was the one which, unbeknownst to him, had already saved Ragnar's life. Ketil had pulled the spear from the back of one of the Vikings slain by the Northumbrian horsemen and, in the confusion when they had reformed the shield wall as a circle, he'd thrown it at Ragnar. Only Olaf's quick thinking had saved the boy's life. The spear pierced the shield and Olaf had used a small axe lying on the ground to chop the haft from the spear point. Then, without pausing, he'd sent the axe spinning towards Ketil.\n\nThe sharp blade had struck Ketil's forehead and lodged in his skull. Only Torstein the godi had seen what had happened and he smiled to himself. He had dreamt that Ragnar was destined for great things and he knew that Odin himself had guided Olaf's actions. He would say nothing about the incident, but he would keep a closer eye on Ragnar and Olaf from now on.\n\nWhen Thorkel outlined Eafa's proposal to his men the majority, including Ragnar, were in favour of fighting on. However, Torstein spoke for the first time.\n\n'I see the hand of both Odin the All-Father and Loki in this. There is one amongst us who is destined to become a great Viking hero, perhaps even greater than B\u0113owulf. He must live to fulfil his destiny.'\n\n'You are certain of this? Who is he?' Thorkel asked sceptically.\n\n'To name him would displease the Norns. He must create his own fame.'\n\n'So he is young yet?'\n\n'I didn't say that. B\u0113owulf was a warrior long before he sailed to Zealand to kill the giant Grendel and his monstrous mother.'\n\n'Why is Loki interested in us?' Leif asked, already composing a saga in his head.\n\n'Because to provide this Saxon lord with two drekars would discomfit the Danes. There is nothing Loki likes more than a bit of mischief making.'\n\nMost of the men were convinced by the godi's reasoning but Ragnar was not. His mother was a Dane and her brother was a jarl in Jutland. However, he was a boy and had no say, even if he was their king's son.\n\nThorkel walked back to where Eafa was waiting.\n\n'Very well, Saxon. We will build you two drekars \u2013 though they should properly be called skeids as I don't suppose you'll want the figurehead that gives our drekars their name - but you must swear on one of your holy books that you will allow us to repair our ship and allow us to return home as soon as we have fulfilled our part of the agreement. Furthermore you must treat us as free men, as artisans, not thralls.'\n\n'I will so swear on our most holy of books, the Lindisfarne Gospels, which tells of Our Lord Jesus Christ's time on Earth before he ascended into Heaven.'\n\n'Very well. Now get your men to help us put out the smouldering remains of the fire on board our ship.'\n\n[ The Return Home ]\n\n[ 822 to 823 ]\n\nRagnar had sulked for some time after their arrival at Bebbanburg. The Vikings weren't housed inside the fortress itself but were allowed to build a timber hall some miles away beside the stream that fed into Budle Bay. Some of Eafa's warriors took it in turns to live in a separate hall beside the Norse one. Originally the two communities distrusted one another and there were some fist fights. However, as time went on they became friendlier. When Eafa sent his shipwright and a few carpenters to learn how to build a drekar some of the Northumbrian warriors got interested and started to help.\n\nRagnar held himself aloof from all this at first but he too became intrigued with the construction process and made himself useful. In return he, Gorm and Olaf were allowed to make themselves practice wooden swords, blunt spears and shields and were trained by the men. In time he even became happy, but only because a return to Agder was getting closer.\n\nAlthough Thorkel didn't have a master shipwright amongst his crew he had two apprentice shipwrights and a master carpenter. The two new drekars were built side by side. The first problem was sourcing the right wood. The initial item to be laid down was the oak keel, made up of several sections spliced together and fastened with treenails to give it weight and strength. There was no problem finding the oak but the other woods used for the hull and mast in Scandinavia, such as pine, didn't grow in Northumbria and the shipwright in charge had to experiment with other timbers.\n\nEafa was a frequent visitor and took a keen interest in the design and construction process. After the keel the stems, based on segments of circles of varying sizes, were added to the keel. The next step was the interior frame and cross beams. The frames were placed close together to stiffen the ship, but far enough apart to allow the rowers to place their sea chests between them. There were no rowing benches - the rowers sat on their chests.\n\nOnce the frame was complete the next stage was the strakes \u2013 the lines of overlapping planks joined endwise from stem to stern. Unlike the birlinns, where the strakes abutted one another and the joints were caulked, the strakes on a longship were clinker built with the bottom of the upper strake slightly overlapping the top of the next strake down. In section the strakes tapered from top to bottom and so it was a laborious task to trim each one to the desired shape.\n\nAs the strakes reached the desired height, the deck was added; planks being nailed to the cross bracing of the frames. Once finished, the hull and deck was waterproofed with animal hair, wool, hemp or moss drenched in pine tar and forced into every gap. The holes cut between the deck and the gunwale to take the oars were kept closed when sailing by plugs.\n\nOnce the two hulls were finished the masts were lifted into place and the side, fore and aft stays were rigged. The two mainsails proved to be something of a problem as they were woven in one piece and there was no loom big enough at Bebbanburg. Eafa therefore bought the sails needed from the Danes via a merchant in Frisia. He dyed his own sails yellow and Breguswid and her slaves sewed his device of a black wolf's head onto it. He also bought a sail for the Vikings' ship to replace the one lost to the flames. However, this was left plain as Eafa refused to pay for dyes or to get his women to make the pagan raven emblem.\n\nThe two new drekars took until the autumn of 822 to complete. As soon as work on the new ships was underway Eafa had agreed to Thorkel's request that the Vikings' drekar should be made seaworthy and towed back to Budle Bay. Left where it was it would slowly be broken up by high tides and people looking for an easy supply of timber.\n\nHowever, it was kept covered and guarded until after the sea trials of the two new skieds were completed. As soon as they were ready, he sent them up to Berwic to remove the temptation for the Vikings to steal one of them. By the spring of 823 the work to repair and refit their drekar was finished and its crew took it out to sea to test it, but without the stores needed for a long voyage.\n\nEafa threw a feast for the Norsemen before they left. As usual everyone got drunk but, surprisingly, there were no serious fights. Eafa sat at the high table and invited Thorkel to sit with him, Breguswid, the local thegn and his wife. However, Breguswid was pregnant with Eafa's second child and once she and the other woman started to talk about babies the hersir got up and went to join his own men. If Eafa was affronted by his rudeness he hid it well.\n\nBy this time Ragnar and Olaf had turned fifteen and Gorm was sixteen. All three were accepted as warriors and took their places at the oars, though they still had to act as ship's boys and do all the menial work. The sky was overcast and the wind was blowing strongly onshore as they left the next morning. Eafa had brought his young son, Ilfrid, down to see the Norsemen depart and he watched them go with mixed feelings. In one way he was glad to see the back of a load of pagans, whose overt adherence to gods he knew were false continued to upset him; on the other hand he knew what doughty fighters they were and he would have employed them to guard his trading knarrs if he could. He'd mooted the idea to Thorkel but the man had laughed, telling him that they were men, not nursemaids.\n\nWith only three quarters of a full crew they had struggled against wind and tide to clear the bay and round the point at the eastern end of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. Once there they could hoist the sail.\n\nOnce he had finished securing the halyard Ragnar went to talk to Thorkel.\n\n'We're short of rowers as it is and you need us to play a full part at the oars. We need to find some ship's boys.'\n\n'Don't you think I don't know that? I tried to get Eafa to let me recruit some of the poor orphan boys from the vill. They would have a better life with us instead of living by begging and thievery, but he refused to let Christians live with pagans.'\n\n'We could raid the next settlement and take a few as thralls?' Ragnar suggested.\n\nBut Thorkel shook his head. 'No man of honour uses thralls to crew his ship. However, if we captured a few boys I could offer them the choice of becoming thralls or staying free and working the ship.'\n\nHe had given his word not to raid Northumbria on his way home and so he waited until they were north of the wide fjord that Eata had called the Firth of Forth. As the sun headed towards the western horizon Sitric looked for a bay with a beach where they could spend the night. The first one they saw was at the mouth of a small river with a fishing settlement on the north bank. Above it stood a small monastery built of timber with a palisade around it. Thorkel licked his lips. He calculated that they had a couple of hours before dark; time enough for what he intended.\n\nBefore they beached the ship on the sand Ragnar and the others pulled on their byrnies or leather jerkins ready to fight ashore. Ragnar had used what little money he had to pay the armourer at Bebbanburg to put back the rings taken out when he was smaller. Now the byrnie was a little large for him but it would fit him for a few years yet. He grabbed his sword, shield, bow and quiver and stood waiting with Olaf and the rest for the keel to run aground.\n\nAs soon as it did, he jumped from the side of the ship into the shallow water and splashed ashore. Then he was racing with the others towards the settlement as the local inhabitants ran about in panic, gathering up small children and grabbing a few precious possessions before heading up the path towards the supposed safety of the monastery.\n\nA few men tried to oppose the Vikings with spears, hunting bows and axes but they were soon cut down. Ignoring the crude huts and the livestock for now, Thorkel led his men up the path to the monastery on the clifftop. They overtook a few Picts on the way, mainly the old and infirm and a few young children who had been abandoned by their mothers as they fled. These the Norsemen cut down without a second thought as they rushed past them.\n\nRagnar was caught up in the excitement as much as anyone but, when he reached a boy of about twelve or thirteen who had evidently pulled a ligament in his haste to get away and was now hobbling as quickly as he could, he refrained from killing him. Instead, Ragnar hit him on the head with the pommel of his sword and the boy dropped unconscious into a shallow dip beside the track.\n\nThe palisade proved little obstacle to the Vikings. It was about ten feet high, low enough for a man to grasp the top if he stood on a shield held at waist height by two others. Ragnar was the first to reach it, closely followed by Olaf and one of the younger warriors. Olaf was the lightest so Ragnar and the other warrior held the shield horizontally and bent their knees to take the weight as Olaf jumped onto it. They strained to lift the shield up so that Olaf could grasp the top of the timbers and then he was over the top and onto the parapet behind.\n\nA monk was waiting for him, screaming curses at him as he swung a stout cudgel at the young Viking's head. Olaf ducked and grabbed the dagger he held in his teeth. There was no time to draw his sword and he'd dropped his shield and spear outside the monastery before springing onto the shield. As the monk made another swing at his head Olaf dropped his shoulder and rolled on it, coming to his feet a foot away from the monk. He was too close for the monk to use his club so he dropped it and fastened his ham-like hands around the young Viking's throat. Olaf struggled for air but he managed to stab his opponent in the stomach just as he was about to black out. The monk released Olaf's neck from his vice-like grip and tumbled off the parapet screaming in agony. He hit the earth below with a resounding thump.\n\nOlaf saw several more monks armed with cudgels and staves heading towards him and he drew his sword, but then Ragnar was at his side and several more Norsemen appeared at various points along the parapet. From then on it was a massacre. Both Ragnar and Olaf did their fair share of killing. Their victims included women and young children as well as men who tried to fight back. Once the blood-lust was on them they just wanted to kill and go on killing.\n\nIt wasn't until Thorkel knocked Ragnar to the ground just as he was about to kill a young boy that sanity returned. All in all it was a good haul. Five young women would be sold as thralls together with a few monks and a dozen children. The monastery itself had yielded a gold altar cross, several silver cups, plates and chalices and a few ornately illustrated books that Thorkel knew would fetch a significant sum if he could manage to auction them in Frankia.\n\nHowever, only three boys of the right age to serve as ship's boys had survived the massacre. Ragnar and the other ship's boys knew that they would have to train the young Picts and teach them Norse before they could take over from them. They really needed four though, and then Ragnar remembered the boy he'd knocked out on the way up to the monastery.\n\nHe raced down the hill ahead of the others but, of course, the boy was no longer there. Ragnar was a good hunter and the Pict's trail wasn't difficult to follow. He stood there debating what to do. He knew Thorkel would want to get away just in case the alarm had been raised and he would be furious if he had to wait for Ragnar. Anyone else he might abandon but not the king's only son.\n\nHowever, it was nearly dark and so he would probably decide to spend the night on the beach in any case. His mind made up, Ragnar ran along the clear trail left by the young Pict. He had to hurry. As the light failed the boy's trail would be impossible to follow, however obvious it was in daylight.\n\nTwilight was deepening and Ragnar was about to give up when he saw a lean-to built into the hillside ahead of him. Presumably it was a shelter used by shepherds and a likely place his quarry to hole up in. He approached cautiously and peered inside. In the failing light it was too dark to make out anything inside, but the sound of breathing meant that there was someone inside who was fast asleep.\n\nThe boy awoke with a start and went to sit up until the prick of a dagger at his throat persuaded him otherwise. Ragnar found his arm in the dark and pulled him outside. In the twilight he could just make out that it was probably the same boy. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen with a mop of dirty blond hair. Ragnar found this strange as he was under the impression that most Picts had dark or black hair.\n\n'What's your name?' he asked, then cursed when he realised how foolish that was; there was no chance that the boy spoke Norse. However, he tried again in English. To his surprise the boy sullenly replied 'Leofstan'.\n\n'How come a Pictish boy speaks English,' Ragnar asked curiously, then added, 'no, never mind, we need to get back to your settlement. Do you know the way?'\n\nLeofstan gave him a pitying look.\n\n'Of course. Even if I didn't, you could follow the light of the campfires.'\n\nRagnar looked down and could just make out three pinpoints of light where the ships' crew had lit cooking fires on the beach. He smiled ruefully to himself. He should have thought of that. At least it meant Thorkel was staying the night.\n\nRagnar thought that Leofstan might make a run for it in the dark, despite his pulled muscle, but the boy made no attempt to escape. As they descended the narrow path he told Ragnar his story. He was an Angle from near the great fortress of D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann, the stronghold that the Vikings had seen on the south bank of the Firth of Forth.\n\nHe'd been captured during a raid by the Picts two years ago, when he was eleven. There was peace between the Picts and the Northumbrians but raids by both sides still occurred occasionally. His father had been a fisherman but his parents had been killed in front of him, as had his elder brother. He'd been kept as a slave to one of the Pictish shepherds and so exchanging one master for another didn't particularly bother him.\n\n'Well, you might not have to be a thrall.' Ragnar explained what being a ship's boy entailed and Leofstan grew positively enthusiastic at the prospect. Ragnar thought that if Leofstan was used to working a fishing boat, then he should pick up his new duties quite quickly.\n\nThe other boys had all been fishermen's sons so they too were used to a life at sea. Their lives before they were captured by Thorkel's men had been hard. Every day they had helped their fathers to eke out an existence and they had grown inured to hunger and exhaustion. In contrast life as a ship's boy might not have been easy, but they were well fed and treated fairly.\n\nAfter the young Picts had got used to their change in circumstance and picked up enough rudimentary Norse to understand instructions without translation by Ragnar into English and by Leofstan from English into their language, they readily accepted their new roles. The promise that they would not become thralls if they behaved made them positively enthusiastic to perform well.\n\n'Have you noticed that Leofstan has become quite attached to you,' Olaf asked Ragnar one evening as they sat by a campfire back on the island in Orkneyjar.\n\nRagnar glanced over to where Leofstan was cooking a fish stew for them and their closest friends amongst the Norse Warriors. The light of the fire illuminated the grin that the boy gave him as soon as he was aware that Ragnar was looking his way. Ragnar laughed and smiled back.\n\n'He's like a puppy, that's all.'\n\n'Maybe, but I think he's got a bad case of hero-worship, Odin knows why,' one of the other warriors said. Ragnar went red and punched the other man on the shoulder so hard that he fell over. The others around the fire laughed but Ragnar wasn't sure whether it was at the man who'd fallen on his side or at the idea that he was some sort of hero.\n\nThe young boy's evident devotion to Ragnar drew the occasional lewd comment as well but only one man was foolish enough to tease Ragnar about it. Ki\u01ebtvi had sneered and called Leofstan Ragnar's bum boy. Not wanting to cause a fight Ragnar had pretended to ignore the comment but he didn't forget it.\n\nHe brooded over it and knew that he had to do something or his reputation would suffer, however unjust the accusation, so he started to treat the boy harshly. It wasn't something he was proud of but it had the desired affect; Leofstan stopped fawning over him but he became withdrawn and resentful. However, his ire wasn't directed towards Ragnar but at Ki\u01ebtvi. He was a bright boy and he was well aware what had caused Ragnar to change his stance towards him.\n\nOlaf had watched what had happened with some dismay and thought less of his friend because of it. It wasn't the action of a man with a strong character and he told Ragnar so. It didn't help that he knew that Olaf was right; you didn't reward loyalty and devotion with scorn and derision. He bitterly regretted reacting to the comments of a bully like Ki\u01ebtvi, but he didn't know what to do now to correct the situation. However, he soon had bigger problems to deal with.\n\nA week later the drekar entered the mouth of the River S\u00f8gneelva after an absence of over two years. They headed upstream to the settlement of Arendal, which was King Sigvard's base. However, as they rounded the last bend, Ragnar saw that, instead of his father's raven banner fluttering in the breeze before the king's hall, the one that flew there now was blue with a golden spread-eagle - the emblem of King Froh of Alfheim."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "King Eardwulf was not pleased.\n\n'You mean to say that you captured a Viking crew and you let them go? Are you so stupid, Eafa, that you don't realise that they will only return and raid my kingdom again? Your action was not just irresponsible, it's akin to treachery.'\n\n'I'm neither stupid, nor am I am traitor, Cyning,' Eafa replied, keeping his temper with difficulty. 'Their hersir swore not to raid Northumbria again and I believe him to be a man of honour. In any case, his was only one longship; there are scores more that raid the shores of Britain and Ireland. In return for his freedom he has built me two of the largest longships that I have ever seen. That ensures protection for my knarrs when they trade with the Continent and my craftsmen now know how they are built, so we can build them ourselves. How is that foolish or traitorous? I believe that I have done Northumbria a valuable service.'\n\n'Your opinion is not shared by me.'\n\n'There are other ealdormen with shires on the coast who have already shown an interest in my new longships. They seem to think the idea was a good one.'\n\n'Are you trying to unite your friends against me?'\n\n'No, of course not, Cyning. I am merely telling you the facts.'\n\nEafa looked at the ceiling in despair. The older Eardwulf got, the more paranoid he became. He'd been on the throne for ten years when he'd been deposed by Ealdormen \u00c6lfwald and he'd defeated two challengers for his crown before that. He'd fled to the court of Charlemagne at Aachen, where he'd married one of the emperor's daughters, and had returned in 808 with an army of Frankish mercenaries to reclaim his throne. \u00c6lfwald was killed and for the last fifteen years Eardwulf's rule had been unopposed.\n\n'You are treading on very dangerous ground, Eafa. Because you were one of the first ealdormen who rallied to my side when I returned from exile, I'll forgive you this time. However, I'll be keeping my eye on you from now on. Now get out and send my son in to see me.'\n\nEanred was thirteen and his father doted on him. He was being schooled by the monks at the monastery of Eoforw\u012bc, but his father kept sending for him, to the despair of both the Master of Novices and Eanred himself.\n\nThe prince was sitting by the central hearth in the new hall talking to the captain of the king's gesith. The previous king's hall had been built in timber and, although much larger, compared unfavourably with Eafa's stone built hall at Bebbanburg. However, unlike the latter, which had been built of rough cut stone, this new hall at Eoforw\u012bc had been constructed using faced blocks.\n\nThe roof was impressive too. It was supported on square columns of stone running down each side of the hall and consisted of timber 'A' frames on top of which planks had been nailed and then any small gaps had been filled in much the same way as the hull of a ship was waterproofed. This would have been enough by itself to keep out the rain which dripped down on the occupants of most buildings, but Eardwulf's masons had covered the roof with overlapping stone tiles.\n\nIt was the most impressive hall that Eafa had ever seen. Nevertheless, the smoke and soot from the central hearth, which took the form of a fire trough, still tainted the interior with acrid fumes. The new roof beams were already darkened in the area of a strange structure that evidently served to extract the smoke \u2013 or most of it.\n\nIt consisted of a square hole at the apex of the roof above the fire trench, over which something that looked like a pyramid on stilts had been erected in wood. It was intended to keep the rain out whilst allowing the wind to suck out the smoke as it blew across the space under it. Eafa had to admit that it worked better than the hatch in the side of the sloping roof on his own hall.\n\nHowever, stone buildings had one drawback, they seemed to suck the heat out of you and there wasn't even a brazier to take the chill off the air in the king's private chamber. Eafa therefore made for the hall's central hearth to warm himself up.\n\nEanred sighed and walked towards the door into his father's private chamber when Eafa passed on the message, his monk's habit making the lanky youth look like a beanpole.\n\n'Like a few of our kings in the past, I think that he'd be more suited to the life of a churchman than a warrior prince,' the captain muttered as Eafa joined him to warm himself.'\n\nThe man was silent for a moment before changing tack.\n\n'Eardwulf was furious when he heard that you'd released those Vikings you captured. He isn't alone either. Every shire with a coast has been raided this year. You're not popular.'\n\n'Then my fellow nobles are short sighted idiots. Our coastline is too long and too vulnerable for us to defend it ashore. The answer is to tackle them at sea before they can land. That's why I did the deal with Thorkel for my two longships. Now I can patrol the coast and fight them at sea. At least my close neighbours have welcomed the idea.'\n\n'Can you defeat them at their own game? I hear that they are experts at sea battles.'\n\n'We can learn. Besides, if we give them a hard time they will seek easier prey; the Land of the Picts or Ireland, or even Mercia and Wessex.'\n\n'I see. Perhaps it's a good idea after all. What did Eardwulf say?'\n\nEafa snorted. 'What do you think? Building a hall in stone is about as new as his ideas get.'\n\n'Perhaps you ought to have a word with Eanred. If anyone can convince Eardwulf, he can.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "Thorkel had hated the idea of using a plain sail but now it proved fortuitous. Vikings like to boast and have the sk\u00e1lds laud their deeds. Sailing incognito was anathema to them. However, had he arrived displaying the raven of Agder he would have had to turn tail and flee without finding out what had befallen Arendal. As it was, he decided to moor alongside one of the empty jetties as if he was a trader. In a way he was as he had several Pictish slaves to sell.\n\nHowever, he and those of his crew who came from Arendal would have been recognised and that might have proved dangerous, given the obvious change in who now ruled the place, and presumably the rest of Agder. Although Ragnar had put on several inches and had filled out in the two and a half years they'd been away, he was still recognisable. Thorkel therefore sent Olaf with two men who came from outlying farms to find out what had happened to Ragnar's father and family and, more importantly to him, what had happened to his own wife and daughters. Other married members of his crew who came from Arendal were equally keen to discover the fate of their families.\n\nWhen the official who collected the tax from visiting ships appeared Thorkel kept his face hidden and another man pretended to be the shipmaster, though Thorkel didn't recognise the man and he was evidently a Swede.\n\n'How long will you be staying,' the man asked whilst the two warriors escorting him gave the female Picts lascivious looks.\n\n'We've come to sell these thralls. When is the next market?'\n\n'In three days.'\n\n'Then we'll be departing as soon as we've sold them.'\n\n'That'll be three pounds of silver then,'\n\n'That's extortionate,' the supposed shipmaster said, pretending to look dismayed.\n\n'That's the price set by King Froh. Pay it or leave now and sell your wretched thralls somewhere else.'\n\n'Wait here. I'll fetch some silver and my scales.'\n\nAfter the official and his escort had left Thorkel went to speak to Ragnar to see if he knew anything about this Swedish King Froh, but he couldn't find the lad anywhere.\n\n'The bloody idiot has slipped ashore. If he's recognised we could all be in trouble,' he muttered to Sitric.\n\nIt didn't take Olaf and his companions long to find a tavern. They sat down in the crowded interior reeking of smoke, stale sweat and vomit and ordered three tankards of ale and a bowl of stew each. They were lucky to find a place where they could sit together but they had to share the table with a group of young men.\n\nIn due course they got talking to them and found out that were apprenticed to a blacksmith. All of them had been born in Arendal and would presumably know what had happened there.\n\n'The last time we came here to trade the king was Sigvard, a Norseman, not a bloody Swede; what happened?'\n\nOne of the youths snorted. 'The old fool fell for a pretty face \u2013 the daughter of one of his jarls; I forget his name. The trouble was the girl was already promised to Froh of Alfheim.'\n\n'I thought Sigvard was married?'\n\n'So he was, but he divorced her. He forced his jarl to break off the betrothal to Froh and give the maid to him instead.'\n\nOlaf wondered how he was going to break the news to Ragnar about his mother but worse was to come.\n\n'Of course Froh wasn't best pleased and he assembled his jarls and their men to take his revenge on Sigvard. Our king was so besotted with his new bed mate that he ignored warnings that Froh was going to attack. After all, Arendal is a large place with many bondis and their families living within the stout palisade around it, and Sigvard had a hundred men in his hird. He thought that he was invulnerable.\n\n'But Froh came by sea and at night. They swooped like the Valkyries collecting souls for Valhalla when everyone was asleep and killed everyone in Sigvard's longhouse; his hirdmen, the king, his daughters, his thralls; even the new queen and her predecessor too. Evidently Froh didn't want soiled goods back, just revenge.'\n\n'So does Froh rule here now?'\n\n'Yes, Agder is a more prosperous kingdom than Alfheim. He gave his old kingdom to his brother.'\n\n'Didn't Sigvard's jarls contest his right to the throne?'\n\n'Why should they? Sigvard was dead and his son Ragnar had never returned from Orkneyjar. The other drekar that went raiding with Thorkel \u2013 that's the ship that Ragnar sailed on \u2013 limped back badly damaged by a storm and they said that Thorkel and his crew had been lost. Besides, Froh paid the jarls well from Sigvard's chests of silver for their oaths to him.'\n\nWhilst Olaf was in the tavern Ragnar had taken a more direct approach to find out what had happened. He went straight to Thorkel's hall and spoke to his wife. He had expected her to be relieved to find out that her husband was still alive but there was a complication. Believing herself to be a rich widow, she had married a young bondi and had no intention of returning to Thorkel.\n\nIt was only after he'd left to make his way back to the ship that he realised that he might well have put all of them in danger. If Thorkel's wife had used his money to buy herself a young replacement, she might prefer him to stay dead. If she went to tell Froh that Ragnar was back and could be found on Thorkel's longship they were all in peril.\n\nWhen Ragnar told Thorkel what he'd found out the hersir was furious and, despite the risk, he set off with three of his closest companions to kill his wife and her new husband. In his anger he didn't even reprimand Ragnar for recklessly endangering them all.\n\nRagnar waited anxiously for Thorkel's return, and that of Olaf. For a while the settlement remained quiet but sound travels far at night and soon he heard the unmistakeable sound of fighting coming from somewhere in the centre of the settlement. Olaf and his companions arrived breathless ten minutes later and told him that everyone was saying that Thorkel had returned and killed his wife and her lover, only to be killed himself by Froh's hirdmen.\n\n'Ragnar, they'll come here next. We need to leave. Now.'\n\nHe realised that, with Thorkel and their king dead, the other men were looking to him as the obvious person to lead them. Much as he wanted to stay and avenge the death of his family and of the old hersir, his duty now was to his crew.\n\n'Get to your oars and cast off.'\n\n'Where are we going?' Sitric the helmsman asked.\n\n'To visit my mother's brother, Jarl Gutfred of Aarlborg.'\n\n'A Dane?' Sitric asked in surprise.\n\n'Yes, a Dane. Hopefully he'll prove more trustworthy than my father's jarls and the accursed Swedes.'\n\n[ Toppenafdanmark ]\n\n[ 823 ]\n\nSeveral snekkjur pursued Thorkel's ship out of the river and into the Skagerrak but they soon gave up the chase as the larger drekar progressively increased the distance between them.\n\nOnce it was clear that they had outpaced their pursuers, the crew had to make a quick decision. With Thorkel dead they needed to elect a new hersir and shipmaster. There were several seasoned warriors who the others respected, but most either felt that they didn't have the brains to be a leader or they didn't want the responsibility. In addition all were still suffering from the shock of losing their homeland and that undermined their confidence. It was Olaf who proposed Ragnar.\n\n'After all, he is the son of King Sigvard and should succeed him.'\n\n'Except that he no longer has a kingdom to rule,' Ki\u01ebtvi pointed out. 'No, you need an experienced man like me to lead you.'\n\n'No kingdom for the moment,' Ragnar corrected him vehemently. 'Do you think that I will rest until I have killed Froh and taken back what is mine? If so, you don't know me very well.'\n\nHis eyes swept around the warriors challenging them to contest his right to lead them. No one except Ki\u01ebtvi met his eyes, though there was some quiet muttering about his youth and inexperience. He knew he would have to fight the other warrior to become hersir and he welcomed it. His reaction to the other man's snide remarks about his relationship with Leofstan had eaten away at him like a cancer for long enough and he welcomed the opportunity to cleanse it with blood.\n\n'Very well, Ki\u01ebtvi, we could settle this by a show of hands but you have challenged me and besmirched my honour in the past. We'll fight to decide the outcome. Sword and shield?' he asked.\n\nKi\u01ebtvi was more of a troublemaker than a leader and had only challenged Ragnar out of mischief. Now he'd been put on the spot. He didn't want to fight Ragnar and he certainly didn't wish to become the hersir. However, he couldn't back down now. It was unthinkable.\n\nAlthough fighting on board ship was something that Vikings were used to, there would be little room for a duel on an overcrowded longship. Sitric therefore steered them towards the northern tip of Denmark and beached the ship on the deserted golden sands. He drew a wide circle in the sand with his sword and the crew crowded round just outside the circle. The warriors all brought their spears, which they would use to jab at either contestant if he came too close to the boundary.\n\nA few yelled encouragement to Ki\u01ebtvi but most were shouting for Ragnar, Leofstan's unbroken voice as loud as anyone's.\n\nAs Ki\u01ebtvi didn't possess a byrnie, Ragnar felt that it would be unfair to use his and so both men wore just a leather jerkin to protect their bodies. They fought bareheaded and were armed with just a sword and shield. The older man was the more experienced fighter but he was at a disadvantage because he didn't really want the prize he was fighting for. On the other hand Ragnar was angry at the insinuations that Ki\u01ebtvi had made about him and Leofstan and what he really needed at the moment was a cool head.\n\nRagnar made the first move; jumping in the air and making a feint at his opponent's head, Ki\u01ebtvi instinctively raised his shield and Ragnar landed in a crouch, bringing his sword around in a sweeping motion to cut at Ki\u01ebtvi's legs. The other man jumped backwards just in time so that only the tip of the blade connected and made a shallow cut into the front of Ki\u01ebtvi's right thigh just above his knee.\n\nDimly he heard Leofstan's high pitched cry of 'first blood' above the roar of the crowd. Ragnar fought to control his anger. Olaf had told him enough times that he was prone to impetuosity and he needed to be calm and think clearly if he was to beat the experienced warrior facing him.\n\nThis time it was Ki\u01ebtvi who acted unexpectedly; he retreated but, when Ragnar went to follow him, the other man stepped forward so that he was inside the sweep of Ragnar's sword. Ki\u01ebtvi had the pommel of his sword raised, ready to bring it down on Ragnar's exposed head. However, it met the rim of his shield instead and Ki\u01ebtvi' wrist struck the thin metal band protecting the rim. His fingers spasmed in reaction to the blow and flew open, the sword falling to the ground.\n\nRagnar could have thrown away his own shield and used his left hand to pull the other's out of the way so that he could end the fight with his sword, but he didn't. He stepped back and allowed Ki\u01ebtvi to retrieve his sword. It was a foolish but magnanimous gesture and the crowd loved him for it; all except Leofstan who had yelled for Ragnar to kill Ki\u01ebtvi. Olaf cuffed the boy hard around the head and he shut up, rubbing his head and giving Olaf a hurt look.\n\n'You don't understand, boy,' Olaf hissed at him quietly. 'By that act of generosity to his enemy Ragnar has won over all those who doubted him. Now no one is shouting for Ki\u01ebtvi.'\n\nThe latter had picked up his sword and was circling Ragnar warily. The right leg of his trousers was now dark red with the blood that had flowed out of the flesh wound to his thigh and his right hand hadn't recovered fully from striking the rim of the shield. He was also tiring. In contrast Ragnar was unmarked and was breathing easily. He had all the appearance of enjoying the duel.\n\nThe sun was low on the horizon now and Ragnar was anxious to finish the fight before dark. He lunged forward with his sword held horizontally and Ki\u01ebtvi went to knock it away with his shield. At the last moment, just before the shield would have made contact, Ragnar lifted the point. The shield missed it and Ki\u01ebtvi was momentarily off balance. He had begun to stab forward with his own sword but Ragnar twisted to the side and raised his right hand, tipping the blade down to strike over Ki\u01ebtvi's shield. The point entered his neck and Ragnar thrust with all his might so that the point emerged the other side.\n\nHe worked the blade to and fro, half severing the head, and Ki\u01ebtvi crashed to the ground as the last of his life blood pumped into the sand. Everyone rushed forward to clap Ragnar on the back and congratulate him. He felt euphoric but he was dimly aware that someone had grabbed him around the waist and was hugging him. He looked down to see Leofstan grinning up at him. He laughed and tousled the lad's mop of fair hair before picking him up and throwing him in the air and catching him.\n\nThey set sail again the next morning but the wind was fickle. When it did blow in the right direction it pushed them along at barely two or three knots and they spent most of the day rowing. Ragnar didn't mind. After the adrenalin rush of the fight with Ki\u01ebtvi, he found the effort and monotony of rowing strangely soothing. They had erected a pyre the previous evening and burnt his body as a mark of respect. Whatever his faults, Ki\u01ebtvi had died a warrior's death.\n\nFinally in the middle of the afternoon the wind picked up and the rowers thankfully shipped their oars as Leofstan and the three Pictish boys rushed to haul up the sail. As dark descended the ship's boys shortened sail so the drekar slid over the calm sea at a mere two knots. Ragnar didn't want to risk overshooting the entrance to the Limfjord, especially as he only had a vague idea where it was.\n\nDawn found them in that part of the sea known as the Kattegatt which was the straight between Sweden and Denmark. Suddenly the Pictish boy who was acting as lookout called out in broken Norse that there was land dead ahead.\n\n'It looks like an island,' he added.\n\n'Probably L\u00e6s\u00f8,' Olaf, who was standing beside Ragnar at the prow, suggested.\n\n'L\u00e6s\u00f8?'\n\n'Yes, according to Sitric it lies in the middle of the Kattegat just north of the entrance to the Limfjord.'\n\nRagnar cursed. He should have thought to ask the helmsman what he knew of these waters. Evidently Sitric wasn't a man to offer advice if he wasn't asked for it.\n\n'Do you know the entrance, Sitric?' he called back towards the stern.\n\n'We pass to the west of L\u00e6s\u00f8, lord. It's only about another four hours sailing from there before we turn into the Limfjord,' he replied from his position at the steering oar.\n\nRagnar remained at the prow as the drekar left the Kattegatt. The ship's boys hauled down the sail and his crew rowed it into the mouth of the Limfjord. It wasn't a fjord as he understood the term. The land on either side of it was flat, unlike the mountains that lined the Norwegian fjords. However, unlike Norway, it looked to be good pasture land with large herds of livestock eating the lush grass. He later found out that the narrow waterway widened out beyond the major settlement in his uncle's domain of Lindholm into a series of connected lakes and inlets. The fjord eventually ran out into the Nordsee, which the Anglo-Saxons called the German Ocean. It made the northern part of Jutland effectively an island.\n\nHis uncle Gutfred was Jarl over the area to the north of the Limfjord and to the south as far as the Marianfjord, another inlet from the Kattegatt. In Norway or Sweden he'd call himself a king as ruler of such a large domain, but Denmark had been united as one kingdom by Angantyr Heidreksson more than a hundred years previously. The present king was called Harald Klak, though he was lucky to have retained his throne.\n\nHe'd been restored earlier in the year with the help of Louis the Pious, the son and successor of the late Charlemagne, who ruled Frankia, Frisia and Saxony. One of the conditions for his help had been the baptism of Harald as a Christian and the establishment of a church at his capital, Hedeby, near the border between Denmark and Saxony. This had increased his unpopularity with his pagan subjects and weakened his power base. Gutfred might be called jarl, but he ruled his lands independent of much control from Hedeby. He hadn't even paid any taxes for the past few years.\n\nHe was therefore pleased to see Ragnar. The addition of nearly fifty trained warriors and a drekar to his forces was welcome at a time of such turbulence in Denmark. Furthermore it meant that his forays to plunder his neighbours could be extended. Danish longships were designed to sail in the shallow waters of the Frisian coastline and the Baltic, unlike Norse ships, which could cross oceans with their deeper keel and high freeboard. However, he hid his pleasure well at their first meeting.\n\n'Well, nephew. If you've come here in the belief that I'll help you against Froh and the Swedes you're mistaken. He and his brother rule the lands across the sea to the north and east of mine and I need to keep the peace with him.'\n\nRagnar had indeed expected his uncle to help him avenge the murder of the latter's sister, if nothing else, and he said so.\n\n'Do you intend to let the murder of my mother and your sister go unpunished then?'\n\n'Don't sneer at me, you whelp. Your accursed father divorced my sister in order to take some twelve year old child into his bed. It's him I blame, not Froh, who only acted as I would have done in the same circumstances.'\n\nRagnar kept his temper with difficulty. He needed a safe haven for the moment and it would do no good to antagonise Gutfred.\n\n'I, er, I suppose I can understand you thinking like that. I too was furious with my father when I found out what he'd done. Perhaps Froh was provoked, but I cannot forgive his killing of my mother or of the hersir I was pledged to serve until I became a man.'\n\n'If you want to stay here and serve me you will forget all about seeking to avenge yourself on Froh. Is that clear?'\n\nRagnar took a deep breath and bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue.\n\n'Yes, uncle. Very.'\n\nHe paused for another moment before continuing.\n\n'If I and my crew are to serve you, what can we expect in return?'\n\n'A place to sleep in the warriors' hall, a free berth for your longship and half of whatever the proceeds are from raids that I send you on.'\n\n'So you get the other half? The jarl's share is normally a tenth.'\n\n'And the king's share is a quarter, which you won't have to give him if we keep quiet about your raids, so I'm not asking for much more that you are bound to hand over, are you? In any case it seems to me that you have little choice but to agree to my terms, or I will see what price Froh will give me for your head.'\n\nRagnar regarded his uncle through narrowed eyes. It seemed that their relationship meant nothing to the man; he was only interested in what he could squeeze out of the situation.\n\n'Not nearly as much as you'll get from the proceeds of my raiding,' he said, trying to keep the derision out of his voice. 'However, I want more than you are offering. My men and I need farmland - a place to settle and spend the winter when we're not away raiding for you.'\n\nGutfred sucked his teeth and thought about what Ragnar had said. It was during the silence that followed that Ragnar was conscious of a pair of eyes studying him from a corner of the hall where women were sewing and embroidering clothes. From their clothes Ragnar assumed that they were members of the jarl's family, or perhaps of a rich bondi. The girl who was studying him was probably about twelve or thirteen, a few years younger than he was. Ragnar realised with a start that she was extremely pretty. He was captivated by her and was still returning her bold look when his uncle spoke again.\n\n'Land in Jutland is scarce; that's why so many people left in the past and settled in England.'\n\nRagnar recalled hearing that it was the Jutes who had conquered Kent and part of the south coast of England from the Britons who used to live there.\n\n'However,' the jarl continued, 'few want to live on the exposed northern peninsula, known as Toppenafdanmark. There is one small settlement at Skagen but the bondi who lives there owes me taxes for the past ten years so I would be justified in confiscating his land and giving it to you.'\n\nSo it was that Ragnar sailed north again and beached his ship on the broad white sandy beach behind which he could see a few huts and a small longhouse. He was expecting trouble and so he and his men donned their armour and helmets and picked up their shields and weapons before jumping down into the shallow water.\n\nThey had mounted the dragon's head on the prow of the drekar to make it clear that they didn't come in peace. Armed men and boys started to gather in the dunes above the beach as they waded ashore.\n\nRagnar stood and looked at the opposition once he reached dry sand and smiled. There were barely a dozen men and about the same number of boys, ranging from eight to fourteen, facing him. Then, to his dismay, a load of women and a few girls joined their menfolk. They brandished knives, pitchforks and other everyday items that could be used as a weapon. However, he had no intention of making war on women.\n\nHe strode up the beach accompanied by Olaf and Sitric until he was near enough to the people confronting him to be heard.\n\n'Which one of you is Aksel?'\n\n'Who wants to know?' a large man with red hair called back in a low booming voice.\n\n'I'm Ragnar, nephew of Jarl Gutfred. You owe him taxes for ten years or more and have forfeited this land as a result. You may leave with your family, but not your tenants or your thralls, or you may stay here and die on this beach.'\n\n'Leave? And where would I go?' he snorted in derision. 'This land is mine and I'll kill any man who says otherwise.'\n\n'Well, I say otherwise, Aksel. If you don't wish to go then at least save the lives of your tenants. Fight me in single combat.'\n\nHe heard Olaf hiss 'no' and sensed Sitric start in surprise. He could only imagine Leofstan's reaction.\n\n'Fight you? But you're a mere slip of a boy. It would hardly be fair. No, nominate one of those hairy-arsed warriors behind you to be your champion and I'll kill him instead.'\n\n'I've killed more men in my short life that you have, you bloated belly of lard and piss.'\n\nThe insult enraged Aksel, as it was intended to do. With a roar of rage he ran down the sand dune on which he'd been standing and headed for Ragnar. The comment about his belly was justified but the man had arms like tree trunks and legs to match. He stood a good six inches taller than Ragnar and was armed with a large axe in addition to the sword at his waist.\n\nThis would be a very different fight to the one against Ki\u01ebtvi. Ragnar knew that one blow from that axe would cleave his shield in two and so he threw it away and drew his dagger instead. Then he waited with sword in his right hand and his dagger in his left. Olaf and Sitric withdrew to a safe distance but Torstein the godi stepped forward from the rest of the crew and walked calmly towards the running giant.\n\n'Come to meet your doom Aksel,' he yelled. 'Ragnar is destined by the Norns for great things and the Valkyries are already circling to cart you away to Valhalla.'\n\nThe godi's doom laden prediction had no noticeable effect on Aksel but it gave Ragnar encouragement. He waited calmly until the bondi reached him and then he sidestepped. The axe came down with such force that it would probably have split Ragnar's head in two and continued on to embed itself deep in his torso had he still been there.\n\nAs it was, the absence of any resistance unbalanced Aksel and, before he could recover, Ragnar's sword had carved into his unprotected side, followed swiftly by a stab from his dagger into his right biceps. Blood spurted out of the big man's side and Ragnar knew from the numbness in his sword hand that he must have broken a rib or two as well, despite the covering of fat.\n\nAksel roared in rage and spun around surprisingly quickly for such a heavy man. He dropped his axe, which he needed two hands to wield effectively, and drew his sword with difficulty before changing it to his left hand. Ragnar realised that he must have cut tendons in his biceps, rendering his right arm useless.\n\nRagnar faced Aksel, balancing on the balls of his feet, as the man brought his sword around in a slicing blow aimed at his young opponent's neck. When he ducked the sword did no more damage than dent the very top of Ragnar's helmet. Once again he managed to get a counter blow in, this time slicing his sword into Aksel's calf. The giant staggered but managed to stay on his feet. However, he could only move by hobbling now and he was getting weak through loss of blood.\n\n'Come on Ragnar, stop playing with him and finish it,' someone called from the semi-circle that had gathered around the two fighters.\n\nThe crowd watching from the dunes had also come down onto the beach, but they stayed a hundred yards away from the combatants.\n\n'Do you concede me the victory?'\n\n'Go to Helheim, you bastard spawn of a Norseman,' Aksel replied, gritting his teeth against the agonising pain in his side, arm and leg.\n\n'Very well.'\n\nRagnar's sword moved too quickly for anyone to follow it as it chopped through Aksel's wrist and his sword fell onto the sand, still clutched in his severed hand. A split second later Ragnar leaped into the air and thrust his dagger into the big bondi's neck, severing both carotid arteries. The former lord of Toppenafdanmark fell into the sand and, just like Ki\u01ebtvi, his blood stained it red until his heart stopped pumping his blood out of his body.\n\nWild cheering brought Ragnar out of the momentary stupor he'd fallen into as soon as he realised he'd won. The adrenalin that had coursed through his system during the fight drained away leaving him feeling sick and exhausted.\n\n'You need to act before the crew massacre those who are now your people,' Olaf whispered in his ear.\n\nRagnar glanced up the beach towards the folk gathered there, who looked as if they were about to flee. If they did that his warriors would chase them and mayhem would ensue. Olaf was right; these were his people now.\n\n'Stay here,' he barked at his crew, a new authority apparent in his voice.\n\nHe walked alone towards the nervous group of Danes with a forced smile on his face.\n\n'Don't be afraid. You have nothing to fear now. It was Aksel who had displeased the jarl. You are my tenants now and no harm will come to you; on the contrary I swear to protect you.'\n\nThe men came forward and introduced themselves whilst the women took the children home. He noted that the older boys went unwillingly, wanting to stay and meet the youth who had defeated the mighty Aksel. Of course their fate had been to work the land, whereas they doubtless dreamt of becoming warriors. That would now change.\n\nWhen Ragnar inspected the longhouse and the hovels in which the inhabitants lived he was appalled. The whole place stank of human and animal faeces, rotting straw and urine. The overriding impression was one of poverty, decay and lethargy. The area around the settlement was full of blown sand, salt water bogs and scrub. What areas of soil there were had been cultivated but the crops and vegetables they produced were of poor quality. The few sheep and cattle were scrawny and the three horses looked as if they were about to expire. They'd been worked almost to death. Even the oxen used to pull the two ploughs that the place possessed looked weak and undersized.\n\nOnly the pigs looked as if they could provide a decent meal and Ragnar bought two of them to give his men and the inhabitants a decent meal. It was obvious why Aksel hadn't paid his taxes to his jarl; he had nothing with which to do so. Gutfred must be laughing into his ale, Ragnar thought sourly. Who would want such a hell hole?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "However, Ragnar had something that Aksel didn't: a drekar and the crew to man it. There was three months left before winter made raiding hazardous and he intended to take full advantage of the time. He decided to raid Sweden and he didn't intend to seek permission from his uncle to do so.\n\nFirst, though, he toured his new territory with Olaf and Leif the sk\u00e1ld. He had been tempted to take Torstein as a godi tended to frighten most people out if their wits, but he wanted to enlist the support of these people, not make them afraid of him. On the other hand, the sk\u00e1ld would entertain folk and earn him support. At the last minute he decided to take Leofstan as his servant and the boy couldn't be more pleased if he'd been made a warrior. The presence of a young lad would advertise the fact that he came in peace too.\n\nThere were ten farmsteads in all in Toppenafdanmark, in addition to those on the peninsula around Skagen. The coastal area on both coasts was much the same as it was on the narrow peninsula but inland there was good pasture, areas of woodland and even some rich soil that produced good crops.\n\n'Why on earth would Aksel choose to live at Skagen when he could live here?' Ragnar wondered aloud.\n\nAs he toured the area he learned that Aksel was a lazy bully. His father had chosen Skagen because he was paranoid and wanted to be away from people and Aksel had been too idle to move elsewhere after the old man died. He hadn't even bothered to collect all the rents due from his tenants and seemed content to live in squalor and poverty.\n\nInitially Ragnar's reception was mixed. Now his tenants would have to pay him the proper rents as their landlord, which was unpopular, but he let them off what they owed from the past, which helped. Leif's sagas and Ragnar's promise of plunder and wealth under his leadership won the bondis over and he gained a grudging acceptance as their hersir, despite his youth.\n\nHe calculated that, between the outlying farmsteads and the settlement at Skagen he could raise another fifty warriors; enough to fill his empty rowing places and protect his land whilst he was away. There were also enough fishermen and eager boys to crew a knarr to carry the plunder. First he would have to build it though.\n\nAt the end of his tour he found a better place for his hall. There was a large curved bay called Fladstrand twenty miles south of Skagen. There was a wooded hill south of the bay and Ragnar decided that the hill would be the perfect place for his new hall. It was much more defensible, was surrounded by good arable land and wasn't too far from the sea where he could keep his ships. To protect them he would build the warriors hall where his hirdmen would live close to the shore. The shipbuilding yard he planned would be located there as well.\n\nAt first the bondi who currently rented the land from him was reluctant to give it up, but when Ragnar told him he'd reduce his rent as compensation, his tenant reluctantly agreed. Privately he thought that he'd secured a good deal because he didn't have the thralls to farm the land properly in any case.\n\n[ The Rise of Ragnar ]\n\n[ 823 to 824 ]\n\nWhen Ragnar returned from his raid on the south-east coast of Sweden he brought with him four horses, a small flock of sheep and half a dozen calves as well as a quantity of silver and a few slaves. They had to fight for some of their plunder and they had lost three men, but everyone was elated by the success of the venture. Admittedly the return journey with so many animals on board had been unpleasant and Ragnar was even more determined to build a knarr before his next raid.\n\nDuring his absence the hill near Fladstrand had been cleared of trees and work had started on his new hall, the palisade to go around it and the longhouse to house his hirdmen to guard the port that was taking shape in the bay. One jetty was complete so he could tie his drekar up instead of beaching her and sheds for the shipyard were well underway.\n\nIt was going to be a race to finish the hall and the longhouse before the cold and wet weather set in and, in the end, Ragnar decide to concentrate on the longhouse. Living with his men until the spring would be no hardship, or so he thought.\n\nWhat he hadn't expected was the gales that continually struck the low lying land once October arrived. He was lucky that his longship hadn't torn free of her moorings during the first of these. After that they hauled it well up the beach, out of possible reach of the storm driven sea.\n\nSpring came as a great relief. Food had grown short and they had even been reduced to eating the tough old horses that they'd found at Skagen. Once the warmer weather arrived they quickly discovered that there wasn't much to hunt in that part of Denmark, so increasing the herds of livestock became even more important.\n\nWork on the hall, palisade and shipyard recommenced in mid-March and by early May they were ready to start work on the new knarr. Ragnar was now sixteen and had the beginnings of a beard on his face. He decided to wait until the knarr was ready before raiding again. This time his target would be Frisia, he decided. However, all that would change.\n\nAt the beginning of June he had a visitor. Jarl Gutfred had sailed up to Skagen and became concerned when he found the place deserted. No-one had spotted the new settlement at Fladstrand because they had been struggling with a squall when they rowed past it. When they sailed back down the sky was blue and visibility was excellent.\n\n'Jarl, there's new buildings over there,' the lookout called down as they cleared the point north of the bay.\n\nHalf an hour later Gutfred's snekkja was tied up on the other side of the jetty from Ragnar's much larger longship and the jarl cast envious eyes at it. Ragnar had seen the snekkja approaching and had walked across from the shipyard to the jetty to welcome the jarl.\n\n'Welcome to Fladstrand, uncle.'\n\n'You didn't tell me you'd moved from Skagen,' Gutfred said without acknowledging the greeting.\n\n'I didn't know I had to, but I did intend to visit you once my new knarr is ready and discuss raiding this summer. I'd have told you then.'\n\n'This summer is well underway and it's time you earned the land I've given you.'\n\nHe looked around him with pursed lips and Ragnar guessed that his uncle hadn't realised that Toppenafdanmark included such good land. No doubt he thought that it was all like the area around Skagen.\n\nAt that moment Ragnar spotted the girl he'd first seen in Gutfred's hall and who had seldom been out of his thoughts ever since.\n\n'I see you have brought someone with you,' he said, trying to hide his interest.\n\n'What? Oh, yes, my daughter Thora. She insisted on coming with me, Odin knows why; normally she hates the sea.'\n\n'May I be introduced to my cousin?'\n\n'Why? Don't tell me you're interested in her. She's destined for a much better match than the exiled son of a dead king.'\n\n'Oh, is she betrothed then?'\n\n'No, I'm not. Nor will I be sold off to the highest bidder like some thrall,' Thora said with some passion.\n\n'You'll do as you're told, girl.'\n\n'No, I won't. If you make me wed against my will I'll kill my husband and involve you in a blood feud.'\n\nRagnar laughed, which earned him a furious look from Thora.\n\n'You'd make a good shield maiden, cousin,' he told her.\n\nShield maidens existed only in Scandinavian mythology as far as Ragnar was aware but Thora's eyes seemed to light up at the idea. She smiled at him and then looked demurely down at the ground. Ragnar thought that she might be as interested in him as he was in her. Her obvious feistiness was an added attraction. He didn't think life with her would be boring.\n\n'Don't encourage her, Ragnar. She's bad enough as it is. I'll be glad when she's married and off my hands. But that's not why I came here. The raiding season has started and I want you to join me in a raid on Austrasia.'\n\n'But that's part of Louis the Frank's kingdom isn't it? I was under the impression that he and your king, Harald, were allies.'\n\n'That's why my ships will be displaying a plain sail, like yours.'\n\nThey had been walking up the path to Ragnar's new hall as they talked but now Ragnar stopped.\n\n'My sail has now been dyed in red and white stripes and displays the raven symbol of my family.'\n\n'Well, you'll have to get another plain one from somewhere, won't you?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'What do you mean no?'\n\n'I'm not creeping around like a thief in the night. I want my enemies to know who I am and to tremble at the sight of my ships.'\n\n'You'll do as I say or I'll take back these lands. In fact, I'd never have given Toppenafdanmark to you if I'd known it contained rich lands like this.'\n\n'If you remember you didn't give me this region, I had to fight for it, and I pay taxes for it, which is more than my predecessor ever managed to do.'\n\nGutfred looked Ragnar in the eye and then grunted before continuing to climb the slope towards the hall.\n\n'By Thor's hammer, boy, I thought your father was pig-headed but he was a model of amenability compared to you. If I let you go raiding on your own where would you go?'\n\n'Ireland.'\n\n'Ireland? Why?'\n\n'Because few have ventured that far as yet so there should be richer pickings, but not until next year. I need to leave early to make the most of the summer and I need to take my knarr to bring back everything I manage to steal; half of which will be yours, of course.'\n\n'And this year?'\n\n'The area around Uppsala.'\n\n'Uppsala? On the east coast of Sweden? Why?'\n\n'Because their warriors will be busy raiding the land of the Rus. I need more livestock and more thralls to work the land.'\n\n'They're no use to me, I want silver.'\n\n'There'll be some of that too.'\n\nBy now they had reached the palisade around the hall and Gutfred nodded in approval at the depth of the ditch and the height of the ramparts. The top of the earth bank was ten feet above the bottom of the ditch and the palisade stood twelve feet above that. It would be a difficult place to assault.\n\nThe hall itself was a typical Norseman's hall, built to keep out the weather rather than for comfort. The roof trusses were supported on a colonnade of straight pine trunks that ran all the way around the hall. Inside it planks had been set up vertically to make the walls and then the gaps had been plugged with dried mud. There were windows with shutters, one main doorway and the roof was of turf laid on more timber planks. The protruding roof edge and colonnade beneath it gave some protection to the walls and allowed the windows to be open in all but the foulest weather.\n\nDespite the windows the interior of the hall was still dark. As Gutfred entered the hall he noted the usual features \u2013 the beaten earth floor covered in rushes, the tree trunks down each side of the hall supporting the roof trusses, the partitioning between those columns and the outer wall and the benches in each alcove that served as a place to sit during the day and as sleeping platforms at night.\n\nThe central hearth was round and had a pig slowly roasting over it. A boy stripped to the waist was slowly turning the spit, the sweat glistening on his thin body. The jarl noticed the lad's badly scared back and assumed that he needed punishing to keep him in line. He was therefore startled when the boy grinned at Ragnar who punched the boy lightly on the arm as he passed.\n\n'Are you that familiar with all your thralls?'\n\n'No, of course not, but that's Leofstan. He's not a thrall; he's my body servant. He's a Northumbrian who I rescued from the Picts to become one of the ship's boys on my drekar. He's also got the knack of cooking pork to perfection without burning it. All my thralls either char the outside or leave the meat half cooked inside.'\n\nGutfred looked around at the number of thralls busy cleaning the hall and laying out refreshments on the table at the end of the hall.\n\n'Where did you get all these thralls from? Are they Northumbrians as well?'\n\n'No, Ragnar smiled. Thorkel was in charge then and he gave his oath not to raid Northumbria in exchange for our freedom. No, there are a few Picts and the rest are Swedes.'\n\n'Swedes? You've raided Sweden? Did I know about this?'\n\n'Don't worry, it was two day's sail from here and I have a chest of silver to give to you as your share.'\n\nGutfred was going to rebuke his nephew for going raiding without permission but the mention of a chest of silver mollified him. Ragnar sat down at the table at the far end of the hall and invited the jarl and his daughter, who had followed them into the hall, to sit either side of him.\n\nThora seemed a little miffed at being ignored so far, but she soon thawed when Ragnar started to talk to her. Now it was Gutfred who was feeling a little ignored until Olaf came and sat beside him.\n\n'Aren't you a little young to be a hirdman?'\n\nThe jarl had made the natural assumption that Olaf must be one of Ragnar's household warriors; no-one else would come and sit with their hersir.\n\n'Ragnar and I are the same age, jarl. Oh, I know that I'm small for sixteen but I've killed my fair share of men.'\n\nRagnar stopped talking to Thora and turned to her father.\n\n'There is no-one I'd rather have beside me in a fight. Olaf and I met when he defeated me in the final round of the boys' swordsmanship competition at Arendal.'\n\n'You do seem to have the knack of inspiring loyalty, Ragnar,' he said, a trifle enviously.\n\n'I suppose so. At any rate I seem to have attracted enough young bondis looking to blood their swords to fill another longship. I'll be leaving enough men behind when I go raiding this summer to guard my hall and to start building another drekar.'\n\nGutfred narrowed his eyes at that. As jarl he had several snekkjur and knarrs, but only one drekar, and that was smaller than Ragnar's. With two drekars and a knarr Ragnar would become his most powerful bondi; so powerful that in Norway or Sweden he could have called himself a jarl.\n\nHe listened to Olaf with half an ear whilst he watched Thora and Ragnar deep in conversation. They obviously got on well together; perhaps he should bind his nephew closer to him by offering him his daughter in marriage? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and turned his full attention to what Olaf was telling him about Ragnar's plans for raiding that summer."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Leofstan was excited. Once again he'd be going to sea and this time he'd be the senior of the four ship's boys. He wasn't the oldest but his position as Ragnar's body servant gave him precedence over the three Picts and the young Danish boy who made up the rest of the crew.\n\nAs a youngster in Northumbria his father had made his life a misery; it wasn't just the beatings he gave the lad when he was drunk, which was much of the time, but it was the mental torture that Leofstan had hated the most. The man made him feel more unworthy than the meanest cur in the settlement. Life as a Pictish slave had been no better. It was only Leofstan's resilient nature that enabled him to survive.\n\nDuring the tour of his lands the previous year Ragnar learned something of the boy's background and, unlike most Vikings, he felt a growing responsibility for the lad's welfare. It wasn't just that he felt sorry for him - servants were beneath his notice generally \u2013 but the boy's eagerness to please and his lively sense of humour made him stand out.\n\nHe soon found out that the boy wasn't just a good servant, he was a good raconteur, making the most mundane tale amusing. Had the boy been Norse or Danish he would have made a good sk\u00e1ld when he grew up. He could be cheeky at times but, as the months wore on, Leofstan never once stepped over the line and became too familiar. He even took his turn on the roasting spit with good humour; something none of the household thralls did.\n\nIt was when he first took a turn at the spit and took off his homespun tunic because of the heat that Ragnar saw the matrix of scars on the boy's back; the scars that later Gutfred had seen and which had led him to assume that he was a troublemaker. But it wasn't Ragnar who had disciplined him, it had been the boy's father. He'd been whipped repeatedly with something like a leather belt and, judging by the depth of the welts on his mutilated body, he was lucky to be alive. From that day on Ragnar's respect for the boy grew and they gradually established a relationship that was as close to friendship as was possible in their respective circumstances."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "The drekar bumped gently as its prow hit the sand. Leofstan and three of the other ship's boys leapt ashore and ran up the beach with two anchors and embedded them securely in the sand. The knarr came to rest fifty yards away and was similarly secured. There was no tidal rise and fall in the Baltic Sea so, barring a storm, the two ships wouldn't move.\n\nLeaving the ships' boys and the crew of the knarr as guards, Ragnar led his seventy warriors off to explore. The island of Gotland, where they had landed, was the largest Swedish island in the Baltic. Its main settlement, Visby, was an important trading centre and Ragnar believed that its warehouses would be full of furs, iron bars, fleeces and, of course, silver and gold. They had landed in a deserted bay ten miles south of Visby and, as the bay was surrounded by woodland, he hoped that their ships would remain undiscovered.\n\nOnce clear of the wood they cautiously traversed the undulating countryside with scouts out to the front and the flanks. Apart from a few sheep and the occasional bird, the place seemed bereft of life. At the sun neared its zenith it blazed down on the column of warriors sweating in leather jerkins, byrnies and helmets.\n\nSuddenly one of the forward scouts came running back, keeping to the hollows.\n\n'There's a party of mounted warriors ahead, Ragnar,'\n\n'How far and how many?'\n\n'About half a mile and there are about ten or so.'\n\n'Do you think they know we're here?' Olaf asked in a low voice.\n\n'Hopefully not, it's probably just a routine patrol. We'll stay in this hollow and hope that they don't notice us but pass the word for everyone to get their shields ready to use, just in case.'\n\nWhen on the move warriors kept their shields slung on their backs.\n\nThe sixty men of the main body clustered into the depression in the ground and waited, clutching their heavy ash spears. The ten men with bows strung them ready for use and selected their best arrow, wetting the feathers with their lips to give them the best chance of flying true.\n\nOlaf crept to the rim of the hollow and cautiously peered around the bottom of a bush. He could hear the muffled sound of horses' hooves on the hard packed earth of the nearby trackway but the Swedes were hidden from sight in another undulation in the ground. Then he saw a helmet appear swiftly followed by the man's torso and another head. He counted a dozen men coming towards them before slithering back down to join Ragnar and the others.\n\n'There's a dozen of them, some in byrnies, but most in leather jerkins or quilted tunics. They're two hundred yards away - nearer now \u2013 but they're on the track so we should remain undetected,' he whispered.\n\nRagnar shook his head. 'I can't take the risk of them finding the ships,' he mumbled quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself.\n\nOlaf was about to point out that the beach where they were was well hidden from the track when the sound of someone's spear point clattering against a helmet broke the silence. The patrol came to a halt looking around in alarm for the source of the sound. He cursed the idiot who'd made the noise, but the decision had now been made for him.\n\nRagnar signalled frantically for the archers to get ready, then pointed at Yngvi, one of his most experienced warriors and gestured for him to take half of the warband to cut the horsemen off. He beckoned the other half to follow him and then he called out 'now!'\n\nThe Vikings swarmed out of the hollow, one group heading left and the other right as fast as their legs could carry them. The archers halted at the rim and taking a couple of deep breaths to calm their breathing, they let fly with their first volley.\n\nThe Swedes sat there for a moment, shocked by the sudden appearance of so many armed men. Then their leader kicked his horse into motion, but it was too late. An arrow struck it in the rump and another pinned the rider's calf to its side. The horse reared in surprise at the agonising pain and the horseman fell off, tearing the arrow in his leg free in the process. His horse bolted with blood streaming from its rear and chest before collapsing a hundred yards away.\n\nRagnar saw this out of the corner of his eye and swore; he had a use for the horses. Fortunately most of the other archers were better shots and, apart from one who missed his target entirely, they managed to hit five more riders, killing three and wounding two more. That left half a dozen who looked around them in panic.\n\nThe Vikings were rapidly forming a semi-circle ahead and behind them, cutting off any escape along the track so they did the only sensible thing and headed for the scrub to the right of them. As they fled the archers brought down two more with arrows in their backs but four escaped before the circle could close. A well thrown hand axe brought another down and a third volley of arrows at long range hit the thigh of another Swede, but it didn't unseat him.\n\n'Odin's blood, they can't get back to Visby and warn them,' Ragnar cried in alarm.\n\nHe ran and vaulted onto the back of a surprised stallion, who was calmly eating grass after the death of his master. Olaf and two other warriors grabbed other horses and set off behind him as he galloped off in pursuit of the escaping Swedes.\n\nIt soon became apparent that horses carrying warriors weighed down by byrnies were unlikely to catch ones ridden by men in padded tunics, except for Ragnar's stallion which was proving to be much faster than any of the other horses. However, the man with the leg wound was evidently feeling faint from loss of blood and two of his companions came alongside him to support him. It was a mistake as it slowed them down.\n\nRagnar caught them up but he ignored them and continued after the fourth man, leaving the others for Olaf and his companions to deal with. Now the fourth man was a mere two hundred yards ahead. He glanced behind him and, seeing only one pursuer, he pulled his horse to a sudden halt and turned to face Ragnar.\n\nIn leaping onto the stallion Ragnar had dropped his spear and shield so he now found himself facing a man armed with both when he only had his sword and dagger. He didn't draw either, however. As the Swede lunged at him, Ragnar ducked then launched himself into the air, barrelling into his opponent's body and knocking him out of his saddle.\n\nThey crashed to the ground, Ragnar on top. He was slightly winded but his adversary was struggling to breathe. The Norseman recovered first and thrust his dagger into the other's neck. Hot blood spurted up soaking his face as the Swede convulsed once and then lay still. Ragnar stayed where he was for a minute recovering then struggled to lift the corpse onto his own horse.\n\nLeading it he retraced his steps until he found Olaf and his other two men. The three Swedes were dead but they hadn't died quietly. Olaf had wounds to both legs and his left arm and, although no more than nasty flesh wounds, they would need washing in sea water to stem the blood flow, sewing up and binding. He therefore sent him back to the ships on one of the horses.\n\nThey buried the dead Swedes in a shallow grave away from the track so no-one would find them until it was too late to matter and they continued on their way towards Visby.\n\n'What are you plans, lord?' Yngvi asked him as he rode beside him.\n\nRagnar was dressed in the clothes and padded tunic taken from the smallest of the Swedes whilst Yngvi wore the polished byrnie and helmet taken from the leader of the patrol. All the other riders were also dressed in the Swedes' clothes and one carried aloft the red and green pennant that one of the patrol had been carrying.\n\nThey stopped behind the last ridge before Visby and Ragnar crept forward with Yngvi. The settlement was quite large and they estimated that it probably had about three or four hundred adult inhabitants. There was a large longhouse surrounded by a palisade that had to be the jarl's hall, and two other longhouses. The rest of the buildings were huts and down by the quay there were five warehouses of varying sizes. Three jetties jutted out at right angles to the wooden quay to which there were moored three knarrs and a snekkja.\n\nOne of the knarrs was being loaded and another unloaded. They could see four warriors on guard duty on the quay and another two stood in front of the open gates in the palisade which ran around the whole settlement. There didn't appear to be any guards patrolling the palisade itself but just behind the warehouses there was a tall tower with a lookout in it. However, his attention appeared to be directed out to sea.\n\nNext Ragnar studied the lie of the land. It was too flat to offer any hope of concealment, but there was a wood which was only a hundred yards from the main gates at the closest point. Ragnar smiled to himself. Had he been the Jarl of Gotland he would have made sure that the perimeter was clear of any undergrowth out to at least three hundred yards.\n\n'Come on, Yngvi. I think we've seen enough.'\n\nBut the man grabbed his arm and pointed.\n\n'That must be the warriors' hall,' he said, pointing at the larger of the two longhouses outside the jarl's enclosure.\n\nThree men had just come out of it armed with shields, spears and wearing helmets. They proceeded to change places with the men at the gate and the lookout. Ragnar nodded.\n\n'Well spotted. We'll need to take care of the warriors living in the longhouse before attacking the jarl's hall,' he said.\n\nHe studied the settlement again carefully, expecting to see at least some of the off duty warriors training, but there was no sign of anything except the inhabitants going about their normal business. He smiled to himself. Such indolent behaviour indicated to him that the warriors in Visby wouldn't be very well trained.\n\nA little later one of the sentries at the main gates nudged his companion.\n\n'Jarl \u00d6julf is returning. I wonder why? I thought he was meant to be away until tomorrow.'\n\n'Ours is not to reason why, boy,' the older man said and the pair drew off to one side to allow the horsemen to pass. 'That's funny, there seems to be fewer of them than left this morning. I wonder if they ran into trouble.'\n\n'What sort of trouble?'\n\n'Shhh, lad. Best not to be seen chatting away by the jarl when we're meant to be on duty.'\n\nHad the sentries continued to examine the approaching horsemen they would have realised that they looked nothing like \u00d6julf and his men, apart from their borrowed clothes and helmets. However, the Swedish jarl didn't like his men staring him in the face and so the sentries stood with their eyes to the front as the cavalcade reached them.\n\nAs Yngvi drew level with them he drew his sword and chopped down into the elder warrior's neck. The man dropped like a stone. The younger man, who was scarcely old enough to have a proper beard yet, stood paralysed by shock. Before he could gather his wits one of the other horsemen stuck a spear into his unprotected chest.\n\nYngvi took off the Swedish jarl's ornate helmet and tossed it away, taking his own helmet from one of the other men. Ragnar rode forward and congratulated them before riding on towards the warriors' hall. Thankfully the lookout was either dozing or looking out to sea and no alarm bell rang as they trotted through the busy streets, not wanting to seem in too much of a rush.\n\nPeople stared at them, wondering who these strangers might be. The subterfuge had ceased at the gates when the banner had been discarded along with the jarl's ornate helmet. It was useless to pretend that they were \u00d6julf and his men in the narrow streets. The deception would never stand up to scrutiny at close range; far better to be a band of visiting strangers.\n\nOdin was with them it seemed. The warriors' longhouse was unguarded and there was a carpenter's workshop nearby. Ragnar had intended to kill those inside but now he saw a better alternative. Beside the one door, there were two windows on each side of the long building. Both had two shutters either side of the opening to keep out the wind and rain when necessary, but today was warm and they were open to let in what breeze there was.\n\nSending men to grab hammers, nails and lengths of timber from the carpenter's yard, others slammed the four shutters to and it was the work of moments to seal both the windows and the door. Now he wouldn't have to worry about the men inside, at least for a while.\n\nAs they were doing this, the rest of the Vikings had reached the open gates before the jarl's hall and poured in through them. If the sealing shut of the warriors' hall hadn't alerted the inhabitants of Visby the screams of those near the gates and the belated ringing of the alarm bell did.\n\nRagnar cursed. Now the residents of the jarl's hall would be alert. However, that wasn't his prime concern. He sent Bjarke and the first of his men who arrived on foot down to the quayside to secure the warehouses and prevent any of the ships from leaving.\n\nIt didn't take him long to persuade those in the hall to surrender. Once she knew that her husband was dead, \u00d6julf's wife agreed to surrender the hall and its contents in exchange for the lives of herself and her three young children. The eldest, a boy of ten named Finnulf, swore to avenge his father's death but, as no one knew who the raiders were \u2013 apart from the fact that they were a mixture of Norse and Danes \u2013 Ragnar ignored him. Had he suspected that the boy had the remotest chance of carrying out his threat, he would have killed him on the spot."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Ragnar sailed around to the beach in the captured ship to find that it had been Leofstan who had sewed Olaf back together again, a skill he had learned from the female thralls at Fladstrand. He was a little surprised to find that Olaf didn't seem at all grateful to the boy. For the first time the thought crossed his mind that his closest friend might be jealous of the bond between him and his servant. However, he dismissed the idea as preposterous.\n\nHe arrived back at Fladstrand with more ships than he could moor alongside the jetties. In addition to the knarrs and the snekkja he had captured at Visby he had come across another drekar as he rounded the southern tip of Sweden. He would have left it alone \u2013 he had enough of a problem as it was manning all the ships he'd captured \u2013 but its mainsail proclaimed the fact that it belonged to King Froh, the killer of his parents.\n\nShouting for the four knarrs to stay well clear, he made a course to intercept the Swedish drekar. It was a little smaller than his own ship and it was rowing into the wind whereas Ragnar's two longships were sailing with the wind behind them. The Swedish ship immediately turned and hoisted its own sail in an attempt to make a run for it, but it was slower than either of Ragnar's longships.\n\nWhen they drew level with it, one on each side, Ragnar ordered his archers to open fire. The Norns must have been smiling on him because the Swedish steersman was killed in the first volley and the ship slewed to one side until it was broadside on, the wind spilling from its sail. Minutes later Ragnar's ships threw their grappling irons and secured their prey. Warriors poured into the Swedish longship from both sides and trapped the crew between them.\n\nThe Swedes were as numerous as their enemy but they were hemmed in with little room to wield a sword, let alone an axe or a spear. They were butchered where they stood but they refused to yield. In the end only the wounded survived and Ragnar ordered them thrown overboard. He had lost ten men in the encounter and another fifteen were wounded, but he considered it a price worth paying to have taken the first step towards hitting back at Froh.\n\nRowing at any speed above a snail's pace with so many ships and so few men to crew them was impossible. It meant that he was at the mercy of the wind. It took twice as long as normal to get back but he eventually limped home at the beginning of July.\n\nHe had intended to sally forth for one more raid that year but his knarrs were weighed down with silver, furs, wool and captives who he'd either put to good use on his land or sell as thralls. He would have to give some of his spoils to his uncle, but perhaps not half. After all, he wouldn't know exactly how much he'd plundered. However much he gave Gutfred he was now a rich man. His warriors were more than pleased with their share and the sk\u00e1lds would sing of his exploits. That would attract more young men to serve him.\n\nHe was beginning to think that the year couldn't get any better. He was wrong.\n\n[ The Raid on Neustria ]\n\n[ 824 to 825 ]\n\nRagnar had expected his uncle to come north as soon as he heard that he had returned in order to claim his half share of the plunder, but he didn't. Eventually Ragnar came to the conclusion that the jarl must be away raiding himself; then he heard what had happened.\n\nGutfred and his two sons had taken their four longships to go raiding along the Frisian coast, but they had been betrayed. The king, Harald Klak, had got wind of Gurfred's plans and had secretly plotted with Louis the Pious to ambush Gutfred. The jarl had two hundred and fifty warriors with him but Harald and Louis had mustered a fleet of ten ships and a thousand men on land.\n\nGutfred had escaped but he'd lost two of his longships and over half his men in the process. It was even more of a disaster because both his sons were among those killed. Now his only children were his three daughters, the eldest being Thora.\n\nWhen Ragnar eventually sailed south with what he'd decided should be the jarl's share of what he'd looted from Sweden he had one object in mind: marriage to Thora. He sailed into the Limfjord in his drekar with two knarrs carrying his tribute to Gutfred and escorted by his two other longships. It might have been difficult to man them all but, as he'd hoped, a number of young warriors from Denmark and Norway had come to join him as his reputation spread. Of course, it meant that word would eventually get back to Sweden as well, but that couldn't be helped.\n\nHe couldn't afford to keep them all as his hirdmen but there was enough spare land for him to make those with families his tenants. As they brought the land under cultivation and bred more livestock to graze it, so his own income would increase. Nevertheless, he realised that he would need to be as successful at raiding next year as this if he was to keep on top of his outgoings. Not for the first time, he resented being expected to pay half of the proceeds to Gutfred.\n\nSince he'd last seen her Thora had grown into a young woman and he could hardly take his eyes off her. With a jolt he realised that Gutfred was waiting for a reply to a question he'd asked.\n\n'I'm sorry, uncle, I didn't hear what you said.'\n\n'No, you were too busy ogling my daughter,' the man said sourly.\n\n'What are your intentions for her?' Ragnar asked, quite unabashed.\n\nHe sensed that he'd said the wrong thing when Thora looked up from her needlework and gave him an angry look.\n\n'King Harald has a brother, Hemming, who is his heir as things stand. His wife has just died and an alliance with him would be useful to me.'\n\n'Huh, I'd rather die; he's as old as the hills,' Thora retorted.\n\n'He's only in his late thirties, as you very well know, and he is the Count of Walcheren in Frisia. He has a lot to offer you.'\n\n'The Frisians are our enemies, or at least they used to be,' she replied heatedly.\n\n'Not since their king put Harald Klak back on the throne of Denmark.'\n\n'And that's another thing, both Harald and Hemming are followers of the White Christ; we're not!'\n\n'Why are you so keen to ally yourself with Harald and Hemming, uncle?' Ragnar interrupted. 'Klak is only king because Louis the Pious lent him an army to regain his throne. He's unpopular with his jarls and the people. It's foolish to ally yourself with someone whose days are numbered.'\n\n'Who asked you?' Gutfred asked heatedly.\n\nRagnar shrugged. 'As I must now be one of your most powerful bondis, I thought my opinion might count for something, especially as I'm now your closest male relative.'\n\n'Don't get above yourself, boy. I'm not dead yet and I can still sire more sons.'\n\n'Father, be realistic. You're in your fifties and mother is beyond child bearing age.'\n\nHer mother, who had studiously continued with her embroidery work on a new tunic for her husband up to this point, looked sharply at her daughter.\n\n'Thora, that is not something to be discussed in the hall, or anywhere else come to that. I'm ashamed of you.'\n\n'Why? It's the truth.'\n\n'It may be,' her father said, a dangerous glint in his eye. 'But there is nothing to stop me taking a younger wife, who will give me sons.'\n\nBoth his wife and his daughter looked at him in shock. His wife sat there dumbfounded but Thora let out a wail and ran out of the hall.\n\n'You are not thinking clearly, jarl,' Ragnar said. 'Even if you sired another son next year, you would have to live into your seventies for him to be old enough to be accepted by the Thing as jarl.'\n\nWhat Ragnar had said was true. Although it was normal for a son to follow his father as jarl it wasn't necessarily always the case. The Thing was the assembly of all bondis held whenever necessary to resolve disputes, decide on policy, pass new laws or repeal old ones and, most importantly, elect their jarl.\n\nGutfred sat in his chair fuming for a while and Ragnar had the good sense to let the silence lengthen. Eventually the jarl's shoulders' slumped in resignation. He got up and, ignoring his weeping wife, sent men to find Thora.\n\nShe had no idea where she was running to when she left the hall, all she wanted to do was get away from her father. She was oblivious to her surroundings until she was nearly run down by a wagon. The carter cursed her roundly as he pulled his horse to a sudden halt.\n\n'Get out of the way, girl. Why don't you look where you're going?'\n\nThe man evidently had no idea who she was or, if he did, he couldn't care less. Thora stood there shaking with emotion when she felt two strong hands on her shoulders. She started and whipped around to find herself staring into Ragnar's concerned eyes.\n\n'Would you marry me, Thora,' he asked gently.\n\n'Yes, oh yes, there is nothing I want more, but my father will never agree.'\n\n'We'll see about that,' he said with a smile.\n\nGutfred hadn't gone looking for his eldest daughter himself, of course, but had sent his hirdmen to find her. When they saw that she was with Ragnar and heading towards the jarl's hall they called off the search.\n\nRagnar and Thora didn't go straight to the hall though, they went via the quayside so that, when they did reach the hall, Ragnar entered first followed by his men carrying bales of furs, sheep and goatskins, flax for weaving into linen and two sizeable coffers containing silver.\n\n'Your share of my raiding this summer, uncle.'\n\nGutfred sat there open mouthed. Ragnar had made him a wealthy man. Now he could afford to replace the ships and men he'd lost in his abortive raid on Frisia. It would also mean that he wouldn't need to appease Harald Klak. His shrewd eyes narrowed. If this was his share he imagined that Ragnar had kept more than half of the plunder. He knew that he needed to keep Ragnar loyal to him now.\n\n'What do you want in return, nephew?'\n\n'Two things, jarl. The freedom to wreak my revenge on Froh and his brother. Once I have regained my kingdom I give you my oath that I will enter into an alliance with you and we will support each other.'\n\n'Agreed. Try not to upset all of Sweden though. Even together we would never stand a chance in a war against the combined Swedish kings.'\n\nHe paused.\n\n'You said two things?'\n\n'Thora's hand in marriage.'\n\nAt that moment his daughter appeared in the doorway and went running up to her father, throwing herself at his feet.\n\n'Please forgive me father but I implore you to agree. Ragnar is the man I wish to marry.'\n\nGurfred's instinct was to deny his wilful daughter but he saw how tense Ragnar was out of the corner of his eye. His answer really mattered to the seventeen year old Norseman. If he said no then Ragnar would probably turn against him, attack Froh anyway and, if he did regain the crown of Adger, he could prove to be a powerful enemy.\n\nHis furrowed brow cleared and he smiled.\n\n'Nothing could please me more,' he lied."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "The wedding took place on a bitterly cold day in January 825. Instead of wearing a thick woollen tunic or a long robe and a cloak made of oiled wool like everyone else, Ragnar appeared wearing a byrnie of steel rings polished by Leofstan until it looked as if it was made of silver. The servant walked behind him carrying a helmet with a gold band and a golden raven as a crest. But that wasn't what had surprised the bondis and other guests; he also wore trousers and a jerkin under his byrnie made of goatskin. The trousers were tucked into calfskin boots stained to match the dark grey goatskin. Over his armour he wore a cloak made from the skin of a large wolf. It was obvious to all that he was making a statement; he wasn't just a bondi and a hersir, he was a warrior in the mould of Beowulf.\n\nThe goatskin trousers were stiff and uncomfortable, though they would become suppler the more that Ragnar wore them. He later found them to be effective protection in battle and he continued to wear them as well as his byrnie when dressed for war. Thus he acquired the byname Lodbrok \u2013 hairy breeches.\n\nThora looked uncharacteristically demure as she entered the hall and stood beside him to watch the godi perform the ritual sacrifice and pronounce the omens propitious for their future together. They swore their vows to each other and then everyone present proceeded to get uproariously drunk.\n\nThora left once things began to get a bit unruly and Ragnar did his best to stay sober enough to make love to his bride later. However, he failed, and when he was half led, half carried into the chamber they were to share he was far beyond doing anything except snore the night away \u2013 much to Thora's disgust and disappointment.\n\nShe made her feeling about his inebriation perfectly clear the next morning when she woke up and kicked him awake. He sheepishly apologised and found that he felt much better than he had any right to be. He turned her anger away with soft words and endearments, accompanied by kisses and caresses. Eventually she gave in and he proceeded to take her virginity, trying to be gentle.\n\nHowever, there was no doubt that Thora enjoyed the experience and clawed at his back and bit his neck in her passion. Thus encouraged Ragnar stopped trying to be nice and gave way to his own animal lust. The experience left them exhausted and, after a suitable pause, eager for more.\n\nHe and Thora returned to his hall in the north and, by the time that Ragnar went raiding that summer, she was able to tell him that their passionate coupling had born fruit. She was expecting their first child.\n\n'Stay with me this summer until our child is born, husband.' she said, not so much pleading as demanding.\n\nHer own mother hadn't prepared her for the changes that pregnancy would bring and she became less sure of herself as a consequence. Instead of being her normal self-sufficient self, she wanted her husband to comfort her and help her through it. Ragnar didn't understand this, of course, and her imperious tone annoyed him.\n\n'I'm sorry Thora but I need to gain wealth and ships and thus attract more warriors to my banner if I am ever to regain Agder.'\n\n'You think more of that accursed place than you do of me,' she accused him, her eyes blazing.\n\nHis face grew cold and he left her without another word. The next thing she knew he had sailed without even saying farewell. She broke down and cried, more in frustration at her failure to bend Ragnar to her will than anything. He, on the other hand, felt no remorse. Thora needed to understand that being a husband was only part of who he was."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "As the summer wore on Thora's resentment grew. Thankfully the birth of their son was straightforward but, instead of waiting to see what Ragnar wanted to call his first-born she went ahead and named him Agnar, meaning terror. It seemed a fitting name for the son of Ragnar Lodbrok.\n\nIt was a name that could be applied to the father rather more appropriately. Ragnar had raided all the way along the Frisian coast from the enclosed bay known as Jadenbusen to the end of the East Frisian Islands. However, the inhabitants had got used to Viking raiders and had built watch towers at intervals along the coast. As soon as Ragnar's men landed the locals fled inland taking their valuables and possessions with them.\n\nApart from burning settlements to take out their frustration, they had precious little to show for their efforts. Olaf threw a flaming torch into a hut as they left the last of them on the banks of the estuary of the River Ems and then trudged angrily back to the ships.\n\n'What now?' he asked his hersir angrily.\n\nFrom being something of a hero to his men Ragnar's stock had fallen and they were dispirited and feeling mutinous.\n\n'Don't take out your resentment on me, Olaf. I'm as infuriated as you are. This coast has been raided too often, that much is clear.'\n\n'Is it too late to try Sweden again?'\n\n'Probably not, but it would be a mistake to repeat what we did last year. They'll be ready for us this time.'\n\n'So do we just give up?'\n\n'I can't afford to. Men follow a leader because they think he has the favour of the gods and because he makes them wealthy. I have to find somewhere new to raid.'\n\n'Further along this coast then?'\n\nRagnar shook his head.\n\n'I can't risk having the same problem in West Frisia. No, I think we're going to have to try even further west.'\n\n'You mean Neustria?'\n\nIt was the heart of the Carolingian Empire ruled by Louis the Pious, but the emperor was currently busy trying to put down a revolt by his sons in the south. Consequently there were few soldiers in Neustria at the moment. It was reputed to be a prosperous kingdom with many wealthy monasteries, though no Viking had raided there as far as Ragnar knew.\n\n'Yes, Neustria.'\n\nThe first place they landed contained a large settlement with a monastery standing on a high hill near a wide river estuary. As Ragnar's hundred and fifty warriors leaped into the sea and waded ashore the Neustrians gathered to oppose them. Ragnar was surprised how many there were but only thirty of them were properly armed warriors; the rest seemed to be some sort of local militia and, although some of them had spears, helmets and shields, most were armed with scythes, pitchforks and even broom handles with a knife strapped to the end.\n\nHowever, they did have quite a few archers and they, coupled with a score of boys with slings, forced the Vikings to advance with shields raised. Even so one received a flesh wound to his shin from an arrow and another had his arm broken by a stone. This only served to enrage the raiders and they quickened the pace to close with the Neustrians as quickly as possible without breaking formation.\n\nThey crashed into their opponents and forced them back. Ragnar yelled for them to adopt the boar's head as they advanced and those on the flanks dropped back, allowing Ragnar and his hirdmen to form the point, or snout. They sliced into the armoured warriors in the centre of their opponents, forcing them apart and giving the warriors in contact with Ragnar's men little room to wield their weapons.\n\nOnce the Vikings had split the enemy in two, they continued to push the two halves apart. The Neustrians in the rearmost ranks had little idea what was happening and they lost their nerve. Those at the back always tended to be the timid and the least experienced; now they turned and ran. Flight became infectious and the militia routed, leaving the experienced warriors outnumbered and surrounded. About half of them had died or were badly wounded by the time that their leader \u2013 the local count \u2013 decided that the battle was lost and fled the field, his men streaming after him.\n\nThe monastery was deserted when they reached it. The monks had long gone, carrying as many of their treasures with them as they could. Ragnar decided that pursuing them wasn't an option; this was a populous land and it wouldn't be too long before more soldiers and militia arrived to attack them. They looted what was left behind, and that alone made the raid worthwhile, before ransacking the settlement.\n\nThey looked for freshly dug earth where the inhabitants had buried what valuables they couldn't take with them and Ragnar's men carried the chests and valuables they unearthed back to their ships. They were still busy doing this when one of the scouts rode in on a borrowed horse to say that a large body of men was approaching.\n\n'How many?' Ragnar asked, puzzled by how quickly a new force had been mustered to oppose him.\n\n'Difficult to say, lord. There are a few riders at the front but the rest are obscured by the dust they're kicking up; but there must be hundreds of them to raise that much.'\n\nOlaf was about to give the order to fire the place but Ragnar stopped him.\n\n'No, leave it be. That way they'll still be here when we return in a year or two's time and we can raid them again.'\n\nAs they sailed away a dozen horsemen watched them go. They congratulated themselves on their successful trick and untied the saplings they had dragged behind them to make the heathen raiders think that there were hundreds of them. Once they were satisfied that the enemy had really gone for good, they went to let everyone know that the coast was clear.\n\nRagnar looted two more places before he reached the mouth of the River Seine. He raided the two small settlements either side of where the wide estuary ran into the sea and was tempted to explore along the river itself, but it was late in the season now and so he turned for home.\n\nHe was well pleased with the outcome of the summer's raiding. Now he had enough wealth to recruit an army to take back his kingdom and exact revenge on those who had killed his parents."
            },
            {
                "title": "Ragnar's Revenge",
                "text": "[ 828 to 830 ]\n\nThora looked up from where she was playing with her two sons, three year old Agnar and baby Eirik, as Ragnar walked into their bed chamber in the jarl's new hall on the island of Egholm in the narrowest part of the Limfjord. From there his men could easily control traffic along the seaway which linked the Germanic Ocean in the west to the Kattegat and the Baltic Sea in the east. The taxes he collected added to his wealth but, in truth, they paled into insignificance compared to the proceeds from his raiding.\n\nJarl Gutfred had died in 827, but by then most of his bondis already looked towards Ragnar as their leader. Unsuprisingly Ragnar's preying on the coasts of Frisia and Neustria had earned him the enmity of King Harald, allied as he was with the Emperor of the Franks, Louis the Pious.\n\nHowever, Harald's unpopularity had increased, not only due to his association with Louis, but also because he had become a Christian. Horik, once King of Denmark before he was deposed by Louis and replaced by Harald Klak, had been reduced to being the Jarl of Fyn, the second biggest of the Danish islands in the Kattegat. A revolt against King Harald's rule had been simmering for some time and now the former monarch had approached him to join a plot to oust Harald.\n\n'What will you do?' Thora asked climbing to her feet with difficulty; she was in the latter stages of pregnancy with their third child.\n\n'I will go and meet Horik and the others to see what they plan. However, my priority remains to kill Froh and regain Agder, so I don't want to get involved in a prolonged internal struggle for the throne of Denmark.'\n\nThora sighed. She was quite content to remain the wife of one of the richest jarls in Denmark and had no desire to risk everything to become queen of a much more inhospitable land in Norway. However, Ragnar was not a man to be dissuaded from what he regarded as his destiny.\n\n'I still say that our best approach is to row up the Schlei and attack Hedeby from the water,' Horik maintained. 'The landward side of the settlement is protected by a tall palisade on top of a steep earth embankment. There are no defences along the bank of the Schlei.'\n\nThe Schlei was the long, narrow fjord that led to Harald's capital at Hedeby.\n\n'The problem is that there are two choke points along the Schlei which he could easily block once he had warning of our coming,' one of the other jarls pointed out.'\n\nOf the thirty two jarls in Denmark, nineteen were present at the meeting called to plot Harald's overthrow. The other thirteen were either supporters of Harald or preferred to sit on the fence so that they could join the winning side. Many of those, and even some of those present, were worried that Louis was unlikely to sit idly by whilst his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 was deposed.\n\nHowever, Ragnar wasn't concerned about Louis and said so.\n\n'He's got enough problems without bothering about Denmark,' he had said when the subject came up. 'His eldest son, Lothair, is disputing Louis' decision to make his youngest son, Charles, Duke of Swabia. I wouldn't be surprised if the dispute ended up as a war between Louis and Lothair. At any event, he's in no position to intervene in Denmark at the moment.'\n\nRagnar was well aware that, as the youngest jarl present by at least ten years, the others tended to disregard his views, however successful a raider he might have been over the past few years. However, he now took comfort from a few nods of grudging agreement and pressed on.\n\n'You are all talking as if there are only two options, an attack by land or one from the fjord. There is a third: attack on land and along the Schlei. If we create a diversionary attack by laying siege on the landward side, we'll be able to row along the fjord without too much interference.'\n\n'Even if they do put booms in place at the narrows we can land and lower them again. They won't be able to defend them in strength if they are being beseiged.'\n\nThose who had been about to object fell silent as the unexpected support had come from Horik.\n\nRagnar went home elated by the adoption of his stratagem to depose Harald Klak. He also seemed to have made an ally of Horik, the next King of Denmark if all went well, and his head was full of plans to recover Agder. He couldn't wait to discuss them with Thora and Olaf. However, as his drekar approached the jetty at Egholm he had a premonition that all was not well.\n\nHis unease was reinforced when he remembered that Torstein, the godi, had sidled up to him at the feast the previous evening. He had whispered in his ear that the Norns were displeased with him and plotted to bring him low. Ragnar had dismissed it at the time, being too drunk to care much for the man's doom laden warning, but he recalled what he'd said now.\n\nWhen he landed he found Olaf, who he'd left in charge in his absence, waiting for him on the jetty. His friend's face only confirmed that he was the bearer of ill-tidings.\n\n'Ragnar, I'm sorry,' Olaf said when he'd walked with him a discreet distance away from the welcome being given to the crew by their families. 'There is no easy was to say this, the baby was born dead and Thora lost so much blood that she died the next day.'\n\nRagnar felt as if a horse had kicked him in the guts. He and Thora were both strong willed and they'd fought a lot, but he respected her and she had been there to guide and help him over the past few years. He wasn't sure that he'd loved her in the way the sk\u00e1lds portrayed it, but he would miss her advice, companionship and support.\n\nHe nodded his thanks and patted Olaf absently on his shoulder before walking away along the beach to be alone with his thoughts.\n\nA worried Leofstan went to follow his master but Olaf grabbed him, by the arm.\n\n'He needs to be alone with his thoughts and memories now, lad. He doesn't need comfort from the likes of you.'\n\nLeofstan thought that was probably just what Ragnar needed right now but he didn't say anything. He glanced at Olaf and nodded but he was puzzled by the young man's expression. Leofstan had given Olaf no reason to dislike or distrust him, as far as he was aware, but the look the Norseman gave him was unmistakeably one of hostility."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "In April 829 all was prepared and, whilst the majority of the jarls based on the Danish mainland marched south to Hedeby, Ragnar, Horik and the jarls from the other Danish islands sailed into the Schlei. Ragnar's task was to land his men on either side of the fjord near the choke points and secure them to allow the fleet safe passage.\n\nHe still missed Thora but he'd got over her loss faster that he thought he would. It had helped having the campaign to concentrate on. He had fostered their two sons out with one of his married bondi who had no children of his own. At first he visited them weekly, then monthly, but it had been nearly three months now since he had last seen Agnar and Eirik.\n\nThe first point where the waterway narrowed was located near a small settlement called Gr\u00f6dersby. The latter lay a little way inland from the peninsula which jutted out into the fjord, lessening the width of the fjord at that point to no more than two hundred and fifty yards. There was a lookout tower on the west bank, together with a large windlass powered by a horse who, at that moment, stood placidly eating grass. The animal was evidently used to raise and lower a cable to block the river, as required.\n\nThe rain had started as they entered the fjord and it was quite heavy by the time that Ragnar's drekar drew close to the shore below the wooden tower. He watched impotently as the lookout climbed down the ladder and made for the wood piled ready nearby. No doubt this was a warning beacon but the Norns, who weaved the fate of men, were with the rebels. The man tried frantically to light the fire but the kindling was too wet.\n\nThe shore was rocky so Ragnar pulled off his byrnie, goatskins and helmet before diving into the water. After a few powerful strokes he tried to stand and found to his relief that the water was only waist deep. He overcame the tendency to shiver and waded ashore armed with an axe and sword strapped to his back and gripping a dagger between his teeth.\n\nThe man was still trying frantically to get the sparks from his flint to set the shavings alight when he became aware of the young man heading towards him. He rapidly got to his feet and started to run away, but he wasn't quick enough. Ragnar's axe came down on the small of his back, severing his spinal cord and smashing his lower spine. The next blow stove in his head and Ragnar stood there for a moment, breathing hard whilst he recovered his breath.\n\nHe pulled his bloody axe free of the man's skull before using it to kill the horse which powered the windlass. Finally he severed the cable, although it took five blows to do so. Satisfied, he hung his axe on his back before swimming back to the ship, where he was pulled aboard to the cheers of his crew.\n\nDripping all over the deck, he grinned at them for a moment before barking out, 'well, what are you idle sods waiting for; start rowing and catch the others up or we'll miss all the fun.'\n\nThe next restricted channel ran for half a mile just before the entrance into the lake on which Hedeby stood. This was no more than seventy yards wide and was defended by a fortress on the west bank at the narrowest point. Once again there was a boom that could be raised to close off the channel but this one was made of heavy chain. There was a windlass similar to the last one, but larger. This one was powered by two horses because of the greater weight of the chain, despite its shorter length compared to last boom.\n\nThe archers on board killed the horses as they plodded around the windlass, raising the chain, and the boom came to an abrupt halt. Then they kept the defenders' heads down whilst the longships rowed over the half-raised chain.\n\n'Stupid buggers should have put a defensive breastworks up to protect the horses,' Olaf muttered as they entered the large lake beyond the narrows.\n\n'Their purpose is to collect taxes, not defend Hedeby,' Ragnar pointed out. 'Knarrs pull into the wharf, have their cargoes inspected and pay their dues. Then the boom is lowered and they sail on to Hedeby. I doubt that anyone thought that it would be attacked by a Danish fleet. Not until today, at any rate.'\n\nThe rain continued to lash down as they hoisted their sails to give the rowers some respite and they made their way across the lake to the southern offshoot known as the Hedeby Nor. Hedeby itself lay on the south western shore of this lake and, as the longships entered it, they could just make out the encampment of the besiegers through the falling rain. They headed for the various jetties jutting out from the quayside and, thanks to the poor visibility through the driving rain, were a mere hundred yards away before the alarm was raised.\n\nBy the time that they had come alongside and the warriors had disembarked, leaving the ships' boys to moor the ships to the jetties, Harald's own warriors had started to form a shield wall. However, it was obvious that they were outnumbered and a tall man with arms like tree trunks stepped forward and halted halfway between the two forces.\n\n'There is no point in fighting,' he said calmly. 'Harald Klak slipped away in a small knarr as soon as he heard the alarm.'\n\nHe pointed to the small ship which was now halfway across the fjord and heading for the other bank.\n\nHorik cursed. It was pointless chasing him. No doubt he would have horses waiting to make good his escape.\n\n'They'll have crossed onto the emperor's territory before you could catch him,' the big man said with a grin.\n\n'Wipe that smile off your face or I'll do it for you,' Horik snapped, frustrated that his enemy had eluded him.\n\nHe took a deep breath to calm himself before asking 'do you surrender then?'\n\n'And acknowledge you as our king, Horik?'\n\nThe other man nodded but didn't say anything further.\n\n'Very well, yes but on one condition. Some of us are Christians now and we have a church and priests here. Will you promise them your protection and allow those of us who wish to practice our religion freely?'\n\n'Allow you to sully the name of Odin and the gods of our fathers? No. All I'll do is to permit the followers of the White Christ and their lily livered priests to depart Denmark. Any still here after dawn tomorrow will be killed.'\n\nThe leader of the inhabitants of Hedeby sighed and his shoulders drooped.\n\n'Very well, I suppose I should have expected no better from a godless pagan like you, Horik. We'll leave tonight but our God is the true God and he will prevail in the end.'\n\nRagnar watched those who had gathered to oppose them disperse with mixed feelings. He was glad he wasn't about to lose any of his men in a fight where the outcome was obvious, but he itched to kill the followers of the man who had brought the hated new religion to Hedeby.\n\nThat night Horik was formally installed as king and his godi sacrificed a prize bull to Odin and the gods in gratitude for their easy victory. Ragnar got as drunk as the rest of them, but in the morning he went for a swim in the sea to clear his head and to think about recovering his birth right."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "'Why attack Alfheim first? Won't that just give Froh warning that you are coming for him?' Olaf asked Ragnar as they sat together drinking back in the latter's hall at Egholm.\n\nRagnar had built a much bigger longhouse than the one back at Fladstrand. He could now afford to keep a total of eighty hirdmen, over half of whom were bachelors who lived in his hall instead of in a separate warriors' hall. It was long and relatively narrow with ten alcoves each side, each furnished with tables and benches. These served as places to eat and drink and, when pushed back against the wall, sleeping platforms.\n\nThere were two long fire pits in the centre space which kept the hall warm in winter. They also served as the place where the cooking was done. As the two friends spoke together two young boys were roasting a cow and a stag respectively on two spits above the fire for the evening meal. The boys' bodies and faces were bright red and they were sweating profusely from the heat. Their only solace was to count the time until they would be relieved by other young thralls.\n\nAs Leofstan refilled Ragnar's drinking horn with ale the latter glanced up and the two exchanged a smile. It didn't seem that long ago since he'd used any thrall as his body servant. Now Leofstan not only looked after him much better than anyone else ever had, but he also supervised the young thralls and ensured that they did their jobs properly. Effectively he was a combination of body servant and steward.\n\nAll of Ragnar's thralls were young Swedes and Frisians that he had captured during various raids in recent years. Girls as well as boys served him and his hirdmen and two of the former took it in turns to keep him company in bed these days. After Thora's death he was in no hurry to marry again. However, Leoftstan jealously guarded his privileged position as Ragnar's body servant and beat any girl who thought that her place in Ragnar's bed gave her a right to challenge his position.\n\nAt the end of the longhouse there was a spacious bedchamber shut off from the noise of sixty men and thralls sleeping, snoring and farting in the main hall by a stout wooden partition. He gestured for Olaf to follow him into this chamber. It was chilly in there compared to the main hall as the brazier had not yet been lit, but they could talk in private.\n\n'If I launch an assault on Agder first, I give Froh's brother, Kjarten, time to raise an army to oppose me and perhaps re-capture Agder. Destroy him first and hopefully the Norse jarls will desert Froh and side with me.'\n\n'It's been nearly seven years since Froh killed your parents, the jarls and the bondis may decide they owe him their allegiance now.'\n\nRagnar scowled. 'Are you trying to help me or dissuade me from killing Froh?'\n\n'I'm just worried that we'll lose a lot of men in a fruitless attack on Alfheim, which has nothing to do with us, and that will prevent us from a successful campaign against Froh himself.'\n\n'So you think I should kill Froh and take back Agder and then hope I can defeat the inevitable counter-attack by Kjarten?'\n\n'Is it inevitable? Kjarten seems content with his kingdom; why should he risk it by an attack on Agder?'\n\n'To avenge his brother and take back what he'll see as his family's land. Don't forget he has two sons whilst Froh has only had daughters. One of Kjarten's brood will see Agder as his inheritance.'\n\nOlaf had to agree that Ragnar had a point, though he couldn't shake the suspicion that his friend had ambitions to rule rather more than his father's old kingdom."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "It took Ragnar another year of ship building and recruiting men before he was ready for the invasion of Alfheim. He had raided Frisia again in the summer of 829 but the Frisians had learned their lesson and had fled with their valuables before the Vikings could land. He vowed that next time he went raiding along that coast he would try Frankia instead.\n\nHe had sunk all the silver and gold he had accumulated into the campaign and he was reliant on gaining significant plunder from Alfheim to meet some of his obligations to both his ship builders and his warriors. Nevertheless, he was confident and buoyant as he set out with his fleet of four drekars, six snekkjur and three knarrs to attack his enemy. In total he had over six hundred warriors as well as several dozen sailors and ships' boys. Only half of the former were his hirdmen and bondis; the rest were adventurers and mercenaries.\n\nHe might have sufficient ships but he didn't have enough experienced ship captains or steersmen. Many of his warriors had served as ship's boys and knew something about seamanship but too few had the necessary skill or had the right temperament to take charge of a ship.\n\nLeofstan had stopped being a ship's boy when he reached sixteen, the age at which Vikings became warriors. Since then he had helmed Ragnar's own drekar.\n\n'I'm going to make Leofstan captain of one of the new drekars,' he told Olaf one day, 'and I'd like you to take over another.'\n\nIf he'd expected Olaf to be pleased he was mistaken.\n\n'So you put me, your oldest friend, on the same level as someone who is little more than a thrall, a Northumbrian to boot.'\n\nRagnar had anticipated that Olaf might prefer to stay with Ragnar on the latter's drekar but he hadn't expected him to be jealous of Leofstan.\n\n'I'm making a gift of the drekar to you,' he said stiffly. 'You might at least thank me.'\n\n'You expect me to be grateful? Well, I'm not.'\n\nWith that he stormed off leaving a puzzled Ragnar standing open mouthed. At first the jarl wondered how he could make amends but, as time passed, he began to find Olaf's attitude unacceptable. He didn't repeat the offer and he found someone else to captain the new longship. He hid his resentment well but the rift between the two old friends took a long time to heal.\n\nLeofstan, on the other hand, was delighted at his promotion, but he insisted on finding a suitable replacement as Ragnar's body servant before he took over his ship. His choice fell on a young Swedish thrall called Lodvik. If Ragnar was surprised by this, when he could have perfectly well found his own servant, he said nothing. It was an indication of Leofstan's personal loyalty to him that he'd taken so much care to find the right boy to replace him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "The coast near the King of Alfheim's hall was pockmarked by small inlets and fjords bounded by low hills covered in pine trees. Ragnar had landed in a deserted cove a few miles south of Bohus, where the hall was located. Leaving his small army to make camp he took Olaf and two of his best warriors called Lars and Bjarke with him and set off to reconnoitre Bohus.\n\nThey made their way through the densely packed trees heading parallel to the coast. At that time of the year tiny biting insects swarmed in the shade of the trees and the four men cursed and swore at them, slapping at bare bits of skin and they hurried to reach the fjord they were looking for.\n\nRagnar had learned that the hall itself stood on a rocky promontory at the end of the southern branch of one of the longer fjords. Two hours later they crested a hill and stood at the edge of the trees looking at a hall standing a hundred feet above the surrounding settlement. Compared to the main settlement in Agder this place was small and insignificant and Ragnar could see why Froh had deserted it for Arendal. However, the hall \u2013 although undefended by a palisade \u2013 looked impregnable to assault.\n\nOn two sides cliffs dropped sheer to the water. The hall was located twenty yards back from the edge but they couldn't see the other two sides. They cautiously worked their way around the settlement until they could see the two landward sides. They were also protected by cliffs with a narrow path winding its way up one of them. This appeared to be the only access and it was scarcely wide enough for a man on a horse or two people on foot walking abreast to traverse it.\n\nThere was a strange apparatus hanging over the water which puzzled Ragnar until Lars suggested that it might be for lowering a barrel to collect fresh water.\n\n'Won't it be saline?' Olaf asked but Lars shook his head.\n\n'Not this far from the sea. That stream over there is bringing fresh water into the fjord all the time.'\n\nRagnar narrowed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment, before deciding that they'd seen enough."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "They had come out of the trees at dawn. The few hundred men in the settlement of Bohus had been caught unawares and, disorganised as they were, proved no match for Ragnar's warriors. It was a massacre; a few people escaped but the majority of the men were killed and the women and children captured.\n\nTo everyone's surprise Ragnar let the old women go.\n\n'Won't they spread the word about our invasion?' Olaf asked.\n\n'That's the idea,' the enigmatic Ragnar replied with a grin.\n\nHowever, that still left Kjarten and his hirdmen bottled up in his hall. Ragnar had no intention of wasting his men's lives trying to assault the place up such a narrow path and sat down to besiege it instead. The first time that the Swedes tried to lower their barrel to collect water they found a longship waiting underneath. The crew grabbed the barrel and cut through the rope it was suspended from. The same thing would happen every time they lowered a barrel \u2013 assuming they had spare barrels.\n\nIt was evident that Kjarten hadn't taken the simple precaution of storing some water on top of the plateau and, after three days, he asked to negotiate. Ragnar decided to let him stew a little, but that was a mistake. The weather for the past week had been fine but, by the time that he had agreed to meet Kjarten half way up the path that led to the top of the plateau, dark clouds had begun to gather. Ragnar waited at the bottom of the path but Kjarten didn't appear. When the first fat drops of rain hit his face he knew that he'd left it too long. That night several inches of rain fell and Ragnar realised that, unless he was a complete idiot, Kjarten would have gathered enough rainwater to last for days, if not weeks.\n\nHis men started to worry. The longer they remained at Bohus the more chance there was of a relief force from the rest of Alfheim trapping them there. It was even possible that Froh had now heard of his brother's predicament and was on his way as well. Morale in Ragnar's camp deteriorated rapidly, but Ragnar himself didn't seem at all concerned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "\u00d8fden cast his net again as another fishing boat rowed past them heading from Arendal into the Skagerrak.\n\n'You won't catch much there, my friend. You want to head further out,' a man in the other boat called across the water.\n\n\u00d8fden waved his thanks and he, his brother and their two sons started to pull in their net. They made a pretence at moving but as soon as the other boat was out of sight, they cast their net into the water near their original spot at the entrance to the fjord. From there they could see up it to the jetties of Arendal. It was the second day they had fished in these waters and \u00d8fden was becoming concerned that someone would soon get suspicious.\n\nAs the afternoon drew to a close they were about to haul in their nets for the day and head for one of the small coves to camp for the night when three longships rounded the point to the west of them.\n\n'Jarl Dagfinnr,' \u00d8fden said quietly to the others, though the ships were too far away to hear him even if he'd shouted.\n\n'Dagfinnr? Who's he?' one of the boys asked.\n\n'He's the Jarl of R\u00f8rvik on the island of Vikna, though he controls much of the west coast of Agder. The symbol of a serpent on his sails is his. Presumably Froh has now got wind of Jarl Ragnar's attack on Bohus and is mustering his men. I wonder why Dagfinnr has only brought three drekar though.'\n\n'Perhaps he's an unwilling adherent of Froh's and has brought as few as he thought he could get away with,' \u00d8fden's brother suggested.\n\n'In which case I wonder whether it's worth taking a gamble?'\n\n'Do you know Dagfinnr? Is he likely to side with Ragnar against Froh?'\n\n'I don't know. He used to be a close friend of Ragnar's father, so I can't imagine that he would have given his allegiance to Froh unless he had no other option.'\n\nIn the event the decision was taken out of \u00d8fden's hands. The leading drekar passed quite close to the fishermen and Dagfinnr's steersman glanced their way and then suddenly stiffened. He pushed the steering oar away from him so that the longship came up into the wind and glided to a stop.\n\n'What are you doing man? Are you mad?'\n\nA Norsemen with a grey beard and dressed in a fine tunic strode aft to confront the steersman, but the latter was busy studying the crew of the fishing boat.\n\n'\u00d8fden, if that you? And your brother? I thought that you were both lost with Thorkel.'\n\n'Thorkel wasn't lost at sea. He was killed by Froh's hirdmen. We escaped in his drekar to Denmark.'\n\n'Who do you serve now then?\n\n'Jarl Ragnar, King Sigvard's son.'\n\n'What's going on?' Dagfinnr demanded when he reached the steersman, his eyes swivelling between him and the crew in the small boat.\n\n'Jarl, I'm \u00d8fden. I used to be one of Thorkel's crew. May I come aboard and speak to you privately?'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Half an hour after \u00d8fden's fishing boat had sailed into Bohus, Ragnar gave the order to fire the settlement and get the longships under way. However, instead of sailing out to sea, they turned at the junction of the two branches of the fjord, lowered their sails and the crews started to row up the left hand branch.\n\nThe steersman put the oar over and the sail came swiftly down to be lashed to the yardarm on deck. After that it was swung through ninety degrees so that it could be secured fore and aft. At the same time the men unblocked the holes in the hull and pushed their oars through them so that they could start to row at the same time as the sail was being secured. It required skill and coordination if the ship's momentum was to be maintained, but Vikings had to be accomplished sailors as well as warriors.\n\nOnce out of sight of the junction between the two branches of the fjord the longships dropped their stone anchors and waited. Meanwhile \u00d8fden and his crew started to fish in the shallows just south-west of the point where the two branches of the fjord met. From there they could see the fjord's outlet into the Skagerrak as well as Ragnar's fleet at anchor.\n\nWhilst they waited the wind dropped and veered until it was blowing up the fjord. As soon as Froh's fleet hove into view \u00d8fden's boat scuttled off to the western shore of the fjord; a not unnatural reaction to the sight of twenty longships heading towards them.\n\n'By Odin's beard,' Olaf muttered to Ragnar when he saw the size of the enemy fleet. 'We don't stand a chance against that lot!'\n\n'Have faith my friend. All is not as it seems,' he replied. 'At least, I bloody well hope that's the case,' he added quietly under his breath.\n\nAfter the last of the enemy fleet had disappeared towards the smouldering ruins of what had been Bohus, Ragnar gave the order to hoist in the stone anchors and his crews started to row their ships back to the junction. Once there, they turned into the other branch of the fjord and the ships boys, helped this time by some of the warriors, hauled on the halyards to raise the mainsails as quickly as possible.\n\nIn such a light wind they were barely making two knots through the water, so Ragnar gave the order for the rowers to help propel his drekar and the rest of his captains did the same. Up ahead Froh, still oblivious to Ragnar's presence, also gave the order to start rowing. However, only the longships manned by his hirdmen and those of two of his jarls followed his example. The rest continued under sail only.\n\nThen Olaf noticed something strange. The eleven longships nearest to them seemed to have dropped a sea anchor \u2013 a sort of sock with a wide mouth and a small heel - over the stern to slow them even further. It was obvious that Ragnar's fleet would soon catch them up. Standing beside Olaf at the prow of his drekar, Ragnar gave a sigh of relief and smiled at his friend.\n\n'Now we shall have some fun. Twenty one longships against nine seems good odds to me,' he said with a broad grin.\n\n'You knew that half of Froh's fleet would desert him and join you?' Olaf asked in amazement. 'Why didn't you tell me?'\n\n'Two reasons; firstly I wasn't sure that \u00d8fden had actually been able to persuade any of the jarls to join me and, secondly, you have a loose tongue when you are drunk, which is most nights. In the event \u00d8fden talked to Jarl Dagfinnr but he needn't have bothered. It seems that they were already involved in a conspiracy with the jarls in northern Adger.'\n\nAs Ragnar caught up with Dagfinnr and his fellow jarls they pulled in the sea anchors and unshipped their oars. Now Ragnar led a fleet of twelve drekar and nine snekkjur against Froh's five drekar and four snekkjur. It wasn't long before someone in the latter's fleet spotted that there were ten more longships to their rear. The raven emblazoned on the red sails of ten of the following ships left little doubt as to whom they belonged.\n\nFroh's leading drekar was now nearing Bohus. His brother and his hirdmen, waiting on the waterfront to greet their saviours, watched in bewilderment as Froh's ships now turned to face back the way they'd come. As the two fleets closed on one another Ragnar gave the order to lower sails. They would only be a liability in a sea battle. Two of his warriors sheathed their swords and picked up a grappling iron each and prepared to hook an enemy ship as they came alongside it. Ragnar's crew shipped their oars at the last minute, without bothering to block up the holes, and grabbed spears, axes, swords and shields ready to board the enemy vessel.\n\nIt was Froh's ship that they came alongside, but his men weren't quite so quick to unship their oars. Five were smashed by the impact and their rowers suffered broken arms and smashed ribs in consequence. Ragnar was the first over the side and he landed on the other ship's deck with Olaf and two of his hirdmen right behind him. He faced a ring of Swedes, who thrust spears and swords at him, and for a moment he was hard pressed to counter their attack with his shield and sword.\n\nHe felt several blows and a spear point strike his body but his goatskin jerkin and his chain mail byrnie protected him and he suffered nothing worse than some severe bruising, though the chainmail would doubtless need repair work later. He managed to chop off the hand of one assailant at the wrist just as a spear point slid off the fixed steel visor protecting his upper face and slashed open his exposed cheek. He was so full of adrenaline that he didn't even feel the wound and he proceeded to hack halfway through the spearman's neck.\n\nAs more and more of his crew piled in to the fight, the Swedes were forced back a few inches at a time until there was nowhere for them to go. The drekar belonging to Leofstan had latched onto the far side of the hull and its crew now attacked Froh's men from the rear.\n\nAt one point Olaf saw Leofstan fighting nearby with his back to him. All his old resentment at the bond between Ragnar and his former servant came flooding back and for a moment he was tempted to stab him in the back, then he saw a Swede about to strike Leofstan down from the side and Olaf stepped in to save him. Olaf couldn't have said why he'd protected the other man but he felt better for what he'd done afterwards. He still didn't like Leofstan, but from that moment on he was no longer jealous of the friendship between Ragnar and the former Northumbrian fisher boy.\n\nThe Swedes fought bravely but they were outnumbered and gradually Ragnar's men slaughtered them until the last dozen, including a wounded Froh, were forced back to the small aft deck.\n\n'Surrender, Froh, and I will spare the lives of your men,' Ragnar called up to him.\n\n'What happens to us if I do?'\n\n'You will hang for the murder of my parents and your men will become thralls, what else do you expect?' Ragnar shrugged.\n\n'We'd rather die,' one of the other Swedes spat at him.\n\n'So be it.'\n\nRagnar had no intention of wasting his men's lives and it would be difficult to fight one's way up onto the small aft deck where the steersman normally stood. Instead his archers came forward. The Swedes had been taken unawares and didn't have time to put on mail byrnies or leather armour. Despite their shields, it didn't take long to wound or kill most of the remaining men with a few volleys of arrows.\n\nRagnar led the assault on the aft deck, running along the narrow gunwale and leaping down onto the deck. He slew the man who tried to protect Froh and then, at last, he was facing the man who'd killed his parents. Froh had an arrow protruding from his shoulder and another in his thigh, but he still stood tall and proud. Ragnar feinted towards his other leg and Froh dropped his shield down to protect it.\n\nIt was the move that Ragnar had anticipated and, instead of bringing his sword up as Froh had expected, he threw his weight behind his shield, smashing the boss into Froh's nose. The nasal on the king's helmet did nothing to protect it and it was squashed to a red pulp. The blow brought intense and crippling pain in its wake and for a moment Froh was unable to see. Ragnar brought his sword around as hard as he could and the sharp blade cut through the flesh, bones and sinews of Froh's neck. The head flew sideways and over the gunwale to land in the sea a few feet from the longship.\n\nWith a roar of rage Froh's surviving hirdman, in spite of his wounds, brought his sword down hard onto Ragnar's helmet, using such force that it snapped the blade in half. The metal of the helmet had absorbed much of the impact before it split into two halves, but the jagged remains of the sword cut through the leather cap below and struck Ragnar's skull with enough force to kill most men."
            },
            {
                "title": "EDMUND OF BEBBANBURG",
                "text": "[ THE WOLF ]\n\n[ The Humbling of Eanred ]\n\n[ 830 to 832 ]\n\nSix year old Edmund was playing with his elder brother, Ilfrid, when the messenger arrived. Full of curiosity, the two boys rushed into their father's hall to find out what had happened, but were disappointed when the man handed their father, Eafa, Ealdorman of Bebbanburg, a letter and retired without saying anything.\n\n'What's happened, mother?' Ilfrid asked Breguswid quietly as soon as their father left the hall.\n\n'The king is dead and your father is summoned to a meeting of the Witan at Eoforw\u012bc in three weeks' time.'\n\n'King Eardwulf is dead? Who will succeed him? His son?'\n\n'Probably, but that is for the Witan to decide.'\n\nKing Eardwulf had been an old man, so his death wasn't unexpected. However, after nearly a century of turmoil, regicide and civil war over the throne, his reign of thirty four years, albeit with a break of a couple of years when he'd been deposed in 806, had brought stability and prosperity to Northumbria. Eardwulf's son, Eanred, had been his father's herer\u00e6swa for the last decade or so, ever since he reached the age of twenty. However, thanks to his father's skill at maintaining peace with the Picts in the north and the Mercians in the south, his military prowess had never been put to the test.\n\nThings were changing, however. The long running battle for power in the south of England had been won by Egbert of Wessex in 829 and Wiglaf of Mercia had fled into exile, albeit briefly. He had returned in early 830 and had been restored to his throne after acknowledging Egbert as Bretwalda. Only Northumbria stood against Egbert's mastery over all of England.\n\nAt least the new king wouldn't have to worry too much about his northern border. The Pictish kingdom had internal problems and both its king, Angus, and Domnall of Dalriada were pre-occupied with the encroachment of the Norse who had settled in Orkneyjar sometime previously. Now they had expanded south, capturing Skye and the northern Hebridean islands. At least King Riderch of Strathclyde had no such problems and he seemed content to rule his kingdom without interfering with his neighbours.\n\nEdmund was too young to understand much of this. All he knew was that his father was going on a long journey and he was taking Ilfrid with him whilst he had to stay at home with his mother. Like most children, he was impatient to grow up and had bitterly resented it when he was told that he was too young to go.\n\nIlfrid had little patience with Edmund's tantrums. He was thrilled to be going with his father, though his excitement was somewhat tempered by the knowledge that, once they returned, he would be leaving for Lindisfarne to be schooled by the monks in reading, writing, Latin and Christianity. He would stay there for over three years before being sent to train as a warrior at the hall of another noble, perhaps even that of the king himself. Edmund didn't know that his playmate and idol was about to leave Bebbanburg for some years. Had he done so he would have been even more upset.\n\nAs they rode through the main gates of Bebbanburg Ilfrid rode beside his father. The warrior riding behind them carried Eafa's banner of a black wolf's head on a yellow field. Although, once they were out of sight of the fortress and the large settlement that had grown up in its shadow, it was furled and placed in one of the wagons until they approached Eoforw\u012bc, when once again it would proudly proclaim the presence of the lord of Bebbanburg and Ealdorman of Islandshire. Eafa's domain stretched from the River Tyne in the south to the Twaid in the north. Beyond Berwic on the Twaid lay the province of Lothian, which was divided into three shires. Until a few years ago Lothian had been dominated by the Ealdorman of D\u00f9n Barra and D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann on the coast of the Firth of Forth, but the current lord was Kendric, a seventeen year old boy who was far from a powerful character. He and the other nobles of Lothian now looked to Eafa as their leader.\n\nAt the Tyne they met up with Kendric and the other ealdormen of Lothian whilst waiting for the ferry to laboriously carry them over the river, four at a time. Each lord had brought between eight and a dozen men with him as escort and it took hours for them all to be ferried across. By the time that the last few horsemen were on the south bank it was getting late and they decided to seek shelter at Jarrow Monastery for the night.\n\nThe guest accommodation could only house the four ealdormen and Ilfrid and so their men settled down for an uncomfortable night in the open. Ilfrid felt sorry for them when it started to rain heavily, but then the sentiment changed to smugness. He was in the dry whilst they would be wet and miserable, even inside their leather and greased wool tents. The storm raged all night but in the morning the day dawned bright and clear.\n\nUnfortunately for Ilfrid the weather didn't stay fine and by the time they reached that night's stop at Durham Monastery, he was wet, cold and the inside of his thighs had been rubbed raw by his wet saddle. He didn't feel quite so smug now.\n\nThe infirmarian gave one of the Bebbanburg slaves some unguent to ease the soreness and two bandages to wind around Ilfrid's thighs to protect them from further chafing. As the slave gently rubbed the unguent into his raw skin Ilfrid felt an immediate respite from the pain he'd been suffering. When the slave had finished wrapping the bandages around his thighs, he became curious about him. He'd seen him around Bebbanburg but had never had contact with him before.\n\n'Thank you. I'm very grateful for your thoughtfulness. How did you know I was suffering?'\n\n'From the funny way you were walking when you got off your pony. Others sniggered, knowing what you were going through on your first long ride but I decided I should help you.'\n\nIlfrid looked at the slave thoughtfully. He guessed him to be about fifteen and, from his accent, Welsh or Cumbrian.\n\n'What's your name?'\n\n'Laughlin, it means servant in Gaelic.'\n\n'You're not Welsh then?'\n\n'No, master, Irish. I was one of nine children and my father was a poor shepherd who couldn't afford to feed all of us, so he sold me and two of my sisters as slaves when we were younger than you.'\n\nLaughlin's plight left Ilfrid unmoved. It was a common story. However, he was impressed at the boy's initiative in seeking out the infirmarian and the way he had taken care of him. That evening he approached his father as soon as Eafa was alone.\n\n'Father, am I too young to have a body servant of my own?'\n\nEafa was startled; it was a peculiar question coming from a ten year old.\n\n'Yes, of course you are. Your mother's slaves look after you and Edmund at the moment and you'll be leaving for Lindisfarne as soon as we return. Why would you need a servant?'\n\n'Well, there is no-one to look after me until then is there?'\n\n'No, I suppose not.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Do you want to share Erik with me?'\n\nHis son shook his head.\n\n'No, Erik has enough to do looking after you.'\n\nIlfrid blushed; that hadn't come out quite the way he intended it to.\n\n'What I mean is, that wouldn't be fair on him. What about Laughlin?'\n\n'The Irish lad? He's a stable boy who drives one of the wagons.'\n\n'I don't need him on the march, just when we camp. Others can look after his horses surely?'\n\n'Why him?'\n\nIlfrid blushed again.\n\n'I'm, er, a bit, um, sore. From riding. He got something from the monks to ease the pain.'\n\nEafa was somewhat surprised, but he supposed that Laughlin had some experience of lotions and poultices from looking after horses.\n\n'You don't need him for that now do you? Presumably he obtained enough to last you for a few more days? In any case, you need to get used to riding all day, day after day.'\n\n'Later, perhaps, father. But I won't be doing much riding on Lindisfarne. There's little point in getting thighs like leather now, is there? Besides, my clothes will need washing and drying and he can help me look after my pony. I'm sure she's developing a bit of a limp.'\n\nEafa laughed. 'Very well. I'll tell the head carter.'\n\nIlfrid discovered that Laughlin was more than a washer of clothes and the applier of healing lotions. He was a good hunter with his slingshot and a good cook. Instead of suffering the stew of dried beef - which still tasted like leather even after being boiled for an hour \u2013 and whatever vegetables the servants could find or buy, Ilfrid and Laughlin dined on small game basted on a makeshift spit over a fire, apples, cheese and a variety of berries. Laughlin obviously harvested the wild berries locally, but Ilfrid refrained from asking where the cheese and apples came from.\n\nEoforw\u012bc came as something of a shock to Ilfrid, but not to Laughlin, who'd been sold in the slave market in Duibhlinn. It was far bigger than Ilfrid had imagined, sprawling outside the confines of the Roman walls, which were now in a serious state of disrepair. Once inside the city proper, the stench was overwhelming. The fortress at Bebbanburg wasn't immaculately clean, but most of the rubbish was put into the chute which dumped it into the sea. The wind kept the place smelling sweet too.\n\nHere and there were all manner of detritus, dead rats, cats, and even dogs, littering the streets. Faeces lay everywhere and there was a distinct stench of urine. When they got to the Shambles \u2013 where the butchers plied their trade \u2013 the prevalent smell changed to the coppery tang of blood. Discarded bones and bits of intestine which couldn't be used lay everywhere, being gnawed by rats, picked at by carrion birds and sucked at by a swarm of flies.\n\nIlfrid wasn't the only one who was glad when they entered the comparatively clean precincts around the king's hall. Of course, there wasn't space for eighteen ealdormen and their retinues in the king's hall. The nobles and the few sons that they'd brought with them were housed there, in the monastery or in the Ealdorman of Eoforw\u012bc's hall, but the others had to camp wherever they could find space outside the city.\n\nEafa and his son were lodged in the guest dormitory of the monastery. Gradually the original timber buildings were being replaced in stone, but their lodgings were a simple wooden hall with sleeping benches down both sides and a hearth for cooking in the middle of the building. Ilfrid was pleased to see that there was another boy there already, R\u00e6dwulf, the twelve year old son of the Ealdorman of Cumbria.\n\n'Who are you?' R\u00e6dwulf asked brusquely as Ilfrid went up to him to introduce himself.\n\nIlfrid's eyes narrowed. He had thought that it would be nice to have another boy to talk to amongst all the adults, but R\u00e6dwulf's brusque question made him wary.\n\n'Ilfrid of Bebbanburg. You?'\n\nThe other boy sighed. 'R\u00e6dwulf of Cumbria, not that there is much of the shire over which my father still rules.'\n\n'Why? What's happened?'\n\n'You haven't heard? The bloody Strathclyde Britons have invaded from the north and captured our home \u2013 Caer Luel. To make matters worse, the Norse started to raid along our coast and now they are beginning to settle there.'\n\n'Couldn't you push them back into the sea?'\n\n'No, my father is too busy trying to stop the Britons from encroaching further into his lands.'\n\n'Surely the old king would have helped?'\n\n'Huh! All Eardwulf did was to suggest that my father made peace with Strathclyde and with each of the various jarls of the Norsemen. He was too afraid to risk war. Let's hope that his son is made of sterner stuff.'\n\n'You're certain that Eanred will be the next king?'\n\n'Who else is there? Oh, there are plenty who claim to be descended from one of the many kings who have ruled Northumbria over the last century, but they would be at each other's throats if any of them were elected. The ealdormen are well aware of this and know that the only way that Northumbria will remain united is if they elect Eardwulf's only son.'\n\nIlfrid was impressed by R\u00e6dwulf's grasp of the situation and wondered, with some bitterness, why his own father hadn't told him all of this. He supposed that he thought that, at ten, he was too young to grasp the situation, but he had understood everything that the other boy had said to him.\n\n'Why didn't you tell me about Cumbria, father?' he asked later that evening when he got Eafa alone.\n\n'Cumbria? What do you mean?'\n\n'I'm talking about the capture of Caer Luel by the Britons from Strathclyde and the Norse settlements along the coast. It's part of Northumbria; why aren't we helping to expel the pagans and push the Britons back where they came from?'\n\n'Who've you been talking to?'\n\n'Does it matter? Do you think that I'm still a baby to be shielded from bad tidings? Why did I have to find out from someone else?'\n\n'Because it's got nothing to do with you, or me come to that. Eardwulf thought that the loss of Cumbria was a small price to pay for peace in the rest of his kingdom.'\n\n'And do you think he was right?'\n\nEafa was beginning to realise that his son was growing up, and probably had a maturity well ahead of his years.\n\n'No, I don't. If you appear weak, others stronger than you will prey on you.'\n\nHe paused and regarded his son thoughtfully.\n\n'I brought you with me because I felt that we were growing apart. I wasn't going to take you to the Witan tomorrow because I thought that you were too young. I was wrong. Would you like to come?'\n\nIlfrid's eyes sparkled with interest and excitement.\n\n'Yes please, father. Thank you.'\n\n'Don't thank me. It'll be pretty boring. I expect we'll elect Eanred, swear loyalty to him and he'll appoint a new ealdorman to replace him in his shire, and then we'll all go and get drunk \u2013 not you, of course.'\n\nAs it turned out, Eafa was quite wrong.\n\nSeveral ealdormen and a number of senior churchmen were already present in the king's hall when Eafa and Ilfrid entered, shaking the rain off their cloaks. The grey, dank weather matched the sombre mood in the hall. Ilfrid saw R\u00e6dwulf standing next to a tall, rather gaunt man with grey hair and a livid scar on his cheek, presumably R\u00e6dwulf's father. Unusually in these days when men grew long moustaches as soon as they were old enough, he was unshaven like the clerics.\n\nIlfrid nodded at the other boy and smiled but R\u00e6dwulf ignored him. Ilfrid felt his face flush with embarrassment and annoyance. Eafa had noticed and was puzzled by the boy's aloofness; he'd assumed that the Cumbrian boy was the source of his son's new found knowledge so his failure to greet his son seemed odd.\n\nThere was another boy in the hall \u2013 one that neither Eafa nor Ilfrid had seen before. He looked to be about fourteen and was standing beside Wulfsige, Archbishop of Eoforw\u012bc, who was talking to the Bishop of Hexham. At that moment Kendric and the other two Lothian ealdormen joined Eafa and Ilfrid took the opportunity to slip away to approach R\u00e6dwulf.\n\n'Are you ignoring me?' he asked the other boy bluntly.\n\n'What? No, that is I've got a lot on my mind at the moment. Sorry.'\n\n'Oh, you mean about the Britons and the Norse?'\n\n'No, well yes, but I'm more concerned about \u00c6lle and his brother Osberht.'\n\n'Who? I've never heard of them.'\n\n'Well, you will shortly,' the other boy replied curtly. 'That's \u00c6lle over there talking to the two bishops. He's an \u00e6theling, or so he claims. So is his brother, the older boy who's just entered the hall.'\n\nIlfrid turned and glimpsed a boy about R\u00e6dwulf's age enter the hall just before he disappeared behind a group of nobles. He re-appeared again as he joined \u00c6lle.\n\n'How is it that they are \u00e6thelings? I thought that Eanred was the only contender for the throne.'\n\nR\u00e6dwulf snorted. 'They're not. At least no more than I am. They can trace their descent back to Ida, but only through the female line, just as my father and I and lots of other nobles can.'\n\n'Including me. In fact one of my family was the king at one stage.'\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Eadwulf. It was a long time ago.'\n\n'It must have been. I've never heard of him.'\n\n'Ask your father. Anyway, forget about him; why are you troubled about Osbehrt and \u00c6lle?'\n\n'Let's just say that I don't like them and they don't like me.'\n\n'And you're afraid that the Witan might acknowledge their claim to the throne?'\n\n'Yes, not now obviously - they're too young \u2013 but their uncle, the Ealdorman of Lunc\u00e6stershire, supports them, as do a few of the other nobles. Eanred isn't married and, if anything should happen to him in a few years' time, they could be elected if they can establish their claim now.'\n\n'So that's why they are talking to the bishops and abbots?'\n\nThe two brothers had moved on from Wulfsige and were now talking to the abbots of Melrose and Ripon.\n\n'Isn't Bishop Heathwred of Lindisfarne here?' R\u00e6dwulf asked suddenly.\n\n'No, or he would have travelled down with us. He's seriously ill and likely to die soon. I expect that the Prior, Egfrid, will be chosen to succeed him. I hope so anyway, as I'm to be educated at the monastery as soon as we return and I rather like him.'\n\nAt that moment the archbishop, who was presiding over the meeting of the Witan, banged his crosier on the wooden floor and asked everyone to take their seats.\n\n'Well, that was a surprise,' Eafa said to his son after the Witan was over.\n\n'You mean the fact that \u00c6lle and Osbehrt were accepted as \u00e6thelings?'\n\n'Yes, that and R\u00e6dwulf standing up to oppose them, claiming that he and his father had more right to be regarded as \u00e6thelings. He was out of order and his father was right to tell him to shut up and sit down.'\n\n'But wasn't he correct? I mean he belongs to a senior branch of Ida's descendants.'\n\n'Perhaps, but that's not the point. His father doesn't want to be considered for the throne and I don't blame him. We have an even better claim to be \u00e6thelings, after all one of our ancestors was king, but I wouldn't accept the crown even if it was offered to me.'\n\n'Why not? I would.'\n\n'Are you sure you would want to be king? Eardwulf died of old age but many of his predecessors were assassinated, deposed and dispossessed of their lands or forced to become monks. Few ruled for very long. In any case it's a thankless task. Keeping your nobles happy and your borders safe isn't easy. '\n\n'Well, Eardwulf didn't keep Cumbria's borders safe did he?'\n\n'No, and I suppose that will be Eanred's first challenge now he has been elected king.'\n\n'Are we staying for the crowing ceremony tomorrow?'\n\n'Of course; it would look very odd if we didn't, especially as Eanred has named me as his herer\u00e6swa, a role I neither expected nor particularly wanted.'\n\n'Why not? It's one of the most senior appointments the king can make? You're one of his inner council now.'\n\n'Which means that I'll have to be wherever the king is, instead of being with my family at Bebbanburg.'\n\n'Oh! I hadn't thought of that.'\n\n'At least he's allowed me to travel back home so I can see you safely to Lindisfarne. I've already told Garr that he will have to look after Bebbanburg whilst I'm away.'\n\n'Garr?' Ilfrid said looking over towards the captain of his father's warband. 'Won't mother take charge in your absence?'\n\n'She'll becoming with me to Eoforw\u012bc, as will Edmund.'\n\n'Oh! Of course.'\n\nIlfrid suddenly felt that his whole world was changing. He hadn't minded the thought of moving to Lindisfarne when his family were only six miles away across the sea. Now that they were going to be far away in the south of Northumbria he felt very alone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Eighteen months later, in the spring of 832, Eanred was at long last ready to lead the campaign to take Cumbria back from the Britons and the Norsemen. By then over two thirds of the shire had been wrested from the control of R\u00e6dwulf's father. The border with Strathclyde now rested on the River Derwent in the west and Ullswater in the east. Practically all the coast from the mouth of the Derwent southwards had been settled by the Norse and they had even made some inroads further south into Lunc\u00e6stershire.\n\nHowever, just as he and Eafa were about to set out something more urgent demanded their attention. Egbert of Wessex had marched north and was about to cross the River Ouse from Mercia into Northumbria. After Egbert had subdued the Mercians three years before, their king, Wiglaf, had fled into exile. He had returned just after Eanred had been crowned in 830 and acknowledged Egbert of Wessex as Bretwalda. However, Egbert wasn't content with being just the overlord of Mercia and had made Wiglaf kneel to him and give him his oath as his vassal. Now it seemed that he was intent on doing the same with the new King of Northumbria. Instead of marching north-west, the Northumbria army of three thousand men headed south-east to confront Egbert.\n\n'He's no longer there, Cyning,' the chief scout told Eanred and Eafa as soon as they reached Selby.\n\n'Well, where is he?' the king demanded.\n\n'We don't know, Cyning. All the signs of a large encampment are there on the south bank, but there are no tracks heading east or west to find a crossing place.\n\n'You're sure?'\n\n'Of course,' the man replied curtly, affronted by the unnecessary question. He would never have reported to his king until he was certain.\n\n'I suggest we send the scouts across the river to find out where he has gone, Cyning' Eafa said quietly. 'It could well be he has headed south to put us off the scent and then doubled back to cross the Ouse elsewhere.'\n\nHe had learnt from bitter experience that his king was a somewhat volatile character who needed handling carefully.\n\nEanred chewed his lip in agitation for over a minute.\n\n'If we do that it is an act of aggression. No, I won't be the first to set foot in his territory. It may be that he was just testing our resolve.'\n\n'It's more likely that he thought that we had already departed for Cumbria and sought to take advantage of an undefended land,' the Ealdorman of Catterick muttered, earning a sharp look from his king.\n\n'I agree that would explain his sudden withdrawal,' Eanred said, 'but we mustn't jump to conclusions. We need to find out the truth.'\n\n'How are we going to do that if we sit here like impotent old men, twiddling our thumbs?'\n\n'Remember to whom you are speaking,' the king said, glaring at the ealdorman. 'If you want to retain the shire of Catterick, that is.'\n\n'Perhaps I have a solution, Cyning,' Eafa interrupted before the exchange got any more heated. 'My servant, Erik, is Norse. He could follow the tracks of Egbert's army and see where they are headed. If he falls into their hands he's just one man, and a Viking at that. There's nothing to connect him to Northumbria.'\n\n'Unless he talks,' Eanred pointed out. 'Very well, it's the best idea I've heard. We'll camp at Selby until he returns.'\n\n'They have halted at Dore, a settlement on a hill above the River Sheaf. I heard rumours that Wiglaf and the Mercians have revolted against Egbert's rule, mainly because of the taxes he's imposed on Mercia.'\n\nThe truth of what Erik had reported was confirmed the next day when a small delegation of Wessex emissaries arrived to invite Eanred to discuss a truce at Dore.\n\n'Do you think me a fool, to cross the border and place myself at your king's mercy?' Eanred responded. 'Let Egbert come here if he wants to talk to me.'\n\n'Umm, he is unable to leave Mercia at the moment,' the ealdorman leading the delegation replied. 'However, he's sent his eldest son, \u00c6thelwulf, to act as hostage against your safe return, Cyning.'\n\nAt this a young man dressed an expensively embroidered tunic and a finely woven scarlet cloak urged his horse forward and gave Eanred a half smile.\n\n'Good day to you, cousin. I assure you that my father is the last person to play you false.'\n\nHe and Eanred weren't related. The use of cousin in this context was meant to indicate that both men were of royal blood.\n\n'Very well. But I will take my warband with me and, should I not return within four days, my herer\u00e6swa will hang \u00c6thelwulf and wreak revenge on Egbert for his perfidy.'\n\nFor late April the weather had been warm and fine but that changed as soon as Eanred left Northumbria. Grey clouds scudded in from the north-east and the wind turned chilly. That first night the rain started and, when he woke up the next morning, Eafa looked out onto black clouds and sheets of near horizontal rain. He knew that the farmers in the fyrd would be fretting about their newly planted crops but, to give them their due, only a few deserted and made their way home. Of course, they would be punished later but one of the problems with an army that was mainly made up of men who weren't primarily warriors was that their minds would always be back at home, especially when they were doing nothing, as now.\n\nThe rain had stopped by midday and blue patches of sky appeared. The wind was still cold, however. The next two days were a mixture of sunshine and showers, which infuriated the Northumbrians. As soon as they put their clothes out to dry, they'd get wet again.\n\nAll of this seemed to amuse \u00c6thelwulf, who Eafa got to know reasonably well as there was little else for them to do except talk, drink and play dice or nine men's morris. He found him a congenial character who didn't seem in the least worried about the prospect of hanging if Eanred didn't come back in time. However, he must have been slightly relieved when the king returned, however well he managed to hide it.\n\nEanred was in a foul mood and stomped into the thegn's hall at Selby, which he had commandeered after kicking the owner and his brood out with scarcely a word of apology.\n\n'Get out, \u00c6thelwulf, you can return to your charlatan of a father. Just be thankful I don't hang you out of hand.'\n\nThe young man bowed and left with a smile on his lips and a nod to Eafa.\n\n'What happened Cyning?' Eafa asked as soon as they were alone.\n\n'I was tricked!' he shouted, kicking the table in his ire. 'Wiglaf hadn't revolted against Egbert. It was a false rumour, no doubt spread by that Wessex fox. They were both waiting for me with a combined army nearly five thousand strong.'\n\n'What did you do?'\n\n'I had no choice. I was forced to submit to Egbert. He made me swear an oath on the bones of one of his saints that I would become his vassal.'\n\n'Oh, I see.'\n\nEafa didn't know whether to feel pleased that his arrogant king had been humbled or concerned about Egbert's growing power.\n\n'Not that it matters,' Eanred continued. 'An oath sworn under duress isn't binding. I'll get Archbishop Wulfsige to release me from it as soon as we get back to Eoforw\u012bc.'\n\nWulfsige did as the king asked but word spread about the humiliating way that Eanred had been forced to acknowledge the King of Wessex as his overlord and his reputation suffered in consequence. For the next few years he didn't dare embark on a campaign in the far north-west of his kingdom in case Egbert invaded, as well he might when he heard that Eanred had repudiated his pledge of fealty. Eanred also became paranoid that, having lost the respect of his nobles, as he saw it, they would depose or kill him. Of course, this just made that more of a possibility. However, Eafa remained loyal and the respect in which he was held did much to dissuade potential rebels.\n\n[ The Cumbrian Campaign ]\n\n[ 839 \u2013 840 ]\n\nEafa was annoyed with King Eanred, and not for the first time. The situation in Cumbria had continued to deteriorate to the extent that the invading Britons were now struggling to hold back the tide of invading Norsemen and their families who were settling all along the coast.\n\nR\u00e6dwulf had become the ealdorman when his father was killed in a skirmish with the Britons but his shire was now effectively confined to the south-east of what had been Cumbria. Lunc\u00e6stershire had also come under pressure from Norse settlers, who were also colonising the Isle of Man and the area near the Irish settlement at Duibhlinn, mainly centred on the River Poddle, a tributary of the Liffey.\n\nThe Northumbrians on the west coast had to cope with the incursions by those wanting to settle as well as frequent raids from Man and Duibhlinn. In early 839 Eanred decided that he had to do something about the situation, mainly because of the increasing pressure from his ealdormen and the bishops, alarmed at the influx of pagans. However, he had more sense than to undertake the seemingly impossible task himself, so he claimed that he needed to remain at Eoforw\u012bc in case of invasion by Wessex or Mercia.\n\nIt was a poor excuse. Although Egbert had continued to threaten to invade Northumbria in retribution for the breaking of Eanred's oath of fealty to him, he had recently died and his son and successor, \u00c6thelwulf, was a very different character. He was seen by most as excessively pious and incompetent as a ruler. Certainly he was extremely unlikely to embark on a war of conquest against Northumbria.\n\nIt was obvious that Eanred's instruction to Eafa to conduct the campaign in the west on his behalf was driven more by fear of failure than by the need to defend his southern border. However, Eafa decided that his strategy should be diplomatic rather than martial, at least as far as the Norse were concerned.\n\nThe inclusion of Bishop Egfrid of Lindisfarne, together with several of his priests and monks, didn't arouse much comment. Everyone assumed that they were there to look after the spiritual needs of the army and to tend the wounded. They were, of course, but they were also there to try and convert the Norse settlers to Christianity.\n\nIlfrid had remained behind to look after Bebbanburg and Islandshire. He was now nineteen and had pleaded to go with this father, saying that his mother and his brother Edmund could look after the shire. However, Breguswid was getting frail, even at the relatively young age of thirty seven, and Edmund was being trained as a warrior at D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann. He had therefore had little option but to stay behind.\n\nEafa began his campaign in the south, sweeping along the coast, capturing Norse settlement after Norse settlement. He gave the invaders a choice: they had to become Christians and accept R\u00e6dwulf as their ealdorman, or they would be sold into slavery. Unsurprisingly many chose to be baptised, though Eafa wasn't so naive as to think that their sudden conversion was genuine. He just hoped that the priests that remained with them could convince them to become true Christians.\n\nMore importantly, they were fierce fighters and R\u00e6dwulf recruited a number to swell the ranks of his warband. Of course, they weren't accepted by his existing Cumbrian warriors, but that was R\u00e6dwulf's problem, not his.\n\nAs they moved northwards he found the Norse settlements deserted. For a while he thought that they had returned to Duibhlinn, but that proved to be a forlorn hope. They had banded together and near the promontory the Cumbrians called Saint Bee's Head he was confronted by a Norse army four hundred strong. Eafa had four times that number, but he wanted to avoid a conflict if he possibly could; he needed all the warriors he had for the inevitable battle against the Strathclyde Britons.\n\nThe Norsemen held the far bank of a small river that ran north to south across the headland. It wasn't much of an obstacle but it would put the Northumbrians at a considerable disadvantage as the far bank was quite steep and slippery. He formed those of his warriors who were afoot and the men of the fyrd just out of arrow range and waited whilst his horsemen rode off to cross the river further upstream.\n\nAlthough the enemy saw his eighty riders disappear northwards it didn't seem to bother them. Eafa smiled grimly; he doubted whether the Norsemen had encountered warriors on horseback before \u2013 at least not ones who could fight from the saddle.\n\nOnce his horsemen were in position to the north of the enemy, he gave the order for his archers to advance, protected by a man with a shield. They sent flight after flight of arrows into the massed ranks of the Norsemen. Most struck helmets or shields but some found exposed flesh. Only a few of the Norse had bows with which to respond.\n\nThe man carrying his banner waved it to and fro \u2013 the signal for his mounted warriors to charge. Coincidentally Eafa gave the order for his warriors on foot to advance through the ranks of the archers and attack. Just as they reached the enemy shield wall the Norse became aware of the horsemen thundering towards them in a wedge formation. They crashed into the flank of the enemy, killing and disrupting the enemy formation like a wave crashing onto a beach.\n\nThe shield wall broke apart as the Norsemen turned to defend themselves against the horsemen and, with a cheer, those Northumbrians on foot hacked their way into the Norse ranks. The battle deteriorated into a series of individual fights and Eafa signalled to one of his warband with a horn to sound the pre-arranged signal for the horsemen to withdraw before they got too embroiled in the general melee.\n\nThe Norsemen were outnumbered, outmanoeuvred and disorganised. Within a short time they started to make a fighting withdrawal, but by then Eafa had sent the fyrd around their right flank to encircle them. Many fought on and were killed but eventually the survivors surrendered.\n\nBy the middle of the afternoon it was all over. The Norsemen had lost half their number killed or badly wounded and ninety had been captured. Those who had escaped were not enough to defend the rest of the settlements; the grip of the Norse on the south-west of Cumbria had been broken \u2013 at least for the foreseeable future. Now Eafa could turn his attention towards the Strathclyde Britons."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "'How many did we lose?' Eafa asked his fellow ealdormen when they met the day after the battle.\n\n'The pagans fought hard, Eafa,' R\u00e6dwulf replied. 'I lost forty two men killed and twenty too badly wounded to continue.'\n\nThe other ealdormen reported their losses in turn and, when they had finished, Eafa turned to the monk who had been writing down what each noble had said.\n\n'The total is three hundred and forty two dead and another two hundred and ninety one badly wounded, lord,' the monk said after he had totted up the two columns of figures.\n\nEafa sucked his teeth. He was left with roughly one thousand nine hundred men, and that included the newly baptised Norsemen who were now part of R\u00e6dwulf's warband. They had fought bravely against their fellow countrymen, but Eafa still wasn't sure that he could trust them. Either way, they wouldn't be enough to take on the Britons if their king, Riderch, brought his main army south to defend Caer Luel.\n\nHowever, he had one advantage: the impetuosity of the Britons meant that they were difficult to control and tended to fight as individuals or as small groups rather than a cohesive whole. It was therefore a matter of choosing ground which favoured the defenders over the attackers."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Eafa stood in the centre of the first rank of the Northumbrian army alongside Garr and his warband. A little way further down the line he could see R\u00e6dwulf's banner. Three other ealdormen and their warbands made up the first rank of the shield wall whilst the warriors of Iuwine of Lunc\u00e6stershire, Kendric and three more ealdormen made up the second rank. The third rank consisted of the rest of the ealdormen and their warbands. Behind them stood the massed fyrd with the archers on the flanks. The banners of Northumbria and each shire flapped soggily in the wind driven rain above their heads as Bishop Ecgred and his priests went along the lines saying mass and dispensing bread and wine to give spiritual and physical sustenance to the men.\n\nEafa had chosen his ground well. He was defending a saddle high in the hills south of Caer Luel above a long lake. The summit of the two mountains to either side of his position were held by a mixture of spearmen and archers to prevent his position from being outflanked.\n\nThe Britons from Strathclyde appeared in dribs and drabs and started to hurl insults at the opposing army, occasionally bending over and exposing their naked backsides to the Northumbrians. Eafa and his men stood and regarded the capering Britons impassively. He began to wish that the enemy would attack, instead of taunting him, but he knew that was what Riderch wanted. A strong shield wall was difficult to break and, as he knew that Riderch had the advantage of superior numbers, for the Northumbrians to attack would be a disastrous mistake.\n\nJust after midday two things happened. The Britons organised themselves into some sort of formation and just as the rain stopped falling Riderch sent in the first wave. What they lacked in terms of discipline they made up for in bravery. Many of them leaped clean over the first ranks of warriors and landed amongst the fyrd. Few of the Northumbrian peasants and artisans had encountered the fierce Britons before and they started to panic. It was only the fact that they were hemmed in by their fellows in the rear ranks that prevented some of them from fleeing. In the end most of the Britons were killed but they had wreaked havoc before dying and the morale of the fyrd had suffered a severe blow.\n\nMeanwhile, the warriors in the shield wall were battling with the main body of the enemy and Eafa found himself hard pressed. Although he was wearing a helmet, a chain mail vest over a leather tunic and leather boots with metal bars sewn into them to protect his shins and calves, he still had a number of exposed areas. His large round shield covered his lower face down to his boots but his eyes were vulnerable, as was his head. A direct blow by an axe could split his segmented helmet asunder if delivered with enough force at the right angle.\n\nHe soon discovered that the Britons worked in pairs: one aiming an axe at his head, or else a spear or sword at his eyes, whilst the second man, often a young boy, tried to cripple him by wounding his legs below the shield. Not for the first time, he thanked the Lord God that he had gone to the extra expense of getting his boots reinforced.\n\nThe ground on which he stood was getting slippery with mud and blood, which made keeping his footing difficult, but the pile of bodies in front of the Northumbrian line now impeded the Britons' attack. He knew that he was tiring and was about to step back and let one of the warriors in the second row take his place when the Britons decided that they had had enough and withdrew just as suddenly as they had attacked.\n\nFor a moment Eafa rested on his sword to recover his breath. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder and he stepped back to allow another to take his place. He looked along the line as he did so and was dismayed to see that a significant number of the first rank lay dead in front of the pile of enemy corpses. They might have won the first encounter but it had been at a heavy cost.\n\nEafa took the opportunity to re-organise his army so that there were two ranks of ealdormen, thanes and warriors now, instead of three. The archers had managed to kill a number of the Britons as they advanced. They had gone to the rear before they became involved in the close combat, so thankfully their numbers were undiminished.\n\nNow Riderch sent his own archers forward. They were mainly equipped with hunting bows, which had a short range, but a number of Britons had war bows which had greater range and power. The enemy bowmen started to fire over the heads of the front ranks, striking the unprotected fyrd in the rear. At the same time those with war bows shot at the front ranks. The hail of arrows from the sky started to unnerve the fyrd but those at low trajectory didn't do much harm to the armoured warriors behind their stout wooden shields, other than pepper them. One or two found unprotected feet or lower legs, but not many.\n\nThen disaster struck. Eafa was watching through a narrow gap between the top of his shield and the brim of his helmet for any sign of a new assault against the shield wall when an arrow struck the metal rim of his shield and ricocheted off it before hitting the side of the nasal riveted to his helmet. It rebounded again and struck his left eye, the point entering his brain. As he fell, a groan went up from those who had seen him killed and the news of his death swept through the ranks of the Northumbrian army like wildfire.\n\nIf R\u00e6dwulf hadn't stepped in to steady the army it could have all ended in disaster. As it was, he took firm control, backed by the other ealdormen, who put aside petty jealousies about seniority, at least for the moment.\n\nAn arrow had penetrated Garr's shield and had injured his left hand, but he ignored it and rallied his warband. They had been the most shaken by Eafa's death but, just as he thought that the line had steadied, he saw Iuwine of Lunc\u00e6stershire go down on one knee with an arrow in his calf. He yelled at Iuwine's gawping warriors and someone had the common sense to give the ealdorman his spear to lean on before helping him to the rear, where the monks had set up a makeshift infirmary.\n\nWith two ealdormen down things were not looking good, but at that moment Riderch's archers fled, having been severely mauled by their Northumbrian equivalents. For a while nothing happened and then the King of Strathclyde decided to gamble everything on one last attack en masse in the hope of breaking the shield wall. If that happened the fyrd would be massacred. This time he sent the Norse settlers from his part of Cumbria forward as the point of a giant wedge.\n\nThere were about two hundred of them, nearly as many as there were Norse warriors left in the Northumbrian centre. R\u00e6dwulf watched apprehensively, wondering whether Norse would fight Norse or whether his men would suddenly side with their fellow Scandinavians. He needn't have worried. It was the opposing Norse who suddenly switched sides and turned on the Britons. For a moment chaos ensued and then the Britons found their centre being carved asunder by over four hundred Norsemen.\n\nWith the flanks also under pressure from the Northumbrians, the lightly armed Britons gave ground and then their whole army melted away. First a few fled, then more joined them and minutes later it became a rout. The Britons didn't stop running until they were back across the River Lyne north of Caer Luel.\n\n[ Death at Whitby ]\n\n[ 842 ]\n\nOf course Ilfrid mourned the death of his father but, if he was honest, he was more upset by his mother's death a few months later. She'd been unwell for some time and her slow decline had been pitiful to watch. For the last two months of her life she was bedridden and, although he never admitted it to himself, subconsciously Ilfrid had found her death as something of a relief. However, he tried to put the loss of both his parents behind him as he began to think about the future.\n\nEdmund had returned the previous year and, at the age of sixteen, he was now a trained warrior. He took over the duties of shire-reeve, a role that Ilfrid had carried out until their father's death. He had been home for the last few months of his mother's life and, although he put a brave face on it, Ilfrid knew that the gradual deterioration in her health had distressed his brother even more than it had him, if that were possible.\n\nThe two brothers had been forced to grow up suddenly and, at twenty, Ilfrid had been faced with the responsibilities of an ealdorman. He realised then what a shock it must have been for Kendric when he'd become an ealdorman at seventeen, only a year after he'd finished training as a warrior.\n\nIf King Eanred had been pleased by the recovery of Cumbria he never said so, not to Ilfrid at least, nor did he commiserate with him over the death of Eafa. He appointed the Ealdorman of Loidis as his new herer\u00e6swa, a man who hadn't even taken part in the Cumbrian campaign. More and more the king's attention was focused on the south of his kingdom and in more than ten years he had never come north of the Tyne. It was almost as if he were just King of Deira \u2013 the old southern kingdom that had united with Bernicia to form Northumbria two hundred years previously.\n\n'I want you to go and visit our business in Paris,' Ilfrid told Edmund on a fine spring day in 842.\n\nEdmund was glad of the break from what had become a rather boring and mundane life. All he seemed to do was collect taxes and deal with disputes between the thegns of Islandshire. He was also responsible for training the fyrd but, after the recovery of Cumbria, it was difficult to motivate freemen who were far more interested in tending their crops or carrying out their craft than they were in training for war.\n\nHe decided to take one of the skeids that Thorkel and his Norsemen had built for his father twenty years before. These were normally employed patrolling the coast of Islandshire and escorting the fleet of knarrs on their trading missions. The one he chose was named the Holy Ghost. It had just been re-caulked and the rigging had been renewed ready for the new sailing season. It required a crew of nearly seventy, but he had no trouble recruiting forty young men eager for an adventure to supplement the twenty warriors that Ilfrid had given him from his warband.\n\nIn addition to the crew who manned the oars and fought when necessary, there were six others: the captain - a man named Nerian, Ryce the helmsman and four ship's boys who varied in age from twelve to fifteen. It was the job of the latter to look after the sail, feed and water the rowers and generally clean and maintain the ship.\n\nThe weather changed the night before they set out and they had to contend with a strong headwind and a heavy sea as soon as they left Budle Bay and the fortress of Bebbanburg behind. Even those who had rowed before found it hard work after a winter spent largely indoors. Those who were new to the sea were soon complaining about aching arms, sore backs and blistered hands.\n\nEdmund, who had been standing in the prow by the crucifix, which had been placed there instead of the dragon's head typical of Viking ships, reluctantly stepped down and took the place of the youngest rower. He'd been enjoying the wind in his long brown hair and the salt spray on his face but one thing his father had drummed into him was the need to lead by example. When they saw their shire reeve pulling at his oar for all he was worth the moaners shut up, too ashamed to complain further.\n\nThankfully the wind backed from south east to north east after an hour and Nerian ordered the boys to pull up the sail. Ryce brought the Holy Ghost around so that the wind was abeam. That made it easier for the ship's boys to raise the spar to which the sail was attached. Two held the halyard around the cleat near the base of the mast whilst the other two pulled it out from the mast to create some slack. As soon as they let go the other two pulled a foot or two of the halyard in around the cleat. That way they sweated the spar with its flapping oiled woollen sail up the mast. It was slow work but eventually Nerian was happy that it was far enough up the mast for such windy conditions and the boys made the halyard fast before reefing the bottom of the sail.\n\nThat done, Ryce brought the ship back on course and they set off once more, this time travelling at twice the speed the rowers could manage. As they sped along, the bow cutting through the choppy sea, more than one of the new men began to feel queasy now that they didn't have rowing to concentrate on. The old hands called out ribald comments as several brought up the contents of their stomachs.\n\nMost had the common sense to spew over the leeward gunwale but two of the younger men made the landsman's error of retching into the wind. They soon learned their mistake as their vomit blew back into the faces and soaked their tunics.\n\nThe wind held, albeit decreasing somewhat as time went on, until the third day. By that time they were off the coast of Kent. They were about to cross the open sea to the coast of Frankia at the narrowest point between England and the Continent when the lookout up the mast called down that three ships had emerged from the old Roman fortified port of Dovera and were heading their way.\n\nKent was under the control of Wessex and, although Northumbria and Wessex weren't at war, neither were relations between them all that friendly. However, the ships heading towards Edmund's skeid were smaller and he didn't regard them as much of a threat. With the wind now coming from the north east, the Northumbrian longship slowly pulled away from its pursuers. By the time that they spotted land dead ahead of them again the Kentish ships had given up the chase.\n\nNerian altered course so that they now had the wind directly behind them and, although the Holy Ghost wallowed a little, rocking from side to side as the waves passed under her hull, they continued to make good progress. After a while the Frankish coast turned and headed due west. Ryce put his steering oar over without having to be told and the ship's boys rushed to trim the sail for the new heading.\n\nThey had been travelling parallel to the coast for a couple of hours when the lookout called down again.\n\n'Ships putting out from the Frankish coast.'\n\n'How many?'\n\n'Four, no, wait. Five.'\n\nEdmund could now see the Kentish warships as they emerged over the horizon. That meant that they were only about three miles away as visual range from the deck was much shorter than it was from the masthead. He still couldn't see the Frankish ships and he asked the boy up the mast to point in their direction.\n\n'Head where he's indicating,' he told the steersman.\n\nRyce nodded and put the steering oar over to take them south west again whilst Nerian yelled for the ship's boys to tighten the sail on the new course. Edmund had decided that, as he was heading for Paris, it made more sense to tell the Franks who he was than to try and avoid them.\n\nAs the Holy Ghost bore down on the five ships, they started to spread out into a line abreast, presumably ready to come alongside the longship and board it.\n\n'They think we're Vikings,' Edmund said with a grin.\n\n'Then they must be bloody blind,' Nerian replied. 'Can't they see the cross on our prows?'\n\n'Probably not at this range.'\n\nThe five ships were now hull down on the horizon but making slow progress as they were rowing into the wind. In contrast the skeid was flying along under sail at six knots.\n\n'Get ready to lower the mainsail,' Nerian yelled as they neared the other ships. 'Rowers to your oars.'\n\nThe warriors, who had been lining the gunwales to gawp at the strange Frankish ships, scattered and sat on their sea chests before picking up their oars from where they lay. They pulled out the plugs, which stopped the sea slopping into the ship when under sail, and thrust their oars out, holding them above the waves and waiting for the next order.\n\n'Drop the sail, down oars and pull together,' Nerian called. 'One, two, three,' he called out with a long pause between each one.\n\nThe sail fluttered down the mast to be gathered up and secured by the boys whilst the rowers picked up the rhythm being called out by the captain. Once they had settled into it, he stopped calling it out. By then the approaching ships were no more than half a mile away.\n\nOnce they were within hailing distance Nerian gave the order to stop rowing and, apart from the odd adjustment to maintain the ship's heading, he let the longship drift towards the five Frankish ships. Now he could see them clearly, Edmund realised that they were similar to an illustration of a Roman galley that he'd seen whilst he was on Lindisfarne. They were almost float bottomed, having the shallow V shaped hull designed for coastal craft in the Mediterranean. They were quite unsuited to the rougher waters of the German Ocean.\n\n'Greetings, I'm Edmund of Bebbanburg, a merchant of Northumbria, heading for our trading post in Paris,' he called across the water towards the central ship in Latin. 'We are Christians from Northumbria and we come in peace,' he continued as there had been no response to his first hail.\n\n'How do we know you're not Vikings trying to trick us?' someone called back in Latin.\n\n'How many Vikings do you know who speak Latin and display a cross as a figurehead?'\n\n'I'm coming alongside. Don't do anything stupid or my other ships will attack.'\n\nNothing more was said until the galley came alongside and the ship's boys caught the two mooring lines that their counterparts on the other ship threw to them as well as a third rope to serve as a spring. This ran from the stern of one ship to the prow of the other to hold them together without one hull rubbing constantly against the other.\n\nThe man who clambered down onto the deck of the skeid was in his thirties. He was six inches taller than Edmund and broad chested. His carefully washed and combed hair and beard contrasted with the faded leather armour he wore. The way he smelled reminded Edmund of his mother; quite unlike the way he and his men did. Their prevailing odour was a mixture of sweat and salt.\n\n'Greetings, I'm Bastiaan, the viscount of this coastal region and the younger son of the Count of Arras,' the big man explained.\n\nEdmund knew that a count was a man appointed to govern a region, very much as an ealdorman governed a shire in England. A vice-count, or viscount, was a deputy who was responsible for helping the count by enforcing the law and collecting taxes in a sub-division of the province. In this case, it looked as if Bastiaan was also responsible for the defence of this section of the coast.\n\n'I'm Edmund, the brother of the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg and the Shire Reeve of Islandshire in Northumbria,' the young Northumbrian replied.\n\n'I thought you said that you were a merchant?' Bastiaan replied, giving a suspicious look around him. 'This doesn't look like a trading ship, more like a Norse raider.'\n\n'That's because she was built for my father by a crew of Norsemen who he captured.'\n\n'Are these them?' he asked in alarm, indicating the rowers.\n\nEdmund gave a short laugh.\n\n'No, that was twenty years ago. These men are all Northumbrians.'\n\n'You still haven't explained why you claimed to be a merchant.'\n\n'That's because my family own a warehouse in Paris where we trade items such as wool, jewellery, weapons and leather goods that we export from Bebbanburg.'\n\n'Nerian, uncover the hold and show the viscount what we are carrying,' he ordered, switching to English.\n\nThe ship's boys lifted the wooden planking in the centre of the ship and brought up two of the bales from the dozens lying there. They undid the oiled leather covers to display a bundle of wool and a crate full of swords, byrnies, helmets and spear heads, all coated in lard to protect the metal from the corrosive sea air.\n\nBastiaan's eyes lit up when he saw the weapons.\n\n'Are they for sale?' he asked in poor English.\n\n'For the right price.'\n\n'Come, follow me into the port. You are my guests tonight and, when your head has cleared sufficiently in the morning, we'll talk business. We have suffered a lot from Danish and Norse raiders in recent years, so you will forgive our suspicions.'\n\n'You certainly seem to be prepared for them now.'\n\n'Yes, but our ships are no match for theirs, and they come in increasing numbers so all we can do is try and convince them that there are easier pickings elsewhere.'\n\nThey followed the galleys along the coast and entered a broad estuary heading almost east. They turned into a harbour on the southern bank of the estuary. The port of Caracotinum was scarcely worthy of the name. It had evidently been much more important in Roman times, to judge by the extensive ruins, but the current settlement consisted of a few small warehouses, a hall, a church and a few dozen huts. There was a dock and a stone wall which separated the port from the estuary. The dock had room for all six ships to moor alongside, in addition to the two knarrs which were already there. It had obviously been built in more prosperous days.\n\nThe hall belonged to Bastiaan and, despite being small and built of timber, was quite luxurious on the inside. The first half was the communal area with one massive oak table and four chairs at the far end. The wall was lined with trestle tables and benches which would be erected for meals. The rolled up palliasses and chests presumably belonged to Bastiaan's servants and household warriors.\n\nThrough the door in a partition lay the viscount's own quarters, not that Edmund was invited to enter. His host's family came out to greet him instead. His wife was buxom and talkative, so it was a little while before he was introduced to the children \u2013 two boys of around four and seven and an older girl.\n\nAs soon as he saw her Edmund had trouble in tearing his eyes away from her. She looked to be about twelve, her breasts were discernible under her shift and surcoat, but were a long way short of the other woman's splendid endowment, which looked like two rather plump turnips encased in material that was struggling to contain them. The girl was also extremely pretty.\n\n'I'm sorry, what were you saying?' Edmund asked, realising that he hadn't been listening to him.\n\nBastiaan gave his wife a meaningful look before he replied.\n\n'I was saying that this is my sister, Joscelin, who is living with us to help look after the boys.'\n\nEdmund was not yet eighteen and the last thing he was looking for at the moment was a wife. Not even Ilfrid, who was four years older, was thinking of marriage yet. However, as soon as he saw Joscelin he was infatuated with her.\n\nThe viscount laid on a feast for his visitors that night and Edmund found himself seated between Bastiaan and his garrulous wife with Joscelin on her brother's other side and the elder boy, who he learned was called Gervaise, beside his mother. The only one who wasn't competing for Edmund's attention, it seemed, was the one person he wanted to talk to. The mother wittered on, her husband tried to compete but soon gave up, whilst Gervaise kept plying him with questions about England.\n\nIt was something of a relief when the wife retired to let the men continue drinking. Unfortunately she took Joscelin as well as Gervaise with her. Both seemed reluctant to go, but for very different reasons. Throughout the evening Joscelin had kept glancing his way and then blushing and looking demurely at her half eaten meal as soon as she saw that his eyes were looking into hers. It was an encouraging sign.\n\nHe had no idea if she was betrothed or what plans Bastiaan's father had for his daughter but he had gathered during the evening that the viscount's elder brother was his father's favourite and would inherit when the old man died. Bastiaan and his brother didn't get on and he was obviously worried that he might lose his position when that day came. Neither the post of count or viscount was meant to be hereditary, nor for that matter was the position of ealdorman. All were officially royal appointments, but it was becoming normal for the son to follow the father unless there were good reasons for not doing so.\n\nOnce they had withdrawn the serious matter of drinking started. Edmund was used to mead and ale, but not wine and he made the mistake of thinking it was innocuous. He didn't recall passing out, nor did he remember what he and Bastiaan had discussed when he finally rejoined the land of the living late the next morning. However, he had a nasty feeling that he may have declared his undying love for the man's twelve year old sister at some stage during the evening.\n\nHe had, but he needn't have worried. Edmund was not a boastful youth but he had said enough about Bebbanburg and Islandshire for Bastiaan to realise that, not only was his brother an important man, but also that he and Ilfrid were close. The fact that Edmund would have his own hall at Alnwic when he decided to marry did much to commend the boy to Bastiaan. More importantly, although Edmund didn't remember it, was the fact that they had discussed building a warehouse at Caracotinum and moving his family's business base there. Bastiaan would then hire or buy barges to convey the goods up river to Paris.\n\nThis was much more sensible than sending ships designed for crossing the sea up the winding course of the Seine. It typically took five days to traverse the one hundred and forty miles from the sea to Paris; time which could be better spent at sea.\n\nWhen Bastiaan reminded Edmund of their conversation, once he had sobered up sufficiently, he had a vague recollection of it but he was quick to point out that he would have to discuss the idea with his reeve in Paris and with his brother, who would have the final say.\n\nAt first Edmund had a suspicion that he was being taken advantage of, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought the idea a sensible one. His one concern was the Vikings. They had left Caracotinum alone so far but it was wide open to a raid. If the idea was going to work, the place would have to be made defensible. A simple chain boom across the entrance would protect that side but Bastiaan would have to make the settlement defensible from the landward side, and that would cost money; money the viscount clearly didn't have.\n\nHowever, Bastiaan was no fool and he dangled the one bait that Edmund couldn't resist in front of the young man's eyes \u2013 betrothal to Joscelin. Of course, he had no right to do so. She was his sister, not his daughter, and her father, the count, would have the final say.\n\nBy the time that Edmund sailed down the River Seine two days later they had an understanding. The hold of the Holy Ghost was lighter by two crates of weapons, but they were replaced by a chest full of hack silver and coins of various denominations. Bastiaan could ill afford the cost, but now at least he could arm his warriors and his freemen properly."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Edmund returned to Bebbanburg in late August. He should have been back a month earlier but he had called in again at Caracotinum on the way home see Joscelin again. They managed to get to know each other rather better, despite her sister-in-law's incessant chattering whilst she was acting as chaperone. She seemed under the mistaken impression that Edmund was more interested in talking to her than Joscelin; something that Edmund quickly found intolerable, as he told Bastiaan.\n\nThe next time he was allowed to walk with Joscelin he was accompanied by Gervaise and a servant. The servant remained silent but not so Gervaise, who seem to have inherited his mother's ability to chatter nonstop. At least his questions were about Northumbria and Edmund was able to tell Joscelin about it at the same time. They were forced to converse in Latin at first but Edmund began to learn a few words in Frankish and he taught his two companions a few words in English during the time they spent together.\n\nHe kept sneaking looks at Joscelin and she would catch his eye and then look demurely down at the ground. Of course, that just excited Edmund even more. When she could get a word in on those rare occasions that her brother was quiet, her questions displayed intelligence and a genuine curiosity about a foreign land that Edmund hoped would become her home.\n\nAfter four days he asked to see Bastiaan and asked for Joscelin's hand. The viscount beamed with pleasure and told him that he would strongly recommend the match to his father. He assured Edmund that he would agree; a confidence which was to prove somewhat misplaced.\n\n'I hope that you will establish a warehouse here, as we discussed, and visit it often so that we may see Joscelin from time to time.'\n\n'I will certainly recommend it to my brother. I will return as soon as I have his answer.'\n\nJoscelin's feelings for the handsome young Northumbrian were plain for all to see. She wept at his departure and only his promise to return before winter set in enabled her to regain some composure as the Holy Ghost disappeared from view.\n\n'You really think this idea could work?' Ilfrid asked him once Edmund had explained his proposal.\n\n'I do, yes. It would shave nearly two weeks off the time that our knarrs are away and Viscount Bastiaan's barges are far more suited to navigating the River Seine.'\n\n'What about these Viking raids. From what I've heard they are on the increase.'\n\n'Yes, I agree that it's a risk but our goods would only remain at Caracotinum for the time it takes to unload them and load them onto the barges.'\n\n'Yes, but inevitably they would have to remain in the warehouse at times whilst the barges are away upstream. No, if we are going make the idea work safely we need to improve the defences of the place. How much would it cost to build a palisade around the warehouse? Does the viscount have enough warriors to defend it?'\n\n'I think it would be a question of enclosing the whole settlement. As to his warriors, he had enough men to man five galleys so I suppose that means a hundred or so.'\n\nIlfrid was impressed that the viscount could afford to keep so many warriors and said so.\n\n'Of course, some are fishermen and townspeople who help man the galleys when the alarm bell is rung,' Edmund admitted reluctantly. 'I only saw about forty warriors in his hall.'\n\n'Oh, I see. Just because they can row doesn't mean that they can fight. I like the sound of this less and less.'\n\n'The Vikings haven't attacked Caracotinum so far.'\n\n'That means nothing. If they are preying on that coastline they will do so sooner or later.'\n\nEdmund knew deep down that his brother was right. His own judgement was clouded by his passion for Joscelin, but he refused to acknowledge this to himself. Before he could say anything more, his brother spoke again.\n\n'In any case that's of no importance at the moment. What I haven't had the chance to tell you is that Eanred had summoned us both to appear before him.'\n\n'What on earth does the king want with us? He hasn't shown any interest in this part of the kingdom before.'\n\n'I've no idea, but I don't suppose it will be good news, whatever it is.'\n\n'When do we depart for Eoforw\u012bc?'\n\n'The king's summons came three weeks ago. I've explained that I had to await your return as it's both of us he wants to see, but I daren't delay any longer. We leave tomorrow, but not for Eoforw\u012bc. He's at Whitby at the moment.'\n\n'Well, at least we can travel down by sea then.'\n\n'Yes, and it gives us the excuse to take seventy men with us. If we turned up on horseback with that many it would be difficult to explain why.'\n\n'You think he means us harm?'\n\n'I don't know what he intends, but it's best to be prepared for trouble.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "Edmund was tempted to tell Ilfrid about Joscelin on the voyage south but he wisely decided that his brother wouldn't be in the most receptive frame of mind until this business with the king was sorted out. The weather was kind to them and they rowed into the mouth of the River Esk at dusk on the second day. The monastery on top of the East Cliff loomed above them as they moored alongside the jetty that served the small settlement on the other side of the river.\n\nLeaving a guard on the ship, the crew managed to find accommodation ashore, although some had to sleep in stables. Ilfrid and Edmund shared a room in a tavern with Erik and Laughlin sleeping on the floor. Garr and three more of the warband occupied the room next to theirs.\n\nThat evening Ilfrid, Edmund and Garr sat at a table in the main room of the tavern drinking a tankard of ale each whilst they waited for their meal. Several of their warriors sat at other tables similarly occupied when the door banged open and six armed men barged into the room.\n\n'Which one of you is Ealdorman Ilfrid,' the leader demanded.\n\n'I am, why? What's it to you?'\n\n'The king wants to see you and your brother now.'\n\n'Now? Surely it can wait until the morning?'\n\n'If you don't come with me willingly, my orders are to take you to the monastery by force.'\n\nAt that the fourteen warriors who had been sitting quietly at their tables got to their feet as one and drew their swords.\n\n'And how exactly are you going to do that?' Garr asked quietly.\n\nIlfrid put a restraining hand on his arm.\n\n'Sit down all of you and put your swords away, at least for now,' he ordered.\n\nLaughlin slipped out of the door with the other patrons of the tavern, all of whom had suddenly decided to find somewhere else to drink.\n\n'Now, what is the meaning of your threat to take my brother and me to see the king by force? Are we under arrest, and if so, for what offence?'\n\n'I've no idea,' the man said impatiently. 'My orders are to take you into the king's presence now.'\n\n'Well, I suggest that you go back to Eanred and tell him that I will come to see him at a reasonable hour tomorrow. I am a noble, not some bondsman to be ordered about, even if he is the king. If he wishes to bring some charge against us, then it must be done before the Witan. Remind him that the last king who tried to arrest ealdormen without proper authority lost his throne. Now get out; you're disturbing my meal.'\n\nThe man looked about him impotently. He was about to argue when the door banged open again and armed warriors flooded into the room, surrounding the members of the king's gesith.\n\n'Thank you, Laughlin, but I think these men were about to leave anyway.'\n\nThe next morning Ilfrid and Edmund walked up to the monastery. They were unarmed save for a dagger at their waists but they were accompanied by fifty fully armed warriors. Ilfrid didn't trust Eanred and, if necessary, he would defy the king and return to Bebbanburg until the Witan could be called to hear the charges, whatever they might be.\n\nThe more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. He might not like or have much confidence in Eanred as king, but he hadn't been disloyal to him, not so far at any rate.\n\nThey entered the monastery leaving the majority of their men waiting outside. Only Garr and Laughlin accompanied them. A passing monk said they'd find the king in the church and so they made their way there.\n\nIt was an imposing building constructed of stone, unlike the rest of the monastery. Inside they found Eanred seated on a chair with two people on either side of him. One was the abbot and the other the king's twelve year old son, \u00c6thelred.\n\n'Why didn't you come when you were summoned last night? Instead you threatened my men with violence; that's treason.'\n\n'Good morning to you too, Cyning,' Ilfrid replied with a smile. 'The man was impudent and I couldn't believe that you would really want to see me in the middle of the night. I was certain that he must have misunderstood your orders. Anyway, my brother and I are here now, as you requested. What can I do for you?'\n\nIlfrid's urbane manner seemed to infuriate Eanred even further. Hearing \u00c6thelred snigger at Ilfrid's words didn't help either. He gave his son an irate look and the boy looked suitably contrite. However, as soon as his father turned his head away, his son smirked. It was evident to both Ilfrid and Edmund that \u00c6thelred didn't have a great deal of respect for his father.\n\n'It has been brought to my attention that you have a trading post in Frankia from which you make a great deal of money.'\n\nWhat the king said was true but Ilfrid still didn't see where this was leading, so he remained silent.\n\n'Well, is that true?'\n\n'We have a warehouse in Paris, yes. But I don't understand why this should be of interest to you, Cyning. My family has had a base there for a long time.'\n\n'Ah, I thought so. And in all that time how much profit have you made as a merchant?'\n\nEanred said the last word as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Evidently he thought that involvement in trade was beneath a noble.\n\n'I have no idea, Cyning. I would have to ask my reeve in Paris. May I ask why you are interested?'\n\n'Because you need to pay taxes to me on whatever you and your ancestors have made from your sordid dealings on the Continent.'\n\n'I'm sorry, but I already pay taxes on my profits in Frankia.'\n\n'You do? To whom? Not to me.'\n\n'No, to the emperor.'\n\n'That's of no concern of mine. You are a Northumbrian and, as such, you must pay me the tax due on all your income; furthermore you must pay the Church their tithe as well.'\n\n'I will pay what I owe but not to both you and to Louis the Pious. If you want me to pay them to you in future, then you will need to reach an agreement with Louis. No man can be made to pay the same tax twice.'\n\n'Don't you dare tell me what I must do,' Eanred almost yelped. 'Your arrangement with the emperor is a matter between you. I will have what is rightfully mine.'\n\n'I'm not the only one of your ealdormen who trade abroad, Cyning. Several trade with Mercia and with Ireland. Are they to be asked to pay you additional taxes too?'\n\n'That's not your concern.'\n\n'Isn't it? I think it is very much my concern. As a member of the Witan I am vitally interested in what amounts to a change in the law, especially if it is to be applied selectively.'\n\n'Are you threatening me?'\n\n'No, Cyning. Of course not; merely suggesting that this is a matter for the Witan to decide.'\n\n'No, it is a matter for your king to rule on. You will return to Bebbanburg and obtain your ledger for the past one hundred years from your reeve in Paris. My clerks will then assess what you owe me. Once you have settled your debt I will release your brother.'\n\n'Release my brother?'\n\n'Yes, Edmund will remain with me as my guest until you comply with my commands.'\n\nThe king nodded to a monk standing by a side door and seconds later several of the king's gesith entered the church and surrounded Ilfrid and his companions.\n\n'You needn't think that the men you left outside the monastery will come to your aid. They have already been disarmed by my warband. Now get out of my sight and do what I've told you to do. I'm afraid that your brother will be confined in uncongenial surroundings until you return, so I would hasten if I were you, or his health may suffer.'\n\nIlfrid stood there numb with shock for a moment and then, with a cry of rage he drew his dagger and lunged towards the sneering king. He never made it. With a yelp of fear Eanred leaned back to escape the dagger and his chair toppled over, taking the king out of Ilfrid's reach. The king's gesith were taken by surprise but \u00c6thelred reacted quickly, throwing himself at the enraged ealdorman and locking his arms around him. It didn't take Ilfrid a moment to shake the boy off. But \u00c6thelred's prompt intervention gave the king's warriors time to gather their wits. One of them thrust his sword into Ilfrid's back before he could attack Eanred again and Edmund watched in horror as his brother fell face down on top of the prostrate king, blood staining the back of his yellow tunic a dark crimson.\n\nEanred extracted himself angrily from under the dead ealdorman and he kicked the corpse several times before he recovered his composure.\n\n'Traitor,' he spat. 'Take his treacherous brother outside and hang him.'\n\n'Father, wait. Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life?'\n\n'What, oh, yes. Thank you \u00c6thelred. You did well.'\n\n'I don't think it's a very good idea to kill Edmund out of hand.'\n\n'Be quiet! You may have saved my life, but that doesn't give you the right to be impudent.'\n\n'I'm not being impudent, father, just sensible,' the boy replied calmly. 'It will be difficult to explain to the Witan what has just happened here. Your enemies will accuse you of murdering the most important noble in the north and, if we aren't careful, that could inspire a revolt.'\n\n'Who are these enemies you speak of,' his father asked suspiciously. 'What do you know of such matters?'\n\n'I keep my ear to the ground, father. I speak of the ealdormen of Lothian, Bernicia and the western shires. They all admired Ilfrid and looked upon him as their leader. It's hardly surprising; you have never shown your face outside Deira.'\n\nEanred was about to rebuke his son when he realised that they were not alone. His first instinct was to order that Ilfrid's body be taken out of the church and thrown on the midden heap. However, what his son had just said made him realise that he might need to tread carefully. He looked at Edmund, who was weeping and struggling with impotent rage against the men who held him. Perhaps killing him wasn't the wisest move in the circumstances, but he knew that the youth would be his implacable enemy after what had happened. He needed time to think.\n\n'Take this wretch and chain him up in one of the cellars whilst I think about what to do with him,' he ordered. 'The rest of you can leave us now.'\n\n'What about the crew of Ealdorman Ilfrid's longship, Cyning,' his captain asked. 'We have them outnumbered and surrounded but they are hardly disarmed, as you claimed.'\n\nEanred looked at the man sharply. He wasn't certain but he thought that there was a hint of derision in the man's voice.\n\n'Well, go and disarm them now.'\n\nThe captain looked uncomfortable and didn't move.\n\n'Well, what are you waiting for?'\n\n'I may have more men than they have but they will fight back if we try to disarm them. You are likely to lose a significant number of your warband in the ensuing fight.'\n\n'And a battle with the Bebbanburg warband is hardly likely to improve the sticky situation you have got yourself into, father,' his son added.\n\nEanred bridled at their implied criticism of him, but he knew that they were right. He was normally a careful man and he quickly realised that his greed was likely to end up costing him his throne if he wasn't careful. He needed time to think.\n\n'Very well, tell them that they are to return to their ship and wait there for their ealdorman to rejoin them. After all, they won't know that Ilfrid is dead.'\n\n'It won't take long for word of what has happened here to spread, Cyning,' his captain pointed out.\n\n'What about the body?' the abbot asked. 'Ealdorman Ilfrid deserves a Christian burial.'\n\nEanred nodded.\n\n'Yes, thank you Father Abbot. See to it would you? But I don't want any fuss, just a quick internment in consecrated ground as soon as it's dark.'\n\n'I want to take the body back with me to bury it on Lindisfarne with our ancestors,' Edmund stated forcefully.\n\n'You're not going anywhere.'\n\n'What about if I give you my oath to be faithful to you, much as it goes against the grain. My brother wouldn't want to see some royal favourite given Bebbanburg.'\n\n'You expect me to believe that you would stay loyal if I released you?'\n\n'I will never forgive you for what you have done, Eanred, but I'm not stupid. No-one need know what transpired here today. You will need to hang the man who killed my brother, of course, but I'll keep quiet about the reason behind his death. You can blame it on a man who went mad.'\n\nEanred looked dubious, but he gave what Edmund had said some thought.\n\n'I need time to think,' he said again. 'Leave me for now. Edmund, you and your two men will remain in the church. Go and wait over there until I've made a decision. Father Abbot, you can get your monks to prepare this traitor for burial. Whether it stays here or goes to Lindisfarne, it needs to be purified and placed in a coffin before it begins to stink.'\n\nThe way that Eanred spoke about his brother infuriated Edmund even further, but a warning glance from \u00c6thelred was enough to make him bite his tongue. He would bide his time, but he promised himself that he would have his revenge on Eanred."
            },
            {
                "title": "RAGNAR THE KING",
                "text": "[ THE RAVEN ]\n\n[ The Shield Maiden ]\n\n[ 829 to 830 ]\n\nRagnar lay unconscious for several days after the blow to his head. For a time Olaf thought that he was going to die but Torstein, the godi, cast his runes and predicted that he was destined for great things, so his death was hardly likely to be imminent. It reassured Ragnar's followers, but deep down Olaf was not convinced. He felt that Torstein would say what was necessary to keep the disparate warband that Ragnar had gathered around him from disintegrating.\n\nWhen he did regain consciousness, Ragnar was desperately weak. However, he was not the sort of person to lie on his sick bed when there were things to be done. With the help of one of his hirdmen he managed to clamber to his feet. He stood on the aft deck of his drekar swaying like a drunk whilst the world seemed to be spinning around him. Suddenly he lurched to the gunwale and spewed bile and stomach acid over the side. He gripped the wooden rail under his hands tightly to stop himself falling forwards over the side of the moving ship and then he felt strong arms grab his shoulders and force him to lie down again.\n\n'That was foolish, jarl,' he heard Lars say as he and Bjarke lowered him onto his bed of furs.\n\nHe was about to utter a stinging retort when the world went black and he slipped back into unconsciousness. When he awoke next it was dark and he lay there for a moment looking up at the stars and the full moon. There were a few clouds in the sky and, as he watched, one of them obscured the moon from view. The sea and ship beneath were plunged into darkness again.\n\n'Are you awake, jarl?'\n\nHe didn't recognise the voice and the face was difficult to make out until the cloud moved on and then he saw a beardless boy crouched beside him offering him a leather beaker. He recalled that the lad was the youngest of the ship's boys, but at first he couldn't remember his name.\n\n'Drink,' he croaked, indicating that the boy should give him the beaker he was holding.\n\nHe was pleased to find that it contained mead. The usual brew of fermented honey and water had been supplemented by herbs, a concoction of Torstein's which he claimed had healing properties. Ragnar slowly sipped the contents, with the lad's help, until the beaker was empty. He sighed with contentment and went back to sleep.\n\nHe awoke next when rain splattered down onto his face. The sky was grey and for a moment he watched the scudding clouds as he blinked the water drops out of his eyes; then someone erected a piece of oiled wool cut from an old sail over his makeshift bed. The ship's boy knelt by him again and helped him to drink another beaker of mead.\n\n'Where's Lodvik?'\n\n'Who, jarl?'\n\n'My body servant.'\n\n'Oh, the thrall,' the boy said dismissively. 'I believe that he was killed by an arrow during the battle.'\n\nRagnar was annoyed at the boy's casual indifference to the young man who'd been his constant attendant for some time and who he'd come to like and respect. But then he supposed that this boy wasn't to know that. To him he'd just have been another thrall \u2013 the lowest of the low.\n\n'What's your name, boy? I've forgotten,' he managed to croak between mouthfuls.\n\n'Gedda B\u00f3tolfrson.'\n\n'B\u00f3tolfrson? Who is your father? B\u00f3tolfr is not a name I recall.'\n\n'He was a bondi in Agder, a rich landowner, but one of Froh's hirdmen coveted his land and laid false charges against him. Naturally that bastard, Froh, found in his man's favour and so we were forced off our own land. My father went back to our hall and killed the usurper, for which he was hanged. My mother, my sister Lagertha, and I sought refuge with my uncle, who is a jarl in the north of Agder.'\n\nGedda was about to continue but he noticed that Ragnar was slipping into unconsciousness again and so he got up and went to help the other ship's boys to collect the rain and fill the water barrels.\n\n'You were telling me about your family,' Ragnar said when he awoke again. The rain had stopped but his shelter had been left in place as the sky still looked ominous.\n\n'Oh, well, Lagertha has always been strong willed and more of a warrior than most boys. When we were evicted she became a shield maiden and formed her own small warband from amongst our uncle's young warriors. They started to attack those Swedes who had been given land by Froh until she became such a nuisance that he offered a chest of silver for her head.\n\n'Of course, this just increased her renown and more and more young men looking for adventure joined her. I wanted to as well but my uncle said I was too young. However, he allowed me to join one of the other jarl's as a ship's boy. When two of yours were killed in the battle against Froh, he sent me and another boy to report to your shipmaster as replacements. As I was the youngest, at twelve, I was tasked to look after you.'\n\nHe was about to continue and tell Ragnar what had become of Lagertha but the man interrupted him.\n\n'And a good job you've made of it too. Right, Gedda B\u00f3tolfrson, get rid of this damned awning and help me to get to my feet again. This time I don't feel as weak as a new-born baby, so maybe I'll manage to stay upright.'\n\nRagnar made it to the gunwale without feeling faint this time and, although he was still quite feeble, he determined to get back to normal as soon as possible. In the meantime he needed to know what was going on. Why were they still in the anchorage at Bohus, for example?\n\n'Where is Olaf, Gedda?'\n\nThe boy shrugged.\n\n'Raiding, jarl. He and the other jarls are laying waste to Alfheim whilst you recover.'\n\nRagnar groaned.\n\n'Are you alright, jarl?'\n\n'What? Oh yes. I'm feeling much better, though my belly is rumbling as if the pipe between it and my mouth has been cut. No, that wasn't why I groaned. Never mind, just see if you can find me something to eat.'\n\nIn fact Ragnar had groaned because they were wasting time here when they should be heading north to secure his kingdom of Agder before anyone else did so. When Gedda came back Ragnar sat down and greedily ate the bowl of mutton stew that he'd brought him. After the first few mouthfuls he was sick again, so he learned to eat it slowly and not to try and consume too much in one go.\n\nThe next day Ragnar was feeling more like his old self, but Torstein warned him not to try and do too much at first. The one thing he did do was to send messengers, found from the force left behind to besiege the fortress on the top of the hill, to find Olaf and the jarls and get them to return post haste.\n\nBy the time that they set out two days later Ragnar was feeling much better. The fleet left the fjord behind and turned into the Kattegat before heading north-west into the Skagerrak, on the far side of which lay the Kingdom of Agder."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Lagertha B\u00f3tolfrsdotter had always regretted being born female. Growing up she had been able to outrun and outwrestle most of the boys her age. Of course, such behaviour earned her reprimands and the odd beating, but it made little difference to her behaviour. When she was twelve she started to badger her father to be allowed to join the boys in their training with sword, shield and spear. Both her parents were adamant that it would make them a laughing stock amongst their fellow bondis. However, B\u00f3tolfr did agree to let her have a bow.\n\nLagertha had become the best archer in their valley by the time she was fourteen. Then disaster struck. King Sigvard and his family were killed and the Swede, Froh, seized the throne of Agder. When her father was hanged Lagertha, her mother and her seven year old brother, Gedda, fled to her uncle, Jarl Magnus, at Lysebotn in the far north of Agder.\n\nMagnus' base lay at the end of a fjord some twenty five miles long called the Lysefjord. It was surrounded by steep-sided mountains, whose summits were covered in snow for most of the year.\n\nMagnus' bondis and their thralls existed by fishing and farming the flat land alongside the river behind Lysebotn. They were also successful raiders. Because of its inaccessible nature, the settlement was the perfect base for Lagertha to use to exact her revenge on Froh and the Swedes who came to settle in their new kingdom.\n\nHer first foray was against the Swedes who had occupied the nearby island of Rennes\u00f8y, whose jarl also ruled over a number of other islands on the south side of the Boknafjord. These islands guarded the entrance to the Lysefjord and, when a Swede and his hirdmen killed their Norse jarl and subjugated the people who lived on them, Magnus' bondis were furious. However, he was still dithering about how best to deal with the Swedes when Lagertha acted.\n\nTaking two dozen warriors who acknowledged her, at least unofficially, as their hersir, she stole a snekkja one evening. In truth it belonged to the father of one of her young followers and so she regarded it as borrowing, rather than stealing. The night was relatively balmy with scarcely a light breeze to ruffle the dark waters of the fjord and they rowed silently westwards under the sporadic light of a new moon.\n\nClouds scudded along, obscuring the only source of light from time to time as they made their way slowly towards the mouth and on into the Boknafjord. At first Lagertha worried that it might be difficult to navigate when clouds intermittently obscured the moonlight, but such periods of inky blackness didn't last long. By the time that the main settlement of Vikev\u00e5g on the south coast of Rennes\u00f8y hove into view they had been rowing for some six hours. It was now only an hour before the sky would start to lighten but her men needed to recover after rowing all that way.\n\nBy the time they were ready, the tops of the mountains to the east had started to appear, silhouetted by the rising sun. The shores of the island were rocky and so they had no option but to land on the wooden jetty at Vikev\u00e5g where the other longships, knarrs and fishing boats were moored.\n\nAt that time of the morning there was no one around. There was a sentry in a lookout tower near the jetty but when they drew close they could hear the unmistakable sounds of snoring. Lagertha signalled to one of her men and he silently climbed up the tower. It seemed a lot longer to those waiting impatiently below, but within a minute the man reappeared and quickly descended. When he reached the ground he grinned at Lagertha and drew his hand across his throat.\n\nHer warriors followed the shield maiden through the filth strewn streets of Vikev\u00e5g towards the jarl's hall. The only sound was the odd bark of a dog but no one seemed to pay any attention to it. Then, as they rounded a corner, Lagertha nearly bumped into a man with his trousers around his thighs as he relieved his bladder into the fetid mud outside his hut.\n\nIt took her barely half a second to recover her wits. The man had turned, still pissing away the ale he'd consumed the previous night, and stared at Lagertha and her followers as they came to a halt behind her. He opened his mouth but didn't have the chance to utter a sound before she brought her shield up so that the rim smashed into the man's throat, cutting off the yell of alarm before it started.\n\nThe warrior behind her jammed his spear into the unfortunate man's chest and the group moved on. Lagertha had regretted his death, and that of the sentry, as they were both probably Norse, rather than Swedes, but she didn't have much of a choice if they were to remain undetected until they reached their destination.\n\nShe studied the jarl's hall from the shadows of an alleyway. Two sentries stood on guard at the only entrance and, unlike the man in the lookout tower, they were awake and alert. Although the sky was getting lighter the sun was hidden behind grey clouds and, whilst she was wondering how to dispose of the sentries without waking the warriors sleeping within the hall, the first drops of rain started to fall, splattering on her face and bare arms. The two men on watch immediately retreated to the door in an effort to find shelter as the rain got heavier. However, it was blowing from the wrong direction and with a curse, they opened the door and slipped inside the hall.\n\n'Lucky the Swedes don't like getting wet,' the man behind her whispered derisively.\n\n'Who does?' she muttered. 'Come on, as quietly as you can.'\n\nHer men followed her across the open ground to the hall. She took a deep breath and opened the door wide. The two sentries were standing just inside the door and it banged into them, knocking them off balance. One dropped his spear and, as he went to retrieve it, Lagertha kicked him hard in his side. He toppled sideways and, before he could recover, she stuck the point of her sword into his neck.\n\nMeanwhile the other sentry had tried to use his spear, but it was the wrong weapon for such a confined space. Before he could thrust it at anyone someone had cut deeply into his neck with a sword and he dropped to the dirt floor of the hall where someone else made sure he was dead by thrusting a dagger into his heart.\n\nThe commotion by the door caused a few of those sleeping to wake up and there was some angry grumbling about being disturbed. The voices were slurred and the Norsemen assumed, correctly, that they were still suffering from the previous night's over-indulgence.\n\nThere were more than the new jarl's thirty hirdmen in the hall; a dozen female thralls were sleeping beside various men and several other servants, mainly boys, lay near the door. Now all was confusion whilst the inhabitants tried to work out what was going on. The quicker witted of the jarl's hirdmen grabbed their weapons but they wore no armour and had no shields.\n\nLagertha left her men to kill the rest - whether still asleep or not, armed or not - whilst she made her way to the back of the hall where there was a curtained off section. A man dressed in an expensive tunic and wearing an ornate helmet appeared through the curtains carrying both sword and shield. A woman and a young girl followed him. The former carried a byrnie and was imploring the man to stop and put it on.\n\nHe brushed her aside and strode to meet Lagertha.\n\n'Who do you think you are?' he asked scornfully. 'Some shield maiden of legend?'\n\nAlthough she was dressed like a warrior in a byrnie worn over a tunic and trousers with a helmet on her head, they didn't hide her pretty, beardless face, nor the long, braided fair hair which was twice as long as any man would wear it.\n\n'Come and find out, you Swedish turd, born of a harlot mother and a bastard father.'\n\nAs she had intended, the insult enraged the jarl and he made a wild cut at her neck. She moved back swiftly before the blade struck and a spit second later she pushed off with her back leg and cannoned into her opponent.\n\nDespite her much lighter body, the momentum of the impact forced the jarl to stagger backwards. He was off balance and his sword was in the wrong place to block her counter stroke. He was fortunate to intercept her sword with the rim of his shield before it struck him, but the defected blade didn't leave him entirely unscathed. The point sliced open his cheek and nicked his left eye, leaving him in pain and partially blind.\n\nThe Swede realised that his adversary was much more skilled at fighting than he had expected. Ignoring the battle going on around them he forced himself to calm down and studied the girl in front of him, trying to read her next move. Lagertha's eyes flickered towards the jarl's left leg and he dropped his shield to cover the expected cut. Instead she whirled her sword in a semi-circle and brought it down on his exposed right thigh, the sharp edge cutting through flesh, sinew and muscle until it struck the femur.\n\nThe Swede howled in rage, hobbling back out of reach. Blood streamed down his leg, which was scarcely able to support his weight, as pain gripped his whole body. Lagertha's sword was wrenched out of her hand, still stuck in the flesh of the Swede's heavily muscled thigh, leaving her unarmed for the moment. Her opponent saw his chance and, gritting his teeth against the agony, he lunged forward in one last attempt to kill her.\n\nShe contemptuously blocked the blow with her shield, batting the blade away. Then she smashed the boss of her shield into his face, reducing his nose to a bloody pulp. He instinctively closed his eyes as he fell backwards and landed on the foul straw that covered the hard earth floor, so he never saw Lagertha discard her shield, draw her dagger and plunge it into his left eye socket.\n\nShe rose to her feet, swiftly looking around her in case she was about to be engaged by another enemy, but the fighting in the rest of the hall was over. The woman and girl rushed to the dead jarl, wailing and embracing him as if they could will him back to life. She ignored them, spitting at them to show her contempt for their display of emotion.\n\nHer men cheered her to the roof beams before hoisting her onto their shoulders and carrying her around the charnel house that once had been the Swedish jarl's hall. She had lost five men and a few more had minor wounds. The enemy hirdmen were all dead and she had captured sixteen thralls, if the dead jarl's wife and daughter were included, to show for the night's work. Her men found a hoard of silver which she distributed amongst them after taking half for herself. Leaving the Norse inhabitants to select a new jarl, she returned to Lysebotn richer than anyone else there, with the possible exception of Jarl Magnus."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "Her success attracted new warriors to her banner, all seeking fame and fortune. She would have to keep up the momentum of her attacks on Froh's followers or they would vanish just as quickly as they had appeared. She had returned the snekkja she'd used for the raid on Rennes\u00f8y to its owner with enough silver to make him forget that it had been stolen, but she needed ships of her own. She used her share of the hoard from Vikev\u00e5g to pay Magnus' shipwright to build her two new longships, both drekars \u2013 one with thirty oars a side and one with thirty five.\n\nIt took time, but by mid-summer she had the ships and the men needed to man them. She also needed ship's boys, but she was inundated with lads too young to be warriors who wanted to sail with her. In the end she chose the best ten, one of which was Magnus' son, her thirteen year old cousin T\u00f3ki.\n\nHer next target was Lauvvik on the H\u00f8gsfjord, which joined the Lysefjord from the south near its mouth. However, when she got there she found that its Swedish jarl had taken fright and had fled back to Arendal. She decided that Lauvvik would make a better base than Lysebotn as it was much nearer to the open sea.\n\n'What will you do now, cousin,' T\u00f3ki asked her as he poured her a goblet of ale one evening.\n\nThe boy had attached himself to her and was eager to please her. It didn't seem to bother him that he was acting like a thrall. At first Lagertha thought that he had a bad case of hero-worship, but now she suspected that he fancied himself in love with her. She knew she should have put an end to his infatuation straight away, but the truth was she liked him and was enjoyed his attention, young though he was. After all, she was only a few years older herself. Her failure to nip his infatuation in the bud was a serious error of judgement.\n\nOf course, T\u00f3ki wasn't the only male sexually attracted to the shield maiden, as her men now openly called her, but all of them respected her skill as a warrior and a leader and no-one overstepped the mark.\n\n'Don't be impudent, boy, she retorted. 'You may be Jarl Magnus' son, but such matters are of no concern of yours. If you want to behave like a thrall and serve me, then do as the thralls do and hold your tongue.'\n\nShe had spoken more sharply than she had intended\u2013 after all T\u00f3ki was her cousin \u2013 but the truth was she didn't know the answer to his question and it vexed her. She didn't notice but the boy reacted like a whipped cur. He said nothing but he seethed with resentment at the way she had treated him. After that he avoided her, for which she was thankful. She had other, more important, concerns than lovesick boys.\n\nThe three jarls \u2013 Magnus of Lysebotn, Gedda of Rennes\u00f8y and the newly elected Li\u00f0sma\u00f0r of Lauvvik bonded together for their own protection, certain that Froh would not accept losing control of the northernmost part of his kingdom without a fight. They were certain that any attack would come by sea as the mountains provided an impenetrable barrier between Arendal and the region known as Roga controlled by the three jarls.\n\nAlthough not a jarl, Lagertha B\u00f3tolfrsdotter was acknowledged as a hersir by the three jarls and treated as such. It was an important increase in her formal status but she considered herself better than any of them. However, she had to be content with that for now and, albeit reluctantly, she swore allegiance to her uncle Magnus.\n\nBetween them the jarls of Roga now had a dozen longships with which to defend their coast. As the king in Arendal had eight other jarls and a total fleet of nearly thirty ships, it wouldn't be nearly enough if they all came north to attack them.\n\nThere was one factor in their favour. Most of Froh's jarls in the south were Norsemen, not Swedes. Froh had installed the two Swedes on his northern boundary, partly to reward them and partly to defend his newly acquired kingdom from possible attack by the King of Hordaland to the north. The latter was Norse and had been alarmed by the encroachment of the Swedes across the Skagerrak. It had also frightened the King of Vestfold, whose kingdom lay between Alfheim and Agder.\n\nOnly two of Froh's remaining jarls were Swedes \u2013 both based to the west of Arendal to guard his eastern border \u2013 although he had replaced several of the wealthier Norse bondis with Swedes on one pretext of another.\n\n'I still say that we should enlist the aid of \u00dalfrekr of Vestfold to attack Froh,' Jarl Gedda maintained.\n\n'\u00dalfrekr has his own problems,' Magnus pointed out. 'Several of his jarls are in rebellion against him. He'll be lucky to hold onto his throne. In any case he's sandwiched between Froh in Agder and Alfheim, now ruled by Froh's brother. No, you can forget about any help from that quarter.'\n\n'Then surely he would welcome the removal of Froh?' Li\u00f0sma\u00f0r butted in.\n\n'Yes, of course. But he is not a man to take risks. He is cunning and will bide his time before joining the winning side. Froh's days will have to be numbered before he'll risk helping us, particularly as his own position is precarious.'\n\n'If they won't join us, what about the Norse jarls of Agder? They can't be happy being ruled by a Swede and there are six of them.'\n\n'They have given their allegiance to Froh. Honour is as important to them as it is to us. They may want to get rid of him, but that's a very different thing to breaking their oaths and becoming his enemy.'\n\n'Will they stay neutral if we attack Froh?' Lagertha asked.\n\n'I suppose they might be persuaded to be a little dilatory in responding to a muster,' Magnus said, guessing what his niece was thinking.\n\n'As I see it we have two alternatives; we can either sit here and wait until Froh attacks us, bringing the whole of the rest of Agder with him, or we can send messages to the Norse jarls and strike first.'\n\n'Perhaps the first thing to do is to sound out the other jarls,' suggested another of the hersir present.\n\n'I agree, then we'll know where we stand,' Lagertha added, unexpectedly getting a dirty look in return for her support from the hersir who'd just spoken.\n\nShe knew that she wasn't popular amongst the other hersir and senior bondis. Whilst the sk\u00e1lds might sing of the redoubtable deeds of legendary shield maidens like Br\u00fcnnhilde, in reality most Vikings believed that women should stay at home and look after the children."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Froh paced up and down in the king's hall at Arendal, trying to contain his frustration and anger.\n\n'Where in the name of Hel are they?'\n\nThe three Norse jarls who had summoned his call to arms looked uncomfortable. They knew full well that the other three had delayed on purpose because they didn't want to fight against their fellow Norse jarls. Without the missing ships Froh had eighteen longships, but he didn't trust the three Norse jarls who had answered his summons not to hang back when it came to a fight. If they did that he would have to engage the dozen longships the rebels had with ten of his own. Consequently he needed to dissuade them from betraying him.\n\n'I would like you to send me your eldest sons to help crew my own drekar,' Froh told them.\n\nIt was supposed to be an honour to crew the king's own longship, but it wasn't. They were hostages for their fathers' good behaviour. The jarls had no option. If they refused then Froh would depose them and place a Swede in their place. So the three sons joined him, even though one was only nine \u2013 too young to be a ship's boy by two or three years.\n\nFroh was puzzled. He'd expected the rebels to sail out onto the open sea to fight him. Instead they stayed inside the relatively narrow Lysefjord. The fjord was approximately five hundred yards wide for much of its twenty six mile length, including at the mouth where it joined the H\u00f8gsfjord. Although he had their sons as hostages he still didn't trust the three Norse jarls not to hang back, so he signalled for them to overtake the Swedish ships and lead the attack.\n\nAs their eight drekar closed on the rebel fleet two things happened. Magnus' ships came together to form three rafts and behind them men on the shores at the entrance to the fjord started to heave on two windlasses, raising a rope boom behind them. Now the leading Norse ships were cut off from Froh's Swedish fleet behind them.\n\nFroh's Norse jarls tried to persuade their men to attack Magnus' ships but their heart wasn't in it. They knew that they would be condemning the boys being held hostage to death, but after the first few men were killed they stopped fighting and rowed their ships clear.\n\nThe three jarls watched helplessly as their sons were hauled up the mast of Froh's drekar one by one with a rope around their neck, the eldest first. When he had finished thrashing about, his legs kicking wildly as the air was cut off from his lungs, he was lowered and the next boy was hanged. Finally the nine year old was hauled up the mast to suffer the same fate. As a final indignity the bodies were thrown into the sea.\n\nThe Norse jarls' rage was profound. Without any need for communication, they turned their ships as one and headed back towards the mouth of the fjord with Magnus' longships right behind them. The men on the shore hastily lowered the boom and the combined Norse fleet swept on towards Froh's remaining ships.\n\nOutnumbered now by two to one, Froh hastily gave the order to withdraw. Confusion reigned as the ten longships tried to turn in the confined space. Two crashed into each other and another sheared off the oars of a fourth with its bow. Before they could sort themselves out properly the Norse longships reached them.\n\nLagertha's face was a picture of ferocious joy as her ship came alongside one of the Swedish drekar. Without waiting for the grappling irons to be hauled in to bind the two ships together, she leapt across the gap between them and landed on a rower, sending him sprawling onto the deck. As she came up from the crouching position she thrust her spear into the chest of the oarsman behind the one she'd landed on, then killed the first man.\n\nShe re-adopted a crouching stance just as three men attacked her. She used her shield to knock away the spear of one and met the axe of another with the haft of her spear, deflecting it. The third man's eye gleamed with triumph as he saw an opening and aimed his sword at Lagertha's throat. It never reached its target; he fell back with an arrow in his chest shot by one of the archers on her own ship. She had no time to thank him as the other two renewed the attack, but by then more and more of her men were pouring into the Swedish drekar. When another Norse ship grappled itself to the other side of the Swede the outcome was never in doubt.\n\nThe remainder of the Swedish crew tried to surrender, but the Norsemen were in no mood to be lenient after watching the murder of their jarls' sons. They were slaughtered to a man and thrown over the side to join the bodies of the innocent boys.\n\nLagertha ran to the stern to see how the sea battle was progressing, but it was all over. Three of Froh's longships had been captured but the other seven had managed to extricate themselves and had fled. Magnus' ships pursued them but it soon became obvious that they weren't going to catch them before nightfall and he was forced to call off the chase."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "Froh was furious at the failure of his attack but, for now, there was little he could do about Magnus and his growing power in the north. He contented himself by pillaging the settlements and farms of the three jarls who had betrayed him. Norse bondis and their families were enslaved and Swedish immigrants were given their land. Of course, this did nothing to endear him to the Norse of Agder, who still formed the vast majority of the population.\n\nUnrest was rife and Lagertha continued to attack the halls of the Swedish jarls and bondis. Her reputation grew and, despite the antagonism of many of the Norse jarls and hersirs, she became a heroine in the eyes of the great majority of the warriors.\n\nWhen Magnus died suddenly the following year T\u00f3ki, now sixteen, was chosen to succeed him. However, he was too young to also take over as the leader of the six jarls and Gedda of Rennes\u00f8y was chosen instead. This infuriated T\u00f3ki, who decided to contest their choice. To bolster his position he proposed marriage to his cousin, Lagertha. She didn't think he was fit to become jarl in Magnus' place, though many bondis supported him just because he was Magnus' son. She certainly didn't want him to share her bed, and scorned his proposal, calling him a puppy still wet behind the ears.\n\nT\u00f3ki was not a youth to allow such an insult to pass and he foolishly challenged his cousin to a fight. If he won then, he declared, she would be forced to marry him; if he lost he would stand down as jarl. Lagertha was loathe to fight him, much as she wanted to depose him as jarl. However, she couldn't decline without losing face.\n\n'Don't let him win, Lagertha,' Loptr, one of senior warriors, said quietly. 'He'll make a vindictive bully of a husband, mainly because he is jealous of you.'\n\n'Do you imagine that I don't know that?' she replied with bitterness. 'He's my cousin and he was a ship's boy on my drakar for two years. I know exactly what he's like. Odin won't think him worthy of Valhalla, but I fully intend to send him to F\u00f3lkvangr.'\n\nF\u00f3lkvangr was the meadow presided over by the goddess Freyja where those who die in combat, but who are not considered worthy of Valhalla, go.\n\n'He may be an arrogant and cocksure young man with few admirable qualities, but if you kill him he'll suddenly become a heroic figure, cruelly slain by a Valkyrie.'\n\n'A Valkyrie? Is that how people see me?'\n\n'They see you as more than mortal, Lagertha. Your luck is attributed to help from the All-father, Odin, and many think that you are one his female warriors. They are simple people, after all. If you win easily they won't think it's a fair contest and their awe of you will turn to fear and loathing.'\n\n'Then I had better let them see that I'm not invincible.'\n\nShe entered the circle made by her warriors and the hirdmen of Jarl T\u00f3ki wearing no byrnie and no helmet. Her only weapon was a sword and she carried no shield.\n\n'What's this, cousin? Do you treat me with contempt?' T\u00f3ki said angrily when he entered the circle wearing byrnie and helmet. He was carrying a shield and spear and wore both a sword and a dagger at his waist.\n\n'Not at all, cousin. I merely wish this fight to be as fair as possible; after all, I have both years and a warrior's skill on my side.'\n\nT\u00f3ki was about to make a retort but the lagman held up his hand for quiet.\n\n'I am told that this one to one fight is due to a disagreement over marriage but our laws do not permit a suitor to challenge his intended to resolve the matter by combat, at least not this sort of combat.'\n\nThe crowd were silent for a moment; they were unused to their lawgiver making a joke. Then they started laughing, which lightened the mood.\n\n'Therefore this fight is over leadership in the time honoured tradition of the Norse people. If Jarl T\u00f3ki loses, he will cede his role as your leader to the victor. If the Lady Lagertha loses, she will submit to her jarl as his obedient subject and pay whatever penalty he deems fitting. This is not a fight to the death, but neither is the first person to draw blood the victor. The loser must submit or be too wounded to carry on.'\n\nThe lagman withdrew and the two combatants circled each other warily. T\u00f3ki made the first move and feinted with his spear whilst bringing his shield up to deflect the expected counter attack from Lagertha. It didn't come. She neatly sidestepped the spear and her left hand snaked out to grasp it; her sword remained hanging down by her side in her other hand.\n\nT\u00f3ki tried to pull his spear back but found that his cousin was much stronger than she looked. It was as if the spear shaft was held in a vice of iron. He felt a fool trying fruitlessly to recover his spear so he let go of it and Lagertha threw it contemptuously aside.\n\n'If this is her showing that she isn't invincible,' Loptr muttered to himself, 'then I'm a witless thrall.'\n\nNext Lagertha staged a series of lightning fast attacks with her sword. T\u00f3ki struggled to ward off the blows with his shield and was forced back and back. Eventually, at the edge of the circle, where he faced the spear points of those forming it if he retreated further, he went down on one knee and used his sword in a scything motion to try and cut into Lagertha's legs. She leapt in the air to avoid the blade, but stumbled upon landing.\n\nInitially he had intended to leave her unmarked as far as possible. After all, he didn't want some scarred hag as his wife. However, he had quickly realised that Lagertha was a skilled warrior against whom he had little chance of an easy victory. If he couldn't make her submit and become his wife, he would have to kill her.\n\nLagertha pretended to have sprained her ankle and hobbled back out of reach as T\u00f3ki sprang upright and came after her, a savage grin on his face.\n\n'If I can't have you, then no one shall,' he cried as he banged his sword on his shield.\n\n'Don't be too sure cousin; look, the Valkyries are circling already, waiting for your soul.'\n\nDespite knowing he was being duped, T\u00f3ki looked skywards for an instant. It was the moment that she had been waiting for and she charged into him, sending him sprawling onto his back. She stood clear and allowed him to get to his feet. It was only then that he realised that she had wrenched his shield from his grasp whilst he was lying akimbo. Lagertha send the shield spinning away to join the spear.\n\nNow it was sword against sword. T\u00f3ki had the advantage of his armour but Lagertha was spared its weight. Her opponent was tiring whilst she still felt as fresh as if she'd just bathed in the fjord. He attacked her and beat her back, feeling a sense of triumph until he realised that she was doing little more than just enough to defend herself. He paused, panting for breath and glared at her.\n\n'You're not trying, cousin. Now why is that?' he said quietly in between pants as he recovered his breath.\n\n'Because I don't want to make your death look too easy,' she replied with a smile.\n\n'Death?' he replied in alarm. 'This isn't a fight to the death. You heard what the lagman said.'\n\n'Oh, but it is, and we both know that. I saw it in your face. If you can't have me as your sex thrall, then you want me dead so no-one else can have me.'\n\n'Sex thrall? Yes, that's exactly what you'll be when I defeat you. Not my wife, just someone to pleasure me, and my hirdmen too if I choose.'\n\nFor the first time in the fight Lagertha became angry.\n\n'I'd rather die than let either you or your filthy hird lay your hands on me,' she hissed, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly.\n\n'That's the idea.'\n\nHe thrust at her with his sword and she contemptuously beat it away, but he had drawn his dagger with his left hand and now he thrust it towards her abdomen. Caught off balance, all she could do was to twist at the waist so that the point of the dagger didn't penetrate her flesh too far before his arm was fully extended.\n\nShe staggered backwards, blood pouring from the wound and staining the bottom half of her tunic and her yellow trousers a dark crimson. The crown grasped. The women had always been on Lagertha's side, and most of the men secretly admired her, even if they called her a v\u00f6lva to each other, believing she cast a spell on her followers.\n\nShe hadn't intended T\u00f3ki to wound her there, but she had wanted him to give her a flesh wound of some sort. It would gain her a great deal of sympathy so that his death wouldn't be resented. However, she realised that she was losing so much blood that she needed to finish this before she became too weak to do so.\n\nWith a roar of feigned rage she attacked the young jarl with a flurry of cuts and jabs with her sword so that he was forced back at speed. When he felt two sharp blows to the back of his byrnie he knew that he had reached the encircling warriors. Lagertha felt her strength draining away so she made to thrust for her cousin's groin, then turned her wrist at the last moment, after he'd committed to blocking it and sunk the point into his throat.\n\nThe thrust had all of her remaining strength behind it and the point erupted from the back of his neck. The warrior standing behind T\u00f3ki in the circle, against whom he fell, had to jerk his head to the side to avoid being spitted in the chest.\n\nIt was over and, as she stood there, bent over with her hands clutching her knees, swaying from side to side, the crowd erupted with shouts of Jarl Lagertha and long life to the shield maiden. She was scarcely aware of Loptr rushing to catch her as she fell. The world went black and she knew no more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "Ragnar hadn't fully recuperated, but he wasn't prepared to delay recovering his throne any longer. When he neared the entrance to the fjord that led to Arendal he was astonished to see another fleet of a dozen longships heading towards him.\n\n'Damn it, Froh must have left half his force behind to defend Adger.'\n\n'No, they aren't Swedes. That's my sister, Lagertha's fleet,' Gedda said, appearing by his side.\n\n'Your sister? She has a fleet?' Ragnar asked bewildered.\n\n'Yes, she is Jarl of Lysebotn and leader of the jarls of the north.'\n\n'A jarl?'\n\n'Yes, it's said that she killed the previous jarl, our cousin, in a fair fight and has led the fight against the Swedes for several years. She is called Lagertha the Shield Maiden, amongst other things.'\n\n'Is she now? I look forward to meeting your sister, boy. She interests me.'\n\n'Welcome home, King Ragnar Lodbrok,' Lagertha called across the water, standing at the prow of her drekar wearing a byrnie but with her long fair hair blowing free.\n\n'Not king yet, Jarl Lagertha the Shield Maiden,' he called back. 'I have yet to be acclaimed as such by the thing.'\n\n'You know who I am?'\n\n'Of course, he does, sister. Everyone does.'\n\n'Gedda, is that you, you imp. I wondered where you'd got to.'\n\nRagnar and Lagertha smiled at each other across the water as her drekar turned and came alongside Ragnar's ship. Gedda studied them and grinned to himself when he saw that they didn't seem able to take their eyes off each other. It was obvious to all that each found the other immensely attractive, if only by repute at this stage. The boy found himself wondering what it would be like to be the brother of a queen.\n\n[ Aslaug ]\n\n[ 830 to 835 ]\n\nRagnar's second marriage was a passionate, if not exactly a romantic, affair. Each enjoyed bedding the other tremendously and Lagertha had two children in as many years \u2013 a son, Fridlief and a daughter, Ragnhild. Ragnar sent to Denmark for his two sons by Thora \u2013 Eirik and Agnar \u2013 so that they could be brought up with their half-siblings.\n\nHowever, life was never going to be easy for two people who were so strong willed. In particular Lagertha hated being pregnant and didn't have a maternal bone in her body. After Ragnhild's birth she refused to sleep with Ragnar if it meant getting pregnant again. They argued incessantly after that until eventually Lagertha decided she'd had enough; she came to the conclusion that life as a celibate jarl was preferable to that of a fornicating queen. In 835 she returned to the north taking her two children with her and, after a great deal of soul searching, Gedda decided to go with her.\n\nRagnar watched her sail away with mixed feelings. He truly loved her and he still regarded her as his soul mate, but he'd decided some time ago that she was simply impossible to live with. Moreover, he didn't want to share his life with a shield maiden who could beat him with sword and shield as often as not, however good in bed she was. He was a proud man and he felt that losing to anyone, especially to his wife, damaged his standing in the eyes of others.\n\nWhat he needed was a woman who would look after his hall and his children, and perhaps give him fewer scars on his back when he rutted with her.\n\nIn any case he had other concerns at the moment. His Danish lands had been invaded by Finnulf, Jarl of Gotland, whose father he'd killed several years before. It was rumoured that King Eystein Beli of Uppsala was supporting him, which made the situation even more serious. Eystein was Finnulf's king and Uppsala was not only the centre of the kingdom which covered much of Eastern Sweden, but it also contained the shrine to the Allfather \u2013 Odin, king of the gods. It was the most powerful of the Swedish kingdoms and Ragnar had enough problems without making an enemy of Eystein Beli.\n\nRagnar prepared to embark on a mission to make peace with Eystein. Meanwhile he sent for Lagertha and asked her to assemble as many ships and warriors as she could from the north.\n\nWhilst he set sail for Uppsala, Lagertha headed for Egholm, the island in the middle of the Limfjord where Ragnar's hall used to be. It was now the base from which Finnulf was operating and it was essential to secure it if she was to eject the occupying Swedes from Jutland.\n\nEvidently Finnulf hadn't expected Ragnar to react so quickly, or in such force. Perhaps he didn't even know that his enemy was now King of Adger. Whatever the truth of it, Egholm was lightly defended and quickly fell to Lagertha's warriors.\n\nHer first priority was to gather intelligence. Apart from finding out where Finnulf and his men were, she was puzzled by King Horik's lack of retaliatory action. Her suspicion was that he was jealous of Ragnar and might even see him as a potential rival for the throne of Denmark. If so, he might even have welcomed Finnulf's depredations in Jutland.\n\nShe stopped thinking about what might be and smiled at Gedda as he entered the jarl's hall.\n\n'By Thor's hammer, it's wet out there,' he said shaking the rain off his cloak and going over to the central hearth to dry himself.\n\n'Did you find out anything?'\n\n'Only that Finnulf seems to be making his way north, along the coast, burning and pillaging as he goes.'\n\n'Perhaps he's making for Fladstrand? It used to be Ragnar's base once upon a time and it's where he may well keep a chest or two of silver.'\n\n'Who lives in the hall there now?'\n\n'I seem to remember that its Olaf's younger brother, Vragi. Let's hope we can get there by sea before Finnulf reaches it on land.'\n\n'What about his ships? Where are they?'\n\n'Perhaps he's sent them ahead to Fladstrand. Anyway we'll soon find out.'\n\nIt was still raining heavily with the wind blowing strongly from the south east when Lagertha's small fleet left the Limfjord and headed out into the Kattegat. Once they turned to head up the coast they ceased rowing and the ships' boys hauled up the sail with one reef already in it. Lagertha grinned at Gedda as her drekar responded to the increase in pace and carved its way through the spume flecked waves.\n\n'What will you do if the Swedish fleet is at Fladstrand?' he shouted as they both stood in the prow, enjoying the motion of the ship as salt spray hit their faces.\n\nShe shook her head to indicate that she didn't want to try and compete with the noise of the wind and the sea and they made their way aft to where the steersman and the ship's captain stood.\n\n'Hopefully we'll find the bastard's ships there. If so, we'll burn them so he's trapped in Jutland. That'll mean he'll be forced to fight us instead of being able to scuttle back where he came from.'\n\nFour and a half hours after setting out Lagertha sailed into the bay below the palisaded hall at Fladstrand. Seven snekkjur, a drekar and a knarr were tied up to the jetty and the hall appeared to be under siege. It seemed that Finnulf had beaten her to the place after all.\n\n'How many do you think there are?' she asked her brother, pointing towards the besieging army.\n\nThe rain had stopped and there were now patches of blue sky above them. They were still a couple of miles offshore but Gedda had good eyesight. He called the lookout down and climbed up the mast himself.\n\n'At least four hundred,' he called down. 'There's a few more guarding the ships. They seem to be panicking; they're trying to get the ships ready for sea and the crews are running down the hill to man them.'\n\nHis sister smiled grimly.\n\n'It seems we are to have a sea battle then.'\n\nShe signalled to the rest of her ships and the rowers rushed to their places. The sails came down as they neared the jetty. Some enemy ships had already cast off but over half were still tied to the jetty as their crews piled aboard.\n\nLagertha had nine longships but six of those were drekars, so not only did she have bigger ships but they were manned by six hundred and fifty warriors, so her men outnumbered Finnulf's Swedes.\n\nOnly five snekkjur faced her as her men shipped their oars and came alongside the enemy, grappling the ships together. In all but one case the Swedes were trapped between two Norse ships; the battle on board the Swedish ships was short and the outcome never in doubt.\n\nMeanwhile Lagertha's own drekar had attached itself to the fifth enemy ship and she led her men on board it, jumping down onto the lower deck of the smaller ship. As she landed she crouched down so that the spear aimed at her went over her shoulder. She thrust upwards with her sword, pushing it into her attacker's rotund belly. He screamed like a stuck pig and fell into the bottom of the ship, trying to stop his intestines from spilling out.\n\nLagertha ignored him and used her shield to catch a wild blow from an axe aimed at her head. The force of the blow from the axe jarred her arm and it split her shield, sticking fast in the lime wood. Once more her sword snaked out and the axeman fell back with blood spurting from his ripped throat.\n\nThe shield was now more of an encumbrance than a help and so she discarded it and drew her dagger with her left hand. Gedda had followed her onto the enemy ship. Unlike his battle seasoned sister, this was his first battle and he was both excited and nervous. He saw the man with the fatal wound in his belly grit his teeth and draw his dagger, intent on stabbing it into Lagertha's leg. Gedda struck downwards with his sword and killed the man just in time. It wasn't much of a victory but now that he had killed his first man he calmed down and moved to his sister's side.\n\nTogether they held off the frantic attacks by the Swedes until overwhelming numbers of Norsemen arriving on the enemy ship drove the crew back. Gedda didn't notice until afterwards that he had suffered two flesh wounds during the fighting, one to his right cheek and another to his right biceps. He was rather proud of them, forgetting that the one to his face wouldn't show once he was old enough to grow a proper beard instead of the wispy fluff he now sported.\n\nIn less than an hour after sailing into the bay it was all over. The five Swedish longships had all been captured and most of their crews had been killed or badly wounded in the fight. Only a few had been captured and they would soon wish that they had died too; life as a Norseman's thrall was not a pleasant existence.\n\nThe other four ships had never left the jetty. As soon as Finnulf had realised that the battle was already lost, he abandoned them and headed inland with his remaining hundred and fifty men."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "The arrival of Ragnar Lodbrok at Uppsala hadn't come as a surprise to King Eystein. His capital lay at the northern end of a fjord that was an offshoot of the wide sea inlet peppered with islands that stretched a hundred miles inland from the sea. Messengers had kept him appraised of the progress of the Norse fleet and of the fact that the drekars didn't have their figureheads mounted; the universal sign that they came in peace.\n\nThe port, which he assumed was Uppsala, was a much smaller place than Ragnar had expected. Compared to it, his own capital of Arendal was five times the size. The jetty was busy with knarrs unloading and loading and so they moored Ragnar's drekar, and the three snekkjur he'd brought along as escort, further out in the fjord whilst they waited for a vacant berth. He hadn't been there above half an hour when Bjarke drew his attention to a small boat with six oars which had cast off from the jetty and was now heading towards his ships.\n\n'Who are you and what is your business in Uppsala?' a figure standing in the stern alongside the steersman called when the boat was less than fifty yards away.\n\n'King Ragnar Lodbrok of Agder in Norway has come to visit King Eystein,' Olaf called in reply, then said quietly to Ragnar, 'he knows full well who you are from the raven on our sails when we sailed in, if nothing else.'\n\n'Be quiet, Olaf. You're quite right but there is a formality to these things and I must observe them.'\n\n'Bloody waste of time if you ask me,' Olaf snorted.\n\n'I didn't,' Ragnar snapped back.\n\nHe was anxious about the forthcoming meeting with the most powerful king in Sweden and Olaf wasn't helping to calm his nerves. Olaf looked surprised and then resentful at the way his friend had spoken to him, but he said nothing further.\n\n'Welcome, King Ragnar. Eystein Beli has been expecting you. He invites you to join him as his guest in his hall at Uppsala.'\n\nRagnar scanned the settlement in front of him but he could see nothing that might be a king's hall. Still less was there any sign of the fabled Temple of Uppsala, the centre of pagan worship in Scandinavia.\n\nThe man standing in the boat laughed when he saw Ragnar looking for the hall and temple.\n\n'This isn't Uppsala, Ragnar Lodbrok. It lies five miles up the River Fyris, the mouth of which is over there.'\n\nHe pointed to where a small river flowed into the sea. It looked impassable to all but the smallest craft and he eyed it dubiously.\n\n'Come, a berth has been cleared for you at the jetty, but I fear that there is only room for your drekar. The rest of your ships will have to remain here.'\n\n'How will we get to Uppsala? Walk?'\n\n'No, we have three horses to convey you and two attendants to the king's hall.'\n\n'Two of my hird to guard me? I may have come in peace, whoever you are, but I am not so foolish as to walk into another king's domain with less than an appropriate number of hirdmen, and I will also bring my servants. Keep your horses; we will walk.'\n\n'No, Konungr, I'm sorry but my king would never forgive me. You must ride.'\n\nRagnar smiled to himself. The young man's attitude had changed as soon as he started to prove difficult. His use of the title Konungr - the formal way to address a king \u2013 indicated that he'd become flustered.\n\n'If my men walk, I walk.'\n\nThe man shrugged his shoulders.\n\n'Then I must see if I can hire more horses. How many men to you propose to bring with you?'\n\n'Twenty in all, myself, the three jarls who have accompanied me, our body servants and a suitable escort.'\n\n'Twenty?' The young man looked dubious, but then nodded. 'Very well, but it may take me until tomorrow. The horses will have to come from Uppsala.'\n\n'I'm in no rush. We'll stay here at anchor for now. We can come alongside when you've cleared enough berths for all four of my longships.'\n\nThe man nodded unhappily and was about to give the order to return to the jetty when Ragnar called out to him one more time.\n\n'By the way, you've neglected to tell me who you are.'\n\n'No, I didn't say, did I? I'm H\u00e1kon, King Eystein's nephew.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "On the way to Eystein's hall the next day they stopped at the Temple of Uppsala to worship before the three statues, seated on a single golden throne. The building itself was built like a square timber hall with a pointed tower at each corner. Suspended between each tower and the next was a golden chain. Ragnar couldn't imagine what the chain must be worth; perhaps more than all wealth of the kings of Sweden and Norway put together.\n\nThor's image sat in the middle with Odin on one side of him and Frey, the god of fertility on the other, his enormous phallus leaving little doubt as to his identity. It was customary that a sacrifice was made to Thor when famine threatened. Before setting out for war or going raiding it was made to Odin. Frey received his sacrifices as part of all marriage ceremonies performed in the temple. However, H\u00e1kon suggested tactfully to Ragnar that he might want to appease all three. Ragnar gave the expectant godis, one for each god, a sullen look but he paid for three sheep to be slaughtered and offered to the three wooden effigies. He left thinking sourly that the godis and their acolytes would eat well tonight at his expense.\n\nThe king's hall was nearly as impressive as the temple. It was twice the size of Ragnar's hall in Arendal with four fire pits along the central aisle in front of an oversized throne. This sat on a dais three quarters of the way down the hall. Behind it there was a wooden screen which sectioned off the private quarters of Eystein Beli and his family. The main part of the hall had alcoves all along each side which served as both sleeping areas and as places for his hirdmen to eat and drink.\n\nThe gaps between the timbers of which the exterior walls were constructed were sealed with dried mud over which hung tapestries, old shields and animal skins. Each fire pit had a flap in the roof above it which could be opened to let smoke out or closed in inclement weather. However, the feature which impressed Ragnar the most was the smooth timber flooring. It all made his own hall, with its hard packed earth floor and bare walls, look primitive.\n\nAt first he was so busy admiring the hall that he didn't look at the throne area. When he did he studied the king and dismissed him as no warrior, with his thinning grey hair, wispy beard and large paunch. He looked to Ragnar like a man who enjoyed the good things in life and didn't stir much outside his hall.\n\nHis wife sat beside him on a small chair. She was more striking with long blond hair that had no more than a few strands of grey in it and a body, though old, which was still firm and nicely rounded.\n\nTwo girls sat on the steps of the dais at their parents' feet. Ragnar experienced a stirring in his loins as he looked at them for the first time. Both were extremely pretty, fair haired and young. He estimated that one was no more than fourteen and the other perhaps a year younger.\n\nEystein noticed Ragnar's interest in his daughters and he exchanged a quick look with his wife, who let the corners of her mouth curl upwards into a brief smile. Neither of the two girls were the type to look demurely at the floor in the presence of an attractive man. Whilst the elder, Ingeborg, saw a man of twenty seven who was arrogant and thought too much of himself, her sister, Aslaug, saw him as self-confident and handsome.\n\nThe King of Uppsala welcomed Ragnar with a feast the like of which his guest had never seen. When he was bloated with food and half-drunk on ale, Eystein raised the subject of an alliance with Ragnar.\n\n'Now that you have regained Adger in Norway and made yourself King of Alfheim, what do you intend to do next?'\n\n'Once my former wife has re-conquered my lands in Jutland, I will set about raising a large enough fleet to raid outside the Baltic.'\n\nIf Eystein had anything to do with the former he was too astute to let his face betray the fact.\n\n'Then you don't intent to raid Swedish lands again?'\n\n'No. Now that Froh and Kjarten are dead I have no quarrel with the Swedes; or at least, I won't have once Finnulf of Gotland has joined them in Valhalla.'\n\nEystein had hoped that Ragnar would diplomatically avoid the matter of Finnulf's invasion, but now he had raised it the matter couldn't be avoided. He gave Ragnar a hard stare, which the Norseman returned until it was the older man who looked away.\n\n'You are obviously aware that Finnulf is one of my jarls?'\n\n'Unless he's acting on your instructions, then I don't hold you responsible for his actions. Is he?'\n\nEystein bit back the angry retort that sprang to his lips. He wanted this man as an ally, not an enemy.\n\n'Of course not, and I take exception to the suggestion that he is.'\n\n'Then I apologise. I too see an advantage in us becoming allies. You will realise that King Horik of Denmark isn't particularly happy to have a jarl who is also the ruler of two independent kingdoms. No doubt that explains his reluctance to come to my aid when Finnulf invaded.'\n\n'You intend to challenge Horik for the throne of Denmark?'\n\n'Only if he makes it necessary.'\n\nEystein was beginning to realise that Ragnar was ambitious and likely to be quite ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted.\n\n'I think that only a fool would make you his enemy, Ragnar Lodbrok. I hope that we can be friends.'\n\n'I too would like to see us as allies.'\n\n'You have already given me your word to stop raiding Sweden; however I would like to bind you closer to me. You said that you have put aside the shield maiden?'\n\n'Yes, Lagertha is no more to me now than one of my jarls.'\n\nIt wasn't true. He was still felt passionately about her, but he knew that they were not suited as man and wife \u2013 and never would be.\n\n'Then I suggest that you marry my daughter Ingeborg to cement our friendship.'\n\nRagnar thought about it for a moment. The girl was lissom and he lusted after her, but he had was well aware that she didn't feel the same way about him.\n\n'I'm not averse to the idea of marrying one of your daughters \u2013 in fact I welcome the idea \u2013 but the one I would choose is Aslaug.'\n\nEystein was both surprised and alarmed. It was the last thing he wanted.\n\n'No, she is too young; Ingeborg is ready to be bedded; her sister isn't.'\n\n'She seems to have already developed breasts, unless my eyes deceive me. In what way is she too young?'\n\nEystein shifted uncomfortably and wouldn't meet Ragnar's eyes.\n\n'I knew you were coming to Uppsala before my lookouts sent word.'\n\n'Aslaug told you,' he said, now understanding Eystein's reluctance to lose her. 'She's a v\u00f6lva?'\n\nSome fools believed that Lagertha was a v\u00f6lva, but that was because they attributed her success as a warrior to magical powers. That was nonsense. In any case, a true v\u00f6lva could foretell the future and heal the sick. Lagertha could do neither of those things.\n\nEystein sighed. 'She told me that you were coming and that the Norns had woven your two life threads together.'\n\nRagnar feared the Norns, as did all Scandinavian people, but he wasn't sure that they controlled his fate. He believed that men made their own destiny, though he did acknowledge that the Norns decided if someone was destined to be lucky or unlucky.\n\n'In that case, I would hesitate to go against the desires of the Norns, Eystein. Do you think it's wise to challenge them?'\n\nEystein wasn't such a fool that he didn't realise that Ragnar was using his superstitions against him, but he didn't want to lose Aslaug either. He had depended a great deal on the advice of his old v\u00f6lva and, of course, the godis at the temple, but she was getting old and she had told him herself that she wasn't destined to live much longer. She had been training Aslaug as her replacement for the past year.\n\n'We will go to the temple tomorrow and seek advice,' he said, getting up to indicate that their conversation was at an end."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "Ragnar's bondis in Jutland had been caught off guard by Finnulf's invasion. Disorganised and leaderless as they were, they had been unable to organise any effective opposition to the Swedes until Lagertha's arrival. Now they flocked to her side and, led by a wealthy young bondi called Grimulf, they set out to corner Finnulf and his remaining Swedes.\n\nWhilst the Danish warriors pursued the Swedes into the interior, Lagertha sailed around the northern tip of Jutland and landed on the coast of the Jammerbugt \u2013 the Bay of Woe \u2013 an apt name for it as far as Finnulf was concerned. When Finnulf's scouts reported to him that hundreds of Norse warriors blocked his path to the west, he turned north. He would have done better to have turned and attacked Grimulf's small army instead. At least his one hundred and fifty men would only have been faced by two hundred or so.\n\nAs it was, the two forces \u2013 Norse and Danes \u2013 combined and chased him into the narrow peninsula at the top of the Danish mainland called Toppenafdanmark. Lagertha didn't know it, but this was the land originally granted to Ragnar by his uncle eight years previously.\n\nShe had been impressed by the rich farmland she had traversed so far - so different to the bleak mountains of Norway \u2013 but this part of Denmark was full of sand, coarse grasses and scrub. There were few trees to shelter it from the wind that blew in off the German Ocean and she wondered how anyone managed to make a living in such a barren area. There were some sheep and rather more pigs but few cattle and no crops.\n\nGrimulf explained that there were plenty of fish in the sea and a plethora of wild mushrooms, berries and herbs in the summer and autumn. It was very different to her land in Norway but obtaining enough subsistence for its people seemed to be just as difficult.\n\nEventually Finnulf was trapped near a small settlement inhabited by fishermen and their families at Skagen. The men, women and children had been killed by Finnulf's men, which only served to enrage the Danes further. The Swedes were tired, hungry and dispirited and Grimulf was insistent on killing them all, but Lagertha was more careful with her men's lives. Although they outnumbered the enemy by four to one, the Swedish warriors would sell their lives dearly and so she was bound to lose a good number of her own men in the process.\n\nGrimulf had consented to Lagertha taking the lead up to that point, but now he was angry at being thwarted by a woman and he refused to accept her decision.\n\n'Very well, Grimulf. Go ahead.'\n\n'What do you mean, go ahead?'\n\n'If you want to lead your men against Finnulf, that's your decision. Neither I nor any of my men will help you, however. My only desire is to take their jarl's head back to King Ragnar. Those are his orders and, may I remind you, he is your jarl as well as being a king in both Norway and Sweden.'\n\nThat gave Grimulf pause for thought. After all, Lagertha had been Ragnar's queen for several years, even if she wasn't now. He didn't want to offend him and wisely decided that the safest course of action was to accept the woman's decision, however much he resented it.\n\nHe nodded and so she walked forward and stopped just out of bowshot in front of the Swedes.\n\n'Surrender Finnulf to me and I'll allow you to return to Gotland unharmed. I'll even give you a knarr and a snekkja for the voyage.'\n\n'What will happen to our jarl?' one of the Swedes called out.\n\n'King Ragnar demands his head, that's all.'\n\n'Never!' another man shouted. 'We'd rather die first.'\n\n'Then prepare to enter Valhalla, or perhaps Helheim.'\n\n'Not Helheim, it's only for those who die unworthy deaths or of old age,' someone shouted back.\n\n'And you think that fighting for this devil's spawn who murders Danish women and children for no purpose is a worthy cause?' she asked scornfully. 'Let's hope the Valkyries agree with you.'\n\nShe walked back to where her army waited and sent her archers forward as the Swedes formed a shield wall. Most of the first volley of arrows lodged in shields or ricocheted off helmets, but a few found exposed legs and, for one unfortunate youth, the narrow gap between helmet and eyes.\n\n'This is no way to fight,' Grimulf said angrily. 'If they are to die, they deserve a warrior's death, fighting hand to hand.'\n\n'If you want to see your men die, go ahead Grimulf. Do you want me to call my archers back so that you can attack their shield wall?'\n\n'Not on our own, no. But this is the coward's way of fighting. No man would behave like this.'\n\n'Be very careful, Grimulf, or I will kill you too,' Lagertha told him quietly, the cold rage in her eyes chilling him.\n\nBy then the third volley had killed or wounded several more of the Swedes and they decided that they had had enough. They started to advance and, in the face of another volley of arrows, the pace quickened and they lost formation.\n\n'Archers retreat, form shield wall,' Lagertha yelled. 'Now you'll get your chance Grimulf. Back to your men.'\n\nHe nodded and trotted off to join the other Danes on the left flank. The Swedes never stood a chance. They were seriously outnumbered and their attack was ragged. In contrast their opponents stood firm and held their ground. Try as they might, the Swedes couldn't force the Norse centre back. A man tried to thrust the point of his spear between Lagertha's helmet and the top of her shield but she raised the latter to deflect it, and then stabbed the man's thigh with her sword. He screamed in rage and tried once more to use his spear. It was too unwieldy for close quarter fighting and, seeing an opening, she sunk her blade into her adversary's leather covered chest, killing him instantly.\n\nThe heart had gone out of the Swedes by then and, as the wings of the Norse and Danish line curled around the remaining Swedes, they began to surrender. It didn't save some of them as the blood of the Danes, in particular, was up and they wanted revenge for the murder of the unfortunate inhabitants of Skagen.\n\nOne of Lagertha's men blew several blasts on his horn and gradually the slaughter ceased. Half of the Swedes had died or were badly wounded and most of the rest had flesh wounds. The only one unscathed was Finnulf, protected as he was by his hirdmen. Casualties on the other side were relatively light with barely more than a dozen killed and a score or so wounded, for which Lagertha was thankful.\n\nShe took a bow from one of the archers and took careful aim at the Swedish jarl. The arrow flew straight and true and struck him in the right eye. He collapsed to the ground, twitched once and was still. Everyone was awestruck at the impossible shot and she handed the bow back to its owner in the stunned silence that followed. She hadn't aimed specifically at his eye, of course; it was just a lucky shot.\n\n'You can keep the Swedes as thralls, Grimulf. It'll teach them that they should have accepted my offer instead of fighting.'\n\n'Er, I apologise for what I said earlier, jarl. I can see now that your tactics saved us losing warriors unnecessarily.'\n\n'Thank you, Grimulf. Your apology just saved me the necessity of fighting you to preserve my honour.'\n\nThis was said with a smile, albeit a grim one, and the Dane didn't know whether Lagertha was being serious or not. What she said next stunned him though.\n\n'This invasion has convinced Ragnar that he can't realistically remain as the jarl of this area. He needs someone living here to rule and defend his Danish lands for him. He gave me the authority to appoint the man I thought best suited to take over. Provided you swear fealty to him as your king, I will make you the jarl.'\n\nGrimulf was about to accept with gratitude when he thought of a snag.\n\n'I am most grateful and I would like to accept, of course, but I doubt that King Herik would approve.'\n\n'You leave Herik to me. He will accept the situation or he'll lose his throne.'\n\nGrimulf never thought for a moment that Lagertha was boasting.\n\n'In that case, I swear to follow Ragnar Lodbrok as my king and to give him my undivided loyalty.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Ragnar was getting bored watching the godis consulting the gods to decide who he should marry. The temple stank of blood from the sacrifices they had made and which, of course, he'd paid for.\n\n'Why are they taking so long?' he muttered to his own godi, Torstein.\n\n'They don't know who to please, Ragnar, you or their king. They'll probably end up telling you that Thor favours Ingeborg and Frey has chosen Aslaug, a solution to their dilemma which will offend neither of you.'\n\n'What about Odin? Doesn't the Allfather want a say?' he asked cynically.\n\n'Careful, Ragnar. The gods have favoured you so far; you don't want to offend them, least of all Odin.'\n\n'You didn't answer my question.'\n\n'This temple is dedicated to Thor, and Frey is the god of fertility. Odin is more interested in war, wisdom and poetry, not matrimony.'\n\n'I know that, you fool,' he replied testily, earning a glare from Eystein.\n\nHe realised that he'd spoken louder than he had intended. He nodded in apology then whispered in Torstein's ear.\n\n'Go and ask your fellow priests why it's taking so long.'\n\nTorstein sighed and went up to the godi who was kneeling in front of the statue of Thor, pouring the blood from a black bull he'd just butchered \u2013 at some cost to Ragnar's purse \u2013 into a large golden bowl.\n\n'Haven't you reached a decision yet?' he asked the godi, who gave him a pained look; you didn't interrupt ceremonies in the temple.\n\n'No, these things cannot be rushed,' the kneeling godi replied tersely, then ignored Torstein.\n\nRagnar muttered something under his breath and waited impatiently for the man to finish. When he got up another godi moved forward to kneel before Frey, pouring another libation of fresh blood, this time from a ram, into the golden basin at the statue's feet and started to pray.\n\n'Enough of this foolishness,' Ragnar cried, his patience finally at an end. 'If you want me as an ally, Eystein, then I will marry Aslaug; if not, I will return home and find a bride elsewhere.'\n\n'Ragnar, you will antagonise the gods!' his fellow king told him, a shocked expression on his face.\n\n'Well, they are upsetting me, or rather their witless godis are. I have a solution. We'll leave the choice to your daughters.'\n\nEystein beckoned him and, with an apologetic look towards the affronted temple priests, he led the way into the sunshine outside.\n\n'What if both or neither want you for a husband?'\n\n'If neither, there's an end to the matter. If both, then I will choose.'\n\nEystein paced up and down whilst he considered Ragnar's proposal. He too had been getting irritated by the protracted ceremony in the temple and this seemed a reasonable idea, much as he didn't want to lose his younger daughter's services as a v\u00f6lva. In the end he reluctantly nodded his agreement.\n\nWhen Ragnar returned two days later to marry Aslaug, the temple godis almost gabbled their way through the ceremony, wary of another sacrilegious outbreak from the groom.\n\n[ The Sons of Ragnar ]\n\n[ 844 ]\n\nAslaug proved to have been a good choice. Theirs wasn't a passionate relationship, as it had been with Lagertha. However, she had produced four sons in as many years.\n\nThe first had been Ivar, who the other boys at Arendal had nicknamed the boneless because he was a contortionist who could bend his incredibly flexible young body into positions that no other boy could emulate. He was followed in 837 by Bjorn. He too earned a nickname \u2013 ironsides \u2013 because he did exercises to develop the muscles of his torso from a young age until his body felt as hard as metal to the touch.\n\nSigurd had been born thirteen months later with a left eye which had a vertical slit instead of a round pupil. Inevitably he was known as snake-in-the-eye. The fourth son, Halfdan, was something of a disappointment in that he had no peculiar distinguishing characteristics. He was just Halfdan.\n\nAll Ragnar's sons by Aslaug had been born in the summer when he had been away raiding, having been conceived almost as soon as he had returned each October. It therefore came as something of a surprise to him when, after a break of three years in which Aslaug didn't get pregnant, she told him that she was expecting another baby.\n\nIn 844 Ragnar planned to spend the whole seven months plundering the east coast of England. It would be the longest he'd been away from Adger and Alfheim and he decided that the time had come to give two of his sons some responsibility. Thora's sons, Agnar and Eirik, were nineteen and seventeen respectively and so he decided to leave the elder in charge at Arendal and send the younger to Bohus to rule Alfheim.\n\nHis son by Lagertha, Fridlief, was now twelve so he was old enough to sail with his father as a ship's boy. Their daughter, ten year old Ragnhild, would stay and help Aslaug, who was already so large this early in the pregnancy that Ragnar was convinced that she would have twins.\n\nAt the start of April he set sail for the east coast of England with Lagertha, Olaf and a fleet of twenty longships. Three weeks later his wife gave birth to a baby girl. When he returned it wouldn't take him long to work out that the child must have been conceived in August when he was away raiding in Ireland. She gnawed her lower lip until it bled trying to decide what to do.\n\n'What will you call her?' Ragnhild asked her.\n\n'I thought of \u00c5l\u00f8f. \u00c5l\u00f8f Ragnarsd\u00f3ttir.'\n\n'I may only be ten, Queen Aslaug, but even I know that this baby wasn't sired by my father.'\n\n'Not his? Of course it's his.'\n\nShe had always thought of Lagertha's daughter as a sweet, innocent little girl. She was about to find out that she was wise beyond her years.\n\n'I'm not a fool. I can count back nine months as well as the next person. Who's the father?'\n\nThe queen's shoulders slumped.\n\n'I don't know. I'm not lying, Ragnhild,' she added, seeing the sceptical expression on the young girl's face.\n\nShe paused for a moment, trying to decide how best to explain it.\n\n'You know that I sometimes go into a trance when I dream about the future? Once I dreamt that a man \u2013 a stranger \u2013 came and lay with me. Perhaps he was responsible.'\n\n'A stranger?' Ragnhild didn't look convinced, then the frown on her forehead cleared. 'Maybe it was one of the gods.'\n\n'It's possible, but even so your father would never forgive me.'\n\nThe two were silent for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly the girl spoke again.\n\n'Have you had a vision about the future? About what he will do and what will become of you and \u00c5l\u00f8f?'\n\n'Yes,' the queen whispered. 'I have also dreamt about Ragnar's end, I think, but I don't understand either dream.'\n\n'What happens?'\n\n'I'm with a little girl and we're crossing a lake in winter. It's not anywhere I know. There are mountains but they are grey and barren, not like here, and not like Sweden either. The ice breaks and we sink below it.'\n\nRagnhild shuddered. 'Are you sure that it's you? How old is the little girl?'\n\n'Not very old, perhaps five or six?'\n\n'So it's not immediately after father returns then. What about him? You said you saw his death?'\n\n'It was a strange dream. He was wearing the animal skin leggings and tunic that caused him to be named Lodbrok, but he told me that he hasn't worn them since he was a young man. I don't even think he has them anymore. In the dream snakes kept biting him but they couldn't get through the hairy clothes.'\n\n'How do you know he dies then?'\n\n'I don't. But he was alone and in a pit. How could he survive?'\n\n'I'm glad I don't have the second sight,' Ragnhild said with feeling. 'What will you do now?'\n\n'I can't stay here. I'm certain that he won't forgive me and he'll probably kill \u00c5l\u00f8f too. I'll go back to Uppsala, to my father.'\n\n'Will he take you back?'\n\n'I don't know. He valued my gift, though I think of it as a curse now.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "'Where's mother?' five year old Sigurd asked his brothers a week later as he came out of the king's hall to join them at the horse trough. He splashed water in his face perfunctorily to wake up properly.\n\n'Probably looking after our wretched baby sister. By all the gods, she can scream louder than any of us and she never shuts up,' Ivar, the eldest replied.\n\n'No, but come to think of it I didn't hear her last night.'\n\n'You're right,' Bjorn cut in, drying his hair by shaking it so water droplets struck the other three.\n\nIvar punched him in the arm and then they both grabbed Halfdan and dunked him in the trough, accompanied by the four-year old's struggles and squeals of protest. By the time that the small boy had got his own back by splashing the others, the four boys had forgotten all about their mother and new born sister. That is, until Ragnhild told them that they'd left.\n\n'Left? For where? Why,' Halfdan asked, feeling bereft.\n\nHis mother had protected him from the others' teasing and horseplay before it got too out of hand. Now he felt alone and vulnerable.\n\n'Why didn't she tell us, or take us with her?' Bjorn asked.\n\nRagnhild thought about explaining but realised that her half-brothers were too young to understand, so she said nothing.\n\n'Does Agnar know?' Sigurd asked.\n\nIf the boys weren't depressed enough at their mother's disappearance, the thought that they were now at the mercy of their eldest half-brother sent a chill down their collective spines. He had never liked them, nor had Eirik, and the feeling was mutual.\n\n'If he tries to bully us I'll kill him,' Ivar said, fingering the small dagger at his waist \u2013 a present from his father when he'd turned seven.\n\n'He's acting as father's deputy; he could lock us up and starve us to death and we couldn't stop him,' Bjorn said despondently. 'We could kill him first though,' he said suddenly, brightening up at the idea.\n\n'If we did that the Thing would try us for murder and their punishment would probably be worse,' Ivar pointed out, bringing them back down to earth.\n\n'Where has the queen gone?' Agnar asked them, fixing them with what he fondly imagined was a piercing stare.\n\n'We know as much, or as little, as you do, brother,' Ivar replied sullenly.\n\nNone of the four boys liked the way that they had been escorted into the king's hall by three of their brother's hirdmen. The fact that Ivar had been deprived of his dagger was even less reassuring.\n\n'You're lying. Don't think that, just because you're little boys I won't have the truth beaten out of you.'\n\n'You can't do that, they're the king's sons, just as much as you are, Agnar,' one of the bondis present called out. There was a murmur of agreement around the hall.\n\n'Who said that?' Agnar snapped.\n\n'I did.'\n\nOne of the blacksmiths stepped forward and several men joined him. Agnar had the sense to realise that he was treading on thin ice. Ragnar might have left him in charge, but he was no more than a bondi in status, just as all these men were. His father wouldn't thank him if he returned to find he'd been deposed and the Thing had elected another temporary leader. He would never be trusted by Ragnar again.\n\n'I am determined to find out where Queen Aslaug has gone. She may have been abducted for all we know.'\n\n'She left of her own free will,' another man called out. 'She hired a ship to take her to Uppsala, to her father, and she took the baby with her. I saw them leave early this morning.'\n\nThe speaker was the captain of a knarr and Agnar had no reason to doubt what he'd said.\n\n'Very well. Then I shall go to Uppsala and find out why she has gone there.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "Edmund of Bebbanburg was visiting Alnwic when the messenger found him.\n\n'My lord, the Vikings have attacked Whitby in force; some twenty ships with nearly a thousand men, or so the story goes. King Eanred has called out the fyrd and asks you to make haste to defend your coastline.'\n\n'What was the fate of Whitby?'\n\n'The heathens burned the town and sacked the monastery, but the stone buildings still stand.'\n\nThere had been sporadic raids by Vikings ever since Lindisfarne was attacked fifty years ago, but nothing on this scale. It would take all of Lothian and Islandshire to equal their numbers, but even then the fyrd were no match for Viking warriors. Edmund's main worry was Lindisfarne. The monastery was still a popular destination for pilgrims and it had been a long time since it was last raided, so it had grown rich again. It had a palisade to defend it but it wouldn't take a thousand men long to breach it, unless it had a strong garrison.\n\nSuddenly he had a thought.\n\n'Was the king there?'\n\n'No, lord. He is in Eoforw\u012bc, making preparations to defend it in case the Vikings attack there.'\n\nAnd letting the rest of us fend for ourselves, Edmund thought bitterly. Instead of shutting himself away, cowering like a trapped rat in his capital, Eanred should be mobilising the kingdom to fight these raiders. He had never forgiven the king for the death of Ilfrid two years before and now he began to think that the time was coming when Eanred should be deposed in favour of a more able man.\n\nHe came round from his reverie to realise the messenger was still standing in front of him, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He nodded a dismissal to him and then yelled for Laughlin to pack for their return to Bebbanburg.\n\n'First I need to know where these Vikings are now. It shouldn't be too difficult to find such a large fleet,' he told Garr, the captain of his warband.\n\nGarr was getting on in years now. He would like to have appointed Erik to replace him; he found that the Norseman was now his closest confidante and he depended on his advice, but he too was getting long in the tooth. Besides, he wasn't sure that his warriors would accept orders from a man who'd been captured from a Viking ship, even if he was a boy at the time.\n\nThe most promising candidate to take over from Garr was Cynefrith, a warrior in his mid-twenties who was respected by his fellows. Perhaps the time had come to test him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Cynefrith cautiously raised his head above the crest of the sand dunes and peered through the marram grass at the beach below him. There were seven Viking longships drawn up in a line in the shallow bay. Three were the larger type which the heathens called drakar and four were the smaller snekkjur. Evidently the raiding party had divided, even so the crews of these ships had to total something like four hundred men \u2013 too many for Lord Edmund to take on with the men he had available.\n\nHe looked down at the beach again. There were a dozen men and about thirty boys gathered around four camp fires. Nearby a few sheep were standing or lying disconsolately in a pen made roughly out of driftwood; mainly branches brought in on the tide after the recent storm. One of their number had been skinned and gutted and was now being cooked on a spit over one of the fires.\n\nAn iron cauldron was hanging over another fire, suspended from a tripod made of crooked branches. One of the boys was throwing something into it from a bag at his feet whilst another was chopping up root vegetables on a flat stone using a dagger.\n\nAs far as Cynefrith could see, there were no sentries posted. He glanced back into the hollow behind the dune he was perched on. His thirty men stood with their hands over their horses noses to make sure they didn't make a noise and alert the Vikings. Half of his men were skilled bowmen and all were seasoned warriors wearing mail byrnies and helmets. However, he wasn't contemplating attacking the men and boys left to guard the longships; at least not yet. He needed to know where the rest of the crews were first.\n\nHe looked inland and saw a thin plume of grey smoke rising vertically in the still air. As he watched the plume grew thicker and darker. He tried to gauge the distance but it was difficult to tell. However, there was only one sizeable settlement in that direction, although there were a number of individual farmsteads as well.\n\nThe plume of smoke seemed to broaden out and Cynefrith grunted. Several buildings must have been fired to make that pattern of smoke and so he was fairly certain that it came from the settlement. It was five miles inland so he calculated that he had at least two hours before the raiders returned with their loot and captives, more if they were driving livestock as well.\n\nHe called two of his best warriors to his side and pointed to the two ships that were closest to a dune.\n\n'I want you to fire those two longships. Get into position as close as you can then crawl along the sand until you can climb aboard. Have you both got a flint, striker and tinder? Good. Good luck.'\n\nIt seemed like an age but it was probably less than a quarter of an hour before he saw his two men slithering like snakes towards the two longships. Both had discarded their byrnies, helmets and weapons, apart from a seax each had strapped to his back. A short while later they disappeared from view behind the bulk of the two hulls and Cynefrith breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently they hadn't been spotted by the Vikings further along the beach, who were now busy slicing meat from the charred sheep's carcase on the spit and filling their bowls with the vegetable gruel.\n\nSome time later he saw his two men running back towards the cover of the dunes as a spiral of thin smoke climbed heavenwards from each of the two ships. Then Cynefrith saw a bloom of orange erupt from the base of the mast of one, and then the other. By this time his two men had reached the dunes, but they'd been spotted by one of the ship's boys who'd looked up at the wrong moment. No doubt he'd caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.\n\nHe called out something in a strange language which caused the rest of the Vikings to look up from their meal and a split second later bowls and haunches of meat were thrown aside as they started running towards the two ships. Cynefrith smiled in satisfaction as he saw them pick up cauldrons and buckets but leave their armour and weapons where they were, stacked near the campfires. A few wore swords at their waists but most only had daggers.\n\nCynefrith waited until the Vikings were fully engaged in trying the douse the two fires with sea water, using any container that came to hand, then he led his men quietly through the dunes and down onto the beach. The sand had been hard packed by the outgoing tide and, although the going was still on the soft side for the horses, they managed to increase the pace to a slow canter before one of the ship's boys spotted them.\n\nHis cry of alarm didn't produce the panic that Cynefrith was expecting. Instead several of the boys climbed aboard the ship nearest the two which were now blazing merrily and started to throw down spears and shields to the others. By the time that the Bebbanburg warband reached them, the Vikings had formed a hurried shield wall and the boys still on board started to send a few arrows towards the oncoming Anglo-Saxons.\n\nHorses didn't like to charge a shield wall and, true to form, they baulked at doing so now. Cynefrith thought quickly and sent a dozen of his men around the flanks of the short shield wall whilst he and the other eighteen dismounted and advanced towards the enemy line.\n\nAfter a brief exchange of spear thrusts he withdrew just as the rest of his men began hacking at the rear of the Vikings. These were mostly ship's boys who had little military training. It didn't take long before they broke and, leaving a dozen of their number dead, they made for one of the other longships hoping to get away. Cynefrith let them go and surrounded the remaining Vikings.\n\nBy the time that the last warrior was dead the boys had managed to get the smallest snekkja afloat and were gamely trying to use the long oars to back her away from the beach. They weren't used to rowing, nor did most of them have the strength to do so. Most of Cynefrith's men, on the other hand, were as adept at crewing a ship as they were at fighting on land. It didn't take them long to get one of the other snekkja manned and they gave chase.\n\nIt took them less than half an hour to overhaul the other snekkja and the dejected boys surrendered without a fight. Once back on the beach Cynefrith set a guard on the twenty captured Vikings and fired the rest of the ships. He had lost four men killed and as many again wounded. Against that all twelve enemy warriors and ten boys had been killed. He felt satisfied with what they'd achieved and he made preparations to leave, roping the captured boys together by the neck, tying their hands and hobbling their feet so that they could only shuffle along.\n\nThe column had just set off through the dunes when one of the two scouts Cynefrith had sent out to ride point came galloping back, pulling his horse to a halt in a flurry of sand.\n\n'There are twenty mounted Vikings coming this way,' he said, his eyes wide with fear. 'They're no more than half a mile away. They must have seen the smoke.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "Ragnar grunted in frustration when his men failed to find much of value in the settlement they'd just pillaged. It consisted of twenty huts, a small hall and a timber church. There was a silver crucifix on the altar of the latter but the candlesticks were made of wood and even the vestments and altar cloth were of poor quality.\n\nThe thegn's hall had yielded a small coffer half full of silver hastily buried but, apart from a handful of weapons and a few chickens, there was nothing else worth taking. The people had obviously taken all their items of value and the livestock with them when they'd fled into the hills that rose from the coastal plain a few miles further inland.\n\nHe was tempted to follow their trail, but then one of his men called out in alarm and pointed towards the coast. Ragnar could just make out a thin plume of smoke which grew thicker and darker as he watched.\n\n'They're burning the ships,' he called out in alarm. 'Leave everything. We need to get back to the beach.'\n\nReluctantly his men dumped what they'd found in the settlement and in the various farmsteads they'd raided on their way there and started to run at a steady pace towards the smoke. In all they'd managed to round up a total of nineteen horses during the raid and these now enabled Ragnar and some of his men to travel the five miles back to their ships at three times the pace set by the men on foot.\n\nAs he cantered out of the trees that lined the coast at that point he saw a group of Viking boys roped together and standing in the open. He saw with relief that one of them was his son, Fridlief. He had a cut to his shoulder but otherwise seemed unharmed.\n\nBehind them lay the sand dunes and around them grew clumps of gorse and other shrubs. He pulled his snorting horse to a halt, sensing a trap. Now he could see seven individual clouds of smoke making their way lazily into the still air ahead of him. He suspected that his ships would soon be little more than charred hulks, if they weren't already, and he seethed with anger.\n\nThose behind him went to free the boys, but he called them back to the edge of the trees.\n\n'It's a trap. Whoever has fired our ships wants us out in the open. Our boys aren't going anywhere. Let me think.'\n\nCynefrith swore under his breath when the Vikings halted at the tree line. He had hoped to catch them in the open where his archers could reduce their numbers before he charged them. He and the majority of his men sat on their horses in dead ground whilst his archers had taken up positions in the gorse bushes on either side of the boys. The latter would have fled but Cynefrith had the sense to tie them together and then secure the end of the rope to a stake driven deep into the ground.\n\nAfter a few minutes the Vikings split into two groups and circled around the captured boys, obviously looking for the men that they guessed were in the undergrowth. Cynefrith was in a quandary. He daren't wait too much longer because he knew that the rest of the Vikings on foot would be arriving soon. On the other hand he didn't want to lose any more men than he had to dealing with the riders.\n\nHe waited until the nine men circling his way had found the first of his archers. As soon as he was spotted, the man sent arrow after arrow towards the nine Vikings, killing one, wounding another and bringing a horse to its knees with an arrow in its chest. Cynefrith led his men out of the hollow and, before the other group could react, he charged into the remainder of the group, taking advantage of their disarray.\n\n'Kill the boys,' he yelled as he fended off a sword thrust with his heavy round shield. He thrust his own sword into the man's leg and his assailant howled in rage and pain. The Viking raised his sword to cut at Cynefrith's head, but he was too slow. As the sword descended Cynefrith thrust his blade into his throat. With a gurgle the Viking fell sideways off his horse.\n\nRagnar's instinct had been to charge to the rescue of the other group, but the Northumbrians had nearly twice the number of men he had with him. In any case, most of them were dead or badly wounded. He roared in rage, willing the rest of his men to arrive before it was too late.\n\nInstead he headed for the boys, intent on rescuing his son. Suddenly several arrows slammed into the captives and he saw several drop to the ground, including Fridlief. He couldn't believe that the boy was dead \u2013 he was barely twelve years old. However, the arrow in his throat and another in the centre of his chest left little doubt. He was so consumed by grief that for a moment he couldn't think.\n\n'Ragnar, we have to get out of here before we're all killed,' Olaf said, grabbing the reins of his horse.\n\nDumbly the king nodded and looked up. The Anglo-Saxon swine were now reforming to charge his group, so he turned his horse's head away from them and led his remaining men back into the trees.\n\nCynefrith saw them go and held up his hand to halt his men.\n\n'Let's get out of here before the rest arrive. Make sure none of the heathen devils are left alive though.'\n\nThe archers emerged from the gorse and swiftly checked that the fallen Viking warriors and the ships' boys were dead, cutting the throats of those still alive, before retrieving their horses from the hollow. Cynefrith led his men back onto the track that led to Bebbanburg. Five minutes after they had disappeared the first of the panting Vikings on foot appeared and found their king cradling his son's corpse in his arms."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "It had seemed a good idea to split his fleet into three and attack different parts of the Northumbrian coast; now Ragnar bitterly regretted his decision. His scouts, who had followed Cynefrith's trail, told him that the Northumbrians had fled towards Bebbanburg, but he knew he had too few men to do anything against such a formidable stronghold. He could still remember how impregnable it was from the year he'd spent living in its shadow when he was a boy.\n\nLagertha had been even more devastated than Ragnar. The boy had been her only son and she blamed her former husband for his death. Now the love she still felt for Ragnar turned to hatred. He was used to the close relationship they had enjoyed, even after their break, so he, in turn, bitterly resented her animosity. Not only had he lost a confidante and a friend, but her change in attitude galled his pride.\n\nHe had burned the dead on the beach using the charred wood from the destroyed longships. That was another thing she held against him. He hadn't waited for her to re-join him before conducting Fridlief's funeral. When he pointed out to her that the corpse would have rotted and been a stinking pile of putrefying flesh and bone had he delayed, she flew at him in a rage and tried to gouge his eyes out. Only Olaf's quick thinking saved the astounded Ragnar. He smashed his fist into the side of Lagertha's head and she dropped like a stone.\n\n'I should take my ships and leave you here to rot with the ashes of our son,' she hissed at him when she regained consciousness.\n\n'You forget that you are one of my jarls. You have sworn an oath to be loyal to me. Desert me now and I'll hunt you down and kill you. Besides, don't you want revenge on our son's killer?'\n\nShe said nothing for a while, merely gazing at him with malice. Eventually she dropped her eyes and nodded.\n\nUntil they saw it for themselves, those who didn't know Bebbanburg wouldn't believe that it was as impregnable as Ragnar said it was. When they reached it they realised that, even with hundreds of men, a direct assault wasn't going to work. They could probably starve the garrison out, given time, but that was one thing Ragnar didn't have. Vikings were successful raiders because they struck hard and swiftly. He had no intention of fighting a pitched battle against a Northumbrian army.\n\n'The men are getting disgruntled,' Olaf warned him after they'd been camped outside Bebbanburg for two days. 'They've scoured the land around here and there's nothing left worth taking. They've gained barely enough silver to make a Thor's hammer each and they want to go home.'\n\nA Thor's hammer was the talisman that most Scandinavians wore on a leather thong or a silver chain around their necks. Traditionally they kissed it before going into battle to bring them luck.\n\n'At least there are two drekar, a couple of birlinns and two knarrs down on the jetty. They'll do to replace the longships we lost,' he went on.\n\n'I know. We helped build the drekar if you remember,' Ragnar reminded him.\n\n'Was that here? I'd thought the place was familiar.' He grinned. 'It's only fair that we take them back then, seeing as how we built them.'\n\nRagnar nodded. It all seemed a long time ago now. Then he was a ship's boy, now he was a king twice over. It made his son's death all the more poignant. He didn't like to admit it, but Fridlief had been his favourite, possibly because he was Lagertha's son.\n\n'Send a couple of ships over to the monastery,' he told Olaf. 'It's deserted, no doubt, but they may have left a few things of value behind; then burn it to the ground. We're going home.'\n\nHe didn't tell anyone at the time, but he vowed that someday he would return and kill the Lord of Bebbanburg if it was the last thing he ever did."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "'What do you want here?' Eystein Beli asked, glaring down at Agnar and Eirik Ragnarson from his throne high on a dais in the hall at Uppsala.\n\n'We want to know the whereabouts of Queen Aslaug,' Agnar replied calmly. 'She has disappeared from Arendal with our baby sister and we are concerned for her safety.'\n\n'You are concerned for her safety? Are you sure you don't mean that she should be concerned about her safety from you two?'\n\n'Why should you say that, King Eystein? Agnar asked him. 'She is our father's wife and he left her in my care when he went raiding this summer'.\n\n'Raiding? Raiding where? Not Sweden?'\n\n'No, England. Why?'\n\n'Because he swore an oath to me not to raid anywhere in Sweden when he married my daughter.'\n\n'Well, I'd say that oath is null and void if she has deserted him, wouldn't you?' Eirik asked nastily.\n\nIt was obvious that Eystein wasn't about to tell them anything, so they sent the crew of the two drekar in which they'd travelled to Uppsala into the taverns to find out what they could. It didn't take them long to discover what had happened.\n\n'She arrived here on a knarr with a baby girl and two thralls,' one of the men reported. 'Her father told her to return to Ragnar, but she refused so he banished her. A Norseman from Orkneyjar \u2013 a man named Ing\u00f3lfr Arnarson - was visiting and the rumour is that she seduced him and he took her back with him. I'm sorry, Agnar.'\n\nThe two brothers were stunned. They wouldn't want to be Ing\u00f3lfr when Ragnar caught up with him.\n\n'What do we do now?' Eirik asked when they were alone again.\n\n'Leave Aslaug to our father; at least we've found out where she's gone,' his brother replied.\n\nAfter a few minutes Eirik broke the silence again.\n\n'We can't go back empty handed. Our four hundred men will expect to get something out of this voyage.'\n\nNot only had they brought a drekar each, but there were five more longships beached a few miles away. They hadn't wanted to venture into Swedish waters without a fleet to protect them, but it would have looked somewhat belligerent to have arrived at Uppsala with so many warriors.\n\nAgnar smiled slyly.\n\n'Do you remember Gotland, Finnulf's island? I gather that his cousin rules there now. We could plunder it on our way home.'\n\n'Finnulf? The jarl that Lagertha killed with an arrow into his eye from a hundred yards?' He thought for a moment. 'Why not?'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Edmund stood on the parapet at Bebbanburg and thought about Joscelin. It had been two years since he had last seen her but scarcely a day went by when he didn't think of her. His greatest desire was to sail back to marry her but, after the death of his brother, he'd been too busy to embark on such a journey.\n\nHe sighed and his eyes swivelled from the far horizon, beyond which his love lay, to the other side of the bay where the smoke rose into the sky from the burning monastery on Lindisfarne. He hit the wood beneath his hand in frustration. Against the strength of the Vikings he could do nothing with the numbers inside the fortress. He hadn't even been able to stop them taking his ships. It would take a long time and a lot of money to replace them he thought bitterly.\n\nThe only good news was that the Norse fleet had sailed away after venting their frustration on the island. Fortunately he had had enough warning and the inhabitants of both Lindisfarne and the vill of Bebbanburg had time to take refuge inside his stronghold with their livestock before the Vikings had arrived to besiege it.\n\nThe king arrived with nearly two thousand warriors two days after Ragnar had left and was furious to discover that he was too late.\n\n'Why didn't you attack the pirates?' Eanred demanded as he dismounted.\n\nWithout waiting for a reply he threw the reins at a stable boy and stomped off into the ealdorman's hall. Edmund stared after him in amazement, then followed him, beckoning Cynefrith to accompany him.\n\n'Well?' Eanred said after he'd seated himself in the chair where Edmund normally sat.\n\n'Er, well for a start there was a thousand of them and I only had a fraction of their numbers. Even if I had sallied out against them I'd have risked them capturing this fortress; I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted that. In any case,' he went on before the king could say anything in response, 'we did attack them and managed to destroy a third of their fleet. Cynefrith discovered ...'\n\n'But you then let them take your own ships so burning a few of theirs was immaterial, wasn't it?' the king asked derisively.\n\nEdmund pursed his lips and tried to contain his anger at the way that Eanred was treating him.\n\n'I had a choice; either sail my ships out of harm's way or man this fortress. I didn't have the men to do both.'\n\n'And where were the ealdormen of Lothian? Why didn't they come to your aid?'\n\n'Why don't you ask them that? Perhaps they were worried about their own shires? One of the problems in countering these Viking raids is they strike swiftly and then they are gone. Unless you create a fleet capable of fighting them at sea, I can't see how we can ever bring them to battle on land.'\n\n'But your captain did, didn't he? Except that he ran away.'\n\nCynefrith stiffened at the king's scornful tone. He wasn't about to let the snide remark pass without comment.\n\n'Thirty men against over ten times that number, Cyning? I would have been throwing my men's lives away for nothing. Besides, my orders were to locate the enemy, not fight them.'\n\n'I'm disappointed in you, Edmund,' Eanred continued, ignoring Cynefrith's outburst. 'You were given the whole of Islandshire specifically to prevent these raids and you've failed. Not only that, but you allowed the holy monastery on Lindisfarne to be pillaged and destroyed. I knew it was a mistake to pardon you after your brother tried to kill me. I should have gone with my first instinct and killed you too instead of listening to my son. The Witan has been summoned to meet here in three weeks' time to try you for cowardice and incompetence.'\n\nBefore he could protest, four of the king's gesith seized both him and Cynefrith and disarmed them.\n\n'You will be kept chained until your trial. My men are already disarming your warband and expelling them from Bebbanburg. This used to be a royal fortress and now I'm reclaiming it.'\n\nEdmund couldn't believe what was happening but, before he could say anything else, he was half dragged and half carried out of the hall and thrown into an empty hut with Cynefrith. Ten minutes later the blacksmith entered and, with a muttered apology, placed manacles on both their wrists and ankles. The man couldn't look his ealdorman in the eye and sobbed as he completed the distasteful task.\n\nThat evening they were given some bread, cheese and an apple each by two of the king's gesith and Laughlin brought them a wooden pail in which to piss and shit. Edmund hoped that when he came to empty it he would be able to tell him what was happening, but a scruffy stable boy smelling of horse dung came to change the buckets over the next morning and he refused to say anything.\n\nThey couldn't hear much of what was going on outside, but the hut was near the main gate and so they were vaguely aware of comings and goings. On the afternoon of the second day they heard an argument between the guards on the gate and Kendric, the Ealdorman of D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann.\n\n'Only members of the Witan are allowed inside, lord.'\n\n'Where I go my captain, servant and an adequate escort accompany me,' Kendric retorted. 'Now stand aside.'\n\n'I'm sorry, lord. It's the king's orders.'\n\n'Does Eanred seek to alienate all the Witan? He's already a good way down that route by arresting Edmund on trumped up charges. Where is he? I want to speak to him.'\n\n'I'm here Kendric. I'd advise you to keep a rein on your tongue if you know what's good for you.'\n\nInside the hut where Edmund was chained up the voice sounded nearby and so he assumed that the king had come out of the hall and was standing on the wall overlooking the gates.\n\n'If you challenge me you may find yourself joining your friend,' he continued.\n\n'Which is exactly what I'm afraid of, Eanred. I don't trust you and so no, I'm not going to accept your invitation to stay in this place. I'll camp with my men and I think you'll find most of your nobles will do the same. The Witan will meet in the thegn's hall.'\n\n'You'll meet where I say,' Eanred yelled, losing his temper.\n\n'No, we'll meet where the Witan decide. It's your choice whether to attend or not.'\n\nEdmund heard several horses ride away to the accompaniment of threats yelled after Kendric by the king.\n\nPresumably Kendric did his best to dissuade his fellow ealdormen and the senior churchmen from joining the king inside Bebbanburg, but it seemed that several of them had ignored his warning as the sounds of arrivals continued for three more days.\n\n'What do you think the king will do with us?'\n\n'I've really got no idea. From what he said I suspect that I'll no longer be an ealdorman but, other than that, I don't want to speculate. I'm sorry that you are locked in here with me. None of this is your fault; the king should be praising you, not seeking to blame you. I'll do my best to make sure that you're not punished.'\n\n'This is so unfair,' Cynefrith cried out in despair, hitting his hand on the beaten earth floor.\n\nHe knew that he sounded like a spoilt child but he was past caring.\n\n'Kings are not known for their fair dealings. I suspect that Eanred is being blamed for the depredations of the Vikings and so he seeks to shift the responsibility elsewhere.'\n\nOn the fourth day the two men were escorted out of the hut and taken into the king's hall. Without the means of washing and still wearing the same clothes they looked unkempt and filthy.\n\n'Shame on you, Cyning, for keeping a noble in such degrading conditions. At least allow him and his captain to wash and change their clothes before they appear in front of the Witan. And for God's sake get rid of those chains.'\n\nEdmund noted with pleasure that the speaker was R\u00e6dwulf, the Ealdorman of Cumbria. His quick glance around the room revealed that none of the Lothian ealdormen nor Ecgred, Bishop of Lindisfarne, were present, but the rest of the Witan seemed to be. Did he only have one friend present?\n\n'Very well. Take them away and get them cleaned up. We have other matters to discuss in any case, such as the disloyalty of Kendric and Ecgred.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "Agnar and Eirik sat on stolen horses looking down at the bay where they'd beached their ships. They'd arrived with seven longships but now there were at least twenty more on the yellow sands. Warriors were disembarking and gathering on the beach. Eirik looked towards where the ships boys and the guard they had left to watch the ships had been and he saw several bodies lying on the ground. The rest of them were sitting in a circle being guarded by a score of spearmen.\n\n'It seems that Eystein has outguessed us,' Agnar muttered laconically to his brother after a few choice oaths.\n\n'Do we fight him? He's got twice the number of men we have.'\n\n'What choice do we have? The only way off this island is by ship and he's just captured ours.'\n\n'There are ships at Visby.'\n\nThe brothers had pillaged much of the island but they had left the fortified port of Visby alone. Now it seems they had little choice but either face him in the open or attack Visby and capture its ships in order to escape Eystein's clutches. Visby was not an inviting prospect; the palisade was twenty feet high.\n\n'We could try negotiating, I suppose.' Eirik suggested.\n\nAgnar snorted in derision.\n\n'In order to negotiate you must have something the other person wants. I suspect that the only thing we have that Eystein wants are our heads. At least we hold the high ground,' he went on. 'And we have archers. Come on we had better explain the situation to our men.'\n\nAt first it looked as if the two brothers might stand a chance. The Swedes advanced stolidly up the hill on which Agnar and Eirik had decided to make their stand. It was difficult to advance uphill whilst keeping one's body protected by your shield and scores of the attackers were wounded or killed during the advance. However, as there were nearly a thousand Swedes the loss of a few of them only served to anger the rest.\n\nAs the first men of the Swedish shield wall reached their enemy they tried to stab upwards with their spears but found that they were at a considerable disadvantage. The Norse held their shields low to protect their legs and stabbed downwards at the faces, necks and torsos of the Swedes.\n\nWhen Eystein called off the first wave of the attack the Swedes left behind a pile of dead and wounded all along the Norse front rank. In contrast only about thirty of their opponents were casualties. Eystein might want to punish those who had had the effrontery to raid his lands, but he wasn't prepared to lose hundreds of men doing so. At this rate of attrition he would lose half his warriors before nightfall.\n\nHis solution was to send three hundred of his best warriors around the hill to attack up the far side whilst he assaulted the front of the hill again. That way the Norsemen would be fighting on two fronts.\n\n'You command the rear, I'll hold them off here,' Agnar shouted to his brother as the two halves of the Swedish army advanced again.\n\nThis time the Swedes held their shields above their heads as they advanced and used their spears to stab at the exposed legs of the man standing next to their immediate adversary. This tactic was much more successful and the numbers of casualties were more evenly matched. The Swedes main problem was the wall of dead between them and their enemy.\n\nAgnar thrust his spear into the neck of the man in front of him. The Swede collapsed but the spear point remained stuck in his neck. Agnar struggled to free it for a second or two before realising how vulnerable he was. He let go of the spear haft and went to pull out his sword, but it was too late. The Swede to the rear of the one he'd just killed took advantage of the moment and brought a battle axe down on Agnar's shoulder, slicing into the chain mail and the leather jerkin below it before breaking his collar bone and three of his ribs. One of the broken ribs pierced Agnar's right lung and he fell to his knees.\n\nThe warrior next to Agnar in the shield wall thrust his spear into the axeman's chest, but it was too late. The wound that Agnar had suffered was fatal. Word spread that he had fallen and the heart went out of his men. Eirik continued to fight on with his warband but defeat was only a matter of time now. When he was struck on the helmet by a sword, knocking him unconscious, his men surrendered along with those of Agnar's who had not already done so.\n\nEystein now found himself in something of a quandary. As king he'd been forced to defend the territory of one of his jarls or he'd have looked weak. However, he was loathe to antagonise Ragnar. Both men were powerful but he secretly thought that, if it came to war, Ragnar would probably win. Agnar was dead, and that couldn't be helped, but Eirik was his prisoner and he didn't know what to do with him.\n\nIf he released him he could expect Ragnar to be grateful, but his own jarls would consider it the action of a weak man. If he killed him in cold blood he would rise in their estimation, but would alienate Ragnar even further and that was the last thing he wanted. Agnar's and Eirik's men had fought hard and bravely until the last and his Swedes had suffered a lot of casualties, including the death of three of his jarls. He was in no position to fight Ragnar at the moment, despite the losses the man's sons had suffered.\n\nAs rain began to spit down he surveyed the battlefield. His men were stripping the enemy corpses of anything of value and killing their wounded. His own dead were loaded onto carts ready for burning on pyres, but that would have to wait until the rain stopped. Their armour and weapons would go to their relatives and they would die fully clothed. In contrast, the enemy would be buried in a pit naked and then covered in lime before it was filled in; all except Agnar who would be cremated separately as befitted his rank.\n\nLeaving his men to their grisly task, he took Eirik with him and returned to Uppsala."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Edmund stared gloomily out over the calm sea as the knarr made its slow progress over the German Ocean. The Witan had been a farce. It turned out that Bishop Ecgred had suffered a heart attack and died in the night; thus he had escaped whatever punishment the king had in mind. No appointment had been made before Edmund left but he expected it to be Eanbehrt, the Prior of Hexham, who was a second cousin of King Eanred and who could be depended upon to support him.\n\nKenric had decided that it was better not to attend the Witan and had shut himself away in his fortress at D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann, daring the king to cross into Lothian and try to evict him. Eanred was no warrior and he had listened to those who cautioned him that a war with Lothian would merely be an open invitation for the Picts, the Britons of Strathclyde and the Scots of Dalriada to invade. He had therefore decided to pardon Kenric.\n\nEdmund wasn't so fortunate. At least his fellow nobles had prevented Eanred imposing any greater punishment than exile on him and he was banished to the Continent. The king had confiscated everything of his at Bebbanburg, including his coffers of silver and gold, but he was allowed to take his warband and servants with him.\n\nFortuitously a knarr and its escorting birlinn had arrived at Bebbanburg from Paris in time for him to embark with his men and sail away, leaving his home in the possession of the king.\n\nHe was headed for Caracotinum before going on to his base in Paris. It had been nearly two years since he last saw Bastiaan and, more importantly, his sister Joscelin. He wondered how much she had changed over that time and his excitement at the thought of seeing her again mounted the nearer he got. He was therefore unprepared for the shock that awaited him when he docked.\n\nCaracotinum was far busier that it had been the last time he'd been there. The port was positively bustling and the number of huts ashore seemed to have grown too. As soon as the ship's boys had secured the mooring lines, a self-important official accompanied by three burly looking guards bustled up to the two ships and haughtily demanded to know their business.\n\nEdmund was about to say that he was the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg come to visit the viscount when he realised that he was no longer entitled to call himself that.\n\n'I'm Edmund of Bebbanburg, the betrothed of Joscelin, the sister of Viscount Bastiaan.'\n\nThe man looked at him suspiciously before replying, somewhat impatiently.\n\n'I don't take kindly to jokes, whoever you are.'\n\n'I'm not joking, now go and tell Bastiaan that I'm here,' Edmund said, getting annoyed.\n\n'You do know that the Lady Joscelin was married to the Count of Amiens seven months ago.'\n\n'What? Married?'\n\nEdmund was stunned. He knew that he should have returned, or at least send a messenger, but he'd been so busy since the killing of his brother that time had flown by and now he'd left it too late. Not only had he lost his home and his shire, now it seemed he'd lost his love as well. He sat down heavily on the deck with his head in his hands. After a few moments he was gently lifted up by Cynefrith and Laughlin and helped into his small cabin.\n\n'What's going on,' the official demanded, bewildered by the effect that his news had had.\n\n'If what you say is true,' the captain told him, 'I suspect that we won't be staying, but you had better inform the viscount that Edmund of Bebbanburg is here.'\n\nWhen the information that Edmund had arrived eventually reached Bastiaan he rushed down to the port, only to see the two Northumbrian ships heading back out to sea.\n\n'Do you know where Lord Edmund is going?' he asked the port reeve.\n\n'The captain of the knarr told one of my men that he supposed that they'd now head for Paris.'\n\nBastiaan sighed. He had liked Edmund and would have far rather that he had married his sister instead of that elderly oaf, the Count of Amiens. However, his father had insisted on the match. Louis of Amiens was a powerful man and he was close to the king.\n\n'Why didn't you come back sooner, Edmund,' he muttered to himself as the two ships receded into the distance."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "Ragnar was in a foul mood when he arrived back at Arendal. Not only had the raiding season provided little in the way of plunder when divided amongst his jarls and warriors, but his eldest son and his wife weren't waiting on the jetty to greet him as they should have been. Instead little Ivar and Bjorn stood side by side with their two younger brothers standing behind them. Where were Agnar and Aslaug?\n\nThen a horrible thought struck him. Perhaps Aslaug had died in childbirth? But that didn't explain Agnar's absence. As his drekar nudged the jetty and the ship's boys secured her, he jumped ashore and strode towards his young sons. It was only then that he noticed Edda, the thirteen year old son of the jarl of the region surrounding Arendal, standing next to his boys.\n\nAs Ragnar reached them and was about to demand an explanation the two youngest boys, Sigurd and Halfdan, threw themselves at him and hugged his legs. He was astounded. Vikings didn't display affection in public, at least not like that. A hearty punch on the arm between friends was about as affectionate as they got. Even children were taught that at a young age.\n\n'Welcome home, father,' Ivar said formally whilst Bjorn told his brothers to let go with anger in his voice.\n\nSigurd and Halfdan muttered sorry and returned to their places behind the other two. Ragnar was about to ask what in the name of Hel was going on when his daughter, Ragnhild, said quietly that he had better come up to the hall and they would explain what had happened since he'd been away.\n\nAround them the usual greeting between the returning warriors and their families carried on as normal but Ragnar sensed that the welcome was more subdued than usual.\n\nAs he walked away Olaf heard others talking about what had happened and for a moment he thought of going after his friend, but his own wife and children demanded his attention and he let him go. He would visit him later and they could get drunk together. Then would be the appropriate time to discuss how to take revenge on Eystein and Aslaug.\n\nLagertha hadn't followed Ragnar back to Arendal. She and the other jarls from the north of the kingdom had gone directly to their respective bases so they were unaware of the death of Agnar and the betrayal of Aslaug until they got home.\n\nWhen she did eventually hear the news Lagertha's hostility towards Ragnar softened somewhat. She even thought of sailing down to Arendal to see him, using the excuse of seeing her daughter, Ragnhild, but she hardened her heart against it.\n\n'What will you do?' Olaf asked Ragnar that evening after they had drunk several horns of ale together.\n\n'Do? Go and see Eystein, of course. Agnar and Eirik were fools and I can understand that the old king had to protect Gotland, but I can't forgive him, especially if he has given sanctuary to Aslaug.'\n\nHe said her name as if it was something nasty he'd eaten.\n\n'However, it would be folly to turn this into a blood feud unless he's murdered Eirik. I'll demand my son back unharmed together with my wife and her bastard child. In return I'll continue our alliance.'\n\n'And if he refuses?'\n\n'Then I'll kill the old goat, regardless of the consequences.'\n\nHe looked across the table at Bjorn and Ivar, who'd been allowed to stay and drink a little ale with their father.\n\n'They did well in my absence. There's not many seven and six year olds who could take command of things. There was a real danger than some ambitious jarl or wealthy bondi could have seized the throne.'\n\n'With the help of Edda,' Olaf pointed out. 'Besides all but the greybeards and boys were either away with us or had accompanied Agnar.'\n\n'Yes, I was sorry to hear that Edda's father had died with my fool of a son. He's too young to be accepted as a jarl, yet but he shows real promise.'\n\n'I'm not so sure \u2013 about him being too young, I mean. He's a strapping lad for thirteen and those of his father's men who came with us seem to respect him,' Olaf said pointing across the hall to where Edda and a group of warriors were getting uproariously drunk.\n\n'Maybe; it's up to the bondi to elect their new jarl in any case. I don't want to interfere. In any case, we have Eystein to worry about and I haven't finished with Northumbria yet. Ealdorman Edmund must pay for the death of Fridlief.'\n\n'You're not thinking of going back there next year?'\n\n'No, I need to give my warriors a place to raid which will give them a chest full of gold and silver first or they won't want to come raiding with me again.'\n\n'So where are you thinking of going next year? Frankia?'\n\n'Yes; I have Paris in mind. If all I've heard about it is correct, we'll make every bondi richer than his wildest dreams.'\n\n[ Invasion of Frankia ]\n\n[ 845 ]\n\nEdmund had sunk into depression when he found out that Joscelin was lost to him. It was Cynefrith who took charge and got them to Paris. Once there he arranged to rent a suitable house for Edmund and himself and accommodation for the rest of the crew.\n\n'You're going to have to rouse yourself, lord,' he told Edmund after they'd been there for a few days. 'You can't stay locked away in your room.'\n\n'I'll do what I bloody well want, Cynefrith, and stop calling me lord. Here I'm no more than a simple merchant.'\n\n'Not even that if you don't get a grip on things. Besides, Charles wants to see you.'\n\n'Charles? Charles who?'\n\n'Charles the Bald, King of West Frankia, the son of Louis the Pious. That Charles.'\n\n'What on earth does he want with me?'\n\n'I've no idea. A messenger arrived from Aix la Chappelle this morning with the royal summons, though it's worded like a request.'\n\nEdmund sighed. A request from the king was a politely worded order, especially as he was now a resident of that part of the Frankish Empire ruled by Charles. He had succeeded his father when Louis had died, but his brothers had rebelled against him.\n\nThe civil war had lasted for three years and ended up with the partition of the empire created by Charlemagne. Charles had kept the valleys of the Rhine and the Rh\u00f4ne, including the regions of Lorraine, Alsace, Burgundy, and Provence as well as the coastal regions of Frankia. But the civil war had reduced his political influence significantly and had weakened him militarily. He'd also lost the title of emperor, which had gone to his brother Lothair. He was now known as the King of West Frankia.\n\n'How far is it to Aix?' Edmund asked, now resigned to having to travel there.\n\n'Overland? Nearly three hundred miles; but it's probably more convenient to travel by ship. I'd made some enquiries and we can go back into the German Ocean and down the River Meuse. Aix La Chappelle lies on an offshoot, the River Wurm.'\n\nEdmund felt rejuvenated once he was back on board again. He had shrugged off his lethargy and the wind in his hair and the sea spray in his face made him glad to be alive again. They had to row much of the way down the Seine and he joined his men pulling on an oar for a time. His hands soon blistered and the muscles in his back made him feel as if it was on fire, but he ignored the pain. Even a sudden heavy shower of rain did little to dampen his spirits. It was if he'd been reborn again.\n\nThe only thing which clouded his new found enthusiasm for life was the niggling worry about why Charles the Bald wanted to see him. It made no sense. In Paris he was just another merchant, albeit a relatively wealthy one. Perhaps Eanred had changed his mind? Exile wasn't enough and he now wanted him dead. But in that case he would have been arrested in Paris and sent back to Northumbria if Charles had acceded to Eanred's request.\n\nThe more he pondered the reason for the summons the more in the dark he was. In the end he gave up worrying and concentrated on enjoying the journey.\n\nIt took ten days to reach Aix. As soon as they docked the port reeve came down personally to greet them.\n\n'The king is expecting you, Lord Edmund. You are to be his guest. An escort is on its way with horses for you and two companions.'\n\nEdmund thought that this was mildly encouraging. If he was to be incarcerated he would have been taken away on his own, and on foot. Aix wasn't as big as Paris, but it wasn't small by any means. However, the palace complex lay to the north of the city and proved to be much larger than Edmund was expecting. He was so overawed by the scale of the buildings that he scarcely noticed when a groom and two boys came running to take the horses away.\n\nCynefrith and Laughlin accompanied him and together they entered the palace via a gate adjoining the palace chapel. Edmund thought that it looked enormous, more like a cathedral than a chapel. However, it wasn't built in the style he was used to; it was round with a domed roof like a basilica. Other buildings adjoined it, including accommodation for the monks and priests and, on the other side of the entrance hall to the chapel complex, the king's private rooms.\n\nThey walked along a long covered walkway and entered another building which the captain said was the barracks for the guards on duty. Edmund noticed that the palace was full of people scurrying about: courtiers, scholars, nobles, merchants and even beggars and poor people who had presumably come to ask for charity or to submit pleas to the king.\n\nBeyond the barracks lay an even longer walkway which ended at a large building which housed the council chamber and the treasury. Both were built of brick, rather than stone and the council chamber was larger than any building Edmund had ever seen, measuring some one hundred and twenty feet long by seventy feet wide.\n\n'There are other buildings outside the palace complex,' the captain told him. 'These include the main barracks, quarters for the courtiers, officials and servants and a hospice. There is also a hunting park and a menagerie where various exotic animals are kept for the amusement of important visitors.'\n\nEdmund thought of the king's hall at Eoforw\u012bc, which was like a poor shepherd's hut by comparison to Charles's palace. The brick buildings particularly fascinated Edmund. Some of the Roman ruins in England were built of brick, but no Anglo-Saxon builder had mastered the art of turning wet clay into hard-baked bricks. He thought it looked a simpler, and cheaper, way of building than stone and determined to find out more about the technique.\n\nThe council chamber was full of people milling about waiting their turn to be called forward to speak to the king. The chamberlain's assistants moved amongst them, finding people who were lucky enough to be granted a brief audience and taking them forward to where King Charles sat on his throne. There they waited their turn to move to the base of the dais and go down on one knee. Once they had submitted their plea or concluded their business, they got to their feet, bowed low and backed away from the royal presence.\n\nEdmund had to restrain a laugh. He couldn't imagine any Northumbrian being so obsequious to Eanred. However, he was faced with a dilemma. He still had no idea what he was doing here but he wasn't about to scrape and bow to the Frankish king, whatever the reason for his summons.\n\nThankfully he didn't have to. The captain left the three of them and went to have a quiet word in the chamberlain's ear. The man, who was standing at the foot of the dais with those patiently waiting in line for a word in the royal ear, banged the end of his staff of office on the stone floor and the buzz of conversation died away.\n\n'That concludes today's business. You may return tomorrow at midday if you so desire.'\n\nThe chamberlain said this with such an air of disdain that it was obvious he wished they wouldn't bother. Charles got up from his throne and everyone, except the three Englishmen, bowed low as he left though a door behind the dais. One of the men who had been standing in a small group chatting together at the other side of the dais from the supplicants followed him out.\n\n'Come with me, the king will see you privately,' the captain said when he re-joined them. 'Your two men can wait here for now.'\n\n'Ah, Lord Edmund, thank you for coming,' Charles greeted Edmund in Latin with a smile as soon as he was shown through the door.\n\nThe room was quite small and only contained the king and the man who had followed him. It was richly furnished with tapestries on the walls, a table covered with papers and a chair. There were two other chairs in front of the desk but both the other occupants of the room were standing and so Edmund walked across to join them.\n\n'Princeps, I am honoured to meet you, but I have to confess that I am ignorant of the reason,' he replied in Latin.\n\n'We don't use the term princeps, Edmund,' the other man said in heavily accented English. 'Highness is the correct form of address.'\n\n'Forgive me, Highness,' he replied in Franconian, ignoring the other man and addressing the king.\n\nCharles frowned at the man who'd corrected Edmund and turned back to his guest with a smile.\n\n'I do apologise, I haven't introduced my companion. This is Count Louis of Arras.'\n\nEdmund was stunned. This then was Bastiaan's father; the man who had ruined his chances of marrying Joscelin. For a moment he just stared at the man, then he realised that both men were looking at him, puzzled by his reaction.\n\n'I'm sorry, Highness. Am I correct in thinking that you are the father of Bastiaan and Joscelin?' he said, turning to the count.\n\n'Er, yes,' the latter said, taken off guard. 'Do you know them?'\n\n'Yes,' he replied tersely before turning back to the king. 'Highness, how can I help?'\n\nCharles looked at him curiously and then at the count, who was clearly mystified by the peculiar exchange. Edmund came to the conclusion that the count had arranged Joscelin's marriage whilst ignorant of Edmund's betrothal to her; but surely his children would have mentioned it? More likely he had been told but ignored it as unsuitable and had failed to even remember Edmund's name.\n\n'My agents have reported that the Viking leader, Ragnar Lodbrok, is amassing a large fleet. The rumour is that he intends to attack Paris,' Charles was saying. 'I have placed the count in charge of our defences against these pirates, but I understand that you have fought them before. Not only that, but you are more experienced in naval warfare than any of us are. I'm hoping you can help us to come up with a strategy for defeating them.\n\n'We don't believe that we can tackle them at sea,' Louis went on. 'We are going to have to stop them once they are in the River Seine. I thought that perhaps a chain across the river might stop them and we can then bombard them from the shore.'\n\n'Do your agents have any idea how large Ragnar Lodbrok's fleet is? When he attacked Northumbria last year he brought twenty ships and a thousand men with him.'\n\n'If the threat was the same size this time, then I feel we could deal with him easily; however, I have spies in all the main Scandinavian ports and they tell me that Grimulf the Dane and a fleet from Uppsala in Sweden have agreed to join the ships from Adger and Alfheim. The best estimate I have is that he can bring some three thousand warriors in some fifty longships against us.'\n\n'How many men do you have for the defence of Paris, Highness?'\n\n'I can probably muster five thousand, given enough warning.'\n\nEdmund didn't like to say that a Viking warrior, trained from boyhood to fight and kill, was probably a match for two or even three Franks. Instead he returned to the idea of barring access upriver.\n\n'A boom won't work. They'll merely land downstream and kill the men defending the windlasses and then lower the chain.'\n\n'What would you suggest, then?' Count Louis asked, not trying to hide his resentment at the offhand way that Edmund had dismissed his idea.\n\n'You have enough ships, they are just not as fast, seaworthy or as agile as the Viking longships. However, if you raft them together across the river and build turrets at the bows, you can prevent them rowing upriver and inflict significant casualties using archers and rock throwing catapults, if you have them. They can't break the line or capture your ships easily because the towers will be too high to assault from the deck of a longship.'\n\n'Alas, we have no catapults, but we do have archers, of course. What do you think they will do then?' Charles asked warming to the Englishman's idea, whilst Louis tried to think why the idea wouldn't work.\n\nEdmund shrugged. 'Probably leave their precious longships and advance on Paris overland. If so, you can then meet them in the field and crush them with superior numbers.'\n\nCharles smiled broadly and clapped Edmund on the shoulder in congratulation whilst Count Louis gave the young man a sour look. He felt his influence with the king slipping away and tried to think of a way to discredit Edmund's plan."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "Ragnar watched from the crowded jetty at Arendal as yet another fleet of longships anchored out in the fjord. The largest drekar detached itself from the rest and made its way to the jetty where Ragnar's havnesjef was hastily trying to make room for it to tie up. Thirty two longships and eight knarrs were already there and the new arrivals made the total up to forty two plus ten knarrs. It was the largest Scandinavian fleet ever assembled.\n\nThe leading ship had been displaying the golden lion before the faded blue sail had been lowered but, even without that confirmation, Ragnar was well aware that the last contingent was from Uppsala. Eystein hadn't come himself, or course; it was led by his younger brother, Osten.\n\n'Greetings, old man. We've come to show you how to fight,' did nothing to endear him to Ragnar. At forty two he thought of himself in his prime. True, he was starting to grow the odd grey hair, especially in his beard, but he had his favourite thrall pull them out as soon as they appeared.\n\n'You are welcome, Osten, but you will treat me with the respect to which I am entitled, not only as your senior in years and experience, but as a king twice over.'\n\n'I meant no offence, Ragnar,' the young man said with a grin. 'Now where are the drink and the women?'\n\n'A feast has been prepared in your honour, of course, but you will leave my thralls alone if you know what's good for you.'\n\nSince Aslaug had left him he'd decided that wives were too much trouble. He had several nubile young female thralls to look after his needs, in bed and out of it, and he had no intention of sharing them with this brash young Swede.\n\n'Did you find my wayward niece?' Osten asked as they walked up to the king's hall together, followed by a scowling Olaf and an equally irritated Eirik.\n\nRagnar looked at him sharply.\n\n'No, do you know what happened to her?'\n\nThe other man nodded. 'I heard that she's living with a Norseman called Ing\u00f3lfr Arnarson on Westray.'\n\n'Then Ing\u00f3lfr is a dead man as soon as the raid on Paris is over.'\n\n'If you want to kill him you'll have to be quicker than that. My informant told me that he is planning to join a hersir called R\u00e1\u00f0ormr who is putting together an expedition to capture the Land of Ice and Fire.'\n\n'The Land of Ice \u2026.? I've never heard of it.'\n\n'It's an island on the edge of the world currently inhabited by monks who worship the nailed god.'\n\n'The White Christ? What are they doing there?'\n\n'I gather that they live there because they seek solitude away from the world in order to worship.'\n\n'How do they live, if there is nothing but ice there?'\n\n'I don't know. Perhaps it's only a name?'\n\nBy this time they had reached the hall and sat down with Olaf and Eirik at a table in one of the many alcoves that lined both sides of the hall. Two thralls, a boy and a young girl, brought them four horns of ale and platters of bread and cheese. Osten leered appreciatively at the girl, who couldn't have been more than twelve.\n\n'Forget it, Osten. She's too young and she's my property in any case,' Ragnar told him, noticing the lust in his eyes.\n\n'Will you seek him and my niece there?' Osten said, returning to the original topic.\n\n'Perhaps, but not yet awhile. After Paris I've got a score to settle with a Northumbrian called Edmund whose men killed my son, Fridlief.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "'I can't hire any more carts or knarrs, Lord Edmund,' Amalric, his agent in Paris, told him with a note of despair in his voice.\n\nThe news that the Vikings had reached the Seine estuary had engendered panic amongst the population of Paris. Whilst Edmund was fairly confident that the defence measures he had eventually persuaded the Count of Arras to adopt would stop the Vikings from getting as far as Paris, he wasn't taking any chances. All of his wealth was now tied up in his warehouse or on his ships out at sea.\n\nFurthermore he had borrowed from business colleagues to expand his trading operations. If he lost the goods in his warehouse to the raiders he would owe more than the cargo currently at sea was worth. Consequently he would be bankrupt. It was imperative that he transported his merchandise to safety, just in case the worst happened.\n\n'Take the most valuable goods to Ch\u00e2lons-sur-Marne and then get the knarrs to return to collect what else they can. They should have enough time for two trips, if not three, before the wretched Vikings can get this far - if we can't defeat them first, that is. The carts won't have enough time to return but the knarrs can carry more in any case.'\n\nThe confluence between the Seine and the River Marne lay near Paris and was the start of the navigable route to Ch\u00e2lons. It lay one hundred and twenty miles away and Edmund was sure as he could be that the Vikings wouldn't stray so far away from their target of Paris. It had cost a considerable amount to rent a warehouse there in the present situation, and to hire men to guard it, but it was money well spent if it enabled him to save the majority of his goods.\n\nThe scene on the quayside was chaotic as merchants constantly outbid each other for the services of labourers to load their ships and carts. Men would start to load one ship and then abandon it as soon as someone offered them more. However, that wasn't a problem that bothered Edmund. The men loading his ships were from the warband who had travelled with him from Northumbria; they'd been in his service for years and he was as confident as he could be of their loyalty. Nevertheless, Edmund thought it prudent to offer them a bonus, payable once the cargo was safely under lock and key in Ch\u00e2lons.\n\nNot all his warriors were employed loading goods; many a fight had broken out between rival gangs of workers as merchants tried to get their hands on various means of transport by fair means or foul. Edmund therefore had his best fighters arm themselves and dress in chainmail byrnies and helmets. Just the sight of them looking for a chance to blood their spears was enough to deter anyone from chancing their arm.\n\nThree days later a messenger arrived to tell Count Louis of Arras that the Vikings had reached Rouen and had besieged it for three days. Rouen was well defended, unlike Paris which depended on the river and defensive gateways at the end of its bridges to keep out attackers. The Seine was seen by the Franks as a line of defence, not as a weakness.\n\nHaving sacked the surrounding countryside, the raiders had moved on and were now no more than a day away from the little surprise that Edmund had in store for them.\n\n'It won't work,' Count Louis had told him contemptuously.\n\n'I see. What is your plan, count?'\n\n'To shadow them on land and prevent them landing.'\n\n'To do that you'll have to split your forces to cover both banks. You have, what? Eight thousand men in total, most of them farmers and tradesmen with a spear. Split in two, your four thousand will face some three thousand Vikings, if your scouts are correct. Your men won't stand a chance.'\n\nLouis glowered at him before stomping out of the room in a rage. Edmund sighed. He needed at least fifteen hundred men, principally archers and crossbowmen, if his plan was going to work; and he also needed all the ships he could get his hands on. Without the count's support he was helpless."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "Ragnar was concerned. His supplies of food and ale were running low yet he risked a battle if he tried to plunder the countryside through which the Seine ran. Two and a half thousand men and several hundred ship's boys defecated daily into buckets that were tipped over the side into the river; that same river from which the ships later drank. It wasn't surprising that an increasing number of those on the rearmost ships now suffered from dysentery.\n\nHe cast a jaundiced eye at the thousands of Franks trudging along both banks keeping pace with his longships. He could see that many weren't that well-armed nor did they have proper protection. Nevertheless there seemed to be a lot of them and they were accompanied by hundreds of mounted warriors.\n\nFinally they came to a section where the road alongside the river diverted inland for a while and Ragnar decided to seize the opportunity to disembark his men unopposed. There was a length of shingle between two low hills which could take ten ships at a time and, as one went to anchor mid-stream, another took its place until all his warriors were on dry land; although dry wasn't quite the word as rain was falling and it wasn't long before the whole bank became a sea of glutinous mud.\n\nCount Louis watched the Viking disembarkation impotently through the rain from the other bank. There was nothing he could do to warn the other half of his army as the enemy set off at a slow trot, heading inland.\n\nRagnar's scouts didn't take long to locate the marching column of Franks. They were trudging along with the horsemen in the lead and the baggage train at the back. Osten and few of the others were all for a straightforward attack all along the length of the column but, luckily for them, wiser counsel prevailed.\n\nIt was the Danish jarl, Grimulf, who suggested cutting the column in half, using a shield wall of a thousand men to keep the front half of the Frankish army at bay whilst their main force slaughtered the rest and captured the much needed provisions in the carts. Ragnar nodded his agreement and grinned wolfishly at Osten.\n\n'You and your men can have the honour of holding off the vanguard and the horsemen. Do you think that you can manage that?'\n\nThe young Swede scowled. He knew that, being outnumbered two to one and fighting against cavalry was the most dangerous part of the plan. He could lose a lot of men in the process, but to demur would make him look like a coward. Reluctantly he nodded but he vowed to himself that he would get even with Ragnar one day.\n\nThe road, such as it was - more of a muddy track in reality - emerged from a wood onto a meadow that sloped down towards the river half a mile away. About two hundred yards above the track there was a dip before the slope continued up to the ridgeline. The last of the Vikings made it into the dip just as the leading horsemen emerged from the trees. They made a brave show, two counts, three viscounts and a dozen barons led with their banner men immediately behind them. Resplendent in knee-length byrnies with splits in front and rear, polished helmets, gaudily painted shields and lances with fluttering pennons, they looked invincible.\n\nBehind them came a long column of riders, some wearing chain mail, but most in stout leather jerkins or padded linen gambesons. All wore helmets, mainly pots with a nasal guard, and carried shields. They were armed with an assortment of spears, long-handled horsemen's axes or just swords. The leading footmen were similarly attired and equipped, presumably the lords' personal war bands, but they were followed by hundreds and hundreds of men wearing everyday clothes and carrying an assortment of weapons from crossbows to hunting spears and from swords to woodmen's axes.\n\nMost had a shield of some sort but only about a tenth had the expensive lime wood shields banded in iron or bronze with a metal boss that every Viking carried. Many were made of woven wickerwork or looked as if they had been made from an old door or table.\n\nThey walked in ranks of five or six, although there was no real order to them. Some walked in pairs and there were gaps between various groups. None looked about them, intent on keeping the rain out of their eyes, and there were no scouts out as far as Ragnar could see.\n\nHe waited until he thought that perhaps two thousand had passed him, then he and the young warrior carrying his raven banner stood up. Ragnar nodded at the youth and he waved the banner to and fro. At the pre-arranged signal the Vikings emerged from their hiding place almost as one. They ran down the hillside, sliding and skidding on the wet grass, yelling and waving their weapons in the air, quickly closing the gap between them and the Frankish column. A few lost their footing and took a tumble, but not enough to affect the charge.\n\nThe noble in command gawped at the thousands of Vikings hurtling towards the column some half a mile behind him and was so stunned he couldn't think what to do for a moment. The delay was fatal. By the time he had collected his wits, Osten's Swedes, reinforced by Grimulf's Danes, had sliced the column in half, killing a hundred Franks in the process, and formed a shield wall four deep across the track. He watched in horror as the rest of the Vikings proceeded to attack the half-trained tradesmen and farmers that formed the rear of the column.\n\nLeaderless, the Franks found themselves being slaughtered until at last someone managed to organise them. Crossbowmen and a few archers raced away from the track and formed up, sending a hail of bolts and arrows into the Vikings. This enraged the latter and they turned their attention to the bowmen.\n\nWhoever had taken command knew his business. Whilst one third of the crossbowmen kept up a steady fire the rest laboriously reloaded their crossbows. The next third stepped forward and fired. This, coupled with the archers, who could get off four arrows to every crossbow bolt, produced a steady rate of fire which slammed into the Vikings as they tried to get to grips with them.\n\nOf course, it couldn't last and the Franks broke and ran once the Vikings got close. Some made it to the safety of the woods but the majority were cut down as they fled; not just cut down but butchered. The furious Norsemen killed the wounded and hacked at the dead bodies, mutilating them by beheading them and cutting off limbs and genitals.\n\nThe blood soaked ground turned to pink as the rain diluted it. The Vikings had killed four hundred Franks but they had lost half that number of their own in the process. Furthermore, their preoccupation with the crossbowmen had left Ragnar with a mere seven hundred men to tackle twice that number of Franks. He soon came to the conclusion that this wasn't going to be the easy victory he'd envisioned.\n\nMeanwhile, the Swedes and Danes faced charge after charge by the horsemen in their centre whilst their flanks were attacked by the Franks on foot. Osten calmly waited for the first horseman to reach him and, as the rider leant forward to aim his spear point at the Swede's eyes, Osten calmly thrust his spear into the horse's chest. It toppled sideways, spilling its rider onto the ground where he was quickly dispatched by an axe blow from a Swede standing a little further down the line.\n\nHowever, Osten didn't have time to extract his spear before the next horsemen was upon him. He threw up his shield in a panic and yelled in relief as he felt the point glance off the boss. He fumbled for his sword and managed to draw it before his adversary stabbed at him again. He slashed wildly at the horse's head and felt the jarring blow as the blade connected with it.\n\nIn pain the horse reared up, its fore hoof catching the rim of Osten's helmet. He felt as if he was choking and then the pressure eased as the strap holding it in place broke and the helmet went spinning away. Osten was congratulating himself on surviving when the other fore hoof struck his temple, cracking his skull.\n\nWord that their leader had fallen spread through the Swedish line like wildfire. The next time the Frankish horsemen charged they managed to break the shield wall in the centre and poured through the gap. However, the Danes, who had been relegated to the rear of the Swedish line, were ready for them and moved to meet them, chopping at the horses with their axes. The tactic was so effective that the gap was soon plugged with dead animals and the Danes set about slaughtering their dismounted riders.\n\nThe remaining Franks withdrew and regrouped. The number of horsemen had been halved and their commander now sent his footmen forward again. Grimulf and his Danes advanced clear of the pile of dead and he signalled for the Swedes to do likewise. They hesitated for a moment or two, then one of their jarls led his men forward and the rest followed. Now the combined force formed into one long shield wall three deep. They were outnumbered by the Franks, but not by that much, and the Vikings were experienced fighters, whereas less than a third of the Franks had fought before.\n\nThe Franks battled away against the shield wall but they couldn't make much impression on it and they suffered significant casualties. Eventually they lost heart and the Vikings started to advance, a movement that became relentless. Gradually their enemy began to slip away until the number fleeing became a flood. The Franks' rout was complete when the horsemen turned and followed the rest back towards Paris.\n\nRagnar surveyed the scene of his victory. Any euphoria he might have felt was tempered by the scale of his losses. Whilst the Franks at the rear of the column had been defeated fairly easily and he had captured the baggage train, putting paid to the immediate need for provisions, the other part of the column had put up much more of a fight. The Franks had lost over a thousand men and, although his losses were perhaps only half that, it wasn't a rate of attrition he could sustain for long.\n\nHe had also captured over a hundred prisoners.\n\n'Kill them,' Olaf urged him. 'They are only more mouths to feed and if we keep them they'll need to be guarded.'\n\n'No, I want them kept alive for now.'\n\n'Why? They are common soldiers, no-one will pay a ransom for them. What's the point in keeping them as captives?'\n\n'I'm not sure but I have a feeling that they may be useful to me.'\n\nOlaf shrugged and went off muttering to himself.\n\nAlthough the Franks on this side of the river had virtually been destroyed as a fighting force, four thousand Franks remained on the opposite bank. However, although his losses had been significant, he took some comfort from the fact that one of the dead was Osten.\n\nHe suspected that the Swedish prince would have proved even more troublesome in the long run, but without him the rest of the Swedes might decide to return home. He racked his brains trying to think how best to convince their jarls that they should remain. The most influential of their number was now Esbj\u00f6rn, the current Jarl of Gotland \u2013 the very island his two eldest sons had invaded. He thought that he wouldn't be inclined towards co-operation, but he was wrong.\n\nTo his delight, Esbj\u00f6rn agreed to remain and the other jarls had followed his lead. Ragnar might have been less sanguine about retaining him and his men if he had known his motivation. Esbj\u00f6rn's younger brother had died in the battle on Gotland and the Swede had been furious when Eystein had let Eirik go free. The jarl was determined that, if the Franks didn't kill Ragnar's son, then he would do so himself.\n\n[ The Capture of Paris ]\n\n[ Summer 845 ]\n\nHaving effectively lost nearly half his army, Louis of Arras decided to let Edmund have the men he needed. True, the Viking army had been weakened by the battle on the left bank of the Seine, but the rout of their comrades had disheartened his own men and they were convinced that the Vikings were invincible. Consequently, he daren't risk meeting Ragnar in the field again.\n\nHowever, if he allowed the Vikings to capture Paris, the king would never forgive him and he would most probably be executed.\n\n'Let the Northumbrian try,' one of his aides had suggested. 'What have you got to lose? If he succeeds you can take the credit and if his plan doesn't work you can blame him for failing to defeat the Vikings.'\n\nA broad grin lit up the count's face.\n\n'You're right. Send for him straight away.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "Ragnar was standing at the prow of his drekar with his arm around the base of the dragon's head as it rounded yet another bend in the Seine some forty miles from Paris. At that point the river ran in a large U shaped loop and, although the wind would have helped them along one part of the bend, it was against them for the rest so the men had to row. It was early afternoon and they were getting tired, however the light wind would be almost behind them once around the bend and the ship's boys prepared to raise the sail. The sight that greeted them as they cleared the bend made Ragnar swear and Olaf came running forward to see what had happened.\n\nThe river had narrowed and now it was blocked by an assortment of ships tied together gunwale to gunwale so that they stretched from bank to bank. Near the bows of each vessel the Franks had built an ungainly wooden superstructure. Ragnar could see men standing behind a parapet at the top of this tower, for want of a better word, protected by wickerwork shields spaced so as to leave a narrow gap through which archers and crossbowmen could fire.\n\n'Cease rowing,' Ragnar called out as soon as he had recovered from his surprise but, of course, the ships behind him couldn't yet see the barrier and the whole fleet started to bunch up, some ships crashing into others before their rowers could back water and stop.\n\n'What will you do?' Lagertha called across from her drekar.\n\n'Wait,' he called back, annoyed at being pressed for a plan, especially by his former wife, before he had time to think.\n\nIt was Eirik who came up with the solution. The two outside ships in the Frankish line were moored to the bank by stout cables tied around tree trunks. He suggested that all they had to do was to cut one of them.\n\nAn hour later the majority of the Viking ships advanced slowly towards Edmund's barrier. The longships had reefed sails and they closed slowly on the barrier as the light breeze gave them just enough momentum to overcome the current.\n\nHidden back around the bend several others made for the two banks. Esbj\u00f6rn led one group and Lagertha the other. Eirik had begged to be allowed to go with them and so Ragnar had sent him across to Esbj\u00f6rn's ship. It was a decision that he was to regret.\n\nNow that the object of his enmity was aboard his longship, Esbj\u00f6rn was tempted to kill him out of hand, but that would only bring Ragnar's wrath down on his head. He needed to make it look as if the Franks had slain him.\n\nEirik wasn't a sensitive man and he completely missed the hostility of the Swedish jarl. He was so wrapped up in the excitement of what they were about to do that he even forgot that Esbj\u00f6rn was the Jarl of Gotland. He was a man who always looked to the future and forgot about the past.\n\nThe task of both groups was to chop through the cables so that the Franks were carried downstream out of control. As soon as their enemy were on the move, the longships would then turn and row ahead of them until they reached a wider part of the river where they could get past the Franks and continue on their way to Paris. Ragnar realised that the Franks could cut themselves free of each other once they were cast adrift, but that didn't matter. As individual ships they were no match for a longship and the towers would make them unstable and unwieldy in any case.\n\nIt didn't quite work like that. Edmund had foreseen the move and had hidden several hundred men in the woods that lined the river. Half of these men were equipped with a crossbow, a weapon that didn't require the strength or skill needed for a normal bow. The four longships beached on the north bank and, as their crew -, including Eirik and a few of his friends - leapt ashore they were met with a hail of bolts. At short range a crossbow bolt could penetrate even the most expensive chain mail and, if close enough, they would go straight through all but the best made shields.\n\nThe hail of bolts from the edge of the trees was completely unexpected and almost fifty Swedes died in the first volley. The rest stood there stunned for a moment and then, screaming their rage, they hurled themselves towards the trees. A second volley sent another thirty odd tumbling to the earth, but most of the first group of crossbowmen hadn't had time to finish re-loading.\n\n'Those who are loaded, fire at will,' their commander yelled, drawing his sword and hefting his shield. 'The rest of you forget your crossbows and pick up your spears and shields.'\n\nA few more bolts struck down a few more Vikings but then the remainder reached the line of Franks. By then there were only a hundred and twenty of them left whereas Edmund had allocated four hundred men to each bank.\n\nThe Vikings had lost all semblance of order in their maddened bloodlust. Outnumbered by more than three to one they found their desire for vengeance soon changed to panic as their enemies engulfed them and forced them back. They were now fighting for survival. Esbj\u00f6rn hacked the point from the spear of the man facing him and grinned in triumph as the man realised that all he now held was a useless lump of wood.\n\nJust at that moment he realised that Eirik was fighting alongside him. He forgot about the Frank and, using his sword overarm, Esbj\u00f6rn forced the point into Eirik's neck. He yelled in triumph as blood spurted out all over the two of them. He had managed to kill Eirik so that it would seem that he had died in battle, but he forgotten about the Frank with the useless spear.\n\nSeizing the moment's respite, the man threw down the useless spear haft and drew his dagger. He knelt down and thrust it up under the jarl's byrnie and into his groin. Blood poured down Esbj\u00f6rn's legs but he managed to slay his killer before he fell to his knees and lost consciousness. His men dragged him to the rear, but in vain. Within minutes he died from loss of blood.\n\nAll they could do now was to make a fighting withdrawal to the longships. As they did so the Franks slowly disengaged and then made a mad dash back to where they'd left their crossbows. The Swedes only had enough warriors left to man two of their longships, so they were forced to abandon the other two. As they made their escape Edmund's men sent a parting volley of bolts their way and killed several more.\n\nOn the other bank Lagertha had been quicker to realise that she had walked into a trap. She had taken the precaution of putting out a rear anchor from each of her drekars so that they could haul their ships back out into the river quickly, should it prove necessary, and she sent twenty men ashore first.\n\nThe Franks should have melted back into the trees and waited until the rest had disembarked before springing their trap. As it was, as soon as the crossbow bolts started to fly and the scouts were cut down, she ordered a swift retreat. Apart from the loss of the scouts, the only casualties were minor wounds to two of the rowers.\n\nRagnar was distraught at the death of a third son and blamed the Swedes. However, he had other problems. He had a choice: a direct assault on the floating barrier, which would cost a lot of men to break, or disembark a large enough force to defeat the Franks guarding the mooring ropes.\n\nThe trouble was the shingle beaches on either bank were too small to allow more than a few longships to beach at a time. He eventually decided to sail back to where it would be possible to disembark without facing opposition.\n\nThe next day he set off on foot along the right bank with a thousand men to cut the mooring ropes on that side of the river. His original army of over two thousand five hundred had been reduced by casualties in battle and, more worryingly, by dysentery. Cases were increasing daily and a number had died from the disease.\n\nHowever, the Franks guarding the mooring ropes stood no chance against so many Vikings, especially as they had been caught unawares watching the river, not the land. When the ropes apparently mooring the barrier to the right bank had been cut, Ragnar had been puzzled, then his puzzlement turned to fury. He'd been outwitted. He had expected the rafted ships, which were still tethered to the left bank, to swing around in an arc, pushed by the current, until they ran aground. Instead they had stubbornly remained in place. It was only then that he noticed the anchor cables running fore and aft from each ship. The mooring lines had either been a ruse to lure his men into an ambush, or had merely been a second method of securing the raft of ships in place.\n\nHe decided that the only sensible course of action was to push on to Paris on foot. His men grumbled and quite a few asked how they were meant to carry away all the plunder and thralls that they anticipated collecting without their ships. By the time that they camped for the night quite a few were feeling mutinous; none more so than the Uppsalan Swedes.\n\n'We've had enough, King Ragnar,' their senior jarl, a man named Villner, told him.\n\nThis was greeted by a muttering of agreement from the rest of the Swedes, who had followed their jarls to see Ragnar and who now crowded around him.\n\n'We have lost the prince, one of our jarls and too many men, and for what?' Villner continued. 'The Norns have tricked you into making this ill-fated voyage. No doubt they think that you have grown too mighty and self-important and need cutting down to size.'\n\nRagnar was stunned. Paris was all but within his grasp and the words of the Swede were not to be borne. He reached for his sword, intent on chopping the insolent man's head off, but Olaf put a restraining hand on his right arm.\n\n'There are too many of them and they are between us and the rest of our men. They'll kill you if you raise a hand against them,' Olaf whispered urgently in his ear.\n\nRagnar still attempted to draw his sword, hissing at Olaf to unhand him, until he heard some of the Swedes draw theirs. He looked around him; Olaf was right. He was surrounded by Swedes with only a few of his own men nearby. However, they had become alarmed at seeing Ragnar surrounded by angry Swedes and started to push their way through their ranks to the king's side.\n\nRagnar had the sense to see that the situation was growing ugly and there were still enough Uppsala Swedes left to further weaken the number of his followers to no good purpose if fighting broke out. He nodded and threw off Olaf's hand, letting his own hand fall to his side.\n\n'Very well. Scuttle back to Uppsala if you must. When we sack Paris the sk\u00e1lds will sing of our heroic deeds and call you craven.'\n\nThere was angry muttering at this sally and the Swedes began to argue amongst themselves. Several of Ragnar's own Swedish warriors from Alfheim tried to dissuade their fellow Swedes from leaving, but to no avail. As they headed back to where they had left the fleet Ragnar was left with less than fifteen hundred warriors, and many of those had dysentery."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "Edmund smiled in satisfaction when he saw that his plan had worked. He had captured the two longships abandoned by the Swedes during their abortive attempt to capture one of the windlasses, and now he planned to destroy the rest of the fleet. The Vikings were afoot. If they could be defeated in the next land battle they would be left with no means of escape.\n\nOnce the enemy had departed, heading south east along the river bank, he set off with five hundred men to find the rest of their ships. However, when he and his men reached them he found that they were moored in the middle of the river. He turned round and made his way back towards his own fleet intending to sail downstream to capture them now that they had so few defenders. However, one of the Franks at the rear of his column came running forward before he got very far to say that a large party of Vikings were coming up behind them.\n\n'How many,' he barked at the man, then regretted taking out his frustration on the hapless messenger. It wasn't his fault that Edmund had been wrong footed.\n\n'Difficult to say, lord. Several hundred anyway.'\n\n'Not the whole Viking army then?'\n\n'No, lord. Hundreds not thousands.'\n\n'How far off are they? How long before they get here?'\n\nThe Frank thought for a moment before replying.\n\n'Not long; perhaps a quarter of an hour, maybe less.'\n\nEdmund's first thought was that they were going to increase the guard on the ships.\n\n'What are you going to do?' Cynefrith asked quietly.\n\n'If I let them reach their ships it will make it more difficult to capture them. I'd like to destroy them before they get there, but the problem is not knowing their strength.'\n\n'If we take up ambush positions we can catch them unawares or, if there are too many of them, let them pass.'\n\nEdmund nodded in agreement and quickly briefed his captains."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "Villner was in a foul mood. He had lost nearly half his own men and he knew that, of the three longships he had personally brought, he would be lucky if he had enough warriors left to man two of them. Furthermore they would return home with nothing to show for the summer, and that made him personally vulnerable. Men wouldn't follow a jarl they considered unlucky or incompetent and the fact that he was merely answering the king's summons to join Osten wouldn't matter one iota. Any bondi could challenge him at the Thingstead. All they had to do was tell the lagman that they contested Villner's position as jarl. Of course, he could decide to fight his challenger but usually it was just a matter of a vote amongst all the bondis.\n\nHe had to find somewhere on the voyage home where he could raid and gain sufficient plunder to make them forget about the disastrous attempt to capture Paris. He was sunk in thought, and his men were plodding along dejectedly under a sullen sky that matched their mood when the first crossbow bolts tore into them. It was an elementary precaution to put scouts out ahead and on the flanks but Villner hadn't bothered. Now he would pay dearly for his oversight.\n\nEdmund had a hundred Frankish crossbowmen with him in addition to the twenty in his own warband who were trained archers. There was only time to get one bolt away but the archers managed to release three arrows apiece before it was time to charge into the stunned column of Swedes.\n\nA tenth of their number had been badly wounded or killed within that first minute. However, the Swedes were all experienced warriors. They quickly recovered and reacted swiftly to Villner's command to form a shield wall. Their problem was that the dead and wounded lay in their way, preventing them from forming into one line three or four deep. Instead they organised themselves into four separate groups.\n\nEdmund realised that it would be easier to attack the smaller groups even as he led his men forward.\n\n'Cynefrith, lead your men into the gap over there and cut the end group off.'\n\nThe captain of his warband nodded and headed towards a pile of the dead and dying that Edmund had indicated. He found it difficult to make his way through the Swedish casualties and, when one of them found the strength to slash at the legs of one of his men as he stepped over him, he gave the order to stab each corpse, just to make sure.\n\nThe Swedes at the other side of the piles of casualties tried to get to grips with Cynefrith's Northumbrians, but they could only do so by breaking formation. Once they did that they would lose the advantage they had and it would become a wild melee where the superior numbers of their enemies would tell.\n\nMeanwhile Edmund led the Franks in his troop around the Swedish flank. When the Swedes moved to intercept him, his banner man waved it to signal his men to change direction and they managed to insert themselves between two groups of Swedes. As each was about eighty strong and Edmund had nearly three hundred men with him, he had no fears about fighting on two fronts. His men slowly encircled both of the Swedish groups and started to crowd them so that they had no room to manoeuvre.\n\nBy this time Cynefrith had found himself in some difficulty. He had managed to split the remaining group in two, but now he risked being enveloped as the Vikings tried to encircle his group. However, the Swedes didn't have enough men to contain the Northumbrians effectively and the latter broke through the encircling Viking line in several places.\n\nCynefrith found himself facing a large Viking with a long-handled axe. The man was several inches taller than he was and his bare head revealed a face with a scar from his left ear to his mouth which gave him a permanent leer. The Swede hefted his axe ready to chop the blade down onto Cynefrith's head but this was far from the old Northumbrian's first fight. As the blade descended he stepped to the left so that the descending axe missed him completely and left the over-confident Viking unbalanced.\n\nCynefrith stepped in close to his opponent so that he had no room to swing his axe and he jabbed at the distended belly with his seax. The first attempt broke a few of the chain mail links of the Viking's byrnie but didn't penetrate his flesh. He jabbed again, panic lending strength to his arm as the taller man grabbed Cynefrith by the throat, cutting off his air supply.\n\nThe tip of his seax forced the links to break and, just as he felt himself blacking out, Cynefrith thrust the blade home, expecting it to cut through the leather under-jerkin and into flesh. But the Viking was quick for such a large man. He let go of his throat, leaving Cynefrith sucking in a great lungful of air. The man then kicked him in the right knee, causing Cynefrith to stumble. Before he could recover, the axeman swung his weapon again, chopping deeply into the shield, which Cynefrith had only just managed to raise in time.\n\nHe felt his left arm go numb so that he had little or no control over it. His shield had split but, thankfully, the axe had stuck fast. The Viking tried to yank it out, but to no avail. Cynefrith tried to strike his adversary again, but his shield arm was jerked this way and that. So violent were the Viking's attempt's to free his axe that Cynefrith had trouble in keeping his balance and he lost his grip on his seax.\n\nJust as the Swede managed to free his axe fate stepped in and another Northumbrian stepped up beside Cynefrith and thrust his spear into the Swede's neck. Blood spurted everywhere and the man dropped to his knees. The wound was fatal and with a muttered word of thanks, Cynefrith stepped back to gauge how the melee was going.\n\nAbout half of the Swedes were dead or wounded and his men had surrounded a hundred or so who were making a desperate last stand. The remainder, who had been at the front of the column, decided to cut their losses and fought their way clear before making off in the direction of the longships.\n\nCynefrith and a few of his men made after them but he gave up after a while. If the Swedes decided to turn and fight they would outnumber their pursuers. By the time they returned to re-join Edmund it was all over. The former ealdorman was sitting on a fallen tree whilst Laughlin sewed up several minor wounds to his arms and legs with catgut.\n\nThe next morning a few mounted Frankish scouts arrived to report that the Viking Army was some twelve miles away and still heading for Paris. Edmund therefore ordered his captains to untie their ships from one another and sail downriver to where the enemy fleet was moored. The Swedes who'd escaped had apparently left, but the ships' boys and the wounded who had been left to guard the other longships put up a stiff resistance before Edmund's men overcame them. A few managed to up anchor and escape under sail but the majority of the ships were captured.\n\nEdmund toyed with the idea of keeping them and giving them - or perhaps selling them - to Charles the Bald, but he didn't have the crews to man both the Frankish ships he'd borrowed and the two Swedish longships he'd already captured. On the other hand he daren't leave them there in case the Vikings returned. If they got their ships back they could raid elsewhere; without them they'd be stranded. Edmund therefore beached the longships and left them burning before heading upriver to Paris, taking just the Viking's knarrs with him, intending to use them as trading vessels once peace was restored."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "Ragnar stood with Olaf, Lagertha and the Danish jarl, Grimulf, on the bank of the Seine looking across at the island called the \u00cele de la Cit\u00e9 on which Paris was built. There were only two bridges which gave access to it: one from the right bank and one from the left. The bridge on their side of the river was defended by a small fort at their end and a gateway with a tower on each side of it at the far end.\n\nA couple of arrows had landed a few yards short of them when they had first appeared, but the garrison in the fort didn't waste any more once they had established the fact that the Vikings were out of range. If they were out of arrow shot, they would certainly be too far away to reach with crossbows.\n\n'We need our ships,' Olaf grumbled.\n\nIndeed it did seem that the only way into the city was from the river, unless he wanted to lose a lot of men trying to capture one of the bridges. Then Ragnar had a stroke of luck. Four knarrs appeared from upriver and, evidently oblivious to the presence of the Viking army on the far bank, moored alongside the Paris quayside. Immediately men appeared and proceeded to load the four merchant ships with cargo from one of the warehouses.\n\n'Olaf, go and pick out two dozen strong swimmers.'\n\n'You want to cut the knarrs out tonight and use them to ferry our men across the river?' Olaf guessed.\n\nRagnar nodded.\n\n'They are to only take their daggers. This needs to be done quietly. If the alarm is sounded they will be killed before they can row the ships over here.'\n\nOlaf, even at thirty seven, was one of the strongest swimmers there was and he decided to lead the foray. He didn't tell his friend because he was certain that Ragnar would forbid it. He'd been Ragnar's right hand man from the day they first met and, although they weren't as close now as they had been, the Viking leader depended on his advice and delegated much to him.\n\nOf course, Ragnar had been generous when it came to lavishing rewards on his friend, but, apart from a small farm near Arendal, these gifts had always been hack silver and arm rings, just like any other warrior. Officially he was still a bondi whilst others had been rewarded with promotion to jarl. Officially jarls were elected by those they led, but if Ragnar supported someone it would be a foolish man who opposed his candidate.\n\nHe knew why Ragnar had refrained from making him a jarl; it would take him from his side. Well, that was too bad. Some jarls had already fallen during this summer's campaign and more would do so in the taking of Paris, of that he was certain. After he brought Ragnar the ships he needed to make the crossing he determined to ask to be made jarl as his reward."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "\u00c6thelred had disagreed with his father increasingly as he grew older. Now Eanred and he had argued violently. The Strathclyde Britons had invaded Cumbria once more and this time they had captured most of it. R\u00e6dwulf, its ealdorman since the death of his father, had fled south into Lunc\u00e6stershire and was trying to raise an army to retake his shire. Of course, he had appealed to Eanred for help, but the king had done nothing. He seemed content to lose Cumbria from his kingdom, something that had appalled his son.\n\n'Why aren't you at least summoning the Witan to discuss the situation?' he almost yelled at his father in his frustration.\n\n'Don't shout at me, you impudent boy,' Eanred had replied calmly. 'I am doing something. I pray to God daily to keep the rest of the kingdom safe. What you don't seem to understand is the precarious position we are in. Beorhtwulf of Mercia has forged an alliance with Wessex because of the Viking raids on both their coasts and Northumbria stands alone in England as an independent kingdom. \u00c6thelwulf of Wessex is the dominant partner and he's made no secret of his desire to unite all of England under his rule. We need to keep our men ready in case of trouble on our southern border.'\n\n'That's all you think about \u2013 Deira. What about Bernicia and the rest of your kingdom. Letting the men of Strathclyde run amok in Cumbria sends the wrong message to the Picts. They may have been quiet in recent years but now that Drest mac Uurad has won the struggle for the throne, he may well be tempted to invade Lothian to match Dumnagual of Strathclyde's advance in the west.'\n\nEanred shrugged. 'The Lothian nobles are an unreliable lot. They still oppose my choice of Anson as Ealdorman of Islandshire. Let them guard the north against the Picts. At least, it'll stop them plotting against me.'\n\n'Expelling Edmund of Bebbanburg and putting Anson in his place was a stupid idea, and all because you tried to exhort money from his brother and failed. I'm not surprised that they feel little loyalty to you. Especially as you have never visited the northern part of your kingdom, nor given them anything in exchange for the taxes they pay you. I'm just surprised that they haven't deposed you from the throne of Bernicia and re-established it as a separate kingdom once more.'\n\n'Be very careful what you say,' his father hissed at him, rising from his chair, purple in the face with rage. 'Most would regard that as treason. By rights, I should have you thrown into a cell until you learn some respect.'\n\n'Respect has to be earned and you have failed in that regard for many years, now, father.' \u00c6thelred spat back. 'Perhaps it's time you retired to a monastery. After all, you spend most of your time in the one here or at Whitby. You should have been a monk, not a king.'\n\nEanred raised his hand and slapped his son hard across the face. The young man looked shocked for an instant. He lifted his fist to strike the king down but recovered control over himself just in time. The penalty for striking the king was death, though he doubted that the Witan would impose it in his case. He abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of the room and through the hall beyond, calling for his gesith to saddle their horses.\n\n'Where are we going, \u00c6thelred?' the captain asked, alarmed at the look of fury on the \u00e6theling's face.\n\n'North, to raise an army to defeat Dumnagual and recover Cumbria.'\n\nThis announcement was greeted by cheers and several of the other warriors in the hall rushed to get ready to accompany \u00c6thelred. No one thought to ask if the king had sanctioned war against the invaders or, if they did, they refrained from voicing the question. His failure to act had lost Eanred most of the support he'd enjoyed hitherto and, though he might continue to sit on the throne, it was \u00c6thelred that the warriors of Northumbria now looked to as their leader."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "Olaf swam slowly and silently towards the far side of the Seine, his movement through the water scarcely making a sound as he led his twenty men towards the four laden knarrs. He'd been afraid that they might leave when the labourers had finished loading them just as dark fell, but their captains had evidently decided to wait until dawn before sailing.\n\nThe clouds obscured the moon and it was only thanks to the candles and oil lamps inside the few taverns along the quayside that silhouetted the knarrs partially against the darkness that guided him in the right direction.\n\nEach of the men following him was tied to the next man by a thin cord to make sure no one went off course. As each man reached Olaf as he trod water under the lea of one of the ships, he untied the cord.\n\nOlaf swam to the wooden pontoon to which several small boats were tied. From there some wooden steps led up to the quayside. A few minutes later all his men joined him and lay flat on their bellies on the cold cobbled surface of the quay. Once he was satisfied that there was no one around, apart from the few men keeping watch aboard the laden knarrs, he sent his men off in small groups to capture the ships.\n\nHe slithered over the gunwale of the knarr he had picked and landed on the deck, crouching down, his eyes darting about him. The ship's guards were huddled together aft playing some game of chance under the light of the storm lantern mounted on the stern rail. They were so intent on their game that they didn't hear the five Vikings moving slowly towards them until a cry from another ship alerted them.\n\nBy then it was too late. Olaf and his men seized them and cut the throats of the four men before they could add to the cries of alarm from the other knarrs. Olaf cursed and had to think quickly. The noise would soon bring the city watch running to see what was amiss and men were already spilling out of the tavern a hundred yards away.\n\nOne of the unfortunate Franks had been armed with an axe and Olaf now pressed this into the hands of one of his men.\n\n'Cut the mooring lines of all the ships, quick as you can. Then go and row the small boats tied to the pontoon out into the river and tow the knarrs over to our side. Now move!'\n\nLuckily for the Vikings only one of the ships had put up a fight. Although normally four seamen would be no match for five Vikings, the odds were against the latter - armed as they were with just daggers - once the Franks had picked up their weapons and shields. One enterprising soul threw a rope around the bow post of the ship on which the fight was still raging, then he and his friends towed it away from the jetty.\n\nOlaf's ship came alongside it and he leaped onto it carrying a Frankish shield and a sword he'd picked up from the deck of the ship he'd captured. In the darkness the Franks thought that his shield meant that he was one of them, which made it easy for him to cut the first man down. By this time two of the Vikings had been killed and another was seriously injured. However, they had also killed one of the Franks, which evened up the odds a little.\n\nTwo the Franks tried to spear the remaining Vikings whilst the third turned to face Olaf. He was armed with a heavy axe and, once he had tried to chop Olaf down and failed, his fate was sealed. The Viking thrust his sword through the base of his throat whilst he was still off balance. He collapsed onto the deck, where his blood stained it black under the yellow light of the lantern.\n\nThe outcome was now a forgone conclusion. The two Franks threw down their weapons but Olaf didn't have time to deal with prisoners. The Vikings threw the two of them over the side, together with the dead bodies.\n\nNow that all four knarrs were nearing the far bank the boats let go the towing cables and those on board laboured at the oars to propel them the last few yards. Olaf collapsed as he felt the keel ground on the shingle of the far bank, partly from effort, but mainly with relief.\n\nThe next morning the captured knarrs, filled to capacity with warriors, made the return trip. As soon as they had discharged their human cargo they returned to bring the next few hundred across.\n\nRagnar had expected resistance to his landing but the city remained ominously silent. He led the first few hundred men into the city but found it virtually deserted. Those who had remained after the initial exodus had fled as soon as they heard that the Viking horde had captured the four knarrs.\n\nHowever, some poor souls were unable to flee. As Ragnar threw open the door of the first hut he came to his nose was assailed by a stench which he couldn't identify at first. Then he made out the dead family of five lying on their cots in the gloom. It wasn't until one of his men lit a torch so that he could see better that he realised that the corpses were of a couple and three small children; all bore the unmistakable buboes and blackened feet and hands that characterised bubonic plague.\n\n[ From Disaster to Victory ]\n\n[ Paris 846 ]\n\nAfter the hasty abandonment of the city, Ragnar ordered it to be burned to the ground. However, a few of his men had already been infected by the dead and dying and the plague began to spread amongst the others.\n\nThe one positive occurrence was the discovery that the monastery of Saint Denis to the north of Paris hadn't been abandoned. Some of the monks put up a futile resistance and were slaughtered but many, including the abbot, were captured. Such was the latter's faith in the protection of Christ that he hadn't even bothered to send the monastery's treasures to a place of safety.\n\nHowever, the spread of the plague amongst the Vikings, coupled with the dysentery that some still suffered from, vindicated the abbot's belief in the retribution of God. Unsurprisingly, Ragnar was worried that the abbot's incessant preaching about the White Christ and the vengeance he was visiting upon the heathens was undermining his men's morale. He therefore threatened to cut out the old man's tongue unless he kept his mouth shut.\n\nThe warning seemed to have little effect; indeed the abbot seemed to relish the thought of suffering for his beliefs. Ragnar was about to carry out his threat when news arrived about the advance of the Frankish King, Charles the Bald, with an army six thousand strong towards the Viking camp on the Seine just to the north of Paris."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "At just fifteen Jarl Edda had been proud to have been chosen by Ragnar to look after things at home; though he would far rather have been allowed to accompany the raiders to Paris. Like many youths, he had a greater faith in his own abilities than was warranted. When the Swedes who had managed to escape made it safely back to Uppsala a few months earlier, they had maintained that Ragnar's campaign had ended in failure. Of course, they made it sound worse than the reality to explain why they had fled. They maintained that Ragnar was dead and most of his warriors with him.\n\nEdda's first reaction had been panic. Most of the bondis and their sons over the age of sixteen had gone with Ragnar, leaving mostly boys and old men to defend Adger, Alfheim and Jarl Grimulf's lands in Northern Denmark. However, he soon came to see that this presented him with a golden opportunity. The eldest of Ragnar's surviving sons, Ivar the Boneless, was not yet nine and far too young to rule. As the only jarl left in Adger he saw himself as the new king.\n\n'You've heard the rumours?' Bjorn said to Ivar and Sigurd.\n\n'Tales spread by treacherous Swedes,' Ivar replied, spitting onto the earthen floor of the king's hall in Arendal. 'They deserted him; there is no proof of father's death. For all we know he has captured Paris and will return a hero laden with treasure.'\n\n'I overheard Edda talking to the old bondis. He seems to believe the stories are true,' piped up Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye.\n\nThis was said tentatively in his high boy's voice. At only six his two elder brothers tended to ignore him, classing him with the youngest, five year old Halfdan. At this Ivar's eyes narrowed.\n\n'If he really thinks that father is dead, that would leave him as the ruler of Adger.'\n\n'What difference does that make?' Bjorn asked. 'Father left him in charge anyway.'\n\n'Yes, but if he doesn't think that the king or any of the other jarls will return, he may well seize the throne and promote his friends to replace the missing jarls,' Ivar explained impatiently.\n\n'But if father isn't dead, he'll come back and depose Edda, so what's the problem?' Bjorn asked, puzzled by Ivar's evident concern.\n\n'We are growing older day by day and Edda will want to get rid of us before we grow up to challenge him; that's the problem.'\n\n'Oh, you think he plans to kill us?'\n\n'Well, I would if I was in his position,' Ivar replied bluntly.\n\n'So, what do we do? Flee before he can murder us?' Sigurd asked, his eyes wide with fright.\n\n'No, we kill him first.'\n\nThat night Edda crept into the chamber at the back of the king's hall that the four brothers shared. Three of his closest friends, all of whom he had promised to make jarls once he was king, followed him in. Silently they stood above the four sleeping boys, who lay under wolf skins to keep them warm, their eyes on Edda. When he nodded, they stabbed down with their swords. The points sank into the boys and, in their trepidation at what they were doing, they stabbed again and again until it occurred to them that the bodies were remarkably unresistant.\n\nEdda pulled back the skins covering the boy he'd been stabbing to find nothing underneath except a couple of rolled up sheepskins. He cursed and whipped around as the door crashed open.\n\nTorgny the lagman stood there with Ivar and Bjorn standing on one side of him and one of the elderly warrior who guarded the king's hall on the other. Behind them Edda was vaguely aware of other old men carrying spears and shields.\n\n'Jarl Edda you are accused of attempting to murder...'\n\nHe got no further as Edda launched himself at the two boys with a scream of rage. The jarl raised his sword, intending to bring it down on Ivar's head but Bjorn was too quick for him. The young boy thrust a long dagger into Edda just under his belt and the jarl doubled up as the shock of the abdominal wound momentarily paralysed him. His momentum knocked Bjorn from his feet and he fell with the fatally wounded jarl on top of him. Edda would die in due course, and a stomach wound was a painful way to go, but in the meantime he was still dangerous.\n\nEdda struggled to get up but, before he could regain his feet, Ivar thrust his own dagger into the young jarl's right knee, causing his leg to collapse under him. The savage glint in the young boy's eye was a good indication that he hadn't finished with his attacker, but the men who'd entered with Torgny pushed Ivar and Bjorn to one side and two of them grabbed Edda.\n\nOthers swiftly disarmed the other three without further injury and they and Edda were dragged outside. Edda was left to die in excruciating agony whilst his accomplices were thrown into a pit to await judgement by their fellow bondis at a meeting of the Thing.\n\nThe next morning the Thing was quick to condemn the dead Edda and his three friends. Their status as bondis was revoked and they would become classed as thralls. However, their sentence was deferred for twenty four hours. If they were still in Agder at the end of that period they would be enslaved. Perhaps their fathers would have pleaded for a lighter sentence, but they were all away taking part in Ragnar's raid on Paris. They had kept their lives, but little else. Inevitably they became exiles with no means of existing except as mercenaries.\n\nWith Edda dead that only left two other jarls, and both were Swedes who lived in Alfheim. With the memory of Froh's rule still in their minds, few of the Norse bondis wanted to appoint one of the Swedes to replace Edda as ruler of Ragnar's three kingdoms. Whilst the fate of the other would-be assassins was quickly decided, it took the Thing over three hours to decide who should rule them pro tem. In the end they appointed Ivar and Bjorn to rule jointly with Torgny the lagman. It wasn't a satisfactory long term solution, but everyone hoped that Ragnar had survived; everyone, that is, except the ambitious Ivar."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "\u00c6thelred looked around the hall, meeting the eyes of every noble and churchman present at the meeting of the Witan in turn, before he spoke.\n\n'Whilst Wessex, Mercia and even East Anglia to the south gain in power, prestige and prosperity, Northumbria has become a backwater,' he stated, then paused waiting for anyone to disagree.\n\nNo one did.\n\n'Once the rulers of this kingdom were bretwaldas, not only of much of England, but also of the kingdoms north of Northumbria \u2013 the Land of the Picts, Strathclyde and Dalriada. Since then we have only hung onto what we have by luck. The struggle between Wessex and Mercia in the south and between various contenders for the Pictish throne in the north have left us in peace. Only Strathclyde threatened us, but now the Norse settlers threaten to take our lands in the west and Danes increasingly attack us in the east.'\n\nHe paused briefly in his tirade and took a deep breath before continuing.\n\n'It is to my eternal regret that my father has been able to do little or nothing to defend our kingdom over the past two decades.'\n\nHere he looked at the elderly man who sat on the throne on a raised dais, glaring balefully at him.\n\n'I agree,' R\u00e6dwulf of Cumbria said, getting to his feet. 'Perhaps it's time that the father retired to a monastery and allowed the son to take the throne.'\n\nThere was a murmur of agreement around the hall but \u00c6thelred held up his hand just as his father leapt to his feet, his face puce with rage. Before he could vent his spleen his son reassured him.\n\n'I have no intention of replacing my father as king whilst he still lives and wishes to remain on the throne. No, my proposal is that I help him to rule more effectively. I request that you appoint me as King Eanred's sub-regulus and also as the herer\u00e6swa.'\n\nAt this Eanred subsided onto his throne but he still looked angry. He gnawed his lower lip, drawing blood, but contented himself with glowering at his only son. \u00c6thelred waited calmly for the hubbub that followed his announcement to subside.\n\n'How will this arrangement work? Will you rule jointly?' R\u00e6dwulf asked. 'I can't see that working very efficiently. We need a strong leader, not a bickering couple.'\n\n'My father will remain as king and be treated with all the respect that his position requires. I will take over responsibility for the day to day governance of Northumbria.'\n\n'And how will you deal with the pirate menace that stalks our shores?' another of the ealdormen asked.\n\n'By building longships to equal theirs, just as Eafa of Bebbanburg did twenty five years ago. Only this time I'll build a secure harbour protected by a fortress to keep them safe when they are not at sea.'\n\n'You mentioned a harbour; you mean just one haven, presumably on the east coast?' Wigmund, Archbishop of Eoforw\u012bc queried. 'Where will it be located? The coastline must be at least two hundred miles long. I suggest Whitby; from there it can protect the most populated part of the kingdom.'\n\nThis caused an uproar with the ealdormen of Bernicia and Lothian demanding that it be located much further north and R\u00e6dwulf asking about Cumbria and Lunc\u00e6stershire.\n\n\u00c6thelred made no attempt to intervene; instead he waited patiently for the tumult to die down.\n\n'Obviously we will need to discuss the details calmly and reach a logical solution,' he said, once he could be heard. 'I am not so foolish as to think that we can defeat every attempt to raid our lands. The important thing is to be strong enough to dissuade these pagans from thinking we are a soft target. My aim is to make it so hazardous for them that they go elsewhere where the pickings are easier.\n\n'What I ask of you now is your formal recognition of me as sub-regulus.'\n\nAfter that had been agreed unanimously, much to Eanred's displeasure, \u00c6thelred had one more announcement to make before the Witan broke up for the day.\n\n'I will need the help of one man, currently in exile, to help me build my fleet and to take charge of it as my admiral. No-one is more suited to that role than Edmund of Bebbanburg.'\n\nAnson, the man to whom Eanred had given Bebbanburg and made Ealdorman of Islandshire, got to his feet, his face white.\n\n'You cannot take away what is mine,' he spluttered.\n\n'Ealdormen are royal appointments, Anson, I am sorry to have to do this, but the interests of the kingdom have to come first. You were a thegn in Deira before my father elevated you, I think. So at least you won't be homeless, as we made Edmund for no good reason.'\n\nHe glared at his father who shifted uncomfortably on his throne. \u00c6thelred had never reminded him that Edmund's brother, Ilfrid, had died because of his father's greed, but what had happened that day had clouded the relationship between father and son.\n\n'You'll regret this, \u00c6thelred,' Anson hissed at him.\n\n'Are you threatening me? I would tread very carefully if I were you - that is if you wish to avoid a charge of treason.'\n\n\u00c6thelred was sure of his ground. Anson had never been a popular choice to replace Edmund. The latter's family had held Bebbanburg for two centuries and had become the unofficial leaders of the north of the kingdom. Kendric, the ealdorman who held the border along the Firth of Forth, including the mighty fortresses of D\u00f9n Barra and D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann, had nearly risen in revolt at the time, but luckily his fellow ealdormen of Lothian had persuaded him otherwise.\n\nNow the announcement of Edmund's reinstatement was applauded by the majority of the Witan, including Eanbert, the newly appointed Bishop of Lindisfarne.\n\nAnson subsided, defeated for now, but he exchanged a look with Eanred which boded trouble for \u00c6thelred in the future."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "Edmund was with King Charles the Bald, Count Louis of Arras and several other nobles when the messenger came.\n\n'I maintain that paying these Vikings seven thousand livres in silver and gold to go away is merely rewarding them for the carnage and destruction that they have wrought. Pay now and they will return again next year demanding more money,' Louis said, vehemently opposed to what Charles had proposed.\n\n'You are forgetting two things, Louis,' the king replied calmly. 'It is partly a ransom for the release of the saintly Abbot of Saint Denis and those of his monks who have survived and, secondly, they may be pagan pirates, but they have a reputation for keeping their oaths. If Ragnar Lodbrok swears to cease from raiding Frankia for a period of three years, we will have that time to improve our defences and build up our forces once more.'\n\n'Don't forget, Louis,' another count added, 'the king's brothers are still causing trouble in the south and the east. These Norsemen and Danes are formidable fighters and, even if we could defeat them \u2013 something which is far from certain given your past performance against them in the field \u2013 it would weaken us and leave us vulnerable.'\n\nLouis looked at him angrily. He didn't like to be reminded of his incompetence, which had led to the loss of Paris. He had tried to blame Edmund but the king was well aware that the Northumbrian was the only one who had scored a measure of success against the Vikings.\n\n'Good. It's decided then. I will negotiate with Ragnar along the lines we have agreed. Excellent.'\n\nAs Edmund stepped outside the royal pavilion a tired and travel worn man holding an equally exhausted horse stepped into his path.\n\n'Ealdorman Edmund of Bebbanburg?' he enquired hopefully in English with the unmistakeable accent of a man from the north.\n\n'I used to be. Who wants to know?' Edmund asked puzzled by the presence of a stranger from Northumbria so far from home.\n\n'I have a letter for you from Sub-regulus \u00c6thelred, lord.'\n\n'Sub-regulus?'\n\n'Yes, Lord \u00c6thelred now rules Northumbria on behalf of his father.'\n\n'Really? So Eanred is still king?'\n\n'In name only, lord.'\n\n'I see. Go and get some food and get some sleep. Come and find me when you are awake to see if I have a reply. My camp is over in that direction. Tell Cynefrith, the captain of my warband that I sent you.'\n\nAs the man trudged away Edmund broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.\n\nTo my trusty and faithful Lord Edmund, in whom I have great faith it began.\n\nI have long regretted the injustice that was done to you and to your brother Ilfrid. It is only now that I can do something to make some sort of amends. I realise that nothing I can do will bring Ilfrid back, nor can I make up for the time that you have spent as an exile. However, I can at least restore your home at Bebbanburg to you and re-appoint you as Ealdorman of Islandshire. The bearer of this document also carries with him the necessary deeds to restore your property and status. Anson has been ordered to quit your lands by the end of March and so I would be grateful if you could take possession then.\n\nI have it in mind to build a fleet to counter the Viking marauders and I would count it a great favour if you would construct as many longships as you consider necessary to guard my eastern seaboard. You will, of course, take command of this naval force as its admiral.\n\nI look forward to renewing our acquaintance as soon as possible after your return to Northumbria. There are many things for us to discuss, not least the programme for ship building and the training of their warrior crews. We will also need to decide on a safe haven for the fleet when it is not at sea. Budle Bay will not serve, I fear. It's too exposed and perhaps a little too far north.\n\nThe letter ended in the usual verbose way and Edmund was interested to note that \u00c6thelred described himself as Sub-regulus and Herer\u00e6swa of Northumbria.\n\nEdmund walked off, heading away from the vast camp, to find some peace and quiet where he could reflect on the offer which \u00c6thelred had made to him. His initial reaction had been one of joy that he was being allowed to return home, but princes seldom act out of altruism. Evidently the effective ruler of Northumbria wanted him to defend it from Viking attack. He knew from experience that it was an impossible task. The most he might be able to do was to dissuade all but the boldest Vikings from preying on such a long coastline.\n\nIf he failed, no doubt he would shoulder the blame. \u00c6thelred would only be guilty of choosing the wrong man to be his admiral. And what about the western coast, which was nearly as long as that in the east? \u00c6thelred's letter had said nothing about that.\n\nStill, what did he have to lose? His home and his warehouse in Paris had been torched and it would be some time before he could operate out of Paris again. His temporary base at Ch\u00e2lons-sur-Marne, to where most of his goods had been shipped, was not somewhere to conduct trade from very easily.\n\nHis one regret was that he'd always promised to revenge Ilfrid's death and, if he took up this offer, he would have to accept the detested Eanred as his king, even if only in name.\n\nHe sighed. Was he really about to reject reinstatement as an ealdorman because of his hatred of an old man who no longer had any power? Hopefully, he'd soon be dead anyway.\n\nAll in all it was an easy decision to make. He'd leave a competent manager to sort everything out and return to England. His mind made up he retraced his steps and went to find \u00c6thelred's messenger."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE RAVEN VERSUS THE WOLF",
                "text": "[ THE FINAL CONFLICT ]\n\n[ The Return Home ]\n\n[ Autumn 846 ]\n\nRagnar set sail for Norway in the late summer. By then his army had shrunk to no more than fourteen hundred. Many more had died of the plague or dysentery and others had found wives and had decided to settle in Frankia. Knowing how well they fought, Charles had encouraged them to stay, granting farms to them in the area that later became known as Northman's Land or Normandy. However, he insisted that the settlers become Christians; a stipulation which reduced their potential numbers considerably.\n\nThe rest were forced to delay their departure until they could build new longships. Ragnar also kept the four knarrs that Olaf had captured and at the end of July they and the eighteen new longships set sail for home.\n\nOnce more he was greeted by Ivar and Bjorn standing together on the jetty at Arendal to welcome him. He had liked Edda and was saddened by his betrayal. He was, however, inordinately proud of how the boys had defeated the traitor's scheme to replace him.\n\nFive new jarls were required to replace those killed in Frankia and, with Edda's perfidy in mind, he ignored the custom whereby the regional Thing elected their jarl and he appointed those he trusted, including Olaf who took Edda's place. There was some opposition to this change from the traditionalists, but the wealth brought back from Frankia had increased Ragnar's standing even further and no one openly challenged his decision.\n\nOlaf had long held ambitions for advancement and seeing others become jarls had started to rankle. It was frustrating that he, effectively the second most important man in the two kingdoms, remained a mere bondi, as his wife was quick to point out at every opportunity. His advancement therefore came at the right time for him. It did mean that he wouldn't be so close to Ragnar now, but he could see the king's sons, especially Ivar, taking that position soon in any case.\n\nHe was even more convinced of this when, even though they were well below the usual age for such an honour, Ragnar made both Ivar and Bjorn members of his council.\n\nThe ultimate result of the campaign to capture Paris might have been a success, but it had cost Ragnar too many fine warriors and he was sensible enough to realise that he would have to wait a few years until boys grew into men in order to replenish his numbers. Unfortunately the time necessary for this wasn't something that the Norns gave him.\n\nIt was Yingvi, newly created jarl of Adger's easternmost lands, who brought him the news. Eystein Beli had been incensed by the death of his brother and the loss of most of the men he'd sent with Osten. It seemed that the truce between the King of Uppsala and Ragnar was over."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "Anson had been reluctant to cede Bebbanburg to Edmund when he eventually arrived in September 846. Keen as he was to return to his homeland, Edmund had been forced to remain in Frankia until Charles released him, and the king wasn't going to do that until after Ragnar had sailed.\n\nEdmund used the time to build a longship of his own, paying a Norse shipwright to do the work alongside a drekar the man was constructing for Ragnar. He rebuilt his warehouse in Paris, this time in stone, and moved his goods back there once he was convinced that the Vikings were on the point of leaving without any further trouble.\n\nStone was expensive - more so as Charles was building a wall to defend the city against any further attacks from the river \u2013 but Edmund thought the expense worthwhile if it saved his merchandise from being burned. It would also make pilfering more difficult.\n\nThe next problem was who to leave in charge. He could have appointed a Frank, but he preferred someone he knew he could trust. In the end his unexpected choice fell on his servant, Laughlin.\n\nDuring the years he had spent in Paris the man had become as much of an assistant as a personal servant and he knew the business as well as Edmund did. Plus he knew that he could trust him. He was loyal and extremely grateful for the appointment. Furthermore it meant that his new manager could now marry the Frankish widow he had been visiting whenever his duties allowed.\n\nWhen Edmund finally arrived in Budle Bay in his new longship, accompanied by three knarrs that he proposed to fill with goods for export to Paris, he found Anson's bull's head standard still flying over the fortress. As Edmund only had the hundred men and a dozen boys who had crewed his ships any assault was out of the question. He didn't know how many men Anson had inside, but he suspected that it might be as many as fifty or sixty. Enough to defend the walls at any rate.\n\nEdmund wasted no time. Having been prevented from entering Bebbanburg peaceably, he hired horses and sent messengers to Kenric at D\u00f9n \u00c8ideann in the north and to \u00c6thelred. Meanwhile he besieged the stronghold. His warband couldn't guard both entrances on their own without the danger of being overcome by a sally, so he called out the fyrd to reinforce his warband and sat down to wait.\n\nFor a time nothing happened and it began to look as if he might have to starve Anson out. That being the case, he could only hope that his arrival had been unexpected and that there was only enough food already in the store huts to last for a month or so.\n\nIn the end he didn't have to wait as long as that. Kenric and the ealdormen of Lothian had only just joined him with several hundred more men when a messenger from \u00c6thelred arrived. The missive was addressed to Anson and the man read it out at the top of his voice before the main gates.\n\n'To the Thegn Anson and all occupants of the fortress known as Bebbanburg,' he began pompously. 'The fortress and all of Islandshire now belongs to Ealdorman Edmund, by the will of King Eanred. All those who continue to oppose the decision of the king and his vice-regulus, \u00c6thelred the \u00c6theling, one hour after the reading of this proclamation will be deemed traitors and their lives shall be forfeit, as shall the lives of any sons over the age of fourteen. The rest of their families will be sold as slaves.\n\nBy God's grace,\n\nEanred, King of Northumbria.\n\nThe messenger rolled up the scroll and put it back inside the leather cylinder before handing it to Edmund.\n\n'Let's hope that works, lord. I wouldn't want to be the one to have to assault that place,' he said as he went to wash and get something to eat.\n\nEdmund, Kenric and the other nobles waited patiently but there was no sign of the gates opening after the passage of what they estimated was most of the allotted hour. Then Bishop Eanbert arrived from Lindisfarne with three monks.\n\n'It's good to see you back where you belong, my boy,' he greeted Edmund, nodding to the other ealdormen before raising his right hand to bless them.\n\n'Not yet, Eanbert. Anson seems determined to hold Bebbanburg against me.'\n\n'Hmmm. Let's see what I can do to change his mind.'\n\nThe bishop strode towards the gates and halted well within bow range before raising his staff topped with a golden cross. His monks gathered around him holding bell, book and candle - the accoutrements necessary for the act of excommunication.\n\n'Anson, you have sworn an oath before God and the king that you would relinquish these lands and return to the vill from whence you came. By denying the rightful ealdorman entry to this stronghold you have broken your sacred oath,' he began. 'Unless you repent I shall be forced to pronounce a sentence of excommunication upon you, your family and all those who assist you in your rebellion. As you will also be sentenced to death, you will be executed unshriven and will go to Hell.'\n\nThe bishop paused for a moment.\n\n'To all those within the walls, you can only save yourselves if you immediately repent and throw open the gates.'\n\nAfter another pause he continued.\n\n'Very well, I am forced to commence the act of excommunication.'\n\n'Bishop, I'm not certain that Anson understands what excommunication means; indeed I'm not sure that I do,' Edmund muttered in his ear.\n\n'Really? It means that a person or persons are no longer members of the Catholic Church, they may not partake of the body and blood of Christ during mass, nor marry or receive a Christian burial. They are outcasts. It is a sanction more prevalent in the Eastern Church than in the West, but even our blessed Saint Columba was excommunicated in 562 for allegedly praying for the help of Christ for one side in an Irish War. The sentence was later lifted, of course.'\n\n'I see; perhaps you could explain what it means in more detail to Anson and his men, so that they understand the full import of the penalty that they are about to suffer.'\n\nThe bishop did so in graphic terms and almost immediately afterwards they heard the faint sounds of a fierce argument coming from the other side of the main gates. A little while later the massive oak gates swung open and Anson rode out with a man carrying his banner flying above his head.\n\nHe glared at both Bishop Eanbert and Edmund before bowing his head stiffly.\n\n'Bebbanburg is yours, boy. Allow me time to prepare and we will vacate the place within the hour.'\n\n'You will call me lord, Thegn Anson,' Edmund said impassively. 'You may have your hour, but no longer.'\n\nAnson stiffened but said nothing further. Just over an hour later he departed followed by his warband. The exodus continued for some time with carts piled high with possessions bringing up the rear.\n\nEdmund walked into his old home and wept at the destruction left behind by Anson and his men. The furniture had been broken up and the grain and other foodstuffs spoiled. Many had evidently defecated in his hall. Even the wine barrels had been broached and their contents spilled. He was only thankful that no one had thought to pollute the two wells.\n\nNo one remained in the place. Even the lowest slave had been taken with him by Anson.\n\nEdmund fought to contain his fury and to think clearly. He had counted less than forty warriors with Anson, many more than he would be able to afford as a thegn. They would be seeking new masters before long no doubt and he wondered whether they would fight for Anson.\n\n'How many riding horses are there in the settlement?' he asked Ordric, the thegn of the local vill.\n\n'Perhaps a dozen, lord, why?'\n\n'I want them rounded up now. I'll pay for their hire of course.'\n\n'What are you going to do?'\n\n'Get Anson to return and clear up this mess and to give me back the slaves that belong here.'\n\n'With a dozen men?'\n\n'I'm sure that they'll be enough,' he replied grimly."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "As Ragnar's ships sailed into the fjord that led to Bohus he could see the smoke rising from several places inland from the fjord. He ground his teeth in anger. Eystein Beli would pay dearly for this.\n\nIn fact the King of Uppsala had been too old and infirm to conduct the war against Alfheim himself, so his army was commanded by H\u00e1kon, his nephew and the son of the dead Osten. He had been fourteen and too young to accompany his father as a warrior when he left to attack Paris. Now he was sixteen and he was determined to wreak vengeance on the man he blamed for his father's death.\n\nHis fleet had landed on the same beach that Ragnar had used all those years before when he had captured Alfheim. Like Ragnar before him many years previously, H\u00e1kon found the fortress at Bohus too formidable to capture by direct assault. He therefore left men to besiege it whilst he and his army lay waste the surrounding farms and settlements.\n\nRagnar's forces were depleted after Paris and the bondis living in Alfheim were dispersed, having been caught unawares by H\u00e1kon's attack. Nevertheless, he had more than enough warriors to deal swiftly with the Swedes left to continue the siege of the stronghold.\n\n'What will you do with the prisoners?' Bjorn had asked excitedly after the fighting was over.\n\nHe'd been upset at being left aboard his father's drekar under the care of Leofstan, now its captain, but he had been allowed to go to find Ragnar as soon as it was safe to do so. He had set off at a run like a young colt through the dead and dying, pausing only to thrust his dagger into the neck of any Swede who still showed any sign of life.\n\n'I'm not sure you should be here, Bjorn. There are still Swedes wounded but alive who would kill you given half a chance.'\n\n'Not any more, father. I killed half a dozen of them on my way to your side.'\n\nRagnar laughed and ruffled his son's hair.\n\n'Spoken like a true Viking.'\n\n'Now I'm blooded, can I be a warrior?'\n\n'No, Bjorn. You're only nine and it's a very different matter facing a fully armed man. He wouldn't care how young you are and you'd be dead within minutes. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up; your time will come soon enough.'\n\nBjorn pointed to the dejected group of Swedes who'd surrendered.\n\n'Can I have one of them as a thrall, father?'\n\n'I need to chase down the rest of the Uppsalan invaders, Bjorn. I can't afford to take prisoners; they are all to be hanged.'\n\n'Even the boys?'\n\nRagnar sighed. He didn't like killing children but even they would be a liability when he marched inland to confront the main Swedish army.\n\n'Very well. If there is a suitable boy your age or younger, you may take him as your thrall, but you are responsible for him. If he gives any trouble it will be you who has to kill him.'\n\n'I understand. Thank you.'\n\nThere were several boys with the Swedes, mainly ship's boys but one was eight, the son of a jarl who'd been brought along to witness what his father had thought would be an easy campaign with little danger. It's what H\u00e1kon had told him, naively thinking that Ragnar would be too weak after the debacle of Paris to oppose his invasion in any strength.\n\n'What's your name, boy,' Bjorn asked him.\n\nThe lad looked down at the ground and refused to answer, so Bjorn pulled out his dagger and pressed the point up under the young Swede's chin. A thin trickle of blood ran down his neck and he was forced to look up into Bjorn's eyes.\n\n'I asked you a question. Now stand up. You'll either answer me of I'll kill you.'\n\nThe boy licked his lips nervously and carefully climbed to his feet looking Bjorn in the eye the whole time. Bjorn kept his dagger at his throat and, inevitably, the point drew a little more blood as he got up.\n\n'I'm Erling,' he said reluctantly. It meant son of a chief.\n\n'And are you the son of a jarl?'\n\n'Yes, my father died during the fighting. He was Jarl of \u00d6stra Aros, to the south west of Uppsala itself.'\n\nBjorn could see that Erling was trying hard to stop from crying over the loss of his father. He pulled the point back from the young Swede's neck, but kept the blade pointing at him, whilst he took his upper arm in a firm grip and led him away from the other captives. Ragnar watched with approval. It seemed that his son had a head on his shoulders wiser than his years would indicate.\n\n'Now, Erling, I'm going to give you a choice. You can become my personal thrall and serve me faithfully, or I'll kill you with this dagger now. I'll try and make your death as painless as possible but I can't promise it won't hurt. Now which is it to be?'\n\n'I'd rather die than serve Norse scum like you,' Erling said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.\n\n'Very well, your choice.'\n\nHe went to stab the boy in the neck but Erling ducked and the blade went over his head. He tried to run but his hands were tied and it didn't take Bjorn more than a few seconds to catch him and kick his legs from under him.\n\nRagnar's son flipped the winded boy onto his back and knelt either side of his torso, pushing the blade into his neck again.\n\n'You're a fool. What did you think you were doing? Trying to escape? Now, I'll give you one last chance. Become my thrall or die.'\n\nErling broke down in tears, all the fight knocked out of him.\n\n'I'll serve you.'\n\n'I'll serve you, lord,' Bjorn corrected him, pressing the point a little further into the Swedish boy's neck.\n\n'I'll serve you, lord.'\n\n'Right, get up so I can cut your hands free. Then you can strip off those fine clothes and go and wash in the fjord. I'll find you something more appropriate to wear as befits your new station in life.'\n\n'You trust me not to try and escape?' Erling asked as his hands were freed.\n\n'Yes, you've given me your word and, besides, runaway thralls die a long and painful death.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "It didn't take Edmund long to catch up with the slow moving column, but he rode past the carts and the people on foot, ignoring them as they scuttled to the side of the road. However, when he reached the front of the line of people on foot he found just five mounted warriors and no sign of Anson.\n\n'Where is he?' he barked at the man at the head of the dejected procession.\n\n'He's abandoned us, lord. He said that he couldn't afford to keep so many servants and warriors now that he only had the income from his vill to sustain him. He took his family and ten warriors with him, along with two chests of silver strapped to a packhorse.'\n\n'What made you decide to stay with the servants? And where are the other warriors?'\n\nThe man shrugged. 'I don't know where the others have gone, probably to seek service elsewhere, but we are heading for Hexham to see if the abbot will employ us. The servants and slaves followed us, but I'm not sure why.'\n\n'I see. Very well; I'll offer you employment if you swear to serve me loyally. If anyone breaks that trust he will hang.'\n\nAll five warriors immediately sat taller in the saddle and assured him that they would be faithful to him.\n\n'Good; but you will swear an oath before Bishop Eanbert when we return to Bebbanburg. Meanwhile you can tell these people that they are to return to the fortress. I'll forgive them if they clear up the mess that was left behind'\n\n'You are not coming with us, lord? How will the garrison know that we are now your men?'\n\n'I'll send one of my warband with you to inform them. Now, in which direction did the other warriors head?'\n\n'Due south, lord.'\n\n'Hmmm, it sounds as if they might be heading for Eoforw\u012bc.'\n\n'That makes sense, Edmund,' Cynewise said, speaking for the first time. 'The word is that \u00c6thelred is hiring mercenaries, though I've no way of knowing if that's true or not.'\n\n'Why would he be hiring? Mercenaries are expensive and I'm not aware that he is planning war.'\n\nThe leader of the five former members of Anson's warband, a man called Aldin, coughed politely to attract Edmund's attention.\n\n'I believe that it's R\u00e6dwulf of Cumbria who is hiring men, lord. He wants to build up his forces because he's still threatened by Strathclyde and the Norse invaders.'\n\n'Then surely they would have headed west, not south?' a puzzled Edmund asked.\n\n'I've heard that R\u00e6dwulf is at Eoforw\u012bc at the moment, conferring with \u00c6thelred,' Aldin explained.\n\n'Thank you. How much of a head start do they have?'\n\nAldin looked up at the sun's position. Although it was hidden behind a wispy cloud at the moment he could still make out its position in the sky.\n\n'Probably about three or four hours, lord, but they weren't moving in a hurry. They will need to hunt game or gather wild fruit as they travel if they want to eat this evening. Anson took all the supplies with him.'\n\n'Then I suggest that you halt here and do the same. You can retrace your steps to Bebbanburg tomorrow.'\n\nIt took Edmund two days to find the other thirty former members of Anson's warband. When he did they were only too willing to exchange the uncertainty of being recruited by R\u00e6dwulf for guaranteed employment by Edmund, especially as a few of them had women and children they'd been forced to abandon. Mercenaries might attract camp followers but they weren't encumbered by families as a general rule.\n\nNow Edmund had enough men to garrison his stronghold and fully man his longship. It was a start, but he would need to recruit many more warriors, train them to fight at sea and build more longships for them to crew. It would take a long time before he was ready to tackle even a small flotilla of Viking raiders.\n\n[ The Land of Ice and Fire ]\n\n[ 847 ]\n\nRagnar stood at the prow of his drekar with the wind blowing his greying hair around his face as the ship ran down the far side of another huge wave. It struck the bottom of the trough and the spray from the impact stung his exposed skin as the ship shook itself free and started to climb up the next huge wave.\n\nThe water streaming down the king's face was icy cold, but he relished it. His small fleet had left Orkneyjar four days previously, having been told that it normally took around a week to complete the journey to Sn\u00e6land, where Aslaug had fled with her daughter, \u00c5l\u00f8f, or so it was said.\n\nRagnar had been undecided which old score to settle first \u2013 revenge on his former wife for betraying him, or on Edmund of Bebbanburg for the death of his only son with Lagertha. She had urged him to kill Edmund first but his jarls and their men were exhausted after the war to conquer Uppsala and so he resolved to find Aslaug first.\n\nThe voyage to the island of Sn\u00e6land, called the land of ice and fire by some, was taking longer than he'd hoped. Space on a longship with a full crew was limited and normally they only carried provisions and water for a few days. By the end of the first week out from Orkneyjar both food and drinking water were running low and there was still no sign of land.\n\nTheir course was north-west and so they had been able to use the wind from the south-west much of the way. It had died on the third day, but the following morning a cold wind from the north-east began to blow, increasing in strength hour by hour until the ship was flying along, heeled over and powered by the fully reefed mainsail.\n\nJust when Ragnar thought that they would have to lower the sail and start to row to keep the ship heading into the violent sea, the storm blew itself out. They all breathed a sigh of relief and Ragnar thanked Ran for their survival. The storm left behind a heavy swell with scarcely more than a light breeze to fill the sail. However, the wind was now laced with snow and, increasingly, hail.\n\nAt first he couldn't see the other five ships that had sailed with him, even from the crest of the waves, but as the day wore on four hove into view. The fifth one never did reappear and Ragnar was forced to the conclusion that it had been lost in the storm.\n\nOn the seventh day they had to go onto half-rations, but at least they had been able to harvest the snow and ice to partially refill the water casks. As the sun rose behind them in the east the following morning a smudge on the horizon gradually resolved itself as a mountainous land with snow on the peaks, one of which was belching out fire and black smoke high into the air.\n\n'The Land of Ice and Fire,' Olaf muttered as he came to stand beside Ragnar in the bows.\n\n'Indeed, it has to be Sn\u00e6land. Where else could it be?'\n\nAs they approached the island from the south east they could see more of the dramatic landscape: steep cliffs topped by barren hills and mountains and wide sweeping sandy bays with a mixture of grasses and fir trees growing in the bottom of the valleys behind them. There was, however, no sign of habitation.\n\n'What do you know of this place Ragnar?'\n\nThe latter shrugged.\n\n'Not many have visited here. There was a trader I spoke to who told me that the first people to settle here were Irish monks who worshipped the White Christ. It seemed they sought a place of tranquillity away from the world where they could pray and meditate in peace.'\n\n'They sound like a load of old women,' Olaf scoffed.\n\n'When the Swede Gar\u00f0ar Svavarsson discovered the island a few years ago he killed or enslaved the monks but he didn't stay himself when winter threatened. One of his men, N\u00e1ttfari, stayed on with a few thralls. Word spread about this new land and, over the decade that followed, others followed, attracted by the prospect of free land. One of these was the hersir Ing\u00f3lfr Arnarson, the Norseman who fled here with Aslaug and her bastard daughter.'\n\n'It seems a large island,' Olaf commented as they turned west and started to row into the teeth of the prevailing wind.\n\n'The main settlement is at Reykjavik, just around the south-western extremity of the island.'\n\n'You think that's where we'll find Ing\u00f3lfr and Aslaug?'\n\n'If not, someone will know where they are. The population is no more than a couple of hundred, including thralls, or so I'm led to believe.'\n\nEven discounting the snekkja which had been lost in the storm, Ragnar had nearly three hundred men with him.\n\n'Do we plunder this place, Reykjavik?'\n\n'I have no quarrel with the Norsemen who have chosen to live here,' Ragnar replied with a shake of his head. 'I'm paying our men in silver, but we may well raid the west coast of Ireland on our way home,' he added with a grin.\n\nThe icy weather from the north had given way to more a milder climate as they rowed westwards along the coast. The temperature wasn't that different from southern Norway in the middle of May, although they were much further north. The main difference was the hours of daylight. Whereas nights in May were twice as long as the days at Arendal, here it was the other way around and, even then, the night time skies seemed lighter.\n\nTwilight was approaching as they rounded the point and hauled up the sail. They beached the ships for the night shortly afterwards. The next day Ragnar decided to go hunting to replenish their depleted food stocks before heading for Reykjavik.\n\nAlthough they scoured the land for five miles from the coast, they saw nothing apart from a species of white fox and a few rodents.\n\n'What in Odin's name do the people here live on?' asked a puzzled Yingvi after a fruitless morning.\n\n'I suspect that it must be fish. It's not animals at any rate. Let's head back,' another dispirited warrior suggested.\n\nGlumly the rest of the hunting party agreed and traipsed back to the ships.\n\n'We'll eat the rest of what we have and drink the last of the ale tonight,' Ragnar decided. 'We can buy more when we get to Reykjavik.'\n\n'Well, I hope so,' Olaf replied. 'But I suppose the people who live in this place must find something to eat.'\n\n'Probably fish and eggs,' Torstein the godi suggested. 'There are plenty of sea birds and doubtless there are fish in the sea.'\n\n'That's true,' Yingvi said. 'We've seen lots of dolphins and a few whales too in the last few days.'\n\n'You can't hunt whales in a longship,' another man scoffed.\n\n'Perhaps the people here have built ships which are better suited to doing so,' Ragnar suggested. 'Where else would they get the oil for their lamps from?'\n\nAs dawn broke the next day the bleary eyed Norsemen hauled their longships back through the surf and sailed onwards to the west. With nothing to eat they were beginning to get worried when the ship's boy up the mast of Ragnar's drekar called down that he could see huts dotted along the shoreline about three miles ahead.\n\nThe sight of the longships produced a flurry of activity in the settlement. At first the sight of three drekar and two snekkjur caused consternation. Traders normally arrived in one or two knarrs and occasionally a longship would call, but not a fleet like this.\n\nHowever, as the ships drew closer the absence of the fierce dragon's heads from the prow, signalling that they came in peace, reassured the men, women and children gathered along the jetty to watch their arrival.\n\nRagnar had noticed a dozen or so boats heading out to sea as they approached. Two seemed like small knarrs but with a lower freeboard and what appeared to be cranes mounted just behind the mast. The others were much smaller boats propelled by four oars aside. There was no mast, unlike most fishing craft, but some sort of structure was built onto the prow. Later Ragnar was to discover that these boats were used to harpoon and then tire out dolphins and whales before their prey was lifted aboard the larger craft.\n\nThere wasn't room for all five ships to tie up alongside the jetty and so two of them were beached further up the coast. The stench which hit Ragnar as he stepped ashore surprised him, then he noticed the mixture of guts, blood and oil that coated a slipway beside the jetty. Presumably this was where the dolphins and whales were butchered for their meat and oil.\n\n'Greetings stranger, what brings you to Reykjavik, and with so many warriors,' a tall man with a large belly asked him as Ragnar looked around.\n\nThe man was dressed in leather trousers and jerkin so presumably the settlers had some domestic animals.\n\n'I seek Ing\u00f3lfr Arnarson, do you know him?'\n\nThe man's eyes narrowed and he licked his lips nervously.\n\n'What business do you have with Ing\u00f3lfr?'\n\n'That's between me and him. Now where can I find him?'\n\n'We don't want any trouble, another, smaller man, standing nearby called out, eyeing the large number of armed warriors piling onto the jetty. 'You're speaking to him,' he added, nodding towards the other man.\n\nRagnar whipped out a dagger and thrust the point into the soft, puffy flesh under the large man's chin.\n\n'Is that so? Well, Ing\u00f3lfr Arnarson, let's go and find your whore shall we?'\n\n'Whore? I have a wife. Is that who you mean?'\n\n'Aslaug used to be my wife. My name is Ragnar Lodbrok.'\n\n'Aslaug? No, my wife is called Astrid. Aslaug some time ago with her daughter, \u00c5l\u00f8f.'\n\n'Died how?' he asked, still keeping the point of his dagger pressing into the jowls of the other man.\n\n'Look, she was never anything to me,' he said quickly, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. 'She merely sought passage here, no more. She paid some of the men to build a hut and lived there quietly with her daughter. She had money to pay for food, but in the winter she and \u00c5l\u00f8f used to cut a hole in the ice through which to fish. One winter the ice was thinner than usual and they both fell into the freezing water. Someone saw them go in but we never found the bodies.'\n\n'He's telling the truth,' one of the other men called out. 'I was the one who saw them fall through the ice.'\n\nRagnar felt deflated, although in a way the news had come as something of a relief. The Norns had deprived him the pleasure of confronting Aslaug, but at least he wouldn't have to tell Ivar and his other sons that he'd killed their mother.\n\n'When was this?'\n\n'This past winter.'\n\n'Very well. It seems our journey here has been wasted. We'll stay tonight and return home tomorrow, but we'll need to buy provisions from you. What have you got to sell?'\n\n'Smoked fish would be best.'\n\nThe prospect of eating nothing but that for ten days didn't appeal but it was better than starving."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "When they got back to the area where they had encountered the storm the sea was relatively calm and the sun blazed down on a deep azure sea. It would have been almost pleasant had it not been for the icy wind.\n\nAround midday the lookout called down that there was a group of islands on the port bow. As they came closer it looked as if there was one large island with two smaller ones to the south of it. The islands were mountainous but they were not nearly as high as those on Sn\u00e6land and none spouted out fire, but the landscape was less barren. As they got nearer they could see that there were a number of islands, not just three \u2013 perhaps a dozen in all.\n\n'What are they called?' Olaf asked Ragnar as they sailed around the coast of the largest island looking for somewhere to land.\n\n'I suspect that they must be the Faroe Islands. A few Norsemen from Orkneyjar are said to have settled here fifty years ago but no-one seems to know whether any of them still survive.'\n\n'Look, there are a few sheep on that hillside. Perhaps they brought them with them.'\n\n'Good. I could do with some real meat for a change. The only problem is finding somewhere to land.'\n\nRagnar was right. The coast seemed to consist of steep cliffs. Even when a stream flowed into the sea it did so as a waterfall. At one point the hills sloped down to the sea but the shoreline was rocky with no place for a ship to land safely.\n\nEventually they found an inlet with a shingle beach at the end. The ships' boys leapt ashore to moor their respective vessels to one of the large boulders that littered the shoreline. Several hunting parties set off to bring back sheep, both for that evening's feast and to cook and stow in casks for the remainder of the journey home.\n\nOlaf led the group from Ragnar's drekar as they ascended the steep slope out of the valley. Once they reached the summit they saw a small flock of sheep on the far side of a large shallow depression. They had thought the island was deserted, the original settlers having died out but, to their surprise, they saw a boy sitting on the hillside above the flock with a large dog by his side.\n\n'Not uninhabited after all,' a warrior called Porsi muttered to Olaf.\n\n'So it would seem,' Olaf replied before gesturing for his men to remain where they were.\n\nAs he walked towards the boy, the latter stood up and watched Olaf nervously. At one point it seemed that he would turn and flee but the dog's growl seemed to steady him. Olaf dropped his spear and unbuckled his sword belt, letting both drop to the ground.\n\n'We mean you no harm,' he called across to the young shepherd. 'Where do you and your family live?'\n\nThe boy pointed behind him and, evidently deciding that Olaf posed no threat to him, he stood calmly and waited for the man to reach him. The dog was still growling so the boy stroked his neck and said something to him. Whatever it was seemed to calm the dog and it lay down, never taking its eyes off Olaf.\n\n'We are Norsemen sailing from Sn\u00e6land to Orkneyjar. We need meat, can we buy a few sheep from you?'\n\n'Sn\u00e6land? I've never heard the name before but my grandfather came here from Orkneyjar a long time ago. But you can't have any of my sheep, we need what we've got to keep us fed.'\n\n'There are no other animals on the islands?'\n\n'No, none. Birds, yes. More than enough but their meat tastes awful. We eat their eggs though.'\n\n'How many of you are there?'\n\n'About twenty of us live on this island and perhaps another fifty in total on some of the other islands.'\n\n'If there are no wolves or other animals to prey on your sheep, why guard them?'\n\n'Because raiders come from the other islands to steal them.'\n\n'Ah, I see. But you knew we weren't from the other islands?'\n\n'Yes, everyone on the islands wears sheepskins like me. I've never seen clothes like yours before. How do you make a shirt out of metal?'\n\nOlaf started to explain but the look of incomprehension on the lad's face caused him to stop.\n\n'Look, we don't want to hurt you but we need some of your sheep and I don't want to kill you, so be a good boy and let us take a few, all right?'\n\n'You said you came in peace!' he yelled. 'You lied.'\n\nBefore Olaf realised what was happening the boy had pulled out his dagger and thrust it up under the hem of his byrnie and into his groin. Blood spurted down his legs as Olaf collapsed onto the ground. With a roar of rage the other warriors started to run towards the boy as he reached for a horn that lay where he'd been sitting. He put it to his lips and blew three long blasts. Then he turned and ran, the dog at his heels.\n\nHe was fleet of foot and the Vikings had no chance of catching him. Porsi gave up the chase and knelt by Olaf to take care of the wound, but it was evident that he was dying.\n\n'Curse this place,' he cried, tears running down his cheeks.\n\nLike all Ragnar's hirdmen he admired Olaf almost as much as he did Ragnar himself.\n\n'Two of you go back and let Ragnar know what has happened. Someone stay with Olaf until his body can be collected; the rest of you come with me.'\n\nThe boy had foolishly run straight back to his home, so it wasn't long before the dozen Vikings led by Porsi came across the collection of huts where the Faroese lived. There were few trees on the island to provide timber and so their dwellings were built of stone packed with mud to fill the gaps and had turf roofs. A dozen men and boys of various ages had already assembled clutching spears, axes and shields, whilst the women and small children ran away into the hinterland.\n\nPorsi and his eight Vikings didn't hesitate but, armed with spears and swords but no shields, they moved into wedge formation and descended on the Faroese. The latter had formed a shield wall but they were no match for Porsi's experienced warriors. Without hesitating Porsi and his men charged straight at the shield wall which, parted as they hewed their way through it, killing four settlers as they did so. The fight descended into hand to hand combat which the Vikings won without suffering more than the odd minor flesh wound. The only surviving Faroese was the shepherd boy; they wanted him alive so that he could be made to suffer for killing Olaf.\n\nIt took two days for Ragnar's men to scour the island and round up the women and children. Those who would be useful as thralls were bundled on board and the rest, including the younger children and old women, were killed out of hand.\n\nRagnar was distraught over the loss of his oldest friend and the boy who'd killed him was made to suffer, being slow cooked over a low fire so that his legs sizzled like roasting pork and then, when Ragnar was sick of his screaming, he cut open his belly and let his entrails spill out. It took another hour for him to die but, mercifully for him, he had lost consciousness when he'd been gutted.\n\nRagnar had extracted a brutal revenge for the death of his closest companion, but it didn't make him feel any better. He sailed away, his belly and the ships' casks full of mutton, but it was a poor exchange for Olaf's life.\n\n[ The Struggle for Supremacy ]\n\n[ 848 to 858 ]\n\nWhen he returned to Agder Ragnar was even more determined to kill Edmund of Bebbanburg. He had to pay for the death of Fridlief. However, that would have to wait. In his absence Eystein Beli had died and his nephew and successor, H\u00e1kon, had seized the opportunity presented by Ragnar's absence to invade Alfheim once more.\n\nRagnar drove the Swedes back across the border in the summer of 848 and went on to invade Uppsala, determined to kill H\u00e1kon; but the war reached stalemate and the Swedes re-conquered part of Alfheim before the year ended. In the following years the Norns favoured one side and then the other. Ragnar had finally recovered all of Alfheim in 853 but then Vestfold had entered the fray on H\u00e1kon's side.\n\nAided by the Danish Jarl Guthrum, son and heir of Grimulf, Ragnar had conquered Vestfold in 854 and H\u00e1kon sued for peace. The truce hadn't lasted. Once both sides had \u2013 at least partially \u2013 recovered from their losses in manpower and refilled their empty money chests by raiding far and wide, Ragnar launched what was to be his final assault on Uppsala in 857.\n\nThe following year the final battle took place just outside the sprawling settlement of Uppsala. By then Ragnar was approaching fifty and had slowed down to the extent that his sons refused to allow him to fight in the front rank. This had caused a blazing row between them and their father but, in the end, Ragnar had seemed to accept that his place was in the rear.\n\nHowever, when the fighting began he forced his way to the front, accompanied by the cheers of his men. His exasperated sons gathered around him, determined to keep him safe, but he was struck in the right shoulder by an arrow and was carried to the rear.\n\nHis men lost heart when their heroic king was wounded but Ivar and Bjorn rallied them and, assisted by the nineteen year old Sigurd Snake in the Eye on the right flank and his brother Halfdan, who was two years younger, leading the left, they managed to hold the line.\n\nWhen word spread that Ragnar wasn't badly wounded, his army surged forward and overwhelmed the Uppsalan Swedes. Bjorn killed H\u00e1kon and his men broke. It was only later that the truth emerged. Sigurd had spread the lie that his father only had a flesh wound. The truth was that the arrow had a barbed point and had carried steel, leather and linen deep into the wound. By the time that Bjorn, assisted by his servant Erling, had managed to cut the arrowhead out and cleaned the wound as best they could, Ragnar was feverish and delirious.\n\nHe kept asking for Olaf, but of course his old friend and companion had been ashes scattered on a Faroe Islands hillside for many years. As time went on the wound became infected and it was only Erling's insistence that they cut away all the putrefying flesh that saved Ragnar's life. Ragnar's delirium continued, however, and his fever got worse.\n\nThe situation was critical. H\u00e1kon might have been killed but there were other claimants to the throne of Uppsala and the King of the Geats to the south was known to be mobilising to take advantage of the power vacuum.\n\n'We need to act now to consolidate our hold on what we've gained, not just Uppsala, but Vestfold as well,' Ivar began, once the four brothers and the senior jarls had gathered in the king's hall at Uppsala.\n\n'Not only that, but several jarls were killed in the battle and they need to be replaced,' Lagertha added. 'Otherwise you could find dissention spreading throughout the ranks of this disparate army as men struggle for power. Strong leadership is needed to hold us all together.'\n\nShe was no longer the young shield maiden she had been when she'd been Ragnar's queen, but in her early forties she was still a striking figure of a woman.\n\n'Thank you, Jarl Lagertha. What you say is true but I suggest we need to agree on a leader to act on our father's behalf until he is recovered. That must be our immediate concern,' Ivar responded, earning himself a glare from Lagertha.\n\n'Fine, she said curtly. 'But then turn your attention to replacing the jarls. Two men have already fought over who is to replace one of them. As a result \u00d3laug is dead. Ragnar won't thank you for allowing that to happen.'\n\nNo one had been aware of the tragedy and the hall buzzed with concern over the news. \u00d3laug had been Olaf's eldest son and, as such, had been a favourite with Ragnar.\n\n'I'm sorry, we didn't know.' Bjorn was the first to speak. 'I agree that it is something we need to resolve here and now, once we have sorted out the question of leadership.'\n\n'Thank you, Bjorn.' Lagertha smiled at him, acknowledging his support, whilst Ivar scowled at both of them.\n\n'I'm the eldest and so it is natural for me to assume the role of king of all our father's territories until he is well again,' Ivar stated.\n\n'Do you think that's a good idea, Ivar?' Jarl Guthrum interjected before Ragnar's other sons could vent their disagreement.\n\n'Why? What do you mean?'\n\n'King Ragnar now rules a vast swathe of Southern Norway and all of Sweden apart from Kvenland in the north, which is sparsely populated, and the land of the Geats. The combined kingdoms are made up of diverse peoples - Gepids, Goths, Heruli, Rugii, Scirii, Vandals, Finns and the Warin \u2013 and is governed by nearly seventy jarls. Only his reputation as an outstanding Viking leader enabled him to achieve this. With all due respect, Ivar, you may be his eldest surviving son, but you are only twenty two years old and still have to make a name for yourself.'\n\n'I won the Battle of Uppsala after my father was wounded,' Ivar pointed out with some spleen.\n\n'No you didn't, Ivar, we all worked together to win that battle. Most importantly, it was Sigurd's quick thinking that steadied our men. He had the presence of mind to circulate the false story that father was only slightly wounded,' Bjorn said calmly.\n\nIvar subsided into a sulk, glaring at his brother.\n\n'It doesn't help if we fall out, Ivar,' Sigurd put in. 'Halfdan and I are too young to rule anywhere yet, so you and Bjorn need to agree how to govern father's old kingdoms and this new one. Whatever you decide, we'll help you.'\n\nIvar thought for a minute or two and, just when the silence was becoming uncomfortable, he nodded, as if having just resolved a conflict within himself.\n\n'We may have captured the capital of Uppsala and killed its king, but we are a long way from having secured the kingdom,' he began. 'It will take time and effort to pacify the rest of the country and, as Guthrum pointed out, we may face a threat from the Geats to the south of us and the Kvens to the north. Furthermore we will need to capture the \u00c5land Islands in order to dominate the Gulf of Bothnia.'\n\n'That's all true, but meanwhile we have been absent from our homeland in Norway and Western Sweden for too long,' Bjorn pointed out.\n\n'I'm coming to that. My proposal is that I return to Agder and take over the rule of our lands to the west whilst you remain here as the new King of Uppsala to consolidate our conquest.'\n\nThere was a great deal of detail to resolve, but in the end Ivar's proposal was accepted by the others present. He and Halfdan returned home with half the fleet, Guthrum went back to Denmark, and Bjorn was enthroned as King of Uppsala. Sigurd elected to remain with him to help him conquer the rest of Sweden. Ragnar was stretchered aboard his drekar and taken back to Agder. He was still delirious and feverish but the sea air seemed to do him good. Gradually he improved, but he remained very weak and he could scarcely move his right arm. Even if Ragnar eventually made a good recovery, it seemed as if his days as a Viking warrior were over."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "'What is it, father?'\n\nEdmund's daughter, Osgearn, was only nine but she could tell that her father was upset by whatever news the messenger had brought.\n\nEdmund had married Burwena, the younger sister of R\u00e6dwulf of Cumbria, in 848. It wasn't the love match that it would have been had he married Joscelin of Arras, but they were happy enough together. Their first child, a girl, had been born in 849 and she had been followed by another girl in 850, however the baby had died shortly after it was born. Burwena had been distraught and for a time refused to have another baby.\n\nShe had eventually relented and their son Ricsige had been born early in 852. It had been a difficult birth and, although she had agreed to try for another child, it would be a long time before they had one.\n\nEdmund didn't reply to Osgearn's question but he showed the letter to Burwena, who put her hand to her mouth and went white.\n\n'Why? Why would he do this?'\n\n'Because \u00c6thelred is ill and he seized the opportunity presented to him, I presume.'\n\n\u00c6thelred had been formally crowned in 854 when his father had eventually died, but he'd been the de facto king for some time before that. Now he was very ill and it was said that he'd lost his wits. The letter clarified the situation, but it wasn't good news as far as Edmund was concerned.\n\nBurwena handed the letter back to her husband and Edmund read through it once more. It had come from the archbishop, Wulfhere, who had succeeded Wigmund in 854.\n\nTo the noble Edmund, Ealdorman of Islandshire, greetings,\n\nAs you will be aware, King \u00c6thelred has been unwell since his horse threw him whilst he was out hunting three months ago. At first he could remember nothing but slowly his memory is returning, thanks be to God. However, it is the opinion of those members of the Witan who have been consulted so far that the government of Northumbria cannot continue for much longer without a strong hand at the helm.\n\nWe have invited the \u00c6theling R\u00e6dwulf to take the throne as he is nearest in blood to the present king. I regret that there wasn't time to call a full meeting of the Witan, but we hope that you will support the action that we have taken. \u00c6thelred will be moved to the monastery at Whitby where he can be looked after. In due course he may well decide to become a monk there, but time will tell.\n\n'R\u00e6dwulf is no more an \u00e6theling than I am,' Edmund said angrily. 'We can both trace our descent back to Ida, the first King of Bernicia, but only through the female line. I'm sorry, Burwena, but your brother is a usurper.'\n\n'I agree, but perhaps we should continue this discussion in private.'\n\nShe gave a meaningful glance towards Osgearn, who was looking tearful, and six-year-old Ricsige, who just looked bewildered.\n\n'What does this mean, father? Is Uncle R\u00e6dwulf now the king?' Osgearn asked.\n\nEdmund sighed. 'It would seem so. But don't worry about it. It won't change anything up here. Thankfully we are remote from the court at Eoforw\u012bc.'\n\nHowever, that was all about to change. R\u00e6dwulf had been \u00c6thelred's herer\u00e6swa, the most powerful position in the kingdom after the king and the archbishop, and that had given him the status and reputation to challenge for the throne. Now he had written to Edmund summoning him to Eoforw\u012bc and offering him the post of herer\u00e6swa. It was a logical decision. Edmund had some experience of fighting Vikings in Frankia and, as admiral, he'd had considerable success in reducing the number of raids on the east coast to a handful each year.\n\n'What will you do?' his wife asked when the invitation arrived.\n\n'I don't really have a lot of choice. We'll set sail for Eoforw\u012bc tomorrow.'\n\n'We?'\n\n'Yes, as herer\u00e6swa my place is at your brother's side. That means living at Eoforw\u012bc and travelling around the kingdom with the court. I don't intend to live the life of a bachelor so I'd like you to come with me, if you will, and the experience will be good for the children.'\n\n'Though I disagree with his usurpation of the throne, it would be good to see my brother again. Of course we'll come with you.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 70",
                "text": "Ragnar hobbled into his hall at Arendal leaning on a staff. He had made a good recovery but his right arm was crippled and he was still very weak. Every day he set off with determination to walk further than he had managed the day before but he was always exhausted by the time he returned.\n\nIt galled him that he was so feeble; made worse by the knowledge that Ivar and Halfdan were away raiding Frankia again. This time they avoided the area of the Seine, which was now well defended, and headed westwards to the peninsula called Brittany, where the Britons who had fled from the Anglo-Saxon advance into their homeland centuries before, had settled.\n\nAs soon as Ivar had sailed Ragnar had seized back the governance of Agder, Vestfold and Alfheim. He'd made those jarls who'd not sailed with his sons reaffirm their oaths to him as their king. He'd no intention of allowing Ivar to usurp his throne, even if it meant confrontation when he returned.\n\nHe had sent messengers to Bjorn to discover what progress he was making in Uppsala. He was pleased to hear that he had not only pacified the rest of the kingdom, but he was now engaged in a war to subdue the Geats to the south.\n\nHe wasn't worried about Bjorn, he had always been loyal, but Ivar was a different matter. He was ambitious and Ragnar had a feeling that his eldest son had secretly hoped that his father would die of his wound. He might not be able to wield a sword in his right hand anymore, but he could hold a shield with it.\n\nNot only was he walking as far as he could each day to build up his strength again, but he was training to fight left handed. His training partner met him in a remote spot on his walk where they had hidden two swords and shields. The young man, whose name was Ag\u00f0i, was another he trusted completely as he was another of Olaf's sons.\n\nRagnar knew that he would never be as proficient with his left arm as he was with his right, even if he fully regained his strength, but he believed that he would be able to hold his own in a fight against most warriors in due course.\n\nWhen Ivar and Halfdan returned that September they were greeted by the sight of their father standing tall and proud on the jetty waiting to welcome them home. Ragnar looked just as he had before the Battle of Uppsala apart from two things. His hair and his beard were no longer streaked in white, he was totally grey and, secondly, he wore his sword on his right hip.\n\n'Greetings, father,' Ivar called as the ship's boys jumped ashore to secure the mooring lines. 'It's good to see you looking so well.'\n\n'Thank you Ivar. I trust you came back laden with spoils? Next year it will be my turn to go.'\n\n'Go? Go where? Raiding Frankia?'\n\n'No, now that Uppsala has been dealt with, I am free to settle an old score with Edmund of Bebbanburg, the man responsible for your brother Fridlief's death.'\n\nBoth Ivar and Halfdan regarded their father sombrely. They worked well together and had got used to making their own decisions. Now that Ragnar had reasserted his authority they would be relegated to doing as they were told, something neither relished. Besides, from what he had just said, their father intended to go raiding next year whilst they stayed behind with the old men and the women. It was not to be endured.\n\n[ The Fall of Eoforw\u012bc ]\n\n[ Summer 858 ]\n\nEdmund had brought back four skeid from Frankia - the correct name for drekars which didn't display a pagan dragon figurehead \u2013 two of them were the original ships built by Thorkel and Ragnar at Bebbanburg decades before and he had kept one of those captured from the Swedes near Paris. The fourth had been built before he left and was the largest of all with space for seventy two oarsmen.\n\nIn addition he had built two smaller snekkjur back in Northumbria. The latter had twenty oars a side and needed a crew of fifty. Two more skeid were under construction and he hoped to have them in service by the start of the following spring.\n\nTo house them in safety he had constructed a fortified harbour at the mouth of the River Wansbeck some forty odd miles south of Bebbanburg. He had also installed a chain boom across the entrance and towers each side to defend it.\n\nThe five hundred warriors, sailors and ships' boys needed to crew his fleet lived in a hall near the harbour with another twenty warriors too old to do anything other than man the harbour defences. With the families of those who were married, tavern keepers, whores, merchants and artisans, shipwrights and labourers, the settlement's population topped seven hundred.\n\nThe whole enterprise cost a great deal of money to maintain but the king thought it was worth it if it kept the Vikings away. Unfortunately, not all his nobles, bishops and abbots, on whom the greater part of taxation burden fell, were of the same mind. Even with the support of the royal treasury Edmund still had to find a proportion of the cost.\n\nFrom the new port his longships patrolled the whole of the east coast. Usually three would head north and the rest south and spend two or three days at sea at a time. The patrols weren't infallible at deterring raiders but, after they had caught and defeated two snekkjur, hanging those of the crew who weren't killed in the fight, word soon got around. After that other Danish raiders \u2013 and along the east coast they were mainly Danes rather than Norse - chose the more vulnerable coastlines of Pictland, East Anglia and Kent to raid.\n\nHis new position as herer\u00e6swa took Edmund away from the sea and so he appointed Cynefrith as commander of the fleet with a man called Uxfrea as his deputy. One would command the northern patrol and the other the ships that covered the southern coast of the kingdom.\n\nUxfrea wasn't a universally popular choice. He was the son of a poor fisherman but he had proved to be a skilled sailor becoming in turn, helmsman, captain of a skied and now the fleet's deputy commander.\n\nLife was quiet for the first four months of R\u00e6dwulf's reign. The only ripple on an otherwise calm sea was the rapid recovery of \u00c6thelred at Whitby. Now that he had recovered his memory, he was apparently getting increasingly agitated by the usurpation of his throne, as he saw it, by his distant cousin.\n\n'I'm not quite sure what to do about him,' R\u00e6dwulf confessed to Edmund one evening during an all too rare visit to his former shire of Cumbria where his son was now the ealdorman. 'Many of the nobles and churchmen who were keen enough to support me during \u00c6thelred's illness now seem to favour his return to power. I fear my days are numbered unless I can somehow get rid of him. The increased taxation to fund your fleet hasn't helped, of course.'\n\n'You don't mean...' Edmund's words trailed off.\n\nHe didn't want to mention the possibility of assassination and, indeed, he was totally opposed to it. He liked his brother-in-law, but it was \u00c6thelred who had brought him back from exile and had re-instated him as an ealdorman, despite his father's opposition. Obviously Burwena sided with her brother and so Edmund's loyalty was divided between the two rivals. Whatever happened, he wanted \u00c6thelred treated with respect.\n\n'No, if I killed him it would be like prodding a wasp's nest with a stick. Others would seize the opportunity to accuse me, if only to make a bid for the throne themselves.'\n\nEdmund had a feeling that he was referring to two brothers who were also distant cousins of \u00c6thelred: \u00c6lle and Osbehrt.\n\n'The alternative is to exile him, I suppose,' Edmund suggested.\n\n'What? And give him the opportunity to raise an army abroad? I don't think that's a good idea.'\n\n'The only other option would be to keep him closely confined but treated well so as not to give anyone an excuse to raise trouble over his treatment. He could easily escape from where he is at the moment.'\n\n'Yes, I suppose you are right, Edmund. Thank you.'\n\nHowever, all thoughts about the troublesome \u00c6thelred were forgotten when, shortly after their return to Eoforw\u012bc, news reached R\u00e6dwulf that three of Edmund's longships had encountered a Viking fleet off Bebbanburg. As there were sixteen longships, Uxfrea had taken the sensible decision to return to their base in the estuary of the Wansbeck and leave the monastery on Lindisfarne to its fate.\n\nIn the face of a Viking army of around a thousand there wasn't much the garrison of Bebbanburg could do except alert the surrounding shires and call up the fyrd. By the time that sufficient numbers had assembled the Vikings had long since departed, leaving the burning and pillaged monastery behind them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 71",
                "text": "'What will you do now father?' Ivar asked as Lindisfarne faded into the distance.\n\nRagnar had intended to leave Ivar behind with Halfdan and Sigurd, but over the past winter he had become suspicious of his eldest son's ambitions. In the end he had decided to take him with him; better to keep him close than to allow him to make himself king in his father's absence. Halfdan would look after Agder and Vestfold and Sigurd Alfheim. That way neither would become too powerful.\n\nThey had sacked the monastery once more, but Ragnar still had no idea how to capture Bebbanburg. He stared at it malevolently as they sailed past it and wondered if Edmund was hiding behind its walls.\n\n'I think we'll see if the Norns still look kindly on us and attack the city they call Eoforw\u012bc,' he said in reply to his son's question.\n\n'Do you think that's a good idea, father? It'll be heavily defended,' Ivar said doubtfully.\n\n'Perhaps, but there is every chance that, by the time we get there, their king will have sent his warriors \u2013 or at least some of them \u2013 north in response to our attack on Lindisfarne.'\n\nEoforw\u012bc lay surrounded by marshland on the River Ouse. Ragnar's small fleet lay just over the horizon until after sunset and then, in the pale moonlight, his eighteen ships followed his drekar into the Humber estuary. An hour later they reached the confluence of the Ouse and the Humber and turned north. The area to the south of the old walled city was marshland and so their passage was unlikely to be detected until dawn. By then they had reached the small vill of Acastre built on the site of an old Roman fort.\n\nThere was a small jetty but it was only big enough to allow two longships to moor at a time. The river was quite wide at this point and so the rest of the Viking fleet moored two abreast in the middle of the waterway. Whilst a few ships patrolled upstream to prevent any passing boats from reporting their presence, Ragnar's crew landed and sacked the place, not that there was much plunder to be had. Captives for sale later as thralls would have been an encumbrance and so the unfortunate inhabitants were killed, even the small children, and their bodies were thrown down the well.\n\nAs darkness crept over the land once more the Viking fleet set off again. This time there was no moonlight to guide them. The sky was overcast and a light rain had been falling since mid-afternoon. As the surrounding land was flat and the swamp merged into the water in the gloom, some care was needed if their ships were not to run aground near the banks. Consequently Ragnar kept their progress down to a few miles an hour.\n\nEventually they rounded a bend and the beacons on top of the ramparts that surrounded the old Roman city appeared, illuminating the quayside between the river and the walls. Obviously they couldn't tie up alongside the quay as they would be seen. Instead the fleet was beached two miles or so short of the city, the keels squelching into the soft mud that lined the river.\n\nIt took a long time to disembark. The warriors, most wearing chainmail and helmets and carrying heavy shields, sunk into the mire and a few had to be extricated by their fellows. Even when they managed to get away from the riverside they found themselves on marshy ground. By the time that they reached dry land they were exhausted. At his age Ragnar was one of those who were practically dead on their feet, but he wasn't about to show it. He was everywhere, encouraging others in hushed tones and even pulling others along to help them through the mire.\n\nBy dawn they had reached a small wood near the walled city. From there Ragnar could see the dilapidated state of the eastern wall. It had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the four centuries since the Romans had left. Attempts had been made to patch it up but whole sections of it had been replaced by a timber palisade.\n\nInitially the Anglo-Saxons didn't have the skills to build in stone and so filled gaps in the original stonework with timber. Now that stone buildings were becoming much more common in England, the walls could have been properly repaired with stone blocks, but the fact that they hadn't done so worked in the Vikings favour.\n\nThe Vikings had spent the day quietly making ladders out of timber found in the wood. They did as little chopping as possible because of the noise involved and, in consequence, the four ladders that they'd made were very rough and ready; but they would serve.\n\nThe sun was obscured by clouds as it set in the west, which helped the Vikings as the night was pitch black when it came. The torches set at intervals along the east wall were more of a help to the invaders than a hindrance as it showed them where the walls lay without lighting up too much of the area below. The Vikings split into four groups, each with a ladder, and headed for one of the pools of darkness below the wall.\n\nThe first four men had gained the walkway along the top of the fortifications before the alarm was given and by the time that the defenders had reached the parapet, the Vikings had killed the sentries and taken possession of the whole wall.\n\nRagnar paused to regain his breath when he reached the top of one of the ladders and was pushed out of the way by Ivar, who had followed him up.\n\n'Let me past, old man,' his eldest son grunted at him as he ran to engage one of the Saxons who had just emerged from the steps leading up from the interior of the city.\n\nRagnar bellowed in rage and followed Ivar yelling for his hirdmen to follow him, not his son. By the time they had driven the defenders back into the city Ivar had disappeared, but Ragnar didn't have time to worry about him. He and the fifty warriors with him found themselves beset by over a hundred of the city's garrison. These weren't members of the fyrd but professional soldiers and Ragnar and his men found themselves hard pressed.\n\nThere were near on a thousand Vikings somewhere inside Eoforw\u012bc and he doubted if the garrison numbered more than a few hundred. It should have been a simple matter to capture the city, once inside the walls, but instead he was in danger of being overwhelmed.\n\nThe problem he realised later was that the place was a warren of tiny streets. Doubtless most of his men had found no-one to fight whilst other groups, like his, were fighting for their lives. It was something that Ivar would remember and use to his advantage a decade later.\n\nRagnar had an advantage in using his sword in his left hand. It was not something that an opponent was used to. However, that arm was now tiring and he'd already suffered a couple of minor wounds. He shook himself to drive away the fatigue which threatened to overwhelm him before moving to his left to fill a gap left by one of his hirdmen. The man had been cut down by a giant of a man wielding an axe and Ragnar guessed that he was a blacksmith; certainly there was no finesse or skill to his fighting, just the application of brute force.\n\nAs the man raised his axe once more to bring it down on Ragnar's left shoulder, the latter twisted away so that it struck the shield on his right hand side. The blow numbed his whole arm and split the lime wood down to the centre boss, where the axe stuck. As the giant struggled to free it Ragnar twisted back, jerking the man forward. As he did so he thrust the point of his sword into the man's right armpit, twisting the blade so that it cut through the muscles and severed an artery.\n\nThe arm was useless and blood was spurting everywhere. Still the Saxon tried to free his axe with his left hand until Ragnar pulled his sword out and thrust the tip into the man's throat.\n\nAs he fell away Ragnar looked for his next opponent but the men of Eoforw\u012bc were in full retreat. Later Ragnar learned that Ivar had killed their king \u2013 R\u00e6dwulf \u2013 and the heart had gone out of the defenders."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "The Vikings spent three days sacking and pillaging Eoforw\u012bc, but when his scouts informed Ragnar that an army over two thousand strong was approaching from the north and another thousand were closing in from the west, he decided that it was time to go.\n\nRagnar had wanted to sail north again and make one more attempt to capture Bebbanburg. His feud was with Edmund, not R\u00e6dwulf, and although it was satisfying to have killed their king and looted his capital, it was not what he'd come for.\n\nIvar and his men took a different view. They had plundered the king's hall, the monastery and the city and they had come away with a great deal of treasure as well as over a hundred captives to be sold as thralls. All they wanted to do now was to go home, regale their friends and families with tales of their exploits and celebrate their new found wealth.\n\nRagnar was king because men followed him. He couldn't persuade them to attack the fortress in Northern Northumbria again if they didn't wish to do so, still less could he order them to, so they sailed back to Norway leaving Ragnar's thirst for revenge unquenched for another year."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "As it happened Edmund wasn't at Bebbanburg when the Viking fleet sailed past on either occassion. He was at sea with all six of his longships, including the two new skeids, and four birlinns looking for Ragnar's fleet. He had to rely on some of his fyrd to complete the crews of many vessels, but they were rapidly becoming used to life at sea and could give a reasonable account of themselves in a fight. He had no illusions that they would be a match for an experienced Norse crew though.\n\nIt wasn't until they called in at Whitby that he learned about the capture of Eoforw\u012bc and the death of R\u00e6dwulf. Archbishop Wulfhere had managed to flee and was reportedly somewhere in Mercia, but most of his monks and priests had been killed or captured.\n\nEdmund sniffed. It sounded as if Wulfhere had been intent on saving his own skin and left his fellow clergy to their fate.\n\n'What will you do?' the abbot asked. 'The ealdormen have taken their warbands and those of the fyrd they could muster in time and marched south.'\n\n'They will be too late,' Edmund stated, shaking his head. 'The Vikings will have left after sacking the city.'\n\n'Perhaps you can cut them off at sea.'\n\n'I have ten ships of war in all, many of them smaller than a Viking drekar, and they have a fleet over twice my size. Furthermore, most of my men aren't as well trained as their warriors. It would be suicide to try.'\n\nAt that moment a gust of wind rattled the shutters that kept most of the wind out of the abbot's house. Edmund strode outside and looked at the storm clouds approaching from the west.\n\n'Unless we have our Lord's help, that is,' his said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. 'Abbot, pray for us and hope that we can locate the enemy ships.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 74",
                "text": "The storm drove Edmund's fleet eastwards under reefed sails at a fast pace. His problem was not so much overcoming the superior Viking fleet, but in finding them in the first place. The German Ocean was a vast stretch of water but the Ealdorman of Bebbanburg had a feeling that he knew the course that the Vikings would take if, as he suspected, they were heading for the entrance to the Skagerrak.\n\nThe scudding grey clouds obscured the sun but the wind was heading due east so, as long as he kept the pennon at the top of his mast pointing the same way as his bows, he was confident that he was heading in that direction too. The wind was strong but he had taken in one more reef than he had to for the conditions in order to ensure that the smaller birlinns could keep up. If his ships got dispersed it wouldn't matter if he found the Vikings or not.\n\nHe was losing hope that he would come across them before dark when the boy at the top of the mast called out that he could see two ships dead ahead.\n\n'No, there's more. I can see five now,' he called down excitedly.\n\n'Are they together?' Edmund asked, shouting as loud as he could to make himself heard over the wind.\n\nEven so the boy indicated that he couldn't hear him. Edmund realised that he was shouting into the wind and ran aft before repeating his question. This time, with the wind behind him, the boy understood him.\n\n'No, several hundred yards apart,' he replied, shaking his head as he clung precariously to his perch whilst the masthead dipped and sprang back.\n\nEdmund smiled to himself. He hadn't heard the reply but he'd seen the boy shake his head. The enemy ships were dispersed. That gave him a chance.\n\nOn the nearest Viking ship, a drekar with thirty five oars a side, there was no boy up the mast as lookout. Unlike Edmund's ships, who were flying before the wind with the waves behind them, Ragnar's ships were rolling as they made their way north east. Their masts were moving about so much it would have been suicidal for anyone to have sat up there.\n\nInstead the lookout was in the bows and he was concentrating on looking ahead and on maintaining contact with the rest of the fleet. The first he knew of the approaching Northumbrian ships was when his steersman spotted the yellow sails displaying the black wolf symbol of Bebbanburg just before they were lowered. As the sails came down the rowers ran their oars out. By that stage they were only three hundred yards from the closest drekar.\n\nBy this time about a dozen of the Viking longships were in sight, but they were scattered over a large area. Edmund knew that there would be more just over the horizon but they wouldn't be aware of the situation. Even those in sight but further off might have difficulty in seeing what was going on, given the poor visibility and flying spray.\n\nEdmund's captains knew what to do. They paired off, each heading for one of the nearest longships. They needed to capture them and sink them before the rest could come to their aid. It was risky but it would take the other Viking ships time to reach the Northumbrians, given fact that they would be rowing against the wind and the storm-tossed sea.\n\nEdmund's ships quickly reached their respective targets. Whilst his own ship ran down one side of the large drekar Cynefrith grappled his to the other side. The drekar had over seventy warriors on board but the combined crews of the two Northumbrian ships totalled a hundred and twenty, most of them warriors.\n\nEdmund led his boarding party onto the Viking deck as soon as the two sides touched. The Norsemen were experienced and hadn't made the mistake of leaving their oars out for too long. By the time that Edmund landed on their deck they had pulled in their oars and picked up their weapons and shields. However, there hadn't been time to don byrnies or helmets.\n\nEdmund found himself facing two Norsemen as he rose from the crouch he'd adopted on landing. One was armed with an axe and the other with a sword. He fended off the axe with his shield and blocked the other man's cut at his head with his own blade. As the axeman swung again Edmund ducked and slashed out at the man's legs, cutting into his left knee. With a howl the axeman collapsed onto the deck clutching his shattered patella.\n\nEdmund had scarcely time to draw breath before his other opponent thrust his sword at his throat. He jerked his head to the side as the Norseman's blade nicked the side of his neck. The man was slow to recover his balance and Edmund thrust the point of his own sword into the man's stomach. He followed up with a blow to the man's skull to make sure he was dead.\n\nWhen he looked around him he saw that his men and Cynefrith's had driven the Vikings back into such a tight group that most were unable to use their weapons. Five minutes later it was all over. Those of the enemy who had survived were thrown over the side to sink or swim. There was little time left as two other Viking longships were closing in on them.\n\n'Stave in the hull,' Cynefrith ordered as the Northumbrians made haste to re-board their own ships.\n\nAs they rowed back into the storm they saw the dragonhead on the prow of the drekar rise high in the air before it followed the rest of the ship down into the depths of the German Ocean. As they headed westwards Edmund looked around him. Four other Viking longships had been sunk and all ten of his fleet were rowing as hard as they could away from the six longships who were now pursuing them. The rest were either continuing on course for Norway or were still over the horizon.\n\nEdmund debated with himself for a few moments and then gave the order to turn and face the oncoming ships. It took time for the rest of the fleet to understand his intention as only Cynefrith's ship was within hailing distance. Even then his captain had trouble hearing Edmund's shouted orders. But within a few minutes every captain realised what their ealdorman wanted them to do.\n\nAs the six longships and the four birlinns turned and started to close on their pursuers the Vikings panicked. They had already seen five of their fellows sunk and they lost their nerve. Edmund watched as they tacked and turned back onto a north easterly course. He let them go, well satisfied with the day's work."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 75",
                "text": "The Witan was in uproar. The fall of Eoforw\u012bc and the slaying of King R\u00e6dwulf had shaken the whole kingdom. Recrimination was rife with various nobles blaming each other for what had happened. Even Edmund had come in for criticism for not doing more to fight the Vikings at sea. He had a feeling that only his defeat of part of Ragnar's fleet had saved him from being formally censured.\n\n'Quiet, silence I say,' Ealdorman Osberht of Loidis bellowed, struggling to make himself heard above the din.\n\nThe capital had moved to Loidis whilst Eoforw\u012bc was being rebuilt and Osberht was supposed to be chairing the meeting of the Witan. Archbishop Wulfhere banged the ferule of his crozier on the stone floor and Osbehrt drew his dagger and banged the hilt on the table in front of him. Gradually the staccato noise restored some semblance of order.\n\n'Thank you. This is getting us nowhere. We need to elect a new king as the first matter on the agenda. I submit that, as the senior \u00e6theling, I should be elected to the throne.'\n\nWhen the renewed tumult that greeted this announcement had died down Edmund stood up and quietly reminded the Witan that they didn't need a new king.\n\n'R\u00e6dwulf was my friend, but he was a usurper. \u00c6thelred is now fully recovered from his unfortunate illness and he should be restored to his throne.'\n\n'You only say that because you hope to receive favours from him,' \u00c6lle, Osbehrt's brother, sneered.\n\n'No, I say that because it's true. \u00c6thelred is our king and, by the sound of it, the only choice if we wish to avoid civil war between you and your brother.'\n\n\u00c6lle flushed at that. Both he and Osbehrt had put themselves forward as contenders for the throne. Everyone knew that they couldn't stand one another and both had already declared that they wouldn't accept the other as king.\n\nWulfhere got to his feet to support \u00c6thelred and Bishop Eardulf of Lindisfarne and the other senior churchmen did the same. After that the vote was a foregone conclusion and Edmund was dispatched to Jarrow, where \u00c6thelred now lived as a monk, to give him the good news.\n\n[ The Fate of Kings ]\n\n[ 858 to 862 ]\n\nRagnar had returned home to a mixed reception. Whilst those who had survived were wealthy by comparison to the average bondi, nearly three hundred men had been killed in the sea battle. On top of the fifty who'd died during the assault on Eoforw\u012bc; that meant a lot of widows and orphaned children, as well as parents who blamed Ragnar for the death of their unmarried sons.\n\nIt gave him another reason to hate Edmund of Bebbanburg. He had been on one of the ships over the horizon when the attack happened, but as soon as he'd heard from one of the few men rescued from the sea that the device on the sails had been a black wolf's head he knew who the architect of his misfortune was.\n\nBy now Ragnar was over fifty and he looked it. He was increasingly isolated. His favourite son, Bjorn, was ruling Uppsala and he rarely saw him. Ivar, on the other hand, made no secret of the fact that he thought it was about time his father handed the eastern kingdoms over to him. Halfdan did whatever Ivar told him and, although he tried to be loyal to Ragnar, he was no fool. His father's time on this earth was limited and his eldest brother was the coming man.\n\nAfter Bjorn, Ragnar was closest to Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, but he too was still in Sweden. Now that they were older, and perhaps wiser, it wasn't surprising that Ragnar turned increasingly to Lagertha for advice and support. She hadn't quite forgotten her antipathy towards her former husband but they had come to an understanding years ago. If the passion had died, they each respected the other as a leader and a warrior. In any case she shared his desire for vengeance. She also blamed Edmund for the death of her only son.\n\nHowever, for a few years Ragnar was content to stay behind at Agder in the summer months whilst Ivar and Halfdan went raiding. Their targets were the land of the Rus across the Baltic, Frankia and Ireland. Although they raided East Anglia and Kent once or twice, they avoided Northumbria - a fact which did much to restore Edmund of Bebbanburg's standing in the eyes of both his fellow nobles and King \u00c6thelred.\n\nHowever, Ragnar had not forgotten his oath to kill Edmund and wreak his revenge on Northumbria. In time his dead son Fridlief had grown in his affection as his feelings for his living sons diminished. Nevertheless, he had trouble in putting together a large enough expedition; especially as all the young men wanted to sail with the ever more successful Ivar.\n\n'I'm your king; I decide where and when we raid.'\n\nIt wasn't until the spring of 862 that events conspired to give him the chance to put together a large enough fleet.\n\nIn 861 Bjorn had finally come to an agreement with the Geats in the south. He then turned his attention to Kvenland in the north. After he had defeated them and killed their king he finally felt safe on the throne of Uppsala and Sigurd was able to visit his father at Agder. He brought five longships and two hundred and fifty warriors with him. However, when Ragnar invited him to join him and raid Northumbria, he declined, asking instead to be given Vestfold to govern. It was a blow, especially as Sigurd was the son he trusted the most.\n\nWith Lagertha and two other jarls, the old king managed to put together a fleet of a dozen ships manned by nearly eight hundred men. Against Edmund's fleet it should be more than enough and in April 862 he sailed for Northumbria once more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 76",
                "text": "When \u00c6thelred had returned to the throne in 858 he had forgiven all those who had deposed him when he was ill and set about reuniting the kingdom. He had improved the defences of Whitby and began repairing the Roman walls of Eoforw\u012bc. He had also agreed to pay for two more longships to replace Edmund's four birlinns.\n\nAll of this had cost money; money he didn't have, so he increased taxation which made him unpopular, especially with the Church and his nobles, on whose shoulders the burden largely fell.\n\n'I've had enough of being bled dry by \u00c6thelred,' Osbehrt complained to his wife one evening.\n\n'Well, what do you propose to do about it?' she replied tartly. 'You're always moaning about him but you do nothing.'\n\nHe glared at her and stabbed his knife into a piece of mutton, putting it into his mouth. She watched, noting with distaste the grease running down his chin. Theirs was far from a love match. She was the daughter of his richest thegn and half his age. The attraction for him had been a large dowry and the pleasure of bedding a young girl. Her father had, of course, been flattered by the offer of matrimony from his ealdorman.\n\nOsbehrt stabbed at another piece of meat.\n\n'I mean, all this tax goes towards defence against the bloody Vikings. What's the advantage for us? Loidis is as far from the sea as you can get; we're never likely to see a Norseman or a Dane.'\n\n'So, if you were king you'd abandon those who live on the coast to the depredations of the pirates, would you? That's hardly likely to make you popular with Edmund and the other ealdormen whose shires are bordered by the German Ocean.'\n\n'Bugger Edmund. Do you know he now has five hundred warriors which we pay to maintain? It's a bigger warband than that of the king himself. How is that right?'\n\n'But he keeps the Vikings away.'\n\n'So you say. He uses his damned longships to guard his knarrs as they trade with Frankia more like. He's filling his chests with gold and silver at our expense.'\n\nAlthough it was true that two of Edmund's longships did act as escort to his trading knarrs, they were ships he had paid for and maintained himself. The ships maintained by the royal treasury were only used to patrol the coast, but that was a truth that Osbehrt chose to ignore.\n\nIn March 862 a messenger arrived at Loidis to inform Osbehrt that the king would be visiting him for a few days in early April. Of course, he would be accompanied by the court and he would expect them all to be housed at Osbehrt's expense.\n\n'It's not to be borne,' he yelled at his long suffering wife. 'Not only does he tax us to death but now he expects me to feed his fawning courtiers and clerks and lay on a hunt.'\n\n'You are always saying that you wish you were king instead of him; well, now is your chance,' his wife said slyly.\n\n'What? You mean kill him whilst he's here?'\n\n'There is a wise woman in the town who sells poisons for the right price.'\n\nHe wondered how his wife knew that and, in truth, she'd been tempted to poison her oafish husband on more than one occasion.\n\n'Would you like me to pay her a visit?' she continued.\n\nIf she had to endure being married to Osbehrt then being queen would help; and it would make her father so proud of her.\n\nHe couldn't bring himself to reply so he just nodded and swallowed hard. What had he allowed himself to be talked into?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 77",
                "text": "\u00c6thelred's mysterious death was put down to a reoccurrence of the illness he'd suffered years before and, at first, nobody suspected poison. When the Witan met at Eoforw\u012bc in May the choice for his successor lay between Osbehrt and \u00c6lle. Neither was popular with their fellow nobles: Osbehrt was a self-indulgent oaf who few thought would make a good king, but his younger brother wasn't much better.\n\nOne or two knew that one of Edmund's ancestors had been the King of Northumbria for a short while and the fact that he was married to the previous king's sister helped his case. However, Edmund made it clear to those who'd approached him in secret that he had no wish to be a candidate for the throne. In view of what happened later his decision was regrettable.\n\nIn the end the Witan chose Osbehrt and \u00c6lle stormed out of the hall declaring that he would never swear allegiance to his brother. Whether he or another started the rumour that Osbehrt's wife had poisoned \u00c6thelred wasn't clear but, once the thought was planted in people's minds Osbehrt's reputation suffered a severe blow.\n\nIn August the wise woman was dragged before the shire court, now presided over by a new ealdorman who had replaced Osberht when he'd been crowned. He owed loyalty to the man who'd appointed him, but the old woman had confessed to supplying poison to the queen and there was nothing he could do but condemn her to be hanged.\n\n'What will happen now?' Burwena asked her husband as they stood together on the battlements of Bebbanburg watching three knarrs and their escorting longship sail towards Frankia.\n\nEdmund put his arm around her waist, pulled her closely to him and kissed her neck.\n\n'The Witan will be asked to depose Osbehrt and that evil bitch he's married to will be tried for regicide.'\n\n'Good! Hanging's too good for her.'\n\n'Oh, I doubt that she'll hang. She is the queen after all. No, my guess is that she'll spend the rest of her life as a nun.'\n\nEdmund's guess proved to be correct and in late May \u00c6lle was crowned. Osbehrt, following his brother's earlier example, refused to pay him homage and disappeared. When next Edmund heard about him he had taken refuge in Cumbria and was trying to raise an army to take back his throne.\n\nCivil war threatened but then something happened to take Edmund's mind off the brothers' struggle for power."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 78",
                "text": "Edmund's ten year old son, Ricsige, was visiting Lindisfarne with his mother and elder sister when the alarm bell was rung. The bishop had finally conceded that the monastery wasn't defensible and a fort had been built on top of the crag at the south-east tip of the island. It dominated the surrounding landscape and had sheer cliffs on every side. The only approach to the summit was via a narrow path cut into the southern face of the rock.\n\nAs soon as the alarm was given the monastery's treasures were piled into carts and everyone fled to the small fort. There weren't enough provisions to withstand any sort of siege and the only water available was what could be carried up the path in small barrels. However, it was only intended as a short term refuge until the fyrd could be called out to come to its relief.\n\nThis time Ragnar had every intention of waiting for the fyrd to arrive. The keels of three drekar slid into the soft sand of the bay below the monastery and the Vikings took their time looting the place as well as the farmsteads scattered over the island. He hoped that Edmund would see one hundred and seventy Vikings as a less than formidable threat and would come to the relief of the besieged fort with his warriors and the local fyrd.\n\nIf he did so, he would be walking into a trap as nine more longships lay just over the horizon waiting for Ragnar to light a signal beacon. It was unfortunate for Ragnar that Edmund was away at a meeting of the Witan at Whitby called to discuss how best to bring the renegade Osbehrt to justice. He also had a personal reason for seeing King \u00c6lle. The latter had written to him privately asking for his daughter Osgern's hand in marriage. She was now thirteen and, to Edmund's surprise, she hadn't been too averse to the idea.\n\nPerhaps the idea of being queen sweetened the pill of marriage to an older man, he mused. From \u00c6lle's point of view it would bind Edmund, and consequently the whole of the north east of the kingdom, to his side in his dispute with Osbehrt over the throne.\n\nEdmund had travelled down to Whitby on one of the three longships which patrolled the southern coast of Northumbria \u2013 so killing two birds with one stone. So when a knarr arrived with a messenger sent by the garrison commander at Bebbanburg, he already had one hundred and seventy warriors with him. It was fortuitous and bad luck for Ragnar.\n\nIt wasn't the only reason that the Norns appeared to be looking unfavourably on the Viking king. As Edmund sailed north making good progress thanks to a strengthening wind out of the west, further out to sea the rest of Ragnar's fleet were struggling to maintain position. When the rain arrived Lagertha, who'd been left in charge of the main fleet, decided that it was futile to stay where she was and she headed for the safety of the mouth of the River Twaid.\n\nHer fleet couldn't head directly there with the gale force winds pushing them westwards, so she headed north with the intention of turning onto a south-westerly course once she calculated that she had sailed far enough. The other longships followed her but, of course, they had little clear idea of what she intended.\n\nThe rain was now coming at them in horizontal sheets, making it difficult for those ships further out to sea to keep Lagertha's drekar in sight. After several hours, and with darkness descending, one of the other jarls had had enough and he changed his heading to head west. Let Ragnar continue with his campaign against Northumbria; he was going to head for the Continent and raid there instead.\n\nThe next morning, as the sun rose above the German Ocean to the east, Lagertha counted with dismay the ships who had made it to safety in the Twaid estuary. There were only five in total. Four had vanished in the storm. She didn't know if they'd been sunk or had deserted her; not that it made any difference. Ragnar's force was now reduced to five hundred men. The original eight hundred had been few enough when it came to capturing Bebbanburg and killing Edmund; now the task seemed impossible.\n\n[ The Final Battle ]\n\n[ August 862 ]\n\nLagertha decided that it was unwise to stay where they were. A sizeable settlement existed on the north bank of the Twaid a mile inland from the mouth and now armed warriors were gathering along the shoreline and making threatening gestures towards the Viking longships. Various craft were being assembled at the jetty and she knew it wouldn't be long before some fool decided to lead an attack on her ships.\n\nShe was confident of beating them off, but she would lose warriors in the process to no good purpose. She gave the order to haul up the anchors and the small flotilla sailed lazily out to sea, pushed along by a gentle westerly.\n\nOnce clear of the estuary the swell left behind by the previous day's storm made for a lively motion under the hull as the boys raised the sails and the ships made their way south east, back towards Lindisfarne. She needed to talk to Ragnar as she saw little point now in sticking to the original plan of ambushing the relief force. As their small army had been severely weakened it was stupid for their forces to remain divided.\n\nAll night Ragnar had worried about the fate of his other ships in the storm and, as Lagertha came in sight, his concerns grew. There were four longships missing and all had all been drekar with crews of seventy or more.\n\nRicsige stood beside a grizzled old warrior, one of a dozen who lived in the small fort on Lindisfarne. Like the others, the man was an experienced archer and so far they had managed to keep the Vikings away from the steep approach to the only entrance; not that the Vikings seemed that keen on capturing the place, which puzzled him.\n\n'Look,' Edmund's son cried with dismay. 'There are more Viking ships approaching from the north.'\n\n'Perhaps that's what these scum have been waiting for?' the archer said, spitting at the rocky ground below the palisade.\n\nAn hour or so later the newcomers beached their ships in the bay below the monastery and the crews joined their fellows in the camp that encircled the small fortress.\n\n'I hope help arrives soon or we'll be eating each other,' the archer said gloomily.\n\n'What do you mean,' Ricsige replied with some alarm.\n\n'Not literally, Ricsige. What I meant is provisions are running low. The storerooms only hold enough to feed this lot for a few days and the only water is in the barrels over there. They're nearly empty and even on half rations we'll run out of food in two days' time.'\n\n'Oh! My father is still away at Whitby and Godwine the reeve is too timid to do much.'\n\n'Except we saw a knarr leave Budle Bay and head south two days ago so hopefully your father is on his way back by now.'\n\nRicsige brightened up and anxiously scanned the sea to the south, but it remained depressing empty."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 79",
                "text": "Uxfrea was immensely proud of the trust that Edmund had displayed in him when he made him the deputy commander of the Northumbrian fleet. Those who had been captains for far longer had resented the appointment of the young man at first but, as time went on, they grudgingly admitted that Uxfrea was a good sailor, a fair commander and a doughty warrior. Not all accepted him, but the few that didn't were too few to pose much of a problem.\n\nHe wasn't a brawny man by any means, he was slim, shorter than most and had trouble growing much of a moustache. Few Anglo-Saxons sported a beard like the Vikings did, but most cultivated a luxuriant growth of hair on their upper lip which drooped down either side of their mouths. Uxfrea saved the problem by remaining clean shaven, which made him look even younger than his twenty seven years.\n\nHe might still be in his twenties, but his eyesight was deteriorating, not something he admitted to. When the lookout called down that three longships were approaching from the south he peered in vain in the direction the ship's boy had indicated but he could see nothing but a blur where sea met sky.\n\n'Can you make out the sails?'\n\n'No, they're too far away and, in any case their sails will be hard over to catch the westerly wind.'\n\nUxfrea felt a fool. He glanced at his own sail which was held almost exactly fore and aft so that the wind from the west pushed the ship southwards. Of course, it also meant that with only a shallow keel they made a great deal of leeway, but it was better than rowing all day.\n\nThe same would apply to the other ships, of course. They too would be crabbing out to sea. He needed to know if they were on course to intercept one another.\n\n'Where will their heading take them, to windward of us or to leeward?'\n\n'I'm not sure. Either way they'll pass quite close to us.'\n\nUxfrea thanked the boy and, as soon as he could make out the other ships, he had the sails on all three of his own ships lowered and the oars run out in preparation for a fight. The archers made for the bows and the rowers donned their helmets and leather jerkins. Few wore byrnies; they were expensive and the weight would drag even the strongest swimmer down into the ocean depths.\n\n'I can make out the sails now,' the lookout called out. 'They're yellow but I still can't see their device.'\n\nAt that moment the other longships lowered their sails but then the boy up the mast called out again.\n\n'They've got crosses on the prow, not dragons' heads.'\n\nUxfrea took a deep breath and released it slowly in relief. It had to be Edmund's flotilla. He was surprised though. He'd expected him to still be at Whitby.\n\n'You've not heard about the Vikings then?' Edmund called across once they were within hailing distance of each other.\n\nHe knew that Uxfrea was patrolling the northern half of the coastline but evidently he didn't know about the attack on Lindisfarne.\n\n'No, we've seen nothing except for a knarr on the horizon heading south two days ago.'\n\n'That must have been the one that brought the news to me. They've landed on Lindisfarne in force and are besieging Lady Burwena and our children in the fort.'\n\n'How many Vikings?'\n\n'Less than two hundred, or so I'm told.'\n\n'Then our combined strength of nearly four hundred should suffice.'\n\n'I hope so, yes, but the knarr has gone to fetch out the two birlinns to join us.'\n\nIt was unfortunate that the other two birlinns belonging to Edmund were away protecting his knarrs en route to Paris with a cargo of wool, weapons and jewellery.\n\nUxfrea rubbed his hands together in expectation of teaching the bloody Vikings a lesson. However, when they came in sight of Lindisfarne they saw eight longships on the beach. That meant that there were probably more like five hundred Vikings on shore."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 80",
                "text": "When Ragnar was told that a fleet of longships had been sighted at first he thought that the rest of his raiders had re-joined him but, when he climbed the rise to the south of his camp and looked out to sea he saw the yellow sails with their wolf's head. He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. Now at last he could settle his score with Edmund of Bebbanburg.\n\n'Is it him?' Lagertha asked as she joined him.\n\n'That's his device and, if he was at sea, it explains why no-one from the fortress over there has come to attack us.'\n\n'Man the ships!' he roared at the men who'd come to gawp. 'He mustn't get away.'\n\nRicsige watched with his mother and sister as the Vikings abandoned their camp and rushed back to the bay where their ships were beached.\n\n'I knew you'd come, my love,' Burwena said, almost to herself.\n\n'But father doesn't have as many ships,' Ricsige pointed out.\n\n'And the Vikings are more adept at fighting at sea,' Osgearn added.\n\nBurwena looked at her two children in alarm.\n\n'Yes, you're right. We must pray for him. God will bring him victory over the pagans,' she said piously.\n\n'Perhaps,' Ricsige muttered sceptically under his breath.\n\nHe was convinced that God always remained impartial when it came to earthly conflicts. Look how many times Lindisfarne had been raided by the pagans with no divine intervention to stop them, no matter how hard the monks prayed.\n\nHowever, it seemed that his father had no intention of fighting the Vikings at sea. As soon as the last drekar had been launched, the Northumbrian fleet went about and headed on a south by south easterly course back down the coast.\n\nWhen the last ship disappeared over the horizon it appeared that the distance between the two fleets was about the same as it had been when the pursuit had started. At least Ricsige hoped that was the case. He watched the empty horizon until his mother called for him to come down and get ready for the journey back to Bebbanburg.\n\nThankfully the Vikings hadn't killed the horses; presumably keeping them in case they needed them for a foray inland. A quarter of the livestock on the island had been slaughtered for food though; and once more the monastery would have to be rebuilt. Ricsige did wonder about the wisdom of keeping it in such a vulnerable place. If it was up to him he thought that he'd probably relocate it well away from the coast.\n\nHe mounted his pony and joined his mother and sister for the sixteen mile ride across the sands and back home around Budle Bay."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 81",
                "text": "Edmund stood beside the steersman looking aft at the Viking fleet just over two miles behind them. He could just make out the red and white striped sails with the black raven emblem on several of the drakar that confirmed his suspicion that he was facing his old adversary, Ragnar Lodbrok.\n\nHe turned and studied the land, trying to calculate where exactly they were. The coast was featureless at this point; just miles of golden sand with the odd streak of black coal dust and occasional outcrops of limestone. Behind that were low sand dunes with marram grass growing on the uneven ridgeline above the beach.\n\nHe was just beginning to worry because his rearmost ship was slowly being caught up by the two leading drekar, when the lookout called down that Coquet Island lay just ahead, fine on the larboard bow. He knew then where he was. His goal, the mouth of the River Tyne, lay some twenty five miles further on. If the wind held he estimated that they should reach Jarrow just as darkness fell. That was where his two birlinns would join him, giving him another seventy men.\n\nIt was a close run thing. The last of Edmund's longships tied up alongside the jetty at Jarrow just as the sun sank behind the hills to the west. The Vikings followed them, rowing into the mouth of the Tyne and up towards the monastery on the south bank, but then turned and beached their ships two miles downriver and on the opposite bank.\n\nEdmund strode along the jetty towards Siferth, the Ealdorman of Jarrow. He was a young man he was acquainted with, but who he didn't know that well. He knew his father rather better, but the old man had died a year ago and Siferth had succeeded him. After the usual greetings he asked him how many men he'd managed to muster.\n\n'In the short time available I've gathered three hundred of my fyrd in addition to my own warband of nearly fifty. How many do you have?'\n\n'Four hundred and twenty. Ragnar has some five hundred but they are all hardened warriors. Against them your farm boys and townsmen won't stand much of a chance. I suggest we leave them as a reserve. They outnumber our warriors so I'm certain that we will need many more men before we dare to face them in battle. Have you heard anything from King \u00c6lle?'\n\n'No, nothing. Why?'\n\n'When I left Whitby he was about to return to Eoforw\u012bc and gather his men before riding here.'\n\n'How long ago was that?'\n\n'Three days.'\n\n'Then I doubt he will get here much before the day after tomorrow, even if his men are all mounted. It'll take him a day to get back to Eoforw\u012bc and probably the best part of four days to travel north.'\n\nEdmund nodded his agreement before pacing up and down, lost in thought.\n\n'As I see it we have two alternatives,' he said eventually. 'We can retreat into the hinterland and hope that we can avoid being forced to fight until the king can get here, or we can attack the Viking camp tonight and hope that we can kill enough of them to even up the numbers.'\n\n'If we abandon Jarrow they will plunder the monastery and the settlement,' Siferth pointed out, chewing at his lip in agitation.\n\n'I'm sure that they won't do that until daylight. That gives you time to cart everything to safety.'\n\n'No. It doesn't. We only have a few carts. The library here is nearly as extensive as that at Whitby. It is full of priceless and irreplaceable books. We lost many of those at Whitby the last time it was raided and I won't let Jarrow suffer the same fate. There are just too many of them to move in a few hours.'\n\n'If the Vikings have camped on the north bank, then we might have time to ferry the library by ship down the coast to your associated monastery at Wearmouth. Of course, that will only work if we can slip past their camp in the dark.'\n\n'But Wearmouth is only six miles south of here. What's to stop them pillaging both monasteries?'\n\n'They will if we lose, but Ragnar is waging a blood feud against me because my men killed one of his sons years ago. I'm sure that he'll want me dead before he does anything else.'\n\n'Very well, but what about the people and their possessions?'\n\n'They will have to make their own way to Wearmouth. We don't have the ships or the time to move everyone with their valuables by sea. At least they can now make use of the carts. Then we'll see what Ragnar does tomorrow.'\n\n'He'll use his own ships to cross over but, with any luck, we'll be in position to oppose his landing. That might give us a chance.'\n\n'You've just given me an idea; whilst you supervise the evacuation here I'll take a few of my men and see what I can do to upset the Vikings' plans.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 82",
                "text": "Lagertha was with Ragnar and her fellow jarls discussing how to defeat the Northumbrians without losing too many men when the alarm was sounded. They had camped above the beach in an area of grassland and scrub. The rain from the recent storm had quickly disappeared into the dry soil and the area remained dry and parched. Because of the danger that the area could be set alight, the Vikings had dug a series of fire pits in which to cook their evening meal. The one problem they had was a lack of fresh water so they had to make do with what they had on board.\n\nThey had imagined that their campsite was secure with the river as a barrier between them and Edmund's forces. In any case no one thought that he would dare attack them. It was a serious miscalculation.\n\nWhat had caused the sentries to sound the alarm was the crackle of flames to the west \u2013 the direction from which a stiff breeze was blowing. Then a crescent of fire sprang up and smoke began to blow towards the camp. There would have been enough men to douse the flames but for two things \u2013 the lack of water nearby and the volley of arrows that came out of the darkness behind the flames.\n\nEdmund had split the ninety men he'd taken with him into three groups: one led by him, one by Cynefrith and one by Uxfrea. Whilst Cynefrith had been given command of the fire setters, Uxfrea had taken his group down to the beach to kill those left to guard the longships and set them adrift. That left Edmund with the archers.\n\nAs the smoke grew thicker the Norsemen illuminated by the flames disappeared, but Edmund kept his men sending volley after volley blindly into where the camp was. Eventually a few brave Vikings ran through the flames to get to grips with their tormentors. The first few were killed, but as more and more burst through, Edmund decided that the time had come to withdraw a little.\n\nHe moved back two hundred paces and joined up with Cynefrith's men. The sixty warriors now waited for the enemy to appear. They did so in dribs and drabs and were so intent on pursuing the Northumbrians that they were easy to pick off one by one. In time one of the Vikings realised what was happening and they formed a shield wall before advancing again; by that time Edmund and his men had melted away into the darkness.\n\nMeanwhile Uxfrea and his group had caught the warriors and the ship's boys left to guard the Viking fleet by surprise. They were so intent on watching the fire a few hundred yards to the north of them, and trying to puzzle out what the screams and shouting was about, that they forget that they too might be a target.\n\nMany of them stood, craning their necks, by the cooking fires on the beach. Illuminated as they were, nearly twenty of them died or were wounded by the first volley of arrows. A second volley followed but that caused fewer casualties. Nevertheless many of the thirty six ship's boys were casualties and even the wilier warriors lost nearly half their number.\n\nThey were still scrambling for their shields and weapons when Uxfrea led his men into their midst. The remaining men and boys gave a creditable account of themselves, but they were unprepared and demoralised by the unexpected attack. Although numbers on both sides were equal, ship's boys were no match for the Northumbrian warriors and many died in the first ten minutes, leaving Uxfrea's men with an advantage in terms of numbers.\n\nBefore long the remaining Vikings were surrounded and, though a few tried to surrender, no prisoners were taken. The sounds of the skirmish on the beach must have reached the main camp, but they had their own problems and no one came down to investigate until it was too late.\n\nBy then Uxfrea's men had cut the anchor ropes and pushed the longships, one at a time, out into the river. It carried the ships along with the ebbing tide until they disappeared into the darkness. Two of them ran aground on the far shore near the entrance to the estuary but the others were carried out to sea. The Vikings might be able to recover some of them, given time, but Edmund only needed them out of action for two or three days at most. His aim was to maroon the Vikings on the north bank of the river.\n\nA little later Uxfrea met up again with the other two groups and they crossed back to the south bank in one of Edmund's longships.\n\nThe next morning a furious Ragnar strode along the river bank until he was opposite Jarrow Monastery. Edmund had drawn up his men in front of the buildings to taunt Ragnar. His ships were moored alongside the jetty but he was certain that they were safe there. Ragnar might try sending swimmers across to try and cut them out but, after Paris, Edmund was well aware of that danger and had placed a strong guard on each of them.\n\nThe Vikings took their revenge out on the nearby settlement and a few farmsteads, much to Siferth's dismay, though it was hardly unexpected. Edmund and Siferth had succeeded in buying a little time, but at a cost. However, buildings could be replaced. The nearest crossing place was at Wylam and so, whilst messengers headed off to find \u00c6lle and appraise him of the situation, the small army led by the two ealdormen set off westwards along the south bank of the Tyne."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 83",
                "text": "The ford upstream at Wylam was a good day's march from the mouth of the river for men on foot. It took until the middle of the afternoon for Ragnar's men to finish pillaging what they could find and consequently they didn't get far upstream before nightfall forced them to camp. This time they set more sentries and patrolled further out from the camp, but they were left in peace.\n\nThe Northumbrians had arrived opposite the vill of Wylam on the north bank several hours before the Vikings were expected. That gave them time to construct a concave earth rampart topped by wicker breastworks to give their archers protection. It was designed to block off the exit from the ford and make it into a killing area. To hinder their passage through the water, Edmund's men sank sharpened stakes into the bed of the ford.\n\nWhen the Vikings hadn't put in an appearance by mid-afternoon Edmund began to worry.\n\n'We should send scouts out to find them,' Cynewise suggested.\n\nEdmund looked at Siferth, who nodded his agreement.\n\n'Did you find them?' Siferth asked the scouts when they returned, just as dark was falling.\n\n'No, lord. We found their trail though; it wasn't difficult to see the marks left by so many men. They by-passed the ford a mile north of Wylam and carried on to the west.'\n\nEdmund and Siferth looked at each other in consternation. Their plan had been to hold them at the ford until the king came up to support them. Now they had no idea where they were, and \u00c6lle was heading for the wrong place."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 84",
                "text": "Ragnar was still furious about the surprise attack on his camp but that didn't affect his cunning and tactical ability. He'd guessed that his enemy would plan to hold the ford at Wylam against him, so he'd pressed on to the west making for the next ford some eight miles further on. By the time that Edmund had realised that he'd been tricked he would have crossed to the south bank. With any luck he'd catch the Northumbrians by surprise.\n\n'The men aren't happy,' Lagertha told him that night as they camped, ready to cross the ford at dawn.\n\nRagnar had been so focused on his vengeance against Edmund that he hadn't noticed how disgruntled his followers were. He supposed that it wasn't surprising, given the fact that they'd lost their ships, also losing the little plunder they'd taken from Lindisfarne. Moreover they were hungry. They'd moved at such a fast pace that there had been little time to hunt animals and the fruit, berries and the like that they had managed to gather weren't food fit for warriors.\n\n'I suppose I'd better talk to them then,' he muttered.\n\nHe wandered from camp fire to camp fire for the next four hours, sitting and talking to individual groups. He reassured them that, once they'd defeated the Northumbrians they would take their ships and, not only collect the plunder they'd taken from Jarrow, but carry on down the coast raiding and killing.\n\nIt was what his men needed to hear and, by the time he dropped off into a dreamless sleep, Ragnar was confident that he'd restored his warriors' morale.\n\nThe next day it took little more than an hour for the five hundred Vikings to cross over to the south bank of the Tyne. They were now eager to get to grips with Edmund's army, slaughter them and seize Edmund's longships. A Viking without a ship was like a fish out of water.\n\nThey reached the defensive works opposite Wylam in the early afternoon but found them abandoned. They lost time crossing back over to pillage the settlement but it didn't yield much in the way of plunder, and what they did find they had to carry, so all it did was to slow them down. As they left, heading east on the south bank, two scouts watched them leave from a low rise a few hundred yards to the north of the river. As the dust cloud which marked the passing of the Norsemen disappeared in the distance, they mounted their horses and splashed across the Tyne heading south.\n\nThat night Ragnar and his men camped halfway between the ford at Wylam and Jarrow. They were tired and hungry, but they looked forward to plundering the rich monastery the next day and that made up for much."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 85",
                "text": "\u00c6lle halted at the old Roman fort at Concangis for the night. It was situated on a high bluff, overlooking the valleys of the River Wear to the east and the Cong Burn to the north. From there it was only fifteen miles to Wylam, a distance he and the two hundred horsemen he had with him could cover in a few hours. However, he didn't know whether to delay his advance until the rest of his men on foot could catch up, or press on to the River Tyne at dawn the next day.\n\nIt was dark by the time that Edmund's two scouts found him. They had taken something of a gamble that he would be there, but it seemed the logical place to stop overnight. The hall of Heremond, the Ealdorman of Weardale, was located there and the old ramparts and palisade, much repaired, would provide protection for the king's forces.\n\n'Where does Lord Edmund propose to make his stand against the Norsemen?' \u00c6lle asked, once he had been told the latest situation.\n\n'At the mouth of the River Derventio, where it runs into the Tyne, Cyning,' the elder of the two scouts replied. 'There is a stretch on the east bank about seven hundred yards long between the Tyne in the north and extensive marshy ground to the south.'\n\n'And how wide is this Derventio?'\n\n'Not wide, Cyning, perhaps fifty yards?'\n\n'Ummm. Is it deep then?'\n\n'It varies, as it's tidal at that point. At the moment with no rain to feed it for a while it's probably knee deep at its shallowest and chest deep at high tide.'\n\n'Thank you, you've been helpful; you may both go.'\n\n'It doesn't sound much of a defensive line,' Wulfnoth, the Ealdorman of Eoforw\u012bc, said disdainfully.\n\nHe had accompanied the king north with twenty horsemen of his own, as had two other ealdorman who he'd collected on the way.\n\n'You don't know the ground, Wulfnoth,' Heremond put in quickly. 'The ground is fairly flat at that point and, as a place to take up a defensive position, it's as good as any and better than most.'\n\nHis fellow ealdorman gave him a sharp look but said nothing further.\n\n'How many mounted men can you raise overnight, Heremond?' \u00c6lle asked, frowning at Wulfnoth.\n\nHe was a foolish man who believed that he was cleverer than anyone else: a dangerous combination. \u00c6lle would have replaced him but he needed his support and that of the man's family against his brother.\n\n'Well, I've a warband fifty strong but I only have eighteen riding horses; not that it matters. I don't have eighteen men who can fight on horseback.'\n\n'Oh, I'm not talking about using them as cavalry. We just need to arrive before it's too late; then we'll fight on foot.'\n\nThe king left at dawn with his horsemen, the scouts and two of Heremond's huntsmen acting as guides. They headed north-west to ford the Derventio two miles south-west of the place where the battle was to be fought, then headed along the far bank.\n\nAs they neared the confluence between the Tyne and its tributary they heard the sound of battle. \u00c6lle prayed that he would be in time."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 86",
                "text": "Ragnar had reached the west bank of the Derventio two hours previously. He might have been obsessed with obtaining his revenge upon Edmund, but he was no fool. As soon as his scouts came back he knew that he was walking into a trap. Not only was the far bank held in force by warriors behind a rampart but Edmund had anchored his longships out in the Tyne parallel to the shore from where his archers could inflict severe casualties on his men without fear that they could be attacked. He had to admire Edmund's strategy, but he wasn't about to do anything so stupid as to assault the Northumbrian's position.\n\nInstead he turned south westwards out of sight of Edmund's position and then followed the Derventio until he found a place beyond the marshy area where he could cross the river. Then he retraced his steps along the other bank until he was in a position to attack the Northumbrians in the flank.\n\nExcept that they weren't there anymore.\n\nHrothwulf and Drefan were two brothers who were constantly up to mischief. One was fifteen and the other fourteen. Their father was one of Edmund's warband and officially the boys were too young to be there; they were both still training to be warriors. However, they had two attributes useful to Edmund: they were good climbers and they were skilled trackers and hunters.\n\nThe boys had watched from the upper branches of two oak trees on the west side of the Derventio as the Vikings came to a halt below. They watched the Viking scouts return to tell their leaders about Edmund's defensive works, then they saw the army disappear to the south-west. Hrothwulf, the elder of the two, signalled for his brother to go and tell Edmund what was happening whilst he climbed down and proceeded to follow the Vikings.\n\nOnce Drefan had reported to Edmund, he made his way stealthily down the east side of the river until he heard the unmistakeable sounds of a large group of men making their way towards him. Then he swiftly retraced his steps.\n\n'Thank you, Drefan. You've done well. Now get back up into one of those trees over there and stay there. You're too young to fight,' Edmund said with a smile.\n\n'But, lord, I can use my bow to good effect from up there,' the boy pleaded.\n\n'Do as you're told,' his father barked at him. 'I only agreed to you two scamps coming with me on condition that you didn't fight.'\n\nSullenly Drefan nodded and darted away to climb the largest oak he could find. As he did so Edmund had a hasty discussion with Siferth and Cynefrith. Three minutes later the whole army was on the move into the woodland some hundred yards back from the river bank. At the same time a small fishing boat put out from the banks of the Tyne to brief the longship captains about the change of plan.\n\nAs Ragnar stood wondering where the Northumbrians had gone, the ships out in the Tyne weighed anchor and started moving slowly downstream powered by a few rowers. Fortunately for them the tide was on the turn and had just begun to flow seawards. The Vikings couldn't believe their luck as the ships headed towards a beach just to the east of where they were and they started running towards them.\n\nBoth Ragnar and Lagertha sensed a trap and yelled for their men to stop, but to no avail. The trees came down to within fifty yards of the beach where the first longship had just run into the shingle strewn sand. The Vikings were a disorganised mass as each man ran to be the first to climb aboard. Suddenly a volley of arrows struck them from the treeline and, at the same time archers appeared all along the side of the beached longship.\n\nThe other ships threw their anchors overboard before they reached the beach and the ships slewed around with their bows facing upstream. More archers appeared along the sides of each ship and the Vikings faced volleys of some three hundred arrows every ten seconds or so.\n\nRagnar watched in dismay as scores of his men were hit before they could swing the shields they carried on their backs around to protect themselves. By the time they had formed a shield wall over a hundred of them had been killed or seriously wounded.\n\nRagnar yelled at them to close up so that one shield could be placed above another; that way they would be protected from head to foot. This shielded them from the archers on the ships, but those in the trees kept up the attack on their flank.\n\n'Every alternate man turn and face the trees,' Lagertha shouted as three more men were hit. Edmund didn't have many archers in the trees \u2013 most were on the ships \u2013 but what few he did have were being very effective.\n\nSuddenly, whilst one half of the Vikings remained facing the ships, the other two hundred ran towards the trees, intent on avenging themselves on their tormentors. It was too much for Drefan to resist. He strung his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back. He wet the feathers with his lips and checked that the arrow was straight; then studied the mass of warriors as they approached the treeline.\n\nEdmund's archers retreated and warriors armed with swords, axes and spears waited in the gloom twenty yards inside the wood for the Vikings to reach them. The charge had been led by what Drefan originally had thought was a young man, but he now realised it was a woman. Her long hair streamed out from under her helmet and, even disguised by a byrnie, he could tell the shapely body was female.\n\nHer helmet was banded in gold and her upper arms were covered by silver and gold arm rings. He had never heard of a shield maiden, but he knew that this woman had to be one of the leaders of the accursed Vikings.\n\nHe took careful aim and, allowing for her movement and the slight breeze, he released the arrow. To Drefan it seemed to fly towards its target too slowly and for an instant he thought he'd miscalculated; then it hit.\n\nOne moment Lagertha was running, the adrenalin pumping through her body as she screamed her rage at the enemy then, just five yards short of the tree line, she felt a tremendous pain in her neck. Her steps faltered and, as the blood spurted out of her jugular, she fell to the ground and lay still.\n\nHer men faltered, seeing their jarl fall, but then they recovered and cursing their enemies, they charged into the trees. In the woods it wasn't a matter of fighting together as a group. The trees made that impossible and the charge deteriorated into a series of individual combats. However, the Vikings were now outnumbered by the experienced members of Edmund's and Siferth's warbands. Gradually the Northumbrians gained the upper hand.\n\nMeanwhile Ragnar had realised that staying where he was achieved nothing and he gave the order to retreat towards the trees whilst keeping shields facing the arrows coming from the ships. The volleys were now slower as the archers on board got tired and their supply of arrows ran low. As he neared the treeline Ragnar gave the order to form a line and advance into the trees to support Lagertha's men.\n\nIt was only then that he saw her body lying, her limbs akimbo, just short of the treeline. From the angle of the arrow protruding from her neck he knew that the archer must have been high up in one of the larger oaks and, urging his men on, he swiftly decided which tree the shield maiden's killer was likely to be hiding in.\n\nDrefan had been tempted to try and kill more Vikings but then they had disappeared from sight below him. Then he saw the second group advancing towards the wood and he selected a second arrow. He scanned the ranks of warriors, looking for a leader.\n\nRagnar stood out from the rest. His helmet was plain but his byrnie was polished, unlike the dull and sometimes rusty chain mail worn by most of the Vikings. His beard was grey and, like the woman, his upper arms were covered in rings. A man with a red banner tied to his spear followed him and Drefan recognised the device on the banner. It was a spread-eagled raven \u2013 the same as that on several of the Viking longships.\n\nOf course, Drefan didn't know that his target was the infamous Ragnar Lodbrok, but he knew that he had to be an important man. Once again he took careful aim and let fly. However, this time the wind gusted just as the arrow darted towards Ragnar and it was blown slightly off course. Instead of striking the Norse king's neck it lodged in his thigh just below the hem of his byrnie.\n\nThe leg gave way and Ragnar collapsed, clutching his leg as the pain began to build. Drefan couldn't resist a whoop of triumph and that was his downfall. The Viking warrior standing immediately below the tree he was in had just killed two of Edmund's men and was looking around for a new adversary when he heard the sound from above him. Looking up, at first he saw nothing but as he circled the tree he caught a glimpse of a boy with a bow.\n\nDropping his shield and axe and putting his dagger between his teeth he leapt up and grabbed the first branch. Slowly he hauled himself up the oak. He wasn't as young and agile as Drefan, but the boy had nowhere to go so the young Viking took his time. Drefan wasn't aware of his predicament until he heard leaves rustling below him. He looked down and yelped in dismay when he saw a fierce bearded face grinning up at him.\n\nFor an instant Drefan was paralysed by fear, then he pulled himself together. He had the advantage of height so he waited as calmly as he could until the Viking was just below him. Then he grabbed the branch above him in both hands and swung his legs back before kicking forwards with them locked together. His leather shoes connected solidly with the Viking's head, driving the blade held between his teeth back and cutting deeply into his cheeks.\n\nThe young man was knocked from his perch and he went tumbling earthwards, his body striking several thick branches on the way down. By the time he hit the ground below several of his ribs had been broken and one of these was driven into his right lung as he landed. He lay there unconscious until he died.\n\nDrefan was left shaking, but euphoric. He was just fourteen and he had killed two of the enemy and badly wounded another. He couldn't wait to tell Hrothwulf."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 87",
                "text": "By the time the king arrived the battle was all but over. Only eighty of the Vikings had survived and they had seized the beached longship, killing its crew of archers. They pushed it clear of the mud and sailed away pursued by the rest of Edmund's fleet. As the latter were mainly manned by members of the fyrd with a handful of ships' boys and experienced rowers to help them, it wasn't long before the last of the Vikings made good their escape. No quarter had been given to the rest and Ragnar had only been spared because he was a Norse king.\n\nWhen Drefan had claimed to have killed the shield maiden and another Viking as well as wounding Ragnar, he wasn't believed at first. However Edmund changed his mind when Ragnar confirmed that the arrow that had laid him low had come from the top of the trees.\n\nSuddenly the boy was hailed as a hero and his father stood proudly with his hand on his shoulder whilst King \u00c6lle congratulated him. Flushed with pride, Drefan glanced at his brother, expecting Hrothwulf to share his delight. The two had always been close, but now Drefan saw that Hrothwulf was scowling. When his brother noticed Drefan looking at him, the stare he gave him was full of malice. Then he turned and stomped away.\n\nIt was a salutary lesson for the younger boy. Hrothwulf evidently hated to be eclipsed. Of course, he knew that Hrothwulf could be jealous at times, but those moments didn't last, nor did they harm their relationship. This time it was different, his brother had tarnished his moment of glory and Drefan was furious with him.\n\n'What do you want to do with him, Cyning?' Edmund asked, gesturing towards Ragnar as he lay on the ground being attended to by one of the monks skilled in healing. He had arrived from Jarrow with several of his fellow monks to deal with the Northumbrian wounded and bless the dying. The Norse wounded didn't need their ministrations; they'd already been killed.\n\nRagnar had suffered the removal of the arrow and the cauterisation of the wound in silence, though he passed out as the red hot blade was applied to the wound. His byrnie had been removed, along with his blood soaked trousers, but at least they'd left him his goatskin jerkin to cover his nakedness.\n\nAs \u00c6lle contemplated how to answer Edmund's question there was a disturbance a short distance away and four men carried Hrothwulf into the space around Ragnar, pushing others out of the way in their haste.\n\nFull of anger at Drefan's sudden fame, Hrothwulf hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. He didn't notice the viper sunning itself in his path until he stood on it. The sudden pain in his right leg, just above the ankle, caused him to cry out and luckily a few men standing nearby realised what had happened. One chopped the snake in half with his axe whilst several others rushed the boy to the monk.\n\n'Quick, give me a dagger.'\n\nWhen one of the warriors did so, the monk cut across the two angry marks left by the snake's fangs and sucked at the wound, spitting out blood and venom and then returning to suck again.\n\n'I've got as much out as possible, now leave him to rest. He'll either die or recover, it's in God's hands. Someone please give me some water to rinse my mouth out.'\n\nDrefan forgot his brother's animosity and cradled him in his arms, trying to comfort him. Hrothwulf stared at him for a moment, then gave him a weak smile before dropping into unconsciousness.\n\nThe king had ordered that Ragnar's wound should be attended to because he didn't want him to die from loss of blood. He would be the arbiter of his fate and the incident had given \u00c6lle an idea. He sent some of his men to gather as many of the venomous snakes as they could find, whilst others dug a pit eight feet deep. They came back with eight of the creatures in sacks which wriggled and hissed as the vipers struggled to get out.\n\nWhen the pit was ready the men held the sacks over the pit and shook them until the last snake had dropped into the bottom of the pit. Their anger at their treatment was all too apparent. They tended to avoid humans and were not normally aggressive, unless attacked. However, these eight were now extremely agitated. By this time Ragnar had regained consciousness and, spotting the Northumbrian king, he struggled to stand, leaning on a length of wood the monk gave him.\n\n'My sons will pay a large ransom if you are prepared to let me go. I give you my oath not to attack Northumbria again.'\n\n'A heathen's oath is worth nothing; no you are going to die, Ragnar Lodbrok.'\n\n'Do you think that will save you from my sons? The squealing of the piglets will deafen you when they hear of the death of the old boar. I tell you that they will visit your land with fire, rape and pillage until you wish with all your heart that you had spared me.'\n\n'Bleat all you like, Ragnar, it won't help you. They say that you sacked Paris but, Charles the Bald must have been a weakling to have allowed it.'\n\n'I had five times the number of warriors then that I brought here with me. My sons will come for vengeance with twice the number of men that I took to Paris.'\n\n'Let them come. I don't fear them.'\n\n'Then you are a fool. At least give me a sword to grasp whilst you kill me so that I may enter Valhalla and dine with Odin tonight.'\n\n'I don't hold with your pagan beliefs. You will die and go to hell.'\n\nRagnar knew something of the religion of the White Christ. Hell was a place of fire and torment where those who had led an evil life were sent, whereas Ragnar believed that Helheim was a cold world reserved for those who died of old age or illness.\n\nRagnar shook his head.\n\n'No, my fame is too great for me to wait until Ragnar\u00f6k in Helheim with the elderly and the feeble. Whether you give me a sword or not, the Valkyries will take me to Odin.'\n\n'Pah, what utter nonsense.'\n\nSo saying \u00c6lle pushed Ragnar so that he toppled backwards into the snake pit. At first the angry vipers tried to bite through Ragnar's goatskin jerkin, but without success. He succeeded in strangling two of them before one fastened its fangs into his calf. Then another bit him on the hand and a third struck at his wounded thigh.\n\nRagnar stopped moving and \u00c6lle told his men to fill the pit in again. As they did so Edmund threw a discarded sword into the pit and he thought he saw Ragnar grab it before he disappeared under the soil. \u00c6lle gave him an angry look, but Edmund just shrugged. It was the least he could do for a worthy adversary.\n\nAfterwards no one could be certain whether Ragnar had died from snake venom or because he had been buried alive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Epilogue",
                "text": "[ Autumn 862 ]\n\nAs soon as the longship sailed into Arendal the news spread like wildfire. Those Vikings who had escaped on Edmund's snekkja couldn't be certain what had happened after they'd fled, but they were afraid of being branded as cowards, and so the tale they told was worthy of any sk\u00e1ld.\n\nThey had seen both Lagertha and Ragnar fall, they said, surrounded by hundreds of enemies, many of whom they had killed between them. Of course, this was a long way from the truth: that they had both been brought down by a fourteen year old boy up a tree.\n\nThey claimed that they had only escaped themselves after heroically fighting their way through a thousand Northumbrians and capturing one of their ships. At least the last bit was true.\n\nEventually merchants and others arrived with a more accurate tale and the survivors were revealed as the cowards and liars that they were. Some were killed by the distraught relatives of those who had died and the rest were either banished or fled. They would have done better to stay and die with their comrades.\n\n'Did you hear father's comment about the piglets squealing when they heard of the death of the old boar?' Sigurd Snake in the Eye asked Ivar the Boneless when he heard the story.\n\n'Yes, you may like to think of yourself as a piglet but I certainly don't.'\n\n'I don't think he meant it like that. He meant that we would avenge him.'\n\n'Perhaps.'\n\n'At any rate the whole of Scandinavia is talking about his death. It's a disgrace that he was thrown in a snake pit without a sword to defend himself.'\n\n'I heard he was buried alive.'\n\n'Either way we must avenge him. Everyone one expects us to.'\n\nAt that moment Halfdan entered the hall and joined his brothers, yelling for a thrall to bring him some ale.\n\n'Sigurd's right. We'll be called cowards if we do nothing.'\n\n'Oh, I don't intend to sit on my arse. It gives us the perfect excuse to gather a mighty warband and invade England.'\n\n'Excuse? I don't understand,' Sigurd asked, a little bewildered.\n\n'Our father was a fool to go to Northumbria with so few men. Even then he managed to lose a third of them at sea. No, when I land it will be at the head of a great army. Given time and luck we should be able to gather perhaps three thousand warriors.'\n\n'Three thousand? Why do you need so many to avenge father's death?'\n\n'I don't. Revenge is merely the pretext. What we're really going to do is to conquer the whole of England. Here the land is poor, the winters long and we need to raid just to survive. Wessex, Mercia, Kent, much of East Anglia and the southern half of Northumbria is rich and fertile farming land.'\n\n'You intend to settle?' Sigurd asked incredulously.\n\n'Why not? Other Norse have settled around Duibhlinn in Ireland.'\n\n'Yes, and others in Orkneyjar and the Land of Ice and Fire,' Halfdan added, getting enthusiastic.\n\nIvar gave him a pitying look.\n\n'Both of those are worse than here. The only people who settle there are outlaws and folk too poor to make any sort of living here. No, England is a land where we can thrive and prosper, once we have killed or made thralls of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes.'\n\n'Three thousand warriors?' Sigurd mused. 'We'll need fifty drekar or more to transport us.'\n\n'Which is why we have to be patient. In five years many of today's young boys will be warriors and we need the time to build the extra ships to carry them. Then we'll set sail with the largest Viking army the world has ever seen.'"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "King Sized",
        "author": "Jessa Kane",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "romance"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "nsfw",
            "mf",
            "medieval"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "I wasn't raised to stand by silently while a girl cries.\n\nNo sir.\n\nGrowing up, I was the oldest of six children\u2014and the only boy. Do that arithmetic. It means I had five younger sisters and they did all manner of wailing. All the bleeding time. It led to a lot of experimentation on my part, trying to figure out the secret formula to make them stop. After thirty years of being a big brother, I finally discovered the answer.\n\nThe answer is: there is no answer.\n\nSometimes they just want to carry on until they've emptied the well of tears and a man just has to sit there and nod until it's over. Occasionally, sugar or alcohol helps, but that's a gamble. If you give them something nice, it can make the crying even harder and then you are up shit creek, my friend. Best bet is to sit silently and nod in understanding. And\u2014this is key\u2014if they're crying about a man, every man is to blame. That means me. All men are bastards.\n\nGod knows I feel like one right now, standing guard outside the princess's bedchambers while she weeps brokenly for all the Kingdom of Downsriver to hear.\n\nIt's a black day for our homeland.\n\nThe king and queen were murdered today. By thieves. On the road back from a diplomatic meeting in the neighboring kingdom of Northstream.\n\nCome to think of it, that makes Princess Britta\u2026the new queen.\n\nAnd here we are, the fourteen men of the princess's guard, standing around like a bunch of fucking lumps on a carrot while Britta cries her heart out on the other side of the door. As we've been trained, all of us stare straight ahead, like we're the victims of taxidermy.\n\nJesus, it's pathetic.\n\nAs usual, I'm the first to break character. I've never understood the reason we can't move or speak while guarding the royals. As if showing any signs of life makes us less effective.\n\n\"Honestly, though,\" I say, dropping my rigid posture. \"No one is going in there?\"\n\nHamish, the bloke standing next to me, jolts like I've just shocked him with an electrified pitchfork. \"What are you doing?\" he whispers furiously out of the side of his mouth. \"Quiet, now. Stand up straight. We're on duty.\"\n\n\"We're a useless pack of idiots holding up the hallway walls.\" Britta lets out a particularly pitiful sob and I feel it down to my toes. This is torture. \"One of us needs to do something.\"\n\n\"We're paid to stand here,\" Hamish points out, as if the purpose for which I've been hired never occurred to me. \"To guard against harm.\"\n\nThese guys take themselves way too seriously. It's one of the reasons they're so easy to rile up. \"What if the girl cries herself to death? Have you thought of that?\"\n\nSome of the men seem nervous now.\n\n\"Well I, for one, am not going in there,\" one of them says in a shaky whisper. \"I tried to comfort a crying girl once and she poked me in the eye.\"\n\n\"Oh now, how did you survive?\" I deadpan, appealing to the rest of the group with a raised eyebrow. \"Is that it, then? You're all scared of a crying girl?\"\n\n\"They get so nasty,\" Hamish breathes. \"When they're all overwrought like that, they find your weakness and exploit it. Carve the manhood right out of you, they do.\"\n\nThe rest of the guards nod at this profound observation and I shake my head. I can't believe I quit my job as a blacksmith to come work with these sorry excuses for men.\n\nActually\u2026I can believe it.\n\nThe reason I joined the palace guard is breaking her heart crying in her bedchamber.\n\nBut I try not to think about my useless infatuation. Because that's exactly what it is. Useless. I've been guarding Britta for months and she's never once glanced in my direction. Which, to be honest, is a little surprising. Most people look at me. I'm very hard to miss. Six foot five inches tall and big as hell. I like to eat and it shows. It shows a lot. Not to mention, I'm an ugly motherfucker, all ruddy skinned and scarred. A crooked nose. So it's a little odd that Britta breezes past me without the tiniest acknowledgement, day after day.\n\nNot that I expected any kind of relationship to develop if I joined the guard.\n\nJesus Christ no.\n\nI'm not delusional.\n\nI just wanted to help protect her. I couldn't seem to sleep or eat or shape iron properly after the first time I saw her, lying awake at night worrying for the pretty, young princess and her angelic smile. Never one to attend any of the royal appearances, it was only by chance that I happened to catch the procession going past my home. A week of restlessness later, I applied for duty. They took one look at me and decided I was built to take a blow, if needed.\n\nI am.\n\nBut I am not built to listen to girls cry. And definitely not this girl.\n\n\"Right. Fine.\" I take off my helmet and set it down on the stone floor. \"I'll go.\"\n\nHamish blanches. \"Are you mad? You're the scariest one of us all!\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\nI lift the metal breastplate over my head, leaving it near my helmet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see several of the men cross themselves. But I ignore them, wrapping a hand around the heavy brass knob and entering the princess's\u2014now the queen's\u2014bedroom.\n\nIt's dark inside, mostly, with a handful of sconces flickering on the wall.\n\nI've never been in here before, but I expected it to be much bigger. On one end of the room, there are three windows showcasing the starlit sky, on the other is an enormous bed. The tiny figure crying in the center of it makes the piece of furniture seem even larger.\n\nMy heart protests the sight.\n\nPoor girl.\n\nMy sisters never had anything so tragic happen. I'm totally unequipped for this.\n\nNot to mention, the guards were right. I am scary. I've been told since childhood that I'm unlikely to marry. A woman will have to cook from sunrise to sunset to keep you fed! That is one of the more popular insults. When I started working in the palace, there was serious debate about posting me outside of the walls to ward off attacks. They really considered it.\n\nApproaching the princess in the dark like this might not be wise, but I can't see any other choice. There's no one else to console her.\n\n\"Princess Britta,\" I say, forgoing the title of queen. After all, she hasn't been crowned yet and it could be a jarring reminder of the crimes against her parents. \"Might I\u2026be of some assistance?\"\n\nShe gasps and flies into a sitting position.\n\nAn invisible fist hits me in the chest, winding me.\n\nDear God, even with a puffy, tearstained face, she's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on\u2026and I need to stop noticing that so much. This girl with the long, raven-black hair and emerald eyes is royalty. I'm a humble guard. A man of low birth. I have no right to be ogling her. None whatsoever.\n\n\"Wh-who are you?\" she croaks, swiping at her delicate nose.\n\nBut she doesn't seem scared, thank God. Maybe the tears have blurred her vision and, combined with the light, she can't see me properly.\n\n\"Rexington Monroe, Princess.\" I bow. \"You can call me Rex. I'm one of your guards.\"\n\nShe blinks. \"What are you doing in here?\"\n\n\"Beg pardon, Princess. But I thought you could use someone to cry at.\"\n\nA beat passes. \"Cry\u2026at?\"\n\nI nod once. \"I have five sisters. It seems to help them when there's something on hand to absorb a little bit of the misery.\"\n\nBritta huffs an awed sound. \"Five sisters. That must be lovely.\"\n\n\"Begging your pardon, it's not. They're frequently unhinged.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" She sucks in a breath. \"I almost laughed just there.\"\n\nSomething warms in my chest. Something that's never warmed before. \"It's okay to laugh,\" I say, chancing a step toward the bed. And from this new angle, I can see her shapely bare leg peeking out from under the white coverlet, the nightgown drooping down from one smooth, feminine shoulder. Stop looking. \"You've likely got a lot of crying ahead, Princess, so allow yourself the happy moments.\"\n\n\"Who knew I had such a wise guard?\" she murmurs, sounding a little hollow. \"How long have you been working in the palace, Rex?\"\n\nJesus God, she said my name.\n\nDon't make a big deal out of it.\n\n\"A few months, give or take.\"\n\nA line forms between her brows. \"I'm sorry we haven't formally met. I'm\u2026well, isn't it just embarrassing that one girl has fourteen guards? As if you men don't have more important things to do than follow me around, watching as I paint landscapes and take violin lessons. I've been afraid to look any of you in the eye, for fear I'll witness your disdain. And boredom.\"\n\nHer ramble is so adorable and unexpected, I feel compelled to jump out the window because nothing will ever top such sweet honesty, so I might as well end my existence. The only reason I don't is because there's more.\n\n\"And you guards can't even swat at a fly if it lands on your noses. How awful. It makes me feel so terrible that I've learned to ignore you lot, which is probably worse. At the very least, I could have offered to swat the flies. I'm very sorry, Rexington. What a fantastic name. And even after I've ignored you, here you are, offering me sympathy and comfort. I shouldn't accept it after being so unkind.\"\n\n\"You should accept it,\" I manage around the ball of yarn in my throat. \"There is nothing to apologize for. And truth be told, Princess, it's kind of funny watching the other guards try to wiggle flies off their noses. You can't put a price on that kind of entertainment.\"\n\nShe laughs.\n\nBut it quickly turns into a hiccupping sob. \"Then I should very much like to cry at you.\"\n\n\"Right so.\" I hesitate only a moment, before sitting down on the corner of her bed. \"I'll just be here, nice and quiet. Do what you have to do.\"\n\nThe princess does something I never could have expected.\n\nShe pushes off the coverlet and crawls toward me on the bed, the white nightgown enveloping her petite frame, moonlight bathing her shoulders, her tearstained cheeks.\n\nAnd she curls up in a tight little ball, right beside my hip.\n\n\"Okay, here goes,\" she sniffs, launching into another crying jag.\n\nAt first, all I do is sit there, my chest burning like the fucking devil. But eventually, my hand seems to sort of move on its own, my calloused, unworthy fingers stroking over her long, raven locks. I ought to be whipped for taking such liberties. She doesn't stop me, however, so I do it with a little more confidence each time.\n\nBut I freeze when she scoots closer and lays her head on my thigh.\n\nWhat do I do now?\n\nSurely this is inappropriate. I shouldn't be in here in the first place, let alone acting as her pillow. It just isn't done. She's an unmarried royal of eighteen and this breach in decorum would be a scandal. Especially because I'm a lowly guard. A former blacksmith. Not worthy of this future queen on my best day.\n\n\"Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for a hug?\" Britta whispers into the darkness.\n\nOh, now we have entered dangerous territory. I am growing stiff in my uniform pants and I'm pretty sure that makes me a monster, since she's been sobbing for hours on end. Ironically, my dick is kind of a\u2026dick, however. It doesn't much care about things like sympathy. It only knows this soft, gorgeous beauty wants to get closer. And as a protector by nature, having the chance to wrap the princess in my arms makes my blood move fast. Fast and south. \"Not presumptuous, no,\" I say finally, my voice ominously thicker. \"But it wouldn't be proper, Princess.\"\n\nShe sits up and swipes at her eyes, visibly trying to pull herself together. \"I'm sorry. You're quite right.\" She sniffs. \"Do you give your sisters hugs?\"\n\n\"On occasion, yes.\"\n\nIn a softer, hesitant tone, she says, \"Couldn't you pretend I'm your sister?\"\n\nAt that, I almost laugh the palace down. \"I very highly doubt it.\"\n\nMy answer seems to confuse her, but I'm definitely not going to elaborate.\n\n\"I understand, Rexington,\" she says, bravely.\n\nI grunt, willing my chest to stop hurting.\n\n\"My parents never gave me hugs. Only kisses on the cheek. I don't think I've ever had one at all, come to think of it.\" Her nose wrinkles. \"Although there was one time when I was learning to swim and sank to the bottom. My instructor had to wrap her arms around me and kick to the surface, so I suppose that counts, doesn't it?\"\n\nThat leap out the window is looking better and better.\n\n\"You're killing me here, you know that?\" I drag a hand down my face. \"Come here, then. I'll give you a hug. Just one, though. Don't get crazy.\"\n\n\"Really?\" She scrambles onto her knees, wringing her hands for a moment, as if she doesn't know the proper mechanics of a hug. So I open my arms and she smiles, falling right into them\u2014and that's it. I'm ruined. I already had a sneaking suspicion she was going to hold my heart in her hands for the rest of my life, but this seals the deal.\n\nHow could she fit me so perfectly?\n\nI'm more than thrice her size and yet her face falls right into my neck, like it has been there a million times. Her small breasts crush against my pecs, her slim torso curling around my extra-large belly. We lock right together in a way I fear will be addicting.\n\n\"This is wonderful,\" she whispers, her arms securing tighter around my neck.\n\nAnd then she climbs into my lap.\n\nI almost hit the ceiling.\n\nNo. No, no, no. I'm a gentleman. Always have been. But I can't pretend her delicious rump in my lap isn't making me think terrible thoughts. Like how Britta is a virgin. Between her legs, between her ass cheeks. She'd be tighter than a knot in both places.\n\nShe'd squirm underneath me, all that soft, golden skin on mine.\n\nWhimpering my name.\n\nEnough.\n\nAnd yet my arms tighten around the innocent princess, rocking her in my lap. \"Just a few more minutes now, love. All right?\"\n\nLove?\n\nAre you out of your fucking mind, calling the princess \"love\"?\n\nBritta looks up at me, her eyelids at half mast, and it's not lost on me that she's finally stopped crying. That I helped. It fills me with a solid block of pride. \"Lie with me for a little while, please?\"\n\n\"I can't do that,\" I rasp, my pulse slamming into my eardrums.\n\n\"Oh. I know.\" Her face nuzzles deeper into my neck and she sighs with feminine satisfaction, making my dick throb. Painfully. \"That was a silly thing to ask.\"\n\nDon't say what you're thinking. Don't do it. \"I suppose you could order me to lie down with you. Then I wouldn't have much choice.\"\n\nShe sucks in a breath and I think she's going to scold me, smack me across the face, throw me out of the palace. Instead, she says, \"That's a fantastic idea!\" She wets her perfect, bow-shaped lips. \"I hereby order you to lie in my bed and hug me until I fall asleep, Rexington Monroe.\"\n\nSensing my own doom, I run toward it like a love-struck idiot. \"Anything for the princess.\"\n\nBritta bounds off my lap, her ass taunting me with sexy swishes as she crawls on hands and knees back toward the pillows, throwing herself beneath the covers and gesturing me to follow. It's humiliating how the bed creaks and groans beneath my weight, but I manage to make it to the headboard without breaking the furniture, slowly laying my head down on the pillow beside Britta's.\n\n\"I'll stay on top of the covers,\" I say hoarsely.\n\n\"Okay,\" she responds cheerfully, green eyes sparkling.\n\nAnd then the princess, the future queen of the entire bloody kingdom, snuggles right up against me, tucking her little hands between my pecs. I put my arms around her and she smiles up at me with teeth, ruining me for any other woman on the planet, and drops into a dead sleep, her breath warming my throat.\n\n\"Congratulations,\" I mouth into the darkness. \"You are fucked.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Britta",
                "text": "Heavy is the head that wears the crown.\n\nThat's what they say\u2014and it's true.\n\nBecause this crown weighs around seventy pounds.\n\nHonestly, I'm going to have the neck of a gladiator in a week's time. Something has to be done. Perhaps I can wear a crown of daisies? Or no crown at all? Now that would be preferable. I could just give the garish, bejeweled thing to someone else and let them make all the hard decisions. Spend my days wading in the river and writing sonnets.\n\nI'm sitting on the throne my mother used to occupy.\n\nAn hour ago, I was hastily ordained queen in a private ceremony.\n\nNow the palace advisor, Richard, is standing before me with many questions. I have the answers to none of them.\n\nI am a smart girl. I think. My tutors have said as much. I've sat in this great hall my whole life and listened my parents make decrees, judgments, give opinions. My inability to focus probably has a lot to do with the giant guard stationed by the wall. He stares straight ahead, as always, not a hint of the gentle understanding he showed me last night. No character, whatsoever. But I know it lurks under his armor. I've witnessed his humor and compassion and the greatest hugs in the known universe.\n\nNo matter that I've only experienced one hug.\n\nI don't need to test other embraces to know he has the best one. All warm and cushioned and safe and cherishing. Right before I dropped into the deepest slumber of my life last night, I swore his mouth ghosted over my hair and that simple gesture gave me\u2026dreams. Dreams that stain my cheeks red in the light of day.\n\nI dreamt of Rexington Monroe naked.\n\nI should be ashamed.\n\nThis dear man showed me such kindness and here I am, objectifying his\u2026excitingly large body. Saints alive, if the castle were falling, he could probably prop it up with one hand and not even break a sweat. There is weight around his middle, his thighs and backside are thick, impenetrable slabs of muscle and fat. His arms are big, meaty weapons. He makes the other guards look like schoolboys. And yet, he was so gentle with me.\n\nThere is definitely hair on his body. The question is, how much? And where?\n\nIs it coarse? Would he like me playing with it?\n\nStop at once, Britta. You are shameful.\n\n\"Now then, Queen Britta,\" drones Richard. \"I know this is a most difficult time for you, but we are in a vulnerable state, you see. Without a king on the throne, Downsriver might appear\u2026vulnerable to our enemies. It is in the kingdom's best interest for you to take a husband as soon as possible.\"\n\nMy spine snaps straight. \"A husband?\"\n\nFor some reason, my gaze shoots to Rex. He is still staring straight ahead, but a muscle is now bunched up in his cheek.\n\n\"Yes, Queen. A husband fit to wear your father's crown.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" I manage, massaging the sudden pounding in my temple. \"We aren't absent of a leader. I am capable of guiding the kingdom.\"\n\nMostly.\n\nOkay, barely.\n\nBut I can fake it until I am.\n\nCan't I?\n\nThis small continent we share with three other kingdoms suddenly seems quite vast. Full of people who depend on their leaders for resources. For their chance at livelihood and families. There is one river running through the center of our continent, which is nestled in the sea between Ireland and the Great Britain. Two empires reside on either side of the mighty river, and we are the farthest south. We each have particular goods to offer and I assumed our relationships with the other nations were peaceful, but I am beginning to think I know very little of the politics between kingdoms.\n\n\"Yes, of course you are capable of guiding us, Queen. But others might be\u2026shall we say, skeptical? That a girl of eighteen could defend against attacks or make strategic decisions.\" Richard hesitates, combing fingers through his thinning gray hair. \"I don't want to make this time harder for you, but it appears the attack on your parents wasn't merely a robbery. They were hired assassins from the neighboring kingdom of Northstream.\"\n\nMy blood turns icy. \"Assassins?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why? What would Northstream hope to gain from killing my parents?\"\n\n\"We can only speculate, Your Majesty, but\u2026\"\n\n\"Please.\" I lean forward. \"Speak plainly.\"\n\nRichard nods. \"The king of Northstream is ambitious. It is possible he wanted to provoke a war with Downsriver. And without the king and queen on the throne, he might assume a victory is inevitable.\"\n\n\"I see. And if I marry, we might avoid a war. Or win one, if need be.\"\n\n\"Yes, Your Majesty. I have two choices in mind. Both of them princes. Marrying one of them would not only secure Downsriver but build an alliance with another kingdom as well.\"\n\nI hum in response, feeling as though I'm having an out-of-body experience. If only I could go back to yesterday morning when these huge decisions weren't mine to make.\n\nOnce again, my attention finds its way to Rex and he's watching me openly now from the corner of his eye, those big hands balled into fists.\n\nA spear seems to have lodged in my middle.\n\nIf I take a husband, I'll never be able to hug him again.\n\nI'm suddenly so anxious for one of those hugs, I could choke.\n\n\"You've given me a lot to think about, Richard,\" I say, ready to fling this heavy crown across the hall. \"I'll give you my decision before the day is over.\"\n\nRichard laughs nervously. \"Your Majesty, my apologies, but I must insist we move quickly on this. I've already sent word to the princes. They will be here tomorrow.\"\n\nI swallow my reaction with difficulty. An advisor isn't supposed to make decisions of this magnitude without express consent of their superior. In this case\u2026me. But he's known me since I was a child. He's my godfather. So while I know the proper thing to do is admonish him, I can't seem to find it in me. Not with all the members of the palace court present. Furthermore, maybe he's right. Maybe this isn't something that can wait and I should be grateful for his proactive attitude. \"Thank you,\" I murmur.\n\nWhich isn't necessarily an agreement.\n\nThe last thing I want to do is send soldiers\u2014soldiers like Rex\u2014into a battle to die. And what of the people who I now rule? What if they are killed or lose their houses? Loved ones? I cannot allow that to happen.\n\nBut is my only option marrying a prince for protection?\n\nSurely there must be another way.\n\nNeeding some air, I push to my feet.\n\nI start to come down from the elevated throne platform, when a thought occurs to me. There is a chance I won't be able to avoid marriage, but I am still the queen.\n\nI do have power, don't I?\n\n\"Richard,\" I say, lifting my chin, frowning when the crown slides down and I have to push it up. \"Starting today, I shall only require one guard, instead of fourteen.\"\n\nHe whitens. \"But, Your Majesty, if anything, you should have more protection now that you are queen\u2014\"\n\n\"I will retain Rexington Monroe as my personal guard,\" I blurt, before I can lose my nerve\u2014and oh my. Saying his name out loud makes me shiver. \"The other thirteen brave men will be placed among the streets of Downsriver. I seem to recall my father discussing an uptick in crime near the market. They can better serve the kingdom there. Thank you.\"\n\nI don't wait for another argument, hurrying down the center aisle of the great hall.\n\nI'm shocked at my aplomb, but I do my best not to show it.\n\nWhen I'm even with Rex, he pushes off the wall and follows me, his big shadow swallowing me up from behind. \"I think I'll go for a swim,\" I say, smiling at him over my shoulder.\n\nDo I hear a groan or is that my imagination?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Britta",
                "text": "I've been coming to this private inlet of water since I was a child, though it has been a while. Specifically, when I got breasts, I started coming here a lot less. I couldn't very well go frolicking around in wet underthings with fourteen soldiers watching me, could I?\n\nI'm not sure why I feel safe doing it in front of Rex.\n\nOr maybe safe isn't the correct word.\n\nI find myself\u2026wanting to be daring with Rex.\n\nLast night, lying with a man who wasn't my husband? That was incredibly daring.\n\nIt isn't unusual for two young people to marry after being caught in such a compromising position\u2026\n\nMarry.\n\nIf I'd been caught with Rex, would my parents have forced a wedding to salvage my honor? Or would they have tried to cover it up?\n\nProbably the latter, considering he isn't a royal.\n\nBut it's an interesting thing to ponder, isn't it?\n\nMarrying Rexington Monroe.\n\nIf anyone could keep a kingdom safe, it would be him, wouldn't it?\n\nHe is certainly more than enough to keep me safe. His watchful gaze and poised posture tell me as much. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his deep brown eyes scanning the trees that surround the inlet. \"You can relax, Rex,\" I say, finally taking the crown off my head and moaning at the sudden loss of pressure in my neck. \"No one is going to ambush us.\"\n\n\"With respect, that's for me to worry about, Your Highness.\"\n\n\"Can you please call me Britta?\"\n\n\"No,\" he says, shaking his head. His attention narrows in on my hand where it kneads the sore muscles of my neck. \"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, the crown is just heavy.\"\n\nRex grunts, his fingers flexing on his sword. Is he thinking of massaging me himself?\n\nThat thought sends an arrow of sensation straight to my nipples and they pebble inside the bodice of my dress, fuzzing the edges of my vision.\n\n\"Will you marry one of the princes, then?\" Rex half-shouts at me.\n\n\"I haven't decided yet. But it can't hurt to meet them.\"\n\nHe snorts.\n\nI draw up short. \"Are you angry with me?\"\n\n\"No, love. Of course not,\" he sighs, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. \"I'm mad at the circumstances. I'm mad that you're being asked to do something so ridiculous.\"\n\n\"Why is it ridiculous? It's a common occurrence, royalty marrying for the sake of an alliance. If my parents were still alive, it probably would have been arranged eventually.\" Ignoring his thunderous expression, I toe off my slippers. \"There are far worse reasons to marry than avoid a war and being responsible for casualties.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't be responsible,\" he growls. \"The king of Northstream would be.\"\n\n\"No. If I have the power to stop him, I have to do it, or I would be responsible.\"\n\nRex paces away with a curse, turns around and stomps back. \"And since you asked, I'll tell you what would be ridiculous. To marry some pretentious prince when you're well able to rule the kingdom yourself.\"\n\nMy lips twitch. \"How do you know they'll be pretentious?\"\n\nHis expression is pure disgust. \"They just will.\"\n\nI press my mouth into a straight line to keep from laughing. It seems Rex has more than one mode to his personality. Last night, he was sweet and comforting. Today he's a grumpy bear. \"Do you want to come swimming?\"\n\nHe shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms. \"No, thank you. But I'll ask you to be careful, Your Majesty.\"\n\n\"I'll limit my number of back flips.\"\n\nNow he seems to be the one battling a smile.\n\nRex turns his big body slightly, giving me a modicum of privacy, while still keeping me in his sights to protect me. Quickly, I strip off my dress, fling it into the grass and wade into the water wearing my slip.\n\nThe inlet is warm and clear. It welcomes me, beckoning me to sink down beneath the surface, and I do so, coming up to take a breath and let the sunshine warm my face. Yesterday was long, but today was even longer. But this place I used to come when I was a child soothes my grief with its familiarity. My parents and I didn't have close relationship and they were often busy with political business, but we loved each other in our own way. Fondly. With respect. And I will miss seeing them in their thrones.\n\nI'm about to sink beneath the surface again when I get a cramp in my toe.\n\n\"Ow!\"\n\nRex is already throwing off his armor and splashing into the water, sword drawn. \"Britta,\" he rasps, panicked. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"You called me by my name!\" I gasp, shakily.\n\nA vein ticks in his temple. \"You cried out in pain. What is wrong?\"\n\n\"Just a toe cramp.\" The kinked sensation promptly moves to my entire foot. \"Oh. Ow!\"\n\n\"Fucking hell.\" Dropping his sword, Rex picks me up out of the water, holding me against his chest with his strong right arm, reaching down with his left to massage my foot. \"Right here, love?\"\n\nI press my cheek to his chest with a gusty sigh. Lord, it feels glorious to be held by this man. The entire world could fall down and he wouldn't let a speck of dust reach me. \"Yes. Right there. Thank you.\"\n\nWhen I sling my legs up around his waist, I swear I do it so his arms won't have to hold my entire weight. I'm trying to be helpful. But oh God, I don't expect it to feel so good to have the thick trunk of his body between my legs.\n\n\"Oh my,\" I whisper, nestling closer\u2014encountering a thick ridge between our stomachs.\n\nRex goes very still, his breath rattling in my ear. \"Ah, love. This isn't suitable.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" I whisper, shifting my hips.\n\nHe hisses through his teeth. \"That's a part of me you'll never have to worry about. I'm sorry. It's very difficult to keep it from\u2026reacting\u2026when you're clinging to me like this. Wet and beautiful and other things.\"\n\nIt's an erection. Of course. I've been learning about health and anatomy for years. It's just that the diagram of the male body made the penis look so small. Like a thumb.\n\nThis has the thickness of my bedpost. The length of a milk jug.\n\n\"W-was it like this last night?\" I whisper into his neck, unable to subdue a thrill.\n\nI hear him swallow. \"I'm ashamed to say, yes, Britta. I was\u2026very hard with you pressed up against me like that. I couldn't make it go away, no matter what I tried.\"\n\nPleasure slides into my belly, sticky and hot. \"You desire me, then,\" I breathe. \"You want to put\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh Jesus. Don't finish that sentence,\" he growls. \"I am your guard. I shouldn't even be holding you like this. I've no goddamn right.\"\n\n\"But I like you holding me.\"\n\nRex pulls back, his expression incredulous. \"Why? Don't you have eyes, Britta?\"\n\nMy brows knit together. \"What is that supposed to mean?\"\n\nHe shakes his head. \"Britta, I look like a beast of the bloody forest. Scarred and heavy and hairy\u2014\"\n\nHa! I knew it!\n\n\"And you're\u2026well, you have a mirror. You're nothing short of an angel. Do you not see the differences in us?\"\n\nAs he's been speaking, his hands have begun to shape my calves, his palms running up and down the curves of each. As if unconscious of the movement. And I'm definitely not going to say anything to stop him, because the scrape of his rough hands is heaven itself, sending fiery tingles along my limbs. \"I don't understand. Are you saying two people have to be the same body type in order to\u2014\"\n\n\"Do not. Finish. That sentence.\" His hands are coasting over my knees now, gripping me mid-thigh. \"Let's get you dressed and back to the palace, Princess.\"\n\nThat's what he says. But his eyes are zeroed in on my mouth.\n\n\"Maybe you should kiss me instead,\" I murmur, tilting my face up toward his. \"I think that's what you want to do.\"\n\n\"What I want doesn't factor into this.\" His touch coasts higher, dragging my drenched slip up toward my hip, his mouth dipping closer to mine. \"I'm your servant.\"\n\n\"Maybe I'll order you to do it, then,\" I whisper. \"Just like last night.\"\n\nHe holds his breath a beat.\n\nI search his eyes, wanting to make sure the feeling is mutual and I'm not abusing my power over this man. But no. His pupils have bled into the rich brown and I sense the same hunger inside him that is purring inside of me. Maybe his is even stronger than mine. Yes, his hands clutch my hips now, molding me, learning my shape, and I roll my body on instinct, enticing his bulge with light rides of my sex. In response, he yanks me closer, his shallow breaths pelting my mouth. \"Britta.\"\n\n\"I hereby order you to kiss me, Rexington Monroe.\"\n\nI'm not prepared for the full force of this man, my guard. He makes a hoarse sound and goes to battle with my mouth, a rough angling of his lips, breathing, breathing, absorbing me. Pulling at my mouth with seemingly everything inside of him. He begins to walk us toward the shore, the water making rippling sounds around his legs, moving with more and more urgency as he goes. And he never breaks that first suctioning kiss. Not until he has me laid down on the grassy bank of the inlet and he's blocking out the sun above me does Rex finally give me his tongue. He tastes me with it just as I'm running out of air, so I gasp into the determined intrusion, before recovering, lungs replenished, and I reach up, spearing my fingers into his hair, pulling him down for more.\n\nI've read books and seen plays where the woman is overcome with lust, often destroying her life for one night, one experience, and I always thought it silly. But I never will again. I would trade chests of gold and ships and land for Rex's kiss. There is no hesitation in him, just out and out hunger, gruff grunts coming from his throat while he licks that tongue into me, over and over again, his thick body settling in between my thighs, though never giving me his full weight. I mewl over that fact, trying to pull him down on top of me, but he resists and kisses me with even more thoroughness, distracting me, turning me into a writhing paramour beneath his thick, warrior's body.\n\nFinally, Rex tears his mouth away, burying his face in my neck, his breath sawing in and out. \"Jesus, the taste of you. Perfect. Perfect girl. You have to stop me, Britta.\"\n\n\"I don't want to stop.\"\n\nHe lifts his head, his eyes clouded with thirst. Some anger as well. \"What are you offering me? Your virginity? The future king might have something to say about that.\" He looks down at my body, on display in nothing but a wet, white slip, and groans, running his hand down the center of my breasts, my belly, stopping just above my mound. \"My God. If there's a female alive worth getting hanged over, it's you.\"\n\n\"No.\" My breath stutters. \"I would never let that happen. I'd never tell.\"\n\nAs if compelled, his hips move more securely into the cradle of mine, his erection hot and hard against my core. With a bitten off moan, I wrap my bare legs around his hips and take a slow, involuntary thrust from Rex, both of us panting, panting, his fingers burying in the grass, ripping it up. \"I was in your bed chamber last night. You've made me your personal guard. It might be insane, the beautiful queen taking a beast between her thighs, but they'd have no one else to blame. Worse than anything, you would be\u2026ridiculed. I couldn't bear it.\" He pumps his hips again and bares his teeth at me. \"I can't fuck you, Britta. Bad as I need to.\"\n\nReality comes crashing down on me.\n\nHe's right.\n\nHe's\u2026right.\n\nIf we were found in this position, Rex would take the punishment. Not me.\n\nHow selfish I've been.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I whisper, horrified. \"I'm putting you in danger. I-I didn't think\u2014\"\n\n\"Shhh, love.\" Rex shakes his head. \"I won't have you feeling guilty over giving me the best moments of my life.\"\n\n\"They were?\" I breathe, smiling dazedly. \"The best?\"\n\n\"Yes, love. The best.\" He stares down at me, conflict and misery waging war on his face. \"Christ, but you're sweet,\" he rasps. \"Britta, I could\u2026\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"God help me, I can't just\u2026stop. Not with you so flushed. Those nipples like little pikes.\" That hand of his, still resting just above my mound, begins to gather the damp material of my slip. \"I could pleasure you without taking your virginity. Would you like that?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I say on an exhale, relieved we don't have to be done. Still, I stop him from pulling my slip up too high, my hand grasping his wrist. \"But I don't want you getting in trouble.\"\n\nHe pushes my hand aside and levels me with a dark, sensual look. \"No screaming, then.\"\n\nMy slip is yanked up roughly and a dull rush starts in my ears, my pulse clamoring with excitement. Nerves. This man, this big, beautiful man is looking at my private flesh with such awe, such disbelief, I almost wonder if something is wrong with me.\n\nBut then he scrapes a calloused palm over the rise of my sex and shudders, eyelids falling to half mast. \"My queen.\" He falls onto his generous stomach and presses his mouth to my cleft, groaning. \"Making you come will be my life's greatest honor.\"\n\nI furiously try to memorize the sight of Rex between my legs, my knees draped over his mountainous shoulders, my slip bunched indecently around my hips. His mouth rubbing against my folds in such a cherishing way, I almost can't stand it. Can't stand the perfection of his tongue parting me down the center, licking me in a most illicit way, visibly relishing every taste. As if I'm doing him the service, not the other way around.\n\nHe thrusts his hips against the earth, his broad buttocks flexing and straining inside his wet pants, his hands turning rougher on my thighs, holding them open, kneading them. And he grunts with every crude pump, laving his tongue against my opening, dragging higher, higher and\u2014\n\nI slap a hand over my mouth to trap the scream.\n\n\"There, there, there.\"\n\nRex's palms ride up my thighs to my hips, then up to my breasts, massaging them with possessive hands, the tip of his tongue now focused on that magnificent spot at the apex of my sex, licking it gently, then rough. Gently, then rough.\n\n\"Rex,\" I gasp. \"Don't stop.\"\n\nSomething is culminating inside of me. I'm not sure what. But if he leaves me off here, before I get there, I will scream the sky down. I'm sure of it. I barely know myself, this girl who twists her fingers in Rex's black hair and drops her knees wide, bucking and writhing on the grass, sun beating down on her body. Is that whining sound coming from me?\n\nHis lower body slaps against the ground now, hot, punctuated breaths from his nostrils warming my wet flesh as his tongue works, works, works. I allow myself to imagine him on top of me, those big hips flexing and pumping frantically, and that image is what takes me away. My whole body seems to seize, my thighs trapped in a shaking fit, my throat raw from trying to hold in the screams. Oh, oh, it's heaven and hell. This release coursing through me, gripping my muscles in a state of shock and delight, warmth coursing down toward Rex's mouth, his tongue lapping at it, like he was after that singular taste all along.\n\nAnd then he's back above me, his face transformed. Strained and dotted with sweat. His hand is jerking back and forth inside his damp pants, his jaw unhinged.\n\n\"Just need to pretend\u2026\" He drops that stroking fist right on top of my sex, pressing down, and continues to buck into it. \"Just need to pretend it's that beautiful pussy I'm fucking.\" His voice drops an octave, like he's telling me a secret. \"Order me to come, Britta.\"\n\nIs he telling me a secret?\n\nDoes Rex like being my servant in more ways than one?\n\nThat possibility is a rush of blood to my head. My fingers flex with power in his hair, twisting it roughly, making him groan, abuse his fist faster and harder. He's a giant. He could take anything he wants from me. I'm no match for his physical strength. Nobody in the kingdom is. Yet he grits his teeth and shudders waiting for my permission to relieve himself.\n\nIt's exhilarating.\n\nI lean up slightly and lick a path up his neck, dragging my teeth back down the way I came. \"The queen orders you to come, Rexington.\"\n\nHe heaves himself into a climax, choking curses into the air above me, his fist giving a few final violent tugs within his pants. \"Britta. Britta. Britta. Christ.\"\n\nHis mouth seals over mine and I revel in the privilege of being connected to him while he pounds through the throes of pleasure, his body shuddering on top of me. Until finally he falls to his side in the grass to my right, rolling onto his back and sucking down oxygen.\n\nI adore the way he looks.\n\nSo big and rugged and thick, his wet shirt plastered to the large swell of his belly, giving me a peek at the black hair underneath. He is the most attractive man on this earth to me. I'm sure, I'm positive in this moment, that no one else will ever compare.\n\nAnd I might have to marry someone else to save the kingdom.\n\nThat reminder makes my heart sink, but Rex reaches over and cups my cheek and it buoys itself right back up. \"You have honored me deeply, love.\"\n\nThere are shadows in his eyes, telling me he's having the same troubling thoughts about my potential impending marriage, but all I want to do is ignore the future as long as possible. \"No.\" I curl up against his side, sighing when he pulls me into the crook of his arm and begins stroking my back. \"You honor me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "Well, I'm good and screwed now, aren't I?\n\nMy heart is permanently stuck up in my throat. I can't stop looking at the queen, probably with big, idiotic hearts in my eyes. She's so fragile and beautiful, the sunset bathing her in a glow as we walk back toward the palace. I'm feeling so protective, I'm half hoping a dragon roars down out of the bloody sky, just so I can slay it for her.\n\nWe had to wait until the guard rotation so I could sneak her in through the back entrance, so nobody would see her in wet clothes and wonder what the hell happened.\n\nWhat in God's name did happen?\n\nHalf the time at the inlet, I thought I might be dreaming. The queen, the most beautiful girl in all of creation, gave me her mouth so freely. Let me kiss it, put my tongue so deep inside of it, I could taste her pretty whimpers. I could have\u2026she would have let me put my cock inside of her, had I not slowed things down. And I really need to pull my head out of my ass.\n\nYou cannot fuck the queen of Downsriver.\n\nShe is in a vulnerable place. That's all this is. She needed comfort after the death of her parents and I was there to provide it. Tomorrow, a couple of well-groomed, normal-sized princes will come swaggering into the palace and she'll forget all about the fat guard.\n\nMy heart drops from my throat to the bottom of my stomach.\n\nAh Jesus, I'm in love with her.\n\nI knew it already, didn't I? But now I know she's selfless and sweet, on top of being gorgeous. She also has a good sense of humor, a sense of adventure. And a pussy that could make a man cry at his luck. Seriously, I almost did shed a tear when I saw the soft, little petals shielding such a delicious shade of virginal pink.\n\nHow am I going to keep from driving my sword through the heart of the man who puts a ring on her finger, thus earning the right to claim her?\n\nHow will I fucking stand it?\n\nI need to remind myself of one thing.\n\nIt's not like I, Rexington Monroe, might have a chance with Queen Britta if she doesn't marry a prince. The whole idea is laughable. I should have a sword driven clean through my chest for even thinking such a thing. Britta deserves someone who was born to rule. Someone worthy of her status. Someone better looking, for godsakes.\n\nMy legs feel like lead weights as I guide Britta up the back staircase. I'm going to leave her alone in her room and think about what I've done. I'm certainly not going to think about the fact that she ordered me to have an orgasm\u2014and I loved it. That I craved being ordered about by the little queen. I'm not going to think about it for the next seventy years straight. Seriously.\n\nWe reach the hallway where the queen's bedchamber is located, both of us stopping short. Up ahead, there is a guard pacing, looking confused.\n\n\"Oi,\" he calls, deflating a little. \"There you are, Monroe. I'm guarding the queen tonight or didn't you remember?\"\n\nThe queen steps out from behind me and the guard stumbles back, slapping a hand over his heart and bowing. \"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty, I didn't see you there.\"\n\n\"Think nothing of it,\" Britta says lightly, though there is a line forming between her brows. \"What do you mean you're guarding me tonight?\"\n\n\"Those were my orders, Your Majesty. Monroe has the night off.\"\n\nShe blinks up at me.\n\nFor a moment, I'm confused as she is. And then I remember the date in a nauseating rush. \"Damn. I forgot. It's Priscilla, my youngest sister's, sixteenth birthday. I asked for leave from duty for the night. Weeks ago.\"\n\nThis timing is easily the worst in history.\n\nOne does not simply give the queen an orgasm and vanish for the night.\n\nAgain, I live with five sisters and Britta's shifting expressions are telling me everything I need to know. She knows it's ridiculous to feel abandoned, but she feels it nonetheless. Her chin comes up bravely, but she's looking past my shoulder. Trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. And lord, I'm so in love with her, it's excruciating. \"Of course. You have to go. Sixteen is a very important birthday for a girl.\" She glances toward my replacement, back at me. \"Have a lovely time, Mister Monroe, and please send my regards.\"\n\nOh now I just want to follow her into that bedchamber and lick between her legs until she stops speaking to me so formally. She knows her prim goodbye is going to drive me crazy, too, doesn't she? I'm supposed to serve her. I crave the privilege of serving her. So when she gives me a small smile and closes herself inside the room, I want to roar in frustration.\n\n\"Are you off, then?\" the guard asks, casually, no sense of the undercurrents between me and the queen, thankfully. \"Anything I should know?\"\n\n\"Yeah. If you set foot inside that room, I'll fucking kill you.\"\n\nHe scoffs. \"I wouldn't dare. Do you think I fancy a trip to the gallows?\"\n\nNo. Obviously not.\n\nApparently I'm planning a trip there, however, because I'm definitely considering sneaking the queen out of the palace, so I can bring her to my sister's birthday party.\n\nIt is a terrible idea.\n\nTerrible.\n\nFor one, I'd be putting her in danger. Sure, I would never let harm come to Britta. Not while I'm breathing. But I doubt the palace advisors or the people of Downsriver would see it that way, if we were caught. They would only see me bringing her outside the palace walls, to a place where she could be vulnerable to people who disagree with the decisions of her parents. Or citizens who are simply overzealous in their affection. Men who might try\u2014 Nope.\n\nCan't even think about.\n\nI'm not doing this.\n\nWhat was I thinking? Bringing a queen to the modest, thatch-roofed home where I grew up? It smells of cow shit half the time. And my sisters\u2026 My God, they would drive her daft with questions about dresses and other nonsense.\n\nNo. Not happening.\n\nNot sneaking the queen out to a party, like someone with a death wish.\n\nWith that settled, I nod and descend the stone steps\u2026but I pause halfway down.\n\nA party would go a long way toward brightening Britta's spirits. Doesn't she deserve that? And the possibility that she might be feeling abandoned is eating me alive. I've only been her personal guard for a matter of hours and now I'm skipping out on my duty?\n\nI shove a hand through my hair, let a breath seep out.\n\nWell, if I'm going to sneak her out, I'll have to be crafty about it.\n\nI take a moment to think, then climb the stairs once more. When I reach the top, my replacement guard does a double-take. \"Back so soon? Must have been a shite party.\"\n\n\"They're giving out free beer in the courtyard.\"\n\n\"What?\" He shoves off the wall. \"Cover my post a tick. I'll be right back.\"\n\nOff he runs.\n\nWell that was easy.\n\nMaking a mental note to make sure such an idiot is never put in place to guard Britta again, I knock lightly on the door.\n\nBritta opens it a few seconds later, her long, black hair loose around her shoulders, having been taken out of its bun. She's so beautiful, her face kissed with candlelight, I have to clear my throat before I can speak. Was I really allowed to perform cunnilingus on this angel? \"I, um\u2026\" I have to cough again. \"Well, this is probably a horrible idea, but I got to wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to the party with me. You can just say no\u2014\"\n\n\"You're inviting me to the party?\" she breathes, eyes shooting wide.\n\nI rub at the back of my neck. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, I would love to come. Yes, please.\" She retreats into the room, turns in a circle. \"I don't have a gift.\"\n\n\"I reckon the queen showing up will be gift enough.\"\n\nShe nods, gracing me with a smile that very nearly kills me.\n\nFor a moment, we just stare at each other. I could go on staring at her all night, but I hear footsteps jogging closer from the opposite end of the hall. \"If we're going to go, love, we have to move fast. Do you have something to cover your head?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Britta races back into the room a moment, then returns, a shawl over one arm.\n\nShe puts her hand in mine trustingly, but I don't take the time to let that blow my mind\u2014I'm holding Britta's hand\u2014because we have to move. She presses her free hand over her mouth on our flight down the stairs to suppress her giggles, and I can't help but chuckle, too. At the bottom of the stairs, I signal for her to remain inside the entrance while I check for witnesses, then I'm pulling her out into the night behind me.\n\nThe stables aren't far from the palace, and in no time, I have Britta behind me on my horse, her slim arms barely making it halfway around my waist to hold on. I try not to dwell on that as we ride through the palace grounds, Britta huddled against my back with the shawl draped over her head and hiding her face. Several perimeter guards eye the woman behind me, but say nothing, probably assuming she's another member of the staff. It's not unusual for guards to bring women home for a tumble, though I've never done so. Hopefully they're not keeping track.\n\nWe make it to the drawbridge that leads out of the palace, into the kingdom of Downsriver. There are a couple of guards stationed there with unpleasant expressions.\n\n\"Free beer in the courtyard,\" I call, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.\n\n\"Oi!\" They brighten automatically. \"You don't say.\"\n\nBoth guards trundle off toward the palace.\n\n\"Jesus,\" I mutter. \"The palace guards need to be put through some mandatory training, love. They're not protecting you well enough.\"\n\nBritta is silent for so long, I worry I've offended her, until she says, \"You could be in charge of the training, couldn't you?\"\n\n\"Me?\" Surprised by the comment, I shake my head. \"No, I'm not a\u2026leader.\"\n\n\"You're the queen's personal guard,\" she points out, her arms tightening around me, her cheek pressing to my back. \"Doesn't that make you their leader in itself?\"\n\nHer confidence in me threatens to inflate my ego, but there's no way I'll let it. \"Britta, I'm sneaking you out of the palace for a party. I'm fairly certain that makes the worst offender of them all. I'm only a member of the guard in the first place because\u2026\"\n\nI stop talking before I reveal everything.\n\nHow I couldn't think straight once I'd seen her in the procession.\n\nHow I hungered and worried and paced until I was stationed directly outside of her door where I belong. Serving her. Guarding her.\n\n\"I should prepare you for my sisters,\" I say, deftly changing the subject. \"They can get a little rambunctious. And loud.\"\n\n\"I'm going to love them. I know it.\" She pauses. \"Have you brought many women home?\"\n\n\"With my chiseled good looks, Britta? I've been beating the women off with sticks.\"\n\nShe doesn't laugh. \"You keep hinting at the belief that you're unattractive, Rex. What nonsense is that?\" Her small hands trace up my chest, her fingertips ghosting over my nipples, dragging back down to tease the strained waistline of my pants. \"Maybe you have so much goodness and strength and courage inside of you, it just needed more room to grow.\"\n\nMy throat constricts. \"Britta\u2026\"\n\nDoes she really believe what she says? No\u2026it can't be possible. I'm the big block of comfort and distraction when she needs it most. I'm honored to be those things for her. But I can't let myself start to think nonsense. That she could really like me. Even if she did, nothing could come from it, so I need to quit being a fool. I need to try and be her friend and be happy for whatever amount of time I'm allotted before\u2026\n\nBefore her comfort and happiness are someone else's responsibility.\n\n\"So\u2026\" Britta's pinky finger sneaks beneath my waistband, trailing side to side in my pubic hair, and my cock stiffens at a startling pace, my balls hardening excitedly. \"You've brought no women home?\"\n\n\"No,\" I rasp. \"None.\"\n\n\"But you've\u2026been with women before?\"\n\nI look back over my shoulder to gauge her expression, but her face is hidden by the shawl. It's ridiculous to think she could be jealous, anyway. She's the queen. I'm a guard. Surely I don't have to worry about her feelings being hurt about things that happened in the past. \"Ahhh. Sure, I'm thirty years old, Britta. Of course there have been\u2026times.\" I frown at the road ahead and let the honesty flow. \"But truthfully, I can't recall the details of a single one. Meanwhile\u2026I can remember the number of buttons on your dress two weeks ago. And there's been no one at all since\u2026\" Since I saw you for the first time. \"For a good while, anyway.\"\n\nBritta nods against my back and I relax, feeling like I just walked through a minefield. Why? I have no idea. She could probably care less about the whole situation. She's just making small talk.\n\nShe adds a second finger inside my waistband. A third and a forth.\n\nThey push lower, her fingertips brushing my cock.\n\n\"Now, Britta\u2026\" I swallow hard, looking down and marveling at the sight of her graceful hand lodged inside my pants, my bulge nearly bursting the seams. \"We're going to be there soon. I can't arrive like this.\"\n\nHer fist curls around me, and I choke on a groan. And then I feel her lips kissing up my spine and flames engulf me. \"I don't like thinking of you with women,\" she says quietly, still planting kisses in the middle of my back, her fist beginning to stroke me. \"I hate it. Is that\u2026terribly improper?\"\n\n\"No,\" I say raggedly. \"But it's unnecessary. I\u2026\"\n\n\"What?\" she whispers.\n\nOh God, I can't hold back. The truth is scaling the sides of my throat, desperate to be out in the open. \"My cock has belonged to you, my queen, since the day I saw you.\"\n\nHer gasp mingles with the loud rapping of my heart. Waiting for her response to my\u2014probably ill-advised\u2014confession, my hands twist in the reins.\n\n\"Good,\" she whispers, finally, squeezing me tightly in her grip.\n\nThat single word, combined with her possessive hold, nearly makes me come. I have to concentrate and bite my lip to stop the semen from spewing out. I've never experienced this part of myself. There was never even a hint that I might wish to be\u2026obedient for a woman.\n\nIt's all Britta.\n\nShe releases my cock only to trace the seam of my balls with a fingertip. Then she slowly scoops them up and tests them in her soft palm. \"Are these mine, too?\"\n\nOh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.\n\n\"Yes,\" I say raggedly. \"Yours.\"\n\nHow is this really happening? This tiny slip of a girl has a giant by the balls. Literally. She could ask me for anything in the world and I would agree to it. I burn for the chance to please her. Her happiness is the only way to be fulfilled. It makes no sense that she is touching me, an ugly bastard, with her unsoiled hand, but I am too enthralled to stop her.\n\nToo hot. Too grateful. Too desperate.\n\nHer soft hand massages my heavy balls, shooting sparks down to my toes. My cock is engorged to the point of agony, sweat beginning to arrive in embarrassing places. Someone approaches from the opposite direction on the road and I hastily cover my lap with the flap of my unbuttoned uniform jacket. The man waves on his way past us and I nod back. No big deal. I'm just being jacked off by the queen on our way to a party. Happens every day.\n\nShe finishes exploring my sack and slips that sweet hand around my dick again, pumping it quickly now. So quickly the air bursts out of me. \"I'm going to disgrace myself, Britta.\"\n\n\"I would like to kiss you here. The way you did to me this afternoon.\"\n\nLust rips into me at the very thought.\n\nI've never had a female's mouth there.\n\nLet alone a mouth as sweet and pure as this girl's. This girl I worship. It would be the very death of me. \"No, love. No.\" Using the cuff of my jacket, I swipe sweat from my upper lip, painfully aware that my thighs are beginning to shake, my loins seizing up. And oh Christ, her touch is the perfect torture. Soft and inexperienced, but determined. \"You will not serve the servant.\"\n\nShe leans up and whispers against my neck, her grip flying up and down my throbbing staff. \"I can do whatever I want with this,\" she murmurs innocently. \"It's mine.\"\n\nI erupt.\n\nMy come spills into her palm, into my pants, some of it splashing onto the saddle. Relief like I've never known courses through my veins, nearly making me dizzy. And it's not just the pressure in my balls that is lessened, it's the packed feeling in my chest, because here come the words. Sentiments I try so hard to keep to myself, but in the throes, I have no control. \"I'll do anything for you. I'll lick that royal little pussy every second of the fucking day. I'll make you come when you're horny. When you command it. I will serve you any way you allow. I will\u2026\" I thrust my hips into her grip and release my final drops, the consuming tension finally deserting me. \"Thank you, Your Majesty,\" I rasp, dizzy, shocked at the fortune she's granted me. \"Thank you.\"\n\nShe kisses me on the shoulder and the center of my back, removing her hand from my pants, wiping my spend on the corner of her shawl. Then she wraps her arms around me from behind, as far as they'll go. \"I can't seem to stop touching you,\" she whispers. \"If it begins to vex you, do tell me so I can try to stop.\"\n\n\"No chance of that, love,\" I say gruffly, my heart rattling around in my ribcage. I bring one of her hands to my mouth, kissing the knuckles. \"No chance of that.\"\n\nTonight is a dream and it's barely begun. But I'm already thinking about the torturous hell arriving in the form of two princes in the morning."
            },
            {
                "title": "Britta",
                "text": "I'm not nervous until we reach the house.\n\nThe five voices, belonging to Rex's sisters, ringing out from within that make my palms sweat. What if they don't like me? What if I don't meet their expectations?\n\nI've never really had to worry about such a thing before. People liking me. It never really mattered, because either way, I was royalty. But tonight, with my hair loose and wind-tangled, I'm not the queen. I'm a guest at a party. And I will be judged on my character, my personality, not my title.\n\nI very much want Rex's sisters to like me.\n\nNot only because I'm falling, rather stupidly, in love with their big brother.\n\nBut because they are women my own age. Or close. And I've never actually had any friends. Only instructors and acquaintances from other kingdoms who I only see once a year during feasts or political summits. Just like everything else, I only came by those associations because of my title. Am I even able to make friends? Do I even know how?\n\nRex dismounts the horse and we meet eyes for the first time since I\u2026well, since I had my hand in his pants. There are fading red stains on his cheekbones and a wry smile playing around the edges of his mouth. He actually seems kind of bashful over what happened, and my masochistic heart trips all over itself.\n\nOh dear, I already am in love with this giant guard of mine, aren't I?\n\nI will serve you any way you allow.\n\nThose words seem to ring between us, pulling us together like gravity. He plucks me off the horse like I weigh less than a feather, holding me to his mighty chest instead of depositing me on the ground. I wrap my arms around his neck and inhale his masculine musk. Sweat and grass and soap. I rub my cheek on his evening whiskers, enjoying the resounding rumble in his throat.\n\nI've never had a bond like this with anyone, yet I know instinctively that it's unique.\n\nThis man protects me. He is strong and fearsome and built for battle.\n\nBut he relishes being my servant in all ways.\n\nNot just as his profession, but\u2026in a sexual way.\n\nHaving all of this brutish strength at my disposal, harnessed by my much smaller hands, is a power I never knew I wanted. Or needed.\n\nBut I do.\n\nI need Rexington Monroe.\n\nAnd if I marry a prince, I don't think there's any way I can keep him. Not without disrespecting my marriage or Rex himself. Two things I would never dream of.\n\n\"I have an idea,\" Rex says against my temple, voice gruff. \"Why don't we banish all worries until tomorrow, my queen?\"\n\n\"I would like that very much,\" I sigh, securing my arms tighter around his neck.\n\nHis thumb strums my spine. \"You know I would banish them forever for you, if I could.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" I look up. \"I do know that.\"\n\nKissing Rex is the most natural thing in the world. It's the only choice. The only activity I want to perform with my mouth for the rest of my life. If my feet weren't already dangling down by his knees, I would levitate. He slowly traces the seam of my lips until they part on a breath and then he ducks his head, marrying our mouths together. The pace of the kiss increases until I'm tugging at strands of his hair and Rex is clutching my bottom, his big chest puffing up and down, faster and faster\u2014 A door creaks open.\n\n\"Do my eyes deceive me? Rex is here and\u2026he's brought a girl, if you can believe it. An itty bitty one. Kissing the face right off her, he is. Just there in the side yard!\"\n\nA different voice joins in. \"What? Where?\"\n\nAnd a third. \"A girl? How much do you reckon he paid her?\"\n\nLaughter belts out from within the house and I'm suddenly shoved behind Rex's back, my lips still tingling from the passionate kiss. \"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that where we could be seen. I got carried away,\" he mutters to me over his shoulder. \"I'll make sure they're discreet.\" He looks back at his sisters and I don't have to see his face to know it's stern. It's right there in his voice. \"Mind your manners, now.\"\n\n\"Go on, let us have a look at her.\"\n\n\"Yes, let us make the acquaintance of the bravest woman in Downsriver.\"\n\nRex sighs. \"Katrina, Jane, Beth, Paulina and Priscilla. Allow me to please introduce Her Royal Majesty, Queen Britta.\"\n\nA beat passes before five peals of laughter ring out.\n\n\"You always were a joker, brother.\"\n\n\"Be honest, that's a sheep with a wig on.\"\n\nWith a wince, I remove my shawl and step out from behind Rex, producing five identical expressions of horror. And to my horror, all five of them drop to their knees, heads bowed.\n\n\"I beg your forgiveness, Queen.\"\n\n\"Queen Britta, it is an honor. Please accept our condolences about your parents. There never was a fairer king and queen.\"\n\nI pang catches me in the throat. \"Thank y\u2014\"\n\n\"Our brother was kissing the fecking queen,\" comes a furious whisper.\n\n\"There is no need to apologize. Or kneel.\" Face burning, I signal them all to rise. \"Your brother was kind enough to invite me tonight. I hope I'm not imposing.\"\n\n\"Heavens no!\" They all begin making sweeping gestures toward the door. \"We are honored, Queen Britta. Please do come in.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nI've never been inside of home full of so much\u2026warmth. There are pots simmering on the stove and paper decorations affixed to the ceiling. Shoes discarded by a crackling fire. The bottom floor is one connected space containing a small kitchen, a long dining table, then a circle of comfortable chairs by the fireplace. Towards the back, there is a staircase which I suspect leads to the bedrooms, although I imagine a house this small can only fit two or three.\n\n\"Is this the house where you grew up?\" I ask Rex, watching as he ducks to avoid a hanging paper lantern.\n\n\"It is.\" He nods toward the back of the house. \"But there are stables out back. That's where I made my bed most nights.\" He tweaks the nose of one of his sisters\u2014a young, dark-haired girl who shares Rex's brown eyes. \"To escape the squabbling.\"\n\nAnother girl, one who appears to be the oldest, gasps, waving her hands. \"Do not malign us in front of the queen!\"\n\nRex snorts. \"That ship has sailed.\"\n\n\"Incorrigible, you are,\" she says, coming forward. \"I'm Katrina, Your Majesty. The oldest daughter and the one with the most decorum. Please come sit down and I'll get you a drink.\"\n\n\"I will be getting her the drink,\" Rex says, his eyes heating.\n\nHe's turned on. Because he's serving me.\n\nI'm suddenly breathless in a room full of potential new friends. This can't be the correct way to get off on the right foot\u2014lusting for their brother. \"I, um\u2026\" Deep breath. My eyes seek out the youngest-looking sister and I notice for the first time that she's wearing a pink paper crown. \"It must be your birthday. You're\u2026Priscilla?\"\n\n\"She knows my name,\" breathes the girl. \"Yes, Your Majesty. I'm sixteen today.\"\n\n\"A very important birthday,\" I say, smiling as an idea occurs to me. Reaching down, I unclasp the jeweled cuff bracelet around my wrist and hand it to the girl. \"Please accept this as my gift to you.\"\n\nPriscilla looks like she's going to faint, so I reach out to steady her. \"Oh no, Queen Britta, I couldn't.\"\n\n\"I insist. It will look lovely on you.\" I smile again to reassure her. \"Try it on.\"\n\nWhile the sisters crowd around Priscilla to get a better look, Rex comes up behind me, putting what appears to be mulled wine in my hand\u2014and he slowly plants a kiss on my shoulder. \"She'll never forget that, love.\"\n\nAnd I'll never forget this night. It numbs me to the grief that has been on a low boil inside me since yesterday. Takes me away, forces me to see the humor in the world.\n\nWe sit in front of the fire for hours while the sisters tell me stories about growing up in a household with six siblings. How Rex suffered through Katrina learning to braid hair by using him as the test subject. They swap memories of the pranks they played on each other, including quite a few buckets of water left on top of the stable door. I laugh more during those stories than I've laughed in my entire life. At some point, I'm pulled into Rex's lap, his thumb finding a spot on the base of my spine that I didn't even realize was aching until he called attention to it, rubbing the twinge in circles, and I sigh into his protective hold, no one seeming to find it odd that I'm being attended to by their brother in such an intimate manner.\n\nOr at least, choosing not to comment on it.\n\nRex's sisters poke at him endlessly, mostly about his fearsomeness, but their jokes clearly come from a place of love. They recognize what a treasure he is and it makes me love all five of them in return.\n\n\"Rex!\" Priscilla trills now. \"What did you bring me?\"\n\nHe smiles against my temple. \"I wrote you a song. Fetch my lute.\"\n\nA few minutes later, I'm staring in awe as Rex whips through an opening tune, his singing voice deep and resounding in the small house. \"Priscilla, Priscilla, smells like a gorilla. After sixteen years, a bath wouldn't kill ya\u2026\"\n\nRex's youngest sister's giggles and clear adoration of her brother are infectious and I'm wiping tears of mirth from my cheeks by the time he's done singing the song.\n\n\"We have to dance,\" announces Katrina, pulling me off Rex's lap. \"Come on, Queen Britta. The night isn't complete until we've cut a rug.\"\n\nRex starts another tune on his lute and I'm suddenly being swung around the living room, passed between sisters, twirled around and dipped. One song bleeds into the next until I lose track of how long we've been dancing. It's not until the final song pinches out the final note that I notice how Rex is watching me. With desire. Urgency.\n\nMy body responds to his visible need, liquid heat trickling down to my loins, my breasts seeming to swell within the confines of my dress. I go to him, framing his face in my hands and he shudders at my touch, leaning into my palm. \"Might we pass the night here?\" I whisper. \"I'm not ready to go back to the palace.\"\n\n\"We will have to rise early, so I can bring you back before the palace wakes.\"\n\nI nod. \"I understand.\"\n\nRex starts to stand. \"I will ask my sisters to share a room\u2014\"\n\n\"What about the stables?\"\n\nMy guard stares at me like I've suggested we travel to the moon. \"My queen is not sleeping in the stables.\"\n\n\"But the queen wishes to sleep in the stables.\"\n\n\"Britta\u2026\"\n\n\"Please? I'm enjoying being\u2026normal. For once.\" I slide my fingers into his hair, scraping his scalp with my fingernails, loving the way his eyes almost roll back in his head. \"And Rex?\"\n\nHis fingers curl in the hem of my dress, as if battling the need to pull me closer. \"Yes, love.\"\n\n\"I'd very much like you to join me in the stables.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "Has a man ever so eagerly approached his doom?\n\nI arrange the blankets in the stall full of fresh hay, Britta leaning against the entrance, watching me. Watching me build the place that she'll sleep. The honor of doing this for her feeds the new hunger inside me. A hunger that is specific to Britta. She wants something done and I make it happen, whether I like it or not. And I definitely don't love the idea of her sleeping in hay on blankets unworthy of her soft skin, but I give the queen what she wants.\n\nDoing so makes me hard.\n\nUnbearably hard.\n\nJust as watching her dance and laugh made me realize how much I love her.\n\nI'll love her until the day I leave this earth.\n\nShe is grace and kindness and light.\n\nI'm trying not to dwell on the fact that things will change tomorrow. Of course they will. Two princes will arrive and no doubt vie for my beauty's hand. Knowing what the morning will bring, it is going to be very difficult not to lay a claim tonight. My entire being is growling with jealousy and protectiveness and need. How am I going to make it these next several hours without making love to her? Just once. Just once to remember and replay endlessly forever.\n\n\"That looks perfect,\" she says, her praise making my dick throb.\n\nI glance back to find the queen disrobing.\n\nOff comes the dress and slippers and stockings until she's down to her slip.\n\nThat flimsy little slip that clings to her body, telling all of her secrets. Her nipples are in juicy points against the paper-thin fabric, the shadow of her pussy making my mouth water.\n\nAnd Christ, her legs. Her legs should have poetry written about them, they're so long and lithe. Perfect for wrapping around my hips.\n\nI'm fucked. I'm so terribly fucked.\n\n\"I thought we were banishing our worries until tomorrow,\" Britta murmurs, sitting down in front of me. In nothing but a slip. How easy it would be to get the girl on her back and\u2014\n\n\"We can banish our worries tonight, Your Majesty,\" I rasp. \"But that doesn't mean we can create future worries.\"\n\nShe leans back on her hands, tightening the material over her tits. So much that I can judge the exact shade of her nipples. \"How would we do that?\" she asks, tilting her head.\n\n\"You know very well,\" I nearly growl. \"We've discussed this. I can't\u2026\"\n\n\"Make love to me. I know.\" Her breath comes faster now. \"But what if you could?\"\n\n\"Ah Jesus, Britta,\" I grit out, burying my head in my hands. \"I'd be rutting you day and night. You know that, love. I'd have you on all fours before those green eyes opened in the morning. You'd be bent over so often, your palm prints would be on every piece of furniture in the palace. I never expected you to glance in my direction and what you've given me already\u2026what you've allowed me\u2026\" I swallow hard. \"No, I won't be greedy.\"\n\nI glance back up to find her eyes wide as saucers.\n\n\"I'm sorry, my queen.\" The tips of my ears burn. \"I shouldn't be speaking to you so coarsely. It's inexcusable of me.\"\n\nSomething mischievous flickers in Britta's eyes. It's the only warning I'm given before she comes to her knees, walking toward me until she can straddle my lap, her little hands perched on my shoulders. Ah God. I know I should stop her, but I can't. All I can do is sit and let my obsession press her pussy down on my erection, wiggling around a little to get comfortable. \"Rexington?\" she purrs in my ear, her tongue touching the lobe just slightly. Just enough to make me groan. \"I hereby order you to speak to me coarsely.\"\n\nMy head falls back and my queen kisses my throat, rides her open mouth up my stubble-covered jaw and ghosts her lips over my mouth.\n\n\"One day,\" I say on a shudder, eager to give Britta what she's ordered me to give. \"One day of kissing and touching and you've already learned to be a goddamn weapon, haven't you? Do you like teasing me with your pretty pink cunt?\"\n\nHer nod is vigorous. Breathless. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is your pussy wet for another tongue fucking, Your Majesty?\"\n\nBritta's mouth forms an O, her legs jolting around me. \"N-no. Well yes. But no.\"\n\n\"No?\" I throw her down on the blankets and palm her sex, molding the wet, little thing in my hand. \"Did I not lick your clit well enough this morning, my queen? The way you dripped off my chin afterward says otherwise.\"\n\n\"Rex!\"\n\nOh God, I need to pull back, rein myself in, but I can't seem to manage it. I'm horny and jealous and in love and that's a powerful trifecta. \"You asked for my filthy mouth, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Y-yes, but\u2026\"\n\n\"You want to get licked off again,\" I shove the hem of her slip up to her waist, groaning over the damp seam of her pussy. Without missing a beat, I part that virgin flesh and dip two fingers inside of her, careful not to push them too deep\u2014and fuck. Fuck. She is tight and hot. Ripe for a man. \"I know you do, little girl.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Her back arches, her eyes seemingly blind. Is my crude speech affecting her so much? Yes. Yes it is. And my pride over pleasing Britta is consuming, makes my temples pound.\n\nBut when I remove my fingers and dip my mouth between her legs to start licking, Britta's fingers twist in my hair, stopping me from descending all the way. \"No, I want you inside me,\" she sobs.\n\nMy cock jerks painfully, demanding I bury it in her virgin pussy. To take take take until we're both satisfied. Replete. There is nothing I want more in this world than to have Britta completely. Make love to her without restraint, without limits.\n\nI'm held back by the fact that she'd regret it.\n\nMaybe I haven't even admitted it fully to myself, because the knowledge is painful. It makes my heart feel like it's been dropped into a vat of acid. Yes, the future king could seek retribution against the man who deflowered his bride. Yes, I could be hanged. Yes, Britta might be ridiculed. That last possibility is the worst. Almost as bad, though, is knowing she doesn't really want me to make love to her. She's just confused, caught up in her recent grief, seeking human connection to deal with the pain. When the dark cloud finishes passing over, I won't have her cringing over such a mistake. Giving her virginity to a hefty brute.\n\n\"No, Britta. No.\"\n\nHer disappointment is too much to bear. It very nearly breaks me. Drives me mad. Makes me want to tear out every strand of my fucking hair.\n\nAnd I'm pushed even closer to the edge when she peels the slip off over her head, leaving the queen lusciously naked, her pale skin glowing among the blankets. The bed I made her. A beautiful virgin offering for the beast.\n\n\"I want to belong to you for one night. Completely.\"\n\n\"You don't,\" I say thickly, unable to keep my eyes off the bounty in front of me. A feast fit for kings, not inconsequential guards. \"You don't really want that.\"\n\n\"Don't tell me what I want.\" She sits up and presses her mouth to mine, giving me no choice but to kiss her ravenously, with every ounce of frustration and love inside of me. With every wild, anguished beat of my heart. And then her hand finds my erection, stroking it through my pants, cradling my balls, massaging them until I heave a curse, breaking the kiss.\n\n\"Britta,\" I growl.\n\n\"I hereby order you to make love to me, Rexington Monroe,\" she whispers.\n\nAnd my tether snaps.\n\n[ Britta ]\n\nEver since I learned about the mechanics of sexual congress between a man and a woman, I've always assumed it would be terribly awkward. Two barely acquainted people in a stuffy bedchamber just trying to get it over with. And if I allow Rex to bring me back to the palace tonight and marry a prince, that is exactly how my first time will be. I can't allow that.\n\nThis whole evening has been one magical moment after another and I know\u2014I know\u2014it was all leading to this. This moment when Rex flattens me on the blankets, his mouth hungrily tasting mine, tongue desperate, his large, working man's hands on my bare breasts. I am vulnerable to him. Naked. A virgin. And he's going to have me.\n\nI'm going to have him.\n\nI'm going to collect this one incredible night and live off it for decades.\n\nOr maybe not. Maybe there will be thousands of these nights, Rex loving me beneath the starry sky, his perfectly substantial weight bearing down on me.\n\nMaybe\u2026I'm being a little strategic.\n\nIf Rex and I make love, surely he won't be able to let me go. Let me marry a prince.\n\nWhat if Rex has been my prince all along? The eventual king who will rule beside me? There is no one more suited to the job. He is a giant among men. A fair-minded, hard-working, lion-hearted hero. The court will push back against the idea, but I will fight them. I will marry for love and protect the kingdom at the same time. Sure, we will be losing a potential alliance, but we will be gaining a man with a lion heart and great courage.\n\nA stubborn one, as well.\n\nYes, stubborn.\n\nSo I can't just come right out and ask him to be my king. I have to give him some time to come around to the idea. I have to make it impossible for him to let me go. Starting now.\n\nRex's mouth lets mine go, his lust-lightened eyes boring into mine a moment before his lips trail down my throat, kissing every inch of my sensitive skin. His journey propels him lower until he's lapping at my nipples, both of my breasts clutched in his huge hands, squeezing slightly, holding me in place for his licking and suckling. That's when I discover there is a buzzing hot wire between my nipples and the place between my legs, for it swiftly grows wet and achy until I'm actually pushing Rex's mouth toward my sex, begging in clipped whines and sobs.\n\nHe laughs darkly against my belly, his thumb parting my flesh like he owns it, rubbing up and back over my swollen nub. \"Are you ordering me to lick the royal pussy, my queen?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Say it, then.\" He kisses my mound, each of my inner thighs. \"I like coarse words, too.\"\n\n\"I couldn't,\" I gasp.\n\n\"Say it, Britta.\"\n\n\"Lick me, please,\" I say in a rush, closing my eyes. \"Use you tongue on me as if it's the only meal you need for the rest of your life.\"\n\nRex's answering groan is pure, shocked gratification and it vibrates me head to toe, rewarding me for being bold. \"That's not such a stretch, love.\" Eyes on my face, he drags the tip of his tongue through the slick valley of my sex, once, twice. \"I'm going to put my fingers inside your gorgeous, little cunt. Deep, my queen. To make you ready for me.\" His middle finger presses into my opening, going farther than I expect, so I suck in a breath, trying to get used to the full sensation. \"I'll be plucking your cherry this way. When I can still soothe the sting with my tongue and go slow,\" he grits out. \"Because once my cock is inside you, I'm going to lose my fucking head.\"\n\nI nod. Somehow, with my limited knowledge of sex, Rex's explanation makes sense\u2014and I trust him. I trust him with my heart, my body, my life. \"Okay,\" I breathe.\n\nWatching me closely, he milks his middle finger in and out of me, until the sounds of my wetness fill the stall. I might have been embarrassed by that if Rex wasn't so turned on, his breath shuddering out, eyelids drooping.\n\nHe adds his ring finger, plunging those two thick digits deep then shallow, his tongue swiping back and forth over my clit. And slowly, that pump of his fingers goes from uncomfortable to incredible. I'm hinging on the next inward slide, outward draw, my hips rolling in time with the movements.\n\n\"You're so bloody beautiful,\" he rasps, pressing his face to my stomach. \"Grab hold of my hair, love.\" I do as I'm told\u2014and he takes a long, shuddering inhale, punching his two fingers past my virginity, ripping a harsh cry from my throat. \"Shhhh. My love, my love, it'll get better soon. I promise.\"\n\nThe anguish, the reverence, the emotion packed into those words anchor me and I look down to find I'm practically ripping his hair out. Immediately, I loosen my grip and as I do, my womanhood begins to adjust around his fingers. I force myself to relax, to focus on his tongue, which is back on my clit, licking me eagerly, trying to dim the pain\u2014and his care of me brings back the desire even stronger this time. \"Rex\u2026\" I whisper. \"I'm ready.\"\n\nHe lifts his head, the hunger in his eyes making my heart race.\n\nAfter one final lapping lick of my buzzing hive of nerves, he comes to his knees and grips the hem of his white shirt. He hesitates slightly, then strips it off. And I quite simply gape at his perfectly padded brawn. I was right about his hair. There is a lot of it, black and thick, the abundance of it caressing his broad chest and thick belly lovingly.\n\nRex looks down at himself. \"This body is not worthy of you,\" he says, unfastening his pants. \"But my cock is long and sturdy. It will service you well. I'll see to it.\"\n\nWith that, he unloads his shaft from his pants and I suck in a breath. Long and sturdy do not begin to cover it. The sight of him is almost\u2026crude. Nestled in a thatch of black hair, his sex is wide-veined, curved upward. Mottled red from the pressure within, it has the circumference of my ankle. For all its fearsome qualities, it is the most sensual, exciting thing I've ever seen.\n\n\"You are beautiful,\" I whisper. \"Every inch.\"\n\nHe swallows, emotion flickering in his eyes, and reaches down to cup me between the legs, gathering my virgin blood in his palm and smearing it across his chest, growling in a gratified manner as he performs the task. Then he drops all that glorious weight down on top of me, positioning his hips between my thighs. \"It will be the greatest honor of my life to ride you, my queen.\" His mouth finds mine, kissing it slowly, thoroughly, his tongue sinking into my mouth again and again. \"To bring you to orgasm. To make the smoothest thighs in all the kingdom and beyond shake around me.\"\n\nI stroke my hands through the unruly black hair atop his, coasting them down his back, running my knees up and down his heaving ribcage. \"I want to please you, too.\"\n\nHis laugh is a rough scrape of sound. \"A given, love.\" Rex guides his shaft between my legs, making a sound in his throat as he feeds several inches into my body. \"Christ, but my queen is so tight. You're just a wee girl of eighteen, aren't you?\" he grits out. \"I should be ashamed of how soundly I want to fuck you.\"\n\nMy sex contracts to the tune of his rough language, my hands flying to his shoulders and clinging tight when the discomfort begins to take hold. I look up at Rex, trying to show him all the trust I have in my heart for him\u2014and he seems to momentarily lose his breath over it, before he chokes out a desperate sound and punches forward with his hips, seating himself completely inside of me.\n\nThere is a sharp twinge of pain in my middle, the discomfort of being stretched so completely. Without reverse. I can feel him making me his and that visceral proof of being claimed steals my focus from the hurt. And I just see Rex. Just feel Rex.\n\n\"Britta. Ah God,\" he pants. \"Sweet fucking hell, it's so warm and wet.\"\n\nHe wasn't lying when he told me he'd lose his head.\n\nRex moans, low and masculine, his jaw unhinging. His big body heaves down onto mine, that bulky lower body seems to thrust involuntarily, pushing my thighs open by force, flesh smacking into flesh in quick succession. For long moments, he seems unable to do anything but\u2026but rut me with great, brutal drives, before visibly reining himself in on a groan.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" he says brokenly into my neck. \"I've never known heaven like this.\"\n\n\"It's okay,\" I whisper, grazing his scalp with my fingernails. \"I love it.\"\n\nHe breathes relief over my fevered skin and balances himself on his right forearm, trailing the fingertips of his left hand down to my breasts. He teases my nipples by rolling them between his big, blunt fingers, molding the whole of my breasts in his palms. Loving them openly. Eyes locked on mine, as if voracious for the knowledge of what I like, the journey of his hand continues downward until he reaches my clit, pressing against my swelling nub, creating a slick, firm pattern that has me gasping for air. And as he wrecks me with his touch, he tunnels his huge sex into me, pulling out and slapping straight in, faster and harder each time, grunting, the muscles in his thick buttocks flexing and straining.\n\nThere is no trace of the discomfort now. There is only Rex on top of me, the very picture of a warrior enjoying the spoils of war. He blocks out the rest of the world, whittling my existence down to the breadth of his mountainous shoulders, the sensual chafe of his chest hair raking up and down over my breasts, abrading my nipples deliciously.\n\nI'm being driven to the brink by his fingers between my legs, but the sensation of being\u2026plowed full is so base and raw, it unlocks a sexual appetite I didn't know I possessed. I start to focus on that pounding inside me, the magical lands Rex reaches with every punch of his shaft, and my body quickens violently, an ominous eddy swirling in my belly.\n\n\"Is my queen enjoying that cock?\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes.\"\n\n\"Tell me it's yours,\" he begs gruffly, his glazed eyes imploring me.\n\nThat requests lifts me higher, closer to the precipice, bringing me to another level of this connection between us. I know exactly what he wants and I have need to give it. This is our own language, true and honest and urgent. \"That big, stiff thing between your thighs is mine, Rexington,\" I say, yanking his head down, so I can speak right against his ear. \"It serves me and only me. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Your Majesty,\" he heaves, pushing my knees up to my shoulders, bearing down on me with breathless desperation, that big body in a blurred state of motion, animalistic mating. \"Only you. Only you.\"\n\n\"Come inside me,\" I purr, burying my nails in his back and ripping them downward, gripping the hard slabs of his buttocks, slapping them, making him bellow choppily. \"Come inside me as deep as you can.\"\n\n\"No, Britta, no.\" And yet he thrusts harder, his hands scooping beneath my bottom to hold me stationary for his ferocious drives. \"I cannot do that!\"\n\nI lock my ankles behind his back. \"That's an order.\"\n\n\"Ahhh fuck. Fuck.\" He grits his teeth and starts to shake. \"I can't stop it. My seed is coming, love. But I will have your satisfaction first.\"\n\nHe flattens me, all of his weight on top of me now, rutting me furiously, his hot breath echoing in my ear. I didn't have far to go to begin with, but the animal quality in him awakens mine and I begin rubbing my sex on the fat trunk of his. Meeting him slap for slap, grind for grind, my teeth digging into the meat of his shoulder, the climax washing over my head and dragging me down.\n\n\"The queen comes for me,\" he roars triumphantly, rearing back and rapping a fist to his blood-smeared chest. \"I make you come, Britta.\"\n\n\"Yes, Rex.\" My head thrashes side to side, my body squeezing around his impossibly large shaft, already sore from the force of the constrictions. \"My Rex.\"\n\nMy claim makes him jerk and his eyes go blind, that huge body stilling. His mouth falls open and he moans, long and low, wet warmth hitting my womb in ropey spurts.\n\n\"My Britta,\" he roars.\n\nJust as I asked, he holds himself in the deepest possible recesses of my body, unloading himself with violent shudders, his hoarse groans echoing in my ear. Long moments pass of Rex in the throes, my backside caught in his bruising grip, his seed overflowing my sex and soaking into the blankets, dripping down my legs, into his palms.\n\nFinally, he heaves himself down onto the blankets beside me, a sheen of sweat shining on his hearty body, and I can't help a sense of feminine satisfaction to have felled this gorgeous giant with my body. And my love. His arms go around me and he holds me against his chest, rocking me to sleep, holding me like he'll never let me go.\n\nWill he, though?\n\nHe called me his.\n\nHow far is he willing to go to make that a reality?\n\nWith sleep closing in on me, I decide to set aside my worry for tomorrow.\n\nRex will come through. He'll hold on to me at all costs.\n\nI know he will."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "Heart in my throat, I stare down at the tiny queen curled up among the blankets.\n\nPre-dawn light spills in from the slats of the stables, kissing her porcelain skin, highlighting hidden hints of blue in her midnight hair. The abrasions I left on her nude body.\n\nLord, she is a wonder. A sweet, beautiful wonder.\n\nI look down at my own hands, scarred and misshapen.\n\nDid I really have the fortune of a night with this girl? Did I really dare touch her perfect skin with these calloused fingers? What the hell am I supposed to do now?\n\nLet her marry a prince?\n\nGulping, I turn and stomp from the stables, my destination the nearby creek. When I reach the edge, I strip quickly and wade straight into the gurgling water, letting the iciness stab my skin. I resurface only when my lungs begin to burn as painfully as my heart, reaching for the bar of soap always left at the base of the tree. The queen might be able to remain fresh as flowers after a night of rutting, but I can't, and I won't be stinking around her on top of being the unworthy bastard that took her virginity.\n\nShe's going to marry someone else.\n\nI look down at the soap in my hand to find it mutilated and drop the useless carcass of suds into the creek, watching it float away with eyes that feel bloodshot.\n\n\"You're up early.\"\n\nI glance back over my shoulder to find Katrina taking a seat on the bank. \"I'm not in need of any company, thank you.\"\n\n\"You're in a foul mood for someone who spent the night tupping the queen.\"\n\n\"Don't you say another word about that. Not to anyone.\" I point at the cottage where my other sisters are no doubt eating breakfast. \"That goes for them, too.\"\n\nKatrina looks hurt. \"Do you think we wish to see our only brother hanged?\"\n\nRegretting my outburst, I lower my voice. \"No, of course I don't.\"\n\n\"What are you thinking, Rex?\" She pauses. \"Do you love her?\"\n\n\"Yes. God, yes.\" Every ounce of the longing and misery inside of me seems to be packed into those three words. \"Deeply.\"\n\n\"Is she the reason you took the position at the palace?\"\n\n\"Of course. I'd do it again, too. And again. Because I'm a fool.\"\n\nMy sister shakes her head. \"You're not a fool.\"\n\n\"Oh, I promise, I am.\" I swallow but can't seem to rid myself of the sharp lodgment in my throat. \"I knew what was coming. Knew they were bringing two princes\u2014two qualified men\u2014to come meet her today and I allowed us to\u2014\" I break off and close my eyes. \"She will likely marry another man before the sun sets this eve.\"\n\n\"But\u2026\" Katrina's brow furrows. \"I don't understand. She does not seem the wishy-washy type. She would give you her affection, then turn to another?\"\n\n\"She will marry to build an alliance, put a new king in the throne and protect the kingdom, but\u2026\" I sigh, forcing myself to say the painful truth out loud. In front of a witness. So maybe I'll finally get it through my thick skull and stop fantasizing about a life that will never be. \"She only turned to me for comfort after the loss of the king and queen. It has been my privilege to give her that. She will soon realize there are far better options, though.\"\n\n\"You're wrong. I know you faced a fair bit of ridicule growing up. Maybe even still. But brother, hear me, there are no better options than you.\"\n\n\"I am not a royal,\" I point out. \"I am a low born blacksmith playing at being a guard so I can moon over the queen. And I can't\u2026do that anymore.\"\n\nAs soon as I say the words out loud, I realize how true they are.\n\nYesterday was my first day as the queen's private guard and today is my last.\n\nThere is no way I can stand around and watch her marry another. Birth him children.\n\nThe best I could hope for is to be her lover\u2014and I refuse to share.\n\nAll I can do is return her to the safety of the palace walls and go back to being a blacksmith. I'll live off the memory of our magical time together, but I'll have to do it from the real world. I have to get my head out of the clouds.\n\nI wait for my sister to return to the cottage before climbing out of the creek and hastily redressing. When I reach the stables a few minutes later, I find Britta pacing back and forth, wringing her shawl in her hands. She sees me and stops, examining my face with a hopeful expression, but whatever she sees there causes her shoulders to slump. The sight of her disappointment slays me, blackening my already dark mood.\n\n\"We have to get you back before the first morning guard rotation,\" I say, going to the stable and guiding out my horse. Forcing myself to be cold. \"You have a busy day ahead.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Britta",
                "text": "I stare down at the two garishly dressed, visibly arrogant men in front of my throne.\n\nRichard holds a scroll and reads from it, proudly listing the myriad titles held by each prince, but I can barely hear anything over the buzzing in my ears.\n\nRex didn't come through. He didn't ask me to be with him.\n\nNot just for one night, but always.\n\nHe's actually going to let me choose between two other men.\n\nOne is blond and can't seem to stop admiring the rubies on his hand.\n\nThe other is bald with ironically full eyebrows.\n\nI regard them as one might a couple of odd bugs.\n\nMy heart is shattered on the stone floors of the grand hall, yet no one seems to acknowledge it. I haven't said a word since arriving for this meeting. Doesn't anyone wonder why? Can't everyone see I'm bereft and heartsick?\n\nRex stands just inside the door of the great hall, head and shoulders above everyone else. It's little consolation that he looks like he's strapped into a torture device. Or that his hand is curled and shaking around the hilt of his sword, as if he might draw it at any moment and slay the two princes. No, that does nothing to comfort me.\n\nOn the ride back to the palace, he spoke to me only once\u2014and it was to inform me he would be resigning his post as soon as I chose the future king.\n\nDid last night mean nothing? Have I been completely na\u00efve?\n\n\"Queen Britta,\" Richard prompts me in a way that suggests he's been calling my name for a while. \"We think it might be best if you spend a little time with each of our lovely guests. Perhaps a walk around the gardens? Or a picnic near the river?\"\n\nHe might as well be suggesting we lie down in front of a stampede.\n\nI'm not in the right mind for this. I'm barely coherent.\n\nMy gaze strays to Rex. His jaw appears on the verge of cracking, eyes red rimmed. I can't imagine a life without him. How can he imagine one without me?\n\n\"Queen Britta?\" Richard says, more firmly this time.\n\nI become aware that I'm humiliating myself in front of the court. What to do, though? Go along with the proceedings as if nothing is amiss? I am not attracted to either of these men and they do not strike me as men I could grow to love. The greed and ambition in their eyes is enough to tell me that. But I can't just dismiss the entire process out of hand.\n\nI could go along with it. Humor Richard and the court.\n\nAnd then marry no one.\n\nBut that might jeopardize the kingdom. People like Katrina and Priscilla and the rest of Rex's sisters, who I grew to love in just one night.\n\nI don't know what to do\u2026and I have no one to talk to. My only confidant has barely spoken a word to me all morning and is planning on leaving at the earliest opportunity.\n\nI swallow hard. \"A walk in the gardens sounds lovely.\"\n\nThe blond man\u2014Prince Corwin\u2014steps forward and offers his hand. \"It would be an honor, Your Majesty.\"\n\nThe other prince seems annoyed that he didn't get a chance to offer first, blustering to Richard in spittle-soaked whispers. Seeing no other choice, I place my hand in Corwin's, nearly recoiling at the softness of his palm when all I want is a hard, calloused one.\n\nA low rumble fills the great hall and everyone glances around for the source. Everyone but me. I know it came from a certain giant and I'm done acknowledging him.\n\nCorwin guides me out of the great hall, his chest puffed up, nodding at members of the court. I don't look right or left\u2014or at my former lover\u2014keeping my attention squarely ahead. My chin high. We walk in silence to the gardens, before Corwin seems to realize this parade isn't only for show. That we're actually supposed to converse.\n\n\"Now, Queen Britta. Are you a lover of rubies, as I am?\"\n\nKill me now."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "My breath turns to ice in my lungs at the sight of her on the arm of a man who couldn't be mistaken for anything but royalty. He is wealth, where I am poor. He is fair and handsome, where I am rough and ugly. They suit perfectly\u2014and I would like to knock every one of his perfect teeth out and string them onto a necklace.\n\nI pace to the right and left at the entrance of the great hall, agony splitting my bones apart. Perhaps I should have resigned my post as soon as we arrived back to the palace, but none of the men they would replace me with are good enough to protect her.\n\nAnd so it will be me for a while longer. This torture will have to be endured.\n\nI take a wheezing breath and set after Britta and Prince Corwin.\n\nHer scent carries on the air and curls in my nose\u2014wild flowers\u2014and I groan brokenly, my hands aching for the feel of her. She's had a bath since I left her, changed into a light, cream-colored gown, her hair up in a twisted braid on her head. So different from last night, but equally stunning. She looked so forlorn up there on her throne. Lonely. It took every ounce of my restraint not to go to her. Hold her, rock her in my arms and tell her everything will be all right. Because I have no right to tell her that when I won't be here to make it so. I won't be here. Hell, I had no right in the beginning to insert myself into her life, to put my filthy hands on her, to call her mine when such a thing could never be real.\n\nUp ahead, Britta and Corwin enter the gardens and take the southern path toward the dense crop of trees, which I don't like. I would have suggested north, where they could remain in the light. In view of the palace. I don't like the way Britta holds herself so stiffly, either, and does that fucker have to lean over near her face every time he makes a comment? She can hear him just fine without the closer proximity.\n\nThey turn and dip out of sight on the path and my heart rams up into my throat. I pick up my pace to bring them back into view\u2014and when I do, my blood turns the consistency of fire, the world tilting around me.\n\nCorwin has his hands locked around Britta's neck and she's struggling.\n\nFor a moment, I swear I'm seeing things.\n\nMy brain is giving me an excuse to kill this man who could marry my love.\n\nBut the image remains and I think no longer, I simply run, red bleeding into my vision, fear turning my skin clammy. I don't draw my blade on the slight chance they might reverse positions at the last moment and I maim Britta instead. I'm the much larger man and I use that to my advantage, plowing into the man who would dare touch the queen, tackling him to the ground in my full armor. Pinning him there by the neck. Behind me, I hear Britta suck in a choking breath and rage descends on me like vultures.\n\nI draw my sword and hold it high above my head\u2014\n\n\"No!\" Britta wheezes, her hand circling my wrist. \"I don't know who he is, but he's not the prince. We need to question him.\"\n\nI'm shaking with the need to commit violence. To avenge her.\n\nThe vermin squirms underneath me, demanding to be punished. But I am not built to go against the queen's wishes. It's as though I'm incapable. So instead, I flip my sword over and bring the hilt down hard on his head, rendering the man deeply unconscious.\n\nHe won't wake for hours.\n\nI squeeze my eyes closed. Fearing her answer, I ask raggedly, \"Are you hurt badly?\"\n\n\"N-no.\"\n\nStill shaking with residual anger and fear, I slide my sword back into place and stand to face Britta. When I see the tears in her eyes, there is nothing on earth that could stop me from stripping off my armor, tossing it to the ground, and holding her. Wrapping my arms around her trembling form and hauling her against my chest. \"You're safe now, love. He can't harm you now.\"\n\nHer arms loop around my neck, making me feel sane for the first time today. We're both breathing hard, hands roaming. And it seems like the most natural thing in the world to lift her higher off the ground so she can burrow her face into my neck. With my last bit of awareness of our surroundings, I walk us off the path and into the shadows, gritting a curse when my cock begins to stiffen against the fastenings of my pants. Her breath bathes my neck, followed by hesitant grazes of her lips that grow bolder when I tilt my head, asking for more without words. She kisses and sucks a line up the side of my throat, and then we're just clawing at each other, shamelessly, frantically.\n\nMy hands roam down over her backside, massaging those tight little mounds of flesh, riding her up and down in my lap, listening to her moan of approval in my ear.\n\nWe can't do this, though.\n\nIt's inexcusable.\n\nI told her I'm resigning my post and I meant it. This man who attacked her was obviously some kind of an imposter. But it changes nothing between Britta and I. We can never be together in the open.\n\nWe're not in the open now, though, are we?\n\nNo. We're hidden. Alone. My body won't let me forget that fact. Especially when she wraps her legs around my waist and seeks my mouth, offering me soft lips and an eager tongue, which I accept greedily, growling into the kiss. I almost lost her. I almost lost her.\n\nYou never had her.\n\nNot really.\n\n\"I need you,\" she breathes against my mouth, reaching down between us to unfasten my pants. \"I was so scared, Rex, and I need you.\"\n\nThose words doom me.\n\nStagger me.\n\nBritta needs reassurance, and the fastest way to give it to her is that closest connection. The one where our souls join and our bodies press so tight, until we're one. Sharing everything. Fear, pleasure, hope.\n\n\"Yes, my queen,\" I groan, gathering the hem of her dress in my hands, lifting it to her waist and ripping away her underthings with aggressive twists of my wrists. The fine, delicate layers of material give way easily and bare her spread cunt, showing off its beauty to me in the light for the first time. It glistens with wetness. \"Your fear was not enough to rob you of cream.\"\n\nHer green eyes are wide, emotion packed. \"I need you even in my dark moments.\"\n\nBritta's admission humbles me and makes me desperate to pleasure her at the same time. Suctioning our mouths together, I lift her onto my cock, pressing her down, down, burying myself between her drenched folds until I'm home. Locked inside the tightest place on earth. \"And your fucking legs are already shaking around me, aren't they?\" I rasp, resting our foreheads together. \"Of course they are, because crown or no crown, you're just my horny little girl once you're sitting on my dick.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she gasps.\n\n\"How do you want it, Your Majesty?\" I whisper against her mouth. \"Fast and hard?\"\n\n\"Fast and hard,\" she repeats, nodding unevenly, her eyes glassy\u2014and I look right into them when I start to fuck her, bouncing her sweet, forbidden pussy up and down my pole, watching her love it, enjoy it, her neck losing power after five thrusts.\n\nGod, she's so beautiful, she breaks my heart.\n\nI was doomed for a life of pining after last night.\n\nNow I don't know how I'll survive at all.\n\nBecause she clings to me, whispering my name with such joy and longing\u2014and for the first time, I allow myself to wonder if\u2026if Britta really does need me. Maybe I'm not just a means of comfort or a distraction from her grief. If she didn't have deep feelings for me, would she have looked upon me with such relief when I arrived to save her? Would she be gripping the lapels of my uniform jacket, leaning back and riding me with such trust, not an ounce of shame or hesitance? Would she have given herself to me so freely in the first place?\n\n\"Rex,\" she moans, her hips writhing on top of my cock, and already I know that tone of voice. The queen is close to orgasm and as her eager servant, I am hungry to deliver satisfaction.\n\n\"My Britta wants to come?\"\n\n\"Make me come,\" she whines, nodding vigorously. \"N-now.\"\n\nMy cock almost blows her full of seed. Orders as such from this girl are my weakness. Or perhaps they are my strength, because I'm able to hold off my own pressing climax and tunnel my hands up the back of her dress, massaging her bare ass roughly. Then I gather wetness from the place where our bodies join and use it to slowly tuck my pinkie finger into her little pink asshole, making her eyes go wide. \"You're allowed to like it,\" I say.\n\nHer breath stutters out. \"Rex,\" she moans, clenching around my dick. \"Don't stop.\"\n\nI thrust up into her sweet body with quick snaps of my hips, milking my finger in and out of her virgin asshole in the same rhythm, and I marvel over the sight of her coming apart. Her eyes lose focus, her pussy growing damper and damper around me until I'm gritting myself to keep my climax at bay.\n\n\"I knew you wouldn't leave me,\" she gasps, her fingertips digging into my shoulders. \"I knew you would realize\u2026\"\n\nAlarm trickles in at the back of my mind, but it's too late. She calls my name one final time and grinds down on the orgasm, rubbing her clit on the base of my dick. And those little, rippling contractions of her pussy grip me by the loins and squeeze the seed from my balls. \"Britta,\" I pant, in an animal state of absorbing sensation, grunting every time my cock jerks in her tight channel, bathing it in my spend, possibly impregnating my sweet, little queen\u2014and just like last night, that possibility rips more come up my pulsing stalk of flesh, filling her past the brim until I hear it splashing down onto the leaves below. \"Britta,\" I groan raggedly. \"You honor me, Britta.\"\n\nShe collapses into my arms a moment later and I hold her, stroking a hand down her hair and rocking her, our bodies still joined.\n\nI knew you wouldn't leave me. I knew you would realize\u2026\n\nThe words she said echo in my skull, filing me with a sense of trepidation.\n\nShe thinks I'm staying.\n\nWhy wouldn't she?\n\nI've just rutted her once again after making a vow to leave. I haven't been true to my own word. Have I\u2026have I led her on?\n\nThat implies she has genuine feelings for me.\n\nAnd I'm slowly beginning to believe she might. Impossible as it seems, I'm more than just security to her. My heart wants to rejoice. It orders me to kneel and beg her to be mine until the sun burns out of the sky. But is that what's best for her?\n\nNo.\n\nNo, I'm not a king.\n\nThat is not in debate.\n\nI'm unqualified. Unroyal. Unsightly.\n\nBeneath her.\n\nI have to help her see that. I have to do what's best for Britta.\n\n\"What you said before, love\u2026about me not leaving\u2026\"\n\nShe lifts her head and smiles at me, turning my throat crowded. \"You are staying, right?\" Her voice is so hopeful, it rends me in two. \"You wouldn't have\u2026I mean\u2026\" Her face is starting to turn pink. \"You wouldn't have made love to me again if you were really going. You will be my king, Rex. Of course you will.\"\n\nHer king?\n\nOh God, I've been a selfish bastard. I've behaved atrociously.\n\n\"Will you be my king, Rex?\" she asks haltingly, doubt already dancing in her eyes.\n\n\"Britta\u2026\" I begin unevenly, at a loss for words. There's no way to explain myself. She was scared, she needed me, so I provided. I didn't see this far in the future.\n\nI've made her think the impossible was possible.\n\nWhen I fail to continue, she pushes out of my hold, her feet settling on the earth for the first time since our embrace began. \"You slept beside me that first night. You held me so tightly. A-and\u2026you've kissed me, touched me, been inside of me. Did those moments mean nothing?\"\n\nEach one was a fucking gift from God.\n\nBut if I say that out loud, I'm leading her on further, aren't I?\n\nWorse than I've already done beneath the cover of these trees?\n\nMe being king of Downsriver is a laughable idea and I've already established, I'm not standing by and watching her wed another.\n\nAll I can do here is let her go.\n\nShe will thank me one day. She will.\n\n\"All of those things, Your Majesty\u2026\" I swallow a handful of razor blades. \"You ordered me to do them.\"\n\nHer face turns pale and for one horrible moment, I think she's going to pass out.\n\n\"Rex\u2026\" she breathes, her voice dull, ghost-like. \"You have broken my heart and it will never, ever be repaired.\"\n\nAnd then she turns and walks away.\n\n\"Britta,\" I choke out, almost dropping to my knees. I've been shot full of arrows. She doesn't stop, doesn't glance back once on her way back to the palace.\n\nWhat have I done?\n\nWhy doesn't this feel like the right thing?\n\nBlindly, I stumble toward the passed out imposter, searching him for weapons before stooping down and throwing him over my shoulder. Just get him to the authorities and go. That's all I can do. I have hurt the queen and I should not be allowed within the palace walls.\n\nI'm aching head to toe as I haul the unconscious man to the tower beside the palace, where the dungeons are located. I throw him down inside a cell and order it to be locked until the queen herself orders him set free, no exceptions, and then I start for the stables to collect my horse, my longing eyes on the queen's bedchamber window all the while.\n\nIs she in there? Crying?\n\nDid I really break her heart? How is that I was capable of doing so?\n\nI'm preparing to mount my horse when I hear the commotion.\n\nIt's not the typical commotion heard within the palace walls.\n\nThis is much louder. There is shouting, men racing pasts on their mounts, guards firing arrows from the towers of the palace.\n\n\"We're under attack!\" someone shouts. \"Soldiers from Northstream.\"\n\nMy soul leaves my fucking body.\n\nUnder attack?\n\nBritta.\n\nBritta is in danger.\n\nWho else is the biggest target but the queen?\n\nWith a bellow lodged in my throat, I sprint for the palace, sword drawn.\n\nI realize in that split second that I've been an utter fool. I might have left, allowed her to marry another, but I would have come back again and again, every time she was in danger or facing difficulty. Staying away would have been impossible. But I've lost her now. I've lost her.\n\nAnd now she could very well die before I reach her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Britta",
                "text": "It hasn't hit me until just now that I am the queen.\n\nYes, I knew the title was mine. But I am an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken heart, my parents are dead, my kingdom is under attack and there are dozens of men looking to me for orders that simply will not arrive on my tongue.\n\nRichard has been apoplectic since I informed him of the attempt on my life at the hands of Corwin\u2014if that was even his real name. \"Your Majesty, I assure you, Prince Corwin is royalty. He comes from the finest lineage. His titles are many! He must have been replaced by a spy. That is the only explanation.\"\n\n\"A spy from Northstream, no doubt,\" I say, finding my voice. \"They wanted to remove the queen before attacking. And they would have succeeded, if it wasn't for\u2026\"\n\nI can't bring myself to say his name.\n\nAll of those things, Your Majesty\u2026you ordered me to do them.\n\nIf I do not die today, I think those words will echo in my ears for the rest of my life. Because Rex is right. I did order him to touch me, kiss me, make love to me. I was just so sure he would have done those things anyway. That he needed my affections as much as I needed his. How could I have been so wrong? One day as a queen and already abusing my power. I ought to be sent to the gallows.\n\n\"I demand to be hidden!\"\n\nIn a daze, I turn my head to the bald prince with bushy eyebrows. Is he still here? Why?\n\n\"Is there not a safe room for royalty?\" The prince blusters, scurrying around the great hall. \"I demand to be taken there at once. This is outrageous!\"\n\n\"Perhaps we should bring both the queen and Prince Egregious to the safe hold below floors,\" suggests Richard to the court, visibly grasping at straws. \"There, they can marry. With a king on the throne, perhaps Northstream will retreat, fearing retaliation from two kingdoms.\"\n\nBehind me, there is a loud crash, as if a door has been kicked open.\n\nI assume it's the enemy and fear strikes my chest, but when I turn, it's Rex.\n\nHe's striding into the great hall with hell in his eyes.\n\nBut it hurts to look at him and remember what he said, so I turn away quickly. \"No,\" I say to Richard. Then louder, \"No. Hear me now, all who listen. I will marry no man. Today alone, one has tried to kill me, another is displaying his cowardice and another still has cut the heart straight from my body. I will not marry. Not now. Not ever. Do not ask me again!\"\n\nRichard bows his head. \"Yes, my queen.\"\n\n\"Go hide the prince, as he wishes,\" I order one of the guards.\n\n\"You need to be hidden, too, Britta,\" Rex says, sounding hoarse. \"You need to go somewhere safe. Immediately. Please.\"\n\n\"No. I won't.\" Talking hurts. Standing upright hurts. Everything hurts. \"And you've been relieved of your duties as my guard. Please go.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nFire presses in behind my eyes. \"No?\"\n\n\"No. I am not leaving you.\" Rex shakes his head, takes a step in my direction. \"I will protect my queen. Always.\"\n\nI shake my head. \"No. You'll protect the people.\" That's what I want, I realize. That is the order I need to give. A queen's top priority is her people. However, I'm inexperienced and I don't know how to command the men. One day I will. But for now, I am tongue tied.\n\nIt's amazing what happens next.\n\nI look at Rex and he seems to read my mind perfectly. He sees my desires and conflicts and exhaustion and he steps to my side, facing the audience of commanders and members of the court with an air of authority I have not witnessed in him before. \"You. Take a dozen solders and warn Downsriver's subjects. Tell them to move quickly to the east field, women and children first.\" He moves his attention to a different commander. \"You. The men in the towers need reinforcements immediately. Bring them more weapons from the stronghold. Keep them back from the palace at all costs. No one breaches its walls and gets near the queen\u2014is that understood?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" they say in unison, beginning to look hopeful.\n\n\"Has the spy awoken?\" I say, some of my composure returning. \"Interrogate him. If he was sent to spy for Northstream, he might know their battle plan.\"\n\nRex nods. \"They have the element of surprise, but we know the land. We need to use that. Lure them in the direction of the inlet where the boats are moored. Have our soldiers cross the river in the boats and circle back around on foot. The Northstream soldiers will be left on the water's edge with no way to cross.\"\n\n\"They killed my parents,\" I say, voice thick with emotion. \"They tried to kill me, too. Drown them like rats.\"\n\n\"Savage, my queen,\" Rex says, giving me a seeking look. \"I like it.\"\n\nThe corner of my mouth tugs, but I beat back the smile. \"And what will you do?\"\n\nRex's brows draw together and he looks out across the men taking up arms. The men who are complying with his orders, as well as mine. And he seems at a loss, which serves to frustrate me further. Doesn't he see that they snapped into action as soon as he opened his mouth. Doesn't he see how it might have been if we ruled side by side? I have the urge to show him now. To let him witness what he's lost.\n\nOr maybe I just love him beyond reason and want to show him his potential.\n\n\"You will lead, Rexington,\" I say quietly. \"You will lead.\"\n\nUncertainty flickers in his eyes, but it's in his nature to obey me, so he swallows once and nods. Gives me a long, final, memorizing look and strides off down the center of the men, soldiers hastening to create a path for their new leader.\n\nAn image of my giant lying in a pile of bloodied corpses freezes my blood. As if I needed any further proof that my love for him is still alive and well, perhaps even growing by the second. \"And you will not die!\" I cry out, before Rex can reach the doors of the great hall.\n\nRex stops, pausing with his hand on the frame, then continues on into the fray, dragging my heart along behind him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Rex",
                "text": "Our plan\u2014mine and Britta's\u2014works.\n\nWe push the Northstream soldiers to the edge of the inlet, circle around and come at them from the other direction, sending them swimming for their lives. Halfway through the battle, I receive word at the frontlines that Britta's would-be assassin has given information about a second wave of soldiers, prompting me to lead dozens of men in a surprise attack at the kingdom's perimeter.\n\nThe sun is beginning to dip on the horizon when the tide turns and Northstream retreats. With the threat of violence under control and the queen safe, I order the injured men to be taken to the east field where they can be attended to immediately. And with my adrenaline waning, I start to replay the last bloody hours of battle in my mind. I hear my voice shouting over the din of horse hooves and clashing of swords. I was asked to lead and I did so, because the queen asked it of me.\n\nI never expected it to feel so natural.\n\nOr for everyone to listen.\n\nA man takes off his helmet now and regards me with respect as I move quickly back toward the palace, eager to see with my own eyes that Britta is unharmed.\n\nAnother solider performs the same gesture. And then another. And another.\n\nA seed of pride is planted in my chest and begins to grow, nurtured by humility and a fair amount of shock. \"Thank you,\" I mutter, passing them.\n\n\"No, Downsriver thanks you, Rexington Monroe,\" one of them calls at my back. \"We'd have been flying the Northstream flag without you.\"\n\nI don't know what to say to that, so I nod and keep walking. But the closer I get to the palace, the more pressure invades my chest. Earlier today, the love of my life asked me to be her king and I turned her down, so certain I didn't have what it took.\n\nIs it possible\u2026I do?\n\nJesus Christ, I almost hope not, because the timing of this realization could not be worse. I heard her vow never to marry. I heard the conviction in her tone. Any chance I had is gone. I've lost Britta\u2026and I'm beginning to think I could have kept her.\n\nNo. Hear me now, all who listen. I will marry no man. Today alone, one has tried to kill me, another is displaying his cowardice and another still has cut the heart straight from my body. I will not marry. Not now. Not ever. Do not ask me again!\n\nWith those words banging around in my skull, I stop at the doors to the palace, rubbing at the center of my chest with the heel of my hand. My heart feels like it's being choked by a garrote. I could have been her king, couldn't I? More importantly, her husband. Her lover and friend. The father of her children. Who would have thought it possible? I am a leader after all. I'm not the butt of my sisters' jokes or the pudgy, overlarge blacksmith. I'm a soldier. I'm a man that was wanted by the most incredible, fiercely beautiful girl on this earth.\n\nApparently I'm also a squandering fool.\n\nSwallowing hard, I pull open the doors of the palace, clanking through the vestibule and into the great hall. Britta looks up sharply at my entrance and shoots to her feet, a hand flying to the arm of her throne, as if to steady herself.\n\nHer lower lip trembles, her eyes growing luminous.\n\nLove is like two hands squeezing me around the throat.\n\nAnd I know in that moment there is no giving up.\n\nMy life will be a shambles without her.\n\nI rip off my helmet and throw it aside, followed by my breastplate. The armor on my legs comes off next, which is imperative, so I can kneel in front of her. And I do that now. I kneel in front of my queen and beg for my life. \"Ask me again,\" I rasp loudly. Loud enough for the gathered soldiers and members of the court to hear. \"Please, Britta. Ask me again to be your king.\"\n\nHer silence is like a knife slash.\n\nAh God, I hurt her so badly. It is agony knowing this.\n\nBut giving up is not an option.\n\nI'll never give up. On her. On us.\n\n\"Ask me to be your king again, so I can tell you I'm in love with you. I've loved you\u2014every moment of it my own free will\u2014since the day you rode in a procession past my home. I left my job to be near you, to guard you day and night, my love, because there is no one more precious in any kingdom. Worshipping a girl as thoroughly as I worship you, my queen, it was hard to imagine myself belonging at your side, but I would stand there a proud and fortunate man, if you will have me. I'm sorry I was a fool before. Please ask me again,\" I finish brokenly.\n\nI look up to find tears coursing down her cheeks.\n\nFor a long moment, however, she says nothing.\n\nUntil, miracle of miracles, she reaches down and brushes her fingertips down my face, bringing them away wet, studying them. \"Will you be my king, Rexington Monroe?\"\n\nJoy and relief and love explode within me. She has taken me back. She has taken me back against all odds and I can barely breathe. \"It would be an honor.\"\n\nI lunge to my feet and after what seems like a lifetime, Britta is back in my arms, and I carry my future wife out of the great hall to the tune of soldiers bashing their metal helmets on stone and shouting their approval. Shorty after, the members of the court add their voice to the chorus.\n\nThen there is nothing but her. And the years unfolding in front of us like a shimmering path."
            },
            {
                "title": "Epilogue",
                "text": "[ Britta ]\n\n[ Five years later ]\n\nI'm gathering a bouquet of wildflowers on the hill, watching the sun dive into the ocean, when I hear my husband approaching with our son. They are in the midst of one of their very serious, very manly riding lessons, so I don't call out to them. Rex rushed home from his training session with Downsriver's new and improved army to catch the last rays of sunshine, so I meander around back of the new stone lookout tower, intending to give them their bonding time. At least until their conversation carries to me on the salt air.\n\n\"My tutor says laziness is a sin. Is it, Da?\"\n\n\"Not once everything important is done,\" Rex answers. \"Or if it's Sunday. No such thing as laziness on Sunday.\"\n\n\"Ohhh.\" I can see Braiden nodding solemnly in my mind's eye. He's currently in a phase where he asks approximately ninety-nine questions per minute and we're trying to be very patient about it. \"What else is a sin?\"\n\n\"Oh\u2026stealing. Killing. Lying is the worst one, though.\"\n\n\"Why is lying the worst one?\" Braiden asks.\n\n\"A man might steal to feed his family or kill to save an innocent. Those are sins that can be forgiven, but lying takes away a man's honor.\"\n\n\"Have you ever lied?\"\n\n\"I twisted the truth once,\" Rex says, a shiver in his voice. \"And it almost cost me your mother. Almost cost me my happiness. My life.\"\n\nBraiden gasps. \"Fecking hell, Da.\"\n\nRex bites off a laugh. \"Mind your tongue.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" our son mumbles. \"What would you be doing without her?\"\n\n\"What do you think I'd be doing?\" Rex says, as if the answer should be obvious. \"I'd still be coming up with ways to win her back. And why is that?\"\n\n\"Because you should never, ever give up.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" Rex responds, warmly. \"Now take your mount to the stables and see to his care. You did very well today.\"\n\n\"Bye, Da.\"\n\nI smile and lean against the tower, listening to the sound of hooves pounding in the opposite direction. My heart sighs over the bond between my king and his son. It sighs over so many things these days. A marriage that overflows with love. A flourishing kingdom.\n\nI smooth a hand over my pregnant belly.\n\nNew life.\n\nIn my periphery, I see Rex step closer to the edge of the cliff and clasp his hands loosely behind his back, lifting his face to the sunset. I absorb the sight of him eagerly, marveling over the confidence that he wears like second skin now, making him even sexier than he was in the beginning. Back when we first admitted our love for each other. This man not only rules Downsriver with fair but firm authority, he values me as his equal partner. His co-ruler and queen. His advisor in all decisions.\n\nI hunger for him constantly.\n\nEspecially now, with the proof of his virility growing in my belly.\n\nAll I have to do is whisper his name and he turns his head, pleasure and love blanketing his features to find me leaned against the stone tower. \"God, you are a sight, Britta,\" he rasps, coming toward me, eyes sweeping downward to where my full breasts are plumped in the neckline of my gown. \"All covered in the golden light. An angel.\"\n\n\"Your angel,\" I murmur, pulling him down for a kiss.\n\nI give him the kind of tongue that is usually reserved for our bedchamber, after dark. Opening my lips wide, lapping at his upper lip like a wanton. And he takes it hungrily, his breath running short, his erection taking mere moments to stretch up and prod the underside of my pregnant stomach. \"Are you in need of my services, Your Majesty?\" he says hoarsely, already reaching down to unfasten his pants. \"It will be my honor to see to your pleasure.\"\n\nI skim a hand down over his bulging sex, cupping his balls firmly and listening to him choke my name. \"Always so eager to serve, aren't you?\"\n\nHis groan mingles with the crashing of water on the rocks below. \"Serve you? Yes.\"\n\nI increase the pressure. \"Poor man. These need emptying, don't they?\"\n\n\"Yes. Please.\" He ruts my hand with desperate rolls of his hips. \"Allow me to empty them between the thighs of my beautiful queen.\"\n\nOur mouths collide, anxious for union. Contact. Connection.\n\nWe are equals when we sit on our thrones.\n\nOr make decisions for our son.\n\nBut in the bedchamber, Rex is my servant, I'm his ruler, and we both relish our roles. Crave the chance to slip into them at every opportunity. Like right now, when I turn and flatten my palms on the tower. \"You have my permission,\" I whisper, eyes closed, chafing my nipples shamelessly against the stone.\n\nI'm breathless. Excited.\n\nHungry for my husband.\n\nRex places his open mouth on the side of my neck, gathering then hem of my dress, bunching it at my waist. Pauses, unbreathing. \"You're wearing no underthings, my queen,\" he groans, palming my nude backside. \"You are as eager for a dirty rut as I am.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I breathe. \"Don't make me wait.\"\n\nA quick rustle of clothes is followed by the thick head of Rex's shaft pressing to my opening. Inch after delicious inch slides inside me, Rex planting himself hard with a male grunt. \"Is my cock to your liking, my queen?\" he growls, raking my neck with his teeth.\n\n\"It's perfect,\" I whisper, overcome suddenly by the moment. Standing in the pinkish-orange light, celebrating our love for each other. \"Everything is perfect.\"\n\nWith our bodies tightly joined, Rex circles his strong arms around me, our mouths meeting for a kiss over my right shoulder. \"Perfect,\" he agrees, pouring love so fierce it shakes me into the kiss. \"Perfect, enduring, forever. I love you with all my heart and soul, Britta.\"\n\n\"I love you, too,\" I gasp, my eyes wet. Then I push my hips back on a tight grind, making him hiss, slapping a scarred hand down on the tower for balance. \"Now show me, my king.\""
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Iron King",
        "author": "Maurice Druon",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "France",
            "The Accursed Kings"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The Iron King",
                "text": "The Grand Master felt surging within him one of those half-crazy rages which had so often come upon him in his prison, making him shout aloud and beat the walls. He felt that he was upon the point of committing some violent and terrible act \u2013 he did not know exactly what \u2013 but he felt the impulse to do something.\n\nHe accepted death almost as a deliverance, but he could not accept an unjust death, nor dying dishonoured. Accustomed through long years to war, he felt it stir for the last time in his old veins. He longed to die fighting.\n\nHe sought the hand of Geoffroy de Charnay, his old companion in arms, the last strong man still standing at his side, and clasped it tightly.\n\nRaising his eyes, the Preceptor saw the arteries beating upon the sunken temples of the Grand Master. They quivered like blue snakes.\n\nThe procession reached the Bridge of Notre-Dame.\n\n[ Prologue ]\n\nAt the beginning of the fourteenth century, Philip IV, a king of legendary personal beauty, reigned over France as absolute master. He had defeated the warrior pride of the great barons, the rebellious Flemings, the English in Aquitaine, and even the Papacy which he had proceeded to install at Avignon. Parliaments obeyed his orders and councils were in his pay.\n\nHe had three adult sons to ensure his line. His daughter was married to King Edward II of England. He numbered six other kings among his vassals, and the web of his alliances extended as far as Russia.\n\nHe left no source of wealth untapped. He had in turn taxed the riches of the Church, despoiled the Jews, and made extortionate demands from the community of Lombard bankers. To meet the needs of the Treasury he debased the coinage. From day to day the gold piece weighed less and was worth more. Taxes were crushing: the police multiplied. Economic crises led to ruin and famine which, in turn, caused uprisings which were bloodily put down. Rioting ended upon the forks of the gibbet. Everyone must accept the royal authority and obey it or be broken by it.\n\nThis cruel and dispassionate prince was concerned with the ideal of the nation. Under his reign France was great and the French wretched.\n\nOne power alone had dared stand up to him: the Sovereign Order of the Knights Templar. This huge organisation, at once military, religious and commercial, had acquired its fame and its wealth from the Crusades.\n\nPhilip the Fair was concerned at the Templars' independence, while their immense wealth excited his greed. He brought against them the greatest prosecution in recorded history, since there were nearly fifteen thousand accused. It lasted seven years, and during its course every possible infamy was committed.\n\nThis story begins at the end of the seventh year."
            },
            {
                "title": "A CURSE",
                "text": "[ The Loveless Queen ]\n\nA huge log, lying upon a bed of red-hot embers, flamed in the fireplace. The green, leaded panes of the windows permitted the pale light of a March day to filter into the room.\n\nSitting upon a high oaken chair, its back surmounted by the three lions of England, her chin cupped in her hand, her feet resting upon a red cushion, Queen Isabella, wife of Edward II, gazed vaguely, unseeingly, at the glow in the hearth.\n\nShe was twenty-two years old, her complexion clear, pretty and without blemish. She wore her golden hair coiled in two long tresses upon each side of her face like the handles of an amphora.\n\nShe was listening to one of her French Ladies reading a poem of Duke William of Aquitaine.\n\n\u2003D'amour ne dois-je plus dire de bien\n\n\u2003Car je n'en ai ni peu ni rien,\n\n\u2003Car je n'en ai qui me convient \u2026\n\nThe sing-song voice of the reader was lost in this room which was too large for women to be able to live in happily.\n\n\u2003Bient\u00f4t m'en irai en exil,\n\n\u2003En grande peur, en grand p\u00e9ril \u2026\n\n\u2003The loveless Queen sighed.\n\n'How beautiful those words are,' she said. 'One might think that they had been written for me. Ah! the time has gone when great lords were as practised in poetry as in war. When did you say he lived? Two hundred years ago! One could swear that it had been written yesterday.'\n\nAnd she repeated to herself:\n\n\u2003D'amour ne dois-je plus dire de bien\n\n\u2003Car je n'en ai ni peu ni rien \u2026\n\nFor a moment she was lost in thought.\n\n'Shall I go on, Madam?' asked the reader, her finger poised on the illuminated page.\n\n'No, my dear,' replied the Queen. 'My heart has wept enough for today.'\n\nShe sat up straight in her chair, and in an altered voice said, 'My cousin, Robert of Artois, has announced his coming. See that he is shewn in to me as soon as he arrives.'\n\n'Is he coming from France? Then you'll be happy to see him, Madam.'\n\n'I hope to be\u2026 if the news he brings is good.'\n\nThe door opened and another French lady entered, breathless, her skirts raised the better to run. She had been born Jeanne de Joinville and was the wife of Sir Roger Mortimer.\n\n'Madam, Madam,' she cried, 'he has talked.'\n\nReally?' the Queen replied. 'And what did he say?'\n\n'He banged the table, Madam, and said: \"Want!\"'\n\nA look of pride crossed Isabella's beautiful face.\n\n'Bring him to me,' she said.\n\nLady Mortimer ran out and came back an instant later carrying a plump, round, rosy infant of fifteen months whom she deposited at the Queen's feet. He was clothed in a red robe embroidered with gold, which weighed more than he did.\n\n'Well, Messire my son, so you have said: \"Want\",' said Isabella, leaning down to stroke his cheek. 'I'm pleased that it should have been the first word you uttered: it's the speech of a king.'\n\nThe infant smiled at her, nodding his head.\n\n'And why did he say it?' the Queen went on.\n\n'Because I refused him a piece of the cake we were eating,' Lady Mortimer replied.\n\nIsabella gave a brief smile, quickly gone.\n\n'Since he has begun to talk,' she said, 'I insist that he be not encouraged to lisp nonsense, as children so often are. I'm not concerned that he should be able to say \"Papa\" and \"Mamma\". I should prefer him to know the words \"King\" and \"Queen\".'\n\nThere was great natural authority in her voice.\n\n'You know, my dear,' she said, 'the reasons that induced me to select you as my son's governess. You are the great-niece of the great Joinville who went to the crusades with my great-grandfather, Monsieur Saint Louis. You will know how to teach the child that he belongs to France as much as to England.'\n\nLady Mortimer bowed. At this moment the first French lady returned, announcing Monseigneur Count Robert of Artois.\n\nThe Queen sat up very straight in her chair, crossing her white hands upon her breast in the attitude of an idol. Though her perpetual concern was to appear royal, it did not age her.\n\nA sixteen-stone step shook the floorboards.\n\nThe man who entered was six feet tall, had thighs like the trunks of oak-trees, and hands like maces. His red boots of Cordoba leather were ill-brushed, still stained with mud; the cloak hanging from his shoulders was large enough to cover a bed. With the dagger at his side, he looked as if he were going to the wars. Wherever he might be, everything about him seemed fragile, feeble, and weak. His chin was round, his nose short, his jaw powerful and his stomach strong. He needed more air to breathe than the common run of men. This giant of a man was twenty-seven years old, but his age was difficult to determine beneath the muscle, and he might well have been thirty-five.\n\nHe took his gloves off as he approached the Queen, went down on one knee with surprising nimbleness in one so large, then stood erect again without even allowing time to be invited to do so.\n\n'Well, Messire, my Cousin,' said Isabella, 'did you have a good crossing?'\n\n'Horrible, Madam, quite appalling,' replied Robert of Artois. 'There was a storm to make you bring up your guts and your soul. I thought my last hour had come and began to confess my sins to God. Fortunately, there were so many that we'd arrived before I'd had time to recite the half of them. I've still got sufficient for the return journey.'\n\nHe burst out laughing and the windows shook.\n\n'And, by God,' he went on, 'I'm more suited to travelling upon dry land than crossing salt water. And if it weren't for the love of you, Madam, my Cousin, and for the urgent tidings I have for you \u2026'\n\n'Do you mind if I finish with him, cousin,' said Isabella, interrupting him.\n\nShe pointed to the child.\n\n'My son has begun to talk today.'\n\nThen to Lady Mortimer: 'I want him to get accustomed to the names of his relatives and he should know, as soon as possible, that his grandfather, Philip the Fair, is King of France. Start repeating to him the Pater and the Ave, and also the prayer to Monsieur Saint Louis. These are things that must be instilled into his heart even before he can understand them with his reason.'\n\nShe was not displeased to be able to show one of her French relations, himself a descendant of a brother of Saint Louis, how she watched over her son's education.\n\n'That's sound teaching you're giving the young man,' said Robert of Artois.\n\n'One can never learn to reign too soon,' replied Isabella.\n\nUnaware that they were talking of him, the child was amusing himself by walking with that careful, uncertain step peculiar to infants.\n\n'To think that we were once like that!' said Artois.\n\n'It is certainly difficult to believe it when looking at you, Cousin,' said the Queen smiling.\n\nFor a moment she thought of what the woman must feel who had given birth to this human fortress and of what she herself would feel when her son became a man.\n\nThe child went over to the hearth as if he wished to seize a flame in his tiny fist. Extending a red boot, Robert of Artois barred the road. Quite unafraid, the little Prince seized the leg in arms which could barely encircle it and, sitting astride the giant's foot, he was lifted three or four times into the air. Delighted with the game, the little Prince laughed aloud.\n\n'Ah! Messire Edward,' said Robert of Artois, 'later on, when you're a powerful prince, shall I dare remind you that I gave you a ride on my boot?'\n\n'Yes, Cousin,' replied Isabella, 'if you always show yourself to be our loyal friend. You may leave us now,' she added.\n\nThe French ladies went, taking with them the infant, who, if fate pursued its normal course, would one day become Edward III of England.\n\nRobert of Artois waited till the door was closed.\n\n'Well, Madam,' he said, 'to complete the admirable lessons you have given your son, you will soon be able to inform him that Marguerite of Burgundy, Queen of Navarre, future Queen of France, granddaughter of Saint Louis, is qualifying to be called by her people Marguerite the Whore.'\n\n'Really?' asked Isabella. 'Is what we suspected true then?'\n\n'Yes, Cousin. And not only in respect of Marguerite. It's true for your two sisters-in-law as well.'\n\n'What? Both Jeanne and Blanche?'\n\n'As regards Blanche, I'm sure of it. Jeanne \u2026'\n\nRobert of Artois sketched a gesture of uncertainty with his hand.\n\n'She's cleverer than the others,' he added; 'but I've every reason to believe that she's as much of a whore.'\n\nHe paced up and down the room and then sat down again saying, 'Your three brothers are cuckolds, Madam, as cuckold as any clodhopper!'\n\nThe Queen rose to her feet. Her cheeks showed signs of blushing.\n\n'If what you're saying is sure, I won't stand it,' she said. 'I won't tolerate the shame, and that my family should become an object of derision.'\n\n'The barons of France won't tolerate it either,' said Artois.\n\n'Have you their names, the proof?'\n\nArtois sighed heavily.\n\n'When you came to France last summer with your husband, to attend the festivities at which I had the honour to be dubbed knight with your brothers \u2013 for you know,' he said, laughing, 'they don't stint me of honours that cost nothing \u2013 I told you of my suspicions and you told me yours. You asked me to watch and keep you informed. I'm your ally; I've done the one and I've come here to accomplish the other.'\n\n'Well, what have you discovered?' Isabella asked impatiently.\n\n'In the first place that certain jewels have disappeared from the casket of your sweet, worthy and virtuous sister-in-law, Marguerite. Now, when a woman secretly parts with her jewels, it's either to make presents to her lover or to bribe accomplices. That's clear enough, don't you agree?'\n\n'She can pretend to have given alms to the Church.'\n\n'Not always. Not, for instance, if a certain brooch has been exchanged with a Lombard merchant for a Damascus dagger.'\n\n'And have you discovered at whose belt that dagger hangs?'\n\n'Alas, no,' Artois replied. 'I've searched, but I've lost the scent. They're clever bitches, as I've told you. I've never hunted stags in my forest of Conches that knew better how to conceal their line and take evasive action.'\n\nIsabella looked disappointed. Stretching wide his arms Robert of Artois anticipated what she was going to say.\n\n'Wait, wait,' he cried. 'That is not all. The true, pure, chaste Marguerite has had an apartment furnished in the old tower of the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle, in order, so she says, to retire there to say her prayers. Curiously enough, however, she prays there on precisely those nights your brother Louis is away. The lights shine there pretty late. Her cousin Blanche, sometimes her cousin Jeanne, joins her there. Clever wenches! If either of them were questioned, she's merely to reply, \"What's that? Of what are you accusing me? But I was with the other.\" One woman at fault finds it difficult to defend herself. Three wicked harlots are a fortress. But listen; on those very nights Louis is away, on the nights the Tower of Nesle is lit up, there has been movement seen on that usually deserted stretch of river bank at the tower's foot. Men have been seen coming from it, men who were certainly not dressed as monks and who, if they had been saying evensong, would have left by another door. The Court is silent, but the populace is beginning to chatter, since servants always start gossiping before their masters do.'\n\nHe spoke excitedly, gesticulating, walking up and down, shaking the floor, beating the air with great swirls of his cloak. Robert of Artois paraded his superabundant strength as a means of persuasion. He sought to convince with his muscles as well as with his words; he enclosed his interlocutor in a whirlwind; and the coarseness of his language, so much in keeping with his appearance, seemed proof of a rude good faith. Nevertheless, upon looking closer, one might well wonder whether all this commotion was not perhaps the showing-off of a mountebank, the playing of a part. A calculated, unremitting hatred glowed in the giant's grey eyes; and the young Queen concentrated upon remaining mistress of herself.\n\n'Have you spoken of this to my father?' she asked.\n\n'My good Cousin, you know King Philip better than I. He believes so firmly in the virtue of women that one would have to show him your sisters-in-law in bed with their lovers before he'd be willing to listen. Besides, I'm not in such good favour at Court since I lost my lawsuit.'\n\n'I know that you've been wronged, Cousin, and if it were in my power that wrong would be righted.'\n\nRobert of Artois seized the Queen's hand and placed his lips upon it in a surge of gratitude.\n\n'But precisely because of this lawsuit,' Isabella said gently, 'might one not think that your present actions are due to a desire for revenge?'\n\nThe giant bounded to his feet.\n\n'But of course I'm acting out of revenge, Madam!'\n\nHow disarming this big Robert was! You thought to lay a trap for him, to take him at a disadvantage, and he was as wide open with you as a window.\n\n'My inheritance of my County of Artois has been stolen from me,' he cried, 'that it might be given to my aunt, Mahaut of Burgundy \u2013 the bitch, the sow, may she die! May leprosy rot her mouth, and her breasts turn to carrion! And why did they do it? Because through trickery and intrigue, through oiling the palms of your father's counsellors with hard cash, she succeeded in marrying off to your brothers her two sluts of daughters and that other slut, her cousin.'\n\nHe began mimicking an imaginary conversation between his aunt Mahaut, Countess of Burgundy and Artois, and King Philip the Fair.\n\n'My dear lord, my cousin, my gossip, supposing you married my dear little Jeanne to your son Louis? What, he doesn't want her? He finds her rather sickly-looking? Well then, give him Margot, and Philip, he can have Jeanne, and my sweet Blanchette can marry your fine Charles. How delightful that they should all love each other! And then, if I'm given Artois which belonged to my late brother, my Franche-Comt\u00e9 of Burgundy will go to those girls. My nephew Robert? Give that dog some bone or other! The Castle of Conches and the County of Beaumont will do well enough for that boor! And I whisper malice in Nogaret's ear, and send a thousand presents to Marigny\u2026 and then I marry one off, and then two, and then three. And no sooner are they married than the little bitches start plotting, sending each other notes, taking lovers, and set about betraying the throne of France.\u2026 Oh! if they were irreproachable, Madam, I'd hold my peace. But to behave so basely after having injured me so much, those Burgundy girls are going to learn what it costs, and I shall avenge myself on them for what their mother did to me.'\n\nIsabella remained thoughtful during this outpouring. Artois went close to her and, lowering his voice, said, 'They hate you.'\n\n'Though I don't know why, it is true that as far as I am concerned, I never liked them from the start,' Isabella replied.\n\n'You didn't like them because they're false, because they think of nothing but pleasure and have no sense of duty. But they hate you because they're jealous of you.'\n\n'And yet my position is not a very enviable one,' said Isabella sighing; 'their lot seems to me far pleasanter than my own.'\n\n'You are a Queen, Madam; you are a Queen in heart and soul; your sisters-in-law may well wear crowns but they will never be queens. That is why they will always be your enemies.'\n\nIsabella raised her beautiful blue eyes to her cousin and Artois sensed that this time he had struck the right note. Isabella was on his side once and for all.\n\n'Have you the names of the men with whom my sisters-in-law\u2026?' she asked.\n\nShe lacked the crudeness of her cousin and could not bring herself to utter certain words.\n\n'Do you not know them?' she said. 'Without their names I can do nothing. Get them, and I promise you that I shall come to Paris at once upon some pretext or other, and put an end to this disorder. How can I help you? Have you told my uncle Valois?'\n\nShe was once more decisive, precise and authoritative.\n\n'I took care not to,' answered Artois. 'Monseigneur of Valois is my most loyal patron and my greatest friend; but he is the exact opposite of your father. He'd go gossiping all over the place about what we want to keep quiet, he'd put them on their guard, and when the moment came when we were ready to catch the bawds out, we should find them as pure as nuns.'\n\n'Well, what do you suggest?'\n\n'Two courses of action,' said Artois. 'The first is to appoint to Madam Marguerite's household a new lady-in-waiting who will be in our confidence and who will report to us. I have thought of Mme de Comminges for the post. She has recently been widowed and deserves some consideration. And in that your uncle Valois can help us. Write him a letter expressing your wish, and pretending to interest on the widow's behalf. Monseigneur has great influence over your brother Louis and, merely in order to exercise it, will at once place Mme de Comminges in the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle. Thus we shall have a creature of ours on the spot, and as we say in military parlance, a spy within the walls is worth an army outside.'\n\n'I'll write the letter and you shall take it back with you,' said Isabella. 'And what more?'\n\n'You must allay your sisters-in-law's distrust of you; you must make yourself amiable by sending them nice presents,' Artois went on. 'Presents that would do as well for men as women. You can send them secretly, a little private friendly transaction between you, which neither father nor husbands need know anything about. Marguerite despoils her casket for a good-looking unknown; it would really be bad luck if, having a present she need not account for, we don't find it upon the gallant in question. Let's give them opportunities for imprudence.'\n\nIsabella thought for a moment, then went to the door and clapped her hands.\n\nThe first French lady entered.\n\n'My dear,' said the Queen, 'please bring me the golden almspurse that the Merchant Albizzi brought me this morning on approval.'\n\nDuring the short wait Robert of Artois for the first time ceased to be concerned with his plots and preoccupations and looked round the room, at the religious frescoes painted on the walls, at the huge, beamed roof that looked like the hull of a ship. It was all rather new, gloomy and cold. The furniture was fine but sparse.\n\n'Your home is not very gay, Cousin,' he said. 'One might think one was in a cathedral rather than a palace.'\n\n'I hope to God,' Isabella said in a low voice, 'that it does not become my prison. How much I miss France!'\n\nHe was struck by her tone of voice as much as by her words. He realised that there were two Isabellas: on the one hand the young sovereign, conscious of her role and trying to live up to the majesty of her part; and on the other, behind this outward mask, an unhappy woman.\n\nThe French lady-in-waiting returned, bringing a purse of interwoven gold thread, lined with silk and fastened with three precious stones as large as thumbnails.\n\n'Splendid!' Artois cried. 'This is exactly what we want. A little heavy for a woman to wear; but exactly what a young man at Court dreams of fastening to his belt in order to show off.'\n\n'You'll order two similar purses from the merchant Albizzi,' said Isabella to her lady-in-waiting, 'and tell him to make them at once.'\n\nThen, when the Frenchwoman had gone out, she added for Robert's ear, 'You'll be able to take them back to France with you.'\n\n'No one will know that they passed through my hands,' he said.\n\nThere was a noise outside, shouts and laughter. Robert of Artois went over to the window. In the courtyard a company of masons were hoisting to the summit of an arch an ornamental stone engraved in relief with the lions of England. Some were hauling on pulley-ropes; others, perched on a scaffolding, were making ready to seize hold of the block of stone, and the whole business seemed to be carried out amid extraordinary good humour.\n\n'Well!' said Robert of Artois. 'It appears that King Edward still likes masonry.'\n\nAmong the workmen he had just recognised Edward II, Isabella's husband, a good-looking man of thirty, with curly hair, wide shoulders and strong thighs. His velvet clothes were dusty with plaster.\n\n'They've been rebuilding Westminster for more than fifteen years!' said Isabella angrily. (She pronounced it Vestmoustiers, in the French manner.) 'For the whole six years I've been married I've lived among trowels and mortar. They're always pulling down what they built the month before. It's not masonry he likes, it's his masons! Do you imagine they even bother to say \"Sire\" to him? They call him Edward, and laugh at him, and he loves it. Just look at him.'\n\nIn the courtyard, Edward II was giving orders, leaning on a young workman, his arm round the boy's neck. About him was an air of suspect familiarity. The lions of England had been lowered back to earth, doubtless because it was thought that their proposed site was unsuitable.\n\n'I thought,' Isabella went on, 'that I had known the worst with Sir Piers Gaveston. That insolent, boastful B\u00e9arnais ruled my husband so successfully that he ruled the country too. Edward gave him all the jewels in my marriage casket. In one way or another it seems to be a family custom for the women's jewels to end up on men!'\n\nHaving beside her a relation and a friend, Isabella at last allowed herself to express her sorrows and humiliations. The morals of Edward II were known throughout Europe.\n\n'A year or so ago the barons and I succeeded in bringing Gaveston down; his head was cut off, and now his body lies rotting in the ground at Oxford,' the young Queen said with satisfaction.\n\nRobert of Artois did not appear surprised to hear these cruel words uttered by a beautiful woman. It must be admitted that such things were the common coin of the period. Kingdoms were often handed over to adolescents, whose absolute power fascinated them as might a game. Hardly grown out of the age in which it is fun to tear the wings from flies, they might now amuse themselves by tearing the heads from men. Too young to fear or even imagine death, they would not hesitate to distribute it around them.\n\nIsabella had ascended the throne at sixteen; she had come a long way in six years.\n\n'Well! I've reached the point, Cousin, when I regret Gaveston,' she went on. 'Since then, as if to avenge himself upon me, Edward brings the lowest and most infamous men to the palace. He visits the low dens of the Port of London, sits with tramps, wrestles with lightermen, races against grooms. Fine tournaments, these, for our delectation! He has no care who runs the kingdom, provided his pleasures are organised and shared. At the moment it's the Barons Despenser; the father's worth no more than the son, who serves my husband for a wife. As for myself, Edward no longer approaches me, and if by chance he does, I am so ashamed that I remain cold to his advances.'\n\nShe lowered her head.\n\n'If her husband does not love her, a queen is the most miserable of the subjects of a kingdom. It is enough that she should have assured the succession; after that her life is of no account. What baron's wife, what merchant's or serf's would tolerate what I have to bear\u2026 because I am Queen? The least washerwoman in the kingdom has greater rights than I: she can come and ask my protection.'\n\nRobert of Artois knew \u2013 as indeed who did not? \u2013 that Isabella's marriage was unhappy; but he had had no idea of the seriousness of the situation, nor how profoundly she was affected by it.\n\n'Cousin, sweet Cousin, I will protect you!' he said warmly.\n\nShe sadly shrugged her shoulders as if to say: 'What can you do for me?' They were face to face. He put out his hands and took her by the elbows as gently as he could, murmuring at the same time, 'Isabella \u2026'\n\nShe placed her hands on the giant's arms and said, 'Robert \u2026'\n\nThey gazed at each other with an emotional disturbance they had not foreseen. Artois had the impression that Isabella was making him some mute appeal. He suddenly found that he was curiously moved, oppressed, a prey to a force he feared to use ill.\n\nSeen close to, Isabella's blue eyes, under the fair arches of her eyebrows, were more beautiful still, her cheeks of a yet softer bloom. Her mouth was half open and the tips of her white teeth showed between her lips.\n\nArtois suddenly longed to devote his days, his life, his body and soul to that mouth, to those eyes, to this delicate Queen who, at this moment, became once more the young girl which indeed she still was; quite simply, he desired her with a sort of robust immediacy he did not know how to express. In the ordinary way his tastes were not for women of rank and his nature was unsuited to the graces of gallantry.\n\n'Why have I confided all this to you?' said Isabella.\n\nThey were still looking into each other's eyes.\n\n'What a king disdains, because he is unable to recognise its perfection,' said Robert, 'many other men would thank heaven for upon their bended knees. Can it be true that at your age, fresh and beautiful as you are, you are deprived of natural joys? Can it be true that your lips are never kissed? That your arms\u2026 your body\u2026 Oh! take a man, Isabella, and let that man be me.'\n\nCertainly he said what he wanted to say roughly enough. His eloquence bore little resemblance to the poems of Duke William of Aquitaine. But Isabella hardly heard him. He dominated her, crushed her with his mere size; he smelt of the forest, of leather, of horses and armour; he had neither the voice nor the appearance of a seducer, yet she was charmed. He was a man, a real man, a rugged and violent male, who breathed deep. Isabella felt her will-power dissolve, and had but one desire: to rest her head upon that leathern breast and abandon herself to him\u2026 slake her great thirst\u2026 She was trembling a little.\n\nSuddenly she broke away from him.\n\n'No, Robert,' she cried, 'I am not going to do that for which I so much blame my sisters-in-law. I cannot, I must not. But when I think of what I am denying myself, what I am giving up, then I know how lucky they are to have husbands who love them. Oh, no! They must be punished, properly punished!'\n\nIn default of allowing herself to sin, her thoughts were obstinately bent upon the sinners. She sat down once more in the great oak chair. Robert came and stood by her.\n\n'No, Robert,' she said again, spreading out her hands. 'Don't take advantage of my weakness; you will anger me.'\n\nExtreme beauty inspires as much respect as majesty, and the giant obeyed.\n\nBut what had happened would never be effaced from their memories. For an instant the barriers between them had been lowered. They found it difficult not to gaze into each other's eyes. 'So I can be loved after all,' thought Isabella, and she was almost grateful to the man who had given her this certainty.\n\n'Is that all you have to tell me, Cousin? Have you brought me no other news?' she said, trying hard to regain control of herself.\n\nRobert of Artois, who was wondering whether he was right not to pursue his advantage, took some time to answer.\n\nHe breathed deeply and his thoughts seemed to return from a long way off.\n\n'Yes, Madam,' he said, 'I have also a message from your uncle Valois.'\n\nThere was now a new link between them, and each word that they uttered seemed to have strange reverberations.\n\n'The dignitaries of the Temple are soon to come up for judgment,' went on Artois, 'and there is a fear that your godfather, the Grand Master Jacques de Molay, will be condemned to death. Your uncle Valois asks you to write to the King to ask his clemency.'\n\nIsabella did not reply. Once more her chin was resting in the palm of her hand.\n\n'How like him you are, when you sit like that!' said Artois.\n\n'Like whom?'\n\n'King Philip, your father.'\n\n'What the King, my father, decides, is rightly decided,' Isabella replied slowly. 'I can intervene upon matters that touch the family honour; I have nothing to do with the government of the Kingdom of France.'\n\n'Jacques de Molay is an old man. He was noble and great. If he committed faults, he has sufficiently expiated them. Remember that he held you at the baptismal font. Believe me, a great wrong is about to be done, and we owe it once more to Nogaret and Marigny! In attacking the Templars, these men, risen from nothing, are attacking the great barons and the Chivalry of France.'\n\nThe Queen was perplexed; the whole business was beyond her.\n\n'I cannot judge,' she said, 'I cannot judge.'\n\n'You know I owe a great debt to your uncle Valois, and he would be very grateful if I could get a letter from you. Moreover, compassion never ill-becomes a queen; it's a feminine trait for which you can but be praised. There are some who reproach you with hardness of heart: this will be your answer to them. Do it for yourself, Isabella, and do it for me.'\n\nHe said 'Isabella' in the same tone of voice that he had used earlier by the window.\n\nShe smiled at him.\n\n'You're clever, Robert, beneath your boorish air. All right, I'll write the letter you want and you can take everything away together. I'll try to get the King of England to write to the King of France, too. When are you leaving?'\n\n'When you command me, Cousin.'\n\n'The purses will be ready tomorrow, I think; it's very soon.'\n\nThere was regret in the Queen's voice. He gazed into her eyes and she was troubled once more.\n\n'I'll await a messenger from you to know when I must leave for France. Good-bye, Cousin. We shall meet again at supper.'\n\nHe took his leave and, when he had gone out, the room seemed to the Queen to have become strangely quiet, like a valley after a storm. Isabella closed her eyes and for a long moment remained still.\n\n'He is a man who has grown wicked because he has been wronged,' she thought. 'But, if one loves him, he must be capable of love.'\n\nThose called upon to play a decisive part in the history of nations are more often than not unaware of the destinies they embody. These two people who had had this long interview upon a March afternoon of 1314, in the Palace of Westminster, could not know that, as a result of their actions, they would, almost alone, become the artisans of a war between the kingdoms of France and England which would last more than a hundred years."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prisoners in the Temple",
                "text": "The wall was covered with a damp mould. A smoky, yellow light began to filter down into the vaulted, underground room.\n\nThe prisoner was dozing, his arms crossed beneath his beard. Suddenly he shivered and sat up, haggard, his heart beating. For a moment he remained still, gazing at the morning mist which was blowing in through the little window. He was listening. Quite distinctly, though the sound was necessarily somewhat softened by the thickness of the walls, he could hear the pealing of the bells of Paris announcing the first Mass: the bells of Saint-Martin, of Saint-Merry, of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, of Saint-Eustache and of Notre-Dame; the country bells of the nearby villages of La Courtille, of Clignancourt and of Mont-Martre.\n\nThe prisoner heard no particularly arresting sound. It was distress alone that made him start awake, the distress he suffered at each awakening, as he suffered nightmares whenever he slept.\n\nHe pulled a big wooden bowl of water to him and drank largely to allay the fever from which he had now suffered for days and days. Having drunk, he allowed the water in the bowl to subside into stillness and leaned over it as if it were a mirror or the depths of a well. The reflection he saw, though shadowy and indistinct, was that of a centenarian. He remained thus for some moments, searching for some likeness to his old appearance in the floating face with its ancestral beard, the lips sunken in a toothless mouth, the long, thin nose, the shadowed, deep-set eyes.\n\nHe put the bowl on one side, got up, then took a few steps till he felt the tautening of the chain that bound him to the wall. Suddenly, he began to scream: 'Jacques de Molay! Jacques de Molay! I am Jacques de Molay!'\n\nThere was no answer; he knew there was no one to answer him, not even an echo.\n\nBut he needed to scream his own name, to hurl it at the stone columns, at the vaults, at the oak door, to prevent his mind dissolving into madness, to remind himself that he was sixty-two years old, that he had commanded armies, governed provinces, that he had possessed power equal to sovereigns, and that as long as he still drew breath he would continue to be, even in this dungeon, the Grand Master of the Order of Knights Templar.\n\nFrom a refinement of cruelty, or perhaps contempt, he and the principal dignitaries of the Order had been imprisoned in the cellars, now transformed into dungeons, of the great tower of the H\u00f4tel-du-Temple, their own building, their Mother House.\n\n'To think that it was I who had this tower repaired!' the Grand Master murmured angrily, hitting the wall with his fist.\n\nThe blow made him cry out, it renewed an appalling pain in his hand, whose crushed thumb was no more than a stump of half-healed flesh. But indeed, what part of his body was neither an open sore nor the seat of some internal agony? Since he had suffered the torture of the boot, he had been a victim to bad circulation in the legs and abominable cramps. His legs strapped between boards, he had undergone the sharp anguish of oaken wedges tapped into place by the executioners' mallets, while Guillaume de Nogaret, Keeper of the Seals of the Kingdom, asked him questions, trying to persuade him to confess. To confess what? He had fainted.\n\nDirt, damp and lack of food had had their effect upon his torn and lacerated body.\n\nAnd more recently he had undergone the torture by stretching, the most appalling perhaps of all those to which he had been subjected. A weight of two hundred pounds had been tied to his right foot while he, old as he was, had been hoisted to the ceiling by a rope and pulley. And all the time Guillaume de Nogaret's sinister voice kept repeating, 'Confess, Messire, why don't you confess?' And since he still obstinately refused, they had hauled him from floor to ceiling more hurriedly, more jerkily. He had felt his limbs becoming disjointed, the articulations parting, his whole body seemed to be bursting, and he had begun to scream that he would confess everything, admit every crime, all the crimes of the world. Yes, the Templars practised sodomy among themselves; yes, to gain entrance to the Order, it was necessary to spit upon the Cross; yes, they worshipped an idol with the head of a cat; yes, they practised magic, and sorcery, and had a cult for the Devil; yes, they embezzled the funds confided to their care; yes, they had fomented a plot against the Pope and the King\u2026 And what more besides?\n\nJacques de Molay wondered how he had managed to survive it all. Doubtless because the tortures had been exactly calculated, never pushed to the point where there was a risk of his dying, and because, too, the constitution of an old knight, trained to arms and war, had greater resistance than he himself could have believed.\n\nHe knelt down, his eyes turned towards the beam of light that entered by the little window.\n\n'Oh, Lord my God,' he cried, 'why hast Thou given me greater strength of body than of mind? Was I worthy to command the Order? Thou hast not prevented my falling into cowardice; spare me, Lord God, from falling into folly. I cannot hold out much longer, no, not for much longer.'\n\nHe had been in chains for seven years, only leaving his dungeon to be dragged before the commission of inquiry, and to be submitted to all the pressures and threats that the theologians and lawyers could devise.\n\nIn the circumstances one might well fear madness. Often the Grand Master lost all sense of time. As a distraction, he had attempted to tame a couple of rats that came every night to eat the remains of his bread. He passed quickly from anger to tears, from crises of religious devotion to a longing for violence, from idiocy to fury.\n\n'They'll die of it, they'll die of it,' he kept repeating to himself.\n\nWho would? Clement, Guillaume, Philip.\u2026 The Pope, the Keeper of the Seals and the King. They would die. Molay did not know how, but it would certainly be amid appalling suffering and in expiation of their crimes. He unceasingly chewed over these three hated names.\n\nStill upon his knees, his beard raised towards the narrow window, the Grand Master murmured, 'I thank thee, Lord God, for leaving me hatred. It is the sole force that sustains me now.'\n\nHe got painfully to his feet and went back to the stone bench which, cemented to the wall, served both for seat and bed.\n\nWho could ever have thought that he would come to this? His mind constantly returned to his youth, to the boy he had been fifty years before, as he came down the slopes of his native Jura in search of adventure.\n\nLike all the younger sons of the nobility of the time, he had dreamed of wearing the long white mantle with the black cross, the uniform of the Order of the Knights Templar. In those days, the mere name of Templar evoked the epic and the exotic, ships with bellying sails scudding towards the Orient, lands where the skies were always blue, charges at the gallop across the desert sands, treasures of Arabia, ransomed prisoners, captured and pillaged cities, fortresses with huge staircases, built beside the sea. It was even said that the Templars had secret ports from which they embarked for unknown continents.\n\nAnd Jacques de Molay had achieved his dream; he had marched proudly through distant cities, clothed in the superb mantle whose folds hung down to his golden spurs.\n\nHe had risen in the Order's hierarchy, higher than he had ever dared hope, achieving every dignity in turn, at last to be elected by the brothers to the supreme function of Grand Master of France and Overseas, and to the command of fifteen thousand knights.\n\nAnd all this had but led to a dungeon, horror and destitution. Surely few people's lives could show such prodigious success followed by so great a fall.\n\nJacques de Molay was idly tracing lines with one of the links in his chain upon the damp mould on the wall, lines which reminded him of the plan of some fortress, when he heard heavy footsteps and the noise of arms upon the staircase that led down to his cell.\n\nOnce more he was seized with a feeling of pain, but this time it was precise and definite.\n\nThe heavy door creaked open and, behind the gaoler, Molay saw four archers dressed in leather tunics and carrying pikes. Their breath spread out in a thin cloud before their faces.\n\nTheir chief said, 'We have come to fetch you, Messire.'\n\nMolay rose silently to his feet.\n\nThe gaoler came forward and with cold chisel and heavy blows of a hammer broke the rivet that fastened the chain to the heavy iron anklets. Each weighed four pounds.\n\nHe clasped his great, illustrious mantle, now no more than a grey rag, its black cross in tatters at the breast, about his emaciated shoulders.\n\nThey left the dungeon. And in that reeling exhausted old man, his feet weighed down with fetters as he mounted the tower's steps, there could still be seen something of the commander who had recaptured Jerusalem from the Saracens for the last time.\n\n'Oh, Lord my God,' he murmured to himself, 'give me strength, give me a little strength.' And to help himself find it, he repeated the names of his three enemies: Clement, Guillaume, Philip.\n\nFog lay thick upon the huge court of the Temple, cloaked the turrets of the enclosing wall, flowed through the crenellations, and obscured the spire of the great church on the right of the tower.\n\nA hundred soldiers were standing at ease, talking quietly among themselves, as they stood round a big, square, uncovered wagon.\n\nFrom beyond the walls he could hear the murmur of Paris and the occasional neigh of a horse, sounds that moved him with an ineffable sadness.\n\nMessire Alain de Pareilles, Captain of the King's Archers, the man who attended every execution, who accompanied the condemned to sentence and torture, was walking up and down the centre of the yard, his face impassive, his expression bored. He was forty years old and his steel-coloured hair fell in a short fringe across his square forehead. He wore a coat of mail, had a sword at his side, and carried his helmet in the crook of his arm.\n\nHe turned as he heard the Grand Master's approach, and the latter, seeing him, turned pale, if it were possible for his pallor to increase.\n\nMerely for interrogations there was not, as a rule, so much display; there were neither wagon nor men-at-arms. A few royal agents came to escort the accused, generally at nightfall, by boat across the Seine.\n\nThe presence of Alain de Pareilles was alone significant enough.\n\n'Has judgment been pronounced?' Molay asked the Captain of the Archers.\n\n'It has, Messire,' he replied.\n\n'And do you know, my son,' Molay asked after a moment's hesitation, 'what that judgment contains.'\n\n'I do not, Messire. My orders are to conduct you to Notre-Dame to hear it read.'\n\nThere was a silence, then Jacques de Molay asked, 'What day is it?'\n\n'The Monday after the feast of Saint Gregory.'\n\nThis corresponded to the 18th March, the 18th March 1314.\n\n'Am I being taken out to die?' Molay wondered.\n\nThe door of the tower opened again, and three other dignitaries appeared in their turn, escorted by guards, the Visitor General, the Preceptor of Normandy and the Commander of Aquitaine.\n\nThey had white hair, and white unkempt beards, their deep-sunken eyes blinked in the light, their bodies seemed to float in their ragged mantles; for a moment they stood still, like great night-birds unable to see in the light. Moreover, the Commander of Aquitaine had a white film over his left eye which gave him something of the appearance of an owl. He seemed completely stupefied. The semi-bald Visitor General had horribly swollen hands and feet.\n\nIt was Geoffroy de Charnay, the Preceptor of Normandy, who first, though hampered by his irons, rushed up to the Grand Master and embraced him. There was a long friendship between the two men. Indeed, it was Jacques de Molay who had helped Charnay in his career. Ten years younger than himself, he had looked upon Charnay as his successor.\n\nCharnay's forehead was furrowed by a deep scar, the legacy of an old battle in which a sword-cut had also given him a crooked nose. This rugged man, his face marked by war, leant his forehead against the Grand Master's shoulder to hide his tears.\n\n'Have courage, Brother, have courage,' said the Grand Master, clasping him in his arms. 'And you, too, my Brothers, have courage,' he went on, embracing the other dignitaries in turn.\n\nSeeing each other, they were able to judge of their own appearance.\n\nA gaoler came up.\n\n'You have the right to have your irons removed, Messires,' he said.\n\nThe Grand Master spread wide his arms in a bitter, hopeless gesture.\n\n'I have not the money,' he replied.\n\nFor each time they left their prison, in order to have their irons removed and replaced, the Templars had to pay a denier out of the dozen they were allowed for their wretched food, the straw in their dungeons and the laundering of their single shirt. Another of Nogaret's subtle cruelties! They were accused, but not condemned. They had the right to a maintenance allowance. What was the use of twelve deniers, when a small joint of meat cost forty? It meant starving four days in eight, sleeping on the hard stone, rotting in squalor.\n\nThe Preceptor of Normandy took the last two deniers from the old leather purse attached to his belt and threw them on the ground, one for his own irons and one for those of the Grand Master.\n\n'My Brother!' said Jacques de Molay with a gesture of refusal.\n\n'For all the use they are likely to be to me now,' replied Charnay. 'Accept them, Brother; there is not even merit in the giving.'\n\nAs the iron pins were removed, they felt the hammer-blows resounding in their bones. But they felt the blood pounding in their chests more strongly still.\n\n'This time, we've come to the end,' Molay murmured.\n\nThey wondered what kind of death had been reserved for them, whether they would be subjected to ultimate tortures.\n\n'It is perhaps a good sign that our irons are being removed,' said the Visitor General, shaking his swollen hands. 'Perhaps the Pope has decided upon clemency.'\n\nThere were still a few broken teeth in the front of his mouth and these made him lisp, while the dungeon had turned his mind childish.\n\nThe Grand Master shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the phalanx of a hundred archers.\n\n'We must prepare to die, Brother,' he said.\n\n'Look, look what they have done to me,' cried the Visitor, pulling up his sleeve to show his swollen arm.\n\n'We have all been tortured,' said the Grand Master.\n\nHe looked away, as he always did when someone spoke of torture. He had yielded, he had signed false confessions and could not forgive himself.\n\nHe looked round upon the huge group of buildings which had been the seat and symbol of their power.\n\n'For the last time,' he thought.\n\nFor the last time he gazed upon the vast assembly of tower and church, palace and houses, courts and gardens, a fortified town within Paris itself.\n\nHere it was that for two centuries the Templars had lived, prayed, slept, given judgment, transacted business, and decided upon their expeditions to distant lands. In this very tower the treasure of the Kingdom of France had been deposited, confided to their care and guardianship.\n\nIt was here, after the disastrous expeditions of Saint Louis, in which Palestine and Cyprus had been lost, that they had come, bringing with them in their train their esquires, their mules laden with gold, their stud of Arabian horses and their negro slaves.\n\nJacques de Molay saw in his mind's eye this return of the vanquished. Even so, it had something of an epic quality.\n\n'We had become useless, and we did not know it,' thought the Grand Master. 'We were always talking of reconquest and new crusades. Perhaps we showed too much arrogance, and enjoyed too many privileges while no longer doing anything to justify them.'\n\nFrom being the permanent militia of the Christian world, they had become the permanent bankers of Church and King. To have many debtors is to have many enemies.\n\nOh, the plot had been well conceived! The drama had begun upon the day when Philip the Fair had asked to join the Order that he might become its Grand Master. The Chapter had replied with a curt and definite refusal.\n\n'Was I wrong?' Jacques de Molay asked himself for the hundredth time. 'Was I too jealous of my authority? But no; I could not have acted otherwise; our rule is binding: no sovereign princes in our ranks.'\n\nKing Philip had never forgotten the repulse and the insult. He had begun by dissimulating, lavishing favours and kindnesses upon Jacques de Molay. Was not the Grand Master godfather to his daughter, Isabella? Was not the Grand Master the prop and stay of the kingdom?\n\nYet the royal treasure had been transferred from the Temple to the Louvre. At the same time a low, venomous campaign of obloquy had begun against the Templars. It was said that they speculated in corn and were responsible for famines, that they thought more of increasing their fortune than of capturing the Holy Sepulchre from the heathen. They were accused of blasphemy merely because they spoke the rough language of the camp. 'To swear like a Templar' became the current saying. From blasphemy to heresy was but a step. It was said that they practised unnatural vice and that their black slaves were sorcerers.\n\n'True it is that all our Brothers were not saints and that inaction was bad for many of them.'\n\nAbove all, it was said that during the ceremonies of initiation the neophytes were compelled to deny Christ and spit upon the Cross, that they were subjected to obscene practices.\n\nUnder the pretext of putting an end to these rumours, Philip had suggested to the Grand Master, for the sake of the honour and interest of the Order, that an inquiry should be opened.\n\n'And I accepted,' thought Molay; 'I was abominably duped and deceived.'\n\nFor, upon a certain day in October 1307\u2026 oh, how well Molay remembered that day! 'Upon its eve, he was still embracing me, and calling me brother, indeed giving me the place of honour at the funeral of his sister-in-law, the Countess of Valois.'\n\nTo be precise it was upon a Friday the thirteenth, an unlucky day if ever there was one, that King Philip, by means of a widespread police net, prepared long before, had arrested all the Templars of France at dawn upon a charge of heresy in the name of the Inquisition.\n\nAnd Nogaret himself had come to seize Jacques de Molay and the hundred and forty knights of the Mother House.\n\nSuddenly an order rang out. It startled the Grand Master and interrupted the flow of his thoughts, those thoughts in which he sifted yet once more the cause of the disaster. Messire Alain de Pareilles was drawing up his archers. He had put on his helmet. A soldier had his horse by the head and was holding his stirrup.\n\n'Let us go,' said the Grand Master.\n\nThe prisoners were hustled towards the wagon. Molay climbed into it first. The Commander of Aquitaine, the man with the white film over his eye, who had defeated the Turks at Acre, still appeared utterly stupefied. He had to be hoisted up. The Brother Visitor was moving his lips in ceaseless, silent muttering. When Geoffroy de Charnay's turn came to climb onto the wagon, an unseen dog began howling from somewhere in the neighbourhood of the stables, and the scar upon the Preceptor of Normandy's forehead puckered deeply.\n\nDrawn by four horses in tandem, the heavy wagon began to move forward.\n\nAs the huge gates opened, the crowd set up a great clamouring. Several thousand people, all the inhabitants of that district and the neighbouring ones, were crowding against the walls. The leading archers had to force a passage through the howling mob with blows of their pike-shafts.\n\n'Make way for the King's men!' cried the archers.\n\nErect upon his horse, his expression still impassively bored, Alain de Pareilles dominated the tumult.\n\nBut when the Templars appeared, the clamour was suddenly stilled. At the spectacle of these four emaciated old men, whom the jolting of the unsprung wheels jostled against each other, the people of Paris suffered a moment of dumb stupefaction, of spontaneous compassion.\n\nBut then cries arose of 'Death! Death to the heretics!' from royal agents mingling with the crowd. And then the people, always prepared to shout on the side of power and to make a noise when it costs them nothing, began to yell in concert, 'Death to them!'\n\n'Thieves!'\n\n'Heretics!'\n\n'Look at them! They're no longer so proud today, heathens that they are! Death to them!'\n\nInsults, gibes, threats rose along the whole length of the grim procession. But the frenzy was sporadic. A whole section of the crowd remained silent, and its silence, though prudent, was none the less significant.\n\nFor things had changed in the seven years that had elapsed. The way the case had been conducted was known. People had seen Templars at the church doors showing the public the bones fallen from their feet as the result of the tortures they had suffered. It was known that in many of the towns of France the Knights had been burned by hundreds at the stake. It was known, too, that certain Ecclesiastical Commissions had refused to condemn them, and that new bishops had had to be appointed to undertake the task, and that one of them was the brother of the First Minister, Enguerrand de Marigny. It was said that Pope Clement V himself had only yielded against his will because he was in the power of the King and feared to suffer the same fate as Pope Boniface, his predecessor. And, moreover, during these seven years, corn had become no more abundant, while the price of bread had risen still further, proof that it could no longer be the fault of the Templars.\n\nTwenty-five archers, their bows slung, their pikes upon their shoulders, marched in front of the wagon, twenty-five on each flank, and as many more brought up the rear of the procession.\n\n'Oh, if we only still had a little bodily strength!' thought the Grand Master. At twenty, he would have leapt upon an archer, seized his pike and tried to escape, or fought there to the death. And now he could hardly have climbed over the wagon's side.\n\nBehind him, the Brother Visitor was muttering through his broken teeth, 'They won't condemn us. I cannot believe that they'll condemn us. We're no longer dangerous.'\n\nAnd the old Templar with the film across his eye had at last emerged sufficiently from his prostration to murmur, 'It's good to be out of doors! It's good to breathe the fresh air again. Isn't that so, Brother?'\n\n'They're not even conscious of where we're being taken,' thought the Grand Master.\n\nThe Preceptor of Normandy placed a hand upon his arm.\n\n'Messire, my Brother,' he said in a low voice, 'I can see two people among the crowd weeping and others making the sign of the Cross. We are not alone upon our Calvary.'\n\n'Those people may be sorry for us, but they can do nothing to save us,' replied Jacques de Molay. 'I am looking for other faces.'\n\nThe Preceptor understood to whose faces the Grand Master referred, and to what supreme, incredible hope he clung. In spite of himself, he also began searching the crowd. For, among the Knights Templars, a certain number had escaped the net drawn about them in 1307. Some had taken refuge in monasteries, others had renounced their order and lived secretly in town or countryside; others again had reached Spain where the King of Aragon, refusing to obey the injunctions of the King of France and the Pope, had left the Templars their commanderies and founded a new Order for them. And then, still others, having appeared before more merciful tribunals, had been handed over to the guardianship of the Knights Hospitaler. All these veteran knights had kept in as close touch as they were able, forming a sort of secret society among themselves.\n\nAnd Jacques de Molay told himself that perhaps \u2026\n\nPerhaps a plot had been made. Perhaps, from the corner of a street, from the corner of the rue des Blancs-Manteau, or the corner of the rue de la Bretonnerie, or from the cloister of Saint-Merry, would surge a group of men who, drawing their swords from beneath their cloaks, would fall upon the archers while others, posted at windows, would let fly their bolts. A cart moved into place at the gallop would block the street and complete the panic.\n\n'And yet, why should our late brothers do this?' thought Molay. 'Merely to rescue their Grand Master who has betrayed them, forsworn the Order, yielded to torture.'\n\nNevertheless, his eyes searched the crowd, but he saw nothing but fathers of families who had hoisted their young children upon their shoulders, that they might miss nothing of the spectacle, children who, in later years, when they heard mention of the Templars, would remember nothing but the sight of four bearded, shivering old men surrounded, like common criminals, by men-at-arms.\n\nIn the meantime, the Visitor General went on spitting through his teeth, and the hero of Acre merely kept repeating that it was nice to be out of doors this fine morning.\n\nThe Grand Master felt surging within him one of those half-crazy rages which had so often come upon him in his prison, making him shout aloud and beat the walls. He felt that he was upon the point of committing some violent and terrible act \u2013 he did not know exactly what \u2013 but he felt the impulse to do something.\n\nHe accepted death almost as a deliverance, but he could not accept an unjust death, nor dying dishonoured. Accustomed through long years to war, he felt it stir for the last time in his old veins. He longed to die fighting.\n\nHe sought the hand of Geoffroy de Charnay, his old companion in arms, the last strong man still standing at his side, and clasped it tightly.\n\nRaising his eyes, the Preceptor saw the arteries beating upon the sunken temples of the Grand Master. They quivered like blue snakes.\n\nThe procession reached the Bridge of Notre-Dame."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Royal Daughters-in-law",
                "text": "The basket perfumed the air about it with a delicious odour of hot flour, butter and honey.\n\n'Hot, hot pancakes! There won't be enough to go round! Come on, citizens, eat up! Hot pancakes!' cried the merchant, busy behind his open-air stove.\n\nHe seemed to be doing a great many things at the same time, rolling out his paste, removing the cooked pancakes from the fire, giving change, and keeping an eye on the street urchins to see they did not rob his stove.\n\n'Hot pancakes!'\n\nHe was so busy that he paid no particular attention to the customer who, extending a white hand, placed a denier on the board in payment for a small pancake. He only saw the left hand put the wafer, from which but a single bite had been taken, down again.\n\n'Well, he's a fussy one,' he said, poking his fire. 'To hell with him; it's pure wheaten flower and butter from Vaugirard \u2026'\n\nAt that moment he looked up and was startled out of his wits. On seeing who the customer was, his words were stifled in his throat. He saw a very tall man with huge unblinking eyes, wearing a white hood and a half-length tunic.\n\nBefore even the merchant could manage a bow or stammer out an excuse, the man in the white hood had already moved away. The confectioner, with hanging arms, watched him disappear into the crowd, while his latest batch of pancakes began to burn.\n\nThe business streets of the city, according to travellers in Africa and the Orient, were at that time very similar to the souks of an Arab town. The same incessant din, little stalls touching one another, odours of frying-fat, spices and leather, the same slow promenading of shoppers and loungers, the same difficulty in forcing a way through the crowd. Each street, each alley, had its own special brand of goods, its own particular trade; here, in back shops, weavers' shuttles went to and fro upon the looms; there, cobblers sat at their lasts; farther on, saddlers tugged at their awls; and beyond again, carpenters turned the legs of stools.\n\nThere was a street of birds, a street of herbs and vegetables, a street of smiths whose hammers resounded upon their anvils while their braziers glowed at the back of their workshops. The goldsmiths, working at their crucibles, were gathered along the quay that bore their name.\n\nThere were thin ribbons of sky between the houses which were built of wood or mud, their gables so close together that one could shake hands from window to window across the street. Almost everywhere the ground was covered with a stinking film of mud in which people walked, either barefoot, in wooden clogs, or in leather shoes, according to their condition.\n\nThe man with the tall shoulders and the white hood walked slowly on through the mob, his hands clasped behind his back, apparently careless of being jostled. Many, indeed, made way for him and saluted him. He responded with a curt nod. He had the appearance of an athlete; fair silky hair, almost auburn in colour and curling at the ends, fell nearly to his collar, framing regular features which were at once impassive and singularly beautiful.\n\nThree royal sergeants-at-arms, in blue coats and carrying in the crooks of their arms the staves surmounted with lilies that were the insignia of their office,7 followed the stroller at a distance, but without ever losing sight of him, stopping when he stopped, moving on again as soon as he did.\n\nSuddenly a young man in a tight-fitting tunic, dragged along by three fine greyhounds on a leash, debouched from an alley, jostling the stroller and very nearly knocking him over. The hounds became entangled about his feet and began barking.\n\n'You scoundrel!' the young man cried in a noticeably Italian accent. 'You nearly trod on my hounds. I wouldn't have cared a damn if they'd bitten you.'\n\nNo more than eighteen, short and good-looking, with dark eyes and finely chiselled features, the young man stood his ground in the middle of the street, raising his voice in simulated manliness. Someone took him by the arm and whispered a word in his ear. At once the young man removed his cap, bowing respectfully though without servility.\n\n'Those are fine hounds; whose are they?' asked the stroller, gazing at the boy out of huge, cold eyes.\n\n'They belong to my uncle, Tolomei, the banker, at your service,' replied the young man.\n\nWithout another word, the man in the white hood went on his way. As soon as he and the sergeants-at-arms who followed him were out of sight, the people standing round the young Italian guffawed. The latter stood still, apparently having some difficulty in recovering himself after his mistake; even the hounds were still.\n\n'Well, well! He's not so proud now!' they said, laughing.\n\n'Look at him! He nearly knocks the King down and then adds insult to injury.'\n\n'You can count on spending the night in prison, my boy, with thirty strokes of the whip into the bargain.'\n\nThe Italian turned upon the bystanders.\n\n'Damn it! I'd never seen him before; how could I be expected to recognise him? And what's more, citizens, I come from a country where there's no king for whom one has to make way. In my city of Sienna every citizen can be king in turn. And if anyone feels like mocking Guccio Baglioni, he need only say the word.'\n\nHe uttered his name like a challenge. The quick pride of Tuscany shone in his eyes. A carved dagger hung at his side. No one persisted; and the young man flicked his fingers to put the hounds in motion again. He went on his way with more apparent assurance than he felt, wondering whether his stupidity would have unpleasant consequences.\n\nFor it was indeed King Philip the Fair whom he had jostled. This sovereign, whom none other equalled in power, liked to stroll through his city like a simple citizen, informing himself upon prices, tasting foodstuffs, examining cloth, listening to people talking. He was taking the pulse of his people. Strangers, ignorant of who he was, asked him the way. One day a soldier had stopped him to ask for his pay. As mean with words as he was with money, it was rare that in a whole outing he said more than three sentences or spent more than three pence.\n\nThe King was passing through the meat-market when the great bell of Notre-Dame began ringing and a loud clamour arose.\n\n'There they are! There they are!' people were shouting.\n\nThe clamour drew nearer; the crowd became excited, people began to run.\n\nA fat butcher came out from behind his stall, knife in hand, and yelled, 'Death to the heretics!'\n\nHis wife caught him by the sleeve.\n\n'Heretics? They're no more heretics than you are,' she said. 'You'd do better to stay here and serve the shop, you idler, you.'\n\nThey began quarrelling. A crowd gathered at once.\n\n'They've confessed before the judges!' the butcher went on.\n\n'The judges?' someone replied. 'They've always been the same ones. They judge as they're told to by those who pay them, and they're afraid of a kick up the arse.'\n\nThen everyone began to talk at once.\n\n'The Templars are saintly men. They've always given a lot to charity.'\n\n'It was a good thing to take their money away, but not to torture them.'\n\n'It was the King who owed them most, that's why it was.'\n\n'The King did the right thing.'\n\n'The King or the Templars,' said an apprentice, 'they're one and the same thing. Let the wolves eat each other and then they won't eat us.'\n\nAt that moment a woman happened to turn round, grew suddenly pale, and made a sign to the others to be quiet. Philip the Fair was standing behind them, gazing at them with his unwinking, icy stare. The sergeants-at-arms had drawn a little closer to him, ready to intervene. In an instant the crowd had dispersed; those who had composed it ran off shouting at the tops of their voices, 'Long live the King! Death to the heretics!'\n\nThe King's expression remained perfectly impassive. One might have thought that he had heard nothing. If he took pleasure in taking people by surprise, it was a secret pleasure.\n\nThe clamour was growing louder. The procession of the Templars was passing the end of the street. Through a gap between the houses, the King saw for an instant the Grand Master standing in the wagon surrounded by his three companions. The Grand Master stood upright; in the King's eyes this was an irritation; he looked like a martyr, but undefeated.\n\nLeaving the crowd to rush towards the spectacle, Philip the Fair passed through the suddenly empty streets at his usual slow pace, and returned to his palace.\n\nThe people might well grumble a bit, and the Grand Master hold his old and broken body upright. In an hour the whole thing would be over, and the sentence, so the King believed, would be generally well received. In an hour's time the work of seven years would be finished and completed. The Episcopal Tribunal had issued their decree; the archers were numerous; the sergeants-at-arms patrolled the streets. In an hour the case of the Templars would be erased from the list of public cares, and from every point of view the royal power would come out of the affair enhanced and reinforced.\n\n'Even my daughter Isabella will be satisfied. I shall have acceded to her plea, and so contented everyone. But it was time to put an end to it,' Philip the Fair told himself as he thought of the words he had just heard.\n\nHe went home by the Mercers' Hall.\n\nPhilip the Fair had entirely renovated and rebuilt the Palace, preserving only such ancient structures as the Sainte-Chapelle, which dated from the time of his grandfather, Saint Louis. It was a period of building and embellishment. Princes rivalled each other; what had been done in Westminster had been done in Paris too. The mass of the Cit\u00e9 with its great white towers dominating the Seine was brand-new, imposing and, perhaps, a little ostentatious.\n\nPhilip, if he watched the pennies, never hesitated to spend largely when it was a question of demonstrating his power. But, since he never neglected an opportunity of profit, he had conceded to the mercers, in consideration of an enormous rent, the privilege of transacting business in the great gallery which ran the length of the palace, and which from this fact was known as the Mercers' Hall, before it became known as the Merchants' Hall.\n\nIt was a huge place with something of the appearance of a cathedral with two naves. Its size was the admiration of travellers. At the summits of the pillars were the forty statues of the kings who, from Pharamond and M\u00e9rov\u00e9e, had succeeded each other at the head of the Frankish kingdom. Opposite the statue of Philip the Fair was that of Enguerrand de Marigny, Coadjutor and Rector of the Kingdom, who had inspired and directed the building.\n\nRound the pillars were stalls containing articles of dress, there were baskets of trinkets, and sellers of ornaments, embroidery and lace. About them were gathered the pretty Parisian women and the ladies of the Court. Open to all comers, the hall had became a place for a stroll, a meeting-place for transacting business and exchanging gallantries. It resounded with laughter, conversation and gossip, with the claptrap of the salesmen over all. There were many foreign accents, particularly those of Italy and Flanders.\n\nA raw-boned fellow, who had determined to make his fortune out of spreading the use of handkerchiefs, was demonstrating the articles to a group of fat women, shaking out his squares of ornamented linen.\n\n'Ah, my dear ladies,' he cried, 'what a pity to blow one's nose in one's fingers or upon one's sleeve, when such pretty handkerchiefs as these have been invented for the purpose? Are not such elegant things precisely made for your ladyships' noses?'\n\nA little farther on, an old gentleman was being pressed to buy a wench some English lace.\n\nPhilip the Fair crossed the Hall. The courtiers bowed to the ground. The women curtsied as he passed. Without seeming to do so, the King liked the liveliness of the scene, the laughter, as well as the marks of respect which gave him assurance of his power. Here, because of the tumult of voices, the great bell of Notre-Dame seemed distant, lighter in tone, more benign.\n\nThe King caught sight of a group whose youth and magnificence were the cynosure of every eye: it consisted of two quite young women and a tall, fair, good-looking young man. The young women were two of the King's daughters-in-law, those known as the 'sisters of Burgundy', Jeanne, the Countess of Poitiers, married to the King's second son, and Blanche, her younger sister, married to the youngest son. The young man with them was dressed like an officer of a princely household.\n\nThey were whispering together with restrained excitement. Philip the Fair slowed his pace the better to observe his daughters-in-law.\n\n'My sons have no reason to complain of me,' thought Philip the Fair. 'As well as making alliances useful to the Crown, I gave them very pretty wives.'\n\nThe two sisters were very little alike. Jeanne, the elder, the wife of Philippe of Poitiers, was twenty-one years old. She was tall and slender, her hair somewhere between blond and chestnut, and something in the way she held herself, something formal about the line of the neck and the slant of the eye, reminded the King of the fine greyhounds in his kennels. She dressed with a simplicity and sobriety that was almost an affectation. This particular day she was wearing a long dress of grey velvet with tight sleeves; over it she wore a surcoat edged with ermine, reaching to the waist.\n\nHer sister Blanche was smaller, rounder, rosier, with greater spontaneity. Though she was only three years younger than Jeanne, she still had childish dimples in her cheeks and, doubtless, they would remain there for some time yet. Her hair was of a bright blond and her eyes, and this is rare, were of a clear and brilliant brown; she had small transluscent teeth. Dress was more to her than a game, it was a passion. She devoted herself to it with an extravagance that was not always in the best of taste. She wore enormous pleated coifs and hung as many jewels as she could upon her collar, sleeves and belt. Her dresses were embroidered with pearls and gold thread. But she was so graceful that everything could be forgiven her, and appeared so pleased with herself that it was a pleasure to see.\n\nThe little group was talking of a matter of five days. 'Is it reasonable to be so concerned about a mere five days?' said the Countess of Poitiers, at the moment the King emerged from behind a pillar masking his approach.\n\n'Good morning, my daughters,' he said.\n\nThe three young people fell suddenly silent. The good-looking boy bowed low and moved a pace or two aside with his eyes upon the ground as befitted his rank. The two young women, having made their curtsies, became tongue-tied, blushing and a little embarrassed. They looked as if they had been caught out.\n\n'Well, my daughters,' the King went on, 'one might well think that I had arrived at an inappropriate moment? What were you saying to each other?'\n\nHe was not surprised at his reception. He was accustomed to the fact that everyone, even his greatest friends, even his closest relations, were intimidated by his presence. He was often surprised by the wall of ice that fell between him and everyone who came near him \u2013 all, that is, except Marigny and Nogaret \u2013 and he found it difficult to explain away the terror that seized strangers whom he happened to meet. Indeed, he believed he did everything possible to appear pleasant and amiable. He wanted to be loved and feared at the same time. And it was asking too much.\n\nBlanche was the first to recover her assurance.\n\n'You must forgive us, Sire,' she said, 'but it is not an easy thing to repeat!'\n\n'Why not?' asked Philip the Fair.\n\n'Because\u2026 we were saying unkind things about you,' Blanche replied.\n\n'Really?' said Philip, uncertain whether she was teasing, astonished that anyone should dare tease him.\n\nHe glanced at the young man, standing a little apart, who seemed very ill at ease. Jerking his chin towards him, he said, 'Who is he?'\n\n'Messire Philippe d'Aunay, equerry to our uncle Valois who has lent him to me as escort,' replied the Countess of Poitiers.\n\nThe young man bowed once again.\n\nFor an instant the idea crossed the King's mind that his sons were wrong to permit their wives to go abroad accompanied by such good-looking equerries, and that the old-fashioned custom, which insisted that princesses should be accompanied by ladies-in-waiting, had undoubtedly a good deal of sense to it.\n\n'Haven't you a brother?' he asked the equerry.\n\n'Yes, Sire, my brother is in the service of Monseigneur of Poitiers,' answered young Aunay, bearing the King's gaze with some discomfort.\n\n'That's it; I always confuse you,' said the King.\n\nThen, turning back to Blanche, he said, 'Well, then, what unkind things were you saying of me, my girl?'\n\n'Jeanne and I are in complete agreement that we owe you a grudge, Father. For five consecutive nights we have not had our husbands at our service because you keep them in council or send them far away on affairs of state.'\n\n'My dear daughters, these are not matters to be spoken of out loud,' said the King.\n\nHe was a prude by nature, and it was said had remained chaste for all the nine years that he had been a widower. But he could not be severe with Blanche. Her liveliness, her gaiety, her daring, to say the least, disarmed him. He was at once amused and shocked. He smiled, which was a thing that hardly happened to him once a month.\n\n'And what does the third one say?' he added.\n\nBy the third one, he meant Marguerite of Burgundy, the cousin of Jeanne and Blanche, who was married to his eldest son, Louis, King of Navarre.\n\n'Marguerite?' cried Blanche. 'She's shut herself up, she's sulking, and she says that you're as wicked as you're good-looking.'\n\nOnce more the King found himself in uncertainty; wondering how he should interpret the last phrase. But Blanche's expression was so limpid, so candid! She was the only person who dared tease him, the only person who did not tremble in his presence.\n\n'Well, you can reassure her, and reassure yourself, Blanche; Louis and Charles can keep you company tonight. Today is a good day for the kingdom,' said Philip the Fair. 'There will be no Council tonight. As for your husband, Jeanne, I can tell you that he'll be home tomorrow and that he has forwarded our affairs in Flanders. I am pleased with him.'\n\n'Then I shall make him doubly welcome,' said Jeanne, inclining her beautiful neck.\n\nThis conversation was a peculiarly long one for King Philip. He turned quickly away without saying good-bye, and went towards the grand staircase which led to his apartments.\n\n'Ouf!' said Blanche, her hand on her heart as she watched him disappear. 'We were lucky to get away with it that time.'\n\n'I thought I should faint with terror,' said Jeanne.\n\nPhilippe d'Aunay was blushing to the roots of his hair, not from embarassment as a moment ago, but from anger.\n\n'Thank you,' he said drily to Blanche. 'What you've just said made nice hearing.'\n\n'What did you expect me to do?' Blanche cried. 'Did you think of anything better yourself? You stood there like a stuck pig. He came upon us without warning. He's got the sharpest pair of ears in the kingdom. If by any chance he heard our last words, it was the only way to put him off the scent. And instead of blaming me, Philippe, you'd do better to congratulate me.'\n\n'Don't begin again,' said Jeanne. 'Let's walk towards the stalls and stop looking as if we were plotting.'\n\nThey moved forward, looking unconcerned, and acknowledging the bows in their honour.\n\n'Messire,' said Jeanne in a low voice, 'I must tell you that it's you and your ridiculous jealousy that cause all the trouble. If you hadn't started groaning here about what you suffer at the Queen of Navarre's hands, we wouldn't have run the risk of the King hearing too much.'\n\nPhilippe went on looking gloomy.\n\n'Really,' Blanche said, 'your brother is much more agreeable than you are.'\n\n'Doubtless he's better treated, and I'm glad of it for his sake,' answered Philippe. 'No doubt I'm a fool, a fool to allow myself to be humiliated by a woman who treats me as a servant, who summons me to her bed when she feels inclined, who sends me about my business when the inclination has passed, who leaves me whole days without a sign, and pretends not to recognise me when we meet. After all, what game is she playing?'\n\nPhilippe d'Aunay, equerry to Monseigneur the Count of Valois, the King's brother, had been for three years the lover of Marguerite, the eldest of Philip the Fair's daughters-in-law. And he dared to speak thus to Blanche of Burgundy, the wife of Charles, Philip the Fair's third son, because Blanche was the mistress of his brother, Gautier d'Aunay, equerry to the Count of Poitiers. And if he dared to speak thus to Jeanne, Countess of Poitiers, it was because Jeanne, no one's mistress as yet, nevertheless was a party, partly from weakness, partly because it amused her, to the intrigues of the other two royal daughters-in-law. She arranged meetings and interviews.\n\nThus it was that in the early spring of 1314, upon the very day that the Templars came up for judgment, the very day this serious matter was the Crown's main concern, of the three royal sons of France, the eldest, Louis, and the youngest, Charles, were cuckolded by two equerries, one of whom was in their uncle's household and the other in their brother's, and all this was taking place under the auspices of their sister-in-law, Jeanne, who, though faithful as a wife, was a benevolent go-between, finding a pleasurable excitement in living the loves of others.\n\nThe report that had been given the Queen of England a few days earlier was thus very far from false.\n\n'In any case, there'll be no Tower of Nesle tonight,' said Blanche.\n\n'As far as I'm concerned, it won't be any different from previous nights,' replied Philippe d'Aunay. 'But what makes me absolutely furious is the thought that tonight, in the arms of Louis of Navarre, Marguerite will say the very same words that she has so often said to me.'\n\n'That's going too far, my friend,' said Jeanne with considerable haughtiness. 'A little while ago you were accusing Marguerite, quite unreasonably, of having other lovers. Now you wish to prevent her having a husband. The favours she gives you have made you forget your place. Tomorrow I think I shall advise our uncle to send you into his county of Valois for several months. Your estates lie there and it will be good for your nerves.'\n\nAt once, good-looking young Philippe calmed down.\n\n'Oh, Madam!' he murmured. 'I think I should die of it.'\n\nHe was much more attractive in this mood than when angry. It was a pleasure to frighten him, merely to see him lower his long silken eyelashes and watch the slight trembling of his white chin. He was suddenly so unhappy, so pathetic, that the two young women, forgetting their alarm, could do no other than smile.\n\n'You must tell your brother, Gautier, that I shall sigh for him tonight,' said Blanche in the kindest possible way.\n\nOnce again, it was impossible to tell whether she was lying or telling the truth.\n\n'Oughtn't Marguerite to be warned of what we've just learnt?' said Aunay hesitatingly. 'In case she intended tonight \u2026'\n\n'Blanche can do what she likes; I won't undertake anything more,' said Jeanne. 'I was too frightened. I don't want to have anything more to do with your affairs. It'll all end badly one day, and I'm really compromising myself for nothing at all.'\n\n'It's quite true,' said Blanche; 'you get nothing out of our good fortune. And of us all, it's your husband who's away most often. If only Marguerite and I had your luck.'\n\n'But I've no taste for it,' Jeanne answered.\n\n'Or no courage,' said Blanche gently.\n\n'It's quite true that even if I did want it, I haven't your facility for lying, Sister, and I'm sure that I should betray myself at once.'\n\nHaving said so much, Jeanne was pensive for a moment or two. No, certainly, she had no wish to deceive Philippe of Poitiers; but she was tired of appearing to be a prude.\n\n'Madam,' said Aunay, 'couldn't you give me a message for your cousin?'\n\nJeanne looked covertly at the young man with a sort of tender indulgence.\n\n'Can't you survive another day without seeing the beautiful Marguerite?' she said. 'Well then, I'll be kind. I'll buy a jewel for Marguerite and you shall go and give it to her on my behalf. But it's the last time.'\n\nThey went to one of the baskets. While the two young women were making their choice, Blanche at once selecting the most expensive trinkets, Philippe d'Aunay was thinking again of the meeting with the King.\n\n'Each time he sees me, he asks me my name over again,' he thought. 'This must be the tenth time. And every time he makes some allusion to my brother.'\n\nHe felt a sort of dull apprehension and wondered why the King frightened him so much. No doubt it was because of the way he looked at you out of those over-large, unwinking eyes with their strange, indefinite colour which lay somewhere between grey and pale blue, like the ice on ponds on winter mornings, eyes that remained in the memory for hours after you had looked into them.\n\nNone of the three young people had noticed a tall man, dressed in hunting-clothes, who, from some distance off, while pretending to buy a buckle, had been watching them for some little time. This man was Count Robert of Artois.\n\n'Philippe, I haven't enough money on me, do you mind paying?'\n\nIt was Jeanne who spoke, drawing Philippe out of his reflections. And Philippe responded with alacrity. Jeanne had chosen for Marguerite a girdle woven of gold thread.\n\n'Oh, I should like one like it!' said Blanche.\n\nBut she had not the money either, and it was Philippe who paid.\n\nIt was always thus when he was in company with these ladies. They promised to pay him back later on, but they always forgot, and he was too much the gallant gentleman ever to remind them.\n\n'Take care, my son,' Messire Gautier d'Aunay, his father, had said to him one day, 'the richest women are always the most expensive.'\n\nHe realised it when he went over his accounts. But he did not care. The Aunays were rich and their fiefs of V\u00e9mars and of d'Aulnay-les-Bondy, between Pontoise and Luzarches, brought them in a handsome income. Philippe told himself that, later on, his brilliant friendships would put him in the way of a large fortune. And for the moment nothing cost too much for the satisfaction of his passion.\n\nHe had the pretext, an expensive pretext, to rush off to the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle, where lived the King and Queen of Navarre, beyond the Seine. Going by the Pont Saint-Michel, it would take him but a few minutes.\n\nHe left the two princesses and quitted the Mercers' Hall.\n\nOutside, the great bell of Notre-Dame had fallen silent and over all the island of the Cit\u00e9 lay a menacing and unaccustomed quiet. What was happening at Notre-Dame?"
            },
            {
                "title": "At the Great Door of Notre-Dame",
                "text": "The archers had formed a cordon to keep the crowd out of the space in front of the cathedral. Heads appeared in curiosity at every window.\n\nThe mist had dissolved and a pale sunlight illumined the white stone of Notre-Dame of Paris. For the cathedral was only seventy years old, and work was still continuously in progress upon the decorations. It still had the brilliance of the new, and the light emphasised the curve of its ogival windows, pierced the lacework of its central rose and accentuated the teeming statues of its porches with rose-coloured shadows.\n\nAlready, for an hour, the sellers of chickens who, every morning, did business in front of the cathedral, had been driven back against the houses.\n\nThe crowing of a cock, stifling in its cage, split the silence, that weighty silence which had so surprised Philippe d'Aunay as he came out of the Mercers' Hall; while feathers floated head-high in the air.\n\nCaptain Alain de Pareilles stood stiffly to attention in front of his archers.\n\nAt the top of the steps leading up from the open space, the four Templars stood, their backs to the crowd, face to face with the Ecclesiastical Tribunal which sat between the open doors of the great portico. Bishops, canons, and clerics sat in rows upon benches specially placed for them.\n\nPeople looked with curiosity at the three Cardinal Legates, sent especially by the Pope to signify that the sentence was without appeal and had the final approval of the Holy See. The attention of the spectators was also particularly held by Jean de Marigny, the young Archbishop of Sens, brother of the First Minister, who had conducted the whole prosecution, and by Brother Renaud, the King's confessor and Grand Inquisitor of France.\n\nSome thirty monks, some in brown habits, some in white, stood behind the members of the Tribunal. The only civilian in the assembly, Jean Ployebouche, Provost of Paris, a man of some fifty years, thick-set and frowning, seemed not altogether happy in the company in which he found himself. He represented the royal power and was responsible for the maintenance of order. His eyes moved continuously from the crowd to the Captain of the Archers, from the Captain to the young Archbishop of Sens; one could imagine that he was thinking, 'Provided everything goes off quietly.'\n\nThe sun played upon the mitres, the crosses, the purple of the cardinalatial robes, the amaranth of the bishops, the cloaks of ermine and velvet, the gold of pectoral crosses, the steel of coats of mail and of the weapons of the guard. These brilliant, scintillating colours rendered more violent yet the contrast with the accused on whose account all this pomp was gathered together. The four ragged Templars, standing shoulder to shoulder, looked as if they had been sculptured out of cinders.\n\nThe Cardinal-Archbishop of Albano rose to his feet and read the heads of the judgment. He did it slowly and with emphasis, savouring the sound of his own voice, pleased both with himself and with the opportunity of appearing before a foreign audience. Every now and then he pretended to be horrified at having even to mention the crimes he was enumerating, and at these moments his reading assumed an unctuous majesty of diction in order to relate some new transgression, some as yet unmentioned crime, and to announce yet further evidence, of an appalling nature.\n\n'We have heard the Brothers G\u00e9raud du Passage and Jean de Cugny, who assert with many others that they were compelled by force, upon being received into the Order, to spit upon the Cross, since, as they were told, it was only a piece of wood while the true God was in Heaven\u2026 We have heard Brother Guy Dauphin upon whom it was enjoined that, if one of his superiors were tormented by the flesh and desired to find satisfaction upon his body, he must consent to everything that was asked of him\u2026 We have heard upon this point the Sire de Molay who, under interrogation, has admitted and avowed that \u2026'\n\nThe crowd had to listen hard to grasp the meaning of the words which were disfigured both by the Italian accent and the emphasis of their utterance. The Legate made too much of them and went on too long. The crowd began to grow impatient.\n\nDuring this recital of accusation, false witness, and extorted confession, Jacques de Molay murmured to himself 'Lies\u2026 lies\u2026 lies.'\n\nThe hoarse repetition of this word uttered in an undertone, reached his companions.\n\nThe anger the Grand Master had felt rising in him during the ride in the wagon, far from diminishing, was increasing. The blood began to beat more strongly yet behind his sunken temples.\n\nNothing had happened to interrupt the progress of the nightmare. No band of ex-Templars had burst out of the crowd. Fate appeared inexorable.\n\n'We have heard the Brother Hugues de Payraud, who admits that he obliged novices to deny Christ three times.'\n\nHugues de Payraud was the Brother Visitor. He turned to Jacques de Molay with an expression of horror and said in a low voice, 'Brother, Brother, could I really have said that?'\n\nThe four dignitaries were alone, abandoned by God and man, held as in a giant vice between the soldiers and the Tribunal, between the royal power and the power of the Church. Each word pronounced by the Cardinal-Legate but screwed the vice tighter, till it was clear that the nightmare could end only in death.\n\nHow could the Commissions of Inquiry have failed to understand, for it had been explained to them a hundred times, that this test of denial had been imposed upon the novices for the sole purpose of discovering their attitude in the event of their being taken a prisoner by the Saracens and called upon to deny their religion?\n\nThe Grand Master had a wild longing to throw himself at the Prelate's throat, beat him, throw his mitre to the ground, and strangle him; all that prevented him was the certainty of being stopped before he could ever reach him. Besides, it was not only the Legate whom he longed to attack, but the young Marigny too, the fop with the golden hair who adopted such a negligent air. But, above all, he longed to attack his three real absent enemies: the King, the Keeper of the Seals, and the Pope.\n\nPowerless rage, heavier to bear than all his chains, impaired his vision, forming a red film before his eyes, and yet, something had to happen.\u2026 He was seized by so violent an attack of giddiness that he was afraid of falling to the ground. He did not even notice that Charnay had been seized by a similar fury and that the Preceptor of Normandy's scar had turned white across his crimson forehead.\n\nThe Legate was taking his time about the reading, lowering the parchment in his hand, only to raise it once again to the level of his eyes. He was making the performance last as long as possible. The depositions were over; the time had come to announce the sentence. The Legate continued, 'In consideration that the accused have avowed and recognised the above, they are condemned to solitary confinement for the term of their natural lives, that they may obtain the remission of their sins by means of their repentance. In nomine patris. \u2026'\n\nThe Legate had finished. There was nothing left for him to do but sit down, roll up the parchment, and hand it to a priest.\n\nAt first there was no reaction from the crowd. After such a recital of crime, sentence of death had been so much expected that mere solitary confinement \u2013 that is to say, imprisonment for life, a dungeon, chains, and bread and water \u2013 appeared almost as an act of clemency.\n\nPhilip the Fair had perfectly gauged the situation. Popular opinion, taken aback, would accept without difficulty, almost disinterestedly, this ultimate resolution of a tragedy that had preoccupied it for seven years. The senior Legate and the young Archbishop of Sens exchanged an almost imperceptible smile of connivance.\n\n'Brothers, Brothers,' stuttered the Brother Visitor, 'did I hear that correctly? They aren't going to kill us! They're going to spare us!'\n\nHis eyes filled with tears; his swollen hands trembled and his broken teeth parted as if he were about to laugh.\n\nIt was the sight of this hideous joy that let loose the flood-gates. For one instant Jacques de Molay looked at the half-witted face of a man who had once been brave and strong.\n\nAnd suddenly from the top of the steps they heard a voice shout, 'I protest!'\n\nAnd so powerful was the voice that at first they could not believe that it came from the Grand Master.\n\n'I protest against an iniquitous sentence and I declare that the crimes of which we are accused are wholly invented!' cried Jacques de Molay.\n\nA huge sigh came from the crowd. The Tribunal was thrown into confusion. The Cardinals looked at each other in stupefaction. No one had expected anything of the kind. Jean de Marigny leapt to his feet. The time for negligent airs had passed; he was pale and strained and trembling with rage.\n\n'You are lying!' he shouted. 'You confessed before the Commission.'\n\nFrom instinct, the archers had closed their ranks, awaiting an order.\n\n'I am guilty,' went on Jacques de Molay, 'only of having yielded to your promises, your threats and your tortures. I protest, in the name of God who hears us, that the Order of which I am the Grand Master is innocent.'\n\nAnd God indeed seemed to hear him, for the Grand Master's voice, caught up in the interior of the cathedral, reverberating in the vaults, returned as an echo, as if another, deeper voice, were repeating his words from the far end of the nave.\n\n'You have confessed to sodomy!' cried Jean de Marigny.\n\n'Under torture,' replied Molay.\n\n'\u2026 under torture \u2026' came the voice which seemed to resound from the tabernacle.\n\n'You have admitted to heresy!'\n\n'Under torture!'\n\n'\u2026 under torture \u2026' came the voice.\n\n'I retract everything!' cried the Grand Master.\n\n'\u2026 everything \u2026' the whole cathedral seemed loudly to respond.\n\nA new voice was raised. It was Geoffroy de Charnay, the Preceptor of Normandy, who, in his turn, was crossing swords with the Archbishop of Sens.\n\n'Our weakness has been taken advantage of,' he said. 'We are the victims of your plotting and of your false promises. It is your hate and your vindictiveness that have brought us to this pass! But I, too, protest before God that we are innocent, and those who say otherwise are telling a damned lie.'\n\nThen uproar broke loose. The monks, packed behind the Tribunal, began shouting, 'Heretics! To the stake with them, to the stake with the heretics!'\n\nBut their voices were soon drowned. With that feeling of generosity the populace always has for the weak and for courage in adversity, the majority of the crowd took the part of the Templars.\n\nFists were shaken at the judges. Disturbances began all over the square. There were shouts from the windows.\n\nOn the order of Alain de Pareilles, half the archers had formed up with linked arms to prevent the crowd swarming on to the staircase. The rest lined up with their pikes levelled at the populace.\n\nThe royal sergeants-at-arms were blindly raining down blows upon the crowd with their belilied staves. The merchants' baskets had been upset and the chickens screeched among the people's feet.\n\nThe Tribunal had risen to its feet in consternation. Jean de Marigny was conferring with the Provost of Paris.\n\n'Decide anything you like, Monseigneur, anything you like,' the Provost was saying. 'But you can't leave them there. We shall all be overrun. You don't know what the people of Paris are capable of when they get out of hand.'\n\nJean de Marigny stretched out his hand and raised his episcopal crozier to indicate that he was about to speak. But no one wanted to listen to him any more. Insults were hurled at him.\n\n'Torturer! False Bishop! God will punish you!'\n\n'Speak, Monseigneur, speak!' The Provost was saying to him.\n\nHe was afraid for his job and his skin; he remembered the riots of 1306 when his predecessor, Provost Barbet, had had his house pillaged.\n\n'I declare two of the condemned relapsed into heresy,' cried the Archbishop, shouting vainly. 'They have rejected the justice of the Church; the Church rejects them and remits them to the justice of the King.'\n\nHis words were lost in the hubbub. Then the whole Tribunal, like a flock of terrified guinea-fowl hurried into Notre-Dame and had the door quickly shut behind them.\n\nUpon a sign from the Provost to Alain de Pareilles, a band of archers rushed to the steps; the wagon was brought up and the prisoners were bundled into it with blows from pike-staves. They submitted with absolute docility. The Grand Master and the Preceptor of Normandy felt at once exhausted and relaxed. At last they were at peace with themselves. The other two were no longer capable of understanding anything.\n\nThe archers opened up a passage for the wagon, while Provost Ployebouche gave instructions to his sergeant-at-arms to clear the square as soon as possible. He was in a highly nervous condition, utterly beside himself.\n\n'Take the prisoners back to the Temple,' he shouted to Alain de Pareilles. 'I shall go at once to inform the King.'\n\nHe took four sergeants-at-arms with him by way of escort."
            },
            {
                "title": "Marguerite of Burgundy, Queen of Navarre",
                "text": "While all this had been going on, Philippe d'Aunay had reached the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle. He had been asked to wait in the ante-room of the Queen of Navarre's private apartments. Time lagged. Philippe wondered whether Marguerite was detained by visitors or whether, quite simply, she was taking pleasure in keeping him waiting. It would be in character. And, quite possibly, after an hour or so, she would send to say that she could not see him. It made him furious.\n\nThree years ago, when their liaison had begun, she would not have behaved like this. Or would she? He could no longer remember. He had succumbed to the delights of a new relationship in which vanity played as important a part as love. At that time he would have danced attendance for five hours at a stretch merely to catch sight of his mistress, to kiss her hand, and hear a whispered word promising a meeting.\n\nBut times had changed. The difficulties, which are the savour of a nascent love-affair, become intolerable after three years, and sometimes passion dies by the very thing that has brought it to birth. The continued uncertainty of meeting, appointments cancelled, the obligations of the Court, to which had to be added the eccentricities of Marguerite's own character, had aroused in Philippe a sense of exasperation, which could find expression only in anger and in making new demands upon her.\n\nMarguerite seemed to take things much more easily. She enjoyed the double pleasure of deceiving her husband and torturing her lover. She was one of those women who can find satisfaction in love only through the spectacle of the suffering they inflict, till even that becomes a bore.\n\nNot a day passed but Philippe told himself that a great love could find no satisfaction in adultery, and that he did not swear to break it off.\n\nBut he was weak, cowardly, and enmeshed. Like a gambler who doubles his stake, he followed up his fantasies of the past, his vain present, all the time he had wasted, and his former happiness. He lacked the courage to rise from the table and say, 'I've lost enough.'\n\nAnd there he was, leaning against a window-frame, waiting to be told to come in.\n\nTo alleviate his impatience, he was watching the coming and going of the grooms in the courtyard of the house. They were leading out the horses to exercise on the little Pr\u00e9-aux-Clercs near by. He watched the porters delivering sides of meat and baskets of vegetables.\n\nThe H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle consisted of two distinct buildings: the H\u00f4tel proper, which was of recent construction, and the tower erected under Philippe-Auguste, at the period when the town wall passed that way, in order to make a counterpart to the Tower of the Louvre on the left bank of the Seine. Six years earlier, Philip the Fair had bought the whole site from the Count Aumary de Nesle, and had granted it as a residence to his eldest son, the King of Navarre.\n\nUntil then the tower had been used as a guardroom or garrison. It was Marguerite who had had it furnished as a retreat in which to meditate, or so she said, upon her Books of Hours above the flowing river. She declared that she needed solitude, and since she was known to be eccentric, Louis of Navarre had not been unduly surprised. In reality, she had desired this amenity merely for the purpose of receiving the good-looking Aunay the more easily.\n\nFor the latter, this had been a source of unparalleled pride. For him alone a Queen had turned a fortress into a love-nest.\n\nAnd then, when his elder brother Gautier d'Aunay had become the lover of Blanche, the tower had also become the secret meeting-place of the new couple. The pretext had been easily conceived: Blanche merely came to visit her cousin and sister-in-law; and Marguerite had no wish but to be obliging.\n\nBut now, at this actual moment, as Philippe looked out upon the huge sombre tower, with its conical roof and high, narrow windows, overlooking the river, he could not help wondering whether other men had not shared those furtive embraces and tumultuous nights. Even to those who thought they knew her best, Marguerite was so unaccountable! And these last five days without a sign from her, when every circumstance lent itself to a meeting, were they not proof?\n\nA door opened and a lady-in-waiting asked Philippe to follow her. His lips were dry and he felt a constriction about the heart, but he was determined not to let himself be put off this time. He walked down a long corridor and then the lady-in-waiting disappeared, while Philippe entered a low-ceilinged room, crowded with furniture, impregnated with that heady scent he knew so well, essence of jasmin brought by merchants from the Orient.\n\nIt took Philippe a moment to accustom himself to the twilight and heat of the room. A tree-trunk was smouldering above a heap of tinder-wood upon the great hearth.\n\n'Madam \u2026' he said.\n\nA voice came from the end of the room, a rather hoarse and sleepy voice.\n\n'Come over here, Messire.'\n\nWas Marguerite alone? Was she daring to receive him in her room, without witnesses, when the King of Navarre might be in the vicinity?\n\nHe felt at once relieved and disappointed: the Queen of Navarre was not alone. She was reclining upon her bed, while an elderly woman-of-the-bedchamber, half-hidden by the curtain, was engaged in polishing her toe-nails.\n\nPhilippe went forward and in a courtly tone, which was at variance with his expression, announced that the Countess of Poitiers had sent him to ask after the Queen of Navarre, remit her compliments and deliver a present.\n\nMarguerite listened without moving. Her beautiful naked arms were folded beneath her head and her eyes were half closed.\n\nShe was small, black-haired and olive-skinned. It was said that she had the most beautiful body in the world, and she was well aware of it.\n\nPhilippe looked at her round, sensual mouth, her short chin, her half-naked throat, and her plump, elegant legs revealed by the woman-of-the-bedchamber.\n\n'Put the present on the table, I'll look at it in a moment,' said Marguerite.\n\nShe stretched and yawned. Philippe saw her pink tongue, the roof of her mouth and her little white teeth. She yawned like a cat.\n\nAs yet, she had not once turned her eyes in his direction. He made an effort to keep himself under control. The woman-of-the-bedchamber looked covertly at Philippe in curiosity. He thought that his anger must be too apparent. He had never seen this particular duenna before. Was she newly in Marguerite's service?\n\n'Am I to take back a reply to the Countess?' he asked.\n\n'Oh!' cried Marguerite, sitting up, 'you're hurting me, woman.'\n\nThe woman murmured an excuse. Marguerite at last consented to look in Philippe's direction. She had beautiful dark, velvety eyes, which seemed to caress everyone and everything they looked upon.\n\n'Tell my sister-in-law of Poitiers \u2026' she said.\n\nPhilippe had moved to escape being observed by the woman-of-the-bedchamber. With a quick gesture of his hand he signed to Marguerite to send the old lady away. But Marguerite appeared not to understand; she smiled, but not in Philippe's direction; she seemed to be smiling into the void.\n\n'On the other hand, perhaps not,' she went on. 'I'll write her a letter for you to give her.'\n\nThen, to the woman-of-the-bedchamber, she said, 'That will do for the present. I must dress. Go and prepare my clothes.'\n\nThe old woman went into the next room but left the door open. Philippe realised that she was watching him.\n\nMarguerite got up and, as she passed him, whispered almost without opening her lips, 'I love you.'\n\n'Why haven't I seen you for five days?' he asked as quietly.\n\n'Oh, how pretty it is,' she cried, unpacking the girdle. 'What good taste Jeanne has, and how I love her present!'\n\n'Why haven't I seen you?' Philippe repeated in a low voice.\n\n'It's the very thing to go with my new purse,' Marguerite went on. 'Messire d'Aunay, can you spare the time to wait while I write a word of thanks?'\n\nShe sat down at the table, took a goose's quill and a piece of paper10 and signalled Philippe to draw near.\n\nShe wrote so that he could read the word over her shoulder: 'Prudence.'\n\nThen to the woman in attendance, who could be heard in the neighbouring room, she cried: 'Madame de Comminges, will you fetch my daughter? I haven't given her a kiss all morning.'\n\nThe woman went out.\n\n'You're lying,' said Philippe. 'Prudence is a good pretext for getting rid of one lover in order to receive others.'\n\nShe was not altogether lying. It is always towards the end of an affair, when lovers either begin to quarrel or get bored with each other, that they betray themselves to those about them, and that the world takes for something new what is in fact upon the point of coming to an end. Had Marguerite said something careless? Had Philippe's ill-temper been noted beyond the narrow world of Blanche and Jeanne? She felt absolutely certain of the porter and the chambermaid of the tower. They were two servants she had brought from Burgundy and whom she terrified with threats upon the one hand, and rewarded handsomely upon the other. But could one ever be certain? She felt that she was vaguely suspected. The King of Navarre had made several allusions to her success, husband's jokes which did not quite ring true. And then there was this new woman-of-the-bedchamber, Madame de Comminges, who had been forced upon her a few days ago in response to a recommendation from Monseigneur Charles of Valois. She was always trailing about in her widow's weeds. Marguerite felt herself less ready to take risks than in the past.\n\n'You know, you're a bore,' she said. 'I love you and you never stop scolding me.'\n\n'Well, I shall have no opportunity to be a bore tonight,' Philippe replied. 'The King told us himself that there was to be no Council, so you'll have all the time in the world to reassure your husband.'\n\nFrom her expression Philippe could have guessed, had he not been so angry, that from that quarter at any rate he had nothing to fear.\n\n'And I shall go and visit the whores!' he said.\n\n'All right,' said Marguerite. 'I shall be delighted to know how they set about things.'\n\n'Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!' thought Philippe. You never knew how to take her; she was as slippery as an eel.\n\nShe went to an open coffer, and took out a new purse of gold thread with three catches made of large precious stones. Philippe had never seen it before.\n\nTwo days earlier Marguerite had received it as a present from her sister-in-law, the Queen of England, by the hand of a discreet messenger who had brought two similar purses for Jeanne and Blanche. A note from Isabella asked them not to talk of them, for 'my husband watches carefully over my expenditure, and it might anger him.'\n\nThe three princesses had been somewhat surprised by their sister-in-law's unaccustomed kindness. 'She's having trouble at home,' they said to each other, 'and wants to be in our good books.'\n\n'They go splendidly together,' said Marguerite, passing the girdle through the golden loops, holding it against her waist, and going to look at herself in a huge pewter mirror.\n\n'Who gave you that purse?' asked Philippe.\n\n'It was \u2026'\n\nShe was quite simply going to tell him the truth. But she saw him stiffen with suspicion and was unable to resist teasing him.\n\n'It was\u2026 someone,' she said.\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Guess.'\n\n'Louis?'\n\n'My husband isn't as generous as that!'\n\n'Then, who?'\n\n'Can't you guess?'\n\n'I want to know. I have the right to know,' Philippe said, losing his temper. 'It's a present from a man, a rich man, a man in love\u2026 and because you've given him reason to be so, I should think.'\n\nMarguerite went on looking at herself in the mirror, first trying the belt on one side, then on the other, then in the middle of her waist.\n\n'It was Robert of Artois,' said Philippe.\n\n'Oh, what bad taste you credit me with, Messire!' she said. 'That great lout, always smelling of game.'\n\nNeither of them imagined how near they were to the truth, and what part Robert of Artois had played in the sending of the purse.\n\n'Gaucher de Ch\u00e2tillon, then,' said Philippe. 'He's always hovering round you as he does round every woman he sees.'\n\nMarguerite put her head on one side as if lost in thought.\n\n'The High Constable?' she said. 'I hadn't noticed that he was interested in me, but since you tell me that he is\u2026 Thank you for drawing my attention to it.'\n\n'I shall find out in the end.'\n\n'When you've named everyone at the Court of France \u2026'\n\nShe was going to add, 'Then perhaps you'll think of the Court of England.' But she was interrupted by the return of Madame de Comminges, who entered, pushing before her the Princess Jeanne, still almost an infant. The little girl walked slowly, made awkward by a long velvet dress embroidered with pearls. She bore no resemblance to her mother except for her round, swelling, almost convex brow. She was fair, had a thin nose and long eyelashes which fluttered over clear eyes. She might equally have been the daughter of the King of Navarre or of Philippe d'Aunay. But on that point, too, Philippe had never been able to discover the truth, and Marguerite was much too clever ever to give herself away on so important a matter. Every time Philippe saw the little Jeanne, he asked himself, 'Is she mine?' And he thought that one day he would have to bow as he received the orders of a princess who was perhaps his daughter and might well succeed to two thrones. For Louis of Navarre, the heir of France, and Marguerite his wife, had so far no other children.\n\nMarguerite picked up the little Jeanne, kissed her forehead, and commenting that she looked well, handed her back to the woman-of-the-bedchamber.\n\n'There, I've kissed her,' she said. 'You can take her away again.'\n\nShe became aware from Madame de Comminges's expression that the latter perfectly understood that she had only been sent to fetch the child in order to get rid of her for a moment. 'I must be relieved of this old woman,' thought Marguerite.\n\nA lady-in-waiting entered hurriedly, asking if the King of Navarre were there.\n\n'He's not usually to be found with me at this time of day,' said Marguerite.\n\n'He's being searched for everywhere,' said the lady. 'The King wants him at once. There's an urgent Council at the palace.'\n\n'Is it known what it's about?' Marguerite asked.\n\n'If I understood aright, Madam, the Templars have rejected their sentence. The populace are rioting about Notre-Dame and the guards have been doubled everywhere.'\n\nMarguerite and Philippe looked at each other. The same idea had struck them both and it had nothing to do with affairs of state. These events might compel Louis of Navarre to spend at least part of the night at the palace.\n\n'Perhaps the day will not end as we thought,' said Philippe.\n\nMarguerite looked at him for a moment and thought that she had made him suffer enough. He had resumed a respectful and distant mien; but his expression begged for happiness. She was moved by it and felt her love revive as in the early days.\n\n'Perhaps, Messire,' she said.\n\nAt the same time, she was thinking that no one would ever love her more than he did.\n\nShe went over and picked up the piece of paper upon which she had written 'Prudence' and threw it into the fire, saying as she did so, 'I don't care for the letter I've written. I'll send another to the Countess of Poitiers later on; I shall hope for better news to give her. Good-bye, Messire.'\n\nThe Philippe who quitted the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle was not the same man who had entered it. On the strength of a single word of hope he had a new-found confidence in his mistress, in himself, in life in general, and this particular noon seemed radiant.\n\n'She loves me as much as ever; I've been unjust to her,' he thought.\n\nAs he passed the guard, he ran into the Count of Artois who was coming in. One might have thought that the giant was following up Philippe's tracks. But it was not so. For the moment Artois was busy with other matters.\n\n'Is Monseigneur the King of Navarre at home?' he asked Philippe.\n\n'I know that they've been looking for him for the King's Council,' said Philippe.\n\n'Were you sent to warn him?'\n\n'Yes,' said Philippe instinctively.\n\nAnd as soon as he had said it, he realised that the lie was foolish and too easy to check.\n\n'I'm seeking him for the same reason,' said Artois. 'Monseigneur of Valois wishes to talk with him before the Council.'\n\nThey separated. But this chance meeting gave the giant a lead.\n\n'Can it be he?' he suddenly thought as he crossed the courtyard. An hour earlier he had seen Philippe in the Mercers' Hall with Jeanne and Blanche. And now he had met him again at Marguerite's door.\n\n'Is that young man their messenger, or is he the lover of one of them? If he is, I shall very soon know it.'\n\nFor he had lost no time since his return from England. Since entering Marguerite's service, Madame de Comminges sent him a report every day. He had a man of his own watching the surroundings of the Tower of Nesle at night. The net was spread. Bad luck to that gaily feathered bird should he be caught in it!"
            },
            {
                "title": "What Happened at the King's Council",
                "text": "\u2002The provost of paris, who had dashed off to see the King, found him in good humour. Philip the Fair was engaged in admiring three tall greyhounds which had been sent to him with the following letter:\n\n\u2002Sire,\n\n\u2002My nephew, abashed by his offence, has confessed to me that these three greyhounds, while held by him on a leash, have run against you. Humble though they are as an offering, I do not feel that I am worthy to keep them now that they have touched so high and mighty a Prince. They arrived the day before yesterday from England. I ask you to accept them that they may bear towards you the same devotion and humility as your servant,"
            },
            {
                "title": "SPINELLO TOLOMEI",
                "text": "'A clever man, this Tolomei,' said Philip the Fair.\n\nThough he refused all other presents he was prepared to accept hounds. He had the best packs in the world, and to give him animals as beautiful as these was to humour his only passion.\n\nWhile the Provost was explaining what had happened at Notre-Dame, Philip the Fair continued fondling the three greyhounds, raising their pendulous lips to examine their white teeth and black jaws, patting their deep chests.\n\nBetween the King and all animals, particularly dogs, there was an immediate, secret, silent understanding. Unlike men, dogs were never afraid of him. And, already, the largest of the three greyhounds had come of his own accord to place his head upon the King's knee and gaze up at his new master.\n\n'Bouville!' called Philip the Fair.\n\nHugues de Bouville, first Chamberlain to the King, whose hair alternated curiously between white and black locks, making him look like a piebald horse, entered.\n\n'Bouville, assemble the Inner Council within the hour,' said the King.\n\nThen, dismissing the Provost, while giving him to understand that it was as much as his life was worth to allow the least disturbance to take place in Paris, Philip the Fair remained meditating in company with his hounds.\n\nHe decided that the largest greyhound, which seemed already to be attached to him, should be called Lombard, because he came from an Italian banker.\n\nSoon the Inner Council was assembled. It did not meet in the vast Hall of Justice, which could hold a hundred people, and was used for the Grand Council, but in a small neighbouring room where a fire burned on the hearth.\n\nThe members of this smaller Council took their places round a long table to decide the fate of the Templars. The King sat at one end, his elbow on the arm of his great chair, his chin cupped in his hand. To his right sat Enguerrand de Marigny, Coadjutor and Rector of the kingdom, Nogaret, the Keeper of the Seals, Raoul de Presles, Lord Chief Justice, and two other lawyers as secretaries; to his left sat his eldest son, King Louis of Navarre, who had at last been found, and Hugues de Bouville, the Grand Chamberlain. Two places remained vacant, those of the Count of Poitiers, who had been sent on a mission, and of Prince Charles, the King's youngest son, who had gone hunting that morning and had not been found in time. There was only Monseigneur of Valois still to come. He had been sent for to his house, where, doubtless, he was conspiring as he did before every Council. The King had decided to begin without him.\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny spoke first. Six years older than Philip the Fair, less tall but of as imposing an aspect, this great lord had not been born noble. He came of middle class Norman stock, and had been called Enguerrand Le Portier before becoming the Lord of Marigny. He had had a fabulous career, which had aroused as much jealousy as respect, and the title of Coadjutor, created especially for him, had made him the King's alter ego. He was fifty-two years old, of solid aspect, large-chinned, rugged-skinned, and lived magnificently upon the huge fortune he had acquired. He was considered to have the greatest gift for speaking in the kingdom and his political intellect dominated his period from a lofty eminence.\n\nIt took him only a few minutes to furnish a complete picture of the situation based upon the report that his brother, the Archbishop of Sens, had given him.\n\n'The Grand Master and the Preceptor of Normandy have been remitted into your hands, Sire, by the Ecclesiastical Commission,' he said. 'You have absolute power to dispose of them as you will. Could we hope for anything better?'\n\nHe was interrupted by the door bursting open. Monseigneur of Valois, the King's brother and Emperor of Constantinople, entered. Without bothering to find out what had already been said, he cried, 'What's this I hear, Brother? Messire Le Portier de Marigny (he always inisted on saying \"Le Portier\") thinks that nothing could be better? Well, Brother, your counsellors are content with very little! I wonder when they'll think things are going badly!'\n\nIn Charles of Valois's presence, everything seemed suddenly to quicken in tempo. He seemed to move in a hurricane. He was two years younger than Philip the Fair, whom he resembled little. He was as excitable as the other was calm.\n\nSemi-bald, with a large nose, his face blotched from a life of campaigning and from the excesses of the table, carrying a paunch before him, he was dressed with an almost oriental sumptuousness which, upon anyone but him, would have looked absurd. Born close to the throne of France, inconsolable at not having succeeded to it, this mischief-making prince had never ceased travelling the world in search of another throne upon which to take his seat. For a short time he had been King of Aragon, had then renounced that kingdom in order to intrigue for the crown of Emperor of Germany; but he had been defeated in the election. By his second marriage, to Catherine of Courtenay, he was Emperor-Pretender to Constantinople, though a real Emperor, Andronic II Paleologos, was at this moment ruling in Byzantium. Everything else about him was in keeping. His greatest claims to fame were his lightning campaign in Guyenne in 1297, for he was a good general, and his campaign in Tuscany where, supporting the Guelfs against the Ghibellines, he had ravaged Florence and sent a certain political rhymer, named Dante, into exile. It was upon this account that the late Pope had created him Count of Romagna. Valois kept royal state, had his court and his own chancellor; and he loathed Enguerrand de Marigny for many reasons, for his plebeian birth, for his title of Coadjutor, because his statue had been placed among those of kings in the Mercers' Hall, because his policy was hostile to the great feudal barons, indeed on every possible count. Valois could not stomach the fact, grandson of Saint Louis as he was, that the kingdom should be governed by a man of the people. On this particular day he was dressed in blue and gold from hat to shoes.\n\n'What!' he cried. 'Four senile old men whose fate, so we were told, was all fixed \u2013 and how successfully, alas \u2013 can hold the royal power in check, and you say that all is for the best! The populace are spitting upon the verdict of the Ecclesiastical Commission \u2013 and what a Commission it is! \u2013 though it does represent the Church! And everything is for the best! The crowd is shouting \u2013 and do you know what, Brother? \u2013 death to you; and everything is for the best! Very well, Brother, everything is undoubtedly for the best!'\n\nHe raised his hands, which were fine and laden with rings, and sat down in the nearest chair at the bottom end of the table, as if to show that, if he could not sit at the King's right hand, he would sit opposite him.\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny stood up, a flicker of irony showing at the corners of his mouth.\n\n'Monseigneur of Valois must be misinformed,' he said calmly. 'Of the four old men of whom he speaks only two protested against their sentence. As for the populace, every report I have assures me that they are much divided in opinion.'\n\n'Divided!' cried Charles of Valois. 'By what right are they divided? Who asks the people their opinion? You do, Messire de Marigny, and one may well guess why. This is the result of your charming policy of assembling the middle class, the serfs and the peasants to approve the King's decisions. Now the populace think they can do as they please!'\n\nIn every period and in every country there have always been two parties: the reactionary and the progressive. These two tendencies came face to face at the King's Council. Charles of Valois considered himself the natural head of the great barons. He was the incarnation of the permanence of the past, and his political gospel derived from certain principles which he was prepared to defend to the last: the right of private war between the great barons, the right of the great feudal overlords to coin money within their own territories, a return to the morality of chivalry, submission to the Holy See as the supreme arbitrating power, and the maintenance of the feudal organisation of society in its integrity. All those things which had become established owing to the circumstances of society in previous centuries and which now Philip the Fair, inspired by Marigny, had abolished or still sought to overthrow.\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny stood for progress. His main ideas concerned the centralisation of power, the unification of finance and administration, the independence of the civil power from religious authority, external peace by fortifying strategic towns and permanently garrisoning them, internal peace by enforcing submission to the royal authority, the augmentation of production and commerce, and the security of communications. But there was another side to the medal: police proliferated, and they were as expensive to maintain as fortresses were to build.\n\nVehemently opposed by the feudal party, Enguerrand succeeded in rallying to the King a new and growing class which was gradually becoming aware of its own importance: the middle class. On many occasions, for instance, when it was a question of raising taxes or over the affair of the Templars, he had called upon the middle class of Paris to gather before the Palace of the Cit\u00e9. He had done the same thing in various provincial towns. He had in his mind the example of England, where the House of Commons was already functioning.\n\nAs yet, these small French assemblies had no right to discuss, they were merely to listen to the measures the King proposed and approve them.\n\nBlundering though he was in some ways, Valois was far from being a fool. He never missed an opportunity of trying to discredit Marigny. Their opposition, for long secret, had become an open struggle some months since, of which this particular Council of the 18th March was but a phase.\n\nThe controversy had taken a violent turn and argument grew heated.\n\n'If the great barons, of which you, Monseigneur, are the greatest,' said Marigny, 'had submitted more willingly to the royal edicts, we should not have had to rely upon the support of the people.'\n\n'A fine support indeed!' cried Valois. 'It's clear that you learnt no lesson from the riots of 1306, when the King and yourself had to take refuge in the Temple from a Paris in uproar! I tell you that if you go on like this, it won't be long before the middle class will govern without the King, and your assemblies will make the laws.'\n\nThe King remained silent, his chin cupped in his hand, and his wide-open eyes staring straight before him. He never blinked, and it was this peculiarity that gave his gaze a strangeness which frightened everyone.\n\nMarigny turned towards him as if to ask him to use his authority to stop an argument which was getting away from the point at issue.\n\nPhilip the Fair raised his chin a little and said, 'Brother, our concern today is with the Templars.'\n\n'Very well,' said Valois rapping the table, 'let's concern ourselves with the Templars.'\n\n'Nogaret!' murmured the King.\n\nThe Keeper of the Seals rose to his feet. Since the beginning of the Council he had been burning with anger and was only waiting an opportunity to show it. A fanatic for the public weal and for the policy of the State, the affair of the Templars was his affair, and he brought to it an energy which was both tireless and limitless. Moreover, he owed his high position to this prosecution, for, at the dramatic Council of 1307, when the Archbishop of Narbonne, who at that time held the Seals, refused to apply them to the order for the Templars' arrest, Philip the Fair had taken the Seals from the Archbishop's hand and had placed them in Nogaret's. Dark, lanky, with a long face and narrow eyes, he was constantly fidgeting with some part of his clothing or biting the nail of one of his flat fingers. He was ardent, austere, and as hard as the scythe of death.\n\n'Sire, the event that has just occurred, monstrous and terrible though it is to think on and horrible to hear,' he began in a rapid, emphatic voice, 'proves that every indulgence, every clemency you accord these devil's disciples is a weakness that turns back upon yourself.'\n\n'It is quite true,' said Philip the Fair, turning towards Valois, 'that the clemency you advised, Brother, and that my daughter of England sent to ask of me, has not borne good fruit. Go on, Nogaret.'\n\n'These vile dogs do not deserve to be left alive; instead of blessing the clemency of their judges, they took advantage of it to insult both the Church and the King. The Templars are heretics \u2026'\n\n'Were,' interrupted Charles of Valois.\n\n'You were saying, Monseigneur?' asked Nogaret impatiently.\n\n'I said were, Messire, because if my memory serves me right, of the fifteen thousand Templars that existed in France, you've only got four in your hands at the present moment; and it's embarrassing, I agree, that after seven years of trial, they should still insist upon their innocence! It seems to me that in the old days, Messire de Nogaret, you moved more swiftly, when at a single blow you eliminated a pope.'\n\nNogaret trembled with rage and his complexion grew darker yet under the blue shadow of his beard. He it was who had gone to depose old Pope Boniface VIII, who was eighty-six years of age, by hitting him in the face and pulling him off his pontifical throne by the beard. The Chancellor's adversaries never failed to remind him of this incident. Nogaret had been excommunicated for excess of zeal. And it had required all the authority that Philip the Fair had over Clement V to get the excommunication cancelled.\n\n'We know, Monseigneur,' he replied, 'that you have always supported the Templars. Doubtless you were counting upon their armies to reconquer, even to the utter ruin of France, the phantom throne of Constantinople upon which you have never as yet been able to sit.'\n\nHe had returned insult for insult, and his complexion returned almost to normal.\n\n'By thunder!' cried Valois, leaping to his feet and upsetting his chair behind him.\n\nThere was a barking from beneath the table at which everyone jumped except Philip the Fair, while the King of Navarre burst out laughing. The barking came from the largest greyhound. Philip the Fair had kept him close and he was not yet accustomed to these outbursts.\n\n'Louis, be quiet,' said Philip the Fair, glancing coldly at his son.\n\nThen he clicked his fingers, saying, 'Lombard, stop it!' Pulling the dog's head against his leg, he stroked it for a moment.\n\nLouis of Navarre, who was already nicknamed 'le Hutin', that is to say the wayward fool, lowered his head to conceal his inability to control his silly laughter. He was twenty-eight years old, but his mental development was no greater than at seventeen. He had his father's eyes, but with the difference that his gaze was weak and lacked directness, and his father's hair but without its lustre.\n\n'Sire,' said Charles of Valois when Bouville, the Chamberlain, had picked up his chair for him, 'Sire, my Brother, God is my witness that I have never desired anything but your interest and your glory.'\n\nPhilip the Fair turned his eyes upon him, and Charles of Valois felt his assurance ebbing. Nevertheless he went on, 'It is only of you I think, Brother, when I see all that has made the strength of the kingdom being wantonly destroyed. Without the Templars and without the Chivalry of France, how can you undertake a crusade should the necessity arise?'\n\nIt was Marigny who replied.\n\n'Under our King's wise reign,' he said, 'we have had no need of a crusade, precisely because the Chivalry has remained quiet, Monseigneur, and there has been no necessity to lead it overseas to expend its ardour.'\n\n'And the question of the Faith, Messire?'\n\n'The gold taken from the Templars has swollen the Treasury, Monseigneur, as has the enormous trade and commerce that used to be carried on behind the banners of the Faith; goods are diffused just as well without crusades.'\n\n'Messire, you talk like an infidel!'\n\n'I talk like a servant of the kingdom, Monseigneur!'\n\nThe King lightly tapped the table.\n\n'Brother,' he said once more, 'we have met to discuss the Templars. I ask you for your counsel.'\n\n'My counsel\u2026 my counsel?' Valois repeated, taken aback.\n\nHe was always ready to reform the universe, but never to furnish any precise opinion.\n\n'Well, Brother, let those who have conducted the business so well' \u2013 he indicated Nogaret and Marigny \u2013 'inspire you with suggestions as to how it should be brought to an end. As far as I am concerned \u2026'\n\nHe made the gesture of Pilate.\n\nThe Keeper of the Seals and the Coadjutor exchanged a glance.\n\n'Louis, your counsel,' said the King.\n\nLouis of Navarre gave a start, and took a moment to reply, in the first place because he had not the remotest idea what to say and in the second because he was sucking a sweet made of honey and it had stuck in his teeth.\n\n'Supposing we handed over the Templars to the Pope,' he said at last.\n\n'Be quiet, Louis,' said the King, shrugging his shoulders.\n\nAnd Marigny raised his eyebrows in commiseration.\n\nTo send the Grand Master back to the jurisdiction of the Pope was to begin again at the beginning, to put everything in question once more, the whole basis and form of procedure, to give up the legal powers extracted with such difficulty from the Councils, to annul the whole effort of seven years and open the way once again to every ruse of the defence.\n\n'And to think that this idiot is going to succeed me,' thought Philip the Fair, looking at his son. 'One can only hope that he will mature between now and then.'\n\nA March shower rustled against the leaded windows.\n\n'Bouville?' said the King.\n\nHugues de Bouville thought that the King was asking him his opinion. No one could have had greater devotion than the Grand Chamberlain, or greater obedience, fidelity, and desire to please, but he had no mental initiative. As always, he wondered what Philip the Fair wished to hear.\n\n'I'm thinking, Sire, I'm thinking,' he replied.\n\n'Send for candles, one can't see,' said the King. 'Nogaret, what are your views?'\n\n'That those who have fallen into heresy should suffer the punishment for heresy, and without delay,' replied the Keeper of the Seals.\n\n'What about the populace?' asked Philip the Fair, turning to Marigny.\n\n'Their excitement will subside as soon as those who are its cause no longer exist,' said the Coadjutor.\n\nCharles of Valois made a last effort.\n\n'Brother,' he said, 'you must take into consideration the fact that the Grand Master ranked as a sovereign prince. To put him to death is contrary to the principle by which crowned heads are protected \u2026'\n\nThe King's glance cut him short.\n\nFor a short while there was an oppressive silence, then Philip the Fair said, 'Jacques de Molay and Geoffroy de Charnay will be burned to death tonight on the Island of Jews12 opposite the Palace. Their rebellion was public; their punishment shall be public. I have spoken.'\n\nHe got up and everyone present followed his example.\n\n'You will make out the order, Messire de Presles. I wish you all to be present at the execution, Messires, and that our son Charles should be present also. You will inform him, my son,' he said, looking at Louis of Navarre.\n\nThen he called, 'Lombard!'\n\nHe went out with his hound at his heels.\n\nAt this Council, in which two kings, an emperor and a viceroy had taken part, two men had been condemned to death. But not for an instant had anyone felt that they were dealing with two human lives; it was a matter of politics.\n\n'Nephew,' said Charles of Valois to Louis le Hutin, 'we have been present today at the demise of Chivalry.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Tower of Love",
                "text": "Night had fallen. Upon the gentle breeze were borne the odours of wet earth, mud and springing sap. Black clouds were flowing across a starless sky.\n\nA boat, putting off from the river bank by the Tower of the Louvre, drifted across the Seine, whose waters gleamed like the oily surface of an old breastplate.\n\nThere were two passengers seated in the boat's stern, their faces hidden by the high collars of their cloaks.\n\n'Funny weather today,' said the ferryman, bending slowly to his oars. 'In the morning you wake up to such a mist that you can't see two fathoms distance. And then about ten o'clock out comes the sun. One says to oneself \"Here's spring on the way\". And no sooner said than hailstorms set in for the afternoon. And now the wind's getting up, and there's going to be quite a blow, that's certain. Funny weather.'\n\n'Get a move on,' said one of the passengers.\n\n'I'm doing the best I can. Getting old, that's what it is. I'll be fifty-three at the feast of Saint Michael. I'm no longer as strong as you are, young sirs,' said the ferryman.\n\nHe was dressed in rags and seemed to take pleasure in his own querulous speech.\n\n'You really want to go to the Tower of Nesle?' he asked. 'Is there anywhere to land there?'\n\n'Of course,' replied the same passenger.\n\n'We don't go there much, you know. It's little frequented.'\n\nSome little distance away, on the left, the lights of the Island of Jews twinkled, and, still farther off, shone the lighted windows of the palace. Over there many boats were going to and fro.\n\n'Well, gentlemen, aren't you going to watch the Templars grilled?' went on the ferryman. 'I'm told that the King is going to be there with his sons. Is that true?'\n\n'So it seems,' said the passenger.\n\n'And will the Princesses be there too?'\n\n'I don't know. I expect so,' said the passenger, turning his head away to indicate that he had no wish to pursue the conversation.\n\nThen he said in a low voice to his companion, between his teeth, 'I don't like this fellow, he talks too much.'\n\nThe other passenger carelessly shrugged his shoulders. Then, after a silence, he whispered, 'Who let you know?'\n\n'It was through Jeanne, as always,' the first replied.\n\n'Dear Countess Jeanne, how much we owe her!'\n\nWith every stroke of the oars, the Tower of Nesle drew nearer, a high black silhouette against the dark sky.\n\nThe taller of the passengers, he who had spoken second, placed a hand on his companion's arm.\n\n'Gautier,' he murmured, 'I'm happy tonight. Are you?'\n\n'I'm well content, Philippe.'\n\nThus spoke the two brothers Aunay, Gautier and Philippe, as they went to the meeting Blanche and Marguerite had arranged as soon as they knew their husbands would be detained by the King. And it was the Countess of Poitiers who, once more a go-between, had delivered the message.\n\nPhilippe d'Aunay found it difficult to keep his happiness and impatience under control. His distress of the morning had disappeared, all his suspicions seemed unjust and vain. Marguerite had sent for him; for him Marguerite was running every risk; in a few moments he would be holding her in his arms and he swore that he would be the most tender, gay and ardent lover in the world.\n\nThe boat grounded on the bank over which rose the high wall of the tower. The last spate had left a shoal of mud.\n\nThe ferryman lent his arm to assist the two young men ashore.\n\n'You understand what you've got to do, fellow?' said Gautier. 'You'll wait for us close by and don't be seen.'\n\n'I'll wait for the rest of my life, young sir, if you'll pay me for it,' said the ferryman.\n\n'Half the night will be enough,' said Gautier.\n\nHe gave him a silver groat, twelve times what the journey was worth, and promised him another upon their return. The ferryman bowed low.\n\nTaking care not to slip or get too muddy, the two brothers crossed the short distance to a postern and knocked a prearranged signal. The door was silently opened.\n\n'Good evening, Sirs,' said the maid whom Marguerite had brought from Burgundy.\n\nShe carried a lantern and, having barricaded the door behind them, led the way into a turret staircase.\n\nShe showed them into the big room of the tower on the first floor. Its only light was a huge fire of logs on an open hearth. The glow rose and was lost among the tops of the twelve arches supporting the barrel roof.\n\nLike Marguerite's, this room too was scented with jasmin; the furnishings seemed impregnated with it, the gold-embroidered hangings on the walls, the carpets, the furs of wild beasts spread about on low beds in the oriental manner.\n\nThe princesses were not there. The maid went out, saying that she would inform them of their arrival.\n\nThe two young men, having taken off their cloaks, went over to the fire and automatically held out their hands to the warmth.\n\nGautier d'Aunay was two years older than his brother, whom he very much resembled, though he was shorter, more solidly built and fairer. He had a thick neck, pink cheeks and laughed at life. He was not, as was his brother, a prey to passion. He was married \u2013 and well married \u2013 to a Montmorency by whom he already had three children.\n\n'I always wonder,' he said, as he warmed his hands, 'why Blanche took me for a lover and, indeed, why she has a lover at all. As for Marguerite, it's obvious. One's only got to look at Louis of Navarre, with his downcast eyes, his gawky walk and hollow chest, and then compare him with you, to understand. And then, of course, there are other reasons of which we know.'\n\nHe was alluding to certain secrets of the alcove, to the King of Navarre's lack of sexual vigour and to the disharmony existing between husband and wife.\n\n'But I don't understand Blanche,' Gautier d'Aunay went on. 'She's got a good-looking husband, much better-looking than I am. Of course he is, Philippe, don't protest. He looks exactly like his father the King. He loves her and, I believe, whatever she may say, that she loves him. Then why does she do it? Every time I see her I wonder why such a piece of luck should have come my way.'\n\n'Because she wants to do the same as her cousin,' Philippe replied.\n\nThere were light steps and whisperings in the passage that led from the tower to the house, and the two princesses came in.\n\nPhilippe moved quickly towards Marguerite but suddenly stopped short. He had caught sight, at his mistress's belt, of the gold purse with the precious stones that had so much angered him in the morning.\n\n'What's the matter with you, Philippe darling?' Marguerite asked, her arms extended towards him, her face raised to receive a kiss. 'Aren't you happy this evening?'\n\n'Perfectly,' he answered coldly.\n\n'What's happened? What are you angry about now?'\n\n'Have you put that on merely to annoy me?' asked Philippe, pointing to the purse.\n\nShe laughed loudly and happily.\n\n'How silly you are, how jealous and how sweet! Didn't you realise that I was teasing you? Just to calm you down, I'll give you the purse. You'll know then that it was no present from a lover.'\n\nShe took the purse from her waist and attached it to Philippe's belt. He was bewildered and made a gesture of protest.\n\n'Yes, yes, I want you to have it,' she said. 'Now it really is a love-gauge for you. No, don't refuse. Nothing is too fine for my beautiful Philippe. But don't ask me again where the purse came from, or I shall have to take it back. I can only swear to you that it was not given me by a man. Besides, Blanche has got one too. Blanche,' she said, turning to her cousin, 'show your purse to Philippe. I have given him mine.'\n\nBlanche was lying on one of the beds in the darkest part of the room. Gautier was beside her, kneeling on one knee and covering her throat and hands with kisses.\n\n'I'll wager,' Marguerite murmured in Philippe's ear, 'that within a minute your brother will have received a similar present.'\n\nBlanche raised herself on an elbow and said, 'Isn't it very rash, Marguerite, and have we the right to do it?'\n\n'Of course,' Marguerite answered. 'No one but Jeanne has seen them or even knows that we have received them.'\n\n'All right,' cried Blanche; 'I don't want my beautiful lover to be less loved and less adorned than yours.'\n\nAnd she took off her purse which Gautier accepted with an easy grace since his brother had already done so.\n\nMarguerite gave Philippe a look which said, 'Didn't I tell you so?'\n\nPhilippe smiled at her. 'How astonishing Marguerite is,' he thought.\n\nHe could never make her out or understand her. Was she the same woman who that morning had been cruel, teasing, perfidious, who had played with him as she might have turned a pheasant on a spit, and who now, having given him a present worth a hundred and fifty pounds, lay in his arms, submissive, tender, almost quivering?\n\n'I believe the reason I love you so much,' he murmured, 'is because I don't understand you.'\n\nNo compliment could have given Marguerite greater pleasure. She thanked Philippe by burying her lips in his neck. Suddenly she disengaged herself and stood listening. Then she cried, 'Do you hear them? The Templars. They're being led out to the stake.'\n\nBright-eyed, her face alive with a sinister curiosity, she dragged Philippe to the window, a high funnel-shaped loophole built in the thickness of the wall, and opened the casement.\n\nThe loud murmuring of the crowd flowed into the room.\n\n'Blanche, Gautier, come and look!' said Marguerite.\n\nBut Blanche replied in a happy, quavering voice, 'Oh! no, I'm much too happy where I am.'\n\nBetween the two princesses and their lovers all shame had long since vanished. It was their custom to enjoy all the pleasures of love in each other's presence. If Blanche on occasion turned her eyes away, and hid her nakedness in the shadowy corners of the room, Marguerite derived an added pleasure from watching others making love, as she did from being watched herself.\n\nBut at the moment, glued to the window, she was spellbound by the spectacle of what was taking place in the middle of the Seine. There, on the Island of the Jews, a hundred archers, drawn up in a circle, held lighted torches in their hands; and the flames of the torches, flaring in the wind, formed a central pool of light in which could clearly be seen the huge pile of faggots and the assistant-executioners clambering over it and stacking heaps of logs. On the near side of the archers, the island, which normally was nothing but a field where cows and goats grazed, was covered with people; while a fleet of boats upon the river carried others who wished to watch the execution.\n\nComing from the right bank, a larger boat than the rest, carrying standing men-at-arms, had just come alongside the island. Two tall grey figures disembarked from it. They wore curious hats and were preceded by a monk bearing a cross. The murmuring of the crowd became a clamour. Almost at the same instant lights went on in the great loggia in the water-tower which stood on the point of the palace garden. Shadows emerged from the darkness of the loggia, and suddenly the clamouring of the crowd ceased. The King and his Council had taken their places.\n\nMarguerite burst out laughing, a long, piercing, endless laugh.\n\n'Why are you laughing?' Philippe asked.\n\n'Because Louis is over there,' she said. 'And if it were daylight, he would be able to see me.'\n\nHer eyes were bright; her black curls danced above the curve of her brow. With a rapid movement she pulled her dress from her beautiful amber shoulders, and let her clothes fall to the ground, standing quite naked, as if she wished to set at defiance the husband she detested across the intervening distance of the night. She took Philippe's hands and drew them to her hips.\n\nAt the far end of the room Blanche and Gautier were lying close in a confused embrace. Blanche's body had a pearly lustre.\n\nAway in the centre of the river the clamour had begun again. The Templars were being bound to the pyre which was soon to be set alight.\n\nMarguerite shivered in the night air and drew nearer the fire. For a moment she gazed into the hearth, exposing herself to the heat of the burning wood till its caress became intolerable. The flames threw dancing lights upon her skin.\n\n'They're going to burn, they're going to be grilled,' she said in a hoarse, breathless voice, 'while we \u2026'\n\nHer eye sought in the heart of the fire infernal visions to excite her pleasure.\n\nAbruptly she turned to face Philippe and gave herself to him, standing, as the nymphs in the legend gave themselves to the fauns.\n\nThe fire cast their huge shadow across the wall and up to the beams in the roof."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "'I Summon to the Tribunal of Heaven\u2026'\n\nOnly a narrow channel separated the palace garden from the Island of Jews. The pyre had been arranged so as to face the royal loggia; from his place Philip the Fair had a perfect view.\n\nSpectators were still arriving in great numbers upon both banks of the river, and the island itself had almost disappeared beneath the crowd. The ferrymen had made a fortune tonight.\n\nBut the archers had been well disposed, and police agents mingled with the crowd. Pickets of men-at-arms had been posted on the bridges and upon all the roads leading to the Seine. There was nothing to fear.\n\n'Marigny, you may compliment the Provost,' said the King to the Coadjutor who was standing by him.\n\nThe excitement, which in the morning had given rise to fears of revolution, had turned to holiday mood, a sort of outlandish gaiety, a tragic show offered by the King to his capital. There was an atmosphere of the fair-ground over all. Tramps mingled with townsfolk who had brought their families with them, painted and powdered prostitutes had come from the alleys behind Notre-Dame where they exercised their profession. Guttersnipes wove their way between people's legs to the front rows. A few Jews, standing in close, fearful groups, yellow badges upon their coats, had come to watch the execution which, for once, was not of one of their number.\n\nBeautiful ladies in furred surcoats, in search of violent emotion, clung to their gallants, uttering little nervous cries.\n\nIt was turning chilly, and the wind blew in short gusts. The glow of the torches threw red lights upon the rippling surface of the river.\n\nMessire Alain de Pareilles, the visor of his helmet raised, sat his horse in front of his archers, looking as bored as ever.\n\nThe pyre stood higher than a man's head; the chief executioner and his assistants, clothed in red and wearing hoods, were busying themselves about the pyre, aligning logs, preparing reserve faggots, with the precision of careful professionals.\n\nUpon the summit of the pyre the Grand Master of the Templars and the Preceptor of Normandy were bound to stakes, side by side, facing the royal loggia. Upon their heads had been placed the infamous paper mitres which marked them as heretics. The wind played in their beards.\n\nA monk, the same that Marguerite had seen from the Tower of Nesle, held up to them a great Cross while making the last exhortations. The crowd about him fell silent to hear what he said.\n\n'In a moment you will appear before God,' cried the monk. 'There is still time to confess your faults and to repent. I adjure you to do so for the last time.'\n\nAbove him, the condemned men, motionless between earth and sky, as if already detached from life, answered nothing. Their eyes, gazing down upon him, reflected utter contempt.\n\n'They refuse to confess; they have not repented,' the crowd could be heard muttering.\n\nThe silence grew more profound, more dense. The monk had fallen to his knees and was murmuring prayers. The chief executioner took a glowing brand of tow from the hand of one of his assistants and waved it several times in a circle to encourage the flame.\n\nA child sneezed and there was the sound of a slap.\n\nCaptain Alain de Pareilles turned towards the royal loggia as if awaiting an order, and all eyes, all heads were turned in the same direction. It was as if the whole crowd were holding its breath.\n\nPhilip the Fair was standing at the balustrade, the members of his Council motionless about him. The line of their faces was detached from the background by the light of the torches. They were like a bas-relief in rose-coloured marble sculptured across the flank of the tower.\n\nEven the condemned raised their eyes to the loggia. The King's gaze met that of the Grand Master. They seemed to be taking each other's measure, their glances interlocked. Who could tell what thoughts were theirs, what emotions, what memories surged within these two enemies? Instinctively the crowd felt that something grand, something terrible and superhuman had become implicit in this mute confrontation between the all-powerful prince, surrounded by the servants of his will, and the Grand Master of Chivalry bound to the stake of infamy, between these two men whom birth and the accident of history had raised above all other men.\n\nWould Philip the Fair, with a gesture of ultimate clemency, reprieve the condemned? Would Jacques de Molay at this final moment humiliate himself and plead for mercy?\n\nThe King made a sign with his hand and an emerald shone upon his finger. Alain de Pareilles repeated the gesture to the executioner, who placed the lighted brand of tow under the faggots and brushwood of the pyre. A huge sigh rose from thousands of breasts, a sigh of relief and horror, excitement and dismay, a sigh made up of anguish and of revulsion and of pleasure.\n\nSeveral women screamed. Children hid their heads in their parents' clothes. A man's voice was heard shouting, 'I told you not to come!'\n\nSmoke was rising in dense spirals which a gust of wind blew towards the loggia.\n\nMonseigneur of Valois began coughing with the maximum of ostentation. He took a step backwards between Nogaret and Marigny and said, 'If this goes on, we shall all be suffocated before your Templars are burned. You might at least have seen that they used dry wood.'\n\nNo one replied to his remark. Nogaret, with taut muscles and fiery eye, was greedily savouring his triumph. This pyre was the crown to seven years of struggle and of exhausting journeys, the result of thousands of words intended to convince, thousands of pages written to prove. 'Go on, flame and burn,' he thought. 'You've held me at bay long enough. But I was in the right, and you're defeated.'\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny, taking his attitude from the King's, forced himself to remain impassive and to look upon the execution as one of the necessities of power. 'It had to be, it had to be,' he kept repeating to himself. But watching men die, he could not but help thinking of death. The two condemned men before him ceased to be mere political abstractions. That they should have been declared prejudicial to public order in no way prevented their being creatures of flesh and blood, capable of thought, desire and suffering, like any one else, indeed like himself. 'In their place, would I have been capable of such courage?' Marigny asked himself, making no effort to restrain his admiration. The words 'in their place' gave him a cold shiver down the spine. He recovered himself. 'Where the deuce do these thoughts come from?' he thought. 'I am as prone to illness and accident as anyone else, but nothing more. There is never a moment when my person is not guarded. I am as untouchable as the King.'\n\nBut seven years earlier the Grand Master had been in no danger, no one had been more powerful.\n\nHugues de Bouville, the good Chamberlain with the white and black hair, was secretly praying.\n\nThe wind veered, and the smoke, growing denser and rising higher every second, enveloped the condemned, almost hiding them from the crowd.\n\nThe two old men could be heard coughing and choking at their stakes.\n\nLouis of Navarre, rubbing his red eyes, laughed inanely.\n\nHis brother Charles, the youngest of Philip the Fair's sons, turned his face away. It was obvious that he found the spectacle painful. He was twenty years old; he was slender and had a pink and white complexion. Those who had known his father at the same age said that the resemblance was startling but that Charles had less vitality, and less authority too, a weak copy of a great original. The appearance was there, but the temper was lacking.\n\n'I've just seen a light in your house, in the tower,' he said to Louis in a low voice.\n\n'It must be the guards wanting to have a look too.'\n\n'They could have my place with pleasure,' murmured Charles.\n\n'What? Doesn't it amuse you to see Isabella's godfather roast?' said Louis of Navarre.\n\n'Yes, it's a fact that Molay was the godfather of our sister,' murmured Charles.\n\n'I think that's funny,' said Louis of Navarre.\n\n'Be quiet, Louis,' said the King, annoyed by their whispering.\n\nTo get rid of the uneasiness that was growing upon him, young Prince Charles compelled himself to think of something pleasant. He began to think of his wife Blanche, of Blanche's wonderful smile, of Blanche's body, of her tender arms soon to be stretched out to him, making him forget this horrible spectacle. How well she knew how to love him and spread happiness about her! If only their two children had not died when a few months old\u2026 But they would have others and then life would contain no single shadow. Enchantment and plenitude. Blanche had told him that tonight she was going to keep her cousin Marguerite company. But she would be home by now. Had she covered herself up well? Had she taken a sufficient escort?\n\nThe roaring of the crowd made him start. Flames were now leaping from the pyre. On an order from Alain de Pareilles, the archers extinguished their torches in the grass, and the night was now lit by the great brazier alone.\n\nThe flames reached the Preceptor of Normandy first. He made a pathetic movement of withdrawal as the tongues of fire licked at him, and his mouth opened wide as if he were trying vainly to breathe. In spite of the rope that bound him, his body bent almost double; his paper mitre fell off and the great white scar across his purple face became visible. The fire was all about him. Suddenly a pall of grey smoke engulfed him. When it had dissipated, Geoffroy de Charnay was in flames, screaming and gasping and trying to tear himself from the fatal stake which was shaken to its base. The Grand Master could be seen shouting something to him, but the crowd was growling so loudly in an attempt to drown its own horror, that it was impossible to hear what he said, except for the word 'Brother' twice repeated.\n\nThe assistant executioners were falling over each other in their haste to bring up reserves of wood and poke the fire with long iron prongs.\n\nLouis of Navarre, whose mind always worked slowly, asked his brother, 'Did you say that there was a light in the Tower of Nesle?'\n\nFor one moment he seemed disquieted.\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny had placed a hand before his eyes as if to protect them from the light of the flames.\n\n'A fine vision of hell you've given us here, Nogaret!' said Monseigneur of Valois. 'Were you thinking of your future life?'\n\nGuillaume de Nogaret did not reply.\n\nThe pyre had become a furnace and Geoffroy de Charnay was now no more than a blackened, sizzling object, swollen and blistered, slowly collapsing into the cinders, becoming cinder itself.\n\nWomen were fainting. Others were going quickly to the river bank to vomit into the channel, almost beneath the King's nose. The crowd, after so much shouting, had grown calmer, and was beginning to talk about miracles because the wind obstinately contined blowing in the same direction and the flames had not yet reached the Grand Master.\n\nHow could he last so long? On his side the pyre seemed intact. Then, suddenly, the pyre caved in and the flames, reviving, leapt all about him.\n\n'That's done for him too!' cried Louis of Navarre.\n\nWith his long face and neck thrust forward, he was suddenly shaken by one of those incomprehensible gusts of laughter that always seized him at the most tragic moments.\n\nEven at this spectacle Philip the Fair's huge cold eyes were unblinking.\n\nAnd suddenly the Grand Master's voice sounded out of the curtain of fire. As if addressed to each one present, it affected everyone individually. With great power, his voice sounding as if it were already coming from on high, Jacques de Molay spoke again as he had done at Notre-Dame.\n\n'Shame! Shame! You are watching innocents die. Shame upon you! God will be your Judge.'\n\nFlames whipped him, burning his beard, turning the paper hat in one second to ashes, setting his white hair alight.\n\nThe appalled crowd had fallen silent. It might have been a mad prophet who was being burned.\n\nThe Grand Master's burning face was turned towards the royal loggia. And the terrible voice cried, 'Pope Clement, Chevalier Guillaume de Nogaret, King Philip, I summon you to the Tribunal of Heaven before the year is out, to receive your just punishment! Accursed! Accursed! You shall be accursed to the thirteenth generation of your lines!'\n\nThe flames seemed to enter his mouth and stifle his last cry. And then, for what seemed an age, he fought against death.\n\nAt last he bent double. The cord broke. He fell forward into the furnace and only his hand remained raised among the flames. It stayed thus till it had turned entirely black.\n\nTerrified by the curse, the crowd remained rooted to the spot. Nothing could be heard but sighs, murmurs of foreboding, consternation and anguish. The weight of the night and its horror seemed to lie over it; the shadows gradually gained ground against the dying light of the pyre.\n\nThe archers were trying to drive the crowd before them, but the people could not make up their minds to leave.\n\n'It wasn't us whom he cursed; it was the King, wasn't it?' people were whispering.\n\nPeople looked towards the loggia. The King was still standing by the balustrade. He was gazing at the Grand Master's black hand sticking up out of the red embers. A burnt hand; all that remained of so much power and glory, all that remained of the illustrious Order of the Knights Templar. But the hand was motionless, raised in a gesture of imprecation.\n\n'Well, Brother,' said Monseigneur of Valois with a nasty smile, 'I suppose you're happy now?'\n\nPhilip the Fair turned round.\n\n'No, Brother,' he said. 'I am not happy. I have committed an error.'\n\nValois was already preening himself, ready to enjoy his triumph.\n\n'Yes, I have committed an error,' Philip repeated. 'I ought to have had their tongues torn out before burning them.'\n\nStill impassive, he left to return to his apartments, followed by Nogaret, Marigny and his Chamberlain.\n\nThe pyre had now turned grey, with here and there a spark of fire suddenly glowing only to die as quickly again. The loggia was full of smoke and a bitter stench of burning flesh.\n\n'It stinks,' said Louis of Navarre. 'I really think it stinks. Let's go.'\n\nYoung Prince Charles was wondering whether even in Blanche's arms he would manage to forget what he had seen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Cut-throats",
                "text": "On leaving the tower of nesle, the brothers Aunay, walking to and fro in the mud, gazed into the darkness with some indecision.\n\nTheir ferryman had disappeared.\n\n'I told you I didn't like the look of the fellow,' said Gautier. 'I ought to have acted on my suspicions.'\n\n'You gave him too much money,' Philippe replied. 'The scoundrel obviously thought he'd made enough for the day and went off to the execution.'\n\n'Let's hope that's all there is to it.'\n\n'What more could there be?'\n\n'I don't know. But I don't like the look of it. The fellow came and offered to take us over, pleading that he hadn't earned a penny all day. We told him to wait; instead of doing so, he goes off.'\n\n'But what else could we have done? We had no choice; he was the only one there.'\n\n'Exactly,' said Gautier. 'And he asked rather too many questions.'\n\nHe stopped, listening for the sound of oars; but there was nothing but the rustling of the river and the widespread rumour from the crowd going back to their homes in Paris. Over there, upon the Island of Jews, which people from tomorrow would begin to call the Island of the Templars, the fire had gone out. A smell of smoke mingled with the dank stench of the Seine.\n\n'There's nothing for it but to go home on foot,' said Gautier. 'We shall get muddy to the thighs. But after all it's been worth it.'\n\nArm in arm to avoid slipping, they made their way by the wall of the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle. As they went, they continued to search the darkness. There was no sign of the ferryman.\n\n'I wonder who can have given them to them,' Philippe said suddenly.\n\n'What are you talking about?'\n\n'The purses.'\n\n'Oh, you're still thinking of that, are you?' said Gautier. 'For my part, I must admit I don't care a damn. Of all the presents they've made us, we've never had finer ones than these.'\n\nAs he talked he stroked the purse at his belt, feeling the precious stones in relief beneath his fingers.\n\n'It can't be anyone connected with the Court,' Philippe went on. 'Marguerite and Blanche would never have risked their being recognised on us. So, who can it be? A present from their family in Burgundy perhaps? It's so odd that they didn't want to tell us.'\n\n'Which do you prefer,' asked Gautier, 'to know or to have?'\n\nPhilippe was about to reply when they heard a low whistle in front of them. They started, and at once put their hands to their daggers. They had no other weapons with them, having decided to leave their swords behind as they would be in the way.\n\nAn encounter at this hour and in this place had every prospect of being a dangerous one.\n\n'Who goes there?' said Gautier.\n\nThey heard a second whistle, and had barely time to draw their daggers.\n\nSix men surged out of the night and hurled themselves upon them. Three attacked Philippe and, holding him back to the wall with arms outstretched, prevented his using his dagger. The other three were not so fortunate with Gautier. The latter had managed to knock one of his attackers down or, more exactly, the man had slipped in trying to avoid a dagger-thrust. But the other two caught Gautier d'Aunay from behind and twisted his wrist till he dropped his weapon. Philippe could feel that they were trying to take his purse from him.\n\nIt was impossible to shout for help. If the guard from the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle came to their aid, they might be questioned about their presence there. They both had the same instinct not to shout. They must get out of it by themselves, or not get out of it at all.\n\nPhilippe, spread-eagled against the wall, fought with all the violence of despair, and, since he could not use his dagger, kicked out with his feet. He did not want to lose his purse. It had suddenly become his most precious possession in the world, and he intended to save it at all costs. Gautier was more inclined to come to terms. Let them take their money but leave them their lives. The point was, would they leave them their lives, or would they rob them first and throw their bodies into the Seine afterwards?\n\nIt was at this moment that another shadow appeared out of the night. Gautier, who had not at first seen it, had no time to make up his mind whether it was friend or foe.\n\nEverything happened very quickly.\n\nOne of the assailants cried, 'Watch out! Watch out!'\n\nThe new arrival rushed into the middle of the fight like a lion, the light shining on his drawn sword.\n\n'Thieves! Scoundrels! Knaves!' he cried in a powerful voice as he distributed a shower of blows about him.\n\nThe thieves disappeared like flies before his attack. As one of the cut-throats passed within reach of his hand, he took him by the collar and hurled him against the wall. The whole gang decamped along the river bank without asking for more. They could be heard running towards the Petit-Pr\u00e9-aux-Clercs, and then there was silence.\n\nGasping and stumbling, his hands clasped to his chest, Philippe went over to his brother.\n\n'Are you hurt?' he asked.\n\n'No,' said Gautier breathlessly, rubbing his shoulder. 'And you?'\n\n'Nor am I. But it's a miracle to have got away with it.'\n\nTogether they turned towards the stranger who, for the last few seconds, had been chasing the thieves and was now returning, putting up his sword. He looked very tall, broad and strong; his breath came deep and fierce.\n\n'Well, Messire,' said Gautier, 'we're very grateful to you. Without your help we should soon have been floating down the river. To whom have we the honour to be beholden?'\n\nThe man laughed, a great, fat, rather forced laugh. One could imagine his strong, pointed teeth in the darkness. For an instant the two brothers thought that they recognised the laugh, then the moon came out from behind the clouds and they knew their defender.\n\n'By heaven, Monseigneur, it's you, is it!' cried Philippe.\n\n'And by heaven, young sirs,' replied the man, 'I know you too!'\n\nThey had been saved by Robert of Artois.\n\n'The brothers Aunay!' he cried. 'The handsomest young fellows at Court. Devil take it, I didn't expect that. I was just passing along the bank when I heard the row down here, and said to myself, \"There's some peaceable townsman getting done in!\" I must say, Paris is infested with these rogues, and that fool of a Provost is too busy licking Marigny's boots to attend to cleaning up the town.'\n\n'Monseigneur,' said Philippe, 'we don't know how to thank you.'\n\n'It's nothing,' said Robert of Artois, patting Philippe on the shoulder with a hand that made him reel. 'It's a pleasure! It's every gentleman's natural instinct to go to the assistance of someone in danger. But it's a double pleasure if that someone is of one's acquaintance, and I am delighted to have preserved for my cousins of Valois and Poitiers their best equerries. It's only a pity it was so dark. By heaven, if the moon had only come out sooner I should have taken great pleasure in ripping up some of those rascals. I didn't really dare thrust properly for fear of wounding you. But, tell me young gentlemen, what the devil are you doing in this dirty hole?'\n\n'We\u2026 we were taking a walk,' said Philippe d'Aunay, embarrassed.\n\nThe giant roared with laughter.\n\n'Oh, so you were taking a walk, were you? A fine place and a fine hour for a walk! You were taking a walk in mud up to your knees! That's a likely story! Ah, youth! This is a little matter of some love affair, isn't it? A question of women,' he said jovially, crushing Philippe's shoulder once more. 'Always on heat, eh! What it is to be your age!'\n\nHe suddenly saw their purses shining in the moonlight.\n\n'Christ!' he cried. 'On heat and to good purpose! Fine ornaments, young gentlemen, fine ornaments!'\n\nHe tried the weight of Gautier's purse.\n\n'Gold thread, and fine work. Italian or English maybe. Equerries' salaries don't run to this sort of splendour. The cut-throats would have had a good haul.'\n\nHe grew excited, gesticulated, banged the young men about with friendly blows of his fist, enormous, noisy, red-headed and obscene in the half-light. He was beginning to get seriously on the brothers' nerves. But how do you tell a man who has just saved your life to mind his own business?\n\n'Love obviously pays, my fine young sirs,' he said walking beside them. 'Your mistresses must be very great ladies and very generous ones. Good God, you young Aunays, who would have thought it, eh!'\n\n'Monseigneur is in error,' said Gautier rather coldly. 'These purses came to us through the family.'\n\n'Of course they do, I knew it,' said Artois, 'from a family you've visited at midnight under the walls of the Tower of Nesle! Quite, quite, I shan't say anything, honour comes first. I approve of you, young sirs. One must respect the reputation of the women one sleeps with! All right. Good-bye. And don't venture out at night wearing all your jewellery again.'\n\nHe went off into another great gale of laughter. With a huge gesture of embracing them, he banged the two brothers one against the other, and then went off, leaving them there, anxious and disquieted, without even giving them time to repeat their thanks.\n\nThey were at the Porte de Bucy and went on their way to the right, while Artois went off through the fields in the direction of Saint-Germain-des-Pr\u00e9s.\n\n'I hope to God he doesn't go telling all the Court where he found us,' said Gautier. 'Do you think he's capable of keeping his great mouth shut?'\n\n'Yes,' said Philippe. 'He's not a bad sort of chap. And the proof is that without his great mouth, as you call it, and his great arms for that matter, we shouldn't be here now. Don't let's be ungrateful, not yet anyway.'\n\n'That's true. Besides, we might have asked him what the hell he was doing there anyway.'\n\n'I'd swear he was looking for a whore! And now he's gone off to a brothel,' said Philippe.\n\nHe was wrong. Robert of Artois had not gone off to a brothel. He had made a detour through the Pr\u00e9-aux-Clercs and, returning to the river bank, had come back to the neighbourhood of the Tower of Nesle.\n\nThe moon was obscured once more. He whistled with the same low whistle that had preceded the fight.\n\nThe same six shadowy figures detached themselves from the wall, and a seventh stood up in a boat. The shadowy figures stood in respectful attitudes.\n\n'Good, you've done your work well,' said Artois. 'Everything went off as I wished. Here, Carl-Hans!' he called to the chief blackguard, 'share this between you.'\n\nHe threw him a purse.\n\n'You gave me a terrible blow on the shoulder, Monseigneur,' said one of the cut-throats.\n\n'Bah! That's all in the day's work,' Artois answered laughing. 'Now, get off with you. If I should need you again, I'll let you know.'\n\nThen he got into the boat. It sank low in the water under his weight. The man who took the oars was the same ferryman who had brought the Aunays over.\n\n'So Monseigneur is satisfied with the night's work?' he asked.\n\nHe had lost his whining tone, seemed to have become younger by ten years, and gave way with a will.\n\n'Splendid, my dear Lormet! You played your little trick on them wonderfully well,' said the giant. 'Now I know what I wanted to know.'\n\nHe leant back in the stern of the boat, stretched out his monumental legs, and let his huge hand trail in the dark water."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE ADULTEROUS PRINCESSES",
                "text": "[ The Tolomei Bank ]\n\nMesser Spinello Tolomei's expression took on a reflective seriousness, then, lowering his voice as if he feared someone might be listening at the door, he said, 'Two thousand pounds in advance? Would that suit you, Monseigneur?'\n\nHis left eye was closed; his right eye shone with calm innocence.\n\nThough he had lived in France for many years, he had never been able to get rid of his Italian accent. He was fat and dark and had a double chin. His greying hair, carefully cut, fell upon the collar of his robe which was of fine cloth and edged with fur. At the belt the robe was stretched taut over his pot-belly. When he spoke, he raised fat, pointed hands and rubbed them together. His enemies asserted that his open eye was the lying one and that he kept the truthful one shut.\n\nHe was one of the most powerful bankers in Paris and had the manners of a bishop. At all events he assumed them on this occasion because he was speaking to a prelate.\n\nThe prelate was Jean de Marigny, a slender, elegant, almost graceful young man who, the day before, at the episcopal tribunal in front of Notre-Dame, had been remarked for his languid air until the moment came when he lost his temper with the Grand Master. He was the brother of Enguerrand de Marigny and had been appointed to the archbishopric of Sens, from which depended the diocese of Paris, in order to bring the proceedings against the Templars to a happy conclusion. He was therefore in the closest touch with the great affairs of state.\n\n'Two thousand pounds?' he said.\n\nHe seemed a little on edge and turned his head away to hide his gratified surprise at the banker's figure. He had not expected so much.\n\n'Yes, certainly, that figure will suit me pretty well,' he said with an assumed air of detachment. 'I'd like to settle the business as quickly as possible.'\n\nThe banker watched him as a cat watches a fat bird.\n\n'We can deal with the matter at once,' he replied.\n\n'Excellent,' said the young Archbishop. 'And when shall I send you the \u2026'\n\nHe interrupted himself, thinking he heard a noise beyond the door. But no, all was quiet. There was nothing to be heard but the usual morning sounds from the street of the Lombards, the cries of the knife-grinders, the water-sellers, the hawkers of herbs, onions, watercress, white cheese and charcoal. 'Milk, ladies, milk\u2026 Fine cheeses from Champagne!\u2026 Charcoal, a sackful for a penny!' From the triple, mullioned window, built in the Siennese fashion, the light fell softly upon the rich tapestries on the walls with their warrior themes, upon tables of polished oak, and upon the great coffer bound with iron.\n\n'The objects?' said Tolomei, finishing the Archbishop's sentence. 'At your convenience, Monseigneur, at your convenience.'\n\nHe had gone over to a long work-table which was covered with goose-quills, rolls of parchment, tablets and styles. He took two bags from a drawer.\n\n'A thousand in each,' he said. 'Take them now if you wish. They were prepared for you. Will you sign this receipt, Monseigneur?'\n\nAnd he handed Jean de Marigny a document which had also been prepared in advance.\n\n'Certainly,' said the Archbishop, taking up a quill pen.\n\nBut as he was about to sign, he hesitated. On the receipt were listed the 'objects' which he was to send to Tolomei that the latter might sell them: church plate, gold chalices, jewelled crucifixes, valuable weapons, all that had been sequestered from the Templars in the diocese of Sens. Yet all these valuables should have been handed over either to the royal treasury or to the Order of Hospitalers. The young Archbishop was committing, and without losing any time over it, malversation and embezzlement. To append one's signature to that list, when the Grand Master had been roasted only the night before \u2026\n\n'I would prefer \u2026' he said.\n\n'That the objects should not be sold in France?' said the Siennese. 'That goes without saying, Monseigneur. Non sonno pazzo, I'm not mad.'\n\n'I meant to say that this receipt \u2026'\n\n'It will never be seen by any eyes but mine. It's as much to my interest as to yours,' said the banker. 'It's merely in case something should happen to one or other of us\u2026 may God preserve us.'\n\nHe crossed himself, and then quickly, behind the table, made the sign for warding off the evil eye with two fingers of his right hand.\n\n'They won't be too heavy?' he went on, indicating the bags, as if the matter as far as he was concerned required no further discussion. 'Would you like me to send someone with you?'\n\n'Thank you, my servant is below,' said the Archbishop.\n\n'Then, just here, if you please,' said Tolomei, indicating the place on the document where the Archbishop was to sign.\n\nThe latter could no longer refuse. When one is compelled to have accomplices, one is also compelled to trust them.\n\n'Besides, you must very well realise, Monseigneur,' the banker went on, 'that in giving you a sum such as this I am making no profit. I shall have all the trouble and none of the reward. But I want to help you because you are a powerful man, and the friendship of powerful men is more precious than gold.'\n\nHe had said all this in an easy good-natured way but his left eye was still closed.\n\n'After all, the man's telling the truth,' thought Jean de Marigny. 'He's thought to be cunning; but his cunning is merely frankness.'\n\nHe signed the receipt.\n\n'By the way, Monseigneur,' said Tolomei, 'do you know how the King received those English hounds I sent him yesterday?'\n\n'Oh, so that big greyhound that never leaves him and which he calls Lombard came from you, did it?'\n\n'He calls it Lombard? I am happy to know it. The King is a man of wit,' said Tolomei, laughing. 'Do you know that yesterday morning, Monseigneur \u2026'\n\nHe was going to tell the story when there was a knock on the door. A clerk appeared and announced that Count Robert of Artois asked to be received.\n\n'Very well. I'll see him,' said Tolomei, dismissing the clerk with a wave of his hand.\n\nJean de Marigny looked glum.\n\n'I would rather not meet him,' he said.\n\n'Of course, of course,' the banker replied soothingly. 'Monseigneur of Artois is a great talker. He'd tell everyone that he had seen you here.'\n\nHe rang a bell. The hangings immediately parted and a young man in a tight-fitting tunic came into the room. It was the same boy who had very nearly knocked over the King of France the day before.\n\n'Nephew,' said the banker, 'take Monseigneur out without passing through the gallery and take care that he should meet no one. And carry these for him down to the street,' he added, placing the two bags of gold in the boy's arms. 'Good-bye, Monseigneur!'\n\nMesser Spinello Tolomei bowed low to kiss the amethyst on the prelate's finger. Then he pulled the hangings aside.\n\nWhen Jean de Marigny had gone out, the Siennese came back to the table and took up the receipt, rolling it carefully.\n\n'Coglione!' he murmured. 'Vanesio, ladro, ma pure coglione.' (Vain, thieving and a fool to boot.)\n\nAnd now his left eye was open. He put the document in the drawer and went out to greet his other visitor.\n\nHe crossed the great gallery, lit by ten windows, and containing his trade counters; for Tolomei was not only a banker but an importer and merchant of rare goods of every kind, from spices and Cordova leather to Flanders cloth, gold-embroidered Cyprian carpets and the essential oils of Arabia.\n\nA multitude of clerks dealt with the ceaseless coming and going of clients; the accountants made their calculations on a special kind of abacus, moving the brass counters in the frames; and the whole gallery was filled with a low hum of business.\n\nPassing rapidly through the gallery, the fat Siennese bowed to a client here, corrected a figure there, reprimanded an employee or refused, with a 'niente' lisped between the teeth, a demand for credit.\n\nRobert of Artois was leaning over a counter of Oriental weapons, weighing a heavy damascened dagger in his hand.\n\nThe giant turned quickly when the banker placed his hand on his arm, assuming that boorish, jovial manner which he generally affected.\n\n'Well,' said Tolomei, 'you want to see me?'\n\n'Yes,' said the giant. 'I've got two things to ask of you.'\n\n'And the first is money, I suppose.'\n\n'Quiet!' groaned Artois. 'Must all Paris know, you damned money-lender, that I owe you a fortune? Let's go and talk privately.'\n\nThey left the gallery. Once in his private room with the door closed, Tolomei said, 'Monseigneur, if it's a question of a new loan, I very much fear that it is not possible.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'My dear Monseigneur Robert,' Tolomei went on calmly, 'when you brought a lawsuit against your aunt Mahaut for the inheritance of the County of Artois, I paid the costs. Well, you lost the case.'\n\n'But you know very well that I lost it through dishonesty,' cried Artois. 'I lost it through the intrigues of that bitch Mahaut. May she die of it! A thieves' market! She was given Artois so that Franche-Comt\u00e9 should revert to the Crown through her daughter. But if there were any justice in the world, I should be a peer of the realm and the richest baron in France! And I shall be, do you hear me Tolomei, I shall be!'\n\nAnd he banged the table with his enormous fist.\n\n'My dear fellow, I sincerely hope so,' said Tolomei, still perfectly calm. 'But in the meantime you've lost your case.'\n\nHe had discarded his episcopal manners and was a great deal more familiar with Artois than he had been with the Archbishop.\n\n'Nevertheless, I've received the County of Beaumont-le-Roger, and an income of five thousand pounds, as well as the castle of Conches in which I live,' replied the giant.\n\n'Certainly,' said the banker. 'But that has not paid me back. Rather the contrary.'\n\n'I haven't yet succeeded in getting paid. The Treasury owes me for several years in arrears.'\n\n'Of which you've borrowed the greater part from me. You needed money to repair the roof of Conches and the stables.'\n\n'They had been burnt down,' said Robert.\n\n'Very well. And then you needed money to maintain your partisans in Artois.'\n\n'What should I do without them? It's through them, Fiennes and others, that one day I shall win my case, arms in hand if necessary. And then, Messer Banker, tell me \u2026'\n\nAnd the giant changed his tone, as if he had had enough of playing the part of a rebuked schoolboy. He took the banker's robe between his thumb and forefinger, and began slowly pulling him to his feet.\n\n'Tell me this. You paid for my costs, my stables and all the rest of it, of course you did, but haven't you been able to do a very satisfactory deal or two because of me? Who told you that the Templars were about to be arrested, and advised you to borrow money from them which you never had to pay back? Who told you about the debasing of the currency, which permitted you to lay out all your gold in merchandise and re-sell it for twice the amount? Well, who did that for you?'\n\nFor Tolomei, obeying a tradition which still exists in high banking circles, had informers who were close to the councils of state, and his principal informer was Robert of Artois who was the friend and close companion of Charles of Valois, who told him everything.\n\nTolomei disengaged himself, smoothed out the crease in his robe, smiled and, his left eye closed, replied, 'I grant it, Monseigneur, I grant it. You have sometimes given me useful information. But, alas!'\n\n'Alas, what?'\n\n'Alas! The profits I have been able to make through you are very far from covering the advances I have made you.'\n\n'Is that true?'\n\n'It is,' said Tolomei with the most innocent air in the world.\n\nHe was lying, and was sure of being able to do so with impunity, for Robert of Artois, though clever in intrigue, understood very little about accountancy.\n\n'Oh!' said the latter, vexed.\n\nHe scratched the stubble on his chin and meditatively shook his head.\n\n'All the same, when I think of the Templars\u2026 You ought to be pretty pleased this morning, eh?' he asked.\n\n'Yes and no, Monseigneur; yes and no. For a long time they have done our business no harm. Who is going to be attacked next? Is it to be us, us Lombards, as we're called. Dealing in gold is not an easy business. And without us nothing could be done. But by the way,' Tolomei went on, 'has Monsieur de Valois said anything to you about another change in the value of the Paris pound, as I hear is proposed?'\n\n'No,' said Artois who was following his own line of thought. 'But this time I've got Mahaut. I've got Mahaut because I hold her daughters and her niece in the hollow of my hand. And I'm going to strangle them\u2026 crack!\u2026 like that!'\n\nHatred hardened his features and made him almost good-looking. He had moved nearer to Tolomei once more. The latter was thinking, 'This man, due to his obsession, is capable of almost anything. Anyway, I've made up my mind to lend him another five hundred pounds \u2013 though he does smell of game.' Then he said, 'How have you done this?'\n\nRobert of Artois lowered his voice. His eyes were bright.\n\n'The little sluts have got lovers,' he said, 'and last night I found out who they are. But, not a word, eh! I don't want anybody to know \u2013 yet.'\n\nThe Siennese grew thoughtful. He had already heard the story, but had not believed it.\n\n'What good can it do you?' he asked.\n\n'Good?' cried Artois. 'Listen, banker, can't you imagine the scandal? The future Queen of France caught like a whore with her coxcombs. There'll be a row, they'll be repudiated! The whole family of Burgundy will be plunged up to the neck in the midden, Mahaut will lose all credit at Court, their inheritance will no longer be within reach of the Crown; I shall reopen my case and win it!'\n\nHe was walking to and fro and the boards and furnishings vibrated.\n\n'And are you proposing to explode the scandal?' asked Tolomei. 'You'll find the King \u2026'\n\n'No, Messer, not I. I should not be listened to. But there's someone else, much better placed to do it, who is not in France. And this is the second thing I came to ask you for. I need a sure man who can take a message secretly to England.'\n\n'To whom?'\n\n'To Queen Isabella.'\n\n'Ah! so that's it,' murmured the banker.\n\nThere followed a silence in which could be heard the noises from the street, the hawkers offering their wares.\n\n'It is indeed true that Madame Isabella is said not to like her sisters-in-law of France overmuch,' said Tolomei at last. He had no need to hear more to understand how Artois had set about his plot. 'You're very much her friend, I believe, and you were over there a few days ago?'\n\n'I came back last Friday, and got to work at once.'\n\n'Why don't you send a man of your own to Madame Isabella, or perhaps a courier of Monseigneur of Valois's?'\n\n'In this country, where everyone watches everyone else, all my men are known, as are Monseigneur's. The whole business might easily be compromised. I thought a merchant, and particularly a merchant whom one can trust, would be more suitable. You have many agents travelling for you. Moreover, the message will have nothing in it that need cause the bearer any anxiety.'\n\nTolomei looked the giant in the eyes, meditated a moment, and then rang the bronze bell.\n\n'I shall endeavour to render you service once again,' he said.\n\nThe hangings parted and the young man, who had shown the Archbishop out, reappeared. The banker presented him, 'Guccio Baglioni, my nephew, who has but recently come from Sienna. I don't think that the Provosts and sergeants-at-arms of our friend Marigny know him well as yet, although yesterday morning,' Tolomei added in a low voice, looking at the young man with feigned severity, 'he distinguished himself in a pretty exploit at the expense of the King of France. What do you think of him?' Robert of Artois looked Guccio up and down.\n\n'A good-looking boy,' he said, laughing; 'well set-up, a well-turned leg, slim waist, eyes of a troubadour and a certain cunning in the glance \u2013 a fine boy. Is it he you propose sending, Messer Tolomei?'\n\n'He is another self,' said the banker, 'only less fat and younger. Do you know, I was like him once, but I alone remember it.'\n\n'If King Edward sees him, we run the risk of his never coming back.'\n\nAnd thereupon the giant went off into a great gale of laughter in which the uncle and nephew joined.\n\n'Guccio,' said Tolomei when he had stopped laughing, 'you're going to get to know England. You will leave tomorrow at dawn and go to our cousin Albizzi in London. Once there, and with his help, you'll go to Westminster and deliver to the Queen, and to her alone, a message written by Monseigneur. I will tell you later on and in more detail what you have to do.'\n\n'I should prefer to dictate,' said Artois. 'I manage a boarspear better than your damned goose-quills.'\n\nTolomei thought, 'And careful into the bargain, my fine gentleman, you don't want to leave any evidence about.'\n\n'As you will, Monseigneur.'\n\nHe took down the following letter himself.\n\nThe things we guessed are true and more shameful even than we could have believed possible. I know who the people concerned are and have so surely uncovered them that they cannot escape if we make haste. But you alone have sufficient power to accomplish what we desire, and by your coming to put a term to this villainy which so blackens the honour of your nearest relatives. I have no other wish than to be utterly your servant, body and soul.\n\n'And the signature, Monseigneur?' asked Guccio.\n\n'Here it is,' replied Artois, handing the young man an iron ring. 'You will give this to Madame Isabella. She will know. But are you certain of being able to see her immediately upon your arrival?' he asked as if in doubt.\n\n'Really! Monseigneur,' said Tolomei, 'we are not entirely unknown to the sovereigns of England. When King Edward came over last year with Madame Isabella to attend the great ceremonies at which you were knighted with the King's sons, well, he borrowed from our group of Lombard merchants twenty thousand pounds, which we formed a syndicate to lend him and which he has not yet paid back.'\n\n'He, too?' cried Artois. 'And by the way, what about that first matter I came to ask you about?'\n\n'Oh, I can never resist you, Monseigneur,' said Tolomei, sighing.\n\nAnd he went and fetched a bag of five hundred pounds and gave it to him, saying, 'We'll put it down to your account, together with your messenger's travelling expenses.'\n\n'Oh, my dear banker,' cried Artois, his face lighting up in a huge smile, 'you really are a friend. When I've regained my paternal county, you shall be my treasurer.'\n\n'I shall count upon it, Monseigneur,' said the other, bowing.\n\n'Well, if I don't, I shall take you to hell with me instead. Otherwise I should miss you too much.'\n\nAnd the giant went out, too big for the doorway, tossing the bag of gold in the air like a tennis ball.\n\n'Do you mean to say you've given him money again, Uncle?' said Guccio, shaking his head in reprobation. 'Because you did say \u2026'\n\n'Guccio mio, Guccio mio,' the banker replied softly (and now both his eyes were wide open), 'always remember this: the secrets of the great world are the interest on the money we lend them. On this one morning, Monseigneur Jean de Marigny and Monseigneur of Artois have given me mortgages upon them which are worth more than gold and which we shall know how to negotiate when the time comes. As for gold, we shall set about getting a little back.'\n\nHe thought for a moment and then went on, 'On your way back from England you will make a detour. You will go by Neauphle-le-Vieux.'\n\n'Very well, Uncle,' replied Guccio unenthusiastically.\n\n'Our agent in those parts has not succeeded in getting repayment of a sum due to us by the squires of Cressay. The father has recently died. The heirs refuse to pay. It appears they have nothing left.'\n\n'What's to be done about it, if they've got nothing?'\n\n'Bah! They've got walls, a property, relatives perhaps. They've only got to borrow the money from somewhere else to pay us back. If not, you'll go and see the Provost, have their possessions seized and sold. It's hard and sad, I know. But a banker has got to accustom himself to being hard. There must be no pity for the smaller clients or we should not have the wherewithal to serve the greater. It's not only our money that is involved. What are you thinking about, figlio mio?'\n\n'About England, Uncle,' replied Guccio.\n\nThe return by Neauphle seemed to him a bore, but he accepted it with a good grace; all his curiosity, all his adolescent dreams were already centred upon London. He was about to cross the sea for the first time. A Lombard merchant's life was decidedly a pleasant one and full of delightful surprises. To depart, to travel the long roads, to carry secret messages to princesses. \u2026\n\nThe old man gazed at his nephew with profound tenderness. Guccio was that tired and guileful heart's only affection.\n\n'You're going to make a fine journey and I envy you,' he said. 'Few young men of your age have the opportunity of seeing so many countries. Learn, get about, ferret things out, see everything, make people talk but talk little yourself. Take care who offers you drink; don't give the girls more money than they're worth, and be careful to take your hat off to religious processions. And should you meet a king in your path, manage things this time so that it doesn't cost me a horse or an elephant.'\n\n'Is Madame Isabella as beautiful as they say she is, Uncle?' asked Guccio smiling."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Road to London",
                "text": "Some people are always dreaming of travel and adventure in order to give themselves airs and an aura of heroism in other people's eyes. Then, when they find themselves in the middle of an adventure and in peril, they begin to think, 'What a fool I was. Why on earth did I put myself in this position?' These were precisely the circumstances in which young Guccio Baglioni found himself. There was nothing he had desired more than to see the sea. But now that he was upon it, he would have given anything in the world to be somewhere else.\n\nIt was the period of the equinoctial gales, and very few ships had raised their anchors that day. Having played a somewhat hectoring role on the quay at Calais, his sword at his side and his cape flung over his shoulder, Guccio had at length found a ship's captain who agreed to give him a passage. They had left in the evening, and the storm had risen almost as soon as they had left harbour. Having found a corner below decks, next to the mainmast \u2013 'This is where you will feel the least movement', the captain had said \u2013 and where a wooden shelf served as a bunk, Guccio was spending the most disagreeable night of his life.\n\nThe waves beat against the ship like battering-rams, and Guccio felt that the world around him was being turned topsy-turvy. He rolled off the shelf on to the floor and for a long time struggled in total darkness, colliding now against the ship's side, now against coils of rope hardened by seawater or, again, against ill-stowed packing-cases which were noisily sliding from side to side. He kept on trying to clutch invisible objects that escaped his grasp. The hull seemed to be on the point of disintegrating. Between two gusts of the storm, Guccio heard the sails flapping and great masses of water breaking over the deck above him. He wondered whether the whole ship had not been swept clear, and whether he was not the only survivor in an empty ship that was thrown upwards to the sky by the waves and then dropped once more into the depths with a descent so rapid that it seemed to have no end to it.\n\n'I shall most certainly die,' Guccio said to himself. 'How stupid to die in this way at my age, engulfed in the sea. I shall never see my uncle again, or the sun. If only I had waited another day or two at Calais! How stupid I am! But if I come out of this per la Madonna, I shall stay in London; I shall become a water-carrier or anything else, but never again shall I set foot in a ship.'\n\nIn the end he grasped the foot of the mainmast in his arms and, falling upon his knees in the darkness, clutching, trembling, seasick, his clothes soaked, he waited for death and promised prayers to Santa Maria delle Nevi, to Santa Maria della Scala, to Santa Maria del Servi, to Santa Maria del Carmine \u2013 indeed to all the churches of Sienna whose names he could remember.\n\nAt dawn the storm suddenly lessened. Guccio, exhausted, looked about him: packing-cases, sails, tarpaulins, anchors and ropes were heaped in terrifying disorder and, in the bilges, beneath the open joints of the planking, water was sloshing.\n\nThe hatch which gave access to the bridge opened and a coarse voice cried, 'Hi, there, Signor! Did you manage to have a good sleep?'\n\n'Sleep?' answered Guccio rather angrily. 'I might be dead for all you'd care.'\n\nThey let down a rope ladder to him and helped him up on deck. He felt a strong, cold breeze that made him shiver in his wet clothes.\n\n'Couldn't you have told me that there was going to be a storm?' said Guccio to the captain of the ship.\n\n'Good God, my fine young gentleman, we have had something of a bad night! But you seemed in a hurry. For us, you know, it's nothing much out of the ordinary,' replied the captain. 'Anyway, we are now close to land.'\n\nHe was an elderly, fine-looking man with little dark eyes. He looked at Guccio rather mockingly.\n\nPointing to a white line that was taking shape in the mist, the old sailor added, 'That's Dover over there.'\n\nGuccio sighed, wrapping his cloak about him.\n\n'How long before we get there?'\n\nThe other shrugged his shoulders and replied, 'Four or five hours, not more. The wind's in the east.'\n\nThree sailors were lying on deck, obviously exhausted. Another, clasping the helm, was eating a piece of salt beef, without ever taking his eyes from the ship's bows and the English coast.\n\nGuccio sat down next to the old sailor, in the shelter of a little wooden deckhouse which protected them from the wind and, in spite of the day, the cold and the swell, fell asleep.\n\nWhen he awoke, the harbour of Dover was spread before him with its rectangular basin and its rows of low houses with thick walls and slate roofs. To the right of the channel the Sheriff's house was to be seen, guarded by a number of armed men. The quay, littered with merchandise, sheltered beneath pent roofs, swarmed with an English crowd. The breeze was charged with the smell of fish, tar and rotting wood. Fishermen were going to and fro, dragging their nets and carrying heavy oars upon their shoulders. Children were handling sacks larger than themselves across the cobbles.\n\nThe ship, its sails furled, entered the harbour under oars.\n\nYouth quickly regains both its strength and its illusions. Danger overcome but serves to increase its confidence in itself and to encourage it to further enterprise. A few hours' sleep had sufficed to obliterate Guccio's fears of the night. He was not far from attributing to himself the merit of having outridden the storm; he saw in it a sign that his star was in the ascendant, and a proof of his cleverness in choosing competent sailors. Standing upon the bridge, his attitude that of a victor, his hand clasping a stay, he watched the approach of Isabella's kingdom with passionate curiosity.\n\nRobert of Artois's message, sewn into his coat, and the iron ring upon his forefinger, seemed to him to be gauges of a great future. He was about to enter the intimate circles of power, meet kings and queens, learn the contents of the most secret treaties. His mind was excitedly running ahead and he saw himself already a subtle ambassador, an adviser with the ear of the rulers of the world, someone to whom the most distinguished personages would bow respectfully. He would take part in the councils of princes. Had he not the example of Biccio and Musciato Guardi, his compatriots, the two famous Tuscan financiers whom the French called Biche and Mouche, who had been for more than ten years the treasurers, ambassadors and confidential advisers of Philip the Fair, the austere? He would do better than they had, and one day the history of the illustrious Guccio Baglioni would be told, how he had made his start in life by nearly knocking over the King of France at the corner of a street.\n\nThe noises of the harbour seemed already to reach him as the acclamation of a crowd. The old sailor threw down a plank, joining the ship to the quay. Guccio paid the cost of his passage and left the sea for dry land; but his legs had become accustomed to the movement of the swell and, reeling, he very nearly fell down on the slippery road.\n\nSince he had no merchandise he did not have to pass through the customs. He asked the first guttersnipe, who offered to carry his luggage, to lead him to the Lombard of the town.\n\nThe Italian bankers and merchants of the period had their own postal and transport system. Organised in huge companies, bearing the name of their founders, they had places of business in all the principal towns and ports; these houses of business were like the modern branches of a bank, but to each were also joined a private post office and a travel agency.\n\nThe agent of the branch in Dover belonged to the Albizzi company. He was happy to receive the nephew of the head of the Tolomei company, and entertained him as well as he could. In his house Guccio washed, had his clothes dried and ironed, changed his French gold into English gold, and ate a good meal while a horse was made ready for him.\n\nWhile he was eating, Guccio told the story of the storm, and gave himself a somewhat distinguished role.\n\nThere was a man there who had arrived the day before; his name was Boccaccio, and he was travelling for the Bardi company. Four days earlier he had been present at the execution of Jacques de Molay; had heard the curse and recounted the tragedy with a precise, macabre irony which delighted the Italians present. He was a man of about thirty years of age \u2013 to Guccio he seemed elderly \u2013 had an intelligent, witty face, thin lips and eyes that seemed to be amused by all he saw. As he was also going to London, Guccio and he decided to travel together.\n\nThey left in the middle of the day accompanied by a servant.\n\nRemembering his uncle's advice, Guccio made his companion talk, who indeed desired nothing better. Signor Boccaccio appeared to have seen a good deal in his time. He had been everywhere, to Sicily, Venice, Spain, Flanders, Germany, even the Orient, and had survived many adventures with extraordinary presence of mind; knew the customs of all these countries, had his own opinion about the comparative values of their religions, held monks in some contempt and loathed the Inquisition. He was, too, extremely interested in women; he let it be understood that he had loved a great deal in his time, and recounted curious anecdotes about a great many of these affairs, both illustrious and obscure. He appeared to have no regard for women's virtue, and his language, when he talked of them, was redolent with anecdotes that made Guccio pensive. Moreover, he seemed to possess as much audacity as cunning. A free spirit was Signor Boccaccio and out of the common run.\n\n'I should like to have written it all down if I had had the time,' he said to Guccio, 'the harvest of stories and ideas I have garnered upon my travels.'\n\n'Why don't you do it, Signor?' asked Guccio.\n\nThe other sighed as if he were admitted to some unattainable dream.\n\n'Troppo tardi, one does not start writing at my age,' he said. 'When one's profession is making money, one can do nothing else after thirty. Besides, if I wrote everything I know, I should run the risk of being burned at the stake.'\n\nThe journey, in intimate companionship with an interesting fellow-traveller, across a beautiful green countryside, delighted Guccio. He breathed delightedly the air of early spring; the sound of horses' hooves seemed to lend an accompaniment of joyous song to their journey; and he began to have as exalted an opinion of himself as if he had shared every one of his companion's adventures.\n\nIn the evening they stopped at an inn. The halts upon a journey tend to the making of confidences. As they sat before the fire, drinking cans of mulled ale, strong beer laced with Geneva rum, spices and cloves, while a meal and a bed were being prepared for them, Signor Boccaccio told Guccio that he had a French mistress by whom he had had, the previous year, a boy who had been baptized Giovanni.\n\n'They say that bastard children are more intelligent and have more vitality than others,' remarked Guccio sententiously. He had several admirable clich\u00e9s at his disposal to make conversation with.\n\n'Undoubtedly God gives them gifts of mind and body to compensate them for the advantages of inheritance and position that He withholds. Or perhaps, more simply, they have a harder row to hoe in life than others, and do not expect to become famous but by their own efforts,' replied Signor Boccaccio.\n\n'This one, however, will have a father who can teach him much.'\n\n'Unless he comes to owe his father a grudge for having brought him into the world in such unfortunate circumstances,' said the commercial traveller with a slight shrug of the shoulders.\n\nThey slept in the same room, sharing the same pallet. At five o'clock in the morning they set out once more. Wisps of mist still clothed the ground. Signor Boccaccio was silent; he was not at his best at dawn.\n\nThe weather was cool and the sky soon cleared. Guccio saw about him a countryside whose beauty delighted him. The trees were still bare, but the air smelt of sap working and the earth was already green with young and tender grass. Ivy clothed the walls of cottage and turreted manor house. Fields and hillsides were criss-crossed with innumerable hedges. Guccio was delighted by the undulating wooded countryside, by the green and blue reflection of the Thames seen from a hilltop, by a group of huntsmen and their pack of hounds met at the entrance to a village. 'Queen Isabella has a beautiful kingdom,' he kept repeating to himself.\n\nAs they passed on through the land, the Queen who was to give him audience took a more and more important place in his thoughts. Why should he not, he thought, try to please as well as to accomplish his mission? It might well be that through Isabella's interest Guccio would reach that high destiny for which he felt himself designed. The history of princes and empires had many examples of stranger things than that. 'She is no less a woman because she is a queen,' Guccio told himself. 'She is twenty-two and her husband does not love her. The English lords dare not court her for fear of displeasing the King. Whereas I am arriving as a secret messenger; to get to her I have braved a storm. I go down on my knee, I salute her, uncovered, with a deep obeisance, I kiss the hem of her robe \u2026'\n\nHe was already composing the phrases with which he would place his heart, his intelligence and his right arm at the service of the fair young Queen. 'Madam, I am not of noble birth, but I am a free citizen of Sienna, and I am worthy of my condition of gentleman. I am eighteen and have no greater desire than to gaze upon your beauty and offer you my heart and soul.'\n\n'We are nearly arrived,' said Signor Boccaccio. They had come to the suburbs of London without Guccio being aware of it. The houses had drawn closer together and formed long lines each side of the road; the fresh smell of the woods had disappeared; the air smelt of burning peat.\n\nGuccio looked about him in surprise. His uncle Tolomei had told him how extraordinary the city was, and he saw nothing but an interminable succession of villages, consisting of black-walled hovels and filthy alleys in which thin women, carrying heavy loads, passed to and fro with ragged children and ill-conditioned soldiers.\n\nSuddenly, amid a great crowd of people, horses and carts, the travellers found themselves at London Bridge. Two square towers marked the entrance, between which, in the evening, chains were fastened and huge doors closed. The first thing Guccio noticed was a bloody human head fixed upon one of the pikes which surmounted the gateway. Crows fluttered about the eyeless face.\n\n'The King of England's justice has been enforced this morning,' said Signor Boccaccio. 'This is how criminals, or those who are named criminals in order to get rid of them, finish here.'\n\n'A curious sight to welcome strangers with,' said Guccio.\n\n'It is a warning that they are not entering a town of light-hearted gaiety.'\n\nAt that time, this was the only bridge across the Thames; it was built as a street over the river and its houses were of wood, one pressed close against another. Within them every sort of business was carried on. Twenty arches, each sixty feet high, supported the extraordinary structure. It had taken nearly a hundred years to build and Londoners were very proud of it. A strong current boiled about the arches; washing was hung to dry from the windows; and women emptied slops into the river.\n\nBeside London Bridge, the Ponte Vecchio at Florence seemed but a mere trifle in Guccio's memory, and the Arno a brook compared with the Thames. He said so to his companion.\n\n'All the same we teach them everything,' the latter replied.\n\nIt took them about twenty minutes to cross the bridge because of the crowd and the stubbornness of beggars who seized them by their boots.\n\nArrived at the farther bank, Guccio saw the Tower on his right hand, its huge, tragic mass standing out against the grey sky. Following Signor Boccaccio, he went on into the city. The noise, the coming and going in the streets, the strange rumbling of the city under a leaden sky, the heavy smell of burning peat lying over the town, the cries from the taverns, the impertinences of the women of the streets, the brutal, brawling soldiery, all seemed to Guccio at once curious and intimidating. Paris, in his memory, seemed suddenly to possess clarity and light, while London at midday appeared darker than night.\n\nHaving progressed some three hundred yards, the travellers turned to the left into Lombard Street, where the houses of the Italian banks were marked by painted iron signs. These houses, of one, two or more storeys, had little exterior splendour, but were exquisitely maintained, with their doors polished and their windows barred. Signor Boccaccio left Guccio in front of the Albizzi Bank. The two travellers separated with affectionate farewells, mutually congratulating each other upon the pleasure of their dawning friendship and promising to meet again soon in Paris. These are things often said by travellers but never fulfilled."
            },
            {
                "title": "At Westminster",
                "text": "Master Albizzi was a tall, dry-looking man with a long brown face, thick eyebrows and tufts of black hair appearing beneath his hat. He received Guccio with serene graciousness and the condescension of a great lord. He talked of his 'house' with a casual gesture of the hand, as if he attached no importance to the fortune of which his home was, nevertheless, a fairly remarkable manifestation. Standing behind his desk, his thin body clad in a blue velvet robe, ornamented with silver buttons, Albizzi had the manner of a Tuscan prince.\n\nWhile the usual greetings were being exchanged, Guccio looked from the high oaken chairs to the Damascus hangings, from the stools of precious woods encrusted with ivory to the rich carpets that covered the whole floor, from the monumental chimney-piece to the massive silver torch-holders. And the young man could not help making a rapid valuation in his mind. 'The carpets, sixty pounds apiece, certainly; the torch-holders, twice as much. The house, if every room in it is on the same scale as this one, must be worth three times my uncle's.' For, though he might dream of himself as a secret ambassador, a knight-errant of the Queen's, Guccio was none the less a merchant, the son, grandson and great-grandson of merchants.\n\n'You should have taken passage in one of my ships, for we are ship-owners too, and sailed from Boulogne,' said Master Albizzi. 'You would have had a more comfortable crossing, Cousin.'\n\nHe had Hypocras served, an aromatic wine that one drank with comfits.\n\n'You want to have an audience with the Queen, do you?' said Albizzi, playing with the great ruby that he wore on his right hand. 'Your uncle Tolomei, whom I hold in great esteem, was wise to send you to me. I will not conceal from you that this particular business, impossible perhaps for others, will be easy for me. One of my principle clients, who owes me much, is called Hugh the Despenser.'\n\n'The particular friend of Edward?' asked Guccio.\n\n'No, Hugh the father. His influence is less evident but all the greater for that. He cleverly uses the favour shown his son, and if things go on as they are, he is likely to rule the kingdom. He is, therefore, not precisely of the King's party.'\n\n'In that case,' asked Guccio, 'is he the right person from whom I should ask assistance?'\n\n'Cousin,' interrupted Albizzi with a smile, 'you seem still very young. Here, as elsewhere, are people who, while belonging to neither one party nor the other, profit from both by playing one off against the other. You need only measure out your smiles and words, know how to profit by the weaknesses of the great, indeed, get to know them better than they know themselves. I know what I can do.'\n\nHe summoned his secretary and rapidly wrote a few lines which he then sealed.\n\n'You will be at Westminster this very day after dinner, Cousin,' he said, sending the secretary on his way, 'and the Queen will give you audience. You will seem to everyone but a merchant of precious stones and goldsmith's work, come especially from Italy and recommended to her by me. Like all women, Isabella likes pretty things. While showing her jewels, you will be able to give her your message.'\n\nHe went to a great coffer, opened it, and took out a casket covered in red velvet and ornamented with a gold lock.\n\n'Here are your credentials,' he added.\n\nGuccio raised the cover; there were rings with shining stones, heavy necklaces of pearls; at the bottom of the box lay a mirror framed in emeralds and diamonds.\n\n'Should the Queen wish to buy one of these jewels, what do I do?'\n\nAlbizzi smiled.\n\n'The Queen will buy nothing from you direct, because she has no money in her own right and her expenditure is supervised. If she should wish to purchase something, she will let me know. Last month, I had made for her three purses for which I have not yet been paid.'\n\nWhen they had eaten, and Albizzi had made excuses for the poorness of the meal, which, nevertheless, was worthy of the most aristocratic table, Guccio mounted his horse again to go to Westminster. He was accompanied by a servant from the bank, a sort of bodyguard, who wore a short black leather coat and carried the casket fastened to his belt by a chain.\n\nGuccio's heart beat with pride as he went along, his chin held high with a great air of assurance, looking out upon the town as if he were to become its proprietor the next day.\n\nThe Palace, though imposing from immense proportions, was floridly Gothic in decoration and seemed to him in somewhat bad taste as compared with the buildings of Tuscany, and particularly to those built in Sienna in those years. 'These people already lack sun and it would seem that they do everything they can to prevent the little they have entering their buildings,' he thought.\n\nHe entered by the gate of honour and dismounted under a vault where the soldiers of the bodyguard were warming their hands at a fire of huge logs. An equerry came forward.\n\n'Signor Baglioni? You are expected. Will you follow me?' he said in French.\n\nStill escorted by the servant carrying the casket of jewels, Guccio followed the equerry. They crossed a courtyard surrounded by a cloister, then another, then mounted a huge stone staircase and arrived at the private apartments. The ceilings were enormously high and echoed curiously; the light was dim. As they crossed a succession of dark, freezing halls and galleries, Guccio tried vainly to preserve his air of fine assurance, but they made him feel small. In a place like this one could easily die without trace. At the end of a corridor some forty yards long, Guccio saw a group of men dressed in rich clothes, their robes edged with fur; each bore on his left side the bright gleam of a sword-hilt. This was the Queen's guard.\n\nThe equerry told Guccio to wait for him and left him there, amid gentlemen who looked at him with a certain mockery in their expression and exchanged among themselves remarks in English which he could not understand. Suddenly Guccio felt a vague, but overwhelming, foreboding. Supposing something unforeseen occurred? Supposing, at this Court, which he knew to be torn by rival factions, divided by intrigue, he should become a suspect? Supposing, before he ever saw the Queen, he was seized, searched, and the message were discovered? All the fears that a panic-struck imagination can conjure up attacked him, combining with his anxiety not to show his disquiet or let it betray him.\n\nWhen the equerry, returning to fetch him, touched his sleeve, he started. He took the casket from Albizzi's servant's hand but, in his haste, he forgot that it was attached by a chain to the man's belt, who was suddenly dragged forward. The chain became entangled; the padlock fell. There was laughter, and Guccio felt that he was making a fool of himself. As a result, he entered the Queen's presence in a state of embarrassment, humiliation and confusion, and found himself face to face with her before he even realised it.\n\nIsabella was sitting very straight on a chair, which looked to Guccio like a throne, in the same room where, a little while before, she had received Robert of Artois. A young woman with a narrow face and rigid deportment sat beside her on a stool. Guccio went down on one knee and searched his mind for the elusive compliment. He had imagined \u2013 from what absurd illusion? \u2013 that the Queen would be alone. The presence of a third person damped all his splendid expectations. The Queen spoke first.\n\n'Lady le Despenser,' she said, 'let us look at the jewels this young Italian has brought. I am told they are marvellous.'\n\nThe name Despenser disquieted Guccio, made him anxious.\n\nWhat possible role could a Despenser have about the Queen?\n\nHaving risen at a sign from Isabella, he opened the casket and showed it to her. Lady le Despenser, glancing at it, said in a dry, curt voice, 'The jewels are certainly quite beautiful, but they are not for us. We cannot buy them, Madam.'\n\nThe Queen looked put out but, containing her anger, replied, 'I know, Madam, that you, your husband and indeed all your family take such great care of the finances of the kingdom that one might think they were your very own. But here you will permit me to spend my own money as I please. I notice too, Madam, that when some stranger or merchant comes to the Palace, my French ladies are always absent, as if by some accident, so that you or your mother-in-law are in attendance upon me as if you were on guard. I suspect that, if these same jewels were shown to my husband or to yours, they would find a use for them in loading each other with them as women dare not do.'\n\nHowever much she might try to control herself, Isabella could not help showing her resentment against this abominable family who, while bringing the crown into contempt, pillaged the treasury. For not only did the Despensers, father and mother, profit in an abject way from the love the King bore their son, but even the wife of the latter consented happily to the scandal, even forwarded it. This Lady le Despenser the younger, born Eleanor de Clare, was moreover the sister-in-law of the late Gaveston, that is to say that King Edward II had married the nearest relative of his former lover, who had been beheaded, to his present favourite.\n\nVexed at the affront, Eleanor le Despenser rose and busied herself in a far corner of the enormous room, though she never took her eyes from the Queen and the young Siennese.\n\nGuccio, recovering some of the self-possession that was ordinarily natural to him, but which today had been so strangely lacking, at last dared look Isabella in the face. Now or never, he must make the young Queen understand that he was on her side, that he pitied her misfortunes and wished for nothing but to serve her. But she was so cold in manner, showed such indifference to his person, that his heart froze. Undoubtedly she was beautiful, but her beauty seemed to Guccio to repel all thought of desire, tenderness or even understanding. She seemed to him more like a religious statue than a living woman. Her beautiful blue eyes had the same cold, fixed stare as those of Philip the Fair. How could one say to such a woman, 'Madam, we are of similar age, we are both young and I am in love with you'? It seemed that inheritance, royal function and consecration, had created a being who differed from the rest of the human race and for whom time and flesh and blood had other rules.\n\nAll Guccio could do was to take Robert of Artois's iron ring from his finger, taking care to hide the gesture from the Despenser, and say, 'Madam, you will do me the favour of looking at this ring and examining its design?'\n\nThe Queen nodded her head and, her expression unaltered, looked at the ring.\n\n'It pleases me,' she said. 'I imagine you have other things worked by the same hand?'\n\nGuccio pretended to search the casket, played with some pearls and, taking the message from his pocket, said, 'The prices are all marked.'\n\n'Let us go to the light that I may better see these pearls,' replied Isabella.\n\nShe rose and, accompanied by Guccio, went to a window embrasure where she read the message at her ease.\n\n'Are you going back to France?' she said in a low voice.\n\n'As soon as it pleases you to order me to do so, Madam,' replied Guccio softly.\n\n'Then tell Monseigneur of Artois that I shall shortly be in France, and that everything will be done as we agreed.'\n\nHer face showed some animation, but her attention was entirely centred upon the message and not upon the messenger. Nevertheless, a royal desire to recompense those who served her made her add, 'I will tell Monseigneur of Artois that he must reward your trouble better than I know how to do at this moment.'\n\n'The honour of seeing and obeying you, Madam, is the finest reward that I could wish.'\n\nIsabella thanked him with a movement of her head, merely as she would have greeted the simple compliment of a servant, and Guccio realised that between the great-granddaughter of Monsieur Saint Louis and the nephew of a Tuscan banker there was a distance that could never be crossed.\n\nIn a loud voice, so that the Despenser might hear, Isabella said, 'I will let you know through Albizzi what I may decide about these pearls. Good-bye, Messire.'\n\nShe dismissed him with a gesture.\n\nHe went down on one knee again and then retired, relieved at having accomplished his mission, but very disappointed of his dreams."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Debt",
                "text": "Despite Albizzi's courtesy in offering to keep him several days, Guccio left London next morning at dawn, extremely annoyed with himself. He could not forgive himself, that he, a free citizen of Sienna, who on that score alone considered himself the equal of any gentleman on earth, should have allowed himself to be disconcerted by the presence of a queen. Do what he would, he could never forget that he had been tongue-tied, that his heart had beat too quickly, and that his legs had felt weak, when he found himself in the presence of the Queen of England. And she had not even honoured him with a smile. 'After all, she is but a woman like another! What had I to be nervous about?' he kept on repeating to himself with annoyance. Even when he was already far from Westminster he was still muttering to himself in this strain.\n\nHaving found no companion, as on his previous journey, he was travelling alone, chewing over his discontent both of others and himself. This state of mind continued during the whole of his journey home, becoming even worse as the miles passed.\n\nSince he had not received the reception he had expected at the English Court nor, on his appearance alone, been given the honours due to a prince, he came to the conclusion, as he stepped on to the soil of France once more, that the English were barbarians. As for Queen Isabella, however unhappy she might be, however contemptibly she might be treated by her husband, it was no more than she deserved. 'Was one to cross the sea at the risk of one's life, only to be given the thanks due to a servant? Those people had a great air, but their manners were not from the heart. They rebuffed the most loyal devotion. They need feel no astonishment if they were so little liked and so often betrayed.'\n\nUpon these very same roads a week ago, he had thought of himself as an ambassador and a royal lover. Now Guccio began to understand that fortune does not smile upon young men as it does in fairy tales. But he would have his revenge. How, or upon whom, he did not yet know, but revenge was what he intended to have.\n\nIn the first place, since destiny and the contempt of kings had destined him to be but a Lombard banker, he would be such a banker as had never before been seen. His uncle Tolomei had charged him to return by the branch at Neauphle-le-Vieux to recover a debt. Very well, the debtors would soon discover the sort of lightning that had struck them!\n\nJourneying by Pontoise, in order to turn off across the \u00cele de France, Guccio, who always had to be playing a part to himself, had become the implacable creditor. Beside him the Jew of Venice, who in the legend demanded a pound of flesh for a pound of gold, would have seemed positively tender-hearted.\n\nThus he arrived at Neauphle on the morning of the feast of Saint Hugh. The branch of the Tolomei bank occupied a building near the church, on the town square built on the side of a hill.\n\nGuccio hustled the employees of the bank, demanded to see the account-books and rated everyone. What on earth was the chief clerk thinking about? Had he, Guccio Baglioni, the nephew of the head of the company, to go out of his way each time a sum of three hundred pounds was due? Primo, who were these squires of Cressay who owed three hundred pounds? He was informed. The father was dead, which Guccio already knew. What more? There were two sons, aged twenty and twenty-two. What did they do? They spent their time hunting. Evidently idlers. There was also a daughter aged sixteen. Certainly ugly, Guccio decided. And what of the mother who ran the house since the Squire of Cressay's death? They were people of good family, but utterly ruined. How much was their house and land worth? Fifteen hundred pounds more or less. They had a mill and a hundred serfs on their property.\n\n'And owning all that, do you mean to say you haven't been able to make them pay up?' Guccio cried. 'You'll see that they'll soon do so for me.' Where did the Provost live? At Montfort-l'Amaury? Very well. What was his name? Portefruit? Good. If they hadn't paid up by tonight, he would go and see the Provost and have their property seized. That was all there was to it!\n\nHe mounted his horse again and left for Cressay as if he were going to take a fortress single-handed. 'My gold or distraint, my gold or distraint,' he kept repeating to himself. 'And they can pray to God and his Saints.'\n\nThe trouble was that someone had had the same idea before him, and that someone was Provost Portefruit.\n\nCressay, which is a mile and a half from Neauphle, is a village built on the side of a valley by the bank of the Mauldre, a stream which is not too wide for a horse to jump.\n\nThe castle Guccio came in sight of was in fact no more than a large manor house in somewhat poor repair. It had no moat, since the river served it for defence together with low towers and a marshy approach. The whole place was redolent of poverty and decay. The roofs were collapsing in several places; the pigeon-loft appeared ill-stocked; there were cracks in the mossy walls, while wide gaps in the neighbouring woods revealed hundreds of stumps sawn off close to the ground. There was a considerable bustling in the courtyard as the Siennese entered it. Three royal sergeants-at-arms, their belilied staves in their hands, were harrying some ragged-looking serfs to gather the livestock, fasten the oxen in pairs and bring sacks of grain from the mill to load on to the Provost's wagon. The shouting of the sergeants, the running to and fro of terrified peasants, the bleating of some twenty sheep and the screeching of chickens together produced an astonishing hubbub.\n\nNo one paid any attention to Guccio; no one came to take his horse, so he tied the bridle to a ring. An old peasant passing by merely said, 'Bad luck has fallen upon this house. If the master were alive, he'd die a second death. It's unjust!'\n\nThe door of the building was open and from it came the sound of a violent argument.\n\n'It would seem that I have not come on a very propitious day,' thought Guccio, whose bad temper was increasing all the time.\n\nHe mounted the steps to the threshold and, guided by the sound of the voices, entered a long, dark chamber, with stone walls and a beamed roof.\n\nA young girl, whom he scarcely bothered to look at, came to meet him.\n\n'I have come on business and wish to speak to someone belonging to the family,' he said.\n\n'I am Marie de Cressay. My brothers are here and so is my mother,' replied the girl in a hesitant voice, pointing to the far end of the room. 'But they are very busy at the moment.'\n\n'No matter, I'll wait,' said Guccio.\n\nAnd to show that he intended doing so, he went over to the fireplace and extended his boot to the flames, though he did not feel cold.\n\nAt the far end of the room, the argument was still going on. With her two sons, one bearded, the other beardless, but both tall and ruddy, Madame de Cressay was stubbornly holding her own with a fourth personage whom Guccio soon realised was Provost Portefruit.\n\nMadame de Cressay \u2013 known as Dame Eliabel in all the surrounding district \u2013 had a bright eye, a fine bust, and bore her forty years buxomly in her widow's weeds.\n\n'Messire Provost,' she cried, 'my husband got into debt in order to equip himself for the King's war in which he gained more wounds than profit, while the domain, without a man to look after it, got on as best it could. We have always paid our tithes, our State benevolences and given charity to God. Who has done more in the Province, may I ask? And is it to enrich people of your sort, Messire Portefruit, whose grandfather went barefoot in the gutters hereabouts, that we are to be robbed?'\n\nGuccio looked about him. A number of rustic stools, two chairs with backs to them, benches fastened to the wall, some chests and a great pallet bed with curtains which, nevertheless, revealed the palliasse, made up the furniture of the room. Above the hearth hung an old shield with faded colours. The war-shield, doubtless, of the late Squire of Cressay.\n\n'I shall complain to the Count of Dreux,' went on Dame Eliabel.\n\n'The Count of Dreux is not the King, and I am acting upon the King's orders,' replied the Provost.\n\n'I don't believe you, Messire Provost. I will not believe that the King orders people who have formed part of chivalry for two hundred years to be treated like malefactors. Indeed, if that were the case, the kingdom would cease to function.'\n\n'At least give us time!' said the bearded son. 'We will pay by instalments. You cannot strangle people like this.'\n\n'Let us put an end to this argument. I have already given you time,' interrupted the Provost, 'and you have paid nothing.'\n\nHe had short arms, a round face and spoke in a sharp voice.\n\n'My job is not to listen to your complaints, but to collect debts,' he went on. 'You still owe the Treasury three hundred and twenty pounds and eight pence: if you haven't got them, that's too bad. I shall seize your belongings and sell them.'\n\nGuccio thought, 'That fellow is using exactly the tone I intended to use myself and, by the time he's finished, there'll be nothing left to seize. This is a peculiarly useless journey. I wonder if I should join them straight away?'\n\nHe felt angry with the Provost who had appeared so inopportunely and was taking the wind out of his sails, stealing the very part he had intended to play himself.\n\nThe girl who had received him remained standing not far away. He looked at her more closely. She was fair and had beautiful waves of hair showing beneath her coif, a luminous complexion, great dark eyes and a slender, straight and well-turned figure. She seemed very embarrassed that a stranger should be present at the scene. It was no everyday occurrence to see a young cavalier of agreeable appearance, whose clothes testified to a certain wealth, pass through those parts; it was most unfortunate that this should occur upon the family's most disastrous day.\n\nGuccio's eyes remained fixed on Marie de Cressay. However ill-disposed he felt, he realised that he had thought badly of her without knowing her. He had not expected to find so attractive a girl in such a place. Guccio's eyes slid from her breast to her hands; they were white, well-formed and slender, altogether in keeping with her face.\n\nAt the far end of the room the argument was still going on.\n\n'Isn't it bad enough to have lost a husband without having to pay six hundred pounds to keep a roof over one's head? I shall complain to the Count of Dreux,' repeated Dame Eliabel.\n\n'We have already paid three hundred,' said the bearded son.\n\n'To seize our possessions is to reduce us to hunger, to sell them is to condemn us to death,' said the second son.\n\n'The law is the law,' replied the Provost. 'I know the law and I shall sell you up as surely as I am levying distraint.'\n\nOnce more these were the very words that Guccio had prepared.\n\n'This Provost seems an odious man. What grudge does he owe you?' Guccio asked in a low voice.\n\n'I don't know, and my brothers know little more: we understand very little about these things,' replied Marie de Cressay. 'It is something to do with inheritance tax.'\n\n'And is that what the six hundred pounds are due for?' said Guccio.\n\n'Disaster has overtaken us,' she murmured.\n\nTheir eyes met, held for a moment, and Guccio thought the girl was going to burst into tears. But on the contrary, she was brave in the face of adversity, and it was only from modesty that she turned her beautiful dark blue eyes away.\n\nGuccio thought for a moment. His anger against the Provost was beginning to mount, precisely because the man was showing him the disagreeable part that he had been prepared to play himself.\n\nSuddenly, leaping across the room, Guccio flung himself before the agent of authority and cried, 'Wait a moment, Messire Provost! Are you quite sure that you are not in process of committing theft?' In his stupefaction, the Provost turned upon him and asked him who he was.\n\n'That does not matter,' replied Guccio, 'and you'll be much happier in ignorance, if by any chance your accounts are not correct. I, too, have reason to be interested in the inheritance of the Squires of Cressay. Would you be so good as to tell me your estimate of the value of the estate?'\n\nAs the other tried to take a high tone with him, threatening him with the sergeants-at-arms, Guccio went on, 'Take care! You are speaking to a man who but the other day was the guest of the Queen of England, and who tomorrow has the power to make known to Messire Enguerrand de Marigny how his Provosts behave. So you'd better answer, Messire: how much is the estate worth?'\n\nThese words had considerable effect. At the name of Marigny, the Provost was troubled; the family fell silent, listening astonished; and Guccio felt that he had grown in stature by a couple of inches.\n\n'According to the estimates of the bailiwick, Cressay is worth three thousand pounds,' the Provost at length replied.\n\n'Really, three thousand?' cried Guccio. 'Three thousand pounds a country manor, while the H\u00f4tel-de-Nesle, one of the most beautiful houses in Paris, the residence of Monseigneur the King of Navarre, is scheduled on the registers of the tithe at five thousand pounds? Estimates in your bailiwick are very high.'\n\n'There is the land too.'\n\n'The whole estate is worth no more than fifteen hundred and I know this from a sure source.'\n\nUpon part of his forehead, above his left eye, the Provost had a birthmark, a huge strawberry-mark which turned violet in emotion. While talking to him Guccio never took his eyes off it, and this put the Provost somewhat out of countenance.\n\n'Would you mind telling me now,' went on Guccio, 'what the inheritance tax is?'\n\n'Fourpence in the pound in this bailiwick.'\n\n'You're lying disgracefully, Messire Portefruit. The tax is two-pence in the pound for nobles in every bailiwick. You are not the only one who knows the law. I know it too. This man is taking advantage of your ignorance to cheat you like the thief he is,' said Guccio, turning to the Cressay family. 'He comes here to cheat you by using the King's name, but he has failed to tell you that he farms tithes and taxes, and that he will send to the King's Treasury only what is prescribed by law while the rest goes into his own pocket. And if he sells you up, who will then buy the Castle of Cressay, not for three thousand but for fifteen hundred or less, or merely for the debt? This is a fine plan, Messire Provost!'\n\nAll Guccio's irritation, all his anger and annoyance, accumulated upon the journey, had now found its outlet. He grew heated as he talked. He had found at last an opportunity of seeming important, of being respected and of playing the part of a strong man. Without being altogether aware of it, he had gone over to the camp he had come to attack, he was defending the weak and assuming the role of a righter of wrongs.\n\nAs for the Provost, his fat round face had grown pale and the violet strawberry-mark above his eye made a dark patch upon his forehead. He waved his over-short arms up and down like a duck. He protested his honesty. It was not he who had calculated the accounts. A mistake might have been made by his clerks or perhaps by those of the bailiwick.\n\nVery well! We will calculate these accounts over again,' said Guccio.\n\nIn a few minutes he was able to show that the Cressays owed no more than a hundred and fifty pounds.\n\n'So you had better order your sergeants to release the oxen, take the corn back to the mill and leave honest people in peace!'\n\nTaking the Provost by the sleeve, he led him to the door. The Provost did as he was bidden and called to his sergeants that a mistake had been made, that the whole matter must be checked, that they would return upon some future occasion, but that for the moment all must be restored to its accustomed place. He thought that he had finished with the affair, but Guccio led him back to the centre of the hall saying, 'Now return us a hundred and fifty pounds.'\n\nGuccio had taken the part of the Cressays to such an extent that he was beginning to say 'us' in defending their cause.\n\nAt this point the Provost was wild with anger, but Guccio quickly deflated him.\n\n'Didn't I hear you say a moment ago,' he asked, 'that you had already collected three hundred pounds in the past?'\n\nThe two brothers agreed that this was so.\n\n'Well, Messire Provost, a hundred and fifty pounds,' said Guccio holding out his hand.\n\nThe fat Portefruit tried to argue. What had been paid had been paid. The accounts of the Provostship must be looked into. Besides, he hadn't so much gold on him. He would come back.\n\n'It would be better for you if you could find the gold about you. Are you sure that you have received no other sums today? Messire de Marigny's agents work very quickly,' said Guccio, 'and it would be healthier for you to have done with this business on the spot.'\n\nThe Provost hesitated for a moment. Should he call his sergeants? But the young man looked so peculiarly active and carried such a good small-sword at his side. Besides, the two brothers Cressay were there, and they were solid fellows who had hunting-spears at hand upon a chest. The peasants would undoubtedly take their masters' part. It seemed a bad business in which he should try to avoid complications, particularly since Marigny's name was suspended over his head. He surrendered: taking a heavy purse from beneath his coat, he counted out the amount of the overcharge upon the lid of a chest. Then only did Guccio let him go.\n\n'We shall remember your name, Messire Portefruit,' he shouted to him from the door.\n\nHe returned, a broad smile upon his face, revealing fine teeth, white and regular.\n\nThe family immediately surrounded him, plying him with thanks, treating him as their saviour. In the general excitement the beautiful Marie de Cressay seized Guccio's hand and raised it to her lips; then seemed suddenly afraid of what she had dared to do.\n\nGuccio, very pleased with himself, found that his new role suited him admirably. He had conducted himself in precise accordance with his ideals of chivalry; he was a knight-errant who had arrived at an unknown castle to rescue a young lady in distress, to protect a widow and orphans from the machinations of wicked men.\n\n'But who are you, Messire, to whom do we owe all this?' asked Jean de Cressay, the son with the beard.\n\n'My name is Guccio Baglioni; I am the nephew of the banker Tolomei and I have come to collect our debt.'\n\nThere was an immediate silence in the room, the faces of the family glazed over. They looked at each other in fear and consternation. And Guccio felt that he had lost his advantage.\n\nDame Eliabel was the first to recover herself. She quickly swept up the gold the Provost had left and, with a fixed smile, said in a rather sprightly way that they would discuss all that later, but for the present she insisted that their benefactor should do them the honour of dining with them.\n\nShe at once began busying herself, sent her children on a variety of errands and, gathering them together in the kitchen, said to them, 'Take care, whatever he may have done, he remains a Lombard. One should always distrust those people, particularly when they have done one a good turn. It is very unfortunate that your poor father should have had to have recourse to them. Let us show this one, who indeed has a sympathetic air, that we have no money, but let us do it in such a way that he is unable to forget that we are nobles.'\n\nFor Madame de Cressay was much concerned with nobility, as small provincial gentlemen have always been, and she thought it a great honour for one who was not noble to have the privilege of sitting at her table.\n\nLuckily, the two sons had brought back a sufficiency of game from hunting the day before; several chickens had their necks wrung; and so it was possible to have the two courses of four dishes each which were essential to the keeping-up of seignioral appearances. The first course consisted of a clear German soup with fried eggs in it, a goose, a stewed rabbit and a roasted hare; the second, of a rump of wild boar served with a sauce, a fat capon, bacon stewed in milk, and blancmange.\n\nOnly a small menu, but one, nevertheless, that exceeded the usual porridge and fried lentils with which, like peasants, the family had generally to be content.\n\nAll this had to be prepared. The wine was brought up from the cellar; the table was laid on trestles in the Great Hall before one of the benches. A white tablecloth reached to the floor and the diners raised it to their knees in order to wipe their hands upon it. There were pewter bowls for two, but a single one for Dame Eliabel, which was consonant to her rank. The platters were placed in the middle of the table and everyone helped themselves with their fingers.\n\nThree peasants, who were normally busy in the farmyard, had been called in to wait. They smelt a little of the pigsty and the kennel.\n\n'Our carver,' said Dame Eliabel with mingled irony and excuse, indicating the lame man who was cutting slices of bread as thick as logs, upon which they were to eat their meat. 'I must admit, Messire Baglioni, that he is more accustomed to chopping wood. That explains \u2026'\n\nGuccio ate and drank a lot. The cupbearer was so generous-handed that one might have thought he was watering horses.\n\nThe family encouraged Guccio to talk, which was far from difficult. He told the story of the storm in the Channel so well that his hosts let their slices of wild boar fall back into the sauce. He talked of many things, of his experiences, of the state of the roads, of the Templars, of London Bridge, of Italy, of Marigny's administration. To listen to him, one might have thought that he was an intimate of the Queen of England's, and he harped so insistently upon the secrecy of his mission that one might well have concluded that war was about to be declared between the two countries. 'I can say no more than this, because it is a State secret and I am not at liberty to do so.' When showing-off to other people, it is never difficult to persuade oneself of success, and Guccio now saw things somewhat differently from the morning. He began to think of his journey as wholly successful.\n\nThe two Cressay brothers, sound young men but not over-endowed with brains, who had never been more than thirty miles from home, gazed with envy and admiration upon this young man, their junior, who had already done and seen so much.\n\nDame Eliabel, who was tending to burst out of her dress, and in whom good food awakened appetites unsatisfied in widowhood, allowed herself to look upon the young Tuscan with a certain tenderness; her massive bosom heaved with sensations that surprised even herself and, despite her dislike of Lombards, she could not but be aware of Guccio's charm, of his curly hair, his brilliantly white teeth, his dark, liquid eyes and even of his foreign accent.\n\nShe was assiduous in complimenting him.\n\n'Beware of flattery,' Tolomei had often advised his nephew. 'Flattery is the direst danger that a banker runs. It is very difficult to resist someone who speaks well of one, yet, as far as I am concerned, a thief is better than a flatterer.'\n\nThat night Guccio was far from thinking anything of the kind. He drank in every word of praise as if it were hydromel.\n\nIndeed, he was talking particularly at Marie de Cressay. The young girl never took her eyes off him, watching him from beneath beautiful golden eyelashes. She had a way of listening, her lips parted like a ripe pomegranate, which made Guccio want to talk, to talk yet more, and then put his lips for a long moment to that pomegranate.\n\nDistance lends enchantment. For Marie, Guccio was the stranger-prince upon his travels. He was the unexpected, the unhoped-for, the well-known yet impossible being, who knocks suddenly upon the door and is found to have after all a real face, a body and a name.\n\nSo much wonderment in Marie de Cressay's eyes and expression soon caused Guccio to think that she was the most beautiful and attractive girl he had ever seen in the world. Beside her, the Queen of England seemed as cold as a tombstone. 'If she appeared suitably dressed at court,' he told himself, 'she would be the most admired of every woman within a week.'\n\nThe meal lasted so long that, when the moment came to rinse their hands, everyone was a little drunk and night had fallen.\n\nDame Eliabel decided that the young man could not leave at that late hour and invited him to stay the night, however modest the accommodation might be.\n\n'You will sleep there,' she said, indicating the large pallet with the curtains upon which six people could have lain with ease. 'In happier times this was where the guard slept. Nowadays, my sons sleep here. You may share their bed.'\n\nShe assured him that his horse had been taken to the stables and well cared for. The life of a knight-errant seemed to Guccio to be continuing. He found it most exhilarating.\n\nSoon Dame Eliabel and her daughter retired into the women's chamber, and Guccio lay down upon the vast palliasse in the Great Hall with the Cressay brothers. He fell asleep at once, thinking of a mouth like a ripe pomegranate to which he pressed his lips, drinking in all the love in the world."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Road to Neauphle",
                "text": "He was awakened by a hand pressing gently upon his shoulder. He very nearly took the hand and pressed it to his face. Opening his eyes, he saw above him the smiling face and abundant bosom of Dame Eliabel.\n\n'I hope you have slept well, Messire.'\n\nIt was broad daylight. Guccio, somewhat embarrassed, assured her that he had passed an admirable night and said that he felt in need of an immediate wash.\n\n'I am ashamed to be seen by you in this state,' he said.\n\nDame Eliabel clapped her hands and the lame peasant who, the night before, had served at dinner, appeared, an axe in his hand. Madame de Cressay told him to bring a basin of warm water and towels.\n\n'In the old days we had a proper bathroom to wash in,' she said. 'But it has fallen into ruins. It dates from the time of my late husband's grandfather, and we have never had sufficient money to repair it. Today we store wood in it. Life, you know, is not easy for us who live in the country.'\n\n'She is tentatively asking for further credit,' thought Guccio.\n\nHis head felt rather heavy from the wine of the night before, and Dame Eliabel was not precisely the person he would have wished to see upon awakening. He asked where Pierre and Jean de Cressay were: they had gone hunting at dawn. More hesitatingly, he asked after Marie. Dame Eliabel explained that her daughter had had to go to Neauphle, where she had shopping to do.\n\n'I shall have to go there myself later on,' Guccio said. 'Had I known, I could have taken her upon my horse and spared her the fatigue of the road.'\n\nThat this suggestion was unrealisable did not appear to cause Dame Eliabel much regret; and Guccio wondered if the Lady of the Manor had not sent the whole of her family away in order to be alone with him. More particularly since Dame Eliabel, when the lame man had brought the basin, spilling in the process at least a quarter of its contents upon the floor, remained in the room, warming towels before the fire. Guccio waited till she should retire.\n\n'Why don't you start washing, young Messire?' she said. 'Our servants are such dolts that, if left to dry you, they would be certain to scratch you. The least I can do is to look after you. Go on! Don't mind me: I'm old enough to be your mother.'\n\nMumbling a thanks he did not feel, Guccio decided to strip to the waist and, taking care not to catch the lady's eye, sprinkled his head and body with warm water. He was rather thin, as young men are at his age, but was well-built and had a slender waist. 'It's just as well that she did not have a tub brought, as I should have had to strip completely under her eyes. These country people have very odd manners.'\n\nWhen he had finished washing, she came over to him with the warm towels and began drying him. Guccio thought that, if he could leave at once and push on his way at a gallop, he might have a chance of overtaking Marie on the road to Neauphle, or at least of finding her in the town.\n\n'What a pretty skin you have, Messire,' said Dame Eliabel in a lively but, nevertheless, somewhat uncertain voice. 'A woman might well be jealous of such a smooth skin. I suspect there are many who find it attractive. I have no doubt that your lovely olive colouring pleases them.'\n\nWhile she said this, she was stroking his back, all the length of his vertebrae, with the tips of her fingers. It tickled Guccio, who turned round laughing.\n\nDame Eliabel looked disturbed, breathless, and there was a peculiar smile upon her face. Guccio quickly put on his shirt.\n\n'Ah, how wonderful youth is!' said Dame Eliabel. 'Only to look at you, I wager you enjoy every moment of it and profit by every opportunity it offers.'\n\nGuccio dressed himself as decently as he could. Madame de Cressay fell silent for a moment and he could hear her breath coming in gasps. Then she said in the same tone of voice, 'Well, my dear Messire, what are you going to do about our debt?'\n\n'Here it comes,' thought Guccio.\n\n'You can ask us for what you please,' she went on. 'You are our benefactor and we bless you. If you want the gold that you made that thief of a Provost give us back, it's yours, take it away: a hundred pounds if you like. But you have seen our circumstances and you have already shown that you have a heart.'\n\nAs she said this, she was watching Guccio buckling his breeches, and it did not seem to him a suitable moment to discuss business.\n\n'The man who saved us cannot destroy us now,' she went on. 'You people who live in towns cannot understand how difficult our life is. If we haven't yet repaid our debt to the bank, it is because we cannot do so. The government officials thieve from us: you have shown this to be the case. Serfs no longer work as they did in the past. Since the Orders in Council,15 the idea of freedom has gone to their heads: one can get nothing out of them these days, and really the clodhoppers are almost on the point of thinking themselves of the same species as you or I. For though you are not noble,' she said to underline the honour she was doing him by placing him on her side of the divide, 'you certainly very much deserve to be. If you add the fact that whatever we may harvest one year, bad weather deducts it the next, and that our menfolk spend the little one is able to save at the wars, if they don't go and get killed into the bargain.'\n\nGuccio, who had but one idea in his head, and that to find Marie, tried to evade the implication.\n\n'It is not I but my uncle who decides these things,' he said. But he already knew he was beaten.\n\n'You can show your uncle that this is no bad investment; I can only wish for his sake that he never has less honest debtors. Give us another year; we will pay you interest. Do this for me! I shall be most grateful to you,' said Dame Eliabel, seizing his hand.\n\nThen, with a certain modest confusion, which nevertheless did not prevent her gazing into his eyes, she added, 'Do you know, sweet Messire, that since your arrival yesterday \u2013 a woman doubtless should not say these things, but there it is \u2013 I have felt a peculiar friendship for you; and there is nothing I would not do to give you pleasure?'\n\nGuccio had not the presence of mind to reply, 'Well then, pay your debt and I shall be happy.'\n\nFrom all the evidence it appeared that the widow was prepared to pay in her own person, and one might well have asked if she were submitting to sacrifice to evade the debt, or whether she was merely using the debt as an opportunity of personal sacrifice.\n\nAs a good Italian, Guccio thought that it would be extremely pleasing to have both mother and daughter at the same time. Dame Eliabel still had many charms, particularly for those who did not mind a certain fullness of figure, her hands were soft and her bosom, abundant as it might be, seemed nevertheless to preserve a certain firmness; but this could be no more than an additional amusement. To risk missing the younger in order to linger with the older would destroy the enjoyment of the game.\n\nGuccio managed to get away by pretending that he was touched by Dame Eliabel's advances and by assuring her that he would most certainly arrange the matter; but that, in order to do this, he must go at once to Neauphle and confer there with his clerks.\n\nHe went out into the courtyard, found the lame man, persuaded him to saddle his horse, leapt into the saddle and went on his way towards the town. There was no Marie upon the road. While he galloped along, he asked himself if the girl were really as beautiful as he had thought her to be the day before, if he had not counted too much upon the promise he had thought to see in her eyes, and whether indeed the whole business, which was perhaps but an after-dinner illusion, were worth his haste. For there are women who, when they look at you, seem to surrender to you in the first instant; but that is merely their natural expression; they look at a piece of furniture, at a tree, in exactly the same way and, in the end, give nothing at all.\n\nGuccio saw no sign of Marie in the town square. He looked down many of the side-streets, went into the church, but only stayed there long enough to cross himself and fail to find her. Then he went to the bank. There he accused the three clerks of having misinformed him. The Cressays were people of quality, both honourable and solvent. Their credit must be prolonged. As for the Provost, he was frankly a scoundrel. As he shouted all this out, Guccio never stopped looking out of the window. The employees wagged their heads as they gazed at the young fool who changed his mind from one day to the next. They thought it would be a great pity if the bank should ever fall completely under his control.\n\n'It may well be that I shall come back here fairly frequently: this branch obviously requires close supervision,' he said to them by way of good-bye.\n\nHe leapt into the saddle and the gravel flew under his horse's hooves. 'Perhaps she has taken a short cut,' he told himself. 'In that case I shall see her at the castle, but it may be difficult to see her alone.'\n\nShortly after he left the town, he saw a figure hurrying towards Cressay and recognised Marie. Suddenly he heard the birds singing, realised that the sun shone, that it was April and that the tender young leaves were burgeoning on the trees. Because of a girl, walking between green fields, the spring, of which for three days Guccio had been unaware, suddenly burst upon him.\n\nHe slowed his pace and caught Marie up. She looked at him, not particularly surprised that he should be there, but rather as if she had just received the most wonderful present in the world. Walking had put some colour in her cheeks, and Guccio thought that she was even prettier than he had imagined her to be the day before.\n\nHe offered to take her up on the crupper. She smiled acquiescence, and once again her lips parted like a fruit. He drew his horse into the bank, and leant down to give Marie the support of his arm and shoulder. The girl was very light; she hoisted herself up with agile grace, and they hurried on. At first they rode in silence. Guccio was tongue-tied. For once the boastful fellow could find nothing to say.\n\nHe realised that Marie hardly dared put her hands on him to retain her balance. He asked her if she were accustomed to riding thus.\n\n'Only,' she said, 'with my father or my brothers.' She had never travelled like this before, her body to a stranger's back. Little by little she gained courage and grasped the young man more firmly by the shoulders.\n\n'Are you in a hurry to get home?' he asked.\n\nShe didn't answer, and he turned his horse into a side road in order to stay upon the high ground.\n\n'Yours is a beautiful part of the country,' he went on after another silence, 'as beautiful as Tuscany.'\n\nThis was a lover's compliment he was making her and, indeed, he had never before felt so strongly the charm of the \u00cele-de-France. Guccio's gaze wandered to the far blue distances, to the horizon of hills and forests whose outline was lost in a faint mist, then returned to the lush grass of the surrounding fields, to the great patches of the paler, more fragile green of the young cultivated rye, and to the hawthorn hedges whose sticky buds were opening.\n\nGuccio asked what the towers were that could be seen to the south, appearing upon the far edge of the horizon out of the great green sea of the plain. Marie found some difficulty in replying; they were the towers of Montfort-l'Amaury.\n\nShe was suffering from that mingled anguish of pain and happiness which prevents speech and even thought. Where did this path lead? She no longer knew. Where was this cavalier taking her? She did not know that either. She was under the thrall of something to which, as yet, she could give no name, something which was stronger than her fear of the unknown, stronger than the morality she had been taught, the precepts instilled by her family, the warnings of her confessors. She was entirely subject to a stranger's will. Her hands clutched his coat more firmly, grasped at the back of this man who, at this instant in time, seemed to be, when all else was chaos, the only certainty in the universe. And through the double thickness of the cloth, Guccio felt Marie's heart-beats echoing in his breast.\n\nThe horse, ridden on a loose rein, stopped of its own accord to eat a young shoot.\n\nGuccio dismounted and, giving Marie his arm, lowered her to the ground. But he did not let her go. He stood there with his arm about her waist, and he was astonished to find it so small and slim and firm. The girl stood there motionless, a prisoner, anxious but consenting, of his encircling arm. Guccio felt he must say something, but the trite words of seduction would not come to him: only Italian words came to his lips.\n\n'Ti voglio bene, ti voglio tanto bene.'\n\nThe sense was so implicit in his voice that she appeared to understand.\n\nLooking at Marie's face close-to in sunlight, Guccio saw that her eyelashes were not gold as he had thought the night before; Marie's colouring was auburn with red lights, her complexion that of a blonde, her eyes large and dark blue, their outline firmly chiselled beneath the arch of the eyebrows. What caused the golden light that seemed to emanate from her? From instant to instant, as Guccio gazed at her, Marie's presence became more precise, more real, and that reality seemed to him the perfection of beauty. He drew her closely to him, moving his hand slowly and gently the length of her thigh and then across her breast, learning the reality of her body.\n\n'No,' she murmured, setting his hand aside.\n\nBut as if she were afraid of disappointing him, she raised her face a little way towards his. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed. Guccio leaned down towards her mouth, towards that exquisite fruit he so much desired. And thus they remained for a long moment clasped to each other, as birds sang to them, dogs barked in the distance, and the deep panting breath of nature seemed to raise the earth beneath their feet.\n\nWhen they parted, Guccio became aware of the black twisted trunk of a huge apple-tree that grew near by, and this tree seemed to him astonishingly beautiful and alive; more so than any he had seen until that day. A magpie was hopping about in the young rye, and this boy, brought up in towns, was amazed by the love that had come to him in the depths of the countryside.\n\nHappy at the joy which shone upon his face, Marie could not take her eyes from Guccio.\n\n'You have come, you have come at last,' she murmured.\n\nShe might have been waiting for him through the ages, through the long night of eternity, and known his face for all time.\n\nHe wanted her mouth again, but this time she pushed him aside.\n\n'No,' she said, 'we must go home.'\n\nShe knew for certain now that love had come into her life, and for the moment she was overwhelmed by it. She had nothing more to wish for.\n\nWhen she was again seated upon the horse, behind Guccio, she put her arms round the young man's chest, placed her head against his shoulder, and thus rode to the rhythm of the horse's gait, linked to the man God had sent her.\n\nShe had a taste for miracles and a sense of the absolute, but lacked the gift of imagination. Not for an instant could she imagine that Guccio's spiritual state might be different from her own, and that their love might have for him a significance other than it had for her.\n\nShe neither sat straight nor resumed the deportment proper to her rank till the roofs of Cressay appeared in the valley.\n\nThe two brothers had come back from hunting. Dame Eliabel was not altogether pleased to see Marie return in Guccio's company. She felt towards her daughter a certain resentment, which was less inspired by her regard for the conventions than by unconscious jealousy. Though they did their best to conceal it, the young people had an air of happiness about them which displeased the Lady of the Manor. But she dared say nothing in the presence of the young banker.\n\n'I met Demoiselle Marie and asked her to show me round the estate,' said Guccio. 'Your land seems rich.'\n\nThen he added, 'I have given orders that your credit shall be extended till next year: I hope my uncle will approve. It is impossible to refuse anything to so noble a lady!'\n\nHe said these last words smiling at Dame Eliabel. She bridled a little, and became less anxious.\n\nThey were very grateful to Guccio; nevertheless, when he said that he must leave, they did not try very hard to keep him. They had got from him what they wanted; undoubtedly he was a charming young man, this Lombard, and had done them a great service, but they scarcely knew him. And Dame Eliabel, when she thought of the advances she had made him that morning, and how he had left her with a certain abruptness, could not feel altogether pleased with herself. The essential was that their credit had been extended. Dame Eliabel had little difficulty in persuading herself that her charms had materially helped towards this end.\n\nThe only person who really wished that Guccio should stay could neither do nor say anything.\n\nSuddenly the atmosphere became a little embarrassed. Nevertheless, they forced upon Guccio a haunch of roe-deer, which the brothers had killed, to take with him, and made him promise to return. He promised, but it was to Marie he gave a secret glance.\n\n'You may be certain I shall come back to collect the debt,' he said lightly, though it was intended to put them on the wrong scent.\n\nHis luggage having been fastened to his saddle, he mounted his horse.\n\nWatching him go off along the bank of the Mauldre, Madame de Cressay sighed and said to her sons, more for her own sake than for theirs, 'Children, your mother still knows how to talk to young men. I was singularly tactful with this one, and you would have found him harder if I had not spoken to him alone.'\n\nFor fear of betraying herself, Marie had already gone into the house.\n\nAs he made his way along the road to Paris, Guccio, galloping along, thought of himself as an irresistible seducer, who had only to appear in a country-house to harvest every heart. The vision of Marie beside the field of rye was constant in his mind. And he promised himself that he would return to Neauphle very soon, perhaps even in a few days' time.\n\nBut these are thoughts one has travelling but which are never put into effect.\n\nHe arrived that night at the street of the Lombards and talked to his uncle Tolomei till a late hour. The latter accepted without difficulty the explanations Guccio made about the debt; he had other worries on his mind. But he seemed to take a particular interest in the activities of Provost Portefruit.\n\nAll night long, as he slept, Guccio imagined that he was thinking of no one but Marie. But the following day he was already thinking of her rather less.\n\nIn Paris he knew two merchants' wives, handsome townswomen of about twenty years of age, who were far from being cruel to him. After some days he had quite forgotten his conquest at Neauphle.\n\nBut destiny moves slowly and no one knows which of our actions, sown at hazard, will burgeon like trees. No one could have foretold that an embrace beside a field of rye on a certain day would alter the history of the kingdom of France, and would lead the beautiful Marie to the cradle of a king.\n\nAt Cressay Marie began to wait."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Road to Clermont",
                "text": "Three weeks later, the little town of Clermont-de-l'Oise was the scene of extraordinary excitement. From the castle to the gates, from the church to the town hall, the streets were crowded. There was joyful animation as people jostled each other in the alleys and taverns. Since morning, hangings had hung from the windows; the town-criers had announced that Monseigneur Philippe, Count of Poitiers, the King's second son, and his uncle, Monseigneur of Valois, had come in the King's name to meet their sister and niece, Queen Isabella of England.\n\nThe Queen, having disembarked upon the soil of France two days before, was making her way across Picardy. She had left Amiens that morning and, if all went well, she would arrive at Clermont in the late afternoon. She would sleep there and, next day, her English escort reinforced by that of France, would proceed to Pontoise where her father, Philip the Fair, was awaiting her at the Castle of Maubuisson.\n\nShortly after vespers, the arrival of the Princes having been announced, the Provost, the Captain of the Guard and the Aldermen went out of the Porte de Paris to present the keys. Philippe of Poitiers, riding in the lead, received their welcome and was the first to enter Clermont.\n\nBehind him, amid a great cloud of dust raised by the horses, followed more than a hundred gentlemen, equerries, valets and men-at-arms, who formed his and Charles of Valois's suite.\n\nOne head overtopped all others, that of the huge Robert of Artois, whose progress attracted every eye. It is true that this lord, mounted upon a huge dappled percheron \u2013 a gigantic horse for a gigantic horseman \u2013 wearing red boots and cloak and a surcoat of red velvet, was most impressive in appearance. Though many of the horsemen appeared tired, he remained as upright in the saddle as if he had only just mounted.\n\nIndeed, since leaving Pontoise, Robert of Artois had had a feeling of acute triumph to sustain and refresh him. He alone knew the real object of the young Queen of England's journey; he alone knew how events, put in train by himself to appease his longing for revenge, were about to shake the Court of France. Already he felt a secret, bitter joy.\n\nDuring the whole journey he had unceasingly watched Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay, who formed part of the retinue, the first as equerry to the Count of Poitiers, the second as equerry to Charles of Valois. The two young men were delighted with the journey and the whole royal train. In their innocence and vanity, the better to shine, they had fastened the handsome purses given them by their mistresses upon their smartest clothes. Seeing the purses at their belts, Robert of Artois had felt a cruel and passionate joy in his heart. He had scarcely been able to prevent himself laughing aloud. 'Well my young bucks, my young cocks, fools that you are,' he said to himself, 'you may well smile in thinking of your mistresses' beautiful breasts. Think of them well, for you will never touch them again; and breathe deep of the air of day, for I think that you will have but few more. Your handsome, brainless heads will be cracked open like nuts.'\n\nMeanwhile, like a huge tiger playing with its prey, claws retracted, he spoke with the utmost cordiality to the brothers Aunay, from time to time tossing them a loud-mouthed pleasantry. Since he had saved them from the pretended cut-throats at the Tower of Nesle, the two young men had been most friendly and thought themselves much obliged to him.\n\nWhen the cavalcade halted in the Grande Place, they invited Artois to a cup of cool light wine. They joked together, toasting each other. 'Drink, my little friends, drink,' said Artois to himself, 'and remember well the taste of this light wine.'\n\nAll about them the tavern rang with gaiety, shouts and cries under the sun.\n\nIn the rejoicing town business was as good as on a fair-day, and from the Royal Castle17 to the church a dense crowd slowed down the horses' pace.\n\nThe great swathes of multi-coloured hangings ornamenting the windows floated in the breeze. A horseman arrived at a gallop and announced the Queen's approach. There was immediate commotion.\n\n'Hurry our people along,' said Philippe of Poitiers to Gautier d'Aunay, who had just rejoined them.\n\nThen the King's second son turned to Charles of Valois.\n\n'We are very punctual, Uncle; the Queen will not have to wait.'\n\nCharles of Valois, dressed entirely in blue, a little the worse for fatigue, contented himself with a nod of the head. He could well have done without the ride and was in a bad temper.\n\nThe church bells began ringing and their hubbub re-echoed from the town walls. The cavalcade went forward along the Amiens road.\n\nRobert of Artois joined the Princes and went forward stirrup to stirrup with Poitiers. Though he had been dispossessed of his inheritance of Artois, Robert was nevertheless the King's cousin and his place was in the front rank of the royalty of France. Watching Philippe of Poitiers's hand clasping the reins of his chestnut horse, Robert thought, 'It was for your sake, my skinny cousin, it was in order to give you Franche-Comt\u00e9 that I was deprived of Artois which belonged to me. But before tomorrow is out, you will receive a wound from which a man's honour does not easily recover.'\n\nPhilippe, Count of Poitiers and the husband of Jeanne of Burgundy, was twenty-one years old. Not only physically, but in personality too, he was different from all the rest of the Royal family. He was neither handsome and dominating like his father, nor fat and impetuous like his uncle. Thin in face and body, tall of stature, with curiously long limbs, his gestures were always measured, his voice precise and curt; everything about him, his physical characteristics, the simplicity of his pleasures, the restrained courtesy of his speech, expressed a decisive and reflective nature, in which his head dominated his heart. He was already a power to take account of in the kingdom.\n\nThree miles from Clermont, the two cavalcades, that of the Queen of England and that of the Princes, met. Eight servants of the house of France, grouped by the side of the road, blew a long and monotonous fanfare upon their trumpets. The English trumpeters replied upon instruments similar but with a sharper pitch. Then the Princes walked forward and Isabella, slim and upright upon her white palfrey, listened to a short speech of welcome made by her brother, Philippe of Poitiers. Then Charles of Valois went forward to kiss his niece's hand; then, when it was the Count of Artois's turn, he was able to give her to understand, by the manner of his low bow and the glance he gave her, that all had turned out as he had foreseen.\n\nWhile compliments, questions and news were being exchanged, the two escorts waited and watched each other. The French horsemen were impressed by the English uniforms. Sitting still and upright upon their horses, the sun in their eyes, the English bore proudly upon their breastplates the three lions of England; they seemed self-assured and were obviously out to make a good impression upon a strange land.\n\nFrom the great blue-and-gold litter which followed behind the Queen came a loud cry.\n\n'So, Sister,' said Philippe, 'you have brought our little nephew upon the journey, have you? It's a hard road for so young a child.'\n\n'I would never leave him in London without me. You know enough about the people by whom I am surrounded,' Isabella replied.\n\nPhilippe of Poitiers and Charles of Valois asked her the object of her journey; she told them merely that she wished to see her father, and they realised that for the moment, at least, they would be told no more.\n\nShe said that she was somewhat tired with the journey, and, dismounting from her white mare, took her place in the great litter carried by two mules harnessed in velvet trappings, one placed between the forward shafts and the other between the rear. Both cavalcades moved off again towards Clermont.\n\nTaking advantage of the fact that Poitiers and Valois had taken their places at the head of the cavalcade, Artois drew his horse near the litter.\n\n'You become more beautiful every time I see you, Cousin,' he said.\n\n'Don't talk nonsense; I am certainly not beautiful after twelve hours of dust upon the roads,' the Queen replied.\n\n'Having loved you in memory for many long weeks, the dust is invisible; I can only see your eyes.'\n\nIsabella leaned back a little among the cushions. Once again she felt a recurrence of that curious weakness which had seized her at Westminster in Robert's company. 'Can he really love me,' she wondered, 'or is he merely making compliments as he does, doubtless, to every woman he meets?' Between the curtains of the litter, she could see the Count of Artois's huge red boot and golden spur upon the dappled horse's flank; she could see the giant thigh with its salient muscles, and she wondered whether each time she found herself in this man's presence she would be conscious of the same disquiet, the same desire to let herself go, the same hope of reaching out to unknown territories. She made an effort to control herself. She was not there on her own behalf.\n\n'Cousin,' she said, 'tell me quickly what there is to tell, and let us make the most of this opportunity to talk.'\n\nRapidly, pretending to point out the countryside, he told her what he knew and what he had done, the watch he had set over the royal Princesses, the trap set at the Tower of Nesle.\n\n'Who are these men who are dishonouring the Crown of France?' Isabella asked.\n\n'They are riding twenty paces from you. They form part of the escort attending us.'\n\nAnd he gave her the essential information about the brothers Aunay, their estate, their parentage and their family relationships.\n\n'I want to see them,' Isabella said.\n\nSignalling vigorously, Artois called the two young men over.\n\n'The Queen has noticed you,' he said, winking broadly, 'and I have spoken to her of you.'\n\nThe faces of the two Aunays reflected their pleasure and their pride.\n\nThe giant motioned them towards the litter as if he were in process of making their fortunes, and, as the young men bowed lower than their horses' withers, he said with feigned joviality, 'Madam, here are Messires Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay, the most loyal equerries of your brother and your uncle. I recommend them to your notice. They are to some extent prot\u00e9g\u00e9s of mine.'\n\nIsabella gazed for an instant at the two young men, wondering what there was about their faces and their persons that could turn kings' daughters from their duty. They were handsome, certainly, and Isabella was always somewhat embarrassed by beauty in men. Then she noticed the purses at the horsemen's belts and glanced from them to Robert's eyes. The latter smiled briefly. From now on he could fade into the shadows. He need not even assume the role of informer before the Court. This chance encounter should be sufficient to decide the fate of the two equerries. 'Good work, Robert, good work,' he said to himself.\n\nThe brothers Aunay, their heads full of dreams, returned to their places in the procession.\n\nFrom Clermont, in the throes of gaiety, could be heard a great clamour of welcome for the beautiful Queen of twenty-two, who was about to bring the most surprising of disasters upon the Court of France."
            },
            {
                "title": "Like Father, Like Daughter",
                "text": "It was the evening of Isabella's arrival; the King was alone with his daughter in a room of the Castle of Maubuisson, where he liked to isolate himself.\n\n'It is there I think things over,' he had told his familiars one day when he was being particularly forthcoming.\n\nUpon the table was a three-branched silver candelabra whose light fell upon a file of parchments which the King was reading and signing. Beyond the windows the park rustled in the twilight, and Isabella, looking out into the night, watched the dark absorb the trees one by one.\n\nSince the time of Blanche of Castille, Maubuisson, on the borders of Pontoise, had been a royal residence and Philip had made it one of his regular country retreats. He liked the silence of the place, closed in as it was by high walls; he liked his park, his garden and his abbey in which Benedictine sisters lived out their peaceful lives. The castle itself was not very large, but Philip the Fair liked its quiet and preferred Maubuisson to all his greater houses.\n\nIsabella had met her three sisters-in-law, Marguerite, Jeanne and Blanche, with a serenely smiling face, and had replied conventionally to their words of welcome.\n\nSupper had soon been over. And now Isabella was alone with her father for the purpose of accomplishing the task, atrocious but necessary, upon which she was set. King Philip looked at her with that icy glance with which he regarded every human creature, even his own child. He was waiting for her to speak; and she did not dare.\n\n'I shall hurt him so much,' she thought. And suddenly, because of his presence, because of the park, the trees and the silence, Isabella was a prey to a wave of childish memories and her throat constricted with bitter self-pity.\n\n'Father,' she said, 'Father, I am very unhappy. Oh! how very far away France seems since I have been Queen of England. And how I regret the days that are past!'\n\nShe found herself trying to fight an unexpected enemy: tears.\n\nAfter a brief silence, without going to her, Philip the Fair asked gently but without warmth, 'Was it to tell me this, Isabella, that you have undertaken the journey?'\n\n'And to whom should I admit my unhappiness if not to my father?' she replied.\n\nThe King looked at the night beyond the gleaming panes of the window, then at the candles, then at the fire.\n\n'Happiness \u2026' he said slowly. 'What is happiness, daughter, if it is not to conform to one's destiny? If it is not learning to say yes, always to God\u2026 and often to men?'\n\nThey were sitting opposite each other on cushionless oak chairs.\n\n'It is true that I am a Queen,' she said in a low voice. 'But am I treated as a Queen over there?'\n\n'Are you done wrong by?'\n\nBut there was little surprise in the tone of his voice as he put the question. He knew only too well what she would answer.\n\n'Don't you know to whom you have married me?' she said with some force. 'Can he be called a husband who deserted my bed from the very first day? From whom all my care, all my respect, all my smiles, cannot get a single word of response? Who shuns me as if I were ill and confers, not upon mistresses, but upon men, Father, upon men, the favours he denies me?'\n\nPhilip the Fair had known all this for a long time, and his reply had also been ready for a long time.\n\n'I did not marry you to a man,' he said, 'but to a King. I did not sacrifice you by mistake. I don't have to tell you, Isabella, what we owe to our position and that we are not born to succumb to personal sorrows. We do not lead our own lives, but those of our kingdoms, and it is there alone that we can find content\u2026 if we conform to our destiny.'\n\nHe had drawn somewhat nearer to her while speaking and the light of the candle-flames etched the shadows upon his face, bringing his beauty into better relief, emphasising his air of always searching for self-conquest and being proud of it.\n\nMore than his words, the King's expression and his beauty delivered Isabella from her weakness.\n\n'I could only have loved a man who was like him,' she thought, 'and I shall never love nor shall I ever be loved, because I shall never find a man in his likeness.'\n\nThen, aloud, she said, 'I am glad that you should have reminded me what I owe to myself. It is not to weep that I have come to France, Father. I am glad too that you have reminded me of the self-respect proper to people of royal birth, and that happiness for us must count for nothing. I only wish that everyone about you should think the same.'\n\n'Why did you come?'\n\nShe took a deep breath. 'Because my brothers have married whores, Father, and I have discovered it, and because I am as anxious as you to uphold our honour.'\n\nPhilip the Fair sighed.\n\n'I know very well that you do not care for your sisters-in-law, but the difference between you \u2026'\n\n'The difference between us is the difference between an honest woman and a whore!' said Isabella coldly. 'Wait a minute, Father! I know things that have been concealed from you. Listen to me, because I am not only bringing you words. Do you know the young Messire Gautier d'Aunay?'\n\n'There are two brothers whom I always confuse with each other. Their father was with me in Flanders. The one you mention married Agnes de Montmorency, didn't he? And he is with my son, the Count of Poitiers, as equerry.'\n\n'He is also with your daughter-in-law, Blanche, but in another capacity. His younger brother Philippe, who is at my uncle of Valois' house.'\n\n'Yes,' said the King, 'yes \u2026'\n\nA deep wrinkle, a very rare thing with him, showed upon his forehead.\n\n'Well, he is Marguerite's, whom you have chosen to be one day Queen of France! As for Jeanne, she apparently has no lover, but this may merely be that she conceals the fact better than the others. At least it is known that she is a party to the pleasures of her sister and her cousin, that she covers the visits of the gallants to the Tower of Nesle, and appears to be adept at a profession which has a name all its own. And you may as well know that the whole Court talks of it, except you.'\n\nPhilip the Fair raised a hand.\n\n'Your proofs, Isabella?'\n\nIsabella then told him about the purses.\n\n'You will find them at the belts of the brothers Aunay. I saw them myself upon the road. That is all I have to tell you.'\n\nPhilip the Fair looked at his daughter. It seemed that under his very eyes she had changed both in face and character. She had brought her accusation without hesitation, without weakening, and there she sat, upright in her chair, tight-lipped, with something stern and icy at the back of her eyes. She had not spoken from wickedness or jealousy, but from justice. She was in truth his daughter.\n\nThe King rose without replying. For a long moment he stood before the window, and still the long deep wrinkle showed upon his forehead.\n\nIsabella did not move, awaiting the consequences of what she had unleashed, ready to give further proof.\n\n'Come,' the King said suddenly. 'Let us go to them.'\n\nHe opened the door, passed through a long dark corridor and pushed open a second door. Suddenly they were in the grip of the night wind, which made their full clothing flow out behind them.\n\nThe three daughters-in-law had apartments in the other wing of the Castle of Maubuisson. From the tower, where the King's study was, their apartments were reached by a covered rampart. A guard dozed by each loophole, short gusts of wind shook the slates. From below the smell of damp earth rose up to them.\n\nWithout speaking, the King and his daughter followed the ramparts. Their feet rang out in time upon the stone, and every twenty yards an archer rose to his feet.\n\nWhen they came to the door of the Princesses' apartments, Philip the Fair paused for a moment. He listened. Laughter and little cries of pleasure came from beyond the door. He looked at Isabella.\n\n'It is necessary,' he said.\n\nIsabella nodded her head without replying, and Philip the Fair opened the door.\n\nMarguerite, Jeanne and Blanche uttered a cry of surprise and their laughter came to an abrupt end.\n\nThey had been playing with marionettes and were amusing themselves by recapitulating a scene they had invented and which, produced by a master juggler, had much diverted them one day at Vincennes, but which had much irritated the King. The marionettes were made to resemble the principal personages of the Court. The little scene represented the King's chamber, where he himself appeared sleeping in a bed covered with cloth of gold. Monseigneur of Valois knocked on the door and asked to speak to his brother. Hugues de Bouville, the Chamberlain, replied that the King could not receive him and had given instructions that no one was to disturb him. Monseigneur of Valois went away in a rage. Then the marionettes representing Louis of Navarre and his brother Charles knocked at the door in their turn. Bouville gave the same answer to the two sons of the King. At last, preceded by three sergeants-at-arms carrying maces, Enguerrand de Marigny presented himself; at once the door was opened wide and the Chamberlain said, 'Monseigneur, you are welcome. The King much desires to speak with you.'\n\nThis satire upon the habits of the Court had very much annoyed Philip the Fair, who had forbidden a repetition of the play. But the three young Princesses paid no attention, and secretly amused themselves with it all the more because it was forbidden.\n\nThey varied the dialogue and improved upon it with new mockeries, particularly when they manipulated the marionettes which represented their husbands.\n\nWhen the King and Isabella came in, they felt like schoolgirls caught out.\n\nMarguerite quickly picked up a surcoat that lay on a chair and put it round her to hide her too-naked throat. Blanche smoothed back her hair which had become disarranged in simulating her uncle Valois in a rage.\n\nJeanne, who remained calmer than the others, said vivaciously, 'We have just finished, Sire; we have just this moment finished, and you might have heard it all without there being anything to wound you. We shall tidy it all away.'\n\nShe clapped her hands.\n\n'Hallo, there! Beaumont, Comminges, my good women!'\n\n'There is no need to call your ladies,' the King said curtly.\n\nHe had barely noticed their game; it was at them he was looking. Eighteen, nineteen and a half, twenty-three; all three pretty, each in her different way. He had watched them grow taller and more beautiful since they had come, each at the age of about twelve or thirteen, to marry one of his sons. But they did not seem to have grown more intelligent than they had been in those days. They still played with marionettes like disobedient little girls. Was it possible that what Isabella said was true? Was it possible that so much feminine wickedness could exist in these beings who seemed to him still children? 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'I know nothing of women.'\n\n'Where are your husbands?' he asked.\n\n'In the fencing-school, Sire,' said Jeanne.\n\n'Look, I have not come alone,' he went on. 'You often say that your sister-in-law does not love you. And yet I am told that she has given you each a really handsome present.'\n\nIsabella watched Marguerite's and Blanche's eyes fade, as if their brilliance had been doused.\n\n'Will you,' Philip went on slowly, 'show me the purses you received from England?'\n\nThe silence that followed seemed to separate the world into two parts. On one side was Philip the Fair, Isabella, the Court, the barons, the kingdom; and on the other were the Iron King's three daughters-in-law, on the point of entering a realm of appalling nightmare.\n\n'Well?' said the King. 'Why this silence?'\n\nHe continued to look fixedly at them with his huge, unblinking eyes.\n\n'I have left mine in Paris,' said Jeanne.\n\n'I too, I too,' the others at once assented.\n\nSlowly Philip the Fair went towards the door that gave upon the corridor, and the wood of the floorboards could be heard creaking beneath his feet. Lividly pale, the three young women watched his every movement.\n\nNo one looked at Isabella. She was leaning against the wall, at some distance from the hearth; her breath came quickly.\n\nWithout looking round, the King said, 'Since you have left your purses in Paris, we shall ask the young Aunays to fetch them at once.'\n\nHe opened the door, called one of the guards and ordered him to fetch the two equerries.\n\nBlanche's resistance gave way. She let herself fall upon a stool, the blood had drained from her face, her heart seemed to have stopped, and her head fell to one side, as if she were about to fall prostrate upon the floor. Jeanne seized her by the small of the arm and shook her to make her regain control of herself. Marguerite was mechanically twisting in her little brown hands the neck of the marionette representing Marigny, with which she had been playing but a few moments before.\n\nIsabella did not move. She saw the glances Marguerite and Jeanne cast upon her, looks of hatred which emphasised the role of informer she was playing, and suddenly she felt an enormous lassitude. 'I shall play this out to the end,' she thought.\n\nThe brothers Aunay came in, eager, confused, almost falling over each other in their desire to make themselves useful and to show their worth.\n\nWithout leaving the wall against which she was leaning, Isabella stretched out a hand and said only, 'Father, these gentlemen seem to have divined your thought, since they have brought my purses attached to their belts.'\n\nPhilip the Fair turned towards his daughters-in-law.\n\n'Can you tell me how these equerries come to be wearing the presents that your sister-in-law gave you?'\n\nNone of them answered.\n\nPhilippe d'Aunay looked at Isabella in astonishment, like a dog that does not understand why he is being beaten, then turned his eyes towards his elder brother, looking for protection. Gautier's mouth was hanging open.\n\n'Guards!' cried the King.\n\nHis voice sent cold shivers down the spine of everyone present and echoed, strange and terrible, through the castle and the night. For more than ten years, since the battle of Mons-en-P\u00e9v\u00e8le to be exact, where he had rallied his army and forced a victory, the King had never been heard to shout. Indeed, everyone had forgotten that he might still have so powerful a voice. Moreover, it was the only word that he produced in this fashion.\n\n'Archers! Send for your captain,' he said to the men who came running.\n\nThere was a sound of heavy feet and Messire Alain de Pareilles appeared, bare-headed, buckling on his belt.\n\n'Messire Alain,' said the King, 'seize these two men. Put them in a dungeon in irons. They will have to answer at the bar of justice for their felony.'\n\nPhilippe d'Aunay wished to rush forward.\n\n'Sire,' he stammered, 'Sire \u2026'\n\n'Enough,' said Philip the Fair. 'It is to Messire de Nogaret that you must speak now. Messire Alain,' he went on, 'the Princesses will be guarded here by your men till further orders. They are forbidden to go out. No one whatever, neither servants, relations, nor even their husbands, may enter here or speak to them. You will answer to me for any breach of these orders.'\n\nHowever surprising the orders sounded, Alain heard them without flinching. The man who had arrested the Grand Master of the Templars could no longer be surprised by anything. The King's will was his only law.\n\n'Come on, Messires,' he said to the brothers Aunay, pointing to the door. And he ordered his archers to carry out the instructions he had received.\n\nAs they went out, Gautier murmured to his brother, 'Let us pray, brother, because this is the end.'\n\nAnd then their footsteps, lost amid those of the men-at-arms, sounded upon the stone flags.\n\nMarguerite and Blanche listened to the sound of the footsteps dying away. Their lovers, their honour, their fortune, all their lives were going with them. Jeanne wondered whether she would ever manage to exculpate herself. With a sudden movement, Marguerite threw the marionette she was holding into the fire.\n\nOnce more Blanche was on the point of fainting.\n\n'Come, Isabella,' said the King.\n\nThey went out. The Queen of England had won; but she felt tired and strangely moved because her father had said, 'Viens, Isabelle.' It was the first time he had addressed her in the second person since she was a small child.\n\nFollowing one another, they went back the way they had come. The east wind chased huge dark clouds across the sky. Philip left Isabella at the door of her apartments and, taking up a silver candelabra, went to find his sons.\n\nHis tall shadow and the sound of his footsteps awoke the guards in the deserted galleries. His heart felt heavy in his breast. He did not feel the drops of hot wax that fell upon his hand."
            },
            {
                "title": "Mahaut of Burgundy",
                "text": "In the middle of the night two horsemen rode away from the Castle of Maubuisson. They were Robert of Artois and his faithful, inseparable Lormet, who was at once servant, squire, travelling companion, confidant and general factotum.\n\nSince the day that Artois had selected him from among his peasants at Conches and attached him to his own person, Lormet had become, so to speak, his perpetual shadow. It was a marvel to see how anxiously this fat little man, already grey-haired but still hale and hearty, attended his young giant of a master on all occasions, closely following him in order to protect him. His cunning was as great and effective as his devotion. It was he who had pretended to be the ferryman for the brothers Aunay on the night of the trap.\n\nDawn was breaking as the two horsemen reached the gates of Paris. They put their smoking horses into a walk and Lormet yawned a dozen times or so. At over fifty, he was still able to stand long journeys on horseback better than any young equerry, but he was inclined to suffer from lack of sleep.\n\nIn the Place de Gr\u00e8ve they came upon the usual assembly of workmen in search of jobs. Foremen of the King's workshops and employers of lightermen moved among the various groups and hired assistants, dockers, and porters. Robert of Artois crossed the Place and turned into the rue Mauconseil where lived his aunt, Mahaut of Artois, Countess of Burgundy.\n\n'Listen, Lormet,' said the giant, 'I want this fat bitch to hear from me the extent of her disaster. Here begins one of the greatest and happiest days of my life. No beautiful girl in love with me could give me greater pleasure to see than the hideous phiz of my aunt when she hears what I have to tell her about the happenings at Maubuisson. And I want her to come to Pontoise and accelerate her own ruin by braying to the King; I hope she dies of vexation.'\n\nLormet yawned hugely.\n\n'She'll die all right, Monseigneur; she'll die, you can be certain of that; you're doing everything you can to bring it about,' he said.\n\nThey came to the splendid town-house of the Counts of Artois.\n\n'To think that it was my grandfather who built it; to think that it is I who should be living here!' Robert went on.\n\n'You'll live here, Monseigneur; you'll live here all right.'\n\n'And I'll make you doorkeeper with a hundred pounds a year.'\n\n'Thank you, Monseigneur,' replied Lormet as if he had already acquired that high position and had the money in his pocket.\n\nArtois leapt from his percheron, threw the bridle to Lormet and, seizing the knocker, banged it hard enough to break down the door.\n\nThe noise echoed from top to bottom of the house. The wicket-gate opened and a huge guard came out, wide awake and carrying in his hand a cudgel heavy enough to fell an ox.\n\n'Who goes there?' demanded the servant, indignant at the row.\n\nBut Robert of Artois pushed past him and entered the house. There were plenty of people in the corridors and upon the staircase; a dozen valets and housemaids doing the morning cleaning. There was anxiety upon every face. Robert, creating disorder in his wake, went up to the first floor, to Mahaut's apartments, and cried 'hullo' loud enough to make a row of horses rear.\n\nA terrified servant ran up, a pail in his hand.\n\n'Where's my aunt, Picard? I must see my aunt at once.'\n\nPicard, his head bald and square, put down his pail and replied, 'She's having breakfast, Monseigneur.'\n\n'Well, I don't care! Tell her I'm here and hurry up about it!'\n\nHaving organised his face into an expression of dolour and anguish, Robert of Artois, making the floor tremble beneath the weight of his feet, followed the servant to Mahaut's room.\n\nThe Countess Mahaut of Artois, Regent of Burgundy and Peer of France, was a strong woman of fifty, solid, massive, strong-limbed. Under a covering of fat, her face, which had once been beautiful, still preserved an expression of assurance and pride. Her forehead was high, wide and bulging, her hair still largely black. There was too much down on her lip, her mouth was red and her chin heavy.\n\nEverything about the woman was on a large scale, her features, her limbs, her appetite, her anger and her avarice, her ambition and her lust for power. With the energy of a warrior and the tenacity of a lawyer, she moved from Artois to Burgundy, from her Court of Arras to her Court of D\u00f4le, superintending the administration of her two counties, exacting the obedience of her vassals, setting limits to the power of others, and pitilessly destroying her known enemies.\n\nTwelve years of fighting with her nephew had taught her to know him well. Whenever a difficulty arose, whenever the Lords of Artois proved refractory, whenever a town protested against her taxes, she could be certain that Robert was behind them.\n\n'He is a savage wolf, a big cruel false wolf,' she said when speaking of him. 'But I am more intelligent, and he will end by destroying himself through going too far.'\n\nThey had hardly been on speaking terms for many months and never saw each other except by necessity at Court.\n\nThat morning, sitting at a little table set at the foot of her bed, she was eating slice after slice of a p\u00e2t\u00e9 of hare, the first course of her breakfast.\n\nAs Robert took care to feign distress and emotion, she for her part assumed a natural and casual manner when she saw him come in.\n\n'Well, you're bright and early, Nephew,' she said, showing no surprise. 'You come rushing in like the wind! What's all the hurry about?'\n\n'Aunt, Aunt,' cried Robert, 'all is lost!'\n\nWithout changing position, Mahaut calmly drank off a full tankard of ruby-coloured Artois wine. It came from her own lands and she preferred it to all others to start the day with.\n\n'What have you lost, Robert? Another lawsuit?' she asked.\n\n'I swear to you, Aunt, that this is no moment for bickering. The disaster that has come upon our family is very far from being a joke.'\n\n'What disaster for one of us could possibly be a disaster for the other?' said Mahaut with calm cynicism.\n\n'Aunt, the King holds us in the hollow of his hand.'\n\nSome slight anxiety showed in Mahaut's expression. She was wondering what trap had been set for her, what this preamble could mean.\n\nWith a gesture he knew well, she turned back her sleeves over her forearms. Then she banged the table with her hand and called, 'Thierry!'\n\n'Aunt, I cannot possibly talk before anyone but you,' cried Robert. 'What I have learnt touches our honour.'\n\n'Nonsense! You can say anything before my Chancellor.'\n\nShe was suspicious and wanted to have a witness.\n\nFor a short moment they measured each other with their eyes, she all attention, he delighting in the comedy. 'Call in everyone,' he thought. 'Call them all in, and let them all hear.'\n\nIt was a singular sight to see these two taking each other's measure, to watch these two people with so many natural characteristics in common, these two cattle of the same blood, resembling each other so much, hating each other so well, come face to face.\n\nThe door opened, and Thierry d'Hirson came in. An ex-Canon of Arras Cathedral, Mahaut's Chancellor for the administration of Artois, and perhaps something in love with the Countess, this chubby little man with his round face and white pointed nose gave a surprising impression of assurance and authority. He had curiously thin lips, and great cruelty showed in his eyes. He believed in cunning, intelligence and tenacity.\n\nHe bowed to Robert of Artois.\n\n'A visit from you is rare, Monseigneur,' he said.\n\n'It appears that my nephew has a grave disaster to inform me of,' said Mahaut.\n\n'Alas!' said Robert, sinking into a chair.\n\nHe took his time; Mahaut began to betray some impatience.\n\n'We have had our differences, Aunt,' he said.\n\n'More than that, nephew; horrible quarrels which have ended ill for you.'\n\n'True, true, and God is my witness that I have wished you all the ill in the world.'\n\nHe was using his favourite wile, a sound basic frankness, the avowal of his ill-intentions, in order to dissimulate the weapon he held in his hand.\n\n'But I would never have wished you this,' he went on. 'For you know that I am a good knight, and stand firm upon everything that touches one's honour.'\n\n'What on earth is all this about? Speak, for goodness' sake!' cried Mahaut.\n\n'Your daughters, my cousins are convicted of adultery, and have been arrested on the order of the King, and Marguerite with them.'\n\nMahaut did not immediately react to the blow. She did not believe it.\n\n'Who told you this story?'\n\n'I know it of my own knowledge, Aunt, and the whole Court knows of it, too. This happened yesterday evening.'\n\nFrom then on he enjoyed himself, teasing the fat woman, putting her in agony, telling her only as much of the business at a time as he wanted to, scrap by scrap, recounting how all Maubuisson had been startled by the King's anger.\n\n'Have they confessed?' asked Thierry d'Hirson.\n\n'I don't know,' Robert replied. 'But doubtless the young Aunays are at this moment confessing on their behalf at the hands of your friend Nogaret.'\n\n'I don't like Nogaret,' said Mahaut. 'Even if they were innocent they'd come out of the affair blacker than pitch, if he's involved.'\n\n'Aunt,' Robert went on, 'I have ridden the thirty miles from Pontoise to Paris through the night in order to warn you, for no one else had thought of doing so. Do you still think that it's ill-will that brings me here?'\n\nUnder the shock and uncertainty Mahaut looked at her giant of a nephew and thought, 'Perhaps he sometimes is capable of a kindly gesture.'\n\nThen she said in a surly voice, 'Do you want anything to eat?'\n\nBy this question alone Robert knew that she was really hard hit.\n\nHe seized a cold pheasant from the table, tore it apart with his hands and began eating it. Suddenly he noticed his Aunt change colour in the most curious way. First, the top of her throat, above her dress edged with ermine, became scarlet, then her neck, then the lower part of her face. The blood could be seen rising across her face, reaching her forehead and turning it crimson. The Countess Mahaut put her hand to her breast.\n\n'That's done it,' Robert thought. 'It's killing her. It will kill her.'\n\nBut not at all. The Countess rose to her feet and there was a sudden clatter. With a wide gesture of her arm she had swept the p\u00e2t\u00e9 of hare, the tankard and the silver plates to the floor.\n\n'The sluts!' she howled. 'After all I've done for them, after the marriages I arranged for them \u2013 to be caught out like a couple of drabs. Well, let them lose all they possess! Let them be imprisoned, impaled, hanged!'\n\nThe Canon remained motionless. He was accustomed to the Countess's tempers.\n\n'Do you know that was just what I was thinking, Aunt,' said Robert with his mouth full. 'It really is no proper return for all the trouble you've taken.'\n\n'I must go to Pontoise at once,' said Mahaut without hearing him. 'I must see them and tell them what to say.'\n\n'I doubt if you will be allowed to see them, Aunt. They're in solitary confinement, and no one can \u2026'\n\n'Then I shall speak to the King. Beatrice! Beatrice!' she called, clapping her hands.\n\nA hanging moved to one side and a splendid girl of some twenty years, dark, tall, her breasts round and firm, her waist well marked, her legs long, came in unhurriedly. As soon as he saw her, Robert of Artois felt attracted.\n\n'Beatrice, you've heard everything, haven't you?' Mahaut asked.\n\n'Yes, Madam,' replied the girl. 'I was outside the door, as always.'\n\nThere was a curious slowness about her voice, as there was about her gestures, about her manner of moving and about her glance. She gave a peculiar impression of a sort of flowing indolence and of abnormal placidity; one would have said that even lightning entering the window would not have made her move more quickly or taken that calm half-smile from the corners of her lips. But there was irony shining in the eyes beneath the long black lashes. Undoubtedly she rejoiced in the disasters, crises, and tragedies of others.\n\n'This is Thierry's niece,' Mahaut told her nephew; 'I have made her my first lady-in-waiting.'\n\nBeatrice d'Hirson looked Robert of Artois up and down with a sort of candid shamelessness. She was obviously curious to know this giant of whom she had heard nothing but evil.\n\n'Beatrice,' Mahaut continued, 'have my litter harnessed and six horses saddled. We are going to Pontoise.'\n\nBeatrice continued to look straight into Robert's eyes, and one might have thought that she had not heard. There was something at once irritating and disquieting about the beautiful girl. She gave men, from the first moment of meeting, a sense of immediate complicity, as if she would offer no resistance to them. And at the same time one wondered whether she was utterly stupid, or, perhaps, on the other hand, was quietly laughing at people.\n\n'I shall have that girl,' thought Robert, as she went slowly out of the room; 'I don't know when, but I shall.'\n\nThere was but little left of the pheasant and he threw it into the fire. He was now thirsty. No more wine had been brought. From a side-table Robert took the decanter from which Mahaut had helped herself \u2013 and thus ran no risk of being poisoned \u2013 and poured a great bumper down his throat.\n\nThe Countess was walking to and fro, folding back her sleeves and biting her lips.\n\n'I shall not leave you alone from today, Aunt,' said Artois. 'I shall come with you. It's a family duty.'\n\nMahaut raised her eyes towards him, once more somewhat suspicious. Then at last she made up her mind to accept his advice.\n\n'You have done me much harm, Robert, and I dare swear that you will do me more. But, I must admit it, today you have behaved like a good fellow.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Blood Royal",
                "text": "Day was beginning to enter the long, low, cellar-like room in the old Castle of Pontoise in which Nogaret had interrogated the Aunay brothers. Through the narrow skylights, which had been opened for purposes of ventilation, came puffs of white mist. A cock crowed, then another, a flock of sparrows flew past at ground level. The torch upon the wall flickered, adding its acrid smell to that of the tortured bodies. It gave but little light, and Guillaume de Nogaret said in his curt, impersonal voice, 'The torch.'\n\nOne of the two executioners left the wall against which he was leaning and brought a new torch from a corner of the room; he lit it by placing one end against the embers which had heated the now useless irons. Then he placed it in the socket fixed to the wall.\n\nThe man went back to his place, next to his companion. The two executioners \u2013 'tormentors,' as they were called \u2013 had the same rough exterior, the same doltish faces, while their eyes were now red-circled with fatigue. Their strong hairy forearms, still showing traces of blood, hung down beside their leather jerkins. They smelt horribly.\n\nNogaret barely looked at them; he got up from the stool upon which he had been sitting during the interrogation, and his thin figure cast an uncertain shadow upon the grey stone.\n\nFrom the farther end of the room came the sounds of gasping breath mingled with sobs; the two brothers Aunay seemed to groan with one voice. The executioners, their business over, had left them lying on the ground. But, without asking Nogaret's permission, they had fetched Gautier's and Philippe's cloaks and had thrown them over their bodies as if to hide them from themselves.\n\nNogaret bent forward; the two faces resembled each other strangely. The skin was the same grey, with traces of perspiration, and the hair, clotted with sweat and blood, revealed the shape of the skulls. A continuous trembling accompanied the groans issuing from torn lips upon which the marks of their teeth were visible.\n\nGautier and Philippe d'Aunay had been children, and later young men, in happy circumstances. They had lived for their desires and their pleasures, their ambitions and their vanities. As were all boys of their rank, they had been trained to arms; but they had never suffered any but minor hardships or such as the imagination invents for itself. Only yesterday they had been part of the cavalcade of power, and every ambition seemed open to them. But one night had gone by and now they were nothing but broken animals; if they were still capable of wishing for anything, it was for death.\n\nNogaret straightened up; his expression had not changed. The suffering of others, the blood of others, the insults of his enemies, despair and hate, flowed off him like water from a duck's back. He had to make no great effort to manifest that legendary hardness, that insensibility, which had made him the faithful servant of the King's most secret wishes. He was like he was because he had made himself thus. He had a vocation for what he considered to be the public weal, as others have a vocation for love.\n\nVocation is a noble name for passion. In that heart of lead and iron, which was Nogaret's, there existed the same egotism, the same fierce necessity which compels the lover to sacrifice everything for the body that obsesses him. Nogaret lived in a world in which everything was ordered by one rule: reasons of State. In his eyes individuals counted for nothing, not even himself.\n\nThere is a singular strand running through history, always renewing itself, that of fanatics for the general good and for the written law. Logical to the point of inhumanity, pitiless towards others as towards themselves, these servants of abstract gods and of absolute law accept the role of executioners, because they wish to be the last executioner. They deceive themselves because, once dead, the world no longer obeys them.\n\nIn torturing the brothers Aunay, Nogaret thought he was benefiting the life of the kingdom; he had looked upon the almost anonymous faces of Gautier and Philippe without it even occurring to him that they were the faces of men; conscience-free, he had cast his shadow across these haggard lineaments; for him they were no more than signs of disorder; he had conquered.\n\n'The Templars were tougher,' was the only remark he made to himself. And what was more, he had only had local executioners available, not those of the Paris Inquisition.\n\nAs he straightened up, he frowned, his back felt stiff and he was aware of a vague pain in his bones. 'It's the cold,' he murmured. He had the skylights closed and went over to the brazier where the fire still glowed. He extended his hands, rubbing them together, then massaged the small of his back, muttering to himself.\n\nThe two executioners, still leaning against the wall, seemed to be asleep. A moaning came from the ground where the brothers Aunay lay, but Nogaret no longer heard it.\n\nWhen he had sufficiently warmed himself, he came back to the table and picked up a parchment. Then, with a sigh, he went across to the door and went out.\n\nThe executioners went over to Gautier and Philippe and tried to make them stand up. As they could not, they took in their arms the bodies they had tortured and carried them, as one carries sick children, to their cell.\n\nFrom the old Castle of Pontoise, which was used only as a garrison and a prison, it was about a mile or so to the royal residence of Maubuisson. Messire de Nogaret traversed the distance on foot, preceded by two of the Provost's sergeants-at-arms and followed by a clerk carrying parchments and inkstand.\n\nNogaret walked quickly, his cloak floating out behind his tall thin body. He enjoyed the cold morning breeze and the damp smell of the forest.\n\nWithout replying to the salute of the archers of the guard, he crossed the courtyard of Maubuisson, entered the doorway, paying no attention to the whisperings, to the air of making vigil for the dead, which lay upon the chamberlains and gentlemen gathered in the hall and the corridors. An equerry leapt forward to open a door, and the Keeper of the Seals found himself face to face with the Royal Family.\n\nPhilip the Fair was sitting at a long table covered with a silken cloth. His face appeared more drawn than usual. His unblinking eyes had blue shadows beneath them and his lips were a compressed line. Upon his right was Isabella, upright, rather hieratic, her crimped coif surmounted by a light diadem, the golden coils of her hair, framing her face like the handles of an amphora, accentuated the sternness of her expression. She was the author of the disaster. In other people's eyes she shared the responsibility for it and, by that curious link which joins accuser to accused, she felt that she herself was also upon trial.\n\nOn Philip the Fair's left sat Monseigneur of Valois, nervously tapping the table with his fingers and wagging his head as if there was some irritating roughness in his collar. The King's other brother, Monseigneur Louis d'Evreux, his manner calm, his dress quiet, was also present.\n\nThe King's three sons were there too, the three husbands of the Princesses; they were shattered and made ridiculous by the catastrophe; Louis of Navarre, with his squint and hollow chest, in continuous nervous movement; Philippe of Poitiers whose face, which always looked rather like a greyhound's, was now still thinner and longer from the effort he was making to keep calm; and lastly Charles, whose adolescent good looks seemed ravaged by the first sorrow of his life.\n\nBut Nogaret did not look at them; Nogaret wished to look at no one but the King.\n\nHe unrolled his parchment and, upon a sign from the sovereign, read the minutes of the interrogation. The tone of his voice was as calm as when he was putting Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay to the question. But in that cold room, lighted by three ogival windows, his voice echoed fearsomely; the Royal Family were now being put to the test. Since Nogaret liked his work to be precise, there was nothing lacking in his recital. Certainly the two Aunays, as gentlemen should, had begun by denying everything; but the Keeper of the Seals had a technique of interrogation before which scruples and honour soon failed. The month in which their liaison with the Princesses had begun, the days upon which the lovers met, the nights spent at the Tower of Nesle, the names of the servants who were privy to their proceedings, everything indeed which had represented passion, excitement and pleasure for those two, was here established and recorded in detail and become no more than slime. One might well wonder how many of those who knew what was taking place were laughing aloud.\n\nOne hardly dared to look at the three Princes, and they themselves hesitated to look at each other. For more than three years they had been betrayed, mocked and deceived. Each word Nogaret uttered added to their shame.\n\nFor Louis of Navarre there was a terrible suspicion implicit in the establishing of certain dates: 'During the first six years of our marriage, we had no child. And then we had one precisely when Philippe d'Aunay began to sleep with Marguerite. So perhaps my little daughter Jeanne is not really mine.' And he ceased listening to the recital because he was continuously repeating to himself, 'My daughter is not mine\u2026 My daughter is not mine.' He felt the blood rushing to his head.\n\nThe Count of Poitiers, on the other hand, listened with attention to everything Nogaret said. For all his efforts, Nogaret had been unable to extract from the brothers Aunay any indication that the Countess Jeanne had had a lover, not even a name. Having admitted everything else, they would certainly have revealed this too had they known of it. There was no doubt that she had played a sufficiently infamous part. Philippe of Poitiers reflected thus.\n\nWhen Nogaret had finished, he placed the minutes on the table and Philip the Fair said, 'Messire de Nogaret, you have presented these painful matters with clarity. When we have made our judgment, you will destroy this' \u2013 he indicated the parchment \u2013 'so that no trace of it will remain except in the secrecy of our private ears. You have done well.'\n\nNogaret bowed and went out.\n\nThere was a long silence, then suddenly someone cried, 'No!'\n\nCharles had risen to his feet. 'No!' he repeated, as if the truth were impossible to admit. His chin trembled; his cheeks had a marble hue and he could not restrain his tears.\n\n'The Templars \u2026' he said distractedly.\n\n'What are you talking about?' said Philip the Fair, frowning.\n\nHe disliked this reference to an all-too-recent memory. Because indeed the same thought was present in everyone's mind. 'Accursed to the thirteenth generation of your lines.'\n\nBut Charles was not thinking of the curse.\n\n'That night,' he muttered, 'that night, they were together.'\n\n'Charles,' said the King, 'you have been a very weak husband; at least try to appear a strong Prince.'\n\nAnd that was the only word of comfort the young man got from his father.\n\nMonseigneur of Valois had as yet said nothing, and to remain so long silent was a considerable hardship to him. He took advantage of the moment to explode.\n\n'By God's blood,' he cried, 'there are strange things happening in the kingdom, even under the King's roof! Chivalry is dying, Sire, my brother, and all honour is dying with it!'\n\nThereupon he went off into a long diatribe which, beneath an appearance of exaggerated blundering, contained, in fact, a good deal of special pleading. For Valois everything hung together; the King's counsellors (he did not mention Marigny by name, but his attack was meant for him) were destroying the orders of chivalry, and public morals were foundering for that reason. Jumped-up lawyers kept on inventing God knows what new laws drawn from Roman law, to replace the good old feudal laws which had so well served their ancestors. The result could be seen by all. At the time of the Crusades, wives could be left for years; they knew how to protect their honour and no vassal would have dared ravish them. Nowadays, there was nothing but shame and licence. To think that two equerries \u2026\n\n'One of those equerries belongs to your household, Brother,' said the King drily.\n\n'As the other belongs to your son's,' replied Valois, pointing to the Count of Poitiers.\n\nThe latter spread out his long hands.\n\n'Anyone,' he said, 'may be deceived by someone in whom he has placed his trust.'\n\n'That is precisely what I'm saying,' cried Valois, for whom everything was grist to his mill; 'that is what I am saying: there is no worse crime a vassal can commit than to seduce and betray the honour of his suzerain's wife, particularly if she be the wife or daughter of a member of the Royal Family. These two Aunay equerries have almost \u2026'\n\n'You may consider them dead, Brother,' interrupted the King with a little gesture of his hand, at once casual and precise, which indicated the most severe of all sentences and destroyed two lives without appeal. 'They are of no importance. We must decide upon the future of the adulterous Princesses. Permit me, Brother,' he continued, interrupting Valois, who was about to speak again, 'permit me, for this once, to ask my sons a few questions first. Louis, speak.'\n\nAs he was about to speak, Louis of Navarre was overcome with a bout of coughing and two red patches appeared on his cheeks. He was overwhelmed by shock and anger. His choking was taken in good part.\n\n'It will be said that my daughter is a bastard,' he said, when he had regained his breath. 'That is what they'll say! A bastard!'\n\n'If you are the first to say it, Louis,' remarked the King, much displeased, 'other people will most certainly not fail to repeat it.'\n\n'Of course, of course,' said Charles of Valois, who had not thought of it till that moment, his large blue eyes suddenly shining with a strange light.\n\n'And why should it not be said, if it is true?' went on Louis, losing all control.\n\n'Be quiet, Louis,' said the King of France, hitting the table with his fist. 'Will you limit yourself to giving us your advice on the subject of your wife's punishment.'\n\n'Let her die!' replied the King of Navarre. 'She and the two others. All three of them. Death, death, death to them!'\n\nHe repeated 'death', his teeth clenched and his hand apparently cutting off heads in the void.\n\nThen Philippe of Poitiers, having asked his father's permission to speak with a glance, said, 'You are distracted with pain, Louis. Jeanne has not such a great sin upon her conscience as either Marguerite or Blanche. She is undoubtedly very culpable for having assisted their follies instead of denouncing them to me, and she has lost much in my estimation. But Messire de Nogaret, who generally obtains all the information there is to be got, has been unable to find any evidence that she has betrayed her marriage.'\n\n'Let her be tortured and you'll see if she doesn't confess!' cried Louis. 'She has helped to sully my honour and that of Charles, and if you pretend to love us, you will see that she is punished in the same degree as the other two bawds.'\n\nPhilippe of Poitiers then made an astonishing reply. It was most revealing of his character. 'Your honour is dear to me, Louis; but Franche-Comt\u00e9 is no less so.'\n\nAll those present looked at each other; and Philippe went on, 'You, Louis, own Navarre by direct inheritance, which came to you from our mother, and you will have, God willing a long time hence, France. As far as I am concerned, I have but Poitiers, which our father graciously gave me, and I am not even a Peer of France. But, through Jeanne, I am Count Palatine of Burgundy, Lord of Salins, from whose mines I derive the greater part of my revenues, and at Mahaut's death I shall have the whole county. That's all. May Jeanne be shut up in a convent for as long as is necessary for all this to be forgotten, even for ever, if it is essential to the honour of the Crown, but let her life be spared.'\n\nMonseigneur Louis of Evreux, who had said nothing until now, agreed with Philippe.\n\n'My nephew is right, both before God and before the kingdom,' he said. 'Death is a grave matter, which will be a great distress for each one of us, and we should not decide upon it for others while in anger.'\n\nLouis of Navarre gave him a nasty look.\n\nThere were two clans in the family dating from long before. Uncle Valois had the affection of his two nephews, Louis and Charles, who were weak and malleable, lost in admiration of his loquacity, the prestige of his adventurous life, and the thrones he had lost and conquered. Philippe of Poitiers, on the other hand, was on the side of his uncle of Evreux, a calm, honest, reflective man who, if fate had willed it, would have made a good king of whom no one would ever have heard. He was without ambition and remained perfectly contented with the estates he administered so intelligently. The salient characteristic of his nature was that he was easily obsessed with the idea of death.\n\nThose present were not surprised when, in this family matter, they saw him supporting the position his favourite nephew had taken up; their affinity was well known.\n\nMore astonishing was Valois's attitude, who, after his wild diatribe, now changed front and, for once leaving his dear Louis of Navarre without support, announced that he too was against the death penalty for the Princesses. A convent, certainly, was too light a punishment, but a prison, a fortress for life (he was very positive about this: for life), that was what he advised.\n\nForbearance was not part of the titular Emperor of Constantinople's disposition. It was always the result of calculation; and, indeed, this particular calculation had occurred to him when Louis of Navarre mentioned the word bastard. Indeed\u2026 indeed, the three sons of Philip the Fair had no male heirs. Louis and Philippe had each a daughter; but now, already, here was the little Jeanne under the grave suspicion of illegitimacy, which might prove an obstacle to her eventual succession to the throne. Charles had had two still-born daughters. If the guilty wives were executed, the three Princes would quickly marry again and have good chances of achieving sons. Whereas, if the Princesses were shut up for life, they would still be married and prevented from contracting new unions, and would remain without much posterity. There was of course such a thing as annulment \u2013 but adultery was no ground for an annulment. All this passed very rapidly through the imaginative Prince's head. As certain officers who, going to war, dream of the possibility of all their seniors being killed, and already see themselves promoted to command the army, Uncle Valois, looking at his nephew Louis's hollow chest, the thin body of his nephew Philippe, thought that disease might well make unexpected ravages. There were, too, such things as hunting accidents, lances that broke accidentally in tournaments, and horses that came down; and, indeed, one knew of many uncles who had survived their nephews.\n\n'Charles!' said the man with the unblinking eyes, who for the moment was the one and only true King of France.\n\nValois started as if he feared that his thoughts had been read.\n\nBut Philip the Fair was not speaking to him but to his youngest son. The young Prince took his hands from his face. He had been in tears all the time.\n\n'Blanche, Blanche, how can she have done it, Father, how can she have done this?' he groaned. 'She always said how much she loved me, and showed it so well.'\n\nIsabella felt a wave of impatience and contempt. 'This love men have for the bodies they have possessed,' she thought, 'and the ease with which they swallow lies, provided that they have the physical satisfactions they desire! Is this act, which disgusts me, really so important to them?'\n\n'Charles,' insisted the King, as if he were talking to a half-wit, 'what do you advise should be done with your wife?'\n\n'I don't know, Father, I don't know. I want to hide myself, go away, enter a monastery.\n\nIt seemed as if he was on the point of asking to be punished because his wife had deceived him.\n\nPhilip the Fair realised that he would get nothing out of him. He looked at his children as if he had never seen them before, and wondered about the value of primogeniture; he thought that nature often served the law of the throne extremely ill. What absurdities might not Louis, his unreflecting, impulsive, cruel eldest son commit as head of the kingdom? And what support to him would be the youngest, this mere rag of a man, who collapsed at the first crisis? The most qualified to reign was undoubtedly the second, Philippe. But it was clear that Louis would never listen to him.\n\n'What do you advise, Isabella?' he asked his daughter in a low voice, leaning towards her.\n\n'A woman who has sinned,' she replied, 'should be prevented for ever from transmitting the blood of kings. And the punishment should be known to the people, so that they may realise that the wife or daughter of a king is punished more severely than would be the wife of a serf.'\n\n'That is sound,' said the King.\n\nOf all his children, it was undoubtedly she who would have made the best ruler. It was a great pity that she was not a man and born the eldest.\n\n'Justice will be done before vespers,' said the King rising.\n\nAnd he retired to take his final decision, as always, in the company of Marigny and Nogaret."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Judgment",
                "text": "During the journey from Paris to Pontoise, the Countess Mahaut, in her litter, had thought of nothing but of how she was going to attempt to make the King relent, but she found it difficult to think coherently. She was assailed by too many thoughts, too many fears, too great an anger at the folly of her daughters and her cousin, at the stupidity of their husbands, the imprudence of their lovers, against all those who, through frivolity, blindness or sensuality, ran such grave risks of ruining the whole edifice of her power. As the mother of repudiated Princesses, what would Mahaut be? She decided to accuse Marguerite in order to save the other two. After all, Marguerite was not her daughter. Moreover, she was the eldest and one might be able to place the blame on her easily enough for having led the younger ones astray.\n\nRobert of Artois had led the cavalcade at a good pace, as if he wished to demonstrate his zeal. He took pleasure in watching Beatrice d'Hirson's exquisite bosom moving to the rhythm of their progress; but he enjoyed still more the spectacle of the ex-Canon shaken up and down in the saddle, and above all in listening to the groans of his aunt. Whenever he heard a complaint, as her fat body was shaken by the jolting, Robert increased the pace as if by chance. The Countess sighed with relief when at last the towers of Maubuisson appeared above a line of trees.\n\nSoon the Countess's cavalcade entered the courtyard of the Castle. Only the sound of the archers' feet broke the deep silence that reigned over it.\n\nMahaut got out of her litter and, addressing the Commander of the Guard, asked, 'Where is the King?'\n\n'He is distributing justice in the Chapter Hall.'\n\nFollowed by Robert, Thierry d'Hirson and Beatrice, Mahaut went rapidly towards the Abbey. She walked quickly and with a firm tread in spite of her fatigue.\n\nThe Chapter Hall that day was an unusual spectacle; between the grey pillars, beneath the huge cold vault, there were no nuns at prayer; the whole Court of France was standing motionless and silent before their King.\n\nAs Countess Mahaut entered, a few heads turned, and a low murmuring was heard. A voice which was Nogaret's stopped reading, and the King exchanged a glance with his austere counsellor.\n\nMahaut found no difficulty in making her way through the crowd; it opened before her. She saw the King, seated upon his throne, his crown upon his head, his sceptre in his hand, his face even colder than usual, his eyes more staring.\n\nHe did not appear to be of this world. Was he not, in fulfilling his terrible function, brought up as he had been upon the precepts of his grandfather, Saint Louis, the representative of divine justice?\n\nIsabella, Enguerrand de Marigny, Monseigneur of Valois and Monseigneur of Evreux were seated, as were the three Princes and some of the greater barons. Before the platform three young monks, their shaven heads bent low, were kneeling upon the flagstones. Alain de Pareilles, the man charged with every execution, was standing somewhat in the background, at the sovereign's feet. 'God be praised,' thought Mahaut, 'I have arrived in time. Some matter of sorcery or sodomy is being tried.'\n\nAnd she hurried forward to reach the platform, where in the nature of things she should take her place, since she was a Peer of the Realm. Suddenly she felt her legs give way beneath her; one of the kneeling penitents had raised his head; she saw that it was her daughter Blanche. The three young 'monks' were the three Princesses who had been shaven and clothed in rough fustian. With a low cry Mahaut staggered under the shock, as if she had been hit in the stomach. Automatically, she clutched at her nephew's arm, because it was the first arm within her reach.\n\n'Too late, Aunt; alas, we have arrived too late,' Robert of Artois said simply, savouring his vengeance to the full.\n\nThe King made a sign to the Keeper of the Seals who continued his reading.\n\nA succession of degrading scenes passed through the shaven heads of the Princesses of Burgundy at the sound of Nogaret's hard voice. Mahaut was also affected by their shame, as were the three Princes, the deceived husbands, who, sitting beside their father, lowered their heads as if they themselves were culprits.\n\n'\u2026 in consequence of which and by right of the above evidence and confessions of the above-mentioned Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay, having been proved adultresses, the said Ladies Marguerite and Blanche of Burgundy shall be imprisoned in the fortress of Castle Gaillard, and this for the whole of those days which it may please God shall remain to them.'\n\n'For life,' murmured Mahaut; 'they are condemned to prison for life.'\n\n'Lady Jeanne, Countess Palatine of Burgundy and Countess of Poitiers,' continued Nogaret, 'in respect of the fact that she has not been convicted of having offended the state of matrimony and that this crime cannot in justice be imputed to her, but as it is established that she has been guilty of complicity and culpable complacence, she shall be imprisoned in the Castle of Dourdan for as long as shall be necessary to effect her repentance and during the King's pleasure.'\n\nThere was a moment's silence during which Mahaut thought, as she looked at Nogaret, 'He has done it, he's the dog who has done it all, with his passion for spying, informing and torturing. He'll pay for this. He'll pay for it with his life.' But the Keeper of the Seals had not yet finished reading.\n\n'The Sieurs Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay, having committed a crime against honour and betrayed their feudal ties upon persons of the Royal Majesty shall be flayed alive, broken upon the wheel, drawn, decapitated and hung from the public gibbet, this upon the morning of the day following today. This is the judgment of our gracious, most powerful and most beloved King.'\n\nThe Princesses' shoulders were seen to quiver at the terrible words announcing the tortures which awaited their lovers. Nogaret rolled up his parchment, and the King rose. The Hall began to empty amid a continuous murmuring within walls more accustomed to echo prayers. People shunned Mahaut, and took care not to catch her eye. She felt all about her the cowardice of human nature. She wished to go to her daughters, but Alain de Pareilles barred the way. 'No, Madam,' he said. 'The King will only permit his sons, should they so desire, to receive the farewells and repentance of their wives.'\n\nShe then tried to turn to the King, but he had already left, with Louis of Navarre behind him, choking with rage and humiliation, while Philippe of Poitiers, in the same condition, left without even glancing towards his wife.\n\n'Mother!' cried Blanche, seeing Mahaut moving away supported by her Chancellor and Beatrice. Alone of the three deceived husbands, Charles had remained behind. He went up to Blanche, but could do no more than murmur, 'How could you do this, how could you?'\n\nBlanche trembled all over and shook her shaven head upon which the razor had left red patches. She looked like a bird in moult.\n\n'I didn't know\u2026 I didn't want to\u2026 Charles,' she said, bursting into tears.\n\nAt that moment Isabella said in a hard voice, 'No weakness, Charles. Remember you are a Prince.'\n\nUpright beneath her narrow crown, she too had remained, like a guard, a line of contempt about her lips.\n\nAt this moment the long-contained fury of Marguerite of Burgundy was released.\n\n'No weakness, Charles! No pity!' she cried. 'Copy your sister, Isabella, who runs no risk of understanding the weaknesses of love. She has nothing but hatred and gall in her heart. But for her, you would never have known. But she hates me, she hates you, she hates us all.'\n\nIsabella crossed her hands upon her breast and gazed at Marguerite with cold anger.\n\n'May God forgive you your crime,' she said.\n\n'He will forgive me my crime more readily than He will make you a happy woman.'\n\n'I am a Queen,' replied Isabella. 'Even if I lack happiness, I have at least a sceptre and a kingdom.'\n\n'And I, even if I have not had happiness, at least I have known pleasure, which is worth all the crowns of the world, and I regret nothing.'\n\nFace to face with the Queen of England, this woman with her shaven head, her face furrowed with fatigue and tears, had still the strength to insult, wound, and plead for her bodily rights.\n\n'It was springtime,' she said in a hurried, breathless voice, 'there was the love of a man, the warmth and strength of a man, the joy of taking and of being taken, everything of which you know nothing, which you would give your life to know and which you never will. Ah! you can't be very good in bed since your husband prefers boys!'\n\nGhastly pale, but incapable of reply, Isabella made a sign to Alain de Pareilles.\n\n'No,' cried Marguerite, 'you can have nothing to say to Messire de Pareilles. He has been at my orders in the past, and perhaps one day will be at my orders again. He will not refuse to go at my orders this once more.'\n\nShe turned her back upon the Queen and Charles, and made a sign that she was ready. The three prisoners went out, crossed the corridors and the courtyard under escort, and returned to the room which served as their prison.\n\nWhen Alain de Pareilles had closed the door upon them, Marguerite ran to the bed and threw herself upon it, biting the sheets.\n\n'My hair, my beautiful hair,' sobbed Blanche."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Place du Martrai",
                "text": "Dawn came slowly for those who had spent the night without rest and without hope, without forgetfulness and without illusion.\n\nIn a cell in the prison of Pontoise two men, lying side by side on a heap of straw, were awaiting death. Upon the order of Guillaume de Nogaret, the brothers Aunay had been solicitously cared for. Thus, their wounds no longer bled, their hearts beat more strongly, and some particle of strength had returned to their torn muscles and crushed flesh, the better to suffer and experience the horror of the sentence to which they were condemned.\n\nNeither the condemned Princesses, nor Mahaut, nor the King's three sons, nor indeed the King himself, slept that night. Nor was Isabella able to sleep; the words of her sister-in-law Marguerite throbbed in her head. Only two men had fallen asleep without difficulty: Nogaret, because he had accomplished his duty, and Robert of Artois because, in order to satisfy his vengeance, he had ridden sixty miles.\n\nA little before prime,18 heavy footsteps sounded on the stones of the corridor; the archers of Messire Alain de Pareilles were come to fetch the Princesses. In the courtyard, three carts draped in black awaited them with an escort of sixty horsemen clothed in leather jerkins, coats of mail and steel helmets. Alain de Pareilles bade the Princesses get on to the carts, gave the signal for departure, and the punitive procession set itself in motion in the clear rose of the morning.\n\nAt a window in the castle, the Countess Mahaut stood with her forehead pressed against the pane, her wide shoulders shaking with sobs.\n\n'Are you weeping, Madam?' asked Beatrice d'Hirson.\n\n'It can happen to me too,' answered Mahaut in a hoarse voice.\n\nBeatrice was dressed to go out.\n\n'Are you going out?' said Mahaut.\n\n'Yes, Madam; I am going to see\u2026 if you permit me.'\n\nThe Place du Martrai at Pontoise, where the execution of the Aunay brothers was to take place, was already crowded. Townsmen, peasants and soldiers had been flowing into it since dawn. The landlords of the houses giving on to the Place had let their windows at advantageous prices; people could be seen at every opening. The fact that the condemned were noble, that they were young and, above all, that they were lords of that region exacerbated curiosity. And the very nature of their crime, this huge sexual scandal, excited all imaginations.\n\nThe scaffold had been built during the night. It was raised six feet above the ground, and the two gibbets rising above it attracted every eye.\n\nThe two executioners arrived, their red caps and jerkins heralding their approach from afar. Behind them, their assistants carried the black chests containing their tools. The executioners mounted the scaffold and a sudden silence fell upon the crowd. Then one of the executioners turned one of the wheels with a creak. The crowd laughed as if at a mountebank's trick. They made jokes, nudged each other, a jug of wine was passed from hand to hand up to the executioners. The crowd applauded as they drank.\n\nAs the tumbril containing the brothers Aunay appeared, a great clamour arose, becoming louder as the crowd distinguished the two young men. Neither Gautier nor Philippe was able to move. Without the ropes that bound them to the tumbril's rail, they would have been unable to remain upright.\n\nA priest had visited their prison to receive their mumbled confessions and the last words to be sent to their family.19 Exhausted, gasping, half-insensible, they were incapable of making any stand against their fate, they had but little realisation of what was happening to them, and wished only for a rapid end to their nightmare and annihilation.\n\nThe executioners hoisted them on to the scaffold and stripped them naked.\n\nSeeing them thus, like two huge rose-coloured puppets, the crowd shouted as if at a fair. As the two men were being tied to the wheels, their faces turned towards the sky, a flood of gross and obscene remarks spread across the crowd. Everyone waited. The executioners were leaning against the poles of the gibbets, their arms crossed. Several minutes went by. The crowd began to grow impatient, to ask questions, to become turbulent. Suddenly, the reason for the delay became evident. Three carts draped in black arrived at the entrance to the Place. Nogaret, in agreement with the King, and through a superb refinement of punishment, had ordered that the Princesses should be present at the execution.\n\nBlanche fainted when she saw the two naked bodies tied in the form of crosses to the wheels.\n\nJeanne, in tears, clutching the side of her cart, screamed to the crowd, 'Tell my husband, tell Monseigneur Philippe that I am innocent.'\n\nUntil that moment she had been able to control herself, but now her nerves gave way, and the crowd laughed at her despair.\n\nMarguerite of Burgundy, alone, had the courage to look at the scaffold, and those about her wondered for a moment if she did not feel an appalling, an atrocious pleasure at seeing, exposed to every eye, rosy under the sun, the man who was about to die for having possessed her.\n\nAs the executioners raised their maces to break the bones of the condemned, she cried, 'Philippe!' in a voice that seemed far removed from anguish.\n\nThen the maces fell; there was a cracking of bones, and for the brothers Aunay the sky above them went out. With iron hooks, the executioners tore the skin from the insensible bodies; blood flowed down from the scaffold.\n\nThe crowd was moved to a sort of hysteria when the two master executioners, with long butchers' knives, mutilated the two culprit lovers and, at one and the same time, with the precision of jugglers, threw the offending parts high in the air.\n\nThe crowd jostled forward the better to see. Women cried to their husbands, 'This doesn't mean you can do the same thing, you lecherous old man!'\n\n'You see what will happen to you!'\n\n'You deserve as much!'\n\nThe bodies were taken down from the wheels and the axes glinted in the sunlight as the heads were cut off. Then, what remained of Gautier and Philippe d'Aunay, those two fair equerries who but a day or two ago were still riding upon the road to Clermont, was hoisted, shapeless bloody masses, on to the forks of the gibbets. And the crows from the neighbouring churches began already to circle about them.\n\nThen the three black-draped carts began to move again; the Provost's sergeants-at-arms began to empty the Place, and everyone went back to his business, his forge, his butcher's shop or his garden, with the strange spiritual calm of people for whom the death of others was no more than a spectacle.\n\nFor, in those centuries, when numbers of children died in the cradle and half the women in childbirth, when epidemics ravaged adult life, when wounds were but rarely cured, and sores did not heal, when the Church's teaching was ceaselessly directed towards a consciousness of sin, when the statues in the sanctuaries showed worms gnawing at corpses, when each one carried throughout his life the spectre of his own decomposition before his eyes and the idea of death was habitual, natural and familiar, to be present at a man's last breath was not, as it is for us, a tragic reminder of our common destiny.\n\nWhile upon the road to Normandy, a woman with a shaven head in a black-draped cart, was screaming, 'Tell Monseigneur Philippe that I am innocent! Tell him that I have not deceived him!' the executioners, upon the Place du Martrai, divided in the presence of some determined loafers the belongings of their victims. Indeed, the custom was that the executioners should keep for themselves everything worn by the condemned 'below the belt'. Thus it was that the handsome purses from the Queen of England fell into their hands. Each of the master executioners took one; it was a rare piece of good luck, something that might happen only once during the whole of their lives as executioners.\n\nThey were engaged in this division when a handsome dark woman, clothed more as a daughter of the nobility than as a townswoman, approached them and, in a low, somewhat languorous voice, asked for the tongue of one of the executed men. This beautiful girl was Beatrice d'Hirson.\n\n'They say that it is good for the stomach-ache,' she said. 'The tongue of whichever one you like; it's all the same to me.'\n\nThe executioners looked at her somewhat suspiciously, wondering whether this had not something to do with sorcery. For it was well known that the tongue of a man who had been hanged, particularly one who had been hanged upon a Friday, was useful for raising the Devil. But could the tongue of a man who had been decapitated serve the same purpose?\n\nHowever, since Beatrice had a handsome shining piece of gold in the palm of her hand, they acceded to her request and discreetly gave her what she desired."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Horseman in the Dusk",
                "text": "While the blood of the brothers Aunay dried upon the yellow earth of the Place du Martrai, where the dogs, for many days, came to sniff and yelp, Maubuisson was slowly recovering from its nightmare.\n\nThe King's three sons remained invisible till evening. No one visited them, except for the gentlemen attached to their persons; everyone kept clear of the doors of their apartments, behind which the three men were in the profound grip of anger, humiliation or sorrow.\n\nMahaut, with her small escort, had returned to Paris at midday. Distracted with hate and sorrow, she had tried to force herself into the King's presence. Nogaret had come to inform her that the King was working and did not wish to be disturbed. 'It is he; it is this watchdog who bars the way and prevents my reaching his master.' Everything confirmed the Countess Mahaut's impression that the Keeper of the Seals was the sole artisan of the disaster which had overtaken her daughters and of her own personal disgrace. Everything tended to make her believe this: Nogaret was capable of anything.\n\n'I leave you to God's mercy, Messire de Nogaret, God's mercy,' she said in a threatening voice as she left him.\n\nOther passions and interests were already in question at Maubuisson. The familiars of the exiled Princesses tried to renew the invisible threads of power and intrigue, even by denying the friendships of which they had been so proud but a short time before. The loom of fear, vanity and ambition set itself going once more to weave again, upon a new design, the cloth so brutally torn.\n\nRobert of Artois, always prudent, had the cunning not to boast of his triumph; he waited merely to harvest its fruits. But already the respect that normally was given to the Burgundy clan was turning towards himself.\n\nIn the evening, at supper, the King had about him not only his two brothers and his daughter, Marigny, Nogaret and Bouville, but also Robert of Artois; from which fact it became evident that he was already regaining favour.\n\nIt was a small supper; almost a mourning supper. In the long narrow room, next to the King's chamber, where the repast was served, there reigned a heavy silence. Even Monseigneur of Valois was silent, and the greyhound Lombard, as if he felt the diners' embarrassment, had left his master's feet to go and lie before the fireplace.\n\nWhen the equerries, between two courses, were changing the slices of bread, Lady Mortimer came in, carrying in her arms the little Prince Edward, so that he might kiss his mother good night.\n\n'Madame de Joinville,' said the King, calling Lady Mortimer by her glorious maiden name, 'bring my grandson to me.'\n\n'My only grandson,' he added to himself.\n\nHe took up the child and for a long moment held him before his eyes, studying the little innocent face, round and rosy, the dimples marked by shadows. 'Whose child will you show yourself to be?' Philip the Fair wished to ask. 'Your weak, unstable and debauched father's, or my daughter Isabella's? For the honour of my blood, I should like you to take after your mother; but for the welfare of France, I pray heaven that you should only be your weak father's son.'\n\n'Edward! Give a smile for Monsieur your grandfather,' said Isabella.\n\nThe child appeared to have no fear of the unblinking stare fixed upon him. Suddenly, putting out his little hand, he buried it in the sovereign's golden hair, and pulled out a curly lock.\n\nPhilip the Fair smiled. At once there was a sigh of relief among the diners, everyone laughed, and dared at length to speak.\n\nWhen the child had gone and the meal was over, the King dismissed everyone but Marigny and Nogaret whom he signalled to remain. For a long moment he said nothing and his counsellors respected his silence.\n\n'Are dogs creatures of God?' he asked suddenly, though his audience had no idea from what train of thought the question arose.\n\nHe had risen to his feet and placed his hand on the warm neck of the greyhound who had got up at his approach and was stretching himself before the fire.\n\n'Sire,' replied Nogaret, 'we know a great deal about men because we are men ourselves, but we know very little about the rest of the phenomena of nature.'\n\nPhilip the Fair went to the window and remained there looking out, though he saw nothing but the confused shapes of stone and vegetation. As often happens to men in positions of great power on the evenings of days when they have assumed tragic responsibilities, his mind was engaged with a vague and mysterious problem, seeking some certainty in the order of the universe which might justify his life, his position and his acts.\n\nAt last he turned round and said, 'Enguerrand, what is done is done, and the marks of fire and steel cannot be effaced. The culprits are at this moment face to face with God. But where tends the kingdom? My sons have no heirs.'\n\nMarigny said without raising his head, 'They will have, Sire, if they take new wives.'\n\n'They have wives before God.'\n\n'God can efface,' said Marigny.\n\n'God does not obey the laws of the earth. God does not consider my kingdom but only His own. It is not by prayer that I shall free my sons from their ties!'\n\n'The Pope can free them,' said Marigny.\n\nThe King then turned to look at Nogaret.\n\n'Adultery is no motive for annulling a marriage,' said the Keeper of the Seals drily.\n\n'We have no other recourse today but Clement,' said Philip the Fair. 'And my first consideration must not be the common law, even if it is in the hands of the Pope. A King must foresee the fact that he may die at any time. To whom, Nogaret, and you Enguerrand, would you first go to announce my death, if it occurred at this moment? To Louis. He is the eldest; so he must be the first to be freed.'\n\nNogaret raised his long thin hand which caught the light from the hearth.\n\n'Indeed, I cannot see how Monseigneur of Navarre can ever wish to take back his wife, nor can I see that it would in any circumstances be a desirable thing for the kingdom.'\n\n'I feel sure,' said Philip the Fair, 'that you will know how to convince the Curia and Pope Clement that a King's reasons are not those of an ordinary man, but that they are, in short, reasons.'\n\n'I will devote myself to it with the utmost zeal, Sire,' replied Nogaret.\n\nThere was a sound of galloping hooves. Marigny rose and went to the window, while Nogaret said to the King, 'The Duchess of Burgundy20 will most certainly do the best she can to put obstacles in our way with the Holy See. Monseigneur Louis must be warned not to destroy his chances by his temperamental peculiarities.'\n\n'Yes,' said Philip the Fair. 'I will speak to him tomorrow and you will go as soon as possible to see the Pope.'\n\nThe noise of galloping hooves, which had drawn Marigny to the window, ceased upon the flagstones of the courtyard.\n\n'A horseman, Sire,' said Marigny. 'He seems to have come a long way; his clothes are covered with dust and his horse is exhausted.'\n\n'From whence does he come?' asked the King.\n\n'I do not know; I cannot see his livery.'\n\nIndeed, night had fallen and the precincts of the castle were lost in shadow. Marigny turned from the window and came back to the fire.\n\nA moment later there was a hasty step in the corridor and Bouville, the first chamberlain, entered.\n\n'Sire, a courier has arrived from Carpentras and demands an audience of you.'\n\n'Show him in.'\n\nA young man of about twenty-five years of age came in. He was tall and broad in the shoulder. His yellow-and-black tunic was covered with dust; the embroidered cross of the Papal Couriers gleamed on his chest. He held his hat, covered with dust and mud, in his left hand and the carved staff which was the insignia of his function. He advanced towards the King, knelt on his right knee, and took from his belt the silver-and-ebony box which contained the message.\n\n'Sire,' he said, 'Pope Clement is dead.'\n\nThe King and Nogaret started and their faces turned pale. An appalling silence followed upon the announcement. The King opened the ebony box, took out the parchment and broke the seals. He read it with concentration as if to make sure of the truth of the news.\n\n'The Pope we created is now dead,' he murmured, handing the parchment to Marigny.\n\n'When did he die?' asked Nogaret.\n\n'Six whole days ago. On the night of the nineteenth-twentieth,' replied the courier.\n\n'Forty days,' said the King.\n\nHe had no need to say more, for his three ministers were in process of making the same calculation. Forty days had passed, and no more, since upon the Island of Jews the voice of the Grand Master of the Templars had cried from among the flames, 'Pope Clement, Chevalier Guillaume de Nogaret, King Philip, I summon you to the Tribunal of Heaven before the year is out!' No more than six weeks had elapsed and the curse had already fallen upon the first of them.\n\n'Tell me,' said the King, speaking to the courier and making him a sign to rise, 'how did the Holy Father die, and what was he doing at Carpentras?'\n\n'Sire, he was journeying to Cahors and was forced to stop on the way. He was suffering from fever and pain for several days. He said that he wished to return to die in his birthplace. The doctors tried everything to cure him, even to the point of making him take a powder of powdered emeralds which, so it appears, is the best remedy for the illness from which he suffered. But nothing was any good. He choked to death. The cardinals were at his bedside. I know no more.'\n\nHe fell silent.\n\n'Leave us,' said the King.\n\nThe courier went out. There was no sound in the room but the breathing of the four men, rooted to the place where they had heard the news, and the snoring of a greyhound, torpid with heat.\n\nThe King and Nogaret looked at each other. 'Which of us two next?' they thought. Philip the Fair's eyes appeared even larger and more unblinking than usual. His face was astonishingly pale, and within the long royal robe that covered his body he felt stiff with the icy rigor of death."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE HAND OF GOD",
                "text": "[ The Rue des Bourdonnais ]\n\nThat morning, beautiful Beatrice d'Hirson left the Countess Mahaut's house at an early hour. It was the beginning of May and the sun played upon the windows of the houses. Beatrice went on her way unhurriedly, delighted to feel the warm breeze upon her face. Her body loved warmth; she savoured the scent of early spring and took pleasure in attracting the glances of men, particularly those of lowly condition. 'If they but knew what I was doing! If they but knew what I carry in my purse!' she thought amusedly.\n\nShe reached the Saint-Eustache quarter and soon came to the rue des Bourdonnais. It was a strange place with a secret life of its own. The public scribes had their shops there, as had the wax-merchants, for these manufactured the writing-tablets, as well as tapers, candles and polishes. But a strange traffic was carried on in many of the back rooms of the rue des Bourdonnais. With infinite precautions the mysterious ingredients needed by those who practised sorcery could be bought here for gold: powdered snakes, ground toads, cats' brains, tongues of the hanged, bawds' hairs, and all kinds of plants from which love-philtres were made or the poisons with which enemies could be destroyed. This all gave excellent reason to those who called this narrow street, where the Devil bought and sold wax, the prime material for casting spells, the 'street of the sorcerers'.\n\nCasually, unhurriedly, looking about her, Beatrice d'Hirson entered a shop whose painted sign bore the following inscription:\n\n\u2002ENGELBERT\n\n\u2002FURNISHES TAPERS AND CANDLES\n\n\u2002TO THE ROYAL COURT\n\n\u2002AND MANY CHURCHES AND CHAPELS\n\nThe shop, wedged between two houses, was long, low and dark. From the ceiling hung every size of taper and, upon large shelves fixed to the wall, lay bundles of candles tied in dozens as well as cakes of the brown, red and green wax used for seals. The air was heavy with the smell of wax and everything felt rather greasy to the touch.\n\nThe shopkeeper, a little old man wearing a large bonnet of brown holland, was poking the embers of a furnace and attending to his moulds. As soon as he saw Beatrice, his face crumpled into a wide toothless smile.\n\n'Master Engelbert,' said Beatrice, 'I have come at once to pay you the bill from the H\u00f4tel d'Artois.'\n\n'That is very kind of you, my beautiful young lady, because business is very bad. Purchase tax,22 that invention of the Devil, is killing us. Indeed, I really don't know whether I shall be able to keep my shop open much longer!' said Master Engelbert, wiping his dirty hands on his apron.\n\nHe went to a corner of the room and came back with a tablet which he consulted with a frown. 'Let us see if we agree the figure!'\n\n'I am sure that we shall agree upon it,' said Beatrice softly, placing several pieces of silver in the shopkeeper's hand.\n\n'Well, well, that's the way to go about things; I only wish more people would do likewise!' said the fellow, laughing as he counted the money.\n\nThen he added, with an air of complicity, 'I shall call your prot\u00e9g\u00e9. I am well pleased with him, because he works willingly and talks little. Master Everard!'\n\nThe man who came in from the back of the shop was about thirty years old, thin but solidly built. His face was bony, his eyes dark and sunken, his lips thin. He limped and his limping made him grimace nervously from time to time.\n\nHe was an ex-Knight Templar of the Commandery of Artois. Having been tortured for twelve hours, he had escaped from his executioners, but that one night of inhuman suffering, of which his crushed foot was a constant reminder, had left him slightly crazy. He had lost his faith; and had learnt to hate. He lived only for the vision of revenge. Without the tic which from time to time suddenly twisted his face, and without the disquieting wildness of his eyes, he would not have been lacking in a certain rough charm. He had come one day to take refuge, like a hunted animal, in the stables of the H\u00f4tel d'Artois. Beatrice had placed him with Engelbert, who fed him, gave him a bed to lie upon and, above all, provided him with an alibi for the agents of the Provost; in exchange for this, the ex-Knight, besides doing the rough work, kept the accounts and sent out the bills.\n\nAs he did each time Beatrice came to the shop, Master Engelbert pretended that he had an urgent appointment and went out. He went without anxiety. Other clients might come; Everard would never hand over goods without payment. As for the traffic in wax for casting spells, Engelbert preferred that it should take place out of his sight and that somebody else should be responsible for it. He wished to know nothing of it, and was content merely to put the money in his pocket.\n\nAs soon as they were alone, the ex-Templar seized Beatrice by the hands and said, 'Come.'\n\nThe young woman followed him, passed through a curtain which he raised for her, and found herself in the store where Master Engelbert kept the cakes of raw wax, casks of tallow, and parcels of wicks. This was where Everard slept, lying on a narrow pallet squeezed between an old chest and the leprous wall.\n\n'My castle, my domain, the Commandery of the Chevalier Everard,' he said with bitter irony, indicating with a wild gesture of his hand the dark and sordid habitation. 'All the same it is better than death,' he added.\n\nThen, taking Beatrice by her shoulders, he pulled her to him.\n\n'And you,' he murmured, 'are better than eternity.'\n\nThe more Beatrice's voice grew slow and calm, so Everard's became excited.\n\nBeatrice smiled with that air she always wore and which seemed vaguely to mock both men and things; she gazed at the ex-Templar's forehead. She felt a perverse joy in knowing that people were in her power. Indeed, this man was doubly at her mercy, in the first place because he was a secret fugitive and she could give him up at any moment; and also because he had an erotic obsession for her. While he feverishly passed his hands over her body, which she suffered with her usual placidity, she said, 'You must be pleased. The Pope is dead.'\n\n'Yes\u2026 yes \u2026' said Everard, a savage joy lighting up his eyes. 'His doctors made him eat powdered emeralds. An excellent remedy which pierces the bowels. Whoever they are, those doctors are friends of mine. The curse begins to work out, Beatrice. One of them is dead already. The hand of God strikes swiftly, particularly when assisted by the hand of man.'\n\n'And the Devil's too,' she said smiling.\n\nShe did not appear to notice that he had raised her skirt. The ex-Templar's wax-covered fingers caressed her fine, smooth, warm thigh.\n\n'Do you want to help the curse to work again?' she went on.\n\n'Upon whom?'\n\n'The man to whom you owe your crushed foot.'\n\n'Nogaret,' murmured Everard.\n\nHe stepped back a pace, and three times his face twitched with the tic.\n\nShe went close to him.\n\n'You can avenge yourself if you will,' she said. 'Doesn't he buy his lights here?'\n\nEverard looked at her without understanding what she meant.\n\n'Don't you make his candles?' she went on.\n\n'Yes,' he said, 'they are the same as those we deliver for the King's apartment.'\n\n'What sort of candles are they?'\n\n'Long candles of white wax with specially treated wicks which give very little smoke. He also uses long yellow tapers in his house. But he only uses these particular candles when he sits up to work late and he needs no more than two dozen a week.'\n\n'Are you sure?'\n\n'I know it from his concierge who comes to fetch them by the gross. For we do not deliver them ourselves; it is not so easy to gain admittance to his house. The dog is suspicious and guards himself well.'\n\nHe pointed to some parcels on a shelf.\n\n'Look, his next consignment is already prepared and also the King's which is beside it\u2026 and to think that it is I,' he added in sudden anger, beating his breast, 'that it is I who have to prepare the candles with which he lights all the crimes his mind conceives. Whenever I see those parcels going to him, I long to spit upon them with the devil's poison.'\n\nBeatrice still smiled.\n\n'I can tell you a better one than that,' she said. 'There is no need to come face to face with Nogaret if you wish to strike him down. I know how to poison a candle.'\n\n'Is it possible?' asked Everard.\n\n'He who breathes its flame for an hour never sees another unless it be the flames of Hell. It is a method which leaves no trace and has no remedy.'\n\n'How do you know of it?'\n\n'Oh\u2026 well!' said Beatrice shrugging her shoulders and lowering her eyes, as if it were a matter of coquetry. 'It is only a question of mixing a powder with the wax.'\n\n'And why should you wish\u2026?' said Everard.\n\nShe pulled him by the shoulder, placing her mouth close to his ear as if about to kiss him.\n\n'Because there are other people besides yourself,' she whispered, 'who wish to avenge themselves. Believe me, you risk nothing.'\n\nEverard thought for a moment. He was breathing quickly and harshly. His eyes grew brighter, more intelligent.\n\n'Then we must hurry,' he said, the words falling over each other. 'I may have to leave here soon. Don't tell anyone of this, but the nephew of the Grand Master, Messire Jean de Longwy, has begun to take account of us. He has also sworn to avenge Messire de Molay. We are not all dead, in spite of that dog's hounding us. The other day, I saw one of my old brothers, Jean Dupr\u00e9, who brought me a message, telling me to prepare to go to Langres. It would be a fine thing to be able to take to Messire de Longwy the soul of Nogaret as a present. When can you give me the powder?'\n\n'Here it is,' said Beatrice, opening her purse.\n\nShe handed Everard a little bag which he opened cautiously. The bag contained two ill-mixed materials, one grey, the other white and crystalline.\n\n'That is ash,' said Everard, pointing to the grey powder.\n\n'Yes,' she replied, 'the ash of the tongue of a man who was killed by Nogaret \u2013 to bring the Devil upon him and make no mistake about it.' She pointed to the white powder, 'That is Pharaoh's Serpent.23 Don't be afraid. It can kill only when burning. When will you make the candle?'\n\n'At once,' said Everard.\n\n'Have you time? Won't Engelbert come back?'\n\n'Not before a good hour is out. You will keep watch in case a customer should come.'\n\nHe went and fetched the brazier, bringing it into the storeroom, and poked the embers. Then he took a candle which had been prepared for the Keeper of the Seals, placed it in a mould and set it to melt. Then he slit it down its length with a knife and tipped the contents of the bag into it.\n\nBeatrice, in the shop, looked like a customer who was waiting to be attended to, but through a chink in the curtain she watched Everard, his face lit up by the embers, limping busily about the brazier. In the meantime she muttered the words of a spell in which the Christian name of Guillaume was repeated three times. Everard went and cooled the candle in a vat of water.\n\n'There,' he said, 'it is done. You can come back.'\n\nThe candle had been remade and showed no trace whatever of the operation.\n\n'For a man who is more accustomed to handle a sword, it is a pretty good piece of work,' said Everard with a cruel, self-satisfied air.\n\nAnd he went to replace the candle where he had taken it from.\n\n'Let us hope that it is a good harbinger of eternity.'\n\nThe poisoned candle, in the middle of the packet and indistinguishable from the others, was like the winning prize in a lottery. Upon which day would the servant whose duty it was to furnish the candelabras of the Keeper of the Seals pull that particular one out? Seeing the King's candles next to them, Beatrice laughed lightly, but already Everard had come back to her and taken her in his arms.\n\n'It is perhaps the last time I shall see you.'\n\n'It may be\u2026 or it may not,' she said, screwing up her eyes.\n\nHe carried her, utterly unresisting, to the pallet.\n\n'How did you manage to remain chaste when you were a Templar?' she asked.\n\n'I never could remain so,' he replied in a low voice.\n\nThen beautiful Beatrice closed her eyes; her upper lip curled curiously, uncovering little white teeth; and she gave herself up to the illusion that she was in the Devil's grasp.\n\nBesides, did not Everard limp?"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Tribunal of the Shadows",
                "text": "Nogaret worked every night as he had done all his life. And every morning the Countess Mahaut hoped for the arrival of news which would re-open to her the King's door. In vain. Messire de Nogaret seemed to be in peculiarly good health, and Beatrice had to bear the fury of the terrible Countess. She went back to Master Engelbert. As she expected, Everard had suddenly disappeared. She began to have doubts about him, and also doubted the power of Pharaoh's Serpent; she feared that out of spite or because of the calcined tongue of one of the Aunays the Devil had directed his blows elsewhere.\n\nOne morning in the third week of May, Nogaret, unusually, arrived rather late for a meeting of the Privy Council and entered the hall upon the heels of the King, brushing against Lombard as he passed.\n\nAll the usual counsellors were present and, for once, the two brothers and the three sons of the King were all gathered together.\n\nThe most urgent matter in hand was the election of the Pope. Marigny had just received a report from Carpentras, where the cardinals, who had been holding a conclave since the death of Clement V, were in process of disputing to such an extent that an early issue seemed unlikely.\n\nThe pontiff's throne had now been vacant for four weeks, and the situation required that the King of France should make known his intentions without delay.\n\nAll present knew the King's desire; he wished the Papacy to remain at Avignon, under his hand; he wished to choose himself, if not apparently at least in fact, the future head of the Christian Church, and to put him under an obligation by the mere fact of selecting him; he wished that the huge political organisation which was the Church should not be able to act, as it had so often done in the past, contrary to the policy of the Kingdom of France.\n\nBut, indeed, the twenty-three cardinals who were present at Carpentras, cardinals who came from all over the Christian world, from Italy, from France, from Spain, from Sicily and from Germany, and who had acquired their dignity for peculiarly unequal services, were divided into almost as many rival camps as there were birettas.\n\nTheological argument, political opposition, rivalry of interest, and family jealousies exacerbated their disagreement. With the Italian cardinals in particular, there existed irremediable hatreds between the Caetani, the Colonna and the Orsini.\n\n'These eight Italian cardinals,' said Marigny, 'are agreed upon one point only, that of removing the Papacy back to Rome. Fortunately, they are not in agreement as to who should be elected Pope.'\n\n'That agreement may well come with time,' remarked Monseigneur of Valois.\n\n'That is why they must not be allowed to have the time,' replied Marigny.\n\nThere was a brief silence, and at that moment Nogaret felt a sensation of nausea in his stomach and a difficulty in breathing. He found it hard to sit upright in his chair and to control the trembling of his body. Then suddenly his fatigue disappeared; he breathed deeply and wiped his forehead.\n\n'For many Christians,' said Charles of Valois, 'Rome is the seat of the Papacy, in their eyes Rome is the centre of the world.'\n\n'That, undoubtedly, would be convenient for the Emperor of Constantinople, but not for the King of France,' said Marigny.\n\n'All the same, Messire Enguerrand, you cannot undo the labour of centuries and prevent the throne of Saint Peter being situated where it was founded.'\n\n'But whenever the Pope wishes to rule from Rome, he is never able to remain there,' cried Marigny. 'He is invariably compelled to fly before the different factions that divide the City and to take refuge in some castle or other under the protection of this town or that, with troops to guard him who do not even belong to him. He is in fact much happier under the protection of our garrison of Villeneuve installed upon the farther bank of the Rh\u00f4ne.'\n\n'The Pope will remain in his establishment at Avignon,' said the King.\n\n'I know Francesco Caetani well,' went on Charles of Valois; 'he is a man of great learning and merit upon whom I may be able to bring some influence to bear.'\n\n'I don't want to have this Caetani at all,' said the King. 'He belongs to the family of Boniface, and he will renew the errors of the bull Unam Sanctam.'\n\nPhilippe of Poitiers, who had said nothing until that moment, now interrupted with a forward movement of his long body.\n\n'There are,' he said, 'so many intrigues in this business that one intrigue should cancel out another. If we don't bring pressure to bear, we shall be involved in a conclave which may well last a year. In more difficult circumstances than these, Messire de Nogaret has shown what he is capable of doing. It is up to us to be the most tenacious and stubborn party.'\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Philip the Fair turned to Nogaret.\n\nThe latter was pale in the face and seemed to be breathing with difficulty.\n\n'What do you advise, Nogaret?'\n\n'Yes, Sire,' said the Keeper of the Seals with an effort.\n\nHe put a shaking hand to his forehead.\n\n'May I be excused. This appalling heat \u2026'\n\n'It is not hot at all,' said Hugues de Bouville.\n\nNogaret, with a great effort, said in a distant voice, 'The interests of the kingdom and of the Faith demand that we should act in this way.'\n\nHe fell silent, and no one could understand why he had said so little.\n\n'And your advice, Marigny?'\n\n'I propose that we should find some pretext for removing the remains of the late Pope, as was his desire, to Cahors, in order to show the conclave that this is a matter for haste. Bertrand de Got, Clement's nephew, might well be charged with this pious mission. Messire de Nogaret would set out upon his journey, with all necessary powers, accompanied by a sufficient armed escort. His escort would guarantee his powers.'\n\nCharles of Valois turned his head away; he disapproved of this show of force.\n\n'And how does my annulment come into all this business?' asked Louis of Navarre.\n\n'Be quiet, Louis,' said the King. 'That is exactly what we are endeavouring to determine.'\n\n'Yes, Sire,' said Nogaret without even realising that he had spoken.\n\nHis voice was low and hoarse. He felt troubled in mind and appeared to see things out of focus. The beams of the hall suddenly seemed to him as high as those of the Sainte-Chapelle. Then, suddenly, they seemed as near as those of the subterranean chambers in which he was accustomed to interrogate his prisoners.\n\n'What is going on?' he asked, trying to loosen the buttons of his coat. He appeared to have suffered a sudden cramp, his knees were raised against his stomach, his head was lowered, and his hands clutched at his chest. The King rose, followed by all those present. Nogaret cried aloud as if strangled and fell vomiting upon the floor.\n\nIt was Hugues de Bouville, the Grand Chamberlain, who took him back to his house where he was immediately visited by the King's doctors.\n\nThese consulted lengthily among themselves before coming to give the Sovereign their diagnosis. Their report meant nothing whatever. But very soon, both at the Court and in the town, there was talk of some unknown malady. Poison? It was said that the most powerful antidotes had been tried. Affairs of state, that day, were to all intents and purposes suspended.\n\nWhen the Countess Mahaut learnt the news from Beatrice, she merely said, 'He is paying,' and sat down to eat.\n\nNogaret was paying. For some hours now he had not recognised those about him. He was at death's door upon his bed and, lying on his side, his body shaken with spasms, was spitting blood.\n\nAt first he had endeavoured to remain sufficiently upright to lean over a basin, but now he no longer had the strength to do so and his blood, flowing from his mouth, fell upon a thick sheet that a servant changed from time to time.\n\nThe room was full of people; couriers in relays, taking the latest news to the King, servants, major-domos, secretaries and, in a corner, forming a small, sly, talkative group, were Nogaret's relations, thinking of the possible spoils and putting a value upon the furniture.\n\nAs far as Nogaret was concerned, these were all unrecognisable spectres, moving upon a far, illogical, pointless plain, amid what seemed to him but a confused noise. But there were other more visible presences that appeared to him alone.\n\nFor, at this hour, when the anguish of sin had come upon him for the first time, he thought of the death of others, and felt at the last that he was the brother of all those whom he had persecuted, hounded, made martyrs of, and executed. Those who had died under interrogation, in prison, at the stake, on the wheel, now arose from his overwrought imagination and appeared to close in upon him, almost near enough to touch him.\n\n'Go back, go back!' he screamed in terror.\n\nThe doctors ran to him. Nogaret, haggard, twisting upon his bed, his eyes rolling in terror, was endeavouring to repulse the shades.\n\nAnd the smell of his own vomited blood seemed to him to be the smell of the blood of his, victims.\n\nHe suddenly sat up and then fell back again. Those present had retreated to a distance and were watching him, he who was one of the masters of the kingdom, fade into the shadows. With his hands to his throat, he struggled to ward off the red-hot irons which had so often burnt naked breasts in his presence. His legs were at the mercy of appalling cramps and he was heard to cry, 'The pincers, the pincers! Take them away for mercy's sake!'\n\nIt was the same cry that the brothers Aunay had uttered in their prison of Pontoise.\n\nThe nightmare in which Nogaret fought was no other than the reflection of his own life, in so far as it had affected others.\n\n'I did nothing in my own name! I served the King, the King alone.'\n\nBefore the bar of agony the lawyer was making a last pleading.\n\nThe room emptied towards eleven o'clock at night. Only one doctor, a barber-surgeon and one old retainer remained with Nogaret. The King's couriers, wrapped in their cloaks, slept side by side upon the floor of the ante-chamber. His family had gone, not without certain regrets. One of them had slipped a purse into a servant's hand, saying, 'Let me know when it is all over.'\n\nBouville, who had come to get news, questioned the doctor on duty.\n\n'Nothing we can do has been any use,' the latter said in a low voice. 'He is vomiting less, but he is still in delirium. We can but await the end! Unless some miracle \u2026'\n\nWith the death rattle in his throat, Nogaret, lying upon his bed, alone knew that the dead Templars awaited him in the shades.\n\nThey passed before him, some on horseback, clothed in their surcoats of war, others raising their bodies shattered by torture; there they stood, lining an empty road, bordered by precipices and lit by the light of pyres.\n\n'Aymon de Barbonne\u2026 Jean de Furne\u2026 Pierre Suffet\u2026 Brintinhiac\u2026 Guillaume Bocelli\u2026 Ponsard de Gizy \u2026'\n\nWas it the shades who uttered their names, or was it merely the dying man no longer aware of his own words?\n\n'The sons of Cathare!' cried a voice which suddenly drowned all others.\n\nAnd, surging suddenly out of darkest night, the tall figure of Boniface VIII became manifest in that immense distance of space that was Nogaret's consciousness, that space which contained mountains and valleys, and in which huge crowds marched onwards towards the Last Judgment.\n\n'Sons of Cathare!'\n\nAt the sound of Boniface's voice, the whole drama of Nogaret's life revived. He saw himself, upon a September day, beneath the bright Italian sun, riding at the head of six hundred horsemen and a thousand artillerymen towards the rock of Anagni; beside him rode Sciarra Colonna, the mortal enemy of Boniface, the man who had preferred to serve three years chained to an oar in a Berber galley rather than be recognised and risk being handed over to the Pope. Thierry d'Hirson was a member of that expedition. The little town had opened its gates of its own accord; the Caetani Palace was taken and, passing through the interior of the Cathedral, the attackers had invaded the Pope's apartments. And there the old Pope, who was then eighty-six, his tiara upon his head, crucifix in hand, alone in a huge deserted hall, had watched the armed horde burst in upon him. Summoned to abdicate, he had replied, 'This is my neck, this is my head; if I die, I shall die as Pope.' Sciarra Colonna struck him in the face with his steel gauntlet.\n\nFrom the profound depths of his agony, Nogaret cried, 'At least I prevented his killing him.'\n\nThe City had been given over to pillage. Two days later, the inhabitants had changed sides, had fallen upon the French troops, and had wounded Nogaret who had been compelled to fly for his life. Nevertheless he had achieved his object. The old man's mind had not been able to resist fear, anger and outrage. When he had been released, Boniface had wept like a child. When he had been brought back to Rome he had become subject to wild dementia, insulting everyone who approached him, refusing all food and dragging himself upon all fours about the room in which he was held prisoner. A month later, the King of France had triumphed, the Pope was dead, blaspheming and refusing, in an access of rage, even the last sacraments.\n\nBending over Nogaret, a doctor looked down upon this body which was still imperceptibly struggling against an excommunication from which he had long ago been relieved.\n\n'Pope Clement\u2026 the Chevalier Guillaume de Nogaret\u2026 King Philip.'\n\nAs Nogaret's lips feebly articulated the words, the echo of the Grand Master's voice suddenly burst upon his mind.\n\n'I am burning,' he said again.\n\nAt four o'clock in the morning, the Bishop of Paris came to administer the last sacraments to the Keeper of the Seals. It was a simple ceremony. A prayer was said above the prostrate body, those present knelt, trembling with fatigue and unreasoning fear.\n\nThe Bishop remained a moment in prayer at the foot of the bed. Nogaret was motionless, sunk among his sheets as if already a heavy stone were resting upon him. The Bishop departed, and it seemed that all was over; the doctor went up to the bed; Nogaret was still alive.\n\nThe windows grew grey in the faint light of dawn, and an insistent bell rang out across the Seine from beyond the end of the world. The old servant opened a window, greedily breathing in the fresh air. Paris smelled of springtime and new leaves. The city was awakening to a subdued clamour.\n\nThe patient was heard to murmur, 'Have pity!'\n\nWhen they looked round, Nogaret was dead and a trickle of blood was already drying at his nostrils. The doctor said, 'God has taken him!'\n\nThen the old servant went and took from Master Engelbert's last delivery two long white candles which he placed in a candelabra and moved near the bed to light the last vigil of the Keeper of the Seals of France."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Documents of a Reign",
                "text": "Hardly had the keeper of the Seals given up the ghost, when Messire Alain de Pareilles, in the name of the King, entered Nogaret's house to seize all the documents, papers and dossiers. He had every chest and drawer opened. The few drawers of which Nogaret had kept the key in some secret place were forced.\n\nIn an hour's time, Alain de Pareilles had returned to the palace with a mass of archives, papers, parchments and tablets which, upon the order of Hugues de Bouville, were placed in the middle of the great oak table filling one whole side of the royal study.\n\nThen the King himself came to pay a last visit to Nogaret. He remained but a short time before the body. He prayed silently. His eyes never for a moment left the face of the dead man, as if he still had one last question to ask him who had shared all his secrets and had served him so well.\n\nReturning to the palace, Philip the Fair, followed by three sergeants-at-arms, appeared somewhat bowed as he walked. In the clear morning, servants were calling the citizens to the public baths. Life in Paris was beginning again and carefree children were already chasing each other through the streets.\n\nPhilip the Fair crossed the Mercers' Hall and re-entered the palace. He at once set himself, with the assistance of Maillard, his private secretary, to examine the documents which had been brought from Nogaret's house. The sudden disappearance of the Keeper of the Seals left many important matters pending.\n\nAt seven o'clock Enguerrand de Marigny came to see the King. The two men looked at each other in silence while the secretary retired.\n\n'The Pope,' the King said curtly, 'and now Nogaret \u2026'\n\nThere was concern, even distress in his voice as he said the words. Marigny went to the table and took the chair the sovereign indicated. For a moment he remained silent, then he said, 'Well, these are but strange coincidences, Sire, that is all! Similar things happen every day, but we are not concerned about them because they do not come to our notice.'\n\n'We are getting older, Marigny.'\n\nHe was forty-six years of age, and Marigny was forty-nine. Comparatively few men, at that period, reached their fiftieth year.\n\n'We shall have to look into all this,' the King went on, indicating the papers.\n\nAnd, without saying anything more, they both devoted themselves to the business of selecting what should be destroyed, classifying what Marigny should preserve, or what should be handed to the various legal advisers.\n\nThere was silence in the King's study, hardly disturbed by the distant cries of the street-sellers, the rumour of workaday Paris. The King's pale forehead was bent over the open files of which the most important were bound in leather bindings bearing Nogaret's cipher. Philip saw the whole of his reign pass before his eyes, twenty-nine years in which he had held the fate of millions of men in his hands, and imposed his influence upon the whole of Europe.\n\nAnd suddenly this whole series of events seemed remote from his true life, his real destiny. Everything suddenly appeared to him in a new light with strange shadows.\n\nHe was discovering what others thought and wrote about him, he saw himself from outside. Nogaret had kept reports from agents, the minutes of interrogations, letters, even police records. From all these lines of written words arose a picture of the King which he himself could not recognise, the picture of someone distant, hard, a stranger to the hardships of mankind, inaccessible to pity. Astonished, he read a couple of sentences written by Bernard de Saisset, the Bishop whose revolt had unleashed the quarrel with Boniface VIII. There were two cold and terrible phrases: 'He may well be the most handsome man in the world, but he knows only how to look at people in silence. He is not a man, nor a beast; he is a statue.'\n\nAnd there were also these words written by another witness of his reign: 'Nothing will make him bend, he is an Iron King.'\n\n'An Iron King,' murmured Philip the Fair. 'Have I so successfully concealed my weaknesses? How little others know us, and how wrongly judged I shall be!'\n\nSuddenly, seeing a written name, he remembered an extraordinary embassy which he had received at the very beginning of his reign. Rabban Kaumas, a Chinese Nestorian Bishop, had come to France, sent by the Great Khan of Persia, the descendant of Gengis Khan, in order to suggest an alliance to the King of France, and war against the Turks with an army of a hundred thousand men.\n\nAt that time Philip the Fair was twenty years old. How wonderfully seductive to a young man had seemed this dream of a crusade, a crusade in which Europe and Asia would participate; what an enterprise worthy of Alexander! Nevertheless, on that day, he had chosen a different road. No more crusades, no more warlike adventures; it was to France and to peace that he wished to devote all his efforts. Had he been right? How strong would France be, had he accepted the Khan of Persia's alliance? For one moment he dreamed of a gigantic reconquest of the Christian territories which would have carried his glory far down the centuries.\u2026 Then he returned to reality and selected a new pile of dusty parchments.\n\nSuddenly his shoulders appeared to become bowed. It was simply the matter of a date \u2013 1305! It was the year of the death of his wife Jeanne, who had brought Navarre to the kingdom, and to him the only love of his life. He had never wanted any other woman; and since she had died nine years ago he had looked at none other and would never do so. He had recovered from the sorrow of his widowhood only to enter upon the uprising of 1306 in which, in the face of Paris rioting because of his Orders in Council about currency, he had had to take refuge in the Temple. The following year he had arrested those who had taken him in and defended him. The depositions of the Templars were preserved here, in huge rolls of parchment whose fastenings had been sealed by Nogaret. The King did not open them.\n\nAnd now? Like so many others, Nogaret's face had lost the light and warmth which gave it life. His indefatigable mind, his strength of will, his tough and exalted spirit, were all effaced. Only his work remained. For Nogaret's life had not been that of a man who, behind his official position, bequeaths those small, sorrowfully intimate memorials that people leave behind them and which are so often ignored by the heedlessness of others. Nogaret was indeed exactly as he appeared. He had identified his life with the life of the kingdom. His secrets were all here, written into the evidence of his labour.\n\n'How many forgotten things are here,' thought the King. 'So many prosecutions, so much torture, so many tears. A river of blood\u2026 and all for what? What earth has been nourished by it all?'\n\nHis eyes unblinking, he was lost in thought.\n\n'And all for what?' the King asked himself once more. 'To what end? Where are my victories? Never a thing that is sure to live after me.'\n\nHe felt the great need to act which men feel when assailed by the idea of their own death, and the total negation which lies in wait for them, as if the world had never existed.\n\nMarigny remained still, disquieted by the King's gravity. Most things in his continually increasing work, in his responsibilities and honours came easily to him, except the understanding of his Sovereign's silences. He was never certain of judging them aright.\n\n'We made Boniface canonise King Louis,' Philip the Fair said suddenly in a low voice, 'but was he really a saint?'\n\n'It was useful to the kingdom, Sire,' replied Marigny.\n\n'But was it necessary, afterwards, to use force against Boniface?'\n\n'He was on the point of excommunicating you, Sire, because you were not putting the policies he desired into practice in your kingdom. You have not failed in the duty of kings. You have remained in the place God designed for you, and you have publicly proclaimed that you hold your kingdom from no one but God himself.'\n\nPhilip the Fair indicated one of the rolls of parchment. 'And the Jews? Have we not burnt rather too many of them? They are human beings, mortal and capable of suffering as we are. God did not order that.'\n\n'Messire Saint Louis, Sire, hated them, and the kingdom had need of their wealth.'\n\nThe kingdom, the kingdom, every action was justified by the kingdom. 'We had to do this or that because of the kingdom\u2026 We must do this because of the kingdom \u2026'\n\n'Messire Saint Louis loved the Faith and the greatness of God! But what have I loved?' said Philip the Fair in a low voice.\n\n'Justice,' said Marigny. 'The justice which is necessary for the common good and overtakes all those who diverge from the tendency of the world.'\n\n'Those who have diverged from the tendency of the world have been very numerous throughout my reign, and they will continue to be numerous if one century resembles another.'\n\nHe picked up Nogaret's dossiers and let them fall back on the table, one after another.\n\n'Power is a bitter thing,' he said.\n\n'Nothing is great that has not its bitter side,' replied Marigny, 'and Christ knew it. You have reigned in the grand manner. Think merely that you have united under the crown Chartres, Beaugency, Champagne, Bigorre, Angoul\u00eame, Marche, Douai, Montpellier, Franche-Comt\u00e9, Lyons, and part of Guyenne. You have fortified your cities, as your father, Monsieur Philippe III wished, so that they should no longer be at the mercy of foreigners. You have remade the laws in accordance with the law of ancient Rome. You have remodelled Parliament so that it may be in a position to make sounder laws. You have conferred upon many of your subjects the bourgeoisie du roi.26 You have enfranchised the serfs of many bailiwicks and seneschalships. No, Sire, you are in error if you fear having done wrong. From a kingdom torn by dissension you have built a country which begins to beat with a single heart.'\n\nPhilip the Fair rose. The impregnable conviction of his Coadjutor reassured him, and he leant upon it in order to fight a weakness which was not truly natural to him.\n\n'You may be right, Enguerrand. But if you are satisfied with the past, what do you say of the present? Yesterday a crowd had to be dispersed in the rue Saint-Merri by the archers. Read what the Governors of Champagne, Lyons and Orleans write to me. There are outcries and complaints all over the country about the rising cost of wheat and the lowness of wages. And those who complain, Enguerrand, will never know that what they demand and what I should like to give them depend upon time and not upon my will. They will forget my victories in order to remember my taxes, and I shall be accused of not having fed them throughout their lives.'\n\nMarigny listened, more disquieted now by the King's words than by his silences. He had never heard him talk so much, nor admit to such uncertainty, nor show such discouragement.\n\n'Sire,' he said, 'we must decide several matters.'\n\nPhilip the Fair gazed once more upon the documents of his reign spread over the table. Then he straightened up, as if he had given himself an order to forget the pain and blood of human beings, and to become a king once more.\n\n'Yes, Enguerrand,' he said, 'we must.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "The King's Summer",
                "text": "With Nogaret's death, philip the Fair seemed to be inhabiting a country in which no one could join him. Spring reigned over the earth and upon the houses of men; Paris was alive in the sunshine; but the King appeared to be exiled in some interior winter of his own. And the Grand Master's prophecy was constantly present to his mind.\n\nHe often went to spend a few days in one of his residences, or would distract himself for a moment from his obsession by hunting. But he was quickly recalled to Paris by alarming reports. The situation in town and country was bad. The cost of food was rising; the more prosperous regions did not export their surplus wealth to the poorer ones. 'Too many police and not enough wheat,' was the phrase upon everyone's lips. Taxes remained unpaid and people were in open revolt before the Provosts and tax-gatherers. Taking advantage of this bad period, the leagues of the barons, in Burgundy and Champagne, reformed themselves and made unreasonable demands. In Artois, Robert, turning the scandal of the Princesses and the general discontent to his own advantage, was beginning once more to agitate.\n\n'A bad springtime for the kingdom,' Philip the Fair allowed himself to remark to Monseigneur of Valois.\n\n'We are in the fourteenth year of the century,' replied Valois, 'a year that fate has marked out for disaster.'\n\nIn saying this he was evoking the unhappy precedents of the past; 714, the invasion of the Spanish Moors; 814, the death of Charlemagne; 914, the Hungarian Invasion and the Great Famine; 1114, the loss of Brittany; 1214, Bouvines \u2013 a victory that was nearly a catastrophe, a victory dearly paid for. Only the year 1014 was without disaster or crisis.\n\nPhilip the Fair looked at his brother as if he did not see him. He let his hand fall upon Lombard's neck, stroking his hair the wrong way.\n\n'All the difficulties of your reign, Brother, derive from your advisers,' said Charles of Valois. 'Marigny now knows no bounds. He uses the confidence you repose in him to deceive you and constantly engages you in the policies that suit him. If you had listened to me over the Flanders business \u2026'\n\nPhilip the Fair shrugged his shoulders in a gesture which meant, 'As for that, there is nothing I can do about it.'\n\nThe question of Flanders recurred that year, as it often recurred, like a mounting flood. Bruges, which he was unable to reduce, stood in the way of the King's efforts; the County of Flanders continually escaped from the hands that wished to encircle it. From the field of battle to secret treaties the Flemish question remained an open wound in the kingdom's flank. What remained of the sacrifices of Furnes and of Courtrai, what remained of the victory of Mons-en-P\u00e9v\u00e8le? Once more it was becoming necessary to use force.\n\nBut the raising of an army required more gold, and if a campaign were to be initiated, the budget would undoubtedly overtop that of 1299, which remained in everyone's memory as the highest the kingdom had ever known: 1,642,649 pounds, with a deficit of 70,000 pounds.27 When for several years the ordinary receipts of the Treasury had amounted to approximately 500,000 pounds, where was the balance to be found?\n\nMarigny, against the advice of Charles of Valois, ordered a Popular Assembly for the first of August 1314. Twice already resort had been made to this means, but each time it had been upon the occasion of conflict with the Papacy, the first over the affair of Boniface and the second over the affair of the Templars. It was in helping the civil power to free itself from obedience to the power of the Church that the bourgeoisie had acquired the right of speech. Now, and this was something new, the people were to be consulted over a matter of finance.\n\nMarigny made the preparations for the Assembly with the greatest possible care, sending messengers and agents into the towns, multiplying interviews and promises. His genius was that of a superb diplomat, he spoke to everyone in their own language.\n\nThe Assembly was held in the Mercers' Hall, where the stalls on that particular day were closed down. The forty statues of Kings, and that of Marigny, seemed to watch from their pillars. A platform had been erected upon which the King, the members of his Council, and the great barons of the kingdom, took their places.\n\nMarigny spoke first. He stood up to speak at the foot of his own marble effigy, and his voice seemed even more assured than usual, more certain of expressing the truth on behalf of the kingdom. He was superbly dressed; he had all the presence and all the gestures of an orator. Above him, in the huge double-aisled nave, several hundred people listened.\n\nMarigny explained that if food was short \u2013 and therefore more expensive \u2013 it was a fact which was far from surprising. Peace, which King Philip had maintained, favoured an increase in the population. 'We grow the same amount of wheat, but we are a greater number to share it,' he said. More must therefore be sown. Then he turned to the charge; the towns of Flanders threatened the peace. But, without peace, there could be no increase in the harvest, there would be no hands to till the uncultivated lands. And without the revenues and riches which came from Flanders, taxes would fall more heavily upon the other provinces. Flanders must yield; it must be forced to yield. For this, money was necessary, not for the King but for the kingdom. And everyone present must understand that their own personal security and prosperity were threatened.\n\n'We shall now see,' he concluded, 'who will give help to an expedition against the Flemish.'\n\nThere was a murmuring in the crowd, immediately silenced by the piercing voice of Pierre Barbette.\n\nBarbette, a citizen of Paris, recognised by his equals as the most capable in argument with the royal authority upon questions of law and tax, rich from a cloth-business and also from horse-dealing, was Marigny's creature and ally. The two men had prepared this interruption. In the name of the first city of the kingdom, Barbette promised the required aid. He carried the gathering with him, and the deputies from forty-three 'good towns' acclaimed the King and Marigny unanimously and Barbette, their loyal servant.\n\nIf the Assembly had been a victory, the financial results that were expected from it soon appeared insufficient. The Army was placed upon a war footing before the subscription had been fully raised.\n\nThe royal troops made a demonstration in Flanders, and Marigny, wishing to gain a victory at the earliest possible moment, hastened to negotiate and conclude, in the first days of September, the Convention of Marquette. As soon as the Army had left, Louis of Nevers, Count of Flanders, denounced the Convention and the trouble started all over again. Monseigneur of Valois and his supporters among the great barons accused Marigny of allowing himself to be bought by the Flemish. The bill for the campaign still remained to be paid, and the royal officers continued to demand, to the great discontent of the provinces, the special contribution which was from now on without an object. The Treasury was empty and Marigny, once more, had to consider exceptional means of raising money.\n\nThe Jews had already twice been attacked. To shear them once again would produce but little wool. The Templars no longer existed and their gold had long since melted away. There remained only the Lombards.\n\nAlready, in 1311, they had had to buy off a threat of expulsion from the kingdom. This time there could be no question of buying off; it was the seizure of all their goods, and their expulsion from France, which Marigny was preparing. Their trade with Flanders could serve as a pretext, as could also the financial support they gave to the leagues of discontented nobles.\n\nIt was a considerable organisation that he was proposing to attack. The Lombards, bourgeois du roi, all worked together; they were well organised and had a Captain-General at their head. They were everywhere, dominating trade and controlling finance. They lent money to the barons, to the towns, and to the King. They even gave money in charity when it was necessary.\n\nMarigny spent several weeks in perfecting his scheme and in convincing the King.\n\nNecessity found in Marigny a tenacious advocate, and towards the middle of October all was ready for an immense campaign, whose unfolding would very much resemble that which, seven years before, had been the prelude to the destruction of the Templars.\n\nBut the Lombards of Paris were very well-informed. Having learnt from experience, they paid dearly for the secrets of the King's Council.\n\nTolomei watched with his single open eye."
            },
            {
                "title": "Power and Money",
                "text": "Charles of Valois had conceived such a hatred for Marigny that he could even wish for some disaster to overtake the kingdom if that disaster would destroy the Coadjutor. He also felt bound to place obstacles in the way of all his plans. Robert of Artois seconded him in his own way; asking larger and larger sums from Tolomei, he mollified the banker by reporting Marigny's intentions.\n\nOne evening in mid-October there was a meeting at Tolomei's of some thirty men who represented one of the most extraordinary organisations of power of the period.\n\nThe youngest, Guccio Baglioni, was eighteen years old; the oldest was sixty-five: this was Boccanegra, Captain-General of the Lombard companies. However different these men were in age and appearance, there was nevertheless a singular resemblance between them: the same richness of clothing, the same assurance in speech, the same mobility of expression and gesture, the same attentive attitude when leaning forward to miss nothing of Tolomei's discourse.\n\nLit by huge candles placed in sconces along the walls, these dark-skinned men, with their mobile faces, formed a single family with a common language. They were, too, a tribe at war, and their strength, in spite of their small numbers, was equal to that of all the leagues of nobles and all the assemblies of bourgeois.\n\nThere were present the Peruzzi, the Albizzi, the Guardi, the Bardi, the Pucci, the Casinelli, all from Florence, as was old Boccanegra and Signor Boccaccio, the head traveller for the Bardi; there were, too, the Salimbene, the Buonsignori, the Allerani, and the Zaccaria, from Genoa; there were the Scotti, from Piazenca, and the Siennese clan led by Tolomei. There existed between all these men rivalries of prestige, commercial competition, and long-inherited family quarrels or those created by matters moral or marital. In danger, however, they acted together like brothers.\n\nTolomei explained the situation without in any way brightening the colours that the picture presented.\n\nWhen all the Lombards were prepared to make the great decision \u2013 that was to leave France, put their banking houses into liquidation, enter claims for money owed them by ungrateful lords, and provoke, by a great expense of gold, serious uprisings in the capital \u2013 when everyone had been roused to the boiling point, and was thinking with anger of what he would be compelled to abandon, this one his luxurious house, that one the marriage he had arranged for himself, that other his three mistresses, Tolomei said, 'I possess a means of binding the Coadjutor's hands and possibly of destroying him.'\n\n'Don't hesitate then. Destroy him!' said Buonsignori, the chief of the Genoese clan. 'We have had enough of making a fortune for these pigs who grow fat upon our labour.'\n\n'We shall no longer bare our backs to the whip!' cried one of the Albizzi.\n\n'What are your means?' Scotti asked.\n\nTolomei shook his head. 'I cannot tell you.'\n\n'Debts I suppose?' said Zaccaria. 'And what good will that do us? Have they ever embarrassed these upstarts? On the contrary! If we leave, they'll merely take the opportunity to forget what they owe us.'\n\nZaccaria was bitter: he represented a small company and was jealous of those who had important clients. Tolomei turned towards him and, in a tone of voice that at once expressed prudence and determination, said, 'Much more than debts, Zaccaria! A poisoned weapon of which he knows nothing and which, forgive me, I must keep secret. But, in order to be able to use it, I need your help. Because in dealing with the Coadjutor we must match power with power. I hold a threat to him in my hand; I want to be able to confront him with a dilemma. Marigny must choose between agreement or war to the death.'\n\nHe developed his idea. If the Lombards were to be despoiled, it was because the King lacked the money to pay for his war in Flanders. At all costs Marigny must fill the Treasury; his personal destiny was at stake. The Lombards would show themselves good subjects, and spontaneously propose a huge loan at very low interest. If Marigny refused, Tolomei would draw his sword from its scabbard.\n\n'Tolomei, you must tell us more,' said Bardi.\n\n'What is this sword of which you speak?'\n\nAfter a moment's hesitation, Tolomei said, 'If you wish, I will reveal it to Boccanegra alone.'\n\nThey whispered together for a moment and consulted each other with their eyes.\n\n'Si\u2026 va bene\u2026 faciamo cosi' was heard.\n\nTolomei led the Captain-General into a corner of the room and spoke to him in a low voice. The others watched the old Florentine's face with its narrow nose, thin lips and tired old eyes.\n\nTolomei told him of Jean de Marigny's embezzling of the Templars' wealth, and of the existence of the receipt signed by the young Archbishop.\n\n'Two thousand pounds well laid out,' murmured Tolomei. 'I knew that they would serve me well one of these days.'\n\nBoccanegra gave a little laugh with a sound of gargling at the bottom of his old throat; then he resumed his seat and said briefly that they might have confidence in Tolomei. The latter then began, with style and tablet, to record the figures that each one would subscribe to the eventual royal loan.\n\nBoccanegra was the first to have his considerable figure recorded; ten thousand and thirteen pounds.\n\n'Why the thirteen pounds?' he was asked.\n\n'To bring him bad luck.'\n\n'Peruzzi, how much are you good for?' asked Tolomei.\n\nPeruzzi made a calculation, scratching rapidly upon his tablet.\n\n'I'll tell you in one moment,' he replied.\n\n'And you, Guardi?'\n\nThey all had the look of men from whom a pound of flesh was being torn. The Genoese, gathered round Salimbene and Zaccaria, were holding council together. They were known to be the hardest in matters of business. It was said of them, 'If a Genoese merely looks at your purse, it is already empty.' Nevertheless, they were prepared to act and some among them murmured, 'If he succeeds in getting us out of this, he will one day succeed Boccanegra.'\n\nTolomei went up to the Bardi who were talking softly to Boccaccio, 'How much, Bardi?'\n\nThe eldest Bardi smiled, 'As much as you, Tolomei.'\n\nThe Siennese's left eye opened.\n\n'Then it will be twice the sum you think.'\n\n'It would nevertheless be much more expensive to lose everything,' said Bardi, shrugging his shoulders. 'Non e vero, Boccaccio?'\n\nThe latter nodded his head, then rose to take Guccio aside. Their meeting on the road to London had given rise to a sort of intimacy between them.\n\n'Has your uncle really the means of twisting Enguerrand's neck?'\n\nGuccio put on his most serious expression and replied, 'Caro Boccaccio, I have never heard my uncle announce what he was unable to perform.'\n\nWhen the meeting came to an end, Benediction was over in all the churches and night had fallen upon Paris. The thirty bankers left Tolomei's house by the little door which gave on to the Cloister of Saint-Merri. Escorted by their servants carrying torches, they formed, in the shadowy darkness lit by the red flames, a strange procession of menaced wealth, a procession of the penitents of gold.\n\nTolomei, alone with Guccio, was in his study adding up the total of the promised sum, as one counts the soldiers of an army. When he had finished, he smiled. His eyes half-closed, his hands clasped behind his back, he murmured, as he gazed into the fire where the logs were turning into ash, 'Messire de Marigny, you have not won yet.'\n\nThen to Guccio he said, 'If we succeed, we shall demand new privileges in Flanders.'\n\nFor, even though he was so near to disaster, Tolomei, in spite of himself, still thought of drawing a profit from his fear and the risks he ran. Carrying his immense stomach before him, he went over to a chest, opened it, and took out a leather box.\n\n'The receipt signed by the Archbishop,' he said. 'With the hatred Monseigneur of Valois bears them, and with what is already being said of the two Marignys, and with what Enguerrand has made the Flemish pay him, there is enough here to hang both of them. You will mount the best horse and leave at once for Neauphle, where you will put this document in safety.'\n\nHe looked Guccio straight in the eyes and added gravely, 'If anything were to happen to me, Guccio, you will give this parchment to Monseigneur of Artois. He will certainly know how to use it well. But take care, for our branch at Neauphle will not be safe from archers either.'\n\nSuddenly Guccio, in spite of the danger he was about to run, remembered Cressay, the beautiful Marie and the embrace by the field of rye.\n\n'Uncle, Uncle,' he said excitedly, 'I have an idea. I will do as you wish. I will go not to Neauphle but to Cressay, where the squires are under an obligation to us. I was once of considerable assistance to them and the debt they owe us is a sufficiently good excuse. Besides I think the daughter, if things have not much changed, will not refuse me her help.'\n\n'That is a good idea,' said Tolomei warmly. 'You are growing up, my boy! Kindness of heart in a banker must always serve some purpose. Go ahead then! But since you need these people's help, you must go to them with presents. Take some ells of embroidered cloth and the lace that I received yesterday from Bruges for the women, didn't you tell me that there are also two boys?'\n\n'Yes,' said Guccio. 'They care for hunting and nothing else.'\n\n'Splendid! Take the two falcons that I got for Artois. He can wait\u2026 A proposito \u2026'\n\nHe broke off suddenly in the middle of a laugh; an idea had suddenly occured to him.\n\nHe leant over the chest once more and took out of it another parchment.\n\n'Here are Monseigneur of Artois' accounts,' he went on. 'He won't refuse to help you, if there were to be some difficulty in the matter. But I am more certain of his support if you present your petition with one hand and his accounts with the other. And here also is the loan to King Edward. I do not know, nephew, if you will be rich with all this, but you will be in a position to do plenty of harm! Go along then! Don't waste time now. Go and have your horse saddled.'\n\nHe put one hand on the young man's shoulder and concluded, 'The fate of our companies is in your hands, Guccio, and don't forget that. Arm yourself and take two men with you. Take also this bag of a thousand pounds; it is a weapon worth many swords.'\n\nGuccio embraced his uncle with an emotion he had never felt before. There was no need this time to create an imaginary part for himself or to imagine that he was a conspirator in flight; the part had come to him; a man is formed by the risks he runs, and Guccio was in process of growing up.\n\nLess than an hour later, with two escorting servants trotting at his side, he took the road to the Porte Saint-Honor\u00e9.\n\nThen Messire Spinello Tolomei put on his fur-lined cloak because the month of October was chilly, called two servants with torches and daggers and, thus protected, went to Enguerrand de Marigny's house to give battle.\n\n'Tell Monseigneur Enguerrand that the banker Tolomei wishes to see him urgently,' he said to the porter.\n\nTolomei waited for some time in a sumptuous ante-chamber; royal state was kept in the Coadjutor's house.\n\n'Come in, Messire,' said a secretary, opening a door.\n\nTolomei crossed three large rooms and found himself face to face with Enguerrand de Marigny who was working in his study and finishing supper at the same time.\n\n'This is an unexpected visit,' said Marigny coldly, making a sign to the banker to sit down. 'What is it about?'\n\nTolomei gave a slight bow, sat down and replied equally coldly, 'An affair of state, Messire. For some days now there have been rumours that the King's Council are preparing certain measures which relate to my business and which, I must tell you, we find highly embarrassing. Confidence is being destroyed, buyers are rare, our creditors are demanding satisfaction, and as for those who have other business with us, debtors for instance, they are trying to put off the due date. We are having considerable difficulty.'\n\n'This has nothing to do with the affairs of the kingdom,' replied Marigny.\n\n'We shall see,' said Tolomei. 'We shall see. If this were only a personal matter, I should sleep easy. But the business affects a great many people, here and elsewhere. There is anxiety everywhere, in my various branches.'\n\nMarigny rubbed his rough chin.\n\n'You are a reasonable man, Messire Tolomei, and you should not give credence to these rumours, I give you my word for it,' he said, looking calmly at one of the men he was about to destroy.\n\n'Of course, of course, your word\u2026 but the war has cost the kingdom dear,' replied Tolomei. 'The revenue is perhaps not coming in as well as might be hoped, and the Treasury may well be finding itself in need of new gold. What is more, we have prepared, Messire, a plan of our own.'\n\n'What is it? Your business, I repeat, is no affair of mine.'\n\nTolomei raised a hand as if to say, 'Patience, Messire Coadjutor, you do not yet know all.' And went on, 'We desire to make some great effort to come to the assistance of our much beloved King. We are in process of organising ourselves to offer the Treasury, a considerable loan in which all the Lombard companies will participate, and for which we will ask but the lowest possible interest. I have come here to tell you this.'\n\nThen Tolomei leant forward towards the fire and muttered a figure so important that Marigny was taken aback. But the Coadjutor immediately thought, 'if they are prepared to deprive themselves of this sum, it can only mean that there is twenty times the amount to be seized.'\n\nReading as much as he did and sitting up late as so frequently happened, his eyes were liable to fatigue and his eyelids were red.\n\n'This is a splendid scheme and a worthy thought for which I am grateful,' he said after a moment of brief silence. 'Nevertheless I must tell you that I am surprised. I have heard that certain companies have been dispatching important sums of gold to Italy. This gold cannot be both there and here at the same time.'\n\nTolomei completely shut his left eye.\n\n'You are a reasonable man, Monseigneur, and you must not give credence to rumours such as that, I give you my word,' he said, ironically emphasising his last words. 'Is not the offer I am making you a proof of our good faith?'\n\n'Fortunately,' the Coadjutor coldly replied, 'I do believe in your assurances. If that were not the case, the King would not have permitted these attacks upon the French monetary reserves, and we should have had to put a stop to them.'\n\nTolomei did not flinch. The export of Lombard capital had begun owing to the threat of expropriation, and it was indeed this export itself which Marigny was endeavouring to use to justify his actions. It was a vicious circle.\n\n'I think that we have said to each other all that is necessary, Messire Tolomei,' Marigny went on.\n\n'Certainly, Monseigneur,' replied the banker, rising. 'But don't forget our offer, if events should make it useful.'\n\nThen, going towards the door, he suddenly said, as if he had just remembered something, 'I am told that Monseigneur your brother the Archbishop is in Paris at the moment.'\n\n'He is indeed.'\n\nTolomei nodded his head, as if in thought.\n\n'I hardly dare,' he said, 'to take up the time of so important a prelate, even if he is under some obligation to me. But I would be happy that he should know that I am always at his service, from today onwards if he should so wish, and at any hour. What I have to say will be of some importance to him.'\n\n'What have you to say to him?'\n\n'Monseigneur,' said Tolomei smiling, 'the prime virtue of a banker is to know how to hold his tongue.'\n\nThen, as he was about to leave, he repeated drily, 'From today onwards, if he should so wish.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Tolomei Wins",
                "text": "That night Tolomei slept hardly at all. He wondered whether he would have time to employ the means of bringing pressure upon Marigny.\n\nPhilip the Fair's signature at the bottom of a parchment put before him by Enguerrand de Marigny would suffice to ensure the destruction of the Lombards. Would not Enguerrand hurry things forward? 'Had he warned his brother?' Tolomei asked himself. 'And has the Archbishop told him the nature of the weapon that I have in my possession? Will he not perhaps obtain the King's signature this very night and so forestall me? Or will these two brothers come to an arrangement to have me assassinated?'\n\nTolomei, restless in his insomnia, thought bitterly of this, his second country, which he had hoped to serve so well by his work and his money. Because he had become rich there, he was more devoted to France than to his native Tuscany. Indeed, he really loved France in his own way. Never to feel beneath his feet the cobbles of the street of the Lombards, never to hear the bourdon of Notre-Dame, never to attend another meeting at the City Centre,28 never to smell the Seine again in the spring, all these renunciations tore at his heart. Without realising it, he had become a true Parisian, one of those Parisians who are born far from the frontiers of France and yet have no other city. 'To begin trying to make a fortune again elsewhere at my age, even if I am allowed to live to begin again!'\n\nHe went to sleep only with the dawn and was almost immediately awakened by the trampling of feet in his courtyard and the sound of knocking at his door. Tolomei thought that he was about to be arrested, and dressed as quickly as he could. A distracted servant appeared. 'Monseigneur the Archbishop asks to speak to you urgently,' he said.\n\nFrom the ground floor could be heard a confused sound of heavy boots and pikes banging against the flagstones.\n\n'What is all the noise about?' asked Tolomei. 'Is not the Archbishop alone?'\n\n'He has six guards with him, Signor,' the servant replied.\n\nTolomei frowned; his expression changed to a certain hardness.\n\n'Open the shutters in my study,' he said.\n\nMonseigneur Jean de Marigny was already climbing the stairs. Tolomei waited for him, standing upon the landing. The Archbishop, slim and with a golden crucifix jiggling at his breast, immediately came to the point.\n\n'What, Messire, does this mean, this strange message that my brother has sent me during the night?'\n\nTolomei raised his plump, pointed hands in a pacific gesture.\n\n'Nothing, Monseigneur, that can in any way worry you, or was worth disturbing yourself for. I would have come to the Bishop's Palace at your convenience. Will you come into my study? I think it will be more convenient to speak of our business there.'\n\nThe two men went into the room in which Tolomei normally worked. The servant was just finished removing the inner shutters which were ornamented with paintings. Then he put an armful of thin wood upon the embers still red in the fireplace and soon flames were crackling upwards. Tolomei made a sign to his servant to leave them.\n\n'You come accompanied, Monseigneur,' he said. 'Was that necessary? Do you not trust me? Do you think that you are in danger here? I had become accustomed, I must say, to a different kind of behaviour.'\n\nHe tried to make his voice sound formal, but his Tuscan accent was more noticeable than usual, which was a sign of anxiety.\n\nJean de Marigny sat down before the fire to which he extended his ringed hands.\n\n'This man is uncertain of himself and does not know quite how to take me,' thought Tolomei. 'He arrives here with a great to-do of armed men as if he were going to pillage the house, and now he sits there looking at his nails.'\n\n'Your haste to warn me has given me some disquiet,' said the Archbishop at last. 'I intended to come to see you, but I would have preferred to choose the time of my visit.'\n\n'But you have chosen it, Messire, you have chosen it. What I have said to Messire Enguerrand is no more than a matter of politeness, believe me.'\n\nThe Archbishop glanced quickly at Tolomei. The banker, apparently quite calm, fixed a single eye upon him.\n\n'Indeed, Messire Tolomei, I have a service to ask of you,' he said.\n\n'I am always ready to render your lordship a service,' replied Tolomei quietly.\n\n'Those\u2026 objects\u2026 that I\u2026 confided to you?' said Jean de Marigny.\n\n'Extremely valuable objects indeed, which came from the possessions of the Templars,' said Tolomei, defining them without a change in his tone of voice.\n\n'Have they been sold?'\n\n'I do not know, Monseigneur, I do not know. They have been sent out of France, as we agreed, since they could not be disposed of here. I imagine that some of them will have found a purchaser; I shall receive the advice notes at the end of the year.'\n\nTolomei, his fat body comfortably settled, his hands clasped upon his stomach, nodded his head good-humouredly.\n\n'And the receipt I signed? Do you still need it?' said Jean de Marigny.\n\nHe was hiding his fear, but he hid it badly.\n\n'Are you sure you are not cold, Monseigneur? You are very white in the face,' said Tolomei, leaning forward to place a log on the fire.\n\nThen, as if he had forgotten the question put by the Archbishop, he went on, 'What do you think of the matter that has been several times under discussion by the King's Council during the last week, Monseigneur? Is it possible that they are intending to steal our goods, to reduce us to penury, to exile and death?'\n\n'I have no information,' said the Archbishop. 'These are affairs of state.'\n\nTolomei shook his head.\n\n'Yesterday I made Monseigneur your brother a proposition which it seems to me he does not wholly understand. It is most unfortunate. It is said that we are about to be despoiled in the interests of the kingdom. But indeed, we are offering to serve the kingdom by making an enormous loan, Monseigneur, and your brother remains silent. Has he not said a word of it to you? This is most regrettable, very regrettable indeed!'\n\nJean de Marigny got up.\n\n'I cannot discuss the decision of the King, Messire,' he said drily.\n\n'As yet it is not a decision of the King,' replied Tolomei. 'Can you not tell the Coadjutor that the Lombards, called upon to surrender their lives which are at the King's disposition, believe me, and their gold which is also his, wish, if possible, to preserve their lives? They willingly offer their gold when it is intended to take it from them by force. Why not listen to them?'\n\nThere was a silence. Jean de Marigny, completely immobile, seemed to be looking into some distance beyond the wall.\n\n'What are you going to do with that parchment I signed for you?' he asked.\n\nTolomei ran his tongue across his lips.\n\n'What in my place would you do with it, Monseigneur? Just think for a moment. It is naturally a strange thought for you. But just imagine that there was a threat to ruin you and that you possessed something \u2013 a talisman, that's it, a talisman which might serve you to evade ruin.'\n\nHe went towards the window, hearing a noise in the courtyard. Porters were arriving, loaded with packing-cases and bales of cloth. Tolomei automatically valued the merchandise entering his premises that day and sighed.\n\n'Yes, a talisman against ruin,' he murmured.\n\n'You are not suggesting that that receipt \u2026'\n\n'Yes, Monseigneur, that is exactly what I am suggesting and wish to suggest,' said Tolomei in a hard voice. 'That receipt is evidence that you have embezzled the possessions of the Templars which were forfeit to the Crown. It is evidence that you have stolen, and stolen from the King.'\n\nHe looked the Archbishop straight in the face. 'I have done it now,' he thought. 'It is a question of who will flinch first.'\n\n'You will be held to have been my accomplice!' said Jean de Marigny.\n\n'In that case we shall swing together at Montfaucon like a couple of thieves,' replied Tolomei coldly. 'But I shall not swing alone.'\n\n'You are an unmitigated rascal!' cried Jean de Marigny.\n\nTolomei shrugged his shoulders.\n\n'I am not an archbishop, Monseigneur, and it is not I who have embezzled the gold in which the Templars paraded the body of Christ. I am but a merchant. And at this moment we are making a deal, whether you like it or not. That is the basic meaning of everything we are saying. If there is no robbing the Lombards, there will be no scandal as far as you are concerned. Should I fall, Monseigneur, you will fall too. And from a greater height. And the Coadjutor, who is too rich not to have made enemies, will be brought down with you.'\n\nJean de Marigny seized Tolomei by the arm.\n\n'Give me back the receipt,' he said.\n\nTolomei looked at the Archbishop; his lips were white; his chin, hands, indeed the whole of his body was trembling.\n\nTolomei gently disengaged himself from the gripping fingers.\n\n'No,' he said.\n\n'I will give you back the two thousand pounds you advanced me,' said Jean de Marigny, 'and you may keep all the profits of the sale.'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Five thousand.'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Ten thousand! Ten thousand pounds for that receipt.'\n\nTolomei smiled.\n\n'And where will you find them? I know better than you do yourself of what your fortune consists. I should have to lend you them, too.'\n\nJean de Marigny, his hands clenched, said, 'Ten thousand pounds! I shall find them. My brother will help me.'\n\n'Monseigneur, I have offered, as my contribution alone, seventeen thousand pounds to the royal Treasury!'\n\nThe Archbishop realised that he must change his tactics.\n\n'And supposing I succeed in obtaining from my brother the assurance that you will be excepted from the Order in Council? You will be allowed to leave with all your fortune and begin again elsewhere.'\n\nTolomei reflected for a moment. He was being made the offer of escaping by himself. Against this assurance, was it worth while risking a huge throw of the dice?\n\n'No, Monseigneur,' he replied. 'I will suffer the fate of everyone else. I do not want to begin again elsewhere, and indeed have no reason to do so. By now, I have as many roots in France as you. I am a bourgeois du roi. I wish to continue living in this house, which I have built, and in Paris. I have lived thirty-two years of my life in it, Monseigneur, and, if God wills, it is here that I shall die.'\n\nHis resolution and the tone of voice in which it was expressed were not lacking in grandeur.\n\n'Moreover,' he added, 'even if I desired to give you back the receipt, I could not do so; it is no longer here.'\n\n'You lie!' cried the Archbishop.\n\n'It has gone to Sienna, Monseigneur! To my cousin Tolomei with whom I have many business interests in common.'\n\nJean de Marigny did not reply. He went quickly to the door and called, 'Souillard! Chauvelot!'\n\n'Now, we must put a brave face on it!' Tolomei thought.\n\nTwo great fellows of six foot apiece appeared, pikes in their hands.\n\n'Watch this man; see that he doesn't move an inch from where he stands!' said the Archbishop. 'And close the door. Tolomei, if you cross me, you'll regret it! I'm going to search till I find the document! I shall not leave without it!'\n\n'I shall regret nothing, Monseigneur, and you will find nothing. You will leave here in the same state as you arrived, whether I am alive or dead. But if by chance I am dead, you may as well know that it will do you no good. For my cousin in Sienna has been warned, if I should die before my time, to make the existence of this receipt known to King Philip,' said Tolomei.\n\nHis heart was beating too quickly in his fat body, and he felt the cold sweat trickling down the small of his back. Feeling a sort of internal support, as if his back were against an invisible wall, he managed to remain calm.\n\nThe Archbishop searched the chests, turned out the drawers full of credit notes upon the floor, scattered the files of papers and the rolls of parchment. From time to time he looked secretly at the banker in order to see whether his effort at intimidation was succeeding. He went into Tolomei's room and the latter heard him turning his cupboards to chaos.\n\n'Luckily Nogaret is dead,' thought Tolomei. 'He would have gone about this business differently and would certainly have found some way of defeating me.'\n\nThe Archbishop reappeared.\n\n'You can go,' he said to the two guards.\n\nHe was defeated. Tolomei had not given way to fear.\n\nSome agreement must be reached.\n\n'Well then?' asked Marigny.\n\n'Well, Monseigneur,' said Tolomei calmly, 'I have nothing more to say to you than I said a little while ago. All this disorder is completely useless. Talk to the Coadjutor and press him to accept the offer I have made while there is yet time. Otherwise \u2026'\n\nWithout finishing his sentence, the banker went to the door and opened it. Jean de Marigny went out without another word.\n\nThe scene which took place that very day between the Archbishop and his brother was terrifying. Suddenly face to face, their personalities nakedly revealed, the two Marignys who, until then, had walked in step, were now at odds.\n\nThe Coadjutor overwhelmed his younger brother with contemptuous reproaches, and the younger brother defended himself as best he could, but meanly.\n\n'You're a fine one to blame me!' he cried. 'Where does your wealth come from? From what Jews sent to the stake? From what Templars you have burnt? I have only followed your example. I have been useful enough to you in your plots; now it's your turn to be useful to me.'\n\n'Had I known what you were like, I would not have made you an archbishop,' said Enguerrand.\n\n'You would have found no one but me to sentence the Templars, and you very well know it.'\n\nThe Coadjutor knew very well that the exercise of power leads to unworthy relationships. But he felt suddenly oppressed by being brought face to face with the consequences in his own family. A man who would agree to betray his own conscience for the sake of a mitre, might well also steal and betray. This man happened to be his brother, that was all.\n\nEnguerrand de Marigny took up the mass of papers upon which he had prepared the Orders in Council against the Lombards and, with a furious gesture, threw it into the fire.\n\n'A lot of work for nothing,' he said. 'Such a lot of work!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Guccio's Secrets",
                "text": "Cressay, in the clear light of spring, with the transparent leaves of the trees and the quivering silver surface of the Mauldre, remained a happy memory for Guccio. But when, on this October morning, the young Siennese, continuously looking over his shoulder to make certain that he was not being followed by archers, arrived upon the heights of Cressay, he wondered for a moment whether he had not made a mistake. The autumn seemed somehow to have shrunk the Manor House, to have made it sink into the earth. 'Were its towers so low?' Guccio said to himself. 'And can one's memory alter so much in a mere six months?' The courtyard had become, under the rain, a muddy bog into which the horses sank above their pasterns. 'At least,' thought Guccio, 'there is little chance that anyone will look for me here.'\n\nTo the limping servant who came forward he threw the reins, saying, 'Rub the horses down and feed them!'\n\nThe door of the house opened and Marie de Cressay appeared.\n\n'Messire Guccio!' she cried.\n\nHer surprise was so great that she turned pale and had to lean against the door frame.\n\n'How beautiful she is,' thought Guccio; 'and she still loves me.'\n\nThe cracks in the walls disappeared and the towers of the Manor House regained their remembered proportions.\n\nBut Marie was already shouting towards the inside of the house, 'Mother! Messire Guccio has come back.'\n\nDame Eliabel received the young man warmly, kissed him on both cheeks and clasped him to her extensive bosom. The thought of Guccio had often been present to her widowed nights. She took his hand, made him sit down, and ordered wine and pasties to be brought him.\n\nGuccio accepted his welcome gratefully and explained the reason for his coming as he had thought it out: he had come to Neauphle to put some order into the branch of the bank which appeared to be suffering from maladministration. The clerks were not keeping proper track of the debtors. At once Dame Eliabel grew anxious. 'You gave us a whole year,' she said. 'Winter has come upon us after a very bad harvest and we have not as yet \u2026'\n\nGuccio was indefinite about this, intimating that the squires of Cressay, since they were his friends, would not be allowed to be unduly pressed. Dame Eliabel asked Guccio to stay in the Manor House. He would, she said, find nowhere in the town where he would be more comfortable or have more society. Guccio accepted the invitation and sent for his luggage.\n\n'I have brought,' he said, 'some pieces of cloth and some ornaments which I hope will please you. As for Pierre and Jean, I have a couple of well-trained falcons for them which will help them to be even more successful in hunting, if that is possible.'\n\nThe cloth, the ornaments and the falcons astonished the whole household and were received with cries of joy. Pierre and Jean, having returned from their daily hunting expedition, with that odour of earth and blood which adhered to them like a garment, asked Guccio a hundred questions. This companion, miraculously arrived, when they were making up their minds to the long boredom of the bad months, seemed to them more worthy of affection than even upon his first visit. One might have thought that they had known each other all their lives.\n\n'And what has happened to our friend Provost Portefruit?' asked Guccio.\n\n'He continues to steal as much as he can, but thank God no longer from us, thanks to you.'\n\nMarie slipped in and out of the room, bending over the fire as she poked it, placing new straw upon the curtained pallet. She said nothing, but never stopped looking at Guccio. The latter, finding himself alone with her towards evening, took her gently by the elbows and drew her to him.\n\n'Can you see nothing in my eyes which reminds you of felicity?' he said, borrowing the phrase from a romance of chivalry he had recently read.\n\n'Oh yes, Messire!' replied Marie in a shaken voice, her eyes opening wide. 'I have never ceased from imagining you here, distant though you may have been. I have forgotten nothing and go back on nothing.'\n\nHe tried to think of some excuse for not having returned for six months, and for having sent no message. To his surprise, Marie, far from reproaching him, thanked him for having returned quicker than she had expected.\n\n'You said that you would come back at the end of the year on business,' she said. 'I didn't expect to see you sooner. But even if you had not come at all, I should have waited for you all my life.'\n\nGuccio had retained from Cressay the memory of a sweet and beautiful girl, and a certain regret for a love affair which had come to nothing, but to be quite frank he had thought of her but seldom during all these months. Now he found her wonderful and fascinating, grown like a plant through spring and summer. 'How lucky I am!' he thought. 'She might have forgotten me or got married.'\n\nAs often happens with men of unfaithful nature, this particular young man, infatuated though he was with her, was fundamentally modest about love, because he imagined other people to be like himself. He could not believe, having seen her so little, that he had inspired so strong and rare a feeling.\n\n'Marie,' he said with newly found warmth, 'in order not to lie to you as men usually do, not only have I never ceased thinking of you, but nothing has altered the feelings I had for you.'\n\nThey stood face to face, both overcome by their feelings, and both somewhat embarrassed by their words and gestures.\n\n'The field of rye \u2026' Guccio murmured.\n\nHe bent down and put his lips to Marie's which opened like a ripe fruit.\n\nHe thought this was the appropriate moment to ask her for the help he needed.\n\n'Marie,' he said, 'I have not come here on any business to do with the branch of our bank, nor upon any question of your family's debt. But I do not wish to, nor indeed can I, hide anything from you. It would be an offence to the love I bear you. The secret I am going to tell you is a new link which I offer you, and it is a serious one, because it affects the lives of many people, as well as my own. My uncle and powerful friends have charged me with the business of hiding in a sure place a certain document, which has to do both with affairs of state and their own safety. Undoubtedly, at this moment, there are archers searching for me,' went on Guccio who, as usual, was beginning to boast. 'There were twenty places in which I could have looked for a hiding-place, but it was to you, Marie, that I came. My life from now on depends upon your silence.'\n\n'No, it is upon you,' Marie said, 'that my life depends, my lord. I have faith only in God and in the man who first held me in his arms. My life is his.'\n\nHaving convinced himself as he talked, Guccio felt for Marie a great surge of gratitude, tenderness and desire. However conceited he might be, he was nevertheless surprised at having inspired so persistent, powerful, and reliable a passion.\n\n'My life is yours,' the girl went on. 'Your secret is mine. I shall conceal what you want concealed. I shall be silent about what you wish me to keep silent and your secret will die with me.'\n\nTears were forming in her dark blue eyes. 'Like this,' thought Guccio, 'she resembles those spring mornings when the sun shines and rain falls at the same time.'\n\nThen, coming back to what was on his mind, he said, 'What I have to hide is contained in a leaden box hardly bigger than my two hands. Is there anywhere here?'\n\nMarie thought for a moment.\n\n'In the chapel,' she replied. 'We will go there tomorrow at dawn. My brothers leave the house to hunt at first light. Tomorrow my mother will leave but a little later, since she has to shop in the town. I only hope that she will not want to take me with her! But in that case I shall say that I have a sore throat.'\n\nGuccio murmured his thanks, while Dame Eliabel's step could be heard outside.\n\nUpon this occasion, since Guccio was staying for a longer time, he was lodged on the first floor, in a vast, clean but chilly room. He went to bed, his dagger within reach, and the leaden box containing the Archbishop's receipt beneath his head. He had made up his mind not to go to sleep. He did not know that at that precise hour the two brothers Marigny had had their terrible interview and that the Orders in Council directed against the Lombards were already burnt.\n\nFighting to keep his eyes open, he counted up the number of women he had already had (he was not yet nineteen and the addition took but little time to make), thought of the two young townswomen whom he was currently engaged in assisting to deceive their husbands and, comparing them to Marie, came to the conclusion that they were both immoral and not particularly beautiful.\n\nHe did not know that he had fallen asleep. A sound woke him up with a start; for a moment he thought that they were coming to arrest him and ran to the window. However, it was Pierre and Jean de Cressay, accompanied by two peasants, with their new falcons at their wrists, leaving the house. Then doors banged; a grey mare, weary with age, was brought for Dame Eliabel, who departed in her turn, escorted by the limping servant. Guccio put on his boots and waited.\n\nA few moments later Marie called him from the ground floor, and Guccio went down, hiding the leaden box beneath his cloak.\n\nThe chapel was a small vaulted room, part of the interior of the Manor House, facing east; its walls were whitewashed.\n\nMarie lit a taper at the oil-lamp burning before a statue of Saint John the Evangelist indifferently carved in wood. In the Cressay family the Christian name of Jean was always given the eldest son.\n\n'I found the hiding place when I was a child, playing with my brothers,' said Marie. 'Come.'\n\nShe took Guccio to one side of the altar.\n\n'There, push this stone,' she said, lowering the taper to light the spot.\n\nGuccio pushed the stone, but nothing moved.\n\n'No, not like that.'\n\nMarie handed the taper to Guccio and leant upon the stone in a particular way that made it swivel back upon itself, opening up a hiding place under the base of the altar. In the light of the flame Guccio saw a skull and some pieces of bone.\n\n'Who is it?' he asked.\n\nHe was superstitious and made the sign against the evil eye behind him with his fingers.\n\n'I don't know,' said Marie. 'No one knows.'\n\nNext to the whitened skull Guccio deposited the leaden box which contained the damning evidence against the most powerful prelate in France.\n\nWhen the stone was pushed back into place it was impossible to tell that anyone had touched it.\n\n'Our secret is locked in the hands of God,' Marie said.\n\nGuccio took her in his arms and tried to kiss her.\n\n'No, not here,' she said in a frightened voice. 'Not here in the chapel.'\n\nThey came back into the Great Hall where a servant was laying the table with the bread and milk of the first meal of the day. Guccio stood in front of the fire until the servant had gone and Marie came to him.\n\nThen they linked hands, Marie leaning her head on Guccio's shoulder and thus they remained for a long moment. As she leaned against him, she was learning to understand his male body, the first that she had ever held in her arms and the only one that she ever would.\n\n'I shall love you for ever, even if you cease to love me,' she said.\n\nThen she went and poured the milk into the bowls, and broke the bread into it. Every movement she made was implicit with happiness. Guccio thought of the chalky skull he had seen under the altar steps.\n\nFour days went by. Guccio accompanied the two brothers hunting and was not unskilful. He made several visits to the branch at Neauphle in order to justify his stay in the district. Once he met Provost Portefruit, who recognised him and saluted him with servility. This salute reassured Guccio. If some persecution of the Lombards had taken place, Messire Portefruit would not have treated him with such politeness. 'And should it be he who comes to arrest me one day soon,' thought Guccio, 'the thousand pounds I've brought will be a help in bribing him.'\n\nApparently Dame Eliabel had no suspicion of what was going on between her daughter and the young Siennese. Guccio was convinced of this by overhearing a conversation one evening between the good lady and her younger son. Guccio was in his room on the first floor. Dame Eliabel and Pierre de Cressay were talking by the fire in the Great Hall, and their voices came up through the chimney.\n\n'What a pity Guccio is not of noble birth,' Pierre said. 'He would make a good husband for my sister. He is good-looking and well-educated, and in a desirable position in the world. I wonder if this is not something we should think about.'\n\nDame Eliabel did not receive the suggestion kindly.\n\n'Never!' she cried. 'Money has turned your head, my son. We are poor at the present moment, but our blood gives us the right to expect the best alliances, and I shall not give my daughter to a young man of plebeian birth who, moreover, is not even a Frenchman. Certainly the young man is pleasing, but let him not be so ill-advised as to make love to Marie. I should stop it at once. A Lombard! My daughter given to a Lombard! Besides, he has not even thought of it, and if my age did not give me a certain modesty, I would admit to you that he has more eyes for me than he has for her, and that is why he is here, as much at home as a graft upon a tree.'\n\nGuccio, even though he smiled at the Lady of the Manor's illusions about him, was hurt by the contempt she felt for his plebeian birth and his profession. 'These people borrow money from you to live, don't pay you back what they owe you, and still consider you less than one of their peasants. And what would you do, my good lady, without the Lombards?' Guccio said to himself in annoyance. 'All right, then! You try to marry your daughter off to some great lord and see how she accepts the idea.'\n\nAt the same time he felt a certain pride at having so successfully seduced a daughter of the nobility, and it was that night that he determined to marry her in spite of all the obstacles that could be placed in his path, indeed because of these very obstacles. He succeeded in persuading himself of a vast number of admirable reasons for this course, without admitting the only true one: that he loved her.\n\nDuring the meal that followed, he looked at Marie, thinking, 'She is mine: she is mine!' And every feature of Marie's face, her lovely upturned eyelashes, her eyes flecked with gold, her parted lips, all seemed to answer him, 'I am yours.' And Guccio kept asking himself, 'Why can't the others see it?'\n\nThe following day Guccio found at Neauphle a message from his uncle which informed him that the danger, for the moment, was over; Guccio was to return at once.\n\nGuccio had, therefore, to make it known that important business called him back to Paris. Dame Eliabel, Pierre and Jean evidenced much regret. Marie said nothing, merely went on with the embroidery at which she was working but, as soon as she was alone with Guccio, she allowed her sorrow to become manifest. Had some disaster occurred? Was Guccio in danger?\n\nHe reassured her. On the contrary, thanks to himself, thanks to her, thanks to the document concealed in the chapel, the men who desired the destruction of the Italian financiers were defeated.\n\nThen Marie burst into tears because Guccio was going away.\n\n'You are leaving me,' she said, 'and it is as if I were dying.'\n\n'I shall come back as soon as I can,' said Guccio.\n\nAnd he covered Marie's face with kisses. He felt suddenly angry with the events which interfered with his personal desires. That all the Lomard banks were saved gave him no pleasure, quite the contrary indeed! He would have liked still to be in danger, and therefore have a motive for remaining at Cressay. He blamed himself for not having known how to take advantage in time of this beautiful proffered body, lying in surrender and abandon in his arms. 'To wait like this is not possible for a man,' he thought.\n\n'I shall come back, beautiful Marie,' he said again; 'I swear it, because there is nothing I want so much in the world as you.'\n\nAnd this time he was sincere. He had come to find a hiding place; he went away with love in his heart.\n\nSince his uncle in his message had said nothing of the Archbishop's receipt, Guccio pretended to believe that it was his duty to leave it in the chapel at Cressay, thus arranging a pretext for his early return. But new events were on their way which would change the destinies of them all."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Meet at Pont-Sainte-Maxence",
                "text": "On the fourth of November the King was due to hunt in the forest of Pont-Sainte-Maxence. In company with his first chamberlain Hugues de Bouville, his private secretary Maillard, and a few intimate friends, he had slept the night at the Castle of Clermont, six miles from the meet.\n\nThe King appeared carefree and in better humour than he had been for a long time. The affairs of the kingdom permitted him to take a holiday. The loan from the Lombards had put the Treasury in funds. Winter would soon put a stop to the rebellious barons of Champagne and the townsfolk of Flanders.\n\nIt had been snowing during the night, the first snow of the year, so early as to be almost without precedent; the morning frost, coming on top of it, had frozen the fine snow hard and transformed the whole countryside into an immense white sea. One was aware with surprise, as happens once a year, that the colours of the world were reversed, there was light where normally was shadow, and the sky in full daylight was darker than the earth.\n\nMen, hounds and horses were preceded by great puffs of misty breath which faded in the air like clouds of thistledown.\n\nThe hound, Lombard, trotted along by the King's horse. Even though he was intended for coursing hares, he also played his part in the hunting of stag and wild boar; working on his own he often brought the pack back on to the line. For though greyhounds are normally reputed to hunt only by eye and not by scent, this particular one, nevertheless, had a nose like a Poitevin hound.\n\nDistant and difficult as he might be with men, Philip the Fair was easy and understanding with animals. He showed them greater friendship than he did his closest relations. Having all the characteristics of the Capet family, he was a countryman, at home on the land. Among trees, plants and animals, King Philip found peace and satisfaction.\n\nIn the middle of the clearing where the meet took place, amid a great hullabaloo of stamping horses and men, of neighing and barking, the King stayed for some time inspecting his magnificent pack, asking news of some bitch, absent because she had recently pupped, and talking to his hounds.\n\n'Well, me beauties! Bike here then, bike here then, me beauties!' he called to them.\n\nThe chief huntsman, accompanied by a number of whippers-in, came to make his report to the King. At dawn several stags had been harboured, of which one was a royal and, so said the hunt servants in charge of the tufters, a twelve-pointer \u2013 the most noble beast to be found in the forest. Moreover, this was a lone stag of the kind which, unattached to a herd, goes from forest to forest and is the stronger and braver for being on its own.\n\n'Set on,' said the King.\n\nThe hounds were uncoupled, led to the covert, and put on the scent, while the huntsmen spread out, taking positions where the stag might break cover.\n\n'Tallyho! Tallyho!' was soon heard.\n\nThe stag had been viewed; hounds were heard giving tongue so that the forest was filled with the noise, the sound of horns, the thundering of hooves and crashing of broken branches.\n\nGenerally speaking, stags for some time circle the place where they are found, make cunning diversions within the forest itself, cover their tracks, try to find a younger stag beside which they will run for a short time to make the hounds change line, and then return to their original lair.\n\nThis particular stag surprised everyone by running straight to the north. In the face of danger, his instinct was to return to the distant forest of the Ardennes from which, doubtless, he had originally come.\n\nThe King, in considerable excitement, cutting through the wood to get well forward, came to its edge and waited for the stag to break into the open.\n\nBut nothing can be so easily lost as a hunt. You believe that you are no more than two hundred yards from hounds and huntsmen, who appear to be well within earshot, and a second later you are left in total silence and solitude, amid towering trees without clue as to where the pack, which was giving tongue so loudly, has disappeared, nor what fairy has cast a spell over your companions to make them vanish so suddenly.\n\nMoreover, on that particular day, the frosty air carried sound badly, and hounds could only hunt with difficulty since the frozen snow was not holding scent.\n\nThe King was lost, and gazing across the wide white valley, where as far as the eye could see the fields with their low hedges, the stubbles of past harvest, the roofs of a village and the distant undulations of a forest were all covered with the same flawless sparkling bed of snow, he was overcome with a sort of stupor. The sun had broken through and the countryside shone beneath its rays; and the King suddenly felt a curious lassitude, a sensation of complete estrangement from the universe. He did not pay overmuch attention to it, for he was healthy and had never been let down by his physical stamina. He thought that perhaps he had become too heated with galloping.\n\nConcentrating upon whether his stag had broken cover or not, he followed the edge of the wood at a walk, gazing at the ground in order to find the animal's slot. 'Surely his slot should be easy to see in the snow,' he said to himself. He saw a peasant not far off.\n\n'Hullo there, my man!' The peasant turned and came towards him. He was a labourer of some fifty years of age, with broad shoulders and short legs, his weather-tanned face strongly marked with wrinkles; his legs were clothed in thick canvas gaiters and he was holding a cudgel in his right hand. He removed his cap, revealing greying hair.\n\n'Have you seen a big hunted stag?' the King asked him.\n\nThe man nodded his head, replying, 'Indeed I have, Sire. A beast like that crossed in front of my nose no longer ago than it would take me to repeat an Ave, no more. He had certainly been hunted for at least two hours, he was tired and his tongue was hanging out. He was certainly your stag. You won't have to hunt him much further because, in the state he was in, he was looking for water. And he will only find it at the lake of Fontaine.'\n\n'Were the hounds on his line?'\n\n'There were no hounds, Sire. But you will find his slot, the cleft wide, just about by that big white birch over there. You'll take your stag at the lake, with or without hounds.'\n\nThe King was astonished.\n\n'You seem to know the country and hunting,' he said.\n\nThe weather-beaten face broke into a smile. Small cunning brown eyes gazed up at the King.\n\n'I know a bit about hunting and the country,' said the man, 'and I hope that so great a King as you are may long take his pleasure in it, as long as God wills.'\n\n'So you recognise me, do you?'\n\nThe other nodded his head again and proudly said, 'I am a free man, thanks to you, Sire, and no longer the serf I was born. I know my figures and can hold a style to add with if I have to. I once saw Monseigneur of Valois, when he enfranchised the serfs of the county, and from your look and what I have heard about you, I knew at once that you were his brother.'\n\n'Are you happy to be a free man?'\n\n'Happy? Of course I am. That's to say it makes you feel quite different; you no longer feel like the living dead. And we chaps know very well that we owe to you the Order in Council that Monseigneur of Valois read out to us. And we often repeat to ourselves as our prayer here on earth: \"Given that every human being, formed in the image of Our Lord, should in general be free by natural right\u2026\" It's good to hear that, when you thought that you were once and for all no more nor less than an animal.'\n\n'How much did you have to pay for your freedom?'\n\n'Seventy-five pounds.'\n\n'And you had them?'\n\n'From the work of a lifetime, Sire.'\n\n'What's your name?'\n\n'Andr\u00e9 \u2013 Andr\u00e9 of the Woods, they call me, because that's where I live.'\n\nThe King, who was not ordinarily generous, felt that he wished to give this man something. Not out of charity, but as a present.\n\n'Be a good servant of the kingdom, Andr\u00e9 of the Woods,' he said, 'and keep this as a remembrance of me.'\n\nHe detached his horn and handed it to the peasant. The latter took it, a fine piece of carved ivory with silver mountings, which was worth more than the man had paid for his liberty. The peasant's hands shook with pride and emotion.\n\n'Oh!' he murmured, 'Oh this, this!\u2026 I shall place it under the statue of the Virgin Mary that it may protect our house. May God preserve you, Sire.'\n\nThe King moved away, conscious of a happiness which he had not known for many months past. A man had spoken to him among the solitudes of the forest, a man who, thanks to himself, was both free and happy. The weighty burden of power and of the years was alleviated at a single stroke. 'It is easy enough to know when one is being ruthless,' he said to himself; 'but one can never tell, from the height of a throne, if the good one has wished to do has really been done, nor for whom.'\n\nThis approval, which had unexpectedly come to him from among the masses of his subjects, was more precious to him and more delightful than all the praises received from courtiers. 'When my brother needed money, I told him, \"Don't demand more taxes from your serfs without giving anything in exchange. Free the serfs of your apanage, as I have done those of Agenais, Rouergue, Gascony, and the seneschalships of Carcassonne and Toulouse.\" I should have extended the franchise to the whole kingdom. Supposing this man I have just seen had been educated when he was young, he might have made a provost or the captain of a town and been a good deal better than many.'\n\nHe thought of all the Andr\u00e9s of the Woods, of the valleys and of the fields, the Jean-Louis of the pastures, the Jacques of the hamlet or the vineyard, whose children, freed from their servile state, would constitute a great reserve of manpower for the kingdom. 'I shall have the edict for freeing the serfs applied to the other bailiwicks.' He felt the quieter for this meeting. It had dissolved the haunting fear he had suffered since the deaths of the Pope and Nogaret. He felt that God had spoken to him through one of the most humble voices among his subjects to approve his royal work.\n\nAt that moment he heard a sharp hoarse barking on his right and recognised Lombard giving tongue.\n\n'Get forrard then, get forrard then!' shouted the King.\n\nLombard was on the line, running fast, his nose a few inches from the ground. It was not the King who was lost, but all the rest of the hunt, and Philip the Fair felt a youthful pleasure at the thought that he would bring the royal stag to bay and kill it, alone with his favourite hound.\n\nHe put his horse into a gallop and, for nearly an hour, across fields and valleys, jumping hedges and fences, he followed Lombard. He felt hot, and the sweat trickled down his back.\n\nSuddenly, as they came out of a copse, he saw a black shape flying away in front of him.\n\n'On, on, on!' shouted the King. 'Forrard on, Lombard, forrard on!'\n\nIt was quite certainly the hunted stag, a great black beast with a pale belly. He no longer ran as lightly as he had at the beginning of the hunt; he ran heavily, stopping from time to time, looking back, and then starting again, bounding heavily. He was, indeed, making his way towards the lake of which the peasant had spoken. He was looking for water to refresh himself, the water which is fatal to animals at bay, weighing down their limbs so that they cannot emerge from it again. Lombard bayed now that the stag was in view and he was gaining ground on it. But all of them, the King, his horse, the hound, and the stag, were at the end of their tether.\n\nThere seemed to the King to be something peculiar about the stag's antlers; there seemed to be something upon them which glittered from time to time and then went out. There was, however, nothing about it of the fabulous and legendary stags which one never meets in fact, such as the famous stag of Saint Hubert with a golden cross growing upon its forehead. This one was no more than a great, exhausted beast, which had behaved with a curious lack of cunning during the hunt, running straight across country from its fear. It would soon be brought to bay.\n\nWith Lombard at its heels, it entered a copse of beech-trees and remained in it. And now the King heard Lombard's baying take on that higher more sonorous note, at once furious and poignant, that hounds give tongue to when the hunted beast is at bay.\n\nThe King went into the copse; the rays of the sun filtered through the branches but without heat, turning the crisp, frozen snow to rose.\n\nThe King came to a halt and loosened the hilt of his short sword. Lombard was baying continuously. There was the stag, his back to a tree, at bay, his head lowered and his muzzle almost touching the ground, his coat running wet and steaming. Between his enormous horns, there was indeed a cross, as high as the cross upon an altar. It was shining in the light. For an instant the King was aware of this vision, for in that moment his stupefaction turned to appalling fear; his body had ceased to obey him. He wished to dismount, but his foot would not leave the stirrup; his legs were like two marble boots against the horse's flanks. Then the King, terrified, wished to call for help upon his horn, but where was it? He no longer had it, he could no longer remember where he had lost it, and his hands, loosing the reins, were immovable. He tried to shout, but no sound came from his throat.\n\nThe stag had raised its head and, its tongue hanging, looked with huge tragic eyes upon the horseman from whom it expected death, the horseman upon whom sudden petrification had fallen. Among his horns the cross shone out again. Before the King's eyes, the trees, the ground, the whole aspect of the world were taking on a new shape. He felt an appalling bursting sensation in his head, and then he subsided into total darkness.\n\nA few moments later, when the rest of the hunt reached the copse, the body of the King of France was found lying at his horse's feet. Lombard was still baying before the hunted stag, whose tines were seen to be laden with two dead branches, caught up doubtless in the undergrowth. They had assumed the shape of a cross and shone in the sunlight because of their coating of frost. But there was no time to lose with the stag; while the whips stopped the pack, it galloped off again, somewhat rested now and followed only by a few of the keener hounds which would hunt it till nightfall, or drive it into the lake to drown.\n\nIt was Hugues de Bouville who arrived first at Philip the Fair's body. He realised that the King was still breathing and cried, 'The King lives!'\n\nWith two poles cut with their swords, and belts and cloaks, they produced a makeshift stretcher upon which the King was laid. He but moved a little to vomit and to void from every orifice like a duck that is being strangled. His eyes were glazed. Where was the athlete who but a short time ago could make two men-at-arms bend low merely by placing his hands on their shoulders?\n\nHe was carried thus to Clermont where, that night, some of his power of speech returned. The doctors, sent for hurriedly, had bled him. To Bouville, who was watching by his bedside, his first words, painfully articulated, were, 'The cross\u2026 the cross.'\n\nAnd Bouville, thinking the King wished to pray, went and fetched him a crucifix.\n\nThen Philip the Fair said, 'I am thirsty.'\n\nAt dawn he stammered out that he wanted to be taken to Fontainebleau where he had been born. The similarity between the King and Pope Clement V who, when dying, had also wished to return to his birthplace and had died upon the journey, was remembered.\n\nIt was decided to carry the King by water that he might be less shaken; and the following morning he was taken on board a large flat-bottomed boat which floated down the Oise. The courtiers, the servants and the archers of the escort followed in other boats or on horseback along the banks.\n\nThe news travelled quicker than the strange boat, and the dwellers upon the riverside gathered to see the huge, fallen statue pass. The peasants took off their caps, as they did when the Rogation processions passed by their fields. At each village archers went in search of braziers which were placed upon the boat to warm the air. Above the royal eyes the sky was uniformly grey, heavy with snow-clouds.\n\nThe lord of Vaur\u00e9al came down from his manor, which commanded a loop of the Oise, in order to salute the King; he saw that there was a look of death upon his face. The King answered him only by moving his eyelids; but he was beginning to recover some slight use of his limbs.\n\nNight fell early. Huge torches were lit in the bows of the boats and their red dancing light shone upon the river banks so that the procession looked like a cave of flame moving through the night.\n\nIn this way they arrived at the junction with the Seine, and from there went on as far as Poissy. The King was carried to the castle where his grandfather, Saint Louis, had been born. The Dominicans and the two royal convents set themselves to pray for his recovery.\n\nHe stayed there for some ten days, at the end of which he seemed somewhat recovered. Speech had returned to him; he could stand, but his movements were numbed and restricted. He insisted on going to Fontainebleau, which appeared to be a fixed determination, and, making a great effort of will, he demanded to be placed on horseback. In this way he went gently as far as Essonnes; but there, for all his courage, he had to give up: the royal body no longer obeyed the royal will. He was placed in a litter, and it was thus that he finished the journey. Snow had begun to fall again and muffled the horses' hooves. Couriers sent in advance had had fires lit on every hearth in the castle and a greater part of the Court had already arrived.\n\nAs he went in, the King murmured, 'The sun, Bouville, the sun \u2026'"
            },
            {
                "title": "A Great Shadow over the Kingdom",
                "text": "For a fortnight the King seemed to be wandering in his mind like a lost traveller. At times, though he was quickly tired, he seemed to be recovering his former activity, became anxious about affairs of state, insisted on dealing with financial matters, demanded with authoritative impatience that all letters and edicts should be presented to him for signature; he had never shown so great a desire to sign documents before. Then, suddenly, he fell into a curious sort of idiocy, from time to time uttering pointless and disconnected remarks. He would pass his hand across his forehead, a hand grown feeble with fingers grown stiff.\n\nIt was murmured in the Court that the King was out of his mind. In fact, he was beginning to take his way out of the world.\n\nIllness, in so short a time, had made of this man of forty-six a senile figure with sunken features, but half-alive, at the end of a huge room in the Castle of Fontainebleau.\n\nHe suffered from perpetual thirst and ceaselessly asked for something to drink.\n\nTo people from outside who inquired for news, it was answered that the sovereign had fallen from his horse and been charged by a stag. But the truth was beginning to spread and it was whispered that the hand of God had made him mad.\n\nThe doctors asserted that he would not recover, and Martin the astrologer, in prudent and ambiguous terms, announced that towards the end of the month a powerful monarch in the Occident would undergo some appalling ordeal, an ordeal which would coincide with an eclipse of the sun. 'Upon that day,' wrote Master Martin, 'a great shadow will fall over the kingdom.'\n\nAnd then suddenly, one evening, Philip the Fair once again felt in his brain the immense sensation of bursting darkness followed by the appalling fall into the night that had come upon him in the forest of Pont-Sainte-Maxence. This time there was neither stag nor cross. There was but a tall body lying prostrate on a bed, unconscious of the attentions that were being lavished upon it.\n\nWhen he emerged from this dark realm of the unconscious, he did not know whether it had lasted one hour or two days. The first thing the King saw was a large white figure leaning over him. He heard, too, a voice addressing him.\n\n'Ah, it is you, Father Renaud,' the King said feebly. 'I recognise you very well\u2026 but you look as if you were surrounded by a mist.'\n\nThen, at once, he added, 'I am thirsty.'\n\nFather Renaud, of the Dominicans of Poissy, Grand Inquisitor of France, moistened the patient's lips with a little Holy water.\n\n'Has Bishop Pierre been sent for? Has he arrived yet?' the King then asked.\n\nBy one of those curious whims so frequent in the dying, leading them back to their earliest memories, it had been during the last few days an obsession of the King's to send for Pierre de Latille, Bishop of Ch\u00e2lons, a companion of his childhood, to come to his bedside. Why Pierre de Latille in particular? People wondered about this particular request, looked for hidden motives, whereas they need only have seen in it an accident of memory. And it was precisely this obsession that seized upon the King as he came out of the coma, following his second attack.\n\n'Yes, Sire, he has been sent for,' replied Brother Renaud, 'and I am surprised that he has not already arrived.'\n\nHe was lying. A messenger had certainly been sent to the Bishop of Ch\u00e2lons but, in agreement with Monseigneur of Valois, he had been sent so that the Bishop would be warned too late.\n\nBrother Renaud had a part to play and he could not agree that any other ecclesiastic should share it. Necessarily, the King's confessor had to be Grand Inquisitor of France. They had too many secrets in common to risk the danger that, at the moment of the King's death, they would be imparted to other ears. Thus the all-powerful monarch could not obtain the services of the friend he desired to help him upon his great journey.\n\n'Have you been speaking to me long, Brother Renaud?' the King asked.\n\nBrother Renaud, his chin lost in his mountainous flesh, his eyes small and dark, his naked skull surrounded with a thin coronet of straight yellow hair, was charged, under cover of his religious offices, to make known to the King what the living still desired to get from him.\n\n'Sire,' he said, 'if God were to call you to Him, as indeed He may call any of us at any time, you would be happy to leave the affairs of the kingdom in good order.'\n\nFor a moment the King did not answer.\n\n'Have I made my confession, Brother Renaud?' he asked.\n\n'Yes, Sire, the day before yesterday,' the Dominican replied.\n\n'A beautiful confession,' went on Brother Renaud, 'which we have all greatly admired, as your subjects will. You said that you repented having laid too many taxes upon your people and particularly upon the Church, but that you had no need to implore forgiveness for those who have died as a result of your actions, because fate and justice must be given every assistance.'\n\nThe Grand Inquisitor had raised his voice so that those present might hear him clearly.\n\n'Did I say that?' asked the King. 'Did I really say that?'\n\nHe no longer knew the truth. Had he really said those words, or was Brother Renaud inventing for him that edifying end which all great personages should make? He merely murmured, 'The dead \u2026' but he no longer had the strength to argue. He knew that he was going to join them.\n\n'You must make known your last wishes, Sire,' continued Brother Renaud patiently.\n\nHe moved a little from in front of the King's eyes, and the latter suddenly realised that the whole room was full of people.\n\n'Ah!' he said, 'I recognise you very well, all of you gathered here.'\n\nAnd he seemed surprised that the power of recognising faces should still be his. They were all there about his bed, his three sons, his two brothers, and the doctors with their basins and their lancets, and the Grand Chamberlain, and Enguerrand de Marigny. The end of the room was filled with the Peers of France, the great lords of the kingdom and other people of less importance who happened to be there by hazard of their duties. There was a great whispering among the crowd.\n\n'Yes, yes,' he whispered, 'I recognise you very well.'\n\nBut he saw them through a fog.\n\nWho was that over there, leaning against the wall, whose head rose above all others? Ah, yes, that was Robert of Artois, that blunderer who had caused him so much concern. And that strong-looking woman close by, who turned up her sleeves with the gesture of a midwife? He recognised her too; it was his cousin, the terrible Countess Mahaut.\n\nThe King thought of all the things he was leaving in a condition of suspense, of all the opposing interests that make up the life of a people.\n\n'The Pope has not been elected,' he murmured.\n\nOther problems chased and jostled through his tired mind. The affair of the Princesses had not been settled: his sons were without wives, but unable to take others; the business in Flanders had not been settled \u2026\n\nEvery man believes to some extent that the world began when he was born and, at the moment of leaving it, suffers at having to let the Universe remain unfinished.\n\nThe King moved his head to look at Louis of Navarre who, his hands hanging down beside his body, his chest hollow, seemed never to take his eyes off his father, but was thinking only of himself.\n\n'Weigh well, Louis, weigh well,' Philip the Fair murmured, 'what it is to be the King of France! Learn as early as you can the state of your kingdom.'\n\nThe Count of Poitiers forced himself to remain calm, and Charles, the third son, found it difficult to restrain his tears.\n\nBrother Renaud exchanged a look with Monseigneur of Valois which meant, 'Monseigneur, take a hand, or we shall be too late!'\n\nDuring these last days the Grand Inquisitor had followed the movement of power with subtlety. Philip the Fair was about to die. Louis of Navarre would succeed him, and Monseigneur of Valois was all-powerful with the heir. And so the Grand Inquisitor, by every gesture he made and every action he took, sought Valois's advice and manifested a growing devotion.\n\nValois went up to the dying man and said, 'Brother, are you sure there is nothing that should be changed in your will of 1311.'\n\n'Nogaret is dead,' replied the King.\n\nBrother Renaud and Valois exchanged another look, thinking that the King was no longer in his senses and they had waited too long. But Philip the Fair went on, 'He was the executor of my will.'\n\nValois immediately made a sign to Maillard, the King's private secretary, who came up with his pens and writing materials.\n\n'It would be a good thing, brother, if you would make a codicil newly appointing your executors,' said Valois.\n\n'I am thirsty,' Philip the Fair murmured.\n\nOnce again, a little Holy water was put to his lips.\n\nValois went on, 'I think you would wish me to watch over the execution of your wishes.'\n\n'Certainly,' said the King. 'And you too, Brother Louis,' he added, turning his head towards Monseigneur of Evreux, who asked nothing, said nothing, and was thinking of death.\n\nMaillard had begun to write. The King's eyelids were still. His eyes still had the same fixity, but instead of that brilliance which had so frightened his contemporaries, his immense blue irises seemed to be covered with a dull veil.\n\nAfter Louis of Evreux's name, other names came to the King's lips, as his glance picked out the faces about him. He thus named a Canon of Notre-Dame, Philippe le Convers, who was there to assist Brother Renaud, and Pierre de Chamely, a friend of his eldest son's, and then again Hugues de Bouville, the Grand Chamberlain.\n\nThen Enguerrand de Marigny approached and managed to mask the others present with his stout body.\n\nMarigny knew that, during the preceding days, Monseigneur of Valois had unceasingly endeavoured to injure him in the King's enfeebled thoughts. The accusations made against him had been reported to the Coadjutor. 'Your illness, Brother,' Valois had said, 'is due to all the anxieties that this bad servant has caused you. It is he who has separated you from all those who love you and, for his own profit, has placed the knigdom in the sad state it is at present. And it is he, Brother, who counselled you to burn the Grand Master of the Templars.'\n\nWas Philip the Fair about to name Marigny among the executors of his will and thus give him an ultimate gauge of his confidence?\n\nMaillard, his pen raised, waited. But Valois said at once, 'I think the list is complete, Brother.'\n\nAnd he made Maillard a sign which meant that he should close the list. Then Marigny said, 'I have always served you faithfully, Sire. I pray you to recommend me to your son.'\n\nBetween these two wills seeking to sway his mind, between Valois and Marigny, between his brother and his First Minister, the King had a moment of irresolution. How everyone, at this moment, was thinking of his own self and how little anyone was thinking of him!\n\n'Louis,' he said tiredly, 'let no harm come to Marigny if it is proved that he has been faithful.'\n\nWith that Marigny realised the accusations had borne fruit.\n\nBut Marigny knew his power. He held in his hand the administration, the finances and the Army; he even had the Church upon his side \u2013 save for Brother Renaud. He was sure that the Government could not be carried on without him. Crossing his arms, gazing at Valois and Louis of Navarre where they stood at the other side of the bed upon which his sovereign lay dying, he seemed to be defying the reign that was to come.\n\n'Sire, have you any other wishes?' asked Brother Renaud.\n\nAt that moment, Hugues de Bouville straightened a candle which was threatening to fall from the high candelabra of wrought iron that was already transforming the room into a lying-in-state.\n\n'Why is it growing so dark?' asked the King. 'Is it still night, has day not broken?'\n\nThose present automatically turned towards the windows. Indeed, upon that day, the sun was in eclipse and there was darkness over the whole land of France.\n\n'I return to my daughter Isabella,' the King suddenly said, 'the ring she gave me which carries the great ruby known as the Cherry.'\n\nHe fell silent for a moment, then asked, 'Has Pierre de Latille arrived?'\n\nAs no one replied, he added, 'I leave him my fine emerald.'\n\nAnd then he went on bequeathing golden sovereigns, 'To the value of a thousand pounds,' he added each time, to a variety of churches, to Notre-Dame of Boulogne because his daughter had been married in it, to Saint-Martin-de-Tour, and to Saint-Denis. This man who, all his life, had looked so carefully to his expenditure, still measured out the exact size of his gifts, as if he expected some indulgence from them.\n\nBrother Renaud leant down towards him and whispered in his ear, 'Sire, do not forget our Priory of Poissy.'\n\nUpon Philip the Fair's sunken face was visible an expression of annoyance.\n\n'Brother Renaud,' he said, 'I bequeath to your Monastery the fine Bible which I have annotated in my own hand. It will be useful to you, to you and to all the confessors of the Kings of France.'\n\nThe Grand Inquisitor who, from having burnt so many heretics and having so often been an accomplice of power, expected more than this, lowered his eyes to hide his vexation.\n\n'And to your sisters of the Dominican Order of Poissy,' the King added, 'I bequeath the great Cross of the Templars. It will be safe in your keeping.'\n\nAll those present felt a great chill. Valois made an imperious sign to Maillard to finish and ordered him to read the codicil aloud. When the secretary came to the words 'In the King's name', Valois, drawing his nephew Louis towards him and holding him by the arm, said, 'Add, \"And by the consent of the King of Navarre\".'\n\nThen Philip the Fair looked at this son who was to succeed him, and knew that his own reign had come to an end at that moment.\n\nHis hand had to be guided as he signed at the bottom of the parchment. Then he murmured, 'Is that all?'\n\nBut it was not, and the last day of the King of France was not yet over.\n\n'And now, Sire, you must transmit the royal miracle,' said Brother Renaud.\n\nAnd he ordered the room to be cleared so that the King might transmit to his son, according to the prescribed rites, the mysterious power of curing the King's evil.\n\nWith his head fallen back, Philip the Fair groaned, 'Brother Renaud, see what the world is worth. Here lies the King of France!'\n\nEven at the moment of dying, a last effort was demanded of him so that he might teach his successor how to relieve a comparatively mild disease.\n\nIt was not Philip the Fair who gave instructions as to the sacramental gestures and words: he had forgotten them. It was Brother Renaud. And Louis of Navarre, kneeling beside his father, his burning hands joined to the King's icy ones, received the secret inheritance.\n\nWhen this ceremony was over, the Court was once more admitted into the King's room, and Brother Renaud began to recite the prayers, which were taken up in low voices by all those present. They were in the middle of reciting the prayer, 'In manus tuas, Domine', 'Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit' when a door opened: Pierre de Latille came in. Everyone looked at the new arrival and, for a moment, while all lips were mechanically reciting, no one paid any attention except to the newcomer.\n\n'In manus tuas, Domine,' said the Bishop, taking up the refrain with the others.\n\nThen everyone turned back to the bed. Prayer died upon everyone's lips: the Iron King was dead.\n\nBrother Renaud moved forward to close the King's eyes. But the eyelids, which had never blinked, opened of their own accord. Twice the Grand Inquisitor tried in vain to close them. They had to use a bandage to conceal the stare of this monarch who was entering eternity with open eyes."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Mistress of the Art of Death 2) The Serpent's Tale",
        "author": "Ariana Franklin",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery",
            "pathology"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "The two men's voices carried down the tunnels with reverberations that made them indistinguishable but, even so, gave the impression of a business meeting. Which it was. In a way.\n\nAn assassin was receiving orders from his client, who was, the assassin thought, making it unnecessarily difficult for himself, as such clients did.\n\nIt was always the same; they wanted to conceal their identities, and turned up so masked or muffled you could hardly hear their instructions. They didn't want to be seen with you, which led to assignations on blasted heaths or places like this stinking cellar. They were nervous about handing over the down payment in case you stabbed them and then ran off with it.\n\nIf they only realized it, a respectable assassin like himself had to be trustworthy; his career depended on it. It had taken time, but Sicarius (the Latin pseudonym he'd chosen for himself ) was becoming known for excellence. Whether it was translated from the Latin as \"assassin\" or \"dagger,\" it stood for the neat removal of one's political opponent, wife, creditor, without suspicion being provable against oneself.\n\nSatisfied clients recommended him to others who were afflicted, though they pretended to make a joke of it: \"You could use the fellow they call Sicarius,\" they'd say. \"He's supposed to solve troubles like yours.\"\n\nAnd when pressed for information: \"I don't know, of course, but rumor has it he's to be contacted at the Bear in Southwark.\" Or Fillola's in Rome. Or La Boule in Paris. Or at whatever inn in whichever area one was plying for trade that season.\n\nThis month, Oxford. In a cellar connected by a long tunnel to the undercroft of an inn. He'd been led to it by a masked and hooded servant\u2014oh, really, so unnecessary\u2014and pointed toward a rich red-velvet curtain strung across one corner, hiding the client behind it and contrasting vividly with the mold on the walls and the slime underfoot. Damn it, one's boots would be ruined.\n\n\"The\u2026assignment will not be difficult for you?\" the curtain asked. The voice behind it had given very specific instructions.\n\n\"The circumstances are unusual, my lord,\" the assassin said. He always called them \"my lord.\" It pleased them. \"I don't usually like to leave evidence, but if that is what you require\u2026\"\n\n\"I do, but I meant spiritually,\" the curtain said. \"Does your conscience not worry you? Don't you fear for your soul's damnation?\"\n\nSo they'd reached that point, had they, the moment when clients distanced their morality from his, he being the low-born dirty bastard who wielded the knife and they merely the rich bastards who ordered it.\n\nHe could have said, \"It's a living and a good one, damned or not, and better than starving to death.\" He could have said, \"I don't have a conscience, I have standards, which I keep to.\" He could even have said, \"What about your soul's damnation?\"\n\nBut they paid for their rag of superiority, so he desisted. Instead, he said cheerily, \"High or low, my lord. Popes, peasants, kings, varlets, ladies, children, I dispose of them all\u2014and for the same price: seventy-five marks down and a hundred when the job's done.\" Keeping to the same tariff was part of his success.\n\n\"Children?\" The curtain was shocked.\n\nOh, dear, dear. Of course children. Children inherited. Children were obstacles to the stepfather, aunt, brother, cousin who would come into the estate once the little moppet was out of the way. And more difficult to dispose of than you'd think\u2026\n\nHe merely said, \"Perhaps you would go over the instructions again, my lord.\"\n\nKeep the client talking. Find out who he was, in case he tried to avoid the final payment. Killing those who reneged on the agreement meant tracking them down, inflicting a death that was both painfully inventive and, he hoped, a warning to future clients.\n\nThe voice behind the curtain repeated what it had already said. To be done on such and such a day, in such and such a place, by these means the death to occur in such and such a manner, this to be left, that to be taken away.\n\nThey always want precision, the assassin thought wearily. Do it this way, do it that. As if killing is a science rather than an art.\n\nNevertheless, in this instance, the client had planned the murder with extraordinary detail and had intimate knowledge of his victim's comings and goings; it would be as well to comply\u2026.\n\nSo Sicarius listened carefully, not to the instructions\u2014he'd memorized them the first time\u2014but to the timbre of the client's voice, noting phrases he could recognize again, waiting for a cough, a stutter that might later identify the speaker in a crowd.\n\nWhile he listened, he looked around him. There was nothing to be learned from the servant who stood in the shadows, carefully shrouded in an unexceptional cloak and with his shaking hand\u2014oh, bless him\u2014on the hilt of a sword stuck into a belt, as if he wouldn't be dead twenty times over before he could draw it. A pitiful safeguard, but probably the only creature the client trusted.\n\nThe location of the cellar, now\u2026it told the assassin something, if only that the client had shown cunning in choosing it. There were three exits, one of them the long tunnel, down which he'd been guided from the inn. The other two might lead anywhere, to the castle, perhaps, or\u2014he sniffed\u2014to the river. The only certainty was that it was somewhere in the bowels of Oxford. And bowels, as the assassin had reason to know, having laid bare quite a few, were extensive and tortuous.\n\nBuilt during the Stephen and Matilda war, of course. The assassin reflected uneasily on the tunneling that had, literally, undermined England during the thirteen years of that unfortunate and bloody fracas. The strategic jewel that was Oxford, guarding the country's main routes south to north and east to west, where they crossed the Thames, had suffered badly. Besieged and re-besieged, people had dug like moles both to get in and to get out. One of these days, he thought\u2014and God give it wasn't today\u2014the bloody place would collapse into the wormholes they'd made of its foundations.\n\nOxford, he thought. A town held mainly for King Stephen and, therefore, the wrong side. Twenty years on, and its losers still heaved with resentment against Matilda's son, Henry Plantagenet, the ultimate winner and king.\n\nThe assassin had gained a deal of information while in the area\u2014it always paid to know who was upside with whom, and why\u2014and he thought it possible that the client was one of those still embittered by the war and that the assignment was, therefore, political.\n\nIn which case it could be dangerous. Greed, lust, revenge: Their motives were all one to him, but political clients were usually of such high degree that they had a tendency to hide their involvement by hiring yet another murderer to kill the first, i.e., him. It was always wearisome and only led to more bloodletting, though never his.\n\nAha. The unseen client had shifted, and for a second, no more, the tip of a boot had shown beneath the curtain hem. A boot of fine doeskin, like one's own, and new, possibly recently made in Oxford\u2014again, like one's own.\n\nA round of the local boot makers was called for.\n\n\"We are agreed, then?\" the curtain asked.\n\n\"We are agreed, my lord.\"\n\n\"Seventy-five marks, you say?\"\n\n\"In gold, if you please, my lord,\" the assassin said, still cheerful. \"And similarly with the hundred when the job's done.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" the client said, and told his servant to hand over the purse containing the fee.\n\nAnd in doing so made a mistake which neither he nor the servant noticed but which the assassin found informative. \"Give Master Sicarius the purse, my son,\" the client said.\n\nIn fact, the clink of gold from the purse as it passed was hardly less satisfactory than that the assassin now knew his client's occupation.\n\nAnd was surprised."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "The woman on the bed had lost the capacity to scream. Apart from the drumming of her feet and the thump of her fists against the sheets, her gyrations were silent, as if she were miming agony.\n\nThe three nuns, too, kneeling at either side, might have been aping intercession; their mouths moved soundlessly, because any noise, even the sibilance of a whispered prayer, set off another convulsion in the patient. They had their eyes closed so as not to see her suffering. Only the woman standing at the end of the bed watched it, showing no expression.\n\nOn the walls, Adam and Eve skipped in innocent tapestried health among the flora and fauna of the Garden while the Serpent, in a tree, and God, on a cloud, looked on with amiability. It was a circular room, its beauty now mocking the ghastliness of its owner: the fair hair that had turned black and straggled with sweat, the corded veins in the once-white neck, lips stretched in the terrible grin.\n\nWhat could be done had been done. Candles and burning incense holders heated a room where the lattices and shutters had been stuffed closed so as not to rattle.\n\nMother Edyve had stripped Godstow, her convent, of its reliquaries in order to send the saints' aid to this stricken woman. Too old to come herself, she had told Sister Havis, Godstow's prioress, what to do. Accordingly, the tibia of Saint Scholastica had been tied to the flailing arm, droplets from the phial containing Saint Mary's milk poured on the poor head, and a splinter of the True Cross placed into the woman's hand, though it had been jerked across the room during a spasm.\n\nCarefully, so as not to make a noise, Sister Havis got up and left the room. The woman who had been standing at the end of the bed followed her. \"Where you going?\"\n\n\"To fetch Father Pol. I sent for him; he's waiting in the kitchen.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nLike the stern but well-born Christian she was, Havis showed patience to the afflicted, though this particular female always made her flesh creep. She said, \"It is time, Dakers. She must receive the viaticum.\"\n\n\"I'll kill you. She ain't going to die. I'll kill the priest if he comes upstairs.\"\n\nIt was spoken without force or apparent emotion, but the prioress believed it of this woman; every servant in the place had already run away for fear of what she might do if their mistress died.\n\n\"Dakers, Dakers,\" she said\u2014always name the mad when speaking to them so as to remind them of themselves\u2014\"we cannot deny the rite of holy unction's comfort to a soul about to begin its journey. Look\u2026\" She caught hold of the housekeeper's arm and turned her so that both women faced into the room where their muttered voices had caused the body on the bed to arch again. Only its heels and the top of its head rested on the bed, forming a tortured bridge.\n\n\"No human frame can withstand such torment,\" Sister Havis said. \"She is dying.\" With that, she began to go down the stairs.\n\nFootsteps followed her, causing her to hold fast to the banister in case she received a push in the back. She kept on, but it was a relief to gain the ground and go into white-cold fresh air as she crossed to the kitchen that had been modeled on that of Fontevrault, with its chimneys, and stood like a giant pepper pot some yards away from the tower.\n\nThe flames in one of the fireplaces were the only light and sent leaps of red reflection on the drying sheets that hung from hooks normally reserved for herbs and flitches of bacon.\n\nFather Pol, a mousy little man, and mousier than ever tonight, crouched on a stool, cradling a fat black cat as if he needed its comfort in this place.\n\nHis eyes met the nun's and then rolled in inquiry toward the figure of the housekeeper.\n\n\"We are ready for you now, Father,\" the prioress told him.\n\nThe priest nodded in relief. He stood up, carefully placed the cat on the stool, gave it a last pat, picked up the chrismatory at his feet, and scuttled out. Sister Havis waited a moment to see if the housekeeper would come with them, saw that she would not, and followed Father Pol.\n\nLeft alone, Dakers stared into the fire.\n\nThe blessing by the bishop who had been called to her mistress two days ago had done nothing. Neither had the all the convent's trumpery. The Christian god had failed.\n\nVery well.\n\nShe began to move briskly. Items were taken from the cupboard in the tiny room that was her domain next to the kitchen. When she came back, she was muttering. She put a leather-bound book with a lock on the chopping block. On it was placed a crystal that, in the firelight, sent little green lights from its facets wobbling around the room.\n\nOne by one, she lit seven candles and dripped the wax of each onto the block to make a stand. They formed a circle round the book and crystal, giving light as steady as the ones upstairs, though emitting a less pleasant smell than beeswax.\n\nThe cauldron hanging from a jack over the fire was full and boiling, and had been kept so as to provide water for the washing of the sickroom sheets. So many sheets.\n\nThe woman bent over it to make sure that the surface of the water bubbled. She looked around for the cauldron's lid, a large, neatly holed circle of wood with an iron handle arched over its center, found it, and leaned it carefully on the floor at her feet. From the various fire irons by the side of the hearth, dogs, spits, etc., she picked out a long poker and laid that, too, on the floor by the lid.\n\n\"Igzy-bidzy,\" she was muttering, \"sishnu shishnu, adonymanooey, eelam-peelam\u2026\" The ignorant might have thought the repetition to be that of a child's skipping rhyme; others would have recognized the deliberately garbled, many-faithed versions of the holy names of God.\n\nDodging the sheets, Dame Dakers crossed to where Father Pol had been sitting and picked up the cat, cradling and petting it as he had done. It was a good cat, a famous ratter, the only one she allowed in the place.\n\nTaking it to the hearth, she gave it a last stroke with one hand and reached for the cauldron lid with the other.\n\nStill chanting, she dropped the cat into the boiling water, swiftly popping the lid in place over it and forcing it down. The poker was slid through the handle so that it overlapped the edges.\n\nFor a second the lid rattled against the poker and a steaming shriek whistled through the lid's holes. Dame Dakers knelt on the hearth's edge, commending the sacrifice to her master.\n\nIf God had failed, it was time to petition the Devil.\n\nEighty-odd miles to the east as the crow flew, Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar was delivering a baby for the first time\u2014or trying to deliver it.\n\n\"Push, Ma,\" said the fetus's eldest sister helpfully from the sidelines.\n\n\"Don't you be telling her that,\" Adelia said in East Anglian. \"Her can't push til the time comes.\" At this stage, the poor woman had little control over the matter.\n\nAnd neither do I, she thought in desperation. I don't know what to do.\n\nIt was going badly; labor had been protracted to the point where the mother, an uncomplaining fenwoman, was becoming exhausted.\n\nOutside, on the grass, watched by Adelia's dog, Mansur was singing nursery rhymes from his homeland to amuse the other children\u2014all of whom had been delivered easily with the aid of a neighbor and a bread knife\u2014and it was a measure of Adelia's desperation that at this moment she relished neither his voice nor the strangeness of hearing a castrato's angelic soprano wafting minor-key Arabic over an English fenland. She could only wonder at the endurance of the suffering woman on the bed, who managed to gasp, \"Tha's pretty.\"\n\nThe woman's husband remained uncharmed. He was hiding himself and his concern for his wife in the hut's undercroft with his cow. His voice came up the wooden flight of stairs to the stage\u2014part hayloft, part living quarters\u2014where the women battled. \"Her never had this to-do when Goody Baines delivered 'em.\"\n\nGood for Goody Baines, Adelia thought. But those babies had come without trouble, and there had been too many of them. Later, she would have to point out that Mistress Reed had given birth to nine in twelve years; another would probably kill her, even if this one did not.\n\nHowever, now was not the moment. It was necessary to keep up confidence, especially that of the laboring mother, so she called brightly, \"You be thankful you got me now, bor, so you just keep that old water bilin.'\"\n\nMe, she thought, an anatomist, and a foreigner to boot. My speciality is corpses. You have a right to be worried. If you were aware of how little experience I have with any parturition other than my own, you'd be frantic.\n\nThe unknown Goody Baines might have known what to do; so might Gyltha, Adelia's companion and nursemaid to her child, but both women were independently paying a visit to Cambridge Fair and would not be back for a day or two, their departure having coincided with the onset of Mistress Reed's labor. Only Adelia in this isolated part of fenland was known to have medical knowledge and had, therefore, been called to the emergency.\n\nAnd if the woman in the bed had broken her bones or contracted any form of disease, Adelia could indeed have helped her, for Adelia was a doctor\u2014not just wise in the use of herbs and the pragmatism handed down from woman to woman through generations, and not, like so many men parading as physicians, a charlatan who bamboozled his patients with disgusting medicines for high prices. No, Adelia was a graduate of the great and liberal, forward-thinking, internationally admired School of Medicine in Salerno, which defied the Church by enrolling women into its studies if they were clever enough.\n\nFinding Adelia's brain on a par with, even excelling, that of the cleverest male student, her professors had given her a masculine education, which, later, she had completed by joining her Jewish foster father in his department of autopsy.\n\nA unique education, then, but of no use to her now, because in its wisdom\u2014and it was wisdom\u2014Salerno's School of Medicine had seen that midwifery was better left to midwives. Adelia could have cured Mistress Reed's baby, she could have performed a postmortem on it were it dead and revealed what it died of\u2014but she couldn't birth it.\n\nShe handed over a basin of water and cloth to the woman's daughter, crossed the room, and picked up her own baby from its wicker basket, sat down on a hay bale, undid her laces, and began to feed it.\n\nShe had a theory about breast-feeding, as she had for practically everything: It should be accompanied by calm, happy thoughts. Usually, when she nursed the child, she sat in the doorway of her own little reed-thatched house at Waterbeach and allowed her eyes and mind to wander over the Cam fenland. At first its flat greenness had fared badly against the remembered Mediterranean panorama of her birth, with its jagged drama set against a turquoise sea. But flatness, too, has its beauty, and gradually she had come to appreciate the immense skies over infinite shades of willow and alder that the natives called carr, and the richness of fish and wildlife teeming in the hidden rivers.\n\n\"Mountains?\" Gyltha had said once. \"Don't hold with mountains. They buggers do get in the way.\"\n\nBesides, this was now the homeland of the child in her arms, and therefore infinitely beloved.\n\nBut today, Adelia dared not indulge either her eyes or her mind for her baby's sake. There was another child to be saved, and be damned if she was going to let it die through her own ignorance. Or the mother, either.\n\nSilently apologizing to the little thing in her arms, Adelia set herself to envisaging the corpses she'd dissected of mothers who'd died with their fetuses yet undelivered.\n\nSuch pitiable cadavers, yet when they were laid out on the marble table of the great autopsy hall in Salerno, she'd withheld compassion from them, as she'd learned to do with all the dead in order to serve them better. Emotion had no place in the art of dissection, only clear, trained, investigative reasoning.\n\nNow, here, in a whiskery little hut on the edge of the civilized world, she did it again, blanking from her mind the suffering of the woman on the bed and replacing it with a map of interior organs, positions, pressures, displacements. \"Hmm.\"\n\nHardly aware she was doing it, Adelia withdrew her baby from her left, now empty, breast and transferred it to the other, still calculating stresses on brain and navel cord, why and when suffocation occurred, blood loss, putrefaction\u2026\"Hmm.\"\n\n\"Here, missis. Summat's coming.\" The daughter was guiding her mother's hands toward the bridle that had been tied to the bed head.\n\nAdelia laid her child back in its basket, covered herself up, and went to the bottom of the bed.\n\nSomething was indeed emerging from the mother's body, but it wasn't a baby's head, it was a baby's backside.\n\nGoddamn. A breech birth. She'd suspected it but, by the time she'd been brought in, engagement in the uterus had taken place and it was too late to insert her hand and revolve the fetus, even if she'd had the knowledge and daring.\n\n\"Ain't you going to tug it out?\" the daughter asked.\n\n\"Not yet.\" She'd seen the irreparable damage caused by pulling at this stage. Instead, she addressed the mother. \"Now you push. Whether you want to or not, push.\"\n\nMistress Reed nodded, put part of the bridle in her mouth, clamped her teeth on it, and began pushing. Adelia gestured to the girl to help her drag the mother's body farther down the bed so that her buttocks hung over the edge and gravity could play its part.\n\n\"Hold her legs straight. By the ankles, behind me, behind me, that's right. Well done, mistress. Keep pushing.\" She herself was on her knees, a good position for delivering\u2014and praying.\n\nHelp us, Lord.\n\nEven so, she waited until a navel appeared with its attached cord. She touched the cord gently\u2014a strong pulse. Good, good.\n\nNow for it.\n\nMoving quickly but with care, she entered her hand into the mother's cavity and released one leg, then the other, flexing the tiny knees.\n\n\"Push. Push, will you.\"\n\nOh, beautiful, sliding out by themselves without having to be pulled were two arms and a torso up to the nape of the neck. Supporting the body with one hand, Adelia laid the other on the little back and felt the tremor of a pulse.\n\nCrucial now. Only minutes before suffocation set in. God, whichever god you are, be with us now.\n\nHe wasn't. Mistress Reed had lost strength, and the baby's head was still inside.\n\n\"Pass over that pack, that pack.\" In seconds, Adelia had extracted her dissection knife, always kept clean.\n\n\"Now.\" She placed the daughter's hand on Mistress Reed's pubic region. \"Press.\" Still supporting the little torso, she made a cut in the mother's perineum. There was a slither and, because the knife was still in her fingers, she had to catch the baby in the crook of her elbows.\n\nThe daughter was shouting, \"That's out, Dadda.\"\n\nMaster Reed appeared at the head of the ladder in a smell of cow dung. \"Gor dang, what is it?\"\n\nStupid with relief, Adelia said, \"It's a baby.\" Ugly, bloodied, soapy, froglike, with its feet tending toward its head as they had in the womb, but undamaged, breathing, and, when tapped on its back, objecting to life in general and its emergence into it in particular\u2014to Adelia, as beautiful a sight and sound as the world was capable of producing.\n\n\"That's as may be, but what is it?\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Adelia put down the knife and turned the miracle over. It was male, quite definitely male. She gathered herself. \"I believe the scrotum swelling to be caused by bruising and will subside.\"\n\n\"He's a'going to be popular if it don't, ain't he?\" Master Reed said.\n\nThe cord was severed, Mistress Reed was stitched and made decent for visitors, and the baby was wrapped in a fleece and put into his mother's arms.\n\n\"Here, missis, you got a name as we can call him after?\" her husband wanted to know.\n\n\"Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar,\" Adelia said apologetically.\n\nThere was silence.\n\n\"What about him?\" Master Reed pointed at the tall figure of Mansur, who had come up with the siblings to view the miracle.\n\n\"Mansur bin Fay\u00ee\u00ee bin Nasab Al-Masaari Khayoun of Al Amarah.\"\n\nMore silence.\n\nMansur, whose alliance with Gyltha was enabling him to understand English even if it gave him little chance to speak it, said in Arabic, \"The prior comes, I saw his boat. Let them call the boy Geoffrey.\"\n\n\"Prior Geoffrey's here?\" Adelia was down the ladder in a trice and running to the tiny wooden platform that served as a quay\u2014all homes in the fenland had access to one of its innumerable rivers, its children learning to maneuver a coracle as soon as they could walk.\n\nClambering out of his barge with the help of a liveried oarsman was one of Adelia's favorite people. \"How are you here?\" she said, hugging him. \"Why are you here? How is Ulf?\"\n\n\"A handful, but a clever handful. He thrives.\" Gyltha's grandson, and, so it was said, the prior's as well, had been set to serious study at the priory school and would not be allowed to leave it until the spring sowing.\n\n\"I am so pleased to see you.\"\n\n\"And I you. They told me at Waterbeach where you were gone. It appears that the mountain must come to Mohammed.\"\n\n\"It's still too mountainous,\" Adelia said, standing back to look at him. The prior of Saint Augustine's great canonry in Cambridge had been her first patient and, subsequently, her first friend in England; she worried about him. \"You have not been keeping to my diet.\"\n\n\"Dum vivimus, vivamus,\" he said. \"Let us live while we live. I subscribe to the Epicureans.\"\n\n\"Do you know the mortality rate among Epicureans?\"\n\nThey spoke in fast and classical Latin because it was natural to them, though it caused the men in the prior's barge to wonder why their lord was concealing from them what he was saying to a woman and, even more wondrous, how a woman could understand it.\n\n\"Oh, but you are well come,\" Adelia said, \"just in time to baptize my first delivery. It will comfort his parents, though he is a healthy, glorious child.\"\n\nAdelia did not subscribe to the theory of Christian infant baptism, just as she didn't subscribe to any of what she regarded as barbarous tenets held by the world's three major faiths. A god who would not allow that baby upstairs into the Kingdom of Heaven if it died before being sprinkled with certain words and water was not a god she wanted anything to do with.\n\nBut his parents regarded the ceremony as vital, if only to ensure the boy a Christian burial should the worst happen. Master Reed had been about to send for the shabby, peripatetic priest who served the area.\n\nThe Reed family watched in silence as bejewelled fingers wetted their son's forehead and a voice as velvety-rich as its owner's vestments welcomed him into the faith, promising him life eternal and pronouncing him \"Geoffrey in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.\"\n\n\"Fen people never say thank you,\" Adelia apologized, as, carrying her baby, she joined the prior in his barge, the dog called Ward scrambling in with her, leaving Mansur to follow in their rowing boat. \"But they never forget, either. They were grateful but amazed. You were too much for them, as if archangel Gabriel had come down in a shaft of gold.\"\n\n\"Non angeli, sed angli, I fear,\" Prior Geoffrey said, and such was his fondness for Adelia that he, who had lived in Cambridgeshire for thirty years, remained complacent at being instructed in the ways of the fens by this woman from southern Italy.\n\nLook at her, he thought, dressed like a scarecrow, accompanied by a dog that will necessitate fumigation of the bench it sits on, the finest mind of her generation hugging her bastard for joy at having delivered a brat into a hovel.\n\nNot for the first time, he wondered about her parentage, of which she was as ignorant as he. Brought up by a Salernitan couple, a Jew and his Christian wife, who'd found her abandoned among the stones of Vesuvius, her hair was the dark blond sometimes seen on Greeks or Florentines. Not that anybody could see it at the moment, hidden in that unspeakable cap.\n\nShe is still the oddity she was when we first met on the road to Cambridge, Prior Geoffrey thought. I returning from the pilgrimage to Canterbury, she in a cart, accompanied by an Arab and a Jew. I put her down as their trull, not recognizing the virginity of a scholar. Yet when I began to bawl in pain\u2014Lord, how I bawled, and Lord, what pain it was\u2014despite all my company of Christians, only she played the Samaritan. In saving my life that day she reduced me, me, to stammering adolescence by manipulating my most intimate parts as if they were mere tripes to be cooked. And still I find her beautiful.\n\nShe had been obeying a summons even then, brought from her work with the dead of Salerno to be part of a team in disguise led by the investigating Jew, Simon of Naples, to find out who was killing Cambridge's children\u2014a matter that seriously bothered the King of England because it was leading to riot and, therefore, a depletion of his taxes.\n\nThis being England and not freethinking Salerno, it had been necessary for Mansur, Adelia's servant, to set up as the doctor, with Adelia herself pretending to be his assistant during their investigation. Poor, good Simon\u2014even though a Jew, the prior remembered him in his prayers\u2014had been murdered in his search for the killer, and Adelia herself had nearly lost her life, but the case had been resolved, justice imposed, and the king's taxes restored to his treasury.\n\nIn fact, so useful had been Adelia's forensic skill in the matter that King Henry had refused to let her return to Italy in case he should need her again. A miserly and greedy ingratitude typical of kings, Prior Geoffrey thought, even while he rejoiced that it had made the woman his neighbor.\n\nHow much does she resent this exile? It wasn't as if she'd been rewarded. The king had done nothing\u2014well, he'd been abroad\u2014when Cambridge's doctors, jealous of a successful interloper, had driven her and Mansur out of town and into the wilderness of the fens.\n\nSick and suffering men and women had followed them, and still did, not caring if treatment was at the hands of foreign unbelievers but only that it made them well.\n\nLord, I fear for her. Her enemies will damn her for it. Use her illegitimate child as proof that she is immoral, take her before the Archdeaconal Court to con demn her as a sinner. And what can I do?\n\nPrior Geoffrey groaned at his own guilt. What friend have I been to her? Or to her Arab? Or Gyltha?\n\nUntil he had himself teetered on the edge of death and been dragged back by Adelia, he had followed the Church's teaching on science that only the soul mattered, not the body. Physical pain? It is God's purpose, put up with it. Investigation? Dissection? Experiments? Sic vos ardebitis in Gehenna. So will ye burn in hell.\n\nBut Adelia's ethos was Salerno's, where Arab, Jewish, and even Christian minds refused to set barriers on their search for knowledge. She had lectured him: \"How can it be God's purpose to watch a man drowning when to stretch out one's hand would save him? You were drowning in your own urine. Was I to fold my arms rather than relieve the bladder? No, I knew how to do it and I did it. And I knew because I had studied the offending gland in men who'd died from it.\"\n\nAn oddly prim little thing she'd been then, unsophisticated, curiously nunlike except for her almost savage honesty, her intelligence, and her hatred of superstition. She had at least gained something from her time in England, he thought\u2014more womanliness, a softening, and, of course, the baby\u2014the result of a love affair as passionate and as unsuitable as that of H\u00e9lo\u00efse and Abelard.\n\nPrior Geoffrey sighed and waited for her to ask why, busy and important man that he was, he had sailed forth to look for her.\n\nThe advent of winter had stripped the fens of leaves, allowing the sun unusual access to the river so that its water reflected back exactly the wild shapes of naked willow and alder along the banks. Adelia, voluble with relief and triumph, pointed out the names of the birds flying up from under the barge's prow to the stolid baby on her lap, repeating their names in English, Latin, and French, and appealing to Mansur across the water when she forgot the Arabic.\n\nHow old is my godchild now? the prior wondered, amused. Eight months? Nine? \"Somewhat early to be a polyglot,\" he said.\n\n\"You can't start too soon.\"\n\nShe looked up at last. \"Where are we going? I presume you did not come so far on the chance of baptizing a baby.\"\n\n\"A privilege, medica,\" Prior Geoffrey said. \"I was taken back to a blessed stable in Bethlehem. But no, I did not come for that. This messenger\"\u2014he beckoned forward a figure that had been standing, cloaked and transfixed, at the barge prow\u2014\"arrived for you at the priory with a summons, and since he would have had difficulty finding you in these waters, I volunteered to bring him.\"\n\nAnyway, he'd known he must be at hand when the summons was delivered; she wouldn't want to obey it.\n\n\"Dang bugger,\" Adelia said in pure East Anglian\u2014like Mansur's, her English vocabulary was being enlarged by Gyltha. \"What?\"\n\nThe messenger was a skinny young fellow, and Adelia's glare almost teetered him backward. Also, he was looking, openmouthed, to the prior for confirmation. \"This is the lady Adelia, my lord?\" It was, after all, a name that suggested nobility; he'd expected dignity\u2014beauty, even\u2014the sweep of a skirt on marble, not this dowdy thing with a dog and a baby.\n\nPrior Geoffrey smiled. \"The lady Adelia, indeed.\"\n\nOh, well. The young man bowed, flinging back a cloak to show the arms embroidered on his tabard, two harts rampant and a golden saltire. \"From my most reverend master, the lord Bishop of Saint Albans.\"\n\nA scroll was extended.\n\nAdelia didn't take it. The animation had leeched out of her. \"What does he want?\" It was said with a frigidity the messenger was unused to. He looked helplessly at the prior.\n\nPrior Geoffrey intervened; he had received a similar scroll. Still using Latin, he said, \"It appears that our lord bishop needs your expertise, Adelia. He's summoned you to Cambridge\u2014something about an attempted murder in Oxfordshire. I gather it is a matter heavy with political implications.\"\n\nThe messenger went on proffering his scroll; Adelia went on not taking it. She appealed to her friend. \"I'm not going, Geoffrey. I don't want to go.\"\n\n\"I know, my dear, but it is why I have come. I'm afraid you must.\"\n\n\"I don't want to see him. I'm happy here. Gyltha, Mansur, Ulf, and this one\u2026\" She dandled the child at him. \"I like the fens, I like the people. Don't make me go.\"\n\nThe plea lacerated him, but he hardened his heart. \"My dear, I have no choice. Our lord bishop sends to say that it is a matter of the king's business. The king's. Therefore, you have no choice, either. You are the king's secret weapon.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Cambridge hadn't expected to see its bishop again so soon. Eighteen months ago, after his appointment to the see of Saint Albans, the town had turned out for him with all the pomp due a man whose word ranked only a little below that of God, the Pope, and the Archbishop of Canterbury.\n\nWith equal pomp, it had seen him off on an inaugural circuit of his diocese that, because it was huge, like all England's sees, would take him more than two years to complete.\n\nYet here he was, before his time, without the lumbering baggage train that had accompanied him when he left, and with gallopers coming only a few hours ahead to warn of his arrival.\n\nStill, Cambridge turned out for him. In strength. Some people fell on their knees or held up their children to receive the great man's blessing; others ran at his stirrup, babbling their grievances for him to mend. Most just enjoyed the spectacle.\n\nA popular man, Bishop Rowley Picot. One of Cambridge's own. Been on Crusade. A king's appointee to the bishopric, too, not the Pope's. Which was good, King Henry II being nearer and more immediately powerful than the Vatican.\n\nNot one of your dry-as-a-stick bishops, either: known to have a taste for hunting, grub, and his drink, with an eye for the ladies, so they said, but given all that up since God tapped him on the shoulder. And hadn't he brought to justice the child murderers who'd terrorized the town a while back?\n\nMansur and Adelia, followed disconsolately by the bishop's messenger, had insisted on scouring Cambridge's fair for Gyltha, and now, having found her, Mansur was holding her up so that she could peer over the heads of the crowd to watch the bishop go by. \"Dressed like a Christmas beef, bless him,\" Gyltha reported down to Adelia. \"Ain't you going to let little un look?\"\n\n\"No,\" Adelia said, pressing her child more closely to her.\n\n\"Got a crosier and ever'thing,\" Gyltha persisted. \"Not sure that hat suits un, though.\"\n\nIn her mind's eye, Adelia saw a portly, portentous, mitered figure representing, as most bishops did, the hypocrisy and suffocation of a church that opposed not only herself but every advance necessary for the mental and physical health of mankind.\n\nThere was a touch on her shoulder. \"If you would follow me, mistress. His lordship is to grant you an audience in his house, but first he must receive the sheriff and celebrate Mass.\"\n\n\"Grant us a audience,\" Gyltha mimicked as Mansur lowered her to the ground. \"That's rich, that is.\"\n\n\"Um.\" The bishop's messenger\u2014his name had turned out to be Jacques\u2014was still off-balance; Saracens and fishwives were not the sort of people he was in service to deal with. Somewhat desperately, he said, \"Mistress, I believe my lord expects his interview to be with you only.\"\n\n\"This lady and gentleman come with me,\" Adelia told him, \"or I don't go.\"\n\nBeing in Cambridge again was distressing her. The worst moments of her life, and the best, had passed in this town; the place was haunted by spirits whose bones rested in peace while others still shrieked to a god that hadn't heard them.\n\n\"The dog, too,\" she added, and saw the poor messenger's eyes roll. She didn't care; it had been a concession to come at all. When she'd stopped off at her house on the way in order to pack suitable winter clothing for them all, she had gone so far as to wash her hair and change into her best dress, shabby though it now was. Further than that, she would not go.\n\nThe episcopal residence\u2014the bishop had one in every major town in the diocese\u2014was in Saint Mary's parish, a building now abuzz with servants preparing it for unexpected habitation.\n\nFollowed by the dog, Ward, the three were shown into a large upstairs chamber where dust sheets were now being whisked off heavy, ornate furniture. An open door at its far end revealed the gilt and plaster of a bedroom where footmen were hanging brocade drapes from the tester of a magnificent bed.\n\nOne of them saw Mansur looking in and crossed the room to shut the door in his face. Ward lifted his leg and piddled against the door's carved arch.\n\n\"Tha's a good dog,\" Gyltha said.\n\nAdelia hefted the rush basket holding her sleeping baby onto a brassbound chest, fetched a stool, undid her bodice laces, and began the feed. What a remarkable child, she thought, gazing down at it, accustomed to the quiet of the fens yet showing no fear, only interest, amid the hubbub that had been Cambridge today.\n\n\"Well,\" Gyltha said to her. The two women hadn't had a moment until now in which to talk privately.\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"What's his lordship want with you, then?\"\n\nAdelia shrugged. \"To look into an attempted murder in Oxfordshire, so Prior Geoffrey said.\"\n\n\"Didn't think you'd come for that.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't have, but it's on the king's orders, apparently.\"\n\n\"Oh, bugger,\" Gyltha said.\n\n\"Indeed.\" Henry Plantagenet's was the ultimate command; you could squirm under it, but you disobeyed it at your peril.\n\nThere were times when Adelia resented Henry II bitterly for marooning her on the island of Britain so that, having discovered her talents at reading the secrets of the dead, he could use them again. There were other times when she didn't.\n\nLetters had originally passed between the English king and his royal kinsman, William of Sicily, requesting help for the problem in Cambridge that only Salerno's investigative tradition could provide. It had been a shock to everybody that Salerno obliged by sending a mistress of the art of death rather than a master, but things had turned out well\u2014for Henry II, at least. So much so that other letters had passed between him and King William requesting\u2014and granting\u2014that Adelia stay where she was awhile longer.\n\nIt had been done without her request or permission, an act of naked piracy, typical of the man. \"I'm not an object,\" she'd shouted at him. \"You can't borrow me, I'm a human being.\"\n\n\"And I'm a king,\" Henry told her. \"If I say you stay, you stay.\"\n\nDamn him, he hadn't even paid her for all she'd done, for the danger, for the loss of beloved friends\u2014to the end of her days, she would mourn for Simon of Naples, that wise and gentle man whose companionship had been like a second father's. And her dog, a much lesser loss but, nevertheless, a grief.\n\nOn the other hand, to weight the scale, she had retained her dear Mansur, gained an affection for England and its people, been awarded the friendship of Prior Geoffrey, Gyltha and her grandson, and, best of all, acquired her baby.\n\nAlso, although the Plantagenet was a crafty, hot-tempered, parsimonious swine, he was still a great king, a very great king, and not just because he ruled an empire of countries stretching from the borders of Scotland to the Pyrenees. The quarrel between him and his Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas \u00e0 Becket, would damn him forever, ending as it had in the archbishop's murder. But Henry'd had the right of it, in Adelia's opinion, and it had been disastrous for the world that the Jew-hating, self-aggrandizing, backward-looking Becket's refusal to allow any reform of the equally backward-looking English Church had driven his king into uttering the dreadful cry \"Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?\" For immediately it had been taken up by some of his knights with their own reasons for wanting Becket dead. They'd slipped away across the Channel to Canterbury and committed a deed that had resulted in making a martyred saint out of a brave but stupid and blinkered man while, at the same time, giving the Church every excuse to scourge a king who'd wanted to curb its power and allow greater justice to his people with laws more fair, more humane than any in the world.\n\nYes, they called Henry Plantagenet a fiend, and there were times when Adelia thought he probably was, but she also knew that his ferocious blue eyes saw further into the future than any other man's. He'd succeeded to the throne of an England blasted and impoverished by civil war and given it a secure prosperity that was the envy of other lands.\n\nIt was said his wife and his sons resented and had plotted against him and, again, Adelia could see why\u2014he was so far ahead of everybody else, so quick, that their relationship with him could provide no more than metaphorically clinging to his stirrup as he rode.\n\nYet when the Church would have put Adelia on trial during her search for the murderer of Cambridge's children, it was this busy king who'd found time to step in and exonerate her.\n\nWell, so he should, she thought. Wasn't I saving him trouble and money? I'm not his subject, I am a Sicilian; he has no right to coerce me into his service.\n\nWhich would have been an unquestionably reasonable sentiment if, sometimes, Adelia didn't feel that to be in the service of Henry II of England was a privilege.\n\nNevertheless, she damned his eyes for him and, for the sake of her child's digestion, tried to clear him from her mind. Trouble was, the vast room around her reflected a Church that made her angrier than Henry ever could. Here was nothing that was not rigidly and opulently religious\u2014the bishop's massive chair, a cushioned, gold-inlaid prie-dieu where his lordship could kneel in comfort to the Christ, who'd died in poverty, air stuffy with incense. Urging herself to despise it, Adelia contrasted it with Prior Geoffrey's room at the priory, which was all the holier for its reminders of the profane\u2014fishing rods in a corner, the smell of good food, an exquisite little bronze Aphrodite brought back from Rome, the framed letter from a pupil he was proud of.\n\nShe finished feeding. Gyltha took the child from her to burp it, an occupation both women vied for\u2014there was no more satisfying sound than that tiny belch. Because the newly lit brazier had not yet begun to warm the room, Gyltha added another blanket to the basket before she put it in the shadows to let the baby sleep. Then she went to stand by the brazier and looked around with complacence. \"Murder, eh? Old team and old days back again.\"\n\n\"Attempted murder,\" Adelia reminded her. \"And no, they aren't.\"\n\n\"Do make a change to go travelin', though,\" Gyltha said. \"Better'n a winter iced into they bloody fens.\"\n\n\"You love winter in the fens. So do I.\" Adelia had learned to skate.\n\n\"Don't mean as I can't enjoy somewheres else.\" Old as she was, Gyltha had an adventurous spirit. She gave a rub to her backside and nodded toward the basket. \"What's his lordship going say to our little treasure, then?\"\n\n\"I can only hope,\" Adelia said, \"that he won't ask whose it is.\"\n\nGyltha blinked. \"Ooh, that's nasty. He's not a'goin' to do that, 'course he not a'goin' to do that. What's set your maggots bitin'?\"\n\n\"I don't want us to be here, Gyltha. Bishops, kings, they've got no right to ask anything of me. I won't do it.\"\n\n\"You got any choice, girl?\"\n\nThere was a step on the landing outside. Adelia gritted her teeth, but it was a small priest who came in. He carried the holder of a lit candle in one hand and a slate book in the other, raising the light high and making a slow arc with it, peering at each face with shortsighted eyes.\n\n\"I am Father Paton, his lordship's secretary,\" he said. \"And you are\u2026yes, yes.\" To make sure, he put his book on a table, opened it, and held the candle near. \"An Arab male and two females, yes.\" He looked up. \"You will be provided with transport, service, and provisions to Oxford and back, a winter cloak each, firing, plus a rate of a shilling a day each until such time as his lordship is satisfied the work be done. You will have no expectation beyond that.\"\n\nHe peered at his slate once more. \"Ah, yes, his lordship has been informed of a baby and expressed his willingness to give it his blessing.\" He waited for appreciation. Getting none, he said, \"It can be conveyed to him. Is it here?\"\n\nGyltha moved to stand between him and the basket.\n\nThe priest didn't see his danger; instead, he looked once more at his slate and, unused to dealing with women, addressed Mansur. \"It says here you are some sort of doctor?\"\n\nAgain, there was no reply. Apart from the priest, the room was very still.\n\n\"These are your instructions. To discover the culprit whom, three days ago\"\u2014he checked the date\u2014\"yes, it was the celebration of Saint Leocadia\u2026three days ago, made an attempt on the life of the woman Rosamund Clifford of Wormhold Tower near Oxford. You will require the help of the nuns of Godstow in this endeavor.\" He tapped the slate with a bony finger. \"It must be pointed out that, should the aforesaid nuns offer you free accommodation at the convent, your payment shall be reduced accordingly.\"\n\nHe peered at them, then returned to the main thrust. \"Any information is to be sent to his lordship immediately as it is gained\u2014a messenger to be provided for the purpose\u2014and you will tell no one else of your findings, which must be unearthed with discretion.\"\n\nHe scanned his book for more detail, found none, and clapped it shut. \"Horses and a conveyance will be at the door within an hour, and food is being prepared in the meantime. To be provided without charge.\" His nose twitched at his generosity.\n\nWas that all? No, one more thing. \"I imagine the baby will prove a hindrance to the investigation; therefore, I have commissioned a nurse to look after it in your absence.\" He seemed proud to have thought of it. \"I am informed the going rate is a penny a day, which will be deducted\u2026Ow, ow, put me down.\"\n\nDangling by the back of his surplice from Mansur's hand, he had the appearance of a surprised kitten.\n\nHe's very young, Adelia thought, although he will look the same at forty. I would be sorry for him if he didn't frighten me so much; he'd have taken my baby away without a thought.\n\nGyltha was informing the struggling kitten. \"You see, lad,\" she said, bending to put her face close, \"we come to see Bishop Rowley.\"\n\n\"No, no, that is impossible. His lordship departs for Normandy tomorrow and has much to do before then.\" Somehow, horizontally, the little priest achieved dignity. \"I attend to his affairs\u2026.\"\n\nBut the door had opened and a procession was entering in a blaze of candles, bearing at its center a figure from an illuminated manuscript, majestic in purple and gold.\n\nGyltha's right, Adelia thought immediately, the miter doesn't suit him. Then she took in the set of jowls, the dulled eyes, so changed from the man she remembered.\n\nNo, we're wrong: It does.\n\nHis lordship assessed the situation. \"Put him down, Mansur,\" he said in Arabic.\n\nMansur opened his hand.\n\nBoth pages carrying his lordship's train leaned out sideways to peer at the ragbag of people who had floored Father Paton. A white-haired functionary began hammering on the tiles with his wand of office.\n\nOnly the bishop appeared unmoved. \"All right, steward,\" he said. \"Good evening, Mistress Adelia. Good evening, Gyltha, you look well.\"\n\n\"So do you, bor.\"\n\n\"How's Ulf?\"\n\n\"At school. Prior says as he's doing grand.\"\n\nThe steward blinked; this was l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9. He watched his bishop turn to the Arab. \"Dr. Mansur, as-salaam alaykum.\"\n\n\"Wa alaykum as-salaam.\"\n\nThis was worse. \"My lord\u2026\"\n\n\"Supper will be served up here as quickly as may be, steward, we are short of time.\"\n\nWe, thought Adelia. The episcopal \"we.\"\n\n\"Your vestments, my lord\u2026Shall I fetch your dresser?\"\n\n\"Paton will divest me.\" The bishop sniffed, searching for the source of a smell. He found it and added, \"Also, bring a bone for the dog.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord.\" Pitiably, the steward wafted the other servants from the room.\n\nThe bishop processed to the bedroom, the secretary following and explaining what he had done, what they had done. \"I cannot understand the antagonism, my lord, I merely made arrangements based on the information supplied to me from Oxford.\"\n\nBishop Rowley's voice: \"Which seem to have become somewhat garbled on the journey.\"\n\n\"Yet I obeyed them as best I could, to the letter, my lord\u2026. I cannot understand\u2026.\" Outpourings of a man misjudged came to them through the open door as, at the same time, Father Paton divested his master of cope, dalmatic, rochet, pallium, gloves, and miter, layer after layer of embroidered trappings that had employed many needlewomen for many years, all lifted off and folded with infinite care. It took time.\n\n\"Rosamund Clifford?\" Mansur asked Gyltha.\n\n\"You know her, you heathen. Fair Rosamund as they sing about\u2014the king's pet fancy. Lots of songs about Fair Rosamund.\"\n\nThat Rosamund. Adelia remembered hearing the ha'penny minstrels on market days, and their songs\u2014some romantic, most of them bawdy.\n\nIf he's dragged me here to involve me in the circumstances of a loose woman\u2026\n\nThen she reminded herself that she, too, must now be numbered among the world's loose women.\n\n\"So she've near been murdered, has she?\" Gyltha said, happily. \"Per'aps Queen Eleanor done it. Tried to get her out of the way, like. Green jealous of Rosamund, Eleanor is.\"\n\n\"The songs say that as well, do they?\" Adelia asked.\n\n\"That they do.\" Gyltha considered. \"No, now I think on't, can't be the queen as done it; last I heard, the king had her in prison.\"\n\nThe mighty and their activities were another country, in another country. By the time reports of what they were up to reached the fens, they had achieved the romance and remoteness of myth, nothing to do with real people, and less than nothing compared to a river flooding or cows dead from the murrain or, in Adelia's case, the birth of a baby.\n\nOnce, it had been different. During the war of Stephen and Matilda, news of their comings and goings was vital, so you could know in advance\u2014and hopefully escape\u2014whichever king's, queen's, or baron's army was likely to come trampling your crops. Since much of the trampling had taken place in the fens, Gyltha had then been as aware of politics as any.\n\nBut out of that terrible time had emerged a Plantagenet ruler like a king from a fairy tale, establishing peace, law, and prosperity in England. If there were wars, they took place abroad, blessed be the Mother of God.\n\nThe wife Henry brought with him to the throne had also stepped out of a fairy tale\u2014a highly colored one. Here was no shy virgin princess; Eleanor was the greatest heiress in Europe, a radiant personality who'd ruled her Duchy of Aquitaine in her own right before wedding the meek and pious King Louis of France\u2014a man who'd bored her so much that the marriage had ended in divorce. At which point nineteen-year-old Henry Plantagenet had stepped forward to woo the beautiful thirty-year-old Eleanor and marry her, thus taking over her vast estates and making himself ruler of a greater area of France than that belonging to its resentful King Louis.\n\nThe stories about Eleanor were legion and scandalous: She'd accompanied Louis on crusade with a bare-breasted company of Amazons; she'd slept with her uncle Raymond, Prince of Antioch; she'd done this, done that\u2026.\n\nBut if her new English subjects expected to be entertained by more naughty exploits, they were disappointed. For the next decade or so, Eleanor faded quietly into the background, doing her queenly and wifely duty by providing Henry with five sons and three daughters.\n\nAs was expected of a healthy king, Henry had other children by other women\u2014what ruler did not?\u2014but Eleanor seemed to take them in her stride, even having young Geoffrey, one of her husband's bastards by a prostitute, brought up with the legitimate children in the royal court.\n\nA happy marriage, then, as marriages went.\n\nUntil\u2026\n\nWhat had caused the rift in the lute? The advent of Rosamund, young, lovely, the highest-born of Henry's women? His affair with her became legendary, a matter for song; he adored her, called her Rosa Mundi, Rose of all the World, had tucked her away in a tower near his hunting lodge at Woodstock and enclosed it in a labyrinth so that nobody else should find the way through\u2026.\n\nPoor Eleanor was in her fifties now, unable to bear any more children. Had menopausal jealousy caused her rage? Because rage there must certainly have been for her to goad her eldest son, Young Henry, into rebellion against his father. Queens had died for much less. In fact, it was a wonder her husband hadn't executed her instead of condemning her to a not uncomfortable imprisonment.\n\nWell, delightful as it was to speculate on these things, they were all a long way away. Whatever sins had led to Queen Eleanor's imprisonment, they had been committed in Aquitaine, or Anjou, or the Vexin, one of those foreign places over which the Plantagenet royal family also ruled. Most English people weren't sure in what manner the queen had offended; certainly Gyltha was not. She didn't care much. Neither did Adelia.\n\nThere was a sudden shout from the bedroom. \"It's here? She's brought it here?\" Now down to his tunic, a man who looked younger and thinner but still very large stood in the doorway, staring around him. He loped to the basket on the table. \"My God,\" he said, \"my God.\"\n\nYou dare, Adelia thought, you dare ask whose it is.\n\nBut the bishop was staring downward with the awe of Pharaoh's daughter glimpsing baby Moses in the reeds. \"Is this him? My God, he looks just like me.\"\n\n\"She,\" Gyltha said. \"She looks just like you.\"\n\nHow typical of church gossips, Adelia thought viciously, that they would be quick to tell him she'd had his baby without mentioning its sex.\n\n\"A daughter.\" Rowley scooped up the child and held her high. The baby blinked from sleep and then crowed with him. \"Any fool can have a son,\" he said. \"It takes a man to conceive a daughter.\"\n\nThat's why I loved him.\n\n\"Who's her daddy's little moppet, then,\" he was saying, \"who's got eyes like cornflowers, so she has\u2014yes, she has\u2014just like her daddy's. And teeny-weeny toes. Yumm, yumm, yumm. Does she like that? Yes, she does.\"\n\nAdelia was helplessly aware of Father Paton regarding the scene. She wanted to tell Rowley he was giving himself away; this delight was not episcopal. But presumably a secretary was privy to all his master's secrets\u2014and it was too late now, anyway.\n\nThe bishop looked up. \"Is she going to be bald? Or will this fuzz on her head grow? What's her name?\"\n\n\"Allie,\" Gyltha said.\n\n\"Ali?\"\n\n\"Almeisan.\" Adelia spoke for the first time, reluctantly. \"Mansur named her. Almeisan is a star.\"\n\n\"An Arab name.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" She was ready to attack. \"Arabs taught the world astronomy. It's a beautiful name, it means the shining one.\"\n\n\"I'm not saying it isn't beautiful. It's just that I would have called her Ariadne.\"\n\n\"Well, you weren't there,\" Adelia said nastily.\n\nAriadne had been his private name for her. The two of them had met on the same road, and at the same time that she'd encountered Prior Geoffrey. Although they hadn't known it then, they were also on the same errand; Rowley Picot was ostensibly one of King Henry's tax collectors but privately had been clandestinely ordered by his royal master to find the beast that was killing Cambridgeshire's children and thereby damaging the royal revenue. Willy-nilly, the two of them had found themselves following clues together. Like Ariadne, she had led him to the beast's lair. Like Theseus, he had rescued her from it.\n\nAnd then, like Theseus, abandoned her.\n\nShe knew she was being unfair; he'd asked, begged, her to marry him, but by this time he'd earned the king's approbation and was earmarked for an advancement that needed a wife devoted to him, their children, his estates\u2014a conventional English chatelaine, not a woman who neither would nor could give up her duty to the living and dead.\n\nWhat she couldn't forgive him for was doing what she'd told him to do: leave her, go away, forget, take up the king's offer of a rich bishopric.\n\nGod torment him, he might have written.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"you've seen her, and now we are leaving.\"\n\n\"Are we?\" This was Gyltha. \"In't we going to stay for supper?\"\n\n\"No.\" She had been looking for insult from the first and had found it. \"If someone has attempted to harm this Rosamund Clifford, I am sorry for it, but it is nothing to do with me.\"\n\nShe crossed the room to take the baby from him. It brought them close so that she could smell the incense from the Mass he'd celebrated clinging to him, infecting their child with it. His eyes weren't Rowley's anymore, they were those of a bishop, very tired\u2014he'd traveled hard from Oxford\u2014and very grave.\n\n\"Not even if it means civil war?\" he said.\n\nThe pork was sent back so that the smell of it should not offend Dr. Mansur's nose and dietary law, but there were lampreys and pike in aspic, four different kinds of duck, veal in blancmange, a crisp, golden polonaise of bread, a sufficiency for twenty and\u2014whether it displeased Mohammedan nostrils or not\u2014enough wine for twenty more, served in beautiful cameo-cut glass bowls.\n\nOnce it had all been placed on the board, the servants were sent from the room. Father Paton was allowed to remain. From the straw under the table came the crunch of a dog with a bone.\n\n\"He had to imprison her,\" Rowley said of his king and Queen Eleanor. \"She was encouraging the Young King to rebel against his father.\"\n\n\"Never understood that,\" Gytha said, chewing a leg of duck. \"Not why Henry had his boy crowned king along of him, I mean. Old King and Young King ruling at the same time. Bound to cause trouble.\"\n\n\"Henry'd just been very ill,\" Rowley told her. \"He wanted to make sure of a peaceful succession if he died\u2014he didn't want a recurrence of another Stephen and Matilda war.\"\n\nGyltha shuddered. \"Nor we don't, neither.\"\n\nIt was a strange dinner. Bishop Rowley was being forced to put his case to a Cambridgeshire housekeeper and an Arab because the woman he needed to solve it would not look at him. Adelia sat silent and unresponsive, eating very little.\n\nHe's a different creature, there's nothing of the man I knew. Damn him, how was it so easy for him to stop loving me?\n\nThe secretary, disregarded by everybody, ate like a man with hollow legs, though his eyes were always on his master, as if watching for further unepiscopal behavior.\n\nThe bishop explained the circumstances that had brought him hurrying from Oxford, part of his diocese, and tomorrow would take him to Normandy to search out the king and tell him, before anybody else did, that Rosamund Clifford, most beloved of all the royal mistresses, had been fed poisonous mushrooms.\n\n\"Mushrooms?\" Gyltha asked. \"Could've been mischance, then. Tricky things, mushrooms, you got to be careful.\"\n\n\"It was deliberate,\" the bishop said. \"Believe me, Gyltha, this was not an accident. She became very ill. It was why they called me to Wormhold, to her sickbed; they didn't think she'd recover. Thanks to the mercy of Christ, she did, but the king will wish to know the identity of the poisoner, and I want, I have, to assure him that his favorite investigator is looking into the matter\u2026.\" He remembered to bow to Mansur, who bowed back. \"Along with his assistant.\" A bow to Adelia.\n\nShe was relieved that he was maintaining the fiction in front of Father Paton that it was Mansur who possessed the necessary skills for such an investigation\u2014not her. He had betrayed himself to a charge of immorality by saying that Allie was his, but he was protecting her from the much more serious charge of witchcraft.\n\nGyltha, enjoying her role as interrogator, said, \"Can't've been the queen sent her them mushrooms, can it? Her being in chains and all?\"\n\n\"I wish she had been in bloody chains.\" Rowley was Rowley again for a moment, furious and making his secretary blink. \"The blasted woman escaped. Two weeks ago.\"\n\n\"Deary dear,\" Gyltha said.\n\n\"Deary dear indeed, and was last seen heading for England, which, in everybody's opinion bar mine, would give her time to poison a dozen of Henry's whores.\"\n\nHe leaned across the table to Adelia, sweeping a space between them, spilling his wine bowl and hers. \"You know him, you know his temper. You've seen him out of control. He loves Rosamund, truly loves her. Suppose he shouts for Eleanor's death like he shouted for Becket's? He won't mean it, but there's always some bastard with a reason to respond who'll say he's doing it on the king's orders, like they did with Becket. And if their mother's executed, all the boys will rise up against their father like a tide of shit.\"\n\nHe sat back in his chair. \"Civil war? It'll be here, everywhere. Stephen and Matilda will be nothing to it.\"\n\nMansur put his hand protectively on Gyltha's shoulder. The silence was turbulent, as if from noiseless battle and dumbed shrieks of the dying. The ghost of a murdered archbishop rose up from the stones of Canterbury and stalked the room.\n\nFather Paton was staring from face to face, puzzled that his bishop should be addressing the doctor's assistant with such vehemence, and not the doctor.\n\n\"Did she do it?\" Adelia asked at last.\n\n\"No.\" Rowley wiped some grease off his sleeve with a napkin, and replenished his bowl.\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Not Eleanor. I know her.\"\n\nDoes he? Undoubtedly, there was tender regard between queen and bishop; when Eleanor and Henry's firstborn son had died at the age of three, Eleanor had wanted the child's sword taken to Jerusalem so that, in death, little William might be regarded as a holy crusader. It was Rowley who'd made the terrible journey and lain the tiny sword on the high altar\u2014so of course Eleanor looked on Rowley kindly.\n\nBut like everything else in royal matters, it was King Henry who'd arranged it, Henry who'd given Rowley his orders, Henry who'd received the intelligence of what was going on in the Holy Land that Rowley'd brought back with him. Oh, yes, Rowley Picot had been more the king's agent than the queen's sword carrier.\n\nBut still claiming special knowledge of Eleanor's character, the bishop added, \"Face-to-face, she'd tear Rosamund's throat out\u2026but not poison. It's not her style.\"\n\nAdelia nodded. She said in Arabic, \"I still don't see what you want of me. I am a doctor to the dead\u2026.\"\n\n\"You have a logical mind,\" the bishop said, also in Arabic. \"You see things others don't. Who saved the Jews from the accusation of child murder last year? Who found the true killer?\"\n\n\"I had assistance.\" That good little man Simon of Naples, the real investigator who had come with her from Salerno for the purpose and had died for it.\n\nMansur, unusual for him, struck in, indicating Adelia. \"She must not be put in such danger again. The will of Allah and only the will of Allah saved her from the pit last time.\"\n\nAdelia smiled fondly at him. Let him attribute it to Allah if he liked. Actually, she had survived the child killer's lair only because a dog had led Rowley to it in time. What neither he, nor God, nor Allah had saved her from were memories of a nightmare that still reenacted themselves in her daily life as sharply as if they were happening all over again\u2014often, this time, to young Allie.\n\n\"Of course she won't be in danger again,\" the bishop told Mansur with energy. \"This case is completely different. There's been no murder here, only a clumsy attempt at one. Whoever tried to do it is long gone. But don't you see?\" Another bowl tipped as he thumped the board. \"Don't you see? Everybody will believe Eleanor to be the poisoner; she hates Rosamund and she was possibly in the neighborhood. Wasn't that Gyltha's immediate conclusion? Won't it be the world's?\" He took his eyes away from Mansur and to the woman opposite him. \"In the name of God, Adelia, help me.\"\n\nWith a jerk of her chin toward the door, Gyltha nudged Mansur, who nodded, rose, and took an unwilling Father Paton by the scruff of his neck.\n\nThe two who remained seated at the table didn't notice their going. The bishop's gaze was on Adelia; hers on her clasped hands.\n\nStop resenting him, she was thinking. It wasn't abandonment; mine was the refusal to marry, only mine the insistence we shouldn't meet again. It is illogical to blame him for keeping to the agreement.\n\nDamn him, though, there should have been something all these months\u2014at least an acknowledgment of the baby.\n\n\"How are you and God getting along?\" she asked.\n\n\"I serve Him, I hope.\" She heard amusement in his voice.\n\n\"Good works?\"\n\n\"When I can.\"\n\nShe thought, And we both know, don't we, that you would sacrifice God and His works, me and your daughter, all of us, if doing so would serve Henry Plantagenet.\n\nHe said quietly, \"I apologize for this, Adelia. I would not have broken our agreement not to meet again for anything less.\"\n\nShe said, \"If Eleanor is proved guilty, I won't lie. I shall say so.\"\n\n\"Ya-hah.\" Now that was Rowley, the energy, the shout that shivered the wine in its jug\u2014here, for an instant, was her joyous lover back again.\n\n\"Couldn't resist, could you? Are you taking the baby with you? Yes, of course, you'll still be breast-feeding\u2014damned odd to think of you as lactating stock.\"\n\nHe was up and had opened the door, calling for Paton. \"There's a basket of mushrooms in my pack. Find it and bring it here.\" He turned to Adelia, grinning. \"Thought you'd want to see some evidence.\"\n\n\"You devil,\" she said.\n\n\"Maybe, but this devil will save its king and its country or die trying.\"\n\n\"Or kill me in the process.\" Stop it, she thought, stop sounding like a wronged woman; it was your decision.\n\nHe shrugged. \"You'll be safe enough, nobody's out to poison you. You'll have Gyltha and Mansur\u2014God help anyone who touches you while they're around\u2014and I'm sending servants along. I presume that canine eyesore goes, too?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"His name's Ward.\"\n\n\"One more of the prior's finds to keep you safe? I remember Safeguard.\"\n\nAnother creature that had died saving her life. The room was full of memories that hurt\u2014and with the dangerous value of being shared.\n\n\"Paton is my watchdog,\" he said conversationally. \"He guards my virtue like a bloody chastity belt. Incidentally, wait until you see Fair Rosamund's labyrinth\u2014biggest in Christendom. Mind you, wait til you see Fair Rosamund herself, she's not what you'd expect. In fact\u2014\"\n\nShe interrupted. \"Is it at risk?\"\n\n\"The labyrinth?\"\n\n\"Your virtue.\"\n\nAll at once, he was being kind. \"Oddly enough, it isn't. I thought when you turned me down\u2026but God was kind and tempered the wind to the shorn lamb.\"\n\n\"And when Henry needed a compliant bishop.\" Stop it, stop it.\n\n\"And the world needed a doctor, not another wife,\" he said, still kind. \"I see that now; I have prayed to see it; marriage would have wasted you.\"\n\nYes, yes. If she had agreed to marriage, he'd have refused the bishopric the king had urged on him for political expediency, but for her, there had been the higher priority of her calling. She'd have had to abandon it\u2014he'd demanded a wife, not a doctor, especially not a doctor to the dead.\n\nIn the end, she thought, neither of us would bestow the ultimate, sacrificial gift on the other.\n\nHe got up and went to the baby, making the sign of the cross on her forehead with his thumb. \"Bless you, my daughter.\" He turned back. \"Bless you, too, mistress,\" he said. \"God keep you both safe, and may the peace of Jesus Christ prevail over the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.\" He sighed. \"For I can hear the sound of their hooves.\"\n\nFather Paton came in carrying a basket and gave it to his lordship, who then gestured for him to leave.\n\nAdelia was still staring at Rowley. Among all this room's superfluity of wealth, the turmoil she'd experienced in it as shades of the past came and went, one thing that should belong to it\u2014its very purpose\u2014had been missing; she had just caught its scent, clear and cold: sanctity, the last attribute she'd expected to find in him. Her lover had become a man of God.\n\nHe took the chair beside her to give her details of the attempt on Rosamund's life, putting the basket in front of her so that she could examine its contents. In the old days, he couldn't have sat beside her without touching her; now it was like sitting next to a hermit.\n\nRosamund loved stewed mushrooms, he told her; it was well known. A lazy servant, out gathering them for her mistress, had been handed some by an old, unidentified woman, a crone, and had taken them back without bothering to pick more.\n\n\"Rosamund didn't eat them all, some had been kept for later, and while I was with her I took the remainder to bring with me. I thought you might be able to identify the area they came from or something\u2014you know about mushrooms, don't you?\"\n\nYes, she knew about mushrooms. Obediently, Adelia began turning them over with her knife while he talked.\n\nIt was a fine collection, though withering now: boletes that the English called Slippery Jack, winter oysters, cauliflower, blewits, hedgehogs. All very tasty but extraordinarily, most extraordinarily, varied; some of these species grew exclusively on chalk, some under pine trees, others in fields, others in broadleaf woodland.\n\nDeliberately or not, whoever gathered these had spread the net wide and avoided picking a basketful that could be said to come from a specific location.\n\n\"As I say, it was quite deliberate,\" the bishop was saying. \"The crone, whoever she was, made a point of it\u2014they were for the Lady Rosamund, nobody else. Whoever that crone was, she hasn't been seen since. Disappeared. Slipped in a couple of malignant ones, do you see, hoping they'd poison the poor woman, and it's only through the mercy of God\u2026\"\n\n\"She's dead, Rowley,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"If these fungi duplicate what Rosamund ate, she's dead.\"\n\n\"No, I told you, she recovered. Much better when I left her.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Adelia was suddenly so sorry for him; if she could have changed what she was going to say, she would have. \"But it's what happens, I'm afraid.\" She speared the killer with her knife and lifted it. \"It's a feature of this one that those who eat it apparently get better for a while.\"\n\nInnocuous-looking, white-gilled, its cap now aged into an ordinary brown but still retaining a not unpleasant smell. \"It's called the Death Cap. It grows everywhere; I've seen it in Italy, Sicily, France, here in England; I've seen its effect, I've worked on the corpses who ate it\u2014too many of them. It is always, always fatal.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"It can't be.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but if she ate one of these, even a tiny bite\u2026\" He had to know. \"Sickness and diarrhea at first, abdominal pain, and then a day or two when she'd seem to be recovering. But all the while the poison was attacking her liver and kidneys. There's absolutely no cure. Rowley, I'm afraid she's gone.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "No question now of the bishop crossing from England to Normandy in order to calm a turbulent king. The king's beloved was dead, and the king would be coming to England himself, riding the air like a demon to ravage and burn\u2014maybe, in his rage, to kill his own wife if he could find her.\n\nSo, at dawn, the bishop rode, too, another demon loose on the world, to be ahead of the king, to find the queen and get her away, to be on the spot, to locate the real culprit, to be able to say: \"My lord, hold your hand; this is Rosamund's killer.\"\n\nTo avoid Armageddon.\n\nWith the bishop went those for his purpose, a pitiful few compared to his lordship's usual train: two men-at-arms, a groom, a secretary, a messenger, a carriage, horses, and remounts. Also an Arab doctor, a dog, two women, and a baby\u2014and to hell if they couldn't keep up.\n\nThey kept up. Just. Their carriage, Father Paton's \"conveyance,\" was splendidly carved, enclosed against the weather by purple waxed cloth with matching cushions among the straw inside, but it was not intended for speed. After three hours of it, Gyltha said that if she stayed in the bugger much longer she'd lose her teeth from rattling, and the poor baby its brains.\n\nSo they transferred to horses, young Allie being placed and padded into a pannier like a grub in a cocoon; Ward, the dog, was stuffed less gently into the other. The change was made quickly to stay up with the bishop, who wouldn't wait for them.\n\nJacques the messenger was sent ahead to prepare the bishop's palace at Saint Albans for their brief stay overnight and, then, next day, to the Barleycorn at Aylesbury for another.\n\nIt was cold, becoming colder the farther west they went, as if Henry Plantagenet's icy breath were on their neck and getting closer.\n\nThey didn't reach the Barleycorn, because that was the day it began to snow, and they left the roads for the Icknield Way escarpment, where avenues of trees and the chalk under their horses' hooves made the going easier and therefore faster.\n\nThere were no inns on these high tracks, and the bishop refused to waste time by descending to find one. \"We'll make camp,\" he said.\n\nWhen, eventually, he allowed them to dismount, Adelia's muscles protested as she struggled to get off her horse. She looked with anxiety toward Gyltha, who was struggling off hers. \"Are you surviving?\" Tough as leather the fenwoman might be, but she was still a grandmother and entitled to better treatment than this.\n\n\"I got sores where I wou'n't like to say.\"\n\n\"So have I.\" And stinging as if from acid.\n\nThe only one looking worse than they did was Father Paton, whose large breakfast at Saint Albans had been jolting out of him, amidst groans, for most of the way. \"Shouldn't have gobbled it,\" Gyltha told him.\n\nBaby Allie, on the other hand, had taken no harm from the journey; indeed, snuggled in her pannier, she appeared to have enjoyed it, despite her hurried feeds when Bishop Rowley had permitted a stop to change horses.\n\nCarrying her with them, the two women retired to the cart and ministered to their wounds with salves from Adelia's medicine chest. \"The which I ain't letting Father Fustilugs have any,\" Gyltha said vengefully of Father Paton. She'd taken against him.\n\n\"What about Mansur? He's not used to this, either.\"\n\n\"Great lummox\u2026\" Gyltha liked to hide her delight in and love for the Arab. \"He'd not say a word if his arse was on fire.\"\n\nWhich was true; Mansur cultivated stoicism to the point of impassivity. His sale as a little boy to Byzantine monks who'd preserved the beauty of his treble singing voice by castration had taught him the futility of complaining. In all the years since he'd found sanctuary with Adelia's foster parents and become her bodyguard and friend, she'd never heard him utter a querulous sentence. Not that he uttered many words in strange company anyway; the English found him and his Arab dress outlandish enough without the addition of a child's squeaky speaking voice issuing from a man six feet tall with the face of an eagle.\n\nOswald and Aelwyn, the men-at-arms, and Walt, the groom, were uneasy in their dealings with him, apparently crediting him with occult powers. It was Adelia they treated like dirt\u2014though never if Rowley was looking. At first she'd put their discourtesies down to the rigors of the journey, but gradually they became too marked to be disregarded. Unless the bishop or Mansur was nearby, she was never assisted onto a horse nor down, and the occasions when she went off into the trees to answer a call of nature were accompanied by low, offensive whistles. Once or twice she heard Ward yelp as if he'd been kicked.\n\nNor had she and Gyltha been provided with sidesaddles. Rowley had ordered them, but somehow, in the haste, they'd been forgotten, leaving the women perforce to ride astride, an unseemly posture for a lady though, actually, one that Adelia preferred because she considered sidesaddles injurious to the spine.\n\nNevertheless, the omission had been uncivil and, she thought, intended.\n\nTo church servants like these, she was a harlot, of course; either the bishop's trull or the Saracen's, perhaps both. For them it was bad enough to be chasing across country in bad weather to attend the funeral of a king's mistress without dragging another whore along with them.\n\n\"What's she with us for?\"\n\n\"God knows. Clever with her brains, so they say.\"\n\n\"Clever with her quim more like. Is that his lordship's bastard?\"\n\n\"Could be anybody's.\"\n\nThe exchange had been made where she could overhear it.\n\nDamn it, this would harm him. Rowley had been appointed by Henry II against the wishes of the Church, which had wanted its own man to fill the post of Saint Albans and still hoped for a reason to dismiss the king's candidate. Knowledge that he'd fathered an illegitimate child would give his enemies their chance.\n\nDamn the Church, Adelia thought. Our affair was over before he became a bishop. Damn it for imposing impossible celibacy on its people. Damn it for hypocrisy\u2014Christendom was littered with priests wallowing in varieties of sin. How many of them were condemned?\n\nAnd damn it for its hatred of women\u2014an abuse of half the world's inhabitants, so that those who refused to be penned into its sheepfold were condemned as harlots and heretics and witches.\n\nDamn you, she thought of the bishop's men, are you so innocent? Are all your children born in wedlock? Which of you jumped over the broom stick with a woman rather than legally marry her?\n\nAnd damn you, Bishop Rowley, for placing me in this situation.\n\nThen, because she was feeding Allie, she damned them all again for making her angry enough to damn them.\n\nFather Paton escaped her curses; unlovable as he was, he at least treated her like he treated everybody else\u2014as a sexless and unfortunate expense.\n\nThe messenger, Jacques, a gauche, large-eared, somewhat overeager young man, seemed more kindly inclined to her than the others, but the bishop kept him on the gallop with taking messages and preparing the way ahead, so she saw little of him.\n\nWith imperceptible difference, the Icknield Way became the Ridgeway. The cold was gaining an intensity that leeched strength out of humans and horses, but they were at least approaching the Thames and the Abbey of Godstow, which stood on one of its islands.\n\nJacques rejoined the company, appearing from the trees ahead like a mounted white bear. He shook himself free of snow as he bowed to Rowley. \"Abbess Mother Edyve sends greetings to your lordship and her joy to accommodate you and your party whenever you will. Also, I was to say that she expects the body of the Lady Rosamund to be brought to the convent by river today.\"\n\nRowley said heavily, \"So she is dead.\"\n\n\"I trust so, my lord, for the nuns intend to bury her.\"\n\nHis bishop glared at him. \"Go back there. Tell them we should arrive tonight and that I am bringing a Saracen doctor to examine Lady Rosamund's corpse and determine how she died.\" He turned to Adelia and said in Latin, \"You'll want to see the body, won't you?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\" Though what it could tell her, she wasn't sure.\n\nThe messenger stopped long enough to stuff bread, cheese, and a flask of ale into his saddlebag before remounting.\n\n\"Shouldn't you rest first?\" Adelia asked him.\n\n\"Don't mind for me, mistress. I sleep in the saddle.\"\n\nShe wished she could. To stay in it at all took strength. Father Paton's provision of cloaks had been of the cheapest wool and, wearing them, she, Gyltha, and Mansur would have frozen to death on horseback if it hadn't been for the rough mantles of beaver fur they had brought with them. The fenland was full of beaver, and these were gifts from a grateful trapper Adelia had nursed through pneumonia.\n\nThat afternoon the travelers descended from the hills to the village of Thame and the road leading to Oxford. It was getting dark, still snowing, but the bishop said, \"Not far now. We'll press on with lanterns.\"\n\nIt was terrible going; the horses had to be rugged even though they were kept moving. Soon they had to be fitted with headbands that fringed their eyes, usually a device to keep off flies, so they would not be blinded by the thick flakes that swirled and stuck to the lashes.\n\nIt was impossible to see beyond a yard. If the road hadn't run between hedges, they would have lost their way, lanterns or no lanterns, and ended in a field or river. When the hedges disappeared at a crossroads, Rowley had to call a halt until they found the right track again, which meant the men had to search for it, all the time calling to each other in case any one of them blundered away\u2014an error that, in this cold, would cost him his life.\n\nFor the baby's sake as well as their own, the women were forced to reenter the carriage and stay there. Father Paton had already done so, complaining that if he stayed in the cold he would lose the use of his secretarial writing hand.\n\nThey hooked one of the lanterns to the arch over their heads and began heaping straw to make a bed, tucking Allie between them to benefit from the heat of their bodies. The cold lanced in like needles through the eyelets where the canopy was tied to its struts, so icy that it nullified the smell of the straw and even of the dog at their feet.\n\nThey were going at walking pace\u2014Mansur was leading the horses\u2014but deep pits in the track concealed by snow caused the carriage to fall and tip with bone-jarring suddenness so that rest was impossible. In any case, anxiety for what the others were suffering outside precluded sleep.\n\nGyltha said admiringly of Rowley, \"He ain't a'going to stop, is he?\"\n\n\"No.\" This was a man who'd pursued a murderer across the deserts of Outremer. An English blizzard wasn't going to defeat him. Adelia said, \"Have no concern for him: He's showing none for\u2026\" There was a lurch of the carriage, and she grabbed at a strut with her right hand and her baby with her left to stop them being thrown from one side to the other. The lantern swung through an arc of one hundred eighty degrees, and Gyltha lunged upward to snuff out its candle in case it set fire to the canopy.\n\n\"\u2026us,\" Adelia finished.\n\nIn the darkness and at an angle, they could hear Father Paton praying for deliverance while, outside, screeching Arabic curses rained on horses that refused to pull. One or another was effective; after another grinding jerk, the carriage went on.\n\n\"You see,\" came Gyltha's voice, as if resuming a conversation, \"Rowley, he remembers the war betwixt Matilda and Stephen. He's a youngster compared to me, but he was born into it, and his parents, they'd have lived through it, like I did. King Stephen, he died natural in his bed. And Queen Matilda, she's still going strong. But the war betwixt them\u2026weren't so for us commoners. We died over and over. It was like\u2026like we was all tossed in the air and stayed there with nothing to hold to. The law went, ever'thing went. My pa, he was dragged off his fields one day to build a castle for Hugh Bigod. Never came back. Took three years a'fore we heard he was crushed flat when a stone fell. We near starved without un.\"\n\nAdelia heard the deep intake of breath, heavier than a sigh. Simple sentences, she thought, but what weight they carried.\n\nGyltha said, \"We lost our Em an' all. Older than me she was, about eleven. Some mercenaries came through and Ma ran with my brothers and me to hide in the fen, but they caught Em. She was screaming when they galloped off with her, I can hear her now. Never did find out what happened, but she was another as didn't come back.\"\n\nIt was a lecture. Adelia had heard Gyltha talk about the thirteen-year war before, but only in general terms, never like this; as witness to its chaos, the old woman was calling up specters that still gave her pain. Feudalism might be harsh for those at its bottom end, but it was at least a protection. Adelia, who had been brought up both protected and privileged, was being told what happened when order crumbled and civilization went with it.\n\n\"Nor it weren't no good praying to God. He weren't listening.\"\n\nMen gave way to basest instincts, Gyltha said. Village lads, decent enough if controlled, saw those controls disappear and themselves became thieves and rapists. \"Henry Plantagenet, now, he may be all sorts, but with him a'coming king it stopped, d'you see. It stopped; the ground was put back under us. The crops grew like they had, the sun come up of a morning and set of nights, like it should.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"But you can't know, not really,\" Gyltha told her. \"Rowley do. His ma and pa, they was commoners, and they lived through it like I did. He'll move mountains so's it don't happen again. He's seeing to it so's my Ulf, bless him, can go to school with a full belly as nobody'll slit open. Bit of traveling? Few snowflakes? What's that?\"\n\n\"I've only been thinking of myself, haven't I?\" Adela said.\n\n\"And the baby,\" Gyltha said, reaching over to pat her. \"And a fair bit of his lordship, I reckon. Me, I'll follow where he goes and happy to help.\"\n\nShe had raised their venture to a plane that left Adelia ashamed and exposed to her own resentment. Even now, she couldn't give credence to the reasoning that caused them to be doing what they were doing, but if the bishop, who did, was right and they could prevent civil war by it, then she, too, must be happy to give of her best.\n\nAnd I am, she thought, grimacing. Ulf is safe at school; Gyltha and Mansur and my child are with me. I am happy that Bishop Rowley is happy in a God who has taken away his lusts. Where else should I be?\n\nShe shut her eyes and gave herself up to patient endurance.\n\nAnother great lurch woke her. They'd stopped. The canvas was lifted, letting in a draft of wicked cold and showing a face blue and bearded by ice. She recognized it as the messenger's; they had caught up with him. \"Are we there?\"\n\n\"Nearly, mistress.\" Jacques sounded excited. \"His lordship asks, will you come out and look at this?\"\n\nIt had stopped snowing. A moon shone from a sky full of stars onto a landscape almost as beautiful. The bishop and the rest of his entourage stood with Mansur in a group at the beginning of a narrow, humped stone bridge, its parapets perfectly outlined in snow. Loud water hidden by the drop on the left suggested a weir or millrace. To the right was the gleam of a smooth river. Trees stood like white sentinels.\n\nAs Adelia came up, Rowley pointed behind her. She looked back and saw some humped cottages. \"That's the village of Wolvercote,\" he said. He turned her so that she was now facing across the bridge to where the stars were blanked out by a complexity of roofs. \"Godstow Abbey.\" There was a suggestion of light coming from somewhere among its buildings, though any windows on this side were dark.\n\nBut it was what was in the middle of the bridge that she must look at. The first thing she saw was a saddled horse, not moving, head and reins drooping downward, one leg bent up. The groom, Walt, stood at its head, patting its neck. His voice came shrill and querulous through the stillness. \"Who'da done this? He's a good un, this un, who'da done it?\" He was more concerned for the horse than for the dead man sprawled facedown in the snow beside it.\n\n\"Robbery and murder on the King's Highway,\" Rowley said quietly, his breath wreathing like smoke. \"Plain coincidence and nothing to do with our purpose, but I suppose you'd better look, bodies being your business. Just be quick about it, that's all.\"\n\nHe'd kept everyone else back like she'd taught him; only the groom's footprints and his own showed going to the bridge in the snow, and only his returned. \"I had to make sure the fellow was dead,\" he said. \"Take Mansur with you for the look of it.\" He raised his voice. \"The lord Mansur can read traces left on the ground. He speaks little English, so Mistress Adelia will interpret for him.\"\n\nAdelia stayed where she was for a moment, Mansur beside her. \"What time is it, do you know?\" she asked in Arabic.\n\n\"Listen.\"\n\nShe unbound her head from its muffler. From the other side of the bridge, solitary, faraway, but clear over the rush of noisy water, came a sweet female voice raised in a monotone. It paused and was answered by the disciplined response of other voices.\n\nShe was hearing a chime of the liturgical clock, an antiphon. The nuns of Godstow had roused from their beds and were chanting Vigils.\n\nIt was four o'clock in the morning, near enough.\n\nMansur said, \"Was not the galloper here earlier? He may have seen something.\"\n\n\"When were you here, Jacques? The doctor wants to know.\"\n\n\"In daylight, mistress. That poor soul wasn't lying there then.\" The young man was aggrieved and upset. \"I delivered his lordship's message to the holy sisters and rode straight back across the bridge to rejoin you all. I was back with you before the moon came up, wasn't I, my lord?\"\n\nRowley nodded.\n\n\"When did it stop snowing?\" From what she could see of the body, there were only a few flakes on it.\n\n\"Three hours back.\"\n\n\"Stay here.\"\n\nMansur took up a lantern, and they went forward together to kneel by the body. \"Allah, be good to him,\" Mansur said.\n\nAs her foster father had taught her, Adelia took a moment to pray to the spirit of the dead man who was now her client. \"Permit your flesh and bone to tell me what your voice cannot.\"\n\nHe lay facedown, too neatly for someone who'd fallen off a horse, legs straight, arms splayed above the head, cloak and tunic down over his hams. His cap, like his clothes, was of good but slightly worn wool, and it lay a few inches away, the brave cock-pheasant feather in it broken.\n\nShe nodded to Mansur. Gently, he raised the wavy brown hair from the neck to touch the skin. He shook his head. He'd attended on enough corpses with Adelia to know it would be impossible to estimate the time of death; the body was frozen\u2014had begun to freeze the moment life left it, would stay frozen long enough to delay the natural processes.\n\n\"Hmm.\"\n\nExpertly, acting together, they turned the corpse over. Two half-shut brown eyes regarded the sky with disinterest, and Mansur had to force the frozen lids down over them.\n\nHe was young: twenty, twenty-one, perhaps less. The heavy arrow in his chest came from a crossbow and had gone deep, probably being driven farther in by the fall that had broken its flights. Mansur held the lantern so that Adelia could examine the wound; there was blood around it but only a few smears on the snow occupying the space that the body had vacated when it was turned.\n\nShe guided Mansur's hand so that the lantern illuminated the corpse's neck. \"Hmmm.\"\n\nA scabbard with a sword still in it was attached to a belt with a tarnished buckle engraved with a crest. The same crest had been embroidered on a gaping, empty purse.\n\n\"Come along, Doctor. You can do all this when we take him to the nunnery.\" Rowley's voice.\n\n\"Be quiet,\" Adelia told him in Arabic. He'd hurried her all the way from Cambridge; now he could damn well wait. There was something wrong here; perhaps it was why Rowley had called for her to investigate it, some part of his mind noticing the anomalies even while part was intent on another murder altogether.\n\nThere was an anguished plea from Walt, the groom. \"This here poor bugger's in pain, my lord. Naught to be done. 'S time he was finished.\"\n\n\"Doctor?\"\n\n\"Wait, will you?\" Irritably, she got up and went over to where the horse and the groom stood, regarding the ground as she went. \"What's the matter with it?\"\n\n\"Hamstrung. Some godless swine cut his tendon.\" Walt pointed to a slash across the horse's leg just above the hock. \"See? That's deliberate, that is.\"\n\nThe snow here was bloodied black and showed that the animal had thrashed around before managing to rise on its three uninjured legs.\n\n\"Can it be mended?\" All she knew about horses was which end you faced.\n\n\"He's hamstrung.\" Answering stupid questions from a woman no better than she should be added to Walt's anger.\n\nAdelia returned to Mansur. \"The animal has to be dispatched.\"\n\n\"Not here,\" he said. \"The carcass will block the bridge.\" And bridges were vital; not to repair them, or to render them unusable, was a hostile act causing such hardship to the local economy that the law came down heavily on those who committed it.\n\n\"What in hell are you two about?\" Rowley had come up.\n\n\"There's something wrong here,\" Adelia told him.\n\n\"Yes, somebody robbed and killed this poor devil. I can see that. Let's load him up and get on.\"\n\n\"No, it's more than that.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"Give me time,\" she shouted at him, and then, realizing, \"the doctor needs time.\"\n\nThe bishop blew out his cheeks. \"Why did I bring her, Lord? Answer me that. Very well, let's at least see to his horse.\"\n\nAdelia insisted on going first, slowly leading the way past Walt and the crippled animal and down the other side of the bridge, Mansur beside her holding the lantern so that light fell on the ground at each step.\n\nEverything that was not white was black; boot marks, hoof-prints, too jumbled to be distinguished from one another. There'd been a lot of activity where the bridge rejoined the road near the great gatehouse of the convent. A lot of blood.\n\nMansur pointed.\n\n\"Oh, well done, my dear,\" she said. Under the shadow of heavy oak branches lolling over the convent wall, clear prints led to others\u2014writing a story for those who could read it. \"Hmm. Interesting.\"\n\nBehind her, the bishop and groom soothed the jerkily limping horse as they led it, discussing where it should be put down. Would the nuns want the carcass? Good eating on a horse. But butchery and skinning would be arduous in this weather; better to cut its throat among the trees where the convent wall bent into a forest. \"They can get it later if they want it.\"\n\n\"Doubt there'll be much left by then, my lord.\" It wasn't only humans that appreciated the eating on a horse.\n\nWalt relieved the animal of its tack. There was a roll attached to the saddle protected by oilcloth. \"Oo-op now, my beauty, oo-op.\" Murmuring gentle equine things, he led it toward the trees.\n\n\"Could we hide the body there as well?\" Adelia wanted to know.\n\n\"If we do, there will be not much left of that, either,\" Mansur said.\n\nRowley joined them. \"Will you hurry up, you two. We'll all be bloody icicles in a minute.\"\n\nAdelia, who had shivered from cold all the way from Cambridge, was no longer aware of it. \"We don't want the body discovered, my lord.\"\n\nThe bishop tried for patience. \"It is discovered, mistress. We discovered it.\"\n\n\"We don't want the killer to find it.\"\n\nRowley cleared his throat. \"You mean, let's not tell him? He knows, Adelia. He shot a bolt into the lad's chest. He's not coming back to make sure.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is. You'd have seen it yourself if you hadn't been in such a rush.\" She nudged Mansur. \"Look as if you're instructing.\"\n\nWith Rowley between them, Mansur speaking of their findings in Arabic, and Adelia, on the other side, appearing to translate, they told him the story of a killing as the marks in the snow had told it to them.\n\n\"We can't be sure of the time. After it stopped snowing is all we can guess. Anyway, late enough this night for nobody to be about. They waited for him here, near the gates.\"\n\n\"They?\"\n\n\"Two men.\" Rowley was pulled into the shadow of the oak. Footprints were just visible in the snow. \"See? One wears hobnails, the other's boots have bars across the soles, maybe clogs bound with strips. They arrived here on horseback and took their horses into those trees, where Walt has gone. They came back on foot and stood here. They ate as they waited.\" Adelia retrieved a crumb of something from the ground, and then another. \"Cheese.\" She held them to the bishop's nose.\n\nHe recoiled. \"As you say, mistress.\"\n\nVigils over, the convent was silent again. From deeper in among the trees of the forest came Walt's prayer, \"And the Lord have mercy on thy poor soul, if thee have one.\"\n\nA long scream like a whistle, a heavy crash. Silence.\n\nWalt emerged, simultaneously wiping his dagger on his cloak with one hand and his eyes with the other. \"Goddamn, I hates a'doing that.\"\n\nThe bishop patted him on the shoulder and sent him to join the others on the far side of the bridge. To Adelia and Mansur, he said, \"They knew he was coming, then?\"\n\n\"Yes. They were waiting for him.\" Even the most desperate robber didn't loiter in the hope of a passerby in the early hours of a freezing night.\n\nThey must have thought themselves lucky that the blizzard had passed, she thought, not knowing they were imprinting their guilt in the resultant snow for Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, medica of the renowned School of Medicine in Salerno, expert on death and the causes of death, to happen along and decipher it.\n\nFor which they were going to be sorry.\n\nIt had been a cold wait; they'd stamped their feet to keep warm. In her mind, Adelia waited with them, nibbling phantom cheese. Perhaps they had listened to the sound of Compline being sung before the nuns retired to bed for the three hours until Vigils. Apart from that it would have been quiet except for an owl or two, perhaps, and the shriek of a vixen.\n\nHere he comes, the rider. Up the road that leads from the river to the convent, his horse's hooves muffled by the earlier snow but still audible in the silence.\n\nHe's nearing the gates, slowing\u2014does he mean to go in? But Villain Number One has stepped out in front of him, the crossbow cocked and straining. Does the rider see him? Shout out? Recognize the man? Probably not; the shadows are dark here. Anyway, the bolt has been loosed and is already deep in his chest.\n\nThe horse rears, sending its rider backward and tumbling, breaking the bolt's flights as he falls. Villain Number Two snatches at the reins, leads the terrified horse to the trees, and tethers it there.\n\n\"He's on the ground and dying\u2014a crossbow quarrel is nearly always fatal wherever it hits,\" Adelia said, \"but they made sure. One or other of them\u2014whoever he was has big hands\u2014throttled him as he lay on the ground.\"\n\n\"God have mercy,\" the bishop said.\n\n\"Yes, but here's the interesting thing,\" Adelia told him, as if everything else had been commonplace. \"Now they drag him to the center of the bridge. See? The toes of his boots make runnels in the snow. They throw his cap down beside him\u2014dear Lord, they're stupid. Did they think a man fallen from his mount looks so tidy? Legs together? Skirts down? You saw that, didn't you? And then, then, they fetch his horse to the bridge and slice its leg.\"\n\n\"They do not take him into the trees,\" Mansur pointed out. \"Nor the horse. Neither would have been found if they'd done that, not until the spring, and by then, no one could see what had happened to them. But no, they drag him to where the first person across the bridge in the morning will see him and raise the hue and cry.\"\n\n\"Not giving the killers as much time to get away as they might have.\" The bishop was reflective. \"I see. That's\u2026eccentric.\"\n\n\"This is what's eccentric,\" Adelia said. They'd come up to the body again. At the bottom of the bridge where the others were gathered, somebody had made a makeshift brazier and lit a fire. Faces, ghastly in the reflection of the flames, turned hopefully in their direction. \"You goin' to be much longer?\" Gyltha shouted. \"Little un's due a feed, and we'm dyin' of frostbite.\"\n\nAdelia ignored her. She still didn't feel the cold. \"Two men,\" she said, \"and they are poor, judging from their footwear. Two men kill our rider. Granted, they take the money from his purse, but they leave the purse, a good one that has his family crest on it. They leave his boots, his cloak, the silver buckle, his fine horse. What thief does that?\"\n\n\"Perhaps they were disturbed,\" Rowley said.\n\n\"Who disturbs them? Not us. They are long gone before we come up. They had time to strip this poor soul of everything he\u2026had. They do not. Why, Rowley?\"\n\nThe bishop thought it through. \"They want him found.\"\n\nAdelia nodded. \"It is vital to them.\"\n\n\"They want him to be identified.\"\n\nAdelia's exhaled breath was a stream of satisfaction. \"Exactly. It must be known who he is and that he is dead.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Rowley considered. \"Hence the suggestion that we hide his body. I don't like it, though.\"\n\n\"But that will bring them back, Rowley,\" Adelia said, and for the first time she touched him, a tug on his sleeve. \"They've taken pains to have this poor young man's death declared to the world. They'll come back to find out why it isn't. We can be waiting for them.\"\n\nMansur nodded. \"Some fiend intends to profit by this killing, Allah ruin him.\"\n\nAdelia jiggled the bishop's sleeve again. \"But not if the boy seems merely to have gone away, just disappeared.\"\n\nRowley was doubtful. \"There'll be someone at home, worrying for him.\"\n\n\"If so, they'll want his murderers found.\"\n\n\"He ought to be buried with decency.\"\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\nPulling his arm from her grasp, the bishop went away from her. Adelia watched him go to the parapet of the bridge and lean over it, looking at the roaring water that showed white in the moonlight.\n\nHe hates it when I do this, she thought. He was prepared to love the woman but not the doctor. Yet it was the doctor he invited along, and he must bear the consequences. I have a duty to that dead boy, and I will not abandon it.\n\nNow she was cold.\n\n\"Very well.\" He turned round. \"You may be fortunate in that Godstow possesses an icehouse. Famous for it.\"\n\nWhile the body was being wrapped in its cloak and its possessions collected, Adelia went to the fire to feed her baby.\n\nThe Bishop of Saint Albans gathered his men round him to tell them what Dr. Mansur had discovered from reading the signs in the snow.\n\n\"With the mercy of God, we may hope to catch these killers. Until then, not one of you\u2014I say again, nobody\u2014is to mention what we have seen this night. We shall keep this body reverently, but secretly, hidden in order to find out who comes back for it\u2014and may God have mercy on their souls, for we shall not.\"\n\nIt was well done. Rowley had fought in Outremer on Crusade and found that men responded better for knowing what their commander was about than those merely given reasonless commands.\n\nHe drew an assenting growl from the circle about him, the messenger's particularly fervent\u2014he and the others spent much of their lives on the road, and they saw the rider on the bridge as any one of themselves fallen to the predators infesting the highways. As Good Samaritans, they had been too late to save the traveler's life, but they could at least bring his killers to justice.\n\nOnly Father Paton's frown suggested that he was assessing how much the corpse was going to cost the ecclesiastical purse.\n\nBaring their heads, the men took the body up and put it in the cart. With everybody walking beside it, leading their horses, they crossed the bridge to Godstow nunnery."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Godstow Abbey with its surrounding grounds and fields was actually a large island formed by curves of the Thames's upper reaches and tributaries. Although the porter who unbarred its gates to the travelers was a man, as were the groom and ostler who saw to their horses, it was an island ruled by women.\n\nIf asked, its twenty-four nuns and their female pensioners would have insisted that it was the Lord God who had called them to abandon the world, but their air of contentment suggested that the Lord's wish had coincided exactly with their own. Some were widows with money who'd heard God's call at their husband's graveside and hurried to answer it at Godstow before they could be married off again. Some were maidens who, glimpsing the husbands selected for them, had been overwhelmed by a sudden vocation for chastity and had taken their dowries with them into the convent instead. Here they could administer a sizable, growing fiefdom efficiently and with a liberal hand\u2014and they could do it without male interference.\n\nThe only men over them were Saint Benedict, to whose rule they were subject and who was dead these six hundred and fifty years; the Pope, who was a long way away; the Archbishop of Canterbury, often ditto; and an investigative archdeacon who, because they kept their books and their behavior in scrupulous order, could make no complaint of them.\n\nOh, and the Bishop of Saint Albans.\n\nSo rich was Godstow that it possessed two churches. One, tucked away against the abbey's western wall, was small and acted as the nuns' private chapel. The other, much larger, stood on the east, near the road, and had been built to provide a place of worship for the people of the surrounding villages.\n\nIn effect, the abbey was a village in itself, in which the holy sisters had their own precincts, and it was to these that the travelers were taken by the porter. A maid carrying a yoke squeaked at the sight of them and then curtsied, spilling some milk from the buckets. The porter's lantern shone on passageways and courtyards, the sudden, sculptured pillars of a cloister where the shutters of the porter's windows opened to show white-coifed heads like pale poppies whispering, \"Bishop, the bishop,\" along the row.\n\nRowley Picot, so big, so full of energy and intent, so loudly male, was a cockerel erupting into a placid coop of hens that had been managing happily without him.\n\nThey were met by the prioress, still pinning her veil in place, and begged to wait in the chapter house where the abbess would attend them. In the meantime, please to take refreshment. Had the ladies any requirements? And the baby, such a fine little fellow, what might be done for him?\n\nThe beauty of the chapter house relied on the sweep of unadorned wooden crucks and arches. Candles lit a tiled floor strewn with fresh rushes and were reflected back in the sheen of a long table and chairs. Besides the scent of apple logs in the brazier, there was a smell of sanctity and beeswax\u2014and now, thanks to Ward, the stink of unsavory dog.\n\nRowley strode the room, irritated by the wait, but, for the first time since the journey began, Adelia fed young Allie in the tranquillity the baby deserved. Its connection with Rosamund Clifford had made her afraid that the abbey would be disorderly, the nuns lax and no better than they should be. She still had bad memories of Saint Radegund's in Cambridge, the only other religious English sisterhood she'd encountered until now\u2014a troubled place where, eventually, a participant in child killing had been unmasked.\n\nHere at Godstow the atmosphere spoke of safety, tidiness, discipline, everything in its place.\n\nShe began to doze, lulled by the soporific mutterings of Father Paton as he chalked the reckonings onto his slate book. \"To cheese and ale on the journey\u2026to provender for the horses\u2026\"\n\nA nudge from Gyltha got her to her feet. A small, very old nun, leaning on an ivory-topped walking stick, had come in. Rowley extended his hand; the nun bent creakily over it to kiss the episcopal ring on his finger. Everybody bowed.\n\nThe abbess sat herself at the head of the board, took trouble to lean her stick against her chair, clasped her hands, and listened.\n\nMuch of Godstow's felicity, Adelia realized within minutes, was due to this tiny woman. Mother Edyve had the disinterested calm of elderly people who had seen everything and were now watching it come around for the second time. This young bishop\u2014a stripling compared to her\u2014could not discompose her, though he arrived with a Saracen, two women, a baby, and an unprepossessing dog among his train, telling her that he had found a murdered man outside her gates.\n\nEven the fact that the bishop wished to conceal the corpse in her icehouse was met calmly. \"Thus you hope to find the killer?\" she asked.\n\n\"Killer sss, Abbess,\" the bishop hissed impatiently. Once again, he went over the evidence found by Dr. Mansur and his assistant.\n\nAdelia thought that Mother Edyve had probably grasped it the first time; she was merely giving herself time to consider. The wrinkly lidded eyes embedded into a face like creased calfskin closed as she listened, her veined hands reflected in the high polish of the table.\n\nRowley ended with, \"We are assured that there are people who wish the young man's death and name to be broadcast; when there is only silence, they may return to find out why.\"\n\n\"A trap, then.\" It was said without emphasis.\n\n\"A trap is necessary to see justice done,\" Rowley persisted, \"and only you to know about it, Abbess.\"\n\nHe is asking a great deal of her, Adelia thought. To conceal a body unmourned and unburied is surely against the law and certainly unchristian.\n\nOn the other hand, according to what Rowley had told her, this old woman had kept both her convent and her nuns inviolate during thirteen years of civil war, much of it waged in this very area, a feat suggesting that the rules of men, and even God's, must have been tinkered with somewhere along the line.\n\nMother Edyve opened her eyes. \"I can tell you this, my lord: The bridge is ours. It is our convent's duty to maintain its structure and its peace and, by extension therefore, to catch those who commit murder on it.\"\n\n\"You agree, then?\" Rowley was taken aback; he'd expected resistance.\n\n\"However,\" the abbess said, still distantly, as if he hadn't spoken, \"you will need the assistance of my daughter prioress.\" Sliding it along her belt from under her scapular, Mother Edyve produced the largest chatelaine Adelia had ever seen; it was a wonder it didn't weigh her to the floor. Among the massive keys attached to it was a small bell. She rang it.\n\nThe prioress who had first greeted them came in. \"Yes, Mother?\"\n\nNow that she could compare them, Adelia saw that Sister Havis had the same flat face and the same calfskin, though slightly less crinkled, complexion as the abbess. \"Daughter prioress,\" then, was not a pious euphemism; Edyve had brought her child with her to Godstow when she took the veil.\n\n\"Our lord bishop has with him a consignment for our icehouse, Sister Havis. It will be stored there secretly during Lauds.\" A key was detached from the great iron ring and handed over. \"There shall be no mention of it to any soul until further notice.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mother.\" Sister Havis bowed to her bishop, then to her mother, and left. No surprise. No questions. Godstow's icehouse, Adelia decided, must have stored more than sides of beef in its time. Treasure? Escapers? Situated as it was between the town of Wallingford, which had held out for Queen Matilda, and Oxford Castle, where King Stephen's flag had flown, there might well have been a need to hide both.\n\nAllie was wriggling, and Gyltha, who was holding her, looked interrogatively at Adelia and then at the floor.\n\nAdelia nodded, clean enough. Allie was put down to crawl, an exercise she was refusing to perform, preferring to hitch herself along on her backside. Wearily, the dog Ward disposed himself so that his ears could be pulled.\n\nRowley wasn't even thanking the abbess for her cooperation; he had moved on to a matter more important to him. \"And now, madam, what of Rosamund Clifford?\"\n\n\"Yes, the Lady Rosamund.\" It was spoken as distantly as ever, but Mother Edyve's hands tightened slightly. \"They are saying it was the queen poisoned her.\"\n\n\"I was afraid they would.\"\n\n\"And I am afraid it may precipitate war.\"\n\nThere was a silence. Abbess and bishop were in accord now, as if they shared a foul secret. Once again, trampling horsemen milled around the memories of those who had known civil war, emitting to Adelia a turbulence so strong that she wanted to pick up her baby. Instead, she kept an eye on her in case the child made for the brazier.\n\n\"Has her corpse arrived?\" Rowley asked abruptly.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I thought it had been arranged; it was to be carried here for burial.\" He was accusatory, the abbess's fault. Whereas, thought Adelia, any other bishop would have commended a convent that refused to inter a notorious woman in its ground.\n\nMother Edyve looked down the side of her chair. Allie was trying to pull herself up by one of its legs. Adelia rose to go and remove her but the abbess held her back with an admonishing finger, then, without a change of expression, took the little bell from her chatelaine and passed it down.\n\nYou know babies, Adelia thought, comforted.\n\n\"Our foundation is indebted to the Lady Rosamund for many past kindnesses.\" Mother Edyve's voice tweeted like a distant bird. \"We owe her body burial and all the services for her soul. It was arranged, yet her housekeeper, Dakers, refuses to release the corpse to us.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I cannot say, but without her consent, it is difficult to amend the situation.\"\n\n\"In the name of God, why not?\"\n\nSomething, and it might have been a gleam of amusement, disturbed the immobility of the abbess's face for half a second. From the floor by her chair came a tinkling as Allie investigated her new toy. \"I believe you visited Wormhold Tower during the lady's illness, my lord?\"\n\n\"You know I did. Your prioress\u2026Sister Havis fetched me from Oxford to do so.\"\n\n\"And both of you were led through the labyrinth surrounding the tower?\"\n\n\"Some crackbrained female met us at the entrance to it, yes.\" Rowley's fingers tapped on the table; he hadn't sat down since entering the room.\n\n\"Dame Dakers.\" Again, the suggestion of amusement like the merest breath on a pond. \"I understand she will admit nobody since her mistress died. She adored her. My lord, I fear without she guides you through the labyrinth, there is no way of gaining the tower.\"\n\n\"I'll gain it. By God, I'll gain it. No body shall remain unburied whilst I am bishop here\u2026.\" He stopped, and then he laughed; he'd brought one through the gates with him.\n\nIt is his saving grace, Adelia thought as she melted and smiled with him, to see the incongruity of things. She watched him apologize to the abbess for his manner and thank her for her amiability\u2014until she saw that the nun's pale old eyes had turned and were watching her watching him.\n\nThe abbess returned to the subject. \"Dame Dakers's attachment to her mistress was\"\u2014the adjective was carefully considered\u2014\"formidable. The unfortunate servant responsible for bringing in the fatal mushrooms has fled from the tower in fear of her life and has sought sanctuary with us.\"\n\n\"She's here? Good. I want to question her.\" He corrected himself. \"With your permission, madam, I should like to question her.\"\n\nThe abbess inclined her head.\n\n\"And if I may trespass on your kindness a little more,\" Rowley went on, \"I would leave some of my party here while Dr. Mansur and his assistant accompany me to Wormhold Tower and see what may be done. As I say, the good doctor here has investigative abilities that can enable us\u2026\"\n\nNot yet. Not today. For God's sake, Rowley, we've traveled hard.\n\nAdelia coughed and caught Gyltha's eye. Gyltha nudged Mansur, who stood next to her. Mansur looked round at them both, then spoke in English and for the first time. \"Your doctor advise rest first.\" He added, \"My lord.\"\n\n\"Rest be damned,\" Rowley said, but he looked toward Adelia, who must go with him when he went, or why was she here?\n\nShe shook her head. We need rest, Rowley. You need it.\n\nThe abbess's eyes had followed the exchange and, if it had told her nothing else, though it probably had, she'd learned enough to know the matter was settled. \"When you have disposed of the unfortunate gentleman's body, Sister Havis will see to your accommodation,\" she said.\n\nIt was still very dark and very cold. The nuns were chanting Lauds in their chapel, and everybody else with a duty to do was performing it within the complex of buildings, out of sight of the main gates, where a covered carriage containing a dead man had been left just inside them.\n\nWalt and the men-at-arms were guarding it. They stood, stamping and slapping their arms to keep warm, stolidly ignoring the inquisition of the convent porter, who was leaning out of a bottom window in the gatehouse. Sister Havis told him sharply to withdraw his head, close the shutters, and mind his own business. \"Keep thy silence, Fitchet.\"\n\n\"Don't I?\" Fitchet was aggrieved. \"Don't I always keep it?\" The shutters slammed.\n\n\"He does,\" Sister Havis said. \"Mostly.\" Holding the lantern high, she stalked ahead of them through the snow.\n\nWalt led the horses after her, the bishop, Oswald, and Aelwyn marching beside him, with Adelia and Mansur above them on the cart's driving seat.\n\nRowley, aware now that he had tired her, would have left Adelia in the room that had been prepared for her and Gyltha and the baby in the guesthouse, but this dead young man was her responsibility. However good the reason, his body was being treated disgracefully at her behest; she must accord it what respect she could.\n\nThey were following the wall that ringed the convent's extensive buildings and gardens to where it ran into the woods in which, on the other side, lay the dead man's dead horse.\n\nThe rush of water that they'd heard from on the bridge became loud; they were close to the river, either the Thames itself or a fast stream running into it that gushed up even colder air. The noise became tremendous.\n\nMansur pointed; he and Adelia were seated high enough on the cart to see over the wall and, when trees allowed, across the water itself. There was their bridge and, on its far side, a water mill.\n\nThe Arab was saying something\u2014she couldn't hear him\u2014perhaps that the mill had been in darkness when they'd stood on the bridge so that they hadn't noticed it. Now light came through tiny windows set in its tower, and its great wheel was being turned by the race.\n\nThey'd pulled up. Sister Havis had stopped at a large stone hut built flush with the wall on this side and was unlocking its door.\n\nThe nun's lantern showed the inside of the hut to be empty apart from a ladder and a few tools. The floor was slabbed with stone, but most of its space was taken up by a great curve of iron set with handles, like the lid of an immense pot.\n\nSister Havis stood back. \"It will need two to lift it.\" She had the same emotionless voice as her mother.\n\nAelwyn and Oswald exerted themselves to raise the lid, displaying the blackness of a hole and releasing a chill that was palpable even in the air of the hut, and with it a smell of straw and frozen meat.\n\nThe bishop had taken the lantern from the prioress and was down on his knees by the side of the hole. \"Who built this?\"\n\n\"We do not know, my lord. We discovered it and maintain it. Mother Abbess believes it was here long before our foundation.\"\n\n\"The Romans, I wonder?\" Rowley was intrigued. The ladder was carried over and put in place so that he could descend. His voice came up with an echo, still asking questions, Sister Havis answering them with detachment.\n\nYes, its position so far from the convent butchery was inconvenient, but presumably its builders had placed it here to be close to a part of the river that was embanked so that the chamber would suffer no erosion while yet benefiting from the cooling proximity of running water.\n\nYes, the convent still pickled and salted most of its animals after the Michaelmas slaughter, since even Godstow could not provide feed for them all during the winter, but freezing some carcasses enabled its people to have occasional fresh meat into the spring, or later.\n\nYes, of course, the mill pond over the way needed a very cold winter to turn to ice, but all winters were cold these days and the last freeze had been exceptional, providing them with sufficient frozen blocks to last until summer. Yes, his lordship would see a drain that took away any melted water.\n\n\"Marvelous.\"\n\nAdelia coughed with intent. Rowley's head appeared. \"What?\"\n\n\"The obsequies, my lord.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course.\"\n\nThe body was lain on the slabs.\n\nRigor mortis had passed off, Adelia was interested to see, but that would be from the comparative warmth provided by the wrapping of straw and the shelter of the cart; down in that freezing hole, it would return.\n\nThe sure, strong voice of the Bishop of Saint Albans filled the hut. \"Domine, Iesu Christe, Rex gloriae\u2026Free the souls of all faithful departed from infernal punishment and the deep pit\u2026nor let them fall into darkness, but may the sign-bearer Saint Michael lead them into the holy light which you promised\u2026\"\n\nAdelia silently added her own requiem prayer: And may those who love you forgive me for what we do.\n\nShe went down the pit ahead of the body, joining Oswald and the bishop. A dreadful place, like the inside of an enormous brick egg insulated throughout by thick, netted straw over which more netting held the ice blocks. On their hooks, butchered sides of beef, lamb, venison, and pig, whitened by frost, hung so close together that she could not pass through without brushing her shoulders against them.\n\nShe found a space and straightened, to have her cap caught in the talons of game birds hanging from their own gallows.\n\nTeeth chattering\u2014and not just from the cold\u2014she and the others guided the feet of the dead man as Aelwyn and Walt lowered him.\n\nTogether they laid him down under the birds, positioning him so that if there were drips, they would not fall on his face.\n\n\"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.\" When the others had climbed out of the hole, she stayed by the dead man for a moment to make him a promise. \"Whether we catch your killers or not, I will not leave you here for long.\"\n\nIt was almost too long for her; she was so cold she couldn't manage the ladder and Mansur had to hoist her out.\n\nThe abbess gave up her house to Rowley, saying it was a relief to do so; its steep steps to the front door had become difficult for her. In that he was her superior in God, she could do no less, although it gave him access to the inner courtyard with its cloister, chapel, refectory, and nuns' dormitory, which were otherwise barred to men overnight. Having taken a look at Father Paton and deciding that he wasn't a sexual threat, either, she put the secretary in with his master.\n\nJacques, Walt, Oswald, and Aelwyn were accommodated in the male servants' quarters.\n\nMansur was given a pleasant room in the men's guesthouse. Gyltha, Adelia, the baby, and the dog were accommodated just as pleasantly in the females' wing next to the church. Angled outside steps led up to each guest's private door, which, since they were on the top floor, gave the two women a view westward over the track to Oxford and the abbey's fields where they sloped down to the Thames.\n\n\"Duck down,\" said Gyltha, examining a large bed. \"An' no fleas.\" She investigated further. \"And some saint's put hot bricks to warm it.\"\n\nAdelia wanted nothing so much as to lie down on it and sleep, and, for a while, all three of them did just that.\n\nThey were awakened by bells, one of them tolling as if in their ear and setting the water ewer shivering in its basin on the room's table.\n\nReady to flee, Adelia picked up Allie where she lay between her and Gyltha. \"Is it a fire?\"\n\nGyltha listened. The massive strokes were coming from the church tower nearby, and with them came the chime of other bells, tinnier and much farther away. \"It's Sunday,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh, to hell. It's not, is it?\"\n\nHowever, courtesy and Adelia's consciousness of their indebtedness to the abbess demanded that they attend the morning worship to which Godstow was summoning its people.\n\nAnd more than just its own people. The church in the outer courtyard was open to everybody, lay and religious\u2014though not, of course, to infidels and the smellier dogs, thus leaving Mansur and Ward still in their beds\u2014and today everybody within walking range was struggling through snow to get to it. The village of Wolvercote came across the bridge en masse, since its own church had been allowed to fall into ruin by the lord of the manor.\n\nThe attraction was the bishop, of course; he was as miraculous as an angel descended. A view of his cope and miter alone was worth the tithes everybody had to pay; he might be able to cure the little un's cough; for sure he could bless the winter sowing. Several poorly looking milch cows and one limping donkey were already tied up by the water trough outside, awaiting his attention.\n\nThe clergy entered by their own separate doorway to take their seats in the glorious stalls of the choir under the church's equally glorious fan-vaulted roof.\n\nBy virtue of his tonsure, Father Paton sat next to the nuns' chaplain, a little dormouse of a man, opposite the rows of nuns that included among their black ranks two young women in white veils who had a tendency to giggle; they found Father Paton funny.\n\nMost bishops used their homilies to wag a finger at sin in general, often in Norman French, their mother tongue, or in Latin on the principle that the less the congregation understood, the more in awe it would be.\n\nRowley's was different, and in an English his flock could understand. \"There's some buggers are saying poor Lady Rosamund has died at the Queen Eleanor's hand, which it is a wickedness and a lie, and you'll oblige our Lord by giving it no credit.\"\n\nHe left the pulpit to stride up and down the church, lecturing, hectoring. He was here to discover what or who had caused Rosamund's death, he said, \"For I do know she was dearly loved in these parts. Maybe 'twas an accident, maybe 'twasn't, but if it weren't, both king and queen'll see to it the villain be punished according to law. In the meantime, 'tis beholden on us all to keep our counsel and the precious peace of our Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\nThen he kneeled down on the stones and straw to pray, and everyone in church kneeled with him.\n\nThey love him, Adelia thought. As quickly as that, they love him. Is it showmanship? No, it isn't. He's beyond that now. Beyond me, too.\n\nWhen they rose, however, one man\u2014the miller from across the bridge, judging from the spectral whiteness with which flour had ingrained his skin\u2014raised a question. \"Master, they say as how the queen be upsides with the king. Ain't going to be no trouble twixt 'em, is there?\"\n\nHe was backed by a murmur of anxiety. The civil war in which a king had fought a queen was only a generation in the past; nobody here wanted to see another.\n\nRowley turned on him. \"Which is your missus?\"\n\n\"This un.\" The man jerked a thumb at the comfortable lady standing beside him.\n\n\"And a good choice you made there, Master Miller, as all can see. But tell me you ain't been upsides with her along the years some'eres, or her ain't been upsides with you, but you diddun start a war over it. Reckon as royalty ain't no different.\"\n\nAmid laughter, he returned to his throne.\n\nOne of the white-veiled girls sang the responsory in honor of the bishop's presence and sang it so exquisitely that Adelia, usually deaf to music, waited impatiently through the congregation's answers until she sang again.\n\nSo it was nice to find the same young woman waiting for her in the great courtyard outside after the clergy had filed out. \"May I come and see the baby? I love babies.\"\n\n\"Of course. I must congratulate you on your voice; it is a joy to hear.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I am Emma Bloat.\"\n\n\"Adelia Aguilar.\"\n\nThey fell into step, or, rather, Adelia stepped and Emma bounced. She was fifteen years old and in a state of exaltation over something. Adelia hoped it was not the bishop. \"Are you an oblate?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Little Priscilla is the one taking the veil. I am to be married.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"It is, isn't it? Earthly love\u2026\" Emma twirled in sheer joie de vivre. \"God must reckon it as high as heavenly love, mustn't he, despite what Sister Mold says, or why does He make us feel like this?\" She thumped the region of her heart.\n\n\"'It is better to marry than to burn,'\" quoted Adelia.\n\n\"Huh. What I say is, how did Saint Paul know? He didn't do either.\"\n\nShe was a refreshing child and she did love babies, or she certainly loved Allie, with whom she was prepared to play peep-bo longer than Adelia had believed possible without the brain giving way.\n\nIt seemed that the girl must have privilege of some kind, since she was not called back to join the sisters' afternoon routine.\n\nWealth or rank? Adelia wondered. Or both?\n\nShe showed no more curiosity about this influx of strangers to the convent than if they had been toys provided for her amusement, though she demanded that they be curious about her. \"Ask me about my husband-to-be, ask me, ask me.\"\n\nHe was beautiful, apparently, oh so beautiful, gallant, wild with love for her, a writer of romantic poems that rivaled any Paris might have sent to Helen.\n\nGyltha raised her eyebrows to Adelia, who raised her own. This was happiness indeed, and unusual to be found in an arranged marriage. For arranged it was; Emma's father, she told them, was a wine merchant in Oxford and was supplying the convent with the best Rhenish to pay for having her educated as befitted a nobleman's wife. It was he who had procured the match.\n\nAt this point, Emma, who was standing by the window, laughed so much that she had to hold on to the mullion.\n\n\"Your intended's a lord, then?\" Gyltha asked, grinning.\n\nThe laughter went, and the girl turned to look out of the window as if its view could tell her something, and Adelia saw that when the exuberance of youth went, beauty would take its place.\n\n\"The lord of my heart,\" Emma said.\n\nIt was difficult for the travelers to forgather in order to discuss and plan. Lenient as Godstow was, it could not tolerate the step of a Saracen into its inner courtyard. For the bishop to visit the women's quarters was equally out of place. There was only the church, and even there a nun was always present at the main altar, interceding with God for the souls of such departed as had paid for the privilege. However, it had a side chapel devoted to Mary, deserted at night yet lit by candles\u2014another gift from the dead that they might be remembered to the Holy Mother\u2014and the abbess had given her permission for its use as a meeting place, as long as they were quiet about it.\n\nThe day's large congregation had left no warmth behind. Blazing candles on the shrine sent out light and heat only a few feet, leaving the ogival space around them in icy shadow. Entering by a side door, Adelia saw a large figure kneeling before the altar, his cowled head bowed and the fingers of his hands interlaced so tightly that they resembled bare bone.\n\nRowley got up as the women entered. He looked tired. \"You're late.\"\n\n\"I had to feed the baby,\" Adelia told him.\n\nFrom the main body of the church came the drone of a nun reading the commemorations from the convent register. She was being literal about it. \"Lord, in Thy mercy, bless and recognize the soul of Thomas of Sandford, who did provide an orchard in Saint Giles's, Oxford, to this convent and departed this life the day after Martinmas in the year of our Lord 1143. Sweet Jesus, in Thy Mercy, look kindly on the soul of Maud Halegod, who did give three silver marks\u2026\"\n\n\"Did Rosamund's servant tell you anything?\" Adelia whispered.\n\n\"Her?\" The bishop didn't bother to lower his voice. \"The female's rattle-headed; I'd have got more out of the bloody donkeys I've had to bless all bloody afternoon. She kept bleating. I swear, like a sheep.\"\n\n\"You probably frightened her.\" In full regalia, he'd have been overwhelming.\n\n\"Of course I didn't frighten her. I was charming. The woman's witless, I tell you. You see if you can get some sense out of her.\"\n\n\"I shall.\"\n\nGyltha had found some hassocks piled in a cupboard and was distributing them in a circle, where the candlelight fell on them, each one displaying the blazon of a noble family that didn't want to dirty its knees when it came to church.\n\n\"Hassocks are sensible,\" Adelia said, putting one under the sleeping Allie's basket in order to keep it off the stones. Ward settled himself on another. \"Why don't the rich endow hassocks for the poor? They'd be remembered longer.\"\n\n\"The rich don't want us comfortable,\" Gyltha said. \"Ain't good for us. Give us ideas above our station. Where's that old Arab?\"\n\n\"The messenger's fetching him.\"\n\nHe came, having to stoop through the side door, wrapped in a cloak, Jacques behind him.\n\n\"Good,\" Rowley said. \"You can go, Jacques.\"\n\n\"Ummm.\" The young man shifted in complaint.\n\nAdelia took pity on him. Messengers had an unenviable and lonely job, spending their time crisscrossing the country with a horse as their only companion. Their masters were hard on them: letters to be delivered quickly, replies brought back even quicker; excuses, such as bad weather, falls, difficult country, or getting lost, discounted in favor of the suspicion that the servant had been wasting his time and his employer's money in some tavern.\n\nRowley, she thought, was being particularly hard on this one; there was no reason why the young man should not be included in their discussions. She suspected that Jacques's sin lay in the fact that, though he wore the sober Saint Albans livery, he compensated for his lack of height by wearing raised boots and a high plume in his hat, which led to the suspicion that he was following the trend introduced by Queen Eleanor and her court for males as well as women to subscribe to fashion\u2014an idea welcomed by the young generation but condemned as effete by men, like Rowley, like Walt and Oswald, whose choice of clothing material had always been either leather or chain mail.\n\nWalt had been heard to describe the messenger, not inaccurately, as looking like \"a stalk of celery wi' roots attached,\" and Rowley had grumbled to Adelia that he feared his messenger was \"greenery-yellery\" and \"not good, plain old Norman English,\" both epithets he reserved for men he regarded as effeminate. \"I shall have to send him away. The boy even wears scent. I can't have my missives delivered by a popinjay.\"\n\nThis, thought Adelia, from a man whose ceremonial robes dazzled the eye and took half an hour to put on.\n\nShe decided to intercede. \"Are we taking Master Jacques with us to Rosamund's tower tomorrow?\"\n\n\"Of course we are.\" Rowley was still irritable. \"I may need to send messages.\"\n\n\"Then he'll know as much as we know, my lord. He already does.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well.\"\n\nFrom the altar beyond the screen that separated them, the ceaseless muttering of prayer for the dead went on as, with different nuns taking up the task, it would go on all night.\n\n\"\u2026of your mercy, the soul of Thomas Hookeday, hayward of this parish, for the sixpence he did endow\u2026\"\n\nRowley produced the saddle roll that had belonged to the dead man on the bridge. \"Hasn't been time to look through it yet.\" He unbuckled the straps and put it on the floor to unroll it. With Jacques standing behind them, the four sat round and considered its contents.\n\nWhich were few. A leather bottle of ale. Half a cheese and a loaf neatly wrapped in cloth. A hunting horn\u2014odd equipment for a man traveling without companions or dogs. A spare cloak with fur trimming, surprisingly small for what had been a tall man\u2014again, carefully folded.\n\nWherever the youngster had been heading, he was banking on finding food and lodging there; the bread and cheese wouldn't have sustained him very far.\n\nAnd there was a letter. It appeared to have been pushed just under the flap between the buckles of the leather straps that secured the roll.\n\nRowley picked it up and smoothed it out.\n\n\"'To Talbot of Kidlington,'\" he read. \"'That the Lord and His angels bless you on this Day that enters you into Man's estate and keep you from the Path of Sin and all unrighteousness is the dearest hope of your affct cousin, Wlm Warin, gentleman-at-law, who hereby sends: two silver marks as an earnest of your inheritance, the rest to be Claimed when we do meet. Written this day of Our Lord, the sixteenth before the Kalends of January, at my place of business next Saint Michael at the North Gate of Oxford.'\"\n\nHe looked up. \"Well, there we are, then. Now we know our body's name.\"\n\nAdelia nodded slowly. \"Hmm.\"\n\n\"What's wrong with that? The boy's got a name, a twenty-first birthday, and an affectionate cousin with an address. Plenty for you to work on. What he hasn't got is two silver marks. I imagine the thieves took those.\"\n\nAdelia noted the \"you\"; this was to be her business, not the bishop's. \"Don't you think it odd,\" she asked, \"if the family arms on his purse were not to tell us who he was, here is a letter that does. It gives us almost too much information. What affectionate writer calls his cousin Talbot of Kidlington rather than just Talbot?\"\n\nRowley shrugged. \"A perfectly standard superscription.\"\n\nAdelia took the letter from him. \"And it's on vellum. Expensive for such a brief, personal note. Why didn't Master Warin use rag paper?\"\n\n\"All lawyers use vellum or parchment. They think paper is infra dignitatem.\"\n\nBut Adelia mused on. \"And it's crumpled, just shoved between the buckles. Look, it's torn on one of them. Nobody treats vellum like that\u2014it can always be scraped down to use again.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the lad was in a rush when he received it, stuffed it away quickly. Or he was angry because he was expecting more than two marks? Or he doesn't give an owl's hoot for vellum. Which\"\u2014the bishop was losing his patience\u2014\"at this moment, I don't, either. What is your point, mistress?\"\n\nAdelia considered for a moment.\n\nWhether the body in the icehouse was that of Talbot of Kidlington or not, when alive it had belonged to a neat man; his clothing had told her that. So did the care he'd expended on wrapping the contents of his saddle roll. People with such tidy habits\u2014and Adelia was one of their number\u2014did not carelessly thrust a document on vellum into an aperture with the flat of the hand, as this had been.\n\n\"I don't think he even saw this letter,\" she said. \"I think the men who killed him put it there.\"\n\n\"For the Lord's sake,\" Rowley hissed at her, \"this is overelaboration. Adelia, highway villains do not endow their victim with correspondence. What are you saying? It's a forgery to put us off the track? Talbot of Kidlington isn't Talbot of Kidlington? The belt and the purse belong to someone else entirely?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" But something about the letter was wrong.\n\nArrangements were made for the next day's excursion. Adelia would accompany bishop, messenger, groom, and one of the men-at-arms on a ride upriver, using the towpath to Rosamund's tower while Mansur and the other man-at-arms would travel by water, bringing a barge on which to carry back the corpse.\n\nWhile discussion went on, Adelia took the opportunity to examine the blazons on all the hassocks. None of them matched the device on the young man's purse or belt.\n\nRowley was talking to Gyltha. \"You must stay here, mistress. We can't take the baby with us.\"\n\nAdelia looked up. \"I'm not leaving her behind.\"\n\nHe said, \"You'll have to, it won't be a family outing.\" He took Mansur by the arm. \"Come along, my friend, let's see what the convent has in the way of boats.\" They went out, the messenger with them.\n\n\"I'm not leaving her,\" Adelia shouted after him, causing a momentary pause in the recital of souls from beyond the screen. She turned to Gyltha. \"How dare he. I won't.\"\n\nGyltha pressed on Adelia's shoulders to force her down onto a hassock, then sat beside her. \"He's right.\"\n\n\"He's not. Suppose we get cut off by snow, by anything? She needs to be fed.\"\n\n\"Then I'll see as she is.\" Gyltha took Adelia's hand and bounced it gently. \"It's time, girl,\" she said. \"Time she was weaned proper. You're a'drying up; you know it, the little un knows it.\"\n\nAdelia was hearing the truth; Gyltha never told her anything else. In fact, the weaning process had been going on for some weeks as her breast milk diminished, both women chewing food to a pap and supplementing it with cow's milk to spoon into Allie's eager mouth.\n\nIf breast-feeding, which the childless Adelia had considered would be an oozing embarrassment, had proved to be one of life's natural pleasures, it had also been the excuse to have her child always with her. For motherhood, while another joy, had burdened her with a tearing and unexpected anxiety, as if her senses had been transferred into the body of her daughter, and, by a lesser extension, into that of all children. Adelia, who'd once considered anyone below the age of reason to be alien and had treated them as such, was now open to their grief, their slightest pain, any unhappiness.\n\nAllie suffered few of these emotions; she was a sturdy baby, and gradually Adelia had become aware that the agony was for herself, for the two-day-old creature that had been abandoned by an unknown parent on a rocky slope in Italy's Campania nearly thirty years before. During her growing up it had not mattered; an incident, even amusing in that the couple who'd discovered her had commemorated an event all three had considered fortunate by giving her Vesuvia as one of her names. Childless, loving, clever, eccentric, Signor and Signora Aguilar, both doctors trained in the liberal tradition of Salerno's great School of Medicine, he a Jew, she a Catholic Christian, had found in Adelia not only a beloved daughter but a brain that superseded even their intelligence, and had educated it accordingly. No, abandonment hadn't mattered. It had, in fact, turned out to be the greatest gift that the real, unknown, desperate, sorrowing, or uncaring mother could have bestowed on her child.\n\nUntil that child had given birth to a baby of her own.\n\nThen it came. Fear like a typhoon that wouldn't stop blowing, not just fear that Allie would die but fear that she herself would die and leave the child without the mercy that had been bestowed on her. Better they both die together.\n\nOh, God, if the poisoner was not content merely with Rosamund's death\u2026or if the killers from the bridge were waiting en route\u2026or if she should leave her child in a Godstow suddenly overwhelmed by fire\u2026\n\nThis was obsession, and Adelia had just enough sense to know that, if it persisted, it would damage both herself and Allie.\n\n\"It's time,\" Gyltha said again, and since Gyltha, most reliable of women, said it was, then it was.\n\nBut she resented the ease with which Rowley demanded a separation that would cause her grief and, however unfounded, fear as well. \"It's not up to him to tell me to leave her behind. I hate leaving her, I hate it.\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"His child, too.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't think so.\"\n\nThe messenger's voice came from the door. \"My apologies, mistress, but his lordship asks that you will interview Bertha.\"\n\n\"Bertha?\"\n\n\"Lady Rosamund's servant, mistress. The mushrooming one.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\nApart from the unremitting prayers for the dead in the church and the canonical hours, the convent had shut down, leaving it in a total, moonless black. The compass of light from Jacques's lantern lit only the bottom of walls and a few feet of pathway lined by snow as he led the two women to their quarters. There Adelia kissed her baby good night and left Gyltha to put her to bed.\n\nShe and the messenger went on alone, leaving the outer courtyard for open ground. A faint smell suggested that somewhere nearby were vegetable gardens, rotted now by the frost.\n\n\"Where are you taking me?\" Her voice went querulous into the blackness.\n\n\"The cowshed, I'm afraid, mistress.\" Jacques was apologetic. \"The girl's hidden herself there. The abbess put her to the kitchens, but the cooks refused to work with her, seeing it was her hand that fed the poison to the lady Rosamund. The nuns have tried talking to her but they say it's difficult to get sense from the poor soul, and she dreads the arrival of the lady's housekeeper.\"\n\nThe messenger chatted on, eager to prove himself worthy of inclusion into his bishop's strange, investigative inner circle.\n\n\"About the blazon on the poor young man's purse, mistress. It might profit you to consult Sister Lancelyne. She keeps the convent's cartulary and register, and has a record of the device of every family who's made a gift at some time or another.\"\n\nHe'd been making good use of his time. It was a messenger's attribute to persuade himself into the good books of the servants of households he visited. It got him better food and drink before he had to set off again.\n\nWalls closed in again. Adelia's boots splashed through the slush of what, in daytime, must be much-used lanes. Her nose registered that they were passing a bakehouse, now a kitchen, a laundry, all silent and invisible in the darkness.\n\nMore open land. More slush, but here and there footprints in a bank of snow where someone had stepped off the path.\n\nMenace.\n\nIt came at her, unseen, unaccountable, but so strong that she hunched and stood still under its attack as if she were back in the alleys of Salerno and had seen the shadow of a man with a knife.\n\nThe messenger stopped with her. \"What is it, mistress?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Nothing.\" There were footprints in the snow, valid, explicable footprints no doubt, but for her, remembering those on the bridge, they pointed to death.\n\nShe forced herself to trudge on.\n\nThe acrid stink of hot iron and a remnant of warmth on the air told her they were passing a smithy, its fire banked down for the night. Now a stable and the smell of horse manure that, as they walked on, became bovine\u2014they had reached the cowshed.\n\nJacques heaved open one of the double doors to reveal a wide, bespattered aisle between partitioned stalls, most of which were empty. Few beasts anywhere survived the Michaelmas cull\u2014there was never enough fodder to see herds through the winter\u2014but farther up the aisle, the lantern shone on the crusted backsides and tails of the cows that had been left alive to provide winter milk.\n\n\"Where is she?\"\n\n\"They said she was here. Bertha,\" Jacques called. \"Bertha.\"\n\nFrom somewhere in the dark at the far end of the shed came a squeak and rustle of straw as if an extra-large mouse were making for its hole.\n\nJacques lit their way up the aisle and shone the lantern into the last of the stalls before hanging it from the hook of an overhead beam. \"She's there, I think, mistress.\" He stood back so Adelia could see inside it.\n\nThere was a big pile of straw against the stall's back wall. Adelia addressed it. \"Bertha? I mean you no harm. Please talk to me.\"\n\nShe had to say it several times before there was a heave and a face was framed in the straw. At first, with the lantern sending downward light on it, Adelia thought it was a pig's, then saw that it belonged to a girl with a nose so retrouss\u00e9 as to present only nostrils, giving it the appearance of a snout. Small, almost lashless eyes fixed on Adelia's face. The wide mouth moved and produced sound high up the scale. \"Non me faux,\" it sounded like. \"Non me faux, non me faux.\"\n\nAdelia turned back to Jacques. \"Is she French?\"\n\n\"Not as far as I know, mistress. I think she's saying it was not her fault.\"\n\nThe bleat changed. \"Donagemme.\"\n\n\"'Don't let her get me,'\" Jacques translated.\n\n\"Dame Dakers?\" Adelia asked.\n\nBertha hunched in terror. \"Turmeinamouse.\"\n\n\"'She'll turn me into a mouse,'\" Jacques said helpfully.\n\nThe irresistible thought came, shamefully, that in the case of this child, the dame's powers to turn her into an animal would not be stretched very far.\n\n\"Antrappi.\" Bertha was becoming less frightened and more confidential, poking forward now to show a thin upper neck and body under head and hair colored the same as the straw that framed them. Her gaze became fixed on Adelia's neck.\n\n\"'And catch I in a trap,'\" Jacques said.\n\nAdelia was getting the hang of Bertha's speech. Also, she had become angry, as she always did at the suggestion of magic, appalled that this girl should be terrorized by black superstition. \"Sit up,\" she said.\n\nThe porcine little eyes blinked and Bertha sat up instantly, spilling straw. She was used to being bullied.\n\n\"Now,\" Adelia said, more quietly, \"nobody blames you for what happened, but you must tell me how it came about.\"\n\nBertha leaned forward and poked at Adelia's necklet. \"What be that purty thing?\"\n\n\"It's a cross. Haven't you seen one before?\"\n\n\"Lady Ros do have similar, purtier nor that. What be for? Magic?\" This was awful. Had nobody taught the girl Christianity?\n\nAdelia said, \"As soon as I can, I shall buy you one of your own and explain it to you. Now, though, you must explain things to me. Will you do that?\"\n\nBertha nodded, her eyes still on the silver cross.\n\nSo it began. It took infinite labor on Adelia's part and wearisome, evasive repetition on Bertha's, pursuing the theme that it wasn't her fault, before any relevant information could be teased from her. The girl was so ignorant, so credulous, that Adelia's opinion of Rosamund became very low\u2014no servant should be so deprived of education. Fair Rosamund, she thought. Not much fairness in the neglect of this sad little thing.\n\nIt was difficult to estimate her age; Bertha herself didn't know it. Between sixteen and twenty, Adelia guessed, half-starved and as unaware of how the world wagged as any mole in its run.\n\nJacques, unnoticed, had slid a milking stool against her hocks, allowing her to sit so that she and Bertha were on a level. He remained standing directly behind her in shadow, saying not a word.\n\nEver since she'd heard of Rosamund's death, Adelia had believed that what she would eventually uncover was the tale of a sad accident.\n\nIt wasn't. As Bertha gained confidence and Adelia understanding, the story that emerged showed that Bertha had been the accomplice, albeit unwittingly, to deliberate murder.\n\nOn the fatal day, she said, she'd gone into the forest surrounding Wormhold Tower to gather kindling, not mushrooms, pulling a sledge behind her to pile it with such dead branches as could be reached with a crook.\n\nLowest of all Rosamund's servants, it had already been a bad morning for her. Dame Dakers had walloped her for dropping a pot and told her that Lady Rosamund was sick of her and intended to send her away, which, Bertha being without family to turn to, would have meant having to tramp the countryside begging for food.\n\n\"Her's a dragon,\" Bertha whispered, looking round and up in case Dame Dakers had flown in, flapping her wings, to perch on one of the cowshed's beams. \"Us calls her Dragon Dakers.\"\n\nMiserably, Bertha had gathered so much fuel\u2014afraid of Dragon Dakers's wrath if she didn't\u2014that, having tied the bundled wood to the sledge, she found it impossible to pull, at which point she had sat down on the ground and bawled her distress to the trees.\n\n\"And then her come up.\"\n\n\"Who came?\"\n\n\"Her did. Old woman.\"\n\n\"Had you ever seen her before?\"\n\n\"'Course not.\" Bertha regarded the question as an insult. \"Her didn't come from our parts. Second cook to Queen Eleanor, she was. The queen. Traveled everywhere with un.\"\n\n\"That's what she told you? She worked for Queen Eleanor?\"\n\n\"Her did.\"\n\n\"What did this old woman look like?\"\n\n\"Like a old woman.\"\n\nAdelia took a breath and tried again. \"How old? Describe her. Well-dressed? In rags? What sort of face? What sort of voice?\"\n\nBut Bertha, lacking both observation and vocabulary, was unable to answer these questions. \"Her was ugly, but her was kind,\" she said. It was the only description she could give, kindness being so rare in Bertha's life that it was remarkable.\n\n\"In what way was she kind?\"\n\n\"Her gave I them mushrooms, didn't her? Magic, they was. Said they'd make Lady Ros look on I with\"\u2014Bertha's unfortunate nose had wrinkled in an effort to recall the word used\u2014\"favor.\"\n\n\"She said your mistress would be pleased with you?\"\n\n\"Her did.\"\n\nIt took time, but eventually something of the conversation that had taken place in the forest between Bertha and the old woman was reconstructed.\n\n\"That's what I do for my lady, Queen Eleanor,\" the old woman had said. \"I do give her a feast of these here mushrooms, and her do look on me with favor.\"\n\nBertha had inquired eagerly whether they also worked on less-exalted mistresses.\n\n\"Oh, yes, even better.\"\n\n\"Like, if your mistress were going to send you off, she wouldn't?\"\n\n\"Send you off? Promote you more like.\"\n\nThen the old woman had added, \"Tell you what I'll do, Bertha, my duckling, I like your face, so I'll let you have my mushrooms to cook for your lady. Fond of mushrooms, is she?\"\n\n\"Dotes on 'em.\"\n\n\"There you are, then. You cook her these and be rewarded. Only you must do it right away now.\"\n\nAmazed, Adelia wondered for a moment if this was a fairy tale that Bertha had concocted in order to conceal her own guilt. Then she abandoned the thought; nobody had ever bothered to tell Bertha fairy tales in which mysterious old women offered girls their heart's desire\u2014or any fairy tales at all. Bertha was incapable of concoction, anyway.\n\nSo that day in the forest, now eager and full of strength, Bertha had tied the basket of mushrooms to the wood on her sledge and dragged both back to Wormhold Tower.\n\nWhich was almost deserted. That, Adelia thought, was significant. Dame Dakers had left for the day to go to a hiring fair in Oxford in order to find a new cook\u2014cooks, it seemed, never endured her strictures for long and were constantly leaving. The other staff, free of the housekeeper's eye, had taken themselves off, leaving Fair Rosamund virtually alone.\n\nSo, in an empty kitchen, Bertha had set to work. The amount of fungi had been enough for two meals, and Bertha had divided them, thinking to leave some for tomorrow. She'd put half into a skillet with butter, a pinch of salt, a touch of wild garlic, and a sprinkling of parsley, warmed them over a flame until the juices ran, and then taken the dish up to the solar where Rosamund sat at her table, writing a letter.\n\n\"Her could write, you know,\" Bertha said in wonder.\n\n\"And she ate the mushrooms?\"\n\n\"Gobbled 'em.\" The girl nodded. \"Greedy like.\"\n\nThe magic had worked. Lady Rosamund, most unusually, had smiled on Bertha, thanked her, said she was a good girl.\n\nLater, the convulsions had begun\u2026.\n\nEven now, Adelia discovered, Bertha did not suspect the crone in the forest of treachery. \"Accident,\" she said. \"Weren't the old un's fault. A wicked mushroom did get into that basket by mistake.\"\n\nThere was no point in arguing, but there had been no mistake. In the selection Bertha had saved and Rowley had shown Adelia, the Death Cap was as numerous as any other species\u2014and carefully mixed in among them.\n\nBertha, however, refused to believe ill of someone who'd been nice to her. \"Weren't her fault, weren't mine. Accident.\"\n\nAdelia sat back on her stool to consider. Such an undoubted murder, only Bertha could believe it an accident, only Bertha could think that royal servants roamed the forest bestowing gifts of enchanted mushrooms on anyone they met. There had been meticulous planning. The old woman, whoever she was, had spun a web to catch the particular fly that was Bertha on the particular day when Rosamund's dragon, Dakers, had been absent from her mistress's side.\n\nWhich argued that the old woman had been privy to the movements of Rosamund's household, or instructed by someone who was.\n\nRowley's right, Adelia thought, someone wanted Rosamund dead and the queen implicated. If Eleanor had ordered it done, she'd hardly have chosen an old woman who'd mention her name. No, it hadn't been Eleanor. Whoever had done it had hated the queen even more than Rosamund. Or maybe merely wanted to enrage her husband against her and thereby plunge England into conflict. Which they might.\n\nThe shed had become quiet. Bertha's mumbles that it wasn't her fault had faded away, leaving only the sound of cows' chewing and the slither of hay as they pulled more from their mangers.\n\n\"For God's sake,\" Adelia asked Bertha desperately, \"didn't you notice anything about the old woman?\"\n\nBertha thought, shaking her head. Then she seemed puzzled. \"Smelled purty,\" she said.\n\n\"She smelled pretty? In what way pretty?\"\n\n\"Purty.\" The girl was crawling forward now, her nose questing like a shrew's. \"Like you.\"\n\n\"She smelled like me?\"\n\nBertha nodded.\n\nSoap. Good scented soap, Adelia's one luxury, used only two hours ago in the allover wash to cleanse her from her travels. Bars of it, made with lye, olive oil, and essence of flowers, were sent to her once a year by her foster mother from Rome\u2014Adelia had complained in one of her letters of the soap in England, where the process was based on beef tallow, making its users smell as if they were ready for the oven.\n\n\"Did she smell like flowers?\" she asked. \"Roses? Lavender? Chamomile?\" And she knew it was useless. Even if Bertha was conversant with these plants, she would know them only by local names unfamiliar to Adelia.\n\nIt had been a gain, though. No ordinary old woman gathering mushrooms in a forest would smell of perfumed soap, even supposing she used soap at all.\n\nRising to her feet, Adelia said, \"If you smell her scent again on anybody else, will you tell me?\"\n\nBertha nodded. Her eyes were fixed on the cross at Adelia's throat, as if, ignorant of its meaning, it still spoke to her of hope.\n\nAnd what hope has she, poor thing?\n\nSighing, Adelia unfastened the chain from her neck and slid it with its cross into Bertha's dirty little hand, closing her fingers over it. \"Keep this until I can buy you one of your own,\" she said.\n\nIt cost her to do it, not because of the cross's symbolism\u2014Adelia had been exposed to too many religions to put all her faith in a single one\u2014but because it had been given to her by Margaret, her old nurse, a true Christian, who had died on the journey to England.\n\nBut I have known love. I have my child, an occupation, friends.\n\nBertha, who had none of these things, clasped the cross and, bleating with pleasure, dived back into the straw with it.\n\nAs they walked back through the night, Jacques said, \"Do you believe that little piggy can sniff out your truffle for you, mistress?\"\n\n\"It's a long shot,\" Adelia admitted, \"but Bertha's nose is probably the best detector we have. If she should smell the old woman's scent again, it will be on someone who buys foreign soap and can tell us who their supplier is, who, in turn, could provide us with a list of customers.\"\n\n\"Clever.\" The messenger's voice was admiring.\n\nAfter a while, he said, \"Do you think the queen was involved?\"\n\n\"Somebody wants us to think so.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "On the rise above a gentle valley, a dog and four riders from Godstow reined in and considered the building and appurtenances crowning the opposite hill.\n\nAfter some silence, Adelia said, unwisely, \"How on earth do tradesmen penetrate it?\"\n\n\"Gift of flowers and a nice smile used to do it in my day,\" the bishop said.\n\nShe heard a snort from the two men on either side of her.\n\n\"I mean the labyrinth,\" she said.\n\nRowley winked. \"So do I.\"\n\nMore snorts.\n\nOh, dear, sexual innuendo. Not that she could blame them. From here, the view of Wormhold Tower and what surrounded it looked, well, rude. A very high, thin tower capped by a close-fitting cupola\u2014it even had a tiny walkway around its tip to accentuate the penile resemblance\u2014rose from the ring of a labyrinth that men apparently saw as female pubic hair. It presented an outline that might have been scrawled on the top of its hill by a naughty, adolescent giant. A graffito against the skyline.\n\nThe bishop had led them here at a canter, afraid the weather might stop them, but now that the tower was in sight, anxiety had left him relieved and, obviously, with time to enjoy ribaldry.\n\nActually, it had been an easy journey northward, using the river towpath that ran from Godstow to within a half-mile of the tower. So easy, in fact, that Adelia had been invigorated by it and lost her own fear that the weather would hamper her return to her child.\n\nSuch bargemen as they'd encountered had warned them that more snow was on the way, but there was no sign of it. It was a cloudless day, and although the sun hadn't melted the previous night's fall, it had been impossible not to rejoice in a countryside like white washing spread out to dry against a laundered blue sky.\n\nFarther south, on the river they'd just left, Mansur, the bishop's two men-at-arms, and a couple of Godstow's men were bringing up a barge on which to take the body of Rosamund back to the convent\u2014once Bishop Rowley had retrieved it.\n\nFirst, though, the labyrinth that surrounded the dead woman's stronghold had to be got through\u2014a prospect that was stimulating the old Adam in Adelia's companions.\n\n\"I told you,\" Rowley said, addressing Adelia but winking at Walt. \"Didn't I say it was the biggest chastity belt in Christendom?\"\n\nHe was trying to provoke her. Ignore it. \"I hadn't thought it would be quite so large,\" she said, and then sighed at herself. Another double entendre to make the men snigger.\n\nWell, she hadn't. The labyrinth at Saint Giorgio's in Salerno was considered by the town to be a wonder, supposed to represent in length and complexity the soul's journey through life. But this thing opposite her now was a colossus. It encircled the tower, forming a ring so thick that it took up a wide section of this side of the hill and disappeared behind it. Its outer wall was nine or ten feet high, while, at this distance, its interior seemed to be filled entirely by white wool.\n\nThe prioress of Godstow had warned her about it before she set out. \"Blackthorn,\" Sister Havis had told her with disgust. \"Can you credit it? Walls of granite with blackthorn planted against them.\"\n\nWhat Adelia was looking at was stone and hedge, twisting and turning in frozen undulation.\n\nNot a belt, Adelia thought. A snake, a huge, constricting serpent.\n\nWalt said, \"Reckon as that's a bugger for its hedgers,\" nearly causing Rowley to fall off his horse. Jacques was smiling broadly, happy at seeing his bishop unbend.\n\nSister Havis had said what Adelia could expect. The original labyrinth, she'd said, had been built round his keep by a mad Saxon necromancer and enlarged by his equally mad dispossessor, a Norman, one of the Conqueror's knights, in order to stop his enemies from getting in and his women from getting out.\n\nThe Norman's descendants had been dispossessed in their turn by Henry Plantagenet, who'd found it a convenient place in which to install his mistress, abutting, as it did, the forest of Woodstock, where he kept a hunting lodge.\n\n\"Architectural vulgarity,\" Sister Havis had called it, angrily. \"An object of male lewdness. Local people are in awe of it, even while they jeer at it. Poor Lady Rosamund. I fear the king found it amusing to put her there.\"\n\n\"He would.\" Adelia knew Henry Plantagenet's sense of humor.\n\nAnd Rowley's.\n\n\"Of course I can penetrate it,\" the bishop was saying now, in answer to a question from Jacques. \"I've done it. A wiggle to the right, another to the left, and everybody's happy.\"\n\nListening to the laughter, Adelia began to be sorry for Rosamund. Had the woman minded living in a place that invited, almost demanded, salacious comment from every man who saw it?\n\nPoor lady. Even dead, she was being shown little respect.\n\nWith snow resting on the walls and branches of the surrounding labyrinth, the tower looked to be rising from a mass of white fuzz. Adelia was irresistibly reminded of a patient, an elderly male whom her foster father was attending and on whose body he was instructing Adelia how to repair a hernia in the groin. Suddenly, much to his abashed surprise, the patient had sustained an erection.\n\nThat's what's scrawled against the sky, she thought, an old man's last gasp.\n\nShe turned on Rowley. \"How. Do. We. Get. In,\" she said, clearly, \"and try to remember there's a dead woman in there.\"\n\nHe jerked a thumb. \"We ring the bell.\"\n\nTransfixed by the tower, she hadn't noticed it, though it stood only a few yards away on the hillside, next to a horse trough.\n\nLike everything else belonging to Wormhold, it was extraordinary, an eight-foot-high wooden trapezoid set into the ground, from which hung a bell as massive as any in a cathedral's chimes.\n\n\"Go on, Jacques,\" the bishop said. \"Ding-dong.\"\n\nThe messenger dismounted, walked up to the bell, and swung the rope hanging from its clapper.\n\nAdelia clung to her mare as it skittered, and Walt snatched the reins of Jacques's to prevent it from bolting. Birds erupted from the trees, a rookery fell to circling and cawing as the bell's great baritone tolled across the valley. Even Ward, most unresponsive of mongrels, looked up and gave a bark.\n\nThe reverberations hung in the air and then settled into a silence.\n\nRowley swore. \"Again,\" he said. \"Where's Dakers? Is she deaf?\"\n\n\"Must be,\" Jacques said. \"That would waken the dead.\" He realized what he'd said. \"Beg pardon, my lord.\"\n\nFor a second time the great bell tolled, seeming to shake the earth. Again, nothing happened.\n\n\"Thought I saw someone,\" Walt said, squinting against the sun.\n\nSo did Adelia\u2014a black smudge on the tower's walkway. But it had disappeared now.\n\n\"She'd answer to a bishop, should've worn my episcopal robes,\" Rowley said. He was in hunting clothes. \"Well, there's nothing for it. We can find our own way through\u2014I remember it perfectly.\"\n\nHe set his horse down the hill to the valley, cloak flying. Less precipitately, the others followed.\n\nThe entrance in the labyrinth's wall when they reached it sent the men off again. Instead of an arch, two stone ellipses met at top and bottom, forming a ten-foot cleft resembling the female vulva, the inference being emphasized by the stone-carved surround in the shape of snakes coiling into various fruits and out again.\n\nIt was difficult to get the horses to enter, though the cleft was big enough; they had to be blindfolded to step through, showing, in Adelia's opinion, more decency than the remarks made by the men tugging at their reins.\n\nBeing inside wasn't nice. The way ahead of them was fairly wide, but blackthorn covered it, shutting out the sun to enfold them in the dim, gray light of a tunnel and the smell of dead leaves.\n\nThe roof was too low to allow them to remount. They would have to walk the horses through.\n\n\"Come on.\" Rowley was hurrying, leading his horse at a trot.\n\nAfter a few bends, they could no longer hear birdsong. Then the way divided and they were presented with two tunnels, each as wide as the one by which they'd come, one going left, the other right.\n\n\"This way,\" said the bishop. \"We turn northeast toward the tower. Just keep a sense of direction.\"\n\nThe first doubt entered Adelia's mind. They shouldn't have had to choose. \"My lord, I'm not sure this is\u2026\"\n\nBut he'd gone ahead.\n\nWell, he'd been here before. Perhaps he did remember. Adelia followed more slowly, her dog pattering after her, Jacques behind him. She heard Walt bringing up the rear, grumbling. \"Wormhold. Good name for this snaky bugger.\"\n\nWyrm hold. Of course. Wyrm. In marketplaces, the professional storytellers\u2014that the English still called skalds\u2014frightened their audience with tales of the great snake/dragon that squirmed its way through Saxon legends just as the mimicking tunnels coiled through this labyrinth.\n\nWistfully, Adelia remembered that Gyltha's Ulf loved those stories and played at being the Saxon warrior\u2014what was his name?\u2014who'd killed one such monster.\n\nI miss Ulf. I miss Allie. I don't want to be in the Wyrm's lair.\n\nUlf had described it to her with relish. \"Horrible it was, deep in the earth and stunk with the blood of dead men.\"\n\nWell, they were spared that stench at least. But there was the smell of earth, and a sense of being underground, pressed in with no way out. Which is what the Daedalus who concocted this swine intended, she thought. It explained the blackthorn; without it, they could have climbed a wall, seen where they were heading, and breathed fresh air, but blackthorn had spines that, like the Wyrm, tore flesh to shreds.\n\nIt didn't frighten her\u2014she knew how to get out\u2014but she noticed that the men with her weren't laughing now.\n\nThe next bend turned south and opened into three more tunnels. Still unhesitating, Rowley took the alley to the right.\n\nAfter the next bend, the way divided again. Adelia heard Rowley swear. She craned her neck to look past his horse for the cause.\n\nIt was a dead end. Rowley had his sword out and was stabbing it into a hedge that blocked the way. The scrape of metal on stone showed that there was a wall behind the foliage. \"Goddamn the bastard. We'll have to back out.\" He raised his voice. \"Back out, Walt.\"\n\nThe tunnel wasn't wide enough to turn the horses without scratching them on head and hindquarters, not only injuring them but also making them panic.\n\nAdelia's mare didn't want to back out. It didn't want to go on, either. Sensibly, it wanted to stand still.\n\nRowley had to squeeze past his own horse to take hers by the bridle in both hands and push until he persuaded the animal to retreat back to the cul-de-sac's entrance, where they could reform their line.\n\n\"I told you we should keep going northeast,\" he said to Adelia, as if she had chosen the route.\n\n\"Where is northeast?\"\n\nBut, irritated, he'd set off again, and she had to try and drag her reluctant mare into a trot to keep him in sight.\n\nAnother tunnel. Another. They might have been wrapped in gray wool that was thickening around them. She'd lost all sense of direction now. So, she suspected, had Rowley.\n\nIn the next tunnel, she lost Rowley. She was at a division and couldn't see which branch he'd taken. She looked back at Jacques. \"Where's he gone?\" And, to the dog, \"Where is he, Ward? Where's he gone?\"\n\nThe messenger's face was grayish, and not just from the light straining through the roof; it looked older. \"Are we going to get out, mistress?\"\n\nShe said soothingly, \"Of course we shall.\" She knew how he felt. The thorned roof rounded them in captivity. They were moles without the mole's means of rising to the surface.\n\nRowley's voice came, muffled. \"Where in hell are you?\" It was impossible to locate him; the tunnels absorbed and diverted sound.\n\n\"Where are you?\"\n\n\"In the name of God, stay still, I'm coming back.\"\n\nThey kept shouting in order to guide him. He shouted in his turn, mostly oaths. He was swearing in the Arabic he'd learned on crusade\u2014his choice language when he cursed. Sometimes his voice was so near it made them jump; then it would fade and become hollow, raving against labyrinths in general and this one in particular. Against Dame Dakers and her bloody serpent. Against Eve with her bloody serpent. Even, appallingly, after blackthorn tore his cloak, against Rosamund and her bloody mushrooms.\n\nWard cocked his ears this way and that, as if enjoying the tirade, which, his mistress thought, he probably was, being another male.\n\nIt's women to be blamed, always women. He wouldn't curse the man who built this horror, or the king who imprisoned Rosamund in the middle of it.\n\nThen she thought, They're frightened. Well, Walt may not be, but Rowley is. And Jacques definitely is.\n\nAt last a tall shape loomed out of the shadow ahead, leading a horse and coming toward her. It yelled, \"What are you standing there for, woman? Get back. We should have taken the last turning.\"\n\nAgain, it was her fault. Again, the mare wouldn't move until the bishop took its bridle and pushed.\n\nSo that he shouldn't be embarrassed in front of the other two men, Adelia lowered her voice. \"Rowley, this isn't a labyrinth.\"\n\nHe didn't lower his. \"No, it isn't. We're in the entrails of Grendel's bloody mother, that's what, goddamn her.\"\n\nIt came to her. Beowulf. That was the name. Beowulf, Ulf's favorite among all legendary Saxon warriors, killer of the Wyrm, slayer of the half-human monster Grendel and of Grendel's awful avenging mother.\n\n\"Waste bitch, boundary walker,\" Ulf had said of Grendel's mother, meaning she prowled the edge between earth and hell in woman's shape.\n\nAdelia began to get cross. Why was it women who were to blame for everything\u2014everything, from the Fall of Man to these blasted hedges?\n\n\"We are not in a labyrinth, my lord,\" she said clearly.\n\n\"Where are we, then?\"\n\n\"It's a maze.\"\n\n\"Same difference.\" Puffing at the horse: \"Get back, you great cow.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't. A labyrinth has only one path and you merely have to follow it. It's a symbol of life or, rather, of life and death. Labyrinths twist and turn, but they have a beginning and an end, through darkness into light.\"\n\nSoftening, and hoping that he would, too, she added, \"Like Ariadne's. Rather beautiful, really.\"\n\n\"I don't want mythology, mistress, beautiful or not, I want to get to that sodding tower. What's a maze when it's at home?\"\n\n\"It's a trick. A trick to confuse. To amaze.\"\n\n\"And I suppose Mistress Clever-boots knows how to get us out?\"\n\n\"I do, actually.\" God's rib, he was sneering at her, sneering. She'd a mind to stay where she was and let him sweat.\n\n\"Then in the name of Christ, do it.\"\n\n\"Stop bellowing at me,\" she yelled at him. \"You're bellowing.\"\n\nShe saw his teeth grit in the pretense of a placatory smile; he always had good teeth. Still did. Between them, he said, \"The Bishop of Saint Albans presents his compliments to Mistress Adelia and please to escort him out of this hag's hole, for the love of God. How will you do it?\"\n\n\"My business.\" Be damned if she'd tell him. Women were defenseless enough without revealing their secrets. \"I'll have to take the lead.\"\n\nThey were forced to back the horses to one of the junctions where there was just enough room to turn each animal round without damage, though not enough to allow one to pass another, so Adelia ended up leading Walt's mount, Walt leading the messenger's behind her, Jacques behind him with hers, Rowley bringing up the rear with his own.\n\nThe maneuver was achieved with resentment. Even Jacques, her ally, said, \"How are you going to get us out, then, mistress?\"\n\n\"I just can.\" She paused. \"Though it may take some time.\"\n\nShe stumped along in front, holding Walt's mount's reins in her right hand. In the other was her riding crop, which she trailed with apparent casualness so that it brushed against the hedge on her left.\n\nAs she went, she chuntered to herself. Lord, how disregarded I am in this damned country. How disregarded all women are.\n\nShe was back to the reasoning that had made her refuse to marry Rowley. At the time, he'd been expecting the king to offer him a barony, not a bishopric, thus allowing him a wife. Mad for him though she was, acceptance would have meant slipping her wrists into metaphorical golden fetters and watching him lock them on. As his wife, she could never have been herself, a medica of Salerno.\n\nAdelia possessed none of the requisite feminine arts: She couldn't dance well, didn't play the lute, had never touched an embroidery frame\u2014her sewing restricted to cobbling back together those cadavers she had dissected. In Salerno, she had been allowed to pursue skills that suited her, but in England there had been no room for them; the Church condemned any woman who did not toe its line\u2014for her own safety, she had been forced to practice as a doctor in secret, letting a man take the credit.\n\nAs Baron Rowley's wife she would have been feted, complimented, bowed to, just as long as she denied her true being. And how long could she have done that? I am who I am.\n\nIronically, the lower down the social scale women were, the greater freedom they had; the wives of laborers and craftsmen could work alongside their men\u2014even, sometimes, when they were widowed, take over their husband's trade. Until she'd become Adelia's friend and Allie's nurse, Gyltha had conducted a thriving business in eels and had called no man her master.\n\nAdelia trudged on. Hag's hole. Grendel's mother's entrails. Why was this dreadful place feminine to the men lost in it? Because it was tunneled? Womb-like? Is this woman's magic? The great womb?\n\nIs that why the Church hates me, hates all women? Because we are the source of all true power? Of life?\n\nShe supposed that by leading them out of it, she was only confirming that a woman knew its secrets and they did not.\n\nGreat God, she thought, it isn't a question of hatred. It's fear. They are frightened of us.\n\nAnd Adelia laughed quietly, sending a suggestion of sound reverberating backward along the tunnel, as if a small pebble was skipping on water, making each man start when it passed him.\n\n\"What in hell was that?\"\n\nWalt called back stolidly, \"Reckon someone's laughing at us, master.\"\n\n\"Dear God.\"\n\nStill grinning, Adelia glanced over her shoulder to find Walt looking at her. His gaze was amused, friendlier than it had been. It was directed at her riding crop, still dragging along the left-hand hedge. He winked.\n\nHe knows, she thought. She winked back.\n\nHeartened by this new ally, she nevertheless quickened her pace because, when she'd turned, she'd had to squint to make out Walt's expression. His face was indistinct, as if seen through haze.\n\nThey were losing the light.\n\nSurely it was still only afternoon outside, but the low winter sun was leaving this side of the labyrinth, whichever side it was, in shadow. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like in blackness.\n\nIt was frightful enough anyway. Following the left-hand hedge wherever it went took them into blind alleys time and again so that they became weary with the travail of reversing increasingly restless horses. Each time, she could hear Rowley stamping. \"Does the woman know what in hell she's doing?\"\n\nShe began to doubt it herself. There was one tormenting question: Are the hedges continuous? If there was a gap, if one part of this maze was separated from the rest, then they could wander until it suffocated them.\n\nAs the tunnels darkened, the shadows conglomerated into a disembodied face ahead of her, malignant, grinning, mouthing impossible things. You won't get out. I've closed the clefts. You are sewn in.\n\nYou won't see your baby again.\n\nThe thought made her hands sweat so that the riding crop slipped out of her grasp and, in clutching for it, she bumped into the hedge and set off a small avalanche of frozen snow onto her head and face.\n\nIt refreshed her common sense. Stop it, there's no such thing as magic. She shut her eyes to the gargoyle and her ears to Rowley's curses\u2014the nudge had set off a shower all along the line\u2014and pressed on.\n\nWalt said, as if passing the time of day, bless him, \"'Tis marvelous to me how they do keep this thorn in trim. Two cuts a year, I reckon. Needs a powerful number of men to do that, mistress. Takes a king to pay them sort of wages.\"\n\nShe supposed it was marvelous in its way, and he was right, the maze would require a small army to look after it. \"Not only cut it but sweep it,\" she said. For there were no clippings on the paths. \"I wouldn't want my dog to get a thorn in his paw.\"\n\nWalt considered the animal pattering along behind Adelia, with which he had now been confined at close quarters for some time. \"Special breed, is he? Never come across his like afore.\" Nor, his sniff said, would he rush to do so again.\n\nShe shrugged. \"I've got used to it. They're bred for the stink. Prior Geoffrey of Cambridge gave me this one's predecessor when I came to England so that I could be traced if I got lost. And then gave me another when the first one\u2026died.\"\n\nKilled and mutilated when she'd tracked down the murderer of Cambridge children to a lair a thousand times more awful than this one. But the scent he'd left to be followed had saved her then, and both the prior and Rowley had ever since insisted that she be accompanied by just such another.\n\nShe and Walt continued to chat, their voices absorbing into the network of shrubbery enfolding them. Walt had stopped despising her; it appeared that he was on good terms with women. He had daughters, he told her, and a capable wife who managed their smallholding for him while he was away. \"The which I be away a lot, now Bishop Rowley's come. Chose me out of all the cathedral grooms to travel with un, so he did.\"\n\n\"A good choice, too,\" Adelia told him, and meant it now.\n\n\"Reckon 'twas. Others ain't so partial to his lordship. Don't like as he's friend to King Henry, them being for poor Saint Thomas as was massacry-ed at Canterbury.\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said. She'd known it. Rowley, having been appointed by the king against their wishes, was facing hostility from the officers and servants of his own diocese.\n\nWhether the blame heaped on Henry Plantagenet for the murder of Thomas \u00e0 Becket on the steps of his own cathedral was justified, she had never been sure, even though, in his temper, the king had called for it while in another country. Had Henry, as he'd screamed for the archbishop's death, been aware that some of his knights, with their own reasons for wanting Becket dead, would gallop off to see it done?\n\nPerhaps. Perhaps not.\n\nBut if it hadn't been for King Henry's intervention, the followers of Saint Thomas would have condemned her to the whipping post\u2014and nearly had.\n\nShe was on Henry's side. The martyred archbishop had seen no difference between the entities of Church and of God. Both were infallible. The laws of both must be obeyed without question and without alteration as they always had been. Henry, for all his faults the more human man, had wanted changes that would benefit not the Church but his people. Becket had obstructed him at every turn, and was still obstructing him from the grave.\n\n\"Me and Oswald and Master Paton and young Jacques, we was all new to our jobs, see,\" Walt was saying. \"We didn't have no grumble with Bishop Rowley, not like the old guard, as was cross with him for being a king's man. Master Paton and Jacques, they joined selfsame day as he was installed.\"\n\nSo with the great divide between king and martyr running through the diocese of Saint Albans, its new bishop had chosen servants as fresh to their roles as he was to his.\n\nGood for you, Rowley. Judging by Walt and Jacques, you've done well.\n\nThe messenger, however, was proving less imperturbable than the groom. \"Should we shout for help, my lord?\" Adelia heard him ask Rowley.\n\nFor once, his bishop was gentle with him. \"Not long now, my son. We're nearly out.\"\n\nHe couldn't know it, but, in fact, they were. Adelia had just seen proof that they were, though she was afraid the bishop would receive little satisfaction from it.\n\nWalt grunted. He'd seen what she'd seen\u2014ahead in the tunnel was a pile of rounded balls of manure.\n\n\"That un dropped that as we was coming in,\" Walt said quietly, nodding toward the horse Adelia was leading; it had been his own, the last in line when they entered the maze. The four of them would soon be out\u2014but exactly where they had started.\n\n\"It was always an even chance.\" Adelia sighed. \"Bugger.\"\n\nThe two men behind hadn't heard the exchange, nor, by the time the hooves of the front two horses had flattened them in passing, did just another lot of equine droppings have any significance for them.\n\nAnother bend in the tunnel. Light. An opening.\n\nDreading the outburst that must follow, Adelia and her horse stepped through the cleft leading out of the Wyrm's maze to be met by clean, scentless cold air and a setting sun illuminating the view of a great bell hanging from a trapezoid set in a hill they had descended more than two hours before.\n\nOne by one, the others emerged. There was silence.\n\n\"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,\" Adelia shouted into it. She faced Rowley. \"Don't you see, if a maze is continuous, if there aren't any breaks, and if all the hedges are connected to each other and you follow one of them and stick rigidly to it wherever it goes, you'll traverse it eventually, you must, it's inevitable, only\u2026\" Her voice diminished into a misery. \"I chose the left-hand hedge. It was the wrong one.\"\n\nMore silence. In the dying light, crows flapped joyously over the elm tops, their calls mocking the earthbound idiots below.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" the Bishop of Saint Albans said politely. \"Do I understand that if we'd followed the right-hand hedge, we could have eventually reached the destination we wanted in the first bloody place?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The right-hand hedge?\" the bishop persisted.\n\n\"Well\u2026obviously, to go back it would be on the left-hand again\u2026. Are you taking us back in?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the bishop said.\n\nLord, Lord, he's taking us back in. We'll be here all night. I wonder if Allie's all right.\n\nThey rang the great bell again, in case the figure they'd seen on the tower's walkway had relented, but, by the time they'd watered the horses at the trough, it was obvious that he or she had not.\n\nNobody spoke as loins were girded and a lantern lit. It was going to be very dark in there.\n\nRowley swept his cap off his head and knelt. \"Be with us, Lord, for the sake of Thy dear Son.\"\n\nThus, the four reentered the maze. Knowing that it had an end made their minds easier, though the cost of constantly twisting and turning and backing out of the blind alleys was higher now that they were tiring.\n\n\"How'd you learn of mazes, mistress?\" Walt wanted to know.\n\n\"My foster father. He's traveled extensively in the East, where he saw some, though not as big.\"\n\n\"Proper old Wyrm, this, i'n it? Reckon there's a way through as we'm not seeing.\"\n\nAdelia agreed with him. To be girded to this extent from the outside world would be an intolerable inconvenience; there had to be a straighter route. She suspected that some of the blind ends that appeared to be stone and hedge walls were not lined by masonry at all; they were gates with blackthorn trained over them that could open and shut on a direct path.\n\nNo good to her and the others, though. Investigating each one to see if it were movable would take too long and would result only in having to make further choices of tunnels that ended in fixtures.\n\nThey were condemned to the long way through.\n\nThey made it in silence. Even Walt stopped talking.\n\nNighttime brought the maze to life. The long-dead trickster who had designed it still tried to frighten them, but they knew him now. Nevertheless, the place had its own means of instilling dread; lantern light lit a thick tube of laced branches as if the men and the woman in it were struggling through an interminable gray stocking infested by creatures that, unseen, rustled out their dry existence in its web.\n\nBy the time they emerged, it was too dark to see whether the cleft they stepped through was ornamented like the entrance. They'd lost interest, anyway; amusement had left them.\n\nThe tunnels had to some extent protected them from the bitter air that assailed them now. Apart from an owl that, disturbed by their coming, took off from a wall with a slow clap of wings, there was no sound from the tower that faced them across the bailey. It was more massive than it had appeared from a distance, rising sheer and high toward a sky where stars twinkled icily down on it like scattered diamonds.\n\nJacques produced another lantern and fresh candles from his saddlebag and led them toward a blacker shape in the shadows at the tower's base that indicated the steps to a door.\n\nNobody had crossed the bailey since the snow fell; nothing human, anyway\u2014there were animal and bird prints aplenty. But the place was an obstacle course. Snowy bumps proved to be abandoned goods: a broken chair, pieces of cloth, a barrel with its staves crushed on one side, battered pans, a ladle. The snow covered a scene of chaos.\n\nWalt, stumbling, revealed a bucket with a dead hen inside. The corpse of a dog, frozen in the act of snarling, lay at the end of its chain.\n\nRowley gave the bucket a kick that dislodged the hen's carcass. \"The disloyal, thieving bastards.\"\n\nWas that what this was?\n\nIt had been said that when William the Norman died, his servants immediately stripped their king's body and ran off with such of his possessions as they could carry, leaving his knights to find the great and terrible Conqueror's corpse naked on the floor of an empty palace room.\n\nHad Rosamund's servants done the same the moment their mistress was dead? Rowley called it disloyalty, but Adelia remembered what she'd thought of Rosamund's neglect of Bertha; loyalty could come only of exchange and mutual regard.\n\nThe door to the tower, when the four reached it, was of thick, black oak at the top of a flight of wickedly glistening steps. There was no knocker. They hammered on it but neither dead nor living answered them. The sound echoed as if into an empty cave.\n\nKeeping together\u2014nobody suggested separating\u2014they filed around the tower's base, through arched entrances to courtyards, to where another door proved as immovable as the first. It was, at least, on ground level.\n\n\"We'll ram the swine.\"\n\nFirst, though, the horses had to be cared for. A path led to a deserted stable yard containing a well that responded with the sound of a splash when Walt dropped a stone down it, allaying his fear that its depths would prove frozen. The stalls had straw in them, if somewhat dirty, and their mangers had been replenished with oats not long before their former occupants had been stolen.\n\n\"Reckon as it'll do for now,\" Walt said grudgingly.\n\nThe others left him chipping ice from the well's windlass.\n\nThe pillagers had been arbitrary and hurried. An otherwise deserted byre held a cow that had resisted theft by being in the act of delivering its calf. Both were dead, the calf still in its birth sac.\n\nDodging under a washing line on which hung sheets as stiff as metal, they explored the kitchen buildings. The scullery had been stripped of its sink, the kitchen of everything except a massive table too heavy to lift.\n\nTrying the barn, they found indentations in its earth floor to show where a plow and harrow had once stood. And\u2026\n\n\"What's this, my lord?\"\n\nJacques was holding up his lantern to a large contraption in a corner by a woodpile.\n\nIt was metal. A flanged footplate formed the base of two upright struts attached to it by heavy springs. Both sets of struts ended in a row of triangular iron teeth, shaped to fit into the corresponding row of the other's.\n\nThe men paused.\n\nWalt rejoined them, to stare. \"Seen 'em as'll take your leg,\" he said slowly. \"Never like this un, though.\"\n\n\"Neither have I,\" Rowley told him. \"God be merciful, somebody's actually oiled it.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Adelia asked.\n\nWithout answering, Rowley went up to the contraption and grasped one set of its teeth. Walt took the other and, between them, they pulled the two sets of struts' rows apart until each lay flat on the ground opposite the other, teeth gaping upward. \"All right, Walt. Careful now.\" Rowley bent and, keeping his body well away, extended an arm to fumble underneath the mechanism. \"Works by a trigger,\" he said. Walt nodded.\n\n\"What is it?\" Adelia asked again.\n\nRowley stood up and picked up a log from the woodpile. He gestured for Adelia to keep her dog away. \"Imagine it lying in long grass. Or under snow.\"\n\nAlmost flat, as the thing was now, it would be undetectable.\n\nIt's a mantrap. Oh, God help us.\n\nShe bent and grasped Ward's collar.\n\nRowley chucked the log onto the contraption's metal plate.\n\nThe thing leaped upward like a snapping shark. The teeth met. The clang seemed to come later.\n\nAfter a moment, Walt said, \"Get you round the whatsis, that would, begging your pardon, mistress. No point in gettin' you out, either.\"\n\n\"The lady didn't care for poachers, it seems,\" the bishop said. \"Damned if I go wandering her woods.\" He dusted his hands. \"Come on, now. This won't beat the Bulgars, as my old granddad used to say. We need a ram.\"\n\nAdelia stayed where she was, staring at the mantrap. At two and a half feet high, the teeth would engage around the average man's groin, spiking him through. As Walt had said, releasing the victim would make no difference to an agonizing and prolonged death.\n\nThe thing was still vibrating, as if it were licking its chops.\n\nThe bishop had to come back for her.\n\n\"Somebody made it,\" she said. \"Somebody oiled it. For use.\"\n\n\"I know. Come along, now.\"\n\n\"This is an awful place, Rowley.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nJacques found a sawing horse in one of the outhouses. Holding it sideways by its legs and running with it, he and Walt managed to break down the tower's back door at the third attempt.\n\nIt was nearly as cold inside as out. And more silent.\n\nThey were in a round hall that, because of the tower's greater base, was larger than any room they were likely to find upstairs. Not a place for valued visitors to wait; it was more a guardroom. A couple of beautiful watchman's chairs, too heavy to be looted, were its saving grace. For the rest, hard benches and empty weapon racks made up the furniture. Cressets had been torn from the walls, a chandelier from its chain.\n\nSome tapers clipped into their holders were strewn among the rushes of the floor. Lighting them from the lantern, Rowley, Adelia, and Walt took one each and began the ascent of the bare staircase running upward around the wall.\n\nThey found the tower to be one circular room placed on another, like a tube of apothecary's pills wrapped in stiff paper and set upright, the door to each reached by a curving flight and a tiny landing. The second they came to was as utilitarian as the first, its empty racks, some dropped strands of polishing horsetail, and the smell of beeswax suggesting an overlarge cleaning cupboard.\n\nAbove that, the maids' room: four wooden beds and little else. All the beds were stripped of palliasse and covering.\n\nEach room was deserted. Each was marginally less uncomfortable than the one below. A sewing room\u2014looted, for the most part, but the bench tables set under each arrow slit to catch the light carried torn strips of material and an errant pincushion. A plaster dummy had been smashed to the floor, and shards of it were seemingly kicked onto the landing.\n\n\"They hated her,\" said Adelia, peering in through the arched doorway.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The servants.\"\n\n\"Hated who?\" The bishop was beginning to puff.\n\n\"Rosamund,\" Adelia told him. \"Or Dame Dakers.\"\n\n\"With these stairs? I don't blame 'em.\"\n\nShe grinned at his laboring back. \"You've been eating too many episcopal dinners.\"\n\n\"As you say, mistress.\" He was unoffended. It was a rebuff; in the old days, he'd have been indignant.\n\nI must remember, she thought. We are no longer intimate; we keep our distance.\n\nThe fourth room\u2014or was it the fifth?\u2014had not been looted, though it was starker than any. A truckle bed, its gray, knitted bedspread rigidly tucked in. A deal table on which stood ewer and basin. A stool. A plain chest with a few bits of women's clothing, equally plain and neatly folded.\n\n\"Dakers's room,\" Adelia said. She was beginning to get the feel of the housekeeper, and was daunted by it.\n\n\"Nobody's here. Leave it.\"\n\nBut Adelia was interested. Here, the looters had desisted. Here, she was sure, Dragon Dakers had stood on the stairs, as frightening as Bertha described her, and stopped them from going farther.\n\nRosamund's escutcheon was carved into the eastern section of the west wall above Dakers's bed; it had been painted and gilded so that it dominated the gray room. Raising her candle to look at it, Adelia heard an intake of breath from Rowley in the doorway that wasn't due to exertion.\n\n\"God's teeth,\" he said, \"that's madness.\"\n\nA carved outer shield showed three leopards and the fleur-de-lis, which every man and woman in England now recognized as the arms of their Angevin Plantagenet king. Inside it was a smaller shield, checkered, with one quarter containing a serpent, the other a rose.\n\nEven Adelia's scanty knowledge of heraldry was enough to know that she was looking at the escutcheon of a man and his wife.\n\nThe bishop, staring, joined her. \"Henry. In the name of God, Henry, what were you doing to allow this? It's madness.\"\n\nA motto had been carved into the wall beneath the escutcheon. Like most armorial mottos, it was a pun. Rosa Mundi.\n\nRose of all the world.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"Jesus have mercy,\" Rowley breathed. \"If the queen saw this\u2026\"\n\nTogether, motto and escutcheon made the taunt of all taunts: He prefers me to you. I am his wife in all but name, the true queen of his heart.\n\nThe bishop's mind was leaping ahead. \"Damnation. Whether Eleanor's seen it or not is irrelevant. It's enough for others to assume that she knows of it and had Rosamund killed because of it. It's a reason to kill. It's flaunting usurpation.\"\n\n\"It's a bit of stone with patterns on it put up by a silly woman,\" Adelia protested. \"Does it matter so much?\"\n\nApparently, it did\u2014and would. Pride mattered to a queen. Her enemies knew it; so did the enemies of the king.\n\n\"I'll kill the bitch if she isn't dead already,\" said the man of God. \"I'll burn the place down, and her in it. This is an invitation to war.\"\n\nShe was puzzled. \"You've been here before, I'd expect you to have seen it already.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"We met in the garden; she was taking the air. We gave thanks to God for her recovery, and then Dakers led me back through the Wyrm. Where is Dakers?\"\n\nHe pushed past Jacques and Walt, who stood blinking in the doorway, and attacked the stairs, shouting for the housekeeper. Doors slammed open as he looked into the next room, dismissed it, and raced upward to the next.\n\nThey hurried after him, the tower resounding with the crash of boots and the click of a dog's paws on stone.\n\nNow they were climbing past Rosamund's apartments. Dakers, if it was Dakers, had been able to preserve them in all their glory. Adelia, trying to keep up, was vouchsafed glimpses of spring and autumn come together. Persian carpets, Venetian goblets, damask divans, gold-rich icons and triptychs, arras, statuary: the spoils of an empire laid at the feet of an emperor's mistress.\n\nHere were glazed windows, not the arrow slits of the rooms below. They were shuttered, but the taper's light as Adelia passed reflected an image of itself in lattices of beautiful and expensive glass.\n\nAnd through the open doors came perfume, subtle but strong enough to delight a nose deadened by cold and the foul pelt of a dog.\n\nAdelia sniffed. Roses. He even captured roses for her.\n\nAbove her, another door was flung against its jamb. A sharp exclamation from the bishop.\n\n\"What is it, what is it?\" She reached him on the last landing; there were no more stairs. Rowley was standing facing the open door, but the lit candle in his hand was down by his side, dripping wax onto the floor.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"You were wrong,\" Rowley said.\n\nThe cold up here was extraordinary.\n\n\"Was I?\"\n\n\"She's alive. Rosamund. Alive after all.\"\n\nThe relief would have been immeasurable if it hadn't been that he was so strange and there was no light in the room he was facing.\n\nAlso, he was making no effort to enter.\n\n\"She's sitting there,\" he said, and made the sign of the cross.\n\nAdelia went in, the dog following her.\n\nNo perfume here, the cold obliterated scent. Each window\u2014at least eight of them encircled the room\u2014was open, its glazed lattice and accompanying shutter pushed outward to allow in air icy enough to kill. Adelia felt her face shrivel from it.\n\nWard went ahead. She could hear him sniffing round the room, giving no sign that he encountered anybody. She went in a little farther.\n\nThe glow of the taper fell on a bed against the northerly wall. Exquisite white lace swept from a gilded rondel in the ceiling to part over pillows and fall at either side of a gold-tasseled coverlet. It was a high and magnificent bed, with a tiny ivory set of steps placed so that its owner might be assisted to reach it.\n\nNobody was in it.\n\nIts owner was sitting at a writing table opposite, facing a window, a pen in her hand.\n\nAdelia, her taper now vibrating a little, saw the glancing facets of a jeweled crown and ash-blond hair curling from it down the writer's back.\n\nGo nearer. You have to. It can't harm you. It can't.\n\nShe willed herself forward. As she passed the bed, she stepped on a fold of its lace lying on the floor, and the ice in it crunched under her boot.\n\n\"Lady Rosamund?\" It seemed polite to say it, even knowing what she knew.\n\nShe took off her glove to touch the figure's unexpectedly large shoulder and felt the chill of stone in what had once been flesh. She saw a white, white hand, its wrist braceleted with skin, like a baby's. Thumb and forefinger were supporting a goose quill as if it had only seconds ago drawn the signature on the document on which they rested.\n\nSighing, Adelia bent to look into the face. Open, blue eyes were slightly cast downward so that they appeared to be rereading what the hand had just written.\n\nBut Fair Rosamund was very dead.\n\nAnd very fat."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Dakers,\" Adelia said. \"Dakers did this.\"\n\nOnly Dame Dakers could be refusing to let her dead mistress go to her grave.\n\nRowley was recovering. \"We'll never get her in the coffin like that. For the love of God, do something. I'm not rowing back to Godstow with her sitting up and looking at me.\"\n\n\"Show some respect, blast you.\" Banging the last window closed, Adelia turned on him. \"You won't be rowing, and she won't be sitting.\"\n\nBoth were compensating in their own way for the impact of a scene that had unmanned him and unnerved her.\n\nJacques was staring from the doorway, but Walt, having peered in, had retired downstairs in a hurry. Ward, unperturbed, was scratching himself.\n\nUsed to dead bodies as she was, Adelia had never feared one\u2014until now. Consequently, she'd become angry. It was the corpse's employment.\u2026Rosamund hadn't died in that position\u2014if it werethe mushrooms that had killed her, the end would have been too violent. No, Dakers had dragged the still-warm carcass onto the Roman chair, arranged it, and then either waited for rigor mortis to set in or, if rigor had already passed, held it in place until the cold coming through the open windows had fixed head, trunk, and limbs as they were now, frozen in the attitude of writing.\n\nAdelia knew this as surely as if she'd seen it happen, but the impression that the dead woman had got up, walked to her table, sat down, and picked up a pen could not be shaken off.\n\nRowley's peevishness merely disguised the revulsion that had thrown him off balance, and Adelia, who felt the same, responded to it with irritation. \"You didn't tell me she was fat.\"\n\n\"Is it relevant?\"\n\nNo, it wasn't, of course it wasn't, but it was a sort of aftershock. The image Adelia had gained of Fair Rosamund by repute, from meeting Bertha, from tramping through the dreadful maze, from seeing the even more dreadful mantrap, had been of a beautiful woman with the indifference to human suffering of an Olympian goddess: physically lovely, pampered, aloof, cold as a reptile\u2014but slim. Definitely slim.\n\nInstead, the face she'd bent down to peer into had looked back at her with the innocent chubbiness integral to the obese.\n\nIt altered things. She wasn't sure why, but it did.\n\n\"How long has she been dead?\" Rowley demanded.\n\n\"What?\" Adelia's mind had wandered into inconsequential questioning of the corpse. Why, with your weight, did you live at the top of this tower? How did you get down the stairs to meet Rowley in the garden?\n\nHow did you get back up?\n\n\"I said, how long has she been dead?\"\n\n\"Oh.\" It was time to collect her wits and do the job she'd been brought here to do. \"Impossible to be exact.\"\n\n\"Was it the mushrooms?\"\n\n\"How can I tell? Probably yes.\"\n\n\"Can you flatten her?\"\n\nGod's rib, he was a crude man. \"She'll flatten herself,\" Adelia said, shortly, \"just get some heat into this damned room.\" Then she asked, \"Why did Dakers want her to be seen writing, do you suppose?\"\n\nBut the bishop was on the landing, shouting to Walt to bring braziers, kindling, firewood, candles, pushing Jacques into descending and helping the groom, then going down himself on another search for the housekeeper, taking energy with him and leaving the chamber to the quiet of the dead.\n\nAdelia's thoughts rested wistfully on the man whose calm assistance and reassurance had always been her rock during difficult investigations\u2014for never was one likely to be more difficult than this. Mansur, however, was on the barge bringing Rosamund's coffin upriver and, even supposing he had arrived at the landing place that served Wormhold Tower a quarter of a mile away, he, Oswald, and the men with them had been told to stay there until the messenger fetched them.\n\nWhich could not be tonight. Nobody was going to face the maze of the Wyrm again tonight.\n\nShe had only one light; Rowley had taken his taper with him. She put hers on the writing table as near to the corpse's hand as possible without burning it\u2014a minuscule start to the thawing out of the body that not only would take time but would be messy.\n\nAdelia brought to mind the pigs on which she had studied decomposition at the farm in the hills above Salerno, kept for the purpose by Gordinus, her teacher of the process of mortification. From the various carcasses, her memory went to those frozen in the icehouse he'd had built deep into rock. She calculated weights, times; she envisaged needles of ice crystals solidifying muscle and tissue\u2026and the resultant juices as they melted.\n\nPoor Rosamund. She would be exposed to the outrages of corruption when everything in her chamber spoke of a being who'd loved elegance.\n\nPoor Dakers, who had, undoubtedly, loved her mistress to the point of madness.\n\nWho had also put a crown on her mistress's head. A real crown, not a fashionable circlet, not a chaplet, not a coronal, but an ancient thing of thick gold with four prongs that rose in the shape of fleur-de-lis from a jeweled brim\u2014the crown of a royal consort. This, Dakers was saying, is a queen.\n\nYet the same hand had brushed the lovely hair so that it hung untrammeled over the corpse's shoulders and down its back in the style of a virgin.\n\nOh, get to it, Adelia told herself. She was not here to be fascinated by the unplumbable depths of human obsession but to find out why someone had found it good that this woman should die and, thereby, who that someone was.\n\nShe wished there was some noise from downstairs to ameliorate the deathly quiet of this room. Perhaps it was too high up for sound to reach it.\n\nAdelia turned her attention to the writing table, an eerie business with the shuttered glass on the other side of it acting on it like the silvering of a looking glass, so that she and the corpse were reflected darkly.\n\nA pretty table, highly polished. Near the dead woman's left hand, as if her fingers could dip into it easily, was a bowl of candied plums.\n\nThe bowl was a black-and-red pot figured with athletes like the one her foster father had found in Greece, so ancient and precious that he allowed no one to touch it but himself. Rosamund kept sweetmeats in hers.\n\nA glass inkwell encased in gold filigree. A smart leather holder for quills, and a little ivory-and-steel knife to sharpen them. Two pages of the best vellum, both closely written, lying side by side, one under the right hand. A sand shaker, also glass, in gold filigree matching the inkwell, its sand nearly used up. A tiny burner for melting the wax that lay by it in two red sticks, one shorter than the other.\n\nAdelia looked for a seal and found none, but there was a great gold ring on one of the dead fingers. She picked up the taper and held it close to the ring. Its round face was a matrix that when pressed into softened wax would embed the two letters RR.\n\nRosamund Regina?\n\nHmm.\n\nIt had mattered to Dakers that Rosamund be recognized as literate\u2014no mean accomplishment in England, even among high-born women. Why else had she been petrified like this? Obviously, she had been literate. The table's implements showed heavy use; Rosamund had written a lot.\n\nWas Dakers merely proud that you could write? Or is there some other significance that I'm not seeing?\n\nAdelia turned her attention to the two pieces of vellum. She picked up the one directly in front of the corpse\u2014and found it indecipherable in this light; Rosamund's literacy had not extended to good calligraphy\u2014here was a cramped scrawl.\n\nShe wondered where Rowley was with more candles, blast him. It was taking the bishop a long time to return. For just a second, Adelia registered the fact, then found that by extending the parchment above her head with one hand, putting the taper dangerously close underneath it with the other, and squinting, it was just possible to make out a superscription. What she held was a letter.\n\n\"To the Lady Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and supposed Queen of England, greetings from the true and very Queen of this country, Rosamund the Fair.\"\n\nAdelia's jaw dropped. So, very nearly, did the letter. This wasn't l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9, it was outright, combative treason. It was a challenge.\n\nIt was stupid.\n\n\"Were you insane?\" The whisper was absorbed by the room's silence.\n\nRosamund was sending a challenge to Eleanor's authority, and must have known it was one the queen would have to respond to or be forever humiliated.\n\n\"You were taking a risk,\" Adelia whispered. Wormhold Tower might be difficult to seize, but it wasn't impregnable; it couldn't withstand the sort of force that an infuriated queen would send against it.\n\nThe deadness of the corpse whispered back, Ah, but instead did the queen send an old woman with poisoned mushrooms?\n\nNone of the above, Adelia thought to herself, because Eleanor didn't receive the letter. Most likely, Rosamund had never intended to send it; isolated in this awful tower, she'd merely amused herself by scribbling fantasies of queenship onto vellum.\n\nWhat else had she written?\n\nAdelia replaced the letter on the table and picked up its companion document. In the dimness, she made out another superscription. Another letter, then. Again, it had to be held up so that the taper shone upward onto it. This one was easier to read.\n\n\"To the Lady Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and supposed Queen of England, greetings from the true and very Queen of this country, Rosamund the Fair.\"\n\nThe wording was exactly the same. And it was more decipherable only because somebody else had written it. This hand was very different from Rosamund's scrawl; it was the legible, sloping calligraphy of a scholar.\n\nRosamund had copied her letter from this one.\n\nWard gave a low growl, but Adelia, caught up in the mystery, paid him no attention.\n\nIt's here. I am on the brink of it.\n\nWaving the parchment gently, she thought it out, then saw in the mirror of the window that she was, in fact, tapping Rosamund's head with it.\n\nAnd stopped, she and the corpse each as rigid as the other. Ward had tried to warn her that someone else had entered the tower room; she'd paid no notice.\n\nThree faces were reflected in the glass, two of them surmounted by crowns. \"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear,\" one of them said\u2014and it wasn't talking to Adelia.\n\nWho, for a moment, stood where she was, staring straight ahead, trying to subdue shivering superstition, gathering all her common sense against belief in the wizardry of conjurement.\n\nThen she turned and bowed. There was no mistaking a real queen.\n\nEleanor took no notice of her. She walked to one side of the table, bringing with her a scent that subsumed Rosamund's roses in something heavier and more Eastern. Two white, long-fingered hands were placed on the wood as she bent forward to look into the face of the dead woman. \"Tut, tut. You have let yourself go.\" A beringed forefinger nudged the Greek pot. \"Do I suspect too many sweeties and not enough sallets?\"\n\nHer voice belled charmingly across the chamber. \"Did you know that poor Rosamund was fat, Lord Montignard? Why was I not told?\"\n\n\"Cows usually are, lady.\" A man's voice, coming from a shape lounging in the doorway and holding a lantern. There was an indistinct, taller figure in mail standing behind him.\n\n\"So rude,\" said Eleanor, apologetically, to the body in the chair. \"Men are unfair, are they not? And you must have had so many compensating qualities\u2026generosity with your favors, things like that.\"\n\nThe cruelty was not only verbal but also accentuated by the two women's physical disparity. Against the tall sweep of the queen's shape, that showed slender even in the fur wrapping it round, Rosamund appeared lumpen, her tumbling hair ridiculous for a mature woman. Compared to the delicate spikes on the white-gold crown Eleanor wore, Rosamund's was an overweight piece of grandiloquence.\n\nThe queen had come to the document. \"My dear, another of your letters to me? And God froze you to ice in the middle of penning it?\"\n\nAdelia opened her mouth and then shut it; she and the men in the doorway were merely sounding boards in the game that Eleanor of Aquitaine was playing with a dead woman.\n\n\"I am sorry I was not here at the time,\" the queen was saying. \"I had but landed from France when I received word of your illness, and there were other matters I had to see to rather than be at your deathbed.\" She appeared to sigh. \"Always business before pleasure.\"\n\nShe picked up the letter and held it at arm's length, unable to read it in the light but not needing to. \"Is this like the others?\n\nGreetings to the supposed queen from the true one? Somewhat repetitious, don't you think? Not worth keeping, yes?\"\n\nShe crumpled the parchment and tossed it onto the floor, grinding it out on the stones with the twist of an excellent boot.\n\nSlowly, slowly, Adelia bent slightly sideways and down. She slipped the document she'd been holding into the top of her right boot and felt her dog lick her hand as she did it. He was keeping close.\n\nFacing the mirroring window, she looked to see if the man in the doorway had noticed the movement. He hadn't. His attention was on Eleanor; Eleanor's on Rosamund's corpse.\n\nThe queen was cupping her ear as if listening to a reply. \"You don't mind? So generous, but they say you were always generous with your favors. Oh, and forgive me, this bauble is mine.\" Eleanor had lifted the crown off the dead woman's head. \"It was made for the wives of the counts of Anjou two centuries ago, and how dare he give it to a stinking great whore like you\u2026.\"\n\nControl had gone. With a scream, the queen sent the crown spinning away toward the window opposite them both as if she meant to smash the glass with it. Ward barked.\n\nWhat saved Eleanor's life was that the crown hit the window with the padded underside of its brim. If the glass had shattered, Adelia\u2014dazedly watching the mirroring window shake as the missile bounced off it\u2014would not have seen the reflection of Death slithering toward them. Nor the knife in its hand.\n\nShe didn't have time to turn round. It was coming for Eleanor. Instinctively, Adelia flung herself sideways, and her left hand contacted Death's shoulder.\n\nIn trying to deflect the knife, she misjudged and had her right palm sliced open by it. But her shove changed the momentum of the attacker, who went tumbling to the floor.\n\nThe scene petrified: Rosamund sitting unconcernedly in her chair; Eleanor, just as still, facing the window in which the attack had been reflected; Adelia standing and looking down at the figure lying sprawled facedown at her feet. It was hissing.\n\nThe dog approached it, sniffing, and then backed away.\n\nSo for a second. Then Lord Montignard was exclaiming over the queen while the mailed man had his boot on the attacker's back and a sword raised in his two hands, looking at Eleanor for permission to strike.\n\n\"No.\" Adelia thought she'd shrieked it, but shock diminished the word so that it sounded quietly reasonable.\n\nThe man paid her no attention. Expressionless, he went on looking at the queen, who had a hand to her head. She seemed to collapse, but it was to kneel. The white hands were steepled, the crowned head bowed, and Eleanor of Aquitaine prayed. \"Almighty God,\" she said, \"accept the thanks of this unworthy queen for stretching out Your hand and reducing this, my enemy, to a block of ice. Even in death she did send her creature against me, but You turned the blade so that, innocent and wronged as I am, I live on to serve You, my Lord and Redeemer.\"\n\nWhen Montignard helped her to her feet, she was amazingly calm. \"I saw it,\" she said to Adelia. \"I saw God choose you as his instrument to save me. Are you the housekeeper? They say this strumpet had a housekeeper.\"\n\n\"No. My name is Adelia. I am Adelia Aguilar. I assume that is the housekeeper. Her name is Dakers.\" Pointing to the figure on the floor, her hand dripped blood over it.\n\nQueen Eleanor paid it no attention. \"What do you do here, then, girl? How long have you lived here?\"\n\n\"I don't. I'm a stranger to this place. We arrived an hour or so ago.\" A lifetime. \"I've never been here before. I had only just come up the stairs and discovered\u2026this.\"\n\n\"Was this creature with you?\" Eleanor dabbled her fingers in the direction of her still-supine attacker.\n\n\"No. I hadn't seen her, not until now. She must have hidden herself when she heard us come up the stairs.\"\n\nMontignard came close to wave the tip of a dagger in her face. \"You wretch, it is your queen you talk to. Show respect or I slit your nose.\" He was a willowy young man, very curly, very brave now.\n\n\"My lady,\" Adelia added dully.\n\n\"Stop it, Monty,\" the queen snapped, and turned to the man in mail. \"Is the place secured, Schwyz?\"\n\n\"Secure?\" Still without expression, Schwyz managed to convey his opinion that the tower was about as secure as a slice of carrot. \"We took four men in the barge and three downstairs.\" He didn't address the queen by her title, either, but Adelia noticed that Montignard didn't threaten to slit Schwyz's nose for it; the man stood square on thick legs, more like a foot soldier than a knight, and nobody was in any doubt that if Eleanor had given the nod, he'd have skewered the housekeeper like a flapping fish. And Montignard, for that matter.\n\nA mercenary, Adelia decided.\n\n\"Did these three men downstairs bring you with them?\" the queen asked.\n\n\"Yes.\" Dear Lord, she was tired. \"My lady,\" she added.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because the Bishop of Saint Albans asked me to accompany him.\" Rowley could answer the questions; he was good at that.\n\n\"Rowley?\" The queen's voice had altered. \"Rowley's here?\" She turned to Schwyz. \"Why was I not told?\"\n\n\"Four men in the boat and three downstairs,\" Schwyz repeated stolidly. His accent was London with a trace of something more foreign. \"If a bishop is among them, I don't know it.\" He didn't care, either. \"We stay the night here?\"\n\n\"Until the Young King and the Abbot of Eynsham arrive.\"\n\nSchwyz shrugged.\n\nEleanor cocked her head at Adelia. \"And why has his lordship of Saint Albans brought one of his women to Wormhold Tower?\"\n\n\"I can't say.\" At that moment, she didn't have the energy to recount the train of events, and certainly not to make them comprehensible. She was too tired, too shocked, too struck down by horrors even to refute the imputation of being \"one of his women,\" though not to wonder how many he was known to have.\n\n\"We shall ask him,\" Eleanor said brightly. She looked down at the writhing shape on the floor. \"Raise her.\"\n\nThe courtier Montignard pushed forward and made a fuss of kicking the would-be assassin's knife across the floor. Hauling her upright from under Schwyz's boot, he maintained her with one arm round the chest and put the point of his dagger to her neck with the other.\n\nIt was Death, a better facsimile than any in the marketplace mystery plays. The hood of a black cloak had wrinkled back to disclose the prominent cheekbones and teeth of a skull with pale skin so tight that the only indication, in this bad light, to show that the face had any at all was a large and sprouting mole on the upper lip. The eyes were set deep; they might have been holes. All it lacked was the scythe.\n\nIt was still hissing sporadically, the words mixed with spittle. \"\u2026dare to touch the true queen, you dissembler\u2026my Master, my most northerly Lord\u2026burn your soul\u2026cast you\u2026utmost obscenity.\"\n\nEleanor leaned forward, cupping her ear again, then stood back. \"Demons? Belial?\" She turned to her audience. \"The woman threaten me with Belial. My dear, I married him.\"\n\n\"Only let me strangle her, lady. Let me cauterize this pus,\" Montignard said. A pearl of blood appeared from where the tip of the dagger pierced the woman's skin.\n\n\"Leave her alone,\" Adelia managed a shout now. \"She's mad, and she's half dead already, leave her alone.\" Instinctively, she'd put her fingers round the woman's wrist, feeling a hideously slow pulse among bones almost as cold as Rosamund's. Dear God, how long had she been hiding in this ice chamber?\n\n\"She needs warmth,\" Adelia said to Eleanor. \"We must warm her.\"\n\nThe queen looked at Adelia's dripping hand held out to her in appeal, then at the housekeeper. She shrugged. \"We are informed the creature needs warming, Monty. I imagine that does not entail putting it into the fire. Take it downstairs, Schwyz, and see to it. Gently, now. We shall question it later.\"\n\nScowling, the courtier handed his captive over to Schwyz, who took her to the door, gave an order to one of his men, saw her taken away, and came back. \"Madam, we should leave. I cannot defend this place.\"\n\n\"Not yet, Master Schwyz. Go about your duties.\"\n\nSchwyz stumped off, not a happy man.\n\nThe queen smiled at Adelia. \"You see? You ask for the woman's life, I give it. Noblesse oblige. Such a gracious monarch am I.\"\n\nShe was impressive; Adelia gave her that. The prickling weakness of shock that threatened to collapse Adelia's legs left this woman seemingly untouched, as if attempted assassination was the everyday round of royalty. Perhaps it was.\n\nMontignard hesitated. He nodded toward Adelia. \"Leave you alone with this wench, lady? I shall not. Does she wish you harm? I do not know.\"\n\n\"My lord.\" Eleanor had a metaphorical whip in her boot. \"Whoever she may be, she saved my life. Which\"\u2014the whip cracked\u2014\"you were too slow to do. Now go attend to that eyesore. Also, we could profit from some warmth ourselves. See to it. And bring me the Bishop of Saint Albans.\"\n\nSelf-preservation helped Adelia to mumble, \"And some brandy. Send up brandy.\" She'd just properly seen the wound in her hand; it went deep and, goddamn all assassins, she needed her right hand.\n\nThe queen nodded her permission. She showed no sign of leaving the chamber and descending to another. While Adelia considered that perverse, not to say unhallowed, considering the poor body occupying it, she was grateful to be spared the stairs. Sidling out of the royal sight, she sank down onto the floor by the side of the bed and stayed there.\n\nPeople came and went, things were done, the bed stripped and its covers and mattress sent downstairs to be burned\u2014the queen was insistent about that.\n\nA beautiful young woman, presumably one of Eleanor's attendants, came in, fluttered at the sight of Rosamund, fainted prettily, and had to be taken out again. Maids, manservants\u2014how many had she brought with her?\u2014carried in braziers, candles enough to light the Vatican, incense and oil burners, lamps, flambeaux. Adelia, who'd thought she'd never be warm again, began to think kindly and soporifically of the cold. She closed her eyes\u2026.\n\n\"\u2026in hell are you doing here? If he's coming, he'll come straight for this tower.\" It was Rowley's voice, very loud, very angry.\n\nAdelia woke up. She was still on the floor by the bed. The chamber was hotter; there were more people in it. Rosamund's body, ignored, sat at its table, though some merciful soul had covered the head and shoulders with a cloak.\n\n\"You dare address my glorious lady like that? She goes where she please.\" This was Montignard.\n\n\"I'm talking to the queen, you bastard. Keep your snout out of\u2026it.\" He jerked the last word\u2014somebody had punched him.\n\nPeering under the bed, Adelia saw the bottom half of the queen and all of Rowley kneeling in front of her. His hands were tied. Mailed legs\u2014she recognized one pair as Schwyz's\u2014stood behind him and, to the side, Montignard's fine leather boots, one of them raised for another kick.\n\n\"Leave him, my lord,\" Eleanor said icily. \"This is the language I have come to expect from the Bishop of Saint Albans.\"\n\n\"It's called truth, lady,\" Rowley said. \"When did you ever hear anything else from me?\"\n\n\"Is it? Then the question is not what I do here, but what you do.\"\n\nIt'll come in a minute, Adelia thought. The appalling coincidence of this forgathering must seem sinister to a queen who'd just been attacked.\n\nCautiously, she began undoing the strings of the purse hanging from her belt and feeling for the small roll of velvet containing the surgical instruments she always carried when traveling.\n\n\"I told you. I came on your behalf.\" Rowley jerked his head in the direction of the writing table. \"My lady, rumor is already blaming you for Rosamund's death\u2026.\"\n\n\"Me? Almighty God killed her.\"\n\n\"He had help. Let me find out whose\u2014it's why I came, to find out\u2026\"\n\n\"In the dark? This night of nights?\" Montignard interrupting again. \"You come and same time a demon rush out of the wall to stab the queen?\"\n\nHere it was. Adelia's hand found the tiny, lethally sharp knife in the roll and loosened it so that its handle protruded. What to do with it she wasn't sure, but if they hurt him\u2026\n\n\"What? What demon?\" Rowley asked.\n\nEleanor nodded. \"The housekeeper, Dampers. Did you hire her to kill me, Saint Albans?\"\n\n\"Elean-oor.\" It was the protesting growl of one old friend to another; everybody else in the chamber was diminished by the claim of a hundred shared memories. It made the queen go back in her tracks.\n\n\"Well, well,\" she said, more gently, \"I suppose you must be absolved, since it was your leman who pushed aside the blade.\"\n\nAdelia's hand relaxed.\n\n\"My leman?\"\n\n\"I forgot you have so many. The one with the foreign name and no manners.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" the bishop said. \"That leman. Where is she?\"\n\nUsing her one good hand, Adelia pulled herself up by the bed frame and stood where everybody could see her. She felt afraid and rather foolish.\n\nAwkwardly, Rowley looked round. He had blood on his mouth.\n\nTheir eyes met.\n\n\"I rejoice that she served such a mighty purpose, madam,\" the Bishop of Saint Albans said slowly. He looked back at the queen. \"Keep her if you will, she's of no use to me\u2014as you say, she has no manners.\"\n\nEleanor shook her head at Adelia. \"See how easily he discards you? All men are knaves, king or bishop.\"\n\nAdelia began to panic. He's abandoning me to her. He can't. There's Allie. I must get back to Godstow.\n\nRowley was answering another question. \"Yes, I have. Twice. The first time I came was when she was taken ill\u2014Wormhold is part of my diocese; it was my duty. And tonight when I heard of her death. That's not the point\u2026.\" Being bound and on hisknees wasn't going to stop the bishop from lecturing the queen. \"In the name of God, Eleanor, why didn't you make for Aquitaine? It's madness for you to be here. Get away. I beg you.\"\n\n\"'That's not the point'?\" Eleanor had heard only what was important to her. Her cloak swished across the floor as she retrieved Rosamund's letter from it. \"This is the point. This, this. I have received ten such.\" She smoothed the letter out and held it out. \"You and the whore were in league with Henry to set her up as queen.\"\n\nThere was a moment's quiet as Rowley read.\n\n\"God strike me, I knew nothing of it,\" he said\u2014and Adelia thought that even Eleanor must hear that he was appalled. \"Nor does the king, I swear. The woman was insane.\"\n\n\"Evil. She was evil. She shall burn in this world as in the next\u2014her and all that is hers. The brushwood is being put in place, ready for the flame. A fitting end for a harlot. No Christian burial for her.\"\n\n\"Jesus.\" Adelia saw Rowley blanch and then gather himself. Suddenly, the tone of his voice changed to one that was wrenchingly familiar; it had got her into his bed. \"Eleanor,\" he said gently, \"you are the greatest of queens, you brought beauty and courtesy and music and refinement to a realm of savages, you civilized us.\"\n\n\"Did I?\" Very soft, all at once girlish.\n\n\"You know you did. Who taught us chivalry toward women? Who in hell taught me to say please?\" He followed up the advantage of her laugh. \"Do not, I beg you, commit an act of vandalism that will resound against you. No need to burn this tower; let it stand in its filth. Retire to Aquitaine, just for a while, give me time to find out who actually killed Rosamund so that I can treat with the king. For the sake of Christ crucified, lady, until then don't antagonize him.\"\n\nIt was the wrong note.\n\n\"Antagonize him?\" Eleanor said sweetly. \"He had me imprisoned at Chinon, Bishop. Nor did I hear your voice amongst those raised against it.\"\n\nShe signaled to the men behind Rowley, and they began dragging him out.\n\nAs they reached the doorway, she said clearly, \"You are Henry Plantagenet's man, Saint Albans. Always were, always will be.\"\n\n\"And yours, lady,\" he shouted back. \"And God's.\"\n\nThey heard him swearing at his captors bumping him down the stairs. The sound became fainter. There was a silence like the dust-settling quiet that comes after a building has crashed to the ground.\n\nSchwyz had stayed behind. \"The schweinhund is right that we should leave, lady.\"\n\nThe queen ignored him; she was circling, agitated, muttering to herself. Shrugging resignation, Schwyz went away.\n\n\"He'd never hurt you, lady,\" Adelia said. \"Don't hurt him.\"\n\n\"Don't love him,\" the queen snapped back.\n\nI don't, I won't. Just don't hurt him.\n\n\"Let me take out his eyes, my queen.\" Montignard was breathing hard. \"He would assassinate you with that demon.\"\n\n\"Of course he wouldn't,\" Eleanor said\u2014and Adelia let out a breath of relief. \"Rowley told the truth. That woman, Dampers\u2026I had inquiries made, and it is well known she was mad for her mistress, ugh. Even now, she would kill me ten times over.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Montignard was intrigued. \"They were Sapphos?\"\n\nThe queen continued to circle. \"Am I a killer of whores, Monty? What can they accuse me of next?\"\n\nThe courtier bent and picked up the hem of her cloak to kiss it. \"You are the blessed Angel of Peace come to Bethlehem again.\"\n\nIt made her smile. \"Well, well, we can do nothing more until the Young King and the abbot arrive.\" From downstairs came the sound of furniture being overturned and the slamming of shutters. \"What is Schwyz doing down there?\"\n\n\"He puts archers at each window ready to defend. He is afraid the king will come.\"\n\nThe queen shook her head indulgently, as if at overenthusiastic children. \"Even Henry can't travel fast through in this weather. God kept the snow off for me, now he sends it to impede the king. Well then, I shall stay here in this chamber until my son comes.\" She looked toward Adelia. \"You too, yes?\"\n\n\"Madam, with your permission I shall join the\u2014\"\n\n\"No, no. God has sent you to me as a talisman.\" Eleanor smiled quite beautifully. \"You will stay here with me and\"\u2014she walked over to the body and snatched off its covering cloak\u2014\"together we shall watch Fair Rosamund rot.\"\n\nSo they did.\n\nWhat Adelia remembered of that night afterward were the hour-long silences when she and the queen were alone\u2014apart from Montignard, who fell asleep\u2014and during which Eleanor of Aquitaine sat, untiring, her back straight as a plumb line, eyes directed at the body of the woman her husband had loved.\n\nShe also remembered, though with disbelief, that at one point a young courtier with a lute came in and strolled about the chamber, singing winsomely in the langue d'oc, and that, after receiving no response from his queen and even less from the corpse, he wandered out again.\n\nAnd the heat. Adelia remembered the heat of the braziers and a hundred candle flames. At one point, she begged for relief. \"May we not open a window for a minute, madam?\" It was like being in a pottery kiln.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nSo Adelia, the lucky charm, privileged by her status as Godsent savior to royalty, sat in its presence, crouching on the floor with her cloak under her while the queen, still in her furs, sat and watched a corpse.\n\nEleanor's eyes left it only when they brought the brandy, and Adelia, instead of drinking the spirit, tipped it over the cut in her hand and took a needle and silk thread from the traveling pack of instruments in her pocket.\n\n\"Who taught you to cleanse with brandy?\" Eleanor wanted to know. \"I use twice-distilled Bordeaux myself\u2026. Oh, here, Ishall do it.\"\n\nTutting at Adelia's attempt to stitch the wound together with her left hand, she took the needle and thread and did it instead, putting in seven ligatures where Adelia herself would have used only five, thus making a neater, if more painful, job of it. \"We who went on Crusade had to learn to treat the wounded, there were so many,\" she said briskly.\n\nMost of them caused by the ineptitude of the King of France, its leader, according to Rowley, after his own, much later, time in the Holy Land.\n\nNot that the Church had condemned Louis for it, preferring instead to dwell on the scandal Eleanor, then his queen, had caused by insisting on going with him and taking with her a train of similarly adventurous females.\n\n\"Born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards, that lady,\" Rowley had said of her, not without admiration. \"Her and her Amazons. And an affair with Uncle Raymond of Toulouse when she arrived in Antioch. What a woman.\"\n\nSomething of that daring remained; her very presence here showed as much, but time, thought Adelia, had twisted it into desperation.\n\n\"Is that\u2026urgh.\" Adelia wished to be brave, but the queen was plying the needle with more skill than gentleness. \"Was that where you learned\u2026how to thread a maze? In the\u2026oofff\u2026East?\" For there was no sign that Eleanor had spent as much time blundering around Wormhold's hedges as she and the others had.\n\n\"My lady,\" insisted the queen.\n\n\"My lady.\"\n\n\"It was, yes. The Saracen is skilled in such devices, as in so much else. I have no doubt your bishop also learned the trick of it from the East. Rowley went there on my orders\u2026a long time ago.\" Her voice had softened. \"He took the sword of my dead little son to Jerusalem and laid it on Christ's own altar.\"\n\nAdelia was comforted; the bond between Eleanor and Rowley made by that vicarious crusade went deep. It might be stretched to its limit in present circumstances, but it still held. The queen had taken him prisoner; she wouldn't allow him to be killed.\n\nShe's a mother, Adelia thought. She'll let me go back to my baby. There would be an opportunity to ask for that when she and the queen were better acquainted. In the meantime, she still had to learn all she could about Rosamund's murder. Eleanor hadn't ordered it. Who had?\n\nTaper light had been kinder to the queen than the blazing illumination around them now. Elegance was there and always would be, so was the lovely, pale skin that went with auburn hair, now hidden, but wrinkles were puckering at her mouth and the tight, gauze wimple around her face did not quite hide the beginning of sagging flesh under the chin. Slender, yes, fine bones, yes. Yet there was another sag above the point where a jeweled belt encircled her hips.\n\nNo wonder, either. Two daughters by her first husband, Louis of France, and, since their divorce, eight more children from her marriage to Henry Plantagenet, five of them sons.\n\nTen babies. Adelia thought of what carrying Allie had done to her own waistline. She's a marvel to look as she does.\n\nThere wouldn't be any more, though; even if king and queen had not been estranged, Eleanor must now be, what, fifty years old?\n\nAnd Henry probably not yet forty.\n\n\"There,\" the queen said, and bit through the needle end of the silk now holding Adelia's palm together. Producing an effusion of lace that served her as a handkerchief, she bound it efficiently round Adelia's hand and tied it with a last, painful tug.\n\n\"I am grateful, my lady,\" Adelia said in earnest.\n\nBut Eleanor had returned to her watch, her eyes on the corpse.\n\nWhy? Adelia wondered. Why this profane vigil? It's beneath you.\n\nThe woman had escaped from a castle in the Loire Valley, had traveled through her husband's hostile territory gathering followers and soldiers as she went, had crossed the Channel and slipped into southern England. All this to get to an isolated tower in Oxfordshire. And in winter. True, most of the journey had obviously been made before the roads became as impassable as they now were\u2014to arrive at the tower, she must have been camped not far away. Nevertheless, it was a titanic journey that had tired out everybody but Eleanor herself. For what? To gloat over her rival?\n\nBut, Adelia thought, the enemy is vanquished, petrified into a winter version of Sodom and Gomorrah's block of salt. An assassination has been thwarted by me and an Eleanor-preserving God. Rosamund turns out to have been fat. All this is sufficient, surely, to satisfy any lust for revenge.\n\nBut not the queen's, obviously; she must sit here and enjoy the vanquished one's decomposition. Why?\n\nIt wasn't because she'd envied the younger mistress the ability to still bear children. Rosamund hadn't had any.\n\nNor was it as if Rosamund had been the only royal paramour. Henry swived more women than most men had hot dinners. \"Literally, a father to his people,\" Rowley had said of him once, with pride.\n\nIt was what kings did, almost an obligation, a duty\u2014in Henry's case, a pleasure\u2014to his realm's fertility.\n\nTo make the damn crops grow, Adelia thought sourly.\n\nYet Eleanor's own ducal ancestors themselves had encouraged the growth of acres of Aquitanian crops in their time; she'd been brought up not to expect marital fidelity. Indeed, when she'd had it, wedded to the praying, monkish King Louis, she'd been so bored she'd petitioned for divorce.\n\nAnd hadn't she obliged Henry by taking one of his bastards into her household and rearing him? Young Geoffrey, born of a London prostitute, was proving devoted and useful to his father; Rowley had a greater regard for him than for any of the king's four remaining legitimate sons.\n\nRosamund, only Rosamund, had inspired a hatred that raised the heat of this awful room, as if Eleanor's body was pumping it across the chamber so that the flesh of the woman opposite would putrefy quicker.\n\nWas it that Rosamund had lasted longer than the others, that the king had shown her more favor, a deeper love?\n\nNo, Adelia said to herself. It was the letters. Menopausal as Eleanor was, she'd believed their message: Another woman was being groomed to take her place; in both love and status, she was being overthrown.\n\nIf it had been Eleanor who'd poisoned Rosamund, it was tit for tat. In her own way, Rosamund had poisoned Eleanor.\n\nYet Rowley had been right: This queen hadn't murdered anybody.\n\nThere was no proof of it, of course. Nothing that would absolve her. The killing had been plotted at long range; people would say she had ordered it while she was still in France. There was nothing to scotch the rumor\u2014apart from Eleanor's own word.\n\nBut it wasn't her style. Rowley had said so, and Adelia now agreed with him. If Eleanor had engineered it, she would have wanted to be present when it happened. This curiously na\u00efve, horrible overseeing of her rival's disintegration was to compensate her for not having been there to enjoy the last throes.\n\nBut damn it, I don't have to witness it with you. All at once, Adelia was overwhelmed by the obscenity of the situation. She was tired, and her hand stung like fire; she wanted her child. Allie would be missing her.\n\nShe stood up. \"Lady, it is not healthy for you to be here. Let us go downstairs.\"\n\nThe queen looked past her.\n\n\"Then I will,\" Adelia said.\n\nShe walked to the door, skirting Montignard, who was snoring on the floor. Two spears clashed as they crossed, blocking the doorway in front of her; the first man-at-arms had been reinforced by another.\n\n\"Let me by,\" she said.\n\n\"You want to piss, use a pot,\" one of the men said, grinning.\n\nAdelia returned to Eleanor. \"I am not your subject, lady. My king is William of Sicily.\"\n\nThe queen's eyes remained on Rosamund.\n\nAdelia gritted her teeth, fighting desperation. This is not the way. If I'm to see Allie again, I must be calm, make this woman trust me.\n\nAfter a while, followed by her dog, Adelia began circling the chamber, not looking for a way out\u2014there was none\u2014but using this trapped time to find out where Dakers had hidden herself.\n\nIt couldn't have been under the bed or Ward would have sniffed her out; he didn't have the finest nose in the world, it being somewhat overwhelmed by his own scent, but he wouldn't have missed that.\n\nApart from the bed, the room contained a prie-dieu, smaller than the one in the bishop's room at Saint Albans but as richly carved. Three enormous chests were stuffed with clothes.\n\nA small table held a tray that had been brought in for the queen's supper: a chicken, veal pie, a cheese, a loaf\u2014somewhat mildewed\u2014dried figs, a jug of ale, and a stoppered bottle of wine. Eleanor hadn't touched it. Adelia, who'd last eaten at the nunnery, sliced heavily into the chicken and gave some to Ward. She drank the ale to satisfy her thirst and took a glass of wine with her to sip as she explored.\n\nAn aumbry contained pretty bottles and phials with labels: Rose oyl. Swete violet. Rasberrie vinigar for to whiten teeth. Oyle of walnut to smooth the hands. Nearly all were similarly cosmetic, though Adelia noted that Rosamund had suffered from breathing problems\u2014I'm not surprised, with your weight\u2014and had taken elecampane for it.\n\nThe bed took up more of the center of the room than was necessary by standing a foot or so out from the wall. Behind it was a tapestry depicting the Garden of Eden\u2014obviously a favorite subject, because there was another, a better one, on the same theme on the easterly wall between two of the windows.\n\nGoing closer, so that she stood between the bed and the hanging, Adelia felt a blessed coolness.\n\nThe tapestry was old and heavy; the considerable draft emerging from underneath it did not cause it to shift. Where in the one on the other wall Adam and Eve sported in joyful movement, here cruder needlework stood them opposite each other amid unlikely trees, as frozen as poor Rosamund herself. The only depiction of liveliness was in the coiling green toils of the serpent\u2014and even that was moth-eaten.\n\nAdelia went closer; the chill increased.\n\nThere was a small gap in the canvas where the snake's eye should have been\u2014and it wasn't the moth that had caused it. It had been deliberately made; there was buttonhole stitching round its edges.\n\nA spy hole.\n\nShe had to exert some strength to push the hanging aside. Icy air came rushing out at her, and a stale smell. What she saw was a tiny room, corbeled into the tower's wall. Rosamund hadn't had to use chamber pots; hers was the luxury of a garderobe. Set into a curved bench of polished wood was a bottom-shaped, velvet-lined hole over a drop to the ground some hundred feet below. Soap in the shape of a rose lay in a holder next to a little golden ewer. A bowl within hand's reach contained substantial wipes of lamb's wool.\n\nGood for Rosamund. Adelia approved of garderobes, as long as the pit beneath them was dug out regularly; they saved maidservants having to go up and downstairs carrying, and often slopping, noisome containers.\n\nShe was not so enamored of the mural painted on the plastered walls; its eroticism being more suited to a bordello than to a privy, but perhaps Rosamund had enjoyed looking at it while she sat there, and undoubtedly Henry Plantagenet would have. Although, come to think of it, had even he been aware of the existence of the garderobe and its spy hole?\n\nAdelia moved behind the tapestry so that she could apply her eye to the hole\u2014and found that she could see right down the bed to the writing desk and the window beyond.\n\nHere, then, was where Dakers had concealed herself and\u2014unpleasant thought\u2014had watched her, Adelia, at her investigations. What patience and what stamina to endure the cold; only fury inspired at seeing Eleanor snatch the crown off her mistress's head had impelled her out of it.\n\nBut the careful stitching around the peephole indicated that tonight wasn't the only time somebody had employed their time looking through it.\n\nIt would have been invited guests who'd ventured up to this floor\u2014it was an English custom for the higher classes to entertain in their bedrooms. If Dakers had spied on them, she would have to have taken up position in the garderobe\u2014with Rosamund's permission and knowledge.\n\nTo watch the guests? The king? The bed and its activities?\n\nSpeculation opened an avenue that Adelia did not want to explore, still less the relationship between mistress and housekeeper.\n\nTo hell with the queen's permission; she needed to breathe clean air. She slid herself out from under the hanging. Eleanor appeared not to have noticed. Adelia went to the nearest window, lifted the lattices' catch, pulled it inward, and pushed the shutters open. Kicking a footstool into position, she stood on it and leaned out.\n\nThe bitter night sky crackled with stars. Peering downward to the ground, she saw scattered watch fires with armed men moving around them.\n\nOh, God, if they're putting brushwood around the tower's base\u2026if a breeze comes up and blows a spark from one of the fires\u2026\n\nShe and Eleanor were at the top of a chimney.\n\nThat was enough fresh air. Shivering, not merely from the cold, Adelia closed the shutters. In doing so, she put too much weight on one side of the footstool and returned to the floor in a noisy scramble.\n\nGlancing at the queen, expecting a rebuke, she wondered if Eleanor was in a trance; the queen's eyes had not shifted from Rosamund. From his position on the floor, Montignard kicked out, muttered, and then continued to snore.\n\nAdelia bent down to replace the footstool and saw that its marquetry top had come adrift, revealing that it was, in fact, the lid of a box on legs. There were documents inside. She scooped them out and returned to her former place on the floor at the other side of the bed to read them.\n\nLetters again, half a dozen or more, all of them addressed to Eleanor, all purporting to have been written by Rosamund, yet in the same hand as the one Adelia had put into her boot.\n\nEach had the same jeering superscription and, in this light, she was able to read what followed; it was not always the same in every letter, but the inherent message was repeated over and over.\n\n\"Today did my lord king sport with me and tell me of his adoration\u2026\" \"My lord king has this moment left my bed\u2026\" \"He speaks of his divorce from you with longing\u2026\" \"\u2026the Pope will look kindly on divorce on the grounds of your treachery to my lord king in that you do inflame his sons against him.\" \"\u2026the arrangements for my coronation at Winchester and Rouen.\" \"\u2026my lord king will announce to the English who is their true queen.\"\n\nPoison in ink, drip, drip.\n\nAnd the writer had penned them for Rosamund to duplicate in her own hand. He or she\u2014more likely he\u2014had even attached notes for her instruction.\n\n\"Be more legible, for the queen did scoff at your lettering and call you ignoramus.\"\n\n\"Write quickly that this may reach the queen on her anniversary as she does set much store by that date and will be the more affected.\"\n\n\"Hurry, for my messenger must come to Chinon, where the queen is kept, before the king moves her elsewhere.\"\n\nAnd most telling of all: \"We win, lady. You shall be queen before summer comes again.\"\n\nAt no point did the instructor name himself. But, thought Adelia, he was someone who'd been near enough to Eleanor to know that she had ridiculed Rosamund's writing.\n\nAnd a fool. If his hope was to engineer a divorce between Henry and Eleanor and set Rosamund up as queen, he was lacking the most fundamental political sense. Henry would never divorce Eleanor. For one thing, even if wifely treason was grounds for divorce\u2014and Adelia didn't think it was\u2014Henry had caused too much offense to the Church over the death of Becket and had suffered for it; he dare not offend again. For another, he had a regard for the order of things. Even more important to him was the fact that by losing Eleanor, he would lose her great Duchy of Aquitaine, and Henry, though a beast, was a beast that never gave up land.\n\nIn any case, the easygoing English might wink at their king's mistress, but not a mistress imposed on them as queen; it would be an insult.\n\nI know that, and I'm a foreigner.\n\nAnd yet these letters had been good enough to inspire a stupid, ambitious woman to copy and send them, good enough to inflame a queen into escaping and urging war by her sons against their father.\n\nRowley could be right; the person who had written these things had done so to create war.\n\nThere was a loud sniff from the other side of the room. Eleanor spoke in triumph. \"She is going. She has begun to stink.\"\n\nThat was quicker than expected. Surprised, Adelia looked up to where Rosamund was still stiffly inclined over her work.\n\nShe looked round further and saw that, in search of comfort, Ward had settled himself on the trailing end of the queen's ermine cloak. \"I'm afraid that's merely my dog,\" she said.\n\n\"Merely? Get him off. What does he do here?\"\n\nOne of the men-at-arms who'd been nodding in the doorway roused himself and came in to deposit Ward on the landing outside, then, at a nod from his queen, returned to his post.\n\nEleanor shifted; she'd become restive. \"Saint Eulalie grant me patience. How long will this take?\" The vigil was becoming tiresome.\n\nAdelia nearly said, \"A while yet,\" and then didn't. Until she knew more about the situation, she had better stay in the role of a woman whom the queen accepted as a somewhat soiled part of Rowley's baggage train but who'd nevertheless been chosen by God to save the royal life and was being kept close to the royal side as a reward.\n\nBut you should know more about me, Adelia thought, irritated. I am dying with curiosity; so should you be. You should know more about everything: how Rosamund died, why she wrote the letters, who dictated them\u2026you should have had the room searched and found these exemplars before I did. It's not enough to be a queen; you should ask questions. Your husband does.\n\nHenry Plantagenet was a ferret and an employer of ferrets. He'd nosed out Adelia's profession in a second and penned her up in England, like one of the rarer animals in his menagerie, until he found a use for her. He knew exactly how things stood between her and his bishop; he'd known when their baby was born\u2014and its sex, which was more than the child's father had known. A few days afterward, to prove that he knew, a royal messenger in plain clothes had delivered a gloriously lacy christening gown to Adelia's fenland door with a note: \"Call her what you will, she shall always be Rowley-Powley to me.\"\n\nCompared to the king, Eleanor walked within a circle of vision encompassing only her personal welfare and the certainty that God was most closely concerned with it. The questions she'd asked in this chamber had related solely to herself.\n\nAdelia wondered whether she should enlighten her. Rowley and the queen must have corresponded in the past; she would know his writing. Showing her these documents would at least prove that he hadn't written them for Rosamund to copy. She might even recognize the penmanship and know who had.\n\nWait, though. There were two crimes here.\n\nIf Mansur or her foster father had been watching Adelia at that moment, they would have seen her adopt what they called her \"dissecting face,\" the mouth tightened into a line, eyes furious with concentration, as they always were when her knife followed the link of muscle to sinew, pursued a vein, probed, and cut effect in order to find cause.\n\nWhat made her a brilliant anatomist, Dr. Gershom had once told her, was instinct. She'd been offended. \"Logic and training, Father.\" He'd smiled. \"Man provided logic and training, maybe, but the Lord gave you instinct, and you should bless him for it.\"\n\nTwo crimes.\n\nOne, Rosamund had copied inflammatory letters. Two, Rosamund had been murdered.\n\nDiscovering whom it was who had urged Rosamund to write her letters was one thing. Discovering her murderer was another. And both solutions were contradictory, as far as Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Bishop of Saint Albans were concerned.\n\nFor the queen, the letter writer would be the villain and must be eliminated. Eleanor didn't give a damn who'd killed Rosamund\u2014would, if she learned who it was, probably reward him.\n\nBut for Rowley, the murderer was endangering the peace of the kingdom and must be eliminated. And his claim was the greater, because murder was the more terrible crime.\n\nIt would be better, at this stage, to give Rowley open ground for his investigation rather than complicating it by allowing the queen to pursue hers.\n\nHmm.\n\nAdelia gathered up the documents on her lap, put them back in the footstool box, and replaced its lid. She would do nothing about them until she could consult Rowley.\n\nEleanor continued to fidget. \"Has this benighted tower no place of easement?\"\n\nAdelia ushered her toward the garderobe.\n\n\"Light.\" The queen held out her hand for a candle, and Adelia put one into it\u2014reluctantly. She would see the naughty paintings.\n\nIf Adelia could have been any sorrier for the woman, it was then. When you came down to it, Eleanor was consumed by sexual jealousy as raging as that of any fishwife catching her husband in flagrante, and was being stabbed by reminders of it at every turn.\n\nAdelia tensed herself for a storm, but when the queen emerged from under the hanging she looked tired and old, and was silent.\n\n\"You should rest, madam,\" Adelia said, concerned. \"Let us go down\u2026\"\n\nThere was noise from the stairs, and the two guards in the doorway uncrossed their spears and stood at attention.\n\nA great hill of a man entered, sparkling with energy and frost and dwarfing Schwyz, who followed him in. He was enormous; kneeling to kiss the queen's hand only put his head on a level with hers.\n\n\"If I'd been here, my dear, 'twouldn't have happened,\" he said, still kneeling. He pressed Eleanor's hand to his neck with both of his, closing his eyes and rocking with the comfort of it.\n\n\"I know.\" She smiled fondly at him. \"My dear, dear abbot. You'd have put your big body in the way of the knife, wouldn't you?\"\n\n\"And gone rejoicing to Paradise.\" He sighed and stood up, looking down at her. \"You going to burn 'em both?\"\n\nThe queen shook her head. \"I have been persuaded that Dampers is mad. We will not execute the insane.\"\n\n\"Who? Oh, Dakers. She's mad, sure enough, I told you she was. Let the flame have her, I say. And her bloody mistress with her. Where is the whore?\"\n\nHe strode across the room to the table and poked the corpse's shoulder. \"Like they said, cold as a witch's tit. Bit of fire'd warm they both up, get 'em ready for hell.\" He turned to wag his finger at Eleanor. \"I'm a simple Gloucestershire man, as you know, and, Sweet Mary save me, a sinner, too, but I love my God, and I love my queen with all my soul, and I'm for putting their enemies to the torch.\" He spat on Rosamund's hair. \"That's the Abbot of Eynsham's opinion of you, madam.\"\n\nThe visitor had caused Montignard to stand up. He was busily and jealously\u2014and uselessly\u2014trying to gain the queen's attention by urging her to eat. Eynsham, a man built more for tossing bales of hay than for shepherding monastic sheep, dominated the room, taking the breath out of it with the power of his body and voice, filling it with West Country earthiness and accent.\n\nBucolic he might have been, but everything he wore was of expensive and exquisite clerical taste, though the pectoral cross that had swung from his neck as he bent to the queen was overdone\u2014a chunk of dull gold that could have battered a door in.\n\nHe'd taken years off Eleanor; she was loving it. Apart from the egregious Montignard, her courtiers had been too weary from traveling to make much fuss over her escape from death.\n\nOr my part in it, Adelia thought, suddenly sour. Her hand was hurting.\n\n\"Bad news, though, my glory,\" the abbot said.\n\nEleanor's face changed. \"It's Young Henry. Where is he?\"\n\n\"Oh, he's right enough. But the chase was snappin' at our heels all the way from Chinon, so the Young King, well, he decides to make for Paris 'stead of yere.\"\n\nSuddenly blind, the queen fumbled for the arm of her chair and sank into it.\n\n\"Now, now, it's not as bad as that,\" the abbot said, his voice deep, \"but you know your lad, he never did take to England\u2014said the wine was piss.\"\n\n\"What are we to do? What are we to do?\" Eleanor's eyes were wide and pleading. \"The cause is lost. Almighty God, what are we to do now?\"\n\n\"There, there.\" The abbot knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. \"Nothing's lost. And Schwyz here, we've been speaking together, and he reckons it's all to the good. Don't ee, Schwyz?\"\n\nAt his urging, Schwyz nodded.\n\n\"See? And Schwyz do know what he's about. Not much to look at, I grant, but a fine tactician. For here's the good news.\" Eleanor's hands were lifted and hammered against her knees. \"You hear me, my glory? Listen to me. Hear what our commander Jesus have done for us\u2014He've brought the King of France onto our side. Joined un to Young Henry, yes he has.\"\n\nEleanor's head came up. \"He has? Oh, at last. God be praised.\"\n\n\"King Louis as ever is. He'll bring his army into the field to fight alongside the son against the father.\"\n\n\"God be praised,\" Eleanor said again. \"Now we have an army.\"\n\nThe abbot nodded his great head as if watching a child open a present. \"A saintly king. Weedy husband he was to you, I'll grant, but we ain't marrying him, and God'll look kindly on his valor now.\" He hammered Eleanor's knees again. \"D'you see, woman? Young Henry and Louis'll raise their banner in France, we'll raise ours here in England, and together we'll squeeze Old Henry into submission. Light will prevail against Dark. Twixt us, we'll net the old eagle and bring un down.\"\n\nHe was forcing life into Eleanor; her color had come back. \"Yes,\" she said, \"yes. A pronged attack. But have we the men? Here in England, I mean? Schwyz has so few with him.\"\n\n\"Wolvercote, my beauty. Lord Wolvercote's camped at Oxford awaiting us with a force a thousand strong.\"\n\n\"Wolvercote,\" repeated Eleanor. \"Yes, of course.\" Despondency began to leave her as she climbed the ladder of hope the abbot held for her.\n\n\"Of course of course. A thousand men. And with you at their head, another ten thousand to join us. All them as the Plantagenet has trampled and beggered, they'll come flocking from the Midlands. Then we march, and oh what joy in Heaven.\"\n\n\"Got to get to fuck Oxford first,\" Schwyz said, \"and quick, for fuck's sake. It's going to snow, and we'll be stuck in this fuck tower like fuck Aunt Sallies. At Woodstock, I told the stupid bitch it couldn't be defended. Let's go straight to Oxford, I said. I can defend you there. But she knew better.\" His voice rose from basso to falsetto. \"Oh, no, Schwyz, the roads are too bad for pursuit, Henry can't follow us here.\" The tone reverted. \"Henry fuck can, I know the bastard.\"\n\nIn a way, it was the strangest moment of the night. Eleanor's expression, something between doubt and exaltation, didn't change. Still kneeling by her side, the abbot did not turn round.\n\nDidn't they hear him?\n\nDid I?\n\nFor Adelia had been taken back to the lower Alps of the Graub\u00fcnden, to which, every year, she and her foster parents had made the long but beautiful journey in order to avoid the heat of a Salerno summer. There, in a villa lent to them by the Bishop of Chur, a grateful patient of Dr. Gershom's, little Adelia had gone picking herbs and wildflowers with the goatherd's flaxen-haired children, listening to their chat and that of the adults\u2014all of them unaware that little Adelia could absorb languages like blotting paper.\n\nA strange language it had been, a guttural mixture of Latin and the dialect of the Germanic tribes from which those alpine people were descended.\n\nShe'd just heard it again.\n\nSchwyz had spoken in Romansh.\n\nWithout looking round, the abbot was giving the queen a loose translation. \"Schwyz is saying as how, with your favor on our sleeve, this is a war we'll win. When he do speak from his heart, he reverts to his own patter, but old Schwyz is your man to his soul.\"\n\n\"I know he is.\" Eleanor smiled at Schwyz. Schwyz nodded back.\n\n\"Only he can smell snow, he says, and wants to be at Oxford. An' I'll be happier in my bowels to have Wolvercote's men around us. Can ee manage the journey, sweeting? Not too tired? Then let you go down to the kitchens with Monty and get some hot grub inside ee. It'll be a cold going.\"\n\n\"My dear, dear abbot,\" Eleanor said fondly, rising, \"how we needed your presence. You help us to remember God's plain goodness; you bring with you the scent of fields and all natural things. You bring us courage.\"\n\n\"I hope I do, my dear. I hope I do.\" As the queen and Montignard disappeared down the stairs, he turned and looked at Adelia, who knew, without knowing how she knew, that he had been aware of her all along. \"Who's this, then?\"\n\nSchwyz said, \"Some drab of Saint Albans's. He brought her with him. She was in the room when the madwoman attacked Nelly and managed to trip her up. Nelly thinks she saved her life.\" He shrugged. \"Maybe she did.\"\n\n\"Did she now?\" Two strides brought the abbot close to Adelia. A surprisingly well-manicured hand went under her chin to tip her head back. \"A queen owes you her life, does she, girl?\"\n\nAdelia kept her face blank, as blank as the abbot's, staring into it.\n\n\"Lucky, then, aren't you?\" he said.\n\nHe took his hand away and turned to leave. \"Come on, my lad, let us get this festa stultorum on its way.\"\n\n\"What about her?\" Schywz jerked a thumb toward the writing table.\n\n\"Leave her to burn.\"\n\n\"And her?\" The thumb indicated Adelia.\n\nThe abbot's shrug suggested that Adelia could leave or burn as she pleased.\n\nShe was left alone in the room. Ward, seeing his chance, came back in and directed his nose at the tray with its unfinished veal pie.\n\nAdelia was listening to Rowley's voice in her mind. \"Civil war\u2026Stephen and Matilda will be nothing to it\u2026the Horsemen of the Apocalypse\u2026I can hear the sound of their hooves.\"\n\nThey've come, Rowley. They're here. I've just seen three of them.\n\nFrom the writing table came a soft sound as Rosamund's melting body slithered forward onto it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "By going against the advice of its commander and dragging her small force with her to Wormhold Tower, Eleanor had delayed its objective\u2014which was to join up with the greater rebel army awaiting her at Oxford.\n\nNow, with the weather worsening, Schwyz was frantic to get the queen to the meeting place\u2014armies tended to disperse when kept idle too long, especially in the cold\u2014and there was only one sure route that would take her there quickly: the river. The Thames ran more or less directly north to south through the seven or so miles of countryside that lay between Wormhold and Oxford.\n\nSince the queen and her servants had ridden from their last encampment, accompanied by Schwyz and his men on foot, boats must be found. And had been. A few. Of a sort. Enough to transport the most important members of the royal party and a contingent of Schwyz's men but not all of either. The lesser servants and most of the soldiers were going to have to journey to Oxford via the towpath\u2014a considerably slower and more difficult journey than by boat. Also, to do so, they were going to have to use the horses and mules that the royal party had brought with them.\n\nAll this Adelia gathered as she emerged into the tower's bottom room, where shouted commands and explanations were compounding chaos.\n\nA soldier was pouring oil onto a great pile of broken furniture while servants, rushing around, screamed at him to wait before applying the flame as they removed chests, packing cases, and boxes that had been carried into the guardroom only hours before. Eleanor traveled heavy.\n\nSchwyz was yelling at them to leave everything; neither those who were to be accommodated in the few boats nor those who would make the trek overland to Oxford could be allowed to carry baggage with them.\n\nEither they didn't hear him or he was ignored. He was being maddened further by Eleanor's insistence that she could not proceed without this servant or that and, even when agreement was reached, by the favored ones' refusal to stand still and be counted. Part of the trouble seemed to be that the Aquitanians doubted the honesty of their military allies; Eleanor's personal maid shrieked that the royal wardrobe could not be entrusted to \"sales mercenaries,\" and a man declaring himself to be the sergeant cook was refusing to leave a single pan behind for the soldiers to steal. So outside the tower, soldiers struggled with frozen harnesses to ready the horses and mules, and the queen's Aquitanians argued and ran back and forth to fetch more baggage, none of which could be accommodated.\n\nThere and then Adelia decided that whatever else happened, she herself would make for the towpath if she could\u2014and quickly. Among this amount of disorganization, nobody would see her go and, with luck and the Lord's good grace, she could walk to the nunnery.\n\nFirst, though, she had to find Rowley, Jacques, and Walt.\n\nShe stood on the stairs looking for them in the confusion before her; they weren't there, they must have been taken outside. What she did see, though, was a black shape that kept to the shadow of the walls as it made its way toward the stairs, jumping awkwardly like a frog because its feet were hobbled. The rope that had been put round its neck flapped as it came.\n\nAdelia drew back into the dark of the staircase, and as the creature hopped up the first rise, caught it by its arm. \"No,\" she said.\n\nThe housekeeper's hands and feet had been tied tightly enough to restrain a normal woman, but whoever had done it hadn't reckoned with the abnormal: Dakers had hopped from wherever her guards had left her in order to try and join her mistress at the top of the tower.\n\nAnd still would if she could. As Adelia grabbed her, Dakers threw her thin body to shake her off. Unseen by anyone else, the two women struggled.\n\n\"You'll burn,\" hissed Adelia. \"For God's sake, do you want to burn with her?\"\n\n\"Yes-s-s.\"\n\n\"I won't let you.\"\n\nThe housekeeper was the weaker of the two. Giving up, she turned to face Adelia. She had been roughly treated; her nose was bleeding, and one of her eyes was closed and puffy. \"Let me go, let me go. I'll be with her. I got to be with her.\"\n\nHow insane. How sad. A soldier was readying the tower's destruction; servants were oblivious to all but their own concerns. Nobody cared if the queen's would-be assassin died in the flames, might even prefer it if she did.\n\nThey can't do that. She's mad. One of the reasons Adelia loved England was that if Dakers were brought to trial for her attempt on the queen's life, no court in the country, seeing what she was, would sentence her to death. Eleanor herself had held to it. Restrain the woman with imprisonment, yes, but the reasonable, ancient dictum of \"furiosus furore solum punitur\" (the madness of the insane is punishment enough) meant that anyone who'd once possessed reason but by disease, grief, or other accident had lost the use of his or her understanding must be excused the guilt of his or her crime.\n\nIt was a ruling that agreed with everything Adelia believed in, and she wasn't going to see it bypassed, even if Dakers herself was a willing accessory and preferred to die, burning, alongside Rosamund's body. Life was sacred; nobody knew that better than a doctor who dealt with its absence.\n\nThe woman was pulling away from her again. Adelia tightened her grip, feeling a physical revulsion; she, who was never nauseated by corpses, was repelled by this living body she had to clutch so closely to her, by its thinness\u2014it was like hugging a bundle of sticks\u2014by its passion for death.\n\n\"Don't you want to avenge her?\" She said it because it was all she could think of to keep the woman still, but, after a minute, a measure of sanity came into the eyes glaring into hers.\n\nThe mouth stopped hissing. \"Who did it?\"\n\n\"I don't know yet. I'll tell you this much, it wasn't the queen.\"\n\nAnother hiss. Dakers didn't believe her. \"She paid so's it could be done.\"\n\n\"No.\" Adelia added, \"It wasn't Bertha, either.\"\n\n\"I know that.\" Contemptuously.\n\nThere was a sudden, curious intimacy. Adelia felt herself sucked into whatever understanding the woman possessed, saw her own worth as an ally calculated, dismissed\u2014and then retrieved. She was, after all, the only ally.\n\n\"I find things out. It's what I do,\" Adelia said, slackening her grip a little. Suppressing distaste, she added, \"Come along with me and we'll find things out together.\"\n\nOnce more she was weighed, found wanting, weighed again, and adjudged as possibly useful.\n\nDakers nodded.\n\nAdelia fumbled in her pocket for her knife and cut the rope round the housekeeper's ankles and took the noose from round the neck over her head. She paused, unsure whether to free her hands as well. \"You promise?\"\n\nThe only good eye squinted at her. \"You'll find out?\"\n\n\"I'll try. It's why the Bishop of Saint Albans brought me here.\" Not very reassuring, she thought, considering that the Bishop of Saint Albans was leaving the place as a prisoner and Armageddon was about to break out.\n\nDakers held out her skinny wrists.\n\nSchwyz had left the guardroom in order to gain control of the situation in the bailey outside. Some of the servants had gone with him; the few that remained were still gathering their goods and didn't notice the two women sidling out.\n\nThere was equal confusion in the bailey. Adelia covered Dakers's head with the hood of her cloak and then put up her own so that they would be just two more anonymous figures in the scurry.\n\nA rising wind added to the noise as it whirled little showers of snowflakes that were slow to melt. Moonlight came and went like a guttering candle.\n\nDisregarded, still clutching Dakers, Adelia moved through the chaos with Ward at her heels, looking for Rowley. She glimpsed him on the far side of the bailey, and it was a relief to see that Jacques and Walt were with him, all three roped together. Nearby, the Abbot of Eynsham was arguing over them with Schwyz, his voice dominating the noise made by the wind and bustle. \"\u2026I don't care, you tyrant, I need to know what they know. They come with us.\" Schwyz's retort was whirled away, but Eynsham had won. The three prisoners were prodded toward the crowd at the gateway, where Eleanor was getting up on a horse.\n\nDamn, damn it. She must talk to Rowley before they were separated. Whether she could do it unnoticed\u2026and with a failed assassin in tow\u2026yet she dared not let go of Dakers's hand.\n\nAnd Dakers was laughing, or, at least, a low cackle was emerging from the hood round her face. \"What is it?\" Adelia asked, and found that in taking her eyes off Rowley and the others she had lost sight of them. \"Oh, be quiet.\"\n\nAgonized with indecision, she towed the woman toward the archway that led to the outer bailey and the entrance to the maze. The wind blew the servants' cloaks open and closed as they milled about so that the golden lion of Aquitaine on their tabards flickered in the light of the torches. Soldiers, tidy in their padded jackets, tried to impose order, snatching unnecessary and weighty items away from clutching arms and restraining their owners from snatching them back. Only Eleanor was calm, controlling her horse with one hand and shielding her eyes with the other in order to watch what was being done, looking for something.\n\nShe saw Ward, like a small, black sheep against the snow, and pointed the animal out to Schwyz with a gloved finger as she gave an order. Schwyz looked round and pointed in his turn. \"That one, Cross,\" he shouted at one of his men. \"Bring her. That one with the dog.\"\n\nAdelia found herself seized and hoisted onto a mule. She struggled, refusing to let go of Dakers's hand.\n\nThe man called Cross took the line of least resistance; he lifted Dakers as well so that she clung on to Adelia's back. \"And bloody stay there,\" he yelled at them. With one hand on the mule's bridle and his body pinning Adelia's leg, he took his charges through the archway and into the outer bailey, holding back until the rest of the cavalcade joined them.\n\nEleanor rode to the front, Eynsham just behind her. The open gates of the maze yawned like a black hole before them.\n\n\"Go straight through, Queen of my heart,\" the abbot called to her joyfully. \"Straight as my old daddy's plow.\"\n\n\"Straight?\" The queen shouted back.\n\nHe spread his arms. \"Didn't you order I to learn the whore's mysteries? Diddun I do it for ee?\"\n\n\"There's a direct way through?\" Eleanor was laughing. \"Abbot, my abbot. 'And the crooked shall be made straight\u2026.'\"\n\n\"'\u2026and the rough places plain,'\" he finished for her. \"That old Isaiah, he knew a thing or two. I am but his servant, and yours. Go, my queen, and the Lord's path shall lead you through the whore's thicket.\"\n\nPreceded by some of her men, one holding a lantern, Eleanor entered the maze, still laughing. The cavalcade followed her.\n\nBehind them, Schwyz gave another order and a lit torch arched through the air onto the piled tinder in the guardroom\u2026.\n\nThe abbot was right; the way through the maze had been made straight. Alleys were direct passageways into the next. Blocking hedges revealed themselves as disguised, now open, doors.\n\nMystery had gone. The wind took away the maze's silence; the hedges around them bent and shivered like ordinary storm-tossed avenues. Some insidious essence had been withdrawn; Adelia couldn't be sorry. What she found extraordinary was that if the strange abbot who declared himself a devotee of the queen could be believed, Rosamund herself had shown him the secret of the way through.\n\n\"You know that man?\" she asked over her shoulder. Flinching, she felt Dakers's thin chest heave up and down against her back as the housekeeper began cackling again.\n\n\"Ain't he the clever one.\" It wasn't so much a reply as Dakers's commentary to herself. \"Thinks he's bested our wyrm, so he do, but that's still got its fangs.\" Perhaps it was part of her madness, Adelia thought, that there was no animosity in her voice toward a man who, self-confessed, had visited Rosamund in her tower in order to betray her to the queen.\n\nThey were through the maze within minutes. Swearing horribly at the mule, Cross urged it into a trot so that Adelia and Dakers were cruelly bumped up and down on its saddleless spine as it charged the hill.\n\nThe wind strengthened and drove snow before it in sporadic horizontal bursts that shut out the moon before letting it ride the sky again. As they crested the hill it slammed, shrieking, into their faces.\n\nAdelia looked back and saw Rowley, Jacques, and Walt being prodded out of the maze by the spears of the men behind them.\n\nThere was a howl of triumph from Dakers; her head was turned to the tower\u2014a black, erect, and unperturbed outline against the moon.\n\n\"That's right, that's right,\" Dakers screamed, \"our lord Satan did hear me, my darling. I'll be back for ee, my dear. Wait for me.\"\n\nThe tower wasn't burning. It should have been a furnace by now, but despite broken furniture, oil, a draft, and a torch, the bonfire hadn't caught. Something, some thing, had put out the fire.\n\nIts door faced the wind, Adelia told herself. The wind carried snow and extinguished the flames.\n\nBut what couldn't be extinguished was the image of Rosamund, diabolically preserved, waiting in that cold upper chamber for her servant to return to her\u2026.\n\nIt was a sad little flotilla at the river: rowing boats, punts, an old wherry, all found moored along the banks and commandeered by Schwyz's soldiers. The only vessel of any substance was the barge that Mansur and Oswald and the Godstow men had brought upriver to collect Rosamund's body. Adelia looked for Mansur and, when she didn't see him, became frightened that the soldiers had killed him. These were crude men; they reminded her of the followers of Crusade armies passing through Salerno who'd been prepared to slaughter anybody with an appearance different from their own. There was a tall figure standing in the barge's prow, but the man was cloaked and hooded like everybody else and the snow hindered identification. It could be Mansur, it could be a soldier.\n\nShe tried reassuring herself with the fact that Schwyz and his men were mercenaries and more interested in utility than the slaughter of Saracens; they would surely see the need to keep alive every skilled boatman they had to take them to Oxford.\n\nThe chaos that had reigned in Wormhold's bailey was now redoubled as Eleanor's people fought to accompany their queen on the Godstow barge\u2014the only one with a cabin. If there was someone managing the embarkation, he was overwhelmed.\n\nThe mercenary Cross, in charge of Adelia and Dakers, waited too long for orders; by the time he realized there weren't going to be any, the barge was dangerously overladen with the queen's servants and baggage. He and the two women were waved away from it.\n\nCursing, he hauled them both along to the next vessel in line and almost threw them into its stern. Ward made a leap and joined them.\n\nIt was a rowing boat. An open rowing boat tied by a hawser onto the stern of the Godstow barge. Adelia shrieked at the soldier, \"You can't put us here. We'll freeze.\" Exposed to the lacerating wind in this thing, they'd be dead long before they reached Oxford, two corpses as rigid as Rosamund's.\n\nThe boat shuddered as three more people were forced into it by another guard, who clambered in after them. A voice deeper than Adelia's and more used to carrying overrode the wind: \"In the name of God, man, do you want to kill us? Get us under cover. Ask the queen, that lady there saved her life.\" The Bishop of Saint Albans had joined her, and her protest. Still roped to Jacques and Walt and at a spear's end, he nevertheless carried authority.\n\n\"I'm getting it, aren't I?\" Cross shouted back. \"Shut your squalling. Sit there. In front of the women.\"\n\nOnce everybody was settled to his satisfaction, he produced a large bundle that turned out to be an old sail and called to his companion, addressing him as Giorgio, to help him spread it.\n\nWhatever their manners, he and his companion were efficient. The wind tried to whip the canvas away from them, but Dakers and Adelia were made to sit on one end of it before it was looped back and up, bringing it forward so that it covered them as well as the three prisoners and, finally, the two soldiers themselves, who took their seat in the prow. Their efforts had been self-preservation; they were coming, too. With deliberate significance, Giorgio placed a stabbing sword across his knees.\n\nThe sail was dirty and smelly, and rested heavily on the top of everybody's head, not quite wide enough for its purpose, so that covering themselves fully against the slanting wind on one side left a gap on the other. Ice formed over it immediately, rendering it stiff but also making a protective layer. It was shelter of a sort.\n\nThe river was being whipped into a fury that slopped wavelets of icy water over the gunwales. Adelia heaved Ward onto her lap, covered him with her cloak, and put her feet up against Rowley's back to keep them out of the wet\u2014he was on the thwart immediately in front of her on the starboard side where the gap was. Jacques sat between him and Walt.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" She had to shout against the shriek of the wind.\n\n\"Are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Splendid.\"\n\nThe messenger was also trying to be brave. Adelia heard him say, \"Boat trip\u2014makes a nice change.\"\n\n\"It'll come out of your wages,\" the bishop told him. Walt grunted.\n\nThere was no time for more. The two soldiers were yelling at them to bail \"before this bloody scow goes under,\" and were handing out receptacles with which to do it. The three prisoners were given proper bailers while two jugs were passed to the women. \"And put your bloody backs to it.\"\n\nAdelia began bailing\u2014if the boat sank beneath them, they'd be dead before they could scramble to the bank. As fast as she could, she chucked icy water out into the river. The river chucked it back.\n\nSeen through the gap in the sail, the scudding snow was vaguely illuminated by the lamp on the stern of the barge ahead and the prow of whatever vessel was behind them, providing just enough light for Adelia to recognize the pitifully inadequate jug with which she was bailing. It was of silver and had lately stood on the tray on which a servant had brought food and drink to Eleanor in Rosamund's chamber. The Aquitanians had been right; the mercenaries\u2014the two in this boat, at any rate\u2014were thieves.\n\nAdelia experienced a sudden fury that centered on the stolen jug but had more to do with being cold, tired, wet, in extreme discomfort, and frightened for her life. She turned on Dakers, who was doing nothing. \"Bail, blast you.\"\n\nThe woman remained motionless, her head lolling. Probably dead, Adelia thought.\n\nAnger had afflicted Rowley as well. He was shouting at his captor to free their hands so he and Jacques and Walt could bail faster\u2014they were being slowed by having to scoop the water up and out in awkward unison.\n\nHe was again told to shut his squalling, but after a minute Adelia felt the boat rock even more heavily and then heard the three men in front of her swearing. She gathered from their abuse that they'd been cut free of one another but the separate pieces of rope that bound each pair of wrists were still in place.\n\nStill, the three could now bail quicker\u2014and did. Adelia transferred her fury to Dakers for dying after all she, Adelia Aguilar, had done for her. \"Sheer ingratitude,\" she snapped, and grabbed the woman's wrist. For the second time that night, she felt a weak pulse.\n\nLeaning forward so that she nearly squashed the dog on her lap, she jerked Dakers's feet out of the bilge and, to warm them, pushed one between the bodies of Rowley and Jacques and the other between Jacques and Walt.\n\n\"How long are we going to sit here?\" she screamed over their heads at the soldiers. \"God's rib, when are we going to move?\"\n\nBut the wind screamed louder than she could; the men didn't hear her. Rowley, though, nodded his head in the direction of the gap.\n\nShe peered out at the whirling curtain of snow. They were moving, had been moving for some time, and had reached a bend in the river where a high bank of trees must have been sheltering them a little.\n\nWhether the barge in front, to which they were attached, was being poled by men or pulled by a horse, she didn't know\u2014a dreadful task for either. It was probably being poled; they seemed to be going faster than walking pace. The wind at their backs and the flow of the river was helping them along, sometimes too much\u2014the prow of their boat bumped into the stern of the barge, and the soldiers were having to take turns to struggle out from under the sail cover to fend off with an oar.\n\nHow far Oxford was she didn't know, either, but at this rate of progress, Godstow could only be an hour or so away\u2014and there, somehow, she must get ashore.\n\nWith this determined, Adelia felt calmer, a doctor again\u2014and one with an ailing patient on her hands. Part of her extreme irritation had been because she was hungry. It came to her that Dakers was probably even hungrier than she was, faint from it\u2014there'd been no sign of food in the Wormhold kitchen when they'd investigated it.\n\nAdelia, though she might condemn the thieving mercenaries, hadn't come empty-handed out of Rosamund's chamber, either; there'd been food left on the queen's tray, and hard times had taught her the value of foraging.\n\nWell, Rosamund wasn't going to eat it.\n\nShe delved into her pocket and brought out a lumpy napkin, unfolded it, broke off a large piece from the remains of Eleanor's veal pie, and waved it under Dakers's nose. The smell of it acted as a restorative; it was snatched from her fingers.\n\nMaking sure the soldiers couldn't see her\u2014she could barely see them in the darkness under the sail\u2014she leaned forward again and slid the cheese she'd also filched between Jacques and Rowley until she felt the roped hand of one of them investigate it, grasp it, and squeeze her own hand in acknowledgment. There came a pause in the three men's bailing, during which, she guessed, the cheese was being secretly portioned, causing the soldiers to shout at them again.\n\nThe remains of the veal pie she divided between herself and Ward.\n\nAfter that there was little to be done but endure and bail. Every so often, the sail drooped so heavily between them that one of the men had to punch it from underneath in order to rid it of the snow weighting it.\n\nThe level of water slopping below her raised legs refused to go down, however much she threw over the side; each breath she expelled wetted the cloak muffling her mouth, freezing immediately so that her lips became raw. The sailcloth scraped against her head as she bent and came up again. But if she stopped, the cold would congeal the blood in her veins. Keep on bailing, stay alive, live to see Allie again.\n\nRowley's elbow jerked into her knees. She went on bailing, lean, dip, toss, lean, dip, toss; she'd been doing it forever, would continue forever. Rowley had to nudge her again before she realized she could stop. There was no water coming in.\n\nThe wind had lessened. They were in a muffled silence, and light of a sort\u2014was it day?\u2014came through the window of the sail's gap, beyond which snow was falling so thickly it confused the eye into giving the impression that the boat was progressing through air filled with swansdown.\n\nThe cold also coming in through the gap had numbed her right side and shoulder. She leaned forward and pressed against Rowley's back to preserve some warmth for the two of them, pulling Dakers with her so that the housekeeper's body was against Jacques's.\n\nRowley turned his head slightly, and she felt his breath on her forehead. \"Well?\"\n\nAdelia shifted higher to peer over his shoulder. Despite the fall in the wind, the swollen river was running faster than ever and putting the rowing boat in danger of crashing into the barge or veering against a bank.\n\nOne of the soldiers\u2014she thought it was Cross, the younger of the two\u2014was fending off, having abandoned the shelter of the sail so that it drooped over his companion, who was hunched over the prow thwart, exhausted or asleep, or both.\n\nThere was no movement, either, from Walt or Jacques. Dakers was still slumped against Jacques's back.\n\nAdelia nosed Rowley's hood away from his ear and put her lips against it: \"They're going to raise Eleanor's standard at Oxford. They think the Midlands will rise up and join her rebellion.\"\n\n\"How many men? At Oxford, how many men?\"\n\n\"A thousand, I think.\"\n\n\"Did I see Eynsham back there?\"\n\n\"Yes. Who is he?\"\n\n\"Bastard. Clever. Got the ear of the Pope. Don't trust him.\"\n\n\"Schwyz?\" she asked.\n\n\"Bastard mercenary. First-class soldier.\"\n\n\"Somebody called Wolvercote is in charge of the army at Oxford.\"\n\n\"A bastard.\"\n\nThat disposed of the main players, then. She rested her face against his cheek in momentary contentment.\n\n\"Got your knife?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Cut this bloody rope.\" He jiggled his bound hands.\n\nShe took another look at the soldier crouching the prow; his eyes were closed.\n\n\"Come on.\" Rowley's mouth barely moved. \"I'll be getting off in a minute.\" They might have been journeying luxuriously together and he'd remembered a prior destination to hers.\n\n\"No.\" She put her arms round him.\n\n\"Don't,\" he said. \"I've got to find Henry. Warn him.\"\n\n\"No.\" In this blizzard, nobody would find anybody. He'd die. The fen people told tales about this sort of snowstorm, of unwary cottagers, having ventured out in it to lock up their poultry or bring in the cow, unable find their way back through a freezing, whirling thickness that took away sight and sense of direction so that they ended up stiff and dead only yards from their own front doors. \"No,\" she said again.\n\n\"Cut this bloody rope.\"\n\nThe soldier in the prow stirred and muttered. \"What you doing?\"\n\nThey waited until he settled again.\n\n\"Do you want me to go with my hands tied?\" Rowley breathed.\n\nChrist God, how she loathed him. And loathed Henry Plantagenet. The king, always the king if it costs my life, yours, our child's, all happiness.\n\nShe delved into her pocket, gripped the knife, and seriously considered sticking it into his leg. He couldn't then go wandering about in a circle and end up as a mound of ice in some field.\n\n\"I hate you,\" she told him. Tears were freezing on her eyelashes.\n\n\"I know. Cut the bloody rope.\"\n\nHolding the knife, she slid her right arm farther around him, all the time watching the man in the prow, wondering why she didn't alert him so that Rowley would be restrained\u2026.\n\nShe couldn't. She didn't know what fate Eleanor intended for her prisoner or, even it was a benign one, what Eynsham or Schwyz might do.\n\nHer fingers found his hands and walked their way to the rope round his wrists. She began cutting, carefully\u2014the knife was so sharp that a wrong move could open one of his veins.\n\nOne strand severed, another. As she worked, she hissed bile. \"Your leman, am I? No use to you, am I? I hope you freeze in hell\u2014and Henry with you.\"\n\nThe last strand went, and she felt him flex his hands to get their circulation back.\n\nHe turned his head so that he could kiss her. His chin scraped her cheek.\n\n\"No use at all,\" he said, \"except to make the sun come up.\"\n\nAnd he was gone.\n\nJacques took charge. Adelia heard him put a sob into his voice, telling the furious Cross that the collision with the bank had caused the bishop to fall overboard.\n\nShe heard the mercenary's reply: \"He's dead meat, then.\"\n\nJacques burst into a loud wail but smoothly took Ward off Adelia's lap, shifted her so that she sat between him and Walt with the sleeping Dakers resting on her back, and returned the dog to its place under her cloak.\n\nShe was barely aware of the change. Except to make the sun come up.\n\nI'll make the sun come up if I see him again. I'll kill him. Dear Lord, keep him safe.\n\nThe snow stopped, and the heavy clouds that carried it rolled away westward. The sun came out and Cross rolled back the sail, thinking there was warmth to be had.\n\nAdelia took no notice of that, either, until Walt nudged her. \"What's up with he, mistress?\"\n\nShe raised her head. The two mercenaries were sitting on the prow thwart opposite. The one called Cross was trying to rouse his companion. \"Come on, Giorgio, upsy-daisy. Weren't your fault we lost the bloody bishop. Come on, now.\"\n\n\"He's dead,\" Adelia told him. The man's boots were fixed in the solidified bilge water. Just another frozen corpse to add to the night's list.\n\n\"Can't be. Can't be. I kept him in the warm, well, warm as I could.\" Cross's bad-tempered face was agonized.\n\nLord, this death is important to this man. It should be important to me.\n\nFor the look of the thing, Adelia stretched so that her hand rested against the dead man's neck where a pulse should be. He was rigid. She shook her head. He'd been considerably older than his friend.\n\nJacques and Walt genuflected. She took the living soldier's hand in one of hers. \"I'm sorry, Master Cross.\" She spoke the end words: \"May God have mercy on his soul.\"\n\n\"He was bloody sitting here, keeping warm, I thought.\"\n\n\"I know. You did your best for him.\"\n\n\"Why ain't you lot dead, then?\" Anger was returning. \"You was sitting same as him.\"\n\nUseless to say that they had been bailing and therefore moving, just as Cross himself, who, even though exposed to the wind, had been active in preventing collision. And poor Giorgio had been alone, with no human warmth next to him.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said again. \"He was old, the cold was too much for him.\"\n\nCross said, \"Taught me soldiering, he did. We been through three campaigns together. Sicilian, he was.\"\n\n\"So am I.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"Don't move him,\" she said sharply.\n\nCross was trying to gather the body up so as to lay it along the thwart. Like Rosamund's, its rigor would persist until it encountered heat\u2014there was none in this sun\u2014and the sight of it on its back with knees and hands curved like a dog's was not one its friend would want to see.\n\nWalt said, \"By Gor, ain't that Godstow by there?\"\n\nAllie.\n\nShe realized that she was surrounded by a glittering, diamond-hard landscape that she had to shade her eyes to look at. Trees had been upended, their roots like ghastly, desperate, twiggy fingers frozen in the act of appeal. For the rest, the countryside appeared flattened by the monstrous weight of snow fallen on it so that what had been dips in the ground were merely smooth shallows among the rises they interspersed. Straight threads of smoke rising against a cornflower-blue sky showed that the lumps scattered on the rise above the bank were half-buried houses.\n\nThere was a small, humped bridge in the distance, white as marble; she and Rowley had stood on it one night in another century. Beyond that\u2014she had to squeeze her eyes nearly shut to see\u2014many threads of smoke and, where the bridge ended, a wood and the suggestion of gates.\n\nShe was opposite the village of Wolvercote. Over there, though she couldn't see it, stood the nunnery of Godstow. Where Allie was.\n\nAdelia stood, slipped, and rocked the boat in her scramble to get up again. \"Put us ashore,\" she told Cross, but he didn't seem to hear her. Walt and Jacques pulled her down.\n\nThe galloper said, \"No good, mistress, even supposing\u2026\"\n\n\"Look at the bank, mistress,\" Walt told her.\n\nShe looked at it\u2014a small cliff where flat pasture should have been. Farther in, what appeared to be enormous frozen bushes were, in fact, the spread branches of mature oak trees standing in drifts that must be\u2014Adelia estimated\u2014fifteen feet or more deep.\n\n\"We'd never get through,\" Jacques was saying.\n\nShe pleaded, begged, while knowing it was true; perhaps when the inhabitants disinterred themselves, they would dig tunnels through the snow to reach the river, but until then, or until it thawed, she was separated from the convent as if by a mountain barrier. She would have to sit in this boat and be swept away past Allie, only God knowing how or when, or if, she could get back to her.\n\nThey'd passed the village now. They were nearly at the bridge that crossed the tributary serving the mill. The Thames was widening into the great sweep that would take it around the convent's meadows.\n\nAnd something was happening to it\u2026.\n\nThe barge had slowed. Its sides were too high to see what was occurring on its deck, but there was activity and a lot of swearing.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\nWalt picked up one of the bailers, dipped it over the side, brought it back, and stirred his finger in it. \"Look at this.\"\n\nThey looked. The cupped water was gray and granulated, as if somebody had poured salt into it. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"It's ice,\" Walt said softly. \"It's bloody ice.\" He looked around. \"Must be shallower here. It's ice, that's what it is. The river's freezing up.\"\n\nAdelia stared at it, then up at Walt, then back to the river. She sat down suddenly and gave thanks for a miracle as wonderful as any in the Bible; liquid was turning solid, one element changing into another. They would have to stop. They could walk ashore and, many as they were, they could dig their way through to the convent.\n\nShe looked back to count the boats behind them.\n\nThere were no boats. As far as the eye could see, the river was empty, graying along this stretch but gaining a blueness as it twisted away into a dazzling, silent distance.\n\nBlinking, she searched for a sight of the contingent that should have been accompanying them along the towpath.\n\nBut there was no towpath\u2014of course there wasn't. Instead, where it had been, was a wavy, continuous bank of frozen snow, taller than two men in some places, with its side edge formed by wind and water as neatly as if some titanic pastry cook with a knife had sheared off the ragged bits of icing round the top of a cake.\n\nFor a second, because her mind was directed only at reaching her daughter, Adelia thought, It doesn't matter, there are enough of us to dig a path\u2026.\n\nAnd then, \"Dear Lord, where are they?\" she said. \"All those people?\"\n\nThe sun went on shining beautifully, unfairly, pitilessly, on an empty river where, perhaps, in its upper reaches men and women sat in their boats as unmoving as Giorgio sat in this one, where, perhaps, corpses rolled in sparkling water.\n\nAnd what of the riders? Where were they, God help them? Where was Rowley?\n\nThe answering silence was terrible because it was the only answer. It trapped the oaths and grunts of effort from the barge as if in a bell jar, so that they echoed back in an otherwise soundless air.\n\nThe men on board it labored on, plunging poles through the shallow, thickening water until they found purchase on the river bottom and could push the barge another yard, another\u2026\n\nAfter a while, the bell jar filled with sounds like the cracks of whips\u2014they were encountering surface sheet ice and having to break through it.\n\nThey inched past the point of the river where it divided and a stream turned off toward the mill and the bridge. There was no noise from the millrace, where a fall of water hung in shining stillness.\n\nAnd, oh, God Almighty save our souls, in all this wonder, somebody had used the bridge as a gibbet; two glistening, distorted figures hung from it by the neck\u2014Adelia, looking up, glimpsed two dead faces looking quizzically sideways and down at her, saw two pairs of pointing feet, as if their owners had been frozen in a neat little dancing jump.\n\nNobody else seemed to notice, or care. Walt and Jacques were using the oars to pole the rowing boat along so that it didn't drag on the barge. Dakers sat next to her now, her hood over her face; somebody had placed the sail around the two of them to keep them warm.\n\nThey inched past the bridge and into an even wider bend where the Thames ran along a Godstow meadow\u2014which, astonishingly, still was a meadow. Some freak of the wind had scoured it of snow so that a great expanse of frosted grass and earth provided the only color in a white world.\n\nAnd here the barge stopped because the ice had become too thick to proceed farther. It didn't matter, it didn't matter\u2014there was a scar leading down the rise from the convent to the shore and, at the bottom of it, convent men with shovels were shouting and waving, and everybody in the two boats was shouting and waving back as if it were they who were marooned and had glimpsed a rescuing sail coming toward them\u2026.\n\nOnly then did Adelia realize that she had been sustained through the night on borrowed energy and it was now being debited out of her body so quickly that she was close to the languor that comes with death. It had been a very near thing.\n\nThey had to disembark onto ice and cross it to reach land. Ward's paws slipped and he went down, sliding, until he could scrabble resentfully up again. An arm went round Adelia's waist to help her along and she looked up into the face of Mansur. \"Allah is merciful,\" he said.\n\n\"Somebody is,\" she said. \"I was so frightened for you. Mansur, we've lost Rowley.\"\n\nHalf-carried, she stumbled across the ice beside him and then across the flattened grass of the meadow.\n\nAmong the small crowd ahead, she glimpsed Eleanor's upright figure before it disappeared into the tunnel that led up to the convent gates, a steep, thin pathway with walls twice head height on either side. It had been dug to take Rosamund's coffin; instead, it received a litter made out of oars and wrapped around with sailcloth, under which rested the contorted body of a mercenary soldier.\n\nA beautiful tunnel, though. At its top stood an elderly woman, her studied impassivity displaying her relief. \"You took your time.\"\n\nAs Adelia fell, babbling, into her arms, Gyltha said, \"A'course she's well. Fat and fit as a flea. Think as I can't look after her? Gor dang, girl, you only left her yesterday.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "If her heart sank at the prospect of feeding and housing the forty or so exhausted, bedraggled, frostbitten men, women, and dogs shambling through her gates, Mother Edyve gave no sign of it, though it must have sunk further when she saw that they included the Queen of England and the Abbot of Eynsham, neither of them friends to Godstow, to say nothing of a troop of mercenary soldiers.\n\nIt didn't occur to her that she was welcoming a force of occupation.\n\nShe ordered hot possets for her guests. She surrendered her house to Queen Eleanor and her maids, lodged the abbot and Montignard in the men's guesthouse with their and the queen's male servants, and quartered Schwyz on the gatekeeper. She put the queen's dogs and hawks in her own kennels and mews, distributing the other mercenaries as widely as she could, billeting one on the smith, another in the bakery, and the rest among individual\u2014and aged\u2014retainers and pensioners in the houses that formed a small village within the convent walls.\n\n\"So's they'm split up and not one of 'em where there's girls,\" Gyltha said approvingly. \"She's a wily one, that Ma Edyve.\"\n\nIt was Gyltha who had carried the report of the events at Wormhold to the abbess. Adelia was too tired and, anyway, hadn't been able to face telling her of Rowley's death.\n\n\"She don't believe it,\" Gyltha said on her return. \"No more don't I. Now, then, let's be seeing to you two.\"\n\nMansur hated fuss and kept declaring that he was well, but he had been exposed to the open cold while poling the barge as Adelia, Jacques, and Walt had not, and she and Gyltha were worried about him.\n\n\"Look what you done to your hands, you great gawk,\" Gyltha said\u2014her disquiet always took the form of anger. Mansur's palms were bleeding where his mittens, and then his skin, had worn through against the wood of the pole.\n\nAdelia was concerned more for his fingers, which were white and shiny where they emerged from the wrecked mittens. \"Frostbite.\"\n\n\"They cause me no pain,\" Mansur said stolidly.\n\n\"They will in a minute,\" Adelia promised.\n\nGyltha ran to Mansur's lodging to get him a dry gown and cloak, and brought back with her a bucket of hot water from the kitchen and would have plunged her lover's hands into it, but Adelia stopped her. \"Wait til it cools a little.\"\n\nShe also prevented Gyltha from hooking the brazier nearer to him. The condition of frostbite had interested her foster father after he'd seen the effects of it during their holidays in the Alps\u2014he had actually braved a winter there to study it\u2014and his conclusion had been that the warming must be gradual.\n\nYoung Allie, always deprived of burning herself on the brazier\u2014it was kept within a guard\u2014turned her attention to trying to pull the bucket over her head. Adelia would have enjoyed watching the resulting tussle between Gyltha and that remarkable child if her own toes hadn't ached agonizingly with the return of blood to frozen muscle and bone.\n\nShe estimated the worth of dosing herself and Mansur with willow-bark decoction for the pain and then rejected it; each of them was a stoic, and the fact that her toes and his fingers were turning red without blistering indicated that the affliction was mild\u2014better to keep the drug for those in whom it might be worse.\n\nShe crawled onto the bed to suffer in comfort. Ward leaped on after her, and she had neither the energy nor will to turn him off. The dog had shared his body heat with her on the boat\u2014what were a few fleas if she shared hers with him?\n\n\"What did you do with Dakers?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh, her.\" Gyltha had not taken to the walking skeleton that Adelia had dragged, unaware that she was dragging it, through the convent gates, but had seen, because Adelia was dragging it, that there was a necessity to keep it alive. \"I give her to Sister Havis, and she give her to Sister Jennet in the infirmary. She's all right, ugly thing.\"\n\n\"Well done.\" Adelia closed her eyes.\n\n\"Don't you want to know who's turned up here since you been away?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nWhen she woke up, it was afternoon. Mansur had gone back to the men's guesthouse to rest. Gyltha was sitting beside the bed, knitting\u2014a skill she'd picked up from one of her Scandinavian customers during her eel-selling days.\n\nAdelia's eyes rested on the chubby little figure of Allie as it hitched itself around the floor on its bottom, chasing the dog and grimacing to show the one tiny tooth that had manifested itself in her lower gum since her mother had last seen her. \"I swear I'll never leave you again,\" she told her.\n\nGyltha snorted. \"I keep telling you, 'twas only thirty hours.\"\n\nBut Adelia knew the separation had been longer than that. \"It was nearly permanent,\" she'd said, and added painfully, \"For Rowley, it has been.\"\n\nGyltha wouldn't countenance it. \"He'll be back, large as life and twice as natural. Take more than a bit of old snow to finish off that lad.\" To Gyltha, the Right Reverend Lord Bishop of Saint Albans would always be \"that lad.\"\n\n\"He can stay away for me,\" Adelia said. She clung on to her grievance against him like a raft to keep her from being subsumed in grief. \"He didn't care, Gyltha, not for his life, not Allie's, not mine.\"\n\n\"Except to make the sun come up.\"\n\n\"A'course he didn't, he's out to stop a war as'll take more lives than yours. God's work that is, and the Lord'll watch over un according.\"\n\nAdelia clung to that, too, but she had been deeply frightened. \"I don't care, if it's God's work, let Him do it. We are leaving. As soon as the snow clears, we're all slipping away back to the fens.\"\n\n\"Oh, ar?\" Gyltha said.\n\n\"It's not 'oh, ar.' I mean it.\" In the fens, her life had been acceptable, regulated, useful. She'd been ripped away from it, subjected to, and then abandoned in, physical and mental turmoil by the man at whose request she had become embroiled in it in the first place. Almost worse than anything, he had revived in her an emotion that she'd thought to be dead, that was better dead.\n\n\"Except to make the sun come up.\"\n\nDamn him, don't think of it.\n\nGaining anger, she said, \"It's all high politics, anyway. That's what Rosamund's killing was, as far as I can see\u2014an assassination to do with queens and kings and political advantage. It's outside my scope. Was it the mushrooms? Yes, it probably was. Do I know who sent them? No, I don't, and there's an end to it. I'm a doctor, I won't be drawn into their wars. God's rib, Gyltha, Eleanor abducted me, abducted me\u2014I nearly ended up joining her damned army.\"\n\n\"Shouldn't have saved her life, then, should you?\"\n\n\"What was I to do? Dakers was coming at her with a knife.\"\n\n\"You sure you don't want to know who else's turned up?\"\n\n\"No. I only want to know whether anybody's likely to stop us going.\"\n\nBut it appeared that in the physical collapse affecting all the travelers, even Eleanor, on their arrival at the convent, nobody had spared a thought for the woman who had saved the queen's life\u2014or, for that matter, the woman who had nearly taken it. The priority had been a place to get warm and to sleep.\n\nPerhaps, Adelia thought, the queen had forgotten Dakers and herself altogether and, when the roads were open again, would proceed to Oxford without attending to either. By which time Adelia would be beyond reach, taking Gyltha, Mansur, and Allie with her and leaving Dame Dakers to her own hideous devices\u2014she no longer cared what they were.\n\nGyltha went to fetch their supper from the kitchen.\n\nAdelia leaned down from the bed, picked up her daughter, pressing her nose against the warm satin of the child's cheek, and propped her up against her own knees so that they faced each other.\n\n\"We're going home, aren't we, mistress? Yes, we are. We won't get involved in their old wars, will we? No, we won't. We'll go far off, we'll go back to Salerno, we don't care what that nasty old King Henry says, do we? We'll find the money from somewhere. It's no good making faces\u2026.\" For Allie was extending her lower lip and showing her new tooth in an expression reminiscent of the camel in Salerno's menagerie. \"You'll like Salerno, it's warm. We'll take Mansur and Gyltha and Ulf, yes, we will. You miss Ulf, don't you? So do I.\"\n\nOn an investigation like this\u2014had she been going to proceed with it\u2014Gyltha's grandson would have been her eyes and ears, able to go about unremarked as only an eleven-year-old urchin could, his plain, very plain, features giving the lie to his extreme intelligence.\n\nNevertheless, Adelia thanked her God that Ulf, at least, was out of harm's way. She found herself wondering, though, what the boy would have said about the situation\u2026.\n\nAllie started wriggling, wanting to continue with her persecution of Ward, so Adelia set her down absently, listening to a harsh little voice in her head that asked questions like an insistent crow.\n\nTwo murders, ain't there? Rosamund's and the fella on the bridge? You think they're connected?\n\n\"I don't know. It doesn't matter,\" she answered out loud.\n\nIt was goin' to depend on who turned up, weren't it? Somebody was, to see why there hadn't been no fuss about the dead un on the bridge? Whoever done it wanted him dead, din't they? An' wanted a hullabaloo about it, din't they?\n\n\"Such was my assumption. But there hasn't been time, the snow would have delayed them.\"\n\nSomebody's come.\n\n\"I don't care. I'm going home, I'm frightened.\"\n\nLeavin' the poor bugger in the icehouse, is that it? Very godly, I'm sure.\n\n\"Oh, shut up.\"\n\nAdelia liked order; in a sense, it was what her profession was about\u2014and you could say this for the dead, they didn't make unexpected moves or threaten you with a knife. To be out of control and at the whim of others, especially the malignantly inclined, as she had been at Wormhold and on the river, had discomposed her very being.\n\nThe convent enfolded her; the long, low, plain room spoke soothingly of proportion. It was dark outside now, and the glow of the brazier gave a shadow to each of the beams in the ceiling, making a pleasingly uniform pattern of dark and not-so-dark stripes against white plaster. Even muffled by the wool that Gyltha had stuffed in the cracks of the shutters to keep out the cold, the distant sound of the nuns singing Vespers was a reassurance of a thousand years of disciplined routine.\n\nAnd all of it an illusion, because a corpse lay in its icehouse and, seven miles away, a dead woman sat at a writing table, both of them waiting\u2026for what?\n\nResolution.\n\nAdelia pleaded with them: I can't give it to you, I'm frightened, I want to go home.\n\nBut jagged, almost forgotten images kept nudging at her mind: snowy footprints on a bridge, a letter crumpled in a saddlebag, other letters, copied letters, Bertha's piglike nose snuffling at a scent\u2026.\n\nGyltha returned carrying a large pot of mutton and vegetables in broth, some spoons, a loaf tucked under one arm, and a leather bottle of ale under the other. She poured some of the broth into Allie's bowl and began mashing it to a pulp, putting the pieces of meat into her mouth and chewing them with her big, strong teeth until they, too, were pulp, then returning them to the bowl. \"Turnip and barley,\" she said. \"I'll say this much for the sisters, they do a fair supper. And good, warm milk from the cow with little un's porridge this morning.\"\n\nReluctantly, because to mention one of the convent's problems was somehow to solidify it, Adelia asked, \"Is Bertha still in the cowshed?\"\n\n\"Won't come out, poor soul. That old Dakers still want to scrag her?\"\n\n\"I don't think so, no.\"\n\nFeeding Allie, who was making spirited attempts to feed herself, took concentration that allowed no thought for anything else.\n\nWhen they'd wiped food off her hair as well as off their own, the child was put down to sleep and the two women ate their supper in silence, their feet stretched out to the brazier, passing the ale bottle back and forth between them.\n\nWarm, the pain beginning to lessen, Adelia thought that such security as there was in her world rested at this moment in the gaunt old woman on the stool opposite hers. A day didn't go by without a reminder of the gratitude she owed to Prior Geoffrey for their introduction, nor a strike of fear that Gyltha might leave her, nor, for that matter, puzzlement at why she stayed.\n\nAdelia said, \"Do you mind being here, Gyltha?\"\n\n\"Ain't got no choice, girl. We'm snowed up. Been snowing again, if you'd notice. Path down to the river's gone and blocked itself again.\"\n\n\"I mean, galloping across country to get here, away from home, murder\u2026everything. You never complain.\"\n\nGyltha picked a strand of mutton from her teeth, considered it, and popped it back into her mouth. \"Somewhere to see, I suppose,\" she said.\n\nPerhaps that was it. Women generally had to stay where they were put, which in Gyltha's case had been Cambridgeshire fenland, a place that Adelia found endlessly exotic but that was undoubtedly very flat. Why should not Gyltha's heart drum to adventure in foreign places like any crusader's? Or long to see God's peace retained in her country as much as Rowley did? Or require, despite the risk, to see God's justice done on those who killed?\n\nAdelia shook her head at her. \"What would I do without you?\"\n\nGyltha poured the remnants of the broth from Adelia's bowl into hers and put it down on the floor for Ward. \"For a start, you wouldn't have no time to find out who done in that poor lad, nor who it was done for Rosamund,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh,\" Adelia said, sighing. \"Very well, tell me.\"\n\n\"Tell ee what?\" But Gyltha was smirking a satisfied smirk.\n\n\"You know very well. Who's arrived? Who's been asking questions about the boy in the icehouse? Somebody wanted him found and, sure as taxes, that somebody is going to question why he hasn't been. Who is it?\"\n\nIt was more than one. As if blown ahead of the snow that had now encased them, four people had arrived at Godstow during Adelia's absence.\n\n\"Master and Mistress Bloat of Abingdon, they're ma and pa to that young Emma as you took to. Come to see her married.\"\n\n\"What are they like?\"\n\n\"Big.\" Gyltha spread her arms as if to encompass tree trunks. \"Big bellies, big words, big voices\u2014he has, anyhow, bellows like a bull as how he ships more wine from foreign parts than anybody else, sells more'n anybody else\u2014for a nicer price than anybody else, I wouldn't be surprised. Hog on a high horse, he is.\"\n\nBy which Adelia gathered that Master Bloat reveled in a position he'd not been born to. \"And his wife?\"\n\nIn answer, Gyltha arranged her mouth into a ferocious simper, picked up the ale bottle, and ostentatiously prinked her little finger as she pretended to drink from it. She hadn't taken to the Bloats.\n\n\"Unlikely murderers, though,\" Adelia said. \"Who else?\"\n\n\"Their son-in-law-as-will-be.\"\n\nAnother person with a valid reason for coming to Godstow.\n\n\"Aaaah.\" So the beautiful, gallant writer of poetry had come to take his bride. How nice for that wild, charming girl, how nice that love would lighten the winter darkness for a while at least. \"How did he get here?\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"Arrived from Oxford afore the blizzard set in, like the others. Seems he's lord of the manor over the bridge, though he don't spend much time there. Run-down old ruin, Polly says it is.\" Gyltha had made friends in the kitchen. \"His pa as took Stephen's side in the war had a castle further upriver during the war, the which King Henry made un pull it down.\"\n\n\"Is he as handsome as Emma thinks he is?\"\n\nBut Adelia saw that here was another that hadn't been taken to\u2014this time, in depth. \"Handsome is as handsome does,\" Gyltha said. \"Older'n I expected, and a proper lord, too, from his way of ordering people about. Been married before, but her died. The Bloats is lickin' his boots for the favor of him making their girl a noblewoman.\" Gyltha leaned forward slightly. \"And him kindly accepting two hundred marks in gold as comes with her for a dowry.\"\n\n\"Two hundred marks?\" An immense sum.\n\n\"So Polly says. In gold.\" Gyltha nodded. \"Ain't short of a shilling or two, our Master Bloat.\"\n\n\"He can't be. Still, if he's prepared to purchase his daughter's happiness\u2026\" She paused. \"Is she happy?\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"Ain't seen her. She's kept to the cloisters. I'da thought she'd come rushing to see this Lord Wolvercote\u2026.\"\n\n\"Wolvercote?\"\n\n\"That's his lordship's name. Suits him, an' all; he do look proper wolfish.\"\n\n\"Gyltha\u2026Wolvercote, that's the man\u2026he's the one who's raised an army for the queen. He's supposed to be at Oxford, waiting for Eleanor to join him.\"\n\n\"Well, he ain't, he's here.\"\n\n\"Is he now? But\u2026\" Adelia was determined to follow the gleam of romance where it led. \"He's not a likely murderer, either. It speaks well for him if he's prepared to delay a war because he can't wait to marry young Emma.\"\n\n\"He's delayin' it,\" Gyltha pointed out, \"for young Emma plus two hundred marks. In gold.\" She leaned forward, pointing with her knitting needle. \"You know the first thing he do when he got back to the village? Finds a couple of rogues robbin' his manor and hangs 'em quicker'n buttered lightning.\"\n\n\"The two on the bridge? I wondered about them.\"\n\n\"Sister Havis ain't happy. She made a right to-do about it, according to Polly. See, it's the abbey's bridge, and the sisters don't like it being decorated with corpses. 'You take 'em down now,' she told his lordship. But he says as it's his bridge, so he won't. And he ain't.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear.\" So much for romance. \"Well, who's the fourth arrival?\"\n\n\"Lawyer. Name of Warin. Now he has been asking questions. Very worried about his young cousin, seemingly, as was last seen riding upriver.\"\n\n\"Warin, Warin. He wrote the letter the boy carried.\" It was as if an ice barrier was melting and allowing everything to flood back into her memory. Your affct cousin, Wlm Warin, gentleman-at-law, who hereby sends: two silvr marks as an earnest of your inheritance, the rest to be Claimed when we do meet.\n\nLetters, always letters. A letter in the dead man's saddlebag. A letter on Rosamund's table. Did they connect the two murders? Not necessarily. People wrote letters when they could write at all. On the other hand\u2026\n\n\"When did Master Warin arrive seeking his cousin?\"\n\n\"Late last night, afore the blizzard. And he's a weeper. Crying fit to bust for worry as his cousin might've got caught in the snow, or been waylaid for his purse. Wanted to cross the bridge and ask at the village, but the snow started blowing, so he couldn't.\"\n\nAdelia worked it out. \"He was quick off the mark to know the boy was missing, then. Talbot of Kidlington\u2014it must be him in the icehouse\u2014was only killed the night before.\"\n\n\"Is that a clue?\" The gleam in Gyltha's eye was predatory.\n\n\"I don't know. Probably not. Oh, dear God, what now?\"\n\nThe church bell across the way had begun to toll, shivering the ewer in its bowl, sending vibrations through the bed. Allie's mouth opened to yell, and Adelia scrambled to get to her and cover her ears. \"What is it? What is it?\" This was no call to worship.\n\nGyltha had her ear to the shutters, trying to listen to shouts in the alley below. \"Everybody to the church.\"\n\n\"Is it fire?\"\n\n\"Dunno. Summoning bell, more like.\" Gyltha ran to the line of pegs where their cloaks hung. Adelia began wrapping Allie in her furs.\n\nOutside, groups of people hurried from both ends of the alley and joined the congestion in the noisy church porch, where those pausing to let others go in chattered in alarm, asking one another questions and receiving no answers. They took noise in with them\u2026and quieted.\n\nThough it was crowded, the church was silent and mostly dark, all light concentrated on the chancel, where men sat in the choir stalls, men, some of them in mail. The bishop's throne had been placed in front of the altar for Queen Eleanor to sit in; she wore her crown, but the enormous chair dwarfed her.\n\nBeside her stood a knight, helmeted, his cloak flung back to show the scarlet-and-black blazon of a wolf's head on the chest of his tabard. A gauntleted hand rested on his sword's hilt. He was so still he might have been a painted sculpture, but his was the figure that drew the eye.\n\nThe trickle of sound that came in with newcomers dried up. Godstow's entire population was here now, all those who could walk, at least. Adelia, fearing that the child in her arms might be crushed, looked round for space and was helped up onto a tomb by people already standing on it. Gyltha and Ward joined her.\n\nThe bell stopped tolling; it had been mere background to what was developing and only became noticeable now by its cessation.\n\nThe knight nodded, and a liveried man behind the choir stalls turned and opened the vestry door, which was the entrance used by the religious.\n\nMother Edyve came in, leaning on her cane, followed by the nuns of Godstow. She paused as she reached the chancel and regarded the men who occupied the places reserved for her and the sisters. The Abbot of Eynsham sat there, so did Schwyz, Montignard, others. None of them moved.\n\nThere was a hiss of appalled breath from the congregation, but Mother Edyve merely cocked her head and limped past them, a finger raised to beckon at her flock as she went down the steps to stand with the congregation.\n\nAdelia peered round the nave, looking for Mansur. She couldn't see him; instead, she found herself looking at mailed men with drawn swords standing at intervals along the walls, as if the ancient stones had sprung rivets of steel and iron.\n\nWarders.\n\nShe turned back. The knight in the chancel had begun speaking.\n\n\"You all know me. I am the Lord of Wolvercote, and from this moment I claim this precinct of Godstow in the name of our Lord Savior and my gracious liege lady, Queen Eleanor of England, to be held against the queen's enemies until such time as her cause prevails throughout this land.\"\n\nIt was a surprisingly high, weak voice from such a tall man, but in that silence it didn't need strength.\n\nThere was a murmur of disbelief. Behind Adelia, somebody said, \"What do he mean?\"\n\nSomebody else muttered, \"Gor bugger, is he tellin' us we're at war?\"\n\nThere was a shout from the nave: \"What enemies is that, then? We ain't got no enemies, we'm all snowed up.\" It sounded to Adelia like the voice of the miller who had questioned Bishop Rowley. There was a general, nervous snigger.\n\nImmediately, two of the men-at-arms against the southern wall barged forward, hitting people aside with the flat of their swords until they reached the interrupter. Seizing his arms, they pulled him through the crowd to the main doors.\n\nIt was the miller. Adelia got a glimpse of a round face, its mouth open in shock. The men dragging him wore the wolf's head blazon. A boy ran after them. \"Pa. Leave my pa alone.\" She couldn't see what happened after that, but the doors slammed shut and silence descended again.\n\n\"There will be no disobedience,\" said the high voice. \"This abbey is now under military rule, and you people are subject to martial law. A curfew will be imposed\u2026.\"\n\nAdelia struggled with disbelief. The most shocking thing about what was happening was its stupidity. Wolvercote was alienating the very people he needed as friends while the snow lasted. Needlessly. As the miller said, there was no enemy. The last she'd heard, the nearest military force was at nearby Oxford\u2014and that was Wolvercote's own.\n\nOh, God, a stupid man\u2014the most dangerous animal of them all.\n\nIn the choir stalls, Montignard was smiling at the queen. Most of the others were watching the crowd in the nave, but the Abbot of Eynsham was examining his fingernails while the scowl on Schwyz's face was that of a man forced to watch a monkey wearing his clothes.\n\nHe wouldn't have done this, Adelia thought. He's a professional. I wouldn't have done it, and I don't know anything about warfare.\n\n\"\u2026the holy women will keep to their cloister, rationing will be introduced while the snow lasts, and one meal a day shall be eaten communally\u2014gentles in the refectory, villeins in the barn. Apart from church services, there shall be no other gatherings. Any group of more than five people is forbidden.\"\n\n\"That's done for his bloody meals, then,\" Gyltha breathed.\n\nAdelia grinned. Here was stupidity in extremis; the kitchen staff alone numbered twenty; if they couldn't congregate, there would be no cooking.\n\nWhatever that man is up to, she thought, this is not the way to do it.\n\nThen she thought, But he doesn't know any other. This is a man for whom frightened people are obedient people.\n\nAnd we are frightened. She could feel it, collective memory like a chill lancing through body heat in the church. An old helplessness. The Horsemen were with them, introduced into their peace by a stupid, stupid swine.\n\nFor what?\n\nAdelia looked to where Schwyz and Abbot Eynsham sat, radiating discomposure. If this is the queen's war, they are all on the same side. Is Wolvercote establishing himself over his allies before he can be challenged? Grabbing authority now? Not the Abbot of Eynsham, not Schwyz, nor any other to win the glory, if glory was to be won. Wolvercote had arrived to find the queen of England at hand and must establish himself as her savior before anyone else could. If she succeeded under his generalship, Wolvercote might even be the true regent of England.\n\nI'm watching a man throw dice.\n\nHe'd come to the end of his orders. He was turning, kneeling to Eleanor, his sword proffered, hilt first, for her to touch. \"Always your servant, lady. To you and God in majesty, I swear my fealty.\"\n\nAnd Eleanor was touching the hilt. Standing up. Skirting him to get to the chancel steps. Raising her small fist. Looking beautiful.\n\n\"I, Eleanor, Queen of England, Duchess of Aquitaine, do swear that you are my people and that I shall love and serve you as I love and serve my gracious Lord, Jesus Christ.\"\n\nIf she expected applause, she didn't get any. But she smiled; she was sure of her charm. \"My good and faithful vassal, Lord Wolvercote, is a man of war, yet he is also a man of love, as shall be witnessed by his marriage to one of your own within a day or two, a celebration to which everyone here shall be invited.\"\n\nThat didn't get any applause, either, but from somewhere deep within the congregation, somebody farted. Loudly.\n\nThe men-at-arms turned their heads this way and that, looking for the culprit, but, though a shiver swept through the crowd, every face remained stolid.\n\nHow I love the English, Adelia thought.\n\nThe Abbot of Eynsham was on his feet, retrieving the situation by administering a blessing. At the \"go in peace,\" the doors opened and they were allowed to file out between a phalanx of armed men who directed them to go home without talking.\n\nBack in their room, Gyltha tore off her cloak. \"Are they all gone daft, or is it me?\"\n\n\"They have.\" She put Allie onto the bed; the child had been bored by the proceedings and had fallen asleep.\n\n\"What's to be gained by it?\"\n\n\"Infighting,\" Adelia said. \"He's making sure he's queen's champion before she can get another. Did you see Schwyz's face? Oh, poor Emma.\"\n\n\"'Queen's champion'?\" scoffed Gyltha. \"If Godstow wasn't for Henry Plantagenet before, it bloody is now\u2014that's what the queen's champion's gone and done.\"\n\nThere was a knock on the door.\n\nIt was the mercenary, Cross, truculent as ever. He addressed Gyltha but pointed his chin at Adelia. \"She's got to come along of me.\"\n\n\"And who are you? Here, you're one of them.\" Angrily, Gyltha pushed the man out onto the steps. \"She ain't going anywhere with you, you pirate, and you can tell that bloody Wolvercote I told you so.\"\n\nThe mercenary staggered under the assault as he held it off. \"I ain't Wolvercote's, I'm Schwyz's.\" He appealed to Adelia. \"Tell her.\"\n\nGyltha kept pushing. \"You're a bastard Fleming, whoever you be. Get away.\"\n\n\"Sister Jennet sent me.\" It was another appeal to Adelia; Sister Jennet was Godstow's infirmarian. \"The doctor wants you for summat. Urgent.\"\n\nGyltha ceased her assault. \"What doctor?\"\n\n\"The darky. Thought he was a bargee, but turns out he's a doctor.\"\n\n\"A patient,\" Adelia said, relieved. Here was something she could deal with. She bent down to kiss Allie and went to get her bag. \"Who is it? What's the trouble?\"\n\nCross said, \"It's Poyns, ain't it?\" as if she should know. \"His arm's bad.\"\n\n\"In what way bad?\"\n\n\"Gone sort of green.\"\n\n\"Hmmm.\" Adelia added her bundle of knives to the bag's equipment.\n\nEven as they left, accompanied by Ward, Gyltha was giving the mercenary little shoves. \"An' you bring her back as good as she goes, you scavengin' bugger, or it's me you'll answer to. And what about your bloody curfew?\"\n\n\"Ain't my curfew,\" Cross shouted back. \"'S Wolvercote's.\"\n\nIt was in operation already. Ward gave a grunt in reply to the bark of a fox somewhere out in the fields, but apart from that, the abbey was quiet. As they skirted the church and turned up by the barn, a sentry stepped out of the doorway of the little, round pepper pot of a building that served as the convent's lockup.\n\nThe flambeau above the doorway shone on his helmet. He had a pike in his hand. \"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"Infirmary, mate,\" Cross told him. \"This here's a nurse. Pal of mine's poorly.\"\n\n\"Give the password.\"\n\n\"What bloody password? I'm a queen's soldier, same as you.\"\n\n\"In the name of Lord Wolvercote, give us the password, see, or I'll run you through.\"\n\n\"Listen here, friend\u2026\" Avoiding the pike, Cross shambled up to the sentry, apparently to explain, and hit him on the jaw.\n\nHe was a short man, Cross, but the taller sentry went down as if poleaxed.\n\nCross didn't even look at him. He gestured to Adelia. \"Come on, will you?\"\n\nBefore obeying, she stooped to make sure the sentry was breathing. He was, and beginning to groan.\n\nOh, well, it had been a password of sorts.\n\n\"I'm coming.\"\n\nSister Jennet was imperiling her immortal soul by bringing in on one of her cases a man she thought to be a heathen doctor. Nor was she doing it any good, either, by acquiescing to the presence of his \"assistant,\" a woman whose relationship with the bishop had caused speculation among the sisterhood.\n\nYet that same bishop during his visit had spoken of the skill and scope of Arab medicine in general and of this practitioner in particular, and if she was religious, Sister Jennet was also a doctor manqu\u00e9; it was against every instinct of her nature to watch one of her patients die from a condition about which she could do nothing but a Saracen could.\n\nThe tug and counter-tug of the battle within her was apparent in the anger with which she greeted Adelia. \"You took your time, mistress. And leave this dog outside. It's bad enough that I have to countenance mercenaries in the ward.\" The infirmaress glared at Cross, who cowered.\n\nAdelia had seen infirmaries where Ward's presence would have improved the smell. But not here. She looked around her; the long ward was as clean as any she'd encountered. Fresh straw on its boards, the scent of burning herbs from the braziers, white sheets, every patient's head cropped close against lice, and the ordered bustle of the attendant nuns suggesting that here was efficient care for the sick.\n\nShe shut Ward outside. \"Perhaps you would tell me what I can do.\"\n\nSister Jennet was taken aback; Adelia's manner and plainness of dress were unexpected in a bishop's moll. Somewhat mollified, the infirmaress explained what she required of Dr. Mansur. \"\u2026but we are both imprisoned in the damned Tower of Babel.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Adelia said. \"You can't understand him.\" Mansur probably understood quite well but could not move without her.\n\n\"Nor he me. It is why I sent for you. You speak his tongue, I understand.\" She paused. \"Is he as skilled as Bishop Rowley declared him to be?\" At the mention of the name, her eyes flickered to Adelia's face and away.\n\n\"You will not be disappointed,\" Adelia promised her.\n\n\"Well, anything is better than the village barber. Don't stand there. Come along.\" She glared again at the mercenary. \"You, too, I suppose.\"\n\nThe patient was at the far end of the ward. They'd put woven screens of withies round the bed, but the smell coming from beyond confirmed the reason for Sister Jennet's need of unchristian help.\n\nHe was a young man, his terror at his surroundings enhanced by the tall, white-robed, dark-faced figure looming over him. \"It don't hurt,\" he kept saying. \"It don't hurt.\"\n\nMansur spoke in Arabic. \"Where have you been?\"\n\nAdelia replied in the same tongue. \"Summoned to church. We're under military rule.\"\n\n\"Who are we fighting?\"\n\n\"God knows. Snowmen. What have we got here?\"\n\nMansur leaned forward and gently lifted a covering of lint from the boy's left arm.\n\n\"No time to waste, I think.\"\n\nThere wasn't. The mangled lower arm was black and discharging stinking, yellow pus.\n\n\"How did it happen?\" Adelia demanded in English\u2014and added, as she so often had to, \"The doctor wants to know.\"\n\nCross spoke up. \"Caught it under a cartwheel on the march to the tower, clumsy young bugger. Put some ointment on it, can't you?\"\n\n\"Can you leave him his elbow?\" Mansur asked.\n\n\"No.\" The telltale signs of necrosis were already racing upward beyond the joint.\n\n\"We'll be lucky if we can save his life.\"\n\n\"Why did the little woman not do it herself earlier?\"\n\n\"She can't. She's not allowed to shed blood.\"\n\nThe Church's proscription against surgery was absolute. Sister Jennet could not disobey it.\n\nMansur's hawklike nose wrinkled. \"They would leave him to die?\"\n\n\"They were going to send for the Wolvercote barber.\" The horror of it overcame her. \"A barber, dear God.\"\n\n\"A barber who sheds blood? He need not shave me, Imshallah.\"\n\nEven had he been called in, the barber would have had to do his work in the kitchen to avoid offending God's nose with bloodshed in the area of the sacred cloister. Now, so would Adelia. This added tussle of medicine versus her religion caused such turbulence in Sister Jennet that she made arrangements for the operation in a rap of furious orders, and watched Mansur carry her patient out of the ward as if she hated them both. \"And you,\" she shouted at the despised Cross, \"you crawl back to your kennel. They don't want you.\"\n\n\"We do,\" Adelia told her. \"He\u2026er, he knows the password.\"\n\nHowever, the procession of doctor, patient, doctor's assistant, her dog, mercenary, and two nuns bearing clean linen and palliasse went unchallenged as it emerged via the door from the infirmary chapel and turned left toward the kitchen.\n\nAdelia let the others go in first and caught Cross by the front of his jerkin before he could enter. She was going to need him; the patient would be less frightened if Cross, his friend, were present. She didn't like Cross much\u2014well, he didn't like her\u2014but she thought she could trust him to keep silent. \"Listen to me, that boy's arm has to come off, and I\u2026\"\n\n\"What you mean 'come off'?\"\n\nShe kept it simple. \"There's poison spreading up your friend's arm. If it gets to his heart, he will die.\"\n\n\"Ain't the darky going to say magic words over it or summat?\"\n\n\"No, he's going to amputate, cut it off. Or rather, I am going to do it for him but\u2026\"\n\n\"Can't. You're a woman.\"\n\nAdelia shook him; there wasn't time for this. \"Have you seen the state of the doctor's hands? They're in bandages. You will hear him talk and see me work but\u2026\"\n\n\"He's going to tell you what to do, is that it?\" Cross was slightly reassured. \"Here, though, what's my lad going to do without his bloody arm?\"\n\n\"What's he going to do without his bloody life?\" Adelia shook the man again. \"The point is\u2026you must swear never to tell anybody, anybody, what you see tonight. Do you understand?\"\n\nCross's unlovely, troubled face cleared. \"Is magic, ain't it? The darky's going to do sorcery, that's why the nuns ain't allowed to see.\"\n\n\"Who's your patron saint?\"\n\n\"Saint Acacias, a'course. He always done well by me.\"\n\n\"Swear on him that you will not tell.\"\n\nCross swore.\n\nThe kitchen was deserted for the night. The nuns prepared its enormous chopping block with the palliasse and clean sheets for the patient to lie on, then bowed and left.\n\nYoung Poyns's eyes were goggling in his head and his breathing was fast; he was feverish and very frightened. \"It don't hurt. It don't hurt at all.\"\n\nAdelia smiled at him. \"No, it wouldn't. And it won't, you're going to go to sleep.\" She got the opium bottle and a clean cloth out of her bag. Mansur was already lowering her net of knives into the bubbling pot of water hanging from a jack over the fire; hot steel cut better than cold.\n\nThe light in the kitchen, however, was insufficient. \"You,\" she said to Cross. \"Two candles. One in each hand. Hold them where I tell you, but don't let them drip.\"\n\nCross was watching Mansur raise the knives from the pot and take them out of the net with his bandaged hands. \"You sure he knows what he's doing?\"\n\n\"Candles,\" Adelia hissed at him. \"Help or get out.\"\n\nHe helped; at least, he held the candles, but as she put the opium-soaked cloth over the patient's face, he tried to intervene. \"You're smotherin' him, you bitch.\" Mansur held him back.\n\nShe had a few seconds; the boy must not breathe the opium too long. \"This arm has to come off. You know that really, don't you? He may die anyway, but he can't live if I don't operate right away.\"\n\n\"He's telling you what to do, though?\" Cross had begun to be overawed by Mansur, who, with his strength, his robe, and kaffiyeh, was impressive. \"He's a sorcerer, ain't he? That's why he talks funny.\"\n\n\"You'll have to appear to be instructing me,\" Adelia said in Arabic.\n\nMansur began gabbling in Arabic.\n\nShe had to work fast, thanking God that opium grew plentifully in the Cambridgeshire fens and she had brought a good supply but measuring its benignity against its danger.\n\nThe world shrank to a tabletop.\n\nSince he had to keep talking, Mansur chose as his theme Kit b'Alf Layla wa-Layla, also known as The Book of a Thousand Nights. So an Oxfordshire convent kitchen rang with the high-pitched voice of a castrato recounting in Arabic the stories that the Persian Scheherazade had concocted for her sultan husband three hundred years earlier in order to delay her execution. He'd told them to Adelia as a child and she had loved them. Now she heard them no more than she heard the pop and crackle of the fire.\n\nHad Rowley, saved from the cold waters, entered the kitchen, Adelia wouldn't have looked up, nor recognized him if she had. The mention of her child's name would have brought the response \"Who?\" There was only the patient\u2014not even him, really, just his arm. Fold back the flaps of skin.\n\n\"Suturae.\"\n\nMansur slapped a threaded needle into her outstretched hand and began mopping blood.\n\nArteries, veins.\n\nSaw the bone or cleave it? How the patient might manage his life with only a shoulder stump was not her concern; her thinking could only advance at the speed of the operation.\n\nA heavy object thumped into the kitchen waste pail.\n\nMore stitches. Ointment, lint, bandage.\n\nAt last she wiped her forearm across her forehead. Slowly, her vision expanded to take in the beams and pots and a roaring fire.\n\nSomebody was bothering her. \"What's he say? Will he be all right?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"That was wunnerrful, though, weren't it?\" Cross was shaking Mansur warmly by the hand. \"Tell him he's a marvel.\"\n\n\"You're a marvel,\" Adelia said in Arabic.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"How are your hands, my dear?\" she asked. \"Can you carry him back to the infirmary?\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"Then wrap him up warm and be quick before the soporific wears off. Careful of his shoulder. Tell Sister Jennet he's likely to vomit when he comes round. I'll be along in a minute.\"\n\n\"He'll live now, won't he? Going to be all right, the lad, ain't he?\"\n\nShe turned on the botherer. She was always bad-tempered at this point; it had been a race and, like a runner, she needed time to recover and\u2014Cross, was it?\u2014wasn't giving her any.\n\n\"The doctor doesn't know,\" she said\u2014to hell with the bedside manner; it wasn't as if this man had been nice to her on the boat. \"Your friend has youth on his side, but his injury was poisoned for too long and\"\u2014she leaned in to the attack\u2014\"should have been treated before this. Now go away and leave me alone.\"\n\nShe watched him slouch off after the laden Mansur, then sat herself by the fire, making lists in her head. There was plenty of willow bark, thanks be; the patient would need it for the pain. If he lived.\n\nThe stink of decomposition coming from the kitchen pail was a worry to her; after all, this was the kitchen that served their food. A rat appeared from behind a cupboard, its whiskers twitching in the direction of the pail. Adelia reached for the woodpile and threw a log at it.\n\nWhat to do with severed limbs? In Salerno, she'd had other people to dispose of them. She'd always suspected they mixed them with the pigs' swill; it was one of the reasons she had been wary of eating pork.\n\nWrapping herself in her cloak and carrying the bucket, she went out into the alley to find some place of disposal. It was shockingly cold after the kitchen's heat, and very dark.\n\nFarther down the alley someone began screaming. Went on screaming.\n\n\"I can't,\" Adelia said out loud. \"I just can't.\" But she began blundering toward the sound, hoping somebody else would get there first and deal with whatever it was.\n\nA lantern came bobbing out of the darkness with the sound of running. \"Who's that?\" It was the messenger, Jacques. \"Oh, it's you, mistress.\"\n\n\"Yes. What is that?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nThey trotted toward it, being joined as they went by other lanterns that gave glimpses of alarmed faces and slippered feet.\n\nPast the laundry, past the smithy, past the stables\u2014all of it d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu, and horrible because Adelia now knew where the screams were coming from.\n\nThe cowshed doors were open, with people clustering around outside them, some trying to comfort a hysterical milkmaid, though most were transfixed and gaping, holding their lanterns high so that light shone on the dangling figure of Bertha.\n\nA strap round her neck hung her from a hook in a beam. Her bare toes pointed downward toward a milking stool where it lay on its side among the straw.\n\nThe nuns lamented over the dead girl. What, they asked, could have possessed her to commit suicide, that so very grievous sin? Had she not known that God was the owner of her life and, consequently, that she had committed an unlawful act against God's own dominion, forbidden by Scripture and Church?\n\nNo, Adelia thought angrily, Bertha hadn't known that; nobody would have taught her.\n\nGuilt, the sisters said. Hers was the hand that had given poisoned mushrooms to Rosamund; remorse had overcome her.\n\nBut they were good and charitable women, and though Bertha would have to be interred in unconsecrated ground outside their convent walls, they took the body to their own chapel to keep a vigil over it in the meantime. They chanted prayers for the dead as they went. The crowd from the cowshed followed them.\n\nBertha had never had so much attention. Death in such a small community, after all, was always an event; felo-de-se was unheard of and worthy of much attention.\n\nAs she followed the procession through the dark alleys, Adelia stayed angry, thinking how wrong it was that a creature who had been denied so much in her short life must now be denied even a Christian burial.\n\nJacques, walking beside her, shook his head. \"Terrible thing this is, mistress. To hang herself, poor soul. Felt herself responsible for Lady Rosamund's death, I reckon.\"\n\n\"She didn't, though, Jacques. You were there. 'Not my fault, not my fault.' She said it over and over.\" It was one thing Bertha had been clear about.\n\n\"Well, then, she was mortal afraid of Dame Dakers. Couldn't face her, I reckon.\"\n\nYes, she had been afraid of Dakers. That would be the verdict. Either Bertha had suffered intolerable remorse for the death of her mistress or she had been so terrified of what Dakers would do to her that she had preferred to take her own life.\n\n\"It's wrong,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"A sin,\" Jacques agreed. \"God have mercy on her soul all the same.\"\n\nBut it was wrong, everything was wrong. The scene of Bertha hanging from the hook had been wrong.\n\nThey were approaching the chapel. Such laypeople as had been accompanying the body stopped. This was the nuns' territory; they must stay outside. Even if she could have gone on, Adelia couldn't bear it anymore, not Jacques and his gloomy chatter, not the accompanying, expostulating men and women, not the nuns' chanting. \"Where's the guesthouse from here?\"\n\nJacques showed her the way back. \"A good night's sleep, mistress. That's what you need.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" But it wasn't fatigue, though she was very tired, it was the wrongness of everything. It hammered at her mind like something wanting to come in.\n\nThe messenger lighted her up the steps and then went off, muttering and shaking his head.\n\nGyltha had heard the screaming even from their room and had called out the window to find its cause. \"Bad business,\" she said. \"They're saying sorrow made her do it, poor mite.\"\n\n\"Or perhaps she was frightened that Dame Dakers would turn her into a mouse and give her to the cat, yes, I know.\"\n\nGyltha looked up from her knitting, alerted. \"Oh, ar? What's this?\"\n\n\"It's wrong.\" Adelia fondled Ward's ears, then pushed the dog away.\n\nGyltha's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more on the subject. \"How's the Fleming?\"\n\n\"I don't think he'll survive.\" Adelia wandered to their communal bed and soothed back her sleeping daughter's hair.\n\n\"Serve un right.\" Gyltha didn't hold with mercenaries, whose extensive use during the Stephen and Matilda war had made them universally loathed. Whether they came from Flanders or not\u2014and most of them did\u2014the name \"Fleming\" had become a euphemism for rape, pillage, and cruelty. \"One thing about the king,\" she said, \"he got rid of all they bastards, and now Eleanor's bringing 'em back.\"\n\n\"Hmmm.\"\n\nGyltha raised her eyebrows. She'd prepared a hot posset\u2014the room smelled deliciously of hot milk and rum. She handed a beaker to Adelia. \"You know what time it is?\" She pointed to the hour marks on the candle by the bed. \"Time you was in bed. Nearly morning. They'll be singing Matins soon.\"\n\n\"It's all wrong, Gyltha.\"\n\nGyltha sighed; she knew the signs. \"It'll keep til morning.\"\n\n\"No, it won't.\" Adelia roused herself and refastened her cloak. \"A measure, I need a measure. Have we any string?\"\n\nThere was cord that they used to bind their traveling packs. \"And I want that back,\" Gyltha said. \"Good cord that is. Where you going?\"\n\n\"I left the medicine bag in the kitchen. I'd better go and get it.\"\n\n\"You stay there,\" Gyltha told her sharply. \"You ain't going nowhere without that old Arab goes, too.\"\n\nBut Adelia had gone, taking the cord and a lantern with her. Not to the kitchen. She made her way to the nuns' chapel. It was dawn.\n\nThey had laid Bertha's body on a catafalque in the little nave. The sheet they'd covered it with dragged all the vague light from the high windows to its own oblong whiteness, condemning the rest of the space to a misty dust.\n\nAdelia strode up the nave, the shushing of her feet in the rushes disturbing the quiet so that the nun on her knees at the foot of the catafalque turned to see who it was.\n\nAdelia paid her no attention. She put the lantern on the floor while she turned back the sheet.\n\nBertha's face had a bluish tint; the tip of her tongue was just visible where it stuck out of the side of her mouth. This, with her tiny nose, gave her a look of impudence, like some fairy child.\n\nThe nun\u2014she was one Adelia didn't know\u2014hissed her concern as Adelia picked up the lantern and, with the other hand, pulled back Bertha's lids to expose the eyes.\n\nThere were flecks of blood in their whites. Only to be expected.\n\nGetting onto her knees, Adelia held the lantern as close as she could to the neck. There were lines from the edges of the strap that the girl had hung by, but there were other marks\u2014gouges that traveled down the throat.\n\nAnd running horizontally around the skin of the neck beneath the strap bruises was a line of tiny circular indentations.\n\nThe nun was on her feet, trying to flap Adelia away from the body. \"What are you doing? You are disturbing the dead.\"\n\nAdelia ignored her, didn't even hear her. She recovered Bertha's face with the sheet and turned it back at the other end, lifting the girl's skirts to expose the lower body.\n\nThe nun ran from the chapel.\n\nThe vagina showed no sign of tearing or, as far as it was possible to see, any trace of semen.\n\nAdelia replaced the sheet.\n\nDamn. There was a way of knowing. Her old tutor, Gordinus, had shown her by opening the necks of prisoners who'd been hanged and comparing their hyoid bones with bones of those who'd been garroted\u2014a form of execution peculiar to a district of Pavia, which had inherited it from the Romans. \"See, my dear? The bone is rarely broken in garroting, whereas it is, almost invariably, in hanging. Thus, if we are suspicious in a case of strangulation, we may distinguish whether it was self-inflicted or the result of an attack by another. Also, in the case of hanged suicides, there is seldom bleeding into the neck muscles, whereas if we find it in a corpse supposed to have hanged itself, we have cause to be suspicious that we are looking at a case of murder.\"\n\nA dissection\u2026if she could just do a dissection\u2026oh, well, she'd have to rely on measurements\u2026\n\n\"And what is this?\" The deep voice rang through the chapel, dispelling its quiet, seeming to disturb the dust motes and bring in a sharper light.\n\nThe nun was gabbling. \"Do you see her, my lord? This woman\u2026\"\n\n\"I see her.\" He turned on Adelia, who had run the cord from the top of Bertha's head to her bare toes. \"Are you mad? Why do you dishonor the dead, mistress? Even one such as this?\"\n\n\"Hmmm.\" Having made a knot in it, Adelia wound the cord around her hand and began vaguely wandering toward the door.\n\nSplendid in breadth and height and color, the abbot blocked her way. \"I asked, mistress, why you interfere with the poor soul lying there?\" The West Country accent had gone, replaced by schooled vowels.\n\nAdelia moved past him. The strap, she thought, perhaps it's still in the cowshed. And my chain.\n\nThe abbot watched her go and then, with a sweep of his arms, sent the nun back to her vigil.\n\nOutside, despite a suicide, the presence of a queen, occupation by her mercenaries, and the terrible cold, the wheel of the abbey's day was being sent spinning. Slipping on dirty, nobbling ice, Godstow's people hurried past her to reawaken damped-down fires and start their work.\n\nJacques caught up with Adelia as she passed the stables. \"I waited, mistress. What's to be done with this?\" He was carrying a bucket and swung it in front of her so that she had to stop. It contained an arm; Adelia stared at it for a moment before remembering that, in what seemed like another epoch, she had performed an amputation.\n\n\"I don't know. Bury it somewhere, I suppose.\" She pressed on.\n\n\"Bury it,\" Jacques said, looking after her. \"And the ground like bloody iron.\"\n\nThe cowshed in daylight. Warm, despite the open doors. Sun shining onto its bespattered floor, quiet except for a rhythmic swish from one of the stalls, where a young woman was milking. The stool she sat on was the one that had been kicked over underneath Bertha's hanging body.\n\nHer name, she said, was Peg, and it was she who, entering the shed early to begin the morning's milking, had discovered Bertha. The sight had sent her into screams, and she'd had to run back home for a drop of her mother's soothing cordial before she could face returning to the scene and start work.\n\n\"'Tis why I'm so late today. These poor beasts've been lowing for me to come and relieve 'em but 'twas the shock, d'ye see. Opened the doors and there she was. Never get over it, I won't. This old shed, 'twill never be the same again, not to me it won't.\"\n\nAdelia knew how she felt; the comforting smell of animal flatulence and straw, the innocent homeliness of the place had been invaded. An ancient beam from which a body had hung was now a gibbet. She wouldn't get over it, either. Bertha had died here, and of all the deaths, Bertha's cried out the loudest.\n\n\"Can I help ye, mistress?\" Peg wanted to know, carrying on milking.\n\n\"I'm looking for a necklet, a cross and chain. I gave it to Bertha. She isn't wearing it now, and I'd like to put it in her grave with her.\"\n\nPeg's cap went askew as she shook her head without it losing contact with the cow's ribs. \"Never seen un.\"\n\nIn her mind's eye, Adelia resurrected the scene of an hour or so ago. A man\u2014she thought it was Fitchet the gatekeeper\u2014had run forward, righted the stool that lay below Bertha's feet, stood on it, and lifted the body so that the strap it hung by came free of the beam's hook.\n\nWhat, then? That's right, that's right, other men had helped him lay the body down. Somebody had undone the strap and tossed it away. The people clustering around, hopelessly trying to revive the dead girl, had hindered Adelia from seeing whether her cross and chain was on Bertha's neck. If it had been, the strap had covered it and pressed it tightly against the girl's skin as she hanged, forcing its links into her flesh and causing those indentations.\n\nBut if she hadn't been wearing it\u2026\n\nAdelia began looking around.\n\nIn a cobwebby corner, she found the strap. It was a belt, an old one. A worn rivet showed where the owner had been wont to fasten it, but at the far end of the leather, another rivet had been badly contorted where it had been slipped over the hook on the beam and taken the weight of Bertha's body.\n\n\"Where did she get a belt from, I wonder?\" Adelia asked herself out loud, putting it over her shoulder.\n\n\"Dunno, she never had no belt,\" Peg said.\n\nThat's right. She hadn't. Adelia walked slowly to the far end of the cowshed, kicking up wisps of hay as she went to see if they hid anything.\n\nBehind her came the swish of milk as it went into the pail and Peg's reflective voice: \"Poor thing, I can't think what come to her. 'Course, she were a bit of a looby, but even so\u2026\"\n\n\"Did she say anything to you?\"\n\n\"Said a lot, always muttering away up the other end there, enough to give you goose bumps, but I paid her no mind.\"\n\nAdelia reached the stall that Bertha had occupied. It was dark here. She balanced the lantern on top of a partition and went down on her knees to start sifting the straw, feeling through it to the hard-packed earth underneath.\n\nShe heard Peg address her cow, \"You're done then, madam,\" and the friendly slap on its rump as the milkmaid left it to go on to the next, and the sound of footfalls as some new person entered the shed, and Peg's voice again: \"And a good morning to you, Master Jacques.\"\n\n\"Good morning to you, Mistress Peg.\"\n\nThere was flirtation in both voices that brought a lightness to the day. Jacques, Adelia thought, despite his sticking-out ears and breathy overeagerness, had made a conquest.\n\nHe came hurrying up the aisle and paused to watch Adelia as she scrabbled. \"I buried it, mistress.\"\n\n\"What? Oh, good.\"\n\n\"Can I help whatever it is you're doing, mistress?\" He was becoming used to her eccentricities.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nBecause she'd found it. Her fingers had encountered the harsh thread of metal, little and broken\u2014the cross was held by the fastening, but farther along, the links had snapped.\n\nGod help us all. This, then, was where it had happened. In this dark stall, Bertha had torn at her own neck in an attempt to dislodge the necklet with which strong hands were strangling her.\n\nOh, the poor child.\n\nAdelia again saw Bertha crawling toward her, sniffing, telling her what the old woman in the forest, who had given her the mushrooms for Rosamund, had smelled like.\n\n\"Purty. Like you.\"\n\nThe memory was unbearable. The short, sad little life ending in violence\u2026Why? Who?\n\n\"Mistress?\" Jacques was becoming troubled by her stillness.\n\nAdelia picked herself up. Gripping the necklet, she walked with the messenger down to where Peg was pouring her full pail of foaming milk into a bigger bucket, her backside giving a provocative wiggle at Jacques's approach.\n\nThe milking stool. She knew now that Bertha had been murdered, but there was just one more proof\u2026.\n\nAs Peg went to collect the stool to take it to the next cow, Adelia was ahead of her. \"May I have this for a moment?\"\n\nPeg and Jacques stared as she took the stool and placed it directly under the hook in the beam. She unwound the length of cord from her hand and pushed it toward Jacques. \"Measure me.\"\n\n\"Measure you, mistress?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" She was becoming irritable. \"From my crown to my feet.\"\n\nShrugging, he held one end of the cord to the top of Adelia's head and let it drop. He stooped and pinched the place where it touched the ground. \"There. You're not very tall, mistress.\"\n\nShe tried to smile at him\u2014his own lack of height bothered him; without his raised boots, he wouldn't be much higher than she was. Looking at the cord where he held it, she saw that it extended a little way from the knot she had made when she'd measured the corpse on the catafalque. She was nearly two inches taller than Bertha had been.\n\nNow to see.\n\nPeg said, \"She got excited yesterday, round about evening milkin', now I come to think on it.\"\n\n\"Who did? Bertha?\"\n\n\"Said she'd got summat to tell the lady with the cross and went rushin' out. That's what she'd call a nun, I suppose, on account of she didn't know better.\"\n\nNo, Adelia thought, it was me. I was the lady with the cross. \"Where did she go?\"\n\n\"Can't have been far,\" Peg said, \"for she were soon back and takin' on like she'd seen the devil stinkin' of sulphur. Summat about acres.\"\n\n\"Dakers?\" Jacques asked.\n\n\"Could've been.\"\n\n\"Must've seen Dame Dakers,\" Jacques said. \"She was mortal afraid of that woman.\"\n\nAdelia asked, \"She didn't say what it was she wanted to tell the nun?\"\n\n\"Kept mutterin' something about wasn't her, 'twas him.\"\n\nAdelia steadied herself against a stall's stanchion, grasping it hard. \"Could it have been: 'It wasn't a her, it was a him'?\"\n\n\"Could've been.\"\n\n\"Hmmm.\" She wanted to think about it, but the cows farther up the line were lowing with discomfort, and Peg was becoming restive at the annexation of her milking stool.\n\nAdelia slipped the belt into its buckle and put it round her neck, pulling it close. Stepping up on the stool, she tried extending the free piece of the belt to the hook, managing only to make the end of the leather touch it, leaving a gap between hook and rivet. She stood on tiptoe; rivet and hook still didn't meet\u2014and she was taller than Bertha had been.\n\n\"It's too short,\" she said. \"The belt's too short.\"\n\nThat was what had bothered her. The sight of the dangling body had been too shocking to take in at the time, but her mind had registered it\u2014Bertha's feet could not have reached the stool to kick it away.\n\nShe began choking, struggling to get the buckle undone before unseen arms could lift her up and attach the belt to the hook; she couldn't breathe.\n\nJacques's hands fumbled at her neck and she fought them, as Bertha had fought those of her killer. \"All right, mistress,\" he said. \"Steady. Steady now.\" When he'd got the belt off, he held her arm and stroked her back as if soothing a frightened cat. \"Steady now. Steady.\"\n\nPeg was watching them as if at the capering insane. Jacques nodded at her, indicating the stool, and with relief she took it up and went back to her cows.\n\nAdelia stood where she was, listening as Peg's capable, cold-chapped hands squeezed and relaxed on the cow's teats, sending milk into the pail with the regularity of a soft drumbeat.\n\n\"It wasn't a her, it was a him.\"\n\nJacques's eyes questioned her; he, at least, had understood what she'd been about.\n\n\"Well,\" Adelia said, \"at least now Bertha can be buried in consecrated ground.\"\n\n\"Not suicide?'\n\n\"No. She was murdered.\"\n\nShe saw again how his young face could age.\n\n\"Dakers,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "The nuns thought the same.\n\n\"Let me understand you,\" Mother Edyve said. \"You are saying that Dame Dakers hanged that poor child?\"\n\nThey were in the chapter house; the abbess was in conclave with her senior nuns.\n\nThey had not welcomed Adelia. After all, they had serious matters to mull over: Their abbey had been as good as invaded; dangerous mercenaries occupied it; there were bodies hanging from their bridge; if the snow continued, they would soon run out of supplies. They did not want to listen to the outlandish, unsettling report of a murder\u2014murder?\u2014in their midst.\n\nHowever, Adelia had done one thing right; she had brought Mansur along. Gyltha had persuaded her. \"They won't pay you no mind,\" she'd said, \"but they might attend to that old Arab.\" And after a few hours' sleep, Adelia had decided she was right. Mansur had been recommended to the nuns by their bishop, he looked impressive, he stood high in the estimation of their infirmaress; above all, he was a man, and as such, even though a foreigner, he carried more weight than she did.\n\nIt had been difficult to get a hearing until the chapter meeting was over, but Adelia had refused to wait. \"This is the king's business,\" she'd said. For so it was; murder, wherever it occurred, came under royal jurisdiction. The lord Mansur, she told them, was skilled in uncovering crimes, had originally been called to England by Henry II's warrant to look into the deaths of some Cambridgeshire children\u2014well, so he had, in a way\u2014and the killer had been found.\n\nApologizing for Mansur's insufficiency in their language, she had pretended to interpret for him. She'd begged them to examine for themselves the marks on Bertha's neck, had shown them the evidence by which she proved murder\u2026and heard her voice scrabbling at them as uselessly as Bertha's fingers had scrabbled at the necklet strangling her.\n\nShe answered Mother Edyve, \"The lord Mansur is not accusing Dame Dakers. He is saying that somebody hanged Bertha. She did not hang herself.\"\n\nIt was too gruesome for them. Here, in their familiar, wooden-crucked English chapter house, stood a towering figure in outlandish clothing\u2014a heathen, king's warrant or not\u2014telling them what they did not want to hear through the medium of a woman with a dubious reputation.\n\nThey didn't have investigative minds. It seemed as if none of them, not even their canny old abbess, possessed the ferocious curiosity that drove Adelia herself, nor any curiosity at all. All questions had been answered for them by the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the rule instituted by Saint Benedict.\n\nNor were they too concerned with earthly justice. The murderer, if a murderer there was, would be sentenced more terribly when he faced the Great Judge, to whom all sins were known, than by any human court.\n\nThe belt, the broken chain, and the measuring cord lay snaked on the table before them, but they kept their eyes away.\n\nWell, yes, they said, but was the lack of distance between Bertha's feet and the milking stool significant? Surely that poor misguided girl could have somehow climbed onto one of the cowshed stalls with the belt round her neck and jumped? Who knew what strength was given to the desperate? Certainly, Bertha had been in fear of what Dame Dakers might do to her, but did not that in itself argue felo-de-se?\n\nRowley, if only you were here\u2026\n\n\"It was murder,\" Adelia insisted. \"Lord Mansur has proved it was murder.\"\n\nMother Edyve considered the matter. \"I would not have credited Dakers with the strength.\"\n\nAdelia despaired. It was like being on a toasting fork\u2014whichever side was presented, it was flipped over so that the other faced the fire. If Bertha had been murdered, then Dakers, revenging Rosamund's death, had been the murderer\u2014who else could it have been? If Dakers wasn't the murderer, then Bertha had not been murdered.\n\n\"Perhaps one of the Flemings did it, Wolvercote's or Schwyz's,\" Sister Bullard, the cellaress, said. \"They are lustful, violent men, especially in liquor. Which reminds me, Mother, we must set a guard on the cellars. They are already stealing our wine.\"\n\nThat opened a floodgate of complaint: \"Mother, how are we to feed them all?\"\n\n\"Mother, the mercenaries\u2026I fear for our young women.\"\n\n\"And our people\u2014look how they beat the poor miller.\"\n\n\"The courtiers are worse, Mother. The lewd songs they sing\u2026\"\n\nAdelia was sorry for them. On top of their worries, here were two strange persons, who had arrived at Godstow in company with a murdered body from the bridge, now suggesting that another killer was at large within the abbey's very walls.\n\nThe sisters did not\u2014indeed, could not\u2014blame them for either death, but Adelia knew from some sideways looks from under the nuns' veils that she and Mansur had acquired the taint of carrion.\n\n\"Even if what Lord Mansur says is true, Mother,\" said Sister Gregoria, the almoner, \"what can be done about it? We are snowed up; we cannot send for the sheriff's coroner until the thaw.\"\n\n\"And while the snow lasts, King Henry cannot rescue us,\" Sister Bullard pointed out. \"Until he can, our abbey, our very existence, is in peril.\"\n\nThat was what mattered to them. Their abbey had survived one conflict between warring monarchs; it might not survive another. If the queen should oust the king, she would necessarily reward the blackguard Wolvercote, who had secured her victory\u2014and Lord Wolvercote had long desired Godstow and its lands. The nuns could envisage a future in which they begged for their bread in the streets.\n\n\"Allow Lord Mansur to continue his inquiries,\" Adelia pleaded. \"At least do not bury Bertha in unconsecrated ground until all the facts are known.\"\n\nMother Edyve nodded. \"Please tell Lord Mansur we are grateful for his interest,\" she said in her fluting, emotionless voice. \"You may leave us to question Dame Dakers. After that, we shall pray for guidance in the matter.\"\n\nIt was a dismissal. Mansur and Adelia had to bow and leave.\n\nDiscussion broke out behind them almost before they'd reached the door\u2014but it was not about Bertha. \"Yes, but where is the king? How may he come to our aid if he doesn't even know we are in need of it? We cannot trust that Bishop Rowley reached him\u2014I fear for his death.\"\n\nAs the two went out of the chapter house door, Mansur said, \"The women are frightened. They will not help us search for the killer.\"\n\n\"I haven't even persuaded them there is a killer,\" Adelia said.\n\nThey were skirting the infirmary when, behind them, a voice called Adelia's name. It was the prioress. She came up, puffing. \"A word, if I may, mistress.\" Adelia nodded, bowed a farewell to Mansur, and turned back.\n\nFor a while, the two women went in silence.\n\nSister Havis, Adelia realized, had not spoken a word during the discussion in the chapter house. She was aware, too, that the nun did not like her. To walk with her was like accompanying the apotheosis of the cold that gripped the abbey, a figure denuded of warmth, as frozen as the icicles spiking the edge of every roof.\n\nOutside the nuns' chapel, the prioress stopped. She kept her face averted from Adelia, and her voice was hard. \"I cannot approve of you,\" she said. \"I did not approve of Rosamund. The tolerance that Mother Abbess extends to sins of the flesh is not mine.\"\n\n\"If that's all you have to say\u2026\" Adelia said, walking away.\n\nSister Havis strode after her. \"It is not, but it has to be spoken.\" She withdrew a mittened hand from under her scapular and held it out to bar Adelia's progress. In it were the broken necklet, the measuring cord, and the belt. She said, \"I intend to use these objects as you have done, in investigation. I shall go to the cowshed. Whatever your weaknesses, mistress, I recognize an analytical soul.\"\n\nAdelia stopped.\n\nThe prioress kept her thin face turned away. \"I travel,\" she said. \"Mine is the work to administer our lands around the country, in consequence of which I see more of the dung heap of humanity than do my sisters. I see it in its iniquity and error, its disregard for the flames of hell which await it.\"\n\nAdelia was still. This was not just a lecture on sin; Sister Havis had something to tell her.\n\n\"Yet,\" the prioress went on, \"there is greater evil. I was present at Rosamund Clifford's bedside; I witnessed her terrible end. For all that she was adulterous, the woman should not have died as she did.\"\n\nAdelia went on waiting.\n\n\"Our bishop had visited her a day or two before; he questioned her servants and went away again. Rosamund was still well then, but he believed from what he'd been told that there had been a deliberate attempt to poison her, which, as you and I know, subsequently succeeded.\" Suddenly, the prioress's head turned and she was glaring into Adelia's eyes. \"Is that what he told you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Adelia said. \"It was why he brought us here. He knew the blame would fall on the queen. He wanted to uncover the real killer and avert a war.\"\n\n\"He set great store by you, then, mistress.\" It was a sneer.\n\n\"Yes, he did,\" Adelia hissed back at her. Her feet were numb with standing, and her grief for Rowley was undoing her. \"Tell me whatever you want to tell me, or let me go. In God's name, are we discussing Rosamund, Bertha, or the bishop?\"\n\nThe prioress blinked; she had not expected anger.\n\n\"Bertha,\" she said, with something like conciliation. \"We are discussing Bertha. It may interest you to know, mistress, that I took charge of Dame Dakers yesterday. The female is deranged, and I did not want her roaming the abbey. Just before Vespers I locked her in the warming room for the night.\"\n\nAdelia's head went up. \"What time is evening milking?\"\n\n\"After Vespers.\"\n\nThey had begun walking in step. \"Bertha was still alive then,\" Adelia said. \"The milkmaid saw her.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have talked to Peg.\"\n\n\"I knew it wasn't Dakers.\"\n\nThe prioress nodded. \"Not unless the wretched female can walk through a thick and bolted door. Which, I may say, most of my sisters are prepared to believe that she can.\"\n\n\"You may say, you may say.\" Adelia stopped, furious. \"Why didn't you say all this in chapter?\"\n\nThe prioress faced her. \"You were making yourself busy proving to us that Bertha was murdered. I happened to know Dakers could not have killed her. The question then arose, who did? And why? It was not a wolf I wanted to loose amongst sisters who are troubled and frightened enough already.\"\n\nAh. At last, Adelia thought, a logical mind. Hostile, cold as winter to me, but brave. Here, beside her, was a woman prepared to follow terrible events to their terrible conclusion.\n\nShe said, \"Bertha had some knowledge about the person who gave her the mushrooms in the forest. She didn't know she had it. It came to her yesterday, and I think, I think, that she left the cowshed to come and tell me. Something, or perhaps it was someone, stopped her, and she went back again. To be strangled and then hanged.\"\n\n\"Not a random killing?\"\n\n\"I don't believe so. Nor was there any sexual interference, as far as I can tell. It wasn't robbery, either; the chain was not stolen.\"\n\nUnconsciously, they had begun pacing up and down together outside the chapel. Adelia said, \"What she told Peg was that it wasn't a her, it was a him.\"\n\n\"Meaning the person in the forest?\"\n\n\"I think so. I think, I think, Bertha remembered something, something about the old woman who gave her the mushrooms for Rosamund. I think it came to her that it wasn't an old woman at all\u2014her description always sounded\u2026I don't know, odd.\"\n\n\"Old women peddling poisoned mushrooms aren't odd?\"\n\nAdelia smiled. \"Overdone, then. Playacting. I think that's what Bertha wanted to tell me. Not a her but a him.\"\n\n\"A man? Dressed as a woman?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\nThe prioress crossed herself. \"The inference being that Bertha could have told us who it was that killed Rosamund\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"\u2026but was strangled before she could tell us\u2026by that same person.\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"I was afraid of it. The Devil stalks secretly amongst us.\"\n\n\"In human form, yes.\"\n\n\"'I shall not fear,'\" quoted Sister Havis. \"'I shall not fear for the arrow that flieth by day, for the matter that walketh in darkness, nor for the Devil that is in the noonday.'\" She looked at Adelia. \"Yet I do.\"\n\n\"So do I.\" Oddly, though, not as much as she had; there was a tiny comfort in having passed on what she knew to authority, and here, though personally hostile, was almost the only authority the convent could offer.\n\nAfter a while, Sister Havis said, \"We have had to take the body from the bridge out of the icehouse. A man came asking for him, a cousin, he said\u2014a Master Warin, a lawyer from Oxford. We laid out the body in the church for its vigil and so that he might identify it. Apparently, it is that of a young man called Talbot of Kidlington. Is he another of this devil's victims?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" She realized she had been saying \"I\" all this time. \"I shall consult with the Lord Mansur. He will investigate.\"\n\nThe slightest flicker of amusement crossed the prioress's face; she knew who the investigator was. \"Pray do,\" she said.\n\nFrom the cloister ahead of them came the sound of laughter and singing. It had, Adelia realized, been going on for some time. Music, happiness, still existed, then.\n\nAutomatically, the prioress began walking toward it. Adelia went with her.\n\nA couple of the younger nuns were screaming joyously in the garth as they dodged snowballs being pelted at them by a scarlet-clad youth. Another young man was strumming a viol and singing, his head upraised to an upper window of the abbess's house, at which Eleanor stood laughing at the antics.\n\nThis, in the sanctum. Where no layman should set foot. Probably never had until now.\n\nFrom Eleanor's window came a trail of perfume, elusive as a mirage, shimmering with sensuality, a siren scent beckoning toward palm-fringed islands, a smell so lovely that Adelia's nose, even while it analyzed\u2014bergamot, sandalwood, roses\u2014sought longingly after its luxury before the icy air took it away from her.\n\nOh, Lord, I am so tired of death and cold.\n\nSister Havis stood beside her, rigid with disapproval, saying nothing. But in a minute the players saw her. The scene froze instantly; the troubadour's song stopped in his throat, snow dropped harmlessly from the hand of his companion, and the young nuns assumed attitudes of outraged piety and continued their walk as if they had never broken stride. The snowballer swept his hat from his head and held it to his chest in parodied remorse.\n\nEleanor waved from her window. \"Sorry,\" she called, and closed the shutters.\n\nSo I am not the only taint, Adelia thought, amused. The queen and her people were bringing the rich colors of worldliness into the convent's black-and-white domain; the presence of Eleanor, which had undermined an entire Crusade, threatened Godstow's foundations as even Wolvercote and his mercenaries did not.\n\nThen the amusement went. Did she bring a killer with her?\n\nAdelia was too tired to do much for the rest of the morning except look after Allie while Gyltha went off to meet friends in the kitchen. It was where she picked up a good deal of information and gossip.\n\nOn her return, she said, \"They're busy cooking for young Emma's wedding now that Old Wolfie's turned up. Poor soul, I wouldn't fancy marryin' that viper. They're wondering if she's having second thoughts\u2014she's keeping to the cloister and ain't spoke a word to him, so they say.\"\n\n\"It's bad luck to see your bridegroom before the wedding,\" Adelia said vaguely.\n\n\"I wouldn't want to see him after,\" Gyltha said. \"Oh, and later on the sisters is going to see about them hangin' off the bridge. Abbess says it's time they was buried.\" She took off her cloak. \"Should be interestin'. Old Wolfie, he'll be the sort as likes corpses decoratin' the place.\" There was gleam in her eye. \"Maybe as there'll be a battle atwixt 'em. Oh, Lord, where you going now?\"\n\n\"The infirmary.\" Adelia had remembered her patient.\n\nSister Jennet greeted her warmly. \"Perhaps you can convey my gratitude to the Lord Mansur. Such a neat, clean stump, and the patient is progressing well.\" She looked wistful. \"How I should have liked to witness the operation.\"\n\nIt was the instinct of a doctor, and Adelia thought of the women lost to her own profession, as this one was, and thanked her god for the privilege that had been Salerno.\n\nShe was escorted down the ward. All the patients were men\u2014\"women mainly treat themselves\"\u2014most of them suffering from congestion of the lungs caused, the infirmaress said, by living on lowlying ground subject to unhealthy vapors from the river.\n\nThree were elderly, from Wolvercote. \"These are malnourished,\" the infirmaress said of them, not bothering to lower her voice. \"Lord Wolvercote neglects his villagers shamefully; they haven't so much as a church to pray in, not since it fell down. It is God's grace to them that we are nearby.\"\n\nShe passed on to another bed where a nun was applying warm water to a patient's ear. \"Frostnip,\" she said.\n\nWith a pang of guilt, Adelia recognized Oswald, Rowley's man-at-arms. She'd forgotten him, yet he had been one of those, along with Mansur, poling the barge that the convent had sent to Wormhold.\n\nWalt was sitting at his bedside. He knuckled his forehead as Adelia came up.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she told Oswald. \"Is it bad?\"\n\nIt looked bad. Dark blisters had formed on the outer curve of the ear so that the man appeared to have a fungus attached to his head. He glowered at her.\n\n\"Shoulda kept his hood pulled down,\" Walt said, cheerfully. \"We did, didn't we, mistress?\" The mutual suffering on the boat had become a bond.\n\nAdelia smiled at him. \"We were fortunate.\"\n\n\"We're keeping an eye on the ear,\" Sister Jennet said, equally cheerful. \"As I tell him, it will either stay on or fall off. Come along.\"\n\nThere were still screens round young Poyns's bed\u2014not so much, Sister Jennet explained, to provide privacy for him as to prevent his evil mercenary ways from infecting the rest of the ward.\n\n\"Though I must say he has not uttered a single oath since he's been here, which is unusual in a Fleming.\" She pulled the screen aside, still talking. \"I can't say the same for his friend.\" She shook a finger at Cross, who, like Walt, was visiting.\n\n\"We ain't bloody Flemings,\" Cross said wearily.\n\nAdelia was not allowed to look at the wound. Dr. Mansur, apparently, had already done so and declared himself satisfied.\n\nThe stump was well bandaged and\u2014Adelia sniffed it\u2014had no smell of corruption. Mansur, having attended so many operations with her, would have been able to tell if there was any sign of mortification.\n\nPoyns himself was pale but without fever and taking food. For a moment, Adelia allowed herself to glory in him, orgulous as a peacock at her achievement, even while she marveled at the hardihood of the human frame.\n\nShe inquired after Dame Dakers; here was another she had neglected, and for whom she felt a responsibility.\n\n\"We keep her in the warming room,\" Sister Jennet said, as of an exhibit. \"Once she was recovered, I couldn't let her stay here\u2014she frightened my patients.\"\n\nIn a monastery, the warming room would have been the scriptorium where such monks as had the skill spent their days copying manuscripts while carefully guarded braziers saved their poor fingers from cramping with cold.\n\nHere were only Sister Lancelyne and Father Paton\u2014he came as a surprise; Adelia had forgotten the existence of Rowley's secretary. Both were writing, though not books.\n\nThin winter sun shone on their bent heads and on the documents with large seals attached to them by ribbon covering the table at which they sat.\n\nAdelia introduced herself. Father Paton screwed up his eyes and then nodded; he'd forgotten her also.\n\nSister Lancelyne was delighted to make her acquaintance. She was the sort of person to whom gossip was without interest unless it was literary. Nor did she seem to know that Rowley was lost. \"Of course, you came with the bishop's party, did you not? Please extend to his lordship my gratitude for Father Paton; what I would do without this gentleman\u2026I had vowed to arrange our cartulary and register in some sort of order, a task that proved beyond me until his lordship sent this Hercules into my Augean stables.\"\n\nFather Paton as Hercules was something to savor; so was Sister Lancelyne herself, an old, small, gnomelike woman with the bright, jewellike eyes of a toad; so was the room, shelved from floor to ceiling, each shelf stacked with rolls of deeds and charters showing their untidy, sealed ends.\n\n\"Alphabetical order, you see,\" chanted Sister Lancelyne. \"That is what we have to achieve, and a calendar showing which tithe is due to us on what day, what rent\u2026but I see you are looking at our book.\"\n\nIt was the only book, a slim volume bound in calfskin; it had a small shelf to itself that had been lined with velvet like a jewel box. \"We have a Testament, of course,\" Sister Lancelyne said, apologizing for the lack of library, \"and a breviary, both are in the chapel, but\u2026oh, dear.\" For Adelia had advanced on the book. As she took its spine between finger and thumb to remove it, there was a gasp of relief from the nun. \"I see you care for books; so many drag at its top with a forefinger and break\u2026\"\n\n\"Boethius,\" Adelia said with pleasure. \"'O happy race of men if love that rules the stars may also rule your hearts.'\"\n\n\"'To acquire divinity, become gods,'\" exulted Sister Lancelyne. \"'Omnis igitur beatus deus\u2026by participation.' They imprisoned him for it.\"\n\n\"And killed him. I know, but as my foster father says, if he hadn't been in prison, he would never have written The Consolation of Philosophy.\"\n\n\"We only have the Fides and Ratio,\" said Sister Lancelyne. \"I long for\u2026no, mea culpa, I covet the rest as King David lusted on Bathsheba. They have an entire Consolation in the library at Eynsham, and I ventured to beg the abbot if I might borrow it to copy, but he wrote back to say it was too precious to send. He does not credit women with scholarship and, of course, you can't blame him.\"\n\nAdelia was not a scholar herself\u2014too much of her reading had largely and necessarily been expended on medical treatises\u2014but she possessed a high regard for those who were; the talk of her foster father and her tutor, Gordinus, had opened a door to the literature of the mind so that she'd glimpsed a shining path to the stars, which, she promised herself, she would investigate one day. In the meantime, it was nice to discover it here among shelves and the smell of vellum and this little old woman's unextinguished desire for knowledge.\n\nCarefully, she replaced the book. \"I was hoping to find Dame Dakers with you.\"\n\n\"Another great help,\" Sister Lancelyne said happily, pointing to a hooded figure squatting on the floor, half-hidden by the shelves.\n\nThey'd given Rosamund's housekeeper a knife with which to sharpen their quills. Goose feathers lay beside her, and she held one in her hand, the shreds of its calamus scattered on her lap. A harmless occupation, and one she must have engaged in a hundred times for Rosamund, yet Adelia was irresistibly reminded of something being dismembered.\n\nShe went to squat beside the woman. The two scribes had gone back to their work. \"Do you remember me, mistress?\"\n\n\"I remember you.\" Dakers went on shaving the quill end, making quick movements with the knife.\n\nShe had been fed and rested; she looked less bleached, but no amount of well-being was ever going to plump the skin over Dakers's skeleton, nor was it going to distract her hatred. The eyes bent on her work still glowed with it. \"Found my darling's killer yet?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not yet. Did you hear of Bertha's death?\"\n\nDakers's mouth stretched, showing her teeth. She had\u2014and happily. \"I summoned my master to punish her, and he's a'done it.\"\n\n\"What master?\"\n\nDakers turned her head so that Adelia stared full into her face; it was like looking into a charnel pit. \"There is only The One.\"\n\nCross was waiting for her outside, and loped truculently alongside as she walked. \"Here,\" he said, \"what they goin' to do with Giorgio?\"\n\n\"Who? Oh, Giorgio. Well, I suppose the sisters will bury him.\" The corpses were piling up at Godstow.\n\n\"Where, though? I want him planted proper. He was a Christian, was Giorgio.\"\n\nAnd a mercenary, thought Adelia, which might, in Godstow's eyes, put him in the same category as others who'd relinquished their right to a Christian grave. She said, \"Have you asked the nuns?\"\n\n\"Can't talk to 'em.\" Cross found the holy sisters intimidating. \"You ask 'em.\"\n\n\"Why should I?\" The sheer gracelessness of this little man\u2026\n\n\"You're a Sicilian, ain't you? Like Giorgio. You said you was, so you got to see him planted proper, with a priest and the blessing of\u2026what was that saint had her tits cut off?\"\n\n\"I suppose you mean Saint Agnes,\" Adelia said coldly.\n\n\"Yeah, her.\" Cross's unlovely features creased into a salacious grin. \"They still carry her tits around on festival days?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so.\" She had always considered it an unfortunate custom, but the particularly horrible martyrdom of poor Saint Agnes was still commemorated in Palermo by a procession bearing the replicas of two severed breasts on a tray, like little nippled cakes.\n\n\"He thought a lot of Saint Agnes, Giorgio did. So you tell 'em.\"\n\nAdelia opened her mouth to tell him something, then saw the mercenary's eyes and stopped. The man agonized for his dead friend, as he had agonized for the injured Poyns; there was a soul here, however ungainly.\n\n\"I'll try,\" she said.\n\n\"See you do.\"\n\nIn the large open area beyond the grain barn, one of Wolvercote's liveried men was walking up and down outside the pepper pot lockup, though what he might be guarding Adelia couldn't imagine.\n\nFarther along, the convent smith was pounding at the ice on the pond to crack a hole through which some aggrieved-looking ducks might have access to water. Children\u2014presumably his\u2014were skimming around the edges of the pond with bone skates strapped to their boots.\n\nWistfully, Adelia paused to watch. The joy of skating had come to her late\u2014not until she'd spent a winter in the fens, where iced rivers made causeways and playgrounds. Ulf had taught her. Fen people were wonderful skaters.\n\nTo skim away from here, free, letting the dead bury the dead. But even if it were possible, she could not leave while the person was at liberty who had hung Bertha up on a hook like a side of meat\u2026.\n\n\"You skate?\" Cross asked, watching her.\n\n\"I do, but we have no skates,\" she said.\n\nAs they approached the church, a dozen or so nuns, led by their prioress, came marching out of its doors like a line of disciplined, determined jackdaws.\n\nThey were heading for the convent gates and the bridge beyond, one of them pushing a two-wheeled cart. A sizable number of Godstow's lay residents scurried behind them expectantly. Adelia saw Walt and Jacques among the followers and joined them; Cross went with her. As they passed the guesthouse, Gyltha came down its steps with Mansur, Allie cocooned in her arms. \"Don't want to miss this,\" she said.\n\nAt the gates, Sister Havis's voice came clear. \"Open up, Fitchet, and bring me a knife.\"\n\nOutside, a path had been dug through the snow on the bridge to facilitate traffic between village and convent. Why, since it led to nowhere else, Lord Wolverscote had thought it necessary to put a sentry on it was anybody's guess. But he had\u2014and one who, facing a gaggle of black-clad, veiled women, each with a cross hanging on her chest, still found it necessary to ask, \"Who goes there?\"\n\nSister Havis advanced on him, as had Cross upon his fellow the night before. Adelia almost expected her to knock him out; she looked capable of it. Instead, the prioress pushed aside the leveled pike with the back of her hand and marched on.\n\n\"I wouldn't arse about, friend,\" Fitchet advised the sentry, almost sympathetically. \"Not when they're on God's business.\"\n\nWhen she'd glimpsed the bodies from the boat, Adelia had been too cold, too scared, too occupied to consider the manner in which they'd been hanged\u2014only the image of their dangling feet had stayed in her memory.\n\nNow she saw it. The two men, their arms tied, had been stood on the bridge while one end of a rope was attached round each neck and the other to one of the bridge's stanchions. Then they'd been thrown over the balustrade.\n\nBridges were communication between man and man, too sacred to be used as gallows. Adelia wished that Gyltha hadn't brought Allie; this was not going to be a scene she wanted her daughter to watch. On the other hand, her child was looking around in a concentration of pleasure; the surrounding scenery was a change, a lovely change, from the alleys of the convent where she was taken for her daily outings in fresh air. The bridge formed part of a white tableau, its reflection in the sheeted river below was absolute, and the waterfall on its mill side had frozen in sculptured pillars.\n\nThe mill wheel beyond was motionless and glistened with icicles as if from a thousand stalactites. It was an obscenity for distorted death to decorate it. \"Don't let her see the bodies,\" she told Gyltha.\n\n\"Get her used to it,\" Gyltha said. \"Her'll see plenty of hangings as she grows. My pa took me to my first when I were three year old. Enjoyed it, too, I did.\"\n\n\"I don't want her to enjoy it.\"\n\nGetting the bodies up wasn't going to be easy; they were weighted by accumulated ice, and the rope holding them was stretched so tightly over the balustrade that it had frozen to it.\n\nWalt joined Adelia. \"Prioress says we ain't to help; they got to do it theyselves, seemingly.\"\n\nSister Havis considered for a moment and then gave her orders. While one used Fitchet's knife to scrape the ice from the ropes, the tallest of the nuns, the cellaress, leaned over, stretching her arm to grasp the hair of one of the hanging men. She lifted, giving the rope some slack.\n\nA seagull that had been pecking at the man's eyes flew off, yelping, into the clear sky. Allie watched it go.\n\n\"Haul, my sisters.\" The prioress's voice rang after it. \"Haul for the mercy of Mary.\"\n\nA row of black backsides bent over the balustrade. They hauled, their breath streaming upward like smoke.\n\n\"What in hell are you women doing?\"\n\nLord Wolvercote was on the bridge, to be no more regarded by the sisters than the seagull. He stepped forward, hand on his sword. Fitchet and Walt and some other men rolled up their sleeves. Wolvercote looked round. His sentry's helpless shrug told him he would get no help against God's female battalion. He was outnumbered. He shouted instead, \"Leave them. This is my land, my half of the bridge, and villains shall hang from it as and when I see fit.\"\n\n\"It's our bridge, my lord, as you well know.\" This was Fitchet, loud but weary with the repetition of an old argument. \"And Mother Abbess don't want it decorated with no corpses.\"\n\nOne body was up now, too stiff to bend, so the sisters were having to lift it vertically over the balustrade, its cocked head angled inquiringly toward the man who had sentenced it to death.\n\nThe nuns laid him on the cart, then returned to the balustrade to raise his fellow.\n\nThe dispute had brought the miller's family to their windows, and faces lined the sills to watch the puffs of air issuing like dragons' breath from the two arguing men.\n\n\"They were rogues, you dolt. Thieves. In possession of stolen property, and I made an example of them, as I have a right to do by infangthief. Leave them alone.\"\n\nHe was tall, dark-complexioned, age about thirty or so, and would have been handsome if his thin face hadn't settled into lines of contempt that at the moment were emphasized by fury. Emma had talked joyously of her future husband's poetry, but Adelia saw no poetry here. Only stupidity. He had made an example of the two thieves; they'd been hanging here for two days, and the river's lack of traffic meant that anybody who was going to see them had already done it. A more sensible man would have bowed to the inevitable, given his blessing, and walked away.\n\nWolvercote can't, Adelia thought. He sees the sisters as undermining his authority, and it frightens him; he must be cock of the heap or he is nothing.\n\nInfangthief. She searched her memory\u2014one of the English customary laws; Rowley had once mentioned it, told her, \"Infangthief? Well, it's a sort of legal franchise that certain lords of the manor hold by ancient right to pass the death penalty on thieves caught on their property. The king hates it. He says it means the buggers can hang anybody they've a mind to.\"\n\n\"Why doesn't he get rid of it, then?\"\n\nBut ancient rights, apparently, were not to be discarded without resentment, even rebellion, by those who held them. \"He will\u2014in time.\"\n\nThe second corpse had been retrieved, and sacking was laid over both. The nuns were beginning to push their loaded cart back across the bridge, their feet slipping on the ice.\n\n\"See, my duck,\" Gyltha said to Allie. \"That were fun, weren't it?\"\n\nSister Havis stopped as they passed Wolvercote, and her voice was colder than the dead men. \"What were their names?\"\n\n\"Names? What do you want their names for?\"\n\n\"For their graves.\"\n\n\"They didn't have names, for God's sake. They'd have gone on to take the chalice off your own damned altar if I hadn't stopped them. They were thieves, woman.\"\n\n\"So were the two crucified with Our Lord; I don't remember Him withholding mercy from them.\" The prioress turned and followed her sisters.\n\nHe couldn't leave it. He called after her, \"You're an interfering old bitch, Havis. No wonder you never got a man.\"\n\nShe didn't look back.\n\n\"They're going to bury them,\" Adelia said. \"Oh, dear.\"\n\nJacques, nearby, grinned at her. \"It's a fairly usual custom with the dead,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, but I didn't look at their boots. And you,\" she said to Gyltha. \"Take that child home.\" She hurried after the nuns and delayed the cart by standing in front of it. \"Would you mind? Just a minute?\"\n\nShe knelt down in the snow so that her eyes were on a level with the legs of the corpses and raised the sacking.\n\nShe was transferred to the bridge when she had first seen it, at nighttime, when the awful burden it carried and the footprints in its snow had told her the sequence of murder as clearly as if the two killers had confessed to it.\n\nShe heard her own voice speaking to Rowley: \"See? One wears hobnails, the other's boots have bars across the soles, maybe clogs bound with strips. They arrived here on horseback and took their horses into those trees\u2026. They ate as they waited\u2026.\"\n\nFacing her was a pair of stout hobnailed boots. The other corpse had lost the footwear from its right foot, but the clog on its left had been retained by the tight bands of leather passing under the sole and cross-gartered around the lower leg.\n\nCarefully, she replaced the sacking and stood up. \"Thank you.\"\n\nNonplussed, the nuns with the cart continued on their way. Sister Havis's eyes met Adelia's for a moment. \"Were they the ones?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWalt overheard. \"Here, is these the buggers as done for that poor horse?\"\n\nAdelia smiled at him. \"And the traveler. Yes, I think so.\" She turned and found that Wolvercote had approached to see what she'd been up to. The crowd of abbey people waited to hear the exchange.\n\n\"Do you know where they came from?\" she asked him.\n\n\"What do you care where they came from? I found them robbing my house; they had a silver cup, my silver cup, and that's all I needed to know.\" He turned to the porter. \"Who is this female? What's she doing here?\"\n\n\"Came with the bishop,\" Fitchet told him shortly.\n\nWalt piped up, proprietorially: \"She's with the darky doctor. She can tell things, she can. Looks at things and knows what happened.\"\n\nIt was badly phrased. Adelia hunched as she waited for the inevitable.\n\nWolvercote looked at her. \"A witch, then,\" he said.\n\nThe word dropped into the air like ink into pristine water, discoloring it, webbing it with black, spiky traces before graying it forever.\n\nJust as the allusion to Havis as a frustrated virgin would be a label that stuck to her, so the surrounding people hearing the name \"witch\" applied to Adelia would always remember it. The word that had stoned and set fire to women. There was no appeal against it. It tinged the faces of the men and women listening. Even Jacques's and Walt's showed a new doubt.\n\nShe castigated herself. Lord, what a fool; why didn't I wait? She could have found some other opportunity to look at the men's boots before they were buried. But no, she'd had to make sure immediately. Thoughtless, thoughtless.\n\n\"Damn it,\" she said. \"Damn.\" She looked back. Lord Wolvercote had gone, but everybody else was looking in her direction; she could hear the murmurs. The damage had been done.\n\nBreathily, Jacques came loping up to her. \"I don't think you're a witch, mistress. Just stay in your room, eh? Out of sight, out of mind. Like Saint Matthew says: 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'\"\n\nBut the day was not gone yet. As they passed through the gates of the convent, a fat man, wild-eyed, emerged out of the church door farther along. He gestured at Jacques. \"You,\" he shouted, \"fetch the infirmaress.\"\n\nThe messenger went running. The fat man turned and rushed back into the church.\n\nAdelia teetered outside. 'Sufficient unto the day\u2026' There's been enough evil, and you've brought some of it on yourself. Whatever this is, it is not for you.\n\nBut the sounds coming from inside the building were of distress.\n\nShe went in.\n\nThe sunshine was managing poorly within the large church, where, by day, candles were unlit. Glacial shafts of sun were lancing into the dark interior from the high, narrow windows above the clerestory, splashing a pillar here and there and cutting across the nave in thin stripes that avoided the middle, where the distress was centered.\n\nUntil her eyes adjusted to the contrast, Adelia couldn't make out what was happening. Slowly, it took shape. There was a catafalque, and two burly figures, a male and a female, were trying to drag something off it.\n\nThe something\u2014she could see it now\u2014was young Emma, very still, but her hands were gripping the far side of the catafalque so that her body could not be shifted away from the body that lay beneath her.\n\n\"Leave un, girl. Come on up now. 'Tis shameful, this. Gor dang it, what be it with her?\" The fat man's voice.\n\nThe woman's was kinder but no less disturbed. \"Yere, yere, don't take on like this, my duck, you'm upsetting your pa. What's this dead un to you? Come on up now.\"\n\nThe fat man looked around in desperation and caught sight of Adelia standing in the doorway, illuminated by the sun behind her. \"Here, you, come and give us a hand. Reckon our girl's fainted.\"\n\nAdelia moved closer. Emma hadn't fainted; her eyes were wide and stared at nothing. She had thrown herself so that she lay arched over the corpse under her. The knuckles of her gripping hands were like tiny white pebbles against the black wood of the catafalque beneath it.\n\nGoing closer still, Adelia peered down.\n\nThe nuns had put coins over the eyes, but the face was the face of the dead young man on the bridge, whom she and Rowley had lowered into the icehouse. This was Master Talbot of Kidlington.\n\nOnly minutes before, she had been examining the boots of his murderers.\n\nShe became aware that the fat man was blustering\u2014though not at her. \"Fine convent this is, leaving dead people round the place. It's right upset our girl, and I don't wonder. Is this what we pay our tithes for?\"\n\nThe infirmaress had come into the church, Jacques with her. Exclamation and exhortation created a hubbub that had an echo, Sister Jennet's crisp pipe\u2014\"Now, now, child, this will not do\"\u2014interspersed with the bellows of the father, who was becoming outraged and looking for someone to blame, while the mother's anxiety made a softer counterpoint to them both.\n\nAdelia touched Emma's clawed hand, gently. The girl raised her head, but what she saw with those tormented eyes Adelia couldn't tell. \"Do you see what they've done? To him, to him?\"\n\nThe father and Sister Jennet were standing away now, openly quarreling. The mother had stopped attending to her daughter in order to join in.\n\n\"Control yourself, Master Bloat. Where else should we have lain a body but in a church?\" Sister Jennet did not add that as far as Godstow and bodies were concerned, they were running out of space.\n\n\"Not where a man can fall over it; that's not what we pay our tithes for.\"\n\n\"That's right, Father, that's right\u2026.\" This was Mistress Bloat. \"We was just being shown round, wasn't us? Our girl was showing us round.\"\n\nEmma's eyes still stared into Adelia's as if into the Pit. \"Do you see, oh, God, do you see?\"\n\n\"I see,\" Adelia told her.\n\nAnd she did, wondering how she could have been so blind not to see it before. So that was why Talbot of Kidlington had been murdered."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "Where were you going to elope to?\"\n\n\"Wales.\"\n\nThe girl sat on a stool in the corner of Adelia and Gyltha's room. She'd torn the veil off her head, and long, white-blond hair swayed over her face as she rocked back and forth. Allie, upset by the manifestations of such grief, had begun to bawl and was being jiggled quiet again in her mother's arms. Ward, also showing an unexpected commiseration, lay with his head on Emma's boots.\n\nShe'd fought to be there, literally. When at last they'd been able to prise her away from the body, she'd stretched her arms toward Adelia, saying, \"I'll go with her, her. She understands, she knows.\"\n\n\"Dang sight more'n I do,\" Master Bloat had said, and Adelia had rather sympathized with him\u2014until, that is, he'd tried to drag his daughter off, putting a hand over her mouth so that her noise would attract no more attention than it had.\n\nEmma had been his match, twisting and shrieking to beat him off. At last Sister Jennet had advised compliance. \"Let her go with this lady for now. She has some medical knowledge and may be able to calm her.\"\n\nThey could do nothing else, but from the looks Master and Mistress Bloat gave her as she helped their daughter toward the guesthouse, Adelia was aware that she'd added two more to her growing list of enemies.\n\nShe managed to persuade the girl to drink an infusion of lady's slipper, and it calmed her enough that she could answer questions, though Gyltha, who was gently rubbing the back of Emma's neck with rose oil, frowned at Adelia every time she asked one. A silent argument was going on between them.\n\nLeave the poor soul alone, for pity's sake.\n\nI can't.\n\nShe's breaking her heart.\n\nIt'll mend. Talbot's won't.\n\nGyltha might sorrow for the stricken one, but Adelia's duty as she saw it was to Talbot of Kidlington, who had loved Emma Bloat and had ridden to the convent through snow to take her away and marry her, an elopement so financially disastrous to a third party\u2014Adelia's thoughts rested on the Lord of Wolvercote\u2014that it had ordered his killing.\n\nMaster Hobnails and Master Clogs hadn't been waiting on an isolated bridge on a snowy night for any old traveler to come along; common scoundrels though they undoubtedly were, they weren't brainless. They knew, because somebody had told them, that at a certain hour a certain man would ride up to the convent gates\u2026. Kill him.\n\nThey had killed him, and then they'd fled over the bridge to the village\u2014to be killed themselves.\n\nBy the very man who'd employed them in the first place?\n\nOh, yes, Wolvercote fitted that particular bill nicely.\n\nThough perhaps not entirely. Adelia still puzzled over the lengths someone had gone to in order to make sure that the corpse was identified as Talbot's. She supposed, if it was Wolvercote, he'd wanted Emma to know of her lover's death as soon as possible, and that her hand\u2014and her fortune\u2014was now his again.\n\nYes, but presumably, when Talbot didn't turn up, that way would have been made open. Why did the corpse have to be put under her nose, as it were, right away? And why in circumstances that pointed the accusing finger so directly at Wolvercote himself?\n\nDo you see what they've done?\n\nWho were the \"they\" that Emma thought had done it?\n\nAdelia put Allie on the floor, gave her the teething ring that Mansur had carved for the child out of bone, and sat herself by Emma, smoothing back the long hair and mouthing \"I have to\" over her head at Gyltha.\n\nThe girl was almost apathetic with shock. \"Let me stay here with you.\" She said it over and over. \"I don't want to see them, any of them. I can't. You've loved a man, you had his child. You understand. They don't.\"\n\n\"'Course you can stay,\" Gyltha told her.\n\n\"My love is dead.\"\n\nSo is mine, Adelia thought. The girl's grief was her own. She forced it away. There'd been murder done, and death was her business. \"You were going to Wales?\" she asked, \"In winter?\"\n\n\"We'd had to wait, you see. Until he was twenty-one. To get his inheritance.\" The sentences came in pieces with an abstracted dullness.\n\nTo Talbot of Kidlington, That the Lord and His angels bless you on this Day that Enters you into Man's estate.\n\nAnd on that day Talbot of Kidlington had set out to carry off Emma Bloat with, if Adelia remembered aright, the two silver marks that had been enclosed in Master Warin's letter.\n\n\"His inheritance was two silver marks?\" Then she recalled that Emma didn't know about the marks because she didn't know about the letter.\n\nThe girl barely noticed the interjection. \"The land in Wales. His mother left it to him, Felin Fach\u2026.\" She said the name softly, as if it had been spoken often, a sweet thing held out to her in her lover's voice. \"'Felin Fach,' he used to say. 'The vale of the A\u00earon, where salmon leap up to meet the rod and the very earth yields gold.'\"\n\n\"Gold?\" Adelia looked a question at Gyltha. Is there gold in Wales?\n\nGyltha shrugged.\n\n\"He was going to take possession as soon as he gained his majority. It was part of his inheritance, you see. We were going there. Father Gwilym was waiting to marry us. 'Funny little man, not a word of English\u2026'\" She was quoting again, almost smiling. \"'Yet in Welsh he can tie as tight a marriage knot as any priest in the Vatican.'\"\n\nThis was dreadful; Gyltha was wiping her eyes. Adelia, too, was sorry, so sorry. To watch suffering like this was to be in pain oneself, but she had to have answers.\n\n\"Emma, who knew you were going to elope?\"\n\n\"Nobody.\" Now she did actually smile. \"'No cloak, or they'll guess.\n\nI'll have one for you. Fitchet will open the gate\u2026.'\"\n\n\"Fitchet?\"\n\n\"Well, of course Fitchet knew about us; Talbot paid him.\"\n\nApparently, the gatekeeper counted as nobody in Emma's reckoning.\n\nThe girl's face withered. \"But he didn't come. I waited in the gatehouse\u2026I waited\u2026I thought\u2026I thought\u2026oh, Sweet Jesus, show mercy to me, I blamed him\u2026.\" She began clawing the air. \"Why did they kill him? Couldn't they just take his purse? Why kill him?\"\n\nAdelia met Gyltha's eyes again. That was all right, then; Emma put her lover's killing down to robbers\u2014as, at this stage, it was probably better that she should. There was no point in inflaming her against Wolvercote until there was proof of his culpability. Indeed, he might be innocent. If he hadn't known of the elopement\u2026But Fitchet had known.\n\n\"So it was a secret, was it?\"\n\n\"Little Priscilla knew, she guessed.\" Again, that entrancement at being taken back to the past; the subterfuge had been thrilling. \"And Fitchet, he smuggled our letters in and out. And Master Warin, of course, because he had to write the letter to Felin Fach so that Talbot could take seisin of it, but they were all sworn not to tell.\" Suddenly, she gripped Adelia's arm. \"Fitchet. He wouldn't have told the robbers, would he? He couldn't.\"\n\nAdelia gave a reassurance she didn't feel; the number of nobodies who'd known about the elopement was accumulating. \"No, no. I'm sure not. Who is Master Warin?\"\n\n\"Were they waiting for him?\" She had her nails into Adelia's skin. \"Did they know he was carrying money? Did they know?\"\n\nGyltha intervened. \"A'course they didn't.\" She pulled Emma's hand off Adelia's arm and enfolded it in her own. \"Just scum, they was. Roads ain't safe for anybody.\"\n\nEmma looked wide-eyed at Adelia. \"Did he suffer?\"\n\nHere, at least, was firm ground. \"No. It was a bolt to the chest. He'd have been thinking of you, and then\u2026nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" The girl sank back. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who is Master Warin?\" Adelia asked again.\n\n\"But how can I go on without him?\"\n\nWe do, Adelia thought. We have to.\n\nAllie had hitched herself over to replace Ward by pushing him off and settling her bottom on Emma's boots. She put a pudgy hand on the girl's knee. Emma stared down at her. \"Children,\" she said. \"We were going to have lots of children.\" The desolation was so palpable that for the other two women the firelit room became a leafless winter plain stretching into eternity.\n\nShe's young, Adelia thought. Spring will come to her again one day perhaps, but never with the same freshness. \"Who is Master Warin?\"\n\nGyltha tutted at her; the girl had begun to shake. Stop it now.\n\nI can't. \"Emma, who is Master Warin?\"\n\n\"Talbot's cousin. They were very attached to each other.\" The poor lips stretched again. \"'My wait-and-see Warin. A careful man, Emma, but never did a ward have such a careful guardian.'\"\n\n\"He was Talbot's guardian? He handled his business affairs?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't worry him with them now. He will be so\u2026I must see him. No, I can't\u2026. I can't face his grief\u2026. I can't face anything.\"\n\nEmma's eyelids were half down with the fatigue of agony.\n\nGyltha wrapped a blanket round her, led her to the bed, sat her down, and lifted her legs so that she fell back on it. \"Go to sleep now.\" She returned to Adelia. \"And you come wi' me.\"\n\nThey went to the other side of the room to whisper.\n\n\"You reckon Wolvercote done in that girl's fella?\"\n\n\"Possibly, though I'm beginning to think the cousin-cum-guardian had a lot to lose when Talbot came into his estates. If he's been handling Talbot's affairs\u2026It's starting to look like a conspiracy.\"\n\n\"No, it ain't. It was robbery pure and simple, and the boy got killed in the course of it.\"\n\n\"He didn't. The robbers knew.\"\n\n\"No, they bloody didn't.\"\n\n\"Why?\" She'd never seen Gyltha like this.\n\n\"A'cause that poor girl's going to have to marry Old Wolfie now whether she likes it or don't, and better if she don't think it was him as done for her sweetheart.\"\n\n\"Of course she won't have to\u2026\" Adelia squinted at the older woman. \"Will she?\"\n\nGyltha nodded. \"More'n like. Them Bloats is set on it. He's set on it. That's why her wanted to elope, so's they couldn't force her.\"\n\n\"They can't force her. Oh, Gyltha, they can't.\"\n\n\"You watch 'em. She's a high-up, and it happens to high-ups.\" Gyltha looked toward Heaven and gave thanks that she was common. \"Nobody didn't want me for my money. Never bloody had any.\"\n\nIt did happen. Because it hadn't happened to Adelia, she hadn't thought of it. Her foster parents, that liberal couple, had allowed her to pursue her profession, but around her in Salerno, young, well-born female acquaintances had been married off to their father's choice though they cried against it, part of a parental plan for the family's advancement. It was that or continual beating. Or the streets. Or a convent.\n\n\"She could choose to become a nun, I suppose.\"\n\n\"She's their only child,\" Gyltha said. \"Master Bloat don't want a nun, he wants a lady in the family\u2014better for business.\" She sighed. \"My auntie was cook to the De Pringhams and their poor little Alys was married off screamin' to Baron Coton, bald old bugger that he was.\"\n\n\"You have to say yes. The Church says it's not legal otherwise.\"\n\n\"Hunh. I never heard as little Alys said yes.\"\n\n\"But Wolvercote's a bully and an idiot. You know he is.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\nAdelia stared into Emma's future. \"She could appeal to the queen. Eleanor knows what it is to have an unhappy marriage; she managed to get a divorce from Louis.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Gyltha said, raising her eyes. \"The queen's sure to go against the fella as is fighting her battle for her. Sure to.\" She patted Adelia's shoulder. \"It won't be so bad for young Em, really\u2026.\"\n\n\"Not bad?\"\n\n\"She'll have babies, that's what she wants, ain't it? Anyways, I don't reckon she'll have to put up with un for long. Not when King Henry gets hold of un. Wolvercote's a traitor, and Henry'll have his tripes.\" Gyltha inclined her head to consider the case. \"Might not be bad at all, really.\"\n\n\"I thought you were sorry for her.\"\n\n\"I am, but I'm facing what she's facing. Bit o' luck she'll be widowed afore the year's out, then she'll have his baby and his lands\u2026yes, I reckon it might turn out roses.\"\n\n\"Gyltha.\" Adelia drew back from a practicality unsuspected even of this practical woman. \"That's foul.\"\n\n\"That's business,\" Gyltha said. \"That's what high-ups' marriage is, ain't it?\"\n\nJacques was kept busy that day, bringing messages to the women in the guesthouse. The first was from the prioress: \"To Mistress Adelia, greetings from Sister Havis, and to say that the girl Bertha will be interred in the nuns' own graveyard.\"\n\n\"Christian burial. Thought you'd be pleased,\" Gyltha said, watching Adelia's reaction. \"What you wanted, ain't it?\"\n\n\"It is. I'm glad.\" The prioress had ended her investigation and managed to persuade the abbess that Bertha had not died by her own hand.\n\nBut Jacques hadn't finished. He said dutifully, \"And I was to warn you, mistress, you're to remember the Devil walks the abbey.\"\n\nThere lay the sting. The nuns' agreement that a killer was loose in Godstow made his presence more real and added to its darkness.\n\nLater still that morning, the messenger turned up again. \"To Mistress Adelia, greetings from Mother Edyve, and will she return Mistress Emma to the cloister? To keep the peace, she says.\"\n\n\"Whose peace?\" Gyltha demanded. \"I suppose them Bloats is complaining.\"\n\n\"So is the Lord Wolvercote,\" said Jacques. He grimaced, wrinkling his eyes and showing his teeth as one reluctant to deliver more bad news. \"He's saying\u2026well, he's saying\u2026\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nThe messenger blew out his breath. \"It's being said as how Mistress Adelia has put a spell on Mistress Emma and is turning her against her lawful husband-to-be.\"\n\nGyltha stepped in. \"You can tell that godless arse-headed bastard from me\u2026\"\n\nA hand on her shoulder stopped her. Emma was already wrapping herself in her cloak. \"There's been trouble enough,\" she said.\n\nAnd was gone down the steps before any of them could move.\n\nInside the abbey, the various factions trapped within its walls fractured like frozen glass. A darkness fell over Godstow that had nothing to do with the dimming winter light.\n\nIn protest against its occupation, the nuns disappeared into their own quadrangles, taking their meals from the infirmary kitchen, their exercise in the cloister.\n\nThe presence of two bands of mercenaries began to cause trouble. Schwyz's were the more experienced, a cohesive group that had fought in wars all over Europe and considered Wolvercote's men mere country ruffians hired for the rebellion\u2014as, indeed, many of them were.\n\nBut the Wolvercoters had smarter livery, better arms, and a leader who was in charge\u2014anyway, there were more of them; they bowed to nobody.\n\nSchwyz's men set up a still in the forge and got drunk; Wolvercote's raided the convent cellar and got drunk. Afterward, inevitably, they fought one another.\n\nThe nights became dreadful. Godstow's people and guests cowered in their rooms, listening to the fighting in the alleys, dreading a crashed-in door and the entry of liquored mercenaries with robbery or rape on their minds.\n\nIn an effort to protect their property and women, they formed a militia of their own. Mansur, Walt, Oswald, and Jacques, like dutiful men, joined it in patrolling\u2014but the result was that, more often than not, the nightly brawls became tripartite affairs.\n\nAn attempt by the chaplain, Father Egbert, to minister to the flock the nuns had deserted ended when, during Sunday-evening communion, Schwyz shouted at Wolvercote, \"Are you going to discipline your men, or do I do it for you?\" and a fight broke out between their adherents that spread even to the Lady Chapel, smashing lamps, a lectern, and several heads. One of Wolvercote's men lost an eye.\n\nIt was as if the world had frozen and would not turn, allowing no other weather to reach a beleaguered Oxfordshire than a bright sun by day and stars that filled the sky at night, neither bringing any relief from the cold.\n\nEvery morning, Adelia pushed open the shutters briefly to allow air into their room and searched the view for\u2026what? Henry Plantagenet and his army? Rowley?\n\nBut Rowley was dead.\n\nThere had been more snow. It was impossible to distinguish river from land. There was no human life out there, hardly any animal life.\n\nCrisscross patterns like stitching showed that birds, frantic with thirst, had hopped around in the early dawn to fill their beaks with snow, but where were they? Sheltering in the trees that stood like iron sentinels across the river, perhaps. Could they withstand this assault? Where were the deer? Did fish swim beneath that ice?\n\nWatching a solitary crow flap its way across the blue sky, Adelia wondered whether it saw a dead, pristine world in which Godstow was the only circle of life. As she stared at it, the crow folded its wings and fell to earth, a small, untidy black casualty in the whiteness.\n\nIf the nights weren't bad enough, Godstow's days became morbid with the hit-hit of picks hacking out graves in the frozen earth while the church bell tolled and tolled for the dead as if it had lost the capacity to ring for anything else.\n\nAdelia was keeping to the guesthouse as much as possible; the looks from people she encountered if she went out and their tendency to cross themselves and make the sign of the evil eye as they passed her were intimidating. But there were some funerals she had to attend.\n\nTalbot of Kidlington's, for one. The nuns reappeared for that. A little man at the front of the congregation, who Adelia supposed was the cousin, Master Warin, wept all through it, but Adelia, skulking at the back, saw only Emma, white and dry-eyed, in the choir, her hand clasped tightly in little Sister Priscilla's.\n\nA funeral for Bertha. This was held at night and in the privacy of the abbess's chapel, attended by the convent chapter, the milkmaid, Jacques, and Adelia, who'd folded Bertha's hands around a broken chain and a silver cross before the plain, pine coffin was interred in the nuns' own graveyard.\n\nA funeral for Giorgio, the Sicilian. No nuns this time, but most of the Schwyz mercenaries were there, and Schwyz himself. Mansur, Walt, and Jacques came, as they had to Talbot's. So did Adelia. She'd begged a reluctant Sister Havis for Giorgio to be treated as a Christian, arguing that they knew no harm of him apart from his profession. Due to her, the Sicilian was lowered into a cold Christian grave with the blessing of Saint Agnes.\n\nThere was no word of thanks from his friend Cross. He left the graveyard after the interment without speaking, though later three pairs of beautifully fashioned bone skates complete with straps were left outside Adelia's door.\n\nA funeral for two Wolvercote villagers who'd succumbed to pneumonia. Sister Jennet and her nurses attended, though Lord Wolvercote did not.\n\nA funeral for the two hanged men. Nobody except the officiating priest was present, though those bodies, too, each went into a churchyard grave.\n\nHis duty done, Father Egbert closed the church and, like the nuns, retired to an inner sanctum. He would not, he said, hold regular services when any mercenary was likely to be in the congregation; the advent of Christ's birth was not to be despoiled by a load of feuding heathens who wouldn't recognize the Dove of Peace if it shat on their heads. Which he hoped it would.\n\nIt was a sentence on the whole community. No Christmas?\n\nA shriek went up, loudest of all from the Bloats; they'd come to see their girl married at the Yule feast. And their girl, thanks to malefic influence from a woman no better than she should be, was now saying she didn't want to marry at all. This wasn't what they paid their tithes for.\n\nOne voice, however, was raised above theirs. With more effect. Sister Bullard, the cellaress, was, materially, the most important person in the abbey and the one who'd become the most sorely tried. Even with the convent's new militia trying to protect it, her great barn of a cellar suffered nightly raids on its ale tuns, wine vats, and foodstuff.\n\nWorried that the entire convent would soon be unable to feed itself, she turned to the only earthly authority left to her\u2014the Queen of England.\n\nEleanor had been staying to her own apartments, paying little attention to anything except the effort to keep herself amused. Finding the rest of the abbey tedious, she had ignored its troubles. However, marooned as she was on the island of Godstow for the duration of the snow, she had to listen to Sister Bullard telling her that she faced discord and starvation.\n\nThe queen woke up.\n\nLord Wolvercote and Master Schwyz were summoned to her rooms in the abbess's house, where it was pointed out to them that only under her banner could they attract allies\u2014and she had no intention of leading rabble, which, at the moment, was what they and their men were becoming.\n\nRules were laid down. Church services would resume\u2014to be attended only by the sober. Wolvercote's men must cross the bridge each night to sleep at their lord's manor in the village, leaving only six of their number behind to join Schwyz's men in enforcing the curfew.\n\nNo more raids on the cellar by either side\u2014any mercenary doing so, or found fighting, was to be publicly flogged.\n\nOf the two culprits, Lord Wolvercote should have come out of the meeting better; Schwyz, after all, was being paid for his services, whereas Wolvercote was rendering his for free. But the Abbot of Eynsham was also present, and, as well as being a friend to Schwyz, he had the cleverer and more persuasive tongue.\n\nIt was noted by those who saw Lord Wolvercote emerge from the queen's presence that he was snarling. \"A'cause he don't get young Emma, neither,\" Gyltha reported. \"Not yet, at any rate.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Certain sure,\" Gyltha said. \"The girl's been pleading with Mother Edyve, and she's asked for Eleanor's protection. The which the queen says old Wolfie ought to wait.\"\n\nAgain, this had come from the convent kitchen, where Gyltha's friend Polly had helped the royal servants carry refreshment to the meeting between the queen and the mercenary leaders. Polly had learned many things, one of them being that the queen had complied with Mother Edyve's request for Emma's marriage to Wolvercote to be delayed indefinitely, \"until the young woman has recovered from the affliction to her spirits that now attends them.\"\n\nPolly reported that \"his Wolfie lordship weren't best pleased.\"\n\nAdelia, relieved, didn't think the Bloats would be, either. But by now, everybody knew what the affliction was that attended Emma's spirits and, according to Gyltha, there was general sympathy for her, much of which sprang from the equally general dislike for Wolvercote.\n\nThere was more good news from the kitchen. With order restored, Eleanor had, apparently, announced that the church was to be reopened, services resumed, and, when it came, Christ's Mass to be celebrated with a feast.\n\n\"Proper old English one, too,\" Gyltha said, a pagan gleam in her eye. \"Caroling, feastin', mummers, Yule log, and all the trimmin's. They're killin' the geese and hangin' them this very minute.\"\n\nIt was typical of Eleanor, Adelia thought, that having saved the convent's store of food and drink, she now imperiled it. Feasting the entire community would be an enormous and expensive undertaking. On the other hand, the queen's orders had been necessary and perceptive; they might well defuse a situation that was becoming intolerable. And if a feast could introduce gaiety into Godstow, by God, it needed it.\n\nWith the resurgence of Eleanor's energy came an invitation. \"To Mistress Adelia, a summons from her gracious lady, Queen Eleanor.\" Jacques brought it.\n\n\"You running errands for royalty now?\" Gyltha asked at the door. The messenger had found brighter clothes from somewhere, curled hair hid his ears, and his perfume reached Adelia, who was across the room.\n\nHe'd also found a new dignity. \"Mistress, I am so favored. And now I must go to the Lord Mansur. He, too, is summoned.\"\n\nGyltha watched him go. \"Aping they courtiers,\" she said with disapproval. \"Our Rowley'll kick his arse for him when he comes back.\"\n\n\"Rowley's not coming back,\" Adelia said.\n\nWhen Mansur strode into the royal chamber, one of the courtiers muttered audibly, \"And now we entertain heathens.\" And as Adelia followed behind with Ward ambling at her heels, \"Oh, Lord, look at that cap. And the dog, my dear.\"\n\nEleanor, however, was all kindness. She came sweeping forward, offering her hand to be kissed. \"My Lord Mansur, how pleased we are to see you.\" To Adelia: \"My dear child, we have been remiss. We have been kept busy with matters of state, of course, but even so I fear we have neglected one with whom I fought against the devil's spawn.\"\n\nThe long upper room had been the abbess's, but now it was definitely Eleanor's. For surely Mother Edyve had not scented it with the richness of the heathen East nor filled it with artifacts so colorful\u2014shawls, cushions, a gloriously autumnal triptych\u2014that they eliminated the na\u00efve, biblical pastels on her walls. Mother Edyve had never knelt at a prie-dieu made from gold, nor would her bedposts have roared with carved lions, nor had gossamer, floating like cobwebs, descended from the bed's tester over her pillow, nor male courtiers like adoring statuary, nor a beautiful minstrel to fill the abbatial air with a love song.\n\nYet, Adelia thought, still astonished by the bed\u2014how had they got the thing on the boat?\u2014the effect was not sexual. Sensual certainly, but this was not the room of a houri, it was merely\u2026Eleanor.\n\nIt had certainly drawn Jacques into its spell. Lounging in a corner, he bowed to her, beaming and waggling his fingers. So here he was, and\u2014to judge from the joy exuding from him, his even higher boots, and a new style of hair that hid his wide ears\u2014in Aquitanian fashion paradise.\n\nThe queen was plying Mansur with dried dates and almond-paste sweetmeats. \"We who have been to Outremer know better than to offer you wine, my lord, but\"\u2014a click of elegant royal fingers toward a page\u2014\"our cook magicks a tolerable sherbet.\"\n\nMansur kept his face stolidly blank.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Eleanor said. \"Does the doctor not understand me?\"\n\n\"I fear not, lady,\" Adelia said. \"I translate for him.\" Mansur was fairly fluent in Norman French, which was being spoken here, but the pretense that he was restricted to Arabic had served the two of them well, and probably would again; it was surprising what he learned when among those who believed him not to understand. And if Bertha's killer was somewhere among this company\u2026\n\nWhat could be wanted of him? He was being treated with honor for someone whose race the queen had gone on Crusade to defeat.\n\nAh, Eleanor was asking her to pass on praise to Mansur for his medical skill in saving the life of \"one of dear Schwyz's mercenaries\"; Sister Jennet had sung so highly of him.\n\nThat was it, then. A good physician was always worth having. Christian disdain for Arab and Jew did not extend to their doctors, whose cures among their own people\u2014partly brought about, Adelia believed, by their religions' strict dietary laws\u2014gave them a high reputation.\n\nSo she herself was here merely as an interpreter.\n\nBut no, apparently she was a witness to Eleanor's courage; history was being changed.\n\nPropelling her around by a hand on her shoulder, the queen told the story of what had happened in the upper room of Wormhold Tower, where, in the presence of a rotting corpse, a sword-wielding demon had appeared.\n\nEleanor, it seemed, had held up a calm hand to it. \"Thou art a Plantagenet fiend, for that race is descended from demons. In the name of Our Savior, go back to thy master.\"\n\nAnd lo, the fiend had dropped its sword and slunk back whence it had come.\n\nWhat did I do? Adelia wondered.\n\n\"\u2026and this little person here, my own Mistress Athalia, then picked up the sword the fiend had dropped, though it was still very hot and stank of sulphur, and threw it out of the casement.\"\n\nGlad I could help. Adelia speculated on whether the queen believed her own nonsense and decided she didn't. Perhaps Dakers's attack had shocked and embarrassed her so that she must now present it to her advantage. Or perhaps she was playing games. She was bored; all these people were bored.\n\nHaving oohed and aahed throughout the recital, the courtiers applauded\u2014except Montignard, who, with a dirty look at Adelia, burst out with, \"But it was I who ministered to you afterwards, lady, did I not?\" though the list of the things he had done was overlaid by a slow hand clap from the Abbot of Eynsham leaning against one of the bedposts.\n\nEleanor turned on him, sharp. \"Our neglect is actually yours, my lord. We charged you to look after our brave Mistress Amelia, did we not?\"\n\nThe abbot surveyed Adelia from the tips of her snow-rimed boots to the unattractive cap with its earflaps on her head and down again until his eyes met hers. \"Lady, I thought I had,\" he said.\n\nThe queen was still talking. Shocked, Adelia didn't hear her. The man wished her harm, had tried to procure it. At the same time, she felt his regard, like that of a swordsman saluting another. In a way she had not yet fathomed, she, Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, known only in this place as the Bishop of Saint Albans's fancy and a useful picker up of demonic swords, mattered to Lord Abbot of Eynsham. He'd just told her so.\n\nThe queen's hands were spread out in a question, and she was smiling. The courtiers were laughing. One of them said, \"The poor thing's overwhelmed.\"\n\nAdelia blinked. \"I beg your pardon, lady.\"\n\n\"I said, dear, that you must join us here; we cannot have our little helpmeet living in whatever hole the abbey provides. You shall move in with my waiting women, I am sure they have room, and you shall take part in our sport. You must be so bored out there.\"\n\nYou are, Adelia thought again. Eleanor probably did secretly feel she had a debt for having her life saved, but even more, she needed a new pet to play with. Ennui was everywhere, in the screech of female bickering coming from the next room where the waiting women waited, in the pettish laughter directed at herself, the sense that they had run out of butts for their wit and required another.\n\nThis, after all, was a company and queen that left one castle once it had begun to stink and moved on to the next, hunting, entertaining, and being entertained, kept clean and fed by an army of cooks, fullers, laundresses, and servants, many of whom had been left behind on the trail to war that Eleanor had taken, and even more subsequently lost to the snow. Without these resources, they festered.\n\nOne of the courtiers was ostentatiously holding his nose over Ward, though the young man's own person, let alone his linen, was hardly more delectable.\n\nMove in with them all? Lord, help me. She wasn't going to accept an invitation to step into an overcrowded hell, even when extended by a queen.\n\nOn the other hand, if one of these was Bertha's killer, how better to sniff him out than by asking questions and, hopefully, receiving answers? Move in with them? No, but if, by day, she could have access to the royal chambers\u2026\n\nAdelia bowed. \"Lady, you are all goodness. As long as my baby would not disturb your nights\u2026\"\n\n\"A child?\" The queen was intrigued. \"Why didn't they tell me? A little boy?\"\n\n\"A girl,\" Adelia told her. \"She is teething and therefore wakeful\u2026\"\n\nThere was a light scream from Montignard. \"Teething?\"\n\n\"A synonym for screaming, so I do understand,\" Eynsham said.\n\n\"Our two lords do not like babies,\" Eleanor confided to Adelia.\n\n\"I do, sweet lady.\" This was the abbot again. \"So I do. Lightly broiled with parsley, I find them right toothsome.\"\n\nAdelia pressed on. \"Also, I must assist my master, Dr. Mansur here, when he is called to the infirmary at night as he so often is. I keep his potions.\"\n\n\"A synonym for stinks and rattling pots,\" the abbot said.\n\nMontignard was clasping his hands beseechingly. \"Lady, you'll not have a wink of rest. If that bell tolling the hours and the sisters singing them were not enough, we'll have the screech of babies and Lord knows what devilry\u2026you'll be exhausted.\"\n\nBless him, Adelia thought.\n\nEleanor smiled. \"Such a hedonist you are, my swain.\" She reflected, \"I do need my sleep, yet I am reluctant not to reward the girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, let her come and go,\" Eynsham said wearily, \"though not in them clothes.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course. We shall dress her.\"\n\nIt was a new thing, it would pass the time.\n\nIt was also Adelia's passport\u2014though she had to pay for it. She was carried through to the women's room, its door not quite closed, so that male heads poking round it added a chorus of comment to the humiliation of being stripped to her chemise while swathes of material were held against her skin and capless head to be pronounced too this, too that, not mauve, my dear, not with that complexion\u2014so corpselike. Where had she found such fine white linen for her chemise? Was she Saxon that she was so fair? No, no, Saxons had blue eyes, probably a Wend.\n\nShe wasn't even asked whether she wanted a new gown. She didn't; she dressed to disappear. Adelia was an observer. The only impact she ever wished to make was on her patients, and then not as a woman. Well\u2026she'd wished to make an impact on Rowley, but she'd done that without any clothes on at all\u2026.\n\nThe poor seamstresses among the queen's ladies weren't consulted, either, though the necessary needlework to transform whatever material was decided on into a bliaut for her\u2014very tight at the top, very full in the skirt, sleeves narrow to the elbow, then widening almost to the ground\u2014would be onerous, especially as Eleanor was demanding that it should have filigree embroidery at the neck and armholes, and be finished for the Christmas feast.\n\nAdelia wondered at seamstresses being taken to war and at anyone who required a military transport to contain presses full of dazzlingly colored brocades, silks, linens, and samite.\n\nIn the end, Eleanor decided on velvet of a dark, dark blue that had, as she said, \"the bloom of the Aquitanian grape.\"\n\nWhen the queen did something, she did it wholeheartedly: a flimsy veil\u2014she herself demonstrated how it should be attached to the barbette\u2014a thin, gold circlet, a tapestried belt, embroidered slippers, a cope and hood of wool fine enough to draw through a ring, all these things were Adelia's.\n\n\"Only your due, my dear,\" Eleanor said, patting her head. \"It was a very nasty demon.\" She turned to Eynsham. \"We're safe from it now, aren't we, Abbot? You said you'd disposed of it, did you not?\"\n\nDakers. What had they done to Dakers?\n\n\"Couldn't have it wandering around loose to attack my heart's lady again, could I?\" The abbot was jovial. \"I found un hiding among the convent books and, doubting it could read, would have hanged it there and then. But there was an outcry from the good sisters so, pendent opera interrupta, I had it put in the convent lockup instead. We'll take it with us when we go and hang it then\"\u2014he winked\u2014\"if it ain't frozen to death in the meantime.\"\n\nThere was appreciative laughter in which Eleanor joined, though she protested, \"No, no, my lord, the female is possessed, we cannot execute the insane.\"\n\n\"Possessed by the evil of her mistress. Better dead, lady, better dead. Like Rosamund.\"\n\nIt was a long night. Nobody could retire until the queen gave her permission, and Eleanor was inexhaustible. There were games, board games, fox and geese, Alquerque, dice. Everybody was required to sing, even Adelia, who had no voice to speak of and was laughed at for it.\n\nWhen it was Mansur's turn, Eleanor was enraptured and curious. \"Beautiful, beautiful. Is that not a castrato?\"\n\nAdelia, sitting on a stool at the queen's feet, admitted it was.\n\n\"How interesting. I have heard them in Outremer but never in England. They can pleasure a woman, I believe, but must remain childless, is that true?\"\n\n\"I don't know, lady.\" It was, but Adelia wasn't prepared to discuss it in this company.\n\nThe room became hot. More games, more singing.\n\nAdelia began to nod, jerked awake each time by a draft from the door as people came and went.\n\nJacques was gone\u2014no, there he was, bringing more food from the kitchen. Montignard was gone, and Mansur, no, they had come back from wherever they'd been. The abbot was gone, reappearing with string to satisfy Eleanor's sudden desire to play cat's cradle. There he was again, this time with Mansur, a table between them, their heads bent over a chessboard. A courtier entered, clutching snow to cool the wine\u2026another young man, the one who'd thrown snowballs at the nuns, was singing to a lute\u2026.\n\nAdelia forced herself to her feet. Crossing to the chess table, she surveyed the board. \"You're losing,\" she said in Arabic.\n\nMansur didn't look up. \"He is the better player, Allah curse him.\"\n\n\"Say something more.\"\n\nHe grunted. \"What do you want me to say? I am tired of these people. When do we go?\"\n\nAdelia addressed Eynsham. \"My lord Mansur instructs me to ask you, my lord, what you can tell him about the death of the woman, Rosamund Clifford.\"\n\nThe abbot raised his head to look at her and, again, there was that piercing connection. \"Does he? Does he indeed? And why should my lord Mansur want to inquire of it?\"\n\n\"He is a doctor; he has an interest in poison.\"\n\nEleanor had heard Rosamund's name. She called across the room. \"What is that? What are you saying?\"\n\nImmediately, the abbot was another man, bucolic, convivial. \"The good doctor do want to know about bitch Rosamund's death. Wasn't I with you when we heard of it, my sweeting? Didn't they tell us as we was landing, having crossed from Normandy? Didn't I fall to my knees and give thanks to the Great Revenger of all sin?\"\n\nEleanor held out her hands to him. \"You did, Abbot, you did.\"\n\n\"But you knew Rosamund before that,\" Adelia said. \"You said so when we were at Wormhold.\"\n\n\"Did I know Rosamund? Oh, I knew her. Could I allow vileness unchecked in my own county? My old daddy would have been ashamed. How many days did I spend in that Jezebel's lair, a Daniel exhorting her to fornicate no more?\" He was playing to the queen, but his eyes never left Adelia's.\n\nMore songs, more games, until even Eleanor was tired. \"To bed, good people. Go to bed.\"\n\nAs he escorted Adelia home, Mansur was broody, chafed by his defeat at chess, of which he was himself a skilled exponent. \"He is a fine player, that priest. I do not like him.\"\n\n\"He had a hand in Rosamund's death,\" Adelia said, \"I know it; he was taunting me with it.\"\n\n\"He was not there.\"\n\nTrue, Eynsham had been across the Channel when Rosamund died. But there was something.\u2026\n\n\"Who was the fat one with the pox?\" Mansur asked. \"He took me outside to show me. He wants a salve.\"\n\n\"Montignard? Montignard has the pox? Serve him right.\" Adelia was irritable with fatigue. It was nearly dawn. A Matins antiphon from the direction of the chapel accompanied them as they trudged.\n\nMansur raised the lantern to light her up the guesthouse steps. \"Has the woman left the door unbarred for you?\"\n\n\"I expect so.\"\n\n\"She should not. It is not safe.\"\n\n\"Then I'll have to wake her, won't I?\" Adelia said, going up. \"And her name's Gyltha. Why don't you ever say it?\" Damn it, she thought, they're as good as married.\n\nShe stumbled over something large that rested on the top step, nearly sending it over the edge and down to the alley. \"Oh, dear God. Mansur. Mansur.\"\n\nTogether, they carried the cradle into the room; the child in it was still asleep and wrapped in her blankets. She seemed to have taken no harm from being left in the cold.\n\nThe candle had gone out. Gyltha sat unmoving in the chair on which she had been waiting for Adelia to come back. For an appalling moment, Adelia thought she'd been murdered\u2014the woman's hand was dangling over the place where the cradle always lay.\n\nA snore reassured her.\n\nThe three of them sat in a huddled group around the cradle, watching Allie sleep, as if afraid she would evaporate.\n\n\"Someone come in here and stole her? Put her on the step?\" Gyltha couldn't get over it.\n\n\"Yes,\" Adelia told her. One inch farther on the step, just one inch\u2026In her mind she kept seeing the cradle turn in midair as it fell into the alley some twenty feet below.\n\n\"Someone come in here? And I never heard un? Put her out on the step?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.\"\n\n\"Where's the sense in it?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" But she did.\n\nMansur voiced it: \"He is warning you.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"You ask too many questions.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"What questions?\" Gyltha, in her panic, wasn't keeping up. \"Who don't want you asking questions?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" If she had, she would have groveled to him, squirmed at his feet in supplication. You've won. You're cleverer than I am. Go free, I won't interfere. But leave me Allie."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "The instinct was to hide with Allie in the metaphorical long grass, like a hare and leveret in their form.\n\nWhen the queen sent Jacques to inquire for her, Adelia sent back that she was ill and could not come.\n\nThe killer conversed with her in her head.\n\nHow submissive are you now?\n\nSubmissive, my lord. Totally submissive. I shall do nothing to displease you, just don't hurt Allie.\n\nShe knew him now, not who he was but what he was. Even as he'd plucked Allie's cradle from under the sleeping Gyltha's hand and put it on the steps, he'd revealed himself.\n\nSuch a simple expedient to reduce his opponent to impotence. If she didn't fear him so much, she could admire it\u2014the audacity, the economy, the imagination of it.\n\nAnd it had told her for which killings he had been responsible.\n\nThere had been two lots of murder, she knew that now, neither one having anything to do with the other; only the fact that she'd witnessed the corpses of both within a short time had given them a seeming relationship.\n\nTalbot of Kidlington's death was the most straightforward, because it had been for the oldest of reasons: gain.\n\nWolvercote had good reason to kill the boy; the elopement with Emma would have deprived him of a valuable bride.\n\nOr the inheritance Talbot had gained on his twenty-first birthday would have deprived his guardian of an income, for Master Warin could have been defrauding the boy\u2014it wasn't unknown for an heir to come into his estates only to find that they'd gone.\n\nOr, and this was a possibility Emma herself had raised while not believing it, Fitchet had alerted two friends to the fact that a young man would be arriving at the convent by night with money in his purse. After all, the gatekeeper had been acting as go-between for the two lovers\u2014presumably for a fee\u2014which indicated he was corruptible.\n\nOr\u2014the least likely\u2014the Bloats had discovered their daughter's plan and had hired killers to prevent it.\n\nSuch was Talbot's murder.\n\nYet not one on the list of his likely killers fitted the character of the man who'd crept into the guesthouse and put Allie's cradle on the steps outside. The smell of him was different, it had none of the direct brutality with which Talbot had been eliminated.\n\nNo, this man was\u2026what? Sophisticated? Professional? I do not kill unless I must. I have given you a warning. I trust you will heed it.\n\nHe was the murderer of Rosamund and Bertha.\n\nThere was more snow. The sides of the track that had been dug down to the Thames fell in under it.\n\nIt was left to Gyltha to fetch their meals from the kitchen, to empty their chamber pots in the latrine, and to gather firing from the woodpile.\n\n\"Ain't we ever a'going to take that poor baby for some air?\" she wanted to know.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nI am outside, watching. How submissive are you?\n\nTotally submissive, my lord. Don't hurt my child.\n\n\"Nobody can't snatch her, not with that old Arab along of us.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"We stay here, then, with the door barred?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nBut of course, they couldn't\u2026.\n\nThe first alarm came at night. Somewhere a handbell was ringing and people were shouting.\n\nGyltha leaned out of the window to the alley. \"They're yellin' fire,\" she said. \"I can smell smoke. Oh, dear Lord, preserve us.\"\n\nBundling Allie into her furs, they dressed themselves, snatching up what belongings they could before carrying her down the steps.\n\nFire, that greatest of threats, had brought out everybody on this side of the abbey. Fitchet came running from the gates carrying two buckets; men were emerging out of the guesthouse: Mansur, Master Warin.\n\n\"Where is it? Where is it?\"\n\nThe ringing and hubbub was coming from the direction of the pond.\n\n\"Barn?\"\n\n\"Lockup, sounds like.\"\n\n\"Oh, God,\" Adelia said. \"Dakers.\" She handed Allie to Gyltha and began running.\n\nBetween the pond and the lockup, Peg was swinging a bell as if she were thwacking an unruly cow with it. She'd seen the flames on her way to the milking. \"Up there.\" She pointed with the bell toward the narrow slit that allowed air into the little beehive building of stone that was the convent lockup.\n\nVolunteers, already forming a line, shouted to hasten the smith as he hammered an iron spar into the pond to gain water for their pails.\n\nMansur came up beside Adelia. \"I smell no fire.\"\n\n\"Neither do I.\" There was a slight smitch in the air, nothing more, and no flames apparent in the lockup's slit.\n\n\"Well, there damn was,\" Peg said.\n\nThe door to the lockup opened and a bad-tempered sentry came out. \"Oh, get on home,\" he shouted. \"No need for this rumpus. Straw caught fire, is all. I stamped it out.\" It was Cross. He locked the door behind him and gestured at the crowd with his spear. \"Go on. Get off with you.\"\n\nRelieved, grumbling, people began to disperse.\n\nAdelia stayed where she was.\n\n\"What is it?\" Mansur asked.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nCross leveled his spear at her as she came up to him from the shadows. \"Get back there, nothing to see. Go home\u2026oh, it's you, is it?\"\n\n\"Is she all right?\"\n\n\"Old Mother Midnight? She's all right. Hollered a bit, but she's dandy in there now, bloody sight dandier than it is out here. Warm. Gets her meals regular. What about the poor buggers got to guard her, that's what I say.\"\n\n\"What started the fire?\"\n\nCross looked shifty. \"Reckon as she kicked the brazier over.\"\n\n\"I want to see her.\"\n\n\"That you don't. Captain Schwyz told me: 'No bugger talks to her. No bugger to go near 'cept to bring her meals. And keep the bloody door locked.'\"\n\n\"And who told Schwyz? The abbot?\"\n\nCross shrugged.\n\n\"I want to see her,\" Adelia said again.\n\nMansur reached out and took the spear from the mercenary's hand with the ease of pulling up a weed.\n\nBlowing out his cheeks, Cross unlatched an enormous key from his belt and put it in the lock. \"Just a peep, mind. Captain's bound to be here in a minute; he'll have heard the rumpus. Bloody peasants, bloody rumpus.\"\n\nIt was only a peep. Mansur had to lift Adelia up so that she could see over the mercenary's shoulder as he blocked the door to stop them from going in.\n\nWhat light there was inside came from burning logs in a brazier. Except for an ashy patch on one side, a deep ring of straw circled the curve of the stone walls. Something moved in it.\n\nAdelia was reminded of Bertha. For a moment, a pair of eyes in the straw reflected the glow from the brazier and then disappeared.\n\nBoots could be heard crunching the ice as their owner came toward them. Cross tore his spear away from Mansur. \"Captain's coming. Get away, for God's sake.\"\n\nThey got away.\n\n\"Yes?\" Mansur asked as they walked.\n\n\"Somebody tried to burn her to death,\" Adelia said. \"The slit's up on the back wall, on the opposite side from the entrance. I think somebody tossed a lighted rag through it. If Cross was guarding the door, he wouldn't have seen who it was. But he knows it happened.\"\n\n\"The Fleming said the brazier tipped over.\"\n\n\"No. It's bolted to the floor. There was no sign that a brand fell out of it. Somebody wanted to kill her, and it wasn't Cross.\"\n\n\"She is a sad, mad bint. Perhaps she tried to burn herself.\"\n\n\"No.\" It was a natural progression. Rosamund, Bertha, Dakers. All three had known\u2014in Dakers's case, still did\u2014something they should not.\n\nIf it hadn't been for Cross's quick reaction in putting the fire out, the last of them would have been silenced.\n\nEarly the next morning, armed mercenaries broke into the chapel where the nuns were at prayer and carried off Emma Bloat.\n\nAdelia, sleeping in, heard of it when Gyltha came scurrying back from the kitchen where she'd been to fetch their breakfast. \"Poor thing, poor thing. Terrible to-do 'twas. Prioress tried to stop 'em and they knocked her down. In her own chapel. Knocked her down.\"\n\nAdelia was already dressing. \"Where did they take Emma?\"\n\n\"Village. Wolvercote it was, and his bloody Flemings. Carried her to his manor. Screaming, so they said, poor thing, poor thing.\"\n\n\"Can't they get her back?\"\n\n\"The nuns is gone after her, but what can they do?\"\n\nBy the time Adelia reached the gates, the rescue party of nuns was returning across the bridge, empty-handed.\n\n\"Can nothing be done?\" Adelia asked as they went by.\n\nSister Havis was white-faced and had a cut below her eye. \"We were turned back at spearpoint. One of his men laughed at us. He said it was legal because they had a priest.\" She shook her head. \"What sort of priest I don't know.\"\n\nAdelia went to the queen.\n\nEleanor had just been acquainted with the news herself and was raging at her courtiers. \"Do I command savages? The girl was under my protection. Did I or did I not tell Wolvercote to give her time?\"\n\n\"You did, lady.\"\n\n\"She must be fetched back. Tell Schwyz\u2014where is Schwyz?\u2014tell him to gather his men\u2026.\" She looked around. Nobody hadmoved. \"Well?\"\n\n\"Lady, I fear the\u2026um\u2026damage is done.\" This was the Abbot of Eynsham. \"It appears that Wolvercote keeps a hedge priest in the village. The words were said.\"\n\n\"Not by the girl, I'll warrant, not under those circumstances. Were her parents present?\"\n\n\"Apparently not.\"\n\n\"Then it is abduction.\" Eleanor's voice was shrill with the desperation of a ruler losing control of the ruled. \"Are my orders to be ignored in such a fashion? Are we living in the caves of brute beasts?\"\n\nApart from Adelia's, the queen's was the only anger in the room. Others, the men, anyway, were disturbed, displeased, but also faintly, very faintly, amused. A woman, as long as it wasn't their own, carried off and bedded was broad comedy.\n\nThere was an embryonic wink in the abbot's eye as he said, \"I fear our lord Wolvercote has taken the Roman attitude towards our poor Sabine.\"\n\nThere was nothing to be done. Words had been said by a priest; Emma Bloat was married. Like it or not, she had been deflowered and\u2014as it was in every male mind\u2014probably enjoyed it.\n\nHelpless, Adelia left the room, unable to bear its company.\n\nIn the cloister walk, one of Eleanor's young men, lost to everything about him, was blocking the way as he walked up and down, strumming a viol and trying out a new song.\n\nAdelia gave him a push that sent him staggering. The door of the abbey chapel at the end of the cloister beckoned to her, and she marched in, only knowing, on finding it blessedly empty, that she was wild for a solace that\u2014and she knew this, too\u2014could not be granted.\n\nShe went to her knees in the nave.\n\nDear Mother of God, protect and comfort her.\n\nThe icy, incense-laden air held only the reply: She is cattle as you are cattle. Put up with it.\n\nAdelia pummeled the stones and made her accusation out loud. \"Rosamund dead, Bertha dead. Emma raped. Why do You allow it?\"\n\nThe reply came: \"There will be medicine for our complaint eventually, my child. You of all people, with your mastery of healing, should know that.\"\n\nThe voice was a real one, dry and seemingly without human propulsion, as if it rustled out of the mouth on its own wings to flutter down from the tiny choir to the nave.\n\nMother Edyve was so small, she was almost hidden in the stall in which she sat, her hands folded on her walking stick, her chin on her hands.\n\nAdelia got up. She said, \"I have intruded, Mother. I'll go.\"\n\nThe voice alighted on her as she made for the door. \"Emma was nine years old when she came to Godstow, bringing joy to us all.\"\n\nAdelia turned back. \"No joy now, not for her, not for you,\" she said.\n\nUnexpectedly, Mother Edyve asked, \"How is Queen Eleanor taking the news?\"\n\n\"With fury.\" Because she was sour with a fury of her own, Adelia said, \"Angry because Wolvercote has flaunted her, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Mother Edyve rubbed her chin against her folded hands. \"You are unjust, I think.\"\n\n\"To Eleanor? What can she do except rant? What can any of us do? Your joyful child's enslaved for life to a pig, and even the Queen of England is helpless.\"\n\n\"I have been listening to the songs they sing to her, to the queen,\" Mother Edyve said. \"The viol and the young men's voices\u2014I have been sitting here and thinking about them.\"\n\nAdelia raised her eyebrows.\n\n\"What is it they sing of?\" Mother Edyve asked. \"Cortez amors?\"\n\n\"Courtly love. A Proven\u00e7al phrase. Proven\u00e7al fawning and sentimental rubbish.\"\n\n\"Courtly love, yes. A serenade to the unattainable lady. It is most interesting\u2014earthly love as ennoblement. We could say, could we not, that what those young men yearn for is a reflected essence of the Holy Mary.\"\n\nSilly old soul, thought Adelia, savagely. \"What those young men yearn for, Abbess, is not holiness. This song will end in a high-flown description of the secret arcade. It's their name for the vagina.\"\n\n\"Sex, of course,\" said the abbess, amazingly, \"but with a gentler longing than I have ever heard ascribed to it. Oh, yes, basically, they are singing to more than they know; they sing to God the Mother.\"\n\n\"God the Mother?\"\n\n\"God is both our father and our mother. How could it be otherwise? To create two sexes yet favor only one would be lopsided parentage, though Father Egbert chides me for saying so.\"\n\nNo wonder Father Egbert chided; it was a wonder he didn't excommunicate. God masculine and feminine?\n\nAdelia, who considered herself a modern thinker, was confounded by a perception of an Almighty who, in every religion she knew of, had created weak and sinful woman for man's pleasure, human ovens in which to bake his seed. A devout Jew thanked God daily that he had not been born female. Yet this little nun was plucking the beard from God's chin and providing Him not only with the breasts but also with the mind of a female.\n\nIt was a philosophy of most profound rebellion. But now that Adelia came to consider her, Mother Edyve was a rebel, or she would not have been prepared to flout the Church by giving space in her graveyard to the body of a king's whore. Only independence of mind could at the same time be extending charitable thought to a queen who had brought nothing but turbulence into the abbey with her.\n\n\"Yes,\" the birdlike voice went on, \"we grieve for the lopsidedness of the world as the Almighty Feminine must grieve for it. Yet God's time is not our time, we are told; an age is but a blink of an eye to one who is Alpha and Omega.\"\n\n\"Ye-es.\" Frowning, Adelia moved nearer and sat sideways on the chancel steps, hugging her knees, staring at the still figure in the stall.\n\n\"I have been thinking that in Eleanor we are witnessing a blink,\" it said.\n\n\"Eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, for the first time to my knowledge, we have a queen who has raised her voice for the dignity of women.\"\n\n\"Eh?\"\n\n\"Listen,\" the abbess said.\n\nThe trouv\u00e8re in the cloister had finished composing his song. Now he was singing it, the lovely tenor of his voice flowing into the gray chapel like honey. \"Las! einssi ay de ma mort exemplaire, mais la doleur qu'il me convendra traire, douce seroit, se un tel espoir avoie\u2026\"\n\nIf the singer was dying of love, he'd chosen to set his pain to a melody as pretty as springtime. Despite herself, Adelia smiled; the combination ought to win him his lady, all right.\n\n\"\u2026Dame, et se ja mes cuers riens entreprent, don't mes corps ait honneur n'avancement, De vous venracom loneins que vos soie\u2026\"\n\nSo if his heart ever undertook anything that would bring him honor, it would come from the beloved, however far away she was.\n\nThe music that attended Eleanor wherever she went had, to Adelia's indiscriminatory ear, been another of her affectations, the incipient background of a woman with every frailty ascribed to the feminine nature: vain, jealous, flighty, one who, in order to assert herself, had chosen to go to war to challenge a man greater than she was.\n\nYet the abbess was attending to it as if to holy script.\n\nAttending to it with her, Adelia reconsidered. She'd dismissed the elaborate, sighing poetry of the male courtiers, their interest in dress, their perfumed curls, because she judged them by the standard of rough masculinity set by a rough male world. Was regard for gentleness and beauty decadent? Rowley, she thought, with a tearing rush of fondness, would say that it was\u2014he loathed femininity in men; he equated his messenger's liking for scent with the worst excesses of the Emperor Caligula.\n\nEleanor's version, though, could hardly be decadence, because it was new. Adelia sat up. By God, it was new. The abbess was right; deliberately or not, the queen was carrying into the uncultured farmyard of her domains an image of women demanding respect, people to be considered and cherished for their personal value rather than as marketable goods. It demanded that men deserve women.\n\nFor a moment back there in the queen's apartment, Eleanor had held Wolvercote up to her courtiers, not as a powerful male gaining what was his but as a brute beast dragging its prey into the forest to be gnawed.\n\n\"I suppose you're right,\" she said, almost reluctantly.\n\n\"\u2026vous que j'aim tres loyaument\u2026Ne sans amours, emprendre nel saroie.\"\n\n\"But it's a pretense, it's artificial,\" Adelia protested. \"Love, honor, respect. When are they ever extended to everyday women? I doubt if that boy actually practices what he's singing. It's\u2026it's a pleasant hypocrisy.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have a high regard for hypocrisy,\" the little nun said. \"It pays lip service to an ideal which must, therefore, exist. It recognizes that there is a Good. In its own way, it is a token of civilization. You don't find hypocrisy among the beasts of the field. Nor in Lord Wolvercote.\"\n\n\"What good does the Good do if it is not adhered to?\"\n\n\"That is what I have been wondering,\" Mother Edyve said calmly. \"And I have come to the conclusion that perhaps the early Christians wondered it, too, and perhaps that Eleanor, in her fashion, has made a start by setting a brick in a foundation on which, with God's help, our daughters' daughters can begin to build a new and better Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"Not in time for Emma,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nPerhaps, Adelia thought drearily, it was only a very old woman who could look hopefully on a single brick laid in a wasteland.\n\nThey sat a while longer, listening. The singer had changed his tune and his theme. \"I would hold thee naked in my arms at eve, that we might be in ecstasy, my head against thy breast\u2026.\"\n\n\"That, too, is love of a sort, nevertheless,\" Mother Edyve said, \"and perhaps all one to our Great Parent, who made our bodies as they are.\"\n\nAdelia smiled at her, thinking of being in bed with Rowley. \"I have been convinced that it is.\"\n\n\"So have I, which speaks well for the men we have loved.\" There was a reflective sigh. \"But don't tell Father Egbert.\"\n\nThe abbess got up with difficulty and tested her legs.\n\nWarmed, Adelia went to help her settle her cloak. \"Mother,\" she said on impulse, \"I am afraid for Dame Dakers's safety.\"\n\nA heavily veined little hand flapped her away; Mother Edyve had become impatient to go. \"You are a busy soul, child, and I am grateful for it, but you may leave Dakers's safety to me.\"\n\nAs she hobbled out, she said something else, but the words were indistinct, something like, \"After all, I have the keys to the lockup.\"\n\nBy the end of that day, Adelia had changed. Perhaps it was anger at Emma Bloat's rape. Perhaps it was anger at the attempt on Dakers's life. Perhaps it was the courage inspired by Mother Edyve.\n\nWhatever it was, she knew she couldn't cower in the guesthouse anymore while murderers and abductors went unchecked.\n\nIn essence, the killer of Rosamund and Bertha had made a contract with her: Leave me alone and your child is safe.\n\nA shameful contract. Nevertheless, she would have abided by it, taking it as a given that he would not kill again.\n\nBut he'd tossed a burning rag through an aperture as if the living woman inside was rubbish.\n\nI can't allow that, she told him.\n\nShe was afraid, very afraid indeed; her baby would have to be protected as no child ever had been, but she, Adelia, could not live, her daughter could not live, at the cost of other people's deaths.\n\n\"Where you going?\" Gyltha called after her.\n\n\"I'm going to ask questions.\"\n\nShe found Jacques in the cloister, being taught how to play the viol by one of the troubadours. The courtiers were colonizing the place. And the nuns, she thought, are now too intimidated by everything that has happened to stop them.\n\nShe dragged the unwilling messenger away toward the almonry and sat him and herself down on a mounting block.\n\n\"Yes, mistress?\"\n\n\"I want you to help me find out who ordered the killing of Talbot of Kidlington.\"\n\nHe was set aback. \"I don't know as I'm up to that, mistress.\"\n\nShe ignored him and recounted the list of those she suspected: \"Wolvercote, Master Warin, the gatekeeper, and the Bloats.\" She went into detail.\n\nHe rubbed his chin; it was closely shaved now, like all the young men's at Eleanor's court.\n\n\"I can tell you one thing, if it helps,\" he said. \"Lawyer Warin made a to-do when he was introduced to my lord Wolvercote in church. 'So honored to make your acquaintance, my lord. We have not met, but I have long wished to know\u2026' He made a point of it\u2014I was there and heard him. If he mentioned that they had not encountered each other before, he must have said it three or four times.\"\n\n\"How did Wolvercote greet Master Warin?\"\n\n\"Like he treats everybody, as if he'd been squirted out of a backside.\" He grimaced, afraid of having offended her. \"Sorry, mistress.\"\n\n\"But you believe Warin was insisting they hadn't met before when, really, they had?\"\n\nJacques thought about it. \"Yes, I do.\"\n\nAdelia was shivering. Ward had crept under her skirts and was pressing against her knees for warmth. A gargoyle on the gutter of the abbess's house opposite gaped at her, its chin bearded with icicles.\n\nI am watching you.\n\nShe said, \"Emma thought kindly of Master Warin, which means that Talbot did, too, which also means the boy trusted him\u2026.\"\n\n\"And confided his intention to elope?\" The messenger was becoming interested.\n\n\"I know he did,\" she said. \"Emma told me so. The boy told Warin he was choosing his birthday as the day for the elopement so that he could take possession of his inheritance\u2026.\"\n\n\"Which, unbeknownst, Master Warin had squandered\u2026\" This was exciting.\n\nAdelia nodded. \"Which, indeed, Master Warin may have squandered, thereby necessitating his young cousin's removal\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026and it dawns on Master Warin that he has an ally in Lord Wolvercote. Old Wolfie will be deprived of a bride and a fortune if the elopement goes ahead.\"\n\n\"Yes. So he approaches Lord Wolvercote and suggests Talbot should die.\"\n\nThey sat back to think it through.\n\n\"Why was it so urgent that Talbot's body be identified right away?\" Adelia wondered.\n\n\"That's easy, mistress. Lawyer Warin may be pressed for money\u2014he looks a man who likes to live well. If he's Talbot's heir, it would take too long to prove to a coroner that the estate of the anonymous corpse was his. That takes a long time. Courts are slow. His creditors would come in before he inherited.\"\n\n\"And it would suit Wolvercote for Emma to realize that her lover was dead. Yes, it's all of a piece,\" she said. \"It was Wolvercote who provided the killers. Warin probably didn't know any.\"\n\n\"And got rid of them once they'd done the deed. It could be so, mistress.\"\n\nTalking it over had hardened the case for Adelia, turning theory to reality. Two men had conspired to blot out a young life. Wickedness was discussed in lawyers' offices as business, considered in manor houses over a flagon of wine; men were instructed in it. Normality, goodness were commodities to be traded for greed. Innocence was helpless against it. She was helpless against it. It gibbered at her from the rooftops.\n\n\"How to prove it, though?\" Jacques asked.\n\n\"Plotters distrust one another,\" she said. \"I think it can be done, but I shall need you to help me.\"\n\nShe let him go then, and hurried back to the guesthouse, unable to shake off her fear for Allie.\n\n\"Right as a shilling,\" Gyltha said. \"Look at her.\"\n\nBut Adelia knew that Gyltha, too, was afraid, because she'd told Mansur to move in with them, day and night.\n\n\"Anyone as doesn't like it can go and\u2026well, you know what,\" she said. \"So you do what you got to do. Mansur's on guard.\"\n\nBut so was the killer\u2026\n\nNow she had to go and see Father Paton.\n\nThis time she did it carefully, waiting until night, watching for watchers, slipping from shadow to shadow until she was protected by the narrow walk that led to the warming room stairs.\n\nSister Lancelyne was at Vespers, and the little priest was alone, poring over the cartulary by candlelight, none too pleased to be interrupted.\n\nAdelia told him everything, everything, beginning with finding Talbot's body on the bridge\u2014the little priest might have missed it while he'd been keeping warm in the cart\u2014proceeding to the happenings at Wormhold, to the return to Godstow and the death of Bertha, her suspicions of who did what, the threat to Allie, the threat to Dame Dakers.\n\nHe didn't want to hear it. He kept shifting and glancing longingly at the documents open in front of him. This was a tale reeking of the cardinal sins, and Father Paton preferred humanity in the abstract. \"Are you certain?\" he kept asking. \"Surely not. How dare you reckon such things?\"\n\nAdelia persisted, skewering him with logic like a pin through a butterfly. She didn't like him much; he didn't like her at all, but he was separated from the battle in which she was engaged, and his mind was like one of his own ledgers; she needed it as a register.\n\n\"You must keep it all very, very secret,\" she told him. \"Mention it to nobody except the king.\" This bloodless little man had to be the repository of her knowledge so that, in the event of her death, he could pass it on to Henry Plantagenet. \"When the king comes, he will know what to do.\"\n\n\"But I do not.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do.\" And she told him what it was that he must look for.\n\n\"This is impudence.\" He was shocked. \"In any case, I doubt that, even if it is extant, it will prove your case.\"\n\nAdelia doubted it, too, but it was all she had in her armory. She attempted an encouragement that she didn't feel. \"The king will come,\" she said, \"and he will prevail in the end.\" That was her only certainty. Eleanor might be extraordinary, but she had pitted herself against one who straddled his kingdom like a colossus; she could not win.\n\nThere Father Paton agreed with her. \"Yes, yes,\" he said, \"a queen is only a woman, unable to fight any cause successfully, let alone her own. All she may expect is God's punishment for rebelling against her rightful lord.\"\n\nHe turned on Adelia. \"You, too, mistress, are a mere woman, sinful, impertinent, and right or wrong, you should not be questioning your betters.\"\n\nShe held her temper and instead dangled a carrot. \"When the king does come,\" she said, \"he'll want to know who murdered Rosamund. There will be advancement for the man that can tell him who it was.\"\n\nShe watched the priest's mouth purse as he entered possible promotion to an abbacy, even a bishopric, into a mental balance sheet against the risk and l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9 of what he was being asked to do.\n\n\"I suppose I shall be serving God, who is all truth,\" he said slowly.\n\n\"You will,\" she said, and left him to get on with it.\n\nAnd then it was Christmas.\n\nThe church was so packed with bodies for Angel Mass that it was actually hot, and the smell of humanity threatened to overwhelm the fresh, bitter scent of holly and ivy garlands.\n\nAdelia almost sweltered in her beaver cloak. She kept it on because, underneath, she was wearing the bliaut that Eleanor's seamstresses had finished just in time and knew that she looked so nice in it, with all the other trimmings the queen had given her, that she felt she would attract attention.\n\n\"You show yourself,\" Gyltha had protested. \"You don't look half bad.\" Which, from her, was praise.\n\nBut the instinct to keep out of the killer's eye was still strong. Perhaps she would take off her cloak at the coming feast; perhaps she wouldn't.\n\nThe choir stalls, once more reserved for the nuns, provided a black-and-white edging to the embroidered, bedecked altar with its blaze of candles and the robes of the abbot and two priests as they moved through the litany like glowing chess pieces.\n\nThe magic was infallible.\n\nThe queue for Communion included murderous men, hostile factions, every gamut of human weakness and sorrow, yet, as it moved quietly forward, it was gripped by the same awe. At the rail, the miller knelt beside one of the men who had belabored him. Adelia received the host from the Abbot of Eynsham, whose hands rested for a second in blessing on the head of Baby Allie. The cup passed from a Wolvercote mercenary to one of Schwyz's before each lumbered back to his place, chewing and exalted.\n\nThere was common and growing breathlessness as Mary labored in her stable a few yards away. The running footfalls of the shepherds came nearer and nearer. Angels chanted above the starlit, snow-stacked church roof.\n\nWhen the abbot, raising his arms, announced a deep-throated \"The Child is born,\" his exhortation to go in peace was lost in a great shout of congratulation, several of the women yelling advice on breast-feeding to the invisible but present Mary and prompting her to \"make sure and wrap that baby up warm now.\"\n\nBethlehem was here. It was now.\n\nAs Adelia filed into the great barn, Jacques pushed through the crowd to touch her shoulder. \"The queen's greeting, mistress, and she will be disappointed if you are not wearing the gifts she gave you.\"\n\nReluctantly, Adelia took off her cloak with its hood, revealing the bliaut and the barbette, and felt naked. Walt, who was beside her, looked at her and stared. \"Wondered who this stranger was,\" he said. She supposed that, too, was a compliment. And indeed, she received a lot of surprised looks\u2014most of them friendly. For this was another gift Eleanor had, unconsciously, given her; by showing her favor, the queen had cleansed her of the taint of witchcraft.\n\nThough Eleanor and her court had made plans for its entertainments, the feast in the barn was expropriated by the English.\n\nExpropriated? It was run away with.\n\nCharming Aquitanian carols were drowned in roaring wassails as the flaming Yule log, dragged in on the end of a harness by an ox, was set on a hearth in the middle of the great square formed by the tables in the barn. A minstrel in the gallery\u2014actually, the hayloft\u2014tried singing to the diners, but since, it turned out, all the convent's people and most of the village had been invited and were making too much noise to hear him, he gave up and descended to eat with the rest.\n\nIt was a Viking meal. Meat and more meat. The icehouse had yielded its best. Eleanor's cook had, literally, battled for his art in the kitchen, but his winter sallats and frumenty, his pretty painted pastry castles and delicate flower-water jellies had been so overwhelmed and dripped on by lard and blood-gravy that he'd been taken poorly and now sat staring into space as his apprentice popped comforting little squares of roast pork into his mouth.\n\nThere were no courses, either. The convent servants had coped for too long with Godstow's overflowing and demanding guests, and the advent of Christmas had worked them even harder. They'd spent the last few days in the scorching heat of cooking fires and in decorating the barn until it resembled a glade in a forest; they weren't bloody going to miss the feast for which they'd sweated by running back and forth to the kitchens. Everything they'd cooked\u2014savory, sweet, sauced, plain, breads and pudding\u2014was dumped on the tables in one glorious heap while they clambered onto the benches nearest the barn doors to enjoy it.\n\nThis was a good thing; there was so much carving to be done at once, so much handing of dishes up and down the tables, so many shouts back and forth for \"some of that stuffing for my lady,\" \"a slice off the gander, if you please,\" \"pass up the turnip mash, there\" that a camaraderie of gustation grew between high and low, though it did not extend to the dogs waiting under the tables for scraps and squabbling when one fell their way.\n\nWard kept close to Adelia's knees, where he was fed royally\u2014his mistress was a small eater and, in order not to offend Mansur, who was sitting beside her and kept heaping her platter, she secretly slipped hunks of meat to her dog.\n\nEleanor, Adelia saw, was taking it all well. With good humor, the queen had put on the monstrous crown of ivy and bay leaves presented to her by the smith's wife, thereby ruining her own simple headdress and adding to the growing paganism of the night by her sudden resemblance to an earth goddess.\n\nApart from the royal cook, the only person to take no part in the jollity was Emma, a glacial, unmoving figure sitting next to her husband, who ignored her. Adelia tried to catch her eye, and then didn't; the girl looked at nothing.\n\nHow were Master and Mistress Bloat going to deal with the situation? Adelia wondered. Were they condemning the abduction of their daughter?\n\nNo, they'd decided to overlook it. They'd placed themselves on the inner side of one of the tables opposite the abductor, though Wolvercote was rebuffing most of their attempts to engage him in conversation.\n\nMaster Bloat even tried to stand up and make a toast to the happy couple, but the volume of noise increased alarmingly as he did so, and Emma, coming to life for the first time, regarded her father with a look so bitter that the man's words withered in his mouth and he sat down again.\n\nWith Mansur on her left and Allie tied firmly in a sling to her hip\u2014there was to be no more abduction of daughters\u2014Adelia turned her attention to the man on her right. She had taken pains to get a seat next to him.\n\nMaster Warin had kept to himself until now, and the fact that he had to ask her, politely, who she was and did not react unfavorably when she told him her name showed that he had been isolated from convent gossip.\n\nHe had a nervous habit of licking his lips and had none of the smooth superiority of most lawyers, an unremarkable person who'd softened but did not try to hide a strong Gloucestershire accent. Adelia got the impression that gaining legal qualification had been hard for him, both financially and intellectually, and that he confined himself to consilio et auxilio, advising on wills, assarts, boundary disputes, contracts of service, all the minutiae of everyday law, though important enough to those involved with them.\n\nWhen she commiserated with him on the death of his young cousin, he wet his lips again and real tears came into his shortsighted eyes: The murder had bereft him of family, he told her, since he had no wife as yet. \"How I envy you this bonny little girl, mistress. I would dearly like children.\"\n\nAdelia had built a case against the lawyer. She had to keep reminding herself that somebody had passed on the information that led to killers waiting on the bridge for Talbot of Kidlington, and none was more likely than this little man, who said of Talbot, \"We were closer than cousins. He was my younger brother after his parents died. I looked after him in everything.\"\n\nBut while it was modest, his clothing was of a quality not to be expected of a family lawyer, and the large seal ring on his finger was entirely of gold; Master Warin did himself well. Also, his taste did not run to mead and ale; his grabs at the wine jug as it was passed round were frequent.\n\nAdelia applied the spur. \"Your cousin didn't confide to you his intention to run away with Mistress Bloat, then?\" she asked.\n\n\"Of course not.\" Master Warin's voice became sharp. \"A lunatic idea. I would have dissuaded him from it. Lord Wolvercote is an important man. I would not have him shamed by one of my family.\"\n\nHe was lying. Emma had said he'd been part of the elopement conspiracy.\n\n\"Did you know him, then? Wolvercote?\"\n\n\"I did not.\" Master Warin's tongue wriggled around his lips. \"We met in church the other night for the first time.\"\n\nLying again. This was her man.\n\n\"I'd only wondered if you knew what your cousin was planning, because people are saying that you came here hot on his heels\u2026.\"\n\n\"Who says that?\"\n\n\"You arrived at the abbey so soon after\u2026\"\n\n\"That is a calumny. I was worried for my cousin traveling in the snow. Who are these slanderers? Who are you? I don't need to sit here\u2026.\" His tongue flickering like a snake's, Master Waringrabbed his wine cup and moved away to find a seat farther down the table.\n\nMansur turned his head to watch the lawyer's agitated progress. \"Did he kill the boy?\" he asked in Arabic.\n\n\"In a way. He told Wolvercote so that Wolvercote could kill him.\"\n\n\"As guilty, then.\"\n\n\"As if he shot the bolt himself, yes. He could have said he knew about the elopement and turned up at the abbey in order to stop it, thus explaining why he was so prompt on the scene. But he wouldn't say that\u2014I gave him the opportunity\u2014because people would think he was in Wolvercote's pocket, and he insists they never met. Actually, it wouldn't condemn him if he said they had, but they conspired together to kill the boy, you see, and it's warping his judgment. Guilt is making him distance himself from Wolvercote when he doesn't need to.\"\n\n\"He betrayed his own kin, Allah spit on him. Can we prove it?\"\n\n\"We'll try.\" Adelia took Allie out of the sling and rubbed her cheek against her daughter's downy head. How much more depressing was the banal ordinariness of a murderer like little Lawyer Warin than the brutality of a Wolvercote.\n\nThere was a sudden push, and she was shoved to one side by Cross taking the place that Warin had left and bringing with him the chill of outside. \"Move up there.\" The mercenary began reaching for dishes like a starving man.\n\n\"What have you been up to?\" she asked.\n\n\"What you think I been up to? Marching up and down outside that bloody lockup. And a waste of bloody time that was. She's gone.\"\n\n\"Who's gone?\"\n\n\"The demon. Abbot hisself told me she was a demon. Who'd you think?\"\n\n\"Dakers? Dakers has gone?\" She was on her feet, startling Allie, who'd been sucking the marrow of a beef bone. \"Oh, dear God, they've taken her.\"\n\nCross looked up at her, gravy dripping from his mouth. \"What you on about? Nobody ain't taken her. She's vanished. That's what demons do, they vanish.\"\n\nAdelia sat down. \"Tell me.\"\n\nHow it had been done, or even when, Cross couldn't tell her, because he didn't know; nobody knew. It hadn't been discovered until a short while ago when, on instructions from the cellaress, a kitchen servant had brought a tray of Christmas food for its prisoner and Cross had used his key to open the lockup's door.\n\n\"'S on a ring, the key is, see,\" he said. \"Each guard passes it on to the next one as takes over. Oswald passed it to me when I went on duty, an' Walt'd passed it to him when he went on duty, and they both swears they never opened that bloody door, an' I know I didn't, not til I unlocked it just now\u2026.\"\n\nThere was a pause while he scooped beef into his mouth.\n\n\"And?\" Adelia asked, impatient.\n\n\"An' so I fits the key in the lock, turns it, opens the door, and the boy goes in with the basket, and there she was\u2026gone. Place as bare as a baby's arse.\"\n\n\"Somebody must have let her out.\" Adelia was still worried.\n\n\"No, they bloody ain't,\" Cross said. \"I tell you, nobody din't open the bloody door til then. She's vanished. 'S what demons do. Turned herself into a puff a smoke and out through one of the slits, that's what she done.\"\n\nHe'd called for Schwyz to come to the lockup, he said, nodding toward the empty space on the upper table where the mercenary leader had been sitting. Sister Havis, too, had been summoned.\n\n\"But, like I told 'em, you won't find her a'cause she's vanished, gone back to hell where she come from. What else you expect from a demon? Here he comes, look, shittin' hisself six ways from Sunday.\"\n\nA scowling Schwyz had entered the barn and was striding up to the table where the Abbot of Eynsham sat next to the queen. All the diners were too busy carousing and eating to pay him any attention, except those to whom he had to deliver the news. Adelia saw that Eleanor merely raised her eyebrows, but the abbot immediately got to his feet; he seemed to be shouting, though the noise in the barn was too great for Adelia to hear him.\n\n\"He's wanting the abbey searched,\" Cross said, interpreting. \"No bloody chance of that, though. Nobody ain't leaving Yule food to go huntin' a demon in the dark. I ain't, I know that.\"\n\nSo much was obvious. The abbot was talking urgently to Lord Wolvercote, who was shrugging him off like a man who didn't care. Now he was appealing to the abbess, whose response, while more courteous, showed a similar refusal to be of help.\n\nAs she spread her hands to indicate the uselessness of interrupting the diners, Mother Edyve's eyes rested for a moment without expression on Adelia's across the room.\n\nAfter all, I have the keys to the lockup.\n\n\"What you laughing at?\" Cross asked.\n\n\"At a man hoist with his own petard.\"\n\nHowever the abbess had managed the escape, whichever of Dakers's guards had been commanded to turn a blind eye, the Abbot of Eynsham could neither accuse nor punish. He was the one who, in locking her up, had demonized Rosamund's housekeeper; he could not now complain if, as Cross said, she had done what demons did.\n\nStill grinning, Adelia leaned forward to tell Gyltha, who was on the Arab's other side, what had happened.\n\n\"Good luck to the old gargoyle.\" Gyltha took another swig from her beaker; she'd been imbibing with energy for some time.\n\nMansur said in Arabic, \"Convent men have been digging a path through the snow down to the river. The abbess ordered it. I overheard the man Fitchet say it was so that the queen could go skating on the ice. Now I think that they have been making an escapeway for Rosamund's woman.\"\n\n\"They've let her leave? In this weather?\" It wasn't funny anymore. \"I thought they'd hide her somewhere in the abbey.\"\n\nMansur shook his head. \"It is too crowded, she would be found. She will survive if Allah wills it. It is not far to Oxford.\"\n\n\"She won't go to Oxford.\"\n\nThere was only one place Dame Dakers would be making for.\n\nFor the rest of the meal and as the tables were put aside to clear the barn for dancing, Adelia thought of the river and the woman who would be following its course northward. Would the ice hold her? Could she survive the cold? Had the abbot, who would know where she was heading, sent men and dogs after her?\n\nMansur, looking at her, said, \"Allah protects the insane. He will decide whether the woman lives or dies.\"\n\nBut it was because Dakers was insane and friendless and knew too much that Adelia's shoulders were bowed by responsibility for her.\n\nAllah, God, whoever You are, look out for her.\n\nHowever, in seeing to young Allie, who, having fed and slept and now woken up again, needing to be wiped top and bottom and to have her clouts changed, and demanding entertainment, Adelia was forced to dwell on what was immediate.\n\nThere was entertainment in plenty. The troubadours had gathered in the hayloft and were now playing with a force and rhythm that couldn't be denied; the queen and her court danced to the music with toe-pointing, hand-arching elegance at one end of the barn while, at the other, the English jounced in swinging, noisy rings.\n\nA convent pensioner was juggling apples with a dexterity that belied his years, and the smith, against the advice of his wife, was swallowing a sword.\n\nActivity and grunts from under the hayloft eventually produced a wild assortment of figures that proceeded to put on an impromptu and scatological version of Noah's flood so exuberantly that the dancers paused to become its audience.\n\nAdelia, sitting on the ground with a crowing, pointing Allie against her knees, found herself enjoying it. It was doubtful if Noah would have recognized the species capering up this invisible gangplank into an invisible ark. The only real animal, the convent donkey, outperformed the rest of the cast by dropping a pungent criticism of their performance on the foot of a unicorn, played by Fitchet, making Gyltha laugh so hard that Mansur had to drag her away until she recovered.\n\nFor all their sophistication, Eleanor's party couldn't resist the applause accorded to such vulgarism. They joined in, dropping refinement and showing themselves to be clowns manqu\u00e9s as they appeared in startling wigs and skirts, faces painted with flour and madder.\n\nWhat was it about some men that they must ape women, Adelia thought, even as she booed an irascible Mrs. Noah, played with brio by Montignard, belaboring Noah for being drunk.\n\nWas that Jacques under the warts, straw hair, and extended bosom of Japhet's wife? Surely that wasn't the Abbot of Eynsham black-faced and whirling so fast on his toes that his petticoat flared in a blur?\n\nAllie, still clutching her marrow bone, had fallen asleep again. It was time to go to bed before the manic hilarity of the night descended into brawling, as it almost inevitably would. Already Schwyz's men and Wolvercote's had separated into drunken coteries and were focusing blearily on one another in a way suggesting that the spirit of Christmas was on its last legs.\n\nWolvercote himself had already gone, taking Emma with him. The queen was thanking the abbess before departing, and Mother Edyve was signaling to her nuns. Master Warin had disappeared. The smith, clutching his throat, was being led away by his wife.\n\nAdelia looked around for Gyltha and Mansur. Oh, dear, her beloved Arab\u2014possibly the only sober person in the barn apart from herself\u2014had been inveigled into doing his sword dance for the delight of some convent servants, and Gyltha was gyrating round him like an inebriated stoat. Not a drinker usually, Gyltha, but she could never resist alcohol when it was free.\n\nYawning, Adelia picked up Allie and took her to the corner in which they'd left the cradle, put the child in it, took away the marrow bone, gave it to Ward, covered up her daughter, and raised the cradle's little leather hood, then settled down beside it to wait.\n\nAnd fell asleep to dream a frenetic, rowdy dream that turned hideous when a bear picked her up and, clutching her to its pelt, began dragging her away into the forest. She heard growling as Ward attacked the bear and then a yelp as it kicked him away.\n\nStruggling, almost smothered, her legs trailing, Adelia woke up fully. She was being pulled into the darkest corner under the hayloft in the arms of the Abbot of Eynsham. He slammed her so hard against the outer wall that bits of lathe and plaster showered them both, pushing his great body against her.\n\nHe was very, very drunk and whispering. \"You're his spy, you bitch. The bishop. I know you\u2026pretending to be prim with me, you whore, I know\u2026what you got up to. How's he do it? Up the arse? In your mouth?\"\n\nBrandy fumes enveloped her as his blackened face came down onto hers.\n\nShe jerked her head away and brought up her knee as sharply as she could, but the ridiculous skirt he was wearing gave him protection and, though he grunted, his weight stayed on her.\n\nThe whispering went on and on. \"\u2026think you're so clever\u2026see it in your eyes, but you're a stinking strumpet. A spy. I'm better than Saint Albans\u2026. I'm better.\u2026\" His hand had found herbreast and was squeezing it. \"Look at me, I can do it\u2026Love me, you bitch, love me\u2026.\" He was licking her face.\n\nOutside the suffocating cubicle she was trapped in, somebody was intervening, trying to pull the heaving, hissing awfulness off her. \"Leave her, Rob, she's not worth it.\" It was Schwyz's voice.\n\n\"Yes, she is. She looks at me like I'm shit\u2026like she knows.\"\n\nThere was the sound of a loud smack, then air and space. Relieved of weight, Adelia slid down the wall, gasping.\n\nThe abbot lay on the ground, onto which Mansur had flattened him. He was weeping. Beside him, Schwyz was on his knees, giving comfort like a mother. \"Just a whore, Robert, you don't want that.\"\n\nMansur stood over them both, sucking his knuckles but impassive as ever. He turned and held out his hand to Adelia. She took it and got to her feet.\n\nTogether, they walked back to the cradle. Before they reached it, Adelia paused, wiping her face, smoothing her clothes. Even then, she couldn't look down at her child. How impure they made you feel.\n\nBehind her, Schwyz's soothing went on, but the wail of the abbot rose high above it. \"Why Saint Albans? Why not me?\"\n\nWith Mansur carrying the cradle, they collected a staggering, singing Gyltha and walked back to the guesthouse through the welcome cold of the night.\n\nAdelia was too deep in shock to be angry, though she knew she would be; after all, she had more regard for herself than women who, miserably, expected assault as the price for being women. But even while her body was shaking, her mind was trying to fathom the reason for what had happened. \"I don't understand,\" she said, wailing. \"I thought he was a different sort of enemy.\"\n\n\"Allah punish him, but he would not have hurt you, I think,\" Mansur said.\n\n\"What are you talking about? He did hurt me. He tried to rape me.\"\n\n\"He is incapable, I think,\" Mansur said. His own condition had made a judge of such things; he found the sexuality of so-called normal men interesting. Though castrated, unable to have children, he himself could still have sex with a woman, and there was lofty pity in his voice for one who could not.\n\n\"He seemed capable enough to me.\" Sobbing, Adelia stopped and scooped up snow to rub over her face. \"Why are you so tolerant?\"\n\n\"He wants, but he cannot have. I think so. He is a talker, not a doer.\"\n\nWas that it? Inadequacy? Among all the filth, there had been a despairing appeal for love, sex, something.\n\nRowley had said of him, \"Bastard. Clever. Got the ear of the Pope.\"\n\nAnd with all the cleverness, this friend of popes must, when drunk, plead for a despised woman's regard like a child for somebody else's toy.\n\nBecause she despised him?\n\nAnd I do, she thought. If there was vulnerability, it made the abbot the more loathsome to her. Adelia preferred her enemies straightforwardly and wholeheartedly without humanity.\n\n\"I hate him,\" she said\u2014and now she was angry. \"Mansur, I'm going to bring that man down.\"\n\nThe Arab bent his head. \"Let us pray that Allah wills it.\"\n\n\"He'd better.\"\n\nFury was cleansing to the mind. Nevertheless, as Mansur persuaded Gyltha to stop kissing him and go to sleep, Adelia washed herself all over in a bowl of icy water from the ewer. And felt better.\n\n\"I'll bring him down,\" she said again, \"somehow.\"\n\nFor a minute, which was all that could be borne of the cold, she opened one of the shutters to look out on the geometric shadows that the pitches of the abbey's roofs were throwing onto the stretch of snow beyond its walls.\n\nA blacker runnel scarred the moonlit whiteness where a new track had been dug to the river. They were linked now, the abbey and the Thames. For the first time, there was an escape route from this seething, overfilled cauldron of humanity where paragons and monsters fought the ultimate, yet never-ending, battle in suffocating collision.\n\nAt least one soul had taken it. Somewhere in that metallic wilderness, Dakers was risking her life not, Adelia knew, in order to disappear from her captors but to reach the thing she loved, though it was dead."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "When, early next morning, Adelia opened the shutters on Saint Stephen's Day, it was to find that something had happened to the view from the guesthouse. Yes, of course, a new path was leading down to the bank\u2014they'd cut rough steps in it\u2014but it was more than that; the sense of isolation was gone, and expectation had taken its place.\n\nIt was difficult to see why; dawn was blessing the deserted countryside with its usual ephemeral touch of apricot. The snow was as solid as it had been and contained no human footprints as far as the eye stretched.\n\nYet the white forest across the river was, somehow, less rigid\u2026.\n\n\"They're here.\"\n\nMansur joined her at the window. \"I see nothing.\"\n\n\"I thought I saw something in those trees.\"\n\nThey stood looking. Adelia's excitement trickled away; the expectation was in her, not in the view.\n\n\"Wolves, most like,\" said Gyltha, who was skulking at the rear of the room, avoiding the light. \"I heard them last night, horrid close they was.\"\n\n\"Was that when you were vomiting into the chamber pot?\" Adelia asked interestedly.\n\nGyltha ignored her. \"Right up to the walls, they were. I reckon they found young Talbot's horse as was left in the woods.\"\n\nAdelia hadn't heard them\u2014it had been bears that prowled her sleep. But Gyltha was probably right; it would be wolves among the trees\u2014less frightening than those inside the walls.\n\nYet the leap of hope that Rowley was alive and had brought the king and his men to them had been so volcanic that she couldn't relinquish it altogether. \"There could be an army hiding out there,\" she said. \"It wouldn't attack without knowing the strength of the force inside the abbey\u2014the sisters might get hurt. He'd wait, Henry would wait.\"\n\n\"What for?\" Mansur asked.\n\n\"Yes what for?\" Gyltha was being determinedly talkative to show that she wasn't suffering. \"He wouldn't need an army to take this place\u2014me and little Allie could storm it by ourselves. And how'd the king get here? No, old Wolf knows he's safe til the snow melts. He ain't even posted lookouts.\"\n\n\"He has now,\" Mansur said.\n\nAdelia leaned out. Gyltha joined her. Immediately below, a man in Wolvercote scarlet and black was patrolling the walkway running along the hopelessly inadequate castellations of the convent wall, his morning shadow falling rhythmically on the merlons as he passed and disappearing at each crenel. He had a pike in one hand and a rattle in the other.\n\n\"What's he guarding us from?\" Gyltha asked. \"Magpies? There ain't no army out there. Nobody don't fight in winter.\"\n\n\"Henry does,\" Adelia said. She was hearing Rowley's voice, vibrating from the near-incredulous pleasure with which he'd spoken of his king's exploits, recounting the tale of the young Plantagenet when, fighting for his mother's right to the throne of England against his uncle Stephen, he'd crossed the Channel with a small army in a bitter Christmas gale, catching his enemies hibernating\u2014and beating them.\n\nUntil now, Wolvercote had been relying on an English winter to keep his enemy as powerless to move as he was. But whether it was because the umbilical path through the snow now connected the convent to the outside world, or whether there was something in the air today, Saint Stephen's day, he had set a guard\u2026.\n\n\"He's afraid.\" Adelia's own voice vibrated. \"He thinks Henry's coming. And he could, Mansur, the king could\u2014his men could skate upriver and get here.\" She had another thought: \"I suppose Wolvercote could even skate his men down to Oxford and join the other rebels. Why hasn't he?\"\n\n\"The man Schwyz thought of it. He is the better tactician,\" Mansur said. \"He asked Fitchet if it could be done. But further down, the Thames is deeper and has more tributaries, its ice does not hold and cannot be risked. Nobody can go or come that way.\" Mansur spread his hands in apology to Adelia for disappointing her. \"Local knowledge. No one moves until the snow melts.\"\n\n\"And close them bloody shutters,\" Gyltha said. \"You want this baby to freeze?\" Suddenly gentle, she added, \"Nobody in the outside world don't know we're here, my duck.\"\n\n\"The woman is right,\" Mansur said.\n\nThey've lost hope, she thought. They've given Rowley up for dead at last. Godstow festered like an unsuspected bubo in the world's white flesh, waiting to spread its poison. Only the birds overhead could know that it flew the pennant of a rebel queen\u2014and birds weren't likely to tell anybody.\n\nBut today, against all evidence, hope told Adelia that there was something beyond these shutters. At least there were steps leading to the river, and the river, however treacherous, led to the outside world. It was sunny, and there was an indefinable feeling in the air.\n\nShe'd been afraid too long, besieged too long, threatened too long, shut in dark rooms during daylight like a hostage\u2014they all had.\n\nHearing talk and laughter, she gave the shutters a push that threw them back against the wall and leaned out again.\n\nFarther along, the convent gates were opening and a crowd of chattering men and women were assembling outside them. In their center was a slim, elegant figure dressed in furs with a sheen that glowed in the sun.\n\n\"The queen's going skating,\" Adelia said. She turned round. \"And so are we. All of us. Allie, too.\"\n\nEverybody did. It was, after all, Saint Stephen's Day, which, by tradition, belonged to the servants, whom, since they could not go home to their villages, had to enjoy it in situ. Tonight it would be their privilege to have their own private feast on last night's leftovers.\n\nAlmost every worker in the abbey tumbled out onto the ice, some without skates but all carrying the traditional clay box that they rattled invitingly under the noses of the guests.\n\nHaving made her contribution, Adelia turned to delighting her daughter by attaching her belt to the cradle and skimming the child in it over the ice as she skated. Others on skates similarly obliged those who had none, so that the wide sweep of the Thames became a whirl of sledges and trays, of puffed jokes and pink cheeks, through which a smiling queen sailed, swanlike, with her courtiers gaggling after her.\n\nThe nuns joined them after Lauds, the younger ones shrieking happily and vying with Sister Havis, who, while making it seem stately, outraced them all.\n\nA brazier was placed on the ice near the bank and a chair carried to it so that Mother Edyve could sit by its warmth in company with the walking wounded that Sister Jennet had brought from the infirmary. Ward, whose attempts to scrabble along behind Adelia kept ending with his legs splaying into a quadrant, gave up the battle and settled down to sulk on the piece of carpet under the abbess's chair.\n\nAdelia saw her patient and skated over to him, dragging the cradle behind her. \"Are you progressing well?\"\n\nPoyns's young face was abeam. \"Right nicely, mistress, I thank ee. And the abbess is giving me a job, assistant gatekeeper to Master Fitchet. Don't need two arms in gatekeepin'.\"\n\nAdelia smiled back at him. What a nice abbey this was.\n\n\"And thank Master Man\u2026Manum\u2026thank the doctor for me; God and the saints bless him.\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\nTables appeared bearing some remnants of the Christmas feast.\n\nSitting on somebody's homemade sledge on the far bank where Ward joined them, Adelia and Gyltha masticated Allie's dinner for her and ate their own, ignoring the child's persistent \"Bor, bor,\" asking to be taken onto the ice again.\n\n\"She means 'more,'\" Adelia said proudly. \"That's her first word.\"\n\n\"Them's her first orders,\" Gyltha said. \"Who's a little tyrant, then?\" She abandoned her lamb chop to Ward, picked up the belt, and skated off with the cradle, throwing up a spray of ice behind her.\n\nAdelia and her dog sat on. From here she had a panorama of the convent walls. There were now two of Wolvercote's men patrolling, both of them keeping their eyes on the trees behind her. A figure stood at one of the windows in the men's guesthouse\u2014she thought it was Master Warin.\n\nNo sign of the abbot, thanks be to God; he'd become dreadful to her, as, with her rejection, she must have become dreadful to him\u2014and would be punished for it.\n\nThe bridge had been closed; she could tell that because some Wolvercote villagers were crowding the far side of it, wistfully watching the merrymakers on ice. Others were digging their own path down to the river.\n\nBehind her, in the forest that she'd hoped would be hiding Henry Plantagenet and his army, she could hear the shouts of the younger convent men as, careless of wolves, they scoured the undergrowth in the hunt for a wren, their noise indicating that they were not encountering anything larger.\n\nShe looked back to see their figures running through the trees, faces blackened with soot, as tradition demanded they should be. Why it was necessary to catch a wren at all on Saint Stephen's Day she did not understand; she could never fathom English customs. Pagan, most of them.\n\nShe returned to watching the scene on the ice.\n\nWolvercote was talking to Eleanor at the food table. Where was Emma?\n\nAdelia wondered what it was that had stirred the man into setting a watch now, when he had neglected any precaution for so long. Perhaps he'd sensed the same alertness in the air that so invigorated herself\u2014or had just glimpsed another opportunity to assert his control. Either way, he was a fool as well as a brute; what point was there in guarding the abbey and, apparently, readying it in case of siege when nearly all its occupants were capering outside its walls, any one of whom could carry news of his presence in it to his enemy?\n\nShe was glad of it\u2014the liberation. If it hadn't meant leaving her nearest and dearest behind, she'd have been tempted to skate off and find Henry for herself.\n\nBut Schywz had just come out of the abbey gates and was viewing the indisciplined joyousness below him like a man who could organize things better. And, damn him, he was going to organize them better. Descending the steps, approaching Wolvercote, berating\u2026\n\nWithin minutes he'd stationed his mercenaries at each end of the river's bend. Nobody would get away now. He was actually scolding Eleanor, pointing her toward the convent gate\u2026. She was shaking her head, having too much fun, skating away from him.\n\nThey'd have to go in soon; the sun was getting low, withdrawing brightness and such warmth as it had bestowed. At last, Eleanor's clear diction was heard thanking Mother Edyve for the entertainment. \"So refreshing\u2026\" People were beginning to climb the steps of the track.\n\n\"Mistress,\" said a crisp voice behind Adelia. It was Father Paton.\n\nRowley's little secretary looked incongruous on skates, but he balanced on them neatly, his mittened, inky hands crossed on his chest as if protecting himself from the unworthy. \"I have it,\" he said.\n\nShe stared at him. \"You\u2026found it? I can't believe\u2026it was such a long shot.\" She had to pull herself together. \"And is it the same?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I regret to say that the similarity with the one you gave me is undeniable.\"\n\n\"It would stand up in a court of law?\"\n\n\"Yes. There are peculiarities common to each that even the illiterate would recognize. I have it here, I have them both\u2026.\" He began unbuckling the large scrip hanging from his belt.\n\nAdelia stopped him. \"No, no, I don't want them. You keep them, and my affidavit. Keep them very safe until the time comes\u2026and in the name of Jesus, tell nobody you have them.\"\n\nFather Paton pursed his lips. \"I have written my own account of this affair, explaining to whomsoever it may concern that I have done what I have done because I believe it to be the will of my master, the late Bishop of Saint Albans\u2026.\"\n\nThere was a swirl of ice as the bishop's messenger encircled them and came to a sliding stop.\n\nJacques's face was ruddy with exercise; he looked almost handsome, though his bishop would not have approved of the elaborate, hand-twirling, very Aquitanian bow he gave Adelia. \"It's done, mistress. With good fortune, they're meeting in the church at Vespers. You and this gentleman should take your positions early.\"\n\n\"What nonsense is this?\" Father Paton disapproved of Jacques only slightly less than he did of Adelia.\n\n\"Jacques has been delivering two invitations that I've written, Father,\" she told him. \"We are going to eavesdrop; we are going to prove who contrived the death of Talbot of Kidlington.\"\n\n\"I will have nothing to do with all your supposed killings. You expect me to eavesdrop? Preposterous, I refuse.\"\n\n\"What supposed killings?\" Jacques asked, puzzled.\n\n\"We shall be there,\" Adelia told the priest. She cut off his protests. \"Yes, you shall. We need an independent witness. God in Heaven, Father, a young man was put to death.\"\n\nA rough figure with an even rougher voice had come up to them. \"Get inside, you lot, and quick about it.\" Cross had his arms held wide to scoop the three of them toward the steps.\n\nGlad to go, Father Paton skated off.\n\n\"Can he help us with Bertha's death?\" Jacques asked.\n\n\"I'm not telling you again,\" Cross said. \"The chief says inside, so get bloody inside.\"\n\nJacques obeyed. Adelia lingered.\n\n\"Come on, now, missis. 'S getting chilly.\" The mercenary took her arm, not unkindly. \"See, you're shaking.\"\n\n\"I don't want to go in,\" she said. The convent walls would imprison her and the killer together again; she was being dragged back into a cage that held a monster with blood on its fangs.\n\n\"You ain't staying here all night.\" As he pulled her over the ice, Cross shouted over his shoulder at the wren hunters in the trees. \"Time to go in, lads.\"\n\nWhen they reached the steps, he had to haul Adelia up them like an executioner assisting a prisoner to the gallows.\n\nBehind them, a crowd of men emerged from the trees of the far bank, shouting in triumph over a small cage twisted from withies in which fluttered a frightened wren. They were hooded, covered in snow, their black faces rendering them unrecognizable.\n\nAnd if, whooping and capering with the rest, there was one more figure going in through the convent gates than had left them, nobody noticed it.\n\nThe convent carpenter had laid boards across the end rafters of the church's Saint Mary side chapel in order to facilitate the removal and replacement of struts that showed signs of rotting, creating a temporary and partial little loft in which the two people now hiding in it could listen but not see. Adelia and Father Paton were, quite literally, eavesdroppers.\n\nIt had taken considerable urging to get the priest to accompany her into the rafters. He'd protested at the subterfuge, the risk, the indignity.\n\nAdelia hadn't liked it, either. This wasn't her way of doing things, it was arbitrary, unscientific. Worse, the fear she felt at being once more in the abbey sapped her energy, leaving her with a deadening feeling of futility.\n\nBut coming in through the chapel's door, a draft had wavered the candles burning on the Virgin's altar, one of them lit by Emma for Talbot of Kidlington, and so she had bullied, shamed, and cajoled. \"We have a duty to the dead, Father.\" It was the bedrock of her faith, as fundamental to her as the Athanasian Creed to Western liturgy, and perhaps the priest had recognized its virtue, for he had stopped arguing and climbed the ladder Jacques set for them.\n\nNow Vespers had chimed, the faint chanting from the cloisters had stopped. The church was empty\u2014ever since the mercenaries had proved troublesome, the nuns had transferred the vigil for their dead to their own chapel.\n\nSomewhere a dog barked. Fitchet's mongrel, probably\u2014a bristled terror at whose every approach Ward, not renowned for his courage, lay down and rolled over.\n\nThey were too far back in the loft to see anything below. Only a glow from the altar candles in the church proper reached them so that they could, at least, make out the wagon roof above them. It gave Adelia the impression that she and the priest were lying on the thwarts of an upended boat. Uncomfortably.\n\nFierce little beads that were the eyes of the bats hanging from the lathes overhead glared down at her.\n\nA scamper nearby caused Father Paton to squeak. \"I abhor rats.\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" she told him.\n\n\"This is foolishness.\"\n\nPerhaps it was, but they couldn't alter it now\u2014Jacques had taken the ladder away, replacing it in the bell tower next door from whence it had come, perching himself in the shadows at the tower's top.\n\nA latch clicked. The unoiled hinges of the chapel's side door protested with a screech. Somebody hissed at the noise. The door closed. Silence.\n\nWarin. It would be the lawyer; Wolvercote wouldn't creep as this one crept.\n\nAdelia felt a curious despair. It was one thing to theorize about a man's guilt, another to have it confirmed. Somewhere below her stood a creature who'd betrayed the only relative he had, a boy in his care, a boy who'd trusted him and had been sent to his death.\n\nA rasp of hinges again, this time accompanied by the stamp of boots. There was a vibration of energy.\n\n\"Did you send me this?\" Wolvercote's voice. Furious. If Master Warin protested, the listeners did not hear him because Wolvercote continued without pause. \"Yes you did, you whoreson, you puling pot of pus, you stinking spittle, you'll not tax me for more, you crapulous bit of crud\u2026.\"\n\nThe tirade, its wonderful alliteration unsuspected from such a source, was accompanied by slaps, presumably across Master Warin's face, that resounded against the walls like whip cracks\u2014each one making Father Paton jump so that Adelia, lying beside him in the rafters, flinched in unison.\n\nThe lawyer was keeping his head, though it had to be buzzing. \"Look, look, my lord. In the name of Christ, look.\" The onslaught stopped.\n\nHe's showing his letter.\n\nApart from giving the time and place of the suggested meeting, the message she'd written to each man had been short: We are discovered.\n\nThere was a long pause while Wolvercote\u2014not a reading man\u2014deciphered the note sent to Warin. The lawyer said quietly, \"It's a trap. Somebody's here.\"\n\nThere were hurried, soft footfalls as Warin searched, the opening of cupboards\u2014a thump of hassocks falling to the floor as they were dislodged. \"Somebody's here.\"\n\n\"Who's here? What trap?\" Wolvercote was staying where he was, shouting after Warin as the little man went into the body of the church to search that, too. \"Didn't you send me this?\"\n\n\"What's up there?\" Master Warin had come back. \"We should look up there.\"\n\nHe's looking upward. The impression that the man's eyes could see through the boards tensed Adelia's muscles. Father Paton didn't move.\n\n\"Nobody's up there. How could anybody get up there? What trap?\"\n\n\"My lord, somebody knows.\" Master Warin had calmed himself a little. \"My lord, you shouldn't have hanged the knaves. It looked badly. I'd promised them money to leave the country.\"\n\nSo you supplied the killers.\n\n\"Of course I hanged the dogs.\" Wolvercote was still shouting. \"Who knew if they would keep their mouths shut. God curse you, Warin, if this is a ploy for more payment\u2026.\"\n\n\"It is not, my lord, though Sweet Mary knows it was a great service I rendered you\u2026.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Wolvercote's tone had become quieter, more considering. \"I am beginning to wonder why.\"\n\n\"I told you, my lord. I would not have you wronged by one of my own family; when I heard what the boy intended\u2026\"\n\n\"And no benefit to you? Then why in hell did you come here? What brought you galloping to the abbey to see if he was dead?\"\n\nThey were moving off into the nave of the church, their voices trailing into unintelligible exchanges of animosity and complaint.\n\nAfter a long time, they came back, only footsteps giving an indication of their return. The door scraped open. Boots stamped through it as loudly as they had come.\n\nFather Paton shifted, but Adelia clamped his arm. Wait. They won't want to be seen together. Wolvercote has left first.\n\nSilence again. A quiet little man, the lawyer.\n\nNow he was going. She waited until she heard the fall of the latch, then wriggled forward to peer over the boards.\n\nThe chapel was empty.\n\n\"Respectable men, a baron of the realm, ogres, ogres.\" Father Paton's horror was tinged with excitement. \"The sheriff shall be told, I must write it down, yes, write it down. I am witness to conspiracy and murder. The sheriff will need a full affidavit. I am an important deponent, yes, I would not have believed\u2026a baron of the realm.\"\n\nHe could hardly wait for Jacques to bring the ladder. Even as he descended it, he was questioning the messenger on what had been said in the church.\n\nFor a moment, Adelia lay where she was, immobile. It didn't matter what else had been said; two murderers condemned themselves out of their own mouths, as careless of the life they had conspired to take as of a piece of grass.\n\nOh, Emma.\n\nShe thought of the bolt buried in the young man's chest, stopping that most wonderful organ, the heart, from beating, the indifference of the bowman who'd loosed it into the infinite complexity of vein and muscle, as indifferent as the cousin who had ordered it to be loosed, as the lord who'd paid him to do it.\n\nEmma, Emma.\n\nFather Paton scuttled back to the warming room\u2014he wanted to write out his deposition right away.\n\nThere was a bright, cold moon, no necessity for a lantern. As Jacques escorted her home, he told her what he'd managed to hear in the church. Mostly it had been repetition of the exchanges in the chapel. \"By the time they left,\" he said, \"they were deciding it was a trick played on them. Lord Wolvercote did, anyway, he suspects his mercenaries. Lawyer Warin was still atremble, I'll wager he leaves the country if he can.\"\n\nThey said good-bye at the foot of the guesthouse steps.\n\nUnbelievably tired, Adelia dragged herself up, taking the last rise gingerly as she always did, now with the memory of an event that hadn't happened but in which, constantly, she watched a cradle tumble over the edge.\n\nShe stopped. The door was slightly open, and it was dark inside. Even if her little household had gone to sleep, a taper was always left burning for her\u2014and the door was never left open.\n\nShe was reassured by Ward coming to greet her, the energetic wag of his tail releasing more odor than usual. She went in.\n\nThe door was shut behind her. An arm encircled her chest, a hand clamped itself across her mouth. \"Quietly now,\" somebody whispered. \"Guess who.\"\n\nShe didn't need to guess. Frantically, she wriggled around in the imprisoning arms until she faced the man, the only man.\n\n\"You bastard,\" she said.\n\n\"True, to an extent,\" he said, picking her up. He chucked her onto the nearest bed and planted himself on top of her. \"Ma and pa married eventually, I remember exactly, I was there.\"\n\nThere wasn't time to laugh\u2014though, with his mouth clamped onto hers, she did.\n\nNot dead\u2014deliciously living, the smell of him so right, he was rightness, everything was right now that he was here. He moved her to the very soul and very, very much to her innards, which turned liquid at his touch. She'd been parched for too long.\n\nTheir bodies pumping like huge wings took them higher and higher on a flight into cataclysmic air and then folded into the long, pulsing drop to a truckle bed in a dark, cold room.\n\nWhen the earth stopped rocking and settled, she wriggled from underneath him and sat up.\n\n\"I knew you were nearby,\" she said. \"Somehow, I knew.\"\n\nHe grunted.\n\nShe was energized, as if he had been a marvelous infusion bringing her body back to life.\n\nShe wondered if there would be another baby, and the thought made her happy.\n\nHer lover had relapsed into postcoital inertia. She jabbed a finger into his back. \"Where's Allie? Where are Gyltha and Mansur?\"\n\n\"I sent them to the kitchens, the servants are having a revel.\" He sighed. \"I shouldn't have done that.\"\n\nSo that she could look at him, she got up and stumbled for the table, felt around, pinched some tinder out of its box, struck a flint, and lit a taper at its flame.\n\nHe was thin, oh, bless him, but beautiful. In trousers\u2014now down around his hocks\u2014like a peasant, his face smeared with what looked like tree bark.\n\n\"A wren hunter,\" she said, delighted. \"You came in with the wren hunters. Has Henry come?\"\n\n\"Had to get in somehow. Thank God it's Saint Stephen's Day, or I'd have had to climb the bloody wall.\"\n\n\"How did you know we'd be at Godstow?\"\n\n\"With the river freezing? Where else would you be?\"\n\nHe wasn't responding properly. \"We could be dead,\" she pointed out. \"We nearly were.\"\n\nHe sat up. \"I was in the trees,\" he said, \"watched you skating. Very graceful, a little shaky on the turns, perhaps\u2026By the saints, that's a bonny baby, isn't she?\"\n\nOur baby, Adelia thought. She's our bonny baby.\n\nShe punched his shoulder, not altogether playfully. \"Damn you, Rowley. I suffered, I thought you were dead.\"\n\n\"I knew that bit of the Thames,\" he said, \"that's why I got off, belongs to Henry, part of Woodstock forest; there's a river keeper close by\u2014I'd baptized his child for him. I made for his cottage, wasn't easy but I got there.\" He sat up, suddenly. \"Now then\u2026what's to do here?\"\n\n\"Rowley, I suffered.\"\n\n\"No need. The keeper took me to Oxford\u2014we used snow shoes. Bloody place was teeming with rebels, every bastard that had fought for Stephen and suffered for it was in arms and flying Eleanor's standard or Young Henry's. We had to bypass the town and make for Wallingford instead. Always a royal stronghold, Wallingford. The FitzCounts held it for the empress during the war. I knew the king'd go there first.\" He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. \"Jesus save me, but it was hard going.\"\n\n\"Serve you right,\" she said. \"Did you find the king? Is he here?\"\n\n\"More that he found me, really. I was laid up at Wallingford with a rheum in the chest, I damn near died. What I needed was a doctor.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I couldn't attend,\" she said tartly.\n\n\"Yes, well, at least I could keep an eye on the river from there. And sure enough, he came, and a fleet of boats with him.\" Rowley shook his head in wonder. \"He was in Touraine, putting down Young Henry's rebellion, when he heard about Rosamund. God punish that boy, now he's joined with Louis of France against his own father. Louis, I ask you.\" Rowley's fists went to the sides of his head in disbelief. \"We all knew he was an idiot, but who'd have dreamed the treacherous little whelp would go to his father's greatest enemy for aid?\"\n\nHe leaned forward. \"And Eleanor had urged him to do it. Do you know that? Our spies told us. Urged their son against his father.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" she told him. \"I don't care what they do. What is happening now?\"\n\nBut she couldn't shift him. He was still with Henry Plantagenet, who had captured two Touranian castles from the Young King's supporters before making tracks for England with a small army in the heaviest winter in years.\n\n\"How he did it I don't know. But here he comes, up the Thames, trailing boats full of men behind him. Did I tell you he was rowing? The barge crew weren't going fast enough for the bugger, and there he was, pulling at an oar like a pirate and swearing the sky black.\"\n\n\"Where is he now?\"\n\n\"On his way.\" There was a pause. \"He wants to see you.\"\n\n\"Does he?\"\n\n\"Sent me to fetch you. Wants to know if it was Eleanor that did for Rosamund. I said you'd be able to tell him yea or nay.\"\n\n\"Great God,\" she said. \"Is that why you've come?\"\n\n\"I'd have come anyway. I was worried about leaving you\u2026but I should've known you were safe enough.\" He cocked his head, sucking his teeth as if in admiration at her capacity for survival. \"God kept you in His hand. I asked Him to.\"\n\n\"'Safe enough'?\" It was a screech. \"You left me to die in an open boat.\" He had to hush her. She went on more quietly. \"'Safe enough'? We've been cooped up with killers, your daughter, all of us. There's been murder done here, betrayal\u2026weeks, weeks I've been afraid\u2026for Allie, for all of us\u2026weeks.\" She scrubbed the tears off her cheeks with her fists.\n\n\"Ten days, it was,\" he said gently. \"I left you ten days ago.\" He was on his feet, pulling up his trousers, adjusting his shirt. \"Get dressed and we'll go.\"\n\n\"Go where?\"\n\n\"To Henry. I said he wants to see you.\"\n\n\"Without Allie? Without Gyltha and Mansur?\"\n\n\"We can hardly take them with us; I've found a path through the snow, but it'll be rough traveling, even on horses, and I only brought two.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" It was a sigh. \"I was afraid of this. I told the king. 'She won't come without the child,' I said.\" He made it sound like a whim.\n\nShe'd had enough. \"Will you tell me? Where is Henry?\"\n\n\"Oxford, at least that's where he was heading.\"\n\n\"Why isn't he here?\"\n\n\"Look,\" he said, reasonably, \"Godstow's a side issue. The important thing is Oxford. Henry's sending young Geoffrey Fitzroy up here with a small force, it shouldn't need more\u2014Mansur says Wolvercote and Schwyz have few men. Henry's not arriving in person\u2026.\" She saw the flash of a grin. \"I don't think our goodking trusts himself to meet Eleanor face-to-face; he might run her through. Anyway, it's somewhat embarrassing to arrest one's own wife.\"\n\n\"When? When will this Geoffrey come?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow. That's if I can get back to guide him and tell him the placements here\u2014make sure he doesn't kill the wrong people.\"\n\nHe will do it, she thought. He will track back through this dreadful countryside, disgruntled because I won't leave our daughter behind but assured that she and I will be safe enough. He is all maleness and bravery, like his damn king, and we understand each other not at all.\n\nWell, she thought, he is what he is, and I love him.\n\nBut a chill was growing; there was new strangeness; she'd thought it was the old Rowley back\u2014and for a while, gloriously, it had been, but there was constraint. He talked with the remembered insouciance yet didn't look at her. He'd put out a hand to wipe the tears from her face, then withdrawn it.\n\nShe said, because she was impelled to, \"Do you love me?\"\n\n\"Too much, God help me,\" he said. \"Too much for my soul. I shouldn't have done it.\"\n\n\"Done what?\"\n\n\"Almighty God forgive me. I promised, I swore an oath that if He kept you safe, I would abstain from you, I would not lead you to sin again. It was touching you that did it. I want you too much. Feeling you was\u2026too much.\"\n\n\"What am I? Something to be given up for Lent?\"\n\n\"In a way.\" His voice had become measured, a bishop's. \"My dear, every Sunday I have to preach against fornication in one church or another, hearing my own exhortation mingling with God's whisper, 'You are a hypocrite, you lust for her, you are damned and she is damned.'\"\n\n\"Much to be said for hypocrisy,\" she said dully. She began dragging on her clothes.\n\n\"You must see. I can't have you punished for my sin. I left you to God. I made a bargain with Him. 'While she is safe, Lord, I am Your servant in all things.' I swore the oath in the king's presence, to seal it.\" He sighed. \"And now look what I've gone and done.\"\n\nShe said, \"I don't care if it is sin.\"\n\n\"I do,\" he said heavily. \"I'd have married you, but no, you would keep your independence. So Henry had his bishop. But a bishop, don't you see? A keeper of other people's souls. His own, yours\u2026\"\n\nNow he looked at her. \"Adelia, it matters. I thought it would not, but it does. Beyond the panoply and the choirs\u2014you wouldn't believe the singing that goes on\u2014there is a still, small voice\u2026nagging. Say you understand.\"\n\nShe didn't. In a world of hatred and killing, she did not understand a God who regarded love as a sin. Nor a man who obeyed that deity.\n\nHe was raising his hand as if about to make the sign of the cross over her. She hit it. \"Don't you dare,\" she said. \"Don't you dare bless me.\"\n\n\"All right.\" He began struggling into his clothes. \"Listen to me, though. When Geoffrey attacks, before he attacks, you're to go to the cloister\u2014he'll keep the fighting away from there. Take Allie and the others. I've told Walt to make sure you get there\u2026. 'She's important to the king,' I said.\"\n\nShe didn't listen. She'd never been able to compete with Henry Plantagenet; for sure she wouldn't be able to outrival God. It was winter, after all. To an extent, for her now, it always would be.\n\nLike a fishhook in the mind, something dragged her attention away from despair. She said, \"You told Walt?\"\n\n\"Mansur fetched him here while I was waiting\u2026. Where have you been, by the way?\"\n\n\"You told Walt,\" she said.\n\n\"And Oswald\u2014they didn't know where Jacques was, nor Paton, but I told them to spread the word, I want all my men ready\u2014they'll need to get to the gates and open them to Geoffrey\u2026.\"\n\n\"Dear Christ,\" she said.\n\nWard was snarling softly.\n\nShe almost tripped as she made for the door so that she slammed against it. She slid the bolt across, then put her ear to the wood and listened. They wouldn't have long, only the grace of God had allowed the two of them this long. \"How were you going to get out?\"\n\n\"Cross the gatekeeper's palm with silver. What is it?\"\n\n\"Shssh.\"\n\nThe sound of boots running through the slush of the alley. \"They're coming for you. Oh, God. Oh, God.\"\n\n\"Window,\" he said. He crossed the floor and jerked the shutters open so that moonlight lit the chamber.\n\nWindow, yes.\n\nThey dragged blankets off the bed and knotted them together. As they slung them out of the window, the assault on the door began. \"Open. Open up.\" Ward hurled himself at it, barking.\n\nRowley tied the blanket rope round the mullion and heaved back on it to test it. \"After you, mistress.\"\n\nShe was always to remember the polite quirk of his hand as at an invitation to dance. \"I can't,\" she said. \"They won't hurt me. It's you.\"\n\nHe glanced down and then back at her. \"I have to go. I've got to guide them in.\"\n\n\"I know.\" The door was being assaulted; it wasn't a strong door, it would give any minute. \"Do it, then,\" she hissed.\n\nHe grinned, took a falchion from his belt, and gave it to her. \"See you tomorrow.\"\n\nAs he reached the parapet, she tried to undo the knot around the mullion and then, because it was too tight, began sawing at it with the blade, glancing out every other second. She saw him make for the nearest crenel and jump, cloak flying. It was deep snow, a soft enough landing for him. But could he get to the steps?\n\nHe had. As, behind her, the door splintered and a dreadful yelp came out of Ward's throat, she saw her man skidding across the ice like a boy.\n\nShe was thrown to one side. Schwyz roared, \"There he is. Opposite bank. Loso. Johannes.\"\n\nTwo men leaped for the door. Another took Schwyz's place at the window, frantically winding a crossbow, his foot in its stirrup. He aimed, loosed. \"Ach, scheiss.\" He looked at Schwyz. \"Nein.\"\n\nAdelia closed her eyes, then opened them. There was another step on the outside landing.\n\nA giant figure bowed its head to get through the door and looked calmly around. \"Perhaps it would be better if we relieved Mistress Adelia of her dagger.\"\n\nShe wouldn't have used it on a human being in any case. She handed it over, hilt first, to the Abbot of Eynsham, who had written the letters for Rosamund to copy and send to the queen, and then had her killed.\n\nHe thanked her, and she went down on her knees to attend to Ward, where he had crawled under one of the beds. As she felt the kicked and broken rib, he looked at her with self-pitying eyes. She patted him. \"You'll live,\" she said. \"Good dog. Stay here.\"\n\nPolitely, the abbot held her cloak for her while she put it on, then her hands were tied behind her back and a gag put in her mouth.\n\nThey took her to the gatekeeper's lodge.\n\nThere was nobody else about; the abbey had gone to bed. Even if she'd been able to shout for help, nobody at this end of the convent would have heard her\u2014or come to her rescue if they had. Master and Mistress Bloat were not on her side. Lawyer Warin most definitely was not. There was no sign of Wolvercote's men, but they wouldn't have helped her, either.\n\nThe great gates were open, but all activity was centered in the lodge chamber that led off the porch, where Schwyz's men hurried to and fro.\n\nThey pushed Adelia inside. Fitchet was dead on the floor, his throat cut. Father Paton lay alongside him, coughing out some of his teeth.\n\nShe slid to kneel beside the priest. Beneath the bruises, his face showed indignation. \"Kep' hi'n me,\" he said. \"Too le'ers.\" He tried harder. \"Took the letters.\"\n\nMen were fastening hoods and cloaks, collecting weapons into bundles, emptying Fitchet's food cupboard, and rounding up some frightened hens into a crate.\n\n\"Did our worthy gatekeeper possess such a thing as wine?\" The abbot asked. \"No? Tut, tut, how I loathe ale.\" He sat on a stool, watching the bustle, fingering the huge cross on his chest.\n\nThe two mercenaries who had chased after Rowley came in, panting. \"He had horses.\"\n\n\"Siech. That ends it, then. We go.\" Schwyz took hold of the pinion round Adelia's hands and jerked her to her feet with an upward pull that nearly displaced her shoulders. He dragged her over to the abbot. \"We don't need her, let me kill the whore.\"\n\n\"Schwyz, my dear, good Schwyz.\" Eynsham shook his great head. \"It seems to have escaped your notice that at this moment, Mistress Adelia is the most valuable object in the convent, the king's desire for her company being such that he sends a bishop to collect her\u2014whether for her sexual prowess or such information as she may possess is yet to be determined. She is our trump card, my dear, the Atalantean golden apple that we may have to throw behind us to delay pursuit\u2026.\" He reflected. \"We might even appease the king by handing her back to him, should he catch up with us\u2026yes\u2026that is a possibility.\"\n\nSchwyz had no time for this. \"Do we take her or not?\"\n\n\"We do.\"\n\n\"And the priest?\"\n\n\"Well, there I fear we must be less forgiving. Master Paton's possession of the letters is unfortunate. He has evidence I would not wish king or queen to hear, even supposing he could voice it, which\u2014\"\n\n\"Christ's eyes, do I finish him?\"\n\n\"You do.\"\n\n\"Nnnnnn.\" Adelia threw herself forward. Schwyz pulled her back.\n\n\"I know, I know.\" The abbot nodded. \"These things are upsetting, but I have no wish to lose the queen's esteem, and I fear Father Paton could disabuse her of it. Did you provide him with my text on which dear Rosamund based her letters? Of course you did. What an enterprising little soul you are.\"\n\nHe was talking. He'd condemned the priest to death and he was talking, amused.\n\n\"Since I stand in high regard with our blessed Eleanor, it would be\u2014what is the word?\u2014inconvenient if she knew I was the goad that pricked her into further rebellion. In view of my desertion, she might tell Henry. As it is, she will be informed of a murderous intruder to the abbey, d'ye see, and that we, the good Schwyz and myself, are in brave pursuit to stop him before he reaches the king's lines. In fact, of course, we are leaving the lady to her inevitable fate; the snow has proved too much for us, the amiable Lord Wolvercote too little\u2026. As Master Schwyz says of that gentleman in his rough way\u2014he couldn't fight a sack of shit.\"\n\nSchwyz had let go of her and was walking toward Father Paton.\n\nAdelia closed her eyes. God, I beg you.\n\nA whimper from Father Paton, a hot smell. A hush, as if even this company was awed by the passage of a soul to its maker.\n\nThen somebody said something, somebody else laughed. Men began carrying bundles and crates out to the porch and down to the river.\n\nThe abbot's finger went under Adelia's chin and tilted her head.\n\n\"You interest me, madam, you always have. How does a foreign slut like yourself command the attention not only of a bishop but a king? And you, forgive me, without an apparent grace to bless yourself with.\"\n\nKeeping her eyes closed, she jerked away from him, but he grasped her face and angled it back and forth. \"Do you satisfy them both? At the same time? Are you a mistress of threesomes? Do you excel at lit \u00e0 trois? Cock below and behind? Arsehole and pudendum muliebre? What my father in his elegant way used to call a bum-and-belly?\"\n\nThere would be a lot of this before the end, she thought.\n\nShe looked straight into his eyes.\n\nGreat God, he's a virgin.\n\nHow she knew it in that extremity\u2026but she knew it.\n\nThe face above hers diminished into an agonized, pleading vulnerability\u2014Don't know me, don't know me\u2014before it resumed the trompe l'oeil that was the Abbot of Eynsham.\n\nSchwyz had been shouting at them both; now he came and hauled Adelia upright. \"She better be no trouble,\" he said. \"We got enough to carry.\"\n\n\"I am sure she won't be.\" The abbot smiled on Adelia. \"We could send to the kitchen for the baby if you prefer and take it with us, though whether it would survive the journey\u2026\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\nEynsham, still smiling, gestured toward the door. \"After you, mistress.\"\n\nShe went through it and down the ice steps like a lamb."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "The moon had edged a little toward the west, so that two more cloaked mercenaries cast long, sharp, stunted shadows on the ice as they loaded a large sledge with the packages the others were bringing down. One of them picked up Adelia and slung her on top of the bundles, hurting her arms as she landed on them. Somebody else slung a tarpaulin over her, and she had to toss her head round until a fold fell back and she could see.\n\nGo south, she thought. Make them go south, Henry's there. Lord, make them go south.\n\nThe abbot, Schwyz, and some of the other men were clustered around her, balancing against the sides of the sledge as they put on skates, intent, not talking.\n\nThey have to go south\u2014they don't know the king's attacking Oxford.\n\nOh, but of course they did. They knew everything\u2014Rowley had inadvertently told them.\n\nLord, send them south.\n\nThe abbot made experimental pirouettes on the ice, admiring his shadow in the steel mirror of the river. \"Yes, yes,\" he said. \"One never forgets.\"\n\nHe paid no attention to Adelia\u2014she was luggage now. He nodded at Schwyz, who nodded at his men. Two mercenaries picked up trails of harness leading from the sledge and heaved themselves into the straps. Somebody else mounted the sledge's running board behind Adelia and grasped the guiding struts.\n\nThe abbot looked up at the convent walls lowering above him. \"Queen Eleanor, sweet broken reed, farewell. Veni, vidi, vadi,\" then raised his eyes to the star-sprinkled sky. \"Well, well, on to better things. Let us go.\"\n\n\"And quiet about it,\" Schwyz said.\n\nThe sledge hissed as it moved.\n\nThey headed north.\n\nAdelia retched into her gag. Nothing to stop him from killing her now.\n\nFor a while, she was so afraid that she could hardly see. He was going to kill her. Had to kill her.\n\nAppalling sadness overtook her. Images of Allie missing her, growing up without her, small, needy. I'll die loving you. Know it, little one, I never stopped loving you.\n\nThen the guilt. My fault, darling; a better mother would have passed it by, let them all slaughter one another\u2014no matter, as long as you and I weren't wrenched apart. My fault, my grievous fault.\n\nOn and on, grief and fear, fear and grief, as the untidy, white-edged banks slid by and the sledge whispered and grated and the men pulling it grunted with effort, their breath puffing wisps of smoke into the moonlight, taking her further and further into hell.\n\nDiscomfort forced itself on her attention\u2014the bundle beneath her had spears in it. Also, the gag tasted abominable and her arms and wrists hurt.\n\nSuddenly irritable, she shifted, sat up, and began to take notice.\n\nTwo mercenaries were pulling the sledge. Another was behind. Four skated on either side, Schwyz and the abbot ahead. Nine in all. None of them her friend Cross\u2014she hadn't been able to make out the faces of the two mercenaries packing the sledge, but both were thinner than Cross.\n\nNo help, then. Wherever they were headed, Schwyz was taking only his most trusted soldiers; he'd abandoned the others.\n\nWhere are we going? The Midlands? There was still smoldering discontent against Henry Plantagenet in the Midlands.\n\nAdelia shifted and began investigating the sacking with her wrists, tracing the spears in it along the shafts to their blades.\n\nThere.\n\nShe pressed down and felt a point prick into her right palm. She began trying to rub the rope against the side of the blade but kept missing it and encountering the spear point instead so that it went uselessly into the rope's fibers and out again, an exercise that might eventually unpick them if she had a week or two to spare\u2026.\n\nIt was something to do, though, to fight off the inertia of despair. Of course Eynsham would have her killed. Her use to him as a bargaining counter would last only until he could be sure Henry wasn't pursuing him\u2014and the chance of that receded with every mile they went north. Most of all, he would kill her because she'd seen the worm wriggling in that brilliant, many-faceted, empty carapace, and he had seen her see it.\n\nHer arms were becoming tired\u2026.\n\nTears still wet on her face, Adelia dozed.\n\nIt was heavy going for the men pulling the sledge, and even for those merely skating. Afraid of pursuit, they hadn't lit torches, and though the moon was bright, the ice gave a deceptive, smooth sheen to branches and other detritus that had been frozen into it so that the mercenaries fell frequently or had to make detours round obstructions\u2014occasionally heaving the sledge over them.\n\nIn her sleep, Adelia was vaguely aware of being rolled around during the portages and of muffled swearing, aware, too, that men were taking rests on the sledge, crawling under the tarpaulin with her to get their strength back before giving up their place to the next. There was nothing sexual in it\u2014they were too exhausted\u2014and she refused to wake up. Sleep was oblivion\u2026.\n\nAnother passenger came aboard, exhaling with the relief at being off the ice. Fingers fumbled at the back of her head and undid the gag. \"No need for this now, mistress. Nor this.\" Gently, somebody pushed her forward and a knife sawed at the rope round her wrists. \"There. More comfy?\"\n\nThere was a waft of sweet, familiar scent. Licking her mouth, Adelia flexed her shoulders and hands. They hurt. They were still traveling, and it was still very cold, but the stars had dulled a little; the moon shone through a light veil of mist.\n\n\"You didn't need to kill Bertha,\" she said.\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"I rather think I did,\" Jacques said reasonably. \"Her nose would have betrayed me sooner or later. I'm afraid the poor soul literally sniffed me out.\"\n\nYes. Yes, she had.\n\nBertha crawling forward in the cowshed, snuffling, using the keenest sense she had to try and describe the old woman in the forest who'd given her the mushrooms for Rosamund.\n\n\"Smelled purty\u2026like you.\"\n\nIt wasn't me, Bertha. It was the man standing behind me. \"A him. Not a her.\"\n\nThe girl had been sniffing the messenger's scent\u2014the perfume that was a feature of him even when he dressed up as an old woman picking mushrooms.\n\n\"Do you mind?\" he asked now. It was solicitous, hoping she wasn't upset. \"She wasn't much of a loss, really, was she?\"\n\nAdelia kept her eyes on the two mercenaries dragging the sledge.\n\nJacques tucked the tarpaulin round her and sat sideways to peer into her face, reasonable, explaining, no longer the wide-eyed young man with big ears, much older, at ease. She supposed that's what he was, a shape-changer; he could be what he wanted when circumstances demanded.\n\nHe'd taken Allie in her cradle and put her on the step.\n\n\"Ordinarily, you see, there is no need for what I call auxiliary action, as there was in Bertha's case,\" he said. \"Usually, one fulfills one's contract and moves on. All very tidy. But this particular employment has been complicated\u2014interesting, I don't deny, but complicated.\" He sighed. \"Snowed up in a convent, not only with one's employer but, as it turns out, a witness is not an experience one wants repeated.\"\n\nA killer. The killer.\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" Adelia said.\n\nAfter all, she'd lived with revulsion ever since she'd become aware that he'd poisoned Rosamund. To use him in the necessary business of getting Wolvercote and Warin to convict themselves in the church had been an exercise in terror, but she'd been unable to think of any other stratagem to placate him. By then she'd sniffed the mind that permeated the abbey with a greater menace than Wolvercote because it was free of limitation, a happy mind. Kill this one, spare that, remain guiltless.\n\nIt had been necessary to amuse it, like a wriggling mouse enthralling the cat. To gain time, she'd let it watch her play at solving the one murder of which it was innocent. To keep the cat's teeth out of the neck of a mouse that asked questions.\n\nShe asked, \"Did Eynsham order you to kill her?\"\n\n\"Bertha? Lord, no.\" He was indignant. \"I do have initiative, you know. Mind you\"\u2014an elbow nudged Adelia's ribs\u2014\"he'll have to pay for her. She'll go on his account.\"\n\n\"His account,\" she said, nodding.\n\n\"Indeed. I am not the abbot's vassal, mistress. I really must make that clear; I am independent; I travel Christendom providing a service\u2014not everybody approves of it, I know, but it is nevertheless a service.\"\n\n\"An assassin.\"\n\nHe considered. \"I suppose so. I prefer to think of it as a profession like any other. Let's face it, Doctor, your own business is termed witchcraft by those who don't understand it, but we are both professionals pursuing a trade that neither of us can lay public claim to. We both deal in life and death.\" But she'd touched his pride. \"How did I give myself away? I did try to warn you against too much curiosity.\"\n\nHis visits to Bertha, his constant proximity, the indefinable sense of menace that lurked in the cowshed when he was there. The scent that Bertha had recognized. A freedom to roam the abbey, unnoticed, that no one else possessed. In the end, he was the only one it could have been.\n\n\"The Christmas feast,\" she said.\n\nShe'd known for sure then. In the capering, warty old woman of Noah's ark, she'd recognized a grotesque of the crone that Bertha had seen in the forest.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said. \"I really should avoid dressing up, shouldn't I? I have a weakness for it, I'm afraid.\"\n\nShe asked, \"When did Eynsham hire you to kill Rosamund?\"\n\n\"Oh, ages ago,\" he said. \"I'd only recently come to England to pick up commissions. Well, I'll tell you when it was; I'd just become the bishop's messenger\u2014in my line of work, it's always useful to have a reason to travel the countryside. Incidentally, mistress, I hope I gave the bishop good service\u2026.\" He was in earnest. \"I like to think I'm an excellent servant, no matter what the work.\"\n\nYes, excellent. When Rowley had crept into the abbey and alerted his men, it hadn't occurred to him that his messenger should not be informed of the coming attack along with the rest\u2014not the irritating, willing Jacques, one of his own people.\n\n\"In fact, I shall miss working for Saint Albans,\" he was saying now, \"but as soon as Walt told me the king was coming, I had to inform Eynsham. I couldn't let Master Abbot be taken, could I? He owes me money.\"\n\n\"Is that how it goes?\" she asked. \"The word is spread? Assassin for hire?\"\n\n\"Virtually, yes. I haven't lacked employment so far. The contractor never likes to reveal himself, of course, but do you know how I found out this one was our abbot?\"\n\nThe joy of it raised his voice, launching an owl off its tree and making Schwyz, up ahead, turn and swear at him. \"Do you know how I recognized him? Guess.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"His boots. Master Abbot wears exceptionally fine boots, as I do. Oh, yes, and he addressed his servant as 'my son,' and I said to myself: By the saints, here is a churchman, a rich churchman. All I had to do was ask around Oxford's best bootmakers. The problem, you see, is to get the other half of the fee, isn't it?\" He was sharing their occupational troubles. \"So much as down payment, so much when the job's done. They never like to pay the second installment, don't you find that?\"\n\nShe didn't say anything.\n\n\"Well, I do. Getting the other half of the fee is why I've had to attach myself to my lord Eynsham like fish glue. Actually, in this instance, it isn't his fault; circumstances have been against him: the retreat from Wormhold, the snow\u2026but apparently we're calling in at his abbey on the way north\u2014that's where he keeps the gold, in his abbey.\"\n\n\"He'll kill you,\" she said. It was an observation to keep him talking; she didn't mind one way or the other. \"He'll get Schwyz to cut your throat.\"\n\n\"Aren't they an interesting couple? Doesn't Schwyz adore him? They met in the Alps, apparently. I have wondered whether they were\u2026well, you know\u2026but I think not, don't you? I'd welcome your medical opinion\u2026.\"\n\nOne of the mercenaries in harness was slowing down, wheeling his arm for the messenger to take his place.\n\nThe voice in Adelia's ear became a confidential whisper, changing from a gossip's to an assassin's. \"Don't worry for me, mistress. Our abbot has too many enemies that need to be silenced in silence. Schwyz leaves a butcher's trail behind. I don't. No, no, my services will always be in demand. Worry for yourself.\"\n\nHe threw back the tarpaulin in order to get off the sledge.\n\n\"Will it be you who kills me, Jacques?\" she asked.\n\n\"I do hope not, mistress,\" he said politely. \"That would be a shame.\"\n\nAnd he was gone, refusing to take his place in the harness. \"My good fellow, I am not an ox.\"\n\nNot human, either, she thought, a lusus naturae, a tool, no more culpable for what it did than an artifact, as blameless as a weapon stuck on a wall and admired by the owner for its beautiful functionality.\n\nThe lingering trail of his perfume was obliterated by a smell of sweat and damp dirt from the next man who crawled under the tarpaulin to fall asleep and snore.\n\nThe abbot had taken position on the step behind her, but instead of helping to propel the sledge along, he became a passenger, his weight slowing the men pulling it to a stumping crawl that threatened their balance. They were complaining. At an order from Schwyz, they removed their skates and, to give them better purchase, continued in their boots.\n\nWhich, Adelia saw, were splashing. The sledge had begun to send up spray as it traveled. There were no stars now, and the vague moon had an even more vague penumbra. Schwyz had lit a torch and was holding it high as he skated.\n\nIt was thawing.\n\nFrom over her head came a fruity boom: \"I don't wish to complain, my dear Schwyz, but any more of this and we'll be marching on the river bottom. How much further?\"\n\n\"Not far now.\"\n\nNot far to where? Having been asleep and not knowing for how long, she couldn't estimate how far they'd come. The banks were still their featureless, untidy conglomeration of reed and snow.\n\nIt was even colder now; the chill of increasing damp had something to do with it, but so had fear. Eynsham would be reassured by their unpursued and uninterrupted passage up the river. Once he was in safe territory, he could rid himself of the burden he'd carried to it.\n\n\"Up ahead,\" Schwyz called.\n\nThere was nothing up ahead except a dim twinkle in the eastern sky like a lone star bright enough to penetrate the mist that hid the others. A castle showing only one light? A turret?\n\nNow they were approaching a landing stage, white edged and familiar.\n\nThen she knew.\n\nRosamund had been waiting for her.\n\nA delia had remembered Wormhold as a place of jagged, shocking flashes of color where men and women walked and talked in madness.\n\nNow, through the dawn mist, the tower returned to what it was\u2014a mausoleum. Architectural innuendo had gone. And the maze, for those who dragged the sledge through slush into it, was merely a straight and dreary tunnel of gray bushes leading to a monument like a giant's tombstone against a drearier sky.\n\nThe door above its steps stood open, sagging now. The unlit bonfire remained untouched in the hall where a mound of broken furniture, like the walls, shone with gathering damp in Schwyz's torchlight.\n\nAs they went in, a scuttle from escaping rats accentuated the hall's silence, as did the abbot's attempt to raise the housekeeper. \"Dakers. Where are you, little dear? 'Tis your old friend come to call. Robert of Eynsham.\"\n\nHe turned to Schwyz as the echo faded. \"She doesn't know it was me as had her locked up, does she?\"\n\nSchwyz shook his head. \"We fooled her, Rob.\"\n\n\"Good, then I'm still her ally. Where is the old crow? We need our dinner. Dakers.\"\n\nSchwyz said, \"We can't stay long, Rob. That bastard'll be after us.\"\n\n\"My dear, stop attributing the powers of Darkness to him, we've outmaneuvered the bugger.\" He grimaced. \"I suppose I'd better go up and search for my letters. If our Fair Rosamund kept one, she might have kept others. I told the fat bitch to burn them, but did she? Women are so unreliable.\" He pointed at the bonfire. \"Get that alight when the time comes. Some food first, I think, a nap, and then, when our amiable king arrives, we'll be long gone, leaving a nice warm fire to greet him. Dakers.\"\n\nHe must know where she is, Adelia thought. The only life here is in the top room with the dead.\n\n\"Up you go, then.\" Schwyz turned away to give orders to his men, and then turned back. \"What do you want done with the trollop?\"\n\n\"This trollop?\" The abbot looked down at Adelia. \"We'll hang on to her until the last minute, I think, just in case. She can come up and help me look for the letters.\"\n\n\"Why? She'll be better down here.\" Schwyz was jealous.\n\nThe abbot was patient with him. \"Because I didn't see any letters lying around when we were here last, but little Mistress Big Eyes had one, hadn't you, my dear? If she found one, she can find the others. Bind her hands, if you like, but in front this time and not too tight; she's looking wan.\"\n\nAdelia's hands were pinioned again\u2014not gently, either.\n\n\"Up, up.\" The abbot pointed her toward the stairs. \"Up, up, up.\" To the mercenary, he said, \"Tell the men to put their minds to my dinner. And Schwyz\u2026\" The tone had changed.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Set a damn good watch on that river.\"\n\nHe's frightened, Adelia thought suddenly. He, too, credits Henry with supernatural powers. Oh, dear God, let him be right.\n\nGoing up the tiny, wedge-shaped, slippery, winding steps without the balancing use of hands was not easy, but Adelia did better than the abbot, who was grunting with effort before they reached the second landing. That was the stage where the tower cut them off from the noise at its base, imposing a silence in which the echo of their footsteps troubled the ears as if they disobeyed an ordinance from the dead. Go back. This is a tomb.\n\nLight that was hardly light at all came, sluggish, through the arrow slits onto the same broken mess that had littered the landings when she'd climbed up here with Rowley. Nobody had swept it away, nobody ever would.\n\nUp and up, past Rosamund's apartments, empty of their carpets and gold ornaments now, looted by mercenaries, maybe even the Aquitanians, while Eleanor had kept her vigil over a corpse. Much good it had done them; loot and looters had gone to the bottom of the Thames.\n\nThey were getting close to the top now.\n\nI don't want to go in there. Why doesn't it stop? It's impossible I should die here. Why doesn't somebody stop this?\n\nThe last landing, the door a crack open but with its ornate key in the lock.\n\nAdelia stood back. \"I'm not going in.\"\n\nGripping her shoulder, the abbot pushed her in front of him. \"Dakers, my dame. Here's the Abbot of Eynsham, your old friend, come to pay his respects to your mistress.\"\n\nA smell like a blast of wind teetered him on the threshold.\n\nThe room was furnished as Adelia had last seen it. No looting here\u2014there hadn't been time.\n\nRosamund no longer sat at the writing table, but something lay on the bed with the frail curtains framing it and a cloak covering its upper half.\n\nThere was no sign of Dakers, but, if she had wanted to preserve her mistress still, she had made the mistake of closing the windows and lighting funerary candles.\n\n\"Dear God.\" With a handkerchief to his nose, the abbot hurried around the room, blowing out candles and opening the windows. \"Dear God, the whore stinks. Dear God.\"\n\nMoist, gray air refreshed the chamber slightly.\n\nEynsham came back to the bed, his eyes fascinated.\n\n\"Leave her,\" Adelia advised him.\n\nHe whipped the cloak off the body and let it fall to the floor.\n\n\"Aach.\"\n\nHer lovely hair fanned out from the decomposing face onto a pillow, with another pillow propping her crown near the top of her head. The crossed hands on her breast were mercifully hidden by a prayer book. Feet bulged wetly out of the tiny gold slippers that peeped from under the graceful, carefully arranged folds of a gown as blue as a spring sky. Patches of ooze were staining its silk.\n\n\"My, my,\" said the abbot, softly. \"Sic transit Rosa Mundi. So the rose of all the world rots like any other\u2026Rosamund the Foul\u2026\"\n\n\"Don't you dare,\" Adelia shouted at him. If she'd had her hands free, she'd have hit him. \"Don't you dare mock her. You brought her to this, and, by God, this is what you'll come to\u2014your soul with it.\"\n\n\"Oof.\" He stepped back like a child faced by a furious parent. \"Well, it's a horror\u2026admit it's a horror.\"\n\n\"I don't care. You treat her with respect.\"\n\nFor a moment he was wrong-footed by his own lapse in taste. Tentatively, standing well back from the bed, his hand traced a blessing in the air toward it. \"Requiescat in pace.\" After a moment, he said, \"What is that white stuff growing out of her face?\"\n\n\"Grave wax,\" Adelia told him. Actually, it was very interesting; she'd not seen it on a human flesh before, only on that of a sow at the death farm.\n\nFor a moment she was a mistress in the art of death again, aware only of the phenomenon in front of her, vaguely irritated that lack of time and means were preventing her from examining it.\n\nIt's because she was fat, she thought. The sow in Salerno had been fat, and Gordinus had kept it in an airtight tin chest away from flies. \"You see, my child? Bereft of insects, this white grease\u2014I call it corpus adipatus\u2014will accrete on plumper areas, cheeks, breasts, buttocks, et cetera, and hold back putrefaction, yes, actually delay it. Though whether it causes the delay or the delay causes it is yet to be determined.\"\n\nBless him, Gordinus had called it a marvel, which it was, and damn it that she was seeing it manifest on a human corpse only now.\n\nIt was especially interesting that the room's new warmth was, to judge from what was seeping through Rosamund's gown, bringing on putrefaction at the selfsame time. That couldn't be caused by flies\u2014could it?\u2014there were none at this time of year\u2026blast it, if her hands were free, she could find out what was breeding under the material\u2026.\n\n\"Oh, what?\" she asked, crossly. The abbot was pulling at her.\n\n\"Where does she keep the letters?\"\n\n\"What letters?\" This opportunity to advance knowledge might never come again. If it wasn't flies\u2026\n\nHe swung her round to face him. \"Let me explain the position to you, my dear. In all this I have only been pursuing my Christian duty to bring down a king who had the good Saint Thomas murdered on the steps of his own cathedral. I intended a civil war that our gracious queen would win. Since that outcome now seems unlikely, I need to retrieve my position because, if Henry finds my letters, Henry will send them to the Pope. And will the Holy Father sanction what I have done to punish the wicked? Will he say, 'Well done, thou good and faithful Robert of Eynsham, you have advanced our great cause'? He will not. He must pretend outrage, because a worthless whore was poisoned in the process. He will wash his Pilate's hands. Will there be oak leaves? Reward? Ah, no.\"\n\nHe stopped savoring the sound of his own voice. \"Find those letters for me, mistress, or when Henry comes he will discover in the ashes of his bordello the bones of not just one of his harlots but two.\" He was diverted by a happy thought. \"Together, in each other's arms, perhaps. Yes, perhaps\u2026\"\n\nHe mustn't see that she was afraid; he mustn't see that she was afraid. \"In that case, the letters will be burned, too,\" she said.\n\n\"Not if the bitch kept them in a metal box. Where are they? You had one, mistress, and were quick enough to show it around.\n\nWhere did she keep the letters?\"\n\n\"On the table, I took it from the table.\"\n\n\"If she kept one, she kept more.\" He shouted for the housekeeper again. \"Dakers. She'll know. Where is the hellhag?\"\n\nAnd then Adelia knew where Dakers was.\n\nAll the visits he'd made to this room, and he'd never known he was observed from a garderobe with a spy hole. He didn't know now.\n\nEynsham was examining the table, sweeping its writing implements aside, sending the ancient bowl in which Rosamund had kept sweetmeats onto the floor, where it broke. He bent to look under the table. There was a grunt of satisfaction. He came up holding a crumpled piece of vellum. \"Is this all there was?\"\n\n\"How could I know?\" It was the letter Rosamund had been writing to the queen, that Eleanor in her fury had thrown to the floor. Adelia had given the abbot's template to poor Father Paton and, if she died for it, she wasn't going to tell this man that there were others hidden in a box stool only inches from his right boot.\n\nLet him doubt, let there be a worm of worry for as long as he lives.\n\nGreat God, he's reading it.\n\nThe abbot had lumbered to the open window and was holding the parchment to the light. \"Such an appalling hand the trollop had,\" he said. \"Still, it's amazing she could write at all.\"\n\nAnd let Dakers doubt him. No wonder the housekeeper had laughed as they were taken to the boats that night; she'd seen Eynsham, who had always been Rosamund's friend and, therefore, would be a friend to her.\n\nIf she was listening now, if she could be got to switch sides\u2026\n\nAdelia raised her voice. \"Why did you make Rosamund write letters to Eleanor?\"\n\nThe abbot lowered the parchment, partly exasperated, partly amused. \"Listen to the creature. Why does she ask a question when her brain cannot possibly encompass the answer? What use to tell you? How can you even approach in understanding the exigencies that we, God's agents, are put to in order to keep His world on its course, the descent we must make into the scum, the instruments we must use\u2014harlots like that one on the bed, cutthroats, all the sweepings of the cesspit, to achieve a sacred aim.\"\n\nHe was telling her anyway. A wordy man. A man needing the reassurance of his own voice and, even more, the sanctification of what he had done.\n\nAnd still hopeful. It surprised her. That he was having to abandon his great game as a lost cause and desert his championship of Eleanor was stimulating him, as if certain he could retrieve the situation with charm, tactics, a murder here or there, using the false urbanity, his common-man-with-learning, all the air in the balloon that had bounced him into the halls of popes and royalty\u2026.\n\nA mountebank, really, Adelia thought.\n\nAlso a virgin. Mansur had seen it, told her, but Mansur, with the superiority of a man who could hold an erection, had discounted the agony of supposed failure turned to malevolence. Another churchman might bless a condition that ensured his chastity, but not this one; he wanted, lusted after, that most natural and commonplace gift that he was denied.\n\nPerhaps he was making the world pay for it, meddling with brilliance in high politics, pushing men and women round his chess board, discarding this one, moving that one, compensating himself for the appalling curiosity that kept him outside their Garden of Eden as he jumped up and down in an effort to see inside it.\n\n\"To stimulate war, my dear,\" he was saying. \"Can you understand that? Of course you can't\u2014you are the clay from which you were made and the clay to which you will return. A war to cleanse the land of a barbarous and unclean king. To avenge poor Becket. To return England to God's writ.\"\n\n\"Rosamund's letters would do all that?\" she asked.\n\nHe looked up. \"Yes, as a matter of fact. A wronged and vengeful woman, and believe me, nobody is more vengeful than our gracious Eleanor, will escape any bonds, climb any mountains, cross all oceans to wreak havoc on the wrongdoer. And thus she did.\"\n\n\"Then why did you have Rosamund poisoned?\"\n\n\"Who says I did?\" Very sharp.\n\n\"Your assassin.\"\n\n\"The merry Jacques has been chattering, has he? I must set Schwyz onto that young man.\"\n\n\"People will think the queen did it.\"\n\n\"The king does, as was intended,\" he said vaguely. \"Barbarians, my dear, are easily manipulated.\" He turned back to the letter and continued to read. \"Excellent, oh excellent,\" he said. \"I'd forgotten\u2026To the 'supposed Queen of England\u2026from the true and very Queen of this country, Rosamund the Fair.' What I had to endure to persuade that tedious wench to this\u2026Robert, Robert, such a subtle fellow you are\u2026.\"\n\nA draft twitched at Adelia's cloak. The hanging behind Rosamund's bed had lifted. As air came up the corbel of the hidden garderobe and into the room, it brought a different, a commoner stench to counter that of the poor corpse on the bed. It was cut off as the hanging dropped back.\n\nAdelia walked across to the window. The abbot was still holding the letter to the light, reading it. She took up a position where, if he looked up, he would see her and not the figure creeping down the side of the bed. It had no knife in its hand, but it was still death\u2014this time, its own.\n\nDakers was dying; Adelia had seen that yellowish skin and receded eyes too often not to know what they meant. The fact that the woman was walking at all was a miracle, but she was. And silently.\n\nHelp me, Adelia willed her. Do something. Without moving, she used her eyes in appeal. Help me.\n\nBut Dakers didn't look at her, nor at the abbot. All her energy was bent on reaching the staircase.\n\nAdelia watched the woman slip between the partially open door and its frame without touching either and disappear. She felt a tearing resentment. You could have hit him with something.\n\nThe abbot had sat himself in Rosamund's chair as he read, still muttering bits of the letter out loud. \"'\u2026and I did please the king in bed as you never did, so he told me\u2026' I'll wager you did, girl. Sucking and licking, I'll wager you did. '\u2026he did moan with delight\u2026' I'll wager he did, you filthy trollop\u2026.\"\n\nHe's exciting himself with his own words.\n\nAs Adelia thought it, he glanced up\u2014into her eyes. His face gorged. \"What are you looking at?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" she told him. \"I am looking at you and seeing nothing.\"\n\nSchwyz was calling from the stairs, but his voice was drowned in Eynsham's scream: \"You judge me? You, a whore\u2026judge me?\"\n\nHe got up, a gigantic wave rising, and engulfed her. He clutched her to his chest and carried her so that her feet trailed between his knees. Blinded, she thought he was going to drop her out of the window, but he turned her round, holding her high by the scruff of the neck and her belt. For a second, she glimpsed the bed, heard the grunt as she was thrown down onto what lay on it.\n\nAs Adelia's body landed on the corpse, its belly expelled its gases with a whistle.\n\nThe abbot was screaming. \"Kiss her. Kiss, kiss, kiss\u2026suck, lick, you bitches.\" He pushed her face into Rosamund's. He was twisting Adelia's head like a piece of fruit, pressing it down into the grease. \"Sniff, suck, lick\u2026\"\n\nShe was suffocating in decomposing flesh.\n\n\"Rob. Rob.\"\n\nThe pressure on her head lessened slightly, and she managed to turn her smeared face sideways and breathe.\n\n\"Rob. Rob. There's a horse in the stable.\"\n\nIt stopped. It had stopped.\n\n\"No rider,\" Schwyz said. \"Can't find a rider, but there's somebody here.\"\n\n\"What sort of horse?\"\n\n\"Destrier. A good one.\"\n\n\"Is it his? He can't be here. Jesus save us, is he here?\"\n\nThe slam of the door cut off their voices.\n\nAdelia rolled off the bed and groped her way across the floor to one of the windows, her tied hands searching outside the sill for its remnant of snow. She found some and shoved it into her mouth. Another window, more snow into the mouth, scrubbing her teeth with it, spitting. More, for the face, nostrils, eyes, hair.\n\nShe went from window to window. There wasn't enough snow in the world, not enough clean, numbing ice\u2026.\n\nDrenched, shaking, she slumped into Rosamund's chair, and with her pinioned hands still scrubbing at her neck, she laid her head on the table and gave herself up to heaving, gasping sobs. Uninhibited, like a baby, she wept for herself, for Rosamund, Eleanor, Emma, Allie, all women everywhere and what was done to them.\n\n\"What are you bawling for?\" a male voice said, aggrieved. \"You think that's bad? Try spending time cooped up in a shithole with Dakers for company.\"\n\nA knife ripped the rope away from round her hands. A handkerchief was pushed against her cheek. It smelled of horse liniment. It smelled beautiful.\n\nWith infinite care, she turned her head so that her cheek rested on the handkerchief and she could squint at him.\n\n\"Have you been in there all the time?\" she asked.\n\n\"All the time,\" the king told her.\n\nStill with her head on the table, she watched him walk over to the bed, pick up his cloak, and replace it carefully over the corpse. He went to the door to try its latch. It didn't move. He bent down to peer through the keyhole.\n\n\"Locked,\" he said, as if it was a comfort.\n\nThe ruler of an empire that stretched from the border of Scotland to the Pyrenees was in worn hunting leathers\u2014she'd never seen him in anything else; few people did. He walked with the rolling bandiness of a man who spent more time in the saddle than out of it. Not tall, not handsome, nothing to distinguish him except an energy that drew the eye. When Henry Plantagenet was in the room, nobody looked anywhere else.\n\nDeeper lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth than had when she'd last seen him, there was a new dullness in his eyes, and his red hair was dimmer; something had gone out of him and not been replaced.\n\nRelief brought a manic tendency to giggle. Adelia began rubbing her wrists. \"Where are your men, my lord?\"\n\n\"Ah, well there\u2026\" Grimacing, he came back from the door and edged round the table to peer cautiously out. \"They're on their way, only a few, mind, but picked men, fine men. I had a look at the situation in Oxford and left young Geoffrey to take it before he moves on to Godstow.\"\n\n\"But\u2026did Rowley find you? You know the queen is at Godstow?\"\n\n\"That's why Geoffrey'll take it next,\" he said irritably. \"He won't have any trouble in either place. The rebels, God rot 'em, I'll eat them alive, were practically running up the white flag at Oxford already, so\u2026\"\n\n\"My daughter's at Godstow,\" she said. \"My people\u2026\"\n\n\"I know, Rowley told me. Geoffrey knows, I told him. Stop wittering. I've seen snowmen with more defensive acumen than Wolvercote. Leave it to young Geoffrey.\"\n\nShe supposed she'd have to.\n\nHe glanced round. \"How is little Rowley-Powley, anyway? Got a tooth yet? Showing a flair for medicine?\"\n\n\"She's well.\" He could always melt her. But it would be nice to get out of here. \"These picked men of yours\u2026\" she said. This was Rowley all over again. Why didn't they ever bring massed troops?\n\n\"They're on their way,\" he said, \"but I fear I outstripped them.\" He turned back to the window. \"They'd told me she still wasn't buried, you see. My lads are bringing a coffin with them. Buggers couldn't keep up.\"\n\nThey wouldn't have; he must have ridden like a fiend, melting the snow in front of him, to say good-bye, to mend the indecency inflicted on his woman.\n\n\"Hadn't long arrived before you turned up,\" he said. \"Heard you coming up the stairs, so Dakers and I beat a retreat. First rule when one's outnumbered\u2014learn the enemy's strength.\"\n\nAnd learn that Rosamund, in her stupidity and ambition, had betrayed him. Like his wife, like his eldest son.\n\nAdelia felt an awful pity. \"The letters, my lord\u2026I'm so sorry.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it.\" He wasn't being polite; she mustn't refer to it again. Since he'd covered the corpse, he hadn't looked at it.\n\n\"So here we are,\" he said. Still cautious, he leaned out. \"They're not keeping much of a watch, I must say. There's only a couple of men patrolling the courtyard\u2014what in hell are the rest doing?\"\n\n\"They're going to fire the tower,\" she told him, \"and us in it.\"\n\n\"If they're using the wood in the hall, they'll have a job. Wouldn't light pussy.\" He leaned farther out of the window and sniffed. \"They're in the kitchen, that's where they are\u2026something's cooking. Hell's bollocks, the incompetent bastards are taking the time to eat.\" He loathed inefficiency, even in his enemies.\n\n\"I don't blame them.\" She was hungry, she was ravenous. A magic king had skewed this death chamber into something bearable. Without sympathy, without concession to her as a woman, by treating her as a comrade, he had restored her. \"Have you got any food on you?\"\n\nHe struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. \"Well, there, and I left the festive meats behind. No, I haven't. At least, I don't think so\u2026.\" He had a pocket inside his jacket and he emptiedits contents onto the table with one hand, his eyes still on the courtyard.\n\nThere was string, a bradawl, some withered acorns, needle and twine in a surprisingly feminine sewing case, a slate book and chalk, and a small square of cheese, all of them covered in oats for his horse.\n\nAdelia picked out the cheese and wiped it. It was like chewing resin.\n\nNow that she was more composed, events were connecting to one another. This king, this violent king, this man who, intentionally or not, had set on the knights that stirred Archbishop Becket's brains onto the floor of his cathedral, had sat quietly behind a hanging and listened, without sound, without moving, to treachery of extreme magnitude. And he'd been armed.\n\n\"Why didn't you come out and kill him?\" she asked, not because she wished he had but because she truly wanted to know how he'd restrained himself from it.\n\n\"Who? Eynsham? Friend to the Pope? Legate maleficus? Thank you, he'll die, but not at my hand. I've learned my lesson.\"\n\nHe'd given Canterbury to Becket out of trust, because he loved him\u2014and from that day his reforms had been opposed at every turn. The murder of the Jew-hating, venomous, now-sainted archbishop had set all Christendom against him. He'd done penance for it everywhere, allowing the monks of Canterbury to whip him in public, only just preventing his country from being placed under the Pope's interdict banning marriage, baptism, burial of the dead\u2026.\n\nYes, he could control his anger now. Eleanor, Young Henry, even Eynsham, were safe from execution.\n\nAdelia thought how strange it was that, locked in a chamber with a man as helpless as herself, at the top of a tower that any minute could be a burning chimney, she should be at ease.\n\nHe wasn't, though; he was hammering the mullion. \"Where are they, in God's name? Jesus, if I can get here fast, why can't they?\"\n\nBecause you outstripped them, Adelia thought. In your impatience, you outstrip everybody, your wife, your son, Becket, and expect them to love you. They are people of our time and you are not; you see beyond the boundaries they set; you see me for what I am and use me for your advantage; you see Jews, women, even heretics, as human beings and use them for your advantage; you envisage justice, toleration, unattainable things. Of course nobody keeps up with you.\n\nOddly enough, the one mind she could equate with his was Mother Edyve's. The world believed that what was now was permanent, God had willed it, there could be no alteration without offending Him.\n\nOnly a very old woman and this turbulent man had the sacrilegious impudence to question the status quo and believe that things could and should be changed for the betterment of all people.\n\n\"Come on, then,\" he said, \"we've got time. Tell me. You're my investigator\u2014what did you find out?\"\n\n\"You don't pay me for being your investigator.\" She might as well point this out while she had the advantage.\n\n\"Don't I? I thought I did. Take it up with the Exchequer. Get on, get on.\" His stubby fingers drummed on the window sill. \"Tell me.\"\n\nSo she told him, from the beginning.\n\nHe wasn't interested in the death of Talbot of Kidlington. \"Silly bugger. I suppose it was the cousin, was it? Never trust the man who handles your money\u2026Wolvercote? Vicious, that family. All rebels. My mother hanged the father from Godstow Bridge, and I'll do the same for the son. Go on, go on, get to the bits that matter.\"\n\nHe meant Rosamund's death, but it all mattered to Adelia, and she wasn't going to let him off any of it. She'd been clever, she'd been brave, it had cost too many lives; he was going to know everything. After all, he was getting it free.\n\nShe plowed on, occasionally nibbling at the cheese. Drops from melting icicles splashed on the sill. The king watched the courtyard. The body of the woman who'd begun it all lay on her bed and rotted.\n\nHe interrupted. \"Who's that\u2026Saints' bollocks, he's stealing my horse. I'll rip him, I'll mince his tripes, I'll\u2026\"\n\nAdelia got up to see who was stealing the king's destrier.\n\nA thickening mist hid the hill and gave an indistinct quality to the courtyard below, but the figure urging the horse into a gallop toward the maze entrance was recognizable, though he was bending low over its neck.\n\nAdelia gave a yelp. \"Not him, not him. He mustn't get away. Stop him, for God's sake, stop him.\"\n\nBut there was nobody to stop him; some of Schwyz's men had heard the hooves and were running toward the maze, uselessly.\n\n\"Who was it?\" the king asked.\n\n\"The assassin,\" she told him. \"Dear God, he mustn't get away. I want him punished.\" For Rosamund, for Bertha\u2026\n\nSomething had happened to frighten him if Jacques was deserting Eynsham and the second installment of his precious payment.\n\nThen she was pulling at the king's sleeve. \"It's your men,\" she said. \"He must have heard them. They're here. Shout to them. Tell them to go after him. Will they catch him?\"\n\n\"They'd better,\" he said. \"That's a bloody good horse.\"\n\nBut if Henry's men had arrived and the assassin had heard them and decided to cut his losses, there was no sign of them in the courtyard and no sound.\n\nTogether, Adelia and the king watched the pursuers return, shrugging, to disappear toward the kitchen.\n\n\"Are you certain your men are on their way?\" she asked.\n\n\"We won't see them til they're ready. They'll be coming through the rear of the maze.\"\n\n\"There's another entrance?\"\n\nThe king smirked. \"Imitate the mole, never leave yourself only one exit. Get on with it, tell me the rest.\"\n\nJacques's escape anguished her. She thought of the little unmarked grave in the nuns' cemetery\u2026.\n\nThe king's fingers were tapping again, so she took up her tale where she'd left off.\n\nThere was another interruption. \"Hello, where's Dakers going?\"\n\nAdelia was beside him in an instant. The mist had begun to play tricks, ebbing and flowing in swirls that deceived the eye into seeing unmelted mounds of snow as crouching men and animals, but it didn't hide the thin black figure of Rosamund's housekeeper crawling toward the maze.\n\n\"What's that she's dragging?\"\n\n\"God knows,\" the king said. \"A sawing horse?\"\n\nIt was something large and angular, too much for the human bundle of bones that collapsed after each pull but which managed to steady itself to pull again.\n\n\"She's mad, of course,\" the king said. \"Always was.\"\n\nIt was agonizing to watch such effort, but watch they did, having to keep refocusing their eyes as Dakers inched her burden along like an ant through the shifting grayness.\n\nLeave it, whatever it is, Adelia begged her. They haven't seen you. Go and die at your own choosing.\n\nAnother blink and there was only fog.\n\n\"So\u2026\" the king said. \"You'd taken one of Eynsham's templates from this chamber to Godstow and given it to the priest\u2026. Go on.\"\n\n\"His handwriting is distinctive, you see,\" she told him. \"I've never seen another like it, very curly\u2014beautiful, really\u2014he uses classically square capitals but fills them in with whirls and his minuscule\u2026\"\n\nHenry sighed, and Adelia hurried on. \"Anyway, Sister Lancelyne, she's Godstow's librarian, once wrote to Eynsham asking if she might borrow the abbot's copy of Boethius's Consolation in order to copy it, and he'd written back, refusing\u2026\"\n\nShe saw again the learned little old nun among her empty shelves. \"If ever we get out of here, I'd like Sister Lancelyne to have it.\"\n\n\"A whole Philosophy? Eynsham has a Boethius?\" The Plantagenet eyes gleamed; he was greedy for books and totally untrustworthy when it came to other people's.\n\n\"I should like,\" Adelia said clearly, \"Sister Lancelyne to have it.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well. She'd better look after it. Get on, get on.\"\n\n\"And while we're about it\"\u2014there had to be some profit out of this\u2014\"if Emma Bloat should be widowed\u2026\"\n\n\"She will be,\" the king promised. \"Oh, yes, she will be.\"\n\n\"She's not to be forced into marriage again.\"\n\nWith her own fortune and Wolvercote's lands, Emma would be a prize. She would also, as the widow of one of his barons, be in the king's gift, a valuable tradeable object in the royal marketplace.\n\n\"Is this a horse fair?\" the king asked. \"Are you haggling? With me?\"\n\n\"Negotiating. Regard it as my fee.\"\n\n\"You'll ruin me,\" he said. \"Very well. Can we proceed? I need evidence of Eynsham's calumny to show the Pope, and I doubt he'll regard curly handwriting as proof.\"\n\n\"Father Paton thought it was.\" Adelia winced. \"Poor Father Paton.\"\n\n\"Anyway\u2026\" Henry was looking around the table. \"The bastard seems to have taken his template with him.\"\n\n\"There are others. What we can't prove is that he employed an assassin to kill\u2026who did kill.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't worry about that,\" the king said. \"He'll probably tell us.\"\n\nI've condemned a man to torture, she thought. Suddenly, she was tired and didn't want to say any more. If Schwyz managed to put a flame to the bonfire in the hall, there was no point to it, anyway.\n\nShe abridged what was left. \"Then Rowley arrived. He told Walt, that's his groom, to look after me when the attack came. Walt, not knowing, told the assassin, who told Eynsham\u2014who is very afraid of you and decided to run and take me with him.\" It sounded like the house that Jack built. That's all,\" she said, closing her eyes, \"more or less.\"\n\nDrips from the icicles were increasing, pattering like rain onto the windowsills of a silent room.\n\n\"Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar,\" the king said, musing.\n\nIt was an accolade. She opened her eyes, tried to smile at him, and closed them again.\n\n\"He's a good lad, young Geoffrey,\" Henry said. \"Very loving. God bless him. I got him on a prostitute, Ykenai\u2014strange name, the saints only know what race her parents were, because she doesn't. Big woman, comfortable. I still see her occasionally when I'm in London.\"\n\nAdelia was awake now. He was telling her something, a tit for tat, payment for her trouble. This was about Rosamund without mentioning her name.\n\n\"I set her up in a pie shop, Ykenai, and very successful it's been, except it's making her bigger than ever. We talk about pies, there's a lot to making pies.\"\n\nBig women, comfortable, bouncy mattresses, as Rosamund had been. Women who talked about little things, who didn't test him. Women as different from Eleanor as chalk to cheese\u2014and maybe he'd loved both.\n\nWife and mistress both treacherous. Whether Rosamund had been ambitious herself or had been stirred into it by a devious abbot, the result was the same; she had nearly sparked a war. The only female refuge this man, this emperor, had left lived in a London pie shop where at least one loyal son had been born to him.\n\nHenry's voice came from the window, nastily. \"While he was with you, did the Bishop of Saint Albans tell you of his oath?\" He wanted to hurt someone else who'd been betrayed.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"He swore it in front of me, you know. Hand on the Bible, 'I swear by the Lord God and all the saints of Heaven that if You will guard her and keep her safe, I shall withhold myself from her.'\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said.\n\n\"Hah.\"\n\nFor the first time in days, she could hear the chatter of birds, as if small, frozen hearts were being thawed back to life.\n\nHenry reached over and took the remnant of cheese out of her fingers, squashed it, and scattered the crumbs along the windowsill.\n\nA robin flew down immediately to peck, its wings almost touching his hand before flying off again.\n\n\"I'll bring spring back to England,\" its king said. \"They won't beat me, by Christ, they won't.\"\n\nThey have beaten you, Adelia thought. Your men aren't coming. Everybody betrays you.\n\nHenry's head had gone up. \"Hear that?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I did. They're here.\" His sword rasped from its scabbard. \"Let's go down and fight the bastards.\"\n\nThey weren't here. It was birds he'd heard. The two of them would stay here forever and decompose alongside Rosamund.\n\nShe dragged herself to the window.\n\nAlarmed men were emerging from the kitchen, turning this way and that, confused by the fog, running back to fetch weapons. She heard Schwyz's shout: \"Round the other side. It came from the rear.\"\n\nThe Abbot of Eynsham was taking undecided steps toward the entrance to the maze, then away from it.\n\n\"Yes,\" Adelia said.\n\nHenry's dagger that had cut her hands free was on the table. She took it up with a ferocious joy. She wanted to fight somebody.\n\nBut she couldn't. For one thing\u2026\"My lord, we're locked in.\"\n\nHe was standing on tiptoe, feeling around the top of the coronal that held the curtains of Rosamund's bed. His hand came away with a key in it. He waved it at her. \"Never get into a hole without a second exit.\"\n\nThen they were out of the door and pattering down the stairs, Henry leading.\n\nTwo landings down, they met one of Schwyz's men running up, sword drawn. Whether he was trying to find somewhere to hide or had come for her, Adelia never knew. His eyes widened as he saw the king.\n\n\"Wrong way,\" Henry told him, and stuck him through the mouth. The man fell. The king ran him through again, raising him on the swordpoint as if on a skewer, and flicked him off so that he was thrown round the next bend. Kept flicking him, a heavy man, round the next and the next, though he was long dead by the time they reached the hall.\n\nThe air outside was discordant with shouts and the clash of metal. The fog had thickened; it was difficult to make out who was fighting whom.\n\nThe king disappeared, and Adelia heard a gleeful howl of \"Dieu et Plantagenet\" as he found an enemy.\n\nIt was like being in the middle of battling unseen ghosts. With the dagger ready, she began walking cautiously forward to where she'd last seen Eynsham. One killer had escaped; she'd be damned if another thwarted justice. This one would if he could; not a courageous man, the abbot; he killed only through others.\n\nTwo heavy figures appeared on her left, their swords sparking as they fought. She jumped out of their way and they vanished again.\n\nIf I call him, he will come, she thought. She was still a bargaining counter; he'd want to use her as a shield. She had a knife, she could threaten him into standing still. \"Abbot.\" Her voice was high and thin. \"Abbot.\"\n\nSomething answered her in a voice even higher. In astonishment. In a crescendo of agony that rose into a falsetto beyond what was human. In shrieks that pulsed through the mist and overrode all noise of battle and silenced it. It overrode everything.\n\nIt was coming from the direction of the maze. Adelia began running toward it, sliding in the slush, falling, picking herself up, and blundering on. Whatever it was had to be helped; hearing it was unendurable.\n\nSomebody splashed past her. She didn't see who it was.\n\nA wall of bushes loomed up. Frantically, she used her hands to follow it round toward the maze entrance, toward the screaming. It was diminishing now; there were words in it. Prayer? Pleading?\n\nShe found the entrance and plunged inside.\n\nCuriously, it was easier to see in here, merely gloomy, as if the tunnels were bewilderment enough and had regimented the mist into their own coils. The hedged doors were open, still giving straight passage.\n\nHe'd gone a long way in, almost to the exit that led to the hill. The sound was softening into mumbles, like somebody discontented. As Adelia came up, it stopped altogether.\n\nThe last paroxysm had sent the abbot arching backward over the mantrap so that his stomach curved outward. His mouth was stretched open; he looked as if he'd died roaring with laughter.\n\nShe edged round to the front. Schwyz was scrabbling at the mess where the machine's fangs had bitten into Eynsham's groin. \"It's all right, Rob,\" he was saying. \"It's all right.\" He looked up at Adelia. \"Help me.\"\n\nThere was no point. He was dead. It would take two men to force the mantrap open. Only hate like the fires of hell had given Dakers the strength to lever the struts apart so that their jaws lay flat in the dirt, waiting to snap up the man who'd had Rosamund poisoned.\n\nThe housekeeper had sat herself a couple of feet away so that she could watch him die. And had died with him, smiling.\n\nThere was a lot of clearing up to do.\n\nThey brought the wounded down to Adelia on the landing stage, because she didn't want to return to the tower. There weren't many, and none were badly injured, most needing only a few stitches, which she managed with the contents of the king's sewing case.\n\nAll were Plantagenet men; Henry hadn't taken any prisoners.\n\nShe didn't ask what had happened to Schwyz; she didn't care much. Probably, he hadn't, either.\n\nOne of the barges that came upriver from Godstow contained Rosamund's much-traveled coffin. The Bishop of Saint Albans was aboard another. He'd been with Young Geoffrey at the storming of the abbey and looked tired enough to fall down. He kept his distance on seeing Adelia, though he thanked his God for her deliverance. Godstow had been liberated without loss on the Plantagenet side. Wolvercote, now in chains, was the only one who'd put up any resistance.\n\n\"Allie's safe and well,\" Rowley said. \"So are Gyltha and Mansur. They were cheering us on from the guesthouse window.\"\n\nThere was nothing else she needed to know. Yes, one thing. \"Lawyer Warin,\" she said. \"Did you find him?\"\n\n\"Little sniveling fellow? He was trying to escape via the back wall, so we put him in irons.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nThe thaw was proceeding quickly. Untidy plates of ice floating downriver and bumping into the landing stage became smaller and smaller. She watched them; each one carried its own little cloud of thicker fog through the mist.\n\nIt was still very cold.\n\n\"Come up to the tower,\" Rowley said. \"Get warm.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nHe put his cloak around her, still without touching her. \"Eleanor got away,\" he said. \"They're hunting the woods for her.\"\n\nAdelia nodded. It didn't matter one way or the other.\n\nHe shifted. \"I'd better go to him. He'll need me to bless the dead.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\nHe walked away, heading for the tower and his king.\n\nAnother coffin was carried to the landing stage, assembled from pieces of the bonfire. Dakers would be accompanying her mistress to the grave.\n\nThe rest of the dead were left piled in the courtyard until the ground should be soft enough to dig a common grave.\n\nHenry came, urging on the loading, shouting to the oarsmen that if they didn't row their hearts out, he'd have their bollocks; he was in a hurry to get to Godstow and then on to Oxford. He ushered Adelia aboard. The Bishop of Saint Albans, he told her, was staying behind to see to the burials.\n\nThe fog was too thick to allow a last glimpse of Wormhold Tower, even if Adelia had looked back, which she didn't.\n\nThe Plantagenet wouldn't go inside the cabin, being too concerned with piloting the rowers away from shoals, occasionally jotting notes on his slate book and studying the weather. \"There'll be a breeze soon,\" he said.\n\nHe didn't let Adelia go inside, either; he said she needed air and sat her down on a thwart in the stern. After a while, he joined her. \"Better now?\"\n\n\"I'm going back to Salerno,\" she told him.\n\nHe sighed. \"We've had this conversation before.\"\n\nThey had, after the last time he'd used her to investigate deaths. \"I am not your subject, Henry, I'm Sicily's.\"\n\n\"Yes, but this is England, and I say who comes and goes.\"\n\nShe was silent, and he began wheedling. \"I need you. And you wouldn't like Salerno now, not after England; it's too hot, you'd dry up like a prune.\"\n\nShe compressed her lips and turned her head away. Damn him, don't laugh.\n\n\"Eh?\" he said. \"Wouldn't you? Eh?\"\n\nShe had to ask. \"Did you know Dakers would set the mantrap for Eynsham?\"\n\nHe was astonished, hurt. If he hadn't been trying to woo her, he'd have been angry. \"How could I see what in hell the woman was dragging? It was too damn foggy.\"\n\nShe'd never know. For the rest of her life, she'd be questioned by the image of the two of them, him and Dakers, sitting together in the garderobe, planning. \"He'll die, but not by my hand,\" he had said. He'd been so certain.\n\n\"Nasty things, mantraps,\" he said. \"Never use 'em.\" And paused. \"Except for deer poachers.\" And paused. \"Who deserve 'em.\" He paused again. \"And then only ones that take the leg.\"\n\nShe'd never know.\n\n\"I am returning to Salerno,\" she said, very clear.\n\n\"It'd break Rowley's heart, oath or not.\"\n\nIt would probably break hers, but she was going anyway.\n\n\"You'll stay.\" The nearest oarsmen turned round at the shout. \"I've had enough of rebellion.\"\n\nHe was the king. The route to Salerno passed through vast tracts of land where nobody traveled without his permission.\n\n\"It's his oath, isn't it?\" he said, wheedling again. \"I wouldn't have made it myself, but then, I'm not bound to chastity, thank the saints. We'll have to see what we can do about that\u2014I yield to nobody in my admiration for God, but He's no good in bed.\"\n\nIt was a quick journey; the thaw was putting the Thames into full spate, carrying the barge at speed. Henry spent the rest of the time making notes in his slate book. Adelia sat and stared into nothingness, which was all there was to see.\n\nBut the king was right, a light breeze had come up by the time they approached Godstow, and from some way off, the bridge became just visible. It appeared to be busy; the middle span was empty, but at each end people were milling around a single still figure.\n\nAs the barge passed the village, the activity among the group on this side of the bridge became clearer.\n\nIt was a hanging party. Taller than anybody else, Wolvercote stood in the middle of it with a noose around his neck while a man attached the other end of the rope to a stanchion. Beside him, the much smaller figure of Father Egbert muttered in prayer.\n\nA young woman was watching the scene from the abbey end. The crowd of people behind her was keeping back, but one of them\u2014Adelia recognized the matronly shape of Mistress Bloat\u2014tugged at her daughter's hand as if she were pleading. Emma paid no attention. Her eyes never left the scene on the other side of the bridge.\n\nSeeing the barge, a young man leaned over the bridge's parapet. His voice came clear and jolly. \"Greetings, my lord, and my thanks to God for keeping you safe.\" He grinned. \"I knew He would.\"\n\nThe oarsmen reversed their rowing stroke so that the boat could keep its position against the flow of the water and allow the exchange between king and son. Above them, Wolvercote kept his gaze on the sky. The sun was beginning to come out. A heron rose out of the rushes and flapped its gawky way farther downriver.\n\nHenry put aside his slate book. \"Well done, Geoffrey. Is everything secured?\"\n\n\"All secure, my lord. And, my lord, the pursuers I put after the queen have sent word. She is caught and being brought back.\"\n\nHenry nodded. Pointing up at Wolvercote, he said, \"Has he made confession for his sins?\"\n\n\"For everything except his treachery to you, my lord. He refuses to be absolved for rebellion.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't absolve the swine anyway,\" Henry said to Adelia. \"Even the Lord'll have to think twice.\" He called back, \"Tip him over, then, Geoffrey, and God have mercy on his soul.\" He gestured to his oarsmen to row on.\n\nAs the boat passed by, two of the men lifted Wolvercote up and steadied him so that he stood balanced on the parapet.\n\nFather Egbert raised his voice to begin the absolution: \"Dominusnoster Jesus Christus\u2026\"\n\nAdelia turned away. She was near enough now to see Emma's face; it was completely expressionless.\n\n\"\u2026Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nominee Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.\"\n\nThere was a thump of suddenly tightened rope. Jeers and cheering went up from both ends of the bridge.\n\nAdelia couldn't watch, but she knew when Wolvercote had stopped struggling because it wasn't until then that Emma turned and walked away.\n\nA crowd of soldiers, nuns, and serving people, nearly everybody in the abbey had gathered on the meadow below the convent to cheer King Henry in.\n\nFor Adelia there were only three, a tall Arab, an elderly woman, and a child whose small hand was being flapped up and down in welcome.\n\nShe bowed her head in gratitude at the sight of them.\n\nAfter all, I have no need for any but these.\n\nAllie seemed to have learned another word, because Gyltha was trying to make her say it, first encouraging the baby and then pointing toward Adelia, who couldn't hear it through the cheering.\n\nThere was a shout from the opposite bank that cut through the noise. \"My lord, my lord. We have recovered the queen, my lord.\"\n\nAt an order from Henry, the barge veered across the river toward a group of horsemen arriving through the trees. A man with the insignia of a captain of the Plantagenet guard was dismounting, while one of his soldiers helped the queen down from his horse where she'd been riding pillion.\n\nA gate in the barge's taffrail was opened and a gangplank laid across the gap between it and the bank. The captain, a worried-looking man, came aboard.\n\n\"How did she get across the river?\" Henry asked.\n\n\"There was an old wherry further down, my lord. We think Lord Montignard poled her across\u2026my lord, he tried to delay her capture, he fought like a wolf, my lord\u2026he\u2026\"\n\n\"They killed him,\" the queen called from the bank. She was brushing the soldier's restraining hand off her arm like a speck of dust.\n\nThe king went forward to help her aboard. \"Eleanor.\"\n\n\"Henry.\"\n\n\"I like the disguise, you look well in it.\"\n\nShe was dressed like a boy, and she did look well in it, though as a disguise it would have fooled nobody; her figure was slim enough, but the muddy, short cloak and boots, the angle of the cap she'd stuffed her hair into, were worn with too much style.\n\nThe cheering from the abbey had stopped; there was an openmouthed silence as if people on the far bank were watching a meeting between warring Olympians and waiting for the thunderbolts.\n\nThere weren't any. Adelia, crouched in the stern, watched two people who had known each other too well and been too long together to surprise now; they had conceived eight children and seen one of them die, ruled great countries together, made laws together, put down rebellions together, quarreled, laughed, and loved together, and if, now, all that had ended in a metaphorical attempt to disembowel each other, it was still in their eyes and hung in the air between them.\n\nAs if, even now, she couldn't bear to look anything but feminine for him, Eleanor took off her cap and sent it spinning into the river. It was a mistake; the boy's costume became grotesque as the long, graying hair of a fifty-year-old woman fell over its shoulders.\n\nGently, mercifully, her husband took off his cloak and put it around her. \"There, my dear.\"\n\n\"Well, Henry,\" she said, \"where's it to be this time? Back to Anjou and Chinon?\"\n\nThe king shook his head. \"I was thinking more of Sarum.\"\n\nShe tutted. \"Oh, not Sarum, Henry, it's in England.\"\n\n\"I know, my love, but the trouble with Chinon was that you insisted on escaping from it.\"\n\n\"But Sarum,\" she persisted. \"So dull.\"\n\n\"Well, well, if you're a good girl, I'll let you out for Easter and Christmas.\" He gestured to the rowers to take up their oars. \"For now, though, we're making for Oxford. Some rebels there are waiting for me to hang them.\"\n\nAn enraptured Adelia woke up in panic. There was a river between her and her child. \"My lord, my lord, let me off first.\"\n\nHe'd forgotten her. \"Oh, very well.\" And to the rowers, \"Make for the other bank.\"\n\nAgainst fast running water, the procedure was lengthy, and the king tutted irritably all through it. By the time the barge was settled at a disembarking point on the requisite bank, it had gone long past the abbey, and Adelia was handed ashore on a deserted stretch of meadow into mud that she sank in up to the tops of her boots.\n\nThe king liked that. He leaned over the taffrail, humor restored. \"You'll have to squelch back,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.\"\n\nThe barge took off, its dipping and rising oars sending glittering droplets back onto the surface of the water.\n\nSuddenly, the king was running along the barge's length to the stern so that he could tell her one more thing. \"About the bishop's oath,\" he called, \"don't worry about it. '\u2026if You will guard her and keep her safe\u2026' Very nicely phrased.\"\n\nShe called back. \"Was it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" The rapidly increasing distance between them was forcing him to shout. \"Adelia, you're my investigator into the dead, like it or not\u2026.\"\n\nAll she could see now was the Plantagenet three-leopard pennant fluttering as the barge rounded a wooded bend, but the king's voice carried cheerfully over its trees: \"You're never going to be safe.\"\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE\n\nFair Rosamund Clifford holds a bigger place in legend than she does in historical records, which make only brief references to her, and I hope her shade does not haunt me for my fictional portrayal.\n\nThe English Register of Godstow Nunnery, edited by Andrew Clarke and published by the Early English Text Society, shows that the abbey was both highly regarded and efficiently administered at this time. It was also broad-minded enough to bury the body of Henry II's mistress, Rosamund Clifford, in front of the altar, where the tomb became a popular shrine. However, the great bishop, Hugh of Lincoln, though he had been a friend of Henry's, was shocked to find it there when he visited the convent in 1191, two years after the king's death, and ordered it to be disinterred and reburied somewhere less sacred in the convent grounds.\n\nMost of the rebellion of Henry II's family took place on the continent but, since the nice thing for a novel writer is the gap in medieval records, I have dared to interpose one such rising in England, where we do know at least that some of his discontented barons were quick to join in Young Henry and Eleanor's fight.\n\nEleanor of Aquitaine survived the death of Henry and the imprisonment he imposed on her. In fact, she survived all her sons as well, except King John. In her seventies, she crossed the Pyrenees to arrange the marriage of a granddaughter, and suffered an abduction and, later, a siege. She died at the age of eighty-two and was laid to rest beside her husband and Richard the First, their son, in the Abbey of Fontevrault, where their effigies are still to be seen in its beautiful church.\n\nI make no apology for the way in which my characters go by water between Godstow and various places. The Thames around the island on which the remains of the convent stand is navigable to a fair way farther up even now, and there is every likelihood that its tributaries have changed their courses over the years, and those of the Cherwell, now disappeared, provided better going than the lesser roads. As Professor W. G. Hoskins, the father of landscape archaeology, says in his Fieldwork to Local History (Faber and Faber), \"In medieval and later times a large proportion of inland trade went by river, far more than has ever been generally realised.\" Also, there are references to the Thames freezing during the very cold winters of the twelfth century.\n\nIncidentally, beavers were common in English rivers during the twelfth century. It was later, in the 1700s, that they were hunted to extinction for their fur.\n\nAnd, unlikely as it seems, opium was grown in the East Anglian fens, not only in the twelfth but in succeeding centuries\u2014it is thought that the Romans brought the poppy to England, as they brought so much else. The tincture fen people called \"Godfrey's Cordial\"\u2014a mixture of opium and treacle\u2014was still in use in the twentieth century.\n\nOne by one, all of Henry's sons turned against him, and he died at Chinon in 1189, probably from bowel cancer, knowing that his youngest and most loved, John, had joined the rebellion of the elder brother, Richard.\n\nI have given the manor of Wolvercote a fictitious lord for the purposes of this story; the real owner of the manor at this time was a Roger D'Ivri, and I have no evidence that D'Ivri was involved in any rebellion against Henry II, though it is interesting that, whether he wanted to or not, he later gave the manor to the king, who gave it to Godstow Abbey.\n\nThe reference to paper as a writing material in chapter four may offend the general view that paper did not reach Europe, certainly northern Europe, until the fourteenth century. Granted, it wasn't used much in the twelfth century\u2014scribes and monkish writers were snobbish about it and preferred vellum\u2014but it was around, though probably of poor quality. Viz the interesting article posted on the Internet: \"Medieval Ink\" by David Carvalho.\n\nThe trick of getting out of a multicursal maze I owe to that lovely writer on landscape, Geoffrey Ashe, and his Labyrinth and Mazes, published by Wessex Books.\n\nThe real Abbot of Eynsham, whoever he was, must be absolved of the wickedness that I attribute to his fictional counterpart. As far as I know, he lived a blameless life and had high regard for women\u2014though, in that case, he would have been a rare specimen among medieval churchmen.\n\nThe idea of God as both father and mother was famously encapsulated in the writings of the feminine mystic Julian of Norwich in the fourteenth century, but the concept was deep in much Christian thinking long before that, and so the conversation between the Abbess of Godstow and Adelia in chapter eleven of this book is not necessarily anachronistic.\n\nIn the Middle Ages, the title of doctor was bestowed on followers of philosophy, not physicians, but I have applied it in the modern sense here to simplify meaning for readers and myself."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Burgundian's Tale",
        "author": "Kate Sedley",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "It had not been a good year.\n\nTo begin with, I was neither as skilled nor as careful a lover as I had thought myself, with the result that, in the late summer of 1479, Adela found herself pregnant yet again. But although this proved a source of worry to us both, and the cause of constant reproaches from my former mother-in-law and Adela's cousin, Margaret Walker, we were all three plunged into mourning when, the following April, the child died within four days of her birth.\n\nAdela's grief, however, went deeper than mine. She already had two sons: five-year-old Nicholas by her first husband, Owen Juett, and almost-two-year-old Adam by me. Our family's only girl, Elizabeth, also five, was my child by my first wife, Lillis Walker. Adela would have liked a daughter of her own. So she unreservedly mourned the lost child, while my misery was secretly tempered by feelings of relief that, for the present at any rate, there was no sixth mouth to feed or back to clothe. But I was unable to hide my emotions well enough to deceive Adela, and as spring once more blossomed into early summer, the atmosphere between us grew increasingly strained.\n\nTo make matters worse, as a cold and rainy April turned into an even wetter, chillier May, Margaret Walker caught a rheum that settled on her chest. She needed careful nursing, and my wife repaid her cousin's many past kindnesses by moving her from her cottage in Redcliffe into our house in Small Street, putting her to bed in Elizabeth's chamber and shifting my daughter and a spare mattress into our room to sleep alongside us (arrangements which, however unavoidable, were not conducive to marital harmony). By mid-May, the relationship between my wife and myself was at breaking point, and I decided it was high time I took to the road again instead of peddling my wares in and around Bristol, as I had been doing now for over a year.\n\nI informed Adela of my decision and waited for her protests. Instead, she greeted it with such obvious relief that I realized our marriage was in a more parlous state than I had imagined. Time, indeed, for me to be on my travels! The only decision left to be made was in which direction to go.\n\nBut I need not have bothered my head on the subject. As so often in the past, fate was ready and waiting to take a hand in my affairs.\n\nI was busy in the kitchen, restocking my pack and making room for a spare shirt and pair of hose, while Adela brushed my jerkin clean of dirt and dog hairs and my children screamed and charged around the house, completely indifferent to my imminent departure.\n\n'You'll have to take Hercules with you,' my wife declared, turning her attention to my mud-caked boots. 'I can't cope with him and that cur of Margaret's. They hate one another.'\n\n'Hardly surprising.' I rushed to the defence of my canine friend. 'This is Hercules's house.' I stared with dislike at the little black-and-white dog adopted by Margaret Walker when it had been abandoned by its former mistress, and which, for some unknown and utterly ridiculous reason, she had christened Cherub. A less cherubic-natured hound it would have been difficult to find. 'If I take Hercules with me, in a week or two, when I return, that dog will have usurped his place.'\n\n'He'll be company for you,' Adela argued, scraping the last of the dried mud from the soles of my boots and starting to polish them with a piece of soft rag. 'Now, who can that be?' she added irritably as someone banged loudly on the outer door.\n\nShe went to answer the summons and returned a few moments later looking worried and followed by a sergeant-at-arms from the castle.\n\nHe saluted me and asked, 'Roger the Chapman?'\n\n'I'm Roger Chapman, yes.' I eyed the man warily. 'Who wants to know?'\n\n'Your presence is required up at the castle, Master Chapman.' He smiled in what I suppose was meant to be a reassuring way, but one which was rendered sinister by several broken and blackened front teeth. Hercules gave a threatening growl.\n\n'That doesn't answer my question,' I snapped. 'Who requires my presence and why?'\n\nFor a moment, the sergeant-at-arms looked as though he might not pander to my curiosity; then he shrugged.\n\n'The King's nephew, John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln,' was the astonishing reply.\n\n'John de \u2013 Who? \u2013 What?' I stuttered.\n\nThe man repeated the message, adding, 'And also Master Timothy Plummer, Spymaster-General to the Duke of Gloucester and formerly to His Grace the King.'\n\nTimothy! Things began to make a little more sense, although not much. I remembered uneasily that, the previous summer, I had thwarted certain of the spy's deep-laid plans. But that could have nothing to do with this particular summons, surely? I sighed. There was only one way to find out.\n\n'Very well,' I said. 'Shall we get this over with?'\n\nI kissed Adela and squeezed her hand. 'I'll be back. And soon.'\n\n'I certainly hope so.' She looked pointedly at the sergeant. 'You've done nothing wrong.'\n\nBut the expression on the rugged, weather-beaten countenance remained noncommital.\n\nThe early-morning streets were as crowded and noisy as ever, the muck-rakers getting in everyone's way as they tried to clear the central drains of yesterday's filth and debris \u2013 a thankless task, as people were refilling them as fast as they were emptied. Several friends and acquaintances hailed me, staring with interest at my companion, but I made no attempt to enlighten them as to what was going on. How could I? I didn't know myself.\n\nWe crossed the bridge leading to the Barbican Gate and entered the outer ward of Bristol Castle. This presented a livelier scene than usual \u2013 a number of supercilious young men, in a livery with which I was unfamiliar, either lounging around sneering at the locals and the building's sorry state of disrepair, or being very busy about nothing in particular. The sergeant-at-arms forced a path between them with a ruthlessness that gladdened my heart, and led me to a chamber on the ground floor of the great keep.\n\nIt was a cold, damp little room which would also have been airless but for the fact that there was a crack in one of the inner walls that I could have put my fist through. The floor oozed water from an overflowing sink-hole in one corner, and there was a general smell of decay and corruption. Days when the Bristol dungeons had housed such eminent prisoners as King Stephen and the elder Hugh le Despenser, favourite of the second Edward, had long gone, and the City Fathers were reluctant to spend money (which could be put to far better use feathering their own nests) on the unnecessary upkeep of the castle.\n\nThe room's only furniture consisted of a table, at present bearing a flagon and a couple of mazers, and two stools, on one of which, facing the door, sat Timothy Plummer. He rose as I entered and held out his hand.\n\n'Roger, my friend! It's good to see you again.'\n\nI was immediately suspicious. Somebody once said that he feared the Greeks, even when they came offering gifts. I knew what he meant. I particularly feared Timothy Plummer when he was at his most civil and urbane. He waved me to the other stool and poured us both some wine \u2013 the best Rhenish, he assured me, rightly confident that I wouldn't challenge him. Whatever it was, it was wine such as I hadn't tasted in years (if ever) and far beyond my pocket. I grew even more uneasy.\n\n'All right, Timothy,' I said, 'what do you want?'\n\nHe smiled. 'Blunt as ever! But I suppose it saves time. Just a little favour for Duke Richard, that's all.'\n\n'I see \u2026 And what exactly does this little favour entail?'\n\nHe took a sip of wine and smiled again. 'A visit to London. Nothing that will test your powers of deduction too heavily.'\n\n'Oh, no,' I said firmly. 'I'm not planning on going to London just at present, not even to please Duke Richard, dearly as I love the man.' I wanted to get right away from the hustle and bustle of city life: I had promised myself long spring days of quiet and solitude, watching the rosy-fingered dawn come up over the distant hills, walking knee-high through the early-morning mist and listening to lark song.\n\nTimothy seemed worryingly unperturbed by my adamant refusal.\n\n'A pity,' he remarked cheerfully, pouring me more wine. 'But I'm afraid, Roger old friend, that you have no choice. My Lord of Gloucester has requested your services and I don't intend he should be disappointed. We leave Bristol this afternoon, so you'd better go home and pack anything you might need. A horse will be provided for you \u2013 at His Grace's expense, of course.'\n\n'And how,' I enquired coldly, 'do you intend forcing me go with you if I refuse?'\n\nHe pushed aside his own mazer and settled forward on his stool, arms folded in front of him on the table.\n\n'There's the little matter of your treasonable activities last summer,' he pointed out, 'helping an enemy of King Edward to escape my clutches. Oh, I know the proof is a bit thin, but I could make things very unpleasant for you, Roger, if I put my mind to it. For you and your family. If I made a few enquiries in Marsh Street among your Irish friends, for instance, I feel sure I could gather enough evidence to substantiate a case against you. At the time, I turned a blind eye to what you did because I couldn't see there was anything to gain by charging you. Besides, I like you. We've been friends for years, and you've rendered Duke Richard good service. I'd hate to see you die a traitor's death. Agonizingly protracted and very messy. So, you see, I feel sure you'll be sensible and do as I ask. Or rather, as Duke Richard asks.'\n\nI stared at the spy, so angry with both myself and him that I was temporarily struck dumb. In a futile gesture, I sent my mazer spinning, watching his look of horror as the precious Rhenish spilled across the table top and smiling as he was forced to leap to his feet to avoid being drenched with the stuff.\n\n'You \u2013 you \u2013 you fool!' he bellowed. 'Wasting decent wine!'\n\nI don't know what might have happened next had the door not opened just at that moment, and a small, self-important page announced, 'The Earl of Lincoln.'\n\nI judged the King's nephew to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age, a very handsome lad of great grace and charm. He must have sensed the tension in the atmosphere, but he ignored it, as he did the spilled wine, smiling gaily at Timothy and clapping me on the shoulder in the friendliest manner possible.\n\n'So! You must be the famous chapman of whom my Uncle Gloucester speaks with such admiration and fondness. Our worthy spymaster has told you, I suppose, that we need you in London to help solve a crime. I've ridden with him from the capital to add my entreaties to his request and also \u2013 I must be honest \u2013 because I was curious to meet you.' He grinned broadly, joyously. 'And now I have.'\n\n'Your \u2013 Your Highness is very kind,' I stammered. 'But I can hardly believe the King's nephew would be eager to meet a common p-pedlar.'\n\nHe gave a great roar of laughter at that and once again smote me on the shoulder.\n\n'Good God, man, if we're to talk of being common, there's plenty of plebeian blood on the spear side of my family.' (His father was the Duke of Suffolk, his mother the King's sister, Elizabeth.) 'Why, the founder of our family's fortunes, William de la Pole, was a moneylender from Hull, in Yorkshire. My great-great-grandfather, Geoffrey Chaucer, was the son of a London wine merchant \u2013 and if you've ever read any of those tales of his about pilgrims riding to Canterbury, you'll know that he had a truly bawdy sense of humour. His wife, my great-great-grandmother Chaucer, was the daughter of a Picardy herald, one Payne de Roet.' He broke off, aware, perhaps, that he might have denied his royal blood a trifle too enthusiastically. 'Of course,' he added with a self-conscious laugh, 'on my mother's side, the Plantagenets can claim descent from both Alfred the Great and from Charlemagne.'\n\nI gave a brief bow. 'Which proves my point.'\n\n'No, no! Timothy, you've explained our dilemma to Master Chapman?'\n\nThe spy had regained his composure. 'Not yet, Your Highness. Roger hasn't long arrived. But he has expressed his willingness to accompany us back to London and to give us the benefit of his extraordinary talent.'\n\n'Splendid!' The earl beamed at us both and I was afraid for a moment that he was going to thump my shoulder for a third time. (I could feel the bruise forming already.) Fortunately, he restrained himself. 'You can explain everything to him during dinner. I've promised to dine with the Constable, and places have been reserved for the pair of you at one of the lower tables.'\n\n'Unnecessary, My Lord,' Timothy answered suavely. 'Roger has invited me to eat with him and his family, but we shall be ready to leave with you and your cavalcade at noon.'\n\nI choked, but no one seemed to notice.\n\n'Good! Good! You'll have more privacy.' Lincoln swung on his heel while his page scrambled to open the door. 'Master Chapman, many thanks. My Uncle Gloucester is looking forward, I know, to meeting you again.'\n\nAdela was relieved to get me back safe and sound, but unhappy at seeing my companion, whom she rightly regarded as trouble.\n\nShe and I held conference in the kitchen, while the two elder children entertained Timothy in the parlour, where he proved himself surprisingly adept at playing fivestones, a game at which Elizabeth and Nicholas normally excelled.\n\n'I was going on my travels, anyway,' I argued. 'I might just as well go to London as elsewhere.'\n\n'But you won't be earning any money,' my practically minded wife pointed out. 'And working for the Duke has often proved hazardous. If anything happened, how should I manage without you? I think you should refuse.'\n\n'I can't,' I said and explained why.\n\nAdela was horrified. 'Timothy wouldn't do that to you! He's your friend.'\n\nI shook my head. 'He's a servant of the state first and my friend a very poor second. Don't underestimate him, sweetheart. He's a ruthless man. He couldn't do his job properly if he weren't. I've no choice but to go with him. And it's my own foolish fault that I'm in that position. However, I shall take my pack with me. It's often proved useful for getting my foot inside a stranger's door, and I might make some money as well. Now, shall we eat? It must be nearly ten o'clock.'\n\nAt Adela's suggestion, Timothy and I ate alone in the parlour, free from interruption by our three young limbs of Satan and from the querulous demands of the stick-thumping patient upstairs. Using the top of an old leather-bound chest we had recently acquired as a table, we made short work of my wife's meat pasties and gravy, cinnamon tarts and stewed pippins, all washed down with good, strong ale. Rubbing his belly with satisfaction, Timothy was moved to remark that such a meal was enough to make a man think of settling down and getting married himself. But a few seconds later, the sound of Adam throwing one of his tantrums in the kitchen made the spy hurriedly change his mind.\n\n'So?' I asked. 'What's this all about?'\n\nTimothy drank the last of his ale. 'A simple enough case, really. Simple, that is, to a man of your deductive powers.' He noticed my expression and laughed. 'All right! All right! I won't insult you with too much flattery.' Without being invited, he removed himself from his stool to the room's one armchair and leaned back with a sigh of repletion.\n\n'Go on,' I said, valiantly suppressing my annoyance. 'For a start, what's Duke Richard doing in London? I understood he rarely leaves Yorkshire nowadays, his dislike of the Queen and her family being so intense.'\n\nTimothy settled himself more comfortably, belched loudly and nodded. 'That's true, but in a few days' time, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy is to pay a visit to the the land of her birth and the whole family \u2013 or as many members of it as can be assembled \u2013 have been summoned to London to do her honour. The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester's presence has been particularly requested by the King.' Timothy grimaced. 'Easy to guess why, of course. George of Clarence was always Duchess Margaret's favourite sibling. Her first meeting with the Woodvilles and brother Edward since George's death is likely to be awkward, to say the least. Duke Richard, who not only had no hand in that death, but protested vehemently against his brother's attainder and execution, will be the buffer, the pourer of oil on troubled waters, the mediator between the English and Burgundian courts. Young Lincoln and his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, will be three others. Also Duchess Cicely has already left Berkhamsted and taken up residence in Baynard's Castle, where the Dowager Duchess Margaret and some of her retinue will be housed. The two women will no doubt have a lot to say to one another in private concerning the Queen and her numerous kinfolk, but the King can depend on his mother to ensure that all her children behave themselves with dignity and propriety in public.'\n\nI interrupted. 'Is this a state visit on behalf of the Dowager Duchess's stepdaughter? Or just a family reunion?'\n\nTimothy pulled another face. 'A little of both, perhaps. The Dowager Duchess hasn't set foot on English soil since her marriage to Charles of Burgundy almost twelve years ago, so in one way, yes, I suppose it is a sentimental journey for her. And there are members of her family \u2013 although not, of course, the King and Duke Richard \u2013 whom she hasn't seen for the same length of time. But it's also a formal visit on behalf of the Duchess Mary and her husband, Maximilian of Austria, to renew old ties with England \u2013 ties that have been somewhat eroded in the last three years since Duke Charles was killed. As you may or may not know \u2013 and this benighted city never seems to have any idea of what's happening anywhere else in the world except Ireland \u2013 King Louis has wrested back great swathes of Picardy, Artois and the Franche-Comt\u00e9 for the French Crown.'\n\nI flung up a hand. 'Spare me the politics, Timothy! I do know King Edward has done nothing to support Burgundy because he receives a fat annual pension from King Louis \u2026 Oh, don't pretend to look surprised. I was in France with Duke Richard, if you remember, when the Treaty of Picquigny was signed. So, how does Duchess Margaret's visit affect me? King Edward surely can't be in need of my diplomatic skills.'\n\nTimothy shuddered. 'Heaven forfend! You'd be like a bull let loose among the stalls on market day. No, no! But he does want his sister kept sweet and happy during her visit. Or as sweet and happy as possible considering that the young son of Duchess Margaret's favourite waiting-woman has recently been murdered. There's nothing His Highness can do about that, but he and the Duke of Gloucester would at least like to satisfy their sister's desire for vengeance by bringing the killer to justice.'\n\nI was a little confused. 'Wait a moment! Where exactly did this murder take place? In Burgundy?'\n\n'Of course not! Would I be asking for your help to solve it if it had? No. The young man was done to death in London.'\n\nI was even more confused. 'What was he doing in London? I thought you said\u2014'\n\nIt was Timothy's turn to hold up his hand. 'Let me explain. I think perhaps I'd better start at the beginning.'\n\nI nodded vigorously. 'I think perhaps you had.'\n\nSo Timothy talked. I listened.\n\nThroughout Margaret of York's troubled childhood, when, with her two younger brothers, George and Richard, she had been passed from one noble household to another, sometimes as a guest, sometimes as a prisoner, while her father, the Duke of York, fought King Henry VI for possession of the throne, her closest companions had been twins, seamstresses, Judith and Veronica Fennyman. Some five years older than Margaret herself, the girls had been reared in the York household from birth, both their parents having been loyal servants of Duchess Cicely. But when, in 1461, the widowed Duchess's eldest son had deposed King Henry, avenged his father's defeat and execution and been proclaimed King Edward IV, the twins had at last considered themselves free to leave Margaret's employ and marry.\n\nJudith had done very well for herself, marrying a certain Edmund Broderer, ten years her senior \u2013 a man with sufficient income from a thriving embroidery business in Needlers Lane to enable him to live at the Fleet Street end of the Strand. At twenty years of age, therefore, Judith had found herself mistress of a comfortable three-storey house which, if not quite as opulent as the neighbouring dwellings (most of which belonged to members of the nobility), still had a garden running down to its own private water-stairs on the bank of the Thames.\n\nThe other twin, Veronica, had been satisfied with finding a husband among her fellow servants, and had married one of Duchess Cicely's grooms, James Quantrell, by whom, the following year, she had had a son, Fulk. Two weeks after the birth, James had been thrown by a wild young stallion he had been trying to tame and trampled underfoot. He had been dead within hours.\n\nThe grieving widow and her baby son, invited by Judith and Edmund, had gone to live in the Broderer household, where they had remained for the next six years. No young cousins had arrived to keep Fulk company, and Edmund Broderer's closest male relative remained his cousin's son, Lionel, who lived with his mother in Needlers Lane.\n\nLionel had been apprenticed early to his cousin, and shown such an aptitude for the embroidery trade that by the time he was eighteen he had been running the business for Edmund almost single-handed, while the older man led a life of leisure. Then, on a wild and stormy March evening in the year 1468, Edmund had disappeared while returning home from one of London's many taverns, his corpse being washed up near Saint Botolph's wharf three weeks later, stripped of clothes and valuables by the water scavengers who made a gruesome living out of the Thames's many casualties. He had only been identified by his wife's intimate knowledge of his body.\n\nIn the summer of the same year, Margaret of York, together with a trousseau that had cost the King, her brother, the awesome sum of two and a half thousand pounds, had left England to become the third wife of Charles of Charolais, Duke of Burgundy. Lonely and more than a little frightened \u2013 like many a pawn in the royal marriage game before her \u2013 she had begged Veronica Quantrell to accompany her as her seamstress-in-chief and, more importantly, as a familiar face and childhood friend. Veronica, in spite of her sister's recent bereavement, had agreed, and for the next twelve years she and Fulk had made their home in the Burguadian court, wherever it happened to be. Veronica had comforted her mistress as Margaret's hopes of presenting her lord with a male heir \u2013 with an heir of either sex \u2013 slowly faded, and were finally snuffed out altogether with Charles's death. She had become indispensable to the Duchess, and her handsome young son hardly less so. At eighteen, he was Margaret's favourite male attendant.\n\n'Then,' said Timothy, helping himself to more ale, 'just after last Christmas, Veronica died, and young Fulk decided that he must bring the news to his aunt himself. It would seem that the sisters had always kept in touch and remained on good terms.'\n\nIn the intervening twelve years, Judith had married twice more; first to a Justin Threadgold, who had been carried off four years later by the plague, and secondly to a man thirteen years older than herself, her present husband, Godfrey St Clair. Still childless herself, Judith had two stepchildren, Alcina Threadgold and her present husband's son, Jocelyn St Clair.\n\nBoth these young people were treated as Judith's own, lavished with affection and everything that money could buy. (She was now a very wealthy woman, thanks to Lionel Broderer's management of the embroidery business.)\n\n'But it's the old, familiar story,' Timothy went on, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Faced with her own flesh and blood, warmed by the young man's apparent devotion and affection, Judith had barely known him a month before she made him her heir, presented him with extravagant gifts of money and jewels, and allowed herself to become besotted by him \u2026' There was a pause before Timothy added grimly, 'Two weeks ago, he was found battered to death in Fleet Street, not two or three hundred yards from his aunt's home in the Strand.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "I laughed shortly. 'Now there's a surprise!'\n\nTimothy nodded gloomily. 'A predictable ending to a predictable tale. But not an unprecedented one. Strange things seem to happen to women of Judith St Clair's age, particularly if they're childless. Suddenly faced with a handsome young man, her twin sister's son, and deeply affected, I suppose, by the unexpected news of that sister's death, she adopted him almost immediately as her own. Her former affection for her stepchildren was overwhelmed by the love she felt for her nephew.'\n\n'So why does Duke Richard need me to solve the crime?' I snorted. 'It seems to me any fool could work out the answer given time and patience. You already have four suspects with very strong motives for wanting the young man dead: Judith's present husband, his son, her stepdaughter by her second marriage and the \u2013 er \u2013 cousin, was it? of her first husband, who runs the embroidery workshops for her, and who, in the fullness of time, might well have expected some acknowledgement of the fact in Judith's will. It was generally known, I take it, that she had made this Fulk Quantrell her sole heir?'\n\n'She may not have said anything about it, but it appears he openly boasted of the fact.'\n\n'Well then!'\n\n'It mightn't be quite as simple as that,' Timothy demurred. 'I'm not in possession of all the facts \u2013 God knows, I'm just the messenger \u2013 but I gather friends of Godfrey St Clair, a certain Roland and Lydia something-or-other, may also be involved. Don't ask me how! Besides, no one else has the leisure to spend on the matter.' His chest swelled importantly. 'By the time we get to London, the Dowager Duchess will already be at sea, and the Earl of Lincoln must set out again almost at once for Gravesend in order to escort his aunt into the capital. I, of course, will be in attendance on My Lord of Gloucester and must be constantly on the alert for any outside forces, any foreign agents, who might pose a threat to the friendly outcome of this visit and England's renewed ties with Burgundy.'\n\n'The French, you mean,' I said drily. 'Such cunning, devious, little bastards \u2013 they're everywhere. I wonder you could be spared to come chasing after me.'\n\nTimothy gave me a narrow look. 'You watch that sarcastic tongue of yours, Roger! I volunteered to fetch you because I knew I had the power to make you acquiesce in Duke Richard's request.'\n\n'Not a command, then?'\n\nThe spy turned down the corners of his mouth. 'The Duke is sympathetic \u2013 unnecessarily so, in my opinion \u2013 to the demands of a wife and children. And given your present recalcitrant mood, it would appear to be a good thing that I did come.'\n\nI was not prepared to allow Timothy that much satisfaction. 'As it happens, I was already preparing to leave Bristol and go on my travels for a week or two. So' \u2013 it was my turn to shrug \u2013 'I might as well be in London as anywhere.'\n\nI was delighted to note his look of disappointment. But he made no comment apart from asking me where I would choose to stay. 'I daresay a room can be found for you in Baynard's Castle. You've lodged there once before.'\n\nI had indeed; which was how I knew the servants' dormitories to be cramped and overcrowded, some poor fellows sleeping three or four to a bed, others having no bed at all but forced to spend their nights on the draughty floor. Since becoming a house owner I had grown soft and used to my comfort.\n\n'I'll find a room at St Brendan the Voyager in Bucklersbury,' I said. 'I know the landlord, Reynold Makepeace: an honest man, who won't take advantage of a country cousin like me by charging outrageous prices.'\n\nTimothy's face brightened. 'I know the Voyager: it's tucked in among all those grocers' and apothecaries' shops. I also have a nodding acquaintance with Innkeeper Makepeace. But what's even better is that Needlers Lane is a turning off Bucklersbury, about halfway along on the opposite side of the road to the inn. You'll be a mere stone's throw from the Broderer workshops.' He rose and clapped me on the back, the same shoulder favoured by the Earl of Lincoln. I winced. 'And now, if we're not to keep the King's nephew waiting \u2013 and I wouldn't advise it, in spite of all his good humour and friendly ways \u2013 you'd better make your farewells. We must be at the castle by noon.'\n\nWe spent three nights on the road (the young Earl refusing to travel on the Sabbath) and entered London around midday on the sixteenth day of May, which, by coincidence, was the Feast of Saint Brendan the Voyager. Timothy, the least superstitious of men, nevertheless took this as a good augury for my success.\n\n'It's going to prove an easy case for you to solve, Roger. Come and find me at Baynard's Castle this afternoon, when we've both had a chance to settle in. Duke Richard and his Duchess are staying there. They decided against Crosby's Place so that His Grace could be more in the company of his sister. If he's not too busy, he'll be pleased to see you. But he won't be able to afford you much time.'\n\nI didn't take this amiss. I knew from what Timothy had told me during our journey that this rare visit to London by the Duke of Gloucester was not simply to greet his youngest sister, but also to hold urgent talks with his brother concerning Scotland's violation of her truce with England. Egged on, I learned, by the wily French King \u2013 who, typically, was also sheltering James III's rebellious brother, the Duke of Albany, at his court \u2013 there had been almost daily raids across the Border throughout the past autumn and winter. Four days earlier, the Duke of Gloucester had been appointed the King's Lieutenant-General in the North, authorized, so the Earl of Lincoln had informed us, to levy the men of the Scottish marches, ready for war.\n\nIt said much for the Duke's family feeling that, in the midst of all this turmoil and uncertainty, he could find time to worry about Duchess Margaret's probable grief at the death of her favourite's son, and to want to have something done about solving the murder. I could understand why Timothy was so anxious not to let him down, and secretly determined that I would do my utmost to discover the culprit \u2013 although I naturally had no intention of telling Timothy this. Let him think me still resentful: it would keep him on his toes.\n\nThe Earl of Lincoln left us even before we entered London, making his way to Westminster where the King and Queen and most of the court were lodged. Timothy and I parted company outside St Paul's, he riding south to Baynard's Castle, between Thames Street and the river, I jogging along West Cheap to the Great Conduit, where I took the right-hand fork to Bucklersbury. And here, nestling, as Timothy had said, among the sweet-smelling grocers' and apothecaries' shops, I found the inn of St Brendan the Voyager still with its sign of the saint and his disciples in their skin-covered coracle, being kept afloat by the good offices of a sea monster.\n\nI thought Reynold Makepeace might have forgotten me after more than two years, but he greeted me as though I were his long-lost brother, enquired solicitously after Adela and the children, and generally made me so welcome that I even began to enjoy this unsought and begrudged visit to the capital.\n\n'As luck would have it,' he said, 'you can have the same chamber that you shared with your wife. It was vacated only this morning by a merchant from Nottingham who had business in the city. And when I talk about luck, I mean it. London's seething at the moment with people pouring in to catch a glimpse of Duchess Margaret. Many of the larger, more important inns have been commandeered for members of her retinue. Your guardian angel must be watching over you, guiding your footsteps here.'\n\nThe room was exactly as I remembered it \u2013 small, but spotlessly clean, opening off a gallery that ringed three sides of the Voyager's inner courtyard. The bed, which took up most of the space, still sported the same goose-feather mattress and down-filled pillows. There were no other furnishings, but my wants were modest, having no luggage except my pack and the cudgel I had insisted on bringing with me despite Timothy's reservations.\n\n'You won't need your cudgel,' he had objected. 'You'll be under royal protection. The Duke's armourer can supply you with any weapons you might need to keep you safe in the London streets.'\n\nBut I preferred my own trusty 'Plymouth cloak' and my knife, both of which I was used to handling, and in this argument, the Earl of Lincoln, who had happened to overhear the altercation, had backed me up.\n\n'Better the weapons you know, Master Plummer, than those you don't,' he had said gaily, but decidedly; and I noted with amusement that Timothy gave in at once. The young man might parade and boast of his de la Pole and Chaucer blood, but he was a Plantagenet at heart, and expected to be treated as one.\n\nThe horse that had been hired for me from the Bell Lane stables, in Bristol, Reynold Makepeace readily agreed to house and feed for the duration of my stay in London at a slightly increased cost, to be added to the price of my room. I was happy to agree, and having donned a clean shirt and hose, brushed down my leather jerkin and combed my hair, set out for Baynard's Castle as I had been instructed.\n\nIt seemed to me that I had stood in that room only yesterday, instead of nine years earlier. There was no fire of scented pine logs on the hearth, it was true, but everything else was surely just the same: the table against the wall supporting silver ewers and goblets of the finest Venetian glass; the armchairs with their delicately carved backs, depicting birds and trailing, interwined vine leaves; the tapestries, slightly more faded perhaps, showing Hercules's fight with Nereus; and the copper chandelier with its scented wax candles, all lit because of the overcast day and the general gloom of the chamber.\n\nBut the dark-haired young man (exactly my own age for, according to my mother, we had been born on the selfsame day) who rose to greet me was older and far more careworn than he had been on the occasion of our first meeting. Lines of suffering and sorrow were deeply scored into the thin, olive-skinned face. Sadness lurked behind a smile that had once been sweet and gentle, but which, now, could suddenly transform itself into a kind of rictus grin. Once described by the Countess of Desmond as 'the handsomest man in the room after the King', Richard of Gloucester's good looks had been eroded by the twin evils of great grief for the death of his brother, George of Clarence, and his hatred for those he considered responsible for that death, the Queen's family, the Woodvilles.\n\nThen, as he came towards me, he smiled again, and this time his whole face lit up. I realized with gratitude that the man I had known and to whom I had sworn lifelong devotion was still there, inside that shell of suspicion and disillusionment that had hardened around him for his own protection.\n\n'Roger!' The Duke held out a heavily beringed hand, which I knelt and kissed. He raised me, adding, 'It's good to see you once more. Thank you for coming. I know you're married and a father. And also, rumour has it, a householder. You must tell me how that happened, for you'd never accept any help from me. But first, here's someone who wants to meet you.' He turned and beckoned.\n\nA boy, who had been sitting in one of the armchairs, came forward; a tall, smiling, shining \u2013 for I can think of no better way to describe him \u2013 child of some eleven or twelve years of age.\n\n'My son, John,' the Duke said proudly. 'John, this is Roger Chapman of whom you've heard me speak.'\n\nI bowed. 'My Lord.'\n\nThis, I knew, was Duke Richard's bastard son, born before the Duke's marriage to his beloved cousin, Anne Neville. There was also a bastard daughter, Katherine, as much the apple of her father's eye as this bright and lively young man. (I wondered fleetingly about Prince Edward, the Duke's legitimate heir, who, if everything said of him were true, had inherited his mother's fragile constitution.)\n\nThe boy grinned broadly. 'My Lord father has been singing your praises, chapman. My cousin, John of Lincoln, insisted on haring off to Bristol just to steal a march and get a glimpse of you before I did. I wanted to go, too, but it wasn't allowed.'\n\nI addressed the Duke. 'Your Grace, I suspect all this underserved praise is a ploy, first to get me to London, secondly to ensure I do your bidding now I'm here.'\n\nDuke Richard smiled. 'You always did have a suspicious mind, my friend. But if you can solve the riddle of a death that will greatly distress my sister, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, when she hears of it, I don't mind what you think of me.' He gave his son a little push. 'Off you go, my lad, and make yourself useful to your grandmother if she needs you.' He ruffled the dark hair so like his own and watched with pride and affection as the Lord John made his courtesy to both of us in turn before quitting the room. 'One of the lights of my life,' he said simply as the door closed. 'Now, come and sit down and tell me all that's happened to you in these past two years.'\n\nHalf an hour later, he knew as much of my life as I had chosen to reveal; and, being an astute, shrewd man, probably much else that I had hoped to conceal.\n\n'The bond of marriage can sometimes be just that,' he said enigmatically when I had finished. 'All the same, I'm delighted you've found a good woman to comfort your bed and bear your children. I'm pleased, too, for your good fortune, and that the money I sent after you last time proved of use in furnishing the house. You obviously rendered this Mistress Ford a great service to be the recipient of such gratitude.' He must have seen me colour up because he chuckled. 'No, no, Roger! I didn't mean that! I give you credit for being a faithful and loyal husband. Now, I'm afraid I must leave you. I'm wanted at Westminster. But I'll send Timothy to you. He'll arrange for someone to show you where the murder was committed and Mistress St Clair's house in the Strand. How you then go about solving our mystery is up to you. But I'm sure we shall see one another again in the days to come.' He pressed my shoulder \u2013 the same one \u2013 and I valiantly refrained from letting out a yelp of pain. 'I shall, of course, expect to be kept informed of your progress, but otherwise, you won't be bothered. I know you like to work alone.'\n\nI again kissed his hand. When he had gone, I sat down and waited patiently for Timothy Plummer.\n\nIn fact, Timothy appeared only briefly before handing me over to a young officer of the Gloucester household named Bertram Serifaber \u2013 a stocky, curly-haired young man, as friendly as he was bright and quick-witted.\n\n'I'm to assist you in any way I can,' he told me. 'I'm at your disposal for as long as you need me, and all my other duties are to be subordinated to your demands.' He smiled happily at the prospect and his brown eyes sparkled. 'I'm looking forward to it,' he admitted candidly. 'These state occasions can be a bore. There's such a lot of standing around, just twiddling one's thumbs. Trying to track down a murderer will be much more fun.'\n\n'Only trying?' I teased. 'You should have more confidence in me, my little locksmith.'\n\nHe blushed, then quickly forgot his embarrassment and grinned. 'You're right. My father, grandfather and great-grandfather were, or are, all serifabers, but mending and fitting locks didn't appeal to me. When my father did some work in the royal palace at Westminister a year or so ago, I accompanied him, which is how I met Master Plummer. He was in the service of the King at the time, as I expect you know.' I nodded. 'Well, he took a liking to me, thought me bright enough to be trained as a future spy and persuaded my father at least to let me try. Mind you,' my new young friend added with a sigh, 'I didn't bargain on Master Plummer returning to the Duke of Gloucester's household and having to go with him to Yorkshire.'\n\nHe spoke the last word with the kind of scorn reserved by all Londoners for anywhere outside the capital, but I was used to that. My lips might have twitched, but I hid my amusement and said bracingly, 'Well, you're back home now.'\n\n'But not for long. It'll be Scotland next,' he added gloomily, 'if all the rumours are true.' Then what was plainly his natural buoyancy shone through and he gave me a blinding smile. 'However, anything's better than locksmithing, and you do get to see a bit of the world. And now that I'm trying \u2013 oops! sorry! \u2013 going to solve a murder with you, perhaps I'll be noticed by the King and My Lord of Gloucester and Duchess Margaret.' He didn't add, 'Things are looking up!' but the words were implicit in his general demeanour. He was an optimist and nothing could alter that fact.\n\n'Then we'd better make a start,' I suggested. 'As we're not far from Fleet Street, you can show me first where this Fulk Quantrell was murdered.' I had a moment's misgiving. 'You do know all about this killing, I suppose? Master Plummer has explained everything to you?'\n\nBertram Serifaber nodded vigorously. 'He's told me all that he knows, yes. But it's not very much now, is it?'\n\nI laughed and agreed.\n\nWe left London by the Lud Gate, under the raised portcullis, past the guards whose job it was to turn back any lepers who tried to enter the city, and across the drawbridge that spanned the ditch. I had forgotten how much bigger, dirtier and noisier London was even than Bristol, the second city in the kingdom; and long before we reached our destination my head was aching from the incessant cries of the street vendors, the chiming of the bells and the effort of pushing my way through the jostling crowds. The screech and rattle of carts, many driven at breakneck speed, was the inevitable prelude to being splashed with mud and refuse from the central drain. I cursed loudly and openly wished myself at home; but at the same time, there was a vitality, a sense of urgency about life in London that I secretly found exhilarating.\n\nI remembered Fleet Street from my previous visits to the capital: a road leading from the Lud Gate at one end and merging into the Strand at the other. The River Fleet ran at right angles to it, as did Shoe Lane and the Bailey, and the houses that flanked it on either side were three-storeyed dwellings of fair proportions, home to the well-to-do, but nothing like as opulent as the nobles' mansions in the neighbouring Strand.\n\n'It was here,' my companion said eagerly, darting ahead of me as we approached the turning to Faitour \u2013 or Fetter, as my London friend pronounced it \u2013 Lane. 'Between here and Saint Dunstan's Church. According to Master Plummer, the man had been felled with a blow to the back of his head and then finished off with several more. He'd been robbed of everything of value.'\n\nI reflected that this was hardly surprising. A number of the faitours \u2013 or beggars, vagrants, vagabonds, scroungers, whatever you prefer to call them \u2013 after whom the lane was named, were even now skulking around in doorways, rattling their tin cups or displaying their war wounds (ha!), waiting for the largesse they felt to be their due to rain down upon their undeserving heads.\n\n'I assume this murder happened at night,' I said, provoking an incredulous glance from Bertram.\n\n'Yes, of course! Didn't Master Plummer tell you anything? I thought you'd know more than I do.'\n\n'Master Plummer has left me in your more than capable hands,' I answered smoothly, but feeling a fool just the same. I determined to have a few well-chosen words with Timothy the next time I saw him. Nevertheless, I acknowledged that my ignorance was partly my own fault: I should have asked more questions, instead of wallowing in the ease and luxury of a journey undertaken in the company of a royal earl.\n\nI surveyed the scene of the crime. The church of Saint Dunstan-in-the-West stood maybe fifty yards or so from the entrance to Faitour Lane, at a point where there was a small dog-leg turning in the road. On the walls of at least two of the houses, and on a wall of the church itself, were cresset holders which, judging by the smoke-blackened stonework and plaster behind them, were frequently used. But I reckoned the flames of the cressets might cast more shadows than light under certain conditions, as well as being put out altogether in rain or high wind. Besides, there was plenty of protection to be had by a would-be killer in the narrow doorways of the houses, and a way of escape up Faitour Lane itself to the village of Holborn. All in all, I didn't think a murderer would have had much difficulty in getting away unnoticed and undetected.\n\nI wondered if the local brotherhood of beggars had been questioned as to anything any one of them might have seen or heard that night, but guessed that, even if they had, the interrogation would have yielded nothing. Communities, particularly those that live by their wits or by preying on other people, stick together. They live by a code of which the cardinal \u2013 probably the only \u2013 sin is betrayal.\n\nI knew from Timothy that there had been an enquiry of sorts, but the Sheriff's officers had been needed elsewhere to root out those Frenchmen thought to be lurking around every corner of every London street, just waiting to disrupt the Dowager Duchess's visit. I had tried to persuade Timothy, during one of our convivial drinking sessions on the journey from Bristol, that such fears were probably unjustified. I pointed out that King Louis was already master of the situation on account of the seventy-five thousand crowns he paid yearly to King Edward. Surely, I argued, that was a sufficient inducement to preclude any serious English assistance to Burgundy against the French, particularly as the King had a very expensive wife and, in the Woodvilles, as rapacious a set of in-laws as any ruler in Christendom.\n\nBut Timothy had remained unconvinced. He had reminded me sharply that it was my job to discover the identity of Fulk Quantrell's murderer while he and every other officer of the law busied themselves about the safety of the realm. In the face of such blinkered obstinacy I had given in gracefully, but I should have questioned him more closely about the crime.\n\nSo here I was with very little information to aid me in my search. I looked thoughtfully at the faitours, who either whined for alms or, when they had assessed my social standing and probable worth, gave me back stare for stare, poked out their tongues and made other obscene gestures which I am too much of a gentleman to describe. But I decided they could wait. They would still be here whenever I was ready to speak to them.\n\n'Very well,' I said to my companion. 'Now you can show me the house in the Strand where Mistress St Clair and her husband live; then we'll retrace our footsteps back to the city, to Needlers Lane.'\n\nAt my request, we walked the whole length of the Strand as far as the Ch\u00e8re Reine Cross, because I wished to renew my acquaintance with this part of London-Without-the-Walls, where the tentacles of the city were creeping further and further into the countryside between the capital and Westminster. Then we walked back again.\n\nOn our right were some of the finest houses in and around London \u2013 magnificent four-storey affairs with well-tended gardens running down to their own water-steps and landing stages on the Thames. Mansions, I suppose, would not have been too strong a word for many of them. Here, the great palace of the Savoy had once stood before it was destroyed during the insurrection of the peasants almost a hundred years before.\n\nAt the Fleet Street end, however, were three smaller houses; still handsome, but modest by comparison with the rest: they lacked a storey and were narrower in width. Nevertheless, the gardens were just as pleasant, and the overall impression was of money, possibly hard-earned, but plenty of it and well spent.\n\n'I think Master Plummer said one of those three belongs to Mistress St Clair.' Bertram rubbed his nose apprehensively. 'But I'm not sure which. The middle one, I think.'\n\n'Don't worry. We'll soon find out.' I smiled at him, not displeased that he seemed a little wary of my displeasure. (I judged him to be a youth who could easily get too cocky.) 'But first we're going to pick up my pack and cudgel at the Voyager and then we'll pay a visit to Needlers Lane.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "In the event, I paid the visit alone, leaving young Master Serifaber to kick his heels in the ale room of the Voyager until my return.\n\nUpon reflection, I had decided that it might be as well not to advertise \u2013 at least, not immediately \u2013 the Duke of Gloucester's interest in this affair, which my companion's blue and murrey livery, together with the badge of the White Boar, most certainly would do.\n\n'Just to begin with, I'll spy out the lie of the land on my own,' I told him.\n\n'I've been instructed to help you,' Bertram complained fretfully. 'After all, I'm supposed to be the spy.'\n\n'You're a novice at this game, my lad,' I retorted, 'and don't you forget it. You're here to do my bidding. And if I have any nonsense, you'll find yourself back at Baynard's Castle quicker than you can blink. I don't think Master Plummer would be very pleased about that, do you?'\n\nHe grumbled mutinously under his breath, but was forced to cave in.\n\nI patted his shoulder. 'I can't conceal Duke Richard's involvement for long,' I consoled him. 'Then you shall live in my pocket.'\n\nHe grinned at that and took himself off to sample Reynold Makepeace's best ale with the money I had given him as a bribe for his good behaviour. I crossed the road and turned into Needlers Lane. A quick enquiry of a passer-by elicited the fact that Broderer's workshop was on the right-hand side, at the far end, where the street we were in joined Soper Lane.\n\nIt wasn't difficult to find. Not only was it the largest workshop in the vicinity, but it had an imposing sign above the door, bearing the somewhat faded, but still readable legend 'EDMUND BRODERER' in red paint. I hitched up my pack and went inside.\n\nI knew nothing about embroidery, but I didn't need to in order to understand that this was a thriving business. A first, cursory glance suggested that there were at least ten or twelve people in the room, and all hard at work. Along one of the walls, great panels of silken mesh were stretched on wooden frames. Two men in white linen aprons were busily plying their needles in and out of the net in a kind of cross stitch, which gradually formed patterns of birds and beasts and flowers. Occasionally, one or the other of them would refer to a coloured pattern, drawn on a piece of parchment and nailed to the upright between the frames. But for the most part, they seemed to need no guidance, knowing instinctively what to do next.\n\nThree women were working at a horizontal frame just in front of me, laying strands of gold and blue thread across a piece of crimson silk, then stitching the strands in place to form a solid block of colour. (This process I eventually learned is known as 'couching'. There's also another process called 'undercouching', but we won't go into that.) Two young women were being instructed by a grey-haired matron in the art of appliqu\u00e9 work; while yet another, middle-aged woman was sewing tiny prismatic glass beads into the centre of embroidered velvet medallions which, in their turn, were being stitched to the sleeves of a dark-green silk dalmatic. And at a long trestle to my left, a bevy of much younger girls were busy embroidering the smaller items such as purses, orphreys, belts and ribbons. A veritable hive of industry.\n\nAs I stood staring about me, a second door at the other end of the workshop opened and a man entered carrying a small metal box, iron-bound and double-locked. This, I guessed, most likely contained pearls and other precious gems which, as I could see from several of the richer garments hanging up around the room, were used for decoration. The man put the strong-box down on the end of the trestle, said something to one of the girls, looked up and saw me.\n\nHe frowned. 'Who are you?'\n\nI could see by his expression that he wasn't really annoyed, but his voice had a harsh timbre to it that made him sound as though he might be, and was probably good for discipline. He could have been any age from the late twenties to mid-thirties, and was indeed, as I discovered subsequently, not long past his thirtieth birthday. He was of middling height, the top of his head reaching just above my chin, sturdily built, but with surprisingly delicate, long-fingered hands \u2013 a great asset, I imagined, in his chosen calling. Apart from a slightly bulbous nose, his features were unremarkable: blue-grey eyes and hair of that indeterminate fairish brown so prevalent among my fellow countrymen.\n\nBefore I could reply to his query, he had noticed my pack. 'A chapman, eh?' he went on. 'Looking for offcuts to fill your satchel, I daresay. You won't find many here. The owner likes the last scrap of material, be it silk, velvet or linen, and the last inch of thread to be accounted for.'\n\nI didn't want to start by lying and playing the innocent, so I resisted the temptation to ask if the owner were Edmund Broderer and merely said, 'It's not your business, then.' I didn't even make it sound like a question, but the man naturally took it as one.\n\n'No.' His tone was curt. 'I'm Lionel Broderer, as anyone around here will tell you. My cousin-by-marriage is the owner. The business was left to her by her husband.'\n\n'That would be the man whose name is over the door of the workshop?'\n\n'That's right. He died twelve years ago this summer and I've run the place for Judith ever since.' He stopped and the frown reappeared. 'Not that it's your affair. But you're welcome to take a look around. If you see anything that might do for your pack, point it out and I'll say whether or not it's for sale. If it is, we'll fix a price.'\n\n'Fallen on hard times, has she, this cousin of yours?' I enquired, as he led me towards the trestle where the smaller items were being worked.\n\nLionel Broderer made a noise which could have been interpreted as a snort, but which he turned into a cough.\n\n'Not at all,' he answered. 'Just careful.'\n\n'Wealthy, then,' I suggested.\n\nThis time he made no attempt to hide his exasperation, but whether with me or with Judith St Clair, I wasn't certain. But it got me a reply.\n\n'She's married twice since my cousin died. Although, as far as I know, neither husband had, or has, much money.\n\nI paused to watch one of the girls do what, in the trade, is known as 'pricking and pouncing', (again, a term I got to know later). She laid a long, thin strip of parchment, on which was drawn a pattern of oak leaves and acorns, along the length of a silken girdle. Then, with her needle, she pricked the outline of the pattern on to the silk.\n\nI looked up to see the dawning of suspicion in Lionel Broderer's eyes.\n\n'Who are you?' he asked for a second time. 'You're not from these parts.'\n\n'Somerset born and bred,' I declared proudly. 'Wells is my home town, but nowadays I live in Bristol.'\n\n'Married?'\n\n'A wife and three children.'\n\nThe embroiderer nodded. 'Yes. You look leg-shackled.' (I wished people would stop saying that!) 'Now me \u2013 I've had the wit to remain single.' But his tone held that hint of wistfulness I've often noticed in the unmarried when they boast of their untrammelled state. 'Anyway,' he continued more briskly, 'you still haven't replied to my question.'\n\n'I've told you who I am,' I parried. 'A chapman up from Somerset, peddling my wares around your glorious city. You can take a look in my pack if that will help to convince you.'\n\n'Oh, I'm not doubting your word. I just don't think you're telling me all the truth.' He was quick on the uptake, this one, and a lot sharper than he looked.\n\n'Why would you think I'm hiding something?'\n\n'Because of the murder of my cousin's nephew?'\n\nHe didn't bother to lower his voice and I was aware of tension throughout the workshop. Nobody stopped working, but there was a deafening silence as though everyone had suddenly sprouted ten-foot-high ears.\n\nLionel Broderer went on, 'You don't look at all surprised by this information, Master Chapman, so can I assume that you knew it already?'\n\nI stalled for time. 'Why should I be surprised? People get murdered every day, especially in large towns and cities.'\n\n'So they do,' he agreed affably. 'But they don't all have royal connections.'\n\nI raised my eyebrows with what I hoped was an incredulous smile, but he wasn't fooled for a minute.\n\n'My cousin's nephew came here from Burgundy and was a great favourite of the Dowager Duchess \u2013 a lady due within London's walls by this time tomorrow afternoon on a visit to her brother, King Edward. But I hardly think I'm telling you anything that you didn't know before.'\n\n'A country pedlar? What should I know?' I was still hedging.\n\nLionel Broderer sighed wearily. Then he produced a small key from his pouch, unlocked the metal box, dipped in his hand and let a shower of needle-thin gold discs cascade through his fingers. I recognized those discs. Each was pierced with a tiny hole near the rim, and they were used for sewing on clothes so that the garments shimmered as their wearers moved. Two years earlier I had seen ones just like them being made.\n\nSomething of my thoughts must have shown in my face because the embroiderer laughed and nodded. 'That's right! I bought these only yesterday from Miles Babcary's shop in West Cheap. He naturally asked me about the murder, having an interest in it beyond the ordinary \u2026 Do I need to go on?' I didn't answer, so he continued with growing impatience, 'Miles Babcary's late wife was a cousin of Jane Shore, the King's favourite mistress. Therefore, when Miles's daughter was accused of murdering her husband, it could have proved embarrassing for everyone concerned. But the mystery was eventually resolved by a West Country pedlar working for His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester \u2026 You acknowledge the similarities, chapman? More than a coincidence that you've turned up here this afternoon, wouldn't you say?'\n\nI knew when I was beaten. As soon as Lionel mentioned the goldsmith, Miles Babcary, I accepted that further prevarication would be useless.\n\n'All right. I admit it. I am working on behalf of Duke Richard. He feels that his sister will want the killer of your cousin's nephew found.'\n\n'And he's brought you up from Bristol to discover him. Or her.' The embroiderer locked the box again, returned the key to his pouch and regarded me without rancour or even dismay. 'Why didn't you say so from the first? Did you think I wouldn't want this murderer caught? Until he is, I move, eat and sleep under a cloud of suspicion, along with all the rest of us who had good reason to wish Fulk Quantrell dead and buried.'\n\n'That's honest.'\n\n'Why shouldn't I be? I didn't do it. I need to clear my name. It worried me when the Sheriff's men made no further enquiries. Now I understand why. His Grace of Gloucester wanted someone he could trust to make them. Someone who would discover the truth.'\n\n'You flatter me,' I said, but absently. I was watching him carefully, unable to decide if Lionel Broderer were an innocent or an exceedingly disingenuous man.\n\nHe shook his head. 'Not if all Miles Babcary told me is true.' He glanced about him, suddenly seeming aware of all his interested listeners. 'We can't talk here,' he protested. 'I live nearby, just opposite the workshop, with my mother. But she's out at present. It's only a step if you'd care to accompany me.'\n\nI experienced a pang of conscience when I thought of Bertram, patiently awaiting me in the ale room of the Voyager, but came to the conclusion that it would do him no harm to learn his place. And he had, in some respect, been foisted on me.\n\nThe house Lionel Broderer shared with his widowed mother was a neat two-storeyed dwelling, between a draper's on one side and an ironmonger's on the other. What had once been a ground-floor shop had now been converted to an entrance hall and a kitchen. This allowed more room on the upper floor for a reasonably spacious parlour and two bedchambers, while a small yard at the back contained a lean-to privy and a flower border or two, surprisingly well maintained. A plot of earth planted with a wide variety of herbs suggested that Dame Broderer was fond of cooking, a fact to which the well-nourished body of her son could testify. Everywhere and everything indoors was swept and dusted, indicative of a tidy nature. Lionel might not be married, but in one respect he had no need to be; and as for the other, I had already, in a few hours, seen more whores touting for business on the streets of London than I saw in a week at home.\n\n'All that a bachelor could desire,' I said, taking a proffered seat in the parlour after I had proudly been shown the rest of the house and garden. I reflected that my host had some womanish traits, probably the result of being the pampered only child of a doting mother. Or was that simply a blind, masking a more violent and passionate nature?\n\nI refused his offer of wine. Some of the church bells were already beginning to toll for vespers, and there would be nothing much else to do after curfew except sample Reynold Makepeace's ale. I might as well keep a clear head while I could.\n\n'What do you want to know?' Lionel Broderer asked, settling himself in the parlour's second armchair, opposite mine. (Good furniture, I noted admiringly, comparing it with my own somewhat ramshackle possessions. Whatever faults Judith St Clair might have, she had not stinted on her foreman's wages.)\n\nI recited as briefly as I could what I had learned from Timothy Plummer: the circumstances that had shaped the present household in the Strand, and also those which had brought Fulk Quantrell from Burgundy some months ahead of his royal mistress. 'I was told that Mistress St Clair grew very fond of him.'\n\nLionel's mouth had thinned to an almost invisible line. His face was bleak. 'I've never seen anyone become so completely enslaved in so short a time. Oh, he was a handsome devil, all right. And it wasn't just Judith who was a victim of his charm. All the women seemed to go down before him like ninepins. Alcina \u2013 that's Alcina Threadgold, Judith's stepdaughter from her second marriage \u2013 was as good as betrothed to Brandon Jolliffe, but once she'd clapped eyes on Fulk, poor old Brandon thought himself lucky if she so much as gave him the time of day.' Lionel spoke with a bitterness that made me eye him suspiciously. Did he harbour secret feelings for Alcina?\n\n'Who's Brandon Jolliffe?' I asked.\n\n'The son \u2013 the only child \u2013 of Lydia and Roland Jolliffe. They're friends of Godfrey St Clair and live in the Strand, next door to him and Judith.'\n\n'They weren't happy then with Fulk's arrival?'\n\nLionel looked even grimmer. 'Well, Roland Jolliffe certainly wasn't. But if you ask me, it wasn't simply on account of his son being jilted.' I raised my eyebrows and he went on, 'I've always suspected \u2013 although I've no proof, you understand \u2013 that there was more than common friendship between Fulk and Mistress Jolliffe.'\n\n'You mean she was his mistress?'\n\n'I'm not saying that. But I'm very sure she would have been willing enough had he asked her. I've seen the way she looked at him when she thought her husband wasn't watching.'\n\n'And you think Roland Jolliffe suspected his wife's feelings for this Fulk Quantrell?'\n\n'I can't be certain, but I shouldn't be at all surprised. He's not nearly such a blockhead as people take him for. Not nearly so complaisant, either.'\n\n'A jealous husband then, you reckon?'\n\nLionel nodded. 'Roland Jolliffe's one of those big, quiet men who doesn't say much about anything. Doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, as the old saw goes; but he's devoted to Lydia. And he's the sort who'd never blame her if she ever did play him false. In his eyes she'd have been seduced, led astray, by the man.'\n\nI smiled. 'You seem to know a lot about someone who, according to you, doesn't say much or show his emotions.'\n\n'I keep my eyes and ears open,' Lionel retorted briskly. 'I know, for instance, that there were quarrels between the two women, Alcina and Lydia Jolliffe.'\n\n'About Fulk?'\n\n'That would seem the obvious answer. They were quite friendly before he arrived \u2013 well, as friendly as a girl of eighteen and a woman of forty are likely to be. But after a few weeks of his company, whenever they were in a room together it was worse than a couple of cats tied up in a sack.'\n\n'What about Mistress St Clair? Did she notice nothing of all this?'\n\nLionel paused to scratch himself in various intimate places. The warmth of the afternoon was making his fleas active. Mine began hopping about in sympathy.\n\n'Judith was so besotted by her nephew that even if she did notice, she didn't care. He could do no wrong in her eyes.'\n\n'And her husband and stepson? What were their feelings, do you know?'\n\nMy companion gave a short bark of laughter. 'They didn't like it. Of course they didn't! Especially Jocelyn. When Judith married his father, she more or less adopted him, just as she had Alcina. They were her co-heirs and she treated them as if they were her own. Mind you,' he added reflectively, 'Alcina may have had her nose put out of joint. She was sixteen when Judith married Godfrey two years ago, and she'd been the only heir since she was eight. But if she resented Judith's adoption of Jocelyn, she never showed it. In fact, the pair of them seem to be the greatest of friends \u2013 more like brother and sister than many true siblings.' Lionel pursed his lips. 'Although I fancy that doesn't please Godfrey. I feel sure he'd like them to marry, then they and their children would inherit all Judith's money when she dies. He was always complaining that Alcina is far too good to throw herself away on Brandon Jolliffe.'\n\n'So Fulk Quantrell proved a stumbling block to his plans, as well?'\n\nLionel shrugged. 'Possibly, if I'm right about what he wants. And I think I am. Alcina made no secret of her passion for Fulk.'\n\nThere was a moment or two's silence. Then I asked abruptly, 'And you? What grudge did you bear him? Surely you expected to inherit something if your father's cousin should die?'\n\nHe reddened and I thought he was going to bluster and make denials. But he seemed to think better of it, and grinned instead. 'I had Judith's promise that if she died before me \u2013 which, mark you, is by no means certain with only nine years between us \u2013 the workshop would be mine. She told me it was the least she could do after I had run it so successfully for her all these years. And I know for a fact she meant what she said. She showed me her will. Her old will, that is.'\n\n'She made a new one?'\n\n'Oh, yes! Within a fortnight of Fulk's arrival. Everything \u2013 all her money and the workshop \u2013 was to go to him. She said nothing, but he made no seceret of the fact. Why should he? He was cock of the dunghill and he couldn't stop crowing.'\n\n'Did Mistress St Clair give any of you any reason for what she'd done? Or didn't you ask?'\n\n'Jocelyn and I both tackled her and both of us got the same answer. Fulk was her nephew. She'd nursed him as a baby, when he and his mother lived with her and my cousin. His mother was her twin. He was her own flesh and blood. I pointed out that he always had been, but she hadn't let it worry her for the past twelve years. She said she hadn't seen him since he was six. Now that she had, her feelings towards him had been reanimated and she realized how much she loved him. The truth is,' Lionel added viciously, 'he buttered her up and told her anything she wanted to hear almost from the first day he arrived: how young she was for a woman of thirty-nine \u2013 his mother, her twin, hadn't aged half as well; how often and how fondly his mother and Duchess Margaret had talked about her and wished she were with them in Burgundy; how his mother had spoken of her sister with her dying breath. Oh yes! He quickly realized that Judith would swallow any lie that flattered her and bolstered her ego.'\n\n'And what were Mistress Alcina's feelings about her stepmother changing her will?'\n\n'Oh, she didn't care. She thought Fulk was going to marry her, you see. She counted on inheriting everything through him.'\n\nI stirred in my chair and sighed. With so many people to suspect of murdering Fulk Quantrell, it was a relief to be able to rule out Alcina Threadgold as well as Judith St Clair.\n\nBut I wasn't going to be let off the hook that easily. A voice spoke scathingly from the parlour doorway. 'He wasn't going to marry her! You know very well he wasn't! You were present when he told her so!'\n\n'Mother!' Lionel rose from his seat and hurried across to give his parent a dutiful peck on her cheek.\n\nDame Broderer, I thought, as I, too, got to my feet, was not at all what I had expected. I had envisaged a much older woman, not the fashionable, well-preserved dame I saw in front of me. She must have been little more than a child when she gave birth to her son.\n\nShe seated herself in Lionel's chair and waved me back to mine.\n\n'Now,' she said, eyeing me up and down, 'who is this? Apart, that is, from being a pedlar and an extremely handsome young man.' I did my best to look modest. 'Lal! An explanation, please! You know I don't like strangers in my house without knowing who they are or what they're doing here.'\n\nLionel told her as briefly as he could, helped by the fact that she refrained from interrupting him with pointless questions or exclamations. She simply sat, regarding me steadily with a pair of fine blue eyes, of which her son's were a pale and smoky copy.\n\nWhen he had finished, she gave a satisfied nod. 'Yes, I've heard Miles Babcary tell that story about the pedlar as well. So! That was you, was it, Roger Chapman? Then I trust you'll discover the truth of this sorry affair. It's high time someone did. There are too many people whispering behind their hands about my boy. Not, of course, that he's the only one. Brandon Jolliffe and his parents, Godfrey and Jocelyn St Clair \u2013 they're all being pointed at as potential murderers.'\n\n'But not Mistress Threadgold?' I queried.\n\nDame Broderer snorted. 'She's escaped the worst of the gossip so far because most people assume she was going to marry Fulk Quantrell. Therefore, in due course, all Judith's money, not just half, would have come to her through him.'\n\n'A reasonable assumption,' I prompted her as she paused.\n\n'Indeed! If it had been true.' Dame Broderer turned on her son. 'Lal, for heaven's sake pull up a stool and stop looming over me. You're blocking the daylight.'\n\nSomewhat to my surprise, Lionel made no objection to this reprimand, but did as he was bidden. However, his broad grin indicated an amused tolerance of his mother and her ways rather than intimidation. They understood one another, this pair.\n\n'Are you saying,' I asked, 'that Fulk Quantrell wasn't going to marry Alcina Threadgold?'\n\nDame Broderer leaned back in her chair. 'The evening he was murdered, Fulk came round to the workshop to nose and poke about. He had taken to doing that as though he already owned the place. On this occasion, quite by chance, I was also present, collecting a new girdle that I had had embroidered. He hadn't been there five minutes when Alcina came in, obviously in a towering rage. She immediately started shouting at him, in front of everyone, that he was a liar and a cheat. She'd given him everything and in return he'd promised her marriage.\n\n'Well, Fulk let her rant and rave for a moment or two, then he turned on her, even more furious than she was. He yelled that he had never promised to marry her; that he wouldn't marry her if she were the last woman on earth. And finally he told her that he couldn't marry her: he was already betrothed to one of Duchess Margaret's tiring-women, back in Burgundy.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "'What happened next?' I asked.\n\nDame Broderer shrugged. 'Fulk stormed off without giving Alcina a chance to reply, and she burst into a flood of tears. As you might expect. Lionel and I tried to comfort her, but she wanted none of us. Shook us off and went after Fulk.'\n\nI raised my eyebrows thoughtfully. 'And that was the night Master Quantrell was murdered?'\n\n'It couldn't have been Alcina,' Lionel said quickly. 'She had no weapon with her. And she doesn't have the strength to beat a man's head in.'\n\nI saw Dame Broderer give her son a look in which pity and affectionate contempt were blended in equal measure. My hunch had been right then: he did entertain more than friendly feelings for his cousin's stepdaughter.\n\n'Anger can give people, even women, an extraordinary strength,' I pointed out. 'As for a weapon, Mistress Threadgold might have picked up anything anywhere. I expect London, like Bristol, has its fair share of animal bones \u2013 big ones \u2013 to be found in the central drains. Also, all sorts of rubbish is mixed in with the rotting carcasses and vegetables; bits of old planking, broken walking sticks and cudgels \u2013 in fact anything at all that our good citizens have no use for.'\n\nLionel glowered and his mother laughed.\n\n'I've told him that, chapman. But my son is sweet on Alcina and won't hear a word against her. It's no good trying to deny it, Lal! Our friend here can put two and two together with the best of us. Probably better than most of us, if all that Miles Babcary says is true.'\n\nI let this flattery pass without acknowledgement. 'What did you do, Mistress Broderer,' I enquired, 'after the two young people had left?'\n\n'I came home. Lionel stayed on to lock up the workshop for the night, as Jeb Smith and Will Tuckett will testify.'\n\nLionel looked surly. 'I can answer for myself, thank you, Mother.' He turned to me. 'But she's right, chapman. Ask either Jeb or William. I was the last to leave. I always am. I like to make sure that all the candles and wall cressets have been properly doused. I wouldn't trust the job to anyone else.'\n\nI stroked my chin. 'I understand from Master Plummer that the murder took place around a fortnight ago, which would put it at the beginning of the month. Was it still light when you locked up the workshop?'\n\nDame Broderer opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and shut it again.\n\n'Not as light as it might have been,' Lionel admitted after a pause. 'In fact it was near enough dusk. We were working on a particularly intricate wall hanging for York Place. That's the Archbishop of York's house, near the Ch\u00e8re Reine Cross. It was wanted in time for Duchess Margaret's visit, starting tomorrow. Jeb Smith and Will Tuckett were anxious to get it finished that evening, so they stayed on. I gave them a hand. The others left just after Mother arrived to pick up her girdle.'\n\n'Always anxious to get off home,' Dame Broderer grumbled, although it was a grumble that slid easily into a chuckle. 'But after all who can blame them? I was the same at their age.' She noted my glance of curiosity and added with perfect frankness, 'Yes, I was once an embroidress in the Broderer workshops. It wasn't my good fortune, however, to attract the attentions of its owner, at least not then. By the time Edmund did cast his eyes in my direction, it was far too late. He was married to Judith and I was the relict of his much poorer kinsman, his cousin Jonathan.' She added with a sigh, 'Married at fifteen, a mother at sixteen, widowed at twenty. That, briefly, is the story of my life.'\n\nI gave what I hoped was a gallant bow. 'But you must have had many opportunities to marry again since your husband's death.'\n\n'Oh, I'm not lucky in love,' she said and rose abruptly, smoothing down her skirts. 'It must be past supper time. Will you stay and eat with us, Master Chapman?'\n\nI shook my head. 'Thank you, mistress, but no. I must return to the Voyager. I've left a young friend there, kicking his heels.' And I explained about Bertram Serifaber. 'He'll be wondering what has happened to me.'\n\n'What will you do now?' Lionel asked. 'About the murder, I mean.'\n\nBefore I could reply, Dame Broderer said firmly, 'He needs an introduction to the household in the Strand. But tomorrow, everyone will be abroad to see the state entrance of the Dowager Duchess into London. Judith won't miss that. She might even be summoned to wait on Her Highness as an old friend and retainer of the Princess. So call here the day after tomorrow, chapman, and I'll take you to see Judith and Godfrey then.'\n\nI was tempted to refuse: I have always liked to do things in my own way and my own time. But the dame's offer would cut many corners, and I knew that Duke Richard would like this murder solved as soon as possible for his sister's sake.\n\n'You're very kind.' I picked up my pack from where I had dropped it beside my chair, bowed once again to them both and took myself back to the Voyager.\n\n'Well, I call that very underhand and sneaky,' Bertram declared somewhat indistinctly, as we ate an excellent supper of stewed neck of veal with leeks and cabbage. 'I'm the one who's supposed to be helping you with this case, not some old woman.'\n\n'Dame Broderer is only in her forties,' I reproved him.\n\n'That's what I said: old.'\n\n'And,' I went on severely, 'she's a very well-looking woman for her age.'\n\nHe would have continued the wrangle, but I suddenly realized how tired I was, how long and busy a day it had been. I had risen at the crack of dawn to continue our journey into London; I had been to Baynard's Castle to meet the Duke and to the Broderer workshops and Lionel's home. And even though it was still light, I was ready for my bed. Home, my wife and children seemed as distant from me as the moon. I needed to be quiet, to reorientate my thoughts and let my spirit get in touch with theirs again. So, to Bertram's great indignation, I suggested he return to the castle as soon as he had finished eating, and inform Timothy Plummer of such progress as I had made so far.\n\n'Come back early in the morning,' I said, 'and we'll go to see Duchess Margaret's entry into the city together.'\n\n'I may. I may not,' was his lofty parting shot.\n\nBut I knew that he would.\n\nI slept badly. I was lonely. Not for the first time in my life, my own company proved to be no satisfaction. I missed Adela. I missed the children. I even missed Adam. I wondered if I were sickening for something.\n\nI awoke, bad-tempered and unrefreshed, to an inn and a city already humming with life and the anticipation of pageantry and spectacle. And by the time I had finished a breakfast of oatcakes and honey, cold boiled mutton and a mazer of ale I, too, was beginning to relish the prospect of seeing a bedecked and bedizened London, ready to welcome home one of its own. Margaret of York had been young, pretty and popular when she had left for Burgundy twelve years earlier. She might now be older, staider, wiser, even plainer, but she would receive the same rapturous applause.\n\n'The procession'll be coming through the Ald Gate,' Bertram informed me, arriving just as I was finishing my meal. 'Cornhill, the Poultry, Stocks Market, past the Grocers' and Mercers' Halls, where the Duchess will be greeted by some of the Guildsmen, then along West Cheap \u2013 more greetings, and probably gifts from the goldsmiths: they're an ingratiating lot \u2013 St Paul's, the Lud Gate and along the Strand to Westminster, where the King and all the royal family will be waiting to greet her. Not the Prince of Wales, of course. He lives at Ludlow.' Master Serifaber wrinkled his nose in indignation 'You've had boiled mutton!' he accused me. 'Not fair! All I had was a pickled herring.'\n\nI laughed. 'Yes, that sounds like the kind of breakfast I remember at Baynard's Castle. The Duchess of York isn't the most generous of providers, if I remember rightly.'\n\nMy companion poured the remainder of the ale from the jug into my mazer, and drank. 'Duchess Cicely', he said feelingly, 'expects everyone to lead the same sort of ascetic, religious life as she does at Berkhamsted. I'm glad I don't belong to her household. Thank heaven Duke Richard is more liberal in his ideas. That's one thing to be said for living in Yorkshire: plenty of good food.'\n\nHe sniffed again, piteously, so I ordered him a plate of boiled mutton and some oatcakes. When, finally, he could make himself understood once more, he enquired, 'Where do you want to watch the procession? West Cheap or Westminster? Duke Richard, Duchess Anne, Duchess Cicely and all their followers \u2013 hundreds of 'em: I couldn't be bothered to count \u2013 rode to Westminster very early this morning, so Fleet Street and the Strand should have cleared a bit by now.'\n\n'I'll abide by your decision, lad. Whichever you recommend.'\n\n'Well \u2026' Bertram ran his tongue around his teeth, making sure that he had found every last scrap of meat. 'Westminster will be just about as crowded as West Cheap, but with my livery I can probably find us both a place among my lord's retainers.' He patted his chest importantly.\n\n'Then Westminster let it be.' I got to my feet. 'At the same time, we can go over the ground again that Fulk Quantrell must have covered the night he was killed. Now, if you've finished trying to scrape the bottom out of that plate, we'll make a start.'\n\nBut I had been foolishly optimistic in imagining that our walk to Westminster would provide us with an opportunity to discover any more concerning the Burgundian's death. The whole journey, beginning in Bucklersbury, on through West Cheap and continuing beyond the Lud Gate, was a nightmare of people pressing in on us from every side. On at least three occasions the crowds were so thick that we were unable to move for several minutes. The first time, it was even difficult to breathe.\n\nIt was a pickpocket's dream of paradise and I congratulated myself that I had the bulk of my money in a pouch strapped around my waist under my shirt and breeches. Mind you, it was a grave disadvantage when what few loose coins I had had been filched and I wanted to buy a meat pie or a jellied eel from a street vendor. These persistent gentlemen (and \u2013 women) were as numerous as their criminal associates, and indeed, quite often they worked together, the vendor distracting the customer's attention while the thief relieved him of his purse. However, either my commanding height and size or the Duke of Gloucester's blue and murrey livery, worn by Bertram, or perhaps both, gave us a freer passage through the throng than we might have otherwise expected.\n\nIn West Cheap, two arches of marguerites, each beaten gold flower-head trembling on its fine wire stalk, had been raised. A choir of 'angels' \u2013 local boys, reluctantly recruited, whose mothers humiliated them by constantly shouting advice and instructions from the crowd \u2013 waited to greet the illustrious guest. A little further on, the more professional choristers of St Paul's jostled for position, each one hoping, I presumed, that the beauty of his singing might recommend him to the Duchess and earn him a place at the Burgundian court. The Lud Gate was decorated with shields of stiffened paper displaying the red cross of Saint George and the white rose of York. People were dressed in their Sunday clothes, and everywhere there was a general atmosphere of carnival and holiday.\n\nBertram and I were not the only two making for Westminster, in the belief that it offered a better vantage point for viewing the Duchess than the overcrowded roadway of West Cheap. The thoroughfare out of London was packed with citizens sweating in a burst of sudden warmth. Typically, May had decided to stop imitating January and was pretending to be July instead; in short, the weather was showing all the usual vagaries of an English spring.\n\nAs we walked, or rather pushed our way, along Fleet Street, I glanced in the direction of Faitour Lane, but there was, of course, nothing to be seen. The beggars congregated in the alley's mouth were rattling their tin cups, baring their sores and trusting that a suitable display of enthusiasm for the Londoners' princess would loosen their fellow citizens' purse strings.\n\nWe at last managed to move on into the Strand. The going was easier here, where the road was wider and the smell of the open countryside counteracted the stench of the city. The gardens of the great houses on either side were also beginning to bloom in earnest, and the faint breeze blowing inland off the river brought a hint of summer trailing in its wake.\n\nBertram indicated the three smaller dwellings to our left, just beyond the Fleet Sreet bridge. 'I was right. The middle one does belong to Godfrey and Judith St Clair. I asked Master Plummer last night. The one on its left, as we face them, is Master Joliffe's house.'\n\n'And to its right?'\n\nMy companion shook his head. 'I didn't ask, and Master Plummer didn't say. No one of importance, I daresay. At least, nothing to do with the murder.'\n\nI stared long and curiously at Godfrey St Clair's house, being roundly cursed by the people whose progress I was impeding, but there was no sign of life. Master, wife and servants were all abroad, waiting for the Duchess's arrival. And at that moment, the faint and distant sound of cheering suggested that she had at last made an appearance at the Ald Gate.\n\n'We'd better hurry,' Bertram urged, tugging at my elbow.\n\nQuite a few people now stayed where they were, lining both sides of the Strand, but we battled on to Westminster.\n\n'Watch out for pickpockets,' Bertram said as we passed through its gate.\n\nBut I had no need of his advice. I knew this place of old. The London thieves and cutpurses, fast and nimble-fingered though they might be, were mere novices compared with those who frequented Westminster. The latter would take anything that was portable and in such quick time that the unwary stranger found himself stripped almost naked before he had been five minutes inside the walls. The Flemish merchants who thronged its streets were little better, picking on the small and weak and forcing sales of their wares at knife-point.\n\nToday, however, unlike its larger neighbour, the city of Westminster was quieter than usual, an air of enforced calm pervading its streets. For this, the presence of a substantial number of armed men was responsible. Officers of the King's household were patrolling every alley and byway, and had been doing so since dawn judging by the bleary-eyed look of them. The cookshop stalls that normally proliferated around Westminster Gate had been moved elsewhere, much to the annoyance of owners and customers alike.\n\nBefore we had been there many minutes, a royal messenger arrived in a flurry of sweat and horse's hooves, disappearing inside the palace, presumably to announce that the Duchess was on her way. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, and Bertram dragged me round into Westminster Yard and thence into the great hall where the royal family was beginning to assemble.\n\nThe Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, Lincoln's parents, had already taken their places \u2013 he an aggressive-looking, bull-necked man, totally unlike his eldest son, she a proud Plantagenet with something of the appearance of her late brother, the Duke of Clarence, about her. The King's two stepsons, the Marquis of Dorset and his younger brother, Lord Richard Grey, were glancing about them and occasionally whispering together behind their hands. (I don't know that I should have recognized them if Bertram hadn't reminded me who they were.)\n\nAfter that, the hall began to fill up faster than I could take note of who was and was not present. Nobility and clergy, the great and the not so great, the good and the definitely not so good, crowded around the empty thrones at the far end of the hall. Bertram, as he had promised, had managed to squash me in among the lowliest ranks of the Gloucester retainers to the left of the door. My ribs felt as though they might crack beneath the pressure of other bodies. My bad mood was returning.\n\nForeign dignitaries and their attendants arrived just before the bulk of the royal party, by which time I had given up even trying to guess or remember who was who. I had just decided that there were far too many high and mighty pomposities in this world who served no useful function, when a louder fanfare than normal assaulted my already protesting ears. This, however, finally heralded the entrance of the King and his immediate entourage.\n\nDuchess Cicely, matriarchal in royal purple and stiff-necked with Neville pride, preceded the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, both of them resplendent in cloth of gold and silver, the Duchess looking so fragile that it seemed a puff of wind could blow her away. The six-year-old Duke of York walked with his slightly older duchess and was followed by four of his sisters, Elizabeth, now a lovely young woman of fourteen, Mary, Cicely and Anne. The baby, Katherine, born the previous year, was carried in the arms of her nurse. And then, finally, King Edward, wearing the insignia of the Golden Fleece, and Queen Elizabeth entered the hall.\n\nI was shocked on two counts \u2013 well, perhaps not shocked, but certainly surprised, to see that the Queen was pregnant yet again; not far gone as yet, but showing enough belly to leave little room for doubt. Elizabeth Woodville \u2013 Lady Grey, as she had been when the King married her all those years ago \u2013 must, I reckoned, be well over forty, her two first-marriage sons being themselves married men. But it was really King Edward who commanded my attention, and, in his case, shock at his appearance was too mild a word to describe my emotions.\n\nWhen young, this magnificent, golden-haired giant had been dubbed 'the handsomest man in Europe'. Even when I had first set eyes on him five years earlier, it had still been possible to understand why, although the effects of drink and dissipation were already beginning to make themselves apparent. But now his features had coarsened and thickened out of all recognition. His height (much the same as mine) was of course the same, but his girth weighed him down and made him round-shouldered. His jaw hung slack and heavy and his complexion was moist and pale, like uncooked dough. But then he smiled at someone in the crowd, and I could see that the old charm and humour still wove their magic. My instincts warned me that here was a sick man; but I was unwilling to accept the evidence of my eyes and dismissed the thought.\n\nAfter the King and Queen were seated on their thrones, there was a delay while we all awaited the arrival of the Duchess, whose progress had no doubt been hindered by the cheering crowds. I caught a glimpse of Timothy, standing not far behind Duke Richard's chair and, from time to time, signalling vigorously to other men stationed at various strategic points around the hall. I wondered what they thought would happen. Did they seriously expect the French ambassador to leap forward and attack Duchess Margaret with his poignard? Or was it, as I suspected with my usual cynicism, self-importance for its own sake?\n\nSuddenly I found Timothy directly behind me, panting heavily after having forced his way through the press to my side of the hall. He dug me painfully in the ribs. Before I could protest, he hissed in my ear, 'Directly in front of us. Front row. Black gown, heavily embroidered. Judith St Clair. The man on her left is Godfrey.'\n\nI craned my neck, trying to get a better view across the intervening two ranks, but the women's hennins with their floating scarves made it impossible to see anything from where I was standing. It was like peering through a forest of flags all flying from the tops of steeples. (And it confirmed me in my belief that the current crop of women's fashions were being designed by madmen.)\n\n'I can't see\u2014' I was beginning, but just at that moment the trumpeters went wild with a fanfare that made even my teeth hurt. Timothy gave a strangled cry and set off to fight his way back to his official position, while I suppressed a desire to burst out laughing. All the same, I had managed to catch a glimpse of a heavily embroidered black sarcenet sleeve and a white hand resting on a wrist cuffed in black velvet. At least I knew roughly where to look for my quarry once the present ceremony was over. Moreover, two people in deepest mourning stand out in a crowd of popinjays.\n\nMy travelling companion of the last three days, the young Earl of Lincoln, resplendent in white and gold, proudly led his aunt towards the thrones at the far end of the hall. As she passed, I saw enough of the Dowager Duchess to realize that the slender, vibrant, twenty-two-year-old girl, who had set sail for Sluys twelve years previously to become the third wife of Charles of Burgundy, was now a matronly woman in her mid-thirties with a thickening waistline. But she was still attractive enough, with her pale skin and Plantagenet red-gold hair, to send the waiting crowds into a frenzy of adoration. Their cheers rolled in through the open doorway, and probably drowned out the King's initial greeting to his sister. (I saw her lean closer to him, as though she had difficulty hearing.)\n\nEdward had risen at the Duchess's approach and embraced her lovingly. Then, after greeting the Queen and making suitable obeisance to her mother, Margaret was passed from one sibling to another, one in-law to another, rather, I reflected irreverently, like a bolster full of feathers.\n\nI touched Bertram on the shoulder. 'Let's get out now,' I whispered, 'before everyone has the same idea.'\n\nWe weren't far from the door, and managed to inch our way outside without attracting too much notice. Once in the fresh air, we took deep breaths and stretched our cramped muscles. I drew Bertram into the shelter of the Abbey.\n\n'When the crowds begin to disperse,' I said, 'look for a couple in mourning. That'll be Judith and Godfrey St Clair.'\n\nMy companion nodded. 'I wondered what Master Plummer was whispering to you about.'\n\nIt was a lengthy wait. It was not until the good and the great, led by King Edward and the Dowager Duchess Margaret, had processed from the hall into the palace \u2013 'Banquet,' Bertram informed me tersely \u2013 that the less important guests who had been invited to the welcome ceremony were permitted to leave. Even then, there was an order of departure to be observed. But, at last, among the many-hued silks and velvets emerging into the uncertain May sunshine, I saw two sable-clad figures walking decorously side by side.\n\nJudith St Clair was a woman of around the same age as Mistress Broderer; perhaps, to be fair, a few years younger. She was good-looking and knew it: that was obvious in the upright stance and the proud carriage of her head. At some time in her life she had been taught to set a value on herself, probably by the woman I had so recently been watching, Margaret of York, when Judith and her twin had been in the Duchess's employ. She had no one distinguishing feature that made her instantly recognizable, and yet, oddly, I felt that I would know her again if I had to pick her out in a crowd.\n\nHer husband was considerably older, painfully thin and already beginning to stoop. He had once been dark-headed, but was now going grey and would soon be greyer, a fact to which the abundance of white hairs among the black could testify. There could not have been a greater contrast between husband and wife: the one frail and shambling, the other vigorous and purposeful, even in grief.\n\nI was just about to accost them, when a man wearing the Gloucester livery stepped into my path.\n\n'Serifaber,' he said, addressing Bertram, 'is this the pedlar?' He jerked his head in my direction.\n\n'I'm Roger the Chapman,' I answered with dignity. 'Who wants to know?' Although, of course, I could guess.\n\nThe man shifted his gaze to me and stared for a moment, much as he might have considered something rather unpleasant that had just crawled out from under a stone. 'His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester,' he condescended to say at last. 'He commands your presence at Baynard's Castle again this evening. After supper. You' \u2013 he flicked an equally disdainful glance at Bertram \u2013 'will accompany him.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Of course, by the time the Duke's messenger had taken himself off, with a flourish that would have done justice to a preening peacock, Judith and Godfrey St Clair had disappeared; and although I immediately set out in search of them, they had vanished. In all that vast multitude I could see no one dressed in black. Bertram was no wiser as to where they had gone, and was more concerned with the fact that he was to conduct me to Baynard's Castle that evening.\n\n'We'd better set out as soon as we've finished supper,' he decided. 'We don't want to keep the Duke waiting.'\n\n'I don't suppose he'll return from Westminster that early,' I argued grumpily. 'These state banquets can go on for hours. And afterwards, people need a chance to recover.'\n\n'Not the Duke,' Bertram disagreed. 'Eats and drinks very sparingly. An abstemious man.'\n\n'I'm aware of that,' I snapped, annoyed that he should think himself better acquainted with Duke Richard than I was. I had known the man on and off \u2013 more off than on, admittedly, but well enough \u2013 for years. 'All the same,' I added, 'he won't be able to leave the banquet until the King does.'\n\nWe made our return journey, together with the rest of the crowds, along the Strand towards London. By dint of much shoving and pushing, I managed to keep us both on the right-hand side of the road; and as we approached the Fleet Bridge, I grabbed the wrist of my nearest neighbour.\n\n'Do you know who owns that house?' I asked, nodding towards the third of the three smaller houses.\n\nThe man shook his head. 'Sorry, friend! I'm from Clerkenwell.'\n\nBut I didn't give up. I just stood there, getting roundly cursed for my pains, asking anyone willing to humour me the same question. My chief hope was that Judith and Godfrey St Clair would turn up, but there was no sign of them.\n\nEventually, I got an answer. I had stopped a woman for no better reason than that her black homespun gown and hood suggested that she too might be in mourning. And, as it turned out, I was right.\n\n'Why do you want to know?' she demanded. 'Who are you?' She caught sight of my companion's livery and modified her tone somewhat. 'Are you with him?'\n\n'I am. He's a member of the Duke of Gloucester's household.'\n\n'I can see that,' the woman replied tartly. 'But you still haven't answered my questions.'\n\nShe was small, in height only up to my shoulder, thin as a whippet, with a sallow complexion made even sallower by her sombre clothes. She wasn't old, but nor was she in the first flush of youth. If pressed, I would have said she was somewhere in her middle thirties. Her eyes were her most arresting feature, being so dark in colour that they seemed to be all pupil.\n\n'And you haven't answered mine,' I retorted, nettled. 'Do you know who this house belongs to or not? I've been told that the middle one is the property of Judith and Godfrey St Clair, and the one to its left is the home of a certain Lydia and Roland Jolliffe.'\n\nThe woman regarded me silently for a moment or two, then her thin lips cracked into a quirky half-smile, half-grin.\n\n'Mmm. You've been told a great deal, haven't you, master? I wonder who by.' When I failed to volunteer the information, she went on, 'As it so happens, I'm Paulina Graygoss, housekeeper these many years to Judith St Clair. The house you're enquiring about belongs to Martin Threadgold, bachelor. His younger brother, who died six years ago, was my mistress's second husband. Are you satisfied now?' And she moved towards the door of the middle of the three houses, producing a key from the pouch attached to her girdle and inserting it into the lock. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder.\n\n'You still haven't answered my second question,' she reminded me. 'Who are you?'\n\nBefore I could think of a suitably vague explanation, Bertram huffed importantly, 'This is Roger Chapman. He's an agent of my master, the Duke of Gloucester.'\n\n'Ah!' The housekeeper subjected me to a long, curious stare, then laughed. 'Dear me!' she said enigmatically before going inside and closing the door behind her.\n\n'What do you suppose she meant by that?' Bertram demanded anxiously.\n\nI didn't reply. I was busy thinking what a tight little enclave these three houses represented. Judith and Godfrey St Clair, his son and her stepdaughter in the middle, Alcina's uncle (and Judith's erstwhile brother-in-law) on one side and the Jolliffes, described by Mistress Broderer as friends of Godfrey St Clair, on the other. And into this close-knit, almost incestuous community, linked by various threads of kinship, liking and would-be kinship, had come the stranger, the outsider, Fulk Quantrell, good-looking and no doubt exotically foreign after twelve years at the Burgundian court. Small wonder he had created havoc \u2026\n\n'You haven't heard a word I've been saying,' Bertram complained as we crossed the Fleet Bridge and were borne along on the tide of people all making for the Lud Gate.\n\nThere was some truth in his accusation, but I had suddenly recollected that I had had no dinner. Judging by the sun, it was well past noon and my belly, perfectly quiescent until that moment, immediately started to rumble, reminding me that food was at least two hours overdue.\n\n'Let's get back to the Venturer,' I said, 'and see if Reynold Makepeace can find us something to eat. We'll talk all you want to then and I promise I'll listen.'\n\nAfter an excellent meal, we spent the rest of the day indoors, avoiding the holiday crowds who still thronged the streets. The noise of their revelry reached us like the muted hushing of the sea on some distant shore, as we stood leaning over the gallery palings, staring into the Voyager's almost deserted inner courtyard. From time to time Reynold Makepeace brought us each a stoup of ale, having given his potboys a few hours freedom to go and see the sights, like the kind and generous master that he was.\n\nBy supper time the inn was busy again as people returned, tired and happy and full of the day's events, eager to be fed before braving the streets once more in order to sample whatever jollifications were being provided by the various guilds. Bertram would have set out for Baynard's Castle as soon as we had put paid to a dish of brawn in mustard sauce, a cold pigeon pie, a platter of pear-and-apple fritters and several more beakers of ale. But I insisted on letting my food settle before mixing with members of the nobility, having no wish to fart and belch all evening in competition with my betters. (Heaven only knew what they had been stuffing themselves with all day!) So the church bells were ringing for compline before we left the inn.\n\nAt my insistence, we avoided the main thoroughfares, making our way by lesser-known alleyways until we reached Thames Street, where we got held up by a score or so of young people dancing round a maypole \u2013 an innocent enough pastime, but one which would obviously lead to far more lecherous activities as the evening progressed. Two of the girls entwined themselves in a highly erotic manner around Bertram and myself, advances which we reluctantly declined for different reasons. On my part, I pretended it was because I was a faithful and loving husband; but deep down, it was really because I was afraid of what noisome disease I might catch if I allowed my natural inclinations to run away with me. Bertram's reason, I suspected, had far more to do with the fact that he was wearing the Duke of Gloucester's livery than from fear of acquiring a dose of the pox. (I decided I must have a quiet word with the lad. He was still somewhat wet behind the ears.)\n\nThis diversion meant that the May day was closing in before we presented ourselves at the main entrance to Baynard's Castle. Even so, we were kept kicking our heels for at least half an hour in an ante-room of Duke Richard's private apartments before he was finally ready to receive us. Receive me, to be precise. The Duke dismissed Bertram with a kindly pat on the shoulder. 'Report to Master Plummer and then get some sleep,' he advised. 'It's been a long day.'\n\nMy companion had no choice but to obey, but I could see he wasn't pleased. Not that the Duke noticed. Indeed, with great dark circles under his eyes, he looked too tired to notice very much at all; and I guessed that a whole day spent being polite to the numerous members of the Queen's family had placed an intolerable strain on his already overburdened spirit and natural goodwill. Certainly the smile he gave me was an effort that showed in every muscle of his face, and I was seized by the sudden fancy that there was a shadow on his spirit like an indelible stain \u2026\n\nSuch nonsensical imaginings only demonstrated that I, too, was fatigued almost to the limit of endurance. I took myself in hand.\n\nThe chamber into which I had been shown was one I had not seen before. Logs burned brightly on the hearth, for the warm day had given way to a chilly evening, and there were woven rugs on the stone floor instead of the usual scattering of rushes. Tapestries \u2013 Moses in the bulrushes, Joshua before the walls of Jericho \u2013 glowed against the walls, cushions covered with jewel-bright silks and satins adorned the beautifully carved armchairs, and a broad-seated settle was drawn up in front of the fire. There was a profusion of scented wax candles, some in a silver chandelier suspended from the middle of the ceiling, others in silver candelabra and in wall sconces.\n\nThe Duke, who had changed the day's formal attire for a long, loose gown of dark-green fur-trimmed velvet and soft slippers, also made of fur, poured wine into two Venetian glass goblets and handed one to me. (I immediately broke into a sweat in case I should drop it. My hands felt as big as shovels.) Then he filled a third, holding it up to the light. Misted by the glass, the liquid gleamed pale and tawny; amber silk shot through with a weft of gold.\n\n'The Dowager Duchess will join us in just a moment,' he said.\n\nIn fact she joined us almost at once, a small page preceding her into the room in order to hold the door open, and then taking himself off with a skip and a hop that suggested his duties were finished for the day. (No doubt another lackey would materialize when the Duchess wished to leave. Such is the smooth passage through life of our superiors.) She had also shed the heavy cloth-of-gold dress and jewel-encrusted mantle that she had worn for her entry into London and was clad instead in a simple blue silk gown that enhanced the colour of her eyes, and which made her appear far less matronly than her finery had done. Her abundant hair was loosely confined in a silver net. A huge ruby ring on her wedding finger was her only adornment.\n\nIt was when she glanced in my direction that I realized she had recently been crying. Her eyes were still moist and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. She beckoned me to approach, and when I did so, she extended a plump white hand which I duly kissed.\n\nShe smiled faintly at her brother. 'How very sensible of you, Dickon, to choose such a handsome young man as your investigator. You remembered my weakness.'\n\nThe Duke laughed with genuine amusement. 'My dearest Margaret, I've known Roger Chapman for a number of years now, and have received many services from him, but I can honestly say that his looks have never been a consideration.' He turned and indicated the settle. 'Sit down, Roger.' He himself sat in the other armchair on the opposite side of the fire to his sister. 'I've told Her Highness all about you. She wanted to meet you. Hence this summons.'\n\nThe Duchess nodded eagerly. 'I knew nothing of my dear Fulk's death until my nephew, Lincoln, informed me of it when he met me yesterday at Gravesend. I've hardly had time to take it in. Indeed, it didn't even seem possible until I spoke to Judith St Clair an hour ago.' She drew a deep breath. 'We shed a few tears together. Judith was unaware of your investigation. She hasn't met you yet.' The Duchess ended on a note of reproach.\n\n'Roger himself only arrived in London yesterday,' Duke Richard told her sternly. He raised an eyebrow. 'But do you have anything to report, my friend?'\n\n'Very little as yet, Your Grace.' I tried hard not to sound apologetic. What did they expect? Miracles? 'However, I have spoken at some length to both Lionel Broderer and his mother.'\n\nThe Duke looked impressed, the Duchess merely puzzled.\n\n'Lionel Broderer? That would be some relation of Judith's first husband, I take it?'\n\nI bowed assent (which is quite a difficult thing to do when you're sitting down). 'Edmund Broderer's cousin's son,' I explained. 'He has run the embroidery workshop for Mistress St Clair ever since his cousin's death, and run it very successfully. He has made her a wealthy woman in her own right, irrespective of anything her second husband might have left her.'\n\n'Oh, you mean Justin Threadgold!' The Duchess was dismissive. 'According to Veronica, he was not a wealthy man, and what little he had he probably left to his daughter. Nor, I fancy, is Godfrey St Clair particularly plump in the pocket. What he brought to the marriage, as far as Judith is concerned, is an old family name and noble connections. He is, I believe, distantly related to Lord Hastings on his mother's side.'\n\nI had to think for a moment who Veronica was, then recollected that she had been Judith's twin sister and Fulk Quantrell's mother. She had died recently, shortly after Christmas.\n\n'So the fortune,' Duke Richard put in quietly, 'is Mistress St Clair's, inherited from the first of her three husbands and enlarged by the industry of this Lionel Broderer. Does that make him the chief suspect for Fulk's murder, do you think?'\n\n'He must have had expectations,' I admitted. 'But there are others, as well, who had excellent reasons for killing Master Quantrell once his aunt made her intentions concerning him known. And very foolish intentions they were, if Your Highness will pardon my frankness.'\n\n'Oh, I know! I know! And so I told her.' The Duchess sipped her wine. 'Indeed, I think \u2013 I'm sure \u2013 she knows it herself now, in spite of all her excuses. But I should hesitate to condemn her folly too strongly.' The blue eyes filled with tears. 'Fulk was a most charming young man. I remember that as a child he was enchanting. He could wrap all my ladies around his little finger.' She smiled ruefully. 'Including me. And as he grew older, he was no less popular. To his aunt, who had not seen him for twelve years, he must have seemed hardly lower than the angels. And bringing, as he did, the news of his mother's death, comforting his aunt as he must have done \u2026' The Duchess's voice became suspended. 'Need I say more?' she added after a pause. 'Judith admitted to me that she was in thrall to Fulk from the very first moment of seeing him.'\n\nI thought this over for a minute or two. The Duke made no comment, but stared into the heart of the fire. A shower of sparks flew upwards like stars in the black night sky.\n\nI addressed the Duchess. 'Can Your Highness tell me what this Fulk Quantrell was really like?'\n\n'I've just told you! Weren't you listening?' Her indignant look appealed to her brother, who ignored it.\n\n'With respect, Your Highness,' I said firmly, 'you've told me what this young man was like only on the surface \u2013 about his fascination for women. But underneath, did he have a streak of cruelty? Of greed? Did he ingratiate himself with those who could advance his interests and abandon them when they could no longer be of use to him?'\n\n'No!' The blue eyes flashed with anger. 'He was like his mother, gentle and kind. He had a beautiful singing voice and was always near at hand whenever I needed him. How dare you suggest otherwise? You didn't know him! Who has been poisoning your mind against Fulk? If this is your attitude, I would much rather you had nothing to do with solving his murder. Richard!'\n\nThe Duke stirred in his chair and slewed round to look at her.\n\n'My dearest sister, calm yourself. Roger is right to ask such questions. As you say, he knows nothing of Fulk Quantrell. Therefore, he has to find out. And how can he find out if he doesn't ask the people who knew the lad best? Just answer him. Tell him the truth.'\n\nI nodded agreement, smiling blandly; but, personally, I considered the Duchess had already revealed more than she would have wanted me to know. Her furious defence of the dead man suggested that he was far less perfect a character than she would have me believe. She, too, had been under his spell, and had deliberately ignored the flaws in his nature. And if what Lionel Broderer and his mother had said of Fulk were true, then he could have been a very unpleasant and ruthless young man. On the other hand, the Broderers were undoubtedly biased against the favourite.\n\nThe Duchess pouted, looking mutinous, and I could see what she had been like as a girl: pretty, used to getting her own way, petted by her older brothers and finding a close, kindred spirit in the brother next to her in age, George of Clarence; the pair of them both handsome, both conscious of their own importance and their place in the scheme of things. Both spoiled. But, also like the late duke, Margaret of York could just as suddenly dispel the impression of conceit and arrogance with a self-deprecatory laugh. Or, as now, with a smile.\n\n'Forgive me, Master Chapman! Of course you need to ask questions about Fulk's true character. So, yes, he had faults, but then, who doesn't? He would have been unbearable had he been too perfect. But in general he was a good boy, a loving son to his mother, kind and in tune with the world around him.'\n\nI considered this. 'You don't think then that he could have brought any pressure to bear on his aunt to persuade her to alter her will in his favour?'\n\nThe Duchess grew indignant again, even more so than before. 'What sort of pressure are you suggesting?'\n\n'Could he have played on her love for her sister? Mistress St Clair must have been deeply shocked and distressed by news of that sister's death. She might even have felt guilty that she hadn't accompanied you and Mistress Quantrell to Burgundy after her first husband's death.'\n\nThe Duchess's anger evaporated. 'No, no!' she said gently. 'However upset Judith may have been by Fulk's tidings, she would never have let anyone force her into something she didn't want to do. Judith has always been very strong-willed. When I left for Burgundy, twelve years ago, I did my best \u2013 and so did Veronica \u2013 to persuade her to accompany us. We told her that with Edmund Broderer dead, she had nothing to keep her in England. (There were no children of the marriage.) She resolutely refused. She said she couldn't go back to being a seamstress after being mistress of her own establishment.'\n\n'An understandable point of view,' Duke Richard murmured, still staring into the heart of the fire where the flames, blue and red and orange, licked the bark of the pine logs, filling the room with a thick and heady scent. He leaned forward, throwing two more logs from the pile at the side of the hearth on to the blaze.\n\n'You should have summoned a lackey to do that,' the Duchess reproved him sharply. 'Understandable? Perhaps, but Veronica said that during the six years she and Fulk lived with Judith and her husband, her sister never ceased to complain about the smallness of the house \u2013 don't forget that the twins had been used to living in palaces \u2013 the smell from the river and the dampness and chill in winter. I expected her to be as eager as Veronica to accompany me to Burgundy.'\n\nDuke Richard regarded the Duchess thoughtfully, but said nothing. It was left to me to point out that there was all the difference in the world between being dissatisfied with one's lot and exchanging independence for a life of service.\n\n'Veronica didn't think so,' was the indignant rejoinder.\n\n'But she hadn't been independent,' the Duke demurred, once again entering the fray. 'After a very brief marriage, she had lived for six years on her sister's and brother-in-law's bounty. She had simply exchanged one form of servitude for another.'\n\n'I'm sure you do Judith an injustice, Dickon! She would never treat her sister like a servant.' The Duchess was outraged.\n\nHer brother smiled and again refrained from stating the obvious; that being the poor \u2013 or poorer \u2013 relation in an affluent household like the Broderers' was almost bound to entail some form of subservience.\n\n'Did Mistress St Clair offer you any particular reason for declining your request?' I asked, choosing my words with care. It was plain that even after twelve years, Judith's refusal still rankled with her former mistress, who had been used for most of her life to commanding loyalty amongst those she regarded as 'her' people.\n\nThe Duchess grimaced petulantly. 'Oh, the usual high-flown nonsense about owing it to her late husband to carry on his work. Although it seems now that this young cousin of his was perfectly capable of doing so without Judith's assistance.'\n\nAt this, Duke Richard suddenly forced himself up and out of his chair, as if he had taken about as much as he could stand.\n\n'My dear,' he said, and his voice was tight with suppressed irritation, 'you're being unreasonable.' He forced a smile. 'You talk as if Mistress St Clair had no duty to anyone but yourself.' He went over to his sister's chair and took one of her hands in both of his, raising it to his lips. 'Now, it's late and we are all tired. It's been a very long day. You must be exhausted after all your exertions. You were the brightest star of every event and everyone loved you. But you must get some sleep so that you can dazzle us all again tomorrow.'\n\nI had never thought of the Duke as an accomplished courtier, but he certainly knew how to handle the Duchess, who was positively purring like a cat that had been given a dish of cream. I guessed she had always been susceptible to flattery, and the mature woman was no different from the girl. It made me wonder how accurate her assessment of Fulk Quantrell's character really was. Had he truly been the charming and affectionate boy she had portrayed in speaking of him to me? Or did he simply understand how to ingratiate himself with a lonely, childless woman, the victim of a loveless marriage?\n\nThe Duke opened the door and shouted for a page, who was instructed to see me safely out of the castle. The Duchess again graciously proffered her hand for me to kiss, but said acidly that she trusted I would have discovered the identity of the murderer of her dearest Fulk before her return to Burgundy in seven days' time. (Her tone implied a doubt and a mistrust of my abilities that annoyed me.) Duke Richard, on the other hand, much to my astonishment and also to that of his sister, embraced me like a friend.\n\n'Take care, Roger,' he said. 'Loyalty such as yours is a difficult commodity to come by nowadays.'\n\nMy mind was still reeling from this unlooked-for demonstration of royal affection when the last of a series of doors and gates clanged shut behind me and I found myself out in the London streets, making my way back to the Voyager.\n\nI walked to Thames Street, then climbed St Peter's Hill into Old Fish Street. It was dark by now. The evening's revelries seemed to have finished and there were very few people about. A three-quarter moon lent a ghostly radiance to the still, grey scene, and the only creature moving, apart from myself, was a scrawny black cat, sitting in the lee of St Mary Magdalen Church, and unconcernedly tidying its whiskers. A couple of drunken revellers passed me as I turned into Cordwainer Street and made my way north towards Budge Row. From there it was merely a few strides left into Soper Lane, then right by the Broderer workshop into Needlers Lane, and I was almost home.\n\nAs I passed the Church of St Benet Sherehog, I could see the opening into Bucklersbury only yards ahead of me. I began to whistle in my usual tuneless fashion under my breath \u2026\n\nSomeone jumped me from behind, coming out of the church porch with all the speed and ferocity of an arrow just released from the bow. I went down like a felled tree, stretching my length on the ground, where I was pinned by my assailant sitting astride my back, his bony little knees gripping my upper arms. A head was lowered next to mine and a blast of garlic-laden breath hit the side of my face.\n\n'Mind your own business, chapman, if you know what's good for you,' hissed a voice in my ear. A very Welsh voice. 'This is just the first warning. So go back to Bristol, there's a good boy!'\n\nThen, just as suddenly as he had arrived, my attacker had gone, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty street as he ran towards Soper Lane."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "I lay where I had fallen for perhaps a minute. I had been winded and needed to recover my breath.\n\nExcept for a sore cheek, where I had scraped my face along the ground, and some scratches to my hands, I wasn't really hurt. But my pride was deeply wounded. My head had been so full of my meeting with the Duke and Dowager Duchess that I had grown careless, ignoring my own first rule of survival: always be on your guard \u2013 which isn't to say that I had never been ambushed before, but, generally speaking, on those occasions I had been unlucky. Tonight, however, I hadn't even considered the possibility that I could be in danger or that I might have been followed from Baynard's Castle. Yet I should have done. Somewhere in London lurked the murderer of Fulk Quantrell, and I was doing my best to uncover his \u2013 or her \u2013 identity.\n\nAs I heaved myself into a sitting position and probed cautiously for any bodily damage that might so far have escaped my notice, I went briefly through the people who knew of my presence and, above all, my purpose in the capital. I could forget all members of the royal family along with Timothy Plummer, Reynold Makepeace and Bertram Serifaber. That left Lionel Broderer and his mother, Judith St Clair's housekeeper and Judith St Clair herself, who had been told of my visit by the Dowager Duchess. So, possibly, Godfrey St Clair was also aware of my existence.\n\nBut the voice that had hissed its warning in my ear had been male and Welsh. Not that the last fact meant very much. The lilting cadences of my near neighbours across the Bristol Channel are some of the easiest to fake, and I hadn't been in any condition to listen to it carefully \u2026\n\n'Master Chapman! Are you all right? Mother and I saw what happened. I tried to intercept the man who attacked you, but he was running too fast, and he had his hood pulled right over his head, hiding his face.'\n\nIt was Lionel Broderer, kneeling beside me in the dust. His face was nothing but a blur as the moon disappeared behind a cloud, but I recognized the voice with its harsh timbre, and his compact figure. 'Here! Let me help you to your feet.'\n\nI should have been grateful for his assistance, but I was feeling too much of a fool to appreciate his sympathy. I shook off his supporting hand.\n\n'I'm well enough,' I answered brusquely. 'A bruise or two. Nothing more.'\n\nHe proceeded to make matters worse. 'You shouldn't be walking abroad in the streets at night without a cudgel.'\n\nI restrained the impulse to shout at him, but it was an effort. 'I was summoned by His Grace of Gloucester to Baynard's Castle and I felt a cudgel would have been out of place. In any case, I doubt if it would have helped me much. I was surprised.'\n\nHe nodded understandingly. I could cheerfully have hit him. 'Yes. Mother and I had just returned from West Cheap, where members of the Mercers' Guild were doing a re-enactment of the Lady Margaret's marriage to Charles of Burgundy, twelve years ago at Damme. We came back down Soper Lane, and just as we rounded the corner, we saw you jumped on by this man who came out of St Benet Sherehog's porch.'\n\n'How did you know it was me?'\n\nLionel chuckled. 'How many other men of your height and girth are there in this part of London?'\n\nBy this time Mistress Broderer had joined us. 'Is he all right, Lal?' she enquired.\n\n'A trifle winded, that's all,' I snapped. 'Nothing so wrong with me that I can't answer for myself.'\n\nI was immediately ashamed that I had allowed my bad temper to get the better of me, but while Lionel looked affronted, his mother merely laughed.\n\n'Feeling sore, are you? In more ways than one? Well, I suppose that's only to be expected.' Her sympathy was tinged with a mockery that she couldn't quite conceal. 'Come back to the house with us and have some wine.'\n\nI thanked her, but refused. 'I'm so near the Voyager now that I'll go on. I need my bed.' And I thanked both of them again, over-profusely, to compensate for my previous rudeness.\n\nBut my refusal was not entirely due either to tiredness or to embarrassment at what had happened. I suddenly found myself wondering if Lionel Broderer could have been my assailant. He had been close at hand.\n\nI was still considering the idea while I stripped and rolled between the blankets, nestling into Reynold Makepeace's goose-feather mattress. (I had gone straight to my chamber, avoiding the ale room, where a crowd of indefatigable merrymakers continued to drink the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy's health.) I tried to recall the voice which had whispered in my ear and to match it with Lionel's, but the difference seemed too great for probability. And yet \u2026 And yet I couldn't have sworn that they weren't one and the same. Welsh tones are usually soft and soothing. This voice had been neither of those things, just low and sibilant.\n\nI repeated the words over to myself: 'Mind your own business, chapman, if you know what's good for you. This is just the first warning. So go back to Bristol, there's a good boy!' Boy. Boyo. A Welsh term of address as I well knew from hearing it so often along the Bristol Backs.\n\nI could feel sleep beginning to engulf me, and decided that the problem would have to wait until the morning. I groped for the reassuring feel of my knife beneath my pillow and felt for my cudgel, which I had placed alongside me on the bed. Only then did I close my eyes and allow my mind to drift.\n\nAfter nine years I had at last trained myself to sleep through the night and not wake in the small hours for the service of matins and lauds, as I had had to do when a novice at Glastonbury. (It had been a habit greatly deplored by Adela.) And that particular night, worn out by the previous day's events, I had slept even more soundly than usual \u2013 with the result that, when I eventually awoke, the sun was filtering through the shutters and people were clattering busily about the inn. For my part, I was feeling fighting fit again.\n\nI was just wondering if I could escape from the Voyager before young Bertram came to find me, when he bounced into the ale room where I was eating my breakfast.\n\n'There you are!' he exclaimed unnecessarily, before ordering a mazer of small beer.\n\n'Not wanted by the Duke or Master Plummer today?' I asked hopefully.\n\nHe shook his head. 'I'm entirely at your disposal.' That's what I'd been afraid of. 'However, tomorrow I might be needed for other duties. If so, you'll have to manage without me.'\n\n'Heaven forfend!' I exclaimed, but the sarcasm was lost on my companion. I swallowed the rest of my oatcake and honey.\n\nWhile Bertram finished his beer, I debated whether or not to tell him of last night's incident. I didn't want to. It would admit my fallibility and make me seem a bit of a fool. In the end, I decided it would be unfair not to warn him to be on his guard, and to carry a knife or a cudgel at all times.\n\nBut the story seemed to excite rather than frighten him, nor did it move him to laughter at my expense.\n\n'I wish I'd been there,' he said eagerly. 'I could probably have caught up with whoever it was. My legs are younger than yours.'\n\n'Whoever it was wouldn't have risked attacking me if there'd been two of us,' I pointed out snappishly. 'And I'm not yet in my dotage. I'll thank you to remember that.'\n\nHe grinned and was about to make a further rejoinder when I rose from the table and said it was time we were going. The ale room was filling up with my fellow guests, all looking for their breakfasts, and I was in no mood for idle conversation. I wanted to get this case over and done with so that I could be on my way back to Bristol. (Incidentally, I had no intention of riding or of being escorted home. Someone in Duke Richard's household could arrange for the horse to be returned to the Bell Lane livery stables. I urgently needed the freedom and solitude.)\n\n'Where are we going?' Bertram asked as we left the Voyager.\n\n'Where do you think? To visit Judith and Godfrey St Clair, of course. They are, after all, at the centre of this mystery. Then, if we're lucky, perhaps we can question their next-door neighbours, the Jolliffes, as well. And if we're very lucky, we might get a word with their other neighbour, Martin Threadgold, Mistress St Clair's former brother-in-law.'\n\nThe fitful May day had lost its early sunshine and turned cold and wet. As we crossed the River Fleet, a sudden squall of rain whipped spray from the water, and the houses on either side of the thoroughfare were shrouded in mist. This would undoubtedly clear as the day progressed, but for the moment, it made everything appear grey and insubstantial.\n\nSecure in the knowledge that my arrival must be at least half-expected, I knocked boldly on the street door of Judith St Clair's house in the Strand and waited confidently to have my summons answered. I wasn't disappointed, and within a very few minutes the door was opened by the housekeeper, Paulina Graygoss.\n\nShe eyed me with a certain hostility. 'The mistress said as how you'd likely be paying us a visit,' she remarked acidly. 'But we weren't expecting you this early in the morning.' She jerked her head. 'Still, I suppose you'd better come in now you're here; but you'll have to wait. The master and mistress are still at breakfast.'\n\nShe left us to kick our heels in the main hall of the house while she disappeared through a door to the left of a fine, carved oaken fireplace. I looked around me. Everything \u2013 from the glazed windows opening on to the Strand, to the rich tapestries decorating the walls, to the corner cupboard with its sparkling display of silverware (interspersed with the occasional dull gleam of gold), to the Eastern rugs adorning the flagstones \u2013 spoke of money and plenty of it. Judith St Clair's wealth had not been exaggerated.\n\nThe housekeeper reappeared and, with a very bad grace, asked us to follow her, plainly disapproving of her mistress's decision to receive us without first finishing her meal. She led us through several more rooms, all as well furnished as the hall, to a small parlour at the back of the house, overlooking the garden and the river. The full force of a spring storm was suddenly upon us. Rain lashed down outside and candles had been lit, ribbing the room with shadows. The distant cries of boatmen echoed eerily through the horn-paned windows from the Thames.\n\nI immediately recognized the couple seated at the table as the pair I had seen at Westminster the previous day. They were still in mourning, but the finery of the previous occasion had been replaced by more homely attire: a long, loose velvet robe, rubbed thin in patches, for him, and a plain woollen gown and linen hood for her. The man looked thinner than ever, hunched over his plate, his grey hair gilded by the candlelight. He didn't glance up as Bertram and I entered the room, focusing all his attention on the apple he was dissecting with a pearl-handled knife. Judith St Clair, however, raised her handsome head and gave me an appraising look.\n\n'You must be this chapman Her Highness was telling me about.' Her eyes raked me from head to foot in a manner which, in someone else, could have been considered insulting, but which, in her, seemed merely curious. 'It appears that His Grace of Gloucester sets great store by your ability to solve mysteries. An odd occupation for a pedlar.'\n\n'A gift from God, madam.'\n\nAt my slightly caustic tone, her gaze sharpened and she smiled grimly.\n\n'Maybe \u2026 Well, no one will be happier than myself to see the villain of this particular crime laid by the heels.' I thought for a moment she was on the verge of tears, but she straightened her back and gestured impatiently, as though ashamed to display any such weakness. 'So? What do you want from my husband and me?'\n\n'Just to talk to you both; to ask you about Master Quantrell and to learn anything you can tell me about the night he was murdered. I'd also like to question Mistress Threadgold and your son, sir, if they've no objection.' I turned towards the silent figure at the other end of the table.\n\nGodfrey St Clair did lift his eyes at that and sent me a long, penetrating stare. Then he nodded. 'Jocelyn has nothing to hide. I don't see why he should object.' He had a surprisingly strong, deep voice for someone who appeared so frail.\n\n'When do you wish to begin this \u2026 this interrogation?' his wife asked with, I thought, a touch of resentment.\n\nBut before I could reply, the parlour door opened and a young girl entered the room. I judged her to be some eighteen or nineteen years of age, pretty in a plumpish way with large brown eyes and a mass of very dark hair which, at present, she wore loose about her shoulders. She had on a gown of soft grey wool with a low-cut neck and turned-back sleeves, both of which revealed her linen undershift.\n\n'Who's this?' she asked of no one in particular, seating herself at the table.\n\nJudith St Clair said, 'This is the chapman I told you of last night.' And to me, 'My stepdaughter, Alcina Threadgold.'\n\nI had already guessed the young woman's identity, and gave her a polite bow. She returned the compliment by looking me over much as her stepmother had done, but with a greater degree of appreciation. Bertram received the same treatment, which made him blush uncomfortably and shuffle his feet. Alcina threw back her head and laughed.\n\n'Be quiet!' Judith ordered. 'This is a house of mourning. Or had you forgotten?'\n\n'I'm less likely to forget than any of you,' Alcina retorted. 'Fulk and I were betrothed to be married.'\n\n'And that's a lie,' said a fourth voice.\n\nA young man, a few years older than Alcina and not that much younger than myself, had joined the others at the breakfast table. This, surely, must be Jocelyn St Clair, although any likeness to his father was not marked. He had the same hawkish nose, it was true, but his eyes were blue rather than Godfrey's indeterminate grey, and his hair, worn fashionably cut and curled about his ears, was a lighter brown than I imagined the older man's had been in his youth.\n\nAlcina was on her feet. 'What do you mean, a lie?' she demanded furiously. 'Fulk and I were going to be married. It was common knowledge!'\n\n'He had no intention of marrying you,' Jocelyn threw back at her, equally furious. 'Lionel Broderer told me so. He told me all about that scene in the workshop the evening Fulk died. And Mistress Broderer confirmed it.'\n\n'Liars, both of them!' Alcina was near to tears.\n\n'No! There were other people present who'll confirm it. Stop deluding yourself, Cina! Face up to the facts! There are some who really love you.' Jocelyn hesitated, then finished lamely, 'Brandon Jolliffe, for one. And \u2026 And Lionel wouldn't say no if you looked in his direction.'\n\n'That will do, both of you.' Judith rose from her place, magisterial in her anger. 'There are strangers in our midst and I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in their presence. If you have differences, settle them in private.' She turned to me. 'Master Chapman, let us get this over and done with. If you'll follow me, we'll go to the winter parlour, which is always empty at this time of year. Although, goodness knows why. Today is more like winter than spring. Thank the saints the Duchess had a fine day yesterday.' She glanced at Bertram. 'Is he coming, too?'\n\nBertram drew himself up to his full height, such as it was. 'I am the representative of my master, the Duke of Gloucester,' he announced importantly. 'I am here to assist Master Chapman with his enquiries.'\n\nI am a tolerant man as a rule, as all who know me will testify (well, most of them, anyway), but I was beginning to harbour unkind thoughts about young Master Serifaber. Visions of racks and thumbscrews and vats of boiling oil hovered tantalizingly at the back of my mind.\n\n'Come with me, then.' Judith swept past us, out of the door, and we, perforce, had to follow.\n\nWe were led up a flight of stairs, along a narrow corridor, up another, shorter staircase and into a room not more than about seven feet square, again facing south on to the Thames to catch whatever there was of the westering afternoon sun. This morning, however, it was cold and dismal and no welcoming fire burned on the hearth.\n\n'Wait,' Judith St Clair ordered peremptorily. 'I'll send for candles.'\n\nShe disappeared. I ignored Bertram and took stock of the room.\n\nThere were no expensive rugs as in the hall, but, like the parlour below, the floor was covered with fresh rushes mixed with scented herbs and dried flowers. (Some underling had been up and hard at work since the crack of dawn.) A broad window seat was strewn with cushions, two carved armchairs were drawn up, one on either side of the empty hearth, a harp and its stool stood in one corner, an oak chest, banded with iron, offered an extra, if uncomfortable, seat, while a couple of joint stools completed the furnishings.\n\nBertram had his own method of inspection. Not content with letting his eyes do the work, he wandered around the room, touching everything: prodding cushions, running his fingers across the harp strings, kicking up the rushes.\n\nAfter a while, I could stand it no longer. 'For goodness' sake, lad, you're like a flea on a griddle. Stand still! You're making me nervous.'\n\nJudith St Clair returned with a servant, a man in his mid-twenties, a surly expression marring features that might, in other circumstances, have been quite pleasant. He was carrying a flint and tinder-box and some candles which he was directed to light and set in holders about the room. Then he was ordered to kindle the pile of sticks and logs on the hearth, a feat he accomplished with a great deal of difficulty, for the room was damp. Finally, when this was done, he stumped off, grumbling under his breath. Judith St Clair heaved a sigh.\n\n'You must forgive William,' she said. 'He's been in my employ since he was eight years old. His father was servant to my first husband, Edmund Broderer, and he regards himself as privileged. But he's very loyal.' She paused, plainly annoyed with herself for explaining and apologizing for something that was none of our business. We were uninvited and of lowly status, even if we did have the backing of a royal duke. She sat down in one of the armchairs. 'Well, what do you want to know?' She didn't ask us to sit.\n\nI wasn't standing for that (literally). I drew forward one of the joint stools and motioned to Bertram to do the same with the other. Only when he was settled did I lean forward, elbows on knees, and request our reluctant hostess to tell us about her reunion with Fulk Quantrell.\n\n'What can I say?' She was angry at what she considered my display of bad manners, but was powerless to dismiss me without indirectly offending the Dowager Duchess, who had given her blessing to our enquiries. 'He was my nephew, my sister Veronica's son. Her only child. My only living kinsman. Furthermore, he and his mother had lived with my first husband and myself from the time of his birth until he was six years old, when Veronica decided to go with the Lady Margaret to Burgundy.'\n\n'You were expecting his arrival?'\n\n'Yes, but not until yesterday. I knew that he would accompany the Dowager Duchess on this visit to London. He had written to tell me so at the beginning of December.'\n\n'But he turned up much earlier?'\n\n'At the beginning of March. He had come to tell me \u2026 tell me \u2026' Judith's breath caught momentarily in her throat and she seemed to be in the grip of some powerful emotion. However, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. 'Fulk had come to tell me that my sister was dead. She had died shortly after Christmas. He had intended coming earlier, he said, but the Duchess had been too upset to spare him immediately. Except for those six years when she lived with me, Veronica had been with my lady ever since she was a child.'\n\nI nodded, choosing my next words carefully. 'You \u2026 You became very fond of your nephew, I've been told.'\n\nAfter a brief hesitation, Judith answered in a restricted voice, 'Very fond.'\n\nIt was my turn to hesitate. 'Perhaps unwisely fond?' I ventured at last.\n\nHer chin went up defiantly. 'Some might think so. In fact,' she added candidly, 'nearly everyone thought so, and didn't refrain from making their opinions public. Roland and Lydia Jolliffe. Martha Broderer and her son, Lionel. My stepson, whom you met downstairs. Even my housekeeper had the gall to give me a piece of her mind.'\n\n'And you?' I asked. 'What did you think of your conduct?'\n\nThe rain had ceased, as springtime showers do, as abruptly as it had started. I could hear the birds begin to sing again in the garden. The logs crackled on the hearth, but for a few protracted seconds there were no other sounds in the room. I wondered if I had been too impertinent. Even Bertram had stopped fidgeting on his stool.\n\nThen Judith gave a sudden crack of laughter. 'If you knew me better, you wouldn't ask such a question. I never query my own actions. Only weak people do that. It's the sign of a vacillating mind.' She drummed her fingers against the arms of her chair. 'As soon as I saw Fulk again, I recognized him for what he was: the son I never had. Veronica was my twin. We were born within a few minutes of one another. There had always been a very close and very strong bond between us. As girls and as women, it had been an unwritten rule that we helped each other out of trouble. And although I hadn't seen her for nearly twelve years, that bond had never been broken. When Fulk told me the news of her death, it was like a blow to the heart; yet I wasn't altogether surprised. I had been feeling low in spirits and extremely melanchoy since Christmas without knowing why. Then, of course, I understood: somehow, the fact of her death had communicated itself to me. The thread of twinship that had joined us all our lives had at last been cut. I was alone.'\n\n'Except for Fulk.'\n\nShe nodded eagerly. 'Yes, except for my nephew. He was the link that made her death bearable. He looked like her, too. Which meant he also looked like me. And now \u2026' This time, Judith was unable to recover her poise so easily.\n\nI finished for her. 'And now Fulk's dead, as well.'\n\n'Yes.' The word was barely audible; a sigh of grief, a breath of air. She raised one hand to her mouth.\n\n'Then we must find his killer,' I said gently. 'Don't you agree?'\n\nShe gave a little snort of laughter. 'Where will you start? Thanks to my folly \u2013 oh yes, I can admit now that it was folly, although I would probably do it all over again \u2013 you're not short of suspects.'\n\n'That's true \u2026 Mistress St Clair, was it you or was it your nephew who made your intentions in regard to your new will general knowledge?'\n\n'Those sorts of things can't be kept secret for long,' she answered evasively. I opened my mouth to argue the point, but she forestalled me. 'Very well! If you insist on the truth, I would have preferred that Fulk had kept quiet about it until I had had time to speak to the others most nearly affected. But Fulk was young, excited by his good fortune, anxious to let everyone know how high he stood in my affections. And he felt that he needed to learn about the embroidery business if he was one day to own the workshop. It was only natural that he should call there from time to time in order to see for himself how things were done.'\n\n'And natural, surely, that your cousin should resent it.'\n\n'Edmund's cousin,' she corrected me, as though anxious to distance herself from this man she had been planning to wrong. 'He's not my kinsman. Fulk was.' She was trying to justify the unjustifiable, as was only natural in someone with a conscience.\n\nThe door opened and the manservant, William, returned. 'You wantin' any more logs on that fire?' he asked.\n\nI froze. I knew that voice. I recognized the Welsh accent. It belonged to my assailant of the night before."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "'Who \u2013 who is that?' I croaked.\n\nJudith St Clair, who had dismissed the man with a wave of her hand, turned to stare in surprise.\n\n'I told you who he is just now. Don't you listen? He's William Morgan, who's been with me since he was a child. His father was servant to my first husband.'\n\n'I \u2026 I didn't realize he was Welsh,' I said lamely.\n\nThe well-marked eyebrows shot up. 'Why should you? And what does it matter if he is? Have you anything against the Welsh race, Master Chapman?'\n\n'N-No,' I stuttered. 'We do a great deal of trade with them in Bristol. All the same,' I added, recovering my equanimity, 'I should like to speak to this William Morgan later on, when I've spoken to the other members of your household.'\n\nShe inclined her head. Whatever else she might or might not have learned in the employ of Margaret of York, Judith had certainly learned how to behave regally. The Queen herself could not have been more condescending. But in spite of that, I found myself beginning to like her.\n\nShe started to rise. 'I must go. I have a house to see to and a workshop to visit. Yesterday having been a holiday, I must assure myself that everything is running smoothly once again.'\n\nI stretched out a hand to detain her and she sank back in her seat, frowning with annoyance.\n\n'What now?' she demanded.\n\n'I must ask,' I said, 'about the night of the murder. 'Where were you? How did you hear about it?'\n\nShe bit her lip, and I thought for a moment that she would refuse to answer. But Bertram, proving that he had more sense than I would have given him credit for, gave a little cough and shifted his stool forward until he was directly in Judith's line of vision. At the sight of his royal livery, she changed her mind.\n\n'It was just over a fortnight ago,' she began, then stopped, kneading her hands together in her lap, trying desperately to control her emotions. At last she went on, but with a slight tremor in her voice, 'It was May Day, which, as it so happens, is also the Feast of Saint Sigismund of Burgundy. The young people \u2013 Alcina, Fulk, Jocelyn, Brandon Jolliffe \u2013 all went out maying before breakfast in the fields around Holborn, but when they returned, it was obvious that all wasn't well between them. For a start, Fulk and Brandon bore all the marks of having been in a fight; and although they both claimed it had been a fight with some other youths who had been out maying, I didn't believe them.'\n\n'Why not?'\n\n'Because of the way they looked and spoke \u2013 or, rather, didn't speak \u2013 to one another. Besides, I questioned my stepson later, and Jocelyn confirmed that Fulk and Brandon had come to blows.'\n\n'What about? Did you enquire?'\n\nJudith shook her head. 'I didn't need to. There had been bad blood not just between that pair, but between all three of them ever since Alcina fell in love with Fulk. I could hardly blame Brandon Jolliffe. There had been some talk of a betrothal with Alcina for months past. And as for Jocelyn, I've suspected for a while now that he was fond of her, and I knew my husband wouldn't have put any rub in his way if it had turned out that she favoured him.'\n\nI interrupted yet again. 'Who would you have preferred your stepdaughter to marry?'\n\nJudith shrugged. 'I had no preference. Alcina's happiness was, and still is, my only concern. But, of course, I wasn't in the least surprised when she fell for Fulk. Both Brandon and Jocelyn paled into insignificance beside my nephew. Neither could match him for looks or character. He was the handsomest young man I have ever seen, and, in addition, witty, clever, humorous, kind. So very kind. Moreover, he sang like an angel and played the lute like a troubadour. What more could any woman ask?'\n\n'A veritable paragon,' I murmured, and she gave me a sharp look, searching my face for any sign of scepticism.\n\n'You don't believe me?'\n\n'Madam, unlike you, I didn't know the young man, so naturally I accept your word. But that morning, did you also get the impression that all was not well between Fulk and your stepdaughter?'\n\nJudith hesitated, then inclined her head. 'I have to admit that I sensed some tension. I blame Alcina. She wanted to make sure of Fulk. I think that, because she was so much in love with him, she was pestering him for an acknowledgement that he felt the same way about her by agreeing to a date for their marriage.'\n\n'Which he didn't. At least, not according to what Lionel Broderer and his mother told me. And they had obviously told others about that scene in the workshop, the night your nephew died. Your stepson, for example. Had you known about it, before Master St Clair mentioned it this morning?'\n\n'I might have done. I really can't remember \u2026 Perhaps I dismissed it as spite on Martha Broderer's part. She was more outspoken than the rest about the making of my new will.'\n\n'Maybe she felt that her son had more to lose than anyone else. If, that is, under the terms of your original will, he would have inherited the workshop when you and your husband died.'\n\nJudith said nothing for a moment; then she nodded, accepting the truth of this statement.\n\n'Well, Martha needn't worry any more,' she said in a low voice. 'The will has been altered for a second time and put back as it was. All the original bequests had been reinstated. So, is that all?' And she again made to rise from her chair.\n\nAnd again I prevented her. 'You've told me about the morning of the day Fulk died,' I pointed out, 'but not about the evening of the murder.'\n\nJudith sighed. 'There's little to tell. All three of the young people went out some time after supper. They didn't say where or why they were going, and I didn't ask. I think Fulk may first have gone to church, as it was Saint Sigismund's Day. My husband was in his chamber, reading. He is at present studying the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. I had one of my bad headaches, which always lay me low, so I went to bed immediately after the meal finished. I took one of my draughts of lettuce and poppy juice and knew nothing more until I was awoken the following morning with the terrible news that Fulk's body had been found in Faitour Lane.' Her voice caught in her throat, but she went on bravely, 'He had received a mortal blow to the back of his head.'\n\nA log flared suddenly on the hearth with a noise like tearing silk, and Bertram gave a little start. Judith, too, seemed to come out of a kind of daze, and fixed me with a haughty stare. 'Is there anything more you wish to know? If not, I really must insist on taking my leave.'\n\n'I should like to speak to your husband, if he is willing and can spare me the time.' I was treading carefully. There was no point in putting up the backs of these people.\n\n'I'll ask him to join you,' she said. 'Wait here.'\n\nWhen she had gone, I looked at Bertram, but he was staring abstractedly at a posy of flowers which stood in a jar in a wall niche by the door: the purple glory of lady's smock and the damp, pale gold of wild iris.\n\n'Do you think,' he asked in a dejected voice, 'that there can be many men as wonderful as this Fulk Quantrell seems to have been? My father's always telling me I could do better if I tried, but if I live to be a hundred, I don't believe\u2014'\n\n'Don't worry your head about it, lad,' I advised him heartily. 'The only advantage I can see that this Fulk had over the rest of us was that he was a damned good-looking fellow. All the rest of it you can take with a pinch of salt. A very large pinch. Women's gullibility when confronted by a pretty face never ceases to amaze me.'\n\nOn which lofty, masculine note, which would have infuriated Adela had she heard it and led to a right royal quarrel, I got to my feet as the door opened to admit Godfrey St Clair.\n\n'You didn't go out at all, sir, the evening of the murder? At least, so Mistress St Clair informs me.'\n\nIt had taken several frustrating minutes to get this far in my questioning of Godfrey. First, he had warmed his hands and backside at the fire; then he had walked over to the wall niche to straighten the jug of flowers before doing the same for the harp in the corner. Next, he had settled himself in the chair recently vacated by his wife, arranging his robe with all the fussiness of a pernickety child, rising to his feet more than once, pulling and tugging at the frayed material until at last he proclaimed himself comfortable. Then he had remarked on the chilliness of the day, discoursed on yesterday's pageant and his and Judith's subsequent visit to Baynard's Castle before, finally, announcing that he was ready to answer whatever I cared to ask him.\n\nBut before replying to my question, he produced a pair of spectacles from the pocket of his gown, perched them on the bridge of his nose and blinked at me through them as though I were some rare specimen of wildlife that he had just discovered taking up residence in his house.\n\n'No. No, that's right,' he finally agreed. 'After supper, I went to my study and continued reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, emperor and philosopher. A truly remarkable man. Are you familiar with any of his dictums?'\n\n'I \u2013 er \u2013 No, I can't call to mind anything of his just at the moment, can you, Master Serifaber?'\n\nThus appealed to, Bertram goggled at me like a stranded fish and mutely shook his head.\n\n'Did you remain in your study, sir, until you went to bed?'\n\n'What? Oh \u2026 yes. Until I went to bed.'\n\n'And what hour would that have been? As near as you can tell.'\n\n'Oh, I can tell you exactly,' Godfrey said triumphantly. 'I put my head out of my study window for a breath of fresh air and the watch were just crying midnight. I hadn't realized it was quite so late. Time flies when you're enjoying yourself.'\n\n'Indeed it does.' Bertram gave a stifled giggle and I frowned him down. 'Was anyone else in the house still up at that hour, apart from yourself?'\n\nGodfrey considered this. 'I \u2026 I'm not quite sure,' he said at last. 'I'd heard the young people return earlier in the evening from wherever they'd been, and presumed that they were all at home and asleep in their beds. However, I \u2026 I did think I heard a noise of some sort, but when I went to investigate, I couldn't find anything or anyone awake and stirring.'\n\n'What sort of noise? Can you remember?'\n\nGodfrey shook his head. 'At the time, I thought it was the door to the secret stairway opening and closing.'\n\n'The secret stairway?' Bertram demanded excitedly. 'Whereabouts is that, sir?'\n\nHaving sat still for all of ten minutes, Godfrey began to fidget with his gown again, rearranging it beneath his thin buttocks, raising and lowering himself until he fancied he was comfortable once more. Only then did he turn his attention back to me.\n\n'What were we talking about? Oh, yes! The secret stair. It isn't really secret, you understand. Apparently, that was the name Alcina gave it when she was a child, and it stuck. Of course, I didn't know her then. Didn't know my wife then. Wasn't even a widower probably \u2026'\n\n'This so-called secret stair, sir!' I had no compunction in cutting short the flow. He was one of those people who, if allowed to ramble into the byways of reminiscence, would be there all day. 'Where is it?'\n\n'Oh, in Mistress St Clair's bedchamber \u2013 didn't I say? There's a second door in one corner of her room which opens on to a little landing at the top of a flight of stairs. They lead down into the passage running alongside the kitchen.'\n\n'But doesn't Mistress St Clair bolt this door at night?'\n\n'As a rule, yes, but she's sometimes forgetful. So when I heard this noise and thought it was the door to the stair opening and shutting, I assumed that my wife, who had been suffering with one of her bad headaches, had gone to bed and forgotten to do so.'\n\n'What's it used for, this \"secret\" stairway?' I wanted to know. 'What's the point of it? Why was it built?'\n\n'Yes, yes! I understand what you're asking me.' There was a justifiable testiness in Godfrey's voice. 'No need to repeat the question three different ways. I'm not in my dotage yet, whatever you may think. I can't tell you what the original purpose of the stair was when the house was first constructed, but we use it as a shorter and quicker route for Mistress Graygoss, our housekeeper, to get up and down to the first floor to consult with my wife. If she uses the main staircase it takes her much longer.' He was getting restless again.\n\n'So, sir,' I asked quickly before he could rise and amble off, 'why did you think that the noise you heard was made by the door to this particular staircase?'\n\n'The damn door squeaks,' he answered irritably. 'Needs oiling. I keep telling William about it, but he doesn't take any notice of me. The only person he heeds is Judith, and then only if he feels like it or she gets angry with him. Old family servant,' he grumbled. 'Been in my wife's service since he was a lad. They're always the worst sort. Bloody useless. William isn't thirty yet \u2013 somewhere about your age, I should reckon \u2013 but behaves like he's an old man. Says he has a bad back.'\n\nI suppressed a smile and let Godfrey have his moan. Then I asked, 'And what did you do next?'\n\nHe took off his spectacles, polished them on his sleeve and readjusted them on his nose before answering. 'What did I do next? What do you think I did next? What anyone would have done. I went into my wife's bedchamber to make sure she was all right.'\n\n'And was she?'\n\n'She was sleeping soundly. And before you ask me, yes, I'm sure. I bent over her, shielding the candle flame so as not to wake her. She was lying on her side and snoring, bedclothes drawn up to her chin. She'd taken one of her sleeping draughts. The empty cup was still on the bedside table and I could smell the dregs. So I closed the bed curtains again and checked the door to the stair. It was bolted all right, but I looked around just to make certain there was no one hiding in the shadows. There wasn't, so I came to the conclusion that I must have been mistaken. In fact, by that time, I couldn't have sworn that I'd heard anything at all. The noise had faded from my mind. So I went off to my own chamber, got myself undressed and into bed, and slept like a baby until morning. The next thing I knew someone was hammering on the street door. Member of the watch to tell us that Fulk had been found murdered in Fleet Street, on the corner by St Dunstan's Church.'\n\n'Was anyone missing from the house when you got up? Your son, Mistress Alcina, the housekeeper, William Morgan? Any of the other servants, if there are any?'\n\n'There are a couple of young girls who help Paulina \u2013 Mistress Graygoss \u2013 in the kitchen and generally make themselves useful about the house. Act as maids to my wife and Alcina. But that's all. They share a room in the attics. There used to be a young lad, brother of one of the girls, I believe, who assisted William in the garden, but he doesn't come any more. Don't know what happened to him. Nice, polite, well-behaved boy \u2026' He was off again.\n\nI sighed and repeated my question. 'Was anyone missing?'\n\n'Well, Fulk obviously. No one else.'\n\nI changed the subject. 'Why did you permit Mistress St Clair to alter her will in her nephew's favour? You must have known it would cause bad feeling. In the eyes of the law the money is yours.'\n\nGodfrey gave vent to a sound that I presumed was a laugh, but came out as more of a derisive hoot. 'You don't know my wife very well, Master Chapman, I can tell. You're right, of course. Legally, anything she owns is mine. But I'm a man who values his peace and comfort and she can be a Fury when roused. I'd never cross Judith unless I absolutely had to. It wouldn't be worth it. And, to be fair, the money is hers, inherited from her first husband, as she doesn't scruple to remind me. So when she demanded that I alter our will in Fulk's favour, even though I could see it would lead to trouble, I did it.'\n\n'Mistress St Clair was very fond of him.'\n\n'Fond of him? She was besotted by him almost from the moment he arrived. To begin with, she was very upset about her sister's death and Fulk comforted her. They grieved together. That was the start of it. After that, he could do no wrong.'\n\n'And what did you think of him?'\n\nThe abrupt question seemed to throw Godfrey. He looked startled and a little nonplussed, as if he had never really considered the matter before.\n\nI tried again. 'Did you like him?'\n\nThere was a further bout of fidgeting. I let him get on with it. I had realized by now that settling his body seemed also to settle his mind.\n\n'Did I like him?' he repeated slowly, rolling each word carefully around his tongue and savouring it as though it were something new and foreign. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded me over the tips of his steepled fingers. 'Well, do you know, I really couldn't say for certain. Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. Fulk could be very charming, but \u2026' Here he paused, deep in thought. Finally, he went on, 'But there was something sly about him. On several occasions, when he wasn't aware that anyone was watching him, I saw him looking at the others, even Judith, with a kind of mockery in his eyes. Oh \u2026 perhaps it was my imagination! One shouldn't speak ill of the dead. However, there's no doubt in my mind that he positively enjoyed stealing Alcina's affection from Brandon Jolliffe right under the poor boy's nose. Not, I have to say, that I ever thought Alcina's affection for Brandon went very deep. Indeed, if Jocelyn had continued to push himself forward more, as he was beginning to do just before Fulk's arrival, I believe he might have been the one to win her favour.'\n\n'Would you have liked your son to marry Mistress Threadgold?' I asked, wanting confirmation of the suggestion that had already been made to me.\n\n'Ah \u2026 Well now!' Godfrey was suddenly wary, like an animal scenting a baited trap. 'I'm not saying that. You modern young people nowadays, you won't be pushed. You like to make up your own minds. Different when I was a youth. We did as we were told.' He got to his feet. 'That's enough questions for the present, I think, don't you? I must be off, back to Marcus Aurelius. \"Let your occupations be few,\" he writes, \"if you would lead a tranquil life.\" Wise advice.'\n\nI could tell that this time he was determined to leave and that nothing I could do, short of brute force, would detain him further. He had seen quicksands ahead of him and was anxious to avoid them if he could.\n\n'You said you thought your son would be willing to speak to me, sir. If he's still in the parlour, would you ask him to come up?' I added in my most authoritative voice, 'Their Graces the Duke of Gloucester and the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy are hoping for a speedy resolution to this enquiry.'\n\n'Yes \u2026 Yes, I see \u2026 All right! If he hasn't gone out, I'll send Jocelyn up to you.' And Godfrey, only pausing to give another twitch to the jar of flowers, whose position in the niche appeared to offend his ideas of symmetry, left the room.\n\nI put another log on the fire. Outside, it was still overcast and raining.\n\n'Well?' Bertram asked. 'What do you think?'\n\n'What about?'\n\n'Master St Clair. Could he have killed this Fulk Quantrell, do you think? He'd like his son to marry Mistress Threadgold, that's plain.'\n\nI shrugged. 'He could have done. But in order to murder Fulk, he must have been following him. Now, Godfrey could have left the house and re-entered it without anyone seeing him, I grant you. But so could anyone in this house, thanks to this so-called secret stair. The murderer would only have had to ensure that the door in Mistress St Clair's bedchamber was unbolted on the inside \u2013 and that wouldn't have been difficult, seeing she was drugged with lettuce and poppy juice \u2013 and, similarly, have left an outside door in the kitchen passage unlocked \u2013 that's presuming, of course, that there is one \u2013 and there you are! But we've a long way to go yet, my lad, so don't go jumping to any conclusions.'\n\n'I wasn't,' Bertram protested, offended. 'I was just trying to clear my head. I'm not that much of a fool.'\n\nI grinned. 'Of course you're not. But the question bothering me at present is: was it William Morgan who attacked me last night? And if so, why? Two questions.'\n\nBertram gave a low whistle. 'Do you really think it might have been him?'\n\n'He's Welsh. And although I couldn't swear to it, I thought I recognized his voice. Moreover, he's about the right height and size. But having said all that, I wouldn't be absolutely positive he was the man. Maybe when I speak to him, perhaps I shall be able to make up my mind.'\n\nThe door to the winter parlour opened again and Jocelyn St Clair appeared.\n\n'My father says you want to see me, chapman. If so, make it brief. I've an appointment with a cordwainer in Watling Street about a new pair of riding boots, and I promised I'd be there before dinner time. What do you want to know?'\n\nHe threw himself into the armchair and looked at me down that hawk-like nose of his. The blue eyes were half-closed, indicating boredom, but I noticed a nervous tic at one corner of his long, thin mouth. He was not as indifferent to this interview as he wished to make out.\n\n'Tell me about Fulk Quantrell,' I said.\n\nJocelyn gave a harsh laugh. 'He was arrogant, conceited and he got what was coming to him. But,' he added hastily, 'I didn't kill him. I wouldn't have soiled my hands.'\n\n'You didn't like him?'\n\nJocelyn gave another laugh that grated on my ears as much as the first. 'What an intellect! Does the Duke of Gloucester know what he's paying for?'\n\n'His Grace doesn't pay me,' I answered quietly.\n\n'Just as well for him, then,' retorted this objectionable youth. 'No, I didn't like Fulk Quantrell. And he didn't like me. Although that's not quite right. He was contemptuous of me, just as he was of Brandon. Just as he was of everybody! But, naturally, he didn't let everyone know it, only those who didn't matter to him. To my stepmother, to Alcina, to Lydia Jolliffe, he dissembled until he'd got what he wanted.'\n\n'And that was?'\n\nHe gave another insolent smile. I noticed he had very small, even white teeth. 'Oh, come on! You can't be as stupid as you pretend to be!'\n\n'Just answer me,' I said, keeping my temper in check.\n\n'Well, what do you think he wanted? He wanted my stepmother's money: to be her heir. He wanted to get in between the sheets with Lydia Jolliffe. She's very attractive, if you have a fancy for the maturer woman, which I must admit I don't. I like 'em young.' Again he bared those small, predatory teeth and winked. 'More juice.'\n\nI was beginning to dislike young Master St Clair very much indeed. 'And Alcina? What did he want from her? Not marriage, it would seem. At least, not according to Lionel and Mistress Broderer.'\n\n'No. I never thought he did. He just wanted to take her away from Brandon. To prove his superiority. To prove his power over women. Once he'd done that, he had no more use for her. I tried to warn Cina, but she wouldn't listen. She was as besotted by him as my stepmother and that silly old fool of a housekeeper.'\n\n'Mistress Graygoss liked him, too, did she?'\n\n'All the women thought the sun shone out of his arse.'\n\n'You speak with some bitterness. How had Master Quantrell offended you?'\n\nAfter only a momentary pause, and somewhat to my surprise, Jocelyn made a direct and unflinching reply. 'He was trying to steal my inheritance, wasn't he? Mine and Alcina's and Lionel's, too. I knew what was in the will; my father had told me.' Probably had it bullied out of him, I thought. 'Lionel was to receive the workshop and sufficient money to continue running it for the remainder of his working life. Alcina and I were to share the rest of the fortune between us when both my stepmother and father were dead.' He expelled his breath on a great sigh of relief. 'Well, thank the saints that's all been put back as it should be. The will's been rewritten. Personally speaking, I hope Fulk's murderer is never caught. I owe him a great debt of gratitude.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "I let this go.\n\nJocelyn's frankness could be taken two ways: either as proof of his innocence, or as evidence of his cunning. He had made no attempt to hide or disclaim his hatred of Fulk Quantrell; on the contrary, he had paraded it in the hope, I presumed, that it would exonerate him in my eyes. But a guilty man, one with at least a modicum of intelligence, would surely think along the same lines. I continued to keep an open mind.\n\n'Tell me about the evening of the murder,' I invited. 'Your stepmother says that you and Fulk and Mistress Threadgold all left the house after supper, but didn't mention where you were going. She didn't ask. Did you go together?'\n\n'No. I called next door for Brandon Jolliffe and we went to the Bull in Fish Street, our usual haunt. We spent the evening there, drinking and slandering Fulk to the top of our bent. He and Brandon had come to blows that morning when we'd all been out maying. Brandon accused Fulk of stealing Alcina's affections. Foolishly, I thought, because it was obvious, to me at any rate, that she had done most of the pursuing and that Fulk was encouraging her in order to annoy poor old Brandon and prove himself superior. I tried to talk some sense into him \u2013 Brandon, that is \u2013 that evening in the Bull, but he couldn't or wouldn't see it. Eventually he stormed off in a temper and left me sitting there. Left me to settle our account, as well.' Jocelyn shrugged and gave a lop-sided grin. 'Not that I held it against him. He was upset.'\n\n'Was this before or after curfew?' I asked.\n\n'Lord, I don't know. After, probably. No one takes much notice of curfew nowadays. And although all the gates are shut at sundown, there are a dozen or more ways of getting in and out of the city, if you know them. Half of London's walls are in a shocking state of disrepair.'\n\nI nodded understandingly. It was the same in Bristol, as it was in other inland cities in the southern half of England. Lack of invasion and attack for so many years had made for complacency among the civic hierarchy, who were loth to spend good money \u2013 or throw it away, as they saw it \u2013 on mending city walls. No doubt the matter was regarded differently in the North, where the inhabitants were under constant threat of incursions from the Scots.\n\n'Did you see Master Jolliffe again that evening?'\n\n'No. I hadn't really expected to, but I waited awhile, then paid our shot and went home.'\n\n'And during that journey, you saw nothing untoward on the corner of Fleet Street and Faitour Lane?'\n\nJocelyn laughed. 'If you mean did I see Fulk being done to death, I'm afraid you're out of luck. If I had, I'd probably have given a helping hand.' Again, there came that disarming frankness. 'As it was, the usual congregation of beggars and layabouts were shouting and screaming, fighting, cursing, whoring. What you'd expect. But not a hint of murder.'\n\n'At what time did you pass the corner of Faitour Lane, do you know?'\n\nHe shrugged again. 'Not late. I'd heard the watch calling the hour of ten as I left the Bull, so it was likely some twenty minutes after that. Maybe a little longer. I was forced to make a detour to find my exit from the city and then retrace my steps in order to cross the Fleet.'\n\n'And when you left this house earlier, to call for Master Jolliffe, everyone else was still here?'\n\n'Yes. My stepmother was suffering from one of her headaches and had gone to bed. I remember, at supper, she asked Paulina \u2013 that's the housekeeper \u2013 to make her up a draught of poppy and lettuce juice and leave it in her bedchamber. My father went off to his study to read. As for Cina and Fulk, they were huddled together, whispering, in a corner of the parlour. I couldn't hear what was said, but it was obvious from their general demeanour that they were arguing.'\n\n'Arguing or quarrelling?'\n\n'Both, I should say.' Jocelyn paused, then went on, 'They'd been at odds all day, ever since they'd returned from the maying expedition that morning. My own opinion, for what it's worth, is that Cina was trying to persuade Fulk to announce their betrothal and name the wedding day. He was resisting because I'm pretty certain he had no intention of marrying her. Why should he leg-shackle himself when he could inherit all my stepmother's money and property for himself without the encumbrance of a wife?'\n\n'According to Mistress Broderer, Fulk claimed to have a betrothed back in Burgundy.'\n\nJocelyn gave a shout of laughter. 'Moonshine! If he did say that, it was for Alcina's benefit, to dampen her ardour.'\n\n'Are you sure?'\n\n'As sure as I can be. He informed me once that he had no intention of ever getting married, and I believed him.' The small, childish teeth bared themselves in another grin. 'Oh, Fulk liked women all right. I told you, he was after seducing Lydia Jolliffe. But women were like feathers in his cap to Fulk. They were conquests. His real predilection was for men.'\n\nI heard Bertram draw in his breath and saw his eyes widen in disgust. But he was young. He would learn that, whatever the teachings of the Church, it takes all sorts to populate the world.\n\n'Did he make advances to you?' I asked.\n\nJocelyn shook his head. 'Too chancy. He couldn't risk my stepmother finding out. She's very strait-laced about such matters. But I know he'd made suggestions to Brandon, and been repulsed. Mind you, he was very discreet. I doubt if many people were aware that he favoured the vice of the ancient Greeks. Wouldn't have believed it of him, I daresay, even if they'd been told.'\n\nThis had been a most instructive and enlightening digression, but I forced the conversation back on to its original path. 'So you don't have any idea where Fulk or Mistress Threadgold may have gone, or what they did, before arriving at the Needlers Lane workshop? You've heard about the scene there, I daresay?'\n\n'Oh yes! Martha Broderer made all of us and the Sheriff's men free of it after the murder. Her intention was, of course, to implicate Cina and minimise Lionel's motive for killing Fulk.'\n\n'And did she succeed, do you think?'\n\nJocelyn laughed shortly. 'It doesn't matter if she did or she didn't, does it? Not now that the Duke of Gloucester, God save the mark, has taken the matter out of the Sheriff's hands and put it in yours.' He spoke with a sudden return to his earlier hostility.\n\n'You don't think me capable of solving the murder?' I enquired mildly.\n\nHe hunched his shoulders, not bothering to reply. 'I must be off,' he said, rising. 'The cordwainer's waiting for me and I promised him I'd not be late. It's been interesting talking to you, Master Chapman.' He made no effort to keep the sneer from his voice.\n\nI didn't try to detain him, and he had barely left the room when the housekeeper, Paulina Graygoss, appeared in the doorway.\n\n'It's nearly dinner time,' she announced grudgingly, 'and the mistress says to ask you and your friend' \u2013 she nodded briefly at Bertram \u2013 'if you'd care to eat with William and me in the kitchen.'\n\nI did not hesitate to accept, although I could tell by my companion's face that the arrangement was not at all to his liking. But it was too good an opportunity to miss. I could study and talk to William Morgan at close quarters. Mistress Graygoss, also.\n\n'Thank you,' I said, almost before she had finished speaking. 'If we may, we'll follow you down.'\n\nThe main staircase descended into the back half of the great hall, whose inner door gave access to the stone-flagged passageway mentioned by Master St Clair.\n\nAs she turned into the kitchen, the housekeeper remarked tersely, 'Dinner isn't ready yet. Don't get under my feet.'\n\n'I see a door along here,' I said, 'that looks as if it opens into the garden. So if you don't mind, Master Serifaber and I will take a walk outside to clear our heads and work up an appetite.'\n\nMistress Graygoss indicated with a dismissive gesture of her hand that we could do as we pleased \u2013 she wasn't responsible for us \u2013 and disappeared into the smoke and steam of the kitchen. I jerked my head at Bertram and we proceeded along the passage, heading for the door at the end. Halfway, I gave him a nudge.\n\n'There,' I said. 'Look!'\n\nAn archway in the wall revealed the lower treads of a flight of stone steps rising into the gloom above.\n\n'The \"secret\" stair, do you think?' asked Bertram.\n\n'Undoubtedly, I should say.' I glanced back over my shoulder. I could hear voices \u2013 or, rather, one voice raised in annoyance \u2013 but could see no one. 'Shall we go up and make sure?'\n\n'You wouldn't dare,' Bertram protested, horrified. 'Mistress St Clair might be in her room.'\n\nHe refused point-blank to accompany me; so, much against his will, I left him on guard with instructions to whistle if anyone emerged from the kitchen.\n\nI judged there were no more than a dozen steps, although I didn't count them, ending in a small landing about three or four feet square. To my right was a door, partially open, and when I put my eye to the crack, I could see that the room beyond was indeed a bedchamber. The door was almost on a level with the head of the bed, but this was hidden from my view by richly embroidered curtains. The walls, too, as far as I could make out, were hung with those tapestry-like embroideries that I had seen being made in the Needlers Lane workshop. Such light as there was on this rainy May morning came through two windows whose shutters and horned panes had been opened to the elements. Mistress St Clair evidently liked fresh air.\n\nI listened carefully for a few seconds, but the silence was absolute. Cautiously, I eased myself around the edge of the door and found that I was standing, not on rushes, but on a thickly embroidered carpet that covered most of the floor. (The mistress of the house was obviously a keen promoter of her own wares.) Two large chests, their lids carved with an elaborate pattern of grapes and vine leaves, stood against the far wall and were full to overflowing with clothes. Neither was properly shut, and several errant sleeves, part of a velvet skirt, a gauze scarf and one or two belts spilled over the sides.\n\nThe bed, whose hangings, as I could now see, depicted the story of Daphnis and Chloe, occupied most of the space and was set on a raised dais in the centre of the room. With even greater trepidation than before, I parted the curtains and peered through, wondering what possible excuse I could offer if I should come face to face with Mistress St Clair, resting there. But, fortunately for me, the bed was empty. Its coverlet was dazzling, so thickly embroidered with all the glories of an English summer garden, including birds, bees and dragonflies, that its basic material was invisible. A small, plain cupboard stood to one side of the pillows and supported a candlestick and candle.\n\nI withdrew my head and examined the inside of the door through which I had entered. There was a bolt \u2013 quite a substantial one \u2013 near the top and, when tested, I found it ran easily and noiselessly in the wards. But whether or not Judith used it to secure her bedchamber as often as was prudent I had no means of knowing. A similar inspection of the bolt on the inside of the main door of the room showed this to be stiff with disuse. She plainly felt herself to be under no sort of threat from inside the house itself.\n\nI gave a final glance around before deciding that I had tried my luck far enough for one day, and descended the stair to find a worried Bertram peering anxiously upward, praying for my speedy return.\n\n'I thought someone was coming just now,' he chided me.\n\nWe completed the length of the passage and, before letting ourselves out into the garden, I also examined the inside of this door for locks and bolts. There were two of the latter, bigger than those in Mistress St Clair's bedchamber and both kept well oiled. The lock, too, was substantial, situated just beneath the latch, but the key, large and extremely visible, hung on a hook alongside the door where everyone could reach it without difficulty. Anyone leaving the house on the night of the murder had only to ensure that this door and the two in Judith St Clair's bedchamber were unlocked and unbolted to be able to go and come back at will.\n\nThe rain had stopped at last. The ground squelched under our feet as Bertram and I crossed the soaked and pallid grass. A wood pigeon rustled through the branches of a tree, and although it was only mid-morning, the light was poor, cloaking the garden in shadow. We walked down the gently sloping central path to the little landing stage on the Thames. Gulls, chasing the herring boats upstream to Westminster, wheeled and called overhead with their sharp, staccato cries, and a kingfisher, disturbed by their commotion, flew up from its nest in the bank, a flash of iridescent green and blue. Brown-fingered seaweed slapped the shore, and the river itself, London's great highway, gleamed like polished metal under a watery shaft of sunlight that suddenly pierced the overhanging clouds.\n\nThe garden itself was planted largely for pleasure. If there was a bed of herbs and simples for the cooking pot, or one for home-made physic and medicines, I did not notice it at the time. Nor were any vegetables grown that I could see. This was a household sufficiently well-to-do to buy the best and freshest produce from the local tradesmen who daily trundled into London from their smallholdings in the Paddington fields, watered as they were by their crystal-clear springs and running brooks. The grass on either side of the path was starred with periwinkles and daisies and dotted with rose bushes, some of which were already in flower; the red of the Rosa gallica and the white of the Rosa alba, and the pink and white of the sweet-smelling Damascus rose. There were also lilies and gillyflowers, and, near the river's edge, a willow tree, stooping to trail its branches close to the water.\n\nBertram was unimpressed; he was not a natural admirer of God's creation, and a chill spring breeze, blowing in off the Thames, soon had him urging me back towards the house and the warmth of its kitchen. As we retraced our steps along the path, I glanced up at the windows of the next-door house, now to my left, just in time to glimpse a face hurriedly withdrawn into the shadows. I stopped, staring enquiringly, but it did not reappear. Its owner I guessed to be that Martin Threadgold mentioned to me yesterday by Mistress Graygoss; the older brother of Judith St Clair's second husband and Alcina's uncle. Unless, of course, it was one of his servants.\n\n'He doesn't keep but the one servant,' the housekeeper snorted disgustedly when I mentioned the sighting to her. 'A maid-of-all-work you might call her, although, myself, I'd term her a lazy slattern. But fortunately most of the rooms are shut up, so she's not a lot to do. Martin Threadgold's generally held to be a miser. Now, do you and the lad come to table. And one of you' \u2013 she rounded on two young girls who were busily pulling pots and pans off the fire \u2013 'go and call William in to his victuals.'\n\nThese were obviously the young maids referred to by Godfrey St Clair, one small and undernourished, the other a well set-up piece who looked as if she could eat a man a day for breakfast. But, as is so often the case, appearances were deceptive: she was the shy, retiring one who merely toyed with her food and left half of it on her plate, while the skinny girl had wolfed her way through two bowlfuls of an excellent mutton stew before William Morgan finally deigned to obey the housekeeper's summons. He slouched in some twenty minutes later, sat down, offering no explanation for his tardiness, and banged the table with his spoon until the bigger of the two maids had filled his bowl with stew.\n\nI was at last able to take a good look at the Welshman, and saw that he was indeed only about my own age, somewhere in his late twenties. (I was still some four months short of my twenty-eighth birthday.) William's swarthy skin, blue eyes, dark hair and long, thin mouth were features which, as I remarked before, could have comprised a pleasant whole if it had not been for his sullen expression and seemingly perpetual scowl. He said nothing, but I could feel his hostility as he regarded me across the kitchen table. I pushed aside my own bowl, leaned forward and gave him back scowl for scowl. I was about to make his even fiercer.\n\n'Was it you, Master Morgan, who attacked me in Needlers Lane last night and warned me to mind my own business?'\n\nThe housekeeper's head jerked up at that and she spilled some of her food as she looked from me to her fellow servant. I thought I heard her breathe, 'You fool!' but I couldn't be certain.\n\n'Why would I want to attack you?' the Welshman growled; but he bent closer over his plate and refused to meet my eyes. 'I don't know you.'\n\n'You must have heard of me, both from Dame Judith and from Mistress Graygoss here,' I said, glancing at the housekeeper as I did so. Her expression confirmed my guess.\n\nWilliam shrugged. 'Perhaps I did \u2013 what of it? It's no business of mine what arrangements Duke Richard wants to make to solve this murder. Besides, how did I know what you look like? This morning was the first time we'd met.'\n\n'You may have been looking out of a window when I spoke with Mistress Graygoss yesterday. Or she may have given you a description of me.'\n\nHe shovelled another spoonful of mutton stew into his mouth, which he wiped on the back of his hand. 'I was home all yesterday evening,' he said thickly.\n\n'You didn't go into the city to see the festivities in honour of the Duchess Margaret, then?'\n\nHe shook his head vigorously. 'Why should I? Seen enough of them during the day.'\n\n'So my attacker wasn't you?'\n\n'Told you, I was home.'\n\nI didn't believe him, but there was no point in arguing about something I was unable to prove. I changed the subject. 'What was your opinion of Fulk Quantrell?'\n\nAnother spoonful of stew was shovelled out of sight and swallowed before he answered. 'Not my place, is it now, to form o-pin-i-ons' \u2013 he gave ironic weight to every syllable \u2013 'about my betters?'\n\nI turned to the housekeeper. 'Did you have an opinion, Mistress Graygoss?'\n\nShe was busy stacking dirty dishes into piles and did not look up from her task. 'Fulk was a nice enough young fellow,' she replied in a colourless tone.\n\n'Oooh! He was lovely,' the smaller of the two girls protested. 'Ever so kind. Talked to me a lot, he did.'\n\n'What about?'\n\n'Oh \u2026 Just things. My family, where I lived.' She giggled and blushed. 'Once he kissed me.'\n\n'Take no notice of Nell,' Mistress Graygoss advised me calmly. 'She's a daydreamer.'\n\n'I am not!' Nell expostulated wrathfully. 'Master Fulk did kiss me. Ask Betsy if you don't believe me. She saw him do it.'\n\nThe bigger girl nodded. 'He did kiss her, it's true, but it was only a peck on the cheek.'\n\n'And did he talk to you, as well?' I asked her.\n\n'No. He could never be bothered with me.'\n\nThis surprised me. Of the two, she had by far the more attractive face and figure \u2013 something I should have expected to weigh heavily with any man. But then I recalled that Jocelyn St Clair had accused Fulk of really preferring men to women, which might explain the matter. I turned once again to William Morgan, who had finished his meal and was picking shreds of meat from between his teeth.\n\n'What did you think of Master Quantrell?' I pressed him.\n\nHe spat into the rushes covering the kitchen floor. 'I've told you, haven't I? He was the mistress's nephew. If she was fond of him, that was good enough for me.' He tossed back some ale, got up and went out.\n\nPaulina Graygoss said, 'You musn't mind him. William is devoted to Mistress St Clair. His father was servant to Edmund Broderer, her first husband, and his mother died, I fancy, when William was born. Owen Morgan seems to have been a harsh father and by all accounts beat him a lot. When Judith married Edmund, she put a stop to all that \u2013 said she wouldn't have an unhappy child under her roof and made herself responsible for the boy. William's never forgotten it.'\n\nA thought occurred to me. 'Of course, William must have known Fulk as a child. Didn't Mistress Quantrell live with her sister and Edmund Broderer for some years after her husband was killed?'\n\nPaulina Graygoss nodded, sitting down again in her chair at the head of the kitchen table. Betsy and Nell, who were waiting to wash the dishes, subsided gratefully on to their stools, glad of a further respite from their chores.\n\n'Now that you put me in mind of it,' the housekeeper said, 'yes, he must have done. Funny, he's never mentioned it. There again, William doesn't say much about anything. He's a deep one. Welsh people are usually very voluble, but not him.'\n\n'Have you been Mistress St Clair's housekeeper for long?' I asked. Bertram was ogling Betsy. I let him get on with it.\n\n'Ten years. I came to her just after she married her second husband, Master Threadgold. Alcina would have been about eight at the time. A rather sad little soul I thought her. But not surprising, I suppose. Her mother had died when she was one and she'd been brought up in that house next door with just her father and that brother of his for company. But with Mistress St Clair to pet her and make a fuss of her, she soon blossomed.'\n\n'Mistress St Clair seems very fond of children. A pity she's never had any of her own.'\n\n'A great pity,' the housekeeper sighed. 'But that's so often the way of things, isn't it? God has his reasons, I suppose, and it's not for us to question them. All the same, one can't help wondering \u2026 Of course, she had Fulk for six years, but as I'm sure you know by now, her sister went to Burgundy in the Lady Margaret's train, taking Fulk with her.'\n\nMistress Graygoss was growing loquacious and I was careful to keep refilling her cup from the jug of ale still standing on the table. 'Wasn't that also the year her first husband died?'\n\n'Yes, I believe it was. He was drowned, poor soul, in the river. Mind you, he was a bit of a drunkard by all accounts. Spent a lot of his time in various city ale houses. Lost his way coming home one night and fell in the Thames. Not an uncommon history.'\n\n'He left Mistress St Clair a very wealthy widow,' I remarked in what I hoped was a noncommittal tone; but the housekeeper eyed me sharply.\n\n'That's as may be, but you needn't read anything into that. She was very fond of him, I fancy. I think, too, she must have missed him dreadfully after he died and her sister went to Burgundy, or she wouldn't have married Justin Threadgold.'\n\n'You didn't like Master Threadgold?'\n\n'No, I did not,' was the positive answer. 'A vicious man, who didn't hesitate to raise his hand to both the mistress and his daughter. I reckon Mistress St Clair knew she'd made a mistake in marrying him almost before the marriage was a few months old. Certainly by the time I came to her. I've seen bruises on her body that would make your hair stand on end, chapman. And I fancy she often protected Alcina from his anger and took the punishment herself. She must have been very lonely indeed even to have thought of wedding him in the first place. And he took his fists to all the servants \u2013 well, to those that stayed. In the end, it was just myself and William Morgan. Fortunately, after they'd been married four years, Master Threadgold caught a bad fever and died of it. No one mourned him, believe me. Then, two years ago, the mistress married the master and became stepmother to young Jocelyn. He and his father are a nice enough pair.' Mistress Graygoss sighed again. 'But I was quite happy as we were.' She suddenly seemed to recollect herself and jumped to her feet. 'Now, what in the Virgin's name am I doing sitting here gossiping to you?'\n\nShe emptied her half-full cup of ale into the rushes and ordered Nell to bring a bowl of water, together with a bundle of twigs and some sand with which to scour the dirty pots and pans, making it plain that our conversation was at an end. But I was quite satisfied with what I had learned. I gave Bertram a nudge and ruthlessly dragged him away from his flirtation with Betsy.\n\n'Will the family have finished their dinner yet?' I asked the housekeeper. 'If so, I'd like to speak to Mistress Threadgold.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "I was informed that the family had been served before us, and that a plate of apple fritters had been left in a chafing-dish for consumption after the mutton stew. I at once felt hard done by. I could have fancied an apple fritter, had any been on offer, a sentiment echoed by Bertram in a disgruntled whisper as we again mounted the stairs to the same parlour where, only an hour or so before, the family had breakfasted. This brief interval between meals seemed not to have blunted the appetites of either Master or Mistress St Clair or of Alcina, judging by the scarcity of food remaining on the table. (There was no sign of Jocelyn; presumably our talk had delayed him and he had not yet returned from the cordwainer's in Watling Street.)\n\n'What now?' demanded our reluctant hostess, glancing up and becoming aware of Bertram and myself hovering just inside the door. 'Has Paulina given you your dinner? And if so, why are you still here?'\n\n'Mistress Graygoss has fed us and fed us handsomely,' I said, nobly suppressing a complaint about the lack of apple fritters and averting my envious gaze from the one that was left in the chafing-dish. 'But I need to speak to Mistress Threadgold. Then my henchman and I will be on our way.'\n\nThe henchman gave an indignant yelp at this description, but I took no notice.\n\nMistress St Clair looked enquiringly at her stepdaughter.\n\n'Oh, very well,' Alcina conceded, glancing at my companion's royal livery. 'I suppose I must.' (Bertram continued to have his uses.)\n\nJudith St Clair rose to her feet. 'You'd better stay here, then. Nell and Betsy can clear the table later, when you've finished talking. Godfrey, I'm sure you're wanting to return to Marcus Aurelius.' There was a hint of long-suffering in her tone.\n\n'Indeed, my love!' he readily agreed, clapping me on the shoulder as he shuffled in his down-at-heel slippers towards the door. '\"Love the trade which you have learned and be content with it,\"' he advised, obviously quoting his favourite author. I wasn't quite sure whether or not this was meant for me and had a double-edged meaning, so I made no answer, merely seating myself opposite Alcina in the chair vacated by her stepfather. I turned to bid Bertram take the stool next to mine just in time to see him wolfing down the lone fritter that I had had my eye on.\n\n'It was going cold,' he mumbled defiantly, meeting my accusing gaze.\n\nI maintained a reproachful silence and turned my attention back to Alcina. 'Mistress Threadgold,' I said, 'I know that on the night of Fulk's murder you followed him to the Broderer workshop in Needlers Lane. I also know from Lionel Broderer and his mother what transpired there. After Master Quantrell had spoken to you so unkindly and left, you ran out after him. What happened then? Did you catch him up?'\n\nAlcina shook her head. 'There was no point. He was in one of his moods. He was punishing me because I had spoken up for Brandon when he and Fulk had come to blows that morning, during the maying. Fulk was very jealous of me,' she added, her eyes filling with tears. (She had obviously worked things out to her satisfaction. In her own mind, her lover's reputation had been salvaged.) 'I knew he'd be off drinking for the rest of the evening, but I guessed he wouldn't go to the Bull, as he usually did, in case he ran into Jocelyn and Brandon. So it was of no use looking for him there. He could have been in any of the inns or ale houses in the city.'\n\n'So what did you do?'\n\n'I came back to the Strand and went next door to see my uncle. I hadn't visited him for quite some while.' She grimaced. 'We \u2026 We're not all that fond of one another's company.'\n\nWhen I asked her why that was, she shook her head, but I suspected the reason to be that Martin Threadgold had made no push to protect her from her father when she was young.\n\n'How long did you stay at your uncle's?'\n\n'For the rest of the evening, until it was time for bed.'\n\n'Even though you don't like him?' queried Bertram, spitting an apple pip into the rushes.\n\nShe flushed. 'I didn't say I don't like him. \"Not fond of his company\" was the expression I used. We get on well enough provided we don't see too much of one another.'\n\n'What time was it when you returned home?' I asked.\n\n'Not late.' Was the answer just a little too emphatic? 'It was dusk, but not perfectly dark.'\n\n'Was anyone about?'\n\n'Paulina was in the kitchen. I looked round the door and said goodnight to her.'\n\n'Was she alone?'\n\n'Yes. At least, I didn't notice anyone else. I expect Betsy and Nell had gone to bed. They knew my stepmother wouldn't be needing them again because she had one of her headaches and had taken a poppy-juice potion. I don't know where William was. Off in some alehouse, I expect. My stepfather was in his room, reading. I heard him coughing. I called out to him as I passed his door, but he didn't answer. Once he gets absorbed in one of his folios, he's oblivious to everything else.'\n\n'How did you get into the house?'\n\nAlcina looked surprised. 'From the street, of course. Paulina always waits up until the watch has cried twelve; then she goes round and bolts all the doors. It's one of my stepmother's few rules \u2013 but the one she's strictest about \u2013 that everyone shall be home and in bed by midnight.'\n\n'And does Mistress Graygoss make sure that all of you are in before she locks up?'\n\nAlcina looked startled. 'I shouldn't think so. She'd have to peep into all the bedchambers, wouldn't she? And I hope she wouldn't do that.'\n\n'Has anyone ever been locked out?' I queried.\n\nAlcina shook her head. 'Not that I know of. Certainly not Josh or me. I told you: we respect my stepmother's few rules because she's generally very tolerant of the liberties we take.'\n\n'What about William Morgan?'\n\n'Oh, him!' Alcina was dismissive. 'I wouldn't know. That man's a law unto himself. But if he ever has spent a night out of doors, it's never been mentioned.'\n\n'There's the so-called secret stair,' I reminded her. 'The one that leads from Mistress St Clair's bedchamber to the passageway outside the kitchen. Where, of course, there's a door that opens into the garden.'\n\n'But to use that, even if it was left unbolted, you'd either have to climb the wall from the lane that runs between this property and my uncle's \u2026 Mind you, it's not impossible,' she admitted after a moment's hesitation. There are plenty of footholds on both sides. I've climbed it myself when I was a child and didn't mind hoisting my skirt above my waist. But I wouldn't attempt it now.' She smiled primly and cast down her eyes. I had no faith in this sudden modesty.\n\n'Or?' I prompted.\n\n'Or you'd have to take a boat to the landing stage and walk up through the garden.'\n\n'No postern gate or door?'\n\n'No, nothing. I've told you.'\n\nI switched to more personal matters. 'You were in love with Fulk Quantrell. But \u2013 forgive me \u2013 before he arrived from Burgundy, I understand you were contemplating marriage with Brandon Jolliffe.'\n\n'I'm fond of Brandon, yes,' she admitted. 'I always have been; but I've never loved him the way I loved Fulk. I knew the very first moment I saw Fulk that he was the man I had dreamed about since I was a girl. He was so handsome!'\n\n'Looks aren't everything,' Bertram announced truculently, evidently deciding that it was time to speak up for the plainer members of our sex.\n\nAlcina regarded him with scorn. 'Fulk had a nature to match his looks,' she declared. 'He was kind, generous and loving. He fell in love with me, too, right from the start. He told me so.'\n\nUntil he realized he didn't need you, I thought to myself; until he discovered he could wind his aunt around his little finger and make himself heir to her entire fortune without having to marry you to get your share. Then you became just another source of entertainment to him, my girl, if you did but know it; another proof of his ability to take a woman away from any man he chose \u2026\n\nBut I held my tongue. It was not my place to disabuse her mind or wreck her dreams; and anyway, I guessed that Alcina was unhappy enough already without being brought face to face with the truth.\n\n'Was Brandon Jolliffe very jealous of Master Quantrell?'\n\n'He was upset, naturally. But he had always been more in love with me than I was with him. There was a time when he was even jealous of Josh, because he thought I favoured my stepbrother.'\n\n'And did you?'\n\nThe large brown eyes opened wide and she laughed. 'Not in the way you mean. I'm fond of Josh, but I regard him as a member of the family.'\n\nI struggled to recall all the various bits of information I'd been given. Finally, I said, 'Yet surely I'm correct in thinking that he hasn't been a member of this family for very long?'\n\nAlcina grimaced. 'No, he hasn't,' she agreed wryly. 'It's barely two years since my stepmother married Godfrey St Clair and he and Jocelyn came to live with us. But from the beginning I've thought of Josh as my brother. Oh, I'm perfectly well aware that my stepfather would like the pair of us to marry, and of course, looking at it from his point of view, I can see the reason why. It would keep most of the Broderer fortune intact, except for what would go to Lionel, and Josh and I wouldn't have to share it between us when Judith and Godfrey are dead. But I'm not in love with Josh nor he with me. We're friends, that's all.'\n\nI shifted my ground again. 'Are you fond of your stepmother?'\n\nAlcina glanced at my face, then away again. 'I suspect that Paulina's been gossiping, so you already know the answer to that. I'm deeply in my stepmother's debt.' She drew a painful breath. 'My father, as you've no doubt been told, was a very violent man. I think \u2026 I'm almost sure that Judith only married him for my sake. She must have known what he was like, how he treated my mother, because she'd already been living in this house a year when I was born next door. And, of course, her first husband, Edmund Broderer, had lived here all his life.'\n\n'You think she married your father to protect you from his violence? Couldn't your uncle have done that?'\n\n'He was as afraid of my father's rages as I was or as my mother had been. Uncle Martin was useless. He would never cross his brother, even though he was the elder by seven years.'\n\nI mulled this over. Bertram was shuffling his feet, growing bored. He had probably envisaged a more exciting life as my assistant: more action, less talk. He caught my eye and nodded his head towards the door, indicating that it was time to go.\n\nBut I was interested in Alcina's view of Judith St Clair. Would a woman marry a man she knew to be violent simply to protect a child who wasn't even hers? Perhaps; a lonely childless woman who had not only been widowed, but who had also, in the same year, been deprived of the company of a twin sister and six-year-old nephew of whom she had been deeply fond. The young Alcina had filled a void in her life, and for that comfort, Judith might have been prepared to pay a heavy price. If so, her altruism had been rewarded. After only four years of marriage, Justin Threadgold had died.\n\nI got to my feet and bowed briefly. 'Thank you, Mistress Threadgold; you've been extremely patient. We'll take our leave.'\n\nBertram was already at the door, bumping into Jocelyn St Clair as the latter entered the parlour, looking for his dinner.\n\n'That damn man still hasn't finished my boots,' he fumed, 'and, what's more, I'm starving. It's way past dinner time. You still here, chapman? This is all your fault, you know. You and your bloody questions.'\n\nI didn't stop to argue the point, but left him to Alcina's more soothing ministrations.\n\n'What now?' Bertram asked hopefully as we stood outside the St Clairs' house in the Strand.\n\nIt was well past noon and a bright spring day. Ribbons of sunlight were dispersing the clouds, shredding them with streamers of gold and pink. Birds sang in the trees and bushes that overhung the garden walls, and all the cobwebs trembled with a myriad diamond drops. Everything was sharply delineated, the sun swinging high in the heavens like a newly minted coin, the air clear and fresh. I took a deep, appreciative breath.\n\n'What now, chapman?' Bertram repeated impatiently, fixing his eyes longingly on a seller of hot spiced wine.\n\n'First,' I said, suppressing a grin, 'we're going to call on Martin Threadgold, and then we're going to see if any member of the Jolliffe family is at home.'\n\nMy companion emitted a heartfelt groan. 'Not more talking?' he begged despairingly.\n\nI gave him an admonitory cuff around the ear. 'Talking, my lad, is the only way of trying to find out what people think. And what people think very often influences the way they act. And how people act can sometimes lead you to the truth.' With which sententious piece of advice, I raised my hand and banged Martin Threadgold's knocker.\n\nI had almost given up hope of my summons being answered when there was the screech of rusty hinges and the door opened just enough to reveal a diminutive woman with a pale face and protuberant blue eyes. She wore a patched gown of grey homespun and an undyed linen hood that had seen better days. The hair, escaping from beneath this last article of clothing, was grey and wispy, yet her skin was as unwrinkled and unblemished as that of a (presumably) much younger woman. She looked us both over with a lack of curiosity that bordered on indifference.\n\n'Yes?'\n\nI considered it would be a waste of time to try to explain our mission, so I just asked baldly to speak to her master.\n\nThe woman didn't cavil, but merely jerked her head. 'I'll fetch him. You'd better come in.'\n\nBertram and I followed her into a commodious hall which was larger and had once been far more impressive than that of the neighbouring house, but which was now sadly neglected. Paint was peeling from the carved, spider-infested roof beams, the rushes on the floor smelled stale and were alive with fleas, a thick coating of dust lay like a pall over everything, and the furniture amounted to no more than a chair and table spotted with age and the grease of candle droppings. This was the home, I decided, of either a miser or a man who no longer had any interest in life.\n\nYet when Martin Threadgold joined us, after a prolonged delay, he gave the impression of being neither of these things, merely an incompetent, middle-aged man overwhelmed by the complexities of a bachelor existence. The furred velvet gown he wore had originally been of a better quality than that sported by Godfrey St Clair, and his shoes were of the softest Cordovan leather, which bulged with every corn and bunion on his malformed feet. He was almost totally bald except for a fringe of grey hair, which gave him a monkish appearance, while a smooth, round, cherubic face endorsed this impression. The blue eyes had the slightly bemused stare of a bewildered child, but they also had a disconcerting habit of suddenly sharpening their focus.\n\n'Forgive my tardiness,' he said in a surprisingly mellifluous voice, extending a bony hand. 'When Elfrida came to tell me of your arrival, I was closeted in the privy.'\n\nI didn't doubt this. The smell of urine and dried faeces hung redolently on the air. Still, it was no worse than the stink of the river and the city streets.\n\n'Master Threadgold,' I began formally, 'I'm hoping you'll agree to have speech with me. I'm\u2014'\n\n'I know who you are,' he cut in, smiling slightly. 'Paulina Graygoss called on us earlier with the warning that you would probably be wishful of speaking to me. So how can I help you? I know nothing whatever about this murder. I was here, in this house, in bed when it happened.'\n\n'Oh, I'm not accusing you of killing Fulk Quantrell,' I said quickly. 'I haven't any reason to suppose you guilty; nor can I see that you had anything to gain by his death. But I would like to ask you one or two questions.' I glanced suggestively at the lack of seating and added, 'Perhaps we could go elsewhere?'\n\nHe followed my gaze, then beckoned Bertram and me to follow him, not through the door that obviously led into the interior of the house, but to a narrow stair hidden in the inglenook of the empty fireplace. A dozen or so treads took us into a tiny parlour not more than about six feet square, which boasted a narrow window seat, an armchair and a reading stand that could be adjusted to form a table. A rusting brazier, for cold winter days, stood in one corner, but walls and floor were bare. Spartan comfort for a man no longer young.\n\nMaster Threadgold indicated that Bertram and I should perch on the window seat and dragged the armchair round to face it.\n\n'Now,' he said, 'how can I help you, Master Chapman?'\n\nBut something was intriguing me and I had to know the answer. 'Why do this house and that of Mistress St Clair contain these odd little semi-secret staircases?' I enquired.\n\nOur host readily explained. 'These three houses \u2013 this one, Mistress St Clair's and the one belonging to Roland Jolliffe \u2013 were once part of the great Savoy Palace, which, as you must know, was burned to the ground during the Great Revolt almost a hundred years ago. But because they were at some distance from the main buildings, they escaped the flames; and when the rest of the land was eventually built over, they remained as separate dwellings. My theory is that, originally, they were used as whorehouses. The \"Winchester geese\" were ferried across from Southwark to the landing stage, brought up through the gardens and lodged here. Gentlemen requiring their services, but who needed to be a little more discreet than their fellows, would use the \"secret\" stairs. Of course, such niceties didn't bother the last occupant of the Savoy, the great John of Gaunt. He kept his mistress, Lady Swynford, in regal state in the palace itself, until she had to flee before Wat Tyler's vengeful mob \u2026 There, does that answer your question?'\n\nI nodded and thanked him.\n\n'So,' he continued, settling back in his chair, 'what else do you wish to ask me?'\n\nI leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees. 'Master Threadgold, on the night that Fulk Quantrell was killed, your niece claims to have spent the evening here, with you. An infrequent occurrence, I gather. Was she here?'\n\nHe replied without the smallest hesitation. 'Yes, she was here. My housekeeper will also vouch for Alcina's presence, if necessary. She let her in.' He paused, frowning. 'I thought she seemed upset about something \u2013 Alcina, that is \u2013 but I didn't enquire the reason. I didn't feel it to be my business. All the same, I suspected it might have had to do with young Master Quantrell.'\n\n'You knew she was in love with him?'\n\n'Oh, yes. I don't have a lot to do with her or with the St Clairs, but I get all the gossip from Felice, who keeps both ears closely to the ground. She and Goody Graygoss aren't exactly friends, but Paulina can't resist chattering about her employers' affairs every now and then.'\n\n'What did you think of Fulk Quantrell?'\n\nBertram was beginning to wriggle, trying to get comfortable on the window seat. I administered a warning kick on his shins.\n\n'I didn't think anything about him,' was the tart response. 'I didn't know him, except by report, and that might well have been biased in either direction.'\n\n'And what did report say of him?' I wanted to know.\n\nMartin Threadgold shrugged. 'This and that. This was good, that was bad. I had no way of sifting truth from falsehood.' But his gaze, until now clear and direct, suddenly avoided mine. 'So you see, I'm afraid I can't help you or the Duke of Gloucester's representative, here.'\n\nBertram stopped squirming long enough to smirk importantly, then resumed his search for a less uncomfortable position.\n\n'Why do you think Mistress St Clair \u2013 Mistress Broderer as she then was \u2013 decided to marry your brother?' I asked, relying on my old tactic of an abrupt change of subject to disconcert my listener. 'He wasn't a very pleasant man from all I've heard.'\n\n'He was a very unpleasant man,' Martin admitted candidly. 'Took after our father, I'm afraid: a violent man, easily moved to anger. I was more our mother's son.'\n\n'Were you afraid of your brother?'\n\n'Everyone was afraid of Justin when he was in one of his moods or in his cups. But he could also be extremely charming if he chose. Judith made the mistake that so many clever women make about violent men: she thought she could manage him, that he would be different with her. I'm sure he convinced her that she was special, more intelligent, more beautiful, more \u2026 more \u2026 oh, more everything than Alcina's mother had been. He would have represented himself as a man whose patience had been sorely tried by an inferior intellect; by a foolish, feckless wife \u2026 But, of course, people like him never change.'\n\nThat, I reflected, was very true. The faults of youth rarely lessen with age. More often than not, they become exaggerated.\n\n'Did Mistress St Clair and your brother never get on together after they were married?' I asked.\n\nMartin Threadgold considered this carefully, then shrugged. 'Not often. Although they must have had their better moments. Justin planted that willow for her down near the river bank \u2013 the one you can see from this window.'\n\nBertram and I obediently slewed round and stared down across the walls, into the neighbouring garden, at the tree we had noted earlier.\n\n'Judith's always been very fond of it,' our host continued. 'On hot summer days, she likes to sit in its shade and look at the water.'\n\n'After the marriage, I assume that your brother and niece went to live next door,' I said. 'Was there never any suggestion that Mistress St Clair might move into this house?'\n\nOur host gave a dry laugh. 'None. Once Justin had seen the luxury and comfort of the Broderer home, there was no chance of him staying here. As a family, we were not well off. We had little money and our parents had allowed the house to go to wrack and ruin before they died. My father hoped that either Justin or myself would marry money. In fact, he pressed it on us as a duty. But he died a disappointed man. I have never fancied the married state, and Justin's first wife, Alcina's mother, brought no dowry worth mentioning with her. That was hardly surprising: no woman of means would have looked at us.'\n\n'Until Judith Broderer.'\n\n'Until, as you say, Judith began casting lures in Justin's direction. Mind you, he wasn't a bad-looking man and loneliness can play terrible havoc with a person's judgement.'\n\n'Your niece thinks her stepmother may have married her father in order to protect her from his violent ways.'\n\nMartin Threadgold raised sceptical eyebrows and looked down his nose. 'A girl's romantic notion, surely! But there! Women are strange creatures and capable of things that we men find it difficult to understand. Especially when the flux is on them each month.'\n\n'You're certain that Mistress Broderer, as she then was, was fully aware of your brother's violent nature?'\n\nMartin blew his nose in his fingers, inspected them with interest, then wiped them on his sleeve.\n\n'Bound to have been,' he said. 'Edmund Broderer and my brother were \u2026 well, not exactly friends \u2013 no, never that \u2013 but drinking cronies. There's an alehouse, the Fleur de Lys, where they both drank, and they would, on occasions, help each other home when they'd drunk too much.' Martin sighed. 'Justin always reproached himself that he hadn't accompanied Edmund the night that Master Broderer fell into the river and drowned.'\n\nBertram's discomfort was now impossible to ignore, so I got to my feet. He joined me with alacrity.\n\n'Thank you for your time, Master Threadgold,' I said, holding out my hand.\n\nHe took it, saying, 'I hope I've satisfied you as to my niece's whereabouts on the evening of the unfortunate young man's murder?'\n\nI nodded to set his mind at rest, although only too aware that there were still questions that remained unanswered. Then I clapped Bertram on the back.\n\n'Right, my lad,' I said. 'Let's go and see if we can talk to the Jolliffes.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Luck remained with us in so far as Lydia Jolliffe was at home. The little maid who answered my knock informed us that the young and old master were abroad, but that the mistress was in her parlour at the back of the house. And it was to this first-floor chamber that Bertram and I were conducted in due course.\n\nIt was a light, airy room facing both south and east, with windows looking out over the river at the back and the gardens and houses that clustered around the Fleet Bridge to one side. Shutters had been flung open to let in the brightness of a spring afternoon that completely belied the dismal, rain-sodden start to the day. The May sun shone proudly from a soft blue sky, and rooks, like a handful of winter-black leaves, wheeled and cawed beyond the casement.\n\nThe woman who rose to meet us was a handsome, statuesque creature with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of a deep, lustrous brown that gave her an almost exotic, foreign appearance. Her skin, by contrast, was extremely pale, but so skilfully had the white lead been applied that it needed a second glance to realize that its colour was due to artifice and not to nature. She was plainly but expensively gowned in green silk cut high to the throat, a modest touch that might have been more convincing had it not served to emphasize her magnificent breasts. Her hennin, draped with a white gauze veil, was one of the shorter kind which, at that time, had just begun to replace the 'steeple'. She wore a dark-green leather girdle, tagged with silver and a jade cross on a silver chain, but no other ornament. The effect was striking and she knew it. It was easy to see why Fulk Quantrell could well have been attracted to this woman, in spite of his natural inclination towards men. (But even as the thought entered my head, I realized that, so far, I had no other proof of Jocelyn St Clair's allegation.)\n\n'Mistress Jolliffe?' I queried with a polite bow. A silly question, as it was extremely unlikely she could be anyone else.\n\nShe didn't bother answering. Those remarkable eyes raked me from head to foot; then she let a long, lazy smile lift the corners of her delicately tinted lips.\n\n'So you're the pedlar I've been hearing about from Judith St Clair.' Her voice was languid. 'Roger, isn't it?'\n\n'I'm honoured, lady, that you've taken the trouble to remember my name.' I smiled in what I hoped was a seductive manner (I, too, could play that sort of game) and drew Bertram forward. 'This is Master Serifaber, the Duke of Gloucester's man.'\n\nBertram was growing used to this introduction and no longer tried to look worthy of it, but he was too young, and obviously too green, to hold Mistress Jolliffe's attention for long. She gave him a quick nod and then turned back to me, resuming her seat in the room's only armchair and picking up her embroidery frame as she did so. But if she had hoped to present a demure, wifely tableau (Penelope at her loom), she was wasting her time. She never could, and never would, look domesticated.\n\n'Sit down,' she invited, but as there was only one stool, Bertram was forced to stand, supporting himself against the nearest wall. I removed a lute from the stool, which was far too small for my hefty frame, and perched awkwardly on its edge. Mistress Jolliffe smiled slightly at my discomfort, but made no comment. The fragrance of wild flowers rose from the rushes on the floor and, with my new-found knowledge, I recognized the rich wall hangings as being embroideries rather than tapestries. I wondered if they had been purchased from the Broderer workshop; or had they perhaps been a gift?\n\nWhile I made an attempt to settle myself, I took covert stock of Lydia Jolliffe, trying to guess her age. If she had a son as old as, or older than, Alcina Threadgold, she was probably in her late thirties or, more likely, early forties; but she was one of those women whose years sit lightly on them. Nevertheless, self-confidence and the mature curves of her figure led me to believe she was older than she looked.\n\n'I'm forty, Master Chapman,' she said with a rich, full-throated laugh that made me start violently and blush. 'Men are so transparent,' she added, selecting a long pale-green silk thread from a pile on a small table beside her, and once more plying her needle in and out of the white sarcenet stretched on the tambour frame. 'It's so easy to tell what you're thinking. Women are much better at concealing their thoughts. Now, I presume you wish to ask me about the murder of Fulk Quantrell. What is it you want to know?'\n\nI rubbed my nose nervously. 'Well, to begin with, may I ask where you were on the night of May Day or the early hours of the following morning, when the young man was killed?'\n\n'That's simple. I was home here, in bed with my husband. He'll vouch for the fact.'\n\nOf course he would, just as she would vouch for him. A wasted question but, all the same, one that had had to be asked.\n\n'Did you like Fulk?'\n\nShe shrugged. 'I neither liked nor disliked him. He was Judith's nephew. A pleasant enough lad, prettily behaved, respectful to his elders. He had more to do with my son than with me. You must ask Brandon about him. Fulk was young enough to have been my son.'\n\nHer last remark was more revealing than she had intended, containing as it did an undertone of bitterness.\n\n'Did he find you attractive?'\n\nLydia glanced up sharply, then laughed again, but this time it was a high-pitched, artificial tinkle.\n\n'Dear saints, of course not! I told you: I was old enough to be his mother.'\n\nThere it was again \u2013 that insistence on the difference in their ages. I ignored it. 'Was your husband jealous?'\n\nShe tossed her embroidery frame angrily to one side, missing the table and letting it fall among the rushes. 'Don't you listen to anything I say? He was my son's friend, not mine.'\n\n'Even so,' I urged, 'you must have formed some opinion of his character other than that his manners and general address were good. What was he really like, underneath, do you think?'\n\nI could see her struggling with herself for several seconds \u2013 women, whatever she maintained, are just as easy to read as men on occasions \u2013 but whatever it was she had in mind to tell me, prudence eventually won. She managed to smile.\n\n'Fulk naturally had his own interests at heart; what young man of eighteen does not? One could hardly blame him for taking advantage of Judith's infatuation.'\n\n'Did you and Master Jolliffe approve of Mistress St Clair's decision to make him her sole heir?'\n\nLydia picked up the discarded embroidery frame and continued with her stitching. 'Roland and I neither disapproved nor approved. It was not our business.'\n\nVery commendable, but not what Judith St Clair had told me. I wondered what the Jolliffes had really said to one another in the privacy of the marital bed, and to their neighbours.\n\n'But you must have had some feelings about Fulk's stealing Mistress Alcina's affection away from your son.'\n\nOnce again there was that hesitation while she decided what to say; and once again she decided to lie. 'Whatever you may have been told, Master Chapman, there was never anything settled in the way of a betrothal between Brandon and Alcina. If anything, he was less fond of her than she of him. They were friends. Something might have come of that friendship eventually, who can tell? But somehow, I doubt it. Brandon is a very good-looking boy. He can have his pick of any girl in London.'\n\nI accepted this. Who was I to argue with a mother's fond delusion? Instead, I asked abruptly, 'Do you happen to know where your son was on the night Fulk Quantrell was murdered?'\n\nShe gave me a quelling stare. 'My son is twenty years old: I am not his keeper. However, I imagine he was drinking in some tavern or other, probably the Bull in Fish Street, which seemes to be his usual haunt. And most likely with Jocelyn St Clair. But you must ask him.'\n\n'Can you or your husband confirm the time he came home?'\n\n'No, of course not! Did your mother know what time you got in at night when you were that age?'\n\nWhen I had been twenty, my mother had not been long dead, and I had just abandoned my novitiate at Glastonbury Abbey and was busy making my way in the world in my new trade of peddling. But I naturally did not burden Mistress Jolliffe with this personal history. Instead, I enquired, 'Did you know that Fulk Quantrell and your son had come to blows during the morning's maying expedition? According to young Master St Clair it was about Alcina. Master Jolliffe accused Fulk of stealing her away from him.'\n\nI saw anger and something else \u2013 something akin to fear \u2013 flash in and out of Lydia's eyes. But she replied with creditable calm, 'That's the first I've heard of it. Mind you, you shouldn't believe everything Jocelyn tells you. He was hoping \u2013 maybe he still is now that Fulk is dead \u2013 to fix his interest with Alcina himself. It would certainly please his father if he did.'\n\n'Mistress Threadgold insists that theirs is a purely brother-and-sister relationship.'\n\nMy hostess curled her lip (not an easy thing to do, but possible). 'Alcina might think that, but I doubt if Josh does. He may not be in love with her, but he's too canny to let the best part of half a fortune go begging for want of a wedding ring. And he wouldn't allow a little thing like marriage vows to prevent him from continuing in his normal hedonistic way.'\n\nShe didn't like Jocelyn St Clair, that was evident. But what had been her real feelings concerning Fulk Quantrell?\n\n'Master St Clair \u2013 young Master St Clair \u2013 maintains that Fulk really preferred men to women. Do you think that's true?'\n\nAfter a moment's incredulous silence, there was an explosion of laughter so hearty and so genuine that it was impossible to doubt its sincerity. 'You're making it up!' she accused me as soon as she could speak.\n\nI shook my head and glanced at Bertram, who confirmed my statement.\n\n'What a liar Josh is then!' she gasped, wiping her eyes. 'Of course he didn't!' But she sobered abruptly with the realization that her merriment and vigorous denial of Fulk's sexual predilections pointed to the fact that she had known him a great deal more intimately than she had claimed. 'Well, I shouldn't think so, at any rate,' she amended hurriedly, 'judging by the number of female hearts he enslaved.'\n\n'Including yours, Mistress Jolliffe?' I suggested softly.\n\n'How dare you!' she breathed, and this time there was no mistaking the combined anger and fear in both look and voice. 'I'm a true and loyal wife, faithful in thought and deed to the most loving, gentle and considerate husband a woman could ever wish for.'\n\nShe could try pulling my other leg, too, but I still wouldn't believe her. Once again, she had betrayed herself by overemphasis. I was certain that she had fallen for Fulk's charms quite as heavily as his aunt and Alcina Threadgold had done. Maybe, deep down, she hadn't liked him \u2013 I felt instinctively that she was too astute to be taken in simply by a handsome face \u2013 but had found him attractive enough to want to go to bed with him. But had she succeeded in seducing him, or in allowing herself to be seduced by him? And if so, had Roland Jolliffe discovered her infidelity and set out to remove his rival? (I recollected Martha Broderer's words: '\u2026 he's devoted to Lydia. And he's the sort who'd never blame her if she ever did play him false. In his eyes, she'd have been \u2026 led astray by the man.') On the other hand, if Lydia had set her cap at Fulk and been rejected, could her pride have been sufficiently lacerated for her to have murdered him?\n\nA moment's reflection convinced me that this latter notion was unlikely: most people are too used to rejection of one kind or another in their lives to retaliate by killing. But it was not impossible. And where the crime of murder is concerned, experience has taught me that all possibilities must be taken seriously until proved to be false.\n\nI was saved from making a spurious apology for this slur on Lydia's virtue by the sudden opening of the door and the arrival of two men whom I presumed to be the Jolliffes, father and son. The elder again recalled to mind Martha Broderer's description of a 'big, quiet man who don't say much about anything', and his identity was immediately confirmed by his wife, who exclaimed in a relieved voice, 'Roland! I'm so glad you're here!'\n\nHe went at once to stand beside her, putting a protective arm about her shoulders.\n\n'Who's this?' he grunted, his eyes, of a clear Saxon blue, regarding me with open hostility.\n\nMistress Jolliffe explained and also introduced Bertram, carefully drawing attention to his royal livery. 'Master Serifaber, the Duke of Gloucester's man.'\n\nIt was a warning, or maybe a reminder, to her husband of royalty's involvement in this affair. Not that Roland Jolliffe appeared to be the sort of person who would make a fuss or throw his weight about. He was a large, loose-limbed, shambling man quite obviously some years older than his wife. His sartorial preference, like that of Godfrey St Clair, was for comfortable, well-worn clothes in sober shades of grey or brown, with a pleated tunic unfashionably long and a surcoat trimmed with fur that might once have been sable but now looked more like moth-eaten budge.\n\nBrandon Jolliffe, on the other hand, was the very height of elegance in an extremely short tunic of russet velvet which revealed a modish expanse of loin and buttock encased in black silk hose (at least he didn't favour the parti-coloured variety). A magnificent codpiece, made of the same material as his tunic, sported several black satin bows, a promise to any woman interested in the joys to be sampled underneath. He had his mother's striking brown eyes, but other than that seemed not to favour either parent, being shorter and stockier than both, with light-brown hair carefully curled and pomaded. Yet his dandified appearance was at odds with the impression of strength given by his compact frame and powerful muscles.\n\nHe was more aggressive than his father and less intimidated by Bertram's livery. 'What do you mean by coming here and annoying my mother?' he demanded, squaring his jaw and jutting his chin.\n\n'That will do, Brandon,' Lydia admonished him sharply. 'Master Chapman is making enquiries about Fulk Quantrell's murder; and I understand from Mistress St Clair that not only Duke Richard but also the Dowager Duchess herself has asked him to do so. Just tell him where you were on the night of May Day. That's all he wants to know.' She looked up at her husband and squeezed the hand that was still lying protectively against her shoulder. 'I've already explained that we were at home in bed, my love. We saw and heard nothing that could have any bearing on Fulk's death.'\n\nI saw Roland's grip tighten momentarily, and the fleeting sideways glance of those blue eyes; but then he relaxed and nodded.\n\n'Quite right,' he muttered.\n\nI waited a second or two, but when it became apparent that this was all he intended to say, I turned back to Brandon.\n\nHe responded to my raised eyebrows with a grunt very like his father's and seemed disinclined to answer my unspoken query. A nudge from his mother, however, changed his mind.\n\n'Oh, all right! I suppose I might as well tell you. I've nothing to hide. I was drinking in the Bull in Fish Street all evening with Jocelyn St Clair. Then I came home and went to bed. There's really nothing else to say.'\n\n'Did you and Master St Clair leave the Bull together?'\n\nHe hesitated, watching me with narrowed eyes, wondering how much I already knew. He decided not to take a chance and opted for the truth. 'I left before Josh. We fell out. I'm afraid I went off leaving him to pay our shot.' Brandon did his best to look contrite, but failed.\n\n'What did you quarrel about?'\n\nHe grimaced. 'Lord! I can't remember. It's more than two weeks since it happened. We were both in our cups, and I daresay at the stage where you're ready to take umbrage at almost anything.'\n\n'Jocelyn St Clair says it was about your fight with Fulk Quantrell that morning, during the maying. He says he was trying to talk some sense into you \u2013 trying to convince you that Mistress Threadgold was the one doing the pursuing; that he didn't think Master Quantrell was serious in wanting to marry her.'\n\nWhile I was speaking, Brandon's face had grown slowly redder until even his ears seemed suffused with blood. 'It's a fucking lie!' he burst out as soon as I'd finished, oblivious to his mother's presence and her furious exclamation of 'Brandon!'\n\n'Are you denying that you and Jocelyn St Clair talked about Fulk Quantrell?' I asked.\n\n'We might have mentioned him. It's possible. Probable, even. But I've told you: it's over a fortnight ago. Anyway, there's no law against it, is there? Discussing a friend.'\n\n'A friend?'\n\n'A mutual acquaintance then! All right! We neither of us liked Fulk. I agree we might have uttered a few harsh words about him. Perhaps Josh and I did fall out over something that was said. I've told you, I don't remember. But that doesn't mean I went out and murdered Fulk. I didn't see him that evening. Our paths never crossed.'\n\n'Besides,' Lydia cut in smoothly, although I could sense the suppressed unease informing her words, 'if you recall, Master Chapman, I, too, have told you that my son had no reason to hate Fulk. He wasn't interested in marrying Alcina.'\n\nBoth husband and son gave her a brief, involuntary glance of surprise before hastily schooling their features to express agreement. The young man who, according to his mother, could have his pick of any girl in London, went so far as to puff out his chest like a barnyard cockerel, but I just felt sorry for him. If the Burgundian had been one half as handsome as reputation painted him, Brandon would have stood little chance in competition.\n\nIt was apparent to me that there was nothing more to be got out of either man \u2013 at least, not for the present. I turned once more to Mistress Jolliffe.\n\n'Have you known Mistress St Clair for long?'\n\n'I've known her ever since she came here as Edmund Broderer's bride some nineteen years ago. I remember it clearly because it was the month King Edward was crowned.' Lydia's tone became confidential. 'It's my opinion that Edmund only married her because his widowed mother died very suddenly, and he wasn't the sort of man who could fend for himself. He was thirty-one by then and in a fair way of business with that workshop of his in Needlers Lane. A good catch for any woman. He was a skilled embroiderer.' Lydia swivelled round in her chair and indicated the wall hangings. 'He had those made for me and did one panel with his own hands.' She seemed to consider this a signal honour. 'Roses and lilies, as you see, the lily being the flower of virginity and purity, the personal emblem of the Madonna.'\n\nIt was also an ancient fertility symbol, but I didn't mention that. Instead I said, 'You must recall Fulk Quantrell when he was a little boy. He lived next door to you for six years. Did he and Master Brandon ever play together?'\n\nLydia shrugged and glanced at her son. 'I suppose you might have played together. I can't remember. It's a long time ago.'\n\n'He broke my wooden horse,' Brandon reminded her sulkily. 'You wouldn't let me play with him again after that.'\n\n'So he did. I'd quite forgotten. I went round and complained to his mother, but Veronica was a haughty, stuck-up piece, thinking herself better than anyone else because she'd been in the employ of the King's sister (although, at that time, some people might have considered poor old Henry as still the rightful king). Shortly after, she left and went off to Burgundy in Margaret's train. That wasn't very long after Edmund was drowned. It was weeks, you know, before they found his body, stripped completely naked. The river scavengers had discovered him first and taken all his clothes and personal belongings. Every last thing. Judith told me she was only able to identify him by various moles and the peculiar shape of his feet.'\n\n'You also knew Mistress St Clair's second husband, then, Justin Threadgold?'\n\nThis was the sort of questioning that Lydia could understand and even appreciate. A good gossip about her neighbours was fun. She relaxed in her chair, while her son and husband joined Bertram in looking bored and resigned.\n\n'Roland and I knew both him and his first wife, a poor little dab of a woman. Mind you, Justin was a bully and far too free with his fists; but timidity only encourages that sort of man. If he'd been my husband, he'd have had something more to contend with than the grovelling and terrified acceptance he was used to. His brother couldn't, or wouldn't, stand up to him, either \u2013 not even to protect his sister-in-law and niece.'\n\n'Why do you suppose Mistress St Clair married him, then?' I interrupted. 'She was a closer neighbour even than you. She must have known what he was like.'\n\nLydia Jolliffe spread her hands, the left still holding her tambour frame. 'I've asked myself that question many times, Master Chapman, and never arrived at a satisfactory answer. Loneliness perhaps? Because he was there and available? Probably both of those things. In my experience propinquity and availability often have more to do with marriage than love and romantic passion. At least,' she added hastily, 'in older people. Second marriages. Of course, I was very young when I married my dear husband. Ours was a love match.'\n\nRoland Jolliffe gazed fondly down at his wife and once more reached for her hand, pressing it affectionately. Lydia smiled up at him in a way that fairly turned my stomach. I was glad to note that Brandon was also looking queasy.\n\nI decided it was time for Bertram and me to take our leave. I had discovered everything I was likely to find out here. The two elder Jolliffes would cover for one another whilst swearing that Brandon had no motive for killing Fulk Quantrell. Moreover, it was time that I \u2013 and, of course, my assistant \u2013 took stock of the information we had already gathered. I feared it would prove to be of no great use, but there might be among the dross a small nugget of gold that I had so far overlooked.\n\nI rose from the stool, disentangling my long legs from one another, and again came under scrutiny from Lydia Jolliffe.\n\n'If you need to call again, Master Chapman,' she said suavely, also rising and smoothing the green silk gown over her ample hips, 'please feel free. Something might occur to me that I've forgotten.'\n\nI thanked her, managing to ignore the hand she extended for me to kiss, and beat a hasty retreat, aided and abetted by a more than willing Bertram. I did hear a phrase that could have been 'bad-mannered oaf' as I closed the parlour door behind me, but assured myself that it must have been intended for my companion.\n\n'Can we go back to the Voyager now?' that young man pleaded as we once again found ourselves amid all the afternoon bustle of the Strand, now fairly overflowing with the two-way traffic of this busy thoroughfare linking Westminster to London. 'My legs are aching and I'm sick of the sound of people's voices.'\n\nI laughed. 'Does this mean you wouldn't fancy a full-time position as my right-hand man?'\n\nHe shook his head vigorously. 'I'd rather go back to Yorkshire with the Duke.'\n\n'I'm put down, indeed,' I said with a grin, and took him by the elbow. 'Come on. A beaker of Reynold Makepeace's best ale will make you feel better and restore your temper.'\n\nWe were almost at the Fleet Bridge when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found myself looking down at Martin Threadgold's diminutive housekeeper.\n\n'Mistress!' I said. 'What can I do for you?'\n\n'If Master Threadgold wants us to return, I'm off to Baynard's Castle,' Bertram muttered mutinously.\n\nMartin Threadgold did want us to return, but not, it appeared, until later.\n\n'Master says will you come back this evening,' the woman said breathlessly. She must have been running to catch us up. 'After supper, he says. He has something he wants to tell you.'\n\n'Can't he tell me now, while I'm here?'\n\n'After supper is what he said and is what he meant. He's having a lie-down now. Sleeps in the afternoon, he does.' The woman turned away. 'He'll expect you after supper.' And, having delivered her message, she was gone, pushing between the crowds and quickly vanishing from sight. I swore softly. If the old fool had something to impart, why couldn't he tell me at once? I was wary of postponements. They could be dangerous.\n\nBertram grabbed my arm, afraid I might be tempted to return to the Threadgold house. 'Come along!'\n\nReluctantly I obeyed, but as I did so, I glanced back over my shoulder. Lydia Jolliffe was standing at the open side window of her parlour, staring in our direction, towards the Fleet Bridge."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "As I turned to follow Bertram, I collided heavily with a man coming in the opposite direction: William Morgan. His body was unexpectedly solid and well muscled, although why I should find this fact surprising I had no idea. I knew that the Welshman was only my own age in spite of the fact that, for some reason best known to himself, he took pleasure in acting older than he really was.\n\n'Look where you're going, chapman,' he growled, surly as ever.\n\nI apologized, wondering where he'd been. But it was no use enquiring \u2013 he would take a perverse delight in not telling me, and it was, in truth, none of my business \u2013 so I nodded a brief farewell and caught up with Bertram as he entered Fleet Street from the Strand.\n\n'What do you think Master Makepeace will give us for supper?' he asked longingly, striding out in the direction of the bridge.\n\n'Not so fast,' I said as we negotiated the slight dog-leg bend by the Church of St Dunstan-in-the-West. 'While we're here, I might as well question a few of the beggars. Someone could have seen something the night of Fulk's murder. Oh, admittedly it's probably a forlorn hope,' I added, forestalling Bertram's protest, 'but I'll have to do it sooner or later if I'm to satisfy myself and our royal patrons that I've left no stone unturned to find Fulk's murderer.'\n\n'And under stones is where this lot belong,' my companion pronounced censoriously. He gave me a withering look. 'You don't really expect to get any information out of beggars, do you? Even if they did see something, they wouldn't tell you. But the chances are they didn't. They were all roaring drunk or off picking honest revellers' pockets or spending their ill-gotten gains in the local whorehouses. For goodness sake, Roger, you're wasting your time!'\n\nI noted that I had become 'Roger' and not the more respectful 'Master Chapman' that he had accorded me earlier, a symptom of Bertram's increasing familiarity which, in its turn, was breeding contempt. Master Serifaber's cocksureness was growing too fast for my liking. I drew myself up to my considerable height.\n\n'I think this is where we part company,' I told him firmly. 'You can return to Baynard's Castle and inform Master Plummer that I no longer have need of your services.' And without giving him a chance to reply, I strode off up Faitour Lane.\n\nIt was still only mid-afternoon, and many of the beggars had not yet returned from their daily stamping grounds, those jealously guarded patches of territory within the city walls where they sat all day rattling their cups and displaying the various disabilities that accompanied their hard-luck stories. But there were a few about, squatting in the doorways of houses and brothels, counting the contents of their begging bowls, removing their eye-patches and the filthy, blood-stained bandages that had bound their balled fists into pathetic 'stumps'. I even saw a man release one of his legs from a complicated sling that had held the lower half strapped to his buttocks, while on the ground beside him lay the crutch that had supported him throughout the morning. Don't misunderstand me: there were, and still are, many thousands of genuine beggars in every city in the kingdom; but hoaxing people with fake injuries is an easy way of earning a living that will always attract rogues and vagabonds. And why not? It's each man for himself in this dog-eat-dog, rich-and-poor world.\n\nI made my enquiries, but for the most part I was met with blank-eyed stares or uncomprehending shakes of the head that might have been genuine or simply assumed \u2013 I had no way of telling. Even those who showed some intelligent interest just laughed and pointed out that murders were an everyday \u2013 or, rather, an every-night \u2013 occurrence in any big town and its environs; certainly in London. Besides, it was difficult enough, they said, to remember what had happened last night, let alone more than two weeks ago. I began to realize that Bertram had been right to accuse me of wasting my time.\n\nBut one should never give up too easily, so I hung around for a while longer until I felt that I had outstayed my welcome. Indeed, it became apparent from the mutterings and squint-eyed looks I was getting that the faitours' tolerance was wearing thin. I decided the time had come to concede defeat and retreat to the Voyager, where a cup of Reynold Makepeace's ale would help to restore my good humour. I thanked the last beggar I had spoken to \u2013 a poor scrap of humanity with thinning hair and pock-marked skin \u2013 and had already turned back towards Fleet Street when someone laid a hand on my arm.\n\n'You askin' about that fellow what 'ad his head bashed in a fortnight or so ago?' a woman's voice enquired.\n\nI stopped and glanced down into a delicate, flower-like face framed in the striped hood of the London whore. She must, I thought, be making a fortune for the pimp or brothel-master who owned her, and reflected sadly that in five years or less those pretty features would be coarsened and ravaged by disease.\n\n'Handsome fellow,' I said. 'Foreigner, name of Fulk Quantrell.'\n\n'That's him.' She nodded, smiling up at me with big, sapphire-blue eyes.\n\n'You knew him?'\n\n''E paid fer my services a couple o' times, yes. 'E was after the boys, too. The young ones.'\n\n'He told you his name?'\n\n'Why shouldn't he? I liked him. 'E liked me. Told me 'e was going to be rich one day. Richer 'n 'e was already. Said if I were patient, 'e'd rescue me from this hell-hole \u2013 me and some young lad 'e'd got 'is eye on. Liked men and women equally, he did, just so long as they were young and pretty.'\n\nI reflected that Lydia Jolliffe hadn't known Fulk as well as she thought she did.\n\n'Free with his money, was he?' I suggested.\n\nThe girl nodded. 'Mind you, didn't do me much good, did it? What I earn goes to Master Posset. 'E's my pimp. And it weren't no good giving me gifts.' She smiled sadly. 'Offered me 'is thumb ring, Fulk did. Lovely stone. All different colours and set in silver. But I told him he'd better keep it. It'd be stolen in a trice. The whorehouses ain't got no locks nor bolts on the doors. Can't hide nothing. But he would've give it me. And other things. Said 'e owned a 'broidery workshop where they kept a stock of jewels and such to sew on clothes.'\n\nI grimaced. It would seem that Fulk Quantrell had not been above appropriating to himself an importance that he had neither deserved nor possessed.\n\n'What about the night Fulk was murdered?' I asked. 'Do you know anything about that?'\n\n'He'd been with me that night. Said 'e'd come straight from St Dunstan's. Some saint's day, he told me. Some saint of the place where he come from.'\n\n'Saint Sigismund of Burgundy?' I suggested.\n\nShe pursed her soft, rosebud mouth. 'Mmm \u2026 could've been. Something like that.'\n\n'What time did he leave you, do you know?'\n\n'Late, I reckon. It was dark. Most of the wall cressets had been doused. I went with him to the door.' She broke off to indicate a mean-looking house a few yards distant, implying it was where she worked.\n\n'Did you notice anyone follow him as he left?'\n\nThe girl wrinkled her brow. 'Strange \u2026 I'd forgotten, but now you mention it, I did fancy I saw someone walking behind 'im as he got further along towards Fleet Street. Didn't think nothing of it at the time. There's always folk moving about round 'ere at night.'\n\n'What did this figure look like? Can you remember?'\n\n'Long cloak, 'ood pulled right up,' she answered promptly. 'But then, there's nothing in that. It were a cold night. I didn't hang around. Fulk was my last customer. All I wanted was my bed.'\n\n'How did you learn of his death?'\n\n'One o' the other girls told me next morning. She said, \"You know that lad what comes here reg'lar an' always asks fer you? Well, he's been found battered to death down the lane.\" I went out at once, just in time to see Joe Earless and little Sam Red Eye moving the poor lad's body round the corner, into Fleet Street. \"Why you doing that?\" I asked 'em. \"'E was right on our doorstep,\" little Sam said. \"We don't want no Sheriff's men poking around our house.\" And I suppose,' the girl added fair-mindedly, 'they don't. The good Lord alone knows what they got salted away in that shack o' theirs.'\n\n'Where do they live, this Joe Earless and little Sam Red Eye?' I asked.\n\nShe pointed at the other side of the road, to a noisome, lean-to hut which seemed to be made chiefly of bits of wood, branches of trees and ancient rags all held together by a thick coating of dried mud, erected against the outside wall of another older but equally dilapidated building. 'Over there. That's Joe Earless sitting on the ground outside, counting the day's takings.'\n\nI thanked my beautiful little whore \u2013 who offered herself free of charge, 'for a nice big man like you', if ever I wished to avail myself of her services \u2013 and picked my way across the filthy lane to where a one-eared man was sitting in the dirt, dropping a succession of coins, one by one, into a canvas bag.\n\n'Master Earless?'\n\nThe smell of him, like ancient, rotting fish, was overpowering even in Faitour Lane, not renowned for its perfumed zephyrs.\n\n''Oo wants ter know?' He raised a belligerent, weather-beaten, pock-marked face, but seemed reassured by my shabby clothes and mud-spattered boots.\n\nI explained my errand as briefly as I could, laying great emphasis on the fact that my enquiries were being made on behalf of the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, who had been deeply attached to the young man in question. Even so, Joe Earless subjected me to a long and piercing scrutiny before grunting, 'You don't look like a Sheriff's man, I must say.'\n\n'I'm not,' I said. 'I've been told you and your friend had nothing to do with the murder itself.' Not entirely true, of course, but I permitted myself the odd lie or two (or three or four or more, if necessary) in the cause of searching out justice. 'You and he merely moved the body round the corner into Fleet Street.'\n\n'Tha's right.' He stood up, stretching and shaking out his flea-ridden rags \u2013 several of the little beasts hurled themselves straight at me \u2013 and the stench made me take a hasty step backwards. 'Right 'ere, 'e was. Right on our doorstep.' (Which was one way, I suppose, of describing the pile of rotting debris in front of the flap of material covering the hovel's entrance.) 'I said to Sam, \"We've gotta move 'im,\" I said. \"Look at them clothes,\" I said. \"'E's someone, 'e is. Sheriff's men'll be makin' enquiries about 'im, swarmin' all over the place. You mark my words if they're not. We'd best move 'im,\" I said. Sam agreed, so we did. Round the corner into Fleet Street.'\n\n''Ere! 'Oo you talking to, you daft bugger?' demanded a small man of stunted growth, detaching himself from a party of returning faitours and addressing my companion. He regarded me with a pair of hostile eyes, the white of the left one being definitely tinged with red. The smell of him was even more pungent than that of his friend; and at some time or another his nose had been broken and mended at a very odd angle. He was completely bald, except for a few wisps of coarse hair adhering to the crown of his head. But what fascinated me about him most of all was a large agate-and-silver ring on the thumb of his right hand. I was filled with a sudden suspicion that amounted to total certainty.\n\nI turned back to Joe Earless. 'When you found the body, nothing had been taken from it, had it? You two stripped it of any jewellery and money it possessed.'\n\n'What you sayin'?' Joe demanded, his manner undergoing a rapid transformation from friendly to hostile. 'You accusin' us of being thieves?' The righteous indignation he managed to drum up was wonderful to behold and made me want to laugh.\n\nLittle Sam, seeing which way the wind was blowing, didn't bother with words, but gave a piercing whistle. It was obviously a prearranged signal recognized by all the beggars in the street. They appeared suddenly from every direction and began to encircle me in an ugly, muttering crowd. Too late, I realized that once again I had failed to bring my cudgel with me, not wishing to appear intimidating when calling on respectable folks, but stupidly laying myself open to attack from any unfriendly quarter. I had my knife in my belt, it was true, but I had no desire to wound anyone unnecessarily. Besides, the sight of it might inflame the mob of faitours even further.\n\nThey were all around me and beginning to close in. I could feel their stinking breath on my face and on the back of my neck. My one advantage was that I was taller and stronger than any of them. I braced myself for the first assault \u2026\n\n'Hold! In the name of the King!' yelled a voice. And there was Bertram striding towards us, his Gloucester blue-and-murrey livery easily mistaken for King Edward's murrey and blue, the emblem of the white boar for that of the white lion. 'This man's my prisoner,' he continued, forcing his way through the beggars and laying a hand on my arm. 'Got you, my man! You're under arrest. Come quietly and you won't be harmed.' He was clearly enjoying himself at my expense, and who could blame him? I had been rude and he was taking his revenge.\n\nI went docilely enough until we were clear of Faitour Lane and across the Fleet Bridge; then I clipped his ear. But he was laughing so much by this time that I don't think he felt it (although it may have stung him later).\n\n'Well, aren't you going to thank me?' he gasped as soon as he could speak. 'And what a good job for you that I hadn't gone back to Baynard's Castle as you instructed.'\n\nRuefully I acknowledged the truth of this statement. 'But how did you know what was happening?'\n\nBertram grinned. 'I followed you. Kept my distance, of course. Watched you talking to that girl and then cross over to that one-eared fellow. Did you discover anything?'\n\n'You mean apart from the fact that it's unsafe to go out without a cudgel anywhere in this city?' We passed under the Lud Gate and jostled with the lawyers around St Paul's, before proceeding along Watling Street to Budge Row.\n\n'I'll tell you about it,' I promised, 'over supper.'\n\n'You mean you're not dismissing me after all?'\n\nI clapped him on the shoulder. 'How could I possibly dismiss you, when you've just saved my hide?'\n\nOver a dish of beefsteaks cooked in red wine and dressed with an oyster-and-cinnamon sauce, I told Bertram everything I had learned in Faitour Lane. Mellowed by the food and ale, he conceded that I hadn't, after all, wasted my time and, with even greater magnanimity, that perhaps I knew more about investigating a case of murder than he did.\n\n'So,' he said, as we started on a curd flan and our second jug of ale, 'you reckon it wasn't the murderer who stripped Fulk of all his valuables, but these two beggars who moved his body? Joe Earless and Sam Red Eye.'\n\n'I'd stake my life on it. Sam Red Eye was wearing the thumb ring described to me by the little whore. Mind you, I only saw the one piece, but I'd bet my last groat there were other things belonging to Fulk hidden somewhere inside that hovel.'\n\n'And what do you think that means?'\n\nI sighed. 'Not a lot, except as confirmation of what we have rather taken for granted: that Fulk's murder was not a random killing by thieves, but by someone who wanted him dead for a specific reason \u2013 someone who didn't even stop to strip the body in order to make it look like a robbery.'\n\n'Well, I suppose that's something,' Bertram said, a little dashed. He had obviously been hoping for some far greater revelation, some brilliant deduction and insight on my part that would instantly solve the whole case. 'So what about the others? Mistress St Clair and her family, the Jolliffes, Martin Threadgold. Did you learn anything from them?'\n\n'They all said more or less what I would have expected them to say in the circumstances. There was a good deal of animosity towards Fulk, but then we knew that already.' I poured more ale into my beaker. 'One thing intrigues me, however, and that's the promptness with which the St Clairs' new will was rewritten in its original form. It's not much over two weeks since the murder, but both Judith and Godfrey said that the bequests had been restored as they were before Fulk arrived on the scene. I can only think that perhaps Judith had started to regret her impetuosity in leaving everything to her nephew, even before Fulk died.'\n\n'Conscience, you mean?'\n\n'Yes, probably \u2026 I wonder what it is Master Threadgold wants to tell me.' I shifted restlessly. 'Why couldn't the old fool say while I was there? I hate delays. They're dangerous.' I thought of Lydia Jolliffe standing at her window and watching Martin Threadgold's housekeeper running after me. An intelligent woman, it shouldn't have been too difficult for her to put the right interpretation on what she had witnessed. The thought forced me into making a decision. 'As soon as we've finished eating, I shall go back. I shan't wait until this evening.'\n\nBut my good intentions were destined to be no more than that. The sight of Reynold Makepeace anxiously pushing his way through the crowded ale room, and heading in my direction, filled me with foreboding. And I was right to be worried. A summons to Westminster Palace, where, it appeared, another great banquet was being held in honour of the Dowager Duchess \u2013 the poor woman would be as fat as a sow by the time she returned to Burgundy \u2013 had been brought by Timothy Plummer himself, no less, released temporarily from his relentless vigil against all those imaginary French spies and assassins in order to make sure that I obeyed. The invitation did not include Bertram.\n\n'Is this really necessary?' I demanded peevishly as I mounted my horse, which, on Timothy's instructions, had already been led out of Reynold's stables and saddled and bridled. (I could tell that the beast was as annoyed about the disturbance as I was.) 'I saw Duke Richard only yesterday. He doesn't usually interfere like this. In fact, he promised to leave me alone.'\n\n'Oh, stop grouching,' Timothy advised brusquely. He was no more pleased to be used as an errand boy than I was to see him. 'An important guest has particularly asked to meet you again.'\n\n'Who? And what do you mean, again?'\n\n'Wait! You'll find out,' he snapped, and I could coax nothing further out of him. Something had got under his skin.\n\nAs we jogged along the Strand, I cast a frustrated glance at Martin Threadgold's dwelling. I could see no sign of life except for William Morgan walking up the narrow lane between the two houses. Even as I looked, he scaled the St Clairs' garden wall with perfect ease, dropping down the other side and out of sight. What, I wondered, had he been up to? He was a man whose every action filled me with disquiet. I was still convinced he had been my attacker of the previous night.\n\nWestminster Palace, when we finally reached it (not without difficulty, I might say, as so many people were making their way there) was a whirlpool of noise and lights \u2013 every cresset, every torch, every candle aflame \u2013 with servants scurrying all over the place, shouting, issuing instructions, countermanding instructions, falling over their own feet and everybody else's amidst an overpowering smell of roasting meat. God knows how many swans, peacocks, capons, cows, sheep, pigs had been slaughtered to make this feast. If the Burgundian ambassadors and courtiers failed to be impressed by such a display of grandeur, then they could never be impressed by anything.\n\nNot that I was allowed to share in the occasion any more than I already had. Having seen my horse comfortably stabled, Timothy led me along a number of narrow corridors, up and down various flights of steps until he eventually, and thankfully, left me in a small, but richly furnished ante-room which, judging by the raised voice coming from behind the closed inner door, was part of a suite of rooms occupied by someone of great importance. (Well, judging by the way in which he was browbeating some unfortunate inferior, he thought he was of great importance, which is not, of course, always the same thing.) The voice was vaguely familiar, and yet I could not immediately recognize it. Nor was I able to understand exactly what was being said, although I caught a word here and there. But before memory had time to jog my elbow, the inner door was flung open by a page and a young man swept through, both hands outstretched.\n\n'Master Chapman! Roger! Naturally you remember me!'\n\nHis confidence and vanity were, alas, not misplaced. Although I had last seen him when he was a bedraggled and penniless fugitive, escaping the clutches of his elder brother, King James III of Scotland, I knew him at once: Alexander Stewart, Duke of Albany.\n\n'Your Highness.' I bowed, and he gave me his hand to kiss. 'I thought you were in France.'\n\n'I was! I was!' he exclaimed exuberantly, moderating the thick Scots tongue for my West Country ears. 'And very civilly my dear Cousin Louis treated me \u2013 that goes without saying. But now, as you see, I'm enjoying the hospitality of my dear Cousin Edward.' He grinned broadly. 'There are reasons for this change of venue which I feel sure a clever fellow like yourself will be able to fathom.'\n\nI made no reply except to bow and say, 'I'm honoured to see Your Grace once again, and in such good spirits, too.'\n\nHe punched me on the shoulder (I did wish people would stop doing that!) and said, 'Of course you are. Just as I'm delighted to be able to call you friend.' He paused, awaiting my reaction to this signal honour. When none came, he looked disappointed before producing the winning card from his sleeve. 'But think how far more honoured you will be when it's the King of Scotland who invites you to his court.'\n\nI had, indeed, guessed which way the wind was blowing as soon as I'd clapped eyes on him. He might have been well received at the French court, but Louis XI, that reportedly shrewd and wily monarch, would do nothing that might upset his Scottish ally, King James, who, with his constant harrying of the northern shires, was distracting English attention from its ties with Burgundy. It made sense, therefore, that there should be some devious scheme afoot, hatched by Albany and King Edward, to replace James III with his renegade brother.\n\nI bowed. 'I wish Your Grace every success in your enterprise, whenever it may be.'\n\nThe Duke beamed, but the eyes above the smile were hard and calculating.\n\n'A year perhaps,' he said. 'Maybe a little more, maybe less. 'But rest assured that I shall remember you, Master Chapman, when the time comes for me to ascend the Scottish throne, as I shall remember certain of your friends across the Irish Sea.'\n\nI hurriedly disclaimed any such friends and silently suppressed a shudder: the Duke's promise sounded more like a threat to me, but naturally I couldn't expect him to see it that way. So like the craven that I was, I thanked him profusely for his interest and, sensing that the interview was at an end, backed out of the ante-chamber just as the trumpets began sounding for the start of the feast. In fact, I backed straight into the Earl of Lincoln, who had arrived to escort Albany to his place at the high table among the rest of the honoured guests.\n\n'Roger!' Luckily, I divined the Earl's intention just in time and moved before he could slap me on the back. 'Have you discovered our murderer yet?'\n\n'Not yet, Your Highness. But I'm getting closer,' I assured him, lying through my teeth.\n\n'Good! Good! My uncle is relying on you. My Lord,' he went on, turning to the Duke, 'let me conduct you to your seat in the great hall.'\n\nThe two men swept past me, the candlelight gleaming on their satins and velvets, glinting on their jewelled buttons and rings. My moment of glory \u2013 if you care to call it that \u2013 was past. I was forgotten as easily as I had been recalled to mind. I had been the object of Albany's graciousness and gratitude just long enough to make him feel that he had repaid a debt (or so I devoutly hoped), and now I was free to go.\n\nI rescued my horse from the royal stables and rode back along the Strand, my one object now to hear what Martin Threadgold had to say, and hoping against hope that he had not, in the meantime, changed his mind.\n\nThe late promise of the day had been fulfilled. The clouds were banked high in the evening sky and the dying sun made paths of ghostly radiance across the quiet gardens. It caught the tops of the shadowed trees, lighting them, like lamps from within.\n\nAs I reached the Fleet Street end of the Strand, I could see a cluster of anxious people outside the first of the last three houses, all trying to calm the figure in their midst. And that figure was a small woman in floods of noisy tears.\n\nMy heart and stomach both plummeted as I recognized Martin Threadgold's housekeeper."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "I hurriedly dismounted and, leading the horse, approached the group. Apart from Martin Threadgold's housekeeper, this turned out to consist of Lydia and Roland Jolliffe, the St Clairs, Paulina Graygoss and, somewhat surprisingly, Lionel Broderer. Of William Morgan and the younger members of both families there was no sign.\n\n'What's happened?' I asked.\n\nNo one seemed to find my sudden appearance remarkable. (I think they had come to regard me rather like the Devil in a morality play, always popping up when least wanted or expected.) Judith St Clair gave me a resigned look and said, in an even more resigned voice, 'Master Threadgold is dead.' She finally managed to hush the little housekeeper's noisy sobbing with a curt word or two, which she palliated with an arm about the woman's shoulders. 'My dear Mistress Pettigrew, you have had a shock, but you must pull yourself together. Many people die in their sleep, you know. It's not uncommon, and your master was not a young man.'\n\nWhich was true, as far as it went, but there is old and then there is old; and if Martin Threadgold had been much past his middle fifties, I would have owned myself greatly mistaken. And he had died in his sleep, apparently. Now that really did surprise me; and when I had paid, and paid handsomely, two passing and fairly honest-looking youths to return my horse to Reynold Makepeace's stables, I followed Mistress Pettigrew and the rest of the party into Master Threadgold's house. I was not invited, but no one seemed to object to my presence.\n\nGodfrey and Judith St Clair took charge, as, I supposed, the representatives of the absent Alcina, the dead man's next of kin.\n\n'Now, stop snivelling and let us see your master,' Judith instructed the housekeeper, quietly but firmly. She was not, I guessed, a woman who had much time for the self-indulgence of grief. Whatever life threw at her, she absorbed the shock and just got on with living, expecting others to do the same and ignoring the fact that not everyone is capable of such stoical behaviour.\n\nPaulina Graygoss gave her fellow servant an encouraging pat on the back.\n\n'Come now, Felice,' she urged gently, 'show us where Master Threadgold is.'\n\nHe was in the little room at the top of the 'secret' stair leading up from the inglenook of the empty fireplace, slumped in his armchair. A folio, bound in moth-eaten red velvet and with broken laces, had fallen from his hand to the bare flagstones, although, oddly enough, the reading-stand had been folded down on its rusty hinges to perform its other function as a table. A tattered brocade cushion was stuffed awkwardly behind his head.\n\nIt only took a swift glance to convince us that Martin Threadgold was indeed dead. The cold and pallid skin, the slack jaw, the thread of saliva glistening on his chin and, above all else, the stillness of the body twisted at an awkward angle, left no room for doubt; and at the sight of her master, Mistress Pettigrew renewed her lamentations.\n\n'Paulina, take her downstairs and give her some wine if you can find any,' Judith St Clair recommended. There was an edge to her voice that suggested she might be more rattled by her neighbour's and former brother-in-law's death than she was prepared to admit. 'Now,' she continued when the two women had disappeared, 'Godfrey, you and Lionel, if he will be so kind, had better carry poor Martin to his bedchamber and lay him on his bed. There's nothing more we can do tonight. Tomorrow will be time enough for us \u2013 and, of course, Alcina \u2013 to make arrangements for his burial. I'll wait up for her tonight until she returns from wherever it is she's gone, and break the news. An unhappy occasion for her, but not, I fancy, one that she will find unduly distressing.'\n\n'Did anyone visit Master Threadgold this evening?' I asked, butting my way into the conversation as I recalled the sight of William Morgan walking up the alleyway between the gardens.\n\nThey all turned to stare at me in faint surprise, as though I was something nasty that had just hopped out of the woodwork.\n\nAgain, it was Judith who answered. 'You'd have to put that question to Mistress Pettigrew, Master Chapman. Neither Godfrey nor I keep account of our neighbours' movements.'\n\nAnd while I was prepared to accept that this was probably true of herself and her husband, I was extremely sceptical of the Jolliffes' exaggerated nods of agreement \u2013 well, of Lydia's, at any rate. I remembered her peering down from the side window of her house at me and Mistress Pettigrew.\n\nBut something else had attracted my attention: two small damp circles on the surface of the reading-stand table, as though a bottle and beaker had stood there at some time during the evening. But they weren't there now. I wondered what had happened to them.\n\nGodfrey St Clair and Lionel Broderer were attempting to lift the body, but the former was struggling somewhat. Dead men weigh more heavily than you think, as the term 'dead weight' implies. I stepped forward and gently elbowed him out of the way, seizing Master Threadgold under the armpits and signalling to Lionel to take hold of his legs.\n\nJudith St Clair gestured to us to wait, disappearing and returning after a minute or two accompanied by the housekeeper.\n\n'Show these gentlemen to your master's bedchamber, Felice,' she instructed. 'Then you and Paulina can lay out the corpse.'\n\nThis procedure not only entailed the lighting of candles and wall torches, as it was by now growing dark, but also a good deal of swearing on my part as I backed down that narrow stair to the great hall, through the door leading into the bowels of the house and then up another flight of steps to a chamber at the front of the building, overlooking the Strand. This was as Spartan as everywhere else seemed to be, with nothing but a bed and a chest and a chamber-pot not yet emptied from the previous night.\n\nThe rich aroma appeared to offend Lionel Broderer's sensitive nose, for he grimaced, dropped his end of our burden and hastily departed. From beneath the bed, Mistress Pettigrew retrieved a stump of a candle in a candle holder, lit it from the one she held in her hand and placed it on a narrow ledge that ran around the bed head, to the imminent danger of bed curtains as thin as cobwebs. She started crying again and muttering about her 'poor, dear master', so I let her get on with it, bending forward to take a closer look at the dead man's face. Now that I had time to examine it more carefully, I noticed suffused patches of discolouration under the eyes and along the jawline. There were others, too, all suggesting to me that Martin Threadgold might have been suffocated. I remembered the cushion, pushed so awkwardly behind his head.\n\nI repeated my earlier question to the housekeeper, who had not been present when I asked it before, but who was, of course, the one person who might know the answer.\n\n'Did anyone visit Master Threadgold this evening?'\n\nShe shook her head in denial, but immediately added, 'Only Mistress Alcina.'\n\n'When?' I demanded. 'When was this? And what did she want?'\n\nMistress Pettigrew looked surprised by the urgency of my tone, and I can't say that I blamed her. 'It was early, just after supper. She came to bring the master a flask of wine. Mistress St Clair had sent it.'\n\nIt was my turn to look surprised. 'Did Mistress St Clair often send your master gifts?'\n\n'Occasionally. And why shouldn't she? She was once married to his brother.'\n\n'Mmmm \u2026 Did Mistress Alcina speak to her uncle?'\n\n'I told her where he was and she asked me to fetch a beaker. Then she took it and the flask up to him. At least, I suppose she did. I don't know for sure. I went back to the kitchen.'\n\n'You didn't see her again?'\n\nFelice Pettigrew shook her head. 'She isn't one as is over-friendly with servants.'\n\n'Then what happened to the flask and beaker?' I asked. 'They're not in the room where you found your master. At least, I didn't see them.'\n\nShe looked at me, puzzled. 'I don't know. Maybe he got rid of them.'\n\n'Where? Did he bring them down to the kitchen?'\n\nShe shook her head slowly. 'Not as I remember. But I did fall asleep for a while. I often do of an evening.'\n\n'But surely you'd have noticed them when you woke up? On the kitchen table or somewhere.'\n\nShe shrugged, plainly beginning to lose interest. Her eyes had again filled with tears: the death of her employer outweighed any curiosity she might feel in what had become of a flask and beaker \u2013 a flask, moreover, that didn't even belong to the household. Why should she care?\n\n'Did you see anything of William Morgan during this evening?' I persisted.\n\n'No.'\n\nThat was brief and to the point. 'You're certain?'\n\nShe didn't even answer this time, but just nodded.\n\n'Could he have entered the house without your knowledge? While you were asleep, for example?'\n\n'Yes \u2026 Yes, I suppose so. The doors aren't bolted until after dark.' Her feelings were now threatening to overcome her, the tears spilling down her cheeks and her thin chest starting to heave. 'Why are you asking me all these questions? What does it matter? What does anything matter now that the master's gone?'\n\nIt occurred to me that I might be treading on delicate ground, that her sentiments towards her late employer might be more than they should have been. In which case, I was sorry, but I had to know.\n\n'What doors are those? The street door? The door into the garden?'\n\n'Both of them.'\n\n'You're saying that people can come and go at will? And if you were asleep, you wouldn't have any idea they'd been and gone?'\n\n'Why would anyone want to come in here?' she asked in genuine bewilderment. 'There's nothing to steal. Everyone knows my master was a poor man.'\n\nGlancing around me, I was inclined to agree with her. The house was a testament to poverty. On the other hand, there were more reasons than one for illegal entry. Looking again on that dead face with its patches of congested blood, the word 'murder' sprang forcibly to mind. And what of the missing bottle and beaker? Where were they? More importantly, why were they missing?\n\n'Mistress Pettigrew,' I said earnestly, 'do you know the reason for Master Threadgold's wanting to speak to me this evening?'\n\nShe shook her head, as I had been afraid she would. 'He never told me anything.' She added resentfully, 'He was always a secretive sort of man.'\n\n'But can you remember exactly what your master said when he asked you to run after me this afternoon?'\n\n'He just said there was something he thought you ought to know and to tell you to come back after supper.'\n\n'But why wouldn't he see me then?'\n\n'I explained that.' The housekeeper was growing testy. 'He always sleeps in the afternoon. He's\u2014' Her voice broke. 'He was a creature of habit. And he didn't like those habits interfered with.'\n\nI sighed. In cases of murder, people who think they know something never seem to grasp the importance of sharing that knowledge as soon as possible with someone else. I had said to Bertram that delays were dangerous and I had been proved only too tragically right. Martin Threadgold's afternoon sleep had become all too permanent.\n\nThere was nothing more to be got out of Mistress Pettigrew, and the arrival of Paulina Graygoss, equipped with cloths and bandages and a ewer of water, put any further enquiries, however futile, out of the question. I left the two women to lay out the body and found my way downstairs.\n\nThe dilemma I faced was whether or not to mention my suspicion that Master Threadgold had been murdered to Judith and Godfrey St Clair. Or, indeed, to anyone. I had no proof except that of my own eyes. The discolouration of the dead man's face was not pronounced; he hadn't struggled; he had died easily. And there was only my word that I had seen William Morgan during my ride to Westminster. Moreover, if this death and that of Fulk Quantrell were connected, as I felt sure in my own mind they must be, then to voice doubts about Martin Threadgold's death might well impede the first enquiry. And that would suit neither of my royal patrons. I therefore decided to ignore my duty as a good citizen and hold my tongue \u2013 for the time being, at any rate. I salved my conscience by telling myself that the resolution of Fulk's death would probably solve this crime, also.\n\nWhen I eventually found my way back to the great hall, I discovered that only Lionel Broderer had waited for me.\n\n'The others have all gone home,' he said. 'I thought we might walk back together. And as curfew's sounded, the gates will be shut and you'll need someone to show you how to get into the city.'\n\nWe crossed the Fleet Bridge in silence. It was a clear night, the sky dusted with stars, promise of a fine day tomorrow. The distant trees had turned to a rusty black, the last shreds of daylight netted in their boughs. We turned northwards at the Bailey until we reached a sizeable hole in the city wall close to the Greyfriars' house, leading to the Shambles. From there, five minutes' brisk walk brought us into West Cheap and a straight run home to Bucklersbury and Needlers Lane.\n\n'Have you discovered who murdered Fulk yet?' Lionel asked suddenly as we passed along Goldsmiths' Row.\n\n'You're as impatient as everybody else,' I complained sourly. 'I've only been in London two and a half days.'\n\nAs I spoke, I glanced at one of the shops to my left, scene of an earlier triumph, just over two years earlier. I wondered if I would be so lucky this time. (I admitted to myself that I had made very little progress.) A lighted window showed at the top of the house. Master Babcary or one of his family was still about.\n\n'What were you doing at Mistress St Clair's?' I asked Lionel, falling back on the maxim: 'When driven into a corner, attack.'\n\nHe looked mildly astonished. 'I was taking her the day's takings, of course. What did you think I was doing? As a matter of fact, I was just leaving when Mistress Pettigrew came banging on the door, shouting and crying. She wouldn't come in, so in the end we went out to her, Paulina and Judith and Godfrey and me. We barely had time to discover what the trouble was before the Jolliffes joined us. That woman, Lydia Jolliffe, doesn't miss anything that's going on.'\n\n'Had you been at Mistress St Clair's long?'\n\n'Not very. Judith is always civil, but she's never encouraged me to stay and talk. She doesn't treat either my mother or myself as members of the family. I've always had the impression that while she tolerates me \u2013 might even be quite fond of me in her own peculiar way \u2013 she doesn't like my mother.'\n\n'Do you know why not?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'Who can ever tell why one woman doesn't like another? They're odd creatures. Irrational. The flux makes them that way.'\n\nI said nothing. I thought of Adela and didn't dare.\n\nLionel accompanied me to the door of the Voyager, where he said goodnight, issued a pressing invitation for me to visit him and his mother at any time, then crossed the street and was immediately swallowed up in the darkness of Needlers Lane.\n\nI didn't sleep well, a fact I attributed to a number of reasons.\n\nTo begin with, my conscience continued to trouble me that I hadn't voiced my suspicions concerning the death of Martin Threadgold; but I consoled myself with my previous reasoning that if the same person were responsible for both killings, I had no wish to alert him \u2013 or her \u2013 to the idea of further danger. A sense of having got away with murder under my very nose might make my killer overconfident, thinking me a fool, and therefore more likely to make a mistake.\n\nSecondly, I was missing Adela and the children. But that, I recognized sadly, was the perverseness of my nature. I resented the claims of wife and family when I was with them, but thought of them longingly as soon as we were apart. My mother had always complained that I was like my father in ways, although not in looks, but he had died when I was too young to remember him, so I had no means of knowing if she was right.\n\nBut there was another reason for my disturbed night. The carousers in the Voyager's ale room had finally retired to their homes or beds at the inn, and the place had gradually sunk into silence. I must at last have fallen asleep some time after hearing the watch cry midnight. How long I slept before waking again, I had no idea, but I suddenly found myself sitting bolt upright in bed, convinced that someone was outside my window. I had closed the shutters against the night air, but there were chinks of light where the the wood had warped and weathered. Moreover, the shutters failed to meet properly in the middle, and as I looked, I could have sworn that a shadow passed momentarily across this gap at the same time as a board creaked, as if under someone's weight.\n\nI think I have already mentioned that my room opened on to a gallery running around three sides of the Voyager's inner courtyard \u2013 a gallery that was easily accessible from the ground by a flight of steps. But entry into the courtyard could only be gained from inside the ale room, and the street door was locked and bolted by Reynold Makepeace as soon as the last customers had left. As far as I knew, none of the guests sleeping at the inn had any interest in me except as a fellow visitor to London. All the same, I slid silently out of bed and crossed the chamber on tiptoe, noiselessly slid back the bolt of the gallery door and eased it open.\n\nThere was no one there. Foolishly, still half asleep, I stepped outside. Immediately, the door was pushed violently shut, almost knocking me off my feet in the process, and the top half of my body was muffled in a musty-smelling cloak. By the time I had recovered from my initial shock, I found myself pinned against the gallery wall, being pummelled unmercifully by a pair of sizeable fists. On this occasion, my assailant worked in silence except for intermittent grunts of satisfaction; but after my first futile attempt to free my arms, I let my body go slack, then brought up my right knee with a well-aimed blow to the man's groin. He yelped with pain. I delivered a second kick and then a third with every ounce of strength at my command. This time he let me go, wrenched open the door to my room and pushed me through it with such violence that I landed sprawled on my back, my head cracking against the bedpost. Then he fled \u2013 or perhaps in the circumstances I should say hobbled \u2013 along the gallery and down the steps.\n\nWith some difficulty, I disentangled myself from the voluminous folds of the cloak and staggered to my feet, tenderly feeling those various parts of my anatomy which felt as if they had been trampled on by a herd of stampeding cows. When I eventually recovered sufficiently to go outside again and look over the gallery paling, it was to see a shadowy figure nimbly scaling the wall on the courtyard's fourth side and finally disappearing over the top. There was little doubt in my mind that my attacker was yet again William Morgan.\n\nI half-expected that the disturbance would have roused the occupants of the rooms on either side of mine; but Reynold Makepeace's ale seemed to have acted as an effective soporific, for no one stirred. I returned to my chamber and lay down on the bed, letting my bruised body sink into the goose-feather mattress, which enveloped it with healing warmth.\n\nWhile I waited for sleep to reclaim me, I thought about William Morgan and wondered why I was the target of his virulent dislike. There was, of course, an obvious answer, but somehow I was unable to connect the Welshman with Fulk Quantrell's murder. There seemed, on the face of it, to be no satisfactory link between them. Irrelevantly, it occurred to me to wonder why William spoke with such a strong Welsh lilt when, from what I now knew of him, he had never lived in Wales. From the age of eight he had been a part of Judith's household, and before that, he and his father had been members of Edmund Broderer's. He must have copied his parents' speech \u2013 and what perhaps more natural in a child? \u2013 but it also suggested to me a certain fierce loyalty to a country he had never seen. Perhaps, I thought drowsily, it was this same tenacious loyalty that lay at the core of his nature; loyalty to people, places and things \u2026\n\nWhen I opened my eyes again, daylight was piercing the chinks and cracks in the shutters. Somewhere a cock was crowing and I could hear the sleepy voices of the kitchen maids and ostlers as they crossed the courtyard to begin the day's work. Then the landlord's sharper tones chivvied them to get on with things. I turned over on my side, intending to go back to sleep for half an hour, but instead I suddenly threw back the bedclothes and swung my legs to the floor. I was a little unsteady on my feet and aching all over, but forced myself to get dressed before going down to the pump in the courtyard to wash and shave. Then I repaired to the ale room for breakfast.\n\n'Something put the wind up your tail this morning?' Reynold asked as he served me with a beaker of his best home-brewed. 'Couldn't sleep?'\n\nI toyed with the idea of telling him about my nocturnal intruder, but decided against it. If William Morgan wanted to pay me another visit the same way, I had no wish to discourage him. But next time he would find me and my cudgel ready and waiting. I certainly didn't want Reynold putting an all-night guard on the wall, or baiting the courtyard with a man-trap.\n\n'I just need to get on with my enquiries,' I explained, 'if I'm to solve this mystery before the Dowager Duchess returns to Burgundy. If young Serifaber arrives after I've gone, would you be good enough to tell him he'll find me at the St Clairs' house in the Strand?'\n\nOne or two other early risers were drifting into the ale room by now and seating themselves at the long table in the centre. A dark-eyed man with a faintly foreign accent, whom I recognized as having one of the bedchambers next to mine, sat down beside me and enquired if I had heard anything untoward during the night; but upon my assuring him that I had slept like a log, he seemed more or less satisfied. 'Just thought I heard a noise, but obviously I must have been mistaken.'\n\n'Do you always rise at this hour?' I asked in order to divert his attention.\n\nReynold returned with a plate of bacon collops in mustard sauce and a dish of hot oatcakes, both of which I attacked with gusto. I never allow bodily discomfort to stand between me and a good meal.\n\nThe man smiled. 'You have to be an early riser if you're in the employ of the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy.'\n\nI nearly dropped my knife in surprise. 'You're employed by the Duchess Margaret?'\n\n'I'm one of her grooms and she likes to go out riding before breakfast in good weather.' He glanced at me and smiled again. 'Did you think all her retinue was housed at Baynard's Castle? There wouldn't be room. There are over a thousand of us, and even so, My Lady thinks she's travelling light.' He swallowed his ale and helped himself to an oatcake and some bacon, but he ate quickly like a man in a hurry. 'I must get to the castle stables.'\n\n'You speak excellent English,' I complimented him, and he laughed.\n\n'I was born here, but after twelve years abroad, people say I sound like a foreigner.'\n\n'Only a very little,' I assured him. 'Tell me, did you know a young man called Fulk Quantrell?'\n\n'The Duchess's favourite? Oh, yes! Him and his mother. He returned to England just after Dame Quantrell died, after Christmas. Someone told me he'd since been killed.'\n\n'He was murdered two weeks ago.'\n\nMy new friend shrugged, cramming the last of his bacon collop into his mouth and starting to get to his feet. 'That doesn't surprise me. Good riddance, I say.'\n\n'You didn't like him. Why not?'\n\n'No. As to why not, I just didn't, that's all. Like mother, like son. And now I have to go. The mare My Lady has chosen to ride this morning is in my charge. If she isn't saddled and ready when she's wanted, I shall be turned off and left to starve. The Duchess is a good enough mistress so long as her wishes are obeyed to the letter.'\n\n'And if not?'\n\n'Do you need to ask that? She's a Plantagenet!' With which succint remark, the groom wiped his mouth on his sleeve and fairly ran out of the ale room."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "I sat there for perhaps another minute, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the ale room in the early-morning sunshine \u2013 a peace shared by only one other customer \u2013 before suddenly leaping to my feet and rushing after the Duchess's groom. Of course, he had vanished, and I had no means of knowing which of the many routes to Baynard's Castle he had taken. I decided that I should therefore have to contain my soul in patience until the next time I saw him to ask what he had meant by 'like mother, like son'. As far as I knew \u2013 which, admittedly, was not as yet very much \u2013 no one had spoken the slightest ill of Veronica Quantrell. I went back into the inn and asked Reynold Makepeace for the man's name.\n\nBut the innkeeper didn't know and wasn't sure whom I meant and in any case had to go and oversee what was happening in the kitchens, having recently engaged a new cook whose methods and temperament were giving him some cause for concern. I reassured him that the inn's victuals were as good as ever, and begged him not to bother his head about it. Relieved, Reynold bustled away just as Bertram arrived, eager to know why I had been summoned to Westminster the previous evening. I had not, after all, managed to avoid him.\n\n'Master Plummer says you can have me for two more days,' he announced, when I had finished a brief account of my meeting with the Duke of Albany, 'and then I must return to my normal duties. It would be nice,' he added wistfully, 'to be able to say that I'd helped to find the murderer. Do you think that might happen?'\n\nI sighed deeply. 'Everyone, including you, is expecting me to perform miracles,' I reproached him.\n\nBut Bertram's attention had been distracted by the smell of bacon collops, and he was wrinkling his nose indignantly. 'It's Friday,' he said, pointing an accusing finger. 'All I had for breakfast was a dried herring.'\n\n'Master Makepeace isn't as particular as he should be about Fridays,' I replied smugly. 'At least, not this early in the day. They were very good, too. The bacon collops, I mean. If you don't believe me, ask one of Duchess Margaret's grooms, who's lodging here. I don't suppose you've come across him by any chance?'\n\nBut it was too much to hope that, out of all the Duchess's vast Burgundian retinue, Bertram would have made the acquaintance of one particular groom, and, alas, my expectations were not disappointed. He shook his head and continued to moan about dried herrings and the Spartan regimen of Baynard's Castle until, in self-defence, I asked Reynold, on his next appearance, to bring the lad a plate of bacon and oatcakes. And while, sunny temper restored, Bertram munched his way through this welcome repast, I recounted all that had happened the previous night. The only thing I failed to mention was my suspicion \u2013 or, rather, my belief \u2013 that Martin Threadgold had been murdered.\n\nLacking this knowledge, Bertram's interest in the death of one whom he considered to be every bit as old as Methuselah \u2013 anyone over the age of twenty, including myself, being, to my companion, in his dotage \u2013 was transitory. He seemed to think it perfectly natural that Martin should have died in his sleep and did not even suggest the possibility of murder. All his attention was centred on the second attack on my person by William Morgan.\n\n'You're certain it was him?' Bertram asked excitedly, actually forgetting to eat for at least twenty seconds and stabbing the air with his knife.\n\n'Yes, I'm certain.' I pushed the hand holding the offending weapon aside and adjured him to take care what he was about. 'And I'm even more certain now that he was my assailant on the first occasion. But this time I have his cloak to prove it.'\n\n'Are we going to arrest him?' Bertram demanded eagerly.\n\nI shook my head. 'Not yet.'\n\n'Why not?' My assistant was plainly disappointed. 'Why else would William Morgan try to kill you if he isn't the murderer?'\n\n'But why would he have wanted to get rid of Fulk Quantrell? Ask yourself that. Fulk was no threat to him. William didn't stand to lose anything by Judith St Clair's new will. Furthermore, he hasn't attempted to kill me on either occasion; and surely he would have tried harder to dispose of me if that had been his object. Both attacks have been nothing more than warnings to me to leave well alone \u2013 to cease my enquiries into Fulk Quantrell's death.'\n\n'Yet if you're right, and your enquiries pose no threat to William, what's the point of giving you a beating?' Bertram finished the last of the bacon and oatcakes and proceeded to drink what was left of my ale. Letting rip with a loud belch, he stretched his arms above his head until the bones cracked. By now the ale room was filling up, and several breakfasters glanced round to discover the source of the noise.\n\nI said, 'I can only think that he's trying to protect somebody else, but I don't know who. When I do, I might be one step nearer to finding Fulk's murderer.'\n\n'But you are going to confront him with the evidence?'\n\nFor answer, I bent down and pulled a rolled bundle from beneath my stool. It was the first time I had really examined the cloak since folding it up the previous night, and I was faintly surprised to note that, far from being made of that rough woollen cloth we used to call brocella, as I had supposed it would be, it was camlet, a much more expensive material of mixed camel-hair and wool.\n\n'A decent cloak, that,' Bertram remarked, fingering it approvingly. 'So where are we going now? Mistress St Clair's?'\n\n'All in good time. But first, on our way, we'll call at the Church of St-Dunstan-in-the-West. I think it might prove worthwhile to have a word with the priest there regarding Fulk's visit on the night that he was killed.'\n\nBertram was inclined to cavil at this, wanting action, but he knew better by now than to obstruct me: a tacit acceptance that I usually had good reasons for what I did. I just wished that I had the same confidence in myself as he did. I still felt as though I were groping my way in the dark.\n\nThe morning, unlike yesterday, was beautiful, a cornucopia of sunshine and shade spilling its coloured profusion over the busy streets. The sky stretched richly blue above the jagged rooftops, with here and there a moth-wing cloud, pale and translucent in the soft spring air. It was the sort of day that made me glad to be alive, and I experienced that same chilling spurt of anger that I had felt so many times before at the act of murder. To kill, to deprive another human being of life, was the most dastardly of crimes.\n\nBertram and I passed through the Lud Gate, pushing our way against the general tide of people coming into the city from the fields around Paddington, where the purity of the rills and streams that watered the meadows produced lush harvests of lettuces, peas and beans, water parsnips and early strawberries. The beggars and lepers, already at their stations outside the gate, rattled their tins with a ferocity it was difficult to disregard (although many hardened their hearts and managed it), and both my companion and I dropped a groat into the cup of the legless old man who propelled himself around at amazing speed on his little wheeled trolley.\n\nWe crossed the Fleet River, where small boats and barges floated like swans drowsing on the sparkling water in the early-morning warmth. Corn marigolds starred the banks with gold, and little clumps of scarlet pimpernel gleamed like blood among the grasses. All was bustle as maids appeared outdoors with their brooms to brush the doorsteps, raising clouds of choking dust over the muddy cobbles.\n\nThe Church of St-Dunstan-in-the-West was on the corner of Faitour Lane, tucked into that little dog-leg where Fleet Street starts to give way to the Strand. Dunstan has always been one of my favourite saints, being Somerset born and bred like myself, and having been Abbot of Glastonbury for many years before finally being raised to the see of Canterbury. A bit of a curmudgeon, judging by all I had ever read and heard tell of him; a man who had never hesitated to give the Saxon kings and thanes the rough edge of his tongue whenever he felt they deserved it; a man who had helped make Wessex the chief kingdom of the Saxon heptarchy and who had crowned Edgar the Peaceable first king of all England at Bath.\n\nBy sheer coincidence, the nineteenth of May was his feast day, and when Bertram and I entered the church, preparations were already under way for his patronal mass. A couple of stalwart youths were lifting down his statue from above the altar ready to be borne in procession around the church. Three women were seated on the dusty floor, busy making garlands of flowers and greenery, while the priest himself, a little man whose lack of inches told against him whenever he tried to assert his authority, was here, there and everywhere at once.\n\nI caught his arm as he tried to push past me on his way to remonstrate with a pair of giggling altar boys.\n\n'A word with you, Father, if you please.'\n\nHe stared up at me in indignation, as much, I think, at my height as at my presumption in accosting him. 'Who are you? Can't you see I'm busy?'\n\nOnce again, I found it convenient to indicate Bertram's livery. 'We're here on the Duke of Gloucester's business.'\n\nThis flurried him a little. 'The D-Duke of Gloucester?' he stammered, eyeing me uneasily.\n\nI smiled to put him at his ease. 'Don't worry, Father, you've not incurred His Grace's displeasure. Could we talk somewhere? It won't take long.'\n\nHe took a hasty glance around him, trying, I could tell, to think up a way of refusing my request. Had I cited anyone but the King's brother, and had I not been accompanied by someone in the Gloucester livery, he would undoubtedly have sent me about my business. As it was, he complied, albeit with a very bad grace.\n\n'Follow me,' he said.\n\nHe led us both outside, after ostentatiously issuing half a dozen orders to his acolytes (just to prove, I imagine, that he was not only in charge, but also a very important and busy man), and round the corner to a modest, two-storey house in the lee of the Chancellor's Lane side of the church.\n\n'Well?' he demanded impatiently, having unlocked the street door and ushered us inside. 'What does the Duke of Gloucester want with me?'\n\nThere was nowhere to sit down in the stuffy parlour except for one stool stowed beneath a rickety table; and as the priest showed no inclination to draw this out, we all stood, half blinded by the motes and specks of dust that danced in the powerful beam of sunlight shining through the unshuttered window. A pewter plate and cup, the former displaying a few crumbs of bread, the latter some dregs of stale ale, bore testimony to our reluctant host's frugal breakfast.\n\nI explained the nature of my enquiry and asked about Fulk's visit to St Dunstan's on the night that he had been killed; and I had the satisfaction of seeing the priest grow more mellow towards me. He was not, as he had feared, being called upon to account for any misdeed or misconduct, but rather to assist royalty in their quest for a murderer.\n\n'The young man who was killed,' I finished, 'came here on the night of his death, May Day \u2026'\n\n'To celebrate the Feast of Saint Sigismund of Burgundy.' The priest nodded. 'Yes, I recollect his visit well. Mind you, I don't say I should have done, otherwise. Saint Sigismund is not, as a general rule, much remembered in this country. A violent man who had his own son strangled. He repented of it afterwards, of course \u2013 they always do when it's too late \u2013 and founded the Monastery of St Maurice at Agaunum, where, if memory serves me aright, the praises of God were sung day and night.' The priest added grudgingly, 'He was very good to the poor. But in spite of that, I've never thought Sigismund a suitable candidate for sainthood.' His face brightened a little. 'He got his comeuppance in the end, you know. He was defeated in battle by the three sons of Clovis and executed at Orleans. His body was thrown down a well.'\n\n'Thank you, Father,' I said gravely, and frowned at Bertram, who had begun to fidget. 'It's always good to know these things. But about the young man who came here that night\u2014'\n\n'Yes, yes, I'm coming to that. He was an admirer of Saint Sigismund and wanted me to offer up special prayers for the repose of the saint's soul on his festival day.'\n\n'And did you?'\n\n'Naturally. I'm a priest.'\n\nI didn't ask if money had changed hands. It undoubtedly had, but there was no point in antagonizing my informant.\n\n'What was your impression of the young man?' I asked. 'I mean, was he drunk? Frightened? Nervous?' I moved an inch or two around the table in an effort to avoid the sunbeam.\n\nThe priest pursed his mouth and contemplated the smoke-blackened ceiling. 'Now, it's odd that you should ask me that, because I did think him jumpy. A couple of times, he glanced over his shoulder as though to reassure himself that he hadn't been followed. But when I thought about it later, I decided I might have imagined his nervousness.'\n\n'You know that he was the young man found dead in Fleet Sreet the following day?'\n\n'Of course I know! The body was carried into the church while we awaited the arrival of the Sheriff's men. The back of his head may have been caved in, but his face was untouched.' The priest frowned and went on, 'I've wondered since if he might have come that evening to pray for Saint Sigismund's protection.'\n\n'From whom? You didn't see anyone? No one came into the church while he was there?'\n\nThe priest thought long and hard for a moment, then shook his head.\n\n'The church was empty that evening apart from you and Fulk Quantrell?' I pressed him.\n\n'Was that his name? I don't believe I ever knew it. No, the church wasn't completely empty. A man had come in some half-hour beforehand and remained on his knees quietly praying throughout all the time this \u2026 this Fulk? \u2013 is that what you called him? \u2013 all the time this Fulk and I were talking.'\n\nBertram and I looked at one another.\n\n'Did this man show any interest in Master Quantrell?' I asked eagerly.\n\n'None whatsoever, nor the young man in him. In fact, now I come to consider the matter carefully, Master Quantrell, as you call him, might not even have noticed the stranger, who was kneeling in the shadow of the confessional, deeply absorbed in his own prayers.'\n\n'Could this man have overheard what you and Fulk were talking about?'\n\n'I should think it very unlikely. Our voices were low and, as you can see, the confessional is halfway along the nave. We were standing near the altar.'\n\n'When Master Quantrell left the church, did this stranger follow him out, do you remember?'\n\nThe priest frowned, then shook his head. 'No, but nor do I recall seeing him still \u2026 Wait a minute! Something comes back to me! Another member of my flock entered the church to make a confession just as the young man left, and there was no one kneeling near the confessional then. The stranger must have got up and gone before this unfortunate Fulk Quantrell finished his prayers.'\n\n'And you didn't think to mention any of this to the Sheriff's men when they came making their enquiries?'\n\nThe priest looked a little sheepish, but retorted sharply, 'I did not. I believe God will uncover the truth of any crime if He wishes it known without any help from me.'\n\n'You mean, Father, that you believe in not getting involved in what doesn't directly concern you. Probably a wise philosophy in the troubled times of these past thirty years.'\n\nHe shot me a suspicious look from beneath his tufty eyebrows, but 'Quite so,' was his only answer.\n\nThe little parlour had grown even stuffier than when we entered it some minutes earlier. The weight of the cloak I was carrying was making my wrist ache and I shifted it to my other arm.\n\n'We'll take our leave of you then, and thank you for all your help. His Grace shall hear of it.'\n\nThe priest, looking gratified if a little sceptical, nodded towards the cloak. 'What are you doing with that? It's Master Threadgold's.'\n\nI paused abruptly in the act of opening the door. 'I beg your pardon?'\n\n'I asked what you're doing with Master Threadgold's cloak?'\n\n'Martin Threadgold?'\n\n'Who else? His brother's been dead these many years.'\n\n'You recognize it?'\n\n'Of course I recognize it. Martin's been wearing it, summer and winter, these decades past.' The priest leaned across and fingered the material. 'Camlet. Extremely hard-wearing.'\n\n'But not that uncommon. How can you be sure that this is his?'\n\nThe priest poked the material with a stubby forefinger. 'There's a dark stain here, on the breast, just below the hood, and a rent just below that again. Then you'll notice that the drawstring at the neck is made of plaited yellow silk. Or it was yellow when the cloak was new, a long time ago.' He scraped at the cord with a blunt thumbnail, removing a coating of dirt. 'There you are! Yellow, as I told you. I suppose Martin's mislaid this somewhere and you're taking it back to him.'\n\n'I had no idea it was his.' I protested. 'I thought it belonged to quite a different person \u2026 Father, has no one told you that Master Threadgold is dead?'\n\n'Dead? When? How?'\n\n'Yesterday, during his afternoon sleep.'\n\n'Dear me! Dear me, no! No one has informed me.' I couldn't say that the priest seemed unduly upset by the news. 'Ah well! It comes to us all in the end. He has a niece, as you may know, but she's rather young. However, I feel sure Godfrey and Judith St Clair will do all that needs to be done on her behalf. Dead, you say? Well, well! Poor Martin!' He patted my arm. 'You'll find that cloak very useful in the winter, my boy.' And I realized that, in a change of opinion, he thought I'd been given the garment. Which, in a way, I suppose I had.\n\nI didn't correct his assumption and thanked him for his time and help.\n\n'Well, I hope what I've told you may prove to be of use. You \u2026 You'll be mentioning me to His Grace of Gloucester, I think you said? Ah, splendid!' He followed Bertram and me out of the priest house and disappeared once more into the church, still muttering to himself, 'Martin Threadgold. Dead. Dear me! Dear me!'\n\nBertram and I stood aside in order to allow a flock of sheep, on their way to market, to pass us by. The shepherd raised his crook in salutation. 'Thenk 'ee, masters.'\n\n'Come on!' my companion urged, tugging at my sleeve. 'I want to hear what William Morgan has to say when you confront him with the cloak.'\n\nI laid a restraining hand on his arm. 'No, that's no good, now, lad. I'll have to change my plans.'\n\n'Why?' Bertram was indignant.\n\nI sighed. 'Because he'll simply deny that it's his cloak. And it isn't. Which other people will confirm. It did cross my mind earlier to wonder why he was so willing to abandon it. Can't you see, it's no longer proof that he was my attacker?'\n\n'You're certain it was him, though?' I nodded, and Bertram chewed his bottom lip sulkily, a disappointed man. 'What now, then?' he asked.\n\nI hitched the cloak higher up my arm, took a firm grip on my cudgel and said, 'I must speak to Mistress Pettigrew.'\n\nIt was still early enough for there to be no obvious signs of life in any of the three houses at the Fleet Street end of the Strand, but I felt sure that the servants must be up and about. All the windows of Martin Threadgold's dwelling were decently closed and shuttered, as became a house of mourning, but so far no wreath of yew had been nailed to the door to indicate that an unburied body lay within.\n\nI knocked as loudly as I dared two or three times, and was just praying that Mistress Pettigrew was not afflicted with deafness when the door opened a crack and the housekeeper's tremulous voice enquired, 'Who's there?'\n\n'It's Roger Chapman,' I said. 'I must speak to you, mistress. May I come in?'\n\nShe inched the door open another fraction and peered out anxiously.\n\n'My master's dead. But you know that. You were here yesterday with Master and Mistress St Clair. I can't let you in.'\n\n'You must. I tell you I have to talk to you.' As a precaution against her closing the door, I put my foot between it and the jamb and held out the cloak with the stain and the tear uppermost. 'Do you recognize this? Does it \u2013 did it \u2013 belong to your master?'\n\nI heard her give a little gasp and she put a hand through the crack as though she would snatch the garment from me.\n\n'I've been searching for that,' she said. 'Where did you find it?'\n\nI took a hurried step backwards before she could grab it. 'Admit me and Master Serifaber, and I'll tell you.'\n\nThere was a lapse of several seconds before the door creaked protestingly on its hinges as it opened a little wider. Bertram and I squeezed through the gap.\n\nIn spite of the warmth of the morning, the house felt icily cold as if, indeed, the Angel of Death had enfolded it in his wings. I was startled; I was not generally given to such flights of fancy, and I gave myself a mental shake. I was growing morbid with my advancing years, and that would never do.\n\nOnce again, Mistress Pettigrew made as though to snatch the cloak from me, but I prevented her. 'Where did you find it?' she whispered.\n\n'More to the point,' I retorted, 'where did you last see it?'\n\nShe shivered. 'The master took it upstairs with him, yesterday, to put across his knees while he slept. But when I found him, it wasn't there. I didn't think about it at the time, I was too upset; but later, last night, I got to wondering where it had gone.'\n\n'Something else that had vanished, like the flask and the beaker,' I suggested.\n\nThe housekeeper still evinced no overt interest in the two latter items, but I saw her eyes flicker. She repeated her question about the cloak. 'Where did you find it?'\n\n'I can't tell you that just at the moment.' I clasped one of her small, cold hands in mine and said earnestly, 'It's very important that you say nothing to anyone else about this at present. Can you keep a secret?'\n\nShe stared up at me, her rheumy eyes suddenly wide with suspicion. 'Does the master's death have anything to do with the murder of that nephew of Mistress St Clair?'\n\n'Why do you ask me that?'\n\n'Because \u2026' She hesitated, considering her words, then added in a rush, 'Because I wondered if the master's death was natural. There was something about his face, some discolouration, that didn't seem normal to me.'\n\n'You mean, you think Master Threadgold was murdered, like Fulk Quantrell?' Bertram demanded, nudging me excitedly in the ribs.\n\n'I \u2026 I don't know.' The housekeeper looked frightened, fearful that she was letting her tongue run away with her. 'It's just that \u2026 well, there was something else that occurred to me \u2026 during the night.'\n\n'What was that?' I asked gently. She was plainly wishing she hadn't spoken, but, unlike me, felt impelled to voice her suspicions.\n\n'Go on,' I urged. 'You can rely on Master Serifaber's and my discretion.' I looked sternly at Bertram as I spoke, and after a moment he gave a reluctant nod.\n\nMistress Pettigrew bit on her thumbnail with small, pointed teeth, rather like a rat's, but after a while she forced herself to continue.\n\n'When I brought Mistress Alcina the beaker for the wine, she asked me if I'd like to have a cup before she took it upstairs to her uncle. She said the flask was overfull.'\n\n'And did you?' I prompted.\n\nShe nodded. 'I thought \u2026 I thought it tasted a little odd. And then, very soon afterwards, I fell asleep. And I seem to have slept extremely soundly for quite a long time.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "'Are you saying you think the wine was drugged?' Bertram demanded eagerly, his brown eyes sparkling with the excitement of the chase.\n\nThe housekeeper eyed him with growing unease, obviously regretting her moment of indiscretion and wishing she hadn't confided in us. But of course, it was what she had meant, or at any rate meant to imply. She said nothing and looked anxiously at me.\n\n'Hold hard a minute, Bertram,' I began, but my protest was ignored. The lad was pursuing his own train of thought.\n\n'And if Master Threadgold had been drugged, it would have made it easy for someone to smother him. Roger!' He turned triumphantly to me. 'Didn't you mention a cushion stuffed behind the dead man's head? You know \u2013 when you were telling me about your viewing of the body?'\n\nI cursed my too-ready tongue, which was prone to describe what I saw in detail. I was beginning to realize that Bertram was a sharp lad with a retentive memory and not the casual young layabout I had originally thought him.\n\n'There was a cushion,' I admitted cautiously.\n\n'There you are, then! So all we have to decide is who murdered Master Threadgold. It must have been his niece, Alcina. Don't you see?' He was well away by now. 'She must have murdered Fulk when she realized he wasn't going to marry her, and somehow her uncle found out the truth. So she had to get rid of him, as well. She brought him the drugged wine, waited until he fell asleep, then suffocated him with the cushion. The case is solved!'\n\nHe beamed at me with the ridiculous self-confidence of the young. I could recognize myself nine years earlier, in those heady days when I was convinced that any man past the age of thirty must almost certainly be impotent, and that any person on the other side of forty was heading rapidly downhill towards senility and the grave. Ah, youth!\n\n'If you imagine I haven't already thought of all this,' I admonished Bertram, belligerent at being made to feel old before my time, 'you're much mistaken. But unlike you, my lad, I intend to ask a few questions before leaping to conclusions.'\n\nI again addressed the housekeeper. 'Mistress Pettigrew, are you certain that you didn't see or hear Mistress Alcina leave the house after visiting her uncle?'\n\nShe shook her head. 'No. I told you last night I didn't set eyes on her after giving her the beaker to take up to the master with the wine.'\n\n'There you are!' Bertram exclaimed.\n\n'I'm not anywhere,' I snapped. 'Mistress Pettigrew also told me last night that neither the street nor garden door was locked while she was asleep. Anyone could have entered the house during that time. And as yet we have no proof that the wine brought by Mistress Alcina was drugged. (It was, after all, a gift from Judith St Clair.) We only have Mistress Pettigrew's unconfirmed suspicion that it might have been.' Personally, I considered the housekeeper's suspicion tantamount to a certainty, but I wasn't prepared to say so at this juncture. 'Mistress Pettigrew,' I went on, 'what arrangements are being made for Master Threadgold's burial?'\n\nShe shrugged her thin shoulders. 'Not my affair. I'll be leaving here soon.' She dabbed her eyes with a corner of her none-too-clean apron. 'It's up to Mistress Alcina now. The master'd no other kith or kin that I know of. And she'll not want for guidance while she has Mistress St Clair to help her.' She jerked her head in the direction of the house next door. 'They'll be in directly, I reckon, after they've been to consult with the priest at St Dunstan's. And there'll be others poking their noses in, you can be sure of that.' The housekeeper sniffed disparagingly.\n\nI glanced towards the windows. The clarity of light piercing the shutters and the muted noise reaching us from the Strand indicated that it was still comparatively early. With luck \u2013 and for the moment I had a feeling that the luck was running my way \u2013 it might be another hour, perhaps a little longer, before the efficient Judith St Clair arrived to take charge.\n\n'Mistress Pettigrew,' I wheedled, 'will you give your permission for my assistant and myself to look around the house? Naturally, we shan't disturb your master's body.'\n\nShe hesitated for a moment before recollecting that she was no longer in a position to give or refuse permission. This was not her home any more. I suspected that Paulina Graygoss might have given her fellow servant a hint of what to expect last night, while they were laying out the corpse.\n\n'If you want to,' she said indifferently and pattered away, presumably to the kitchen, leaving Bertram and me standing amid the dust and dead flies and mouse droppings of the musty-smelling great hall.\n\n'I don't understand,' my companion protested. 'If we suspect Master Threadgold's death might have been murder, why are we pretending not to know? Why aren't we reporting it to the Sheriff's officers? Or to Master Plummer? Or to someone in authority?'\n\nI didn't answer immediately, once again reviewing my reasons to see if they held water. At last, more or less satisfied, I explained, 'Because I believe the death of Martin Threadgold really is connected to that of Fulk Quantrell, and I don't want the murderer to be put on his or her guard. I want him \u2013 or her \u2013 to believe that he \u2013 she \u2013 has got away with this murder. When killers grow overconfident and think they're dealing with incompetent fools, they're liable to make mistakes. Don't worry! Martin Threadgold will be avenged when we eventually capture whoever killed the Burgundian.'\n\n'You're sure about that?' Bertram sounded doubtful.\n\n'As sure as I can be about anything. Of course, if you feel that you must speak up, I can't, and shan't, stop you. But if you do, I sincerely believe we shall find further evidence hard to come by. The murderer will take fright and go to ground.'\n\nBertram considered my words carefully before allowing himself to be persuaded. It was an unexpected sign of maturity in the lad: he was not as feckless as I had thought him. On the other hand, having to explain myself and get his agreement riled me. I had not wanted, nor asked, to be saddled with an assistant, and I silently cursed Timothy Plummer's interference in my affairs. I am much happier when working alone.\n\n'Very well,' my companion finally conceded. 'So, why are we searching the house? What are we looking for?'\n\n'For a start, a beaker and the flask Alcina brought the wine in. I'm not hopeful of finding either, I must admit, and in any case, they'd most likely prove nothing if we did. Both must have been rinsed clean by now: any tell-tale lees of wine are bound to have been removed. So \u2026 apart from those two items, nothing in particular, but everything in general. If I'm honest, I don't really know what we're looking for. We're just looking.'\n\nI could tell by Bertram's expression that he found this an unsatisfactory quest, but he had the natural curiosity that is common to all human beings (men as well as women, however much they may deny it), and poking and prying among other people's possessions is one of the most intriguing occupations that I know.\n\nBy common, if unspoken, consent, we both made for the little room above the inglenook where Martin's body had been discovered. A keen scrutiny, however, revealed nothing more than we were already aware of; no missing beaker or flask came to light. The tattered cushion sat innocently on the abandoned chair and the cloak that had covered the dead man's knees was still rolled up under my arm. Someone had removed it from this room; either William Morgan or somebody who had later given it to him. My preference was for the Welshman himself, but whether that made him the murderer I was still uncertain. Martin Threadgold could have been dead when William entered the chamber.\n\nThat, of course, begged the question as to why William should have been there in the first place. Had he been sent by someone? And if so, for what reason? Or was he just a casual thief, entering a house he knew to be easy of access at certain times of the day when its two occupants were known to be resting, probably sleeping? Was he in the habit of doing this \u2013 of helping himself to money or small objects that he could sell for cash? Mistress Pettigrew had said there was nothing in the house worth stealing, but it was possible that there were things of whose value she was unaware, or just items that would raise a few coins to buy a thirsty man a drink. William Morgan had been in this room some time during the previous day, of that there could be no doubt. His possession of the cloak made it a certainty \u2013 if it was indeed the Welshman who had attacked me the preceding night. But was I sure of that? I had been until that moment, but now I was suddenly beset by misgivings.\n\n'What are you looking at so intently?' Bertram's voice broke in on my thoughts and made me start.\n\n'Looking at?'\n\n'Yes. You're staring at those shutters like a man in a trance.'\n\nI became aware that I was indeed standing by the window, my forehead almost pressed against the wooden slats through which the sun was filtering in a desperate attempt to lighten this dark and gloomy little room. On impulse, I threw open both the shutters and the casement, letting in the sweet scent of flowers combined with the stink of the river and the warm, balmy morning air. I put one knee on the window seat and took a deep breath, at the same time scanning the garden below.\n\nIt was plain to see that this had not been cultivated for some considerable time, probably years. Weeds ran riot, choking whatever flowers and herbs had originally been planted \u2013 all except the roses, which grew in profusion among the long seeding grasses and were slowly reverting to the pale hedge-and dog-roses from which they sprang. Part of the boundary wall had crumbled and the cracked grey stones thrust their way through the smothering ivy like bones through broken skin. A tangle of loosestrife showed purple amongst the green.\n\nThe contrast with the St Clairs' garden could not have been greater. There, all was order and neatness, culminating in the beauty of the willow tree, stooping to look, Narcissus-like, at its own reflection in the river, trailing its branches across the surface of the water. This was the tree that, according to Martin Threadgold, his brother had planted for the wife he had abused; a strangely tender gesture for such a brutish man. But then everyone, I supposed, had some saving grace, some moments when his better nature predominated \u2026\n\nI pulled myself up short. I was growing philosophical, God save the mark! A sure sign of advancing years! I should have to watch out for this deplorable tendency and nip it in the bud. I smiled at Bertram.\n\n'There's nothing more to find here. Let's look at the rest of the house while we have it to ourselves.'\n\nWe descended the hidden staircase to the great hall and made our way through the door into the rabbit warren of rooms and passages beyond. But this inspection, alas, yielded little of any value to my pitifully slim store of knowledge. I was no nearer discovering my murderer than I had been three days earlier on first arriving in London. Bertram, of course, wavered between the almost total certainty of its being William Morgan and the conviction that our killer was Alcina Threadgold. Just at present, the former was favourite for immediate arrest. My demands for a motive, for a positive link between the two men, were either ignored or merely served to convince my companion \u2013 for the next five minutes at least \u2013 that Alcina was the culprit.\n\n'Perhaps they're both in it together,' he suggested with a sudden burst of inspiration.\n\nI couldn't deny that the lady had had a strong motive for disposing of Fulk Quantrell, and therefore, eventually, might also have had one for getting rid of her uncle, depending on what he knew. But I felt that she and the Welshman were unlikely allies; and for some reason that I couldn't quite explain, even to myself, I was reluctant to view Alcina as a suspect. Why this should be so, I had no idea, but I had an uneasy suspicion that I ought to know. In the end, I concluded that there must be something lodged in the deepest recesses of my memory, like a fishbone in the gullet, worrying and scratching at me; but for the moment I was unable to draw it out. It was a sensation I had often experienced in the past, but over the years I had learned to let these things go. My memory would regurgitate whatever it was in its own good time. For now, I would do well to follow my instinct to move slowly and cautiously towards the solution of this case.\n\nI kept my promise to Mistress Pettigrew and left Martin Threadgold's body undisturbed, but this didn't prevent me from taking a good look around his bedchamber. (Promises, after all, depend on how you word them.) At first, I thought I was wasting my time; the room offered practically nothing in the way of furnishings, and what there were were either shabby and broken or torn. Moreover, Bertram was unhappy at his proximity to the corpse and anxious to get out of the room as quickly as possible. The sickly-sweet smell of corruption and decaying flesh, and the angry buzzing of several predatory flies were starting to make both of us feel ill. The bile was rising in my throat.\n\n'There's nothing to be found here or anywhere else in the house,' I grunted, wondering why on earth I had ever thought there might be.\n\nBut leave no stone unturned has ever been my motto, particularly when it satisfies the nosy streak that my mother and, subsequently, scores of other people have accused me of possessing. And I have always prided myself on my strong stomach, which rarely turns queasy at the sights and smells other people find so distressing. So I was disgusted to feel a wave of dizziness and nausea as I followed Bertram to the door, and steadied myself by leaning heavily against the wall to the right of the bed head. To my horror, I seemed to become enveloped in the tapestries, which only released me from their dusty, tattered tentacles as I pitched through the wall into an empty space beyond.\n\nWinded and more than a little shaken, I lay still for perhaps half a minute, then struggled painfully to my feet. In Stygian darkness, I cautiously felt all round me and judged I was in a chamber hardly bigger than an oubliette. The walls were rough stone and mortar except for a single wooden panel, presumably the entrance that had opened to let me in. I was forced to stoop to avoid hitting my head against the ceiling, but there were no other obstacles. The room \u2013 if one could dignify it by that name \u2013 was empty.\n\n'Chapman, where are you?' I could hear Bertram's anxious voice on the other side of the wall.\n\nFor answer, I pushed against the wooden panel, expecting it to revolve as it must previously have done in order to let me in. Nothing happened. I pushed again with greater force, but to no avail. I began to panic, thumping the wood with both fists.\n\n'Bertram! I'm here, behind the wall. I know it sounds silly, but\u2014' The panel once more swung inwards and Bertram was standing beside me in the blackness.\n\n'I've seen one of these things before,' he announced delightedly, pleased to be able to air his superior knowledge. 'It's called a fly trap. You can get in, but you can't get out without the proper key.'\n\n'But we don't have the key,' I pointed out with enormous self-restraint. 'And now, thanks to your stupidity, we're both trapped inside and nobody knows where we are. I doubt if the air in here will last more than half an hour.'\n\n'We'll have to shout, then.' Bertram didn't seem at all perturbed.\n\n'I very much doubt,' I retorted with asperity, 'that we shall be heard. Mistress Pettigrew is most probably in the kitchen, and in addition, I suspect she's somewhat deaf.'\n\n'In that case,' my young friend responded cheerfully, 'we'll just have to wait until Mistress St Clair arrives from next door.'\n\n'We don't know when she'll be here. It could be hours yet before she comes.' My temper was getting shorter by the minute as I felt the sweat begin to trickle down my back. The air was already growing fetid and my heart had started to thump unpleasantly. I drew my knife from my belt and felt up and down both sides of the wooden panel. 'You say these \"fly traps\" have keys, therefore they must have locks. In which case, we'll just have to try picking this one.' And I made a desperate effort to remember all that Nicholas Fletcher, my fellow novice at Glastonbury, had taught me.\n\nThe first rule, of course, was to keep a steady eye and hand, two things in this hell-hole that were well nigh impossible. I couldn't even see the lock.\n\n'Calm down, Master Chapman,' Bertram said with a chuckle. I could have sworn he was smirking. 'Give me the knife. The locks to these things are always in the middle of the door and have a double mechanism that it's almost impossible to undo without the key. Unless, of course, you have the knack.'\n\n'And you do?'\n\n'I was with my father when he installed one in a house at Holborn some years ago. Now, stand back and give me room.'\n\nHe ran his fingers lightly over the surface of the wooden panel, then nodded. 'Yes, here it is, just where I said it would be; plumb in the centre.' He took my knife, fiddled for a moment, twisted the blade first this way, then that, then back again, and finally gave a triumphant grunt as the door swung outwards. Seconds later, we were both safely back in Martin Threadgold's bedchamber.\n\nI wiped the sweat from my face and tried to avoid looking at my companion's smug expression.\n\n'What are these so-called \"fly traps\" used for?' I asked in a shaken voice.\n\n'Well, the one whose lock and mechanism we installed at Holborn \u2013 we didn't build the trap itself, you understand. My father's a serifaber, not a builder \u2013 was for use as a safe. The owner of the house intended it as a store for his coin and plate.'\n\n'But thieves can get in.'\n\n'But they can't get out again, can they? Not without the key. Not unless they know the secret of the lock, like me. So if someone does try to rob you, you've caught the thief. That's why they're called \"fly traps\".'\n\n'But supposing someone falls in accidentally, as I did?'\n\nBertram shrugged. 'You were just unlucky. You must have touched the hidden spring. It's not that easy to do unless you're trying to find the entrance.'\n\nI glanced involuntarily at the dead man on the bed. Martin Threadgold had told me yesterday that these three dwellings had once been a part of the Savoy Palace: whorehouses, he had thought, standing at a distance from the principal building. But perhaps they had also been used as treasure stores. I wondered if the two neighbouring dwellings had 'fly traps' as well.\n\n'Let's get out of here,' I urged. I was more upset by my recent ordeal than I cared to admit.\n\nWe made our way back through the shuttered gloom of the house to the great hall, only to discover Mistress Pettigrew in the act of opening the street door to Judith and Godfrey St Clair, who were closely followed not just by Alcina, but also by Paulina Graygoss and Jocelyn. Instinctively, realizing that our presence would be unwelcome, both Bertram and I shrank back into the shadows, but I held the door between the passageway and the hall ajar.\n\n'William has gone for Father Arnold at St Dunstan's. They'll be here directly.' Judith's voice carried clearly across the intervening space. 'You can bring us some wine, Felice, here, in the hall, while we're waiting.'\n\nThe housekeeper muttered something under her breath, but obedience was natural to her, and she turned and shuffled across the hall. I gripped Bertram's arm, pulling him in the direction of a flight of steps to our right, which I guessed led down into the kitchens \u2013 a guess which proved correct. As in the St Clair house, there was also a stone-flagged passage with a door at one end that led into the garden. I ushered Bertram through and we found ourselves in the overgrown wilderness we had seen from the upstairs window.\n\nIn its ruined state the garden wall was easy enough to climb, and in a matter of minutes we had both dropped to our knees in the alleyway between Martin Threadgold's property and the St Clairs'. Brushing my hose clean of grit and dirt, I eyed the opposite wall meditatively.\n\n'Everyone's out,' I said. 'Now's our chance to have another look around.'\n\nBertram shook his head decisively. 'Not in this livery, Chapman. I daren't. I can't afford to be caught trespassing in someone's house. Especially not someone like Mistress St Clair, who has influence with Duchess Margaret. I'll go back to the Voyager and wait for you there.'\n\nAnd no doubt indulge in a beaker or two of Reynold Makepeace's best ale, I thought grimly, which you'll instruct him to add to my reckoning. Meanly, I nipped his little scheme in the bud.\n\n'You'll stay outside,' I told him, 'and if anyone shows any sign of returning, you'll waylay them.'\n\nBertram looked sceptical, as well he might. He didn't even bother to enquire how he was to perform this feat. He knew my real motive for keeping him away from the Voyager as well as I did.\n\n'Try not to be too long,' he said caustically. 'Here, you'd better give me that cloak. You must be tired of dragging it around with you, and it might prove a hindrance.'\n\nGratefully I surrendered the article in question, scaled the St Clairs' garden wall, not quite with the ease with which I had climbed its neighbour, and landed this time more heavily and with even less grace. For a moment, I was afraid I had wrenched one of my ankles, but after a few hesitant steps, all seemed to be well.\n\nI had counted on the fact that the garden door would be unlocked, and I was not disappointed. It opened easily into the kitchen passage, and halfway along were the arch and the 'secret' stair. Luck was certainly with me this morning, for when I reached the top of the steps leading to Mistress St Clair's bedchamber, that door, too was unbolted.\n\nI eased myself inside, where my feet gratefully encountered the softness of the embroidered carpet. Today, the two chests standing against the opposite wall, with their carvings of grapes and vine leaves, were properly closed. No belts or sleeves or scarves spilled over the sides. The bed under its dazzling counterpane was neatly made, the Daphnis and Chloe curtains pulled back and carefully wound around the bedposts beneath the canopy. A fresh candle \u2013 wax, of course, not tallow \u2013 had already been inserted into the candlestick ready for the coming night. This was a household where efficiency was highly prized.\n\nI noticed also, which I had not done on my previous visit, that the walls were hung with the same beautifully crafted embroidered tapestries that I had seen both at the Needlers Lane workshop and in Lydia Jolliffe's parlour. They covered every inch of the grey stone walls except \u2026 except for one wooden panel near the bed head. My heart lurched excitedly. Was it possible that this house also boasted a 'fly trap'? And was this it?\n\nThese three houses were very similar in many respects, both outside and in. And why shouldn't they be? If they had indeed been a part of the Savoy Palace and built for the selfsame purpose, then it was more than likely that they contained many identical features. I already knew that this one and the late Martin Threadgold's had a 'secret' stair. Why not, then, a 'fly trap'? But this time I would not be caught. Forewarned was forearmed.\n\nI walked round the bed and surveyed the wooden panel. Bertram had spoken of a hidden spring which I had accidentally triggered when I fell against it; so, now, I extended my arms to their full length and, with my hands, cautiously began pressing the surface.\n\nNothing happened for what seemed like an age, but was probably no more than ten or twelve seconds. Then I spotted a mark right in the centre of the wooden panel: a tiny circle with a thread-like circumference of silver, almost invisible until the light struck it at just the right angle. Hastily, I took off one of my boots and pressed the circle with the tip of my index finger. Immediately, the panel swung inwards, staying open just long enough, I judged, to allow someone to step inside. Then it began to close again. But this time it remained ajar, unable to move any further, jammed against the tough leather of my boot."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "This left very little room for a man of my height and girth to get through, so I tried pushing the door further open, but it refused to budge. I then pressed the unlocking device again, but nothing happened. Obviously, this would only work if the door were closed. Exasperated and uneasily conscious that I was wasting time \u2013 time in which Mistress St Clair might return to the house \u2013 I removed my boot from the aperture, allowed the panel to swing shut, then took off both boots and, when I had once more unlocked the door, shoved them, side by side, into the vacant space. Now there was enough leeway for me to enter with ease.\n\nThis 'fly trap' was roughly the same size as the one in Martin Threadgold's bedchamber, being, I judged, no more than two to two and a half feet square \u2013 about as big as a large cupboard. The main difference was that the walls were panelled and a shelf, some five or six inches wide, ran along the back wall. A carved wooden box stood at one end of it and proved to be unlocked when I lifted the lid, but the contents were disappointing. Two gold chains, a necklet and matching bracelet of quite small emeralds set in silver \u2013 and, as even I could see, poorly set, at that \u2013 a gold-and-agate thumb ring, half a dozen pearl buttons and a jade cross on a silken string. Judith St Clair might be a wealthy woman, but one thing was certain: she didn't waste her money on the adornment of her person.\n\nBeneath the shelf, on the floor, was a much larger box on which I had stubbed my stockinged toes as I stepped over my boots into the chamber. This, too, was unlocked \u2013 and indeed why shouldn't it have been, stored as it was in the 'fly trap'? \u2013 and held only a man's rolled hose, tunics, cloaks and bedgowns, all laid up in lavender in the vain hope of discouraging the moths. (Several overweight and overfed little monsters flew at me angrily as I raised the lid.) These, I presumed, were the clothes of either the late Edmund Broderer or Justin Threadgold or perhaps both; the sad remains of Judith's first two marriages.\n\nThere was nothing else except for an oddly shaped key hanging from a hook driven into the front of the shelf. I guessed that this must be the key which opened the 'fly trap' from inside, but I was not about to close the door in order to confirm this theory. I preferred to step back outside and pick up my boots, whereupon the panel completed its interrupted journey and closed with a quiet, but menacing thud.\n\nI gave a hasty glance around the rest of the room, but nothing appeared to have been added or removed since my last visit; so, uneasily aware that time was passing, I slipped on my boots, opened the door once more and began to descend the 'secret stair'. I was about halfway down when someone below called, 'Who's there?'\n\nI jumped and almost lost my footing, but my panic was momentary. I had recognized the voice as that of Betsy, the bigger of the two kitchen maids. Like a fool, I had forgotten the presence of the girls in the house, but I consoled myself with the thought that at least I would be able to allay their suspicions more easily than those of Paulina Graygoss or William Morgan. I took the remaining steps in a single leap (trying to show off and giving my spine a nasty jar in the process) and treated Betsy to my most charming smile.\n\nIt didn't work. 'What were you doing in the mistress's bedchamber?' she asked suspiciously. 'Does Mistress St Clair know that you're poking about among her things?'\n\n'Er \u2013 no. And I'm hoping you won't tell her.' I tried again with the smile and this time was slightly more successful.\n\n'Are you still looking for clues about Master Fulk's murder?'\n\n'Yes.' Nothing but the truth could explain my presence in Judith St Clair's chamber.\n\n'You don't suspect the mistress, do you?'\n\nAs questions went, that was a difficult one. I gave her my stock answer. 'I suspect everyone.'\n\n'Even me and Nell?'\n\n'Well \u2026'\n\n'Oh, we wouldn't mind if you did. It might be quite exciting.'\n\nI had never considered that being a suspect in a murder enquiry was anything but nerve-wracking and something to be avoided at all costs. I laughed.\n\n'I must go,' I said. 'I came in over the garden wall and through the back door, but do you think you could let me out at the front? \u2013 provided the coast is clear, that is.'\n\n'I'll look out first and make certain,' she offered. (The smile must have worked even better than I'd hoped.)\n\nNell suddenly appeared from the kitchen and Betsy briefly explained my presence to her. With the morals of her kind, Nell seemed to find nothing reprehensible about my rummaging among Mistress St Clair's belongings, and I guessed that she had often done it herself when Judith was absent. It was one of the ways servants took revenge on their masters and mistresses for their long hours, poor wages and being constantly at everyone's beck and call.\n\nBetsy led our little procession up the main staircase, towards the great hall. I followed. Nell brought up the rear.\n\n'Do you really find out what's happened to people who've disappeared or got themselves killed?' the latter asked.\n\n'Sometimes.' I decided I was being far too modest, so added firmly, 'More often than not.'\n\nWe had traversed another corridor and ascended a second, much shorter flight of stairs before she spoke again. As we at last entered the great hall and Betsy padded over to the street door, Nell said, almost offhandedly, 'P'raps you could find out what happened to my young brother then, when you've discovered who killed Master Quantrell.'\n\n'Your brother?'\n\n'Yes. He was called Roger, too. Used to work here, helping William Morgan in the garden; but about two years since, he just up and left. Vanished. Haven't seen him since.'\n\nMemory stirred. I recalled Gordon St Clair mentioning the brother of one of the kitchen maids and seeming peeved that the lad no longer reported for work.\n\n'How old was he?' I asked, and was told that Nell thought he might have been about ten when he disappeared. So he would be twelve or thereabouts now.\n\n'Maybe he just ran away,' I suggested. 'Boys of that age do. They get all kinds of nonsensical notions into their heads. They think it could be fun to go for a soldier or stow away on a ship. It isn't, of course. Quite the opposite. But they don't know that until it's too late.'\n\n'I don't think Roger was that sort,' Nell demurred. 'He liked gardening. He liked planting things and digging in the earth.' She shrugged her thin shoulders. 'I daresay he'll turn up again one day, like a bad penny.'\n\nBetsy, who had been reconnoitring outside the street door, now turned and hissed at me, 'There's no sign of the master or mistress. They must still be next door. But I can see your friend. He's over on the other side of the road, buying a pie. Two pies,' she amended hungrily.\n\n'That sounds like Bertram.' I slipped my arm about her waist and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek by way of thanks.\n\n'What about me, then?' Nell demanded, coming alongside and proffering her lips.\n\nI kissed the tip of her nose instead. I didn't believe in favouritism. Then I made my way across the Strand to Bertram's side and nipped one of the pies \u2013 fish, unfortunately: it was Friday \u2013 from his hand before he realized I was there. He protested, but faintly, too relieved to see me to make much fuss. And indeed, I was only just in time. As we stared across to the Threadgold house, Alcina, Judith and Godfrey St Clair emerged, followed by Jocelyn, the priest from St Dunstan's, Paulina Graygoss and William Morgan. I was amused to note that while I had been next door, they had also been joined by all three Jolliffes, who were having no compunction in adding their mite to the general discussion being carried on amongst the group. Only the housekeeper and the Welshman took no part.\n\nBertram and I were too far away to hear what was being said, but I could tell by Judith St Clair's stiff-necked attitude that she considered her neighbours' intrusion into her affairs unwelcome. I touched Bertram on the arm.\n\n'Let's go back to the Voyager. It must be gone ten o'clock. This pie's rotten. The fish is all bones and no flesh.' I spat out the contents of my mouth on to the road. 'I fancy one of Reynold's good dinners.'\n\nMy companion flung an arm around my shoulder and, without saying a word, urged me forward.\n\nWe chose fish pies again, but these were vastly different affairs from those Bertram had purchased from the pieman in the Strand. A thick suet crust enclosed succulent pieces of eel, and the sauce oozed out all over the plate when they were cut \u2013 sauce which we mopped up later with chunks of good wheaten bread. Bertram, stuffing himself while he was able, to augment the meagre fare of Baynard's Castle, had a second helping.\n\nWhile we ate, we assessed what we knew about the murder of Fulk Quantrell. And it wasn't much. In spite of my conviction that I had twice been attacked by William Morgan, I couldn't prove it. The cloak, which I had assumed to be his, had proved a false lead, belonging as it did to Martin Threadgold and having last been seen in his possesion by Felice Pettigrew. I was sure enough in my own mind that William had stolen it for his own use when he entered the Threadgold house and found Martin either asleep or dead. That, of course, raised the question: had he killed Martin? And if so, was he also the murderer of Fulk?\n\n'Well, I'd say \"yes\" on both counts,' Bertram said thickly, raising his plate to his mouth and drinking the remaining sauce, afterwards licking his lips clean. He had evidently abandoned Alcina as the possible killer of her uncle.\n\n'Why?' I asked, leaning forward and speaking quietly. We were in a secluded corner of the ale room and there was a good deal of noise and clatter going on all around; but some people have very acute hearing, and I had no wish to make them free of our conversation.\n\n'Why what?' Bertram swigged his ale.\n\nI sighed. 'I've asked you this before. Why would William Morgan want to murder either Fulk Quantrell or Martin Threadgold? What grudge, what reward, links him to either man?'\n\nBertram squirmed a bit on his stool, but eventually announced defiantly, 'He didn't like them. They'd annoyed or injured him in some way, at some time or another.'\n\nI considered this proposition, but found it dubious.\n\n'You might kill one person for such a reason,' I agreed reluctantly, 'but not two.'\n\nBertram remained defiant. 'They say it's easier to do murder a second time, once you've committed the first.'\n\n'Maybe \u2026' Then I shook my head. 'I'm not saying William Morgan's innocent, but I'd want a better reason than sheer vindictiveness for him to be the guilty party.' I saw Bertram open his mouth to argue, but waved him to silence. 'Don't bother asking me why. It's just a feeling, but I've learned to trust my instincts. So! What else do we know?'\n\n'We know Alcina took Martin the wine which was \u2026 which we believe to have been drugged.'\n\nI smiled faintly. 'You're learning, lad. And we also know that some hours before Fulk was murdered, he had told Alcina bluntly that he had no intention of marrying her. He claimed to have a sweetheart in Burgundy. She was very upset and left the embroidery workshop in pursuit of him. She said she visited her uncle, a story Martin Threadgold confirmed. But \u2026'\n\n'But he's dead, as well,' Bertram finished slowly. 'Now there's a thought, chapman. Suppose Alcina's story wasn't true, and her uncle had threatened to expose it for a lie. Perhaps he was blackmailing her. Wouldn't that have been a motive for her to kill him?'\n\n'Perhaps. But we must not let ourselves get carried away. Everything we've said so far is supposition. Maybe we're wrong and Martin wasn't drugged and murdered. We must concentrate our attention on Fulk.'\n\nBertram grimaced and finished his ale. 'That's opening the floodgates to a whole torrent of suspects: Jocelyn and Godfrey St Clair, all three of the Jolliffes, as well as Alcina herself.'\n\nI nodded glumly. 'You've forgotten to mention Lionel Broderer and his mother. Not that I think Martha Broderer a likely suspect, but she might have killed on her son's behalf if she considered that Fulk was robbing Lionel of his just deserts.'\n\nMy companion chewed his bottom lip. 'What else do we know?'\n\n'Fact or hearsay?'\n\n'Both, I suppose. After all, if we rule out hearsay, there's not a lot left.'\n\nI laughed and patted Bertram on the back. 'Timothy Plummer will live to be proud of you yet. Cynicism is of far greater value to an investigator than wide-eyed enthusiasm.'\n\nBertram looked pleased at this unexpected praise, and was about to say something when he paused, frowning, staring at a group of newcomers who had just entered the inn.\n\n'Now what's he doing here? I didn't think the Voyager was one of his haunts. I thought he frequented the Bull, in Fish Street.'\n\n'Who are you talking about?' I enquired, following his gaze.\n\n'Brandon Jolliffe.'\n\nA man was outlined against the bright sunshine blazing in through the open ale-room doorway, but with his back to the light, it was difficult to make out his features. He was certainly short and stocky. Then, suddenly, having spotted us, he changed direction and came towards us.\n\n'It's not Brandon,' I said. 'It's Lionel Broderer.'\n\nAs the man approached and his face could be seen more clearly, it became obvious that he was a good deal older than Master Jolliffe.\n\nBertram smiled, a little sheepishly. 'They look similar at a distance,' he excused himself.\n\nI had to admit that they did, at the same time experiencing an uneasy stirring at the back of my mind, as though some fact that I couldn't quite pin down was nudging me towards a connection that I was unable to make. I made a desperate effort, but it was already too late. Lionel had drawn up a stool to our table and was greeting me like a long-lost friend.\n\n'Roger! We meet again. Do you have any idea of what's happening in the Strand? If I know Judith, she's taken charge. All the same, if you should happen to see Alcina, would you tell her that I was asking about her? I should be only too happy to render her any assistance in my power.'\n\n'We've already visited the Threadgold house this morning.' I smiled sympathetically. 'And you've guessed aright, I'm afraid. Mistress St Clair has everything under control. I doubt there's anything left for you to do by this time.'\n\nHe looked so downcast that I whistled to a passing pot boy and ordered him a mazer of ale. He could buy his own fish pie: my generosity didn't extend that far.\n\n'Strange, Martin going like that,' he remarked, after he had thanked me. 'He was only saying to me the other day that he felt better in health than he had done for a long time. He suffered from attacks of breathlessness, you know, but thought they had lessened since that stretch of the Thames had been cleared of some of the muck and sediment on the river bed. Farringdon Without has always been one of the more public spirited and progressive wards.'\n\nThe pot boy brought Lionel's ale, which he downed almost in one gulp, letting out a great 'Ahhh!' of satisfaction and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.\n\n'You were thirsty.'\n\nHe nodded. 'The workshop gets very hot this time of day.'\n\n'Tell me,' I said, 'do you recollect a young boy who used to work in Mistress St Clair's garden?' Even as I spoke, I wondered why I always referred to the house and garden as Judith's and never Godfrey's. Perhaps because it was her house, where she had lived ever since her marriage to Edmund Broderer. As Lionel looked puzzled, I went on, 'He'd have been about ten or so at the time. Nell's younger brother.'\n\n'Nell?' His frown deepened.\n\n'One of the kitchen maids.'\n\n'Oh! Yes, I think I know who you mean: the little, thin one. That's right.' He broke off to shout for another mazer of ale before returning to his ruminations. 'Yes, I'd forgotten all about him. So he was Nell's brother, was he? I don't think I ever knew that. Nothing like her to look at. Square-set little fellow. Why do you ask?'\n\n'Nell mentioned to me today that he'd disappeared. Vanished a couple of years ago without telling anyone where he was going.'\n\n'Probably stowed away on one of the ships berthed along the wharves. Boys of that age want adventure.'\n\n'That's what I said. But Nell seemed to think he wasn't that sort. Liked gardening. Not the adventurous kind, according to her.'\n\nLionel swallowed his second cup of ale with as much gusto as the first, then stared thoughtfully into the empty pot. 'Is this important?'\n\nI pursed my lips. 'I don't know,' I answered frankly. 'Probably not. On the other hand, it might be. The truth is, any facts are better than no facts, and at the moment, I don't feel I'm any closer to solving the Burgundian's murder than I was three days ago.'\n\n'I tell you what,' Lionel said, 'come back with me to the workshop. My mother's there today, helping out, as two of the girls are sick with the bellyache. She knows a great deal more about Judith and her household than I do. She gets all the gossip from Paulina Graygoss. You couldn't exactly call them friends, but Mother has a knack of wheedling information out of people.'\n\n'Thank you. I'll do that if you think Mistress Broderer won't mind.'\n\nLionel roared with laughter. 'Mind! She'll welcome you with open arms. Apart from the fact that she's fond of a good-looking young man, she'll be delighted with any excuse to rest her eyes a while. She finds some of the close work more trying than she cares to let on.'\n\nI glanced at Bertram. 'Do you want to come?'\n\nBut I wasn't surprised when he refused, giving as his reason that he ought to get back to Baynard's Castle and report to Timothy Plummer. Time spent in the company of someone old enough to be Lionel Broderer's mother lacked excitement. So I said goodbye to him, finished my ale and followed Lionel across the street to Needlers Lane.\n\nMartha Broderer was as pleased to see me as her son had predicted, rising from her stool to embrace me warmly before planting a smacking kiss full on my lips.\n\n'This is a pleasant surprise,' she said with a smile. 'I was only saying to Lal yesterday that I wished you would pay me a visit.'\n\n'For any particular reason?' I asked.\n\nShe punched me playfully, and rather harder than I cared for, in the ribs. 'Are you fishing for compliments, my lad? If so, you won't get them from me.' But she winked broadly, nonetheless.\n\nI blushed and denied the accusation, conscious of the giggling girls behind me. I had imagined \u2013 I don't know why \u2013 that Dame Broderer would be helping at the table where the purses and belts were decorated; but it became obvious that she was assisting, if not actually directing, two other women who were embroidering a magnificent cope.\n\n'For the Bishop of Bath and Wells,' she told me, noticing my interest. And indeed I might have guessed, had I thought about it, by the border of white saltire crosses worked on a blue background: the cross of Saint Andrew. She eyed me curiously. 'Do you know Robert Stillington?'\n\nI laughed. 'I've seen him, of course \u2013 I come from that part of the country \u2013 but only at a respectful distance. Do I look the sort of man who would be on speaking terms with a bishop?'\n\n'False modesty doesn't become you.' Martha Broderer rapped me sharply across the knuckles with her spectacles (I had seen her whip them off her nose the moment I came in). 'You don't look the sort of man who's on speaking terms with a royal duke, but you are.' She went on, 'A strange man, the Bishop. I always think there's something a little shifty about him.'\n\n'He was very friendly with the late George of Clarence,' I offered in support of her statement. 'I've always been convinced that there was some intrigue between them. Stillington was arrested round about the same time as the Duke, but later released.'\n\nI watched idly as the other two women laid strand after strand of sapphire-blue silken thread side by side on the linen, then stitched them together to form a solid block of colour.\n\n'That's called couching,' Dame Broderer explained. 'Now, isn't it time you told me why Lal's brought you to visit me? I'm sure there's a reason, and it isn't for the sake of my beautiful eyes.'\n\n'I should just think not,' her son said jovially. On entering the workshop, Lionel had gone to have a word with the two men, Jeb Smith and Will Tuckett, who were setting up mesh on the wooden frames, preparatory, I guessed, to beginning a new wall hanging. But now he strolled across to join us. 'He wants to pick your memory, Mother. Do you remember the young boy who used to work in the garden for Cousin Judith?'\n\nSurprisingly, Martha Broderer nodded. 'Yes. He was called Roger, the same as our friend here, and he was always referred to as Nell's brother although they had different fathers. Their mother, if I recollect correctly, was called Eleanor Jessop. A pretty girl, widow of a Thames boatman. Judith took her on to be her tiring woman. She died \u2013 Eleanor, that is \u2013 when Roger was born, and Judith had the boy raised to work in the household. When he was old enough, he started helping William Morgan in the garden and around the house.'\n\n'You don't happen to know what became of him?' I asked, continuing to watch, fascinated now, as one of the women eased herself beneath the sewing frame and began stitching the blue threads from the cope's other side.\n\n'Undercouching,' Dame Broderer informed me briefly before answering my question. 'He disappeared about two years ago. Just vanished overnight. No one knew why and nobody seemed to care. Certainly Judith made no move to find him.'\n\n'Who was his father \u2013 do you have any idea?'\n\nThere was a short but quite audible silence. I was still watching the embroidress, but after a second or two, I turned my head to look enquiringly at Martha Broderer.\n\nShe gave me a limpid smile, but her eyes just failed to meet mine.\n\n'Who can say? The boy might have been anyone's. Does it matter?'\n\nI didn't answer directly. 'Your son remembers this young Roger as a heftier child than Nell. Is that your recollection, too?'\n\nAgain, there was a certain hesitation. Martha Broderer gave a little laugh. 'Almost everyone is heftier than Nell,' she prevaricated.\n\n'Roger was a solid lad, Mother,' Lionel protested. 'You know he was. Now I come to think of it, he reminded me very much of what I was like as a child.'\n\nDame Broderer made no comment, but replaced her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and turned her attention back to the Bishop's cope. She took a huge medallion of azure velvet from a neighbouring table and placed it carefully in the centre of the garment.\n\n'We'll embroider this with cloth of gold and silver thread,' she decided. 'It will be the centre-piece when His Grace turns his back to the congregation.'\n\nThe woman who had been undercouching heaved herself up from beneath the frame and gave it as her opinion that a smaller medallion of white velvet, sewn into the centre of the blue and embroidered, in its turn, with golden thread, would be even more eye-catching. Martha Broderer said tartly that she thought it might be overdoing things, but then, on reflection, and given the vanity of the Bishop, perhaps not.\n\nThe third woman, who had so far said nothing, suddenly addressed me. 'You were asking about the boy who used to work in Judith St Clair's garden. Nell Jessop's half-brother.' I nodded. 'Well, you know, I thought I saw him the other day when I was going to visit my sister, in Holborn. I was walking up Faitour Lane. I can't be certain, but it looked like him, only a little older.'\n\n'Faitour Lane?' Dame Broderer asked sharply. 'What would he be doing there?'\n\nThe woman flushed uncomfortably, glancing askance at Lionel and me. 'He \u2026 He was coming out of one of the whorehouses,' she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "'One of the whorehouses?' Lionel repeated, his tone a mixture of shock and envy. 'How old did you say this boy is now?'\n\n'Twelve,' Dame Broderer answered, frowning. 'But I don't think Cicely meant what you're thinking, Lal. I think it was something far worse.' And she raised her eyebrows at the woman she had named.\n\nCicely made no answer, but pulled down the corners of her mouth. Her companion gave a little gasp, though she didn't falter in her couching. The lines of blue silk continued to grow into a soft, cushioned background for another white saltire cross.\n\nThere was an uncomfortable silence; then Lionel said, 'You're surely not implying \u2026?'\n\nHis mother nodded. 'That's right. I take Cicely to mean that young Roger is not availing himself of women's services, but is offering them, himself. The vice of the Greeks, Lal, is what we're talking about.'\n\n'If the Church found out \u2026'\n\nMartha Broderer snorted with laughter and turned to me.\n\n'Although, by my calculations,' she explained, 'Lionel is some thirty years old, you'll find him innocent for his age, as an unmarried man living at home with his mother naturally tends to be. My dear boy,' she went on, once more addressing her son, 'you can believe me when I tell you that brothels of both sexes are owned by some of the most eminent and outwardly respectable churchmen in the land. The great sin in their eyes is not sodomy, but being found out. Being caught in the act. Getting the whorehouse shut down and losing them \u2013 the landlords \u2013 money. Then, of course, the poor souls so taken can expect no mercy from Mother Church.'\n\nLionel did redden slightly at his parent's derision, but seemed to bear her no ill will for it, merely grinning a little sheepishly and hunching his shoulders. She smiled back at him, her whole face alight with affection. I had been right in my estimation of these two: they understood one another.\n\nI looked at the woman, Cicely. 'Can you remember,' I asked, 'whereabouts in Faitour Lane this particular brothel is located?'\n\nShe blinked reproachfully.\n\n'No, no! Not for myself,' I added hastily. 'I need to speak to this boy, not make use of his services.' My manhood was insulted by even having to clarify this fact.\n\nShe blushed and muttered, 'Of course! Of course!' by way of an apology, before continuing, 'About halfway along on the left-hand side if you're walking north, towards Holborn.'\n\n'You see, chapman,' Lionel said proudly, putting an arm around Dame Broderer's shoulders, 'my mother has been of use to you. I said she would be. She has a prodigious memory.'\n\n'Nonsense! It's Cicely who's been of use,' his mother disclaimed, trying not to look too pleased at the compliment, and failing. 'Why do you want to speak to this child?' she enquired of me. 'What has he to do with Master Quantrell's murder?'\n\n'I have information that Fulk visited a boy in Faitour Lane \u2013 whether to make use of his services or for some other reason, I don't really know \u2013 but I have a fancy that this young Roger may be the lad.'\n\n'Why?' Lionel wanted to know.\n\n'Because he has a link with the St Clair household, and Fulk's murderer could well be among their number.'\n\n'That is, if it isn't Lal or me,' Martha Broderer pointed out with yet another laugh; but this time there was no mirth in it.\n\nI gave her a brief bow and smile, but neither confirmed nor denied her statement. The truth was, I couldn't; but the first, inchoate seed of an idea, the first, small bud of a solution, was beginning to germinate in my mind. But the tender shoot was nothing like strong enough yet for me to give hope or despair to anyone.\n\n'I must go,' I said.\n\nBut before I went, I was sufficiently interested to allow Mistress Broderer to conduct me around the workshop and explain all the different processes of embroidery, in order to demonstrate the skill of the men and women under Lionel's supervision, in which she seemed to take even more pride than he did. When she had finished, I thanked her and would have kissed her hand had she not seized me by the shoulders and kissed me on the mouth for a second time.\n\n'There!' she said. 'I've been wanting to do that ever since we met.' She grinned at my discomfiture and slapped me hard across the backside with a stinging blow that was meant to hurt. 'Off you go!' She had an ambivalent attitude towards men. My guess was that she had been badly hurt by one of us at some time or another in her life.\n\nI made my way back through the Lud Gate and across the Fleet River to Faitour Lane. It was fairly quiet at that hour of the morning, most of the beggars \u2013 those who were not sick or sleeping off the previous night's carousal \u2013 away at their various posts throughout the city or in Westminster. But the brothels were doing a roaring trade, men's carnal appetites seeming to know no limit when it came to time of day.\n\n''Ullo! You come for that free ride I promised you?' enquired a voice; and there, standing in the doorway of a house to my left, was the prettiest whore in Christendom, her big, sapphire-blue eyes watching me appraisingly.\n\n'Er, no,' I said, and was alarmed to detect a distinct note of regret in my tone. She certainly was beautiful.\n\n'Pity!' She gave me a tantalizing smile, but I could tell that she was not as relaxed as she wished to appear. She was alert for any sound that would indicate the proximity of the madame.\n\n'But perhaps you can help me in another matter,' I suggested, struck by a sudden thought. 'Do you remember when I talked to you yesterday, you told me that Fulk Quantrell \u2013 the young man who was murdered here two weeks ago \u2013 sometimes visited a lad he had his eye on?' She nodded. 'Well, did that lad work in Faitour Lane?'\n\nThe girl looked anxious. 'I shouldn't have told you that.'\n\n'Where is this particular whorehouse?' I asked, hoping for confirmation of the woman Cicely's information.\n\nI got it. The girl sighed, but capitulated. 'About fifty paces further up on this side of the lane. You \u2026 You ain't about to complain or snitch to the authorities, are you?'\n\n'Certainly not!' I was deeply offended by this remark and let it show.\n\n'Well, you might have to,' she pointed out, reasonably enough, 'if the lad you're on about's got anything to do with that there Fulk's death.'\n\nThis, of course, was true \u2013 she was no fool, this girl \u2013 but even so, live and let live has always been my motto. There are ways of doing, and not doing, things so that, wherever possible, they don't incriminate innocent people.\n\n'What's the boy's name?' I asked, just to check that we were indeed taking about one and the same person. She was reluctant to tell me, so I asked, 'Is it Roger Jessop?'\n\n'Yes.' Surprise jerked the answer from her. 'At least, he's called Roger. I don't know his other name. We leaves those behind us when we comes to Faitour Lane.'\n\n'And how shall I recognize this whorehouse?'\n\n'Told you. Fifty paces from 'ere, or thereabouts. You'll see a lad at the door, watching out for customers.'\n\nShe was right, and also surprisingly accurate in her measurements. I had barely counted out fifty paces when I saw a young boy, some thirteen or fourteen years of age, lounging in the shadowed doorway of a ramshackle house with a crooked chimney. This last was an unusual enough feature in Faitour Lane for it to be a mark of identification in itself, yet my little whore hadn't mentioned it. I wondered where she had come from and what was her history.\n\nI approached the boy in the doorway.\n\nHe eyed me sharply. 'What d'you want?' he demanded.\n\n'I'd like to speak to Roger. Roger Jessop. Is he here?'\n\nThe young fellow's face lost its suspicious look.\n\n'Friend of Roger, are you? You better come in then. 'E's busy at the moment, but I shouldn't think 'e'd be long now.' The boy gave a raucous laugh. 'Shouldn't think 'is present customer's got a good shag in 'im.'\n\nHe moved his emaciated body to allow me access, and I stepped past him into a dark and dirty passageway. The smell of stale, unemptied chamber-pots and their contents made me gag, and I had to turn my head away so that the doorkeeper wouldn't see me. I had to look as if this sort of place was one of my usual haunts.\n\nWhile I waited, various men went hurriedly in and out, shielding their faces with raised arms, as though to hide their identity even from one another. Doors opened and shut on glimpses of filthy rooms, and I found myself wondering why a lad who loved gardening would have exchanged it for this twilight existence. What had happened to Roger Jessop to bring him so low?\n\nA door at the far end of the dingy passageway was flung wide, and a man pushed past me, showing the whites of his eyes. He threw a coin to the doorkeeper before dodging into the street, with an anxious glance in both directions.\n\n'Roger! You got a customer,' the lookout yelled.\n\nA stocky lad with a thatch of light-brown hair was strolling towards me, and once again something gave my memory a nudge, only to be lost a second later.\n\n'Who are you?' he asked. 'Don't know your face. New to the game, are you? Someone tell you to ask for me?' He jerked his head. 'Better come in before you take fright and run.'\n\nHe pushed me into the room at the end of the passage and closed the door. It was tiny, with just about enough space for a bed, and stank of sour sweat and other, even more unpleasant, bodily odours. A tattered mattress, the straw stuffing erupting through rents in the filthy ticking, had been pushed on to the floor, presumably during young Roger's last encounter, and I could see it was alive with fleas and bedbugs. The boy's arms and neck were covered with bites and sores.\n\n'Right,' he said, loosening his points and starting to lower his breeches, 'What d'you want? Straight up or fancy?'\n\n'No, no!' I said hurriedly. 'I haven't come for that. I just \u2026'\n\n'No need to be scared,' my namesake assured me. 'You needn't be afraid anyone here'll tell on you. Matter of fact, it's the Bishop of London what owns us.'\n\n'No, no! You misunderstand.' I held out my hand to ward him off. 'I just want to ask you a question or two about Fulk Quantrell.'\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Fulk Quantrell \u2013 the Burgundian who was murdered in Faitour Lane two weeks past.'\n\n'Oh, 'im!' The boy adjusted his clothing and scowled. 'Friend of 'is, are you? He was another one that just wanted to ask me questions. Paid, mind! Same as if he'd buggered me.'\n\nI nodded and jingled the purse at my belt. 'I'm perfectly willing to do the same.'\n\n'Oh \u2026 All right, then,' was the grudging response. 'As long as you understand and plays fair by me.' He held out a grime-encrusted hand. 'Come to think on it, I'll take the money first. Just in case you tries to cheat.'\n\nI passed over the necessary coins and looked around for somewhere to sit, but there was nowhere except the floor, and I didn't fancy that. I propped my back against the wall.\n\n'Go on, then,' he said. 'I'm waiting for the questions.'\n\n'Well, to begin with, why in heaven's sweet name did you leave Mistress St Clair's house for' \u2013 I made a sweeping gesture of distaste \u2013 'for this!'\n\nHe shrugged, but his eyes were shifty. 'It's not a bad life, once you get used to it. I got a roof over me head, food in me belly. Food of a sort,' he added honestly. 'Better 'n begging on the streets, at any rate.'\n\n'Is it?' I sneered. 'I'm willing to wager you get as much, if not more, abuse than a beggar, and a lot less money. And what little you do earn is taken off you to be shared amongst your pimp and your landlord, His Grace the noble Bishop of London.'\n\nI thought for a moment the lad was going to burst into tears. He did indeed sniff and wipe his nose in his fingers, but continued to stare at me more defiantly than ever.\n\n'So?' I prompted. 'You could still be helping William Morgan in the garden, living with your sister.'\n\n'Half-sister,' he corrected.\n\n'All right,' I agreed. 'Nell's your half-sister. But it doesn't alter anything. It still doesn't explain why you're here.'\n\nAn expression of fear flitted momentarily across his face. 'You ain't told Nell where t' find me, 'ave you? Tell me you ain't! 'Ow did you find me, by the way?'\n\n'I haven't seen Nell since discovering your whereabouts,' I assured him. 'And as to how I found you, one of the women at the Needlers Lane workshop thought she recognized you when she was walking to Holborn through Faitour Lane.'\n\nHis fear turned to puzzlement. 'Why would you be talking about me to one of Master Broderer's workers? And what's it all got to do with Fulk?'\n\nSo I took a deep breath and started at the beginning, working my way through what had happened so far until today, when Nell had mentioned his disappearance. There were, of course, things that I didn't tell him. I also had to cope with a certain amount of initial \u2013 and natural \u2013 scepticism on his part concerning my past and present involvement with the King's younger brother; but I managed to convince him in the end. Unfortunately, I didn't foresee, although I should have done, that this would make him even more wary of me.\n\nHe clammed up, refusing to offer any reason for his change of living beyond saying that he had grown tired of gardening for a pittance, and being bullied by William Morgan. A boy he met had told him there was good money to be made as a whore, and had offered to find him a place in this brothel, where he had been ever since.\n\n'You came here,' I hazarded, 'because it's close to the St Clair house in the Strand.' I saw his sudden flush of colour and knew I had guessed aright. 'Do you ever go back there in the dead of night to climb the wall to sit in the garden?'\n\n'No I fuckin' don't!' he exploded with such venom that I jumped in surprise. 'I came 'ere for safety. Someone in that house was tryin' to kill me! Safety! Same as I told that there Fulk, or whatever he was called. They look after me 'ere.'\n\nI was beginning to feel like Theseus in the labyrinth, but without his ball of thread.\n\n'Master Quantrell asked you the same question? How did he know where to find you? Nell doesn't know where you are.'\n\nYoung Roger shrugged. 'Just chance. 'E came 'ere looking for pleasure and, when we finished, we got talking. 'E found out I was Nell's half-brother. Then 'e come back once or twice more. 'E wasn't really a sodomite. Just did it now and then, I reckon, for the thrill of it. Doin' something 'e shouldn't. 'E was that sort. But 'e did like asking questions.'\n\n'What about?'\n\n'Well \u2026 'Bout the garden, mainly. What sort o' things we planted. Did Mistress St Clair and the rest take much interest in it.' He shrugged. 'Nothin' more.'\n\n'Is that all?'\n\n'More or less. I did ask 'im once why 'e wanted to know about the garden. I said I thought he must've heard the story 'bout the old Savoy Palace that used t' be in the Strand.'\n\n'What story is that?' I queried. I found I wasn't sweating as much as when I had first entered the room. I was growing accustomed to the stench and finding it less offensive than before.\n\nYoung Roger, too, grew easier in his manner as he became used to my presence, and convinced that I posed no threat.\n\n'You ain't a Londoner,' he said, nodding sagely. 'Though I s'pose I'd guessed that already by the funny way you talk.' I raised my eyebrows, but otherwise ignored this slur on my West Country burr. 'Everyone in London,' he went on, 'knows the story that there's treasure buried somewhere in the Strand.'\n\n'Treasure? What sort of treasure?' I was intrigued.\n\n'Usual kind. Money, jewels, gold.'\n\n'Why? How is it supposed to have got there? And whereabouts?'\n\nMy final question made him laugh, showing stumps of blackened teeth. 'If anyone knew whereabouts,' he answered, carefully mimicking my tone, 'some greedy sod would've found it by now, wouldn't 'e? As to 'ow it got there, well! When that Wat Tyler 'n' John Ball 'n' Jack Straw 'n' their howling mob sacked London and burned down the Savoy Palace all them years ago, Wat Tyler 'n' John Ball gave orders that no one was to loot the place on pain o' being strung up from the nearest tree. What they was doin', they said, was for the King and liberty and so on, and not for making themselves rich.' The boy curled his lip. 'Well, I mean to say! Askin' a bit too much of any man, ain't it? John o' Gaunt was the richest man in the country after the King. The Savoy was stuffed with treasures. Bound to 'ave been! More 'n flesh 'n' blood could resist. The story reckons there was looting, and plenty of it, and a good few managed to get away with it. But a group of men got caught, an' one o' Wat Tyler's captains ordered 'em to be hanged there and then, without trial nor nothin', an' the very people who'd been lootin' themselves performed the deed.\n\n'But there'd been a fourth man in the group who managed to slip away unnoticed to where they'd piled up their loot. An' while the others were hangin' his three comrades, he buried it all, meaning to come back for it later. But later was no good. 'E was recognized and fingered as being one o' the group and strung up, as well. The treasure 'e'd buried was never found, and still 'asn't been found to this day. They reckon it's still there, somewhere. Probably in somebody's garden.' He grinned. 'Or maybe under one of the 'ouses. More 'n one owner's had his cellar floor dug up, so they say.'\n\nI thought this over. 'But those three houses at the end of the Strand,' I pointed out, 'are considered to have been a part of the original palace; therefore, if this tale were true, the treasure \u2013 if it exists at all \u2013 is unlikely to be buried underneath them \u2026 Do you believe this story?' I asked the boy.\n\nMy namesake grimaced. 'Naw! There are tales like this un by the dozen about almost every part o' London. The streets are paved with gold, we tell strangers. Just dig a bit an' you'll find it. Meantime, buy my nice new shiny spade. Or, better still, this old un that's cost me nothing, 'cause it belonged to my great-great-grandfather.'\n\nA cynic at twelve years old! My heart warmed to him in spite of his unprepossessing appearance and smell.\n\n'And what did Fulk Quantrell say when you asked him if he believed this story?'\n\n'Said 'e hadn't 'eard it. What was it about? So I told 'im, like I've just told you.'\n\n'Did you believe him?'\n\nYoung Roger, who, until now, had been perched on the empty frame of the bed, shifted and slid down the curve of the mattress to sit cross-legged on the floor.\n\n'Well \u2026 that's the funny thing. When 'e said 'e'd never 'eard the tale, yes, I did believe 'im. But later that visit, just as 'e was going, 'e laughed and said something like, \"There's plenty of treasure buried in the Strand if you know where to look for it. I've been hopin' you'd tell me where it can be found. But seems like you don't know.\" Then 'e laughed again and added, \"But I don't really need it. I can make my fortune without.\" 'E went away and that was the last time I saw 'im. Next thing I 'eard, he was dead. Been found murdered in Faitour Lane.' After a pause, Roger asked eagerly, 'Anythin' else you want t' know?' He glanced at the coins in his hand and jingled them suggestively.\n\n'I'm not a rich man,' I protested. Nevertheless, I dipped into my purse and doled out a couple more groats. 'You haven't yet explained exactly why you ran away from Mistress St Clair's. What made you think someone was trying to kill you? And who do you think it was?'\n\n'I don't know who it was,' was the disappointing response. 'But I do know that I had some very peculiar accidents in that house.'\n\n'Such as?'\n\n'Well, once, I was by myself at the bottom of the garden, plantin' some cress seeds along the water's edge, like Paulina Graygoss told me. I 'ad me back to the 'ouse and wasn't thinkin' about nothing but what I was doing, when suddenly, I toppled into the river. I swear to you, chapman, that someone pushed me, but when I came to the surface, there was no one in sight. Everyone swore they was somewhere else at the time and said I must've slipped. But I didn't. I know I didn't. Somebody pushed me in. Luckily, I can swim like a fish. Then, another time, I'd to go down the cellar to bring up some o' the master's favourite wine. I'd a candle, o' course, but I still didn't see the wooden ball on the third or fourth step from the top. I went crashing to the bottom and was lucky not t' break me fuckin' neck. As it was, I was laid up the best part of a month.'\n\n'What sort of a ball?' I queried.\n\n'A child's ball. A painted thing Mistress Alcina used to play with when she was a child, or so Paulina Graygoss said. Said, too, she thought it was put away with all the other old toys in a chest in Alcina's bedchamber, but that someone must've got it out, though goodness knows why. That's what Paulina said. And there was the time I was terrible sick after eating me dinner. It was mutton stew, and no one else was ill. I reckon somethin' 'ad been added to me bowl when I wasn't lookin'.'\n\n'Whom did you suspect? Mistress Graygoss?'\n\n'Any of the women. Not Nell, but everyone else. They were all in and out the kitchen that day, I remember. The master and mistress were 'avin' Master and Mistress Jolliffe and Master Brandon to supper, 's I recall, and were out to impress. Mistress Alcina was quite sweet on Brandon Jolliffe in them days, though I 'ear she ain't so much now. Wanted Master Quantrell. We 'ad a laugh about that, we did. But, as I say, all the women were in 'n' out o' the kitchen at some time or another that morning. And William Morgan. Any of 'em could've put somethin' in me stew without me seeing.'\n\nI was a little doubtful about this last instance; and in the first, whatever Roger thought, he could have slipped. But the incident with the child's ball certainly appeared more sinister.\n\n'Did anything else happen after that?' I asked.\n\nHe gave a scornful snort. 'I didn't wait t' find out. I ran away and came 'ere, where I've been ever since. What's more, I'm goin' to stay 'ere. Now, mind! Don't you go tellin' anyone in that house you've seen me. Not even Nell.'\n\n'She's worried about you. She'd like to know that you're alive and well.'\n\n'Daresay,' he replied unfeelingly, 'but she ain't one for holding her tongue. Never could keep a secret, couldn't Nell.'\n\n'Very well,' I agreed. 'I promise to say nothing. But I can't answer for Lionel Broderer and his mother. Or for the other women. They must all have heard what was said.' I didn't add that once I had established my interest in young Roger Jessop, he had at once become a more interesting subject for discussion, and, doubtless, was even now a general topic of conversation in the embroidery workshop.\n\nRoger was dismissive. 'None of 'em knows me well enough t' care what I'm up to. They got other things to talk about.'\n\nI didn't like to disillusion him, and, after all, he might be right. It did cross my mind that I ought to use any means in my power to wean him away from his present existence, and that to frighten him into running again might not be such a bad idea. But I didn't. The smell and the close confines of the room were beginning to make me feel queasy once again, and my one thought was rapidly becoming of escape.\n\nI tossed the lad two more coins, mumbled my farewells and left, stumbling along the fetid passageway and staggering thankfully into the less noisome air of Faitour Lane. I walked back to the Strand and down the alleyway between the St Clairs' and Martin Threadgold's houses to the river's edge, where I paused for a moment, breathing in the cleaner river smells and staring out across the Thames, a streak of silver studded with the russet and blue, crimson and emerald of hundreds of barges.\n\n'Ah! Master Chapman!' said a voice. 'Do you have any news for me yet concerning the death of my nephew?'\n\nI jumped guiltily and turned to find myself looking over the wall, into the stern, questioning features of Judith St Clair."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "'N-No,' I stammered nervously. 'At least \u2026 er \u2026 no, not yet.'\n\n'Not yet?' The well-marked eyebrows were raised and the blue eyes surveyed me with a faint hauteur. 'What precisely does that mean? Do you have any idea as to the murderer's identity or do you not? If not, why don't you just admit defeat and return to Bristol, or wherever it is you come from? I thought from the start that it was a mistake allowing a pedlar to usurp the office of sergeant-at-law. But of course, it's not my place to question the decision of Duchess Margaret or My Lord of Gloucester.'\n\nI felt my hackles begin to rise, but schooled my expression to one of civility \u2013 servility, even.\n\n'I still have some further investigations to pursue, mistress, but I hope to be able to satisfy both you and your royal patrons in the very near future.'\n\nShe darted a suspicious glance at me, as though convinced that I was bluffing; but she permitted herself to be mollified a trifle.\n\n'Come and look round my garden,' she invited most unexpectedly. 'You can easily scale the wall.' She raised herself on tiptoe, so that her shoulders as well as her head came into view, and by dint of resting her arms along the top of the wall, she was able to peer over to the other side. 'Look! You see those protruding stones? There, there and there. Simple, particularly for someone of your height. Those long legs of yours should make light work of such a climb.'\n\nI could hardly refuse such a pressing invitation, even had I wished to, and within a matter of moments found myself standing beside Judith St Clair on one of the numerous paths that intersected the beds of flowers.\n\n'A beautiful garden, mistress,' I said admiringly, staring about me as if seeing it for the first time. She smiled proudly, but there was a hint of something else in her expression that I could not quite define.\n\n'I like it. I love flowers,' she answered simply. 'And my favourite place is under the willow tree, looking out across the water. In spite of the river traffic, which has greatly increased in recent years, I find it very peaceful. Come and stand there with me for a minute or two and you'll see what I mean.'\n\nI followed her to the main path and walked to the little landing stage on the river bank, where we stopped beneath the willow tree's trailing branches. On the opposite bank, shimmering in a faint heat haze, I could see the landscape of Southwark set out before me. Nearer at hand, pale spears of yellow iris glimmered among the reeds at the river's edge, and marigolds peered at their ghostly reflections in the water. A reed warbler swooped towards its nest among the grasses.\n\n'A truly lovely spot,' I said, glancing sideways at my companion and surprising a look of amusement on her face.\n\n'It is, isn't it?' she answered. 'You appreciate beauty in nature, Master Chapman?'\n\n'I'm a countryman at heart,' I explained. 'Bristol may now be my home, but I was born in Wells.' Judith inclined her head, but made no comment, so I continued, fearful of an uncomfortable hiatus in the conversation, 'I was told that these three houses' \u2013 I jerked my chin over my shoulder \u2013 'once stood in the grounds of the Savoy.'\n\nShe laughed. 'Oh, yes! I've heard that story, too. Whorehouses \u2013 isn't that the theory? But I very much doubt it. In my opinion, they're built too far eastwards. You must have seen what remains of the old palace during your to-ing and fro-ing along the Strand. I admit it was reputed to be a vast enclave in its day, but even so, I don't believe it stretched this far towards the Fleet.' She shrugged. 'Of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps I just don't like the idea of living in what was once a brothel.'\n\nHer last word jogged my memory. I said, with what to her must have seemed like total irrelevance, 'Your kitchen maid, Nell, said that her young brother once worked here, helping William Morgan in your garden, but that the boy disappeared some two years ago. William must miss him. There's a lot of work just for one man.'\n\nJudith St Clair looked faintly surprised, as well she might, by this sudden change of subject, then puckered her forehead in perplexity. 'Nell's brother \u2026? Ah! Now you mention it, yes, I do have a vague recollection of him. More of a hindrance than a help, according to William, if I remember rightly. William and he nearly came to blows on more than one occasion. I'd forgotten him.'\n\nA vague recollection? She had to be lying, of course. Martha Broderer had told me that young Roger had been brought up in Judith's household and that his and Nell's mother, until her untimely death, had been Judith's tiring-woman. My companion obviously had no idea of the extent of my knowledge, but I wondered why she had bothered to lie at all. In fact, I wondered about this whole episode: why she had invited me into the garden; why she seemed to derive a certain satisfaction from showing me the view.\n\nFootsteps sounded on the path behind us, and we turned to see William Morgan trudging towards us, looking as surly as ever; an expression that became even more sullen the moment he saw me.\n\n'Ah! William!' Judith remarked coolly. 'Master Chapman and I were just talking about Nell's brother, who used to assist you in the garden.'\n\n'Stupid little varmint,' he grumbled. 'That boy would never do as he was told, would he? Always planting things where he shouldn't and trying to dig up things that I'd just planted. Couldn't tell a weed from a flower. I remember, down here, when he tried\u2014'\n\n'Thank you, William.' Judith, losing patience, interrupted the reminiscence politely, but firmly. 'Did you want me for something?'\n\n'Paulina asked me to tell you that her next door has called to see you \u2013 Mistress Jolliffe. I was coming down the garden anyway, so I said I'd save her legs by giving you the message myself.' He glowered vindictively at me. 'Do you want me to show the pedlar out?'\n\n'There's no need,' Judith answered coolly, not best pleased, I could tell, by his familiar tone in front of an outsider. But the Welshman seemed to hold a privileged position in his mistress's esteem, and she offered no reprimand. She turned instead to me. 'I feel sure, Master Chapman, you can leave by the same way that you entered. There's no need for you to go through the house. You'll see that the wall is as easy to scale from this side as from the other. I'll show you where you climbed over. Thank you for your company. I've enjoyed it.' She laughed softly, as if at some private joke.\n\nI should have liked to stay and have a few words with William Morgan concerning his murderous nocturnal activities, but with Mistress St Clair's eyes fixed upon me I had no choice but to climb the wall again and make my way up the alleyway into the Strand. I realized that our conversation had omitted any mention of Martin Threadgold's sudden death and, on reflection, found it a strange oversight, considering it should have been a topic uppermost in both our minds, but particularly in that of Judith St Clair.\n\nThe thoroughfare was as busy as ever and, above the never-ending clamour of the bells, vendors of hot pies, cold ale, sweetmeats, ribbons, laces, silks, or anything else you fancied could be heard screaming, 'Buy! Buy! Buy! What do you lack? What'll you buy?' It made my head begin to ache just listening to them.\n\nWhile I hesitated, unsure what to do next, I saw, coming out of the Jolliffes' street door, Brandon and his father, the former stocky, thickset and brown-eyed, the latter large and shambling and with eyes the same Saxon blue as my own. I hailed them, but my voice got lost in the general hubbub. I was convinced that Brandon had glimpsed me out of the corner of one eye, but he gave no sign of having done so except to hurry Roland forward at a quickened pace. I let them go. I knew where to find them if ever I needed to speak to either of them in the future.\n\nOnce again, however, the sight of Brandon Jolliffe touched that elusive chord of memory within my brain. What was it I was trying to remember? Or perhaps remember was not quite the right word. Maybe I was trying to make a connection with some other fact lying dormant somewhere in the farthest recesses of my mind. I struggled to find the missing link, unaware that I was standing stock-still in the roadway until I found myself being jostled and pushed aside by various irate passers-by, who made uncomplimentary comments on the irritating habits of country bumpkins not used to the capital's busy ways. As I had been priding myself on how well I blended into the London scene, I found this particularly galling, and I was willing to bandy words with anyone spoiling for a fight. But Londoners appeared to have no time even for a quarrel, so I gave up and went back to the Voyager, where I went to my room and stretched out on the bed, promising myself an hour of quiet reflection. But no sooner had I started to review all that had happened in the four days since my arrival in London than, lulled by the warmth of the sun coming in at the open shutters and the comfort of the goose-feather mattress, I inevitably fell deeply and dreamlessly asleep.\n\nIt was nearly dusk when I finally awoke. The May twilight glimmered fitfully before the approaching dark. Beyond the window the sky was rinsed to a thin, fragile blue above the last flushed clouds of the sunset. Shadows muffled the outline of roofs on the opposite side of the Voyager's courtyard and, in the heavens, a single star shone, dimly as yet, the colour of unpolished steel.\n\nMy first thought was that I was famished: I had missed my supper. The second was that there was someone banging at my chamber door. The third was that the someone had to be Bertram. No one else would hammer and kick at the wood with such abandoned familiarity, and, a moment later, my suspicions were confirmed when his by now instantly recognizable voice called impatiently, 'Roger! Master Chapman! Let me in!'\n\nWith a groan, I slid off the bed and drew back the bolt near the top of the door. Bertram tripped over his own feet as he literally tumbled inside.\n\n'What on earth's the matter?' I demanded crossly, my hunger making me irritable. 'What's so urgent that you must make all this racket? Don't tell me!' I added waspishly. 'You've discovered who killed Fulk Quantrell?'\n\n'No.' He smirked. 'But I fancy it's a question the Dowager Duchess wants to put to you. I've been sent to bring you to Baynard's Castle.'\n\nI ground my teeth in fury (not something that's easy to do, let me tell you).\n\n'What does the bloody woman want now?' I fairly shouted. 'What does she expect? Miracles?'\n\nBertram giggled in exactly the same way as my children did when I lost my temper. Why was it, I wondered resentfully, that I was unable to terrify the younger generation with a display of righteous wrath?\n\n'I think,' he offered, 'that His Grace of Gloucester so sang your praises to the Duchess and My Lord of Lincoln that they expected you to arrive at an immediate conclusion once you'd heard the story.'\n\nI sighed. Duke Richard's touching faith in my powers of deduction could sometimes have disastrous consequences. I asked, 'Is there any way in which I can avoid this meeting?'\n\nBertram shook his head. 'I've been instructed to bring you back with me to Baynard's Castle immediately.'\n\n'You could tell Her Grace you couldn't find me.'\n\nHe shook his head. 'She's not the woman to take no for an answer, chapman. I'd only be sent out to scour the city for you until I did. And I don't fancy spending half the night on the streets, pretending to search for someone who's really asleep, in bed.'\n\n'We could find a cosy nook in the ale room,' I tempted him, but he regretfully declined this offer.\n\n'I've two of Her Grace's gentlemen-at-arms waiting for us downstairs.'\n\nI cursed long and fluently, to Bertram's unstinted admiration. It was obvious that some of the phrases and expressions were new to him, and I could see him storing them away in his memory for future use, in order to impress his friends.\n\nThere was no help for it, then. When royalty requests one's presence, there's no option but to obey. I didn't even dare to stop to eat.\n\nThe two Burgundian gentlemen awaiting us in the ale room were looking around them with a superior air, palpably disgusted at the antics of the swinish English. (All foreigners know, of course, that we are the spawn of the Devil, with tails concealed in our breeches.) They barely glanced our way as Bertram reappeared with me trailing reluctantly in his wake, but nodded curtly to Reynold Makepeace, ignored the goggling (and, if they'd only known, sniggering) drinkers at the scattered tables, and preceded us out of the inn, magnificent in their black-and-gold livery.\n\nOur progress through the streets to Baynard's Castle was punctuated by the catcalls and rude remarks of passers-by, my fellow countrymen being, as always, deeply resentful of foreigners, whom they have always regarded with the greatest suspicion and derision \u2013 fair game for any insult they can lay their tongues to. Fortunately, our Burgundian friends seemed ignorant of most of the expressions hurled at their heads, for which I was truly thankful. They looked a couple of tall, stout lads who wouldn't hesitate to crack a few skulls together in defence of their own and their duchy's honour.\n\nWe finally reached the castle to find it in the grip of its usual hustle and bustle, but magnified several times over. There were torches and flambeaux everywhere; men-at-arms polishing their daggers and halberds until they positively shone; the kitchen quarters in a ferment, with scullions and pot boys and cooks frantically dashing in and out of doors, rushing from bakery to butchery to buttery and back again; groups of jongleurs and acrobats and minstrels all practising their various arts in different corners of the courtyard, and setting up such a cacophony that even the palace rats ran squeaking in agony back to their holes.\n\nMy tentative enquiries elicited the fact that the King and Queen were riding over from Westminster to dine at Baynard's Castle that night, and were expected in about an hour, so Bertram and I were hurried in through a side door to a small and very chilly ante-room and told to wait. Our fine Burgundian friends then disappeared while we kicked our heels and tried to keep warm \u2013 exactly the sort of treatment I had grown to expect from my 'betters'.\n\n'\"When Adam delved and Eve span, / Who was then the gentleman?\"' I muttered darkly to Bertram; but he obviously had never heard that seditious rhyme and looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses.\n\nAfter what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a lapse of ten minutes or so, a gentleman-usher made his appearance to inform us that Her Grace the Dowager Duchess was not yet ready to receive us, but that My Lord of Lincoln would be grateful for a word \u2013 'grateful for a word' being, of course, just another euphemism for, 'John de la Pole has spoken. Come at once!'\n\nNeedless to say, we didn't keep him waiting, but meekly followed the gentleman-usher into the royal presence. This proved to be in Lincoln's bedchamber, where he was wallowing in the scented water of a sponge-lined bath. As we were announced, he heaved himself into a sitting position and gave me his friendly smile, at the same time waving a well-manicured hand in the direction of an exotic-looking personage to whom he had been talking as we entered.\n\n'Are you acquainted with Captain Brampton, chapman?' he asked in the free and easy way that assumed I would be on speaking terms with anyone and everyone at court.\n\nAs it happened, I did know who this tough, swarthy, swashbuckling gentleman was, having come across him five years earlier during my attempts to foil a plot on the Duke of Gloucester's life, and having learned his history then. Edward Brampton was a Jew, a rarity in England since the expulsion of his race by the first Edward almost three centuries earlier. Duarte Brandeo (his original Portuguese name) had, however, embraced Christianity and lived in the House of the Convertites in the Strand. At his baptism, the King himself had stood as godfather, and Brampton had taken his sovereign's Christian name along with his new surname. (I mention him here, not because he played any significant role in this particular story, but because, in a few years' time, he and I would find ourselves unexpected allies against the usurper Henry Tudor. But that is to anticipate \u2026)\n\nI murmured that I had indeed once had the honour of the Captain's acquaintance, but as he obviously had no recollection of me, I said no more, waiting silently to know why the Earl had summoned me. Captain Brampton kissed Lincoln's hand and took himself off in a flurry of good wishes and gusts of jovial laughter that made everyone in the room grin in sympathy \u2013 even the Earl's Master of the Bath, an ascetic, stern-looking gentleman who kept a beady eye on the three young pages whose job it was to keep the tub topped up from the large pan of water heating over the bedchamber fire.\n\nI eyed the Earl a little warily, wondering if, this evening, he was his mother's or his father's son \u2013 Plantagenet or de la Pole; the descendant of Alfred and Charlemagne, or Geoffrey Chaucer's great-great-grandson. I was relieved to find it was the latter and that My Lord was all smiling condescension and affability.\n\n'Pull up a stool, Roger,' he invited, waving an arm from which water dripped in a sparkling arc. He indicated in an equally moist fashion that Bertram could make himself scarce, much to that young gentleman's ill-concealed chagrin. (He felt himself to be quite as much a part of this investigation as I was, and resented his exclusion.)\n\nWhen Bertram had duly bowed and departed to kick his heels outside the bedchamber door, Lincoln leaned his head back against a cushion, which had been thoughtfully placed on the edge of the tub by one of the pages, and regarded me with his frank, wide-mouthed grin.\n\n'I understand my aunt, Her Grace the Dowager Duchess, has sent for you?' I nodded, and he laughed outright. 'Don't let her fluster you, Roger. She's an impatient woman who thinks that everyone should dance to the pace of her own tune. All the same' \u2013 his eyes narrowed \u2013 'have you discovered anything yet? Anything at all? If so, you can tell me. I can keep a secret.'\n\nI shook my head. 'I prefer to have the whole story, Your Highness, before giving away any part of it.'\n\nThe Earl made a moue of disappointment. 'Poor stuff,' he complained. 'Haven't you any idea at all who might have killed the Burgundian?'\n\n'There are one or two clues that point in a certain direction,' I admitted, 'but they're not of sufficient strength to justify my making my suspicions public just yet.'\n\n'I've told you. I wouldn't say a word to anyone,' he wheedled. 'On my word of honour.'\n\nIt was my turn to laugh aloud. 'Your Highness, you are surrounded by people, all of whom have ears. If I said anything to you now, it would be all over the castle by nightfall. Don't you agree?'\n\nI gestured at the Master of the Bath and the three pages, and towards a fourth servant with a large sheet draped across one arm, standing ready to towel his royal master dry the instant Lincoln should step from the tub. As I did so, it occurred to me how alike two of the pages were to one another: blue-eyed and fair-haired, tall and well built. I glanced from one to the other with interest.\n\nThe Earl, following my eyes and at once understanding what had attracted my attention, let out a roar of raucous laughter that brought a reproving frown to the face of his Master of the Bath.\n\n'You're looking at Edmund and John and thinking how alike they are \u2013 isn't that so?' I agreed with an inclination of my head. Lincoln grinned. 'You'll see that particular cast of countenance frequently in the royal palaces of my uncle, the King.' I must still have looked nonplussed, for he gave another shout of laughter and said, 'Think, man, think! His Highness has never been renowned for living like a monk. If, that is, monks ever do live like monks!' (He was convulsed with merriment at his own wit: he was still quite young \u2013 only eighteen.)\n\nI realized belatedly what the Earl was trying to tell me: that the two boys were bastard sons of the King. Not the sons of high-born ladies, of course, but offspring of some of the chambermaids and kitchen maids His Highness had seduced. For Edward Plantagenet, fourth of his name, was known to have an almost insatiable sexual appetite that no one woman \u2013 and probably not even two or three \u2013 could satisfy.\n\nLincoln signalled to the man holding the towel that he was about to get out of the bath just as a knock fell on his chamber door and Bertram reappeared, to announce that the Dowager Duchess was now ready to receive me. The Earl held out his wet right hand.\n\n'Then I won't keep you, Roger. As I told you, my aunt of Burgundy is not a woman who can brook delay. But I'm very glad to have seen and spoken with you again, even though I can't be said to have gained much by it. You're as close as an oyster. But I have good memories of our journey together from Bristol to London, and those convivial evenings we spent on the road. I trust we shall meet again soon.'\n\nI kissed the hand he had extended and smiled. 'Your Highness is very gracious. And you need not feel too downcast. If it's of any comfort to you, you have just given me a valuable clue \u2013 the key to something that has been puzzling me for the past two days.'\n\n'And can you now divulge the name of the murderer?' he asked eagerly, his boyish face agog with excitement.\n\nI shook my head. 'Let us simply say, My Lord, that you have provided another stepping-stone to help me on my way.'\n\n'But you do have a name in your head?'\n\n'I do, Your Highness. But it may not be the right one.'\n\nLincoln gave a crow of laughter. 'You're a cautious one, chapman, and no mistake. I'd never hesitate to entrust a secret to you. And now, you mustn't keep my aunt waiting any longer.' And as I was going out of the door, he called mischievously, 'Good luck!'\n\nThe Dowager Duchess was ready for the evening's festivities, resplendent in a gown of cloth-of-silver tissue, the Order of the Golden Fleece in brilliant enamels hung about her neck. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies sparkled in riotous profusion over every inch of her royal person, and a magnificent gold crown, set with enormous pearls, rested on her once famous golden hair. This was now demurely hidden beneath a veil of white silk, and I wondered, meanly, if there were any grey in it that the Duchess was happy to conceal.\n\n'Well?' she asked abruptly, as I was ushered into her presence, and ignoring Bertram who, this time, had insisted on sticking close to me. 'What have you to tell me, Master Chapman.'\n\nI bowed low. (It seemed like a good idea.) 'At present, Your Grace, I cannot give you a name, but in a day or so, I believe it might be possible.'\n\n'Why can't you tell me your suspicions now?' she demanded imperiously. 'If, that is, you really have any.'\n\n'Suspicions are not proof, madame. I have no desire to blacken anyone's name without good cause.'\n\nShe made no answer for several seconds while she considered this, then nodded, as though satisfied. 'Very well. But I return to Burgundy soon. I should like to know the truth before I leave.'\n\nI regarded her straitly. 'Madame \u2026 Your Highness, the truth is not always what we want to hear.'\n\nShe raised her eyebrows. 'Is that a warning?'\n\n'A caution, perhaps. No more than that at present.'\n\nThe Duchess bit her lip, then, as trumpets blared throughout the castle, nodded a curt dismissal, rising swiftly to her feet and summoning her ladies about her.\n\nThe King and Queen had arrived."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "I was consumed by a sense of irritation. Was this what I had been summoned to Baynard's Castle for? Was this what I had forgone my rest and supper for? A delay while My Lady the Duchess finished an elaborate toilet, half a minute of questioning and then dismissal? Was that really it? My Lady had asked nothing, and I had told her nothing, that could not have been settled by sending one of her servants to the Voyager. My annoyance, however, might have been much greater had it not been for my interview with the Earl of Lincoln, and the sudden revelation that had been vouchsafed me while I was there. My visit had not, after all, proved to be a complete waste of time.\n\nIt was, in fact, to prove even more rewarding.\n\nAs the Duchess sailed regally from the bedchamber, surrounded by a bevy of pretty and not-so-pretty young women, all chattering animatedly in French, a language in which, alas, I am not at all proficient, Bertram gripped my elbow and indicated that we should leave.\n\n'We'll go down by the eastern turret stairs,' he whispered, 'and out past the stables. That way, we'll miss all the fuss of the King and Queen's arrival.'\n\n'And the arrival of all their hundreds of retainers, and the bowing and scraping and speechifying,' I added nastily. I was still smarting under a sense of outrage and the confirmation of my belief that those set in authority over us are often arrogant and thoughtless, with no consideration for mortals less fortunate and important than themselves.\n\n'Well, yes, there's that as well,' Bertram agreed, eyeing me curiously. 'Has something happened to upset you, Roger?'\n\n'Master Chapman to you, my lad,' I snapped, refraining from boxing his ears, but only because I was following him down a very narrow and ill-lit staircase.\n\n'My, my! You are annoyed,' Bertram replied, turning his head to grin cheekily at me over one shoulder. 'Mind you, I understand. The Dowager Duchess can have that effect on some people.'\n\nOur descent ended in a corner of the castle's brilliantly lit and frantically busy outer courtyard, where the royal party's horses were being rubbed down, watered, fed and stabled while their owners sat through several hours of banqueting and festivities in the great hall. There was still some activity with late arrivals. Rich satins and furs gleamed dully in the flickering light of dozens of torches, and a thousand rainbows glimmered among the flash and sparkle of gems.\n\n'I'll take you to the gate,' Bertram offered, before adding pompously, 'After that, I must leave you. I expect I'll be needed.'\n\nI was just about to ask in my most scathing tone, 'What for?' when all other thoughts were driven from my head by a brief glimpse of the Duchess's groom who had been breakfasting in the Voyager that morning.\n\n'Don't bother! I'll find my own way out,' I flung at Bertram, before plunging into the crowd of ostlers stable boys and grooms, shouldering and elbowing them aside and keeping a sharp lookout for my elusive quarry. Finally, I saw him, leading a handsome bay mare into an empty stall. He kicked the lower half of the door shut behind him.\n\nBy the time I was near enough to lean my arms along the top of the half-door and peer inside, my friend was rubbing the bay down with a handful of straw.\n\n'You are the Dowager Duchess's groom who's putting up at the Voyager in Bucklersbury, aren't you?' I enquired, more to attract his attention than because I had any doubts on the matter.\n\nThe man jumped and turned, straightening his back and advancing into the patch of torchlight near the door in order to see me better. He considered my face thoughtfully for a minute or two, then nodded. 'I remember you. We were talking at breakfast. But I can't stop now. You can see I'm busy. It's like a madhouse here tonight.'\n\nI grinned, but made no attempt to move away. 'A banquet, or so I've been given to understand. All fish dishes, I suppose as it's Friday?'\n\nThe groom snorted derisively and paused in his work. 'What do you think?'\n\n'A special dispensation to eat meat \u2013 that's what I think. Plenty of roasted venison, beef, pork, mutton, swan, pheasant, fowl \u2026'\n\n'Peacock, suckling pig,' he added, entering into the spirit of the the thing.\n\nWe both laughed, and he stood upright again, patting the mare's rump. 'Maybe I could do with a rest,' he conceded. 'A couple of minutes.' He forked fresh hay into the manger.\n\n'We were talking this morning,' I said quickly, before he had time to embark on any topic of his own, 'about Fulk Quantrell, who was murdered here in London just over two weeks ago. You said you knew but didn't like him. When I asked why not, you muttered something about \"like mother, like son\". What did you mean by that?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'Nothing personal. A lot of people didn't like Dame Quantrell. Not that they voiced their opinion too loudly, you understand. She could do no wrong in the Duchess's eyes. She was her devoted childhood friend and servant, come with her from England to make her exile bearable. Mind you, she was always civil enough whenever she visited the stables. Please and thank you, as pretty as you like.' The groom was now getting into his stride, his arms folded, like mine, on the top of the half-door as he leaned forward confidentially. 'The boy, though, was a different matter. Arrogant, overbearing and thinking he was God's gift to an expectant world. Had to be mounted on the best horses, and ran with his complaints to the Duchess if he didn't get his way. And Her Highness encouraged him with her orders that he was to ride any horse that he chose \u2013 just so long as it wasn't one of hers, of course. But Fulk knew better than to push his luck too far. His demands were always within reason. But he was a sneak and a troublemaker when he was young, and he didn't improve as he got older.'\n\n'You still haven't told me why Mistress Quantrell was disliked,' I pointed out. 'If she wasn't arrogant or rude, and didn't carry tales to the Duchess, what exactly was it about her that people objected to?'\n\nThe groom bit a callused thumb. Behind him, the mare shifted her hindquarters restlessly. He gave her another absent-minded pat.\n\n'We-ell, I heard \u2013 not that I know this for certain; I never experienced it myself \u2013 but I did hear that Dame Quantrell had a habit of prying and poking into other people's business and then threatening to use the information she'd gathered against them.'\n\n'Blackmail, do you mean?'\n\nThe groom sucked his teeth and pulled down the corners of his mouth. He seemed reluctant to commit himself.\n\n'Ye-es,' he admitted at last. 'I suppose that's what I do mean. As I say, I never had any experience of it, myself. But then, I've no secrets to hide.' He grinned and winked. 'I lead a blameless life.'\n\nI returned a perfunctory smile, too busy turning over in my mind the information he had just given me.\n\n'What about Fulk?' I asked. 'Was he up to the same tricks as his mother?'\n\nThe groom shook his head. 'I never heard so, but it wouldn't be surprising, I suppose, considering how close the two of them were reported to be. And now it seems that he's been murdered. It makes you wonder. It makes me wonder, at any rate.' The mare turned her head and nudged him in the back. Her water trough was empty. The groom made a clucking sound under his breath and said, 'I mustn't stay gossiping like this or I shall be boiled alive in oil. This beauty belongs to one of Queen Elizabeth's sisters. I'll bid you goodnight.' And, grabbing a black leather bucket, he ran towards the well in the middle of the stable yard.\n\nI called an answering 'Goodnight!' but it was doubtful if he heard me. He was too busy winching up the bucket. There was no sign of Bertram. He was probably nursing a sense of grievance at my abrupt departure and had abandoned me to my fate. Not that I needed him. I found the outer gate quite easily and, after a short but acrimonious colloquy with the gatekeeper as to who I was and what had been my business in the castle (I was leaving, I pointed out, not trying to get in!), I finally made my exit. Five minutes later I was in Thames Street, then heading north towards Knightrider Street, making my way back to the Voyager.\n\nI had heard the watch cry midnight before I eventually closed my eyes. I had been staring for more than an hour into the blackness and an impression of the room remained, like reflections in a river, distorted and dark.\n\nI had realized, long before reaching Bucklersbury, that I could no longer resent my summons to Baynard's Castle that evening, however abortive my interview with the Dowager Duchess Margaret might have been. The inspiration and information I had received while there had been invaluable. Things were finally beginning to fall into place. A pattern was emerging that inexorably led me forward to one conclusion, and one only. In the morning, I would pay another call on the Jolliffes. Meanwhile, sleep was claiming me at last \u2026\n\nI was back in the Earl of Lincoln's bedchamber, watching from the shadows where no one could see me. But the man in the sponge-lined tub wasn't the King's young nephew: he was a man I had never seen before, and standing, waiting to attend him, were his three pages, Lionel Broderer, Brandon Jolliffe and Roger Jessop.\n\nSuddenly, the man in the bath tub began to laugh, throwing out his arms and saying, 'Think, man, think! I've never been renowned for living like a monk!' and then laughing so hard that his whole body shook \u2013 and continued to shake until he slowly sank beneath the water and disappeared. The other three men stood like statues and made not the slightest effort to save him. I tried to go to his aid, but my limbs were like lead and I was unable move.\n\n'He's drowning!' I yelled, but my voice made no sound. Then, just as I managed to reach out a hand to the edge of the tub, the stranger bobbed to the surface of the water again, like a cork, and laughing harder than ever.\n\n'Nonsense!' he shouted. 'I haven't drowned!' And he heaved himself out of the tub, only to collapse in a pitiful heap on the floor. This time, I was in no doubt at all that he was dead \u2026\n\nI woke up, sweating profusely and with a terrible thirst, astonished to see that it was already morning. Sunlight was pouring through the cracks in the shutters, and I could hear the maids and tapsters and stable boys calling to one another as they set about their tasks for the new day. Reynold Makepeace, too, was calling a brisk greeting to his workers as he crossed the inner courtyard from his private quarters on the opposite side.\n\nI dressed swiftly and went outside to hold my head and hands under the pump, before dragging one of my best bone combs, taken from my pack, through my tangled mop of hair. A quick rub of my teeth with the willow bark I always carried, and I was off to the taproom to bespeak breakfast, and in the hope that I might meet my friend the groom once again. But my luck was out: there was no sign of him and, upon enquiry, I was told that he had left the inn over half an hour ago. The morning was more advanced than I had thought.\n\nI ordered a meal of pickled herring, porridge and a bacon collop, and while I was eating it, I thought back over my dream. It was no ordinary dream \u2013 not one of those jumbles of ridiculous events and even weirder facts that plague one's nights with their nonsense. This had been one of those visions that have haunted me from childhood, and that are a pale version of my mother's ability to 'see'. She had always denied having second sight, but there was no doubt that she had had sufficient accuracy in foretelling the future to make people a little afraid of her. In a larger community than Wells, where the town huddled around the cathedral like chicks around their mother hen, she might well have been denounced as a witch. But our neighbours knew and trusted Mistress Stonecarver (my father's profession) and even came to her for advice.\n\nAs I say, I had inherited a fraction of her power in the form of these dreams, and last night's \u2013 or, rather, this morning's \u2013 needed very little interpretation in the light of what I now thought I knew.\n\nI was just congratulating myself that I was at last free of Bertram's company (although, admittedly, I had grown fond of the lad) when he walked into the ale room, grinning all over his face.\n\n'I've persuaded Master Plummer to give me one more day's grace,' he announced, beaming with self-congratulation. He sat down on the bench beside me. 'You have the benefit of my company and advice for one last time. By the way,' he added in a more aggrieved accent, 'where did you get to last night when you suddenly disappeared like that?'\n\n'I saw someone I knew,' I answered shortly, rising from the table. His face fell. 'If you want to buy yourself a stoup of ale and some breakfast, by all means do so,' I encouraged him. 'I highly recommend the pickled herring and bacon collops. You can catch me up later.'\n\nBut he wasn't so stupid. 'I see!' he mocked. 'I can catch you up although you're not going to tell me where you're going! No, I thank you. I'm coming with you.'\n\nI sighed. 'I'm paying a visit to the Jolliffes. You can find me there.'\n\nHe eyed me suspiciously. 'And that's the truth you're telling me?'\n\n'I swear it.' I didn't say where I might be going afterwards. I didn't see any need.\n\nHis natural caution put up a short, sharp struggle against the near-starvation rations of Baynard's Castle servants, but his hunger won.\n\n'I'll see you at the Jolliffes', then,' he grinned, as a pot boy came to take his order.\n\nI had no doubt he would add the meal to my bill, but felt it was worth it not to have him constantly at my elbow.\n\nIt was another fine day and the Saturday traders were out in force. The usual vociferous crowds thronged the streets and flooded in and out of the Lud Gate, where there was even more delay because of decorations being erected over the arch. Evidently, the Dowager Duchess and her train were due to pass that way some time today.\n\nBy paying an early-morning visit, I had counted on finding all three of the Jolliffes at home, and I was not disappointed. They were still at breakfast when my arrival was announced.\n\nLydia Jolliffe, whom I had particularly requested to see, received me \u2013 somewhat ungraciously, I thought \u2013 in the upstairs parlour where we had previously met.\n\n'Well? What now, Master Chapman?' she demanded.\n\nToday, she was dressed in yellow silk: a fortuitous choice, yellow being the colour of hostility. This gown was cut lower over the breasts than the green one she had worn previously, decorated with amber beads and clasped around the hips by a chestnut-brown leather girdle. She looked magnificent, and knew it. I glanced at the wall hangings behind her. They, too, were magnificent in their way.\n\nLydia seated herself in the armchair, but today made no suggestion that I should pull up the stool, leaving me to stand.\n\n'Well?' she repeated. 'You've interrupted my breakfast. I beg that you'll say what you have to say and go.'\n\nI was silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at her, which, I could see, she found unnerving. Then I said abruptly, 'Your son, Brandon \u2013 he's not much like your husband, is he?'\n\nShe flushed angrily. 'He takes after me.'\n\n'A little,' I conceded. 'But the person he most resembles is Lionel Broderer. In fact, my assistant mistook him for Lionel only yesterday. He also resembles a young lad, Roger Jessop, who used to work for Mistress St Clair in her garden.'\n\nThe flush became a deep, angry red. 'What are you suggesting, chapman?'\n\n'I'm suggesting,' I answered steadily, 'that these three young men had one and the same father: Edmund Broderer. And there may be others, for all I know. I think Edmund Broderer was fond of women. And women were fond of him.'\n\nI held my breath. If Lydia chose to deny my allegation, I was unable prove it, and she could, and probably would, have me thrown into the street. I'd still believe it to be the truth, but I would have preferred confirmation of my suspicions.\n\nSlowly the angry tide of red receded from her cheeks, to be replaced by an appreciative smile. 'Very astute of you, Roger,' she said at last. 'I hope you're not intending to blackmail me by threatening to tell my husband, because it wouldn't do you a bit of good. He already knows. In fact, he encouraged my affair with Edmund. Roland's impotent, you see, and he wanted a son. He's perfectly happy to acknowledge Brandon as his.' She turned to glance at the embroidered wall hangings. 'He bought me these as a gift after Brandon's birth. From Edmund's workshop. Appropriate, if somewhat ironic, don't you think?'\n\nI smiled. 'Very appropriate,' I agreed. 'But I don't suppose all the husbands were as complaisant as yours, Mistress Jolliffe. Martha Broderer's, for instance.'\n\nLydia Jolliffe shrugged. 'But he wasn't likely to find out, now, was he? He was Edmund's cousin, so a family likeness was unremarkable. As for the boy who used to work next door, his mother was a widow.'\n\n'But I don't imagine these three are the only bastards of Edmund Broderer, are they?'\n\nThe word 'bastard' brought the blood back to her face for a moment, but then she shrugged and laughed.\n\n'You believe in calling a spade a spade, my friend. No, I don't suppose they were Edmund's only by-blows. He was a very virile man. He enjoyed \u2026 copulation.' Lydia looked me up and down provocatively. 'Where is all this leading, chapman? I can't believe you're intending to tell my son. You're not that sort.'\n\n'Certainly not,' I assured her.\n\n'So?'\n\n'Was Judith St Clair \u2013 Judith Broderer, as she must have been then \u2013 aware of her husband's \u2013 er \u2013 activities?'\n\nThis time Lydia threw back her head and laughed out loud, all her previous animosity forgotten.\n\n'\"Activities\", is it? What a splendidly prudish word \u2026 I don't think she could help but know. There were too many children around these parts who all had the same set of features.'\n\nLike the royal palaces, I thought to myself.\n\nI asked, 'Didn't this distress Mistress St Clair? Especially as she seems unable to bear children herself?'\n\nLydia pulled down one corner of her mouth. 'I should think it probably did \u2013 it would distress any woman \u2013 but you'd never have got Judith to own as much. She was, and still is, very proud. Even today, she would most likely scorn such a notion as Edmund's infidelity, if you put it to her.'\n\n'In spite of the evidence of her own eyes?'\n\n'I've told you: she's extraordinarily high in the instep. She could never admit that Edmund was unfaithful to her. She's a person who cannot tolerate disloyalty. One of the reasons she puts up with that oaf William Morgan, and allows him such licence, is because he is fanatical in his obedience to her wishes. She can do no wrong in his estimation, and I truly believe he would condone any action of hers, however bad. I believe he would kill for her, if necessary.'\n\nI felt sure she was right, but did not say so.\n\n'The lad who used to work in the garden, Roger Jessop,' I said, 'told me that he ran away because he thought someone in the St Clair household was trying to murder him. What do you think of that?'\n\nI should have foreseen that I would have to spend the next few minutes fending off Lydia's queries as to how and when I had managed to speak to Roger, by what means I had traced his whereabouts; but finally, reluctantly accepting that I had no intention of betraying the boy's confidence, she consented to answer my question.\n\n'I think it's nonsense,' she answered roundly. 'Who would want to get rid of him? He'd grown up under Judith's protection and he was a good worker. In fact, he was a better worker, probably, than he was allowed to be. I've heard him arguing with William Morgan on more than one occasion that he could be trusted to do more on his own. But William, typically, treated him like an idiot and followed the lad around the garden, supervising everything he did. It was always my opinion, for what it was worth, that Roger knew more about gardening than William. However, that might have been the trouble. William resented a child of that age being better at his job than he was.'\n\n'You don't think, then, that the Welshman could have tried to get rid of the boy for that very reason?'\n\nMy companion shook her head decisively. 'No. William Morgan relied on young Roger's knowledge \u2013 goodness knows where the lad got it from: I suppose it was just a gift from God \u2013 to keep the garden looking as Judith wanted it, and to earn her praises. For there's no doubt that William took all the credit. Judith was forever lauding his ability as a gardener.'\n\n'So, would there have been anyone else in the household who might have wanted Roger Jessop out of the way?'\n\n'No, of course not! Why should they? Godfrey and Jocelyn and Alcina could have had nothing against him. They may not even have been aware of his existence.'\n\n'Master St Clair was,' I corrected her. 'He mentioned the lad to me; mentioned, also, that he didn't come to work in the garden any more.'\n\nLydia shrugged, and there was silence between us for several seconds. Eventually, she asked, 'What has all this to do with the murder of Fulk Quantrell?'\n\nI gave her my most winning smile. 'I'm afraid I can't divulge that just yet \u2026 Tell me, did Edmund Broderer possess a gold-and-agate thumb ring?'\n\nLydia looked startled and, suddenly, a little wary.\n\n'Did he?' I pressed.\n\n'As a matter of fact, he did. It was something he acquired in the final month of his life. I remember remarking on it and asking him where he'd bought it. But he wouldn't say. Just told me it was a gift and extremely precious to him. He made the remark very pointedly, in front of Judith. I've never forgotten because of the look on her face \u2013 a look that made me quite sure a woman was involved. But I really don't see how you could know about the ring,' she went on. 'Edmund was wearing it the night he was robbed and thrown in the river, and his body was mother-naked when it was finally found. Not a jewel nor a scrap of clothing on him.' She eyed me uneasily. 'You don't practise the dark arts, do you?'\n\nI ignored this last question, but asked one of my own instead. 'Are you certain that Master Broderer was wearing the ring the night he disappeared?'\n\n'Quite certain. Edmund called here immediately after leaving home and before he went off to the inn for an evening's drinking \u2013 if that was, indeed, where he was going. He brought Brandon some new arrows for his bow from the fletcher's in Turnbaston Lane. He was very fond of the boy.' Lydia took a deep breath before adding, 'Brandon was, after all, his son \u2026 So, I repeat, how did you know \u2026?'\n\nI interrupted her ruthlessly. 'You said \"if that was indeed where he was going\". What exactly did you mean by that?'\n\n'I \u2013 I don't know. For heaven's sake! It's twelve years ago! How can I be expected to remember? Oh, very well! I just had this feeling \u2013 intuition, if you like \u2013 that he was going to see a woman. There was an air of \u2026 of suppressed excitement about him, and he was all spruced up in his best hose and his new red velvet tunic. Now, will you please tell me \u2026?'\n\nThis time I was saved from answering by the opening of the door, and by Roland Jolliffe entering the room in his slow, shambling way, but with a martial light in his kindly blue eyes.\n\n'Why are you keeping my wife so long, Master Chapman?' he demanded belligerently. 'I won't have her worried by all your questions. She's not strong.' (I'd have bet money on Lydia outlasting everyone around her.) 'Come, my love.' He offered her his arm, which she rose and took with the greatest reluctance. 'I'll bid you a very good morning, pedlar. I don't look to see you bothering my wife again.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "I had intended to go next door, to the St Clairs' house, as soon as I quit the Jolliffes'; but instead I returned the way I had come and struggled through the crowds, which had now become clogged with sightseers waiting to cheer the Duchess, to Needlers Lane, where I went straight to visit Martha Broderer, relying on the fact that Lionel would be across the street, at the workshop. I looked for Bertram as I went, but he had either not yet finished a protracted breakfast or we missed one another in the throng.\n\nMartha Broderer was still at home and still at table. A dirty bowl and beaker opposite her place suggested that my hopes had been realized and that Lionel had at least left the room, if not the house.\n\n'If you're looking for Lal, he's already gone,' his mother confirmed. 'But stay and have a cup of ale with me, chapman, before you seek him out.'\n\n'It's you I want to see, not your son,' I said, pulling up a stool and accepting her offer of ale. When she raised her eyebrows, I went on, 'I've just come from talking to Lydia Jolliffe.' I added significantly, 'About Brandon.'\n\nMartha, filling a clean beaker from a jug of small beer, shot me a suddenly apprehensive glance from beneath frowning brows. 'What about Brandon?'\n\nI took the beaker and swallowed several mouthfuls before replying. But at last, I said, 'Mistress Jolliffe has admitted to me that Edmund Broderer was Brandon's father. And Brandon looks extraordinarily like Lionel. My guess is that your son, too, was fathered by Edmund.'\n\nMartha looked at me, her lips compressed, her hands gripped together in front of her, on the table. I was afraid she was about to order me from the house, but, finally, she heaved a great sigh, almost of relief.\n\n'Edmund and I were once very much in love. He was nineteen, I was fifteen \u2013 old enough to know better, perhaps, but not old enough to be wise. At least, I wasn't. I was already betrothed to Edmund's cousin, you see. And when I discovered I was pregnant with Edmund's child, I was too frightened to admit the truth \u2013 frightened of the shame and the recriminations. In spite of Edmund's pleas, I went ahead and married my husband and passed Lionel off as his.\n\n'Edmund found it hard to forgive me, and who can blame him? But he stayed single for the next eleven years. I don't mean there weren't women; there were \u2013 a number of them. He was a very virile man. And I must admit that I have often wondered about Brandon Jolliffe's paternity. The boy bears little resemblance to either of his parents, and the likeness to Lal that you've mentioned is really quite marked \u2026 Then, quite suddenly, at the age of thirty, Edmund met and married Judith Fennyman, a seamstress in Margaret of York's household. It must have been the same year as the battles of Mortimer's Cross and St Alban's. The same year that King Henry was deposed and the present king crowned. Margaret of York was suddenly of great importance, a member of the reigning dynasty. Edmund told me later that he was never in love with Judith: his mother had died and he didn't care for the idea of living alone, and Judith had a certain attraction for him, being as she was in the employ of the new princess. Besides, he wanted a child whom he could acknowledge openly as his own.'\n\n'He was disappointed, then,' I put in as Martha paused to draw breath.\n\nShe nodded. 'Yes. Judith proved to be barren. But more than that, the year after Edmund and Judith's marriage, her brother-in-law, James Quantrell, was killed when he was thrown from his horse, and Veronica and Fulk, who was just a baby, went to live at the house in the Strand. Edmund and his sister-in-law didn't get on. The two women were as thick as thieves, and Edmund felt himself to be an outsider in his own home.\n\n'This went on for six years and, more and more, he began to turn to me for comfort \u2013 I was a widow by this time \u2013 and, gradually, all our old love was rekindled. He gave me a gold ring as token of his love, and I gave him a gold-and-agate thumb ring, which he told me he would wear until he died. He promised to tell Judith that he was leaving her for me. He could obtain a divorce, he said, on the grounds of her inability to have children \u2026'\n\nMartha broke off, her voice suspended by tears, so I finished for her. 'But before that could happen, Edmund Broderer disappeared and no one knew what had happened to him until some time later, when his body was fished out of the Thames, almost unrecognizable.' I paused, then asked, 'Didn't it ever occur to you, Mistress Broderer, how very convenient for Judith his death was?'\n\nMartha gave me another sharp look. 'Yes, of course it did. But not only Veronica Quantrell, but William Morgan also, swore they were all at home together and didn't leave the house the night he vanished.'\n\nI made no comment, but finished my beer. 'Were you surprised,' I then asked, 'when Judith married a violent man like Justin Threadgold?'\n\n'Yes, I must admit I was. But she's always had this passion for children and young people. I thought she must have married him for Alcina's sake.'\n\n'And her passion for Fulk Quantrell?'\n\nMartha laughed, gesturing with one hand. 'Oh, that's easy enough to explain! A nephew, her twin sister's son, whom she hadn't clapped eyes on for the past twelve years! Handsome and with a tongue dripping with honey! Poor Judith stood no chance. She was lost from the first moment of setting eyes on him.'\n\n'Yes \u2026 I rather fancy that she was,' I answered slowly. I got to my feet. 'Well, thank you, Mistress Broderer. I won't take up any more of your time. You've told me what I wanted to know.'\n\n'Where are you going now?' she enquired curiously. 'Do you know yet who killed Fulk Quantrell?'\n\n'Yes, I think so,' I said. 'It's just a question of whether or not I can get that person to confess.'\n\nMartha looked both excited and a little alarmed. 'It's not Lionel, is it?' she demanded, trembling slightly.\n\nI moved towards the door. 'Is he aware that Edmund was his father?' I enquired.\n\nShe shook her head. 'No. I've never told him; I've never seen the need. Whether or not I would have done, had Edmund and I ever married, I can't say.' She sighed again. 'Maybe I'll tell him the truth one day, if the moment seems right.'\n\nI thanked her for her time and patience, and left quickly before she realized that I hadn't answered her question.\n\n'I'll let myself out,' I said. 'Don't trouble your maid.'\n\nI made my way back to the Strand, more than ever convinced that I knew the identity of Fulk Quantrell's murderer.\n\nThis time I did see Bertram, although he failed to spot me. With a face like thunder, hot and sweating, he was returning through the Lud Gate and about to climb the hill. I didn't call out, but carried on along Fleet Street to the bridge, and across the Fleet into the Strand.\n\nPaulina Graygoss answered my knock, but pulled down the corners of her mouth when I asked to see her mistress. 'You'll have to come back later,' she informed me tersely. 'The mistress is doing her domestic rounds. And there are still details of Master Threadgold's funeral to arrange. She and Mistress Alcina will be visiting St Dunstan's later, after dinner. You can wait till then, if you like,' she added grudgingly.\n\nBut I wasn't prepared to wait. 'Tell Mistress St Clair I would like to speak to her now,' I said, drawing a gasp of protest from the housekeeper.\n\n'I'll do no such thing,' she declared roundly. 'I've never heard the like. What impudence! A common chapman to issue his orders to the lady of the house! How dare you!'\n\nOne of the doors into the great hall opened and Godfrey St Clair shuffled in, a silk-covered folio (presumably the sayings of Marcus Aurelius) clutched in one hand.\n\n'What's the trouble, Paulina?' he asked, giving me an odd, calculating look that he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn into a welcoming smile. Then, without waiting for her reply, he advanced on me, one hand outheld. 'Master Chapman! I saw your approach from a window. I'm sorry to tell you that my wife is but just this moment taken with one of her very bad headaches, and is laid down upon her bed.'\n\nPaulina Graygoss gave a startled exclamation of sympathy and at once ordered me from the house. 'You see now that it's impossible for you to see the mistress.'\n\nGodfrey silenced her with a wave of his hand. 'On the contrary, my wife has agreed see you, Master Chapman, if you keep your visit brief and do not object to being received by her in her bedchamber.'\n\n'Mistress St Clair was expecting me?'\n\n'She \u2026 She thought you might be back \u2026 might wish to speak with her again.' Godfrey seemed ill at ease and his eyes refused to meet mine. 'I don't know why,' he went on, 'but it was after Mistress Jolliffe called on her a little while ago, just as we were finishing breakfast.'\n\n'And she's willing to see me?'\n\n'I've just said so.'\n\n'In spite of her headache?' Paulina Graygoss demanded. 'I ought to go up to her, master, and mix her one of her potions.'\n\n'No, no!' Godfrey shuffled his feet. 'It's \u2026 It's not as bad as most of her headaches,' he explained. 'And as for the potion, I've already mixed one for her and she's already feeling a little better. Besides, she's so much else to do, she feels she must talk to the pedlar, here, and get it over with. Then, perhaps, he'll go away and leave us in peace.' Godfrey turned back to me. 'So if you don't object to being received by my wife in her bedchamber, Master Chapman, I'll take you to her.'\n\nI gave a bow and indicated that he should lead the way. The housekeeper detained me with a hand on my arm.\n\n'You upset the mistress and you'll have me to reckon with,' she threatened in a low, furious voice. 'Receiving you when she's suffering from one of her headaches! Whatever next!'\n\n'That'll do, Paulina!' Godfrey exclaimed impatiently. 'Come along, chapman, please. Mistress St Clair doesn't like to be kept waiting.'\n\nI followed him meekly up the main staircase and was ushered into the room I had already visited twice before, but, for the first time, I entered through the main bedchamber door.\n\n'I've brought the pedlar, as you see, my love,' Godfrey muttered, and withdrew hurriedly, closing the door behind him. His attitude was that of a man who, having reluctantly played his part, wanted nothing further to do with the matter. His nervousness was palpable \u2013 an unease that should have made me wary but failed to do so because, in some measure, it was Godfrey St Clair's natural manner.\n\nJudith, fully clothed, was sitting up on the bed, but not in it. She had removed her shoes in order, I presumed, not to dirty the magnificent coverlet, while the bed curtains had been pushed right back to the head of the bed so that the story of Daphnis and Chloe was visible only as streaks of ochre and daubs of terracotta pink.\n\n'Ah! Roger the Chapman!' she murmured, somewhat mockingly, I thought. 'Sit down.' And she indicated a stool set ready for me by the side of the bed.\n\nShe was certainly very pale, but otherwise gave no impression of a woman in the throes of a debilitating headache. A carved wooden cup with a silver rim, which stood on the bedside cupboard beside the candlestick and candle, appeared, from what I could see of it as I sat down, to be full to the top of some brownish liquid. She evidently had not yet swallowed the potion Godfrey had prepared for her, which, again, argued no great degree of discomfort. These signs and portents should have put me on my guard. But, I regret to say, they didn't.\n\n'Well?' she invited, a little smile lifting the corners of her mouth. 'Do you know now who killed my nephew? And why?'\n\nI didn't return her smile. 'I think so,' I answered.\n\n'You only \"think so\"? I expected better of you than that.'\n\n'All right,' I said. 'I do know. But I'll be honest with you, mistress. I've no real proof.'\n\nAt that, she laughed. 'That's not just being honest,' she said. 'That's being foolhardy. So! You've no proof unless the murderer confesses?'\n\n'No. Only suspicions. And if the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy refuses to accept those suspicions\u2014'\n\n'Which she doubtless will!'\n\n'Which, as you say, she doubtless will, then there is nothing further I can do in this matter.'\n\nJudith nodded thoughtfully. 'On the other hand,' she said, 'suspicion, like mud, tends to stick and can ruin a life quite effectively. Although, of course, one still has that life, which must be preferable to a painful death. So I can't promise you that you'll get your confession, chapman.' She closed her eyes for a moment or two before suddenly opening them wide and turning them intently on me.\n\n'Tell me, then,' she said, looking down her masterful nose, 'what made you first suspect me?'\n\nI considered this. 'I think it was when you told me that your nephew had been murdered in Faitour Lane. This, of course, was perfectly true, but his body was later shifted by two of the beggars round the corner into Fleet Street and left outside St Dunstan's Church.'\n\n'A very foolish mistake,' Judith commented harshly, plainly angry with herself, as well as with me for picking it up. 'So that's how the corpse came to be moved, is it? I did wonder \u2026 Go on! What else?'\n\n'I found it odd that, after Fulk's death, you changed your will back again to its original form with such speed. Not much in itself, perhaps, but when I thought about it, it suggested to me a desire to erase Fulk from your life as soon as possible \u2013 a desire to right a wrong for the people you truly cared for: your husband, Mistress Alcina and Master Jocelyn. Even, perhaps, Lionel Broderer. As I said: a feeling, not evidence.'\n\nJudith pursed her lips. 'No, not evidence,' she agreed. 'You've mentioned nothing so far that I couldn't refute. So? What more? Or isn't there anything?'\n\nI sat up straighter on my stool and eased my aching shoulders. 'You haven't asked me yet', I pointed out, 'why I think you killed your nephew.'\n\nShe laughed. 'Very well, then. Why did I murder Fulk, Master Chapman? Although I'm sure you've worked it out.'\n\n'Because he was threatening you.'\n\n'Indeed? And why would he be able to do that?'\n\n'Because Fulk wasn't the first person you'd killed, was he, mistress? Twelve years ago you murdered your first husband. And I think \u2013 indeed, I'm almost sure \u2013 that if I were to dig beneath that willow tree in your garden, I should probably find his bones.'\n\nThere was silence, eventually broken by a deep sigh as Judith propped herself a little higher on her pillows. 'I think you're forgetting that Edmund Broderer was dragged from the river several weeks after he disappeared,' she reminded me.\n\n'No, I'm not forgetting. But a body that's been in the Thames for that length of time would be almost unrecognizable. Except, of course, by his loving wife who identified him by the shape of his feet and some intimate bodily mark.'\n\nThe slightly tolerant smile had by now quite vanished and her eyes were like steel. 'You have been asking a lot of questions, Master Chapman,' she snapped. 'And, seemingly, getting a lot of answers. So tell me! Why would I have wanted to kill Edmund Broderer?'\n\nIt was my turn to smile. 'I wasn't sure until young Bertram Serifaber mistook Lionel for Brandon Jolliffe, and then I realized the likeness betwen them myself. And when I found young Roger Jessop, Nell's half-brother \u2013 you remember Roger Jessop, don't you? The young lad who used to work in your garden \u2013 and saw that he, too, bore a strong resemblance to the other two, I started to believe that they might all have been sired by the same father. This morning, therefore, I talked not only to Mistress Jolliffe but also to Martha Broderer. Both women were quite frank with me about their relationship with your former husband.'\n\n'A lot of men have bastards,' my companion sneered. 'Men are like that: incontinent where their need for women is concerned. But their long-suffering wives don't murder them. They endure, like our poor Queen.'\n\n'Maybe,' I agreed. 'But what if a woman's husband is proposing to leave her for his former sweetheart, his cousin's widow? What if he's talking of obtaining a divorce because of that wife's barrenness? What if this woman cannot bear the thought of being abandoned and humiliated for a woman she despises?'\n\n'What if! What if!' Judith St Clair broke in angrily. 'It seems to me there's more \"what if\" about your suspicions than substance. And what makes you think Edmund is buried beneath my willow tree?'\n\n'You're very fond of that spot. People have told me so. Yesterday, when you invited me into your garden to stand with you under the tree, I had the feeling that you were secretly laughing at me. Mocking me. Taunting me, perhaps, with the evidence buried beneath our feet. Call me fanciful if you like, but that is how it struck me.'\n\nShe gave a hard, artificial little laugh. 'I certainly do call it fanciful! Do you think anyone would be convinced by such nonsense?'\n\n'Probably not. But someone might be more interested in the fact that young Roger Jessop, a child raised and nurtured by you from his earliest days, suddenly ran away because, after a series of odd mishaps and near \"accidents\", he grew to believe that his life was in danger. I wondered why that should be, until I learned from William Morgan and from you that he had been digging around the willow. The lad didn't find anything; his suspicions of anything, or anyone, being buried there weren't even slightly aroused. But you couldn't take the chance of letting him live.'\n\nMy companion was really angry now. She was also beginning to be frightened. But she wasn't as yet seriously alarmed. 'Is that all?' she sneered.\n\n'No,' I said. 'There's the mystery of why you married your second husband, Justin Threadgold. Everyone I've spoken to, including his own brother and daughter, says that he was a violent, abusive man. So why, knowing this, did you agree to become his wife?'\n\n'For Alcina's sake,' she whipped back at me.\n\n'That's the impression you've always given to other people, and it seems, on the face of it, to be the only reason that makes sense. But you were rich and the Threadgolds were poor. Suppose, therefore, like Fulk after him, Justin blackmailed you. Into marrying him.'\n\n'How could he do that?' Judith flung at me contemptuously, but I saw her lick her lips.\n\nI gave her back look for look. 'That little room of the Threadgolds', above the fireplace, looks out over your garden with a clear view of the willow tree. Only, of course, there wasn't a tree the night Justin saw you and your sister and William Morgan burying your first husband's body. I don't suppose he guessed at once what you were up to, but when Edmund Broderer went missing, and his body turned up in such a state that only you could recognize it, he put two and two together. He probably claimed to have seen more than he did, but you weren't to know that. Or you daren't take that chance. The price of his silence was marriage. I wonder what death you were planning for him, if he hadn't died of natural causes.'\n\nJudith laughed and abandoned all pretence. 'Oh, I'd have thought of something,' she assured me. 'Of course, I couldn't dispose of him immediately. It would have looked too suspicious. I had to wait a year or two. And then, as you say, my plans weren't needed \u2026 Well! Continue! What other proof of my guilt do you have to offer me?'\n\n'You have twice had me assaulted by your loyal henchman William Morgan. At first, I was puzzled as to why such a loutish, insubordinate man should hold a privileged position in your household. Later, of course, I understood. He's your tame boarhound. You obviously instructed him not to kill me. My death would have been a great mistake, as I feel sure you agreed. You just wanted me warned off \u2013 to go back to Bristol.'\n\n'Dear William! He's a man who knows the meaning of loyalty, unlike my nephew.' Judith spoke with venom.\n\n'Ah, yes! Fulk! You never were enamoured of him, as everyone thought, but you had to play the part of his choosing. What happened? Before she died, did your sister tell him the truth of what happened that night when he was six years old? The night she helped you bury the husband you had killed, while Fulk was asleep in bed? Your twin had a reputation at the Burgundian court \u2013 did you know? \u2013 of winkling out fellow servants' more disgraceful secrets and using that knowledge against them. \"Like mother, like son,\" I was told, and that seems to have been the truth.'\n\n'I'd never have thought it of my own sister,' Judith hissed. 'My twin! She turned out to have been a viper who'd given birth to a venomous toad.' She leaned forward, her headache apparently forgotten, and gripped my wrist. 'You're right. Almost from the moment of his arrival Fulk made it clear that he knew everything, and intended to take full advantage of what he knew. I was to play the role of loving, besotted aunt and make a new will, leaving everything \u2013 everything! \u2013 to him, or he would tell Duchess Margaret the truth. Veronica was dead and he had been too young to be involved in Edmund's murder. There was only me left to take the blame.'\n\n'Incidentally,' I interrupted, 'how did you kill Master Broderer?'\n\n'I stabbed him with a carving knife that happened to be on the table with the remains of our supper, which he'd missed. Edmund came into the dining parlour after we'd eaten. He'd been drinking, but he wasn't drunk. Certainly not enough for me to disbelieve him when he told me he was turning me and my family out of his house to make way for Martha Broderer. I was so furious that, almost without knowing what I was doing, I seized the knife and stabbed him through the heart \u2026 Later, Veronica and William Morgan helped me strip his body and bury it at the bottom of the garden, by the river. (It was Justin who planted the willow tree over the spot. He thought it a joke.) Then I gave out that Edmund had never come home. People naturally assumed that he must have fallen in the river. So many drunkards end that way. Then all I had to do was to wait until a naked, suitably decomposed body was fished out of the Thames and claim it as my husband's.'\n\n'But you made the mistake of keeping his things,' I said, 'including the gold-and-agate thumb ring that Martha Broderer had given him.'\n\nHer eyes narrowed. 'How do you know that? Have you been in this room without my knowledge?'\n\nThere was no point in denying it, and we had gone past the point of fencing with one another.\n\n'Twice,' I admitted.\n\n'And you discovered the \"fly trap\"?' I nodded. 'How?'\n\nI explained and she swore fluently.\n\n'How did you murder your nephew?' I interrupted her.\n\n'Oh, that was easy. I knew he was going to St Dunstan's that evening, it being the Feast of Saint Sigismund. I simply retired to bed with one of my headaches and, later, left the house by the \"secret\" stair, wearing a suit of Edmund's clothes and one of his cloaks. I went out by the garden door, over the wall into the alley, and from there to Fleet Street, where I waited outside the church until Fulk came out. There were too many people around to do it then, so I followed him into Faitour Lane' \u2013 she curled her lip \u2013 'where he had business at one of the brothels. I had one of Godfrey's cudgels hidden under my cloak and I bludgeoned him to death with that.'\n\nI shivered. 'You're a formidable woman, Mistress St Clair. And the wine you sent by Alcina to Martin Threadgold? What was that laced with? Poppy and lettuce juice? It must have been an easy matter then for either you or the devoted William to smother him with the cushion. You thought he knew something and was going to tell me, didn't you? William Morgan had overheard my conversation with the housekeeper.'\n\nJudith suddenly let go of my arm and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, so that she was standing beside me. 'Let me show you something,' she said. 'Come! It's just over here.'\n\nAnd like a fool, I followed her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "When Judith St Clair said, 'There! There! Look!' I should never have been taken in. I, of all people, should never have followed the direction of her pointing finger.\n\nIt was a year, or maybe slightly less, since I had been cudgelled over the back of the head while obeying another duplicitous woman's instrucion to look out of a window. And there I was repeating the same mistake and peering at the floor of Judith's bedchamber because she told me to do so; because I was gullible enough to believe there was something there. I didn't see her open the 'fly trap'; I hadn't even heard William Morgan enter the bedchamber by way of the 'secret' stair. It was only when he grunted, 'Open the door wider, mistress,' that I realized he was behind me, and, of course, by then it was too late.\n\nFar too late.\n\nAs I tried to straighten up, suddenly, nerve-wrackingly aware of what was happening, I was heaved forward, head first through the wall into the hidden cupboard, and even before I could gather my wits about me, the door of the 'fly trap' swung shut. And there I was, thanks to my crass stupidity, caught in the spider's web.\n\nIt was several minutes before I could even move. I had banged my head on the edge of the shelf as I fell, and had hit the floor at such an angle that I was completely winded. I also discovered, to my chagrin, that I was crying like one of my two young sons, but hastily attributed my tears to rage and frustration rather than pain.\n\nAt last I sat up, tenderly feeling my right ankle, which was throbbing, but found that I could move it easily enough and therefore concluded that no lasting damage had been done. Only then did I address myself to the situation I was in.\n\nOf course, I groped for the key, which should have been hanging from the shelf behind me, in order to open the door from inside. But the hook was empty. I would have been an even bigger fool than I had already proved myself to be had I expected otherwise. Judith St Clair had removed it before I was summoned to her bedchamber. She had planned everything with the faithful William Morgan before I arrived.\n\nAfter Mistress Jolliffe's visit, she must have guessed I would come, and had probably expected me earlier. The sisterhood of women had ensured that Lydia would warn Judith that I was asking questions about Edmund and his relationship to both Brandon and Lionel. Judith could not possibly have known exactly how much I knew, nor what I had made of such information as I had, but she was not a woman who took chances. Her attempts to have Roger Jessop murdered only on account of what he might have discovered demonstrated that. So she had summoned William Morgan, her faithful henchman, and together they had laid the trap. No doubt some signal \u2013 perhaps 'There! There! Look!' \u2013 had been pre-arranged to bring the Welshman from his hiding place behind the door to the 'secret' stair.\n\nIt had been unwise to show my hand so plainly; lying there in the airless dark, I could see that now \u2026 The airless dark! I had been wondering what the murderous duo's plans were for me, but it was suddenly blindingly obvious. They need do nothing until the lack of air in the 'fly trap' suffocated me; then, at night, they could carry my body down to the river and tip me in. There would be no stab wounds, as there had been with Edmund Broderer, to indicate that I had met my death other than by drowning. If Judith insisted that I had left the house after talking to her, and William confirmed that he had shown me out, who would contest it? Not Godfrey, who was doubtless lost in the sayings of Marcus Aurelius. Not Paulina Graygoss and the maids, busy in the kitchen preparing ten o'clock dinner. As for Alcina and Jocelyn, they probably had no idea that I had ever been in the house that morning; I had seen no sign of either of them. I really was caught like a fly in a trap.\n\nKeep calm, I told myself. Breathe slowly and don't use up too much air. Yet what was the point of that? Neither Judith nor William was likely to open the door for at least twenty-four hours, if not longer. They would make absolutely certain that I was dead before disposing of me.\n\nMy eyes were growing used to the gloom by now, and I stood up carefully to make a search of the shelf. But it revealed nothing that I had not seen during my previous visit, except for a paper folded and sealed. I turned this over once or twice, before noticing that it bore an inscription in a large, bold, confident hand. Even so, I had to squint a little to make it out, then recognized, with a painful jolt to my stomach, that it was addressed to me.\n\n'Roger the Chapman,' it ran; and underneath was the message: 'Candle and tinder-box on the floor.'\n\nI was on my knees almost before I had finished reading, feeling with my hands over every inch of those dusty boards until I found what I was seeking. Right up against the clothes chest my fingers encountered a candle in its holder, and a tinder-box. Carefully, I lifted them on to the shelf, reflecting that in this, at least, Judith St Clair had kept her word.\n\nI put flame to wick and watched the golden light spread and glow, illuminating the narrow space. The 'fly trap' suddenly seemed a less menacing place, and in my relief I failed to notice that the candle was little more than a stump which could last only a very short while. I broke the paper's seal, flattening the thick parchment as well as I could, then held the candle close.\n\nIt didn't take me many seconds to realize that what I was reading was Judith St Clair's confession to the murder of her first husband, Edmund Broderer, twelve years earlier, and to that of her nephew, Fulk Quantrell. It wasted no words and offered no excuses, being short and to the point. It merely stated that she, and she alone, had killed them both, and exonerated anyone else of being involved.\n\nI read it through two or three times, wondering why she had not adduced some sort of explanation for the killings, both of which might be thought justifiable in certain circumstances. Then it occurred to me that, if this confession was ever read by anyone but me, I should somehow or other have managed to escape from the 'fly trap' and could supply all the explanation needed. But if I failed to get out, and everything went according to Judith's plan, the confession would be disposed of, along with me.\n\nFor a tantalizing moment I flirted with the idea that I might be able to free myself. What would Judith do then? Suicide? I remembered the poppy and lettuce juice potion she took for her headaches (those headaches that could be put to such good use when an alibi was needed). Taken in a sufficiently strong dose, could it kill? My guess was that it probably could.\n\nI had a sudden heart-stopping memory of Bertram picking the inside lock of the 'fly trap' in the Threadgold house. With a trembling right hand, I drew my knife from my belt as, with my left, I held the candle closer to the centre of the door, where Bertram had told me the lock of these things was always located. At that moment, however, the candle guttered and gave up the ghost. Cursing fluently, I hunted around for the tinder-box and, having at last found it, attempted to relight the wick. But it was a lost endeavour: the candle had burned itself out.\n\nI tried, half-heartedly, to use the tinder-box as a light, but it proved impossible, as the tinder was swiftly used up. I was back in the all-enveloping gloom and with eyesight that needed to adjust to the dark all over again.\n\n'What now?' I asked myself.\n\nI was sweating profusely, panic adding its toll to the heat of the cupboard. Then, with something akin to hope again lifting my spirits, I recollected Bertram, in similar circumstances next door, running his finger over the panneling until he could feel the inside lock \u2026\n\nSeveral agonizing minutes must have elapsed before I found this one \u2013 before a finger of my left hand travelled round a strip of metal so thin that I was at first unaware that I was touching it. With my heart pounding, pressing my finger to the spot, I once more drew my knife in my other hand and brought up the blade \u2026\n\nIt was hopeless. I don't know how long I kept trying, using every trick of lock-picking that Nicholas Fletcher had taught me, and that had never failed me before. But in the end I had to admit defeat. I was growing short of breath, my head was swimming unpleasantly and my throat was parched. Unconsciousness threatened to overtake me and I was forced to sit on the floor, my chest heaving. This was it, then. This was death, which I had faced on so many occasions in the past, but always cheated until now.\n\nUntil now! The true implication of the words hit me with all the force of a blow to the heart. I should never see Adela again. I should never see my sons and daughter again. What would they do without me? Life was not easy for widows or fatherless children. Perhaps Adela would marry for a third time, once she had recovered from my loss. A picture of Richard Manifold rose up before me. He had wanted her from the start. A sheriff's officer, a sergeant, he would be a good provider, but somehow I could not bear the thought of him taking over my family as his own. I remembered the many times they had seemed a burden to me; my sense of freedom as I took once again to the open road and put the miles between myself and them. I remembered how often Elizabeth and Nicholas had driven me to the limits of my endurance, and how frequently Adam had inspired me with thoughts of infanticide \u2026\n\nBut sitting there in the dark, feeling my senses being gradually overpowered, I vowed that if I ever got out of this dreadful trap alive, I would be a reformed character. I would treat each member of my family with the loving tenderness that he or she deserved. Even Margaret Walker, Adela's cousin and my former mother-in-law, would receive her share of appreciation and esteem.\n\nI gave a gasp, a desperate sucking in of fetid air, halfway between tears and laughter, as darkness began to close in. Even in extremis, my old, cynical self told me that, if I did survive, everything would be exactly as it was before. But I hoped that, somehow, Adela and the children would know that I loved them, and had died thinking about them, their names on my lips \u2026\n\nBut, strangely, it wasn't Adela standing beside me, looking down at my supine form, but Lillis, my first wife, who had died after our all too brief marriage, giving birth to our daughter, Elizabeth. She bent over me, smiling.\n\n'Go back, Roger,' she said. 'Go back. It's not time yet \u2026 not time.'\n\nThe vision of her faded with her voice and she was replaced by my mother, who stood, hands on hips, regarding me in that exasperated fashion I recalled so well from my childhood \u2013 a kind of despairing 'what are we going to do with you?' look. She said nothing, but shook her head and warded me off as I tried to wriggle in her direction. She took a step backwards and was gone, and a small, dark man with weather-beaten features, stood there in her stead. I recognized him vaguely as my father, who had died when I was barely four, after a fall from scaffolding as he worked on the ceiling of Wells Cathedral nave. He had been a stone carver by trade and by name, and throughout the early part of my life, I had been known either as Roger Stonecarver or Roger Carverson (and a lot of other names, besides, far less complimentary; but we won't go into that). I couldn't remember much about him; he had made very little impact on my young life compared with my mother, and then he was gone. I had the vaguest recollection of finding my mother in tears on more than one occasion, and associating her grief with my father. But she told me, during one of our rare conversations about him, that, unlike a lot of men, he had never beaten her or used any other sort of violence towards her. So her sorrow must have had a different cause \u2026\n\nThe visions faded as I briefly regained consciousness. I became aware of a great weight on my chest, as though someone had placed a heavy stone there. I tried to push it off, but was unable to shift it \u2026 I was drifting now, down a long, dimly lit passageway, at the end of which was a peculiarly bright white light, and I suddenly felt very calm and peaceful, as though all my life I had been waiting to get to the end of that corridor and lose myself in that light. Indeed, so strong was the urge to complete this journey that when someone shouted in my ear, 'Roger! Roger! Wake up! Wake up!' I was angry and resentful at having been robbed of my goal \u2026\n\nI was suddenly awake. The 'fly trap' was open and Bertram was bending over me. The bedchamber beyond appeared to be extraordinarily full of people: men-at-arms, wearing the blue-and-murrey livery of the Duke of Gloucester, and Sheriff's officers.\n\n'What \u2026 What's going on?' I murmured dazedly, and a voice I thought I recognized said, 'Thanks be to God. He's alive. Carefully, now! Carefully! Carry him out and put him on the bed.'\n\nIt was the Duke of Gloucester.\n\nI would have struggled to my feet, but was told peremptorily not to be a fool and lie still. Someone \u2013 Bertram? \u2013 brought wine and held it to my lips while I drank greedily.\n\nMeantime, all around me chaos reigned. Sheriff's men \u2013 there were probably only some three or four of them, but to my still disordered senses it seemed like a cohort \u2013 went in and out of the bedchamber as Duke Richard issued his orders. A bewildered Godfrey St Clair and an equally bemused Jocelyn and Alcina were summoned into his presence, but had little to contribute by way of answers to his questions. Paulina Graygoss and the two maids arrived, breathless and scared half out of their wits from the kitchen regions, but had equally little to say, except that William Morgan had disappeared. According to Nell, he had run into the garden and heaved himself over the wall into the alley as soon as the first loud, authoritative knocks on the outer door had heralded the arrival of officialdom. (''E buggered off out the garden an' over the wall as soon as 'e 'eard that there banging,' were her precise words, but we all knew what she meant.)\n\nJudith, too, seemed to be missing, to the great distress of her husband, who found it impossible to comprehend what was going on, and was overwhelmed by the invasion of his house by the King's brother and various representatives of the law. I whispered to Bertram, who, following my instructions, slipped inside the 'fly trap', emerging a few seconds later with Judith's confession. This he handed to the Duke, who read it without comment, before passing it to Godfrey St Clair.\n\nGodfrey's whole body was shaking so much that Duke Richard ordered a stool to be found for him, and, when this had been brought, he read his wife's confession with Alcina and his son looking over his shoulder. Of course, all three refused to believe it, but there was a desperation in their denials reminiscent of people spitting against the wind. There was no refuting, either, that the confession was written in Judith's own hand, no matter how much they would have liked to prove it a forgery. Even so, they would have continued to express their doubts, had not one of the Sheriff's men brought word that Mistress St Clair was to be seen sitting beneath the willow tree at the bottom of the garden, apparently either asleep or gazing out across the Thames. At this information, Godfrey gave a great cry and, oblivious to protocol, rushed from the bedchamber without so much as glancing at the Duke or asking his permission. He had guessed the truth, of course: Judith had taken her own life.\n\nDuke Richard glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I told him about the lettuce and poppy juice potion that she took for her headaches.\n\n'She must have seen Your Highness's approach along the Strand,' I suggested, 'and realized that the game was up. But, My Lord, how did you know where to look for me?'\n\nThe Duke, who could be extremely haughty if he wished, merely grinned like a schoolboy and perched on the end of the bed, smoothing the beautiful, embroidered coverlet with a long-fingered, appreciative hand.\n\n'First things first,' he reproved me gently. 'Are you fully recovered after your ordeal? If so, I should be glad to know the details of these two murders. My sister, the Duchess Margaret, will be shocked beyond measure and and it will be hard to convince her of Mistress St Clair's guilt, in spite of her confession. I need to know all of the facts.'\n\nSo, I told him.\n\nWhen I had finished speaking, I lay back against the pillows, exhausted, my recent experience in the 'fly trap' having sapped my strength. Bertram handed me another beaker of wine and, over its rim, I met his reproachful gaze.\n\n'If only you'd kept me informed,' he chided, 'instead of trying to keep me in the dark all the time, you wouldn't have ended up almost dead meat.'\n\n'I'm truly sorry,' I said contritely.\n\nBut my apology must have lacked sincerity, because the Duke laughed.\n\n'And so you should be, Roger,' he told me. 'If it wasn't for young Master Serifaber's unshakable conviction that something had happened to you, and his insistence on speaking personally to me, you would certainly have died of suffocation.'\n\nIt appeared that Bertram, calling on Lydia Jolliffe, had been informed not only of my visit, but also of the fact that she had seen me returning along the Strand in the direction of the city. Indignantly, he had returned to the Voyager only to find that I wasn't there.\n\nOn some God-given impulse, he had decided to visit the Broderer workshop, where Martha had just arrived in order to give a hand with some of the beadwork. She admitted to having seen me and, under pressure, had reluctantly divulged the gist of our conversation. Bertram had then set off back to the Strand, convinced that I had gone to confront Judith St Clair and, as a much brighter lad than I had earlier given him credit for being, already beginning to get a faint inkling of the truth.\n\nAt the St Clair house, Paulina Graygoss, who answered his knock, had declared that I had called, but must have gone without her noticing, because she hadn't seen me since. She had referred him to William Morgan, who had confirmed that I had left. Something in the latter's manner, however, had aroused Bertram's suspicions and convinced him that the Welshman was acting under orders from Judith St Clair. Bertram, therefore, had made his way back to Baynard's Castle to seek out Timothy Plummer, but that gentleman, still swollen with self-importance in his role as chief guardian to the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, had refused to listen to what he considered the merest conjecture. My fate could well have been sealed there and then, had the Duke of Gloucester not happened to ride into the outer courtyard at the very moment Bertram was leaving.\n\nSo anxious was Bertram by this time, that, nothing daunted, he had seized the Duke's bridle \u2013 and very nearly got himself killed by one of the Duke's squires for his pains. Fortunately, My Lord had intervened just in time; and, as soon as Bertram had explained his worries for my safety, had acted with speed and a fine disregard for the consequences, should Bertram's hunch have proved to be wrong. A messenger had immediately been despatched to the Sheriff, while the Duke himself had taken Bertram up behind him and, accompanied by three or four men-at-arms and two of his squires, ridden directly to the Strand.\n\nIt was during this frantic dash through the London streets that Bertram had recollected my telling him of the 'fly trap' in Mistress St Clair's bedchamber, and he had made straight for it as soon as he had been admitted by Paulina, his royal master hard on his heels.\n\n'And so I hope you see, Roger,' the Duke said, still smiling, 'how much you owe to this astute young man.'\n\nI had regained a little of my bravado \u2013 enough, at any rate, to grin impudently and say, 'My trust is all in Your Grace to reward him as he deserves, because I'm very sure I can't.'\n\n'He shall become one of my personal bodyguards,' was the prompt reply, leaving Bertram pink with excitement and gasping like a stranded fish. 'And now,' the Duke went on, getting to his feet, 'I must return to Baynard's Castle and seek an interview with my poor sister. As I said, this news will be a great blow for her, I'm afraid.' He addressed Bertram. 'Master Serifaber, you will accompany me. From henceforth, you will answer only to my household officers and not to Master Plummer, with whom I am seriously displeased. Roger!' He gave me his hand to kiss. 'Once more, I have to thank you for a job well done. I wish it could have had a different outcome, but you've done your part and solved the murder. I would repeat all my former offers to you, except that I know you won't accept them.'\n\n'It's enough to know that I have Your Grace's gratitude,' I replied, and laughed when he gave me a quick, suspicious look from under his brows. 'Your Highness, I mean it, most sincerely.'\n\nHe nodded, his face clearing. 'My Scots cousin, the Duke of Albany, has been singing your praises to me. It would seem that he, too, has cause to be grateful to you.'\n\nI said hurriedly, 'I think the less said about that, Your Highness, the better. Especially with so many officers of the law within earshot.'\n\n'Perhaps so,' he agreed sardonically, but then pressed my arm. 'Don't step outside the law too often, Roger. Even I may not be able to protect you if you do \u2026 You'll come and see me at Baynard's Castle before you return to Bristol, I hope.'\n\nI did, of course. As I have observed so often in the past, royalty's hopes are tantamount to commands. Also present at our meeting was that ebullient young man, the Earl of Lincoln, who threw his arms around my neck and hailed me as a genius. This extravagant and wholly undeserved praise was somewhat tempered by the discovery that Lincoln had had a substantial wager with his father, the Duke of Suffolk, that I would unravel the mystery within seven days, and could now claim his prize.\n\nNeverthless, I could not doubt that his admiration was genuine, and he assured me several times that he would not forget me. I groaned inwardly. I would much have preferred a life untrammelled by the esteem of princes, who were in the habit of regarding my time as their own. It was bad enough that the volatile Duke of Albany remembered me with gratitude, let alone having young Lincoln thinking of me every time he needed a mystery solved.\n\nBut there was nothing I could do about it.\n\nIt had been in my mind to remain in London for a day or two in order to renew acquaintance with my old friends, Philip and Jeanne Lamprey; but after my harrowing experience in the 'fly trap', my one desire was to return to Adela and the children as soon as possible. I had completely abandoned my original intention to walk back to Bristol, enjoying my own company and selling my wares as I went. Nothing now but speed would satisfy me; so I rode on the horse hired from the Bell Lane stables (which, when I thought about it, seemed the sensible thing to do: how else would the poor beast get home?).\n\nThe nag and I reached Bristol a week later (slow going, but I've already admitted I'm no horseman) on the feast of Saint Augustine of Canterbury. I returned my mount to the stables and walked the short distance to Small Street. As I approached my own house \u2013 mine by the generosity of the sweetest woman I have ever known \u2013 my heart swelled with pride and the anticipation of embracing my dear wife and family again. It would be no exaggeration to say that my heart beat faster with expectation \u2026\n\nI should have known better.\n\nAs I opened the street door, Elizabeth and Nicholas hurtled downstairs, screaming at the tops of their voices, in full cry after Hercules, who had someone's shoe betwee his jaws. Also joining in the chase was Margaret Walker's black-and-white mongrel, yapping and snapping like the fiend he was. In the kitchen, Adam was indulging in one of his tantrums, while from upstairs came the sound of Margaret Walker \u2013 she was still with us, God save the mark! \u2013 banging with her stick on the bedchamber floor. Adela \u2013 looking, not surprisingly, overwrought \u2013 appeared in the passageway, saw me and said, 'Oh, you're back. I wish you'd control that animal of yours.'\n\nI leaned against the door jamb and, suddenly, began to laugh. I laughed until the tears ran down my face, and in the end I wasn't sure whether I was laughing or crying. But one thing I knew for certain:\n\nI was home."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Lord Edward's Archer 2) King in Waiting",
        "author": "Griff Hosker",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "medieval"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "I am the captain of Lord Edward's archers. One day he will be King of England, and I hope that I will still be serving him when he is crowned. Some men mocked him, calling him either Longshanks or Squinty Eye! They did not do that to his face or within his hearing, for he was a most vengeful man. The London mob had recently insulted his mother, the Queen, and, as we rode south to Rochester Castle, he had let all of us know his feelings towards those who had jeered her. When the siege was relieved, he would turn his attention to them.\n\nI am Gerald War Bow, and I command the handful of archers employed by the future King of England. I know that I am young for the task but my men, most of whom are older than I am, seem happy to serve under me. We get on well together. I was born the son of an archer and to me, they were the best of men and I liked them all.\n\nNeither King Henry nor his son, Edward, were likeable men. I was under no illusions; I was used because I was useful. I had helped to capture the son of Simon de Montfort, but I had been accorded no honours for doing so. It was seen as my job. Now, while the king, his son and their entourage of barons and knights headed south to confront the rebels, we were sent with Captain William and Lord Edward's men at arms to ride into the wild forests north of Nottingham. The slippery Earl of Derby, Robert de Ferrers, had managed to avoid being in Northampton and Tutbury when those two strongholds were captured. Lord Edward had heard the wily and elusive earl had taken refuge in the forests. This was not the work of nobles \u2013 and so we had been detached from the army to find him, if we could, and put him with the other prisoners we had taken in the campaign thus far.\n\nI had just ten archers left to me. A third of my archers had died in the campaigns against the Welsh and the rebels. Only Jack of Lincoln remained of the outlaws I had first hired. I think that was why Lord Edward sent us on this errand. I heard him say to Henry Almain, his cousin, as we left, \"Set a thief to catch a thief, eh cuz!\"\n\nAnother reason was that he believed he had the rebels defeated. Simon de Montfort's support lay in the Welsh Marches, London and in the Midlands. We had destroyed the Midlands power base while the Welsh, effectively, threatened the west, and only London remained. When Rochester fell, the royal army could turn its attention to Simon de Montfort and London. The rebellion and threat to the king's power would be over, and Lord Edward's future as King of England would be assured. When the king and his son headed south, in the third week of April, we turned north and headed for the forests which stretched from Nottingham to north of Doncaster.\n\nI liked Captain William, who commanded the men at arms. We had fought together in Poitou and Wales, and we understood each other. They too had lost men, and just eight remained under his command. We worked well together, for my men could use swords as well as the bows of which we were masters.\n\nAs we watched the royal army head south, Captain William turned to me. \"Well Captain Gerald, this is your sort of land. I know not why the Prince sends us here. You and your archers could easily capture the earl if he hides close to Nottingham. We are only here to ensure that they are held.\"\n\nI nodded. \"He needs us when there is dirty work to do. This de Ferrers is a thorn in the king's side but, from what I can gather, he is a clever man. I cannot see an earl hiding out in a forest. We may find his men, but I think we look further south if we wish to apprehend this elusive lord.\"\n\n\"Further south?\"\n\nI nodded again. \"He slipped through our fingers at Northampton and Tutbury and I fear he has done so again. While our eye is drawn north, he will head south for London and de Montfort. But,\" I turned in the saddle and waved forward John of Nottingham and Jack of Lincoln, \"Lord Edward is our paymaster and we obey him.\"\n\nMy ex-outlaw and most senior archer joined me. \"Captain?\"\n\n\"You know our task?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain, we seek a needle in a field full of haystacks.\"\n\nMy men had an open way with them. I knew that Captain William would not have endured such familiarity, but these were my men. They were older than me and I allowed it, within reason.\n\n\"John, you are a Nottingham man. Where would you seek the Earl of Derby?\"\n\nHe gestured with his thumb behind him. \"South, Captain, towards London.\"\n\nI looked at Jack of Lincoln, who nodded his agreement. \"He is right, Captain. Robert de Ferrers likes his wine and his comfort. There is precious little of either in the greenwood.\"\n\n\"Let us say I agree with you. His men are not with him. Where would they go?\"\n\nJack of Lincoln grinned. \"Ah, Captain, now you ask the right question. To the north-west of Chinemarelie, there is a part of the forest where there is an absent lord. The master of Codnor castle, Sir Robert de Grey, is on a crusade and there is just a castellan. We found the hunting easy there, sir. No gamekeeper. Men would not have to travel far into the forest to have a safe home and food to hunt. It is not far from Derby and it is close to the main road to London.\"\n\nCaptain William frowned. \"And why would that be important?\"\n\n\"You should know, sir, we all like to stay close to our paymaster. Robert of Derby will need his men if he is to continue this rebellion. His men wait to be summoned.\"\n\nI shook my head. Captain William would not endure the same level of familiarity as I did. \"Captain William, my men and I will be the vanguard. I would not ask you to do this, but I have few enough archers as it is. Would you and your men be the rear-guard with the baggage? We can move in the woods and forests a little more easily than you.\"\n\nThe captain could not really argue. Although none of the men were as well armed and armoured as knights, they each had a mail hauberk, coif and mail mittens. Some even had poleyn and cuisse. You could hear a man at arms moving through the trees from a mile away. We would only need them when we had cornered these rebels.\n\n\"Aye, so we take the Codnor road?\"\n\nI looked at Jack and answered, \"Yes, Captain, and it is there we take the road to Chinemarelie.\"\n\n\"Then we will see if the castellan of Codnor can put us up for the night. I daresay it will take you more than half a day to find them.\"\n\n\"That it will.\"\n\n\"Then we will see you at Codnor.\"\n\nWe got on well with the men at arms but all of us, me included, preferred to be on our own. Archers like the company of other archers. We dug our heels in and our horses headed up the road. The men at arms would be slower for they had the horses with the baggage. Most of it was theirs. They had their spears, tents and spare clothes. We just had our spare arrows and food. We would make hovels if we could not find a roof. Archers like to move quickly, for speed and agility are two weapons we know how to use well. I waved Jack of Lincoln forward. \"Take the lead. The sooner we find the earl or his men, the sooner we rejoin Lord Edward.\"\n\nAs he rode briefly alongside me, he grinned. \"I quite like this freedom, Captain.\"\n\n\"And what about your pay? The longer we are apart from Lord Edward the more likely it is that he can do without us. I do not see a line of lords waiting to hire us.\"\n\nHe shrugged and rode ahead. John of Nottingham took his place. \"Then more fool them, Captain. You have proved that we are of more use than men at arms. Would he have captured young de Montfort without us?\"\n\nI knew that I had little reason to fear being released, but I knew how lucky I was to be one of the captains of the future King of England. I might not like the man, but I recognised in him a leader and a good warrior. John could see that I was not in the mood to talk and so he rode next to me in silence. I looked at the land through which we travelled. We were still in farmland but the hedges were becoming taller and, in the distance, I saw the dark shadow that was the forest. John of Nottingham had told me that it covered three counties but that, once, it had stretched almost to York. It was hard to believe. It made sense that the men who followed de Ferrers would stay on the southern side of the forest, and we would head there first. Jack of Lincoln knew the forest well, and he would save us much time in fruitless searching.\n\nWe were riding the Great North Road, which had been made by the Romans. It went south to London and north to York and beyond. The task, which might have seemed daunting to another, did not worry us. If we chose to hide in the woods then none would find us, but if a lord or a large number of men tried to hide then they would leave clear signs. It was another reason why I had wished to hunt alone. The men at arms would have muddied the water and masked the trail.\n\nWe had left the main road and passed Codnor when Jack of Lincoln emerged from the forest. He had strung his bow, and that was always a sign of danger. I did not need to issue orders. My men all took their bows from their leather cases and strung them. I did not. I was the captain.\n\n\"I have found a trail, Captain. There are men with mail in these woods, and that means they are not outlaws. I think that these are the men we seek.\" He grinned. \"They are lazy men and have not ventured far.\"\n\nI reined in. \"Are they close to the edge of the woods?\"\n\n\"I rode a mile or so and I didn't smell them.\"\n\nI looked at the sky. It would be night soon. As captain I was paid more than the others, and it was up to me to make a decision. I decided it made sense to spend a night in the forest. The rebels would cook, and that would give us smell and a light to follow. I did not know the men we hunted but I knew my own. I turned in my saddle. \"Ronan, ride back to Codnor and tell Captain William that we will be spending a night in the forest.\"\n\nRonan was the youngest of my men and keen to impress. \"Should I return to you, Captain?\"\n\n\"No, have a night in a bed. Bring the men at arms here on the morrow. We will leave a sign for you to follow.\"\n\nHe looked disappointed but he nodded. \"Aye, Captain.\" He turned his horse around and rode back to the castle.\n\nJohn of Nottingham nodded his approval. \"He is still not over the wound he got when Peter was killed.\"\n\n\"And that is another reason for sending him. I am taking no chances with any of my men. We have perilously few of them as it is. I will not risk a night attack unless I am sure that we can win.\" I pumped my arm and we headed into the forest.\n\nWhen first we had followed Lord Edward, we had ridden any old nag and sumpter. Our success meant that we had managed to acquire better horses for ourselves. Most of my men rode palfreys and I had a courser. Only a war horse was better. The squire from whom I had taken that courser had died, as had his master. It was the spoils of war. I did not know her name and so I gave her one. I liked Eleanor as a name, and she soon responded to its use. Captain William thought I should have chosen a shorter name. Perhaps he was right, but I did things my way; I liked the way the word rolled off my tongue, and my horse liked it. That was enough.\n\nAt first, the forest was thin. Men had come into the eaves and taken smaller trees for wood. It was a crime, but if there was no lord at Codnor then men would take risks. It meant that the trees at the edge were thicker around the bole and had a mighty spread. Archers notice such things, for a tree with a large canopy gives shelter. As I followed Jack, I saw the trees becoming thinner but more numerous and the trail more tortuous. Jack had dismounted and tied his horse to a branch on a rowan tree. I dismounted and tied mine to another branch. He had stopped for a reason. I went close to him and spoke quietly.\n\n\"You have seen something?\"\n\n\"It could be nothing, Captain, but I smelled dung.\" He tapped the split nose which marked him as a former outlaw. \"Men don't go too far from a camp when they drop their breeks. They like to go downwind of the camp. The wind is blowing in our faces. By the time the lads have dismounted, I should have found it.\"\n\nHow he knew such things I would never know, but he had survived in the woods as an outlaw for some years. My men all chose other trees to tether their horses. We knew which horses got on with others. Mine was the leader, and Jack of Lincoln's would happily let the courser have the best grass. I took my own bow from its case and, removing my cap, took out a string. I strung the bow. I was pleased that it was hard to do; it meant that neither the bow nor the string needed replacing. I took out a war arrow and a bodkin and put them in my belt.\n\nJack came back and used hand signals. We had all been together long enough to have worked out such signals. Dick, son of Robin, Will Yew Tree and Tom, John's son, dropped to the rear. Matty Straw Hair took the left and Robin of Barnsley the right. My other men followed Jack and myself.\n\nJack pointed to a barely discernible path, which led up a slight slope, next to the smallest of becks. I nocked a war arrow, as we would be more likely to see a warrior without mail rather than a knight or man at arms. We knew that we were looking for a very distinctive livery. Captain William had told me it was 'vairy or and gules'. I did not know what it meant but I knew what it looked like; red chalices next to yellow helmets. I had decided that if we came upon outlaws, we would just leave them. Peter of Wakefield and Jack of Lincoln's tales had given me sympathy for the men of the greenwood.\n\nWe seemed to walk for a long time, and I saw the sun beginning to set in the west. Jack of Lincoln had told me that we were walking into the wind and, a few steps later, I smelled wood smoke. This was an open outdoor fire and there was food being cooked upon it. Jack was still leading us, for this was his land, but I gave the signals to order my men into position. I waved my hand for Stephen Green Feather to join Matty Straw Hair, while David the Welshman joined Robin of Barnsley. They spread further out. I needed as large a circle of bows to surround however many men we discovered.\n\nThis had not been my plan. I had hoped merely to find them and then use Captain William and his men. The fact that we had discovered them within a short time changed my plans.\n\nI heard the noise of laughter and also of argument. Both told me that there was a camp ahead. Jack crouched as he led us closer. When he held up his hand for us to stop, all of us obeyed him. We were one company, and we trusted each other implicitly. He dropped his bow and crawled forward.\n\nHe seemed to be away for a long time and, when he returned, he almost ghosted next to me. He held up twenty-two fingers. Then he tapped his sword and held up five. He patted his chest. He held up five fingers and tapped his bow. There were five men at arms, and they wore the livery of de Ferrers. There were five archers and the rest, the other twelve, were just de Ferrers' retainers. I patted him on the back; he had done well. The surprise would be on our side.\n\nWith John of Nottingham on one side of me and Jack of Lincoln on the other, I led Matty and Will towards the camp. It soon became obvious where it was, as there was a glow in the dark of the gloomy forest. The men on our flanks were invisible. They would know exactly what to do when we neared the camp. Archers, unlike men at arms, needed to fight together, to nock, draw and release as though they were one person, and to hit the same target at the same time.\n\nI stepped ahead of Jack, for I was captain and I had to lead. It helped that I was the best archer in our company, thus my men had total respect for me. This was our kind of battlefield; all of us could move silently. We looked for the branches and leaves and almost slipped through, without disturbing them too much. We scoured the ground for the tell-tale twigs that would break, alerting an enemy. The camp was a confident one and they had no sentries out; I knew that from Jack's signals. Had there been sentries, then he would have given me the numbers and pointed at his eyes with two fingers from his right hand.\n\nI stopped just thirty paces from the edge of their camp. They had lit a good fire and were roasting what looked like a young deer. Jack had good eyes. I saw that there were four men at arms and they wore de Ferrers' livery, but there was also another man at arms who had no tunic. I knew him to be a man at arms for he was sharpening a sword \u2013 and it was a good one. The other five men at arms had mail hauberks beneath their tunics, but the sixth one did not wear his; I saw it lying on the ground.\n\nNone of the archers were close to their bows. They had the leggings of liveried archers. The other eleven men were hired men. They were paid less than archers and men at arms. Lord Edward employed none, for he wanted professional soldiers and not the kind of men who might run when a battle turned against them. I saw that some had spears, for they had stacked them together. I spied another man sharpening an axe. These were de Ferrers' men.\n\nI changed my arrow. Five mailed men meant I needed a needle bodkin. I hoped that we would be able to take them without a fight, but I was ready to kill if I had to.\n\nI began to move closer, but all the time I kept my bow aimed at the man at arms who was sharpening his sword. He was the one closest to a weapon. I had not fully drawn the bow; that weakened both the weapon and the archer. I could draw and release in a heartbeat if I had to. I heard fragments of their conversation and as I moved, I listened.\n\n\"So, how long do we stay here?\"\n\n\"Rafe the Grumbler, you are well named. We have been here just a sennight and you have eaten well.\" It was the man sharpening his sword who spoke, and that marked him as the leader. I had been right to cover him with my bow.\n\n\"Aye, and his lordship has abandoned us here, Henry Sharp Sword. That knight might come back from the Holy Land any day now. What then?\"\n\n\"We find somewhere deeper in the forest! God's blood but the forest is big enough, and the land to the north-west belongs to our master.\"\n\n\"And that is why we cannot go near it. I agree that we have had food, but the ale is almost gone and I need a woman!\" Rafe the Grumbler appeared to be well named.\n\nSome of the others laughed. One sneered, \"You have not enough money left in your purse to pay for a decent-looking woman. Find a sheep. They complain less.\" The man had a Welsh accent.\n\n\"Owen of Newport you are a Welshman and you put up with anything. Some of your women have better beards than their men.\"\n\nThe Welsh archer stood and his hand went to his dagger. The one called Rafe the Grumbler stood and they faced each other; there would be a fight. He was a man at arms, and he pulled a short dagger. The man at arms who had been sharpening his sword walked between them with his sword drawn. \"And I am captain! Stand down or face me: Henry Sharp Sword!\"\n\nIt was the perfect time to make our presence known. The attention of the whole camp was on the tableau close to the fire, and men would enjoy watching a fight between the two. I slid from the undergrowth and pulled back on the bow. I was less than twenty paces from them.\n\n\"Put your weapons down, for I am here on the orders of the king and his son! We seek Robert de Ferrers.\"\n\nI was watching the leader, for he had his hand on his sword, but it was the one called Rafe the Grumbler who turned and threw his dagger at me. I adjusted my aim and the bodkin-tipped arrow tore through his mail until just the fletch was showing. He fell back into the fire.\n\nI had barely managed to move my head from the flight of the flying dagger. Three more arrows struck the men in the camp. The three had made the mistake of reaching for weapons, and my men would take no chances. In a heartbeat, I had nocked a war arrow.\n\nThe one called Henry Sharp Sword dropped his weapon and shouted, \"Hold! These are trained archers!\" I could barely be seen through the trees, but the direction of my arrow told him where I was. \"Who are you, archer?\"\n\n\"I am Captain Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nThe one called Owen sheathed his weapon and said, \"I have heard of him. He is as good as me.\"\n\nMy men had not killed the three men they had hit. They had wounded them, and I saw blood dripping from wounds. \"Drop your weapons and move to the fire, then we can tend to your wounds.\"\n\n\"Do as he says!\"\n\nWeapons were sheathed or dropped, and the men moved towards the three who were injured. I kicked the body of the man who had fallen in the fire over to the side, where it smouldered. The smell of burning flesh was already in the air. \"Keep them covered. Jack of Lincoln, I want an arrow aimed at their captain!\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. It is aimed at his heart!\" The body of the dead man at arms was a testament to our skill.\n\nI saw the surprise on the faces of the men at arms when my men came from all around them. Our bows were ready to release, and our eyes were on the potential captives. \"Captain, you may see to your men but keep your hands from your weapons.\"\n\nIt was only then I realised that I had not seen any horses. It was obvious now \u2013 but we had been concentrating so much on the men that the obvious had escaped us.\n\nI was the first to reach the men and, when I was sure that my men had them covered, I took my arrow and placed it in my belt. Slinging my bow over my back, I drew my sword. I saw the eyes of the captain and the men at arms take in the fact that it was a swordsman's weapon.\n\n\"Where is your master, the Earl of Derby?\"\n\nTheir captain looked up at me and I saw the lie forming in his eyes.\n\n\"Captain, you and your men talk loudly. We heard what you said. You serve the earl and he has fled. We will take you to Northampton for judgement, but it is your master we seek.\"\n\nResignation filled his face and he told me a version of the truth. \"He has gone to find Simon de Montfort. We await his orders.\"\n\n\"Better. John of Nottingham, collect the weapons. Matty and Will, fetch the horses.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham began to do as I asked and said, \"We leave tonight?\"\n\nI nodded but I did not elaborate. I did not relish trying to watch the men who survived, in a wood. Codnor Castle was a better place to guard them, and Captain William and his men could earn their silver, too. The castle was strongly made with a good moat and a drawbridge, which explained why it could be held by so few men.\n\nI watched as two of the men at arms looked at each other while John collected weapons. They were weighing up the odds of taking us. They still wore their mail and must have fancied their chances. My hand slid around my back for my dagger.\n\nThe two men must have had a signal, for they suddenly launched themselves at me, pulling short swords which they had hidden beneath their blankets. Stephen Green Feather's arrow threw one of the men from his feet as it punched into his back, but the other was on me so quickly that my men risked hitting me if they released a bodkin. Stephen's arrow had penetrated so much that barely a handspan protruded from the man's back.\n\nThe man at arms was confident and thought he had me, for his short sword came directly for my throat. It was a bold strike, intended to end the battle quickly. It was the wrong move, for I was able to block it with my sword while whipping my dagger around and driving it up under the raised arm of the man at arms. He wore a hauberk, but it afforded no protection under his arm. The tip slid directly into flesh and I rammed a little harder; I struck something vital. I saw the light go from his eyes as I gave him a quick death. His body slipped to the ground and I glared at the rest.\n\n\"I do not need to take you back! I do so as a service! Does anyone else relish a woodland grave?\"\n\nThere remained just two men at arms who were wearing mail, the captain and one other. The archers were too far from their weapons and I dismissed the rest. They were not a threat; the two men at arms were the ones to worry about.\n\nThe captain said, \"All of you, we are captured and we take our medicine. Our time will come. This is not over!\" He had finished tending to his wounded man and he stood. \"You will have no more trouble Captain Gerald War Bow, but I will remember this night's work. I now have men at arms to replace!\"\n\nI nodded towards the three dead men at arms. \"Have your men take the mail from your dead men and then bury them. You have no horses and we cannot carry them.\"\n\nThe stripping of their dead and the burial of the corpses kept their hands occupied, and Matty and Will had returned with our horses by the time each man had been given a shallow grave. Animals would come and dig them up, but we had done the best we could. I reflected that the ones who did the burying did not shed tears over the dead. Even the captain did not ask to say words over them.\n\nWith Jack leading and John of Nottingham at the rear, we made our way back through the dark woods. Each man we had captured had a halter around his neck. Their captain was tethered next to me. He seemed in a chatty mood and spoke as we walked; the threat made before the burial was now replaced with an attempt to persuade me to change sides. Henry Sharp Sword was a clever man. \"I know you serve Lord Edward, archer, but you and your men would be better paid serving de Montfort. I know a good archer when I see one, and you are better than most. An archer who can use a bow as well as you and is also a swordsman is valuable. Where did you learn to handle a sword so well?\"\n\n\"Fighting the Welsh.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you have fought sneaky men before. John and James were both cunning fighters.\" He shrugged. \"We do not have to like the men we lead.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nHe turned, his face white in the dark. \"Your lord did not hire these men?\"\n\nShaking my head, I said, \"He gave me the coins but I did the choosing. Why do you think I was so confident about taking you with so few men? Had our positions been reversed then would you have done what I did?\"\n\nI saw him glance around and then shake his head. \"These are not all my men. My lord asked me to keep them close to his lands.\"\n\n\"You said it is not over, which means you know more than you are saying.\"\n\n\"I just know that your king was lucky at Northampton. Luck is a wilful and precocious mistress. She can desert you at the wrong time.\"\n\nI noticed that he had said, 'your king', which meant he believed Simon de Montfort was right. I stored that information.\n\n\"You do not seem overly concerned about your capture, Captain.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"We will be fed in Northampton, and my men will have their hurts healed. Our lord has suffered a setback, as has our leader, but we have the Right and together they will prevail. King Henry has abused his position. I am a patient man, Captain Gerald.\"\n\nThe threat was back in his words. I had not been deceived by his apparent change. This man was a professional and he would need to be watched closely.\n\nHis words worried me, and I fretted about them all the way to Codnor Castle. Lord Edward and his father thought that the war was over, but this captain did not and he was no fool. What were the rebels planning?\n\nAll were abed by the time we reached the castle, and we had to wait for entry. Captain Williams grinned when he saw our captives. \"You have saved us both time and men, Captain. Well done. And Robert de Ferrers?\"\n\n\"From what I can gather he is with de Montfort and heading for Rochester. I do not think there are others in the forest.\" I was telling him that we need not search any further. We could rejoin Lord Edward.\n\nHe nodded. \"Aye, we have wasted enough time. We will leave these at Northampton. Mayhap we can catch our lord before the battle is fought.\"\n\nBoth of us were confident about Lord Edward's skill in battle. Although he was young and sometimes reckless, he was also a clever leader who knew how to deploy men on a battlefield. He would relieve the siege and then we would have a reward for our efforts.\n\nWe fought for his money. When the war was over, we would be dismissed and we would need to earn a living. A full purse gave us choices."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "It took six days to reach Northampton, for we had walking men with us, and by that time we heard that the siege was over. We still headed south, towards Winchelsea and Rochester. The king and his son had recaptured the mighty castle of Rochester; this part of England was back in royal hands. Simon de Montfort had fled to London and the Earl of Derby was with him. We rode directly to the camp of the king and his son, which was close to Winchelsea for, with de Montfort holding London, the king needed men to blockade the River Thames: the Cinque Ports were his only hope. As we rode down the road towards the huge camp outside Winchelsea, I saw heads on spears lining the road.\n\nThe king had placed groups of men to guard the road. We reined in at one, and Captain William asked, \"Who are these fellows, friend?\"\n\nThe sergeant at arms pointed at me. \"They are like the captain here. They are archers. They have caused the king much trouble of late and hurt our men. They have been punished.\" The men of the Weald were good archers; they knew the forests well and were to be respected. \"They made the mistake of holding us up as we advanced, and then they killed the king's cook. When he captured them, he had three hundred beheaded and their heads left as a warning.\" The sergeant at arms grinned at me. \"The king does not like archers!\"\n\nContinuing towards the camp, I wondered if Lord Edward regretted sending us on the wild goose chase to capture de Ferrers. We might have been able to neutralize the archers of the Weald, for we knew how to sniff out an ambush.\n\nWhen we reached the camp, Captain William and I left our lieutenants to organise our own area while we walked into Winchelsea to speak with the king. The grumbling of the men we passed told us there was little food to be had. Apparently, the Cinque Ports had not welcomed the king as generously as he might have liked.\n\nIt was Baron Mortimer who came to us, as we cooled our heels outside the home of the wine merchant that the king was using as his base. Sir Roger was a fierce warrior, with lands in Herefordshire. I liked him as he was loyal to Lord Edward and a good man in a fight. He recognised us. \"You succeeded in your mission, Captain William?\"\n\nCaptain William was senior, and it was he who reported to Sir Roger, \"No, my lord. We captured his men, but Sir Robert is in London with de Montfort.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Just so. I will tell Lord Edward of your return. Where are you camped?\" We told him. \"Then I will send for you when the king decides where we go.\"\n\n\"And food, my lord?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"If you find any, then I pray you share it with us! There is perilously little to be had, but I do not think we will be here long.\"\n\nAs we walked back to the camp Captain William said, \"I think we will need you and your men to hunt for us.\"\n\n\"They do not mind hunting. So long as they have full bellies and coins in their purses, they are happy,\" I said.\n\nWe stopped at a tavern. There was little food but more than enough ale and wine. We spoke with other captains who were gathered there and learned much. The king had left twenty banners and four hundred men at Tonbridge, to guard the castle which guarded the river. With Rochester reinforced, the king did not have as many men as he might have liked and, alarmingly, those he had were mainly mounted men. I discovered that we were amongst the only archers in the king's retinue.\n\nAs we headed back to our new camp, I voiced my fears to Captain William. \"This land through which we travel is perfect for archers. The archers of Weald are good, and if they choose to ambush the king and his knights then all we have gained might be lost.\"\n\nCaptain William believed in mail armour and horsemen. Despite our closeness, he still thought that men at arms were superior to archers. Most men at arms came from the stock of landowners; archers, by and large, came from poorer families or outlaws. \"Trust in Lord Edward,\" he said.\n\nI was not as confident as Captain William, but I obeyed orders and I would do as he suggested. What choice did we have?\n\nI sent my best hunters into the woods to find game. We needed to eat, and Sir Roger had been a little vague in his timetable. Better to have food to hand when we began our march than to wait until we were ordered to leave. When John of Nottingham and the other hunters returned, they brought disquieting news. \"Captain, there are signs of many men marching through these woods and heading north.\"\n\n\"Towards London?\"\n\n\"That would be my guess, Captain.\"\n\n\"Thank you, John, I will speak with Lord Edward when time allows.\"\n\nWe busied ourselves preparing the meat. We would eat fresh, and then we would salt and dry the rest. All the time my men wrestled with the worry that Lord Edward and his father might have miscalculated. In the event, we had but one day to wait to discover what this news heralded.\n\nSimon de Montfort had raised what Lord Edward called 'the rabble of London.' The Prince of England himself came to our camp to tell us that we would be leaving, and that we would be the van of the royal army which went to fight them. We would have to be ready to ride before dawn.\n\nAfter he had told us I said, \"Lord, my men saw signs of archers and other such warriors heading north from the Weald. Your news confirms that they are headed for your enemies. Archers could hurt our army.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"He can bring all the rabble he likes. It is knights who will win this battle, Captain Gerald. We fight not the wild men of Wales this time. We have many more knights than our enemy. This will be the last battle, and our knights shall win it! You and your archers have done good work in the past, but this time you will be spectators and can watch mighty heavy horse sweep the scum of London back to that rat-infested bolt hole. The men of London will pay for their many and varied insults to my family and to my father; de Montfort will be put in his place once and for all. Do not worry, Captain Gerald, this war is over, and soon you and your men will be able to return to your former lives, for my father's realm will be at peace.\"\n\nAs Captain William and I returned to our men, I said, \"I thought that we would be Lord Edward's men, well\u2026 forever.\"\n\nCaptain William shook his head. \"In the grand scheme of things, we are not expensive. We cost less each year than a new warhorse, but the great and the good do not need us, Gerald. They prefer their own around them. I heard the insult. He thinks knights are our only mounted force. My men may not all be noble-born, but I would back them against any of de Montfort's knights.\"\n\n\"Then I suppose I should plan for life after Lord Edward. It seems that there will be perilously little available for us when Lord Edward wins.\"\n\n\"There are many knights who wish to have archers when they go on a crusade.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I would like to stay in this country.\" He shrugged. \"I suppose we could always hire ourselves out as guards for merchants.\"\n\n\"Could you live such a dismal existence?\"\n\n\"We need coins in our purses. The alternative is the life Jack of Lincoln lived, and that does not appeal.\"\n\nAs we headed towards Lewes, in the early hours of the morning, I confided in my men. They needed to know that if we won the battle then we might well be out of a job. They were more phlegmatic than I had been, for they all had other avenues they could explore.\n\n\"There are always knights who are willing to hire good archers, Captain. Baron Mortimer lives on the Welsh borders, and he would hire you in a heartbeat. You could find a place easily. But I confess that I like this company. You know yourself that there are archers like Guy of Sheffield, and they sour a company. Here we are all one. I shall miss that!\"\n\nGuy of Sheffield had been a bad archer who had tried to betray us. I would not employ another such as he.\n\nJack of Lincoln scratched his split nose. \"Do not dismiss us so easily, John of Nottingham. We have not won this battle yet, nor has Lord Edward discharged us. If my time in the forest taught me anything, it was not to predict what might happen in the future. Leave that for the witches and soothsayers.\"\n\nIt seemed good advice; Jack's time as an outlaw had given him a different perspective on life.\n\nThe rest of the army moved extremely slowly. As the van and moving without baggage, we made Lewes and the castle quickly \u2013 and that gave us the opportunity to scout out the battlefield. What I saw, I did not like. The castle was close to the river but the land rose to the north. Worse, there was not only a wood on the top of the slope, but there were also at least two pieces of dead ground where men could be hidden. I believed that Lord Edward was overconfident, as was his father, and his uncle, Richard of Cornwall. It seemed to be a family trait. Simon de Montfort had been a soldier for his whole life and had fought on crusades. He was not to be underestimated.\n\nI made a thorough examination of the site and then headed back to Lewes. It was as I did so that I saw the banners to the east; it was Simon de Montfort's army. They had arrived sooner than ours, and they would take the higher ground. He might have had fewer knights, but de Montfort had the tactical advantage. I determined to tell Lord Edward of the news and offer my advice. It was in my interests to ensure that he did not fail. Success might mean my dismissal, but defeat would mean the complete end to my freedom.\n\nRichard of Cornwall had his men filling up the houses of Lewes. The king and his son had taken the castle and the priory. I sent off my men to make a camp. We would, at least, have food, for we still had deer meat.\n\n\"Find somewhere we can graze our animals. It doesn't matter if it is some way from the castle, so long as they get to eat. Perhaps by the River Ouse?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham waved a hand. \"Leave that to us, Captain. You might ask Lord Edward if he has supplies of arrows. We just have fifty left to each of us.\"\n\nI waved, to show I had heard. We had arrowheads and we had feathers, for we had recovered many after the battles we had fought, but shafts were something different, and I was not sure that we had a supply. I had not seen any other archers with the army.\n\nWhen I reached the castle, I was made to wait for some time. Perhaps Lord Edward was in conference; I did not know. Finally, I was admitted to the great hall, where were gathered the king, Richard of Cornwall \u2013 who also happened to be king of Germany \u2013 Lord Edward and Sir Roger Mortimer, along with Henry Almain, the son of Richard of Cornwall. They were the only noble-born; the rest were servants and squires clearing away after their masters. I was an archer still covered in the dust from the road, and King Henry looked at me with obvious distaste. He seemed to have an aversion to the common man.\n\n\"Why is an archer here, Edward? We have no need of him.\"\n\n\"He was sent to scout, Your Majesty. It might be prudent to know the state of the battlefield.\"\n\nThe king waved a dismissive hand. \"We know all that there is to know. We have more knights than they do and God is on our side. We beat them at Northampton, we drove them from Rochester and we shall defeat them here at Lewes.\"\n\nRichard of Cornwall said, \"Speak, Gerald War Bow, for I have heard your name spoken by worthy warriors who know the value of a good archer.\"\n\nI bowed. \"There is a wood on Offham Hill, and it lies half a league northeast of the town and the castle. It could conceal large numbers of men. In addition, there are two areas of dead ground. You cannot see them from the castle or the town, but men could be hidden there. The ground rises to the hill and would sap energy from horses.\"\n\nKing Henry was not in the mood to hear my words. \"I care not how many men they match against us. We know what you do not, archer, the bulk of the rebel army is made up of ordinary folk like you! We have nobles, we have knights. Our men are better mounted and we will sweep them from the field.\"\n\n\"But, Your Majesty\u2014\"\n\nI got no further. \"You would counsel a king? Who is this man, Edward, and why does he hold such a high opinion of himself? I would have him whipped if he were my man!\"\n\nLord Edward reddened. \"He is an archer, King Henry, and I will deal with him.\"\n\nOnce outside, I thought he would strike me.\n\n\"What got into you, fool, that you question my father? You gave your report and that should have been the end of it. When we fight you will guard the baggage at the priory. I would not have you close to the king, for I can see you make him angry.\"\n\nI contemplated pointing out that we were the only archers with the army and then thought better of it. \"Yes, my lord.\" Lord Edward was still a young man, and he had been embarrassed by my actions. He knew I was right, I could see it in his eyes, but he was still not yet ready to lead our armies.\n\nI left feeling depressed. We would guard the baggage and would not be able to affect the battle. I headed to the priory first to see where we would be stationed. The baggage was there already, and the carters were making their camp. There was marsh and bog close by. It would not be a pleasant camp.\n\nThere were servants and there were squires who heard the argument, and soon the news of the king's displeasure spread around the camp. It had reached our camp before I even arrived. Captain William came over to me.\n\n\"I am sorry, Captain Gerald, but we should know our place, and I am disappointed that your bows will not protect us when we go to battle.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"We will still be paid and we will not be in danger.\"\n\n\"That is not what is in your heart.\"\n\n\"Perhaps speaking from the heart is not the thing to do. From now on I shall keep my counsel.\" I closed with him. \"Beware the dead ground and the woods. If I was de Montfort, I would use them.\"\n\n\"And we know he is no fool. Thank you, Captain Gerald.\"\n\nWhen I reached my men I said, \"We need a new camp.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"We heard what was said, Captain, and it is unfair, you were only doing your duty.\"\n\n\"It is in the past. There is a river, the Winterbourne, and a boggy area, the Brooks. Both are close to the priory. If we camp between them, we shall have grazing and water, and the Brooks will afford some protection, but the air will not be wholesome.\"\n\n\"We should not need the grazing, Captain. Most men believe that we will win, and win easily at that.\"\n\nI smiled and shook my head. \"Let us see. Simon de Montfort is a skilled leader and he will have chosen to fight here for a reason. We will do our duty and guard the baggage.\"\n\nThere were baggage guards but they were just hired drivers. I suspect that they may have been thieves, too, for they resented us and our presence. They saw Lord Edward's livery and thought we were spies, sent to keep an eye on them. I did not disillusion them. We were there to guard the baggage against enemies, not light-fingered opportunists.\n\nThe campsite I chose was a better one than I had expected, for the grazing was lush and the water so close that we could tether our horses nearby. The marsh and bog were far enough away that the flying insects did not bother us as much as they might have. The destriers of the knights, on the other hand, suffered. The knights wanted them close and they soon overgrazed the pasture.\n\nThat might not have caused a problem, but there were two days of negotiation between the two armies. Such conferences were not unusual. The talks came to nothing and that outcome surprised no one, for all that they did was entrench the two sides and increase the bitterness. Richard of Cornwall stated that he would 'destroy their goods and their bodies'. Nobles were supposed to speak and behave in a slightly different manner. It showed that there would be no reconciliation \u2013 and we would fight.\n\nWe were at the southern end of the battlefield and had a clear view of the whole battle. The two armies spent time forming lines. I saw the rebels as they filtered down from Offham Hill; I saw that each of them had a white cross sewn on to their tunics or, in the case of the knights, a white cross on an armband. They were using God as a weapon. To the ordinary Londoners who fought for de Montfort, it would convey the belief that God was on their side. The rebels disappeared in the dead ground and then rose to form a line on the ridge. We had seen them descend and we knew that they looked to be fewer than they actually were. I hoped that Lord Edward knew that too, but as only Richard of Cornwall was on the battlefield, it was highly unlikely. The king and his son would see the enemy line and underestimate the numbers.\n\nI saw that the men of London, the enemies of Lord Edward, were on the enemy left \u2013 our right. It took until after the hour of seven for the whole of our army to form its lines. They were mailed men, and it took time. Lord Edward's knights formed his front line. He had with him powerful nobles: de Warenne, de Valence and Mortimer. They were our best men. Behind him were his men at arms, and then the foot soldiers of his knights. Richard of Cornwall was closest to us and the king was in the middle.\n\nAs was usual in such battles, both sides allowed the other to form up. To the nobles, it was almost a game. They were rarely killed in such battles and, usually, the worst that could happen was that they would be captured and ransomed. The men at arms, hired archers such as us and the ordinary soldiers had no such luxury. I had learned that they faced death. A knight might spare another knight for ransom, but a commoner was worthless and he would die. It was another reason the king did not like us; worthless as we were, we had bodkin arrows and they were knight-killers. Perhaps that was the real reason we were stuck with the baggage.\n\nI had used the carts which had brought the baggage to make a small fort. My men and I stood on them, and we could use the elevation to send our arrows further, while we had a wooden barrier to protect us from charging horses. The baggage drivers mocked our caution, for they did not believe that we would be in any danger.\n\nOne unexpected result of our new task was that we had the entire stock of arrows for the army with the wagons. Most of the archers had been left at Rochester and Tonbridge, and we were lucky that they had not taken more of the arrows. We had plenty, and I had them spread out in all of the wagons. John of Nottingham made a good suggestion: he thought we should tether our horses close to the wagons. I approved his idea, for when I saw the two sides arrayed I knew that the rebels held the advantage.\n\nThe preliminaries involved priests and bishops marching up and down the lines. All would be shriven; men fought better knowing that if they died, they had a better chance of going to heaven. Then the attack began.\n\nIt was started by King Henry who ordered his line forward. I heard his cry, \"Spur on!\" and saw the dragon standard as it fluttered. His horse was led by two of his men at arms. It allowed the king to use both arms to fight and gave him some protection. Lord Edward did not bother with such bodyguards. He was fearless and he was reckless.\n\nLord Edward appeared to be a little tardy; perhaps the huge size of his battle caused him some confusion, and I saw a gap appear between his battle and that of his father. As I looked at the body of men facing him, I saw that it was largely made up of the Londoners. There were some mounted men, but the majority appeared to be on foot. They were not trained. As Simon de Montfort, in the centre, wheeled his men around the track leading from the Downs, the Londoners confirmed Lord Edward's opinion and charged him. I knew Lord Edward well enough to know what his reaction would be. He did not wait for the rest of the army; he ordered his own men to charge the Londoners. From across the battlefield, I heard the crash and clash as the two forces met. The few horses and the disorganized Londoners were no match for the four hundred odd men Lord Edward led. It was as though the Londoners ceased to exist. One moment they were facing Lord Edward, and the next they disappeared back up the slope and into the dead ground.\n\nI turned to John of Nottingham. \"If Lord Edward turns to take on de Montfort, then the battle is won!\"\n\nLord Edward and his men disappeared in the dead ground and then, to my horror, I saw them pursuing the Londoners up the slope towards Offham Hill. Now it was time for Simon de Montfort to do that which Lord Edward should have done; he extended his line and turned the flank of King Henry. The men they fell upon were not the knights but the royalist foot soldiers. I knew what was coming.\n\n\"String your bows and prepare for battle!\"\n\nThe drivers looked in horror as the king and his brother found themselves facing more knights than they led. Lord Edward led his knights after merchants and fishmongers; Simon de Montfort's newly-knighted men charged King Henry and his men. It soon became a confused m\u00eal\u00e9e.\n\nThen my worst fears were realised. De Montfort had a mass of slingers and archers; they rained death on the men who followed Richard of Cornwall. His knights did not die, but some of their horses did. The ordinary men, however, were slaughtered. I saw Richard of Cornwall isolated from his men and take shelter in a mill, half a mile from us. He was too far away for us to help. I knew that we would soon be engaged, for I saw a mob break through the gap his men had left as they tried to reach their leader. These were not knights; these were the sort of men we had captured in the forest close to Codnor.\n\n\"Draw.\" They outnumbered us, but panic would only make us lose. \"Choose your own targets!\"\n\nI had a needle bodkin, and I aimed my first arrow at a man who wore a mail vest. He led the men, and he was less than two hundred paces from me but, as there were many men around him, I released. If I missed him then the odds were, I would hit another. My arrow was true and he was hit in the chest. I nocked a second bodkin for, when he fell, I saw a second mailed man behind him. It was just a mail vest and, from the rust marks upon it, an old one. He was closer to me and my arrow drove half its length into his body.\n\nI took a war arrow next. We were sending arrows so quickly that, despite their superior numbers, we were thinning them considerably. I sent ten arrows at them before they broke, and the survivors ran back to the knights who were trying to get to the king. They were an easier target than archers who stood behind wooden walls and killed all who tried to get at them.\n\nIf the king or his standard fell, then the battle was over. I saw that his household knights were fighting their way back to the priory. The battle was lost: I could see that, but the king was trying to salvage something, and he was relying on his son to return and save the day.\n\nThen, some of his mounted men saw the Brooks behind us and thought to escape that way. Jack of Lincoln shouted at them to warn them, but they did not heed him. We had left it empty, for it protected us from an outflanking manoeuvre. I saw men and horses become stuck in the mire. The rebel archers raced to try to slaughter them.\n\nThey reckoned without my handful of archers. We had height and we were better trained. Using war arrows, we began to thin out the archers. They were forced to turn their attention on us.\n\n\"Use the wagons for defence!\"\n\nI sprang down, but my order was too late for Ronan and Dick, son of Robin. They were a little slow to descend and both were hit by arrows and stones. They died, but their killers paid the price. We had lost good men and we redoubled our efforts. Even my arm began to burn as we loosed arrow after arrow. The order to stay with the baggage saved us, for we had an almost inexhaustible supply of arrows and the rebel archers did not. They fell back, and there was a hiatus for both sides were regrouping. Meanwhile the king's men were heading into the town, and Richard of Cornwall's men were trying to extract themselves.\n\n\"Are they dead?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham was examining the two dead archers. \"Aye, lord.\"\n\nThen Matty Straw Hair shouted, \"It is Lord Edward and his men; they have returned!\"\n\nI risked climbing up onto the wagon to afford a better view. He was returning but, as he appeared from the dead ground, I saw half of his force turn and ride to the east. They had seen that the battle was lost and were saving their own skins. Lord Edward led fewer than forty banners and the men of Captain William. My old comrade was loyal. Lord Edward was no coward, and he ploughed his way through rebel foot soldiers. Despite his treatment of us, we were still his men.\n\n\"To the wagons! Our lord needs us!\"\n\nI loosed arrow after arrow into the rear of the men trying to get to Lord Edward. When my men added their arrows, such was the ferocity of the attack by Lord Edward that the opposition melted away. He reined in. I saw that Captain William had just three men left with him and his tunic was red with blood.\n\nLord Edward lifted his visor. \"Thank you, Captain Gerald. It seems my father was wrong and we did need you. Where is he?\"\n\n\"He headed into the castle. Your uncle is captured.\"\n\n\"Then we have lost. Sir Roger, we will go into the castle. Captain Gerald, protect our backs as long as you can and then save yourselves. We will seek terms, for the castle might be held against a siege and many men have died this day.\"\n\nI think he was talking to himself and not me at that point. He was a clever man and knew that there were many ways to win a war even when one had lost a battle. He would not give in.\n\n\"You have done your duty and I shall not forget this.\"\n\nI had no time to say more, for de Montfort had seen his enemy and ordered knights to charge us. Lord Edward turned and galloped past the priory towards the castle. We needed to loose as one.\n\n\"Draw! Release! Nock! Draw! Release!\" We had no time to choose arrows and were forced to use war arrows. We did not slay the knights but some of their horses fell, others were wounded. We slowed them down as they moved away from our arrows and away from Lord Edward. As Lord Edward reached the gates, I saw Captain William turn and wave. We could now leave the field with honour.\n\nThe king had lost, but we were still alive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "We had been given permission to leave, and we did so with alacrity. The nobles and the knights might be taken for ransom but, as the archers of the Weald had discovered, for us, capture meant death! We were in the south of England in the heartland of de Montfort and his supporters. To the north of us was a barrier of enemies stretching across the country; we were in the greatest danger that any could imagine.\n\n\"Take as many arrows as you can and follow me. We have done our duty and now we save ourselves!\"\n\nRobin of Barnsley said, \"Easier said than done, Captain!\"\n\n\"Just get on your horse and don't forget to take Ronan's and Dick's. Times will get harder and we will need horses as well as arrows.\"\n\nI grabbed four bundles of arrows and headed for my horse. I reached Eleanor and hung my sword from my blanket, then I used the leather thongs hanging from her saddle to secure the four bundles of arrows. They had flights and shafts only; the heads were in a separate bag that also hung from Eleanor's saddle.\n\nAs I mounted, I scanned the battlefield. The Brooks and the river barred our escape south and west; the enemy were heading for the town and the castle to the east, and that left just one escape route: north. We had no choice, we would have to take it, even though it meant riding through the enemy. We would be in danger, but I hoped that they would not be expecting us.\n\nI shouted, \"We use our swords and we head north. We ride until we can ride no more. John, take the rear!\"\n\nI drew my sword; it was sharp and I knew how to use it, even from the back of a horse. I dug my heels in and Eleanor responded \u2013 she galloped through the gap in the wagons. I determined not to use my sword until I had to.\n\nThose who were of common birth were busy stripping the dead of their belongings and weapons. They just looked up as we galloped past them. We were gone in a blur, and they did not notice that we did not wear the white cross of the rebels. We reached the high point in front of the dead ground before we were noticed.\n\nI spotted ten men at arms who were mailed, and they served Hugh le Despencer \u2013 for I recognised the livery. Our only chance was to ride through them. They were at the bottom of the dead ground and we would have the slope with us; I hoped that they would not even notice us approach. Once we passed them, our fresher and well-grazed horses would outrun theirs. The problem would be getting past them unharmed.\n\nThen they spied us, and I knew that there was no hope of evading them. We had to hurt and discourage them.\n\n\"We charge them!\"\n\nPerhaps the men at arms thought us easy targets, for most archers could not use a sword well. Hugh le Despencer lived in London. He was master of the Tower and did not know my reputation, so I gambled that his men would be equally ignorant. They made the mistake of forming a line to stop us, which meant that they were static and we were moving. I glanced over Eleanor's rump and saw that Will Yew Tree, Tom, John's son, and Matty Straw Hair were behind me. They knew how to handle a sword.\n\nThe sergeant at arms who led the men was overweight. His master was in command of the Tower, and that was an easy duty. He had a shield \u2013 and therein lay an advantage for me. I had no shield, and so I rode to his shield side and trusted that Matty could watch my back. The sergeant's horse laboured up the slight slope while Eleanor had her legs open and was galloping.\n\nThe helmet covered the sergeant's face; I had no helmet and a better view. However, he was a soldier and, seeing my intention, tried to turn his horse. He was moving more slowly than I was, giving me an advantage. I stood in my stirrups as he tried to swing his sword at me. My sword came down on his helmet while he was still swinging his own weapon over his horse's head. His helmet dented and he slumped over his saddle.\n\nA second man at arms was just behind him. Perhaps he had expected his sergeant to stop me, for he was not ready with his sword; it was by his side. I hacked at his leg and drew blood. He tumbled from his horse. I galloped up the slope to the ridge. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that another two men at arms were unhorsed, and the rest had stopped. Their leader was dead.\n\nBefore I could celebrate, I saw Matty Straw Hair's horse as it galloped towards me. Matty's body lay dead, close to the men we had slain. I had lost another archer.\n\nI grabbed the reins of Matty's horse, which obligingly stopped next to me. If we halted, then the men at arms would regroup and follow us. Although it meant abandoning Matty's body, we had to flee. To stay meant either death or, at best, the loss of three fingers on our right hands. Archers who were captured had a bleak future. I dug my heels into Eleanor.\n\nWe thundered through the wood on Offham Hill and soon passed through the battlefield which had seen Lord Edward catch the Londoners. It looked like a charnel house, and body parts littered the top of the Downs. Lord Edward had made a mistake and indulged his personal desire for vengeance on the Londoners. He had shown that he was not yet ready to be a king and leader, although his father had hardly covered himself in glory. The wood had hidden the battle from the prince, and he must have assumed that his father and uncle were victorious. Our horses were tired after the climb and I reflected that the same must have been true for Lord Edward; all the more reason for him to have rested and then returned to the battle. I had to risk reining in.\n\nWe were the only living creatures on that piece of high ground. The carrion had flown off; when we departed they would return.\n\nI stroked Eleanor's head. \"Good girl. What to do now, eh?\"\n\nI heard the hooves of my men's mounts as they laboured up the slope. My horse was the best in our company. I did not turn, for my mind was running through all the choices which remained open to us. We had to escape north as quickly as possible, while the enemy celebrated the victory. London was de Montfort's stronghold and we were Lord Edward's men. Had we been with Lord Edward, then we would have had a brighter future. We were not \u2013 and any man who found us could kill us, take our horses, our weapons, coins and be considered justified for we were beaten men.\n\nTo get to the north, we had to pass through de Montfort's other stronghold, the Midlands, and that would not be easy. The first thing to do was talk to my men. In theory, I was no longer their captain. Any oath they might have made was nullified by our defeat and Lord Edward's order. I turned my horse. Their faces showed a mixture of disappointment at the defeat and anger at our losses.\n\nJohn of Nottingham swept a hand around at the dead. \"A sorry sight, eh Captain?\"\n\nI nodded. \"And Matty?\"\n\n\"Two of them came at him, Captain. He hurt the one on your left, but the other split his skull in twain. It was over in an instant. He knew nothing.\"\n\n\"Yet he is dead.\" I could not hide the bitterness in my voice. These were my men!\n\nRobin of Barnsley shook his head. \"Captain, this was not of your doing. We followed our orders, and all of us can hold our heads high. You got us out of that hole and I confess, I thought that our charge down the hill was doomed \u2013 but you had the right of it. What now, Captain?\"\n\n\"We have no employer and we will be hunted, for men have long memories and there are debts to be paid.\" I was thinking of de Ferrers and his men. \"If any of you choose to leave, then go with my blessing.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"Our best hope for us is to stay together. A single arrow can be broken easily, but a bundle holds firm. We are all of one mind and we follow you;, you are our leader. What are your thoughts, Captain?\"\n\nI looked around and saw not a dissenting face. I nodded. \"To the north-east lies London, and there are enemies who abound in that cesspit. More than that, I know that Simon de Montfort will head there, and we risk running into his army. To the north-west lies the castle at Windsor, which is still the king's. I do not intend to go into the castle, but if we can reach the wood which lies to the south of it, we can camp and consider our choices.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman shook his head. \"Captain, that is over fifty miles away. We will not make it in one journey. The Surrey Hills are less than thirty miles from here. If we take it steadily then we can make them.\"\n\nA wise leader heeded the advice of his men. The king and Lord Edward had disregarded mine at great cost. \"Aye, David, you are right, for our horses will need their strength if we are to reach safety.\"\n\nI wheeled Eleanor and we headed away from the line of bodies that marked the road to London. Noon had passed but this was May, and we had many hours to make the journey.\n\nWe passed through an England stripped of men. Some had fought for the king, but more had fought for the rebels. The king might have had more knights, but the rebels had the support of the people. That was down to King Henry's high-handed manner. Simon de Montfort won the people over by promising them a parliament that would hear their voices and not those of the nobles.\n\nWe later heard that only four knights had been slain in the battle, but more than five thousand of the ordinary soldiers had died. It was a warning to me that our lives were not valued by the men who led us. Perhaps Captain William was right. It might be that we should consider ourselves. If England did not care for us, why should we care for England? King Henry was our king; I would fight for Lord Edward if he was the king\u2026 but his father? I had much to dwell on. I thought of the way my father had been killed for a hunting dog: I should have learned my lesson then. Harry, my old friend in my first company of archers, had come up with the right idea: make money while our arms and backs were strong, and then live well for the rest of our lives.\n\nAs soon as we saw the Surrey Hills, we left the main road and took the tracks we found. The farmland turned to scrubland and then thin trees as we climbed the gentle slope. We were seen by farmers, but there was nothing we could do about that. Eventually, someone might question them, but by that time I hoped to be north of the Midlands. John of Nottingham had kept a good watch behind, and when we made our regular stops to water our horses, he could report that we were not followed.\n\nI felt relief when we entered the eaves of the forest; we were always safer in woodland. I knew there might be outlaws sheltering here but we were, despite our losses, still a force that would be avoided, and our livery marked us as archers. The trees and the setting sun soon plunged us into a twilight world. Eleanor began to go a little quicker, despite her exhaustion, and I knew that water lay ahead. A small stream headed south, and there was enough of a clearing for us and our mounts.\n\n\"We camp here. Jack, look around and see if we are alone.\"\n\nThe former outlaw dismounted and handed his reins to Robin of Barnsley. He nocked an arrow and disappeared into the darkening gloom. I led Matty's horse and Eleanor to the stream. They were too tired to run, and so I dropped their reins to allow them to drink. As I took Matty's saddle from his mount, I saw the sticky blood. It had not yet dried. Matty had been but a little younger than me \u2013 and now he was gone. He was proof that life was too short. After I had taken the saddles from both horses and tethered them where they could graze, I unstrung my bow. I would need a new string the next time I used it, having been forced to leave it strung for too long.\n\nJack came back and his bow was also unstrung. \"No one here and little sign that men use this part of the woods.\"\n\n\"Then we risk a fire. It will cheer us, and food which is hot fills a man's belly better.\" I looked at their faces for any dissension, but even my outlaw seemed to approve.\n\nWill Yew Tree nodded and added sadly, \"Aye, Captain, but hot food and a couple of skins of ale is the nectar of the gods!\"\n\nI nodded. \"When we can, Will, I will buy some ale. You have all deserved it \u2013 and more.\"\n\nWe all had tasks to complete, and the camp became a hive of activity. While we waited for the meat to warm through and the pot of water to heat, I looked at the faces of my men. They were not downcast, and that meant there was hope, for we were undefeated. Our army had lost \u2013 but not us.\n\nI took a deep breath. \"We have no employer and we will have no income. What do we do?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham was the natural leader of the men. I was their captain, but John was older with more experience. He looked at the others and must have seen that they wished him to speak. \"Captain, we would stay together in your company. You are a good captain; the best that I have served. Your youth does not detract from your ability to lead. We would follow you. What do you think are our choices?\"\n\nI felt better after his words and I spoke confidently, for I had run through all the possibilities during the ride from Lewes. \"We could return to Sherwood and become outlaws.\" I saw from their faces they did not like that option. \"But I for one would not like that. It seems to me that we would then be left with two options. Serve another lord \u2013 and that would mean going abroad or finding someone who needs archers. Or we could protect merchants and their wagons. They are not necessarily the best options, but they are all that I can see.\"\n\nThey nodded agreement. \"First, we need to get through the land of de Montfort. I suggest we head for York. It is far from de Montfort and the land he holds. We can take a ship from there if we need to, and we are not known there.\"\n\nRobin of Barnsley said, \"I have a brother who lives close by, Captain, although I have not seen him for many years. I think that is a good choice.\"\n\nThe rest nodded and it was decided. We would head north and see what fate had in mind for us. As we consumed a much-needed meal, for it had been before dawn when we last ate, we discussed our route. It would not be direct. We would have to head north-west towards Windsor to avoid London. Then we would head north-east towards Cambridge and then due north. We would have to parallel the Great North Road. I knew from the discussions I heard amongst the high and the mighty that the first thing de Montfort would do in his victory, would be to stop any royalist supporters heading north \u2013 and that meant closing the old Roman road. The land to the east of the road was bare and exposed, which meant we would stand out as warriors heading north, while the land to the west was de Montfort land.\n\nWe examined what we had. There were now three spare horses and they would be invaluable. We had over five hundred fletched arrow shafts and we each carried our own arrowheads. We had not managed to retrieve any arrowheads from the battlefield and, until we could get some more, would have to be careful. Of course, a skilled archer could improvise. We could use flint to make hunting arrows, but if we had to fight then we would be at a disadvantage. We had the remains of the deer, and if carefully rationed that would last us four more days. By then we should have reached York; if not, then we would have to risk a town.\n\nI mentioned this, and John of Nottingham pointed out the obvious. \"Captain, we will need a town sooner rather than later.\" He swept a hand down his clothes. \"These mark us as Lord Edward's archers. The men who serve lesser knights might escape scrutiny, but not us.\"\n\nI still had the coins given to me by Lord Edward when we hunted de Ferrers' men. I would not ask my men to open their purses. I had gold buried, but that was in Oxford and out of the way. I would save that chest for an emergency. I closed my eyes as I tried to remember the land twixt Windsor and Lincoln. Lincoln was as far north as de Montfort's influence extended and, if we passed there, I would begin to feel safe.\n\nI spoke my thoughts aloud when I opened my eyes. \"Bedford is in the hands of the rebels, and that means we must head further east. We need somewhere with a market so that we may buy clothes and perhaps food. Cambridge is too far to the east as a detour. We need somewhere between the two.\"\n\nMy men were all from the north or the west, and their knowledge of the east was worse than mine. Mine came from meetings with Lord Edward and Captain William. I remembered a market town which lay to the south-east of Bedford. Leueton had a market and, as I recalled, was less than thirty miles away. More importantly, the castle there had been pulled down more than a hundred years before, during the anarchy.\n\n\"We head for Leueton. There is a market there. I will go in with David the Welshman. I can still affect a Welsh accent if I need one, and the Earl of Gloucester follows the rebels. We will pretend to be his men.\"\n\n\"And your clothes, Captain?\"\n\nI smiled. \"Between here and Leueton I hope to find a muddy beck in which I will roll. My cloak is plain, and the dirt will explain why I need clothes.\"\n\n\"For eight men?\"\n\nI smiled, for I had thought it through. \"David and I will go to four sellers to buy.\" I shrugged. \"It is not a perfect plan, but our parlous position means that we clutch at any straw and think on our feet. We are archers, after all! We leave before dawn, for I would be at the market before noon. Some markets close early and, with rebellion in the land, merchants will like to be home before dark.\"\n\nIt was fortunate that we did leave before dawn, for had we left later we might not have evaded the men who waited on the Great West Road from London, which passed through the village of Slo. We had forded the Thames and were riding towards a small road that headed north when we spied the roadblock. It was not intended to catch us specifically, but any royal supporters trying to get to Windsor.\n\nIt was still dark as we approached, and I spied their fire at the crossroads. I knew that our hooves had been heard as I saw their white faces, illuminated by the torches that burned at all four corners, turn towards the sound. If we fled then they would be alerted. They had to be less than three hundred paces from us and I said, as I pulled up the hood of my cloak, \"We will try to trick our way through. Keep your hands close to your swords and stay close together.\"\n\nThere was a murmur of understanding, and I dug my heels into Eleanor's flanks. Since I fled the castle where I had slain my first lord, I had grown in confidence. The men would not be expecting danger, for we were heading north and east, towards de Montfort's land. They must have been told to stop men heading west.\n\nI saw there was just a handful of men at the crossroads. They had pole weapons, and one appeared to have a sword and a helmet. I quietly drew my sword and held it behind my right leg.\n\nAs we neared them, he held up his hand. \"Who are you, and why do you ride in the night?\"\n\nI made my voice easy and used a Welsh accent. I had grown up with such accents and although I had rid myself of it, I could recall it any time I chose. \"Why, we are the Earl of Gloucester's men come from the victory at Lewes. Were you there?\"\n\nI knew that my accent and my words had put them at their ease, for the pole weapons were lowered and the suspicion in the sergeant's voice disappeared. \"No, friend, we were not \u2013 but we heard it was a great victory and the king, his brother and his evil son, Squinty Eye, were taken. It is a great day.\" We were almost in the light when I saw a frown crease his face. \"You have ridden hard to get here. We heard the news from a despatch rider heading for Hereford!\"\n\nBefore I could say more his eyes spied my breeks, which were in Lord's Edward's livery. \"These are royalist dogs! Stop them!\"\n\nI dug my heels into Eleanor as I swung my sword up at the sergeant. He was the leader and the best warrior. His guard had, quite literally, been down, and he was slow to raise his sword. The tip of my sword swept up his chest. His own sword rose, but that merely served to accelerate my blade. I kept an edge sharp enough to shave with, and my strike and his sword drove the sword up to bite into his jaw. He might have been a veteran but the blow was a wicked one, and he fell backwards. I turned. Pole weapons were good when held to keep an enemy at bay. The four men had lowered theirs. My men had swords and they used them. I saw that two of the sentries' heads had been split open and the other two were knocked aside.\n\nSeeing that none of my men were hurt I shouted, \"Ride!\"\n\nWe were through, but eventually word would reach Slo. There would be a lord there, and they would pursue us. We headed into the dark. I doubted that the two men who had been unwounded would be in a position to pursue us, for we had spied no horses.\n\nI intended to get off the road that ran north as soon as I could. The roads off the main road were narrow, and there were many side tracks which led off from them. I would ignore most of them until daylight came and allowed me to see further ahead.\n\nThen, I took the first large sideroad, which headed east. It twisted and turned. Along the side grew hawthorn, elder and alder. We kept a steady pace without punishing the horses. There would be pursuit, but I hoped we would have made our purchases and disappeared north by then. I smiled ruefully. They would send men such as we to catch us; archers and men of the woods. It would be the reverse of our foray into the woods at Codnor. Were we good enough to evade our enemies?\n\nIt was not long before noon when we reached Leueton. We had used the smaller roads to twist and turn towards the large market town, and we stopped when we saw it in the distance. David and I dismounted our horses and approached the small beck that ran close by the road.\n\nThere were sheep and cattle in a nearby farm, and they had used the stream to drink. They had muddied and fouled the ground close to it and so, taking off our cloaks, we rolled in their slurry. This was the first opportunity we had encountered to do so, and I feared that the wet, fresh mud might create suspicion \u2013 but it was too late to do anything about it. We donned our cloaks and headed towards the town. I was reassured as we closed with it, for there was neither castle nor wall around it, and we stopped just outside at a convenient stand of oaks. The trees looked to have been copsed, and obviously the townsfolk used the timber for their fires in winter. Leaving our bows with the others and John of Nottingham in command, David and I dismounted and walked our horses into the town while our men made a small camp in some undergrowth. There were fields nearby, but they contained growing crops and farmers would have no need to visit them.\n\nIt was a bustling market, and that afforded us cover so we were hardly noticed. Our swords attracted a little attention, but in the parlous times in which we lived such weaponry was not a surprise. There were plenty of stalls in the market as well as more permanent establishments. No one commented on our dirty clothes, they were just grateful for our coin and happily sold us all that we desired. A civil war was not good for merchants. We bought bread and cheese as well as a bag of oats for the horses, and then went to an alehouse.\n\nLeaving our horses and supplies with a well-paid old man, we entered the Lion and the Lamb tavern. We chose it carefully, avoiding those inns which suggested an affiliation with either the rebels or the king. I bought an ale for each of us and an ale skin to take back for the others. Then we listened, and my heart sank as we heard the news from Lewes. Lord Edward and his cousin, Henry Almain, had been taken hostage as surety for the good behaviour and co-operation of their fathers, the king and Richard of Cornwall. Richard of Cornwall was incarcerated in Kenilworth Castle, while King Henry was kept close to the Earl of Leicester. Their final fate appeared to be a mystery. The king was to be ruled by a de Montfort-appointed council. He was a puppet and could only make decisions approved by his minders. As we left to return to our men, my spirits were as low as any time since my father died. My employer was a prisoner, I was on the run and there seemed little likelihood of employment in England. I would have to go abroad again.\n\nNo one appeared to notice us as we left the market, and we reached our men and horses unmolested. We went into a convenient copse of copper beech to change. We did not throw away our livery as I hoped that, someday, we would be able to wear it again. We had been treated badly by Lord Edward, but he and his father were the rightful rulers of England. Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, was trying to steal a crown!\n\nOnce dressed in the motley array of clothes I had bought, we headed north and east from Leueton. We were just a little too close to the Great North Road for my liking, and I wanted to put as much distance as possible between us and any pursuit. I had spied the signs at the crossroads, and now had a better idea of the route we ought to take.\n\nJohn of Nottingham and Jack of Lincoln flanked me as we headed for Biggleswade. A small town, its old motte and bailey castle was now just a mound and a ditch. It belonged to the Bishop of Lincoln; there was no lord of the manor and that suited us. We would reach there after dark. John asked, \"What if there are men following us?\"\n\n\"There will be. We killed a sergeant from the Tower of London. We were seen on the Great West Road where we also slew rebels and, most importantly, we serve Lord Edward. We are a danger and a threat, so they will send men to pursue us. I just hope that we can now disappear.\"\n\n\"Then why head to Biggleswade, Lord? Why risk people seeing us?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"That is simple. We need to put as much distance between us as possible. We will not enter Biggleswade, but I wish to be near it so that we can leave before dawn and skirt it. Once we have passed that manor, we have the River Great Ouse to cross at Huntingdon. There are few people there and the castle was pulled down by King Henry the Second, but we must cross that river. I propose that we do so in small groups spread out over the day. After that, we will reach Peterborough where we pretend that we are visiting Peterborough Cathedral.\"\n\nJack asked, \"Why, what is there?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham answered for me. \"Probably nothing save for priests who like to make money from the gullible poor, but according to legend they have: two pieces of swaddling clothes which wrapped the baby Jesus; pieces of his manger; a part of the five loaves which fed the 5,000; a piece of the raiment of Mary the mother of Jesus; a piece of Aaron's rod and relics of St Peter, St Paul and St Andrew.\"\n\nJack laughed. \"Aye, and I am the brother of St John!\"\n\nI knew that Jack was right and they were not true relics, but that did not matter, for it gave us an excuse to be in Peterborough \u2013 and we needed more food and, most importantly, knowledge. The town was important and the people there would know what had happened in the wider world.\n\n\"Whatever the truth of the relics, it gives us an excuse. There is no castle at Peterborough, but it is an important place. We can gauge the mood of the people there. Unless they exhibit rebel tendencies I shall begin to feel more comfortable. Despite our best efforts, people will talk of the two men who went to the market in Leueton. They may try other places first, but once they are on our trail, they will stick to it.\"\n\nOur new clothes and the story that we were returning home from foreign wars appeared to put the people we met at their ease. The battle had been widely reported, but our presence on the road north seemed to be accepted. There had been rebel archers, but the stories people told were that there were no archers on the king's side. We reached Biggleswade just after dark and found an abandoned farm in which to stay. The roof on the farm had long gone, but the walls remained and our horses were hidden from view.\n\nWe had a cold supper and I set sentries. I took the last watch and woke my men when I considered it to be an hour before dawn. By the time dawn broke we were north of Biggleswade, and I hoped that we would reach the bridge across the river by late morning.\n\nThere was a low ridge, which overlooked the bridge, and we halted there beneath the leaves of a small wood which had been left between two fields. The settlement was larger than I thought, but it did not look to be garrisoned. I saw travellers using the bridge.\n\n\"I will ride down first with Robin of Barnsley and Jack of Lincoln. We must each have a different story. Ours will be that we return home to Lincoln after fighting in Poitou. I know enough about Poitou to convince any who questions us closely. John of Nottingham, Will Yew Tree and Tom, John's son, you will bring up the rear. You served at Rochester Castle and were dismissed. You return to Nottingham to seek work, and the rest of you are pilgrims heading for Durham to visit the tomb of St. Cuthbert. We will wait north of the town. If you find trouble then sound your hunting horn. We all go to the aid of whichever group is attacked. Remember to smile and keep your hands from your swords.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nWe rode towards the stone bridge at a steady pace. I saw two men who were obviously locals and were fishing from the middle of the bridge. We nodded and smiled back at the travellers we passed who were heading south. The two fishermen turned at the sound of our horses' hooves. Most of the other travellers were either afoot or had a cart pulled by a donkey. Eleanor stood out as the horse of a soldier.\n\n\"A fine horse, my friend.\" The man who spoke to me had the look of an old soldier, but one who now led a comfortable life. He had a healthy beer belly and the red face of a man who drinks often. He smiled all the time he spoke.\n\n\"Aye, she suits me.\" I had not stopped, even though I spoke politely to the man.\n\nHe persisted. \"Have you come from the Battle of Lewes?\"\n\nI shook my head and reined in Eleanor. If I hurried off it would look suspicious. \"We were in Poitou, fighting Frenchmen. Fighting Englishmen is not profitable. We prefer to take coin from foreign masters.\"\n\nMy answer seemed to satisfy the man. \"Aye, well, the war in England is over now, so if you want money you will need to go abroad again.\"\n\nI patted my purse. \"Never fear, my friend, our days of fighting are over. I head north to buy an alehouse and find some pretty wenches to serve in it.\"\n\nIt was the right thing to say and he laughed. \"Aye, the dream of all old soldiers. Well, good luck to you all.\"\n\nAfter we had left him, I said, quietly, \"We stop at the first alehouse. That man was just a little too nosey for my liking. Robin, buy the ale, and I will walk back to the bridge to see the others get safely across.\"\n\nThere was an inn that was so close to the river they could have used the lower rooms to fish from. I gave my reins to Jack of Lincoln and took my bow, still in its case. I jammed three arrows in my belt. I saw my next men approach. In Leueton, David the Welshman had impressed me with his ability to dissemble, and when I saw the suspicious man laugh, I knew that he had convinced them of a story. I wondered if I was being unduly cautious. My men passed me without acknowledgement and carried on through the town.\n\nIt was when I saw the suspicious man's companion stride towards the town that my suspicions rose once more. I slipped behind a building and turned my back so that he did not see me as he passed. I took my bow from its case and strung it.\n\nI had seen no castle, but there had to have been a hall, for a few moments after the man had passed me, I heard the strident peal of a bell. It was at that moment that John of Nottingham and my last men began to cross the bridge. The ex-soldier belied his size and ran towards me. From behind me, I heard shouts.\n\nWe were undone!"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "I nocked an arrow. I saw John of Nottingham draw a sword: he recognised the danger. Men ran from behind me but, as my bow was hidden by my body, they ignored me. I guessed the hall lay in the western end of the small town. I cursed myself, for I should have scouted it out \u2013 and now we might pay for my carelessness with our lives.\n\nJack and Robin had heard the noise and emerged from the inn. They stood by the horses with the others who had followed them from within the inn to see what was amiss. The veteran pointed up the road David the Welshman had taken. \"They are heading up the road, my lord, and I think there are more coming over the bridge! They are supporters of the king!\"\n\n\"Tom, take five men and get after them. The rest, come with me!\" I said.\n\nWe were saved by the fact I was hidden and my two men were shielded by horses. Even so, the other fisherman was now racing down the bridge and following John of Nottingham. I turned, with an arrow nocked, as the lord led six men at arms to apprehend him, Will and Tom. I saw that they all wore the white cross I had seen at Lewes.\n\nI stepped into the middle of the bridge and aimed the arrow at the lord's chest. He was less than twenty paces from me. Jack and Robin had each nocked an arrow and they stood ready too, although they were hidden from the lord and his men. They were facing me and the bridge.\n\n\"My lord, we mean no harm. Let us pass, or there will be blood.\"\n\nI saw that he was a young lord. I did not recognise his livery. He had a sword but no shield, and he wore his mail hauberk even though there was no war close by. His men at arms were similarly armed, but they wore helmets. Behind me, I heard the hooves of John and the others.\n\n\"You are an enemy of the people and I arrest you in the name of the barons of England, put up your bow. Take him!\"\n\nOne of his men, braver than the others, stepped forward. I made a slight adjustment to my bow and pinned his foot to the ground with an arrow. He would be crippled, for it was a war arrow and the broad head would break bones and tear tendons. Even as he screamed in pain and the lord and his men looked on in shock, I had another arrow nocked.\n\n\"And this arrow is aimed at you, my lord. If you look to your left you will see two more bows are aimed at you, and I have three more men behind me.\"\n\nI saw the dilemma on his face. He wished to risk all, but he dared not. Further north I heard the clash of steel and shouts of pain as David the Welshman and Stephen Green Feather dealt with the ex-soldier and the other men.\n\n\"Your men are hurting and you can stop the pain. Lower your weapons and we will leave you and your town.\"\n\nThe man I had wounded was an old sergeant. He sat down and removed his helmet. There was blood seeping from his boot. \"Do it, Sir Roger, I beg of you. He has crippled me. I need a surgeon, and these men know their business. There will be time to take our vengeance.\" He glared at me.\n\nSir Roger sheathed his sword as John of Nottingham appeared behind me. \"I have your back, Captain. You may mount!\"\n\nI slipped up onto Eleanor's back and we backed up the street. There had been people at the sides of the street, but they had wisely moved off into the alleys and side roads. I whipped Eleanor's head around and we galloped after David and Stephen. I saw two of the men sent after them, and they had both been struck by arrows. One was wounded in the arm and the other in the leg. The ex-soldier raised his fist as we passed.\n\n\"Archer scum!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham smacked him on the back of his head for his pains as he rode next to him. \"Keep a civil tongue in your head. We let you live did we not?\"\n\nThe man clutched his bleeding head, but he moved away from John in case there was another angry blow.\n\nWe were now in trouble. We had passed our last major obstacle, but the hounds would be after us now. I knew not the lord, nor his name, but he had struck me as a vengeful knight. He had fought at Lewes \u2013 his tunic showed me that \u2013 and an archer had humiliated him. I would remember the red tunic with yellow songbirds, for he would seek me out.\n\nWe said nothing to each other as we galloped north. The men we had hurt would take time in gathering horses and following us, but follow us they would. We could not head to Peterborough now. It was too large a place.\n\nEven as we rode north, I was calculating what we would do. Peterborough was the largest town in the area, and I had planned on a feigned pilgrimage to lose ourselves in the crowd. Now they would be looking for eight warriors. I worked out that if we headed north-east, we could avoid Stamford, which had a small castle, and then take the road to Lincoln. We had to lose our pursuers. I decided to risk the Great North Road. We could move faster along it, and I intended to leave the road before the River Nene and lose ourselves in the low lying and swampy land which lay to the north of Stamford and Peterborough. It would be a long ride of twenty-five miles to Stamford, but we had three spare horses.\n\nWe rode hard until we were north of Stilton. I reined in and said, \"Are we followed?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"I have seen none yet, but the blood we spilt means that they will come.\" His voice told me he was worried and, if he was, then the rest, save Jack of Lincoln, would be also.\n\nI nodded. \"Fate has intervened and we can do little about it.\"\n\nStephen Green Feather said, \"It was my fault, Captain. I said something that told that soldier we were Lord Edward's archers. The word slipped out, for the man appeared friendly.\"\n\nI nodded, for I knew something must have prompted the attack. \"That does not matter now, for the carrot is out of the ground. Until we make York, choose each word as though it is an arrowhead!\" They all nodded. \"We will head for Stamford and ride overnight. Best to be beyond that small castle by dawn. We find a wood and sleep during the day. We will use the three horses to rest ours. Eleanor is the best horse, and I will be the last to change. John of Nottingham, are you happy to be the rear-guard?\"\n\n\"Aye, for Tom, John's son, does not fart as much as Will Yew Tree.\"\n\nWill nodded amiably. \"I blame the lack of ale, for good beer aids the digestion and makes the body function as it should \u2013 but I agree with you there.\"\n\nThe humour showed that the men were in good spirits, and I headed for the Great North Road. Although we were still intact and had suffered no wounds, our position could hardly be worse. There were men who might have followed us from Lewes. The attack at the crossroads near Slo would also have attracted attention, and now the incident at the bridge meant we were leaving clear markers. Eventually, someone would work out our ultimate destination and get ahead of us.\n\nThe problem lay on the road we now used. It was the quickest way to the north and everyone used it. Just a couple of miles north of the bridge we had passed two merchants and their servants, heading south. When they reached the bridge, then Sir Roger with the yellow songbirds would know whence we had fled. We stopped only to change horses so that we could keep going at a fast pace. It was getting on for sunset when we reached the River Nene and crossed it.\n\nWhen we stopped, I saw that Eleanor could not go much further. I saw, just to the east of the road, a track that led to what looked like a deserted farm. The track had a covering of stones. As we remounted, I pointed to it. \"We take that track and head for the farm.\"\n\nWill asked, \"Do we camp there, Captain?\"\n\n\"No, for it is too close to the road. I am using the track as it is covered in stone and will disguise our hoof prints. We are heading across country. We will ride as far as we can and then see if we can find a wood. I would hold up for the day and then risk the road again at night.\"\n\nI dug my heels into Eleanor. The plan sounded plausible, but it was riddled with potential traps. Riding across country at night was a huge risk, for the last thing we needed was for a horse to fall and hurt the rider. I was taking the greatest risk, as Eleanor was now in the worst condition and therefore the most likely to fall.\n\nWe passed the farm and I headed across the fields, now filled with weeds and tares, in a north-easterly direction. The field boundaries had once been dry stone walls, and we were able to pass through them where holes had appeared. We kept going until we came upon a narrow road. It headed north. A road meant people but, as the sun was setting in the west, it seemed the best route to take. We rode for half a mile and then I held up my hand. \"We will walk. Our horses are becoming weary.\"\n\nWe trudged up the road in darkness. We did not pass any village, but I saw many tracks leading off the road and could smell, in the distance, woodsmoke. We crossed many small streams, and I was aware that the road was almost a causeway. In winter this land would be a patchwork of swamps and flooded fields; we were lucky that it was May.\n\nThe wood I spied was not a large one, but it was on a tiny island of slightly higher ground. Around it lay shallow pools and swampy land. It would have to do. We crossed the swampy ground and headed for the trees. The mud sucked at our boots. If we had tried to ride our horses they would have struggled. Once we were on the firmer ground of the island, movement became easier, and when we reached the trees, I saw that it was a bigger wood than it had appeared at first. I took us into what I assumed was the centre. There was no area large enough for a single camp, and so we spread ourselves out.\n\nI saw to Eleanor first. I cleaned her as best I could and then used our leather pail to fetch water from one of the pools we had passed. She drank heavily, and I gave her a few handfuls of the oats we had bought. There was enough grazing for all our horses, and they would be able to rest the next day.\n\nAll of us cared for our horses before we saw to ourselves. We were spread out under the canopy of the trees and, although weary, we spoke as we ate the bread we had bought in Leueton. That seemed like days ago.\n\nJack of Lincoln put his hands behind his head. \"You know, Captain, I cannot understand those men we saw at the bridge. That lord spoke of the barons as though they ruled England. I thought we had a king.\"\n\n\"We do, and I think Simon de Montfort would be king \u2013 but regicide is a grievous sin. This way, the barons rule England, and any blame for the governance can be laid at the door of the king.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"It is no wonder we lost Normandy and Poitou with lords like that. They are all self-serving.\"\n\nI remained silent but I knew he was right. Baron Henry of Clwyd had just enjoyed the benefits of his manor and had not taken on the responsibility. He had used his archers and men at arms to do the job he should have done. He enjoyed hunting and feasting at the expense of the people who tended the land. The system was not a fair one, and freemen such as my father were the exception. Most men had to work for a lord. We were lucky; we had been paid by Lord Edward and, now that he was a prisoner, we had been given our freedom. At the moment we were hunted but, if we could escape this trap, then we had a chance for a new life. I found myself smiling as I curled up in my blanket.\n\nRobin of Barnsley, who was the closest to me, said, \"What makes you smile, Captain?\"\n\nI said, \"We are still alive and we are our own masters. It may not seem that way now with the dogs of war still snapping at our heels, but while we are together we have a chance, and I would not swap my position with any. Would you?\"\n\nHe chuckled. \"Aye, Captain, you are right. This beaker of ale is half full!\"\n\nWill Yew Tree snorted. \"Except that we have no ale! I agree with all that you say, Captain, but could we call at an alehouse soon? I have a thirst like you would not believe!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham laughed. \"Will Yew Tree, I have seen you drink cloudy ale, which none other would touch, from the bottom of a barrel. It is not a thirst you have; it is a need for an ale!\"\n\nThe others laughed, for Will had the lowest standards of any man. I had never seen him refuse to drink any ale, no matter how bad it was.\n\n\"Jack of Lincoln, wake me for the next watch.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nI stood my watch with a cloudy sky masking the moon, and I neither smelled nor saw anything. I woke John of Nottingham for his watch and curled up again. I was soon asleep and my dreams were filled with the faces of my dead men. When we reached York \u2013 if we reached York \u2013 then I would pay for a candle for each of them in the minster there.\n\nWhen I woke, it was daylight. I checked on Eleanor and then made water. I walked to the edge of the wood and, staying in the shelter of the trees, I walked around its edge. The sun had emerged from behind the clouds and I saw farms. Like this wood, they tended to be on islands of land in this fenny country. I saw no towns. Will Yew Tree would have no ale this day!\n\nThe road seemed to head north. We would spend most of the day in the wood and leave at sunset. I wished to cross the swamp while there was a vestige of light. I could see there was a track of some sort, we had missed it in the dark.\n\nI returned to my men and told them my plan. We spent the day fitting arrowheads to shafts; we needed to replace the arrows we had used. Each archer chose his own arrowheads. I had five bodkins, ten war arrows and five hunting arrows. The hunting arrows would pierce flesh. We had plenty of blanks, but we were short of arrowheads. That done, we rested or chatted, and the men speculated on the sort of work we might find in York. Most seemed to think we would take ship for the Baltic. They needed men to fight the pagans of Lithuania and the Teutonic knights paid well. I did not relish the thought, but I would go with the view of the majority.\n\nWe left an hour before sunset, and I led the men north to the road. We were seen, but there was no avoiding that. The road was slightly elevated, as were the farms in the distance that we passed. We were riding horses and stood out. If any had managed to follow our trail this far, the locals would tell them of our passing. I just hoped that they had lost us and were searching further north.\n\nBy the middle of the afternoon, Will's wish was granted, and we found a village with an alehouse. Threekingham was the largest place we had seen and certainly the only one we actually visited. We were less than twenty-five miles from Lincoln, and there was neither hall nor castle. I took the risk. We needed a rest, and we had coins to spend on ale.\n\nAs we dismounted, I saw what looked like an old moat and a ruined building. There had been a manor here. The arrival of eight armed men alarmed the folk in the village. I saw men picking up tools to use as weapons.\n\nWill Yew Tree had a beaming smile as he dismounted, and said to the man who leaned over the small stone wall holding a scythe, \"Friend, where can a man get a decent ale around here?\"\n\nThe man smiled and I saw him relax. He pointed to a whitewashed wattle and daub house. \"Gammer Gurton brews a good ale. Whence come you fellows? There is no castle around here save for Lincoln.\"\n\nI dismounted and nodded. \"And that is where we are headed. We seek honest employment. What do you think of our chances?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Here in Threekingham we keep ourselves to ourselves. The only visitor we see is the bishop's reeve when he comes to collect taxes and, like all reeves, he is a tight-mouthed slippery bastard!\"\n\nMy men all laughed. Reeves always had that reputation. \"Then we shall enjoy an ale or two and continue on our way.\"\n\nThe alehouse was simply the alewife's front room. It doubled as a kitchen, and the house was so small that I guessed she slept in the back. She was almost toothless but her smile was welcoming, especially when Will slapped two silver pennies on the table upon which stood the barrel. \"Gammer, give us ale to the value of two pennies and when that is done, one of my fellows will provide more. I hope you have more ale out of the back, for I have a thirst which would empty this one barrel alone!\"\n\nShe beamed. \"Aye, sir, I have a second and you are welcome \u2013 although I must confess, this ale is more than a week old.\"\n\nWill rubbed his hands. \"All the more flavour then! I like you more and more! If I was the marrying kind, Gammer, I would take you as a wife!\"\n\nShe laughed. \"I have buried three husbands already, I need not a fourth! I keep the coin I earn!\"\n\nIt was Will's humour that put not only the gammer but the rest of the village at their ease. We bought a little food, and Gammer Gurton allowed us to cook it in her kitchen. The price we paid was to cut some firewood for her. It seemed a fair price.\n\nThe ale, especially the new barrel, was good, and we spent the night sleeping in the field behind Gammer Gurton's. When we left the next day, we were in a more positive frame of mind. We had full bellies, and we had enjoyed the company of the people of Threekingham. We headed for Lincoln.\n\nLincoln was the king's castle. It had been so since before the time of King Stephen. With a town wall and a strong castle, it guarded the roads leading to the north. The Earl of Leicester might rule the land to the west of the road, but here we hoped King Henry still held sway.\n\nWe walked our horses through the gate. The town watch kept a suspicious eye on us, but they did not try to stop us. I wondered if we could risk wearing the livery of Lord Edward \u2013 and then thought better of it.\n\nWe found an inn. Pilgrims passed through the town heading both to the north and the south, so it needed somewhere with beds, for travellers with coins. The innkeeper was pleased to have our custom. The battles of Northampton and Lewes had deterred folk from travelling, and our coins were welcome. I paid, aware that we would need an income soon enough.\n\nThe innkeeper was garrulous and happy to talk to us. From him, we learned that Lord Edward and his cousin were incarcerated in Dover Castle, while his father was in the Tower thanks to Simon de Montfort. To all intents and purposes, he too was a prisoner. Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, now ruled England through his council of barons. He had allowed the king's marcher lords to return to the west. He seemed not to think there was any significance in that, but I saw danger for the rebels and hope for our employment. Roger Mortimer would not allow King Henry to remain a prisoner for long. Soon he would gather men and try to wrest power from de Montfort. I wondered if we should try the west, where we would be amongst allies.\n\nWe had eaten a late midday meal when two liveried sergeants came into the alehouse. \"Who commands this company of archers?\"\n\nI thought about lying and telling them that we were not a company, but there seemed little point. I stood. \"I am Captain Gerald, called War Bow.\"\n\n\"The castellan would speak with you.\"\n\nI nodded, for it was not unexpected. He would be concerned about having armed men in his town, especially those that he did not know. John of Nottingham made to rise and I shook my head. \"Stay and enjoy the ale, this will not take long.\" If I was taken prisoner then John could lead the men and escape.\n\nThe constable was Sir Ralph Haie. He was a relative of the famous lady castellan, Nichola de la Haie. He was a greybeard, and his eyes and mind were sharp. He dismissed the officers from around him so that we were alone.\n\n\"You are Lord Edward's man!\"\n\nHe had come directly to the point, and I saw little point in denying it as I had already given my name to his men. \"Yes, my lord.\"\n\n\"You were at the battle of Lewes?\"\n\n\"Yes, lord. It began well and ended badly.\"\n\n\"Aye, I know. The Earl of Leicester has sent a messenger to me telling me to hand over my keys to one of his men.\" I gave him a questioning look. He smiled. \"Messengers take some time to reach here. I sent a vague message back, and I will be safe for some time. You, on the other hand, are hunted.\"\n\nI started. How did he know? \"Whence did you gather this knowledge, my lord?\"\n\n\"Yesterday an arrogant young rebel, flaunting de Montfort's white cross, arrived. I did not like Sir Roger de la Braie! He spoke to me as though my white hairs and position were worthless. He asked about you and said you had attacked his men.\" I saw his eyebrows raised in question.\n\n\"We did use our weapons, my lord, for they tried to bar our way and take us prisoner. We had done nothing wrong.\"\n\n\"He also said that you had slain men on the Great West Road.\"\n\nI nodded. \"That is true. They also tried to bar our way.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Then I will make certain that we do not bar your way.\" He poured some wine for us. \"I have heard of you, War Bow. I met once with Lord Edward and he told me your tale. He holds you in high regard.\" That surprised me, for he rarely praised me. \"For that reason, I will confide in you. De Montfort thinks he has won, but there are more loyal men who support the king than this rebel who would usurp the crown. It will take time, but we will prevail. For that reason, I ask you to leave tomorrow before dawn. I will give you a pass to leave the city before the gates are opened. Where do you go?\"\n\nI hesitated. \"Come, Gerald War Bow, if we cannot trust each other, then de Montfort has won already.\"\n\n\"York. We thought to take ship for crusade or find employment there.\"\n\n\"Find employment and stay in England, for Lord Edward will need you. Those of us who support the king and his son will keep in touch. We will send a messenger to York, should we need you.\" He smiled. \"It will be someone you know, for there are many turncoats and traitors.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Thank you, my lord. We will stay in York.\"\n\nHe took a piece of parchment and scribbled on it. He used his seal and handed it to me. \"Be careful on the road. You may meet this Sir Roger.\"\n\n\"How many men were with him, my lord?\"\n\n\"There were four men at arms and another ten who looked like hired swords. They all wear the white cross as though they are blessed by Our Lord! Blasphemy, for they fight against the Lord's anointed king!\"\n\nI left in a more positive frame of mind. With men like the castellan there was hope for England and Lord Edward. When I returned to the inn, I paid our bill. \"We shall leave before dawn, innkeeper.\"\n\nI saw the disappointment on his face, for we had spent well. \"You will not be able to leave before the gates are open, sir.\"\n\n\"Let me worry about that. Come, men, we shall retire, for I have much to tell you.\"\n\nWe were all accommodated in one cramped little room. Our faces were close when I spoke, as quietly as I dared, of what I had learned. \"So, if any of you wish to go on a crusade then leave us at York. For my own part, I will stay there, for I like not this rebellion.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"Then we all stay. We are the company of the War Bow, and I, for one, am happy to continue.\"\n\nThey all nodded and it made me feel inordinately happy.\n\nI smiled. \"One piece of good news is that we have now left the Great North Road. That headed north and west. We use smaller roads until we near York. They are still Roman, but there will be fewer travellers. This road we're on is only used by those travelling to either York or Lincoln.\"\n\nWe would be heading due north on the road the Romans had used to march to the city they called Eboracum, and within two days we would be in the relative safety of a northern city \u2013 one which lay beyond the influence of Simon de Montfort."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "The sentries seemed surprised that we had a pass, but the castellan's seal persuaded them, so they unbarred the gate and allowed us to head north to York. We had over seventy miles to go, and Sir Roger was on the road. We would have to be careful. I should have known that there were men watching for us on our way to Lincoln, and I should have expected the news to reach Sir Roger and his men. My excuse is that, at that time, I was still learning. However, we did at least ride in such a way as to be able to spot any danger. Tom, John's son, was eager to prove himself. With Ronan now dead Tom was the youngest and, as such, was always protected by the others.\n\nAs we headed north, he pleaded with me. \"Captain, let me be the scout. I have young ears and eyes and my horse, Bess, senses danger even if I do not!\"\n\nHe did not see the contradiction of his words. I saw John of Nottingham nod. \"Very well, but you know what you must do?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain, I will ride 200 paces ahead of you. If there is a bend in the road and I am hidden, then I wait until you catch up with me before I move off.\"\n\n\"Good \u2013 and if you suspect a trap or ambush?\"\n\n\"Then I dismount and examine Bess' leg.\"\n\n\"Which leg?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"That depends upon which side I see the ambush.\"\n\nJohn laughed. \"He will do, Captain, and this is a Roman road with few bends. The places we could be ambushed are known to us.\"\n\nI waved him off. John had been correct to suggest I allowed the young archer his opportunity. I had learned to scout when I was even younger than Tom. The more you did it, the better you became. I knew that I had taken on the responsibility of scout since Lewes because I felt guilty about losing so many of my men.\n\nWe made good time and were able to stop for ale when we passed through Gainsborough. There was no castle there but the lord of the manor, a Mowbray, was part of the rebel alliance. Luckily for us, he was far away in London along with his men. De Montfort was consolidating his hold on that city and advancing his own men. It suited us. We pushed on to Thorne. Thorne had but eight souls living there, and they had neither inn nor tavern. These were not the people of London and were friendly. Many had fought for the king when he and Lord Percy had defeated the Scots. They sold us their ale and food.\n\nI listened to the men as they talked in the barn, which we had been allowed to use by the farmer who sold us the ale. All of my men had dreams and hopes for the future. They each knew that it would take money to realise them. The debate was about how much they might need and how best to spend it. Those like Jack of Lincoln, who had spent some time as an outlaw, wanted nothing more than a farm. Will Yew Tree surprised no one when he asserted that he simply wanted an alehouse and wenches to serve both beer and men!\n\nStephen Green Feather had the simplest of plans. \"I would have a wife and enough bairns to ensure that some survived to become men and women. I do not mind if I have a farm or a tavern, so long as I am my own master and can keep my family. Travelling the land as I have, I envy those who live in peace, but I also know that men like us can take it from them. If I am honest, John of Nottingham, I would live in a home which was close to fellows like you and the rest of the company. I trust all of you.\"\n\nIt was a simple plan, but I envied him. I had no such plan. I knew that I had enough money already to buy a small farm or even a tavern. It was in the chest I had buried in Oxford, but I had yet to dig it up, for there it was as safe as the crown jewels in the castle at Windsor. What was the point in digging it up if I did not know what to do with it? My archers continued to speculate about and plan for what seemed to me uncertain futures. Lord Edward had spoken before the battle of Lewes as though it would be the final act, which would bring peace. He was wrong, and all that I saw, for the foreseeable future, was disharmony and conflict.\n\nI fell asleep with those two cheerful thoughts in my head, but I slept well and rose ready to end the journey and begin our next phase. The castellan's words had given me hope that all was not lost. I thought about Lord Edward; I had believed him grown up, but his action at Lewes had shown me that he was not ready yet to lead. As for being King; that was a different matter, for his father was as poor a king as there could be, and Edward had enough leadership qualities to be better than him. Perhaps that was due to his father, King John. I wondered how captivity would affect Lord Edward; perhaps it would mature him and show him how to be a king.\n\nWe left the barn after dawn had broken, for to do so earlier would have seemed disrespectful to the people who made us so welcome. We were now fewer than thirty miles from York. We were still vigilant, but I hoped Sir Roger might have passed us in the night. Thorne was just a little way away from the main road between York and Lincoln \u2013 it was after Thorne that the land rose a little and became drier. There were one or two rises and falls. We were riding parallel to the River Don and we used it to water the horses; the last two days of slightly easier travel had seen an improvement in their health. We had to husband our mounts, for we would need them in the future.\n\nAs we were all together, I took the opportunity to check up on Tom. He had a great responsibility upon his young shoulders. \"Have you seen anything then, Tom?\" There was a slight hesitation and I said, \"A good scout reports everything; no matter how seemingly insignificant.\"\n\n\"Sorry, Captain. It is just that, for the last mile or so I haven't seen any birds ahead of me. I mean, until the last mile I was the one who spooked them. I had grown used to the pigeons taking flight when I approached.\" He pointed to the river. \"Each time we were close to the river then the ducks and waterfowl made a noise and swam across the river. I haven't seen any for the last mile.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Stephen Green Feather, ride ahead with Tom. The rest of you, string your bows. It may be a waste of time, but Tom here has a bad feeling.\"\n\nI saw the panic on his face. \"But it might be nothing!\"\n\nI smiled. \"All it costs us is the effort to put a string on a bow. When you spook the next birds let us know, and we will unstring them.\"\n\nI chose a new string and picked out a war arrow. After mounting Eleanor, I laid the bow across the front of my saddle and tucked the arrow in my belt; I really needed an arrow bag, but did not seem to have time to make one.\n\nWe watched as Tom and Stephen rode ahead. I let them ride 170 paces before I pumped my arm and we followed them. I peered ahead and looked for possible ambush sites. So long as the river lay to our left then any attack had to come from our right.\n\nWe were passing open fields of beans, for this was fertile country. On the higher ground, in the distance, I saw animals grazing. A drainage ditch lay next to the road. The beans were just coming into flower and they would give an attacker cover. The road rose and, as we neared the top, I saw Tom dismount and go to the right of his horse. I dug my heels into Eleanor and, holding my bow in my right hand, I nocked an arrow in my left. I could transfer them quickly if I needed to. My men were so well trained they needed no words from me. I saw Stephen Green Feather lean down, ostensibly to speak with Tom, but in reality he was nocking an arrow.\n\nWe reached them just a few heartbeats too late. The crossbow bolt slammed into Stephen's shoulder. Even so, he tried to turn, to raise his bow and send an arrow back towards his attacker. The second bolt hit him in the chest. He tumbled backwards: it was a mortal wound. We all hated crossbows with a vengeance, and now we had even more reason. Tom had raised his bow and, using his horse for cover, sent an arrow to our right. I heard a cry. By then we had reached the rise and I saw, galloping towards us, Sir Roger and four men at arms. Four other men rode behind him. That meant there were six men hidden, and at least two of them were crossbowmen.\n\nI shouted, \"John of Nottingham, take Robin and David, deal with the men in the bean field. They have crossbows.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain!\" He and the other two archers wheeled right while Will and Jack reined in with me next to Tom. As I dismounted, two bolts slammed into my saddle and Eleanor reared. One of them must have pricked her.\n\n\"I hit one of the crossbows, Captain, but I think that two remain.\"\n\n\"Don't worry about them; John will deal with them. We have mounted men to deal with. Bodkins!\"\n\nThe horsemen were eighty paces from us \u2013 they must have waited beyond sight. I now cursed my own choice of arrow. I aimed my war arrow at the advancing horsemen; I would not be able to make a damaging hit, but I could worry them. The arrow hit the horse of the man at arms next to Sir Roger. The animal jerked to the right, and horse and rider were so close to the water that they fell into the river. It was a lucky hit, but I would take it.\n\nI nocked a bodkin. Jack and Robin had bodkins ready, and their arrows slammed into two of the men at arms. They were now thirty paces from us, and each arrow went through the mail as though it were a piece of cloth. The men were thrown over the backs of their saddles.\n\nTom had vengeance on his mind. He was a skilled archer, and his arrow went into the open mouth of another man at arms. He fell, too. I aimed my bodkin at the knight. The other four horsemen had already closed enough for us to strike, when Will and Robin sent their war arrows at them, and one horse, along with a man at arms, was hit. The injured horse and rider turned and galloped into the bean field. I heard cries from my right as John and the others dealt with the crossbowmen and the last of the ambushers. I concentrated on the knight. He had plate armour, a couched lance and a shield. I knew that he expected to win. It was almost impossible to penetrate plate, even with a bodkin.\n\nHe was forty paces from me when I released. I had a full draw, and I sent the arrow not at his chest but at his neck. There, he just had his mail coif. The arrow struck him cleanly and almost passed through, only the fletch stopped it.\n\n\"Stand aside!\" I shouted, as his horse was still galloping without its rider and would not stop. We let the animal pass between us as the lance fell to the ground. \"Will, see to Stephen.\" It was a forlorn hope, for I knew he was dead, but I had to ask.\n\nHis voice was sad as he answered, \"He is dead, Captain. Damned crossbows! They are the devil's machine!\"\n\nI moved the horses aside as I hurried to the bean field. John and Robin were leading two horses. \"David the Welshmen is hunting the last of them. Those horsemen you hit joined them. In total, five escaped, Captain. Should we go after them?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"They are hired brigands. They will run as far from us as they can, and they have a wounded man and a horse. Jack, go and fetch back the war horse and the knight's body.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. That was one of the bravest arrows I have ever seen.\"\n\nI nodded absentmindedly. \"Search the bodies, take all of value and then hurl them in the Don.\"\n\nI looked to my left and saw the horse which had been hit and fallen into the water. Its body was floating. The arrow had not killed but had weakened it, and then it had drowned. Of the man at arms, there was no sign. An archer might have survived the fall, but not a man in hauberk and helmet with a sword at his waist.\n\nDavid the Welshman returned. \"The others have fled. They were heading east as fast as their horses would take them.\"\n\nIt took some time to collect the mail and weapons. We let the bodies slip into the Don and loaded the mail, plate and swords onto the backs of our horses. \"Disguise the plate with a piece of sacking. That would be hard to explain when we reach York.\"\n\nThen we buried Stephen Green Feather. He would never have a wife, nor see his children grow up. His dream had been ended with two crossbow bolts. We made sure that his bow was buried with him and that he was well covered. The river would flood and his body would sink deeper. He would not be disturbed.\n\nWe mounted our horses. Jack of Lincoln pointed at the knight's horse, a destrier, and said, \"And how do we explain the war horse, Captain?\"\n\n\"Simple, John, you ride the warhorse. He looks similar to Eleanor, and no one questions my right to ride such a horse. Get rid of the knight's livery.\"\n\nAs we rode towards York, John of Nottingham said, \"Men knew he was hunting us. Those who escaped may talk.\"\n\n\"Then let them talk. Aye, they know my name and they know my trade, but you are all unknown. I would argue, if it came to court, that we were attacked.\"\n\n\"He was a knight!\"\n\n\"And an enemy of Lord Edward. Our fates, it seems, are entwined. I must help Lord Edward and his father regain the throne, or I risk losing my life!\" I laughed. \"Life is never simple, is it?\"\n\nI made it sound frivolous but it was not. I could kill a knight in battle, but at any other time it would be considered murder. Had I fought him with a sword, that would have been different. Life was not fair, but a man made the best of it or he was not a man.\n\nYork was the most important city in the north. It was from here that the Scots had been repulsed during the anarchy. The politics of the south were largely irrelevant, for the city was ruled by a sherriff and an archbishop. I hoped that we could find employment, but our first problem was gaining access to the city.\n\n\"What is your business?\" The sentry's tone was aggressive, and I heard the murmurings from my men. They were not happy.\n\nI smiled. \"We are here to trade and then to seek work.\"\n\n\"Have you any coins? The Sherriff will not allow vagabonds to enter.\"\n\nThanks to Sir Roger and his men I had a full purse, and I reluctantly opened it for him. His attitude changed immediately and he smiled. \"Then welcome, sir. I would recommend The Angel, by the river. It is a good inn and they have a fine stable.\"\n\nI smiled a false smile such as the one he had given me. \"Thank you!\"\n\nI had no intention of staying in an inn recommended by him. I had heard that The Saddle was an honest inn and we repaired there. We had been given directions by other warriors who had frequented it. Will Yew Tree's eyes widened when he saw the size of the head on the ale, which was being carried by a buxom wench. \"I have died and gone to heaven!\" Will had not had enough ale on our journey north.\n\nThe inn proved a good choice. There were no bed bugs, the price was reasonable, the ale good and the food edible. We had endured worse. We did nothing that first night, save enjoy the fact that we had food, ale and would have beds. We did not fear a knife in the night, and the enemies who had pursued us were dead. Life was getting better.\n\nThe next morning, after checking on our horses, we split up to explore the city. We needed employment, but we also needed other things. We had to have more arrowheads, and we needed a blacksmith. I went with Jack of Lincoln and we headed for the market. John of Nottingham would seek a weaponsmith, while the rest would do as we did and seek a merchant who needed good men to guard their belongings.\n\nThe first four we tried did not seem interested. They sought men at arms and, despite our swords, we did not appear robust enough. Having spent all morning on our fruitless quest, we were approaching noon and decided to find an alehouse. Hunting employers was thirsty work.\n\nWe found an inn, which was crowded. That was a good sign. As we made our way to the barrels to get served, I bumped into a merchant. \"Sorry, my lord!\" I had learned that civility brought its own reward. When the merchant turned, I recognised him. \"Dickon of Doncaster!\"\n\nThe merchant laughed. \"I never thought to see you again! What did you say your name was, War Bow?\"\n\n\"Aye, sir, and I am the captain of a company of archers now!\"\n\nHis face split into a smile and he said, \"Then we are well met. I can see that you and your companion have a thirst. Buy your ale and I will find you and speak with you, for this is a most fortuitous meeting, and I think that Fate has sent you to me.\"\n\nJack and I shouldered our way through the crowd to order our ale. We were helped by the fact that we were broad-shouldered archers, and we barrelled our way through. I held up two fingers and the serving wench nodded.\n\n\"Who was that, Captain?\"\n\n\"A merchant, Dickon of Doncaster, whom I served in Poitou. My friend and I helped him to take some wagons through bandit country. With luck, he may wish to employ us.\"\n\n\"In Poitou, Captain? I thought we needed to stay in England.\"\n\n\"We do, but let us hear what he has to say first, eh? He obviously wished to speak with me. Let us find a corner where we can talk.\"\n\nWith our ale in our hands, we looked around for a place to sit. There were no seats, but there was a space where we could stand, so we made our way there. The ale was passable. We had drunk better in the homes of the alewives heading north, but it would do. Jack said, when we were halfway through the ale, \"Here is your friend, Captain.\"\n\nI looked to where he nodded and saw Dickon and what looked like a younger version of himself. He reached us and said, \"This is a popular inn! Captain, this is my son, Geoffrey of York, and this is the archer I told you of, Geoffrey, Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nI bobbed my head. \"Sir.\"\n\nGeoffrey of York grinned. \"As we are of an age, archer, I do not think that I yet merit the title sir.\" He raised his beaker of ale. \"Well met, fellows!\" We all toasted.\n\nDickon leaned in to speak to us. Where we stood was quieter than the rest of the alehouse, for the men around us were serious drinkers, but he obviously wanted us to hear his words. \"So, Gerald, are you on your way to war? Or,\" he raised an eyebrow, \"are you fleeing a war?\"\n\nI had the same uncomfortable feeling when I spoke to Dickon now, that I had experienced when I met him close by the abbey on the Humber. He seemed able to look into my mind and know what secrets I was hiding. But I had changed in the years since I had first met him. I now knew how to keep a straight face.\n\n\"We seek employment, sir.\"\n\nSeemingly satisfied, he beamed. \"Capital! That is what we wanted to hear eh, Geoffrey?\"\n\n\"You may be the answer to my prayers, archer. When my father fetched me here, he told me what you and your friend did in Poitou. Is this the same fellow?\"\n\nDickon shook his head. \"It is not. I do not know him. Although the split nose suggests an interesting past!\"\n\n\"No, this is not he, Roger died in Poitou saving the life of an English lord.\" I decided, for the moment, to keep Lord Edward's identity to myself. \"This is one of my archers, Jack of Lincoln.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to hear of Roger's death. He was a good man and I liked him. You say archers, how many men are in your company?\"\n\n\"There are now seven of us, sir.\"\n\nThe father and son exchanged a look. Dickon said, \"Do you have horses?\"\n\nThe last time, Dickon had to furnish us with mounts. \"We do, sir, and we each have a spare.\"\n\n\"Better and better. Geoffrey, go get more ale, and I will make Gerald a proposal.\" His son seemed happy to leave us to speak. \"My son runs this end of my business, the English end. I work in France, Poitou and Flanders. He is young but he is learning. This unrest in the south has caused him problems. We have had some of our wagons taken by bandits and also by lords who do not obey the law.\"\n\n\"Here, close to York, sir?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Despite the Scots, the north is safe. The northern barons keep order. It is once we try to cross to Cheshire or through the Midlands that we have difficulties. You and your men can handle swords?\"\n\n\"We are all proficient.\"\n\nHis son returned. \"I have explained the problem, Geoffrey.\"\n\nGeoffrey of York handed us our ale. \"We have a good business, Captain of Archers. We began by trading sheepskins but we have expanded. My father now imports items from Germany, Flanders and even France. The port fees here in York are a fraction of those in London. We were doing well until we expanded further south, and then we found difficulties.\"\n\nI was going to ask why they bothered to expand if they were doing so well when he added, \"The Marcher Lords in the west also seek that which we trade. The Welsh are belligerent, and men like Richard de Clare and the Sherriff of Gloucester are keen for weapons from Saxony. There, they make good swords and armour. We lost our first consignment north of Derbyshire. Two of my men were slain.\"\n\n\"Bandits?\"\n\n\"Bandits who were in the employ of a lord, for one of the men who attacked us wore spurs. The work may be dangerous. Are you and your men interested?\"\n\nI did not have to look at Jack to know the answer. We had come seeking employment and this sounded perfect for us. \"Aye, Master Geoffrey.\"\n\nHe beamed and his father clapped him on the back. \"Good! You have your own horses and that means we will not have to lay out money for those.\" Dickon glanced at Jack. \"We just need to settle the fee.\"\n\n\"You can speak in front of Jack. My company has no secrets.\"\n\n\"You have not changed, then. You were ever a loyal man. What say you to twenty shillings for each trip? And we will pay for food and lodgings.\"\n\n\"And you pay for damage and losses to our horses?\"\n\nDickon nodded. \"That seems fair.\"\n\n\"And when will you need us?\"\n\nDickon became conspiratorial. \"The Battle of Lewes has altered the situation. The first wagon train will need to leave York by August. The journey west will take a month.\"\n\nI nodded. \"And until then?\" We would be spending our hard-earned coin, and York was expensive.\n\nGeoffrey understood the problem. I soon learned that he was a clever young man and had inherited all of his father's intuition. \"I have a hall at Easingwold. You could stay there. In fact, that might be judicious for you, and your men could act as my guards.\"\n\nDickon looked at my face and seemed to read my thoughts. \"And of course, you will be paid as such. Five shillings a week?\"\n\nI saw the grin on Jack's face. Five shillings a week and food and lodgings were better than we might have hoped. \"That is agreeable. We need a couple of days to finish our business in York, first.\"\n\nWith a knowing look Dickon said, \"I thought you might. My son's hall is in the middle of Easingwold. He will expect you.\" He held out his hand. \"I am right glad I came to this alehouse.\"\n\n\"As am I.\" It was fate, for if one of my other men had entered then Dickon would not have approached them.\n\nThe others had depressed expressions when we met, but soon brightened when they heard my news. \"So, we have a couple of days and we should use them well. We need to sell the warhorse. It will fetch money we can use. Then, we need to find a smith. We need arrowheads, and hopefully we can sell the mail and plate we found.\" They had taken the swords and daggers from the dead and they would use them. My sword was still satisfactory and I would not change it.\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"I found a weaponsmith. His name is Matthew. He has good mail and seems to be an honest man\" He told me where to find him.\n\nThe next day he went with Robin of Barnsley to sell the horse, while I went with Jack of Lincoln to find the smith. Matthew had a smithy just outside the Roman walls; John had found him through the landlord of The Saddle. A recommendation always helped. I saw him making a sword as we approached, and that was good. He was a true weaponsmith and not a smith who mainly shod horses and dabbled with weapons. On the horses we had brought we had the mail and the plate. I was anxious to be rid of them.\n\nI had bought some better clothes with the coins I had taken from Sir Roger, and now looked a little more like a person who deserved respect.\n\n\"Good morning, good sirs, how may I be of service?\"\n\n\"I lead a company of archers and need to know if you can make arrowheads.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir: hunting, war or bodkin?\"\n\n\"War and bodkin.\"\n\n\"That will be expensive.\" I saw him calculating in his head. \"How many would you need?\"\n\nIt was my turn to calculate; we had some already, and we were not going to war. \"A hundred war and sixty bodkins.\"\n\n\"That would be ten shillings for the war arrows and twenty shillings for the bodkins.\"\n\nI heard the sharp intake of breath from Jack. \"Acceptable \u2013 and we have something to sell to you. Jack, unpack the horses.\"\n\nI could see that he was intrigued. \"Metal? I have scrap metal aplenty.\"\n\nJack emptied the mail first. \"No, smith, this is good mail. You may need to repair the odd link or two, but this could be resold by you.\"\n\nThe smith rubbed his beard as he worked out a profit margin. I took the sack of plate and took it out piece by piece. \"And this, smith, is good plate. We also have half a dozen helmets.\"\n\nHis eyes widened. \"How did you come by this?\"\n\n\"It was not stolen, if that is your question. We are good archers and we took these in battle.\" I saw the worry on his face. \"None will come to seek it!\"\n\n\"Five pounds for all of it.\"\n\nHe was robbing us, but it was a buyer's market. \"Seven \u2013 and you make our arrows for nothing.\"\n\nI saw him calculating. He held out his mighty fist. \"Then it is a deal! How soon will you need the arrowheads?\"\n\nIt was June and we would be leaving in August. \"July?\"\n\nHe nodded. Jack said, \"And when can we have the balance of our money?\"\n\n\"I do not have it here. Let us say\u2026 the end of the week?\"\n\nI nodded and we left.\n\n\"He robbed us, Captain.\"\n\n\"He made a profit. No matter what he paid us, Jack, we are in profit, and we do not have to worry about selling the plate now. When the horse is sold too, then we can begin to think about spending some of this coin!\"\n\nI had no plans to spend my share. When I had time, I would return to Oxford for my chest. My funds were growing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "We collected and shared the profits from the plate, the mail and the horse. It allowed us all to buy from the merchants of York, whose prices were much lower than they would have been further south. Each of us had different needs and our bags bulged when we left.\n\nThen we headed to Easingwold. It was a small village, and Geoffrey of York's hall was the largest building in the small gathering of houses. His wife, Margaret, was with child, and she had two other children. Although busy, she was always pleasant to us. His steward, who had been expecting us, accommodated us in the barn. That suited us and, as our new master was away on business with his father, we set to making arrows and performing all the other tasks we needed. The time we were allowed was a luxury, for our food was cooked for us. We had straw beds and the weather was pleasant. Even better was the fact that there was a good alehouse in the village. It was called, appropriately, The Feathers, and we all spent some time there. Will Yew Tree was there each night; his coins diminished faster than ours.\n\nWe also took the opportunity of washing and repairing our livery. We would need it again, and now was the time to attend to it. I had bought some leather in York, and I used the time we waited for Geoffrey of York to make myself a bracer for my arm and a pair of boots. When I finished that, I made a canvas bag with spacers for my arrows. I now had the time to make a good one. In battle it was more convenient to have a bundle of arrows stuck in the ground, but if we were riding to protect a wagon train then we needed arrows close to hand.\n\nWe had been in the hall for half a month when, not long after having left for the alehouse, Will Yew Tree returned. That was unheard of \u2013 and he was with a man and a boy of perhaps eight years of age. This was unusual. Jack of Lincoln rubbed his eyes. \"Surely you have not drunk the alehouse dry? That would be a prodigious feat, even for you!\"\n\nWill snorted. \"Nay, Jack of Lincoln. I come to speak to the captain and introduce Peter, son of Rafe. This is Rafe, his father.\" The boy bobbed while the father stood straight \u2013 I saw that the man had a withered arm, but his body looked to have been that of a warrior. \"Can I leave them with you, Captain? There is a game of nine men's morris, and the other players are as much use as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest!\"\n\n\"Of course.\" I turned to address the newcomers. \"Come, it is a pleasant evening, let us go and sit by the duck pond.\" Once we were seated, I asked, \"How can I help you?\"\n\n\"I was an archer, Captain. I served under the sherriff in the wars against the Scots. I suffered a wound which means this,\" he tapped his withered left arm with his right hand, \"is useless. Better that I had lost the arm altogether.\"\n\n\"I am sorry. How do you make a living now?\"\n\n\"I was a good archer. I had money put aside, but the sherriff gave me a smallholding. We get by, Captain, and I do not need charity.\" He was proud. Most archers were. \"I have been training the boy here to be an archer. I have done all I can to make his arm strong and to tell him how to draw. Now, he needs a working archer to show him. I have heard of you, Captain, and Will Yew Tree speaks well of you. He might be a blowhard, but I can tell that he knows his business. I would have you take my son as an apprentice and make him an archer.\"\n\nI looked at the boy. I could see that he was slightly broader than most boys his age. \"What do you say, Peter?\"\n\n\"I would learn to be an archer, Captain, and Will Yew Tree says that you are a good teacher.\" I knew not why he thought that. \"I am a hard worker and I am willing to learn.\"\n\n\"And can you ride a horse?\"\n\nHe was not expecting the question and looked at his father as I continued. \"We are mounted archers, Peter, and we ride to war. If we took you on, then you would need to ride to war and look after the horses as well as fetch us arrows when we fought.\"\n\nI saw him consider my words. \"I like horses, but I will speak the truth, I have never ridden one.\" I saw his father's face fall.\n\n\"You are honest and that counts for much. I will tell you what, spend the next four days with us. We will try to teach you to ride. That way, you can see if you like us and still wish to serve with us.\"\n\nRafe looked happy. \"That is an honest answer, Captain, and better than Peter and I could have expected.\" He turned to his son. \"I will see you in four days. Do not let the family down, Peter!\"\n\n\"I will not father, and I will make you proud of me.\"\n\nHis father hugged him. \"I already am!\"\n\nHe turned and headed back to the alehouse and I turned back to the child. \"Well Peter, let me introduce you to the others. They are good men, but you may find them a little rough.\"\n\nIn fact, my men were charmed by the keenness of the boy. He had an endearing way with him, and in all the time I knew him, he never told an untruth. He was hard working and, over the next days, he spent as many hours in the saddle as he could. He fell off the horse many times, and his buttocks were red raw, but he persevered and after three days was a rider. More, he got on well with the horses, and even Eleanor took to him. When he was not riding then Jack of Lincoln and John of Nottingham showed him how to fletch and to fit arrowheads to arrows. That was self-interest. He would be able to repair arrows for us.\n\nHalf a day was spent with me. We had an old bow that was easy to draw and shorter than the others. I had not known why we kept it, I suspect that if we had not had spare horses to carry our bows, we would have discarded it. The bow was still hard for Peter to draw, but that helped to build his strength. His fingers bled and, each night, I heard him cry himself to sleep \u2013 for muscles ached which he did not know he had.\n\nWhen his father returned, all of my company stood to hear the boy's decision. I said to his father, \"We would have him as an apprentice, but I know not if he still wishes to join us.\"\n\nWe all looked at Peter. He smiled and put his bloody hands behind him. \"I confess, father, that is has been hard; harder than I thought it would be. It has not deterred me. I am still resolved to be an archer. This is a good company of men, and they are both kind and honest. None has raised a hand to me when I made a mistake. If they will have me, then I will come with you, say farewell to my mother and my sisters, and return here to join the company of the War Bow.\"\n\nRafe held out his good arm. \"Thank you, Captain.\"\n\n\"Thank you. When he is an archer I will return him to you, and he can then make his own decision about his future. For now, we serve Geoffrey of York, but one day we will return to our former master. I will not say who that is, save to say that he is a nobleman. We will look after your son as though he was our own. We will be as foster fathers to him. We will keep him as safe as it is possible, but war\u2026\"\n\nHe looked ruefully at his left arm. \"Aye, Captain, I know better than most.\"\n\nAugust was soon upon us, and the carters and their wagons arrived at the hall. There were eight of them and they were laden. Geoffrey of York had arrived back six days before the wagons. He showed me honour by telling me about our destination and cargo.\n\n\"We have eight wagons, and they are bound for the Earl of Gloucester. We have to travel over the saltway in Longdendale. It is also called the Pass of Woodhead. As this is north of the lands of de Ferrers in Derbyshire, your services may not be needed.\"\n\nI kept a straight face. The Earl of Gloucester had fought Lord Edward and de Ferrers was my enemy \u2013 however, he was right. That remote route passed through the lands of Chester, and the earldom of Chester belonged to Lord Edward. However, it also passed close to Clwyd, and Baron Henry might remember me.\n\n\"We have a cargo of weapons. There are crossbows, swords, pikes and helmets as well as hauberks and German plate. That will need to be guarded carefully, Captain, for each suit of plate is worth more than thirty pounds. We have three of them.\"\n\nIt seemed I had been robbed as I had suspected, and Sir Roger must have been a rich man if he could afford plate armour.\n\n\"Would bandits risk the robbing of a wagon for plate and mail? I could understand the swords, but where would they find a market for plate armour?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"It may surprise you to know that I managed to buy a suit of plate armour as well as three hauberks here in York. The weaponsmith was a little evasive about their origins, which led me to believe that they were taken by bandits! As you will learn, bandits and brigands steal first and worry later where to sell it. We pass through Holmfirth, and after that there is nothing save wild country. This is not a journey I would undertake in winter. We get there as soon as we can and then pick up a cargo of salt and cheese from Namentwihc before reversing our journey. That cargo may be more valuable to the bandits of the high country. I hope that you and your men are a waste of money. This is the easier of the trips we will make, our next one will be harder, for we will travel to Oxford with spearheads, swords and jet from Whitby. There we are forced to pass through de Ferrers' lands, and he is a terror to honest merchants. He charges a tax to all who use his road, and if we use the byways, he has his men take the cargo anyway. We will use the byways, and you and your men might be the surprise they do not expect.\"\n\nAs we were leaving the next day I confided in my men. I did not tell them of Baron Henry, but all else they needed to know.\n\nJack of Lincoln found it amusing that we were transporting the armour we had sold to the weaponsmith, young Peter just took it all in. We had kitted him out, too. He had returned with serviceable clothes, but he needed a cloak. We had the cloaks from our dead comrades. They were good cloaks, which were well oiled and would keep a man dry in all but the worst of storms. We cut one down for him. We also cut down a hood and a cap. If he was training to be an archer then he needed to look like one.\n\nHe had his bow and he had arrows; we just gave him hunting arrows. It was unlikely that he would use them in battle, anyway. When we fought, he would be busy carrying arrows for us. We also gave him a pair of daggers. One was long enough for him to use as a sword if he needed to. We had trained him to use a bow and, on the journey across the high land, we would show him how to use his other weapons. We gave him our smallest horse, Daisy \u2013 she was a docile mount but still seemed too big for him. We had impressed upon him that he had to keep up with us; he was our apprentice, but we could not be his nursemaids. We had a job to do.\n\nWe headed south, towards Loidis. Here, we were still under the protection of the sherriff. Even so, we started as we meant to go on. Tom rode at the fore as our scout. Stephen's death still hung heavily upon him, but he was rigorous and knew how to spot danger. I rode with Geoffrey of York. He wore a leather byrnie beneath his tunic and a helmet. He had a sword and had told me that he knew how to use it. His father had handled himself well in Poitou. A man named Simon, who had worked for Geoffrey and his father for years, was the lead carter. My men spread out along the side with John of Nottingham, Jack of Lincoln and young Peter at the rear. We had not brought our spare horses as they had been left at Easingwold. Geoffrey of York might be just a merchant, but we had hired on to guard him \u2013 and guard him we would. I was no less vigilant than I had been when I watched the heir to the English crown.\n\nWe made less than fifteen miles a day, and our progress was tortuous. One benefit was that Peter became a better rider, and he was able to learn how to care for the horses. The carters took to him and gave him tips.\n\nI could see why Geoffrey of York had not chosen this journey in winter. After we crossed the tiny bridge and corn mill that was Holmfirth, our journey became even tougher. We had spent the night in the tiny hamlet; we had to camp but were able to buy fresh bread, and we knew that would be in short supply until we reached the villages of Marple and Marple Bridge. As we ascended the twisting road that led to the Woodhead Pass, the carters had to walk next to their horses, in order to ease their burden. I looked up at the rocks and rough ground ahead. This was perfect bandit country. I made a decision. \"Archers, dismount and string your bows. Peter, stay with the pack horse in case we need arrows.\"\n\nPeter's tiny voice came back, \"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nMy men did not need to answer, they just dismounted. Geoffrey of York did not dismount but looked down at me quizzically. \"Do you see danger, Captain?\"\n\n\"No sir, for when you see danger then it is too late. This way I have a strung bow and a nocked arrow. If I was a bandit then this is where I would hit us. We climb a slope and we are going so slowly that if we make seven miles this day, I will be surprised. The rocks make perfect places to hide. We will walk.\"\n\nHe stayed in the saddle. I knew it was a mistake, for he made a good target.\n\nI kept watching Tom ahead of us. He was a good scout and he sniffed the air. Bandits would smell differently from us. We had bathed two days before we left Easingwold \u2013 bandits would stink. The steep slope might help potential bandits, but as the wind came from the west then it would bring their smell to us.\n\nWe came to a flatter part of the pass and the road twisted to the right. It was the sort of place most men would relax, but I did not. I had a war arrow nocked and I was ready. I saw Tom turn and drop to one knee. He was improvising, and I knew that there was danger. His bow pointed to the slope on the right.\n\n\"Ware, right!\"\n\nWe kept moving, but Tom's warning had been enough for the carters to move to the left of their horses, as did my archers. I led Eleanor with my left hand and held my bow and arrow in my right.\n\nThe arrows, when they came, were sent from too far away. The bandits had height, but they had hunting bows and arrows \u2013 that saved the life of Geoffrey of York. Two arrows plunged down and struck him; they penetrated his tunic but not his leather byrnie. He dropped to the ground and drew his sword.\n\nI had dropped Eleanor's reins and I scanned the rocks. I saw a patch of white, some hundred and twenty paces from me. In one motion I drew and released. The arrow smacked into the head of the bandit. My arrow precipitated the response of my men. Tom, isolated ahead, ran back to us. The poor quality of both the archers and their weapons was shown when an arrow thudded into Tom's saddle; it failed to stick and fell to the ground.\n\nThe bandits ran at us. There were more than thirty of them, although accurate numbers were hard to ascertain. I drew and released at the nearest man. The carters drew their swords. The horses pulling the wagons would not move for there was a slope once more, and they were grateful for the rest.\n\nI struck a bandit in the shoulder \u2013 my war arrow was barbed. As he fell, writhing, he tried to pull the arrow from the wound but simply tore a large hole. I saw him slump to the ground. My men did not panic. Nock, draw, release! It was something they could do in their sleep. Each archer chose the nearest target. As the bandits were less than one hundred paces from us, we could not miss. Their arrows also fell on us, but the only hurt they caused was when they managed to hit a horse.\n\nHalf their number were hit, but still they came \u2013 and now they were so close that their clubs, axes and short swords could hurt both horses and the carters. We were the trained warriors. I dropped my bow and ran towards them, drawing my sword. I could have drawn my dagger, but I was a good swordsman and I had skill. I used it.\n\nSimon the Carter was being attacked by two men. Geoffrey of York had been too concerned with watching the battle and failed to react. Simon blocked one blow from a short sword, but I saw the wood axe swinging at his unprotected side. The bandit was a big man and he took a mighty swing; that gave me the chance to cover the ground and, even as his axe was coming around, to deal a mortal blow. I brought my sword from on high and hacked through his arm. My sword was a good one. I took both his arms and then, as his companion looked on in horror, I swung my sword at his neck and hacked through to the bone. The handless man ran! I did not think he would survive. Perhaps he had been the leader, for the rest of the bandits fled, and my men sent arrows after them. We had been a juicy target but they would not repeat their mistake. Fewer than eleven escaped.\n\n\"Dispatch the wounded and take their weapons. If the other bandits hereabouts have no weapons then they cannot prey on others. Is anyone hurt?\"\n\n\"Simon the Carter has an arrow in his leg.\"\n\n\"See to him. Are you alright, sir?\"\n\nGeoffrey of York was visibly shaken. \"I was too slow. You have earned your money this day \u2013 and then some.\"\n\nSimon came over to me and held out his hand. \"And you, Captain, have saved my life. I am in your debt, whatever you need.\"\n\n\"Just doing my job\u2026 and we all help each other, do we not?\"\n\nThe wound to the carter was not serious and we soon pushed on. I thought that we had seen the last of bandits, certainly on this side of the high land, but we remained vigilant.\n\nWe camped as the sun was setting on the western side of the pass. It was not an ideal place, but there was water and we were sheltered. I set sentries and then checked the animals. Peter was giving them water and a handful of oats each.\n\n\"Captain, how did you manage to kill two men so quickly? Your hands moved so fast that I could barely see the blows.\"\n\n\"I only killed one, although the second was hurt so badly that I doubt he will trouble any traveller again.\" I stroked Eleanor. I had an old apple I had found in the apple store at Easingwold and I gave it to her. \"If you are ever in a situation like that, Peter, then do not panic. Choose a target and a blow. Worry about the second man after the first is hurt.\"\n\n\"How did you learn to fight?\"\n\n\"By avoiding being killed. I was lucky in my first battles and I know it.\" I ruffled the boy's hair. \"Do not worry, you will be much older when you have to fight \u2013 and I think the rest of the journey will be easier!\"\n\nI was proved right, although the journey was no quicker, for late summer rains hit us when we reached the Cheshire plain, and we were all grateful that we had good cloaks. Geoffrey of York fretted about the mail and plate for he feared it would rust. It was almost September by the time we rolled into Gloucester.\n\nI had feared that the Earl of Gloucester might recognise us as Lord Edward's archers, but he did not even bother to inspect his cargo; his steward did that. Geoffrey of York was paid, and we spent the night in a town where we slept in beds. While we were in the tavern we heard news about the rebel alliance. The Earl of Gloucester was at home because he had fallen out with de Montfort. Having led one of the battles, he felt he had deserved more from the Earl of Leicester and, when he had not received it, the unpredictable earl had left London. We also heard that Lord Edward and his cousin, Henry Almain, were now in Wallingford Castle. That was not far from Oxford. In the safety of a Gloucester inn, I drank too much and contemplated riding to Wallingford to make contact with Lord Edward. When I rose, the next morning, I realised how foolish that would have been.\n\nWe left and headed for Namentwihc, where we filled the wagons with cheese and salt. We had a wet and unpleasant journey back to Easingwold. When we reached the scene of the ambush there was no sign of the bodies. There must have been honour amongst the bandits, that they had taken the time to recover their dead. October was almost upon us when we finally reached Easingwold.\n\nThe journey had taken longer than Geoffrey of York had planned, and his wife's time was almost come. \"The sheepskins can wait until the new year, Captain. I would have you send a message to the merchant in Oxford to explain the delay and to take him the jet, for that is not a large cargo. You need to take just one sumpter to carry the small chests.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"I trust you and know that you will be able to make the journey safely while my steward, good man though he is, may fall foul of some enemy. You shall be paid.\"\n\nIt struck me that this might be an opportunity to recover my chest from the inn. I agreed to go and went with Tom and David the Welshman. The ones I did not take were all disappointed, save Will Yew Tree, who could now spend each night in The Feathers!"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "This time, we were able to ride the main roads for we wore better clothes and were not a company of archers. The three of us left our bows at home. I felt almost naked as we rode south, but I did not think we would need to use a bow, and the weapon marked our trade; this time we were riding in secret. We rode first to York and thence to Lincoln.\n\nWhile the others saw to our horses and beds for the night, I sought an audience with the castellan. As I headed through the city, I saw that there were many armed men. The unrest in the country was manifesting itself as swords sought masters. I kept my hood up and hoped I would not be recognised. When I reached the castle I was kept waiting a little while, and when Sir Ralph arrived I saw why. He had been dining.\n\n\"I am sorry, my lord, I have but one night in Lincoln, and I thought to ask if there was word of Lord Edward.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"I mind not my dinner being disturbed for a loyal Englishman. The news is mixed, Captain. The rebels have allowed the barons from the west to return to their lands, and therein lies hope, for they can build up our forces. The Queen is in France and Sir John de Warenne in Poitou, but it will take time to gather enough men to challenge de Montfort.\" I nodded, and his face became serious. \"The de Braie family sent men to ask me what I knew of Sir Roger. I could honestly say that I had not seen him after he had left for the north. I will not ask you what happened, except to ask that it was done with honour.\"\n\n\"A man died to prove that honour.\" It was a simple and truthful statement. We had been ambushed and Stephen Green Feather died.\n\n\"Good. You say you go to Oxford?\" I nodded. \"Then take the back roads. The rebels seek Lord Edward's archer.\"\n\n\"There are just three of us, and we did not bring our bows. None would know us for archers. We work for a York merchant, and we have work until the new year. After that...\"\n\n\"Say no more. Plans are afoot. Watch yourself, these are dangerous times. We will contact you again if we can. There are many spies and traitors!\"\n\nI left Lincoln with more hope than I had arrived with, but also apprehension. The de Braie family controlled the land around Huntingdon, de Montfort controlled Leicester and de Ferrers ruled Derbyshire. We would have to sneak through their lands, knowing that they were looking for us. I confided my fears to my men, and it was David the Welshman who came up with the solution. \"Captain, we have to bring the wagons down when the lady is delivered of her child. Let us use this as an opportunity to scout out an easier passage south. Our master does not wish to pay the tolls that the men of de Montfort charge, so let us find a way which takes us south without touching their strongholds.\"\n\nIt was a good plan, which I adopted. I quickly realised that our journey to Lincoln, useful though it was, had added thirty-five miles to the journey. If we had used the route further west then, although the road would not have been as flat, it would have been shorter.\n\nWe headed south and west to pick up the road through Nottingham. It was when we reached Nottingham, in the late afternoon, that I realised there was a line between the lands of de Montfort and de Ferrers that we could exploit. Nottingham was a royal city and controlled by a sherriff. The present incumbent was a political creature, and Phillip Marc appeared to tread a fine line between not offending the rebels and ensuring that when King Henry was returned as king he would not lose his position. More importantly, Nottingham had many archers, for the nearby forests seemed to produce good ones. Even if we had brought our bows we could have blended in. I now regretted not bringing John of Nottingham, who would have had contacts in the town.\n\nIf I had been recruiting archers then I could have had my choice. We spoke with many in the inn, which was close to the castle. Even without a bow, an archer would recognise the three of us by our broad shoulders and oak-knotted arms. We pretended to be ex-archers who were seeking other employment. If we had wished it, we would have had many opportunities for work.\n\nWe left the next morning and I decided to push on hard, for my visit to Lincoln had delayed us too long. \"We will do this next part of the journey in two days. We have good animals, which are well rested, and we have managed, more by good luck than good management, to evade our enemies.\"\n\nI was tempting fate but, as events proved, that was the right course of action. We were travelling faster than other travellers, and it was Tom who spotted that we were being followed. He urged Bess next to Eleanor. \"Captain, there are four men who follow us.\"\n\nI did not turn. \"You are sure?\"\n\n\"I was not, but now I am. I had a feeling that there was a man watching us in the inn last night, but it was crowded and I could not be certain. When we left the stable, I saw other horses there and, as we began to gallop, I heard hooves behind us. The others on the road walk. We are the only ones who gallop \u2013 and now there are horsemen following us.\"\n\n\"Well done. We will watch for somewhere we can ambush them. They will not close with us for they could have done so before had they wished. They mean to take us. They will watch where we sleep and come in the night.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman said, \"We should have brought our bows.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Hindsight is always perfect, David, let us use the skills that God has given us. We can all use swords and we know the woods. More, we know that they follow us and that gives us an edge.\"\n\nThis was not a Roman road and it had twists and turns while the ground rose and fell. In places, there were open fields next to the road while at other spots the trees and hedgerow were so close as to form walls. I knew what I was looking for. I needed a place where the road crossed a stream or a small river, where there were trees.\n\nAt noon we stopped in a village and used the water trough. We fed our horses oats and we ate our stale bread while they consumed them. Then, we quickly remounted and rode off.\n\nIt was the middle of the afternoon when I spied the place we would use. We had just passed Bretford, and the road began to drop and follow a bend of the Avon. There were willows that hung over the road, above the height of a wagon, and beneath them were scrubby blackberry bushes. Some still had fruit on them. As we turned the bend I said, \"Dismount. Hide the horses and then secrete yourselves. Have your weapons ready.\"\n\n\"There are four of them, Captain.\"\n\n\"I know \u2013 and that is why I will put myself where they can see me, and I will distract them.\"\n\nAs they led Eleanor away I took my dagger and hacked a willow branch, which was longer than me. I sharpened the end as I listened for the horses. I heard them galloping hard as they realised we were out of sight and that they had lost us. The four of them rode around the bend and, seeing me, reined in. I was leaning on the willow as though it was a staff. I took in the fact that their horses were lathered, which told me they were not as good as mounts as ours. The men were not archers, but one had the livery of de Ferrers. It was hidden by a cloak but, as he pulled back his horse to stop it, I had caught a flash of red and yellow. The other three looked like the sort of men we had captured close to Codnor: mercenaries.\n\n\"Friend, you have followed us from Nottingham. I do not like having a stiff neck. What is it you wish?\" The four of them were fewer than five paces from me. They rode sumpters, so my head was level with their chests.\n\nNone wore helmets but the one with the tunic had a metal coif, which hung around his neck. He had the best sword of the four, and I saw his hand go to it. He smiled as he rested his hand upon his sword. \"Where are your companions, Gerald War Bow?\"\n\nIf he thought to surprise me with his words then he was mistaken, for I knew that we had been recognised as soon as I saw the red and yellow tunic. \"You answer my question and I will answer yours.\"\n\n\"You are in no position to bargain, archer, for I see you have no bow, and I can take any archer who bears just a sword. However, I will tell you why we seek you. Captain Henry Sharp Sword has offered a bounty for you. It is fortunate that it is dependent upon your being alive. If he would have had your body, then you and your companions would now be dead. We would have slit your throats last night.\"\n\nI knew then that we had been seen in Lincoln. Henry Sharp Sword had been our prisoner, but the battle of Lewes had reversed our positions. He was on the winning side. I nodded. \"Then you may be disappointed, friend, for I will not go quietly. If you want this body then you must kill me.\"\n\n\"Where are your friends?\"\n\nI had been buying time for the two of them to move around the rear of the four, and now I saw them. \"Oh, they left me, for my horse was hurt. I have this staff to help me walk.\" I turned as though to point with the staff down the road but in reality, it was to change my grip.\n\nI turned and hurled the staff at the man at arms. It was only a willow, but the point was sharp and I was lucky: it struck the man in the eye. I drew my sword and ran at the other three. Tom and David also had their swords drawn. Tom leapt onto the back of one horse and drew his sword across the throat of the man who had been struggling to draw his own weapon. I swung my sword at the leg of the closest man and hacked through to the saddle; the horse reared and threw him. The last unwounded man looked from me to Tom and did not see David the Welshman. David's sword came up under his ribs.\n\nThe man at arms drew his sword and slashed at my head. I sensed rather than saw the strike. Instinctively, my hand came up to block the blow. I saw blood pouring from the damaged orb: my lucky strike had cost him his eye. He slashed again at me and I easily blocked it. I grabbed his boot with my left hand as he raised his sword for another blow and I lifted his foot, stirrup and all. He raised his arm for balance and tumbled from his horse. The animal dragged him a few steps and I ran after him. He was conscious, but only just. I took his foot from the stirrup and removed his sword.\n\n\"The others?\" I asked.\n\nDavid spat. \"They are dead, but do not waste tears on them, Captain, for they were killers all.\" He held up a stiletto. It was the classic weapon of an assassin.\n\n\"Put their bodies in the ditch and collect their horses.\" I gathered the horse of the man at arms.\n\nHe raised his head as I approached. \"And now do you slit my throat?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I am no murderer like you. What is your name?\"\n\n\"William of Glossop.\"\n\n\"Well, William of Glossop, return to Henry Sharp Sword and tell him that I know of his bounty. I will now hunt him \u2013 and I am an archer. He should fear me. Take your horse and go.\"\n\n\"My sword?\"\n\n\"Do you think me a fool? You have your life and that should be enough. Now go!\"\n\nHe mounted and rode north. I had made another enemy. We waited until he was out of sight and then continued to Oxford.\n\nWe reached Oxford at sunset the next day and stayed in the inn where I had buried my chest. We were welcomed, for when we had stayed there before we behaved ourselves and paid well. We said we did not need the ostler to see to our horses and, while Tom watched, I dug up the chest. David the Welshman chuckled. \"Clever, Captain!\"\n\n\"I did not need it then, but I think Easingwold might be a safer place, as this is a little close to de Montfort for my liking.\"\n\nWe ate in the inn and discovered that Lord Edward and his cousin were closely guarded at Wallingford Castle. My plan had been to attempt to speak with him, but I saw now that was impossible. We heard more about the laws that de Montfort was passing. He was not the king, but he was using the mob of London to make him so in all but name \u2013 he was trying to make a parliament of commoners. It was a clever plan, for it would undermine the great lords and the king. We would have a monarch but he would not be anointed. He would be the man who controlled the commons.\n\nHowever, I also saw the fatal flaw in such a plan. Men like the Earl of Gloucester would not be happy to lose power to commoners. Even allies such as the de Ferrers family might take their support from de Montfort. I spied a chink of light in a dark night.\n\nThe next day we sought out the merchant whom we had been sent to find, Ralph Widdecombe. Tom and David carried the two large chests and I took the smaller one. Ralph Widdecombe had a large hall, which was attached to his warehouse. He was a portly man with a grey beard, which showed him to be an older man who enjoyed life. He had, however, sharp eyes. He was not a fool.\n\n\"I see that you have not brought wagons, which suggests to me that there is something amiss.\"\n\nI nodded. \"My master's lady has gone into labour. I have brought the jet, but the weapons will be brought later. My master sends his apologies, but he does not know when they can be fetched.\"\n\nHe did not seem unhappy and smiled. \"If you have the chests placed on the floor then I will have the payment readied.\" He turned and spoke to one of his servants.\n\n\"I hope I am not causing offence when I speak, but you do not seem unhappy about the lack of weapons.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"You are clever, and I can see that Geoffrey of York has chosen well. The fact of the matter is that I intended to sell on the weapons to a Marcher Lord, Baron Mortimer. Since the Earl of Leicester has sent Lord Edward to Wallingford, the roads into the marches are well guarded. I need your master to deliver the weapons directly to Wigmore Castle in Herefordshire.\"\n\nI was no businessman, but I knew that this would cost Geoffrey of York money; more than the cost of transporting the weapons to Oxford. \"And the payment for the weapons? Does that come from you or Baron Mortimer, sir?\"\n\n\"The baron and your master will not lose out financially. If any has lost out it is I, and I do not mind, for the risks were too high in any case.\"\n\nThe small chest with the payment for the jet arrived. I opened it and checked the amount. I could see that the merchant was unhappy with my action. \"When do you return north?\"\n\nI was not about to divulge that sort of information. \"We have some business here in Oxford, and when that is done we will return to York.\"\n\n\"I hope you have a safe journey and apologise to your master for the changed arrangements. Blame the Earl of Leicester.\"\n\nAs we left for our inn, I knew there were politics involved. This merchant lived too close to the great lords to risk the enmity of either, and so he was playing both sides off against each other. It was Geoffrey of York who would be aiding the enemies of Simon de Montfort and not the prosperous merchant.\n\nWe did not wait one moment before I paid our bill, we fetched our horses and we left Oxford, before either the merchant or a rebel spy could report that one of Lord Edward's archers was close enough to pluck. I decided not to go back the way we had come, but to head for Northampton. I knew the land there from the battle, and we could head up towards Lincoln. We now had spare horses and so we pushed hard. We rode the captured sumpters first; if they were broken I would lose no sleep. I intended to make fifty miles in a day and would outrun any who sought us.\n\nWe stayed that first night in the market town of Haverberg. There was method in my plan, for Haverberg was a royal manor. We would be safer there than further east in de Montfort land. The talk in the town was of the king. This was a royal manor and their livelihood depended upon him, and de Montfort's attempts to undermine that power did not sit well with them. The mob of London might back the rebels, but the majority of Englishmen did not.\n\nWhen we left the next day, I was in a more hopeful frame of mind. The conspiracies and plots of the southern merchants and barons were an irritation, nothing more: Lord Edward and his father would prevail. I knew that my lord would be planning an escape, it was not in his nature to sit back and accept captivity.\n\nOur second night was spent in Newark upon Trent. This manor belonged to the Bishop of Lincoln, and he supported the king. Once more, we heard nothing but support for King Henry.\n\nWe almost killed our horses completing the last part of our journey: sixty-three miles in one day. When we wearily walked our horses through the York city gates I was as weary as I ever had been, but we had managed to evade our pursuers.\n\nEven though Easingwold was just a few miles north of York, none of us could ride another mile, and so we stayed in The Saddle. With no reason to rush, we ate well, drank well and slept late. Perhaps there was a reason for that. As we had a late breakfast, some disgruntled riders came in from the south. They spoke of bands of de Montfort and de Ferrers' men on the Great North Road, who were seeking three archers and had been less than polite in their questioning. The three of us had neither bow nor arrow about our person and we played dumb, sympathising with the travellers who had been delayed by the search of their carts. My choice of route had been justified, as had my suspicions of Ralph Widdecombe.\n\nWhen we reached Easingwold, I had much to tell Geoffrey of York. His wife had still to deliver her child, and I saw the worry on his face. I felt guilty about the news I would impart, for it would only add to his worries, but he had to know the potential danger which lay in Oxford. In the end I had no choice, for he was desperate to know what Ralph Widdecombe had said. I told him and then revealed my suspicions.\n\n\"Then what should I do about Baron Mortimer?\" The worry about his wife must have made him less confident, which explained why he sought business advice from an archer.\n\nI viewed the problem as a military one. \"Sir, Baron Mortimer is an ally and supporter of the king. If you do not deliver the weapons to him, that may be viewed as an act of treason. I believe the king and his son will prevail. You have nothing to lose.\"\n\n\"Except for my life.\" He waved a hand. \"It is September now. I cannot leave my wife until the bairn is born, and I will have to stay a while to ensure that she is well. That means we would not be leaving until October or even November. The Woodhead Pass is impassable to wagons after harvest time. We would have to go further south \u2013 and that means risking Simon de Montfort.\"\n\nI had no answer except for the obvious one. \"Then you stay here with your family, and I will deliver the weapons.\"\n\nHe smiled and shook his head. \"My father is right, you have more honour than many gentlemen, but I cannot allow you to take on this responsibility. We will leave when we are able. It is in God's hands now!\"\n\nTom and David had told the others of our encounter and the fact there was a price upon my head. Jack of Lincoln seemed almost amused by the fact. \"I thought I was the only one to have had that honour!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham snorted. \"An honour?\"\n\n\"Aye, John, how many men do you know who know the value of their lives? Anyway, it is no matter. The captain is too good to be caught by his enemies, and he has us around him!\"\n\nThe attack seemed to make my company even closer. I noticed that they rarely let me move anywhere, even the village, without one of them accompanying me. I was not afraid, but I was touched by their concern.\n\nGeoffrey of York's wife gave birth to a son. He was healthy and had all his parts. I knew why our master wished to stay, for many babes, more than a quarter, did not live beyond the first month. Half might not survive two years. We did not waste our time but prepared for the journey. We knew that we would be far closer to our foes and we needed to be ready. We made the six wagons we would be using both stronger and faster. We ensured that the wheels were well greased and that we had spares. I suggested to Simon the Carter that we might use a couple of extra horses to pull the wagons. Not all of them would have the same load, and it made sense to me to have more horses pulling the bigger wagons. Simon felt indebted to me and complied. I also suggested that the carters might wear protection. Even a leather jacket might stop a hunting arrow.\n\nIt was the middle of October when we eventually left, and autumn had arrived with a vengeance. The rains delayed us by a further day as our master sought oiled canvas to cover the weapons. It would not do, to deliver rusty weapons.\n\nIt was a miserable wet day when we set off. We would not be heading for York but for Sheffield. Having to go so close to the de Ferrers' land, Geoffrey of York decided to profit from the danger we would be in. He intended to buy some of the knives they produced there. They were highly prized, and our master knew how to make money.\n\nThe road was slow, and it was wet. We made our purchases and had a night in a good inn, for Sheffield was a prosperous town. We had to change a wheel when we left Sheffield and headed towards the hills that lay to the south and west. It meant that we did not stay that night in the inn at Badequelle as we intended, but we camped at the tiny hamlet of Owler Bar, which was some miles short of the larger town. Our spirits were low. We were constantly keeping an eye open for danger, and yet each day dragged like the slow wagons, which seemed reluctant to move. Once we reached Badequelle then the hard part of the journey would be over, but we would have the more dangerous section to come. For although the ground would be easier, we would be in the land of de Ferrers. His captain had put a price on my head, and that money must have come from de Ferrers. If I was caught then, unlike Lord Edward, I would not enjoy a comfortable captivity. I would be killed. My archers knew that already, but the carters only learned of it when my men's apprehension raised questions. I saw, too, the worry on the face of Geoffrey of York. I suspect he was regretting his decision to hire us.\n\nThe good news was that it stopped raining as we left our miserable camp at Owler Bar. We hurried to Badequelle, less than six miles away. It was a growing market town, and the bridge over the Wye meant it drew visitors from all around this part of Derbyshire. We closed with the town shortly before noon, but we had changed our plans. A wagon was damaged; changing the broken wheel meant we would push on to Chedle rather than stay in the comfortable inn in the town. It would mean a longer day, but we were all anxious to deliver our goods and get back to Easingwold. My company now regarded the small village as home.\n\nWe were spied as we approached Badequelle, for we saw people staring at the six wagons which lumbered down the road. We did not ride with our bows on our saddles, they were in the wagons, but we all wore the hood and cap of an archer. As we stopped in the main square to water our horses, I heard hooves galloping away \u2013 I knew it meant trouble but I did not worry the master. Instead, I went around my archers and warned each of them. We all took our bows from the carts and strung them, filled our arrow sacks and took a few spare arrows for our belts.\n\nTom would continue to be the scout who rode ahead, but I told John and Jack to hang back at least 200 paces from the last wagon. I had Peter close to the leading wagon. If we were to be ambushed, I wanted us spread out as much as possible. If we had been men at arms then the opposite was true, but we were archers, and my arrangement meant we could slow down any who attacked us. Geoffrey of York stopped only long enough to buy fresh bread and some of the local cheese.\n\nWe were a mile out of Badequelle when he noticed my new arrangement. \"Is there a problem, Gerald?\"\n\nI would not lie to him. \"There may be. I heard the hooves of a horse leaving as we entered the town. It might well be a coincidence in which case we have lost nothing, but if, as I fear, it means that word has been sent to de Ferrers at Derby, then we may find hunters seeking us. You asked us to guard your wagons because this road is dangerous. The weather has helped us, but we may find an enemy comes to stop us. We will watch ahead, behind and to the side. This land helps us for it is more open and less wooded than an ambusher might like.\"\n\nThe clearer skies aided our ability to see, and as we approached Chedle we saw not an ambush but a column of men, heading from the east. My eyes were sharp and I recognised the de Ferrers' livery. Chedle lay less than a mile ahead. \"Master, whip your horses and get to Chedle. There you will be safe.\"\n\n\"What will you do?\"\n\n\"Why, fight them of course! They are my enemies and the enemies of the king. Archers! To me!\"\n\nI dismounted as the carters whipped their horses and raced for the safety of the town. The enemy horsemen began to gallop. I was gambling that they would not only want to capture me but the wagons and whatever they were carrying, too. \"This time we do not wait to be attacked. Aim for their horses when they are in range. Peter, hold the horses.\"\n\nHis voice showed his fear. \"Aye, Captain.\" But he grabbed our reins and bravely stood close behind us.\n\nI counted twenty men in the column. The thin sunlight shone from helmets and spears, but we would not know if they were mailed or not until they were much closer. The road they travelled joined our road less than half a mile to the south of us. I saw the wagons nearing the town, and that decided the horsemen. They left the road and galloped across a field of winter barley; they wanted the archers more than the wagons. That would help us, for it would slow them, and they would not be able to strike us as a line.\n\nI nocked a war arrow, as I intended to hit a horse. A horse was a bigger target and had no protection. If a horse was hit then the rider was, effectively, out of the combat; a fall might even disable him. I drew. This was my most powerful bow, and few men could draw it as well as I did. I released then nocked a second war arrow. Even as the first one hit a horse, my second was in the air.\n\nThe others began to rain arrows down, and that spurred on de Ferrers' men. They began to spread out, and I nocked a long needle bodkin. I had spied that the leaders and the four warriors at the fore all wore mail. They were now less than a hundred paces from us. They outnumbered us, but we did not panic. We had hit ten of them or their horses, and we had yet to suffer a wound.\n\nI saw six horseless men, and a couple of those had been hurt by their falls. There were still ten mounted. My needle bodkin struck the leading rider. He tumbled from his saddle. A second mailed warrior also fell. I saw that the riders without mail slowed up. When Jack of Lincoln hit a third mailed warrior, they decided that was enough and they fled. Two horses were hit as they did so.\n\nI ran towards the nearest men at arms. One was still alive; Jack of Lincoln's arrow had hit him in the gut. It was a mortal wound \u2013 stomach wounds always were. I took his helmet from him. Blood was trickling from his mouth.\n\nHe shook his head. \"Bastard archers! You cannot fight like men!\"\n\n\"And why cannot Henry Sharp Sword fight his own battles? Does he always have to send men after me? Let him come, and we can end this blood feud.\"\n\nThe man laughed and it was a mistake, for it hurt him. \"It is not just the captain. The earl wishes you dead. It is his bounty! Fear not, archer, he is close\u2026 he\u2026\"\n\nHis eyes glazed over and he died, but his words made me stand and stare east. These men had been sent to slow us. The ones who had fled would return to the captain, and the next time he would be more circumspect. We put the wounded horses out of their misery and took the mail, weapons and coins.\n\nAs we headed to Chedle I said, \"Sleep with one eye open this night, men, for this is not over!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "The carters and Geoffrey of York waited anxiously for us in the market square. \"Well?\"\n\n\"They are gone and we lost not a man, but they will return.\"\n\nGeoffrey of York nodded. \"How much further do we have to travel to be safe from them?\"\n\n\"It is forty miles until we are beyond their reach.\"\n\nI saw his shoulders slump. \"Then that is two days of travelling and, even if we make it, we still have the journey home.\"\n\n\"If we make Wigmore Castle then we can take the Woodhead Pass home. Empty wagons might be able to make it.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I have rooms at an inn, but we will need to have men watching the wagons.\"\n\n\"My men and I will sleep in the wagons.\"\n\n\"My carters can\u2014\"\n\n\"Your carters are not warriors. We are. You pay us for this, and we will earn our money.\" I did not tell him that the wagons would be easier to defend than the inn, nor that I wished him and his carters safe. If there was to be a knife in the night then it would be my company who would bear the danger. \"Take Peter into the inn with you.\"\n\nGeoffrey nodded. \"You are a good man, and there are precious few like you. Come, Peter.\"\n\n\"I would rather stay here with the rest of the company.\"\n\nWill Yew Tree said, \"Now then. What is this? Dissension? An archer obeys his captain. This is another lesson for you.\"\n\nPeter nodded. \"I will obey, but I am not afraid!\"\n\nI smiled. \"No one thought that for an instant!\"\n\nGeoffrey had food and ale sent to us. I drank sparingly and allowed Will to have my share. While the others ate, I spoke with John and Jack.\n\n\"I think we are in danger here. We take it in turns to watch.\"\n\nJohn nodded at Will who was smiling, drunkenly, at all around him. If we had to fight then he would be fierce but, as a sentry, he would not be alert enough to keep watch. \"All of us?\"\n\n\"No, just we three. We have the most experience.\"\n\nJack of Lincoln had lived the hardest life of any of us, and he knew how to kill. He patted his knife. \"Aye, Captain. I hope that bastard comes tonight. I would like to stick him with my steel and end this! I hate looking over my shoulder.\"\n\nAs did we all! The wagons were in the yard of the inn. It was a tight fit, but with the horses in the stable and the gates closed, they were as secure as they could be. We had one man in each wagon, and I took the middle watch. The rains might have stopped, but it was still October and it was cold. I wrapped my cloak about me but did not bother with the hood; I kept my head warm with my archer's cap.\n\nWhen Jack of Lincoln woke me, he took my place in the wagon. I sat in the middle of the wagons with my back against a wheel and placed my sword and dagger on the ground next to me. I had deliberately chosen the middle watch, even though it was the most unpopular. The couple of hours' sleep had refreshed me, and I was still alert. For me, John of Nottingham had a harder watch as he would rise from a deep sleep.\n\nI sat on one of the carter's straw-filled cushions. It stopped the cold from seeping up through my body. I leaned back into the wheel and watched the sky \u2013 it was a clear sky and a cold one. My breath formed before my face. I knew how to keep watch; I moved my head slowly to scan the skyline and I listened. The horses in the stable would alert me to any intruder as, I hoped, would the inn's dog. It had growled at us when we arrived. Robin of Barnsley had a way with animals, and he had got it on our side. It slept next to the gate.\n\nI was not sure if I saw the movement on the roof; I wondered if my imagination was playing tricks but, when the dog growled, I knew that there were enemies, and they were not coming through the gate but over the roof. I hissed, \"Jack, they come. Wake the others.\" I knew that he would not yet have fallen into a deep sleep.\n\nI picked up my sword and dagger and stood, by sliding my back up the side of the wagon. I spied a shadow on the roof of the inn. He was sliding down the thatched roof. Having seen one, I then saw another three. It was a clear night, and bright for the time of year. I saw no faces and knew that they were facing the roof to slow their descent. They had ropes. I guessed they were secured, to allow them to lower themselves down the roof and into the yard. I made my way to the gate.\n\nRobin of Barnsley appeared next to me with a knife in his left hand and a small hatchet in his right. I nodded with my head at the roof so that he knew where our enemies were. Our breath would give us away, for it was still like fog before our faces when we breathed. As soon as they turned, they would see us. The dog still growled. Robin reached down to pat it and the dog stopped growling, knowing that Robin was a friend.\n\nWhen I reached the gate, I put my ear to it: I could hear men on the other side. The three who were sliding down the roof were there to open the gate and let the rest in. I now understood why they would only send three men into an inn filled with armed men: the three were skilled killers.\n\nThe rest of my men had risen, and I saw their faces as they stood by the wagons. John of Nottingham had taken charge. He saw just three men and would regard this as an opportunity to take them on two sides. He did not know about the ones beyond the gate.\n\nAbove me, I heard a hissed conversation and, although I could not make out the words, it told me the men were above my head. The gate was recessed on both sides, and Robin and I, along with the dog, were hidden. Then I managed to make them out. \"I have not heard the dog for a while.\"\n\n\"It has gone back to sleep. Silence, for they may be sleeping in the wagons.\"\n\nThen events happened rapidly. The three men must have used the wall to walk down, for I saw their legs appear as they slid down the rope. The dog saw enemies, and his teeth fastened onto the leg of one. The dog was a big beast, and the bite must have been fierce, for the man cried out. Then, the other two landed in the yard before us. The dog's bite had alerted them, and they had weapons ready. One slashed at the dog with his short sword, but Robin partially blocked it with his dagger and then chopped at the man with his hatchet. The other killer lunged at me with his sword, and I parried it with mine. John and my archers ran to the man who was being savaged by the dog, and I could hear the noise of people in the inn shouting as they heard the clash of iron. My opponent knew his business. A bodkin dagger in his left hand, he lunged at my eye. His hand was quick and, although I moved my head to the side, he still scored a long cut along my cheek. I instinctively rammed my dagger upwards and felt it cut through material, then flesh, and finally, as blood dripped down my hand, it grated off his ribs. He grunted, but he was a tough man. He tried to headbutt me, but I lowered my head so that his forehead hit the top of my skull and then drove my knee up between his legs. Hands grabbed him from behind as he reeled.\n\nRobin of Barnsley's opponent lay dying in a pool of blood. The one savaged by the dog was the least wounded, and the man I had stabbed did not have long for this world. Geoffrey of York and the innkeeper appeared, along with the carters. All were armed.\n\nI pointed my sword at the gate. \"There are more men outside. I will open the gate and we can confront them.\" I was not sure if it was foolish or calculated but, even as I lifted the bar, I heard the sound of hooves. We opened the gate and ran out to the market square. I saw ten riders galloping east. There was neither wall nor town watch in Chedle, and the men had escaped. This had not ended as I hoped.\n\nTorches had been brought. The man I had stabbed had expired, silently going to his death unshriven, but the other was talking. The innkeeper was questioning him and doing so none too gently. His guard dog had a cut along its side, and men had tried to enter his property. \"What were you trying to do?\"\n\nI knew that the man was a hired killer. The one I had slain knew his business. The single survivor's eyes flicked from me to the innkeeper, and I saw the lie in them as he spoke. \"We saw the wagons arrive and thought they might contain something worth stealing.\"\n\nThe innkeeper nodded, seemingly satisfied, but I asked, \"And what about those on horses who waited outside?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I know nothing about that. We three came alone. Let me have my leg seen to, for your dog has wickedly sharp teeth.\"\n\nThe innkeeper shook his head. \"My dog will have attention before you! Tad, Rafe, bind him and put him in the ale cellar. We will take him to Totmonslow for judgement at the next session.\"\n\n\"You have slain my friends, let me go, for I have learned my lesson!\"\n\n\"Take him away!\" The innkeeper apologised to Geoffrey of York. \"I am sorry about this, sir. Since the war, there have been many attacks on innocent people. It is time the king did something.\"\n\nGeoffrey of York nodded. \"Aye, it is safer in the north than here in this land.\"\n\n\"Innkeeper, I would keep a close watch on that one. He is slippery.\"\n\n\"Do not worry, we will watch him.\" He pointed to two of his other men. \"Dispose of the bodies.\" I held up my hand and knelt to examine the purses of the two men. \"You would rob the dead?\"\n\nI shook my head as I poured the contents of the purses into the palm of my hand. \"Put these coins into the church alms box. These were not poor men, there are fresh-minted coins here. The man was lying.\" I gave the purses to the innkeeper.\n\n\"Then on the morrow, we will question him more rigorously before we take him to Totmonslow.\"\n\nLeft with my men, the carters and Geoffrey of York, I said, \"These were sent by de Ferrers. The sooner we leave and get to Cheshire, the better.\"\n\n\"Aye.\" Geoffrey looked at me and my bleeding face. \"You need that wound seeing to.\"\n\n\"My men can do that. We are all awake and it is a clear night, what say we head out before dawn? We could make many miles. If we stop two or three times, we might reach Telford by dark and then Wigmore Castle would be just one day away.\"\n\nHe looked at Simon, who shrugged. \"I would rather be on the road, sir, where we can see our enemies, rather than risk an assassin in the dark.\"\n\n\"Then prepare the horses and I will settle our account.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham saw to my wound. \"This could have cost you an eye, Captain. Then your days as an archer would be over.\" He cleaned the wound with vinegar \u2013 it stung. \"This needs stitches but the light is too poor.\"\n\n\"Just put honey on the wound and cover it with a bandage.\"\n\n\"It will be hard to talk. Better have a drink now while you can.\" He handed me the ale skin from one of the wagons.\n\nI nodded as I drank. \"Then I will listen and let you do the talking. If we can reach Wigmore then we will be safe.\"\n\n\"Until we try to get home.\"\n\n\"Aye, that's the problem, until we have to cross back to the east. This time they will be waiting.\" With the honey applied and a bandage around the lower half of my face, I would find it hard to either eat or drink, and talking would be almost impossible.\n\nSimon was a good carter, and soon one wagon had its horses hitched and was driven into the market square. It made it easier to move the other wagons We saddled our horses and took them out too. By the time the third wagon had been moved, Geoffrey of York had concluded his business. \"The innkeeper felt guilty about the incident. He did not charge us for the stabling, just for our food.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"The purses we took will never see an alms house.\"\n\nI knew that John was right. The innkeeper had not been concerned that I might take the purses, just that he wanted them for himself. We were about to leave when he rushed out. \"The prisoner has escaped and Tad is dead! The man had a dagger in his boot!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"The captain warned you!\" Pointing east, he added, \"If you wish to catch the murderer then look towards the lands to the east.\" He turned back. \"We are ready, master.\"\n\nGeoffrey of York pointed south. \"Let us ride!\"\n\nWe reached Wigmore Castle as a barely visible sun set on a gloomy and fog-filled day. The clear night of the attack seemed a lifetime ago. I had barely eaten, but the itch in the wound, which began as we neared Wigmore, told me that the healing had begun. John had sniffed the wound each time we had stopped and could smell no badness. While Geoffrey of York sought an audience with Baron Mortimer, John took me to see the lord's doctor.\n\nWhen the bandage was removed, the doctor's eyes narrowed. \"How did you come by this wound?\"\n\n\"The captain was attacked.\" I still found it hard to speak, and John answered for me.\n\n\"Then he is lucky, for another finger higher and he would have lost his eye. I will have to stitch the wound.\" His hand opened. It would cost. He might heal those in the castle as part of his duties, but I was a stranger and I would pay.\n\nI counted out three silver pennies. He beamed, as it was more than he expected from an archer. \"They will be small stitches!\"\n\nHe gave me a drink of aqua vitae and then, after cleaning the wound, began to sew. It hurt, but I bore it. I would now be able to both eat and drink. I would also be able to speak.\n\nGeoffrey of York returned some time later and looked pleased. \"His lordship is happy and we are well paid; we have more than the merchant was going to pay us. Baron Mortimer has many men to arm! It seems he knows you, Gerald, and would speak with you on the morrow. We are to stay here in the castle. We should be safe from assassins here.\"\n\nBaron Mortimer and his wife, Lady Maud, saw me alone the next morning. Lady Maud was a force to be reckoned with. She was from the Braose family; a powerful Marcher dynasty, and she knew about political struggles. Had she been a man, she would have led armies. As it was, she guided her husband. Roger Mortimer was a brave knight and a fierce fighter, but it was his wife who had a mind as sharp as any general's.\n\nI had seen Roger Mortimer many times and he knew me. \"The youngest captain of archers, welcome Gerald War Bow. It is good to meet another loyal servant of the king. I too almost lost my life at Lewes! I will have vengeance on de Montfort.\" He leaned forward. \"How did you come to be serving this merchant?\"\n\nI told him of our flight, our enemies and the threat which remained to us, but not the meeting with the castellan of Lincoln. I believed that the baron was loyal, but I knew how to keep my mouth closed.\n\n\"The merchant was a little vague about your attackers, but you know who they were.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord, it was de Ferrers' men.\" I described our capture of them.\n\n\"Then this is personal?\"\n\n\"It is, but I am seen as Lord Edward's archer too.\"\n\nLady Maud smiled and gave her husband a knowing look. \"Do not worry, Captain. There are plans in place to free Lord Edward, and you have been sent to us for a reason.\"\n\n\"Aye, you shall stay here with us, and we can plan the rescue of Lord Edward.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"First, I am honour-bound to take my master home. I took his coin, and I will not abandon him.\"\n\nThey both looked surprised, then the baron nodded. \"A delay of a month will not hurt us as winter is upon us and\u2026\" He realised that he was about to say too much and waved his hand. \"Take your master home and then return, for Lord Edward and his father, not to mention England, have great need of you, Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nLady Maud asked, \"Are there many such as you, archer?\"\n\n\"Like me, lady?\"\n\n\"Loyal and with all the attributes of a noble who gives his word to a merchant and keeps it.\"\n\nI did not give the answer that was in my head, for it would offend a high-born lady. I had seen much ignoble behaviour from apparent nobles and far better behaviour from some commoners like my friend, Roger of Talacre. \"In my experience, my lady, such behaviour comes from the way that you were raised, and just reflects my father's hand.\"\n\n\"Then he was a good man.\"\n\nI remembered a cold man who had brought me up alone. \"He was a hard man, but he was a good father and a fine teacher. I owe him much.\"\n\nThe baron said, \"We will pay you a salary while you are with us, but I have no doubt that you will wish to return to the service of Lord Edward once he is free.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord, for we swore an oath to Lord Edward, and we would honour those words.\"\n\nI went to dine with the archers and the men at arms, as well as Geoffrey of York. I told Geoffrey of our conversation, and he seemed relieved that he was not going to be abandoned here, on the other side of the land from his home. John of Nottingham had kept his ears open, and he told me what he had heard. \"Lord Edward may be released sooner rather than later. The Earl of Gloucester has returned home because he is unhappy with the way that titles have been awarded, and there are many who feel as he does. It is rumoured that de Montfort is keen to free Lord Edward once he has put in place certain strictures on the power of the king.\"\n\n\"Strictures?\"\n\n\"He would lose most of his lands and be accountable to a council of commoners and lords.\"\n\nI thought that was a falsehood and that Lord Edward would not agree \u2013 then I thought back to the man I had come to know over the past couple of years. He would agree, if he thought he would soon have his freedom and then he might fight to get them back. He would give a little to gain all. A throne and a crown were at stake, and Lord Edward wanted both. Now I understood the baron's veiled words.\n\nThe next morning, we were eager to be off and headed north, towards Chester. This time we would not collect salt, but we would hurry north and east and attempt the Woodhead Pass. The snows had not yet come, even though it was cold enough and there was plenty of rain. My wound itched, but the doctor had been good. He had told me to seek a doctor once I reached York and have the stitches removed in a month. If we could not find a doctor then we would do it ourselves. We had all tended each other's wounds before, and we were not without skill.\n\nThe men all knew that we would be leaving Easingwold and, whilst they were in the main sad, they knew that it would bring them closer to our lord, Prince Edward. The exceptions were Peter and Will. Peter rode with me and John of Nottingham, and I think it was for reassurance. He had seen us attacked and knew that the best of our warriors were John and me.\n\n\"Captain, have I progressed enough yet for you to think I might be an archer?\" His voice was uncertain. He had grown stronger since he had been with us, but he still lacked confidence.\n\n\"You are strong enough and you are diligent enough but, as John will tell you, we cannot know until you are a man grown. Do you not like the life?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I think it is the best of lives, but\u2026\"\n\nJohn finished his sentence for him: \"But you now know that you will be far from your family and you are fearful.\"\n\n\"Aye, I am.\"\n\nI considered my words before I spoke them. \"Both of us left our families when we were your age; I was a little older. You would leave home one day in any case. Your father wishes you to be an archer, and so do you. You have another few days to make your decision, for when we reach Easingwold then we will pack our bags, turn around and make this same journey.\"\n\n\"I think I will stay with the company, but I will use the days you have given me to make a sound judgement. I will speak with my father and my mother.\"\n\nJohn laughed. \"Already you have grown!\"\n\nWhen we reached the pass, the first flurries of snow fell. They did not stick upon the road, but soon they would, and then the pass would be closed. The wagons were empty and we had spare horses. We used our own horses to help pull the empty wagons up the slick slopes made slippery by melting snow and sleet. My men cut down branches from nearby bushes and used them to place under the wheels of the wagons. It was hard work but we were strong, and we negotiated the pass in one day.\n\nWe camped at Holmfirth and woke to a white sea of snow. The pass was traversable only by horsemen, and soon it would be closed to those, too. We had barely made it, and it left me with the problem of how to return to Baron Mortimer in the depths of winter.\n\nWe were approaching Loidis when Will Yew Tree joined me at the front. He had been largely silent on our journey north and, for the last few miles, I had seen him speaking with Robin of Barnsley who was his closest friend amongst the company. Something troubled him, and I thought I knew what it was. Jack of Lincoln had confided in me that Will had found a widow who worked in The Feathers. Despite his red nose and cheeks, and the belly which hung over his belt, Will had only seen thirty-two summers. The widow was of an age with him, and I guessed that he was ready to settle down. I was prepared when he spoke.\n\nHe was a blunt man, and he came out with his words directly. \"Captain, when we reach Easingwold I would stay there.\" I nodded. \"You are not surprised?\"\n\n\"You have spoken before about your wish to have an alehouse. We have been successful; we profited from the mail, the plate and the warhorse. The men we slew on this journey have added to your funds, so it is no surprise, and I have told all of you that you may leave whenever you chose. Have you enough coins?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Not yet, but I have a plan. I would speak with our master, for I think he still wishes guards for his wagons. I could seek out archers. I would not be a captain such as you, but I could lead a handful of men.\"\n\n\"Good!\"\n\n\"You do not mind?\"\n\n\"I told you after Lewes that any man who chose could leave. You go with my blessing. I shall miss you, for you are a good archer. Who knows, we may come north again when Lord Edward regains what he has lost \u2013 his freedom!\"\n\nWe reached home without any further incident, but we did not leave the next morning as I had initially planned. I realised that would have been unfair on Will and the rest of my men, not to mention Peter. We needed goodbyes. We celebrated as rain and snow lashed down outside. I sat with Geoffrey as men became drunk and laughter and song abounded.\n\n\"Will Yew Tree is a good man, sir. He will be able to find other archers, for he has a good eye. If Lord Edward does regain his power then the land will be safer anyway.\" I was not convinced of my words, for England was filled with greedy men.\n\nGeoffrey nodded. \"I shall not need to travel again until after Candlemas anyway. You have earned your pay and more, Captain. I have not lost a single item and, thanks to Baron Mortimer, I received far more for the weapons than I had expected. I am richer for your presence.\"\n\n\"And we are richer for having had home, albeit briefly.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "We left the day after the celebration, and it showed as we rode, for my men had thick heads and queasy guts. We now had more than fourteen horses and our war gear, not to mention our spare clothes and treasures were carried upon the horses. We had no route decided upon but, once on the road, John and I decided to go to Nottingham. Jack of Lincoln was convinced that there would be more outlaws willing to leave the forest and join us. The losses we had suffered and Will's departure, allied to the fact that there was now hope that Lord Edward would be freed, meant we needed more men for the company. The forests of Sherwood seemed the best place to find them. \"Snow always does that, Captain. The greenwood is bearable in summer, but come winter and snow\u2026\" Jack shook his head.\n\nThere was little choice for us, in any case. The snows meant that the high passes were ruled out, and that meant passing through Derbyshire or Leicestershire. I just hoped that winter would keep those hunting for us in their castles or occupied in the politics of gaining control of England. However, we were taking a risk; only a fool would willingly go so close to their enemies. We were six such fools and a boy who knew not what he was letting himself in for.\n\nWe did not call in at Lincoln. I was convinced that we had been seen there and that had led to the first attack. They might have spies watching for archers. Nor did we visit Nottingham castle and the town. We kept to the smaller towns, which had no castles, and all the time our story remained consistent. We had been hired as guards for wagons, and now that the trading season had ended, we were heading for London to enjoy the pleasures of that city. We had no intention of venturing anywhere near the city, but we had to keep our enemies guessing. They might not be patrolling for us, but we had bloodied their noses too many times for them to forget us.\n\nWe used Hucknall Torkard, which lay close to the forest, as our base for the four days we spent seeking archers. We chose it because there was no castle, and the family who dominated the area, the Torkards, were farmers, and so long as men did not cause trouble they were left alone. The outlaws had little to raid close to the town, and the landowners allowed them to take rabbits and the occasional deer. The outlaws did not abuse the privilege.\n\nWe found an inn on the road south of the town. When it was not winter, there were many travellers who used it, for Nottingham was expensive as a resting place. We were welcomed. If the landlord wondered why we stayed for three nights, the silver we gave him invited him to keep his suspicions to himself. Jack and John disappeared for two days. They did not take their horses and, when they returned, it was with four men. All were less than twenty summers, and each of them was emaciated. Winter had barely begun, it was just November, and yet already food was scarce.\n\nJack introduced them one by one. He had not known them before, but he had known where to find them, and his name was known by them and the others who lived in the greenwood. These four had come willingly. Jack later told me that there were others, but they were a little older and had families.\n\n\"These, Captain, are the only ones who chose to come with us. I think the rest feared that if they were seen outside the forest then they might risk capture and punishment. This is Geoffrey, son of Martin. I knew Geoffrey's father, for he was also an outlaw. He left our band and was killed last year. Lewis Left Alone is an orphan, taken in by the men of the woods when he had seen just five summers. He would like to see life beyond the trees, for that is all that he has known. William of Matlac had a farm close to his namesake. De Ferrers' men killed his father and took the farm. That was three years since. The rest of William's family perished, but William has the fire of vengeance burning in his heart!\"\n\nI nodded, for I could see an angry young man; perhaps he was a little like me with blood to avenge. He would need his anger curbing. I looked over to John, who nodded.\n\n\"Finally, this is Mark the Bowyer. His father was also a bowyer, but he was hanged in Leicester by the earl's brother, Henry de Montfort.\"\n\nI looked at the bow maker. \"Why was he hanged?\"\n\n\"The earl's brother said my father made bows for the outlaws. He did not, but Henry de Montfort had him hanged anyway.\" He smiled. \"So I went and made the best bows that I could for the outlaws. When I heard that you and your archers had fought de Montfort, I knew that I was destined to join you.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I am captain of this company and, if you join us, then you obey me. If you cannot take orders then we will give you food, ale and five silver pennies and you can go on your way. Do any of you wish to take me up on that offer?\" They all shook their heads. \"We are Lord Edward's archers. We have livery for two of you and, when we can get it, we will have livery made for the other two. When we get to Wigmore Castle, then Baron Wigmore will pay you. Until then your pay will come from the funds we have gathered as a company. You will all need a cloak, but that will have to wait until we find a market town. We have spare weapons; help yourselves to swords and daggers. As for arrows, you will need to learn how to fit bodkins and war arrows. You have used hunting arrows, and our prey is men! Welcome to the company of Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nEach one of the four was different, and none were like my other men. What they all had in common was the ability to pull a bowstring, but their weakened condition meant they would need fattening up until they could be of use. We redistributed the war gear so that each of them rode. Peter found it amusing that he was no longer the novice rider and that his advice was sought by archers, a couple of whom were little older than he was.\n\nThe first part of our journey from Nottingham was fraught with danger, for we had to pass along the road which divided the land of de Ferrers from the land of de Montfort. We avoided every town and used farms that allowed us to pay for the use of their barns. We kept from the main road when we could and took greenways, tracks, even fields. Inevitably we had to use the main road occasionally, and each traveller we met was a potential enemy. Even if they did not know who we were they would talk, and our enemies would hear of a company of archers heading south and west.\n\nWe kept the new men in the middle of us. They were still weaker than we were and unused to travelling abroad. Peter proved a godsend, for he rode amongst them chattering like a magpie. Even the dour William of Matlac had to smile at his questions. I hoped that by the time we reached Burton we would have left pursuit behind.\n\nIt was not a pursuit that greeted us but a confrontation \u2013 and it was my fault. A blizzard blew up as we neared the tiny village of Walton on Trent. There was no inn and no barn. A yeoman told us that if we pushed on to Lichfield, we would find an inn. Lichfield was a cathedral city, but it was not large. The Bishop of Coventry was the lord of the manor and there was no castle. The new men were shivering, and we hurried on through the darkening gloom of a short November day. There was one inn and, when we dismounted, we saw that there were horses stabled there already. There was still room for ours and so, while the horses were stabled, John and I went in to acquire some rooms. There were just two left and neither was large. We would be cosy.\n\nThe inn was a popular one and, after we had put our war gear in the rooms, we went down to partake of the food. The landlord was apologetic. \"Sorry, but these men have just had the last of our food. We can cook more, but you will have to wait.\"\n\nI looked and saw there was a group of men wearing the livery of the Templars. They were sergeants at arms and not brother knights. Their eyes narrowed when they saw us, for they knew us not. I remembered that Lord Edward had broken open the gates of the Temple in London and stripped their headquarters of treasure. The Templars were now, most definitely, Montfortian! I did not wish any trouble, and so I smiled and said, \"Is there another place you can recommend, landlord?\"\n\nHe was unhappy at losing the trade but pointed towards the centre of the town. \"The Prancing Horse is not bad, but their ale is not a patch on mine!\"\n\n\"Then when we have eaten, we will return here and give you judgement on your beer.\"\n\nOnce outside we huddled in our cloaks. We would need to buy the new men cloaks at the market before we left in the morning.\n\nJohn of Nottingham sidled up to me. \"I think those archers recognised us as Lord Edward's men.\"\n\n\"How? We are not wearing our livery.\"\n\n\"When we headed to Wales, we rode through a column of them, do you remember? They were heading for London. Lord Edward made some disparaging remarks about them as they passed us. They studied our faces and those of Captain William and his men. The scrutiny we had from those Templars makes me think that they recognised us. Jack of Lincoln has a memorable face, and how many other captains of archers are as young as you?\"\n\nHe was, of course, correct \u2013 we did stand out. I hoped the Templars would be abed before we returned, or perhaps we could avoid the drinking area and go directly to our rooms. I needed no more enemies!\n\nThe food in the Prancing Horse was hot and it was filling. That was all that we asked. The beer, too, was adequate, and the meal allowed us to get to know our new archers a little better. William was the quietest of the four, and I could understand why. I had been a little like that, after my father was killed. Men said that I had become less morose and perhaps he would, too. We were going to leave when a sudden flurry of snow drove us to have another jug of ale. Peter, of course, had just watered beer, but he seemed happy to sit and listen to archers speak of their trade.\n\nWhen we did leave, the snow had stopped, and we crunched on freshly-fallen snow. It was as we reached our inn that we met trouble. Eight of the Templars, with swords in their hands, blocked our way.\n\nThe leader stepped towards us. \"You did not think we would forget you, did you? Taking off your livery and keeping your bows hidden does not disguise you. You are Gerald War Bow and the captain of Lord Edward's Archers! He dishonoured us, and we will now punish you.\"\n\nI could smell the ale on his breath. These men had been drinking heavily. I held up my left hand while keeping my right on my sword. \"Friend, you do not want to make an enemy of Lord Edward. When he becomes king, you will need him as a friend.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"He is in Wallingford Castle, and long may he remain there. We will not kill you, but you have pulled your last bows, for tonight you lose your fingers! At them!\"\n\nHe thought to take us by surprise, but all the time we had been speaking, my men had been spreading out. I discounted my four new men for they were still weak, and Peter was too young. Eight against six were not normally good odds, but we had a few things going for us. They were mailed, which would slow them down, and we archers were all as good as most men at arms. If you added the fact that we were much stronger, then the odds were about even.\n\nDespite the odds, I felt confident \u2013 for the leader said that he only wished to mutilate us. When you fought, you fought to kill! The leader ran at me and swung his sword at my head. Had he hit me then I would have been dead. So much for just punishing me! I sidestepped his swinging blow and brought the flat of my sword to smack hard into the back of his coifed head. He fell as though poleaxed. I spun around, for another ran at me with his sword held in his right hand and his left supporting the blade.\n\nI did the unexpected. The wet snow was slippery, and I hurled my legs at him and slid beneath the blade. With my sword held above me, the blade rapped his knuckles and then slid between his legs. He squealed as my sword sliced into his unprotected flesh. The scream brought burghers to their doors. More, it made the other Templars stop \u2013 for John of Nottingham and Jack of Lincoln had laid their enemies cold, and there were now the swords of all my company, including Peter, pointing at them.\n\nI pointed my bloody sword at them, too. \"You are staying at our inn?\" One of them nodded. \"Not any longer.\" I walked over to the sergeant I had laid out and placed my sword's tip into the palm of his hand. \"Go and fetch your horses. Do not delay, or your sergeant here will lose the use of his right hand. Pay your bill and leave.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham saw them hesitate. \"We are archers, and we are the best. If you come near us again then we will use our bows, and it will not just be bloody cockscombs you will suffer.\"\n\nOne of them shook his head. I guessed that drink had fuelled their decision to hurt us, and now they realised their folly. \"Come, we have to be in Leicester tomorrow anyway. Let us go now!\"\n\nThe sergeant came to; the one who had been sliced along his groin was still moaning, but his wound had been tended to by one of his fellows. The other two had also been raised to their feet. I shifted the sword to point it at the sergeant's throat. \"Your men are getting your horses and you will leave. I hope we do not meet again, for if we do then it will go badly for you. It is a long time since you fought in earnest. Enjoy the riches of your order and stay out of politics. You will live much longer.\"\n\nHe gave the slightest of nods. The clip-clop of their horses made me stand back and gesture for the sergeant to rise. They mounted and headed north. We watched them leave and then waited until the muffled sound of the hooves disappeared in the distance.\n\nMark the Bowyer shook his head. \"I would never have believed that archers could take down mailed Templars!\"\n\n\"They were slow, they were drunk and they were overconfident. By the time you are trained, Mark the Bowyer, then you will think nothing of taking on a man at arms with a sword.\"\n\nWe were not troubled again, and the next day, after buying cloaks and some food in the market, we paid our bill and left. However, I was unhappy for we had been noticed by too many people, and the lands of de Montfort and de Ferrers were very close, still. The Templars were heading for Leicester, and they would report the incident. They would couch it in different words, to make out that we ambushed them. That would preserve their reputation \u2013 but they would tell the earl's men of the fight, and we would be sought.\n\nWe rode south and west on the freshly fallen snow. We were the only ones attempting the journey, so we rode on virgin snow. John of Nottingham hung back in case we were followed.\n\nWe arrived at Wigmore Castle two days later; we had encountered no more enemies. Sir Roger was not at home. He had been summoned to a meeting. It sounded like a secret one, for those at Wigmore Castle were all close-mouthed about it. I knew not where the meeting was held, nor who else was at the meeting.\n\nSurprisingly, Lady Maud invited me to dine with her and her young daughters, Isabella and Margaret. Roger's sons, Ralph and Edmund, were with their father. I was intrigued, for I was a lowly archer and she a high-born lady, but I knew that I was being shown great honour. Lord Edward would never even contemplate dining with an archer. It was fortunate that I had bought some decent clothes, which I wore. I just hoped that I would not make some mistake that would embarrass me.\n\nLady Maud de Braose came from a long and noble line. Like her husband, she was an implacable enemy of the Welsh, whom she hated with a passion, but she also hated Simon de Montfort and his sons Simon and Henry. Her daughters were old enough to know how to flash their eyes. Both were pretty and soon would be married to powerful men, for that was the way of the world of nobles \u2013 Lady Maud kept the two girls in check with a flash of her own eyes. The food we ate might have been good but I tasted nothing, for I thought about each word before I spoke it. My hostess was a clever woman, and she used her words like weapons to probe, and her eyes searched my face for evidence of lies and untruths. I believe that, had it been allowed, she could have donned mail and fought alongside her husband. Certainly, she knew about war and, surprisingly, she also knew of me. We made talk about the weather and the journey we had made from the north. She raised her eyebrows when I told her of the encounter with the Templars. The food came and went. A single servant poured our wine and ensured that the other servants brought in the platters when we needed them. We finished with cheese.\n\n\"Yours is an interesting story, Captain. To command not only a company of archers but archers belonging to the next King of England is intriguing. Did I hear that you saved Lord Edward's life in Poitou?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady. It cost my friend his life, but it gained me this position.\"\n\n\"And you led archers in the battles in Poitou as well as against the Welsh?\" I nodded. \"I hate the Welsh but I know that they are good archers. Men say Gerald War Bow is better.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"I have a good eye and a good arm. My bow is the best, and I find archery easier than most men.\"\n\n\"And you have not answered my question.\"\n\n\"I did not know you had asked one, my lady. Forgive me, I am just a simple archer who is unused to such surroundings.\"\n\nShe laughed. \"You are anything but simple.\" She turned to her daughters. \"You two have made eyes enough at Captain Gerald. Go to your rooms and pray to God to help you become less vain, for vanity is a sin!\"\n\nThey both nodded and said, in unison, \"Yes, my lady!\" They left without a murmur. Lady Maud ruled the castle and, I suspected, her husband too.\n\nShe had her servant pour us wine and then dismissed him. \"My girls have good taste. You are a handsome fellow although the stitches give you a roguish look. I will have the doctor remove them, for I think you are more handsome without them.\"\n\nShe studied me. I was uncomfortable, for it was the sort of attention a wolf gave a sheep before it pounced. \"I think I can trust you. In fact, we have to trust you, for you are vital to our plans to rescue Lord Edward.\" She had put into words that which I suspected. \"What I tell you this night is between us alone. Do not tell your men. Not yet, anyway.\"\n\n\"They are clever men, my lady. They may discover\u2026\" I waved a hand, \"\u2026whatever it is that I am to do.\"\n\n\"Of course. You deserve to know our reasoning.\" She drank some wine and then, placing the goblet on the table, spoke again. \"You, Gerald War Bow, can go where we cannot. You can hide in woods. You can sneak into a castle. We would have you go into Wallingford and tell Lord Edward that we are planning his escape.\"\n\n\"Is that not a little vague, my lady? Escape how? And when?\"\n\n\"You are clever but fear not, all will be in place soon. My husband is, even now, making arrangements.\"\n\n\"Wallingford is many miles from here, my lady.\"\n\n\"It is more than a hundred, and the situation is not ideal, but we work with what we have. With snow on the ground, we cannot attempt anything. As much as it pains us, we cannot see this plan succeeding before March.\"\n\n\"Then we will be sitting here, being paid without having to do any work.\"\n\nShe snorted. It was not a particularly ladylike act. \"Money? This is not about money; this is about who rules England, and we would have the rightful king and his son, not some pious, self-serving, failed crusader who wishes to rule without the right! Do not worry about money. You will earn it when the time comes.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"My men and I are unconcerned about money. We were well paid for our last job, and we just wish our lord to be freed. We are Lord Edward's archers, but it does not sit well to take the money and not earn it.\"\n\n\"You are an interesting young man.\"\n\nShe seemed reluctant to end the conversation, and we spoke until the jug of wine was empty and she summoned her ladies to take her to bed. She held her hand out for me to kiss; I had never touched hands as soft.\n\nI retired feeling bemused. I had spoken at length to a lady for the first time in my life. I was surprised, for she seemed little different to many of the strong women I had met when growing up. Ada and Gurtha had been made of rougher cloth, but they still had the same steel in their eyes. I still remembered with fondness the two old women who had lived in the Welsh woods close to me and my father. Called witches by some, I had found them to be kindness personified.\n\nWe spent the next morning making our new quarters comfortable. The castle was not large, but they had a good warrior hall. The sergeant who had shown us to the hall had indicated which part we were to use, and though it was not as large as it should have been, it would do. We stored our arrows close to our beds, for they were important to us. We made sure that the horses were comfortable. Peter would see to them each day, but there was an ostler too, and a horse master, Alan of Ludlow. He showed his knowledge when he stroked Eleanor. \"A fine courser. I am intrigued how you came to own her.\"\n\n\"Knights and gentlemen may ride such fine horses, but my bodkin arrows can pluck them from their backs; the fortunes of war. Knights take for ransom; we take to live.\" He nodded.\n\nWe had donned the livery of Lord Edward when we rose, and our next task was to seek clothes for our four new archers. We found a seamstress, a widow who lived in the village. She was able to make what we needed, but we would have to buy the cloth from Ludlow. It was just eight miles away and held a market twice a week.\n\nI realised that the freedom we had enjoyed in Easingwold would be lacking. We would have to ask Lady Mortimer's permission. That turned out to be easier than I expected. When I asked her, she looked pleased. \"I need to visit the market, and the men at arms who guard our home are dullards! We will go on Friday,\" she said.\n\nI discovered that Lady Maud could ride, as could her daughters, and we were not held up. The snow had stopped falling but the land was a blanket of white. The roads were slushy black lines that snaked through the snow. When we had arrived, both times, Castle Wigmore had been cloaked in either night or wet. The clear day now afforded me the opportunity to see its position. It stood on a high piece of ground in the hills which rose, like main defences, towards Wales.\n\nLady Maud saw me turning and smiled. \"Aye, the Welsh are close. Many people wonder why, with Ludlow so close, our castle is needed. The reason is simple: it is the Welsh who wish to reclaim this land, and their king is our implacable foe. Lord Edward should have finished what he started when he went into north Wales and ended their threat. You will earn your money, archer, if the Welsh choose to do that which they always do and raid during the depths of winter. They like to eat mutton, and our sheep are easier to take than they are to breed.\"\n\nAs we approached the castle of Ludlow, she pointed to it. \"There is no lord at the moment.\" She leaned over to speak quietly to me. \"I have hopes that when King Henry is secure once more then my husband may be given it. The castle and hall are much more comfortable.\"\n\n\"My lady, if there is no lord then who guards the walls?\" I saw that they had new town walls.\n\n\"The men of Ludlow. It was they who applied for the right to have a wall, and they pay murage. They are good men and, in times of danger, we help each other.\" This was a noble who understood the need to have the ordinary people on her side. She was the antithesis of King Henry, who seemed to simultaneously fear and disparage the commoners.\n\nI stayed with the ladies and kept Jack of Lincoln with me. I gave a purse of coins to John of Nottingham, and he and the other archers bought that which we needed. I was able to see the effect Lady Maud had, as she swept through the town. It was as though the Queen had come to Ludlow. There was much bowing and scraping, but there appeared to be no rancour about it.\n\nWhile she chatted to some ladies of the town, the owner of the shop confided in me. \"You are new here, archer?\" I nodded. \"People are very fond of Lady Maud. Her family, the de Braose family, have always kept us safe from the Welsh. You will find that you will earn your crust here.\"\n\nI was learning that the Welsh were feared even more here than they had been along the Clwyd. Here, the rebellion was a distraction that made the lives of the people more parlous. We rode back with laden horses. We had bought some spare cloaks, for I knew that we would need them as we headed west, and it was confirmed when an icy wind blew into our faces. Our cowls and hoods were pulled tightly over our heads. Winter would be harsh here. Along the Clwyd, there had always been temperate air from the sea, while here, we were in the heart of the land.\n\nAs we rode back, I learned of Lady Maud's hatred of de Montfort. It seemed he had slighted her family, and she was not one to forgive. Simon de Montfot had made the mistake of not going to the aid of Lady Maud's father, and as that had cost the Braose family money, the grudge was born. The fact that he was French also seemed to make her angry \u2013 that her family came from Norman stock seemed irrelevant! She told me of the punishment she would inflict on de Montfort if she was the king. \"His actions are nothing less than treasonous! I would have him hanged, drawn and quartered. I would have his head on the walls of the Tower until all flesh was gone and even then, I would leave it there as a reminder to all of the folly of treason. He is a foreigner, an intruder, and he seeks to undermine the king and his realm!\"\n\nI suspected that her punishment would be to avenge the insult her family had suffered rather than the slight to the king.\n\nBaron Mortimer did not return to us until the first week in December. By then all of my men wore good livery, and we had settled into a routine. We took our share of the watches. Once the baron returned that duty became less arduous, as there were more men available.\n\nI had come to know the garrison. It was smaller than I had expected. There were just four archers and four men at arms under the command of an old sergeant, Walter. Sir Roger had another four men at arms with him. Our arrival meant that the garrison had almost doubled. Our offer to share the watches meant the garrison accepted us as friends rather than intruders. I wondered about the armour we had brought and discovered that the plate was for the baron and his sons, while the hauberks had been for the men at arms. I shuddered to think how the garrison would have managed if they had been forced to fight in a battle against de Montfort. I discovered that Sir Roger previously had a much larger company, but they had died at Lewes.\n\nIf I expected to be summoned as soon as he arrived, I was to be disappointed. He smiled at me and welcomed me to the castle, but he did not tell me anything more. I knew he had been to speak with other royal supporters, which explained his lengthy absence and I knew, from my words with Lady Maud, that I was part of a plan to rescue Lord Edward, but he spoke not a word to me.\n\nPerhaps it was the imminent arrival of the Christmas celebrations, or it might have been that their plans were not yet set in stone. Whatever the reason, I was left with the worry about the task which I knew awaited me \u2013 but my men enjoyed the celebration that was Christmas."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "The Welsh struck in the first week of January. They raided the farms that lay to the south and west of us. Refugees reached us late one day. I was not on duty but was summoned along with Walter. Baron Mortimer looked angry and Lady Maud, murderous.\n\nAn older man with a bandage around his head was the spokesman for those who sought refuge in the castle. \"The Welsh have taken animals from our farms. We ride tomorrow. I wish to be on the road before dawn. Every man rides!\"\n\nWalter said, \"Who will protect the castle, my lord?\"\n\nLady Maud snorted. \"You are an old fool, Walter, do you think we cannot defend our castle against the Welsh? We have Gerald War Bow's boy, Peter, we have the servants and Alan the horse master. You just recapture the animals and kill all the Welsh that you can!\"\n\nWalter recoiled under her torrent, and I saw Sir Roger and his sons smile. \"Yes, my lady, I will go to the men.\"\n\nI turned to leave but Lady Maud said, \"Stay a moment, Gerald.\" I stopped. \"You should know that Builth Castle, whence the raiders rode, belonged to my family. One day, we shall own it again. I believe that you were sent to us for a purpose. You lead our archers, and tomorrow you will show the Welsh that we can now match their archers!\"\n\nThe baron said, \"They will have left clear tracks in the snow, and they will move slowly. It will take them all day to reach Builth. You and your archers should catch them and hold them until we can reach them with our men at arms.\"\n\n\"Are your archers mounted, too, my lord?\"\n\n\"Aye, but their horses are not the equal of yours. They will keep up with you or I will know the reason why.\"\n\nI was dismissed. It was interesting that my main orders had come from her, and not her husband.\n\nI told my archers what was needed. Peter was both upset at being left behind and excited at the prospect of guarding the ladies. Jack of Lincoln laughed, \"It would take a brave Welshman to beard the formidable Lady Maud.\"\n\nHe was right. \"Tom, you will be the scout tomorrow. Take William of Matlac with you.\" I remembered the fate of Stephen Green Feather. It was always better to have two scouts. I also needed to improve the skills of my new men, and this would be a start. The archers of Wigmore castle were bowmen, rather than archers. They did not use the war bow and none had a sword. They had helmets and they had leather, metal studded jerkins. That might help them to survive. I told John of Nottingham the four of them would ride at the rear.\n\nI did not get much sleep, for I had much to plan. I rose before dawn and, waking the others, headed for the stable. The horse master was there already, feeding oats to the horses. \"There is no grazing out there, Captain, and this cold saps energy. You have a long day ahead of you.\"\n\nI nodded and pointed to our saddles. \"We each have a bag of oats for just such a day. We care for our horses, horse master.\"\n\n\"I can see that you do. The castle archers you have with you will be riding poor horses. They only ride occasionally, and the horses they have are at the end of their lives.\"\n\nMy heart sank. They would struggle to keep up with us. As soon as my men had all arrived, we mounted. The four garrison archers struggled even to mount. I rode over to Evan, who was the senior archer. \"Time is of the essence today. If you fall back then just follow our trail. The baron and the men at arms will be along soon enough, but we have to catch the Welsh quickly.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. It will not be for want of trying, but these horses\u2026\"\n\nI nodded. \"I know. The horse master has spoken.\"\n\nIt was dark when we left, but the snow gave some light, and we were able to follow the trail left by the refugees who had fled to the castle. We found the first farm that had been raided; it had been ransacked and the farmer slain. The trail led to the next farm, and then the next. Each farm had been systematically looted, and every old animal had been butchered; we found the bones and skins. The farm dogs had been slaughtered.\n\nI had studied a map at the castle when I first arrived. It was a crude one, but I noticed that Builth lay to the west by south-west, rather than the south and west course we were following. I guessed they would sweep around in an arc and head back to Builth along the road.\n\n\"Tom, let us head more west by south and see if we can cut them off. Follow the trail they took to reach here.\" There was a trail which led across country, and with snow on the ground it would be as fast as the slippery cobbles of the road.\n\nEvan said, \"You are the captain, but if you lose them, then the wrath of Baron Mortimer will be terrifying to see.\"\n\n\"As you say, I am the captain! You four wait here and tell the baron what we intend.\"\n\nIt meant we could now travel faster, and I was sure that I had made the right decision. We were rewarded an hour later when, after following their trail, we found their campfire. It was still warm, and the trail that led from it could be clearly seen. They had raided and then camped here. A trail of animal dung and footprints led due west towards the road. \"Tom, go carefully and use your ears. They are afoot, and if we can catch them, they will not escape. Our task is to hold them!\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nThe animals were not co-operating with the Welsh. I could see they had some cows with them, which had wandered off into the trees before returning to the trail. It was clearly cows, judging by their dung and their hoofprints. We descended a little and passed through tilled fields. I was not sure where the Welsh border lay, but suspected we were close to it. We did not see any farms so there could not be many people around.\n\nTom and William awaited us when we finally reached the road. \"Captain, they are a little way ahead of us. They have armed men at the rear. We can catch them now, for I am guessing they are less than a mile up the road.\"\n\n\"Robin, you wait here for the baron.\" I saw that the fields to the right of us and the road were flat, but there was a piece of dead ground about a hundred paces from the road. \"We will ride along the dead ground and try to get ahead of them and hold them up. String your bows!\"\n\nThe bows had not been used for some time, as we had enjoyed little opportunity for practice. It was reassuringly hard to string them. I hung mine from my saddle. Robin nodded and I took the lead. Tom had been the scout, but now it was my turn to lead.\n\nThe snow was virgin and absorbed the sound of our hooves. The ride kept us warm, but I suspected the Welsh would be colder. Their feet would be in contact with the cold ground; cold would rise through thinly-soled boots and shoes, and they were moving at the slow pace of cattle and sheep. The ground to our left rose, and I realised that the dead ground was leading us to a shallow valley with a stream or small river at the bottom. When we reached it, I saw that it flowed towards the road, and that meant either a bridge or a ford. More importantly, it meant the animals would stop. They always did when there was water.\n\nWe waded across the stream, and I led us across the slope in an oblique line. I knew that we risked the Welsh spotting us, but it did not matter now. We could cut off their escape, for we were on the Welsh side of the river. Eleanor laboured up the slope, as the snow was thicker. She and the other horses could rest once we reached the road. We would dismount to fight.\n\nThere was a hedgerow along the road which meant we had to seek a gate. Once on the road, I turned to head back to the crossing over the water. The steam from our horses would be visible to the Welsh, but they might think that we were their own men, for we were approaching from the Builth side. We turned a bend and I saw the Welsh and their animals. They were 300 paces from us and approaching the stream. They saw me and I heard them shout. I dismounted and, tying Eleanor to a tree, took out a handful of oats to feed her as my men also dismounted. The Welsh approached slowly and we had time to prepare.\n\nI chose a war arrow and peered towards the Welsh. There were more than thirty of them, all armed. I saw some with bows while others had spears and swords. Most had helmets, and those without bows had shields. My guess was that these were not brigands but served a Welsh lord who had sent them on this chevauch\u00e9e. The Welsh stopped when they saw the line of men at the top of the slope.\n\n\"A stand-off, eh Captain?\"\n\n\"Not for long, David, the baron and his men at arms will come soon, and we will seem an easier prospect than mailed men. For the moment, we watch.\"\n\nI saw a debate going on amongst the Welsh, but while the leaders debated close to the old bull and four cows they had captured, I saw ten Welsh archers head towards the road. I pointed my bow. \"There are our first targets. Spread yourselves out and choose a Welshman to hit.\"\n\nWe had the advantage of height and the fact that we were on the road. Already, the snow had turned to slush beneath our boots, and I was glad that I had paid for better boots. The Welsh archers were struggling through the snow which was knee deep in places, and they congregated towards the road where the snow was thinner. The ford was 180 paces from us, within our range. In the distance I heard a horn, which told me the baron had reached Robin and was letting me know.\n\nThe Welsh archers hurried as they heard the horn, for they knew what it meant, and I shouted, \"Loose!\"\n\nThe Welsh leaders then took their knives and slew the bull and the cows. It was a vindictive act to deny us their milk and offspring. It hardened my heart. I had intended to wound the Welsh archer, but now, I aimed for his chest. He was pulling back on his bow when my arrow threw him to the ground.\n\nMy archers had also aimed well. Two Welshmen had taken shelter behind a tree, and as soon as they emerged, they were dead men. I saw the baron and our men galloping down the road. The sheep fled in panic at the sound of the hooves, getting in the way of the Welshmen, who were heading for the road. They flooded over the ford, but there was little order or organisation to their flight; they were just escaping the mounted men. Mounted men at arms, not to mention the baron, his squire and his two sons, all of whom were armed as knights, were a daunting prospect.\n\nI ignored the archers who had crossed and aimed at the leader who had ordered the slaying of the bull. My arrow hit him but did not stop him. He wore mail beneath his tunic. Cursing myself for my poor choice of arrowhead, I drew a needle bodkin. He was now less than a hundred paces from me. I saw his bearded faced beneath his round helmet. He looked on his death as the arrow sped down to tear through his mail, into his chest and out of his back.\n\nI took another bodkin. If one man had mail then the others might too. I sent an arrow at the man next to the dead leader. He had a shield and was urging his men on. They were falling like flies as my men sent arrow after arrow into men struggling up either a slush-filled road or wading through knee deep snow. My arrow hit him in the neck and even though he had a coif, he fell. Men grabbed shields from the dead to defend themselves as the baron and his horsemen tore into them.\n\nBehind me, Lewis Left Alone shouted, \"Captain, I hear horsemen behind us.\"\n\nThey had to be Welshmen and were probably from the castle. \"Turn, and have bodkins ready!\" The baron and his men would have to deal with the raiders. This was a more serious threat. \"Follow me and spread out behind whatever cover you can find!\"\n\nWe ran back to the horses and stood beyond them on the Builth Castle road. I saw the horsemen. There were eight of them and they were men at arms, led by a knight. I picked out a bodkin. The Welsh knight shouted something and lowered his spear. He held his shield tightly to his body. He was not helped by the slushy nature of the road which meant his horse's hooves slithered and slipped on the surface. I waited until he was seventy paces from me before shouting, \"Release!\"\n\nMy bodkin hit him in the left shoulder. He dropped his shield to expose his side, which Mark the Bowyer sent an arrow into. His quick-thinking squire, who had managed to avoid being hit, grabbed the knight's reins and led him back up the road. Four of the horsemen followed him, but two others lay dead. One had been hit by four bodkin arrows.\n\n\"John, take the new men and keep watch here. The rest with me!\"\n\nBy the time we reached our first position, the battle was over and the baron was disposing of the wounded. I turned and headed back to the dead men at arms. \"Search the bodies and collect the horses. It is over and we can go home!\"\n\nI truly thought it was over, but it was not. The baron and his sons rode up to me, his face effused with the joy of victory. The enemy had been routed and most of the animals recovered, but the smile left him when he saw that Welsh nobles had led their men against us. \"We have been too gentle with our foes. There are four Welsh farms between here and our castle. We will take payment for the cattle killed! The Welsh will have the hard winter, not my people.\"\n\nAnd so we rode, not directly home but along a small road which passed the four farms which were in Wales. We had little to do save to watch. He and his men at arms, as well as his four archers, took every animal and sack of grain the farmers owned. When one farmer objected, the baron's sons beat him. It was unnecessary. I had grown up around people like the Welsh farmers. What had been done to the baron's people was bad, but this was worse, for it was entirely vindictive. We drove the cattle, sheep and fowl back to Wigmore Castle. Darkness fell, but by then we were back on the baron's land and a road which was dark against the white snow.\n\nThe baron asked one of his men to fetch me as we neared the castle.\n\n\"You did particularly well, Captain, although it was dangerous to anticipate the Welsh route. What would you have done if you had failed to find them?\"\n\n\"I knew we would find them, but if they had evaded me, we would have been closer to the Welsh castle. My way was the only way to catch them and retrieve the animals.\"\n\nHe nodded and watched my face. \"You disapproved of my actions with the Welsh farmers?\"\n\n\"It has nothing to do with me, my lord.\"\n\n\"You would not have done what I did?\" I remained silent. He sighed. \"We live on the border here. You have seen my garrison. It is small, and more often than not the Welsh are able to raid at will. Our people have suffered greatly in the past. Simon de Montfort's rebellion has taken men away from the border, and what happened yesterday is a foretaste of what might happen more regularly. I lost men at Lewes who might have defended this land against the Welsh. When you have lived here longer, then you will understand.\"\n\nI said nothing, but I doubted I would be there for long. As soon as Lord Edward was rescued, then I would return to his service. Until then I would follow orders, but I would not enjoy them.\n\nWe feasted well, and then the snow began to melt. It was a gradual process. The air did not seem any warmer but it must have been. The melting snow brought more misery, for the castle wards were turned into mud baths, and it was hard to keep anything clean. Worse, we still could not ride to Wallingford, as the roads to the south of us were still affected by snow. We practised. We used the butts, and we worked each day to improve our skills. When our shoulders ached, we used our swords. The men at arms of Wigmore were, at first, sceptical about our sword skills, but when I laid two on their backs in my first bouts, they changed their opinion. The baron's two sons were also interested in the bouts, and they joined us. Both were strong youths and had skill.\n\nThe damp months of January and February passed productively. Over those weeks Baron Mortimer began to hire men at arms to replace those he had lost at Lewes. The mood in the land was changing, and men who had hidden now emerged, and swords for hire sought a lord behind whose banner they could fight. Baron Mortimer went around his manors to speak with the knights who lived there. He was preparing them for war, too.\n\nI was not invited to dine again, but Lady Maud made a point of speaking to me every couple of days. I could see that I intrigued her. It was partly due to my age, for I was just four or five years older than her sons, but while they were still boys, I must have appeared mature. I deduced that from the way she spoke to me, as she seemed to enjoy confiding in me. It was from her that I learned that I would be riding to Wallingford in the first week of March. I was to find my way into the castle and try to speak with Lord Edward to tell him that we had plans to free him. I knew it was risky, but it had been almost a year since his capture, and there had been no attempt to rescue him. Lady Maud, her husband and the other lords thought the time was ripe.\n\nThe real reason for the decision became clear when Gilbert de Clare, the Earl of Gloucester, came to visit. He had changed sides and was now an enemy of de Montfort. He arrived at the castle after dark, and cloaked. He was disguising the fact that he had turned coat. I only knew of his arrival when I was summoned to his presence, as it was a secret meeting. Two of the baron's most senior men guarded the door. Inside were just the earl, the baron and Lady Maud. This was, indeed, clandestine.\n\nGilbert de Clare was a dangerous man. His support of Simon de Montfort had enabled the Earl of Leicester to defeat King Henry at Lewes. I liked not the fact that he had changed sides, but I was merely an archer, and my avowed intent was to rescue my lord and return to his service. The fact that he was the same age as I unnerved me a little, though he seemed pleased to see me.\n\n\"This is the man then, the famous archer? I would say he appears little more than a boy, but I know men say that behind my back. Can you do it, archer? Can you get inside an enemy castle and deliver a message to Lord Edward? Can you help effect his escape?\"\n\n\"So far, my lord, I have been told little other than I have to get into an enemy castle and speak with Lord Edward without anyone knowing, and then escape. What do I need to tell him?\"\n\nI spoke in a matter of fact voice. I saw Lady Maud smile, and then the Red Earl burst out laughing. \"Well he has a sense of humour, I will say that for him.\"\n\nThe baron said, \"You are right to mock us, Gerald. I know that we ask much of you, but all who know you speak highly of you. Your fame precedes you.\"\n\n\"And that fame will make it hard for me to enter the castle, for many men know my face, my lord. However, leaving that aside, I take it that I do not enter the castle merely to chat to Lord Edward? I assume that there is a plan?\"\n\nThe baron nodded. \"We believe that he is allowed to ride each day with Henry of Almain and a company of guards. We wish him to do so every day for a period of, perhaps, seven days. Each day he should ride a little further so that by the eighth day the horses will be tired. We will have fresh horses ready, and we will know their route, for we will have watched for seven days. You and your archers will ensure that when he escapes, there is no pursuit.\"\n\nI nodded. It was an audacious plan, but it had merit, and I saw how it could succeed. \"So, Lord Edward would determine when the rescue will take place?\"\n\n\"That is the beauty of it.\" He patted his wife's hand. \"And it is all from the mind of Lady Maud. The hard part, as you so rightly say, is getting into the castle. How will you do it?\"\n\n\"To speak truly, I do not know yet, but then I have not seen Wallingford. I would need to scout out the castle and take a couple of days to formulate a plan. I should go now, and then I can return here and tell you what I have devised.\" They all agreed it was a sound plan. \"I will take just three of my men, for it needs to be done in secret, and a larger number would merely attract attention.\"\n\n\"You have thought this out well, archer. I can see that your choice was a wise one. I confess that I thought I had made a wise choice when I sided with de Montfort, but he is a damned Frenchman who rewards only his family and his French friends. I was a fool to believe in him!\"\n\nI now had a better insight into the reason for the Earl of Gloucester's change of coat.\n\nI told my men that I would be leaving. The three men I chose to accompany me were obvious: John of Nottingham, Jack of Lincoln and David the Welshman. Leaving Robin of Barnsley in command, we left on the last day of February. It was over a hundred miles to the castle, but we had company until Gloucester, as Gilbert de Clare accompanied us. He seemed keen to talk, mainly about my service with Lord Edward. He seemed fascinated by the future King of England.\n\nAs we neared his town I said, \"My lord, I hope you do not take offence, but you seem to admire greatly a man you fought.\"\n\n\"It was not him I fought against. Do not forget that Lord Edward once also favoured Simon de Montfort, the Frenchman and his honeyed words that deceived the two of us. It was his father I fought. I had lands taken, and I petitioned to have them returned to me. King Henry rejected my petition. To speak bluntly, I would have Lord Edward as King of England in a heartbeat, but that is not the way it works. His father, faults and all, is still the king. I will have to hope that you rescue him, and that I can persuade him to have his father return my lands.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "It was easier riding once we parted, for we travelled quicker, and I did not have to worry about my words. We only had swords and two bows with us, though I did not think we would need them. It was another reason for my choice of men \u2013 these three could handle themselves in a fight. We had a story already: we were heading for Southampton to take ship for Gascony. Men were always needed to fight over there. I had a purse to pay for inns, and we wore simple garb which did not identify us as Lord Edward's men. I had allowed my beard to grow as a result of the wound to my face; I did not like the beard and I would have shaved it off were it not for this task, but now it provided an effective disguise as it hid my face and made me look a little older. It had been a risk taking Jack of Lincoln, for he had his split nose, but there were many such men in England.\n\nWe found an inn at Brightwell. There had been a castle there, but Henry II had pulled it down and there was no longer a lord of the manor living in the village. We were just one mile from Wallingford. We feigned an injury to Jack of Lincoln, so the innkeeper did not seem suspicious about our remaining there for three days while he 'recovered'. It gave us the opportunity to travel the area.\n\nI went with David the Welshman towards the castle, having left my sword in the inn. I would not gain the castle through force of arms. I needed a cunning plan, for I was not sure how I would gain access. We could stay another two or three days and not arouse suspicion. I decided that the first day we would merely scout and try to discover weaknesses in the castle's defences; we were not trying to storm the walls but sneak inside.\n\nThe innkeeper had said there was a town close to the castle although the Black Death, which had arrived in the town sixteen years earlier, had decimated the population. He told me there was an inn. I made up a story about a fictitious friend who might have served in the garrison as an excuse to visit.\n\nMy plan had been to go into the town and drink; that way we could talk and then go outside to marvel at the magnificent castle, which had been a bastion of Matilda in the anarchy. Men at arms and archers were renowned for their appetite for drink, and they might let something slip whilst in their cups. However, as we neared the castle and town, that plan changed. There was a great deal of activity, and the gates of the castle were wide open. Not only that, there were people moving freely between the town and the castle. It was too good an opportunity to miss.\n\n\"David, I will try to get into the castle. Follow me as though you do not know me. Go to the alehouse and drink.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, Captain? If you are taken prisoner then it will not help Lord Edward.\"\n\nI understood his concern, but we had been sent an opportunity, and it would have been foolish to ignore it. \"I will be careful, but this plan necessitates my gaining entry, and this looks to be the best way.\"\n\nHe nodded and I hurried ahead towards the town. I saw men toiling with sacks, boxes and barrels. They were carrying them into the castle. To me, it looked as though they were preparing for a siege. I saw a man carrying six live fowl. He was struggling to control them, and they were batting him with their wings as they tried to escape. I daresay that, stupid though they were, they had enough sense to know that they were going to their doom.\n\nI was just ten paces from him when two of them escaped his grasp. They landed and, having had their wings clipped so that they could not fly away, ran back towards the town. I whipped off my cloak and threw it over them. In the dark, they stopped, and I was able to grab the cloak and wrap them within.\n\nThe man smiled and transferred one fowl so that he held two in each hand. \"Thank you, friend. If you would carry them with me to the castle kitchens there is a beaker of ale for you in the tavern in the town.\"\n\n\"There is no payment necessary, for I am bound for the castle anyway. I seek my cousin.\"\n\n\"Then this is well met.\"\n\nA suspicious sentry saw my cloak as we approached. \"What is this, Rafe? What does your friend hide in the cloak?\" There was an obliging cluck from within and the sentry grinned. \"Ah, I see your friend knows how to transport hens! Pass.\"\n\nAnd with that, we were in. God smiled on our venture, and I said a silent prayer of thanks for the simple ruse which had allowed me inside the outer ward of the castle.\n\nOf course God smiled on us, for I was helping the son of the appointed king! I asked, once we were in the outer ward, \"What goes on this day?\"\n\n\"I know not save that the castellan asked for food and drink as a host of mighty lords and princes arrive later today.\"\n\nThe sentries at the inner ward appeared quite relaxed and lounged against the walls of the inner ward; they appeared to be looking inward rather than outward. As we went through the gate towards the keep and the kitchens, I began to look for Lord Edward.\n\nAt the gate, the scrutiny was also on those emerging. That made sense, as they would not want Lord Edward walking out with the tradesmen. There appeared to be little security in the inner ward, and I wondered if they were preparing for the feast. I was intrigued. A man, probably the steward, with a wax tablet, stood at the door to the kitchen, presumably checking off the items as they arrived. He looked at the man now identified as Rafe, and frowned. \"There are supposed to be six fowl.\"\n\nRafe said, \"My friend here has them in his cloak.\"\n\nSeemingly satisfied he said, \"Take them through the far door. Abelard will butcher them.\"\n\nThe kitchen was a maelstrom of activity. People who had come before us were placing their goods on tables and hanging them from hooks suspended from the ceiling. We had to squeeze through past an innkeeper who had just delivered a barrel of ale. He nodded to Rafe. \"Another two barrels and I am done.\"\n\n\"I hope you have some left, John, I owe my friend here a beaker.\"\n\nThe man leaned in and said conspiratorially to Rafe, \"The stuff I have delivered is not of my best. It is young Simon de Montfort who arrives, and he will drink wine. The beer is for their servants and soldiers. They matter not!\"\n\nWe entered the butcher's room, and I saw that the ale cellar steps led down from it. The butcher looked up from the haunch of venison he was jointing and recognised Rafe. \"Fowl?\"\n\nRafe nodded.\n\n\"I will deal with them now, for we have no cages in which to keep them. This was hurriedly arranged. We only discovered that we had to cook for thirty guests yesterday. Thank the Good Lord that they leave on the morrow!\"\n\nI was intrigued. Young Simon de Montfort had been captured at Northampton by Lord Edward. Had he come to gloat? If so, he had waited a long time to do so.\n\nRafe said, \"Friend, give him yours first, you have been of invaluable service to me.\"\n\nI reached under the cloak and grabbed one by the neck. Drawing it out, I handed it to the butcher, who grabbed it in one hand and brought the cleaver down with the other. He held it for a while and grinned. \"Some of these lose their heads and do not know they are dead!\" He laid down the carcass and I handed him the second. That was dispatched as quickly.\n\nRafe said, \"When you have completed your business, I will see you in the inn.\"\n\nI draped the cloak over my arm and squeezed out of the room as a second barrel of ale was brought to the cellar, slipping out unnoticed by the steward, who turned to direct a man carrying onions to the vegetable store.\n\nOnce in the inner ward, I pressed myself against the wall so that I could not be seen from the door of the kitchen. The sentries on the walls were not looking within the ward, and I scanned it. There were stables, and men were entering and leaving. There were four men guarding the gate to the hall, as well as four at the gate leading to the outer ward, scrutinising the tradesmen leaving the castle. It looked hopeless \u2013 and then I spied Lord Edward and Henry Almain as they left the stables.\n\nThey were walking, and appeared to have no guards, although I saw the four men at the gate stare at them. They were under scrutiny. If they headed for the hall then all was lost, for there was no way I could gain entry there. I began to move directly to them. If I could, then I would attract the attention of Lord Edward. My plan to speak with him had involved hiding in the grounds and then finding his chamber which would, no doubt, be guarded. Now that I was in the castle I could see the plan was doomed to fail before it had begun.\n\nThen, I realised that Lord Edward and his cousin were not heading for the hall, but for the wall of the inner ward. Lord Edward was a bundle of energy; he enjoyed exercise. I assumed that he had been forbidden to ride this day and was walking around the walls instead. I had a chance.\n\nI turned to head obliquely for the gate leading from the inner ward. I had to time my approach so that I was near them when they were far enough away from the four guards at the gate. As the two prisoners approached the gate, I saw the four guards stiffen. They only relaxed when the two had passed. They were now thirty paces from me, and I saw Lord Edward look up at me as I was nearing them. Recognition dawned on his face. Despite my beard, I had not changed enough to fool someone who knew me well. He said something to Henry of Almain, and they slowed. I saw Henry sit on the edge of a water trough and take off his boot.\n\nLord Edward grinned when I neared him. He spoke to me, although it was quietly done. \"You have given me hope, Gerald War Bow!\"\n\n\"Lord, I must be quick. There is a plan to rescue you!\" I quickly gave him the plan, acutely aware that the four guards at the gate were watching us. Even while I was speaking, I knew that I would need to concoct a story to get by them, or I could be incarcerated too.\n\n\"That is a good plan, but we must hold it in abeyance. Simon de Montfort's son comes this night, and tomorrow I am to be taken to London. There, we will be in the Tower.\"\n\nHenry Almain had donned his boot and moved towards us.\n\n\"Have my friends keep watch. While I am in the Tower I cannot escape, but if I am moved then we put this plan into operation.\" I nodded and he smiled. \"Thank you, Gerald, for your loyalty. It will not be forgotten, nor will the ills we have suffered. Tell those who plan this that I mistrust many of my nobles, but you I trust. If I do not see you when I am rescued then I will not go, for I will fear a trap.\"\n\nHenry Almain said, \"You had better go, archer, the guards are suspicious.\"\n\nI headed for the gate and saw the four guards fingering their weapons. I had decided to play the country bumpkin. The sergeant drew his dagger and placed it at my throat. \"Harry, search him and his cloak.\"\n\nAs the cloak was taken from me and hands groped me, I adopted an astonished expression. \"What is wrong, sir? I have delivered fowl to the steward.\"\n\n\"And what were you saying to the prisoner?\"\n\nI grinned, making myself look simple. \"Sir, I know that you great soldiers get to meet lords all the time, but I am a poor yeoman. How many times will I get the chance to meet the future King of England? When I get back to my village I will drink for a month on the strength of these stories!\"\n\nThe man called Harry shook his head when he had searched me. The dagger was withdrawn and the sergeant asked me, \"What did he say to you?\"\n\nI screwed up my face and said, \"That is the strange thing, sir, he sought my opinion. He asked me what the ordinary men thought of the way his father, the king, had been treated.\"\n\nThe sergeant's eyes narrowed. \"And what did you tell him?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"That we thought what our lords told us, for to do else would be foolish.\"\n\nHe nodded and gestured for me to leave. \"If you come back here, I will be watching for you.\"\n\nI grinned again. \"Do not worry, sir. When I have had the ale I am due in the tavern, I will head home while the story is still fresh in my head. I would tell my father the words Prince Edward used!\"\n\nThe sergeant laughed. \"He is not a prince and will never be a king. The days of kings in this land are over!\"\n\nI had to go to the alehouse, for to do other would have aroused suspicion. The man called Rafe was waiting for me within. \"Did you find your cousin?\"\n\nI spied David in the corner and shook my head so that he would not try to join me, then turned my signal to David into a negative answer to the fowl man. \"He was sent ahead to London. A shame, for I hoped he might get me a position at the castle.\"\n\n\"And tomorrow the castle will just have a tiny garrison. You came too late, my friend, for it has been well garrisoned since last summer. What will you do?\"\n\n\"Head for London! It seems that is where men gather now.\"\n\n\"Aye, the Earl of Leicester rules this land now, and he has the support of the men of London. You do right, friend.\"\n\nWhen the ale was done, I left. I was just 300 paces from the alehouse when David caught up with me. \"Well, Captain?\"\n\nI told him and he said, \"Then this was a wasted journey.\"\n\n\"The opposite, for Lord Edward thinks he will be moved from the Tower eventually, and when he is then this plan succeeds. We will have to stay one more day, but then Jack can have a miraculous recovery and we return to Wigmore Castle.\"\n\nWe were still heading for the village of Brightwell when we heard the arrival of the young de Montfort. He was enjoying his moment, for he had banners, heralds and a veritable wagon train with him. I knew not why the castellan had laid in supplies, for it looked as though Simon de Montfort had brought enough to feed the county.\n\nWe left the next day and, with brightening skies, rode harder than we had when we headed west. It was with some surprise that we met the Earl of Gloucester and his household knights. They were heading towards the London road. He reined in but waved away all of his men and mine. I would tell my men all, that was my way, but the earl was a plotter and a secretive man.\n\n\"What have you learned, archer?\" He was blunt to the point of rudeness.\n\nI told him of the imminent departure of Lord Edward and he looked downcast. \"So, it all begins to make sense. I was summoned to Westminster for a meeting on 11 March at Westminster Hall. Now events come to a head. Our plan, it seems, was conceived too late. You had best make all speed to Baron Mortimer. He will need to know that our plans are in tatters.\"\n\nAnd with that, I was dismissed.\n\nWe rode as hard after the meeting with the earl, for we now had a better idea of the purpose of the removal of the prisoners. When we reached the castle the baron and Lady Maud were waiting for me in the inner ward; they must have seen our approach. \"The Earl of Gloucester has been summoned to London. Our plans lie in ruins unless you can tell us that you delivered the message.\"\n\nI said, \"Shall we speak indoors, my lord?\"\n\nLady Maud smiled. \"Lord Edward's archer seems to understand the situation better than we do. We will do as you ask, Captain.\"\n\nOnce in the Great Hall, all were dismissed save for their sons. \"I met with Lord Edward, and he approves of the plan but\u2026\" I paused, I was learning how to be a storyteller, \"he left the following day for London. I believe that the Earl of Leicester has called this meeting to announce something which involves the king and his son.\"\n\nThe baron paled. \"Execution? Regicide?\"\n\nLady Maud dismissed that with a wave of her hand. \"If that was the case then it would be done in secret. The fact that all the great nobles have been invited tells us that there is still hope. Continue, Gerald.\" There was the hint of censure for her husband in her tone.\n\n\"Lord Edward believes that he will be sent to the Tower before being moved somewhere else and, when that happens, we are to be close to hand, and he will follow our plan as it was intended.\" They both nodded. \"There is one more thing. Lord Edward no longer knows whom to trust. If he does not see me at the rescue then he will assume it is a trap.\"\n\nThe baron became agitated. \"But we have risked all for this plan!\"\n\nLady Maud smiled and nodded. \"Husband, put yourself in Lord Edward's shoes. Can he trust de Clare? John de Warenne abandoned him at Lewes. Of all the leaders only you and Henry of Almain, also a prisoner, are to be trusted, but you are too easily recognized, and if you were seen close to Lord Edward's next gaol then they would guard him even more closely. I can well understand him trusting this archer. Have we seen anything in his behaviour that suggests anything other than loyalty?\"\n\n\"You are right.\"\n\n\"And remember this, when Edward is king it is the likes of us who will reap the reward of estates and lands, not Gerald War Bow.\" Her husband had not thought it through to its logical end. Lady Maud smiled. \"However, Gerald, I shall not forget you, and I will make certain that you are rewarded.\"\n\nThe next two weeks were dull, and that was a relief. We were stuck on the edge of England, far from the events in London. We had little to do except to practise. The new archers had built in strength and could now send an arrow almost as far as the rest of us. Peter had improved. Within two years he would be able to handle a much longer bow. We ate well, we slept and we prepared for the rescue.\n\nIt was the last week in March when life became a little more interesting. The Welsh at Builth Castle had not been happy with our treatment of their farmers. I learned that the knight I wounded was a local baron, Iago ap Rhodri. Baron Mortimer kept men watching his borders, and his farmers, grateful for our intervention, told us much about their activities. The baron heard that Sir Iago planned another chevauch\u00e9e. It was ill-conceived, for it was common knowledge along the border. Knowing that the Welsh planned to raid, Sir Roger worked out where that raid would begin. The best place for horses and horsemen to advance was towards the stream where he had been wounded in winter. Accordingly, the baron called out the fyrd. They owed him forty days' service, and as he had not used them in winter, he used them now.\n\nIt brought us forty men. Unlike the English variety, these Welsh men knew how to use a bow, and more than three quarters brought their own. While their other weapon skills were poor, their archery was good. We mustered on the ridge which lay on the English side of the small river. Technically it was Welsh territory, but the farmers who had farmed that side of the river had been forced to flee by our attack.\n\nI had worked during the winter with Evan who led the baron's archers. The baron had hired more, and we now had a sizeable company of archers. I would command them all. When I had first arrived, Evan had been sceptical of me, but that was due to my age. Now, as we waited for the raid, we sat together. He was happy for my company; we spoke and chewed on liquorice roots.\n\n\"What you have to understand, Captain, is that this is not England. It is the Marches. Kings and princes might make peace, sign treaties and accords, but here they don't matter at all. We raid them and they raid us. It is a way of life. We usually win, but there are English slaves in Wales as well as Welsh slaves here in England, and it does not sit well with us.\" He turned to look at me and offered some advice. \"When you aim, aim to kill. There is little to be gained from taking a hostage in any case. The Welsh are poor as church mice. The baron, he might take a prisoner, but not for ransom, he would take a hostage just to keep them honest!\"\n\nThe Welsh came at dawn. Perhaps they thought they might sneak across the border and raid us while we were asleep. We were all awake, although many men lay down to rest.\n\nEvan had brought dogs and they growled. He hissed, \"Stand to!\" The message was passed from man to man, the stream covering any noise we made.\n\nThe archers and the fyrd had rested in the clothes they were wearing, but the men at arms, the baron, his sons and his squire had to don mail. We lined the ridge with strung bows but no arrows nocked. We were behind the fyrd because we had a longer range and could release above the men armed with hunting bows. When the men at arms were mailed, they would form their lines to the right of us. The fyrd knew they had to bear the brunt of the attack, but we knew we had the advantage; the enemy would not know that we were here and waiting for them. I heard their horses, for one neighed as it was pulled back when it descended the slope. I hoped the baron would hurry \u2013 for if he was not present then I would have to give the command to release.\n\n\"Nock!\"\n\nThe professional archers nocked war bows while the fyrd nocked their hunting bows. Their arrows would not pierce mail, but the Welsh would bring their fyrd, too.\n\nI heard jingling mail behind me. The decision would now be the baron's. \"Can you see them, Captain?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, but from the noise of their hooves I think they are descending the road to the water.\"\n\n\"Is that in range?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Good, then when you hear them in the water, order the arrows. Give them five flights and then we will attack. Evan, lead the fyrd and our archers to follow us.\"\n\nIt was not the plan I would have used, but it seemed a reasonable one, and the baron knew his enemy better than I did. An archer learns to feel an enemy, to sense when they are close. My senses told me that they were almost at the water. I took a risk. \"Draw!\"\n\nMy men could hold their powerful bows longer than the fyrd. I could not risk a premature arrow. I heard the first splash and then a second as the Welsh entered the water.\n\n\"Release!\" Even while the arrows were in the air and starting their descent I said, louder this time, \"Draw!\n\nI did not wait more than a moment for the next command. \"Release.\"\n\nThe arrows of the fyrd were irregular in comparison with ours, but it did not matter. Men lifted shields and then moved forward when the arrows had struck. The tardy fyrd kept the arrows falling. I heard men scream as war arrows tore into flesh and the chink as arrows hit helmets and mail. For the mailed men we would use bodkins \u2013 but I would not waste a valuable arrow on speculation. When I saw mail, then I would use a bodkin.\n\nA Welsh voice shouted something I guessed was, 'Charge!'\n\nI sent two more war arrows at the mass of men who were still just a shadow moving towards us and then drew a bodkin, for I saw, charging up from the water, mailed men. My company all had bodkins nocked. Mine went into the chest of one of the knights. My arrow had a flat trajectory, and as he was struggling up the bank, he struggled to get his shield up. His cantle held his dying body in the saddle. We had each sent our five arrows, and so I dropped my bow and drew my sword.\n\nEvan shouted, \"Men of Wigmore! For England and King Henry!\" He drew his sword and hurtled down the slope. We had stopped their horsemen, and the baron was charging into their flank. It was a battle fought in the dark, for dawn was still a little way away. It would be all too easy to slay a friend as well as foe.\n\nI shouted, \"My company, stay together. Peter, watch the horses.\" With sword and dagger, I headed down the road. A horse loomed up out of the dark and I instinctively raised my blade. I saw it was the warhorse with the dead knight I had killed still upon its back. \"Peter, here!\" He arrived next to me and I handed him the reins of the warhorse. \"Keep this safe.\" He grabbed the reins and began talking to the wild-eyed horse. I hurried down the slope, aware that I was now behind my men. I should have led them.\n\nWhile the baron fought horsemen, we were charging through the Welsh fyrd. Despite Evan's words, I could not bring myself to be ruthless. The Welsh were tough, but their weapons were poor. I brought my sword down on a farmer wearing an old helmet. He tried to block it with his own sword but my blade smashed his in two. Even as he stood looking in horror at his broken weapon, I punched him in the face. I used the pommel of my sword and rendered him unconscious. I saw that Evan and the garrison archers had no such compunction, and two youths were slain as they tried to take on men wielding swords while they just had daggers. I was glad when a Welsh horn sounded and they fell back.\n\nDawn was just beginning to break, and I saw that twenty Welshmen were either dead or wounded. The wounded were being helped back by their friends and family. I sheathed my sword. Evan and the other garrison archers ran after them.\n\nGeoffrey, son of Martin asked, \"Do we follow them, Captain?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"We have done enough this day. Find our arrows. If you slew a knight or a man at arms then what he has is yours. I slew a knight, and we will share in the proceeds from him and his mail.\"\n\nI guessed, although I did not know, that the knight I had slain was Sir Iago. I knew, from Evan, that he was the richest knight in these parts. We would do well out of this, but the slaughter of farmers made my stomach turn. I did not enjoy it.\n\nWe returned to Wigmore at noon. The garrison and the fyrd were in good spirits. This was another victory and I knew that not only Evan but also Baron Mortimer regarded my archers and me as good luck. Men, even Christians, were always superstitious. I put it down to the fact that we were good at what we did.\n\nLady Maud was even more overjoyed, and she organised a feast for the warriors who had won, on the day following the slaughter. This did not include the fyrd. They had dispersed to their homes, but they were richer by the coins they had taken from the dead as well as the weapons and, in some cases, even boots and belts.\n\nIt was a raucous feast but I was largely silent. John of Nottingham leaned over. \"Why the long face, Captain? We won, did we not? And none of our men were even scratched. We are all richer. When we lost at Lewes many men would have been downhearted, but we knew that you would find a way to enrich us and you have. And now there is every prospect of being reunited with Lord Edward. From what you say he is already in your debt. The future looks bright.\"\n\n\"I know, but the hardest part is yet to come.\" I lowered my voice. \"The Earl of Gloucester knows our plan. He is in London with the Earl of Leicester; what if he tells our enemy of the plan?\"\n\n\"Why would he do that?\"\n\n\"Because he seeks the lands that his family lost, and he will do anything to get them back. He fought against Lord Edward before. What if he chooses to do so again? This plan only works if the enemy knows nothing about it. Even a hint of the plan will mean we cannot rescue him, for they will stop him riding abroad. I will have to get close to wherever Lord Edward is being held. What if it is in the lands controlled by de Montfort or de Ferrers? Do you think I would succeed, then?\"\n\n\"Captain, you will not be alone. We will be with you.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"And that does not make me feel better, for it means I put all of you at risk. Had we begun our plan but a fortnight earlier\u2026\"\n\n\"Then it would have failed.\" I looked at him. He shrugged. \"We only got into the castle because of the feast. If they had not been coming for Lord Edward then you would not have even got close! This was meant to be.\" He held up his beaker and drank some. \"It is half full, Captain. Let us see what happens when we throw the bones.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Aye you are right. We are still alive. We are rich, and there is always hope.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "In the last days of April and the first days of May, that hope became tangible. Two things happened within a seven-day period. The Earl of Gloucester finally broke with Simon de Montfort. He and his allies left London for Gloucester. He had not received that which he thought was due to him and he left. I did not trust the earl, and my view was that, had he reaped a better reward from the Earl of Leicester, he might have betrayed us. Simon de Montfort was the architect of his own downfall, for he ignored de Clare and that would cost him.\n\nA day later, we heard that Simon de Montfort was heading for his manor at Hereford. Not only that, he had the king, Lord Edward and Henry Almain there with him. The only royal prisoner he did not have with him was Richard of Cornwall, who was still held at Kenilworth. When the baron told me, I could not believe our good fortune. Hereford was just twenty-four miles from Wigmore and twenty-eight from Gloucester. He was close enough to touch, and our plan, suddenly, had a chance of success.\n\nI was confused about what seemed like a military blunder, until the baron explained to me that Simon de Montfort was a supreme strategist. The Marcher lords were his enemies, and if the Earl of Gloucester led them then he could have a rebellion on his hands. He would place himself on the Severn so that he could control any attack and snuff out any opposition to his rule from the borders. His three prisoners were his surety.\n\n\"We have him, Captain Gerald! You need to take your men as close as you can get to Hereford. Roger de Leybourne is one of Lord Edward's friends. He will try to see Lord Edward at Hereford.\"\n\n\"Is it likely that de Montfort will let him close? At Wallingford, they had my lord closely watched.\"\n\nThe baron smiled. \"He is not as closely guarded, and de Leybourne will stay with him. It will make them less suspicious and mean that even if they arrest de Leybourne, he will still have a chance to speak with Lord Edward and let him know that you are ready. The rescue will be within seven days of the day of his arrival. So, you see, this is even better. Leave tomorrow, and when de Leybourne arrives you can watch and follow.\" A shadow fell across his face. \"Of course, if you are seen when following Lord Edward and his guards then the plan fails, for they will lock him up again.\"\n\nIt was my turn to smile. I knew Lord Edward and he knew me. \"Do not worry, my lord, they will not see me. And when I have him safe, where do we take him?\"\n\n\"De Montfort has men watching the Earl of Gloucester's castle. The earl is not there, he is at Ludlow. You take him to Ludlow.\" The baron had bought the Welsh knight's horse from me. He smiled. \"You can take the Welsh knight's warhorse for Lord Edward and the other knight's horse for Henry Almain. They should be able to evade capture on those two mounts.\"\n\nNow that the game was afoot we were all keen to start, and we rose before dawn so that we were riding by the time that the sun came up. I had met Roger de Leybourne and would recognise him, and knew him to be loyal to the Prince. I knew not how he had inveigled himself into the enemy camp, but he had, and I was grateful that we had an ally whom we could trust. The baron had said that he would be with Clifford, a noble with influence along the border, too, and I also knew him. As Gloucester was being watched, Roger de Leybourne would tell Lord Edward to head north. We needed somewhere we could watch the castle and yet stay hidden.\n\nIt did not take long to reach Hereford, and we had time to search for somewhere to hide and yet keep watch on the road north. We were lucky and found a wood. It was one of the smallest woods I had ever seen, and there was no water, but there was a ruined farmhouse. The half-wrecked barn provided cover and some shelter for the horses. We would fetch our water from the River Wye.\n\nI was the one who knew de Leybourne and Clifford, so I had to be on watch throughout the daytime. We knew it would be daylight when they arrived, and so I had sleep each night. My men took it in turns to watch with me and to care for the horses. The refuge would only be temporary. Once Lord Edward began to ride, we would need to anticipate where he would be by the eighth day. Our camp would be moving ever northward as we kept pace with Lord Edward's rides.\n\nWhat we saw, at the castle, was the army Simon de Montfort was gathering. Although his knights were quartered in the town, his men at arms, archers and crossbowmen were camped by the Wye. He was preparing for war, for he did not trust his former ally and supporter. De Clare had changed sides too often. While de Montfort held the leaders of the royalist cause he would destroy his enemies in the west. With the Midlands, London, the east and the south under his control, there would be no opposition to him once the Marcher Lords were defeated.\n\nBy my reckoning, it was about 20 or 21 May when I saw the two young riders, de Leybourne and Clifford, gallop up to the castle. Dates meant little to me. The high and the mighty seemed overly concerned with such matters. We knew church days and holidays, and the rest was determined by the weather. The weather had changed over the last couple of days to become warmer, almost hot, and we simply knew that it was getting closer to summer.\n\nLord Edward and Henry Almain had ridden forth on each of the days we observed, but they had merely ridden for a mile or two and then returned to the castle. I saw that when they did ride, they had an escort of eight men, half of whom looked like young nobles although they were all armed. I observed that none of the riders, including Lord Henry, wore mail. Lord Edward and his cousin were weaponless. That, I would have expected. I saw that two men rode before the two captives, and two hung much further back than their companions. We might have six escorts to deal with when we attempted to rescue the two men; I had enough archers for that. We had bows and we had a reputation. On the day we rescued Lord Edward we would wear his livery.\n\nThat night I went over the plan with my men. \"Tomorrow I ride with Tom. We will follow Lord Edward. When they reach the end of their ride Tom will come back and fetch you, while I find somewhere to camp. John, I leave it to you to ensure that you are not seen when you join us. You are woodsmen and you can ride in the dark. Secrecy is all. Lord Edward will keep to the same route each day, it is just that he will extend his ride each day.\"\n\nThey nodded their agreement.\n\nI went over to Peter while food was prepared. \"You know what you must do?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Aye, Captain, I am to keep Lord Edward's horse close by me. I must make certain that he is well fed and watered.\" He smiled. \"War Bow is a good horse, Captain.\"\n\nI smiled back at him. \"He is named War Bow?\"\n\n\"I knew not his name when he came to us. At Wigmore Castle they did not speak to the horses. It is good to speak to the animals, I gave him the name and War Bow seems to like it.\" He suddenly looked worried. \"I hope that you do not mind.\"\n\n\"I am flattered, that is all.\"\n\nI had Eleanor saddled before dawn, and Tom and I waited in the woods. The plan hinged on remaining hidden until the day of the rescue and ensuring that the spare horses were in place when we needed them. Tom also had a good horse; it was a palfrey but a sound one. We had been lucky in war, and we had managed to acquire better horses than other archers.\n\nLord Edward and his companions must have breakfasted well, for they emerged late. I saw that Clifford and de Leybourne were with Lord Edward and Henry Almain. That had resulted in an extra four guards; it was something we had not planned for and showed that de Montfort was being careful. Our vantage point was half a mile from the main road north. I knew that Lord Edward would keep the route simple, for he was a clever man. Lord Edward pointed north, and they took the road that passed by the end of the lane which led to the wood and the farm. Protected by hedgerows, Tom and I walked our horses down it slowly.\n\nWe were halfway to the main road when we heard the clatter of hooves and the sound of laughter. I now saw why Clifford and de Leybourne were there. Lord Edward would be expected to have conversations with his old friends; the talk was to let us know where they were. Until they left the road, we would be exposed. Once they headed for fields and woods then we would have more chance of concealment.\n\nWe reached the main road and headed down it. The steaming piles of dung told us, even had we not seen them, that the men we followed were ahead of us. Surprisingly, Lord Edward led them along the road for some time until we came to the village of Moreton on Lugg. We almost missed them, for I had become used to travelling on the road. Tom heard their laughter. \"Captain, they are heading towards the river.\"\n\nIt was a little road which led to the river, and I knew we would be spotted if we followed along it. There were fields beyond the village and I took a chance. We turned through the village and rode between two cottages. I headed north and east; I would get ahead of them and reach the river. It was a risk, but Lord Edward had not done exactly what I had expected. We passed animals grazing in a field and then the ground dipped towards the river. The Lugg was not wide but there was a bridge. When we reached the river, I saw that the riders had dismounted and there was laughter coming from the bridge. We dismounted and I made my way through the tangled undergrowth next to the water, to get closer to them.\n\nI saw that there were two guards on the bridge and two on the road leading to the village, and they were taking no chances. The captives were close to and between them and their horses. I saw that the four lords had wineskins and some bread. They were dining. I found a willow, from behind which I could observe them \u2013 they were fifty paces from me. While I heard occasional words, they were largely incoherent. I saw them put the wineskins in their saddlebags and mount.\n\nI did not panic. There were two ways to go. They could continue over the river, in which case Tom and I would have to swim it, or they would return to Hereford. As soon as they clattered back up the tiny lane through the village, I knew we had somewhere to wait.\n\nI returned to Tom. \"They are gone back to Hereford.\" By my reckoning, we had ridden just under four miles. Lord Edward would need at least a ten-mile gap between us and Hereford to ensure that we could reach Ludlow. \"We will cross the river and look for somewhere to camp on the far side.\"\n\n\"Surely that is a risk, Captain? Suppose he comes to the village and carries on north?\"\n\n\"Lord Edward came to the bridge for a reason. They left the castle later than normal, and they ate at the bridge. If he heads north it will be on the far side of the river.\"\n\nWe retraced our steps to the village and rode down the lane. The birds were already pecking at the crumbs that had been left by the bridge. We crossed over, and I saw that the fields on the eastern side of the river must have been prone to flooding, for they were neither tilled nor cleared. The willows, alder and elder made an effective wall close to the river. We left the road and I headed for the Lugg. If we only had to spend one night there, then it was possible it would hide us.\n\n\"Tom, ride back and fetch the others. You had better leave well before dark. If you ride through the village after dark you may arouse suspicion. When you come back make a point of stopping in the village and when you are questioned, as I know you will be, then tell them that you are from de Montfort's army and seeking better grazing for there are too many horses close to the castle.\"\n\nHe nodded and left me. It was always as well to have a good story, even if you did not use it. I had plenty of time, and so I rode north along the road. I came to a village which had a church. The church was so tiny, as was the village, that I doubted they even had a priest.\n\nThe river tumbled next to the church and there was no bridge. Horsemen could ford the river and that made this place interesting to me. Pushing on, I saw that the road, small though it was, paralleled the river. Eleanor was still fresh, and so I rode another three miles. I came to a ford in the river and found myself in a thick wood. There was a trail which led through it.\n\nI forded the river and, while Eleanor drank, examined the trail. It was ancient, but there was no sign of horse dung. If Lord Edward could get as far as here then we had the perfect place to rescue him, for we would have trees to hide us and woodland trails to disguise our route.\n\nI headed back to Moreton on Lugg. I estimated that the ford lay almost ten miles from Hereford. Twenty miles was further than might be expected for a day's ride. If they tried to reach the ford then it would result in questions from his guards or some punitive action to restrain them. I made the camp Tom and I had chosen and, as I took off Eleanor's saddle, I began to plan. If, as I expected, Lord Edward came towards the tiny church then I knew he would head for the wood. We could make a camp in the wood on the far side of the river where it would be easier to hide our horses. Tom and I could still watch the route Lord Edward would take, and we would not have to move. We would camp here for one night and then, if Lord Edward came this way, we could camp in the woods across the river. The more I thought about it the better the plan seemed. We would have the cover of the woods and the direction of our escape would be hidden.\n\nMy men rode through the village in the late afternoon. I heard John speaking to someone who came out of one of the houses. There was laughter, and then the horses continued towards me. Tom brought them through the woods to the water.\n\nAs they dismounted, Jack of Lincoln sniffed, \"If I had known these would be my lodgings when I gained honest employment I would have stayed in the greenwood!\"\n\nHe was right, the camp was primitive, even by our standards. \"One night of roughing it Jack, and then, for the next few nights we can have a better and more secure camp. It all depends on if I have read the mind of Lord Edward. I believe he will take his guards further north little by little. If I am right then tomorrow he will stop at the small church and hamlet less than a mile up the road. For tonight, we have cold rations.\"\n\nDespite his griping, Jack did not mind the conditions. It is the way with soldiers that they like to complain. You rarely find a happy soldier, at least, not on the surface.\n\nTom and I saddled and mounted Eleanor and Bess at dawn and we waited, hidden by the undergrowth. They arrived at the bridge earlier than I had expected, and I heard Lord Edward say, loudly, as they threw their crumbs to the waiting birds, \"Let us ride to the church which lies up the road. I would go inside and pray alone for my release from this captivity.\"\n\nI heard Henry of Almain say, equally loudly, \"Aye lord, and I will pray too for my father.\"\n\nI knew the words were intended for my ears. I heard the hooves as they clattered over the bridge, and then as they passed us, I realised that I could not see them which meant they could not see me, but I heard them as they chattered and laughed. It was only the words of the four nobles I heard while the guards were silent \u2013 they would be watching and listening for danger.\n\nLord Edward had revealed his plan to us, and so I did not follow immediately. The church lay down a lane. It was 400 paces from the village which, itself, was just 200 paces from the road. I was wary as we neared the village, but there were no horses to be seen. The two of us kept riding and passed the end of the road and the village. We were not seen. When we were a hundred paces from the village we stopped. As soon as they emerged, I would pretend to be examining my horse's hoof.\n\nI heard the hooves and bent down. The horses did not continue down the road towards the ford and the wood but headed due south, back towards Hereford. As they disappeared we mounted. \"Come Tom, let us examine the church.\"\n\nThe village was a sleepy one, with just six houses. Heads came from doors, for the road led nowhere save to the church. When I turned, the heads quickly ducked back within doors. They had learned to keep themselves to themselves.\n\nI handed my reins to Tom and entered the dark church. It was small. There was a single candle burning, but it was a fresh one. I guessed that Lord Edward had lit it and made an offering in the offertory box. I knelt in front of the altar pretending to pray and, as I glanced to my right, I saw a tiny piece of parchment on the floor. I picked it up and stood. It must have been left there by Lord Edward. I hurried out: I would read it back in our camp.\n\nMy men had heard Lord Edward and his captors head back to the castle, and they looked at me expectantly. I opened the parchment. It simply said, '3'.\n\nI showed it to them. Tom asked, \"What does it mean, Captain?\"\n\n\"I am guessing, and it is a guess, that they have brought the date forward, and we rescue him on the third day from now.\"\n\n\"Doesn't that complicate matters, Captain?\"\n\nTom knew my plan already, having waited with me. \"It could do, but I think we move the camp anyway. We will wait at the church tomorrow and the day after. That way we can see where they go. Then, on the day of the rescue, we will wait by the ford with the rescue horses. It is all that we can do.\"\n\nWe made a camp on the far side of the river. It was a better camp, and I charged Jack and Robin with the task of finding us the quickest way to take us to the Ludlow road. I spoke at length with John of Nottingham. He was an older man and I needed his advice. After I had told him the way I expected events to turn out, he nodded. \"Your reasoning is sound, Captain. The problem comes if they make a fight of it. The last thing we need is for Lord Edward to be hurt or, God forbid, killed in the rescue attempt.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I want you, Jack and David to have arrows ready on the day of the rescue. If any look to harm Lord Edward then pluck them from their saddles.\"\n\nI knew for certain that Lord Edward had changed his plans when the following day the riders approached much earlier than on the other days. As they hurtled past the end of the village, where we were secreted, I saw that their horses were lathered. Lord Edward and Henry Almain were laughing. They stopped less than a mile from the lane's end. We watched them walk back along the road, leading their lathered horses.\n\nI heard Clifford complain, \"We will not be back until the sixth hour of the day! My stomach thinks that my throat has been cut!\"\n\nHenry Almain said, \"We can always find an inn while the horses recover.\"\n\n\"And that is a sound idea. Perhaps my prayer yesterday in the church paid off, for after that fast ride I feel alive. We must do this again tomorrow but faster and further.\"\n\nThey were moving away from me, but I heard a voice \u2013 one I did not recognise. \"Remember Lord Edward, if you try to escape you will be punished and your riding privileges removed. Do not forget that our horses are the equal of yours, and we will catch you.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nI was now convinced that I knew the plan. The horses had looked exhausted as they had passed us, but there were still too many guards. I hoped that Lord Edward had a plan to neutralize them.\n\nThe next day was almost a copy of the first, and we remained hidden in the lane. I had Geoffrey and Lewis hidden halfway to the ford. This time we heard one of the guards \u2013 from his voice I think he was one of de Montfort's knights \u2013 say, \"The earl has said that you may ride no further north than the river, lord, for there is nothing north of there, save the woods.\"\n\nHenry of Almain laughed. \"And if we reach there, we will be so exhausted it will take us a whole day to return.\"\n\nThe guards said, \"I know not why you ruin your horses, lord.\"\n\nWhen we picked up Lewis and Geoffrey, they told us that the riders had galloped past them as though they were having a race.\n\n\"Tomorrow, I want the two of you to wait here. You are here to intervene if Lord Edward looks to be captured or does not make the rendezvous. If the rescue takes place, as I hope it will, then it will just be the guards who return. You two make your way to the river and cross. Follow us to the Ludlow Road.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\" The two of them were now far more confident and assured than they had been when they had first come to me.\n\nThat night, we went through our plans carefully. We would have to ensure that Lord Edward was safe, and after that, we would see to his companions. In a perfect world we would save them all, but this was imperfect, and we would take what we could. I would have a horse for Lord Edward, Tom would have one for Henry Almain. William and Mark would have two spares for Clifford and de Leybourne. We had kept the last two spare horses for an emergency. If a horse broke down now it would cause trouble, for we would have used them for the young lords.\n\nLewis and Geoffrey left before dawn. They had spent the night going through their plans. They had their bows and war arrows and would disable the horses of the guards if they could.\n\nI was awake at dawn. I was nervous. So much rested on my shoulders and I did not like it. My happy times had been when Roger and I crossed to France and were bows for hire. Life had been uncomplicated then. The moment my life became tied to Lord Edward it had changed, and the worst of it was that I could not now leave. I was Lord Edward's archer \u2013 our lives were bound together.\n\nIt was gone noon and they had still to arrive. I began to fear that the plot had been discovered. Perhaps the suspicious guards had mentioned something to the Earl of Leicester or someone could have informed on them. There was much treachery on both sides of this conflict. I stood holding Eleanor's reins and the reins of the warhorse for Lord Edward.\n\nTom gave me a wan smile. \"They have further to come today, Captain. They are not yet late.\"\n\nIt was almost as though he had summoned them with his thoughts for I heard, in the distance, the thunder of hooves.\n\n\"It is time!\"\n\nI mounted and moved towards the edge of the river. If I crossed, then I would be seen by the guards, and I had to remain hidden. I would reveal myself \u2013 but I had to choose when I would be seen, or else Lord Edward would abort. I saw Lord Edward's head as it appeared on the other side of the river. I dug my heels into Eleanor and splashed across, leading the warhorse. We laboured up the slippery bank; Tom brought the second horse. As I rose to have a good view up the road, I saw Henry of Almain, his horse just twenty paces away. Their six guards' horses, lathered and winded, struggled to make the ford and were forty paces back.\n\nLord Edward saw me and urged his weary horse towards me. When he was four paces from me he leapt from his horse and sprung onto the back of the warhorse. He stood in the stirrups and, waving his hand, shouted, \"Lordlings, I bid you good day! Greet my father well and tell him that I hope to see him soon, to release him from captivity!\"\n\nAs Henry of Almain mounted the second horse, Lord Edward wheeled the warhorse and I saw that he was grinning. \"Well done Gerald, we did it, and I shall never doubt you again!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "All of our horses were fresh and we galloped off. John and my rear-guard waited long enough to see the guards dismount \u2013 for their horses could go no further \u2013 then they joined us. So far, the plan was working, and the exhausted guards would struggle to get back to Hereford.\n\nRobin led us, for he had scouted out our escape route. Lewis and Geoffrey caught up with us when we were a mile into the trees, and their smiles told me that we were not pursued. We bent over our horses' heads, for we did not want to waste this God-given opportunity. When we left the forest, we hit the Ludlow Road. We had fallen into our normal formation: Tom was at the fore with Robin, John and Jack at the rear. Lord Edward was desperate to talk, I could see that, but the pounding of the hooves and the fear of pursuit kept him silent. It was only when we neared the town and castle of Ludlow that we allowed our horses to walk and for us to talk.\n\nI let Lord Edward begin, although I had many questions. \"You found my note. I knew that you would. Do not worry, Gerald, I never once saw you but, you know, I sensed that you were close and could hear me. Strange, is it not? Clifford and de Leybourne complained that they could not keep up and stopped. Four of the guards remained with them. I expect them to follow soon.\"\n\n\"Will they not be held and punished, my lord?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"When I mounted this fine horse \u2013 you must tell me whence you had him \u2013 I looked back and saw the four guards coming to join the others. Clifford and de Leybourne will have gone back to Moreton on Lugg and rejoined the road to Ludlow there. Their horses will need to be conserved but they will get here.\" He patted the horse. \"Well, where did you get this fine horse?\"\n\n\"He now belongs to Baron Mortimer, but I slew the knight who owned him.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"And that is what I should have done at Lewes, instead of chasing the scum of London. I have learned a harsh lesson, Gerald, and I am much humbled. Now we can take back our country.\"\n\n\"But your father is still a prisoner, my lord!\"\n\n\"And he is king. If de Montfort wished to commit regicide he would have done so long ago. The king is safe. The Earl of Leicester thinks that the dogs he has raised as a parliament of the common folk will bark loudly enough and drown out our voices. They are wrong, it is a parliament of paper he has made, and that can be torn down.\" He turned to look at me and both his tone and his words were murderous. \"When next we fight de Montfort and his cronies it will be the last battle, and I will eradicate the rebellious heart of de Montfort and all those like him.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "The gates of Ludlow were open, and I saw a host of lords waiting for us. Mortimer and de Clare were at their fore, and there was joy on their faces. They crowded around and greeted one another like old friends. Old divisions between de Clare and Lord Edward were a thing of the past; they had a new start. I thought that we were forgotten; as the gathered knights and barons all clamoured around Lord Edward, my archers and I were pushed to the side.\n\n\"Let us take the horses to the stables.\" I was not convinced that there would be any room at the stables, for there seemed a mighty host in the castle already. News of the planned escape must have been more widespread than I thought! Strangely, I did not mind being ignored because I did not like being the centre of attention. I was just pleased that it had all gone well and I had lost none of my archers. To me, they were family, even the new ones. Like John and the other older archers, I viewed Peter as a young brother. All of the archers were protective of him.\n\nWhen I reached the stables, I was in for a surprise. The ostler said, \"Your stalls are kept for you, Captain. They are upon the orders of Baron Mortimer. This is his castle, now.\"\n\n\"Thank you, ostler.\" This was a case of you scratch my back and I will scratch yours. I had rescued Lord Edward, and the baron's reward was the castle and manor of Ludlow. Giving me some stalls was a small price to pay. I was learning this game of barons and knights. \"Where do we eat? For we have had a long day.\"\n\nHe pointed to a building attached to the great hall into which the great and the good had retired. \"The warrior hall, sir.\"\n\nAll the saddles were removed, and we then brushed and combed our mounts. We gave them water and feed, for they deserved it. I also fed the two horses Lord Edward and Henry Almain had used. By the time we had finished it was dark, and the men waited for me outside the stables.\n\n\"Archers, you have done me great honour over the last days. We have shown Simon de Montfort that he cannot bend the will of all the people to his view of the world. Lord Edward is our master once more. I thank you for following one so young.\"\n\nTo my surprise and great embarrassment, they began to clap their hands. They said nothing, but their smiles and their eyes bespoke volumes. I was happy. We picked up our war gear and headed across the inner ward. I knew that, no matter how crowded the warrior hall was, we would be better off than sleeping in a field.\n\nWe had almost reached the hall when a page found me. I did not know him, but I recognised his livery. It was that of Sir John who had once been Lord Edward's squire. The page looked nervously at me. He could have been no more than twelve years old, and I suspected he had barely begun his training. He grinned sheepishly at me as though waiting for an answer to an unspoken question.\n\n\"Yes, young master?\"\n\n\"My lord, Sir John, says that you are invited to the great hall, for Lord Edward wishes you to dine with him.\"\n\nInwardly I cursed. A night with my men eating plain food and drinking honest ale appealed; I did not relish a high table with pretentious food and wine I did not enjoy. However, I was Lord Edward's archer and I would obey. \"Tell him I will be along shortly.\"\n\n\"Sir John said I was to wait for you, Captain.\"\n\nI shook my head and handed him my bag of spare clothes. \"Then make yourself useful and carry that to my bed. Come, boys, we will take my war gear to the hall, and then I will endure a night the like of which you can only imagine.\"\n\nPeter said, \"That good?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham laughed. \"No, young Peter, that bad!\"\n\nWhen I reached the hall, it was clear that half of the knights and barons were already drunk. I saw Clifford and de Leybourne, who were surrounded by young knights and, from their arm movements, I took it that they were describing their part in the rescue. I recognised many of the lords. There were some power men there: de Warenne, de Valence and others, but closest to Lord Edward were de Clare, Mortimer and Henry Almain.\n\nSir John saw me first and headed over to me. He clasped my arm. We had fought together. Between us, there was no rank, although I called him, 'my lord'. He had been a squire, and me, just an archer. Such things are important to warriors.\n\n\"Gerald, it is not only good to see you, it is an honour. When the rest of us did nothing you, alone, sought to rescue Lord Edward.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Baron Mortimer and his wife were the ones who devised the rescue. I was the instrument, but I am right glad that I did so. And how have you been, my lord?\"\n\n\"Cooling my heels, as I sought a way to fight de Montfort. I am certain his lordship knows that you were right about the wood, the dead ground and the archers at Lewes. I too felt bad that I had not argued your cause more strongly.\"\n\nI nodded. \"But the king, his father, would still do things the same way.\"\n\n\"He would, but\u2026\" he brightened, \"the king is still de Montfort's prisoner. When we go to war it will be behind Lord Edward's banner.\"\n\n\"Good.\" That was all I said, but inside me, I knew that the reckless charge of Lord Edward had cost us the battle. Had he learned in the year since Lewes?\n\n\"Come, let us sit. Lord Edward has asked for you to be close to him. He has much to say while we eat.\"\n\nWe went to the long table, which housed the greatest nobles who followed Lord Edward's banner. Sir John and I were the lowest ranked by a considerable margin. I was so out of my depth I was sure that I would not be able to eat a morsel. There was food, wine and ale in huge quantities. I spoke with Sir John and learned of his wife and young son; Sir John had high hopes of a better manor after the war. I heard the same from all of the lords on the long table close to ours; each of them spoke of the war and the rebellion being almost over. I could also hear, from my left, the sound of arrangements and accords being made. Lord Edward was rewarding his allies before the battle began. He knew that de Clare was a key piece in this real-life chessboard. I saw his head close to Baron Mortimer. When they spoke of me, I knew, for both looked at me. Having had little sleep for the last few days, I was desperate for my bed, but I knew I had to wait until either I was dismissed, or Lord Edward retired.\n\nI do not know if Lord Edward could read my face or he was ready to speak but, in any event, he soon rose from his seat. I saw men looking at him and wondering who he would honour with a private word. He came directly for me.\n\nHe leaned close to me and spoke so that only Sir John could hear his words. \"I owe you more than I can say. Know this, Gerald War Bow, when I am king, and king I shall be, you will be elevated. Before that time, however, we have a great battle to fight, a battle you have already shown you know how to win. I know this formality is not for you and so, when I have spoken, you may rejoin my archers. Tomorrow, we start to reclaim England.\"\n\nHis fingers bit into my shoulder, for he was slightly drunk, and then he stood. \"My lords, we have amongst us someone who is from common stock but know this \u2013 stand, please, Gerald.\" I stood. \"Gerald War Bow is a warrior and a great warrior. I can give him no higher praise. Along with my good friend, Roger Mortimer, they have taken me from a dark place and brought me into the light!\" He spread his arms and the hall erupted, as drunken lords banged the table. I stood and bowed. I walked out with a red face. Many lords would say it was wine, which was too strong for a commoner, but I was simply embarrassed!\n\nThe next morning more lords arrived, and my archers and I practised. We used the green, for both the wards were filled. It was there I saw Captain William and Ralph Dickson as they rode towards the castle. They stopped close to us and dismounted. Both looked much older than the last time I had seen them, a year ago, before the battle of Lewes. I grasped Captain William's arm. He beamed. \"Good to see you, Gerald! I see you have prospered.\"\n\nShaking my head, I said, \"We have survived, but now that Lord Edward is freed then we can prosper once more. Where are the rest of your men?\"\n\nHis face fell and his smile disappeared. \"This is all that I have left: Sergeant Ralph and myself. It may be that Lord Edward will not need us.\"\n\n\"He has learned from Lewes, Captain William, and he knows he will need you. There are many men at arms heading here in prospect of battle. You will find more.\"\n\nHe nodded and took his reins. \"We will go and see Lord Edward. We will talk later, for I can tell that your tale is a better one than mine.\" He and Ralph walked their horses towards the castle keep.\n\n\"Is that a knight, Captain?\"\n\n\"No, Peter, he is a man at arms, and he leads men who serve Lord Edward.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"And there is a lesson for you, Peter. We all fought in the same battle, and Captain William led many men at the battle, but just two survived. Our captain may be young, but he has a mind for war.\"\n\nThat evening, when we ate in the warrior hall, we learned that most of Captain William's men had been slaughtered. The knights had been taken for ransom, but men at arms had no value save the mail they wore and the weapons they bore. Sir John had been the saviour of Captain William and Ralph. He had managed to escape with them.\n\n\"We have had a home this last year with Sir John. We offered to serve him, but Sir John is loyal and he said we were Lord Edward's men. He was convinced that all would be right.\"\n\nSir John had been a good squire and now he was a good knight.\n\nRalph grinned. \"And, we have heard, Captain, that it was you and your band of cutthroats who effected the escape! That was well done!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham and Ralph got on well with each other, and John was game for the banter. \"For an archer it was not difficult, but for a man such as you lumbering around in mail, it would have been impossible.\"\n\nThere then followed a debate between Ralph and John on the merits of their arms. Captain William and I left and went to the inner ward. \"You were right, Gerald, Lord Edward does want us to form another company for him. It will take time.\"\n\n\"And time is the one thing we do not have, William. I have spoken with Baron Mortimer.\" Captain William raised an eyebrow and I shrugged. \"I have done him no small service and he seems to like me. He told me that the Earl of Leicester has sent emissaries to meet with King Llewelyn. That does not bode well. I think that de Montfort would give the Welsh back their marches just to have England his personal fiefdom.\"\n\nThe captain nodded. \"And King Henry?\"\n\n\"Is kept as close to de Montfort as it is possible. The Earl of Leicester has lost one Plantagenet, and he would keep the other close. The king's brother, Richard, is heavily guarded in Kenilworth too. So, you begin your search for men on the morrow?\"\n\n\"Aye, I have gold from Lord Edward. I shall be choosy, for it is better to have fewer men that you can rely on than men like Tilbury who simply cause trouble.\"\n\nTilbury had been one of his men at arms. It had taken a mighty blow from Jack of Lincoln's fist to make him heed orders.\n\nI was summoned not long after dawn. Lord Edward had returned from his incarceration a different man. He was like a pup that has suddenly changed to become a guard dog with a purpose. Once he had been under the sway of de Montfort, and now he would use his knowledge to bring down his former mentor. Lord Edward was with de Clare and Mortimer. I was not greeted as a hired bow but, almost, as a friend.\n\n\"Your men are ready and eager, Captain?\"\n\n\"Aye, Lord Edward. Our horses are recovered, we have arrows and we are keen to serve you once more.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Sir Roger has told me of your exploits. It is good that you have remained loyal to me.\"\n\nI was no fool. If I had become Baron Mortimer's man then Lord Edward, for all his smiles, would never have forgiven me. I gave a slight bow and Lord Edward continued. \"I need to know where de Montfort is gathering his army. Ride south as far as Gloucester.\"\n\nI looked at de Clare, who shook his head. \"I fear de Montfort has taken my home.\"\n\nLord Edward put his arm around the shoulders of his former adversary. \"Never fear, we shall take it back. Captain, I need to know how many men are in Gloucester. I want to know if we can take it and I trust your judgement. I will bring the army behind you. Hereford will fall too, and with Ludlow and Hereford as bastions here we can cut off de Montfort's tentacles one by one. I have called for my loyal barons to meet me at Worcester.\" I nodded. \"But I need the main crossing of the Severn in my hands!\"\n\nDe Clare added a word of caution. \"My lord, young de Montfort, de Ferrers and all of de Montfort's allies lie to the east. If he can combine with those men, then we shall be outnumbered.\"\n\nThis was a new Lord Edward I saw before me. His recklessness was gone, and he appeared to be in control both of himself and his emotions. \"Fear not, Gloucester, I have a plan, but first I need my archer to tell me how to take back your home!\"\n\nWe had no time to lose, for Gloucester was almost fifty miles away. As we headed down the road, with our spare horses carrying our arrows and war gear, I thought about the major problem that not only we, but Lord Edward and his army, would face \u2013 the River Severn. It was a mighty river and, for many years, had been a natural border with the Welsh. Consequently, the bridges which crossed it were well guarded. We would have to choose our crossing point wisely.\n\nI headed for Worcester. Lord Edward had already sent Sir John with a conroi of knights to hold the town. I daresay that had Captain Williams had his company, then they would have been with Lord Edward's former squire. We reached Worcester in the late afternoon. We could have hurried on, but I wished to see what I could learn from Sir John.\n\n\"Well Captain, it seems that the earl's son, Simon, is gathering an army in the Midlands and London.\"\n\n\"Then it seems our task is vital, for if Gloucester is fortified by the rebels then Lord Edward could be trapped here in Worcester.\"\n\nSir John smiled. \"This is a different man from the one who left his father and charged after the Londoners. King Henry does not rule any longer. He may sit on the horse, but it is Lord Edward who holds the reins. He has lost his kingdom once and he will not do so a second time. He was a reckless youth, I fear, but now he will be a ruthless man!\" He and I could speak openly, for we were both Lord Edward's men.\n\nWe camped outside Gloucester. There was irony in the fact that this was where King Henry had been crowned as a boy king. With sentries set around the camp, which was just a mile from the town's gates, I spoke to the rest of my men. \"David the Welshman and I will change into ordinary clothes and enter the town. I intend to spend tomorrow walking the streets. Tomorrow evening we will return, and I will want two men to return to Worcester with the news we find.\"\n\n\"That is risky, Captain, you are known, and since the rescue, the bounty on your head will be even greater. Let me go.\"\n\n\"No, John, you could do the job, I know that, but I would recognise more of the lords than you. If I know who commands then that will help Lord Edward.\"\n\nWe slipped out at dawn and waited outside the town gates. My men insisted upon waiting where they could see the town gates and yet remain hidden. There were others there, for the town was secured each night. This would be our best chance to get inside the town. Our story was that we were swords for hire: we had taken a couple of shields from Worcester, plain, faded, red ones that looked to be the sort a down-at-heel soldier might carry. My sword was a good one and would tell any questioner that I was a warrior.\n\nIn the event, we were not questioned. The gates opened and the mob outside flooded in. This was not a town under siege. In fact, I saw few soldiers except for the ones on the walls. The castle was garrisoned but I did not recognise the livery.\n\nDavid and I walked the town. We found that the bridge was well guarded; that was to be expected. We found a tavern close to the castle where we had ale and pie. We did not question, but we listened. Soldiers from the castle came here to drink and they were free with their tongues. David and I huddled in a corner, our heads down, and learned much. The reason for the paltry garrison was simple: Simon de Montfort was heading for Wales. He was at Newport and preparing to meet with the Welsh king. The men of the castle believed he was going to defeat the Marcher Lords before turning his attention to Edward, whom he assumed was in Ludlow. There appeared to be a great deal of confidence and belief that de Montfort would be able to defeat the reckless Edward. They spoke disparagingly of the reckless prince who had thrown away the battle of Lewes. I knew better. I also learned that the garrison was fewer than sixty men. Some of it was deduction, but they said enough for me to be fairly certain of my estimate. Having learned all that there was to be learned, we left the tavern.\n\nWe were followed by armed men. I had no idea of numbers, but I knew that we were being trailed. Both David and I knew how to track animals. You listened for subtle sounds. I had heard the sound of metal. Ordinary folks had little metal about them \u2013 metal meant soldiers. As we had been close to the castle, I had to assume that we had been observed and someone had been suspicious.\n\nDavid looked up at me and I nodded. He, too, had heard the noise. I lengthened my stride. It would not appear to those following that we were alerted, but we would reach the gate quicker. I saw that the two sentries who had admitted us now lounged on either side of the portal. The busy part of the day was over, and now it would be quiet until those using the market left. It was tempting to run, but the two sentries would simply cross their spears and halt us.\n\nWe were ten paces from them when there was a shout from behind. \"Stop these two men from leaving! I think they are spies!\"\n\nThe two sentries did as I had feared and crossed their spears. They would slow us enough to allow those in pursuit to catch us. I took another three paces towards the sentries when a commanding voice from behind shouted, \"You two, halt, or I will have you cut down like a dog! There is a crossbow aimed at your back!\"\n\nI turned, but took another step back as I did so. I also put one hand behind my back to rest on my belt. I could reach the dagger there in a heartbeat.\n\nI saw that there were four men wearing livery. One was six paces away and had a crossbow; it was aimed at my chest. It would be a quick death.\n\n\"What do you want with us? We have done nothing wrong, save have an ale!\"\n\nThe leader was a sergeant at arms. He wore mail beneath his tunic and had his hand upon his sword hilt. I noticed such things, for when I fought, I had to know the weaknesses of my enemy. They were relying on the two sentries and the crossbow to hold the two of us. The other two had leather jerkins and both looked young.\n\n\"I want you to come with me to the Sherriff. You were in the tavern.\"\n\nI laughed and shook my head. \"When did it become an offence to drink ale? Would you lock up every man in England?\" Behind me, I heard one of the sentries laugh. It was a sign that he was relaxing a little and saw no threat.\n\nThe sergeant at arms, however, was no fool. He drew his sword. \"Aye, friend, men may drink ale, but they do not leave ale in their beakers when they leave, and they generally talk while they drink. They do not sit in a corner and listen to the words of the garrison. If you are innocent then you will be released, and if not,\" he leered, \"then you will be mine!\" His leer told me it would be a painful death.\n\nI had to think quickly and rely on the quick wits of David the Welshman. The danger was the crossbowman, and then the sergeant. The crossbowman was now five paces away from me and had allowed enough space for the crossbow to have a direct line to my chest. I used the distraction of my right hand to draw my dagger. The sentries would see the movement and shout, therefore I had to be quick. I waved my hand to the right and began to speak: \"I had\u2026\"\n\nI saw the crossbowman's eyes flicker to his left. It was natural. In one movement I drew and threw my dagger at him. I was lucky; the dagger struck him in the cheek. It made him drop his crossbow and the bolt fell to the ground. The string released. Even as I drew my sword, David the Welshman had drawn his and rammed it into the sergeant's thigh as he swung at me.\n\n\"Run!\"\n\nThe two sentries turned their spears to face us. We had the advantage, for we knew what we would do, while the sentries looked from one to the other. As a spear came towards my chest, I grabbed the shaft below the head and then slashed at the man's leg. His leather jerkin afforded too much protection for me to disable his body. David held his dagger in his left hand, which allowed him to deflect the spear and then step inside the sentry's guard. He hacked across the man's wrist. The half-severed limb bled heavily. He would not be able to hold a weapon.\n\nWe hurtled through the gate. Behind us, I heard cries as the guard was called out. There were men in the towers and in the castle, but they would take time to reach us. We ran for the woods. Suddenly two arrows flew into the air. I heard a cry and, turning, saw that one of the men who had chased us lay dead; his body had two arrows sticking from it. The others had halted. Ahead of me, I saw John of Nottingham and my men. I daresay that we might have been able to deal with the two men following without them, but this was easier.\n\nJohn said, as we passed, \"Jack and I will hold them while you fetch the horses for us, Captain!\"\n\nWe had half a mile to run. I hoped that would be enough time for our men back at camp to have readied the horses. I whistled and, as I neared our camp I shouted, \"Peter, horses!\"\n\nThe horses were already saddled, and he led Eleanor and Bess towards us. I threw myself onto Eleanor's back and grabbed the reins of Bess. Tom and I turned and galloped back. Tom still had his bow in his hand, mine was in my case. I saw that John and Jack had been compelled to move deeper into the wood, since the garrison had crossbows on the town wall. There were two other men being dragged back inside the walls of Gloucester. We did not like to use our bows from the backs of horses but if we had to, we could. As Jack ran back to his horse, John sent an arrow towards the walls, while Tom used his bow to send a flight at the gate. It allowed John to throw himself into his saddle, and turning, we galloped.\n\nThere would be horses in the castle, and it would not take them long to follow. I shouted, \"Take the Worcester road; we have learned all that there is to learn!\"\n\nOnly David and I did not have a strung bow. If we had to turn to discourage our pursuers, they would be our best weapon. For that, however, we needed open ground. The wood did not suit us. The wood was not a large one, less than a mile in total length. We burst from the wood and galloped across the bridge over the small brook. There were open fields for the next mile or so, and then we would hit the hamlet of Twigworth. We had only recently travelled this road, and its features were clearly etched in my mind.\n\nI glanced behind and saw half a dozen horsemen just emerging from the woods. When I heard them on the bridge, I looked behind and saw another eight following. I shouted, \"Prepare to stop, turn and send a couple of flights at them. Try to hit their horses!\"\n\nThere was a chorus of, \"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nI saw the hamlet ahead and shouted, \"Now!\" I wheeled Eleanor around and made as though I was going to charge them. I drew my sword and raised it. They slowed. It was not by much, but it was understandable. They wanted their fellows to join them and form a solid line. Nine arrows soared and then another nine. One man fell from his saddle and another clutched his arm. Three horses were struck, and two of them headed off into the nearby fields. As the last arrow fell, another man was hit in the leg.\n\n\"Ride!\"\n\nMy men had not been as accurate as usual, for they were on their horses, but the eighteen arrows had generated a good return. We had slowed down our pursuit and made them wary. Each bend and rise in the road made them slow, and we increased our lead. Even as we galloped through Twigworth I began to plan how we would replace our horses. By the time we reached Norton, they had lost interest in us, and we reined in so that my men could unstring their bows and put them back in their cases. As they did so, I told them what we had learned.\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"I was right though, Captain. Any of us could have done what you did. Why take the risk? Lord Edward thinks highly of you; do you think that we would still be employed if you were gone?\"\n\n\"I am still captain, John of Nottingham, and my father taught me that a captain leads, and that means being at the front. All is well and I am whole!\"\n\nWe were weary when we rode into Worcester. Lord Edward and de Clare were there. As we were stabling our horses, Sir John's page, Richard, found me. \"Captain, my lord asks you to come to the hall.\" He did not say great hall, for Worcester was still a timber castle. \"He is there with Lord Edward and the Earl of Gloucester.\"\n\n\"Is Baron Mortimer with them?\"\n\n\"No, Captain, he is gathering his men to join us here. Lord Edward thinks the cost of taking Hereford is unnecessary. Gloucester is more important.\"\n\nIt was a tiny hall, and I knew that this would just be a jumping-off point for an attack. The two men were poring over a map as I entered. Sir John waited behind them. They were eager for our information. This was one of those times a commoner was more valuable than a noble, for we could go where they could not. We could spy and gather information.\n\n\"Well, Gerald?\"\n\n\"The Earl of Leicester is in Wales, my lord. I believe he is west of Newport. He appears to be talking to the Welsh! There is a garrison of less than a hundred in Gloucester.\"\n\nHad I told him that I had rescued his father I could not have had a better reaction. \"By God, we have him! John, I want every bridge over the Severn destroyed! Every boat must be either pulled to the eastern bank or demolished. We have him trapped, and his army is still in the east!\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord.\"\n\nI was ignored as the two men talked. \"We retake my home, Lord Edward, and have men on the western bank to guard the bridge. All we need now is the armies of de Warenne and de Valence to join us and we can defeat him.\"\n\nLord Edward shook his head. \"I want this victory to be a complete one. I do not want to leave any heads on this hydra. Where is the young Simon de Montfort, eh? We have time, for with every bridge destroyed we force his son to try to help his father. We take Gloucester and the bridge first.\"\n\nDe Clare nodded. \"You have a better idea of strategy than I do, lord.\"\n\nLord Edward turned his stare to me. \"You have done well, Gerald, as always. When we have taken Gloucester, I have a task for you and your men.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord?\"\n\n\"Find the Earl of Leicester's son, young Simon de Montfort.\"\n\n\"But he could be anywhere to the east of us!\"\n\n\"I did not say it would be easy, but know that he will have a large army, perhaps as many as 300 knights, and they will be heading west.\"\n\nDe Clare nodded eagerly. \"And I know where he was the last time I was with the enemy. He was besieging Pevensey Castle.\"\n\n\"Then it is decided. We take Gloucester first, and when I know that de Montfort is trapped, you find his son for me.\" He smiled. \"Now, get some rest, for you will be leading the vanguard tomorrow. Captain William now has a company, and you two will be with Sir John and his retinue. It will be my banner which leads my army to Gloucester. I want them to know that this is my time! I have waited long enough and now I will show them my teeth!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Our spare horses now proved to be invaluable, for we would need them if we were to scout out the road to Gloucester. I met with Sir John and Captain William after I had eaten. I told them all that there was to know. It was Sir John who offered a word of caution. \"I know that Lord Edward is confident, but they may reinforce Gloucester. I know I would.\"\n\n\"I saw no sign of knights in the castle, Sir John, and the men wore the livery of the Sherriff.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Gerald, I am now a banneret, and that means I lead twenty of my own men. All it takes is for de Montfort to send ten bannerets, and the garrison you saw could grow from eighty or so to over 250. That would be a hard number to assault, especially as we cannot attack the riverside. Let us hope that they are not reinforced.\"\n\nSir John proved to be prophetic. It was when we were just north of Tewkesbury, where the Avon and the Severn run close together, that my men and I caught up with the baggage of a column of men. We knew they were not allies, for they had the familiar white crosses on their armbands. It was Tom who found them, and he rode back to tell Captain William, Sir John and myself.\n\nSir John had also grown and was a more confident knight. \"Captain Gerald, try to get ahead of them and slow them down. Captain William, let us chase them down!\"\n\nThat was easier said than done, for the River Avon was next to the road; however, I remembered that there was a large loop in the River Severn. The adjacent land was not built upon, for it flooded. The column would be slowed as they rode through Tewkesbury, and we had a chance to get ahead across the flood plain.\n\n\"Peter, stay close to the baggage with the spare horses and war gear. The rest of you, ride!\"\n\nWe left the road and headed for the river trail. It was wide enough for just one horse, and it was perilously close to the Avon. When, however, we reached the larger Severn, the river took a loop, and we saw open ground before us. This was June. I would not have risked as much in winter, for it would have been a boggy and muddy morass. It was firm riding, and we headed for the end of the Severn loop. The Gloucester road took a turn to the south-east after Tewkesbury, and our only chance to hold them was at the point where the road turned. We were too late. The vanguard was already heading south and I counted ten banners. There were still men heading down the road, and so I halted us 150 paces from the road. We had no horse holders, and we just dropped our reins and took out our bows.\n\nThe time it took to string our bows almost proved costly. Horns sounded, and some sergeants at arms and crossbowmen detached themselves from the middle and came charging across the flat ground towards us. We were only saved by the fact that crossbows took longer to load than a bow.\n\n\"Release when you have a target!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham was the first ready, and his arrow struck a crossbowman in the head. They were the more dangerous target. The twenty sergeants rode poor sumpters, and they would be waiting until the crossbows had thinned us out before attempting to charge archers. I heard the sound of battle from our left as Sir John and Captain William attacked the baggage train. We might not be able to stop the enemy getting to Gloucester, but we would stop some of them from doing so, and we would make sure that they had no supplies with them. I knew that my pursuit of Simon de Montfort's son would be delayed. There would be a siege and we would be involved.\n\nI sent an arrow with a needle bodkin towards the sergeant who led the charge, and he tumbled over the back of his horse. I was fast and had a second bodkin nocked and ready in the blink of an eye.\n\nI aimed at the next rider, as I could leave my men to deal with the crossbows. I hoped to discourage the sergeants. The second rider held his shield before him, and so I aimed at his right side and saw my arrow pierce his leg. It was a waste of a bodkin; I could have used a war arrow. I chose a war arrow next and aimed at the horse of the nearest rider. The arrow struck it in the shoulder. A warhorse would have carried on, but the sumpter wheeled and barrelled into the next rider, unhorsing him. That proved too much for the sergeants. The survivors turned and rode after their lords who were now racing for Gloucester.\n\nOur own horses had wandered over to the river to drink, all save Eleanor who stood patiently close by.\n\n\"Robin, David, fetch the horses. The rest of you search the dead and destroy the crossbows.\"\n\nWe had slain eight men, and we used the broken crossbows to make a pyre. By the time Captain William found us, the battle of the baggage train was over and the column had disappeared.\n\n\"We have hurt them, Gerald. We killed all fifteen of their rear-guard and took their baggage and horses. There are twenty-three accounted for, and you will have wounded some. The crossbows you burned cannot be used against us.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Aye, lord, but it is not a victory, and now we have a siege to prosecute.\"\n\n\"The fortunes of war.\"\n\nWe pushed on hard and, as we reached the town, we saw that the gates were still open and people were flooding into the town. Sir John was decisive. \"Let us charge them and take the town! We can seize the castle before the garrison is reinforced with townspeople.\"\n\nSir John and his squire both had good horses, as did I, and we soon began to outstrip our men. I drew my sword. There was a press of men at the gate. As we approached, some fled towards us, but the majority tried to get inside the gates, and the men trying to close them had no chance. Once we were at the gates, our three snorting, biting horses helped to clear the way, the press of men diminishing as people moved away from us. I thought they might succeed in closing the gates, until Sir John made his horse rear and its hooves smashed into the gates, forcing them open. I dug my heels into Eleanor and swept down with my sword. The gatekeeper held up his spear but my blade sliced it in two and then ripped open his head. Sir John and his squire chased away the other guards, and so we had the gate.\n\nAs our men poured through, we galloped towards the castle. This time, they made no mistake, and the bridge was raised before we reached it. The ten knights who surrendered to us would not join the garrison. Sir John sent Captain William to secure the bridge over the Severn: with that in our hands and the rest of the Severn bridges destroyed, then Simon de Montfort was trapped.\n\nWe waited for Lord Edward and the Earl of Gloucester to arrive. They reached us at dusk. We had made no attempt to speak with the garrison as that was a task for Lord Edward. We had managed to secure the town, and that had surprised even me. When Lord Edward saw the two of us at the gate he leapt from his horse. \"And the castle?\"\n\n\"Sorry, my lord, they secured the gate and, worse, there are now ten bannerets and their retinue within the walls.\"\n\nThe hint of a frown passed over his face and then he smiled. \"The bridge is in our hands?\" We both nodded. \"Then this is better than we might have either hoped or expected. I will go and talk terms with them. They will refuse, of course, but there is an order to these matters.\"\n\nWe accompanied him. We had placed my archers and Sir John's men at strategic places in the town, but seeing the Earl of Gloucester striding along with us encouraged the populace to cheer us. He was, after all, their lawful liege. De Montfort had returned his title and lands to him, Lord Edward had confirmed it.\n\nAt the gate, Lord Edward took off his helmet and his gauntlets. \"I am Prince Edward, son of King Henry of England, who holds the castle against your lawful liege?\" There was a delay as someone was brought. Eventually, a face appeared on the gatehouse.\n\n\"I, Matheus Werill, High Sherriff of Gloucester, command the castle.\"\n\n\"Then open the gates and admit your lawful lord, Gilbert de Clare, and the Earl of Chester and heir to the crown!\"\n\n\"I fear I cannot, my lord, for the castle has been taken over by knights who are loyal to the Earl of Leicester, and they will not surrender.\"\n\nThat puzzled all of us. Why were they not speaking to us? The Earl of Gloucester was famed for his red hair and his fiery temper and he spoke again, much to the irritation of Lord Edward.\n\n\"Are they cowards, that they will not face us?\"\n\n\"I am sorry, my lord, but they seem to think that relief will be coming their way.\"\n\n\"Each day that I am kept waiting for the surrender will increase my anger. Think on that.\"\n\nHe turned to Sir John. \"Have men cross the bridge and secure the other side.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\nSurprisingly, Lord Edward did not evict burghers for their houses. Instead, we camped outside the town walls. I wondered what was behind that. The next morning, he held a council of war with his lords. As his two captains, William and myself were also invited. I could not get over the change a year had wrought in Lord Edward. He had come of age.\n\n\"My lords, gentlemen, by my reckoning, there are fewer than 200 knights and men at arms in the castle. They have not had time to lay in great quantities of food and fodder. We cannot build war machines as they would take time to build, and time is our enemy. Thanks to Sir John every bridge and boat on the Severn is destroyed. However, that still leaves the sea. The earl and I will cross the bridge to Chepstow, for I would have ships watch for Montfort. It may well be that he tries to cross by sea and join up with his son who, the last we heard, was in Pevensey. Until then, we prepare for battle. Keep a good watch on the castle and send word to me in Chepstow if and when they eventually surrender. When Sir Roger arrives, he is to command the siege. Until he arrives, it is your responsibility, Sir John.\"\n\nWe left the next morning for Chepstow. We had half of the army with us, and it was the more powerful half, for we had most of the knights and were all mounted. I knew that it was across the river from Newport, and I confess that I had feared that de Montfort would come by water. I still did not know how we would deal with such a threat.\n\nWe rode with Captain William's men and mine. We also had ten of de Clare's young knights and forty men at arms as well as Lord Edward's young knights. It did not seem enough, to me, to protect Lord Edward from harm. Two days later we reached Chepstow, which was still loyal to the king. I did not know that de Clare had kept men on the north side of the estuary. I had to admire the move because we had, effectively, cut de Montfort off from not only the Severn but also the River Usk. He would be trapped in Wales, and his only escape would be across the channel between Wales and England.\n\nIt was as we prepared that we had word from the siege. Baron Mortimer himself brought us news: Gloucester castle had succumbed. The garrison had departed the city swearing not to fight for forty days. I suspect that, had Lord Edward been there, the agreement would have been more draconian. This worked out well, for the knights who swore the oath were young knights with great skill in battle and were a grievous loss to the Montfortian cause.\n\nDe Clare had spies in Wales, and one managed to return to Chepstow to report that Simon de Montfort, at Pipton, had given away five royal castles to Llewelyn to form an alliance with the Welsh. That they were not his to give was irrelevant. It was a disaster, and Lord Edward looked as angry as I had ever seen him. With the west secure, for the Welsh would raid the Marcher lords, Simon de Montfort turned east. The rumour was that he was heading for Newport and, perhaps, England. I know that Lord Edward hoped for a battle, but de Montfort was far too clever for that; he would head for a reunion with his son. Pevensey was on the south coast, and de Montfort could sail to Southampton or Pevensey itself. In one clever move, he would have outwitted Lord Edward. It was then that the Earl of Gloucester showed he had the mind of a general. He came up with the idea of putting men in ships and sailing to stop de Montfort reaching England by sea.\n\nWith hindsight, it seems an easy enough plan \u2013 but it was a risk. Lord Edward once again showed his experience. \"Aye, and we will march to Newport and confront him at the bridge of the Usk. Fill three ships with all of our archers.\" He turned to me. \"Gerald, let us show these Welsh that my archers are their superior! Take my archers aboard one of the ships.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord.\" I was less than enthusiastic.\n\nI had never fought at sea and the prospect frightened me, for I could not swim. Nonetheless, I obeyed. \"We will only need war arrows. Peter, stay ashore and guard the horses.\" I saw the disappointment on his face, but if we were to drown, he would survive. The other archers went to the other two ships Lord Edward had hired, but I kept my company all together. We boarded a ship, which I can only describe as a pirate ship.\n\nCaptain William One Eye looked every inch the pirate from his black patch to his double-handed sword, but he welcomed us aboard. \"Ah, Captain, you are just what we need. I have no archers. Mayhap you can remedy that fault. You shall have an easy time, for my men row!\" His mild manner was at odds with his features. We set sail amongst a fleet of twenty ships, seventeen of which had been commandeered by the men of Bristol, and I was glad that ours was one of the bigger ones.\n\nWe headed downstream towards Newport. We would not be at sea, as the Severn was an estuary, but I still found the motion of the boat unnerving. I had been on ships before, but I had never had to fight from one. I felt, as I was sure my men did, a little lost.\n\nThe well of the ship was filled with the men who would row. They were a relic from the days when Vikings and Saxons rowed their ships to capture merchantmen. This, however, was not a dragonship. I had heard of those, and this was neither long nor narrow. It was almost tubby, with a high prow and stern. In the middle men were three to an oar, while nearer to the bow there was just one man to an oar.\n\nThe captain spoke to me, but all the time he was adjusting the tiller and glancing at the pennant flying from the mast. \"Keep your men here, close to the tiller. Your job is to slay the men in their rigging and the men who steer their ship.\" He tapped his chest; he was wearing a mail hauberk. \"I have my own protection, and I am hard to kill. I hear that you and your men are good, Captain Gerald. I hope so, for my crew and our two consorts are the best.\" He waved a dismissive hand at the rest of the small fleet. \"The rest give us numbers, but it is we who shall win the battle.\"\n\n\"Captain, how do you know we can catch the enemy?\"\n\n\"This is not the land, we are on a river \u2013 a mighty river at that. De Montfort, if he is going to sail, will have to sail on a high tide. This is just such a tide. He has to sail when the winds are favourable, from the north and east. Today is just such a day. We three ships are the only ones which are rowed and not at the mercy of the winds. He might try again tomorrow, but that will depend upon the wind coming from the same direction \u2013 and all sailors know that you cannot predict the wind. You can guess and deduce, but your Earl of Leicester is a creature of the land. We have seen, over the past days, ships gathering in Newport.\" He chuckled. \"We are paid to do this, but we would still have gathered to attack them without the pay. This means that we are doubly paid!\"\n\nJust then, a cry came from the masthead. \"Captain, ships putting out from the river at Newport!\"\n\n\"Now it begins. Prepare your men.\" He used his left hand to cup around his mouth. \"Not long now, lads, and I promise I will lay us alongside the biggest prize there is, and we shall be rich!\" His men cheered.\n\n\"String your bows.\"\n\nI began to string mine, and I saw the snake of mounted men riding down the coast road from Chepstow to Newport. Would de Montfort flee or fight? Either course of action suited Lord Edward.\n\nAs we strung our weapons, Jack said, \"How does a man keep his feet and use a bow on a ship? I fear I will hit nought but the sky or their sail. I am a good archer, Captain, but this will be impossible.\"\n\nI realised that I was the only one who had been at sea. I thought back to the first long voyage from the monastery to France. I heard the advice given to me by Dickon. \"Keep your feet wide apart, and do as you would when hunting a deer that was running through the woods. Anticipate and lead the animal. We will not loose from a long distance. We will wait until we are less than one hundred paces from the ships and use our arrows wisely.\"\n\nI saw my archers try to draw while spreading their legs; I did the same. I was offering advice, yet I had never done this either. Inwardly, I agreed with Jack of Lincoln: this was impossible. But I was the captain of Lord Edward's archers. I had to appear as though I knew what I was doing.\n\nI found that the motion was not as bad as I had expected. So long as I did not move my feet, the sway, the rise and the fall, were all a little more predictable than I had expected. I found that it was possible to keep the bow relatively stable even though my body moved. I compensated with my arms. We were all strong, and our arms were our most powerful weapon.\n\nI selected a good war arrow. The heads would be lost; there would be no chance of recovering either arrows or heads. We needed more, and I would need to find a source when we landed at Chepstow.\n\nThe captain put the tiller over and we began to move towards Newport and the River Usk. I saw now what he meant about his galley and our consorts. With the wind and the oars, we led the other ships which all had sails. The tide and the wind helped. Travelling back upstream would take a longer time.\n\n\"There are twenty ships, Captain, and they are putting out to sea to meet us.\" The lookout's voice drifted down to us.\n\n\"Any standards?\"\n\nThere was a pause as the lookout peered at the approaching fleet. \"Aye, Captain, one which keeps to the rear has a red standard with a beast upon it.\"\n\nI grinned. \"That is Simon de Montfort. He has put to sea.\"\n\n\"Then we make for her. That will be the most valuable prize. Men, arm yourselves. The wind and the tide will take us to our foes,\" said the captain.\n\nThe oars were stacked, and then the men armed themselves with a variety of weapons. I saw that short weapons were favoured, and most of the men had not only a short sword but a hatchet, an axe or a curved gutting dagger. Most wore a leather jerkin and had a leather cap upon their heads. Some wore helmets, but they were few and far between. As I watched the converging ships, I saw the brilliance of the plan conceived by de Clare. The approach of the army down the coast road would be disguised by the fleet of ships, for their attention would be on the nautical threat. When de Montfort was far enough into the channel, he would see Lord Edward and his army. What would he do? He could return to shore or try to battle his way through our ships, and the three galleys which led our fleet were like knights on warhorses. We were the most powerful vessels in this battle. If we survived the initial contact, then we would win. Of course, the opposite was equally true. If we lost then my company and I would die, and we would enjoy a watery grave.\n\nCaptain William One Eye was clever. Had we gone into action with oars run out, then we risked having men injured when the oars sheared. His crew cowered beneath the gunwale, and if we collided, they would not be the ones struck by savage splinters. The captain said, \"When you are ready, archers; the enemy ships also have archers.\"\n\nI nodded. The nearest ship was approaching our larboard side and I turned to it. \"Archers, I will try a ranging arrow.\" If anyone was going to look foolish then it ought to be me. I was aware that I had the wind behind while the enemy archers would be loosing with the wind against. We were travelling faster than they were. I had told my men to loose at one hundred paces, and we were 200 paces from the leading ship. I would waste an arrow.\n\nI pulled back as far as I could and aimed the arrow in the air. I was aware that all eyes, save the captain's, were on me. I aimed at the centre of the ship and released.\n\nI watched it soar. Normally, I would have nocked a second and not watched my flight. This time, I followed it as it rose. It seemed to hang in the air \u2013 that was the effect of the wind \u2013 and then it plummeted. I saw an archer on the ship drawing back on his bow. I had not aimed at him, but the wind, the speed of their ship and a little luck ensured that he was the first to die in the battle of the channel. The arrow pierced his skull. He and his bow stood on the gunwale briefly and then tumbled into the water. Our crew cheered and the battle began. The enemy archers took cover.\n\nJohn of Nottingham laughed as he said, \"Can we loose now, Captain?\"\n\nI nodded as I selected another arrow. \"Aye. The wind, it seems, favours us.\"\n\nWe began to drop arrows into the well of the ship. We could not see the effect, but the converging course meant all of our arrows hit something. The other two galleys were having the same effect, and the first three ships of de Montfort's fleet were all under attack. The captain of our ship pushed home his advantage and he closed with the leading ship; it was bigger than ours with a forecastle and an aft castle but, in the centre, our gunwales would be the same height. My men cleared the forecastle of archers, for arrows were no longer returned, and men with shields appeared. We switched to the aft castle as the lookout shouted, \"Captain, the last four ships are putting back to Newport! The red standard falls back!\"\n\nI heard Captain William One Eye curse, \"Then the richest treasure is gone. Let us take this one first, eh, lads?\"\n\nWe could now see the effect of our arrows as our ship rose and fell. We had hit many men. I saw our hulls approaching each other rapidly and I shouted to my men, \"Brace!\"\n\nI grabbed a rope \u2013 the sailors called them sheets. It was fortunate that I did, for there was a crash and the sound of wood splintering; tiny shards flew into the air. Lewis Left Alone tumbled to the deck.\n\nThe captain shouted, \"To the steerboard side, Captain Gerald, there is another vessel there.\"\n\nWe could no longer send our arrows into the Montfortian ship as his crew were swarming aboard ours, and we heard the sound of slaughter. It was the hack of savage weapons and the scream of men who were dying. There was a second vessel, which had escaped the attention of the galleys. She was attempting to turn, to head back to Newport. The rest of our fleet laboured towards her.\n\nI nocked an arrow and loosed it. As the rest of my company joined me, we sent arrow after arrow towards the ship, which seemed to take an eternity to turn. As the ship was manoeuvring, its tiller came closest to us. We cleared the quarterdeck and she lost way. One of our ships struck her and the crew quickly surrendered.\n\nThe ship our own crew had attacked also surrendered. Our captain had clearly done this before. He left a small crew on board and then set off after the fleeing fleet. It would be a race to catch them before they made the safety of the Usk and Newport.\n\nMy men and I now had our eyes in, and we managed to capture one more ship by the accuracy of our arrows, which incapacitated the men steering the enemy ships. I saw now that ships had a vulnerable and fatal weakness. If the steersman was killed then, no matter how many men there were on board, the ship was lost.\n\nWe stopped just 400 paces from the shore. To go closer would be to risk attack by archers and crossbows, which sheltered behind walls and shields. We were close enough to the shore to see Lord Edward, the Earl of Gloucester and the rest of our army approaching the bridge over the Usk.\n\nCaptain William One Eye nodded and smiled at us. \"I thank you and your archers, Captain Gerald. We are all rich men this day, for we have captured two ships and all that they contain. I am an honest man, and this day, you were part of my crew. I take half and the crew shares the other half. I promise you, Gerald War Bow, that you will receive a just share, and should you ever tire of fighting for Lord Edward, there will be a berth for you on my vessel \u2013 for I have never seen bows used so well. You put the Welsh to shame!\"\n\n\"I thank you, Captain.\"\n\nThe lookout's voice drifted down again. \"Captain, they are signalling from the shore. They wish to speak with you.\"\n\n\"Oars!\"\n\nWe headed in to the beach where I saw the Earl of Gloucester and his squire. They had waded their mounts into the shallows to speak with us. \"Well done, Captain! What news of de Montfort? Is he taken?\"\n\nThe captain shook his head. \"His ship put back into the river.\"\n\n\"Is it possible to land our archers?\"\n\nThe captain turned to me. \"It will be waist-deep water, can you manage that? For I dare not go closer and risk grounding. The tide is on the turn.\"\n\n\"We can manage that, eh lads?\"\n\nJack of Lincoln was already placing his bow in his bow case. \"No offence, Captain One Eye, but I would like solid land under my feet the next time I loose an arrow.\"\n\nI unstrung my bow and put it in my case as the captain used his oars to edge us as close to the shore as we could manage. I wrapped my cloak around my neck to keep it dry. I also took off my boots. It was a wise decision \u2013 Robin of Barnsley did not. I landed in the sea and the shock of cold water almost paralyzed me, but the water came over the top of Robin's boots and that, allied to the shock, knocked him from his feet. John of Nottingham and I were close enough to grab and steady him. Tom grabbed his bow case, which was floating away. We struggled ashore and then watched the archers from the other two galleys have the same difficulties we did. More of them were doused. I dried my feet on my cloak and, while the others sorted out their wet gear, I walked across the sand to the road, where Lord Edward awaited us.\n\nHe smiled. \"We have no time to waste, for I wish to get to the bridge as soon as we can. It may be that we can end this rebellion here and now. Follow us when you can. I know you are on foot, but we will try to get some horses for you.\"\n\n\"Aye, my lord. It will take some time to dry off. We will follow when we can.\"\n\nThe army moved off, and the three galleys headed back to Chepstow with the six captured ships, now crewed by our men. The other companies of archers each had their own captain and at least one was older than I was, but I served Lord Edward and so they deferred to me.\n\n\"We have a three-mile walk to the Usk. Let us step out smartly. If any horses are spied let me know, for I would rather ride than walk. Tom, take the fore!\"\n\nWe were in enemy territory and so we strung our bows. The baggage train had already passed us, and we had a road that was empty except for the piles of dung left by the animals. That hampered our progress. The road had been built, I guessed, by Henry the First, to connect the castles of Chepstow and Newport. Consequently, it headed directly north and west.\n\nWe soon left the lowlying ground, which went from beach to swamp to bog. There were patches of high ground to our right, and hedges and small copses. None of us were used to marching and our progress was slow. The rest of the army was mounted. Sometimes, fate intervenes, and that suggests an order from some higher being. The Earl of Gloucester's men were struggling and so I, reluctantly, ordered a halt. Tom was out of sight, having just crested a rise, and so I hurried after him. I saw him as I reached the high ground; he was sheltering behind a dry-stone wall.\n\nHe heard me and did not turn. \"Get down, Captain! Horsemen!\"\n\nI dropped next to him and he turned. \"Sorry, Captain, but there are thirty horsemen ahead and I think they are the enemy, for they trail the baggage train.\"\n\nI raised my head above the wall and saw, on the slope to the right, the thirty horsemen. They had tried to hide behind trees, but the sharp eyes of my archers spied them. The high point we were on allowed us to see the baggage train, and it was less than half a mile away. The last few miles had seen us catch up with it. I shaded my eyes and looked at the shields. I recognised the livery; quartered red and white with a black diagonal \u2013 they belonged to Hugh le Despencer, who had been King Henry's chief justiciar. He had gone over to the rebel side, and I had killed some of his men after Lewes. I saw that they were descending to the road, but they had to negotiate a steep hill. We had time.\n\n\"Wait here and I will fetch the men.\"\n\nI scurried back and said, \"To arms! There are horsemen ahead. String your bows and be ready to loose as soon as I give the command.\"\n\nThere were forty of us and we outnumbered the horsemen, but if they were well led and they turned on us rather than the baggage train, then this could end in disaster. I was aware of the weight of leadership upon my shoulders. As soon as we reached the rise, I saw that they were crossing to the road and the leading riders were just thirty paces from it. They were strung out in a long line and were less than 150 paces from us. They were riding good palfreys and could cover that distance quickly.\n\nI nocked a needle bodkin. Tom rose from concealment as I joined him and he also nocked a bodkin. I could not afford to wait for all of our men to reach me, and as soon as there were fifteen of us, I shouted, \"Loose!\"\n\nMy shout and the sound of the bowstrings, allied to the whoosh of arrows, alerted the horsemen. It was too late for four of them, who were plucked from their saddles. The others reacted quickly and pulled up their shields. I saw that three more had been hit by war arrows, and the riders were contemptuously brushing them off.\n\n\"Use bodkins! Are you fools?\"\n\nI was not shouting at my men for I knew that they would have nocked bodkins. We should have emptied more saddles. As the other archers scrabbled around for bodkins, my men and I sent another flight of bodkins at the enemy, but the horsemen were now charging us. As more archers arrived, they too nocked arrows \u2013 but I knew that some of them had also used the wrong arrow. It cost them. My men and I were together and our arrows threw men from their saddles, but the horsemen to my right were using their shields for protection, and fifteen of them struck those archers who had made the mistake of using the wrong arrow. Archers have neither helmet nor mail, and ten archers fell to swords. We cleared the men to our fore and turned to loose at the horsemen. They had, however, carved a path of destruction and escaped.\n\n\"Grab the horses! John, have men search the dead.\"\n\nI ran to the dead and dying archers \u2013 the wounds were terrible to behold. Captain Harry, the leader of the Earl of Gloucester's men, had half of his jaw hanging off. The sword had also bitten into his shoulder. He tried to talk but could not. His eyes pleaded with me to end his life. I was about to do so when God showed his mercy and he died. Captain Ralph led the rest of the men. They came from many lords. Evan, Baron Wigmore's archer, was with them.\n\nCaptain Ralph shook his head. \"A horrible way to die. He could not even ask God for forgiveness!\"\n\nEvan closed the dead captain's eyes. \"He and his men had not enough bodkins. That is why they died. They must have wasted them in the sea battle.\"\n\nI stood. \"We saved the baggage train. We will bury our men here, it is the least we can do.\"\n\nWe used the hatchets and swords of the dead to bury them. Their arrows we would take, but their bows were buried with them. I mumbled some words over them, but I was no priest and hoped that God would understand.\n\nThere were ten horses and Captain Ralph and I rode two, while the rest went to eight of my men. We draped the mail over the saddles and strapped the swords onto our belts. The archers who walked now moved more quickly, for they had seen the folly of moving too slowly. However, we still did not catch up with the army until we reached the bridge over the Usk.\n\nI saw then that we were too late. Simon de Montfort had destroyed the bridge. There would be no decisive battle of Newport. The wily old campaigner had managed to evade battle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "I had led the detachment of archers, and it was my responsibility to report the sad news to Gilbert de Clare. He was with Lord Edward and the other nobles. They had commandeered a house on the east side of the Usk. I was admitted by one of Captain William's men.\n\nThey looked at me expectantly. \"I have to report, my lord, that we surprised a company of horsemen who were about to attack the baggage train. We engaged them but we lost twelve archers, including Captain Harry.\"\n\nLord Edward's eyes narrowed. \"Who were they?\" To him, it mattered more whence came the horsemen rather than the loss of archers.\n\n\"They were men at arms, and they bore the livery of Hugh le Despencer.\"\n\nBaron Mortimer smacked one fist into the palm of his other hand. \"That damned traitor! He was rewarded by your father, my lord, and this is the way he pays him back!\"\n\nI turned to the Earl of Gloucester. \"I am sorry about your captain and archers, my lord.\"\n\nHe nodded, almost absent-mindedly. \"What? Thank you, but the loss of a few archers is better than the loss of the baggage train.\"\n\nI wondered if my death would have the same effect. Captain Harry had died, and his lordship seemed unconcerned.\n\nLord Edward said, \"We retrace our steps to Gloucester. Once there we will make our plans. Sir Gilbert, you know this land better than I, what can de Montfort do now?\"\n\n\"He has lost the opportunity to travel by sea. I would say that he will travel through the Black Mountains. He still holds strongholds on the west of the Severn and he will regroup. Hereford still holds out for the rebels.\"\n\nLord Edward looked at me. \"Captain Gerald, now is the time for you and your men to find out where the rest of the rebels are to be found. Gloucester, how long for de Montfort to reach his strongholds?\"\n\n\"Nine or ten days.\"\n\n\"Then you have that time, Gerald, to find the enemy. You will need horses.\"\n\n\"We captured some.\"\n\n\"Good, then take others. I will be in Worcester. Bring me word as soon as you can.\"\n\nI hesitated. Once I would have said, 'Yes, my lord' and scurried off like a good little boy. I had changed. \"My lord, if the rebels are in the Midlands or London, even the south coast, then it might take me ten days just to reach there.\"\n\nLord Edward rubbed his chin. \"You are right. Then let us say if you have not returned in ten days then we will assume the rebel army is not close.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Or that we are dead or captured, which amounts to the same thing!\"\n\nHe laughed. \"You are my rabbit's foot, Gerald, you cannot die! I forbid it!\"\n\nWe left before dawn and we rode hard. We reached Gloucester by sunset. We had covered almost forty miles in one day. Sir John was eager for news and I dined with him. I knew that Lord Edward trusted him implicitly and so I was candid. He too had news, which helped me. \"We have heard that young Simon has raised the siege of Pevensey and is heading west to help his father.\"\n\nI nodded. \"That helps but a little, for I believe that Pevensey is more than 150 miles from here. There are many routes he could take. He could come due west to Bricstow, north-west to Oxford or even due north to Northampton and the Midlands.\"\n\nSir John was sympathetic and he was also a clever man. \"The middle road is to Oxford. If he has a large army then you should hear of it on that road. My suggestion would be to go to Oxford, for that is loyal to the king.\" He shrugged. \"It is a starting point!\"\n\nHe was right, and it made sense. We knew the town and it was loyal. More importantly, it was the junction of many roads. Travellers were the best of spies, for they were invisible and always willing to talk.\n\nWe took four of the horses we had captured as spares and Peter led them. We reached Oxford two days later, and I used the inn where I had buried my gold. We were greeted like old friends, for we wore Lord Edward's livery and had paid well each time we had stayed there. The landlord was also a mine of information. He added to our knowledge of young Simon de Montfort, telling us that he was in London gathering an army. The fact he was to the east of us was good news. While we could be in London in two days of hard riding, even if he headed for Oxford then it would take at least four days for an army of knights to reach us. I sent Mark the Bowyer back to Sir John with the news.\n\nAfter he had gone Peter asked, \"Do we just wait, Captain, or do we head for London?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Heading for London would be the worst thing we could do. Here we are amongst loyal men. London is filled with rebels. In addition, he could head north to the Midlands or south to the coast. He could take ships and land an army close to Bricstow. We wait and we keep our ears open.\"\n\nI used the time to walk the streets and talk to merchants. They heard much. Sometimes it was rumour and sometimes it was fact. Two days later I had my first solid lead. Simon de Montfort was leading an army to Winchester, which was a stronghold of the king; he was trying to draw Lord Edward away from his father. It was time for us to move. Mark had rejoined us, and so I sent William of Matlac back to tell Sir John of this new direction. \"Tell him that we will close with Winchester and trail his army. You are to return here to the inn and I will send for you.\"\n\nWe headed for Winchester, which we knew was a loyal city with a strong wall around it. Once the capital of England, the burghers there would defend the town. We reached it shortly after St. Swithin's Day. The city had fallen. Refugees who had fled told of churches and property being destroyed and Jews being whipped and hanged.\n\nWe were less than two miles from the city and I had a dilemma. Did we camp close by and see which way this army went, or did we head back to the centrality of Oxford? We were south of King's Worthy on the crossroads there. We had watered our horses and I was debating whether or not to ride the last mile to Winchester when, from the west, we heard the sound of hooves. Hooves meant armed men, and I quickly strung my bow and shouted, \"Stand to!\"\n\nThe horsemen saw us as we saw them. I recognised the livery: they were the men of Hugh le Despencer, except that this time, they were led by a knight and a squire. There were twenty of them.\n\nI nocked a bodkin and loosed it at the knight. He was quick-witted and his shield came up. His squire was slow, and the bodkin sent by Tom pierced his shoulder. John and Jack sent their arrows into the air while the others used a flat trajectory.\n\n\"Peter, ride north! We will follow!\"\n\nThe combination of plunging arrows and flatter arrows had an effect, and three men at arms were hit. I sent another arrow at the knight and then shouted, \"Mount! We have done enough. Head north!\"\n\nMy last bodkin caught the knight on the helmet. The ringing must have deafened him, but it also made his horse rear. The wounded squire fell from his saddle and I mounted Eleanor. I slung my bow and drew my sword. The men at arms were trying to get to the side of their lord but milling horses and wounded men impeded them. The squire's horse was dragging the wounded youth to and fro, for his boot was caught in the stirrup. I rode at the knight. He must have been disorientated or else inexperienced: he allowed his shield to drop. It was not much, but it gave me a chance. Standing in my stirrups I brought my sword across and swung at his shoulder. His full-face helmet did not help his judgement, and although his sword came towards me, my sword hit him hard before his had a chance. I broke a couple of links, but I also hit him so hard as to knock him from his saddle.\n\n\"Captain!\"\n\nSheathing my sword, I wheeled and headed up the road. John of Nottingham was in his saddle with an arrow nocked. It came towards me! It was not aimed at me, but at the man at arms who was leaning forward with his spear to skewer me. The arrow passed within a handspan of my face, and then I heard it strike the mail of the man at arms. He tumbled from his saddle. His horse kept galloping, and as it passed me, I grabbed the reins. We soon caught up with the others outside the church at King's Worthy. They were waiting with nocked arrows. I reined in.\n\nJohn of Nottingham shook his head. \"One day, Captain, I will not be there to save you!\"\n\nI nodded. \"I owe you a life, John.\"\n\n\"I am still in your debt, Captain, but I am not anxious to pay it.\" I saw him cock his head. \"The hooves are receding. They are not following us.\"\n\nI worked out that the horsemen were taking the news of the sea battle and the flight of the Earl of Leicester to the rebels. They were messengers, and the news they delivered was more important than a handful of archers, although they would remember us. This changed everything. The south coast would be of little importance to the son of the Earl of Leicester now.\n\n\"We will head back to Oxford. Geoffrey, you will ride to Sir John and tell him our news.\"\n\nWe could not do the journey in a day and so we camped in woods. Any army heading north would take longer than we had.\n\nWilliam of Matlac was back in Oxford and he had news for us when we arrived. \"Sir John said that the Earl of Leicester is at Hereford. He has reinforced it. The lords who support him in the west are gathering to his banner. Lord Edward is at Worcester. Sir John said that our master is pleased with our work.\"\n\n\"And now it becomes interesting. His father is in Hereford, and so heading to Bricstow does him no good, for we hold Gloucester. Young de Montfort needs to get to Hereford or the Severn at the very least. He will try to join up with his father. Jack of Lincoln, take Robin of Barnsley and Lewis Left Alone. Find us a camp north of Oxford. I want to be able to watch the roads north, east and west.\"\n\nThey left and we waited. They returned after dark. \"We have found somewhere from which we can watch the roads north and east, and the best road west leads from Oxford, for there is the Thames to cross. We can be on the road to Lord Edward quickly if they reach us.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Then let us make the most of our time in this inn, for from now until we return to Lord Edward, we camp in the greenwood.\" I turned to Lewis. \"And I want you to ride to Gloucester. Take the news of what we have discovered. We will be here.\"\n\nHe grinned. \"I will ride like the wind!\"\n\n\"Just ride carefully, eh?\"\n\nJack laughed. \"Will Yew Tree made the right decision then, Captain. I know that he would not have enjoyed going without ale for so long!\"\n\nFor some reason, the thought that our old comrade was enjoying life in Easingwold and drinking beer to his heart's content made us all happy.\n\nTravellers and refugees from Winchester arrived in Oxford two days later. They came the same time as Lewis. All of them brought news of an army heading up the road from Winchester.\n\nI was summoned to the home of the Mayor. He looked nervous. \"Captain, we know that you are one of Lord Edward's archers. There is an army coming from Winchester, and if they spy you here, then there will be a battle. We know of the great mischief these godless men caused in Winchester, and we intend to open our gates to them. We will not welcome them, for we are loyal, but we will not fight them.\"\n\n\"And you need us to be gone.\"\n\n\"Just so. We have food for you, and if you need silver\u2026\"\n\nI shook my head. \"We will take the food, but we are paid by the future King of England. Keep your silver.\"\n\nI did not blame the burghers. The tales from Winchester had been truly horrible. Those loyal to the king and his son were, by and large, at Worcester. I found myself in total agreement with Lord Edward; we needed a battle just so that we could have peace. The next battle would be the last.\n\nWe rode directly north. Jack led us to the camp he had selected, and it was a good one. As we set up the camp, Lewis told me his news. \"Lord Edward was in Gloucester, Captain. He is pleased with our work and asks that you send word when this rebel army is within a day's march of Worcester.\"\n\nThat would be easier said than done. The enemy would have scouts out, and I had to assume that they were as good as us.\n\n\"From now on when we ride, we each have a strung bow. We are well furnished with bowstrings.\"\n\nPeter asked, \"Captain, when will I need a bow?\"\n\nJohn, who was the one responsible for the training of Peter, nodded. \"Soon. I think that by September you can try the hunting bow.\"\n\nIt satisfied Peter. I know how he hated being the one who did not fight.\n\n\"We will have to fight enemy scouts and keep ahead of the enemy. It will not be easy.\"\n\nThat evening I changed into my better clothes and headed for Oxford. I took Tom with me, but he would remain outside the city. We took our bows and our swords although I did not think that we would need either. I just wanted to discover, if I could, the direction the enemy would take.\n\nThe roads were empty as we approached Oxford. The castle was at the northern end of the city, and that gate would be the best guarded. I saw that there were eight men at arms gathered around a brazier. Although It would weaken their night vision, it still meant we would be seen and would not be able to gain access to the town. The double gate was closed, but there was a small sally port which was open.\n\nThere was an old ramshackle house \u2013 in all the time I had been coming to Oxford I had never seen anyone living in it. Only two walls remained, and most of the roof had fallen in. We secreted the horses there. \"Tom, I shall head around to Westgate. It may not be as well guarded as this one.\"\n\n\"How will you pass the sentries, Captain?\"\n\n\"I shall simply walk in the shadows. If I make a noise, they may hear, but they are busy talking anyway. It is a chance I will have to take.\"\n\nI was about to move when there was a shout from the gatehouse. \"Ware the gate! Riders coming out.\"\n\nThe gates creaked open, and two lightly-armed horsemen came out, a sergeant at arms along with them. He had a voice like a bull and, even though I guessed that he was trying to speak quietly, we heard him, despite being 200 paces away. Some words we missed, but we gathered the salient points. The two men were to ride to Northampton and order the muster of as many barons and knights as possible.\n\nWe had our answer. The rebels were heading north and east. I had no need to enter Oxford. The two riders took the northern road. Our camp was also on the northern road. I toyed with the idea of chasing after the two men and preventing their news getting through, then I realised that we would be better off by simply getting to Northampton and waiting there.\n\nWe broke camp before dawn and headed the forty-three miles to Northampton. As we rode, it struck me that I had criss-crossed this part of England so many times I should have known every blade of grass and leaf. As we neared the rebel city I thought that, as they would have to march west if they were to help Simon's father, Upton was a good place to intercept them. I knew that we would be ahead of the enemy army and so, when we reached Upton, we hid out in a wood just 400 paces from the west road. John of Nottingham changed into ordinary clothes and, leaving our bows at the camp, we rode into Northampton. By being in the city when Simon de Montfort the younger arrived, we would not arouse suspicion. We left Jack in charge. The wood was his domain still.\n\nWe had coins, which we had taken from the men at arms we had killed near Newport. I intended to use that silver to pay for a good room at an inn close to the castle. It was all part of our disguise. We arrived in the morning, and before we went to the inn, we visited a barber. The town had a surgeon-barber, and I decided to have my beard shaved. I had been seen with the beard by the men at arms and I wanted to change my appearance. I also had the barber trim my unruly locks, and he noticed the scar on my face as he shaved me. It was now a red line that would fade, eventually, to white.\n\n\"I can see that you have had trouble already in your life, young sir.\"\n\nI nodded, affably. \"It seems to me that there are few men in this realm who have a trouble-free life, my friend.\"\n\n\"Wise words from one so young. When I began to shave you, I took you for a much older man. Why now that your hair is trimmed and your beard removed, you look unrecognisable.\"\n\nI laughed and, standing, paid him. It was what I wanted to hear. The visit had cost me as much as a night in an inn, but if it disguised me, then it was worth it. With my courser and best clothes, I now looked like a young gentleman. The silver I used to pay for the room, without an attempt to haggle, confirmed this, and I knew that, in the inn at least, we would not have aroused any suspicion.\n\nWe ate in the inn and then walked around the town in the afternoon. I made purchases, which added to the impression that I was a well-off young man with money to waste. It was only in the room we shared that I could be myself.\n\nJohn of Nottingham smiled as he breathed a sigh of relief. \"You know, Captain, you could be a mummer. That was as fine a piece of acting as I have seen at any Easter play!\"\n\n\"I am aware of the mistakes I made in the inn in Gloucester. That will not happen again. Tonight, we will talk as much as any and keep our ears open.\"\n\n\"A fine trick, if you can manage it.\"\n\n\"We must, for here we are two days from Worcester. Simon de Montfort is less than half a day from the Severn. If the two Simons join their armies then Lord Edward is in trouble. We have endured a great deal to get this close to victory. Let us not throw it away recklessly.\"\n\nWhen we dined that evening in the tavern there were no soldiers, just merchants and men from Northampton. That is not to say we did not learn much to our advantage. That young Simon de Montfort and his young knights were coming to the town was no secret, and it was common knowledge that he would join up with his father. As I listened, I knew that Northampton was too far away for young Simon to threaten Lord Edward but, equally, Lord Edward could not attack Northampton without risking Simon de Montfort escaping across the Severn. The crossings were watched, but Lord Edward would need all of his army if he was to defeat the de Montforts. Although I paid close attention to their words, I also spoke so that no suspicion was aroused. John and I agreed with the merchants and burghers.\n\nThat night, safe in our room, we discussed what we had heard and the implications. \"It seems to me, Captain, that they have spies too, and the Earl of Leicester must be sending messages to his son.\"\n\n\"We know that already, John. How does it help us? Where will they wait before they attack? It has to be somewhere within striking distance of the Severn, and it has to be west of here.\" I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. \"At least this time we can give an accurate account of the men in this army. That will be a help.\"\n\n\"Aye, so long as we are not recognised. You have become famous in the last couple of years. I know that shaved face and trimmed hair help, but\u2026\"\n\n\"I know John, I know.\"\n\nThe first elements of the army poured into the city from noon onwards. We joined the cheering crowds who greeted them. As they rode through the town I saw that they all bore white crosses upon their tunics. They had worn them at Lewes. Young Simon had a horse with horse armour, and he had a breastplate over his mail as well as poleyn on his legs. His helmet was a magnificent one \u2013 Lord Edward's was more functional than the work of art which paraded before us. He received the cheers as a conquering hero, yet, in truth, all he had done thus far was to slaughter Jews and steal from churches.\n\nAll afternoon his men rode through the town. There were more than 300 knights followed by their squires and men at arms. What I did not see were archers, nor were there any crossbowmen. To me, that was a weakness.\n\nWhen the baggage train entered the crowds filtered away, and we went to an inn close to the square in the centre of the town. Here, the mood was one of joy. Northampton supported the rebels. They were part of the people's parliament created by the Earl of Leicester. Younger men shouted that they would get a horse and follow the army, to end the tyranny of King Henry. I knew they were fuelled by drink. There was little chance of Simon de Montfort ridding himself of the King of England. For a start, de Montfort was married to the sister of the King of England. He might wish to kill Lord Edward and then have King Henry abdicate in favour of him, but the king was safe.\n\nThe next day, more knights and their retinues poured into the city. It was now getting on for the last week of July, and the army would need to move on soon.\n\nThe landlord came to speak with us as we ate a late breakfast. \"Gentlemen, how much longer will you be needing your rooms?\"\n\n\"Why landlord, do the extra men in town mean that you require them for better-paying guests?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Oh no, sir, you have paid well, and besides, the army moves out tomorrow morning. It is just that we normally change the bedding today, but if you are leaving soon, then\u2026\"\n\n\"I can put your mind at rest then, innkeeper; we leave for York in the morning. But if the army leaves tomorrow, then we had better leave this night, for I am accustomed to good rooms, and if they get ahead of us, we may have to suffer poor accommodation.\"\n\n\"I am not certain that they will be heading north, sir. The rumour is that they go to fight Lord Edward, and he is to the west of us.\"\n\n\"Nonetheless, we will leave tonight.\" I gave him a smile. \"And then we will not upset your bedding arrangements!\"\n\n\"Oh no, sir, I meant no harm, and...\"\n\n\"We were ready to leave. We conclude our business this morning and we shall leave after noon.\"\n\nWe had not discovered the army's next port of call, but it would be to the west, and we could follow them. We made our last purchases: bread, good cheese, two ale skins, oatcakes and some sweetmeats. I had felt guilty about eating and dining so well while my men endured cold comfort in the woods, and the purchases were for them.\n\nWe made certain we were not followed and headed up the Great North Road. Once it was convenient, we took the first track which led west and found ourselves in our camp well before dark. Our men, not least Jack, were relieved to see us. They enjoyed the food and ale we had brought.\n\n\"We need to be ready to ride first thing in the morning. So, get to sleep early. The day of reckoning is nigh.\"\n\nThe scouts ahead of the army alerted us to its presence the next day. Jack and the others had not wasted their time, and they led us by hidden paths and trails so that we kept ahead of them. We knew where the roads had junctions or forks, and once the scouts had passed them, we hurried on.\n\nWe used farms and fields to disguise our movements. We rode further than the army of young Simon, but we kept hidden. It soon became apparent, to me at least, that we were heading for Kenilworth. It was a mighty castle defended upon one side by a lake, and it was close enough to Worcester to strike at Lord Edward and his army. Most importantly, it was the gaol of Richard of Cornwall. When we were just five miles from Kenilworth, and as the afternoon was almost through, I took a chance. \"John, I leave you in command. I will ride to Lord Edward. I will take Tom with me. Find a camp to the west of the castle.\"\n\n\"And if it is not the Castle of Kenilworth that is the young de Montfort's target?\"\n\n\"Then I am wrong \u2013 but I do not think I will be! They will not reach it until late, and there is nowhere twixt here and Kenilworth that they could use. They will be weary and, I hope, will stay there tomorrow to rest their horses.\" I had noticed that there was little grazing. If the young Montfort intended to attack Lord Edward then he would need fresh horses. \"If they move then send word to me at Worcester unless I have already returned.\"\n\nOnce Tom and I were ahead of the scouts we used the road and made good time. We reached Worcester after dark. I went directly to Lord Edward's quarters. He, Henry Almain, de Clare and Mortimer were seated around a table and were drinking wine. Lord Edward looked up expectantly.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"They are at Kenilworth. They will be camping even as we speak. They have knights and men at arms.\"\n\nHe stood and, placing his hands on my shoulders, said, \"You are the best of men!\" He turned to the others. \"I want our destination kept secret, so tell the men that we ride north tomorrow. I want only knights and men at arms.\"\n\nDe Clare said, \"And what of the Earl of Leicester?\"\n\n\"We have two armies we need to fight. One, to the west of us, waits for our attack. The other, to the east, knows nothing of our intelligence. We risk leaving the river unguarded, but I will have Sir John de Warenne command the rest of the army, and I will speak with him before we leave.\" He turned again to me. \"And your men?\"\n\n\"They watch the enemy.\"\n\n\"Good, then get some rest. You and Tom shall lead us to Kenilworth, and you will ride to glory with us!\"\n\nWe had all day to rest. It was in the late afternoon when the trumpets sounded and men mounted their horses. None were mailed, but squires had sumpters with war gear upon them. Any spies watching would have been confused as to our purpose.\n\nI rode with Lord Edward, Baron Mortimer and the Earl of Gloucester. If the people of Worcester wondered why an archer rode with such noble lords, they were not alone, for I saw some strange looks from the men we left in camp. Once we reached Droitwich we turned northeast and took the Kenilworth Road. Night came late in early August.\n\nI sent Tom ahead when we neared Kenilworth, and he returned to lead us to a valley not far from the castle. With him rode John of Nottingham.\n\n\"My lord, the enemy host is camped outside Kenilworth. They have few sentries!\"\n\n\"Then now is the time to don our armour!\"\n\nIt seemed a noisy affair as men put on mail and, in some cases, plate. Some horses wore mail too. John of Nottingham assured me that we were too far from Kenilworth for them to hear.\n\nLord Edward was ready first, and he rode up to me. \"As a reward for your sterling work, the three of you may join this charge. I have told my men that we do not bother with ransom. When this war is over, we shall simply take the castles and the lands from their heirs. They have rebelled, and that will be the price they pay!\" When he became king, he would be ruthless. That day showed me that he had changed since first I met him.\n\nThat ride through the Kenilworth camp was not war, it was slaughter. I had never entered a battle from the back of a horse and yet, that night, it was the easiest fight I had ever had. I had no shield and needed none, for the men who rose from their tents simply grabbed any weapon they had to face us. The first knight I slew saw just my sword as it swept towards his head. His hand did not even rise to block the blow. The sword seemed to have a life of its own as it rose and fell, slicing open skulls, tearing open faces and hacking through necks.\n\nThe knights who rode behind Lord Edward had even more success, for they knew what they were doing. Eleanor, too, was in her element; she snapped and bit at all that she saw. I had a strong right arm, but it rose and fell so many times that I felt as though I had loosed a hundred arrows.\n\nBy the time we were halfway through the camp, the knights had broken. Many had run towards the castle while others threw themselves into the lake or the river. Lord Edward ordered us to turn, and we galloped through the camp. My archers had followed us and, with their bows, they picked off fleeing knights.\n\nDawn came early in August, and it broke over a grisly sight. The camp was filled with the felled flowers of young knights. Many fled inside the castle, and we captured ten knights and their horses. Of Simon Montfort the Younger there was no sign, but it mattered not. The army he had promised his father had been shattered. We had not slain all of them, I only counted the bodies of sixty knights, but his men at arms were totally destroyed.\n\nLord Edward led us back towards Worcester, along with the captured knights, in chains. We were at my archers' camp and feeding our horses when he said to me, \"Gerald, I want two of your archers to watch the camp at Kenilworth. We have not destroyed this army, but it is hurt. Let us use what's left. They know where de Montfort will be meeting his father. When your men know the direction, then send to me.\"\n\nI nodded and waved over Tom and Jack. I gave them their instructions. \"Is this not over, Captain?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"We have had a victory, but so long as Simon de Montfort lives it will never be over. We must trust to Lord Edward and to God! As soon as the survivors regroup and move, then let me know.\"\n\nOnce we were all ready, we headed back towards Worcester. I could see now that Lord Edward was planning ahead. He was keeping this part of his army moving so that he could react to whatever the enemy did next.\n\nWe stopped at Alcester where we fed our horses and ourselves. Some slept, but I could not, for I was haunted by the images of butchered bodies. Lord Edward found me grooming Eleanor.\n\n\"You are troubled, Gerald?\"\n\nI nodded. \"I am an archer and I do not see the arrows as they bite into flesh. Last night I killed men and watched the life leave their eyes. I butchered men and boys who could not defend themselves.\"\n\n\"Yet you killed fewer than had you used a bow.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I know, there is no sense to it, but\u2026\"\n\n\"I have placed much on your shoulders and you are still young, but we must show steel and then we shall have England back under the control of my family, and that is all that matters!\"\n\nWe rested during the day, for we had endured a hard ride. Messengers arrived from the west with the news that Simon de Montfort had crossed the river. I was close by Lord Edward, and I thought he would have been angry, but he was not. He appeared calm and reflective. It was almost as though he had expected the news. It was de Clare who reacted angrily.\n\n\"Were the fools not watching? We were fighting our enemies, and all that they had to do was to watch!\"\n\nThe messenger was a young knight, one of John de Warenne's men. \"My lord, that is unfair. We had all the crossing points watched!\"\n\n\"Then how did he evade you?\"\n\n\"It was the day after St Peter in the Chains, and the river was unusually low. He and his army waded across close to Kempsey. It was not a crossing point, my lord. None was watching it.\"\n\nLord Edward held his hand up; he looked like a priest giving his blessing. \"Peace, it is done now. He is across the Severn and his son is at Kenilworth. We are between them. They have men they use as I used Gerald War Bow and his men; they will head for each other. When we know where young Simon leads his men then we will know where we fight this battle. De Clare, go to Worcester and fetch the rest of my army.\"\n\n\"Where to, my lord?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"In truth, I do not know.\" He looked at the young knight. \"You say he crossed close to Kempsey?\"\n\n\"Aye, my lord.\"\n\n\"Then, de Clare, you head south and east along the road to Oxford. Parallel his line of march and stop him moving due east. If he can combine with his son then that will give him the chance to hold until he is reinforced by more men from the Midlands. I will do the same with his son. I will not wait for you word, Gerald.\"\n\n\"My lord, you divide your army!\"\n\nI saw him nod. \"I am learning, my lord, that with great power comes great responsibility. Now ride. We will also begin to move. We will head south and west.\"\n\nDe Clare and his horsemen left us. I hoped that Lord Edward knew what he was doing. The only archers with him were my men, but he had Captain William's men at arms, along with those of Baron Mortimer. I did not know how many men de Montfort had, but he had had almost a fortnight to gather men and prepare for this battle.\n\nIt was getting on for the middle of the afternoon when Jack of Lincoln rode in. He threw himself from his horse. \"My lord, the young lord lives, and he is leading men from Kenilworth. They are taking the road to Stratford. They are heading in this direction. Tom follows them, and he will ride to us if they change their route.\"\n\nLord Edward quickly grabbed a nearby map. I was close enough, with Jack, to see what he did. He put one finger from his right hand on one part of the map and a finger from his left hand on another and moved them towards each other. He beamed at us. \"Evesham! They are heading to Evesham! Baron Mortimer, we ride. Send a rider to de Clare and tell him: Evesham!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Lord Edward turned to me. \"Take your men and ride to Evesham. I need to know the lie of the land before the battle.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord.\"\n\nIt was only seven miles to Evesham and we made it before dusk. We had seen no other riders on the road, and that was not a surprise. If an enemy had been in the vicinity, they would have had to pass Worcester, which lay between Wales and the rest of our army.\n\nA small farmhouse lay just off the Twyford road; we smelled the smoke and heard the cow lowing to be milked. We dismounted and tethered our horses there. The farmer came to speak with us. He looked fearful and barely opened the door.\n\n\"Friend,\" I said, \"there will be a battle here. I pray to God that my lord, Lord Edward, is victorious, but I cannot promise. If you have somewhere you could shelter it would be better for you and your family.\"\n\nHe opened the door wide and spread his arms. We could see his wife and children. \"But sir, my farm!\"\n\nI smiled. \"Will not be touched. You have my word, and I am Captain Gerald War Bow, Lord Edward's archer.\" He looked reluctant still. \"I was at Lewes, and I know that even the finest of soldiers can lose his head in battle. When men have the battle lust in their eyes then it can blind them. You would not wish to put your family in harm's way, would you?\"\n\nHe shook his head in a resigned manner. Farmers knew exactly what soldiers were like after a battle. \"No, sir. My brother has a farm at Lenchwick. I will go there.\"\n\nDespite the urgency, I saw that he still took his milk cow, and his wife and children carried boxes of their valuables. He had not totally believed my oath, and I did not blame him. If I was dishonest, I could have sounded equally sincere.\n\n\"Peter, put the horses in the barn. Tomorrow you will be kept busy fetching us arrows.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\n\"John, come with me. The rest of you, prepare food. Tomorrow, we will fight.\"\n\nA village and bridge across the Avon lay to the south of the farm, with a hill above them. John and I climbed to the top of it. August sunsets could last a long time but the shadows cast could be confusing. I saw the abbey to the east of the village church and I saw, in the village, armed men moving around. There were no banners, which meant they were not knights \u2013 but the scouts of de Montfort's army were there, for light reflected from helmets and mail. Lord Edward had been right.\n\nJohn and I lay down and I looked back behind the hill. As at Lewes, there was dead ground the other side. When we had walked from the farm, we had not seen the village. The enemy were in Evesham and, looking up the hill, they would not see Lord Edward and his men as they approached down the Alcester road. I looked back to Evesham. Simon de Montfort was planning to head up the road to meet his son, probably at Alcester. It was a clever plan, but Lord Edward had, I hoped, thwarted it; he had half of his army between the father and son.\n\nI could see that the bridge was a narrow one. If de Montfort fought here and we secured the dead ground, he would have an uphill struggle, and his line of retreat would be difficult. The late afternoon sun showed me that the ground was flat, but there was a slope from the river up to the hill. It was almost the reverse of the situation at Lewes. There, King Henry had been trapped against a river and the Earl of Leicester had the advantage of height and dead ground.\n\nJohn pointed. \"Captain, look!\" There were horsemen heading up the road which led from the village.\n\n\"Fetch the men and my bow. We cannot let them see this dead ground. We must take out these archers.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain, but they are Welsh archers. This will not be easy!\"\n\n\"John, we have trained our company. We are better.\"\n\nHe disappeared, leaving me alone. I saw that there were twelve horsemen. Even as I looked, I saw more men arriving in the village, across the narrow bridge. If they headed up the road as well then we might struggle to contain them.\n\nLord Edward, Mortimer and de Clare would not reach the hill until dawn. We had to keep the enemy at bay until then. It was obvious that de Montfort had forced a march. If we had not raided at Kenilworth then they would already be combined. Perhaps Lord Edward had been unerringly correct in all his decisions; he was behaving and acting like a king. We had needed the slaughter to avoid a repeat of the disaster at Lewes.\n\nMy men scurried up the hill and John gave me my bow.\n\n\"We use war arrows. Tomorrow we will need every bodkin we can muster, and more. There are twelve horsemen and they are archers, but they are riding. It will take them time to nock an arrow. We wait at the bottom of the hill so that when they pass by, we can pluck them from their saddles.\"\n\nI led them down the slope. We could hear them talking as they moved up the road on their horses. It was obvious that they did not expect to see anyone, for they sounded relaxed. They were, as John had said, Welsh. David the Welshman knew their words and he whispered, \"They are saying that they hope they find a farm with a comfortable farmer's wife!\"\n\nHad we not arrived then the poor farmer and his family would have lost more than a milk cow. I nocked an arrow as the horses' hooves drew closer. There were nine of us, and we stood in a line with two paces between each of us. The sun was setting in the west, which meant that it was in our eyes \u2013 but that also meant that we were in shadow. As they passed us, we would release. They were riding in pairs and that meant there would be just six targets for our nine arrows. The other six would dismount and nock their own arrows. With their horses as a barrier, they would have the advantage. Even as the first horses rode up the road, I was planning what to do when that happened.\n\nThese were scouts. I expected them to be as good as us but they were not, for they did not have their version of Tom riding ahead. Even so, they were archers, with an archer's sense of danger. Before the last horseman was level with our last man, Jack of Lincoln, they had spied us. A Welsh voice shouted the alarm.\n\n\"Release!\"\n\nI was at the fore of my men and I sent my arrow at the left-hand man in the column. David the Welshman took the one next to him. Both were knocked from their saddles, and their horses, frightened by the smell of blood and their falling riders, galloped up the road. The two leaders were down. Five more men were hit by my archers, for they were so close that we could not miss \u2013 and then a Welsh voice shouted an order.\n\nDropping my bow, I unsheathed my sword. \"John, with me!\"\n\nThe milling horses of the fallen archers, and the fact that the five survivors had dismounted, meant there were no targets for us at the front. I did not want news of our presence to reach Evesham: the Welsh archers had to be taken.\n\nThe horses hid us. I could hear the Welsh jabbering but their words meant nothing to me. Three arrows soared over their horses. They were releasing blind, and the arrows would be silhouetted against the last rays of the setting sun; my men would see them. Two archers were just drawing when John and I appeared next to them. They were quick and turned their bows towards us. We were archers and knew the danger we faced. With swinging swords we charged them, and our blades broke their bows in two as they tried to use them to strike us. My sword took the right hand of one archer and I back swung my blade to hack into his chest. John's blow had not only broken the bow, it had sliced across the archer's throat. Our charge made the fallen men's horses move up the road towards the other horses and, as they did so, six arrows flew and the last three Welshmen died.\n\nOne horse began to move back down the road. \"Lewis, get that horse! The rest of you gather the other horses. We need to move these bodies from the road else when dawn comes, they will be seen.\"\n\nI regretted having had to kill fellow archers but knew that it was necessary. When they did not return, de Montfort might assume that they had found a farm and the road north was clear.\n\nWhen we had taken the horses to the farm we returned to the hill. \"We bury them.\"\n\nJack of Lincoln shook his head. \"What for, Captain? They would have killed us without a second thought and left our bodies to rot where they lay.\"\n\n\"We bury them because, when we die, I would hope that another would lay us in the ground and cover us with soil, and besides, this will be the ground where we fight on the morrow, and I would not have malevolent spirits in the air!\"\n\n\"The captain is right. William and Mark, fetch tools and we will bury them by the road. Robin, fashion two of the bows into a cross. We will mark their grave.\"\n\nIt was a couple of hours later when we finished. It was a dark night and hard to see, but we stood around the graves and bowed our heads. It was a case of there, but for the grace of God, go I. After they were buried, we walked up the dark road back to the farmhouse. The first action of the battle of Evesham had taken place. We ate and divided up the arrows and bowstrings we had taken. Leaving John in command, I rode back to Lord Edward. He was still camped at Alcester.\n\nHe was not abed, but was speaking with Baron Mortimer and Henry Almain.\n\nThe baron held up a piece of parchment. \"My wife has sent me a letter, Captain. She commends our efforts thus far and asks for the head of the Earl of Leicester as a trophy! Think of the warrior she would have made if she had been a man! She asks after you, Captain, for you have made an impression on her.\"\n\nI saw that Lord Edward was slightly annoyed with the baron. \"Enough of that, what have you to tell me, Captain?\"\n\n\"The army of your foe is moving into the village of Evesham. We dispersed their scouts. It seems to me that they are heading on this road to ride to meet with the Earl of Leicester's son.\"\n\nHe nodded and stood. \"That confirms the news your archer brought. Young de Montfort is now heading east towards Alcester. Mortimer, wake the camp! We ride now. I would be in place at dawn! Send the captain's archer to him.\" When he had gone Lord Edward said, \"I ignored your advice the last time we fought de Montfort. Give me your assessment of the battlefield.\"\n\n\"There is a hill, my lord, and it masks the line of advance from the north. You could hide your whole army there and those in Evesham would see nought. The road and the ground slope up from the river. It would suit horses, my lord, and the hill would allow archers to loose over the heads of the horsemen.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"And this time I have no king to tell me to ignore archers. We did so the last time, at a heavy cost.\"\n\nHis cousin nodded. \"Aye, a year of captivity and the mocking from our inferiors! I will not endure such an event again!\"\n\nLord Edward nodded. \"And the bridge?\"\n\n\"It is narrow, lord. If many men try to cross it then it will become jammed.\"\n\nOutside, I could hear the noise as men were woken. It would take some time to arm and saddle, but Lord Edward would reach the field before dawn.\n\nBaron Mortimer returned with Tom. Lord Edward said, \"And have you chosen your men, Baron?\"\n\n\"Aye, Lord Edward, they are all keen to have the honour of slaying the great rebel.\"\n\n\"By your leave, my lord, Tom and I will return to my camp and observe the enemy movements. We are camped at a farm less than a mile from the hill. The farmer and his family moved out when I requested it.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"You and I have grown up in the last year, Gerald. I now know what I must do when I am king and you know how to fight a war. Together we can do great things! The battle this day is just the beginning!\"\n\nHe turned to a chest and took out some red crosses. \"This day, we all wear a red cross. It is the cross of the crusader and will mark us from the white crosses of the rebels. Have them sewn onto your tunics.\"\n\nTom and I left a camp that was a maelstrom of activity. Every man of Lord Edward's army was mounted. The men on foot were with Gilbert de Clare, and I worried that they might not reach the battlefield in time.\n\nCaptain William and Ralph saw me and waved us over to them. \"Once more we will fight together, Captain. I am of the belief that we lost Lewes because we did not do so then. Today we will ensure that we win!\"\n\n\"I will see you on the field at Evesham.\"\n\nI was weary when I dismounted at the farm. Peter rose from his bed to see to Eleanor and Bess. John was by the fire and he had some ham frying. He saw my look and shrugged. \"The ham would have gone off and we will leave some pennies for the farmer. The bread we use would be stale by the time he returns.\"\n\nThe smell of cooking ham drove all guilt from my mind and we ate the fried meat and bread. When I had washed it down with ale I said, \"Today, there will be a battle. Rouse the men, and we will stand on the hill and watch the dawn. I would know if de Montfort has come.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. It has been a long year, but now we can make the world right again!\"\n\nThe food refreshed me. I handed out the red crosses to my men as they came into the kitchen to eat. \"Lord Edward wishes us to have these red crosses on our tunics. The enemy wears white.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"And if they wear them over their hearts it will be a good target!\"\n\nWe had needles and thread. It would not need to be pretty work, just so that it could be seen on the battlefield. That done, we took our bows and spare bows as well as all of our arrows. We were like pack animals as we climbed the hill. While Peter organised the arrows and bows, we stood on the crest. I now had my full company back together and felt satisfied. It was still dark and I could see the lights in the village. Men were there, moving around. The neighing of horses and the jingling of mail told me that it was an army. Dawn was not yet here and John of Nottingham said, \"I know that we have no priest but I would make my peace with God before we fight this day. Ronan and Dick, son of Robin, fell at Lewes. I am not sure if they confessed.\"\n\n\"You are right.\" I laid down my bow and, facing the east, for there was a thin line marking the dawn there, knelt with the rest of my men. We prayed and we confessed. I made the sign of the cross and then asked God to forgive my sins past and the sins I would commit on the battlefield.\n\nEach man said his own prayers and then stood when he was done. John of Nottingham was the last to rise. He smiled. \"I am the oldest archer now, Captain. I have much to confess!\"\n\nWe picked up our bows and stood on the top of the hill. I knew that we would be seen. That did not matter, for de Montfort would expect scouts. He would dismiss us as irrelevant, for he was a knight and regarded other knights as the superior weapon. We needed the height to be able to see into the village. From the noise, it became obvious that there was an army below us both in the village and before it. As the first rays of sun lit the village, I could see the army as it prepared. They had fewer horsemen than Lord Edward, and I could see that they had many who were neither men at arms nor archers. It was unlikely that they were the Londoners from Lewes; I guessed they were Welshmen. There seemed little order to their movement, but then they did not know how close they were to Lord Edward. They thought he was still in Worcester.\n\nThe hill was less than a mile from where their forward units were forming up. I saw de Montfort's distinctive banner: red with a white gryphon upon it. We were indeed seen. Other knights rode to him and I saw them pointing at us. Behind me I heard Peter shout, \"Captain, it is Lord Edward. He and the army have arrived.\"\n\nThere had been a slight fear that de Montfort might send men to shift us from our lookout, but the arrival of Lord Edward meant that would not happen. David the Welshman pointed to the west. \"Captain, in the distance I see the banners of the Earl of Gloucester; the rest of the army has arrived!\"\n\nWe now had both elements of our army together. Young de Montfort was still on the road to Alcester. Lord Edward had a chance. He, Baron Mortimer and Henry Almain dismounted close to Peter and walked up the hill to join us.\n\nWhen he reached us, he scanned the rebels as they arrayed. \"You were right, Gerald War Bow, this is a good site for a battle. Cousin, have our men come around the hill from the east, we will form our battle lines before the hill. Captain, you will command the archers.\"\n\n\"Yes lord.\"\n\n\"Baron, you and your battle will be to the east of us. Send a rider to de Clare. I want his men to fill the line between the hill and the river.\"\n\nThe two men disappeared. Lord Edward leaned in to me. \"I will tell you my plan, for you deserve to know. De Montfort now needs me dead \u2013 and dead in battle. He still holds my father captive and I believe that, with me dead, he will have my father abdicate in his favour. I put myself in the centre to draw him to me. Then, de Clare will attack the enemy left while the baron will go for the head of the gryphon. You and your archers must kill as many knights as you can. Use bodkins.\"\n\n\"You do not wish ransom, my lord?\"\n\n\"No, for I will cut out the bad hearts of my nobility. I can always make new knights who will be loyal to me!\" He clapped me on my back. \"God speed, Gerald War Bow, and I shall see you after the battle.\"\n\nWhen he had gone, I said, \"You heard him, bodkin arrows!\"\n\nWhile Peter fetched more bodkin arrows, I saw the enemy forming up. Already Lord Edward's men at arms and knights were filtering around the hill as archers joined us and John placed them in position. The last to arrive was Gilbert de Clare's battle.\n\nI saw that de Montfort was not using a broad line of attack as at Lewes but a narrow point. His knights, gathered around his banner, would lead the attack. There were more than 200 of them. Behind them was the main part of his army, and it was a long, narrow column, led by mailed men. They were on foot. He was going to use his men like a human battering ram.\n\nThe enemy formed up on our right. John of Nottingham walked amongst the archers under my command to ensure that they all had bodkin arrows ready. He looked each archer in the eye as he walked along the line.\n\n\"Now remember, Gerald War Bow is our captain and this day he is yours. You listen to his orders. I have mighty hams, and I will use them to fetch a clout to any who disobey or are tardy in the execution of his commands.\"\n\nI had planned on giving a speech but now there was no need, for John's words had the desired effect.\n\n\"String your bows! Select your arrows!\"\n\nI chose eight bodkins and jammed them in the soil. I had known archers to defecate and then dip the arrowheads in the dung, for that would make a poisoned wound which would be fatal. It was unnecessary. Today, we had the advantage of height and our bodkins would fall like rain. Their helmets might save some, but a bodkin in the shoulder or arm would disable a horseman. Some of their horses had mail, but even they would die when the bodkins fell. We would only stop once our knights engaged. Then we would change to war arrows and send them at the men on foot, who wore no mail.\n\nThe two armies were lined up. I saw priests moving amongst de Montfort's men: Lord Edward had been shriven and our men were prepared. A horn sounded from the Montfortian side and the huge metal snake came towards us. I saw that, along the flanks of the charging horsemen, there were dismounted men at arms and knights. The Earl of Leicester did not have as many horses at his disposal as he might have liked. His knights would be equally matched with those of Lord Edward \u2013 Baron Mortimer and the Earl of Gloucester had twice as many knights as de Montfort.\n\n\"Draw!\"\n\nThe range was extreme, but Lord Edward's counter charge meant that we would only have a short time to use our bodkins. After the initial contact, we would have to release at those who were further back. Simon de Montfort seemed eager for battle and urged his mighty steed up the hill.\n\n\"Release!\"\n\nI had a hundred archers at my command and the arrows slammed into the rebels. The elite of the enemy were at the fore, and all had mailed horses and wore plate. A handful were hit and none fell, for our bodkins could not penetrate plate.\n\n\"Release!\"\n\nThe second flight had more success as they hit knights and men at arms wearing mail. Ten, at least, were plucked from their saddles. The next five flights caused increasing casualties and then I shouted, \"War arrows!\"\n\nThe charge by the rebels had driven them deep into our lines. Gilbert de Clare led his men into the enemy's left flank. Our war arrows had an instant effect, falling amongst those who wore no mail. Most did not have a helmet and few had a shield. Every arrow found flesh. After five flights and with the pressure of the Earl of Gloucester's knights, the men on foot broke and fled. The rebel knights and men at arms fought on, but the backbone of the men on foot were gone. Their archers had barely a chance to draw their bows.\n\nIt was then I saw Baron Mortimer and his handpicked men. They charged into the right flank of the men around Simon de Montfort. The rebel lances had shattered in the first contact, so now the rebel knights defended themselves with their swords. I saw Roger Mortimer's lance hit Simon de Montfort below the helmet, driving into his skull.\n\nThe rebel leader fell to the ground.\n\nThis was the point where, normally, knights would surrender, but not at Evesham. The knights around de Montfort were butchered. I saw Hugh le Despencer knocked from his saddle by Roger Mortimer. When he fell to the ground Baron Mortimer dismounted to hack into his body.\n\nSir John rode up the hill. \"Lord Edward commands the archers to join the general pursuit. No prisoners!\" Sir John wore no helmet and had a simple mail coif on his head. I saw the sad expression on his face.\n\nI nodded. \"You heard the command!\"\n\nDropping our bows and arrow bags, we hurtled down the hill. By the time I reached the last stand of Simon de Montfort, Roger Mortimer was hacking his head from his body. His wife would have her trophy.\n\nMy men stayed close to me. We had swords and daggers ready. When you hunt, the most dangerous of beasts is the wounded one. The bridge would be like a stopper in a bottle, and when they knew they were to be slaughtered, then they would fight even harder. We ran through knots of rebels, surrounded by knights and men at arms. The enemy were being butchered.\n\nSome of the other archers were faster than we were, and they were not staying together. Suddenly, I saw them begin to fall as they ran into a wall of steel. The men at arms who were fighting them knew their business and the archers were cut to pieces. I recognised the livery of the men who stood together, it was de Ferrers' men at arms.\n\nI saw Henry Sharp Sword as he ran through the captain of John de Warenne's archers. His shield blocked the archer's sword, and he drove his own sword under the rib cage to emerge at the neck. I recognised some of the men as having been in the woods when we had captured them, but I only had eyes for Henry Sharp Sword. He had a mail hauberk and a coif upon his head.\n\nAs soon as he spied me, he lurched towards me. \"Now I shall have the price placed upon your head and I will take your head back to my lord!\"\n\nI think I might have died swiftly, had he not been so keen to get at me. I ignored his words and concentrated upon his sword and shield. He had forgotten that he was moving uphill, and the slope was slick with blood. His right foot slipped as he swung at me. I did not even need to block his strike with my dagger for it bit into the turf. I swung at his head. He was quick and his shield flicked up, but not quite quickly enough: I hit the side of his head. It was a glancing blow but I could see that I had dazed him. In addition, I had angered him.\n\nI was aware of my men fighting his company. We outnumbered his men, though they were better armed. But I had my own battle to fight. Henry Sharp Sword moved towards me again, but this time he balanced his feet. I leaned away from his blow. So far, my dagger had been unused. I was slightly above him and he shuffled his feet around so that we both had one leg higher up the hill than the other; it weakened the benefit that height afforded me. I still had a slight advantage, for it was my right leg which was uphill and I would be swinging down at him. He swung at my leg, which was unprotected. I jumped in the air and, as I landed, my feet trapped his sword beneath them. It was my turn for fast hands, and my dagger darted out. I missed the eye I was aiming at, but drove the dagger through his cheek. As I ripped it out I sliced the bottom of his nose off.\n\nHe was now so angry that he forgot all he knew. He wanted to kill me at all costs. With blood pouring down his face he ran at me, swashing his sword. I danced backwards out of the way. It was a dangerous move as there were men fighting all around me. The last thing I needed was to trip on a body \u2013 then he would have me.\n\n\"Come back, you cowardly archer!\"\n\nI had been taught many years earlier that words could do me no harm. I was now looking for a blow that would end this quickly. He was bloody, but none of his wounds would slow him up, and he was still a most dangerous opponent. I preyed on his fear of my dagger and I lunged at his eye; it was a feint. He swept his sword up, but I was already swinging my sword at his head again. He did not bring up his shield in time, and this time my sword sliced through some of the mail links on his coif. I saw him stagger at the blow. I feinted again with the dagger, and this time he did not bother to block the blow. Instead, he swept his sword at my left arm. Fate intervened for my feet let me down and, as I stepped away, I slipped on the blood that covered the greensward. They let me down but also saved me, as the sword swept over my body.\n\nI was exposed on the ground and I was helpless. With a cry of joy, he raised his sword. Any blow across my body or head would end my life \u2013 but my strong right arm saved me. I raised the sword to block the blow and then, as the swords rang together, rammed my dagger through his kneecap and twisted. As I ripped it out he collapsed, screaming, for I had torn tendons and ripped cartilage. Leaping to my feet I raised my sword and drove it down into his throat.\n\nHe was dead.\n\nI looked around, panting. Lewis Left Alone lay dead with a mass of cuts and wounds. His killer lay next to him, also dead. The rest of my men were still standing, although Robin of Barnsley had a leg which was bleeding and Tom was attending to it. I saw that John of Nottingham had a bloody coxcomb, but other than that we had survived.\n\n\"Do we continue the chase, Captain?\"\n\nI looked at David the Welshman and shook my head. \"I do not know about you, but I have had enough slaughter for one day. Besides, the men on horses are the ones who can catch them.\"\n\nI saw that, now that the bridge was blocked with the dead and the dying, many men were heading up the Alcester Road. Our knights and men at arms would catch them. The only one of our leaders who I could see was Roger Mortimer, despoiling the body of Hugh le Despencer. I could not conceive how a man could hate someone who was already dead. Surely he had done all that he could to him?\n\nI went back to the body of Henry Sharp Sword. He had a good sword and I took it. I pulled his mail from his body, it would fetch a good price. His coif was ruined. He had a full purse and there was gold in it. The rest of my men did the same with the men they had killed. We picked up Lewis' body. We would bury him. Then we headed back up the hill. We had bodkin arrows to recover and the treasure from the knights we had killed to take. They were easy to identify. They were the bodies stuck with arrows.\n\n\"Tom and I will take Lewis back to where we buried the Welsh archers. They are all archers together. We will bury him at sunset.\"\n\nWhen we passed the corpse of Simon de Montfort, it was hard to recognise him. His head was gone as were his arms, legs, feet, hands and genitals. If it was not for his livery, I would not have known who it was. The body of another of his sons, Henry, was also cut about.\n\nAs we neared the hill Peter ran down to greet us. He had obeyed his orders and guarded our arrows and bow staves. He looked at Lewis. \"Poor Lewis. He had a sad life, Captain.\"\n\nTom shook his head. \"The first part of his life was sad but I know, for I spoke with him, the time with this company was his best. He is a lesson to us all, Peter \u2013 live each day as though it is your last. Who knows? It may be.\"\n\nDusk had come upon us before Lord Edward, Henry Almain and the Earl of Gloucester returned. They were leading their horses for they were weary. All had tunics which were covered in blood. Behind them came their knights and men at arms. Every horseman was walking.\n\nI heard a shout from the road below us and saw Roger de Leybourne leading a man wearing Montfortian armour. I prayed that the man would be allowed to live, for he was the first prisoner I had seen. To my amazement I recognised him. It was Lord Edward's father; it was King Henry!\n\nThe reunion was touching but the king, I could see, was a broken man. He was no longer the arrogant aristocrat who dismissed commoners as irrelevant. He had endured a year of captivity and had almost died when our men took him for an enemy. He was king in name only. From that moment Lord Edward was really the king. He had been the king in waiting, and now he just waited for his father to make the throne his. The king's life had been saved by Roger de Leybourne. For his services, Lord Edward knighted him on the battlefield and, at the same time, conferred a knighthood on Captain William who was now Sir William of Evesham.\n\nPrince Edward came over to me and said, \"Do not fear, Gerald War Bow, you shall be rewarded too. It will not be a knighthood, but you shall not lose for your loyalty and for following my banner.\"\n\n\"And young Simon, my lord?\"\n\n\"Fled. I fear that Kenilworth will still be a thorn in our side, for those who escaped us entered that castle and there are now 1,700 rebels within.\" He smiled. \"At least we know where they all are!\"\n\nAnd so the bloody battle of Evesham was over. Many men called it the murder of Evesham, for there had been no honour. Knights had been butchered. Lord Edward had his vengeance for the defeat at Lewes, and his grip upon the land was a firm one.\n\n[ Epilogue ]\n\nThe day after the battle I was summoned to the side of the king and the other lords. \"Captain Gerald War Bow, you have done the cause of England and King Henry great service. In recognition of that fact, you are hereby made a gentleman and given the manor of Yarpole, which lies in the land ruled by Roger Mortimer, Baron of Wigmore. Baron Mortimer is also given the castle of Ludlow, for he has shown himself to be a stout defender of our border.\n\nI was stunned. I was not a knight but I had land and an income. I knew not what to say.\n\nLord Edward smiled. \"I can see that this has come as a shock. Take your men and ride to Yarpole, for I believe that Baron Mortimer has a task he would charge you to undertake.\" Lord Edward continued to confer honours and to knight young men who had served him at the battle.\n\nThe baron was pleased, for he now had Ludlow Castle. He took me to his tent and handed me a sack. \"This is a present for my wife. Give it to her with this letter. I will follow as soon as Kenilworth falls or we apprehend young Simon de Montfort!\"\n\n\"Of course, my lord.\"\n\n\"Yarpole is small, but it will give you a good income and I will be a generous lord, for you have served our cause well.\"\n\nMy men, of course, were delighted. I was now a gentleman and that raised their status, too. We left immediately. We had spare horses and treasure to sell. Ludlow would be the place to become richer, for King Llewellyn was now at war with King Henry. He had allied himself with the loser in the civil war and now owned five English castles in Wales. There would be war and the mail we sold would be worth more. We stayed overnight in Ludlow and sold our treasures at the market. We shared the proceeds. Even our youngest, Peter, was rich!\n\nWe rode through Yarpole. I had the deeds with me, but they were unnecessary as the hall was unoccupied. I discovered that the gentleman who last owned the manor had died at Evesham. He was a rebel and had chosen the wrong side.\n\n\"John of Nottingham, I leave you and my men here. I will deliver the letter and present to Lady Maud and return.\" I put a purse of coins in his hand. \"See what the ale in the village is like, eh?\"\n\n\"Do you not want to look around first, Captain?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I will have time enough for that. I wish to deliver this present and then my work is done. We will have war again soon, and this time it will be with the Welsh. Let us enjoy this brief time of peace, shall we?\"\n\nI was taken directly to Lady Maud.\n\n\"I come bearing a gift and a letter, Lady Maud.\"\n\nShe grabbed the letter and broke the seal. Her daughters came down when she squealed.\n\n\"What is it, mother?\"\n\n\"You have the best of fathers! We now have Ludlow Castle and he has sent us treasure!\"\n\nShe took the sack from me and, reaching in, pulled out the head of Simon de Montfort. I found it sickening, but her daughters seemed as excited as she was.\n\nThey were so engrossed and excited that they did not notice me leave. I yearned for the company of my men. They were rough and they were common, but they were honest and they had a code. I had been amongst royalty and nobility and saw that they did not have a code; chivalry was an illusion.\n\nI was still Lord Edward's archer but I knew not for how long. I mounted Eleanor and rode to my new manor and my men. I found myself smiling. Once out of the castle the air smelled sweeter and life seemed better.\n\nI began to whistle. It was a new start!"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Death of a Squire",
        "author": "Maureen Ash",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "1200s",
            "Templar Knight Mystery"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Lincolnshire, Late Autumn 1200 A.D.",
                "text": "The trees in the forest were nearly denuded of leaves. Those that remained were brown and curled, rattling with dry whispers when the wind blew. On the forest floor bracken still struggled with life, but dark and musty, full of dead insects and the remains of spiders' webs. It was quiet, only the distant irritating call of a lone crow marring the silence. The pale sun pushed tentative fingers through the remaining foliage, glistening on the dew that lay thick upon the ground.\n\nHigh in the branches of an oak tree a man crouched. Dressed all in brown, and with a dark beard covering most of his face, he could hardly be seen as he kept close to the trunk of the tree. Slung from his waist was a quiver of arrows and he held his bow loosely in his left hand, ready for use when his prey appeared. Below him, secreted in the thickness of the undergrowth, were two of his comrades, one on each side of a trail marked with the delicate hoofprints of deer and liberally scattered with droppings. They, too, had arrows and bows at the ready.\n\nThe trio had been in their places nearly two hours, since before dawn, for the track was one used by deer to water at a small stream some few hundred yards distant. Their muscles were cramped, and eyes and ears sore from straining to catch some sign of the quarry they were after, but the desperate hunger in their bellies kept them in place.\n\nFinally a movement could be heard, just a gentle thud as a hoof touched bare earth. The deer was a large one and male\u2014perhaps a soar, in his fourth year. Sensing possible danger, the stag paused in mid-stride and lifted a quivering nose to investigate the air for any scent that would tell of an enemy nearby. As he did so, his dappled shape glinted amongst the trunks of the trees, and his antlers could be seen. They were a broken mass of spikes, torn during battle in the recent rutting season. When he finally took a hesitant step forward, there was a meaty ripple of the flesh on his haunches that brought a gush of saliva into the mouths of the waiting men.\n\nSlowly, and with the greatest of care and held breath, the men nocked arrows to their bows. Though they made hardly a sound, the deer became aware of their presence and started to bolt. With a great leap he sprang forward, but his alarm had been triggered a split second too late. The hunter in the tree loosed an arrow that sped like a popping flame true to its mark and buried itself deep in the side of the stag's neck. The deer faltered but kept to its feet, hooves scrabbling on the ground as it tried to gain purchase to run. Two more arrows flew through the air, one taking the stag in the side, the other lodging in the vulnerable flesh of its underbelly as it crashed to the ground, throwing up a cloud of leaves and rotting vegetation as the heavy body began its death spasms.\n\n\"Heigh-ho, we've got him!\" The yells of the two jubilant hunters on the ground echoed through the quiet wood before being hastily hushed by the man in the tree as he clambered down.\n\n\"Quiet, you fools. Do you want every forester from here to Lincoln to know we have made a kill? With the noise you're making even the sheriff in his keep will be able to hear you.\"\n\nBoth of his companions immediately fell silent and when one of them spoke, it was in low tones. \"Aye, you're right, Fulcher. Sorry. But it is a rare beast, is it not? And will make good feasting for many a meal. Talli and I just got carried away, that's all. It won't happen again.\"\n\n\"See that it doesn't, Berdo. There might still be some villagers around collecting hazelnuts or cutting bracken. At best they'll want a share of meat; at worst they'll raise an alarm. Quick now, let's get done and away before we're seen.\"\n\nThe men set to work, slicing meat from the carcass without regard for the niceties of their butchering and stowing the bloody chunks in rough sacks they had brought rolled up and thrust in their belts. When they had hacked off as much as they could carry, they prepared to depart, wiping their knives by thrusting them point first into the earth. Talli, still exuberant with the excitement of their good fortune, pushed aside from the track to relieve his bladder, while Fulcher and Berdo did their best to cover the remains of the kill with handfuls of dead leaves. As they finished, Fulcher quietly called to Talli to hurry.\n\n\"You can piss as much as you need once we're away from here,\" he remonstrated. \"It won't be long before Camville's forester is on his round.\"\n\nThere was no answer from Talli and both of his comrades looked at him questioningly when he reappeared on the track, white-faced and silent.\n\nFulcher was the first to react. \"What is it, Talli? Are we discovered?\" He looked around fearfully, peering down the path the deer had taken, seeking any movement that would indicate the dreaded presence of authority, but there was only stillness and again the raucous call of the crow, this time answered by another of its kind.\n\nTalli came slowly forward. \"No, there's no one about. No one living, that is.\" He motioned with his arm towards the ceiling of tree limbs above them. \"Look up, over there.\"\n\nHis companions gazed skyward, in the direction that he was pointing. \"Sweet Jesu,\" murmured Fulcher. Berdo gripped Talli hard by the arm as he, too, saw what his friend had found.\n\n\"I was looking to see what that crow was fussing about,\" Talli explained. \"Thought it might be they had seen someone we couldn't. So I looked up\u2026. God's Blood, I wish I hadn't.\"\n\nThe trio moved to where Talli had gone to relieve himself, still with upturned faces, their eyes rooted to a spot on the limb of a huge oak tree. There, motionless among the almost bare branches, hung a body, secured to the tree by a rope around the neck. Another rope was tied tightly around the wrists, so that the hands hung together at the corpse's waist. The face was mottled, tongue extended, eyes popping almost from their sockets. On a nearby tree, the two crows were now perched in silence, watching the men with bright black eyes. In the sky above them more crows were making an appearance, gliding on silent wings in ever-decreasing circles before landing beside their brethren, until the upper branches of the tree were filled with their dark forbidding shapes.\n\n\"That's a fine meal those scavengers will have today,\" murmured Talli.\n\n\"And fine in more ways than one,\" observed Fulcher. \"Look at those clothes. Good velvet tunic and woollen hose. Those don't belong to the likes of us. He's from a lord's household, maybe even a lord himself. When he's found, there'll be a hue and cry all over Lincoln.\"\n\nWith long steps he returned to where the sacks of meat waited, the blood already seeping through the rough cloth and forming pools on the ground. \"Let's be away from here, lads. This is nowt to do with us and we best try and keep it that way.\"\n\nBerdo remained where he was, then said slowly, \"If I stood on your shoulders, Fulcher, we could cut him down. His clothes would make fine pickings, and I think I see a dagger in his belt. We could use that.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Fulcher vehemently. \"Like I said, we'd best be away from here. If we're caught in the act of robbing him, we'll be blamed for his death as well. I want no part of this.\"\n\n\"If they catch us, we'll be hanged for the deer anyway. A man can only die once,\" Berdo replied.\n\n\"Then you do it on your own, Berdo, without my connivance. If Talli is of a mind to help you with the plunder, then so be it. But I will not.\"\n\nAt the reluctant look on Talli's face, Berdo gave in and they joined Fulcher in hefting the sacks of meat onto their shoulders.\n\n\"He's nowt but a lad,\" said Talli. \"Looks to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. And from the way he's been trussed, he didn't string himself up there. Why would anyone bring a youngster like that out here and hang him?\"\n\n\"I don't know and I don't care,\" Fulcher replied. \"I'm going to forget I ever saw him and if you two have any sense in your addled pates you'll do the same.\"\n\nLaden with their booty, the three men made haste down the track towards the stream that had been the destination of the deer they had killed. In its water the poachers would place their steps until they were well away from the scene of their crime so that any dogs used to track them would lose their telltale scent and the smell of the deer's blood. Above them a slight breeze rattled the dry branches of the oak and the body swayed slightly, then moved a little more as the first of the crows landed on the bright thatch of hair that topped the corpse's head. Twisted under the noose, caught by the violence of the tightening rope, was the boy's cap, the colourful peacock's feather that had once jauntily adorned it now hanging crushed and bedraggled. As the crows began their feast, it was loosened and fluttered slowly to the ground."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Lincoln Castle stands high upon a hill, overlooking the surrounding countryside. Sharing the summit is the cathedral and below the castle and church, on the southern slope of the hill, the town of Lincoln spills like dregs from an ale cup until it reaches the banks of the Witham river.\n\nThe bail of Lincoln castle is large and, on this late autumn morning, was busier than usual. King John, recently crowned monarch of England in May of the year before, had sent warning of his intention to visit Lincoln and meet there with the king of Scotland in mid-November. Feverish preparations were being carried out for his visit. Not only the king and his retinue would need to be catered for, but also the large number of guests that would flock to show loyalty to their new monarch. Provisions needed to be readied, sleeping accommodations prepared and entertainments arranged. Every servant, from lowest kitchen scullion to high steward, was engaged in the task.\n\nAmidst the scene of this ordered confusion the soldiers in the garrison of Lincoln castle kept to their usual routine. Inside the barracks, a long timbered building set hard against the inner wall of the fortress, the men-at-arms went methodically about their duties. Some recently come off night shift were sleeping, others sat on pallets rubbing goose grease into leather boots or wrist guards, and one was plying a heavy bone needle threaded with gut in an attempt to repair a rip in a leather tunic. There was a low hum of desultory conversation.\n\nIn front of a brazier of burning coals set in the farthest corner away from the barracks door, Bascot de Marins, a Templar knight, sat warming himself. Beside him, huddled on the floor, was his young servant, Gianni. Both were cold. They had been in Lincoln only eleven months, having arrived at the onset of the previous year's winter. Although at that time they had both been in ill health, a year of good food and plentiful exercise had seen them well on the way to recovery. Except for this curse of feeling the icy fingers of winter deep in their bones.\n\nBascot looked pityingly at Gianni. The boy was a mute and even though he could not voice his discomfort, it was readily apparent for, despite the thick undershirt of lambskin he wore beneath his jerkin and the old cloak of Bascot's that was wrapped around his shoulders, he was visibly shivering. The Templar scooped more charcoal into the brazier and urged Gianni to move closer to the fire.\n\nA broad stocky figure entered the building and walked towards them. \"Hola, de Marins. Does the weather already chill your bones?\" Ernulf, serjeant of the garrison, was clad only in a jerkin of leather and summer hose. \"It is mild yet,\" he admonished, \"not even a touch of frost. What will you do if snow comes?\"\n\nHe had been grinning as he walked up to them but, noting Gianni's distress, his tone changed from derision to concern. \"Still not used to our English weather, are you, lad?\" he asked, remembering the boy came from the warm climes of Italy. \"It will take a little while for the humours in your body to adjust, but they will, never fear. Wait here a moment. I will get something to ease your discomfort.\"\n\nMoving to the back of the barracks, Ernulf went to a small room partitioned off from the rest of the communal space shared by the garrison. As he rummaged in a large chest he cursed himself for not recalling the plight the Templar and the boy had been in when the pair had arrived the year before. Bascot, an eye lost and an ankle smashed during eight years of captivity by the Saracens in the Holy Land; and the boy, a waif picked up by the Templar during his long journey home, thin as an arrow shaft and recovering from malnutrition. They were much improved, but still\u2014he grunted with satisfaction as he found what he had been looking for and went back to the brazier.\n\n\"Here's what you need, lad,\" Ernulf proclaimed, waving in the direction of the Templar's servant an object that looked like one of the stuffed pig's bladders children use to play foot-the-ball. Unwrapping the bundle, he jammed the outer portion on the boy's head. It turned out to be a large cap, two pieces of leather sewn together and coming down over the ears, the inside lined with the soft fleece of a lamb. He then produced two strips of thin calfskin, each sewn on one side with patches of rabbit fur.\n\n\"Wrap these bindings around your feet and wear them under your boots,\" he said to Gianni. \"Take it from an old campaigner, keep the head and feet warm and the rest of the body will be content. Those have served me well during many a long night's shift of duty.\"\n\nBascot laughed. Ernulf was as crusty as most old soldiers but he was, for all that, a man who cared for his fellow human beings, especially children and women. Gianni looked at the serjeant in silent surprise, his lips curving in a smile of thanks as he pushed the cap farther over his mop of dark brown curls until the brim came down almost to his nose. With caressing fingers he rubbed the rabbit's fur on the bindings, then promptly sat down on the ground, removed his boots and began to wrap his feet and ankles in the warm covering. Every few moments he would look up at Ernulf and mime his pleasure by loudly clapping his hands.\n\nThe serjeant pulled up a stool and sat down beside Bascot. Against the wall a couple of grooms from the stables were munching on sour winter apples and drinking small mugs of ale. Ernulf called to one of them and told him to fetch a wineskin from his quarters. When it came, he offered it to Bascot. As the Templar took the proffered flask, Ernulf studied the countenance of the man seated on the other side of the brazier. The dark leather of the patch that covered the socket of his missing eye and the permanently sun-browned hue of his skin made, by contrast, the colour of his remaining sighted eye shine like a shard of blue ice. His dark hair and beard were prematurely threaded with strands of grey. Captivity in the hot lands of Outremer had taken its toll, and even though Bascot had regained lost flesh and muscle during the time he had been in Lincoln, he still seemed weary. And still felt the cold. The serjeant knew only the bare bones of the Templar's history, but he knew enough to surmise what the man had suffered. Even though Bascot never spoke of his time as a prisoner of the infidel, or of the grief he must have felt when he returned to England and found that all his immediate family had died in his absence, there was pain written large on the Templar's lined face. The only time his expression softened was when his glance rested on the lad he had rescued from starvation. The relationship between them was more that of father and son than master and servant.\n\nThe wine was thin stuff, but warming, and both men felt better for having taken a long pull from the depths of the skin.\n\n\"Bit of a ruckus up at the hall this morning,\" Ernulf remarked conversationally, but with a slight frown furrowing the space between his grizzled eyebrows. \"Seems one of the squires from William Camville's retinue got himself hanged out in the woods. A forester found him in the sheriff's chase, right next to a deer that had been unlawfully slain and butchered.\"\n\nWilliam Camville was brother to Gerard Camville, sheriff of Lincoln and husband to Nicolaa de la Haye, the hereditary castellan of Lincoln's fortress. Bascot had met William only a couple of times before the baron's recent arrival a few days earlier, but he had been acquainted with another Camville brother who had accompanied King Richard on his crusade to the Holy Land in 1190. William had come to Lincoln with a small retinue, an early arrival of the large number of guests expected to pay attendance at King John's visit.\n\n\"What was the boy doing out in the woods?\" Bascot asked.\n\nErnulf shrugged. \"Nobody knows. He's been missing since last night but no one took much notice. Thought he was out on the prowl for women or mischief of some kind or another, like most boys his age. Whatever he was up to out there, it's most likely he came upon the poachers and got killed to prevent his witness to the deed. That's what the sheriff thinks, anyway.\"\n\n\"And Lady Nicolaa?\" Bascot asked the question with a touch of amusement. Ernulf was devoted to his mistress, and had been in service to the Hayes since she was a small child. Anything that distressed her, in turn, discomfited Ernulf.\n\n\"'Tis her husband's business. His and his brother's. My lady has no call to be involved, not unless it reflects on the security of the castle.\" Although the serjeant had spoken firmly, his next words betrayed his lack of confidence in his statement as he added, \"But, for all that, we both know she'll be troubled by the matter. And scarce has need of it. She's been up before dawn every day this last sennight seeing that all is prepared for the king's visit. Since William of Scotland is coming here to pledge homage to King John, all must be in order and reflect well not only on our king, but on Lincoln. She has no want of any of this trouble.\"\n\nBascot agreed with the serjeant, then leaned closer into the warmth of the brazier, smiling at Gianni's look of contentment beneath the brim of Ernulf's hat. He was just beginning to feel some benefit from the charcoal's warm glow when a young page came to the door of the barracks and ran over to where they were sitting.\n\n\"Lady Nicolaa bids me greet you, Sir Bascot, and asks that you attend her in her private chamber,\" the youngster said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Bascot stepped out of the barracks and began to thread his way across the ward. Lincoln castle possessed two keeps, one newly built, which the sheriff and his wife used as a principal residence, and another older one that was used as an armoury and had a few sleeping chambers above. There was a host of other buildings inside the protection of the castle walls\u2014storehouses, stables, dairy, kitchens, mews, smithy, as well as sheds for coopers and fletchers. In and out of all these buildings people moved as they carried out their duties. A line of carts ran right across the bail from the main gate, each heaped with baskets of nuts, root vegetables or dried apples, all of which were to be added to sacks of grain already stored in the lower section of the keep. A bevy of household servants was clambering over the carts, inspecting the contents as they checked to see that all were in good condition and had been tallied. Cattle lowed in makeshift pens and chickens and geese registered protest at their incarceration from the inside of cages piled haphazardly nearby. In a far corner, out of the main swirl of dust, a washerwoman was hard at her task, draping bedclothes and napery on poles after extracting them from the huge tub of water mixed with wood ash and caustic soda in which she had washed them. The fabric flapped and swirled in the breeze created by the people milling about. Over all this cacophony the clang of the smith's hammer rang out and smoke from fires used for drying fish lent a tang to the air that caught in the throat and brought tears to the eyes.\n\nThe forebuilding of the new keep was reached by a steep flight of wooden stairs and, as Bascot approached them, his attention was caught by a group of men gathered in front of the stables. Gerard Camville\u2014booted, spurred, and wearing a hooded shirt of mail\u2014stood watching as one of the grooms led a huge destrier from the stable. Beside Camville was his brother William, similarly clad in mail. Both men were armed, swords in serviceable leather sheaths hanging from belts slung on their hips. In physical appearance they were as unalike as two brothers could be. Gerard was a man of immense girth, with muscle swelling at shoulders and thighs, his black straight hair cut high at the nape. His brother was taller and slimmer, with sandy-coloured locks that fell in roughly cut curls onto his shoulders. Their hair now covered by hoods of mail, the one similarity between them was apparent. This was in their expression, a forward thrust of the jaw that warned of an unruly temper and an irascible nature. Accompanying them were half a dozen knights, mostly from the castle's household. Horses had been brought for all, and it was only moments before the contingent was mounted and sweeping across the bail towards the gate in the western wall of the castle. As the horses passed they threw up a wake of dust and feathers, carving a path through the press of servants and carts, heedless of anyone or anything in their way. A horn sounded as the huge iron-bound gate was flung open and, without pause, the sheriff and his party rode through.\n\nBascot climbed the steps up to the forebuilding and went into the keep, cursing the ache in his ankle. The injury was better than it had been a few months ago, mainly due to the acquisition of a new pair of boots made by a cobbler in the town. The shoemaker's skilful fingers had inserted pads that protected and strengthened the ill-knit bones, but stairs still caused Bascot pain. Once inside the hall, he took a moment to ease his leg before tackling the winding flight of stone steps that led to Nicolaa de la Haye's chamber at the top of a tower built into a corner wall of the keep.\n\nInside the hall was almost as much turmoil as outside in the bailey. The steward of the Haye household was overseeing the placing of kegs of ale and tuns of wine into the buttery, while several minions ran at his direction with supplies of candles, wooden platters, and containers of salt and spices. Bascot was relieved to reach the relative quiet of the stairwell, even though he faced another climb.\n\nWhen Bascot reached the top of the stairs, he knocked lightly on the door in front of him. Nicolaa's voice bidding him to enter came swiftly and when he went into the room, he found her seated behind a large wooden table with a sheaf of parchment in front of her. She was a small plump woman with delicate hands and a face relatively unlined by time. Only the few grey strands that threaded the margin of copper-coloured hair showing at the edge of her coif gave a clue to the fact that she was mature enough to be mother to a son almost as old as Bascot. Now she looked unusually weary, her skin tinged with the pallor of fatigue.\n\n\"You are well come, de Marins. Be seated. I know the stairs are a trial to your leg.\" Her voice was calm but Bascot had come to know her well enough to recognize the edge of worry in it.\n\n\"You have heard of the death of the squire?\" she asked without preamble. When Bascot nodded, she rose from behind the table and went to where a small flagon of wine sat on a side table and poured them both a measure. As she handed the cup to the Templar, she said, \"There is no doubt it was murder, but even apart from that it is a most distressing death, not only for the manner of it but because of the boy's connections and the impending visit of the king. That he was in my brother-by-marriage's retinue also causes an added difficulty.\"\n\nBascot remained silent as she continued, \"The boy, whose name was Hubert de Tournay, had just passed his seventeenth birthday. He was put in William's household to train as page and squire some years ago and has remained there ever since. But he is, or was, a distant relation of Eustace de Vescy who, as you will probably know, is married to Margaret, illegitimate daughter of William, the king of Scotland. Since the Scottish king is coming here to meet our own king, and hopefully settle the differences between them, it would be disastrous if de Vescy decides to make an issue of this boy's death at a time when relationships are already strained between our two countries.\"\n\n\"Is de Vescy liable to do so?\" Bascot asked.\n\nNicolaa had remained standing while she had been speaking. Now she returned to the chair behind the table and sat down with an audible sigh. \"I do not know, de Marins, but I do not like de Vescy, nor do I trust him. He seems to be complaisant towards King John, but these northern barons are often fickle and prone to make trouble. I have no grounds for doubting de Vescy, but the feeling is there and I cannot rid myself of it.\"\n\nNicolaa and her family were noted for their loyalty to the reigning monarch. Her husband did not possess such a reputation, for he had rebelled against the chancellor left by King Richard to govern the country while he was on crusade. His partner in that defiance had been John, then prince. Now that Richard was dead and John on the throne, their former liaison had not endeared the king to his one-time coconspirator but had rather made the new monarch distrustful of him. If trouble arose during John's visit to Lincoln, it would not take long for his overly suspicious mind to include Gerard Camville in the blame. Hence Nicolaa's concern.\n\n\"I would like the mystery of this death cleared up, de Marins. My husband believes the boy was up to some prank or other and got himself caught by outlaws in the wood. He has gone now to scour the area where the boy was found, but if the outlaws were indeed the culprits they will be long gone, most likely into Sherwood Forest. The eastern edge of the forest spreads down to the Trent river not far from where the boy was found. Gerard will not find them if that is the case. Sherwood is thick and dense. It provides ample cover for any outside the law to evade a pursuer.\"\n\n\"Do you not agree with your husband's opinion, lady?\" Bascot asked. He had heard the doubt in her voice.\n\n\"I would wish it so, for it would provide an easy solution to what could become a difficult situation. But unless my husband can find the outlaws who killed the boy, and provide proof that they are guilty, it might well be said that he has merely taken the most expedient way of explaining the murder. Especially since the body had not been stripped of clothes or dagger, which outlaws most assuredly would have done. And why was he killed by hanging? Again, outlaws would have carried out the deed as quickly as possible, most probably with a knife or cudgel, and left the body on the track, not taken the time and trouble to string him up from a tree. No, I do not think it likely that the murderer is to be found amongst the wretches in Sherwood.\"\n\nNicolaa took a sip of wine before she continued, \"The manner of death suggests a punishment, a reprisal for a serious misdeed on Hubert's part. The boy had a reputation as a troublemaker. He was not well liked by the others of his rank in William's household, and even William himself says he found the lad disagreeable. Hubert was, apparently, prone to boast of his connection with de Vescy and that he was therefore privy to information denied to the rest of the squires in William's household. He also made no secret of his opinion that Arthur of Brittany, Richard's nephew, should be king, not John, and hinted that there are more supporters for Arthur's claim to the throne than are publicly known. And, of course, he intimated that he knew their identities.\"\n\n\"It sounds as though he was an impudent, and imprudent, young man,\" Bascot replied.\n\n\"He was. William says he did not pay the boy's claims much heed when a member of his household staff mentioned it to him. He thought it likely to be more of the lad's vain boasting. But it may not have been. It is true there are many in Normandy and Brittany who favour young Arthur as king\u2014and they have supporters here in England\u2014but John has been crowned. He is our monarch and only war can come of gainsaying him.\" She paused a moment, then said, \"There is an old legend, de Marins, telling of a curse that will befall any king who enters Lincoln. I do not wish that myth to become reality. If Hubert's words had any truth in them, it could be that he was killed to stop up his prattle and perhaps warn others to keep their lips sealed tight. If that is so, I must know of it. It is my duty, not only to John, but to the safety of my lands.\"\n\nThe Hayes had been hereditary castellans of Lincoln castle for the past eighty-five years when an ancestor, Robert de la Haye, had married a daughter of the Saxon family that had held the post since the days of the Conquest. Nicolaa's father had died without male issue, either legitimate or bastard, and she, as the eldest daughter, had inherited the office as well as much of the Haye demesne. Although Gerard Camville, as Nicolaa's husband, was nominally lord over her estates and governorship of the castle, the sheriff was a lazy and discontented man, more suited to the battlefield or the excitement of the hunt than to managing the various mundane details of running the large fief. Nicolaa undertook these tasks herself and carried them out efficiently and well.\n\n\"What is it you require of me, lady?\" Bascot asked.\n\nNicolaa leaned forward, her hands clasped together as they rested on the table in front of her. \"If it is at all possible, it is imperative that the truth be found out. To do that, the matter must be delved into. I am asking you to undertake that task, de Marins.\"\n\nBascot gazed at her, his one sighted eye locked into the two of hers. They had played this game before when there had been murder done in an alehouse in Lincoln town during the summer. She had asked him for assistance then and, since both he and Gianni were accepting the shelter of Lincoln castle and the largesse of its mistress at the time, he had complied. More through good fortune than his suitability for the venture, the murderer had been caught. And Bascot, to his surprise, had felt a great satisfaction for the part he had played in the apprehension of the culprit\u2014and she knew it.\n\nWith a wry smile, he nodded his acceptance. Nicolaa, in turn, quietly thanked him.\n\n\"Is it known why the boy was out in the forest?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"No, not yet. That is my concern. Why was he there? Did he go willingly or not? The track nearby where he was found is one frequently used by those who have reason to travel in the chase\u2014villagers, my husband's forester, our bailiff and the like. If he was not killed by the brigands that poached the deer, it may be that he was abducted and taken there to be killed, or perhaps lured there for a false appointment with the murderer. It may even be simply that he was followed as he went about some purpose of his own. These are the questions for which answers need to be found, de Marins.\"\n\nBascot nodded as she went on. \"My husband's forester is in the hall below. I asked him to wait there so that you can speak to him. There is probably little he can tell you, but it is a place to start.\"\n\nShe stood up and so did Bascot. \"The other pages and squires in William Camville's retinue\u2014how many are there?\" he asked.\n\nNicolaa frowned in thought. \"Seven altogether, I believe. Three pages and four squires. Two of the older boys are almost at the end of their training and hopeful of soon attaining the rank of knight. William tells me that all of them deny any knowledge of the reason for Hubert's absence from the castle last night.\"\n\n\"Still, it might be worthwhile for me to speak to them. They may know some fact that is pertinent and not realise its import.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded. \"I will have my steward summon them to one of the chambers below. And also instruct the forester to wait upon your pleasure.\" With a decisive movement, she picked up the papers that lay on her desk and began to walk towards the door. \"If there is nothing else, de Marins, I shall await your report after the evening meal.\"\n\nDismissed, Bascot left the chamber. Once again he was embroiled in secret murder and he sent up a silent prayer that the outcome of this investigation would be as successful as the last one."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "\"Hubert was worse than a pain in the gut! I'm not sorry he's dead. And I'm not afraid to say so.\"\n\nThe pages and squires of William Camville's retinue had, on instructions conveyed by the Haye steward, gathered in a small chamber to await the arrival of Bascot. The room was small and dusty, used as a repository for records of the revenues of Haye tenants, and was piled high with rolls of parchment and tally sticks. There was barely enough room for all to sit or stand in comfort.\n\nThe boy who had spoken was one of the younger ones, Osbert, who sat cross-legged on the floor and stared defiantly up at the two eldest, Alain and Renault, who were standing and leaning against the embrasure of the one small window in the room.\n\n\"Your honesty does you credit, Osbert,\" Alain said to him with a small smile, \"but I do not think it would be wise to be quite so forthright with Sir Bascot.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, but it is the truth,\" Osbert maintained. He was nine years old, with hair the colour and shape of a wheat sheaf, and his green eyes glowed with outrage as he continued, \"He was always sneering at us younger ones, saying we didn't know one end of a lance from the other and that no amount of training would ever make us into knights. He was a bully and a braggart and you know it well, Alain, for you yourself changed angry words with him more than once.\"\n\nAlain, tall and slim at eighteen years old, with a sober face and rigidly erect posture, flushed slightly at the youngster's words. \"It was my duty to correct him. I was his senior in age and rank,\" he said quietly.\n\n\"You weren't correcting him when you told him you'd break his head if he dared approach your sister again,\" Osbert retorted angrily. \"And I'd have done the same if I had been you. He deserved what he got and I give praise to his murderer, whoever he may be.\" His voice dropped a little lower, but was still defiant, as he added, \"Even if that murderer was someone from our own household.\"\n\nRenault, a few months younger than Alain, straightened up from his relaxed position. He was a Poitevin, the only one of the group whose family did not possess a fief in England. He was wirily built, with black hair, sallow skin and dark eyes. Always moving with a slow unhurried grace, he had nevertheless proved his skill at the quintain and on the practice field, and gave promise of one day being a redoubtable knight. He now looked down at the feisty little Osbert, smiled and said languidly, \"You have an impertinent tongue, little one. Be careful it doesn't get you into trouble.\"\n\nThe words, spoken so carelessly, nevertheless held a hint of warning and Osbert reluctantly clamped his mouth shut, contenting himself with clenching his small fists and bunching them on his knees.\n\nOne of the other boys spoke up, a lad whose name was Harold but who was always called Rufus for the redness of his complexion. At fourteen, and having just obtained the rank of squire, he was not quite as fearful of Renault as the younger Osbert. \"You hated Hubert as much as any of us, Renault. I remember when you found out that he had taken your new belt and worn it. You were very angry.\"\n\nRenault turned his gaze on Rufus. \"No angrier than you when he dropped one of his boots in the midden and made you clean it.\"\n\nRufus lowered his head and made no reply. Pushing himself upright, Renault heaved a sigh. \"But you are right, Rufus, and so is Osbert. All of us have reason to rejoice that pig's turd is dead.\" He glanced around at them all and, with a lazy grin, added, \"My only regret is that I promised Hubert a good thrashing if he continued with his pilfering ways. I should have given it to him then. Now he is dead, I will not get the chance.\"\n\nThis remark brought titters from all the rest of the boys except one, a lad about Rufus's age named Hugo. He was sitting on the floor, fiddling with a piece of straw, and had not raised his head once since they had all gathered in the room.\n\n\"What ails you, Hugo?\" Alain asked. \"Are you ill?\"\n\nHugo finally looked up. Alain was his cousin and it was no secret that the youngster had a great admiration for his elder kinsman. \"No, Alain, I am not ill,\" he replied with a tremble in his voice. \"I just wish that Hubert was not dead. I did not like him any more than the rest of you, but still I wish that he was not dead.\"\n\nThe two youngest of the group, seven-year-old pages sent by their families, like the rest, to William Camville to spend the long years of training for knighthood, looked fearful at the anguish in Hugo's voice. One of them rubbed at his eye with a knuckle, trying to stem the tears that were threatening to trickle down his cheeks.\n\nOsbert, who was sitting near the lad, gave him a sidelong glance and then a push on the shoulder along with a command to stop snivelling. The boy smothered his sobs with an effort and wiped his running nose on his sleeve.\n\nAlain moved forward into the midst of the group. \"These speculations are not profitable, nor are they just. It is clear that none of us had any love for Hubert or are sorry he is dead. And if we feel this way, there must be many others not of our household who feel the same. But we must be wary of what we tell the Templar. Suspicion is easily cast on an innocent person. To be circumspect is the only honourable course.\"\n\n\"And the most advisable,\" Renault commented wryly. \"The less that is made of this matter, the better for all of us. Even the little ones know that it would hardly help the reputation of any of us here, or that of our families, to be suspected of secret murder. I do not intend to risk losing the chance of winning my spurs for such a one as Hubert, whether he be alive or dead.\"\n\nAlthough Alain gave his friend an angry glance for the baldness of his words, the rest of the boys nodded to each other in agreement; Osbert and Rufus enthusiastically. All, that is, except Hugo. He only gave his cousin Alain a surreptitious glance filled with fear, then bowed his head before it should be noticed, and resumed his mournful contemplation of the musty trampled rushes beneath his feet."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Bascot's talk with William Camville's pages and squires left him feeling both amused and confused.\n\nAll of the young men and boys had denied any knowledge of the reason Hubert had been out in the forest on the night he had been murdered. When Bascot had suggested that the person or persons who had killed the squire might not have been outlaws, but someone known to the dead boy, they had all easily accepted that as a possibility.\n\nTheir general dislike of the dead squire had been evident in the way they had spoken of him, but none had admitted to having a particular grudge against him, nor of knowing anyone who had. This seemed an unlikely proposition in view of how disagreeable they had made Hubert sound. Only Osbert had offered any information that might be of interest. Hubert had, the page proclaimed, often boasted of his prowess with women, bragging that once he had bedded a wench she could not wait for more of the same.\n\n\"I don't know if what he said was true, Sir Bascot,\" Osbert had added, his small face quite serious. \"Especially since his bollocks and shaft weren't much bigger than mine. But it could be that he was meeting a lover in the woods, and was perhaps discovered by an outraged husband who took his revenge.\" Osbert had glanced, almost defiantly, at the two eldest squires, Alain and Renault, as he said this, but their faces had remained impassive.\n\nBascot had been hard put to hide a smile at the boy's words, but they had made him pause for thought. It was possible that Hubert had strayed into a relationship that had led to his death, but it was hard to believe that it would have been with anyone he had met in the few days he had been in Lincoln. Did he know someone from previous visits? Perhaps Hubert had already been acquainted with a woman from the town or in the retinues of nobles come to attend the king's visit. It was a suggestion worth pursuing.\n\nMaking his way down to the hall to talk to the forester who had found the squire's body, Bascot cast his mind back to the days when he had been the same age as Hubert. He had been spared the necessity of going to the household of one of his father's peers to train for knighthood since he had spent much of his younger days within the walls of a monastery, having been placed there as an oblate\u2014an offering for Christ\u2014to prepare for the day when he would take his vows as a monk. It had not been until he was well past Osbert's age that his father had removed him, one of Bascot's older brothers having died, leaving a gap, which his sire had been anxious to fill. But still Bascot could remember how he had felt when he had returned home and begun to practice with sword and lance. Despite his reluctance to leave the monks, he had been excited, full of the joy of young manhood and anxious to indulge in all the pleasures he had so far been denied in his life behind the monastery walls. Wine had tasted sweet, as had platters full of roasted venison and boar, and the most delicious of all had been sampling the charms of the many willing women servants on his father's demesne. There had not been many ready to deny a son of their lord his pleasure, or their own. It was not until he had taken his vow of chastity as a Templar that he had eschewed the charms of women and, although he had never broken his pledge, the temptation at times had been hard to resist. But as a young man he had not viewed it as a transgression, and had indulged the hot blood that rose at the sight of a softly curved breast or a slim ankle as readily as Hubert had apparently done. None had been wife to another man, however, but still, Osbert's opinion might bear merit.\n\nIn the hall he found the forester, Tostig, in the company of Ernulf, drinking ale. When Bascot approached, the serjeant introduced them. The forester was a tall man, clad in a leather jerkin over a green tunic and hose, with stout boots on his feet and a handsome strongly boned face that had been weathered by the elements. His hands, although calloused, were large and well shaped. On his left forearm he wore a leather bracer, used by archers to strengthen the aim of an arrow shot. At his feet lay a dog, a lymer hound, its keen eyes surveying Bascot dolefully as he approached. Ernulf told Bascot that Tostig had been employed as a mounted forester by Gerard Camville for the last fifteen years and that his bailiwick\u2014the area in which he carried out his duties\u2014was the chase granted by the king to the sheriff for his own use.\n\n\"It was the birds that told me something was amiss,\" Tostig said in answer to Bascot's question as to how he had come to discover the body. \"Gathered and circling like the carrion eaters they are. I thought it could be a dead animal and went to investigate. I found the deer first, the carcass half-buried under leaves. But then I noticed that the birds hadn't disturbed it much and looked around, thinking there might be another one slaughtered nearby.\"\n\nHe took a swig from the ale in his mug, swallowed, then spat among the rushes on the floor. \"Made my gorge rise when I looked up and saw what those damned crows had been feasting on,\" he told Bascot. \"The lad's face was almost gone, and they'd been at his body, too, pecking through his clothes.\"\n\nHe shook his head sadly and crossed himself before continuing. \"They still kept watch even after I cut him down, landing near me and croaking like imps from hell, though my dog was doing his best to forestall them. So I wrapped the boy in his cloak, which was still pinned to his shoulders, slung him over my horse and carried him out of the woods. If I had left him there to get help, they would have been at him again.\"\n\n\"What about the boy's own mount?\" Bascot asked. \"Surely he wouldn't have gone into the forest on foot.\"\n\n\"Found it not too far from where the lad was strung up,\" Tostig replied. \"It was loose and came to follow me on my way back to the castle. The reins were knotted at the end, and trailing, as though the lad had left the horse loosely tethered somewhere.\"\n\nErnulf reached over and filled the man's flagon again. Bascot waited until he had taken a deep drink, then asked, \"Did you notice if there were any other marks on the boy's body besides that made by the rope and the birds?\"\n\n\"You mean, had he been killed first, and then strung up?\" Tostig asked. When Bascot nodded, the forester shook his head. \"Apart from the damage done by the crows there was nothing else. Sir William and Sir Gerard stripped him themselves when I brought him in, looking for an answer to the same question, but there was no wound from a blade or arrow on his person or any mark on what was left of his head. Even allowing for the bird's feasting, there would have been trace of damage if his skull had been caved in.\"\n\n\"Nothing at all?\" Bascot persisted.\n\nThe forester shook his head again. \"As far as could be told it looks as though the boy just stood peaceful-like and let that noose be dropped over his head.\"\n\n\"Or else he didn't struggle because he was faced with a greater threat,\" Bascot said.\n\nThe forester looked straight at him, \"Like a sword or a bow, you mean?\"\n\nBascot nodded. \"Either that or else he was taken by surprise before he had the opportunity to defend himself.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "In a private upper chamber Gerard Camville and his brother sat sharing a cup of wine. They had just returned from the tract in the forest where Hubert had been found and, as they had expected, could locate nothing to indicate how the boy had come to be there or who had killed him. After a circuit of the perimeter of the chase they had called a halt for if outlaws had been the cause of the boy's death, they had long since disappeared into the depths of Sherwood. Gerard was in a foul temper, which even the rough questioning of the inhabitants of a nearby village had done nothing to assuage. All had claimed not to have seen or heard anything, or to have known the identity of the dead boy. Threats to take some of the young men of the village into Lincoln castle for questioning had elicited no further information. Finally, Gerard, at his brother's urging, had left them in peace and they had returned to Lincoln.\n\n\"Bloody peasants, always the same. You'd think they were deaf and blind to all that goes on around them. Until you ask for a reckoning of their livestock or the grain yield from harvest. Then they know down to the last dead lamb and stray kernel of wheat just how much they owe to their lord, and all the while they're stealing their masters blind.\" Gerard poured himself another cup of wine and began to pace the chamber from one end to the other.\n\n\"For the love of Christ, Gerard, sit down,\" William expostulated. \"I cannot talk to you while you roam about so. And talk we must. This death could become a serious problem.\"\n\nWilliam refilled his own wine cup, looking intently at his brother. Gerard had ceased his pacing and was standing by a small fireplace built into a corner of the wall, staring into the flames. The fireplace had a hood, in the latest fashion, and the applewood logs that burned in the open grate gave off a pleasant aroma. Gerard, however, gave no indication that he had heard his brother. He drank deep from his cup, then threw the lees of the wine into the fire before resuming his contemplation of the burning logs.\n\n\"Gerard, this death\u2014it has nothing to do with you, has it?\" William asked softly.\n\nThe sheriff turned and gave his brother a tight-lipped smile that held no humour. \"You, too, Will? I thought my own brother would have more faith in me. Do you really believe I could be so base as to secretly murder a young stripling to advance my own ends?\"\n\nWilliam ignored his brother's accusation and asked instead, \"Has someone else spoken to you in this regard?\"\n\nGerard strode over to the table and poured more wine. \"De Humez. Thinks because he is married to my wife's sister he has the right to question me as though he were my liege lord.\"\n\nWilliam leaned back in his chair and spoke quietly, \"You cannot blame us, Gerard. It is well known that you and the king are not complaisant with each other, and that it is only due to John's regard for Nicolaa that he allows you to retain the offices and lands you hold.\"\n\n\"He was complaisant enough with me when he needed an ally against Longchamps, wasn't he? Then I could do no wrong, even if I was defying the very chancellor his own brother had left to govern the realm while he was on crusade. And I lost my office when Richard returned while John, forgiven and indulged, did nothing to help me. That I got the shrievalty back eventually was not due to assistance from him, but because of the silver I paid for the privilege. And now I am expected to curry his favour in order to keep it, regardless of how much money it has cost me.\"\n\nThe sheriff crashed his fist down onto the table, setting the thick oak shivering. \"John is devil's spawn. And so was Richard. They killed their father between them. I was a fool ever to put my trust in either.\"\n\nWilliam knew how much his brother had loved King Henry and how much he missed him. He tried to placate the anger he could see rising in his sibling. \"Perhaps you were foolish not to realise that neither prince has the integrity of their father, Gerard, but you had little choice as matters turned out. And Henry has been dead a long time. You cannot mourn his loss for ever. He was a good king and held you in high esteem, but now it is his son that is on the throne. You must be circumspect in your dealings with John.\"\n\n\"I will leave that to Nicolaa. She has a fondness for him, although only the Good Lord above knows why. And he returns her affection. I will leave his entertainment\u2014and goodwill\u2014to her.\"\n\n\"You still have not answered my question, Gerard,\" William said, now standing to face his brother. \"Did you have anything to do with this boy's death? It is rumoured that he spoke of being in the confidence of men who favoured Arthur to be king of England. He could have been killed to dam his overflowing mouth. Were you one such as those of whom he spoke?\"\n\nGerard glowered at his brother. \"I have as little use for John's nephew filling his grandfather's place as I had for Richard, or for John himself. Is that what you wanted to hear?\"\n\nWilliam sat down again, glancing doubtfully up at his brother. \"Yes, it is, Gerard. But if the king should ask you the same question, try to be more politic in how you frame your answer.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Bascot decided to visit the place where the boy had been found and asked Tostig to take him there. They left the castle in late afternoon, Bascot riding an easy-gaited grey gelding from the stables with Gianni on the pillion behind and the forester astride his own mount.\n\nTostig took a path that led slightly southwest, towards the stretch of forest where Gerard Camville's chase was located. As they rode, he told Bascot the hunting ground that had been granted to the sheriff began some two miles from Lincoln town and was bordered on the west by the Trent river and on the south by the slant of the old Roman road called the Fosse Way.\n\n\"The royal chase, within which the sheriff's own lies, is much larger, of course,\" Tostig explained. \"It extends a good way farther to the north and, in the south, down to the greenwood at Kesteven. There is a lot of good marshland for hawking and hunting smaller game within both, though, as well as a fair bit of timberland.\"\n\n\"Are there any villages in the sheriff's chase?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Tostig. \"At the northern tip is a small one, just before the beginning of an open stretch of heath land. And there's another, larger, hamlet adjacent to the southern boundary.\"\n\n\"Are either of these villages near where Hubert's body was found?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"The one in the north is,\" Tostig replied. \"It's on the edge of Sir Gerard's chase and the boy was not far into the forest from there.\"\n\n\"Is that where your quarters are located?\" Bascot asked, knowing that in his position as a mounted forester Tostig would receive, as part payment for his services, shelter for himself, his horse and his dog.\n\n\"No. 'Tis my right if I wished to do so, but Sir Gerard lets me stay in his hunting lodge. It's more comfortable and I don't have the villagers taking resentment at my presence amongst them. Since the royal chase is so close and they must have licence for any activities they would pursue there, they would always be wary that I might report them to the king's agister or woodward if I should see them taking liberties.\" The forester shrugged. \"I pretend ignorance most times when they set loose a few more pigs to forage for acorns than are allowed, or perhaps take a coney for the pot, for I know what it is like to be hungry. But it would be more than my life is worth if I were to be too lax and they know it. So, to save their temper, and mine, I stay in the lodge.\"\n\n\"This lodge, is it near where Hubert was slain?\"\n\n\"Not the new one, the one where I keep my gear. There is an old lodge a little closer, but it's ramshackle now and deserted.\"\n\n\"Were you abroad in the forest last night?\" Bascot asked.\n\nThe forester shook his head. \"No, unfortunately, I was not. Yesterday I went to the southern part of the chase. One of Sir Gerard's woodwards looks to that area mostly, as he has kin in the village nearby and stays with them so he is handy for the work. But I like to take a circuit there every few days to check and see that he's doing his job as he should. My mare threw a shoe while I was down there and I had to seek a blacksmith to replace it. By the time I got back to my lodgings it was well past the middle of the night. I wanted only to get my mare bedded down and find my own pallet. I did not leave the lodge until the morning was well on. That was when I saw the crows and found the boy.\"\n\nWhen they reached the chase, Tostig took a path that was almost imperceptible to Bascot. It wound through the trees in no particular manner that the Templar could see, but before long they came to a track that was more defined, with plentiful piles of deer dung and hoofprints, mingled with the deeper marks of the shod feet of horses. The sheriff and his brother must have taken the same route. This track appeared to be well used by both man and beast. In the distance the ring of an axe sounded and there was the smell of smoke in the air.\n\n\"It's just a little way on from here,\" Tostig flung back at Bascot over his shoulder. The narrow path had forced them to ride in single file and, as they neared the spot where the poached deer and Hubert's body had been found, Bascot took care to look about him, telling Gianni to do the same. The boy may be mute, but his other senses were sharp, especially his eyes. With Bascot being blind on one side, he would have to depend on Gianni to notice anything he missed.\n\nBefore long Tostig led them to a spot on the path where the slain deer still lay, half-buried under a hump of leaves. \"I shall have to get help to remove the carcass. Looks like scavengers have already been at it.\"\n\nTostig dismounted and Bascot did the same, Gianni dropping lightly to the ground with the resilience of youth. The light was beginning to fade, but the scuffs of the poachers' feet could still be seen amongst the multitude of tracks and the blood of the dead deer was splattered in dark patches onto the moss beside the path.\n\n\"Where was Hubert?\" Bascot asked, and Tostig led them a few feet off the trail, pointing to the branches of a large oak tree.\n\n\"Up there,\" he said.\n\nFrom a solid bough about halfway up, a remnant of rope still hung, cut at one end. It dangled a few feet above the ground and swayed slightly as a cold breeze shook the tree, sending down a shower of dead brown leaves. Through the denuded branches could be seen the other end of the rope, fastened to one of the lower limbs.\n\n\"I cut the lad down. Could just reach him while I was mounted,\" Tostig said. \"Didn't wait to see where the other end was fastened.\"\n\nThe forester strode towards the trunk of the oak, moving with the familiarity of one who has spent his life in the forest, and loosened the knot that held the rope in place. He pulled it down and coiled it over his shoulder and brought it for Bascot to look at. It seemed fairly new, with little fraying and no other marks except where Tostig's knife had sliced it. The forester scuffed among the leaves and held up the noose, still knotted into place.\n\n\"Here's the bit I took off his neck,\" he said unnecessarily. \"I'll put it and the rest away at the lodge. Shame to waste a good bit of rope.\"\n\nBascot made no comment as he and Gianni searched the ground. It was fairly untouched except for a faint disturbance of dead leaves that must have been made by whoever had hanged the boy and, later, by Tostig. Gianni went a little way into the trees. Bascot could hear the soft swish of his steps as he moved through the dying bracken.\n\nThe Templar gazed around him. They were completely encircled by trees, most of the branches bare. In full summer it would be a dense forest of green, but now it was damp and smelled musty, with a tang of sharpness to the air that heralded winter.\n\n\"How far is the nearest village?\" he asked Tostig.\n\n\"A little over a half of a mile north.\"\n\n\"And the sheriff's hunting lodge?\"\n\nTostig swung about, gesturing with his hand in the opposite direction. \"About twice the distance that way. The old hunting lodge is a little nearer but, like I said, it's not used anymore.\"\n\nDue south a thin trail of smoke was rising. The scent of burning wood came again in faint wisps. \"That smoke, where is it coming from?\"\n\nThe forester shaded his eyes and looked up. \"Oh, that's just old Chard burning his charcoal. He's within the chase, but he has permission. The castle needs a good supply with all the guests coming. Usually Chard does his burning outside of the chase, but there's a good stand of birch over there and it's one of the best for his trade, so the sheriff gave him licence to use it.\"\n\nThe sky was beginning to darken as they stood talking, not only for the lateness of the day but also from the shadow of rain clouds that were beginning to gather, blowing in from the east.\n\n\"I shall need to go to the village, Tostig, to see if anyone there heard or saw anything untoward last night. I will also want to talk to the charcoal burner, but it's too late today. It will be full dark before long. Tomorrow morning, as soon as it gets light, I would like you to meet me here and take me to the village.\"\n\nTostig nodded his agreement and suggested he also bring the agister for the area. He was the forest official that collected payments from the inhabitants of the villages for the exercising of their rights as agreed with Gerard Camville and the king. \"He knows more of the people in the village than I do,\" Tostig said. \"As I told you, I stays away from 'em if I can, except to watch they don't trespass on the chase. His name is Copley.\"\n\nTostig began to walk back to the path where they had left their horses. \"Besides, he often acts as deputy for the chief forester of the king's chase. He'll know who had licence to be out here gathering nuts or bracken, maybe chopping wood or letting their pigs loose to forage.\"\n\nHe gave a satisfied grin. \"Time he did a little work for a change; he likes his wine cup too much. I've had to cover for him more than once. He's lucky he gets his stipend from the crown and not the sheriff. My master is meticulous about his hunting ground and its keeping. If any of us who were in his pay shirked our duties like Copley does, we'd soon be sorry.\"\n\nThis last was said with a kind of affectionate pride. Bascot was surprised. It was not an emotion that he would have expected Gerard Camville to foster in his servants. Perhaps the choleric sheriff had a side to him that was seldom seen outside the greenwood."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "\"Well, Alys, are you going to tell me what hubert said or not?\" Alinor demanded. She stood over her companion, face set in determination, hands clenched into fists and set on her hips.\n\nThe other girl looked up at her, soft blue eyes awash with tears. \"Yes, I will. But you must promise me that you will not tell Alain, or your father.\"\n\nIt was the next morning. Outside the weather was gloomy from a light rain that had fallen overnight and the temperature had dropped. The two young women were in a small chamber at the top of the new keep, both wearing gowns of heavy wool as protection against the chill. For the moment, they were the only two occupants of the room, but soon, with the arrival of more guests for the king's visit, others would invade their privacy. The floor was spread with pallets and covers in anticipation.\n\nAlinor was daughter to Richard de Humez, who was married to Petronille, one of Nicolaa de la Haye's two younger sisters. Although both her parents were dark haired, Alinor had inherited the Haye glints of copper in her tawny-coloured locks, which now streamed down her back in two long plaits. She was a forceful girl, fifteen years of age, gently rounded and passingly pretty, but with an intractability that she had inherited from her Haye forbears.\n\nThe girl she was berating was Alys de Carston, sister to Alain. Alys had lived in the de Humez household for the past three years, since she had been betrothed to Alinor's younger brother, Baldwin, a boy who was four years her junior. As the two girls were of an age they had been thrown much into each other's company and had become fast friends. Alys resembled her brother only in her upright posture. She was a gentle girl, with long fair hair that stubbornly curled in tendrils around a heart-shaped face, and with an air of innocence about her that was genuine.\n\nNow she mopped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve and said, \"It was the time Sir William came to your father's manor house, in the summer, and brought Hubert with him.\"\n\n\"I remember,\" said Alinor. \"When we had that new minstrel from Anjou.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's right,\" Alys confirmed. \"I was in the chapel\u2014Baldwin had just had a bad attack of his illness and I had gone there to offer up a prayer for him\u2014and Hubert came up behind me. I was all alone, and\u2026\" She began to sob softly again, but Alinor interrupted her, impatient.\n\n\"Get on with it, Alys. What did he say?\"\n\n\"He\u2026he put his hand on my breast and said that he wanted to bed me.\" Now Alys looked up at her companion and her words came in a rush. \"I pushed him away, Nora, but he just laughed and said that if I did not he would tell everyone that I had anyway. I told him to go away and leave me alone, that no one would believe him. But\u2026but he sneered at me, said whether they did or not it would still cast doubts on my chastity and your father would look for another bride for Baldwin. He left then, and said he would give me time to think about it, but if I did not, I would be sorry.\"\n\n\"Why did you not tell me then, Alys? Or at least tell my mother? She is fond of you, and kind. She would have seen to it that Hubert did not trouble you again.\" Alinor's tone had softened at the real distress in her friend's voice, and she sat down beside Alys and put an arm around her shoulders.\n\n\"I did not know what to do, and then Sir William left the next morning and Hubert was gone with him. I thought that perhaps he had taken too much wine and had been foolish only, did not mean what he had said. I tried to forget it. I did not want to think about it.\" She raised her tear-stained face to her friend. \"Can you understand, Alinor?\"\n\nThe other girl nodded. \"But you still should have told someone. Did he threaten you again when we came to Lincoln?\"\n\n\"Yes. Almost as soon as we arrived. It was the day before he disappeared. Alain saw him talking to me. In the hall, by the entrance to the kitchen. He\u2014Hubert\u2014had taken hold of my wrist. He wouldn't let go and then he saw Alain coming towards us.\"\n\n\"And your brother, did he challenge Hubert?\"\n\n\"He did not get the chance. Hubert released me and left, hurriedly. Alain asked me what cause Hubert had for being so familiar with me. I\u2026lied. I told Alain that I had tripped and Hubert had merely been helping me to my feet.\" She took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. \"I don't know if Alain believed me or not, but I saw him talking to Hubert later, in the bail. It looked as though they were arguing.\" She buried her head in Alinor's shoulder. \"Oh, Nora, what if it was Alain who killed him? It would be my fault. All my fault.\"\n\nAlinor patted her friend's shoulder. \"No, Alys, not your fault, but Hubert's own. You have done nothing for which to reproach yourself.\"\n\nAlys lifted her head, tears now flowing fast and free. \"What shall I do, Nora? Shall I talk to Alain\u2026ask him\u2026?\"\n\n\"You shall do nothing, little poppet,\" Alinor said firmly. \"You will leave Alain and this whole coil to me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "In a corner of the bail a group of squires were at practice with the quintain, a swinging crossbar set with a circle of metal on one side and a heavy bag of sand on the other. The young men were taking turns riding at it, lances poised to strike the metal and, when their aim was successful, trying to avoid the buffet of the sandbag that swung towards their heads in response. A group of pages watched, cheering those who were successful and deriding those who tumbled to the ground.\n\nFrom a vantage point set at a distance across the bail, by the door of the armoury, William Camville and Richard de Humez watched the young men. Across their line of vision the work of the castle staff went on, carts still arriving with stores of root vegetables, maids milking cows and goats, and the blacksmith busy at his forge.\n\n\"Your young men show well, William,\" de Humez said. \"Mine could learn a thing or two from Renault, or even Alain. Did you take a hand yourself in their training?\"\n\nWilliam Camville shook his head. \"No, one of my household knights is their mentor. I leave it to him.\"\n\n\"He has done well in his instruction.\"\n\nThe conversation petered out, then de Humez gave William a sidelong glance and said, \"Has Gerard told you of his intentions in the matter of Hubert's death?\"\n\n\"Why not be explicit, de Humez?\" William replied with a lazy smile. \"You want to know if Gerard had a hand in the boy's murder.\"\n\nDe Humez bristled. He was a melancholic man, of middle years and smaller stature than his companion. The Camvilles always engendered a mood of discontent in him, their bold brash manner an affront to what he considered his dignity and, although he did not realise it, a tinge of jealousy for their confidence.\n\n\"If he had, I would not expect him to bruit it abroad,\" de Humez replied sharply. \"Although I would not be surprised if he had done the deed, or ordered it. Your brother is a rash and hasty man, as ill judgement in his past actions has shown.\"\n\nWilliam threw back his head and laughed loudly. \"I wager you would not accuse Gerard of that to his face.\"\n\nDe Humez lost his self-righteous pose and became decidedly ill at ease, making no reply. William Camville's face did not lose its expression of amusement. \"Why are you so interested in the death of my squire, Richard? Is it due to his connection with de Vescy\u2014or perhaps because it is rumoured that the boy claimed to have knowledge of secret loyalties to Arthur of Brittany? Are you frightened that if Gerard was in some way responsible that it might taint his reputation with the king\u2014and therefore your own, by reason of you being wedded to his wife's sister?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" de Humez replied. \"My own loyalty to John is without reproach. After all, my uncle\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes, Richard, your connection with the constable of Normandy is well known,\" William interrupted in a tired voice. \"But that was over twenty years ago and your uncle is long dead. And so is King Henry, who was his lord.\"\n\nThe sheriff's brother cast a speculative look at his companion, then added, \"You, unlike Gerard, were solicitous of Richard, were you not, and stood against John when he and my brother defied Richard's chancellor? Our present king has a long memory, de Humez. Did you think to cast your lot with Arthur, so you would have no cause to worry that John might remember matters best left forgotten? Were you one of those of whom Hubert spoke as being partisan to Richard's nephew instead of his brother?\"\n\nDe Humez turned white at the accusation levelled at him. Instinctively his hand dropped to the sword at his belt, then, recalling that the man at his side possessed a reputation for swordplay that was almost equal to that of his brother, de Humez changed his mind. Instead he gave William an angry glare and strode off across the bailey.\n\nWilliam Camville watched him go, thoughtful. What had started as an irresistible urge to bait the prig whom Gerard had the misfortune to call brother-by-marriage had turned to something more as he had spoken the words. There had been real fear in de Humez's face when William had questioned his loyalty to King John. Had he inadvertently stumbled on a truth where he had thought only to provoke irritation? Slowly William ambled back towards the keep. He would have to think more on this matter, perhaps talk privately with Nicolaa. If there was any meat on the bones he had inadvertently stirred up, it would be best to chew it thoroughly before offering it to Gerard. And his brother's wife was a good enough chatelaine to know how best to prepare the dish."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Bascot started early for his meeting with Tostig. It had rained the night before, but the sun was now trying to penetrate the cloud cover and it promised to be a fair day for the lateness of the year. The ground smelled fresh and clean, heavy with the scent of moisture and vegetation. It was an odour that pleased Bascot, one he had often dreamed of during his imprisonment in the arid terrain of the Holy Land, permeating his dreams and waking him with a fitful start of pleasure in a remembrance of home before the reality of his surroundings impinged on his consciousness. Behind him Gianni rode pillion, swathed in a warm cloak and with the hat Ernulf had given him pulled firmly down over his head.\n\nAs they descended from the high knoll on which Lincoln was situated Bascot took in the surrounding countryside. It was sparsely wooded until they reached the edge of the chase, and the ground was marshy in places and crisscrossed with rivulets, firming up only when they reached the shelter of the forest.\n\nBascot found his way to the place that Tostig had taken him the previous afternoon with little difficulty and the forester was waiting, as arranged, at the spot where the body of the poached deer had been found. With him were two other men whom he introduced as the agister, Copley, and Eadric, the woodward who lived in the village on the southern boundary of Gerard Camville's chase. Eadric worked with Tostig, and was paid his salary by the sheriff, but his chief responsibility lay to the crown. Since it was part of his duty to oversee any licences issued for industry within the forest, such as charcoal burning, Tostig had asked him to attend the meeting that morning, in case he should be able to help Bascot with his enquiries.\n\nThe agister, Copley, was a short stout man, with a florid face and breath reeking of the stale fumes of last night's wine. He was dressed more richly than the other two, with a thick cloak wrapped over the good wool of his tunic and a flat cap decorated with silver thread set atop his sparse hair. His mood was disgruntled and he was obviously annoyed at being asked to rise so early in the morning, but showed his discontent only in his manner towards Tostig and Eadric. To Bascot he was carefully deferential, mindful perhaps of de Marins's rank and the small Templar badge worn on the shoulder of his tunic.\n\nEadric, a young fresh-faced man of unmistakable Saxon heritage with pale hair and deep blue eyes, looked uncomfortable, and kept to the rear of the company as they travelled the short distance to the village. Bascot was aware of the complex hierarchy of forest officials, both royal and private, and of the jostling for power that occurred within its ranks. A chase\u2014or forest, as it was often called\u2014brought in a good amount of revenue to those who owned the rights, be they king or noble. Such areas were jealously guarded against offences by those who oversaw its management. It was likely the young woodward was fearful of reprisal from Copley if he was found to have been lax in his duties. Or, since its officials were notably disliked by the general populace for their arbitrary enforcement of the rights they protected, perhaps he was just reluctant to be included in the enquiry Bascot intended to make of the villagers.\n\nThe village was, as Tostig had said, a small one, with perhaps ten families within the fence of hurdles that bounded the compound. The reeve, headman for the village, had been apprised by the forester of Bascot's intended visit and he, along with the village priest and two others, was waiting for the Templar just inside the gate. Nearby, clustered in a silent watching group, were the other men of the hamlet, while their womenfolk huddled in twos and threes at the entrances to the small thatched cots that straggled around the perimeter of the enclosed space. Children played at the edge of a shallow pond amongst a scattering of geese, chickens and ducks. At the far end of the dirt track that bisected the compound were some storage buildings constructed of rough-hewn timber. Beyond them, over the wall of hurdles, the village fields stretched to the north, empty of grain since harvest time.\n\nThe priest, an elderly man with a completely bald head and few teeth, stepped forward as Bascot and the forest officials came through the gate.\n\n\"Greetings, Sir Bascot. I am Samson, God's shepherd to this small flock.\" His lined, gentle face attempted a smile as he turned and gestured to the man beside him. \"This is Alwin, the reeve, and these others\"\u2014the priest's hand waved at the reeve's companions\u2014\"are Leofric, Alwin's son, and Edward, his nephew.\"\n\nThe three villagers looked balefully at Bascot, their manner subservient but wary. Plainly they regarded the presence of Bascot and the forest officials as an intrusion and were resentful.\n\nCopley spoke up, his tone impatient. \"Sir Bascot is not interested in the names of the reeve or his kinfolk, priest. He just wants some truthful answers to his questions. Let us get on with it.\"\n\nThe reeve gave Copley a sullen glare as he spoke and the priest, flustered by the sharpness in the agister's voice, made haste to invite them into a small half-timbered edifice that served as a church. The reeve and his two kinsmen followed behind.\n\n\"I have no wine to offer, good sirs,\" Samson said, \"but there is ale, if you wish\u2026?\"\n\n\"Better than nothing. Bring us some,\" Copley ordered before sitting down heavily on a stool placed just beside the door. The only other furniture in the one small room they had entered was a tiny altar at the far end and a wooden box used to house the priest's vestments and vessels for the celebration of Mass. On the limewashed walls crude pictures of biblical scenes had been painted, mainly from stories the villagers would most easily understand, those of shepherds tending their flocks and Jesus feeding the multitude from a basket containing only five loaves and two fishes.\n\nAs the priest turned to hurry away for the ale, Bascot stopped him. \"No, thank you, Father, we do not require any of your ale. Our visit is to be but a brief one. It will not require that you deplete your small store for our benefit.\"\n\nThe Templar turned angrily to the agister, who was looking at him with stupefaction. \"You will stay on your feet, Copley, out of respect for the good Father's office and his age. If any here should be accorded the comfort of sitting, it is he, not you, who should receive it.\"\n\nDisregarding the look of outrage that settled on Copley's face, Bascot spoke to the villagers, who were now regarding him with a little less hostility and barely concealed glee at the reprimand he had given the agister. Behind them Tostig was grinning, while Eadric ducked his head to hide a smile. Gianni, who had not come in after them, stood in the open doorway, fondling one of the village dogs. The animal had declawed toes, a hobbling demanded by law to prevent any dog not belonging to a lord or forest official from hunting animals that were the sole province of the king.\n\nBascot addressed the reeve. \"Alwin, you will know that I am here to try and discover how the squire Hubert de Tournay came to be found murdered nearby in the forest. Did any of you see him on the day he was killed?\"\n\n\"No, lord,\" Alwin answered. \"Neither did we know of his death until Sir Gerard came yesterday and told us.\"\n\n\"Did anyone of his age and rank ever come to the village\u2014apart from those in the company of the sheriff?\"\n\nAgain the reeve shook his head. \"Only the bailiff ever comes here. And he is a man of an age with my own years.\"\n\n\"The boy must have come to where he was killed late in the evening of the day before or perhaps during that same night. Did you hear anything\u2014voices or horses\u2014out in the woods at that time?\"\n\nAgain the stubborn shake of denial. Then the priest spoke up. \"There are always some sounds in the forest after darkness has fallen, Sir Bascot. Once daylight has gone many creatures\u2014foxes, owls and the like\u2014come out to seek their prey. Unless a great disturbance was made, any slight noise would be thought just the sounds of their foraging.\"\n\nBascot sighed and stood up. \"If anyone remembers anything, Father, I would be pleased if you would let me know. Tostig will get a message to me.\"\n\nThey all went back outside and Bascot looked around for Gianni, who had disappeared, along with the dog, from the doorway of the church. The villagers were still clustered about in clumps of two or three, watching silently as their priest led the visitors back in the direction of the gate. Suddenly there was the crash of splintering wood and the bellow of an animal; then a girl came running from one of the buildings near the pond. She was young and buxom, her fair hair streaming down her back like a ribbon of amber and, as she ran, she sobbed, stuffing her fist in her mouth to stifle the sound. She came straight towards Bascot and, when she reached him, threw herself down on the ground at his feet.\n\n\"It's my fault, lord. My fault that the squire is dead. I said\u2026I said I would meet him, but I didn't go. He must have been waiting for me and\u2026and got himself murdered by poachers or some other outlaws.\" She hung her head down, pushing her hands into the muddy earth at her knees. \"It's all my fault,\" she said again.\n\nAlwin went over to the girl and wrenched her roughly to her feet. \"Slut,\" he mouthed at her. \"You'll get us all in trouble with your wanton fancies. I told you to stay hidden and keep your lips sealed.\"\n\n\"I couldn't, Uncle.\" She turned and pointed in the direction of the shed, from which could still be heard an agitated lowing, multiplied now by the din of all the village dogs barking in chorus. From the shed strode Gianni, a grin on his face and a sharp pointed stick in his hand.\n\n\"That boy, the Templar's servant, he found me hiding in the cowshed. He tried to pull me out and when I wouldn't come he poked our milch cow so hard she tried to kick herself out of her box. If I hadn't of come out she'd of kicked me as well.\" The girl's mouth drooped in resignation. \"'Sides, the boy recognised me. If not today, I'd of been found out soon enough. Someone at the castle would have remembered me talking to the squire.\"\n\nBascot looked more closely at the girl. She seemed vaguely familiar but he could not recall where he had seen her before. As Gianni came up, the boy made a series of quick hand gestures to his master, conveying that the girl had been at Lincoln castle, then hunched his shoulders and mimed a straddle-footed walk to suggest carrying a yoke laden with a heavy burden.\n\nThe girl sighed heavily. \"That's right, sir. I help the milkmaids up at the castle to make buttermilk for the sheriff's table.\" Just for a second, pride gleamed in her eyes and her prettiness was plain. \"I make good buttermilk, lord. Lady Nicolaa asks for me special to come on the two days of service our village owes each week.\"\n\n\"How is it that you became acquainted with the squire?\" Bascot asked her.\n\n\"He saw me, sir, coming from the dairy. He kept pesterin' me and\u2026\"\n\n\"And you, slut, fell in with his lewdity,\" Alwin shouted, giving her an open-handed slap across the back of her head. The girl began crying again, tears spilling down her face and her nose beginning to run as she squirmed away from her uncle.\n\n\"Enough,\" Bascot said as Alwin moved to give his niece another blow. Tostig stepped forward and caught hold of the reeve's upraised arm.\n\n\"I don't think you'd be wise to do that, Alwin. Leave the girl be,\" the forester said. Alwin gave Tostig a look of surprise, then glanced at Bascot and, seeing his anger, reluctantly dropped his hand.\n\nBascot turned his attention to the girl. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Bettina, lord,\" she answered fearfully.\n\n\"You will come with me, and Father Samson, into the church and tell me what you know of this matter.\" He swung towards Alwin. \"You, and the rest of the villagers, will stay here. All of you have contrived to hide information about the murder of Sir William's squire. If you do not wish to increase the sheriff's choler when he learns of your deception, you will cease this pretense. Otherwise, the consequences will be your own fault.\"\n\nAs Father Samson helped the sobbing Bettina to her feet and led her towards the church, Bascot stopped to speak quietly to Gianni. \"Well done. Now, watch them. And watch Copley and Eadric, too. The agister is a sight too complacent with his power here not to have some knowledge of this matter. I would know more of him.\"\n\nBascot followed the priest and the girl into the church and gently shut the door behind them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "\"So you think it possible that Hubert may have gone out to meet the girl and been set upon by the poachers that were roaming the woods?\" Nicolaa de la Haye's mouth set in a moue as she asked the question.\n\nBascot nodded. \"It is possible, certainly. Whether it is probable, I am not sure.\"\n\nAfter the Templar had returned to the castle later that day he had gone to the castellan's private chamber to give his report. Nicolaa had offered him a glass of wine and set out a dish of candi, boiled lumps of sugar made from sweet canes in the Holy Land and transported to England by the Templar Order. A store had been put by for the guests that would soon flood the castle but, knowing how fond Bascot was of them, Nicolaa had ordered a few sent to her room. Now, seated across from her at a broad oak table, he savoured the sweet taste of the candi, called al-Kandiq by the Arabs, as it mingled with the sharp bite of the wine. The sensation of pleasure was well worth the ache he knew would settle in his back teeth later on.\n\n\"You think, then, that the girl is not telling the truth?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"It is not that I am questioning. Her tale seems honest enough\u2014up to a point. She is to be married soon, to the son of a villein from another village. She is happy with her groom-to-be and did not welcome Hubert's advances, but he threatened to have her anyway, whether she was willing or no, and told her that it would be better for her to give him what he wanted without a struggle, rather than otherwise. Frightened of Hubert, and of her uncle, she said she would do as he wished and arranged to meet him at the ruins of the old hunting lodge late that evening. Then she went home and told Alwin's wife, her aunt, what had happened. The aunt told Alwin and, after conferring with a couple of other villagers, it was decided that they would keep Bettina inside and close the gates to the compound early. This they claim they did, keeping the whole matter from the priest, who is elderly and always early abed. The villagers also insist that they heard nothing from the woods that night that was unusual.\"\n\n\"But you think they may have decided to solve the problem another way?\" Nicolaa helped herself to more wine and pushed the flagon across to Bascot.\n\nThe Templar shrugged. \"It would have been a simple matter for two or three men from the village to wait for Hubert as he made his way through the woods, overpower him and string him up on the tree. They would have known that the problem he presented was not going to go away, that if Bettina did not meet him that night, he would either pressure her for another tryst, or rape her as he had threatened to do. If he had done the latter, there was nothing they could have done; he was a knight's son, she a simple village girl, a maker of buttermilk. No one would have believed her if Hubert had denied it.\"\n\n\"If the men from the village did murder Hubert, the poacher's presence there that same night, or early morning, was a gift of God, or the Devil, for them. It would give more credence to their story, and make it believable that he had been waylaid by outlaws. Much as Gerard supposed it to be.\" Nicolaa shook her head. \"Is it too credible? Or just credible enough to be true?\"\n\n\"I do not know, but according to one of William Camville's pages Hubert often boasted of his prowess in bedding wenches. Perhaps the only way he could sustain such a reputation was by threatening women into compliance. If that is so, then Bettina may be telling the truth.\"\n\nHe took another sip of wine. \"But, if we take it that she is, then it tells us that Hubert was of a nature that was not above using menace to get whatever he desired. And it may not have been only women's bodies that he lusted after.\"\n\n\"You are suggesting that he used the threat of revealing secrets he was privy to as a means of extorting favours or possessions?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Bascot nodded his head slowly. \"Alain, Renault and the other squires and pages did not hide their dislike of him, but when I asked them why, they became vague, saying only it was because he was disagreeable and pompous. I came away from their company feeling there was much about Hubert de Tournay they had not told me.\n\n\"And these rumours that Hubert was intimate with a faction favouring the overthrow of King John in order to put his nephew Arthur on the throne,\" he continued. \"It may be possible there is more to this murder than a simple tale of unwanted lust and retribution.\"\n\n\"It could be so, de Marins,\" Nicolaa said, rising from her chair as she spoke. \"The girl's tale will satisfy my husband, but I am in agreement with you. It does not satisfy me.\" She began to walk towards the door, saying as she did so, \"I am afraid I must leave the matter for the moment. There are some guests recently arrived that I must make welcome.\"\n\n\"Do you wish me to do anything more with regard to the matter, lady?\" Bascot asked, getting to his feet.\n\nNicolaa paused, her hand on the leather pull strap that served as a handle. \"Yes, but do it discreetly. If the murderer is not of the village or to be found amongst the outlaws in Sherwood, it will do no harm to let him believe we do not intend to look further afield. Confidence often brings a loose tongue; such a false supposition may prompt someone's to wag with a freedom that has been guarded up until now.\"\n\nBascot nodded his assent, then followed her through the door and down into the hall."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "The evening meal in the castle hall that night was not an elaborate affair even though there were many guests present. Entertainments and all the special viands and dainties that had been, and were in the process of being, prepared would be kept for the king's arrival. Bascot sat at the table reserved for the household knights, just a little below the dais, and studied the guests. Gerard's brother William was seated on the sheriff's right hand, with Nicolaa and de Humez on his left. De Humez's wife, Nicolaa's sister Petronille, had not accompanied her husband to Lincoln for the festivities, having been confined to bed with a painful ulcer on her leg. Farther down the table were de Humez's daughter Alinor and his son's betrothed, Alys. The boy himself, Baldwin, had retired to bed early. He was of a sickly disposition and needed constant bed rest to maintain his strength.\n\nThe high table was being waited on by William Camville's squires, since many of those belonging to the Haye household had been sent some days before to accompany Gerard and Nicolaa's son, Richard, on his journey to meet King John and form part of the entourage that the king would bring with him to Lincoln. Bascot noted that the two eldest of William's squires, Alain and Renault, had been given the privilege of serving their master and the sheriff, and both young men were performing their tasks with considerable attention to detail. Alain, especially, took great care to move forward at the correct moment from his place at his lord's elbow to remove William Camville's empty trencher and replace it with another for the next course, while Renault, serving Gerard, ensured that the sheriff's wine cup was constantly refilled. At the farther ends of the table the two younger squires, Rufus and Hugo, were serving the rest of the company, including the ladies. Osbert and the other pages, along with the few that still remained in the Haye household, were kept busy bringing the various dishes and flagons of wine to the board for the elder boys to serve. All of them seemed to be well trained in their duties and the meal flowed smoothly through the various dishes of spiced herring, coney pottage and roast venison. Broth containing onions, garlic and peas was ladled out with correctness, as was the final course of stewed plums, platters laid with segments of cheese and dishes of the recently gathered nuts. Once the spiced wine was served, the boys could relax a little, but not leave their post. They would stay until dismissed and only then could they go and satisfy their own hunger.\n\nBascot, as he ate the meal Gianni served him, took the opportunity to study the young people at the table above him. Hubert, had he been alive, would have been up there tonight, taking his place alongside the others of William Camville's retinue. Was he missed, or did his absence bring relief to the young men who had been so outspoken of their dislike of him? Did the other squires and pages, as Bascot had felt, know more of his death than they had told, or was it merely his own fancy that they were keeping something back? Perhaps he and Nicolaa were wrong; perhaps the boy had been led to his death by his inclination for lechery alone and not for any other reason. He returned his attention to his trencher, trying to quell the anger that rose whenever he thought of the outrage of secret murder. To take another's life by stealth was an abomination, an affront to heaven. Death, when it came, should come cleanly, at the behest of God, not man. With a sudden surge of distaste, he motioned for Gianni to remove his platter and refill his wine cup."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "In a fine stone house fronting on Mikelgate, Melisande Fleming sat in front of a fire, sipping from a chased silver goblet. She was a woman of middle years, well fleshed, with heavy dark brows and an inordinate pride in the beauty of her hands, which she kept white and supple by the application of an unguent obtained from a local apothecary. Now, she moved these expressively as she spoke to the man seated on a stool opposite her.\n\n\"You are sure, Copley, that the Templar will look no further into the death of the squire?\"\n\nCopley, the agister, shook his head with certainty. \"No, he will not, cousin. He seemed satisfied with the tale of the village girl. Whether he believes Alwin killed the boy himself, or locked the gates and let outlaws take the lad's life, I do not know, but I am sure that he thinks it to be one or the other.\"\n\nMelisande nodded in satisfaction. She had been in some disquiet about the matter for she held the post of chief forester over the royal chase that lay to the west of Lincoln, and within which the private chase of Gerard Camville was enclosed. She had purchased the appointment after the death of her husband two years before. It was a lucrative office, one that her husband, a goldsmith, had retained for some years, and she was loath to put the security of it in jeopardy. It was not unusual for a woman to hold the position, but she had needed to employ a deputy for the actual work and Copley, a distant relative by marriage on her mother's side, was the one she had chosen. He was a pliable man, fearful of losing her favour\u2014and the generous supply of wine she granted him as part of his remuneration\u2014and was ever amenable to do her bidding, especially in the matter of extracting extra fees from the hamlets in her jurisdiction. She did not want the sheriff's attention drawn to affairs that were within her writ.\n\n\"You must ensure that the matter stays as it has been left, Copley,\" Melisande said firmly to the agister. \"Keep the villagers in their place and let them know that any further speech with the Templar would be unwise. Remind them of the need for pasture and pannage for their beasts\u2014and so for their own bellies\u2014and that the rights to these can be granted or taken away.\"\n\nShe made a graceful gesture of smoothing her skirt of heavy velvet with the tips of her fingers, then gave her kinsman a smile that barely curved her lips. \"Hunger is not a pleasant thing, Copley. Nor is thirst. I am sure that by threatening the villagers with the former, you will ensure that you need never experience the discomfort of the latter.\"\n\nThe agister ducked his head miserably in compliance and drank deeply from his wine cup."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Bascot did not sleep well that night. The temperature had dropped at nightfall and the small chamber he shared at the top of the old keep with Gianni was frigid, despite the brazier that burned in one corner. The Templar had seen the boy well wrapped in his blankets and Ernulf's hat before snuffing the candle, but while Gianni's breathing soon dropped into the gentle regular sound of sleep, Bascot found himself still wide awake.\n\nHe had removed his eyepatch as soon as the chamber was in darkness and now he rubbed the empty socket, a habit he had acquired when alone and tired. The movement gave some lessening of the tension he felt and allowed a light slumber to overtake him, but it was filled with disturbing dreams and he awoke in moments, feeling the sweat that had broken out on his body chill like ice inside his clothes.\n\nHe knew the reason for his wakefulness. After the evening meal in the hall was over, he had paid a visit to the castle chapel where Hubert's body was laid out to rest until a relative should come to claim it. Nicolaa de la Haye had told him that a messenger had been sent to the squire's mother\u2014his father was dead\u2014and the mother had sent the envoy back with news that the boy's uncle would be coming to take her son's body home.\n\nBascot had expected to find someone, one of the other squires or a priest, keeping vigil beside the body, but the space around the bier was empty, although candles had been lit at either end only recently. Their flickering light illuminated the chamber with an eerie glow. A cloth of dark velvet had been laid over the coffin, leaving only the boy's head and shoulders open to view, with a square of white linen spread over the face to hide the ravages of the crows. Around his neck another length of linen was loosely wound, presumably to conceal the mark of the rope that had been the instrument of his death. Against the wall, on the far side of the bier, stood a box containing the boy's clothing, boots and dagger. Bascot lifted the items out and scrutinised them. The material of both hose and tunic was expensive, marked with stains and scrapings that could have come from rough handling before the boy was dead, or on the journey back to Lincoln slung over Tostig's horse. His boots were in the same condition. The cloak was wool, a dark brown in colour, and was shredded at collar and hem. The fastening had been a simple silver gilt clasp and was still pinned to the fabric near the shoulder. The dagger was a well-made one, not ornate, but of good tempered steel. Surely, Bascot mused, if outlaws had been the cause of the boy's death they would at least have taken the pin and dagger, even if they had not had time to remove his clothes.\n\nFinally the Templar examined Hubert's body. The squire seemed to have been sturdily built, judging by the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles that swelled in his neck. It seemed strange that, with such strength, he had not fought his attacker. Reluctantly, Bascot removed the protective cover from the face, standing for some moments looking at what was left of Hubert's visage. Someone, probably the castle leech, had sewn up the worst of the damage, but little was left to indicate what the boy had looked like. A soft ribbon had been bound under the jawbone and up over the top of the head to keep the mouth closed and hide the remnants of the lad's tongue, which, Bascot guessed, the crows would have found particularly delectable. Soft circles of lead had been laid over the eyeless sockets and his hair, a vivid chestnut in colour, had been pulled down low over his forehead to hide more of the birds' relentless feeding. Altogether there was not much left to indicate the appearance of the boy whose soul had been prematurely forced from its earthly home.\n\nMuttering a brief prayer and asking heaven's forgiveness for his intrusion, Bascot gently moved aside the linen around Hubert's neck. The rope and the boy's clothing had been of some protection against the birds and, beneath the cloth, the mark of the rope was clear, still angry and showing starkly against the bleached hue of the surrounding flesh. The abrasion was rough and deep, running from beneath the chin and up behind his ears, ending in a large contusion on the left-hand side, which must have been made by the knot in the noose. Bascot wondered again how the boy had been taken without a struggle. Had he been threatened with a knife or a sword? Or perhaps surreptitiously given a potion that would render him senseless? Gently he ran his hands over the squire's head. There seemed to be no swellings that would indicate he had been knocked unconscious before being hanged. Again the Templar examined the rope burn, pushing the cloth a little lower. Just faintly he could see another mark almost parallel with the deeper one. It ran around the neck, from back to front, more of an indentation than an abrasion. Bascot laid his fingers in it, felt it run across the boy's larynx and, at the nape of the neck, his searching fingertips found a tiny raising of the flesh, as though it had been pinched. He pondered for some moments, then gently raised Hubert's head, searching in the dim light of the candles for visual confirmation of what he had found. The mark was there, consistent with something thin having been wrapped around the boy's neck and twisted tight, not enough perhaps to kill him, but certainly with enough force to take him out of his senses. But why? Why leave the deed half done? The murder could surely have been completed then and there without the additional need of a rope. Why this throttling twice over, when the intent, all along, must have been to kill? Perhaps the murderer had been interrupted during his grisly act and forced to delay its completion. But, if that was so, why was the garrotte not used to finish the task? What had been the need to use both cord and rope? To have done so seemed excessive and bothersome.\n\nHe examined the mark again. It would have passed unnoticed when the sheriff and his brother had stripped him and looked for some sign of a wound, missed as being part of the deeper mark left by the hanging. Hubert had certainly gone to his death without protest, but only because someone had slipped up behind him and reduced him to a state that made him unable to fight for his life.\n\nIt was this thought that kept Bascot awake that night, bringing with it an outrage at the stealth of the crime, the cowardice of it. He had spent long years in captivity, knew the helplessness that came with being a slave, unable to defend oneself from physical harm or mental torture, and he felt a strange empathy with the dead squire, losing his life without being able to put up the least resistance.\n\nHe lay awake for the rest of the night, listening to the slow tramp of the men-at-arms on night duty as they passed along the wall connected to the tower he was in, and the quiet murmur of their conversation as they stopped for a few moments' rest and a little gossip. From the bailey came only silence, broken intermittently by the lowing of a restless cow or the squawk of a goose. As he lay he wondered if he had missed anything else when he had examined Hubert's body and belongings. He would not get another opportunity to view the corpse, for soon it would be gone to its final resting place.\n\nSleep was just beginning to invade his restless mind when, towards dawn, the noise of men and horses stirring in the bailey awoke him. Bascot remembered that Gerard Camville had arranged for a hunt that morning. Meat was always needed for the table but, even with the annual late autumn slaughter of cattle that were too old or infirm to be fed through the winter, and the killing of deer trapped in the sheriff's buckstalls, feeding King John and all the attendant guests would demand an additional supply.\n\nJust as dawn was about to break, Bascot heard the yelping of hounds and the strident tones of the kennel master as he called his charges to order. The Templar got up from his pallet and pushed his eyepatch back into place. Soon the horn would blow to signal for the gate to be opened and the sheriff and his hunting party would leave. Quietly Bascot slipped on an extra padded tunic over the one he was wearing, then threw his cloak around his shoulders before bending down to place a hand on Gianni's shoulder. The boy was fast in slumber, only his nose peeping out from beneath the mound of covers in which he was ensconced. Bascot hated to wake him but Gianni became alarmed if he found his master absent and did not know where he was. A fear of vulnerability left over, no doubt, from the time Bascot had found him begging for food on a wharf in Palermo.\n\nGianni came awake instantly at Bascot's touch, his eyes looking the question his tongue could not ask.\n\n\"It's alright, Gianni. I am going to follow the hunt. You may go back to sleep or break your fast, if you wish. I will be back by midday.\"\n\nIt was a measure of the boy's growing confidence that he nodded quickly in agreement and did not show any distress at being left alone. A few months before he had dogged Bascot's footsteps like a shadow and was only comfortable out of his master's presence when he was in the protective company of Ernulf or in the midst of the pack of hounds in the castle hall.\n\nBascot slipped out of the room and made a slow passage down the stairs, being careful of his ankle which, despite the support of his new boots, seemed more fractious in cold weather. At the stables he ordered one of the grooms to saddle the even-tempered grey gelding he had used the day before and then he left the bailey, slowly following the hunting party as it made its way in the direction of the sheriff's chase."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "The morning air was frosty and the breath from Bascot's mouth, and that of his mount, streamed in the cold air like ragged plumes of smoke as they headed for the forest. The Templar ruminated on Hubert as he rode; thought how he had only the opinions of others for the squire's character, his personality. He had been painted blackly, as a disagreeable young man, a braggart and a lecher. Had he truly been such? Was there not a trace of good, even in the most evil of men, some redeeming trait not immediately apparent? Bascot thought of the infidel lord in whose household he had been held captive in the Holy Land, and at whose direction the hot iron had been thrust into his eye. Bascot had hated him with all his might, not only for being the enemy and his tormentor, but for the contempt with which the Saracen had regarded any of the Christian faith. Had the opportunity presented itself, Bascot would have willingly\u2014nay, eagerly\u2014taken the infidel's life, even if it had been at the cost of his own. But on reflection, and with the benefit of hindsight, Bascot had to admit he had seen his captor show kindness to those of his own heathen faith, and had seemed genuinely fond of the many children he had sired on the numerous women of his harem. No doubt he had been viewed as a generous and loving benefactor by those receiving his favour.\n\nThe same could be true of Hubert, Bascot thought. He may have been a dutiful and loving son to his mother or have given a few of the women he boasted of bedding some pleasure for being in his company. Or had he been one of those individuals who loves self above all else? To whom consideration for others is never even contemplated, let alone attempted? It was possible, but there could be many other reasons why the boy had formed the character he had seemed to display, and it was difficult to make any kind of judgement of a person who was no longer alive. Perhaps the uncle that was coming to claim the body could enlighten Bascot about the nephew's nature. If just one person could be found who had liked Hubert, or whom he had perhaps confided in, it might be that the motive for this murder would become clearer.\n\nHis pondering had passed most of the journey to the sheriff's chase and Bascot entered the wood in the wake of the hunting party, broken branches and hoof prints in the mud of the track marking its passage plainly. It was the Templar's intention to visit the hunting lodge where Bettina had said she had arranged to meet Hubert. It was unlikely that the squire had been there for he had been found some distance away, but Bascot remembered that earlier that year, when he had been asked by Nicolaa de la Haye to investigate the murder of four people in an alehouse, it had been a tiny scrap of cloth found at a place far removed from where they had been killed that had led him in the right direction. It might be he would find such a guide again.\n\nTostig, the forester, had told him the general direction in which the ruin of the old lodge could be found, near to where the charcoal burner kept the huge mounds in which he burned his wood. A thin stream of smoke, rising almost straight up on the still air, told of the way he must go, away from the path followed by the hunting party, which could be heard farther to the south, the horns blowing almost constantly and the deep belling of the dogs signalling that a quarry had been sighted. Gerard Camville was after wild boar today, a dangerous animal to hunt, with razor-sharp tusks and lightning speed. The lair of one had been discovered by the sheriff's huntsmen and Camville was eager to test his skill against it, as well as have some of the tasty meat for the castle table. Bascot envied him his pleasure. As a Templar, he was forbidden to engage on a hunt, either with hawk or bow, but he had enjoyed those on which he had accompanied his father in the days of his youth, and the remembrance brought a smile to his lips.\n\nBascot came upon the old lodge almost by accident, finding the ruin in his path as he nudged his horse in the direction of the smoke. Two of the lodge's thick wooden walls were still standing, with a part of the roof clinging precariously above the join at which they met. Remnants of the foundations poked above the ground beside them, showing that it had once been a good-sized building, easily housing a large hunting party intent on celebrating their kill, or to give shelter if an overnight stay was planned. Bascot dismounted and tied the reins of the grey to the lower branches of a nearby tree, giving the animal enough slack to allow him to graze on the meagre slivers of grass at its base before he walked over to inspect the ruin.\n\nThe wood of the two remaining walls was almost sound. It had some slight infestation of insects but for the main part it stood firm to his touch and the ragged beams of the remaining portion of the roof above seemed solid. There was enough of a covered area to keep out any but the heaviest of rain or snow for a space of perhaps ten feet square. It must have been here that Hubert had intended to have his tryst with Bettina, if the girl had been telling the truth. Bascot carefully inspected the ground, but it seemed undisturbed. There was a pile of desiccated leaves blown haphazardly by the wind into a corner and underneath the moss was soft and unmarked. An old tree branch, whitened and smoothed from exposure to the weather, lay almost in the center of the sheltered space. When Bascot lifted it, the depression beneath looked to have been there for some time, with insects scuttling for cover as light and air penetrated their hiding place. If Hubert had been in this spot, he had left no trace.\n\nAs Bascot started to walk around the remains of the other walls, the sounds of the hunt increased, seeming to come nearer. His horse lifted its head and whickered softly, and Bascot went to it and rubbed a hand over its flank to calm it. If the chase came this way, he would have to ensure that he did not impede its progress. It was as he began to untie his mount that he noticed some marks in the earth near the outside edge of one of the remaining walls. He walked over to the spot and knelt down to examine them more closely. The hard-packed soil was deeply scored, two or three ruts on top of one another, ending in a flat impression like that made by the heel of a boot. Bascot looked up at the wall, then across at the faint track that led from the forest on this side. Had Hubert stood here, waiting in vain for the village girl, when he had been attacked? If someone had come up behind him, unheard and unseen while the squire's attention was fixed on sighting the maid whose body he soon hoped to enjoy, it would have been an easy matter to loop a length of cord around his throat and choke him. As the boy had struggled, kicking out with his feet, his heels could have scored the ruts in the earth, sliding uselessly as he struggled to escape the constriction at his throat. If, as Bascot suspected, Hubert had been rendered unconscious before being hanged, was this the spot where he had first been attacked? But if it was, then why had he been moved such a far distance to the oak tree where he was found?\n\nBascot walked a pace or two in the lee of the wall to see if there were any other indications of a struggle, some trace that would prove his tentative and unlikely assumption. The sounds from the hunt were growing louder now, but seemed to be coming from two different directions, one nearer than the other. Perhaps more than one quarry had been found and the party had split in two. The Templar was conscious of the need for haste; he did not want to get caught between the hunters and their prey, yet he did not want to leave and perhaps have any other signs of a possible assault on Hubert destroyed by the passage of dogs and horses. Making a quick circuit on the outside of the adjoining wall, he had just decided to remount when he heard the huntsman's horn blast loud and shrill from the woods that edged the perimeter on the far side of the ruin. At that same moment a huge stag burst from the trees and into the clearing. The beast paused, sides heaving. Its flanks were flecked with foam and saliva dripped from its mouth. For one second the beast's eye met Bascot's good one. Fleetingly, he saw the terror and desperation of the animal before it lowered its head, took a few faltering steps then, spurred on by another blast of the horn, sprang once again into flight. Leaping with an inordinate grace over the few remaining stones of the foundation it disappeared into the woods on the other side of the lodge.\n\nIt was as he turned to watch the vanishing deer that Bascot felt the arrow. Felt, rather than heard, for the noise of the hunt drowned out the whisper of flight the missile made before it embedded itself in the thickness of the extra tunic he was wearing under his cloak. The tip grazed the flesh covering his ribs and the cloth pulled as the shaft became snarled in the sheepskin padding of his under-tunic. Instinctively he dropped to the ground, protecting his sighted eye with his arm as he rolled into the timbers at the base of the wall. A second later a dog pack burst from the trees, led by two huge mastiffs. Racing across the open ground they continued the chase, their throaty baying echoing after them. Long moments behind were the horses, a powerful roan in the lead on which was mounted William Camville, with Richard de Humez following at some distance. Both held bows at the ready, arrows bristling in the quivers slung on their saddles. Other riders could be heard coming along the track behind them.\n\nBascot stood up and William's horse shied at his unexpected appearance. The sheriff's brother cursed as he fought to bring his mount under control, then changed to an oath of surprise when he realised what had caused the animal's alarm. Wrestling the startled steed to a halt, he stared at Bascot as de Humez and the rest of the hunt streamed past him.\n\n\"De Marins! What are you doing here? Did you sight the stag? Are the dogs still on its trail or have we lost him?\"\n\nSuddenly he saw the shaft of the arrow protruding from beneath the fold of Bascot's cloak. \"My God, you've been pricked. How badly are you hurt?\"\n\nWilliam slid off his horse in one motion and ran towards Bascot, bow still in hand. As he did so the two squires, Alain and Renault, came crashing with their horses through the woods a little distance from where the main body of the hunt had come. Seeing their lord dismounted and running towards Bascot, they came to a standstill. Behind them, from the woods to the south, straggled a few men on foot: a couple of huntsmen and the two foresters, Tostig and Eadric.\n\n\"I am not badly wounded,\" Bascot assured William. \"A scratch, nothing more.\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God for that,\" William replied. \"Someone must have loosed at the stag and found you for a mark instead.\" He shook his head. \"You should know better, de Marins. A hunt is a dangerous place not only for the quarry, but also for the hunter. Even kings have been brought down by a stray arrow, unwisely loosed.\"\n\n\"I do not think this one was short of its target,\" Bascot said, pulling the shaft free of the cloth in which it was imbedded. \"Had I not turned when I did, it would have taken me full in the chest.\"\n\n\"Even so, de Marins, it does not mean that it was intentional. The stag passed this way just moments ago, did it not? No doubt one of the others misjudged the distance and let loose beforetimes.\"\n\n\"I think not, my lord,\" Bascot insisted.\n\nWilliam looked intently at the Templar. \"Do you have some reason for believing so? Did you see who aimed the shaft?\"\n\nBascot shook his head.\n\n\"Then\u2026?\"\n\n\"It is the direction from which it came, my lord. Your hunting party approached from the south, did it not?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" William's face was beginning to show annoyance that the Templar was not making himself clear. \"My brother was after boar. We had no beaters with us for deer, but a stag came across our path. Myself and a few others went after it while Gerard stayed with the pig. But I do not see\u2026\"\n\n\"My lord Camville,\" Bascot said, \"I was on the other side of the wall when the arrow was loosed. Unless that shaft can miraculously change direction or penetrate solid wood it could not have been loosed at the deer.\"\n\n\"You mean\u2026\" William's face drew down in consternation as he realised the import of what Bascot had said.\n\n\"Exactly, my lord. It was fired from the north, not the south. I was at the edge of the wall and the arrow came from behind its protection. The deer could not have been seen from there. I was the quarry, not the stag.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Later that afternoon Bascot attended the Camville brothers in the sheriff's private chamber. It was a larger room than the one his wife used as her own, filled with spare boots, tunics, assorted bits of tack and a sleeping bench fitted with a well-padded mattress and bolster. Nicolaa was also there, seated on a stool near the fire that blazed in the hearth. The two brothers were on their feet, William leaning negligently against the window embrasure while Gerard paced the room in his restless fashion. The excitement generated in him by the hunt was still evident, seeming to roll off him in waves as he trod from one side of the chamber to the other. It had been he who had slain the boar, driving his spear deep into the animal's throat after it had killed two lymer hounds and sliced open the leg of one of the huntsmen. Now the beast was being skinned and prepared for the evening meal.\n\nThe stag that had inadvertently strayed into the path of the boar-hunting party had also been brought down, finally taken when its strength had given out and the dogs, attacking in a pack, brought it to its knees. The sheriff had good reason to be pleased with the day's work, but the news of the arrow shot at Bascot had tempered his good humour with anger. His broad face wore a bellicose scowl as he listened to Bascot explain, as he had to the sheriff's brother, how the arrow could not have been loosed from the direction of the hunt party, and also of the other marks on Hubert's throat and how he believed that the boy had first been rendered unconscious and then carried to the tree where he had been strung up.\n\n\"You are sure you are not mistaken about the arrow being loosed at you with purpose, de Marins?\" Nicolaa asked, concern in her tone. \"It is not uncommon for a shaft to find the body of a man instead of a beast during a hunt. All is such confusion once the quarry is sighted.\"\n\n\"I wish there was some doubt, lady,\" Bascot replied, rubbing the spot where the castle leech had washed the small injury he had sustained with wine before binding it tight with strips of linen. \"Only the hand of the Devil could have sent that arrow from the south. Otherwise, it would be impossible.\"\n\n\"If it was the Devil, then he certainly flies high. The wall behind which you were standing is at least twice the height of a tall man and you were only a couple of steps away from its shelter.\" William pondered what he had just said. \"Who knew you were going there this morning?\"\n\n\"No one except my servant,\" Bascot replied. \"I have questioned him. He did not tell anyone where I was.\"\n\n\"He is mute, is he not?\" William asked.\n\n\"Yes, but he can make himself understood by gestures for simple communications. For anything of greater import, I have taught him the rudiments of his letters and, if need be, he can write down what he wishes to impart and show it to someone who is literate. But he assures me that no one spoke to him from the time I left until I returned. He stayed in our chamber, later got some food from the kitchen and returned to our room to eat it. It was there I found him when I got back.\"\n\n\"Then, if this arrow shot was not chance, someone must have been watching you, seen you enter the forest and followed you to the spot,\" William mused.\n\n\"Or have already been in the woodland when I arrived,\" Bascot replied.\n\n\"You say you found traces that Hubert may have been attacked there, then taken to be hanged from the oak?\" It was the first time that Gerard Camville had spoken. His voice was harsh.\n\n\"I believe so, yes,\" Bascot replied.\n\n\"Then it may be that you found something you were not meant to discover.\" He turned away to pace again. \"If this is the work of those villagers, they will hang for it. And higher than they hanged my brother's squire.\"\n\n\"If de Marins has found out something important enough to be a threat to the murderer, what is it?\" Nicolaa said in a voice that was calm by contrast to her husband's. \"You are sure there was nothing else to be found?\"\n\nWilliam answered the question. \"No, there was not. We scoured the ground all around for some distance into the forest. No tracks, no disturbances, nothing.\"\n\n\"Well, it is a certainty that it was not an outlaw that fired the arrow at de Marins, for none would have dared to come so close with a hunting party in the woods. So it seems we must look for someone other than a brigand as the culprit. And it also appears the attempt on your life must be linked to the death of the squire in some way. If, as my husband says, you were not meant to discover those marks by the old lodge, what do they signify? It seems to matter little that Hubert was attacked and rendered unconscious in one place but finally killed in another.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the murderer was disturbed in his act,\" Bascot mused, \"and had need to move away from the area. If the boy were partially strangled, it would be easy to smother him in such a state. Then it would be possible for the one deed to be done early in the evening and to hide him before hanging him some hours later. That would provide a reason for my finding the tracks to be incriminating.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" William asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Bascot admitted. \"I don't even know if I am right.\"\n\nThe group fell silent. Gerard refilled his wine cup from a flagon standing near the hearth then offered it to his brother. William shook his head in refusal.\n\nFinally Nicolaa spoke. \"However distasteful, what we must consider is that the person who loosed that arrow at Bascot could have been one of your hunting party, Gerard. The arrow had the mark of our own castle fletcher on it. All those engaged in the hunt used his arrows.\"\n\nHer husband grunted but he let her go on. \"According to what you and William have told me, all was confusion once the stag was sighted, your party splitting into two, some staying with you to bring down the boar, the others following William after the deer. Any of the men that were with either group could have slipped away, circled around the lodge and fired at Bascot, then rejoined whichever company was nearest.\"\n\nBascot shook his head. \"No, lady. All of the hunters were ahead of me when I left the bailey. I followed in their wake. None would have known of my presence in the wood. They had all left before me.\"\n\n\"No, de Marins, all did not,\" Nicolaa said quietly.\n\nBascot's head came up sharply and he saw looks of discomfiture on the faces of the two brothers as Nicolaa went on, \"My sister's husband, Richard de Humez, left after you, along with Alain and Renault. They were late rising and caught up with the main party a short time later. From what you say they must have been only a small way behind you, may even have seen you mount your horse and ride through the gate on their way to the stables.\"\n\n\"It couldn't have been de Humez,\" William said abruptly. \"He was behind me when we came into the clearing, went past me on the chase for the stag.\"\n\n\"Was he with you when you left Gerard?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\nWilliam thought for a moment. \"I'm not sure. He must have been.\"\n\n\"Did you see him just before you reached the place where the old lodge stands?\" Nicolaa persisted. \"Or before that, as you rode after the stag?\"\n\n\"God forfend, Nicolaa, you know how it is in a hunt,\" William expostulated. \"You are keeping your eye on the dogs and the quarry, not looking to see what a rider behind you may or may not be doing.\" He banged his wine cup down on the table. \"I do not like de Humez, but it will be a sorry day for your family, and mine, if he is found to be implicated in this crime.\"\n\n\"He may not be, William. It may have been one of your squires instead. Would you rather the shadow of guilt was cast on your own household?\"\n\nThe sheriff's brother gave a groan at Nicolaa's words and he rubbed his hand across his brow in exasperation. \"By your reasoning, I myself could have loosed the arrow. Or any of the others engaged in the hunt. I did not hear de Humez or either of my squires mention they had seen de Marins on his way into the woods earlier that morning, but they could have done so, to any one of us, or just in general conversation.\"\n\n\"What you say is true, William,\" Nicolaa replied. \"And we have a scant few days before King John arrives to learn the truth of this matter. We must try, in that short time, to discover what is at the back of this boy's death and if it is something that might threaten the king, even if that threat comes from someone within our own households.\"\n\nShe turned to Bascot. \"De Marins, where before I told you to be discreet and take your time, we must now have you investigate in the open and with haste.\" She looked up at her husband. \"Do you agree, Gerard?\"\n\nThe sheriff nodded, the thin line of his mouth compressed with distaste. Nicolaa stood up. \"The boy's uncle should arrive either today or tomorrow. Question him, de Marins\u2014find out if he has any knowledge of his nephew being privy to a plot against the king. And question Alain and Renault again\u2014see if they told anyone that you were in the forest ahead of them.\" She glanced once again at her husband. \"I will speak to de Humez.\"\n\nBascot got up from the stool on which he had been sitting and went to the door. As he reached to open it, Gerard Camville spoke behind him. \"Let us pray for God to be kind. It may still be that it was outlaws who killed the boy. If that is found to be the answer I will be pleased.\"\n\nAs he shut the heavy door behind him Bascot was not sure if the sheriff's last words had contained an expression of hope, or a threat."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "The next day the weather remained clear and cold. After the morning meal was served and eaten, a small party left the castle bail by the east gate and crossed the old Roman road of Ermine Street and entered the grounds in which the cathedral stood. Alinor had decided that a visit there would please her little brother, Baldwin, and she had asked Alys to accompany them with Alain and Hugo as escort. At the last moment, Alain had been called to attend William Camville and Renault had offered his company in his stead. As they were leaving, the page Osbert, who had taken a liking to Baldwin, asked if he could go with them. The girls had agreed and, with Baldwin seated on a small pony so that the short journey should not tire him, they had set off.\n\nBaldwin was excited at the outing. It was not often he was well enough for more than a simple stroll in the orchard behind the fortified manor house, which Richard de Humez favoured as his primary residence, and he had begged his father to be allowed to come to Lincoln, excited at the prospect not only of seeing the king, but of visiting the cathedral. The nature of his illness, which seemed mostly to be a shortness of breath that made him weak, had caused him to be of a studious bent. He was also very devout, an instinct perhaps born of the dim realisation that it could be possible his illness would not allow him to live long enough to make old bones. With his sparse dark hair and narrow pinched face he already had the look of one older than his years. When they had arrived in Lincoln, he had gone up to the top of one of the castle towers and looked longingly at the bulk of the cathedral, its spire rising straight up into the sky beyond the castle wall, as though reaching for heaven. Perhaps it had been this excitement that had brought on a bout of his illness, for even while he had become entranced at being so near his objective, his breathing had become shallow and his throat had begun to constrict, shutting off life-giving air. He had been immediately put to bed and given a soothing drink containing poppy seed juice to calm him. A leech had been called and, after letting blood from Baldwin's arm to restore the balance of the humours in his sickly frame, had ordered that he be kept in bed until he recovered.\n\nThat had been the day after they had arrived, almost a week ago, and now he was, if not fully recovered, at least able to stand and walk a little way without discomfort. It had been Alys's idea for him to ride the pony and he was grateful to her for the suggestion. She had been his betrothed for many years now, since almost before he could remember, and she was dear to him, for she treated him in much the way his mother did, and with a sisterly affection that Alinor, for all that he knew she loved him, was not gentle natured enough to display.\n\nAs they crossed the broad swathe of road that was Ermine Street, a few flakes of snow fluttered through the air. The party were all well wrapped in cloaks, especially Baldwin, but still they felt the cold chill on the air, and when the cathedral bells rang out the office of Tierce, the sound seemed to shatter before it reached them, as though the bells themselves were frozen.\n\nRenault was leading Baldwin's pony, with Osbert striding along beside. Alys and Alinor followed, matching their steps with each other as parishioners on their way to attend Mass thronged through the gate with them. Hugo brought up the rear, his attention seemingly focused within, a frown between his heavy straight brows. The crowd around the group was thicker than usual. Word had just reached the city that Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, who had taken ill in London some two months before, had fallen into a decline and was feared to be near death. Hugh of Avalon was a much-loved cleric, not only for his warmth and piety, but also for the many good works he had sponsored since he had taken over the bishopric fourteen years before. He had caused lazar houses to be built, taken care of the poor, and cajoled prominent citizens into helping rebuild and improve the fabric of the cathedral, badly damaged in an earthquake in 1185. His demise, if it came, would bring sorrow to all his flock, not only to the high born, but to the low as well.\n\nNow the people of Lincoln were assiduous in attending Masses all over the city, sending up their prayers for the bishop's recovery, fervently hoping that God would hear their pleas and save the saintly Hugh. As the little group went into the cathedral to stand with the rest of the congregation, all of the party were conscious of the seriousness of the occasion, and stood quietly as Mass was celebrated and God beseeched to turn His merciful eyes upon the good bishop. Afterwards, they drifted out into the cathedral grounds and, with Baldwin mounted on his pony, went to purchase cups of hot spiced wine from one of the stalls on the far side of the grounds. Alongside the wine stall was a vendor selling roasted chestnuts, his wares smoking tantalisingly on a grid above a brazier of charcoal. Renault bought enough for them all to have some. Washed down with the wine, they brought a warm glow to the innards.\n\nOnce the refreshments had been almost devoured, Osbert suggested that he take Baldwin and show him some stone carvings of the Nativity that Bishop Hugh had commissioned to be inserted on the facade of the north wall of the cathedral. Baldwin was eager to see them and they set off, Osbert leading the pony. Alinor, who had been watching Renault covertly, had seen the glances that he had been giving Alys when he thought no one was looking, and asked the squire if he would accompany her in following Baldwin at a discreet distance.\n\n\"Just in case he should feel ill,\" she said. \"I know my brother does not like to be cosseted, but it would be best if he were not left alone for long. If he should weaken, or be struck with an attack of breathlessness, Osbert is not big enough to bear him up alone. It can be quite frightening.\"\n\nRenault, giving her an assessing glance but nodding his acquiescence, fell into step behind her, leaving Alys with Hugo to share the last of the chestnuts.\n\nAlinor walked slowly, allowing the Poitevan squire to catch up with her. Around them people passed, women with babes in their arms hurrying home after attending the service, merchants intent on getting back to their trade and a few clerics on errands for the church. Alinor let the crowd flow around her, keeping well behind her brother and Osbert, who had stopped beside a portion of the cathedral wall and were examining the frieze. Finally, when Renault's casual footsteps drew him beside her, she looked at him sidelong and spoke.\n\n\"You are smitten with Alys, are you not, Renault?\"\n\n\"She is betrothed to your brother, lady,\" the squire said shortly.\n\n\"That is not an answer to my question.\" Alinor turned to face him. \"I have seen you look at her. Even though she is not aware of your fondness for her, it is plain for others to see\u2014if one takes the trouble to look.\"\n\n\"And why are you interested, lady? I am no threat to your brother's affections. Alys is chaste, and would not betray her vow to be true to him.\"\n\n\"I know that, Renault. It is not my brother I am concerned about.\"\n\nRichard de Humez's daughter was not one to dissemble. She, like her aunt, had a forthright nature but, unlike Nicolaa, had not yet learned the wisdom of keeping a still tongue.\n\nAlinor placed her hand firmly on Renault's arm, forcing him to a standstill. \"I have heard that you and Alain were nearby when an arrow was shot at the Templar. Did neither of you see who aimed it?\"\n\nRenault shook his head, not meeting her gaze and, for a moment, the nonchalant pose he always adopted stiffened. \"There was much confusion; it would have been impossible to tell who loosed the shaft.\"\n\n\"But you were questioned about it, were you not?\" Alinor persisted.\n\n\"Yes, both Alain and I were.\" He relaxed a little and said mockingly, \"Is it your intention to interrogate me as well?\"\n\nAlinor dropped her hand and shook her head. \"No, it is not, Renault.\" She took a few steps, then stopped and turned towards him. \"Did you know that my father was also subjected to an enquiry?\"\n\nRenault stared at her, both of them unmindful of people passing, or of the fact that Baldwin and Osbert had moved farther along the cathedral wall. The Poitevin's languid manner was completely gone. \"I did not. Surely he is not suspected of such a cowardly act?\"\n\nAlinor shrugged. Her face was smooth, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Tendrils of hair had escaped from under the confines of the fur-lined hood she wore and fluttered as she moved. Her expression was one of determination. \"I overheard my aunt speaking to him. She did not so much question him as probe gently about his feelings towards the king and whether he knew of any way that Hubert was involved with those who are rumoured to plot for King John's overthrow. I think she and my uncle, as well as Sir William, feel that the attempt to kill de Marins must be linked to Hubert's death, and the murderer fears the Templar may discover his identity.\"\n\nRenault shook his head slowly from side to side as he pondered what Alinor had told him. \"I can assure you I am not involved in any such treachery, nor did I kill Hubert for such a reason.\"\n\nAlinor, light brown eyes still intent on his dark ones, said, \"But you may have killed him for another.\"\n\nRenault's face narrowed at her accusation but she went on regardless. \"I know you detested Hubert. There had to be more than simple dislike. You and Alain both knew that he had insulted Alys, did you not?\"\n\nRenault immediately resumed his languid pose and looked away. He made no reply.\n\n\"I know you did, Renault,\" Alinor insisted, almost stamping her foot with anger at his lack of response. \"Alys herself told me how Hubert had accosted and threatened her and so I went and questioned young Osbert, asked him if Hubert had quarrelled with anyone just before he was found dead. Osbert told me that Alain had warned Hubert that if he didn't leave his sister in peace he would be sorry for it. And Alain would have told you that he had done so, I am sure.\"\n\n\"Osbert should keep his mouth shut,\" Renault drawled.\n\nAlinor drew herself up, anger sparking from her. \"As you do, you mean? The Templar was not told of this, was he? Nor my aunt?\"\n\nNow the squire let his own temper flare. \"And why should they be? Neither Alain nor I had anything to do with that bog-spawn's murder. Hubert was warned. By both of us. To have challenged him outright would have made the matter known, and damaged Alys's reputation beyond repair. He knew well enough not to repeat attempting to inflict his loathsome attentions on Alys. If he had\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026either you or Alain would have been incensed enough to kill him,\" finished Alinor. As Renault's mouth set in a grim line, she went relentlessly on, \"And he was killed, wasn't he? Secretly. Perhaps to protect Alys?\"\n\n\"And your father, lady?\" Renault spat at her. \"If he is involved in some plot against the king and Hubert was privy to it, would that not be a much greater reason to kill him, in order to stop up that loathsome cretin's babbling mouth?\" He looked at her askance, his lip curling slightly in disdain. \"But then I suppose that Alain and I, both sons of knights of low station, are more expendable than a baron who comes of such high lineage as the constable of Normandy.\"\n\nAlinor, furious now, rounded on him, her voice rising so that passersby looked at the pair curiously and made a wide berth around them. \"How dare you accuse me of such baseness? Alys is my friend, betrothed to my brother. I only want to find the truth so that the innocent may not suffer from misguided slander.\"\n\nBut Renault's words had struck home. Alinor knew that her father was a fussy, fretful man who suffered from being compared with the paladin who had been his relative, but she loved him. For all his faults, he was not an unkind parent, solicitous of his ailing son and indulgent to his wife and daughter. But at the back of her mind she feared he may have been tempted into some intrigue, if only lured by the possibility of gaining lands and honours from being an adherent of any who might successfully overthrow the king. If that were so, even if he were not personally responsible for the death of the squire, he might be privy to the identity of the murderer.\n\nRenault, seeing the conflict of emotions that flitted across her face and caused her to barb her words, took pity on her. \"Alinor, do not get tangled in the strands of this riddle. Whoever murdered Hubert will not hesitate to kill again if knowledge of his identity is threatened. Let it alone, lest you put yourself in danger. Leave it to the Templar. He has the ability to defend himself. You do not.\"\n\nAlinor, despite herself, heard the wisdom in his words of caution, much as she was loath to admit it. She nodded her head and when Renault offered her his arm, she took it. Belatedly they resumed their walk in Baldwin and Osbert's wake."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "At about the same time that Alinor and her companions were en route to the cathedral, Bascot was also leaving the castle bail. Mounted on the grey gelding, he left by the western gate, riding in the direction of the sheriff's chase. He rode fully armed with sword and mace, and wearing a conical helm and dark surcoat over a hauberk of mail to ensure he would not be vulnerable to another attack by a stray arrow. It was his intention to talk to the charcoal burner and, from there, revisit the village where Bettina lived. He felt sure that the core of the mystery that had led to Hubert's murder was to be found in the forest, but he was at a loss as to how to discover it.\n\nCrossing the Fossdyke, he barely felt the coldness of the morning or noticed the random snowflake that dropped and melted on the warmth of his horse's flank, except to reflect fleetingly that Hubert's lust must have been high to have sought a tryst with Bettina in such dank weather, even though it had been reasonably mild on the night he was killed. Still, he thought, ardour does not cease when winter throws its blanket over the earth, and the young are robust. A warm cloak and a bed of leaves would be just as snug as a cold secluded cranny within the castle walls. As he entered the chase, he bent his mind to his task, trying to envision the forest as it would have been on the evening when Hubert had met his death. The woodland was alive with movement at all times of the year, not only with wolves, deer and boar, small animals and birds, but with men as they chopped and hewed, hunted and gleaned, reaped a harvest of meat and berries for the pot or gathered wood for building and burning. Most of these activities were lawful, carried out either by agents of the lord who held the land or by peasants given permission from their master. But there were many in the forest that were not there by right, men and women judged by society as outside its law, forced to steal in order to keep hunger at bay.\n\nAlthough it was late in the year, there would still be a few peasants grazing a goat or a pig in the forest, or collecting bracken and wind-felled wood. This was a territory they knew, all the tracks and pathways as familiar as the lumps of straw in their beds. Their own livelihood and health depended on such knowledge and they would be well aware of any intruder, be it four-footed beast or two-legged man. Unless Hubert had possessed the skill to move through the denuded branches of the trees with the stealth of a spectre, someone must have seen or heard him. It was Bascot's task to find out who.\n\nAs he neared the site of the old hunting lodge, the snow began to come down a little harder, still in tiny delicate flakes, but swirling now, drifting in circles as it was driven by a slight wind that had arisen. At the ruins of the old hunting lodge, the ground had hardened with the drop in temperature. The churned-up tracks made by the passage of the hunt were hard with rime, the mud glistening with frozen moisture. Bascot passed them by, heading in the direction of the thin trails of smoke from the charcoal burner's fires that were visible above the tops of the trees.\n\nBascot travelled only a short distance before he came to a large clearing. In it were three huge turf-covered mounds, each about nine feet high. Built up from the inside of a shallow pit, they were a construction of wood piled about a central tripod of tall branches, which was then covered with a thick layer of soil and sod. At the top of each was an iron disk, covering the hole through which the stacks were lighted by means of dropping in a handful of burning embers. Ventilation slits were carefully placed around the perimeter of each mound, at intervals of approximately three feet. When the smoke from these slits turned a clear blue it signalled that the charcoal was ready. The whole process took about three or four days, and constant attendance was needed to monitor the fire and repair any cracks that might appear in the outer covering of turf.\n\nOne of the stacks in the clearing had apparently already served its purpose, for it had been allowed to go out and was dismantled. Some charcoal still remained in the depths of the base, waiting to be put in bags and taken for sale. Both of the other mounds were still burning, the nearest one emitting smoke that was an almost translucent haze. At this one, a tall gaunt man clad in a rough goatskin jerkin was on a ladder placed against the side of the stack, carefully blocking the vent holes so that the lack of air would extinguish the fire. At the next stack a young man, similarly dressed and enough alike the other to be his son, was engaged in filling in cracks in the turf covering. Both looked up at Bascot's approach, but only the younger one looked startled.\n\nThe Templar dismounted and tethered the grey to the branches of a tree at the edge of the enclosure, near to where a crudely built cart with iron-plated wheels stood. In a small pen a donkey peered inquisitively at the newcomers. Bascot's horse snuffed discontentedly at the acrid smell of burning but, being a reasonably placid animal, chose to ignore it and began to push his nose hopefully at the rough grass near his feet. The Templar walked over to the mound at which the elder of the two men still kept to his task and approached the bottom of the ladder. As he did so, another boy, a younger version of the other two, appeared at the doorway of a roughly constructed shack, a dog at his side, and stood watching.\n\n\"Are you John Chard?\" Bascot called up to the man on the ladder.\n\n\"I am,\" was the laconic reply.\n\n\"My name is Bascot de Marins. I have been sent by Sheriff Camville to enquire into the murder of a young man in the forest near here. I need to ask you some questions.\"\n\nThe man made no reply, nor did he seem in awe of Bascot's rank, or the fact that he was armed. He continued to concentrate on his task. Bascot felt his temper rise, but held it in check. He knew only too well how deep ran the resentment of those who had to answer to a master. Charcoal burning was a filthy job, demanding that the stacks be watched day and night to keep the fire under control, and it was dangerous, too, for when the stack was finally cool enough to extract the charcoal there was always the possibility that it would burst into flame and consume not only the wood, but the charcoal burner as well. There was little profit in it either, for despite the skill that the procedure required, and the demand for charcoal for braziers and the forges of smiths, there was little remuneration to be had, especially after the licence to operate had been paid.\n\nBascot walked over to the youngster standing at the door of the hovel. At his approach, the dog emitted a low tentative growl, which soon subsided when the boy administered a sharp cuff to the animal's head.\n\nBascot gestured to Chard and spoke to the boy. \"Go up on the mound to your father and tell him that I will wait only long enough for him to descend his ladder before I use my mace on the sides of his stacks. Then he will either talk to me or I will take him to be questioned by the sheriff.\"\n\nThe boy, eyes wide in his dirty face, nodded quickly and ran to the mound and scampered up the ladder. After pulling urgently on the back of his father's jerkin he whispered Bascot's message. The charcoal burner turned and gave the Templar a stare of sullen resentment, but did as he had been told, and shambled over to stand in front of his tormentor. Chard's face was just as dirty as his son's, his hands and nails black and ingrained with a dirt that had been there so long it would never wash off. The goatskin garment he wore gave off a pungent smell and was stiff with old sweat and grime. Giving his young son a push and telling him to go up on the stack and continue with the task of stopping up the vent holes, the charcoal burner at last grudgingly gave Bascot his attention.\n\n\"You have heard of the death of a lad, a squire in William Camville's retinue, found hanged in a tree not far from here?\"\n\nChard gave his head a slight nod.\n\n\"Where were you the night before he was found?\" Bascot's tone was sharp.\n\n\"I'm here every night,\" Chard replied. \"My sons are too young to be left with the care of the fires. I have to do it.\"\n\n\"Did you hear or see anything of the dead boy on that night?\"\n\n\"No.\" The answer was surly.\n\nBascot drew a deep breath and tried to summon up patience as he walked to the stump of a newly hewn tree and sat down. He decided to try a different tack.\n\n\"Who takes the charcoal to sell?\" he asked.\n\n\"My eldest son,\" the charcoal burner replied with a jerk of his head in the direction of the bigger of the two boys, still perched atop the middle mound and watching them both fearfully.\n\n\"Did he go to Lincoln that day?\" Bascot asked.\n\nChard nodded his head. \"He did. And returned before sundown. He and my younger boy were in the compound through all the hours of darkness.\"\n\nBascot called up to the boy. \"Did you see or hear anything unusual on your journey?\"\n\nBefore the lad could speak, his father interrupted. \"He did not. I told you. We were here all that night. No one came near nor by.\"\n\nBascot stood up and drew the short sword he carried in his belt. He walked over to the stack that the charcoal burner had been plugging and dragged the top of his knife across the top of one of the squares of turf that formed its cover. Almost immediately a little puff of smoke appeared. He turned to Chard. \"I have little inclination to be lenient with you, burner. You are insolent and uncooperative. Your very manner tells me you have something to hide. Either you tell me what it is willingly, or I take you to the sheriff and let him force it out of you. The choice is yours.\"\n\nStill the charcoal burner stood silent, his wide mouth set in a stubborn line. The dog began to whine. Bascot, his patience at an end, stepped forward and said, \"Very well, Chard. You have made your decision.\"\n\nAt these words the elder son, from his perch atop the smoking mound, let out a yell. \"No! Tell him, Da! For the sake of Our Lord, tell him.\"\n\nChard looked up at his son. \"Shut your mouth, Adam.\"\n\n\"No, Da, I will not.\" The boy scrambled down and came to stand by his father, resolution on his thin grimy face. \"I did see summat that afternoon,\" he said to Bascot. \"Just as I was coming home. A horse and rider were ahead of me on the path. There was a girl, too, up behind, on the pillion.\"\n\nChard interrupted once more. \"This has nowt to do wi' us, Adam. If the sheriff can find someone to blame he will, whether they be guilty or no. You are putting your head in a noose, and mayhap mine and your brother's as well.\"\n\n\"No, burner, you are wrong,\" Bascot told him coldly. \"If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.\"\n\nThe charcoal burner gave him a scornful look of disbelief, but said nothing. Bascot left him to his doubt and turned once again to the boy. \"Did you recognise either of these people? Did you see where they went?\"\n\nThe boy hesitated for a moment, glanced at his father's face, and answered with a deliberate shake of his head. \"No, sir. And that's the truth. I could tell they were my betters by the fineness of the horse and the cloak the girl wore. If they were bent on a loving spree they would not take kindly to the likes o' me spying on 'em. So I stopped the donkey and waited for a spell. Once they had disappeared up the path, I took a different track to get back here.\"\n\n\"Did you get a look at the girl's face?\"\n\nAdam shook his head. \"She had her back to me and the hood on her cloak was up.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\" Bascot asked, disappointed.\n\n\"No, sir. That's all.\"\n\nThe charcoal burner relaxed his stance now, a look of resignation on his face. Bascot spoke to him once more. \"I will ask you again, Chard\u2014did you hear anything later that night\u2014a scream, a shout for help, anything?\"\n\nThe man shook his head in negation and his eldest son did, too. Even the little one, still crouching down by the dog, moved his head sideways in agreement with the others in his family. Bascot knew he would get no more out of them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Hubert's uncle, Joscelin de Vetry, arrived late that afternoon. He was a corpulent man of middle height with a mane of dark curly hair frosted with grey. His face was fat, creased with lines that seemed to show a genial temperament but his eyes, for all their sparkle, were busy as he looked inquisitively about him. The clothes he wore were of good quality; his cloak was lined with fur and there was a finely set piece of amber surrounded by silver filigree on the side of his cap. On his arrival, Nicolaa de la Haye's steward provided him with refreshment in a corner of the hall and sent to inform his mistress of the man's presence.\n\nDe Vetry's manner to the castellan was courteous, but not overly respectful. He was, he explained, only Hubert's uncle-by-marriage, his wife being the sister of the mother of the boy.\n\n\"You will know that Hubert's father is dead,\" he said, \"and since all his other male relatives are away from home, it was thought best if I came to escort the boy's remains back to his mother so that she may bury him.\"\n\nHe went on to add that he also had business in Lincoln that could be transacted during the day or two he would stay before he returned home. There followed a careful explanation of his own antecedents: that although he himself had been gently born of a father who had been an impoverished knight, his mother had been the daughter of a prosperous goldsmith in Boston, and that he followed the same trade. It was of matters pertaining to this that he had reason to see one or two of the goldsmiths in Lincoln.\n\n\"I will not say it is for the sake of expediency that I combine my sad duty to my wife's nephew with monetary concerns, but travel is hard at this time of year and I do not wish to make the journey more often than is necessary.\"\n\n\"I trust Hubert's mother will not be too distressed at the condition of her son's body,\" Nicolaa replied, feeling distaste for the man and his smugness. \"I instructed my messenger not to tell her in too great detail how the boy met his death, but I fear the state of his flesh would be a shock to any mother.\"\n\nDe Vetry sat up straighter in his chair, his complacency falling away. \"Condition? I was told by my wife that he had met with an accident in the forest. I\u2014we\u2014assumed a fall from a horse while hunting, or some such. What happened to him?\"\n\nNicolaa told her visitor of how Hubert had been found and what the crows had done to him. \"He has been decently wrapped and covered, of course, but if you could find a way to keep his mother from too close an examination of her son's body, I think it would be better for her peace of mind.\"\n\nDe Vetry was shaken. \"Of course, of course,\" he muttered, quickly drinking down the remains of his wine. As Nicolaa motioned for one of the servants to refill his cup, the goldsmith struggled to regain his composure. \"Then he was\u2026he was\u2026murdered, you say?\"\n\n\"I think it most unlikely that he could have bound and hanged himself from so high a branch without assistance,\" Nicolaa said dryly. \"My husband believes that he surprised some poachers and was slain by them.\"\n\nDe Vetry seemed to relax a little at her words but he still looked at her doubtfully. \"Is that what you believe, lady? And Sir William, is he of the same mind as your husband?\"\n\n\"Suffice it to say that the matter is being looked into,\" Nicolaa replied. She rose from her chair. \"But even though I advise that his mother does not see the boy's body, some member of the family must view the remains, for piety's sake. I am sure that you, de Vetry, will be willing to perform the task.\"\n\nThe goldsmith rose hastily to his feet. Nicolaa felt a perverse satisfaction in watching the colour drain from his face. \"Yes, of course, lady. You are right. It is only proper that I do so.\"\n\n\"Then, since the hour grows late, I suggest you do it now. Afterwards the body may be placed in a coffin ready for transport when you have finished your\u2014matters of business.\"\n\nCalling to her steward, the castellan gave de Vetry over to his care, directing her servant to take the merchant to the chapel where Hubert's body lay. She fancied that de Vetry would, in a few short moments, have a more proper respect for the death of his wife's nephew than when he first arrived."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Bascot arrived back in the castle bail late in the afternoon. He took his horse to the stables and gave it into the care of one of the grooms, then started to cross the ward in the direction of the armoury so that he could divest himself of hauberk and helm. Before he had taken more than a few steps Gianni ran up to him, face alight with pleasure at his master's return. Behind the boy, standing in the doorway of the barracks was Ernulf, and the familiar figure of Roget, captain of the sheriff's town guard. Both men raised their hand in greeting, Roget brandishing a wine skin.\n\n\"Hola, de Marins. Come, join us and wipe the dust of the journey from your throat. I have brought a good vintage for you to try. It will fare you better than the horse piss that Ernulf keeps in his store.\"\n\nBascot nodded his acceptance of the offer and continued on his way to the armoury. Inside, Gianni helped him out of his hauberk, struggling to lift the chain mail shirt onto a stout wooden crosspiece kept for the purpose. Bascot resisted the temptation to help him. The mail weighed almost as much as the boy himself, but the lad took pride in his abilities and the Templar had decided to encourage him in this regard. It had taken Bascot much soul-searching to determine the fine line between indulging the boy and teaching him responsibility and, despite his affection for his servant, he knew that it would be a disservice to allow the lad a laxity that could lead to selfishness.\n\nWhen they walked back into the barracks, one of the men-at-arms told them that Ernulf and Roget were in the small room that the serjeant claimed for his own, and Bascot went to join them. The doorway was covered with a heavy leather curtain and the Templar drew it aside so that he and Gianni could enter. The two soldiers were seated at a small table, sharing a jack of wine. Roget hooked a stool from beneath the table for Bascot to sit on, while Gianni scuttled to a corner and settled himself on a pile of neatly folded blankets.\n\nRoget filled a mazer with wine for Bascot and the Templar drank it down thirstily. The captain had been right in his boast; it was good, full ripe on the tongue and warm in the gullet.\n\n\"So, de Marins, Ernulf tells me you were skewered by an arrow while roaming about in the wildwood looking for brigands. Is life here in Lincoln so dull that you must always be hunting a murderer?\"\n\nRoget laughed as he finished his jest, a full-bodied chuckle that came from deep in his throat. He was a fearsome looking man, tall and strongly built, with the scar of an old sword slash nearly bisecting one cheek from temple to chin. He had once been a mercenary and was reputed to be uncaring of either man or beast, as well as a lecher and a hard drinker, but Bascot found him good company and knew that, for all his faults, he was a capable soldier and loyal to Gerard Camville.\n\n\"I think a murderer must be easier to find than wine as good as this, Roget,\" Bascot responded. \"Where did you steal it from?\"\n\nThe captain gave Bascot a gap-toothed grin and laid a finger alongside his nose. \"I can smell out a good wine just as well as I can scent a willing woman, Templar. Le bon Dieu blessed me with a nose for both.\"\n\nThey each had another cup of wine, then Ernulf told Bascot that Hubert's uncle had arrived in Lincoln, come to escort his nephew's body home.\n\n\"Is he much grieved?\" Bascot asked.\n\nErnulf gave him a scornful look. \"That one? The only thing that would bring sorrow to Joscelin de Vetry is a loss of his silver.\"\n\n\"Was the boy of his own blood, or related by marriage?\"\n\n\"Son of his wife's sister. De Vetry is a pompous blowhard. He was gently born on his father's side, but his mother was the daughter of a goldsmith. Never fails to remind everyone of his father's lineage while adorning himself with enough jewels to weigh down an ox cart.\"\n\nErnulf chuckled as he added, \"Seems Lady Nicolaa turned him, if not his gold, a bit green, though. She barely let him get his foot in the ward before she sent him off to see the mess the crows had made of his wife's kin. The steward told me that afterwards the goldsmith had urgent need to rush to the privy.\"\n\nRoget offered to refill Bascot's cup but the Templar refused, preferring to wait until he had eaten some food. Rousing Gianni he sent the boy to the kitchen to bring him some cold viands and bread.\n\nAs the youngster scampered off, Ernulf's face became serious. \"I didn't want to say this in front of the boy, Bascot, but you were foolish to go out alone this morning. You've already had one attempt made to kill you, yet you invite another. Why didn't you take a couple of my lads with you? Never hurts to have a guard at your back.\"\n\nBascot shook his head. \"I will learn nothing from the villagers, or any other peasant, with a show of force, Ernulf. It only makes them herd together, like a flock of sheep, and seals their lips from fright.\"\n\n\"But what if the sheriff is right and it was poachers who killed Hubert?\" Roget said, his mobile face wearing a sombre expression. \"Brigands like that have only one thing to fear, that of getting caught. They will kill you, or each other, without a flicker of conscience. And they will laugh at your stupidity.\"\n\nErnulf nodded his head in agreement with the captain's words, but Bascot refused to heed the warning. \"I will have to chance that, Roget. It could be that the answer to who murdered the boy is to be found in the forest. I will only know for certain whether it does or not if I make a search for it. And this morning, my roaming, as you call it, was worth the risk. I may have sighted a very small glimpse of the truth.\"\n\nHe related to Ernulf and Roget what the charcoal burner's son had told him. Both listened intently until he had finished. \"The male rider must have been Hubert, but if the female the boy saw was wearing a fine cloak, it does not sound as though it was Bettina. Unless Hubert had brought it for her as an enticement,\" opined Ernulf. \"Could it have been another wench, perhaps one more compliant than the dairymaid?\"\n\n\"It may be so, and I must admit that I hope it was,\" Bascot replied. \"I would have sworn Bettina was telling me the truth. If she lied, she was most convincing. Of all the people I have asked about the dead boy, she is the only one I have been inclined to believe. Unless she was forced to the tale by her relatives, I would not have thought her corrupt.\"\n\n\"Mon ami,\" Roget said sadly, \"all men\u2014and women\u2014are corrupt. It is not a fine art to know that; it is to judge the degree of iniquity that is difficult. And those with the fairest face and form often have the blackest hearts. It is a sorrow, but it is true.\"\n\nErnulf nodded in morose agreement and held out his wine cup for replenishment. Bascot thought on the mercenary's words, reminded of the last time he had been involved in a matter of unlawful slaying and how he had been so easily gulled by a pretty countenance and a soft manner. Was it happening again? Was the dairymaid lying to him? And if she was not, and she also was not the girl the charcoal burner's son had seen with Hubert, then who was?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Near the northern tip of Sherwood Forest, and a good few miles from Lincoln town, a ragged band of men, women and a few small children were gathered around a barely smouldering fire. Above the almost dead embers some thin strips of venison were roasting, threaded on a wooden skewer. It was the last of their store. Hunger was beginning to make itself felt once again and the hopelessness of despair was etched on all their faces. A tattered canopy of leaf-bare branches still shielded them a little from the stark winter sky above, but the smell of snow was in the air and they were cold. All the men were fugitives, brigands who had, in one way or another, broken the law and fled from the harsh penalties of justice. The women, tied by bonds of marriage or kinship, had chosen to flee with their men rather than face a life of poverty alone. But hunger is still hunger and is not eased by sharing it. Dusk had not yet fallen but most of their number were already asleep, too weak to stay awake. The women were huddled together, the children in their midst, getting as much shelter as they could from bracken piled against the trunk of a fallen tree. One of the children, a babe of barely twelve months, began to cry and his mother soothed him by pushing a rag soaked with ale into his mouth. Soon there would not even be any ale, for the last of the brew they had husbanded so carefully was almost gone.\n\n\"We'll have to go back to Camville's chase,\" said Fulcher, handing the child's mother one of the strips of venison. It was little enough, but she could chew it until it was soft enough for the babe to swallow.\n\n\"Go back there?\" Talli burst out. \"Has hunger mazed your senses?\"\n\n\"No,\" responded Fulcher, \"but it soon will, unless we get something to eat.\"\n\nHe looked around at the little band. The strips of venison had come from the chunks of meat taken from the deer they had poached, but even though it had been bolstered by the addition of boiled hedgehog and a few dried berries, it had not lasted long when shared amongst them. Rustling noises came from the forest around them as small nocturnal animals began their nightly quest for food and in the distance the lone howl of a wolf sounded. Fulcher shuddered. They were helpless in the face of winter's onslaught.\n\n\"There's deer enough in Sherwood,\" Berdo said. \"And not so much chance of getting caught.\" The dying glow from the fire lit up his face, catching the stub of all that remained of his left ear, clipped for stealing. \"There's more cover to hide from the foresters, for one thing and, for another, we don't have to cross the river to bring the meat back.\"\n\nTalli nudged his companion. \"You know why we can't take a deer in Sherwood, and it's nothing to do with the foresters.\"\n\nBerdo seemed about to say more, then decided against it. Fulcher gave him a glare. \"Spit it out, Berdo. It's me that Green Jack's got an argument with, not the rest of you. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?\"\n\nBerdo looked up. Fulcher was their leader. They had been together for two years now, ever since the day that Fulcher had helped him and Talli escape from the confines of the sheriff's gaol in Nottingham. He was strong, and he was clever, but what he said was right. It had been Fulcher who had fought with the leader of another band in Sherwood. And Green Jack\u2014so called for his ability to move through the greenwood with no more noise than a leaf rustling on a twig\u2014had been there longer than Fulcher and had more men under his command. Fulcher and his band had been penned into this small northeastern corner of Sherwood for months, finding themselves stopped by an arrow or a sharply flung stone if they attempted to move deeper into the forest. That was why they had been forced go farther afield than Sherwood to find meat. The feud between the two outlaw chiefs would end only if Fulcher turned over the leadership of his band to Jack or if Fulcher left the area entirely.\n\nBerdo leaned forward, speaking earnestly, encouraging his leader to pretend to disappear. \"It'd be easy to do, Fulcher. If you was to hole up somewheres and stay out of sight, Jack would think you'd gone for good and let the rest of us join up with him again. We could even sneak you some food if you needs it. It'd only have to be until the cold weather is past, then, in the spring, we could get together again.\"\n\nFulcher leaned across the fire and grabbed the front of Berdo's filthy jerkin, pulling him forward so that the thief's face was close to the embers. \"Do you think I'm going to hide from that vermin? Let him think I've turned tail and run? I'd rather roast in hell.\"\n\nTalli laid a placating hand on the arm of his leader. \"Easy, Fulcher. Berdo don't mean it. He's hungry, that's all, and his stomach is talking through his mouth.\"\n\nReluctantly Fulcher released Berdo, who slumped back onto his haunches, resentfully rubbing his face where the heat from the fire had scorched it.\n\n\"Maybe you and Jack could call pax, Fulcher,\" Talli suggested. \"Just for the winter. Let one of us go and talk to him, see what he says.\"\n\nFulcher hawked and spat into the fire. \"You know what he'll say, Talli. Same as I would if I were him. Leave me and join his men and he'll see that you get a share of whatever they can steal or beg. You can go if you want. I won't stop you, nor blame you. It's your sister and her boy over there that's starving and you want to see them fed.\"\n\nFulcher rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the fire. Finally, he straightened up. \"I'll make your choice for you, Talli; for all of you. Tomorrow I'll go alone to Camville's chase and try to snare some game. If I don't, I won't come back. Then you can go to Jack for help, or to the Devil for all I care.\"\n\nWith these last words he rose to his feet and strode off into the darkness. Talli looked nervously at Berdo. \"He's sure to be caught. That lad that was hanging in the tree will have been found by now and Camville's soldiers will be all over the place looking for whoever put him there.\"\n\nBerdo shrugged and rubbed his fingers over the remains of his ear. \"If he's taken, he's taken; if he's not, he's not. Either way we'll get some grease for our innards, if not from Fulcher, then from Green Jack.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "Tostig finished inspecting the buckstall that Gerard Camville had instructed his huntsmen to erect for the enclosure of deer destined for slaughter, then mounted his horse and rode to John Chard's camp. As he approached the compound he heard the burner's dog whining. The animal was on the far side of one of the dome-shaped mounds, paws edged close to the body of a man who lay facedown on the ground. Tostig knelt beside the animal and turned the lifeless form over. It was the charcoal burner. The broken shaft of an arrow protruded from his chest and there was a look of surprise on his face. He had been dead some hours, for his body was as cold as stone.\n\nThe dog became agitated now, backing away from Tostig, its declawed feet clumsy as it scrabbled round the side of the mound. The forester followed, trying to coax the animal to return, but the dog kept up his lopsided gait and disappeared into the shack that had been the charcoal burner's home. Tostig went to the door and pushed back the flimsy curtain of bound reeds that covered it. As he stepped inside, the dog began to growl, belatedly trying to protect another body that lay on the floor. It was Chard's older son, Adam. His throat had been slashed from ear to ear. In his hand was still clutched a stout branch with which he must have tried to protect himself. On the other side of the shack his little brother lay in a similar condition, mouth set in the rictus of a silent scream above the gaping wound in his throat. Blood was spattered over the boys' clothing and on the beaten earth of the floor. Of what had once been the charcoal burner's family, only the dog remained alive.\n\nTostig went outside, took a few deep gulps of air, then dragged John Chard's body inside the hut to join those of his two sons. After securing the door of the shack against predators, he left the camp. The dog set up a mournful wail as the forester rode off."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "Bascot was in the Templar Lincoln preceptory when one of the castle guard was despatched to apprise him of the forester's discovery. He had been there since the previous evening, having come to deliver a request from Nicolaa de la Haye for the Order to supply the castle with extra spices, mainly cinnamon, for the king's visit. D'Arderon, the preceptor, was a man of mature years who had spent almost the whole of his adult life in the Templar Order. He had welcomed Bascot warmly, genuinely pleased to see him. The older Templar knew that Bascot's imprisonment in the Holy Land had caused doubts about the rightness of the Templar cause in his younger comrade's mind, and that it had also seriously damaged his trust in God. This lapse had been exacerbated when Bascot had returned to England and found that all of the de Marins family\u2014father, mother, brother\u2014had perished in his absence. But d'Arderon believed it to be only a matter of time before Bascot would, as he put it, \"unravel the confusion of his senses\" and once more take up his sword and join his comrades in the battle against the Saracens.\n\nIt had been time for the evening meal when Bascot had arrived at the preceptory and d'Arderon had invited him to join the company at board. There were three ranks in the Templar Order and their status was denoted by the colour of the surcoats that they wore; knights in white, serjeants and men-at-arms in black or brown, and priests in green. Bascot had taken a place with his fellow knights, enjoying a welcome feeling of ease. Here were men who lived as he had done, scrupulously obeying their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. The rules were rigorous, but simple. Duty was the prime mandate, to keep oneself fit and able to bear arms in order to protect pilgrims and, if the opportunity arose, to slay the infidel. Templars were not responsible to any earthly magnate, be they monarch or prince, their only obedience outside the Order to the pope in Rome.\n\nBascot had taken his seat amongst the others, nodding to a few old acquaintances and introducing himself to those he had not met before. The meal was a hearty one, for this was one of the three days of the week when meat was allowed, with good-sized chunks of lamb in a rich brown broth and an assortment of winter vegetables stirred in, followed by plates of cheese and marchpane. Although they were all monks, the usual stricture regarding diet that was laid on nonmilitary religious orders was not applied to the Templars because of the necessity of maintaining their strength for battle. While they ate, silence was mandatory, only a reading of scripture by one of the Templar priests to be heard above the clatter of bowls and eating knives.\n\nAfterwards, Bascot stayed for the recreational hour when the Templars were allowed to gather in the chapter house for general conversation until it was time for the service at Compline. Besides the preceptor, there were only four knights in residence at the moment: two who had just joined the Order and would soon be on their way to Outremer, one recently returned from the Holy Land after fulfilling a vow of atonement that had involved a promise to serve with the Templars for ten years\u2014an arrangement that had been allowed by the Order on receipt of a gift of land from the penitent knight\u2014and one lately arrived from Spain with despatches for d'Arderon. Old battles were refought, former acquaintances remembered and the politics of the struggle against the Saracens discussed, along with the hope of a good response to the call Pope Innocent III had made the year before for Christendom to undertake a new crusade.\n\nBascot enjoyed the evening and it had not taken much persuasion by d'Arderon to convince him to spend the night in the preceptory dormitory. Since it had been necessary that he and Gianni give up their small chamber in the older of Lincoln's two keeps to guests that had come for the king's visit, they were now sleeping in the barracks alongside the men of the garrison. Bascot knew that Ernulf would see Gianni safely in bed for the night and felt able to indulge himself in another cup of wine and more talk with his comrades.\n\nIt had been late when he had rolled himself up in his cloak and lain down on one of the hard pallets that lined both sides of the Templar dormitory, dimly lit all night by small oil lamps as commanded by the Order's rule. Around him the other knights were also preparing for bed; the creak of leather and small clangs of metal the only noise as they took off the outermost of their garments and lay down still almost fully clothed, another rule that was scrupulously obeyed. Soon the large chamber was quiet, only the sounds of regular breathing and the occasional snore disturbing the silence. Bascot lay awake for a time, considering the path that lay before him. He felt pulled in two directions: Gianni and the boy's welfare on the one hand, his vows to the Order on the other. The boy was dependent on him, had been since the day Bascot had saved him from starvation in Sicily, and Bascot admitted to himself that he would be reluctant to part from the lad, had come to regard him almost as a son. But Gianni was growing older, would soon be of an age to fend for himself, and in the meantime Bascot knew that if he left to rejoin the Templars, Ernulf, without family or child of his own, would care for the boy as well, if not better, than Bascot was able to.\n\nAs for the Templar Order, Bascot was beginning to feel a pull to return to its ranks. He had been happy here this evening, had experienced a sense of belonging that he did not feel among the household knights in the Haye retinue, despite his liking and respect for Lady Nicolaa. When he had arrived in Lincoln almost a year ago, he had been angry, at God and at himself. Then he had wished only for solitude, a place to try and forget all that had happened. It was for that reason that the Order had sent him to Lincoln and Nicolaa de la Haye. She had, at the request of the Templar preceptor in London, provided him with shelter and food so that he could have a space of time not only to recover his health and strength, but perhaps also his devotion to God and the Order. Now he wondered if he was, as had been hoped, beginning to do just that.\n\nOr was he merely wishing for an easier path to follow? Staying on in Lincoln would invite responsibilities, not only for Gianni but in the matter of earning his keep. He knew that Nicolaa would be only too happy for him to retire from the Order and take up a post among her household knights, for she had hinted as much. He knew she valued his talents, had already taken to using him as a deputy in the many instances that required not only a man of knight's rank, but also literacy, a rare commodity among the upper strata of society, and one that he possessed. There was also the matter of his successful apprehension of the alehouse murderer some months before. That he had felt satisfaction at his success and that both Nicolaa and her husband had been grateful to him had been obvious. And now she had once again set him to probing into a matter involving a secret slaying. Could it be that a fear of failing to solve this new riddle of death was the cause of his feeling such a strong pull to return to the Order? Was he experiencing, perhaps, not a return of faith but apprehension about the extent of his own abilities?\n\nHe burrowed deeper into the covering of his cloak, murmured a prayer for guidance, and then fell into a deep sleep. It was out of a dark dreamless void that the chaplain's bell for Tierce woke him. The other Templar knights in the dormitory had already left their pallets to celebrate the earlier religious offices, and Bascot got up from his own bed and went to join them in the round chapel that was the hub of the preceptory, his confusion still unresolved.\n\nIt had been just as he was leaving the chapel after Mass and preparing to return to Lincoln castle that the man-at-arms sent by Ernulf had arrived and told of Tostig's grisly discovery at the charcoal burner's camp. The report was accompanied by a request from Nicolaa de la Haye to return as soon as possible. D'Arderon, who had come to bid Bascot farewell, listened gravely while the man-at-arms was speaking, his face concerned.\n\n\"I know you are under duty to Lady Nicolaa at present, de Marins, and must give her your assistance in this matter,\" the preceptor said. \"But don't let it be so long before you come to us again. You belong here, with us, not out in the forest chasing murderers. The Order needs you, and so does God.\"\n\nBascot acknowledged the sincerity in d'Arderon's words and bade him a reluctant farewell before he turned his mount towards the gate and followed the man-at-arms back to Lincoln castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "Earlier that morning Fulcher had emerged from the verge of that part of Sherwood Forest that abutted the banks of the Trent and crept in the predawn light down to the water's edge, pulled out a small skiff from its hiding place in the overhang of undergrowth and poled himself across the river. He had been in Gerard Camville's chase just as the pale winter sun was striking its first shards of light across the tops of the trees, and inside the sheriff's buckstall a short time later. There were several deer trapped in the huge pen, ones that had been lured there by the mounds of tasty ivy and holly piled inside into leaping over the low fence, only to find their exit blocked by a deep ditch at the internal base of the barrier. Fulcher, straddled above them in the boughs of a tree that overlooked the pen, surveyed the frightened animals below him and chose a small female roe deer that looked to be in her first year. Fitting an arrow to his bow, he took her in the neck with one shot and leaped down into the enclosure to claim his prize. The rest of the deer, smelling blood, shied away to the far side of the buckstall, clustering together and milling about looking for a means of escape. Fulcher quickly removed the arrow from the dead doe, then slung the carcass up on his back before traversing the ditch and climbing the fence, throwing his burden down on the other side before jumping over himself. He stood still for a moment, testing the quietness of the forest before he once again heaved the dead deer up on his back and began to retrace his steps to the river's edge.\n\nHe was breathing hard by the time he saw the glimmer of water ahead of him. Since leaving Talli and Berdo at the camp the night before he had travelled three miles to where the skiff was hidden, then another two to get into Camville's chase. The lack of food combined with the loss of a night's sleep had sapped his strength, but he knew he had to make it back across the river before he stopped. Once on the other side, he could hide the carcass, and then get Talli and Berdo to help retrieve it. He slowed a little and shifted his burden, took a deep breath and prepared to trot the last few hundred yards.\n\nThe small boat could just be seen bobbing quietly among the reeds when the first arrow struck the ground ahead of him. A second later he heard the baying of dogs. He was able to take two more steps before another arrow flew over his shoulder and thudded into the tussocky grass at his feet.\n\n\"Halt, or you'll be deader than that deer!\" a voice yelled. The barking of the dogs sounded closer now and Fulcher turned to see two mastiffs flying towards him, heavy jaws agape and slavering as they ran, teeth gleaming wickedly against their dark fur. Behind them, at the edge of the fringe of trees he had just left, were two foresters, their green tunics blending with the darkness of the foliage at their backs. Both had bows, nocked and drawn. Between them was another forest official, mounted on a large roan gelding.\n\n\"Yield!\" the mounted officer called. \"Or I let the dogs have you.\"\n\nThe mastiffs were nearly upon him, the larger of the two in the lead, his powerful haunches propelling him forward with the speed of an arrow shot. Fulcher had no choice. \"I yield,\" he called loudly, dropping the deer and throwing up his arms.\n\nIt seemed an eternity before a shrill whistle halted the dogs. Fulcher could smell their fetid breath as they pulled up abruptly at his feet, fur bristling and teeth bared. Slowly the foresters moved towards him, grinning, enjoying his obvious fear of the dogs.\n\nAs the men came closer Fulcher saw that all three wore an emblem decorated with a royal crest on the front of their tunics.\n\n\"A good day's hunting, I would say,\" said the mounted officer. He leaned down in the saddle to look at Fulcher. \"I am Copley, agister for King John. Although this is not my bailiwick, I think the sheriff will be pleased to learn that I have caught a poacher in his chase.\"\n\nThe agister leaned back and gave a mirthless chuckle, his florid countenance gleaming with a sheen of sweat despite the chill of the morning. \"I would say he will be even more appreciative if it is proved I have also caught a murderer.\"\n\n\"A deer I may have killed, but I have murdered no man,\" Fulcher proclaimed, trying to ignore the dogs, which were tensed and seemed ready to spring at the sound of his voice.\n\n\"So you say, brigand, so you say,\" Copley said, still grinning. \"But it would not be unexpected for a man in your position to lie, would it?\"\n\nThe agister did not wait for Fulcher to respond, but ordered the bowmen to bind the outlaw and bring him and the deer to Lincoln castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Just after midday the weather warmed slightly and rain began to fall, gently at first, then with more intensity until it became a driving sleet that covered the streets with an icy slick that made walking difficult. Despite the weather, all of Lincoln was aware of what had happened that morning and people gathered in twos and threes under eaves or in one another's homes to discuss how the charcoal burner and his sons had been found murdered and that an outlaw had been taken for poaching the sheriff's deer.\n\nIn her house on Mikelgate the goldsmith's widow, Melisande Fleming, sat discussing these matters with Hubert's uncle, Joscelin de Vetry. They were well known to each other, both being in the goldsmith trade, and were also connected from earlier times, from not long after de Vetry had married his wife and Melisande had been looking for a comfort that her elderly husband could not provide. They had been lovers for a time, but not in love, and when their lust had grown cold they had ended the liaison, but had remained friends. This suited them both, for each had a mercenary bent that made them easy confidants.\n\nNow, in the small solar above the hall of Melisande's house, they were seated comfortably in chairs that possessed both arms and padded cushions, sipping an amber-coloured wine from Spain that the goldsmith's widow had ordered opened for their enjoyment. The chamber was richly appointed, the light from beeswax candles reflected in gleaming points of light on the silver of their goblets, and draughts were kept at bay by a profusion of fine tapestries on the walls. Under their feet a coverlet of sheepskin graced the floor before a fireplace of smoothly dressed stone, and the wood burning in the grate filled the chamber with a warm glow.\n\n\"So, you will be taking your nephew's body home tomorrow, Joscelin?\" Melisande asked.\n\nDe Vetry sighed heavily. \"Aye. It will not be a pleasurable task to bring the corpse to his mother. She is of an agitated nature at the best of times. What she will be like when she hears of how her son met his death, I shudder to contemplate.\"\n\n\"But you said you requested that the coffin be sealed. Is there any need for her to know the more distressing details?\"\n\n\"No, but they are sure to be bruited abroad by gossiping tongues. I would rather she heard them gently, from a member of her family.\"\n\nMelisande nodded in agreement. \"That is a caring thought, my friend. It is a shame the boy was killed at all.\"\n\n\"Yes, but he was a careless youth, heedful only of his own pleasures, and greedy for them. I told him more than once that he might one day end up in trouble if he did not curb his impulses, but he would not listen. And now he is dead, murdered, most likely by someone he angered beyond toleration.\" De Vetry sighed again. \"For all his cunning intelligence, he was a stupid boy.\"\n\nMelisande reached over and placed her hand comfortingly on her companion's knee. \"And his stupidity was most likely the cause of his death, Joscelin. You must not blame yourself.\"\n\nAs the goldsmith murmured his acceptance of her condolences, they were unaware that their conversation was being overheard. Outside the chamber door, which was slightly ajar, stood Melisande's daughter, Joanna, a young woman just past her eighteenth summer. She was not pretty, being rather too plump for beauty, but her eyes, when not red rimmed from crying, were of a luminous quality that gave her the look of a startled doe. Now, listening to the conversation going on in Melisande's chamber, she stuffed the corner of her sleeve into her mouth to stop herself crying out. Hubert was dead and her whole world was crashing into pieces around her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "In a chamber not far from Melisande's house, in the top storey of Lincoln castle's new keep, another young woman was in distress. Alys had gone to the room she was now sharing with three other girls to sit and think. Neither Alinor nor the others were there, and she was glad of their absence, for what Hugo had told her had alarmed and frightened her.\n\nShe had, from its onset, noticed the morose mood that had occupied her young cousin for the last few days. At first she had thought it was due to a reprimand for some prank or other, or perhaps for being negligent in his duties, but when he had continued to be dejected, an attitude so different from his normally cheerful bonhomie, she had become concerned, especially as he seemed to become more depressed when in Alain's company, for he had always respected and admired her brother. That morning, after attending Mass, she had watched for him among the crowd and pressed him to walk with her in the castle herb garden, saying she had need of his company as an escort. He had followed her in an abstracted manner, not seeming to feel the cold bite of the wind that had been a harbinger of the sleeting rain which soon followed. Alys had wrapped her cloak tightly around her and pressed him to tell her what it was that was distressing him so.\n\n\"There is something wrong with you, Hugo,\" she had said. \"Do not deny it, for it is obvious. Please tell me, so that I may help you.\"\n\nHer soft caring tone had made the boy stiffen at first, then he had flung himself down on a stone bench that was placed in the lee of the wall. Pulling at a late-blooming sprig of mint, Alys had thought he was going to be stubborn and not answer her, and she sat down beside him in an attempt to cajole him further. But there had been no need. Seeming relieved, he had spoken first.\n\n\"I don't see how you can help, Alys, but I must tell someone before I burst with it. I dare not even tell a priest, for fear that somehow Alain will suffer.\"\n\n\"Alain?\" Alys felt her mood swing from concern to alarm. \"What has Alain to do with what is troubling you?\"\n\nHugo looked up, confused. \"But I thought that was why you asked what was the matter, that you, too, suspected\u2026\" The squire shook his head in dismay and sunk his head into his hands. \"Oh, I should not have said anything, anything at all.\"\n\nAlys touched him gently on the shoulder. \"But now you have, Hugo, and you must tell me what it is. If it concerns Alain, I have a right to know. I am his sister and, like you, I love him. I would do nothing to hurt him, even if to do so meant hurt for myself.\"\n\nAlthough her words were brave, her dismay had intensified as she had listened to the tale that Hugo had to tell. It had been about the night that Hubert had met his death, and how her cousin suspected that Alain, and perhaps also Renault, was responsible. \"We were all sleeping on the floor of the hall,\" he had said, his voice tremulous, \"wrapped in our cloaks, along with a lot of other guests. I couldn't fall asleep\u2014the man beside me was snoring so loud I thought he would choke\u2014and I saw Alain get up and leave the hall, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone. Some time later, maybe two hours or perhaps three, Renault followed him.\"\n\n\"But that does not mean\u2026\" Alys started to protest.\n\n\"They did not come back for a long time, Alys,\" Hugo interrupted her. \"It was early in the morning when they returned. I know it was because just a few moments later the cathedral bells rang the hour of Prime. They had been gone nearly all the night.\"\n\n\"Did you ask Alain where he and Renault had been?\" Alys said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Hugo replied miserably. \"But he lied. He said he had only got up once, to relieve himself at the privy, and had returned almost immediately. When I tried to say I had seen him, and Renault, he just laughed and said I must have been dreaming.\" The boy gave her an agonised look. \"I wasn't dreaming, Alys. They were gone all that time. And it was during those hours that Hubert must have been killed.\"\n\n\"But why would Alain or Renault want to harm Hubert?\" Alys said, fearful of the answer, fearful that her brother had discovered how Hubert had shamed and threatened her. \"I know they didn't like him,\" she went on bravely, trying to convince herself as much as her cousin, \"but Hubert was not liked by many people. That is not a reason to do him harm.\"\n\nHugo took his cousin's hand and held it. \"Alain knew what Hubert had done to you, Alys. Hubert taunted him with it, daring Alain to challenge him, saying that if he did he would tell all the world you are unchaste. There was nothing Alain could do, except\u2026except\u2026\"\n\n\"Murder him?\" Alys said tearfully. \"Oh, Hugo, Alain would never do such a thing. It is dishonourable, treacherous. I don't believe it. And even if I did, it would have been unnecessary. Hubert tried to force me to bed with him, but I did not. There was no truth in his cruel taunts.\"\n\n\"But Alain would not have known that Hubert was lying,\" Hugo replied. \"Not unless he asked you. And he would never have done that. It would have implied he thought you welcomed Hubert's attentions.\"\n\n\"I still don't believe that Alain would commit secret murder, Hugo. I cannot.\"\n\n\"I don't want to either, Alys,\" her cousin replied, his despondence deepening. \"But before the Templar came to question us, Alain told all the other squires and the pages that we were not to volunteer any information, that we were to protect each other. What else could he have meant except that we were to lie for him?\"\n\nThis revelation shocked Alys, convincing her more than the fact that Hugo had witnessed Alain and Renault's absence from the hall that her brother had something to hide. Alain had always been an honest person, valuing truth and loyalty above all else. Only a terrible secret would make him veer from such a path. Were her fears that her brother had killed Hubert now to be proved true?\n\nThere had been no words she could find to console Hugo. They had sat together in silent commiseration until disturbed by one of the kitchen maids come to pick some of the mint that Hugo was mindlessly shredding between his fingers. As she sat in the chamber, Alys thought that always, ever after, she would associate the smell of mint with death."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Gerard and Nicolaa's son, Richard, arrived home that night just as the company seated in the hall had finished listening to a troubadour that Nicolaa had hired to play for the king during his visit. The minstrel was a woman, not so uncommon an occurrence as it had once been before Queen Eleanor had ascended the throne and given her patronage to anyone, male or female, who had the ability to compose and sing well. The troubadour's name was Helena, and she was from Portugal. Not only was she an accomplished jongleur, she was young and beautiful. Seated on a stool before her audience, she had just plucked the last notes of a soulful melody from her lute when the door of the hall was flung open and Richard and two other people came hurriedly in, all appearing tired and dishevelled.\n\n\"Richard!\" Nicolaa de la Haye, with an unaccustomed loss of composure, stood up from her chair and gazed in surprise at her son. Gerard Camville pushed his chair back, rising swiftly and with an alacrity that belied his girth.\n\n\"All is well, Mother,\" Richard Camville called out as he came into the hall and made his way through the throng of people to the table on the dais where his parents sat, the young man and woman who were with him following close behind. The heir to the castellanship had his father's broad shoulders and heavy thighs, but he was taller and more loose-limbed. The red hair that marked him as a Haye shone like a flaming beacon when he pushed back the hood of his cloak. \"I have been sent by the king to tell you of his progress and on what day he will arrive,\" Richard said when he reached them. \"King John bids me convey to you his warmest affections and tell you he will be in Lincoln in three days' time. I have left the squires and pages of our household in his care and they will return with the royal party.\"\n\nHe then introduced his companions. \"This is Godfroi de Tournay and his sister, Marie. But before I explain why they are with me, we need food and drink. We are all chilled to the bone and our hunger would put a starving man to shame.\"\n\nNicolaa signalled to a servant and mulled wine was brought, as well as a huge platter of cold meat, bread and cheese. Room was made at the high table for the three newcomers and they gratefully slaked their thirst before helping themselves to the food.\n\nAs he ate, breaking off chunks of white crumbly cheese and devouring it with mouthfuls of cold venison, Richard explained that King John had wanted to send his parents a personal message and had entrusted it to him. \"I also have a letter from the king in which he asks you to inform him if it seems that he will arrive before William of Scotland.\" Richard looked up and smiled, his strong white teeth flashing as he did so. \"He is most anxious not to seem too eager, and would rather that Scotland waits on England's pleasure than the other way around.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded. \"He has nothing to fear. King William is but one day's journey from Torksey. A messenger from the Scottish entourage arrived this morning.\"\n\nShe looked around at the others seated on the dais, all of whom were straining their ears to hear what Richard had to say; some openly, others more surreptitiously. Beside her husband, his brother leaned in a nonchalant pose, and beyond him Richard de Humez listened quietly, attempting to seem preoccupied with his cup of wine. On her other side, her niece Alinor openly showed her interest while Alys, beside her, looked only at her brother and Renault, who stood in attendance behind the Camville brothers.\n\nNicolaa decided it would be wise to defer any more discussions of the king until there were not so many listening ears. She swerved from the subject by asking, \"And your companions, Richard? Have they, too, brought messages from the king?\"\n\nRichard became more solemn. \"No, mother, they have not. Godfroi was with me in the king's camp and, it is true, came with me to bring King John's letter, but that was only until we came to Boston.\"\n\nNow Godfroi leaned forward and spoke to Richard's parents. He was tall and compactly built, with short black hair and a clean-shaven chin. His eyes were as dark as his hair. There was a look of intensity about him that was enhanced by the grimness of his tone. \"Richard and I decided to break our journey at Boston where my elder brother, Ralph, has his manor house. There we learned, from my sister, that a member of our family had died. In short, lady, Marie and I were half brother and half sister to Hubert, whose body I believe his uncle, Joscelin de Vetry, has come to take home.\"\n\nHis sister now spoke up. \"His mother is distraught, Lady Nicolaa. She lives with us still, preferring Ralph's protection to that of her own family. When the news of Hubert's death came, both Ralph and Godfroi were away and only de Vetry remained to come for my half brother's body and bring it back to her. When Godfroi arrived she begged him to let me accompany him to Lincoln so that her son might have a woman's tender care on the last journey he will make on this earth.\"\n\nNicolaa gave the girl a searching glance. \"You were fond of Hubert, then?\"\n\nThe girl did not drop her gaze. \"No, lady. Not especially so. But I do care for his mother and Hubert was, after all, a son of my own father's loins. It is my duty to comply with my stepmother's wishes.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded and spoke to her husband. Gerard Camville had stayed silent throughout this exchange, leaning back in his chair and listening with watchful eyes. Musicians with rebec and viol were playing quietly at the back of the hall and the company, after the initial excitement of Richard's arrival, had resumed conversing with each other and holding up their goblets for scurrying servitors to refill.\n\n\"I think, Gerard, this matter would be best discussed privily, do you not agree? Afterwards, Richard can give us the king's messages.\"\n\nCamville grunted and rose to his feet. He was by nature a taciturn man, and an indolent one, content to let his wife deal with any demanding matters that arose. Reluctant though he was to leave the comfort of the hall and become embroiled in yet another discussion of the squire's murder, he recognised the need for his presence.\n\n\"De Marins should also attend,\" he said to his wife shortly; then, to his brother, \"And you, too, William. This matter touches both of us.\"\n\nNicolaa sent Alain, who was standing rigidly behind Gerard's chair, to find Bascot and direct him to attend her without delay. Then she made her excuses to the company and they all left the hall."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Bascot came away from the meeting with Godfroi and Marie de Tournay with a feeling that he was now more familiar with the character of the murdered squire. The boy certainly did not seem to have many redeeming qualities. Quite the reverse in fact.\n\nLike Joscelin de Vetry, the brother and sister had not been aware that Hubert had been murdered, or that his body had been desecrated by crows. Nicolaa had explained that she had not wanted to cause the boy's mother undue anguish and had therefore left the details of her son's death untold when she had sent her message.\n\n\"I fear she will be much distressed,\" she said. \"De Vetry intends to have Hubert's coffin sealed, but even so, some explanation will be required.\"\n\n\"I will tell her,\" Marie said firmly, although her eyes were awash with unshed tears. In appearance she was very like her brother, with dark eyes and hair, but there the resemblance ended. The intensity that was etched on every plane of her brother's face was lacking in Marie. She was strong, but not unbending, and there was compassion in her voice when she spoke of her stepmother.\n\n\"My father married Hubert's mother when he was elderly,\" she had told them, at which William Camville nodded. It had been at Fulk de Tournay's request that he had taken Hubert to train for knighthood. Soon after the boy had become a part of William's household the elder de Tournay had died, after suffering many long months from a wasting fever.\n\n\"Our mother had been dead for some years when my father married again,\" Marie had gone on to explain. \"The household had long been in need of a woman's hand, for I was too young to take charge. Hubert's mother is kind, too kind, perhaps. When he was born she was overly protective of him, cosseting him and keeping him by her when he should have been out from under her skirts.\" Marie shrugged. \"It made him petulant. When he was not given something he wanted, he would run to her, begging her indulgence. She never refused him. Even when he told lies or stole some trifling object\u2014which he did quite often\u2014he was never punished. And my father was too ill by then to take him under his hand. My brothers attempted to chastise him when he would do some mischief, but\"\u2014Marie gave an impatient sigh\u2014\"his mother always defended him, giving him a tidbit to eat and telling him he was not to be upset at their angry words. It was hopeless.\"\n\n\"By the time he went to your household, Sir William, his nature was set in ways that were not commendable,\" Godfroi added, his face wooden. \"But he is our blood kin and his murder must be avenged.\"\n\nGerard Camville, pacing the room as was his usual habit, had listened to them in silence. Then, tersely, he told them of the murder of the charcoal burner and his sons and how an outlaw had been taken while poaching the sheriff's deer.\n\n\"It is more than likely that brigands are behind all of these deeds. If the one that has been captured did not carry out the acts himself, I will warrant that he knows who did,\" the sheriff said. \"He will admit to no crime other than taking the deer, but I will get the truth from him before I am through. If he killed your half brother, you may rest assured he will pay\u2014and pay dearly\u2014for the doing of it.\"\n\nAs he spoke the words there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the sheriff would carry out his promise. Gerard Camville was known for his brutality. The outlaw would not be spared any pain before he faced his final moments.\n\nBascot had left the room with the de Tournay brother and sister, leaving Richard alone with his parents and uncle for their private conversation. It was obvious that Marie was exhausted. The hurried journey in winter weather and the distress of the news she would have to convey to Hubert's mother had taken their toll. Leaving her in her brother's care, Bascot asked if he could meet with them in the morning when they were both rested, to discuss if there could be any other reason for Hubert's murder besides a chance encounter with outlaws."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Fulcher was being kept in a small holding cell near the barracks. His wrists were still pinned to the sturdy branch that Copley had ordered his men to place across his shoulders and he was slumped on the dirt floor, head bowed and eyes glassy. He was so near to unconsciousness that he paid no heed to the two men who were beating him, nor to Roget and Ernulf, who stood watching.\n\n\"He is either stupid or fearful of a greater punishment,\" Roget said to the serjeant. \"My men have been at him for the best part of the morning and still he will not admit that he had any hand in the murder of the boy.\"\n\nErnulf made no comment. He was here only at Lady Nicolaa's request. Inflicting pain on a person unable to defend himself was not something for which he had much liking. He knew it was necessary at times, but fair battle was more to his taste than this torturing of a helpless man, however great his crime.\n\nThe two men who had been systematically beating the outlaw were members of Gerard Camville's town guard, of which Roget was captain. They were both evil tempered and surly, and seemed to enjoy their task. Their smirking grins had produced an angry knot in Ernulf's gut. He longed to escape the dimness of the small windowless cell, lit only by a few flaring cressets set in sconces on the wall. The smell of blood and sweat permeated the air.\n\n\"Perhaps he is innocent of the boy's death,\" Ernulf said. \"Although even if he is not, he is a rare man not to admit it after a beating like that.\"\n\nRoget gave Ernulf a sideways glance. The scar that ran down the side of the captain's face puckered as he mused on the serjeant's words. \"That is my opinion also, mon ami,\" he finally said. \"The sheriff will not be pleased at my lack of success, but I do not think we will get any further with this miscreant. Guilty of taking the deer he may be, but of the other\u2026I am beginning to doubt it.\"\n\nWith a brief command to his two men, Roget stopped Fulcher's punishment and told them to leave. When they had gone, laughing as they did so about how great a thirst their exertions had built up, Roget went forward and released the outlaw's wrists from the pole. Fulcher slumped to the ground, eyes shut and breath shallow. Between them, Roget and Ernulf lifted the comatose brigand onto a straw pallet and threw a threadbare blanket over him.\n\n\"I'll send one of my men with food and water, although I think perhaps it will be futile,\" Ernulf said, leaning over and feeling the pulse in Fulcher's throat. \"He is still alive, but barely. Your men did their work a little too well.\"\n\nRoget regarded the outlaw, the bruises that swelled his face, the split lips and grotesquely puffed eyelids. The rough tunic he had been wearing was split in several places, blood seeping through the torn cloth like sap bubbling from the cracked bark of a tree. Roget gave a Gallic shrug of his burly shoulders. \"Perhaps. But if he dies, it may be a mercy. He will hang whether he killed the boy or not. It is the penalty for poaching and the sheriff will be only too pleased to inflict the punishment.\"\n\nThe two men walked to the door and went out into the bail. Ernulf threw the iron bolt that locked the door from the outside. Pulling a wineskin from his belt, Roget took a large mouthful and passed the flask to the serjeant. Above them the sky was darkening into evening. The air was cold and clear. Around them the bailey was settling down for the night, and the muted sounds of servants finishing their tasks for the day drifted towards them\u2014the clank of a bucket, the mournful protest of a cow being penned in for the night, the call of the castle guards as they changed shifts.\n\nThe captain took another swig from his wineskin, his brow furrowed in thought. \"Something bothering you, Roget?\" Ernulf asked.\n\n\"I am wondering how it came to be that it was Copley who caught the wolf's head we have in there. The sheriff's chase is not in his bailiwick, is it?\"\n\nErnulf shrugged. \"No, but as agent for the chief forester he has a right to be in any part of the woodland. All belong to the king, even Camville's chase. And the chief forester is the king's officer and so, therefore, is Copley.\"\n\n\"I do not mean that, my friend. What I mean is that Copley is renowned for his love of wine, not for his attachment to duty. Not that I find fault with that, of course,\" Roget's mouth split in a wide grin, revealing teeth that were still sound, but gapped in places. \"But does it not strike you to wonder why Copley, who finds it such a great effort to carry out his normal responsibilities, should suddenly engage in extra labour by patrolling a part of the forest where he has no reason to go? And then, while he is doing this, he has the great good fortune to stumble across an outlaw poaching the sheriff's deer? It seems to me most strange.\"\n\nErnulf pondered Roget's words then reached for his companion's wine and took a deep draught. \"Strange it may be,\" he said, \"but I cannot see anything untoward in it.\"\n\n\"Think, Ernulf, think! The sheriff looks for an answer to the riddle of who killed the squire. Lady Nicolaa also looks for this. They ask questions, set the Templar to ask more. Suddenly, they have the culprit\u2014a brigand provided by Copley. That chien in there\"\u2014Roget nodded in the direction of the cell\u2014\"will hang for taking the sheriff's deer. Once he is dead, it takes only a little step of the imagination for everyone to believe he also killed the squire. Who is to prove different?\" Roget's eyes sparkled as he propounded his theory. \"It is a tidy answer. Me, I do not believe providence smiles so easily.\"\n\n\"Nor do I, Roget,\" Ernulf replied musingly. \"Nor do I.\" He handed the wineskin back to the captain. \"I think I will have a private word with Bascot. And with Lady Nicolaa.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "The smell of blood hung in the air as Gianni passed through the western gate of the castle bail. Today was the eleventh of November, St. Martin's day, and the traditional time of the year to slaughter animals too old or infirm to warrant being fed throughout the winter. Within the castle, in the town, and out in the villages dotted around the countryside, cattle, sheep and swine had been butchered during the last few days and their carcasses readied for preservation by salting or smoking. But first there would be a feast of fresh meat, to celebrate the saint's day, and Gianni felt his mouth water at the prospect.\n\nResolutely he put the thought of food from his mind. He had met with no difficulty from the guards on the gate as he had passed through. There were many people coming and going\u2014tradesmen, merchants, villagers, servants and a few guests\u2014so that he had been able to slip past unnoticed. He set out towards the Fossdyke and, as he walked, turned over in his mind what he had heard that morning.\n\nHe had been present when his master had talked to the dark-haired young knight called Godfroi, and his sister, Marie, and had heard Bascot asking them if they had any knowledge of their half brother, Hubert, being involved in a plot to depose King John from his throne. Godfroi had been angry at the accusation, but the Templar had calmed him, saying it was a rumour that must be looked into before it spread and was acknowledged as truth. The girl, Marie, had added her plea to Bascot's words and Godfroi, still surly, had assured the Templar that if Hubert had, by some chance, been involved in such machinations, then it was without the knowledge or agreement of the rest of his family.\n\n\"My brother and I are as loyal to the king as my father was to Richard, and Henry before him,\" Godfroi had insisted. \"Never has any of our family betrayed their liege lord, not even when Stephen took the throne from his cousin Matilda. We kept to the oath we had sworn to her father, and helped Henry retrieve his inheritance.\" Marie had placed a hand on her brother's arm, showing her support.\n\n\"And your kinsman, Eustace de Vescy\u2014the boy spoke of his involvement, and that Hubert was privy to plans that were being made,\" Bascot said.\n\nNow Godfroi had laughed out loud, more amused than angry. \"If de Vescy was ever forming such a plot\u2014and I, for one, am sure it is untrue\u2014such a great lord would hardly divulge his schemes to a stripling related to him only by the meagrest thread of blood. Were it not so serious, it would be laughable.\"\n\nBascot had then sent Gianni to fetch more victuals from the kitchen. The Templar had met the brother and sister just after early Mass and they had taken seats in a corner of the hall to break their fast. Godfroi had proved to be a prodigious trencherman, especially when fuelled by anger, and he had quickly devoured all that Gianni had set before them, including the small loaf of fine manchet bread reserved for those of higher rank. Even though Marie had denied being hungry, Bascot hoped that another plate of food might tempt her to take some nourishment.\n\nIt was as Gianni was returning from the kitchen that he heard something that had interested him. He was in the covered walkway that connected the building that housed the cook's ovens with the great hall, and had been forced to step aside into the entryway to wait for a gap to appear in the press of servants running to and fro with platters of food. A little way behind him, two merchants of the town had been standing, conversing quietly in low tones. Presumably they were there on matters of supplying provisions to the castle and were waiting to speak to the Haye steward. At first Gianni had taken no notice of them, but then the context of their discourse had intrigued him and he had edged closer, hoping to hear more, counting on the dense throng of scurrying servants to conceal the fact that he was listening. He had stood some minutes thus, then slid silently away before his eavesdropping became obvious.\n\nNow, as he crossed the Fossdyke, dodging carts laden with supplies and mounted travellers bound for Lincoln or the Torksey road, he ruminated on his decision to leave the castle without his master's knowledge. It was the first time he had ever done such a thing, and was an action he had never even once contemplated from the day the Templar had rescued him from starvation. But his reasons were simple. He knew that his master was beginning to feel a desire to rejoin the Templar Order. When Bascot had returned to the castle after spending the night at the preceptory, it was obvious how much he had enjoyed the visit with his former comrades. He had spoken longingly to Ernulf of old friends he had met and the battles they had discussed. At first Gianni had been angry and felt betrayed, but he had not let it show, for he knew that would hurt his master and be harsh repayment for all the largesse the Templar had bestowed on him. But, if his master should go back to the Order, Gianni would be forced to fend for himself, and he was ill equipped to do so.\n\nAt Lincoln castle he had a place he belonged and where food and warm clothing were in plentiful supply. But if the Templar went away, there would be no more use for his servant within the castle walls. Ernulf might take pity on him and feed him for a while, but it was more probable he would be thrown out of the castle gates, his only option to beg on the streets. To ensure that such a fate did not overtake him, he must make himself valuable to others besides his master. If he could uncover some information that would lead to finding out the identity of the man who had murdered the squire, and do so without the Templar's help, then Lady Nicolaa might realise his worth, perhaps even give him a place in her retinue. Under such influential patronage he need have no more fear of being homeless and hungry.\n\nThis was the reason he had decided to steal away from the Templar, to try to find out if the gossip he had overheard that morning was the truth. The dairymaid, Bettina, would be able to tell him, or one of the other people in the village. Gianni was sure the priest of the hamlet, Samson, was literate. There had been scraps of parchment and a quill pen on a shelf in the tiny chapel where Bascot had spoken to the villagers. Since Gianni had been taught to read and write by the Templar, he could, through Samson, ask the questions that would prove the validity of the tale he had overheard. If it was true, then he was sure he had discovered a lie that had been told. He remembered when, earlier that year, he and his master had tracked down a murderer in Lincoln town, and how the Templar had come upon the truth by unmasking the lies that had been told; and the manner in which one lie had led to another, and yet another, until all was revealed. Perhaps he could do the same thing now, on his own.\n\nAs Gianni left the Fossdyke and struck out across the marshy land to the west, he hastened his steps. It was a long way to Bettina's village and he would need to get there and back again before the Templar found he was missing. As he ran he pictured in his imaginative young mind the accolades that would be heaped on his head if he was successful in his quest. Already he was gaining fast in literacy, due to the lessons the Templar had been giving him. After today, he would be praised not only for his learning, but also for his quick mind. One day soon, he assured himself, he would be trusted with tasks of importance, perhaps even, in time, become a secretarius to Lady Nicolaa herself. His inability to speak would be of little significance, he would be prized as a servant of the highest rank, and it would all be due to the conversation he had overheard that day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "The heavy wain that bore Hubert's coffin stood near the eastern gate of the bail with Godfroi de Tournay, Nicolaa de la Haye, Gerard Camville, and their son Richard all gathered to bid Marie and de Vetry farewell on their sad journey. Godfroi fussed with the dun-coloured palfrey his sister was to ride, checking the set of the saddle and asking Richard if he was sure the horse was placid enough to warrant no danger to Marie.\n\n\"We are only going as far as the river, Godfroi,\" Marie protested. \"From there de Vetry has hired a boat to take us to Boston. It will be an easier journey than by road and I shall have no need of a mount. This one will do very well for the short distance to the quay.\" She shook her head in impatience. \"Tell him, Joscelin, that there is no need for concern.\"\n\nThe goldsmith moved forward, ignoring the look of dislike on Godfroi's face. \"I shall ensure that both your sister and the body of poor Hubert come to no harm. I will be with them all the way.\"\n\nGodfroi did no more than nod his acceptance of the goldsmith's words, then made a point of ignoring him, turning to make conversation with Richard. Across the ward, the squires and pages of William Camville's retinue were again at practice with the quintain, ignoring with youthful exuberance the sharpness of the cold wind and spatters of freezing rain that tossed around their heads.\n\nTo one side, Bascot and Ernulf stood watching the cortege prepare to depart, while Richard de Humez and his daughter, Alinor, overlooked the group from the shelter of the keep's entryway. Young Baldwin had remained in his chamber, the weather being too inclement for him to venture outside, and his betrothed, Alys, had stayed with him to keep him company. Those servants who were going about their duties in the great expanse of the ward steered a wide path around the wagon, attempting to avoid the truculent gaze of Gerard Camville as they passed by.\n\nNicolaa placed her hand soothingly on Marie's arm. \"Do not fret about your brother's concern,\" she said quietly. \"It is just his distress about this matter that rises to the surface. He will calm when he hears that you have arrived safely in Boston. I have instructed one of my men-at-arms to accompany you and return with all speed to let us know you have done so.\"\n\n\"Thank you, lady,\" Marie said, her dark eyes filling with sudden tears. With an effort, she stemmed them and said, with a quaver in her voice, \"I must admit my own temper is frayed. Telling Hubert's mother how he met his death will not be easy. And I fear that she will want the coffin opened. I do not know, in all conscience, how I can prevent that. If she insists, it may well be that the sight of his poor body will be too much for her. She is not a very strong person and he was, after all, her only son and dear to her.\"\n\n\"A child's death is never easy for a mother,\" Nicolaa responded. \"But God will give you guidance, child, if you ask for it. Our prayers are with you.\"\n\nMarie nodded in acquiescence and mounted her palfrey. As she did so, a pair of riders entered the bail, a woman mounted on a fine black mare caparisoned in red and blue, and a man astride a dark bay alongside her. Both were wrapped in heavy cloaks, the woman's hood trimmed with soft fur. They rode up to the funeral party and the man hastened to help his companion alight from her mount.\n\nAs the pair approached the small gathering, Ernulf let out a low chuckle and said to Bascot, \"The Fleming woman has picked a poor day to seek an audience. Lady Nicolaa is not overfond of her at the best of times and I am sure she will give her short shrift on such a sad day.\"\n\nBascot looked at the pair, recognising the agister, Copley, but not the woman who was with him. He asked Ernulf who she was, and the serjeant explained, \"That is Melisande Fleming, chief forester for Lincoln. She is also heir to her late husband's gold manufactory, and is ever trying to curry favour with Lady Nicolaa, hoping she can persuade her to use her influence with the king to bring more offices and commissions Melisande's way. She is a greedy woman, the Fleming widow.\"\n\n\"And Copley, the agister,\" Bascot asked, \"is he connected to her in some way other than holding his office from her?\"\n\n\"They are related,\" Ernulf replied. \"Cousins of some distance, I believe, but it is said Copley hopes a closer relationship will develop. If he were to wed Melisande, the contents of her coffers would pay for enough wine to drown himself in.\" The serjeant shook his grizzled head. \"But the fool has little cause to hope. There are many men in Lincoln who sniff at the widow's skirts, but she keeps them all dangling, like fish on a line. I doubt she will marry again. She is too fond of her wealth to give it over to the control of a husband.\"\n\nBascot watched as Marie and de Vetry settled themselves on their horses and the men-at-arms of the escort took up positions in front and behind the cortege as it slowly exited the bail through the east gate. After they had left, Gerard Camville, with his son and Godfroi, walked over to the practice ground to watch the squires at their exertions, leaving Nicolaa to walk back to the keep with Melisande and Copley at her elbow.\n\n\"Come, de Marins,\" Ernulf said, \"let's go and find something hot to warm our bellies. And a pot of ale to wash it down.\"\n\nBascot readily agreed and, for the first time that morning, noticed that Gianni was not with him. He was so used to the boy dogging his every step that he had assumed the lad was waiting nearby, out of the coldness of the wind. But his servant was nowhere to be seen. Bascot shrugged it off. The lad was showing some independence lately and it was most likely he had found a task that would give him an excuse to stay indoors and keep warm. Hunching his shoulders against the swirling flakes of snow that were hesitantly beginning to fall, Bascot felt that he could not blame the boy for doing so."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "At about the same time as Bascot and Ernulf were eating a tasty rabbit pottage and drinking their ale, Gianni was beginning to wish he had not embarked on his venture alone. He began to realise how foolish he had been. Even if his suspicions were confirmed and proved to be pertinent, how could he prevent the villagers from alerting the man about whom the questions had been asked? He was only a boy, and a servant, with no authority to enforce their silence. Nicolaa de la Haye would not praise him; she would castigate him for his stupidity. The Templar might even be so angry at his interference that he would cast him back out into the streets to beg for his bread. Besides, the distance to the village was greater than he remembered and the solitude of the forest was frightening. He felt his heart begin to hammer with trepidation as he became aware of how far he was from all that was familiar. No, he had been wrong to come on this fool's errand alone. He was pazzo, he said to himself in his native Italian. Daft in the head and an idiota as well. He must return to Lincoln, and return at once.\n\nHe was quite near the village now, but hastily turned back on the path to retrace his steps. He had gone only a short distance when he heard a rustling sound from somewhere behind him. To Gianni, the forest was as much a foreign country as England had been when he first came. All his young life had been spent in a city, and he knew the smells and sounds that could threaten from a dark alley or a shadowy doorway as well as he knew the fingers of his own hands. But here, among the towering shafts of tree trunks and the grating noise of winter-stripped branches swaying in the wind, it was as though he were in an alien land. He began to panic. Was the noise he heard just some small harmless animal, or was it something larger, like one of those ferocious wild pigs that the lords hunted with dogs and spears? It could even be a wolf. Fear coursed through his veins as his imagination leaped. In his mind's eye he could see fangs, dripping with saliva, reaching for his throat.\n\nHe tried to hurry, heedless of the direction in which he was going, such was his sudden desperation to get back to the familiar walls of Lincoln castle. Completely gone were his dreams of the morning envisioning how he would be commended for his cleverness, how he would solve, all on his own, the mystery of who had murdered the squire. The turmoil of his thoughts was interrupted when he suddenly found himself on an unfamiliar path and was unsure of the way he should take. How he wished he were back in the soldiers' barracks with the reassuring bulk of the Templar at his side. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself.\n\nIt was as he stood thus, small body tensed with concentration, that the noise came again, closer this time, and louder. Before he could turn to see what it was that threatened him, the world went black as a rough sack was thrust over his head and his flailing wrists were caught in a vice-like grip. His efforts to free himself were short-lived. Within the space of a breath, his hands were bound and he was thrown up onto his captor's shoulder."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "It was warm in the chamber where Alys sat reading to Baldwin. A brazier burned in the corner and heavy rugs of wool and sheepskin had been placed on the floor to exclude drafts. Baldwin was wrapped in a blanket from the knees down, and seated in a cushioned chair with a high back. He listened in contentment as his betrothed read from a Psalter, her voice stumbling slightly when she came upon an unfamiliar word. Alys had come late to literacy, unlike Baldwin and his sister, Alinor, who had both been taught to read at a young age. There were still many nobles who could not read or write, but as realisation of the enjoyment and power that literacy could bring became more commonplace, it was becoming the fashion to have children of both sexes taught their letters by a household cleric or priest.\n\n\"'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.'\" Alys's light, even tone faltered a little as she read the passage aloud, then seemed to fade altogether as she continued, \"'My help cometh from the Lord\u2026.'\" Atthese last words, she bent her head and broke unashamedly into tears.\n\nBaldwin quickly removed the wrappings from his knees and came to her side. \"Alys, what is it? Are you ill?\"\n\nThe young boy, sick so often himself, was ever solicitous of illness in another, and he put his thin arm around the girl's shoulder and lifted her head with his hand. Her eyes swam with tears, but she shook her head. \"No, I am not ill; at least, not in body.\"\n\n\"Then what is the matter?\" Baldwin stroked her hand tenderly. Although she was older than he by four years, he seemed the more mature, the long hours spent in bed with his recurring sickness having given him ample time to reflect on the nature of life and its troubles.\n\n\"I cannot tell you, Baldwin,\" Alys said. \"It is a terrible matter, but it was confided to me by another and I do not wish to break a trust.\"\n\n\"A trust is indeed a heavy honour,\" Baldwin agreed, going across to a table and bringing her a small goblet of spiced cordial from a jug that stood there. \"But if the burden is too great, it will be easier if it is shared. You know that I will not break any confidence you divulge to me.\"\n\nAlys sipped at the soothing drink and regarded the slight figure in front of her. She had always been a little in awe of Baldwin, in a way she was not of either his parents or his sister. He was so learned, and so pure, and his faith in God was of a strength rarely found in priests, let alone her elders. Her fears for Alain and the worry about his guilt had consumed her ever since she had spoken to Hugo. She had a need to confide in someone who would be able to tell her what, if anything, she could do to protect her brother, someone to allay her fear for him. Baldwin was kind, he was to be her husband one day, and she knew him to be trustworthy. Taking a deep breath, she told him what Hugo had said and about Hubert, stumbling over the part about the day the squire had propositioned her, but telling it all just the same.\n\nBaldwin listened until she finished, his only reaction a frown as she told of Hubert placing his hand upon her breast, but he gave her a reassuring smile and nodded for her to continue. When she was done, he neither censured her nor did he reprimand her for keeping the matter secret. His trust in her honesty was complete.\n\nWhen she was done, he poured himself a cup of cordial and resumed his seat, pulling the blanket over his legs before sitting silent and deep in thought for some minutes. Alys waited, used to the way he would mull over facts before making a judgement, and feeling a sense of relief in the telling, as though the weight of a millstone had been taken from her back.\n\n\"There is no proof in this story that your brother had anything to do with Hubert's death,\" he said finally and, when she started to interrupt him, held up his hand. \"Although it may be that he lied to your cousin, the reason could be entirely different from the one Hugo ascribes to it. And there is only one way for you to find that out, Alys, and that is to ask Alain yourself.\"\n\nAlys leaned forward, gripping him by the hand. \"I cannot, Baldwin. Alain will be angry with Hugo, and Hugo will be angry with me for breaking his confidence. Besides, if Alain and Renault did have anything to do with Hubert's death, they might not admit it, even to me.\"\n\n\"Then I will ask your brother on your behalf, and I will also ask that he swear on his honour to tell me the truth.\"\n\nAt the dismay in Alys's face, Baldwin reassured her, and stroked the hand that held his so tightly. \"You are to be my wife, Alys. It is my duty to sustain you. If Alain is innocent, he has nothing to fear. If he is not, then we will ask God for guidance in the matter. We must trust in the Lord, Alys. Have you not just read that He is our keeper? He will show us what is to be done.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "As it came up to the hour for the evening meal Bascot realised that Gianni had been missing for a long time. He went in search of the boy, looking in all the likely places he was to be found and enquiring if anyone had seen him. Finally he went to Ernulf and asked if he would question the guards that had been on duty at the castle gates that morning.\n\n\"Perhaps he left the castle precincts on some errand or other and, if he did, they may have seen him leave,\" Bascot said. \"Although it is unlike Gianni to go anywhere without telling me, it is possible he may have done so. But if he did go out into the town or the cathedral he should have been back long ago. He would not miss the evening meal. I have been to the kitchens. The cook has not seen him, nor have any of the scullions. If the last food he had was when we broke our fast this morning, he will be sore hungry by now.\"\n\nErnulf took the matter as seriously as the Templar. \"Aye, you're right. The lad likes his victuals. He would not willingly miss a meal. I'll ask my men if any of them have seen him.\"\n\nWhen their enquiries were all answered in the negative, they searched the castle more thoroughly, going through the stables, the armoury and all the outbuildings, even poking about amongst the huge sacks in the food store in case Gianni had crept in there for warmth and fallen asleep. The hour for the evening repast came and went, and still there was no sign of him.\n\n\"I am certain some mischief has befallen him,\" Bascot said to Ernulf as they stood in the middle of the bailey under a sky now almost fully dark. \"It must have done. There is no other explanation.\"\n\nThe serjeant nodded, his seamed face as worried as the Templar's. \"It's too late tonight to search anymore. But if he does not turn up by morning, I'll have my lads scout around outside the walls and over the Fossdyke. He is not within the bail, else we would have found him, so he must be somewhere outside.\"\n\nBascot acknowledged the truth of the serjeant's words and added, \"If he is, Ernulf, he is not there of his own volition. Of that I am certain.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Not only Gianni missed the evening meal. At the hour when trestle tables were being erected in the hall and laid with clean linen cloths, Nicolaa was sitting in her private chamber listening to her nephew Baldwin tell what he had discovered that afternoon from Alys, and how he had questioned both Alain and Renault.\n\n\"They both swore to me they had nothing to do with Hubert's death, Aunt, although Alain did go out that night with the intent of waylaying him and giving him a sound thrashing for his treatment of Alys. Renault was privy to his purpose and, when Alain did not return, he followed to find out what had happened. But Alain could not find Hubert. He knew the squire had left the castle by the western gate just after sunset, riding one of Uncle William's sumpter ponies and, since Hubert had been bragging earlier of a wench that he said was panting for his company, both Alain and Renault assumed that he had gone to keep a tryst with the girl. They expected him to return before curfew was called. Alain waited just outside the main gate until the gateward's horn was blown to signal that the entrance would be shut, and then he and Renault kept watch for Hubert from inside the ward, thinking he would use the postern gate when he returned. They stayed there until the early hours of the morning and it was nearly dawn before they returned to their pallets in the hall. That is their explanation of why they were gone for most of the night. When the squire was discovered murdered, they decided it would be best to say nothing of their vigil, lest they be suspected of something in which they had no part.\"\n\nBaldwin's tone was earnest as he continued, \"I am certain they are telling the truth, Aunt, for they swore that it was so on my holy relic of St. Elfric's finger bone.\" Baldwin's pale face was shining with perspiration. The anxiety Alys's revelation had caused, and his subsequent interview with the two squires had distressed him, and he could feel his chest tightening in the way it did before one of the attacks of breathlessness overtook him. With difficulty, he held it in check, determined to finish the task he had set himself before he gave in to the ailment.\n\nNicolaa had listened carefully to what Baldwin had told her, and how he had come at his own suggestion and at the request of both Alain and Renault to ask her advice on what they should now do. She also saw the familiar signs of her nephew's affliction start to show itself, and called for one of her servants to come and help him to his chamber.\n\n\"Be assured I will deal with this, Baldwin, and also be certain that if they are telling the truth, they will not be reprimanded, except perhaps for the misdemeanour of not being forthright with their elders. But now you must rest. Leave the matter with me and do not speak of it to anyone else, and caution Alys that she must do the same.\"\n\nBaldwin accepted his aunt's directions gratefully and went to his chamber, leaning heavily on the arm of the servant, his breath labouring as he went. Once he had left the room, Nicolaa sat back down at the table she used for dealing with correspondence. She would need to tell Gerard and William what Baldwin had related to her, but first she needed to think. Were the two squires telling the truth? Baldwin was very sure, but he was an honest soul, to whom swearing a falsehood on a relic would be anathema. But she knew that such an act of blasphemy was not uncommon; it had been perpetrated many times, even by kings. And the boy wanted to protect his betrothed, Alys, from the pain she would feel if her brother were found to be guilty of such a heinous act as murder. Finally, she took up a sheet of parchment and drew forward the quill and inkpot that were always on the table. Tomorrow would be time enough to tell Gerard and his brother of Baldwin's tale. For tonight she would keep it to herself, safely recorded and hidden out of sight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "Gianni had not returned by morning. Bascot and Ernulf had sat up nearly all the night, in case the boy should appear from some cranny in the castle grounds that had been missed in their search. When dawn came both the Templar and the serjeant were haggard and worried.\n\nErnulf sent some of his men to search the area outside the gates and down into the town. Those men-at-arms who were off duty volunteered their help to swell the ranks of searchers. Gianni was popular with the men, not only because he accepted his inability to speak with equanimity, but also because he was an orphan, a condition that plucks at the hearts of all men who follow the profession of soldier. Again the buildings in the bailey were thoroughly checked, servants questioned once more, menials that came from outside the castle for daily work within its walls were asked if they had seen Gianni on their journey, and even the pens containing fowl and sheep were inspected.\n\nIt wasn't until just after mid-morning that one of the guards on the wall came running to where Bascot and Ernulf were making another search of the old keep. \"We've found someone who saw a lad that might have been Gianni, serjeant,\" the soldier said. \"A carter, bringing a load of wood for the cook's oven. We've told him to wait until you can speak to him.\"\n\n\"Where did he see this boy?\" Bascot asked, following as the man-at-arms set off back in the direction from which he had come. Ernulf was right behind him.\n\n\"That's what's strange, Sir Bascot,\" the soldier replied. \"The man said the lad was on the other side of the Fossdyke, going into the forest. What would Gianni have been doing out there?\" The man-at-arms gave the Templar a sidelong glance. \"It's possible the carter is mistaken. It may have been some other boy he saw. He doesn't know Gianni by sight, only said he'd seen a youngster that looked about his size.\"\n\nThe carter was waiting with his load of wood just inside the entrance to the west gate. He was sitting patiently, leaning against the pile of logs at his back, chewing on a piece of straw. When he saw Bascot, he straightened a little, but did not get down from his seat.\n\n\"The boy you saw, what did he look like?\" Bascot asked shortly.\n\n\"Didn't get a right good look at him, sir. Wouldn't have noticed him at all except it seemed strange for a little lad like that to be outside the city walls all on his own at this time of year.\" The man chewed ruminatively on the straw, not noticing Bascot's impatience. \"He wasn't very tall,\" he finally said, \"and was as skinny as a sapling. About ten or eleven years old, I'd say. Had a peculiar hat on his head, like a soldier would wear on a march in cold weather. Couldn't see what he looked like 'cause the hat hid his face and hair. But he was skipping along right merrily and kept looking over his shoulder.\"\n\n\"What time of the morning was this?\" Bascot asked, sure from the description of Ernulf's hat that the boy the carter had seen had been Gianni.\n\nThe carter looked up at the sky. \"A little earlier than it is right now. I was just coming with my load; allus do on the same two days of the week. The wood's part of my fee as tenant to Lady Nicolaa\u2026.\"\n\n\"Did you see him go into the forest?\" Bascot interrupted, impatient with the man's slowness.\n\nThe carter shook his head. \"Had no reason to watch him, did I? He was headed that way and I gave him a passing glance, that's all. I had to get on with my load, the traffic on the Fossdyke gets heavier the later it gets, and I got work to do when I get back to my byre. Besides, it was Martinmas; there was to be a feast later on, I didn't want to miss that. And right enjoyable it was, too; my old pig came up with a good load of fat. I can still taste the tripe my old woman made from his innards, well toothsome it was\u2026.\"\n\nBascot turned to Ernulf, ignoring the man's pleasurable reminiscences. \"I'll need a couple of your men, Ernulf, to search the woods. Why he was out there, only the Good Lord knows, but if he spent the night in the forest, he will be in dire straits from the cold. I pray to God he's still alive.\"\n\nErnulf nodded and called to a couple of his men to follow as he and Bascot started off for the stables at a run.\n\nIt was as mounts were being saddled that a priest from St. Mary Crackpole, a church at the lower end of Lincoln town near the Stonebow gate, came puffing up to the door of the stables. He was young, with a round face and a head of hair that was pale and sparse. In his hand he clutched a small and dirty piece of parchment, and he struggled to catch his breath as he leaned his portly frame on the edge of the wide stable door.\n\n\"Sir Bascot? I am Father Michael, priest of St. Mary Crackpole. I have come to see you on a matter of importance.\"\n\nBascot barely paid the man any attention, thinking the cleric had come on some errand to do with the housing of guests during the king's visit. Many of the visitors were to be given beds in properties owned by the church. \"I have no time now, Father,\" Bascot replied. \"Go to the hall. Lady Nicolaa's steward or her secretarius will be pleased to attend you.\"\n\nThe priest shook his head. \"No, you do not understand, I have a message, given to one of my parishioners this morning. It is for you. And I believe it is urgent.\"\n\nThe priest paused and inhaled deeply as his breathing slowed. \"It mentions the brigand Sheriff Camville is holding prisoner, and a boy. Perhaps the lad that one of the men-at-arms on the gate told me you are looking for.\"\n\nBascot's head snapped up and Ernulf spun around from where he was adjusting the girth on one of the horses. \"What is the message?\" Bascot said tersely.\n\n\"It is a written one. Here, on this piece of parchment.\" The priest held out the soiled scrap of vellum to the Templar.\n\nBascot unrolled it. Only a few words were printed in the middle of the torn and jagged square, the writing ill formed and the ink thin and splodgy.\n\nIf you wants the boy alive bring Fulcher to the crossing by the oak at None. Come alone.\n\nAt the bottom was a rough sketch of a wolf's head.\n\n\"Who gave this to you?\" Bascot asked the priest.\n\n\"As I said, one of my parishioners\u2014\"\n\n\"A man known to you?\" Bascot's tone was sharp and short.\n\nThe priest nodded. \"It was handed to him this morning as he entered the church for Mass. The man who entrusted it to him said it was to be given to one of the priests, and given quickly, as there was a life at stake. He made particular mention that the priest who received it was to be told that it was for the Templar monk who serves the sheriff of Lincoln. My parishioner naturally thought that someone was ill, maybe dying, perhaps one of your brethren. He brought it to me directly.\"\n\nThe monk looked uncomfortable as he saw the anger building in Bascot's face. \"It was unsealed, Sir Bascot. I did not know its import when first I read it, but the message itself speaks of evil threats. I came as fast as I could.\"\n\n\"What does it say?\" Ernulf asked. Since the serjeant was not literate, Bascot read it out and showed him the drawing that had been added. His friend's face hardened with an anger that matched his own.\n\n\"The man who gave this to your parishioner, what did he look like?\" Ernulf barked at the priest.\n\n\"I do not know,\" the priest admitted. \"I was told he was a rough fellow who was standing by the door of the church. After I read the message, I went to look for him, but he was gone.\"\n\n\"Where is this crossing, Ernulf?\" Bascot asked the serjeant.\n\n\"Can only be the one where the Trent borders the sheriff's chase. There is a slight curve in the river there, to the west. An easterly spur of Sherwood Forest comes down hard on the other side.\"\n\nBascot strode to the door, looking up at the sky as he tried to put his thoughts in order. Rain had begun to fall, and the grey lowering clouds that had earlier hung in the sky like dirty pregnant sheep had coalesced into a solid mass the colour of old pewter. It was now late morning, None just a little more that two hours hence. An hour's ride, even in such inclement weather, should bring them to the spot that the message had designated.\n\nBascot moved back inside the stables. Ernulf, the man-at-arms, the priest and a pair of grooms were all watching him. \"Ask Sheriff Camville if I may see him directly, Ernulf, if you would, and also Lady Nicolaa. I will be in the hall directly.\"\n\nAs the serjeant turned to go, Bascot moved as quickly as his leg, now aching from a night without rest and the activities of the morning, would allow, to where the chest that held his belongings stood. Inside, along with his own spare tunic and the only other pair of hose that Gianni owned, was his Templar surcoat. He laid it carefully on the pallet beside the chest before calling to one of the grooms to bring him his helm and shirt of mail from the armoury."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "Gianni looked cautiously around him. The camp to which he had been brought was quiet, the trees that encircled the clearing looming overhead in the early morning gloom like a great ill-fitting ceiling. Wisps of fog drifted eerily through the branches, the shapes flat as though a giant hand had pressed them. Sleeping bodies lay everywhere, some entwined together for warmth, others rolled into a foetal ball as though wishing never to leave their womb of sleep. In the middle of the clearing the remains of the fire that had been lit the night before barely smouldered, only tiny wisps of smoke reluctantly puffing as the embers underneath finally died.\n\nThe boy tried to see if there were any guards posted, but the darkness was too deep at the edge of the trees. Cautiously he stretched out his legs and, when his movement was not detected, he tested the security of the rope that bound his leg to the bole of a nearby tree.\n\nHe had been brought here the day before, after the captor that had scooped him up in the sheriff's chase had run with him thrown over his back for what seemed to Gianni like a long distance. Then, after being bundled into a boat and ferried a short way on water, he had been foisted up again on the shoulder of the man and carried through trees whose branches had slapped at his back and shoulders before he was dumped roughly on the ground and the sack that had covered his head removed.\n\nThe clearing had been brighter then, with the fire burning energetically from well-seasoned wood that emitted little smoke. Over the flames a carcass of a deer had been roasting, the fat sizzling as it dripped into the fire, sending off a delicious aroma that caused Gianni's already churning stomach to push bile up into his throat. There had been a lot of people in the clearing, mostly men, but a few women also, all roughly dressed and dirty. Little notice was taken of his arrival until the man that had captured him, and still held him by the arm, dragged him through the press towards another man who sat up higher than the rest, on a rough chair carved from wood and decorated with garlands of ivy.\n\n\"This is the Templar's servant,\" his captor said to the man, and Gianni at last looked up and saw that the person who had taken him from the forest was one he had seen before, the day he had gone to the village with his master. It was Edward, the reeve's nephew. \"Strolling through the woods all by himself, he was. I thought as how he might be of some use to you, Jack. Perhaps get a bit of silver if that Templar monk wants him back bad enough to pay for his return or, if not, maybe to use as a servant for yourself.\"\n\nThe man in the chair had looked down at the prize he had been brought. He was not a big man, but his appearance caused Gianni to feel a frisson of fear. Like the chair, his person was decorated with stems of ivy, most of the leaves brown and curling. The vines were wound around his arms, threaded through his belt, and a circle of them was woven into the pointed cap he wore on his head. His face, like most of the other men who had started to crowd around, was bearded, his a thick dense thatch of a dark golden colour that curled tight to his jaw and down his neck until it disappeared beneath the ragged collar of the scarred leather jerkin he wore. From beneath eyebrows that were as scant as his beard was thick, eyes of dark hazel looked at Gianni, the intense stare reminding the boy of one of the hawks in the mews at Lincoln castle when it was inspecting a gobbet of meat offered by the falconer.\n\n\"The Templar's servant, you say, Edward?\" the man called Jack said. His voice was quiet, but there was menace in it.\n\n\"That's right, Jack. I thought him a right good catch to bring you.\" Edward's voice was puffed up with pride in his accomplishment.\n\nJack leaned back, his hand resting on the thick oak staff that leaned against the arm of his chair. For a long moment he stared at Edward, and the silence grew in the clearing as he did so. Gianni could sense fear begin to grow in the man beside him, evidenced in the nervous twitch of Edward's fingers where they gripped his arm.\n\nStill the man called Jack did not speak, and Edward began to stutter nervously. \"I didn't do wrong, did I, Jack? No one followed us, I swear. I thought you'd be pleased, but if you're not, I'll get rid of him. He'll just disappear, like he was never born.\"\n\nWhen his words brought no response, Edward dragged Gianni to his feet and would have thrown him back over his shoulder, but suddenly the stave that had been carelessly lying beside Jack's chair moved so swiftly it was a blur. It came up in his hand and cracked down on the back of Edward's neck with a blow that brought the reeve's nephew to his knees, Gianni tumbling down with him, almost into the fire.\n\n\"I did not tell you to bring him here,\" Jack said, \"but now that you have, you'll wait my command to take him away.\"\n\nEdward nodded as best he could while he tried to regain his senses. Struggling to his feet he mumbled, \"Aye, Jack. I'm sorry.\"\n\nAround him the crowd of people relaxed, some of the men shaking their heads in disapproval of Edward's folly, others whispering together, smiles on their faces. Gianni could see now that there were children amongst them, including a couple of small ones still in their mother's arms. All of the people\u2014men, women and children\u2014were clad in rags of one sort or another, most of them layers of old clothing tied on with other scraps of cloth, or bits of rope; a few more fortunate ones had belts strapped around their middle. Head coverings ranged from hats made from torn pieces of animal fur to crude caps fashioned from the bark of a tree. All the faces were dirty, grimed not so much from lack of water but ingrained in skin that had been exposed to the elements for too long.\n\nJack's hawk eyes turned to Gianni. \"What's your name, boy?\" he asked.\n\nGianni made the sign he had made so often in his life to show that he was mute, lifting his bound hands, then opening his mouth and pointing a finger to it while shaking his head.\n\n\"Can't speak, eh?\" Jack said. \"But since you've still got a tongue in there, it's the way you were born, not from punishment.\"\n\nGianni nodded. He could never remember being able to speak, although he had tried to do so many times, and had finally accepted that he never would, that God had fashioned him that way at birth. Jack looked at the boy's clothing, noticing the serviceable wool of his hose, the thick padding of his tunic and the stout boots on his feet. Ernulf's hat was no longer on Gianni's head; it must have come off when Edward had grabbed him, or was still in the sack that had been thrust over his head. Gianni cringed. He knew well enough that, even without the hat, his clothes were far better than those worn by most of the people crowded around him, and he also knew it would be the work of moments for him to be stripped bare and his garments distributed amongst the women for their own use or for that of their children.\n\nJack's mouth split into a grin as he saw the fear in Gianni's eyes, revealing broken teeth that were the same colour as his beard, a dirty yellow. \"Frightened, aren't you, boy?\" he said. \"And well you might be, for we've no liking for those who live at ease behind castle walls and dine off fine meats, even if they are only servants.\" He leaned forward, his head thrusting down, reminding Gianni again of a predatory bird.\n\n\"You'll do well to remember that while I decide what to do with you. Try to run and I'll give you to the wolves. After we've removed your finery, that is.\"\n\nThis remark brought guffaws of laughter from the people crowded at Jack's side, including Edward, who had now recovered from the blow he had been given and was joining in the merriment. Jack motioned to one of the men beside him. \"Take the boy over to the edge of the clearing and truss him. Not too tight, mind. We don't want to damage his clothes for those that will have them. Eventually.\"\n\nAnother burst of laughter followed this remark as Gianni was roughly hauled up and dragged to a tree on the far side of the fire. A rope was tied to his leg and fastened to the tree and his feet were bound with pieces of well-worn leather to keep company with his tied hands. There he was left, hungry and thirsty, while his captors sat just a few yards away from him, eating and drinking their fill as they discussed his fate."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "\"You will tell me who he is, Joanna, for you will rue the consequences if you do not!\" Melisande seized her daughter's arm and shook her, then threw her down onto a wide padded settle that stood against the wall. The girl stayed where she was, lying on her side and rubbing her arm, looking up at her mother with eyes filled with scorn.\n\n\"What of the identities of your own lovers, mother? You are not so free with their names as you wish me to be with mine, are you? Even when my father was alive you had others to warm your bed. I saw you, and more than once.\" The girl threw up her head and glared at Melisande. \"Like mother, like daughter. I have my secrets, too. And I will keep them.\"\n\nMelisande drew back her hand and slapped her daughter across the face, just once, but hard. The mark of her fingers stood out on the girl's flushed cheek like a stain of blood. Then the goldsmith's widow shook her head and moved away from the girl, walking across the room to take a seat in one of the padded chairs near the fire. She leaned her head back on the softness at her neck and heaved a sigh.\n\n\"You do not know your own foolishness, girl,\" she said heavily. \"Yes, I gave my favours to men other than my husband, but not before I was married, and never recklessly even then. I want you to marry well, and no decent man will take a bride who has tossed her skirts for all and sundry, not even if I dower you with all the gold I possess.\"\n\n\"I have not lain with 'all and sundry' as you put it!\" Joanna expostulated. \"I am not a harlot!\"\n\nMelisande shook her head sadly, rose from her chair and went over to her daughter. Gently she placed her hand under Joanna's chin and lifted it, and then looked straight into her eyes. \"Not a harlot, perhaps, but not a newly plundered virgin, either.\"\n\nWhen Joanna would have protested, Melisande continued, \"I can see it in your eyes, girl. In the way you walk, the manner in which you lace your gown. You have lain with a man and more than once or twice.\" She shook her head again. \"I would not deny you your pleasure, Joanna; I only wish you had possessed the sense to wait until you had a husband to shield your good name before you indulged your fancy. There will come a day when you will regret what you have done, and regret it dearly.\"\n\nHer mother's words, so softly spoken, took the anger from Joanna's face, and her defiance as well. Sullenly she hung her head and looked at the floor.\n\nMelisande turned and walked to the chamber door. There she stopped and turned. \"I hope you have not been foolish enough to fall for the glib persuasions of a man who is already married or, God forbid, one of those prancing young lords up at the castle. But, whatever the case, you can tell your paramour that if there is a bastard child I will not acknowledge him, or her, as my grandchild,\" she said. \"If you do not give up your lover, I will send you to a nunnery. The choice is yours.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Gerard and Nicolaa were waiting for Bascot when he entered the hall. They had been engaged in a conference with Tostig and a couple of other Camville foresters when Ernulf had come to tell them what had transpired. Immediately they had broken off their discussion and given their attention to the plight of Gianni and the involvement of the sheriff's prisoner, Fulcher.\n\nThe sheriff was pacing back and forth when Bascot joined them, his face drawn into a scowl as Nicolaa greeted the Templar and offered her commiserations for the abduction of his servant.\n\n\"It must be outlaws that have the boy, for the drawn likeness of a wolf's head can mean nothing else. Ernulf tells me Gianni was seen alone, going into my husband's chase. It must have been while he was on that journey he was captured. But what was his purpose for such a venture?\"\n\n\"I do not know the answer to that, lady,\" Bascot replied. \"I only know that I must get him back. To do that I must ask that you release Fulcher and let me take him to the place they have designated.\"\n\n\"Never!\" Camville growled. \"Even if you give them what they want, they will kill the boy anyway, and you as well, if they can. It is a risk that cannot be taken.\"\n\n\"Sir Gerard,\" Bascot said, \"I ask this as a boon from you. The boy is very important to me, more than a servant. He is like my own son.\" The admission cost him dear, for although he had come to realise the depth of his feelings for Gianni, he had never before admitted it out loud, even to himself. \"If you will grant me this favour, I pledge that I will leave the Templar Order and become your liegeman. It is all I have to offer; if you would have my life I would surrender that as well.\" To reinforce his sincerity, Bascot dropped to one knee and bowed his head.\n\nNicolaa, knowing how much the words had cost this reticent and solitary man, stepped forward and laid her hand on Bascot's shoulder. \"There is no need to humble yourself, de Marins. You have already given my husband and myself more service than was required for your pallet and sustenance. While we would relish your joining our retinue permanently, neither Gerard nor I would wish you to do so under duress.\"\n\nShe turned to her husband, who had stopped his restless pacing and was standing motionless beside her, a cup of wine forgotten in his hand. \"Do you agree, husband?\"\n\nSlowly, Camville nodded. \"I shall give you your boon, Templar, without restraints,\" he said. \"You shall have Fulcher as bait for this carrion, but you will not go alone. Ernulf and I will follow, with some of the castle guard.\"\n\nAs Bascot made to protest, the sheriff held up his hand. \"We will keep out of sight and wait to see what they do. If they have the boy and truly intend to exchange him for the outlaw\u2026\" Camville shrugged and did not finish the sentence. \"Once your servant is safe we will take the brigand back and perhaps catch a few more of these wolf's heads in the doing of it.\" He looked up from under his heavy brows at Bascot. \"If they do not have the boy, they will already have killed him, de Marins, and will attempt to kill you also, once they have their confederate. We will be there to see that does not happen.\"\n\nThere was a resolution in the sheriff's face that told Bascot he would brook no argument and the Templar had to admit that Camville's reasoning was probably correct. He knew he would not get the imprisoned brigand to use as a ransom unless he agreed to the sheriff's plan, and if Gianni was dead\u2014he felt his breath squeeze in his chest at the thought\u2014he would wish to kill as many of the outlaws as his sword could reach, Fulcher amongst them. He nodded in acquiescence to Gerard Camville.\n\nIt was not even the half part of an hour later when Bascot set out. The rain was now falling heavily, being driven in gusty sheets by a fitful wind that blew from the northeast. Fulcher, hands bound and a rope around his neck, was mounted on a sumpter pony, with Bascot astride the grey he was accustomed to use, and holding the end of the rope that secured the brigand. Beside the Templar, Tostig rode, bow slung across his shoulder and arrows in his waist quiver, to guide Bascot to the spot by the river that was to be the place of the meeting.\n\nBehind, in the bailey, Gerard Camville was mounting the big black stallion that was his destrier. The sheriff was in full armour, as was his brother William, who was waiting for one of the grooms to lead out his own deep-chested roan. Another knot of riders was also gathering\u2014Richard Camville, Ernulf, Roget, a handful of men-at-arms, and the squires Alain and Renault. Bascot gave Fulcher a prod in the back with the point of his unsheathed sword and the outlaw, still weak from the beating he had received from Roget's men, kicked the pony into a shambling trot, preceding the Templar out of the west gate. The sheriff watched them go, waited until he heard the cathedral bells ring out the hour of Sext, then spurred his horse to follow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "It had been almost dusk before the outlaws gathered around the man in the chair ceased talking. Gianni had watched them intently. He could not hear what they were saying but the days he had spent begging in Palermo had made him practiced in recognising people's attitudes from the way they stood or gestured with their hands. From the manner in which a person walked, or held their head, it was possible to judge if they would be generous or not, if they would be angry at being importuned or merely ignore the outstretched hand with blank eyes, if they would look guilty for being without alms to give, or self-satisfied because they had more than the beggar. The same had been true of the other rag-wrapped urchins with whom he had shared the small piece of wharf where he had slept and taken shelter. Some had been fearless in their harassing of the merchants, ship owners and sailors that worked or came to trade at the wharf, knowing which ones would be pricked by shame and throw a coin and which ones would respond with a curse or the kick of a boot. But others, Gianni among them, had been too small and frightened to try such tactics, resorting to a helpless whine or cringing tears to wring the price of a piece of stale bread for their efforts. Even amongst themselves it had taken stealth and guile to hide any successful result of their begging. They were friends only when all were hungry. As soon as any alms were given, the recipient would quickly secrete the pittance he had been lucky enough to gain or, if not quick enough to hide it, to swallow it, whether bread or coin, knowing that, if it were the first, it would fill his stomach and if it were the second, it would be safe from the rough clutching hands of the others until he could void it in secret.\n\nIt had taken Gianni only a few moments to forget his fear of the dark circle of trees surrounding him and remember those days, and to realise that the outlaws here in the forest were no different from those he had known in the time before the Templar had come. Resolutely he pushed thoughts of wolves and other nameless terrors from his mind and concentrated on studying his captors.\n\nIt had been apparent from the first that the man seated on the chair was their leader, even as the burly miserable-tempered boy Alfredo had been the self-appointed captain of the band of urchins in Sicily. And this man was the same type as Alfredo, too, a bully, but clever with it, using sharp words and stinging blows to rule those whose mind and body were not as quick or as strong as his own. The reeve's nephew, Edward, had called the man Jack, but Gianni thought of him in his mind as Diabolo, like the devil he had once seen painted on the wall of a small church where he and some of the other smaller boys had sometimes begged food from the priest in the chapel. The picture had imprinted itself on Gianni's mind. It had been just inside the entrance, a painting of a huge figure grinning down at the writhing bodies of the unshriven souls at his feet while he poked them with the pitchfork he held in his hand. Curling spirals of flame had risen up around the satanic figure, enfolding the head and body in loops and whirls of hell-smoke, just as the man called Jack was wreathed in the strange winding of stems and dead leaves. And, just like the Diabolo in the mural, this Jack pushed and prodded at the people gathered round him with his heavy staff, chastising as he saw fit and commanding their obedience.\n\nFinally one of the brigands had been summoned to come forward to where Jack was seated. Reverently the man had lifted up a little box and taken from it a small pot and quill, and a piece of dirty and much-scraped parchment. The paper and quill he handed to Jack, then laid the box carefully across the leader's knees and held the pot ready while Jack dipped the pen and wrote on the parchment. The band of outlaws looked on admiringly as Jack penned some words on the paper. Gianni doubted whether any of them were literate, which was another means whereby Jack had them in his thrall. Then the paper was rolled up and given to one of the band. Jack pulled him close and whispered in his ear; the man had nodded and hurried off into the forest.\n\nThere had been some cheering from the group as the man left, and Jack had called loudly for ale, and the male members of the band had joined him eagerly in a cup while the women began to serve up to their menfolk and children the meat that had been roasting over the fire, dishing it out wrapped in some of the dead brown leaves that littered the forest floor.\n\nGianni's mouth had watered as he watched the meat being torn from the skewers that held it. He was both hungry and thirsty, and felt fear clutch his bowels again as he wondered what they were going to do with him. The Templar would be searching for him, he knew, but he would not look in the forest. He would look through the castle, then the town, but it would not occur to him to look outside the city walls. Why had he been so foolish as to think of going to the village? He had betrayed his master's trust and now he would pay for it. He wondered if he would be starved, for there seemed little food to go around. If the note that had been sent was to ask Sir Bascot for payment for his return, it would not profit them to feed him. If the Templar agreed to pay the ransom, a day or two without the food they could ill spare would not harm him, and if Sir Bascot refused to pay, then the food would be wasted on a useless hostage. Gianni shivered. Would they kill him if his master would not pay? Or would they, as Edward had suggested, make him a servant to Diabolo Jack? With visions of that thick stave coming down on his back every time he failed at some task, Gianni was not sure which fate would be worse."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Richard de Humez looked across at his daughter, then swivelled his eyes to meet those of his sister-by-marriage. His expression was a mixture of anger and fear. He had come to Nicolaa's chamber at Alinor's request, had waited with impatience while some matter of great urgency was dealt with by Nicolaa in the hall, then had sat in growing amazement as he had been told the reason why Alinor had asked for this private meeting.\n\nHis daughter's voice broke into his racing thoughts. \"I know, father, that you were not in favour of John taking the throne and would have preferred Arthur. I heard you saying so, to mother. I even heard her trying to dissuade you from any rash action that could jeopardize your position with the king. You were not quiet. If I heard you, so could others.\"\n\nDe Humez looked from one to the other of the two women. They were more alike than just niece and aunt. His wife, Petronille, Nicolaa's sister, was dark, as he was himself. But Alinor had inherited the redness of hair and high colour of her Haye antecedents. She had also inherited their stubborn and outspoken high-handedness, and was as he remembered Nicolaa to be in her youth, before time had moulded her forthright temper to include a modicum of diplomacy. He thanked God it had been the soft-spoken second Haye sister who had been chosen for him to take as a wife, even if her dower had been much smaller. He wished that Petronille was here now; she would have calmed the stormy scene he could see coming before it had even begun.\n\n\"What you heard being discussed between your mother and myself was private, Alinor. It was an opinion expressed by many nobles at the time, not only by me, and has nothing to do with you. I am greatly displeased that you have bothered your aunt with such ramblings.\"\n\nDe Humez tried to put as much anger as he could into his voice, but knew his headstrong daughter would take little notice, and tried to console himself with the knowledge that Alinor believed she was protecting him rather than putting him in danger.\n\n\"Alinor has not been a bother to me, Richard,\" Nicolaa said, trying to speak calmly in an attempt to soothe the ruffled feathers of her sister's husband. \"She is only concerned to protect her family\u2014which is my family also\u2014against any slander that may arise. The king has a long ear for any hint of unrest about him. I would that he heard none about any of our kin and will do whatever I can to ensure that he never does.\"\n\nSlightly mollified, de Humez took a sip of watered wine from the cup that Nicolaa handed him, and said, \"There is no rumour to forestall. I have no connection now, and never did have, with any support for Arthur supplanting John.\"\n\nNicolaa took a mental breath and forced herself to smile. She had a liking for her brother-by-marriage even though she knew him to be querulous and vacillating. He was an indulgent husband and father, but he was also indecisive and prone to be sanctimonious. His would be a willing ear for any plot that would increase his own aggrandisement, as long as he felt the danger to his position would not be too great. A little like King John, she reflected briefly, the very monarch de Humez, she was sure, had not willingly supported. This time her smile came naturally. She had an affection for John, too.\n\n\"It is the matter of Hubert's death, Richard. Even though Gerard has done his best to ascribe the squire's murder to outlaws, there is much rumour being bruited abroad that it was for political purposes\u2014that Hubert was privy to a plot against John and was killed because he threatened to expose those involved. That is why Alinor came to me, and why I asked to have speech with you. If you voiced your\u2026opinion\u2026about John to anyone other than Petronille, if you even so much as hinted that you would be willing to support a plan that would topple him from the throne, you could be implicated. Not only in Hubert's death, but in a treasonous plot.\"\n\nAs the blood drained from de Humez's face, Nicolaa allowed her voice to stiffen. \"I am fortunate enough to have the king's favour. That is due to the proven loyalty of my family and myself in the past. But my husband, as you know, does not have the same regard from the king. If it were to be suggested that not only one husband of the Haye sisters, but two, are rumoured to be disloyal\u2026\" She let her voice trail off deliberately, watching de Humez closely, then spoke with tones of ice. \"Are you sure that you have not spoken of what you call only 'an opinion' to any other than Petronille? That any knowledge that Hubert might have had of treason would not have included your name? Be very sure, Richard, of your answer.\"\n\nDe Humez shook his head, put down his wine cup with shaking hands. His face was ashen. \"I swear to you Nicolaa, I have not, would not\u2014I am loyal to King John. On my oath, I swear it.\"\n\nNicolaa observed him closely as he made his protestation; saw the concern in Alinor's face as she, also, searched her father's expression in an attempt to detect the sincerity of his words. It was possible de Humez was telling the truth, but had there been a slight falter in his voice? Had he been unwise enough to let an indiscretion slip in company that was dangerous? Some word that perhaps was not meant, but could be taken as truth?\n\n\"I believe you, Richard,\" she said at last. \"And I will do my best to protect your name, and that of my sister and her children. But remember this, just as a candle carelessly dropped on a scrap of straw can be the beginning of a conflagration, so can one ill-judged word bring ruin on the one that utters it. If any hint of this comes to the king, and your name is involved, let us pray that his affection for the Hayes will prompt him to disregard it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Gianni had worked all night at the knots that had bound his feet and hands. Under cover of darkness and the blanket of mouldy leaves that had been thrown over him he had managed to untie them, then refasten them with a loose wrap that would easily slip undone. He knew that it would be useless for him to try to escape into the forest. He did not even know in which direction to run if he had the chance. But he had learned what they intended to do with him, and he would be ready if an opportunity for escape presented itself.\n\nCarefully he rolled onto his side and looked through the gloom towards the dying embers of the fire. Only one man sat awake, the small skinny one who had brought him some food earlier and was now keeping watch over the encampment. He had said his name was Talli and even though he had tried to be rough with his captive, he had seemed to have some sympathy for him. Gianni had given him the wide-eyed scared look he had used so often when he had been a helpless urchin begging for food, and Talli had softened slightly, bringing him a tiny strip of venison to chew on and a wooden bowl of water to drink. It had been as Gianni was gnawing thankfully on the meat that Talli had hunkered down beside him and told him what was to be his fate.\n\n\"Hungry, weren't you, boy?\" the brigand had said as he watched Gianni devour the food. \"Well, if all goes right, you should be back in the castle by this time tomorrow and able to get yourself some better fare.\"\n\nGianni had given him a tremulous smile and put a hopeful look on his face. The outlaw had nodded. \"Yes, that's right. If your master does what he's told, then that's what'll happen.\"\n\nTalli had leaned closer to Gianni, his eyes gleaming out from the dirt that stained his flesh. \"Green Jack's a clever one, he is. See, him and Fulcher don't like each other. Fell out over Fulcher not wanting to join Jack's band when we first come to Sherwood. Well, now Fulcher's in the sheriff's gaol, and the rest of us come here to Jack, so there's no grudge anymore, see. And if Jack can get Fulcher free, then he can come here as well. Be Jack's man, like. And Fulcher's a good man to have. He has a right true aim with a bow and there's not a fear of man or beast in him. Ah, I'll be glad to see him again.\"\n\nTalli had fallen silent then and Gianni had ducked his head and given him another imploring look. In response the outlaw had patted his shoulder and said kindly, \"Don't worry. Your master will come for you, Jack's sure of that. Edward said the Templar values you highly. He's bound to come. All he has to do is bring Fulcher to Sherwood and then Jack'll change you for him. That's what Jack wrote on the parchment.\"\n\nA look of wonder came over Talli's face. \"Imagine that, being able to scribe words.\" The outlaw had leaned close to Gianni. \"No one knows where Jack come from, but if he can do that he must have been more than just a serf, mustn't he? Perhaps he was the son of a merchant or even a cleric.\" The little brigand shook his head. \"His crimes must have been serious ones for him to have ended up here.\"\n\nTalli had said no more, just thrown the leaves over Gianni, and then taken up his vigil by the fire. Gianni had curled up, pretending sleep as he worked at the knots. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would ensure he was as prepared as possible for any chance that came to escape from the clutches of Diabolo Jack."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "In Baldwin's chamber Osbert paced about excitedly as he told his friend about Gianni being taken hostage by outlaws and how the Templar was going to try to get him back.\n\n\"The sheriff has taken a force of men-at-arms to assist Sir Bascot, and Sir William, Alain and Renault have gone as well. Ah, I wish I were old enough to have joined them.\" Osbert almost danced with glee as he pictured the battle that he was sure would take place on the banks of the Trent.\n\n\"It will be a great coup if they can get Sir Bascot's servant back and capture some of the outlaws as well,\" Baldwin agreed, his pale face shining as he, too, envisaged a clash between the two forces. \"I hope Alain has a chance to show his mettle,\" he added. \"It would make Alys so happy to think that her brother has proven his worth. She has had much lately to plague her\u2026.\"\n\nHe broke off, realising that he had almost given away the secret about Alain and Renault's absence on the night of Hubert's death but, to his surprise, Osbert did not question the unspoken words. Instead he came and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. \"It is alright, Baldwin. All of us pages and squires know about the suspicion that has fallen on Alain and Renault. We made Hugo tell us when Rufus saw them going into Lady Nicolaa's chamber and Hugo was waiting outside.\"\n\n\"They didn't do it, you know, Osbert,\" Baldwin asserted. \"They swore to me on a holy relic that they were innocent. No one would endanger their immortal souls with such a lie.\"\n\nOsbert gave his friend a comforting grin. \"Of course not, Baldwin. I am sure they told you the truth.\"\n\nFootsteps sounded outside the door and a servant entered, bringing a round wicker basket full of charcoal to feed the brazier that was kept constantly burning in Baldwin's chamber. As the man deposited the receptacle on the floor, Osbert gave de Humez's son a covert glance. He hoped his friend was right and that Alain and Renault were innocent, even if it was only so that Baldwin's faith in human nature should not be destroyed. But privately the young page doubted that the two squires were free from guilt. Unlike Baldwin, he knew that if there was enough at stake, men would swear on the most holy of relics, be they saints' bones or the blood of Christ, and still not tell the truth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Fulcher could barely keep upright on the back of the pony as they approached the place designated for the exchange for Gianni. He was a strong man, but the beating given him by Roget's men, combined with the distance they had travelled through the needle-sharp pricks of rain, had rendered his body almost useless. Only the point of Bascot's sword nudging the space between his shoulder blades had kept him from sliding to the ground.\n\nFinally, a low word of warning from Tostig gave Bascot the signal to bring his mount to a halt. The forester moved his horse close to the Templar and pointed through the mist of rain. There, a few score yards distant, was the river and, at the water's edge, a large oak tree, its branches bare of leaves.\n\n\"That is the place, Sir Bascot,\" the forester said. \"I should leave you here. The instruction was for you to be alone when you brought the brigand.\" Tostig gave a furtive glance over his shoulder. Behind them the trees were thin, with a stand of coppiced hazel crouching like a hunkered dwarf at their base. Nearby, a few desiccated red berries still clung to the branches of a rowan tree, providing the only splash of colour on an otherwise desolate landscape. Downstream, beyond the oak, a willow tree curved gracefully on the eastern bank of the Trent as it wriggled slightly in its course to the Humber estuary. No horses or riders could be seen. Across the river the thick mass of forest was silent.\n\n\"I am sure the sheriff is not far behind and will put men both above and below the spot where the oak grows,\" the forester said. \"Give him a little time to get them into position, then move up. I will go and join them. May God grant you good fortune.\"\n\nWith these abrupt words the forester turned his horse and within a moment was gone, the rain-darkened flank of his horse disappearing like a wraith into the curtain of mist.\n\nFulcher, who had finally tumbled from the pony when they halted, knelt motionless on the ground, head hung on his chest and breath coming in great shuddering gulps. He got reluctantly to his feet when Bascot prodded him with his sword. The Templar felt no pity for the man; his whole being was intent on freeing Gianni, on discovering if the boy was safe and well. His mind dare not dwell on the possibility that the lad could be injured or dead and might perhaps be lying deep in Sherwood for the wolves to find. He thought only of the boy as he had last seen him, alive and happy, and concentrated on keeping that image in front of him.\n\nAs they neared the tree, Fulcher stumbled forward on his feet, leaving the pony behind. Bascot scanned the forest on the other side of the river as best he could, cursing the loss of half his vision. The oak was dripping moisture onto the sodden mass of fallen leaves at its base; the very air was drenched with wetness. The river itself was in full spate, water rushing in tiny wavelets against the drooping grasses and reeds at its edge as the flow in midstream eddied into small currents that broke and ran before they were fully formed. Bascot knew that the Trent was a river that had a tidal bore which had the capability of becoming frightening at full intensity. When it rose to its peak it was called the Aegir, after a Norse sea giant, and he had been told of the damage it could do. Although the bore usually only swelled to full power in the spring, it had been known to happen after a heavy rainfall, and he prayed that it would not let loose such a monster today, not if he was to get Gianni across from the other side.\n\nWhen they reached the base of the tree, Fulcher once again fell to his knees, then rolled over onto his side and lay like a man dead. He had not spoken one word throughout the journey, had not seemed interested in his fate then, nor did he now, with closed eyes and scant regard for the water that streamed down upon his bruised and ragged figure. Bascot eased his horse away from the brigand, the better to see around the trunk of the huge tree, and flexed the fingers of his left hand before easing the strap on his shoulder that bore the weight of his shield. Water dripped from the end of the nose guard on his helm, running in streams from the rim of the conical steel cap he wore over his hood of mail. He felt the dampness of moisture that had gathered under his eyepatch and shook his head to free it and his sighted eye from obstruction. His surcoat was wet through, only the padded leather gambeson he wore underneath his hauberk saving his skin from the dankness, and raindrops glistened on the hilt of his sword and the mane of his horse. The animal also shook its head, and emitted a loud snort in protest at the weather, but it made no other movement except for an impatient lift and kick of a hind leg, after which it stood still, seeming as wretched as its surroundings.\n\nFor nearly half the part of an hour Bascot stood there, watching and listening. The river was narrow at this point, perhaps thirty or forty yards across, and looked shallow. Bascot thought it was likely to be fordable here, the place having perhaps been used in the past for toll passage and so was the reason it had been called a crossing in the note sent by the brigands who had Gianni. His thought was prompted by the remains of a raft-like construction standing near the river's edge, a collapsed pile of broken planks from which a short hank of rope, ancient and rotting, lay coiled in the reeds. Nonetheless, traversing the narrow expanse of water might soon prove difficult for, as time passed, the roar of the river grew in magnitude and the rush of the current swifter, as though it was in turmoil. Then, through the growl of angry water, the Templar heard what sounded like a shout and he saw a movement among the trees opposite him.\n\n\"Ho! Templar!\" The call came from a man standing at the edge of the screen of trees. He was dressed in murky brown and had a bow strung and at the ready in his hands.\n\nBascot raised his arm to show that he had heard and edged his horse closer to the bank.\n\n\"Bring Fulcher over,\" the outlaw called to him. \"We will give you the boy once our comrade is safe on this side.\"\n\nBascot took his time in answering. Behind the lone man he could discern what seemed to be the shapes of one or two other men, but they were well concealed in the trees and he could not be sure that what he saw was anything more than the blurring of tangled bushes distorted by the screen of rain.\n\nFinally he made an answer. \"Where is my servant? I will do nothing until I see him alive and well.\"\n\nA few moments of silence passed before there was some stirring in the undergrowth and two figures appeared at the edge of the clear space where the archer stood. Bascot recognised one as Edward, the nephew of the reeve at the village where he had questioned the dairymaid. The other was Gianni, his hands tied in front of him and his arm firmly held in the grasp of the reeve's nephew. It appeared his feet had been hobbled also, for he stumbled as he came into sight and moved forward with small hesitant steps.\n\nBascot felt his stomach contract at the sight of the boy. He looked so small and slight beside the bulk of his captor, his head bare, curls a dark wet rumpled mass and eyes peering intently in Bascot's direction, as though he could send him a message with his mind.\n\nBascot nodded once, then tugged on the rope that was tied to the brigand lying on the ground. Fulcher groaned and struggled to his feet, then spoke softly.\n\n\"Templar, it is not me that Green Jack wants; it is you and the fine ransom you will bring. Do not trust him. Once I am on the other side, he will slit my throat and take you captive. Have a care.\"\n\nBascot looked down at the outlaw. \"Green Jack? Is he the leader of these men? The one who sent me the note?\"\n\nFulcher nodded. \"It can be no one else. This is his stretch of forest.\"\n\n\"I do not understand. You say he will kill you. Are you not a compagno to this Green Jack? Why else would he risk such a venture as stealing my servant if he did not value your life?\"\n\nFulcher grinned, his mouth distorted by the lumps and bruises that littered his face. \"I do not know how it came about, but I do know that Green Jack values no life but his own. If he lets me live, he knows I will kill him.\"\n\nThe outlaw gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. \"It is of no matter to me, Templar. I will either die here or dangling from a rope by order of the sheriff. I would rather have taken Green Jack to hell with me, but if I do not have his company perhaps the Devil will greet me easier.\" He gave a deep sigh. \"It is up to you; do as you will.\"\n\nBascot eyed the river. It was a short space across and it looked as though it would not reach the height of his horse's shoulders at the middle. He could drag Fulcher across by securing him to his saddlebow, but the danger came on the other side, where he would be surrounded by the outlaws he was sure were secreted in the forest behind Gianni and the men on the bank. For all that he was equipped with mail and sword, if there were too many of them, it was likely he would be overcome. If Fulcher spoke true, and he was the target of this whole escapade, then both he and the boy would be at the mercy of this Green Jack, despite any effort of Camville, or his men-at-arms, to save them. For himself, it would be a matter of fighting, but Gianni would be helpless and, if the brigands were attacked by the sheriff's men, he could easily be killed in the resulting battle.\n\nBascot looked again at the rotted planks and threadbare rope. The sight reminded him of a day when he had been barely more than a toddler on his father's fief on the south coast of England. There had been a boat that day too, lying on the shingled beach that was not far from the keep that stood high on the headland, a watching post for invaders from the sea. On the day he remembered, he had been with his father and two older brothers. He had been carried aloft on his father's shoulders as they had taken the path down to the beach, but when they had arrived on the shore, he had been placed in the boat and his father had rowed the little craft out a short way into the small bay that curved around the landing place. His two brothers had stood on the strand, watching, their faces alive with merriment. Bascot had not understood their amusement, but recalled how he had joined in their laughter as they watched him being taken out into the midst of the waves that rolled in from the sea.\n\nWhen they were a short distance from the shore his father had shipped the oars and let the boat drift. He had pulled Bascot up onto his knee and said, \"You are a de Marins, Bascot. You come from a long line of ancestors who have fought and earned glory from battles upon the sea. Always our keeps have been within sight and sound of the ocean. It is our protector and, at the same time, our enemy. To be a true son of our line you must live up to our name of de Marins\u2014the mariners\u2014and that means you must learn to be as one with the sea, not only to swim in it, but to feel its strength, learn its comfort and respect its terrors. And there is only one way to do that, my son, and that is to meet it as though in battle, to both conquer it and care for it as though it were your serf.\"\n\nWith these words, Bascot's father had thrown him over the side of the boat and into the water. The Templar still remembered the shock of the waves closing over his head, how he had sunk down, his breath involuntarily held as he watched tiny bubbles of air that had been trapped within the folds of his small tunic float to the surface. Then he had tried to breathe and water had flooded into his nostrils, gushed into his mouth as he had opened it in a vain attempt to take in air, and he had felt the saltiness of the water sting the back of his throat and make his stomach heave. Without thought, he had pushed upwards, pumping his legs furiously in a desperate attempt to reach the light shining on the surface above him. When his head broke through, he took great gulps of air, unconsciously working his arms in conjunction with his legs to keep his body afloat.\n\nAs his vision had cleared and his breathing steadied he had heard his father's great booming laughter. \"Well done, my son. You are a true de Marins, just like your brothers. Now you have all fought the sea and made her your servant. She is the hardest enemy you will ever fight, but she is also the greatest ally in all of the world, and you are worthy of her.\"\n\nAfter his father had pulled him back into the boat and taken him to join his brothers, Bascot realised that both of them, too, had been subjected to the same treatment. That day he had been proud of himself, and of his family, but in later times he had wondered what his father would have done if he had not been able to swim. Would he have been left to drown, or been saved and then shunned as an outcast?\n\nBascot looked across at Gianni. He loved the boy like a son. No ordeal was necessary to prove that. Somehow he would get the youngster away from the outlaws and back to the safety of Lincoln castle, even if it cost his own life to do it. He looked once more at the river. Perhaps the trial his father had put him through had not been wasted. At the moment, the river gave the brigands an advantage, but there might be a way that he could use it for his own purposes and so turn the stretch of water, as his father had said, into his ally rather than his foe. A mirthless smile stretched his mouth. How his father would have applauded his notion."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "In the privacy of her chamber Nicolaa de la Haye was engaged in a diversion that was rare for her. She was pacing. Her thoughts far outstripped her feet as she slowly walked from one side of the room to the other, then back again. Not only was her mind on the rescue of the Templar's servant, but also on her conversation with her son, Richard, the previous evening, as well as the murder of William's squire and the impending visit of King John.\n\nPerhaps the private speech with Richard was the most disturbing. Although he had assured her that John was in an ebullient mood rooted in joy of his new young bride, Isabelle of Angouleme, her son had warned her that the king was as suspicious as ever of those about him. Constantly he probed for information about his vassals, asking questions that barely veiled his mistrust of their pledge of fealty, and often lapsed into a broody silence that made those about him uneasy.\n\n\"Of this meeting with the Scottish monarch he can have no cause for alarm,\" Nicolaa had said to her son. \"William is completely cowed. He will keep his pledge to pay homage to John.\"\n\n\"I do not think it is Scotland about which the king frets, Mother, but about his nephew, Arthur. Dead Geoffrey's son was long a competitor for the crown of England and John still sees the boy as a threat. Anyone foolish enough to voice even a whisper that Arthur should have the crown in John's stead will soon lose his head, and it would not be parted from his body in a quick manner, either.\"\n\nNicolaa's steps increased their speed as she continued to walk back and forth. There would be little means to keep the death of Hubert from the king's knowledge. It had been done in too spectacular a fashion for the news not to be known to all the inhabitants of Lincoln. And with the tale of his death would come the rumour of the boy's intimacy with a conspiracy that favoured Arthur to take John's place. Nicolaa had much affection for John, but she knew how suspicious he was. Not even his esteem for her could prevent his viewing not only her husband, but also her brother-by-marriage, de Humez, and perhaps even Gerard's brother, William, with distrust. And where John distrusted, he destroyed.\n\nAgain and again she went over the squire's murder. The method of the deed was not one she would have attributed to Gerard; a simple sword thrust would have been more in keeping with her husband, and the body left carelessly where it fell. Neither would any of his hired ruffians, like Roget, have acted in a dissimilar way. But she knew how much Gerard hated John. Had he become involved in a plot against the king and Hubert become privy to it? Had her husband ordered the boy despatched to dam up his overflowing mouth?\n\nAnd her brother-by-marriage, de Humez\u2014was his assurance of innocence in the matter of the boy's death a truthful one? And his attempt to convince her that he was not involved in any treasonous scheme to supplant John\u2014could she believe him? It was difficult to be completely sure. Even William could be considered suspect; perhaps the boy had overheard something in his lord's household and had paid the ultimate price for his snooping. And were the murders of Chard and his sons tied to the squire's death? And if so, how? Had they been privy to the identity of the person who had slain Hubert? Was that the reason that they, in turn, had been killed?\n\nShe pondered on the two squires, Alain and Renault. She could see neither of them as murderers. Alain might have given Hubert a terrible beating if he had found him that night, but if either had been intent on killing him, it was more likely to have been done during practice at swordplay, or with a lance. Easy enough to pretend a misjudged stroke had caused his death by accident and both squires were skilled enough at arms to do so. Hubert would have been an easy target if they had been so inclined.\n\nAnother thought struck her, just as unpleasant as the last. Could the two squires have left the hall that night with the express purpose of killing Hubert, and were only using the story of his offensive behaviour with Alys as a cover for their real reason for wanting the squire's death? Was it William, instead of her husband and de Humez, who was involved in a plot against the king and the boys knew it? If that was so, then the two squires, mimicking the barons who had murdered the exasperating Thomas \u00e0 Becket for King Henry, could have reasoned that they were doing their lord a favour by ridding him of the troublesome squire. Henry had professed that he had not been guilty of ordering his barons to kill the archbishop, but few had believed him. Was it possible William was now caught in a similar snare?\n\nReluctant to accept such a possibility she pushed her mind away from thoughts of treason and once more ruminated on the manner of the squire's death. Perhaps the hanging had not been intended as a warning. Could it be possible that, instead, it spoke of a need for revenge? If the desecration by the birds had been intended, then it had certainly slaked a need to humiliate the boy in death that the murderer might not have been able to achieve while Hubert lived. Or had it only been made to seem so, and the apparent vengeance was in itself misleading?\n\nShe sighed in frustration and paused in her reflections, pouring herself a cup of cider spiced with cinnamon, a beverage she preferred to wine. As she sipped it, she thought that her time would be better spent in sending up a prayer for the safe deliverance of de Marins's mute servant than in expending her energies in useless speculation. Resolutely she pushed the matter from her mind and set herself instead to work on composing a letter of welcome to be sent to the Scottish king the following morning."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "Joanna, Melisande's daughter, was in her mother's fine stone house in Lincoln. Melisande was not at home, having left early that morning to attend a meeting of the goldsmith's guild to discuss plans for presenting a gift to King John on his arrival in the town. The servants, too, were all gone on various tasks for their mistress around the city, except for the young girl who tended the brood of hens caged in the yard at the back of the house.\n\nJoanna peered out of one of the two casements that brought in light to a chamber on the upper storey of the widow's home. The room served as her mother's solar and, like the rest of the rooms, was liberally strewn with the expensive tapestries, cushions and furs that Melisande loved. But Joanna had no thought for the comfort that surrounded her. She strode nervously from one window to another, then to a brazier that stood in one corner of the room, heaped with glowing coals, where she warmed her hands with a wringing motion that had more of nervousness in its movement than a wish to bring heat to her cold flesh.\n\nAnxiously she listened for the church bells to ring the hour of None, knowing, as most of Lincoln town did by now, that this was the time when the Templar would be at the riverbank to try to obtain his servant's release. Once she heard the bells, Joanna would go to the castle, for when news came as to whether the exchange of prisoners had been successful, it would first come there. She needed to know that her lover was safe and, despite her mother's warning, did not intend to give him up. Only death could force her to do that."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "Green Jack was perched in the top of a tree some little way from the spot on the riverbank where his men were holding the Templar's servant. He had a good vantage point and, despite the bareness of the leafless branches, would not easily be spotted in his clothes of russet brown twined with the half-dead vines. His vision was exceptionally keen, especially for long distances, and he scanned the area surrounding him, looking for the sheriff's men. He knew they would be there, to the north and south of the old oak, but, hopefully, not on both sides of the river. Although he had instructed the Templar to come alone, he had not expected that command to be obeyed, especially when he had no doubt that Gerard Camville would be involved in the rescue. The sheriff would dearly love to capture even a few of Jack's men and there was no doubt as to the fate of any who should be so luckless as to end up in Camville's merciless hands.\n\nAlthough Green Jack knew the dangers of using the boy as bait, he had been unable to resist the temptation of luring the Templar into the forest. But he had been careful not to stretch the risk to his own person too far. He was some little distance from the crossing he had specified and had sent the men most expendable from his band to be in the forefront of the danger. Berdo, Talli and Edward, the reeve's nephew, were with the boy; the first two Fulcher's men and of no importance, and the last too stupid to be of any further use even if he should not be captured. Jack had given instructions to the archers he had sent with them to withdraw into the forest if it looked as though the plan to capture the Templar was going awry.\n\nThe Templar. The thought of having one of the men who wore that hated red cross in his, Jack's, power brought a surge of emotion to his loins that was almost lascivious. How many times had he dreamed that he would one day humiliate one of them, and in just such a manner as they had done to him so many years ago when he had been no more than a lad, a stupid young boy who had idolized their holiness, their strength, their dedication. Whenever one or more of the supposedly virtuous knights had chanced to appear on the streets of Nottingham where he had lived as a child, he had rushed to watch them ride by on their gleaming horses, imagining the valiant deeds they would perform in the Holy Land, and the infidels they would kill in defence of the pilgrims they protected.\n\nNow his thin lips curled in wry amusement of how feeble-witted he had been to believe the stories that circled the Templars like halos of glory. Holy monks who fought for Christ it was said, but they were no better than mercenary soldiers, lower even, for what they did was not for monetary profit, but for love of their own vanity, and to promulgate their sordid vices. He could still remember the day he had managed to scuttle through the gates into the yard of the Templar preceptory in Nottingham, how he had hidden behind some bales of hay and watched a few of the knights at sword practice. They had seemed like giants to him rather than mere men, wielding flashing blades of light as the swords arced up and down, thrusting, cutting, parrying. So intent on the dazzling display had he been that he had not heard the brown-robed serjeant approach him from behind, nor been aware of his discovery until a hand clad in a gauntlet of leather had clamped down on his shoulder. Then he had been swung from his hiding place and tossed out onto the edge of the practice field as lightly and easily as if he had been a flea thrown from a dog.\n\n\"It seems we have an intruder in our midst,\" the serjeant had called, and the knights had ceased their swordplay to come and look at Jack, who had crunched himself into a fearful ball at the serjeant's feet. From his vantage point, too frightened to look up, all he could see were the dusty boots of the men around him, and the hems of their surcoats.\n\n\"Is he armed?\" one of the knights had asked jocularly. \"You had best search him, Eubold. He might be a Saracen in disguise, with a scimitar concealed beneath those rags he is wearing.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" another knight had said. \"He is more likely to be one of their eunuchs, come to see how whole men comport themselves.\"\n\nMuch laughter had followed this, then another knight called, \"Perhaps we should see for ourselves. Strip him, Eubold, let us see if he truly has any balls, or if it is as de Limenes says and he has been parted from his manhood.\"\n\nJack had tried to struggle to his feet but the serjeant, Eubold, had dragged him up by the hair of his head and quickly divested him of his tunic and hose, then dangled him by his heels in front of the watching knights.\n\n\"It seems, lords, that he still has all the equipment God gave him at birth,\" the serjeant had said, laughing along with the rest as he gave Jack a shake that made his head flop and his senses spin in a sickening circle. Even now, he could still hear their laughter and the scorn with which they had jested about his exposed genitals.\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said the first knight who had spoken. \"I did not really suppose he was lacking proof of his manhood, else he would not have been brave enough to sneak in here.\"\n\n\"What shall I do with him, lords?\" the serjeant had asked.\n\n\"Throw him on the dung heap,\" answered one of the knights lazily. \"Or whatever you will, Eubold. Just make sure he is gone from here and knows beyond doubt that he is not to come into the preceptory again.\"\n\nThe spectacle of his humiliation had now lost the knights' interest and most of them turned away and resumed their sword practice. The serjeant had tossed Jack into the air, catching him by the shoulders as he fell. Then the soldier carried him to the back of the preceptory and flung him, and his clothes after him, into a pile of pig dung that was heaped outside a pen containing about a dozen of the animals. He had watched in amusement as Jack had tried to scramble to his feet and rescue his clothes, the foul-smelling muck sticking to him more and more with every movement. When he had finally pushed himself clear of the heap of excrement, the serjeant had put his boot to Jack's bare arse and kicked him all the way to the door of the compound. There the guards that manned the gate had laughed as he had run out into the street, where passersby had first looked in amazement at the naked lad, then backed off as the smell of the ordure reached them. From a distance they had tittered with amusement as he had struggled into his clothes and run all the way home.\n\nTo Jack, that day had been branded in his memory and his adoration for the Templars had turned to hatred. It had also marked the beginning of the time when his life went sour. His father, a seller of mediocre quality parchment, had died the very next week, his only legacy to his youngest son an unfinished teaching of the rudiments of his letters. A few days later his stepbrother, older by some ten years, had decided he did not want to bear the cost of feeding the brat his father had sired in old age, and had thrown Jack out of the family home and told him to fend for himself. Hunger had forced Jack to steal, and then steal again, until a narrow escape from being caught while robbing an angry pie merchant had led him to take refuge in the greenwood. Through all those years, and the ones that followed, he had never forgotten the humiliating incident in the Templar preceptory, or the irrational belief that the Order had somehow been the cause of all his misfortune. How many times had he fervently prayed for heaven to give him an opportunity to take his revenge? Now his prayers had been answered and requital was at hand. And, if providence smiled on him further, not only would he have the Templar in his power, but also that thorn in his side, Fulcher. His mouth stretched into a smile as he contemplated such a coup."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Godfroi de Tournay had not accepted richard Camville's invitation to join the armed party that was following in Bascot's wake. He had given the condition of his horse as an excuse for declining. The animal had indeed become slightly lame on the last leg of the journey from Boston, but Godfroi had checked on him earlier that day and had found the tenderness in his mount's foreleg almost disappeared. He could, in any case, most probably have secured the loan of a horse from the Camville stables, but had left Richard before his friend could offer one.\n\nThe real reason he had refused to accompany the sheriff and his men had been that he had wanted some time alone, to think. Ever since he had spoken to the Templar and had been told of the suspicion that Hubert had been involved in, or had knowledge of, a plot against the king, his mind had been in a whirl. Although he had vociferously denied the charge to the Templar, and to Richard Camville when the sheriff's son had asked about it, both denials had been a lie. Inwardly he cursed his dead half brother. Hubert had plagued them all his short life, always whining and complaining, and now, even in death, his well-remembered nasal voice threatened the peace of his family. Godfroi got up and replenished the wine cup from which he had been drinking with the contents of a flask kept beside the bed in the small cramped chamber he was sharing with Richard. As he took another swallow of the vintage, Godfroi thought back to the time, some months ago, when Hubert had been on a visit to his mother at the de Tournay manor house in Boston. William Camville had often given the boy leave to go home for a short space\u2014most probably glad to be rid of him for a while\u2014but this time neither he nor his brother Ralph had been aware of Hubert's presence until it was too late.\n\nThey had been ensconced in an upstairs chamber when he had arrived and it was not until Ralph had gone outside to use the garderobe that they had discovered Hubert lingering outside the door. Their half brother had made out that he had just arrived and been preparing to knock when Ralph had opened the door, but both Godfroi and Ralph had wondered afterwards if he had been listening to their conversation. Hubert's play of innocence had reassured them and they had thought of it no more. But Godfroi was thinking of it now, and cursed his half brother once again.\n\nHe got up and strode to the arrow slit high in the wall that served as a window for the chamber. His vantage point looked south, the direction from which King John would come. His thoughts raced, trying to untangle the reason for Hubert's murder. Had the lad, as he and Ralph had at first suspected, eavesdropped on their conversation and discovered that they were privy to a plan being hatched in the northern part of the kingdom to overthrow John and place Arthur on the throne? If that conversation had been the basis for the barely concealed innuendos Hubert had apparently been so fond of spouting, it was likely that the murderer was someone who had also been party to the plot, and had killed their half brother to still his wagging tongue. If that was so, had Hubert been murdered soon enough, before he had revealed Godfroi and Ralph's names to any who would betray them?\n\nGodfroi felt cold sweat break out on his brow, from where it dripped and ran into his eyes, as he thought of what his fate would be if the king became aware of their treachery. That the proposed plot had come to nothing would matter little. John was not like his dead brother, King Richard. He did not have a forgiving nature, nor did he trust lightly. Godfroi swallowed the rest of his wine, then poured himself yet another cup. He must hope the de Tournay brothers' secret had died with Hubert and prayed, with all his heart, that his half brother's murderer would not be caught."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "To the north of the oak where Bascot waited with Fulcher, Alain and Renault were crowded close behind William Camville on the western side of the river. Sherwood was a vast forest, spreading over a good portion of Nottinghamshire, but its eastern edge splayed out like an inkblot, touching the banks of the Trent in more than one place, as it did in the area they were now in, where the forest abutted the river for a stretch of roughly two miles. Its writ was in the province of the sheriff of Nottingham but it was unlikely he would complain about their trespass for, not only was he a friend of Gerard's, he would also welcome the capture of any of the brigands that continually plagued his territory.\n\nThe small group led by the sheriff's brother also included Roget, Tostig and the young forester Eadric; the woodsmen having been ordered to accompany them so that they could help guide William's men through the forest. Tostig was mounted, with Eadric riding pillion behind him. Both men carried bows. They had all forded the river just moments before.\n\n\"We must try to work our way close to where the Templar is without signalling our presence to the outlaws,\" William said. \"We must catch them before they retreat into the forest. Our mounts will hamper us once we are amongst the trees and we will be sure targets for any arrows loosed from their cover. Are there any trails, Tostig, that we can use?\"\n\n\"None that I know of, my lord,\" Tostig answered.\n\nWilliam Camville shook his head in irritation and Renault, who had been studying the stretch of riverbank that wound to the south of where they stood, said, \"My lord, the river is shallow as it runs close to the bank on this side. Could we not walk our horses in the water for a space? It would cover any sound of our approach and would get us nearer to the Templar.\"\n\nWilliam considered this, then asked Tostig how far it was to the spot where Bascot was to take Fulcher.\n\n\"A little under half a league, my lord. But the river turns close to the place, and to the outlaws' advantage, for it curves eastwards. If we are in the water, we cannot get too near before we will be seen. And the river deepens at the bank not far from here. It would be treacherous for the horses.\"\n\nWilliam hunched forward to lean with both hands on the raised front of his saddle and gaze at the turbulent expanse of water. \"A good thought, Renault, but unfortunately one we cannot use. We must make our way through the forest and lead our mounts; otherwise, their passage will be heard long before we are seen.\"\n\n\"My lord Camville,\" Eadric spoke up hesitantly, \"I know the woods on this side a little better, perhaps, than Tostig, for I was in the employ of one of the king's agisters for Nottingham before I came to Lincoln.\"\n\nWilliam swung around to the young woodward. \"If you know something that may help us, speak up,\" he commanded.\n\nEadric's fair face flushed with embarrassment, but he answered the baron without hesitation. \"There is a path, lord, only a little way from where we stand. It is a deer track, but a well-used one. We would still have to lead the horses, but could make much better time than by a winding course through the trees.\"\n\n\"Good man,\" William said. \"That is the way we will go. And we will have to hurry. It will be dusk soon and I would lief have these outlaws secure in our hands before darkness falls. Lead on, Eadric.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Bascot gazed once more across the river at Gianni. The boy was still staring at him intently, his gaze locked to the place where Bascot stood. The Templar let his eye stay on the boy a moment and, as he did so, he saw Gianni raise his shoulders in a peculiar hunching motion, then let them drop. As Bascot watched, the boy did it again. The reeve's nephew, Edward, who still had hold of Gianni's arm, shook him for the movement, but the boy defiantly did it again, earning himself a cuff on the ear from his captor. Bascot saw Edward's lips move in what must have been an admonishment to stand still.\n\nGianni was trying to convey something, Bascot thought. Because the boy was mute, they had long conversed by means of hand or body signals, even after Bascot had taught Gianni to read and write. But this movement was one which he had not used for a long time, not since those early days when the Templar had first come across the boy. It had been an instinctive gesture, both as a measure to sum up courage and, at the same time, a tensing of the muscles to withstand any blow that may have been aimed at him. It had always presaged the lad's intention to run, to flee whatever threatening situation he found himself in. He had done it often in the first days of being in Bascot's company, and it had slowly lessened as the Templar had earned his trust. Afterwards, many weeks later, Bascot had teased him about it, especially when he had given the boy some task that was disagreeable, such as the painstaking job of polishing his mail with an abrasive mixture of sand and vinegar. It had been a long time since he had seen Gianni hunch his shoulders in that particular way, preparing for flight. But he was doing it now, trying to tell his master something. Bascot hoped he was interpreting it correctly.\n\nBascot hauled on the rope still attached to Fulcher and pulled the outlaw upright. \"Can you swim, poacher?\" he asked.\n\nThe brigand looked up in surprise and nodded.\n\n\"How well?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"My father was an eeler. I could swim before I could walk.\"\n\n\"And do you know this stretch of the river?\"\n\n\"As well as the palm of my own hand.\"\n\nBascot leaned down. \"I will give you your chance to take this Green Jack to hell with you, or to escape, if that is what you prefer.\" At the look of distrust that appeared on Fulcher's lacerated face, the Templar went on. \"I do not give a damn if you were responsible for the squire's death, nor do I care if you take deer that belong to the sheriff, the king, or even God. I care only to get back my servant, unharmed.\"\n\nUnder cover of his shield Bascot withdrew the short dagger he had at his belt and held it up. \"This is yours if you do as I say. I will put it in my boot and you may take it when the time is right. Betray me and you will find it in your throat.\"\n\nFulcher looked at the face above him, the leather eyepatch glistening with water, the one sighted eye so pale a blue it seemed transparent. Slowly the outlaw nodded in assent. \"For a chance to see Green Jack sent to his grave I would face the jaws of hell twice over.\"\n\nBascot straightened, a grim smile on his face. \"Then tell me the lie of the riverbed as it passes here.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "In the forest on the eastern bank of the Trent, Gerard Camville and his men waited. The sheriff was impatient; he had two of his archers stationed near the river's edge, staggered one behind the other, to relay to him what was passing at the spot where the Templar and Fulcher stood, but so far he had only been told of an exchange of words and the appearance of the boy and some of his captors on the far side of the water. Beside him, his son, Richard, felt his father's mood, but he knew his sire's temper. No matter how restless he seemed, he would wait until he gauged the moment right. It was one of Gerard Camville's greatest assets. The powerful coil of anger that seemed to be ever present in his personality was always in danger of erupting, and often did, but on the battlefield he controlled it, having an innate perception of timing and an almost eerie knowledge of the moment when an enemy was weakest.\n\nSuddenly one of the bowmen from the riverbank appeared silently through the trees and made his way to the sheriff's horse. \"My lord, the Templar is preparing to take the brigand across the water. He has lashed the outlaw's wrist to his saddlebow and is riding his horse down into the water.\"\n\n\"Hell's teeth,\" Camville swore under his breath. \"Once he is on the other side, we cannot reach him quickly. I told him to make them bring the boy to him.\"\n\n\"They would not, lord. I heard them refuse.\" The archer looked up, a slightly puzzled frown on his face. \"Lord, I think the Templar must have a plan.\"\n\n\"Why do you think so, man? For the sake of Christ, spit it out.\" Camville's face had flushed a dangerous red.\n\nThe archer remained unperturbed at the harsh words, used as he was to the sheriff's temper. \"Because he only made a pretense of tying the outlaw's wrist,\" he replied. \"I could see clearly. He wrapped it, made as if tying a knot, but did not do so. Fulcher can slide himself free at any time.\"\n\n\"The bastard,\" Camville swore. \"If he loses me my captive and does not recover the boy, I'll hang him instead, Templar or no.\"\n\n\"Easy, father,\" Richard counselled. \"De Marins is not a foolish man, nor a cowardly one. We must see what it is he means to do, then assist when it is needed.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" the sheriff agreed, somewhat reluctantly. \"We will wait, but not too long, and from a nearer perch than this.\" He urged the powerful stallion he rode nearer into the trees along the riverbank, and signalled Ernulf and the band of men-at-arms behind him to follow as quietly as they could. When the sheriff called a halt, they were near enough to the river for a quick charge to bring them through the trees and to the waterside in moments.\n\nThe other archer who had been watching at the river's edge came sliding back through the trees. \"My lord sheriff, the Templar is well out into the river now. Almost halfway across.\"\n\n\"Then let us pray to God that my brother is there to help him when he reaches the other side, for our horses would need to sprout wings to come to his aid.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The water was cold and writhed like a snake. Fulcher felt the shock of it, like red-hot iron on the welts and bruises on his body, as he slipped into the water at the Templar's side. He had felt the shudder that Bascot's mount had given and the need for its rider to urge the horse forward with a dig of spurs. On the other bank, the trio holding Gianni watched intently, the boy seeming to shrink as he reached his hands down between his knees and crouched, waiting. Other shapes were appearing in the trees behind them, along with the outlines of bows, held nocked and at the ready. Above, the sky was darkening, seeming to lour in elemental disapproval. The rain continued to fall.\n\n\"How much farther?\" Bascot asked Fulcher.\n\n\"Not yet. We must go just a few more paces.\" The outlaw had to pull himself up out of the water to make himself heard by the Templar. Once he had spoken, he dropped back down, easing his shoulders.\n\nThey were in the middle of the river now. The water was surging up around the chest of Bascot's horse, streaming alongside in waves, soaking Bascot to the thighs and cresting in Fulcher's face like the flap of a curtain. The brigand could feel the slip of the rope at his wrist, the Templar's boot and stirrup digging into his side, and the rough uneven bed of the river as his feet touched it lightly and bounced away, letting himself be carried forward by the horse's strength, not his own.\n\nBascot's horse suddenly stumbled, its hooves hitting the hard ridge of gravel that ran down the river just a little off the middle of its course. The grey lifted one foreleg, then the offside hind, as it prepared to scramble up the obstacle it could only feel, not see. At that moment, Fulcher pulled on the rope around his wrist, sliding it free, and said the one word, \"Now.\" Almost immediately he dove under the animal's belly, coming out on the other side. Bascot felt him grab at his stirrup, the hand snake up his boot and grasp the dagger, then Fulcher pushed away, sliding into the current and cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Bascot let out a shout, wheeled his horse in the water and drew his sword. The outlaws on the bank ran forward, shouting at each other and pointing to where Fulcher's dark head could be seen just above the surface of the water as he cleaved a path away from them.\n\nArrows erupted suddenly into the air as the bowmen in the forest shot their missiles, not at Bascot, but at their supposed comrade. Bascot knew then that Fulcher had told him the truth. Frantically, he twisted his head, looking for Gianni. The boy was still there beside Edward but even as Bascot spied him, the lad, with a quick movement, bit the arm of his captor so that the reeve's nephew let out a yell and released him. Then Gianni shrugged, gathered his legs under him and ran, straight for the river. Bascot spurred his horse forward, towards the boy. The grey slipped at first, confused, then pushed with all its strength as his hind legs gained the top of the gravel ridge. Bascot guided him along it as Gianni, running like a deer, reached the bank and jumped as far as he could, legs flailing wildly to give him more distance. He landed with a splash in the water only a few yards from Bascot and, with one bound, the grey leaped forward and the Templar scooped the boy up from the roiling river, dragging him across the front of his saddle.\n\nOn the western bank all was confusion. The outlaw archers turned to aim their arrows at Bascot, and the Templar swung Gianni up behind him and pushed his shield over his shoulder so that the boy could huddle underneath its protection. He could feel the lad's hands clutching at the back of his surcoat, holding on like a leech. Then a shout of warning sounded from the woods behind the archers and from the screen of trees, William Camville burst, his two squires and Roget close behind, swords in hand. The terrified bowmen scattered towards the water but, from the eastern bank of the Trent, the sheriff now appeared, his mount at full gallop and a deadly mace swinging from his hand. The castle men-at-arms were fanned out on either side of him, short swords at the ready.\n\nThe battle was of brief duration. Apart from their bows, most of the outlaws had little in the way of weaponry\u2014a few cudgels, some rusty knives, the crude blades of scythes. Some half dozen of the outlaw band were killed outright and almost twice that number captured. Only one of the sheriff's force sustained an injury; a man-at-arms had his wrist bone broken as one of the outlaws, more desperate than the rest, tried to wrest the soldier from his horse. The outlaw had died from a sword slash delivered by Richard Camville, the blow almost cleaving the man's torso from the lower part of his body.\n\nThe sheriff was well pleased with the outcome of the foray, although he showed some disappointment at the loss of Fulcher. \"Still, de Marins, I agreed to exchange him for your servant and that is what we have done. These other miscreants will pay the price for his escape. And I will ensure that they pay dearly, not only for his loss but for that of my deer.\"\n\nIt was full dark by the time they reached the gates of Lincoln castle, with the captured outlaws, bound at the hands and to each other, stumbling between the men-at-arms guarding them on either side. Gerard and William Camville, along with Richard and the two squires, rode at the head of the procession, the sheriff for once in a jocular mood, while Roget and Ernulf passed a wineskin back and forth and exchanged jokes with the men of the garrison. More somber were the foresters, Tostig and Eadric. Bascot wondered if this was because they had not been able to capture Green Jack or whether it was because Fulcher, a poacher on the territory in their care, had escaped.\n\nBut the Templar gave the foresters, the outlaw leader and Fulcher no more than a passing thought. At his back Gianni was fast asleep, wrapped in one of the soldier's cloaks and with the cap that Ernulf had given him\u2014rescued from the head of one of the captured outlaws\u2014fastened securely on his head. To feel the boy's chest rise and fall in the soft rhythm of sleep and to know that he was safe, that was enough."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "Fulcher struggled against the river's tow after he pulled away from the Templar's horse. Staying underwater, and close to the bank, he had surfaced only briefly to snatch a mouthful of air when it became necessary. The arrows loosed by the outlaws fell thick around him at first, pushing through the water near his head, shoulders and legs, finally losing their impetus as the current swept them away. When he judged it safe he let himself drift into a stand of osiers and, under their screen, came to a halt and cautiously put his head above the water and looked back. In the distance he could hear the sounds of fighting, like a buzzing of hornets, above the roar of the river but no one, neither soldier nor outlaw, came in pursuit of him.\n\nEasing back into the river he swam, with the powerful strokes that seemed more natural to him than walking. He would put a good distance between himself and the warring factions downstream before coming out from under the protective blanket of the river. As he cleaved through the water, the sting of the contusions on his body eased, the deep ache of his bruises started to abate and he began to feel the life of the river around him; otters at play as they fed, trout darting between his legs, a heron prompted into hasty flight, startled by his sudden appearance. Clumps of reeds swept by on the periphery of his vision, then a willow with branches low from the heavy rain alongside clumpy fronds of sedge grass. How he had loved the river when he had, as a child, accompanied his father and uncle as they had gone out, in the early part of the evenings, to set snares for the eels that provided their livelihood. He had loved it all, even weaving osiers to make traps or, in winter, fashioning nets from hemp that his mother had made from nettles gathered in the summer and then pulped and spun, just like wool. He had proved himself even better than his kinfolk at discovering the secret places where the snake-like fish loved to gather, especially in winter when, with only instinct to guide him, he would creep quietly into the mud and unerringly find their nests.\n\nHis family had been poor, but he had never lacked a full belly\u2014most often eel stew thickened with barley\u2014or wished for a home within the protective walls of a nearby village. Their shack on the water's edge was always damp, but it had been clean and they had been free of a lord's demands, for his father's family had long before been granted their plot of ground on the riverbank and held their status as free men. He had been happy then and had expected to continue so. And perhaps he would have, except for his sister, a young girl who, although barely nubile, was possessed of a shape that belonged to a girl of far older years but had retained the mind of a child.\n\nHis mother had tried to keep her daughter by her side, but often the girl would wander off to pick the wild flowers that grew in the grass alongside the riverbank or to sit in a shallow pool, unaware of the wetness of her clothing, as she laughed with glee at the little fish come to nibble her toes. She had been doing just that on the day a lone man-at-arms from the garrison at nearby York castle had ridden past the spot where she was sitting. Fulcher knew she would have felt no fear of the man as he approached her, for she had never been treated with other than kindness by her kin or the villagers. No inkling of the dangerous lust her ripe breasts and shapely bare legs could incite in the stranger would have occurred to her.\n\nFulcher had been on his own with her that day, his mother gone to trade eels for flour from the miller on the far side of the village. So engrossed had he been in making himself a new belt fashioned from dried eel skins that he had not paid enough attention to his sister, and had not noticed when she strayed from the spot where he had left her playing with shiny stones collected from the riverbed.\n\nIt had been her screams that had alerted him to her absence and he had leaped up, fear pounding in his throat as he dropped the belt and ran towards the noise. The pool where she was wont to sit was not far from their hut, in the shade of a stand of elder and oak, and it was from that direction that her howls of terror were coming. As he ran, Fulcher could hear the harsh threatening tones of a man's voice mingled with his sister's, then suddenly her shrieks had stilled, and when he came to the place where she had been sitting he saw her body sprawled half in, half out of the water, her head with its long fair tresses lolling on a tuft of grass, and her legs splayed wide apart. The water beneath her buttocks was tinged pink and he could see her maiden blood smeared on her thighs. Beside her stood the soldier, still pulling up his hose, looking down at her with disgust on his face. The man spun around when he heard the sound of Fulcher's approach, his hand going to the dagger at his belt, but he was not fast enough to stop the boy's wild rush.\n\nFulcher never knew afterwards where he found the strength to kill the man-at-arms. He had been only fifteen, albeit tall and with shoulders well muscled from constant swimming. But the soldier had been a man in his prime, hardened from practice with sword and lance, and should not have needed to expend much effort to defend himself against a lad with little experience of fighting apart from friendly brawls with village boys his own age. It must have been that Fulcher's headlong charge at the soldier had taken him by surprise, for the man-at-arms fell backwards into the shallow water and had no time to recover before Fulcher fell on top of him and was smashing at his face with a large stone picked up from the bottom of the pool. On and on Fulcher had pounded, aiming below the protection of the leather cap the man wore strapped to his head, crushing nose and cheekbone until the face was no more than a bloody pulp and the water around the two struggling figures streamed with gore.\n\nWhether one of the blows killed him, or if the soldier drowned in his own blood, Fulcher did not know, but suddenly he had become aware that the man was dead. Only then had he turned to see to his sister. She still lay as she had when he had first come upon them, sprawled as though in careless sleep, but with eyes wide open and sightless. Gently Fulcher had picked her up and cradled her in his arms, but the unnatural tilt of her head to one side told him that her neck was broken. He had carried her back to his family's one-room shanty and had sat, cradling her in his arms, until his mother returned.\n\nAfter that, events passed in a blur. His mother had gone to fetch his father and her brother from where they had been setting out traps for that night's catch. Haltingly, through his tears, Fulcher told them what had happened. His mother had hastily packed a small sack with some hard bread, a few onions and some eels pickled in their own brine in a little mud-and-clay jar. She had added a small stopped pottle of ale before his father and uncle had hurried him from the shack to where a small coracle, one of the two boats they owned, was fastened to a stake in the riverbank.\n\n\"You must run, son, and hide. Once the soldier's body is found there'll be a hue and cry for him who did it. For all the whoreson's evil act was deserving of death, his lord will still hang you for killing one of his men. Go far and go fast. And may God protect you.\"\n\nFulcher had never forgotten the last look he had of his family. His father, tears creasing the deep folds of his face as he spoke; his uncle pressing the knife he had always prized into his nephew's hand before clasping him with rough tenderness about the shoulders; his mother, face white with strain, wrapping him in her arms and murmuring a prayer as she kissed his cheek. Still dazed with shock, he had done as they instructed and lowered himself into the little boat. Only once had he looked back as he worked the paddle that skittered the tiny craft over the water. The remnants of his family had stood as though in a tableau like those painted on the walls of the village church, frozen stark against the sun-washed blue of the sky and the green trees of the forest at their back. It was the last time he was to see them, or they him.\n\nAlthough that had been many years ago, Fulcher had always kept them in his mind's eye and in his heart, through the days that followed when he had been fearful of capture and during the months afterwards as he had foraged for food and shelter. He had kept clear of towns, working when he could for cottars glad to exchange a bowl of food for a helping hand, stealing when there was no employment to be had. Even through one terrible snowbound winter when he had been forced to poach the king's deer to stay alive, he had never forgotten his family.\n\nMany years had passed before he had finally come to Sherwood and had crossed the path of Green Jack. In all that time he had never slain another man. He had promised the Templar that he would kill Jack if he had the chance. Would he? The sounds of fighting behind him after he had swum away from the Templar's horse did not bode well for Jack's band of outlaws, or for their leader if he had been captured. The sheriff was not a man known for his clemency. It could be that Camville had taken Fulcher's revenge for him, or perhaps the Templar had, especially if his young servant had been harmed.\n\nFulcher knew that his best course would be to continue his flight southward, follow the Trent's course and put as much territory between himself and Lincoln as he could, past Nottingham perhaps, south to a part of England he had never been before. He had only to lay up somewhere and get himself dry, beg or steal some clothing that was warmer than the rags he had on, and then keep going. But if he did, he knew that the memory of Green Jack would follow him, haunt him; that if he did not find out whether his old adversary had escaped or been captured and hanged, he would never rest. Whatever patch of the greenwood in whatever part of England he stepped into, he would be looking for Jack behind every tree trunk, in every dark copse in the midst of winter. No, he had to go back, back to the camp and see if he could find out what had happened. If he came upon a victorious Jack with the Templar in his clutches, Fulcher would challenge him, and in doing so, probably die. But if Jack's plan had not worked, if he had been taken, then he could safely leave the fate of the treacherous outlaw leader to the sheriff. Either way, Fulcher would be satisfied that their old score was settled."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "Green Jack was sitting snug under the all-embracing arms of an oak tree a good few miles from where the rout of his plan had taken place when Camville's soldiers had attacked. He had stayed in his perch high above the riverbank only long enough to watch as first Fulcher had escaped from the Templar, and then that damned mute servant had freed himself and leaped into the river. As soon as the men of the castle garrison had erupted from the forest on both sides of the river, Jack had made his escape, and quickly, calling to the two men he had kept by him to follow.\n\nThey had not made their way back to the camp where the women and children of the band were waiting for their return. If any of the men that had been captured had let loose their tongues, that would be the first place the sheriff would look for him. No, Jack had never been known as a stupid man, and he was not going to spoil that reputation now. The women would have to look after themselves, or starve. He had given them no more than a passing thought before he and his two cohorts had gone south, towards Nottingham. He led them to a billet he had made safe from all eyes but his own, a snug little glade in the middle of a thick ring of trees and a hedge of bramble, penetration of which was impossible unless you knew the secret of a narrow opening at the base of the prickly growth, and Jack had made sure he was the only one who did by covering it cunningly with vines very much like the ones he wore twisted about his person.\n\nNow he was forced to share this secret with the two outlaws who had accompanied him. They were both men who had been with him a long time, good bowmen who would be loyal as long as he kept them free of the sheriff's clutches and provided them with a hefty share of the rich pickings gleaned from robbing any travellers they came across.\n\nFor now, he sat alone, having sent his men off to forage for game. He needed time to think. They would have to stay hidden for a while, he ruminated, and, as he thought of the problems that faced him, the scene on the riverbank once more played through his mind. Damn the Templar! And damn Fulcher! He had known the risk involved in pretending to exchange the Templar's brat of a servant for the outlaw, but the lure of having one of the hated monks and his old adversary both within his grasp had been too powerful. And it would have worked, should have worked, if Fulcher hadn't made his successful grab for freedom. Jack had known the sheriff's men would be waiting within the screen of bushes; what he hadn't bargained for was that they would also be on the Sherwood side of the river. A mistake in his own judgement, he had to admit, but he had gambled that Camville's foresters would not know of the one and only track that led to where his men lay in wait. But even so, if Fulcher had not broken free when he did, there might still have been time to take the Templar\u2026.\n\nJack let his heart fill with the deep anger he had felt the first time he had laid eyes on Fulcher. He was of a type, was the eeler, one of a sanctimonious breed reminiscent of the Templar monks. Always bleating about feeding the women and children first, wanting to share whatever meagre pickings there were with the others, as if he were God and Jesus all rolled into one. Jack had known he was a threat to his leadership right from the moment they met and he had not been wrong. Only two days in Jack's camp and Fulcher was objecting to the order Jack had given for one of the women to be flogged because she had taken a knife to a bowman who had been trying to bed her. Cut the man's arm, she had, plunged it right into the muscle of his bicep. He would not be able to pull a bow until it was healed. Her punishment had been justified. Did she have the ability to take the bowman's place until he was fit again? No, but she would most likely be one of the first to complain when there was less food to be shared for lack of his skill. But Fulcher had not seen it that way, and he and Jack had argued, an argument that had culminated in a fight with Jack getting the worst of it before his men had pulled Fulcher off. Later that day Fulcher had left the camp, taking Berdo, Talli and their womenfolk with him. Jack knew then that he would have to get rid of Fulcher. He had seen the admiration in the eyes of some of his own men for Fulcher's strength, and for his open disdain of Jack's leadership. And by ordering some of his more trusted men to keep the little renegade band from food, he had nearly managed to destroy the danger that Fulcher represented. When Fulcher had been taken into custody, with Copley's connivance, by Camville's men-at-arms, how Jack had rejoiced to know that Fulcher was in the clutches of the sheriff. And that would have been the end of it, with Fulcher dangling from the end of a rope, had Edward not come carrying the Templar's servant. The temptation to have Fulcher at his mercy, to humiliate him and see his arrogance humbled had been too great to resist. And his indulgence had been his undoing.\n\nFor a moment Jack almost let self-pity engulf him, the feeling that fate had once again played him false, mischievously letting the double prize come so close to being in his grasp before snatching it away, but he shook his head and forced himself to control his despair. For now, he was safe, as was his cache of silver. He had built up a band before; he would do it again. Time enough when the winter was over. Until then he and his two men would be snug enough here. Yes, when spring came, all would be well once more.\n\nHis thoughts were interrupted by the return of his companions. Later Jack realised that he should have known something was amiss by the way they came in almost silently, with not a word of greeting or a look at each other. But, at the time, his thoughts were elsewhere and only the game they had brought in\u2014two small hares, a hedgehog and a badger\u2014caught his notice briefly. Nor did he pay much attention when they started a small fire and damped it down with turf after burying the game, wrapped in leaves, beneath the flames. It wasn't until the food was done, barely cooked but edible, that he observed there was something shifty about the way his two cohorts were eyeing him across the fire.\n\n\"What's up?\" he asked, his hand straying stealthily to the dagger at his belt.\n\n\"Nothin', Jack,\" replied Warin, the older of the two, a tall thickset man with a nose that had been slit for stealing. \"We were just wondering what you reckon on doin' now.\"\n\n\"What need is there to do anything?\" Jack responded. \"We're safe enough here and there'll be plenty of game in the woods to do us through the winter. What do we lack with food in our bellies and a dry spot to lay our heads?\"\n\n\"There are other bands in Sherwood,\" put in the other bowman eagerly, a youngster named Geraint, who had escaped into Sherwood when the hue and cry had been set after him in Nottingham after he had killed a man in a drunken brawl. \"In the southwest; we could join one of them. Short Shank's maybe. He's always looking for men that are good with a bow.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Jack. \"That's because he can't pull one himself.\"\n\nThe jest did not produce a smile on the faces of the two men. They looked first at each other, then at him. Finally Warin said, \"We're not of a mind to stay here, Jack, not all winter long. Aye, it's snug enough, but there's no ale, and there's no women.\" He shrugged his broad shoulders. \"For a week or two, maybe, but not for the long months 'til spring. We've decided, Geraint and me, that we'll head south. Join another band, or forage on our own, if need be. We'll not spend the winter pent up in here like monks in their cubbyholes.\"\n\nJack stood up. \"Well, you'd best go then. I'll not deny I'd expected more loyalty from you, but ale and women are as powerful a lure as any to a man. I wish you good fortune.\"\n\nStill the two men stood there and the tenseness in their stance made the hackles rise on the back of Jack's neck. His hand found his dagger and he pulled it free, but his movement was not quick enough. Both Geraint and Warin had arrows nocked to their bows, the barbed tips pointing at his chest.\n\n\"We've no wish to harm you, Jack,\" Warin said, \"but we'll need a little silver to pay our way until we've earned some of our own. Ale does not come cheap even if women do, and I doubt whether Short Shanks will provide us with either unless he sees we have something to share that will prove our good faith.\" He motioned with his head and Geraint moved a little to one side. \"Now, we knows that you has silver here, for you would not have left it behind at our old camp if you had stowed it there, so here it must be. And we wants it.\"\n\n\"What makes you think I have any silver at all?\" Jack asked, trying not to sound intimidated. \"The pickings have been lean these last months.\"\n\nWarin laughed, a dry hacking sound. \"If you hasn't any, then that's your misfortune, for if you come up with nowt, then I reckon as how we'll have to kill you. All we're asking of you is what we ask of any we rob\u2014pay up or give us your life. Now that's fair, ain't it, Jack?\"\n\nAs Geraint took another step, Jack took his chance and threw his knife at Warin, diving to one side as he did so. As he rolled he snatched at a thick length of tree branch, hearing an arrow thud into the log on which he had been sitting moments before. Straightening, he saw that Warin had fallen face-first across the fire and Geraint, white with fear, was in the act of fitting another arrow to his bow. Jack swung the branch, loosing it as it reached the apex of its arc and it slammed into Geraint's left arm, knocking him backwards into a stumble so that his arrow misfired and flew low, piercing the meaty part of Jack's thigh. Ignoring the pain, Jack was on the bowman in a trice, knocking him to the ground and pushing the tree branch across the young man's neck. It took only a few moments' struggle before he ceased to move, his windpipe crushed.\n\nAs quickly as he could, Jack rolled, cursing the stab of pain that shot up into his groin as he did so, to see if Warin had recovered. It was with a sigh of relief that Jack realised the older archer had not moved. Already an acrid stink was beginning to fill the air from the scorching of his flesh and clothes. Jack pushed him off the burning embers and turned him over. The dagger had taken him clean in the heart. He was as dead as Geraint."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "When Fulcher pulled himself from the riverbank he travelled quickly and quietly back to the place where Green Jack had been making his camp on the day that Fulcher and the others had left the band, praying it had not been moved in the interim. It was full dark now and the wet rags he wore clung to him like freezing fingers of river weed, bringing shivers to his body whenever he paused to catch his breath and bearings. He kept the Templar's dagger in his hand, wary not only of being discovered by Jack's men, but of wolves. Once or twice he glimpsed a shadowy shape moving amongst the trees, but they drifted away at his approach, proving to be only small animals as fearful as himself. Above him a nearly full moon shone a silver light through the bare branches of the trees, showing him the path he sought clear like a snail's track through the forest. The rain had ceased but it had grown colder, and there would be frost before morning. He hoped he was either warm or dead by then. He might be both, perhaps. The teachings of the church warned that the flames of hell were as hot as the heart of the sun.\n\nWhen he came to the dell where the camp had been situated, he took care not to let his presence be known until, by peering through the surrounding foliage, he could see a few people were still gathered there. Only women and children seemed to be huddled in the small glow of a dying fire, but then he noticed that on the periphery of the dim circle of light were two of the younger men of the band, sitting hunched over on the ground and staring into the dark. All looked forlorn and miserable, and there was no sign of Jack or any of his bowmen.\n\nFulcher straightened and walked into the enclosure. At the noise of his approach, a few of the women started up in fear, clutching their children to them, while the two men bolted upright, one clutching a stout wooden club in one hand while the other brandished a piece of rusted iron that had once protected the wheel of a cart.\n\n\"Peace,\" Fulcher said as he went up to them, mindful of their nervous glances at the dagger in his hand and of the fear on the faces of the two boys, as well as the countenances of the women.\n\n\"We didn't know the bowmen were going to shoot at you, Fulcher,\" one of the young men blurted out, the one with the old shard of wheel rim clutched in his fist. \"Jack only told us we was to lure the Templar to our side of the river and then we'd get to hold him for ransom as well as loose you from Sheriff Camville. 'Twould be a double victory, he said, with plenty of silver paid as ransom for the Templar. I swear, he never said aught of playing you false\u2026.\"\n\n\"He's telling the truth, Fulcher, 'though I don't suppose you'll believe me,\" one of the women interjected. She had most likely once been very pretty, but now weeping sores covered her face and neck, and her hair, a matted tangle of grime, hung lank around her shoulders. \"Jack told us just what Will said\u2014the women and those of the lads who weren't one of his trusted bowmen, that is. Said it would be a great victory over the sheriff to get you out of his clutches and hold the Templar for ransom besides. Black-hearted liar that he is, we believed him. Even cheered him for being so bold on behalf of you, an old enemy. Well, do to us what you will, Fulcher. Our men are gone, all except for Will and young Thomas here. There's no one to hunt, or keep us safe. We've naught to face but starvation or being eaten by wolves. If you've a mind to kill us, at least it'll be a quick death.\"\n\nSome of the children started crying at her words, burying their faces in their mothers' bosoms. Fulcher hunkered down by the fire, laying his knife between his feet. \"I've no mind to hurt any of you,\" he said. \"Tell me what happened at the riverbank. Were all the men taken by the sheriff? Where is Green Jack?\" As he spoke he reached out to the warmth of the fire, holding his hands in plain sight.\n\nReassured by his manner, a babble of voices broke out as they explained what had happened, how the sheriff and his soldiers had burst from the wood and captured or killed most of the men, and how the Templar had retrieved his servant and got away.\n\n\"Me and Thomas only escaped because we were at the back, hidden in the bushes,\" Will said. \"When the horsemen rode out from the north, on our side of the river, they had swords and maces. Dropped our men like they was a rack of skittles at a village fair.\" He looked down, shamefaced. \"We ran. I had only this\"\u2014he lifted up the club, which he had laid across his knees\u2014\"and Thomas's weapon was not much better. We just ran and kept going until we couldn't hear the fighting anymore. Then we made our way back here.\"\n\n\"And Jack? Do you know if he was taken with the others?\" Fulcher asked.\n\nAnother woman spoke. Heavily pregnant, she was sitting on the ground near the fire, an old rag drawn around her head and shoulders for a shawl. Her eyes were dull, uncaring. Fulcher remembered that she had once been Jack's doxy. \"Not him,\" she said. \"Not Green Jack. Never even came near the fight, just stayed back and let the others carry out the devil's plan he had made.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\" Fulcher asked, nodding with thanks as one of the other women passed him a rough wooden mug filled with watered ale heated over the fire. Talli's sister, he noted; Talli and Berdo must have been among those taken by the sheriff.\n\n\"Followed him, didn't we?\" Now it was the first woman who had spoken that piped up. \"Well, I did, anyway. Mary, here, she couldn't keep up, what with her belly being so big.\"\n\n\"Followed him to where?\"\n\n\"When all the men left, with the boy, to where they was to meet the Templar, I saw Jack go off in a different direction, with Warin and Geraint. I heard him tell the others that he would meet them in a little while, that he was going to make sure the sheriff's men had not got onto our side of the river.\"\n\nShe stopped and picked at one of the sores on her chin, then continued, \"Me and Mary thought it was strange, for he went upstream, not down, and there's no ford there for the soldiers to cross, not without making a commotion. So we went after them. I saw Jack climb up into a tree, high, the way he does, and thought at first that maybe he was doing what he said and could see better from up there. But he didn't come down. And Warin and Geraint waited at the bottom. Never stirred towards where the other men were.\"\n\n\"Then the noise of fighting at the riverbank started.\" Mary took up the tale, her voice still listless. \"I was scared, but I waited until Leila came back, and then we ran here as fast as we could. Then Will and Thomas turned up.\" She nodded in the boys' direction. \"We all just stayed here. We didn't know what else to do. We couldn't run, not with the children. Besides, where would we go? We thought that if the soldiers came and found us, it'd be no worse a fate than being a meal for the wolves.\"\n\n\"So you don't know where Jack is?\" Fulcher asked, his anger at the outlaw leader beginning to burn bright again.\n\n\"Only that he probably made his way south,\" Leila said. \"Wouldn't go north, would he? Sherwood's trees peter out a few leagues that way and he'd be in open country. He likes to be deep in the greenwood, does Jack.\"\n\n\"In the morning, will you show me the tree that he climbed?\" Fulcher asked Leila.\n\nShe nodded, puzzlement on her face. \"I will, but I doubt you'll track him. He's too canny, and too much of a coward, to be caught.\"\n\n\"That's exactly what I'm hoping he'll think, Leila,\" Fulcher replied."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "The next morning, Nicolaa was up long before dawn, working. In front of her lay neat piles of parchment containing lists of stores, tallies of candles and bed linen, countings of cups and tableware. All of these she was checking and rechecking. This was her forte; here she knew her work and knew it well. All was prepared for the king's visit and for his meeting with William of Scotland. In and out of her room the castle staff came and went\u2014steward, wardrobe keeper, butler, laundress\u2014from the highest servant to the lowest, as she heard from each the progress of their duties. Every one of her servants knew they would feel her displeasure if they were lax. Unlike Gerard, Nicolaa's disapproval was icy and spare of words, but final. If any were indolent, or lied, never again would they have a place in her retinue, nor a good word said for them in Lincoln town.\n\nIn a separate pile of parchment lay the messages she had received from King John. Alongside it was notification from the abbot at Torksey of the Scottish monarch's safe arrival, which included a separate list of the names of the lords in his retinue and the number of his retainers. There was also a letter from the Templar preceptor in London, telling her that Bishop Hugh was in extremis and was not expected to retain his life for as long as it would take the letter to reach her. In a corner behind her, at a small lectern, one of her clerks was penning a fair copy of the replies she was sending to both men. The guard on the gate tower had been instructed that she was to be informed immediately the king's entourage was sighted on the approach to Lincoln, and she had runners waiting on the road from Nottingham to let her know of John's progress from that city. She could find nothing she had forgotten. All was in readiness, yet still a throbbing kept on at her temples, like a small drum, banging as though to draw her attention to some detail she had forgotten. She thought she knew what it was, this nagging warning of dereliction, yet it was something that all her care and efficiency could not remedy. It was the unresolved matter of the squire's death.\n\nHow soon would some courtier, looking for advancement, or to displace her and her family from favour, whisper in John's ear of the rumour that surrounded Hubert's hanging? She had known John since he was just a child, with herself only a few span of years older. She knew how suspicious he was, how he saw devils in every corner, treachery in a glance or a carelessly spoken word. And she had seen him take his revenge, not boldly like his brother Richard, or with measured justice like his father, but with a sly quietness, feigning naivety and friendship, then thrusting retribution when it was least expected. For all that John valued her, and she him, he would strike without compunction at Gerard or, heaven forfend, her son.\n\nShe wished desperately that there was some way she could quash this rumour about Hubert, but without proof of the identity of his murderer, and the reason for it, gossip would run rampant. Blaming outlaws would be seen by John for the lame excuse it was and dismissed. As would the possibility that the villagers had killed him for attempting to defile one of their womenfolk. She shook her head to clear it. Ruminating thus would bring no profit and would only encourage the ache in her head to strengthen.\n\nShe had been meaning to look into the matter that Ernulf had mentioned to her about Copley. She had already had her clerk bring the relevant documents to her chamber and had asked her bailiff to speak to the regarder for the area, a local knight whose task it was to inspect the royal forest for infringements. The bailiff had reported his findings to her steward that morning. Now, she called to her clerk to bring the letters he had completed along with all the other papers, and to light another candle. Hard work had always given her comfort in times of trial. It was a medication she would apply now."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "In Ernulf's chamber in the barracks bascot and Gianni were breaking their fast. Both master and servant had missed the morning service of Mass, Bascot deciding that the boy needed sleep more than anything else after his ordeal and, reluctant to leave the lad's side, he had said his own prayers, including one of fervent thanksgiving for the boy's safe recovery, while quietly kneeling by his pallet. When Gianni had awoken, Bascot had given him a few strips of salted beef left in the chamber from the day before, along with some ale to wash it down. For himself, Bascot made do with coarse bread and a piece of goat's cheese from Ernulf's private store.\n\n\"Are you recovered enough now, Gianni, to tell me why you were out in the forest on your own?\" Bascot asked, trying to sound stern. He knew he should berate the lad, but having so recently come near to losing him, he could not find it in his heart to be angry.\n\nGianni looked down, his jaws almost ceasing their avid chewing of the meat. \"I know you must have had a good reason for leaving the castle without telling anyone where you were going,\" Bascot continued, \"but I still must know what it was.\"\n\nGianni looked up at his master, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. With a sigh he reached for the small casket that contained the writing materials on which he practiced his letters. Slowly, and with great care, he wrote a few lines, then gave the scrap of parchment to the Templar to read.\n\nJust as dawn announced itself by a slight lightening in the heavy sky, Godfroi de Tournay was spurring his mount towards Nottingham. He had spent a sleepless night tossing his worries about Hubert's death to and fro, and had come to no resolution. Finally he had decided that he could not, would not, wait for the accusation of treason to be levelled at his family. He would go to see King John, not to confess, but rather to express his outrage at the rumour that was being bruited abroad. For the moment, he had the king's favour; if he could couch his anger in convincing enough tones he was sure John would believe him. To wait for another to level the allegation would be folly; far better to bring it out into the open himself, and pray the king did not see through his ruse. He wished he had time to find his brother and consult with him, but he did not. Ralph had been away from home inspecting a property many miles away that included buildings in dire need of repair when he and Richard had gone to Boston. It was unlikely he had yet returned. By the time he found Ralph, the king would be in Lincoln and the de Tournay cause lost. He would have to act as he thought best and hope that God would show him mercy and, at the same time, protect him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "In the ward of Lincoln Castle, William Camville and Richard de Humez stood beside the sheriff and watched the shuffling row of outlaws, the reeve's nephew amongst them, being shepherded towards the south wall of the castle by Ernulf and a contingent of his men-at-arms. At Gerard's feet two of the castle dogs, large boarhounds, sat alertly watching the prisoners. They resembled their master, broad of chest and heavy of jaw, and looked up at him from time to time as though waiting for his command to attack.\n\n\"Stretch their necks on long ropes, Ernulf, so they dangle well over the battlements,\" Gerard commanded. \"I would have their bodies in plain view of the king when he arrives. He will then know that I keep the peace in Lincoln and keep it well.\"\n\n\"Are you sure this is wise, Gerard?\" William asked. \"Would it not be better to wring a confession to Hubert's murder out of one of them before they are despatched? You still need an answer for the boy's death to give to the king, as it is certain he will ask for one.\"\n\nDe Humez shuffled restlessly as William waited for his brother's answer. This matter of the squire's murder and Nicolaa's questioning of his own culpability was making him uneasy.\n\n\"If I did that, William,\" the sheriff said to his brother, \"it would seem I had need to find a scapegoat, one that was conveniently dead.\"\n\n\"There is another side to that argument,\" William declared. \"It might be said that one of these men was paid by you to kill the boy and, by hanging him so summarily, you sought to guarantee his silence.\"\n\nGerard turned and glowered at his brother. \"Whatever is said will be said. I am tired of plots and manoeuvres to gain royal favour, or to dispel distrust. I am sheriff. These men are outlaws. It is my duty to hang them, and hang them I will.\"\n\nWilliam knew better than to push his brother further. He stood silently by as, one after another, the brigands had a noose placed around their necks and were thrown over the castle wall."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "As the church bells rang out the hour of Tierce, Melisande Fleming was giving her daughter a thrashing. The girl whimpered as the thin rod struck her back and buttocks, but she did not cry out.\n\n\"You will tell me why you were at the castle yesterday. And you will tell me who you went there to meet.\"\n\nStill the girl remained silent and Melisande signalled to the two female servants holding her daughter to stretch her out farther. Again the rod fell, this time catching her shoulder and biting through the thin material of the only garment she wore, a shift of fine linen.\n\n\"Joanna,\" her mother said, her bosom heaving from her efforts, \"I will beat you senseless if I have to, you know that. Tell me his name.\"\n\nThe girl lifted her head from where it had drooped between her shoulders. \"Then beat me senseless you will have to, Mother. Or kill me, I care not. For I will not tell you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "Just a little before sext, under a lowering sky, Bascot and Gianni were approaching the village where Edward's uncle was reeve. The gateward, a small skinny youngster with a pimple-scarred face, gave them admittance. Inside the enclave all was still, and the sound of women sobbing could be clearly heard. No one came to greet the Templar and Bascot sent a boy who was tending a flock of geese to fetch Father Samson. When the old man came up the path from the church his steps were slow, and his face wet with tears.\n\n\"Greetings, Sir Bascot,\" he said unsteadily. \"You must excuse myself and the villagers if we seem discourteous today. We have been told of Edward and his involvement with the outlaws, and that he is being punished for his crimes at this very hour. His family is sorely grieved. None of us had any knowledge that he was party to such deviltry.\"\n\n\"You may not have been privy to it, Father, but his family surely was.\"\n\nThe old man lifted his rheumy eyes to Bascot. \"Oh no, my lord. They were not. Of that I am certain.\"\n\nBascot got down from his horse and went up to the elderly priest. \"Father, your duty to God binds you to see the good in men. Yet where there is good, there can also be evil. Believe me when I say that Edward was not the only man of this village to consort with the outlaws, even if the others did so unwillingly. I will have the truth from them, and if I do not, I will let the sheriff extract it by force.\"\n\nSamson's mouth fell open at Bascot's words, then he clamped it shut along with his eyes and mumbled a prayer under his breath, fingering the plain wooden cross that hung from a leather thong around his neck. \"May God forgive them if you speak true, Sir Bascot. And me also, for I have failed in my duty as shepherd of this small flock.\"\n\n\"Bring all the men into the church, Father, and the milkmaid, Bettina,\" Bascot said kindly to the distressed priest. \"And there you and I will together hope that your errant parishioners will finally give truthful answers to my questions.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "Late that night, Ernulf, Roget and Bascot were sitting in Ernulf's quarters in the barracks, sharing a jug of wine and the warmth of a glowing brazier. At intervals, as they replenished their cups, Ernulf took a short poker from where it rested amidst the red-hot embers of the brazier and plunged its tip into the wine. The sizzling sound and smell enhanced the taste.\n\nOutside it was cold, with an icy rain falling that was mixed with snow. In a corner Gianni sat, alongside another, smaller, brazier, wrapped in an old blanket and with Ernulf's cap pulled firmly down around his ears. He was dozing lightly.\n\nBascot regarded him with affection and felt a renewal of the relief he had felt when he had hauled the boy up onto his horse in the middle of the river. He was now reluctant to let the lad out of his sight, even if it was only to a pallet outside Ernulf's chamber in the larger common room of the barracks.\n\n\"So, mon ami,\" Roget said, the brass rings that were threaded through his beard throwing off sparks of light as the movement of his lips set them dancing, \"are you going to tell us what you have discovered?\"\n\n\"It was what Gianni discovered, really, Roget,\" Bascot replied. \"If he had come to me about what he had overheard in the hall instead of trying to play the hero himself, we would have been spared our trudge through the forest to rescue him.\"\n\n\"True,\" the former mercenary replied, \"but then we would not have captured all those brigands, my friend. That alone made the effort worthwhile. Although,\" he added, with a glance towards the sleeping figure of Gianni, \"I would as lief the boy had not been put into such danger.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" Ernulf agreed, refilling his cup, then raising it to the captain. \"This is a good vintage, Roget,\" he said. \"I thank you for it.\"\n\n\"Ha! Enjoy it well. That is the last jug from my store. I do not know how soon I can get more.\" The captain made a mock expression of such ruefulness that Bascot burst out laughing.\n\n\"He was tumbling a wine merchant's daughter,\" Ernulf explained to the Templar. \"The father gave him a dozen jugs of this\"\u2014he raised the cup high\u2014\"for a promise to leave the girl alone.\"\n\n\"I was tiring of her in any case,\" Roget commented, shaking his head. \"I never like to spend too long with one woman. They get ideas that are dangerous.\"\n\nErnulf leaned towards Bascot. \"But tell us, what was it Gianni overheard, and what did you find out in the village?\"\n\nBoth the sergeant and Roget listened silently as Bascot told them his tale. Then Ernulf refilled all their wine cups and said, \"So you have discovered who murdered Hubert and the charcoal burner and his sons.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Bascot agreed. \"But I cannot prove it.\"\n\n\"Ma foi, does it matter?\" Roget asked. \"The sheriff will not care for such a nicety.\"\n\nBascot shook his head, but it was Ernulf who answered Roget's question. \"The sheriff may not, but the king will.\"\n\n\"The king?\" Roget protested. \"Why should it worry him? The boy was of no importance, not to King John anyway, and I do not think that our new monarch will care overmuch about the fate of Chard and his family.\"\n\n\"You are right, Roget,\" Bascot replied, \"but he will care about the rumour of treason. Proof of the motive for Hubert's murder, and of who committed it, must be given to him.\"\n\n\"Have you thought of a way to get such proof?\" Ernulf asked.\n\n\"I think so,\" Bascot said. \"I have discussed the matter with Lady Nicolaa, who has, by the way, discovered another, and separate, transgression against the king's justice. We have devised a plan, which, if it succeeds, will bring all these matters to light in front of witnesses and thus resolve them. She has instructed me to explain your part in the ruse we propose to play.\"\n\nRoget chuckled deep in his beard and Ernulf grinned. \"Just tell us what it is that we are to do, de Marins,\" the serjeant said. \"We both have much relish to hear of it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "It was early the next morning that Melisande Fleming received a request from Nicolaa de la Haye to attend a meeting at the sheriff's hunting lodge for a discussion of the preparations necessary for a hunt planned for the king during his stay in Lincoln. Melisande was in her gold manufactory when the messenger arrived. The workshop was housed in a building adjacent to her house on Mikelgate, and she always enjoyed being in its confines. The sight of the master goldsmith at work on his small anvil, his tiny hammer and tongs stretching and tapping the gleaming yellow metal, always soothed her, and she often herself performed the task of polishing a finished piece with the fine soft fur of a rabbit's foot.\n\nIt had been decided by the goldsmith's guild that King John would be presented with three gifts from the workshops of Lincoln. Melisande's manufactory had been allotted the making of a hanap\u2014a large cup\u2014which was to have a cover and footed base and be encased in a wooden box inlaid with silver decoration. The cup was now finished, and Melisande was holding it in her hands, admiring the workmanship of her staff when the messenger came to the door.\n\nThe goldsmith's widow was annoyed at Nicolaa's request. She knew that John was now at Southwell, having travelled there from Nottingham, a distance of fourteen miles, the previous day. From Southwell he would come the final twenty-three miles to Lincoln and was expected to arrive the following afternoon. She had intended to spend the day preparing for the monarch's arrival at the castle. There was much to do; the hanap and box must be enclosed in a bag of soft velvet for its presentation, there was her gown to inspect and the choosing of the jewellery she would wear and, most vexing of all, she still had the rebellion of Joanna to contend with.\n\nImpatiently, she threw the short note from Nicolaa onto the floor. She would have to go, like it or not. Even though she held the office of chief forester and, as such, received her salary directly from the crown, it would be unwise to irritate the castellan by a refusal. Nicolaa was well thought of by King John and any commissions the goldsmiths of Lincoln hoped to receive from him could easily be withdrawn if she chose not to recommend them. Angrily Melisande called for one of her servants to saddle the palfrey she kept in a stable behind the house, and for another to bring her a warm cloak. Before reluctantly leaving the manufactory, she sent an urgent message to Copley instructing him to attend her at the lodge for her meeting with Lady Nicolaa. Still in a fury, she left the warm glow of the manufactory's small furnace and, with a groom to accompany her, rode towards the western gate of the city."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "In the chamber that had been allotted to Baldwin high in the top of the keep, Alys and Alinor kept the sick boy company. His excitement at the imminent arrival of the king had brought on another of his spells of breathlessness and the castle physician had recommended he rest until it should be time for him to be presented.\n\n\"I must be well enough to see King John, Alys, I must,\" he said tremulously as she held out a cup of heated wine for him to sip.\n\n\"If you don't stop fretting, little brother, you most assuredly will not be,\" his sister said tartly.\n\n\"I have sent Osbert for his lute,\" Alys told him. \"He plays passably well and a little soft music may soothe you and allow you to rest. Now come, lie back and drink your wine. It has a generous dollop of honey in it.\"\n\nBaldwin, his face flushed from his recent exertions of struggling for breath, did as he was told and, when Osbert arrived, was lying comfortably and breathing easier.\n\nThe page took a seat in the far corner of the room and strummed his instrument quietly. His young fingers were nimble on the strings and his high clear voice carried gently to where Baldwin lay as he sang the opening lines of a ballad about two young lovers travelling together on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Soon Baldwin was asleep and Alinor motioned to Alys that she would leave her brother in her friend's care, and quietly left the room.\n\nOutside she tripped lightly down the circular stone steps to the hall, looking for Alain and Renault. They were receiving instructions from the Haye steward, Eudo, along with Hugo and a few other squires and pages, on the correct etiquette to be observed when it came their turn to serve at King John's table. Alinor waited with little patience until Eudo finished his lecture, and then called urgently to the pair to join her in a corner of the hall. Hugo came trailing a few steps behind.\n\n\"I think something is afoot to do with Hubert's murder,\" she said to them conspiratorially. \"I heard my aunt say that she would be going to my uncle's hunting lodge later today and that she intended to take Ernulf and some men-at-arms with her.\"\n\nThe two squires looked at her in bafflement. \"Why should you believe that any such excursion would be concerned with who killed Hubert?\" Renault asked.\n\n\"It is only a feeling I have,\" Alinor admitted, \"perhaps because earlier the Templar went to speak to my aunt privately. He was in her chamber for a long time and when he came out she sent a servant to fetch my father and Uncle William.\"\n\n\"I still don't see why you think these conversations, or Lady Nicolaa going into the forest with a guard, should have anything to do with who killed Hubert,\" Renault objected.\n\n\"It was something my father said when he came from seeing my aunt,\" Alinor confessed.\n\n\"And what was that?\" Alain asked.\n\n\"That he hoped I had learned the folly of meddling in affairs of which I knew nothing,\" Alinor replied, a frown creasing her brows. \"He said the next time I was tempted to eavesdrop on a conversation, I would be well-advised to stop up my ears with my fingers. He was very angry.\"\n\nAs she was saying this, Osbert appeared, carrying his lute. \"Your brother is sleeping soundly, Alinor,\" he said. \"Alys will stay with him until he wakes.\"\n\nAlinor nodded absently and Osbert asked what was troubling her. When Alain, in a scoffing manner, told him what she had said, Osbert shook his head.\n\n\"She may not be wrong,\" the page remarked gravely. \"I, too, saw the Templar go into Lady Nicolaa's chamber. He looked even more determined than usual. Perhaps he has found some new trace of who killed Hubert.\"\n\nHugo had been listening to the conversation with growing agitation. \"Oh, Alain,\" he burst out, \"it wasn't you who murdered him, was it?\"\n\nAlain looked at his cousin in surprise, then reached out a hand and ruffled the boy's close-cropped hair. \"Of course not, you donkey. I told you, I did not find Hubert that night. And even if I had, I had no intention of killing him. I was only going to give him a good thrashing.\"\n\nAlinor looked round at them all. \"This murder has set us all one against another with suspicion and distrust. It seems as though Hubert, even after death, still possesses the ability to cause us as much distress as he did when alive. How amused he would be if he could see us now.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "In the village at the edge of the sheriff's chase, the inhabitants were all gathered in the church. Alwin, the reeve, and his son, Leofric, stood at the head of them, listening intently as Father Samson finished serving Mass and turned to speak to them. The feeling of grief was strong. Edward had been foolish, but he was one of their own. At the back of the tiny church, the women stood sniffling with tears, all except Bettina. Her face was unnaturally white and her hands were clenched in front of her. She mourned her cousin's death, but was frightened of what was to come.\n\n\"You must all do exactly as Sir Bascot has instructed,\" Samson was saying. \"If you do, he has promised to speak to the sheriff on your behalf. If you do not, neither he nor I can help you.\" The old priest's face was sad. He had failed his parishioners. If they had only trusted him enough to come and tell him what was happening, Edward and the murdered squire might still be alive. He raised his hand in a benediction. \"Those of you who are involved in the Templar's plan must go now. The rest of us will stay here and pray for you.\"\n\nBettina, Edwin and Leofric left the hall and, as they did so, a collective sigh rose from the rest of the villagers, bolstered by a great sob from Edwin's wife. Then they all bent their heads in prayer as Father Samson began to intone a Pater Noster."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "Melisande arrived at the hunting lodge just past the midday hour. Copley met her on the track that approached the building with three of the bowmen that worked under him, and was standing respectfully beside his horse as his mistress approached.\n\nCopley looked nervous. He had fortified himself with a small measure of wine when he had received Melisande's message, but had dared take no more for fear of a reprimand from his cousin. \"Good morrow, mistress,\" he greeted Melisande obsequiously. \"I believe Lady Nicolaa is already within the lodge. There are horses outside.\"\n\nMelisande dismounted impatiently. \"I have eyes to see, Copley,\" she said brusquely. \"Let us go in and find out what it is that Lady Nicolaa wants of me. If King John is to have a hunt on Camville land, I cannot see how I am involved, but if my assistance is needed I would prefer to deal with it quickly. I have much to do before the king arrives.\"\n\nInside the lodge, Nicolaa sat on the chair used by her husband when he stayed at the lodge. It was of oak, with broad comfortable arms and a padded seat. Beside her, her son, Richard, who had been standing at the entrance to the lodge, was now sprawled on a bench and, at her back, stood Ernulf and two of his men-at-arms. In a corner of the large chamber, Tostig, Eadric and a couple of the Camville huntsmen waited and watched as a pair of servants from the castle set wine and cups on a table. In the hearth a fire blazed. As Nicolaa waited for the goldsmith's widow she ran an examining eye over the preparations made for the king in case he should decide to indulge in a foray after deer or boar during his stay in Lincoln.\n\nThe lodge was a capacious structure, built of timber, with a cavernous fireplace on one side and an ample scattering of rugs made from wolf hides on the floor. In one corner was a space concealed by a curtain that was fitted with a comfortable mattress and blankets. Although this was for Gerard's convenience, it had been freshly made with washed linen and a newly covered bolster, in expectant readiness for the king.\n\nOther preparations had also been made. Bottles of wine lay in caskets filled with straw alongside an assortment of cheeses, including the soft white one that John preferred. There were piles of linen napkins and small sealed earthenware jars of fruit preserves and pots of honey. Nicolaa was well aware of her monarch's penchant for sweetmeats.\n\nOn the walls hung coils of rope, snaring nets and leather cases filled with arrows. Wooden chests filled with leather harnesses, fletching knives and candles were set against the walls and near the bed-space straw sleeping pallets for the king's servants were neatly piled.\n\nThe noise of arriving horses distracted Nicolaa from her mental inventory and she looked towards the door as the goldsmith's widow entered.\n\n\"Greetings, Mistress Fleming,\" she said in an even tone. \"It is a cold day outside. Shed your cloak and have a cup of wine to warm you.\"\n\nMelisande nodded her acceptance and came forward to sit on a settle placed near the fire, handing her cloak to the servant who proffered her the wine, looking about her as she did so.\n\n\"You come well escorted today, lady, for just a parlay about planning the king's hunt,\" she said to Nicolaa.\n\n\"My son thought it wise, with so many recent trespasses by outlaws into our chase, to have me protected by my serjeant and his men as well as his own sword.\"\n\nMelisande looked at Richard. He was regarding her with what seemed like amusement, the red Haye hair glinting in the light from the fire as he lifted his wine cup to his lips and drank. \"Did you have no fear for your own safety, Mistress Fleming, to come with only a groom into the forest?\" he asked languidly.\n\nMelisande flicked a glance at her agister. Copley was nervous, licking his lips and staring longingly at the wine cups laid out on the table. \"I knew my agister would meet me along the way,\" Melisande replied. \"And I was in a hurry.\"\n\nShe felt as though the sheriff's son was baiting her and decided to try to take control of the conversation. \"Although I do not understand the reason for this meeting, lady,\" she said, addressing Nicolaa. \"If a hunt is planned for the king in your husband's chase, there is not likely to be much infringement into the part of the woodland that my deputy patrols.\"\n\nNicolaa rose from her chair and walked slowly to where Melisande sat. Her short, plump figure seemed dowdily dressed beside the rich finery of the other woman, but her stance, and the calmness of her face beneath the plain white coif, would have given any observer not familiar with her status no doubt that she had authority, and knew how to use it.\n\n\"It has come to my notice that there is more infringement, as you call it, in the forest than is at first apparent,\" she said.\n\nMelisande's head came up. She regarded the castellan with an intense stare. \"What do you mean, lady?\" she asked.\n\n\"I mean, Mistress Fleming, that serious crimes have been discovered. Crimes committed against the very warrant that you are sworn to uphold.\"\n\nMelisande stood, placing her wine cup on the settle as she did so. \"Are you accusing me of dereliction in carrying out the duties of my office, Lady Nicolaa? If so, I would know the charges, and then will answer for them to the chief justice at the forest eyre court, not to you.\"\n\n\"Sit down, mistress,\" Nicolaa commanded abruptly. \"You will listen to me, and listen well. If you do not, you will be taken back to Lincoln and held confined until the king arrives. On the authority of my husband, the sheriff.\" To reinforce her threat, Nicolaa withdrew from the pouch at her belt a small rolled parchment, from which a seal dangled. On it, the imprint of the Camville emblem of two lions passant could clearly be seen.\n\nShocked by the sight of the warrant, Melisande did as she was bid, reseating herself unsteadily on the settle. Nicolaa turned away and walked back to her chair. There she turned, and said, \"My bailiff has conferred with the regarder for the royal chase over which you hold your post as chief forester. Also, an inspection has been made of the statement of revenues for the area. It would appear that these incomes have not been truthfully reported.\"\n\n\"I have no knowledge of such\u2014\" Melisande began.\n\n\"Be quiet, mistress, and do as my mother has bid you. Listen.\" Richard's words cut effectively through what she had been about to say and, with an effort, Melisande swallowed her protest.\n\n\"As I said, Mistress Fleming,\" Nicolaa continued, \"the statement of revenues\u2014which you submitted\u2014is not a true one. For example, they do not include the income from the deforestation of two fine stands of oak, the timber from which was sold, purportedly on behalf of the king. It also seems the fees collected for pasture and pannage have been grossly understated, as have those the peasants pay for the right of estover so they can gather wood.\" Nicolaa sat down in her chair and motioned for a servant to refill her wine cup before she continued. \"How do you explain these irregularities, mistress?\"\n\nMelisande's face was ashen. Her hands, of which she was so vain, were clenched together with such intensity that the knuckles were like raw red spots against the whiteness of the tendons. She made no response.\n\n\"You cannot, can you?\" Nicolaa said quietly. \"Yet you are pledged to preserve the rights of the king in the venison and vert of his forest, not abuse them.\"\n\nNicolaa made a signal to Ernulf and the men-at-arms came to stand beside Copley and the other woodsmen in Melisande's employ, all of whom had begun to shuffle uncomfortably towards the door.\n\n\"Well, mistress?\" Nicolaa prompted. \"Have you no answer to these charges?\"\n\nMelisande sat silent, only the shaking of her head in a small tight gesture indicated that she had heard.\n\n\"There is another matter, as well, Mistress Fleming,\" Richard Camville said. Slowly Melisande looked up, eyes glazed with fear.\n\n\"What is that, my lord?\" she asked in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.\n\n\"The death of my uncle's squire, Hubert de Tournay.\"\n\n\"No!\" The denial shot from Melisande's mouth with vehemence. \"Of that I know nothing, I swear. Why would I have had any hand in his death? I did not even know of his existence until the townspeople began talking of his murder.\"\n\nRichard's response was quick and harsh. \"It is believed he was killed by outlaws, poachers in my father's chase. And you, mistress, have consort with outlaws, do you not?\"\n\nMelisande's face, through her fear, began to blaze with anger. \"I know nothing of these matters. Nor do I have brigands in my household.\"\n\n\"Not in your household, perhaps,\" Nicolaa said, \"but most certainly on the roll of those you pay to assist you in committing your crimes against the crown.\"\n\n\"It is a lie,\" Melisande burst out. \"I tell you, I know nothing of this.\"\n\nRichard spoke quietly into the widow's outburst. \"It seems strange that you do not, when your agister most certainly does.\"\n\nHe looked expectantly at Copley, who was visibly trembling. \"You have an arrangement with the outlaws in Sherwood, don't you, Copley? For a few of the king's deer you trade with brigands for loot they gain from preying on honest travellers through the forest. And Hubert de Tournay found out about your arrangements, didn't he? He was an unlikeable little turd, but he had a gift for ferreting out secrets. And he found out yours and threatened to report you unless you gave him what he wanted. What did he ask for\u2014one of the village girls for his bed, perhaps, or maybe a piece of jewellery from your mistress's wares?\"\n\nCopley was shaking his head violently from side to side in negation as Richard relentlessly continued, \"But you couldn't take the chance that the squire would betray you, so you killed him. You are often in the forest; it would be an easy matter for you to lure Hubert there by the promise of payment for his demands and then, with the help of a couple of your outlaw cohorts, take him by surprise and string him up from the oak. But you didn't expect there would be such a hue and cry after the murderer, did you? Or that the Templar would be set on your trail. When Sir Bascot started to come too close to the truth of the matter you decided a scapegoat was needed, so you provided us with one\u2014Fulcher.\"\n\nRichard leaned forward now, his resemblance to his father apparent as anger hardened his jaw. \"You are the confidant of brigands, Copley. We have witnesses to that fact. It was a simple matter to get one of his own kind to betray Fulcher, and that is how you came to be so fortuitously on hand to capture him. And why you brought him so joyfully to my father\u2014so that we would be led away from discovering the identity of the real murderer of Hubert de Tournay\u2014and that murderer is you, Copley.\"\n\nThe agister's face was ashen by the time Richard Camville had finished speaking. Falling to his knees before the sheriff's son, he sobbed as he proclaimed his innocence. \"No, no, my lord, I swear by all that is holy that I had nothing to do with the death of the squire,\" he said earnestly. \"As God is my witness, Sir Richard, I am innocent of murder.\"\n\nNicolaa rose from her chair, her gaze flicking with disgust over the man cowering at her son's feet and the stricken expression on the face of Melisande. She called to Ernulf. \"Take Mistress Fleming and her deputy to Lincoln. And their bowmen as well. Tostig will aid in the escort with our own woodsmen.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "On a small slope at the bottom of the hill on which Lincoln castle stood, Bascot met with the three villagers. \"You are clear in what you are to do?\" he asked. \"Remember that your own reprieve from punishment depends on carrying this task out well.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, we know. We will do it,\" Bettina replied and looked to her uncle and cousin. They nodded in turn.\n\n\"Then follow me into the bail and we will wait there,\" Bascot said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "When Nicolaa and Richard arrived at the castle gate with their prisoners firmly under guard, the bailey was crowded. The news of the arrest of the chief forester and her deputy had flown ahead like wildfire and not only were Gerard Camville and his brother on hand to meet them with their retinues, but most of the castle staff as well, while Richard de Humez and his daughter, Alinor, surveyed the scene from the steps that led up to the new keep. A little distance into the crowd was Joanna Fleming, brought to the castle ward just moments before by Roget, who, following Nicolaa de la Haye's direction, had not only escorted her from her home, but was keeping her under close surveillance. She watched the little cavalcade enter the bail with anxious eyes, glancing up at the mercenary captain from time to time with fear on her face. Bascot, clad in mail and his Templar surcoat, waited a small distance from the gate, ensuring that he could keep Gianni, safe in the shelter of the door to the barracks, within his view.\n\nThe sky was beginning to darken as evening approached and, although the sleety rain had ceased to fall, it was still very cold, with the occasional tiny flake of snow drifting down on the waiting throng. But no one seemed to heed the discomfort of the weather, for the gaze of all gathered there was concentrated on catching sight of Melisande and her agister being brought into custody.\n\nAs Richard led his mother in through the gate, Bettina, standing just inside its arch with her relatives beside her, stepped forward and sketched a brief curtsey.\n\n\"Lady Nicolaa,\" she said in a voice that was hesitant, \"may I have speech with you?\"\n\nNicolaa looked down on the milkmaid, and checked her horse. \"Can it not wait, girl? As you can see, I have much to attend to.\"\n\n\"It is important, my lady, and cannot be delayed.\"\n\nNicolaa gave her a brief nod. \"Get on with it then,\" she said.\n\nBettina raised up her courage and spoke clearly. \"It is said you have taken Mistress Fleming and her agister in charge for murdering Sir William's squire, but it is not so, my lady. They did not do it.\"\n\nA stirring of voices rumbled through the crowd, ending in a sigh as they all fell silent to hear what came next.\n\n\"How do you know this, Bettina?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"Because all of us in the village know who it was that murdered the squire, and it was not the goldsmith's widow or her deputy.\"\n\nBettina's voice had begun to weaken, but it grew stronger as she caught Lady Nicolaa's glance. Awareness that the castellan knew what she had been primed to say gave her the temerity to continue. \"The man who committed the murder told us to stay within the compound and not go out into the forest while he dealt with the squire. And he told the Chards to do the same.\"\n\n\"Why did John Chard, and you, not give this evidence when asked by my husband and Sir Bascot?\" Lady Nicolaa asked, her voice stern.\n\n\"We were frightened, my lady. We had been ordered not to speak of what we knew. Then, when the charcoal burner and his family were killed, all of us in the village thought it right to be fearful, and so we did not speak for dread of our own deaths.\"\n\nNicolaa leaned down in the saddle, but her voice still carried out over the crowd. \"Then why have you come forward now?\"\n\n\"Because our priest, Father Samson, found out our secret and said that if we did not tell of it, we would be committing a sin, a grievous sin, by letting innocent people be charged with a crime they did not commit.\"\n\nNicolaa looked out over the crowd. They stood with bated breath, avid for more revelations concerning the murder of Hubert de Tournay. At the back of the group of prisoners behind her she could hear a stir of feet as Ernulf positioned his men across the open gate. There was in the air a taint of apprehension, and, from Melisande Fleming, an audible gasp of hope.\n\nNicolaa regarded the milkmaid, admiring the girl's courage. Behind Bettina her kinsmen stood with uncertain looks on their faces, glancing apprehensively at the soldiers around them, but they kept resolutely to their places.\n\nFinally Nicolaa spoke. \"Then, Bettina, you had best tell me who it was that murdered Hubert de Tournay.\"\n\nBettina swept her gaze slowly over all the company assembled there, taking her time, as she had been told to do, so that there should be no mistake as to the identity of the man she pointed out. Passing over the barons and squires gathered on the edge of the crowd she finally turned toward the line of men behind Nicolaa and Richard. Holding up her hand, she raised a forefinger and pointed it in steady accusation. \"It was him. Sir Gerard's forester, Tostig.\"\n\nAs she called out his name, Tostig kicked his heels viciously into the sides of his mount so that it bolted and shot free of the press of prisoners and men-at-arms that surrounded him. With a curse, the forester drew the wicked blade of his hunting knife from his belt, and swerved the horse straight at Bascot.\n\nThe animal, wild-eyed and snorting, thundered across the bail. Bascot was well aware that the only chance a man on foot had to escape the flying hooves of an adversary's mount was to wait until the last possible moment before stepping aside. If he could do that, others would bring the woodsman down. Murmuring a prayer, Bascot kept still, bracing himself to wait, focussing the vision in his sighted eye so completely on the hurtling animal that the people, the bailey, and even the sky, faded from his perception.\n\nJust as it seemed that he could allow the iron-shod hooves to come no closer, a darkness, like a sudden cloud, flew between Bascot and the horse. Renault, who had been standing within the fringe of people closest to Bascot, had swirled the loosely draped cloak he had been wearing up into the air and over the horse's head. The animal, already frightened, reared in alarm, sliding on its hind legs as it tried to stem its headlong flight. With an equine squeal, it lost balance, toppling over as Tostig frantically pulled on the reins in a futile attempt to control his mount. With a crash, and a pitiful whinny from the horse, it fell, pinning Tostig underneath.\n\nFor one brief moment there was silence, then Renault leaped forward and snatched up the knife that had fallen from Tostig's hand. Breathing heavily, the horse shook its head free of the cloth that had blinded it and struggled to its feet. With quivering legs, it stood for a space before trotting away, head tossing and tail swishing.\n\nTostig lay still on the ground, his legs bent at an unnatural angle. His eyes, like the horse's, were rolling, and sweat beaded his brow as he tried to lift himself, then fell back. A slow trickle of blood began to form at the corner of his mouth. The crowd in the bailey started to surge forward, but a voice that carried with a loud resonance gave a sharp command for them to keep back. Through the press Gerard Camville stepped and made his way to where the stricken forester lay.\n\nBefore he could reach Tostig, another figure streaked through the shocked throng. It was Joanna. She ran to Tostig and knelt by his side, tears streaming down her cheeks. Bascot moved to stand at Tostig's feet. It was plain the forester was mortally hurt. There would be no recovery from such an injury.\n\nTostig had closed his eyes, but he opened them as he heard Joanna call his name. His gaze fell on Bascot. \"Damn your heart, Templar. If it had not been for you, I would not have been found out.\"\n\nJoanna shook her head and, with one long slim hand, she smoothed the hair back from the forester's brow. \"No, my love,\" she said quietly. \"It is not the Templar you should damn, but my mother. May she be consigned to hell for this day's work.\"\n\nThe girl looked up to where Melisande still sat captive on her horse, frozen into place as she watched her daughter cry over the woodsman.\n\n\"It was you, Mother, who caused all this. You, and your love of gold and position.\" Joanna threw back her head and laughed, a bitter sound that died in her throat and became a sob. \"It would not have been seemly, would it Mother, for your daughter to marry a common woodsman? You wanted a rich merchant, at the very least. And all the while you were more base than the lowest serf, stealing the very revenues that the king pays you to protect. Well, Mother, now you shall have a just reward for your treachery, and so shall I. But I, at least, shall feel that my pain was worth it. Will yours be?\"\n\nThe sheriff had reached Tostig as Joanna was speaking and, calling for a measure of wine, he knelt beside the dying man and held the cup to his lips. Tostig tried to drink, but it ran out of the corner of his mouth, mixing with the blood that had begun to flow in a heavy stream. He coughed, and looked up at Gerard. \"I am sorry, my lord, for failing you.\"\n\n\"You did not fail me, Tostig,\" Gerard Camville said gently, and Bascot was surprised to hear the compassion in his tone. \"You have served me well and faithfully all these years. I will not forget that.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my lord.\" The words came with effort from Tostig's lips as, with a shudder and a great outpouring of blood from his mouth, he died."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "Bascot felt the tiredness in his bones as he made his way up the stairs to Nicolaa's chamber. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. It was an hour past Compline and he had yet to give his report to the castellan. After sending Gianni to bed in the barracks, he and Ernulf had taken Joanna to a room off the armoury and questioned her. Anger had pushed through her tears as she had told them all of the tale, of her mother's cupidity and intransigence, of Hubert's demands and, finally, of her love for Tostig.\n\n\"We knew it was only a matter of time before my mother found out about us, Tostig and me,\" she had said, her mouth quivering as she fought the urge to sob, \"but we had thought to force her acceptance of our union. Tostig knew of her theft of the king's revenues and of Copley's traffic with the outlaws. He was going to threaten to reveal it to Sir Gerard unless she gave us her blessing.\"\n\nJoanna shook her head and then bowed it in her hands. When she lifted it her face was full of misery. \"We needed only a few days, until King John should be here. Tostig said that would be the best time to do it, for my mother was all agog to please the king. She would have been too fearful of his displeasure to have done other than as we asked.\"\n\n\"And Hubert found out about you and Tostig before you could carry out your plan?\" Bascot had prompted.\n\n\"That maggot!\" Joanna's vehemence was plain. \"We made certain he would regain his senses before we hanged him,\" she said with bitter satisfaction, \"and know the fate that awaited him. I watched Tostig kill him with pleasure.\"\n\n\"And the charcoal burner and his family, did you watch their deaths with pleasure, too?\" Bascot could not hide his anger.\n\nJoanna's shoulders slumped. \"No,\" she whispered. \"Neither Tostig nor I had any joy in that.\" She had lifted her head defiantly. \"But that was your fault, Templar. If you had left well enough alone and not gone chasing into the forest with your questions\u2026\"\n\nThese last words kept ringing in Bascot's mind as he reached the top of the stairs and tapped lightly on the door of Nicolaa's chamber. When he went in he found the castellan seated, as usual, at her desk, and Gerard's brother, William, standing by the fireplace with a cup of wine. Two torches flared in wall sconces, giving the room a bright illumination.\n\n\"My husband has gone to keep vigil at Tostig's bier,\" Nicolaa said by way of explaining the sheriff's absence. Bascot nodded. He was not surprised. The evidence that Gerard Camville felt genuine grief for the death of his servant had been plain when he had overridden the castle priest's protests and ordered that the body of the dead forester be placed in the castle chapel to await burial. \"He may be a murderer,\" he had said to the shocked cleric, \"but he was my loyal servant. If I show God how much I valued him in life then perhaps our Good Lord will be compassionate when Tostig stands before him at death. Now, get out of my way, priest.\"\n\nWilliam offered Bascot the wine jug as Nicolaa invited him to be seated. \"I gave orders for Melisande and Copley to be detained at her home under guard until I should know the king's pleasure in the matter,\" she said. \"You have left Joanna under lock and key?\"\n\nBascot nodded. \"Ernulf has her secured.\"\n\nNicolaa stood up from her seat but motioned for Bascot to keep to his when he would have risen. \"I need to move,\" she said with a small smile. \"My limbs are so weary that if I do not stir them, my feet will take root in the floorboards.\"\n\nShe took a few steps to the end of the room, then paced back. \"What did the girl Joanna tell you, de Marins? Did she confirm the dairymaid's tale?\"\n\n\"For the most part. Hubert did proposition Bettina and threaten her with ravishment if she did not comply\u2026.\"\n\n\"So the little maker of buttermilk was telling the truth?\" William said.\n\n\"Yes, she was,\" Bascot replied, \"except she, and the other villagers, omitted to tell us that it was two nights before Hubert was killed that he first demanded she meet him.\"\n\nAt William's look of confusion, Nicolaa interrupted. \"I have not told William all of the tangle, de Marins. I thought it best to wait until it was confirmed by Tostig's paramour. He does not yet know how all of this began.\"\n\nBascot took a sip of his wine and spoke directly to the sheriff's brother. \"According to Joanna, she and the forester took advantage of any occasion that Melisande was absent from her home or early abed to spend the night together in the hunting lodge. On the night that Hubert waited in vain for the dairymaid, he saw them together in the forest. The next day he got Bettina alone in one of the castle cowsheds and berated her for not coming to meet him, demanding that she turn up the next night or he would take her then and there on the bare boards of the floor. Frightened, she promised she would do as he asked. Then Hubert asked her the identity of the girl he had seen with Tostig the night before and Bettina told him she was the daughter of a wealthy widow in Lincoln. Hubert laughed and said she was a toothsome piece and he had a fancy to have a turn with her himself. He told Bettina to tell Tostig of his desire and, if the forester proved unwilling to share his bawd, then he, Hubert, would apprise the sheriff of the use to which his servant was putting the hunting lodge.\"\n\nBascot shrugged. \"Whether the squire was serious about carrying out his threat we will never know, but both Bettina and Tostig had no cause to doubt it, if only because Hubert had shown himself relentless in his pursuit of the dairymaid.\"\n\n\"I knew he was a singularly unpleasant boy, but I never suspected he was capable of such villainy,\" William said.\n\nBascot nodded. \"He was sly enough not to reveal his true nature to his elders, but your other squires and pages knew of it and had good reason to hate him. He seems to have been a boy who had never learned to keep his appetites under control. And he had become so accustomed to exploiting any weakness he found in others, or in gaining an advantage by threatening to reveal a secret they nurtured, that he had come to believe that he would never come to any harm by doing so. And that is why he failed to recognize the danger of trying to use Tostig in such a manner.\"\n\n\"What happened when Bettina gave the forester Hubert's message?\" William asked. \"Did Tostig and the dairymaid devise the plan to kill him?\"\n\nThe Templar shook his head. \"No. When Bettina told the forester of her conversation with the squire, Tostig was understandably furious. He told Bettina that she was, on the following night, to do as she had done before, stay in the village and tell her uncle to again close the gates and guard them against intrusion. If asked, they were to deny any knowledge of the matter. And they did as they were told. But they did not realise that Tostig was going to kill Hubert; they thought he meant only to give him a beating or perhaps threaten to expose the squire to his lord. When they learned what the forester had done, they feared to be punished for their own involvement.\n\n\"Joanna told me that she waited with Tostig for Hubert to arrive at the old hunting lodge where he expected to find a thoroughly cowed Bettina. The squire knew the area well, apparently, from previous visits to Lincoln and accompanying you, Sir William, on numerous hunts. It is possible he may have used the old lodge for dalliance before. When Hubert arrived, he found Joanna in the dairymaid's stead. While she pretended acquiescence to his lust, Tostig came up behind and rendered him speechless\u2014and senseless\u2014by half-strangling him with a thin cord.\"\n\nBascot took a swallow of wine before he continued. \"Although it was their intent to kill him, they did not want to leave his body there; it was too close to the new hunting lodge where Tostig had his bed and belongings. So they trussed Hubert's hands and took him away from the area, to the oak where they hanged him, because it grew by one of the main tracks through the forest. Tostig wanted it to appear that the murder had been carried out by someone from the town, not anyone associated with the forest and its inhabitants. It was common knowledge among the castle servants that Hubert was held in extreme dislike by his peers, and even with hatred by some of them. Tostig wanted the hunt for the murderer to be behind the city walls, not in the woodland where he lived and worked.\"\n\n\"That was why the boy's body was left clothed, and his dagger in his belt,\" Nicolaa interjected. \"To make it appear that Hubert had been killed over some private quarrel with a person of his acquaintance, and not for profit by someone in the forest.\"\n\n\"In retrospect,\" Bascot added, \"it was a simple plan and should have worked. But things began to go wrong for Tostig almost from the start.\"\n\n\"The poachers, you mean?\" said William.\n\n\"That was the first problem to plague him, yes, but it was not an insurmountable one,\" said Bascot. \"When he came to 'discover' the body the following morning and found the slaughtered deer, Joanna said he considered cutting Hubert down and stripping him to make it look as though the poachers had killed the squire, but he feared that to do so would bring the very thing he didn't want, an active search throughout the woodland, so the forester left the squire's body as it was in the hope that his original plan would still work. And it might have, for it seemed unlikely that outlaws would have left such valuables as his clothes and dagger behind if they had killed the boy. But it was after he had dealt with the matter of the poachers that a much greater difficulty arose.\"\n\n\"Something to do with Bettina, I presume?\" William said.\n\n\"Yes. Tostig had neglected to tell the villagers\u2014including Bettina\u2014that he had moved the boy and hanged him near the track, not at the old hunting lodge. And when you and your brother went to question the villagers about Hubert's death, you did not mention where it was that he had been found, did you?\"\n\nWilliam thought for a moment. \"No, we did not.\"\n\n\"So, when I went to the village the following morning they believed that the boy had been hanged at the place where he had ordered the dairymaid to meet him. When Gianni found Bettina hiding\u2014and she had concealed herself for fear of being recognised and perhaps remembered as seen in conversation with Hubert\u2014she blurted out the tale that she told to protect herself and the villagers. But it led me to search where Tostig did not want me to go\u2014the grounds of the old hunting lodge.\"\n\n\"So it was he that fired the arrow at you on the day of the hunt?\"\n\n\"It was. He had heard Alain and Renault speak of seeing me ahead of them that morning and he tracked me. When he saw me kneel to look at the marks Hubert's boots had made on the ground he was worried about what implications I might draw from them, and so he fired the shaft. He didn't mean to miss. If I had been killed it would have been assumed that a stray arrow meant for the deer had caused it. I was too close to where he had apprehended the boy, you see. And I kept on asking questions. He was worried that, in the end, I might get answers.\"\n\n\"And the charcoal burner and his family\u2014what part did they play in all of this?\"\n\nHere Bascot gave a deep sigh and put his wine cup down. \"Their deaths might have been avoided if I had brought the burner into the castle for questioning on the day that I went to see him. The fact that I did not consigned them to their fate.\"\n\n\"How so?\" William asked.\n\n\"Tostig followed me when I went to the burner's mounds. Everyone in the forest knew of his liaison with Joanna, including Chard and his sons. It would have been impossible for the pair to keep their meetings secret from people who live in the forest and know and use all of its byways. But Chard was a truculent man and, unlike the villagers, had nothing to fear from the sheriff. While he may only have guessed that Tostig had murdered the squire, he had sure knowledge of the extra purpose to which the forester put the hunting lodge. Tostig told him to say nothing of Joanna if he was asked and the charcoal burner agreed, but when I threatened Chard with the sheriff's authority, the forester was worried that if I returned, the charcoal burner would tell what he knew. Especially since Adam, in an attempt to forestall me from further questioning of his father, told me the partial truth of seeing a man and a woman on a forest track. I had assumed the pair to be Hubert and a woman he had an assignation with, but Tostig did not know that, and feared Chard would reveal that it was himself and Joanna.\"\n\n\"So the forester killed them all, including the youngest son, who was only a small boy.\" William's voice was heavy.\n\n\"Yes, he did,\" Bascot replied.\n\n\"I cannot say that I feel much sympathy for my squire,\" William said. \"It would appear that the forester had a great love for his paramour and that he also put much value on his post as my brother's servant. By threatening to defile the girl and jeopardise Tostig's position, Hubert provoked his own death, grievous as that may be. But the burner and his sons\u2014that is different. They were the innocents in all of this.\"\n\nThey all fell silent at his words and stayed so until Nicolaa rose and poured them all more wine.\n\n\"The day that you went to rescue your servant,\" William said heavily, \"and Tostig denied knowledge of a track that would lead me to your aid\u2014then, too, he must have been lying, in the hopes of provoking your death at the hands of the outlaws.\"\n\n\"I do not know for certain, my lord, but it is possible, even probable. He was not aware of the information that Gianni possessed, but since I would have gone on investigating the murder of your squire if I survived the confrontation with the brigands, it is most likely he would have welcomed my capture, or death, at their hands. If he had been successful in keeping you from assisting me, that is most likely what would have happened.\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God that Eadric decided to speak up, then,\" William said fervently. \"Was he not privy to Tostig's culpability?\"\n\n\"No,\" Nicolaa replied. \"He knew of Copley and his arrangements with the brigands, but he also knew that Tostig had warned the agister that he would not betray him as long as he kept his unlawful activities out of Gerard's chase. Of Tostig's liaison with Joanna, and the killing of the squire, Eadric knew nothing. He was most often away from the area, in the southern part of the bailiwick, and did not keep company with the villagers in the north.\"\n\nWilliam turned to Bascot. \"But you weren't aware of any of this at the time, de Marins. How did you discover that it was Tostig that had murdered Hubert?\"\n\n\"Something my young servant, Gianni, overheard. One day in the hall he heard two merchants talking about Tostig and 'his pretty town piece.' One of the men said that it was only a matter of time before the forester's lechery was discovered and that would put an end to his trysts in 'the bower in the greenwood.' It was also said that if the forester had been riding his horse instead of his leman on the night the squire was killed, it might have been him that caught Fulcher instead of Copley. Gianni remembered that Tostig had told me that he had not been in the area where Hubert was killed at the time the squire met his death, saying he had gone to the southern part of the chase and, due to his horse throwing a shoe, had not arrived back at the lodge until well past the middle of the night. Why had he lied? It could have been merely to cover up his relationship with a woman, but could it have been more than that? Was he hiding something else, something that might be connected to the deaths of Hubert and the charcoal burner's family? Gianni decided it was worthwhile to try and find out.\n\n\"So he set out to go to the village and ask them the name of the forester's paramour. Gianni reasoned that the villagers must know who the girl was and he could, through written questions to the village priest, get them to reveal her name. Once he knew her identity she could then be questioned about Tostig's whereabouts on the night of the killing. He should not have gone alone, I know, and should have told me instead, but like many a young lad, he envisioned himself being lauded as a hero and impressing everyone with his cleverness.\"\n\nBascot paused as he remembered the fear that had snatched at his heart the day Gianni had gone missing. \"He became frightened, however, once he was out in the forest on his own and decided to turn back. That was when Edward snatched him and took him to the outlaw called Green Jack.\"\n\n\"So Tostig had nothing to do with that?\"\n\n\"No, it was pure accident. Edward just happened to come along as Gianni was trying to find his way back to Lincoln and he grabbed the boy, thinking he would fetch a goodly ransom for Jack's band.\n\n\"When Gianni was safe and told me what he had heard I went to see the villagers. They were still fearful of Tostig, but were now even more frightened of the sheriff, since one of their own had been hanged just that day. I had thought to overcome any reluctance they might have had in telling me Joanna's name by reminding them of their knowledge of Edward's complicity with the outlaws. But I had no need to take such a precaution. As soon as I mentioned Tostig they blurted out, without further prompting, what had really happened on the night Hubert met his death.\"\n\nWilliam Camville got up and threw another log on the fire, mulling over what he had heard before saying, \"And then the two of you concocted this scheme to get Tostig to reveal himself?\"\n\n\"It was the only way, William,\" Nicolaa said. \"We had enough proof to satisfy us that the forester was the murderer and, if it hadn't been for all this talk of Hubert being privy to plots hatched against the king, he could just have been arrested and stood trial. But the rumours had to be proved to be unfounded as a reason for the killing, since they were becoming generally accepted as a motive, so we used Melisande Fleming and her crimes against the crown to provide an excuse to provoke Tostig into revealing his guilt, and the real reason for Hubert's death.\"\n\nWilliam took a sip of his wine. \"And the forester's crimes were all for naught. If your servant overheard two townsmen speaking so openly about him and Fleming's daughter, it is more than likely their liaison would soon have become common knowledge. It does not take long for such gossip to spread. Hubert's murder brought the forester and his paramour little gain. And the Chard family none at all.\"\n\nBascot nodded in agreement, as did Nicolaa, but she added, \"But are not all murders profitless in the end, messires, when at our own death we stand in judgement before the highest lord of all?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "Fulcher found Green Jack by accident. He had been able to track him south from the tree which Leila said the outlaw chief had climbed on the day Fulcher had crossed the river with the Templar, but he was not completely sure if he was headed in the right direction. He had found old trails that looked as though they had been recently used; a few broken twigs and branches that seemed to have been snapped by recent passage and one spot that looked, and smelled, as though it had been soiled by human excrement and urine. What he could not determine with any certainty was whether any of the signs were of recent origin, or if they had been made by men and not animals. The trail had stayed close to the course of the river.\n\nJust as he was near to a reluctant decision to abandon the hunt for his enemy, he spied a vixen creeping from a hole in what he took to be the edge of a bramble-covered bank. In front of the bank a small trickle of a stream meandered its way to the river. He dropped behind a fallen log and watched her. His stomach was rebelling against the raw fish he had been taking from the river to sustain him. If he was canny, he might have red meat to eat tonight. Wrapped about his shoulders was a rope made of braided river weed that he had fashioned just like those he had done as a child so long ago. It would make a good snare to catch the fox.\n\nThe vixen did not venture far, however. Nose thrusting, she crept to the edge of the stream, lapped a few mouthfuls of water, then turned tail and ran back into the hole. Fulcher crept forward and, with care, lay flat on the ground to spy through the opening and see if he could locate her nest, thinking it would be a burrow in the base of the bank. What he saw, however, surprised him, for there, instead of a lair in the dank earth, was a dark tunnel and, at the end of it, daylight could be seen. Fulcher straightened and made a further inspection of the opening into the tunnel. Now he could see that it was man-made, with twigs and ivy artfully plaited together to hide the larger space behind.\n\nRetracing his steps to where he had hidden to watch the fox, Fulcher climbed a tree. From the top of it he could see over what he had taken to be the tussocky swell of a hummock in the earth, and could make out that there was indeed a clearing beyond. He could not see into it, but the sparseness of the treetops indicated that there was nothing but low growth inside the circle of the prickly hedge.\n\nIt was then that he caught a whiff of wood-smoke. Faint, but unmistakable, and with it the scent of charred flesh. Quickly he returned to his hiding place. Someone was on the other side of the tunnel. Straining his ears, he could not make out any sound, but he settled himself down to wait.\n\nLight was just beginning to glimmer in an overcast sky when there was a movement at the aperture in the bottom of the hedge. Fulcher, tired but still awake, watched as a man wriggled through the cleft then heaved himself upright, pulling a long stout stick behind him. After propping himself up on its length, the man slowly moved towards the stream, appearing to be in some pain from his left leg, which he was dragging behind him. There could be no mistaking the identity of the figure. Tendrils of dead ivy were wound about the arms and shoulders of the man, and the dirty gold colour of his beard glistened with dew. It was Green Jack. Fulcher smiled. The rope of river weed would make a snare that would catch a man just as easily as a fox."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 70",
                "text": "King John's entry into lincoln was triumphal, despite the intermittent sleeting rain and biting cold, and the warnings of the old legend that said calamity would befall any king who entered the city. The people of the town lined the streets to watch as their monarch passed before them, his figure resplendent in purple and gilt, astride a snow-white charger caparisoned in the same colours. He waved and smiled at his subjects from the warmth of a fur-lined cloak and hat, leading a procession of knights, squires and pages. Beside him, his new young wife, Isabelle, barely thirteen years of age, peeped out at the throng from the depths of her hood and smiled in her turn, albeit tremulously. Every time she did so, the crowd redoubled its shouts of welcome, strewing garlands woven of winter leaves and berries in front of the procession to proclaim their joy.\n\nLincoln castle's reception was no less warm. Ernulf and his men-at-arms lined the inner side of the huge eastern gate into the bail, all at attention. The metal of their caps was polished bright as a summer sun and the Haye badge of a twelve-pointed star of red glowed proudly against its silver background on the breast of their tunics.\n\nAt the entrance to the new keep, Gerard and Nicolaa awaited the monarch and his queen. Beside them stood their son, Richard, and down the stairs on either side were ranged the barons and knights that had come to do the king honour and stand witness to Scotland's pledge of fealty. John, greeting all affably, led his young wife up the stairs and into the hall, where a feast of no less than ten courses was laid out for the company.\n\nBascot stayed apart from the throng until later that evening, when a more simple meal was served. He took a place near the back of the hall, at a table set aside for Lincoln's household knights, and viewed the company that was assembled on the dais.\n\nThe Templar had only seen the king a couple of times before, in the days when John had been just a young prince, but he seemed not to have changed much in appearance since then. He was about Bascot's own age, a few years past thirty, of medium height and with dark auburn hair. The young woman who had so recently become his wife sat beside him. She was very pretty, almost lushly so, Bascot noticed, with a ripe figure that belied her youth and a beguiling smile that was turned with frequency on her new husband and less often, but with only a little less radiance, on the company that surrounded them.\n\nNicolaa and Gerard, as hosts, flanked their royal guests. Ranged along the high table with them were various barons, William Camville and Richard de Humez among them, and a phalanx of prelates of high rank. Scattered amongst these were those ladies who had accompanied their lords on the trip to Lincoln, while Richard Camville, as son of the sheriff and castellan, had claimed the privilege of serving the king, standing behind John's chair with basin and ewer at the ready for the monarch to rinse his hands, and a piece of crisply folded linen for use as a towel.\n\nThere was a multitude of squires and pages in attendance on the company, both from Lincoln's household retinue and those of the visiting barons. Among them Bascot saw Alain and Renault serving one of the tables that flanked the dais and, farther back, young Hugo and Osbert waited on a group of ladies that included Alys and Alinor. Near them, accompanied by the castle chaplain, was Baldwin, his eyes alight with elation as he gazed on the king.\n\nThe evening went smoothly. Nicolaa's lady troubadour played for the king's pleasure and was rewarded by John with a gold piece and an appreciative glance at her ample bosom. Minstrels roamed the aisles, strumming rebec, lyre and viol. The freshly strewn rushes on the floor gave off a pleasant herbal tang and the castle hounds behaved themselves. On high perches behind the exalted company, falcons peered down at the assemblage with sharp predatory eyes. Bascot knew that the sheriff intended one of them, a fine gerfalcon, as a gift for the king. Wine flowed freely throughout the evening, but no one over-imbibed. Torches flared at regular intervals along the walls to illuminate the huge room, and thick beeswax candles gave extra radiance to the company on the dais. It was all very decorous. Only the strained look on Nicolaa's face and the watchful glances William Camville gave his monarch would have given a hint that these two were on edge; both fearful of John's reaction to the rumours of treason that had surrounded the squire's death.\n\nThe next day saw the reception of King William of Scotland, come from his quarters in the guest lodge of the abbey at Torksey. The two kings met on a knoll just outside the walls of Lincoln and there John received homage from William for the lands the Scottish king held in England. It was a formal ceremony, William going down on one knee and placing his hands between John's in acknowledgement of his acceptance of the other as lord. An old wrangle, this warring for rights of sovereignty over the disputed lands, one going back many years. The assembled company gave a great sigh of relief when the deed was done. John's satisfaction was evident, his supremacy recognised in front of a plenitude of witnesses. He presided with extreme good humour over the feast that followed in the castle hall. The only marring of the day's bonhomie was the arrival of a messenger from London with the news that Bishop Hugh had breathed his last. The emissary also told them that the body of the bishop was being brought back to Lincoln, and would, in accordance with Hugh's wishes, be interred in the grounds of the cathedral. After a brief respectful silence followed by a short prayer, John announced his intention of staying for the obsequies; whereupon William of Scotland proclaimed that he also would remain and join with the English king in paying their final respects to the saintly bishop.\n\nBascot stayed apart as much as he could from the mass of people that crowded the bailey and hall, his thoughts still on Tostig and the murders the forester had committed. His own part in the discovery of the man's guilt still bothered him, mainly because of Joanna's words blaming his persistence in the investigation for the deaths of the charcoal burner and his sons. His satisfaction at discovering the perpetrator of the crime was tainted by the burden of responsibility that had accompanied it. He began to think again of rejoining the Templar Order. But, if he did, could he bear leaving Gianni to the care of others?\n\nLate that night, as he was sitting in Ernulf's quarters, ruminating once again on what he should do for the future of both himself and his servant, the serjeant came in from a last check on his men and the castle defences.\n\n\"The lords and ladies are all abed, thanks be to God. I'll be glad when this royal visit is over. As will Lady Nicolaa, I'll warrant.\" The serjeant poured himself a cup of ale and pulled off his boots before sitting down beside Bascot.\n\n\"You are up late, my friend,\" Ernulf said to him. \"Is the bed I gave you too hard to induce a restful night?\" He cast an eye at Gianni, curled up fast asleep on a straw pallet in the corner.\n\n\"No,\" Bascot replied. \"I am thankful for it. I have slept on far worse.\"\n\n\"Aye, I've no doubt you have. Still, sleep is not always dependent on a soft couch, is it?\"\n\nBascot shook his head and made no reply. Ernulf, seeing his mood, changed the subject. \"I've just been talking to an old comrade that rode in here today from Torksey. Strange doings been going on there, it seems.\"\n\nBascot roused himself to be sociable. \"How so?\"\n\n\"Two bodies found floating near the banks of the Trent, tied to one another at the wrists. Vagrants, by the look of them. Or brigands. Unkempt hair and beards, a few scraps of ragged clothing left on their bodies. Both had wounds, one an arrow-hole in his leg, the other's back and face a mass of bruises and gashes.\"\n\nBascot looked up, startled. \"Did your friend say what they looked like?\"\n\n\"The one with the arrow wound was yellow bearded and thickset. He'd been throttled, his larynx mangled. My friend said he had some twists of dead ivy wrapped around his arms.\"\n\n\"And the other?\" Bascot asked, almost expecting the answer. Gianni had described Green Jack to him and the Templar had told Ernulf.\n\nThe serjeant's expression was knowing. \"Sounded just like Fulcher, the brigand that Roget's men beat almost to a pulp. Had a knife wound in his chest. Probably bled to death.\"\n\n\"You said they were tied together?\" Bascot's mouth suddenly tasted sour.\n\n\"Aye,\" Ernulf confirmed. \"Tight as lice in a beggar's armpit. The bindings were river weed.\"\n\nThe serjeant poured another cup of ale and handed it to Bascot. \"Looks like Fulcher kept the promise you told me about. Made sure Green Jack kept him company on his journey to hell.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 71",
                "text": "It was early the next morning that Osbert came to the barracks and asked to speak to Bascot. \"Lady Nicolaa sends a message from the king. You are to attend him in his chamber\u2014that is, the one that is usually Lady Nicolaa and Sir Gerard's bedchamber\u2014at the top of the keep.\"\n\nBascot straightened his tunic and pulled on his boots. \"Did she say what it is that the king wants of me?\" he asked as he splashed cold water from a ewer on his face.\n\nOsbert shook his head. \"But I don't think it's anything bad,\" he replied cheerfully. \"She didn't look unhappy at sending for you.\"\n\nBascot followed Osbert across the bail. Servants and animals were just beginning to stir, shaking themselves awake in readiness for the onerous demands of another day tending to the needs of a castle overflowing with guests. The page trailed through the hall in front of Bascot, then up a flight of stairs to a room Bascot had never been in before, a well-appointed chamber with a large bed set in a wall space and draped with covers and hangings of finely worked tapestry. Alongside the bed was a huge carved-oak clothes press and an ironbound chest secured with triple locks. Under a narrow recessed window was a small table. On its surface was a flagon of wine and cups, a holder with thick lighted candles, and a sheaf of parchment and writing implements. It was at this table that the king was seated, sunk deep in the depths of a furred bed-gown, his feet comforted by soft shoes of lambskin. In one corner a brazier of charcoal burned. There was no sign of the queen.\n\n\"Sit down, Templar,\" John said once Osbert had announced Bascot and left the room, motioning towards a stool. \"And pour yourself a cup of wine. It is good Rhenish, my favourite. Nicolaa knows my tastes.\"\n\nBascot went down on one knee and bowed his head in obeisance before accepting the king's offer. John's saturnine gaze regarded him obliquely for a few moments before he spoke.\n\n\"I have been told by Lady Nicolaa of the part you played in discovering the man responsible for the death of Hubert de Tournay,\" John began. \"It seems that without your assistance the forester would never have been found guilty of the crime.\"\n\nBascot hesitated to make any response to this statement. He did not know how much of the story Nicolaa had told the king. Was John aware that the boy had been the source of a rumour about a plot to undermine his crown? Had he been told that Nicolaa's own husband and her brother-by-marriage, Richard de Humez, had been suspected of complicity?\n\n\"I am pleased to learn that Lady Nicolaa holds my help in such high regard,\" he finally said noncommittally. \"But, in truth, Your Grace, many others contributed to the discovery of Tostig's guilt. My own part was negligible, for I did not have any knowledge of the squire before his death.\"\n\nJohn had been watching him carefully as he answered. Now he leaned back his head and laughed.\n\n\"There speaks a diplomatic answer,\" John remarked with a chuckle. \"Say nothing of import and cast no aspersions.\" The king shook his head, amused. \"You have no need to be careful, de Marins. Nicolaa has told me all, of the machinations the boy hinted at, as well as the possible culpability of some of my barons. That is why I value Nicolaa so much. She is loyal and she is honest. Speaks when there is need and stays quiet when there is not. I could wish more of my nobles were made of such stuff, especially the de Tournay family.\"\n\nHis tone became heavier. \"Godfroi came to me decrying the rumour that was being bruited abroad about his family. His protestations were vociferous. So much so that it made me not of a mind to believe him. I will ensure a sharp eye is kept on him and his brother in future.\" Bascot felt a small stab of pity for Godfroi. Whether he was guilty of treason or not, the murder of his half brother had affected the de Tournay family in more ways than one.\n\nJohn rose, his mood seeming to have plunged into darkness as he picked up his wine cup and walked to the window. It was deeply silled on the inside, and all that could be seen through the narrow slit of its opening was a patch of dull grey sky. He stood looking out of the embrasure for some moments and when he spoke again, it was on a completely different topic.\n\n\"You were given as an oblate to the church when you were young, were you not, de Marins?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sire, I was.\"\n\n\"I, too, was entrusted to the care of monks during the years of my childhood. To the tender mercies of the abbot at Fontevrault. I have no doubt that the rest of my family hoped I would stay there for all of my days, permanently immured in an anchorite's cell.\" The king's voice was bitter as he, no doubt, recalled the perpetual squabbling that had plagued his family, and also of how he had betrayed both father and brothers in their never-ending struggle for supremacy.\n\nThen he gave a short bark of laughter and lightened his tone, saying musingly, \"How different both our lives might have been, eh, de Marins, had we been left to the guidance of the good brothers? I might never have been a king, or you a Templar. Perhaps it would have been better so.\"\n\nBascot made no reply. There was none he could make. John walked back to his chair and sat down, pulling, as he did so, a piece of parchment from the pile that lay on the table. \"I have been persuaded by Lady Nicolaa to give you a reward for your service. The fief that your father held before his death is still vacant of possession, having since that time been in the charge of the crown. I have promised Lady Nicolaa that I will restore it to you.\"\n\nTaking the chance of offending the king, Bascot interrupted him. \"My lord, much as I would be honoured by such a boon, I cannot hold land. I would be forsworn of my vow of poverty.\"\n\nAgain John smiled. \"I can see why Nicolaa appreciates your service. Most men only remember their promises to God when they lie on their deathbeds. But let us deal with that obstacle later. First, hear me out.\"\n\nHe held up the parchment in his hand. \"This is confirmation of your fief, de Marins. It only needs your acceptance. However, there is a condition attached if you should decide to take it.\"\n\nJohn's dark eyes sparkled as he enjoyed the obvious discomfiture of the Templar. It amused him to see that other men besides himself might be prey to the horns of a dilemma. \"The fief is a small one, as you know. It can be ably managed by a castellan of your choosing, but meanwhile you would enjoy the revenues and ultimately have an inheritance to leave any son you may have or\"\u2014here the king paused and held Bascot's eye with his own\u2014\"to any male you have chosen for your heir.\"\n\nJohn paused to give weight to his last words, then he continued. \"The condition is that you remain in the service of Lady Nicolaa, as a senior knight in her retinue, with liberty to visit your fief when necessary. You will be recompensed for such service out of her own coffers, and well above the usual rate for a household knight. Not only will you have a fief, its revenues and a good salary, but a legacy to pass on as you choose.\"\n\nThe king laid the paper down on the table. Bascot could see the royal seal dangling from it, thoughts of the benefits to Gianni leaping to his mind, as, he was sure, the king knew they would. John watched him with amusement.\n\n\"Well, de Marins,\" he said finally. \"Is it worth a vow or not?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "After dusk that night Bascot walked across the bail to the old keep where he and Gianni had their quarters when the castle was not filled to capacity with guests. Slowly he climbed the stairs, up three floors and past his usual chamber, then through the archway that led to the ramparts and onto the guard walk that circled the inner side of the wall. It was bitterly cold. The rain had stopped and the wind had stilled. Above was a clear winter sky, stars shining in pinpricks of hard light, looking as though they had been punched into the blackness with the point of a lance. Already, ice was forming on the battlements.\n\nBascot leaned into one of the parapet's embrasures, pushing his shoulder against the stone merlon at his side. Not far from him, one of Ernulf's men-at-arms was pacing his duty round. He saw Bascot, saluted, then turned about and retraced his steps. Something in the stance of the Templar told the guard that Bascot had not come up onto the ramparts to pass a few moments in idle chatter. He wanted to be alone.\n\nBelow the castle, spreading south, Lincoln lay like a reflection of the sky, darkness pervading with the occasional glimmer of light from a torch or candle. Bascot threw back the hood of his tunic, felt the icy air swarm onto his neck and ears with the snap of a wolf bite. Reaching up, he undid the thong of his eyepatch and let the leather shield fall loose. Only in solitude did he remove the cover from the pit of ruined flesh that had once been his right eye. Now he welcomed the freedom from constraint.\n\nKing John's words echoed in his mind. Was his father's fief worth breaking the vows he had taken when he joined the Templars? Poverty, chastity and obedience. He had made those vows not only to the Order, but to God. Even though not now an active member of the Templars he had, for the most part, kept to his promise of poverty, breaking it only for the expenditure of small gifts for Gianni. As for chastity, his thoughts had succumbed to temptation, but his body had not. Obedience was the hard one, for he had not obeyed his senior Templar officers, not since the day he had returned to England and found that his family had all perished during those long years he had been a captive of the Saracens. It had been the compassion of the Order that had kept him in their ranks, not his own honour. What was the wording of the oath? \"To obey his Templar Master, or those to whom the Master has given authority, as though the command had come from Christ Himself.\"\n\nHe looked down on Lincoln town, then up into the night sky. Crystals of ice were beginning to form on his hair and beard and his ears burned with the cold. Silently he prayed for guidance. What was God's purpose for him? He begged for aid from heaven, some sign that would tell him what to do. But there was no answer."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Forest Laird",
        "author": "Jack Whyte",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "Scotland",
            "medieval",
            "The Bravehearts Chronicles"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "It pains me to hear people say nowadays that William Wallace died defiant, a heroic patriot, with a shout of \"Freedom!\" on his lips, because it is a lie. William Wallace died slowly and brutally in silence, to my sure knowledge, for I was there in London's Smithfield Square that morning of August 24th in 1305, and all I heard of defiance was the final, demented scream of a broken, tortured man driven beyond endurance long before he died.\n\nI was the last of our race to see him alive and to speak with him, the sole Scot among the crowd that watched his end and the only one there to mark and mourn his passing. I did not really see him die, though, because my eyes were screwed shut against the tears that blinded me. When I was able to breathe again and wiped my eyes to look, they were already quartering his corpse, the chief executioner proclaiming his death and holding aloft the severed head of the Scotch Ogre who had terrified all England.\n\nSir William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland, my friend, my blood cousin, and my lifelong nemesis, would never terrify another soul.\n\nBut, by the living God, he had terrified enough within his lifetime for his name to live on, in Scotland at least, long after his death, a grim reminder of the punishment for disloyalty, treachery, and disobedience.\n\nAs I watched the executioners dismember his remains, I accepted the reality of his death as I had accepted its inevitability two weeks earlier, when word reached me that he had been taken by Sir John Menteith and handed over to the justice of the English King. I had known that was coming\u2014not that Menteith would arrest him, but that someone would, and soon, for William Wallace's time had passed and he had fallen from grace in the eyes of the people he had led and inspired just a few years earlier. He had become an embarrassment; a source of discomfort to all of them; a thorny, disapproving, uncompromising reminder of all that they had fought for and then abandoned. For they had come to terms, nobles, clerics, and commoners, with England's Edward Plantagenet, and the English King was being regally lenient, exercising forbearance towards all Scots rebels who would join his Peace, save only the outlawed traitor, Wallace. The price of that forbearance was the surrender of the brigand Wallace to Edward's justice. Every noble, sheriff, and justiciar in the realm of Scotland was charged with the duty of apprehending the former Guardian on sight and dispatching him to London as a common criminal.\n\nI was in England when I heard the news, bearing documents from my superior, Walter the Abbot of Paisley, to the Bishop of York and the Bishop of London. I had stopped to rest at the Priory of Reading, and there found the sole topic of conversation among the brethren to be the recent capture of Wallace. Everyone knew he would be tried summarily and executed out of hand, but the manner of his death was a matter for debate and conjecture among the jaded monks, who seldom had open cause to speculate upon such worldly things. I listened to their prattling, and thought about how different was the man I knew from the monster they were all decrying.\n\nI resolved then and there to see him, somehow, while I was in London. I had powerful friends there among the clergy, and I promised myself that I would use them to find him wherever he was being held and, if it were possible, to visit him and offer whatever small comfort I could in his final, friendless hours among an alien people who loathed and feared him.\n\nIn the event, I had no trouble finding where he was imprisoned, for the whole city of London was agog with the news, and with the help of a trusted friend, Father Antony Latreque, Sub-abbot of Westminster, I was admitted to the prisoner's cell on his last night, to hear his last confession.\n\nThe tears I would later shed in Smithfield Square, blinding me to his final moments, would have nothing to do with the barbarity that I was witnessing that bright, late-August morning. They would surge instead from a sudden memory of Wallace's own tears earlier, long before dawn and before they came to lead him out to death. The sight of those tears had shaken me, for I had never seen Will Wallace weep since the day our childhood ended, and the anguish in his eyes there in his darkened cell had been as keen and unbearable as the pain he and I had endured together on that long-ago, far-off day.\n\nHe did not recognize me when I entered, for it had been four full years since he and I had last seen each other. He saw only a cowled priest accompanying a portly, mitred Abbot. The jailer had seen the same thing, ignoring the priest while he whined to the Abbot about his orders to permit the prisoner no visitors.\n\n\"We are not visitors,\" Abbot Antony replied disdainfully. \"We are of Holy Mother Church and our presence marks a last attempt to make this felon repent the error of his ways and confess himself before God. Now provide us with some light and open up this door.\"\n\nThe fellow slouched away to bring each of us a freshly lit torch, then unlocked the heavy door, set his shoulder to it, and pushed it open. My first glance showed me a broad, flagstoned floor, dimly lit by one flickering flambeau in an iron sconce on the left wall. I saw no sign of the prisoner, but he spoke before we had crossed the threshold, his words accompanied by a single brief clash of chains.\n\n\"I need none of your English mouthings, Priest, so get you gone and take your acolyte with you.\" He spoke in Latin, and the Abbot turned to me, brows raised in surprise. I merely gestured with a cupped hand, bidding him continue as we had rehearsed. The Latin was no surprise to me, although I had not thought to speak of it to my companion earlier. Wallace and I had learned the tongue together as students at the same Paisley Abbey that was now my home.\n\nAbbot Antony spoke to the prisoner as we had agreed, but now in Latin.\n\n\"I have heard of your hatred for all things English, William Wallace, but although I deplore both that and your wilful intransigence, I find myself constrained, through simple Christian charity, to offer you the benefit of God's sacraments in the hope that, in the end, His clemency will absolve you of your many sins.\"\n\n\"Seek your own people, then, Priest, beginning with your King, and absolve them, for their sins are greater than mine have ever been.\" The voice was flinty with scorn. \"Shrive you the slaughterers who slew my family and friends. Pray with the drunken animals who raped me and savaged my people. Mumble a Mass with your grasping earls and barons, who despoiled my home and sought to rip it asunder to sate their own lusts for land and power. But leave me to my God. He knows my sins and what drove me to commit them. I need no English translator to poison my words before they reach God's ears.\"\n\nThey were not the exact words I had expected, but I had estimated precisely the tone and content. Abbot Antony was mortified, and it showed clearly on his face. To hear such venom in a single voice, directed not merely at him but at his entire Church and his people, left the poor man speechless, but not addled. I had warned him that he might hear appalling things when he confronted this prisoner, and so he pulled himself together quickly and returned to the script we had prepared against the risk that others might hear us.\n\n\"I had heard,\" Antony said, \"that you were obdurate in your hatred of my kind, but it is my Christian obligation as a man of God to do all in my power to help you towards salvation. And so \u2026\" He hesitated. \"And so I have taken pains to bring you an intermediary, twixt you and God, to whom you may speak in your own tongue. Father James is of your folk. I will leave him to commune with you and hear your confession.\"\n\nNow the prisoner turned his eyes towards me for the first time, and though he was merely a shape stirring among blackness, I could tell that he was squinting to see me better.\n\n\"What is a Scots priest doing here?\"\n\n\"His duty,\" Antony answered, \"comforting the afflicted. Will you speak with him? If so, I will leave the two of you alone.\"\n\nWallace shrugged, the movement easily visible now that my eyes were adjusting to the darkness. \"I'll talk with him, if only to hear my own tongue. Who are you, Priest? Where are you from?\"\n\n\"Thank you, Father Abbott,\" I said quietly, and Antony turned away towards the still-open door. I heard him speak to the jailer outside, and then the man hauled at the massive door until it scraped shut, leaving me alone with the prisoner. \"Where am I from? I am from Paisley, from the Abbey. Do you not know me, Will?\"\n\nThe shadowy figure straightened up as though he had been struck. \"Jamie? Jamie Wallace? What in God's name are you doing here? Your very name could hoist you to the gallows alongside me.\"\n\nI pushed my cowl back off my head and let him see my smile. \"Plain Father James? I doubt that, Will. The Wallace part of me is unknown here in England.\"\n\n\"Then pray you to God it stays that way. This is madness, Jamie. But, man, it's good to see your face.\"\n\n\"And to see yours, Cousin, though God Himself knows I had never thought to see you in such straits.\" I stepped forward to embrace him, but as the light from my torch fell upon him I stopped short. \"What kind of barbarism is this?\"\n\nHe grinned at me and drew himself up to his full, imposing height. \"D'ye no' ken,\" he said in our own tongue, \"I'm a dangerous chiel? They ca' me the Scotch Ogre and they a' believe I eat bairns whene'er I get the chance.\"\n\nHis hair and beard were matted and unshorn, and he wore only a ragged shirt, one arm of which had been torn from his shoulder, exposing the massive knots of corded muscle there, but I paid little attention to those things. I was staring at the harness that bound him.\n\n\"Can you sit?\"\n\nHis grin widened, but there was no humour in his eyes. \"Sit? Sit on what? It takes me a' my time to stand wi'out cowpin' sideways. I ha'e to stand spread-legged and lean my back against the wa', else I'll fa', and these chains winna even let me dae that.\"\n\nThe chains that bound him, wrists and ankles, were thick and heavy, the manacles tautly fastened to a thick leather belt that circled his waist. The girdle was fastened right and left to short lengths of chain that were secured to a heavy iron ring mounted on the wall at his back. He could not fall, nor could he turn. All he could do was stand upright or allow his weight to sag into the harness around his waist, but there would be no comfort there, either, for now I saw that the chains from the belt were of different lengths, ensuring that he could only hang tilted to one side.\n\n\"How long have you been held like that?\"\n\n\"Three days.\" He spoke still in Scots. \"Ye'll pardon the stink, I hope, for they havena let me loose since they strapped me in here.\" He was unbelievably filthy, and at his mention of it the appalling stench of him hit me like a blow. I lowered my torch, looking down at his befouled legs beneath the tattered shirt he wore. They were crusted with feces, and the ground at his feet was a stinking puddle.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" I said, my senses reeling. \"Who is responsible for this? This is \u2026\" I stopped, unable to find words.\n\n\"This is Edward's vengeance, or the start o' it, for a' the grief I've caused him these past years. Tomorrow\u2014no, today, he'll make an end o' it. But ere he's done, I think I'll be yearnin' for the comfort o' just standin' here, danglin' frae my chains. D'ye ken, he wouldna even come to look at me, Jamie? Ye'd think he'd want to look at least, would ye no'? To gloat a wee bit, wag a finger at me. But no. He left it a' to his judges \u2026\"\n\nI opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.\n\n\"It'll be a fine day, the jailers tell me. A grand summer's day to die on. But this London's a dirty, smelly place, Jamie, a sad and dirty place to die. I'd gi'e anything to hear the birds singin' to welcome the dawn in the Tor Wood one last time.\" He snorted. \"But I hae nothin' now to gi'e, and we're a long way frae Ettrick Forest.\"\n\nAnd at that moment, a miracle occurred.\n\nSomewhere beyond the high, barred window above our heads, a bird began to sing, and the clarity and volume of the sound stunned both of us into silence. The song was liquid, brilliant in its welling beauty, the notes rising and falling with limpid perfection so that it seemed the creature producing them was here in the cell with us instead of outside in the pitch-blackness of the night. I watched Wallace's eyes widen and fill with a kind of superstitious fear.\n\n\"Mother of God,\" he whispered. \"What kind o' sorcery is this? It lacks three full hours till dawn. What kind of creature makes such a sound in the blackness of the night?\"\n\n\"It's only a bird, Will, nothing more. They call it a nightingale, because it sings at night. I think there are none in all Scotland, though I may be wrong. I've certainly never heard one there, and it's not the sort of thing you could easily forget. Is it not wonderful?\"\n\nHe listened, and I could see the tension drain from him. Eventually he allowed his weight to settle slightly into his restraints. \"Aye,\" he murmured. \"It is that, a thing o' wonder.\"\n\nI have no idea how long we stood there listening to it before the silence of the night returned.\n\n\"He's gone. Will he come back, think ye?\"\n\n\"Your guess would be as good as mine. But he answered your wish. That was like a miracle.\"\n\n\"Aye \u2026\" He stood gazing into nothingness. \"D'ye remember that day in Dalfinnon Woods, Jamie, before they caught us? Remember we hid from them, amang the brambles on our hands and knees? It was so quiet and we listened so hard for the sounds o' them comin' and then the only thing we could hear was a lintie singin' in a tree above our heids? God, yon bird could sing. Like a lintie, they say\u2014he could sing like a lintie. But unless you kent what a lintie sounded like, you'd never be able to tell if that was true or no'. It was wee Jenny who tell't me that day that the bird was a lintie, for I didna ken. How was I to know? Poor wee Jenny \u2026\" He squeezed his eyes shut and flicked his head.\n\n\"Seven, she was, and yon big English whoreson killed her wi' a flick o' his wrist. Didna even look at what he'd done, didna even turn his heid to see. Just cut her wee, thin neck the way ye would a stoat. Jesus, Jamie, I saw that in my dreams for years, her head rollin' and bouncin' like a bairn's ba' kicked into the bushes, its mouth open and its eyes wide, as if she was wonderin' what had happened. What they did to you and me afterwards was cause enough to hate them a' and want to see them deid, but poor wee Jenny \u2026\"\n\nHe straightened up again, leaning his shoulders back against the wall, and reverted to Latin. \"His name was Percy, did you know that? The man who killed Jenny? William Percy. Some base-born relative of the English Earl. I met him again, years later, after Stirling Bridge, when I recognized him among the prisoners. He didn't know me, but I had carried his face in my mind ever since that day. I hanged him by the heels and reminded him what he had done to us, and to my little sister. He denied everything, but he could not deny the scar that had marked his face that day and marked it still. I spilt his guts with my dirk and let them hang down over his face, and when he stopped screaming I cut off his head. Not as cleanly as he had cut off Jenny's, though, for it took me three blows, because of the way he was hanging.\"\n\nI closed my eyes, trying to shut out the image he had conjured.\n\n\"England has had ample cause to rue that day's work in Dalfinnon Woods. And this new day will bring an end o' it, when they hang me up and draw my guts the way I cut out his.\n\n\"Some people\u2014Archbishop Lamberton was one\u2014have asked me why I hate the Englishry so much, but I have had so many reasons that I've never been able to answer any of them. Christ knows we Scots have never had far to look for reasons to despise these people's cruelty and arrogance, but that day in Dalfinnon Woods has much to do with all of it. Bad enough that they had already killed my mother and father that morning. But what they did to us in that wood, that earned them my true hatred\u2014as strong today as it was then.\n\n\"But you forgave them, Jamie, where I never could and never wanted to.\" He shook his head in perplexity. \"How could you do that, after what they did to you that day? You forgave them, and I never doubted your sincerity. But I never understood it either. We grew closer after that, we two, but then our ways parted. You took up the Cross and I took up the bow. And yet we remained friends, even while you disapproved of me and everything I did.\"\n\nI held up my hand to stop him. \"I seldom disapproved of what you stood for, Will, or what you wanted to achieve. It was the how of it, not the why, that caused me pain. I lauded your objectives, but I deplored the savagery in your achieving them.\"\n\n\"Savagery \u2026 Aye. But only a fool would turn the other cheek to enemies whom he knew would kill him dead for doing so. Or think you that the English are not savages?\"\n\n\"What we saw in Dalfinnon Woods was depravity, Will, committed by a gang of drunken men. They might as easily have been Scots, but for the grace of God.\"\n\n\"They were English, Jamie.\"\n\n\"Aye, and they were drunk. No man improves with drink. But to hold their crimes, bad as they were, against all England and all Englishmen makes no kind of sense to me.\"\n\n\"Well, it's too late now to argue over it.\"\n\n\"Tell me about Cressingham.\"\n\n\"Cressingham?\" My question plainly surprised him, for he cocked his head to one side and thought for a moment. \"Cressingham was an idiot\u2014a strutting, sneering fool. The most hated Englishman in Scotland.\"\n\n\"Aye, but he was also your prisoner, after Stirling Fight. Did you really skin him alive to have a sword belt made for yourself?\"\n\nHe flinched. \"No, as God is my judge! That is the talk of jealous enemies. I was nowhere near the place when he was killed.\"\n\n\"But he was killed. And flayed alive before that.\"\n\n\"Aye, he was. It's one of the reasons they're going to hang me as a felon. Retribution, they say. But I was not there, and I knew nothing of it until the murder was done. I had too much on my mind that day, after the battle and with Andrew Murray sorely wounded, to pay attention to what my malcontents were up to. But the responsibility was mine, as leader. That lies beyond argument and I accept it.\"\n\nI turned away, thinking to lecture him about appearances and guilt by association, but when I swung back to face him I found his eyes awash with tears, and the sight turned my self-righteous words to ashes in my mouth. William Wallace had never been known to weep over anything. That was part of his legend among the wild, ungovernable men he had led for so long. But he was weeping now, unashamedly, the tears running down his cheeks and into the thicket of his matted beard.\n\n\"What is it, Will? What's wrong?\" Silly, futile questions, I knew.\n\nHe raised up his head and looked directly at me. \"Was I wrong, Jamie? Have I been a fool, all these years?\"\n\nI could only gape at him.\n\n\"I did but what my conscience told me, and I did it for our poor, sad land and for our folk. I knew I had no skill for it and no right to do it, and I set down the Guardian's flag after Falkirk, when that became plain to all. But the folk were crying with need, and they were never going to find support among Scotland's nobles. And so I stepped in and agreed to be Guardian, at Wishart's urging\u2014Wishart and others, the Lords of Scotland's Church. They, at least, stood loyal to King and realm when the great lords were scrabbling solely for themselves. And so I led them, the Scots folk, against all those who would grind them down\u2014Scots magnates and English parasites\u2014led them to victory at Stirling with Andrew Murray, and then to slaughter at Falkirk. And after that, I walked away and left others to direct the path of the realm.\"\n\n\"There were no others to direct it, Will. You were God's anointed for the post, and the Falkirk defeat was not your doing. You should have stayed.\"\n\n\"Shite! It was my doing, Jamie. Andrew Murray would never have let what happened there take place. He would have found a way to make it work. His death after Stirling Bridge was Scotland's greatest loss, and mine. And what would I have done, had I stayed? Led another thousand men to death in some other slaughter? No, Jamie, no \u2026\"\n\nHe cleared his throat and pressed his shoulders back against the wall in search of comfort. \"I could not do that, not after what I'd learned, watching those whoreson horsemen run away, fleeing the field and leaving us behind like beasts for the slaughter. Scotland's pride! Faugh! That travesty at Falkirk taught me that Scotland will never be free until her own lords and magnates decide to turn themselves around, till they see that their own freedom, their personal honour\u2014and few of them have any of that left, in the eyes of the folk\u2014must be torn from England. As long as they sit on their arses arguing, giving more time and thought to the welfare of their lands in England than they do to matters at home, Scotland will be a wasteland, its folk slaughtered by the nobility on both sides while their magnates make bargains for their own enrichment.\"\n\n\"Come, Will, it's not that bleak. There are some among the nobility who show great loyalty to the realm.\"\n\n\"Aye, but damn few and nowhere near enough. The others are loyal to themselves alone. I saw it clear that day at Falkirk, and that's when I knew I could stand no more. I washed my hands clean of the whole mess, like Pontius Pilate, and it turns out they hated me for it. And so now I am to die when the sun rises and I ask myself\u2014 No, that's not true, Jamie. I ask you, was I mistaken in the path I chose?\"\n\nHe stood up straight and rattled the chains on his arms, looking down at them before he raised his tormented eyes to me. \"Did I wrong Scotland? God knows, I have committed sins aplenty in the eyes of men like yourself, and none of them have bothered me since I saw my duty clear ahead of me. But it would grieve me now to think I had been wrong for all these years, or that I had shirked my duty in the end.\" He lapsed from the churchly Latin back into Scots. \"Ye've never lied to me, Jamie. Ye've confronted me, ye've shouted at me and defied me, but ye hae never lied to me. So tell me now. Have I been wrong?\"\n\n\"I cannot answer that, Will. Only God can. Tell me, are you afraid of what they will do to you?\"\n\nHe raised his eyebrows. \"The executioners? Are ye daft? Of course I am. They're gaun to kill me, Jamie, to gut me and cut me into bits, and I'm no' like to enjoy any part o' it. God knows I'm no' feared to die, though. There were times, right after Falkirk, when I would ha'e welcomed death, frae any quarter, and every day God sent for years prior to that, I thought to die in one tulzie or another. It's no' the dyin' that worries me, it's the manner o' it, for I wouldna like to die badly, bawlin' like a bairn that's had his arse skelped. Will you be there?\"\n\n\"You mean among the crowd? No, God forbid. Suffice that I'm here now.\"\n\n\"Would you come if I asked you to, Jamie? To be there as my witness? There'll be naebody else.\"\n\n\"To watch you die? That's something I have no desire to see, Will.\"\n\n\"Aye, but no' just to see it\u2014to bear witness to it afterwards. An' forbye, your being there wad stop me frae girnin' an' makin' a fool o' mysel'.\"\n\nIt was easy to smile at that, I found.\n\n\"I think there's little chance o' that, Will. No Guardian of Scotland was ever any man's fool.\"\n\n\"Aye, but I failed as Guardian.\" He gazed at me soberly. \"Will ye come, for me?\"\n\nI closed my eyes and then nodded. \"I will, Sir William. I will be your witness, and I will honour your trust and be honoured by it. Will you confess yourself now? Are you prepared for that?\"\n\nHis slow nod of agreement lifted a weight from my soul.\n\n\"Aye, Father James, I will. I'm ready \u2026 both to talk to God and to meet Him.\"\n\nAnd so I stood in Smithfield Square and bore silent witness to the death of the man whom I believe to have been Scotland's greatest and most loyal son. He was thirty-five years old, two years my senior. I remember, because that day was my thirty-third birthday, and almost as many have gone by again since then.\n\nYoung Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick, seized the throne the following year, in 1306, and over the course of the next two decades ousted the English finally from Scottish soil and built a single, unified country out of a feudal chaos. He it was who brought our land the unity, peace, and prosperity of which my cousin William had dared to dream.\n\nBut it was not until recently, when these new rumours of \"The Wallace's\" heroic and defiant death began to circulate, that I recalled Will's insistence that I serve as his witness and speak out on his behalf. It had not entered his mind that he might be lionized; he was concerned about being defamed and demeaned in death. And now the opposite is happening, and that strikes me as being even more ominous than his dying fears. He is being recreated, and falsely, by people who seek to use his greatness for their own ends.\n\nAnd so, the time has come for me to write of the William Wallace I knew, for the man these empty rumours would put in his place is painted in false and garish colours, portraying a hero of the ancients, without sin, without flaw, without remorse, and, worst of all, without the beguiling, infuriating mixture of lovable strength and deplorable faults that made my cousin Will the man he was."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Forest Laird",
                "text": "Even now, when more than fifty years have passed, I find it difficult to imagine a less likely paladin. Yet paladin he was, to us, for he saved our lives, our sense of purpose, and our peace of mind, restoring our shattered dignity when we were at our lowest depth. Possibly the least attractive-looking man I ever saw, he quickly became one of the strongest anchors of my young life. But on that first evening when he startled us from an exhausted sleep, we saw only the monstrous, green-framed, and hairless face of a leering devil looming over us.\n\nWe were gibbering with terror, both of us, and our fear was real, because for two full days we had been running in terror, uphill and down, stumbling and falling and blinded with tears and grief, sobbing and incoherent most of the time and utterly convinced we would be caught and killed at any moment by the men pursuing us. We had no notion of the miles falling behind us or the distance we had covered. We knew only that we had to keep running. At times, rendered helpless by exhaustion, we had stopped to rest, huddling together in whatever place we had found that offered a hint of concealment, but we never dared stop for long, because the men hunting us had legs far longer than ours and they knew we could condemn them for the crimes we had seen them commit. And so, as soon as we could find the strength to run for our lives again, we ran. We drank whenever we found a stream, but we dared not stop to hunt or fish. We could not even steal food, because we fled through open country, avoiding people and places that might house our pursuers.\n\nWe had arrived at the top of a long moorland gradient and crouched there behind a tall clump of bracken ferns, looking back down the way we had come and astonished to discover that we could see for miles and that no one was chasing us. We strained our eyes for signs of movement on the sloping moor, but all we saw were hares and what might have been a wild boar, more than a mile below us. We finally accepted that no ravening murderers were hunting us.\n\nAhead of us, the hillside swept gently down for half a mile towards a grassy plain that was bounded on the right by the deepcut, tree-filled gully of a mountain stream.\n\nWill pointed towards the trees. \"We'll go down there. No one will see us there and we can sleep.\"\n\nAs we set off, I felt myself reeling drunkenly, unable to think of anything except the fact that we would soon be able to sleep. It was late afternoon by then, and the sun was throwing our shadows far ahead of us. The grass beneath our feet was short and cropped here, and the going was easy. We soon reached the edge of the defile and jumped down into the first depression we found, a high-sided, grass-filled hollow enclosed by the tops of the trees that stretched up from below us in the steep, sheltered cleft. Within moments we were both asleep.\n\nHow long we slept I do not know. But something struck my foot, and I opened my eyes to see the most hideous face I had ever seen, glaring down at me, and I screamed, startling Will awake and sending us both scrambling to escape up the steep bank behind us, but the monster caught us easily, snatching me up to tuck me beneath one arm while pinning Will to the ground with a massive, booted foot. He silenced us with a mighty bellow of what I took to be raging blood lust, and then he thrust me down to huddle at his feet, after which he stepped back a pace and eyed both of us together. I reached out for Will and he squeezed my hand tightly, and we both prepared for the mutilation and death the apparition would surely visit upon us. But then the gargoyle turned its back on us, and we heard it speak.\n\n\"I thought you were thieves at first, bent upon robbing me. I was far away from you and thought you men.\"\n\nIt was a strange voice, unexpectedly gentle, and the words were carefully articulated. He spoke in Scots, but with an alien lilt. We knew not what to think, and, still gripped by terror, stared at each other wild-eyed. Now that the giant's back was to us, though, I was able to see that there was nothing supernatural about him. From behind, he was a man like any other, though enormous in his bulk. It was only when he faced you squarely that you saw him as hideous. He was dressed from head to foot in shades of green, his head concealed by a hooded cap that was a part of his tunic, and as I watched now, my heart beginning to slow down, he reached up and tugged, it appeared, at his forehead.\n\nWhen he turned back to us, his face was covered by a mask of green cloth that he must have pulled down from his hooded cap. It was drawn tight beneath what chin he had, its only openings three ragged-edged holes, one for breathing and one for each eye. The right eye gleamed at me from its opening.\n\n\"There,\" he said. \"That's better, no?\"\n\n\"Better?\" My voice was no more than a squeak.\n\n\"My face. It's one to frighten children. So I keep it hidden\u2014most of the time.\" He tilted his head so he could look at Will. \"So now that I can tell ye're no' here to rob me, I have some questions to ask you.\" He bent suddenly and grasped my ankle and I stiffened with fear, but all he did was twist it gently and pull it up so he could look at the back of my leg. \"Your legs are covered wi' dried blood, caked with it. And so are yours,\" he added, nodding at Will. \"Why just your legs, and why just the backs of them?\"\n\n\"You know fine well.\" Will's voice was little louder than my own, but I could hear defiance in it. \"You did it\u2014you and your friends. Used us like women \u2026 like sheep.\"\n\n\"I did what?\" The giant stood for a moment, opening and closing one massive, craggy fist, and then he quickly stooped and grasped Will's ankle as he had mine. \"Lie still,\" he growled as Will started to kick. \"I'll no' hurt you.\"\n\nI had tensed, too, at his sudden move, ready to hurl myself to Will's defence, but then I remained still, sensing that there was no malice now in the man's intent. And so I watched as he flipped Will over to lie face down, then pinned him in place with a hand between his shoulders while he pulled up the hem of my cousin's single garment, exposing his lower back and buttocks and the ravages of what had been done to him. I had not seen what now lay exposed to me, for neither of us had spoken of what had happened, but I knew that what I was seeing was a mirror image of my own backside. I vomited painfully, hearing the giant say again, \"Lie still, lad, lie still.\"\n\nWhen I finished wiping my mouth they were both watching me, Will sitting up, ashen faced, and the giant leaning back, his shoulders against the steep bank at his back.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" our captor said, in what we would come to know as his curious soft-edged and sometimes lisping voice. \"Listen to me now, both of you. I know the sight of me frightened you. That happens often and I've grown used to it. But know this as well. I had no part in what was done to you, and no friend of mine would ever do such a thing. I know not who you are, nor where you came from, and I never saw you before you came across that ridge up there.\" He flicked a finger at Will. \"When did this happen?\"\n\n\"Yesterday.\" Will's voice was a whisper.\n\n\"When? Daytime or night?\"\n\n\"Daytime. In the morning.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"At home, near Ellerslie.\"\n\n\"Near Ellerslie? That's in Kyle, is it no'?\"\n\nWill nodded. \"Aye, near Ayr.\"\n\n\"Carrick land. Bruce country. But that's thirty miles and more from here. How did you get here?\"\n\n\"We ran.\"\n\n\"You ran? Thirty miles in two days? Bairns?\"\n\n\"Aye, we ran,\" Will snapped. \"They were chasing us. Sometimes we hid, but mostly we ran.\"\n\n\"Who was chasing you?\"\n\n\"The ones who\u2014 The ones who murdered my father, Alan Wallace of Ellerslie. And my mother. My wee sister Jenny, too.\" Now the tears were pouring down Will's cheeks, etching clean channels through the caked-on dirt.\n\n\"Christ!\" The green mask swung back to face me. \"And who are you? His brother?\"\n\nI shook my head, feeling the tears trembling in my own eyes. \"No, I'm his cousin Jamie, from Auchincruive. I came to live with Will when my family all died of the fever, two years ago.\"\n\n\"Aha.\" He looked back at Will. \"Your name's Will Wallace?\"\n\n\"William.\"\n\n\"Ah. William Wallace, then. My name is Ewan Scrymgeour. Archer Ewan, men call me. You can call me Ewan. So tell me then, exactly, what happened yesterday to start all this.\"\n\nIt was a good thing he asked Will that and not me, for I had no idea what had happened. Everything had been too sudden and too violent, and all of it had fallen on me like a stone from a clear blue sky. Will, however, was two years older, and more than accustomed to being able to think for himself, since he had been taught for years, by both his parents, that knowledge and the ability to read and write are the greatest strengths a free man can possess. Will came from a clan of fighting men and women, as did I, but his father's branch of our family had a natural ability for clerical things, and two of his uncles, as well as several of his cousins, were monks.\n\n\"They were Englishmen,\" Will said, his voice still low, his brow furrowed as he sought to recall the events.\n\n\"Englishmen? They couldn't have been. There are no English soldiery in Scotland.\"\n\n\"I saw them! And I heard them talking. But I could tell from their armour even before I heard them growling at each other.\"\n\n\"Jesus, that makes no kind of sense at all. We have no war with England and they have no soldiers here. Unless they were deserters, come north in search of booty and safety. But if that's the case, they'd have been safer to stay in England. King Alec's men will hunt them down like wolves. How many were there?\"\n\n\"Ten on foot and a mounted knight in command of them. He had a white thing on his surcoat. A turret or a tower. Some kind of castle.\"\n\n\"And what happened?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Will wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. \"We were down by the old watchtower hunting squirrels, Jamie and me. We heard the noise and ran to see what was happening and we met my sister Jenny running away. She was witless, out o' her mind wi' terror. She couldna speak, didna even try. She just wailed, keenin' like an old wife at a death. I knew something terrible had happened. So I left her there wi' Jamie and ran to see.\" He fell silent, staring into emptiness, and a bleak look settled on his face.\n\n\"They were all dead,\" he said in a dulled voice I'd never heard before, \"scattered in the gate yard. Jessie the cook, Angus the groom. Timothy and Charlie and Roddy and Daft Sammy. All dead \u2026 split open and covered in blood an' \u2026\" He sobbed then, a single, wrenching sound. \"My da was sitting against the wall by the door with his head to one side and his eyes wide open, and I thought he was just lookin' at them, but then I saw the blood on him, too, all down his front \u2026 And then I saw that his head was almost off, hangin' to one side. My mother was beside him, lyin' on her face, wi' a big spear sticking up between her shoulders. I could see her bare legs, high up. I'd never seen them before.\" He hiccupped and shuddered. \"The ones alive were a' strangers, what the English call men-at-arms, a' wearin' helmets and jerkins and mail, forbye a knight on a horse. The men were a' talkin' and laughin', but the knight was just sittin' on his horse, cleanin' his sword on something yellow. And then one o' them saw me watchin' and gave a shout and I ran as fast as I could back to where I'd left Jamie and Jenny.\"\n\nWhen he stopped this time, I thought he would say no more.\n\n\"What happened then?\" Archer Ewan prodded.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"What happened after you ran back to Jamie and your sister?\"\n\n\"Oh \u2026 We ran back the way we had come, but I had to carry Jenny and they caught us near the old watchtower. Five o' them. One o' them killed Jenny. Chopped off her head and didna even look at what he'd done. He was watchin' Jamie, wi' a terrible look on his face. And then they \u2026 they did what they did to us and then they tied us up and left us there, in some bushes against the tower wall. They said they'd be back.\"\n\n\"How did you escape? You did, didn't you?\"\n\nWill nodded. \"Aye. I kept a wee knife for skinnin' squirrels under a stone by the tower door, close by where they left us. Jamie was closer to it than me, so I told him to get it for me. He rolled over and got it, then he crawled back, holdin' it behind his back, and I took it and managed to cut his wrists free. It took a long time. Then he cut the ropes on his legs and set me loose. And then we ran.\"\n\n\"And are you sure they chased you?\"\n\nWill looked up at the giant in surprise. \"Oh, aye, they chased us, and they would ha'e caught us, too, except that there was a thunderstorm and you could hardly see through the rain and the dark. But we knew where we were going and they didna. So we gave them the slip and kept movin' into the woods, deeper and deeper until we didna even know where we were. We ran all day. Then when it got dark we slept for a wee while and then got up and ran again. But they found our tracks and we could hear them comin' after us, shoutin' to us to gi'e up, for a long time.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" The big man sat mulling that for a time, studying each of us closely with his one good eye, and I began to fear that he doubted all that Will had said, even though he must surely see our terror and exhaustion were real. \"Well,\" he said eventually, \"all that matters is that you escaped and you're here now and well away from them. Who were they working for, do you know?\"\n\nWill frowned. \"Who were they workin' for? They werena workin' for anybody. They were Englishmen! There's no Englishmen in Carrick. The men there are all Bruce men. My da's been the Countess o' Carrick's man all his life. He's fierce proud o' that.\"\n\n\"Aye, no doubt. Then if you're right, and they were Englishry, they must have been deserters, as I jaloused. Either that or your father must have crossed someone important. And powerful. Was he rich?\"\n\n\"My da?\" Will blinked. \"No, he wasna rich. But he wasna poor, either. We've a fine herd o' cattle.\"\n\n\"That might have been what they were after. But whether yea or nay, those cattle winna be there now.\" He sighed loudly and then clapped his hands together. \"Fine, then, here's what we're going to do. I have a camp close by, down at the bottom of the gully, by the stream. We'll go down there, where there's a fine, sheltered fire, and I'll make us a bite to eat, and then you two can wash yourselves in the burn and I'll show you how to make a bed of bracken ferns. In the morning we'll decide what you should do from here onwards. Away with you now.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "The water was frigid, but the rushing coldness of it against my heated body was intense enough to dull the worst of the searing pain in my backside. I gritted my eight-year-old teeth and grimly set about washing away the evidence of my shame and the sin I had endured. I could hear Will splashing close by, and hear his muttered curses, for he ever had a blazing, blistering way with words. When I could feel that my legs and buttocks were clean again, I did a brave thing. I knelt in the stream, bending forward to splash water over my face and head and scrub at both until I felt they too must be clean.\n\n\"I'm finished,\" Will called to me as I was shaking the water from my hair, and we made our way together back towards the bank, stooped forward and fumbling with outstretched hands for river stones that could trip us.\n\nEwan's campfire was well concealed in a stone-lined pit, but we could see the glow of it reflected up into the branches overhead, and soon we were sitting beside it, each wrapped in one of the two old blankets he had tossed to us with a single rough cloth towel on our return.\n\n\"Eat,\" he said, and brought each of us a small tin pot of food. I have no idea what it contained, other than the whipped eggs that held it together, but there was delicious meat in there, in bite-sized pieces, and some kind of spicy root that might have been turnip. He had something else cooking, too, in a shallow pan, but it had nothing to do with what we ate that night. He had raised his mask and tucked it back into his hood, perhaps so that he could see better, and was carefully keeping his back to us as he worked. The stuff in the pan was a soggy, black mess of plants and herbs mixed with some kind of powder that he shook liberally into it from a bag he pulled out of a pocket in his tunic. He kept the mixture simmering over the coals in a tiny amount of water, stirring it with a stick and testing its heat with a finger from time to time\u2014though I noticed he never tasted it\u2014until he removed it from the heat and set it aside to cool. Still keeping his back to us while Will and I gorged ourselves on our stew, he then set about ripping up what I took to be a good shirt, tearing it into two large pieces and a number of long, thin strips. Will and I watched his every move, chewing avidly and wondering what he was about.\n\nWill cleared his throat. \"Can I ask you something?\"\n\nThe big man glanced up, the ruined side of his face masked in shadow. \"Aye, ask away.\"\n\n\"What kind of eggs are these? They're good.\"\n\n\"A mixture, but four of them were duck eggs. The rest were wild land fowl\u2014grouse and moorhen.\"\n\n\"Are you not having any?\"\n\n\"I had mine earlier, while you bathed.\"\n\nWill nodded, then said, \"You don't have to hide your face now. We're no' afraid any more.\"\n\nEwan's face creased into what I thought might be a smile. \"Are you sure about that?\"\n\n\"Aye, we're sure. Aren't we, Jamie?\"\n\n\"Aye, we're sure, right enough.\" Then, emboldened by my youth and the sudden realization that I truly was not afraid of this strange man, I asked, \"What happened to it? Your face.\"\n\nThe giant drew in a great breath. \"How old are you, William Wallace?\"\n\n\"Ten.\"\n\n\"Well, then, when I was a boy just two years older than you are now, I got hit in the face by a mace. You know what a mace is?\"\n\n\"Aye, it's a club.\"\n\n\"It is. A metal-headed club. And it broke my whole face and knocked out my eye and all my teeth on the one side.\"\n\n\"Who did it?\"\n\n\"I don't know. It was early in a battle, at a place called Lewes, in Sussex in the south of England.\" He went on to tell us about how he had gone, as an apprentice boy to a Welsh archer, to join the army of King Henry, the third of that name, in his war against his rebellious barons led by Simon de Montfort. The present King of England, Edward I, Ewan said, had been a prince then, and had commanded the cavalry and archers on the right of King Henry's battle line, on the high ground above Lewes town, but the enemy, under Simon de Montfort himself, had surprised them from the rear after a daring night march and won control of the heights after a short and vicious fight. In that early-morning skirmish before the battle proper, young Ewan's company of archers, running to take up new positions, had been caught in the open and ridden down by a squadron of de Montfort's horsemen, one of whom struck Ewan down in passing.\n\n\"So if you missed the battle,\" I said, \"why do they call you Archer Ewan?\"\n\n\"Because that's what I am. An archer, trained lifelong on the longbow. They left me for dead on that field, but I wouldna die. And when I recovered I went back to my apprenticeship. I had lost a year and more of training by then, but my apprentice master was my uncle, too. He took me back into his care and I learned well, despite having lost my eye. It changes your sight, you know, having but one eye.\" He made a grunting sound that might have been a selfdeprecating laugh. \"I adapted to it quickly, though, and learned very well, for I had little else left to divert me from my work. Where other lads went chasing after girls, I found my solace in my bow and in learning the craft of using it better than any other man I knew.\"\n\nHe picked up the pan that he'd set by the fireside earlier, testing its heat again with the back of a finger. \"There, this is ready.\"\n\nI watched closely as he folded each of the two large pieces of torn shirt into four and then carefully poured half of the mixture in the pan onto each of the pads he had made. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of it.\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"It's a nostrum.\"\n\n\"What's a nostrum?\"\n\n\"A cure, made from natural things. This one is a poultice made of burdock leaves and herbs and a special mixture of dried things given me by my mother, who is a famous healer. Usually poultices have to be hot, but this one needn't be. It's for you.\" He glanced up to see how I reacted to that, but I merely stared at the nostrum. \"There's one for each of you. What we'll do is put them into the crack of your arses, where the pain is worst, and bind them into place with those long strips. Then you'll sleep with them in place, and come morning, you should both be feeling better. You might not be completely without pain by then, but the worst of it will be bye. Now, let's get them on. They're cool now, so they'll not burn you.\"\n\nWill and I eyed each other fearfully, acutely mindful of what had happened last time a man had come near our backsides, but the big archer was patient and unmistakably concerned for us, and so we suffered the indignity of allowing him to set the things in place and tie them securely. It felt revolting, but I imagined very soon afterwards that the pain of my ravaged backside was subsiding, and I sat still, enjoying the heat from the replenished fire and leaning against Will, who was looking around at the archer's camp.\n\nI looked then, too, and noticed that what I had thought must be a purely temporary place had signs of permanence about it. The fire pit was well made, its stones blackened with age and soot, and there were several stoutly made wooden boxes, or chests, that looked too solid to be picked up and carried away by one man on a single journey. I peered more closely into the dimness and saw that they were fitted into recesses in the hand-cut bank that ringed the campfire and provided us with seats, and that their sides were hinged and could be closed by a latch.\n\n\"Do you live here all the time?\" Will had voiced the question in my mind.\n\n\"No,\" Ewan said. \"But I spend a lot of time here. My mother lives close by.\"\n\n\"Why don't you stay wi' her?\"\n\n\"Because she lives in a cave.\" Then, seeing the astonishment on our faces, he added, \"I stay away because I don't want to leave signs of my being there. I only go to see her when I think she'll need more food. To go too often would be dangerous.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nThe big archer gave a snort of indignation. \"Because someone might see me coming or going, and if they did they might search and find my mother. And if they find her they'll kill her.\"\n\nThe enormity of that left us speechless, and Will, having seen his own mother killed mere days before, wiped at his eyes, suddenly brimming with tears. It was left to me to ask the obvious question.\n\n\"Why would anybody want to kill her?\"\n\n\"Because she's my mother and I'm an outlaw. So is she.\"\n\n\"An outlaw?\" I was stricken with awe. \"How can somebody's mother be an outlaw?\"\n\nHe reached out a long arm to tousle my hair. \"Aye,\" he said quietly. \"It's daft, isn't it? But she is, because I saved her life and was outlawed myself for doing it.\"\n\nHe looked into the fire, and I drew my blanket closer about me, sensing a story to come. And sure enough, he began to speak, slowly and clearly in that wonderful soft-edged voice. \"D'you recall my saying she was a famous healer? Well, she was. She lived in a wee place east of here, about twelve miles from where we're sitting now. It doesna even have a name\u2014just a wee clump o' houses near a ford over a river. But she was known in a' the countryside, and whenever somebody got sick, they'd send for her. The land belonged to an auld laird called Sir Walter Ormiston, one o' the Dumfries Ormistons, but when he died it passed to his eldest son, a useless lump of dung called William, like your friend there. But he liked to call himself William, Laird of Ormiston. The old man had been plain Ormiston, but the son demanded to be called the Laird of Ormiston, by everybody. Anyway, this Laird William had a wife as silly as himself, and a wee son called Alasdair. The bairn took sick and the Laird had my mother brought to the big house to see to him. She was a great healer, my mother, but she couldna compete wi' God's will, and the bairn died. The father went mad, and his wife called my mother a witch, said she had put a curse on the bairn. They locked her up in a cellar in the big house.\n\n\"I heard all about it the next morning, and I went directly in search of her and got there just as they were going to hang her from a tree. I was too far away to stop them, too far away even to shout at them and be heard. I couldna believe what I was seein'. They put a rope around her neck and threw the other end over a high branch, and then three men gathered up the other end of the rope, meaning to run with it, hoisting her up into the air.\"\n\nHe stopped talking, and I had to bite my tongue to keep still and wait, but it was Will who spoke up.\n\n\"What did you do?\"\n\n\"What could I do? I used my bow and shot them a' when they started to run, before they could hoist her off the ground. The rope burnt her neck, but they dropped her before she was even in the air. I was already running towards them. When I saw Laird William, I took a shot at him, but he was running to hide behind a tree and I took him in the shoulder. Sent him flying, but didna kill him. By the time I reached my mother there was just me and her and the three men I had killed. Everyone else had scattered.\"\n\nHe drew a deep breath and blew it out mightily. \"That was two years ago, the end of my life as it had been. I took my mother up on my horse with me and we escaped, but we could not go home again, for they put a price on my head for murder, for the murder of the three men and the attempted murder of Laird William. I knew they would, but by the time the word got out we were far away, my mother and I. I took her into the forest and we stayed there for a few months, but then when the hullabaloo had died down I brought her back here, close enough to her own land to be familiar, but far enough away from everywhere to be out of harm's way.\n\n\"We hid in the woods here for a month or two longer, while I looked for a place for her to live that would be safe and comfortable, and one day I found the cave she lives in now. It's hard to find at the best o' times, and she's happy enough, but the ground below the hillside at the entrance to her place is boggy, and it's too easy to leave tracks that might be followed. That's why I stay away most of the time.\"\n\n\"Except when you think she needs more food,\" I said.\n\n\"Aye, that's right. She has a few goats that run wild but come to her call, and that gives her milk and cheese. And she grows her own small crops in the clearings among the trees. I bring her oats and fresh meat from time to time, meat that I smoke out here so that it will keep.\"\n\n\"What kind of meat?\"\n\n\"Deer meat. From Laird William's deer. I'm a poacher and a thief o' his deer. It's thanks to him that I'm an outlaw and so I show my gratitude by killing and eating his deer.\"\n\n\"What's it like to be an outlaw?\" I asked him.\n\nThe big man smiled at me and I saw his face clearly, but saw nothing ugly there now. \"It's like being sleepy. You learn to accept it and you hope it won't last.\" He nodded towards Will. \"Your cousin's asleep already. Now let's get you both to bed. We can talk more tomorrow.\"\n\nWe awoke the next morning to the sight of Ewan standing beside the fire pit, gazing down at us with what passed for a smile.\n\n\"Will you sleep all day then, you two? I've done an entire day's work while you lay snoring there. Up, now, and down to the stream and wash the mess from your arses, quick. I need you to help me cut this up, and then we're going to visit my mother, so up with you and scamper about!\"\n\nIf we were bleary eyed at all, that vanished at once, for the gutted carcass of a small deer was draped on a rough cloth spread across his shoulders, its pointed hooves held together at his chest in one massive fist. We sprang from our ferny beds as he lowered the dead beast to the ground and we ran the short distance to the burn with his hectoring voice in our ears all the way.\n\nThe stream was narrower and faster than I had thought the previous night, and it swept around us in a bow, the outer edge of which followed a steep, treed bank every bit as high and sheer as the one at our backs. The only way to see the sky was by looking straight up through a narrow, open strip between the overhead branches, and I saw at once that Ewan's camp was as safe as it could possibly be, for anyone finding it would have to do so by accident. Not even the smell of woodsmoke would betray it, for by the time the smoke reached anyone it would have been dissipated by the thick foliage on the slopes above.\n\nThe water didn't seem as cold as it had the night before, either, and we washed the remains of Ewan's poultice from our bodies quickly, remarking to each other that we could no longer feel the throbbing ache that had seemed interminable the day before.\n\nEwan had almost finished skinning the small deer when we got back to the banked fire pit, where heat still smouldered under a covering of crusted earth. We watched him sever the head and lower legs\u2014I was amazed by the colour and the sharpness of the curved blade he used\u2014and wrap them in the still-steaming hide. He then lifted the entire bundle into the centre of the cloth that had covered his shoulders.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, tying the corners together. \"One of you take that shovel and the other the pickaxe, then go and bury this along the bank of the stream. But bring back the cloth. And mind you take it as far from here as you can carry it. Dinna think to bury it close by. Bury it deep and stamp down the ground and pile stones over it. We dinna want to be attracting scavengers, animal or otherwise. Then get back here as quick as you can.\"\n\nIt took us some time to follow his instructions, and we barely spoke a word to each other, so intent were we on doing exactly as he had said. As we made our way back, we walked into the delicious aroma of cooking. Ewan had rekindled the dormant fire, and a flat iron skillet filled with fresh meat and some kind of onion was sizzling on the coals.\n\nWe ate voraciously, as though we had not fed in weeks. Those two days of running had whetted our appetites to the point of insatiability. The deer liver was perfect, coated in flour and salt and lightly fried with the succulent wild onions, and when the last fragment was devoured we sat back happily.\n\n\"How's your bum?\"\n\nThe question, addressed to both of us, was asked casually as Ewan wiped his knife carefully, removing any signs of food from its gleaming, bluish blade. We both assured him that we were much better.\n\n\"Good.\" He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder to where the deer carcass lay covered with fresh ferns. \"I'll cut some of this up into bits that we can carry, and leave the rest here to smoke later. You can help me carry my mother's share to her.\"\n\n\"Does she live far from here?\" Will asked.\n\nThe big outlaw shook his head. \"Not far, a two-hour walk. Far enough away to be safe when anyone comes here hunting me. Laird William suspects I'm still around, so every now and then patrols come looking. But they haven't found me yet.\"\n\n\"Are you no' afeared they'll find your mother?\" Will asked.\n\n\"She's to the north o' here, across the hills, on the far edge o' William's land. I leave signs to the south and southeast from time to time, to keep them hunting down there. Besides, she knows how to take care o' herself.\" Ewan took up his knife again and began to strop it against a much-used device that had been lying beside his foot. I looked closely at it, never having seen one quite like it before, a strip of leather, perhaps a foot long and a thumb's length in width, that he had fastened to a heavy strip of wood. The leather had a patina of long use, its colour darkened almost to blackness by the friction of a lightly oiled blade, and I watched him test the blade's edge with the ball of his thumb.\n\nHe had no beard. That was part of why he had frightened me so badly when I first looked at him. In a world where all men went unshaven, a beard would have done much to conceal the frightfulness of his visage, yet he had made no attempt to cover the deformity of his face by growing one. If he would wear a mask, why not a beard?\n\nI had seen beardless men before, but very few, and my father had been the only one I knew personally. As a child, I had watched with fascination as he went to great pains, daily, to scrape his cheeks, chin, and upper lip free of hair, using a thin, short-bladed, and amazingly sharp knife that he kept for that purpose alone. It was hard work to shave a beard, I knew, a meticulous and time-consuming, seemingly pointless task, except that my father's commitment to it had a purpose that I discovered by accident one day, listening to my mother speaking to a friend. My father, she had said, had an affliction of the skin that he could hold at bay only by shaving daily. He might perhaps miss one day, but three successive days without the blade would bring his face out in boils and scaly patches. I never did discover what this malady sprang from, but from that time onward I accepted my father's daily regimen as necessary. Watching Ewan wield his strange bluish knife, I knew his blade was far sharper than my father's, and that he could use it to shave quite easily. Yet there was a smoothness to his skin that showed no sign at all of being scraped.\n\n\"Ewan, why have you no beard?\"\n\nHe looked at me in surprise, then laughed. \"For the same reason I have no eyebrows. I can't grow one.\"\n\nI gaped at him in astonishment, noticing for the first time that it was as he said. He had brows, the undamaged one boldly pronounced, but they were hairless.\n\nHe laughed again. \"I was born bald, young Jamie. And I have never grown a single hair anywhere on my body. Look.\"\n\nHe stretched out a hand towards me, exposing the skin on his forearm. It was perfectly smooth, tanned, and heavily corded with muscle but innocent of any trace of hair.\n\n\"No hair at all?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not a single strand. That's another reason for the mask, and the hood. My bare head makes me too easy to notice. Folk will remember a hooded, masked outlaw, but they won't be able to describe him. But a bald and beardless man is another matter altogether.\"\n\nMy mind raced to absorb what he had said. \"Did you not wear a hood, then, before you were an outlaw?\"\n\n\"No, why would I? I didna need one. I had no reason to fear people knowing who I was. I had nothing to hide and nothing to protect. But that's all different now. And what about you two? Where will you go next?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Will said quietly. He had been listening closely to our conversation. \"I think we ought to go and see the Countess.\"\n\n\"The Countess? In Kyle? That's back where you came from, thirty miles away. How will you get there? And what will you do when you are there? Have you other kin close by?\"\n\n\"No. There was only us, and Jamie's folk in Auchincruive, but they're all dead, too. I ha'e two brothers, but Malcolm's training to be knighted and John was knighted two years ago and they're both with the Bruce forces, somewhere in Annandale. I don't know how to find them, to let them know what's happened. But they'll ha'e to be told. But that leaves just Jamie and me.\"\n\n\"And ye've no other kin anywhere?\"\n\nWill shrugged. \"Oh aye. There's my father's brother Malcolm. The one my brother's named for. He lives in Elderslie, near Paisley.\"\n\nThe big archer blinked. \"Ellerslie and Elderslie? There's two places with the same name?\"\n\n\"They're no' exactly the same,\" Will answered. \"They just sound the same. I don't think there's any connection.\"\n\n\"Except they both ha'e knightly tenants called Wallace.\"\n\n\"My father wasna a knight, but my uncle Malcolm is. He has lands there, and a house.\"\n\n\"And how did he and your father get along? Are they friends?\"\n\n\"I \u2026 think so. They're brothers, and I know they like each other. Or liked each other \u2026\" His voice faltered only slightly, but he ploughed ahead. \"And I've another two uncles, or an uncle and a cousin, close by there. At least I think they're close by. Peter and Duncan Wallace. My mother talks\u2014talked about them a' the time. They're both at Paisley Abbey, one a priest, the other a monk.\"\n\nEwan sat up straight. \"Then you have a whole clan there, in this Elderslie, even if they be all men. Are there no women there?\"\n\nWill shrugged. \"I think so. My uncle Malcolm has a wife called Margaret.\"\n\n\"That's where you should go, then, to your kinsmen there. There's nothing left for you where you came from. The Countess would not let you run your farm yourselves, two young boys, mere bairns. And besides, if the men who killed your family found out you were back, they'd finish what they started. I think the two o' you should go to Paisley, to your kin in the Abbey. They'll take you to this Elderslie place.\"\n\n\"But Paisley's miles away,\" I said, hearing the dismay in my own voice, and Ewan swung his big head to look at me.\n\n\"Miles away? God bless you, laddie, it's a lot closer than the place you came from. That's thirty miles and more back, but Paisley's less than twenty miles from here.\"\n\nI looked to Will, but he just shook his head, as ignorant as I was, and big Ewan took that as a sign that he was right.\n\n\"That's what we'll do, then,\" he said, his voice filled with certainty. \"My mother will find you something to wear, to cover your bare arses, and she'll wrap up some food for you. And then she'll tell you the best way to go and we'll set you on the road. You'll see, it will be easy, and you'll be in Elderslie in no time, chapping at your uncle's door.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "From that day onwards, each time I have heard that kind of certainty in someone's voice, I have held my breath and braced myself for the worst that could happen, for the days that followed were far from being easy for any of us.\n\nIt began that afternoon as we reached the base of the low, forested range of hills that Ewan told us contained his mother's cave. The land there was heavily treed, but there were great stretches of open meadow too, dotted with dense copses in the lowlying lands in the approach to the hills, and they were home to herds of deer. We had been walking for almost three hours on a rambling route, skirting the open glades and keeping to the edges of the woodlands because Ewan had warned us that it was not only unsafe but foolish to risk crossing the open meadows, where we might be seen by anyone from any direction. The deer, which were plentiful and grazed in small herds of eight or ten, ignored us for the most part, aware of our presence as we passed but seeming to sense no danger from us.\n\nBut that changed in an instant when all movement among them froze and all their heads came up as one. Ewan froze, too, in midstep, and held up a warning hand to us. A moment later the entire meadow on our left was transformed as all the deer broke into flight at once, bounding high in the air as they fled towards the nearest cover, and when they had all vanished Ewan still stood motionless, urgency in every line of him.\n\nI started to ask him what was wrong but he silenced me with a slash of his hand.\n\n\"Listen,\" he whispered.\n\nI strained my ears, aware that Will was doing the same, and then I heard what must have frightened the deer, a strange, ululating sound far in the distance, although in what direction I could not tell.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nEwan dropped the parcel of meat and slid the great strung longbow over his head. \"Hounds,\" he growled, already launching himself into a run. \"Hunting hounds. You two stay here!\"\n\nHis last words were shouted over his shoulder as he went, but Will and I had no intention of remaining where we were. We looked at each other with no need to speak, then dropped our own two cloth-bound packages and set off after him. We ran as fast as we could, but Ewan was moving like a man possessed, in great leaping bounds, paying no attention now to his own warnings about being seen. We saw very quickly that we could not catch up to him but we kept running, pushing ourselves to the limits, uphill and down, and watching hopelessly as he outstripped us with every frantic stride and finally disappeared among dense undergrowth on another rising slope far ahead.\n\nMoments before we crested that slope, we heard a single, chilling howl somewhere ahead of us. It was human, and it was filled with anguish. We crashed through the last of the undergrowth and stopped abruptly. We were at the top of a steep, grassy hillside overlooking a narrow, tree-hemmed clearing that ran for half a mile to either side of us. I saw movement everywhere down there, but I was so winded by the effort of running that at first I could make no sense of what I was seeing, and I threw one arm over Will's shoulders and hung there gasping, trying to take in the scene below.\n\nMy first impression, still sharp in my mind today, was of two points of stillness among an eddy of distant, wheeling, far-flung, and fast-moving men, some of them mounted, others on foot. One of those points was Ewan Scrymgeour, poised at the foot of the slope below us and looking across the narrow valley to the other, hanging from a large, isolated tree on the opposite slope, a shapeless, brownish bundle. And then in the blink of an eye the horror broke over me. The giant archer screamed again and set off at a run, headed directly for the hanging bundle.\n\nThe eddying men had grouped at either end of the narrow valley, and now they turned back towards him, gaining speed as they came and shouting orders and instructions to one another. I became aware of Will's clawed fingers digging deep into my arm.\n\n\"We have to help him. They'll take him.\"\n\nEven as I heard the words, I heard the futility in them, too. We had not a weapon between us, and there was nothing we could do. We both knew that. Knew, too, that exposed as we were on the open hillside, we were as good as dead. If we were taken here, obviously having come with big Ewan, we would not be hanged as outlaws. We would be chopped down by the first man to reach us, if we were not first used again as women.\n\nThe attackers were stringing out now, six mounted men spurring downslope hard from our right and two more charging more uphill from the left, the latter followed by six running men who had loosed four big dogs from their leashes, hunting hounds that bounded past the two horsemen leading their group and were now racing towards our friend.\n\nIn the space of the moments that I had been looking at his attackers, Ewan Scrymgeour had reached the tree, and I saw the flash of his blade as he cut the rope, then leapt to catch his mother before she fell to the ground. He barely succeeded, and he lowered her gently, stooping over her so that I could not see what he was doing. But then he knelt, his head bowed, and I clearly saw him cross himself before he rose to his feet and took up his longbow. His full quiver, with almost a score of arrows\u2014I had admired them that morning\u2014hung at his shoulders from the strap across his back, and now he reached behind him and drew one, nocking it to his bow and looking from side to side at the men approaching him.\n\nI had never seen the like of what followed, nor have I witnessed the equal of it to this day. Ewan Scrymgeour dealt death in a woodland meadow that day as though he were the god of death himself. Standing alone beneath the tree on which his mother had been killed, he slew every man and dog who came against him, shooting them down indiscriminately as they attracted his attention, some within mere yards of him, like the first dog that died in the air as it sprang for his throat, and others from greater distances. None of the men attacking him had bows, and that was his sole advantage. To deal with him they had to come within spear-throwing distance, or within a sword's length of him, and he killed them one by one before they could.\n\nHis assailants soon recognized that he never missed, and they lost all desire to fight. But these men had murdered his mother, and Ewan shot them down mercilessly as they rode and ran away until only two of them remained alive\u2014a man on foot, who had hung back beyond range of the archer's bow, and the leader of the mounted group. This man, who wore the mail and half armour of a knight, had held himself well clear of the fighting, sitting his horse below Will and me at the base of our slope and watching as the action swirled and eddied.\n\nEwan lowered his bow, still holding an arrow nocked, his eyes fixed on the man below us. But then the man on foot began to run away. I do not believe Ewan had been aware of the fellow until he began to run, but the archer spun towards him and raised his bow again. He stepped into his pull, drew the bowstring back to his ear, held it there for a moment, then released. The fleeing man had been close to three hundred paces distant when he broke into his run and he was running almost as fast as Ewan had run earlier when the arrow struck between his shoulders, its force, even from such a great distance, tumbling him forward, wide armed, into a sprawling, motionless lump.\n\nEven at the age of eight and never having seen a longbow used before, I knew that the feat I had just witnessed was extraordinary. But the mounted knight had missed it, for he had swung his horse around as soon as he saw the other man divert Ewan's attention and was now driving hard up the slope towards us, his bared sword held high. I could not see his face, for he wore a visored helmet, but I knew that he meant to kill us.\n\nWill pushed me down and away from him, shouting at me to roll, and as I threw myself to the ground I saw him run towards the oncoming man and then dive into a downhill roll, his head tucked into his knees. I heard a thunderous thumping of hooves above and beside me, then heard a violent hiss as the point of a hard-swung sword flashed past my face, and frightened out of my wits I rolled again, as the rider reined in his mount and turned, gathering himself to slash at me again, sure this time of his target. I saw his arm go up and heard myself whimper, and then came a sound like a dull, hard hammer blow. My would-be killer flew backward over his horse's rump and crashed to the ground.\n\nI had not seen the arrow hit him, but when I scrambled to my knees to look it was there, transfixing him, buried almost to its feathered fletching in the very centre of his chest, sunk through the layers of armour meant to protect him. I could see Will's feet and legs beside me, and when I looked up at him his eyes were wider than I had ever seen them. Still dazed and hardly believing I had not been killed, I stood up to look for big Ewan, and there he was with his bow by his side, standing motionless where I had last seen him, beneath the tree, beside the body of his mother. It would be years before I learned to appreciate how difficult it is for a bowman to shoot accurately at a target that is far above or below him.\n\nWill was still staring at the arrow buried in the dead knight's chest. He turned to me and blinked, then looked down the slope.\n\n\"Let's help Ewan bury his mother,\" he said.\n\nAs we stood silent over the grave Will had helped Ewan dig with the shovel his mother had used in cultivating her wild crops\u2014I was judged to be too small for such heavy work\u2014I found myself thinking of the carnage that had swept into our lives during the previous few days. Numbed by the grief in Ewan's face, I stared down at the mound of fresh dirt over the woman I had never known and saw the faces of my own recent dead\u2014my uncle Alan and my aunt Martha, Will's parents; Timothy and Charlie, Sir Alan's oldest and most faithful retainers, bound to him and his family by a lifetime of service and dedication to the bloodlines of the healthy little herd of cattle they had bred and reared; Jessie, the plump, careworn household cook who had mothered me after my arrival in Ellerslie; Roddy and Daft Sammy, the slow-witted pair of labourers who had worked the cattle stalls and sometimes served in the stables with Angus, the dour old Highland groom; and sunny little Jenny, the laughing child whose severed head had bounced and rolled across the ground in Dalfinnon Woods before my eyes. Had that been only three days before? Ten dead, including the unknown woman we had buried here, and behind us, in the little valley, an additional eighteen, fourteen of them men, the others dogs. So much death. So much blood.\n\nI have no recollection of leaving the graveside, no memory of entering the cave that had been Ewan's mother's home. I regained my awareness only after night had fallen, when I opened my eyes to find myself sitting against a wall close by a roaring fire. Ewan and Will were seated on the other side of the flames that filled the hollow space with leaping shadows. Ewan's legs were apart, stretched towards the fire, and he appeared to be asleep, his single eye closed and his slumped back supported by the sturdy frame of a shortlegged chair of the kind my mother had used while nursing my younger siblings. Behind him, the mouth of the cave was outlined in light, its centre filled with blackness.\n\nWill sat rapt, gazing at Ewan's massive bow as he ran his hands, first one and then the other, up and down the planed, polished surface of the unstrung stave. It was far taller than he was, and perfectly circular in section, too thick in the middle for his ten-yearold hand to grasp, but tapering gently towards either end, where it was less than a finger's width in diameter and carefully notched to hold the looped ends of the string of braided sinew that would transform it from a simple but beautiful staff into the deadly weapon that could hurl an arrow for hundreds of yards to pierce steel plate and heavy, linked-ring mail.\n\nHe somehow sensed me watching and hefted the weapon parallel to the floor so that I could see the flames reflecting along its polished length. \"Have ye ever seen the like, Jamie?\" His voice was filled with wonder. \"Have ye ever seen anything like this? I want to learn to use one o' these, to use it like Ewan.\"\n\nOur host had not been sleeping, for he spoke now without moving his head or opening his eye. \"Then you have a long road ahead of you, Will Wallace, for it will take you years to grow big enough to grip it properly, and longer still to build the thews to pull it. That is from my mother's people's land of Wales. It is not meant for ordinary men, and ordinary men have neither the strength nor the skills to pull it, let alone use it.\"\n\n\"I'll learn,\" Will answered, \"though it take me all my life from this day on. My name cames from the Welsh\u2014Uallash. That's the Gaelic word for Welsh. Will you teach me?\"\n\nEwan opened his single eye. \"Teach you! How can I do that? I am an outlaw, and now a wanted murderer. I slew fourteen men today.\"\n\n\"You killed fourteen men who murdered your mother.\" Will looked directly back at him, his face strangely solemn, his words emotionless, and as he spoke it struck me that my carefree friend and cousin had changed greatly in the past few days. \"Forbye four dogs that sought to kill you,\" he added in that same tone. \"You didna murder anybody.\"\n\nEwan grunted something deep in his chest that might have been a sardonic laugh. \"I doubt the folk who find Laird William and his men will see it that way.\"\n\n\"That was Laird William? The knight?\" Again I noted the flatness in my cousin's voice.\n\n\"No knight, that one,\" Ewan replied. \"Nobly born, but base in all things else. Aye, that was William, Laird of Ormiston, the craven who kept far off, then tried to kill you two when he thought himself safe from me. Who else did you think it might have been?\"\n\nWill still wore that expression that was new to me, a stillness marked by cold and angry-looking eyes.\n\n\"It matters not. He's dead, and so he should be. Where will you go now?\"\n\n\"Back to the forest, to Ettrick. There's nothing to keep me here now. And if they hunted me before, they'll really hound me now.\"\n\nWill stared into the fire, and what he said next came as a surprise to me as much as it did to Ewan.\n\n\"Come with us, then, to Elderslie. To our kinfolk there. No one there will ken you for an outlaw. They winna know you at all. We'll say you worked for my father and werena there when the farm was attacked. Afterwards you found us, then brought us to Elderslie. They will be grateful for that, and my uncle Malcolm will find a place for you. He's a good man, for I've heard my father say he set great store by him. And you, you're strong\u2014worth your wage to any man that hires you. You'll be better off there, working for us, than hiding in the forest a' the time.\"\n\nThe big man produced what I now knew to be a smile. \"Working for you, eh? How old did you say you are?\"\n\n\"I'm ten. But I'll soon be eleven. And I didn't mean working for me. I was talking about my uncle Malcolm.\"\n\n\"And what about my face?\"\n\n\"It's a good face \u2026 once you get over the fright of it. You can wear your mask at first, if you like, till folk get to know you.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" Ewan's broad brow, the only unmarred surface on his face, furrowed. \"How am I to know if I would like it there?\"\n\n\"The same way we'll know. We've never been there either, so we'll find that out thegither. But you'll like it. And besides, I'll need you there to teach me to be an archer.\"\n\nEwan Scrymgeour placed one massive palm across his eyes and shook his head, then inhaled a great breath. \"Well, William Wallace, that might be a good idea, and it might not. I'll ha'e to think on it. Now get you two to bed, the both of you. I'm going back outside to talk to my mother about it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "\"Now sit down, all of you, and tell me again. Will, you tell me. And this time, take your time. Tell me all of it and leave nothing out. Sit.\"\n\nSir Malcolm Wallace's voice was a deep, rumbling roll of sound, his mouth hidden beneath a bushy, greying beard. He was nowhere near as large as the archer Ewan, but he somehow conveyed the impression of being much larger than he was. I suspected that had more than a little to do with the fine quality of his clothing, which even I could see had been tailored to emphasize the width of his chest and shoulders. He had dropped into what was obviously his own chair by the unlit fireplace, one side of his head and upper body bathed in light from the window in the wall. Will, Ewan, and I stood in what felt to me like darkness in the middle of the large, wood-panelled room.\n\nAll three of us moved obediently to sit facing him on three straight-backed wooden chairs, and as Will cleared his throat nervously, I looked about me, noting the richness with which I was surrounded. Sir William's house was as big and solid as its owner, built of sandstone and far more grand than the house in Ellerslie where I had lived for the past two years with his brother's family. The room in which we now sat had two windows and housed a heavy table with eight plain wooden chairs. The room's only other furnishings were a massive sideboard against the rear wall and a slightly smaller armchair, padded with brightly coloured cushions, that sat across the fireplace from Sir Malcolm's. His wife, Lady Margaret, had gone to the kitchens to prepare food for us.\n\nWill cleared his throat a second time, then launched into his tale\u2014our tale\u2014from the start of it on that already distant-seeming day in Ellerslie a week earlier. Sir Malcolm had already heard it once, a garbled, blurted version, but now he sat stock-still, his fingers in his beard, and listened closely. Will stumbled in his description of what the men had done to the two of us, unsure how much to say or how to phrase it, but Sir Malcolm asked no questions and sat stone-faced throughout the recitation. Only once did his eyes move from Will, and that was to gaze speculatively at Ewan Scrymgeour when Will spoke of how we had come to meet, and eventually his eyes returned to his nephew, who was already talking about the final stage of our journey, leading to our arrival here half an hour earlier. The knight waited until he was sure Will had no more to say, then turned to Ewan.\n\n\"You have my gratitude, Master Scrymgeour, but you'll forgive me if I ask a few questions.\" Ewan's nod of agreement was barely perceptible as Sir Malcolm continued. \"Forbye the tragic matter of the murders committed here, which remains to be dealt with but canna be changed, it's clear you saved the boys from further harm and brought them safely here. But I have to ask myself why. Why would a grown man leave his life and walk away from everything he knows to help two lost and hapless stripling boys? Few men I know would do that.\"\n\nWill had said nothing at all about Ewan's background and had left out the episode of the Ormiston slaughter, because we had decided, he and I, that we owed too much to the archer ever to name him outlaw. Ewan's plan, which we boys had decided to subvert so we could remain with him, had been to deliver us close by Sir Malcolm's house, then continue on his way to Selkirk Forest, where he hoped to join a band of others like himself, living in the greenwood. As it turned out, though, we had been discovered by a large group of Sir Malcolm's own workers, who had brought us to the home farm to meet their master face to face.\n\n\"Aye, yon's a fair question and I'll answer it fairly.\" There was no hint of subservience in Ewan's voice. He spoke as a free man addressing an equal. The big archer flexed his fingers and sat up straight in his chair. \"I buried my mother the day before we left to come here, and there was nothing to hold me there any longer. No friends, no loyalties, nothing to bind me. The boys were alone and helpless, headed for Elderslie or Paisley. I have friends in Selkirk. So it made sense to me to see them safely here in passing.\"\n\nA silence filled the room, broken only by the song of a blackbird beyond the windows. Finally Sir Malcolm nodded. \"Friends in Selkirk, aye \u2026 That would be in the forest there, I'm thinking?\"\n\nEwan dipped his head again. \"Aye, Sir Malcolm. In the forest.\"\n\nSir Malcolm rose from his chair and went to stand by the window, gazing out, his hands clasped loosely at his back. \"It comes to me that I know no one in all these parts who has friends in Selkirk Forest,\" he said softly. \"In the town, yes. I have two friends in the town. It is a small place. But in the forest? No. The men there are \u2026 different. What did you do to earn their friendship, these men?\"\n\n\"Nothing. I have never met a one of them. My home forest is Ettrick.\"\n\n\"Ettrick Forest covers all of south Scotland, with Selkirk Forest but a part of it. You are an archer.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir, I am. Trained in England and in Wales. I fought with Prince Edward.\"\n\nSir Malcolm turned back slowly, silhouetted now against the window's light. \"Did you, now? I hear he is a doughty fighter. And what happened to make you change?\"\n\nFor the first time, Ewan looked surprised. \"He turned to invade Wales, to conquer my folk and make us part of England. I am but half Welsh, but I would have no part of that, and my father was newly dead, so I came to Scotland to care for my mother, who was Welsh.\"\n\n\"Scrymgeour. Your father was a Scot?\"\n\n\"Aye, from Kyle. Bruce country.\"\n\n\"Archers are seldom farmers.\"\n\n\"True. Nor am I one.\"\n\n\"Your father did not own a farm?\"\n\n\"Once, he did. But it was hard, sour ground. He fell sick and could not work. And then he died.\"\n\n\"So what entitles you to live in Ettrick Forest?\"\n\nI was having difficulty making sense of what was being said here because the two men were talking obliquely, their tones, although I could not see how, evidently conveying more than their mere words. I glanced at Will and saw from the frown between his brows that he was as perplexed as I was.\n\n\"Entitles me?\" Ewan's voice was suddenly harder, and he moved his jaw in a way that emphasized the disfigurement of his mashed nose. \"I might argue with you, Sir Malcolm, on your choice of words. But the entitlement, if such it was, sprang from the ill nature of a bullying, strutting fool who thought himself all-powerful.\"\n\nSir Malcolm's head tilted slightly.\n\n\"My mother, rest her soul, was a healer,\" Ewan continued. \"Had been one all her life and was famed for it. A good woman with a good calling. A local lairdling had an infant son who fell sick, and so he sent his people to fetch her, to cure the boy. But the child was beyond help. He died of whatever ailed him and his mother named my mother witch and they tried to hang her. I saved her life, but in the doing of it blood was spilt and I was outlawed.\"\n\n\"What lordship was this?\"\n\nEwan met the older man's eye. \"Ormiston.\"\n\n\"Of Dumfries? Sir Thomas?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Of Clewes, Sir Walter.\"\n\n\"Thomas's brother. I know him well. You call him fool, but he is not.\"\n\n\"Sir Walter is dead, sir, these three years. His son William is now Laird of Ormiston.\"\n\n\"Aha. And he seems not to be the man his father was. Is that what you are telling me?\"\n\n\"I tell you nothing, Sir Malcolm. I was but answering your question.\"\n\n\"Aye, right.\" Sir Malcolm hesitated. \"You said you saved your mother's life, yet buried her but recently. Were the two events connected?\"\n\n\"Aye, sir. They found her again, in a place where I thought her safe.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"They hanged her.\"\n\n\"I see. And this time you were not close enough to save her.\"\n\n\"No. But they were still close by when I arrived. They sought to hang me, too.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"They will hang no more old folk. Nor young, for that matter.\"\n\n\"And so you head for Selkirk \u2026 How many did you kill?\"\n\nEwan sniffed. \"All of them. I am an archer. They had clubs and blades.\"\n\nSir Malcolm was frowning. \"How many?\"\n\n\"Fourteen men, all save one of them hirelings bought and brought to keep the local folk in terror. And four dogs.\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus! And William of Ormiston?\"\n\n\"He was the fourteenth man.\"\n\nSir Malcolm's frown deepened to a scowl, and suddenly Will spoke up, his voice taut with urgency. \"He was trying to kill us, Uncle. The man Ormiston. Ewan had left him alive. We were watching from the slope above and he came at us, trying to ride us down. His horse almost trampled Jamie, but he rolled clear and the rider turned around again to kill him with his sword, and Ewan shot him from the valley bottom, two hundred yards below us.\"\n\nThe tense, dark brows smoothed slightly and the eyes beneath them turned to Ewan. \"Is that true?\"\n\nThe big man shrugged. \"It was a touchy shot. I might easily have missed and had but one arrow left.\"\n\n\"From so far away?\"\n\n\"It was a good distance. I made the shot.\"\n\n\"And my nephew and his cousin are here. Then we have much to thank you for, it seems. More than I thought.\"\n\n\"Not much. I was there, and I was fortunate not to miss. After that, the walking was simple, since we were all headed eastward.\"\n\n\"You could have travelled southeast and sent the boys on alone.\"\n\n\"Aye, but I enjoyed the company along the road and I was in no great haste.\"\n\n\"Hmm. And now what?\"\n\nEwan smiled. \"And now, if you will grant me your blessing, I'll move on south, to Selkirk.\"\n\nI sensed Will look at me but I resisted the temptation to look back, knowing that his eyes would be filled with apprehension, for if Ewan left now, so too would Will's newborn dream of mastering the longbow.\n\nSir Malcolm looked from Will to me, his gaze lingering on each of us, before he turned back to Ewan. \"You say you buried your mother. Will she be found?\"\n\n\"Not easily, no. They found her alive, but they'll no' find her grave.\"\n\n\"And the others. Will they find them?\"\n\n\"Aye, sooner rather than later. I left them where they fell, made no attempt to hide them. They were too many. But I cut my arrows out of them before I left.\"\n\n\"Because someone might have recognized them?\"\n\n\"No. Because they were all I had, too valuable to leave behind.\"\n\n\"And think you anyone will believe a single man killed all of them? Fourteen, you said, and four dogs?\"\n\nThe question surprised Ewan, for his eyes widened. \"Aye, that's the number, but that thought had not occurred to me.\"\n\n\"Nor would it to most men. Whoever finds them will believe they were surprised by an armed band. No one will imagine a single man might be to blame. But will they think to name you as the leader?\"\n\n\"No.\" Ewan's headshake was firm. \"I had not been seen in those parts for more than two years until that day, and none expected to see me then.\"\n\n\"So you will not be accused. You are sure you left none alive?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\nSir Malcolm nodded abruptly. \"So be it, then. Blessings come in many guises. You can stay here with us, if you would like. No one knows you here, save the boys, and God knows I can find employment for a man of your size and strength.\"\n\n\"So be you mean that and are not jesting with me, I will stay gladly.\"\n\nSir Malcolm slapped his hands on his thighs and surged to his feet, unaware of the elation with which Will had beaten him to it. \"It is done, then,\" he growled. \"Welcome to Elderslie and to my household. Now I have much to do. I must send word of the boys' tale to Ayr, to the Countess of Carrick. My murdered family's blood cries out for justice and she will know what to do. I doubt the husband's there yet. Robert Bruce has troubles in his own lands of Annandale, and young Will's two brothers ride with him. The Countess will pass on the word to where it needs to go. Then I must summon my brother Peter and my cousin Duncan here, to meet these lads and help me decide what should be done with them. In the meantime, you three are hungry and road weary, so we will feed you and find you a place to sleep for a few hours, and after that you'll feel much better.\n\n\"Now, let's be about our business.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "I thought at first that I would dislike my cousin Duncan the monk, for he looked cold and unfriendly the first time I set eyes upon him, but I was to learn that he was one of those men whose forbidding exterior conceals a vastly different reality. Of all men I have known, save only Ewan Scrymgeour, there has been none whom I loved more than my perpetually scowling cousin, for Brother Duncan Wallace's soul was a brilliant light shut up inside a leather bottle, its luminous purity glimpsed but occasionally through a dried seam. He was a transcriptor at Paisley Abbey, responsible for the translation, copying, illumination, maintenance, and welfare of the library's priceless manuscripts. Though at our first meeting I knew none of those words, and far less what they entailed, I quickly came to know them more than passing well, for they became my life as Duncan passed his great love of them on to me.\n\nHis cousin, Father Peter, was a priest at the Abbey, as open and friendly as Brother Duncan seemed aloof and distant, and Will and I both liked him immediately. He welcomed us with wide-stretched arms, and then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he invited us to walk with him around his brother's grounds, and there he spoke to us of Will's parents and the happy times he had shared with them. By the time we arrived back at the house, both of us felt we had known Father Peter all our lives.\n\nThe family gathering that followed was precisely that: a gathering of Sir Malcolm's family, with ourselves as the new additions. Lady Margaret was there\u2014presiding was the word that occurred to me immediately upon seeing her matronly presence\u2014as were her two younger sons, Henry and Malcolm, aged fourteen and twelve. The eldest son, Steven, was squire to a knight in Lanercost, we learned, and had not been home for a year. The family's two daughters were also in attendance, Isabelle, the younger at seven, being firmly kept in her place by her older sister Anne, who, even at eleven, showed signs of becoming a beauty. In addition to these, clustered around the table were Sir Malcolm, his brother Peter, his cousin Duncan, myself and Will. Ewan attended as Sir Malcolm's guest and stood at the rear of the room, close by the doors, leaning back against the wall with his hands clasped loosely in front of him as he watched.\n\nThis was only the second time I had ever seen Ewan without his longbow and quiver\u2014even when they were not hanging from his body, they were usually within his reach. But this was also the first time I had ever seen him around children other than myself and Will. It was obvious that the children, especially the girls, had been severely warned about their behaviour, but children are children, and I had seen the fearful glances they cast in Ewan's direction. He had seen them too, of course, and carefully avoided making eye contact with either little girl and kept his face expressionless\u2014insofar as that was possible\u2014at all times.\n\nThe wide-eyed children often turned to stare at Will and me as Sir Malcolm told them, in a greatly simplified version, the story of what had befallen us in Ellerslie and later on the road. That we would join the family as adopted sons was not disputed, but there was more to be decided concerning our futures. Will and I could have happily blended into the family's life, working on the farm to earn our keep, but Father Peter and Brother Duncan were firm in their opinion that we should be educated as befitted our stations as the sons of a landowner and the adopted sons of a belted knight. Father Peter suggested that we be sent to Paisley Abbey as students, where he and Brother Duncan could oversee our studies. Sir Malcolm glanced at Lady Margaret, who nodded, and then he thumped his fist upon the table and declared it should be so.\n\nI was excited at the prospect of going to school in the Abbey. Even in the far west, in Kyle, we had heard tell of the great Cluniac Priory of Paisley that had been famed for a hundred years before being raised to the exalted status of an Abbey. It was one of the wonders of the realm, as grand as the famed sanctuaries at St. Andrews, Glasgow, York, and London.\n\nWill, though, was far from happy with what was transpiring. I could see both misery and panic in his eyes as he tried to come up with a sound reason for objecting to the elders' proposal. Paisley lay seven miles from Elderslie, a mere two-hour walk at a fast pace. But that time doubled if you had to return within the day, and we already knew that Will's scholastic life as a student in Paisley would be too full to permit any such effort. He would not have four clear hours and more in any day\u2014and that fact eclipsed any possibility of his being able to work with Ewan on his archery. Both of us knew that Ewan had made no such commitment to Will, but Will ignored that truth. He was determined to become a longbow archer, and he was determined that Ewan Scrymgeour would be his tutor and trainer.\n\nThe entire dilemma was resolved within moments, however, when Sir Malcolm brought up the matter of our lodging. We could live at the Abbey, he said, as part of the establishment, but having endured and hated the same regimen himself as a boy, he believed that complete immersion in the Abbey's life might be unhealthy for us over the long term if we were not cut out by nature for the priesthood. Better, he suggested\u2014ignoring the startled silence from the two clerics at the table\u2014that we study at the Abbey school for the sake of our minds but remain lodged outside the precincts for the sake of our growth and independence.\n\nFather Peter expressed his dismay at that, pointing out what he perceived to be obvious: the mere idea of our living unsupervised beyond the Abbey and its discipline was untenable, he said. We were too young to know our own minds, and that, to him, opened us and our immortal souls to great risk.\n\nSir Malcolm sat back in his chair and eyed his brother shrewdly. \"It is not their souls I am concerned about, Peter, but their minds,\" he growled. \"You and your brethren should be able to see to their souls. My thought is to ensure their minds are left free to grow without being influenced by too much \u2026 sanctity.\"\n\nHe raised a hand to forestall the other, whose eyes had gone wide with pious outrage. \"I know, I know what you're thinking and I've heard it before. There canna be such a thing as too much sanctity. But I am here to tell you that there can. I, too, studied at the Abbey. The years I spent there taught me many things, among them the basic truth that while some men and stripling boys may thrive on being surrounded all the time with clouds of incense and constant choruses of prayer and hymns, others will not. I was one who did not, and I thank God I had the will and strength of mind to come through it unscathed. But I could name you others who did not fare so well, men who, as young lads, lacked the temperament that you call vocation, yet lacked the strength forbye to overcome the guilt of being seen by themselves and others as unfit to hear the calling. To this day many of those who survive are blighted by their failure, condemned to live as half-formed beings, neither men nor priests. Unable to enjoy the companionship of women yet incapable of renouncing them, they live between the two worlds of normal humanity and sanctity. I will not risk that happening to my wards, and if you seek to argue with me you will leave my house, so pay attention to me. I am not proposing anything unfitting, merely that the boys live outside the Abbey while they study within it. As to their ability to do so without supervision, I take your meaning and I am not entirely witless.\" He turned in his chair to look towards the rear of the room. \"Master Scrymgeour, will you come forward?\"\n\nA quick frown came to Ewan's face, but he moved towards the table obediently and stood behind Brother Duncan at the lower end, directly opposite Sir Malcolm.\n\n\"We are all in your debt, Master Scrymgeour, and I told you on the day that you arrived that I could easily find work for you here in my household should you wish to stay. It comes to me now that I have a more important task for you than I originally thought.\"\n\nEwan was still frowning slightly.\n\n\"An uncle of ours died three years ago in Paisley, another Malcolm Wallace. He was my godfather and I was named for him. He was old and had outlived all his family, and so his farm and his lands passed down to me.\" I saw Father Peter's expression soften as he realized where this might be leading, and he sat back in his chair \"It is a small farm,\" Sir Malcolm continued, \"though larger than some around it, and it has pleasant lands attached to it\u2014a large apple orchard, a fine paddock, and several arable fields of good size, forbye the house itself and surrounding byres and pigpens. I have done nothing with it these three years, despite my best intentions, and I fear it is falling into disrepair.\n\n\"Now, I know you have said you are not a farmer, but your father was, and this place I speak of is far richer and more fertile than your father's place that you described to me. If you have any feeling for the land at all, I think you might enjoy it. I wouldna set you to the plough, though, unless you chose to be a ploughman. You would be my overseer, your charge to see the farm well kept and well worked, without theft or shirking by the men I'd send you. The house is big enough to need a cook and a housekeeper, and large enough to accommodate you and my two new charges. By day you would be my factor. By night, you would tend and guard the boys, keeping them at their books and out of mischief. What say you?\"\n\nEwan's eyes had grown wider as he listened, and now the big archer hesitated, looking from Will to me to Sir Malcolm. \"You would entrust me with this?\"\n\n\"I would, for I believe you worthy of trust. I decided that when first we spoke in this very room, you and I. As well, these boys have seen much evil this past week, but they appear to see no evil in you. Were it otherwise, I wouldna have mentioned it.\"\n\nEwan hesitated again, then nodded decisively. \"Then I will do it. Gladly.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "I loved the library at the Abbey from the moment I first saw it, despite the glowering look of displeasure from its warden, Brother Duncan, each time he thought I came too close to touching any of the treasures on display there. The occasion was our first day as students, and we were taken on a tour of the Abbey and its precincts by a visibly long-suffering monk called Brother James, who left us in no doubt of our menial status as newcomers and ignoramuses.\n\nWe had begun by visiting the Abbey church itself, primarily because it was empty of priests and worshippers at that time of day, after morning prayers and before nones, the afternoon prayer gathering that would fill the church again. And seeing it deserted, we experienced its humbling vastness, craning our necks as we peered up at the massively vaulted roof that was so far above us that its height defied belief. We stood abashed, side by side in front of the high altar, speechless with awe at the opulence of the shrine and the sheer scope of the sacred space surrounding us.\n\nBrother James gave us little time to absorb its beauty, though. He hustled us away, impatiently identifying the various areas of the building, from nave to transept, sanctuary and choir, baptismal font to votive chapels to confessionals, telling us where we would be permitted to go and where we were forbidden to approach, let alone trespass, and he sneered at every turn, as though incredulous that anyone could be as ignorant as we were of such self-evident verities.\n\nWhen we had finished in the church, he hurried us along the cloistered walkway outside to the corner of a vast quadrangle that lay beyond the Abbey proper, striding so quickly that we almost had to run to keep up with him. Meanwhile he spat out the names and functions of all the buildings that surrounded the quadrangle, all necessary to the maintenance of such a complex community: stables and dairy, cowsheds, pigsties and goat pens and sheep cotes and fowl yards and stone-built barns of fodder for all those creatures; wool manufactories with wheels for spinning yarn; charcoal pits; sawyers' pits; a shoemaker and cobbler's shop; a busy smithy filled with smoke and sparks and noise; a wheelwright's shop; a harness maker's barn for saddlery and trappings; pottery manufactories with potters' wheels and kilns for baking pots and bricks; bakeries and a brewery; tanneries and a cooperage where new-made barrels were stacked up to the roof; dyeing vats and felting ponds stinking of sheep's urine, and clothmakers' galleries with different-sized looms and what seemed like miles of shelving laden with bolts of woven fabric. There were also carpentry shops and stonemasons' yards; metal and glassmakers' foundries; roofed threshing floors surrounded with bales of straw and mountains of hay; a stream-fed mill for grinding grain; storage houses for lumber, fine woods, grains, oats, barley, flour, hides, beer, and a hundred other things, and a long, low building in a far corner of the complex where the sole occupation of the brothers assigned there was the manufacture and preparation of fine vellum sheets for use in the scriptorium, the writing room attached to the library. And, of course, there were men everywhere, swarming like ants wherever I looked, and so I asked Brother James how many monks were in the community.\n\nHe stopped in mid-word, plainly astonished that I would dare to interrupt him, and an angry surge of red suffused his narrow face. \"That is none of your affair,\" he said venomously. \"Suffice you should know there are enough to live and work together to keep the likes of you in more comfort than you merit.\" And then he strode away, not waiting for us to follow. I looked at Will and saw the broad grin on his face, and I knew two things with certainty: I had made an enemy on my first day here, and Brother James had never had any idea of, nor interest in, the size of the community to which he belonged.\n\nHurrying to fall into place behind him again, I wondered how that could be so, and suddenly, even at that young age, I understood that such oblivion, for many men, must spring from a monkish and unchallenging existence. Brother James's place within the Abbey's ranks was finite, his duties clearly defined. He had no need for curiosity, no reason to explore his surroundings. By asking him a question that he could not answer, I had, in his mind, attempted to belittle him. I resolved to say not another word that day.\n\nMy resolution vanished as soon as we entered the library. I still remember the awe, verging upon sanctity, that swept over me as soon as I crossed the threshold. Though I often thought, afterwards, that sanctity should have been a strange descriptive after having so recently seen the majestic interior of the Abbey church, I never sought to change it, because the reverence I felt in those first few moments never faded, and it remains with me to this day. This, I knew instinctively, was a place of wonders and incalculable value, of power and mysticism, of great learning and knowledge, and of immense worth, inestimable beauty, and abiding peace and tranquility\u2014grand words, I know, for a small boy, who knew none of them at that time and nothing at all about libraries.\n\nI know I stood gape-mouthed, because Brother James hissed angrily and pushed me sharply forward into the soaring space that was filled with light, brilliant with stark-edged sunbeams and dancing dust motes. I knew the floor beneath my feet was of flagged stone like all the other floors, but somehow it felt softer, cushioning my soles from making any noise that would disturb the peace. Scattered throughout the central space were tables, some large, some small, some flat, and others sloped like pitched roofs, and all of them covered with books and parchments.\n\nI saw three men in there at first, then four and then five, all of them hard at work. Two of them glided silently along the walls beneath high, pointed windows filled with thousands of tiny, diamond-shaped panes of clear, green-tinged glass, each man stooping to peer into deep, box-like shelves filled with rolled parchments and big leather-bound books. The other three sat hunched, with pens in their hands, each focused on the parchment sheet in front of him. Brother James cleared his throat loudly and all five men turned to us. One of the three writers rose from his seat and came swiftly towards us.\n\nI heard Will quietly gasp, and then I recognized the sombre, scowling face of Brother Duncan.\n\n\"Brother Armarius,\" our guide greeted him. \"These two are new boys. Father Abbott instructed me to show them the Abbey and to bring them here last.\" He did not attempt to name us, and I knew he could not have done so. To him, we were nameless nuisances, inflicted upon him as a penance for some unremembered sin.\n\nBrother Duncan, or Brother Armarius, ignored us, looking without expression at our guide.\n\n\"And so you have completed your duty?\"\n\n\"After this, aye, Brother.\"\n\nI turned to whisper something to Will, but before I could open my mouth, a stinging blow to my ribs made me catch my breath in pain.\n\n\"Silence!\" Brother James hissed. \"Keep your mouth shut in the presence of Brother Armarius.\"\n\nWill stepped in front of me, raising clenched fists and glaring at Brother James. \"Keep your hands to yourself,\" he snarled.\n\nBrother James swung his hand hard at Will's face, but before the blow could land it was caught firmly by Brother Duncan.\n\n\"That will be all, Brother James,\" Duncan said quietly, releasing the other's wrist slowly. \"You may return to your duties. I will see to these two.\"\n\nBrother James glared, his pinched face flushed again, but then he dropped his eyes and nodded. \"As you wish, Brother Armarius. I pass them to your care.\" He threw one last, venomous glance at us, and then he stalked away, his sandals scraping on the stone floor until the solid thud of the door closing at his back left us in silence again.\n\nOur cousin looked down at both of us, his face disapproving. \"This is the library,\" he said. \"I am its custodian. I believe it to be the most sacred place in all the Abbey, save for the sanctuary itself. I am not without prejudice, admittedly, but there is nothing within these walls, within this library, that any single person could afford to purchase, even were that possible. Nothing in here is for sale, and nothing has an assigned value. Everything you see here, and much that you will never see, is beyond price, for there are no duplicates, other than those we make ourselves here in this room. So you may look but you must never touch anything. Is that clear?\"\n\nWhen we had both nodded in acknowledgment, he walked to the closest table, where he waved a hand over the single sheet of parchment that lay there, its colours, gold, crimson, blue, and bright green, coruscating in the bright sunlight that shone down on it. \"This piece was made more than seven hundred years ago.\" He stopped, giving us time to react appropriately to this unimaginable span of time, then picked the document up reverently, and set it down carefully out of the direct light. \"Sunlight can harm it, leach the colours. This came from Ireland, from a monastery at a place called Kells, and the name of the man who made it is forever lost. Think of that. A faceless, nameless monk, working alone, in close to darkness for countless years, created it to the glory of God. It is unique. Our very finest artists cannot duplicate it. Copy it, yes, but poorly, inadequately, for we have lost the secret of the pigments and cannot replicate the colours. Do you begin to see why I permit none but myself and a few others to touch it?\"\n\nWe nodded, and he dipped his head in return. \"Good. Come, then, and meet those others.\"\n\nWith that, we were introduced to the other monks in the room, Brothers Anselm, Joseph, Bernard, and Bede. Brother Joseph was the eldest and most frail, his bald, mottled pate fringed with wispy, pure white hair. Brother Anselm and Brother Bernard were next in age, and Brother Bede was the youngest, with a full beard and a head of dense, curly black hair surrounding the shaved square of his tonsure. Brother Duncan introduced us by name, although he made no mention of our relationship to him, and all of them welcomed us warmly, the first members of the community at large to do so. Bede and Bernard were librarians, tasked with the care of the library's contents, while the other three were transcriptors, who spent their entire time copying the collection's most valuable texts.\n\nBrother Duncan then led us on a journey around the library, explaining what it held and how it functioned. It was easy to tell that he loved his library, and yet his grim face never relaxed from its scowling watchfulness, which led me to think he did not really want us there. When we had completed a full circuit of the room, he asked us if we had any questions.\n\n\"If you please, Brother, I heard\u2014\" My voice had emerged as a squeak, and I coughed and tried again, relieved to hear it come out normally this time. \"Brother James called you Brother Armarius, but I thought your name was Brother Duncan. Which is correct?\"\n\nA sudden change came over his face and his eyes gleamed, so that I thought, for the merest instant, that he was about to smile. But then his face resumed its normal expression.\n\n\"Both are correct. I am Brother Duncan and Brother Armarius, but the first is the mere man, while the other is a title. The word armarius means provisioner, and it describes my duties. I am the director of the scriptorium, this room in which my colleagues and I work. One of my responsibilities is to provide the material that we need\u2014inks and pens and parchment and fine brushes. Another is to supervise the work being done. Thus the armarius is a form of supervisor. Do you know that word? Excellent. Then I am the supervisor here. I have other duties within the Abbey as armarius, but you will learn of those later. For the time being, supervisor will suffice, and my brethren address me as Brother Armarius. Do you understand now?\"\n\n\"Yes, Brother,\" I said.\n\nHe looked from one to the other of us then. \"And what think you of our library? Be frank.\"\n\nWill shrugged vaguely, but I had no qualms about what was in my mind. I told Brother Duncan that his library was the most wondrous place I had ever seen, and I meant every word I said.\n\nHe studied me for a few moments, his lips pursed. \"Then you may see it again someday,\" he said. \"But now we must return you to the Abbey. Father Peter is waiting for you and will tell you all about your tasks, your daily duties, your tutors, and your classes. Off with you, then. Brother Bede will see you safely to where you must be.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Our first year as pupils at the Abbey school quickly defined the differences that would circumscribe our lives from that point on, although neither Will nor I was aware of anything unusual occurring at the time. Our bright new life in Paisley was too new, too different, and too exciting for either one of us to have concern for subtleties or self-examination. We were healthy boys, full of enthusiasm and engrossed by the challenges thrown at us daily, and we were too involved in conquering the ever-changing aspects of our diverging pathways even to be aware of the divergence.\n\nWe shared a single room at night, in truckle beds that we stowed upright against the wall each morning, and we were up and astir every day before dawn, grateful for the few extra hours of sleep we would have lost to prayer had we been lodged at the Abbey. Ewan was frequently up and about before we awoke, but Aggie the cook served breakfast to us every day\u2014oatmeal and bannock invariably, with goat's milk to wash it down, and, very infrequently, a slice of salted pork or venison that was delicious to eat but always made us thirst long before the noon break in our lessons.\n\nI was the scholar, Will the earnest, plodding student. Latin, Greek, French, and mathematics came so easily to me that I barely thought of them as tasks; they were simple pleasures that I soaked up like sunshine. For Will, though, they were chronic tribulations that he tackled grimly every day, jaws clenched, eyes squinting in ferocious concentration. Latin and French he mastered eventually with much help from me, but Greek remained Greek to him\u2014incomprehensible. Simple arithmetic he grasped easily, but the more arcane elements of mathematics, the recently discovered algebraic calculations from Arabia, failed to capture his interest. It was the same with the more classical elements of what the monks tried to teach him: the theories of logic and polemic were lost on Will, and yet he would debate some point of philosophy for hours, principally because some assertion of Augustine of Hippo, or Plato or Aristotle, had struck a chord in him, challenging or confirming something he believed intuitively.\n\nNow that I think about it, it may have been at that time, towards the end of our first scholastic year, that I first began to suspect my cousin lacked imagination. I was very young at the time, of course, but I had been soaking up knowledge like a sponge for close to a twelvemonth by then and I can remember being puzzled about what I sometimes saw as a startlingly obvious inability in Will to connect salient points of a debate; to make intuitive leaps from one abstract notion to another. God Himself knows William Wallace had no difficulties with logical thought or decisive action, but something occasionally troubled me about the way he would seem to hamper his own progress in a manner that struck me as obtuse. I remember, hazily, one of our teachers saying something about Will being unable to assimilate shades of grey in striving for a goal. I know that Will saw life, particularly in later years, in black and white: bad and good, darkness and light, perfidy and honour.\n\nOr perhaps I never did think of him as lacking in imagination, if I am truthful here. The gulf between ten years of age and seventy is vast, and memory can make fools of us, so my opinion on these things might be misguided, formed unwittingly in retrospect while mulling over all that William Wallace did and might have done.\n\nBe that as it may, a different rule applied at eveningtide. Released from our scholastic studies each afternoon just before vespers, we would hurry home to eat, and then our daily studies with Ewan would begin, and in those our roles were completely reversed. This was the arena within which Will Wallace soared while I stumbled behind him; here he was the gifted and intuitive disciple offering advice and assistance to me while I laboured in his wake, flailing and floundering as I tried to absorb the lessons and the disciplines that to him were the basic elements of life.\n\nWe had no bows at first. Instead, every day after school in the first week after our move to Paisley, Ewan took us deep into the surrounding greenwood, where we spent the hours until dusk, each evening for six days, finding and then painstakingly selecting eight straight, heavy lengths of sapling ash and elm, the thinnest no less than a full thumb's length wide and the thickest half that width again. Our search was for whole young trees that contained a straight length greater by a hand's span than the length of each of our bodies and did so without tapering, which meant we had to gauge each selection with great care before we cut it, and then trim it so that when we held it close it rose perfectly straight from the ground at our feet to where we could hold its upper end with the base of our hands resting on the top of our foreheads. It was not a simple task, and the time taken to complete it reflected that: six whole evenings to find and cut eight poles. But then, these were not mere poles: each of them was an axis around which our training, our entire lives as Ewan's students, would revolve for the next two years, until we outgrew them and had to make new ones.\n\nThe next stage of our instruction started immediately after Mass the following day, which was a Sunday, our only day of rest from school. As soon as we arrived home from the Abbey after morning Mass, Ewan set us to work. Each of us began with a staff of green elm, solid and heavy with sap. We stripped it of bark and then rubbed it with a compound of alum that Ewan provided, which soaked up the natural slippery outer juice of the wood, leaving it smooth and dry to the touch. We set these two aside for what Ewan called daily use, although we had no idea at the time what that meant, and turned our attention to the other six, stripping those as we had the first pair, while Ewan cut long, finger-wide strips of leather from a cured hide. He had a big iron pot of water boiling over the fire, and he immersed the strips in the boiling pot until they were supple again. Then he pulled them out one by one with a pair of tongs and laid them to cool on the stone floor. We stopped for a meal at noon, and as soon as we were finished, Ewan tested each of the stripped poles for straightness, holding each one up to his eye to peer along its length. He then separated them into groups of three, one elm and two ash in each, and had Will and me hold each bundle securely while he bound it tightly with the wet strips of hide.\n\nThat was slow work, and clamping the poles together for so long taxed our hands and arms sorely. Ewan worked patiently and methodically, knotting the strips together end to end until he had several individual strips each five or six paces long. Then he knotted six long lengths together at one end and wove them tightly around the rods in careful, overlapping spirals from top to bottom. When the bundles were fully bound, he gathered the overlapping ends at the bottom of each, clamped them between the jaws of an iron clamp, and twisted them tightly until Will and I could no longer hold the bundle steady against the torque. He then bade Will hold the bundle securely while I took hold of the clamp, and while we strained against each other, fighting to keep the tension he had gained, he bound the twisted ends together with another tool, a long, bent iron needle into which he fed the end of yet another wet strip and knitted it tightly crosswise through the clamped bindings. When he had finished, he straightened up, tossing the first bound package into the air and catching it again.\n\n\"There,\" he said. \"That should do the job. Now all they have to do is dry properly, which will keep them from warping.\"\n\nWill's head jerked up. \"What's warp?\"\n\n\"Twisting out of true. By the time they warp, they'll be dry, and when they're dry we can fix the warp. It's tedious, but it can be done.\"\n\n\"How do you do it?\"\n\nEwan rubbed his hairless pate. \"You take the warped stave, soak it with hot steam, and bend it until it's straight again. All it takes is time and a measure of care.\"\n\n\"Will these warp, d'you think?\"\n\n\"Not if we watch them and tend them carefully. The leather straps will dry as hard as iron. We'll set them on the rafters here above the fireplace and turn them every day so that they never get too much heat on any side for too long. That way, they should dry evenly.\"\n\nWill studied the bundles. \"You haven't told us what they're for.\"\n\nEwan raised his hairless eyebrows. \"What do you think they're for?\"\n\n\"To make bows.\"\n\n\"No, they are not, so you're wrong. That must be a new feeling for you, eh?\" His toothless grin removed any sting from the words. \"When they're done they'll be what the English call quarterstaffs. And before you ask, a quarterstaff is a fighting stick for men who can't afford a sword. They've been around for hundreds of years. The ancient Romans used them. They're twice the weight of a sword and you'll learn to fight with them as swords. Then, if you ever have to use a real blade, it will seem featherlight in your hands.\"\n\n\"I don't want to use a sword,\" Will said. \"I want to learn to use a bow.\"\n\n\"I know that, boy, but look at yourself. And look at Jamie here. And then look at me.\" He quickly shrugged his tunic over his head, baring his upper body, and as we gaped at him he crossed his arms on his chest and grasped his enormous shoulder muscles, then tensed himself and raised his elbows forward stiffly to display the corded strength of his forearms, the bull-like thickness of his massive torso, and the pillar of his neck. Beneath the taut arch of his ribs, his belly bulged with twin columns of muscled plates.\n\n\"Here's what you're lacking, lads,\" he said, making his belly muscles twist and writhe from side to side like some thick snake. \"Thews. Archers' muscles.\" He dropped his arms and reached for his tunic. \"You'll never pull a bow until you have them, and the quarterstaff's the only thing that will give them to you. You'll use it every day, hour after hour until you can't lift your arms and the staff falls from your fingers, and then you'll rest until the blood returns and start all over again.\"\n\nHe faced Will. \"You want to be an archer, William Wallace? Well, I'll teach you to be one and you'll hate me while I'm doing it. But I promise you, within this year you'll see the benefits of the quarterstaff. You'll see muscles growing where you don't have places yet. And once you've seen the first of them, you'll never want to stop. Believe me on that.\" He pointed at the two lengths of stripped elm that we had set aside at the start. \"Those are your first ones, and they're green with sap\u2014wet and heavy and cumbersome. They'll introduce you to the pains of becoming a warrior. Tomorrow, after school, I'll teach you how to hold one.\"\n\nHe spoke the truth, and we spent the whole of the next evening learning how to hold a quarterstaff. Anyone with hands can grasp a stick, we thought at first, so whence was the promised difficulty to come? The answer, of course, lay in what we had not yet considered: a quarterstaff is not a mere stick of wood but a potent weapon, and there are many ways to hold one but only a very few in which to hold one effectively. And so began three months of torment as we sought in vain to please our tutor, whose amiable nature had vanished when we first laid hold of those elm staves. He made us work so hard, so endlessly, that by day I found myself falling asleep at my lessons and often incapable of closing my bruised fingers on my pen, a situation that too often drew my tutors' disapproval.\n\nBut then came a day when I survived my entire schedule of lessons without lapse or mishap and began to realize that the agonies that had plagued me for so long were no longer noticeable. I went directly to Will with the news, and he told me that his, too, had died away, and we marvelled together over the difference, wondering what had caused it. The regimen so grimly imposed on us each evening by Ewan was no less brutal or demanding; he still badgered us relentlessly for hours each day, driving us harder and faster every time, but the pains had receded and the effort we expended on our drills no longer sapped us to exhaustion.\n\nThree months had elapsed by then. A month later, Ewan had been summoned to Elderslie by Sir Malcolm, leaving us with an unaccustomed gap in our after-school training. It was late summer, and so Will and I had gone swimming in the river that flowed near our house.\n\n\"Wait,\" Will cried out as I prepared to dive back into the pool from which I had just emerged. He was standing neck-deep in water, fanning his arms to hold himself in place against the sluggish current. \"Wait you. Stay there.\"\n\n\"What?\" I said hastily, looking down at my loins. \"Is there a leech on me?\"\n\nHe launched himself forward and swam until he was directly below me, then stood again and peered up at me, flicking the wet hair out of his eyes. I still could see no leech, though the thought of one unnerved me. I loathed the things.\n\n\"Where is it, the leech?\"\n\n\"There's no leech,\" he said. \"I see muscles. Your belly's hard and your shoulders have grown out. And look at your arms.\"\n\nI looked, but could see no difference there from the last time I had looked. And then I realized what he was talking about, even before he went on to say, \"Ewan was right. You're growing muscles where you had none before. What about me, am I?\"\n\nHe pulled himself up onto the bank, and as I looked at him this time I saw it, the change that had been so gradual that I had not noticed it before. Naked, Will was now far bigger than he had been when we first arrived in Paisley. His shoulders were wider, his chest broader and deeper, and his arms and legs were sculpted with muscles that I had never seen before. So impressed were we, so enthused by what we had discovered, that we raced home to work at our drills without Ewan's supervision for the first time.\n\nNeither one of us had yet raised his staff against the other. All our drills were carried out against an immovable, unconquerable enemy: a thick length of elmwood that neither of us could encircle with our arms. We had found it close by the firewood pile at the bottom of the garden and had helped Ewan to dig a posthole and entrench the thing. Now it reared high above us, impervious to the worst assaults we could inflict on it. For months now, all we had done was hit it with our staves. But four months had brought great change in how we hit it. In the earliest days, our blows had been clumsy\u2014heavy, sullen, and repetitive, aimed at areas that Ewan had marked clearly\u2014and we had tired rapidly without being permitted to rest. Now we could hammer out tattoos on the different marks, using both ends of our staves to attack several simultaneously. The sound of our hammering blows was as fast and clear as the rapping of a woodpecker.\n\nThe staves now felt natural to us, extensions of our arms and hands, and our minds and eyes directed our assaults without conscious thought. Little wonder our bodies were now responding visibly to what we had demanded of them. As we had grown inured to the monotony of the drills, we had devised another use for them; the regular, rhythmic staccato of our drumming blows turned out to be the perfect accompaniment for the daily exercise of learning our Latin and French vocabulary, so that each evening we would hammer through declensions and conjugations as we belaboured the unyielding post.\n\nWhen summer turned to autumn that year, Ewan presented each of us with bows that he had made for us, and that occasion was the first time I had ever stopped to wonder what he did all day while we two were at school. The bows were beautiful, made of elmwood and a finger-width flat in section, less than half the size of Ewan's own giant weapon of rounded yew. Each came with a dozen arrows fletched in different colours, blue for me and red for Will, and iron points that sleeved the ends and had no barbs. These were not hunting bows, Ewan told us. They were practice instruments through which we would learn accuracy and rhythm, the two most vital elements of archery.\n\nThe following year, he made two more for us, larger this time to fit our growing size, these fashioned of ash and round in section, which gave them greater tension and demanded far more strength in pulling. I worked hard with both bows for the space of those two years, practising diligently until I became adequately skilled, but Will, from the outset, was a prodigy. By the time I was thirteen and he fifteen, from sixty paces I could plant five arrows out of six within the central ring of the straw targets Ewan had built for us. Will could do the same with all six arrows from a hundred paces and group them so closely that they often touched one another in the very centre of the ring. Even Ewan doffed his hood to Will the first time he achieved that feat, but having done it once, Will then proceeded to do it almost every time, steadily increasing the distance of his casts until he could hit the ring from one hundred and sixty-three paces, the extreme range of his ash bow. No matter how he tried, he simply could not hurl a projectile any farther than that distance. But then, he was fifteen years old, and not a single man we knew, other than Ewan, could match him with the same bow. He had already begun supplying fresh game and venison to the Abbey kitchens.\n\nWatching ruefully as Will outstripped me yet again in matters physical, I was facing a difficult decision of my own, one that I knew would lead us apart from each other. Brother Duncan had invited me to work in the library, where I would take over the duties of Brother Bernard, who would in turn replace the aged and increasingly blind Brother Joseph. I knew that to have been invited to replace Brother Bernard was an unprecedented honour for a boy my age. It was also a dream come true for me.\n\nBrother Duncan told me that he believed I had a natural talent for the kind of work to which he had dedicated his life\u2014the study and care of books\u2014and had been watching me closely since my first visit to his library. He had taken note for several years now not only of the frequency of my visits but of the care and attention with which I treated the texts and documents to which I was permitted access. He also enumerated the reasons why I could be forgiven for refusing the position, explaining that the work itself could be injurious to one's health. \"Few people recognize how arduous is the writer's path,\" he said. \"It dims the eyes, makes the back ache, and knits the chest and belly together. It is, in short, a terrible ordeal for the whole body.\"\n\nHis warning had no effect. I wanted that librarian's position more than I had ever wanted anything, and no mere threat of physical affliction would deter me from taking it. The single obstacle was my life with Will.\n\nWe two had never been apart for any length of time since coming to the Abbey, and everything we had experienced had been shared. I now faced a choice that would alter our relationship forever. I would have to abandon my archery and the sheer enjoyment of all the time spent with Will daily at the butts, and making that break frightened me. Though he knew something was troubling me, I put off telling Will until I had no other choice and no time left.\n\nAfter five full years of tuition, we spoke to each other all the time in fluent Latin, the primary language of our studies, and he listened carefully to what I had to say, his head cocked in the way I still associate most closely with him. When I had stammered my way through my tale and asked him what I should do, he narrowed his eyes at me. But then, instead of saying anything, he unslung his ashwood bow from across his shoulders and held it up in front of him.\n\n\"D'you know what this is?\"\n\nI blinked at him. \"Of course I do. It's your bow.\"\n\n\"No, Jamie, it's far more than that. This is my life. I know it makes no sense to you, but I live only to master this weapon and I can't say why or how; I only know I have to learn everything there is to know about it and about the craft of it. I have to learn to wring every ounce of power out of it, to cast my arrows farther and more truly than any other man I will ever meet. I have no choice in any part of that and no understanding of why it should be so. It's like being bewitched. It is simply something that consumes me, all the time, and I will never have my fill of it.\"\n\nHe pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and sent it, almost absent-mindedly, flying into the centre of the target that stood more than a hundred paces away.\n\n\"I am an archer. That is what I do, what I am, and it's all I want to be.\" He slung the bow across his chest again and pulled the bowstring snugly against his back. \"You feel the same way about books, Jamie. I know that. Your need to learn about the library is just as strong as my need to learn the bow. So why waste time in wondering if you should? Go and do what you want to do, and do it to the full. You already know all you need to know about archery, but you know almost nothing yet about what you truly love most\u2014your library. I'll miss you in the evenings, but it's not as if we'll never see each other again, is it? You'll still live with me and Ewan, and you can bore me with your talk of inks and parchment just as I'll bore you with mine of bowcraft. But you're not gone yet, so we had better be about our drill, or Ewan will have our heads. Come on.\"\n\nHe hooked an arm around my neck, and I came close to weeping with gratitude."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "One Friday morning in February 1286, we were released from our lessons at mid-morning and informed that there would be no more classes that day. This was a rare enough occurrence to be welcomed boisterously by the Abbey's small student body, and there followed a frantic exodus as almost two score of boys sought to escape the premises before some joyless monk could come along and set them all to work at other tasks.\n\nWill and I had been forewarned by Brother Duncan, who had heard from Father Peter what was happening that day, and so we knew that we had no need to run and hide. On those rare occasions when the Abbey was visited by distinguished guests, the entire complement of the brotherhood turned out to honour them and to participate in the ceremonies attending the visits. Today's visitors had come to the Abbey as representatives of the King of Scots, Alexander III. We knew little more than that the Bishop of Glasgow headed the religious element of the deputation.\n\nIt was a bright, beautiful day for the time of the year, the third one in succession and a harbinger, everyone hoped, of an early, welcome spring. We made our way contentedly to one of our favourite spots, far enough away from the Abbey buildings to be secure from interruption and yet close enough for us to be able to return quickly in the unlikely event of an alarum being sounded on the iron triangle that hung by the main entrance. Our destination was an oxbow loop in the small river that ran through the heavily wooded area to the north of the Abbey, a place of dappled shadows on a sunny day but one that could be cold, boggy, and treacherous in inclement weather. The loop of the river there was wide and placid, the dry land within the oxbow covered with lush grass. Below an outcrop of rock was a long, chest-deep swimming hole for our personal enjoyment. There were fish in there, speckled trout that hovered, barely visible, at the edge of the current below the falls, and the soft earth of the banks showed the cloven hoof marks of the deer that came there daily to drink.\n\nThe main attraction of the place for us was a recent modification, the result of a violent windstorm that had brought down an enormous ash tree athwart the stream the previous spring. At first we had been dismayed, thinking our favourite place ruined. It had taken us several days to become aware that the collapse of the giant had resulted in a double bridge over the deepest part of our swimming hole, the main trunk splitting in such a way as to lay two major limbs side by side and less than three feet apart. We lopped off all the trailing branches, leaving only the two bare poles of the main limbs in place, the thinner of the two resting slightly less than a foot below the level of the other. It was perfect for our purposes, and we had put it to good use throughout the summer and autumn months that followed.\n\nThat February day was the first time we had returned to the spot that year, and we wasted no time. Will ran lithely out into the middle of the lower limb and leaned against his staff, propping it on the upper pole and looking down into the water as I sprang up and across the narrow gap to the upper log.\n\n\"Sunshine or no,\" he said, \"that water's cold enough to kill the first man in.\" He leered up at me. \"And guess what? It's not going to be me.\"\n\n\"Then we'll both go home dry, for it won't be me, either,\" I said, grinning back at him.\n\nI remember I felt strong and confident that day, highly aware of my own physique and conditioning. It was true that I was a librarian now and spent much of my time cooped up indoors and out of the sun, but I was far fitter than any of my contemporaries and most of the brotherhood's younger members. Five years and more of constant drill and exercise with the heavy quarterstaves had made a man of me, in physical size at least. I was broad and strong, nimble and sure-footed and filled with energy and stamina. I can see, looking back now, that I was quite proud of myself, but I had good reason. I also had a constant reminder that I should never crow too much, for Will dwarfed me. He towered a full head over me, and his shoulders seemed twice the width of mine. He had legs like tree trunks and arms to match, and his chest was almost as broad and deep as Ewan's though he was not yet seventeen.\n\nIt was that difference in our sizes that made the twin bridges perfect for our needs, because the extra height I gained by standing on the upper log fairly cancelled out Will's advantage, and the few extra inches of girth in the log beneath my feet accorded me an added measure of stability and foot room, so that when we faced each other across the narrow gap we were as close as we could come to being evenly matched.\n\nWe began slowly\u2014not cautiously, for we knew what we were doing, but we had not stood on the logs for months and they had become coated with a thin film of moss, so our opening moves were tentative, each of us gauging his own balance and ease of mobility rather than paying attention to the other. Finally Will straightened his back.\n\n\"Are you ready?\"\n\nIn reply I hefted my staff in both hands and snapped my arm straight in front of me, rapping one end against the centre of his weapon, but even as I made contact he was whipping his staff away to the side, raising it high and bringing it straight down in a tightly controlled, two-handed slash that would have cracked my skull had I been there to receive it. But I had already swayed back on my heels and raised my own staff in a horizontal block that stopped his attack but left both my hands stinging. He grinned at me and dropped one end of his staff to rest against the log by his feet.\n\n\"I almost had you there, Cuz,\" he said, in that quiet voice I had long since come to recognize as signalling a coming attack, and I took two quick steps to my left, placing myself to the right of his natural swing, fully prepared to take revenge if he lunged at me and missed. He grinned again and shifted his staff to a two-handed grip, and for several moments we manoeuvred opposite each other in watchful silence, each waiting for the other to make an error and invite destruction. When neither of us did, though, and it became plain that neither would, Will straightened up again.\n\n\"Basics, then,\" he murmured, and we went into the fundamentals of our daily drill, our early movements stiff and formal, exactly as we had learned them in the beginning, each move and countermove precise and cleanly executed. As we progressed through the familiar exercises our ease and speed increased, until our staves rang loudly and rhythmically against each other, the intervals between the strikes growing shorter and shorter until the noise was an incessant rattle and the sweat began to roll down our bodies.\n\nAnd then I saw something from the corner of my eye, and in the instant my concentration broke, Will smashed the staff from my hands, sending it flying to the grassy bank.\n\n\"Hold!\" I shouted, and he hesitated, his staff already drawn back to push me off my log.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"There.\" I pointed to a cloaked and hooded figure watching us from the trees along the riverbank.\n\nWill glanced over his shoulder and spun immediately to face the silent presence, twirling the heavy quarterstaff in one hand so that it spun in his fingers. \"Get your staff,\" he said to me over his shoulder, and I ran to obey him, not looking at the figure on the other bank again until I had rearmed myself and returned to stand by Will's side. The watcher had not moved, and the shadows of the trees in which he stood obscured him sufficiently that we were unable to tell whether we knew him or not.\n\n\"Come out, then, and let us look at you.\"\n\nWill's voice was quiet yet pitched clearly enough for his words to carry to the fellow, who straightened up from the tree he had been leaning against and stepped into the light. He was a stranger, and as he came into full view he reached up and slipped the hood from his head, exposing a full head of thick, golden, shoulder-length hair that caught the sunlight. The face was young and beardless, barely older than Will's own, and unsmiling as it gazed at us. But it was the size of the fellow, the immense width of the shoulders beneath the cloak, that made me catch my breath. He was almost of a height with Will, I thought, though I could not be sure from the distance that separated us, but he was slimmer somehow. The legs beneath his kilted tunic were long and well formed, bare above the knees and swathed in furlined leggings below, the latter secured by criss-crossed leather straps attached to heavily soled, ankle-high boots. His tunic was richly made, some thick, green fabric that marked him as well born; Will and I had never owned, and seldom seen, anything so fine. A heavy, supple leather belt that held a long, sheathed dagger cinched in his narrow waist.\n\n\"Have you no manners, then?\" Will said in Scots. \"Or are you a thief, creeping up on folk to steal whatever takes your fancy?\"\n\nI stiffened at the calculated insult of the jibe, but the yellowhaired stranger merely smiled, flashing brilliantly white teeth, and came to stand at the edge of the bank, beside the bridge. He moved like a cat, lithe and flowing, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.\n\n\"You have nothing worth stealing,\" he answered easily, the lilt of his voice proclaiming him a Highlander from the North. \"I saw that at first glance.\" He was still smiling. \"I merely wished to cross this bridge and decided to wait until you had thrown the poor wee fellow off before I bothered you for passage.\"\n\nI drew myself up, stung, but before I could say a word Will waved me to silence. \"The poor wee fellow, as you've seen, is no' so easily budged,\" he replied, his voice dangerously quiet to my ears.\n\n\"Aye, I know that now. He is stronger than he looks beside your bulk and he fights well. Well enough to withstand the flailings of an oaf twice his size.\" His eyes moved to me and I saw that they were startlingly bright blue. \"Well done, lad,\" he said, and then looked back at Will. \"Now, if I ask you civilly, will you move off and let me cross?\"\n\nI saw the wolfish grin light up Will's face and my stomach churned. I sensed that nothing good could come of this.\n\n\"Let him cross, Will.\"\n\nWill bared his teeth in what I thought of as his mad grin. \"Let him cross? I'll do that, Jamie. I'll let him cross. But he'll have to climb over me first.\" He turned back to the stranger. \"Well, Saxon, d'ye think you can do that?\"\n\nThe stranger pointed at the staff in Will's hand.\n\n\"What?\" Will asked, all innocence, hefting his staff. \"Does this bother you? Think naught o' it. I'll throw it on the bank there and we'll settle this bare-handed, just you and me.\"\n\n\"No, you misunderstand me,\" the stranger said quietly. \"And misjudge me. Mine is Norse blood, not Saxon. My folk were Vikings, on a time. And you may keep your stick, so be it I can borrow your friend's.\"\n\n\"Borrow it?\" Will's grin seemed to grow even wider. \"Aye, I think you could borrow it. Jamie, hand the man your staff and show him how to hold it.\"\n\n\"No need,\" said the Viking, as I had already named him. \"Throw it to me. I'll manage.\"\n\n\"Will \u2026\"\n\n\"Just throw it, Jamie. You heard the man.\"\n\nI bit my lip, knowing this was wrong, and lobbed my quarterstaff across the gap. The stranger caught it easily in one hand, and as I left the bridge he hopped up effortlessly to stand on the upper log, facing Will, who was suddenly frowning, his mad grin vanished. He was now aware, I realized with relief, of the grossly excessive advantage he would have over his unsuspecting opponent.\n\n\"Do you know how to use one of these things?\" Will's voice was rough now with concern, and I began to feel better, but the Viking merely flicked the hair off his forehead with a toss of his head and took the staff in both hands, holding it as though it were a felling axe.\n\n\"I'll manage,\" he said again, flexing his knees. \"Don't worry about me. Look to yourself.\"\n\nWith that he launched a swift attack that left me open-mouthed with shock, a spear-like thrust so fast and well executed that Will had to spring back to avoid it, whipping his staff up in a defensive block that the stranger immediately used against him, dropping to one knee and hooking a vicious crosswise blow under Will's horizontal guard, aiming for his knees and almost connecting as Will leapt back again, giving ground for the second time.\n\nFrom that point on, their battle was hard and heavy, each of them giving the other the respect due to an opponent who was his match and neither of them taking foolish risks, ever conscious of their footwork on the curved, moss-coated surface of the log beneath their feet.\n\nThe tempo increased suddenly as Will's foot caught on a slight bump on the log, throwing him off balance just long enough for his opponent to seize the advantage. As Will swayed, the Viking swung a short-handed, chopping blow that caught him high on his right shoulder. I thought it was all over as soon as I heard the solid thump of the hit, for I knew Will's arm must be deadened, but he surprised me by dropping to one knee, still clutching the right end of his staff with now lifeless fingers, and brought the other end sweeping inward for a crashing blow as powerful as a swung axe, hammering towards the Viking's knees and pivoting through chest and shoulders for added impetus.\n\nIt was a prodigious effort, but the Viking's response to it was miraculous to me. Like a threatened cat, he sprang into the air with both feet, drawing his knees clear up to his shoulders as Will's staff whistled through the air where his legs had been a moment earlier, and the blow that would have shattered his knee almost missed him completely. But the tip of the scything staff struck the edge of the thick sole on the Viking's left boot and smashed it sideways, tumbling him violently while he was still close to the top of his mighty leap. He fell headfirst in a sidewise somersault and his skull struck solidly on the log before he slipped into the deep water of our swimming hole. He sank instantly, his eyes closed and blood streaming from his yellow hair.\n\n\"Will!\" I threw myself forward in a running jump, but even before my feet had left the ground I saw the arc of my cousin's body as he dove ahead of me, and we landed together, one on either side of the sprawling body.\n\n\"I have him!\" Will shouted, surfacing with his hands beneath the floating shoulders. \"Take his legs.\"\n\nWe hauled the inert body onto the bank and knelt beside it, staring in horror at the blood that oozed through the sodden yellow hair. But then the Viking snorted and coughed and writhed away from us, spewing up water, and I thought I had never seen or heard anything so beautiful. He pushed himself up shakily on straight arms, spitting the sour taste of vomit from his mouth, and then sat hunched, clutching his head, his elbows supported on his raised knees.\n\nHe groaned after a moment and cocked his head to squint painfully at Will. \"You hit me?\"\n\n\"Aye, but not on the head. Christ, man, I thought I'd killed you. I caught the sole o' your boot and cowped ye sideways and your head hit the log. Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus, no, how could I be? My head's broken. Let me be for a minute.\" We did as he wished and he sat silent for a spell, groaning quietly from time to time and cradling his head in his hands, rocking it tentatively from side to side. But then he took his hands away, still grimacing, and gazed at the blood on the fingers of one while he probed gently at his scalp with the other.\n\n\"Ye've got a bump there like a goose egg,\" Will told him, \"but it doesna seem like a deep cut. Just a dunt.\"\n\n\"Aye, the bone stopped it frae bein' deeper.\" He looked down at himself. \"Was I in the water?\"\n\n\"Aye, for a bit. We pulled ye out.\"\n\n\"I'm freezing!\"\n\n\"Aye, well, so are we. It's February.\" All three of us were shivering, and Will stood up. \"I'll light a fire, 'gin my tinderbox is still dry.\"\n\n\"Ah, Jesus!\" Another hiss of pain and a gentle dab at the swelling on his head. \"Mine will be, if yours isna. It's in my scrip, sealed wi' wax. Let's do it quick then, for I'm turnin' blue.\"\n\nHalf an hour later the three of us sat naked by a roaring fire, and the pale warmth of the sunlight felt cold on those parts of us the flames could not reach. Will and I had cut willow sticks and stuck them in the soft earth to support our wet clothes, and the garments were steaming steadily, closer to the fire than we could sit.\n\nWill reached out and took the Viking's chin in his hand, tilting it to where he could see the large swelling beneath the still-wet mat of yellow hair. \"Can you see right?\"\n\nThe Viking twisted his head away and glared at Will. \"Of course I can see. My eyes are open, are they not?\"\n\nWill held up his first two fingers. \"How many fingers?\"\n\n\"Two. D'ye think I'm daft?\" The Viking shut his eyes and rolled his head carefully on his neck. \"My head aches hellishly, but I'm fine otherwise. So \u2026 who are you two, and what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"We live here. Or close by. We're students at the Abbey.\" Will introduced the two of us, naming us the nephews of Sir Malcolm Wallace of Elderslie. \"And you?\"\n\n\"Andrew Murray. That's our family name today, but it was once de Moray, and before that de Moravia.\"\n\nThe name was familiar to me. \"There's a Sir Andrew Murray who is the King's justiciar in the North, is there not?\"\n\n\"Aye, Sir Andrew Murray of Petty, on the Moray Firth. My father.\"\n\n\"You have a firth named for you?\" Will was impressed, but the other shook his head, smiling.\n\n\"No. It was we who took our name from the firth, back in the days of King David, when first we came from Normandy.\"\n\nWill whistled. \"How come you here, then?\"\n\n\"I came with my master, Lord John Balliol. He is now in conference with your Abbot, on the business of the King.\"\n\n\"Your master?\" Will contrived to sound amused. \"Are you a servant, then?\"\n\nMurray shrugged. \"Of a kind, I am. I am squire to Lord John. His senior squire. I am to be knighted come my eighteenth birthday, in three months.\"\n\n\"You are to be a knight?\"\n\nThe other looked surprised. \"Aye. Aren't you?\"\n\nWill laughed then, but did not pursue the topic. Instead, he reached sideways to pick up one of the quarterstaves we had rescued from the river. \"Where did you learn to use this?\"\n\n\"Lord John. He spent much time in England when he was a boy and learned the skills of it there. He has used one ever since, and watching him and Siward training with them when first I joined his service, I asked to be taught it, too.\"\n\n\"Who's Siward?\"\n\n\"Lord John's Master-at-Arms. An Englishman. He's also my instructor.\"\n\n\"He taught you well. You almost had me off the bridge.\"\n\nMurray sniffed. \"I hate 'almost.' It never wins. I was the one who went down.\" He glanced then at me and smiled. \"Are you two brothers, then?\"\n\nFrom that point on the day passed quickly, with Andrew feeling better all the time and soon losing the ache in his head. We discussed a surprising number of things, sitting there waiting for our clothes to dry sufficiently to be worn again.\n\nIt was obvious to me early on that Will and Andrew would be firm friends, and it pains me, looking back, to admit that my first reaction was one of intense jealousy. The logical part of my mind told me at once that this new friendship must surely be a transient thing, since Andrew Murray would move on within days, returning with his master to his home in the far north. But the wrench of recognition that I would no longer be Will's single boyhood friend came hard and brought with it a bitter resentment of the newcomer.\n\nBut then, thank God, my sourness vanished as quickly as it had arisen, for I saw that their attraction to each other was as natural as sunlight. They were almost equally sized, and only a year separated them in age, and they both thought similarly about many things, including physical prowess, of which the quarterstaff was merely the first symbol. Of course these two would be friends, I thought, for they were equals, in athletic prowess at least, and Will could no more resist Murray's natural grace and charm than I myself could.\n\nI was spared from thinking too deeply about it that day, however, when the talk turned to archery.\n\nWe were all dressed again by that time, our clothing dried but stinking of woodsmoke, and Will had surged to his feet, making a point of some kind. I had been sitting cross-legged, and I stood as soon as he did, pushing myself up using only my legs. Andrew tried to do the same, but as he tensed to make the effort his eyes flew wide and he blanched. He groaned and brought both hands to his temples, squeezing his forehead between them. Will and I froze, watching him with alarm, but his face cleared quickly and he took his hands away from his brow cautiously.\n\n\"My head started to spin,\" he said, a little shamefacedly. \"I didn't expect that.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Will said. \"You almost broke your skull but a short while ago, and that's the first time you've tried to stand up quickly since. Here.\" He held out a hand and Andrew grasped it, pulling himself up easily this time. I noticed that Will did not release his hand, but instead shifted his grip on it, an odd expression on his face, and then he raised his other hand to me, beckoning with his fingers. \"Jamie, your hand.\"\n\nI was mystified as he guided my hand to replace his own, my fingers curling beneath Andrew's.\n\n\"Feel that, and tell me if I'm wrong.\"\n\nAs soon as I felt Andrew Murray's fingers against my own, my confusion vanished. I turned our new friend's hand palm upward to see the ridges of callused skin that coated his first two fingers. I felt my eyebrows rise.\n\n\"You're a bowman?\"\n\n\"What?\" He pulled his hand away, clenching his fist and grinning again, uncertainly, I thought. \"Aye, after a fashion. I am. It's not a knightly pastime, but I enjoy it from time to time.\"\n\n\"It's not a pastime at all.\" Will's voice was flat. \"And you don't get finger pads like that by practising from time to time. That comes only from years of work with a taut bowstring, as these ones did.\" He held out his own right hand, his first two fingers extended and parted in a V.\n\nAndrew's lips pursed in a soundless whistle as he gazed at the marked difference between Will's calluses and his own. \"By Saint Stephen's martyred wounds, another bowman.\"\n\n\"No, not so.\" There was no speck of humour in Will's denial. \"You are a bowman. So is Jamie. I am an archer.\"\n\nThe other's lip quirked. \"Bowman, archer \u2026 Is there a difference?\"\n\n\"Aye\u2014about two hundred paces.\"\n\nAndrew blinked. \"What? You can hit a mark at two hundred paces?\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus, aye. Nine times out of ten. And so can Jamie here, six of those times. But I meant I could hit a mark two hundred paces beyond any you can reach.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" Andrew said, his tone reflecting disappointment that his new friend would lie so blatantly.\n\n\"Think what you like, my friend, but I will prove it to you once you tell me what kind of bow you use.\"\n\n\"Elmwood. Five feet long.\"\n\n\"Go, then, and fetch it. I will get mine and meet you here again in a half-hour.\"\n\nMurray's face tightened. \"Sweet Jesus! What hour is it?\"\n\nI glanced at the sun and shadows. \"About the fourth after noon.\"\n\n\"I lost track of the day! Now I must get back. Lord John might be looking for me.\" He bent down to gather up his cloak, then looked at Will again as he straightened. \"You have a yew bow, don't you? A longbow.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"A round one.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Aye, I see it now \u2026 those calluses. So be it, then, I believe your claim. But where in the name of God did you find it? Yon's an English weapon, and English archers don't part with their bows. There are not many big yew trees in Scotland.\"\n\nWill smiled. \"I didn't need many\u2014just the one. But in truth my teacher found it near our home in Elderslie. He cut the stave, cured and dried it, and taught me how to make the bow from that point on.\"\n\n\"A full longbow of your own! Can you be here tomorrow? I would like to test it.\"\n\nWill grinned. He had been using his huge yew bow for more than two months by then and knew its power, and I knew the anticipation of demonstrating it to his new friend must be more than he could bear. \"Aye, if you're still here and your master keeps the Abbot and his brethren in conference.\"\n\n\"We will be here. The same time?\"\n\n\"I'll be waiting,\" Will answered."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "The following morning I went directly to Brother Duncan and asked to be relieved of my tasks that day. He gave me a stern look, though I had learned long since that his air of disapproval was but a sham. I had never asked for such a dispensation before, though, and he asked me what I was about. I told him of our meeting the day before with the visiting Andrew Murray, and he merely nodded and granted me leave. I ran to find Will, and we had time to collect our targets and set them up in the glade by the river bridge well in advance of Andrew's arrival.\n\nHe could not stay long, he told us when he came, for Lord John had need of him that afternoon, but there was ample time for Will to demonstrate his new bow's power and for Andrew to try it for himself. Try as he would, though, the lad from Moray was incapable of pulling the powerful weapon to its full stretch, and he finally surrendered it to Will and watched ruefully as my cousin sank six arrows into the centre of the farthest target, two hundred paces away.\n\n\"How far will it reach fully flexed?\" Andrew asked as we went to fetch the arrows.\n\n\"Three hundred, probably more,\" Will said. \"But at full stretch you can lose too many arrows, so I keep my distance to around two hundred. These are target arrows, bear in mind. Barbed warheads and hunting tips make a big difference in flight. The weight of those heads alters everything.\"\n\n\"You have warheads?\" Andrew sounded impressed.\n\nWill shook his head. \"Nah, but even hunting barbs make a big difference. Man-killers would be heavier yet, but I have no need of those.\"\n\n\"Aye \u2026 Well, Will Wallace, I have never seen the like of it. I wouldn't like to have you aiming at me. Not even Siward is that good. But then, Siward is a swordsman above all else. He has a bow, but seldom uses it as you do.\" He snorted a laugh. \"I wondered yesterday at the shoulders on you, the bulk of you. Now I know it's from pulling that thing. But what about a sword? Do you use one?\"\n\n\"Nah!\" Will was retrieving his arrows by then, examining each of them for damage before replacing them in his quiver. \"Swords are for knights and I'll never need one. I ha'e my quarterstaff and a good knife. If e'er I'm in a spot where I'm threatened, the knife should be enough to finish anyone who gets by my arrows and my staff.\" He grinned. \"I'm no' that violent, ye know.\"\n\nI knew that what he had said was true. For all his size and fearsome strength, I had never seen Will lose his temper or provoke a fight with anyone. I had seen him fight savagely, but rarely and never with a weapon, and only in response to the kind of provocation that most people, seeing the sheer size of him, were loath to offer. Yet I find myself examining those words of his years later, wondering whether I might have had any presentiment of what the years ahead would hold for him. But of course I did not. We were innocents in those days, incapable of foreseeing the pain and chaos that lay ahead for all of us.\n\nThe remainder of that morning flew by pleasantly, and when the time came for Andrew to return to the Abbey to attend his master, we went with him, all three of us aware that his departure the following day would leave a gap in each of our lives. We walked slowly, our bows slung over our shoulders, as he answered our questions about his life as a knightly squire, and any thoughts Will and I might have had about his lot being one of privileged sloth and luxury were quickly banished. His day-to-day training to become a knight was far more demanding than anything expected of us in the Abbey school.\n\nWe had reached the main entrance to the Abbey proper, and it was plain to see that Lord John and his associates were still in conference, for there was little sign of life other than the routine activities of the resident brothers, and so we stood talking quietly in the forecourt, about fifty paces from the main entrance. I have no memory of what we were discussing, for it was Will and Andrew who were speaking while I was merely looking around, but I saw a figure emerge from a side door and start towards us, then stop suddenly and take careful note of us. The man appeared to be both tall and elderly, stooped with age but walking youthfully enough and wearing a long habit of brown wool trimmed with green edging. I might have paid him no more attention had he not stopped so obviously, and the manner in which he stood there peering at us struck me as peculiar.\n\n\"Who's that?\" I asked, and both of the others looked to see who I was talking about. I heard Murray inhale sharply.\n\n\"Shit!\" he said, from the side of his mouth. \"It's Wishart. The Bishop.\" He bowed towards the distant figure, and Will and I awkwardly followed his example. The Bishop nodded in acknowledgment, then came sweeping towards us.\n\n\"Master de Moray,\" he said as he approached, emphasizing the French pronunciation and then continuing in the same language. \"I am pleased to see you have been able to find friends with whom to amuse yourself while you are here.\" The words were addressed to Andrew, but the Bishop's eyes were scanning Will and me, taking note of everything about us, including our quarterstaffs and the bows strung from our shoulders. Andrew drew himself up and responded in the same language, gesturing courteously with one hand.\n\n\"I have, my lord. I met them yesterday, by accident. They are local lads, as you can see, but I have enjoyed their company during what might otherwise have been a tedious time.\" His French was fluent and polished, and it was clear that neither he nor the Bishop expected Will or me to understand it.\n\nI was about to speak up, but decided suddenly to hold my peace and give no indication that I understood them. Will, I knew, would barely have registered a word of what they said, for he lacked my facility with languages. I looked at him and found him gazing back at me, his face blank. Wishart, in the meantime, had turned to look more openly at Will, taking in the size of him and looking up and down the thick length of the quarterstaff in his hand and the heavy bow that dangled from his shoulder. I in turn took the opportunity to look more closely at the Bishop himself.\n\nI could not even guess at his age, for he was one of those rare men whose appearance changes little with the passing of years. I could see he was not young, but whether he was forty or seventy I could not say with any confidence. His face was gaunt and weathered, swarthy and deeply lined beneath the sparse covering of a wispy, square-cut beard, and he had a high, broad forehead, emphasized by a close-cropped widow's peak of dark brown hair that he wore short and cut bluntly at the back, well above his shoulders. Dark, intelligent eyes gleamed keenly beneath his bushy brows, and a large, bony beak of a nose made his entire appearance fierce and hawk-like. His lips appeared to be smiling, but I could see no humour in his eyes.\n\n\"Unless I miss my guess,\" he said in Latin, \"and judging merely by the size of you and the bow you carry, you must be Sir Malcolm Wallace's nephew, William. Am I correct?\" The Bishop's smile grew wider, and this time the warmth of it reached his eyes. \"I am no mind reader,\" he continued, his voice deep and level. \"Nor, I fear, has fame yet marked you as being worthy of compelling notice. I come directly from a meeting with your uncle Father Peter, and he spoke to me about you, describing you and your longbow and telling me of how you keep the brotherhood supplied with the best of meat. My sole surprise was in finding you in the company of Master Murray.\" His eyes came back to me. \"And you must be James Wallace, the cousin who is such an asset to Brother Duncan in the library.\"\n\nIt was a flattering moment but an awkward one, for neither Will nor I knew how to respond properly to such an informal approach from the man who was the senior prelate of Scotland and personal confessor to King Alexander himself, but somehow we found ourselves strangely at ease in speaking casually with one of the most powerful men in the realm. I noticed, nonetheless, that Andrew Murray stood wideeyed, his eyes darting from one to the other of us as Bishop Wishart catechized us closely for the next quarter of an hour about our lives in the Abbey, our feelings for our Elderslie kin, my own deceased family, and the slaughter of Will's family. He even asked us about our tutor, Ewan, and our studies with the bow. He included me graciously in everything he said, but it was plain to me that his consuming interest lay with Will and that he was not showing such interest out of simple courtesy.\n\nAnd then suddenly he nodded, grunted deep in his chest, and bade all three of us farewell, informing Andrew at the last that Lord John was still deep in his discussions with the Father Abbot and was unlikely to require his services for at least another hour and perhaps even longer. With that, he walked away, already deep in thoughts of something else, leaving us staring after him.\n\n\"What was all that about, I wonder?\" Murray sounded troubled, and Will cocked his head.\n\n\"What d'you mean?\"\n\n\"That friendliness. I have never seen the old man behave so \u2026 so amicably. The revered Bishop Wishart is not a friendly man. Not like that, with utter strangers.\"\n\n\"Should I beware, then?\" Will drew the backs of his fingers along the soft down on his jawbone, smiling. \"Does he like boys?\"\n\n\"What? Oh, no, I meant nothing like that. Sweet Jesus, no! But he is \u2026\" Murray searched for words. \"This is the fifth time I have travelled in the company of Bishop Wishart, as part of Lord John's train. It's also the briefest. I rode with him for three months last year and I know him to be a notedly silent man, solitary and self-guarded. He has few friends. He is no man's puppet and I'm told he was once a fearsome warrior. But he is dour and largely without humour, close-mouthed and famed for being niggardly with words.\"\n\n\"Mayhap he likes me, sees me for what I truly am. Had you thought of that? Just because it took you an hour and more to grow to love me, that doesna mean that more gifted folk shouldna see the gold in me sooner.\"\n\nMurray nodded judiciously. Then he gently took the quarterstaff from Will and removed the long yew bow from where it hung on his shoulder. He handed both to me along with his own weapons. Then he hooked his arm about Will's neck and tripped him with one leg, dropping him to the ground and leaping on top of him to rub a handful of dirt into Will's hair. Will, with a roar of mock rage, heaved valiantly against the weight pinning him and managed to turn on his side while keeping Murray's arms away from his throat and the chokehold the other was trying to assert. I cannot say how long the struggle might have gone on had not Brother Brian, one of the brawniest of the Abbey brethren, emerged from the main door of the church and caught all three of us in sacrilegious ignominy. He dragged the two wrestlers apart and preached us a stern warning on the evils of fighting, then growled that we should get ourselves well out of sight.\n\nWe contrived somehow to suffer straight-faced through the dressing-down, but by then the fight had gone out of both contestants, and so we collected our bows and staves and for the following hour we merely walked and talked about whatever came into our minds. Andrew mentioned his lady love, a beautiful young woman from his own lands called Siobhan. He pronounced it Shivonn, and from the moment I heard it I was enamoured by the name's beautiful sound. Her full name was Siobhan MacDiormid\u2014I heard it as Shivonn Macdermid\u2014and she was the niece of Alexander Comyn, the Earl of Buchan, from whom Andrew's father held the lordship of Petty. It was plain that our new friend saw in her the sun and moon of his existence, and from the self-same moment both Will and I were captivated by what we heard.\n\nThere was nothing prurient or even mildly provocative in anything Andrew had to say of the young woman; on the contrary, he spoke of her in terms that rendered her almost superhuman in her virtues and ethereal in her beauty, his voice ringing with that ardour and conviction that is the shining characteristic of young men in the flush of first love. And Will and I listened, entranced because we had never heard the like of it. To us, girls were alien creatures, seldom if ever seen within the Abbey precincts. The mere sight of a woman, it was feared, might induce sinful thoughts among the brethren, and therefore women were forbidden entry to the community, save to attend services in the Abbey church, at which times they were heavily swathed, their faces, heads, and bodies covered, and they were accompanied by their God-fearing menfolk. Femininity was anathema within the Abbey precincts, even when the women concerned were old or middle-aged, shapeless and unattractive. Girls and young women inhabited the outside world, and they were matter for endless conjecture among the body of students at the Abbey school.\n\nI knew beyond a doubt that, at almost sixteen, William Wallace had never known, nor spoken more than a few words to, any young woman who was not related to him by blood. Nor had I. But neither of us had ever suffered by that. Our lives were governed in every aspect by the rule of the Abbey community and the activities that filled our daily life, in school by day and away from it by night, and it never occurred to either one of us that we might ever fall into the company of young, attractive women. The key word, of course, was attractive. The two elderly women who ran our household on the farm were simply there, shapeless, sexless creatures whose sole purpose was to cater to our comfort and whom we scarcely noticed. Similarly, the young women who sometimes came to visit them, their daughters, nieces, and neighbours, were all but invisible to us. Plain, largely unwashed and sour smelling, ill dressed and unkempt, coarse spoken and generally repellent, they possessed none of the attributes that might have attracted our eyes or our thoughts.\n\nThis girl whom our new friend now depicted so eloquently came to us therefore as a revelation. We were enraptured, hanging dewy eyed on Andrew's every word as we strove to picture the radiant beauty he described. Small wonder, then, that our reaction was less than courteous when a voice from behind us interrupted our fantasies, speaking Andrew's name.\n\nWill and I both spun around peevishly, prepared to send this interloper packing, but our first sight of the newcomer struck us mute.\n\nTo say that he was splendid is simply inadequate. The man was magnificent, dressed entirely in white and red, from knee-high, red-dyed boots and matching leather breeches, to a lustrous, blindingly white tunic surmounted by a white, open-fronted surcoat with a plain red shield, inset with a smaller outline of another, in white, on the left breast.\n\n\"Lord John!\"\n\nI had not needed to hear Andrew's shocked response to know at whom I was gaping. Sir John Balliol, King Alexander's personal envoy and an heir to the kingdom in his own right, was unmistakably a man of power, with wealth and privilege stamped into his every feature. He had come to a sudden halt, looking at us with one fine dark eyebrow raised high in surprise, occasioned, I had no doubt, by the ferocity with which Will and I had spun to face him.\n\n\"Forgive me, my lords,\" he said in a voice that matched his smile. \"I had no wish to impose myself, merely to speak a moment with Master Murray. But since he is clearly occupied, I will return later.\" And with that he turned on his heel as though to walk away.\n\nWill and I were speechless, appalled by our own ill manners, but fortunately that was not the case with Andrew. \"My lord,\" he said quickly, his voice tinged with desperation. \"My lord, forgive me. We were deep in talk and did not see you coming.\"\n\nLord John swung back towards us, still smiling. \"That much was obvious,\" he said. \"But I find myself wondering about what you found so engrossing. When I was your age, the only topic that could inspire such dedication and reverence was consideration of the beauties of young women.\"\n\nNone of us was capable of responding to that, but from the corner of my eye I could see the wave of colour that engulfed Andrew's face as his mouth opened and closed. Balliol, however, was merciful and allowed his squire to slip easily off the gaff.\n\n\"I am new come from a meeting with the Abbott and his staff, which means I have spent the entire day talking about affairs of state and bruising my backside through a too-thin cushion, and so I thought to take some fresh air.\" He reached behind him and kneaded his buttocks. \"I had been thinking about you, young Andrew\u2014guiltily, I suppose\u2014imagining you waiting and fretting somewhere and no doubt cursing me, and so when I saw you here I thought to bid you good day and tender my regrets for having summoned you only to leave you waiting, since even a squire has the right to a little freedom.\" He glanced sideways at Will, who had finally managed to close his open mouth. \"You have made friends, I see.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, I have.\" Close to stammering, Andrew made us known to his master, who extended his hand to each of us in turn, nodding and smiling and making us feel at ease, a feat I would not have thought possible mere moments earlier. He was neither as tall nor as broad as Will, but such was the impression of confidence that radiated from the man that he seemed to occupy no less an amount of space, and I noticed now that he was eyeing Will's staff.\n\n\"That looks like a quarterstaff,\" he said. \"Or is it simply a big walking stick?\"\n\nWill actually smiled. \"My tutor tells me it is a quarterstaff, my lord.\"\n\n\"And who is your tutor?\"\n\n\"A man called Ewan Scrymgeour.\"\n\n\"Scrymgeour \u2026 A Scots name.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir, but his mother's family is Welsh. He was an archer with King Edward, until the Welsh wars.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" Lord John glanced at Murray, then looked quickly over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the deserted forecourt behind him. \"Good. Then walk with me, if you will, to where the air is even fresher.\"\n\nThe three of us fell in behind him as he walked steadily towards the fringe of mature elms and oaks that began some hundred paces from where we had been standing. He seemed to float ahead of us, moving easily and gracefully with long, confident strides, the red and nested white shields of the great House of Balliol emblazoned across his wide shoulders and the wind of his passage making the long skirts of his surcoat billow at his heels. None of us spoke, though all three of us boys exchanged curious looks as we followed him. He led us into the trees until we were concealed from any eyes that might be watching from the Abbey behind, then stopped in a clear space between the boles of two enormous elms. There he shrugged out of his beautiful white surcoat, allowing it to fall from his shoulders. He caught it in one hand and threw it aside, all the while smiling at Will.\n\n\"This will suit, no?\" he said. \"A fine spot to test your skills and permit me some exercise.\" He extended his hand. \"Andrew, your staff, if you will.\"\n\nMurray looked mystified, but he held out his staff, and his master took it, spun it easily in one hand, then moved gracefully into the opening stance for combat.\n\n\"You want to fight me?\" Will asked, wideeyed.\n\n\"Not fight\u2014to try you. So come.\"\n\nA sharp shake of his head indicated Will's bewilderment. \"I can't fight you. You are\u2014\"\n\n\"I am a student of this weapon, which I use for sport, trained in its use but rusty from long lack of practice.\" The easy smile was back on Balliol's face, and he flipped the staff until he held it cross-handed. \"You start.\"\n\n\"You are the King's envoy, my lord. It would be death to strike you.\"\n\n\"Pah! What makes you even think you could strike me, a stripling youth like you? I've been training with this thing since I was half your age and now I'm twice as old as you. If you can hit me, though, then hit me hard, for I intend to drub you.\" He straightened up again quickly and took a step back, his smile now a wide grin. \"Besides, would you deny me in my pleasure and my need? The King's envoy? I need the exercise and you're the only one here to supply it. I can hardly fight my own squire, can I? Imagine, were he to beat me! You, on other hand, might beat me soundly with no ill effect, if God's asleep. So come, let's be about it, shall we?\"\n\nClearly Will had no option other than to appear the buffoon here. He raised his staff reluctantly and shuffled forward.\n\nLord John Balliol sprang into action, attacking immediately and compelling Will to defend himself. Will responded half-heartedly at first, until the first few solid blows that rattled his defences told him he was facing an expert who was bold and dangerous and determined to thrash him soundly. I saw Will's face suddenly harden, and from then on the fight was waged between two well-matched rivals. Back and forth they fought grimly, neither seeking nor giving quarter, sometimes standing toe to toe, belabouring each other's defences without either one scoring, sometimes ranging widely around the small clearing between the trees, scanning each other for signs of weakness or an unguarded opening and prepared to leap and strike.\n\nI recall two solid hits, the first to Will's left thigh and the other to Lord John's right shoulder when his foot slipped and he reeled for a moment. By that time, sweat was pouring from both of them, soaking their clothing, and the grass of the clearing was trampled flat, scuffed deeply with the marks of their grinding feet. And then came a flurry of hard, rapping blows too fast to follow with the eye, and Balliol reeled and fell back against one of the two trees. Will swept up his staff to finish it, then hesitated.\n\nLord John threw down his staff and raised his hands, waving them and labouring for breath. \"Enough,\" he cried. \"I'm done. You have me, by God's holy beard.\"\n\nWill opened his hands and let his own staff fall, then doubled over, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath as hungrily as his opponent. Andrew Murray and I simply stared at each other, wideeyed with awe, fully aware that we had just witnessed our friend defeat one of the most noble men in Scotland.\n\n\"Sweet Christ, yon was a tulzie.\" Balliol spoke in Scots, straightening up to his full height and wiping his streaming brow with the back of his wrist. \"I havena fought that hard in years, and never against a beardless laddie. Andrew, my coat, if ye will.\"\n\nAndrew had picked up the discarded garment long since and now he stepped forward, holding it open for his master to shrug into. Lord John flexed his shoulders to adjust the coat until it hung properly, then turned again to Will, who had also straightened up by then, though he was still breathing heavily.\n\n\"You flinched,\" he said, \"at the end there, stopped because of who I was, forgetting what I was: your enemy. That kind of hesitation could kill you in a real fight. You need to learn a truth, William Wallace, so learn it now. When fighting man to man there can be no rank or titles involved. If ever you cross blades with any man in earnest, no matter who, there can be only one outcome. Either you kill him or he will kill you. Never forget that.\" He held up his palm to silence Will before he could respond. \"Never forget that. Had it been I who had you off balance there, I would have felled you like a tree, and so would any other opponent worthy of his salt. Do you hear me?\"\n\nWill Wallace nodded. \"Aye, my lord. I do.\"\n\n\"I pray you'll heed me then, in future. Mercy can be fatal in a tulzie, so when you have the chance to end things, end them. Never hesitate. Clear?\"\n\n\"Clear, my lord.\"\n\n\"So be it, then.\" Balliol drew the open edges of his surcoat together and glanced around the clearing. \"And now I must go. It was a good bout and I thank you, all of you.\"\n\nThen he said a strange thing.\n\n\"King Alexander, may God bless him, is hale and strong, newly wed and eager to breed sons to replace the heirs whom God saw fit to take from him these past few years. He will have need of men like you when you are come to manhood. See you hold yourselves in readiness to serve him when he calls on you. This realm\u2014any realm\u2014depends upon the loyalty and strength of good, true men, of any rank, to stand behind their King.\"\n\nThe edges of a grin flickered about his lips and he nodded, this time in dismissal. \"So be it. Fare ye well, William and James Wallace. Andrew, follow me, and seek me in half an hour in the Abbot's chambers.\"\n\nI knew that what Lord John had said would not apply to me, since I would be a priest when I was grown to manhood, a warrior of God, perhaps, but not a fighting man in the world of Will and Andrew. But if God spared me to serve Him and my King, I knew that I could do so as loyally and strongly and perhaps even better in the priesthood than I ever could have in the army.\n\nKing Alexander, who had ruled Scotland by then for thirty-six years, had married for the second time, mere months earlier, at the age of forty-four. His first wife, Margaret, had been the daughter of Edward of England, and she had borne Alexander two sons and a daughter. The Queen had died ten years before, and was swiftly and tragically followed by all three of her children, leaving Alexander with one sole, distant heir, an infant girl born to his now dead daughter, who had been married to the King of Norway. Determined to breed other sons, Alexander had wed a high-born, beautiful, and nubile young French woman called Yolande of Dreux. The King was young and in good health; the country was at peace and prosperous; and God seemed content to smile upon the realm of Scotland."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The unthinkable happened less than a month after our meeting with Andrew Murray. Alexander III, King of Scots, died in his prime, killed by a lightning strike while travelling to reach his new wife in Fife. He left his country and its people leaderless, the King's authority invalid without an heir.\n\nHis body was found the day after, sprawled on the rocks that lined the shore beneath a high cliff, and no one could say what had happened to him. Determined to rejoin his new Queen that night in defiance of the tempestuous weather and of the widespread rumours that the day in question, March 18th, was to be a Day of Judgment, he had crossed the storm-racked Firth of Forth from Edinburgh Castle in a small ferry boat. From there, refusing shelter offered him, he had ridden northeastward with two guides, against their advice and that of others who thought him mad to brave the storm. In the tumultuous darkness some time later, the three men, king and guides, had been separated.\n\nThe word spread slowly at first, for that part of the kingdom was wild and isolated, but once the tidings reached Edinburgh, the news flew from there as though on the wings of birds, so that soon all of Scotland knew of its sudden deprivation. Few of the common folk who heard the news were capable of thinking beyond the moment, and far fewer yet could begin to imagine an outcome to what they had heard. But there were others, men of power accustomed to thinking for and of themselves, who perceived everything that was involved in Alexander's death, and those men moved quickly. They understood that Scotland, within the space of a single night, had been thrown headlong into a turmoil they might use to their advantage.\n\nI was in the Abbey library, transcribing a document, when the tidings reached us, having taken eight days to speed from Edinburgh to Glasgow and thence to us in Paisley. I recall Brother Duncan rising from his table and moving across the room in answer to a hissed summons from someone who had entered at my back. I remember that he looked angry at being thus interrupted, but Duncan always looked forbidding and so, having my own work to occupy me, I paid no more attention as he swept by me. After a deal of whispering between him and whoever had come looking for him, I heard the door close, and he came back into the room, but moving slowly now. Sensing something amiss, I set down my pen, looking at him idly to see what might be afoot. But as soon as I saw the stricken look on his face, a rash of gooseflesh swept up my nape, and even as my mind formed the thought that something was far wrong, the great bell in the Abbey tower began to toll. In all my time there as a student, I had heard it toll but once, announcing the death of one of the senior brethren.\n\nThe Abbot's dead was the first thought that came to me, and I would to God that had been all it was, for now I know what chaos would endure for twenty years before the next strong king would wrest back control of the realm.\n\nBrother Duncan paid no attention to the measured sound. He stood wringing his hands like a penitent, and I became aware that everyone else was staring at him as intently and as fearfully as I was. Eventually he blinked and looked around at us all, his assistants, then summoned us to him with a wave of both hands. He waited until we had surrounded him and then he made as if to speak, raising his hands before letting them fall to his sides.\n\n\"In God's name, Duncan, what is it?\" The voice was Brother Anselm's. \"Someone has died, that much is plain, but who?\"\n\n\"The King.\" Duncan's voice was so faint that I thought I had misheard him. So, clearly, did the others, for they all broke into a spate of questioning. But when he responded only by repeating the same words in the same shaken voice, the horror of it silenced all of us.\n\nWe all knew the King could not be dead. He was God's own anointed, crowned King of Scots at Scone and beloved by all; a champion in the prime of life, healthy and hale and lusty, newly wed to a young and lovely wife. His representatives had been here in our own Abbey mere weeks earlier, conducting his royal affairs and expounding his wishes for both Church and realm. It was impossible that he should now be gone so suddenly, after ruling the kingdom so well and wisely for so many years. The sound of my own heartbeat filled my ears with a dull, leaden throbbing, and the air outside the green-tinted windows seemed to darken."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "The Abbey routine was shattered. All the brethren who were not summoned into conference of one kind or another were sent to pray for the soul of the departed King, and soon the sound of massed chanting swelled from the Abbey church as the brotherhood immersed itself in ritual prayers for the dead. The resident students, unexpectedly left at liberty, found themselves free to do as they wished and quickly disappeared as boys will, eager to be about their own pleasures. My sole wish was to carry the news home to Will and Ewan before they could hear it from anyone else, for I wanted to see the look on their faces when they first heard of it.\n\nThe farm we tended for Sir Malcolm lay a mile beyond the Abbey precincts, on the far edge of Paisley town, and I ran the entire way, bursting with the import of my message. Will had stayed home that day, too enthralled by the new project that Ewan had set him even to consider going to school, and I ran directly to the stone cottage that he and Ewan had converted into a bowyer's workshop.\n\nThey were huddled together, almost head to head in the dim little room, their attention focused tightly on the object that lay before them on the table, and so great was their concentration that they barely looked up when I burst through the door.\n\n\"The King's been killed,\" I blurted. \"King Alexander's dead, fallen from a cliff.\"\n\nEwan had been in the act of picking up the object on the table in front of him when I charged into the room and had scarce accorded me a glance, so I knew that they had seen me from the open window, running across the yard. Now he raised the long, regular block of wood to his good eye and held it towards the shaft of pale sunlight from the window, squinting along the perfectly squared length of it and turning it until he had compared all four edges. Will had half turned to look at me, but he said nothing, merely turning back to watch Ewan with the length of wood. It was, I knew, the single most precious item\u2014in the eyes of Ewan and Will at least\u2014in the entire household, but at that moment it meant nothing to me, and I found it incredible that Ewan and Will had both ignored my announcement.\n\n\"Didn't you hear me? King Alexander's dead.\"\n\n\"Is that why you're home so early?\" Ewan lowered his arms and turned to me, holding the heavy wooden batten easily.\n\n\"Aye. Word came from the Bishop in Glasgow not an hour ago.\"\n\n\"Ah, then it must be true.\" He laid his burden carefully back on the table and ran a finger across the tiny guide marks that had been inscribed into the piece at varying distances, then glanced at Will. \"And what would you have us do, Jamie, now that we know?\"\n\n\"What?\" I felt utterly deflated, having run so far and so fast to shock them, only to find them indifferent. \"What did you say?\"\n\nEwan shrugged. \"I asked what you would have us do, about the King.\"\n\nMy mouth opened and closed. There was nothing any of us could do, but I felt a great lump swelling in my throat and fought to speak through it.\n\n\"We could pray for his soul and wish him well on his way.\"\n\n\"We could, and we will, later, once I have finished this.\" His fingers stroked the length of wood on the table, and he spoke down towards it, splaying his fingers to span several of the incised lines on its surface. \"We'll pray for him together, all of us, tonight, for I have a thought that every monk in the Abbey will be praying for him at this moment. If that's true, God will not miss us if we are tardy by an hour or two. In the meantime, though, Will and I have been working on these measurements all morning and we need to finish them ere we forget what we're about and have to start again at the beginning.\" And then he swung towards me with a great smile on his face and reached out to tousle my hair. \"So away you go now and leave us to it. Aggie has some fine stew in the kitchens, fresh made, and Will and I are stuffed with it. Fresh bread, too, with the smell of it rich enough to draw the moisture from your very soul. We'll finish here within the hour, God willing, and we'll come and find you.\"\n\nCrestfallen, I made my way to the farmhouse kitchen, where I told my news to Aggie the cook and Maggie the housekeeper, only to have them show even less interest than Will and Ewan.\n\n\"Oh, aye? Poor man,\" Aggie said, then looked at Maggie, who laughed and responded, \"We'll ha'e a new King, then.\"\n\n\"Aye, nae doubt we will. And soon.\"\n\nMaggie added, \"Aye, I wonder will he ask us up to Scone to see him crowned?\"\n\nI closed my mind to their callousness and consoled myself with the wonderful food that Aggie laid in front of me. And as I ate, instead of dwelling upon things I could neither influence nor change, I thought about the new project that had kept Will away from school that day. It was a bow, of course, or it would be eventually, but for the time being and for some time to come it would remain as it was now, a straight length of plain, ordinary-looking timber.\n\nYet I knew well that the yew stave that fascinated both my friends was neither plain nor ordinary. It was one of four identical pieces that Ewan had brought back several years earlier from his visit to his uncle Daffyd ap Gryffyth, in the English town of York. Daffyd was a master bowyer, transformed by his skills, within the space of two decades, from an extraordinary Welsh archer into one of the most powerful and respected bow makers in all England. Ewan had been his apprentice at the battle of Lewes, where the boy had almost been killed by the mace blow that disfigured him permanently, and his uncle had developed a great pride in the singleminded determination with which his badly injured nephew had pursued his goal of becoming an archer thereafter. The two then lost touch for years, after Ewan had left Edward of Caernarvon's army and returned to Scotland.\n\nEwan had gone in search of his uncle, of whose success he had heard from time to time, with the underlying intention of purchasing some decent bow staves, but Daffyd ap Gryffyth had refused to sell to him. Instead, the old man took him into the massive warehouse where he kept his finest and most precious materials, supplies of yew imported from Tuscany and the forests southeast of Salerno, and led him straight to four of the finest staves among the thousands stockpiled there, all four lying side by side in their own ventilated space. These, he insisted, were beyond price and would be his personal gift to Ewan, the sole inheritance within his power to bestow, since his sons, now full partners in the enterprise, must take precedence. All four staves had been taken from the same tree, he explained, stroking the fine wood as he spoke of them; a tall, straight tree of Iberian yew. Iberian yew was unobtainable now in its native form, since most of Iberia had fallen to the Moors in the eighth century, but prudent merchants had salvaged a few thousand seedlings and saplings from the largely unoccupied but still contested areas of Galicia and Asturias during the tenth century, and plantations had been established in Italia and had flourished there, precious and close guarded.\n\nThe bole of this particular tree, Daffyd said, had been recognized early for its excellence and tended throughout its life by careful foresters who knew its value. It had grown perfectly straight and virtually free of imperfections until it was almost twenty inches in diameter, and from it the Tuscan sawyers had obtained four magnificent, perfectly straight, and knotless staves, a thing almost unheard of. Each of the four was square in section, four inches to a side and seven feet long, and each appeared to be made of twin laminated strips of reddish-brown colours. But the striations were natural. The darker strip, which would become the inner belly of the bow, was the iron-strong heartwood of the yew, capable of sustaining great compression; the outer, paler side was the sapwood, more pliable than the denser heartwood; it would form the outer \"back\" of the bow, and its tension, combined with the compression of the heartwood belly, would make the war bow that sprang from it the most powerful weapon of its kind for a single man in all the world.\n\nEwan had brought the four staves home to Scotland with great care, for they were truly priceless and irreplaceable, but he had brought others with him, too, staves of lesser quality, perhaps, yet cleaner, finer, and less knotty than any native yew remaining today in England.\n\nWill had been practising the bowyer's craft for years, working until all hours of the night under Ewan's tutelage, the size of each ash or elm bow he made increasing as his body and strength grew. He had graduated, with great but private ceremony, to fashion his current bow from one of these lesser staves of yew, slowly and patiently perfecting the art of using the bowyer's razor-sharp, double-handed drawknives to pare down the wood and taper the bow's length under the proud but watchful eye of Ewan Scrymgeour.\n\nNow, however, Will was close to outgrowing his own bow, and the time had come for him to make another, a longer, thicker, stronger bow that he would be hard set to pull. I knew that, but I knew, too, that his massive muscles would grow larger yet to master its challenge. And I knew that the pride both my friends would take\u2014had already begun to take\u2014in making Will's new bow from one of Daffyd ap Gryffyth's finest staves would be fully justified. But I wondered how it could justify their lack of concern over the death of their King.\n\nEwan and Will came into the kitchen while I was still sitting there mulling. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and of the spicy stew in the pot was still strong in the room, and they helped themselves hungrily to more food while Aggie poured them each a pot of ale from the large, covered wooden jug she kept beneath the stone sink in the corner farthest from the fire. It was still light outside, but the winter-weak March sun was lost in heavy cloud and sinking swiftly, and Aggie left us to our own devices as she bustled away to the quarters she shared with Maggie.\n\nThe two talked incessantly about the scale and measurements they had been applying to the stave, and I sat watching and listening until Ewan shovelled the last of his broth-soaked bread into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, then lounged back in his chair with a contented sigh and took a big gulp of ale. I waited for the inevitable belch that always followed such a draught, and when it had subsided I asked him, \"Will you really pray for the King tonight?\"\n\nHe pulled his bowstring-callused fingers pensively down along the ruined bowl of his cheek, tracing the concave curve of its toothless emptiness.\n\n\"I will,\" he said in his soft, lisping voice. \"I said I would. But, Jamie, what do you suppose this means, this death of a King? What do you think will happen now?\"\n\nI did not have to think about my response. \"I know what will happen. There is an heir, the King's grand-daughter Margaret, born to his daughter the Queen of Norway. Brother Duncan says she is an infant, and she will need guidance, but they will bring her home and crown her Queen.\"\n\n\"Guidance?\" Ewan's face crumpled in what I knew to be a rueful grin. \"And who will do this guiding that you speak of? How old is this princess?\"\n\n\"Three, Brother Duncan said.\"\n\n\"Three \u2026 A child of three, and a lass at that, forbye a foreigner. They won't like that.\"\n\n\"Who won't?\" This was Will, speaking for the first time.\n\n\"The magnates, lad. The men who think they themselves have the right to rule this land.\"\n\nThe Scots magnates were the men of power in the realm. They were of varying ranks, from earls to barons and chiefs, and of different bloods, some of them Gaels, a few of Danish and Norwegian stock, and others Norman French. Collectively they called themselves the magnates and individually they each looked after their own interests.\n\n\"The magnates,\" Will said with a sneer. \"Ravens, you mean. They're carrion eaters, all of them. Only the lawful King has the right to rule this land.\"\n\n\"Aye, and each o' your magnates will seek to claim that right. You wait and see.\" Ewan's voice had quieted. \"They willna settle for a wee lass Norwegian-born. It has been but twenty and three years since the fight at Largs, when Alexander himself threw the last of the Norwegians out of the Isles. There are men alive today who fought there and still mind that well. They'll not take the risk of courting that again.\"\n\n\"And who stands foremost among these magnates?\" Will asked. \"They can't all expect to become the next King, surely? Some of them must have stronger claims than others.\"\n\n\"Some have,\" Ewan said mildly. \"You spoke with one o' them yourself, less than a month ago\u2014Lord John Balliol. He'll claim direct descent from David I, King of Scots, whose grandson, Balliol's own grandsire, was David, Earl of Huntingdon. He has the lineage, no doubt of that. And besides, his mother, Devorguilla, rules all of Galloway in her own ancient Gaelic right.\"\n\nWill looked at me wide-eyed, and I stared back at him, astonished that we two had met, and Will had bested, this man who was now named a potential King of Scots.\n\n\"And then there's Bruce of Annandale,\" Ewan continued. \"He is an old man now, but his claim is near as strong as Balliol's. And there are the Comyns of Buchan and Badenoch, though they're related to the Balliols. Aye, I'm thinking there will be no shortage of claimants. Mark my words, lads, this Scotland will be shaken by wild storms before that matter's settled.\"\n\nHe took another long swallow of his ale. \"But I doubt any of it will be o' great concern to us. We'll get on with our lives and leave the affairs o' state to them that deal in them.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "For several months it seemed that Ewan would be right in his assessment of how little we would be affected by the affairs of kings and magnates. Life continued as it always had, and after no more than a few weeks had passed, people began to forget about the death of King Alexander. Will and I did not forget, but that was solely because of our kinsmen Father Peter and Brother Duncan, both of whom used us as a conduit to pass on tidings and information from the Abbey to Sir Malcolm in Elderslie. Thus as couriers we knew that there were grave and deep-set stirrings beneath the fabric of the country's daily life.\n\nIt began most noticeably with a sudden increase in the number of religious colloquies and hurried assemblies all across the land, several of which were held in Paisley and all of which involved senior churchmen. Several of these took place at our own Abbey, and I remember one in particular that threw all of us into disarray because it was hastily summoned and included the Abbots of Holyrood, Dunfermline, Melrose, and Kelso as well as Bishop Wishart of Glasgow and William Fraser, the powerful Bishop of St. Andrews. Such men did not travel alone. They progressed like the lords they were, lords of Mother Church, and each had his retinue of followers, including secretaries, scribes, acolytes, servants, bodyguards, and camp followers, so that we were hard put to accommodate all of them within the precincts.\n\nAs unofficial messengers, we soon came to see that the churchmen had valid concerns, not always solely for the welfare of the Church. The word had come out, within a month of the King's death, that Queen Yolande had been pregnant before he died. As such rumours often do, it spread like windblown fire and captured the attention of the entire land. If it were true, though, and the Queen bore Scotland a new heir, be it boy or girl, there could be repercussions, for the accepted word in those early days, also unconfirmed, was that the magnates had closed ranks surprisingly quickly at the King's funeral, despite Ewan's pessimism that first night, and had accepted the young Norwegian Princess Margaret. Some people even said they had acknowledged her as the official heir, but that, too, was merely hearsay. Nothing, according to our sources, had yet been formally declared. If this latest rumour proved true, however, the magnates would have no choice but to declare in favour of the new child.\n\nRumour, of course, led to counter-rumour, and many whispered that the Queen, a Frenchwoman closely related to France's young and ambitious King Philip Capet IV, was not pregnant at all and intended to present some base-born upstart as her own in order to maintain her position as Queen of Scots and to bring the Scots realm under the influence of the Crown of France.\n\nIn the last week of April, barely forty days after Alexander's death, our Abbot left for a great gathering at Scone Abbey, in the course of which the realm's most powerful and important men\u2014the earls, barons, bishops, abbots, and priors\u2014intended to deal with the situation of the interregnum. When he returned, less than two weeks later, Will and I were sent by Father Peter to inform Sir Malcolm that the matter had been settled. In the course of the Scone parliament, as men were calling it, it was revealed that no heir was yet forthcoming, and the magnates had formally sworn their loyalty to the young Norwegian Princess as the official heir, taking a solemn oath, on penalty of excommunication, to guard the realm for her and to keep the peace of her land.\n\nIn support of that oath and in earnest of their open goodwill, the parliament had also dispatched three emissaries to find the King of England, who was campaigning in Gascony against the French, to seek his advice and protection on the rights of the young heir. That done, and for the interim governance of the land, the parliament had appointed a council of six custodians, called Guardians, chosen from what they termed the community of the realm. Two of these six, Alexander Comyn of Buchan and Duncan MacDuff of Fife, were earls; two were barons, John Comyn the Red, Lord of Badenoch, and James, the hereditary Steward or Stewart; and the final two were bishops, William Fraser of St. Andrews and Robert Wishart of Glasgow.\n\nSir Malcolm listened carefully to me and Will as we reported all of this, and then he nodded in satisfaction. \"Three from north of Forth and three from south,\" he rumbled. \"Two o' the ancient earldoms. The senior bishops, north and south. And two Comyns representing the barons, one in the north and the other in the south. Aye, cunningly done.\"\n\nUntil that moment I had not given a single moment's thought to the composition of the Council of Guardians, but now I saw what my uncle had perceived immediately: the new council was an inspired piece of political juggling, masterminded by I knew not whom, but aimed unequivocally at unifying and protecting the integrity of the Scots realm by emphasizing its differences north and south of the River Forth and ensuring that both halves were equal in voice and influence. The Forth had great significance in the eyes of all Scots. It was the river that partitioned the land into its two halves, the mountainous northern Celtic portion known as Scotia and the southern, more English-and Norman-speaking half. Along its short length from the North Sea to Edinburgh and Stirling it provided the only access routes for heavy traffic travelling between north and south.\n\n\"What's wrong, lad?\" The question startled me, but it was not directed at me. Uncle Malcolm's eyes were on Will, who sat frowning into the fire. We were in the main room of the house, just the three of us, and Lady Margaret, who was about her needlework and seemingly paying no attention to what we had been saying. Will jerked upright and flushed.\n\n\"Nothing, sir. There's nothing wrong. I was but \u2026\" His voice tailed away.\n\n\"But what, lad? Speak up. Is there something that troubles you?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Not troubles me. Not exactly.\" He was still red faced. \"But it seems senseless.\"\n\nSir Malcolm raised an eyebrow. \"Senseless? Yon's a word that could provoke an argument. What seems senseless?\"\n\nWill jutted his jaw and charged ahead. \"It insults the Bruce,\" he said. \"Makes no recognition of his rank or status. The Lord of Annandale will take that ill, from what I've heard of him.\"\n\nSir Malcolm scratched idly at his beard. \"Aye, he might,\" he said. \"You make a good point, young Will. One worth considering.\" He bent forward and struck a small bronze bell on the table by his chair, and when a servant responded he sent the man to fetch a jug of ale.\n\n\"What think you, Jamie?\" he said then. \"Will the Bruce be vexed?\"\n\nI could only shake my head, for the possibility had not occurred to me. Lady Margaret came to my rescue.\n\n\"How could the boy know that?\" she asked her husband amiably, looking up from her work. \"He spends most of his life shut up in that great library. How could he possibly know what Robert Bruce is like to do?\"\n\n\"He is as like to know as I am, my dear,\" her husband replied mildly. \"Jamie has a long head on him, and not all his life is spent among his books.\" He looked back to me. \"So, lad, what think you?\"\n\nI shook my head again. \"I have never met or seen Sir Robert Bruce, Uncle. But Will's father, Uncle Alan, was his man, and though I only heard him speak of his master once, he said he pitied any fool who dared to offend Annandale. That said, I agree with Will.\"\n\nThe manservant came in bearing a heavy jug of the household's weak, home-brewed ale, known as small beer. He crossed to a table in the corner that held a pile of earthen mugs, and we watched in silence as he poured four measures and then served each of us, beginning with Lady Margaret and Sir Malcolm.\n\n\"Good,\" the knight said once the door had closed again at the man's back. \"Your support of your cousin's opinion pleases me. It shows loyalty, as well as reason, though I confess I hoped you might point out that Lord John Balliol and his House have also been neglected here. So let us look at this senselessness, as Will calls it, for what it truly is.\" He glanced at each of us in turn. \"Are you ready?\"\n\nWe both nodded.\n\n\"Let us suppose, though God forbid it should, that everything goes wrong from this day forth. The Queen fails to produce an heir and, even worse, some tragedy befalls young Princess Margaret. What would happen then?\" He did not wait for an answer. \"There would be dire competition for the throne among the magnates. And among those, who would have the paramount claim?\"\n\n\"Balliol and Bruce,\" Will said immediately, for he and I had discussed this very matter the previous week.\n\n\"Exactly. Balliol and Bruce. And which would take precedence?\" When neither of us responded, he nodded. \"Wise lads,\" he said. \"For no one knows the answer to that question. Both men have valid claims and both are descendants of David II, though one claims through the female side and the other through a male but arguably less direct descent. The settlement of their dispute would require abler and more subtle minds than ours to arbitrate. And seen from that viewpoint, it would clearly be madness to appoint either of them to serve as a Guardian.\n\n\"But take it one step further and consider this supposedly senseless Council of Guardians. Of the six, three are close bound to Balliol by family ties and loyalties\u2014Fraser of St. Andrews, the Comyn Earl of Buchan, and Lord John Comyn of Badenoch, who is wed to Balliol's sister. The other three align themselves with Bruce\u2014Wishart of Glasgow, MacDuff the Earl of Fife, and James the Stewart. A balance of power, lads. Three Guardians in support of each claimant, and equal representation from north and south. Ask yourselves now, does it truly seem so senseless?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "On an afternoon towards the end of autumn in the following year, our sixth year as students, William Wallace turned on the churlish monk called Brother James, picked him up, and flung him headlong to the ground. I was there, and it was in my defence that Will had acted, but in doing so he broke the greatest of the Abbey's unwritten laws: anyone who laid angry hands on one of the brotherhood was guilty, ipso facto, of a crime against the fraternity that the Abbey represented. Certainly no Abbey student had ever done such a thing before that moment.\n\nAppalled at what had happened, I knew we would both suffer for it, regardless of the provocation that had spurred it. Stunned as I was by the sight of the monk sprawled at my feet, I was amazed that my cousin had restrained himself as much as he had. Mere moments earlier his face had been wild, his huge fist upraised, ready to smash the older man's face into a pulp. Now, the downed man squirmed in terror, the skirts of his robe soaked by an involuntary voiding of his bladder, while above him Will struggled with himself, his face suffused with blood and his hands clenching and unclenching as he swayed back and forth with the power of his emotions.\n\nWill looked around for the object that had precipitated this disaster. It lay almost beneath his feet\u2014the solid walking staff that Brother James had smashed across my shoulders without warning, driving me to my knees. Will bent slowly and picked it up, hefting it in one hand. It was a heavy, sound staff of hazel wood about five feet in length and worn smooth from long use. The monk had risen to one elbow and now remained motionless, staring up, aghast, at the fury he had provoked. Without looking at him, Will took the hazel staff in both his hands and snapped it in half across his knee, then held both halves together and did the same again, a prodigious feat of strength. He then extended his arm, allowing the pieces to drop one by one onto the man on the ground.\n\n\"You spineless, Godless lump of excrement,\" he growled in his newly acquired adult voice. \"If you ever dare bring your foul presence close to my cousin again I will cripple you so badly that you will never leave your cell thereafter. Do you understand me?\" His voice was profoundly deep, rolling and sonorous, yet also calm, but its pitch left no doubt that he was waiting for an answer.\n\n\"Yes, yes, I understand. I do.\" The monk was bobbing his head rapidly, no trace of arrogance or dislike discernible in him now.\n\n\"Then take your skinny, piss-wet arse out of my sight. Now!\"\n\nThe roar of rage galvanized the wretched monk, and he scrambled to all fours and scurried away, lurching towards the Abbey.\n\nI turned to Will. \"You know he's running straight to Father Abbot, don't you?\"\n\n\"Aye, and I don't care. This day has been coming for years and now it's done with.\" Suddenly he switched to Scots. \"And ye ken? I dinna gi'e a damn what they dae to me. Yon was worth it. Did ye see how quick he pished hissel', the watter rinnin' doon his robe? I could hear the gush o' it. He didna think we'd daur face up to him.\"\n\n\"They'll expel you, Will. Me, too.\"\n\n\"No, Jamie, not you.\" He reverted to Latin seamlessly. \"He attacked you with a weapon, unprovoked. And that reminds me.\" He stooped and gathered up the four broken pieces. \"We might need this for proof. Pull up your shift.\"\n\nI struggled to do as he said, suddenly aware of the band of pain across my shoulders, and when my back was bare he pressed his thumb against the welt that was evidently visible.\n\n\"Aye,\" he murmured. \"That'll bruise beautifully, too clear to be denied. Don't lose it.\" I looked at him in disbelief, amazed to see him grinning.\n\n\"How can you laugh, Will? We are deep in trouble.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"No, Jamie, no. I might be, but you're not. I told you.\"\n\n\"They'll throw you out. What will you do then? You'll be disgraced.\"\n\n\"Aye.\" He barked a laugh, which astounded me. \"And they'll go hungry for fresh meat forever after.\" He reached out to dig his fingers into my shoulder. \"I'm finished here anyway, Jamie. Nothing more here that I want to learn. I've only stayed this past half year to keep you company, but nowadays you're so lost in your books that I spend most of my time alone. So if they throw me out, and I hope they will, I'll go back to Elderslie and be a forester. That's all I want to do anyway.\"\n\n\"A forester!\" I was sure he was jesting. \"You can't be a forester, you speak Latin and French! Foresters know only trees and animals, poachers and hunters.\"\n\n\"And bows, Jamie. Some of us know bows. But I might be the first monk-taught forester. Think of that. And never fear, Uncle Malcolm will welcome me because he can always use good foresters, and he'll accept my leaving here once he knows what caused it. You, on the other hand, will stay here and take up your calling and we'll see each other often.\"\n\nI knew he spoke the truth about being welcomed back in Elderslie, for he was right about the need for a good forester on the Wallace lands, and I knew too that the old knight would forgive him, for Will and Sir Malcolm had grown close, and the older man had scant respect for clerics. Some, he would concede if pressed, were well enough, honest in their endeavours and their calling like his own two kinsmen, but he had found too many far less suited to his taste. Parasites, he called those who used the privileges and seclusion of the clerical life to keep themselves well fed in relative comfort and free of the responsibilities that encumbered other men.\n\nBrother James, I had long known, was one such specimen. He had never overcome the dislike he had conceived for us when he had been charged with showing us the precincts on our first day there. He had not known who we were that day, and when he discovered later that we were Wallaces, close kin to Father Peter and Brother Duncan, his resentment and dislike had festered and grown deep, although he was usually at pains to mask it. But even that masking bred more resentment.\n\nWill and I tried several times to placate him in the months that followed that first encounter, but it was a thankless task, and we soon resigned ourselves to his dislike and avoided him as much as possible. Yet, inevitably in such a small community, there were times when our paths crossed, and those occasions were generally unpleasant. That became increasingly true as the years passed and we continued to disappoint Brother James by failing to disgrace ourselves as he expected, rising instead to positions of relative prominence within the community, myself as the youngest librarian ever and Will as supplier to the pantry.\n\nI discovered later that our final encounter that September day had been caused by jealousy, and it was inconceivable to me that any full-grown man should be jealous of me. But I learned that James had once worked in the library and had been banished for negligence after several valuable manuscripts were damaged through his carelessness. He had also applied to study for the priesthood, but had been found deficient in several areas and was rejected. The word of my acceptance as a seminarian had been brought to me by Father Peter on the morning of the day Joseph attacked me, and clearly the unfortunate man had heard of it, as he attacked me soon afterwards.\n\nAnd so our shared days as students ended. Will admitted to assaulting Brother James, but he was merciless in asserting the details of how and why he had done so, offering the broken weapon in evidence and bidding the monks bare my back to show the mark James had inflicted upon me. He went out of his way, too, to describe the antipathy James had held for us since our arrival at the Abbey and offered detailed accounts of several encounters we had had with the man, to our cost each time.\n\nBeing a student and one of the transgressors by association, I was forbidden to witness Will's arraignment, confined under the guard of two senior brethren outside the tribunal chamber until I was hauled in briefly to show my injuries. But Brother Duncan was there in his capacity of armarius, and it was he who described the proceedings to me later. The judging panel, headed by Father Abbot himself, believed Will's tale unanimously, and Brother James was confined to his cell on bread and water for three months, an unheard-of punishment. On the matter of Will's infraction, however, there was no recourse. He had struck down one of the community in blatant contravention of the law, unwritten though it was, and had created a precedent. Moreover, he had openly admitted during the hearing that, similarly provoked, he would do the same again, though more thoroughly and effectively next time.\n\nBut then, in acknowledgment of the troubled faces of the men who must unwillingly condemn him, William Wallace did something that confounded me when I heard about it, something so noble and so honourable in one so young that it strengthened me years afterwards when I began to hear, and to disbelieve, tales of the alleged atrocities being tallied against his name and fame: he took pity on his judges and absolved them of any guilt they might be feeling, assuring them all that he had long since decided that his time of usefulness to the Abbey community had reached an end. His dearest wish now was to become a forester on his uncle Malcolm's estates, he told them, because that was what he truly believed God had intended for him and he was impatient to begin. He thanked them for the opportunities they had given him to learn to read and write and converse in Latin and French, as well as for the training they had offered him, perhaps unwittingly, in the paths that he would follow thenceforth, by according him the freedom of the Abbey's lands in which to hunt and learn the lore of his future craft. And then he requested their permission to quit his formal studies immediately and to return to Elderslie.\n\nThe tribunal heard him out in silence\u2014gratefully, I like to think\u2014and then they permitted him to withdraw from his studies and return home with no disgrace attached to his name.\n\nListening to Brother Duncan's recital of the events, I was moved to tears by the way he summed the matter up: \"Your cousin Will is a fine young man,\" he said, with no trace of harshness on his normally forbidding face. \"And I believe God has moulded him to be what he is with some great purpose in His mind. We may never know that purpose, but I have no fears that William Wallace will ever let anything stand in his way to achieving it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Ewan accompanied Will back to Elderslie, his own tasks in Paisley completed. He left the farm, which had flourished under his stewardship for years now, functioning smoothly under the guidance of a tenant called Murdoch, who had done the actual farming and supervised the labourers over those years, quickly earning the ungrudging trust of both Ewan and Sir Malcolm. The abrupt departure of my two friends, however, meant that everything familiar in my life had changed; they had taken the entire contents of the workshop with them, leaving only an empty stone shell. They had left me my bow and a supply of arrows, and even a brace of targets, but I knew, even as I collected those to take them with me back to the Abbey, that I would probably never use them again. The Abbey cloisters would be my permanent home from then on, and although I had enjoyed my archery greatly, I knew that without Will and Ewan to keep me interested and active, I would soon abandon it. Librarians and priests have no need of weapons, even for recreation.\n\nSomewhat to my surprise, I adapted effortlessly to life as a fulltime member of the close-knit Abbey community. My work in the library continued to absorb me, as it had since the beginning, and the time I now had to myself in the evening hours was soon taken up by my studies for the priesthood. It came as a welcome discovery, too, that Brother Duncan and Father Peter intended to continue using me as their go-between with Sir Malcolm, for it meant that for at least one day out of every fourteen I was dispatched to Elderslie to deliver information to my uncle and to bring back his reports to them. Thus I was able to keep myself informed of Will's activities, even if I did not see him on every visit.\n\nHe had, as he had wished, become one of my uncle's foresters, and the faithful Ewan Scrymgeour had chosen to join him. Both of them were carefree now, busily involved in a brief but intense apprenticeship under old Erik Strongarm, my uncle's senior forester. By the year's end they would be responsible for the care and maintenance of the surrounding woodlands. They would cull dead and dying trees, keep the forest free from the buildup of flammable undergrowth, and from time to time they would inspect the activities of the charcoal burners, whose vast smouldering turfcovered pits produced the charred, hard-burning fuel essential to the estate's smithies. They would also be charged with the welfare of the wildlife on Sir Malcolm's lands\u2014the deer, wild swine, and other game, including fowl, that thrived in the woods and in the open glades and pastures among the trees\u2014and with the safety of the cattle and domestic swine in the various pastures and paddocks close by the main farm, protecting all of them from theft and depredation.\n\nEwan had worn the green garments of a forest dweller when first I met him years before, and now he wore them again. But so, I discovered, did Will. The first time I saw him thus, garbed from head to foot in close-fitting, hooded green tunic and trews, I gaped, for he was bigger than ever. His arms and shoulders were enormous, larger, I thought, than those of any other man I had ever seen, and his thighs and legs were as solid and substantial as healthily growing oaks. At seventeen, he was now a man in all respects, save one that I knew nothing of, and I had never seen him happier.\n\nHe had grown quickly to accommodate the demands of his newly fashioned bow, itself a thing of beauty that glowed richly with love and care, coats of laboriously applied wax and tallow enhancing the different colours of its wood. It was tapered to perfection for his height and capped on both thumb-thick ends with ram horn tips, the horn boiled to the melting point and then moulded and slotted to anchor the loops of his bowstring. One glance at the thickness of its massive grip was all it took for me to know I could never begin to pull it. He carried it unstrung most of the time, in a protective case of bull's hide, thickly waxed and waterproof, that hung from his shoulder opposite the bag of yard-long arrows, but he could free it, bend it and string it with hemp, nock an arrow, and be ready to shoot in mere moments when he needed it. It was the pride of his life, I could see. He told me he kept it unstrung and cased in the English fashion, to avoid any danger of the bow's shaft shaping itself permanently to the arc of the string's pull and thereby losing some of its power. All in all, my cousin had turned into an imposing man, and the dark growth now fuzzing his cheeks and chin would complete the transformation very soon.\n\nI was not quite correct in that respect, though. Will's transformation to manhood was effected by another element altogether, one which had little or nothing to do with the density of his beard. But my error was understandable: I was a cloistered boy, barely sixteen, and studying for the priesthood. I had no idea of the natural forces that can transform the merest boy into a man.\n\nHer name was Mirren Braidfoot, and on a brilliant summer day in 1288 she came to Elderslie in a light, horse-drawn cart, accompanied by four other young women and a group of eager young men, all of those afoot. She was there to visit a cousin, a plump, plain girl called Jessie Brunton, whom both Will and I knew by sight. I witnessed the first meeting between him and Mirren, but apart from smirking to myself over his tongue-tied awkwardness, I missed the fateful significance of it, too grateful that it was Will, not I, who had to deal face to face with such a fetching stranger. Will was abashed, I knew, and that was unusual, for he had learned much about young women since leaving the Abbey, but I myself would have been struck mute by her smiling confidence had it been I who had to speak to her.\n\nStanding beside Will, barely reaching the middle of his swelling upper arm and looking for all the world like a slight and tiny child\u2014though she was anything but either one\u2014the girl Mirren stood gazing up at him, watching his face with a deeply thoughtful look on her own. As I approached, the young woman stepped away from him to make room for me. I was aware of her bright blue eyes scanning me from head to foot, her lips smiling gently. But being me, I ignored her look and turned instead to Will, blissfully unaware that in the short time I had been watching elsewhere, William Wallace's life, and all of Scotland's destiny, had been changed forever."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "\"Where first we find love, there also we encounter grief.\"\n\nI cannot remember who said that, but it springs into my mind unbidden whenever I think of Mirren Braidfoot and my cousin Will, and it never fails to grip me like a fist clenching around my heart. I am a priest, and although that in itself is no guarantee of chastity or lack of prurience, I have never known the love of a woman, either physical or emotional. I have known temptation, certainly, for that is the common burden of mankind, but I have always managed, somehow, through no strength of my own and most often by the power of fervent and sustained prayer, to avoid yielding to it.\n\nThat said, however, I have been fascinated all my life by the overwhelming strength of the love one sometimes finds between certain men and women, and I have always found the power of it, for both good and ill, to be close to frightening. Had King Alexander not yearned for the welcoming warmth of his young wife, for example, he would not have died as he did on his way to join her. And had William Wallace never met Mirren Braidfoot, he would not have died as he did in London's Smithfield Square.\n\nI do not mean this to be taken as a condemnation of Mirren. In all the years that passed after that first meeting in Elderslie, neither Will nor she did any wilful thing to harm the other. As a courting pair, two young people discovering each other, they were the very essence of God's intent for His beloved children; as a married couple, they knew bliss together; and as supporters of each other's dreams, even when apart, they were unshakable. There was no weakness in their love, no inborn flaw, no fault; merely perfect love and fidelity. But as these attributes buttressed their love, they also left them open to their enemies.\n\nIt had already begun that day of their initial meeting, though none of us would learn of that for months to come.\n\nWill told me many times about being swept away by love that day, about what he saw and how he felt when he was smitten by the woman who would quickly come to mean all the world to him, and as I listened to him over the first few months of such outpourings\u2014for by then Mirren had returned to her home in Lanark\u2014I was struck by the resemblance between the way he spoke of her and the ardour with which Andrew Murray had described his own love, the young woman with the liquidly beautiful name Siobhan. Both young men burned with the same ardent passion, and from the lambent purity of Will's enthusiasm I came to see, through his eyes, what my own eyes had missed that afternoon.\n\nI had arrived in Elderslie at mid-morning, mere hours before they met, and as soon as I had delivered the letter that had brought me there to Sir Malcolm, I set out to where he had told me I would find Will, a good half-hour's walk from the main house. I found him near the westernmost edge of Sir Malcolm's lands, close to the village of Elderslie itself and hard by the wagon road that led to it from Paisley. He was crouched over a narrow track through the long grass that lined the roadway, pawing at the grass with spread fingers, his head moving from side to side as he inched forward. He heard me coming, glanced up, then returned his attention to the ground ahead of him.\n\n\"Good day, idle Forester,\" I greeted him. \"Have you lost something?\"\n\nHe swept his open hands through long grass, then looked at his palms and shrugged to his feet. \"Not lost, nor found,\" he said. \"I'm looking for blood. But there doesna seem to be any.\" It had been two weeks since last we met, but he spoke as if we had parted no more than an hour earlier; no greeting, no acknowledgment, no surprise.\n\n\"And should there be?\"\n\nHe stooped then to pick up the strung bow in the long grass and then unstrung it, bracing the stave with his foot as he pulled it down to free the loop from its end.\n\n\"Aye, there should. I shot at a doe here \u2026 Throw me my case, there.\" He caught the case easily and flipped off its cap, then turned completely around, his eyes scanning the surrounding grass as he slid the long stave into its tube. He replaced the cap and slung the case over his shoulder, shaking his head. \"She should be lying here dead, but my eyes tell me I missed her from sixty paces.\"\n\nI made no reply to that, not knowing what to say, for I had never known him to miss any target from that range. He was still looking about him, his eyes now checking the line of flight from the base of an ash tree sixty paces away and passing his right side, right over the road and into a dense thicket of brambles.\n\n\"Anyway, she ran, and I thought I'd gut-shot her and would have to hunt her down, but there's no blood. And no sign of my arrow. Mind you, I felt it flutter as it left the string. I must have torn the fletching without noticing and it flew off course. But God be my witness, I hate losing arrows.\"\n\n\"What was wrong with the doe?\"\n\nWill sniffed and pulled several broadhead hunting arrows from the bag at his side, peering closely at the fletching on each one. \"Old age and a lame leg. She'll no' last the winter and might no' even reach it. I thought it would be kinder to kill her now and end her pains \u2026 But she's well away from here by now.\" He dropped the arrows back into his bag. \"What brings you here this fine morning, then? You're like to shrivel up and blow away in the brightness out here if you're no' careful, after being cooped up in your old, dark library.\"\n\n\"Came to see you, and to deliver a letter to Sir Malcolm.\"\n\n\"In that order, eh?\" His thickening beard almost concealed the quirk of his grin. \"Well, you see me now, and you seem to be in fine fettle. Though you look more like a damn priest each time I see you.\"\n\nIt was true. Since taking up residence at the Abbey I had worn the grey habit of the resident monks. \"I am a damn priest\u2014or I soon will be.\"\n\nHe grunted, then took hold of my right wrist and held my hand up to examine my fingers. \"Ink \u2026 Are you still practising wi' your bow? I don't see any calluses.\"\n\nI freed my hand and wiggled my fingers, looking at them almost ruefully. \"No, I never seem to find the time nowadays. And besides, it's no fun if you're not there. I've lost nearly all my calluses this past year.\" I glanced across the road to the bramble thickets. \"Are you not going to look for that arrow?\"\n\n\"Nah, we'd never find it. It was moving flat across the ground. It could have passed right through that whole thicket without hitting anything. Did you bring anything to eat?\" I shook my head and he grimaced. \"Damn. Neither did I. Ran out and forgot all about eating this morning, wanting an early start. Looked for this wee doe for hours before I found her, and then missed her completely from close enough to touch her. Not a good morning's work \u2026 Ach well. Let's go into the village and find something to eat. It's no' far, and I'm famished.\"\n\nWe talked about trivial things as we walked the half mile into the village and made our way directly to the sign of the Boar's Head by the side of the common, where a few of the loiterers sitting by the entrance nodded to us as we entered. The dim interior reeked of stale beer, bad food, and smoky, guttering lamps even at noon. Supposedly a hostelry, as announced by the crudely painted sign of the mightily tusked boar's head that hung above the front door, the place was in reality what the local folk called a howff\u2014a drinking hole that could not even claim the respectability of a tavern. It was a den where men came at night to whore and gamble, drink and blaspheme, but it was also the only place in the village that sold food for instant consumption during the day, and as such it attracted a wider variety of customers in daylight than it did by night.\n\nThere were few customers inside, and we seated ourselves in a dark corner at the end of the plank table that served as a crude counter and sipped at flagons of thin, sour ale while we waited for the slatternly wife of Big Rab, the owner, to slop two platters of the day's meat pie in front of us. Neither of us made any remark on the food or its delivery; we had been there many times before and were familiar with the way things were done. To my surprise, though, the pie that day was the best I had ever tasted there, hot and savoury and well stuffed with chunks of onion, turnip, and meat, and topped with a well-made crust. We ate without comment, neither of us daring to wonder aloud what kind of meat was in the pie, or where it came from, although I fancied that I could detect both venison and wild hare in the well-spiced mixture. We both knew that if it were venison, it had been taken illegally, so I kept silent and merely enjoyed it while Will, the forester and keeper, ate it without expressing either curiosity or enjoyment.\n\nI could see he was far from happy with the situation, and at the same time I was aware of Big Rab loitering anxiously in the background, glancing worriedly at us from time to time and plainly expecting Will to say something. As we drained our flagons and stood up to leave, Rab's wife came bustling towards us, the look on her face holding sufficient guilt to condemn both her and her man. Will muttered a gruff word of thanks and threw a coin on the table. I followed him wordlessly out of the place, noting the look of relief on Big Rab's face as he scuttled away into the rear of the establishment.\n\nAs soon as we were outside I noticed that the loiterers had all gone. \"Good pie,\" I said. \"I wonder who cooked it.\"\n\n\"I don't want to know,\" he growled. \"No more than I want to know where the deer came from.\"\n\nAs he spoke, someone called his name in the distance, and we both turned to see one of Sir Malcolm's tenants, a man called James Laithey, waving to us from the butts on the common. Here, as in any town or village, anyone who owned cattle had the right to graze them on the common, but in Elderslie, a strip of ground along the longest side was set aside in the summer months for archery. It was barely wide enough for three men to stand side by side and shoot towards the far end, some two hundred paces distant, but it was sufficient for the needs of the archers who used it, none of whom owned a longbow. The normal bow of Scots huntsmen and archers was broad and flat in section, sometimes laminated with layers of horn or sinew, and made from local ash or elm or even beech, and their average length was a yard and a half. One sometimes saw a five-foot bow being used, but those were usually in the hands of visiting bowmen, travellers who roamed the countryside matching their skills against the local marksmen and usually prospering. Will's bow was an entirely different weapon from all of those, and he was generally reluctant to demonstrate its power in competition, a delicacy that was accepted gracefully by others once they had seen its power, and Will's accuracy, for themselves.\n\nI noticed strangers among the usual gathering of villagers, including a noisy group of about ten young people of both sexes and an unknown bowman who stood apart from the crowd and seemed to be the centre of attention. It was obvious from the height and width of both him and his long, broad bow that he was a wandering archer, looking to win money from the local marksmen.\n\n\"Shit,\" Will muttered. \"I suppose I'd better see what James wants. I could do without knowing, though, for I'm guessing at it already and I don't like it.\"\n\nWe waited for the other man to reach us.\n\n\"What is it, James? I have to get back to work.\"\n\nLaithey wasted no time in telling us. The stranger's reputation had preceded him, for he had been making the rounds of the neighbouring villages and was far more proficient at his art than he professed to be. He would compete, appear to falter, lose several bouts, and then, on the point of paying his losses, would ask for one more match at double the stakes, at which point he would rally, and finish up with deadly precision, winning everything.\n\nWill shrugged. \"What do you want of me, James? You know I don't shoot for money. This fellow will take one look at my bow and walk away.\"\n\nLaithey nodded. \"He might. But he's awfu' cocksure and pleased wi' himsel'. He likely thinks he can beat you.\"\n\n\"How does he even know me? I've never seen him before.\"\n\n\"Some of the fellows saw ye goin' into the howff. They were talkin' about ye, and the fellow was listenin'. And besides, if he walks away now, he'll take every coin in the village wi' him, for they're a' in his pocket already.\"\n\nWill sighed and looked sideways at me, rolling his eyes. \"Who are those other folk, the young ones?\"\n\n\"Just visitors, frae Paisley,\" Laithey told him. \"They're here to visit young Jessie Brunton\u2014her sisters and their friends.\"\n\nWill sighed. \"Well,\" he said at length, \"I'll offer him a match, but I doubt he'll take it. If he's won everything already I'm surprised he's still here.\"\n\n\"Don't be. He was interested in what the lads had to say about ye. That's why he's waitin'.\"\n\n\"Then he's wasting his time. I've no money other than a groat or two.\"\n\nLaithey, who was known for both sobriety and thrift, grinned, for he had admired Will's skill for years. \"I'll put up the coin,\" he said. \"Just this once, to see you beat this thief. And when you win, I'll gi'e back the winnings to the fools who lost them.\"\n\n\"You will? I'll hold you to that. But what if I lose?\"\n\nThe other man shrugged, still smiling. \"You willna. But 'gin you do, I'll take it as God's judgment on me for gambling.\"\n\nWill dipped his head. \"So be it. Let's try him, then. But I doubt he'll take the wager.\"\n\nThe stranger, who introduced himself as plain Robertson, agreed to Will's challenge with apparent reluctance, eyeing the long leather case that hung from his shoulder. But as the one being challenged, he had the setting of the terms, and it was immediately obvious he knew what he was doing. The most effective range of the yew longbow was between two hundred and two hundred and twenty paces, shooting at a six-inch target centre or a similarly thick fence post; beyond that distance, the yew archer tended to lose accuracy, and at lesser ranges the arrow flight was constrained by the bow's huge strength, and the inaccuracy became even greater.\n\n\"Targets,\" Robertson said. \"Split posts, three inches thick, two feet high.\" He watched narrow-eyed as Will considered that before nodding slowly, but then he could not hold back a wolfish grin as he continued. \"At a hundred.\"\n\nIt was an outrageous proposition, the short distance and halfwidth targets putting Will at an enormous disadvantage with his great yew bow. Will pursed his lips, appearing to think long and hard and be on the point of refusal, but then he sniffed and nodded. \"Agreed. Even bets?\"\n\n\"What? D'ye take me for a fool? Against that thing?\" Robertson nodded at the longbow's case as though he were not convinced that he had already crippled Will's chances of winning. \"Two to one. On your side.\"\n\nWill gazed for a long time at Robertson's own bow, a flat, layered weapon of wood and sinew that flared to a hand's breadth wide above and below the grip before tapering to the ends. Five feet long, I estimated. Will nodded, stone faced. \"Accepted,\" he said. \"Set them up.\"\n\nLaithey shouted the terms to the waiting crowd, and a cluster of men quickly set about making the targets from the pile of six-inch posts at the edge of the butts, some of them splitting the lengths of wood into quarters and others hammering the stakes firmly into the ground until they were of uniform height, their freshly split wedged faces towards the archers. The crowd along the edges of the range grew denser as others were attracted by the activity. To my eyes the target stakes, barely projecting above the ungrazed pasture of the narrow strip, were barely visible from a hundred paces, and for the first time I could remember, I found myself doubting Will's ability to hit them, recalling his missed shot at the sick doe earlier.\n\nWill was by now stringing his bow and pulling target arrows from among the broadheads in his bag. The target arrowheads were long and heavy, solid and round and tapered like armour-piercing bodkins, shorter but no less sharply pointed; hollowed out, they fitted tightly over the arrows' shafts, and were fletched with grey goose feathers. When he was satisfied with his six selections, he stepped forward to the firing line and thrust the arrows point first into the ground in a row by his right side.\n\nRobertson had defined the range and the targets; Will's was the choice to shoot first or last, and the right to determine the number of casts.\n\n\"One flight,\" he said to his adversary. \"Six shots only. You first, then me.\"\n\nRobertson nodded, plainly having expected this. \"Six each, then. All at once, or shot by shot?\"\n\n\"All at once. Straight count. Your six first, then mine. The winner the man who leaves most arrows in the marks. No repeats. I ha'e to get back to work.\"\n\n\"Right. Let's be about it.\"\n\nThe crowd had separated in anticipation of the contest, a few of them flanking the firing line to watch the bowmen, but the majority crowding near the targets at the end of the narrow firing lane. I could see they had no fear of being killed by a stray shot. They were accustomed to such contests and they knew the skill of the contestants.\n\nRobertson stepped forward to his side of the aiming line, nocking his first arrow to his string, and Laithey raised his arms and shouted for silence, bringing a hush to the crowd. Will's eyes were narrowed, taking stock of his opponent's stance and missing no single element of the man's preparation.\n\nThe targets were small and the distance to them was short, but no one there, man or woman, would have thought to criticize. Every one of them knew how difficult the contest was, precisely because of those constraints.\n\nRobertson stood stock-still, his eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at the first mark, its bottom half obscured by waving fronds of seeding grass. He held the bow loosely, resting horizontally across his left thigh, the fingers of his right hand gripping the string above and below the nocked end of the arrow. Then, still slit-eyed, he spread his feet, taking a half-step back with his right, and brought the bow up smoothly, leaning into it and drawing the taut string to his cheek as though it was weightless. He released quickly. The sound of the arrow's flight was lost in the snap of the bowstring against the shaped guard of bull horn that protected his forearm, and the crowd hissed as his shaft struck solidly, within a palm's width of the top of the distant mark. The peg was deeply buried, almost twothirds of its length firmly seated in the earth, but the force of the arrow's impact moved it visibly and split it; the arrow was gripped there, pointing sideways and down.\n\nWithout pausing, Robertson drew and loosed again, nocking a fresh arrow within seconds of each shot until he had fired all six within the span of a single minute. As the sixth hit home, some of the distant watchers clapped and whistled. Only his third shot had missed its mark. Another, his fourth, caught the very top of its stake, where the wood was flattened and frayed by the maul that had hammered it into the ground; the point lodged in the damaged wood, but the arrow hung precariously in place. The other four missiles were firmly lodged in the target stakes. He turned to Will with a tiny smirk.\n\n\"Five, you agree?\"\n\n\"Aye, five hits. A fine try. Not bad at all. I've seen far worse.\"\n\n\"Not bad?\" The smirk widened. \"Let's see you do better, then.\"\n\nWill's six arrows were still where he had set them in the ground, about a pace behind the firing line, and now he moved to stand beside them, plucking up the first of them and laying it across his horizontal bow stave, holding it in place with his left index finger while he nocked the end slot securely onto the taut string. His arrows were longer than Robertson's by a full finger's length, thicker and therefore heavier than the other man's. He flexed his fingers on the bow's grip, then froze, concentrating.\n\nFor long seconds he stood there, looking at the first slender target. Robertson harrumphed and muttered something. It was surely intended as a distraction, but Will ignored it. He drew a deep breath and went to work.\n\nHe stepped forward, leaning into his pull as his left foot went forward to the line, his straight left arm pushing the arcing bow stave forward while his massive chest, back, and shoulder muscles pulled the thick string of densely braided hemp back smoothly to his ear. The release was immensely powerful, and the line of flight was low, the arrow sinking so swiftly that I thought, for an instant, that it had fallen short. But then the target stake whipped violently and the arrow in its cleft sprang free and spun to the ground, its fall accompanied by a great shout from the crowd.\n\nWill had already nocked another arrow by then, and before the shout could die away he stepped into his second shot. His movements were a joy to watch, a sacred dance to a rhythm known only to himself, and he loosed all six of his arrows in less time than Robertson had taken for his. But Will struck five marks close above the ground, within a hand's breadth of their bases, and two of them dislodged arrows that Robertson had already placed. The sixth arrow had struck the ground at the base of the mark the other man had missed, but on closer examination it was found to have pierced the stake beneath the surface. Even without it, though, Will's tally stood at five to Robertson's remaining three.\n\nTo his credit, the other archer said nothing. He walked the hundred measured paces to the line of target posts, where he stood looking down at Will's handiwork. He shook his head in disbelief, for Will's grouping truly was astounding. Of the five shafts that had struck above the ground, the highest was less than an inch above the lowest. Robertson reached into the pouch at his waist and brought out a small leather purse; he hefted it in his hand, then lobbed it underhand to Will.\n\n\"I've never seen the like,\" he said. \"And I've never been so outmatched. I'll stay out of your way, 'gin we ever meet again, Will Wallace.\"\n\nThe two nodded to each other, in mutual respect, then bent to gather up their spent arrows as the crowd surged forward, and there was pandemonium as every man there wanted to shake the hand of each of the contestants. Will turned his back on the well-wishers and caught my eye. He threw the purse to me. \"Take that to James while I finish up here.\"\n\nI took the money to Laithey, and as I turned away I saw the group of young people who had come to visit Jessie Brunton now thronging around Will. Jessie, I knew, had been recently married to a friendly young fellow called Tam Brunton, a miller who worked on Sir Malcolm's estate. I had known her by her unmarried name, Jessie Waddie. She was the eldest daughter of Ian Waddie, a prosperous Paisley wool merchant. Waddie, it now turned out, was married to Margaret Braidfoot of Lamington, near Lanark, whose brother Hugh, a successful sheep farmer and therefore a valued associate of Ian Waddie, had a daughter called Mirren, whose presence was the underlying reason for today's visit from all these young people. Mirren, aged seventeen, had come to Paisley on what had become an annual visit, to spend the summer with her beloved Auntie Meg and her daughters.\n\nJessie herself was standing close by, a slightly bemused smile on her face as though at a loss to explain her sudden popularity even to herself, and I went and spoke to her for a few moments, asking about her visitors. When I turned away from her again, I saw the tallest youth in the party struggling to pull Will's bow, and I was amazed that Will would permit such a thing. It was only later\u2014much later\u2014that Will gave me his own slightly dazed account of what had happened while my back was turned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "\"Who was the fellow trying to pull your bow? The big fellow the girls were all admiring?\"\n\n\"Who? I don't know. He's one of Mirren's friends.\"\n\n\"He was dressed as a forester. Had you ever seen him before?\"\n\n\"No, but he's a Bruce man. He's a woodsman, though, not a forester.\"\n\n\"Is there a difference?\"\n\nThat earned me a stare from beneath slightly raised eyebrows. \"Aye, there's a big difference, and fine you know it. A woodsman patrols the woods, looking for poachers, but that's all he does. He has a forester to tell him what to do and where to go and when. He wears the green and he works in the woods, but he knows nothing of forestry, beyond being able to move quietly in the thickets.\"\n\n\"Which Bruce does he work for, Annandale or Carrick?\"\n\n\"The old man, Annandale. He owns the land alongside ours, to the south and west.\"\n\nWe were sitting together by the fire in Sir Malcolm's main room, late that same night. Sir Malcolm and Lady Margaret were long since abed, and we would have been, too, save that I was enjoying my time away from the Abbey too much to want to sleep, and Will was too tightly wound over the events of the afternoon. If he had mentioned Mirren Braidfoot once since we came home that day he had mentioned her a score of times; her name was rarely absent from his conversation, what little there was of that. I was perplexed, for I could hardly remember him ever mentioning any girl by name twice in the same day. But there he was, sitting across from me yet barely there, his gaze focused on whatever vision he was seeing in the leaping flames in the grate.\n\n\"So you don't know this fellow's name, the one who had your bow?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Why did you let him take it?\"\n\n\"What? Oh, because he wanted to.\"\n\n\"He wanted to. And you just let him? Will, you won't even let me carry that bow. Why would you give it to someone you didn't know, and let him play with it?\"\n\n\"Mirren wanted me to.\"\n\n\"Mirren wanted \u2026 I think you'd better tell me\u2014 Will? Are you listening? Tell me what happened when you met this Mirren. How did you meet her?\"\n\nHe frowned, blinking. \"I don't know.\" He shook his head. \"I don't remember. She was just there, suddenly, yellow and blue \u2026\"\n\nIt was enough for me to see her clearly. She had been wearing a yellow kirtle over a blue gown, and Will's eyes were wide again with the recollection of it.\n\n\"I'd seen them there,\" he continued, \"the folk from Paisley, but I hadn't noticed her before they all came flocking around me, and then there she was. Sweet Jesu, Jamie, but she's bonnie. She was looking right at me, her eyes on mine, and I swear I near fell into them, they were so big. And so blue, like her gown. They were all talking to me, shouting at me, but I could hardly hear them and she never said a word. She just stared at me, and then she smiled. I thought she was going to laugh at me and my heart nearly stopped for shame, but she didn't. She just looked and smiled. And God help me, I couldna smile back at her. I tried, I wanted to, but my face felt as though it was made of wood. I couldna make it work. And I just stood there, gawking at her like some daft wee laddie \u2026\n\n\"And then that fellow tried to take my bow, wanted to try it. She saw me start to turn on him and stopped me \u2026 with her eyes. She didn't speak. Her eyes \u2026 they flashed at me, warning me, I thought, though I didn't know against what. Then she looked at him, and at the bow, and back at me, and nodded. And I let him take it, along with an arrow from my bag, a broadhead. Then he walked away and all the others followed him to see how he would do. And we were left alone, the two of us.\" He looked at me, and his eyes were wide with wonder.\n\n\"What did she say to you?\"\n\n\"That her name was Mirren. She knew mine already. Someone must have told her. She asked me where I lived, and when I told her, she said that I should come and look for her within the week, at her uncle's house in Paisley, in the evening when my work was done \u2026 It was the strangest thing, Jamie. She told me how to find her, and when to come, and yet she never looked at me. She kept her eyes on the young fool with the bow the whole time, as though watching him and leaving me ignored, like a log on the ground. And then she said I should take my bow back, so I did. The poor gowk hadn't even drawn it to half pull. I took off the string, put the stave back in its case, and when I turned around again he was helping her up onto the wagon, and they left. She never looked at me again. Just left me standing there like a witless stirk.\"\n\n\"But she told you when and where to find her, Will. And did it privily, with no one being the wiser. Plainly she wanted none of them to know. Women do that sometimes.\"\n\nHe looked at me as though I had crowed like a cockerel. \"Do what?\"\n\nI shrugged, aware of my own witlessness. \"Behave strangely.\"\n\n\"How would you know that? Who told you such a thing?\"\n\n\"Nobody told me \u2026 I must have heard it somewhere.\"\n\n\"Hmm. Then did you happen to hear what I should do now?\"\n\n\"No, but I know \u2026 You should do as she bade you. Look for her in Paisley at her uncle's house the next time you are free of an evening.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "The woodsman's name was Graham, and he came from a village called Kilbarchan, some twelve miles from Elderslie, though he now lived in a bothy on the Bruce lands south of us. Will learned his name quickly, for Graham of Kilbarchan was forever underfoot\u2014like dung on a new boot was how Will put it\u2014whenever he went to Paisley to see Mirren, and he soon grew to loathe the sight of the man. A week elapsed before he could wind up the courage to go and look for her at the home of her uncle, Waddie the wool merchant. He found her without difficulty, for she had been expecting him and was watching for him, but there his true difficulties began.\n\nMirren's uncle took his responsibilities seriously, and the safety and moral welfare of his sister's only daughter while she was in his care was one of his main concerns that summer. The girl was beautiful, and wealthy by Paisley standards, so she attracted admirers and suitors as a blooming bank of flowers draws bees, and Ian Waddie had to deal with all of them.\n\nUnfortunately for Will, he dealt equally with all of them save one, treating them uniformly with hostile disapproval. The sole exception was the young woodsman from Kilbarchan, who was the only son of Alexander Graham of Kilbarchan, another of Master Waddie's prime suppliers of fine wool. This Graham had amassed sufficient wealth and property in a lifetime of hard work and sharp dealings to make his son appear as a supremely qualified suitor, despite the young man's general fecklessness, and that impression was greatly enhanced by the father's advanced age and rapidly failing health. Young Sandy would inherit everything, and for that reason alone, according to Mirren, Ian Waddie would have encouraged his suit even had the young man been a drunkard and a leper.\n\nWe spoke about this, Will and I, when next we met, about three weeks after his first encounter with Mirren, and I asked him, naively I suppose, why he put up with the fellow instead of sending him packing. He glanced at me sidelong, and I immediately saw how his involvement with Mirren had already changed him. The Will I had known all my life would have purged the young woodsman from his life as soon as Graham began to be a nuisance. The Will eyeing me now, though, was another person; he flushed slowly, and admitted, sheepishly, that it was Mirren's idea to keep young Graham close by. The woodsman had her uncle's goodwill and his full approval to spend time with her, and Mirren was clever enough to know that she could benefit thereby, simply by including Will in their excursions whenever he could arrange to visit Paisley. And when Will could not be there, to keep up the appearance of both consistency and propriety, she invariably invited another from her coterie of admirers to join her and Graham on their evening walks. It worked, of course.\n\nBy being unfailingly pleasant and congenial with Graham, yet keeping support and moral guidance close to hand at all times in the form of a third, amorously interested presence, Mirren managed to avoid awkwardness or entanglement with any of the young men, and by the time her stay in Paisley was half over she had overcome all her uncle's suspicions and won grudging acknowledgment from him that she was more than capable of protecting herself against the blandishments of the local swains. Waddie came to accept that there was nothing he could do to overcome his niece's refusal to encourage Sandy Graham's attentions, since it was obvious she did nothing to discourage them, either. Much as he was attracted to the idea of bringing Graham's wealth into his own family, and by association into his own purview, he was realistic enough to accept that he was not the girl's father and that the best way to promote his plans must be to gain her father's support in favour of a union between his daughter and the young woodsman.\n\nI discovered that by merest happenstance, for Master Waddie came to the Abbey one day in search of assistance in composing and writing an important letter, and I was the one assigned to the task by Brother Duncan, since I had performed similar clerical services in the past for several of the town's merchants. By the time Master Waddie's letter began to take shape and I began to discern what was involved, I could hardly stop the work in progress. Besides, I judged the content harmless, apart from the sole consideration that its effect might have a bearing on the affairs of my closest friend. And so, in the spirit of the confessional, I resigned myself to keeping its content to myself. Will would never know of its existence, and I would use my knowledge of it only if such knowledge should ever be of benefit.\n\nThe letter was, of course, to Master Waddie's goodbrother Hugh Braidfoot, and it extolled the shining virtues of a potential husband he had found for young Mirren, namely Master Alexander Graham. The letter was duly signed and sealed and sent off to Mirren's home in Lamington, a few miles outside Lanark town. I no longer wondered about Will's tolerance of the woodsman Graham.\n\nIn the meantime, to Will's appalled disbelief, the summer weeks sped by and Mirren returned home to her family, leaving him close to despair at the thought of the empty year that yawned ahead of him before she would return to Paisley. He could talk for hours on end, and often did, about the wonders and the exploding complexities of their burgeoning love. Many times I listened to his outpourings almost in disbelief, confounded by the intensity and the passion in what he was telling me and by the mysterious changes the experience had provoked in him. He had kissed her once, he confessed to me in breathless bliss; just once, and fleetingly, seizing a moment when they were alone, and he swore that the taste and textures of it lingered on his lips and in his very vitals weeks later. Floundering with what that could mean, I found myself regretting, almost painfully, that I would never experience such strange and tempestuous sensations.\n\nBut then, as time swept onwards, a degree of sanity returned to my cousin's world, and he became engrossed again in the work that he loved. I became his ex officio liaison with Mirren then, serving as postmaster for the bulky letters he inscribed to her almost daily and ensuring that they were forwarded to Lanark in the custody of the regular procession of brothers travelling on the Church's affairs. Mirren, on her own behalf, had arranged to have her responses returned to me by the same route, though she was far less regular in her correspondence.\n\nBeyond our little world of church and greenwood, much was happening, and none of it, it seemed at first, had anything to do with Will and Mirren. At the Abbey we learned that the magnates of the realm had been successful in their approach to England's King and had enlisted his aid in assuring the succession to the Scots throne of the child heir Margaret, whom people were already calling the Maid of Norway. A treaty to that effect had been signed at Salisbury in January of the new year, 1289, and a conclusive part of the same agreement was to be added the following year. Under the terms of these twin treaties, which would become known collectively as the Treaty of Birgham, Margaret's succession was guaranteed by her betrothal to Edward of Caernarvon, the English Prince of Wales. Wondrous news for all who cared, but Will Wallace was much more concerned with his own betrothal, a secret pact about which I had learned only very recently, when his frustration with the slowness of time boiled over.\n\nRoyal betrothals were, of course, affairs of state, and ordinary people knew little or nothing about them. We of the Abbey fraternity learned a little more as the proceedings developed, since the treaties were drafted by our religious and clerical brethren in various locations, and the word, privileged and close held as it was, spread quickly through our communities. In those early days everyone was happy with what was happening because it served multiple purposes, not the least of which was a settlement of the increasingly rancorous rivalry between the two noble Houses of Bruce and Balliol\u2014including by extension the House of Comyn, inextricably linked with Balliol through blood and marriage\u2014over their competing claims to the succession. Fostered by those feelings of goodwill, and unbelievable though it seems now from more than fifty years' distance, no one in Scotland objected strongly to Edward Plantagenet's claim to acknowledgment as feudal overlord of Scotland in return for his services as arbiter. That was perceived to be a matter of semantics rather than literal interpretation, for the feudal laws of the time attested to the spirit of that convention of overlordship\u2014most of the Scots magnates had held lands in England for generations under feudal grants from English monarchs\u2014and the Treaty of Birgham clearly stated that the realm of Scotland would remain \"separate and divided from England according to its rightful boundaries, free in itself and without subjection.\" No man in Scotland could even have imagined that Edward of England might soon insist upon the letter of that unwritten accord and claim the throne of Scotland for himself.\n\nIn the eyes of the Scots populace, the single noticeable thing to grow out of those preliminary agreements was an increasing presence of English soldiery and men-at-arms within the realm. It began quietly and with all the appearances of legitimacy; England's King had declared his goodwill in the matter of the Scots succession and was involved with the magnates of the noble houses in ensuring their commitment to the Birgham agreement. To that end, and on his regal behalf, detachments of English soldiery soon began to move freely throughout the land, tending to King Edward's affairs and safeguarding his interests, and in the beginning no one, including our little circle of family and friends, paid much attention to their comings and goings.\n\nBut within a half year of the Birgham agreement, disquieting stories of English misbehaviour began to circulate, and although many of those were discounted at the outset, the reports became more frequent. All of them described English abuses and transgressions against the common law and the Scots folk, quickly forming a pattern that could not be denied.\n\nWill showed no interest as these reports came to us. I tried more than once to coax out his opinions on the matter, but only once did he respond, on a night after dinner, when Peter and Duncan had been in Elderslie with me. He had refused to be drawn into their debate around the table. Afterwards, though, when only he and I were left in front of the fire, he spoke eloquently, and the quiet fury underlying his words shook me to my core.\n\n\"What d'you want me to tell you, Jamie?\" He spoke in Scots, not in Latin, and that alone told me something of the depth of his emotions. \"That these stories are no' true? That folk are just makin' them up to cause trouble? That the English wouldna do such things? For the love o' Christ, these are the people who cut off wee Jenny's head and used two wee boys as women. And now they're doing things folk dinna like \u2026 What did anybody expect, can ye tell me that? The only thing that surprises me about it is that it's ta'en so long for folk to see it. The English treat the common folk like slaves, here for their pleasure, and they've done it frae the outset. They don't think we're human. What was it Peter said? They lord it over us because they believe, deep down in their bones, that we're \u2026 what in the hell was it? A subservient people. Aye, that's what he said. They see us as a secondary race inferior to anything that's English. Shite. Don't get me started on it, Jamie.\"\n\n\"I thought you were already started.\"\n\nHe flexed his shoulders. \"Well, what did you expect? Are you surprised? You've been asking me for weeks what I think of all this, and I've been trying not to get involved because I know there's nothing I can do about it.\" He had switched back to Latin.\n\n\"So why are you talking about it now?\"\n\n\"Because I can't believe how blind people are.\"\n\n\"Explain.\"\n\n\"I don't know if I can, but I shouldn't need to. Like this nonsense about the Englishry only doing what they do because their local commanders are too lenient. Everybody's tripping over themselves to make excuses for the poor soldiers, blaming it all on the attitudes of the officers. In God's name, Jamie, are they all mad? They sound like it, whenever I listen to them. There's not a single knight, not one petty commander among all the English forces in Scotland, who would dare attempt any of this rubbish unless he knew beyond a doubt that his masters, the barons and earls of England, up to and including their King, would approve of it. And there's the nub of it. Whatever is happening here, from general disregard for the common law to the organized arrogance with which they swagger through our land, has the support of the English lords and barons. Nobody seems to believe it yet, but you mark my words, Jamie, they will, and by then it could be too late to change it.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you speak up?\"\n\n'Me, speak up? Who would listen to me? I'm a forester, Jamie, a verderer. I have no voice that anyone would hear, let alone listen to.\"\n\n\"Uncle Malcolm would listen.\"\n\n\"Aye, he might, because I'm family and he likes me, but would he change his mind? That would mean thinking about doing something to change things \u2026 and that's a daunting thought.\"\n\n\"More people than you think are starting to grow angry, Will. There's a great swell of discontent spreading everywhere in Scotland nowadays, I'm told.\"\n\n\"Told by whom?\" His eyes were suddenly wide with interest.\n\nI shrugged. \"Travellers, visiting priests.\"\n\n\"Aye, well you know what I think of most priests. They're great talkers, but they don't often do much more that that. I put more faith in my opinion of visiting soldiery, and it's plain to me what that opinion is. The English are here apurpose, and they won't leave until they have achieved whatever is in their minds, and that means in the mind of their King, this Edward Plantagenet.\"\n\n\"He is a noble and most Christian monarch, Will. A Crusader.\"\n\nHe looked at me for long moments and then he hawked and spat into the dying fire. \"He's an Englishman, Jamie, so I mistrust him. If he's so hotly bound on the welfare of our realm, why has he sent so many of his people here? What's his intent? And what does he want of us? Today he claims the title overlord of Scotland. What will he claim tomorrow, when his troops are everywhere from Berwick to Elgin?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Will's love for Mirren, and hers for him, had seemed invincible by the time she left Paisley that first summer, and neither of them had doubted that they would soon be man and wife. Since then, however, it seemed to both of them that Fate itself was conspiring to keep them apart.\n\nWill spent the winter making arrows, not only yard-long shafts for his own enormous weapon but hundreds of shorter missiles for the smaller, flat bows in common use among the Scots, and he had planned to sell them in Glasgow or Edinburgh that autumn, once they were fully cured and fletched, adding the proceeds to his marriage fund. He bore the news stoically when Mirren's letter arrived, telling him she would not be coming to Paisley that summer because of her mother's failing health, but I could see that he was devastated, faced with another yawning year before he would see her again. But then, being William Wallace, who thrived in adversity, he resolved to go to her instead. He sought a month-long leave from Sir Malcolm, who granted it without hesitation since his estates had never been in better condition, and Will set off for Lanark.\n\nHe stopped to visit me on his way though Paisley, riding one of Sir Malcolm's finest horses, and I could tell he was apprehensive about what he might find upon his arrival in Lanark, for he had not had time to write and tell Mirren he was coming. But he was almost too impatient to sit still as he spoke of his love for her and his determination to ride all the way there without stopping, scoffing at the mere scores of forested miles that separated them.\n\nI laughed with him, and wished him God speed, and then I walked with him to the Abbey gates to see him on his way with my prayers to accompany him. But as he swung around to mount his horse, we heard his name being called and turned back to see the distinctively green-cassocked Bishop Wishart of Glasgow trotting across the grassy forecourt towards us, waving his arms to attract our attention. Will waved back, still holding his reins, then turned to me.\n\n\"Did you know he was here?\"\n\n\"Not at all. He wasn't expected. He must have arrived this morning, while I was in the library.\"\n\nThe aging Bishop was slightly breathless by the time he reached us.\n\n\"William,\" he gasped, eyeing the reins in Will's hand. \"I'm glad I caught you. Are you leaving?\"\n\n\"Aye, my lord, I'm on my way to Lanark. I stopped by to say goodbye to Jamie.\"\n\nHis lordship acknowledged me with a smile and a nod, but turned directly to Will again. \"I had been thinking of you as I walked, enjoying the day, and then I turned to retrace my steps and there you were. It was most fortunate.\"\n\nWill cocked his head. \"You were thinking of me, my lord? You'll pardon me, but you and I have not set eyes upon each other these two years. Why should you think of me today?\"\n\n\"I shouldn't have. I had other things to ponder, of great import to this realm, but something that caught my eye reminded me of the occasion when I met you and young Andrew Murray near here, and then I found myself daydreaming.\" He glanced at Will's horse. \"Must you leave this minute, or can you grant me a little time?\"\n\n\"I should be on my way, my lord, for it's a long ride to Lanark and I am \u2026 expected. But another few minutes will make little difference if you think it important.\"\n\n\"I do, and I thank you. I saw Murray but ten days ago, and when he found I was returning here to Paisley he asked to be remembered to you.\" His eyes moved to acknowledge me. \"To both of you. He has pleasant memories of his visit here, brief though it was. He is well, though not yet a full knight, for several reasons, and in service to his father as sheriff of his territories.\" His mouth quirked into a tiny smile. \"You made a strong impression on him, Master Wallace. He asked me\u2014instructed me, in fact\u2014to inform you that should you ever find yourself in need of employment, in any capacity, he will make a place for you at your request. That impressed me, in turn, I must admit. I can assure you, Master Wallace, there are very few men in this land to whom Andrew Murray would make such an offer.\"\n\nWill nodded, somewhat stiffly I thought. \"I am honoured that you should mention it to me, my lord, and that Andrew should even think of it, but I have a place of my own here now and am content with it.\"\n\n\"And that is as it should be.\" Wishart hesitated, then glanced at me again and changed his tone. \"How long will you remain in Lanark?\"\n\n\"I have a month's leave. I doubt I'll return before that. Why do you ask, my lord?\"\n\n\"Because I have matters I should like to discuss with you\u2014within the month, or as close as may be. Would it be possible, think you, for you to come by Glasgow on your way home? It would take you a day or two out of your way to take the north road, but you will benefit from it if you make the effort, I promise you. I will be there by the end of this coming month and would welcome you.\"\n\nWill shook his head. \"I can't promise that, my lord Bishop, for I have already promised Sir Malcolm to come back directly from Lanark at the end of the month. But I will be in Glasgow in September. I have a cartload of fine arrows to sell, and I've heard that Glasgow is a better place than Edinburgh for such things\u2014more markets and more archers. I could visit you then. It would be a few weeks later than you asked, but no more than two.\"\n\nWishart nodded. \"Done. Come to me as early as you can. And if you come to me first, before going to market your wares, I'll see to it that your arrows are quickly sold at better than fair prices. Is that acceptable? If so, I'll leave you two to your interrupted farewells.\"\n\n\"What was that all about, do you suppose?\" Will asked once the Bishop had retreated.\n\n\"I have no idea. But he seems to have some kind of liking for you. Hard to understand why anyone would feel that way, let alone a saintly bishop, but there you are. God works in mysterious ways.\"\n\nI ducked as he swung a hand at my head, but it was true. Wishart had always shown a keen interest in Will, ever since their first meeting that day with Andrew Murray. For the remainder of his time as a student in Paisley, Will had been summoned to undertake long and intense tutorial sessions with the Bishop each time Wishart visited the Abbey, listening in fascination after his initial reluctance, and absorbing as much as he could of the older man's thoughts on such arcane matters as patriotism, loyalty, duty, integrity, and honour. Will and I always talked about these encounters afterwards, of course. He called them penances for a while because they seemed much like unwarranted punishments, taking him away from his beloved archery for hours on end, but it did not take long for us to learn to appreciate their true value, although we remained mystified as to the reasons underlying them. Their content, we soon saw, was not nearly as abstract as it first appeared. The Bishop tied everything he spoke of to the reality of the times, expounding upon the manly and patriotic virtues he so admired and relating them to the condition of the realm and the duties of a man to his king and kingdom, He put particular emphasis on the politics and family loyalties of the various magnates and the affiliations of their various fiefdoms within the realm.\n\nIt is plain to me now in my old age that even then, when Will was a mere boy, the good Bishop, who was perhaps the greatest and most selfless patriot in all the realm of Scotland at that time, had discerned in him that special quality that would propel him into greatness. That alone, I am convinced, could have induced in Wishart such painstaking efforts to shape William Wallace's mind to his own way of thinking. He moulded the future Guardian of Scotland, though none of us then knew it, and Will was malleable.\n\nWe said no more on the matter after the Bishop had left us, and after bidding each other God speed again, I stood and watched as Will rode away to the east in search of his beloved Mirren."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "When he returned home a month later, my cousin was a very different person. He had somehow reached full manhood in the interim, and he came back with evidence of a new maturity stamped into his every aspect. He did not tell me that he and Mirren had become lovers or that he had taken her to wife. There was no need. Even I, callow and unworldly as I was, could see the new strength in him, reflected in the way he spoke and acted. The carefree exuberance of love-stricken youth that had marked him before his departure had been replaced by a sober deliberation, and his former preoccupation with the distant, unattainable Mirren had been replaced by a quiet determination to bring her to Elderslie as his wife.\n\nThose changes were clear as day both to me and to his family, for his aunt and uncle were nothing if not astute. But there were other, even more profound changes afoot by then, as well. Will's entire life had begun to change in ways that neither he nor I could ever have anticipated, and even though I have been a Christian priest now for half a hundred years, I still tend to think of those changes in terms of intervention by the pagan Fates of whom the ancients spoke in fear and dread. Although these changes did not at first appear to be radical, each one, with hindsight, brought about the end of my plain, hard-working friend and cousin Will and the simultaneous emergence of his alter ego, the implacable, the terrifying William Wallace.\n\nIt began during that visit to Lamington, where he arrived to find Mirren under siege from the love-smitten woodsman Graham of Kilbarchan. Mirren had not expected Will's arrival, and her wholehearted delight at seeing him was witnessed by the hapless Graham, who saw in it the death of his own hopes of winning her. Graham of Kilbarchan vanished that same night, not to be seen again.\n\nIt was the suddenness of that disappearance that finally brought both Mirren and Will back to thinking of him again. Days had gone by since either of them had seen him, and that began to alarm Mirren because there had not been a single day in the previous five weeks when she had not seen him everywhere she went. Will, typically, had not given the fellow a single thought, relieved to be rid of the man's irksome presence. But Mirren knew that Graham of Kilbarchan would not simply fade graciously away; she came to expect he would seek redress for the humiliation he would believe she had thrust on him.\n\nShe waited anxiously to be summoned into her father's presence to explain what Hugh Braidfoot would construe as her disgraceful conduct towards a well-qualified suitor. But the days passed and no summons came. Her father's treatment of her remained as it had always been, benevolent and even doting; his attitude remained unchanged, at once loving and slightly bemused by her flourishing beauty. And still they saw no sign of Graham.\n\nDays later, filled with guilt, she spoke to Will about how badly she regretted her treatment of the woodsman, though she had intended no harm. Will kissed away her misgivings, assuring her that there was nothing she could have done to alter any of what had happened, and finally she came to believe him and allowed herself to believe that the sorry affair was over.\n\nBut it was far from being over.\n\nWill went looking for me in the library on the day he returned through Paisley, and Brother Duncan sent him to find me among the cloisters, where I was studying my breviary, pacing back and forth in the familiar space with my eyes closed much of the time, memorizing the texts set for me that day. I was so engrossed that I did not see him arrive, and I have no idea how long he had been sitting watching me by the time I finally noticed him perched on a stone bench, one foot flat on the seat with his back against an archway and his right knee raised against his chin, enfolded by his arms. The sight of him startled me, and he grinned, his white, even teeth flashing amid the dark curls of his suddenly rich beard.\n\n\"Priest,\" he said, his eyes flickering with mischief. \"When do you start to shave your head?\"\n\n\"When I'm ordained,\" I told him, feeling the glad rush of wellbeing that always hit me at the sight of him. \"When did you get back?\"\n\n\"Today, this minute, and I came to see you first. They'll be expecting me at home, though.\"\n\n\"They've been expecting you this past week. And Lamington?\"\n\n\"It's there, where I'd been told it was. A wee place, like Elderslie. But I enjoyed it.\"\n\n\"And yet\u2014? It could have been better?\"\n\n\"It could. I had to leave Mirren there.\"\n\n\"Ah. And when will she come here?\"\n\n\"As soon as I can arrange it.\"\n\nI detected a hint of uncertainty in his response.\n\n\"Can you arrange it?\"\n\n\"I think I can. I have to. Otherwise life will not be livable.\"\n\n\"Did you meet her father, speak with him?\"\n\nHe glanced away from my eyes. \"No. Mirren thought it best not to.\"\n\n\"Because he would disapprove.\"\n\n\"Aye. Her mother is very ill, near death in fact, and with that on his mind, he had already decided in favour of Alexander Graham.\"\n\n\"The forester? He was in Lamington?\"\n\n\"Woodsman, Jamie. But aye, he was there when I arrived. But then he left, the same day.\"\n\nHe told me everything that had happened during his visit, but when he had finished and I asked him what he thought the Graham fellow might be up to, he merely shrugged. He had decided that Graham was an indolent ne'er-do-well, unworthy of further attention.\n\n\"So what will you do next?\"\n\nHe stood up, facing me and smiling again as he collected his bow case and the quiver of arrows that leaned against the wall. \"I'm for Glasgow, as soon as I've made sure all's well at home and the forest's still as I left it. I have a cartload of arrows for sale and I need the money now more than I thought I might.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"Because I have a wife to see to now, Jamie. A man needs money even to contemplate such a thing. I won't bring a new wife to an empty, bare-floored hut.\"\n\nIt took me several moments to absorb what I had just heard.\n\n\"You married her? Mirren?\"\n\n\"I did.\" He looked at me with an expression of utter seriousness. \"It seemed like the right thing to do, while I was there \u2026\"\n\n\"But how\u2014? I thought her father didn't like you.\"\n\n\"He didn't, when he thought I was just another tomcat circling around his daughter. But he changed his mind once he discovered I was a tomcat with influential friends and could support a wife. Bishop Wishart knows the man and he vouched for me.\" He paused, then asked, \"Is that all right?\"\n\n\"Of course it is.\" I realized how stupid that sounded and raised my hands. \"Forgive me, Will. That took me by surprise and it should not have. I hope you will be very happy together. Will you take her with you to Glasgow?\"\n\n\"I will. 'Whither thou goest \u2026' I know I have no need to tell you where that comes from.\"\n\n\"No, you don't. But it was Ruth who said it to her mother-in-law, not to her spouse. But I know what you mean \u2026 You'll see the Bishop while you're there?\"\n\n\"Aye, as soon as I get there, as I promised him. And he said he would see to it that my arrows were sold for the best price. Besides, Murray once said he keeps a fine table, and I enjoy good food while I'm listening to anything profound \u2026 Speaking of which, I'm starved. I've been on the road since before dawn and it's close to noon. Have you eaten this morning? Can we go by the kitchens while we talk?\"\n\nTime passed as quickly as it always did in his company, and when the bell for nones summoned me to noonday prayer we parted, me to my duties and him to Elderslie and Sir Malcolm. I had not the slightest doubt that I would see him again very soon, but in those days I had not yet learned the folly of expecting anything in life to turn out as we expect."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "They came for him in Elderslie the following Saturday at first light. Sir Malcolm himself heard the hammering at his doors and roused himself from his bed to cross to the window, where he could look down into the grey dawn from his upstairs room. The yard was full of soldiers wearing the red saltire on gold of Bruce of Annandale. Ordering his startled wife to stay where she was, the knight charged out of his bedroom and made his way downstairs, shrugging hastily into a thick robe to cover his nakedness. He shouldered his way past his steward, who was holding the door open while attempting to bar entry to the men outside, and found himself face to face with a large, glowering man clad all in black.\n\n\"Who in Hades are you, and what madness brings you here like this to Wallace's door? D'you come seeking criminals in my house, or are you merely looking to provoke my wrath?\"\n\nThe stranger raised a gauntleted hand, holding out a rolled parchment stamped and sealed with a broad wafer of heavy, red wax. Sir Malcolm frowned suddenly, recognizing the elaborate seal.\n\n\"What is this?\"\n\n\"A warrant for the arrest of one William Wallace. Are you him?\"\n\nSir Malcolm's fury had vanished and he drew himself up and answered mildly, his voice pitched low. \"No, I am not. And I think you know that. I am Malcolm Wallace, knight of the realm and lord of this estate. Who are you?\"\n\n\"Walter Armstrong, bailiff to Robert Bruce, Lord of\u2014\"\n\n\"I know who Robert Bruce is, man. He has held my oath and my loyalty all my life, as he held my father's before me. I have already asked you what nonsense brings you hammering so damnably at my door at this hour, for I cannot believe Bruce himself would send you thus. Did he?\"\n\n\"I hold a warrant for the arrest of one William\u2014\"\n\n\"Did Bruce send you here?\" Sir Malcolm's roar cut the words from the bailiff's mouth and brought up the heads of the soldiers at the fellow's back.\n\nA sullen flush crept slowly over the man's cheeks and he looked as though he wanted to spit in the knight's eye, but both of them knew it would mean his death to do so. \"No,\" he said. \"But I am here on his authority.\"\n\n\"No, what? Are you insolent to every knight you meet?\"\n\nThe bailiff's eyes grew angrier, but when he spoke again his words were subdued. \"No, Sir Malcolm. Lord Robert is in Glasgow, on the business of the realm. But I was sent on\u2014\"\n\n\"Be damned to you, you oaf. You were sent here by someone who hopes to see you dead for it, knowing your surly tongue.\" Sir Walter looked down in silence at the warrant until he had recovered himself, and then he spoke again in a calm voice. \"William Wallace is my nephew. What does this warrant concern?\"\n\n\"Poaching. The slaughter and theft of deer belonging to the Lord Bruce, from his lands adjoining your own.\"\n\nSir Walter reared up again. \"That is arrant nonsense. My nephew is a verderer, my senior forester, and a justiciary officer of this estate. Such a crime is beyond his nature. When did this atrocity take place?\"\n\nThe bailiff smirked. \"Four days ago, Sir Malcolm. And as for it being beyond your nephew's nature, that may be your opinion, but it needna be the case, not if the man wields a long yew bow and shoots white-fletched, white-banded arrows. Your nephew does both, I'm told.\"\n\nSir Malcolm felt a sour sickness roiling in his gut. He had watched his nephew paint the broad white band around the midpoint of each of his arrows. That, plus their distinctive white snow goose fletching, made them, Will had explained, easier to find in featureless clumps of undergrowth. He nodded his head slowly.\n\n\"As you say, he does. And so he must plainly answer to you, on whatever grounds he may stand accused. I will bring him to you, but he is not here now. Not on my lands or anywhere within reach this day. You have my word on that, on both counts. Tell me about this supposed crime.\"\n\nWhen the bailiff spoke next his voice lacked much of the truculence that had marked it earlier.\n\n\"There's no supposing involved, sir. We ha'e sworn testimony frae an eyewitness who saw the accused William Wallace slaughter a small herd of deer and leave them where they fell, a wanton atrocity. He cut out all the arrows afterwards, save one that he could not dislodge, and he cut the end off that, to hide the fletching, but he mistook an' left one broken bit o' flightin' behind him.\"\n\n\"And you have that piece of feather.\"\n\n\"We do, sir. Forbye the cut shaft. It bears white paint. No' much, but enough to mark it plain enough.\"\n\n\"I see. So my nephew is not merely a felon, he is a careless fool, to boot. I must say that surprises me. I had not thought him foolish. Why would he do such a thing? It seems senseless. Wanton, as you said.\"\n\nThe bailiff nodded, seeming more sympathetic now that the knight's anger had died down.\n\nSir Malcolm looked beyond the bailiff, out into the yard. A full score of soldiers stood there, all of them armed and watching the group at the open door, and the knight's gaze took in the two halfarmoured sergeants-at-arms who stood vigilantly at the bailiff's back, missing nothing. He sighed.\n\n\"These are ill tidings, Bailiff. A sore start to any day. But you have my attention and my belief, and I fear I do you a disservice, keeping you here like this on the doorstep.\" He stepped back from the door. \"Come you inside and bring your sergeants with you, and we'll decide what's best to do. Come.\"\n\nThe bailiff hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.\n\n\"Commendable distrust, I suppose,\" Sir Malcolm said. \"You fear I ha'e lied to you and my nephew might escape while I detain you.\n\nWell, I'll ignore the slur upon my honour because of the circumstance, and you may have your men search the grounds and buildings while we talk. But mind you see they do no harm. There has been damage aplenty done to me and mine already this morning. Make your arrangements, then my man here will bring you to me when you're done. I'll be back down as soon as I have calmed my goodwife and put on some clothes.\"\n\nNeither man required much time to do what he must do, and Sir Malcolm heard the sounds of shuffling, mailed feet on the flagstones of the hallway as he reached the head of the stairs, having left Lady Margaret waiting anxiously in their bedchamber.\n\n\"Sit ye down, gentlemen,\" he said, entering the large family room where they awaited him. He took his own big chair while they seated themselves, the two sergeants-at-arms removing their steel bonnets. Fergus the steward was already pouring mugs of the household's ale, and the men drank in silence, until the knight set his cup down on the small table by his chair.\n\n\"So,\" he began. \"A sorry tale, and one I had no need to hear, this day or any other. A herd, you say? How many?\"\n\n\"Seven, sir. A buck and six does.\"\n\n\"And left there? To rot?\"\n\n\"Aye, Sir Malcolm, just so.\"\n\n\"And it was done out of sheer malice? Are you sure of that?\"\n\n\"As sure as any man who wasna there can be. Assured on oath, as witnessed.\"\n\n\"Is your witness trustworthy?\"\n\n\"He is, sir. One of our own. A verderer himself. He saw it all.\"\n\n\"And made no move to stop it?\"\n\nFor the first time, a flicker of uncertainty disturbed the bailiff's gaze. \"He was alone, Sir Malcolm, and feared for his life.\"\n\nSir Malcolm's eyebrows rose in disbelief. \"His life? Are you telling me now my nephew is a would-be murderer as well as a poacher of deer?\"\n\n\"Our witness thought so, sir, being there alone. And I canna say I blame him. Who can say what any man will do, caught in a crime?\n\nThere's no' a man among us who doesna have the power to do murder, 'gin he's provoked enough.\"\n\nSir Malcolm growled deep in his throat. \"Aye. Provocation makes the difference. Who is this timid verderer of yours?\"\n\n\"His name is Francis Tidwell, sir.\"\n\n\"That sounds English.\"\n\n\"It is\u2014he is English born and bred. He came to Lord Robert's employ as a verderer ten years ago.\"\n\n\"So when did this happen? The crime was discovered four days ago, you say?\"\n\n\"Aye, sir, on Wednesday. Six days after the accused man, William Wallace, was observed returning here from\u2014\" He stopped short.\n\nSir Malcolm's eyes narrowed. \"He was observed? How and by whom?\" He did not wait for an answer. \"Does it not strike you as strange, Master Bailiff, that my nephew should be observed days before he supposedly commits a crime? And even stranger that the observer should know he was returning from somewhere?\"\n\n\"Aye \u2026 Well \u2026 I canna answer that. I ken only that Tidwell mentioned it, but I canna tell you how he knew it.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you can't, but there's one thing you can't deny, since it came from your own mouth. Someone was watching my nephew long before he was accused of anything.\" Sir Malcolm leaned back in his chair. \"So, who sent you here to arrest our William, Master Bailiff? You said Lord Robert is in Glasgow.\"\n\nThe other man stirred and his boots scraped on the floor as he shifted his weight. \"I was sent by Master Bellow, Lord Robert's factor.\"\n\n\"Ah, Master Bellow. I should have known. Master Bellow has harboured little fondness for me or my kin since he and I fell out, nigh on twelve years ago. He is a dour man. A fine factor, no doubt, but an unlikeable man \u2026 Would you know where Lord Robert is, in Glasgow? Exactly? You said he was on the business of the realm, did you not?\"\n\nThe bailiff blinked. \"Aye, I did, but how would I know where his lordship bides? I'm his bailiff, no' his friend. He wouldna even know my face, was I to meet him.\"\n\n\"Then I might be able to help you. In all probability he is in residence at the Bishop's Palace. That is where most of the realm's business is conducted nowadays, at least in these southern parts. And that, if my guess is sound, makes this entire affair very interesting \u2026\"\n\n\"What d'ye mean?\" The man was frowning now.\n\n\"I mean, Master Bailiff, that if Lord Robert Bruce is in Glasgow, and at the Bishop's Palace, he would likely be aware that my nephew, this same slaughterous William Wallace, has been there, too, for this past week and more, conferring with Bishop Wishart. He came home ten days ago from a journey, that much is true. But he left again the very next day, bound for Glasgow, to meet with Bishop Wishart at his lordship's invitation. He left at daybreak, to be in Glasgow by nightfall, so I have little doubt that his going was unobserved, and your story proves that it was. So unless my nephew has seduced the Bishop of Glasgow himself into returning with him to these parts to poach and slaughter Lord Robert's deer, I would suggest you question your witness more closely as to the truth surrounding the events he was so eager to swear to under solemn oath. The man is plainly a liar, and if I have to bring Bishop Wishart and Robert Bruce himself here together to confront the knave and judge him of the attempted murder of my nephew through false testimony, then by God's beard I will do so. Have you heard me, Master Bailiff?\"\n\nAs soon as the bailiff had led his men away to arrest their false witness, Sir Malcolm dispatched two men to summon a family gathering. That done, he called in his wife, whose judgment he trusted above any man's, and the two of them set to planning what must be done."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "The adults of the family met in session late that afternoon, before the sun began to set, and Sir Malcolm wasted no time in telling us that he had already discussed the matter with Lady Margaret and with Ewan, and they were all in agreement that much had to be done in a short space of time. I did not have the chance to wonder why Ewan should be involved as Sir Malcolm launched into a word-for-word description of what had transpired that morning. He was a natural storyteller and he held all of us enthralled as he brought the morning's events to life.\n\n\"Where is Will now?\" Father Peter asked when he had finished. \"Do we know?\"\n\nSir Malcolm shrugged. \"Your guess would be as good as mine. Somewhere 'twixt here and Glasgow, unless he bides there yet.\"\n\n\"Who bides where yet?\"\n\nNone of us had heard or seen his arrival, but suddenly there he was, his arms filled with bolts of brightly coloured cloth that he carried straight towards his aunt Margaret, weaving his way between tables and chairs. He lowered the bundles into her lap and then bussed her soundly while she reached up from her seat to embrace his neck and ruffle his hair in welcome. He winked at me in greeting, and then glanced around at the rest, and his face and voice became grave.\n\n\"The Wallaces in conclave. Have I missed something important?\"\n\n\"Aye, you have,\" his uncle replied. \"Armed men\u2014Bruce's men\u2014come to take you away for hanging.\"\n\nWill looked sideways at his uncle, a laugh forming on his lips. \"For hanging? What, they'll hang a man now for swearing his allegiance?\"\n\n\"No, for killing his lord's deer.\" There was no doubting his uncle's seriousness, and Will straightened abruptly, all signs of humour fading from his face.\n\n\"What are you saying, Uncle?\"\n\n\"I said it clearly and it is true. But it is already dealt with. What did you mean by 'swearing allegiance'? Did you meet the Elder Bruce?\"\n\n\"Aye, in Glasgow. Bishop Wishart named me to him.\"\n\nSir Malcolm frowned. \"To what end? Why would he make you known to Robert Bruce, and you a mere verderer?\"\n\nWill's eyebrows rose. \"In courtesy, Uncle. Lord Robert arrived while the Bishop and I were talking, and he asked me who I was. Bishop Wishart introduced us and then left us together for a time while he attended to something else. We talked, the old man and I, and I ended up offering him my allegiance. He remembered my father, vaguely, through the Countess of Carrick, and he knows you, of course, as his own man, but he even knew that my brother Malcolm is another of his knights, riding with his son, the Earl of Carrick. I liked him. He is an impressive old man, if somewhat stiff\u2014distant and oldfashioned.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Sir Malcolm. \"He has lived long enough to be oldfashioned with legitimacy. And he has the right to be aloof. He is next in line to the throne, should anything befall the Maid. Where is he now, do you know?\"\n\nWill shook his head. \"In Glasgow yet, I suppose. It was quite the noble gathering there. The greatest men in the realm. He was deep in conference with them, magnates and clerics both, when I left.\" He checked himself. \"But how \u2026 How could his men come hunting me for poaching when I was with Lord Robert himself at the time?\"\n\n\"That's what has been dealt with, Will,\" Father Peter answered. \"You were falsely accused of poaching and mayhem. Malcolm defended you stoutly and proved your innocence, so that danger is behind us. But that's why we're all here. Malcolm and Margaret summoned us to discuss what's best to be done for you now.\"\n\nWill frowned. \"What's best to be done for me? I have no idea what you're all talking about.\"\n\n\"This fellow Graham, from Kilbarchan.\" Sir Malcolm's voice was peremptory. \"Ewan told me about him, that he was there when you went to visit that young woman. You had not expected that, had you?\"\n\nWill glanced at Ewan before responding. \"No, I had not. But it was of little import.\"\n\nBrother Duncan spoke for the first time. \"What did you do to him, Will?\"\n\n\"Do to him?\" Will's eyes were wide with incomprehension. \"I did nothing to him, save ignore him. The man's a fool. A popinjay. Jamie? What is going on here?\"\n\nSir Malcolm intervened before I could say anything. \"Then you underestimate him, Nephew. Popinjay he may be, but he's a dangerous popinjay, and treacherous. Tell us what happened between you two when last you met.\"\n\n\"Right, then.\" I saw a flash of the anger that too often lurked beneath his calm exterior, but then he caught himself. \"The last time we met,\" he said quietly, \"Graham was in Lamington, where I had gone to visit Mirren\u2014\"\n\n\"The Braidfoot girl, you mean.\"\n\n\"Aye. We nodded to each other and I greeted him by name\u2014coldly, I suppose, for he did not answer me. I was not friendly, but I had not expected to see him there, so far from home and hunting my quarry. I expect he was no more pleased to see me. But Mirren was glad to see me come, so he and I glowered at each other for a spell, and then he walked away. I have not seen him since.\"\n\n\"He was angry, then, when he left?\"\n\n\"Spitting, I would say, had I spared a moment to think of it. But why did you call him treacherous?\"\n\n\"Think. Did you lose any arrows while you were there?\"\n\nWill's headshake was immediate. \"No, sir, I did not.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\nI saw Will's eyes narrow. \"I am always sure about my arrows, Uncle. I carry few of them, and when I travel I cannot replace them easily, and so I am aware of every one. I took twelve broadheads with me and eight bodkin target shafts. I brought them all back and have them with me now.\"\n\n\"An arrow belonging to you\u2014white fletched and painted with a central band\u2014was found in a slaughtered deer\u2014one of a slaughtered herd\u2014on the Annandale lands. It was the only shaft left behind, and it was cut short, but it was one of yours beyond a doubt. Can you think of any way in which an enemy might have stolen one without your knowing?\"\n\nWill shrugged. \"Aye, easily, if he broke into my hut in the woods. I keep a supply there. Anyone could steal some. But unless they had a longbow, there would be no point to such a thing. Those arrows are too big and heavy for flat bows.\"\n\n\"There was a point. Do not deceive yourself. Someone used one of them to entrap you.\" Sir Malcolm then retold the tale of the morning's events, and Will sank into a chair and sat open-mouthed.\n\n\"This verderer, Tidwell,\" he said when his uncle was done. \"I've never met him. Why would he do such a thing?\"\n\n\"He was suborned, clearly.\"\n\n\"By whom, in God's name?\"\n\nEwan spoke up for the first time. \"Clear your head, Will, and think. The man worked the Bruce lands next to our own. Who else do you know who works those woods?\"\n\nRecognition flashed across Will's face. \"Graham.\"\n\n\"But Tidwell has been arrested,\" I said, \"so he will confess and name the man who suborned him.\"\n\nSir Malcolm flicked a hand at me impatiently. \"We don't know that, Jamie. The bailiff went in search of him, but he may not have found him.\"\n\n\"Why would he not, Uncle? If the fellow thought his plan had worked he would have no reason to hide and they would have found him easily.\"\n\nSir Malcolm was shaking his head. \"Not so, Jamie, not so at all. That is your priest's mind speaking. This man Tidwell is corrupt. He was paid to lie under oath and therefore he is far more dangerous to the man who hired him than he can ever be to us. I doubt he'll be seen again.\"\n\n\"You mean he'll run?\"\n\n\"No, Jamie. I mean he's like to die and disappear. Once he is silenced, no one can question him.\" Sir Malcolm looked around the table, engaging each one of us. \"This man Graham is clever. Let no one here doubt that. The sole flaw in this foul scheme of his was that he knew nothing of your plans to visit Glasgow, William. Had you remained here at home, you would now be in jail under sentence of death, and safely hanged and out of his way when next he goes wooing your young woman. This man hates hard and harbours great malice. Having met his kind before, I think it likely that he followed the bailiff and his men here to watch you be taken. And when he saw them leave without you, he might have been moved to protect himself by covering his tracks.\"\n\n\"By killing Tidwell, you mean?\" Will said. \"But what could he gain by that? We know what he did. We know where he lives. He would be risking everything.\"\n\n\"He would be risking nothing. Without Tidwell, we have no proof of his involvement in any of this. He would run free and probably return home to Kilbarchan, to dream up some other means of killing you.\"\n\n\"Killing me?\" Will's laugh was a harsh bark. \"That popinjay? He would never find guts enough to face me.\"\n\n\"He would not need to face you!\" Sir Malcolm's shout startled us all. \"Nor need he dirty his own hands. This popinjay, as you call him, is rich, William. He can hire others to do what he could not. Think you this Tidwell killed all those beasts alone? You're a forester, so use your brain. Do you think for a moment that seven deer would stand calmly and let him kill them, one at a time? Besides, Ewan assured me Tidwell uses a flat bow, a short bow. He has never owned a long one. I'll warrant he was nowhere near the place when those deer were killed. He went there later, knowing what he would find and what he had to say. Which means that others did the killing, using nets to pen and hold the beasts until they were done. It would take three men at least, possibly more.\"\n\n\"So you mean\u2014?\"\n\n\"I mean that any man well enough paid to take part in a plot like this would take more money without thought to kill an ongoing threat to his paymaster. And Tidwell, through no fault of his own, has become such a threat.\"\n\n\"No more than the others, surely?\" My question earned me a pitying look from my uncle.\n\n\"Infinitely more, Jamie. We know Tidwell. That's why he's dangerous to Graham. The others are unknown. They could be anyone, anywhere.\"\n\n\"So what must we do?\" Will asked, addressing all of us.\n\n\"We must find a way to deal with this disgusting Graham fellow.\" Lady Margaret's contribution took everyone's attention, and I am sure no one missed the emphasis she placed on her opening word. \"You, on the other hand, dear nephew, must leave here until we have done so.\" She whipped up a warning hand to cut off Will's protest before it could be formed. \"Do not argue, William. Your life is in danger, and we have no hint of the identity of the possible assassins, any one of whom could kill you from concealment at any time. And so you will leave here, for a time at least, and let us deal with this serpent Graham. We will put an end to him through his employer, as soon as his lordship returns. The Bruce will not tolerate such treachery among his people. Until then this Graham will no doubt think himself safe, with Tidwell gone, since he dare not ask questions that might point to his involvement and he knows nothing of what transpired while you were in Glasgow. And thinking himself safe, he will come after you again. But by then you will be far from here, in the south with Ewan, who has always wanted to visit Selkirk Forest. That was Ewan's idea, and your uncle believes it to be a good one. I am not so sure, but I am prepared to accept my husband's judgment.\"\n\nWill, from being unwilling to budge, was seduced instantly by the prospect of losing himself in the forest with Ewan, subsisting there on their own merits and unbeholden to anyone. Of course, it did not escape my attention\u2014nor perhaps anyone else's\u2014that the route to Selkirk and the great southern forest led directly past Lanark, and Mirren's home in Lamington was less than a good spit away from there.\n\nDinner that night was remarkably sombre, and although I was itching to know what Bishop Wishart had wanted to talk to Will about, I hesitated to bring the matter up when no one else did. Immediately after dinner, however, Sir Malcolm took Will away to talk to him alone, and I suspected that he, too, had the same curiosity but had not wished to air the subject openly at table. I stayed awake for a long time that night, waiting for Will to return to the room we shared, but at length I fell asleep, and he did not waken me when he sought his own bed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "\"Are you ever going to tell me what the Bishop wanted you for?\" It was early the next morning, and I was in the stable yard, helping Will brush down his horse, brushing the right side of the sturdy animal while he worked on the other. This was not the fine animal he had ridden on his previous journey, for this time he would be travelling through the lawless territory of the Selkirk Forest, where a fine horse would have been too much of a temptation to flaunt. So his mount this time, like Ewan's, was a stocky Scots garron, the hardy, shaggy, sure-footed breed native to the North.\n\nWill's face appeared over the garron's back, gazing at me with troubled eyes. \"He's in love wi' me, Jamie,\" he said in a deep, sombre voice. \"He wanted me to do terrible, unnatural things, and my immortal soul's in peril. I'd tell you what he said, but I'm feared to scandalize your priestly ears.\"\n\nI felt horror rise up in me, but then I saw the leering grin flash out.\n\n\"Whoreson,\" I spat, and threw my horse brush at him. \"You could burn in Hell for saying things like that.\"\n\n\"The Devil isna ready for me yet, Jamie,\" he said, bobbing back up, his grin wider. But then, within a heartbeat, he sobered. \"He wanted to talk. To me,\" he said in the scholarly Latin he had grown to love as a student. \"Don't ask me why, because I can't tell you, any more than I could before. Not even Uncle Mal could tell me why. But that's what he wanted.\"\n\n\"To talk \u2026 Well, he's wanted that before, for the same reasons, whatever they may be. And what did he want to talk about this time?\"\n\n\"About this English business\u2014the growing numbers of them and their reasons for being here. He's worried that there's more to what we're seeing than what we're seeing, if you know what I mean.\"\n\n\"And? Did you tell him you agreed with him? That you think the same thing?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I didn't tell him anything. I listened, and he talked, the way he always does.\" And then his frown faded and his whole face lightened as though the sun had shone on it. \"But d'you know what? I think I know now why he did it, why he's always done it. It just came to me this minute.\" He stood staring into the distance, smiling strangely.\n\n\"Well come on, then,\" I said. \"Or are you going to keep me standing here all day?\"\n\n\"Oh \u2026 He wanted to talk because he needed to, Jamie. I still don't see why he'd pick me, but I'm probably one of the few people he can speak his mind to without fear of criticism or of being influenced by how I reply. A memory of him talking just came into my mind and I saw him sitting in front of his fire, talking to me very seriously, his brow creased, and it came to me that he was talking at me, not to me.\"\n\n\"Cousin, I don't know what you're talking about.\"\n\nHis grin flickered back. \"I'm not sure I even know, but I think the Bishop has come to trust me over the years. He's a powerful man, with much influence, and everyone in his world appears to want something from him. That's why he's so tight mouthed and selfcontained all the time. But somehow he learned that he could talk to me, test his ideas and opinions and even voice his private thoughts and suspicions straightforwardly, without fear of being used or betrayed. Does that sound sensible to you?\"\n\n\"Perfectly,\" I said. \"So what did he talk about this time? You mentioned the English situation. Does he really see that as grounds for concern?\"\n\n\"Aye, he does. He worries about Edward of England, about what's in his mind, for though the man himself has done nothing wrong, and everything he does appears to be straightforward and to a noble end, aspects of his behaviour have Wishart worried: his attitude, above all. Why is Edward allowing his men to behave as they do on foreign soil, flouting the laws of our land in defiance of all the rules of protocol and hospitality? He is encouraging them by his silence, there's no doubt of that. But no one dares call him to task on it, because his goodwill is deemed too important to the realm in this matter of the young Queen's succession.\"\n\n\"So what does Wishart want of you?\"\n\n\"Of me? Nothing. He spoke much of Andrew Murray, though, and ventured the hope that, should anything go wrong, which God forbid, he would like me to offer my services to Murray on the realm's behalf.\"\n\n\"And what did you say to that?\"\n\n\"What do you think? I told him I would, if Murray would have me.\" His smile widened. \"But that's not going to happen. The Maid is still a child and the Guardians of the realm are all at their posts. One of these days, we'll have a young, new Queen to bend our knees to, and Edward Plantagenet will be settling back to dream of a grandson who will inherit Scotland's throne. You wait and see.\"\n\nWe finished our preparations for departure, then went into the house, where we broke our fast with the family, said our farewells, and were on the road by mid-morning as planned, arriving at the Abbey shortly after noon. The brother on duty at the gate was watching for us and informed us that Father Peter, who had set out from Elderslie with Brother Duncan before dawn, was waiting for us in the common room. Surprised, because the community was at noon prayers, we left Ewan with the horses and went directly to where our priestly uncle waited for us, standing with his hand on one of two chest-high bales of fine, recently shorn wool that filled the common room with their distinctive oily smell. He barely nodded to us before slapping the one beneath his hand.\n\n\"I thought you should see this, Will, before you go anywhere. Mirren's uncle brought it in this morning.\"\n\n\"Two bales of wool?\" Will glanced at me, his face blank. \"In return for what?\"\n\n\"Not simply wool, Will. Rich, prime wool. His best. An offering, in return for Masses for the soul of Alexander Graham. The old man died last night.\"\n\nWill was slow to respond, but eventually he asked, \"Why did you think it important for me to see this now, Uncle Peter?\"\n\n\"Because it changes everything we talked about last night. Now young Graham can legitimately quit his employment with Lord Bruce. He'll return to Kilbarchan to claim his inheritance, free of obligation.\"\n\n\"And free of any penalty for what he did to me. Is that what you are saying?\"\n\nFather Peter shook his head. \"No, not quite. Lord Bruce will still have jurisdiction over what was done while Graham was his man. No doubt of that. But that will yet have to wait upon Bruce's eventual return, so nothing has changed there save that Father Abbot informed me earlier that he does not expect to see his lordship any time soon. Apparently the Bruce has ridden north, beyond the Forth, and may be gone for some time. What has changed, though, with the old man's death, is that Graham will now be free to do whatever he wishes, at least until he is brought to justice. He is now a man of property and substantial wealth. If he chooses, he could move against you immediately, so you should waste no time in losing yourself. Prior to this\"\u2014he nodded towards the woollen bales\u2014\"you had at least a few days of grace. Now it is conceivable that you have none at all.\"\n\n\"Is he likely to send his people sniffing around Sir Malcolm's place, think you?\"\n\nFather Peter shrugged. \"He might, but it will do him no good. You won't be there and Mal is ready for him. Should he trespass too far, he will rue it. My brother is no man's fool, and more than a match for any shiftless ne'er-do-well, rich or no. In the meantime, though, you must be on your way. Do you have everything you need?\"\n\nWill was eyeing the bales of wool. \"Aye, Uncle, everything. Food for a week, ample clothing, and a good supply of arrows and bowstrings. We require nothing else. But I'm curious. How much would those bales be worth?\"\n\nUncle Peter's eyes narrowed at the unexpected question. \"They have great value\u2014sufficient to purchase daily Masses for a year, I would guess. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Merchant Waddie is not known for his generosity. I'm surprised he would put up so much to pray for the soul of a man who was not related to him.\"\n\nFather Peter smiled. \"I'm sure he hopes the old man's wealthy son will be related to him soon. And besides, he'll doubtless retrieve two more in recompense from the old man's storehouses.\"\n\nWill reached out to touch one of the bales. \"Aye, I suppose he will, now that you mention it.\" He straightened. \"I should be going now, Father.\"\n\n\"Aye, you should. I wish you God speed and hope to see your frowning face again within a month or two. Kneel down now, and I'll bless you.\"\n\nI walked back with my cousin to where Ewan waited with the horses, and as we went Will draped a long arm over my shoulders, pulling me close to him. \"Work hard at your priestery, Jamie,\" he said quietly. \"You'll be a good one someday.\"\n\nI grinned and pulled away from him. \"Priestery, is it? That's a word I've never heard before. Well, I intend to be good at it and I promise you, I'm working hard at it. How long d'you think it will take you to reach Selkirk?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know \u2026 D'you mean the forest or the town?\" Then, before I could respond, he said, \"I'm going to need to write to Mirren soon, Jamie, to warn her about Graham and let her know where I'm going. I'll send the letter to you within the next few days. Waste no time getting it to her, will you?\"\n\n\"You know I won't. I'll look out for it. Now get out of here and be safe, and I'll see you again soon.\"\n\nHad anyone asked me when we might meet next, it would have been inconceivable to me that two years would go by before I saw either one again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "When I bade farewell to Will and Ewan at the Abbey gates that day in 1290, I had no notion that Will had already changed his mind about where they would go and what they would do as soon as they were out of my sight. He told me nothing, in order to protect me from the need to lie later, and for the next two years I remained unaware of the truth, immersed in my studies.\n\nIt was some time before the matter of Alexander Graham's perfidy was settled. For many months, Robert Bruce's affairs took him far into the northeast, and he returned to the south only in early August. He stopped in Glasgow to confer with Bishop Wishart before continuing south to Lochmaben, his home castle near the English border. It was during that meeting that Wishart told the patriarch about the slaughtered herd of Bruce deer and the attempt to foist the blame upon Sir Malcolm Wallace's nephew, reminding Bruce that he himself had met Will in the Bishop's own palace precisely at the time the deadly charges of poaching were being brought against him. Shortly thereafter, Bruce arrived in Elderslie to speak with Sir Malcolm, and within hours, officers were dispatched to arrest Alexander Graham of Kilbarchan and bring him to the Wallace house for trial.\n\nGraham protested his innocence, claiming that the case against him was untenable, but Robert Bruce's certainty about Will's innocence was absolute. The suspicions surrounding the events, including the one-sided rivalry over Mirren, attested to by herself in writing and witnessed by her local priest, combined with the mysterious disappearance of the perjured Tidwell, the sole witness against Will but far more likely a potential witness against Graham, proved overwhelming. Bruce's judgment was Draconian. Graham of Kilbarchan was hanged on August 25th, his entire estate forfeited to Robert Bruce, in whose employ he had been and whose good name he therefore impugned when the crimes were committed. Bruce offered the estate to Sir Malcolm, as reparation for the harm done his family, but the knight refused any part of it.\n\nWill Wallace was free to come home to Elderslie. But he did not do so.\n\nI grew accustomed to his absence, although I often thought of him and wondered how he and Ewan were faring in their southern forest sojourn. We discovered in time that he was well, whatever he was doing, because twice that autumn, gifts arrived from him for Lady Margaret, brought by those itinerant traders who travel the length and breadth of the country, mending pots and pans and selling posies and herbal potions wherever they can find a purchaser. Both men had the same story: they had been stopped on a forest path by a stranger who had paid them well to deliver the packages however and whenever they could come to the Paisley district.\n\nAnd then, as I rode along a woodland path on a bright summer afternoon the following year, I heard my name being called from a clump of brambles, and I almost fell from my old horse in fright. I spun around to see Ewan watching me from the thick foliage at the side of the path. I could not see him clearly, merely the bulk of his shape among the shadows, but I recognized him instantly by the green of his clothing and the mask that obscured his face, and I gasped his name in disbelief as I swung my leg over my beast's back.\n\n\"No! Stay!\"\n\nI froze where I was, half on and half off my mount, one foot in the stirrup, the other dangling behind me, and gaping towards where he stood with one hand raised, holding me there.\n\n\"Are you alone? Is anyone behind you?\"\n\n\"No,\" I twisted in the stirrup nevertheless to look along the path at my back. \"I'm alone. What are you doing in there? Are you hiding?\"\n\nThere came a swell of movement as the big man pushed away the hanging fronds of bramble with his long staff and stepped towards me, the sound of thorns being ripped from his clothing clearly audible. I watched as he pulled his long cloak free of the last of them and then deftly tucked his mask up into his hood and stepped forward to look up at me, his ruined, beloved face creased into its old, lopsided grin.\n\n\"Aye, hiding\u2014from you, until I knew there were no strangers with you. I saw you coming from a mile away, but you had others with you.\"\n\n\"I did, but they were on their way to visit old Friar Thomas. They turned off the path some time ago.\"\n\n\"Good. Now you can greet me properly.\"\n\nI swung down and embraced him, inhaling the warm, wellremembered scent of him happily before he pushed me away to sweep me up and down with his eyes, taking note of my plain grey monk's habit.\n\n\"You're not a priest yet?\"\n\n\"No, not yet, but soon now. My ordination\u2014everybody's\u2014was postponed after the Maid died, when we came close to war.\" Princess Margaret of Norway, the seven-year-old heir to Scotland's throne, had died in September 1290 of natural but unexplained causes. She had been living still in Orkney, where her father, King Eric II of Norway, had lodged her for safety.\n\n\"Where's Will?\" I was looking around as I asked him.\n\n\"Not here,\" he said. \"He couldn't come. Sent me instead, to tell you he is well. Content with married life and hoping you might visit us in the south. I was on my way to the Abbey, but from where I was it looked as though these other people were with you, or following you. What brings you to Elderslie in the middle of the week?\"\n\n\"I'm on my way to visit Aunt Margaret. Isabelle is to be married in a few days, so between them they have conscripted me to help with the arrangements for the wedding. Aunt Margaret has been unwell since Uncle Malcolm died.\"\n\nEwan drew himself up as though I had slapped him. \"Sir Malcolm's dead? God rest his soul.\" He crossed himself. \"When did he die?\"\n\n\"Six months ago, of dropsy, though he had been unwell for a year before that. But that is why young Isabelle's marriage has taken so long to arrange. She was supposed to have been wed soon after you left, you may recall, to a young fellow of good family from Paisley, James Morton. I know you've met him.\"\n\nEwan nodded. \"Aye. His father holds extensive lands out there.\"\n\n\"He did, but he died, too, last year. Young James is master now.\"\n\nEwan whistled softly. \"Master of his own lands! He must be what? Nineteen now? And he has waited two years for the girl?\"\n\n\"He has, and I admire him for it, but Isabelle refused to wed while her father was sick, so he had little option, if he truly wanted her. Now that Sir Malcolm has been dead for half a year, Aunt Margaret has insisted that they go ahead and wed.\" I smiled. \"She has three grandchildren, from Anne, but she is hungry for more.\"\n\nEwan's gaze was distant. \"Will's going to be upset. We had no idea.\"\n\n\"I know. But no one knew where you were. The messengers we sent turned Selkirk Forest inside out looking for you. Where have you been?\"\n\n\"Farther south this past year and more, near Jedburgh. Can I come with you to Elderslie?\"\n\nI nodded and began to walk with him, leading my horse and quizzing him as we went about what he and Will had been up to for the past two years, but in the mile or so that lay between us and our destination he parried all my questions patiently. He pleaded fatigue\u2014he had been on the road all day and most of the previous night, he said\u2014and asked my leave to put off his tale for a single telling, to my aunt and me together. I could see that he was determined to have his way and so I did not press him, though I doubted Lady Margaret would be capable of joining us in any lengthy session. Since Sir Malcolm's death she had been retiring earlier, it seemed, with each passing day and rising earlier each morning, hours before dawn, to prepare for the coming day. With Isabelle's nuptials less than a week away, I knew that all her energies would be tightly focused on women's things.\n\nAs it transpired, I was both right and wrong. The house, when we arrived, was full of young women, all of them busy either sewing or working on long lists of details that had to be attended to, and Aunt Margaret was delighted to see Ewan again after such a long absence. She banished all the young women to another part of the house with their fabrics and their endless lists and chatter, and then she settled down with us in the family room, voracious in her appetite for all the news she could possibly hear of Will and his doings, and about Mirren and the home she had set up for and with him.\n\nIt was only after listening to her questions for some time that I began to see that the information she was seeking had absolutely nothing to do with what I wanted to hear. Aunt Margaret was solely concerned with her beloved nephew and his new wife and the life they shared together, the details of their house and its furnishings, the likelihood of their having children, how Mirren spent her time while Will was away. I tried several times to intervene, seeking answers of my own, but Ewan turned my queries aside with ease and virtually ignored me, focusing all his attention solicitously upon my aunt while I sat silent. Not a word was said about the reasons for Will's departure two years earlier.\n\nEventually, though it was still daylight outside, her ladyship announced that she would soon retire to bed, but had no doubt that Ewan and I would have much we wanted to talk about without the constraints of an old woman's presence. We stood and bowed to her, and she went bustling off.\n\nFergus the steward fed us royally but simply on fresh-baked bread and the broiled, succulent meat of a months-old calf that had been fattened up for the wedding feast but had broken a leg two days earlier. The meat, though fresh and tender, was bland, but Fergus had prepared a mixture of berries and fruits into a sauce that transformed its plainness into something fitting for the palate of a god, and we devoured everything he placed in front of us, washing it down with the household's wonderful ale. Throughout the meal we talked of generalities, mutually consenting to discuss nothing of importance until the board had been cleared, Fergus had retired, and we were once more alone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Ewan got up eventually from the table and threw two fresh logs on the big fire, then poured us both more ale and settled himself in Sir Malcolm's large, padded armchair by the fire. I moved to join him, sitting in my aunt's smaller chair. He was at ease, and it was clear he had decided it was time for me to know what he knew. I can hear his voice today in my mind as clearly as I did then.\n\n\"Right, lad. You've been very patient, and I thank you for it. What I have to tell you now is for your ears alone. So where do you want me to start?\"\n\n\"Where do you think? Right at the outset, from the last time I saw you two, riding away on your trip south, two years ago.\"\n\n\"We didn't go south. Not that day.\" My surprise must have been obvious on my face. \"That's right, you didn't know, did you? Will didn't tell you, and I couldn't.\"\n\n\"What d'you mean, you couldn't?\"\n\n\"I couldn't tell you because I didn't know any more than you did. I thought we were heading southeast, too, until we reached the road and Will turned west. That's when he told me he had changed his mind. He'd decided to take the blood price.\"\n\n\"The blood price?\" \"Aye. It's an ancient judgment, a penalty levied in return for blood shed or attempted.\"\n\n\"I know what a blood price is, Ewan. I want to know about this blood price. What's that about?\"\n\n\"Ah, well. The one he was owed. Or decided he was owed.\"\n\n\"By Graham, you mean.\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"How did he come to that, in God's name?\"\n\nHe twisted his mouth into a wry expression that was not quite a grin. \"He didn't. It came to him, that morning, while he was looking at the bales of wool used to buy Masses for old Graham's passing. Will looked at those two bales and saw a ransom paid to God to redeem the soul of an old thief who should have been beyond redemption. He saw that they had come out of the son's riches, though through someone else's impulse, and that they would never be missed among the wealth young Graham inherited. And that set him thinking about justice and retribution and, of course, blood prices.\" His voice became more reflective. \"It had become clear to him, while he was standing there with you and Father Peter\u2014and I could not fault his reasoning\u2014that Graham's scheming had threatened his life. Not merely his livelihood but his life itself. Had the plot succeeded, Will would have hanged and Graham would have owed an unsuspected blood price to Sir Malcolm. But it had failed, through sheerest chance, and although Will had avoided the hangman, he and I were headed into exile while Graham was walking free.\" He hesitated. \"Where is Graham now? And did they ever find the other fellow, the Englishman?\"\n\n\"The verderer, Tidwell.\" I shook my head. \"No, never. We believe he was murdered by Graham. But Graham's dead, too.\"\n\n\"He is? Since when?\"\n\n\"Since the autumn of that year. Bruce had him hanged, for plotting murder and sedition. Uncle Malcolm sent word to you, but you were nowhere to be found.\"\n\n\"Aye, so you mentioned. Damnation. We've been skulking around for two years, not knowing that.\" He shook his head. \"Ah well, even had we known, it would ha'e made but little difference. Will had his duties to see to, on several fronts. Still, it makes me feel better just to know he's dead. He was a nasty whoreson, that one, despite all his mild airs and seeming gentle ways. A murderous animal.\"\n\n\"So you knew nothing?\"\n\n\"How could we? We didn't know anything after we left.\"\n\n\"Come, Ewan, that's a weak excuse. We didn't know where you had gone, but you knew where to find us. You could have sent home for word, failing all else. It's been two years.\"\n\n\"We couldn't contact you. Will didna dare. We didna know the threat had been removed. We knew only that Graham's treachery had left Will in danger of his life, under threat from assassins. And hand in glove wi' that went the threat of danger to his family from the same people. It was a risk Will didna want to take.\"\n\n\"All right. So instead of going east to Selkirk you went south to Jedburgh. Are you at the Abbey?\"\n\n\"No. Close by, though, on Wishart's lands.\"\n\n\"The Bishop's?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"And how did you come to be there?\"\n\nHe arched an eyebrow at me. \"Because that was the way things happened. We'll get to that. Right now let me tell you what Will was thinking when first we left here.\n\n\"He had been left with no choice but to quit his employment, his home, and his family, and to take me with him, which, as he saw it, deprived me of my livelihood as well. Nothing I could say would change his mind on that. And besides, in his eyes, he had lost his hopes of winning Mirren. He believed Hugh Braidfoot would never consent to having his daughter wed to a penniless forester who was under suspicion in a hanging crime\u2014the selfsame man, mind, who had deprived her of a wealthy husband in the first place.\"\n\n\"But that is nonsense. Will was guilty of no crime.\"\n\n\"Under suspicion, I said. And he was. Think of it from Will's view. He couldna bear the thought of losing Mirren. And so he decided Graham should\u2014what were the words he used? Something he learned in school \u2026 Graham should make reparations. That was it. And I agreed with him. Still do.\"\n\n\"I see. And what were these reparations?\"\n\nEwan hooked one long leg over a padded arm and stretched his other foot towards the fire. \"Restitution. And before you ask me, I'll tell you. Restitution for the threat to his life in the first place and the malice that bred it. Restitution, too, for lost opportunity\u2014to woo, wed, and live a normal life as an honest man. Restitution for lost time in which to live up to obligations to employer and charges. Restitution for monies lost in recompense for filling those obligations. And restitution for losses other than those that can't easily be replaced\u2014good name and reputation being first among them.\" He laid his head back against his chair, watching me levelly. \"I'll tell you how we made the tally, too.\" He held up one hand, forefinger extended, preparing to count the points off on his fingers, but I interrupted him.\n\n\"We, you said. You were involved in this tallying?\"\n\n\"Of course I was. Will had seen the two bales of prime wool proffered for a year of Masses to shorten the old man's years in Purgatory. That cleared his mind wondrously and set a value on his thoughts concerning how he had been wronged and how much he had lost thereby, in forfeiture. He would have made a canny merchant, our Will. And once I saw the way his mind was set, I helped him out. So \u2026\"\n\nHe began to count on his fingers. \"For the two major offences against him, threat of death and loss of marriage prospects, two bales each. For the loss of work, wage, and good name, one bale apiece, making seven bales in all. But then, as any good merchant will, he included his costs. He added in the costs of transportation\u2014two wagons with teams and drivers, he thought\u2014and covered those with two more bales, making nine altogether.\"\n\n\"You stole nine bales of wool?\"\n\n\"Nine bales of prime wool, Jamie. But we didna steal it and it wasna really nine, as things turned out. We just claimed nine as due to us. Or as owed to Will. The whole thing was\"\u2014he thought for a moment\u2014\"straightforward. Bar a few earlier arrangements.\"\n\nI sat there immobile, my mind consumed with the thought that my cousin had become a thief and placed himself beyond the law. No wonder, then, that he had stayed away so long and that Ewan had been alert to the presence of others.\n\n\"Tell me exactly what took place,\" I said, \"because all you've done to this point is confuse me. Start again at the beginning.\"\n\n\"It's a gospel you want, then.\" He sighed, then took a long swallow of ale. \"Well, if I fall asleep in the telling, in God's name don't wake me.\n\n\"It started at the main road. I made to turn right and Will went left instead, as though towards Glasgow. When I asked him where he was going, he said Kilbarchan and pointed west. I kept my mouth shut and followed him for the next while until we reached the village.\n\n\"It's a strange wee place, a cluster of cottages, less than ten, I think, and all the folk are weavers. The houses all have looms in them, sometimes more than one, so there's hardly any room left for the folk to sleep. We stopped at one house and asked how we would find the Graham place, and the weaver pointed out the way to us. It was another mile distant. He said we couldn't miss it, and he was right, there it was.\n\n\"I said Kilbarchan was a strange wee place, but Graham's property was a strange big place. Four stone buildings in a walled enclosure. Prosperous, as you'd expect. One of the four was the main house and the other three were warehouses, we discovered. We sat on the crest, looking down at it, and counted the people moving about down there. There weren't many. I counted eight of them, and they were all around the main house. I thought we would leave then, but Will kicked his horse forward, and we rode down.\"\n\nHe pulled thoughtfully at his ale again. \"Some self-important fellow met us at the front of the house, asking to know our business. He was the household steward, but with the old man dead, he thought himself in charge of everything. Your cousin amazed me by presenting himself as a well-bred man of affairs, addressing the fellow in Latin until it became clear that the man could not understand a word. From then on, he spoke plain Scots, saying he had been sent to make inquiries by his master, Lord Ormiston of Dumfries, regarding a contract that Sir Thomas had with Alexander Graham the wool merchant for the purchase of raw wool. Told the fellow that Sir Thomas had paid in advance months earlier but that upon reaching Paisley the previous day, with the intent of taking delivery, he had been informed of the merchant's untimely death and, not wishing to trespass upon the family's grief, had sent us two to ask when we might return to complete our business to everyone's satisfaction. That impressed even me\u2014to everyone's satisfaction.\"\n\n\"So what did this fellow say?\"\n\n\"Nothing much. Will's manner had cowed him. He was the old man's steward, as I said, but a mere house servant. He had little knowledge of the working end of the old man's business, and he mumbled something about the workforce all having gone home to wait for what would happen next. And then he told us that another wool merchant, a Master Waddie, would be coming over from Paisley in two days' time to act in the interests of the son and heir, taking a detailed inventory of the materials in store and the contracts outstanding. He said word would not yet have had time to reach young Master Graham, who served the Lord Robert Bruce as a verderer and would most likely be somewhere on the Bruce lands in Annandale. It would take him, the man believed, at least two days to reach home, so he and the Waddie fellow might well arrive at the same time.\n\n\"Will said he would talk to Lord Ormiston, but that his lordship had been long away from home, about his affairs in Edinburgh, and was anxious to get back to his wife, who was infirm. He then asked if we might be permitted to pay our last respects to the old man before we left, on his lordship's behalf, and the fellow let us into the house and then left us alone. Old Graham was laid out on his bed in the main room. There was a priest there, and two monks, and a couple of others, men and women both, most of whom were peering about them as though they had never been there before.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"We knelt and prayed by the bedside. Well, we knelt anyway, while the priest prayed. And then, having established our right to be there, about our supposed master's business, we walked around the other buildings, the warehouses and barns and stables, and three big, stinking sheds where the wool was treated and combed before they baled it.\" A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. \"At that point I think you would have been right about the thievery. Will was looking, I believe, for an easy way to rob the place.\n\n\"One of the stone warehouses had a private room with a padlocked door, and it was obvious that the old man had worked in there on his affairs. But the padlock was unlocked, the door was open, and no one was nearby, so we went in. There were papers and parchments everywhere, strewn about all over the place, as though someone had been rooting around in there looking for something to steal. Will opened a small wooden chest that sat on the big writing table and pulled out a handful of scrolls\u2014single sheets of parchment, all of them unsealed but rolled and tied, with ribbons and blank seals attached. He opened one, and then another, and then he began to smile. He flipped me the one that had made him smile. I looked at it closely, but it took me a while to realize its import \u2026\" His voice faded and he smiled again at the memory.\n\n\"Well, what was it?\" I prodded.\n\n\"A contract, a bill of sale. With spaces left blank for the details of the transaction. But it was signed by Alexander Graham. None of the others were, but for some reason the old man had signed his name and set his seal to this one. Will took it back from me and tucked it and three others into his scrip, and then we went off and continued our inspection. All three barns were stuffed to the roof with bales of wool, some of it prime, some poorer. But they were stuffed, Jamie. Hundreds and hundreds of bales. We found out later that they had been preparing to ship trains of wagons to Glasgow, Dumfries, and Edinburgh the following week, for the Michaelmas Fairs in September, less than a month away.\n\n\"On our way back out to our horses, we met the steward again, and he was as friendly as could be. Will asked him if someone could tell us about wagons, and he directed us to one of the wooden barns outside the compound walls, where we found an old man getting ready to leave. He showed us an enormous wagon, the biggest I have ever seen, and told us it could carry ten full-sized bales with ease. Then he showed us the leather sheets they used to cover the bales for protection, and the long straps they used to secure the load. Will asked him how many horses, and he told us two. Two big whoresons was what he said.\"\n\nIn spite of my queasiness at the crime being described, I found myself fascinated. \"So what happened then?\"\n\n\"We came right back to Paisley, to find help for what Will had in mind. We needed some men we could trust, and so we went to Jamie Crawford's howff.\"\n\n\"Of course you did.\" I knew Crawford's howff well. It had been a favoured haunt of ours for a long time, a plain but well-run tavern frequented by archers and other interesting characters, where the food was simple but wholesome, the ale was dependable, and no one ever asked awkward questions.\n\n\"One of the sons, Alan, was there,\" Ewan said, \"and he and Will went off into a corner. I could tell, watching them, that Alan liked what he was hearing, grinning and nodding his head and looking around the room.\"\n\nAlan Crawford and Will had been friends since our first year at the Abbey. He was a big, bluff fellow, Will's age and almost as big. The only weaponry Alan ever carried was a long, single-edged dirk that hung at his side\u2014I had never known him to bare the blade\u2014and a heavy quarterstaff that Will had taught him to use. He was the only man I had ever seen who could best Will Wallace in a toe-to-toe bout. The respect that achievement garnered him was widespread.\n\n\"Did you know what Will was telling him?\"\n\nEwan grinned. \"That we had need of help and would pay well for two weeks' work. Four men, to help us take a heavy wagon north, then bring it back. Good men, willing to work hard and to fight if need be. A silver groat a day, each man.\"\n\nI stifled the urge to whistle. A groat, our smallest silver coin, was worth fourpence, and the maximum going wage for a skilled labourer was twopence a day. A groat a day, for two weeks' worth of easy work, was a deal of money.\n\n\"So,\" I said instead. \"Did you find your four?\"\n\n\"Five,\" Ewan answered, his grin still in place. \"Alan was the first, but there was a man there we had not expected to find. You remember Robertson, the archer Will bested the day he first met Mirren? Well, he was there, and Alan vouched for him. He remembered Will and was glad to see him\u2014no hard feelings at all\u2014so he was our second. Then there was Big Andrew Miller, who's always ready for anything that smells of a fight, and Long John of the Knives was the fourth.\"\n\nThe faces of the last two men flashed into my mind, although I had not seen either one in years. Big Andrew's name was a jest, for he was one of the smallest men in Paisley, but he was lean and wiry and as strong as a braided sinew bowstring, and he carried a crossbow wherever he went. Long John of the Knives, on the other hand, towered several inches over Will, and there was never any doubt of where his name came from. He wore a heavy belt around his waist, and from it hung a dozen sheathed knives, all of different sizes. Long John could sink any one of them into any surface, with astonishing speed, from twenty paces. He was a peaceful man, though, and threw only at targets, perhaps because no one ever gave him cause to take offence. Will, I thought, had chosen well.\n\n\"Who was the fifth, then?\"\n\n\"An outlander, a Gael from the northwest, from an island called Skye. He had been in Paisley for a month or so, and Alan and Robertson had both befriended him. No one knew much about him, but both men vouched for him as being tight lipped, trustworthy, and a dour man in a fight. They called him Shoomy, but his real name is Seumas, Gaelic for James. Will had been watching him since we arrived, and I could tell he was taken by the man, though it might just have been the sword. Shoomy carries a sword that's much like Will's bow\u2014bigger and longer and more dangerous looking than any other to be seen. He's a big lad, tall and lean, but well muscled and quick, and that sword gives him twice the reach of any man around.\"\n\nHe scratched gently at the side of his nose. \"So, there we were within the hour, seven of us in all, and a bargain struck. Will borrowed ink and pens from Jamie Crawford and went away to make his own arrangements for the following day, while I rented some nags for the five lads.\n\n\"We slept in the stable at the howff that night and were on the road by dawn. By midmorning we were back at the Graham place. There was hardly anyone there\u2014a few labourers lazing about and a huddle of women carding wool was all we saw. Will presented the steward with a completed contract for the delivery of nine bales of prime wool and the rental of a heavy wagon and team to transport them. It bore the name of Lord Thomas Ormiston of Dumfries\u2014we discovered later that he had been dead for six years by then,\" he added, flashing me a grin, \"and the signature and seal of Alexander Graham himself, indicating the full amount had been paid months earlier, delivery to wait upon Lord Ormiston's return from the north. We received a written bill of sale in return, left one of the nine bales as surety for the return of the wagon, then loaded the remaining eight and headed, everyone supposed, for Dumfries.\"\n\n\"It was theft, then. So where did you go?\"\n\n\"To Glasgow, to Bishop Wishart. He heard Will's confession and granted him absolution once he'd heard the entire tale. Restitution received for harm done, he said\u2014all right and proper. And then he sent us north with the wool, to Sir Andrew Murray.\"\n\n\"In Moray? Why would he send you all the way up there?\"\n\nEwan rearranged his long legs, crossing one over the other. \"Because he is a bishop and God works in mysterious ways. You should know that, and you almost a priest.\"\n\n\"I'm serious, Ewan. Why?\"\n\nEwan looked at me directly then, no trace of humour in his eyes. \"Because he is the senior Bishop of Scotland at this time and he believed, for reasons he didna see fit to explain to us, that sending Will up there would be for the good of this realm. There were fell things happening at that time. Edward of England had named Bishop Bek of Durham his deputy in Scotland, for one thing. Bek is a dour and humourless man devoted to his King before his Church. Wishart had no love for Bek then and has even less now.\n\n\"He required Will to make contact with the younger Murray and renew their acquaintance while delivering certain \u2026 matters\u2014several documents of what he termed 'some delicacy'\u2014directly to Sir Andrew's attention. He left us in no doubt of the importance of what he required of us.\"\n\n\"Wait. Are you saying Wishart included you in his designs?\"\n\n\"Aye, but only because I was already there with Will and Will vouched for me. But in return for Will's services, and very much to the point at the time, Wishart offered rich payment. He would speak personally, he said, with Mirren's father, whom he knew well, on Will's behalf. And the blood-price wool would be of use to Murray, he said, for there had been a blight of some kind among the sheep in the north, and we would be well paid for it. The money gained from that would enable Will to offer Master Braidfoot a suitable bridal price for his only daughter, and the Bishop would then grant Will a position as a verderer, with a good, strong house, on the Wishart family lands near Jedburgh.\" He looked at me from beneath his arched right eyebrow. \"Ye'll see, I think, it wasna an offer Will could refuse.\"\n\nI felt slightly abashed. \"Yes, I can see that. Especially in his frame of mind at the time. And so you travelled north. I'm guessing it went well there, for you've said Will is married and living and working in the south now.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Aye. It took us eight days to reach Murray's lands, and it was an interesting journey. Scotland is a wild place nowadays, much changed since King Alexander died, and there were times when we were glad there were seven of us, for had we been fewer in number we would have been plucked like fowl along the road and left wi' nothing.\"\n\n\"What d'you mean? You would have been robbed?\"\n\n\"Robbed and killed, lad. None of us doubted that, once we saw how it was out there. There's no law beyond the burghs today. Once out of the towns and into the countryside, it's every man for himself and God help the unprepared. The whole world is out of balance. Without a king to hold them in check, the nobles\u2014or so they like to call themselves\u2014are all become savages, every petty rogue of them looking out for himself alone. Each one of them treats his holdings as his own wee kingdom, to be ruled as he sees fit, using whatever private army he can afford to hire. Which means that there's no order anywhere\u2014no discipline, no loyalty, no honour\u2014and a traveller moving through the land runs a gamut of risks at every turn, like to lose everything he possesses each time he meets a stranger. They are all bandits, Jamie, soldiery as well as outlaws, and common, decent folk live in terror of their lives.\n\n\"Three times we encountered what might have been serious trouble on the road. Three times in eight days. And on one of them, north of Stirling, we had no other choice than to fight. We left eight dead men behind us, eight out o' nigh on twenty who attacked us, but thank God none of them were ours. We took down five o' those early, with our bows\u2014me and Robertson and Will\u2014and Big Andrew's crossbow. By that time, though, the others had come too close for bow work, but Long John and Shoomy killed three more of them before they could blink, and the rest ran away.\"\n\nI could only shake my head, unable to believe that the situation could be as bad as Ewan was saying.\n\n\"Anyway, we found Sir Andrew where he was supposed to be, and young Andrew was with him. Between the pair o' them, they gave us a chieftain's welcome. I couldna believe how happy your friend Andrew was to see Will, and it seemed to be mutual\u2014Will was brighter than I had seen him since before he fell foul o' the Graham fellow.\" He lapsed into silence, staring into the fire, and I saw his eyelids starting to droop.\n\n\"Don't nod off now, Ewan,\" I said, afraid of losing him and the story both. \"They were still friends, then?\"\n\nHe blinked owlishly. \"Oh aye! It was one of the strangest things I've ever seen. You know Will, he seldom mixes well wi' strangers, and there they were, after five or six years, embracing each other and laughing together like brothers who had been apart for no more than an hour. Brotherly, though God knows there's little resemblance between them apart from size. And yet there's something each of them has that's reflected in the other. Don't ask me what it is, for I can't say. The closest I can come to it is that they share a common \u2026 light.\" He winced. \"That sounds daft, I know, but each of them has this glow about him that seems to spill out whenever they're excited, and those two get each other stirred up all the time. You can almost see it\u2014their excitement, I mean\u2014everyone around them feels it.\"\n\nHe raised his hands in surrender. \"That's it, lad. I barely know what I'm saying, but I know I have to sleep. I've been on the road since before dawn, and now that I'm old, I need my rest.\" He looked across at me. \"An hour or two wouldna hurt you, either.\"\n\n\"But I want to ask you about\u2014\"\n\n\"Ask me tomorrow. I'll be in better fettle for talking once I've slept.\"\n\nThere was no point in arguing, and so we went to find our beds. Whereas I have no doubt that Ewan was asleep before he even lay flat, I lay awake for a long time, thinking about all that he had told me. And then, just as I was drifting to sleep at last, I tensed, my mind suddenly crystal clear again.\n\nEwan had been hiding as he waited for me to reach him that day. Ewan, masked and unexpectedly returned after two full years away from Elderslie, should have had no reason to hide himself in a clump of brambles. Reason to be cautious, yes, but to hide from the whole world?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "People had already started arriving from neighbouring houses and hamlets by the time I rolled out of bed soon after daybreak, and more kept coming throughout the morning, turning the entire household and the grounds into a frenzy of preparations. Cousin Anne arrived before midmorning with her husband and her three children, and Aunt Margaret conscripted me to take the children for a walk in the grounds, to keep them out of the way of the work ongoing everywhere, so I did not even set eyes on Ewan until after the midday meal had been served. Trays and platters of cold meats, pickled roots and onions, and slabs of fresh bread with jugs of cold spring water from the well were carried out from the kitchens and set on tables for people to help themselves however and whenever they wished.\n\nI had already eaten by the time Ewan appeared, and when I saw the long tube of the bow case hanging from his shoulder I guessed he had been practising in the nearby woods. He winked at me as he approached the serving tables, then unslung the bow case and set it down beside his quarterstaff before beginning to load a wooden platter for himself. I went to fetch us a couple of mugs of ale from the kitchens, then crossed to where he had found a seat at an unoccupied table under a tree, against the wall of one of the outbuildings. He nodded his thanks as he took the ale, and I sat sipping at my own as he wolfed down his food. When he had swallowed the last mouthful, he leaned back and quaffed off what seemed like half of his ale. Then, typically, he belched.\n\n\"That was good,\" he said. \"But you don't look happy. What's on your mind?\"\n\n\"Questions,\" I murmured. \"More questions.\"\n\nHe looked around us casually \"Ask, then. We're alone. What do you want to know?\"\n\n\"I want to know why you were hiding yesterday when we met, because I don't believe it had anything to do with your being cautious about Graham of Kilbarchan.\" He didn't stir and his expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. \"Whatever you were hiding from, whatever it was about, it's much more recent than the trouble that sent you away from here two years ago. Is it not?\"\n\nHe tilted his head slightly to one side, and then he nodded. \"Aye, it is. I was going to tell you about it.\" He glanced around again. \"Will wants to come home. Sent me to see if it was safe.\"\n\n\"He wants to\u2014? What's stopping him? Let him come! Go back and tell him we're waiting for him, then bring him back, wife and all.\"\n\nThe big archer ducked his head. \"Not quite that simple, Jamie. That's why he sent me up alone. To check out the possibilities, see what's to be seen.\"\n\n\"In what sense? What are you looking for?\"\n\n\"Englishry.\"\n\n\"In Elderslie?\" I made no attempt to hide my scorn.\n\n\"Why not? They're everywhere else.\"\n\n\"Not here, they're not. Not yet.\"\n\n\"Are they in Paisley?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"At the Abbey, aye, sometimes. There's always bishops coming and going, and the English ones have taken to riding with escorts ever since Pope Gregory gave Edward the right to appoint Scottish bishops last year.\"\n\nEwan grunted. \"Aye, Bishop Wishart wasna pleased about that at all. Said\u2014and he was right\u2014it undermined the entire authority of the Church in Scotland. A foreign pope granting a foreign king authority over the Scots clergy. 'Gin I were an English bishop in Scotland today, I'd travel wi' an escort, too, lest my holy arse got booted back into England.\"\n\n\"Then \u2026 has Will crossed the English?\"\n\nEwan hesitated. \"Aye, you might say that.\"\n\n\"What did he do?\"\n\nHis huge shoulders flexed beneath his clothing. \"Nothing you wouldna ha'e expected him to do, knowing Will.\"\n\n\"Tell me, then.\"\n\n\"He hit an English soldier.\"\n\n\"He hit an English soldier. In a brawl, you mean.\"\n\nEwan sighed. \"No,\" he said, in a strange, tight voice. \"It was no brawl. But there's background to it that you need to know in order to understand it. Last year was bad, Jamie, all upheavals, as I'm sure you know from living at the Abbey, filled wi' politics and posturing and praying and positioning by folk of every stripe, and all of it shaped to suit the dreams and schemes of the men who would call themselves great. And it culminated last May and June, we're told, with Edward Plantagenet being named overlord of Scotland. That was his price for agreeing to serve as judge in the matter of the kingship, overseeing Balliol and Bruce, and none of the magnates seemed inclined to argue with him at the time.\" He shrugged. \"Mind you, how could they, really? As Bishop Wishart made clear to us at the time, they all hold great and prosperous lands in England, through Edward's goodwill and at his royal pleasure. Lord John Balliol himself owns fifteen vast estates in England, many of them in the richest, southern areas, did you know that? And Bruce holds almost as many\u2014at least ten that Wishart knows of\u2014and both men openly pay homage to Edward as their feudal lord and benefactor in England. Their feudal lord.\"\n\nEwan unclenched his fist, flexing his fingers slowly, and continued in a quieter voice. \"And so Edward was named feudal overlord of Scotland in May last year\u2014and within days there was an English army at Norham and all the Scots royal castles were surrendered to the English.\" He turned his head to look directly into my eyes. \"According to the lawyers on both sides, they were handed over temporarily, to be returned later, of course, once a new King of Scots has been crowned. But in the meantime, Edward holds them and we lack them, and their strength looms over us, manned by English garrisons.\n\n\"And then in June, less than a month after that, all the Guardians resigned and were reappointed by Edward the same day, and two days after that they all swore fealty to Edward\u2014but not as feudal overlord, as was agreed at Norham. Oh, no. This time they swore their allegiance and fealty to Edward Plantagenet, Lord Paramount of Scotland. God help us all!\"\n\n\"Ewan,\" I said, \"I know all that, knew it while it was happening. But you. You were never this political before.\"\n\n\"No, I was not.\" He leaned forward. \"You're right. Not even when Edward was doing to my homeland of Wales what he is now preparing to do to Scotland.\"\n\n\"Oh come, Ewan,\" I said, close to scoffing. \"That was war, and Wales was his enemy. I would hardly say it's as bad as that here.\"\n\n\"Oh, would you not?\" He raised his chin until he was almost looking down his boneless nose at me. \"Then you will have to pardon me, Master James. How old are you now?\"\n\nI hesitated, dismayed by the hostility in his tone. \"Twenty, as you know.\"\n\n\"Aye, twenty \u2026\" He managed to make it sound like an infantile age.\n\n\"It's clear you have a point to make and I am missing it. Explain it again, if you will.\"\n\n\"It's nothing you would know, Jamie,\" he said in a kinder tone. \"You're a priest, or as near as can be, living in an Abbey. Everything you hear is filtered for the Church's ears. It's those of us who live outside who know what's really going on. The south is full of English soldiery nowadays. They're everywhere around us, like a coating of slimy, foul-smelling moss, and there's no way to stay clear of them. They lord it over everyone, and there seems to be no one to whom they are accountable. At the lowest level, the common men-at-arms are ruled by knights and sergeants. Those in turn are commanded by bailiffs and petty officers, who are appointed to various duties by sheriffs and justiciars, who hold their power through the various barons Edward has brought with him to Scotland. And the barons serve the earls\u2014\"\n\n\"The English earls, you mean.\"\n\n\"Aye, in most instances, but when the Scots Earl of Carrick's men, many of whom are Englishmen, are mixed with those of the English Earl of Hereford, who is to tell which is which in the heat of an argument? The earls are all Edward's deputies, of course, Scots and English\u2014that goes without saying\u2014but collectively their retainers act as though they are a law unto themselves. They lean heavily on the Scots folk and treat them like serfs.\"\n\n\"Like serfs? How is that possible?\"\n\n\"How is it possible? Jamie, it's commonplace. Certainly where we are, in the south, but I'll be surprised if it is different anywhere else. There are too many English here nowadays, and too few of us, and there is no war between us\u2014only arrogance on their part and long-suffering acceptance on ours. But they treat us like a conquered folk and make no effort to disguise their contempt for us.\"\n\n\"Can you give me an example?\"\n\n\"Aye, I can. It's the reason Will needs to come home. He's a wanted man because of it, but he did nothing wrong. He committed no crime, broke no laws. He simply crossed the English. But now there's a price on his head and he's in hiding and dare not come home.\"\n\n\"A price on his head \u2026 How much?\"\n\n\"Five silver marks.\"\n\n\"And for what is he being sought?\"\n\n\"For assaulting an English soldier who was doing his duty.\"\n\n\"And is that true?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what happened, and you can judge for yourself.\" He wedged his back against the wall behind him and launched immediately into his story.\n\n\"About three months ago, perhaps three and a half, Will and I travelled to Glasgow to meet with Bishop Wishart and report on our stewardship, and on our way home again we stopped at Lanark, to pick up some yarn and thread and the like for Mirren at the Lanark Fair. The town was full of soldiery, most of them English, though some of them were Scots, but we had grown accustomed to that, because we had noticed, on the way north, that there were more English everywhere than we'd ever seen before. But we had kept to ourselves, avoided contact with anyone and encountered no difficulty, and behaved the same way on our return journey\u2014until we came to Lanark.\n\n\"Something was different there,\" he continued, \"something was amiss, and we didn't know what at first. And then we turned a corner into the marketplace and it was all but empty, save for a half-dozen people who immediately stopped what they were doing\u2014they were huddled together over something we couldn't see\u2014and turned to look at us. They looked frightened, and guilty, and that's when Will recognized what was wrong. They were afraid of us, though we couldna tell right then what was frightening them. But they werena talking, and they certainly werena laughing. It was scarce midmorning, and the stalls were all quiet and the only other people there at all were soldiers.\n\n\"'These folk think we're English,' Will said to me, watching them. 'They're afraid of us. It's our bows. They've taken us for English archers, and no wonder. Look over there\u2014half the men on the other side of the square are archers, dressed just like us.' He was right, and I hadn't noticed it until that moment. He held up a hand and stood watching the group of folk in front of us, and when they were all looking at him, waiting for him to do or say something else, he raised his hand a little higher. 'We're not Englishmen,' he says, just loud enough for them to hear. 'No matter how you think we look, we are Scots like you. We carry English bows, but that means nothing. We are merely passing through on our way south to Jedburgh. What has been happening here?'\"\n\n\"I thought for a while that no one was going to answer him, but then one of them, he looked like the oldest man among them, looked from one to the other of us. 'Come forward,' he says, 'and see for yourselves what's happening.' So we did. There was a young fellow among them, lying on a stall table and covered in blood, and they were trying to stop him bleeding. I was able to help them with that, and once we had the bleeding stopped it didna take us long to find out what had happened.\n\n\"The old man\u2014his name was Nichol\u2014told us the English had discovered a new game with quarterstaves and were having a grand time with it. It had started earlier, in another town, but word of it had spread quickly so that everyone now knew what was involved. Gangs of English soldiery would swagger through a town, driving the local men ahead of them the way beaters drive game, until they thought they had gathered enough victims for their sport. Then they would round in their prey and the games would begin. The rules were very simple. Two English soldiers would compete in a bout of staves, watched by an audience of mixed Scots and English. When the bout was over, the quarterstaff being an English weapon, the Scots were invited to try them out. Any Scot who dared was encouraged to knock down a braced English soldier by hitting him across the shoulders. Should he fail, there was no penalty other than the recognition of the fact that the Scots were no match for Englishmen in the use of an English weapon. Should he succeed, on the other hand, he would be rewarded with a silver groat for his accomplishment.\"\n\n\"That sounds fair enough,\" I said.\n\nHe raised a hand to silence me. \"But the Scots could not win, because the weapons they used were flawed.\"\n\nI frowned. \"How can a quarterstaff be flawed? It's essentially a club.\"\n\n\"True, but even a club can be weakened. When they finally found someone who was willing to try for the groat\u2014and believe me, they made a grand business of provoking people, challenging their manhood, insulting them, and questioning their bravery\u2014the contenders were offered their choice of any of the staffs carried by the soldiery. The weapons were laid out on the ground and their owners stepped away from them. The locals were unsuspicious. They had just watched the English soldiers laying about each other with the same weapons.\n\n\"Yet two groups of Englishry were mingled there, one carrying sound, solid weapons that they used to fight each other, and the others carrying weakened staves that were used to gull the locals. So some young fellow, like the one we found bleeding in the marketplace, would eventually take up a staff and smash it across the armoured shoulders of the Englishman who stood there waiting for the blow. But every weapon laid out for the young man's choice had been cut diagonally, and the damage skilfully disguised. So when the hapless dupe, encouraged by everyone, swung the wretched thing at full strength against the armoured man's back, the staff shattered, the jagged, broken end rebounding viciously to strike the unarmoured Scot, drawing blood most times and frequently inflicting brutal damage, to the great amusement of the watching English \u2026\"\n\nA shadow fell across the table between us, and I looked up to see a pretty young woman gazing down at us, her body tilted sideways against the weight of the great wooden jug she balanced against her hip. \"You two are deeply into something,\" she said, flashing us both a merry grin. \"It must be thirsty work, talking so much. Will I pour you some more ale?\"\n\nWe sat happily and watched her as she filled our mugs and meandered away in search of other drinkers, and as she went, Ewan turned to me, waggling a finger at her departing form.\n\n\"I know you're not a priest yet, but does that\u2014?\"\n\n\"Not even slightly,\" I said, smiling at the tone in his voice as I waved his question aside. \"Now tell me what Will did when he found out about this game the English were playing.\"\n\nEwan grinned wolfishly, the girl already forgotten. \"Why would you even think he might do something, a quiet lad like our Will?\"\n\n\"Because that's the way he is\u2014quiet and shy and bashful and loath to speak his mind. Tell me, what did he do?\"\n\n\"Will stripped off his green tunic and cloak and pulled on a plain homespun shirt that he borrowed from one of the men in the marketplace. Then he laid his bow case down, and I set aside my quarterstaff and picked up his instead. We left the weapons and the rest of our belongings with Nichol and his people\u2014we'd told them what we were going to do\u2014and we went looking for English bully boys.\"\n\n\"And found them, no doubt.\"\n\n\"Oh yes. On the far side of the town, away from the main road. The forest grows right to the edge of the town there\u2014one minute you're among buildings, the next you're in the deep forest. Anyway, it was the right kind of place for what the English wanted. There were men-at-arms aplenty there, but most of them were archers, which surprised us at first. We found out later that they were attached to a force brought up from the Welsh borders by the English baron John de Vescy, a crony of Bishop Bek. Anyway, by the time we caught up with them, they had herded a group of locals into a clearing in the woods and were taunting them, defying them to pick up the cudgels and try their luck against an unarmed Englishman. I simply marched Will up to them, holding him by the arm as though I had taken him by force, and pushed him into the middle of the clearing.\"\n\n\"Just like that? And no one challenged you?\"\n\nEwan looked all innocence. \"Why would anyone challenge me? They took me for one of themselves, dressed as they were and carrying a quarterstaff, a cased longbow, and a quiver of arrows. The only two who spoke to me did so in Welsh, and I answered them in Welsh, telling them I was a newcomer, arrived that day. Who was to doubt me? Besides, I had brought them a victim for their amusement. He stood there mute, glaring around him like an angry bull. Everyone was impressed by the size of him at first, but then they saw that he was weaponless, and none too clean, and ill dressed in a tattered old tunic, with bare, dirt-crusted legs and ruined sandals. So they dismissed him and began again as though he wasn't there.\n\n\"But as they talked and harangued their prisoners and explained what they were proposing, he appeared to take an interest, and his interest grew until he began to nod his head and shamble about\u2014not saying a word, mind\u2014and gesturing with his hands to indicate that he wanted to try one of the staffs.\"\n\n\"And eventually they gave in and let him,\" I said.\n\n\"They did. When it was plain that no one else wanted to take up the challenge, he was their only chance for amusement. And so the party with the doctored staves came forward and dropped them on the ground, so that he could pick one. No one noticed that I stepped forward with them and dropped mine at the same time. But of course, it was not mine at all. It was Will's, and he picked it out of the pile, peering at it as though he had never seen such a thing before, and swinging it awkwardly as though that, too, was new to him. I backed away quietly and made my way to where I could take up a covering position to guard his escape, for I knew he would soon be heading towards me, and moving quickly.\n\n\"Sure enough, I saw the biggest man among them take up his stance and prepare for Will's blow. He was armoured heavily enough, with a metal cuirass over a quilted leather jerkin, and his arms were well guarded against injury, and it was plain from the way he swaggered up that he was prepared for what was to follow.\n\n\"Well, he was not prepared at all. Who could prepare against a hard-swung staff from Will Wallace? The blow landed like a falling tree and knocked the fool right off his feet, flying arse over end until he smashed into the nearest tree and fell unconscious. And then, before anyone could react, Will took out the two men standing next to him, with two hard chops, side to side, his staff barely moving a foot in either direction, dropping them both where they stood. The first man hit was lucky, though the blow probably cost him a few broken ribs, even with the armour. But Will broke heads that day, and three of the men he struck down stayed down for good. In all, he disabled seven men\u2014and I mean he disabled them\u2014before anyone could even begin to rally against him. And by the time anyone did, he was already racing towards me, the other locals scattering in all directions.\n\n\"I'd had an arrow nocked to my string since before Will swung his first strike, and now I brought it up and pulled. There were three runners close to catching Will. I felled the first of them, shattering his left shoulder and throwing him backward with the force of my arrow. By the time I had another arrow set, the second man had recognized me and knew what was coming. Still running flat out, he threw himself sideways into the brush by the side of the path and lay there, making no attempt to come out. The third man had pulled a sword from his sheath and was swinging it up to hack at Will when my arrow took him low, just above the left knee, knocking the legs from under him. I nocked a third arrow, but no one moved now among the small group of Englishmen remaining in the clearing.\n\n\"I counted five men left there, each of them staring intently at either Will or me, and I knew our descriptions would be spread and they would hunt us down for this, or try to. I waited until Will ran past me and then I spun and followed him, neither of us slacking our pace until we reached the market square and reclaimed our clothing and weapons from Nichol and his companions. We told them to scatter and deny they had ever seen us, and then we made our way to where we had left our horses, and we were quickly out of Lanark.\"\n\nI sat silent for some time, absorbing all that he had told me. \"So that was three months ago?\" I asked eventually.\n\nHe shrugged. \"Don't know for certain. Where are we now?\"\n\n\"September. Today is the sixteenth.\"\n\n\"Then it would have been four months ago. Late May.\"\n\n\"And where have you been since then?\"\n\n\"In the forest, near Selkirk village.\"\n\n\"Did Mirren go with you?\"\n\n\"Aye, she had to. Too many people knew who we were. It would no' have been safe for her to stay. Besides, she wouldna leave Will.\"\n\n\"A rough life for a woman, that, living in the forest, under open skies.\"\n\n\"Not at all. They live in a cave, those two, and it's better than many a house I've seen. It's dry, warm, spacious, and well lit, comfortably furnished, and well hidden. It even has separate bedchambers and a clean pool.\"\n\n\"A pool? You mean for bathing?\"\n\n\"Aye, though it's chilly, even in high summer. It's spring fed. Pure, crystal water.\"\n\n\"Do they live alone there?\"\n\n\"Aye, except for me and half a hundred others. We have an entire community there.\"\n\n\"Hmm. So why does Will want to leave?\"\n\nEwan shrugged. \"Who can say? He doesna talk about it much, but I think he's had enough of the outlaw life, and I think he would like to bring Mirren home to meet her new family here in Elderslie and visit her aunt and cousins in Paisley.\"\n\n\"Then he should do so,\" I said, \"as soon as he can.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "I have not had to resort to writing a commentary for many years, perhaps not since the day I left my beloved Abbey library in Paisley; real commentary requires time and leisure to reflect upon abstractions, and everyday life leaves ordinary men and priests little time for such luxuries. But commentary is a natural outgrowth of the translator's art, and I learned to use it soon after I gained full membership in Brother Duncan's library fraternity. In those days, left to my solitary work and encouraged to trust my instincts, I would add a notation whenever I encountered some anomaly in an ancient text on which I had been set to work. Sometimes I would merely note the oddity of a word or character, but once I grew more confident in my own judgment, I would write down my observations, and less frequently the opinions I drew from those observations, on whatever I had found anomalous in the document. Compiling such commentaries was, I found, enjoyable, and they were certainly invaluable later, when I would return to a document that I had not, perhaps, examined in months, to find my own notations carefully attached to the manuscript, usually by a tiny blob of wax at one edge.\n\nThis passage, then, is a commentary, an observation set aside from, but necessary to the understanding of, this chronicle of my cousin's life. And yet it troubles me that I should find it necessary to add it at all. My studies for the priesthood intensified during those same months, spurred by a mystifying display of interest in me and my progress by the revered and powerful Bishop of Glasgow, and my superiors decided that I would be ready for ordination by Christmas that year. The time flew by, and almost without our noticing, the trees fell bare and winter's onset grew steadily more threatening from day to day.\n\nThe death of the Maid of Norway, which had dealt the trivial blow of delaying my ordination, turned out to have far more important repercussions. It took eleven days for word to reach the mainland, and it came first to the attention of Bishop Fraser of St. Andrews on the eastern coast. A week after that, Robert Bruce was on the march to claim what he perceived to be his indisputable right to Scotland's Crown, headed for Perth by way of Stirling and summoning all his supporters to join him, once again beating John Balliol to the initiative. The Earls of Mar and Athol called out the men of their earldoms in support of Bruce, and for a time it looked yet again as though the entire country might be plunged into civil war, for the full might of the House of Comyn, the most powerful family in Scotland, under the Lords of Badenoch and Buchan, stood aligned with Balliol's claim and would not stand idly by while Bruce usurped the throne.\n\nBishop Fraser, though, had anticipated what would happen when the evil tidings of the Maid's death became public knowledge, and he reacted even more quickly than Robert Bruce. Within days, he sent messengers riding south at the utmost speed with a letter, composed by him and his cousin Sir John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, appealing directly to Edward Plantagenet, advising the monarch of the death of his great-niece and voicing the writers' own fears of unrest in the aftermath. In order to avoid civil war and to protect the welfare of the realm of Scotland, the Bishop entreated the English King to use his good offices to ensure the legal settlement of the Scots Crown upon the brows of the best qualified of the various claimants. And thus began the events now known as the Grand Cause\u2014the search for Scotland's true king.\n\nI cannot think of a single soul among my acquaintances of my own age\u2014and few of those remain alive today\u2014who is not familiar with the events of the Cause. It dominated all our lives for two decades, and thus it seems inconceivable to me that I should now have to set down the details of it here when my main intent is to chronicle the life of my cousin Will. Yet I know I live already in a land full of people who have never known the fear and uncertainty, the daily terrors and hopelessness, that haunted their parents and their grandparents in those now far-off times. The Scots folk today remember nothing of the Grand Cause, apart from dreary, scarce believable old tales told by their elders, who were already forgetful in the telling, insulated from their own memories of horror by the peace and order that had finally come to them through the efforts of King Robert.\n\nFrom that general and, I fear, irreversible ignorance has sprung the widespread disregard for truth that first spurred me to these writings: the invention, through whispered innuendo and defiantly blatant lies, of a flawless and endlessly admirable, patriotic champion; a hero, near mythical within a few brief years of his spurious creation, called William Wallace\u2014The Wallace.\n\nThus I am forced, if some future reader is to understand my tale, to deal to some extent, at least, with recent history, if for no other reason than to identify the people and events that were to shape my unfortunate cousin's destiny.\n\nEdward, of course, agreed to Bishop Fraser's request immediately, and sent an English army up to Scotland's border to oversee the peace while his deputies, Antony Bek and John de Vescy, sought out both Bruce and Balliol to inform them that, at the request of the Guardians, the English King had undertaken to adjudicate in the matter of the succession to the Scots Crown.\n\nThe hostilities ceased at once. Neither Bruce nor Balliol could claim legitimacy in contesting such a development, for the Guardians had acted authoritatively in accordance with their duty, and Edward of England, who had already successfully negotiated similar disputes in Sicily and Gascony, brought to the proceedings a reputation for probity and integrity. Assuming correctly that neither of the disputing nobles would defy him, Edward convened a great court at Norham, one of his border castles, and for the next two years a cumbersome diplomatic dance ensued.\n\nIn the years since then, in view of the revealed monstrosity of Edward's ambition, Bishop Fraser and John of Badenoch have been reviled for making that first approach to Edward, but as a man of God and only incidentally a man of Bruce during the ensuing conflicts, I believe that they have been unjustly maligned. Both men were Balliol adherents, and unashamedly anti-Bruce, but that has little bearing upon what happened later. When Fraser and Badenoch wrote to Edward in the last days of September 1290, they did so out of genuine concern for the good of Scotland's realm. No one, in those days, had the slightest suspicion of the canker that was already growing within the English King's breast.\n\nThat was soon to change. Eleanor of Castile, the Queen of England, fell sick in mid-November and was dead before month's end. Edward was devastated, cut adrift from the solid anchorage she had always provided for him. He was fifty-two years old and he had been married to Eleanor since he was sixteen, and in all of their thirty-six years as man and wife, they had been virtually inseparable, she his strongest bulwark and his most able adviser.\n\nEdward vanished from public life that winter, leaving the affairs of his kingdom inert in the hands of deputies and caretakers. All important matters of state were set aside while the King remained in solitude for months. And by the time he emerged from his selfimposed exile, Edward Plantagenet had become a different man\u2014bitter, less tolerant, and more demanding of everyone around him. He had always been capable and ambitious, but now, lacking his beloved wife to constrain him, he was intransigent and implacable and he evinced a ruthless obstinacy that would brook no interference to his royal will; he had become the man who would soon abandon all the finer achievements of his earlier life and arrogantly proclaim himself Malleus Scottorum, the Hammer of the Scots.\n\nHe began, in the spring of 1291, by formalizing his status as feudal overlord of Scotland. The matter had arisen before, and without great objection from the Scots magnates, most of whom owned lands and estates in England by Edward's permission, but now Edward made it the sine qua non of his intercession in the matter of the Scots kingship. The Guardians and the magnates debated it half-heartedly but soon yielded in the face of Edward's argument, which was that Scotland needed a judge and not an arbitrator. Edward had had extensive experience of both and he could demonstrate, with utter credibility, that arbitration was useless without the strength of authority to support it. By according Edward the full rights of feudal overlord, the Scots nobility would give him the full power to judge the Cause and to pronounce a victor. The solution appeared to be both logical and sensible, as, it must be said, did Edward himself at the time. And so the compromise\u2014the tipping point\u2014was reached.\n\nNo doubt sensing that decades of strife and bloodshed lay ahead, Robert Bruce the Competitor, who was over eighty at that time, resigned his claim to the throne in favour of his son, Robert Bruce VI. His son's wife, Lady Marjorie, Countess of Carrick, had died mere weeks before at the age of thirty-six\u2014far too young to have died so suddenly. The earldom that she held, Carrick, was one of the oldest in the realm, and she had inherited it in her own right, as her father's sole heir. She had been married young and widowed childless during the Crusade of 1270, and soon after that she had wed Robert Bruce VI, presenting him with an astonishing ten living, healthy children. Bruce had carried the honorary title of Earl of Carrick, purely as Marjorie's consort. Upon her death, however, in accordance with Lady Marjorie's wish, he became Earl of Carrick in fact.\n\nOnly two days after his father passed to him the claim to the throne, the younger Bruce resigned his newly acquired earldom and invested the title and all its lands and holdings in his own son, Robert Bruce VII, who was then eighteen and living in England, in the household of King Edward. That development, with its realignment of claims and responsibilities, set all of southern Scotland abuzz.\n\nBefore anything could come of it, however, the court of auditors declared the following week that John Balliol, Lord of Galloway, had best rights to the kingdom of Scots. And so, Edward chose the weakest of the contenders for the Scots throne as the man who would be King.\n\nNo one quibbled at the verdict, for the auditors\u2014a hundred of them in all, appointed from the nobility of Scotland and England\u2014had been debating the question for two years. There were murmurs that the elder Bruce had resigned in favour of his son precisely because his own advanced age was being bruited as an impediment to his success; others said that the emplacement of the younger Bruce would ensure that if Balliol was chosen and then failed\u2014and it was already being rumoured that he would\u2014then the younger Bruce would be ready to step quickly into his place.\n\nBy and large, though, the Scots were generally glad to have the matter resolved at last, and to have the realm's affairs safely back in the hands of a legitimate king. In my own mind I believe that Balliol's claim was probably stronger than Bruce's, based as it was upon the law of primogeniture and the inheritance of the firstborn child, a system in which I believe. Balliol, as I knew from my own admittedly brief experience of him, was a forthright and likable man. He had few overt enemies and he was blessed with a pleasant, agreeable personality, combined with great charm and a marked ability to listen to others and actually hear what they were saying. Of course, he had detractors even then, mainly dour old warriors, all of them Bruce supporters, who muttered about his being incapable of dealing decisively enough with Edward of England. They shook their heads over what they saw as Balliol's lack of backbone and his too-eager willingness to placate the English King, and they warned that he would never find, or show, the kind of courage that would be required to keep the ambitious Edward in his place. Bruce, the proud and unyieldingly arrogant old Competitor, would never have bent the knee to Edward or any other Englishman, they maintained, and said Balliol had been selected purely because Edward believed he could control him.\n\nIndeed, Edward used him from the outset as he would never have dared use the old and autocratic Robert Bruce. He manipulated the new King shamelessly and mercilessly to achieve his own ends, which proved to be the complete subjugation and absorption into England of the Scottish realm. Balliol, poor weak vessel that he was, never succeeded in asserting himself as anything other than Edward's catspaw.\n\nHe was crowned and enthroned at Scone on November 30th, and he took the title John, King of Scotland, thereby claiming kingship of the land rather than of the people and setting himself apart himself from every other monarch, all of whom had ruled the realm as Kings of Scots. The next day, he paid homage to King Edward of England as his feudal superior. His years in Purgatory had begun.\n\nBalliol, as all men ought to know, was deposed and forced to abdicate eventually by his own nobles, his name disgraced forever in the eyes of his countrymen. But one man, one defiant rebel, continued to name him King and to champion his cause, to the great grief of Edward, England, and the majority of the Scots magnates.\n\nThat man was William Wallace."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Will spent his own years in Purgatory, a period that began on Wednesday, November 19th. I have never forgotten that date, partly because, as a librarian, I had become obsessive about such things. More than that, though, the date became memorable because of a concatenation of unforeseeable events.\n\nWord of the auditors' decision arrived from the south in the dead of night, in the middle of a torrential rainstorm that lasted through the dawn and threatened to flood the countryside for miles around, but the entire Abbey community awoke in darkness to the joyous tidings of the new King and happily ignored the foulness of the weather as they threw themselves into preparing for a solemn Mass to celebrate such a triumphal occasion. Mass was celebrated every morning in the Abbey, of course, but on certain occasions, such as liturgical feasts and festivals, holy days of obligation, and days of general rejoicing like this one, special efforts were expended to make the experience of the Mass more memorable. The Sacrifice was concelebrated by the senior members of the clergy in residence; the regalia worn by the celebrants was the finest that the Abbey possessed; and the instruments and vessels used in the ceremonials, from thuribles for the burning of incense, to candle holders, Crosses, and ciboria and chalices for holding the Communion bread and wine, were the most magnificent in our treasury. Even the congregation, the Abbey brethren themselves, dressed in their finest habits, and the sound of their massed voices in the incense-laden air always seemed to take on a new dignity on those occasions. And so Mass that morning, filled with the promise of an early coronation and a return to righteousness and order throughout the reunited land, was a wondrous affair.\n\nThose feelings of goodwill and renewed hope, unfortunately, barely survived the ending of the ceremony.\n\nI had left the Abbey church directly after Mass and run through the pouring rain to the library, where I was helping Brother Duncan with a study of several water-damaged documents from the oldest monastery on the island of Iona. They had been drenched during a catastrophic storm, when one wall of the ancient building collapsed and many priceless and irreplaceable documents were soaked almost beyond redemption. We had not been back at work for long, I know, but we were already sufficiently engrossed in what we were doing that the clamour of excitement from outside took a long time to register. When it did, though, we knew that something unusual was unfolding nearby, and so we carefully set aside our work and made our way outside to the cloisters, where we found ourselves in a scene out of Chaos. I could make no sense of what was happening, for though there were people moving everywhere I looked, none of them appeared to be going anywhere, and all of them looked stunned or appalled and were chittering like frightened squirrels.\n\nBrother Duncan roared for silence, and within moments everyone was gazing wide-eyed at him. He looked around at the watching faces and spoke into the hushed stillness.\n\n\"My thanks for your silence. Now, will someone please explain to me what is happening here? The reason for this uproar, so soon after Mass on a peaceful morning?\"\n\n\"Murder.\"\n\nThe single word, spoken in a dull, lifeless voice, provoked a concerted hiss of indrawn breath. The speaker was Brother Callum, one of the principal assistants in the Abbey kitchens. Duncan swung to face him.\n\n\"Murder, Callum? Are you sure of that? Who was murdered?\"\n\nCallum swallowed hard. \"Women, on their way here to attend Mass this morning.\"\n\n\"Who told you this?\"\n\n\"I heard someone shouting it to somebody else, when I came out of the kitchens.\"\n\nDuncan and I exchanged glances and then he raised his voice again. \"Is there anyone here who can tell us more about this? Anything at all?\"\n\nThe faces staring back at him all remained blank and slightly panic stricken.\n\n\"Very well,\" Brother Duncan said. \"Something is clearly afoot, but since no one here knows what, it might be safe to presume that we are granting too much significance to something that might not be as serious as it appears. I want all of you, therefore, to return to what you were doing. Those of you with tasks to perform, return to them. Those of you with none, retire to your cells and pray that what we have heard is no more than speculation and misunderstanding. God grant it be so.\"\n\nAs the monks dispersed, Duncan waved me to his side. \"You and I will go and find out what's going on. Let's hope it's not as bad as Callum reported.\"\n\nIt was as bad, and worse. We had to search diligently to find someone who could tell us anything, and even then the significance of what we heard was slow to sink home to us. The monk on duty at the main gate told us that a messenger had run up, staggering, a short time earlier, shouting his tidings to the winds in a voice filled with panic and outrage. Fortunately, Father Dominic, our Sub-abbot, had been present, doing penance by praying in the pouring rain, and he had spirited the man directly into the Abbey proper before he could upset any of the brethren.\n\nDuncan grasped my arm and pushed me firmly towards the Abbot's quarters, where Dominic and the Father Abbot himself told us what little they knew.\n\nIt seemed that a party of women from the town really had been attacked on their way to the Abbey early that morning. There had been five women in the group, Dominic told us. All of them had been sexually violated, two of them killed in the process; the three survivors had been badly beaten and were all unconscious. They had been taken to the nunnery just outside the Abbey precincts, where they had been placed under the care of a visiting Hospitaller knight from Rome, and no one was sure if any of them would live out the day. If any did regain consciousness, it remained to be seen whether they would be able\u2014or willing\u2014to identify their assailants. It was a stupefying crime, the like of which had never been known in Paisley, and no one was yet equipped to deal with it.\n\nDuncan, ever the pragmatist, immediately asked the question foremost in my own mind: Who were these women? No one, it seemed, knew at this point, though Dominic had already sent his deputy out to discover all he could. What was known was that they appeared to have been attacked on a public pathway, within shouting distance of the nearest houses, and subdued quickly before being herded off the road and into a copse. They had been found by a local blacksmith, who had gone for a pre-dawn walk in the rain to clear his ale-clogged head before going to work and stumbled upon the scene. He had not recognized any of the women, presumably because they had all been in bloodied disarray and he himself had been too badly shaken to look closely at them.\n\nThe Abbot and Sub-abbot, being who they were, wanted to start prayers for the victims immediately, but my cousin Duncan was far more concerned with the how and why of this event than he was with anything else. He kept interrupting Father Abbot with questions. Who could have done such a thing? That was the primary question, and even as he asked it, I sensed the overwhelming implications, for it was instantly clear to me that no one in Paisley town would have dared to contemplate such a sin. The worst ne'er-dowells in the community were, at worst, opportunistic thieves and pickpockets, and thus it followed that the attackers were unlikely to be local men. The surprise, abduction, and violation of five women suggested a large and organized group of men.\n\nDuncan sucked air between his front teeth as he turned to me. \"Soldiery,\" he said, making no attempt to hide his disgust. There were soldiers everywhere that autumn, Scots and English both. \"But whose? And how and where do we start to look for them?\"\n\nI didn't even have to think about it. \"Where the attack took place. It will be a quagmire, so there should be tracks.\"\n\n\"Aye, there will be,\" Duncan answered, \"but half the town of Paisley has likely traipsed through there by now, so it will be impossible to tell one set of tracks from another.\"\n\n\"Not if we follow them away far enough from wherever this thing happened. None of the townsfolk would go running after that many men alone, especially in weather like this, and especially not murderers. I think we'll be able to follow the tracks far enough to isolate them, sooner or later, and see if perhaps there's something identifiable about them.\"\n\nHe eyed me skeptically. \"You don't believe they would have scattered afterwards? That's what I would have told them to do, had I been there.\"\n\n\"Nah,\" I said. \"I don't think so. Not if they're strangers, and not in this weather. Too much danger of someone getting lost and caught. They would have stuck together, made their way out as a group, avoiding being seen. That tells me we'll find a trail, though only God Himself knows where it may lead us.\"\n\nDuncan was gnawing at his lower lip, but then he jerked his head in agreement. \"You could be right. Better fetch your foul-weather cloak, then. It's nasty out there.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "The day was grey and leaden, almost dark, though it was not yet noon. The rain had grown heavier, and now the noise of it filled the air, drowning out everything else. I pulled the hood of my woollen foul-weather cloak down over my face and wrapped the rest of the garment as tightly about me as I could, fully aware that the carefully brushed-on coating of wax that covered its thickly felted surface would not stand up for long against this strong a downpour. Water puddled beneath our feet at every step, and none of it seemed to be draining away. Standing on the hard gravel of the Abbey's forecourt, we were relatively safe from discomfort, but Duncan and I both knew that the moment we stepped off the gravel and into the grass, we would sink to the ankles. Not for the first time in my life, I wished for a solid pair of heavy boots, but monks and undistinguished priests wore simple sandals in all weather and all seasons, and so I was somewhat inured to painfully chilled feet.\n\n\"Ready?\" Duncan asked, and when I nodded he stepped out in front of me, his stride purposeful. I followed him closely, trying to ignore the icy wetness of the ankle-high grass.\n\nIt took us less than ten minutes to reach the place where the attack had occurred, and as we had expected, it was a seething hive of people, most of whom had no reason to be there, other than simple curiosity and the human need to gawk. The ground had been churned to mud, as we had expected, and there was no hope of being able to make sense of what had happened there after the events of the early morning. We merely looked about us briefly and moved on, ignoring the throng and focusing instead on finding the tracks of the people who had passed this way earlier in the day.\n\nIt was not difficult to find the route they had taken, but it was surprisingly difficult to escape from the depredations of the gawkers who had since added their own tracks to those left behind by the attackers. Many of them had struck out boldly to follow the original tracks and had stayed with them for a surprisingly long time, so that Duncan and I, following in turn, had no way of knowing whether we were following the footprints of the attackers or the amateur hunters who had preceded us. Small groups occasionally came straggling back towards us after giving up the hunt, and it was all I could do to maintain a semblance of civility towards them, but the last of them revealed that there was only one more group ahead of us, three men, none of whom they had recognized.\n\nWe had emerged from behind a screen of head-high bushes to find ourselves in a small, open glade surrounded by waist-high undergrowth. I was walking with my head down, studying the ground at my feet, and I sensed rather than saw a flicker of movement very close to me. I raised my head in time to see a long, broad sword blade come hissing towards me and stop within a hand's breadth of my face. I froze. Duncan, half a pace to my left, stopped, too, his hands flung up involuntarily against the threat, his eyes flaring.\n\nThe man wielding the sword was tall and lean, his body solid beneath his sodden clothing. But my attention had already been caught by a second man, behind him.\n\n\"Hold, Shoomy!\" he shouted, and I recognized him instantly. As the man lowered his blade and stepped back, the other continued, \"What are you two doing here?\"\n\n\"Will?\" I asked, hearing the bleating disbelief in my voice. \"Is that you?\"\n\nThe image of a hugely bedraggled rat came to me immediately, suggested by the sodden sleekness of his clothes, literally aflow with running water as they clung to his enormous frame. I was seeing him clean shaven for the first time, and the water streamed down his cheeks. I could see that he was bristling with fury, too, but my powers of perception were addled at that moment and so I understood nothing.\n\n\"Aye, Jamie, it's me, right enough. You didn't answer. What are you two doing out here?\"\n\nAs he spoke, a third man, short and slight as the first was tall, stepped out of the bushes, lowering his crossbow. I recognized him as Big Andrew Miller, though I had not seen him for years.\n\n\"We're looking for signs of who might have \u2026 have done this \u2026 this \u2026\" I began again. \"Some women were attacked this morning, in Paisley, on their way to Mass. We set out to find some sign of who had done it, but we've had to come this far searching for clear tracks.\"\n\n\"Aye, and good luck. There are no clear tracks. Muck-filled holes, but no tracks that can be used, even were this accursed rain to stop this minute.\"\n\n\"You know about the women? But \u2026 Where have you come from, Will? What are you doing here?\"\n\nThe look he threw at me was one that I had never seen before, a mixture of scorn and intolerance. But he answered me civilly enough. \"I was on my way home, bringing my wife to Elderslie to pay you all a visit. But when we came to Paisley early this morning, we found the place in an uproar.\"\n\n\"Aye, those women.\"\n\nHe glared at me. \"What d'you mean, those women? D'you not know who they were?\"\n\nHe could not have asked me anything more mystifying, and I shook my head.\n\n\"They were my women, Jamie! Mine!\" His voice, the outrage in it, hit me almost palpably in the chest. \"Mirren's aunt and her four cousins. That's who those women were.\"\n\n\"Holy Mother of God!\"\n\nMy lips continued to move, but nothing more emerged, and Will paid no attention anyway. He spoke almost to himself.\n\n\"They were taken unawares on their way to worship God, and they were ravaged by devils. Even the old wife, Mirren's aunt. Two of them were killed on the spot, the others left for dead.\"\n\n\"Which of them were killed?\"\n\nHe looked at me almost absently. \"The mother, Meg Waddie, Mirren's aunt. And her eldest daughter, Christine. I think the old woman might have died of fright. But the daughter was clubbed to death. When I find the man who did it, he will regret that his bitch mother ever whelped him. I will feed him his own balls, I swear, fresh cut from their sac. And I will find him, Jamie. Believe you me.\"\n\nI did. I believed him implicitly, appalled and fascinated by the look in his eyes.\n\n\"But work like this is no fit matter for priests, Jamie. You would please me more were you to look to the women, see to their comfort.\" He jerked his head, flinging his soaked forelock away from his eyes. \"I heard someone say they were taken to the nuns. Mirren is with them, wherever they are, and I left Ewan with her. He can help her with whatever needs to be done, and it will be good for everyone to have a priest to hand. I came out here to try to find out who did this, but there's nothing here.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, there is.\" Now that my mind was functioning again, I was looking about me and seeing what was really there to be seen. \"See those marks there?\" I pointed to a series of three footprints that had clearly been made by three different feet, slightly to my left and leading to a rain-swollen streamlet. It was plain that the three men had each jumped across the water, planted a foot on the far bank, and used it to push off in a scramble to the top of the gently rising slope.\n\nI crouched beside the footprints and touched the rows of small, deeply indented holes with my fingertips. \"Look,\" I said. \"Hobnails. Who wears hobnailed boots?\"\n\n\"Men at arms.\" Will's voice was strangely quiet. \"Regulars. Supplied by a quartermaster.\"\n\n\"And what does that tell us?\"\n\n\"The whoresons were English. Almost certainly. As far as I know, none of the Scots magnates has the kind of wealth that pays for hobnails for their men \u2026 Which means that when we find which English baron has troops in the vicinity, we'll know where to look for the culprits in this day's madness.\"\n\nDuncan spoke for the first time. \"Might not be a baron. I've heard of no baronial forces near here, not recently.\"\n\nWill growled in his throat. \"Baron, earl, or plain damned knight, I care not. If there's an English force within walking distance of Paisley, I want to talk to its commander, though it be Edward Plantagenet himself.\" He looked at me. \"How can we best find out?\"\n\nI glanced at Duncan. \"At the Abbey, wouldn't you say?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Within half an hour of returning to the Abbey, we knew that an armed force of some two hundred men belonging to Antony Bek, Bishop of Durham, had bypassed Paisley two days earlier and made camp less than six miles farther on, towards Glasgow, to await the arrival of Bek himself from Norham, where he had been in attendance upon King Edward. Bek had served as King Edward's lieutenant in Scotland for two years, since the commencement of the prenuptial arrangements between the Maid and Edward of Caernarvon. Renowned for his fierce piety, his single-minded dedication to his master's affairs, and his intolerance of anything that threatened either of those, he nevertheless had a reputation for even-handedness, and no one had yet accused him of anything dishonourable in his treatment of the Scots.\n\nWill was sitting across the table from me, and I found him staring at me and nibbling at the inside of his cheek in what I knew to be an indication of deep thought. I knew, too, that he was not watching me but staring through me, his eyes and his thoughts focused on matters far beyond the room in which we sat.\n\n\"What think you, Will?\" I asked. \"What should we do?\"\n\nI watched his eyes readjust to where he was, and as they shifted and grew more intense, his face darkened into the scowl I had become too familiar with in the past hour, so that I thought: This isn't my cousin Will. This is Wallace, the wild one.\n\nHe scratched at the stubble on his chin as he answered me. \"What we should do and what we will do are two different things, Jamie. We will go and talk to Bishop Bek, but what we should do is follow those tracks to wherever they lead us and then spill the blood of every shifty-eyed whoreson we find at the end of the trail.\" His voice emerged flat and emotionless, but I had known this man all my life and I knew the effort he was expending to keep his quivering fury concealed.\n\n\"What if Bek won't talk to us?\"\n\nHe raised his eyebrows in surprise. \"Why would he not? I'll go to him as my uncle's messenger. He'll listen to Sir Malcolm Wallace of Elderslie, if not to plain Will Wallace.\"\n\nI didn't doubt what he said, though I saw no benefit in pointing out to him that Bek might well know that Sir Malcolm was dead. \"When will you go?\"\n\n\"This minute.\"\n\n\"No point in that, Cuz. He's not there, remember? He was in Norham yesterday, for the auditors' decision, so even supposing he left immediately after that, he would barely have had time to get here.\"\n\n\"The messengers got here last night.\"\n\n\"Aye, but they were messengers, Will. They rode non-stop, in relays. Bek is a Bishop. He will travel at leisure and in dignity, so it will be at least tomorrow before he shows up.\"\n\n\"Do we know where his army is encamped?\"\n\nDuncan shook his head. \"Not precisely, though we can easily find out.\"\n\n\"Find out, then, as quickly as you can,\" Will growled. \"I want to be there by dawn.\"\n\nI looked at him. \"Why so early? Bek won't be there at that hour.\"\n\n\"No, but I'll be waiting when he gets there.\" He stood up. \"In the meantime, I'm going to find Mirren, if only to wrap my arms around her and dry her tears. I'll see you all later.\"\n\n\"Wait.\" I pushed away from the table. \"I'll walk with you, at least part of the way.\"\n\nNeither of us spoke again until we were beyond the Abbey gates, on our way into the town. I knew he was thinking about Mirren and I had no wish to interrupt him. The tragedy of what had happened to her aunt and her cousins would no doubt have appalled her, but from all I'd heard she was a strong young woman and would take no permanent ill of it. The violation of women, though everyone deplored it, was far from being unknown, after all, and most particularly so when the land was disputed by opposing armies. At such times, the unspoken right to plunder and to violate enemy women was regarded as a victorious soldier's privilege, and everyone, women included, understood that to be so.\n\nThis particular act, however, had not been committed in war. God could not allow it to go unpunished, and I knew my cousin was determined that it would not.\n\n\"So, Cousin, what was it you wanted to say to me?\" He spoke in Latin, a sure sign that he knew his question, and my answer to it, to be important.\n\nA hundred thoughts sprang to my mind at once, but I forced myself to ignore all of them and respond quietly, also in Latin. \"That you should proceed cautiously in this.\"\n\n\"I should? And why is that?\" Will spoke with his head down, his eyes on the pathway ahead of him. \"What need have I of caution here, Jamie? Five good women have been attacked and ravaged without provocation. Two of them are dead, with more, perhaps, to follow, who can tell?\"\n\nIt had stopped raining sometime in the past hour, and the early darkness of full winter obscured everything, save glints of moonlight reflected haphazardly from the puddles all around us, where beams had managed to penetrate the broken mass of clouds overhead. Will sidestepped towards me to avoid a large puddle. \"Why should it be I who needs to be cautious? The evidence we have found indicates that the women's attackers wore hobnailed boots, which indicates soldiers, clearly in the employ of some lord wealthy enough to equip his hirelings with such footwear, which means that in all likelihood these murderous animals are English. The only force of English soldiery in the district is commanded by Master Antony Bek, whose pride in his men and their accoutrements is sufficiently well known for him to be called the Warrior Bishop. And I have need of caution?\n\n\"Now I know I don't have to tell you, Cousin, that as King Edward's own lieutenant in Scotland, and as a prince of Christ's Church, Bishop Bek should decry even the possibility of any man of his being involved in such a crime, and therefore I intend to go and speak with him, to bring the affair to his attention in person. Of course I see a need for respect in how I approach him, taking care to recognize his rank and to offend none of his dignity. That need I can see clearly, and I will attend to it. But you are warning me of a need for caution, and I see no such need.\"\n\nAs I listened to him, marking the bitterness in his words, it occurred to me that this was the longest speech I had heard Will Wallace make in years. What did not occur to me, though\u2014in fact I only thought of it long afterwards\u2014was that he had spoken with authority, with the assuredness and conviction that comes only after months and years of performance. I completely missed the evident fact that my closest friend and dearest relative had become a leader in his own right, accustomed to speaking with conviction to men who listened to him closely.\n\nAnd so, in my ignorance of what had happened to him in the previous two years, I continued talking to him as though he were still the lad I had known before.\n\n\"I'm not talking about\u2014\" But I fell silent, suddenly aware that he had already responded to what I was talking about, even before I had mentioned it.\n\nHe cocked his head in a well-remembered gesture and grinned at me. \"Come on, then, spit it out. What's on your mind?\"\n\nI sucked in my breath \"Caution \u2026 the need for it, despite what you say. I want to come with you tomorrow. When you meet the Bishop.\"\n\n\"There's no need for that. Or do you think I'll need your protection?\"\n\n\"No, but I think it might not hurt to have a cleric there prepared to swear an oath to bear witness on your behalf. Even such a poor half-cleric as I am.\"\n\nHe grunted in what might have been a laugh. \"You are something of a neither-nor, aren't you? Ewan told me that your ordination was postponed when the Maid died. But that was a long time ago. Will you ever see ordination?\"\n\n\"Aye, within the month, in fact, in time for Christmas. And nothing will stop it this time.\"\n\nWill stopped in his tracks and grasped me by the upper arms, tilting his head to catch my face in the light of the moon. \"You will be priested then? Truly? Then by the living God, I will be there to stand witness to it, unless God Himself sees fit to blast me before the day. I'll be there, Jamie, as God is my judge.\"\n\n\"Good, then, and I'll be there with you, come morning, when you meet Bek, as God is my judge, too.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "Sometime before noon, Bishop Antony Bek of Durham, or one of his close associates, committed what I have come to believe was the single most costly error of Edward Plantagenet's entire reign as King of England, casting the die for the ruination of his ambitious plans for Scotland.\n\nTo this day I cannot say with certainty who was truly to blame for what happened that morning. Not even Will could swear afterwards to the truth of who said what and to whom, and he was much closer to the events than I was. That single incident, a visit to a bishop, made in good faith by a man of honour seeking redress for an indefensible transgression against the laws of God and man, might have had incalculably beneficial consequences for King Edward's designs had it been handled otherwise. But it was not, and the injustice that took place instead became the catalyst that aroused William Wallace to anger and thereafter focused all of Scotland's rage against the would-be usurpers. Bek's unconscionable treatment of William Wallace that day threw the English into a struggle that would last for twenty-two years and end with their being driven from Scotland completely.\n\nThe day began badly and deteriorated steadily. Will and I presented ourselves at the Bishop's encampment as planned, unarmed and alone\u2014Will had ordered the others to remain at Paisley\u2014soon after first light, after a two-hour walk through a black, wind-racked darkness that paled gradually into a grey and cloudy dawn. We spoke quietly with the acting sergeant of the guard, at what passed for the main entrance but was really nothing more than an opening in the high hedge that bordered the extensive pastureland Bek had chosen for his campsite.\n\nThe guard sergeant, a surly, slovenly looking type, was more interested in impressing his own four-man detachment than he was in listening to what Will had to say. He barely listened, preening for his men all the while, rocking back on his heels with his hands clasped around the buckle of the heavy sword belt at his waist and his face twisted in a sneer. As soon as Will had finished speaking, the lout waved us away with a curse. The Bishop was not yet in camp, he said, and not expected soon, so he wished a pestilence on us and told us to get out of his gateway, out of his sight.\n\nWill showed no reaction to the man's ill manners; he merely stepped a little closer as the sergeant turned away and requested, respectfully, that we be permitted to await the Bishop's arrival off to one side, out of the way of the people coming and going to and from the camp. The guardsman swung around, starting to raise his fist, but then he stopped, doubtless noting the width of my cousin's shoulders and the depth of his chest. His fist opened up and he flicked his hand, indicating a nearby log that had obviously been used as a seat by many people over many years. Will nodded his thanks mildly, and together we crossed to the log and sat down.\n\nAs I passed the gateway in the hedge, I took a look through it, and was surprised by how empty the place looked. There was nothing to indicate, at first glance, that this was a military encampment, other than the presence of the guards themselves. The space I could see directly beyond the gates, an empty stretch of sodden turf, perhaps thirty to forty paces deep, must have been used as a parade ground or marshalling area. Beyond the grass, though, almost invisible in the half light, I detected the distant tops of uniform rows of tents rising up from the morning mist behind a row of skeletal trees, and as the light grew stronger we began to hear shouted orders and the sounds of organized military activities back there.\n\nSometime around mid-morning, we heard the sounds of hooves and marching men approaching from behind us, and we turned to watch the Bishop and his mounted escort arriving from the south.\n\nThere were about thirty men in the party, all of them well mounted and armed from head to foot, except for the group surrounding Bishop Bek, all of whom were clerics and rode the smaller, gentler horses known as palfreys.\n\nI had never seen the Warrior Bishop, but I recognized him immediately as the only sword-carrying cleric in the central group. He sat very straight on his tall horse and carried his head high, his expression solemn and disdainful, his grip on the reins firm and confident. I saw him glance sidelong at us as he rode by. He ignored me in my plain robe after a single look, but he took all the time he needed to examine Will from head to foot, and I imagined him wondering who this tall, imposing, finely dressed, and clean-shaven fellow was and why he was waiting at the entrance to his camp. Then he turned back to resume his conversation with the man beside him and rode through the gates. Behind him, his men-at-arms rode in silence, one of them carrying a banner with the Bishop's escutcheon, three linked gold rings on an azure field, and none of them paid us the slightest attention.\n\nAt their rear, far less splendidly accoutred and travelling far more slowly, plodded a small detachment of weary-looking infantry, leading a ragtag, thoroughly cowed group of prisoners. Every man among the prisoners wore an iron collar, and they shuffled awkwardly along in single file and very close together, their arms tied behind their backs and their collars joined by a length of rope that was too short for the purpose it had to serve and so kept them off balance. Looking more closely at the armed squad as they approached, I decided that they were not, in fact, part of the Bishop's entourage but had simply been overtaken by the riders. Will looked from them to me with one eyebrow raised, and I was sure he was thinking the same thing I was. The prisoners, fourteen of them and all men, were Scots; they had that dour, inward-looking air about them. I wondered idly what they had done to warrant arrest, acknowledging wryly to myself that it would not have been too difficult to achieve.\n\nThey were halted by a stentorian curse from the sergeant of the guard. He was having no Scotch filth entering the camp under his watch, he swore, not until someone with authority came out and ordered him to let these animals inside. He ranted and raved, standing nose to nose with the corporal in charge of the prisoners, who argued back just as defiantly. All the corporal wanted to do was get rid of the ugly Scotch goblins\u2014they'd been hanging around his neck for days, he said, weighing him down. He wanted to shed them like a wet coat and go about his own affairs and he didn't care what the gate sergeant thought. Eventually they reached an agreement, and the prisoners were herded into a circle around the trunk of the single large beech tree in the area, about twenty paces from where we sat, and their neck rope was retied securely to keep them there. And there they were to remain until someone inside the camp should decide what was to be done with them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "The gate sergeant had watched Will and me closely as the Bishop and his party approached, prepared to launch his guards at us should we attempt to interfere with the Bishop's progress. Now that they were safely inside the camp, though, he was more than content to pretend we were invisible.\n\nWe waited in silence for another half-hour before Will went up to the fellow and reminded him that we were waiting to speak with Bishop Bek, this time citing his uncle, Sir Malcolm Wallace, as the source of the request. I told myself this was not quite a lie, for I knew that had the knight been alive, he would most assuredly have used his name and influence to solve the matter of this heinous crime.\n\nThe sergeant was manifestly unhappy at the inconvenience of having to listen, but the knight's name and title were imposing enough that he sent one of his four scowling guards into the camp to carry Will's message to the Bishop. And once again we settled down to wait.\n\nThe messenger arrived back in no time, accompanied by a sergeant. There was no mistaking this sergeant's affiliation; he wore the livery depicted on Bek's banner, a bright blue surcoat with the three linked gold rings of the Bishop's crest emblazoned on the left breast, and he was flanked by two less brilliantly bedecked men-atarms wearing simple quartered patches of blue and yellow squares on their plain leather jerkins. He marched directly to where we sat and stood looking down at us, like the guardsman sergeant making no attempt to disguise the sneer on his face.\n\n\"Right,\" he said after looking Will up and down and then shaking his head as if in wonder at the stupidity of the people he had to deal with. \"Let's move it, then. Come on! On your feet. I haven't got time to be wasting, chasing after your idle Scotch arse, no matter what the Bishop thinks.\"\n\nWill stood up, his meek and humble demeanour somehow de-emphasizing his great size, and the sergeant backed away from him instantly, signalling to the two spear carriers to flank Will on either side as though he were a prisoner. I stood up, too, assuming I was going with them, but as soon as I did the gate sergeant lunged angrily towards me, waving me back down to my seat on the log. He cursed me for a Scotch fool and made it abundantly clear that I was to stay where I was and wait, but the other sergeant, much to my surprise, ordered the fellow to shut his mouth. \"They came together,\" he growled, \"so they'll go in together. The priest might be an interpreter, who knows?\"\n\nBek's pavilion-styled tent, fronted by a tall pole bearing his personal standard, was by far the largest of all, but there were many other, lesser pavilions similarly identified among the serried lines of troop tents laid out in neat formations. Men were everywhere, most of them either in organized drill groups or in work gangs being supervised by sergeants in the same white livery our guide wore. I saw few horses, but the strong aroma of dung told me large numbers were not too far away.\n\nThe sergeant stopped us when we were less than two paces from the entrance to the Bishop's tent. \"Wait here,\" he said. \"You'll be called in when the Bishop's ready for you.\"\n\nHe marched away then, leaving us unguarded, side by side beneath the Prince Bishop's banner.\n\n\"What d' you think?\" Will muttered. \"Should we run now, while we still can?\"\n\nIt was the first flash of humour I had seen in him since the previous day, and it made me feel better immediately, but before I could reply, the flap of the main tent opened and a priest in green liturgical robes beckoned us with cupped fingers.\n\nAntony Bek, Bishop of Durham, was at prayer, and the vaulted, shadowy spaces inside the pavilion provided the illusion that the tent itself was a church. Mummery was the word that sprang to my mind, along with an image from the previous year, when I had watched a travelling troupe of mummers present a drama in Glasgow about the Passion and Crucifixion of Jesus. The false sanctity and obvious insincerity of the spectacle had filled me with revulsion then, and I found the same feelings roiling in me now.\n\nBek knelt alone at a prie-dieu, before a small, portable altar that bore a covered tabernacle and a silver chalice. His back was arrowstraight, his chin tilted slightly upward as he gazed towards the tabernacle, his fingers caressing the beads of a large and ornate rosary. It seemed to me that he had positioned himself very carefully, and for our benefit, before giving his acolyte the nod to admit us to his presence. He knelt for some time after our arrival, unmoving, ignoring us completely, but then he blessed himself with the sign of the cross and surged to his feet, removing the stole from his shoulders, folding it properly and kissing it before handing it to the priest who had admitted us. Only then did he glance at us quizzically, and then indicated, with a wave of his hand, that we should walk with him to another part of the tent, where he took up a position beside a glowing brazier and close to a padded armchair that was almost large enough to be a couch.\n\nHe barely looked at me as he asked, \"To which community are you attached?\"\n\nI was keenly aware of the cool impersonality of his tone and the lack of honorific he accorded me, and the awareness gratified me. In his eyes, I was clearly less than nothing, a nameless, faceless priest whose drone-like existence was to be taken for granted and not remarked upon, but I was not a priest at all, and his arrogance had blinded him to that. He had glanced at my grey robe and seen only the garb of a lowly Benedictine cleric, and his own hubris had elevated me to the status of priesthood, never deigning to imagine that anyone less significant would have the temerity to enter his presence. I had anticipated his question, though, and the lie fell from my lips with the ring of truth.\n\n\"Jedburgh, my lord. The Abbey there. But I am currently assigned to Selkirk parish.\" Were Bek to seek me in Jedburgh in future, I reasoned, he might or might not launch a search for me when he failed to find me, but had I named Glasgow, inviting him to seek me there afterwards at the cathedral, it might have caused a deal of needless embarrassment to others, among them Bishop Wishart.\n\nHe nodded absently and spoke to Will.\n\n\"You are the nephew of a knight, I am told, sent here on his behalf to question me. Is that correct?\" He raised an interdicting hand. \"If it is, then you must surely have an answer to my next question. If this matter has sufficient import in your uncle's eyes to merit intruding upon my privacy in order to bring it to my attention, why then would he offer me the discourtesy of not presenting it in person?\"\n\nWill dipped his head in acknowledgment. \"He is unable, my lord. He is grown old in recent years and is now unfit to travel.\"\n\nI held my breath. If Bek knew who Will was, and knew of Sir Malcolm's death, we were within moments of being arrested.\n\nThe Bishop nodded. \"Go on, then. Voice your complaint. What does this concern?\"\n\nWill told him, delivering the only lie in his story right at the outset, when he claimed to be head verderer on his uncle's lands who had taken his wife into Paisley to visit her family there. From that point onwards, he related events exactly as they had occurred. Bek sat down in his big chair shortly after Will began talking, and rested his chin on his cupped hand, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. When the tale was told, he sighed and sat up straighter, his gaze returning to Will.\n\n\"So \u2026 Let me see if I understand what you are saying. Some women were molested in your town and you set out to find the miscreants. After weltering around in torrential rain for half a day and miles from anywhere, you found some muddy footprints\u2014how many? three?\u2014that may have been made by hobnailed boots. Am I correct? And based upon that \u2026 that startling observation, you deduced that these footprints had been made by soldiers. English soldiers, of course. After that, it must have been the work of mere moments to arrive at the conviction that those soldiers must be mine, since I appear to be the only English commander with troopers in this area, and that, by association, the responsibility for the carnage in Paisley yesterday must be mine, too. Correct?\" He made no pretense of waiting for an answer. \"Excellently reasoned, though the logic involved is unmistakably Scots. So how may we proceed from here? Shall I assemble my entire force on the parade ground and have them flogged? And how many of them would you like me to hang afterwards? Will you have time to wait for us to build a gibbet?\"\n\nHe stopped short, then added, \"Who discovered these three footprints? To whom should I be expressing my gratitude for such a swift solution to these heinous crimes?\"\n\nWill turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised high in shock at what he was hearing.\n\n\"You?\" Bek said, misinterpreting the look and gazing at me in disbelief. \"You are responsible for this outrage? An ordained priest, accusing me of this atrocity? How dare you?\" His voice remained level, but there was no mistaking the fury it contained. He turned to his acolyte, who had been standing in the background all this time. \"Call de Vrecy and his guard. Now! Bring them here immediately.\"\n\nThe Bishop's glare returned to me, and when he spoke again his voice dripped disgust and loathing. \"You will leave this camp at once and under guard. You\"\u2014he pointed a quivering finger at Will\u2014\"you will stay here. You and I have much to talk about concerning the responsibilities of leadership and governing men.\"\n\n\"Not so, Bishop. You have no power to hold me here. Father James came in with me, and I will leave with him.\"\n\n\"No, you will not. If you do, it will be as a rebel and an outlaw, and if I have to, I will have my men break your legs. I am King Edward's deputy in this accursed place, and you will be bound by what I tell you to do. I have words for you, and even as an upstart, contumacious Scot, you will be bound by them, so bide you there.\"\n\nWe had already heard the steady tramp of mailed feet approaching, and then someone held the flap of the great tent open while a dozen men marched in, accompanied by two sergeants and an armoured, surcoated knight. Bek pointed at me and spoke to the knight. \"This one, the priest. Take two men and see him off the grounds\u2014forcibly if he does not move quickly enough to please you. He will wait outside the gates for his friend. The rest of you, have an eye to the big one. I doubt he will have much to say, but attend us while he listens to what I have to say to him.\" Bek pointed at me again. \"Do not think this affair is over, priest. I know your name and I promise you, wherever you may go from here, you and I will meet again and you will answer for this in curia, before a tribunal of your superiors.\" He flicked a finger at de Vrecy. \"Out of my sight with him.\"\n\nThere was no point in resisting, and so I went quietly enough, with one burly guard's hand on each shoulder as they pushed me along between them. My escort marched me briskly through the outer gate and past the sergeant guardsman's post to the seat where Will and I had waited earlier. There they barked an order at me to halt, and one of them pushed me roughly down onto the bench, warning me that I should stay there unless I wanted to be flogged.\n\nI sat and fumed and waited for what must have been an hour, and then I finally heard them coming from behind the hedge, shouting at each other, laughing and high spirited like any group of young men with idle time on their hands. But when they came into view in the gateway I could only stand and stare, stupefied. They carried Will out through the gates on his back, head down, feet raised behind them as they came. He was unconscious and dripping blood from his backward-hanging head, and six of them held him in a cradle of interlocked arms, like pallbearers, though it was clear from their expressions that they were neither mourning him nor enjoying the strain of carrying his weight. Four more men walked close behind them, men I knew immediately were archers, since all four were unarmoured and carried quarterstaves, and it was they who were shouting and laughing, though none of the hilarity appeared to be directed towards my unconscious cousin.\n\nAs I finally began to pull my wits together, one of the six bearers grunted something to the others and began to count aloud, and on three, they heaved in unison and sent their burden toppling heavily to the ground in front of the gate, where it sprawled in a puddle left from the previous day's rain. They drew away then, preparing to leave, and I heard what I knew was my own voice whining in wordless protest as I ran to Will and dropped to my knees beside him, but even as I landed, a booted foot struck me high on my right side and sent me reeling. One of the archers stood over me, looking down and grinning as he drew back his boot to kick me again.\n\nBut then an arm interposed itself, thrusting him back and away, and the largest of the four bowmen reached out one-handed, almost casually, and rapped me viciously on the knee with the heavier end of his quarterstaff. In that instant of flaring pain, I became a student with a quarterstaff once again, facing a drubbing from Ewan Scrymgeour.\n\nI seized the end of the fellow's staff and jerked it towards me, using it, along with his surprised resistance, to support my weight as I surged to my feet, and then I twisted the weapon from his suddenly unresisting hand, switched my grip, and cracked the heavy butt above his ear before his mouth could even open in disbelief. As he fell sideways I spun towards the others, whirling the staff in my hands until it formed a blurred, semi-solid shield in front of me. I know not, honestly, who was the more surprised by the development, they or I. They certainly had not anticipated finding a scrawny Scots cleric who handled a quarterstaff with authority. I, on the other hand, had not thought to find myself suddenly facing nine armed and soon-to-be-vengeful enemies.\n\nEven as I weighed the situation, though, it began to change. The man closest on my left began to sway towards me, raising his staff, and another swung away to circle around and come at me from behind. I dropped the first man with a straight-armed chop to the top of his skull, then flung myself sideways, spinning completely around and dropping into a crouch as I brought the full, accelerating weight of my weapon against the back of the other's knees, felling him like a tree.\n\nBy that time, though, my short-lived advantage had worn itself out, and I felt the weight of a smashing blow across my shoulders, driving me down and onto my face, and I knew as I fell that I would not be rising to my feet again unless someone helped me, which seemed highly unlikely at that point. I sprawled across the body of the man I had hit last, and he was already moving again, scrabbling and kicking in his efforts to stand up. I felt hands grasping me, pulling and heaving at me, and I ended up on my back, my shoulders flat on the ground, gazing up at the foul-tempered gate sergeant who had leapt to straddle me, roaring to everyone else to keep back as he swung a rusty, heavy-bladed sword high in both hands, aiming to cleave my skull. I saw his arms reach the top of their swing and pause there, and as he chopped the blade down towards my head, I remember thinking, \"God never wanted me to be a priest,\" and I started to close my eyes.\n\nBefore I could, though, something extraordinary happened. The man above me went away. He went very swiftly and suddenly. There one moment, focused tightly on splitting my skull apart, and abruptly gone the next, his disappearance marked by a single flash of disbelief on my part as I saw the tail end of a squared steel rod sprout from his elbow.\n\nIt was a crossbow bolt. Fired by Big Andrew from close range, it had struck squarely and with immense force on the man's downward-sweeping left elbow, driving his upper arm bone straight back with sufficient violence to shatter the shoulder socket and throw its owner several paces backward in a spinning mass of whirling limbs and gouting blood. I blinked and saw another man go down, hurled backward by an arrow that struck him in the centre of his chest and pierced his iron cuirass and the linked-mail shirt beneath it as if they were made of cloth. Bodkin, I thought, recognizing the only kind of missile that could punch through armour, and then I became aware of the hiss and snap of arrows all around me, and the meaty thump they made when they hit human targets.\n\nSomeone leaned over me, and I heard Ewan Scrymgeour's voice close to my ear. \"Lie still, and we'll ha'e ye out o' here in no time. Shoomy, ye have him? Right, then, let's away. Alan, bring they people wi' us, cut them loose. Come on, now, quick, afore they come lookin'.\"\n\nI was not badly hurt at all, merely stunned by the blow I had taken across my back and shoulders, and as Ewan and another fellow dragged me hurriedly away, their arms hooked beneath my armpits, I realized that they had ignored Will's wishes and followed him anyway. And their instincts had been right. Had they not been there, Will Wallace and I would both have died there in front of the camp gates.\n\n\"Wait,\" I grunted, scrabbling with my feet. \"I can walk. Let me up.\" The two men hauling me stopped and looked down at me skeptically. \"Really, Ewan, I'm fine. I had the wind knocked out of me, but I'm fine now.\"\n\nI looked back at the scene we were leaving and was unsurprised to see bodies everywhere: the six men-at-arms who had been carrying Will, the four loud-mouthed archers, the sergeant who had been so determined to kill me, the four guards of his detachment\u2014none of them was moving. My gaze went then to the gate in the hedgerow, and I could not believe that no one had come to see what the commotion was about. There must have been at least two hundred men in that encampment.\n\nEwan removed his hooked arm from my armpit and helped me to my feet. I swayed there for a moment, collecting myself, then nodded towards Will, who was still being carried by the man Shoomy and three others. \"How is he? I couldn't tell.\"\n\n\"No more could I,\" Ewan growled, \"but he's breathing. Now come, we have to get away from here.\"\n\nI fell in beside him, moving quickly, aware that we were less than thirty paces from the edge of the trees that would screen us from the camp gates, but knowing, too, that the pursuit that would follow was bound to be both grim and determined. We had killed English soldiers, and, irrespective of the provocation that had caused it, their companions would want our heads hoisted on poles, to show the world that English lives could not be taken lightly. We would not easily escape punishment for today's escapade, and that thought made me lengthen my stride.\n\nThe group of freed prisoners, still in their iron collars, scurried to keep up with us.\n\n\"What about them?\" I asked Ewan.\n\nHe glanced over to see who I was talking about, then shrugged. \"What about them? They're alive and they're free again. Outlawed, for a fact, but free.\"\n\n\"But what will happen to them?\"\n\nWe had reached the edge of the trees, and Ewan turned, waving to the stragglers to hurry and get themselves out of sight. As soon as the last man had passed us, he braced his foot and pulled down the top of his bow stave, bending it until he could remove the bowstring. \"Can't use a bow in the deep woods,\" he murmured. \"What will happen to them? They'll continue as before, living in a Scotland that might soon be ruled by England.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"that will never happen. We have our own King now. Where's your bow case?\"\n\n\"That way, about a hundred paces in.\" He pointed the way and I followed him. \"Once we'd seen where we had to go, we went back in and left everything there.\"\n\nWe emerged into a small clearing, where Ewan's companions were snatching up their bow cases and the other weapons they had left. Knives or swords were distributed to some of the Scots prisoners. Everyone knew we had no time to waste if we were to get away safely, for the English would be hard on our heels, and their outriders would all be mounted.\n\nWe split up, with orders to reassemble in the woods behind Sir Malcolm's house as soon as could be after dark that night. I ran with Ewan's group, now numbering seven, and as we slipped away from the oak clearing, we heard the first distant shouts of discovery coming from Bek's camp."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "We began to feel increasingly concerned about Will. We were about an hour along the road from Bek's encampment, and we had fully expected him to wake up cursing at us for our rough handling of him, but still he had not regained consciousness. Shoomy insisted that we set him down and examine him for fatal wounds that we might not have noticed in our rush to get him away, but we could see nothing that looked life-threatening. He had been badly beaten, evidently with clubs or quarterstaves, and there were other abrasions on his body where he had been kicked and trampled. He was still bleeding sluggishly in places, too, from a scalp wound and a deep puncture that looked like a stab wound in one thigh, but we found nothing to explain why he should remain unconscious for so long.\n\nWe had stopped right outside a farmyard, and when Shoomy declared that we could carry Will no farther, for fear of injuring him more gravely than he already was, the yard was the first place we looked for some other means of transporting him. A dog began barking as soon as we approached the gate, and moments later the farmer himself came out to investigate. He took one look at us in his gateway and turned to run, but one of Shoomy's men was already leaping to restrain him, and before he could shout to warn anyone else, the hapless man found himself with his back against a wall, a hand over his mouth, and a knife point at his throat.\n\nShoomy stepped up beside his man and pulled the knife wielder's arm down to his side. \"You are in no danger from us, no matter what you think,\" he said quietly to the farmer. \"We are Scots and freemen, but we had a tulzie wi' some English soldiery a few miles back along the road. They'll be following us, but they'll no' bother you, I think, so be it we're long gone by the time they get here. But we ha'e an injured man wi' us and we need some way of carryin' him. If ye can help us, we'll pay ye for your time and trouble and be on our way quickly. What say you?\"\n\nThe farmer did not hesitate. \"What d'ye need?\"\n\n\"Something wi' wheels, but light, if you ha'e such a thing.\"\n\n\"Aye. I've a light cart I use for carrying poles. A handcart. There's room for a man to lie down on it. You can pull it atween ye. It's ower there.\" He pointed to a high-wheeled handcart leaning against the side of a shed, and a short time later he stood clutching a silver shilling\u2014thrice the value of a new cart\u2014as we strode away, having piled the cart with straw to make a bed for our passenger.\n\nEwan and I parted from Shoomy and his companions then, leaving them to go directly to the Wallace house in Elderslie while we took the long way round, passing through Paisley town to collect Mirren. That little task had been difficult for a few moments, because Mirren had come frowning to us after a nun summoned her, and as she grappled with the unexpectedness of seeing us there and then looked for Will, an entire range of expressions flickered over her face.\n\n\"Where is he? What happened?\"\n\nEwan cleared his throat. \"They took him \u2026 beat him \u2026 the English. He went into Bek's camp alone. You know what he's like. But we managed to get him away from them and he's fine, I think. Shoomy's ta'en him to Elderslie. We came to get you.\"\n\n\"You think? Am I supposed to take comfort from that? You think my man is fine? I don't care what you think, Ewan Scrymgeour. In God's name, tell me what you know. Is he wounded?\"\n\n\"No, Mirren. Hurt, aye, but no' wounded. He was badly beaten\u2014God alone knows how many men were involved in that, but there must have been a wheen o' them\u2014and we knew nothing of it until they brought him out of their camp and threw him in the roadway.\"\n\nShe turned her wide eyes on me, and in spite of having done nothing wrong, I felt my face flush with shame.\n\n\"And you,\" she said. \"You were there with him, were you no'? Did you just stand there and watch?\"\n\nI shook my head, but before I could speak she continued, \"You were supposed to protect him, Jamie Wallace\u2014to stand beside him with your pens and ink and bear witness for him, protecting him just by being there. That was why he took you instead of any of the others.\"\n\nI was still shaking my head, though slowly now. \"No,\" I heard myself say. \"They forced me to leave. They kept me outside the camp gates while Will met with the Bishop.\"\n\nShe shook her head in a tiny gesture of disgust and looked back at Ewan, who started to tell her about how I had attacked the archers, but she cut him off. \"Where is he now? Elderslie, you say?\"\n\n\"Aye, he'll be there by now,\" Ewan said. \"I told everyone to meet at his old hut in the forest behind the house as soon as it was dark enough for them to get there without being seen. Alan and Shoomy and John know where it is. They'll show the others.\"\n\n\"What others?\" But before he could explain she was turning away. \"We should hurry, then,\" she said. \"It's near dark already. I'll have to see to Mairidh before I go. She'll fret if she doesna know where I am. You wait here. I won't be long.\"\n\nAs she began to move away, Ewan spoke again. \"How \u2026 how are your cousins?\" He sounded more ill at ease than I had ever heard him, but at least he had been able to voice the question that had been stuck in my throat.\n\nMirren looked back at him, and her shoulders slumped noticeably. \"My cousins? They are mostly dead, I fear.\" Her voice was low, her tone more sad than mourning. \"Shelagh died this afternoon, and Morag has not opened her eyes since she was found this morning. Only Mairidh shows any awareness of who or where she is, and she is very \u2026 weak.\" She straightened her shoulders then. \"She'll be fine among the sisters here until I come back. But I need to see to Will. Wait you here, then. I'll no' be long.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "Mirren stood looking down at Will's motionless form on the cot, her mouth compressed into a lipless line as her eyes flitted around the tiny, crowded room. \"Just like Morag,\" she said, almost to herself, and then raised her eyes to where Shoomy stood at the foot of the cot. \"When did he last say anything?\"\n\nShoomy shook his head wordlessly, and a small frown ticked between Mirren's brows. \"Moved, then\u2014when did he last move?\" \"He hasna moved, not since they brought him out o' that damned camp.\"\n\nMirren drew in her breath with a hiss and glanced towards the brazier on the stone slab in the corner of the hut. \"Right, I want that fire built up and a pan of water on it to heat. And I'll want some clean rags to wash him with.\" She looked around at the crowd that hemmed her in. \"How many of you are there, in God's name?\"\n\nAlan Crawford answered her. \"There's a score of us, milady. Twenty.\" \"Twenty! And have you no other place to go? Am I to have all of you in here all night?\"\n\n\"No, Mirren, you're not,\" Ewan said, and everyone turned to look at him. \"Will and I have four big leather tents in the back storeroom. They'll hold six men apiece, so there'll be room for everyone to sleep dry, and we'll be out of your hair once we've learned how to put them up in the dark. Forbye, there's plenty o' firewood in the stack out there, and a good, deep fire pit that canna be seen frae a distance, so some of you\u2014you, Shoomy, and a couple o' others\u2014can start building us a fire to cook on.\" He clapped his hands together loudly. \"Right then, all o' ye, outside and gi'e Mistress Wallace room to think. Andrew and John, you come wi' me. You too, Alan, and we'll find those tents.\"\n\nAs the crowd began to file out of the hut, Ewan raised his hand to catch my eye. \"Jamie,\" he said. \"It might be a good idea for you to go up to the big house. Tell your auntie that we're here and explain what's going on, just in case she hears about it otherwise and grows afeared. I don't think there's much chance of Bek's people looking for us this far away, but we'd be fools to take risks when there's no need, so we'd better post some guards out by the road south. Tell your auntie we'll be away in the morning by first light, lest we endanger her.\"\n\n\"Aunt Margaret won't care about the danger,\" I said, and he looked me straight in the eye.\n\n\"Mayhap not. But would she thank us for being left homeless because we were careless? Bek would burn her place about her ears if he as much as suspected we might be here.\"\n\nAbashed, but knowing he was right, I went outside and called Big Andrew to me, telling him to select six men, including the four who had armed themselves, from among our recent prisoners. I explained to Andrew what was needed and left it to him to set out his guards while I sought out my aunt.\n\nWhen I returned to the hut about an hour later, I brought several of Lady Margaret's people with me, all of them bearing food and drink: cold fowl and mutton and half a haunch of venison, along with hard-boiled duck eggs, vegetables pickled in sour wine, a basket of recently picked pears, wedges of hard, sharp cheese, and heavy loaves of bread baked that same day. The men had been busy, and now there were four large leather tents erected in the clearing around the hut, and a leaping fire danced in the deep fire pit. Everyone was in good spirits, and I quickly learned the reason for that: Will was awake and alert and apparently none the worse for his long sleep, and Mirren was smiling again.\n\nMore thankful for both of those pieces of information than I would have believed possible a few hours earlier, I made my way directly to the hut and found Will propped up in his couch with his back against the wall, cradling Mirren in his arms. I stopped in surprise and, I admit, confusion, never having seen the two of them in anything resembling family intimacy, and I stood there in the doorway hovering on the point of leaving. Will laughed at my obvious dismay and called me inside to join them, where all I could think to do, after embracing him, was ask if he was hungry. Fortunately he was, and Mirren sprang up, and the business of feeding him quickly took care of my embarrassment.\n\nWhen his hunger was satisfied, Will decided he wanted to join the crew around the fire pit, and he leaned on me as he hobbled painfully, bent forward, to the fire. Miraculously, I thought, his ribs appeared to be undamaged, for he could breathe deeply without a deal of pain, but his lip was split at one corner, both his eyes were blackened, and his left ear was swollen grotesquely, the result, he told me, of a kick that might have taken off his head had it landed properly. He lowered himself carefully to sit on one of the logs that ringed the fire pit.\n\nAlmost the first thing he did was ask to meet the former prisoners, and he greeted each one in person and asked him how he had come to be arrested by the English. All were equally confused at first about why they had been singled out for arrest and abduction, but it soon became evident, as one tale followed another, that there was a depressing sameness to their plaints. Each had come to understand that he had given offence to someone\u2014not necessarily an Englishman and sometimes not even identified\u2014or he had allegedly committed some transgression, usually unspecified, and had consequently been denounced for one petty crime or another, then arrested and removed from his home. Families had been dispossessed and homes confiscated.\n\nWhen the last of them had finished his story, Will stood up carefully and spoke to all of them, pointing out that they would now be legally proscribed. They were twice guilty of outlawry, first by the fact of their arrest and removal from their dwelling places, and then by association with the fight and escape that had taken place that morning. None of them could return to their homes now, he told them, although he was quick to point out that they could not have gone home anyway once taken into custody by the English. In the eyes of the English they were now felons, no different from himself and his associates, and the fact that they had escaped from custody during, or as the result of, the murder of at least a dozen Englishmen compounded the seriousness of their plight.\n\nWatching his listeners, I could see more than a few unhappy faces. Will was watching them too, though, and now he asked if any of them wished to speak. One fellow, who had been scowling ferociously since soon after Will began talking, thrust his hand in the air.\n\n\"Aye,\" he said, and there was no mistaking the truculence in his voice. \"I want to say somethin'.\" He looked around him, and I thought that he seemed slightly surprised at his own temerity, as though afraid of having said too much already.\n\n\"Say away, then,\" Will said, smiling slowly at him before lowering himself back down on the log. \"What's troubling you?\"\n\n\"Troublin' me? You mean besides your telling me I'll never see my wife and bairns again?\" He fixed his wide eyes on Will's. \"Aye, well, there is one thing troublin' me \u2026 It's you, Maister Wallace. You're troublin' me. You're troublin' the shite out o' me.\"\n\nHe looked quickly around at the men flanking him and gulped a quick breath before turning back to Will again. \"Who are you, maister? What makes you so special, and why should we pay you any heed? We're no' outlaws\u2014at least we werena before now\u2014but I think you're different frae us. You seem to be awfu' well set up here in the woods \u2026 for an honest man, that is.\"\n\nHe cast another nervous glance around the silent assembly. I could see the fear in his eyes, but he had plainly decided to speak out, even if he should die for it.\n\n\"I mean, I ken ye cut us free this mornin' and gave us the chance to run, and I ken ye've asked nothin' o' us since, and ye've fed us here and gi'en us tents for to sleep under, but what do ye want frae us? What ha'e we got that you need? What is it\u2014?\" He stopped abruptly and threw up his hands. \"There. That's enough,\" he mumbled. \"That's what I wanted to say. Ye asked us, and I tell't ye.\"\n\nWill sat slightly hunched, his face unreadable as he looked at the speaker. \"You're right,\" he said at last. \"Right in your questions and right in your concerns, so let me try to answer each of them, for all of you.\" He looked around the fire pit at the faces staring back at him. \"Because I think ye might all ha'e been thinking the same thoughts as our friend here \u2026 What was your name again? Rab, was it no'?\"\n\n\"Aye, Rab Coulter.\"\n\n\"That was it. I'll no' forget it again. Well, Rab Coulter, as for who I am, I am plain William Wallace, from right here in Elderslie. I'm a forester, and I used to work these very woods, which were owned by my uncle Sir Malcolm Wallace. The hut there, and this clearing, were where I worked most of the time, as head forester. That's why I'm so familiar wi' them\u2014so well set up, as you said. Ewan Scrymgeour, sitting over there, used to work with me, but we moved on a few years back. I got married and took Mirren here, my wife, to live down near Jedburgh, and then my uncle died last year. This was to have been the first time I brought my wife home, but when we reached Paisley yesterday morning, we discovered that her aunt and her cousins who lived there had been attacked and ravaged earlier that day, on their way to Mass, by a passing pack of soldiers. No local men would have dared attempt such a thing, and we found evidence\u2014tracks of hobnailed boots\u2014to back our claim that it was the English, and so I journeyed to meet with Bishop Bek of Durham, who leads the force you were being taken to join this morning.\"\n\n\"Bek. I ken that name. Is he no' the English King's lieutenant in Scotland?\"\n\nWill nodded to the man who had spoken. \"Aye, that's his title. And he knows mine. Well, he knows my name. I ha'e nae title. But I met wi' the Bishop-lieutenant in his camp this morning to explain to him what had happened in Paisley and ask for his aid in dealin' wi' the crimes that had occurred, and I named mysel' to him openly, as nephew to Sir Malcolm Wallace o' Elderslie.\" He grimaced. \"I'm beginnin' to think that might no' ha'e been the cleverest thing I ever did.\"\n\nHe waited for the outbreak of grim laughter to die down, then continued. \"It's obvious to me now he didna like what I was sayin', because minutes after I left him I was jumped by some of his bully boys. They did a fine job o' stampin' on me, as ye can see. I dinna remember much about it, but when they had finished they threw me out into the roadway in front o' their camp. I ha'e no idea what they planned after that, but my cousin Jamie here swears that they would ha'e killed both him and me had the rest o' my friends here decided to pay no heed to what I'd told them and followed me anyway. The rest you ken\u2014you were there and saw it for yourselves. But I didna cut you free and I didna bring you here. Nor did I feed you. I was unconscious the whole time that was going on. The decision to free you was made by Ewan, and you are free\u2014free to join us, to stay here, or to go as you please. But \u2026\"\n\nHe drew a long, deep breath as he looked deliberately around the gathering, meeting each man's eye. I saw, with a shock of recognition, that he was consciously moulding these people to his will for his own purposes, and I realized for the first time that my cousin, during his two-year absence from my life, had become an adept leader of men. I felt my skin ripple with a stirring of gooseflesh and I found myself looking at this man, whom I had thought I knew well, in an entirely different way.\n\n\"But \u2026,\" he said again. \"I said you willna be able to return to your homes, but I didna say you would never see your families again. I canna tell you that. How could I? That all depends on you\u2014on who you are, each and every man o' you. You can go home tomorrow, those o' ye who want to run the risk, and find your wives and bairns and tak' them wi' you when you leave, 'gin they'll go wi' ye. But then ye'll be faced wi' the matter o' where to take them. For ye are all outlaws now, like it or no'. It's the truth, and it has already changed your whole life, frae the minute they marched you away. So where will ye go? Now that you canna show your face where folk might recognize it? And how will ye keep yourselves alive, if ye find a place that's safe enough to stay in?\"\n\nHe paused again, and they hung on his words, waiting for him to tell them what they needed to hear.\n\n\"Look at yourselves,\" he told them. \"Go on an' tak' a good look. Fourteen o' you were headed for jail this morning, maybe for worse. They would ha'e tortured you, to get you to confess to whatever they needed from you. I ha'e nae doubt o' that. Fourteen of you, and only two of you had ever seen each other before. You were prisoners, wearing iron collars and being led like sheep to whatever they intended to do wi' you. But now ye're free men again, and we'll ha'e those collars off you before mornin'.\"\n\nThere was a chorus of muttering at that, and when it had died down he waved a hand towards his own men, grouped together on one side of the fire.\n\n\"The rest of us here number nine: myself, my dear wife, and my close friends. Come daylight tomorrow, we will be going home to Selkirk Forest.\" He glanced back at Rab Coulter. \"Aye, Selkirk Forest.\"\n\nHis eyes moved again, and now he was smiling, though the bruises on his face masked most of his expression. \"Dear God, you're probably thinkin', but yon's a big place, yon forest\u2014it covers half the country, and it's wild. Well, it is, I'll grant ye. It is vast, and it is wild. But there are places in there that are no' wild at a', places so beautiful they'd make you cry wi' wonder, and the very hugeness o' the place makes people feared to go into it, for fear o' gettin' lost. And that suits us. Selkirk Forest is our home, teemin' wi' game and fowl, and every burn and river full o' fish. No one need ever starve in there. The place is one great larder.\"\n\nThere was silence again until someone asked, \"Are ye sayin' we could go with ye, into the forest?\"\n\n\"I don't see why not. There's plenty o' room.\"\n\n\"But what about our families, our wives and bairns?\"\n\n\"What about them? Have you not been listening to me? Bring them wi' you.\"\n\n\"But will it be safe?\" This was a different voice, from one of the men at the back, and it had a ring of panic to it.\n\n\"Will it be safe? I canna tell you that. But I can say wi' certainty it will be at least as safe as it was where you were living before you were arrested, and it could be a lot less dangerous. At least ye'd have no trouble wi' the English there, in the depths o' the greenwood. It's no' friendly country for armies in there.\" He drew a deep breath and began again, this time in a louder voice, speaking slowly and clearly.\n\n\"Look, I don't know what to tell ye, other than that things are changing here every day. Ye must have seen it for yourselves, and ye must know that if it werena so, none o' the things ye've been through in the last wheen o' days would ha'e happened. None o' ye would be outlawed, and ye'd all be livin' under your own roofs. Things are awfu' different here in Scotland since King Alexander died. When he was King, we lived well. We were at peace and folk kenned who they were and what the law demanded o' them. But that's a' different now. We ha'e changed in the space o' a few years frae a solid realm into a contested kingdom. The Bruces and the Balliols, the Comyns and the other magnates\u2014the Buchans and the Stewarts and a' the rest o' them who'd like to wear the crown\u2014ha'e set our country on its arse wi' their bickerin' and squabblin', and it's common folk like us who aey bear the brunt o' such foolery\u2014except that this time it's no' foolery. Now they've brought in the English, and we're payin' the costs o' that, too. We've aey had to live wi' the Scots nobility and their pride and stupidity, but now we have the English to contend wi', too, lordin' it over us all, and these English are movin' a' the time, marchin' armies here and yonder and robbin' ordinary folk blind to keep their people and their horses fed.\n\n\"Well, some o' us have had enough o' it. We ha'e a new King now, we're told, King John. Mayhap he'll be a fine, strong King like Alexander, may God rest his soul, and we'll be happy if that's so. But we winna ken the truth o' that for years to come. And in the meantime there are folk out there, folk who should know, who'll tell ye Edward o' England has plans o' his own for Scotland, and the only strong King he'll countenance in this realm is himsel'.\" He stopped again, and no one sought to interrupt him.\n\n\"This much I believe,\" he continued. \"Nothing in this land is going to get better soon, from the viewpoint o' folk like us. And that is why we ha'e chosen to live in the forest. We've lived there now for nigh on two years, and there were folk there when we arrived. We're a community there in the woods\u2014there are several hundreds of us. We have our laws and rules, and they are much like the laws and rules we knew before, when we were ordinary folk, living within the law. And so I will say this to you: go back to your homes and find your families, then make your way, if you so wish, to the forest near Jedburgh. Ask there for William Wallace, o' anyone ye meet, and ye'll be directed to where we are. After that, ye'll be free to join us completely if you so wish. But ye'll have to live by our laws and rules, and if ye break those, you'll be banished back into the outside world.\" His mouth quirked in a smile. \"But they're simple rules, and easy to keep.\n\n\"And now I'm going to go and sleep, and hope I don't stiffen too much in the night. We'll need to be away before dawn, so don't stay up too late around the fires just because you can. Those of you wi' collars should talk to Shoomy over there. He's our smith and will clip off your bindings.\"\n\nShoomy was ready to go to work immediately, and we knew the job of striking off the collars would not take long. They were temporary fetters, fastened with knotted wire, and even as Will and I were making our way back to his hut, Will with an arm around Mirren for support, I heard the loud snip as the first man was cut free.\n\nWhen we reached the front of the hut, I bade Will and Mirren a good night, but as I turned to leave, Will stopped me, speaking in Latin.\n\n\"Ewan tells me you still remember how to swing a quarterstaff \u2026\" I made no response, and he continued, \"What time will you leave tomorrow?\"\n\nI looked at him in surprise. \"When you do. Why would you even ask?\"\n\n\"Because we'll be leaving practically in the middle of the night. I see no need for you to lose that much sleep. You can lie in.\"\n\n\"How can I lie in? I'm coming with you.\"\n\nHe eyed me strangely. \"What gave you that idea?\"\n\n\"It came to me when I remembered how to swing a quarterstaff. They'll be looking for me now, along with you.\"\n\n\"Ah! I see. And who would they be looking for? Did you tell them who you are?\"\n\n\"No, but\u2014\"\n\n\"Who, then, might they think you are?\"\n\nI found myself blustering, somehow resenting what I took to be the implications of the question. \"They saw me. They know my face. They know I was with you when you arrived.\"\n\n\"Who saw you? The men who saw you are all dead, from what I've heard.\"\n\n\"Except the Bishop himself.\"\n\nHe cocked his head. \"And does he know your real name? Does he even know where to begin looking for you? You told him you were from Jedburgh. Jamie, all the Bishop saw when he rode by us was a grey-frocked cleric, a mendicant monk carrying the tools of a common scribe. He paid no more attention to you than he would to any other beggar in his path.\"\n\n\"He looked at you close enough.\"\n\n\"Ah. You saw that, did you? Good. And yes, he did. Did he look at you the same way?\"\n\n\"No. He barely glanced at me that time, but he looked closely enough when we were face to face and he thought I had named him responsible for the men we were after. And that was before you called me Father James.\"\n\n\"Aye, but you are not Father James, are you? You're not even Brother James. You are Jamie Wallace, a mere student. And so at worst he will set his people to looking for a minor priest from Jedburgh. He will not instruct them to visit Paisley Abbey and interrogate the seminarians. I'm the one he wants, Jamie, the one he knows. I'm the marked man. He'll be at Uncle Malcolm's house looking for me at sunrise, so you stay well away from there and make your way back to Paisley alone. Do you understand what I am saying, Jamie? There is no safer place for you than at the Abbey, and it is time for you to take those vows and be ordained.\"\n\n\"But I sinned, Will. I sinned grievously. I broke a man's head.\"\n\n\"Aye, I've heard. And he would have broken yours had you not struck first. You regret it, I can see that. You are full of remorse, and that's good. So take your remorse and confess it to Father Peter when you get back to Paisley. Tell him everything that happened. He'll shrive you pure as the driven snow. Come here.\"\n\nHe pulled me into his embrace\u2014though cautiously, with a mind to his injuries\u2014and then he reached out again to Mirren, drawing her close to both of us.\n\n\"Wife,\" he said quietly, lapsing back into Scots with his forehead touching both of ours, \"you havena yet known the joys of communing wi' my cousin Jamie here, but ye ha'e heard me talk of him many times. This is a man I love as I do myself, and nigh as much as I do you\u2014though, thanks be to God, for far different reasons.\" He smothered a laugh with a grunt as his wife twisted in his arm and rapped him sharply in the ribs, but she was smiling as she did so, and he pulled her close again. \"You two are my closest kin,\" he said. \"My nearest and dearest, and so I will need you to be close wi' each other, supporting one another when I canna be here. I love you both.\" He hugged us close again, then straightened up and released me.\n\n\"Now, Cuz, get ye to your bed, and we'll try no' to wake ye when we leave. And get those vows taken this time. I might need a priest in the forest one o' these days.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Will was right about Father Peter's reaction to my confession. I went to him the day I arrived back at the Abbey and I told him everything I could recall about the events surrounding Will's meeting with Bek and the beating he had sustained afterwards. He listened in grim-faced silence, nodding only occasionally as I said something or other that appeared to fit with his own perceptions, and when I had finished he went straight into the rite of absolution without even delivering the normal warning against laxity. The penance he assessed me was a very light one, too, considering what I had believed to be the gravity of my sin, and when I voiced my surprise at it he waved his hand impatiently, giving thanks to God instead that I had not forgotten my boyhood lessons with the quarterstaff. Then, when he asked me if I had anything else that concerned me, I told him that I expected the English to come looking for me.\n\nHe laughed at that, much as Will had the previous night. \"They would never dream of searching for you within the Abbey precincts,\" he said, \"but while you are awaiting their arrival\u2014for I know you will, no matter what I tell you\u2014you should apply yourself to your studies and try hard to forget about the entire incident. Wait and work and watch,\" he said. \"But work harder than anything else, because work will make the time fly quickly.\"\n\nAnd so I worked hard, and the ensuing week passed quietly, albeit with agonizing slowness, without any English searchers coming to hunt me. The next week passed the same way, and by the end of the third week I found myself forgetting to listen for their clattering arrival. Then Christmas came and went without disruption. Because of King John's royal activities in the aftermath of his coronation, and King Edward of England's less than enthusiastic reactions to them, the ordination ceremony that would see me elevated to the priesthood was postponed yet again, this time until Eastertide of the new year.\n\nOn the last day of the year, Edward's ever-tenuous patience snapped. He repudiated all the promises he had made to the Scots Crown and realm during the interregnum. Two days after that, King John in return pronounced the recent Treaty of Birgham null and void and declared that all promises made to England during the same period, involving the marriage of the Maid of Norway to Edward's son, Prince Edward of Caernarvon, were no longer binding.\n\nTo the Scots folk in general, none of that meant anything that they could understand, but they understood very clearly that the magnates\u2014the Norman-Scots nobility and the ancient Celtic earl-doms\u2014were fighting among themselves yet again and that the outcome would do nothing for the welfare of ordinary folk.\n\nThen, in early February, in the ancient town of Scone, King John held his first parliament as monarch of the realm, and it went sufficiently well for him to demand, a fortnight later, that four of his most powerful liegemen, two from north and two from south of the River Forth, should pay formal, public homage to him at the close of Easter, swearing allegiance to his Crown and cause. The two northerners were Donald MacAngus, a Celtic chieftain from the western Highlands, and John, the Earl of Caithness, in the far north. Both were powerful men in their own territories, but their names were practically unknown south of the Forth. The names of the two southerners, on the other hand, rang resonantly with local significance to us. They were young Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, who had not yet turned nineteen, and Sir William Douglas, an arrogant autocrat who ruled his territories with an iron hand and was known to brook no interference from anyone. Douglas was notoriously his own man, and all who knew of Balliol's summons were waiting to see how he would respond to the demands of the new monarch.\n\nI must have been one of very few who cared nothing for how Douglas and Balliol regarded each other, for I had matters of my own to attend to that late winter and early spring. I was almost entirely lost in preparing for my elevation to the priesthood, for I was to be ordained at Easter. Bishop Wishart, who would officiate at the ceremonies, had assured me in person that my ordination would take place at last, even if politics were to take precedence again and he were forced to arrange the matter privately at an ordinary Mass, without pomp or panoply.\n\nMy aunt Margaret fell sick early in February of that year, too, and we knew from the outset that there was little chance she would recover. It was clear to all of us that she welcomed the idea of death; she had simply lost the will to live and she looked forward to being reunited in Heaven with her beloved husband. Sir Malcolm's death almost two years earlier had taken a heavy toll upon her, and not even her youngest daughter's wedding or the prospect of new grandchildren could sway her from her need to be with him again.\n\nThe other matter that drew at least some of my attention over that year-end period between 1292 and 1293, of course, was the welfare of my cousin and his wife, now living in the wilds of Selkirk Forest. I seldom heard from them, although I did receive a message at least once each month from some stranger passing through Paisley, and from these I deduced that all was well with the Wallaces in the fastness of the greenwood; they appeared to be content with the life they were leading there, and I gathered that they lacked for little. From time to time memories of Will\u2014his smile, a gesture, a remembered opinion\u2014would pop into my mind, and I would find myself smiling at the recollection of one shared occasion or another. What I remembered most often, however, was one of the last things he had said to me, when he told me to finish studying and become a priest, because he might one day need one in his forest haunts. I would think of that and smile too, never for an instant believing that it might be realized."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "There came a day when I found myself lying prostrate at the foot of the altar steps in the Abbey church, dressed all in white and listening to Bishop Wishart asking the attending brotherhood if any one of them knew of any good and proper reason why I should not be raised to the priesthood. Face down as I was on the thick bed of fresh rushes strewn in front of the altar, I could not look up, for the ritual in which we were engaged demanded immobility of me, but even had it not, I would not have dared to raise my head, for one of the men gazing down at me from above was Antony Bek, Bishop of Durham, who had last set eyes on me at his camp, the morning he had met with Will. I felt sure he must recognize me eventually, and so I kept my face down, waiting for his cry of condemnation.\n\nThe silence around me stretched and seemed to shiver, but the anticipated challenge did not come, and eventually, incredulously, I heard Bishop Wishart begin to intone the Litany of the Saints. The massed voices of the congregants broke over me in the first responses, and I knew that God had sheltered me. I allowed myself to breathe again and sagged with relief.\n\nI had spent most of the previous day in isolation, preparing for the rites I was now undergoing, and had then passed the entire night in prayer, surrounded by my closest brethren as they stood vigil with me. Bek had arrived sometime in the evening, making an unexpected, diplomatic visit to the Abbey on his way to St. Andrews. He had not expected Wishart of Glasgow to be in residence, but when he discovered the veteran Bishop's presence, and the reason for it, he was most affable, I learned afterwards, and insisted upon attending the ordination ceremonies and assisting His Grace of Glasgow with the ritual. The two prelates had never liked each other from first meeting, when Bek of Durham first set foot in Scotland; their mutual antagonism was based solidly upon their opposed priorities, for each of them was dedicated solely to the welfare and security of his own realm.\n\nThe litany ended and Bishop Wishart raised me to my feet with his own hands, then blessed me and laid his hands on my head, calling upon the Holy Spirit to imbue me with the grace to conduct my duties thenceforth with dignitas and rectitude.\n\nBishop Bek stepped forward in his turn to bless me by laying his hands upon my head, and I stood frozen in wide-eyed terror, my heart almost bursting with fear. But he barely glanced at me, his eyes raised to the high altar as he laid his hands on my newly tonsured scalp, and I realized, incredulously, that I was safe and that he would never dream of associating the white-robed, purified novice in front of him with the filthy, grey-clad cleric he had cast out of his camp the day he had thrashed the upstart Scot who had so offended him. I stood slightly dazed and alone after that, in front of God's high altar, while Bishop Wishart anointed my head and hands with holy oils, then dressed me in the vestments of priesthood, the blessed stole and the heavy, cloak-like chasuble. I took the chalice from him for the first time, feeling the weight of the wine and water it contained as I gazed at the flat, square paten of stiffened cloth that covered it and held the bread of the host. Then, as the sounds of the offertory bells died away, Bishop Wishart seated himself in his chair in front of the altar, and I stepped forward, holding a lighted candle, my offering, as a newly ordained priest, of light and purity to him. He took it from my hands and rose again, and together we proceeded with the Mass until, in unison with him, I uttered the sacred words of consecration for the first time and transformed the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ.\n\nThereafter, with the bright tang of the sacred Blood still tingling beneath my tongue, I bowed my head while the Bishop laid hands on me yet again and uttered the words that endowed me with the power to forgive men's sins and impose penance upon them: \"Receive ye the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them; and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained.\"\n\nAfter waiting and studying for so long, I was now, with those words, a consecrated priest, and my heart swelled in my chest with joy and with love for my fellow men as Bishop Wishart finally turned me to face and be greeted and welcomed by the fellowship of the assembled congregation. And there, among the applauding crowd, the first two faces I saw clearly belonged to Will Wallace and Ewan Scrymgeour.\n\nThe shock hit me in the chest like a hammer blow, and I turned instinctively to look at Bek, fearing that he, too, must have seen Will, but he was still smiling his frosty, condescending little smile, politely tapping the fingers of one hand into the cupped palm of the other and looking nowhere near the massed monkish ranks in the pews.\n\nAnd only then did I realize that there was even less reason for Bek to recognize my friend in this setting than there was for him to recognize me. He had met Will but once\u2014the clean-shaven, fresh-faced Will that I myself had barely recognized at that time, now that I thought back to it. The Will Wallace in the pews today was another man altogether, heavily bearded and darkly tanned\u2014his face, I suspected, artificially stained with walnut juice for the express purpose of altering his appearance\u2014and he was dressed as a resident Abbey monk, wearing a full habit and standing comfortably in the front ranks of the brotherhood, among Brother Duncan and his librarians. He saw me looking and grinned at me, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of his face. Knowing him safe then, and feeling a surge of admiration at his daring, I grinned back at him and moved my eyes to include Ewan in my welcome. As he and I locked eyes, he raised his right thumb to me in a gesture of support I had known well as a boy but had not seen since.\n\nMore than half an hour of blessings, good wishes, and salutations passed before I could finally embrace my two friends, and when I did I could barely see them for the sudden tears that blinded me.\n\n\"Are you mad?\" I asked Will, the emotion making my voice sound husky. \"You take your lives in your hands coming here. Especially with Bek present. What if he had recognized you?\"\n\nMy cousin shrugged. \"Then it would have been a different kind of morning. Besides, he wasn't supposed to be here. You didn't invite him, did you?\"\n\n\"No, Cuz, I did not. But the fact that he came here anyway is an example of how easily our finest plans may come undone. I am glad to see both of you here today, but you took an awful risk.\"\n\nThat earned me another shrug of those massive shoulders. \"I took an oath to see you priested. D'you not recall?\"\n\n\"Aye, I do. But that was before you were outlawed.\"\n\n\"An oath's an oath, even to an outlaw.\"\n\n\"True, but I believe God would have held you guilty of no sin had you been prudent and stayed safely away.\"\n\nEwan spoke up. \"Remember who you're talkin' to, Jamie. When did you ever know this one to be prudent, or to do the sensible thing?\"\n\nI kept my face straight and nodded seriously. \"True enough,\" I said. \"I'm always hoping he will change his ways, though. I suppose the most I can hope for on a day like this is that he will keep his head down.\" I turned my eyes back to Will. \"And how is your lady wife? I trust you left her in good health?\"\n\n\"I did, and she sent you her cousinly love. She is well and thriving in the freedom of the greenwood, and she told me to tell you that you will be welcome any time you wish to come and visit us. So when will that be, now that you are priested at last?\"\n\n\"I have no idea\u2014but I hope it may be soon. Master Wishart's the one controlling that, though, for now that I'm ordained he must see to it that I am kept busy learning my new tasks. For the remainder of my life, I will be learning how to be a priest. I know I'll be leaving the Abbey, and that will grieve me, but His Grace has plans for me in Glasgow. He has said he wants me to be his amanuensis, and I suspect that will keep me constantly engaged for the next few years. But now that you are here, how long will you stay?\"\n\nWill slapped his flat belly with an open palm. \"Another hour or so, no more. We will eat with you and be gone. We came to see you priested, Cuz, and now you are. There is nothing else to hold us here, and we have much to do when we return to Selkirk. So come and embrace us again, and we'll leave you to your cleric friends, by whom you are well regarded.\"\n\nI walked with them to the gates after we ate, and on the way we came within two paces of Antony Bek, who nodded to us as we passed, then returned to his discussion with the men around him.\n\n\"Learn a lesson from Bek,\" Will said to me at the gates. \"People see what they expect to see, rather than what is truly there to be seen. Be good, young Jamie, and when ye've become a seasoned priest, come and see us in the forest.\"\n\nI promised I would, and my two oldest friends strode away, and then I went back into the Abbey to begin my new life as a priest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "The remainder of that year, 1293, may have been uneventful for most of the realm of Scotland, but for me it was a hectic period, spent adapting to the practical reality of living daily as a priest. My new principal and superior, Bishop Wishart, was then the senior prelate of Scotland, and he went out of his way, from the outset of our relationship, to ensure that I became familiar with, and stood prepared to deal with, all the political developments that affected our lives, not only within the realm but even more dramatically in the closely associated circles of the Church in England as well as Scotland. It was an exhaustive field of activity, particularly in the early days, and he plunged me into it directly after my ordination, going so far as to provide me with a well-lit office cubicle so that I could study more effectively and apply myself to the tasks he set me without being interrupted.\n\nCallow, inexperienced, and newly minted as I was, I knew nonetheless that I was being accorded extraordinary treatment for a tyro, and I braced myself to raise the matter with the Bishop, to discover why he should be at such pains before I even had a chance to prove myself to him.\n\nBut it was he himself who raised the matter. Soon after I had moved to Glasgow, exchanging my home in the Abbey for the new and ornate but yet unfinished cathedral there, he told me he had seen a talent in me years earlier, an ability that had impressed him sufficiently to ensure that he would keep a close eye on me thereafter. I must have looked truly perplexed.\n\n\"I don't understand you, my lord,\" I said. \"Forgive me, but what are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Your gift for reading people,\" he said. \"It's quite amazing. I've never seen the like of it in one so young.\"\n\nI laughed aloud, at a loss for words.\n\n\"Don't laugh, Father James,\" he said testily. \"If I wished to be amusing I could find more beguiling topics with which to entertain you. You have a gift, God-sent. A talent, lodged deep within you and thrusting itself forward despite your own wishes. God has granted you a rare capacity to look at men and see through all the artifices they present to mask them from the world. You do it without even being aware of it, and you see straight to the heart of whomever you are dealing with at any time. That, Father, is a capability so rare as to be priceless to a man like me, who has to treat from day to day with people whose main concern is to conceal their own true motives.\"\n\nHe saw me begin to raise a hand in protest and swept my interjection aside before I could voice it. \"Believe me, I am no fool babbling into my wine cup. I saw this in you years ago. And once I had noticed it, I watched for it increasingly, and I never saw it fail. But even then, I did not trust my own perceptions. I enlisted the help of others, telling them what I suspected and then bidding them observe you as I had, and they all concurred.\"\n\nThis time I did stop him. \"Forgive me, my lord, but who are 'they,' these people you set to watch me?\"\n\n\"No one who would do you harm or wish any ill upon you, Father James. Your cousins, Father Peter and Brother Duncan, were glad to assist me, as were both the Abbot and Sub-abbot of Paisley, and all of them agreed that this ability of yours, whatever its source, is real and strong.\" He shrugged. \"So what would you have me do with such knowledge, holding as it does the certainty that your abilities can make my task as bishop and pastor much less arduous? I have no choice but to foster your talents, because I believe that once you have learned to direct and control them, they will be of immense value, not merely to me but to the realm itself.\"\n\nI tried to argue with him, claiming that he had misjudged me and overestimated my supposed abilities, but he was adamant. Much to my own surprise, I quickly came to love the challenges involved as he instructed me patiently on how to assess the records and reports, some written but most of them oral, of men's past deeds; to look meticulously at their backgrounds and their previous activities for indications of their beliefs and motivations; and then, in face-to-face encounters, to look beyond their outer, public facades to divine their true motivations and intent.\n\nI became something of an adept in an astonishingly short time, once I had conquered the difficulty of believing that I really had a natural acuity in such things. I soon found myself becoming increasingly aware, from day to day, of the subtle pressure being applied on all sides in normal daily commerce by the clerical community within which I lived and worked, and by the swarms of influence seekers who flocked to the cathedral as a centre of both spiritual and temporal power. More than that, though, I became acutely attuned to the predominantly malignant activities of the influence brokers who pandered to the wishes of all the others. To the Bishop alone I reported everything that came to my attention, and he reciprocated with an openness he rarely showed to others, discussing privately with me matters that he would seldom entrust to others of higher rank.\n\nThus I was able to observe at close range, from the earliest days of his reign, the inconsistency and the tragic need to please and to be liked that doomed John Balliol's kingship and brought about the events that followed his removal from the throne after less than four years.\n\nThe rot had set in as early as the spring of 1293, when William Douglas and young Robert Bruce were swearing their allegiance to him, for that was the year when the common folk everywhere in southern Scotland really began to suffer widespread injustice and indignity at the hands of the \"visiting\" soldiery, and when the constant English presence was generally accepted as a fact of life. No one had the slightest doubt that the former was caused by the latter, yet even then no one would have thought of applying the word occupying to the English forces that were everywhere in the land.\n\nNo one would have thought, that is, of saying it aloud. But the truth was that the arrogance and intransigence of the English soldiery, fostered by their commanders and allied with the indifference of the Scots nobility, gave rise that spring to widespread injustices against the Scots folk, abuses that stirred up local unrest that was put down in turn by ruthless military reprisals.\n\nMen and women\u2014cottagers and householders\u2014were dragged from their homes and hanged out of hand, with no one ever being called to account. With increasing frequency, community leaders and solid, successful farmers had their lands and holdings confiscated after they were accused of heinous crimes by blatantly unscrupulous \"witnesses.\" Such evidence was too often ludicrous, most particularly so when it was tendered\u2014and accepted\u2014in denial of verifiable testimony to the contrary offered by more reputable witnesses. In defiance of all sanity, and making a total mockery of Scotland's laws, those spurious accusations continued throughout the summer and autumn, and large accumulations of land and assets that had been held by local folk for generations were snatched up by heavily armed outsiders.\n\nIn the spring of the year that followed, petty Scots leaders began to emerge throughout southern Scotland, driven to inconsistently organized self-defence, and to aggressive resistance, out of frustration and desperation. Reports of bands of outlaws and rebels began to circulate widely. The English made no formal complaint to King John, however, since to do so would have drawn attention to what was really going on in the countryside. They chose instead to increase their troop concentrations in the troubled areas and to deal more and more harshly with the local people. King John himself heard nothing of the increasingly urgent reports of these reprisals from the people in the southern half of his kingdom, or if he did hear of them, he chose to remain deaf to the problems of his poorest subjects.\n\nOne particular band of outlaws came into prominence soon after Easter that year. It began quietly, making its presence known in its own small area by the end of April, but it seized the attention of everyone in the southern half of the country towards the middle of June. Tales of this band's activities began to be repeated along with the latest reports of atrocities against the people, and they seemed to offer hope in the face of despair: wherever the most blatant outrages of condoned robbery occurred\u2014the perpetrators called it confiscation by the military administration, but it was barefaced pillaging\u2014there occurred, too, sudden and unattributable instances of retribution.\n\nMen who had sworn false testimony against their neighbours were found dead, with their tongues cut out and reinserted backwards; men who had seized houses and property rightfully belonging to others were found hanged within the charred ruins of the buildings they had stolen; and soldiers who had taken part in these dispossessions, beating and whipping innocent men and ravishing their women, met swift justice on the trails and pathways through the forest surrounding the places where such crimes had occurred. Most often, they were shot down from ambush and left to rot where they fell, but at other times, in deeply wooded areas where bows were ineffectual and death by a blade or club was not always assured, they were taken on the march, gathered together under stout trees, and dispatched with cut throats, and any survivors were hanged directly above them, lest anyone miss the significance of what had happened.\n\nThese outlaws became known as the Greens, because at the scene of every killing, whether of a single man or a large group, a scrap of green cloth was left pinned to the chest of one of the corpses by a knife blade.\n\nBy the end of June, rumours abounded about who these Greens were and whence they came, and more than a few young men left home, all across the south, in the hopes of finding them and joining their ranks. The English, it was said, were terrified of even going out to search for the Greens; they did not know where to start looking; and they did not even know who they were looking for, because no one had ever seen the faces of the outlaws.\n\nLeadership of the Greens, it was said, appeared to be shared by a number of people\u2014although no one could attest to that. There was no doubt, though, that the frequency and the far-flung nature of the band's activities indicated that more than one leader was involved, for new reports of their exploits came daily, many of them describing events that supposedly occurred on the same day, at similar times, but many miles apart.\n\nMystery piled upon mystery, and the only thing that could be said with certainty was that none of the Greens was ever seen without a mask or hood. Their identities were unknown, and, according to people who had seen and heard them do so, they took great and savage pleasure in pointing out to their enemies, loudly, what it was that had moved them to rebel so openly. They would point to their own hooded faces while fighting and taunt the English with chants of \"Let's see you point out this face to your magistrates!\"\n\nI first heard of this behaviour in early June, from a travelling priest who stopped at Bishop Wishart's residence to deliver a pouch of correspondence to His Grace. This man, Father Malacchi, had spent some time in the depths of Selkirk Forest after he fell sick from eating something less than fresh. While recovering his health among a small community of forest dwellers, he had heard many tales of the Greens, and of how they hid their identity from everyone lest they be betrayed in return for English gold.\n\nI had taken Father Malacchi to the kitchens that evening, after he delivered his dispatches to the Bishop, and I remained with him while he ate a large and obviously welcome meal. It was after that, while we were talking idly over a jug of the cathedral kitchens' wondrously mild ale, that he mentioned the anomaly of the hooded outlaws.\n\nI knew who they were immediately, of course, and saw their faces in my mind: Will himself and Ewan standing to the fore, while at their backs ranged their five companions, Alan Crawford of Nithsdale and Robertson the archer, Long John of the Knives, Big Andrew with his crossbow, and Shoomy the Gael. I had no doubt there were others by this time, but these were the men I knew, and I had no difficulty imagining them all wearing hoods. None of them were fools, and facelessness would be a great asset in Scotland nowadays, particularly for a public thief. I found myself smiling\u2014somewhat surprisingly when what was really called for was priestly disapproval\u2014as I thought about big Ewan and how we had met, and I could immediately hear his soft, lisping voice pointing out the advantages of a concealing hood to a man as disfigured as he was, a man who had no wish to frighten children and even less wish to be identified later as having a hairless, smashed, all too memorable face.\n\nFrom that time onward, I was a leap ahead of the burgeoning lore that sprang up around the band known as the Greens. They were known to be based \"somewhere in Selkirk Forest,\" and I never ventured an opinion on that, even though I knew it to be true. The forest is enormous\u2014it covers half the country\u2014and to my mind, had Will Wallace wished his whereabouts to be common knowledge, he would have made it so. That folk were still unsure meant that he had good reason for being circumspect. What was solidly established, though, was that the Greens were better organized and more effective than any of the other groups active in Scotland's south. The band quickly gained a fearsome reputation for dealing death to any unprepared English force that came against it or attempted to pass through its territories. As for those forces that came against the Greens ready for mayhem and military vengeance, they came in vain, for the outlaws scattered into the forest ahead of them, as insubstantial as morning fog among dense brush.\n\nBy August, everyone was talking about the Greens of Selkirk Forest. The scope and range of their activities had broadened greatly by that time, too. Crimes against honest Scots folk had begun to diminish as soon as it was clearly understood that the penalties for such behaviour were swift, savage, merciless, and inescapable, and it was then that the Greens had begun venturing into military activities, setting out to prosecute acts of war against any English force that could not justify its presence in Scotland as being necessary to the requirements of the King of England. Deputies, earls, and barons held no legitimacy in such cases; their forces were judged unnecessary and therefore inimical to Scotland's good, and they were declared fair game for the bloodthirsty Scots insurgents.\n\nIt was also said of the Greens, before the end of that summer, that no Scots folk had ever been accosted by them, and that, from time to time, they passed surplus food from captured English supply trains on to families whose own food and possessions had been confiscated by the English. The proof of that came after two wellorganized attacks by the Greens on English supply trains in the Dumfries area, when small raiding parties of English soldiers moved swiftly into surrounding villages, searching buildings for anything that might have been taken in the attacks. The Greens' retribution for that came swiftly, too, and subsequent raiding parties were wiped out before they could reach their objectives.\n\nI had developed an ambivalence towards such tidings since they began to come to my attention, for they always brought my patriotism into conflict with my morality. As a priest, I knew what the Greens were doing was legally atrocious; they were defying the duly constituted authority of government, spurning and openly flouting the King's Peace. As a Scot, however, a member of the voiceless people whose lives were being trampled underfoot by those in power, I exulted in the victories of the Greens. They were defying the King's power, certainly, but the Scots King himself was doing nothing, and in fact the King whose power they were mainly defying was not their own. The Greens were resisting the illicit power of Edward Plantagenet, who had no right, divine or otherwise, to be exercising his regal powers or his military prowess within the realm of Scotland, despite the high-flown language of the treaties he cited in support of his activities. Scotland now had a King of its own. The Scots lords and magnates had given the English monarch legal licence for his behaviour during the interregnum, but that should mean nothing now. The interregnum was long since over, even though Scotland's King was being painfully slow to assert himself.\n\nLooking back now from the distance of decades, I can see that my perspective on the entire affair of the Greens was distorted, naturally and probably inevitably, by the fact that I knew, respected, and even loved their leaders. They were my friends and family, and my trust in them was such that I could not think of them as malicious criminals. No matter how much supposed evidence was laid before me for inspection, I viewed it with suspicion and sometimes outright disbelief, knowing it had been fabricated by people whose bias against my kin and my very race was beyond question.\n\nMy sole error lay in thinking that I was the only one aware of that relationship."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "\"That cousin of yours is forging quite a reputation for himself.\" It was an unexpected comment, coming as it did after a long period of silence, and my chest tightened with alarm. Of course I had no slightest indication that it heralded the single most important conversation I would ever have with my mentor, Robert Wishart, the Bishop of Glasgow and Primate of Scotland.\n\n\"My lord?\" I asked, allowing the inflection of my voice to demonstrate my puzzlement.\n\n\"I said your cousin's making a name for himself among the folk.\" He used the Latin word populi, meaning the common people. \"We should discuss it, you and I.\"\n\nIt was March 20th, 1295, and I had been working for Bishop Wishart in Glasgow for more than a year by that time, learning to cope with more and more responsibility as my duties grew increasingly complex and demanding. We were in his private study that morning, in the administrative wing of the cathedral buildings, and since before dawn we had been working our way through the mountain of correspondence awaiting his attention. Beyond the open window, a far-off thrush was singing, its enthusiasm whetted by pale March sunshine, and in the middle distance I could hear the regular, rhythmic sounds of the stonemasons and builders as they went about their daily work, adding to the Cathedral buildings. Construction had been under way now for more than forty years, and no one, not even the Bishop himself, could say when the work might be complete. The Cathedral would continue to be built until it was deemed pleasing to the Deity.\n\nI realized that I was dawdling, avoiding eye contact, and hoping to deflect whatever was in His Grace's mind. Now I set aside my pen and looked him in the eye.\n\n\"What do you wish to discuss, my lord?\"\n\n\"Will Wallace and his Greens.\" He pressed his shoulders back against the carved oaken back of his armed chair. \"It's time we spoke of it openly.\"\n\nOpenly \u2026 That was the last word I would ever have thought to apply to this matter, for Will's identity as the leader of the Greens was the sole secret I had withheld from this man. I sat still for several moments longer, then picked up an ink-stained rag and made a show of wiping my fingertips.\n\n\"Where shall we start, my lord?\"\n\n\"We will start at the beginning, Father James. You didn't think I knew, did you?\" Seeing the wide-eyed look on my face, he pressed onward. \"You didn't think I'd see it, the straightforward sense of it. That only Will Wallace could be the leader of the Greens. But think for a moment, if you will. How could I not know, knowing you? Your very silence would have told me, even had I not known all along. I have known you now for \u2026 how long, nigh on twenty years? Sixteen at least, and in all that time, the single person you have talked about, other than your fellows here and at the Abbey, has been your cousin Will, the outlawed verderer who dared to cross the English. And then along comes this group of thieves calling themselves the Greens, whose leader, an archer, is unknown, and all of a sudden you forget the name and even the existence of your cousin Will. Am I that big a fool, lad?\"\n\nI grimaced. \"I was afraid that if I said anything, my lord, you might have to act upon it.\"\n\nHe gawped at me, perplexed. \"Act upon it and do what?\"\n\n\"I know not, my lord \u2026 Report his name to the authorities?\"\n\n\"Which authorities? And had I done so, what would that have achieved? He is an outlaw already, destined to hang if taken.\n\nKnowing his name would make no difference to the Englishmen's incompetence. It would not affect their inability to catch him. But did you truly think I would divulge his identity?\"\n\nI half shrugged. \"I thought you might have seen it as your duty, my lord.\"\n\n\"My duty is to my King and his realm, to my monarch and my country.\" The statement was delivered in a tone that left me in no doubt of the old man's sincerity. \"To this point the Greens have done nothing that openly defies or attacks either one of those. Their crimes, if crimes in fact they be, have all been carried out against the English, whose presence in this land I deem an abomination.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to respond but he cut me off with a short chop of his hand. \"Abomination, I said, and I meant it. And we brought it upon ourselves. We have been dancing wi' the Devil for too long, Father James, and now I fear we'll have to pay a high price for our dalliance. We invited the Plantagenet to come here, and he came. I fear he will not leave as eagerly when we ask him to retire.\"\n\nHe rose abruptly from his chair and crossed to the open window, where he stood staring down into the courtyard below, one hand holding the window's metal edge, the other hooked by the thumb into the white rope girdle at his waist. The thrush I had heard in the distance was no longer singing.\n\n\"I blame myself,\" he said quietly, speaking into the emptiness in front of him, so that I had to listen hard to hear the words that drifted back over his shoulder. \"It came to me that this might happen, but I put the thought aside and allowed myself to be gulled by the man's reputation as the foremost knight in Christendom, the arbiter of justice and confidant of kings and popes.\" He turned to look back at me, and rested his shoulders against the wall beside the window. \"He was all of those things once, and widely honoured for it. But of late he has kept himself at home, nursing a growing hunger to increase his lands and his power.\"\n\nHe seated himself with an aging man's care for his comfort and appearance, arranging his clothes carefully before he spoke again. \"He engineered the war against the Welsh, you know.\" The hesitation that followed was barely noticeable. \"You did know that, I hope.\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Aye, but he did it consummately, with great skill. The Welsh fell to him like lambs to a rabid wolf. And now I fear he plans the same fate for Scotland.\"\n\nHearing him say that so matter-of-factly startled me out of my silence.\n\n\"But King John will never put up with that.\"\n\nHis back straightened again and he stared at me for a moment, expressionless. \"I forget, sometimes, how young you are,\" he said eventually, \"because you seldom show your inexperience. But then when you do, your youth leaps out at me. You are almost right, though. King John will attempt to prevent it. There is no doubt of that. But the damage that's already done is irreparable, and he will fail. It is already too late to counteract that. England's King is no man's fool and he has worn his crown for many years. He has also shown himself to be ten times the man John Balliol is.\"\n\nHe reached up and removed the crimson skullcap of his office, something I had never seen him do before, and then he fell silent, kneading the silken fabric between his fingers as he stared at it with narrowed eyes, and suddenly the crimson cap disappeared within his large, clenched fist.\n\n\"Balliol looks like a king, I'll grant you that. He has all that's necessary there\u2014the bearing, the appearance and the posture and the gait. On top of that, he is affable and amiable, amusing and engaging, with great charm. And he has a regal air of dignitas about him, too. But he is weak, for all that. He is too compliant, too accommodating and too much at pains to be ingratiating. He lacks the iron, the savagery a true king must own, though he use it but seldom. Our King wants people to like him, and that is a fatal flaw in any leader, be he king or bandit chief.\n\n\"Edward knew all that when he had his myrmidons choose John. He knew he could control him, bend him to his will. Bruce he could never have controlled, and I believe that fact alone barred Robert Bruce from ever being elected to the Crown. Balliol, though \u2026 Edward never had any doubt that he could control King John of Scotland, and through him he could control the realm.\"\n\nThe Bishop placed the back of his fist on the oak tabletop and slowly opened his fingers, allowing the red silken cap to open up and cover his palm. He smoothed it into shape, then replaced it on the crown of his head and turned to look me in the eye.\n\n\"The Plantagenet is ruthless and calculating, and I see clearly now that he laid his plans for us long before we even knew he had a plan. We were too concerned with keeping order among our own \u2026 we being the Bishops, Fraser of St. Andrews, myself, Dunkeld, and a few others, along with the Abbots of Dunfermline, Dunblane, Kelso, Arbroath, and Cambuskenneth, and a few of the lesser magnates. We sought to avoid the crush of civil war between the Bruces and the Balliol-Comyn alliance, and initially we thought we had succeeded. Instead, though, we delivered ourselves into the hands of the English.\"\n\nI could barely bring myself to ask the question in my mind. \"Do you truly believe things to be that bad, my lord?\"\n\nHe looked at me with eyes that seemed close to pitying. \"I do, my son. And you will, too, once you have considered all the details I will add today. You might even ask yourself how much worse it could be. We have been betrayed by those we implored to save us. Our country is now occupied by a foreign force. Occupied, Father, by an army that no one can doubt is hostile. Anyone who cannot see the truth of that is a blind fool, bemused by wishful thinking. English armies rule this land, and their leadership knows no restraint. And for reasons of politics and expediency our own so-called leaders\u2014not the Church, but the civil leadership, including our new King\u2014do nothing. They think they have too much to lose if they complain, beginning with the forfeiture of all their lands and holdings in England. They believe that would leave them impoverished. They cannot see that it would leave them free. They cannot see the value of this realm in which they live. They have no wish even to consider such a thing. They think of themselves as Englishmen and Frenchmen living in exile here in the north.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" I said quietly, unable to find a single point in his outpouring with which to disagree. \"And the damnable part of that is that they ignore their people. They do not think about the Scots folk at all, and that tells me that they themselves cannot lay claim to being Scots.\"\n\nThat brought His Grace's head up quickly. \"Do you truly believe that, Father James? Surely not.\"\n\n\"Believe that they are not truly Scots? No, for they clearly are. But that their abuse and neglect is destructive? How can I not believe that, my lord? It is all around us, everywhere I look, in the arrogance of the English sneers and the suffering of our Scots folk. Were it not so, the Greens would not exist. The Greens were born of desperation, bred out of the people's neglect, if not abuse, by the very leaders who should have been protecting them.\"\n\n\"Your cousin and his Greens are protecting them. The people, I mean.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" I concurred, too agitated to realize I was talking to the Bishop as though I were his equal. \"But too few of them to really count, and not sufficiently to make a difference. Will is but one man, and a commoner to boot. His men are loyal and brave, but they are all outlawed, and no one in authority will heed him.\"\n\n\"Not so. Will Wallace has his own authority. The English are heeding him, Jamie. And the Scots folk are heeding him.\"\n\n\"Aye, but that's not what is needed. What's needed is for other, more powerful folk, here in the realm, to look at what he is doing and see that it's a necessary thing. The magnates need to see what he is doing, and then they need to aid him in achieving it.\"\n\nThe Bishop raised a hand, almost wearily. \"They will, eventually, Father. The time is not yet right.\" He looked back towards the window as the tolling of a bell began to echo outside. \"It is midday, and I'm hungry and I need to empty my bladder, so go you and send someone to fetch us something to eat, but come directly back.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Ireturned quickly, but to an empty room, and so I finished composing the letter I had been working on when the Bishop and I had begun to talk, and while I was doing so, two lay brothers from the kitchens brought in refreshments for us: a jug of small ale and a platter of bread and cold sliced beef, with crushed horseradish root in sweet whipped cream, and onions pickled in brine. I resisted the temptation to serve myself until my mentor returned. When he did, he was frowning.\n\n\"Forgive me, Father James,\" he muttered as he bustled in. \"I detest being kept waiting, and I detest keeping others waiting for me even more. Three times I was waylaid by bustling busybodies on my way back from the latrines, and I sent a fourth accoster reeling with a flea in his ear when he sought to stop me over some petty grievance that he could have dealt with himself when it arose. What is wrong with people today? No one seems to dare to risk making a decision on his own without gaining approval from someone else first. Ah! We have food, I see. Excellent. Then let us eat.\"\n\nWe ate in appreciative silence, but as soon as he had devoured a second wedge of bread stuffed with beef and fiery horseradish and washed it down with a deep draft of ale, my mentor pushed away his platter and sat back, belching discreetly into his sleeve.\n\n\"We have talked about your gift many times,\" he began then, \"and about how I first came to notice you. But why was it, think you, that I took such an interest in your cousin Will from the first time I saw him? Can you guess?\"\n\nI pushed away my bowl and shook my head. \"Because he used a bow?\"\n\n\"Aye, good man. It was precisely that. He used a bow. But not merely a flat bow. Those are commonplace. He had a bow of English yew, a longbow. In Scotland, and with him so young, that was remarkable, and I took note of it.\"\n\n\"So did Andrew Murray, my lord.\"\n\n\"Aye, so he did. But Andrew's awe of Will came from Will's skill with the quarterstaff, if I remember rightly. Andrew was obsessed with that weapon, and it served him well enough, if truth be told, but he was ever an indifferent bowman.\"\n\n\"Were you ever a bowman, my lord?\"\n\n\"Me?\" His laugh was a single bark, and he gestured towards the window corner closest to him, where his long, well-used old sword stood propped in the angle of the wall. \"No, not I. Old Grey-Tongue there was the only weapon I ever needed when the time came to the do the Lord's work. Why would you ask me that?\"\n\n\"I don't know, my lord. Perhaps because I thought that might be the reason you took note of Will.\"\n\n\"Hmm. No, I noticed your cousin purely because he was a Scot, in Scotland, carrying an English bow. It marked him either as a fool or as a man to watch. Some men will carry a weapon like that solely in the hope of setting themselves apart from the herd of their fellows, imagining that the mere appearance of being different will indicate that they are dangerous. Such men are fools, for anyone who cares to look will see right through their pretense. It was obvious from the outset that your cousin was not one of those. The very ease and casual respect with which he bore the weapon proclaimed his familiarity with its use. And that made him doubly impressive.\"\n\nI waited, but he said no more, and so I prompted him. \"Forgive me, my lord, but doubly impressive in what way?\"\n\n\"His youth, and his indubitable prowess.\" He saw that I was still not following. \"Think of what I said of the fool who carries such a bow for pure effect. His foolishness is evident in that he must lack the physique to use it properly. There is but one way to acquire those mighty archer's thews, that width and depth of back and shoulders so enormous in your cousin and his friend Ewan. They come from years of discipline and practice; hours and hours of repetitive pulling, day after day and month after month. Your cousin had those muscles when I first set eyes on him, and he was yet but a boy. That told me he had great and admirable self-discipline, but even more, it told me that young Wallace, boy though he might be, was yet his own man. It told me he possessed sufficient pride and confidence to care nothing for what others thought of him, and would bow his head to no man other than those he chose to acknowledge as being worthy. I saw all that in my first glimpse of him, the way he stood, and the manner in which his unstrung bow stave hung in a case from his shoulder. Owning and using such a weapon, and such an English weapon, would set him apart from all his fellows and practically force him to walk alone in every endeavour to which he turned his hand and mind, and he would turn to nothing lightly. It crossed my mind then and there that our realm would always have need of men like him.\n\n\"And now I would bid you go and find him for me, to take my blessing to him and to deliver a message, assuring him of my support and encouragement in what he is achieving. And tell me now, if you will, why you are scowling at me with so much disapproval.\"\n\nI had not been aware that I was frowning. \"Forgive me again, my lord. I am having difficulty understanding your point of view. What is it, precisely, that you see my cousin achieving?\"\n\nHe gazed at me levelly. \"Not quite accurate, Father, if I may say so. You understand clearly enough what I am saying, I believe. Your difficulty springs from being unable to believe that your Bishop could hold such unlawful, even sinful opinions, let alone give voice to them. Am I not right?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord. That is true.\"\n\n\"Of course it is. Listen\u2014\" He stopped short, plainly thinking about what he was about to say, then sat back. \"Look you, I am a bishop, but that makes me no less a man. As a bishop, I am pastor to my flock and bound by my God-given duty to protect that flock with all my power. That means using my skills and my influence to ensure that their welfare is protected and their corporeal needs are as well tended as their spiritual ones. The soul, we are taught, is everlasting; the body merely temporal and therefore less important, its needs and requirements to be given less urgency than those of the soul. That is all well and good and theoretically splendid, but that is where my own opinions tend to diverge from those of my colleagues\u2014more accurately, from those of my English colleagues.\n\n\"I believe our capacity for prayer, our very ability to worship God, depends heavily upon our having the time and opportunity to place our duties to Him ahead of everything else we do. And there is where my voice as a man overwhelms my voice as a bishop. I believe deeply that we cannot pay God His due when we are beset by worries about the welfare of our families, when we live in fear of being evicted or imprisoned or hanged at the whim of some passing stranger who assumes the power of life and death over us. Few decent men can live with such threats and still conscientiously donate their time and their attention to the worship of God. Those very few who can we call saints, and they seldom stay long on this earth. Most men, though, lack that kind of sanctity. They are too concerned with being decent husbands and fathers, friends and neighbours.\n\n\"That single realization\u2014that awareness\u2014has set me apart from most of my brethren and placed me in a moral situation the like of which I had never imagined. And it has led me to a reluctant acceptance of the fact that all the sheep in my flock are Scots sheep, Father James. I had never thought of that until a few weeks ago, but I know now that it is true. Two months ago, had I been asked about my flock, I would have said they were all equal in God's eyes, each soul of them indistinguishable from the others. It would never have crossed my mind to look at them as Scots souls or English souls. To me they were all God's children, pure and simple.\n\n\"But my mind has been changed on that, and forcibly. I've been made to see a new reality, through English eyes\u2014even the eyes of English churchmen\u2014and to accept that they perceive us as being different, and inferior. And so I say now, all my flock are Scots. They are like the sheep of our local hills, wiry and sturdy, dark faced, largely silent, and easily shorn of the little wool they possess. That they should be cruelly shorn and abused as they are today by outlanders, English interlopers, grieves me more than I can say. It also infuriates me, though, and it has pushed me to a point where I had never thought to find myself. It has forced me to make a choice no bishop should ever have to make: to choose between being a Catholic and being a Scots Catholic, when there should be no such difference. But the choice is real. And I have made it. And having made it, I must now live with the consequences, one of which is that I may speak of it now to no one, other than you. You understand why that is so, do you not?\"\n\nI nodded, but he went on anyway, saying the words more for his own ears, I felt, than for mine.\n\n\"Aye. Were the word to get out that I have made this choice, taken sides where no one will admit that opposing sides exist, I would quickly be removed from my Bishop's Chair and from my responsibilities to my flock, and I cannot allow that to happen. As I am, in place here and able to act as an intermediary even if only to a limited extent, I can serve my people and look out for their interests for as long as I am permitted to remain Bishop of Glasgow. Were I to be removed, some English bishop would be installed in my place and my people would be in vastly greater peril than they are.\"\n\nIt was true, I knew, for by papal dispensation only a few years earlier, in 1291, Edward of England had been empowered to appoint bishops to the Church in Scotland, thereby seizing yet another advantage from the interregnum. Neither Wishart nor I had the slightest doubt that, were he to be removed, his replacement would be an Englishman chosen and appointed, in all probability, by Bishop Antony Bek of Durham.\n\n\"So now perhaps you can understand, to some extent, why I need you to find Will Wallace for me. He is become one of the few men in Scotland I can trust to look to Scotland's affairs ahead of his own advantage. There are others, similarly trustworthy, but very few of them, I fear, and I have not the time to go hunting for them one at a time. My hope\u2014my devout and prayerful hope\u2014is that men like your cousin Will here in the south and Andrew Murray in the north will be strong enough and clear enough in their summons, when the time comes, to unite others behind them in ways that I could not and dare not. This country of ours is hell-bent for war and slaughter, Father James. We were afeared for the longest time it would be between Bruce and Balliol, civil war setting kinsmen at each other's throats, but I hope we are beyond that now\u2014or nearly so.\n\n\"The nobles shilly-shally still, and I make shift to understand that. They are like coy young women, flirting with strutting suitors, withholding favours and denying commitment in the hope of coming to understand in full the proposals being made. But the time must come, sooner now than later, when the scales will fall from their eyes and permit them to perceive Edward for what he is.\" His gaze sharpened. \"You have a question.\"\n\n\"What makes you think, my lord, that this time must come soon?\"\n\nHis eyes grew wide and his brows arched high. \"Because it must! We live in changing times, Father James, and there are shifts afoot today, even as we speak, that will reshape our very world. Look at our towns here, our burghs. What do you see?\"\n\nI blinked at him. \"Towns, my lord, nothing more. Though I can see from your face that I am in error. What should I see?\"\n\n\"Burgesses, Father. Merchants with counting houses, traders with warehouses full of goods, skilled artisans everywhere, masons and manufacturers. They are everywhere.\"\n\n\"I know they are, my lord. But I still don't understand what you are talking about.\"\n\nHe bent forward, and there was an intensity about him that made me feel apprehensive. \"Ask yourself where they came from, Father,\" he said in a low voice, \"and what their presence means.\"\n\n\"Their presence in the burghs, my lord? They live there. What else should it mean? Forgive me, for I am not accustomed to feeling stupid, but I still don't follow you.\"\n\nHe grinned fiercely, a very un-bishoplike grin. \"I know you don't. Nor does King John, nor do his magnates, and King Edward and all his earls and barons are no more enlightened than any of those. These people, Father James, these merchants, traders, and their like, are calling themselves burgesses nowadays. Burgesses! Is that not a wondrous name? Perhaps not, you might think, but it is a new one. They were not here a hundred years ago\u2014burgesses did not exist at that time. Nor sixty, nor even fifty years ago. But now every town in the land has its burgesses, and they all build and own guildhalls and craft centres and fraternal lodges. They are all solid, upstanding, and prosperous citizens, too wealthy to be thought of, or treated, as peasants.\n\n\"These are men of substance now, Father James. An entire new breed, a new kind of man. And they conduct their daily affairs\u2014commercial enterprises, they call them\u2014in every land throughout Christendom and even beyond, dealing in every kind of commerce you could imagine. Ours deal mainly in wool, shipping hundreds of bales each year to places like Lubeck and Amsterdam that have none, in return for finished cloth. But some of them send glazed bricks to Brussels, and others ship metal and ores of tin and lead and iron to France and Burgundy, and bring back wines in payment. Most of them use the good offices of the Temple bankers to conduct their business, and they pay heavy taxes in return for the rights to maintain trading premises and safe quarters in their various ports of call.\n\n\"And as they grow and prosper, their voices are being raised in the affairs of all the burghs throughout this land. They are demanding and receiving more and more say in how their towns are governed and maintained, and from year to year, as their good influence continues to expand, our burghs are being governed by their own burgh councils.\"\n\nHe stopped, clearly waiting for me to respond, and when I failed to do so he succeeded in achieving the improbable, frowning and smiling at the same time. \"You cannot see it.\"\n\nI was floundering in my failure to grasp his meaning, and I saw him shrug.\n\n\"Well,\" he said quietly, sounding vaguely disappointed, \"that is hardly surprising, I suppose. You are the first person with whom I have tried to talk about this, and I know I looked at it for years myself without seeing it for what it is.\"\n\nHe coughed, clearing his throat, then began again.\n\n\"Now listen closely to me, Father James, for I am about to open a new window and show you a world you have never thought of and could never imagine. Are you listening?\" I nodded. \"This world of ours is changing, as I have said. It is changing visibly, from day to day. We are witnessing an upheaval that will rival the fall of Rome. Believe me when I tell you that the burgesses of our towns\u2014and of all the other towns throughout Christendom\u2014will change the very world as we know it.\"\n\nI confess I was half afraid that my mentor was losing his mind.\n\n\"The system cannot coexist with these new burgesses, Father James, and it cannot survive without them. And therefore it must perish. Not today, and probably not within our lifetimes, but the system will perish. Of that I have no doubt.\"\n\n\"What system, my lord Bishop?\" I asked. I felt like a fool.\n\n\"The system that governs the world, my son. The system within which we live and work, the one by which we have survived these hundreds of years. There is always a system governing men's existence. The Church is one; the pagan Roman Empire was another. We have no proper name for the one that governs us now, other than the system of fealty, in which society is bound by the laws of lord and liegeman, duty and allegiance, and honour is defined by loyalty and common service. But these burgesses are a new phenomenon and they exist outside the commonality. They are beholden to no one but themselves for their success, which means they owe fealty and allegiance to no one but themselves. They have no sworn lieges to whom they are committed, for their entire commitment is to their own commerce. They cannot be levied to fight for any lord and master, for they are their own men, and therein lies their threat. Think upon that, Father, if you will: they are their own men. That is a concept that has not been heard of since the days of Republican Rome. These are men without allegiance! Imagine, if you can, what that means.\"\n\nI was aware that somewhere outside, among the trees surrounding the cathedral grounds, the thrush had begun to sing again in a soaring crescendo of magnificent sound, but though I heard it, it was as if through a thick fog. I shifted in discomfort.\n\n\"It seems to me, my lord, that should what you are suggesting become known, these burgesses would all be wiped from the face of the earth, for the nobles could not live with such knowledge. They could not afford to countenance the possibility of people living within their lands who pay them no allegiance.\"\n\n\"Ah, but you are wrong, Father James. The nobles cannot simply wipe the burgesses out, for they are already too dependent upon them. These burgesses all pay taxes on the profits of their enterprises. They pay them, albeit indirectly, to the nobles, and those taxes amount to vast sums of money. The nobles, on the other hand, produce nothing. They merely own the land on which others live and work. That is news to no one.\n\n\"But now, with the emergence of these burgesses, there are different elements in play, and they refuse to fit within the system's status quo. The towns themselves, the burghs of Scotland\u2014Glasgow and Edinburgh, Perth and Berwick, Aberdeen and St. Andrews and even Paisley\u2014have grown too big and much too prosperous to be controlled by any single man, no matter how powerful a lord he may be in name. They are owned now by their burgesses and citizens\u2014part of the realm still, but no longer part of the old system. No nobleman, be he earl or baron, chief or mere laird, can dictate anything but his displeasure to the citizens of Scotland's burghs today. The burgesses have outgrown\u2014not yet thrown off, but definitely outgrown\u2014the power of the nobles.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" I asked eventually. \"The King and his Council of Guardians yet govern the realm.\"\n\n\"What it means, Father James, is that sooner or later\u2014and I mean not tomorrow or even a decade or a century from now, but inevitably\u2014the common folk of this land of ours will wrest control of it from the nobility who own it now in its entirety.\"\n\nI tried to grasp that thought, but it was too large and too tenuous for me to grapple with at that moment. I did make the leap, though, from what the Bishop had just finished saying to what he had said at the start.\n\n\"You believe Will Wallace will be a part of this great change you foresee. That's why you want me to find him for you.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" The old fox hesitated, then shook his head. \"No. Your cousin will have a part to play in what transpires, I have no doubt of that, but he will be part of the process of change, not necessarily a part of the change itself. No, Father, I want you to find him because I have gained information that I must pass on to him, vitally important information concerning the welfare of this realm, and you are the sole means I have of delivering it to him without anyone else being aware of it.\"\n\nThen why all the obscure digression? I thought. \"Information. I see. Shall I write it down, Your Grace?\"\n\n\"No. No, it is too \u2026 sensitive, too delicate and dangerous to put into writing, I suspect, and a letter can be stolen and traced. This information is but newly arrived and I must think it through. And I intend to think it through with you as my witness and sounding board, Father, so that, familiar with it and all its implications, you might then go on alone to meet with your cousin, carrying the information in your head. Would you agree to that?\"\n\n\"Of course, my lord.\"\n\n\"Good. Excellent. Listen, then. I received this word last night, roused from my sleep in the dead of night, the middle watches before matins. It was brought by a wandering priest whom I have known for years and trust completely. He had divined its import and brought it directly to me with all the speed he could achieve on foot. He was in Norham Castle one night nigh on two weeks ago and overheard a conversation that should never have occurred. He had arrived there late, after curfew, and unable to enter the castle proper, he had curled up in a gatehouse to sleep for a few hours out of the wind.\n\n\"Edward Plantagenet was in residence there that night, as was Bek of Durham, and they chose to walk together out of doors in the dead of the night, presumably to discuss matters of grave import without the danger of being overheard. Fortunately for us, that was not how things transpired, for they ended up walking a great distance from safety, outside the castle walls, only to have their discussion within a few paces of my visitor, who froze in place, fearing for his life.\n\n\"He told me that their entire conversation was about Scots bandits and their thieving activities in the Selkirk area\u2014your cousin Will and his people. The stories that we hear of them up here in Glasgow are simple stories told by simple folk who enjoy having someone champion them even from afar, moral tales of wicked English trespassers brought to grief by intrepid Scots avengers. The reality, though, according to what my informant overheard, is far more potent. These Greens\u2014and that is what the English King himself called them\u2014are causing Edward much grief with their raids and depredations, far more so than any of us might have imagined. But it is Edward's inability either to capture them or bring them to battle that is goading him to madness. He is faced with mutiny among his troops.\"\n\nHe cut me off with a wave of his hand before I could even begin to react.\n\n\"I know there is nothing new in that rumour. That is precisely the point I wish you to make to your cousin, so listen closely. We have been hearing for years that Edward is having troubles among his own people in England, that his barons are on the point of rebelling against his incessant demands for more and more funds and fighting men for his campaigns in Aquitaine and Normandy and Gascony. That is a given of Edward's life in governing his realm, and until now he has been able to cope with it and look after his affairs here in Scotland.\n\n\"But this \u2026 this situation here and now is different. This is in Scotland, and it is not a rebellion against unjust or overweening demands. This is a rebellion over money\u2014gold, silver, and copper coins. The English soldiers in Scotland have not been paid in months, because three consecutive baggage convoys, northward bound from England and laden with payrolls and paymasters, have been intercepted by the Greens, their goods stolen and their armed escorts slaughtered. Each one in turn, according to English sources, was hit in overwhelming strength by outlaw forces from the forest as they passed. But now it appears that each of the last two convoys was accompanied by a military escort twice as strong as the force accompanying its predecessor, and still they were overwhelmed. Edward's intelligence estimates an enemy force numbering upwards of five hundred in the last attack.\"\n\n\"Five hundred \u2026\"\n\n\"Aye, that's what I am told. So now the English are considering bringing their payrolls in by ship, establishing a military treasury in Leith or Edinburgh itself, and off-loading their paymasters' cargo there. But setting up an English treasury on Scottish soil will take time to arrange, and it will involve a deal of negotiating with King John and the Guardians. It will not happen overnight.\"\n\n\"No, I see no way that it could. So what will Edward do in the meantime? From what you have said, he will need to do something to change the situation as it stands.\"\n\n\"He intends to. That was the purpose of such a secretive meeting between him and Bek. He will attempt to achieve by subterfuge what he cannot achieve by force.\"\n\nHe hesitated but a moment, then launched into the details of the English plan.\n\nThe following morning, before dawn, I left Glasgow and headed south and east, towards Selkirk and its great forest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "I stretched my leg slowly and cautiously, I thought, to relieve a mild cramp in my calf, but the movement was sufficiently visible to startle the small herd of deer in the clearing in front of me. Barely a heartbeat after I had stirred, the entire herd was bounding away to vanish into the thick undergrowth that edged the glade. I cursed myself in silence and glanced guiltily at Shoomy, who lay beside me, but he did no more than purse his lips and frown gently, moving his head almost imperceptibly from side to side and spreading the fingers of his hand in a warning to be still. I lowered my head to the grass again, closing my eyes and straining to hear beyond my own heartbeat as I waited.\n\nWe had been in place for four hours by then, having arrived in the dead of night when there was little chance of being detected, and daylight had crept up around us as we sat or lay there, snugly wrapped in waxed woollen blankets, within the dense fringe of bushes that edged the glade, so that from the blackness of pre-dawn we had emerged almost imperceptibly into one of those unpredictable, seemingly magical mornings that sometimes come along without warning. In all that time together in the night-chilled darkness, save for the muted responses to the Mass I celebrated by torchlight when we first arrived, we had barely spoken, not because of any fear of making noise, but simply out of the human need to think without sharing what we were thinking.\n\nNow, however, our stillness had a purpose. Shoomy had chosen this spot with care, deeming it most likely to yield rewards, and now we were waiting for someone to appear, and the need for silent immobility was absolute.\n\nI was unsure what the first sound I heard actually was. It was too distant and indistinct to identify, but mere moments later it came again, and this time I recognized it as the fluttering sound of air being snorted through a horse's nostrils. I knew the others must have heard it, too, and I forced myself not to move. A long time passed, it seemed, before the next sound came, and then it was the heavy, muffled thump of a stamped hoof on soft ground, and it was accompanied by a whispered shushing as the animal's rider sought to keep it calm. Another long silence followed that, with none of us daring to breathe, lest the sound be too loud, but eventually there came another sound of movement, accompanied by the unmistakable creak of leather saddlery. The screen of leaves near where I lay shivered, then parted infinitely slowly, pushed aside by an extended hand, to reveal a man leaning far forward over the neck of a horse, his chin almost against its mane and his eyes peering between the beast's twitching ears.\n\nNothing moved as the scout examined everything he could see ahead of him and on each side. He wore a conical steel helmet, which forced him to keep his head tilted severely back, and he was highly alert and vigilant, his very life dependent upon both. He examined everything minutely, meticulous and unhurried in his inspection, so that long before his questing eyes turned in my direction I had pulled myself down into the smallest possible bulk, hugging the ground as I sought to keep my head and the curve of my back beneath the gentle ridge that separated me from his line of sight. I waited to be discovered, but nothing happened, and then I heard him move again, the soft fall of hooves as he walked his horse quietly away. I heard no sound of sweeping branches, though, and so I raised my head again as slowly as I could and looked for him. He had vanished, evidently circling the clearing behind the screen of leaves that marked its edges.\n\nI caught sight of him again moments later, emerging as before from the screening bushes, too far away now to see me easily even had he been looking in my direction. This time, however, he came through the screen, peering carefully about him as he rode into the green-shaded glade. His shield was slung diagonally across his back, and he held the reins easily in his left hand, his right grasping the hilt of a long-bladed sword in a grip that allowed the bare blade to lie along his thigh and rest gently against his knee, featherlight and unobtrusive, yet ready for instant action at the first flicker of movement.\n\nClear of the bushes, he drew rein for a moment at the very edge of the clearing, his eyes sweeping the open, seemingly innocuous space on both sides of him. Then he nudged his mount on again, leaning forward in the saddle as before and seeming to shrink even lower as he passed beneath the low-hanging branches of the huge elm that dominated the glade. He was in no danger from the overhanging boughs, for the lowest of them cleared his head by almost two feet, but his reaction was an instinctive avoidance of a sensed, potential threat. I remember thinking, though, that it clearly had not occurred to him that he might be attacked from above, for he did not once look up, and in consequence the man who leapt down on him caught him completely unprepared and drove him crashing to the ground and into unconsciousness. The only sound we watchers heard was the abrupt, wrenching thud of two bodies colliding and then hitting the earth concussively before the startled horse could even snort in fright.\n\nThe attacker rolled and rose quickly to his feet, and I saw that it was Alan Crawford, now one of Will's senior lieutenants. He spun back to the unhorsed man, crouching over him quickly with a bared dagger in his upraised fist. But a moment later he straightened up and sheathed the weapon, then summoned the others to come forward, giving orders to some to secure the prisoner and to others to fan out into the forest from which the rider had come. Now, as two of his men gagged the fallen man and bound him at wrists and ankles, Alan crossed to where I crouched beside Mirren and two other women.\n\n\"Right,\" he said quietly. \"This should have been the point man on our side. The others, four of them, will be behind him, spread out on either flank. They may not have met our people yet, but when they do, if anything goes wrong, we'll hear about it quickly enough. Keep your ears open for noises on both sides of the road. We'll give them another quarter of an hour to reach us, and if they don't appear, we'll know they've been dealt with. Then we'll head across the road and join Long John and the others.\"\n\nThe main north\u2013south road lay to our right, little more than fifty paces away but hidden from us by the woods. The remaining scouts, we knew, would be riding on both sides of it, four now on this side, five on the other, searching for people like us, people who might pose a threat to the train they were escorting.\n\nOur group, of which we were but one-fifth, faced south, commanding the eastern side of the roadway. Across the road, five more groups hunted the scouts on the western side, prepared to kill all of them if required. In the entire party of fifty dispatched to neutralize the ten scouts, only Mirren, her two women, and myself were unarmed, and we were there in the first place simply because it was the safest spot Will had been able to think of for this morning's work, far enough removed from what would happen where he was to ensure that Mirren would be in no danger. My task, ostensibly, was to guard her, but the mere idea of that was ludicrous, and I knew I was there only because Will had been seeking some means of protecting my priestly sensibilities against the kind of murder and mayhem that was likely to erupt in the confrontation that lay ahead.\n\nI had arrived unannounced in his camp four days earlier, bearing strange tidings and urgent instructions from Bishop Wishart to which Will had listened initially in slack-jawed astonishment. That bemused wonder, though, had been supplanted within moments by the realities of the looming situation, and from then on everything had taken place at breakneck speed in Will's forest camp. Edward of England had moved decisively, far more quickly than even Wishart, with his privileged knowledge, had imagined. As always, by seizing the initiative, Edward had left no opportunity for anyone else\u2014most particularly enemies like Will and his band\u2014to do anything other than react to what he had already set in motion. I watched with awe in the hours that followed my delivery of Bishop Wishart's tidings as messengers were dispersed at speed to summon fighting men from all across the southeastern region of the country. Large numbers of other men soon began appearing, too, obviously summoned from close by, and I could see these were all commanders of varying rank. They wore no insignia, but there was no disguising the air of confident authority that hung about them. They were unmistakably leaders of men, set apart by their very bearing. These men vanished almost as soon as they arrived, into gatherings that were clearly planning sessions; and as those sessions progressed, more and more orders began to be issued, and activity throughout the encampment increased visibly.\n\nI learned within the space of that first day that my cousin's following was far greater and his authority more far-reaching than I had ever imagined, and that made me aware, too, that my very presence there at such a time must be a distraction to him and might soon become a nuisance, and so I sought to efface myself by simply keeping out of his sight.\n\nOut of sight, however, did not mean out of mind, and as word reached us the next day that Edward's messengers had already passed Berwick town, little more than thirty miles to the south of where we were, Will turned his attention to the safety of his wife, who was, he informed me, newly pregnant, and to me, his favourite, younger cousin. He knew me better than I knew myself, knew the strengths and weaknesses of my character and thus knew that the greatest of these, in both respects, was my immense regard for the sanctity of the Church. He knew I would have great difficulty in accepting what was now afoot, and so he guarded me from it by entrusting me with the care and safety of his wife and his future family, forcing me to take them away and out of danger.\n\nThinking of that, I found myself smirking at the irony of what had happened just moments earlier. Had we not fled Will's camp, we would have been nowhere near the enemy scout who had come so close to us with his long, bare blade. But the thought was overwhelmed by a sudden commotion in the trees at my back. I heard a muffled grunt, an explosive breath, and then the lethal clang of steel on steel, followed by a scream that was cut off in mid utterance. Then came the plunging, stamping sounds of a heavy horse forcing its way through thick growth, and the bushes split apart, yielding to the advance of a heavily mailed and helmeted rider on an enormous destrier, the largest animal I had ever seen. My first, fleeting impressions were of an upraised visor and a red-bearded face with bright, glowering eyes. Then I saw a broad-bladed sword sweeping down, its bright steel fouled with blood, and as it fell it seemed as though someone leapt to meet it, springing effortlessly up towards the blade to counter its thrust. Blade and body met and seemed to melt together, motionless for a flicker of time, and then in a leaping spray of blood the sword continued its downward slash, taking the body with it and casting it aside, severed and broken.\n\nThe rider now stood up in his stirrups, ignoring his victim and looking about him. He slammed his visor closed with the crossguard of his sword and pulled his horse up into a rearing dance before launching it forward, and I found myself face to face with a charging knight at a distance of less than forty paces. He was enormous, as was the armoured creature beneath him, and the high crest on his visored helm made him look even larger. The crest was a rampant green lion, and the rider's shield and surcoat were pale blue with the green lion, jarringly familiar, blazoned across the front of both. I knew this knight, had seen him somewhere before, perhaps even met him, but that faded to insignificance as he set spurs to his mount with a savage, rowelling kick and came thundering towards me and the three women huddled beside me. It never crossed my mind that he had seen us. I knew that with his head encased in his massive steel helm, his vision was severely restricted. He could see solely what was directly ahead of him, and that imperfectly, his sight constrained by the slits in his visor, and this close to me and my three charges, thundering directly towards us, he was no more than a blind and lethal juggernaut. His enormous warhorse, though, trained to kick down and kill any assailants in its path, was Death incarnate.\n\nI started to crouch down, to cry to the women to get out of the creature's way, but even as I did so I hesitated, appalled by the lumbering spectacle of the beast's approach, and so I merely crouched there, wide-eyed with terror and unable to move, watching death come towards us.\n\nBut then an arrow struck squarely in the centre of the knight's breastplate with a clean, violently metallic clang.\n\nBodkin, I thought. The bodkin was a war arrow with a solid, cylindrical head that tapered to a point, and it was designed to pierce plate armour. That they seldom did nowadays was due, I knew, to their being deflected more often than not by the newer, harder steel being forged by smiths today. Sure enough, in less time than it took for its impact to register in my awareness, the missile had vanished, spinning off into the distance. Nonetheless, the mounted man felt the full brunt of the impact and reeled in his saddle, almost unhorsed by the savage weight of the strike. He threw both arms up, fighting against the thrust of the missile's impetus, and his shield went whirling away, end over end, ripped from his grasp. His horse, too, went down on its haunches, driven backward by its rider's rapidly shifting weight. The horse quickly regained its balance and heaved itself back up onto all fours with a triumphant scream, and precisely at the moment when it looked as though the knight had won and would wrest back control of his animal, a second arrow struck, entering one of the slits in the rider's visor and piercing his skull, killing him instantly and hurling him out of the saddle.\n\nI stood stunned, weaving in shock. Someone grasped me by the shoulder and pressed me down towards the ground, and I sank gratefully to sit beside the women, my legs shaking. The man standing above me, his hand still on my shoulder, was an archer called Jinkin' Geordie, so named because of an affliction that rendered him incapable of remaining still for any length of time without twitching. Even as I looked up at him, he twitched nervously. But it was plainly true, as I had heard before, that his affliction failed to affect his prowess in a fight.\n\n\"Was that you?\" I asked him, a little breathlessly.\n\n\"Was what me?\"\n\n\"The knight \u2026 Did you shoot him?\"\n\n\"Aye. Can I ask ye somethin'?\"\n\nI was staring at the fallen knight, and I assumed that the fellow wanted to ask me something about him. \"Of course,\" I said, asking myself already what I could possibly know about the slain man. \"Ask.\"\n\nHe fixed me with an intense, furtive look. \"I've been hearin' folk talk, about what we're to do. Sounds to me as though we'll be killin' priests afore this day's oot, and I don't know if I like that.\"\n\nI felt my jaw fall in shock. \"Killing priests? In God's holy name, Geordie, how can you even think such a thing? Of course we won't be killing priests. The very thought is an abomination.\"\n\nThe archer jinked\u2014there really was no other word to describe it\u2014his chin twitching down towards his right shoulder, which jerked forward to meet it as though in sympathy. \"Aye, maybe so, right or no',\" he added. \"But that's what folk are sayin'. We're goin' to be killin' priests this very day. I ken they're there, too, the priests. I saw them mysel', last night, frae up on the cliffs, aboon their camp. There was half a hunnerd o' them.\" He nodded emphatically. \"Aye, easy,\" he added. \"Frae a' the noise they were makin', a' the singin' an' chantin', easy half a hunnerd.\"\n\nI forced myself to smile at him with a serenity I suddenly did not feel, and highly aware that others, including Mirren and her two women, were listening to our exchange.\n\n\"No, Geordie,\" I told him, waving a hand dismissively and trying hard to keep my voice sounding relaxed and confident. \"There's nowhere near as many. There might be half a hundred men in that whole train, give or take a handful, but few of them are priests. We counted them last night, from the top of the same cliff. There are twenty-eight clerics in all. Two of them are bishops, six are priests, and the remaining score are Cistercian monks. And on top of that, there are these ten scouts, five on each side of the road, and this knight who was in charge of them, and perhaps half or threequarters of a score of servants.\"\n\nHe cocked his head like a bird, one eye glittering as it caught the light and adding subtly to the birdlike resemblance. \"Cistercian monks, ye say?\" His voice took on a conspiratorial tone. \"Are they no' French, tha'e Cistercians? Aye, they are \u2026What are French monks doin' ower here?\"\n\nThis Geordie was a curious soul, and simple, and I glanced down at Mirren, who was looking back up at me. She rolled her eyes as though to let me know I would receive no help from her.\n\n\"Geordie, I can't tell you that. You know more about them than I do, so shush you now and let me go. I have to see to the knight there.\"\n\nI was less than ten paces distant from the fallen rider, and no one moved to join me as I walked over and stood looking down at him. I suppose there must have been some thought in my head of baring his face and identifying the man, for I was still convinced I had seen him somewhere before, but long before I reached him I knew I would do no such thing. He was unmistakably dead, reeking with the stench of voided bowels, and his face would remain unseen. The arrow that had killed him, travelling with incomprehensible speed and force, had hammered diagonally up through the front of his war helm and lodged inside, twisting the visor violently out of true and jamming it shut, and blood and grey matter from the shattered skull within had filled the helm and now oozed, thick and obscene, through the openings in the metal.\n\nMy stomach lurched and I snatched my gaze away, trying to empty my mind and resisting the urge to vomit, and as I did so my eyes fell on the man the knight had killed. The difference was startling, and somehow pitiful. The knight appeared largely unbloodied. The man he had killed, though, had been unarmoured, and the knight's broad-bladed sword had split him wide open, carving him like a slaughtered deer and sending his lifeblood flying in all directions to stain the grass and the bushes for yards around the spot where he had fallen. I crossed to where he lay, holding the skirts of my robe high to avoid staining them with his blood, then bent forward slightly so I could see his face. He was a stranger to me, heavily bearded and poorly dressed in a tunic-like garment of rough homespun wool, and I could see no weapon anywhere near him. I wondered what had possessed him to attack a heavily armed and armoured mounted knight, alone as he was, on foot and unarmed, for I remembered seeing him springing high towards the falling sword.\n\nI found myself suddenly seething with outrage. Will had sent me away from the coming day's activities, with the women, in order to protect my feelings, because he knew I was uncomfortable with anything that smacked of defiance of Holy Mother Church. Now, though, with this single instance of mindless violence and unnecessary slaughter, a new understanding of what was happening everywhere in my country crashed down upon me. I saw that what I had been objecting to\u2014what Will had tried to protect me from\u2014was nothing less than an atrocity, an atrocity carried out against my fellow countrymen by a cynical foreign king using the Church's name and privilege to abet a damnable war of aggression.\n\nBishops and senior clerics, indeed all clerics, by general consent, had no need to fear travelling alone, for no one in his right mind would ever dream of robbing a priest. But the two English Bishops whose presence here today had demanded our attention were engaged in activities that set them apart from their peers, and priestly innocence played no role in what they were about. They had a screen of killers thrown out ahead of them, purely to ensure that no profane eyes would gaze upon whatever it was that they were transporting. And I had been puling and fretting like a callow, unformed boy because I was afraid that Will was doing something that might draw down the displeasure of the Church upon my head. I stood there for some time, feeling my flesh crawl with the sickness of self-loathing and thinking about what that voluntary and wilful blindness said about me, and then I swung around and strode back to where Mirren, alone, stood watching me.\n\n\"What happened to you?\" she asked as I reached her. \"Did you know that man?\"\n\n\"No. Scales from my eyes,\" I answered, not caring whether she understood me or not.\n\n\"Aye? So where are you goin' now? It's plain to see you're goin' somewhere.\"\n\nI looked at her, and then beyond her to where one of our party held the reins of her horse and my own. \"I'm going back to Will. You'll be fine without me \u2026 Better off, in fact, for we both know how feckless I'd be in a fight.\"\n\nHer eyes had narrowed and she looked at me now with a completely different expression than the slightly scornful one that she habitually reserved for me. \"And what will you do when you find Will? He'll have no need of a priest under his feet, Jamie. D'ye not know that's why he sent you away in the first place?\"\n\n\"Aye, I do. And I'll stay out of his way. But first I'll give him the absolution I've been withholding.\"\n\nHer frown was quick. \"Absolution for what?\"\n\n\"For what he's about to do. It needs to be done and he's the one to do it, but it's taken me until now to see that. Now I need to give him my support and my blessing.\"\n\n\"D'ye think he needs those?\"\n\n\"I don't care, Mirren, and I didn't say he needs anything. I need to give them to him, freely. I've been wrong. Stubborn and stupid and short-sighted.\" I pointed with my thumb to the blood-drenched corpse on the grass behind me. \"I see it now, my eyes washed clean by the blood of the sacrificial lamb there.\"\n\n\"That sounds blasphemous,\" she said more quietly.\n\n\"What's happening in this land is blasphemous, and my Church has been perverted to make it possible. I've only now come to see that. So now I'm going to try to help change things.\"\n\nShe nodded, a single dip of her head. \"Aye, well, ye'd better hurry, or it'll all be done when you get there. Away wi' ye, and tell my man he's in my mind and heart. Run now.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Less than half an hour later, I walked out of the woods into full daylight again, leading my horse, and allowed my gaze to slide across the scene in front of me, marvelling at the rich brightness of it. The uneven surface of the rocky escarpment beneath my feet was sparsely carpeted with short, springy, startlingly green grass and striped in places by slanted, inch-high ridges of silvery-white, flaky stone. The sky was blindingly blue and cloudless. The sun had been climbing it now for nigh on two hours, yet in the valley below, the fog was still thick and solid. Directly ahead of me, seemingly just a short leap down from where I stood, a thick, flat blanket of greyish white stretched away from me. It had appeared solid mere moments earlier, but as I looked at it now I could see the topmost, budding twigs of the trees beneath it showing through, the mist that had concealed them eddying gently and dissipating in the tiny breeze. Across from me, half a mile to the south, a twin bluff loomed straight up from the fog-shrouded trees at its feet. Beyond that, stretching away like a string of green and silver beads, other hilltops sparkled in the strengthening sunlight.\n\n\"Fog doesn't often stay this long,\" a voice said beside me, and I turned and nodded to Will, who had been standing with three of his people, gazing down into the carpet of mist when I arrived. \"But the wind's coming up now, so it'll all be gone soon.\" He turned his head slightly to look me in the eye. \"What brings you back here, and where's Mirren?\"\n\n\"She's with Shoomy and the others. She's fine. They've cleared away the scouts along the road, so you don't need to worry about being taken from behind.\"\n\n\"That's good, but you didn't answer my other question. What brings you back here?\"\n\n\"Conviction, but not in the way you're probably thinking. I'm here to tell you I'm sorry for the way I've been \u2026 stubborn and stiffnecked and arrogant.\"\n\n\"Arrogant?\" The expression on my cousin's face was almost but not quite a smile, for there was uncertainty in his gaze, too. \"Am I hearing aright? A priest, admitting to arrogance?\"\n\nI ignored the jibe and merely nodded. \"An epiphany is what you're seeing. I've had a change of heart in the past hour. I watched a man die and I saw the pity and the sickness of it all. And with that, I came to see that I have been wrong. Ever since he first told me about this, about what was in his mind and what he intended to ask you to do, I've been angry and afraid of my own Bishop's motives and I've been questioning what I saw as his mutiny against the Church. But now I can see he's right\u2014has been right all along. This trickery that's afoot is sinful, betraying the Church's trust for the benefit of a mere man, no matter that he be a king.\"\n\nWill looked at me wryly. \"So? What are you telling me?\"\n\n\"That I am here to stand with you, as a representative of God's Holy Church, on behalf of men of goodwill everywhere.\"\n\nWill stared at me for some time, his face unreadable, and then he turned away to look down into the valley at our feet. \"And these men of goodwill, think you there are such creatures in England, Jamie, when the talk turns to Scotland?\"\n\n\"Aye, Will. I do.\"\n\n\"Right,\" he said then, nodding. \"Look, it's clearing quickly down there. Look at it blow!\"\n\nSure enough, the remaining fog was vanishing even as we looked, whipped to tatters and blown into nothingness by a strong breeze we could not feel, and as it cleared we saw the activity below us where the group we were waiting for had made camp late the previous afternoon. This party of churchmen was making a leisurely progress of the journey northward, its members secure in their safety as clerics in the service of God. They had crossed the border at Berwick three days earlier, and we had received word of their arrival within hours. Since then, they had travelled less than twenty miles, beginning each day's journey after celebrating Mass and eating a substantial breakfast. Thereafter, at a pace set by the cows they had brought with them for their breakfast milk and matched by the horses pulling the upholstered wagon in which the Bishops rode, they had made their way steadily along the broad, beaten path that served as the high road into Scotland from England, eating their midday meal while on the move, and stopping at roadside campsites, selected by their scouts, long before the afternoon shadows began to stretch towards nightfall. Then, while the priests prepared for evening services, their servitors set up an elaborate camp with spacious leather tents and ample cooking fires, and the episcopal household staff busied themselves preparing the evening meal. The soldiers of the scouting party maintained a separate camp, a short way from the main one.\n\nNow, in the open glades between copses, we could see the horse handlers leading two large, heavy wagons into place below us, in what would be the middle of their line of march. The two Bishops in their upholstered carriage would ride in front, and behind would come the two heavily laden supply wagons. Behind those, in turn, would come the priests and acolytes, walking with the Cistercian monks.\n\n\"They're fine,\" Will muttered. \"Their Graces should be on their holy way any moment now. Did you recognize them?\" I shook my head, and he looked back towards the group in the distance. \"Aye, there they go. And now it's our turn. Let's get down there.\" He swung himself up onto his horse and kicked it into motion as I mounted my own and fell into place behind him, following him down a narrow, twisting goat path until we reached the road. The three men who had been talking with Will when I arrived struck out on foot, making their way down separately by a far steeper route.\n\nIt took us no more than a few minutes to reach the spot Will had chosen for what he intended to do that morning, but the path we had taken down from the escarpment was vastly different from the winding route the Bishops' train would follow through the valley bottom. It would be half an hour before they reached us, and in the meantime, Will had some final dispositions to see to.\n\nThe place we came to, the narrow end of the funnel-shaped valley we had been overlooking, had been burned out years earlier in a summer fire and was now a long, narrow clearing extending twenty to thirty paces along each side of the road for more than a hundred yards. It contained a rolling sea of waist-high grasses and a scattering of saplings, plus, on this particular morning, an army of at least a hundred men, all of them wearing hoods or masks and carrying bows of one kind or another. A large, recently felled tree, one of only a few to have escaped the fire of years before, lay by the roadside at the northern end of the exposed road, and broken branches and debris from its collapse littered the road. Beside it, drawn up close to a makeshift saw pit, a high-sided dray blocked the narrow roadway completely. It had been there since the previous day and was half-filled with sawn logs. The two draft horses that had brought it there were cropping idly at the rank grass by the roadside, some distance from the work area.\n\nWill and I stood side by side in the bed of the cart, Will shrugging and twisting to settle a long, ragged cloak about his shoulders. It altered his appearance miraculously, because it had been made to do precisely that. Someone, working with great skill, had sewn a construct of woven willow twigs into the voluminous garment so that when it was properly in place, it turned its wearer into a grotesque hunchback. I watched him as he shifted and hauled for a few moments until he had the garment comfortably draped over his shoulders, and although I had seen him wearing it several times in the previous few days, I was amazed anew by how effective it was.\n\nAhead of us, emerging from the woods and running straight north towards where we waited, the road from England stretched like the shaft of a spear. Hardly anyone among the hundred standing in the grass moved at all, I noticed, and the air of tense expectancy was almost palpable. Eventually, though, a runner appeared at the far end of the path, waving to announce the imminent arrival of the quarry. Will gave a last signal, and everyone except him and me sank into the waist-high grass and disappeared from view.\n\nHe and I moved to the driver's bench then and sat down, lounging comfortably and facing west, our backs towards the steep, rocky face of the escarpment we had just left. We made ourselves comfortable and I opened a cloth-wrapped bundle of bread and hard cheese, which we began to eat as though we had earned it, and there we remained as the first of the Bishops' wagons, carrying the two prelates themselves, emerged from the forest and began to approach us.\n\nAs it drew closer and its accompanying party continued to spill out from the forest behind it, Will pretended to hear them coming and sat up straight, turning and leaning towards them. I followed his lead, both of us striving to look like dullards, uncomprehending but reverent and slightly awestruck by the richness of the train coming towards us so unexpectedly.\n\nThe leading wagon creaked to a halt about ten paces from where we sat, and for a moment nothing happened. But then the driver raised his voice, addressing us in passable Scots, though with a heavy, broad-vowelled, English intonation.\n\n\"Well? Are you going to sit there all day and do nothing? Move your cart aside and let us through. Didn't the soldiers ahead of us tell you to clear the way?\"\n\nBeside me Will raised his eyebrows and his face became a portrait of innocent astonishment. \"No,\" he answered. \"They tell't me to move, right enough, and I said I wad, but they didna say onythin' about you comin' ahent them. Haud ye there, now, and I'll move.\" He stood up stiffly, muttering under his breath and bundling the remainder of our food clumsily into its cloth before setting it on the driver's bench between us, seeming to ignore me completely. \"Stay here,\" he murmured so that only I heard him, and then he lowered himself over the cart's side and moved deliberately to collect the grazing horses and lead them back by their halters, mumbling all the time to himself in a voice that was barely audible. He took his time about lifting the heavy draft collars over the animals' heads before backing the team into place and starting to attach its harness. I watched in silence as the occupants of the other wagon fought to contain their impatience. There were three of them there, the one in the rear plainly a priest and the two in front even more evidently Bishops. None of them even deigned to glance in my direction.\n\nThe two Bishops were almost laughably dissimilar to each other in every respect. One of them was much younger than his companion, taller and with a red face and a big belly. His faceconcealing beard yet failed to hide a pouting, petulant mouth. It was plain at a glance that this lord of the Church, whoever he was, had no intention of being mistaken for anything less. His robes were imperially striking, heavy and opulent with texture and bright colours, and the fingers of his big, meaty hands were festooned with heavily jewelled rings. I decided, without ever looking into his eyes or hearing him speak, that I disliked him intensely.\n\nI disliked his companion even more, though, and I also assumed him to be the superior in rank, if for no other reason than the disparity in their ages. In the older man's eyes, naked and undisguised, was unmistakable contempt for anyone he considered beneath him, and it was clear he thought us far, far beneath him. This man wore black edged with crimson, and though the stuff of his vestments was probably no whit less costly than the younger man's, the cut of it combined with the severity of its blackness to suggest a cynical attempt to appear austere and perhaps even thrifty. He wore no rings, save for a single episcopal ruby, and the crimson-edged black velvet of his pileolus, or bishop's cap\u2014a recent innovation from Rome, larger, heavier, and thicker than the traditional red silk skullcap, that had caused much discussion before being rejected by our community in Glasgow\u2014marked him as a man who paid close attention to the drifting currents of theology and Church politics. Beneath the cap, his face was gaunt and devoid of humour. He never took his eyes off Will, from the moment he leapt down from the driver's bench until he had the team properly harnessed and had pulled himself up to sit beside me again.\n\n\"Good,\" he said quietly as he settled himself on the bench. \"They're all here.\"\n\nAs indeed they were. In the time it had taken Will to harness the dray's team, the rear elements of the Bishops' train, the monks and servants, had had time to assemble around the wagons. Will stood up then and gathered the reins of our team in one hand while picking up the whip from its holder by his seat, preparing to drive us out of the way. But on the point of cracking the whip, he hesitated and turned towards the Bishops again.\n\n\"Ye'll be Bishops, then, I'm thinkin', by the dress o' ye. English Bishops?\"\n\nNo one deigned to answer him, but he had not expected a response. He half turned and indicated me with his whip. \"This is a Scots priest. A priest, mind ye, no' a monk. A real priest. Said Mass for us this mornin', before dawn. And we had nothin' to pay him wi' for his services. But we fed him. He disna' need much else. He's a priest. He kens God will look after him, ye ken?\"\n\nI had to stifle the urge to smile at Will's acting the dimwit. His mix of English and simple Scots should have been intelligible even to an Englishman, but both Bishops were staring at him blankly, the younger in astonishment, the elder in disgust. The priest in the back seat leaned forward and spoke to me in Latin, not even glancing at Will.\n\n\"Have your man move aside, Father. Their lordships here are not to be kept waiting by the likes of him or you. Quickly now.\"\n\nThe peremptory, intolerant snap of his voice released something inside me and permitted me to smile openly at the man, who was tall and clean shaven, balding yet broad shouldered and fit looking, with narrowed, pale blue eyes and a stern, humourless look about him.\n\n\"You are a Scot,\" I said courteously in the same tongue, permitting but a hint of my surprise to show through.\n\n\"Of course I am. What has that to do with anything? I am here to serve as translator for their lordships.\"\n\n\"In their dealings with the untutored savages, you mean.\"\n\n\"You are impertinent, Father.\"\n\n\"No, I am merely truthful \u2026 and powerless here, Father, as are you. In the first place, this man is not mine to command. He is very much his own keeper. And if their lordships are to be kept waiting at all, I doubt they could improve upon being kept by the likes of him. Look at him, Father. This man speaks for Scotland.\"\n\n\"You've been away from civilization for too long. Your wits are scattered!\" The glance the priest threw at Will was withering. \"A hunchback woodcutter, to speak for Scotland?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Will said in English, suddenly and clearly. \"If need be, for it seems no one else will.\" Then, ignoring the slack-jawed expression of surprise that had sprung to the priest's face, he raised his voice to a shout, in the command his hundred had been waiting for among the grass. \"Up, Greens!\"\n\nWithin the space of two heartbeats the train on the road was surrounded by a ring of standing bowmen, and every monk, priest, and bishop in the gathering was the target of at least one levelled arrow. Will's men had risen up in utter silence from the chest-high grass, their weapons at the ready, and their appearance wrung a chorus of dismay from the clerics as the threat sank home. Without being ordered to, men everywhere in the throng began raising their hands in bewildered surrender. Will watched them until there was no one, monk, priest, or servant, who did not have his hands in the air, and then he said, still in English, \"Everyone down from the wagons. Now.\"\n\nAs the Bishops' driver and his bench companion scrambled down and away, their passengers moved to follow them, but Will waved them back into their padded seats. \"Not you three. You stay there for now.\" All movement had ceased on the other two wagons as people watched to see what would happen next, but Will merely waved a pointing finger. \"The rest of you, off. Move!\"\n\nTo his credit, the elder of the Bishops was the first to regain his composure. As his servants and retainers began clambering down from the wagons at his back, he stood up again quickly and stepped forward as far as he could in the confined space of the wagon. There he raised a peremptory hand, pointing at Will. \"Take heed, Hunchback, lest you imperil your immortal soul! Would you dare molest and rob God's servants in the solemn execution of their duty?\"\n\n\"Dare to molest and rob God's servants in the doing of their duty?\" replied Will in Latin as clear and fluent. The Bishop's skeletal face registered sheer disbelief. \"No, Bishop, I would not. But dare to rob thieving rogues and lying scoundrels who usurp God's good name and privilege unlawfully in the name of England's King within the realm of Scotland? Aye, that I will, and with pleasure. Those I would molest and rob at any opportunity, and I thank you for this one.\"\n\n\"You blaspheme, woodsman!\"\n\nWill had not moved since this exchange began, holding the reins in his left hand while the other gripped the teamster's whip loosely, but now he raised the long whip and pointed its drooping end at the black-clad Bishop, and his voice took on a biting, steely edge.\n\n\"No, Churchman, I do not. You are the blasphemous party here, wearing the robes of sanctity and episcopal privilege while playing the serpent. Your very presence here is a lie that turns to blasphemy as you pursue it.\" He glanced down at his own men and indicated the black-clad prelate with a jerk of the head. \"Watch him. Watch all of them. If any of them tries to speak again, pull him down and stifle him.\"\n\nA number of his own men, several of them his lieutenants, had already approached the Bishops' wagon, and now some raised their bows at full extension towards the trio in the cart while others lowered theirs to rest their arms. As they did so, Will shook out the reins and cracked his whip expertly between the heads of his team. The animals leaned forward instantly into their harness and Will handled them surely, bringing them around easily until the two vehicles were wheel to wheel, though facing in opposite directions. The younger Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off.\n\n\"Did you not hear what I ordered done to you if you dare to speak? I meant it. Shut your mouth, Englishman, and keep it shut.\"\n\nThe man froze, his mouth gaping, and he made no other attempt to speak, though his face writhed with fury and loathing. Will's eyes moved to the Scots priest on the rear bench.\n\n\"You,\" he said. \"In God's name, man, what are you doing? Have you no honour, no self-worth? How can you lend yourself to such a travesty as this and yet call yourself a Scot, let alone a priest?\" He tilted his head sharply to one side as he saw something in the man's eyes, something I had not seen because I had been watching Will.\n\nThe other man's answer was swift and forceful. \"I do not know what you are talking about, fellow, but I have done nothing other than my duty. I was dispatched by my superior, Bishop Henry of Galloway, to meet their lordships when they arrived in Berwick, my function to assist them in their dealings with whomever they might meet upon the road from there to Whithorn. You are the first person we have met since then, and it shames me to be named a fellow Scot with such as you.\" He looked around him at the faces of the crowd staring up at him. \"It's evident that you are thieves and outlaws\u2014the Greens of whom I have heard spoken. But most of you are masked and unrecognizable, and to this point you have done nothing irremediable. You are misguided, and I regret having witnessed your folly, but you might yet escape from this error without blood being shed.\" He looked back at Will. \"Let me ask you once again to stand aside and permit us to pass unmolested.\"\n\nI could see Will nibbling at his inner cheek, an indication that he was thinking rapidly, and when he spoke again his tone was less accusatory.\n\n\"You're no craven, Priest, I'll grant you that. But do you truly not know what's afoot here? Is that possible?\" He watched the Scots priest, and then nodded. \"Aye, it would appear it is. Well, listen closely, Father. What's your name? Father what?\"\n\nIt looked for a moment as though the priest would refuse to answer, but then he shrugged slightly. \"Constantine.\"\n\n\"Constantine \u2026 A distinguished and imperious name. Listen then, Father Constantine, and do not interrupt me until you have heard everything I have to say. You will know when you have, because I will inform you. Do you understand me?\"\n\nThe priest inclined his head and Will returned the gesture.\n\n\"Good. Scotland is teeming with English soldiery. You were aware o' that, of course. They swarm like fleas on a hedgehog and they are causing us Scots much grief. They should not be here at all, no matter how the English try to justify their presence, for we have a King of our own again, King John of Scotland, of whom you must have heard, since he is from your own diocese of Galloway, as was his mother, Devorguilla. Well, see you, the fact that John now rules in Scotland means that Edward of England has no lawful place here, save as an invited guest bound by, and beholden to, the laws of hospitality. Yet Edward maintains an army on our soil and in defiance of our country's ancient laws.\"\n\nWill paused, gazing directly into the priest's eyes before continuing. \"Edward is facing mutiny today, though, because his mercenary dogs have not been paid. Three times now his quartermasters have attempted to bring English money into Scotland to pay their troops, and three times have those quartermasters' trains been intercepted and\u2014taxed\u2014their contents confiscated. I know that to be true, Father Constantine, because it was we who took the money, levying the taxes against Scotland's future needs.\n\n\"In so doing, we sought to teach the English King a lesson: that this land is ours, an ancient realm secure in its own legal right and beyond his grasp. His armies are unwelcome here and we will not allow him to maintain them here unlawfully. He seeks to make our Scottish laws conform to his own wishes, but no man, not even the divinely anointed and legally enthroned King of Scots, can do that. And so we have thrice denied Edward permission to pay his troops within this realm by denying him the means with which to do it, knowing that if the troops remain unpaid, they will return to England, one way or another, in search of payment. And that is our intent: to send Edward's army back to plague him rather than us.\"\n\nEvery man in the surrounding throng was rapt, caught up in Will's explanation as the Latin speakers among them translated what he had said. Even the English prisoners appeared interested in what he was saying. He looked about him slowly now, aware of the hush awaiting his next words.\n\n\"That has been the truth in recent months, and for a while now we have been awaiting Edward's next response. And here, this day, we have it. A new ruse being attempted. A scheme involving trickery and treachery, in which you are involved. A devious and underhanded ploy that will have far-reaching implications for everyone because it betrays an understanding that has governed this world of ours since first the Word of Christ came to these shores.\"\n\nAnother pause stretched out as he moved his gaze from face to face among his listeners. \"It has always been the truth that churchmen, being humble servants of the Christ, may travel unmolested throughout all the lands of Britain and elsewhere. None but the most depraved of madmen would ever stoop to rob a priest, because in doing so he would be seen as robbing and insulting God Himself. But there is honour and responsibility involved in that covenant, my friends, on both sides. In return for that freedom of movement and the lack of fear in which they travel, all churchmen bear a sacred trust of honesty in their travels and endeavours. They may transport the Church's goods without molestation, so be it they are engaged upon the Church's affairs and in the sole interest of the Church itself.\"\n\nWill turned back to the priest. \"Tell me, Father Constantine, what do you think is in those chests in the wagon at your back?\"\n\nThe priest frowned. \"You mean the kitchen supplies and provisions?\"\n\n\"No, Father, not those. The others. The locked chests.\"\n\nA terse headshake from the priest. \"I do not know what you mean.\"\n\nWill pointed to two small groups of his men who stood listening beside the wagons. \"You and you. Find them.\"\n\nSeveral men hoisted themselves into each of the two draft wagons, and for a time there was much pushing and shoving as cargo was uncovered and dragged aside. The shout of discovery came from the second wagon, directly behind the Bishops' own, and a moment later one of the men straightened up.\n\n\"They're all in this one!\" he shouted.\n\nWill nodded. \"How many?\"\n\n\"Eight o' them. Wee ones, but they're \u2026\" The fellow stooped again and there came a series of grunts and scraping noises. \"Heavy whoresons \u2026 all padlocked.\"\n\n\"Break one open. Any one of them.\"\n\n\"No! In God's holy name, I\u2014\"\n\nIt was the older Bishop who shouted, and before he could say more than the Lord's name, Will had dropped the reins and whip and leapt into the other wagon. He seized the Bishop in one hand by the front of his robe, pulled him up onto his toes, and then slapped him hard, sending the man's pileolus flying. While every one of the watching clerics gasped in horror, he hauled the grimacing cleric up to within inches of his own face and snarled, \"And now I have laid violent hands on one of God's anointed. Well, we will test the truth of that in time to come, Bishop Weasel. In the interim, though, I have too much to do and lack the time to waste on you. Catch him,\" he growled and threw the cleric like a child's straw doll down into the waiting arms of his men. They caught him with a shout, and before it had died away Will had turned to the other prelate, who flinched and scrambled over the side of the wagon, almost falling to the ground in his hurry to escape. Will raised his arms, pointing and shouting orders in Scots.\n\n\"Line them all up over there. Keep them close and watch them, but don't abuse them. These two here\u2014the fat one and the black crow\u2014I want them on their knees and bare headed. Bare arsed, too, if they give ye any trouble. I'll come back to them.\" He looked over to the wagon with the chests. \"Sully, have you got it open yet?\"\n\nHis answer was a loud, splintering blow. \"Aye, it's open now. Sweet Jesu!\"\n\nWill pointed at Father Constantine. \"You. Come with me. Here, take my hand.\" He took the priest's proffered hand and steadied him across the gap between the Bishops' wagon and our own, and when he was sure he had him safely across, he took the reins again and moved our vehicle to flank the next one in line.\n\nHe did not even have to speak, for the sight in the other wagon needed no words to explain it. Sully's crew had smashed the lid of the small iron-bound chest that lay in the wagon bed in front of others exactly like it, and in doing so had scattered some of the densely packed coinage that the chest contained, so that large silver coins and smaller golden ones were strewn across the planking, gleaming and glittering in the sunlight that had now penetrated the clearing.\n\nThe startled priest began to speak, but he immediately bit down on his outburst, the muscles along his jaw standing out clearly. He turned his head to look at the two Bishops, his expression unreadable. The two Englishmen kneeling side by side in the road glared back at him, wild eyed, but neither one of them dared breathe a word. And finally he turned to me.\n\n\"Clearly there are grounds for suspicion here. As to whether what your companion alleges is true, I cannot say with certainty.\"\n\n\"Then ask yourself why we are here, Father, and how we knew these chests would be here.\" Will's voice was a growl. \"And weigh your own response against this one: I learned four days ago that this train would be coming from the south, and I was told what it would be carrying. I was also told how the plan to send it came about. My informant was a prelate of the Church in Scotland, warned by an associate in England who saw the perfidy in what was being done. Not all English bishops, it seems, are as duplicitous as these two. Some understand the difference between right and wrong and between honour and infamy.\"\n\nFather Constantine nodded slowly. \"It may be as you say, and truth to tell, it looks that way. The fact remains, though, that I knew nothing of this, nor, I am sure, did Bishop Henry.\"\n\nHe looked at Will again, before addressing the two English Bishops in a voice filled with genuine concern.\n\n\"My lords,\" he began, \"I may not help you here, for this is clearly beyond the scope of my duties to you, even did it not bring my personal honour and my loyalty to my King and realm into question. It does all of those things, though, and I intend to throw myself upon the mercy of King John, even though I know that, in allowing myself to be duped, I have been guilty in my failure to see what was going on beneath my nose. As for you and your case, I would recommend clemency in almost any other circumstances\u2014penance and absolution\u2014but I see no contrition in either one of you, and penance without contrition is pointless. It pains me to say that, my lords, but there is nothing I may do to change it. And so I must wash my hands of you.\" He turned away from them and looked Will straight in the eye. \"I am now in your hands, Master Woodsman.\"\n\n\"Hmm. My hands are full, I fear, but I will think on that. In the meantime, come you and sit here, by our good Father James.\"\n\nAs the priest began to make his way to join me, Will looked down at the two Bishops, who, as he had ordered, had been stripped of their outer garments. The larger man was kneeling dejectedly, staring down at his own knees, but the smaller, older man knelt upright, his head cocked as though he was listening for something.\n\n\"Now,\" Will said, his voice addressed to no one in particular, \"to business, for that is what this is, and let no man mistake it for anything else. We are dealing here with a sordid matter of trade and monies that has nothing to do with churchly offices or duties, save in the deliberate abuse of both.\" He turned to the older Bishop. \"You there, the Crow. If you are waiting for your mounted escort to come charging from the woods and rescue you, you wait in vain. Young de Presmuir and his scouts lost interest in your cause hours ago. In fact they lost all interest in everything.\"\n\nI saw the Bishop's eyes narrow with bitter disappointment, but my mind was full of the young knight's name, for my instinct had been correct. I had met the man. Henri de Presmuir, the knight of the Green Lion, had been a guest of Bishop Wishart on an evening soon after my arrival in Glasgow. He had been unarmoured, of course, but I recalled his livery of green on blue, and now I remembered that I had liked the young man, finding him amiable and pleasant to be with. Small wonder, then, that I had not recognized him in the murderous figure who had come charging at me through the misty trees that morning."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Try as I might I could see no smallest sign of shame or contrition in either of the two Bishops, who knelt on the ground glaring up at the enormous figure who loomed over them from the wagon's height. Will raised his eyes to look towards the group of monks clustered behind them.\n\n\"Who is your leader? Who speaks for you?\"\n\n\"I do,\" someone answered in a deep, resonant voice, and a tall, lean man stepped forward. \"My name is Richard of Helensburgh.\"\n\n\"Helensburgh? Another Scot?\" The tall monk nodded, and Will continued. \"These Englishmen are well supplied with Scots to help them in whate'er they are about. And you are Cistercians, are you not? What are you doing here, then, with such as these? Are you a part of this charade?\"\n\nThe monk's face remained expressionless and dignified. \"No, Master Woodsman, not at all. We belong to the community of the Abbey of the Holy Trinity, near Newcastle, and we have been travelling with their lordships since they passed through our Abbey lands, but we are not part of their expedition. We were commanded by our holy Father Abbot to travel with them for safety's sake, and we have been obedient to his orders. We have barely spoken with any of their group, keeping ourselves to ourselves. Our task is to reach Lanark town, where we are to reclaim and refurbish a priory of our order that burned down some years ago and has lain abandoned ever since. Many of us resided there at that time, and after the fire we were received by our brethren in the Abbey of the Trinity. We have been there ever since, awaiting the proper time to return to our priory.\"\n\n\"And that time is now?\"\n\nThe monk dipped his head. \"So says our Abbot Nicodemus, and we are bound to obey him in all things.\"\n\n\"Then you may go in peace to find and rebuild your priory, Brother Richard, but ere you do, I require of you, in the name of King John and the realm of Scotland, that you bear witness to what is happening here.\"\n\n\"As you wish,\" came the quiet reply, and Will turned back to the kneeling men.\n\n\"What are your names?\"\n\nBoth men stared through him, defiantly.\n\nWill turned to Father Constantine. \"Father? Do you know their names?\"\n\n\"Aye, I do. Both are named John, but only one is a bishop. The elder is John Romanus, a bishop of south England. The other one is Brother John, Prior of Whithorn in Galloway.\"\n\nWill looked at the priest in surprise. \"A Prior in Galloway? But he's an Englishman, is he not? I thought all you Galloway people were close-knit and jealous of your holdings.\"\n\nConstantine shrugged. \"We are, by nature \u2026 close-knit and close-mouthed. But the truth is that Edward's people gained the right to appoint English bishops and priors to Scots benefices five years ago. Pope Nicholas saw to that. As for me, I'm but a simple priest. I do my duty, celebrate Mass daily, tend for the people in my care, and keep my nose clear of politics. But the Diocese of Galloway, and with it the Priory of Whithorn, has been subservient to the Archdiocese of York for a hundred years and more. That's a fight that has been going on for years now, with the Scots Bishops wanting to keep England out and the English equally determined to rule Scotland's Church.\"\n\n\"That's right. Of course!\" The suddenness of my interjection brought both men round to look at me in surprise. \"John Romanus, you said? A bishop of southern England?\"\n\n\"Aye.\" The priest was looking at me warily, as though expecting me to do something violent.\n\n\"What diocese would that be?\"\n\n\"How would I know that? I never met the man until three days ago. The south of England was all he said when he named himself to me.\"\n\n\"And you did not think that strange?\"\n\n\"Why should I think it strange? Does England not have a south?\"\n\nWill interrupted. \"What's wrong, Jamie?\"\n\nI threw up my hands. \"I cannot believe he does not know who this man is. We have a noble prisoner, it seems. The man is John le Romayne, Lord Archbishop of York. He holds primacy over the Diocese of Galloway and its Bishop, Henry, as well as over the Priory of Whithorn and his companion there, its prior. How could this man, a priest of Galloway, not know who he is?\"\n\nConstantine spun to face the English bishop, then turned angrily back to me. \"I do not know him because I am a priest of Galloway! A priest, nothing more. I have never seen the man before. I know him by name and by repute, I know his status as primate of Galloway. But I had never set eyes on him until I joined his party at the border.\"\n\nWill ignored both of us and turned slowly to the kneeling Bishop. \"Is this true? You are Archbishop of York? Then what, in God's great and holy name, are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I can answer that,\" I said. \"For it's plain he isn't going to.\"\n\nRomayne's head swivelled towards me, his expression baleful. I felt my stomach stir with anger, but my mind was racing as bits and pieces learned and overheard fell into place. I took a step forward and looked down on him from Will's side.\n\n\"The Archbishop is wealthy, as you might expect,\" I said. \"And that is fortunate for him, because were it not for the depths of his own pockets he would be in prison now, locked up in London Tower.\"\n\nI sensed rather than saw Will's frown. \"What are you saying? In prison, an archbishop?\"\n\n\"Aye, an archbishop who dared, less than a year ago, to excommunicate King Edward's most loyal friend and servant, Antony Bek, Bishop of Durham.\" I let the words hang there, knowing they would bring a gasp of disbelief from all who heard them. \"Bishop Bek, it seems, committed an indiscretion: he permitted the civil arrest of two miscreant priests of his diocese in Durham. That was unprecedented, for only the Church may arrest and imprison a priest. No civil body has ever had the right to challenge that. And therefore the Archbishop, as was his right in canon law, deemed Bishop Bek's actions to be both detrimental and threatening to that law's validity. The King himself intervened in Bishop Bek's favour, though, and the case went before parliament for judgment.\"\n\n\"And parliament found in favour of the King,\" Will said.\n\n\"It did. It decided that Antony Bek, in calling for the arrests, had acted in his vice-regal capacity as earl palatine, not as Bishop of Durham. Parliament called for the imprisonment of Archbishop le Romayne on charges of impiety and l\u00e8se majest\u00e9 in challenging the King's earl palatine. As it transpired, though, in return for a princely fine of four thousand marks of silver from Master le Romayne's own purse, the prison term was set in abeyance and the Archbishop was returned to his duties, though not to royal favour.\"\n\nThe watching crowd began muttering as the translators caught up with what I had said. Men turned to each other with questions and comments, and the noise grew quickly until Will raised an arm to quell it.\n\n\"Enough!\" he shouted in Scots, and the crowd fell silent. \"Stand quiet now. There's mair here than meets the eye and it could be important. Haud your noise, then, till we find out what it a' means.\" He looked back at me and lowered his voice. \"What does it mean?\"\n\n\"It means that the Archbishop badly wants to be back in the King's high regard.\" I could taste the truth of what was in my mind. \"He wants it badly enough to ignore all the rules of episcopal conduct and to prostitute himself and his sacred office in trade for the King's good graces. Few bishops would condone what he has done here, and none, I dare say, would stoop to it themselves. This foul man has suborned and betrayed the Church to win the mortal favours of a King, undoing the work of centuries with the betrayal of a sacred trust. Think about it, Will\u2014about what's involved here. This \u2026 this betrayal represents an awful, unsuspected sin. A sin, perhaps, such as has never been before.\" I was speaking quietly, for Will's ears alone, but I knew that Father Constantine could hear what I was saying, and now Will glanced across at him.\n\n\"Do you agree, Father?\"\n\nThe priest nodded immediately. \"I do. Completely. This frightens me with its power to change things forever \u2026 to destroy the Church's trust. I am afraid to think on what might happen now.\"\n\n\"Don't be,\" Will said, \"because it's already done. You cannot change it now.\" He turned back to the watching crowd and held up his hands, commanding and receiving instant silence.\n\n\"All of you,\" he said in Latin, looking from face to face and speaking slowly enough for the interpreters in the crowd to translate what he was saying. \"Listen closely to me, because I am going to tell you what all this means\u2014this treachery we have discovered. And make no mistake, any of you. It is treachery.\" He glanced around him, catching eyes here and there in the throng that faced him. \"Father Constantine has just told me that he fears what has happened here may have the power to destroy men's trust in Holy Church, and I believe it will do just that, because much has changed today. And even if most of us seeing it cannot clearly understand it, it is there in plain view of anyone with the eyes to look.\n\n\"You wonder what I am talking about, what I mean. I see it in your faces. Well, I mean this: from this day forward, because of what we have discovered here today, no priest of any rank, anywhere in this realm or any other, can ever again claim the right to travel unquestioned. All may now be stopped and searched at any time, their goods and stores inspected in the search for contraband, for on this day this Archbishop that you see in front of you has been taken in perfidy and has destroyed the faith all men have always had in priests and in their Church. He has destroyed the universal faith that all priests are trustworthy by their very rank, that they can be relied upon, without question, to put the welfare of each living soul above all else, and to value God's holy will and wishes for mankind ahead of all worldly considerations.\n\n\"The perpetrator of this sin, one of the highest ranking members of the Church in all England, stands exposed as a liar and a panderer, having betrayed his God, his Church, and his high office in return for the worldly status offered him by a petty king. By cynically smuggling England's gold into another realm under the auspices of Holy Church and for the sole purpose of paying and sustaining an invading army, this priest has chosen worldly profit over the loss of his own soul, using his position of trust and privilege to undermine a peaceful foreign realm and its people.\n\n\"This is politics, my friends, in the guise of holiness. Treachery and depravity under the appearance of dignity and solemnity.\n\nBlatant hypocrisy unveiled as the writhing mass of maggots that it is.\" He looked directly down at Romayne then. \"John le Romayne, Lord Archbishop of York, you have won yourself a place in the annals of infamy. Until the end of time you will be the man who destroyed the Catholic Church's probity. May God have mercy on your crawling deformities, though I doubt that Edward Plantagenet will once he learns that you have cost him yet another paymaster's train. For the present, hear my decree: in recognition of your treachery in thus attempting to smuggle Edward's gold into Scotland, we now impound not only Edward's money but yours, too. Those rich clothes of yours will keep cold bodies warm in winter, even though they serve as simple bedclothing, and the jewels that festoon your hands and bodies will buy food for starving folk.\" He nodded to one of his men. \"Strip them of everything. We will send them naked into the world, as they arrived. It may serve to remind them what poverty and humility mean to most people.\"\n\nHe raised his eyes to address Brother Richard and his assembled monks. \"You brothers may leave now, but go at once and waste not a moment in pity for these two. They will come to no more harm at our hands, for nothing we might do to them could injure them more than the maladies they have brought upon themselves. You all know what they have done and so you know they deserve no pity. Talk of it as you go, though. Tell everyone you meet along the road what you have seen today and make sure they all understand the gravity of what was done.\" He stopped short then and surveyed the crowd. \"It occurs to me, brethren, that there is a lesson here to be learned by all of us.\"\n\nHe looked back down at the Archbishop, who had sunk onto his thighs and now appeared beaten and dejected.\n\n\"You all saw two Bishops here, where in fact there were none. You saw them with your own eyes, and you believed. Yet one was an Archbishop and the other but a Prior. Sleek and well dressed, the two of them, and looking like anything but what we now know they are in fact. And so the lesson is, Judge not by appearances. Yet we all do, and we tailor our appearances to suit our needs.\" He paused.\n\n\"Me, for example, with my hooded cloak draped and arranged just so, to conceal my hunched back, and my men around you, with their masks in place to hide their faces. But will they need masks once word of this little adventure reaches Edward Plantagenet? I doubt it. When Edward hears of this, he will come ravening, seeking blood and vengeance in addition to his lost coin, and the presence or absence of a mask or two will make little difference to who is hanged or slaughtered.\n\n\"And so I say to you the time for masks and hoods is past. Bishops, plain to behold, are not bishops, and the men around you, who have been the Greens, will go masked no more. They will stand from this day forth as Scots, united in their stance against the tyranny and treachery of England and its King. And as for me, the hunchback?\"\n\nHe slowly removed the hooded cloak, pushing the cowl back off his head and then throwing the heavy garment aside. He straightened his back and flexed his huge shoulders and raised his voice into a shout, shifting from Latin to Scots. \"My name is William Wallace, of Scotland, and I dinna care wha kens it, so be damned to them a'. So tell them that when ye go out to spread the word o' what has happened here, the shame and the disgrace o' it. Tell them that Scotland has a voice amang the trees o' Selkirk Forest. And tell them that their voices will be heard as long as we in Selkirk stand and fight. Tell them my name, too, and tell the English that, 'gin they want to tak' me, I'm here waitin' for them. An outlaw, aye, but a Scot first and last, and ready to fight to my last breath.\"\n\nIn all my life I had never heard anything like the roar unleashed by that gathering. It swelled and expanded and changed shape as it grew to a sustained chant of \"Wall-ISS! Wall-ISS! Wall-ISS!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "The year that followed was unlike any other I ever experienced, and I think of it now as the happiest time of my adult life. I remember it as a time of freedom and great beauty, of soaring hope amidst increasing desperation, and, for me at least, a time of liberation and fulfillment, spent as a forest chaplain, ministering to the folk\u2014the families and assorted misfits and strange, often wonderful characters\u2014who were attracted, for a multitude of reasons, to the man William Wallace.\n\nForemost among those reasons, of course, was the fact that Will had stepped forward and declared himself as he did that day when he took the English paymasters' gold from the Archbishop. No one had ever stood up boldly in the face of both Church and state and declared himself to be representing and defending the common folk of Scotland, and word of it spread throughout the land like fire in dry grass.\n\nThe nobility condemned him, of course, but everyone else dismissed that as unimportant, for in their view, by their indifference to what was happening to their countrymen, the nobility had abdicated their right to take offence. What was significant was that Wallace's action lit a fire in the breasts of the countless hundreds of ordinary men who had grown sick of the incessant bullying and chronic injustice bred of the system they were forced to live under. In a development that no one could have foreseen, they chose, overwhelmingly, to join William Wallace in his forest domain and to stand beside him as free men, beholden to no masters and responsible for their own destiny.\n\nIt was this burgeoning of small but vibrant communities within the greenwood that led to my being delegated to work there as a priest, ministering to the needs of Will's followers. I had returned quickly to Glasgow and Bishop Wishart after the raid on the English paymasters' wagons, bearing tidings of the outcome of my mission to Will, and His Grace had listened, stone faced. When I had finished my report, he nodded once, thanked me, and dismissed me. Had anyone asked me later, even under torture, to describe his reaction to what I had told him, I would not have been able to say.\n\nThen word came to us, with all the condemnatory wrath of an outraged clergy, of a heinous crime against a nameless bishop during the prosecution of his divine duties. That report spoke of the impious and blasphemous theft of unnamed but invaluable Church property. I had been back for two weeks by then, so it was evident to both the Bishop and me that people had spent considerable time colluding on the details of what had actually happened and what would be released for public consumption. Once again, Bishop Wishart listened grim faced and offered no comment.\n\nTwo weeks after that, though, during the Friday-evening communal meal in the cathedral refectory, when I was deep in thought and shamelessly ignoring the droning voice of the visiting friar who was reading that evening's scriptural selection, I was interrupted by one of the secretariat and summoned immediately into the Bishop's presence.\n\nHe was alone in a corner by his window when I arrived, sitting with his feet propped up on a cushioned stool and tapping a flattened, much-misshapen scroll against his chin as he stared into the blackness beyond the window's tiny, diamond-shaped panes. He looked up at me and grunted, then waved for me to pull forward another chair and join him, and as soon as I was seated he handed me the scroll. Someone had flattened it roughly, cracking its seal in folding it to fit into a pouch or pocket. I unfolded it and immediately recognized Will's penmanship, which made me smile.\n\n\"Does this not make you wish, my lord, that everyone was capable of being his own scribe? How much clearer everything would be, were that the case.\"\n\n\"Aye, but wishing for that would be a waste of God's time, Father James, for such never will be the case. Your cousin is one of the three or four literate men I know outside of our clerical ranks. Read it.\"\n\nThe missive was brief and to the point: in the space of a month, Will had written, the situation in the greenwood had changed greatly. People had begun to gather there from every direction, lured by the promise of freedom, whatever that might be, and their numbers were growing daily and showing no signs of abating. He had underscored freedom, but aside from adding whatever that might be, he spent no more time attempting to define what they were seeking. He and his people were coping, he wrote. Food was plentiful, and they had made sure people were living far from the main road, deep in the forest and beyond reach of attack.\n\nThe largest need he could foresee, Will wrote, was for priests. He had a few people among his followers with rudimentary knowledge of the healing crafts, but not one single monk or priest. Children were already being born, elders were dying, and young people were exchanging marriage vows. He needed priests now, he said, to live among his people and minister to them.\n\nI lowered the letter and looked wordlessly at Bishop Wishart, who was staring back at me. He had pouted his lips and was picking and plucking at them with a fingertip.\n\n\"You want me to go.\"\n\nHe stopped what he was doing and sat up straight, removing his feet from the stool. \"Aye,\" he said. \"At once. Take Declan and Jacobus with you. They can both use the experience to advantage. They will be in your charge and will answer to you as their superior.\"\n\nI nodded, content with the authority he had granted me. The two priests he had named were respectively the youngest and the eldest in the cathedral chapter, and both would undoubtedly benefit from escaping the daily sameness of the cathedral's regimen. Father Declan had been ordained with me. He was two years older than I was, but there were years of difference between us in experience and temperament, for Declan, orphaned since birth, had been cloistered all his life. He was a true Innocent, his most heinous sin, I would have wagered, no more serious than a sometime tendency to daydream. Now, however, he needed to learn to deal with real, living people, the sheep for whom God had made him responsible as a shepherd, charging him to lead them to Salvation.\n\nFather Jacobus had been crippled for decades by a mysterious infirmity that had barred him physically from serving as a normal priest, making it impossible for him to mix with people and share their daily lives. And then his affliction had miraculously vanished, between one day and the next, shortly before I came to Glasgow. His return to health had been complete, so that now he positively glowed with vigour and devotion, but like Declan, he had been immured for many years, and the time had come for him, too, to step beyond the bounds of a regulated, monastic existence and reacquaint himself with the bountiful and wondrous world of God's creation.\n\n\"When do you wish us to leave, my lord?\"\n\n\"As soon as you can. Gather all you think you might need, including medicines and supplies, and have it loaded on a wagon\u2014two wagons, if you need them\u2014but don't tell me or any of my people what you take, or how much you take, or where it's going. That way, no one will be able to betray anything, even by accident. As soon as you are ready, come and find me. By then I will have written a reply to your cousin, and you can take it with you.\"\n\n\"Of course, my lord. How long will we be gone?\"\n\nHe had already started to look about him, his attention shifting to his next task, but now he looked back at me, his eyes showing his surprise. He gave a grunt, then answered in Scots. \"For as long as ye're needed. So dinna fret about returnin'. 'Gin I ha'e need o' you i' the interim, I'll send for you. But until then, think o' the Selkirk Forest as your kirk.\"\n\nHe smiled then, a small sideways twisting of his mouth accompanying the softening of his fierce old eyes, and reverted to Latin. \"A vast, green cathedral of your own, Father James \u2026 I know you will not abuse it, and I will pray for your success and happiness among the beauties of God's wilderness.\" He paused again, then added, \"I envy you this, you know, this freedom you now have. Were I much younger, I would jump at the chance to do what I am now instructing you to do. Ah, well \u2026 We are what and who we are and we live in the here and now, so there's an end of that nonsense. Go now, with my blessing, and make a start on what you have to do.\"\n\nI knelt quickly, and as he made the sign of the cross over my bent head, I was aware of a sensation of lightness in my chest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "The guards at the turnoff point recognized me as I approached and remained hidden, only one of them stepping out from his hiding place to wave us forward. He was one of Will's sergeants, as they were known, soldier leaders chosen from among the ranks, who wore a coloured shoulder patch to mark their status. They were responsible for maintaining discipline among the wild men who formed Will's active units. He threw me a casual salute as I passed by, running his eye over my loaded pack horse and the wagon at my back. I knew that he had already passed the signal on to the watchers at his back that we were friends. Without that signal, we would not have survived the first mile beyond his post.\n\nFrom where we had turned, a long, narrow, tightly winding path protected Will's main encampment from attack. It took an hour to travel, twisting and turning through evil-looking bogs that threatened to suck our wheels down into the mud, and sometimes snaking between impenetrable thickets of tangled blackthorn and hawthorn. These thorn thickets were not high, but they were dense and unyielding, forcing everyone who came this way to keep to the narrow path.\n\nI knew, without ever setting eyes on any of them, that we were being watched constantly as we rode by within arrow shot of evervigilant guards, and I knew beyond doubt that men were also watching us from the high branches of the scattered, massive trees that towered above the growth on both sides. And so we rode in silence until the path emerged into a spacious water meadow, straightening into a long, grassy avenue that led directly to the cluster of solid-looking log buildings along the edge of a small lake.\n\nFrom the moment of our arrival at Will's camp, I felt at home and ready to tackle anything that might be thrown at me. Will came out to greet us when he heard someone shout my name, and when he saw me sitting my horse with another, laden, at my back and a wagonload of goods behind that, his face split into an enormous smile and he spread his arms wide, waiting to embrace me. I swung down from my mount and he swept me up into a mighty hug, threatening to crush my ribs as he swung me around in a circle.\n\n\"Damn, Jamie, you look good,\" he said, holding me by the shoulders, and then his face went serious as his eyes moved to take in my two fellow priests watching us from their wagon. \"I swear there's nothing more unwelcome to an unsuspecting host than the sight of an empty-handed visitor,\" he said, then laughed again and punched me on the shoulder. \"Welcome, Cousin. Bid your fellows climb down and have a drink with us. Patrick will take care of your horses and the wagon.\"\n\nHe shouted to the man Patrick and rattled off a string of orders, and in no time at all Fathers Declan and Jacobus had been helped down and willing hands were busy with the disposition of the supplies we had brought. I introduced Will to Declan and Jacobus, and he welcomed them cordially, then herded us towards the rear of the camp, where I saw more buildings than had been there on my previous visit.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, ushering us into a pleasant little clearing at the back of one of the new buildings and directing us to one of several tables with benches attached. \"Sit here. It's comfortable and it smells good, with the smoke from the kitchens there making everyone hungry.\"\n\n\"Those are the kitchens?\" My surprise was unfeigned, for these buildings were more than twice the size of the kitchens I had seen before.\n\n\"Aye. I've heard it said we are raising an army here, but I tell you, Cuz, if we are, it's an army of gulls and gannets\u2014save that gulls and gannets fly away once their bellies are full. I swear, I've never seen so many hungry people.\" He leaned back, stretching out his legs and crossing his hands over his belly. \"But the food is good and plentiful, thank God, and we yet have room to sit and spread our legs. And here's Tearlaigh. Ewan has taught our cooks to make a passable beer from local hops, and Tearlaigh's been his best pupil. His beer is almost as good as Ewan's. You'll find it goes down smoothly.\"\n\nA giant of a man had come bustling towards us carrying a leather bucket and with a loop of wooden beer tankards strung around his neck, and now he served us, unhooking tankards from his string and filling them with foaming beer.\n\n\"So where is Ewan?\" I asked, having taken my first gulp of what was a truly excellent brew.\n\n\"He's around somewhere. I saw him a while ago.\" He stood up and looked around, but sat down again immediately. \"He won't be far away. He never is.\"\n\n\"And Mirren, she is well?\"\n\n\"Aye, blooming like a flower. She'll be glad to see you, Cuz.\"\n\nI had my own ideas on that, for Mirren, I believed, had little time or liking for me, but I smiled and brought my two companions back into the conversation.\n\nIt was good to be off the road after the long journey, and as the sun went down fires began to appear between the scattered tables, and soon we moved to sit by one of them, enjoying the heat, the drifting smoke, and the dancing firelight. The beer was excellent, and some time later I woke myself up by nodding forward and tipping the brew into my lap. I know the three of us slept that night in one of the new huts by the kitchens, but I barely remember moving from the fire, and when I awoke the next morning before dawn, I had no idea where I was.\n\nMy two charges and I spent several hours after morning Mass sorting through our clerical provisions and selecting the items we would need in our first week in our new communities. Those included basic liturgical vestments for ceremonial occasions like the consecration of the new churches we would build, and sacramental items like chalices and ciboria used for the Eucharist, as well as mundane but necessary clerical supplies like writing materials. Each of us had his own consecrated altar stone, of course, but we needed bread and wine, for the consecration of the Mass, and salt, holy oil, and chrism for dispensing the other sacraments. We knew we could restock our supplies simply by walking back to the main encampment, but we knew, too, that we would have enough to do in the days ahead of us to waste time fretting over supplies.\n\nAfterwards, Will walked us the length and breadth of the territories that his men now commanded, an area almost two full miles in length and close to a mile in width, comprising a rough oval of low, rolling, tree-covered terrain containing three primitive settlements surrounded by a wide belt of undisturbed, heavy-growth forest. Building was under way in all three settlements, and people were already living in the newest dwellings.\n\nHaving left Declan and Jacobus to begin their new ministries in the first two settlements, I was at the mercy of whatever I might find at the third. Any fears I might have had were soon proven groundless, though, for the last site was the most beautiful of the three, and I felt at peace there from the moment I saw it. It lay the farthest from Will's main encampment, a full half-hour's walk, but it was set in a tranquil and lovely place, a gently sloping, oak-grown, and mosscovered hillside above a wide, rocky stream. The rocky hilltop above the settlement was split by a yawning ravine, exposing sheer sides where great slabs of stone, stained by lichen and moss, appeared to be bound together by a network of massive, mossy tree roots. I could see several cave openings up there, and guessed that people had been using these natural shelters for habitation long before Will Wallace and his outlaws came this way.\n\nToday, the caves were being used by Alan Crawford of Nithsdale and the crew of men assigned to him to build shelter for the newcomers. Alan's was the largest of the crews I had seen, and their work was well in hand when we arrived. I counted six sturdy military-style barrack buildings made of heavy, new-cut logs. Four of those already bore thick roofs, and the remaining two were raftered and being covered with planking that would soon be covered with a thin coating of sod.\n\nAlan remembered me and greeted me cordially as soon as I dismounted.\n\n\"Well met again,\" I said to him, shaking his hand. \"If this is to be my new home\u2014and it appears it is\u2014I thank you for preparing it against my coming. But where is everyone else?\"\n\nAlan pointed a thumb towards his men, who were already back at work. \"We're a' there is for now. The new settlers winna start comin' till tomorrow. That's whit wey we're tryin' to get these last twa huts finished afore it gets dark. That first group will a' be men, mind\u2014about twa score o' them\u2014and we'll put them to work the minute they get here. They'll build mair huts, bigger yins, for families, weemin and bairns.\"\n\n\"Ah. And at what time do you start work in the morning?\"\n\nHe looked at me blankly. \"Why, when we ha'e broken fast.\"\n\n\"Prayed and broken fast, you mean, do you not?\" I said.\n\nHe grinned. \"Aye, of course \u2026 now that you're here, Father James.\"\n\n\"Good. Mass will be at daybreak. You can let your men know.\"\n\nHe nodded, still smiling, and walked away, and I turned to Will.\n\n\"What? You've got that old Will Wallace look on your face. What are you thinking?\"\n\nHe gave a small shrug. \"Nothing. I was just wondering where you will say your first Mass. You'll need an altar.\"\n\n\"No, I won't. Not a real one, not at first. You know that as well as I do. Any flat surface will do\u2014any tabletop, anywhere, as long as it's big enough to hold the altar stone.\"\n\n\"Fine. But you will need a church of some description, sooner or later, even if it's no more than a roof on pillars, a shelter to keep your people dry in foul weather. We can build you a real altar then. But you'll have to tell Alan's builder yourself what you need. Don't leave it to Alan to instruct him, or you'll be sorry. Alan's a fine organizer and driver of men, but he's none too good with abstract notions. The builder's name is Davie Ogilvie, and he's a northerner like Shoomy. You'll do well to put yourself in his good graces, for he can build anything you can describe to him. He'll build you a cathedral out of kindling, if that's what you ask for.\"\n\n\"I'll settle for a solid little chapel, but I'm grateful for the advice. In the meantime, though, where should I sleep tonight? Do you know or care?\"\n\n\"Neither one nor the other, Cuz. Alan's people are sleeping in the finished huts over there, but I think that might not suit your needs anyway \u2026 nor theirs, now that I think about it. A priest should have a place to be alone and do whatever priests do when they're alone.\" He paused, then waved towards the nearest cave. \"Were I you, I'd throw my belongings in there. It's dry, and it's warm and draft free, with a couple of separate chambers, and Alan has told me it has a natural chimney that draws smoke right up through the roof.\"\n\n\"So if it's that good, why isn't Alan himself using it?\"\n\nWill grinned and ducked his head. \"Because I told him to leave it for you. I knew you'd be coming, sooner or later.\"\n\n\"You sly snake! You asked Wishart to send me here, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Not in so many words. It was more of a suggestion, a word of encouragement. I knew he'd send you anyway. He needs you as a go-between from him to me, so it makes sense to have you billeted with me, where you can do the most good.\"\n\nI shook my head in mock disgust and hoisted my heavy pack. \"Right, then, show me this cave and you can light a fire while I unpack.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "Ever since we left Glasgow, I had been fretting privately about our collective inexperience. All three of us had been cloistered in the sanctified atmosphere of the cathedral, yet now, of a sudden, we would be living and working with a real congregation, men, women, and children of all ages and descriptions who would look up to us as God's own representatives. They would depend upon us for their sacraments and for their moral and spiritual guidance and welfare, and they would have a never-ending need for help in clinging to their faith in the midst of their daily lives. It was a terrifying prospect, and I entered into the experience like a boy dropping into a swimming hole from an overhanging branch, remembering Will's exhortation from years earlier when he and I had discovered the deep hole in the river by Paisley Abbey. \"Jump in,\" he had told me, \"and swim out.\"\n\nI hung up my liturgical vestments in an alcove dug into one wall of my cave on that first night, thinking that by the time I had need of them, they would have had a few days for the wrinkles to smooth out. A full month later, those garments were still where I had hung them. In all that time, I had worn the same hooded, monkish robe\u2014a single, dark grey, ankle-length garment, ragged beyond belief and tied with a rope at the waist. I had gone barefoot, too, most of that time, while building my own church side by side with Davie Ogilvie the builder. He was an immensely strong man, though he did not look large, and I quickly developed a great regard for his skills, which included the astonishing ability to visualize complex constructions in his mind and then translate them into charts and drawings from which others could work.\n\nI used up my supply of Communion bread very quickly, but that was easy to replace. Bread is bread, plentiful at most times. Wine, however, is an entirely different matter, scarce and difficult to come by in rural Scotland. I was not short of it to begin with, but I knew I had little prospect of renewing my supply easily, and so I quickly cut down the amount we used in the Mass and found that, by diluting even that fastidiously, I could stretch my supply well enough.\n\nFor the first week I celebrated Mass each morning as the first of our new settlers began to trickle in, but by the end of the second week I had to schedule a second Mass on the Sunday, and soon after that I was saying Mass twice a day, every day. By the third Sunday, I found myself exchanging nods with those faces among my congregation that had already grown familiar, and by the fourth, I knew most of the people's names. We were one hundred and twelve souls by that time, and our numbers would exceed two hundred within the year. From the moment I awoke in my cave that first day and went to celebrate Mass with Alan Crawford's work crew, I never again had time to fret about being capable of fulfilling my obligations.\n\nI was celebrating the second nuptial Mass among my congregants, early in June, when Will stalked into the roofed building we called a church, and as soon as I saw the set of his shoulders and the cast of his face I knew something was gravely wrong. It had been raining intermittently all morning, and he wore a heavy cloak of wool, waterproofed with a thin coat of brushed-on wax. He made a place for himself at the rear of the congregation, where he stood with his head bowed while I continued with the service. The young couple I was marrying that day were a delightful pair, well thought of by everyone, and the church was filled with well-wishers, so I put Will out of my mind as well as I could for the time being and returned my attention to the sacrament I was conferring on the young pair, not wishing to give them anything less than a ceremony they could recall throughout their lives. I distributed Communion to the throng, Will included, and then brought the service to a close by leading the radiant new wife and her goodman out to meet their families, friends, and neighbours. I stood at the threshold of my poor little church and watched the parade weave away, with great hilarity and jubilation, to enjoy their wedding feast.\n\nWhen Will and I were once more alone, I stepped to the altar and carefully cleaned and wrapped my precious chalice and ciborium, then packed them carefully into their leather case and carried them with me as I led Will to the cave that was my home. One of the women who insisted on caring for my few comforts had built a roaring fire against the day's dampness, and as we reached the fire, Will threw back his cloak and unslung a fat, heavy wineskin from where it had hung beneath his shoulder.\n\n\"One of my fellows took this from a knight he and his men stopped this side o' Selkirk town. It's miraculous wine, they say.\"\n\n\"Miraculous?\" I took the skin from him and hefted it appreciatively. \"This will be put to good use, I promise you. I've been thinking I would have to send Father Declan back to Glasgow for a fresh supply, because we are already on the last of what we brought with us. My gratitude, then, to whoever was responsible. But miraculous? What's that supposed to mean?\"\n\n\"Miraculous, for one thing, that he and his men didn't drink it themselves. But also that they brought it back because they knew that you and the other priests are short \u2026 I confess, Cuz, that astonished me. Tousle-arsed forest outlaws saving good wine for a priest? Impossible, I would have said.\"\n\nI smiled. \"Well, take off your hat and offer thanks to God for your enlightenment, and have more charity in future. Would you like a cup of it?\"\n\n\"After all that? I would to God I could, but I would feel like a thief, so, no.\"\n\nI had started to remove my vestments and now I paused, eyeing him and smiling to take any sting out of my words. \"But you are a thief, Cuz. That's why you are here in the forest, after all.\"\n\n\"That is true, Cousin Priest, and I had no need to hear it. But I am grateful, nonetheless, for the thought about the cup of wine and I'll gladly drink some ale if you have any.\"\n\n\"In the chest there, between the chairs. Pour one for me, too.\"\n\nI finished taking off my chasuble and stole and hung the garments carefully in the niche I used for them, and then I stripped off my long, white alb and folded it meticulously into its box on the floor of the niche. I had but the one and I seldom wore it because it was almost impossible to keep clean and fresh looking, and so I reserved it for special occasions like this morning's Nuptial Mass. Normally, I celebrated the Sacrifice in my plain monk's robe, believing that God cared little how I dressed so long as I served him in the spirit of love and piety.\n\nBy the time I turned back to the fire, Will had poured ale for both of us and set a flagon for me on the rough table between the two chairs that flanked the fireplace. I drank deeply, then set the vessel down before looking across at my cousin.\n\n\"All right, what's wrong, Will? You're plainly angry over something. What brings you here? Apart from bringing the wine, I mean.\"\n\n\"Reprisals.\"\n\nI heard the word, and understood it, but for several moments it meant nothing to me.\n\n\"From the English,\" Will said. \"They're punishing folk for what I did last April.\"\n\n\"April! That was months ago.\"\n\n\"Aye, it was, but they're taking payment now. Plainly they took a while to think about what to do next, that's all. And now they're doing it.\"\n\n\"Doing what, Will? Are they coming here?\"\n\n\"No. They'd never dare, unless they came in strength, to wipe us out, and they won't risk that \u2026 unless they have permission from King John, and I don't see that coming. Nothing would please Edward more than to have right of passage from the border to here, but there's too much going on between the two kingdoms and their Kings right now to permit our wee affairs to take on that kind of import. But reprisals are being carried out against us, Jamie. I've had reports, and we have had casualties coming in, to bear witness to what's going on. Farms and whole villages laid waste and burned, their people hanged or slaughtered. Men taken on the road, about their own affairs, and hanged without trial. Their women ravaged, sometimes spared, sometimes not \u2026 And no one, anywhere, able to identify the killers.\" He dragged his hands down over his face and mouthed a formless moan of weariness and frustration.\n\n\"I want to send some of them here, the survivors, to the main camp, but we can't handle them. We've no room, and we're too close to any enemy that comes against us. Close enough to fight them, certainly\u2014that's why we're there. But there's no safety for any but ourselves, the fighting men. Can you take some of the others, d'you think? Have you room?\"\n\n\"Of course we can take them, and we'll make room if need be. Where are these people from?\"\n\n\"They're plain folk from around here, on the outskirts of the forest.\"\n\n\"Which outskirts?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Nowhere, everywhere. Some attacks were close by our territories, others were farther afield, near places like Selkirk village. But none were actually within our reach for retaliations. Most were in the southwest, though \u2026 west and southwest.\"\n\n\"How far?\"\n\nThat made him frown. \"Ten miles? No, more than that.\" He hesitated, thinking rapidly. \"Twenty miles at least, perhaps more.\"\n\n\"Twenty miles south and southwest of your main camp. That's Bruce country.\"\n\n\"Aye. It is.\" He glanced at me and nodded. \"They would ne'er ha'e dared try such a thing when old Bruce the Competitor was alive, God rest his soul. The old man would ha'e gone to war over it. But now his son, the Lord o'Annandale, sits in England's Carlisle Castle as its custodian, and his grandson, the Earl of Carrick, is in London, playing the popinjay at Edward's court. So you'll hear no complaints from the Bruces.\"\n\n\"And why have these survivors come to you?\"\n\n\"Because they have no other place to go, why else?\"\n\n\"Do you know them? And if the answer to that is yes, then how do you know them, that they should come to you?\"\n\n\"I don't know them. They are just folk who had heard of us, that we were in the greenwood, and who came to us when they lost everything. I knew none of them before they came, and none of them knew me.\"\n\n\"But if that's so, if they had no connection to you, why were they harmed?\"\n\n\"Come on now, Jamie, don't vex me. We're dealing with Englishmen here! Think you they need a reason to be as they are? To behave the way they do? Have you forgotten Ellerslie and what they did to us and our kin?\"\n\n\"No, Will, I have not. But this is different\u2014\"\n\n\"How is it different? How can you sit there, knowing nothing about what is going on, and say it is different? Different to what? I'll send you three wee boys who watched their parents being butchered like stirks. Three wee boys younger than we were, with ravaged arses sorer than ours were! Tell them how different this is, then watch how they walk, hobbling in pain and shame, and how they look around them at the men they meet, waiting to be jumped upon again. Different? The only difference I see is in the time. When they did it to us, we were children, weak and helpless. Now, by the living Christ, I am a man grown, and I will meet these English whoresons with a man's strength and judgment.\"\n\nMy mind had filled with the image of two other small boys, running in endless terror for days on end, and I held up my hand to stem his words.\n\nNow he checked himself. \"What?\"\n\n\"I hear what you are saying. And I understand. I disagree, but that is neither here nor there. But tell me about the logic behind these attacks. How can you be sure they have anything to do with the robbery in April?\" I watched the frown that came over his face. \"From what you have said, or from what I think I've heard you say, none of these \u2026 reprisals has taken place anywhere near the scene of the April robbery. Is that correct?\" I could see in his eyes that it was, and so I continued. \"But you are convinced beyond doubt that whatever is going on has to do with what you did that day.\" Once again, reading his face, I could see that I was right. \"Yet where is the connection? Why would you not simply believe these are random raids, like the one that cost us our home in Ellerslie? Why are you so sure they are linked to the April theft?\"\n\nHe frowned again, briefly, then sat up straighter and looked me in the eye. \"Because they have to be. No other explanation makes sense. Besides, it fits the nature of the beast. Edward Plantagenet is not a passive enemy. We created havoc with that raid\u2014absolute havoc that no one, he least of all, had dreamed of. We destroyed all of his carefully structured plans, smashed them to splinters just when he must have thought he had been supremely clever. Can you imagine how he must have raged when he heard of it? But the most infuriating goad of all must have been that he could not breathe a word about any of it. How could he complain about the theft of illegal funds, funds that should never have been brought into Scotland in the first place and should never have been smuggled across the border under the protection of Holy Church under any circumstances? He would have been condemned by everyone, publicly disgraced. Mind you, I am not saying that, in itself, would have deterred him. I've no doubt he would have been prepared to defy the whole world had his stratagem been successful. But once his funds were lost, he had no hope of winning anything but scorn, condemnation, and harsh judgment \u2026 perhaps even excommunication.\"\n\nAs I listened to his words, the scope of what William Wallace had personally done to England's King sank home to me as it had never done before. Until that moment, I had seen the events of that now distant day in April solely from a clerical perspective, assessing the damage done to the fabric of Holy Church by the actions of the renegade Archbishop of York. Other than the physical bulk of the royal specie we confiscated\u2014and I had not seen so much as the image of his regal head on a single captured coin\u2014there had been no visible trace of Edward of England present that day, and I had somehow lost sight of his overwhelming influence in the entire affair. It had never crossed my mind until that moment, listening to Will, that Edward Plantagenet, the implacable and remorseless conqueror of Ewan's people in Wales, might come looking, in person, for vengeance against my cousin for having dared to defy him. It appalled me now to see how blind and wilfully stupid I had been, living in a fool's paradise.\n\n\"You're right,\" I whispered, fighting down a surge of nausea. \"Edward can't let that go unavenged. He will have you killed.\"\n\n\"He might try, Cuz, but he'll have to come and get me himself if he wants to see me dead \u2026\" His voice died away, then resumed more quietly. \"In the meantime, though, he's serving notice.\"\n\n\"Notice? I don't understand what you mean.\"\n\n\"Killing these simple folk is what I mean. There's no reason for it, other than to make me notice. Women and children, innocent of any crime, die or are evicted with their men. Their slaughter is a signal, nothing more. A signal to me, from him, that he knows I'm here and would have words with me. Words.\" He grunted. \"I'd hear few words from him, other than 'Die,' and he would have some other speak for him before he'd soil his tongue by using it on me. He's a savage man, I've heard. D'you remember the tales of what the Turks did to Christian pilgrims, before the Great Crusade?\"\n\n\"No. I mean, I've heard many tales, but I don't know which ones you mean.\"\n\n\"I'm thinking of the one Pope Urban used when first he raised the Cross in France. He told of how the Mussulmans would take a Christian man and slit his belly, then tie his entrails to a stake and chase the man around the stake until he died, gutted. I never really believed that happened, but Edward of England could do such a thing. He is that kind of man. A dire enemy.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" I shuddered and blessed myself with the sign of the cross. \"No Christian king would ever kill a man in such a barbaric fashion.\"\n\nMy cousin looked at me and smiled a grim little smile. \"Edward Plantagenet would, if he thought it necessary. He thinks these raids against the folk are necessary, to capture my attention.\"\n\nI gazed down into my empty flagon. \"Can you stop it, this slaughter?\"\n\n\"Aye. I can ride into Lanark, or to some other English garrison, and give myself up.\"\n\n\"No, Will. Apart from that. Can you stop the slaughter?\"\n\n\"Probably not.\" He bent forward and picked out a log from the pile by the hearth, then laid it on the embers and pushed it into place with his booted foot. \"But I can make it hazardous for any Englishman foolish enough to step out of doors to take a piss in southern Scotland. It will take the like of an army of men to achieve that, but Edward Longshanks and his English bullies have provided us with just such an army. At last count, we had close to nine hundred men throughout the south, most of them bowmen and all of them willing to rise at the blast of a horn.\"\n\n\"Nine hundred?\"\n\n\"Aye, from Selkirk to Teviotdale to Dumfries and as far west as Galloway. Had you asked me yesterday if it was feasible to field so many, I would have said no.\" His lips quirked, but there was no humour in his eyes. \"But now I say yes. It will take planning, but we can do it. We have to stop this obscenity, this wanton slaughter. And if that means killing them to stop them killing ours, then so be it. We will do what needs to be done. And we will do it as soon as it can be arranged. We'll flood the entire south with patrols, strong foot patrols, three hundred men on any given day, and woe betide any stranger with as much as a knife who can't appease them with good reasons for being armed and where he is. We will be declaring war on England. Let there be no misunderstanding. It will not be open war, and it will not be knightly war, or chivalrous, but it will be war\u2014bloody and brutal and unforgiving, for as long as Longshanks wants it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "I have asked myself a hundred times, over the years that have passed since that afternoon, if I could really have changed any of the things that happened afterwards, had I behaved even slightly differently as we spoke by the fire in my cave. Could I have influenced any of what occurred, had I planted my feet firmly and objected to what Will was proposing? What might he have done, had I ranted and admonished him, reminding him that he was endangering his immortal soul? Would he have relented? Would he have chosen some other way to proceed in order to achieve his goal?\n\nI know, of course, that he would not. He would have done nothing differently and the outcome would have been unchanged. I have always known that, I suppose, even though I have fought against admitting it to myself. Simply by being who and what he was, William Wallace had preordained that he and the Plantagenet King would collide. The ancients would have said that it was written in the stars. They would also have said that I was committing the sin of hubris, overweening pride, by even thinking I might have had the power to alter any vestige of what happened. But it was not hubris. The curiosity I dwelt upon for all those years was merely wishful thinking. The truth is that I was but a humble priest, eclipsed by the titanic figures of Edward Plantagenet and William Wallace, both of whom History already regards as giants. When Will left me that June day, to launch his patrols to protect the common folk, his mind was already set beyond changing. His plans had been set before he told me about them, and their preparations were already under way.\n\nAnd so the struggle that I once heard a powerful Scots nobleman refer to as \"Wallace's dirty wee war\" began, and I bore witness to it, impotent to change a single part of it, appalled by its ferocity, and yet paradoxically thrilled and proud to be a part of it, even as a mere observer. When I first heard that nobleman's description, years afterwards, I took umbrage, thinking it an insult, but then I saw its truth. The conflict was a small one, for the first two years at least, a series of skirmishes rather than a full-blown war, and it was certainly dirty\u2014dingy and dire and destructive to everyone involved.\n\nI have always found it strange, though, that Wallace's reputation as a dishonourable, disreputable fighter emerged from that time. From the perspective of those who yet adhere to the chivalric code, his methods are seen to this day as outrageous and unacceptable, no different from brigandage and lawless savagery. But when, in war, has savagery ever been unacceptable as a means to victory? When, for that matter, has the strict code of chivalry ever been respected or observed in the chaos of battle, amid spilling blood and entrails and shattered flesh? William Wallace, in those earliest days of his struggle, was an unknown, a desperate man fighting for his beliefs at the head of a small band of willing but untrained followers who were ill equipped for the task they faced and were therefore, on the surface at least, utterly incapable of withstanding the forces ranged against them. There was never any possibility that he and his ragamuffin outlaws might hope to stand toe-to-toe against the enemy that threatened them. The mere thought of such a thing was laughable; they would have been slaughtered instantly, obliterated under the hooves and booted feet of the disciplined ranks opposing them.\n\nWallace's men were peasants, farmers for the most part, but while they lacked the weapons and armour their opponents had, their supposed impotence was misleading. They were fighting on their home ground and they knew every fold and wrinkle of the land around them, and so they turned the land itself into a weapon, picking their fighting sites and then striking from ambush, their actions predictable only in the certainty that they would be unpredictable. Thus they fought, and thus they won consistently, in defiance of all the maxims of warfare, proving themselves to be adaptable, elusive, and ultimately invincible.\n\nOver the decades between then and now, I have found it both ironic and tragic that Wallace is condemned as a base-born, ignoble brigand for the way in which he waged war and the methods that he used, while King Robert himself, who perfected those same methods in the two ensuing decades and carried them to unprecedented extremes both on and off the field of battle, is universally hailed as the Hero King. Yet it is true; Wallace's methods appalled his enemies, not all of whom were English, whereas Bruce used precisely the same methods and emerged victorious, his reputation unblemished.\n\nThe reason, of course, lies in the perceptions of jealous and embittered men. William Wallace was not a belted knight. He became one later, knighted in order to allow him to assume the mantle of Guardian after the death of his friend and fellow leader, Sir Andrew Murray, but when he first moved to challenge England's power, he was not. No matter that his father's brother Malcolm had been a knight, or that his own elder brother wore the silver spurs. William Wallace himself did not, and that alone was sufficient to demean him in the eyes of lesser, spiteful men who set store by such things as birth ahead of ability. It laid him open to their sneering disdain and to accusations\u2014though always from a distance well beyond his hearing\u2014of being an upstart. He was deemed a commoner, ignoble from the outset and therefore, in the eyes of his self-styled betters, entitled neither to hold nor to voice an opinion on anything that mattered.\n\nThey were all wrong, of course, for as history has demonstrated, my cousin had one attribute that enabled him to rise above his detractors and to capture the attention, the love, and the admiration of a society comprising many races: he was William Wallace, the only man of his time with the God-given strength and natural ability to offer hope to his broken, strife-ridden homeland and to instill in his people a sense of pride, and something greater yet, an unprecedented sense of unity and nationality.\n\nI saw that process begun in Selkirk Forest, with the dispatching of the first patrols sent out against the English. Yet even in writing those words, I am contributing to the general inaccuracy that surrounds that entire time. To speak of patrols sent out against the English suggests that the English were there, formally, and that Wallace fought against them formally. But in the hair-splitting language of Edward of England's lawyers, that is demonstrably untrue. In terms of strict legality, enshrined with great formality in the annals of the English court, there were no English troops, per se, abroad in our land at that time. That term, abroad, is all-important, because it connotes mobility and far-ranging activity. Scotland's south was swarming with English soldiers that June, and had been for more than a year, but every man of them, ostensibly at least, had a sound and defensible reason, set down on parchment by the Plantagenet's lawyers, for being there, in residence upon their royal master's behalf, but not abroad in the land.\n\nAdd to that the fact that the great majority of the Scots noble families were bound by double bonds of fealty to Edward, tied to him as much by the simple truth that they all held spacious lands and rich estates in England by his grace and favour as by the ancient laws of Norman-French feudality. And of course these same Scots nobles benefited greatly from having Edward's well-equipped fighting men conveniently at hand to assist them with policing their own lands, since they did not then have to hire and equip costly men-at-arms of their own.\n\nAnd so it becomes clear what was in truth afoot in the Scottish lands north of the border: Scots magnates, in return for the privilege of using English soldiers at no cost other than food and drink, were being induced to turn a blind eye to \"irregularities\" in the activities of certain of those visiting troops, even at the cost of hardship to their own Scots people. Not all the Scots noble houses were involved, and some may not have been comfortable with what was taking place, but they must all have known of it. And the alternative\u2014the loss of well-trained auxiliary troops and a very real loss of privilege and royal favour for refusing to cooperate and be compliant\u2014intimidated many of them and overcame the consciences of others.\n\nThus, English infantry and mounted men-at-arms roamed at will throughout Scotland's border country in that period of 1294 and 1295, free to behave as they wished, whether it was called reprisals, policing, or the collection of rents and taxes by the Scots landlords, and no Scots magnate, anywhere, spoke of abuse of power, or unprovoked aggression, or royal English displeasure and revenge.\n\nThe first patrols we sent out late that spring were a complete success: unanticipated, rapid, and thorough. Fully five hundred men were dispatched on the first sweep, most of them bowmen, although none of them were limited to the bow alone. They dispersed from Will's main camp, moving west and south in groups of fifty, with five ten-man squads in each group. One hundred men bound for Galloway, the farthest end of the sweep to the west, twenty-five miles distant, went first in the grey light of pre-dawn, and they were followed at two-hour intervals by the remaining groups, the last of which headed directly south to the open Annandale lands. All were ordered to proceed at speed but keeping themselves out of sight, and to be in place by nightfall, ready to mount a coordinated attack at dawn the next day.\n\nI celebrated Mass with them before dawn on the day they left and distributed Communion to them all, and I remember that I was not in the least upset that they were setting off to do what they would do, for by then I had seen for myself the ravages inflicted by the people they were setting out to stop, and my own righteous anger overrode my priestly training sufficiently to permit me to wish them well in their assault.\n\nOn that first morning of the sweep two groups were found, a score of miles apart from each other, in the act of committing atrocities against Scots people. In one location they had already killed a farmer and his two sons and were venting their lust on the three women of the place when our patrol arrived; in the other they had killed the householder and his wife, an elderly couple who had been granted their lands as freeholds by the late Lord Robert Bruce as a reward for decades of faithful service as his personal retainers. In both instances, the attackers were taken and hanged from the closest big tree, side by side and still wearing their identifying armour, and the corpses of their companions killed in the fight were hung up beside them.\n\nElsewhere on the patrol routes, there were numerous encounters with other bands of armed men, nine of those with groups of ten or more, on foot, and six more with mounted men-at-arms. The large groups and the mounted groups were challenged and destroyed, their animals, weapons, and armour confiscated and the dead laid out and left in the care of the survivors, whole and wounded, with a warning to whoever had sent them that no further abuses would be tolerated. Smaller parties, of ten men or fewer, if they appeared belligerent, were treated accordingly. If, on the other hand, they could explain themselves and their presence, and were able to convince their interrogators that they were being truthful and had broken no laws, then they might be permitted to go free. Many of them were, and were released bearing warnings about future penalties for breaking King John of Scotland's laws concerning trespass and molestation of the lawful populace.\n\nIn all, seventy-eight men died that first day in June. None of them were ours. Thus the word was spread, in the name of King John Balliol, that a new presence was active in Scotland's border country and to the north of it; a vengeful presence, bent upon the protection of the common folk.\n\nFor a time after that, the entire border territory lay quiet while the harriers who had provoked Will's anger took stock of their situations and debated how next to proceed, for it transpired that they had larger matters than an outbreak of border warfare to concern them, and far more to worry about than the threats of a ragtag collection of bare-arsed outlaws snarling at them from the shadows of Selkirk Forest. And so, hesitant and probably afraid to aggravate a situation that they did not yet fully understand, the oppressors at the local levels of the reprisals held their forces in check while they waited for further instructions from their masters.\n\nTension had been building for more than a year between the new Scots monarch and his increasingly impatient and domineering English counterpart, who had for all intents and purposes placed him on the throne and now saw no reason to disguise the fact that he considered John of Scotland to be in his debt and in his pocket thereafter. The pressure of an impending confrontation between the two monarchs had every political opportunist in Scotland on tenterhooks that summer of 1295, wondering which way to jump next in order to safeguard his own wealth and welfare. It was obvious that choices would soon have to be made, by every noble house and nobleman in Scotland. Which of the two kings was most like to win in this contest\u2014a battle of wills but not necessarily a war? The odds greatly favoured Edward, but John was a relatively unknown quantity, and no one had any desire to commit to either monarch prematurely, or to be seen to pick sides too soon, lest he lose everything on a wrong bounce of the dice.\n\nThroughout that entire period Bishop Wishart kept us informed, to the best of his considerable abilities, on what was happening politically within and even beyond his territories as the various families, houses, and personalities of the magnates manoeuvred for power and position. The Bishop's network of clerical spies and agents, as I knew from close experience, grew ever larger and more complex, fuelled by the fierce, protective ardour of Wishart's concern for the Church's welfare in Scotland, its integrity and very identity within the Scots realm. Even with that backing, though, His Grace could not supply us with all the knowledge we required in such fluid conditions, for the nature of the information we needed most urgently was not the kind that lent itself to discussion in the company of priests or strangers. Men who spoke of such topics were dealing in grave risk, entailing treachery and even treason, with dispossession, imprisonment, and death looming over them. That amount of risk, aligned with such dire penalty, tightened men's tongues, so it was unsurprising that our sources all dried up in short order as that summer settled in."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "E very now and then, in the life of each of us, a day comes along that seduces us with its unusual delights and leads us far astray from where our so-called better judgment warns us we should be, and yet so attractive are the fruits it offers us that we can set our consciences aside for a while and give ourselves over to unaccustomed pleasures.\n\nOn the eighteenth morning of July that year I found myself in such a situation. I remember the date precisely because Ewan laughed about it when he came to visit me that morning, after attending my pre-dawn Mass. It was his natal day, he told me. He was now forty-three years old, and he and his cousin Alec had decided to celebrate the date properly for the first time in years, by spending the entire day in activities that no one, anywhere, would be able to call useful.\n\nThe statement was so astonishingly unlike anything that I had ever heard Ewan say that I had to smile when I heard it, knowing exactly whence it had sprung. I was at loose ends that morning, by merest chance and for the first time in weeks, and I can still recall the surge of high spirits with which I laughed in return and told Ewan I would be glad to assist them with their celebrations on such a beautiful day.\n\nAlec, whom I had met weeks earlier and liked immediately, was a newly discovered cousin, another Scrymgeour. Younger than Ewan but older than Will, he had come into the forest a few months earlier, announcing loudly that he had come seeking the warrior William Wallace, to offer him his sword and services. He had been taken to meet Will, who had greeted him with cautious reserve and more than a little suspicion, wondering how anyone from Argyll could legitimately claim to have heard of activities in a forest so far to the south. Those suspicions, though, had been short lived, and the two men had become close and trusting friends within mere days. From the perspective of years I can see it was inevitable that, with his imposing size, ferocious loyalty, and formidable fighting skills, Alexander Scrymgeour would, in a very short space of time, become one of Will's staunchest and most distinguished followers.\n\n\"When did you last draw a bow?\" Ewan asked me.\n\nI had to think, calculating rapidly. \"Two years ago, at least. Why?\"\n\n\"Because I think it's time for you to reintroduce yourself to the discipline. You're growing soft and pudgy.\"\n\n\"I am not! There's no fat on this frame, if you would care to test it.\" I stopped. \"Besides, I have no choice there, Ewan, and you know it. I am a priest. I cannot carry a weapon.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! You could if you wanted to. Your own Bishop Wishart has no fear of carrying a sword\u2014nor of using it if he has to.\"\n\n\"But His Grace\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, relax. I said it's time for you to reintroduce yourself to the discipline. I did not say to killing. It's the training, Jamie, that will keep you fit and hale. Come with us now. I'm going to try to teach Alec here to use a quarterstaff. Too late for him to hope to learn to draw a bow.\"\n\n\"Mind your mouth, Cousin. I can draw a bow.\"\n\nEwan responded without even looking at his cousin, speaking quietly as always. \"Too late to mind my mouth, it's ruined. And too late for you to learn to draw a bow\u2014a real bow, I mean, like mine, a round yew bow. The other kind, the kind your folk use, can barely throw an arrow half the length of mine. You'll see, Cousin. You too, Jamie, come along.\"\n\n\"I'll come, but I no longer have a bow. I have a staff, but it's for walking and not heavy enough for fighting, even if I wished to.\"\n\n\"I know that. We brought two with us. You may use mine. I'll wager you've not lost the knack of it. Now then, we have food and even a flask of wine, and it's a fine day and we have no demands on us, so come, let's waste no more of it.\"\n\nThree hours later, I awoke from a doze with the sun burning my face through a gap in the canopy of leaves above my head. We had found a pleasant spot on the banks of a wide stream that had once been a wider river, and had made man-sized targets from a couple of ancient logs that we dragged from the stream bed and lodged upright against the flank of the former riverbank. Ewan had quickly demonstrated the truth of what he had told Alexander, for the big Scot, despite his enormous muscles and breadth of shoulder, had been unable to draw Ewan's longbow to its full extent. He had tried manfully for almost half an hour, but had finally slumped down on the stream bank without having been able to send a single arrow effectively towards the two targets.\n\nI had fared little better, though somehow my muscles still seemed to remember the knack of combining the series of movements that produced the archer's pull. I managed to cast three arrows with a degree of accuracy, though I hit neither target, but then my performance deteriorated rapidly as my body rebelled against the unaccustomed stresses. For another half-hour after that, we tried one another with the quarterstaves, and I was the one who proved most useless there, my muscles long unused to the efforts and tensions of wielding the weapon. And then, eventually, we had eaten, washing the food down with some of the wine we had brought with us and diluted with clear stream water, and dozed off on the grassy bank, beneath the shade of a towering elm tree.\n\nI rolled onto my side to escape the direct heat of the sun and saw Ewan sitting on the edge of the bank, his feet dangling in the water as he concentrated, head down, on something in his fingers.\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\nHe cocked his head towards me without taking his eyes off whatever he was holding. \"I'm getting ready to catch our dinner. There's a deep hole not far downstream and it looks to be a haven for fine, juicy trout. I remembered I had some hooks in my scrip, but they had strings attached and now they're all a-tangle and I'm trying to unsnarl them. If I succeed, I shall go fishing. If I do not, I'll throw the whole mess into the river.\"\n\n\"And which will it be, think you?\" Alec had sat up, too, and now sat squinting towards where Ewan worked meticulously, his tongue protruding as he frowned in concentration over his hooks.\n\n\"Probably the river, the way things are looking now,\" Ewan growled.\n\n\"Aye. Well, keep trying, and I'll go and try my hand at the guddlin'.\"\n\nSmiling to myself, I rose to my feet and followed Alec, intrigued to see how he would fare. I had seen many try but few succeed at guddling, for it involved stroking the belly of a fish and lulling it until you could grasp it and flip it up onto the bank. It was not easy to do, but neither was it impossible\u2014it merely required endless patience and an ability to lie still and move one's questing hand slowly and imperceptibly once it was in the water.\n\nIt was clear from the outset that Alec was a master guddler. Within minutes he located a low spot on the riverbank, with a deep channel beneath it, and was soon bare from the waist up, lying full length on the grass with his arm sunk almost to the shoulder beneath the water and his gaze fixed on the large, fat trout that hovered below him. In mere minutes, it seemed to me, he surged up and threw the sparkling fish high into the air to land on the grass behind him, and by the time I had scrambled after it and killed it with a sharp blow to the head from my knife hilt, he was back on his side again, peering down into the water in search of his next catch.\n\nEwan, in the meantime, had untangled his hooks and was paying us no attention as he pulled up clods of earth in the hunt for worms. I watched idly as he caught one fat grub and threaded it carefully onto a hook attached to a long length of twine, then cast it out into the gentle current of the stream. He, too, had Fortuna on his side that afternoon, and between his efforts and Alec's, we ended up with six fine trout, all about a foot in length. I foraged for firewood and suitable firestones, then kindled and tended the fire while Ewan mixed a dough for bannocks and set them to bake on a flat stone among the coals. When the time was right, Alec, who had cleaned the fish and flavoured them with salt and wild onions, spitted them expertly on sticks and arranged them over the fire, tending them carefully.\n\nWe ate surrounded by a magnificent panoply of birdsong, and none of us spoke a single word throughout the meal; we were too appreciative of God's bounty, savouring every delicious mouthful, and when nothing remained but the fish heads, skins, and bones, Alec sighed blissfully and tipped those into the fire.\n\nIt was yet early, with a good six hours of July daylight left to us, and we decided to walk again, for the sheer pleasure of it, and so I shouldered Ewan's quarterstaff, leaving him to carry his bow in its long case. Alec had his own staff, and so we walked for an hour or so, seldom speaking but enjoying our companionship and the beauty of the terrain that surrounded us as the deer path we were following led us gradually higher until we reached a rock-strewn hilltop from which we could look down on the greenwood spread out at our feet.\n\n\"Look at yon beauty,\" Alec said, nodding downhill to our right, to where a fine stag stood poised in an open glade, his head high as he sniffed at the breeze for any hint of danger. He sensed none, and we watched as he lowered his head eventually and grazed, following the lure of the richest plants until he vanished among the surrounding trees. I was turning to look behind me when I saw Ewan freeze. \"What?\" Alec asked before I could even think to speak. \"You see something?\"\n\n\"Aye, but I don't know what \u2026 Something, though. A flash, yonder between the hills, about two miles out.\"\n\n\"Hmm. Jamie, did you see anything?\"\n\n\"No, but I saw Ewan see it.\"\n\n\"Right, then. Between the two hills. Three pairs of eyes are better than one \u2026\"\n\nSeveral minutes passed before the next visible stirring occurred, but I saw it instantly.\n\n\"There!\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Alec growled. \"What did you see?\"\n\n\"It was a man, I think, but it might have been two.\"\n\n\"Two it was,\" Ewan said in his soft voice. \"Two men, one right behind the other, coming towards us. They crested a small ridge, I believe. One head visible for a speck of time, followed by the other. Coming this way now, but headed where, I wonder \u2026\" He coughed gently, clearing his throat. \"I don't know the path they're on, don't know where it goes or whether or not it forks, but if it keeps coming straight this way, then it will have to go down there to our left, parallel to the way we came. We'll stay here and wait for a closer look, and if we think that's where they're going, we can cut back down and catch them as they come out into the water meadow where we ate.\" He shook his head. \"Two men? Alone? They're either mad or they're looking for Will's lads.\"\n\nA short time later, the two appeared again.\n\n\"One of them is wearing armour.\"\n\n\"Aye, and the other is not. And one's on a horse, the other on a mule.\"\n\nAlec jerked his head around to stare at his cousin. \"How can you tell that?\"\n\n\"I can see its ears. Can't you?\"\n\nThe other man looked at me and rolled his eyes. \"No, but I'll take your word for it. A horse and a mule. That means a knight and his servant.\"\n\n\"It might,\" Ewan said. \"Then again, it might not. The man is muffled in a heavy cloak, so his armour might be no more than a breastplate, and the servant might be a woman. Would you care to make a wager?\"\n\nI had been half listening to the pair of them, keeping my eyes on the newcomers. \"They turned right,\" I said. \"Their right, our left. I saw them go, and then they disappeared. If we're to be in place by the time they arrive down there, we had better go now.\"\n\nWithin moments we were striding back along the path we had followed on the way up, moving twice as fast as we had earlier.\n\n\"Damnation,\" Alec growled. \"We only have the one bow.\"\n\n\"It's all we'll need, believe me,\" Ewan answered. \"Give me an open space in which to aim and shoot, and this bow against two men is far more than we'll need.\"\n\nWe reached the point where the path had started to climb, and bore right from there, leaving the path and skirting a fringe of hawthorn trees and willows until we came again to the path, where it entered the water meadow. Ewan looked around quickly and pointed to a copse less than twenty paces from the pathway, and we followed him as he made straight towards it. The strange pair, whoever they were, would have to come along the path behind us and would pass us in the open, providing us with an unobstructed view of them. None of us spoke as we entered the trees and took up positions from which we could see the pathway without being seen ourselves, and we settled down to wait. Ewan, the only one of us with a weapon, strung his bow carefully and then thrust three arrows, point down, into the ground in front of him.\n\nMere minutes later, the two riders came into view from the north, and at the sight of the one wearing armour I straightened up. \"It's His Grace,\" I said. \"Bishop Wishart, in his other guise.\" I stepped from hiding and walked out into the open.\n\nWishart called out my name and kicked his mount to a canter as soon as he recognized me, and the man behind him on the mule attempted to follow suit, but his mount had a mind of its own and refused to change its plodding gait, so that the gap between the two men widened rapidly.\n\n\"Who did you say this is? A bishop?\"\n\nAlec sounded skeptical, and I glanced at him, grinning. \"The Bishop, Alec. You are about to meet His Grace Robert Wishart, the formidable Bishop of Glasgow. He is a grouchy old terror who has no time for fools or folderols, so smile, man, for I promise you will enjoy him.\"\n\nHis Grace of Glasgow rode right up to us before drawing rein and scanning each of us from head to foot as we each bowed to show him our respect. Ewan and I bent more deeply than did Alec, who watched to see what we would do before he committed himself, then bent forward stiffly from the waist and lowered his chin. The Bishop merely eyed us during his examination; offered no greeting; expressed no opinion until he had completed his scrutiny. Finally he grunted.\n\n\"An unlikely trio at first glance, but not entirely unsuited to escort a prince of Holy Church. You look well, Father James. And you, Ewan Scrymgeour, look \u2026 like yourself.\" He turned slightly to eye Alec again. \"This one, though, I have never seen before.\"\n\n\"My cousin Alec, Your Grace. Alexander Scrymgeour, lately come from Argyll to join us.\"\n\nWishart's eyebrows rose. \"From Argyll? Then it is little wonder that I have never seen his face.\" He looked directly at Alec. \"And how is my old colleague Bishop Laurence? I knew him well at one time, though we have seldom met these past two decades. He has been Bishop of Argyll for nigh on thirty years \u2026 But of course, you know that, being one of his flock. I trust he is still hale?\"\n\nAlec dipped his head, clearly less than comfortable in making small talk with a bishop. \"I have never met His Grace, my lord, but I know he is yet hale\u2014old, as you say, and growing frail, but he yet governs his flock from Lismore and keeps them in order.\"\n\n\"Aye. He was ever strong in that regard.\"\n\nWhat neither man mentioned, yet all of us knew, was that there was little love lost between the two Bishops. Bishop Laurence was a native MacDougall of Argyll and, as such, his sympathies coincided with those of the all-powerful House of Comyn, which was enough by itself to set him at odds with Wishart and several other bishops who aligned themselves with the House of Bruce. Wishart's comment about having known the other Bishop well at one time was a reference to the period, twenty years earlier, when he himself had come into harsh conflict with his own cathedral chapter over a disciplinary matter, and Laurence of Argyll had been one of the two judges chosen by papal mandate\u2014the other being the Bishop of Dunblane\u2014to try to resolve the case. His Grace never spoke of the matter, and it had become one of those arcane little secrets known of, but never discussed, by the cathedral community.\n\nThe Bishop raised a hand and beckoned his companion forward.\n\n\"Father William,\" he said, \"I present to you two at least, and probably three, of William Wallace's closest friends and supporters. Father James here, of whom you have heard me speak, is another Wallace, William's cousin and close friend since early childhood. The hairless one is Ewan Scrymgeour, an archer but much more than simply that. Ewan is the man who inspired Will Wallace and taught him how to use the long yew bow. Thus, in many ways this man is directly responsible for our having travelled to be here today. About the third man you will have just heard.\" He waved a hand then to include all three of us. \"And may I present to you, in turn, Father William Lamberton, newly returned from France and installed this last week as chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral.\"\n\nThe man on the mule had nudged his mount forward and now smiled at us, and I studied him closely, for William Lamberton was very well known to me by repute. He was much younger than I had expected, though, and I judged him now to be no more than two or three years older than myself, which surprised me greatly, considering what he had already accomplished. I liked his smile. It was open and easy, showing both humour and intelligence, and his eyes were bright and wide. He sat erect in the mule's saddle and I judged him to be tall, perhaps taller than I was, with wide, straight shoulders emphasized by the robe he wore, which was the plain grey habit of a monk.\n\nAs soon as the greetings were over, His Grace asked us to take him directly to Will, and he was not happy when I told him that Will would be away until at least the following day. He muttered something about having ridden for more than two days to get here, and I could see from his face that he really wanted to shout and complain, but there was nothing he or we could do about the misfortune of his timing, and so he set his jaw, bit down hard on his disappointment, and decided to make the best of the situation. He asked me about my mission in the forest, and about the small communities that Jacobus, Declan, and I tended among us, and he even managed to sound interested in my response, but he frowned with quick impatience when he detected something in my gaze.\n\n\"You find it amusing, Father James, that I should be frustrated in my failure to find your cousin here when I have travelled so far to speak with him?\"\n\nI heard a cold acerbity in his tone that was new to me. Something inside me flared with alarm, and in one moment of frightening clarity I sensed danger and a need for great caution. And then sanity returned and I remembered that here was a man who had learned, from hard and often brutal experience, to trust few men and to share his thoughts but sparingly even with those. This was a man, I knew, who had no friends, as other people thought of friends; a man to whom most people lied, in hopes of pleasing him and winning favour; and above all a man who detested hypocrisy and could smell a liar and a flatterer from another room.\n\nI looked him straight in the eye. \"No, Your Grace, I do not. I regret your frustration deeply and I know that had Will been aware you were coming, nothing could have taken him away from here. But I was smiling, inwardly I thought, at how you managed, after such a bitter and unexpected disappointment, to feign an interest in me and my activities so quickly, and to do it convincingly. I found it admirable, and typical. If that offends you, then I regret that, too.\"\n\nRobert Wishart hesitated, glaring at me with those ferocious eyes of his, so formidable beneath his shaggy, unkempt brows, and then he made the loud, harrumphing sound that I had come to recognize over the years as the announcement of a change of mind. One corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he turned his head to look at the man Lamberton.\n\n\"He is not merely impertinent, as you can see, he verges on the impious,\" he growled to the chancellor, but then he reached out and dug his fingers deeply but not cruelly into the muscles of my shoulder. \"It might have made me smile, too, lad, had I but thought of it, for it's a sad prospect, after endless days of riding, to contemplate long hours of talking about nothing more exciting than the misadventures of my three most junior priests. Walk with me now.\" He tossed the reins of his horse to Alec, who caught them easily and returned a bob of his head in acknowledgment. \"I will accept the listening to your report as a penance, though, for my hubris in expecting that your cousin would be waiting to welcome me when I arrived.\" He began to walk, slightly stooped, his hands clasped loosely at the small of his back and his bare head bowed and tilted towards me, the better to hear what I would say. \"Tell me, then, about your three new parishes \u2026\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "\"Will it disturb you if I share your fire?\"\n\nThe sound of his voice startled me because it was very close and I had been unaware of his approach. I know I jumped, because Father William reared back and brought up his hands quickly to pacify me. I laughed, slightly embarrassed, as I waved him forward.\n\n\"Of course not, Father. You startled me, but I was dreaming when I should have been paying more attention.\"\n\nHe smiled then, moving to sit on an upended log close by me. His eyes sparkled with humour and sympathy in the reflected light of the flames.\n\n\"To what should you have been paying attention, sitting alone by a cheerful fire in a guarded camp at this time of night? Plainly you had other matters on your mind. Would you prefer that I leave you with them?\"\n\n\"No, not at all. I shall be glad of your company.\" I glanced over in the direction from which he had approached and saw nothing moving. \"Is His Grace asleep, then?\"\n\nHe chuckled. \"Aye, these good two hours, which is a blessing approaching the miraculous. And it will do him good. He is no longer young and he sleeps too little nowadays\u2014too little and too seldom. There is always someone waiting close by him with matters demanding his attention. I went to bed when he did, but I lay awake until now. I was hoping to walk myself into tiredness, until I saw you sitting here, staring into the fire.\"\n\n\"And nodding.\"\n\nHe cocked his head, unsmiling now. \"No, you were not nodding. You were deep in thought.\"\n\nI nodded then. \"Very perceptive of you.\" I wondered for a moment if I was being too familiar with him, considering who and what he was, the chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral, but then I remembered who and what he was in truth: a young priest, not too long since ordained and only slightly older than I was. \"I was concerned\u2014I am concerned. You met Mistress Wallace tonight, so you will have seen that she is with child. She is expected to be delivered of it within the week, but tonight, after Lady Mirren had retired, I saw the midwife emerge from her hut and huddle in conversation with several of the other women. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but they all looked ill at ease\u2014almost afraid, I thought. I sought to ask them if anything was amiss, but as I started towards them they saw me and exchanged what I took to be warning glances among themselves, and then they all sped away.\"\n\nLamberton was frowning slightly. \"You suspect there might be something wrong with Mistress Wallace?\"\n\n\"No, Father, not really. But I have a reluctant and fearful respect for the way things tend to go wrong at the worst, most inconvenient times, and I should hate it if anything untoward occurred while Will was not here to know of it.\"\n\n\"Aye. I know what you mean. Believe me, though, the best thing you can do is leave such things to God. All your fretting and concerns will influence nothing when the time comes for the infant to be born. I know, because I have been present at a birth\u2014delivered the child, in fact\u2014and I had no other option that day than to adapt to what had been thrust upon me.\"\n\nHe saw the astonishment in my eyes and laughed aloud. \"Upon my word as a canon of Glasgow, Father, I swear to you it's true.\" He held up his hands as though he had washed but not yet dried them. \"I delivered a child with these two hands, alone and unassisted. It happened in France, not one full year ago, on a journey from Paris to a nearby village called Versailles. I was on my way to visit a monastery there, riding in grand estate in a coach owned by Maitre Ren\u00e9 St. Cyr, a prominent goldsmith of Paris\u2014goldsmith by appointment to King Philip, in fact. Maitre St. Cyr's wife shared the coach with me, along with her maidservant, Yvette. Madame St. Cyr was enceinte, as they say over there\u2014with child\u2014and was on her way to stay with her mother and sisters in Versailles until her confinement was completed the following month. Her husband's affairs had unexpectedly obliged him to remain in Paris, and when he found out that I would be travelling to Versailles on foot at that very time\u2014it is little more than ten miles from Paris\u2014he insisted that I should take his place in the carriage and accompany his young wife to her mother's home.\n\n\"Such was the intent with which we set out, on what would normally be a journey of but a few hours, but the route, although otherwise an excellent road, runs through heavy forest, and deep within the woods we were overtaken by a violent storm and met disaster when a large tree, struck by lightning, fell right atop our carriage, smashing two wheels and throwing the vehicle over on its side. The trauma of the incident triggered something within the goldsmith's wife, for she went into labour then and there, even though she was supposedly a full month short of her term.\"\n\n\"And you were there?\" I was horrified, and I tried to picture what must have happened.\n\n\"There?\" Again he snorted with half-smothered laughter, shaking his head at the recollection. \"Yes, Father, I was there. Right there, by the grace of God, conveniently in the overturned carriage where it all took place, and apart from Madame St. Cyr herself, I was the only person conscious and able to assist with the birth. The maidservant was unconscious, the driver and his footman had been killed by the falling tree, and the full weight of the tree's trunk lay across the carriage door and window, preventing me from climbing out. And so I stayed, and with God's own help I delivered a baby boy who lives and thrives today in Versailles and is named Guillaume, in honour of his godfather, who also baptized him.\"\n\nHe smiled at me. \"None of us knows, when we join the priesthood, Father James, that the major disadvantage of our priestly life will be that we are invariably and perennially useless when it comes to involvement in the matters of women.\" He laughed again, enjoying my wide-eyed discomfiture immensely. \"I fear I have scandalized you, but let me reassure you of one thing.\" He sobered slightly. \"I can tell that you were raised as I was, in the company of men and monks and priests, in terror of the sins of carnality and the wiles of scheming women. That is true, is it not?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Therefore, on hearing what I have just told you, your mind must have filled with ill-imagined visions of that same carnality, with me among them in my priestly robes. Am I correct?\"\n\nAgain I nodded, unable to speak.\n\n\"Aye, well, nothing could be further from the truth, I swear to you. No slightest trace, not the merest tinge of carnality entered my mind\u2014I was too afraid to think of anything other than what I must do to save the lives of that woman and her child, and the other woman, too. I was so unworldly, I did not even know what was happening with the child until the woman slapped me and told me what I had to do. And from that moment on, I behaved as though I were in a dream. There was nothing remotely sexual or sinful in what ensued. The world inside that shattered carriage was a seething cauldron of pain and fear and blood and anguish\u2014and the terrifying awareness that one careless move by me could cost at least one life and possibly more. And yet, in the midst of all that horror, all the fear, instead of death and tragedy I saw the mystery of God's creation being enacted right in front of me, and I received a newborn child into my hands, covered in blood and watery fluids and howling in protest at being thrust into this sinful world \u2026\"\n\nHe fell silent, gazing into the fire for a while, but then he straightened. \"I can say to you honestly, Father James, there is nothing to be gained by fretting over the time or circumstances of a birth. God has decreed that it will take place, and He alone will decide when and where it does, and how it proceeds. What hope, then, does a mere man, any man, have of influencing any tittle of what will be?\"\n\nHe saw me still gazing at him slack-mouthed, and he grinned. \"What I am telling you, my friend in Christ, is that with women, as with everything else, you merely need to have faith and place your trust in God. I swear, Father, sinful as it may be, I sometimes find it helpful to think of women as another species altogether. They resemble men in no way at all, and men will never come to understand them. It matters not if they be nuns or one's own closest kin or honest wives or bawds\u2014they all have an infallible propensity to make all of us men feel, and appear, and be as ineffectual as mewling babes in arms.\"\n\nThe obvious truth of what he had said left me floundering, until he saved me by changing the subject.\n\n\"Tell me about your cousin.\"\n\n\"What do you want to know?\"\n\n\"Everything. I have a hunger to know all there is to know about this man, for I believe he is remarkable. I have heard the Bishop speak of him many times, but always using both his names, naming him William Wallace. And I have met others who have met Wallace, but no one who speaks of him the way you do, as plain Will. You, Father James, are the one who has been closest to him throughout his life, so I would like to know what you know about him, as a cousin and a friend.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I began, \"he is more like a brother than a cousin, to be truthful. From around the time of my eighth birthday, for the next eight years until Will was eighteen, we lived together, most of the time with Ewan the archer, and shared everything we did every day. We learned to use a quarterstaff together, and though I was never good enough or strong enough to beat him, there was a time when I could hold my own against him, for a while at least, until he wore me down \u2026\"\n\nI talked incessantly for an hour or more, aware that he replenished the fire twice while I was regaling him with all my favourite recollections of Will and the boyhood we had shared. When eventually I fell silent, he was still sitting across the fire from me, smiling at me.\n\n\"You love the man. That is plain to see. And I find it heartening because it speaks to his humanity.\"\n\n\"There's much about our Will to love,\" I answered. \"Yet I know there is no lack of folk who would disagree with me. He can be wild, I'll grant, and that is all some ever seem to see in him. And when he's crossed\u2014particularly in things he believes to be right and necessary\u2014he can be hard, and even violent if he perceives that violence is called for. In addition to that, he has no love for Englishmen\u2014indeed he hates them, for good and sufficient reason in his own eyes and, truth to tell, in the eyes of others. But with his friends and loved ones he is the gentlest of creatures.\"\n\n\"You have the same reasons for hating the English that he has, Father, but you do not hate them.\"\n\nHis inflection made a question of the statement. \"No, I do not, but neither do I love them greatly. I am a priest, though. Turning the other cheek is part of my life. Will, on the other hand, is a warrior and an avenger.\"\n\n\"Hmm \u2026 Think you he will return tomorrow, this warrior cousin of yours?\"\n\n\"He won't stay away longer than he needs to, not with Mirren so close to her time. May I ask you a question now?\"\n\n\"Of course. What would you like to know?\"\n\n\"Tell me a little about France, if you will, about your time there, what you learned. Is it exotic?\" I knew that within two years of his early ordination, Lamberton had been selected by a cadre of Scotland's senior bishops to attend university in Paris.\n\n\"Well, goodness, where to begin? It is beautiful, heavily forested, and it has unimaginably long, straight roads that run without a bend for score upon score of miles, joining together far-flung cities. The roads were all built by the Romans, of course, as were the great roads of England. But the French have more of them, and better, because the Romans were in Gaul for hundreds of years longer than they were in Britain. Here in Scotland, of course, we had little to attract the Romans, and so although we have some of their roads, we have no great ones.\n\n\"Is France exotic?\" He thought on that for a moment and then shook his head decisively. \"No, not, I think, in the way you mean. It is not strikingly foreign, in the way that Africa and Greece are foreign, visibly and tangibly. France is much like England, in fact, but not quite so green and not quite so wet all the time.\"\n\n\"What did you learn there?\"\n\n\"Much that you might expect. I studied canon law with some of the finest teachers in the world. But much, too, that I had not anticipated. That sprang from being exposed to brilliant and inquiring minds.\"\n\n\"Such as whose?\"\n\nHe pursed his lips and looked at me as though he was considering a choice of options. \"There is a man called John Duns. They call him Duns the Scot. Have you heard of him?\"\n\n\"I have heard the name\u2014Duns Scotus is what they call him here. He is a Franciscan, is he not? He is earning a reputation for himself as a free and unique thinker.\"\n\nLamberton nodded. \"That's the same man. He has been resident at Oxford now for more than a decade, beginning as a very young student, and is now a teacher of philosophy and theology. He is surprisingly young, considering his accomplishments.\"\n\nThat made me smile, as it echoed what I had been thinking about Lamberton himself a short time earlier. \"No, I'm serious,\" he went on. \"The man is no more than three or four years older than I am and already he is revered. His ideas are \u2026 I am tempted to use the word exciting, even though it is not a word normally applied to theology or philosophy. Nevertheless, his opinions are vibrant, and some of them have set the world of scholarship reeling, without scandalizing the orthodox majority\u2014a signal accomplishment.\"\n\n\"It sounds as though you know the man, Father. Have you been, then, to Oxford?\"\n\n\"No.\" Lamberton almost laughed at the thought. \"But I do know him. I met him in Paris, when he came to debate with several of the faculty at the university, and I had the privilege of spending many pleasant hours listening to him speak, and speaking with him, during the few weeks that he remained in Paris.\"\n\nI tried to imagine what it must be like to sit in the presence of a truly brilliant and original thinker and to drink in his words. \"What a privilege, to meet and speak with such a man,\" I said.\n\n\"He impressed me greatly. But there was yet one other man I met there whose ideas stirred me even more, in some ways, than Father Duns's, perhaps because I sensed a connection between their ideas that had not, and may not yet have, occurred to them. This second man made no attempt to formalize his ideas; he merely spoke to and from his personal convictions. Yet I was convinced, merely by listening to him on one sole occasion, that he lives by and would die for his ideas, and that they will forever direct his life.\" The corner of his mouth flickered in a tiny grin. \"His name, too, you will have heard.\"\n\n\"From Paris? I think not, Father. You overestimate my knowledge of the world. I doubt if I could name a single person in all the city there.\"\n\n\"Then you must expand the city to embrace the realm. I was speaking of Philip Capet.\"\n\n\"Capet?\" I blinked at him in astonishment. \"You met King Philip of France?\"\n\n\"I did. He came to speak with Father Duns one night when I was visiting him, and I was graciously permitted to remain with them.\"\n\n\"That surprises me. From all I have heard, Philip the Fair prefers to hold himself aloof from human contact.\"\n\n\"Aha! Then, my friend, you have been listening to people who are but repeating hearsay. All men need human contact, and there are no exceptions to that rule. Even the strictest anchorites must communicate with other men from time to time, or risk going mad. I am not saying Philip is a hearty and gregarious companion, or even that he is particularly hospitable, but he has a certain personal amiability when he chooses to display it. Yet he is a man conscious of owning a destiny. And men of destiny, I am told, are seldom easy to deal with, requiring great finesse and circumspection, even dedication, in the handling.\"\n\n\"What was it that caught your attention so quickly in the discourse of the King of France?\"\n\nHe smiled briefly. \"It is late, now\u2014it must be close to midnight\u2014and this simple-seeming question of yours could take much answering. Are you sure you wish to hear my response?\"\n\n\"Very sure, and I am not the slightest bit tired, so if you are prepared to think and talk at this hour of night, I am more than ready to listen. Why don't you find some wine for us while I replenish the fire?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "I went in search of split logs from the neighbouring fires, for we had burned up the supply closest to us. I made short work of the quest, gathering unused logs from several dead or dying fires close by, and by the time I had emptied my arms of the fourth load of plundered fuel and came back to sit down again, there was a cup of lightly watered wine waiting for me on the log that was my seat. I picked it up, tipped it slightly towards Father Lamberton in salute, and sipped at it appreciatively, finding it far more palatable than the rough, raw wine we used for Communion purposes. Lamberton sipped at his, too, then stooped and placed his cup carefully by his feet, where it would not tip over.\n\n\"Our system is broken,\" he said.\n\n\"Which system?\"\n\n\"There is only one.\"\n\n\"You mean the Church's system? But that is God's own and therefore perfect and unbreakable. What other system is there?\"\n\n\"The one by which the whole world lives, outside the Church. I am talking about Christendom\u2014more accurately, about the hierarchical system by which all of Christendom is governed.\"\n\n\"Strange,\" I said. \"The Bishop himself once described Christendom thus to me, as a vast and complex system of governance, functioning everywhere under the same principles, yet among different peoples.\"\n\n\"Aye, it is, and all of it is based upon property: land, territory, possessions\u2014wealth. Think of it: Scotland, England, France, Norway, Italia, Germany\u2014all land and all of it owned and operating along the same lines, radiating outward from the central landholder, who may be king or prince or duke or earl or chief. Each of these\u2014let us call them rulers\u2014has deputies, whom we will call barons, to whom he parcels out the land he holds, in return for their services. Those barons, in their turn, split up their holdings equally among their liegemen in return for fealty, and then the liegemen parcel out their lands to knights who will support them for the privileges they receive. The knights, the lowest rank upon the social ladder, employ freemen and serfs and mesnes and bondsmen to tend and till and harvest the tiny plots of land they have within their grant, and they garner rents and fees into their own hands, portions of which they pass up the ladder.\"\n\nI nodded. \"And surprisingly, when you look at it thus closely, it all works. So why would you say it is broken?\"\n\nHe grinned at me then. \"I can see the crack in the edifice from where I sit.\"\n\nI looked quickly around the clearing, but we were the only people there, and there was nothing else to be seen except the darkened shapes of the huts and tents beneath the trees. \"What crack in which edifice?\"\n\n\"Those huts. The fact that we are sitting in this sleeping village filled with outlaws, all of whom might be hanged out of hand were they unfortunate enough to be taken. That is one end of the crack, if you can perceive it. The other end is Glasgow, or Jedburgh, Berwick, Roxburgh, Edinburgh, Stirling.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Now you really have lost me.\"\n\n\"I know, you and nine-and-ninety out of any hundred men to whom I might speak of it. I know what I am saying because I have thought much about it and discussed it with men like Father Duns and King Philip of France.\" He grimaced, shaking his head in what I took for regret. \"Our earthly world is changing rapidly, Father. The changes are not visible to everyone who looks, but to those who know exactly where to look, the signs are unmistakable. And here in Scotland, the place to look is here, and in the burghs.\"\n\n\"Here and in the burghs.\" I knew I sounded dull, because that was precisely how I felt. \"You mean \u2026 here among the outlaws?\"\n\n\"Aye, and elsewhere among the burgesses, though I will grant the burgesses may be the more important.\"\n\nThe burgesses may be the more important what? I had never considered the burgesses as anything more than they appeared to be, the townspeople of our land, the merchants and manufacturers and craftsmen, the shopkeepers and traders who lived in the seaports and centres of commerce throughout Scotland. Now, however, I recalled the mystifying conversation I had had with Bishop Wishart on the same topic a year earlier, and I could see\u2014though the comparison itself struck me as being perverse\u2014that the burgesses were, in fact, the opposing face of the coin to Will's outlaws; each group took great pride, albeit for widely differing reasons, in being self-sufficient and accountable to no one.\n\nI realized that my companion had fallen silent and was staring at me, clearly waiting for me to say something in response.\n\n\"Frankly, Father,\" I told him, \"I find it difficult to see any connection between outlaws and burgesses.\"\n\n\"And that is as it should be, at this point. But the connection is there\u2014merely obscured for now. Think how the system works: the land being handed downward from the rulers, and the feudal services and fruits of the harvest being fed back up the various levels to sustain them. Neither of those processes takes into account the presence of the outlaws or the burgesses. That is a new development.\"\n\n\"Hardly new,\" I said. \"There have always been outlaws.\"\n\n\"Granted. But until recently they were always\u2014always\u2014outcasts in the truest sense, banished beyond the limits of society, shunned and condemned by everyone, and quick to die in consequence. Now, though, we have outlaws like your cousin and his followers, entire communities of them\u2014still proscribed and banished, still condemned to execution upon capture, but organized into social groups, and widely acclaimed by their countrymen because of this unprecedented claim of theirs to what they are calling freedom, and their determination to live their lives according to their own wishes, paying fealty to no one other than the leader of their choice. That would have been inconceivable when you and I were boys, a few short years ago.\"\n\n\"And to me it so remains. Do you really believe that's what my cousin Will is saying to the world?\"\n\nThe eyes gazing at me from across the fire became, quite suddenly, the grave eyes of the cathedral chancellor. \"Aye, Father James, I do, because it is what he is saying. And loudly, too, if you but stop to listen.\"\n\n\"Which I have evidently failed to do. But where do the burgesses fit into this vision of yours, this break in the system?\"\n\nLamberton reached down to his feet and picked up his cup of wine, sipping at it before he answered me, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. \"The system is hundreds of years old. Would you agree?\"\n\n\"Of course. It grew out of the chaos left behind when the Roman Empire fell here in the West, seven or eight hundred years ago.\"\n\n\"There were no burgesses one hundred years ago.\"\n\nI blinked at him. \"The Bishop himself said the selfsame thing to me more than a year ago. And I find it as incomprehensible now as I did then, even though I know it to be true. But still I keep thinking there must have been burgesses of some description.\"\n\n\"Oh, they were there a hundred years ago, and they lived in burghs, but they were simple traders\u2014fishermen, merchants perhaps, not burgesses as we know them today. You see, it has only been within the past hundred years that the traders and merchants of this realm, and every other realm, have organized themselves. Before they organized, they were single traders, merchants, whatever you wish to call them. Each was responsible for amassing his own trading goods and finding his own markets, and each bore the entire cost of protecting his own interests. Then they saw the benefits of cooperation, and they began forming guilds and brotherhoods and trading associations. Soon after that, pooling their efforts and working together, they began to prosper. They amassed greater and greater profits, in greater safety and at less expense, and once that change had begun, it continued, because it was meant to be!\n\n\"But nowhere do they fit within the corpus of the system.\"\n\n\"I know. I can see that now. The Bishop explained it all to me, as I said. I did not fully understand what he was talking about at the time, and I'm not sure I understand it now, but I can accept that these people are their own men. They thrive or perish by their own efforts. And they hold themselves beholden to no other because of some accident of birth. Their burghs, too, belong to no overlord. They have emerged as public lands, free of lien or debts to the nobility \u2026\"\n\nI broke off as I realized my companion was staring at me, looking slightly baffled. \"I can see you understand what I've been saying, Father, but it's obvious something is troubling you about what I've been saying. May I ask you what it is?\"\n\nMy lips had gone numb and my tongue felt wooden in my mouth, because I remembered how I had felt on hearing all this on that first occasion, when I had anticipated chaos and disaster.\n\n\"War,\" I said aloud, struggling to articulate the single word.\n\n\"What?\" He bent forward quickly, peering at me. \"Why would you say that?\"\n\n\"How could I not? What else is there to think? Bishop Wishart reacted the same way when I said as much to him, and I thought he was wrong then. And now I think you are equally wrong. You both say no one yet sees the world you describe, the crack in the edifice, but it seems clear to me that when they do, it will bring chaos. Few things have the power to unite the magnates of the noble houses into a single force, but this threatens all they are and all they stand for. They will unite to wipe out the burgesses and their towns. And they will scour the whole land, looking for those who might stand against them.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Father James. No nobleman will move against the burgesses, for the simple reason that the townsmen of the burghs now generate more riches with their local industry than all the nobles together can raise from their vast estates. And so the nobility borrows from the wealthy burgesses and becomes ever more indebted to them. They cannot move against them, for they would be depriving themselves of their main source of income.\n\n\"And besides, it is already far too late for them to alter any of what I have described. All they can do now is wait, like every other living soul of us, for the changes that must surely come, for the world of Christendom will never revert to what it once was.\" He stood up suddenly and shook out the skirts of his robe, rearranging them more comfortably before sitting down again. \"The system under which we all live now will wither and die and be replaced by another, just as did Rome, the supposedly eternal city, and the empire it created.\"\n\n\"Aye, but Rome was pagan and benighted. We are speaking here of Christendom, Father Lamberton. How can you\u2014?\" I paused, seeking the words to express my fear and confusion, and stooped to retrieve my cup, raising it to my mouth only to discover that it was empty, and I bent quickly and put it down again by my feet more forcefully than I intended. \"How can you say such a thing, when you have barely finished saying that not one person in a hundred knows what is happening?\"\n\nThe chancellor gazed at me levelly. \"Fewer than that,\" he said. \"One in ten thousand might be closer to the truth at this time, but nevertheless, the changes are happening. You are a priest, Father. Need I remind you that in the days when our Blessed Jesus walked the earth there were not twenty men in all the world who knew Him as the Son of God? Yet there He was, and the changes He had wrought were already all in place. I believe we are experiencing something similar today. For His own good reasons, my friend, God has decided that this world must change. And therefore, change it will.\"\n\n\"And what about the King? Does he know about these changes?\"\n\n\"Ah, the King. King John, may God bless him, should he live and prosper and emerge the victor in his struggle with the King of England, may end up absorbing the wisdom and long-headedness of the King of France on such matters. Philip has known of it for years, since soon after he assumed the French throne. His kingdom is tiny, although it is growing constantly these days. And he is bankrupt, several times over, if one is to heed his critics. Were it not for the largesse of the Templars and their inexhaustible wealth, the realm of France would be incapable of functioning in any manner.\"\n\nHe stood up again and arched his back, massaging his behind with both hands.\n\n\"Do you not find these logs supremely uncomfortable? I know they are logs, and not chairs, and I generally have little trouble with them. Then again, though, I seldom sit like this for hours at a time, and I have little padding on my bones at the best of times \u2026 and virtually none on my buttocks, where I could most use it. Will it vex you if I stand for a while?\"\n\n\"Vex me? Not at all. In fact, if you wish to walk and stretch your legs I will come with you. We'll throw some fresh logs on the fire and then walk the camp's perimeter, checking the guards for vigilance along the way. It takes about an hour to make the circuit and we can talk as we walk. By the time we get back, the fire should be at its prime. Shall we?\"\n\nThe night grew noticeably cooler once we had left the fire, and we were soon walking briskly against the chill in the air, each of us well wrapped up in our long cloaks.\n\n\"You were talking about France,\" I resumed as we approached the nearest edge of the tree line around the camp and the first guard post on our route. \"You say it is growing. How can that be?\"\n\n\"By absorption.\" He was looking at the ground ahead of him in the darkness \"Philip Capet is a hard man to deny. He believes God truly wants him to consolidate under one crown the entire territory of what once was Roman Gaul. France, as you know, is but one of many duchies, and not at all the largest of them. Their names are lustrous, some of them more famous, even, than the name of France itself: Burgundy, Aquitaine, Languedoc, Flanders, Champagne, Anjou, Poitou, Picardy, Lorraine, and the rebellious Gascony, of course, currently the cause of so much grief to King Edward. All of them are in turmoil today, and Philip is determined to unite them all beneath his banners. He sees himself as King of one great entity that he has named the Nation State.\"\n\nThat term meant nothing to me and I said as much, and for the ensuing part of our walk my companion held forth on the wonders of this nation state that Philip Capet dreamed of ruling. We visited two more sentries in the course of that time, but I was barely aware of them, so completely was I caught up in what I was hearing. It was a vaunting vision that my new friend described for me in sweeping words, entailing elements of politics that sounded revolutionary and impossible to me: talk of a unified state built along new and radical lines, where the state itself would become an active entity in its own governance, and the people of the state would come to think of themselves as something new\u2014a nation, a single people united by ties of race, language, government, and common interests. They would forge this nation out of Philip's dream, and in time their new creation, their new nation state, would dictate the behaviour of all of Christendom, for Christendom itself would be unable to withstand the threat posed by the united resources of the new nation state.\n\n\"It is an ambitious idea,\" Lamberton said. \"But I have thought much about it since the night Philip spoke of it to Duns and me, and I am not convinced it is as preposterous as once I thought. Now, in fact, I think he might achieve his goal.\"\n\n\"But how can he do that, any of it, if, as you say, his treasury is bankrupt?\"\n\nLamberton tilted his head in an unmistakable indication that he considered my point to be moot. \"Edward of England's treasury is bankrupt, too, but that has not prevented him from continuing to wage war against his Gascon rebels, or conducting an illicit campaign against this realm. Monarchs fight wars for widely differing reasons, but almost all of them do it\u2014incessantly, it seems\u2014and nothing is more ruinously expensive than conducting a war. Yet by that very token, no route to conquest and expansion or dominion is more direct or more effective than the one offered by war. A successful war results in massive riches, which, in return, defray the enormous costs incurred in waging war. It becomes a never-ending cycle.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" I said, nodding in agreement. \"But you indicated that Philip had a new viewpoint, did you not? I interpreted that to mean he believes he can achieve this melding of all the duchies and territories where no one has done so since the days of the Caesars.\"\n\n\"Aye, that is what I meant. And I believe there are several reasons why he might succeed. The first of those being that all the duchies share a common language. A common root language, that is. They all speak variants of the old Frankish tongue. We call it French, but many of them continue to call it by their local names\u2014Angevin in Anjou, Poitevin in Poitiers, Oc in the Languedoc, and so on. There are regional differences, some of them profound, but fundamentally the tongue is French and they can all speak it and understand each other. Which means a newly conquered territory can be absorbed without great disruption.\"\n\nI stepped into the shadows beneath a dense stand of trees, where I hoped we would be challenged by the fourth and last of the guardsmen on duty. Lamberton followed at my heels, and within moments a voice rang out ahead of us, challenging us to stand where we were. I identified myself quickly, addressing the guardsman by name and telling him we were two priests with much to talk about and no desire to sleep, and after a brief exchange of greetings he waved us on, no doubt glad to have had the opportunity to speak with someone even for mere moments and even gladder, I was sure, to have been awake and at his post when we approached him.\n\n\"Tell me,\" I asked as soon as he had fallen out of hearing behind us. \"Are there burgesses in Philip's France?\"\n\n\"Heavens, yes\u2014more than there are in Scotland, and they may even be wealthier, which means Philip's problem there is more pronounced than ours yet is. Philip, gazing into his empty treasury and needy as he always is and ever was, is seeing the returns from his royal lands and holdings growing smaller from year to year, while more and more people are thriving without having to pay tribute, in the form of rent and revenues, to their so-called betters. Yet under the existing system he has no means of redress, other than to increase those holdings by any means available\u2014namely, wars and conquest. But the riches of his burgesses must make him gag, because their wealth is laid out before his eyes in every town and city of his realm.\"\n\n\"So how will he change that?\"\n\n\"By changing the way things stand\u2014by enacting new laws that will allow him to apply new taxes in ways that have never been seen before. He has already set his lawyers to work. He will tax merchants for the premises they own within his kingdom and for the use of the roads within his realm. He will tax them for their use of those ports and storage facilities they need in order to pursue their ventures. Rest assured, his lawyers will eventually find ways of taxing merchants for the nails that hold horseshoes in place. And in return he will offer them his royal protection\u2014the protection of the state\u2014against outside interference in their operations. Far more important, though, will be his offer to include them in the country's governance.\"\n\n\"Governance? To what extent?\"\n\n\"To whatever extent he sees fit, though that will be subjected to his divine right to rule. But at least he is speaking of giving his merchants\u2014his mercantile citizens\u2014a voice for the first time. And that may be the single largest and most significant change in the coming new order. Like our burgesses, these men are commoners. The call themselves bourgeois in France, and it means exactly the same thing, burgh-dwellers. They have never had any voice, or any influence, in anything. But now they will. They may not speak out as loudly or as effectively as they do here in Scotland, where there is no divinely entitled monarch, but the French bourgeois will nevertheless be heard from more and more as they grow richer. Philip needs their wealth, but more than that, he needs their support. He cannot simply plunder their vaults, for they would quickly move away to a safer place where they could continue working beyond his influence, and that would be fatal to all his hopes. So he must keep them on his side. He must tax them in such a way that they will submit to his taxation, however grudgingly, and continue in their commerce. He has no choice. He will be forced to compromise, and that is a new phenomenon.\"\n\nWe followed the moonlit footpath around one more bend and found ourselves back where we had started. Ahead of us the fire I had built up before we left had dwindled to a glowing pile of embers, and we made our way straight towards it.\n\n\"Have we been gone an hour?\" Lamberton asked as I pushed and prodded new fuel into the coals, stirring up a storm of sparks and blue-and purple-tinted flames.\n\n\"Close to it. When was the last time you were awake this late by choice?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Other than in all-night vigil, I have no idea. And I cannot even remember my last vigil, so it has been a long time. We will probably both regret it tomorrow.\"\n\n\"I think not. The time has not been wasted\u2014not from my viewpoint, at least. The discussion of ideas is never a waste of time. Tell me, if you will \u2026 It seems to me we lost sight of the importance of Will's outlaws in all we were discussing. Where do they fit into all of this?\"\n\n\"They do not, and that is precisely why they are important. Their importance here in Scotland echoes that of the French burgesses: they have never had a voice before, but from now on they will. Make no mistake, Father James, the outlaws living here today\u2014in Will's community, certainly\u2014are historically different from the outlaws who once hid from justice in these woods. Most of those people had set themselves outside the law by their own actions. They were criminals at least, and some of them were monsters. But most of the people living here in the greenwood with Will are outlaws through oppression, not through choice. They have been dispossessed and uprooted, cast out of their homes and villages through no fault of their own. They are victims themselves, not victimizers.\"\n\n\"I understand that. But how will they have a voice?\"\n\n\"Because they are the people, Father James, and their voice is a new one, and once it has been raised, it will never die away. The people of this land are making themselves heard as they have never been before. The burgesses are demanding a new place in the scheme of things, and so are the common folk, and once that has begun, nothing can stop it. People here in Scotland are talking about themselves as a community\u2014the 'community of the realm' has become a common phrase today. For the first time in history there is talk everywhere of the will of the people\u2014the people, Father. All the people, not merely the landowners, the magnates, or the earls and barons. The people!\"\n\nHe rose to his feet. \"I think I might sleep now, for an hour or two. My eyelids are grown heavy suddenly. And tomorrow I will meet your cousin Will, who, though he does not yet know it, represents\u2014or, I believe, soon will represent\u2014the voice of the people of Scotland. Think upon that before you fall asleep yourself, tonight, if you sleep at all\u2014William Wallace, vox populi, the voice of a people.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Bishop Wishart officiated at Mass before dawn the next day, with Lamberton and myself as co-celebrants, and as soon as we had broken our fast afterwards, he set out with Canon Lamberton to visit my two junior colleagues, Declan and Jacobus. Aware that part of the Bishop's objective that morning would be to assess my performance and general fitness through the observations of my two subordinates, I settled down to read my breviary, and I was still deep in meditation when a messenger arrived to tell me Will had returned and wanted to see me.\n\nI was glad to see Mirren standing with Will in their doorway, glowing with health and smiling happily up at her husband from the crook of his arm. Her belly was enormous, but there was no doubting her well-being, and I offered a swift prayer of thanks that my misgivings of the previous evening had been baseless. Will had seen me as soon as I emerged from the trees, and he waved, beckoning me to follow them as he turned and moved into the hut, his wife still held close. By the time I stepped inside, though, Mirren had disappeared. I assumed that she had withdrawn behind the painted screen of reeds that separated their sleeping chamber from the remainder of the dwelling and called a greeting to her, but I received no answer and so looked at Will, raising one eyebrow in inquiry.\n\n\"She went out through the other door. She's meeting with her women. Come and sit.\" He was already sitting in the large, padded chair he had built for himself in the corner by the empty stone hearth, and he waved me to the chair facing it.\n\n\"Wishart's here, I'm told,\" he said as I moved to sit. \"What does he want, d'you know?\"\n\n\"I have no idea. You'll have to ask him that yourself. But he was none too happy when he found out you weren't here, so it might be urgent.\"\n\n\"Who's the other fellow with him?\"\n\n\"One of the cathedral canons, a man called Lamberton. He's been in France these past two years. Came back a short time ago and was raised to chancellor of the cathedral. He's a clever lad.\"\n\n\"Lad? How old is he?\"\n\n\"Your age, I would guess. Not much more, perhaps a little less. But he has talents beyond his years.\"\n\n\"He must have, to be chancellor already.\" He frowned. \"We never had a chancellor at the Abbey, did we? What does he do?\"\n\n\"He regulates the daily life of the cathedral. It's an administrative post.\"\n\n\"So why is he here?\"\n\n\"He's here to meet you.\" I stopped short, looking in wonder at the thing that had just caught my eye. \"What is that?\"\n\nWill twisted in his seat to see what I was staring at. \"What's it look like? It's a sword. Why does this \u2026 Lamberton, you said? Why does he want to meet me? Or will I have to ask that, too, myself?\"\n\n\"You will. He would not tell me. Not that I asked.\" I was still gazing at the sword in the corner behind him, propped upright beside the long leather cylinder of his bow case. \"That's the biggest sword I've ever seen in my life. It's enormous. Where did it come from?\"\n\n\"It's a gift, from Shoomy. He brought it from his brother's smithy last week.\"\n\n\"Shoomy's brother is a smith? I didn't even know he had a brother.\"\n\nWill sniffed. \"I didn't know, either, until Shoomy brought me this. When I asked him where he had got it, he told me it had been gathering dust in his brother Malachy's forge. Apparently the brother is well known, the finest sword crafter in all the northwest.\n\nBut Shoomy is so close-mouthed, I had to drag that out of him. Never says more than he has to, our Shoomy. Most of the time that can be a blessing. At other times, though, it can be damned annoying.\"\n\nI had walked over to the weapon and now stood admiring the craftsmanship and skill of the man who had fashioned it. It was resting, point down, in the corner, and its long, bare blade gleamed dully in the light from the window. \"May I handle it?\"\n\n\"If you wish, but you won't be able to swing it in here.\"\n\n\"I can see that, but I have no intention of swinging the thing, Cuz. It's huge \u2026 I would gladly settle for being able to lift it.\" I reached out to touch the pommel, and had to raise my hand to the level of my head to do so. From its large, acorn-shaped pommel to its pointed tip, the weapon was as tall as I was, which made it just under six feet long. I estimated the hilt, which was covered in leather and bound with spirals of what appeared to be bronze wire, to be about a foot and a half in length. The slender, twisted, downwardcurving cross-guard, of the same gleaming metal as the blade, was as wide as my shoulders but no more than a thumb's width in section, and it had been turned throughout its entire length to give it the appearance of a length of corded metal rope, with decorative quatrefoils at each end. But there was much more to the defences for the wielder's hands than I had seen on any other sword. I had to step in close to see how it had been done, but the swordmaker had taken great pains with the metal cross-block over the top of the blade, which was a palm wide at that end. He had hammer-welded one-half of an oval steel ring onto each side of the thick block, then bent the twin pieces down until they lay almost flush with the flat of the blade on either side, leaving just enough space between ring and blade to trap the blade of an unwary opponent.\n\nI ran my finger down the addition and hooked the first joint into the space between guard and blade. \"This is fine workmanship. Is it sharp?\"\n\nWill had come to stand beside me. \"Not there, that part's for gripping, but the cutting edge is lethal. Be careful if you touch the blade lower down.\"\n\nI had suspected as much, simply from the way the light caught the lower edges of the blade; it had that unmistakable twinkling look of razor-sharpness. The edges of the first ten inches of the blade below the guard were hammered flat to provide a guiding grip for fighting at close quarters, permitting the swordsman to wield the weapon as a stabbing spear rather than a slashing blade. Below that, at the top of the blade proper, which was tapered and double-edged for its remaining three-and-a-half feet, twin spurs projected from the edges of the blade, and though they were not long, they were thick and strong, hooking towards the point, their purpose to catch and break the impetus of an opponent's hard-swung blow. I had almost no experience of swords or of the knightly art of swordsmanship, but I knew that the weapon I was looking at was magnificent by any standard and was too long and cumbersome to be used easily from horseback.\n\n\"So Shoomy's brother made this thing for you?\"\n\n\"No, not a bit of it! How could he? He had never heard of me, any more than I had of him. I said Shoomy found it in his brother's forge. He made the hilt and guard, Shoomy said, for that is what he does best. The blade itself, though, was made elsewhere, probably in Germania for one of those Teutonic Knights you sometimes hear about. How it ended up in Malachy's forge, I don't know. It lay there for several years, it seems, before Malachy fashioned a new hilt, pommel, and guard for it, and then he discovered he couldn't sell it. It was too big \u2026 bigger than any sword around and made for a giant, folk said. And so it lay there for two years until Shoomy set eyes on it and brought it back for me.\"\n\n\"I see \u2026 And what made Shoomy think you needed a sword\u2014you, the bowman? Or was this a mere whim prompted by the size of the thing?\"\n\nMy cousin grinned at me, though without much humour. I could see it mostly in the crinkling around his eyes; that was enough, nevertheless, to allow me to imagine the wry quirk of the lips concealed beneath the thick growth of his beard. \"You should have been here six weeks ago. Then you'd have no need to ask that question.\"\n\n\"Why? What happened?\"\n\n\"We met some strangers in the woods \u2026 unfriendly strangers.\"\n\n\"Englishmen?\"\n\n\"A few, but most of them were Scots. We know that because we heard them shouting to one another, back and forth, but to this day we don't know who they were. A score of them, give or take one or two, and all horsed. They had seen us coming. Attacked us from hiding, with crossbows. Killed four of us before we even knew we were being watched.\"\n\n\"How many were you, against their score?\"\n\n\"Eight of us, until that first volley\u2014four thereafter. That we got out at all was a miracle. They hit us as we were passing through the edges of a bog, surrounded by thickets of osier willow. We had no room to do anything, least of all to draw a longbow, and the few shots we were able to loose were deflected by the dense growth around us. They, on the other hand, were on higher, drier ground, clear of the bog, unhampered in their aim, and shooting short steel bolts.\"\n\n\"How did you get out?\"\n\n\"We ran away, into the bog, and we were fortunate they chose not to follow us. They could have picked us off one by one out there, floundering in the mud as we tried to wade across. I don't know why they didn't follow us. They should have. I would have, had I been them. And thanks be to God they didn't. I'd be dead otherwise.\"\n\n\"What would you have done if you had this sword with you that day?\"\n\nHe bared his teeth, white flashing through the darkness of his beard. \"I might have charged at our attackers and died trying to reach them before they could shoot me down.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought. So why do you now need a sword? To enable you to be killed more easily?\"\n\nHe smiled again, but this time the smile was genuinely amused, warming his eyes. \"No, Cuz. If I wear it at all, it will be as a symbol.\"\n\n\"A symbol \u2026 Very well, then, let's accept that it could be a symbol. Heaven knows it's big enough. But a symbol of what? Outlawry?\"\n\nHis smile did not falter. \"No, of leadership. Bear in mind, though, that I said 'if I wear it at all.'\"\n\n\"If \u2026 Is there doubt that you might?\"\n\n\"Enormous doubt, Jamie.\"\n\n\"Enormous is more than merely large. What causes such great doubt, may I ask?\"\n\n\"Aye, you may ask. It's caused by the fact that I'm about to be a father. I am to have a son, Jamie, or perhaps a daughter. It matters not which to me, but either one will be a responsibility I've never had before. A small wee person, wide-eyed and alive and hungry for knowledge, and dependent upon me for his or her existence. For that reason alone I will be steering well clear of any more leadership in future. If God permits me, I intend to stay here safely in the greenwood with my wife and child, providing for them and getting more of them.\"\n\nI found myself grinning at him inanely, wondering where this new Will had come from. In all the years I had known and loved him I had never seen this aspect of him, never even suspected its existence. I had always known he loved Mirren, that he had loved her from the first time he set eyes on her, but I had never suspected that he might love her dearly enough to shut himself off voluntarily from the entire world on her behalf.\n\n\"Believe me, Cousin,\" I told him, \"if you were fortunate enough to be able to do such a thing, I would count myself blessed to be able to travel here from Glasgow to minister to you and your family once each month.\"\n\nA tiny frown grew instantly between his brows. \"But you don't think it is likely to happen. I can hear it in your voice \u2026 see it in your eyes.\"\n\n\"No, I did not say that, Will, but you yourself will have to admit, if you but think on it, that the odds against your winning that peaceful isolation are great. Your name is too well known now for you to simply disappear, especially after your announcement of your name and your intentions to His Lordship of York in April. I am not saying you could not vanish from the ken of men, because of course you could, but it would not be easily arranged. Nor easily maintained.\"\n\n\"The ease of doing it and the difficulties of sustaining it do not concern me,\" he said slowly. \"It will be done, if I wish it to be done. Determination to stay hidden is what I'll require most\u2014that, and a place where no one will find me accidentally. Will you help me with that, if I call upon you?\"\n\n\"Of course I will, and happily. And I will apply myself from this time on to making it possible. This will be a worthwhile task.\"\n\nHe lowered his head. \"My thanks, Cousin.\"\n\n\"Don't thank me yet. Wait until I've found the way to make it work. In the meantime, though, take my advice and keep this sword well hidden. Thank Shoomy for it, but ask his leave to hold it safe against a time when you might really need it. It will attract too much attention if you wear it openly, for it smacks too much of something a leader might carry for effect. And that brings us around in a complete circle to what we were talking about when we began. Whence did this all spring, this notion of symbols and leadership?\"\n\n\"Murray,\" he said, and I did not know whether he meant Andrew Murray or the place called Moray, for they both sounded the same when spoken.\n\nHe grimaced then and clawed at his beard with hooked fingers, scratching deeply as he continued speaking. \"This has to come off. I swear it's full of fleas. And I should know better than to sleep with the dogs when I'm on the road. Mirren will flay me.\" He paused, collecting his thoughts. \"Where did this thing about leadership and symbols come from?\" He shrugged. \"I first heard of it from Andrew Murray, when I saw him in the north a few years ago, on that errand for the Bishop. He carries a battle-axe with him everywhere now because it has become his emblem. He even has one blazoned on his standard, which is laughable. Murray is a swordsman, as you know\u2014always has been. And because he's trained all his life on the English quarterstaff, there is no one in Scotland who can best him face to face and toe to toe with a sword in his hand.\n\n\"Several years ago, though, when his father's lands were invaded by raiders from the far northeast, he won a dire fight using an axe against a mounted raider after he himself had been unhorsed. The axe was all he had, he told me, for when he was knocked from the saddle, he had fallen on his sword and shattered the blade. When his opponent charged him for the kill, Andrew managed to dodge aside and hooked the end of his axe blade behind the knee joint of the fellow's armour. He couldn't say afterwards if it actually hooked behind the fellow's knee brace or caught in a flaw in his chain mail, but he knew it was a fluke, the sheerest accident, and he told me he could never have done it again. It worked, though, for when the fellow's horse spun away, Andrew's weight on the lodged axe pulled the rider from its back. The fellow hit the ground hard and Andrew split his helm with a single blow. The word spread that Andrew Murray was a peerless axe man. He has never used an axe in a fight since then, he says, but he carries one with him everywhere he goes, because his people expect to see it. And he rides beneath a yellow banner marked with a blood red axe head, a symbol of his puissance, as the French call it.\"\n\n\"And he thought you might wish to bear one, too, someday?\"\n\n\"No, it was not quite that straightforward.\" He crossed the tiny room in a few strides to where a jug stood, covered with a white cloth, beside a quartet of earthen mugs. He poured a mug of ale for each of us and brought one to me, waiting until I raised it in a salute that he returned before bringing the rim of his mug to his own lips. He drank deeply, then lowered his cup and belched softly. \"There, now that tasted good.\" He reached out to touch the cross-guard of the great sword, his hand side by side with mine.\n\n\"What Murray said was that every leader, great or small, needs a recognizable emblem\u2014a symbol of his leadership. His became a battle-axe, irrespective of what he himself might have wished for, and that led him to wonder what mine might be, if ever I should become a leader of men here in the south.\" He flicked his thumb against the metal of the guard, then turned away and moved back to his big chair. \"It was whimsical thing, of no real import, and we were but passing idle time. I had forgotten all about it until I came in here one day and saw that great thing leaning in the corner. It came to me then that Andrew's symbol should have been a sword but ended up being an axe, and I knew that my own should be a bow, but that as a symbol, a bow, contrary to all my love and respect for it as a weapon, now seemed somehow \u2026 insubstantial. Slender and slight looking and not at all weighty or solid.\n\n\"That thought, in turn, reminded me of something else Andrew had said that day. We had been talking about battle tactics and leadership and the worth of infantry as opposed to cavalry and of both together in the face of massed archery. The English use their Welsh archers to great effect, as you know, and in the last twenty years, under Edward, they have been working hard to train their own men in the Welsh techniques. Massed bowmen, properly deployed, can rout the finest army ever fielded, for modern armies have no defence against them.\"\n\nHe fell silent, and I waited for him to finish, but he was clearly thinking about something else by then.\n\n\"So?\" I prompted. \"What was his point?\"\n\n\"Eh? Oh, that we have neither sufficient bowmen nor adequate cavalry in Scotland, so any fighting that we have to do in years ahead will be left to our foot soldiers.\" He saw the expression on my face and spoke quickly to forestall what I might say. \"We have fine bowmen. I'm not denying that. Excellent archers, and I am one of them. But we have nowhere near enough of them, Jamie. Where we can turn out a hundred archers, the English can field a thousand in half the time, and they can keep doing the same for every other hundred we can raise. The same goes for heavy chivalry\u2014armoured knights and the mounts to carry them. We have numerous and noble knights as well, but they wear mail, not solid plate armour, because nowhere, nowhere in all Scotland, do we have a single horse as big as those the English breed and train to fight. They call them destriers. Murray calls them destroyers\u2014destroyers of infantry. I agree with him. Frankly, Cuz, we have nothing we can field against an English army with a hope of winning.\"\n\n\"And you believe it will come to that, to fielding men against them. Is that what you are saying?\"\n\n\"Aye, it might. It could. But we would do little fielding, in the true sense of the word. We might find ourselves having to fight them, but we will not be confronting them in battle. That would be madness, self-destructive folly. If we are to fight them with any hope of winning, it will have to be as outlaws and brigands, fighting the way we fight them now, using the land itself against them, then hitting them hard and fast and withdrawing before they can strike back at us.\"\n\n\"But we do not fight them now, Will.\"\n\n\"Yes, Cuz, we do. Not often yet, and not to any great extent. But we do fight them. What else would you call the patrols we've been sending out since April but fighting? And it is going to get worse. As the English grow more confident in their ability to bully the folk here with impunity, those of us who can will be forced to strike back against them more and more often. And understand this: it will be men like us for the most part, the common folk and the so-called outlaws, who will have to bear the brunt of it, for we can put no trust in the magnates' willingness to defend us. Some will stand by us, people like Sir William Douglas of Douglasdale\u2014more of an outlaw himself than we are\u2014and Murray, too, in the north. But men like those, whether they be influenced by principles or politics, are few and far between. That leaves common folk like us with but two choices: we can lie down like sheep and let them all, English and Scots nobility alike, trample us under their feet, or we can fight for what we have and what we hold, uncaring who has legal title to the ownership.\"\n\n\"But, Will, we have nothing. We have no land, we have no rights, and we have no voice.\"\n\nMy cousin shrugged. \"I said both 'have' and 'hold,' Jamie. We hold the lands in which we live and we will not relinquish them meekly. And until God Himself takes the field against us and stamps us out, we will have our pride, our integrity as men, and our freedom. All of them worth fighting for.\"\n\n\"And will you lead your folk, Will, beneath the symbol of a sword? This sword?\"\n\nHis teeth flashed again behind his beard. \"Did you not hear a word I said about what I intend to do from this time on? I meant it, Jamie, every word of it. I am not the only man in Selkirk Forest capable of swinging a blade or casting an arrow. I can name you half a score, right here and now, who could step over me and take command were I shot down in battle. Only one man was ever irreplaceable, Jamie, and He died for all of us. As for the rest, the common leaders, kings and generals, there's always someone, and often someone better, waiting to step in and take command. I will be gone, lost in the forest, and the matter of who will replace me is for God to decide, but I do not believe for a minute that He will abandon us.\" He straightened up, head cocked. \"Who's there?\"\n\nThe door swung open and one of the guards stuck his head inside. \"Yon Bishop's back, Will. Riding in now.\"\n\n\"Thank ye, Alistair. I'll be right out. Tell the Bishop that and bid him make himself comfortable in the gathering hut.\" He turned back to me. \"Well, shall we go and find out what this visit is about?\"\n\n\"Not I, Cuz. I was not invited. Go you alone, for now. If they then send for me, I'll come, but for the time being, I believe their business is with you.\"\n\nHe narrowed his eyes and regarded me for several moments before nodding slightly. \"So be it, then. You'll dine with us tonight?\"\n\nI said I would, then he nodded again and glanced around him as though looking idly for something he did not find, before he crossed quickly to the door and left me there alone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "As soon as Will was gone, I stepped back to the big sword and reached up to grasp the hilt. It fell heavily towards me when I tugged at it, but as I stepped quickly back, tightening my grip and hefting it properly, the weapon settled into my grasp, and I felt the beautiful, integral balance of the thing. I lifted it higher, holding it with both hands, and the long blade rose effortlessly, reflected light from the small window nearby flickering along the watermark patterns on the blade as it moved. I decided that it must weigh somewhere between seven and eight pounds, with most of the mass centred in the upper third of the weapon to provide a fulcrum for the long, lethal beauty of the blade. I was concentrating so deeply on what I was doing that the sound of Mirren's voice at my back made me jump and turn towards her reflexively, still clutching the sword.\n\nShe had been in the act of taking off the light shawl that had covered her head, but she released it and threw up her hands in mock horror as the long blade swept towards her, even though it came nowhere near where she stood. \"Heavens! Will you kill me, Father James?\"\n\nI lowered the point to the floor immediately, mortified, and began to bluster an apology.\n\n\"Jamie Wallace, you're blushin' like a wee boy caught stealin' honey. I startled you, and I'm sorry. I didna know you would be here.\" She hesitated, then added, \"But now that you are, I want to ask you something. D'ye mind?\"\n\n\"No, of course not. Let me put this back where it belongs.\" I turned away and replaced the sword in its corner, and as I did so I heard her lowering herself slowly and carefully into her chair. \"This is a fine weapon,\" I said over my shoulder, giving her time to settle herself decorously.\n\n\"It's for killing men,\" she answered dismissively. \"I'm surprised to hear you, of all people, finding something good to say about it. We will a' die some day soon enough. I canna see any beauty in a thing made to bring that time closer.\"\n\nI turned to face her, bowing my head respectfully. \"Forgive me, Mirren. You're right, of course. I was admiring the form of it, the symmetry and proportion, not thinking of its purpose. Now, what do you wish to ask me?\"\n\nShe finished adjusting the light shawl over her hair, apparently having decided to retain it, then looked at me with narrowed eyes. \"What does Robert Wishart want from my Will?\"\n\nI was caught off kilter by her hard tone, and she continued before I could say anything. \"I'm asking Jamie the cousin, not Father James the priest, and I want you to sit down and talk to me, eye to eye, Jamie Wallace. What does that old schemer want from my man? And don't try to tell me he doesna want anythin', for I'll no' believe you any more than ye'll believe yersel'.\"\n\nI raised my hands in surrender. \"I swear to you, Mirren, I don't know. I didn't even know the Bishop was coming. We met him by accident yesterday, Ewan and Alec and me, in the forest. We could just as easily have missed him. I really think, though, that you might be doing him an injustice \u2026\" My voice died when I saw the look that came into her eyes, and I felt a tide of blood colour my face.\n\n\"Aye,\" she said, \"ye may well blush. Ye were about to tell a lie that would shame a hardened liar, let alone a priest. You know as well as I do that Robert Wishart does nothing, ever, wi'out reason, and his reasoning is often as twisted as the top o' that big, curly staff he carries when he's fully robed. What's it called?\"\n\n\"The crozier, the pastoral staff.\"\n\n\"Aye, that. It's braw, I suppose, but naebody would ever ca' it plain or simple. Just like his thinkin'. Everything that man does is to a purpose. I've heard tell, to his credit, that everything he does is for the good o' Scotland's realm. I ken that, and it's fine and good. But my concern is that he's planning to use my Will for something I don't like, and I've a deathly fear o' what that might be.\"\n\n\"There's no need for that, Mirren,\" I said. \"Bishop Wishart would never ask Will to do anything dishonourable.\"\n\n\"Dishonourable? Are ye daft, Jamie Wallace? What in the name o' God do you think I'm talking about here? What does honour have to do wi' anything ither than the witlessness o' stupid men strutting like fighting cockerels?\" She looked at me wild eyed, as though she could not believe that I could be so obtuse as to miss her meaning, and continued in a voice that was little louder than a sustained hiss. \"I'm no' talking about that kind o' rubbish. I'm talking about puttin' my man's life in danger, about sending him out to do something brave and stupid that could get him killed and leave me here wi' a newborn babby an' nobody to raise him. I'm talking about my Will, your cousin and closest friend, dyin' for that auld man's notions o' what's right for Scotland. And I'll tell you, Jamie Wallace, I wouldna gi'e a handful o' acorns for this whole holy realm o' Scotland and a' the bishops in it if it came down to a choice between its life and my Will's.\" She stopped, breathing deeply.\n\nI raised a placatory hand, but only half-heartedly, because I truly did not know what to say to her. \"That will not happen, Mirren,\" I said, hearing the uncertainty in my own voice. \"It would never come to that, or anywhere close to that.\"\n\n\"Close to what? Close to what, Jamie? To fighting? To war? To my Will getting killed?\" Her voice was granite hard, her eyes scornful. \"Tell me ye dinna seriously believe that tripe.\"\n\n\"Of course I believe it, Mirren. It's true.\"\n\n\"True? Sweet Jesus, Jamie Wallace, listen to yourself! There's been mair folk killed around here in the past three years than in the thirty years afore that, when King Alexander was alive. And that's just plain Scots folk. When ye start addin' in strangers and English sodgery on top o' that, it doesna bear thinkin' about.\"\n\n\"But that's all banditry, Mirren, not war. And besides, the worst of it seems to be over now.\"\n\n\"Oh, is it? Och, I'm so glad ye told me that.\" The contempt in her voice was chilling, and even though I knew her scorn was not aimed at me, I cringed inside. \"I'm sure a' they dead folk would be glad to ken it was banditry that killed them and no' war.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do, Mirren? What can I do that will help?\" I had to swallow my impatience forcefully.\n\nI don't know what she had expected me to say, but her head jerked up and her eyes went wide. And then, to my absolute horror, she began to weep, not noisily or even audibly, but hopelessly. She was staring at me and her eyes were enormous, the helpless agony in them spearing through me as her tears welled up and spilled profusely down her face to drip from her chin. She simply sat there, letting them flow.\n\nI had not spent much time alone with Mirren, but as I had slowly come to know her I had learned to appreciate and respect her strength of character and will as being truly extraordinary, and I had heard Will himself say, many times, that she was the strongest woman he had ever known. To see her reduced to tears like this was, therefore, appalling to me. I knew, of course, that her condition, so close to being brought to childbed, was precarious and that her behaviour could be expected to vary from what was normal, but so pathetic was my ignorance that I had no appreciation of what normal was supposed to be. And so I merely sat there, praying for inspiration and assistance.\n\nThe assistance came first and was provided by Mirren herself when her tears dried up spontaneously and she raised a hand as though to bless me. \"Forgive me, Father James, I shouldna be sayin' such things to you.\" It was the first time she had addressed me by my title. \"I know you're no' to blame for any o' this,\" she was saying as I collected myself again. \"Auld Bishop Wishart formed his interest in my Will long afore you were ever in a position to influence him one way or the other. But, God forgive me, I'm feared o' losin' my man \u2026 losin' my babby's father.\"\n\nI sat down resolutely in front of her and leaned towards her, looking her straight in the eye. \"Listen to me, Mirren. Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you. I swear it's true and it is something you might never have heard before. Will you listen to me? I'm going to tell you something Will confessed to me \u2026 swore to me, in fact.\" I saw her eyes flare with surprise and I knew instantly she had misunderstood. \"No, no, no.\" I reached out and took hold of her wrist. \"It was a personal confession between friends, not a sacramental confession binding me to silence. Do you understand the difference?\"\n\nI knew she must, but I waited for her to nod her head in acknowledgment.\n\n\"Good.\" I squeezed her wrist, reassuringly I hoped, but did not relinquish it. \"Well then, we have talked about this, Will and I, since you\"\u2014I floundered for a moment, then pressed on\u2014\"since you became with child. And in fact we first talked about it soon after the raids along the border lands, when word came back that Tam Elliott the weaver had had his hamstring cut during the fighting at Selkirk town. Do you remember that?\"\n\nShe nodded soberly. \"I do, because his wife had just had twin baby boys, an' it near killed her. All o' it, I mean\u2014the birth o' the bairns and then the word that Tam had lost his leg.\"\n\n\"Aye. Well, Will and I talked about what was to be done for them, and the talk turned to you and Will and what might happen to you were he ever crippled or, God forbid, killed in a fight. I know now that Will has been thinking deeply about it ever since, and he has made a decision that, quite frankly, I would not have believed three months ago.\"\n\nShe did not ask, although her eyes grew even wider. She merely waited, unmoving, until I continued.\n\n\"Will has decided that his duty\u2014but even more than that, his heart\u2014lies with you and your child, Mirren. He has told me that you and his son, or the daughter you will bear him, are more valuable and far more important to him than anything else could ever be.\"\n\nShe asked in a tiny voice, \"What does that mean?\"\n\nI had to smile at her, at the tremulous hope in her voice, the halfformed awareness that her fears might yet prove groundless.\n\n\"It means that your man has decided that you and the child you carry, and the others you will bear him in the years ahead, are his world and his life. And he has chosen to believe that nothing else, especially not the political haverings and squabbling of men who would not deign to bid him the time of day in person, can ever be permitted to threaten the love and the esteem he has for you and what you mean to him. Those other men may think of themselves as Will's betters, his superiors, his masters\u2014poor benighted creatures that they are\u2014but you know and I know that not a one of them approaches Will Wallace in stature or dignity or goodness. And the strange part is that, somewhere deep inside himself, Will is beginning to see that, too. Strange, I mean, because he is a modest, self-effacing man, with little idea of how highly other men esteem him.\n\nBut be that as it may, Mistress Wallace, I believe you can dry your tears, for Will is going nowhere that will grieve you.\" Her eyes flared again with something resembling panic. \"But he's in wi' the Bishop now. What if\u2014?\"\n\n\"Bishop Wishart will not change Will's mind, no matter how persuasively he tries, and we all know how persuasive he can be. But Will has made his decision, and you know your goodman. Once his mind is made up, nothing, not even you, can change it.\"\n\nAs I finished speaking, someone knocked at the door, and Mirren answered immediately.\n\n\"Come in.\"\n\nEwan leaned inside, his face lighting with pleasure as he saw me. \"Ah, there y' are. God bless this house and good day to you, Mirren. Jamie, the Bishop sent me to fetch you.\"\n\n\"Aye, I'll be right there, Ewan.\" I turned back to Mirren. \"I have to leave for home tomorrow morning, so you and I should talk about this again later, perhaps before dinner. Will that be possible?\"\n\nShe smiled at me then, the most open and friendly smile she had ever bestowed on me, and crossed her hands over her belly. \"Aye, or perhaps after we eat. After all, I have to play the hostess and entertain the Bishop and his \u2026 companion.\"\n\n\"He's a canon, Canon Lamberton, chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral. You'll like him.\"\n\n\"Thank you for this, Jamie. You have eased my soul.\"\n\nI blessed her quickly and left."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The three faces grouped around the smallest of the tables in the hut that served as an assembly hall were all serious when I walked in, and the greetings we exchanged were no more than perfunctory nods. \"Did someone die?\" I asked and immediately regretted my levity. \"Your pardon, my lord Bishop, I meant no disrespect.\"\n\nWishart turned his gaze on me, his eyes distinctly unfriendly. \"No, Father James,\" he said, so quietly that I almost had to strain to hear him. I had worked closely with him for almost two full years by then, and I knew that Bishop Wishart whispering straight-faced was the equivalent of other men raving while they destroyed buildings and slaughtered innocents. \"No one has yet died today. But preparations are afoot in numerous places that should see a profusion of death in times to come. We are entering dire times here in Scotland, times that will test the mettle of each one of us, and now your cousin has informed us that he will be removing himself from any possibility of conflict.\"\n\nI winced, despite knowing it was not a wise thing to do. I looked back at Will to try to guess at what had been said already, but he seemed unruffled.\n\n\"Aye, well,\" I said, struggling to find my tongue and straighten out my thoughts. \"His wife will make a father of him within the next few days. Events like that have been known to make men re-evaluate their lives and how they live them.\"\n\n\"We are aware of that, Father James.\" Now the icy chill in that quiet voice was radiating towards me. \"I find Will's motives admirable, and his desire to be with his wife and child could not be more laudable. The timing of all this, however, could not be more unfortunate.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, my lord. The timing of all what?\"\n\nThe Bishop moved his head to look at me, a quirk of annoyance appearing between his brows. \"Must I lay it all out like a map in front of you?\"\n\nI felt my chin go up in spite of knowing I should not react. \"I fear you must, my lord, for I have been in these woods for nigh on four months, and we hear little of the outside world here.\"\n\nI saw Will bend forward slightly, and when I glanced at him, I found him looking at me and he closed one eye in a long, approving wink. The Bishop, though, had gone stock-still, staring straight ahead. And then the stiffness left his posture and he sank back into his chair.\n\n\"Forgive me, Father James. You have every right to chastise me. Come, then, and sit down, and I will bring you up to date on all that has been going on in Scotland and in England.\"\n\nHe waited until I was seated across from him and then he raised one hand, fingers spread, preparing to enumerate points as he made them.\n\n\"You left Glasgow to come down here as minister to your new flock soon after the Old Robert Bruce died, towards the end of April, did you not?\"\n\n\"Aye, my lord, the twenty-eighth of April.\"\n\n\"Right. And then in June, Will's men launched several actions in response to the illegal activities of certain \u2026 people in these parts. That created a stir at the time, but though much was achieved here, it was regarded by the powers in the land to be a local issue, a minor disturbance that faded to insignificance against the backdrop of what was taking place elsewhere. And then came July, and many matters came to a head. The first ten days of July of the year of our Lord 1295 will prove, I believe, to have been a memorable time.\n\n\"On the third of the month, I set my name and episcopal seal, in the company of others, as witness to a royal charter from King John of Scotland. Those others were four belted earls\u2014Buchan, Strathearn, Dunbar, and Mar\u2014along with Patrick de Graham and John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch. An illustrious group of witnesses, by any gauge. The import of the charter was to grant lands in Douglasdale, forfeited by the rebellious Sir William Douglas, to the Englishman Antony Bek, Prince Bishop of Durham and King Edward of England's former deputy in Scotland.\"\n\nI was aware that my mouth was hanging open. \"Bek?\" I said eventually. \"They gave Douglas's lands to Bek?\"\n\n\"Aye, they did.\" The Bishop's voice was flat. \"Sir William Douglas stands convicted of sedition and rebellion and all his lands and goods are forfeit to the Crown. It is regrettable, but the man brought this judgment down upon himself through his own obstinacy. He was warned often enough, advised to pull in his horns, but he always was a bull, headstrong and wilful and heedless of what others thought. He behaved like a tyrant king within his own lands, and some argue that was his right, but he crossed the true King elsewhere in the realm, acting as though he were a law unto himself, and that was his undoing. His behaviour was little short of brigandage and treason, and he has paid the price for it.\"\n\n\"But Bek, my lord! What folly is there, to make a gift of Scots lands to a man whose hatred of the realm is common knowledge\u2014\"\n\n\"Consider, Father James.\" Wishart's voice was minatory but not impatient, warning me to say no more. \"The gifting was King John's, a gesture of goodwill towards his royal cousin, England's King. Would you take issue with your monarch over it?\" I closed my mouth, restricting my protest to a frown as the Bishop continued. \"The wishes of the likes of we four here weigh nothing in such matters, and besides, the gifting of Bek was rendered insignificant two days later, on the fifth of July.\"\n\nLamberton cleared his throat quietly, steepling his fingers beneath his nose as though to pray and gazing at me from beneath a slightly raised eyebrow. I could almost feel the question hovering on my lips, and I knew they were waiting for me to ask it. I turned slightly to look directly at the Bishop.\n\n\"It seems to me, my lord, that anything capable of reducing such a grotesque gesture to insignificance must, in itself, have been earth shaking.\"\n\n\"It was,\" came Wishart's reply. \"It was indeed, although the effects of what occurred that day have not yet come to pass.\"\n\nDamnation, I thought. He is determined to make me ask. \"I see. What took place, then? What was this earthshaking occurrence?\"\n\n\"Another charter from King John, but more significant by far than the temporary awarding of the title of some lands to a visiting potentate. This charter has great substance \u2026 or it has the potential to acquire great substance. On July fifth, His Grace the King appointed a delegation of senior representatives of both the Church and the laity of the realm to travel to France with plenary authority there to negotiate a formal alliance with the French Crown. The terms of the alliance, as drafted by King John, will set both realms, shoulder to shoulder, against any aggression against either party by the Crown of England. The chosen delegates were William Fraser, Bishop of St. Andrews, Matthew de Crambeth, Bishop of Dunkeld, Sir John de Soulis, and Sir Ingram de Umfraville. They left for France within two days and have since arrived in Paris, where they are currently in negotiations with King Philip and his advisers.\" He paused. \"How significant is that development, think you, as opposed to the granting of the Douglas lands to Bek?\"\n\nI nodded slowly. \"It places an entire new meaning on the word,\" I said. \"And I can see, too, what you meant by saying that the earthshaking effects of it have not yet been felt. Does England have any inkling of what's afoot?\"\n\n\"Not yet. But they will, soon enough. Events of such magnitude cannot be easily concealed, especially in a place like France, where Philip keeps a court filled with foreigners and has been at war with England for years. Edward will have spies aplenty there, safeguarding his interests in the war over Gascony, and it will not take long for word of what is happening to reach him in England. When it does, then I have no doubt the earth will start to tremble.\"\n\n\"How will he react, think you, my lord?\"\n\n\"Noisily, I suspect, but not violently. Not yet, before he has taken time to assess the situation.\"\n\n\"And what of King John? What does he hope to gain by this?\"\n\n\"Time. Time and a strong ally. The approach to the French King is to work hand in hand with the other development that occurred in that same week. The following day, in fact.\"\n\nCanon Lamberton must have seen my confusion, for he dropped his hands into his lap and bent forward to speak to me directly. \"The delegates to France were formally appointed in Stirling early on the morning of July the fifth, Father James. They left that same day for St. Andrews and sailed thence to France on the seventh, while on the sixth, King John's seventh parliament opened in Stirling. My lord Bishop?\" He shifted his gaze to Wishart, but the Bishop merely waggled his fingers at him in a signal to proceed.\n\n\"It is no secret that King John has had increasing troubles with King Edward since his assumption of the throne. The Plantagenet clearly believes that having made it possible for John to claim the crown, he now retains the right to dictate how the new King should wear it, and he has made it more than evident that he believes himself entitled to impose his will upon the entire realm of Scotland. Witness his continuing insistence that he be granted occupancy of all our castles. He wants them all, to garrison at his leisure and to his own purposes. And what could such purposes entail other than domination and suppression of this land? He seeks to cloak it all under the guise of diplomatic words: that he is entitled to be recognized as overlord of Scotland because most of our Scots magnates owe him some form of allegiance. That most, if not all, of Scotland disagrees with him matters naught to this man. He sees no impediment to imposing his regal will on all of us. But we will not permit that. Scotland will not permit it.\"\n\nI shifted my eyes sideways to Will and found him listening closely, his eyes narrowed to slits as he concentrated upon every word being spoken, and as I looked, he spoke up.\n\n\"How will Scotland not permit it? Who is this 'we' you speak of, and what do they intend to do, to change anything?\"\n\nIt was the Bishop who responded this time. \"We are the community of the realm. The description is new\u2014\"\n\n\"I've heard of it,\" Will said.\n\n\"Aye, you have, for the idea is not new. It has been around for years, being talked about by everyone. Recently, though, it has begun taking hard form, in the persons of those most involved.\"\n\n\"The magnates.\" There was a flat, dismissive quality to Will's voice, but the Bishop appeared not to notice it.\n\n\"The magnates, aye, but not alone \u2026 no longer alone. These are changing times. In recent years we have been seeing the emergence of an addition to the three main estates of the realm. A fourth is coming into being. The first three still hold sway: the bishops of the Church, the earls of the ancient Celtic kingdom, and the barons of the current realm. But a strong new voice is now making itself heard in the land\u2014the voice of the burgesses, some of whom are beginning to call themselves the fourth estate. For the time being, though, and in the case we are discussing, the vested power is unchanged. The parliament in Stirling appointed a council of twelve governors\u2014four bishops, four earls, and four barons\u2014to assist King John wholeheartedly in his dealings with England, to provide visible and formidable support for the King's grace in the face of bullying and bluster.\"\n\nWill muttered something tinged with disgust, and Wishart cocked his head sideways, eyeing him. \"Have you something to add, Will?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" came the low response, \"but nothing new. How long, think ye, before Edward yanks the chain and threatens to deprive your magnates of their lands in England? That has never failed to bring them obediently to heel before, and I see no reason why things should be different now.\"\n\n\"But things are different now. These men have accepted full responsibility for their new tasks in the eyes of parliament.\"\n\n\"And have they willingly agreed to forfeit their estates in England?\"\n\nThat brought no answer, and the silence stretched until Will spoke again.\n\n\"That's what I thought. And that, my lord, is why I will not fight. As long as these men rely on the wealth of their estates in England, England's King will have them on a choke leash. Tell me this, and be truthful: why should I, why should any man of ability or worth, be expected to endanger and abandon his own family and step forward to fight for, or with, or beside these \u2026 these posturing buffoons, knowing them likely to skip sideways in the middle of the measure and end up dancing on the other side, accepting table scraps from England and leaving us to die for our folly in trusting them?\"\n\nHe was glaring at the Bishop, defying him to interrupt him, and when Wishart said nothing he continued. \"Magnates! Magnates, my arse. Maggots suits them better. Sir William Douglas may be a brigand and a bully and a rebel, but at least no one doubts where he stands. That kind of man I can deal with. But until these maggots can make up their mind about whether they're Scots or English, they'll get no support from me or any of my kind. And until then, be damned to them.\" He dropped his voice dramatically and spoke his next words slowly and clearly. \"I will not fight to enrich some faceless, half-bred mongrel magnate at my own expense and risk.\"\n\nHe permitted that to linger in the air, then sat back in his chair. \"On the other hand,\" he said, \"the moment the Scots noble houses wash their hands of all they held in England and commit themselves to being Scots and to caring for their folk and for this realm, I will stand prepared to change my mind. And if it comes to waging war, united one and all against Edward's greedy grasp, I will come quickly out of Ettrick, with every outlaw I can muster, and join the fight.\"\n\n\"And you are determined not to fight until then?\"\n\nWill laid his hands flat on the table, fingers spread. \"I have explained my situation, my lord, as clearly as I am able, but I will do so again. I have a wife big with child. Within days we will have a son or a daughter, the first of many, I hope and pray. I will not endanger the welfare of my family needlessly. If it should come to a just war, properly led by trustworthy commanders for the common good, then I will march with everyone else. But I will risk nothing for, nor will I support in any way, anyone who has no care for me or mine and no interests in his mind but his own welfare.\"\n\nHe appeared to suck at something lodged in his teeth, then shrugged. \"An honest man can serve only one master\u2014in this case, one King. Any fool knows that. And Scotland has a King, crowned with all the blessings of Church and state. The allegiance of our so-called magnates is clear\u2014their monarch is King John. Yet they fear to give offence to Longshanks, lest they lose wealth and privilege. Bluntly, they are duplicitous and treasonous, and I intend to keep myself and my family as far removed as I can be from all the stink of their corruption.\"\n\nHe stood up and bowed stiffly to Bishop Wishart and the canon. Then, without another word, he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him. No one spoke for a long time, but then Wishart sighed and looked over at Lamberton.\n\n\"You did not even get to speak with him. Mea culpa. I pushed him too hard.\"\n\nLamberton shook his head. \"No, my lord. Master Wallace had passed the point at which anyone could push him further long before we came here. But no matter. I will seek him out later, once he has had time to cool down.\" He glanced then at me, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin. \"Your cousin is a man of strong opinions.\"\n\n\"Aye, he is. But you always know precisely where you stand in your dealings with him. He is just and level headed. And he will talk to you later, so be it you do not attempt to change his mind or make him feel guilty about the decision he has made.\"\n\n\"I have no intention of attempting either one. I merely wish to talk to him about a mutual friend, Sir Andrew Murray.\"\n\n\"You are a friend of Andrew's? Then he will talk to you, gladly.\"\n\nThe Bishop cleared his throat and rose to his feet, pulling his breviary from his scrip. \"I think there is little to be gained by remaining here now \u2026 in this room, I mean. I think I would enjoy walking alone for a while.\" He nodded a farewell to both of us and made his way out into the encampment, deep in thought. Lamberton and I exchanged glances and then, with nothing further to say to each other, we went our separate ways."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "From the moment I heard that the birthing had begun, I was swept up in a spate of fearful imaginings that I would not have thought, two hours earlier, could exist within me. Will himself fared little better. After being told that Mirren had collapsed and been taken indoors to the shadowy domain of the hovering midwives, my virile, assertive cousin was transformed: the colour vanished from his face, he appeared to shrink in size and bulk, and his very movements, normally firm and decisive, took on an aspect of uncertainty and timidity. The Bishop and his chancellor offered Masses for the welfare and safety of mother and child, but their presence had no real relevance for any of the rest of us. People like Ewan and Shoomy and Alan and Long John, faces familiar and everpresent, were far more comforting and supportive at such times than mere clerics could ever be.\n\nThroughout that long, moonless, seemingly endless night we waited, huddled in cloaks around a leaping fire while shapeless, faceless women scurried back and forth among the shadows, on errands we were not equipped to guess at. From time to time we would hear noises, some of them loud but all muffled and meaningless, that made us squirm with discomfort over our own ignorance of what was happening. Then came a succession of harrowing screams that left us all chilled, afraid to look at one another. Thanks be to God, though, the last of those awful screams was closely followed by the wail of a newborn.\n\nShoomy barked a laugh and punched the new father lightly on the shoulder.\n\n\"Dada,\" he growled, and everyone laughed and started to talk all at once in the welcome release of tension. Everyone, that is, except Will. He sat as tensely as before, staring towards the cluster of huts housing the midwives, unable to forget, I was sure, those last agonized screams. I crossed to where he sat and gripped him firmly by the shoulder.\n\n\"Stay here,\" I said. \"I'll go and find out how she is.\"\n\nAs I approached the nearest of the midwives' huts, I saw a stirring in the shadows, and one of the elder wives stepped towards me.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, neither questioning nor inviting comment.\n\n\"Mistress Wallace,\" I said. \"How is she?\"\n\nThe woman raised one brow as she stared at me, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. A priest, asking after the welfare of the mother of a newborn child, was something rare, for in the matter of a newborn's life, the greeting and harvesting of a new soul, the welfare of the mother was never a priority. If a choice became necessary between the survival of the mother and the life of the child, the child's life took precedence.\n\n\"They are both well,\" she said eventually. \"Mother and son are both hale and strong. Permit us time to clean the chamber and prepare the child, and then you may bring the father.\" She nodded, graciously enough, then glided away into the shadows.\n\nI went back to where Will still sat by the fire, every angle of his body radiating stiffness and tension. Long John and Ewan stood close by.\n\n\"God bless all here,\" I said as I approached. \"He has already blessed your newborn son and his mother. Both are well. Strong and healthy. God be praised.\"\n\nWill had raised his head, staring at me wide-eyed. \"Mirren?\"\n\n\"She is well, I'm told, and anxious to have you meet your son.\"\n\nHe stood up slowly, holding my gaze, and reached out to touch me. I felt his hands grasping the front of my robe, and then he drew me towards him, without even being aware that he had taken hold of me. \"She's well, Jamie? She lives?\"\n\n\"And waits to show you your new son, Cuz. Come now, by the time we walk over there they should be ready to receive us.\"\n\nReady they were, too, and my throat swelled up with love and pleasure and gratitude to God in His goodness as I watched my cousin's introduction to his first-born son. Mirren was startlingly, radiantly beautiful, and it was impossible for me to imagine her as the source of those appalling screams that had so frightened us a short time earlier. She was regally wrapped in furs and brightly coloured woollen shawls, and she held her son in the crook of one elbow, the fingers of her free hand tucked gently under his chin. As Will stepped forward shyly to stoop and kiss the top of her head, she reached up and tugged at the side of his beard with her fingertips, a gentle, loving gesture of tender affection, after which she held the swaddled child up to him with both hands. He took the small bundle from her as though it held the most precious substance in all the world\u2014which, of course, it did\u2014and raised it up in front of his face to where he could stare at the wondrous creature inside, and then he stood rapt, for long, long minutes, transfixed by what he saw.\n\nIt was also on that night of the child's birth that I had the most memorable discussion of that entire visit with Canon Lamberton. Bishop Wishart had retired early yet again, but Will sat with us until long into the night, finally able to relax and enjoy himself, and I was glad to see him and William Lamberton warm to each other over a flagon of ale by the side of a leaping fire. The two Williams compared their experiences of having met and come to know their mutual friend Andrew Murray, and I was surprised to learn that Lamberton had met Murray in Paris. I did not know that Andrew had been in Paris, and neither did Will, but Lamberton told us he had been there on business for his father, a man of great power in the north.\n\nBoth Will and I knew that Sir Andrew Murray of Petty had been justiciar in the north about the time of King Alexander's death and that he was closely connected by marriage to the all-powerful Comyn family. Those things were common knowledge, if little understood, in south Scotland, and now that the name of Murray is renowned, and has been for decades, it may seem strange to younger people that it was not always thus.\n\nIn the days before Wallace emerged from his woody lair, Scotland was a vastly different place, and the division of the kingdom into north and south, separated by the Firth of Forth, was real and alienating. The English called the Firth of Forth \"the Scottish Sea,\" and in fact it separated north Scotland from the south the way the narrow sea the English call the Channel divides France from England. The analogy is not inapt, for the folk north and south of the Forth spoke vastly different tongues and appeared to be even racially different, with Erse-speaking Gaels and Norse-descended folk of Danish and Norwegian Viking stock making up the bulk of the northern populace, while the inhabitants of the south spoke mainly English and a polyglot trading language that was becoming known as Scots. Between the two regions there lay a huge cultural gulf and a mutual sense of distrust that was tenuously held in suspension by the intermediary efforts of the Church.\n\nNow, when Canon Lamberton raised the name of Andrew's father, the senior Andrew de Moray, both Will and I began to question him.\n\n\"He's a famous man,\" Will said. \"But I am not sure why he should be so famous. D'you know?\"\n\nLamberton sat back and laughed. \"How does any man become famous, Will? He is rich, above and beyond all else, wealthy on a scale that folk like us cannot imagine.\" He sipped at his ale pot before continuing. \"He is the Lord of Petty, which means small, as you know, but there is nothing remotely petty about His Lordship, for he owns most of the enormous lands of Moray, which is unimaginably vast. His primary seat, from which he controls what most people would call his empire, is Hallhill Castle, a giant stronghold on the south bank of the Moray Firth, but he also holds the lordship of Avoch in the Black Isle, which is controlled from Avoch Castle, another huge fortress, said to be impregnable, that sits east of Inverness and overlooks the Moray Firth. He is also lord of Boharm, which is governed from Gauldwell Castle and contains the estates of Arndilly and Botriphni. Oh, and he also owns other lands and estates at Alturile, Brachlie, and Croy, in the Petty region. Young Andrew is heir to all of it.\"\n\nWhen he saw we were bereft of words, he chuckled. \"Are you not glad you asked me that? Can you imagine what it must be like to own such wealth? No, of course you can't. I can't, and I'm a cathedral canon.\" He sat up quickly and placed his hand over his lips, peering around as if looking for eavesdroppers. \"Did I say that? Well, I'll deny it if I'm accused of it. But quite seriously, you must be aware that such wealth brings with it great political influence. Sir Andrew served for years as the justiciar of the north and he is married to one of the Comyns of Buchan. The House of Comyn is the most powerful family in Scottish society, as I know you are well aware. But it is one thing to be connected to the Comyns. It is quite another to be connected as de Moray is. Sir Andrew's second wife, young Andrew's stepmother, is Euphemia Comyn, the niece of King John Balliol himself. She is also the sister of John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch, one of the most politically influential men in Scotland. So there you have our mutual friend's connections: Balliol, Buchan, Comyn, and de Moray. And, of course, the Church. The young man does not lack for influence.\"\n\n\"What mean you, the Church? What influence has he there?\"\n\n\"The name de Moray is well known within the Church in Scotland, and has been for years. There was an Andrew Moray who was Bishop of Moray early in this century. He was the man responsible for the transfer of the seat of the bishopric to Elgin about sixty years ago, if my memory is accurate. He built the town's cathedral. A man well thought of by his peers in his own time, and his memory is revered today.\"\n\n\"I dare say it is,\" Will said, slightly awestruck, as was I. \"Pity that the family has no friends or relatives here in the south. That way, we might have known more about them.\"\n\nLamberton raised an eyebrow. \"Did I give you that impression? Then I must ask you to forgive me, or to pour me some more of this excellent ale.\" I replenished his mug, raising a lively head on it that he blew off before sipping reflectively and nodding his approval. \"Let's see,\" he mused. \"The south. Are you familiar with a place called Bothwell?\"\n\n\"Aye, in Strathclyde,\" I said. \"I've been there. It's but a hamlet.\"\n\n\"No, it is the seat in Scotland of Sir Andrew de Moray's brother, Sir William Moray. Sir William is almost as wealthy as his younger brother Andrew\u2014in fact he's known as le riche because he's so rich. He has another younger brother, too, who is also in holy orders. Father David de Moray is rector of Bothwell church. He is also a canon of Moray.\n\n\"William le riche is currently pouring his fortune into the construction of a castle there, to be known as Bothwell Castle, overlooking the River Clyde, and in the manner of the truly rich, he has spent huge sums importing the latest knowledge of scientific fortress construction from all over Christendom. He is reportedly determined that his castle will set a new standard for all of Britain and the world.\"\n\n\"He sounds like a braggart fool,\" Will muttered. \"You said this Bothwell place is his seat in Scotland. Does that mean he has seats elsewhere?\"\n\n\"Heavens, yes. He owns extensive lands at Lilleford in England, near Lincoln.\"\n\n\"Ah, I should have known. Another Scots magnate dependent upon Edward's largesse. The bane of this poor land.\"\n\n\"No, I think not, in this instance \u2026 at least, I am not sure. But I seem to remember Andrew telling me that the Lilleford lands have been in William le riche's ownership for generations. And of course the lands will one day belong to him.\"\n\n\"Andrew? They will be his?\"\n\n\"Yes. Sir William has no heirs. So young Andrew will inherit all his uncle's wealth, along with his father's.\"\n\n\"Good God! Pardon me, Fathers both. But is there anyone Andrew is not connected to?\"\n\n\"Aye, certainly. He has no connection to the House of Bruce. He is, however, connected to the Douglases of Clydesdale. Sir William Douglas is a distant cousin of his, I believe.\"\n\nWill merely looked at me and shook his head at that, then said no more, and Lamberton moved on to talk about what I was beginning to believe was his favourite topic: the burgesses of Scotland and how they were beginning to make themselves recognized as owning a voice to be listened to. Although I had heard all this explained before, the essence of it continued to elude me. I can only suppose that my slowness to appreciate its import was tied in to the generally limited scope of my vision at that time, living as I was in the greenwood and ministering daily to the needs of a small and very local congregation.\n\nWill, however, took to the new ideas Lamberton was presenting to him much as dry grass will take to an igniting spark. And marvelling at the briefness of the time it took Will to progress from polite interest to raging ardour, I saw, suddenly, why both my companions were so excited about this new idea, and I finally understood why it was so important, and inevitable, that Bishop Wishart, through this younger, vibrant intermediary, should bring this message directly to William Wallace.\n\nIn the eyes of Robert Wishart, William Wallace was a bellwether, whether he knew it or not. He was a flock leader, and his peers would follow him naturally, without being exhorted by him or anyone else. Will had always stood alone and had never been afraid to be different from those around him. And in the entrenched scorn he held for the Scots magnates, William Wallace had been saying for years that the system under which we lived was broken.\n\nAs I thought those precise words, I felt myself shiver with a rush of gooseflesh, remembering that it was William Lamberton, not William Wallace, whom I had heard use that expression the night before, and that the two men had not yet met when Lamberton said it. Now they were together, talking about that mutually recognized notion, and I knew that God Himself had brought them together for a purpose. Will, in his own quiet, unassuming way, had been living in political despair and disillusionment, bereft of any hope of repairing whatever it was that had broken down in the system that controlled the affairs of men. The nobility had been rendered impotent by time and change, incapable any longer of stimulating or inspiring the realm and its people, and the Church appeared to have been equally impaired. But now, miraculously, here was the Church itself, championing the emergence of a new social order, a new estate that was strong and virile and puissant, the voices and wealth of the burgesses of the combined burghs of the entire realm. Small wonder that Will Wallace embraced the notion like a breath of springtime air; and small wonder that he and his new companion completely forgot about my presence.\n\nFrom that evening until the two churchmen left to return to Glasgow three days later, they talked incessantly of politics and probabilities, and for the most part, I was content to leave them to it, happy to see my cousin walking again with that spring in his gait that I remembered from our boyhood."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "The year that followed, the first year of little William's life, was the happiest I ever knew, for as Will and Mirren settled into their new life, so, too, did I in mine, and the child became almost as much a part of my life as he was of theirs. I quickly came to love him and to dote on him as though he were my own son, and as his mother learned to trust me with him, I came to know the delights of the milky, sweet smell of his skin just after feeding, and learned to clean and tend him at both ends, changing his swaddling and generally luxuriating in the miracle that he was.\n\nSurprisingly, too, the transition from bandit leader to simple forest dweller was far easier for Will than we had all anticipated. From the moment of the boy's birth, Will let it be known among his people that he no longer sought to lead men, or to fight. He made no secret of the fact that he considered nothing more important than his family, and that all he wished to do was live with them, undisturbed, and provide for them in the best way he could. And unsurprisingly, his people accepted his wishes.\n\nLooking back, I can see that the change was greatly helped by the fact that, for a period of months, from mid-July until October of that year, there was almost no outlawed activity within the greenwood. Troop movements continued, of course, mostly from south to north as English soldiery continued to advance into the realm, but the numbers of men on the move were invariably too large, and their composition too powerful, to draw any kind of interference from the forest outlaws. Furthermore, any pickings that might have been gleaned from robbing passing baggage trains were rendered unattractive, not so much by the difficulty of winning them as by the certainty of grief thereafter as large numbers of English were loosed into the woods to punish anyone they could find and recover the stolen property by any means available.\n\nWill moved quickly to change his role as it was perceived by the people around him. He rapidly established himself as verderer for the thriving community that had grown up around his original encampment in the forest, and he did it simply by convening a gathering of all the local folk and talking to them seriously about the need for conservation and the careful husbandry of the wild forest animals, to avoid depleting the health and numbers of the deer herds. He undertook to become the warden of the forest marches for the outlawed folk, exactly as he had been for his uncle Malcolm in Elderslie, gathering tallies of the local herds and their territories, marking their patterns and their breeding numbers, and culling them for food without being wasteful. He then selected six men, each of whom had had some degree of training as either verderers or foresters, to work with him in organizing new coppices and cultivating arable plots in suitably isolated areas of the forest.\n\nThat done, he casually appointed three of his former lieutenants as joint commanders of the local forces and publicly relinquished his duties to them. Long John of the Knives, Robertson the archer, and Big Andrew Miller, the wiry little fighter with the everpresent crossbow, quietly took over the responsibilities that had gradually become Will's over the preceding few years. The transformation was well on its way to being achieved.\n\nBy October of that year, relations between Scotland and England had deteriorated almost beyond redemption. Edward Plantagenet had not relented for a moment in his quest to have the Scottish castles passed into his jurisdiction as overlord of Scotland, and King John, backed by his council of the strongest and most powerful earls and barons in his realm, had been equally intransigent in his refusal to cede a single stronghold, despite the increasingly bellicose English threats of reprisals aimed at enforcing their King's documented rights in that matter. It mattered nothing to Edward and his barons that the \"legal\" statutes they brandished had been prepared by English lawyers upon the self-important instructions of England's King; or that the rights of overlordship to which they referred so pompously were the self-assumed rights of that same English King; or that the application of such rights in Scotland, the sovereign realm of another, legally anointed monarch, was illegal. Such minor details had no relevance at all in the matter of Edward Longshanks's drive to subsume Scotland as he had Wales mere decades earlier. That became abundantly self-evident as September came to an end amid rattling drums and the braying of recruiters' horns in England.\n\nBut Longshanks had overplayed his hand this time. The collective awareness of his determination drove the Scots nobility to unite, at last, behind their own King at a parliament of the realm\u2014the eighth and last of King John's reign\u2014held in Edinburgh that October. They were unanimous in their formal refusal to give up a single Scottish castle to the English.\n\nBarely a week later, the delegates King John had sent to France on his behalf months earlier signed a treaty of alliance with Philip IV and the realm of France. It was a treaty of mutual support and assistance in all things military, commercial, and diplomatic, designed to bring the two realms together in mutual amity and interests. To mark the grandeur and historic significance of the treaty, the parties agreed that Prince Edward Balliol, King John's eldest son, would marry the Princess Jeanne de Valois, whose father was Charles Capet, Count de Valois, brother to King Philip IV and titular Emperor of Constantinople. The treaty would have to go before the Scots parliament to be ratified, and until it had done so nothing could yet be certain, but no one doubted that the ratification would occur.\n\nEdward Longshanks, of course, was incensed. And when that happened, someone\u2014or someplace\u2014invariably was made to suffer.\n\nThe news of his rage had barely been spread when more word arrived from the south, unconfirmed but barely questioned, since it merely added flesh to the stories that had been filtering up from England since September. Edward, according to these reports, was assembling an enormous army in northern England, at Newcastle on the River Tyne. No one doubted the tidings, for that was the historic gathering point for any army planning to march north into Scotland.\n\nYuletide came and went, as did the start of the New Year, 1296. That winter was a cold and brutal one for soldiers under tents, for it was windy and sleety and sustainedly miserable, never quite cold enough for snow or freezing temperatures but never warming up sufficiently to dry out sodden clothing and footwear. But since the soldiers enduring the misery and freezing in their rusting armour were Englishmen preparing to invade us, no one felt any sympathy for their plight, and those who thought of it at all might reasonably have wished for the weather to deteriorate even further.\n\nIn the meantime, little William was the delight of his parents and admirers, including his priestly godfather. His long, black tresses had vanished soon after his birth to be replaced by a thicker, more substantial growth, tinged this time with a fiery chestnut red that emphasized his deep blue eyes and drew involuntary gasps of delight from every woman encountering him for the first time. Added to that, his ready grin, infectious in its appeal and challenging in its bright-eyed directness, attracted everyone who encountered it, men and women both, cajoling them to come and play with him and pay no attention to the tiresome details of what was transpiring in the unseen world beyond the iron-hinged doors of solid oaken planks that kept him and his family safe.\n\nHe was industriously studying locomotion, crawling everywhere before he was fully six months old and endlessly exploring the wonders of every place where he was not supposed to venture, so that, one morning in January, after early Mass, I found him at the entrance to the byre, eyeing the cattle with delight. He had escaped, somehow, out from under the eye of his mother or the cook in whose charge he had been left, and, clad in nothing but a loincloth, had made his way right across the inner yard, which was inches deep in icy muck. I stopped short, because he was doing something I had never seen him do before. He had pulled himself upright, using the chinks in the rough, narrow logging of the door, and was standing on his own, barefoot but heedless of discomfort and swaying slightly as he peered into the beast-warmed gloom of the cowshed, gurgling to himself in enjoyment. He caught sight of me from the corner of his eye and swung to face me, crowing ecstatically over his own cleverness. But even as I began to move towards him he tottered alarmingly, fighting to retain his balance for at least two steps before landing flush in a pile of wet dung. His howls of outrage were spectacular. I carried him home very carefully, attempting to keep him at arm's length to protect my priestly robes, but it was a hopeless task, because he was so slippery with mud and dung that I had to hold him close to prevent him from slipping right through my fingers.\n\nA very different kind of crisis occurred the following month, when Bishop Wishart and Canon Lamberton once again turned up unexpectedly on our doorstep. Will was the first to see them coming, and he set aside the arrow he was fletching and strode into the middle of the clearing that served us as a village square. He gave a shout of welcome and stood awaiting them, hands on hips and a broad grin on his face. I had heard his shout and come outside to see what had occasioned it, and I was in time to watch his face settle into lines of apprehension and even trepidation to match the look on our visitors' faces.\n\nWe stood silent as they dismounted with the merest nod of greeting, and then Will gestured wordlessly and spun on his heel to lead us into his hut. As soon as we were all inside, he closed the door and leaned against it.\n\n\"What?\" he growled, looking directly at Wishart. \"What's happened?\"\n\n\"We are at war with England.\"\n\n\"What? We're at war? Sweet Jesus, has Balliol gone mad? We are not fit to fight among ourselves, let alone go to war with England! What happened?\"\n\nWishart was shaking his head. \"John had little to do with it, Will. It was Edward who declared war, on us. He's had an army gathering at Newcastle for months. We all knew that, but we assumed he was merely flaunting his displeasure, threatening us. We didn't seriously think he would invade.\"\n\n\"But he did. What caused him to?\"\n\nWishart glanced at Lamberton and nodded to him to respond, and the younger man straightened up and sucked in a quick breath. \"Displeasure with King John,\" he said quietly. \"John summoned an assembly of nobles to Dunfermline to ratify the French alliance.\"\n\n\"A parliament? Then he must have done it in secrecy. We would have heard of such a thing even here in Selkirk.\"\n\n\"It was not a parliament,\" Wishart muttered. \"It was an assembly, far less formal.\"\n\n\"Formal enough yet to involve the nobility and offend Edward of England sufficiently to launch a war. What happened at this assembly that prompted such a response?\"\n\nLamberton cleared his throat discreetly. \"Perhaps I can answer that. His Grace is correct, this was not a parliament. Those who were there referred to it as a gathering of the community of the realm. But the truth is that in certain respects it proved to be more noteworthy, and perhaps more important in terms of influence, than a true parliament might have been.\"\n\n\"Evidently so, given the result.\" Will's voice was redolent of disgust.\n\n\"It achieved what it was intended to achieve, and quickly. In a matter of hours, the new treaty with France was ratified and a marriage proposal between King John's son Prince Edward and the Princess Jeanne de Valois of France was approved and witnessed in writing by all present, including four earls of the realm, eleven barons, four bishops, and five abbots. All of which is well and good, but something far more significant occurred in Dunfermline. This truly was a gathering of the community of the realm. For the first time official representatives of the burghs of Aberdeen, Berwick, Edinburgh, Perth, Roxburgh, and Stirling were invited to participate, and for the first time the voice of the burgesses was officially added to the public record.\"\n\nWill nodded. \"And Longshanks responded with war.\"\n\n\"Almost instantly,\" Wishart said. \"He must have had a spy there, because the word went back to him as though on wings. His reaction was spectacular, I'm told. He upended his table and cried upon God to witness that these ingrate Scots upstarts had finally exhausted his long-suffering patience. He declared war on us then and there and summoned his dukes and barons to invade.\"\n\n\"Hmm \u2026\" Will crossed the room to the nearest chair and sank into it, his eyes gazing into nothingness, and the silence stretched, broken only by the sounds of movement as the rest of us seated ourselves, too, each one of us momentarily lost in his own thoughts.\n\nFinally Will straightened up again. \"So what happens next? Where are my people to go? We're practically astride the main invasion route.\"\n\nWishart glanced at Lamberton. \"Father William, you might like to answer that, since you and I were talking about it on the way here.\"\n\nLamberton nodded, solemn faced, then spoke directly to Will. \"The honest answer is that we don't know. You might be perfectly safe here\u2014and by you I mean, of course, your womenfolk and children. You are a mile or two off the main road, and that might be enough to safeguard your settlements. The English armies will be moving quickly\u2014at least through the thickest parts of the forest here\u2014so they won't have much temptation to stray from the high road. And it's safe to say that the English commanders will be taking precautions against desertion, so they won't be letting their people into the woods, for fear of losing them. So your distance from the road certainly makes your situation quite promising. But it is also precisely the kind of situation than no one can judge in advance.\" He paused.\n\n\"Were I in your shoes, Will, I would prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. I would get the women and children safely away from these settlements and into defensible, out-of-the-way areas, and I would set up a strong but mobile screen of bowmen between them and the road. That way, if the English pass by without stopping, you will be able to move back into your homes in a matter of hours, and if anyone does come into the woods looking for you, the bowmen can deal with them.\"\n\nWill nodded. \"Aye, that is much like what I had already decided to do. Have you any other tidings?\"\n\nLamberton turned to Wishart, and the older man spoke up quickly. \"Of course, as you might imagine, we have been taking advantage of our foreknowledge of Edward's preparations and making arrangements of our own to counteract his threats.\"\n\n\"We being the maggots, you mean.\"\n\n\"Of course. Who else should I mean? This new community of ours may speak with one unanimous voice, but it cannot yet fight with one unanimous incentive. The armies must still be raised by the earls who control them, and commanded by the barons whose responsibility such things have ever been. But I am happy to be able to tell you, Will, that matters have improved in that respect since last we spoke. The commanders of the realm stand united today, and they are confident, as am I, that we, under the banner of King John and with the blessing of God, will acquit ourselves more than honourably in the fight ahead.\"\n\nWill blew a puff of air from his cheeks, dismissing the opinions of the magnates. \"That is all very fine, my lord, but can we win? Acquitting ourselves well and losing in spite of that has no appeal for me. And I know it will not appeal to any of the men who have to march through rain and mud, carrying spears and pikes. Besides, the English share our God with us, and they will swear, to a man, that He is on their side. What about the Bruces?\"\n\nThe Bishop blinked. \"What about them?\"\n\n\"Annandale and Carrick are two of the most powerful men in Scotland. Where do they stand on all of this? For I tell you frankly, if Bruce is not with us in this war, then it were best to sue for Edward's peace this minute. Where do they stand? More simply, where is the young pup Carrick?\"\n\n\"The Earl of Carrick \u2026\" The Bishop cleared his throat, looking away into a corner. \"I do not know his exact location.\"\n\n\"Nor do I, my lord, but I would be willing to wager that you would find him in King Edward's court, for that is more home to him than is Scotland. The earl, whose title makes him one of this realm's most illustrious peers, is a popinjay, a spoiled brat who enjoys draping himself in outlandish clothes and disporting himself with other men's wives, playing at being a man himself while spending his sponsor's money like a fool. There's precious little of the Scot in him, from what I hear. He is young\u2014what, twenty, one and twenty? And I have been told he is engaging, pleasant, and amiable when he wishes so to be, but he is also completely irresponsible. Edward dotes on him as though he were a favourite son and spoils him ruinously. He gives him leave to abuse anything and anyone he wishes to. And when he tires of indulging the young earl's rebelliousness, he summons him back into the fold with a click of his fingers. You mark my words, my lord. Bruce is an ill name to employ in demonstrating solidarity, or anything purely Scottish and admirable, on the part of the magnates.\"\n\nThe Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but Will ignored him.\n\n\"The Houses of Bruce and Comyn have been at daggers drawn for long years now, and the Bruces, God knows, are no great supporters of King John Balliol. They see in him, right or wrong, an upstart and a weakling, thrust into kingship by England and held in place only by the power and support of the Comyns. And the young earl is not the only one we need to be concerned about. His father is another matter altogether. The Lord of Annandale is currently castellan of Carlisle, is he not?\"\n\nWhen the Bishop nodded, Will grunted. \"Very well, then. Let us consider the unthinkable. Now that the two realms are at war, one of our first moves must be to march against Carlisle, to shut off the English approach to the Solway Firth and neutralize the threat of invasion from that direction. So the question becomes this: which way will Robert Bruce of Annandale declare himself? Will he support his anointed King and open Carlisle to a Scots army? Or will he cleave to his much-acknowledged overlord and benefactor and defend Edward's Carlisle Castle against his true King's advance? I have my own opinion on that matter, but yours, my lord Bishop, is the one that matters here. Until you and your advisers can answer that single question, beyond a doubt and without reservation, I suggest you would be foolish to trust the fate of this realm to any assumptions having to do with the name of Bruce. I do not enjoy saying that, for my family have always been Bruce men, and I have no doubt that you are not happy to hear me bring my doubts to your attention, but that is the truth as I see it today.\"\n\nRobert Wishart rubbed at his eyes. \"I know, my friend, I know. But that, at least, is a matter that will not take long to resolve, for we must put it to the test sooner than later, and by the time we do, we will know how to proceed in either circumstance. In the meantime, I am assured that the earls have matters well in hand. John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, is fortifying Annandale, since Bruce himself is in the English camp for the time being. Lord John de Soulis's nephew Nicholas commands in Liddesdale, and between the two of them, the south is well cared for. Sir William Douglas holds the castle at Berwick, and Sir James the Stewart has charge of Roxburgh Keep. We are well prepared and in good hands.\"\n\nWallace stood up and moved to a cupboard against the wall, from which he withdrew a jug of wine and a pair of cups, signalling to me to bring out more. He placed a cup in front of the bishop, but before he could pour any wine the old man waved him away, and so he stood there for a few moments, holding the jug between his hands and looking from one to the other of us. \"Well,\" he said eventually, \"I hope you're right and that the hands in which we rest are truly good, for if they hesitate or fumble, this land of ours will go down into chaos, and the groans of the folk crushed under England's heel will assault the gates of Heaven itself.\" He placed the jug carefully on the table, untouched. \"I hope you're right, and I will pray that you are.\"\n\n\"But you won't fight.\" Wishart's voice was bleak, and Will sat down and gazed at him levelly. I could see that he was fighting against his temper and I found myself wondering if the Bishop had any idea of how close he was to receiving the full benediction of my cousin's wrath. But as the moments passed, the danger of an explosion passed with them, and soon Will raised his hand, almost in a blessing.\n\n\"I told you, on the last occasion that we met, that if a just cause ever came along and the folk of Scotland marched to war united, I would join them. I have not since changed my mind. I am not yet convinced, though, that the unity of which I spoke is firmly in place \u2026 and yet on the other hand, I am greatly encouraged by what you told me today about the power of the burghs and the burgesses. That, I believe, is a mighty step towards what we had hoped to achieve, for if the burgesses can speak with one independent voice, then someday this country of ours could stand on its own as an independent land, governed by its own community for the welfare of all its people.\"\n\nWilliam Lamberton studied him carefully. \"What are you saying, Will?\"\n\n\"That I am half convinced. That is what I am saying, I think.\" He scratched at his beard. \"I am half convinced; the other half remains in doubt. And so I shall half prepare for war; I will half fight. I will stay here in the forest with my folk and watch what happens, and if the English come to me in search of pain and grief and sorrow, I will supply them with all they can take, and more atop that. But I will not yet march away to war.\" He straightened up and looked directly at the Bishop. \"Show me a leader worth following and a war worth dying in, and I will fight. That I swear to you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "\"Thae priests are back, chappin' at wir yetts,\" was how Alec Scrymgeour put it five days later, when he interrupted Will and me to announce that the Bishop and the canon had returned. By \"knocking at our gates,\" we understood him to mean that they were close to arriving, approaching along the winding bog path from the south.\n\nWill's brows crooked in a small frown as he looked at me, but he said nothing. We had expected the two clerics to stop by on their return journey, but nowhere near as soon as this. They had left in search of the Earl of Buchan, who had last been heard of as being somewhere south and west of us, in the territories of Annandale, and we had anticipated it would take them at least a full day, and more likely twice or even three times that long, to find him. Given that the Bishop had ridden all the way from Glasgow to meet with Buchan and must therefore have had matters of great import to discuss with the Comyn earl, Wishart and Lamberton should not have been expected to return this way for at least another three days.\n\n\"Perhaps they ran into the earl on the road,\" I suggested, and Will shrugged.\n\n\"Aye, and mayhap they missed him completely. He might not even have come south yet. That wouldn't surprise me. The man's a Comyn and an earl, unpredictable on both counts. Considers himself beholden to no one and answerable to even fewer. We'll find out soon enough.\"\n\nOur visitors arrived less than half an hour later, and we were waiting for them as they emerged from the serpentine path into the water meadow at the southern edge of the encampment. They were evidently glad to reach us\u2014especially when Will informed them there was wine awaiting them in his house and a young deer already turning on the spit in their honour\u2014and they seemed cheerful enough, with no air of dejection about them to indicate a failed mission. But the protocol of the day dictated that nothing be said until the proper time, and so no one asked any questions or ventured any comments until the rituals of hospitality had been observed around the shallow fire pit outside Will's hut, after which the casual attendees departed about their own affairs and the four of us were left alone to talk without interruption.\n\nLamberton started by explaining that they had, in fact, encountered Buchan on the road, no more than half a day after leaving us, to the great surprise of both parties. The earl, it transpired, had sent his main army of several hundred men marching south and west into Annandale while he himself had taken a small escort of horsemen and made a diversionary cross-country journey to the east, to visit briefly with James Stewart the High Steward, who had garrisoned and was holding Roxburgh Castle. Through Stewart he had passed on dispatches to Sir William Douglas in Berwick, and then, on the road back towards Annandale to rejoin his army, he and his men had run into Bishop Wishart's little group at a fork in the road. They had set up a camp close by the road junction so they could conduct their business.\n\nWhen Lamberton had finished, Will turned to Wishart. \"And all went well? You achieved everything you sought?\" The canny old churchman raised an eyebrow, the merest flicker of response, but Will carried right on. \"I know you went in search of something from Buchan, my lord. You would hardly have ridden all the way from Glasgow merely to wish him well. Am I permitted to ask what it was?\"\n\nThe older man sighed, and I thought he looked more frail than he had seemed a mere half year earlier, when he had first brought Lamberton to visit us around the time of young Will's birth. He looked exhausted and dispirited, but even as the thought came to me, he straightened his shoulders and pulled himself up straighter, visibly shaking off the appearance of listlessness.\n\n\"Aye, William,\" he said, \"you are permitted to ask. And I can even answer you now, which I could not have done before we left to meet with John Comyn. There are plans afoot to send an army of mounted skirmishers over the border into England at the first sign of hostilities. It will be led by a number of earls\u2014\"\n\n\"Now there's an error at the outset, my lord, if I may say so. No group can be a leader. It sounds fine and noble, but it's nonsense. All your group of earls will do is fight with one another for command.\"\n\n\"No, not so!\" The Bishop's voice was whip-like. \"Bear in mind, my son, that the Church itself is such a group, and leads the entire world.\" He paused, and then resumed in a milder tone. \"Granted, the Pope is the leader of the Church, but the cardinals are effectively His Holiness's earls, and they wield their powers effectively. So it will be in this case. The earls will share joint command, each leader commanding his own men, as has ever been the case within this realm when the earls raise the Scots feudal host, calling every ablebodied fighting man in the realm to arm himself and answer the summons. They will act separately but in unison, in accordance with a carefully prepared plan in which every earl will have a role to play. It is the way our forefathers have fought for centuries.\"\n\n\"Aye, for centuries \u2026 and there's another point I wish to raise in time to come.\" Will glanced sideways at me. \"Jamie, remind me of that if I forget to bring it up\u2014the way they have fought for centuries.\" He turned back to Wishart, who sat blinking at him, his lips moving, but Will himself appeared unfazed. \"Pardon me, my lord. Which earls will be involved in this cross-border attack?\"\n\n\"Six at this point. Stewart of Menteith, Malise of Strathearn, Strathbogie of Atholl, Donald of Mar, Malcolm of Lennox, and William of Ross. And, of course, Comyn of Buchan, newly named Lord of Annandale after Bruce's defection and failure to answer the call to arms, will now make a seventh.\"\n\n\"The Comyns are well represented, I see\u2014Ross, Buchan, and Mar.\"\n\n\"Aye, and don't forget John Comyn the Younger of Badenoch, son of the Guardian. He rides with them.\"\n\n\"Hmmph. And where will they ride to, can you tell me?\"\n\n\"They will begin with a three-pronged raid into Cumberland, from south of Jedburgh, striking at Hexham and Corbridge. Farther west, under the command of Buchan, they will attack Carlisle itself.\"\n\n\"Carlisle. You will pit Comyn against Bruce. Think you that is wise?\"\n\nThe Bishop sighed deeply and peered into his drinking cup. \"I do now, though I would not have thought so before you asked me your question about Bruce's loyalties the other night. Before that, I would not have doubted Bruce's commitment to this realm. But then I looked at your question through different eyes\u2014the eyes of a discerning and often disapproving cleric, rather than the wishful, self-deluding eyes of an optimist and a patriot\u2014and what I saw unsettled me. Bruce is for Bruce. His commitment has never been otherwise. And if Bruce has to stoop to using Edward's power to open up the route to Scotland's throne on his behalf, against the Comyns, why then, that is what Bruce will do \u2026\"\n\nHis voice faded, and then he resumed, in a firmer tone. \"Not all men in this realm are as we are, Will. They do not all share our vision, for though you and I are far apart in our opinions and judgment on many things, we do share a grand vision, and one, I believe, that is God-sent. We dream\u2014you and I and other folk like us\u2014of a new and different world. We dream of freedom and of independence as a people\u2014a single people united by our shared place in this land that mothers us, a people with the right to stand up tall and free, beholden to no foreign king or outside power, free to designate and control our own united future, our destiny, according to the people's will.\"\n\nHe turned his head slightly to include me.\n\n\"We call ourselves Scots, and nowadays we talk about the community of the realm, and we seek to redefine ourselves and our role in our own lives and living.\" One corner of his mouth twitched as though he might smile a little, but all he did was jerk his head in a tiny gesture of regret. \"We may all be Scots\u2014we are all Scots, in name at least\u2014but we are not yet one people. Not by any measure. We are a folk greatly divided by and among ourselves, by language and race, Highlands and Lowlands, Isles and forests. But the greatest of all our divisions, I believe, lies between our magnates and our common folk, and that is the one I fear most as an obstacle to commonality and unity.\"\n\n\"How so, my lord?\" I thought I knew the answer, but I could not resist asking the question.\n\nHe looked at me, his face expressionless. \"Because the common folk and the magnates are two different creatures. The common folk of this land, including us in Holy Mother Church, perceive ourselves as Scots, plain and simple. The magnates have no such belief and no such certainty. If anything, most of them see themselves as English at root. But Bruce is for Bruce, Father James,\" he said. \"Make no mistake about that. And similarly, Comyn is for Comyn. And all the other noble houses, comprising every magnate in the land, support one or the other. The others are all for themselves as well, be it understood, but fundamentally the two houses of Bruce and Comyn split the land between them. King John's hold on the crown, on the realm itself, is faltering. If he should fall and fail\u2014which God forbid\u2014then Bruce and Comyn will divide the land between them yet again, and until that balance of power is rendered null, Scotland will have but little chance of knowing peace and prosperity, and none at all of ever knowing independence.\"\n\nHe turned back to Will. \"And so, by pitting Buchan against Bruce, I have chosen to gamble with the fate of this realm. I now believe Bruce will stand for Edward Plantagenet and bar the gates of Carlisle against us. If he does, I doubt that we'll be able to dislodge him. But if he sees his ancient enemy, the House of Comyn, descending upon him from his own lands of Annandale, he might be tempted to come out and fight, and if he does that, then our odds of taking Carlisle are greatly improved. That is my hope, and it is why I asked John Comyn of Buchan to take the lead in the southwest.\" He stopped short, eyeing Will. \"You look skeptical.\"\n\n\"I am skeptical. We are speaking of Robert Bruce V here, the new Lord of Annandale. Were we dealing with his father, the old Competitor, then your hope would be a certainty. That Robert Bruce would bring his men howling out of Carlisle's gates like a swarm of vengeful wasps. The son, though, is made of different stuff. He is no poltroon, that is not what I am saying. From what I have heard, he does not fear a fight, but he will not fight merely for the love of fighting. He lacks his father's balls of steel and the fiery temper that went with them. This Robert Bruce thinks before he acts, every time, and he will never act rashly. He won't come out of Carlisle, I fear.\"\n\nBishop Wishart stared at Will for a long time, then twisted his mouth wryly. \"And I fear I agree with you. Damn the man.\"\n\nI could see Will was on the point of twitting His Lordship about such an utterly un-episcopal wish, and I held my breath, but the temptation evidently passed and he changed the subject instead.\n\n\"What will the Steward do, my lord? Does he intend to remain pent up in Roxburgh?\"\n\n\"Sir James will do what he must. He has already left the castle in the hands of a lieutenant and is posting north to join King John. As the Crown's most senior officer, his duty is to raise the Scots host in defence of the realm. He is about that now, and when the time comes, he will lead the host as instructed by the King's grace.\"\n\n\"Then he is not yet committed.\"\n\n\"He is committed to act. That is why he now rides north without rest. But he has not yet moved against England. When he does, I myself will ride with him, representing Mother Church \u2026 And what will you do, William Wallace?\"\n\nWill peered down at his hands, digging some ingrained dirt from the side of one fingernail with the nail of his thumb.\n\n\"I have been thinking about that, my lord, and I have reached a decision. I told you I would fight, if it came to war and if you gave me a leader to follow, but though the war is here, I have yet to hear of such a leader. Frankly, this matter of the earls raiding into England bothers me. It seems too \u2026 indeterminate, with too much left to chance. Edward's army stands ready at Newcastle. He will march north from there, towards Berwick. Why, then, are the earls striking at Carlisle? What is to be gained there?\" He threw up his hands. \"Nothing, except the business of Bruce and Comyn, making war upon each other for the benefit of England, when they should be marching to reinforce Berwick.\"\n\nThe Bishop hawked loudly, then spat into the fire. \"You might well be right, William, but we can influence none of that from here. Besides, Berwick wants and needs no help. They have the strongest burgh walls in all Scotland, and they are determined they will hold William at the border.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Will growled. \"Aye. Perhaps, indeed. We can but hope so. But I mislike the smell of all this, and I would like to see more solid planning, for the need to fight is clear. Edward of England has declared a war against this realm without just cause, and every man in Scotland must stand up and fight for it.\"\n\nThe Bishop raised a hand. \"Edward believes his cause is just, William. I have no doubt of that. He believes absolutely that his status as overlord of Scotland is valid and that this realm is his fiefdom. By extension, King John is his feudal vassal and is now squarely in open rebellion against his lord by having made alliance with Edward's enemy, Philip of France. That is why Edward has declared war: to depose his faithless vassal, John Balliol, King of Scotland.\"\n\n\"But that is\u2014\"\n\n\"That is what? Outrageous? Infamous? Damnable?\"\n\n\"Aye, all of those.\"\n\n\"It is indeed, from where we look at it, but it is none of those if you believe as Edward does. But his claim is based on ancient Norman law, law that has never been enshrined or observed in Scotland since William the Bastard first landed in England, two hundred and thirty years ago. Norman lawmakers might wish it otherwise, but Scots law is far older than theirs, and the realm of Scotland has never been Norman. That is the fallacy underlying Edward's claims, and that is why his lawyers, both civil and canonical, have worked so hard to cloak his every action in a veil of legalseeming obscurities.\n\n\"And that, I suggest to you, is the main reason for what you see as the shiftiness and unreliability of the magnates\u2014and most particularly the Norman-Scots magnates\u2014in this matter of loyalties. They live in a state of constant confusion, not because they are stupid or untrustworthy but simply because they do not know what to believe, Will. Their family histories and traditions are strongly rooted in the ancient system of feudalism and chivalry, wherein everything was clearly defined and there was no room for doubt. Now my brethren and I are telling them otherwise, preaching from a book of new ideas, proposing new values that fly in the face of everything they have been taught and are predisposed to believe in. That is why they vacillate so much, Will.\"\n\nMy cousin sat listening blank-faced, his chin resting on his steepled fingers.\n\n\"These are not learned men, but neither are they inept. They are not ignorant in the laws of duty and chivalry, but they are unlettered and unread. They believe in actions, not ideas, and they respond to actions, not to words written on paper or recited by clerics. That is the truth, Will, and we cannot alter it within mere weeks or months. That is the way this world of ours functions. And I believe the magnates, for all their supposed powers, are afraid of the way their world is changing. Their way of life requires stability and permanence, but even the positive changes nowadays, such as the emergence of the burgesses, must seem threatening to the old guard. In their world, where change is anathema, everything now seems to be in flux.\"\n\nWill grunted, and I saw Lamberton's eyebrows go up as Wishart's came down in a frown.\n\n\"And what is that supposed to mean?\" the Bishop growled.\n\n\"It means that I agree with you,\" Will said, his eyes unfocused. \"And that must be the first time on that topic. I confess I find it hard to imagine the Earl of Buchan being afraid of change. Still, I'll not dispute what you have said, except to say that not everything in their world is in flux. I can see one thing that is dangerously static, and I see it very clearly.\"\n\n\"Aye? And what is that?\"\n\n\"Their military experience. And that is what I meant when I spoke of the way they have fought for centuries. It comes to me that they have learned nothing through all those centuries and have no time to learn anything new now. They have great confidence in their own abilities, God knows, but how valid is it?\" He held up one hand to prevent anyone interrupting. \"I bring it up only because I've been worrying over it since you left to hunt for Buchan. I do not like what I have been thinking, my lord Bishop, but this matter has sunk into my head and would not leave me alone until I came to grips with it. I am a verderer\u2014a forester and not a soldier, as you know. But even so, I can see what is there to be seen and I find that I cannot ignore it, no matter how many others can. And the first thing that I see is numbers. The English outnumber us by ten to one, at least. For every hundred men we can march to battle, they can field a thousand, and if they lose a thousand men, they can make good that thousand losses where we may not, and they can do it ten times over.\" He grunted again, his jaw working. \"Now, it's fine to say they're naught but Englishmen and any Scot is worth a score of them, but that is hardly credible when blows are to be traded. We all bleed the same red blood and we all feed the same black earth.\n\n\"But the simplest, plainest truth, the thing that frightens me and dominates my thoughts at all times now, is that the English are in solid fighting trim and we are not. They are focused and tight, disciplined and battle hardened. Their forces are keenly edged and toughened after years of sustained warfare in France, in Gascony, and in Wales. Their morale is high, with ample reason, whereas our swaggering has nothing to back it up or sustain it. The Welsh and English archers are well trained and well equipped, furnished with arrows by the hundreds of thousands, produced incessantly by fletching manufactories set up throughout England to keep the country's bowmen armed and ready to fight instantly and anywhere. Their infantry is equally well equipped, and tempered by years of fighting in scores of battles. And their cavalry is something which we simply cannot match. We lack the enormous horses that the English breed, and because our horses are smaller, our armour must be lighter, so we have no knights who can withstand the might of England's chivalry.\n\n\"But even were we able, by some divine magic, to erase those differences, we would still be facing disaster, for we have not fought\u2014I mean really fought, hard battles in the field\u2014for more than thirty years. No Scots army has taken the field since the fight to throw out the Norwegians, at Largs, more than thirty years ago. And even that was no real battle by any standards. Since then, the closest our leaders have come to formal battlefield experience, the closest in decades, is on short raids into neighbouring territories against their own kind. That does not fill me with hope about the outcome of this new war.\"\n\n\"Let us pray you are wrong, Will.\"\n\n\"Pray all you wish, my lord, but prayer will not alter the fact that we are outweighed and outdistanced on every front. Pray hard, and have your people pray hard, too, for we'll have need of every prayer they can muster. As for myself, I intend to fight, but I will do it here, where I can serve best by protecting the rear of our forces against incursions from the south. The English host will doubtless invade across the flats of Solway, striking into Annandale and Galloway, but there will be a constant progress of supplies and reinforcements coming north by way of Berwick and by the roads through Coldstream and Jedburgh. My men will keep those roads secure and bar all interference by those routes. You have my word on that.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "The Bishop and his chancellor left us to return to the cathedral in Glasgow on the morning of the fifteenth of March, the day the ancients called the Ides. I remember warning them to travel with care that day, which had not been a propitious one for Julius Caesar. I recall clearly, too, that it seemed to take a long time for them to reach the end of the long avenue and veer from sight. It was the last thing I can remember that happened slowly from that day forward.\n\n\"I like that man Lamberton,\" Will said as we walked back towards his hut. \"He has a good head and a stout heart and he loves this land of ours. I would follow him, were he a fighter.\"\n\n\"He is a fighter, Cuz, but he's a warrior of God. He'll fight savagely for those things he believes in, but he will do it with nerve and sinew, and his only weapons will be his mind, which is formidable, and his will. He would never spill blood, though, unless it be his own, in sacrifice. He has the makings of a fine bishop, and I have not the slightest doubt he will be one someday.\"\n\n\"If he survives this war.\"\n\nI glanced at my cousin in surprise. \"Of course he will survive. Edward does not make war on clerics.\"\n\n\"Hmm. Edward has not made war on clerics yet. But it seems Edward is breaking new ground everywhere he goes these days, and he does not enjoy being crossed. I would not like to cross him in person. Mind you, I'm no bishop.\"\n\nAs he said the words, we heard Mirren calling his name, and we turned as one to see her watching us, her body tilted to hold her son on her hip as she beckoned.\n\n\"Is she not grand, Jamie? Look at her, the stance and the pride of her. Truthfully, I have to thank God I'm no bishop \u2026 and to thank Him even more that I'm no saint. Let's find out what she wants.\"\n\nThe following day brought word of English troop movements in the fringes of the forest to the south of us, between the towns of Selkirk and Wark and Coldstream, and Will summoned his three appointed leaders to his camp to discuss what they would do to intercept and harass the Englishmen. Within days Will's men were involved in hostilities, provoked by a seemingly unwarranted attack on a village no more than five miles from his main camp. Word of it came to us from one of the villagers, who had escaped into the woods for long enough to watch the brutality escalate to the point where women and children were being slaughtered as they tried to flee, shot down by bowmen who bet among themselves over how each running target would be hit\u2014in the arm, leg, torso, or head. I was appalled, not so much by the attack itself as by the borderless abyss I sensed yawning ahead of all of us.\n\nWill questioned the man closely for some time, searching for anything that might provide a reason for the attack. But once he had satisfied himself that it was brigandage and murder, pure and simple, he called in Long John and the others and sent a contingent of forty archers off towards the village with orders to bring back as many of the raiders as they could find. Two injured prisoners, both of them English, were brought back within a matter of days; their party of five men, three of whom had died rather than surrender, had been the only people found. There had to have been many more involved in the raid, but they had obviously been under orders to scatter widely after the attack.\n\nThe two prisoners had been questioned extensively before they were brought in, and so we knew who had employed them. They were truculent and they were afraid, and the booty they had been carrying when they were taken was enough to leave no doubt in anyone's mind that they were guilty.\n\nThe case against them was laid out by one of our own, Alan Crawford of Nithsdale, and the elder of the pair was identified under oath by Walter Armstrong, the survivor who had brought the tale to us. He recognized the archer as the man he had seen shoot two arrows into his cousin Willie, the village blacksmith. The two were judged by a quartet of judges and found guilty, after which the judges met together to determine their punishment. The deliberations were short and the judgment unanimous. Each man had the middle finger of his right hand severed with a single chisel blow. They retained their lives but lost their livelihood, since neither of them would ever again be able to draw a nocked arrow. Their wounds were cauterized roughly, and they were set free.\n\nAs soon as they were gone, Will called his leaders into conference again and set them to organizing patrols, morning and evening, to ensure that all traffic moving through the greenwood for a twenty-mile radius would be tracked.\n\nLater that day, when Mirren was called away by one of the women, she left Will and me alone with the baby for a few minutes. He was eight months old by then, as burly and agile as a badger and almost impossible to restrain, even for his father. Will finally hoisted the boy high into the air, then held him out to me.\n\n\"Here, then. Away and see your holy Uncle Jamie.\"\n\nI caught the child under the arms, instantly aware as I always was nowadays of the weighty, solid, squirming bulk of him and the speed with which his hands moved to whatever he identified as worthy of examination. This time it was my nether lip, and his tiny fingers grasped it before I could avoid them. I winced in anticipation of the pain, but before he could tighten his killing grip, I was saved by the sudden swoop of one of the women who doted on the boy. She whipped him up and away from me, carrying him off towards the women's quarters, doubtless to be fed something warm and delicious.\n\n\"I thought he was going to rip that bottom lip of yours right off,\" Will said, and his grin spread wider. \"I don't know what the reason for it is, but my son seems fascinated by your mouth.\"\n\n\"Aye, as I am by yours.\"\n\n\"What's that supposed to mean?\"\n\n\"Are you going to fight?\"\n\nAll the animation left his eyes and he sat staring at me, willing me to continue but unwilling himself to respond.\n\nI kept going. \"A week ago you told Bishop Wishart you would not fight. Since then, you've sent out men to fight.\"\n\n\"Only in defence of our own peace.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but now you are arranging day and night patrols. I am not saying they are unnecessary, but I am wondering if you are changing your mind about your involvement in this affair that's bubbling on the hob.\"\n\nHe continued to gaze at me, his face unreadable, and after a while I began to think he was not going to answer me at all, but then he shook his head, a short, sharp, impatient gesture.\n\n\"If you are asking me if I am going marching off to war, then no, I am not. I meant every word of what I said to Wishart. So no, I'll not fight. Not without solid reason. The magnates will not miss my presence, and the realm of Scotland, needy though it might be, has no great need of William Wallace. None grand enough, at least, to outweigh the need my wife and children have of me.\"\n\n\"Children?\" I heard the surprise in my own voice.\n\nWill grinned almost shamefacedly and lapsed into Scots. \"Aye. Mirren's expecting again. The women say she's three months along already.\" He flipped a hand and made a face, as though asking me what else he could have done. \"I would ha'e waited longer, y' know? But she would ha'e none o' it. No need to wait, she said. She's as strong as a horse and likes the thought o' twa wee ones close enough together to be company for one anither. A lad and a lass, she wants, and close thegither, so what was I to say\u2014or dae, for that matter?\"\n\nHe shrugged and dipped his head. \"Anyway, that's the way o' it, and I intend to see them safe through whatever lies ahead o' us. War is no fitting pastime for a man wi' bairns and a comely wife. So what I said to the Bishop holds true. I'll take no part in fighting for some magnate\u2014any magnate\u2014who canna make up his mind whether he's Scots or no'. I ha'e no such doubts. I'm a Scot, as were my grandsires and theirs before them. I ken wha and what I am, and I ken wha my King is. 'Gin he calls upon me directly, then I'll go to war. For him. But for naebody else, Jamie.\"\n\nThe rough accent of the local people vanished again beneath the lustre of the Church's tongue. \"In the meantime, I intend to keep my family safe and hidden from marauding eyes here in the forest. Should any seek to threaten them or me, then I will fight, and those I fight will rue the day they sought to find me. But that is all. So be the English keep themselves and their evil presence far from me, then I will keep myself away from them.\"\n\nI felt a blossoming relief well up in me and raised my hand to bless him. \"Then so mote it be, Cousin William, and may God keep you and yours in safety in such times.\"\n\nIt was a heartfelt prayer, and at the time I felt sure it must have flown directly from my lips to God's all-hearing ear."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "War.\n\nIn merely setting those three letters down here, hours ago, penning each of them with increasing slowness, I found myself fascinated by the contradiction between the brevity of the word itself and its overwhelming, cataclysmic meaning. It is a commonplace little word, seldom truly understood by those who use it daily. Even to speak it aloud, or even shout it at the top of one's lungs, in the context of going to war, or being at war, fails to elicit more than a mild stirring of interest. That is because in most instances\u2014thanks be to God\u2014war in the abstract has no real significance for ordinary, peaceable, law-abiding folk. To those unfortunate enough to know otherwise, that is both extraordinary and incredible, but unless we have been personally touched by its insanity and brutality, its monstrous, crushing inhumanity, we remain armoured in the innocence of hope and the blithe assumption that it could never happen to us.\n\nThe people of Scotland were that way in the springtime of the year of our Lord 1296. They heard the talk of war with England and they knew that matters had been set in motion that were beyond their control, grave matters that would affect them and change the very way their land was governed. And yet they did not grow unduly alarmed. An entire generation had come to middle age without ever knowing the dangers, the risks, or the enormous tragedy of extensive warfare, and the men whose duty it would now become to fight this new war and confront the English approached the task with a wideeyed confidence that reflected their innocence and ignorance. That innocence was about to be rudely shattered.\n\nOn the twenty-sixth of March, under the command of Sir John Comyn, Earl of Buchan and High Constable of Scotland, King John's army, jointly led by seven earls of the realm, marched south from Annandale and crossed the sands of the Solway Firth at low tide to strike at the English stronghold of Carlisle, forcing Robert Bruce, the castellan there, to declare his loyalties. Bruce chose the side of Edward Plantagenet and barred his city gates against the Scots, who set fire to the town outside the castle walls. The word that came to us in Selkirk Forest later was that Buchan had miscalculated, assuming Carlisle would fall to his first surprise assault. Instead, his attack came as no surprise at all, and Bruce's resistance was unwavering.\n\nAs Buchan had been moving against Carlisle, though, Edward himself had arrived at Newcastle, in the northeast, and advanced with his main army to the border town of Berwick, Scotland's most prosperous burgh, on the River Tweed, where he demanded entry. It was a demand that must have been foreseen, but the citizens of Berwick made a grievous error, born of the overconfidence engendered by too many years of peace. They overestimated their own defensive strength, and they underestimated the power and temper of the man whom they defied. They made no secret of their contempt for the English King and his army, and openly laughed and jeered at Edward himself when he rode forward to inspect their walls. Infuriated by this treatment, the like of which he had never been shown by any enemy in a lifetime of warfare, Edward unleashed his full power on the burgh and trampled over its vaunted defences, bringing them down within a single day. When the burgesses and town fathers sued for peace after that, he ignored them, and set out to teach Scotland a lesson on the foolishness of attempting to withstand England's power. Mercilessly determined to avenge what he perceived to be an insult to his personal honour, he turned his army loose on the populace, and they burned the burgh down, butchering fifteen thousand citizens of all ages and both sexes. Edward permitted the rape of the burgh to go on for three days before calling a halt to it solely because the bodies clogging the streets had begun to rot sufficiently to become a hazard to his own men.\n\nThe sack of Berwick was a deliberate, royally condoned atrocity that appalled every person in Scotland, north and south of the Firth of Forth, and so I expected to find Will in a towering rage when I arrived in his camp. But he was quite the opposite, evidently the only man in his entire encampment who was not up in arms. When I asked him for his opinion of the reports we had received, he simply looked away.\n\n\"Which reports are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Why, the Berwick reports,\" I said tentatively. \"Are there others?\"\n\n\"Aye. We have reports out of Carlisle, too.\"\n\n\"Great God! They burned Carlisle?\"\n\nHis headshake was terse. \"Nah. Not them. We burnt it, or we tried to. We set it afire on the outskirts, and it was going well, I'm told, but then the defenders threw us out and tackled the blaze before it could destroy the whole town.\"\n\n\"They threw us out \u2026\"\n\n\"Aye, they did, just the way you said they would. It was Robert Bruce we were attacking, and him behind strong walls with his own Annandale men and a garrison of English veterans to back them. The mere sight of Buchan's Comyn banners coming south at him out of his own lands of Annandale would have been enough to guarantee he'd hold Carlisle forever against such an attack.\"\n\n\"So what happened to the Scots host?\"\n\nWill shrugged. \"They turned aside and went raiding south of the border. From what I've heard, the five earls split their forces and set out in search of booty. Buchan himself came back to Scotland, and promptly wrote to Bishop Wishart and Bishop Fraser of St. Andrews, reporting Bruce's perfidy in repulsing the army of his anointed King.\"\n\n\"You mean they simply split up and disbanded the host? How could they be so irresponsible? They could have ridden to save Berwick.\"\n\n\"They knew nothing about Berwick, Jamie. In all probability they didn't even know Edward had come north. The English had already surrounded Berwick by the time Buchan reached Galloway.\"\n\n\"Dear God in Heaven! What a waste \u2026\"\n\nWill shrugged. \"Perhaps, but no useful purpose would have been served by dashing across the north to Berwick, even had they known of it. The men of Berwick itself thought they were invincible behind their walls, so we may hardly blame the earls for thinking they could win some time and land and booty while leaving Berwick to fend for itself and hold the English at the border crossing. They had all lost sight\u2014every one of them\u2014of the true savagery and treachery of their enemy.\"\n\nI seldom saw my cousin smile in the days that followed, and then it was solely for Mirren or little William. Like the rest of us in Scotland at that time, he saw little in the land to smile about. I knew he was chafing at the restraints he had imposed upon himself, but he also knew there was nothing he could have done to influence what was going on beyond the forest. He had sworn publicly that for as long as the English left him alone, he would leave them alone, and during that spring and early summer, no one came to disturb his tranquility. The English had far more important matters to attend to elsewhere in Scotland.\n\nThree weeks after that talk of ours, on April 27th, Edward's army, commanded in the King's name by John de Warenne, the second Earl of Surrey, met and smashed the army of the Scots magnates at Dunbar. John Comyn the Constable was captured and sent to England to be imprisoned there, along with the Earls of Atholl, Menteith, and Ross and, much to the chagrin of Will and me when we heard of it, Sir Andrew Murray of Petty and his son, Andrew Murray the Younger, our greatly admired friend. The day after the battle, Edward himself arrived at the head of his army to demand the surrender of Dunbar Castle, which capitulated without a blow being struck. Three weeks later, Edward arrived in the burgh of Perth, having bypassed Stirling on the landward side on his way north, and while he was there, King John Balliol wrote to him in person, suing for peace.\n\nTen days later, in his own royal castle of Kincardine, John Balliol, the King of Scotland, bent the knee to Edward Plantagenet and begged his English cousin's royal pardon for rebelling against him. Five days after that, at Stracathro in Angus, where he had been taken as a prisoner under escort, John Balliol, a broken man by then, formally and publicly renounced his alliance with King Philip IV of France. The next day, July 8th, 1296, under the merciless eyes of his royal tormentor, he was formally deposed as King, the royal insignia torn from his gold-encrusted tabard by no less a person than Antony Bek, Prince Bishop of Durham.\n\nScotland was without a king again; the throne lay vacant and the entire country waited to see who would be first to claim it. In that year of 1296, however, no one did, and the weather grew colder as the months lurched towards winter. To be sure, Edward of England called himself nothing more than the feudal overlord of Scotland, and he made no slightest mention of any claim to the kingship, but in truth he behaved like a despotic monarch, and his behaviour left no one in Scotland in any doubt of how he saw himself. He went to great lengths to subjugate the kingdom and humiliate and stifle its contentious leaders, and in his determination to achieve that he confiscated the Stone of Destiny, upon which every legitimate King of Scots, including King John himself, had been crowned since time immemorial, and shipped it back to England, to his palace in Westminster.\n\nEdward also summoned a parliament at Berwick, where he demanded, and received, a written oath of allegiance from more than two thousand Scots freeholders: knights, lairds, earls, barons, lords, chieftains, and burgesses. The resulting document, in the form of four huge parchment rolls comprising thirty-five pieces, each of those a list signed and sealed under duress, was known as the Ragman's Roll, meaning, according to whom you ask, the Witnesses' Roll, or more popularly, the Devil's Roll. No matter which it meant, though, no one who signed the roll was glad to have done so. More significantly, few who had signed it felt constrained by having done so, and Edward bought himself no loyalty or wellwishers by forcing the Scots freemen to comply with his arbitrary wishes.\n\nWill himself put it best of all, I believe, when he said to me later, mere weeks before he flung down the gauntlet in cold fury and set out to destroy England's presence in our land, \"Edward Plantagenet. Can you believe the folly and the hubris of the man? He surpassed the boast of Julius Caesar, for he came, he saw, he conquered, and then he went home again without making sure he had won. He should have stayed here and ground the spurs on his boot heels into our throats when he had us down. He should have crushed us, killed us all then and there, while he yet could. But he went home instead, and left us to recover, and now he'll rue it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "Edward Plantagenet carried his war into Scotland from the border town of Berwick, which he had ordained should be rebuilt as the administrative centre for his overlordship of Scotland. He populated the town with English burgesses, having created sufficient room for them through the slaughter of fifteen thousand former residents, and brought in English engineers and architects to redesign its defences as he garrisoned the newly fortified burgh with English troops. He then established a special branch of the royal exchequer in the town and appointed a man called Hugh Cressingham to administer it as treasurer of Scotland. Cressingham, a senior royal clerk who had been, before that, an itinerant justice in the northern counties of England, threw himself into his new post with a voracious eagerness that within two years earned him the reputation of being the most hated man in Scotland.\n\nEdward also used the months following the battle at Dunbar to seed the entire realm of Scotland with his own personnel, placing trusted functionaries of his own to fill positions left vacant by those imprisoned rebels\u2014Edward's own word\u2014who had dared to oppose his invasion of their land. Then, for the last five months of that year, he and his armies trampled Scotland under their heavily mailed feet. They confiscated the realm's crown jewels and insignia and they despoiled the countryside and its populace everywhere they went. Few could withstand them. Among those few, however, William Wallace, and the outlaws of Selkirk Forest whom he led, ranked first and foremost.\n\nEvery army lives at the mercy of its lines of supply, and Edward, as aware of that as any good general must be, had taken steps to ship supplies into northern Scotland by sea, using the port of Leith on the Firth of Forth. However, most of the supplies that fed and sustained the garrisons of western and central Scotland were channelled directly through the new administrative centre of Berwick on the east coast, because the northern route from there into Scotland was the only viable route for large numbers of personnel and heavy trains of wagons entering from England. The sole western route, north from Carlisle across the sea sands of the Solway Firth into Galloway and Annandale, was little better than a track, ill maintained at the best of times, dependent upon tides and weather, and vulnerable to attack all the way north from Carlisle. For that reason, every supply train, every reinforcing troop body, every important communication that came north from England by way of Berwick passed through Selkirk Forest, either on the high road itself or through the greenwood byways, and for the last half of 1296 and the first half of the year that followed, all of them were at hazard from the threat of attack and plunder by the Selkirk outlaws.\n\nCressingham, whose jurisdiction covered all things fiscal in Scotland, felt himself constantly under attack, and he took every threat of interference as a personal insult. He resorted to reprisals soon after his appointment as treasurer, taking hostages from among the populace and hanging scores of them out of hand as punishment for attacks against the King's property and personnel. Others he executed by public beheading, irrespective of age or sex. The more people he killed, though, the greater the resistance and aggression he provoked, and by the end of the year, less than three months after his appointment, he was offering a reward to anyone who would bring him the head of any forest outlaw, and a premium in gold to any who would bring him the killer, William Wallace.\n\nA chant of \"William Wallace, Laird o' the Forest\" was popular that autumn, when some wag suggested that as de facto lord of his own woodland domain, Wallace demanded a toll of everyone who set foot upon his property. The toll for a Scot was a pledge of loyalty and silence; for an Englishman, it was forfeiture of everything he possessed; for English clergymen, it was forfeiture of everything they professed not to have at all; and for Hugh Cressingham, it was everything that bore the stink of his presence. And as the faceless forest bandit became the Forest Laird, and the fame of William Wallace spread, yet still he maintained the role of planner and supervisor and, true to his promise, did not fight in person.\n\nI stayed in the forest with him and Mirren throughout that time, until September, when a messenger arrived to summon me back to Glasgow, where Bishop Wishart apparently had need of me, and during that time we often spoke of the imprisoned Scots leaders from Dunbar, and in particular about the calamitous effect Andrew Murray's imprisonment in England would have on his northern people. The magnates had proved themselves to be as overconfident and ineffectual as Will had feared they might be, and he wasted no time mourning their absence now. Andrew Murray's removal, though, was another matter altogether, for Murray was one of the few competent military leaders in all of Scotland. Edward Plantagenet was known to be whimsical when it came to forgiving rebellion and disobedience among his people, and it was generally conceded by those who knew him that he was not normally vindictive towards his own nobles. In this instance of the Scottish Rebellion, though, he was being obdurate, and when he refused his royal pardon to Sir Andrew Murray of Petty, one of the richest and most influential lords of Scotland, it boded ill for the probability of any leniency being offered to his rebellious and high-minded son. We regretted the loss of Murray, as we knew Bishop Wishart must be regretting it, but there was nothing we could do to change things.\n\nThe courier who came to fetch me also brought instructions that before I left I should divide my duties equally between my two subordinate priests, Fathers Declan and Jacobus, both of whom had flourished and matured wonderfully since moving out of the cloisters and into the world of ordinary men and women. They were both flattered to be thought worthy of increased responsibility, and I, in turn, felt confident in leaving them to tend to my erstwhile flock, and glad at the same time to be returning to my duties in the cathedral, though I knew I would miss my forest-dwelling kin greatly\u2014most particularly my sturdy, stalwart, year-old godson\u2014in the months ahead.\n\nI met Cressingham, not at all coincidentally, soon after my return to Glasgow, when he presented himself at the cathedral to announce formally, for the benefit of Scotland's clergy, his appointment to the post of King Edward's treasurer for Scotland, and I immediately discovered that the name of Wallace was already anathema, not only to him but to all the Englishmen who accompanied him on that occasion. As senior bishop of the realm at the time, since Fraser of St. Andrews had been in France at King Philip's court for more than a year by then, Bishop Wishart hosted the gathering at his episcopal seat in Glasgow. The Bishops of Dunkeld, Aberdeen, Moray, and Argyll all attended, hastily summoned, along with half a dozen of the country's most distinguished abbots upon notice that the King's party sought audience with Scotland's senior prelates. The English contingent included several bishops and abbots, too, the most senior among them being Antony Bek, still King Edward's deputy in Scotland. Besides the new treasurer himself and a few of his senior functionaries, a number of intermediately ranked nobles made up the English lay presence, led by one Robert Fitz Hugh, a baron from the region south of Newcastle. There were also two representatives of the Order of the Temple among the group, and I found that mildly surprising, since I had always believed\u2014albeit without specific reason for so doing\u2014that the Templars owed their allegiance solely to the Pope.\n\nHugh Cressingham, the centre of all the activity on that occasion, was a big man\u2014not merely large or stout, but gross in his bigness, corpulent to the point of being grotesque, and crass in the hectoring loudness of his grating voice. He was tall, too, several inches over six feet in height, and the first thought that entered my mind on meeting him was that he dressed voluminously. His clothing was rich, and richly tailored, but it all seemed too much, as though it had been shaped and fashioned to make its wearer look even bigger and more important than he actually was. His face, swarthy and coarse skinned, was framed by lank, blond hair, greasy and lustreless. He barely took the time to acknowledge me when Canon Lamberton made me known to him, for he was far more concerned with speaking to another member of the visiting group, the Templar called Brian le Jay, and so he ignored me beyond a dismissive nod when I was presented to him as Bishop Wishart's amanuensis.\n\nAll in all, Scotland's new treasurer was an unprepossessing man, with a personality and a disposition to match, and although it may have been unsacerdotal and uncharitable of me to think so, as a purported man of God, I was never surprised afterwards to hear him widely condemned as the most hated man in Scotland, because it struck me at that first encounter that he possessed an innate gift for alienating everyone around him\u2014including, I noted, the very men who had been dispatched to escort and introduce him.\n\nSir Brian le Jay, on the other hand, looked precisely like what he was, a senior commander of the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon. Sumptuously dressed and equipped, he exuded confidence, arrogance, and wealth with a complete disregard for any possible restriction caused by his vow of poverty. He had a haughty tilt to his head that spoke of intolerance and little patience, and the hectic colour of his cheeks suggested a fondness for good red wine. I had met him once before, five or six years earlier at Paisley Abbey, during his term as preceptor of the Temple in Scotland, but since then he had been reassigned by his superiors to England as preceptor there, and the Templars' overall role in Scotland had been downgraded to a mere military presence, commanded by the other Templar in the gathering that night, Sir John de Sautre, Master of Cavalry. Watching le Jay then as he listened, frowning, to something Cressingham was saying to him, it came to me that I would have a hard time, had anyone asked me, deciding which of the two of them I disliked less than the other.\n\nAmong the dozen or so in the English party, though, I did find one man I liked, and I liked him immediately and wholeheartedly. His name was William Hazelrig, and he was another of Edward's new political appointees, having been named only recently as sheriff of Lanark, with full control of the English garrison there and a mandate to keep the King's Peace in that jurisdiction. I heard him laughing at some sally made by one of the company, and the warmth and spontaneity of the sound attracted me to the man immediately. He saw me looking, and when our eyes met he winked at me. I nodded and smiled back at him, wondering what he found to laugh about so easily in conversation with the Bishop of Moray, whom I had judged to be a humourless pedant with the conversational skills of a tree trunk.\n\nIt was during dinner, as usual, that I discovered more about, and developed a greater appreciation of, the discussions and the delicate manoeuvring that would continue over the ensuing few days. Nothing had yet been decided upon at that stage, and therefore no one yet felt constrained to speak or behave in any particular way; people were getting to know one another, and at the dinner table, where the wine flowed freely, the atmosphere grew increasingly informal as the evening progressed, and I listened carefully to everything I could overhear. Bishop Wishart had invited me to be there with that in mind, and it was no accident that his finest wines were being served.\n\nMathew de Crambeth, the mercurial and outspoken Bishop of Dunkeld, asked the question that set the mood of the gathering for the remainder of that night. Master Crambeth had returned mere days earlier from France, where he had been among the party sent almost two years earlier by King John to negotiate the alliance treaty. On his return, he had received a peremptory summons to present himself before King Edward and explain his atrocious conduct in daring to make alliance with the King of France. Crambeth had mentioned this to Wishart that very afternoon in my hearing and said that he would go and eat his humble pie when he got around to it, but not before he had set his own affairs in Dunkeld in order after his sixteen-month absence. Now, at dinner, he was seated across the table from me, next to the young English sheriff, William Hazelrig, with whom I had seen him talking on their way into the dining hall.\n\nThe seating at Bishop Wishart's \"intimate\" table for gatherings such as these was notoriously and deliberately informal, the Bishop believing that people in small gatherings would interact more easily and honestly if they were able to seat themselves where they wished. Protocol and formality were therefore ignored more often than not, and although I saw a few raised eyebrows at first among the English guests, the word was quickly passed among them that this informality was one of their host's episcopal idiosyncrasies, and they accepted the convention without demur.\n\nDuring a brief lull in the general conversation, one of those odd moments when everyone falls silent at the same time as though at some unseen signal, Bishop Crambeth leaned forward and spoke across the table to the Templar le Jay, who was sitting a few places to my left.\n\n\"Sir Brian, Brother Brian, how are you finding life in England nowadays, as opposed to Scotland, I mean, seeing that you are, in fact, Scots born? I have not seen you since you were transferred south, what was it, five years ago? And therefore I admit, frankly, to being curious. Is the air more beneficial down there for a man such as yourself?\"\n\nAll eyes turned to the dark-faced Templar, who found the grace to smile. \"I find it pleasant there, my lord Bishop, and very little different from my former posting here, since the preceptor's duties remain the same irrespective of where they apply. To those of us in holy orders, as you know yourself, it matters less where we live than how we live.\"\n\n\"Well said,\" Crambeth replied mildly. \"Well said. But on that very topic, I have a question for you, if you would not consider me impertinent to ask it.\"\n\n\"Ask away, my lord.\"\n\n\"It concerns your support of King Edward \u2026 your support, and that of your order, of course. You yourself swore allegiance openly to Edward when you moved south five years ago, did you not?\" He waited for le Jay's nod. \"Would you explain to me, then, how that could be so? You are a Temple Knight, and it has always been my understanding that the Knights of the Temple were forbidden to swear fealty to any temporal monarch. They owe their allegiance directly to the Pope alone. Has that changed, then?\"\n\nLe Jay's smile did not waver, and he gave a sideways dip of his head. \"Aye, you are correct, my lord, as ever \u2026 to the Pope and, of course, to our Grand Master.\"\n\n\"But not to Edward of England\u2014\" Crambeth held up one hand to forestall a response. \"I have no intent here to embarrass you, my friend, nor do I wish to discomfit you in any way, but there is something here I plainly do not understand.\"\n\n\"I must point out,\" le Jay said, ostensibly responding to Bishop Crambeth but clearly, from the pitch of his voice, addressing the whole gathering, \"that Edward Plantagenet is no man's idea of a normal, temporal monarch. He is unique, distinguished from all others in several respects, and the oath of which you spoke, my lord Bishop, was not undertaken lightly. Quite bluntly, I could not have undertaken it at all had my obeisance not been authorized by our Grand Master at the time, Sieur Tibauld de Godin. I was merely the vehicle on that auspicious occasion. It was the Order of the Temple itself that extended the privilege of its fealty to King Edward, in recognition of his outstanding exploits and achievements on behalf of the Church and the Pope.\"\n\nAware of the effect of his words upon those to whom this information came as a revelation, le Jay sat silent for a moment before he continued. \"Edward crusaded as a Prince, in the Holy Land, in Acre to be precise, on the Ninth Crusade. He stood with our order and fought beside us there against the Turkish heathen. And in his Christian monarchy, he espouses the principles of feudalism, in which it is decreed that all Christian society is hierarchical, extending upwards through monarchs to the Pope himself. Edward Plantagenet has proved his devotion and commitment to the Pope, every bit as completely as we in the Order of the Temple have proved ours, and therefore we Templars see no contradiction between our fealty to this particular King and our loyalty to the Pope.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" Crambeth nodded. \"So be it. I thank you for resolving that for me.\" He turned away to talk to Hazelrig again, but then hesitated and swung back towards the Templar. \"So, and again I beg your indulgence, but would I be correct in saying that although your sworn duties as a Temple Knight forbid you to bear arms against another Christian, your sworn fealty to England's King might send you here to fight your fellow Scots in his name?\"\n\nA profound silence fell over the table. Le Jay sat open mouthed. His face flushed and then just as quickly grew pale, his fingers curled motionless in the fork of his great black beard. Finally, though, he found his voice and spoke in a cold monotone.\n\n\"I would not do such a thing. The King would not demand that of me.\"\n\nCrambeth sighed. \"The King, if you will forgive my saying so, Sir Brian, is a king, and an oath of fealty may never be retracted. If times and your King's needs were to become desperate enough, you could be required to fight\u2014and kill\u2014your fellow Scots.\"\n\nCressingham's harsh voice filled the room like the braying of an ass. \"Aye, and you might well be called upon to do precisely that, Sir Knight, if this miscreant Wallace continues his outrages against the King's Peace. Him you might be asked to apprehend and bring to justice. The man is an outlaw\u2014a thief and a murderer, with a following of like-minded vermin little better than a swarm of rats.\" The treasurer rose to his feet. \"I have already written to King Edward, requesting his permission to stamp out this pestilence of outlaws that pollutes this ungrateful land, and to make the forests safe for honest English travellers again. I wrote most eloquently of the need for haste and vehemence.\"\n\nAmid the furor that followed, I looked down the length of the table to where Antony Bek, the King's deputy, sat glowering, his florid face the very picture of fury and discomfiture. His frown grew ever deeper, and I could see the effort it was costing him not to raise his voice and savage everyone, including the fool Cressingham, but he clenched his fists and took them off the table, lowering them to where no one could see the whiteness of his knuckles.\n\nBeside him at the head of the table, Bishop Wishart sat silent, his eyes moving from face to face around the gathering. When they reached me, he raised one eyebrow, very slightly, and I nodded to him, signifying my understanding of what had taken place. Will's name was on everyone's lips, and none of the English party had anything good to say about him, the consensus being that he should be taken into custody as soon as possible, his punishment used as an example to others of the folly of attempting to defy English rule.\n\nI caught Sheriff Hazelrig's eye and thought he looked amused, so I leaned across the table and asked him what his opinion was on the matter of Wallace and the forest outlaws.\n\n\"Too much smoke and not enough fire,\" he said with a casual shrug. \"The man is an outlaw, beyond the law and beyond the protection of Church or state. He has managed somehow to acquire a reputation and has gained a small amount of fame among the local peasants. But he is a nonentity and a common criminal, and someone simply has to make a decision to put an end to him, and then go out and do it. He and his rabble cannot be expected to prevail against a strong force of disciplined soldiers. And his past activities, from what I have heard, are of the kind that can neither be condoned nor forgiven. I do not think he has been active within my territories of Lanark, but I might be wrong. I have not been here long enough to ask about that, but I will. Then, if I find he has transgressed against my jurisdiction, I shall move against him and destroy him without hesitation. If it is not me, it will be someone else. Sooner or later, all such nuisances are dealt with properly and finally. And legally.\" He smiled, good-naturedly, I thought. \"You'll see. Someone will get him, soon.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "\"Father.\"\n\nI was striding quickly, heavily muffled in my warmest winter cloak, but something about the voice stopped me in mid-step, and I turned around carefully to peer into the shadows beneath the walls on my right. It was dark and boneachingly cold, a wet, dismal, chilly night in November, and I was on my way back to my room after a late-night visit to the cathedral's infirmary, where one of our oldest and most beloved brethren lay dying, beyond any aid that our medical fraternity could offer him.\n\n\"Who's there?\" Strain as I would I could see no one within the blackness facing me. I knew that there was a row of four rowan trees in front of me, between the footpath on which I stood and the wall of the building, but they, too, were swallowed by the blackness. I was alone in the darkness, facing someone, at least one man, whom I could not see and whose voice was filled with strain and wariness, but I sensed no threat to myself. I was about to repeat my question when the answer reached me.\n\n\"I am a stranger here, but I mean you no harm. I but seek your help.\"\n\n\"My help in what, exactly?\" The voice was coming from straight ahead of me and it was close enough that I felt I ought to be able to see something of the speaker, if only a darker or lighter shade of blackness, but still I saw nothing.\n\n\"In finding shelter. Sanctuary.\"\n\nI hesitated, thinking quickly about how I should best proceed.\n\n\"Shelter is simple to provide, especially on a night like this, but sanctuary? That might be more complicated. Who are you, and why would you seek sanctuary here?\"\n\nThe voice that came back was stronger this time. \"My name is common enough, but I am a fugitive, a wanted man.\"\n\n\"Wanted by whom?\"\n\n\"By England.\"\n\n\"By England? That sounds very grand. Have you offended the entire country, then? Or do you mean England's King, in person?\"\n\n\"I do. Edward Plantagenet of ill renown. Is Robert Wishart yet Bishop here?\"\n\n\"He is, and has been for years. Where have you been, that you should wonder such a thing?\"\n\n\"In England. Imprisoned. Can you inform him that I am here?\"\n\n\"I can. But not if you are nameless.\"\n\n\"Tell him Andrew Murray of Petty seeks audience with him. Murray the Younger.\"\n\nIt seemed to me then that I actually felt my heart knock, physically, against my chest. \"Andrew?\" I asked, stunned. \"You are supposed to be in England, in prison.\"\n\n\"And I was. Have you not been listening? And who are you, to know me by my name?\"\n\n\"Jamie Wallace. Will's cousin. We met in Paisley years ago, you and I.\"\n\n\"Aye, when Will broke my head and you pulled me from the river. I remember. Well met, then, Father James. Will told me you were to be ordained the last time we two spoke. I thought you would still be in Paisley.\"\n\nThe blackness moved and he stepped forward, pushing back a hood to bare his head and show the paleness of his face, and I saw why I had not been able to see him before. Like the huge man who now moved up to stand silently by his side, he was wearing the black robe of a Dominican friar, a single, cowled garment that covered him from head to foot and rendered him invisible on a night like this. But the shock of seeing his face revealed reminded me sharply that he was indeed a fugitive and that it would be best to take him and his man indoors and out of sight as quickly as possible.\n\nThe two hours that followed passed by very quickly, notwithstanding that Bishop Wishart required a full hour of it alone with Andrew. I had plenty to do in the interim, though, organizing hot food and dry clothing and airing fresh bedding for our unheralded guests. By the time Andrew emerged from the Bishop's quarters, and despite my own busyness, I had grown acquainted with his travelling companion, a gentle soul whose name, he told me, was Wee Mungo. Mungo himself appeared to see nothing incongruous in his name, but he was even taller and broader and thicker through the chest than my cousin Will, and I had only ever met three men that big. I had no doubt he was a warrior, probably impressive in his wrath if he were provoked, and I knew he would not otherwise be accompanying Andrew Murray under such dire circumstances. But he was a simple soul, with the gentle disposition and demeanour of a backward child. I enjoyed the way his eyes grew wide when I told him that this great cathedral was named after the saint who had first settled here and built the first church by the side of the Molendinar Burn, his own patron, Saint Mungo, whom the Islesmen called Kentigern. It was Mungo the saint, I told him, who had named this place, calling it Glasgow, which meant \"the dear, green place\" in the old tongue.\n\nThe big man sat enraptured while I told him the story, and when Andrew Murray joined us and stood quietly by the fire, he tousled the big man's hair fondly and asked him if he had enjoyed the tale. Wee Mungo nodded, still wide-eyed with the wonder of what he had heard, and then went obediently to bed when Murray dispatched him as quietly and firmly as a fond father would a beloved son.\n\n\"Wine, Jamie Wallace,\" Murray said as soon as we were alone. \"I'll sell you my birthright for a cup of wine.\"\n\n\"There's a mess of pottage involved, too,\" I said, grinning at him. \"I raided the kitchens and fed myself and Wee Mungo while you were with His Lordship. There's a pot of stew on the hob there, and some fresh bread. Serve yourself and I'll go and rob the sacramental wine store.\"\n\n\"You won't!\" The shock in his voice was real, and I felt my grin grow wider.\n\n\"Of course I won't. We keep the good stuff in the Bishop's pantry. I'll be back in a moment.\"\n\nLater, while we disposed of half a jug of excellent wine between us, I learned that he had been detained in Chester Castle in north Wales, more than a hundred miles from the Tower of London where his father was imprisoned. Once the hostilities had died down, however, his guards' initial vigilance and zeal had changed into laxity bred of the awareness that their stronghold was the oldest in England, built as the headquarters of the 22nd Legion in the time of the Caesars, and occupied continuously by garrisons thereafter. No one ever escaped from Chester. That truth was so universally accepted that Murray had found it easy to plan his escape.\n\nWee Mungo had been the only one of his retainers left with him, and he had managed to achieve that by demonstrating to his English captors that the big man was utterly harmless and could be left to himself all day long without ever getting into any more mischief than a young boy would. And so when the time came to escape, Andrew Murray and his giant companion walked out through the fortress's main gate as part of a work party, as they did every day, but on this day they had surprised and overcome their lackadaisical guard, tied the fellow up, and simply walked away. From Chester, the two men had made their way north and east to the Solway Firth, and thence north to Glasgow. It had taken them seven days.\n\n\"But didn't they come after you? They must have tried to catch you, surely?\"\n\nAndrew sipped at his wine, his face serious. \"Aye. They did. They were in better condition than we were from the outset, and seven of them caught up to us between Carlisle and the Firth.\"\n\n\"They caught you, but you're here. How did you escape?\"\n\n\"They didn't catch us. I said they caught up to us. Mungo killed them. All of them. He does that sometimes.\"\n\nThat silenced me for a spell, as I thought about the childlike giant who had sat so bemusedly in front of me just a short while before. I stared hard at Andrew Murray and he stared equally hard into his cup, as though examining his reflection in the wine.\n\n\"Mungo is two very different people,\" Murray explained. \"One of those is the innocent, gentle soul you met tonight. The other is the antithesis of the first. A warrior, but a warrior unlike any you have ever seen. When that person takes over, Mungo becomes a killer, savage, merciless, and implacable.\"\n\n\"To everyone?\"\n\n\"God, no, Heaven forbid! No, he knows which side he is on at all times, and he would never turn on a comrade, but to anyone facing him on the wrong side, he is Death incarnate.\"\n\nI made the sign of the cross upon my breast. \"May God forgive him.\" I reached down and collected the wine jug, and divided what remained between us. \"So what will you do now that you're back in Scotland?\"\n\n\"Back in Scotland and outlawed, you mean. I'm a fugitive from the King's Peace.\"\n\n\"The King of England's Peace.\"\n\nHe grinned. \"Aye, but to Edward, there's no difference. What will I do? I'll fight him to my last breath. My lands in Moray and elsewhere are vast, and largely empty, with ample space for fighting. If Edward of England wants to seize them, he will have to come and do so in person, and I will not be standing idly by, watching him from some far mountaintop. So I am heading home, as quickly as I can, and once I'm there I intend to raise the men of Moray and stir up Hell itself against these arrogant English overlords, as they like to call themselves. I intend to teach them that Scotland is ours, that they have no place in it, and that they never have had legitimate claim to any part of it. Who do they think they are, these strutting bantam cocks? And who does this benighted king of theirs believe gave him the right to come up here and impose his will upon free folk who have no need of his interference, no desire to suffer his attentions, and no intention of lying down and allowing him and his thieving, ignorant bullies to trample them and their rights? I swear to you, Jamie, by the living God, that if no other man in Scotland will stand up against this aging, braggart crusader from a bygone day, I, Andrew Murray, will defy him alone and die, if I must, with my spittle soaking his grizzled beard\u2014\" He broke off and laughed. \"Do I sound overeager? You did ask me! First, though, before I tackle any of that, I have to talk to Will Wallace. The Bishop tells me you can take me to him.\"\n\n\"Aye, I can. But why do you need to talk to him?\"\n\n\"Can you not guess, Father James? I need to conscript him to my cause, to help me drive these English oafs out of my country.\"\n\n\"But he cannot.\" It came out as a blurt, and it earned me a disconcerting look from his level blue eyes.\n\n\"He cannot?\"\n\nI flapped my hands, feeling foolish. \"He cannot. He has sworn an oath not to become involved in the fighting\u2014\"\n\n\"Until Scotland produces a leader he can trust and follow. Yes, yes, Bishop Wishart did tell me.\" He grinned, and the sight of his flashing white teeth almost made me feel better about what I instinctively knew he was going to say next. \"Well, that has been taken care of, because Scotland now has a leader whom I will swear William Wallace can trust, a leader born on the battlefield at Dunbar, this year, and raised to maturity these past few months in England's prisons. Andrew Murray of Petty, Lord of Avoch and Moray and commander of at least five thousand fighting men, every one of them dedicated to watching the arse of the last Englishman in Scotland vanish back over the border into England. Let us drink to that, Father James.\" He raised his cup and emptied it at a gulp, then set it down and smiled at me again. \"Now, when can we leave for Selkirk?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "I was sitting back in comfort in Will and Mirren's hut, marvelling at the astonishing relationship that existed between the two men I admired most in the world. It had always been thus, ever since the three of us had met as boys in Paisley.\n\nThat evening, though, listening to the easy banter the two of them traded, I was unusually aware of Mirren, knowing without ever looking at her that she was watching me closely, with that secretive, inscrutable half smile that I imagined on her lips every time I thought of her when she was not around. Now, as Will and Andrew waxed enthusiastic about something, some element of training or of fighting that was less than interesting to me, she rose quietly and made her way to the small stone sink Will had installed next to a built-in cooking stove close to the window. Moved by some prompting that I did not even pause to think about, I followed her, and she cocked her head to look at me as I approached.\n\n\"What?\" she asked. \"You look as though you have a question to ask me.\"\n\nShe was correct, but suddenly I felt awkward, almost abashed by her perceptiveness, and instead of saying what I had intended to say, I shrugged. \"You like him, don't you?\" I asked, adding, needlessly, \"Andrew.\"\n\nShe smiled and began to stack the platters from which we had eaten earlier. \"Of course I like him. Why should I not?\"\n\nI shrugged again. \"You didn't like me when first we met. What is so different about him?\"\n\nShe looked at me and laughed quietly, and my breast filled up with the familiar, comfortable warmth of the respect and esteem that I had always had for her. \"Jamie Wallace,\" she said teasingly, and I heard the fondness in her voice. \"If I didna ken ye were a priest, I'd think ye were jealous o' the man. But why should I no' like him? My goodman loves him like a brother \u2026 and you do, too, forbye. With two such as you on his side, how could I be foolish enough to dislike him?\" She tilted her head to one side, looking at me with sudden seriousness through narrowed eyes. \"What's wrong, Jamie? Ye have a strange look about you.\"\n\nI shook my head again, but she was not about to be dismissed that easily. She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. \"Tell me.\"\n\nI squirmed, and she reached out and plucked at my bearded chin, jerking it up so that I had to meet her eye. \"Tell me,\" she said again.\n\n\"I think he's here to take Will to war,\" I said.\n\n\"No. He's here to try to tak' Will to war. I have nae doubt o' that, but he'll ha'e nae joy there. Will winna go. He tell't me that again last night, just afore you two arrived. He'll play the general, he says, but he'll no' fight himsel'. He swore.\"\n\nI found myself unable to look her in the eye, for Andrew Murray had been right: Will had said he would follow a worthwhile leader if Scotland could produce one. I turned and moved away to join the other two again, leaving her to her household tasks.\n\nFrom then on I sat and listened closely as Will Wallace and Andrew Murray drew up their dreams and schemes for Scotland's future. Will's championship of nameless, faceless folk did not surprise me at all, for he had lived his life among them and was deeply solicitous of their welfare. That he came of a knightly family was true, but he himself had had no training in the ways of chivalry and he had never considered any possibility of being raised to knighthood someday. I found it amazing, though, that Andrew Murray should be voicing such ideas, let alone championing them so enthusiastically, for his makeup contained nothing that anyone could describe as common stock. Nevertheless, he appeared to accept, willingly, that aligning himself at the head of his fellow Scots, in defence of their common interests, must entail the forfeiture of his vast English holdings and the revenues that flowed from them, and he dismissed the loss as insignificant.\n\nHe stayed with us for three days, and I spent every moment I could find listening to their conversations. I was fascinated by the way their minds worked in concert. Every idea advanced by one or the other of them\u2014and they appeared to feed off each other voraciously\u2014generated a cascade of others, the way a smith's hammer scatters sparks from a glowing iron bar. I listened admiringly as they discussed strategy and tactics in grand, sweeping terms, comparing possibilities of attack and manoeuvre in order to wring every advantage possible from the land itself in fighting and beating the English forces whose own disciplined formations might be\u2014and would be, had these two anything to do with it\u2014hampered and disadvantaged on mountainous or boggy Scots terrain.\n\nI listened open mouthed as my cousin expounded on current political and philosophical theories that I had not even known he knew about and with which I would never have guessed he might be familiar; yet there he was, stating strongly held and obviously long considered opinions on free will and the morality of restitution and atonement, citing Edward of England's lack of contrition for his deliberate intent to usurp the throne of Scotland after undermining and destroying its rightful occupant. I sat awestruck as he demonstrated, using flawless logic, that the King of England's behaviour was unconscionable and indefensible and that he was therefore morally unfit to function as a truly Christian king. I knew whence those ideas had come, for I had often heard them voiced by William Lamberton, who had absorbed them in his turn from John Duns during his visits with the scholar in Paris, but I had never suspected that Lamberton and Will had been spending the amount of time together that Will's grasp of his subject indicated.\n\nThen, late one night, I listened to the two of them debate the propriety of the hit-and-run battle techniques advocated by Murray as opposed to the \"honourable\" and time-honoured system of chivalric warfare championed by Will. That confrontation, mild though it was, provided me with further cause to shake my head over the incongruities and contradictions of their alliance. Andrew, born to the nobility and to the strictures and traditions of chivalry and the feudal ways, and trained for years in the customs and the lore of the chivalric code, should have been the champion of the status quo in warfare, calling for things to be done as they had always been done and looking for ways to bring the Scots forces as close as might be feasible to parity with the English. Instead, he declared that to be impossible and committed himself to the idea of training his fighting men to use every possible advantage they could find in the terrain and the topography of the countryside to outwit, outmanoeuvre, and ultimately outfight and destroy the armies brought against them. He refused even to pay lip service to the old, \"honourable\" style of warfare, calling it suicidal and immoral. A man forced to fight, he said, should fight as though his life depended upon winning, because it did. Winning, he said\u2014victory and survival\u2014was the only measure of success in war. Everything else was failure since, even if it did not result in death, it involved defeat and the loss of liberty, which he maintained was worse than death.\n\nMy cousin, on the other hand, argued strongly in favour of formal battle between ranked armies as the most legitimate and generally accepted means of resolving conflict. He ignored Murray's immediate heaping of scorn on that notion, holding his peace as the other denounced the rampant folly of sending hundreds or even thousands of poorly trained and equipped men to die needlessly against superior formations when far more success could be achieved, at far less cost, by using much more versatile methods of isolating, stranding, and then defeating depleted enemy battalions. When his opponent fell silent, Will merely nodded and acknowledged that the other might be right, in fact, but from the viewpoint of political reality, he believed that was ultimately unimportant. His primary concern lay, he maintained, with legitimacy and the appearance of propriety. I blinked when I heard that, and for the first time in many hours of discussion I interjected.\n\n\"Are you serious, Will? The appearance of propriety? What bearing does that have on throwing the English out of Scotland? Forgive me, but that strikes me as being the most mindless thing I have heard.\"\n\nI thought he was going to give me the rough edge of his tongue, but then he twitched his shoulders in the beginnings of a shrug. \"Mindless,\" he said. \"You think speaking of propriety is mindless? No, Jamie. Let me tell you what mindlessness is about. Mindlessness is the ability to accept things without thought simply because they are familiar. Mindlessness is the condition of going through life without ever questioning the right or wrong of general custom. It is seeing things that frequently are wrong in the moral sense and ignoring the wrongness purely because it has become so familiar that we are no longer aware of it\u2014or because, were we to notice it and pay attention, we would be forced to do something to change it. That is mindlessness, Cousin.\" He sucked at something caught in his teeth.\n\n\"And then there is another kind of mindlessness,\" he continued, \"comparable perhaps, but different. The mindlessness of seeing something happen and being able to deny that it is happening\u2014and not only that, but going ahead then and basing a set of expectations on that denial of what you actually saw.\" He nodded in the direction of Andrew. \"If our friend here will forgive me, I will point out to you that the group to which he belongs subscribes to that. A knight is not required to be literate or educated, except in the ways of war. The knightly code requires only adherence to the laws of chivalry. It makes no demands otherwise. It ignores logic, by and large, and it expects no moral judgments. And yet judgments are made all the time, based on the expectations it engenders, irrespective of logic. Do you have any idea what I am talking about?\"\n\nI shook my head, and he shook his in return, his mouth twisting downwards. \"Aye. Well \u2026 What I am saying is that every ignorant, thick-skulled, witless bully capable of carrying a sword or swinging a club, be he knight, pikeman, or man-at-arms, will condemn us as brigands and barbarians for not fighting in accordance with their rules of combat.\" He saw my lips quirk. \"Don't laugh! There is nothing even mildly amusing in what I am saying.\" He paused, looking from Andrew to me and back to Andrew. \"No matter how hard we fight in this struggle, no matter how many men we mobilize against them, no matter how long we fight against them or how many of them we kill, these people will afford us no legitimacy until we meet them face to face on the field of battle and defeat them according to the rules of chivalry.\"\n\n\"Thereby committing suicide,\" Andrew added. \"That is obscene, Will. We've been over this before. No army that Scotland can field would be equipped to defeat the English host in battle. We might as well lay down our weapons and surrender ourselves to them right now.\"\n\nAnd so the argument began again.\n\nThere is no defining military word for what Will was, or for what his methods were. In those days when he and Andrew Murray first took up the sword against the English, there was only one accepted way of waging war, and that was the way of chivalry, the way wars had been fought between Christian armies for hundreds of years. There were conventions to be observed therein and rules to be followed, and a battle\u2014any battle\u2014was as likely to be decided by negotiation and bargaining between leaders as it was by physical combat. All of which appeared highly civilized and carefully structured to avoid unnecessary killing, until the observer took note that the only people who ever benefited from these negotiations were the leaders from each side. The remainder of the people involved, probably ninety-nine out of every hundred people in the field, were unimportant and insignificant. There at the behest of their leaders and under pain of forfeiture and punishment should they refuse, they were expected to die happily should their leaders not be able to arrive at a satisfactory settlement of their troubles.\n\nWill and Andrew changed all that, although the doing of it all was far less simple than that plainly written statement suggests. For the first time, though, between the pair of them they raised an army of the common Scots folk led by men whose sole qualification for leadership was their ability as warriors and leaders. None of these new commanders were high born or titled or otherwise privileged, and none had anything to influence their conduct other than a will to defeat the English invaders. That, in turn, resulted in their having an unprecedented awareness of, and a dedication to, the welfare of the men who followed them and shared their dreams of victory.\n\nI know people today, less than thirty years later, who would dispute that loudly, pointing as evidence to the large number of magnates and high-born lords present at the Battle of Stirling Bridge. But that was later, and their support had materialized with painful slowness during the first long months of the \"rebellious\" activities of Wallace and Murray. Only when it had become undeniable that the entire populace of Scotland had come out in support of the two rebel leaders, and that no one could hope to stand against them, did the situation change, and then it changed radically, with a sudden and total shift of support among the nobility. In the beginning, though, in the months after I sat there and listened to them talk, there were only Wallace and Murray, two disdained and widely disparaged voices crying, like the Baptist, in the wilderness.\n\nThe two men had not yet settled their differences by the time Andrew Murray left to return to the north, but they had arrived at an agreement. Will himself would not appear as a leader in the fighting. His oath to remain with his family precluded that. But otherwise he warranted that he would commit his full support, using his name, his influence, and his outlawed followers to raise the standard of resistance and rebellion in the south, should Andrew Murray ask it of him in the months ahead.\n\nAnd the months ahead were active months, since John de Warenne, the English Earl of Surrey whom Edward had appointed military governor of Scotland, seemed determined to pacify the whole country within the first few months of his tenure, sending out large bodies of English troops to patrol the entire land and stamp out any signs of rebellion before they could begin to flourish. Towards that goal, he also set out to reinforce and amplify the English garrisons in various strongholds throughout the land, and Lanark, the jurisdiction of the young sheriff I had met in Glasgow, was one such place. Spurred no doubt by his officious superior, William Hazelrig let it be known that he would not tolerate outlawry, in any sense, in his lands."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "At about the same time that Will and Andrew Murray were debating so earnestly with each other in Selkirk Forest, King Edward's new treasurer for Scotland, Hugh Cressingham, began to assert his noxious presence more and more visibly. He treated Scotland as a conquered fiefdom, levying taxes here, there, and everywhere in order to pay for England's foreign wars, and fomenting widespread anger and frustration with his highhanded arrogance. Encouraged perhaps by the overt signs of a widespread English military presence that would back him should the need ever arise, and recognizing that the international trade in wool was the economic engine that had made Scotland prosperous over the past hundred years, he imposed crippling taxes on the gathering, processing, and exporting of wool and thereby came nigh to killing the entire industry within his first year in office. Nurturing Scots trade was of no importance to him, but he smiled with satisfaction as he shipped off enormous sums of Scots money to fill his master's coffers.\n\nMirren's father was one of the Scots merchants most direly affected by these outrageous taxes, because they obliterated his commercial enterprises almost overnight. Hugh Braidfoot had become a prosperous wool trader and broker and a wealthy, respected burgess of Lanark, where his enterprises were headquartered, but his eastern operations, all of them involving the warehousing of wool and its transportation from the eastern Scottish ports to the countries across the North Sea, were vulnerable to Cressingham's most punitive taxes, and Braidfoot was rendered close to penury within months of the treasurer's arrival in Scotland.\n\nHowever, Braidfoot was neither fool nor craven. He determined to fight what he saw as this Englishman's fiduciary madness, and he set off for Berwick to confront the treasurer, making no secret of his purpose or of his anger and frustration. His intent was to present his case to Cressingham in person and to sue for some kind of reasonable accommodation, some compromise, that would permit him to remain active in his business affairs while continuing to generate taxable revenue in the years ahead.\n\nAccording to Cressingham and his staff, however, Master Braidfoot never arrived in Berwick, and an extensive search of the town and its environs failed to find anyone who had witnessed him entering the town, though many witnesses elsewhere attested to that having been his destination, and swore to have heard him say he had important business with Cressingham. Hugh Braidfoot vanished without trace on that journey, never to be seen or heard from again, and all his holdings became forfeit to the English administration for non-payment of taxes.\n\nWord of this iniquity was brought to us eventually in Glasgow by a monk from Jedburgh Abbey who had been sent specifically to inform Bishop Wishart of the merchant's death and the storm of controversy that it had stirred up in and around Berwick. He arrived with his tidings in the middle of March, by which time Braidfoot had been missing for more than a month. The Bishop, not knowing if word of these events would have penetrated Selkirk Forest, dispatched me immediately to take the news to Will and Mirren. I rode my horse hard to get there before either of my friends heard the tidings from any other source, but by the time I arrived the word had flown ahead of me.\n\nWill saw at once that I was disappointed at having brought the news too late and tried to put me at my ease, but I could not be at ease until I had seen Mirren, to gauge with my own eyes how great a toll this occurrence had demanded of her, and to offer her any solace and comfort that I could, as former chaplain to her and her people. She had loved her father deeply, I knew, and would be in great need of support and sympathy, for he had earned her love throughout her life, constantly affording her his encouragement in everything she did.\n\nIn the end, it was Mirren who ended up consoling me in my misery over having come so late, offering to pray with me before I ever got around to making the suggestion, and generally making me feel more at ease about her peace of mind.\n\nAlready within months of completing her term, she was blithely certain that this time she was carrying a daughter, describing the child to me as a sweet little pippin who would act as a natural braking force upon her ebullient and irrepressible son, whom she was preparing for bed as we spoke. She had even named the child already, she told me, having dreamed of seeing her as a fully grown young woman, beautiful, elegant, and self-possessed. Her daughter would be called Eleanor, in honour of Mirren's own heroine, the long-dead but greatly revered Duchess of Aquitaine, and Mirren's mind was made up on the matter. Eleanor Wallace would be as strong a woman as the one after whom she would be named. I listened to her speaking of the child who would be, and I saw how steadfastly she held her own loss at bay, and my heart swelled up with pride and affection for her. Will truly had chosen a pearl beyond price, as the scriptures described.\n\nIn the meantime, she said, she was preparing to go home to visit her mother in Lamington, but several matters involving Will had to be settled first, so they had not yet been able to set a departure date.\n\nI knew that Mirren's mother had never recovered from the wasting illness that had stricken her during the year when Mirren and Will first met. For a long time, everyone had thought she was going to die, but Miriam Braidfoot had surprised everyone with her tenacity. That had been in 1289, and for the ensuing eight years, Mirren's mother had been confined to her home and, much of that time, to her bed. But she had lived happily enough, sustained by the love of her husband and the friends who surrounded her. Now, though, with her husband's disappearance and probable death, no one could tell what would happen to the old lady, and Mirren fretted constantly over not being able to rush to her mother's bedside.\n\nPuzzled by what she had said about Will's having \"matters\" to settle, I was about to ask her what was going on, but we were interrupted by the arrival of several women who had come to collect Mirren, and within moments I found myself alone in the darkening little hut. I rebuilt the fire and then wandered outside into the chilly March half light to look for Will.\n\nLater that night, sitting beside Will at dinner, I watched as the crowd hummed around him like bees swarming about a displaced queen, affording me no opportunity at all to ask him about any of the matters that were on my mind. Bemused, I watched the press of people suck every vestige of attention and awareness out of him, and the experience left me dazed. Each time I saw him nowadays, I realized that my cousin had changed since the time before, becoming more and more of a public figure all the time, a leader and a commander of men even though, to me at least, he appeared to make no effort to ingratiate himself with anyone.\n\nI went to bed that night comparing my memories of the shy and diffident but quietly confident Will Wallace with whom I had grown up to the William Wallace I had watched that night, a towering, confident figure filled with gravitas and authority, dispensing advice and encouragement to people, some of whom I knew he had never set eyes on before. And of all the things that niggled at my awareness, the most illogical appeared to be the one that should not have surprised me at all: this new dimension of respect and deference that surrounded him had not come into being until Will swore his oath to protect his family and avoid risking his life in pointless fighting against vested interests and insuperable odds. In avoiding violence and pursuing detachment, my cousin had assumed a mantle he had never thought, nor sought, to wear, and in so doing had become a new kind of champion in the eyes of the common folk."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "I saw no signs of Will when I went looking for him after breaking my fast the following morning, but I knew he was nearby, and eventually I found him labouring in the saw pit in the woods beyond the encampment's southern edge. He was stripped naked, save for a breechclout about his waist, and dripping from the effort of sawing a long, thick plank from a massive oak timber positioned above him over the pit. The fall of sawdust had coated his body, clinging to his sweat-soaked skin and body hair and giving him the look of a great blond bear, and with the enormous muscles of his back, shoulders, and chest engorged by the heavy work, he appeared to be truly gigantic. He saw me coming and he must have read what I was thinking on my face, for he barked a great, booming laugh and heaved himself up and out, beckoning me to follow him as he jogged away towards the nearby stream the men had aptly named the Sawpit Burn. There was a linn a short distance upstream, a waterfall about ten feet high with a large swimming hole scooped from the gravel bed beneath it, and he threw himself into it from the bank, tucking his legs up and shouting in sheer exhilaration as he went, and as the splash died down the surface of the pool was transformed to a golden turbulence by the sawdust released from his body. He surfaced quickly, shook his head violently, then ducked it beneath the surface again, scrubbing at his scalp with both hands before straightening up and flicking his long hair back out of his eyes.\n\n\"Hah!\" he roared. \"That's better. Give me your hand.\"\n\nI reached out and helped him pull himself up the side of the bank, and as he towelled himself roughly I settled myself on a mossy patch with my back against a tree. It was a beautiful late-summer morning, and the sun had barely risen above the horizon. When he was dry, he tied the towel around his waist, then slapped his palms against his bare chest.\n\n\"Garments,\" he said. \"I left them over by the pit, clear of the sawdust. When I am decently clothed again, you and I will be ready for a drink.\" He hesitated, head cocked. \"At least I will be ready. You have that \u2026 devout look about you, Cuz, that priestly look.\"\n\n\"Are you cold?\"\n\n\"No, not at all. But I am almost naked, so I wish to dress.\"\n\n\"And so you may, in a moment, but right now I want to talk to you without being interrupted, and I promise I won't tell anyone you were almost naked when we spoke.\"\n\nIn response he smiled and threw himself down beside me on the bank, then knocked me off balance with a straight-armed push. \"Speak, then, but tell me first, will you be speaking as Father James or as my cousin Jamie?\"\n\n\"Can I not be both at once?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Can you?\" He waited for a moment, as though expecting an answer, then grinned slightly. \"Never mind. Go ahead. You have my attention.\"\n\nI took the time to adjust my robe.\n\n\"Your wife tells me you can't take her to comfort her mother until several matters are settled. What kind of matters, I wonder, can be more important than the loss of a beloved father? And no matter what they are, how important can they possibly be, Will, that you would permit them to keep you here when it's clear Mirren wants to go home to her grieving mother, to share her own grief for her father?\"\n\nHe sat staring straight faced at me, no trace of raillery in his eyes now, but he made no attempt to speak.\n\n\"What, have you no answer? It's a simple enough question. What is keeping you here when it is so important\u2014to your wife and to her family\u2014for you to travel to Lamington?\"\n\nStill he made no move to answer me, and I found myself suddenly impatient.\n\n\"Why would you even want to stay here at a time like this, Will? To dispense advice to your followers, the way you did last night at supper? Do you not think your wife deserves an equal or even greater share of your concern than strangers do?\"\n\n\"It is not that simple.\"\n\n\"No, it is that simple, Will. It's simple. There's nothing complex about it. You should be taking Mirren home, right now, to be with her mother in her time of bereavement. I fail to see how anything can be more important than that.\"\n\n\"Right!\" His voice was hard edged. \"I heard you. But just because you fail to see something, Father, doesn't mean it isn't there. Do you think I am doing this lightly, without cause? I can't leave here now. Soon, perhaps, I hope so. But not now.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I pushed.\n\n\"Because we're in crisis.\"\n\n\"Grave crisis, I assume, though there's never any other kind. Crisis over what?\"\n\nHe looked at me, his jaw set pugnaciously. \"Over the price on my head and the bounty placed on any of my men taken, dead or alive.\"\n\nI felt as though something had writhed and then flattened in my guts.\n\n\"That's new. Not the price on your head, we all know about that, but this bounty is new. We've heard nothing about it.\"\n\nHis eyebrows rose mockingly. \"In Glasgow, you mean, at the cathedral? How would you hear of it at all? It's a local matter, locally imposed and locally enforced.\"\n\n\"Who set this bounty?\"\n\n\"A man called Hazelrig. Edward's new enforcer. His title is Sheriff of Lanark.\"\n\n\"Sir William Hazelrig? That can't be. I've met him. He impressed me as a pleasant fellow. Except, of course, that he told me how quickly he would kill you if you ever crossed his path. Apart from that, though, I think you would have liked him.\"\n\nMy cousin was staring at me, both eyebrows raised sufficiently to wrinkle his brow. \"You have met this man?\"\n\n\"Yes. I met him in Glasgow at the Bishop's house. He came up with Cressingham when he came to make himself known to the Scots Bishops soon after his appointment.\"\n\n\"And you liked him. Did you like Cressingham, too?\"\n\n\"I disliked him intensely. The man reminds me of a carrion eater. But I enjoyed Hazelrig. I found him amusing and very pleasant.\"\n\n\"It makes me very glad to know that, Cuz, because your pleasant and amusing acquaintance has hanged two of my men without trial, and ten more who were not my men but were accused of being so. No arguments, no opportunity to deny anything or say anything in their defence. Simply accusation and execution, plain and simple, neat and tidy, and unmistakably English. Oh yes, he's a very pleasant fellow.\" He held up one hand and dipped his head at the same time as though to ask, \"What more can I say?\" But he remained quiet for long moments before he spoke again.\n\n\"Sheriff Hazelrig has made it his overriding objective to bring about my end. He quadrupled the price on my head about a month ago, in the hopes of tempting someone to betray me, and hard on the heels of that, he offered a bounty of a silver mark for each and every Selkirk outlaw brought to justice or into King Edward's Peace. That means dead or alive. It is a death sentence passed upon any man who is accused of being one of us, Jamie, irrespective of whether he is or not. The accusation is sufficient to cause death because there is no need to bring the man in alive. Any dead outlaw has clearly been brought to justice, and will surely never disturb the King's Peace in the future.\" He watched me, and when he saw my eyes narrow, he nodded. \"Aye, it is iniquitous, no one will dispute that. But it is an iniquity sponsored and abetted by the King of England's High Sheriff in Lanark, so who is to gainsay it?\"\n\nI shook my head, not quite in disbelief, but because I somehow hoped the truth would prove deniable. \"But \u2026 what did you do to cause him to quadruple the price on your head?\"\n\n\"And to pass a sentence of death on all my followers at the same time? Well, what would you think I did? I know you believe I did something, because I heard it clearly in your voice when you asked the question. I did nothing, Jamie. Nothing at all.\"\n\n\"You must have attracted his attention somehow, perhaps without realizing it.\"\n\n\"Nothing, Jamie. I said and did nothing. And be careful what you say next because your disbelief is starting to irk me. Hear me clearly. We have been inactive here for several months, committing no robberies and staging no raids since the English pulled in their horns back in November. I did nothing to attract the sheriff's notice, and none of my men did, either. He simply decided to make a public example of us, probably goaded by that fat slug Cressingham, or possibly by his own superior, de Warenne of Surrey.\"\n\n\"I see. So what is happening now?\"\n\nHe sniffed deeply and looked away into the trees. \"We have patrols out, in strength. They are moving quickly and constantly, keeping careful watch because we don't know where Hazelrig's soldiers will strike next. The local folk are in terror of being taken out and hanged, and so we keep our people spread out and moving, constantly in touch with one another and ready to attack at the first sign of hostility.\"\n\n\"You're ready to fight.\"\n\n\"Of course we're ready to fight. Would you have it otherwise?\"\n\n\"Will you fight? What about your oath?\"\n\n\"What about it? My oath is unbroken and I have no intention of fighting. But I can't leave my people, Jamie.\"\n\n\"Aye, and besides, it would be folly to go to Lamington with the sheriff of Lanark on the watch for you.\"\n\n\"Pah! Folly nothing. He wouldn't know me if I walked up and spoke to him face to face. That part of it is not an issue. I simply need to stay here for the time being, with my people. I agree with you that Mirren's place is with her mother. No arguments from me on that, and I feel as guilty as sin because of it. But I can't take her there, and until now I have not had anyone who could, at least not without risk of attracting attention. But now I have the right man. You can escort her to her mother's place on your way back to Glasgow. She'll be safe with you, and I'll send an escort with you. A small group. Men I trust. Four or five.\"\n\n\"Four or five men and a woman and child?\"\n\n\"Aye, and a priest. What's wrong with that?\"\n\n\"Priests don't travel with heavily armed men, Will, unless they are liveried men-at-arms. And the same applies to pregnant women with small children in tow. Besides, I doubt that Mirren will go without you.\"\n\n\"She has to. She has no choice. She needs to be with her mother, and I need her to be there as well. I need to know she's safely out of the forest until this nonsense with Hazelrig is over. Will you see to that for me, Jamie?\"\n\nI slumped against the tree. \"I suppose I will. It seems to me there is a deal of needing going on here, one way and another, but aye, I'll see her safely to her mother's, so be it she agrees to go.\"\n\n\"Good man. As for the escort, you can be sure I'll pick them carefully. They'll be discreet. No one will ever know they're with you, unless you fall into danger. But they'll never be far away from you, wherever you are.\"\n\nHe rose to his feet and towered above me, then reached out a hand to me and pulled me effortlessly to my feet before jerking me forward into an enormous hug."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "We were a small, subdued group as our two wagons set out from Selkirk Forest towards Lanark and Glasgow, our quietness attributable mainly to the strain surrounding the parting between Will and Mirren and, of course, young Willie. It was a parting neither one wanted, but circumstances had combined to make it necessary.\n\nWe were soon out of the largely trackless forest and on the high road to Lanark. Perched on the driver's bench of the first and larger of our two wagons was Alan Crawford of Nithsdale, who would serve as senior driver and cook, responsible for the thousand and one daily details of our journey. Beside him sat Ewan Scrymgeour, who had come to regard Mirren as his own daughter. Big Andrew, his crossbow safely stowed out of sight behind him, and looking like a small boy perched on the driver's bench of the second wagon, would serve as Alan's assistant. Also with us was Father Jacobus, the elder of the two over-cloistered priests I had brought with me when first I came to live in the greenwood. He had grown visibly younger, more vibrantly alive, as the result of his life among the forest folk, nourished and greatly strengthened from ministering to their daily needs and thriving on the joy of it. Robertson the archer and five of his best men were ranged outward ahead of us, out of our sight but screening us from interference from the front and both sides.\n\nThe initial awkwardness of the post-parting silence passed more quickly and more easily than I had expected, due beyond a doubt to Mirren's determination to make the best of the situation, and so by the end of the first day's travel, the mood among the group was easier and more relaxed. It was a short day, too, for we were pulled off the road in a sheltered spot well before the sun began to sink. The March weather was consistent\u2014inhospitably foul, cold, and damp\u2014and the sun seemed to be setting earlier each day, instead of later.\n\nOur cooking fire was small and almost completely concealed in a wide, deep-dug pit, and Alan prepared a remarkable meal of stewed goat, with vegetables and meat that he had brought with him, serving it with dried broad white beans he had braised in a deliciously salty sauce that set my mouth to tingling. We sat around the fire for no more than an hour after dinner that night, though, for despite knowing that Robertson and his bowmen were out there guarding us, we knew, too, that we were in unknown country and our firelight would be visible for miles. Just as I was about to retire to my evening prayers, one of Robertson's men stepped out of the surrounding shadows, carrying a brace of fine hares, gutted and tied by the hind legs, that he handed to Alan before slipping away into the darkness again. I knew what we would dine on the following night.\n\nWe made better distance on the second day, having been up before dawn and on the road by daybreak, well muffled against the steady, cutting wind, and by three of the afternoon we had travelled more than twenty miles at a steady, ground-eating pace, avoiding the small town of Peebles by detouring a few miles to the south of it. Robertson's people had already found our next camping spot, about five miles beyond that, and one of them waited for us by the roadside and then led us off into the woods, where we found the roofless ruins of an otherwise solidly built and surprisingly spacious house. We pitched our tents within its walls and slept soundly that night, sheltered from the wind that howled outside. We were, by my reckoning, within fifteen miles of Lanark.\n\nOn the morning of the third day, we awoke to a torrential downpour that had already flooded the lowlying areas around us and showed no signs of abating. Ewan and Alan, as the joint commanders of our little group, stepped outside the shelter of the walls into the greyness of the reluctantly breaking day to try to gauge the wisdom of breaking camp. They came back inside moments later to consult with me and Mirren about whether or not we wished to brave the weather and continue immediately towards Lamington, because they themselves were divided in their opinions.\n\nI looked to Mirren, prepared to abide by her decision, but on this occasion Mirren, normally so straightforward and decisive, could not make up her mind about what she wanted to do. Leaving immediately meant in all likelihood that we might reach Lamington and her mother more quickly, but that was far from certain in the face of such outlandish weather, because according to Ewan and Alan the ground was a sodden quagmire and the wagons might be difficult to handle on steep and muddy surfaces. The alternative, to wait and see, would mean we might lose time initially, but when the weather finally broke and the wind and rain abated, the going would be firmer underfoot and conditions would certainly be both drier and warmer beneath the leather canopies of the wagons. Dryness and warmth for both herself and her young son was, I could see, the more appealing prospect in Mirren's eyes, but I could also see that, precisely because it was so personally justifiable, she was loath to make that decision on her own. And so when she shrugged and turned to me, I smiled at her and made the choice to wait out the storm.\n\nI have wondered a thousand times, over the years, if I might have changed anything by choosing differently that morning, but always my faith in God's all-seeing wisdom convinces me\u2014alas, never for long and never completely\u2014that His will was carried out as He wished it to be.\n\nWe stayed in the camp for most of the morning, and for the last hour of that time the wind and the rain gradually died down and then stopped. We had already begun to break camp by then, and were having enormous difficulty in dismantling and stowing our leather tents, for their weight had been tripled by the amount of water they had absorbed. By the time we finally had the wagons loaded and were preparing to pull out, back onto the road again, the clouds were breaking up and clearing quickly, and bright sunlight was lancing down through the gaps here and there in spectacular glowing rays.\n\nNo one spoke much as we settled into the journey, but as the miles fell slowly behind us and the sun's warmth dried our wet clothes, a semblance of good humour re-emerged and soon there was a steady flow of banter passing between the two wagons. At one point I twisted in my seat on the driver's bench beside Big Andrew, to respond to a jibe from Ewan in the other wagon, and suddenly found myself racked by an intensely painful cramp in my left foot. My entire leg seized up and I writhed so violently against the pain of it that I lost my balance and fell sideways, barely managing to grasp the side of the bench in time to prevent myself pitching headfirst to the ground. Ewan, in the other wagon, saw me jerk and fall sideways, and for a few stupefied moments he thought I had been felled by an arrow.\n\nThe ensuing alarm was short lived, though, and turned quickly to laughter when it became clear that I had simply suffered a cramp. Alan muttered something about priests spending too much time on their knees and their backsides, and wondered aloud why it should be strange that their muscles complained of inactivity by twisting into cramps. I remember feeling rather shamefaced as I massaged the feeling back into my leg, and then I hopped down and walked beside the wagons, hobbling for the first few minutes but soon striding easily. I felt euphoric for a short time after that, wanting to run in my exuberance, in sheer celebration of being me and of being alive and of being away, for a brief time at least, from the responsibilities of my priestly life.\n\nStriding out in front, I was a good hundred yards ahead of the wagons as I came to the brow of a little hill, no more than a slight rise in the road. As I breasted it, I saw one of Robertson's archers jogging along the road towards me. I was not alarmed, for the archers were seldom far beyond our sight, but there was something about the way he was coming that brought me to a halt, looking around me and then at the road behind him. He was moving quickly but furtively, keeping close to the bushes that lined the road as he approached. He saw me watching him and raised a hand in greeting, but he did not slacken his pace.\n\nWhen he reached me he stopped and bent over, panting for breath with his hands gripping his knees.\n\n\"Englishry, Father Jamie,\" he gasped. \"Robertson sent me back to warn you. He says there's nothin' tae be upset ower, but he thocht ye'd like to ken they're doon there, at the crossroads at the bottom o' this road. Ye canna see it frae here, but that's where they are. There's a knight in charge, on the biggest horse ye've ever seen, but we couldna recognize his crest or colours, an' he has a couple o' mounted men-at-arms wi' him, forbye about ten archers. They're up to somethin', but we couldna tell what. Watchin' for somebody or mayhap just waitin' to see who gaes by. But Robertson jalouses they'll stop ye and ask ye what your business is, just because they're English.\"\n\nI thanked him, and he turned away and vanished into the dense growth lining the road. This was not unexpected, and we had planned for it and knew our story. I walked back towards the approaching wagons.\n\n\"What?\" Alan asked as I pulled myself up on to the stirrup step beside him. Mirren was sitting beside him, between him and Ewan, and all three were looking at me expectantly. I smiled at Mirren and waved vaguely in the direction we were heading.\n\n\"One of the archers just warned me that there are English ahead of us, at a crossroads at the bottom of the next slope. A knight, he says, with a couple of mounted men-at-arms and half a score of archers.\"\n\n\"Aye, I know the place. What are they doing, did he say?\"\n\n\"No. He didn't know. But he and Robertson think they're up to something. Nothing to do with us, though, since nobody knew we'd be coming this way. But he thinks they'll challenge us.\"\n\n\"Of course they'll challenge us. Since they decided to take over the ownership of Scotland they challenge everything. A knight, you said?\"\n\n\"Aye, fully armed and probably English, for nobody recognized his crest or colours.\" I looked at Mirren. \"So remember, stay calm and don't say anything different to what we planned. The tricky part will be to pretend we didn't know they were there, so don't be peering about for them. If they suspect we knew they were there, they'll start suspecting other things as well\u2014like how did we know? Who warned us? And why?\"\n\nShe nodded at me, her face calm and peaceful, and I smiled back and dropped to the ground, making my way to the other wagon and pulling myself up to sit beside Big Andrew and Father Jacobus."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "They kept themselves well hidden, for we saw no sign of them at all as we descended the long slope, even though we knew they were watching us. We reached the bottom of the descent, and the road flattened out just at the entrance to an open glade surrounding the junction of the two roads that crossed there. The glade was filled with shoulder-high saplings of birch and alder, new growth after a fire had swept through there a handful of years earlier, and from the height of the driver's bench, overlooking the saplings, I found I could see clearly in all directions across the burned area to the start of the forest proper again, without moving my head obviously. Nothing was stirring, anywhere I looked, but then from the corner of my eye I saw the lower branches of a big evergreen on the forest's edge pushed aside, and three mounted men emerged and rode directly towards us.\n\nThere was no debate over which of the three was the leader, for his appearance spoke loudly for itself. He was dressed in plate armour, which established his identity beyond question as being English. No Scots knight could afford such expensive armour, any more than he could afford a horse large enough and strong enough to bear his weight were he dressed in such a manner. Horse and armour here were emphatically and defiantly Norman-English, flaunting the wealth, puissance, and arrogance of their owner. The colours and livery were unknown to me, the knight's shield and surcoat and his horse's skirts all similarly quartered in red and silver, with alternating diagonal bars in the top right and bottom left quarters and three red swans on a silver field in each of the others. The crest on the knight's enormous silvered helm was a red bird, too\u2014I presumed it to be a swan\u2014flanked on each side by curving spirals of red and silver. A very fine and intimidating picture the man made, trotting towards us, and we stopped to await his arrival.\n\nHe reined in directly ahead of us, blocking the road as he raised the visor of his helmet to see us as clearly as he could. His face was hard to discern within the shadowed opening, but I saw a red-veined nose above a bushy red moustache, and then his voice came rasping towards us.\n\n\"Who are you people and what are you up to? No damned good, I'll wager. State your names and your business and give me one good reason why I shouldn't take the lot of you into custody.\"\n\nI stood up, and when he turned his glowering gaze on me I forced myself to smile and addressed him in my best English, since I was convinced that, like most of his ilk, he would be barely literate at best, with no knowledge at all of Latin, which he would sneer at as clerkish nonsense.\n\n\"I can give you an excellent reason, Sir Knight. We are engaged upon the affairs of Holy Church. I am Father James and I am a member of the secretarial staff of Lord Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow and senior prelate of the realm of Scotland. My associate here, Father Jacobus, has been with me on a mission to the south on behalf of His Lordship and we are now returning to Glasgow to conclude our business.\" I indicated Ewan on the other wagon. \"The bald man there is the Bishop's uncle, Ewan Scrymgeour, brother to His Lordship's mother, and the young woman with him is his daughter Margaret, who is in mourning for her recently dead husband, killed by bandits near the border with England. We are taking her to be with her mother until she has the baby. The others are all employed by Master Scrymgeour. I have letters of safe conduct from the Bishop, should you wish to read them.\"\n\nThat was sheer bravado on my part and I knew the risk I was taking, for the only documents I had in my possession were two brief sets of notes given to me by Bishop Wishart before I left Glasgow. But I could sense both truculence and outright hostility in the choleric-looking Englishman, and so I decided to try to allay his suspicions by gambling heavily on his being illiterate, knowing that if I was wrong, we might all die here.\n\nThe fellow glowered at me for a moment from within the cavern of his helmet, his heavy eyebrows drawing into one thick, unbroken line, then grunted and held out a peremptory hand. \"Show me.\"\n\nMy stomach contracted in a spasm, but I maintained my outward composure and dug into my scrip for the two folded pieces of parchment. I handed them, unopened, to the knight.\n\n\"May I be permitted to ask your name, sir?\"\n\nThe knight had removed one of his gauntlets and now held it clamped beneath an elbow as he strove to unfold and open the first letter. He grunted an interrogative sound, then growled, \"Redvers. Sir Lionel Redvers of Suffolk. Now let's see here \u2026\"\n\nHaving finally unfolded the parchment, he held it up and peered at it closely, and I felt the tension drain out of me. Had he been able to read, he would already have seen that what he held was no letter of safe conduct, but a list of brief instructions on what I was to do at various stages of my journey from Glasgow. He said nothing, though, and sat staring at the parchment as though memorizing its contents. Finally he sat up straighter\u2014no easy feat, dressed as he was in full armour\u2014refolded the letter, and returned it to me.\n\n\"So be it,\" he growled. \"But you can't leave yet. We are awaiting a marching party here, and until they come no one can pass beyond this point. Where are you headed now? You'll never get to Glasgow before dark.\"\n\n\"No, sir. We had intended to stop at the inn in Lanark town.\"\n\nSomeone shouted in the distance behind him, and the Englishman spun his horse to look back. \"They're coming,\" he said to no one in particular, then looked back at me. \"Stay here until we are gone, and then you may follow us. Lanark is no more than three miles from here.\"\n\nHe swung away, pulling his visor closed with a sweep of his hand, then set spurs to his horse and charged off, followed by his two companions. I turned back to Ewan and found him watching me, a strange expression on his face.\n\n\"Uncle to the Bishop, you said?\"\n\n\"Aye. It seemed a fitting description at the time, and it worked. No English knight, no matter how much he detests the Scots, is going to risk giving serious offence to a senior churchman\u2014particularly by interfering with his family.\"\n\n\"You took a risk.\"\n\nI grinned at him, feeling much better now. \"Not as big as the risk I took in showing him that letter of safe conduct from the Bishop,\" and I explained how I'd banked on the man being illiterate and too vain to admit it.\n\nNo one spoke, and Ewan stared at me steadily. \"I pray you, in future, don't be so quick to gamble with my life.\" He shrugged very gently. \"I have no great fear of losing it, but I take much comfort from the belief, foolish though you might make it appear, that the disposition of it rests in my own hands.\"\n\n\"And yet it worked, and we have been rewarded handsomely. We can now follow the English all the way to Lanark without being bothered further.\"\n\n\"And we would, were we not due to turn left at the crossroads. Lamington is a mile in that direction.\"\n\n\"Ah! I did not know that. I knew it was near Lanark, but I have never been there. So it's over that way?\"\n\n\"Aye, it is. Listen, did you not say there were supposed to be a half score of archers with those three? Did you see any signs of them?\"\n\nI grinned at him. \"No more than I did of Robertson or his men. Archers are hard to see, Ewan. Had you forgotten?\"\n\nHe threw me a look of pure disgust, then paused, his head cocked. \"Well, whoever these people are, they're coming now.\"\n\nWe were less than thirty paces from the point where the two roads crossed, and it was plain from what Redvers had said that the column they were waiting for would cross directly in front of us. We moved forward slowly until we were right beside where the column would pass, and as we moved, the noise of the group approaching from our left grew steadily louder until the front ranks came into view. They were all footmen, uniformly dressed in chain-mail shirts, plain steel helmets, and leather jerkins with a small patch over the left breast, showing a red swan on a white field, and they were walking in the semblance of a march. They came towards us four abreast on the narrow road, and we fell silent as they approached.\n\nThroughout my life, I have been troubled from time to time by terrifying dreams that I have never shared with anyone, whether from shame or fear I cannot truly say. In all of them I am being threatened or pursued by someone or something that is determined to kill me. The details of these dreams are never clear when I finally wake up, shivering, but the overwhelming sense of doom and terror they engender remain with me long afterwards. In all of them, my pursuer is always unimpaired and merciless, but I am always hindered by an inability to run fast enough, to shout loudly enough for help, or to hide quickly enough. In the moments following the appearance of the front ranks of that English column, I somehow fell into that dream state while wide awake. It happened with stunning speed; I simply found myself witnessing a situation that seethed up like milk in an overheated pot and boiled over, beyond my control.\n\nI was watching the approaching soldiery idly, hearing the shuffling tread of their feet and the occasional clink or rattle of a piece of weaponry, and then I saw the English knight, Redvers, approaching again, riding at a lumbering trot from the rear of the marching column. As I turned to look at him directly, I noticed that four of the marching men were carrying a litter of some kind, slipping and sliding and generally making heavy going of it at one spot where the roadway was still muddy and puddled from the morning storm. They were no more than thirty paces from me when one of them lost his footing in the thick mud and almost lost his hold on the litter pole, and it was his muffled cry of alarm, a curse, really, that caught my attention. Mine was not the only notice drawn to him, though, and that is when everything around me seemed to speed up rapidly, leaving me too befuddled to do anything other than watch what happened.\n\nI heard Mirren's voice shouting, \"Mother!\" and from the corner of my eye I saw her fling herself down from the bench of the wagon and run towards the soldiers. Little Willie bounced in his strapped shawl on her back, his normal daytime roost, while she clutched her skirts above her knees in one hand and waved frantically with the other. I was still blinking and wondering what she was doing when I heard the English knight shout, \"Take that woman! Hold her!\" and then he was spurring his horse directly towards her, closing the distance between them more rapidly than I could adjust to what I was seeing.\n\nMirren paid him no attention in her dash towards the litter, and she and the huge warhorse collided directly in front of me with a sound that appalled me. The animal struck her with its shoulder and sent her flying, mother and child spinning like an ungainly top until she crashed to the ground, and only then could I collect myself sufficiently to move. I shouted something, too late either to warn or to protest, and began running to where she and the baby lay in a welter of women's clothing, and as I ran I saw blood trickling from her nose and mouth. Little Willie was screaming, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open, though I could scarcely hear him over the other noises. Men everywhere were shouting now, but I paid none of them any attention. I threw myself to the ground on my knees beside Mirren, and as I bent forward to cover her and the boy, someone kicked me in the head.\n\nI know I was kicked only because I was told about it afterwards, for the blow broke my jawbone and knocked me senseless. I was kicked elsewhere, too, thoroughly and methodically, for when I regained awareness I was bruised all over and had several broken bones. I ought to have been killed, I suppose, but my priestly apparel may have saved my life.\n\nEwan and Andrew managed to escape. As archers, they both knew they needed distance between them and the enemy, and so as soon as Ewan saw what was happening\u2014and he saw it far sooner than I did\u2014he seized his bow case and quiver, called out to Andrew, then leapt down from the wagon and ran, using the vehicle's bulk to shield him from English arrows.\n\nThere were no English arrows, though, because Robertson and his five men had already stalked and killed the ten bowmen Redvers had brought with him, so as soon as the two marksmen had gained sufficient distance to allow them to shoot clearly, they turned back towards the enemy and set about killing Englishmen. Redvers the knight attempted to send his footmen against them, but from less than a hundred paces Ewan's arrows and Andrew's crossbow bolts could punch right through their inferior chain mail, so they retreated, having no stomach for a frontal assault across open ground against marksmen now being reinforced by others as Robertson and his men came running from the woods and joined the fight. Only Redvers himself and his two mounted men-at-arms were strongly enough armoured to face the Scots fire, and in attempting to close with them, they proved that only Redvers was immune to the Scots arrows. Ewan, with his great bow of yew, brought down both men-at-arms with armour-piercing bodkins, and a direct hit on Redvers's breastplate from twenty paces, though the missile glanced off and away, almost unhorsed the knight, who lost his sword while fighting to stay in the saddle and then turned and lumbered away to rejoin his men.\n\nMoments later, the rearguard of Redvers's column came charging to the rescue of their lord and master. They were crossbowmen, a dozen strong, and they had, it appeared, been lounging far behind the rear of the column, bored and distracted by having had nothing to occupy them since the beginning of their sweep. They might have been effective when they finally arrived, Ewan said, had Redvers known how to deploy them, but they were at a disadvantage from the outset, with Ewan and three of Robertson's men armed with yew longbows harassing them with accurate, long-range fire before they could come close enough to organize themselves into any kind of useful formation. Four of the twelve went down in the opening exchange, and the remaining eight were sufficiently rattled by the unexpected accuracy of the Scots' shooting to start falling back immediately. None of them, clearly, had any wish to die beside their first four comrades. They withdrew behind the wagons Ewan and Andrew had abandoned. They then had the advantage over Ewan's group, who could not move forward without risk.\n\nIt was now a situation in which neither side could hope to make progress, and in a very short time, the English reorganized themselves, set up defensive formations, and made ready to leave, watched by the eight Scots archers who had bested them at odds of five to one.\n\nEven in defeat, though, the English won, for Ewan saw two of them snatch Mirren up from where she lay beside me and throw her unceremoniously across the back of a horse belonging to one of Redvers's two dead companions. He could have shot them dead from where he stood, but they would simply have been replaced by others, and he was afraid of hitting Mirren, the boy, or me by mischance. Besides, as he told me later, he only had two arrows left in his quiver.\n\nThey loaded her and her son hurriedly into the larger of our two wagons, and then they led the wagon to the litter and quickly loaded Mirren's mother onto it as well. Keeping an eye on the distant Scots, they smashed the smaller wagon's wheels and killed its team of horses. They then moved out and away, taking the road to Lanark and leaving their dead behind them, though no one had any doubt that they would return in strength within the hour to bury their own and hang any Scot foolish enough to be within reach.\n\nThroughout it all, I lay unconscious in the junction of the crossroads, bleeding from my ears."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "In the general discussion surrounding the disappearance of Hugh Braidfoot, we learned later, someone in Lanark had let slip that the missing man was the same Braidfoot whose daughter Mirren had married the outlaw William Wallace. That story had very soon reached the ears of the sheriff, William Hazelrig.\n\nHazelrig had been singularly unsuccessful in putting down any of the local Scots outlaws or even interfering with their illegal activities, which consisted mainly of poaching venison, and because he had been unable to stop them\u2014they insisted upon some imagined right to refuse to die of starvation\u2014he was afraid people were laughing at him, and so he pounced on this new information as a means of salvaging his name. He anticipated that the dutiful daughter might at this difficult time be tempted to return to visit her ailing mother, and it seemed likely to him that she might even be accompanied on such a visit by her outlawed husband. And so he had dispatched Sir Lionel Redvers to take the mother into custody.\n\nWhat Hazelrig had hoped to achieve by doing that was unclear to me at the time, and even now, decades afterwards, it still makes me shake my head in disbelief. Had he chosen to keep a discreet watch on the Braidfoot household, he would easily have taken Mirren when she arrived, and even had Will not been with her, he might thus have been able to lure him out of the forest on a mission of rescue. But by instead arresting the blameless Miriam Braidfoot, the sheriff was giving clear warning to Will and his wife to stay well away from Lanark if they valued their freedom. Had Sir Lionel Redvers's little expedition passed by that crossroads even one-quarter of an hour earlier, we might never have encountered them, and much might have been different. We would have turned towards Lamington and discovered that the lady Miriam had been taken, and we would then have returned to Will in the forest, to initiate inquiries through Bishop Wishart. But Fate decided to abet Hazelrig's efforts.\n\nAs soon as the English left, Ewan ran over to where I lay, expecting to find me gravely wounded because of the blood he could see on the side of my head, but he found me to be merely unconscious, with a strong pulse and breathing easily. He made me as comfortable as could be and set Andrew and Father Jacobus to watch over me while he and the other six archers hurried after Redvers's departing force, to be within sight of them before the enemy had any chance to do anything further with Mirren and her mother. He had lost custody of Mirren, he would tell me long afterwards, but he was prepared to die before losing track of her altogether.\n\nBy the time Ewan arrived back, I had regained consciousness, though I could barely move against the pain of my broken ribs. It hurt even to breathe shallowly. Besides which the pain in my head was like a throbbing drum beat, and my vision had not yet returned to normal, so I still saw two of whatever I happened to be looking at. Despite all of that, though, I was fully compos mentis and I was pleased to see Ewan step into the light from our fire that night. It was to be the last pleasure I experienced for months, and it was snuffed the instant I saw the look on his face.\n\nI was flat on my back, lying close to the fire, and for the first few moments he ignored me, speaking quietly to Andrew, and the tone of his voice told me he thought I was still unconscious. When he finally asked if my condition had improved at all, the little man nodded towards me. \"See for yourself,\" he said. \"He's been awake for more than an hour. But he can't talk and he can't move. His jaw's broken, along with several other things. Nothing too serious, but he's not going to be running around for a month or two.\"\n\nA moment later, Ewan was kneeling above me.\n\n\"How are you? Can you get up?\"\n\n\"No.\" I was as startled as he was to hear my voice emerge in a cracked, feathery whisper, but it was the first sound I had made since being injured and I could not believe how much pain and effort it had caused me to utter that single syllable. I tried to grit my teeth and regretted it immediately. Then, when my heartbeat had slowed down again and I thought I could control myself, I forced myself to speak gently, whispering, almost breathing the words as I asked, \"What's wrong?\" It emerged, almost inaudibly, as Oss ong?\n\nHe had been peering at me with concern, but now he scowled. \"What's wrong with what? With your face? You've been worked over with heavy boots. I'm surprised you can even open your eyes, let alone whisper.\"\n\nI closed my eyes and the pain started to dissipate immediately, but I forced myself to look at him again, seeing the agony in him, and mouthed, \"Where's Mirren?\"\n\nI saw panic grow and blossom in his eyes as he struggled to put into words what should never have needed to be said. Finally, though, he found his voice, and for the next half-hour I lay and listened, appalled, to what he had to say.\n\n\"Everything's gone to Hell, Jamie,\" he began. \"In the space o' an hour, it a' went bad \u2026 We went after the English, to keep an eye on whatever they might do wi' Mirren, but we hadna been going for a quarter of an hour before one o' Robertson's bowmen found the body of wee Willie lying at the side of the road. It was an accident that he found it\u2014he had moved off the road into the underbrush wi' everybody else when word came back from the man in front that somebody was comin', and he almost knelt on the wee boy before he saw him. There were no wounds on the body. Nothin' to show what had killed him. He was just dead, and somebody had thrown him aside, into the bushes \u2026\"\n\nI felt my heart threatening to burst, but I could neither move nor make a sound. But Ewan was far from finished.\n\n\"That was the start of it,\" Ewan continued. \"But once it had started, there was no stoppin' it. I couldn't even take time to bury the poor child, for fear I'd lose track o' Mirren, so we set him aside and left him there until we could come back. When we reached Lanark, I left Robertson and his men to wait for me in the woods, and I went into the town to see what I could find out about the women. I went to the archers' company attached to the garrison and spoke to the man in charge there. It was safe enough. None o' the garrison archers would ha'e been out on the road that day.\n\n\"He was a Welshman, and I told him who I was, and that I'd served in Edward's campaigns in England and France in the days before Edward became the King. His name was Gareth Owens, and we got along, and I fed him drink in a tavern later that night, then picked his brains on the sheriff and that knight called Redvers. I asked him what had happened to the women prisoners brought in that morning \u2026\"\n\nThere was roaring in my ears, and my head was still filled with images of the beautiful, laughing child who had been Will's firstborn, but I could still hear Ewan talking, and later, when the pain and emptiness in my soul had receded for a while, I had no difficulty remembering what he had told me.\n\nOwens had looked at him strangely when he asked about the women, and to disarm the fellow Ewan had chuckled lewdly and said he had seen them being brought in. Something in the look of the younger one, he told the man, had made him think she was a toothsome piece, even heavily pregnant as she was. She had roused his curiosity as well as his lust, and now he wanted to know if she would be held for long, or if he would be wasting his time lingering in town in hopes of seeing her when she was freed.\n\nOwens sat staring at Ewan for long moments, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe what he had said, but then he twisted right around in his seat and called to a man sitting a few tables behind him.\n\n\"Sit ye down,\" he said when the newcomer reached their table. \"This man is Ewan Scrymgeour, one of us, though half Scotch, and an archer for years with Edward when he was still prince. Ewan, this is Dyllan. He is from south Wales and has never handled a bow in his life, and thanks be to God for that. The only thing this one is fit to handle is a ring of keys, but he handles those very well, don't you, boyo? Dyllan is head jailer here, so he's the one you need to talk with.\" Ewan nodded a greeting at Dyllan, who was tall and cadaverously thin, with deep-set eyes over heavy, dark pouches. \"Drink some beer with us, Dyllan. Ewan has some questions for you and talking is thirsty work.\"\n\nHe waved an arm to one of the tavern wenches, signalling her to bring more beer, and when he turned back he found Dyllan staring at Ewan's face.\n\n\"What happened to you?\"\n\nEwan sniffed. \"War club. A mace. At Lewes, against de Montfort and the barons. I was a boy, my bones still soft. Lucky, I was told.\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" the jailer said in a hushed voice, but then he fell silent as their fresh beer was brought to the table, and when the serving woman left he raised his pot in a silent salute and drank deeply, then belched appreciatively and sat back.\n\n\"What is it you want to know?\" he asked. \"Gareth's not a man to waste another's time, and if he says you're good, then you're good to me, so ask away.\"\n\nEwan hesitated, seeking the best way to frame his question, but before he could speak at all, Gareth interjected. \"There was two women taken in today, into your place. One of them was young, Ewan says, and comely. What can ye tell us about 'er?\"\n\nDyllan was looking at Ewan strangely. \"You find that attractive, her being big and ready to whelp any minute?\"\n\nEwan made himself grin. \"No, but when she does whelp she'll be over it soon and ready to go again. Who is she, d' you know?\"\n\nThe jailer shook his head. \"I don't know. I'm only the jailer. They don't tell me things like that. My job's to keep 'em penned up. I don't need to know who they are. But I know the one you're askin' after's mad. She's crazed and out of 'er mind, she is. The other one was 'er mother.\"\n\n\"Was?\" Ewan told me afterwards how difficult it had been for him to keep his face from betraying him. \"Y' mean she's dead?\"\n\n\"Aye. She were dead when they brung 'er in. Didn't find out, though, till we tried to lift 'er out o' the wagon she was in. She were gettin' cold by then.\"\n\n\"Then it's no wonder the daughter's mad with grief.\"\n\nThe jailer shrugged. \"Aye, mayhap. But that aren't all. I tell you, I was glad to get out o' that place at the end o' my shift t'day. That's the wust day I c'n recall in there, and I've seen some bad uns.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Ewan. \"Then let's not talk about it. All I really want to know is, when will she get out?\"\n\n\"When will she what?\"\n\nGareth spoke up again. \"'E wants to know whether 'e should stay 'ere for a few days, looking to meet up with 'er when she gets out, or whether he'd best be on his way and forget it.\"\n\n\"Oh \u2026\" Dyllan's headshake was slow and ponderous. \"No. Best move on, friend. She won't be coming out again, that one. And even if she did, she wouldn't be no use to you. She were screamin' about some snapper, some little 'un what 'ad got lost. I never saw no youngster there, but she was screamin' mad, cryin' is name and howlin', throwin' 'erself around. And then she found out the other woman was dead, and that made her worse. Went proper mad then, she did, and flew at big Simon, tryin' to scratch his eyes out. Wrong thing to do, that was. Big Simon's not too clever, and 'e's got a nasty temper. Smacked her in the head with his ring of keys, he did, and then kicked 'er in the belly when she went down. 'E only kicked her the once, but that was enough. It shut 'er up for a while, but then she started pukin' an' bleedin' all over the place.\"\n\nEwan grunted. He told me it took all of his strength not to reach out and choke the jailer, but he knew he had to remain calm. \"What happened then?\"\n\n\"Well, she was 'avin' 'er baby. All we could do was watch till it were done.\"\n\nHe made himself grimace. \"She had her baby?\"\n\n\"Aye, but it was dead when it come out.\" The jailer shook his head in what might have been regret, then picked up his beer and took another long drink. \"Jesus,\" he said, \"I've never seen so much blood.\"\n\nEwan ground his teeth together fiercely and asked quietly, \"And what about the woman? Did she live?\"\n\n\"Oh aye. At least, she was alive when I left. I threw 'er the blankets off the old woman's litter, but she wouldn't move off the floor, so I just covered 'er up and left 'er there.\"\n\n\"On the floor. You left her there \u2026\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"And what happened to the baby?\"\n\n\"It were dead.\"\n\n\"I know it was dead, Dyllan. I asked what happened to it.\"\n\nDyllan looked down into his pot of ale, and then he said, in a very quiet voice, \"Simon fed it to the pigs with the rest of the mess.\"\n\nEwan drew a great breath and stood up from the table, gripping his left thumb in his right fist to keep himself from lashing out. \"Well, then,\" he said calmly, \"no point in waiting around to see her. I doubt she'll look as good again as she did this day.\" He forced himself to nod to the jailer and then looked at Gareth Owens.\n\n\"I'll be on my way, then. Mayhap our paths will cross again someday.\" He reached into his scrip and laid a silver coin on the table. \"The drinks are on me until this runs out. I thank you for your time and kindness.\"\n\nGareth stared down at the silver coin and then grinned widely. \"We'll drink to your good health, Archer, and you're welcome back here any time.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "By the time Ewan finished, his face was streaked with tracks where the tears had scoured runnels through the dirt and road dust caked on his sunken cheeks, and I was racked in agony from the sobs that wrenched me and which I was powerless to resist. I could not find a single word to say that would serve any purpose other than to break the silence between us. I have no memory of how long we remained there, immersed in our grief, but it seemed to me afterwards that it must have been a long time. Finally, though, Ewan raised his head and looked at me, scrubbing fiercely at his eyes with the sleeve of his rough tunic.\n\nHe bent over me then, bringing his ear close to my mouth and being extremely careful not to touch me in any way.\n\n\"Talk to me. Can you do that, if I stay like this?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I wheezed, unable to move my jaw. \"I'll try.\"\n\n\"What do we do now, Jamie?\" I said nothing, and he added, \"We have to do something. We can't do nothing. But what do we do? We have to tell Will, and how will we do that? This will kill him, kill him.\"\n\n\"No.\" I could barely get the small word out, and Ewan stooped quickly again to place his ear close to my lips. I breathed slowly, then tried again, hearing my own words mangled by my inability to move my broken jaw. \"No. He won't die \u2026\" That emerged as \"Ee owned eye,\" but Ewan jerked away and looked at me and I knew he had understood. I took several steady breaths before I tried again, articulating each word as slowly and clearly as I could. \"You'll have to tell him, Ewan. I can't. I can't talk.\"\n\nHe nodded, and then he asked, \"What'll we do with you now? I can't take you back in that shape. You'd die on the road. You might die anyway, if you can't eat anything.\"\n\n\"Yakobus,\" I whispered. \"There are monks in Lanark. Yakobus will ge' me there \u2026 'morrow \u2026 An' they'll ge' me to G'asgow \u2026\"\n\nEwan prepared to stand up, but I hissed at him. \"No!\"\n\n\"What?\" He bent to my lips again.\n\n\"Can't go \u2026 can't go back wi'out knowing \u2026 Back to Lanark, about Mirren \u2026 Can't tell Will he's lost his children and not know how his wife is. You have to go back and make sure she \u2026 she's well.\"\n\n\"Jesus, Jamie, how can she be well? She's lost her bairns and her mother.\"\n\n\"Not her life, though \u2026 Not her life, pray God. Find out, Ewan.\"\n\nThis time his headshake was decisive. \"All right. We will. We'll make a bier for you tonight, from bits of the wagon, then we'll leave first thing in the morning and we'll take you with us. There's eight of us, not counting Jacobus, so we can take turns carrying you in teams of four. It's only three miles. We'll leave you with the monks and I'll go back into Lanark. When I know how Mirren is, I'll go and tell Will. You'll get to Glasgow in the meantime, as soon as you can travel, and get your friend Wishart started on setting Mirren free. There must be something he can do, otherwise what's the point of being a bishop?\"\n\nAnd so it was. Under Ewan's guidance, several of Robertson's bowmen spent time that evening making a carrying frame for me out of two floorboards from the wrecked wagon. With cross pieces made from wheel spokes and the whole thing tied together with pieces cut from the harness reins, it was ungainly but light and well suited to its purpose.\n\nI barely slept at all that night, unable to find comfort or relief from the pain of my ribs and head, but the following morning, strapped tightly into immobility in my new bed, I fell asleep on the road before I had been carried for half a mile and slept like a dead man, undisturbed by stops or bearer changes, until they woke me up in the humble monastery outside the walls of Lanark. Ewan was bending over me, looking very serious and telling me something that appeared to be important, but my head was swimming and the pain was unbearable and I must have passed out again. I remember waking up again some time after that, to find an aged monk holding a cup to my lips and forcing me to drink some foul-smelling brew, and then I remember nothing for several days until I awoke to find Father Jacobus sitting close by my side, peering intently into my face.\n\nStartled to see his face so near my own, I blinked myself awake and tried to sit up, but that was an unwise thing to do, since I had forgotten about my injured ribs and I almost passed out again from the pain of trying to move against my restraints.\n\nWhen I recovered from my near swoon and was able to catch my breath again, I discovered, with a flaring surge of horror, that I was utterly mute, incapable of even opening my mouth.\n\nJacobus leaned towards me. \"You can't speak,\" he said. \"Your jaw is wired shut. I have never seen the like of it. Can you hear me? Blink if you can.\" I blinked eagerly and he held up a hand. \"Are you really here this time?\" He interpreted my confusion correctly, for he nodded quickly and held up his hand again.\n\n\"I thought you were here yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. But you weren't, because you couldn't remember me having been here when I came back next time. Yesterday I would have sworn on oath that you were fully here. Do you remember me being here yesterday? If you do, blink once. If you do not, blink twice.\"\n\nI blinked twice and he frowned, then reached into the depths beneath his scapular and pulled out a folded letter, holding it up so that I could see my own name written on the front of it.\n\n\"Do you recognize this?\" he asked me.\n\nI blinked twice, with exaggerated slowness, and he sighed and leaned in closer, speaking more to himself than to me. \"Yet again then, I must try. You appear to be wide awake, alert and aware of me, but I thought the same thing before, and here you are, with no memory of any of it.\"\n\nHe sighed again. \"Father James Wallace. Do you recognize that name?\"\n\nI blinked once.\n\n\"Is it your name?\" Blink.\n\n\"Do you know where you are?\" That stopped me, for I did not know how to respond. I thought I knew where I was, in a tiny monastery near Lanark, but suddenly I was unsure. Jacobus was watching me and must have divined what I was thinking, because he went on, \"Do you remember speaking of the monks of Lanark?\" I blinked, and he nodded. \"Well, that is where you are. You have been here for five days, and have been in the care of Brother Dominic of Ormiston. Brother Dominic spent his life as a Knight Hospitaller. He was crippled early in the siege of Acre and is one of the few survivors of that catastrophe. He was shipped back to England, but his family is Scots, and so he came to Lanark and became hospitaller to the brethren here, using his medical and surgical skills for the good of the community. It was he who encased your body in restraints and wired your mouth shut to ensure that the break in your jawbone will heal cleanly, and he has been treating you with medicines from the Holy Land, medicines he calls opiates, to keep you free from pain. Sadly, those same medicines also cause you to forget everything that happens. Dominic believes, though, that it is better to have you slightly confused and free of pain than it would be to have you bright-minded and in constant agony. And so he feeds his opiates to you in the honeyed milk that is the only food you can consume. He says, in fact, that as long you are confined to bed and unable to move, honeyed milk is all the food your body needs. Thanks be to God that your ability to suck is unimpaired, for were it not, you would surely starve to death in the midst of plenty.\" He broke off, looking perplexed, then asked, \"Does none of what I am saying sound familiar? I have told you all of this three times already.\"\n\nI gazed straight at him and blinked twice. No, none of this is familiar. He shook his head in bemused disbelief, then looked away.\n\n\"Brother Dominic says it will take months for your injuries to heal, and weeks, at least, before you will be fit to travel to Glasgow. He told me that if all goes well, you should be able to sit up without restraints within the month, but you will be feeble and weak at first and will have to learn to walk again and to eat solid food again, as though you were an infant. And that reminds me of what else I must ask you. Remember, one blink for yes, two for no.\"\n\nBlink.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" Blink.\n\n\"Do you know a man called Ewan Scrymgeour?\" Blink.\n\n\"Is he a friend of yours?\" Blink.\n\n\"Do you remember sending Ewan Scrymgeour to gather information?\" Blink.\n\n\"Can you remember where you sent him?\" Blink.\n\n\"Was it Lanark?\" Blink.\n\n\"Do you remember what it was that you instructed him to find out?\" Blink.\n\n\"Aye \u2026 Well, that's good. Because Ewan's not here now. He came back, three days ago, but you were too sick to talk with him, drifting in and out of awareness, and he had no time to wait for you to wake up properly. It was more important, he said, for him to reach Will in the forest before anyone else could. And so he dictated a message to me, for you to read when you grew well enough, and left it in my care. Since you cannot move, would you like me to read the letter to you?\"\n\nBlink.\n\n\"Very well, then. I must tell you that the words are Ewan's own, exactly as he spoke them. He explained to me very clearly that he wanted me to transcribe his words verbatim. That was difficult, for he was speaking in the vulgate, and all my training has been in the formal Latin of the Church. Nevertheless, I have managed, I believe, to capture his words exactly.\" The elderly priest sat up straighter and carefully unfolded the single sheet of parchment he was holding. Then he moved away, holding it at arm's length and tilted towards the small window that was the room's sole source of light, and when he was satisfied that he could see sufficiently well he coughed to clear his throat. \"Can you hear me clearly?\"\n\nHe paused, as though waiting for an answer, and then he came quickly back to my bed and peered down at me with a contrite look that might have made me laugh under other circumstances. \"Forgive me, Father James,\" he said. \"I forgot you cannot speak. Could you hear me clearly?\" I blinked once, and he moved away to the window again, clearing his throat nervously for a second time before he began to read.\n\n\"Jamie,\" he began reading, his tone declamatory. \"They tell me you will live and probably come out of this with no permanent damage. I'm glad of that. I am sorry I can't stay here to wait for you, and I know you know that already. My place is in Selkirk, with Will, since you can't be there, and I am sick with the thought of what I have to tell him. I am sick of it all, Jamie; sick to my soul of the pettiness and cruelty of men who should be better than they are; sick of the greed and the ambition of men who are called noble but who disgrace the very name of manhood.\n\n\"I went back to Lanark, as you bade me, knowing you were right and that I needed to go back. Gareth Owens was not there when I arrived, but some of his men recognized me from the previous night and made me welcome enough. I asked them about Mirren, but no one there could tell me anything. They were archers and none of them had been there when we met Redvers, so most of them knew nothing about what had happened. So then I went looking for the jailer after that, the one called Dyllan, but he was off duty and had gone into Lanark for the market day.\n\n\"Soon after that I found myself out by the swine sties, searching the muck for any signs I could find of a dead baby, though I knew myself mad for even looking. The pigs were snorting and wallowing in their filth and I wanted to take my bow and kill every one of them. But they were just being pigs, doing what God intended pigs to do. It was the swine who fed such food to them who deserved to die for what they had done.\n\n\"Gareth arrived back late in the afternoon, and he had been drinking, so I plied him with more ale and followed up on the story of Mirren, telling him I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her losing the baby. I called it a brat. He was looking at me strangely, I saw, but there was no anger in him. And then he poured me more ale, and put an arm around my shoulder. He told me that hours later, after I had left, he still remembered the way I looked when I asked Dyllan about leaving her lying on the floor in all that blood, and he had felt ashamed. He and Dyllan were both very drunk by then, he said, having used up the entire shilling I had left them, but that only added to the shame he felt, and so he had convinced Dyllan to go back to the cell to look in on her, and they had found her dead in a corner of the cell, in the middle of a big pool of blood.\n\n\"The animal called Simon, the jailer on duty who had knocked her down and kicked her, grew angry when Dyllan challenged him for an explanation. The bitch had gone mad, he said, screaming and howling for some brat she'd lost, crying out his name, Willie, and throwing herself at the cell door, trying to break it down. He had finally lost patience with her noise and gone back into the cell, where he had knocked her down again, after which she had obviously learned her lesson, since she hadn't made another sound.\n\n\"So there you have it, and that's the message I am going now to deliver to Will. His family is gone, wiped out at the whim of exactly the kind of man he refuses to follow or recognize. His son is dead, at less than a year and a half. His second child is dead, murdered and still-born, its sex unknown, its body fed to pigs. His wife's mother is dead, for the crime of having given her daughter to Will Wallace. And now his wife, too, is dead, murdered by a witless, shambling monster.\n\n\"That the monster is dead changes nothing and affords no satisfaction, but I cut off his head myself and fed it to the pigs that night, before I left Lanark castle.\n\n\"I have to say that Gareth Owens surprised me. I heard the following day that he took a report of what had happened to the sheriff, the next morning: two women arrested and then abused and murdered in the sheriff's cells with no official supervision between their being admitted and Gareth's own complaint. Redvers was arrested immediately, but nothing will come of it. English law decrees that no English knight may be accused of a crime by anyone of less than knightly blood. Hazelrig could charge him with dereliction and irresponsibility, but he would have nothing to gain by doing so, and the charges, if seen as frivolous, might return to haunt him someday.\n\n\"This is the kind of incident that Scotland's people are fighting against, this wanton disregard for the lives, freedom, and rights of anyone not of noble birth. This is the kind of excess that breeds revolt, and Will Wallace will have much to say about it, once his first grief has turned to the need for vengeance. And when that happens, I would not like to be in Hazelrig's shoes.\n\n\"I'll say adieu and hope we'll meet again someday, Jamie. Get better soon, and get yourself back to Glasgow and to Wishart, though I fear the news of this will be familiar to the Bishop before you can reach him. Be well.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "I was an invalid for more than a month and a half, although I was improving visibly after three weeks, despite a drastic loss of weight and muscle tone caused by a liquid diet and a complete lack of exercise. By the end of the fifth week, the bindings around my rib cage were less tight and I no longer had to be restrained while I slept, so I could breathe more deeply, though it still pained me to do so, and the thought of laughing or coughing chilled me. I was permitted to leave my bed in the seventh week, but it took me four full days to build up the strength to walk for fifty paces. After that, though, I grew stronger daily, and Brother Benedict soon removed the iron wiring from my jaw. Two days after that I could eat normally again.\n\nA week later I was back in Glasgow, having made the journey by wagon and accompanied by Father Jacobus. Bishop Wishart made us both welcome and we found the entire cathedral community agog with the news of armed rebellion in the north and in the south.\n\nOnly then, after an interval of almost three full months, did I learn what had been taking place during my time recovering.\n\nWishart had heard the news of Miriam Braidfoot's arrest from her parish priest, who was outraged by the arrest and confinement of one of his most devout and influential parishioners. When he then heard of her subsequent death in custody, he launched an official diocesan inquiry, in the course of which the investigators learned that Mistress Braidfoot's daughter Mirren, or Marian, had somehow contrived to have herself killed by what was officially described as misadventure in precisely the same prison and on the same day as her mother. Sir Lionel Redvers, who had been responsible for the arrests of the women, was arraigned by the cathedral chapter, but he laughed at the summons and refused to attend the hearing. A week later he was ambushed and murdered one evening outside Lanark. He was accompanied by a round dozen mounted troopers, all of whom died with him, their weapons unbloodied and their bodies riddled with hard-shot arrows. Redvers himself had been dragged from his horse and decapitated. His body bore no other wounds. His head was never found.\n\nThe arrows, of course, indicated clearly that the outlaws of Selkirk Forest were responsible, and William Hazelrig assembled all his forces for a pre-emptive strike into the greenwood, calling for them to assemble on a given morning near the village of Lamington, and apparently seeing no irony in that choice of rallying points. Among the forces that assembled were a half-score of veteran archers whom none of the others knew. The newcomers were freshly arrived from Wales, they said, dispatched north as part of a new intake of Welsh bowmen recruited for the wars in Scotland.\n\nThe sheriff's expedition reached the forest outskirts and searched the woods diligently for three days, finding nothing and no one, but during that last night, in the middle watch, the darkest part of the night, the outlying sentries died in silence, while the newly arrived archers set aside their bows and used daggers and stealth to surprise and kill the guards on duty inside the camp. The man guarding the entrance to the sheriff's tent likely neither saw nor heard the arrow that killed him and threw him backward into the tent, and before Sheriff Hazelrig knew what was happening, he was clubbed senseless and abducted. Once free of the sleeping encampment, the archers were joined by the others who had approached in the darkness and who had spent the previous hour disposing of the outlying guards and preparing pitch-dipped fire arrows. When the word was given, a hailstorm of flaming missiles swept the English camp, setting fire to tents and sleeping men, and the ensuing slaughter was merciless. Very few of the English sheriff's punitive expedition escaped alive.\n\nWilliam Hazelrig, King Edward's sheriff of Lanark, was found dead the following day. His hands had been severed and his throat cut, and a parchment scroll was fastened to his chest with a deepdriven dagger. The scroll said simply:\n\n\u2002In Memoriam\n\n\u2002Marian Wallace\n\n\u2002Requiescat in pace\n\nThe news of Wallace's vengeance sent shock waves rippling across the whole south of Scotland, and for two weeks no English force of any description moved anywhere, least of all into Selkirk Forest.\n\nBy the end of that second week, Robert Wishart himself was in Selkirk Forest, haranguing Will. Andrew Murray had raised all of Scotland north of the Forth in rebellion, and the English up there were in total disarray. Wishart reminded Will, forcibly, that Murray, too, came of a knightly family but that his opinion of the magnates and their divided, self-centred, and ever-fluctuating loyalties was precisely the same as Will's. Murray's army was an army of the common folk, the Scots people who provided the solid backing underlying the community of the realm. Now was the time, Wishart said, for Will to join Murray, to throw in his lot with the northerner and march with his own people from the south to unite the whole of Scotland under their joint leadership. They knew each other. They admired and respected each other. And they were friends, sharing a detestation of all that kept Scotland from being what it should be, a strong, free land.\n\nWishart was an eloquent persuader, a fact that I knew well. He was also a bishop and a lord of the Church who ought not to have been fomenting rebellion. But above and beyond all else, Robert Wishart was a patriot who believed in his heart of hearts that Scotland had a destiny that could be fulfilled only if it rid itself of English occupation, certainly, but also of the English loyalties and English obligations evinced by its most powerful lords in their tenacious adherence to feudal allegiances that had lost all relevance. I now believe that Bishop Wishart was a man born before his time in that respect, a man of keen insight who foresaw the inevitable death of the feudal system that once governed all of Christendom but has fallen into ruin these past two hundred years.\n\nMy main belief about Robert Wishart, though, is that through his patriotism and his enthusiasm, his manipulative ways and his iron, stubborn, single-minded wilfulness, he brought about the end of the cousin I had known and loved. Perhaps I am being too harsh, too judgmental, but that is what I now believe. When Robert Wishart left to return to Glasgow on that occasion, he left a different man behind him than the William Wallace I had known.\n\nThe man who followed him out from the greenwood shortly afterwards, emerging, as some Englishman has written, like a bear from his forest den, was the William Wallace all men know today, Edward Plantagenet's scowling, giant, merciless nemesis, and all England, along with much of Scotland, would regret his awakening. The laughing archer I had known was gone forever, obliterated in the destruction of his beloved Mirren and their children. The implacable avenger who came out of Selkirk Forest finally had set aside his long yew bow forever and taken up the massive sword his friend Shoomy had brought him in earlier, better days. I found it strange, thereafter, that the enormous sword, elaborately beautiful and lethal and taller than an ordinary man, should so completely usurp the place held for so long in Will's life by his great yew bow, but as he himself pointed out afterwards, the bow lacked the close immediacy of a hand-held blade, and the sword he swung with his enormous archer's muscles enabled him to smile more closely, face to face with every enemy he met.\n\nAs Will Wallace, he had promised his wife he would not fight against England and would look to his family's safety first and above all. But he had failed her, he believed, losing her through his own carelessness and despite his knowledge of the dangers of being anywhere near the English. Now, he swore, he would not fail her memory, and his revenge would be without precedent and without equal; nor would he rest until all Scotland was scoured clean of the reek of English occupation. And so he marched to meet his destiny, and all the folk of Scotland flocked to follow him, to Stirling Bridge.\n\nHe never spoke Mirren's name again."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Company of Liars",
        "author": "Karen Maitland",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "horror"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Prologue",
                "text": "\"So that's settled, then; we bury her alive in the iron bridle. That'll keep her tongue still.\"\n\nThe innkeeper folded his arms, relieved that they had finally agreed on that much at least. \"Iron'll counter any curses she makes. Stop anything, iron will. One of the most powerful things can get to work against evil, 'cept the host and holy water. 'Course, it'd be better if we had some of that, but we don't, not with things being the way they are. But iron'll do just as well.\"\n\nHis wife snorted. \"Tell that to our neighbours. There's not a door or shutter in the village that's not covered with iron horseshoes, but we might as well have hung chicken feathers on doors for all the protection they've given us.\"\n\nHer husband glared at her. \"But if the bridle gags her, then she'll not be able to utter any curses, will she? So iron or not, it'll still work.\"\n\n\"But suppose she doesn't die,\" the potboy wailed. \"Suppose she claws her way out through the earth and comes for us in the dead of night?\" He stared round nervously at the door as if he could already hear her scratching at it. \"Couldn't we drive an elder stake through her heart afore we bury her? Then we'd know for sure she's dead.\"\n\n\"God's bones, boy! Are you going to volunteer to drive a stake into her while she sits there watching you? Because I'm certainly not.\"\n\nThe potboy shook his head vehemently then shrank lower on his stool, as if terrified someone was going to thrust a stake into his hands and make him do it.\n\nWith an exasperated sigh, the innkeeper surveyed the dozen men and women slumped on the benches of his gloomy aleroom. Though it was still daylight outside, the shutters were fastened tight and the door bolted. Not that the bolts were necessary; force of habit really. It just felt safer to draw a bolt. But bolts would not stop her finding out what was being planned. And as for passing strangers bursting in, no one these days, unless they longed for death, would approach within ten yards of a building whose doors and shutters were closed, however desperate they were for a drink or a bite to eat.\n\nIf they didn't get the matter settled soon, it would be too late to act before dark. To face her in daylight was bad enough; to try to kill her at night, with only a candle standing between you and her powers, was enough to turn the bravest man's bowels to water, and after twenty-three years of marriage the innkeeper had no illusions that he was a brave man.\n\nThe blacksmith's voice boomed out deep and resonant from the alcove where he squatted in his favourite seat, his broad buttocks spilling over the well-worn bench. \"Bridle her and bind her tight, cover her in a foot or so of earth, then once she's smothered to death, I'll drive an iron stake into her through the soil. That ought to do it.\" He rubbed an itching flea bite on his back against the rough wall. \"I'll do it just as the moon rises; it'll impale her spirit in the grave. She'll not rise then.\"\n\nThe tanner took a gulp of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. \"But I've heard tell, the only sure way is to slice the head off with a grave-digger's spade. Once she's good and dead, of course.\"\n\n\"That's the way to kill a vampire, but she's not one of them; leastways, there's been no talk of that.\" This from the old woman at the back. Old and frail now, she'd birthed most of the people in the village and seen them buried too.\n\n\"Who knows what she is or what she could turn into once she's dead? She's not natural, that's for sure.\"\n\nSeveral heads nodded in agreement. That was about the only thing they were agreed upon. In all the hours of discussion no one had once uttered her name, not even the potboy. Even he knew there are some things it is wiser not to name aloud.\n\n\"I'm still of a mind we should burn her,\" the old woman said. \"There'd be no chance of her rising then.\"\n\n\"But she's not a heretic,\" the innkeeper protested. \"It would be better for all of us if she was. Heretics' souls fly straight to hell. God alone knows where her soul will fly\u2014into the nearest living thing, I wouldn't wonder, be it man or beast, and then we'd be left with a monster ten score worse.\"\n\n\"Father Talbot would know the words to send her soul to hell,\" the old woman persisted stubbornly.\n\n\"Aye, he would, but he's dead, or did you forget? As is half the village, and we'll all be joining them if we don't find a way to kill her first. And since there's not one priest left within four days' ride of here, we must make shift to do it ourselves. We can't go on bickering how it's to be done. We must finish her today, before the sun goes down. We daren't risk leaving her alive another night.\"\n\n\"He's right.\" The blacksmith nodded. \"Every hour she's alive she grows stronger.\"\n\nThe innkeeper heaved himself up off the bench in an attempt to put paid to any further discussion. \"So then, we're all resolved,\" he said firmly. \"She's to be buried alive in the bridle. Then once she's dead, William'll fix her in her grave with the iron stake. The only thing left to decide now is who's going to put the bridle on her.\"\n\nHe looked hopefully around the room, but no one met his eyes."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "They say that if you suddenly wake with a shudder, a ghost has walked over your grave. I woke with a shudder on that Midsummer's Day. And although I had no way of foreseeing the evil that day would bring to all of us, it was as if in that waking moment, I felt the chill of it, glimpsed the shadow of it, as if something malevolent was hovering just out of sight.\n\nIt was dark when I woke, that blackest of hours before dawn when the candles have burnt out and the first rays of sun have not yet pierced the chinks in the shutters. But it wasn't the hour's coldness that made me shiver. We were packed into the sleeping barn too snugly for anyone to feel a draft.\n\nEvery bed and every inch of floor was occupied by those who had poured into Kilmington for the Midsummer Fair. The air was fetid with sweat and the belches, farts and stinks of stomachs made sour by too much ale. Men and women grunted and snored on the creaking boards, groaning, as here and there a restless sleeper, in the grip of a bad dream, elbowed his neighbour in the ribs.\n\nI seldom dream, but that night I had dreamt and the dream was still with me when I woke. I had dreamt of the bleak lowland hills they call the Cheviots, where England and Scotland crouch, battle ready, staring each other down. I saw those hills as plainly as if I had been standing there, the rounded peaks and turbulent streams, the wild goats and the wind-tossed rooks, the Pele towers and the squat Bastle farmhouses. I knew them well. I had known that place from the day I first drew breath; it was the place I had once called home.\n\nI had not dreamt of it for many years. I had never returned to it. I could never return. I knew that much on the day I walked away from it. And through all the years I have tried to put it from my mind and, mostly, I have succeeded. There's no point in hankering for a place you cannot be. Anyway, what is home? The place where you were born? The place where you are still remembered? The memory of me will have long since rotted to dust. And even if there were any left alive who still remember, they would never forgive me, could never absolve me for what I have done. And on that Midsummer's Day, when I dreamt of those hills, I was about as far from home as it is possible to be.\n\nI've travelled for many years, so many that I have long since ceased to count them. Besides, it's of no consequence. The sun rises in the east and sinks in the west and we told ourselves it always would. I should have known better than to believe that. I am, after all, a camelot, a peddler, a hawker of hopes and crossed fingers, of piecrust promises and gilded stories. And believe me, there are plenty who will buy such things. I sell faith in a bottle: the water of the Jordan drawn from the very spot where the Dove descended, the bones of the innocents slaughtered in Bethlehem, and the shards of the lamps carried by the wise virgins. I offer skeins of Mary Magdalene's hair, redder than a young boy's blushes, and the white milk of the Virgin Mary in tiny ampoules no plumper than her nipples. I show them blackened fingers of Saint Joseph, palm leaves from the Promised Land, and hair from the very ass that bore our blessed Lord into Jerusalem. And they believe me, they believe it all, for haven't I the scar to prove I've been all the way to the Holy Land to fight the heathen for these scraps?\n\nYou can't avoid my scar, purple and puckered as a hag's arsehole, spreading my nose half across my cheek. They sewed up the hole where my eye should have been and over the years the lid has shrunk and shrivelled into the socket, like the skin on a cold milk pudding. But I don't attempt to hide my face, for what better provenance can you want, what greater proof that every bone I sell is genuine, that every drop of blood splashed down upon the very stones of the Holy City itself? And I can tell them such stories\u2014how I severed a Saracen's hand to wrest the strips of our Lord's swaddling clothes from his profaning grasp; how I had to slaughter five, nay a dozen, men, just to dip my flask into the Jordan. I charge extra for the stories, of course. I always charge.\n\nWe all have to make a living in this world and there are as many ways of getting by in this life as there are people in it. Compared to some, my trade might be considered respectable and it does no harm. You might say it even does good, for I sell hope and that's the most precious treasure of them all. Hope may be an illusion, but it's what keeps you from jumping in the river or swallowing hemlock. Hope is a beautiful lie and it requires talent to create it for others. And back then on that day when they say it first began, I truly believed that the creation of hope was the greatest of all the arts, the noblest of all the lies. I was wrong.\n\nThat day was counted a day of ill fortune by those who believe in such things. They like to have a day to fix it on, as if death can have an hour of birth, or destruction a moment of conception. So they pinned it upon Midsummer's Day 1348, a date that everyone can remember. That was the day on which humans and beasts alike became the wager in a divine game. That was the cusp upon which the scales of Heaven and Hell swung free.\n\nThat particular Midsummer's Day was born shivering and sickly, wrapped in a dense mist of fine rain. Ghosts of cottages, trees, and byres hovered in the frail light, as if at cockcrow they'd vanish. But the cock did not crow. It did not hail that dawn. The birds were mute. All who met as they hurried to milking and tending of livestock called out cheerfully that the rain would not last long and then it would be as fine a Midsummer's Day as any yet seen, but you could see they were not convinced. The absence of the birds unnerved them. They knew that silence was a bad omen on this day of all days, though none dared say so.\n\nBut, as they predicted, the drizzle did finally dry up. A sliver of sun shone fitfully between the heavy clouds. It had no warmth in it, but the villagers of Kilmington were not to be downcast by that small matter. Waves of laughter rolled across the Green. Bad omen or not, this was their holiday and even in the teeth of a gale they would have sworn they were enjoying themselves. Outlanders had poured in from neighbouring villages to sell and to buy, barter and haggle, settle old quarrels and start new ones. There were servants looking for masters, girls looking for husbands, widowers looking for good strong wives, and thieves looking for any purse they could cut.\n\nBeside the pond, a gutted pig turned on a great spit and the smoke of sweet roasting meat hung in the damp air, making the mouth water. A small red-haired boy cranked the spit slowly, kicking at the dogs that jumped and snapped at the carcass, but the poor brutes were driven to near frenzy by the smell and not even the spitting fire or the blows from a stout staff deterred them. The villagers cut juicy chunks from the sizzling loins, tearing at them with their teeth and licking the fat from greasy fingers. Even those whose teeth were long worn down to blackened stumps sucked greedily at wedges of fat and pork-crackling as the juices ran down their chins. Such a rare extravagance of fresh meat was to be savoured down to the last succulent bone.\n\nGangs of barefoot boys tore through the gossiping adults, hoping to distract the scarlet-clad jugglers and bring their clubs crashing to the ground. Lads and lasses made free, oblivious of the damp grass and the disapproving scowls of priest and clerk. Peddlers bellowed their wares. Minstrels played upon fife and drum, and youngsters shouted loud enough to wake the demons in hell. It was the same every year. All made the most of their fair, for there was precious little else to make merry with for the rest of the year.\n\nBut even in the jostling, noisy crowd you could not fail to notice the child. It was her hair, not blond but pure white, a silk-fine tumble of it like an old man's beard run wild, and beneath the snowcap of her hair, a face, paler than a nun's thighs, white eyebrows, white lashes framing eyes translucent as a dawn sky. The fragile skin of her bony limbs glowed ice blue against the nut-brown hides of the other market brats. But it wasn't just the absence of colour in her that drew my attention; it was the beating.\n\nNothing unusual in a child getting a thrashing; I'd probably seen half a dozen already that day, a switch across bare legs for a carelessly dropped basket of eggs, a tanned backside for running off without leave, a cuff about the ear for no good reason except that the brat was in the way. All of the young sinners trying to dodge the blows and yelp loudly enough to satisfy the chastisers that the punishment had been fully appreciated; all, that is, except her. She neither yelped nor struggled, but was as silent as if the blows to her back were inflicted with a feather instead of a belt, and this only seemed to infuriate the beater more. I thought he'd whip her senseless, but finally, defeated, he let her go. She stumbled a few yards away from him, unsteady, but with her chin held high, though her legs almost gave way beneath her. Then she turned her head and looked at me as if she sensed me watching. Her pale blue eyes were as dry and clear as a summer's day, and around her mouth was the merest shadow of a smile.\n\nThe beater was not the only one who'd been enraged by her silence. A fat beringed merchant was shaking his fist at the man, demanding recompense, purple in the face with rage. I couldn't hear what passed between them for the shouts and chatter of the small crowd that had gathered around them, but at last some deal seemed to be struck and the merchant allowed himself to be led off in the direction of the tavern, with the onlookers bringing up the rear. The beater doubtless intended to pacify the outraged merchant with a soporific quantity of strong wine. Clutching the merchant ingratiatingly on the elbow with one hand, he didn't waste the opportunity to cuff the girl one last time with the other as he passed her, a practised blow, delivered without apparently glancing in his victim's direction. The blow sent her sprawling on the ground and wisely, this time, she stayed there until he was safely inside the tavern. Then she crawled into a narrow gap between a tree trunk and the wheels of a wagon and crouched, arms wrapped tight around her knees, staring at me with wide expressionless eyes, like a cat watching from the hearth.\n\nShe looked about twelve years old, barefoot and clad in a grubby white woollen shift, with a bloodred band about the neck that made the whiteness of her hair shimmer. She continued to stare, but not at my scar, at my good eye, with an intensity that seemed more imperious than curious. I turned away. Whatever had transpired had nothing to do with me. The girl had been punished for some crime, thieving probably, and doubtless deserved what she got, though she was obviously well hardened to it, since it had had so little effect on her. So there was no reason for me to speak to her.\n\nI pulled a pastry from my scrip, broke it in two and tossed half to her, then hunkered down with my back pressed against the tree trunk to eat my share. I was hungry and it was a quiet spot to eat, now that the crowd had moved on. And I couldn't have eaten and not offered the child a bite, now could I? I gazed out at the bustle of the fair, chewing slowly. The pastry was as dry as the devil's hoof, but the salt mutton inside was sweet enough. The girl was holding her pastry in both fists as if she feared someone might snatch it from her. She said nothing, not even a thank-you.\n\nI took a swig of ale to wash the dry mouthful down. \"Do you have a name, girl?\"\n\n\"Narigorm.\"\n\n\"Well, Narigorm, if you're going to thieve from his sort you'll need to learn your trade better. You're fortunate he didn't send for the bailiff.\"\n\n\"Wasn't thieving.\" The words came out muffled from a well-stuffed mouth.\n\nI shrugged and glanced sideways at her. She'd finished the pastry already and was licking her fingers with fierce concentration. I wondered when she'd last eaten. Given the man's mood, I doubted he was going to feed her again that day. But I half believed her about the stealing. A girl who stood out so vividly from the crowd was not likely to survive long as a pickpocket, and it occurred to me that with her looks her father or her master, whichever the man was, might well have found a good living renting her out by the hour to men whose taste runs to young virgins. But she'd clearly angered the customer this time. Maybe she'd refused the merchant, or else he'd tried her and discovered he was not the first to come banging on her door. She'd learn ways to conceal that in time. More experienced women would teach her the trick of it, and she'd doubtless earn a good living when she mastered the art. She'd a good few years ahead of her in the trade, more than most I reckoned, for even when the bloom of her youth was gone there would still be plenty who'd pay handsomely for a woman who looked so different from the rest.\n\n\"You want me to do it for you now, for the pastry?\" Her voice was as cold as her gaze. \"We'll have to be quick before Master comes back; he'll not be best pleased if you don't pay in coins.\"\n\nHer small icy hand tried to insinuate itself into mine. I put it back in her lap, gently but firmly sad for her that she had already learned not to expect any gifts from life. Not even a crust comes free. Still, the younger you learn that lesson, the fewer disappointments you'll have.\n\n\"I'm past such things now, child. Much too old. Besides, it was only a bite of food. Take it and welcome. You're a pretty girl, Narigorm. You don't need to sell yourself so cheaply. Take some advice from an old camelot: The more people pay for something, the more they believe it's worth.\"\n\nShe frowned slightly and tilted her head, regarding me curiously. \"I know why you don't want me to read the runes for you. You don't want to know when you're going to die. Old men say they want to know, but they never do.\" She rocked back and forth on her bottom like a toddler. \"I told the merchant he was going to lose all his money and his wife was going to run off and leave him. It's the truth, but he didn't like it. Master told him I was teasing and tried to make me give him a better fortune, but I wouldn't. I can't lie; if you lie you lose the gift. Morrigan destroys liars.\"\n\nSo she was a diviner. A good trick if you can convince others of the truth of it. It's hard to tell with some of the fortune-tellers if they believe in their own art or not. Was she convinced she had told the merchant the truth or had she taken a dislike to the fat toad and given him that ill fortune from devilment? If so, she'd paid for it and might well pay again if her master was forced to spend too much in the tavern appeasing him, but the child probably thought it worth a hiding for the look on the merchant's face. I might have thought so too at her age. I chuckled.\n\n\"I did tell him the truth,\" she said savagely. \"I'll tell yours, then you'll see.\"\n\nStartled by the malice in her voice, I glanced down, but her pale blue eyes were as wide and empty as before and I realised I was being foolish. Children hate to be laughed at. It was natural enough for her to be galled if she thought she was doubted.\n\n\"I believe you, child, but I've no wish to have my fortune told. It's not that I doubt your skill,\" I told her, \"but when you reach my age the future rushes towards you with too much haste as it is, without you running to meet it.\"\n\nI clambered to my feet. I've no quarrel with any who make a living by divination, medicine, or any other magic art they can use to con a few coins from people; why should I? Don't I practise my art on the superstitious and the credulous? But I see no reason to part with my hard-earned money for such services. Besides, if you can read the future, you can read the past for they are but ends of the same thread, and I always take great care that no one should know anything of me except my present.\n\nThe shadows were lengthening on the ground. The breeze, never warm, now had a bitter edge to it. The pig was bones. Some people were returning home, but others, most none too steady on their feet, were drifting towards the forest to continue the celebrations now that the business of the fair was over. I tidied my old bones away in my pack. There would be no more customers today. I heaved it on my back and followed the raggletaggle crowd towards the trees. I guessed there'd be some good sack swilled down in the woods that night and rich meats too for those who still had stomach for them, which I had.\n\nI said nothing more to the girl. I'd done my Christian duty, shared a bite with her, and that was the end of it. And there was something about the way she looked at me that unnerved me. I've got used to being stared at over the years. I scarcely notice it now. No, it wasn't that she was staring at my scar that bothered me, it was rather that she was not looking at it; she was staring at me as if she were trying to see beyond it.\n\nThe men in front of me ambled down the track, stumbling over roots and stones. One sprawled on his hands and knees. I helped his friend haul him to this feet. He slapped me on the back and belched; his breath stank worse than a dragon's fart. There were going to be some sore heads in those parts come morning. As we steadied the old sot until he could work out which foot to move first, I glanced behind me at the Green. Though I could not make out faces at that distance, I could see a blur of white stark against all the browns, greens, and scarlets around. She was standing on the edge of the grass, still watching me. I could feel her staring, trying to prise me open. I found myself suddenly furious with her. The poor child had done nothing to me at all, but I swear that if her master had come out of the tavern at that moment and given her another strapping, I would not have been sorry. Like him, I wanted her to cry. Tears are natural. Tears are human. Tears confine your curiosity to yourself.\n\nSo you may ask, was that it? Was that the beginning? Was that what caused it all\u2014half a pastry offered to a child with eyes of ice? Hardly a day of ill fortune for anyone except the fat merchant. You're right; if that had been all, it would have been nothing, but there was something else that happened on that day, several miles away, in a little town by the sea called Melcombe. Unconnected you would have thought, yet those two events were to become as tightly woven as the warp and weft in a length of silk. Threads drawn from different directions, yet destined to become one. The warp thread in this cloth? That was the death of one man. We'll call him John, for I never knew his name. Someone must have known it, but they never admitted it and so he was buried without it.\n\nJohn collapsed in the crowded marketplace of Melcombe. He was seen to stagger, clutching at the sides of a cart for support. Most thought him drunk, for he had the look of a sailor about him and, as everyone knows, sailors spend what time they have ashore supping liquor until their money runs out and they are forced back to sea again. John bent double, coughing and hacking his lungs out, until frothy spatters of blood sprayed from his mouth onto his hands and the wheels of the cart. Then he sank to his knees and keeled over.\n\nThe passersby who ran to his aid at once shrank back, gagging and clapping their hands over their noses. This stench was not the ordinary stink of an unwashed drunkard, but so fetid it seemed to come from an opened tomb. Nevertheless, those with stronger stomachs did make shift to take him by the arms and turn him over, but he screamed so loudly in pain that they dropped him again, startled. The men stared at him, unwilling to risk touching him again, yet not knowing what to do to help.\n\nThe man who owned the cart prodded John with the toe of his shoe, trying to encourage him to crawl away, since he obviously didn't wish to be lifted up. The carter wasn't a callous man, but he had to reach the next village by nightfall. He could smell rain on the wind and was anxious to be off before it fell again, turning the tracks into a quagmire. It was the Devil's own job to drive that forest track once it got muddy, and if you had to stop to shoulder the cart out of a rut, you were easy prey for any thief who fancied helping himself to your purse and your cart, leaving you dead or as good as dead in a ditch. God knows there was no shortage of such scoundrels in the forest. He prodded John again, trying to make him roll out from under the cart. However anxious he was to leave, the carter could hardly drive over a sick man.\n\nJohn, feeling the toe against him, seized the carter's leg and attempted to hoist himself up on it. He lifted his sweating face, his eyes rolling back in his head as another wave of pain shuddered through his body, and it was then that the carter saw that John's face and arms had erupted with livid blue-black spots. It was a sight to make any man flinch away, but the carter didn't comprehend what he was looking at. He didn't recognise the signs. Why should he? They had not been seen here before, not in this place, not in this land.\n\nBut someone recognised them; someone had seen those telltale marks before. He was a merchant, much travelled beyond our shores, and he knew the signs only too well. For a moment he stood stupefied, as if he could not believe it could happen here. Then he grabbed the carter and croaked \"morte bleue.\" The small crowd that was gathering about them stared uncomprehendingly from the merchant to the writhing figure in the dirt. The merchant pointed, his hand trembling. \"Morte bleue, morte bleue,\" he yelled, his voice rising hysterically, then summoning up what little wits he still possessed, he screamed, \"He has the pestilence!\"\n\nThe carter was right. That night it did rain. Not drizzling as it had done at dawn; that had only been the prologue to the rain. No, this time it poured. It rained as if it was the beginning of the Flood. Hard, heavy drops striking leaves, earth, crops and thatches, turning paths into streams and fields into swamps. Perhaps those who saw the first drops fall back in Noah's day thought, like us, it signified nothing. Perhaps they too believed that by morning or the next day it would stop."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Where have you come from, boy?\"\n\nIt wasn't a friendly enquiry. The innkeeper stood in the doorway bouncing a stout stick rhythmically against the palm of his hand. He was a broad man, muscular arms covered with black hair. He was not in his prime and his belly was too corpulent to suggest he was nimble of foot, but then he didn't need to be. One crack from that stick and he would not need to give chase to his opponents.\n\nThe lad facing him hesitated, his eyes fixed nervously on the bouncing stick. He took a step backwards and stumbled, hampered by his flamboyant travelling cloak. He was a slim youth, shorter than the innkeeper. He grasped the cloak tightly about him against the rain with a hand the colour of rosewood, long and softly elegant. A lute hung over his shoulder. No farmer's boy, this one.\n\n\"Answer me, boy if you know what's good for you. Are you come from the south?\"\n\nThe lad took another step back and swallowed, plainly uncertain whether yes or no was the right answer.\n\n\"Y\u2026yes,\" he finally ventured.\n\n\"He means he was born in the lands to the south,\" I said, stepping hastily between the raised cudgel and the shrinking boy. \"But he's not come from the south these many months. I myself saw him only last week at the Magdalene Fair at Chedzoy; that's up Bridgwater way. That's right, isn't it, boy?\" I slid my foot across his and pressed hard.\n\nThe lad nodded vigorously. \"Yes, from Chedzoy, we came down from there.\" He shivered miserably, the cold rain dripping from his hood.\n\nThe innkeeper looked him up and down with suspicion. \"You, Camelot, you'll swear you saw him there?\"\n\n\"On the bones of Saint Peter.\"\n\nHe looked back at the lad, then finally lowered his stick. \"Two pence for a room, penny for the barn. Hay's clean. Mind you keep it that way. Dogs sleep outside.\"\n\nThere weren't many in the inn at Thornfalcon that evening. A few travellers like myself and a handful of locals, but the rain was keeping most by their own hearths. The innkeeper was in as foul a mood as the weather. It was, after all, only the back-end of July, and he counted on long warm summer evenings to fill the benches in his courtyard. He bellowed and raged at his wife, who in turn slammed the ale down on the tables so that the brew slopped over, glowering at her customers as if they were to blame for the wet sky. Her sour face wasn't helping trade either. If a man wants bad-tempered company he can usually find it at his own hearth; he doesn't need to pay someone else for the privilege.\n\nI saw the cloaked lad enter with an older man. He looked round and then, spotting me in the corner behind the fire, pointed me out to his companion. Both came towards me. The older man had to stoop to pass under the beams. He was oliveskinned like the boy, but whereas the boy was a slender, delicate-looking youth, the man had the thick frame of maturity running a little to fat. The lines in the corners of his eyes had set and his dark hair was streaked with grey. He wasn't what you'd call handsome, but striking enough with his Roman nose and full mouth. He'd doubtless turned more than a few heads in his youth, probably still did. He gave a courtly bow and sat down heavily on the bench opposite.\n\n\"Buona sera, Signare. I am Rodrigo. Your pardon for the intrusion, but I wanted to thank you. Jofre tells me that you spoke for him. We are in your debt, Camelot.\"\n\n\"Jofre?\"\n\nHe inclined his head towards the young man who stood respectfully at his side. \"My pupil.\"\n\nThe young man gave a half bow in imitation of his master.\n\nI nodded. \"You are welcome. It was just a word and words are freely given. But let me offer you one word more. I don't know where you really come from, and it's no concern of mine, but these days it's safest to say you've travelled from the north. These rumours make people cautious.\"\n\nThe man laughed, a deep laugh that made his weary eyes dance. \"An innkeeper threatens his customers with a cudgel and that is cautious?\"\n\n\"You said rumours\u2014what rumours?\" Jofre interrupted. He was plainly on easy terms with his master.\n\n\"From your lute and your garb, I took you to be minstrels. I'm surprised you've not heard the news on your travels. I thought all England knew by now.\"\n\nThe master and pupil exchanged glances, but it was Rodrigo who answered, glancing around first to see if others were eavesdropping on our conversation.\n\n\"We have not long been on the road. We were both in the employ of a lord. But\u2026but he is old and his son has taken over the running of his estates. The son brought with him his own musicians and so now we try to make our fortune on the road. \u00c8 buono,\" he added with a forced cheerfulness, \"there is the whole world to see and many pretty girls as yet unbedded. Is that not right, Jofre?\"\n\nThe lad, who was studying his hands with a miserable intensity, nodded briefly.\n\nRodrigo clapped him on the shoulder. \"A new start, is it not, ragazzo?\"\n\nAgain the boy nodded and flushed a dull red, but did not raise his eyes.\n\nA new start for which of them? I wondered. I guessed there was more to the story than Rodrigo had told. Perhaps the gaze of one or the other had strayed too close to a pretty girl in the lord's family; it's not unheard of. Bored women left too much alone are not averse to a dalliance with a good-looking minstrel.\n\n\"You said there were rumours,\" Jofre reminded me, with a note of urgency in his voice.\n\n\"The great pestilence has finally reached our shores.\"\n\nThe lad's eyes widened in shock. \"But they said it could not reach this island.\"\n\n\"They say before a battle that their king cannot be defeated, but they are usually wrong. The sickness was brought on a ship from the isle of Guernsey, so they say, but who knows, they may be wrong about that too. But wherever it came from scarcely matters now; the point is it has arrived.\"\n\n\"And it is spreading?\" Rodrigo asked quietly.\n\n\"Along the south coast, but it will surely spread inland. Take my advice: Travel north. Stay well away from the ports.\"\n\n\"They will close the ports at once, as they did in Genoa.\"\n\n\"To the south, maybe, but the merchants will not suffer the ports to be closed on the east and west coasts, at least not until they see the dead lying in the streets. Too much money sails on the waves.\"\n\nA stifled sob made us both glance up. Jofre was standing, face blanched, fists clenched, his mouth working convulsively. Then he turned and barged blindly out of the inn, ignoring the furious curses of the innkeeper's wife as he rushed past her, knocking a dish out of her hands.\n\nRodrigo rose. \"Your pardon, Camelot, please excuse him. His mother\u2014she was in Venice when the pestilence came there. There has been no word since.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't necessarily mean the worst. How could she send a message in these times? True, the rumours say half have perished, but if that is so, then half have survived it. Why should she not be one of them?\"\n\n\"So I tell him, but his heart tells him otherwise. He adores her. His father sent him away, but he did not want to leave her. In his memory, distance has translated a mortal woman into a holy virgin. And because he worships her, so he is terrified he has lost her. I must find him. The young are impetuous. Who knows what they will do?\"\n\nHe hurried out after the boy, pausing only to speak to the innkeeper's wife, whose temper had grown, if possible, even more savage since Jofre had broken her dish. I couldn't hear what passed between them for the chatter of the other customers, but I could see her scowl melting to a reluctant smile and then to a deep rosy blush. And when he bowed, kissed her hand, and excused himself, she gazed at his retreating back with the cow eyes of a lovesick maid. The Venetian had learned the art of courtly love well. I wondered how he dealt with jealous husbands. I guessed he was not quite so skilled at winning their admiration or he would not now find himself on the road.\n\nI settled back to my ale which was passable and the pottage which was not, but it was hot and filling and when you know what an empty belly feels like you learn to be more than grateful for that much. But I was not left to sit in peace for long. An unkempt man, who'd been warming his ample backside at the fire, slid onto the bench vacated by Rodrigo. I'd seen him in these parts before, but had never exchanged more than a gruff \"g'day\" with him. He studied his tankard of ale in silence as if he expected to see something new and startling crawling out of it.\n\n\"They foreigners?\" he asked suddenly without looking up.\n\n\"What makes you think that?\"\n\n\"Look like foreigners, talk like 'em too.\"\n\n\"How many foreigners have you heard talk?\"\n\n\"Enough.\"\n\nI'd have been surprised if the man had encountered more than half a dozen in his life. He'd not have known an Icelander from a Moor by his looks, never mind his speech. Thornfalcon did not lie on the main merchants' road and the nearby priory contained only the relics of a local saint that few outside those parts would trouble to visit. The man's scowl settled more deeply into the grimy wrinkles of his face.\n\n\"You still ain't answered me. They foreigners?\"\n\n\"English as you or me. Been minstrels in the court of some lord all their lives. You know what it's like, around the gentry all day, they start thinking themselves one of them. They dress in their old garments and before you know it they start talking like them too.\"\n\nThe man gave a noncommittal grunt. He'd almost certainly never heard a lord talk either, so that was a safe enough line.\n\n\"So long as they're not foreigners.\" He hacked and spat onto the floor. \"Fecking foreigners. I'd have 'em run out of England, every man jack of 'em. And if they won't go\u2026\" He drew a thick stubby finger across his throat. \"Bringing their filthy diseases here.\"\n\n\"The pestilence? I heard it was lads from Bristol who carried it aboard their ship.\"\n\n\"Aye, 'cause they were mixing with fecking foreigners in Guernsey that's why. If you go travelling to foreign parts, you deserve all you get.\"\n\n\"Have you a family?\"\n\nHe sighed. \"Five bairns\u2014no, six it is now.\"\n\n\"You'll be worried for them then, if the pestilence spreads.\"\n\n\"The wife is, mithering about it morning and night. I keep telling her it won't spread. Told her I'd crack her one if she keeps going on about it. You have to, don't you, just to knock some sense into 'em?\"\n\n\"Maybe she's right to be worried. They say it's already reached Southampton.\"\n\n\"Aye, but it's only spreading along the coast, 'cause that's where the foreigners are, in the ports. Priest says it's a judgment on the foreigners, so it stands to reason it won't come here, 'cause we've no foreigners here.\"\n\nAnd that was pretty much what they all believed those first few weeks after the great pestilence crept in. Away from the south coast, life went on much as it had always done. You might have thought that people would panic, but the truth is they didn't believe it would touch them. They were suspicious of strangers, violent even, but still they comforted themselves that pestilence was a foreign thing. Why, it even had a foreign name\u2014morte bleue. How could any Englishman die of a sickness so plainly marked for foreigners?\n\nThose towns along the south coast which had already succumbed and were falling one after the other like wheat before the scythe had, if anything, testified to this, for ports, as everyone knew, were teeming with foreigners and it was those foreigners who were dying, proof positive that God had damned the other nations of the world in perpetuity. And if some Englishmen in those ports also died, well then, that was because they had been mixing with those same foreigners, bedding the foreign whores and boys. They deserved it. But England, true England, did not. Just as once they had been convinced this death could not cross the channel, now they convinced themselves it would stop at the ports, provided the foreigners were also stopped there.\n\nThe next morning the rain fell steadily as it had done the day before and the day before that. Rain drives men inside their own thoughts. No one looks at each other in the rain; they walk, heads bent, gazes fixed on the spinning puddles. I was out of the village, toiling along the track, before I noticed Rodrigo and Jofre; even then I probably would have walked right past them had the boy not been making a noise like a cow in labour as he retched repeatedly into a ditch.\n\nRodrigo was muttering something to the boy, which sounded as if he was scolding him, but at the same time was soothingly rubbing Jofre's back.\n\nI stayed on the other side of the road and drew my cloak across my nose and mouth. \"Is he sick?\"\n\nGod's blood! I was the one who'd persuaded the innkeeper to let them stay. If the lad had the pestilence\u2026\n\nRodrigo glanced up sharply, then gave a tight-lipped smile. \"No, Camelot, it is not the sickness. His stomach is not used to the wine. It was rougher in the inn than he is accustomed to.\"\n\nThe boy heaved again and groaned, holding his head, his eyes bloodshot and his face the colour of sour milk.\n\n\"Perhaps it's not the quality, but the quantity he's not accustomed to.\"\n\nRodrigo grimaced, but didn't contradict. The boy bent once more over the ditch, though his retching was dry now, unlike the rain.\n\n\"You are abroad early, Camelot. You have a long journey ahead of you?\"\n\nI hesitated. I don't like discussing my business with strangers. Start talking about where you are going and people start asking where you've come from. They want to know where you were born and where your home is, insisting you must have one somewhere. Some even think that if you have no roots you are to be pitied. That I chose to rip up those roots is something they could never understand.\n\nBut it was impossible to be rude to a man as courteous as Rodrigo.\n\n\"I'm making for Saint John Shorne's shrine at North Marston; there's money to be made there and it's well to the north of here and inland, far away from the ports.\"\n\nI knew it of old. It was a good place to sit out the autumn rains, the whole winter if need be. I was not so foolish as to think the pestilence would not creep inland, but it couldn't reach as far as North Marston, not before the winter frosts came. And like all summer fevers, it would surely die out then. If you could just survive until the weather changed, by Christmas it would all be over, that's what they said, and even I was foolish enough to comfort myself with that thought.\n\n\"And you, where are you bound?\" I asked Rodrigo.\n\nLike me, he also hesitated, as if reluctant to reveal the whole truth. \"We go to Maunsel Manor. It is only a few miles from here. We spent time there whenever our master visited the family. The mistress of the house always praised our playing. We will try for a place there.\"\n\n\"It'll be a fruitless journey. I heard the household's gone to their summer estates. They'll not be back for months.\"\n\nRodrigo looked beaten and helpless. I'd seen that expression before in those who've been all their lives in service and without warning find themselves turned out. They've no more idea of how to survive than a lapdog abandoned in a forest.\n\n\"You'd be best making for a fair, or better still a shrine. Fairs run only a few days, a week at most, but a shrine never closes. Find one that's popular with the pilgrims and make friends with one of the innkeepers. The pilgrims always need entertaining in the evenings. Play a rousing battle song for the men and a love song for the women and you'll easily earn enough for a dry bed and a hot meal.\"\n\nThere was a deep groan from Jofre.\n\n\"You may not feel like food now, my lad, but wait till that hangover wears off. You'll be moaning even louder once you feel the bite of hunger.\"\n\nJofre glanced up long enough to glower at me before leaning against a tree, his eyes tightly closed.\n\n\"But other minstrels will already have found such inns, no?\"\n\n\"I daresay they will, but your pupil's a pretty lad. When he's washed and sober, that is,\" I added, for the young Venetian looked anything but pretty just then, with his puffy face and rigidly clenched jaw. \"If you can persuade him to flirt with the wealthy matrons instead of their daughters, you'll get your coins. You'll both stand out from the common rabble of minstrels. Merchants' wives fancy themselves as highborn ladies and they'll pay handsomely any who knows how to treat them as such. And who knows, you might be lucky enough to find yourselves another livery. Even the highborn make pilgrimages. They more than most, for they have more money to do it and more sins to atone for.\"\n\n\"This shrine you are going to, you think we could get work there?\"\n\nI had a sinking feeling that I knew where this was leading and I cursed myself for ever having mentioned it.\n\n\"It's a good few weeks' walk from here. I'll have to work my way there via the fairs and markets along the way. You'll want to look for something closer.\"\n\n\"I can't walk. I'm ill,\" the boy whined.\n\n\"I denti di Dio! Whose fault is that?\" Rodrigo snapped, and Jofre looked as startled as if he'd been slapped.\n\nRodrigo also seemed surprised at his own sharpness, for his next words were spoken soothingly, like a mother trying to coax a fretful child. \"You will feel better for walking. And we cannot stay here. We need to earn money. Without food and shelter you will become ill.\" He turned back to me, anxiety etched on his face. \"You know the way to this shrine? You could help us find work on the way?\"\n\nWhat could I do? Though I'd little doubt that Rodrigo was capable of holding his own in the subtle intrigue and politics of a court, to send this pair out alone into the blood and guts of the marketplace would have been like sending babes into a battlefield.\n\n\"You'd have to walk at my pace. I'm not as fast as I once was.\"\n\nRodrigo glanced over at his listless pupil. \"I think a slow pace would suit us well, Camelot.\"\n\nAnd so it was that the first members of our little company were drawn together, the first but by no means the last. On that wet morning, I thought I was doing them a kindness, saving them from learning the hard way how to survive on the roads. I thought I was sparing them the days of growling bellies and the nights sleeping cold and friendless; I'd been there myself when I first started out and I knew too well the misery of it. But now I live with the knowledge that it would have been kinder to have passed them by on the road than draw them into what was to come."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "It's not every day you see a mermaid, though you hear tell of them often. Ask anyone in the fishing villages\u2014and they'll swear some old man in the village once caught a mermaid in his nets or tumbled overboard and was rescued by a maiden with hair that glistened like a shoal of silver fish in the moonlight and a tail that gleamed like opals under the stars. So when a magician says he has one in his tent, you can be sure there will be no shortage of people willing to hand over their pennies for a glimpse of a real live mermaid.\n\nNot live exactly for this one was dead. Dead, because they do die if they cannot return to the sea. They are half fish, after all, and how long can a fish live out of water? A mermaid can live longer, but not forever, not on land, at least that's what the magician explained.\n\nThe magician called himself Zophiel. \"God's spy.\" The name fitted him almost too well. Spies have to be on their guard and he was guarded all right; you could tell that from the first time you heard him speak, careful, clever, you might say. He made no promises the crowd could dispute afterwards. If you promise a living beast and it's dead, word soon gets round. At best no one else will part with their money to see it, and at worst, well, there are no limits to what a drunken mob might do if they feel cheated. Afterwards I realised that Zophiel had not even claimed this to be a mermaid. \"One of the merpeople\" was all he'd said. Zophiel was clever all right, sharp as a flayer's knife.\n\nThe sun never seemed to rise at all in those dark days; it was as if we were living in some eternal twilight pressed down under the weight of the thick grey clouds and the heavy smoke of a thousand smouldering fires. Inside Zophiel's tent it was even darker, but cold, cloying as a tomb. Not a place you'd want to linger even to escape the rain. The tent was narrow, a kind of lean-to erected at the back of his wagon, room enough for three or four people to crowd in at a time. A viscous yellow light pooled out from a lantern illuminating the small cage balanced on the back of the wagon. The bars on the cage were not there to keep the creature in\u2014it was in no state to run away\u2014but to stop the customers stealing pieces of the mermaid as they try to take fragments from the relics at holy shrines. It's true that a mermaid is no saint, but neither is she of this world, so who knows what a fragment of mermaid might cure? The stench alone was enough to exorcise the most stubborn of demons.\n\nThe creature lay on its back in the cage on a nest of seasmoothed pebbles, shells, dead crabs, sea urchins, starfish, and strands of dried seaweed. The smell of the seashore, of brine and fish, was powerful enough to convince anyone that this creature had its origins in the sea; powerful enough, too, to mask the fragrance of myrrh, incense, musk, and aloes that lurked beneath it, unless you knew the smell of old.\n\nFew in these times would have recognised that heady bitter fragrance. It was a perfume I hadn't smelt for many years, but once you have encountered it, you never forget it. After all these years it still has the power to make the stomach tighten and tears well up in long-dry eyes. It is the smell of the embalmed corpses of knights returned from Acre. Returning as they swore they would, but not at the head of a retinue laden with treasure and pardoned of all past and future sins. No\u2014these returned home in caskets, escorted by ghost-eyed brothers and emaciated servants, to be buried too young in the chill crypts beneath their families' crests. Myrrh does not come cheap. It is the rare perfume of a delicate craft. We learnt many things from the Saracens, not least how to preserve our slaughtered dead. Had Zophiel acquired the art, or had he bought the mermaid from another? Whichever it was, someone had paid a pretty penny for the creature.\n\nThe mermaid, if maid it was, was no bigger than an infant. Its face was wizened, shrunken in on itself so that the eyes were mere slits, but slanted upwards at the corners. The head was covered with a fine straw-coloured fluff that stood up straight from the skin, or perhaps the skin had shriveled away from the hair. Eyebrows and lashes were startlingly blond against the tanned flesh, though it was hard to tell whether this was its natural hue or some artifice of the preservation of the body. The chest of the creature was smooth and sexless as a child. The arms were human enough. One tiny fist grasped a hand-mirror of polished silver; the other was clenched around a doll carved from whalebone. The doll was in the form of a mermaid, the kind you might see among the grotesques on a church, with swollen hips, pendulous breasts, and a long serpent's tail.\n\nBut what was below the waist of this little creature? Now that's what we'd paid our coins to see. It did not have legs certainly. Instead there was a single long piece of flesh that tapered down from the waist to two curious projections at the end, resembling the hind flippers of a seal. Like the rest of the body, the tail, if tail it could be called, was brown and wrinkled, but naked, devoid of either scales or fur.\n\n\"That's no mermaid,\" sneered the man standing near me. \"That's a\u2026\" He trailed off, at a loss to find any name for the oddity. He was sweating onions and the stench of his breath threatened to overpower even that of the creature's corpse.\n\n\"I heard,\" his friend said, \"that some charlatans sew the body of a human to the tail of a fish to make it look like a mermaid.\"\n\nThe sweating man peered closer. \"That's no fish's tail. It's not got scales.\"\n\n\"It'll be a seal then. They've joined a human babe to a seal.\"\n\n\"It's got no fur neither,\" the other said impatiently \"and there's no join. If anyone could see a stitched-on tail, I could; after all, I've been stitching cloth since I were a babe myself.\"\n\n\"So what is it, then?\"\n\nThey asked the same question of Zophiel outside, loudly, with the aggression that comes from uncertainty.\n\nZophiel looked down his pale thin nose at them, as if the question had been asked by a simpleton. \"As I told you, it's one of the merpeople, a merchild.\"\n\nOnion-breath gave a mirthless guffaw as if he had been told such things many times before and didn't believe a word of it. \"So how come it's got no scales on its tail?\" He glanced round at the small crowd with a smirk that said, Answer that one, if you can. He was spurred on by many encouraging nods and winks. Townspeople are always eager to have a stranger confounded.\n\n\"You admit it has a tail, then?\" Zophiel asked coolly.\n\nThe smile on Onion-breath's face wobbled. \"But not a scaly tail and it's got no hair on its head neither. I thought mermaids were supposed to have hair, yards of it.\"\n\n\"Do you have any children, my friend?\"\n\n\"I do, for my sins, three fine lads and a bonny little lass.\"\n\n\"So, my friend, was your daughter born with hair?\"\n\n\"When she were a mite she were as bald as her grandfather is now.\"\n\n\"But she has a fine head of hair now, I wager.\"\n\nThe man nodded.\n\n\"There you are then, her hair grew in. It's the same with merpeople. They are born as smooth and hairless as you or I. The hair and scales grow in later.\"\n\nThe man opened and closed his mouth, but no words emerged.\n\nZophiel smiled, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. \"You're a wise man, my friend. People of lesser intelligence would not think to ask such questions and I'm not surprised that you didn't know that a merchild is born without hair. Many of the greatest scholars in our land are ignorant of such things because merbabies are seldom seen, only the adults. The infants are kept hidden far below the waves in deep-sea caves until they are old enough to swim to the surface. It's a rare thing to see one. Far more rare than seeing a mermaid, which is rare enough. Why, I doubt any merbabies have been seen for five hundred years, maybe more.\"\n\nThere was a moment's hesitation as the crowd digested these momentous facts, then, as one, hands flew to purses, struggling to part with coins as fast as Zophiel could take them. Every man, woman, and child who still had money to spend was desperate to spend their last penny to see this rarest of all rare creatures. Even old Onion-breath beamed as if he had personally discovered the merchild. Zophiel knew just how to work a crowd.\n\nAs it happens we'd all been doing pretty well that day. The Bartholomew Fair was busier than usual. With markets closing along the south coast, the merchants were pushing inland. After all, as they said, life goes on. We all have to eat until we die. So the merchants were shouting each other hoarse and the crowd was just as excited. Wine and spices, salt and oil, dyes and cloth fairly flew off the stalls. \"Buy now,\" each merchant urged. \"It may be months before I can get another shipment in. Stock up while you have the chance.\" And they bought as if they were preparing for a siege.\n\nI'd done all right too, sold half a dozen fragments of the bones of Saint Brigid, guaranteed to keep the cows in milk, and several ribs of Saint Ambrose to hang over the bee skeps to ensure that the combs would be bursting with honey come autumn. The farmers needed all the help they could get. The field beans were blackened with mildew and they'd be lucky to salvage enough to cover the bottom of a pot. The late hay crop had already been ruined by the rain and there was scarcely a sheaf of grain standing. If it didn't stop raining soon, honey and cheese would be all anyone would have in their winter stores.\n\nPrices were up, but that was to be expected. The buyers grumbled, but they bought anyway. No point saving a few pennies, if next week there'd be nothing to spend them on. Besides, if you had to pay more for a barrel of pickled pork, you charged more for your knives. Too bad for those who had nothing to sell; that was their problem.\n\nYes, all things considered it was a profitable fair for the merchants and peddlers, and Rodrigo and Jofre were doing well enough too, considering they had only been a month on the road. At night, in front of a warm hearth in the inns, satisfied with their day's shrewd bargaining and mellow from hot food and strong ale, people would pay generously for an evening's entertainment. And Rodrigo and Jofre had talent, more than I'd seen in many a year, but talent is not enough on the road and they still had much to learn.\n\nThey were used to playing to a lord's command. Lords and ladies know what they want. They can put a name to a song or demand you write a new one. They will even tell you what the subject of that song should be. But a crowd doesn't know what mood it's in, or if it does, it won't tell you. You must be able to sense it. Is it in the mood for a love song or a rousing battle song, a story of daring adventure or a bawdy verse? Does the crowd want to sing along or sit and dream? It folds its arms and glowers as if to say \"Go on, lad, amuse us\u2014and God help you if you don't.\"\n\nBut Rodrigo was anxious to learn. He could have spent his days dry and warm in the inns, for there was little point in attempting to play in the open marketplace in the rain, but he preferred to spend his time outside watching me work, trying to understand the rules of the new world in which he found himself.\n\n\"The trick,\" I told him, \"is to know what a customer wants before they know themselves. Watch.\" I stepped forward. \"Your daughter nearing her birth pangs, mistress? A dangerous time. You must be sick with worry. See this amulet. It has the names of the holy angels Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf engraved upon it. Demons will flee from the room the moment they catch sight of this amulet. Expensive? Come now, mistress, what price would you put on the life of your daughter and precious grandchild? Thank you, mistress, and may she be delivered of a fine boy.\"\n\nAs he watched me pocket the coins, Rodrigo shook his head in disbelief. \"But how did you know her daughter was with child? Do you trade in fortunes as well as old bones?\"\n\n\"You must keep your eyes open if you want to survive on the road. I saw her earlier buying horehound, cinnamon, and penny royal from that peddler over there. What would she use that combination for, except to ease birth pains? She's not pregnant herself and she's too well dressed to be a servant, so it was a safe guess that it was for her own daughter. Now take that man walking towards us, what do you think he'll buy?\"\n\nI nodded towards a portly, sallow-skinned man wearing an outrageous confection of carmine and green on his head, clearly under the illusion it was the last word in stylish hats. He gazed around constantly as he picked his way through the mud, beaming at anyone whom he perceived to be of a higher station than himself as if hoping to be recognised as one of them.\n\nRodrigo looked the man up and down. \"Now, that kind I do know. I have met many like him at my lords court. He would buy a relic only if it came in a gold casket covered in jewels. You will never sell any of your wares to him.\"\n\n\"You're certain of that, are you?\"\n\n\"I would wager a tankard of mulled ale on it.\" Rodrigo grinned, slipping back a pace or two as the merchant approached, to give me space to work.\n\n\"Feeling a touch bilious, Master? I can see you're suffering. You have a most delicate constitution. Up all night with a bad stomach, I'll be bound. His Majesty the King suffers exactly the same trouble and I'm sure you know what he uses\u2014wolf's dung. His Royal Highness wouldn't be without it. As luck would have it, I happen to have a packet here. And not ordinary wolf's dung\u2014this is imported all the way from Russia, as used by the King himself. Would His Majesty use anything but the best? King Edward always insists on Russian dung, for everyone knows they have the strongest wolves.\"\n\nThe man waved his hand dismissively \"I have no need of such stuff.\" But his gaze lingered just an instant too long on the packet for a man who was indifferent, and I knew I had a sale.\n\n\"My apologies, Sir, but you're looking so pale. I can't bear to see any nobleman suffering unnecessarily, but no matter, I have a good customer in Gloucester, the Sheriff there. Perhaps you know him. He's desperate for all I can bring him. With the foreign ships not putting to sea and demand higher than ever, he's stocking up\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll take it,\" the man broke in hastily. Then, recovering his business sense, he added, \"But you'll have to take rosewater for it. I have no money left. The price the merchant charged for this\"\u2014he pulled out a flask\u2014\"was extortionate. My wife insisted I bring her some back for her baking, but I'll tell her there was none to buy. It's good quality.\" He pulled off the stopper and waved the flask in the air, allowing the smell to waft out.\n\nRosewater is no use to me. On the road, you need coins to buy food or goods that will keep long enough to barter at the next fair or the one after that. Rosewater, once unsealed, all too soon loses its pungency or turns bad. I was about to refuse, when I heard a deep sigh next to me. Rodrigo had inched forward and was breathing in the sweet perfume. \"It is excellent.\"\n\nIn three words, Rodrigo had destroyed any bargaining power I had. The man sauntered away with his wolf's dung, confident that he had got the better of me.\n\nI rounded on the minstrel. \"Are you out to ruin me?\"\n\nHe gave a sheepish grin. \"But I could not resist. I sniff this and suddenly I am a little boy in Venice again. Always for Christmas children were given little figures of the Christ child made of marzapane. For days before the air was filled with the smell of almonds and rosewater and we could not wait to taste it. We tried to creep into the kitchens to steal just a little piece, but we never could.\"\n\nI shook my head. I'd never heard of marzapane.\n\n\"It is a paste made from sugar, eggs, and almonds and flavoured with rosewater. Very costly, that is why it was so special. I have not tasted such a thing since I left Venice. It is\u2026\" he kissed the tips of fingers, \"squisito! To me it is the taste of Venice.\"\n\nIrked though I was, I couldn't help smiling at his ecstatic expression. \"You miss Venice very much?\"\n\n\"Even more now that we live on the road.\" Rodrigo raised his eyes miserably to the heavy clouds. \"I never intended to stay away so long. When this pestilence is past I shall return to my homeland. Jofre, too. I will take him back, no matter what his father says.\"\n\nThe day we'd met in the inn, now nearly a month past, Rodrigo had told me that Jofre's father had sent the lad away. I'd thought nothing of the remark at the time; most boys are sent away to learn a trade or to serve in some great house. But most fathers would be overjoyed to see their sons again. Why would a father forbid his son's return?\n\nRodrigo's gaze was still resting on the flask of rosewater as if it was a magic potion which had the power to carry him home. He smiled wistfully. \"Deo volente, as soon as the curse of this sickness is lifted from us, I will go back to the place of my childhood.\"\n\n\"But you can never return to that, Rodrigo. You can never again be what you were there. Just as a ewe rejects a lamb that has been separated from her, so your homeland will reject you as a stranger.\"\n\nHe flinched. \"You would condemn me to be an exile all my life, Camelot?\"\n\n\"We are all exiles from the past, every one of us. Besides, what do you have to return to? Or are the stories true that minstrels have a girl in every town?\" I laughed, trying to dispel the melancholy that my bitter remarks had settled on him. \"Have you left a trail of broken hearts behind you in Venice?\"\n\n\"Have you not heard our songs? It is the poor minstrel's heart that is broken.\" He pressed his hand dramatically to his chest and struck an exaggerated pose, like a lovesick swain in a mummers' play But the lighthearted gesture did not mask the shadow of pain I glimpsed in his eyes. That was real and deep.\n\n\"Here. You may as well take this,\" I said, thrusting the flask of rosewater at him.\n\nHis eyes widened in surprise. \"But I cannot accept such a gift.\"\n\n\"No use to me,\" I said as gruffly as I could.\n\nHe grasped my shoulder. \"Thank you, thank you, my friend.\"\n\n\"You've cost me a fortune,\" I said severely, \"but don't think you can talk your way out of the wager.\"\n\nHis mouth twitched. \"A fortune? Tell me truthfully, Camelot, how much did that Russian wolf's dung cost you, if it really was wolf's dung?\"\n\n\"It was a mulled ale you wagered, wasn't it?\" I slapped my tankard into his hand.\n\nHe bowed and, chuckling, squelched off through the rain in the direction of the tavern. Once his back was turned, I could not suppress a grin. The novice was beginning to learn the ways of the road.\n\nJofre, although younger than Rodrigo, was finding his new life more difficult to adjust to, but unlike his master, the lad would accept advice from no one. Like most youths trapped in that restless age between boy and man, he was moody and unpredictable. One minute he'd be in the thick of a crowd laughing and telling jests and the next skulking solitary in a barn or on a riverbank.\n\nBut I believe he truly loved music, perhaps even more than Rodrigo. When Rodrigo gave him his daily lesson Jofre would practise with intense earnestness, studying Rodrigo's hands as if they were the hands of God. Sometimes the lad would play for hours on end; expressions of pain and joy, sorrow and passion, beyond his years would pass across his face, like clouds chased by the wind. But then on other days, if he could not immediately master a difficult tune, he'd fly into a rage, throwing down his lute or pipes and storming off, not appearing again for hours. He'd return, eventually, swearing he'd never do it again, and quickly take up his lute. And as he played, the sharp reprimand Rodrigo had intended to deliver would be forgotten. And who can blame the man, for when he was in the mood, young Jofre's music could make you forgive him anything.\n\nBut although Jofre was kept busy in the evenings playing in the inns, for most of the day he had nothing to do, as the rain poured down relentlessly, except hang around in the taverns or the marketplace. Trouble was never far off. And at the Bartholomew Fair, trouble came in the guise of the great magician, Zophiel, who, as Jofre soon discovered, had other tricks up his sleeve besides the mermaid.\n\nBy the third day of the fair, the flood of people waiting to see the mermaid had dried to a trickle. Those who wanted to see it had already done so, except for a few children who were still trying to sneak in under the tent flaps to see the creature for free. But those who did manage to wiggle in were sadly disappointed, for the mermaid had been put away and Zophiel had taken up his place outside the tent in front of a low table. The crowd that now surrounded the magician was smaller and was composed mainly of men and young lads. They pressed in tightly. But however closely they watched his hands, Zophiel was too quick for them.\n\nIt was the old three cups game. Carefully place the dried pea under the upturned cup in plain view of everyone and shuffle the cups around. Then get some poor fool to bet on which cup contains the pea. The bet seems a certainty except that, of course, the pea is never under the cup the gambler has put his money on. You'd think the trick had been around for so long that no one would be taken in by it anymore, but there's always one who fancies himself sharper than the trickster.\n\nJofre was, on this occasion at least, not one of the gullible. He'd seen the pea and cups performed by jesters and court entertainers too many times to be taken in by it and was amusing himself by telling the crowd how the sleight of hand was being performed. Most didn't believe him though, for however intently they watched, they couldn't catch Zophiel palming the pea and Zophiel was still able to take a fair few bets before he finally wearied of Jofre's commentary.\n\nPacking away his cups, he informed the crowd that he would now show them a feat of magic. He sent a boy to a neighbouring stall to buy a hard-boiled egg, which he carefully peeled in front of the crowd, who watched the action with surprising fascination considering they had themselves peeled hundreds of eggs. They continued to watch as Zophiel set the peeled egg on top of the neck of a glass flask. The neck of the flask was far too narrow to admit the egg whole, but Zophiel told the crowd he could make the egg fall into the flask without touching the egg or crushing it. The crowd jeered, but it was a ritual jeer like booing the devil in a mummers' play Most felt sure that something magical was about to happen, but you were supposed to show scepticism; it was part of the magician's game with his audience.\n\nZophiel turned his sharp green eyes upon Jofre. \"You, boy you had a lot to say for yourself before. Do you think I can cause the egg to fall into the flask?\"\n\nJofre hesitated. He looked at the plump glistening egg resting securely on the flask's narrow neck. He knew, as well as the rest of the throng did, that Zophiel would not have presented the challenge if he couldn't do it; the trouble was that Jofre could not see how it could be done.\n\nThe shadow of a smile began to play around Zophiel's mouth. \"Well now, you were swift enough to tell us all how the pea found its way under the cup, so tell us, boy how will I make the egg enter the flask?\"\n\nSome of the other men who'd been irritated by Jofre's know-it-all comments began to grin and poke him in the back.\n\n\"Yes, lad, go on, tell us how he's going to do this one, if you're so smart.\"\n\nJofre flushed. \"It can't be done,\" he said defiantly, with a good deal more bravado than he apparently felt.\n\n\"Then perhaps you'd care to put a wager on it,\" Zophiel said.\n\nJofre shook his head and tried to back out of the crowd, but the men behind him were having none of it.\n\n\"Put your money where your mouth is, lad! Or are you all talk?\"\n\nRed-faced, Jofre fumbled for a coin and slapped it down.\n\nZophiel raised one eyebrow. \"Is that the price of your conviction, boy?\" He addressed the crowd. \"It looks as if our clever young friend is not that sure of himself after all.\"\n\nJofre's head snapped and, blazing with fury and humiliation, he flung a handful of coins down on the table. It was all he had and Zophiel seemed to know it.\n\nHe smiled. \"Well now, boy, shall we see if you are right?\"\n\nHe lit a taper, removed the egg, and dropped the burning taper inside the flask, swiftly replacing the egg on the neck of the bottle, and stood well back. For a few long moments nothing happened. All gazed mesmerised as the taper burned inside the flask then, in the same instant as the taper extinguished itself, there was a pop and the egg slid neatly through the neck of the flask, flopping undamaged onto the bottom.\n\nI couldn't bring myself to watch anymore, but as I turned away something caught my eye, a child, standing a little away off in the cavern of an overhanging tree. The day was so dark and she was standing so still that I doubt I would even have noticed her there, but for the unnatural whiteness of her hair. I had seen that hair before. I recognised her at once. It was Narigorm, but she did not appear to have noticed me. All her attention was fixed on something else.\n\nHer slender body was rigid with concentration. Only the index finger of her right hand moved as if she was fingering some unseen object she cradled in her other palm. She seemed to be muttering under her breath, her unblinking gaze fixed on something behind me. I turned to see what she was watching and realised she was staring at Zophiel, but when I turned back to look at her again, the shadow under the tree was empty. Narigorm had vanished.\n\nThe fair had been set to run for a week. It was in the charter and it had done so for as long as anyone could remember. But as things turned out that year, the fair came to an abrupt halt on the afternoon of that same day. A messenger had arrived, mud-splattered and sweating nearly as much as his horse. He demanded to see the town's elders and the bell tolled out, summoning them from every quarter of the town. Since most of them were in the middle of buying or selling at the time, they were not best pleased to be dragged to a meeting and the bell continued to toll for quite some time until the last of them arrived, grumbling that this had better be important, or someone would be spending the rest of the fair in the town's gaol. By this time everyone had heard the bell and all knew something was afoot. No one was under any illusion that it would be good news. Business gave way to gossip and speculation\u2014had the Scots or the French or even the Turks invaded? Was King Edward coming on a royal visit, bringing with him his whole court and half his army, all to be fed at the town's expense? \"May God bless and keep His Majesty\u2014far away from us.\" Or more likely, had His Majesty imposed yet another tax? And what was there left to tax that he hadn't taxed already?\n\nWhen the town's dignitaries finally crowded onto the balcony overlooking the market square, the chatter and laughter died in people's throats. They looked grave and suddenly aged. The crier had no need to ring his bell or even strain his voice. The news was delivered into shocked silence.\n\nPestilence had broken out in Bristol.\n\nTo save themselves, the people of Gloucester had closed their gates. No one would be allowed in or out. The villages all along the river were following Gloucester's example. Whilst we had all been looking to the south, the pestilence had crept round on our western flank. It was spreading, spreading inland.\n\nAfterwards no one expressed surprise that Bristol had fallen to the pestilence. It was a port; sooner or later an infected ship would be bound to call there. Besides, it was a ship from Bristol that had brought the infection to these shores, so it was surely only God's justice that their own town should be infected. But what stunned them was Gloucester closing itself off. A mighty town like that, dependent on its trade, walling itself up alive. So fearful of the pestilence, they were willing to ruin themselves, starve even, rather than risk it entering their gates. Whoever remained inside the walls would be trapped there as surely as if he were in a dungeon, for however long it took for the pestilence to burn itself out. And anyone from Gloucester who had the misfortune to find himself away from his home and family when the gates were locked would have to take his chances alone on the outside. Gloucester was miles upriver from Bristol. If the people of Gloucester feared the pestilence could spread that far, that fast, then just how swiftly was it spreading?\n\nEven before the town declared the fair ended, most of the travellers had already made up their minds to leave, to begin the big migration north and east. It was like watching a high wave forming out at sea. At first everyone had simply stood and looked, mesmerised, but now it started to roll towards them, they suddenly turned tail and ran for higher ground. Except that higher ground would not save them from this wave of destruction. There was no place that could; the only hope was to try to outrun it and pray that a miracle would happen and somehow it would be stopped before it swept them away.\n\nGetting out of the town that night wasn't easy; the townspeople may have wanted us to leave and we to go, but there were only three gates out of the town. Merchants and peddlers had been arriving in a steady trickle for days before the fair, but now they were all trying to get out at once. Only a few who were desperate to get back to wives and families were taking roads leading south or west; the rest of us\u2014wagons, carts, people, cattle, sheep, geese, pigs, and horses\u2014were squeezing and jostling through the one remaining gate. The roads, already waterlogged with all the rain, were becoming impassable as livestock and wagons churned up the mud. Every few yards the way was blocked by carts and beasts floundering in the muck.\n\nFortunately, I knew my way around those parts and, once we were clear of the gate, I led Rodrigo and Jofre off on a side path that connected to a parallel road which bypassed the town and so we were able to escape from the crowd. The road descended through a gorge. It was an ancient road and although wide enough for carts, it was seldom used anymore. It had been dry once, but since winters had grown wetter, it flooded often, so the only people who used it were those on foot or horseback. No carter or herdsman would be foolish enough to attempt it unless the weather had been dry for weeks.\n\nIt had taken us so long to get out of the town, that night was drawing in before we reached the road. We trudged along in silence, concentrating on keeping upright on the slippery track. Our clothes were soaked through and our boots were so heavy with mud, it felt as if we were wearing leg-irons. The raindrops beat down, drumming out their own psalms of contrition as if we were the condemned on the way to the gallows. We passed no one on the road and as darkness gathered around us, I hoped it would stay that way, for there are many kinds of travellers who stalk lonely roads after dark, human and worse. And I had no desire to get acquainted with any of them.\n\nThen, rounding a bend, we saw a solitary wagon ahead of us. It was stuck deep in a water-filled rut, listing heavily to one side. I recognised both the wagon and its owner immediately. Zophiel, the great magician, was up to his calves in glutinous mud, trying to hoist the wagon upright with his shoulder and push it forward at the same time, but the mud sucked on the wheel, pulling it down. The horse had long since given up trying to pull the wagon forward. The animal stood between the shafts, head down in the rain, trying to reach a solitary clump of grass that still remained upright in the mire all around it. With Zophiel at the back of the wagon, there was no one to lead it forward and none of Zophiel's curses or threats was having the slightest effect on the beast.\n\nJofre's miserable expression melted into a grin of delight when he recognised the figure floundering in the mud. \"Serve him right,\" he muttered.\n\nRodrigo, striding on ahead, didn't hear him and was not meant to, either. I guessed Jofre, wisely, hadn't told his master about his wager with Zophiel.\n\nJofre nudged me. \"I say we lean on the wagon as we go by and push it down even further into the mud.\"\n\n\"And I say it's better to help him. It puts him in our debt. You don't want to rush revenge, my lad; it always tastes sweeter if it's brewed slowly.\"\n\nBut before we could draw level with the wagon a young man emerged without warning from the shadows on the track ahead of us. Sensing the movement, Zophiel whirled, whipping out a long thin dagger and jabbing it towards the young man's stomach. The man sprang back and held up his open hands in a gesture of surrender.\n\n\"No, please! I mean you no harm. It's my wife.\"\n\nHands still raised, he gestured with his chin towards the drenched clump of trees from which he'd emerged. In the dying light I could make out a woman sitting on the stump of a tree, her cloak wrapped tightly about her against the downpour.\n\n\"My wife,\" the young stranger began again. \"She can't walk any further tonight. She's with child.\"\n\n\"So?\" growled Zophiel. \"Why tell me? I didn't father her brat.\"\n\n\"I hoped you might let her ride in your wagon. Not me, of course, I can walk. I don't mind walking, I'm used to it, but Adela, she\u2014\"\n\n\"Are you even more cod-witted than you appear? Does it look as if this wagon is going anywhere? Clear off.\"\n\nZophiel stomped around the wagon to his horse and began tugging on the halter, using his whip freely in a vain effort to move the wretched beast forward. The boy followed him, keeping a safe distance from the whip.\n\n\"Please, she can't spend the night in the open in this rain. I'll help you lift the wheel out, if you'll\u2014\"\n\n\"You,\" Zophiel spat, \"couldn't lift the skin off a roast chicken.\"\n\n\"But we could.\" Rodrigo stepped forward.\n\nThe dagger was in Zophiel's hand again and he backed nervously up against the wagon, his eyes darting all round, desperate to see if there were more of us hiding in the shadows. Jofre giggled. The lad was enjoying every minute of this.\n\nIgnoring the magician's raised weapon, Rodrigo gave his most courtly bow. \"The minstrel Rodrigo at your service, Signore. My pupil, Jofre. And our companion, a camelot.\"\n\nZophiel peered closely at us.\n\n\"You!\" he exclaimed, as his suspicious gaze alighted on Jofre. He swiftly backed away, his dagger sweeping from side to side in front of him as if he were preparing to take us all on. \"If you think you're going to get the boy's money back, you are mistaken, my friend. He was\u2014\"\n\n\"Money?\" Rodrigo looked bewildered.\n\nJofre was carefully studying his mud-caked boots.\n\n\"The price to see the merchild,\" I explained quickly.\n\nRodrigo nodded, apparently satisfied, then turned back to Zophiel and held his hands up in imitation of the young stranger. \"Rest assured, Signore, we have no intention of robbing you of your money. We were about to offer our help, one traveller to another, when this gentleman approached. But now that he is here, between us, we will soon get your wagon on the move.\"\n\nZophiel continued to eye us with suspicion. \"And how much do you want for your help?\"\n\nI answered him. \"These lads will shift the wagon, if you'll agree to give a ride to this man's wife.\" I looked around. Rain was streaming down our faces. We were so wet and muddy that we might have been dragged out of a river. \"It's my guess we're all in need of dry shelter tonight. There are no inns on this road, but I do know of a place that'll keep out the rain, if it's not already occupied.\"\n\nZophiel glanced over to where, in the growing darkness, we knew the woman huddled on the tree stump. \"If I put her in my wagon, it will weigh it down into the mud again. Besides,\" he added petulantly, \"there's no room. The wagon's full.\"\n\n\"Then let the girl ride where you sit. She can't weigh more than you. You walk and lead the horse. In the dark that would, in any case, be the safest course unless you want to end up overturned.\"\n\n\"And why should I walk when a woman rides? If her husband drags her on some fool journey on foot in her condition, he has only himself to blame.\"\n\n\"Come now, Zophiel,\" I said. The wind was getting up and lashing the rain against our faces, burning the skin already raw from wet and cold. \"None of us would be on the road this night unless we were forced to be. Let's not waste more time. We're all getting soaked to the skin and your wheels are settling deeper in the mud. It seems to me you have a simple choice: Stay here all night in the rain with your wagon stuck fast and you prey to any cut throat that comes along, or give the girl a ride and let us help you on your way. We'll all walk alongside you and put our shoulders to the wheel each time the wagon gets stuck, which it surely will in this mud with or without the woman. What do you say? If we help each other this night, God willing, we may all find a dry bed before dawn.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "And so it was that six strangers found themselves spending a night together, huddled round a fire in a cave listening to the river roaring over the boulders of its bed and the rain plashing down on the leaves. The cave was broad but low and shallow, like a fool's grin carved on the face of the rock. It was positioned about five or six feet up the cliff on the side of the gorge, but there were enough fallen boulders and ledges at the base to make it a comparatively easy climb even for the pregnant Adela and me. And it was unoccupied, as I hoped it would be, for even in daylight the cave was well concealed from the road behind a tangle of hazel and oak. In the dark it was impossible to see, unless you knew where to look for it, and it had even taken me a while to find it again.\n\nThe walls of the cave were smooth, with long horizontal ridges as if a giant potter had run his fingertips along wet clay, and the floor sloped down towards the mouth, so that it was dry inside all year round. Years ago, a herdsman or hermit had built a low wall of rough stone across part of the entrance. Over time, dry vegetation and twigs had accumulated behind it, which provided kindling for our fire. We soon had a good blaze started and, within the wall's shelter, the fire burned true, with only the occasional plume of smoke billowing back into the cave to make us cough.\n\nWe'd each thrown what we had into the pot\u2014beans, onions, herbs, even a few strips of salted pork\u2014to make a pottage. It was hot and filling and a deal better than you'd find in any of the inns in those parts. With our bellies full and limbs warming up at last, we were all beginning to breathe easier.\n\nI set stones to heat on the fire's edge. Hot stones wrapped in a bit of sacking make snug comforters for the feet in the chill hours of the night. It was a trick I learned years ago and I guessed young Adela would be glad of a little comfort later. Something told me that our pair of turtledoves was not accustomed to spending a night in a cave.\n\nThey say like seeks like and if that is true, then these two\u2014 Adela and Osmond\u2014were made for each other. Both were blond with wide handsome Saxon faces and eyes as blue and bright as cornflowers. Osmond was a broad stocky lad, well fleshed, with a smooth clear complexion that many a girl would envy. Adela too had the big bones of her Saxon ancestry, but unlike Osmond she was gaunt; her cheeks stood out sharply as if she had lately gone hungry for many weeks and there were dark smudges under her eyes. Some women suffer such sickness through their early months of pregnancy that they can scarcely keep a morsel down, but if that was the cause of this young woman's emaciation, she had plainly recovered from it, for there was little wrong with her appetite that night.\n\nShe recovered a little after her meal and lay propped against some of the packs, resting, while Osmond fussed round her checking that she was warm enough, not tired, not in pain, not hungry, not thirsty until even she laughingly begged him to desist. But that he could not do, and asked me again, though he had already done so a score of times, if I thought there really were cutthroats or robbers dwelling in this gorge.\n\nThat question hung heavy in Zophiel's mind also. We'd been forced to leave the magician's wagon and horse at the base of the cliff, and though we had covered the wagon well with branches and tethered his horse in the thick shrubbery where it could not be seen from the road, Zophiel would not rest until he had unloaded his boxes and stored them in the cave behind us. No one dared to enquire what the boxes contained; Zophiel was suspicious enough of us already, but whatever it was, it did not appear to be food, for although he contributed a generous quantity of dried beans to the pottage, he had to return to the wagon for them.\n\nJofre had eaten little that evening. All through the meal the lad had sat absently drawing patterns with a spoon in his cooling pottage, stealing curious sidelong glances at the pair of young lovers. Now he lay in the dark at the back of the cave wrapped in his cloak. Rodrigo had urged him to come closer to the fire and share its warmth with the rest of us, but Jofre had made the excuse that he wanted to sleep, although I sensed he was still very much awake. No doubt he was faking sleep in order to avoid Zophiel, but it isn't easy to avoid someone when you're sharing a small cave with them.\n\nJofre had been as taut as a drawn bowstring ever since we'd pulled Zophiel's wagon free of the mud. I knew he was dreading Zophiel raising the subject of the lost wager again. I was as anxious as he was to prevent that particular word slipping out, for if Rodrigo found out just how much of their hard-earned money his pupil had squandered, he'd be furious. And who could blame him? But if he tore a strip off the lad in front of everyone, Jofre was likely to storm off into the night and if he didn't break his own neck in the dark, one of us would surely break ours if we had to go looking for him.\n\nUp to then, Zophiel had been too preoccupied with his boxes to concern himself with conversation, but now that everyone was settling in for the night and a hush had fallen over our fire, a diversion was called for, so I cast about for a subject that would lead us far away from wagers and magic tricks.\n\n\"Adela, is this your first baby? I thought so, judging by the way your poor husband is clucking round. Make the most of it now\u2014come the second one, and he'll be lying down with a headache while you do the fetching and carrying.\"\n\nAdela, blushing, glanced at Osmond, but said nothing.\n\nI tried again. \"You'd best push it out early; your husband's nerves won't stand a long confinement. When's it due?\"\n\n\"Around Christmas or a little before.\" She answered shyly, glancing up at Osmond again before replying.\n\nHe rubbed her hand and grimaced.\n\n\"That's four months yet,\" Zophiel said coldly, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside. \"If she can't manage to walk now, what's she going to be like come December?\"\n\nOsmond leapt at once to his wife's defence. \"She can walk. It was the crowd of people all leaving the town so quickly; they were jostling her and she grew faint. She's strong usually, aren't you, Adela? And besides, we'll have our own house somewhere long before her baby's due.\"\n\nZophiel turned to look at Osmond. \"So you'll have your own house, will you, my young friend? You have property, do you? Money?\" He inclined his head in a mocking bow. \"Do forgive me, my Lord, I didn't realise I was traveling in the company of nobility.\"\n\nNow it was Osmond who blushed furiously. \"I'll earn money.\"\n\n\"Doing what exactly?\" Osmond's earnestness seemed to amuse Zophiel. He scrutinised their packs. \"You're travelling light. So what are you, my friend\u2014a merchant? A jester? A thief perhaps?\"\n\nOsmond's fists clenched and Adela's hand flew up to grab his shirt. He took a trembling breath, struggling to keep his reply civil, for his wife's sake.\n\n\"I, Sir, am a painter. An artist employed to paint the pictures of saints and martyrs on church walls. The Nativity, the Crucifixion, the Last Judgment\u2014I can do them all.\"\n\nZophiel raised his eyebrows. \"Is that so? I've never heard of a married man in such employ. Surely it's monks and lay brothers who undertake that holy task.\"\n\nAdela was biting her lip. She seemed on the point of saying something, but Osmond answered first.\n\n\"I paint those churches which are too far away from the abbeys and monasteries to be visited by the artists in holy orders. I paint the poor ones.\"\n\n\"Then you will make a poor living.\"\n\nOsmond's fists clenched again. \"I can earn enough to\u2014\"\n\n\"What's that sound?\" Jofre was leaning forward, staring beyond the fire, all pretence at sleep abandoned.\n\nZophiel was on his feet in an instant, peering out into the darkness beyond the cave. We listened, but heard nothing except for the crackling of the wood as the fire consumed it, and the thunder of water in the river below. After a time, Zophiel shook his head and settled down by the fire once more. But his eyes darted restlessly as he continued to scan the impenetrable blackness.\n\nRodrigo, with a glance at Osmond's still-furious expression, finally broke the heavy silence. \"And where will you go, Zophiel? You have plans?\"\n\n\"I had planned to go to Bristol to find passage on a ship. I have business in Ireland.\"\n\n\"You're too late,\" Osmond said. \"If what they told us at the fair is true, you won't find any port open between Bristol and Gloucester.\" The knowledge that the great Zophiel's plans had been thwarted seemed to have cheered up the younger man enormously.\n\nZophiel glared at him. \"Bristol and Gloucester are not the only ports in England, or did your schoolmaster neglect to teach you that? I assume of course that you did have some kind of rudimentary schooling, though perhaps your poor master gave up on the attempt, and who can blame him?\"\n\nOnce again Adela had to grab Osmond's arm. She glanced over at us with a timid smile. \"Where will you all go, now that they've closed the fair?\"\n\n\"The three of us are travelling north to the shrine of Saint John Shorne,\" Rodrigo told her before I could answer. \"I have not been there myself, but Camelot here says there are many inns there, many pilgrims. It is a good place to find work and lodgings. A good place to stay until this pestilence has burned itself out. And they will not close a shrine.\"\n\nOsmond frowned. \"I thought I knew most of the saints of England, but I haven't heard of this Saint John.\"\n\n\"That's because he is no saint,\" Zophiel said, his gaze flicking momentarily from the mouth of the cave.\n\n\"It's true he's not actually been canonised,\" I told them. \"Though don't say that too loudly at his shrine: The local clergy and villagers are apt to take violent offence. But John Shorne's only been dead these thirty years and the locals are so sure he will be recognised as a saint, they've given him the title already. And assayed saint or not, there's no question that his miracles draw in the crowds.\"\n\n\"Miracles which have not been verified by the Holy Church,\" Zophiel said sourly.\n\nI shrugged. \"Nevertheless the crowds believe in them. And where there are crowds, there's money to be earned.\"\n\n\"What kind of miracles?\" Adela asked eagerly.\n\n\"He was the rector of the parish of North Marston; that's where his shrine now stands, and there was a terrible drought there. Crops, animals, and people were all suffering. They say Rector John struck the ground with his rod, exactly like Moses, and a wellspring opened up on that very spot, which never failed and never froze. And since, when he was alive, Rector John is also said to have cured agues, fevers, melancholia, and the toothache, and even revived those who died from drowning, people now flock to his well to be cured of those same maladies. After all, who hasn't suffered a fever or a toothache at some time?\"\n\n\"And where exactly would people have drowned in North Marston, if there was no water?\" Zophiel wanted to know. \"Or perhaps they were so desperate to be cured of a dripping nose that they threw themselves into his miraculous well.\"\n\nHe had a point. Zophiel was sharp, you had to admit that.\n\n\"I make no claims. I can only tell you what they say. Besides, most pilgrims come out of curiosity to see the boot. That's the miracle that really draws the crowds.\"\n\nZophiel snorted. \"Ah yes, the famous boot. Proof, if any was needed, that the whole story is nothing but a naked sham to fleece money from the gullible.\"\n\n\"But if people believe in it, then it will cure them. The art, Zophiel, is to sell a man what he believes in, for then you're giving him the gift of hope. And hope itself is always genuine. It's only what it's placed in that can prove to be false.\"\n\n\"Hope is for the weak, Camelot.\"\n\n\"But what about the boot?\" Adela interrupted, then reddened as Zophiel turned to glare contemptuously at her.\n\n\"Apparently while he was exorcising one wretch from the demon of gout, Rector John captured the Devil himself inside the sick man's boot. Many old people in the village swear they actually saw the Devil trapped in the boot, but then he made himself as small as a beetle and crept out through one of the lace-holes and flew away. And now that very boot is on display beside his shrine. They say anyone who puts the boot on will feel their gout fly away with the Devil out of the very same lace-hole. The crowds\u2014\"\n\n\"Listen!\" Jofre called out again urgently.\n\nWe stiffened, hearts quickening, straining to hear. And this time we heard it too. It was a long way off, but unmistakable. A howl, then another and another. Then nothing.\n\nRodrigo drew his cloak more tightly around him. \"Go back to sleep, ragazzo. It is only a dog.\"\n\n\"That's no dog; that's a wolf's howl,\" Zophiel said sharply.\n\nAdela gasped and Osmond put his arms protectively round her. \"Don't joke; you're upsetting Adela.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"He's not jesting; it is a wolf. But it came from the far side of the hill, not the gorge. And even if it enters the gorge, our fire will keep it at bay.\"\n\n\"If the wolf is a beast, yes,\" said Zophiel, \"but if it's a human wolf, then our fire will attract it towards us.\" He was staring intently out of the mouth of the cave into the blackness beyond. He had rocked forward into a crouching position, his hand fumbling for the knife in his belt. \"There are bands of robbers and murderers who use the calls of wolves and owls to signal each other. Hills and gorges like this are infested with such outlaws.\"\n\nOsmond looked stricken. He seemed torn between rushing out of the cave to attack the lurking cut throat band singlehanded and holding Adela so tightly in his arms that he was in danger of crushing her.\n\n\"That's a relief, Zophiel.\" I tried to lighten the mood. \"For a moment I thought you were talking about werewolves, but if we're talking of mere robbers and murderers, why you four strapping lads are more than a match for them. Besides, as I said, the howl didn't come from the gorge, so they'll not see the fire, whatever they are.\"\n\nZophiel, as we were all to discover in time, was not a man who tolerated his words being lightly dismissed. His eyes, when he turned to me, had narrowed and his mouth curled into that tight mocking smile I was beginning to know only too well.\n\n\"Werewolves, Camelot? Come now, you surely don't believe those tales told to frighten women and children? I didn't take you for a superstitious fool. Now, if young Osmond here had said such a thing \u2026\"\n\nYoung Osmond, his anxiety temporarily forgotten, looked as if he was about to do more than simply say something.\n\nI feigned a look of surprise. \"I'm shocked, Zophiel. Has the Church not declared it heresy to deny the existence of werewolves? Are they not just as real as mermaids?\" I touched my scar. \"How do you think I came by this?\"\n\nAdela opened her eyes wide. \"A werewolf did that?\"\n\nRodrigo opened his mouth to speak, but I caught his eye and he contented himself with a knowing grin. Having gained their attention, I settled myself more comfortably and began my tale.\n\nThere was silence as I finished the story; no one moved. Adela's eyes were wide and Jofre's mouth was open.\n\nRodrigo suddenly gave a bellow of laughter, slapping me on the back. \"A fine tale, Camelot, but did I not hear you swear to that merchant at the fair you left your eye in the Holy Land?\"\n\n\"That my eye is lost is the truth, Rodrigo. And since it can no longer serve me by seeing, I may as well put it to good use to provide food for our bellies and a dry bed.\"\n\nRodrigo shook his head, smiling, then he suddenly turned to Osmond. \"Speaking of shelter, I have been thinking. You and your wife should travel with us to Saint Johns shrine. You paint holy scenes. If the shrine is rich, perhaps they will need a painter. And, for Adela, it will be a good place to rest over winter while she has your child. You will find lodgings there and a midwife to help Adela when her time comes, will he not, Camelot?\"\n\nOsmond glanced at Adela and both beamed eagerly at me.\n\nI could feel the smile freeze on my face and silently cursed Rodrigo. Did the Venetian think this was some sort of a pilgrimage? As if things weren't hard enough already now he was making me responsible for getting a pregnant woman, one who could barely walk, all the way to North Marston. I'd wager the skull of Saint Peter that our turtledoves had no more experience on the road than Rodrigo and Jofre. I could not afford to be saddled with this pair too. They would slow us down badly. The pestilence was closing in from the south and west. I had neither time nor patience to act as nursemaid to a pack of novices. Who did they think I was\u2014Moses? But what could I do? I saw the hope in their faces and I could not bring myself to say no.\n\nThere were no more wolf howls that night, only the steady beat of rain on leaves and the rushing torrent of the swollen river. My body was aching with tiredness, but my mind was too full of the journey which lay before us to allow me to sleep, so I offered to take first watch, and the others made themselves as comfortable as they could for the long hours ahead.\n\nOsmond unbuckled Adela's shoes, then peeled off her sodden and filthy hose, tenderly massaging her cold wet feet. The pointed red shoes were light and shapely, patterned with daisies formed by punched holes in the leather. They'd been fashioned for duties about the house or strolling in cloistered walkways, but such footwear was useless for trailing through puddles or tramping along cart tracks. It had been sheer stupidity to set out on the road in them. This journey these two young lovers were bound on had not been well planned; perhaps it had not been planned at all.\n\nWhat would force a couple like this onto the road in such haste? My throat suddenly grew dry. What if they had come from Bristol and had fled when the pestilence struck there? What if the contagion already lay upon their clothes? I shook myself impatiently; I could not start jumping in fear every time I met a stranger, for everyone was a stranger on the road. There were not enough caves in England for us all to take to the hills and live like hermits. Besides, even hermits need someone to bring them food.\n\n\"Here.\" I wrapped one of the hot stones in sacking and slid it towards Adela. \"Warm your feet on this.\"\n\nShe smiled gratefully. \"You're very kind, Camelot. Thank you.\"\n\nI picked up her red shoes and set them to dry near the fire. Cordwain leather, the finest; you could tell that simply by touch despite the mud on them. It was many years since I'd indulged in shoes that were not made for walking, and I'd never have that luxury again. The skin on my feet had grown so hard and callused from all the miles I had tramped, they'd make a pair of leather shoes themselves.\n\nAdela sat hunched, her arms wrapped around herself, her soft bare feet pressed tightly against the hot stone. She shivered. Her cloak was still too wet to wrap around her, but evidently neither of them had thought to bring anything else.\n\nI sighed and tossed her my blanket. \"Wrap yourself in this before you catch your death.\"\n\n\"But I can't take your blanket. You might catch a chill.\"\n\nIt was not politeness that made her say it. Despite her exhaustion, I saw that her eyes were full of concern. Doubtless at her young age she saw me as some toothless dotard who should be wrapped up and fed slops, but for all that I was touched. Most would put their own comfort before that of an old man.\n\n\"It's best I don't get too warm if I'm to take first watch,\" I told her gently. \"At my great age I'm likely to nod off if I get comfortable. But you should try and get as much rest as you can. You'll need all your strength come morning.\"\n\nI hardly needed to urge her to sleep; the girl's eyelids were already drooping with weariness.\n\n\"Why don't you take off your veil and make yourself comfortable; your husband won't mind, I'm sure. You'll stick yourself with the pins if you fall asleep with that on.\"\n\nHer hand rapidly outlined the edges of the linen veil that framed her face, as if to reassure herself that it was still in place. It was pinned to a barbette beneath her chin, concealing all of her hair save for a flaxen wisp at the temple. It was a curiously old-fashioned style for such a beautiful young woman. These days you saw only old women still wearing the barbette, seeing no reason to forsake something they had worn all their lives. But most were only too glad to be free of such a chaffing restraint. And wasn't a young woman's hair her glory?\n\n\"I can't \u2026 I don't need to take it off. I don't sleep lying down, because \u2026 of my baby. The bile rises if I lie flat,\" she added hastily.\n\nOsmond slipped his arm around her and she leaned back gratefully against his shoulder. Even if she didn't feel the pins, he would by morning; it took nearly a dozen to fasten a veil like that. But it seemed he would put up with anything to protect his pretty bride.\n\nShe was not used to sleeping among strangers, that much was plain. She'd had a sheltered upbringing, but neither shyness nor modesty was an asset on the road. Did she, did either of them, have any idea what they were facing out there? Had I once really been as na\u00efve as they? When you are in love and you are young, you believe that nothing life throws at you is insurmountable. You think together with the one you love you can overcome anything. I prayed these two would never come to know how swiftly life can divide you.\n\nThe dancing crimson flames cast twisting shadows of us onto the wall of the cave, our every movement parodied in a grotesque form, like a mummers' play performed for our mockery. Our shadows poured into each other, so that monsters appeared with two shaggy heads. Crookbacked dragons curled in sleep and mermaids flicked their sinuous tails. Shadows are such insubstantial things, yet they are bigger than any of us.\n\nZophiel sat upright against his boxes, his head lolling uncomfortably on his chest. He'd pay for that in the morning with a stiff neck, but I wasn't too sorry. Rodrigo lay stretched out, snoring, sleeping the untroubled sleep of the just. Adela and Osmond nestled against the cave wall. Adela's head snuggled against Osmond's shoulder as his arms cradled her.\n\nJofre was curled up in the back of the cave as he had been all evening, but he was not asleep. The firelight glittered in his open eyes. He was watching Osmond and Adela. He couldn't take his eyes off them. And suddenly it dawned on me why he'd been so quiet all evening. It was not just the fear that Zophiel might mention the wager; the poor boy was in love. Why do the young have to fall in love at first sight and fall so hard? Adela and Osmond were newly married; what did Jofre think could possibly come of it? But the eternal triangle is as old as man himself. You might even say that Adam, Eve, and God were the first, and look where that led. And in all those centuries of lovers' knots, no good ever came of it. But it was useless to warn him that it would only lead to pain. The young can believe in werewolves and mermaids, but not that the old have ever been in love.\n\nAs I watched the still bodies of Adela and Osmond, Rodrigo and Jofre, bathed in the soft red glow from the fire, I realised with a sudden rush of emptiness that I belonged to no one and, for the first time in many years, I felt desperately alone. I had thought I wasn't afraid of death. I was old and I knew it was inevitable, but I had never given it a shape before. Now, as this terrible sickness rolled inexorably towards us, I glimpsed for the first time the form death might assume and felt the panic rising in my throat.\n\nZophiel was anxious to be off at first light. The gorge made him nervous; being away from his wagon made him nervous; we made him nervous. I think he hoped that as soon as he was clear of the gorge, he could rid himself of all of us, especially Adela.\n\nAdela seemed stronger after a night's sleep, but she was still pale and didn't look as if her new-found strength would hold out for long. But after Zophiel's gibes of the night before, she was determined to show that she could walk as sturdily as the rest of us, and even Osmond seemed to wish to prove his wife's stamina to the magician. But Rodrigo, gallant as ever, was having none of it. He insisted that if we were to pull and push the wagon filled with Zophiel's boxes out of every water-filled rut on the track, Zophiel should at least assist by leading his horse on foot and Adela should be allowed to ride and conserve her strength.\n\nZophiel, seeing no way out of the gorge without our help, acquiesced with ill grace, venting his spleen for the next mile or so by tormenting the morose Jofre. Having realised that Jofre had kept the knowledge of the wager from his master, Zophiel seemed bent on amusing himself by constantly turning the conversation back to the point where he seemed about to reveal the secret, then deftly turning aside from it. Zophiel enjoyed the game of cat and mouse and he was a skilled practitioner.\n\nBut this time it was Rodrigo himself who created the diversion. He suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead.\n\n\"Camelot! I meant to tell you that a friend of yours, a child, was asking for you at the fair yesterday. I should have told you before, but all the commotion when we had to leave drove it from my head.\"\n\nI frowned. \"I don't know any children.\"\n\n\"She said she knew you. She was a pretty child, unusual. Her hair, it was\u2026like frost.\"\n\nI felt a chill as if cold, wet rags had been dragged over my skin. So Narigorm had been at the fair. I didn't know whether I was relieved or disturbed. I had begun to think that I had imagined seeing her. Then a thought struck me.\n\n\"Rodrigo, there were hundreds of people at the fair; how did she know that you knew me? Did you tell her?\"\n\nHe shook his head, then shrugged. \"Maybe she saw us together. But she asked me to tell you she will be with you soon. That is good news, yes?\"\n\n\"You didn't tell her where we were going, did you?\" I said, struggling to keep the note of alarm out of my voice.\n\nAgain he shook his head. \"No, she did not ask.\"\n\nI breathed out heavily. I could see by the perplexed expression on Rodrigo's face that my reaction had not been what he expected and I couldn't explain my disquiet, not even to myself. Why would she send me such a message? Was she following me? No, that was a foolish thought. Now I really was imagining things; why on earth would a child want to follow an old man she'd scarcely met?\n\n\"Camelot, this child, is she\u2014\" Rodrigo began.\n\nBut his question was cut off by an unholy shriek which echoed through the gorge, freezing us in our tracks. There was no mistaking this sound; it was human, and the human was in desperate trouble. The screams echoed along the gorge, but our view of the track ahead was blocked by an outcrop of rock. As the shrieks continued, Rodrigo and Osmond pulled out their knives and sprinted down the track towards the cries, closely followed by Jofre. But even as they ran, the screams stopped as abruptly as if severed with an axe. Zophiel, Adela, and I followed more slowly with the wagon, but as we cautiously rounded the bend we saw the others standing in the track, staring at something beyond.\n\nTwo men, their hoods drawn low over their heads, were bending over a third figure lying in the mud. One of the hooded men was dragging a leather pack away from the body, the other rummaging clumsily through the dead man's clothes. The murder had not been subtle. The victim's head was a bloody mangle of hair, brain, and bone. His face would have been unrecognisable even to his own mother. The blows had doubtless been inflicted by the heavy wooden clubs which still dangled on leather straps from the murderers' wrists. The robbers had not even troubled to drag him off the track into the undergrowth to do their work and now, far from running off in fear when they saw us approach, they continued to work over their prey, like feral dogs that refuse to be scared away from their kill.\n\nOsmond was the first to break the stunned silence. Yelling, he started towards the men, waving his arms as if to drive off animals. The two robbers finally raised their heads. They threw back their hoods, but remained crouched over the bloodied corpse.\n\n\"Come to play the gallant knight, have you, young master?\"\n\nOsmond stumbled backwards. The two faces that leered up at him appeared at first to be grinning. But those were not smiles on their faces. Their lips, like their noses, were being eaten away. Patches of grey dead flesh covered their skin, like mould on rotting fruit. This pair were lepers.\n\nThey straightened and began to limp towards us, spinning the cudgels on their wrists as they no doubt had done before they struck the unfortunate wretch on the track.\n\n\"Going to lay hands on us, young master? Going to take us? I've got an idea\u2014why don't you give us that fine wagon of yours. I'm weary of walking. I could do with a wagon to carry me. I'll bet you've some good food on that wagon. Wine, too. Come on then, hand it over\u2014or do you want us to give you a great big kiss for it?\"\n\nThey had nothing to lose. The Church had already declared these two dead to the world. What could the law do to them that was worse? Hang them? In their condition, hanging might have been a blessing, if any man had dared, but the jeering outcasts were right; who was going to lay hold of them to bring them to justice? Who would have the courage to seize those fingerless hands and bind them tight or put a noose about those scabby necks? Can you execute a dead man? We steal relics from the dead: And now it seemed the dead intended to steal from us.\n\nIt was Rodrigo who threw the knife. It was a powerful throw from a muscular arm. The blade sank deep into the leper's chest. He screamed, staggering backwards from the impact, cursing and attempting to wrench the knife out with the stumps of his fingerless hands. Then he tottered towards us, mouth gaping, arms stretched wide as if he would gather us all to the grave with him, before he crumpled lifeless into the muck. His companion had already turned tail and was scuttling into the trees. He did not look back to see his friend fall."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "The six of us were obliged to spend many more nights sleeping outdoors in the cold and wet. The encounter with the lepers in the gorge seemed to convince Zophiel that it was not safe to travel alone, especially with the roads and tracks as waterlogged as they were. And although I now know that Zophiel had a more pressing reason for travelling in our company at the time I believed that, despite his contempt for Saint John and his miracles, even he could see the sense in making for his shrine and settling there until the worst was over and the ports were open again. I, for one, was thankful for that, for we needed his wagon for Adela. The girl was in no condition to trudge through the mud, wind, and rain, mile after weary mile.\n\nIt had rained every day for the past three months and though summers had been bad these last few years, none of us could remember any as bad as this.\n\n\"If rain on Midsummer's Day should fall, it will rain for seven weeks more,\" Adela had recited cheerily at first, much to Zophiel's intense irritation.\n\nBut seven weeks had come and gone. Saint Swithin's day and his forty days and forty nights of rain had also come and gone. And still it rained. Not even Adela had faith in her rhymes anymore. There was nothing natural about this rain.\n\nAnd with each day's rain the mud grew deeper, the walking harder, our bellies emptier. The truth was, though none of us admitted as much, we had begun to depend on each other to survive. We shared all our food and ale, which we bought with the little each of us earned from the villages we trundled through. We made makeshift shelters when we couldn't find an inn or a barn, and together helped to gather fodder for the horse.\n\nThe horse, as we soon discovered, had been well named. Her coat had a fiery red-gold sheen to it and for that she had been named Xanthus, after the immortal talking horse that drew Achilles' chariot in the Trojan War. But in temperament she took after a more infamous beast of the same name, the man-eating mare of King Diomedes, except that our Xanthus was an even greater misanthrope, for unlike the king's horse, who only devoured his enemies, Xanthus took delight in savaging friend as well as foe. She had a nasty habit of biting without warning any who got within range of her teeth and for no good cause except that it amused her. We all quickly learned to judge the reach of her neck and to keep a safe distance, unless we had a firm grip on her bridle.\n\nBut Xanthus and the wagon she pulled became our ark, our covenant, the standard around which we rallied. We pulled them both out of ruts during the day and kept watch over them at night. The wagon carried our packs, our food, our ale; it even gave us shelter if we could find no other. All six of us now were headed towards the safety of Saint John's shrine to sit out the weather and pestilence, and the thought of the dry beds, the easy money, and hot food that awaited us there, the enticement of no more trudging in the mud and rain, was what kept us going when our bellies were aching and our feet were so wet and numb we could have broken our toes off and sold them as relics.\n\nAnd something else was spurring me on, though I did not confide it to any of my companions. Once I had led our little company to North Marston, I would be able to leave them there. They'd be safe. No more acting nursemaid or having to endure Zophiel's tongue or Jofre's sulks. I'd have only myself to worry about. At North Marston the others would be able to fend for themselves. I could leave them behind with clear conscience.\n\nThe need to reach the shrine was becoming more urgent by the day. Fear was creeping across the land. It rose silently like the tide in a creek, a cold, grey fear that was seeping into everything. The country was full of the news that the pestilence had reached London. That shook even the most optimistic souls. True, London was a port; the city was bound to succumb sooner or later, but it was not a southern port, it was not even a western port. It was on the east coast. The pestilence had crept up on three sides of the land: Now it was reaching in to grasp the heart of England.\n\nNo one in the heart of England had actually seen anyone sick with the pestilence; most knew little of what it did to a man, but that only made them more fearful, for every headache, every cough, every sniffle or touch of fever might be the beginning. How could you tell? To make matters worse, rumours were spreading that it wasn't just humans who fell to the pestilence; it was animals and birds too. Herds of pigs, sheep, cattle, even horses had sickened and died in the south. Stockmen left their animals at night well and hearty, and by morning when they woke there would not be a beast left standing in the flock.\n\n\"Maybe the flagellants will come,\" said Rodrigo. \"I saw them once in Venice, marching from church to church. Men and women, naked to the waist save for their white hoods, flogging themselves bloody with metal-tipped whips. Now I hear there are whole armies of them right across Europe, screaming at each other to whip harder and pray louder.\"\n\n\"And if they do come to England will you join them?\" I asked.\n\nRodrigo grimaced and bent his head in mock shame. \"You see before you an abject coward, Camelot. I do not relish pain, either giving or receiving it, not even for the good of my soul. And you, Camelot? Will you don the white hood?\"\n\nMy hand darted over the puckered surface of my scar. \"It seems to me that if God wants to punish His children, He is more than capable of wielding His own whip.\"\n\nThe flagellants didn't come. The English are different. We don't have the hot passion of other lands. It's not blood that runs in our veins, but rain. But though we English didn't throw ourselves into an orgy of scourging, we sought other ways to appease heaven and divert the wrath of God. And who's to say that the pain of that was not worse than a flogging for those who found themselves the victims of it?\n\nIt was not good weather for a wedding, not what a bride dreams of, but then nothing about this wedding was the stuff of romantic dreams. The day was bitterly cold as well as wet. A snide wind whipped through the streets, but the villagers of Woolstone were determined to throw themselves into the celebrations just the same and had dressed in their finery, which for the young girls meant their flimsiest and most revealing garments. Their mothers were rushing around arguing about where the garlands should be hung and how the food should be cooked, while their menfolk set up canopies, benches, and trestles amongst the tombs and rolled barrels of ale across the graveyard, trampling even the new graves underfoot. It seemed that everyone had become so absorbed in the preparations they had entirely forgotten the reason for this collective madness. But if everyone around you is mad, then that becomes the new sanity and who were we to complain? For where there is a wedding there is good food and drink, and plenty of it.\n\nSome say the custom of the Cripples' Wedding dates back to the time before men were Christian. It is said that marrying two cripples together in the graveyard at the community's expense will turn away divine wrath and protect the village from whatever pestilence or sickness rages around it. For the charm to work, everyone in the village has to contribute something to the wedding. And in this village, everyone had been coerced into helping with the preparations whether they wanted to or not, for though Woolstone nestles beneath the hill of the White Horse, the villagers knew in their bones the ancient carved horse up on the hill above could offer little protection against this new curse.\n\nAnd when they discovered Rodrigo and Jofre in our company, they had taken it as a sign that this charade was already blessed by God. For had He not sent them two fine musicians just when they were needed? God's hand can be seen in any occurrence for those who are determined to find it there, but then again, so can the Devil's.\n\nThe newlyweds sat under a canopy dressed simply in clean and serviceable clothes, but adorned with chaplets of evergreens and garlanded with grain stalks, fruit, and ribbons. It was as if the villagers had been unable to make up their minds if this was a wedding or a harvest festival. The wedding ring was fashioned from a scrap of tin, the loving cup was borrowed, and the bride was barefoot, but many a young couple have started married life with less and thought theirs the most perfect wedding on earth. But they were in love. This pair was not.\n\nThe bridegroom was probably no more than twenty, but his body was wasted away down one side. His left arm swung like a dead hare from its socket and his leg dragged uselessly behind him, so that he moved in a series of shuffling hops, leaning on a crutch. His head was oversized like the head of a giant baby and though he tried to talk, twisting his mouth to do so, he could not make himself understood. He seemed bemused that everyone was smiling at him and shaking him by the hand. It must have been a bewildering change from the kicks and curses he normally received. He was stuffing food into his mouth and guzzling his ale as fast as he could, spilling it from the sides of his mouth in his haste as if he had never been offered so much food before and feared he never would be again.\n\nThe bride was not smiling. She sat motionless where she had been placed, her sightless eyes rolling from side to side. It was hard to tell her age. Years of near starvation had shrivelled her flesh, and though some attempt had been made to comb what remained of her hair, it did not conceal the yellow crusted sores on her scalp and face. The knuckles of her hands were shiny and swollen, the thin fingers twisted together against her palms, so that it would have been impossible to separate them.\n\nShe had quickly been abandoned by the village girls who had stood in as her attendants. Now, their duty done, they had gone off to kiss and be kissed by their sweethearts. And, although she was surrounded by food, she made no attempt to eat or drink as if she was well used to smelling the savour of food that was not hers to eat and ale that she could not afford to buy. I slid onto the bench beside the bride and tore a roasted goose leg from the carcass on the table and pressed the woman's cold, waxy hands to it. She half turned towards me and nodded her thanks. At least the blind don't recoil at the sight of my scar. Pressing the goose leg between the knuckles of both hands, the woman slowly lifted it to her mouth, sniffing at it before biting into it. Unlike her new husband she ate slowly, as if she had to make this pleasure last.\n\n\"You need to be careful, Camelot,\" Zophiel drawled in my ear. \"They might choose you as the next groom.\"\n\n\"Camelot is no cripple,\" Rodrigo blazed angrily.\n\n\"You think not?\" Zophiel reached over my shoulder to spear a succulent spicy mutton-olive with the point of his knife. \"He's already carelessly mislaid one eye and doesn't appear to remember where. If he loses the other, he'll make a fine candidate for a groom, and with the pestilence spreading as fast as it is, they'll need every cripple they can find.\"\n\n\"I'm counting on it, Zophiel,\" I said quickly, seeing Rodrigo's fists clench. \"How else are old dotards like me going to grease their pikes?\"\n\nZophiel laughed and wandered off in search of more food. I'd discovered that the best way to handle him was not to rise to his taunts. I wished Rodrigo would also realise that. I had an uneasy feeling there was going to be trouble between those two. The sooner we reached the shrine and we could all go our separate ways, the better.\n\nAs the afternoon darkened into evening, the rain eased. The lanterns and torches were lit. Trestles and benches were moved aside for dancing. Rodrigo and Jofre played, joined by a handful of villagers on drums, whistles, reed-pipes, pots and pans. Jofre had been drinking steadily all evening, but if he played a few bad notes, they were buried under the screeches of the villagers' whistles and pipes. Rodrigo was not used to having cooking pots thumped in time with his music, but he accepted it with good grace and tried to match his rhythm to their beat, and was rewarded with grins and cries of \"That's better, lad, you're getting it now.\"\n\nIt was not easy dancing in the graveyard. The dancers tripped over humps and banged into wooden crosses and stone markers, but by now everyone was so merry on the free ale, cider, and mead they roared with laughter every time someone fell over. In the dark corners under the graveyard walls, couples made love, giggling and groaning, pumping up and down, only to roll exhausted off each other and fall asleep where they lay on the wet ground. Children created their own chaos. As drunk as their parents, they played mad games of chase, threw stones at swinging garlands, or ganged up to torment some other wretched child.\n\nZophiel was not dancing. The magician was seated on the bench with his arm about the waist of a buxom village girl dressed in a bright yellow kirtle which was too light for the chill of the day. She shivered and, giggling, tried to wriggle under the folds of his cloak. She had that unsteady, bright-eyed look of someone not yet drunk, but well on the way to it. I'd never seen Zophiel with a woman before. I thought he despised them all, but it appeared he did have a use for some of them at least. I hoped for his sake that the girl was not betrothed or wed. Husbands and lovers don't appreciate their goods being pawed, especially by strangers and by travellers least of all.\n\nSuddenly the girl yelped in pain and sprang away from him. A pinch too hard, perhaps? Or a lock of her hair caught on the fastening of his cloak? She swore at him and, tossing her head, flounced off to join friends on the other side of the graveyard, from where she threw furious glances back in his direction. Zophiel seemed quite unconcerned and made no attempt to go after her. He sat picking at the remains of a duck carcass and when he saw her looking across at him, he raised his tankard in a mocking salute.\n\nThe music stopped. A groan went up, but was quickly hushed as the miller clambered unsteadily up onto one of the benches.\n\n\"Good Sirs!\" He hiccupped, tried to bow, and nearly toppled headlong from the bench. Several men standing below pushed him back upright again. \"Good Sirs 'n' ladies, the time has come to bed this happy couple, for as we all know, it is no true marriage until it's consum\u2026consum\u2026nimated\u2026until the groom's given her one.\" The crowd roared with laughter. \"So let's not keep the happy pair waiting. Lead the bashful bridegroom to his lovely bride!\"\n\n\"At your command, my Lord,\" sang out a voice from behind him and a figure, nimble as a cat, sprang out from the shadows, wrapped in a dark hooded cloak. He bowed low, then threw off his cloak. Several people screamed as the flickering torchlight revealed that under the hood was not a man's face but a grinning white skull.\n\n\"Death at your service, good Sirs.\"\n\nThe figure capered before the crowd and the gasps gave way to drunken laughter. The dancing man was naked save for his skull mask. His body had been covered head to toe in a thick black paste, over which someone had crudely painted white bones so that in the darkness he appeared as a living, cavorting skeleton. All at once the villagers struck up their instruments again, banging on pots and pans, blowing their whistles and pipes. Soon those who could still stand fell into step behind the prancing skeleton, who began to lead them widdershins around the graveyard's edge.\n\nAt the centre of this macabre procession was the groom, carried shoulder high by a group of sturdy lads. He had been half stripped and was now dressed only in a shirt, his bare arse gleaming under the torchlight. The grey wrinkled skin of his withered leg contrasted oddly with the firm muscles of his sound leg, as if the limb of an ancient old man had been sewn onto the body of the youth. He was still grinning, but nervously now, as if he feared that at any moment the crowd might turn on him. I couldn't see the bride in the procession and I assumed that she had already been taken from the graveyard to some cottage where, in due course, the groom would also be carried to spend his wedding night, but there was to be no privacy for this consummation.\n\nAfter circling the walls three times, the groom was carried back to the centre of the graveyard, where they set him down on the ground on all fours like a dog. A straw-filled pallet had been set on top of a grave, pushed against the weathered cross which stood as the headboard for this bridal bed. The bride, dressed only in a long white shift, had already been lain on top of it, as if she were a corpse stretched out in her coffin. Her sightless eyes were wide open and she was moving her head from side to side as if trying to hear what was afoot.\n\nShe didn't see the silvery clouds streaming like floodwaters across the face of the moon or the flickering torches casting giant shadows on the graveyard walls, or the glittering eyes of the circle of villagers looking down on her. She didn't see the figure of Death lean over her, flicking water from his hyssop twigs as he parodied the blessing of the marriage bed. But she felt the drops fall on her naked face and feet: She winced as if they were drops of boiling oil.\n\nThe groom, encouraged by playful kicks to his bare backside, crawled towards the blind woman until he was straddling her. Feeling him above her, she raised her hands to try to push him off, but the gesture was useless. Even a woman sound in limb would have been hard put to push his weight off her. She, with her twisted hands and wasted body, stood no chance.\n\nOne of the more sober village women took pity on her. \"There, there, lay still, my duck, and it'll soon be over,\" she crooned, catching the bride's wrists and pinning them gently, but firmly against the cross behind her head.\n\n\"Is that what she says to you?\" one of the men called out to the older woman's husband. The crowd roared with laughter.\n\n\"Go on, my son; give her all you've got. We're all counting on you, so make sure you do a good job of it.\"\n\nThe bridegroom stared round, mouth hanging open, unable to believe he was at last being given permission to do to a woman what had always been forbidden him. How many girls had he longed to do this to? Had he tried several times when he was younger and been repulsed? Perhaps he'd been given a sound thrashing into the bargain by the girls' brothers or his own father. Now everyone in the village was urging him to do it. This might be a dream; he might wake up soon.\n\nAfter it was all over, the women helped the bride to a dark corner and pressed her hands round a beaker of hot spiced ale.\n\n\"There, there, my duck, at least you didn't have to look at him. Believe me, with a husband like mine, there's many a night when I wish I was blind.\"\n\nThey left her crouching on the ground under the graveyard wall. She pressed her back hard against the sharp flinty stones as if pain was the only certainty she could trust in and then she wept. She wept silently, as she did everything. Her eyes were sightless, but they still could make tears.\n\nBut she could console herself with the wedding gifts from the village\u2014a few pots and pans, an armful of tallow candles, some blankets and a pallet, hens and a cockerel, a bag or two of flour and a single-roomed hut which had once been used to store salt, so at least it was dry and had a good stout door. The hut was a palace compared to what she had owned that morning, and since the whole community had pitched in she was better set up than many a village girl could expect to be when she wed.\n\nSo what if she had no choice in her bridegroom? In that, she was no different from any merchant's daughter or highborn lady in the land. For if land, trade, or money is entailed, then marriage is merely a business transaction to be negotiated by the parents. Many a bride on her wedding night has passed from girl to woman with her eyes tightly shut and her teeth clenched, praying it will soon be over. No, all things considered, you could argue that the crippled bride had been treated no worse than any royal princess. But are the flames of a fire made less painful by the knowledge that others are burning with you?\n\nI took out of my scrip a little wisp of stiff coarse hair bound up with a white thread and placed it in the bride's lap. She touched it tentatively, a puzzled expression on her face.\n\n\"A wedding gift for you, a relic. A few hairs from Saint Uncumber's beard. You know of Saint Uncumber?\"\n\nShe slowly shook her head.\n\n\"Her real name was Wilgefortis. She was a princess of Portugal whose father tried to force her to marry the King of Sicily, but she'd taken a vow to remain a virgin, so she prayed that the Blessed Virgin would make her unattractive to her betrothed. Her prayers were answered with a beard that sprouted on her face. The King of Sicily withdrew in horror when he saw it and immediately called off the wedding. But the princess didn't have to live long with her beard. Her father, in a rage, had her crucified. Now women pray to her to be unencumbered from their husbands or any burden they bear. You could use this to pray for that too\u2026if you wished.\"\n\nAs I turned to go, she pressed her two hands tightly against the relic, the tears coursing once more down her hollow cheeks. A wisp of hair is not much to pin your hopes upon, but sometimes a wisp is all the hope you can give and it can be enough.\n\nA woman standing near me settled herself back onto a bench and offered a flagon to her neighbour. \"If she doesn't get a bairn from this night's work, it won't be her husband's fault. Did you see him? He was in there quicker than a ferret down a rabbit hole.\"\n\nHer friend took a deep swig from the flagon. Cider trickled down her chin and she wiped it with the back of her hand. \"Never mind a bairn. I didn't part with a good cooking pot just to bring another useless cripple into this world. I want to know if it's done the trick and saved us from the pestilence.\"\n\n\"If this doesn't, nothing will. That rune-reader's been right about everything else. Her runes said the musicians would come to bless the wedding and it was her runes picked out the cripples to wed, so it's bound to work if the runes chose them.\"\n\n\"Did you say a rune-reader?\" I blurted out before I could stop myself.\n\nThe two women stared at me, put out at having a stranger interrupt their gossip. Finally one said grudgingly, \"Aye, no one in the village could agree who they should choose as bride and groom. Let's face it, it's not as if we've a shortage of cripples to pick from, so they asked the rune-reader to cast the runes to find the lucky couple.\"\n\n\"Is she here? The rune-reader?\"\n\nThe woman shook her head. \"If you want your fortune read, you're too late. She was a traveller same as you, just passing through, left a week or more ago.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" the other woman joined in. \"Queer little thing she was. Those eyes of hers, give you the shivers just to look at them. It wouldn't surprise me if she was one of the faerie folk; she certainly had the gift.\"\n\nI did not ask more. I didn't want to know. There were many diviners working the roads, most of them fey. They try to look as if they might be descended from faerie folk; it impresses the customers, convinces them the diviner has second sight. There was no reason in the world why the rune-reader who came through here should be Narigorm, and even if it was, why should she not have taken this road? Anyone with any sense was heading north. And if it was her, then it meant she was at least a week ahead of us. She was long gone. If she was ahead of us, she couldn't possibly be following me. Her message had been a simple greeting, nothing more, nothing more sinister than that.\n\nI suddenly felt a great weariness. The revels were continuing, but I'd had enough. The promise of a dry bed, after so many nights sleeping rough, was more tempting than ale or food. I began to pick my way through the drinkers towards the inn. Osmond had already taken Adela back to the inn. He'd seemed troubled all evening. He had taken Adela to sit as far away from the bridal table as he could get, and several times I'd caught him studying her, looking down at her swollen belly with a deep and anxious frown. I began to fear that something was amiss with her. Perhaps shed complained of pain. But if she had, she showed no signs of it, eating everything that was offered her and laughing with the villagers around her. Osmond in contrast had hardly eaten a thing, and as soon as the meal was ended, he had led Adela away, though she clearly would have liked to stay. Maybe he was jealous of other men speaking to her, but he'd never shown any sign of that before.\n\nI couldn't see any of the others except for Zophiel, who was talking low and earnestly to a brawny, square-headed youth. Whatever Zophiel said evidently didn't please the young man, for he broke from Zophiel and strode across to the girl in the yellow kirtle who was now in the company of several lads and girls, laughing and drinking. He grabbed her arm, none too gently, and began to drag her away. The girl tried to wrest herself out of the man's grasp.\n\nI glanced across at Zophiel. He had retreated to safety and was lounging against the wall, watching the proceedings with amusement. I wondered what exactly he had said to the girl's boyfriend or brother, whichever Square-head was, to make him so annoyed with her. Whatever it was, I was certain Zophiel had bated him deliberately. Was Zophiel not so indifferent about the girl walking away as he had pretended to be?\n\nSensing trouble, a group of about a dozen lads moved nearer, watching with open interest. I spotted Jofre among them. His face was flushed and he was laughing with two of the young men beside him and ignoring a baby-faced girl who was twining her arms about him, trying in vain to get him to take notice of her. He swayed, unbalanced by the weight of the girl hanging on his arm. From a distance, it was hard to tell just how drunk he was, but he was not sober, that was certain.\n\nSquare-head was now shouting at the girl in the yellow kirtle and she was bawling back. She broke free from him and ran behind one of the other lads for protection, clinging on to him. Square-head drew back his fist and punched her protector hard on the nose. He staggered backwards, taking the girl down with him as he fell. All the lads standing around took this as their signal and entered the fray with a will. Fists and flagons flew through the air.\n\nI heard a familiar roar above the screams and shouts.\n\n\"No, Jofre, your hands! Faceta attenzione!\"\n\nBut it was too late; Jofre had pushed forward with the rest and was already lost among the flailing fists and kicking feet.\n\nBodies crashed down upon benches, tables were overturned, and pots came crashing to the ground. Suddenly the screams redoubled. A smashed lantern had sent a snake of flame slithering up the ribbons and dried stalks decorating one of the poles and set fire to the canopy. The fire took hold rapidly, sending orange flames leaping into the night. Fragments of blazing cloth and dry grain stalks floated up into the black sky, hovering menacingly over the thatches of the nearby cottages and wooden byres. The lads were too engrossed in the fight even to notice, but those villagers still sober enough to realise the danger came running over, trying to push the wrestling lads aside and pull the blazing canopy to the ground. Others flung the food from dishes and pots, using them to scoop water from the nearby horse trough to throw over the blaze.\n\nIn the scramble, a little girl was knocked against one of the poles. For a moment the child seemed only to be winded, then she began shrieking, \"Mam! Mam!\"\n\nFlames had caught the edge of the child's skirts and were licking upwards. She bolted from the fire, but that only fanned the flames. The adults near her tried to grab her, but she was too terrified to stop. The little girl ran screaming in frantic circles, her skirts ablaze, until one man managed to wrestle her to the ground and beat out the fire. He scooped her up and carried her from the crowd. The child clung to him, sobbing, but mercifully the many layers of clothes had protected her legs from the worst of the burns. She would recover.\n\nThe fire was finally doused. Fortunately, everything was so wet from the months of rain that the thatches on the cottages were not even scorched. The fight was extinguished too. Enough icy water had landed on the combatants to separate those who had not already been knocked out. One by one, the groaning lads were led or dragged away by scolding mothers, wives, or girlfriends, blood trickling from split lips and grazed knuckles. It was, you might say, a typical end to a wedding.\n\nJofre's exit was, if anything, more ignominious. He had thrown a couple of punches, but he was no street fighter. He'd done more damage to himself than to his opponents and a vicious punch in his stomach finished him. Rodrigo found him winded and gasping, rolled in a ball, trying to protect his face from the trampling feet around him. His right hand was already purple and swelling. He would not be playing that night or for many nights to come."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "In early October of that year, after two months on the road together, amid a cacophony of barking dogs, and the blasting horns and raucous cheering of the pilgrims, we finally trundled into North Marston, the home of Saint John Shorne. We arrived on Saint Faith's Day. It was an auspicious day, even though that year there were few griddled Faith cakes on sale, for what little mildewed grain had been salvaged from the rain-sodden fields was already sparse. We, like all the travellers arriving that day, gave thanks to Saint Faith, patron of pilgrims, for a safe conclusion to our journey. Even I lit a candle in sincere and heart-felt gratitude to her, for never was I more thankful to see a town. No more heaving the wagon out of water-filled ruts fifty times a day. No more trudging through mud and wading through puddles. No more sleeping in wet clothes. We would spend our nights warm and dry until the winter frosts came, bringing an end to the rain and with it, as everyone prayed fervently, an end to the pestilence.\n\nBut I, more than anyone, should have remembered that Saint Faith is also the patron saint of prisoners. I should have taken warning from that and kept on walking. We should never have entered that town.\n\nThe shrine of Johannes de Schorne, or John Shorne, as local people call him, was even more frenetic than I had anticipated. In that first year of the pestilence, shrines flourished. Pilgrimages to the continent were impossible, so those lesser saints in England, whose holy sites had been neglected in favour of the more fashionable shrines abroad, suddenly found the faithful and the not-so-faithful crowding to them. The waters of Saint John's well, which tasted strongly of iron, were sworn to be a guaranteed cure for chills and fevers, and though the pestilence was not a chill, it was certainly a fever, so the crowds teeming around North Marston were more numerous than before. They drank the water to ward off the pestilence and carried flasks of it away to drink in their sickbeds in case they did fall prey to it. I too stowed a few flasks in my pack. It always pays to restock whenever the opportunity arises.\n\nThe inns and taverns along the road and in the village itself had multiplied like loaves and fishes to feed and shelter the crowds of pilgrims who came to drink the waters of the holy well. The avaricious innkeepers had naturally raised their prices, but we managed to find warm beds in a shabby, but tolerably clean, inn. Zophiel was able to beat the surly innkeeper down in price, persuading him that we were there for the winter and that Rodrigo and Jofre would entertain his customers. Not that Zophiel was planning to spend the winter in North Marston, as I soon discovered.\n\nThe night after we arrived, I made my way to the Angel, a tavern favoured by the more experienced travellers, where you could still get fried brawn and sharp sauce for an honest price. In the dim mustard fug of the smoking tallow candles, it was difficult to make out any man's features, and those who frequented that particular tavern preferred it that way. But you can't spend months on the road walking behind a man without recognising his shape. I recognised Zophiel at once, even though he had his back to me.\n\nHe was sitting at one of the corner tables, offering ale to the two men slouched opposite him. Not something Zophiel would do for a stranger, unless he wanted something. As it so happened, the bench behind Zophiel was empty.\n\nOne of the men was gesturing with his tankard. \"A ship? You'll be lucky to find one anywhere on the west, not till you get well to the north of here anyhow. Pestilence has spread right up the coast.\"\n\n\"You're sure of that, my friend?\" Zophiel sounded tense. \"There must be some small harbours that have escaped it.\"\n\nThe man shrugged. \"Happen there is, but who's to say they won't have fallen by the time you reach them?\"\n\nHis companion nodded. \"Even if you could find a ship putting in on that side, from what I've heard, the cost of passage is rising faster than the ports are closing. A man would have to be desperate to part with that kind of money.\"\n\nHe and his friend exchanged knowing glances, obviously wondering just how desperate Zophiel was.\n\nZophiel nodded, then rose abruptly. As he turned, he stumbled over a bone discarded in the rushes on the floor, and knocked into my table.\n\n\"My apologies,\" he began, then jerked back. \"Camelot\u2026what brings you here?\"\n\n\"The same as you, as I imagine, a decent meal and a little business.\" I pushed my flagon of ale towards him.\n\nHe hesitated before sitting down and pouring himself a measure. \"Knowing you, Camelot, I've no doubt you heard what we were discussing.\" His long white fingers slithered round the hard brown leather of the tankard.\n\n\"That it's spreading up the west coast. We'll be safe enough here until the frosts come. We're well inland. But then, being inland is no advantage to a man who wants a ship, is it?\" I watched his fingers tighten around the tankard's lip. \"Is your business in Ireland so pressing? Worth risking your life for?\"\n\n\"Life is a risk, Camelot. There is only one way to enter this world, but a million ways to leave it. Natural, accidental\u2026deliberate.\"\n\n\"And which would you choose, Zophiel?\"\n\n\"I would choose the time and the place. The unexpected\u2014 that's what men fear most, not knowing where and when.\"\n\n\"May Saint Barbara protect us from a sudden death.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Don't tell me\u2014you just happen to have a scrap of her shift or a lock of her hair in your scrip.\"\n\nI spread my hands. \"Naturally, but even I wouldn't be foolish enough to attempt to sell them to you.\"\n\nHe laughed again. \"You're no fool, Camelot. With your one eye I suspect you see more than most men do with two.\" He drained his tankard, then set it down on the greasy table. He leant forward, his hard green eyes fixed on mine. \"But a word of warning, my friend; Don't try to see into my life or my business.\"\n\n\"I've watched your conjuring tricks. It would take a faster eye than mine to detect something you wished to conceal.\"\n\nHe smiled and pushed himself to his feet. \"For that, I shall buy you supper. You said the food was decent here, though that's hard to believe of such a midden, but I'll bow to your experience on this occasion.\"\n\nZophiel could be surprisingly generous when the mood took him.\n\nI watched him fight his way between the crowded tables in search of the serving girl. As usual, he'd deflected my questions neatly, but the urgency in his voice when he questioned the men told me that if it was really business that took the magician to Ireland, the stakes must be worth a king's ransom. And if it was not business\u2026well then, if a man is willing to risk plunging into a flood, it is usually because he has a fire at his back.\n\nBut if what the men said was correct, Zophiel would need to entice many pilgrims to see his mermaid if he wanted to earn his fare to Ireland. Still, if there was any place left in England to make money, this was it. The crowds, having come all this way, were determined to make the most of their excursion and were in the mood to be entertained. Zophiel worked every waking hour exhibiting his mermaid and performing his conjuring tricks for those who queued waiting their turn at the well. And while there was no call for Osmond's skill as a painter of church walls, since every inch of the shrine and church had already been newly painted, he turned his hand to making toys for children, which were beginning to sell even better than the official tin emblems from the shrine, for he carved wooden boots from which little tar-black devils with red eyes and sharp horns could be made to pop up, to the delight of children and adults alike.\n\nI had to be more circumspect around the shrine. I couldn't display my holy relics openly, for priests and pardoners don't welcome competition and the law is on their side and against the honest peddler. The Church forbids the selling of relics which have not been certified as genuine by Rome, though most clerics turned a blind eye to it. They know that those who buy from me can't afford the authenticated relics which change hands for a king's ransom. Besides, the ordinary people have more faith in my scar than in the seals and documents of Rome, for they know only too well that any document can be forged for a price. If a man wants a nail paring of Saint Walstan to protect his cattle or a woman wants a tooth of Saint Dympna to cure her child of the falling sickness, where will they come but to the likes of me?\n\nSo I searched for a place where I could discreetly ply my trade and found a sheltered spot on a bank under an ancient oak tree. It stood on the outskirts of the village, near the Boot Inn, well away from the shrine. The thick branches kept off the worst of the rain and the gnarled roots of the tree formed a natural seat, worn smooth and shiny by the hundreds of backsides of young and old who over the years had put them to that good use. Opposite was the village wash pool, a large tank fed by a spring, covered over with a thatched roof supported by four pillars. It was a favourite meeting spot for the village women who came daily to gossip while they washed their clothes and hung them under the thatch to dry in the breeze that funnelled through the pillars.\n\nThe bank on which I sat ran alongside the main track through the village, a perfect vantage point to catch those entering and leaving North Marston each day. I displayed a few amulets and rings of amber, jacinth, and sardonyx, known cures for deadly fevers, and for those who could not afford gemstones, genuine or otherwise, I sold spiders in walnut shells to hang round their necks. For, as I told them, even if you are armed with a flask of good Saint John Shorne's holy water, it does no harm to buy a little extra protection. A prudent man does not keep all his wealth in one purse, so a wise man does not put all his faith in one saint.\n\nA few days after we arrived in North Marston I took my place as usual under the oak tree. Adela soon came to join me, occupying herself with repairing Osmond's hose, for they were full of holes from weeks of ill-usage on the road. She was bored sitting alone in the sleeping barn of the inn day after day. Osmond had forbidden her to accompany him to the shrine where he sold his toys, for fear that she might catch some sickness from the crowds.\n\nI understood why he was afraid for her. Her face was filling out a little and was starting to brighten into that glow of vitality which pregnant women often exhibit. But she was by no means fully recovered. In North Marston she could rest and build up her strength, and when the baby came, she'd be safe in a warm inn, with plenty of goodwives around to help her through the birth. If Osmond's jack-in-boot toys continued to sell well, the two might one day be able to rent a small cottage of their own. This was no bad place to raise a child. It would never be hard to find work around a shrine as popular as this one.\n\nAdela looked up and smiled as she saw Rodrigo hurrying towards us, but he didn't stop. Instead, he stormed straight past us, towards the Boot Inn. Judging by his grim expression, he was not going to the inn in search of ale. I hoped for Jofre's sake the lad was not inside.\n\nJofre was the only one of us who did not seem relieved to have reached North Marston. Though his hand was healing, it had still to regain its full dexterity. Rodrigo was torn between fear that the boy might have done permanent damage to his hand and fury that he had got into the fight at the Cripples' Wedding. If Jofre had admitted his stupidity, Rodrigo might have cooled down sooner, but young lads seldom admit they're in the wrong, especially when they've been humiliated, so he stubbornly stood his ground, claiming that he'd been an innocent bystander, unwillingly caught up in the fight and forced to defend himself. But unfortunately for him, Rodrigo had seen only too plainly what had taken place.\n\nRodrigo bought salves and oils, and twice a day massaged them into the boy's hand, along with long lectures on how his hands were his talent and his livelihood, how even minor injuries could lead to permanent stiffness, and how drunkenness could lead to just this kind of recklessness. Any repentance Jofre might have felt had quickly turned to sullen resentment; even I began to feel sorry for the lad.\n\n\"Ease up on the boy,\" I told Rodrigo. \"What lad hasn't got into a foolish fight just to impress a girl? Did you ever stop to consider the consequences when you were his age?\"\n\n\"He has too much talent to waste, Camelot. Jofre could be a great musician, the best, if only he would set his heart to it.\"\n\n\"And if he doesn't want to be?\"\n\n\"Music is his life. You have only to look at his face when he plays.\"\n\n\"I can see it in yours, Rodrigo, but I'm not so sure about the boy's. He may have a great talent, but it doesn't seem to make him happy.\"\n\nRodrigo had stared at the raindrops spinning across the puddles. \"Then he must learn to live without happiness.\"\n\n\"As you have?\" I asked him, but he did not answer.\n\nAdela prodded me and nodded towards the Boot Inn, where Rodrigo was emerging, scowling more morosely than before he entered.\n\n\"He looks furious,\" she whispered.\n\n\"I'd say it's as well for Jofre Rodrigo didn't find him drinking in there. The lad would have been hauled out by his ear.\"\n\nRodrigo stalked over to where we sat beneath the oak and threw himself down on the thick carpet of last year's leaves at Adela's feet. He took a great swig of ale from his flask, then he passed it to me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.\n\n\"Il sangue di Dio! I swear I shall flay Jofre alive when I catch up with him. I have searched every tavern and alehouse in the village and he is nowhere to be found.\"\n\n\"And you need him now?\" I asked.\n\n\"I need him to practise. He is my pupil, yet he thinks he has nothing left to learn. Did you hear his singing last night?\"\n\n\"The people liked it.\"\n\n\"The people would not know the difference between a wellsung tune and the yowling of an amorous tomcat. It was\u2026\" Words seemed to fail him. He pounded his fist into his hand in exasperation. \"It was an abomination, an affront to the ears of God. To listen to him last night you would have thought he had learned nothing at all in the last five years. Two nights ago he sang well. It was not perfect, but it was competent. If he can do it one night, why not the next?\"\n\nThe boy had been more than competent the night before last. He had sung like an angel, each note faultless and true, the clean, pure alto voice reaching so high to heaven that for once even the raucous drunks were silenced. He sang from the depths of his soul, any fool could hear that, and any fool could see why, too. Adela and Osmond were in the inn that night and Jofre's every song was directed to the corner where they sat, Adela leaning upon Osmond, dreamily rubbing her belly and gazing into the firelight, her face, for once, serene and untroubled.\n\nBut they weren't there last night. Adela had been tired and had retired early to the barn at the back of the inn and Osmond had gone to keep her company, keeping a watchful eye over her as he carved his wooden jack-in-boot toys. Jofre, forced by Rodrigo to stay in the inn and sing for the pilgrims, sulked throughout the entire evening, glancing up hopefully every time the door opened, only to sink into a worse temper as the evening wore on and there was no sign of his beloved.\n\nWas it possible that Rodrigo had failed to notice his apprentice's infatuation? Perhaps he was so used to Jofre's sulks that he could not detect a difference. Still, I could hardly raise the matter then, not with Adela sitting beside me apparently equally ignorant of it.\n\nRodrigo's anger made him too restless to sit for long. He was soon off to resume his search, muttering another stream of threats under his breath.\n\nAdela watched him stride away, mud splashing up round him. \"He won't really thrash the boy, will he?\"\n\n\"He'll scold and threaten, but he won't do anything, more's the pity Jofre will talk his way out of trouble as usual. And Rodrigo will relent and forgive him.\"\n\nAdela's eyes opened wide. \"You think Rodrigo should beat him? But you always stand up for Jofre. I've often heard you tell Rodrigo not to lecture him so much.\"\n\n\"Endless lectures only make the lad feel he is permanently in disgrace, and as long as anyone remains in disgrace they know they are not forgiven. Punishment at least draws a line under the affair.\"\n\nAdela bit her lip. \"There are some things that can never be undone, no matter how severely you are punished. Punishment doesn't always bring forgiveness, Camelot.\"\n\nI looked at her quizzically.\n\nShe reddened slightly, adding hastily, \"But you said Rodrigo would forgive him.\"\n\n\"He will and he does with all his heart, but Jofre doesn't feel forgiven. And more to the point, he can't forgive himself.\"\n\n\"For singing badly? It's only music. If he sings badly one night, where's the harm in that? It can easily be undone by singing better the next.\"\n\n\"Don't let Rodrigo hear you say it's only music. He's told me many times that to squander the gift of music is worse than murder. 'Music,' he says, 'is more precious than life itself for it lives on long after the composer is dust.' But then he is from the Latin races and they are passionate about everything; they hang themselves over an ill-fitting shirt or throw themselves off a cliff for a pair of beautiful eyes. The only thing an Englishman gets passionate about is the merits of his ale or a pair of fighting cocks.\"\n\nAdela stared down at the pile of rotting leaves at her feet. The edges of her tightly pinned veil fell across her cheeks, masking her expression. \"Osmond feels as passionate about his painting. He used to say that he could no more live without painting than he could without breathing, but he's had to give it up.\" Adela's tone was mournful as if she was announcing a death. Her hand fluttered over her swollen belly.\n\n\"For you and the child?\"\n\nShe nodded miserably.\n\n\"If painting is his life, then he must love you more than life itself.\" I patted her hand. \"You're blessed with a good husband, Adela. Take it from me, most men would not give up a morning's hunting for their wives.\"\n\nBut I was puzzled by her comment. I'd assumed that Osmond had been unable to find work as a painter, but that was not the same thing as giving up painting. Why should he have to give it up? At twenty, he was of an age to be a journeyman of his craft by now, and if you were lucky enough in these times to have a trade, you'd apply yourself to it with a will if you'd a wife to support, unless\u2026unless he could not produce his journeyman's papers. No law-abiding church, monastery, or merchant would risk employing an artist without guild papers. That night in the cave, he had told Zophiel he painted the poor churches. Maybe the truth was he painted for those who asked no questions.\n\nAdela tugged at my sleeve. \"Camelot, look over there. That woman by the wash pool\u2014she's been watching us for ages. I'm sure I've seen her before around the village. Do you know her?\"\n\nIt was late in the afternoon and the wash pool was now deserted except for a lone woman standing behind one of the pillars which supported the roof. Adela was right, the woman was plainly staring in our direction. She was a small, slight woman of about thirty years, dressed in what I took to be a serving-woman's gown, but one that had seen better days. I too had noticed her before, standing some distance away in a doorway or under the shelter of a porch, her gaze always appearing to be directed towards me even when I was in the midst of a crowd. I thought little of it; I'm used to people staring at my mutilated face. I'm well aware that even among the plain, the old, and the ugly, I stand out as magnificently monstrous. But now to find her here, away from the crowds, staring at us again, was surely more than natural curiosity on her part.\n\n\"I think she's following me.\"\n\nAdela, grabbing the tree trunk for support, tried to struggle to her feet. \"Do you think she's spying on you for those priests, trying to catch you selling relics?\" she asked fearfully.\n\nI tugged at her skirt. \"Sit, sit. She's no spy. Can't you see how timid she looks? But I think it is high time I asked her what it is she seeks. Who knows, she may want to buy an amulet.\"\n\n\"Then why doesn't she simply come and speak to you?\" Adela glowered at the woman. \"No one who lurks around in the shadows intends any good. You should take care, Camelot. She could be working as part of a gang, just waiting for the chance to rob you.\"\n\n\"You've been listening to Zophiel. He sees robber gangs lurking on every corner. Any cutpurse would seize an opportunity to steal if he happened to see a chance in passing, but no one would waste several days following a poor old camelot around when there are much richer pickings on offer in a place like this.\"\n\nI hoisted up my pack and ambled towards the wash pool. I half expected the woman to run off, but she stood her ground until I had drawn close enough to talk to her.\n\n\"Did you want something from me, mistress? A charm, an amulet?\" I lowered my voice. \"A relic?\"\n\nShe glanced right and left as if seeking assurance we were not overheard. But when she spoke it was to the ground. \"Please, you must come with me.\"\n\n\"Where must I come?\"\n\n\"I was sent to fetch you. She said I'd know you by your\u2026\" Her words trailed off and she glanced up at my face, before lowering her gaze again.\n\n\"By my scar,\" I finished for her.\n\nShe had a pale, thin face, sharp cheekbones framed by dark brown hair, tight curls of which were escaping from under her veil. Her dark blue eyes continually flickered from side to side as if she had been long accustomed to being on her guard.\n\n\"And who is this woman who sent you? Why doesn't she come herself? Is she sick?\"\n\nThe woman spat rapidly three times on the back of her two forefingers. \"It was not the pestilence and she's well again now. There's nothing to fear. But please, you must come. She'll be angry with me if I don't bring you.\"\n\nIt was futile to question her further. Some highborn lady had evidently sent her serving-woman to find me; presumably she wanted to buy a relic, and judging by the agitated state of her maid, she was a lady who was well used to getting what she wanted. I despise mistresses who rule their servants with fear and I had half a mind to refuse, but then spoilt women are usually wealthy women and business is business after all.\n\n\"I'll come. But wait while I speak to my companion.\"\n\nAdela, still fearing a trap, refused to be left behind. She either came, she told me, or she went to fetch Osmond and Rodrigo. The serving-woman shrugged when it was put to her, as if such matters were beyond her control, and led us both up a maze of little lanes in the poorest quarter of the village. No one so much as glanced in our direction as they hurried to finish their business and get out of the rain.\n\nIn contrast to the prosperous cottages lined up in neat little rows around the church and shrine, this area was a nest of ill-assorted huts and lean-tos thrown up from bits of old wood, hurdles, and sacking. You find such quarters in every big town, people scratching a living from the crumbs of others' prosperity, but it is not often seen in villages except those, like this one, with a well-visited shrine or a popular anchorite to bring in the pilgrims and the money. Foul puddles of muck stagnated between the huts and the piles of rotting garbage. Wet, half-naked children crawled around with the snuffling pigs, collecting dog dung in pails to sell to the tanners and fighting each other for the choicest pieces of shit. It was certainly not the quarter you'd expect to find a woman lodged who could afford to employ a servant.\n\nPleasance, as the woman reluctantly divulged was her name, moved rapidly head down and hood drawn across her face, although whether that was to block out the stench or to conceal her identity was impossible to say. She was forced several times to wait for us to catch up with her. Adela clung to my arm, fearful of slipping in the mud in her condition and trying in vain to sidestep the worst of the rotting guts and slimy pools with which the track was paved. Her pretty red shoes were covered in filth and almost dragged off her feet by the mud. When I urged her to go back she gamely shook her head and, gripping my arm more tightly, pressed on.\n\nThis quarter of the village was divided by deep open sewers full to overflowing with the rain. We perilously crossed one of them on a slippery plank and found ourselves picking our way by means of a series of randomly placed stones and scraps of wood through a stretch of marshy wasteland. Here the huts were more widely spaced, dotted across a neglected expanse of sodden vegetation. Just as it seemed we were leaving the village entirely, Pleasance stopped. We stood outside a hut tucked into the shelter of some dripping trees. Pulling aside a piece of heavy sacking which functioned as a door, she motioned us to go in.\n\nThe hut was constructed of three sheep hurdles bound together with rope, with an assortment of broken planks nailed together to form a kind of roof which glistened green with slime. Rank vegetation grew waist-high around it and a cloud of winter gnats hung over it like a pillar of sour smoke. It was the sort of shelter a herdsman might erect as a temporary refuge in bad weather, but it was not the kind of place you'd choose to spend one night, let alone several, unless your purse was empty or you were in hiding. I could see the same thought had also struck Adela. She did not need to be prompted to stay outside and keep watch for me.\n\nDespite the many gaps in the walls and roof, it was too dark inside to see the figure clearly at first. Then from out of the darkness came a child's voice.\n\n\"I told her you'd come, Camelot. I told her we had to wait for you.\"\n\nHer pale face turned up towards me, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hut, I saw the glitter of her ice blue eyes and the white mist of her hair. I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle and then an unreasoning rush of anger as if I had been tricked, lured into a place I should have had more sense than to enter. Without replying, I fought my way out again through the sacking into the rain.\n\n\"Narigorm said you'd come,\" Pleasance repeated hopefully, as if that answered everything. She smiled for the first time, a sad anxious little smile.\n\nAdela brightened. \"You know this woman Narigorm, then, Camelot? A kinswoman of yours?\"\n\n\"She's not a woman. She's just a child and she is no relative of mine. I met her once, and that briefly, months ago.\" I turned to Pleasance. \"She was working as a fortune-teller for a master then; is he hereabouts?\"\n\nPleasance shook her head. \"The child fell sick. Her master heard I was a healer, so he fetched me to tend her. But he slipped away in the middle of the night without paying me and leaving the girl without anything except the clothes she stood up in and her runes. The woman who ran the inn threw her out. She claimed she was afraid of the sickness, but I think she knew we'd no money for lodgings. I cared for the child as best I could in the woods until she was well. We've worked a little since, her with her runes and me with my herbs, but when we came here \u2026\" She broke off. \"A priest gave us till the compline bell to leave the bounds. Then he said we'd be arrested for devilish practices.\"\n\nDid she mean the rune-casting or the herbs? Probably both. Either would be seen by the ever-jealous priests as rivals to their shrine's coffers.\n\n\"But Narigorm said you were coming. She said we would travel with you, so we hid here until you\u2014\"\n\n\"She cannot travel with me!\"\n\nThe words burst out more vehemently than I had meant them to. The eyes of both women opened wide in shock.\n\n\"But why ever not?\" Adela asked me. \"There are enough of us travelling together for two more to make little difference. We can't leave a child or this woman in such a place. Besides, I'd love a child for company and Osmond loves children too.\"\n\n\"You're not travelling on until after your child is born, remember? You don't want to have your baby on the road in the middle of winter, do you? Anyway why would you want to leave at all? You've got a warm dry bed here and Osmond is earning good money. You'd be hard put to find better. But these two have been ordered to go.\" I gestured at the miserable hut. \"If they're found here in defiance of the Church, it will mean a whipping, or worse. They should leave at once, today.\"\n\nIt was a well-reasoned argument, a practical argument. It was the best thing for the pair to leave right away, for their own safety. Pleasance stared at the muddy ground, her shoulders sagging.\n\n\"Come now, Pleasance, there are other villages where your skills will be welcomed, you and the child both. You will earn enough to eat well.\"\n\n\"She said we would travel with you,\" Pleasance repeated dully, as if it was a prayer learned by rote.\n\nAdela had slipped inside the hut, and when she emerged she was leading the child by the hand. Narigorm looked, if possible, even more transparent. Her white woollen shift was nearly black with grime and dirt, but her hair stood out whiter than ever against the dark trees. She lowered her chin and raised her eyes innocently up to Adela. She did not have to speak; that look was enough.\n\n\"She's an angel,\" Adela told me. \"Camelot, we can't send this child out on the road alone.\"\n\n\"Plenty of children her age have to fend for themselves. And she won't be alone. She has Pleasance with her. We can't afford to leave yet and they must go at once.\"\n\nNarigorm turned her unblinking stare upon me. \"You'll have to leave too. I saw it in the runes; you'll be gone by the next new moon.\"\n\nPleasance raised her head sharply. \"That's the day after tomorrow.\"\n\n\"And the runes never lie,\" said Narigorm. She took a step closer to me and hissed, \"This time you'll see.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Narigorm was right, of course. Before the new moon rose as sharp as Death's scythe on the land, our company was once again on the road. I knew I couldn't blame the child; how could she have brought it about? She merely spoke what she read in the runes. Could she help it if the runes foretold ill fortune? Yet for all that, I did blame her. I felt that somehow, though I did not know how, she was the instigator as well as the messenger.\n\nBut if truth be told I need have looked no further than human nature for the cause of our misfortune. When Adela and I returned to the inn that evening, there was already trouble brewing. A delegation of tin-emblemers had gone to the shrine officials to protest about the jack-in-boot toys. People were buying those instead of the official tin emblems sanctified and blessed by the clergy at the shrine. The priest in charge of the shrine had taken matters into his own hands and arbitrarily ruled that, since the jack-in-boot toys were fashioned after the legend of John Shorne, Osmond should pay a levy to the shrine amounting to half the price of every toy he sold, as payment for the use of their legend and their saint. This was double what the tin-emblemers paid to the clergy to buy their concession and Osmond, his stubborn Saxon blood rising in his veins, swore he would rather smash every toy himself than hand over one penny. The priest shrugged. Osmond could either smash the toys or pay up; it made no difference to him; either way his problem with the emblemers was solved.\n\nTo my surprise, Rodrigo, though a devout man in the matter of observance, was more enraged by the priest's ruling than Osmond. The Venetian uttered such a torrent of colourful oaths and invectives, damning the whole tribe of clergy for destroying young lives that even Osmond in his fury couldn't match them. And it took Adela and me some time to calm the pair of them.\n\nThough it was clear that Osmond would have to turn his hand to other work if we remained, things might still have been well had it not been for Jofre. The following night when he and Rodrigo were playing in the inn, three men burst in and before anyone could stop them, they were bundling Jofre out of the door. By the time we got outside, two big men had him pinned against the wall of the inn and the third, a gnarled ferret-faced man, was tickling his knife against Jofre's throat as he struggled in vain.\n\nRodrigo roared like a bull and rushed towards him, but Ferret-face did not flinch. He thrust the point of his knife up under the boy's chin until a bright spurt of blood oozed out. Jofre gasped and instantly stopped struggling, not daring to move a muscle for fear the blade might sink deeper.\n\n\"Stay back. One step closer and he's had it.\"\n\nEven in his fury Rodrigo could see the man was not bluffing. He obeyed, took a step back, holding up his hands, palms open.\n\n\"I take it you're the boy's master?\"\n\nRodrigo nodded. \"What is it\u2026what do you want from him?\"\n\n\"Want?\" Ferret-face gave a high-pitched giggle. \"I want my money, that's what I want. Your apprentice laid a wager on the fighting cocks. Thought he was man enough to play with the big boys, but then surprise, surprise\u2014when he lost, he suddenly found his purse was empty. 'Must have been robbed,' he says. Really upset he was at not being able to pay up, so me, being a soft-hearted man\"\u2014and again he let out his mirthless little giggle\u2014\"I said to him, I said, 'That's a shame, lad. You can't trust anyone these days, terrible lot of villains about. Tell you what I'll do, my lad,' I said. 'I'll give you two days to come up with the money' That's the kind of generous man I am, aren't I, boys? Too soft-hearted for my own good, aren't I? The boys here are always telling me so.\"\n\nThe two henchmen holding Jofre by the wrists grinned broadly and ground Jofre's arms harder into the rough stone wall of the inn.\n\n\"Our young friend here was supposed to bring me the money at noon today only he didn't show up. So now my lads here are going to break his fingers, one by one, nice and slowly. See if he can play his lute so well then.\"\n\nJofre had turned deathly pale; he was begging and pleading incoherently. This seemed to amuse Ferret-face all the more. Zophiel and I had to forcibly restrain Rodrigo to prevent him knocking Ferret-face to the ground, but Rodrigo finally managed to get a grip on his anger, and in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he asked how much Jofre owed. It was a princely sum even by Jofre's standards. The sum owed, as Ferret-face explained patiently, was naturally higher than the original wager because he had been forced to wait for his money.\n\n\"Let's call it interest\u2014my interest in getting my money.\" He giggled again.\n\nThere was no question of not paying it. Rodrigo and I pooled the contents of our purses, but it was not enough. The henchmen looked on the point of carrying out their master's threat when Zophiel stepped forward. He handed over the remaining money, saying savagely to Jofre, \"You owe me, boy.\"\n\nThe three men left, Ferret-face clearly pleased with himself, but his henchmen growling like frustrated wolfhounds that have been called to heel before the kill. As soon as they were out of sight, the innkeeper stepped out of the shadows.\n\n\"I want you lot gone at first light. Those lads are trouble wherever they go; they come looking for their money and if they don't get it, they start smashing the place up. This is a respectable inn for decent folk. I'll not have that scum coming in here again.\"\n\n\"But they've no reason to be back,\" I said. \"They got their money.\"\n\n\"This time,\" said the innkeeper darkly, \"but what happens next time when your lad here lays another wager he can't pay? Besides, it looks to me as if you three got your purses cleaned out. How are you going to pay for your board? And word is that your friend's been upsetting the emblemers with those toys of his. I don't need a feud with them. They're good customers of mine. It's all very well for you, you're just passing through, but some of us have got to live here. I want you all out before there's any more trouble. And I'll thank you to take that fish with you, too,\" he added, turning to Zophiel. \"Stinks the place out.\"\n\n\"That, you ignorant oaf, is not a fish; it's a mermaid,\" Zophiel said furiously. \"It's an extremely rare and valuable creature and the only one you are ever likely to see in this rancid pigsty you call an inn.\"\n\n\"What I say is, if it stinks like a fish, it is a fish. And this may not be the smartest inn in the village, but as long as I own it, I say who sleeps in it. So if you and your company of vagabonds are not on the road by sunrise, I'll be breaking more than just a few fingers. And don't even think of trying to get lodgings elsewhere in these parts. Once word gets out, you'll not be welcome anywhere. I'll see to that.\"\n\nSo with the blessings of the innkeeper ringing in our ears, we left the inn the next morning, as the cold, grey dawn oozed across the sodden fields. All our hopes of a safe dry haven had come to nothing. Osmond was blaming himself, distraught at the thought of taking Adela out on the road again, and Zophiel was blaming Jofre. I too was furious with the boy. Any hope I had of leaving the company behind and travelling northward alone was now gone. But there was little point in getting angry with Jofre. Blame cannot undo the deed. And I couldn't just abandon my fellow travellers on the road, could I? So there was nothing for it but to take them with me.\n\nI was saddled with a pregnant woman and a bunch of novices. We had no money. It was the worst possible weather in which to travel and the pestilence was rapidly closing in on three sides. It could not get any worse. Misery was written on every face as once more we hunched our shoulders against the chilling rain.\n\nBut there is no cloud so black that a glimmer of sun does not shine through it. I consoled myself with the thought that our hasty departure from North Marston meant that at least Narigorm would not be travelling with us. By the time Pleasance had searched for us and discovered we'd gone, we'd already be hours ahead on the road.\n\nI tried my best to cheer the others. \"There are other shrines north of here\u2014Saint Robert's at Knaresborough, and many shrines at York. If we could reach those, we'd be safe. They're well inland. They won't close their gates. Adela can have her child in comfort and you'll all earn good money there, better even than at North Marston.\"\n\nRodrigo and Osmond nodded gratefully, but I knew that Zophiel would not be so easily swayed. I had to keep him with us. Adela was stronger, but her belly was swelling by the day and her strength would not last if she had to walk far in these wretched conditions. She'd never reach York on foot, and neither would the rest of us if we had to slow our pace to hers, especially if we had to carry our food and packs.\n\nI could see the agony of choice written across Zophiel's face. He desperately wanted to turn towards the coast and any chance of a ship, but between him and a port lay the ravaging monster that was the pestilence. For the first time since we met, I pitied the man, for whatever was driving him was merciless.\n\nI took a deep breath. \"Zophiel, you must see it would be madness to turn west from here. If you go west now you will be walking straight into it. We have to keep as far from the coasts as we can until we are farther north. Then you can turn west with some chance of finding a port still open.\"\n\n\"Do you really believe that you can outstrip it?\" Zophiel's tone suggested I was either a liar or a fool.\n\n\"At least if we travel north we will be walking away from it, not running to meet it. If we can just keep clear of the places it has struck for a few more weeks, until the winter freeze sets in, then the pestilence will die out and you can go to any port you please.\"\n\nAdela clutched at my arm. \"It will die out when the frosts come, won't it?\"\n\nI tried to sound convincing. \"Fevers always rage in the heat and foul air of summer, but come the winter frosts, they all die away.\"\n\nZophiel gave a hollow laugh. \"I have to admire your optimism, Camelot, but there is just one trifling point you seem to have overlooked. There has been no summer's heat this year. There has, in fact, been no summer, and still the pestilence rages.\"\n\n\"But everyone says it's the rain itself that spawns this pestilence, just as it spawns the biting flies and the midges.\" Adela's youthful eyes shone with conviction. \"The frost kills pernicious flies and stinging creatures; I know it will stop this.\"\n\n\"Just as you knew it would only rain for forty days and forty nights, Adela,\" Zophiel said contemptuously. \"Perhaps you have a rhyme for this as well? Do share it with us.\"\n\nAdela flinched and Osmond, slipping his arm around her, led her away from us, glowering over his shoulder at Zophiel, though I noticed that he didn't rise to his wife's defence. But I, for one, was glad to let Zophiel have his little triumph. It was a small price to pay if we had succeeded in persuading him to come with us.\n\nWe fell into our accustomed places beside the wagon and trudged on, leaving the last of the cottages behind until we were once more among the trees. Then, as we rounded a wooded curve, I saw two figures standing at the crossroads. My stomach lurched. There was no mistaking the unnatural whiteness of that hair.\n\nNarigorm and Pleasance were patiently waiting by the side of the road, as if they were expecting us.\n\nAdela's face brightened as she saw the child and she waved eagerly to her. \"Look, Osmond, that's the little girl I told you about. Didn't I say she was a little poppet? Have you ever seen a child who looked so angelic?\"\n\nOsmond smiled and Rodrigo beamed fondly like an indulgent uncle as we drew closer to the waiting figures.\n\nOnly Zophiel seemed to find the sight of Narigorm as unwelcome as I did. \"As if we didn't have enough liabilities already.\" He stared pointedly at Jofre, who flushed a mottled red. \"Now I suppose I'm expected to allow that freakish little brat to ride on my wagon as well. What next\u2014a performing bear?\"\n\nAdela suddenly turned back to me, a look of awe on her face. \"Camelot, don't you remember? She said that we'd have to leave today and that she'd travel with us. She really does have the gift!\"\n\nBut before I could answer, Xanthus suddenly jerked up her head and shied. Her nostrils flared, her eyes rolled back, and she reared up, trying, in her panic, to pull the wagon off the road. It took the combined strength of both Zophiel and Rodrigo to hold her head and bring her to a stop.\n\nZophiel glanced apprehensively into the trees. \"She smells danger, a wild boar perhaps, or fresh blood. Horses hate the smell of blood. Get that brat on the wagon quickly if you must bring her. I've no wish to loiter here any longer than I have to.\"\n\nSo in the end there was no debate. There was nothing I could do. Narigorm and Pleasance had joined our company and no one had time to think about it, for Xanthus continued to be agitated for the rest of that day and Zophiel could not calm her. The horse fought us all the way along the road as though whatever she had sensed was keeping pace with us. Perhaps she did smell death on the air that day, but the stench of death did not come from the forest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "There was a sizable crowd gathered around the storyteller. Children squatted on the ground in front of him and adults leant against the wall of the church, their baskets and bales at their feet, buying and selling halted until the tale was finished. Even the glances of the town whores were drawn his way though he was not a well-built young man. His boots were old and worn through, his clothes brown and threadbare, indistinguishable from the garb of those who crowded close to listen to him, except, that is, for the purple cloak fastened crossways over his shoulder covering his shirt and left arm.\n\nYou don't often see purple, not at a market. Generally only the nobility wear it, for only the nobility can afford to and you don't get many of them coming to the back of beyond to buy a scrawny goose or a patched butter churn. But this was no royal cloak, not silk nor satin and not lined with fur nor trimmed with gold thread. This cloak was, like his breeches, worn and stained, made of coarse, homespun wool, oily and thick enough to keep off all but the heaviest downpour. A serviceable cloak for a life on the road, made by a doting mother's hand no doubt. But what on earth possessed the good woman to waste money on purple dye for it? Did she think her son a king-in-waiting? There's many a mother fondly believes that, just as there's many a son believes their mother is a virgin, but not even Mary was besotted enough to dress her carpenter's brat in purple.\n\nThe children shuffled nearer on their bottoms, their eyes bright with excitement. The adults too leant in closer. Death by fire. That was something they all knew about, even those who hadn't seen it, hadn't smelt the stench that hangs round a town for days, hadn't heard the screams that echo night after night through your dreams. Even those who had not witnessed a burning had heard tell of it and shuddered. They knew the queen would not keep silent when the flames touched her; not even a saint is that strong. They held their breath.\n\nHe seemed too young to be a storyteller, an occupation usually reserved for those with at least a full beard. But he was holding the crowd better than many an older man. He wasn't handsome; his face was too narrow and angular, nose too long, chin too small, as if his features had all grown at different rates. Plumped out with age and softened with a beard, in time they might come together into some sort of order, but that scarcely mattered, for what held this crowd was not the storyteller's face but his eyes. They were dark, nearly black, so that it was impossible to distinguish the pupil from the iris. His gaze brushed across the faces of his listeners from infants to crones, holding each person in turn for a fraction of a second.\n\nThe storyteller raised his right arm high as if he held a torch in it and abruptly thrust his fist towards the knot of children at his feet. They gasped and screamed, delighted by terror. He lifted his hand again, pointing at the sky.\n\nThe audience gaped up to where the storyteller pointed as if they expected to see the swans flying towards them.\n\nAt that, the storyteller threw back his purple cloak, and there was a gasp from the crowd so deep that for an instant everyone seemed of two minds whether to turn and flee or push towards him. From under the cloak, the storyteller withdrew his left arm\u2014except it wasn't an arm: It was the pure white wing of a swan.\n\nThe wing unfolded, stretched, as if it had been held bound for a long time, then rose and fell in a steady beat. The air hummed with its power and the breeze lifted the hair of the children and made them murmur prayers of astonishment. Then the wing folded itself against his body and lay at rest, tucked deeply inside the cloak.\n\nThe adults shook themselves slightly, as if they knew they were dreaming, for they couldn't possibly have seen what they thought they'd just seen. The storyteller resumed his tale as if nothing had happened.\n\n\"Is it real?\" a scabby boy blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer.\n\nThe wing of the storyteller unfolded and gave a single beat before furling itself again inside the cloak. The children shrieked in a mixture of wonder and horror.\n\n\"Were you really turned into a swan?\"\n\n\"How else could I have a swan's wing in place of an arm?\"\n\n\"But couldn't the king make the witch give you back your arm?\"\n\n\"And what happened then?\"\n\nThe coins fell thick and fast; even though people didn't have much to spare, the crowd appreciated someone who put effort into the telling. The children crowded up closer to the storyteller, daring each other to touch that wing to see if it was truly alive, but one by one their parents grabbed them and hurried their protesting offspring away.\n\n\"Come on now, girl, enough stories, there's work to be done before dark.\"\n\n\"Back to the cart now, boy, your father'll be needing a hand with the loading.\"\n\n\"Let the storyteller rest now, his throat must be parched.\"\n\nBut nobody offered the storyteller a drink to ease his throat. It was not his throat that concerned them.\n\nStorytellers are always suspect. They are exotic strangers, swallows who stay only for the heady days of sunshine. Where they go after that is a mystery. They're welcomed for the tales that will be told again through dark winter evenings. They have an honoured place by the fire, but like any guest who knows his welcome depends on not outstaying it, they are expected to move on quickly. They don't belong. You wouldn't want your daughter to marry one, in case your grandchildren turned out as fey as the creatures they tell stories about. Could you really trust someone who is in the habit of conversing with sorcerers? Or who freely utters the names of those who must not be named?\n\nAnd this particular storyteller was more suspect than most. You don't want to go mixing with someone who admits they've been enchanted by a witch; the curse might be catching. It could break out again at any time, especially when it's not been fully lifted. And besides, as the priests would say, each after his own kind, that's the rule. No crossbreeds. No animal-men. If it died what would you do with it\u2014bury it like a Christian or hang it up like game? A swan-boy\u2014what kind of a creature is that? Not one you'd want your children to mix with, that's for certain. You could read the distrust in their faces as they hastened their children away.\n\nThe storyteller gathered up his coins with one hand and deftly slid them into his purse, pulling the leather drawstring tight with sharp white teeth.\n\n\"Did you marry a beautiful princess?\"\n\nHe looked round, startled. One little girl had sneaked back and was shyly tugging at his cloak. A scruffy dog leant against her bare leg. The storyteller reached down and stroked the dog's ears and it looked up at him with eyes as big and brown as the little girl's. Then he crouched down so that he could look directly into her earnest little face and smiled.\n\n\"Princesses don't marry knights who only have one arm. What use would a one-armed knight be? He couldn't defend her honour or champion her cause. He couldn't slay dragons for her. A swan-boy can't hold a sword and shield or pull a bow. No, no, little one, the swan-boy lived on in the palace for a while and everyone was very kind to him, the queen especially for she felt guilty that she had not been able to finish his shirt. There were servants to cut up his meat for him, and servants to dress him and servants to wash him. He wanted for nothing, except a purpose. Finally, when he could no longer bear the kindness of the servants or the sadness he saw in the queen's eyes each time she looked at him, he set off to seek his fortune, as all princes must.\"\n\n\"If I was a princess, I'd marry you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, little one. But one day you'll find a handsome prince. And he will take you to live in a castle with golden turrets and dress you in rainbows and give you the moon to play ball with and the stars to spangle your hair.\"\n\nThe child giggled. \"You can't play ball with the moon!\"\n\n\"You can do anything, princess, if you want it enough. Now you'd best run along or your mother will start fretting for you and it would never do to make your mother worry.\"\n\n\"Mam's always worried. She worries about everything.\"\n\n\"They always do, princess.\" The storyteller turned her around and sent her off with a pat on her rump, and the child skipped away as blithely as only a princess can, the little dog scampering faithfully at her heels.\n\nA snide wind whipped rain against our faces and hands. Those who had stalls with covered roofs were braving it outside in the open, blowing on numb, rag-covered fingers to get the feeling into them. The braziers spluttered and spat, coughing out a thick phlegm of smoke but no heat. The market square in Northampton, and every road leading to it, was ankle deep in stinking mud. Armfuls of rushes, straw, and bracken had been thrown down to try to make passable walkways, but it was a losing battle. As fast as it was flung down, it was trampled into the mud, which swallowed it up as if it had no bottom.\n\nThere'd been a hanging earlier in the day. Two poor devils, strung up for sheep-stealing, thrashed as they slowly choked to death on the end of their ropes in front of a jeering crowd. The corpses would hang in the marketplace until close of business as a warning to others. Now a fine mist of rain washed them, dripping from their swollen purple faces as the ropes creaked in the wind. They say rain blesses a corpse. These two would need a blessing in death, for they'd found little mercy in life.\n\nOsmond came to stand near me. From the hook on his staff dangled a tangle of wooden dolls and carved knights mounted on horseback. He'd been working long into the night on the toys whenever we stopped to make camp. He tried as hard as any man could to provide for Adela, and in all the time we'd been on the road, I'd never seen him idle. He rubbed his hands and spread them over the smoking brazier to catch the scant warmth which rose from it. The last joint of the little finger on his left hand was missing, so common among wood-carvers it was almost their emblem. But it was not a great price to pay for such a skill. I'd known many a wood-carver lose more than one finger before they mastered the craft.\n\nOsmond glanced up at the hanging corpses, then turned rapidly away crossing himself and shaking his head. \"Hanging's a cruel death, Camelot. I can understand a man coming to the noose for committing murder in a passion; that's only too easy. But what kind of man would risk hanging for a sheep?\"\n\n\"If your wife or children were starving, you might be driven to it. A parent will risk anything to save his child, even death. It's a passion that grips you from the moment you hold your first child in your arms and it never goes away. You'll feel it when you hold your own baby, Osmond.\"\n\n\"Will I?\" He turned back to me, his face strained with anxiety. \"What if I hold my child and I don't feel anything? What if I can't love it? Or worse than that, what if I can't even stand to be near it?\"\n\nThe panic in his voice startled me. \"But you love your wife. Why should you not love your child?\"\n\nHe chewed agitatedly at his thumbnail before answering. \"If the child is born cursed like that cripple at the wedding \u2026\"\n\n\"Come now,\" I said soothingly. \"Why should your child be cursed? And, besides, in the end, whatever he is like, you'll love him, because he is your child. You'll see more and more of Adela in your baby's face with every passing day. If you love him for no other reason, you will love him for that.\"\n\nHe shivered in the rain, drawing his cloak tighter around him. \"That's what I am most afraid of, Camelot. I am afraid of what I shall see in its face.\"\n\n\"Osmond?\" I laid my hand on his arm.\n\nHe gave a wan smile. \"Take no notice, Camelot. I'm just worried for Adela, the birth, everything. I'll feel better when we reach York and we have a roof over our heads again.\" He took a soft breath and glanced up at the corpses again. \"And standing here, chewing the cud, won't get us to York. I must sell some of these toys, otherwise I'll have to start sheep-stealing soon, if I don't make some money.\"\n\nHe was right. Despite the weather, all of us were desperately trying to earn what little money we could. This was the first market we had found open since we'd departed North Marston nearly two weeks ago, and God alone knew if we would find another. We needed to buy food. Travelling cold and wet is bad enough, but no one can travel long when they are hungry. An aching belly drives you to work more smartly than any master's curses. So believe me, we were all working hard that day as we moved among the townsfolk of Northampton.\n\n\"This book, Master? You're obviously a man of great education and discernment, for this is no ordinary book, as you can see. This book once belonged to a Jew. Very rare. Impossible to come by since the Jews were driven out. People would pay a fortune to get their hands on a Jewish book. With this book and the right words you can make a clay golem and bring it to life. Think of it, Master\u2014a giant with the strength of fifty men to do your bidding and crush your enemies.\n\n\"Does it work? Does the book work? he asks me. Tell me this, would the King have banished the Jews from England if they had not had such dangerous powers? I tell you, it was only because he seized all their possessions first that he was able to do it at all. If they'd still had their books, there'd not have been a Christian soul left alive in this realm.\n\n\"The spell to make the golem live? I couldn't bring myself to tell you, Master\u2014such potent words, such malefic phrases. Golems conjured up with such words can turn and rend you into pieces if you can't command them. If you lose control for an instant\u2026well, look at me if you want proof of their strength, just a flick of its finger and my eye was gone. I tell you, I barely escaped with my life. If you should come to any harm, I'd never forgive myself. If I could be sure that you could command it\u2026\n\n\"Now that you come to mention it, Master, that purse does seem to have a certain weight of authority.\"\n\nThe merchant departed, the book, well wrapped, tucked under his arm and the parchment with the spell on it hastily stuffed in the concealed money belt hidden deep inside his clothes. He seemed to stride out with a new confidence, as if he already felt invincible.\n\n\"So now it is a golem you have to thank for the loss of your eye, is it, Camelot? I thought it was a werewolf\u2014or was it a Saracen?\" drawled Zophiel. \"I can hardly keep up.\"\n\nHe was leaning against his wagon, watching Adela and Pleasance stowing away the food they had bought for our company. \"You'd better hope he doesn't try that spell until the market is over. He's not going to be a happy man when he discovers it won't work.\"\n\n\"You've tried it, then?\"\n\n\"Me use anything that had been touched by a Jew? I'd rather cut off my own hand. Their books are full of sorcery any fool knows that. If I'd known you'd such a book in your pack \u2026\"\n\n\"So you do believe their books can conjure golems, then, Zophiel?\"\n\nZophiel scowled. \"One day you'll go too far and someone will cut out that lying tongue of yours, old man\u2026Clear off, you little brat! Don't you dare try that one on me.\"\n\nI glanced up just in time to see Zophiel aim a cuff at the head of a young lad who had come limping up, palm outstretched for alms. The beggar ducked nimbly out of arm's reach, and with an alacrity that was surprising from one with such a marked limp. The lad was stark naked and his body, limbs, and face were caked in mud and covered with streaks of dried blood and livid purple bruises. He slipped round the side of the wagon to try his luck with Adela and Pleasance.\n\n\"Please, mistress, for pity's sake help me.\"\n\nAdela, who had not seen him approach, gave a startled little cry. \"You poor boy whatever's happened to you?\"\n\n\"Set upon by thieves on the road\u2026Beat me. Stole my clothes. Everything. They killed my father. Would have done for me too, but\u2026\" He broke off and began to wail piteously.\n\nAdela hastened to put her arm round the lad, tenderly stroking his matted hair. \"There, there, you're safe now. We'll help you. We'll\u2014\"\n\n\"We will do no such thing,\" Zophiel cut in.\n\nAdela looked up, horrified. \"But you heard what he said, Zophiel! He's been robbed, his father killed. We have to help him.\"\n\nZophiel gave his mirthless laugh. \"I know you're a woman, Adela, but even you can't be that cod-witted. The lad's avering, can't you tell? It's the oldest trick in the book. They strip themselves, leave their clothes concealed somewhere, then come into town pretending to have been robbed, in the hope of finding some muttonhead like you to take pity on them and give money or clothes they can sell.\"\n\nThe lad began to wail again, grabbing hold of Adela as if she were his mother and blubbing out yet more details of his story. Adela wrapped her arms tightly about him, cradling his head to her chest. \"But look at him, Zophiel. He's covered in blood.\"\n\nZophiel snorted. \"He'll have got it from butcher's row. Puddles of it there, isn't that right, boy?\"\n\n\"How can you be so cruel?\" Adela was almost in tears herself. \"You're wrong. Anyone can see he's in pain.\"\n\n\"Wrong, am I?\" Zophiel suddenly strode forward, and before Adela could stop him, he had grabbed the boy by the neck and was marching him away.\n\n\"What are you doing? Leave the child alone!\" Adela turned to follow, but clutched at her swollen belly. Pleasance caught Adela in her arms as the girl sank back, breathless, against the wheel of the wagon.\n\nZophiel didn't answer. He dragged the lad towards the horse trough. The boy, who could see plain enough what was coming, was wriggling and fighting with all his strength to get out of Zophiel's grasp. His cries had turned to curses, but Zophiel took no notice. He scooped up the boy and threw him into the horse trough, ducking him under the icy water. The lad thrashed helplessly. Zophiel pulled his head up by the hair long enough for him to take a gulp of air and then shoved him under again. It took two or three more duckings under the water before Zophiel was satisfied and finally hauled him out of the trough. Then he marched him, dripping and shivering, back towards Pleasance and Adela.\n\nThe water had done its job. Most of the blood had been washed off the boy's body and what remained was now trickling down his legs as the water dripped off him. Apart from the odd bruise any boy might have collected through normal living, there were no signs of any wounds or injuries. Adela bent her head, trying to conceal her humiliation behind the wings of her veil.\n\nZophiel, still holding the lad in a viselike grip, looked smugly triumphant. \"I've cured him. It's a miracle, isn't it, boy?\"\n\nThe boy cursed richly and got his head cuffed.\n\n\"Come, brat, where's your gratitude? That's no way to thank me.\"\n\nThis time the lad didn't risk a reply, but glowered as if he would dearly like to kill Zophiel.\n\n\"At least he's had the sense not to try the sickness trick. They used to roll themselves in nettles to give themselves a rash and stick on fake boils with maggots crawling in them to try to get alms from the worshippers on the church steps. You daren't try that trick anymore, do you, boy, not now the pestilence is raging?\"\n\nThe lad looked mutinous, but didn't answer.\n\n\"But he must be in need to go to those lengths to beg,\" Pleasance said softly.\n\n\"He's just too idle to work. Besides, he enjoys tricking people, don't you, boy? Avering's a good game, laughing at the fools who deserve to be parted from their purses. Well, maybe you're right, boy, they do, but I'm not one of them. You try that trick on me again and I'll give you bruises that won't wash off. Now clear off!\"\n\nIn one swift movement Zophiel spun the boy round and landed a savage kick on his backside which sent him sprawling in the mud. He scrambled up and, clutching his rear, was off like a startled hare. Only when he reached a good safe distance did he pause to make obscene gestures in our direction, screeching curses until he was scarlet in the face, before he ran off into the crowd.\n\nAs I turned away, I caught sight of Narigorm. The crowds had thinned now. Most of all the merchants and peddlers were packing up to go, but she was crouching on the ground in the corner of the covered marketplace. A young girl, her hair covered with a married woman's fret and fillet, stood awkwardly in front of her, while the girl's mother handed Narigorm a coin. Narigorm tucked it away and drew three concentric circles in the mud. She fumbled at the neck of her shift and pulled out a small leather pouch which hung round her neck on a thong. She tipped the contents over the circles. Lozenges of wood tumbled out. Women paused in their shopping, peering at the slashed patterns on the pieces of wood, which were as meaningless to them as the Latin words in the Church Bible. Like them I drew closer, intrigued. I had not seen Narigorm work the runes before.\n\nShe began rocking back and forth, whispering something under her breath, as her hand hovered like a bird of prey over the runes. Then she selected one of the runes and held it up. It resembled two triangles on their sides, facing each other, their points touching.\n\n\"Daeg. It means day. Something is about to begin. Some thing is about to change and grow. Daeg stands for one. There is one to come before it can begin.\"\n\n\"Something about to grow and someone to come.\" The girl's mother beamed. \"There, I told you, my angel, you're going to have a baby.\"\n\nBut Narigorm was not looking at the young girl as she spoke her words. She was looking past her and staring straight at me.\n\nZophiel did not let Adela forget the episode of the averer in a hurry. He treated the company in the inn that night to a lively retelling of the story of how Adela had been deceived, and amid laughter and jokes the men agreed how easy it was to dupe a woman. Even Osmond did not rise to his wife's defence, but patted her arm affectionately and told her what a kind-hearted silly little goose she was, though I suspected he knew as little of the tricks of avering as she did. This last was too much for Adela and, with a tight little smile, she took herself off to bed, her cheeks flushed.\n\nOsmond half rose to follow her and probably would have done had Zophiel not met his eyes and grinned.\n\n\"That's right, you'd better go running after her and apologise, boy.\" He turned to the grinning faces. \"He daren't say boo to that little goose. If he does, there's no plucking her for a week. Isn't that right, boy? Come to think of it, I've yet to see you share her bed.\"\n\n\"Keeps you on short rations, does she, m'lad?\" called another man. \"You don't want to stand for that, not with a new bride. Wives are like dogs, lad; got to show them who's master from the first. Otherwise they'll be snarling and snapping any time they please and you'll never get the leash on them.\"\n\n\"I heard that, Tom,\" said a mature, buxom woman, gathering up the empty platters. \"You wait till I tell your Ann; she'll soon show you who's wearing the leash. She'll be tethering you by your balls, if I know Ann.\"\n\nThe man grinned sheepishly and reached across to slide his hand up her skirt. \"Ah, but you won't tell, will you, my sweet, because I wouldn't be much use to you if I was damaged goods, now would I?\"\n\nThe banter and laughter continued. Adela was forgotten by all but Osmond, who made another attempt to slip out, but this time it was Jofre who restrained him, putting out a hand to grasp Osmond's arm.\n\n\"She'll be all right. Please stay.\"\n\nHe looked up into Osmond's face, his hand still resting on his arm. Something in the pleading tone of his voice or the expression in his eyes seemed to startle Osmond. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Pleasance, scraping the last of her pottage into her mouth, stood.\n\n\"Yes. Best you leave her for a while, Osmond. You've said enough for one evening. I'll sit with her.\"\n\nOsmond nodded gratefully. \"Perhaps that would be better. Tell her I didn't mean \u2026\"\n\n\"She doesn't need upsetting in her condition,\" Pleasance scolded. \"Women take things harder when they're with child. But who listens to me?\"\n\nOsmond flushed, but before he could reply, Pleasance was making her way towards the door, muttering, \"Men\u2014they never think before they open their mouths. Brains of a donkey.\"\n\nAs she pulled the door open, someone burst in from outside. The man staggered into the room, grabbing at Pleasance's shoulder to stop himself sprawling headlong into the rushes.\n\n\"Steady there, Giles,\" the landlord called out. \"No need to flatten my customers. You that desperate for drink?\"\n\n\"They've raised the hue and cry!\"\n\nMost of the occupants of the room pushed back their tankards and trenchers and scrambled to their feet. A hue and cry was not a summons you could ignore.\n\n\"What's to do, Giles? Robbery? A killing?\"\n\n\"How many of them?\"\n\n\"Which way did they go?\"\n\nThe men crowded round Giles, fastening cloaks and pulling up hoods against the rain outside.\n\nGiles looked as grim as a man can. \"Little lass found dead, Odo the flesher's youngest. Didn't come home by nightfall. Not like her to stay out past suppertime, so her mam got a few of the neighbours to go looking. Her dog showed where she was. Her body was hidden behind some bales of wool in the warehouse down by the river. Well hidden she was too; we'd not found her for days if it hadn't been for her dog barking.\"\n\nThe men's expressions hardened into scowls.\n\n\"No chance the little lass got trapped by accident, suffocated maybe?\" one asked.\n\n\"You'd not ask that if you'd seen her neck. Purple marks clear as day. It was no accident, not unless the lass strangled herself.\"\n\nAn angry buzz filled the room.\n\n\"What kind of bastard would do that to a little child?\"\n\nGiles shook his head. \"I dunno, but they reckon she was last seen talking to that storyteller. We'll start with him.\"\n\n\"If he's got aught to do with this, queens and witches won't be the only thing burning on a fire. I'll tie him to a spit and grill the scum myself. Come on, lads\u2014I fancy a slice of roast swan.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "It was already mid-morning and we had still not left the town of Northampton. We were not the only ones to be late on the road. Since first light, a steady stream of carts and wagons had been trying to make their way to the town gates. But the gates were still firmly locked and now the streets and alleys of the town were jammed solid with carts, wagons, horses, oxen, dogs, sheep, geese, people on foot and people with handcarts, all trying to leave and all getting nowhere. Bleary-eyed drivers cursed those in front, though precious little good it did, for no one could move forward or back. Their wives yelled at their children, trying in vain to prevent them from wandering off. And the local housewives and traders shouted at the travellers, as they tried to squeeze past the wagons with their baskets and loads, anxious to be about their own business.\n\nEveryone was wet, tired, and in a foul humour. It had been the early hours of the morning before we got to our beds and when we finally did, we were constantly wakened by drunken revellers and gangs of men storming in and out of barns and outbuildings, searching for the storyteller. They stabbed at piles of hay with pitchforks and swept every dark corner with blazing torches until the women screamed they'd set the whole town afire if they didn't stop waving the torches about. No one in the town could have slept through the shouting and banging, but for all their noise, the only miscreants they flushed out were a few unfortunate couples who fled the scene half-clad or naked, surprised in their lovemaking by a pitchfork jabbed in their backsides or a light blazing onto them in the corner of some dark alley.\n\nAs for the storyteller, he was nowhere to be found. He'd no doubt slipped out of town long before the gates were shut for the night. The gatekeeper couldn't recall seeing him leave, but since he couldn't recall seeing him arrive either, not much store could be set by that. As the poor man protested, there had been throngs of travellers arriving and departing; how could he be expected to notice one among so many? And besides, no one could tell him for certain if the storyteller was on foot or travelling on horseback and if he was alone or in company.\n\nWith their only lead vanished, no one knew what to do next except inform the sheriff and coroner in the hope that one or the other might dispatch soldiers to nearby towns and villages in case the storyteller turned up there. For if he did, he'd certainly be easy to identify, assuming, of course, that the swan's wing was real and not as fake as an averer's boil.\n\nSome of the townspeople were all for keeping the gates locked until the murderer was discovered for, they said, the killer might not be the storyteller after all, but one of the other outlanders come to Northampton for the market. But wiser heads reasoned that all those extra mouths would be a considerable drain on the town's resources of food and ale and the way the pestilence was spreading, the townsfolk would need every last scrap of food for themselves. Besides, what about the other children in the town? If there was a child killer on the loose, did they really want him to be trapped with their children? Better to risk letting the murderer walk free than have him strike again in their town. If he moved to another town and killed again, well, that wasn't their problem, at least their own children would be safe. \"And who knows,\" they said cheerfully, \"if we send him out onto the road, he might catch the pestilence and that would solve the problem once and for all.\" And while they argued back and forth, the gates remained shut.\n\nLike everyone else we had been packed and ready since first light. Zophiel had Xanthus harnessed between the shafts of the wagon before dawn. We had pulled out into Fishmongers Row and taken our place in the queue before anyone realised they were not going to open the gates, by which time other wagons had pulled up behind us and it was impossible to return to the inn.\n\nZophiel was not in the best of humour. He had sat up all night defending his wagon. A few brave souls had demanded to search it. They were searching all the wagons and carts for the fugitive, but Zophiel was having none of it. He was not going to have his delicate mermaid destroyed by those clumsy oafs. Pulling out his dagger, he threatened that the first man who laid a hand on his wagon would have it cut off. Whether it was this threat or the stream of Latin curses that followed which dissuaded the searchers was hard to say, but it takes a brave man or a foolish one to risk a curse from a magician and the men of Northampton were not that brave or foolish.\n\nDespite his victory, Zophiel was worried that all the wagons might be searched again at the gates. A half-drunken mob with no authority he could handle, but soldiers with the sheriff's backing could not be denied and soldiers did not have a reputation for being great respecters of other people's property.\n\nThe others in the party, though they didn't have mermaids to worry about, were in no better humour. Adela, white from lack of sleep, had retched into the gutter several times that morning, sickened by the stench of smoked fish and rotting fish guts in the alley in which we were stuck. Zophiel had coldly told her to be grateful we were not stuck in Tanners Row. When Pleasance suggested that she might take Adela back on foot to wait in the inn, Zophiel had informed them that once the gates opened and the carts started moving, he'd have no choice but to set off immediately with the other carts and it would be up to them to catch up. Given his mood he'd likely whip Xanthus to a gallop once he was clear of the town and both women knew it. Adela dare not risk leaving the wagon.\n\nPleasance helped her to settle next to Narigorm on the driver's seat of the wagon, solicitously tucking sacking around her shoulders and more across her knees to protect her from the cold and wet. For all that I still had an uneasy feeling about Narigorm travelling with us, there was no denying Pleasance was proving a godsend to Adela.\n\nPleasance slipped off the wagon and squeezed round to where I stood.\n\n\"I'm going to the apothecary to fetch some syrup of balm and mint for Adela. It will settle her stomach, but I have none left in my pack.\" As usual she addressed the puddles, though by now I realised it was not my scar that made her avert her eyes; she kept her face turned aside whenever she spoke to anyone, as if she hoped that if she did not look at them, they could not see her.\n\n\"But Zophiel said\u2014\"\n\nShe nodded impatiently. \"If I miss you, I can walk fast enough to catch up with you on the road.\"\n\n\"You're a kind soul, Pleasance. I'll try to make Zophiel wait as soon as we are clear of the town.\"\n\nShe raised her hand in front of her face, as if warding off the compliment. \"It is a mitz \u2026 an obligation. I'm a healer; it is what I do.\" She pulled her cloak tightly around her. \"I must go.\"\n\nThere was something so final about the way she said go that alarmed me. I caught her arm as she turned. \"You are coming back, aren't you, Pleasance?\"\n\nShe recoiled from my touch and glanced swiftly up at me before staring hard at the metal rim of the cart wheel. \"I will stay with you as long as I can, but sometimes\u2026sometimes you have to leave. You must never become so attached to places or people that it hurts you to say good-bye.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Now you are talking like a seasoned traveller.\"\n\nI had made that same resolution once. I'd promised myself I would never again suffer such pain as I'd felt that day I'd left my home. But it is easier said than done. Attachment creeps up on you before you can raise your guard.\n\nAs I watched Pleasance disappear among the throng, I wondered what hurt had brought about her own resolution. There was surely more behind her words than simply a traveller's itch to move on. But I hoped she'd stay with Adela long enough to bring the younger woman through her labour. Pleasance knew just how to massage her back to relieve the ache and which herbs to brew to ease the swelling of her ankles. She'd know how to ease the pain of labour and staunch the bleeding. Pleasance had a skill with herbs that went far beyond those few potions which every woman is taught to brew. Wherever she had acquired that knowledge, it was not as a serving-wench or villein.\n\nThe rain splashed down, stirring a witches' brew of blood, guts, and fish eyes in the puddles around the wagon. House wives, blaming all outlanders for the child's murder, tipped slops from the upstairs casements, taking malicious pleasure in the bellows of rage from below. The fishmongers cursed as they tried to squeeze baskets of fish through the narrow spaces between the shops and the wagons, and we cursed back as they tried to elbow us out of the way. But it made no difference; we were trapped there and so were they.\n\nJofre, restless and increasingly impatient, was drumming out a rhythm on the wagon which was becoming annoying even to Rodrigo. To distract him, Rodrigo suggested that they go ahead to the gate to see if there was any news. If the gates opened while they were there, they would wait and join us as we passed through.\n\nRodrigo glanced at Osmond, who was tightening the ropes on the wagon, which he had already tested a dozen times. Osmond's lips were drawn as tight as the ropes. He had apologised for calling Adela a goose the night before. Adela in turn had protested it was all her fault and she was a goose, but each was avoiding the other's eyes. Although she denied it, Adela was still hurt; Osmond knew it, but did not know how to make amends.\n\nRodrigo looked over at the wretched Adela and then back at the equally miserable Osmond. \"Come with us, Osmond. It is better than kicking your heels here.\"\n\nJofre turned, his smile radiant. \"Yes, come on. We'll make those old fools open the gate.\"\n\nOsmond hesitated. \"I should stay with Adela. She's not well.\"\n\n\"She's never well,\" snarled Zophiel. \"If she were a chicken, I'd wring her neck and put the dumb creature out of her misery.\"\n\nOsmond wheeled round, his fists clenched, but Rodrigo laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.\n\n\"Have a care, Zophiel,\" the Venetian said. \"It is not wise to threaten to strangle a woman when they are still hunting the murderer of a strangled girl. What you speak in jest, others might take in earnest.\"\n\nTwo patches of angry red appeared on Zophiel's cheeks and his eyes blazed.\n\n\"You go, Osmond,\" Adela broke in quickly.\n\nOsmond turned away without looking at his wife and followed Rodrigo, squeezing between the wagons and the fishmongers' slabs. Jofre brought up the rear.\n\n\"Frenzy, filth, and lust.\" Narigorm, curled up like a little white rat in the well at the front of the wagon, stared at their retreating backs.\n\nPleasance glanced down at her. \"Did you say something, little one?\"\n\nNarigorm chanted, \"Troll runes I cut and cut three more. Frenzy, filth, and lust.\" Then she smiled, a cold little triumphant smile. \"I cast thurisaz, the troll rune, last night. Twists everything that follows it, the troll rune does. Turns the runes to the dark side of meaning. But I couldn't tell who the runes were for, not last night.\"\n\nAdela, looking decidedly queasy, swiftly crossed herself. \"Please don't sing like that, Narigorm. It frightens me. It sounds like a curse and I know you wouldn't want to\u2026You were tired last night. I expect the runes fell like that by accident, because you weren't able to concentrate after \u2026\" She hesitated, \"after all that nasty talk of the storyteller and that poor child.\"\n\nI expected Narigorm to fly into a rage. She usually did if anyone questioned the truth of her reading. But when I looked at her she was still smiling as if nothing anyone said could wipe that look of satisfaction off her face.\n\n\"Oh, no, Adela, the runes can never fall by accident. They spoke the truth about someone and it wasn't the storyteller, but I know who it was now. I know.\"\n\nFinally, sense prevailed and the gates swung open. It took a long time for all the traffic to squeeze out of the town, and Pleasance had returned long before our wagon was able to move, but once we were on the open road we all took in great gulps of clean air and began to relax. The wagons had not been searched again. The townspeople, having decided to let us go, could not wait to get rid of us.\n\nXanthus was being surprisingly docile. She had hardly tried to bite anyone in the town\u2014well, not seriously anyway, though many people had pushed past her. She'd not kicked out or reared even in the crush and now on the open road she was ambling along, occasionally snatching at mouthfuls of sodden grass, but allowing herself to be pulled on with only an irritated shake of her head as the rain pattered down on it.\n\nThe road wended its way through the trees, gradually ascending, with painful slowness, to the top of the hill. Xanthus pulled with more will than usual, but the laden wagon, long incline, and thick mud were more than a match for the horse and we all had to lend a hand at pushing the wagon except Adela, who clung fearfully to her seat as Xanthus' hooves slipped in the mud. The wagon felt even heavier than usual thanks to Adela and Pleasance having loaded it up with as much food and ale as they could cram on board between Zophiel's boxes, and despite the rain's chill we were all sweating by the time we reached the top. There we paused to catch our breath and pass round a skin of ale. The trees were thick and tall, obscuring the view, but as the branches swayed in the wind we glimpsed the occasional silver flash of what appeared to be a body of water in the valley below.\n\nThe rain dripped from the leaves and trickled in little rivulets round the stones on the track ahead. The leaves had turned to gold, bronze, and copper on the trees and had begun to fall, lying in thick slippery drifts on the track. It was going to be even harder going down than up. But if what we were glimpsing was a large lake, with luck there'd be a few villages dotted about the edges. It was a cheering prospect, for by the time we got down there, we'd all be in need of a good fire and a steaming meal.\n\nIt was a hazardous business getting the wagon down the hill. Zophiel had tied sacking over Xanthus' hooves to help her grip in the mud, but the laden wagon kept slewing sideways on the slippery track, threatening to pull the horse down with it. Zophiel and I held Xanthus' head to keep her calm, while Jofre, Osmond, and Rodrigo walked alongside the wagon, using their shoulders and thick poles to block the wheels whenever it seemed in danger of slipping.\n\nDusk was gathering quickly under the heavy canopy of the trees and we were so intent on keeping ourselves and the wagon upright that at first we didn't notice the dull roar above the constant rustling of the wind in the trees. Then as we rounded the bend the noise hit us as if a thousand knights were galloping past in a full battle charge. Zophiel pulled Xanthus up so sharply that for the first time that day she reared and tried to back in the shafts, rolling her eyes in fright. I knew just how she felt.\n\nThe glints of silver we had glimpsed below were not from any lake. The valley was flooded. Just a few yards ahead of us, the track had been swallowed up by a rushing torrent of thick brown water. Whole trees tumbled past like twigs thrown into a stream by a giant's child. Something blue, a piece of cloth maybe, or a woman's kirtle, surfaced briefly then was whisked out of sight and snatched away by the flood. Other half-familiar objects bobbed up, only to be sucked under again before we could comprehend what they were. As far as we could see through the rain and dusk, there was nothing solid left between us and the distant hills, only the rage of water.\n\nYou might think with all those weeks and months of rain, England would have drowned weeks before. In Noah's day it took just forty days to wipe the face of the earth clean. And in my lifetime, which though long does not yet match the nine hundred and fifty years of Noah's life, I've seen rivers burst their banks and villages swept away after just a few hours of violent rains onto dry land. But the rain which had fallen since Midsummer's Day was neither violent nor sudden; it was steady and constant as if the sky was a cracked bowl that was slowly leaking, dripping its contents down onto the earth below. And the earth soaked the water up, like a thick trencher of bread soaks up the juices of the meat. Rivers were swollen and dangerously fast, ditches full, water meadows turned to shallow lakes, but still it rained and still the land continued to absorb it. But there comes a point when even a trencher of stale bread can soak up no more. The land had taken all it could.\n\nThere was no way of knowing if the water was still rising, but we could not afford to take the chance. We couldn't risk making camp beside those floodwaters. Late though it was, there was nothing for it but to turn and make our way achingly back up the hill again. Our way north was now well and truly barred. Our only hope was to slip sideways and try to work our way round by higher ground, or trust that the floodwaters would eventually recede, but as long as it continued to rain there seemed little hope of that happening. Even if it did, the road and any bridges that crossed the rivers would be washed away, making it impossible to move the wagon by that route.\n\n\"East or west, Camelot?\"\n\nWe stood at the crossroads. Rodrigo, Jofre, and Osmond all favoured west, for whereas the road east appeared level and straight for as far as we could see, the road west climbed still higher and they were in favour of any direction that took them up away from the valleys. Adela shyly backed her husband.\n\nBut Zophiel, much to my surprise, was determined to go east. \"The news in Northampton was that the pestilence has only reached as far as London on the east side and we are well to the north of that. Towns may have closed on the west, but they'll still be open to the east.\"\n\nOsmond eyed him suspiciously. \"By towns, do you mean ports? You're not still hoping to find a ship, are you? Is that why you want to drag us all east? What is this business you have in Ireland anyway? The Irish won't have any more money than the English to waste on mermaids, not if they're cursed with this same rain.\"\n\n\"Do you have the faintest understanding of what the pestilence is, Osmond? It is a sentence of death, and not a merciful one. Do you want to watch your wife screaming in agony as she dies? Because that is what will happen if we go west.\"\n\nAdela covered her face in her hands. I glanced at Jofre. He was trembling and looked as if he was about to be sick. I knew he was thinking of his mother.\n\nOsmond took an angry pace towards Zophiel, but I pushed between them and held up my hands.\n\n\"Zophiel may lack tact, but what he says about the pestilence is correct; we stand a greater chance of outstripping it on the eastern side. And besides, the floodwaters were flowing west. We'll walk straight into them again if we take the track west. I'm forced to agree with Zophiel, east is the safest course on both counts, just until we can find another road north to the shrines at York and Knaresborough. Pleasance, what do you say?\"\n\nBy way of an answer, Pleasance pointed at Narigorm, who crouched on her haunches in the centre of the crossroads. Three runes lay in front of the child. Her hand hovered briefly above them, then she scooped them up and thrust them back into her pouch.\n\n\"We go east,\" she said simply, as if she was a queen ordering her troops to march.\n\n\"Do you hear that, Adela?\" Zophiel said. \"The runes direct us east.\"\n\nThough Zophiel had hitherto dismissed Narigorm's readings, just as he had my relics, as nothing more than chicanery to fleece the gullible of their money, he was not above using them to support his argument when they worked in his favour.\n\n\"And I think we can take it that Pleasance will go wherever her little mistress commands. So since there are eight of us, we are evenly split. Therefore we\u2014\"\n\n\"There are nine,\" Narigorm cut in, her tone as matter-of-fact as before. \"We are complete. There are nine, so now we go east.\"\n\nZophiel looked slightly taken aback by this interruption. Then he laughed. \"I take it the child counts Xanthus as one of us. Well, why not, since the nag has to pull us whichever way we are to go.\" He let go of the horse's head and, taking a step back, gave her a mocking bow. \"Xanthus, you shall decide. Which way?\"\n\nThe horse, as if she understood what was being asked of her, stepped sideways and began to turn the wagon onto the eastern path.\n\n\"You don't know what you're gabbing about, you great lummox.\"\n\nThe old man scowled at his son and shuffled closer to the fire, crouching on the edge of the low wooden stool.\n\nOld Walter and his son Abel had been welcoming enough, sharing their hearth with us, glad of the food that we offered them in exchange. Theirs was a simple cottage, but warm and dry, with a thin wattle partition dividing the family's living quarters from the warm, steaming bodies of their cattle which occupied the other half of the dwelling. A ladder led to a platform up in the rafters where the hay was stored and the women and children had once slept. The old man's wife was long dead and his daughters were married and gone to their husbands' families, so son and father were all that remained and like a long-married couple, they got along by bickering. It was an old and comforting habit, and even the presence of strangers did not change it.\n\n\"Vampires aren't spreading the pestilence,\" Old Walter insisted. \"For vampires to go around biting everyone, there'd have to be as many vampires as there are midges and if there were swarms of bloody great vampires flying round the towns and villages, someone would have seen them by now. It's not vampires, it's Jews, everyone knows that. They're in league with the Saracens, the Jews; always have been. The Lionheart said as much when he was king. The Jews want to murder us all. They're poisoning the wells. You get a whole street of people fall sick on one night, stands to reason it's got to be the water from their well that poisoned them.\"\n\nAbel glared back at his father. \"That just proves you're talking out of your arse as usual, you old pisspot, because there aren't any Jews in England. Not been for nigh on sixty years, since the King's grandfather banished them. I bet you've never even seen a Jew, you old fool.\"\n\nZophiel's drawl broke in on the argument. \"Actually, your father may well have seen a Jew or two in his time.\"\n\n\"There, see, I told you.\" The old man triumphantly slapped his thigh. \"He's been around. Haven't you, Sir? He knows a thing or two.\"\n\nAbel flushed, furious at being contradicted. \"Aye, well, he may have seen Jews in France or some such place, but you've not been further than our field strips in your life. If you've seen them, they must've been lurking in the ditch along with the boggarts and goblins you always reckon you've seen on your way home from the alehouse.\"\n\nZophiel smiled his cold humourless smile. \"The ditches and gutters are certainly where the Jews deserve to be, but I'm afraid they are far too cunning for that. King Edward, though he did well to banish them, made a grave mistake by not killing the vermin outright. A dead Jew is visible, but I fear a living one is not and they have a way of wriggling in among the good Christians, like mice in a tithe barn, and breeding there until the time comes for them to strike. They didn't all flee England; some chose to convert and stay. But their conversions were false. For how can a Christ-killer who's damned before birth ever become a true Christian? The Jews practised their religion in secret, spitting on the host and making a mockery of the sacraments.\"\n\n\"That's as may be, but so what if a few did remain?\" The young man was still anxious to defend himself. \"Those who are still alive must be older than this old fool and he's so old he can't even piss straight, never mind brew a deadly poison and put it down a well without anyone seeing. There's no proof they've poisoned anybody.\"\n\nZophiel looked triumphant. \"Ah, but there is, my young friend. Many a Jew in France has been brought to trial and found guilty of causing the pestilence by poisoning the wells. They've freely admitted their guilt under torture, and\u2014\"\n\n\"The Archbishop of Canterbury would claim his own mother was a black cockerel and he was in league with the Devil if the question was put to him under torture, as would we all,\" I said.\n\nBut Zophiel continued as if I had not spoken. \"And have been justly executed for their heinous crimes. So, if the pestilence is proved to be their doing in France, how can the same malady have a different cause in England? No, the cause is plain enough, but here it will be harder to root them out and bring them to the bonfires. We must all be vigilant and on our guard for any who might be hiding among us.\"\n\nAdela, looking thoroughly alarmed, shrank against Osmond and buried her face in his shoulder. The gesture pleased him, for it seemed to signal that the quarrel of the night before was finally forgotten. He seized the opportunity to show her he was on her side.\n\n\"As usual, Zophiel, you've succeeded in upsetting Adela. When will you learn to keep your malicious thoughts to yourself?\"\n\n\"I merely point out the facts.\" Zophiel looked anything but repentant. \"If you have married a woman whose mind is so weak that she has to be constantly shielded from reality that's your problem, but you really cannot expect the rest of us to tiptoe around her pretending that the clouds are made of cream, in case we upset her. Or is she afraid that someone might take her for a Jew?\"\n\nAt that, even old Walter looked startled. \"She's no Jew! Jews got dark hair and hooked noses. I've seen them in the paintings on the church walls. Shifty-looking creatures they are; you'd spot them a mile off. She's a lovely lass; look at her: fair as our Lord Himself.\"\n\nAdela smiled wanly at the old man as he leant towards her, giving her a big lecherous wink, but she was still visibly trembling and Osmond, as usual, seemed torn between comforting her and wanting to punch Zophiel.\n\nI tried to put an end to the bickering. \"Pleasance, have you some of that poppy syrup that you gave Adela before, the potion that helps her to sleep?\"\n\nBut Pleasance didn't appear to have heard me. She was staring wide-eyed at Zophiel, looking as terrified as Adela. I heaved myself up and, on the pretext of handing Pleasance her pack, drew her away from the fire.\n\n\"Take no notice, Pleasance. There are neither Jews nor vampires lurking here. People are frightened. They can't fight a miasma, so they create an enemy to fight. It makes them feel less helpless. Though in Zophiel's case, I don't think he believes a word of it; he just says it because he enjoys an argument. Why don't you find Adela that poppy syrup, see if we can't calm her down a bit before Osmond takes it into his head to start a brawl with Zophiel?\"\n\nPleasance gave a weak smile and bent over her pack, but her hands were still trembling as she struggled to undo the leather fastenings. She pushed the pack away and fled to the door.\n\n\"I left the syrup in the wagon,\" she mumbled, and ran out without even pausing to shut the door behind her.\n\nNarigorm stared after her, a curious expression on her face, as if she had just remembered something. Then she folded her arms and began rocking on her bottom, like a small child hugging a great secret.\n\n\"Born in a barn, was she?\" Abel grumbled, getting up to close the door, but before he reached it we heard a scream outside the cottage. Snatching up a stout staff, Abel bounded through the door followed closely by Rodrigo and more slowly by Osmond, who had first to prise Adela's hand from his arm.\n\nThere was the sound of a scuffle and a cry of \"Oh, no, you don't, my lad.\" Then Abel and Rodrigo returned, dragging a struggling figure between them, immobilised by the cloak which had been wound tightly over his head and arms. Osmond followed hard on their heels, his arm supporting Pleasance. Abel slammed the door and swung the heavy brace across it before turning to face the figure under the cloak, still firmly in the grip of Rodrigo.\n\n\"Now, my lad, let's be having a look at you.\" He stepped forward to pull the cloak away, but I knew who it was before the face was unmasked. There was no mistaking the purple of that cloak."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "\"So we've caught a murderer,\" Zophiel said triumphantly.\n\n\"You'll hang, boy, or worse when the sheriff gets hold of you and he will, make no mistake about that, for there'll be a price on your head which will come in very handy for us all in these hard times.\"\n\n\"If anyone's going to claim the bounty for him, it'll be me and him.\" Abel indicated Rodrigo with a jerk of his head. \"We're the ones who caught him. You sat on your arse by the fire, too scared to come outside in case there was any real fighting.\" Abel had not forgiven Zophiel for contradicting him.\n\n\"I'm no murderer,\" the swan-boy interrupted desperately. \"I never touched that child. I swear I never laid eyes on her again after I spoke to her in the marketplace.\"\n\n\"So if you are as innocent as you claim, why run away?\" Zophiel said, ignoring Abel.\n\n\"Be fair, Zophiel,\" I said. \"Running away is no proof of guilt. You saw that mob; they were out for blood. Do you think they'd have taken him off for a fair trial? By the time they'd handed him over to the sheriff there wouldn't have been a lot left of him to hang, guilty or innocent. If I'd been in his shoes, I'd have run too.\"\n\nThe swan-boy nodded desperately. \"He's right. I was scared, and with good reason. I think I may have seen the man who murdered the child and he knows I saw him. I think it was him who said he'd seen me with the child to cover his own tracks.\"\n\n\"We all saw you with the child,\" Zophiel snapped. \"As did half the town.\"\n\n\"No, you don't understand. I saw a man leaving that warehouse about the time the little girl went missing. He was looking up and down the street as if he wanted to make sure it was empty. I was standing in a doorway sheltering from the rain. He wouldn't have seen me at first. I only noticed him because there was a little dog jumping up at him, barking. He kicked it away really viciously. That made me angry. I thought the dog looked familiar, but it wasn't until after the child was found I realised \u2026 I had no reason to think at the time\u2026\"\n\n\"Then why not tell your story to the authorities?\" Zophiel demanded. \"You saw his face. You could describe him.\"\n\n\"I saw his face all right; he walked right past the door where I was standing. He saw me too and looked none too happy about it either.\"\n\n\"Then I repeat my question. Why not tell your story to the authorities?\"\n\n\"Because I saw something else. An emblem on his cloak. If it was his cloak, the killer was Master of the Guild of Cordwainers. Do you think the townspeople would take the word of a wandering storyteller against a fellow townsman, especially one who's the master of such a wealthy guild?\"\n\n\"And do you think that we are more gullible than the townspeople, that we'd believe such a fanciful tale, where they would not? How convenient that you just happened to be hanging around, watching the very warehouse where the child was strangled.\"\n\n\"But I did see the cordwainer there.\"\n\n\"If you saw him, I daresay he had gone there to inspect a consignment of leather. What could be more natural at market time? The man had a perfectly legitimate reason for being in a warehouse, unlike a vagabond storyteller who could only have been there with nefarious intent. At the very least, you obviously intended to steal. Did the child see you stealing and threaten to tell? Is that why you killed her? Or did you lure the child to the warehouse in order to rape her and murder her?\"\n\n\"The child was strangled, Zophiel,\" I reminded him. \"Hard to do that with a wing.\"\n\n\"It's easy enough for a man to throttle a small child with just one hand. The fingers on his hand will be stronger than most, for he has to do everything with that one hand.\"\n\n\"Can he fly?\" Old Walter suddenly blurted out from his place at the fireside. The farmer had been rubbing his eyes and staring at the storyteller's wing ever since the cloak was pulled off, as if he thought that what he was seeing was an illusion brought on by drink.\n\n\"'course he can't, you daft old pisspot. How do you expect him to fly with only one wing?\" his son snapped, as if winged men regularly made an appearance in their house.\n\n\"These folks said he got out of the town when all gates were closed. So maybe he flew out.\"\n\nZophiel addressed himself to the swan-boy \"He has a point; how exactly did you get out?\"\n\n\"I stowed away \u2026 on your wagon.\"\n\n\"You did what!\" Zophiel screamed. All the colour seemed to drain from his face. He seized the swan-boy by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet. \"If you've damaged anything, boy, I'll string you up myself.\"\n\nHe pushed the boy aside, who fell heavily to the floor, and rushed to the door, cursing as he swung aside the heavy brace. Rodrigo helped the storyteller to his feet, gripping his shoulder gently but firmly, in case the young man should make a bolt for the open door, but he made no move to escape.\n\n\"Zophiel lives in fear of someone damaging his mermaid and his other precious boxes, though God alone knows what he has in there that is so precious,\" I said by way of explanation, for Abel and his father were gaping at the open door as if they thought Zophiel had gone mad.\n\nThe storyteller took a breath as if he was about to say something, but seemed to think better of it. He quickly closed his mouth again.\n\n\"I hope for your sake nothing is damaged, lad,\" I continued, \"otherwise you'll wish you were back with that mob. What do they call you anyway?\"\n\n\"Cygnus.\"\n\n\"Well then, Cygnus, there's a scraping of beans left in that pot, so you may as well settle down and eat. Whatever's to be done with you can't be done till morning. No sense in going hungry while there's food to be eaten. This is going to be a long night for us all.\"\n\nThe door was barred once more and we all settled down around the fire on the beaten earth floor, hunkered down on pieces of old sacking or logs, for the cottagers had only a small bench and a single stool to their name. We were packed as tight as eels in a barrel, but grateful for our full bellies and the soporific warmth of the spitting fire.\n\nAfter careful inspection, Zophiel had been forced to admit that nothing in the wagon had been damaged, but his anger had, if anything, increased. He had unwittingly given shelter to a fugitive by refusing to allow his wagon to be searched and he took that as an insult to his pride. He was determined not to be made a fool of twice and was all for lashing the prisoner to one of the wagon wheels to spend the night outside in the rain, but the rest of us stopped him. Our hosts had no objections to the boy being housed in the cottage; in fact both seemed positively to welcome the idea, fascinated as they were by him. So Zophiel, unable to punish the lad as he would have liked, took to goading him instead.\n\n\"Tell us the truth, boy,\" he said, \"and don't try your swan-prince or cordwainer tales on us; we are not a bunch of children. That is a false wing, is it not, a trick to get a few more pennies from the townsfolk than they'd pay you for a good tale? I imagine you managed to convince many fools that it's real, but don't you try to take me for a fool as well.\"\n\nCygnus glanced nervously round the group. \"It's a long story.\"\n\n\"We're not going anywhere and neither are you, boy.\" Zophiel said it grimly.\n\nAdela smiled at Cygnus encouragingly and after a scared glance at Zophiel, the swan-boy addressed himself to her.\n\nZophiel snapped, \"Only God can say if a child should live or die. Such women should be brought to a gallows. If I had my way no woman would be permitted to attend a birth.\" He glared across at Pleasance. She shrank further into her corner.\n\n\"They're not heartless women,\" Cygnus protested. \"They don't want a child to live in suffering or its mother to be blamed. I've seen mothers hounded from the village or worse still tried as witches, accused of fornicating with a demon. There's no mercy shown to either mother or child then; baby and mother hang together.\"\n\n\"And such women should be tried as witches, for how else would such a monster be conceived? Not through them lying with their God-given husbands, that's for sure,\" Zophiel snapped.\n\n\"You just said a baby was innocent. But now you want to hang the baby with its mother.\" Adela's face was flushed, though whether from indignation or the heat of the stuffy room was hard to tell.\n\n\"I said nothing of innocence, Adela.\" Zophiel's tone, as ever, grew quieter and colder as others become more heated. \"What I said was that God would decide if the brat lived or died. If the mother is guilty, then the child is a demon and must die. Surely not even you would be foolish enough to plead for a demon to be spared the gallows, however seemingly innocent its form. But if the mother is not guilty her trial will prove her so. God will protect the innocent and save them from death.\"\n\n\"Like He saves them from the pestilence?\" Jofre said savagely.\n\nThere was an uncomfortable silence. Osmond crossed himself. No one looked at anyone else. It was the question that was in everyone's mind, the one question no one could bring themselves to answer.\n\nI nudged Cygnus with my staff. \"You were telling us about your birth. How is it that your mother gave birth alone with no one to attend her?\"\n\nThere was a collective release of breath. It was as if we had all momentarily looked over the edge of a cliff and had now drawn back to safer ground.\n\n\"My mother,\" Cygnus' eyes flicked nervously towards Zophiel, \"my mother knew that I would be special.\"\n\nZophiel snorted. \"How did she know? Did an angel appear to her?\"\n\nCygnus seemed to wilt under the magician's sarcastic tongue. \"Not an angel,\" he muttered.\n\n\"A dream then,\" Adela suggested eagerly.\n\n\"I've heard that if you see something frightening you can often give birth to a mon\u2014\" Adela corrected herself hastily \"to an unusual child. There was a woman in our town that was frightened by a bear when she was carrying. When the baby was born, it was covered from head to foot in thick black hair.\"\n\n\"I didn't mean my mother was frightened by a swan. She\u2014\"\n\nZophiel was staring at him, comprehension dawning, and horror with it. Zophiel was hostile enough to the boy already without believing that he was the product of some bestial encounter between a bird and virgin. That would be all Zophiel needed to pronounce the lad guilty\u2014a beast who murders little children. What else would be born from such a union?\n\nI leapt in hastily. \"So because of the strange dream she had, your mother believed you would be special? Is that why she chose to give birth alone?\"\n\nCygnus grimaced. \"She knew I would be different, but she wanted me. She always told me that.\"\n\nI glanced at Osmond; his expression was strained. I guessed he was not thinking of Cygnus, but of his own unborn child.\n\n\"It is a wonderful thing to grow up knowing you are wanted,\" I said, and for the first time that evening Cygnus smiled, staring into the fire as if he could see his mothers face gazing lovingly back at him from the dancing flames. Finally, after a long pause, he resumed his tale.\n\nAdela clapped her hands in delight. \"So it really did grow in the end. When did it happen?\"\n\n\"When I became so accustomed to my wing that I believed it was my wing, then I found that it was. There was my wing as if it had always been, just as my arm has always been my arm.\"\n\n\"But didn't the other children torment you more when you had a wing?\" Jofre asked. \"Because you were\u2026\" He hesitated, \"different from them.\"\n\n\"I was proud to be different from them. I had something they never could. I was not an ordinary boy.\"\n\n\"And you could bear that? Bear to be different?\" Jofre leant forward. There was a strange urgency in his voice \"You weren't\u2026ashamed?\"\n\nCygnus smiled and for an answer unfurled his wing, beating it in the air, sending the smoke from the fire billowing round the room, until Abel snapped, \"Stop that! You'll have us ablaze.\"\n\n\"A pretty trick,\" Zophiel conceded. \"But you can't fly, so what use is one wing?\"\n\nTo my surprise, Adela turned on him angrily. \"Leave him alone, can't you? Why do you have to spoil everything? The wing is beautiful. May I touch it?\"\n\nCygnus nodded and Adela reached out and stroked it as tenderly as she would have done if it had been the wing of some tiny fragile creature, shivering with delight as she did so. Osmond grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.\n\n\"Remember your own child,\" he reproved sharply.\n\nI glanced at Cygnus and saw a momentary look of pain pass across his face. It was Adela herself who had said that a pregnant woman who looked upon a bear gave birth to a monster. And I'd seen men shield their pregnant wives from the sight of me. Jofre was right; it is a fearful thing to be different.\n\nCygnus suddenly yelped in pain. Looking down, I saw that Narigorm had wriggled forward to his side and was sitting there holding a long white feather in her hand. Cygnus stretched out his wing; we could all plainly see the gap where a single feather had been torn out.\n\nAdela frowned. \"That was cruel, Narigorm\u2014you mustn't pull feathers out from a living creature. You've hurt him.\"\n\nBut Cygnus reached down and stroked Naigorm's soft white hair. \"She didn't mean to, I'm sure. Children are often rough without meaning to be, like kittens at play.\"\n\nNarigorm gazed innocently at him. \"Another will soon grow in its place, won't it, Cygnus? It does on real swans. When one falls out, a new one grows in its place. When your feather grows back that'll prove your wing is real, won't it?\"\n\nShe turned and looked across at Zophiel. The magician stared at her for a moment. Then suddenly he laughed.\n\nCome first light we were again on the road, leaving old Walter and his son Abel with enough to argue about for many a long winter's evening whenever they recalled their night spent in our strange company. Although Abel had told Zophiel, the night before, that he had a claim on any bounty that might be offered for capturing the fugitive, in the cold light of dawn Abel seemed reluctant to pursue the matter. The only way of claiming a reward was to take Cygnus back to Northampton and hand him over to the authorities, but Abel, it transpired, didn't hold with towns\u2014nasty crowded places, full of thieves and cutpurses, and with things being as they were with the pestilence and such, nothing would induce him to set foot in one until the fever was past.\n\nOld Walter didn't hold with towns or authorities either for, as he said, \"There's many an innocent man goes to do their duty and help them as is in charge only to find himself arrested for having broken some law he knew nowt about.\" He coughed and spat copiously on the floor. \"Miller in the village fished a bloated corpse out of his millpond where the river had carried it. Raised the hue and cry and sent for the coroner, all right and proper, but the coroner was that many days in coming the miller had to bury the corpse. The stench was making his wife and young'uns sick and was starting to get into the flour. He'd have had no customers left if he hadn't buried the rotting body. And when the coroner did finally shift his arse and bother to turn up, instead of thanking the miller for doing his duty, the coroner recorded him in his Roll for not preserving the body and the miller was fined a tidy sum when he came before the justices. That's what you get for doing your duty! He should have buried the body quietly, soon as he fished it out, and said nowt about it. If you ask me the coroner delayed coming on purpose, just so he could raise some fines.\" Old Walter coughed and spat again. \"Lesson to us all that is; let sleeping dogs lie; don't go bothering them unless they come bothering you.\"\n\nAnd so Cygnus' fate was placed firmly in our hands. None of our company, except for Zophiel, wanted to return to the town we'd left the day before. And even Zophiel was eventually forced to agree that returning was not a good idea, after Rodrigo pointed out that some of the townspeople might well remember that he had refused to let them search his wagon. Zophiel could find himself on trial for aiding and abetting the escape of a wanted man, a crime which carried no less a penalty than that of the murder itself. Zophiel could not deny the truth of what Rodrigo said, but it did nothing to sweeten his temper.\n\nCygnus continued to protest his innocence, but his guilt or innocence, as Osmond said, was irrelevant; the point was the young man was a fugitive, wanted for a capital offence. If we let him loose and he was caught, they'd force him to tell them how he'd escaped. Once that was known, they'd certainly come after us. It was just possible that the justices might believe our company of travellers had unwittingly carried him out of town, but if they learnt that we had apprehended him and then let him go, that was something no court would pardon. The only safe course was to take Cygnus with us. We'd hand him over when we came across a bailiff or a king's man who could take him off our hands.\n\nCygnus looked terrified, his eyes darting in mute appeal around the company. He finally turned to me, fear and desperation straining every inch of his frame.\n\n\"You said yourself, Camelot, that I couldn't have strangled the child with just one hand. Let me go. I promise they'll not catch me, and if they do I'll not breathe one word about you or your company. I swear it on my mother's life.\"\n\n\"If it were just me, I wouldn't hesitate,\" I told him. \"But there are the others to consider\u2014a pregnant woman\u2026the child \u2026\" I didn't add that despite his best resolution, he might do or say anything before his trial was ended. I'd seen stronger men than he broken, and he was no warrior.\n\nCygnus wilted, all the fight abruptly going out of him, and stared hopelessly at a water-filled rut at his feet. \"I'd not endanger Adela or Narigorm. Forgive me.\"\n\nRodrigo, his expression grim, patted his shoulder. \"You will get a fair trial, ragazzo. We will see to that.\"\n\nZophiel insisted that Cygnus should be tethered to the back of the wagon and forced to walk behind it like a prisoner; in that way there could be no doubting our intent if any of those searching for him caught up with us on the road. If he walked freely with us, then he would be seen as one of our company and we would all surely be arrested as his accomplices. Adela protested bitterly, but the rest of us saw the sense in it, though I suspected that Zophiel had suggested it as much to punish the boy as to safeguard ourselves. Zophiel bound Cygnus' good arm behind his back and tethered him waist and neck to the wagon in such a way that if the boy tried to move his hand to free it, it would only tighten the rope about his neck.\n\n\"If he slips in the mud and is dragged behind the wagon, that rope will break his neck,\" Rodrigo growled angrily, pushing Zophiel aside and working the knots loose.\n\n\"He told us himself how he learnt to undo his mother's rope with one hand when he was a small child. I intend to ensure he can't escape from these bonds.\"\n\n\"You think he is going to escape with the eight of us watching him?\" Rodrigo retied Cygnus to the back of the wagon, but by his wrist only. \"Take a man prisoner, this I will do, but I will not murder him.\"\n\nZophiel, still glowering, took his customary place by Xanthus, jerking her head savagely forward as he grasped her bridle, an action she repaid by taking a step sideways and treading down hard on his foot. Zophiel howled and cursed her roundly as he clung to the wagon, massaging his bruised foot, while Xanthus calmly resumed nibbling the drenched grass as if nothing had happened. I was beginning to like that horse.\n\nWe were to spend several days on the road before we slept under a roof again. It was not a well-trodden track and the only other travellers we saw were local people passing with wood for their fires or moving their livestock from field to byre and back again. When anyone approached us on the road, we drew our cloaks across our noses and mouths, searching their faces anxiously for any sign of sickness, as they did ours, but we saw only hunger in their eyes. They stared at us from a dull curiosity, sometimes returning our greetings, most often not. Who could blame them? Start talking to a company of strangers on the road and the next thing you know you'll find yourself having to offer them hospitality at your fireside. By the looks of them, most were having a hard time filling their own bellies, never mind someone else's.\n\nThe crops were ruined. You didn't need to be a farmer to see that. There's a stink that rotting roots give off that hangs over the countryside for miles around. There was no hope of salvaging grain or beans, and while herbs flourish in the rain, they do not fill bellies in the cold of winter. Even autumn fruit needs a little sun to ripen.\n\nWe were more fortunate than the cottagers. We at least had been able to buy some dried beans, salted mutton, and dried fish at Northampton, though a year ago I'd have called any merchant a rogue and a swindler who had charged such prices, which were nothing short of extortion, but when food is scarce those that have it can name their price. But our supplies would not last long with so many in our company, so whenever we came across a patch of sorrel or a hazelnut tree on common land we halted and gathered what we could to stretch out our provisions for the day.\n\nHunting for game was far too risky in those early months. Even to be caught with a bow or deer trap was dangerous\u2014no one wants to lose his ears or his hands\u2014but birds fly free and Osmond, it turned out, was a fair mark with the sling and Jofre was learning fast. As dusk drew in, the birds would wing their way towards their roosts in the branches of the trees and when we set up camp for the night, Osmond and Jofre would set off to see what they could bring down. They'd return an hour or so later with a handful of assorted birds, mostly starlings, blackbirds, and pigeons but once a brace of woodcock. There was little meat upon them, especially the starlings, but they added welcome flavour to the pot and even a mouthful of meat can seem like a feast when you are cold and hungry.\n\nNarigorm was always hungry. Though she received a share of food equal to any of the adults' in the company, the child's appetite was never satisfied. She took to setting tiny snares among the trees at night for small foraging animals. She would listen for the squeal in the darkness that told her something had been caught, then swiftly follow the sound. After a long time, too long, we would hear the squeals die away and she would return holding some limp creature carefully in both hands. Sometimes it would be edible, a squirrel or a hedgehog. Often it was a shrew or a weasel that had to be thrown away. But always it would be dead.\n\nOsmond offered to go with her to show how to dispatch the creatures more swiftly, but she stubbornly refused, saying she knew how to kill them. And although the prolonged shrieks of the little animals made us all uncomfortable, especially Adela, as Zophiel said, the child had to learn and she should not be discouraged from helping to find food. He was right; we needed every scrap we could get.\n\nWe were permanently wet and cold, and spending the nights camping in the woods meant that we woke stiff and still tired after a fitful night's sleep. Falling leaves usually promise a softer bed, but that autumn they were so sodden the chill of them ate into our bones. But the cold was not the only thing disturbing my sleep. Several times I had awakened convinced I had heard a howl in the night. Each time it was too faint for me to be sure I'd heard it at all, and I might have dismissed it as no more than the wind in the trees, except that on each occasion I saw Zophiel sitting up, tense in the darkness, as if he too was straining to listen. I told myself it was just the baying of a distant farm dog, but as the nights passed, the howl grew stronger and more distinct. It wasn't the howl of a dog. I'd have sworn it was a wolf, except that I knew it couldn't be a wolf, not in those parts. Your mind plays strange tricks when you are wet and weary.\n\nAnd Cygnus was more exhausted than any of us. Tied to a wagon, splattered with mud from the wheels and unable to pick his own course through the ruts and puddles\u2014that would sap even the strongest man. He had to constantly match his stride to the wagon's pace. One slip and he'd find himself being dragged. Rodrigo usually walked at the back of the wagon with him, trying to cheer him up with tales of courtly life. As Cygnus tired, Rodrigo would wrap his arm around the lad, holding him upright as he stumbled. Often he would call a halt on the pretext of needing to adjust the rags he had wrapped around Cygnus' wrist where it rubbed raw against the rope, taking his time, until Cygnus had recovered his breath enough to walk on. When we stopped to make camp for the night Zophiel insisted that Cygnus should be bound to a tree or the wheel of the cart, so his nights were even more uncomfortable than ours, but one of us always managed to slacken his bonds a little while Zophiel was occupied with his boxes.\n\nBut for all the misery Cygnus had to endure, he was still managing to keep more cheerful than Jofre. Whether it was Rodrigo's attention to Cygnus, stultifying boredom, or simply being wet and cold that made the young musician increasingly morose was hard to tell, but only the evening hunt for birds seemed to lift his mood and then only for an hour or two. Jofre was aglow after these hunts, his face flushed, his eyes dancing with excitement. I suppose it was the most amusement he got all day, hard for a young man used to life in a lord's service where his days were filled with music, sport, and the intrigue of gossip. But once we were all hunkered down around the fire, a black depression seemed to settle again on Jofre, like flies on a corpse, and for the rest of the evening he would sit staring listlessly into the flames or else study Adela and Osmond as they dozed together.\n\nJofre couldn't even practise on his instruments, for the rain would have ruined them. Rodrigo tried to insist that he practise his singing, but Jofre always had some excuse, which inevitably sparked a long lecture from Rodrigo and that only increased Jofre's defiance. Zophiel didn't help. He openly sneered at Rodrigo for not being able to control his pupil, saying that any master worthy of the name would take a stick to the boy and that would soon make him sing out. But neither Zophiel's sneers, Rodrigo's nagging, nor Adela's coaxing had any good effect on Jofre. And with his cheeks burning, he'd storm off to the shelter of a tree, well away from the company, with a flagon of ale or cider grasped tightly in his hand. The flagon was always empty come morning and Jofre's mood would be blacker than ever.\n\nOne sunrise after such a night, we all woke stiff, wet, and cold, groaning as we stirred ourselves to break camp and move out. Jofre, as penance, had been told to remove the hobble from Xanthus and harness her to the wagon. It was a job he hated at the best of times and that morning Xanthus was being more refractory than usual. She had discovered an unusually juicy patch of grass, and having found such a feast she was not going to give it up without a fight. She continued to nibble rapidly at the grass as Jofre crept up and quietly caught her halter. She didn't try to resist and, flushed with success, Jofre foolishly turned his back as he led her to the wagon. That was the moment she had been waiting for; she suddenly jerked her head, sending him sprawling facedown, and followed it up with a swift and painful nip to his calf, before calmly resuming her meal as if he was of no more significance than a troublesome fly. It was such a deft move that even the normally sympathetic Adela couldn't help laughing, but Jofre didn't see the funny side of it. He was writhing around on the grass massaging his leg, moaning that he wouldn't be able to walk for the rest of the day.\n\nIn the end it took the combined efforts of Zophiel, Rodrigo, Osmond, and a good switch to get Xanthus as far as the wagon. Dragged away from her meal, Xanthus was in no mood to cooperate. Free from the hobble and now able to buck, rear, and kick as well as bite, she soon had all three sweating despite the coldness of the morning. As Zophiel paused to wipe his face, he suddenly held up his hand for silence. We all stopped. The sound of distant hooves and voices carried from the track just beyond the trees. Rodrigo put his hand on Jofre's shoulder.\n\n\"Go and look, ragazzo. But stay hidden,\" he whispered.\n\nJofre, his injury forgotten, darted off. None of us moved. A group of riders on this remote track might mean trouble. Best not draw attention to ourselves till we could be sure what nature of men were out there.\n\nJofre was back in no time at all. \"Soldiers,\" he whispered. \"Five of them. Travelling light, no packhorses.\"\n\n\"From which direction?\" Zophiel asked.\n\n\"The same as we've come from.\"\n\nZophiel glanced over to where Cygnus crouched, still tethered to the tree. \"So they are on the trail of our little game bird.\" He smiled maliciously. \"It seems your time is up, my friend.\"\n\n\"No,\" Adela whispered hoarsely. She waddled over to Cygnus as if she intended to hide him behind her skirts. \"You can't hand him over. I won't let you.\"\n\n\"And how are you going to stop me, woman? A single shout will be enough to attract their attention,\" Zophiel said, but he took care to keep his voice as low as hers.\n\nThe hooves came closer, a steady trot, men with a purpose. Were they really searching for Cygnus? We had our staves and knives; we could have put up a fight, but even if it was only one soldier, if he was acting for the King's peace, only a man with nothing left to lose would dare to put up any kind of resistance. Spending a lifetime as an outlaw on the run with a price on your head and every man's hand against you is not something to be undertaken lightly.\n\nThe others were all standing motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Cygnus crouched on the ground, a look of abject fear on his face. He began desperately pulling at the rope which tied him to the tree, but Zophiel had done his work too well. The beat of the hooves grew closer until they seemed to be right at the place where we had driven the wagon off the track and into the trees. Would the riders see the tracks? And if they did, would they stop to investigate? All eyes were fastened upon Zophiel, waiting. All he had to do was call out now and it would be over. Adela's lips were moving silently as if she was praying, but whether to God or Zophiel I could not say.\n\nThe hoofbeats passed us, moving away. They had not seen the tracks. But still we waited. If we could hear them, they could hear us. Zophiel could still call out to them. He took a step forward. Osmond made as if to stop him, but Rodrigo held him back. Rodrigo knew, as did we all, that any attempt at restraint would only make Zophiel shout out. That would be enough to bring the soldiers back. And so we stood immobilised, listening as the sounds of the hooves died away to nothing. The rain pattered down and the wind whistled through the half-clad branches of the trees and above that\u2014silence.\n\nZophiel surveyed us, apparently deriving great amusement from our frozen attitudes. \"An interesting diversion. Now, if you have all rested sufficiently, shall we attempt once more to get this recalcitrant beast between the shafts?\"\n\nSuddenly, everyone seemed to remember they had been holding their breath and let it out in a great collective sigh. Adela turned to Zophiel and opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but I caught her eye and shook my head. Sometimes, of men like Zophiel, it is better not to ask why and just be thankful. Maybe I had misjudged him. Perhaps there was a vein of compassion buried deep inside him after all.\n\nWe set about the tasks of clearing our camp. Ropes were tightened, the ashes from the long-dead fire scattered. Xanthus, having made her point, graciously allowed herself to be harnessed to the wagon.\n\nFinally, when we were all ready to depart, Zophiel strolled across to the tree where Cygnus remained tethered. Cygnus smiled crookedly up at him, still white-faced.\n\n\"Th\u2026thank you,\" he stammered.\n\n\"We could simply leave you here for the soldiers to find on their return. That would save us all a lot of trouble. With luck you might starve to death. That would save the good citizens of England the expense of hanging you.\"\n\n\"But I thought\u2014\" said Cygnus, his voice trembling.\n\n\"You thought because I didn't call out to the soldiers that I've changed my mind about handing you in.\" Zophiel laughed. \"Oh no, my young friend, I've no intention of handing you over to soldiers unless I am forced to it. On a road like this, without witnesses, they'd doubtless claim they'd captured you themselves and, as our wise friend Rodrigo reminded me, they might arrest us too on the grounds that we were sheltering you. Why take one prisoner when you can just as easily take nine? No, I intend to hand you to a bailiff in person and in front of as many witnesses as I can find so that there shall be no mistake.\"\n\nCygnus, still shaking, was once more led to the back of the wagon. We all turned away, busying ourselves with our packs, unwilling to meet his eyes.\n\n\"Narigorm, come quickly, we're ready to go,\" Pleasance called out, heaving her pack onto the wagon. Narigorm, crouching a little way off, had her head bent over the ground and did not appear to have heard.\n\n\"I'll fetch her,\" I told Pleasance. \"You finish stowing your pack.\"\n\nNarigorm was squatting on the tangled roots of a tree, playing with her runes. They were scattered across a patch of cleared earth in which she had drawn three concentric circles. She looked up as she sensed me approaching and scooped up the runes, rubbing out the circles with her hands as she did so, but not before I saw something else lying in them\u2014a long white feather and a small seashell\u2014a mermaid's fan, the fishermen call it. She hastily gathered these up also and stuffed them in her pouch along with the runes.\n\n\"Narigorm, were you\u2014\"\n\n\"Camelot! Narigorm! Come on. We're moving out,\" Adela called from her perch on the front of the wagon.\n\nNarigorm darted forward. I followed more slowly, glancing back at the half-obliterated circles in the earth. Had Narigorm been playing with her runes when the soldiers were passing? Could she have\u2026? No, Zophiel was not acting under compulsion. The decision not to attract the soldiers' attention was his own and, I had to admit, it was well reasoned. But all the same, I couldn't help wondering what other little keepsakes Narigorm had in that bag of hers."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "We were to spend another wet, unpleasant night camping among the trees, but on the day after, things began to look up. Trees gave way to cultivated land once more and we passed several lay brothers working the field strips, wading calf-deep through the sticky mud and looking as miserable as if they were performing a barefoot pilgrimage of penance. Pools of water had collected along the furrows. There would be no harrowing until it had drained away, and since the rain was still falling there seemed little chance of that before Christmas.\n\nBut it was evident we were now on monastery land and where there is a monastery, there is a pilgrims' hall with dry beds, food, fire, and company to while away the long winter evenings. We all began to brighten at the prospect. Even Xanthus seemed to have caught our excitement and quickened her pace without being urged to.\n\nThen, as we rounded a corner, Rodrigo suddenly called for us to stop. He caught up with Zophiel and pulled the horse's head, turning horse and wagon into the shelter of a little coppice of trees.\n\nWe all peered anxiously around\u2014more soldiers? But Rodrigo beckoned us close.\n\n\"What are we to do with him?\" Rodrigo asked, gesturing at the mud-splattered storyteller slumped against the back of the wagon. \"If we take him in the monastery tied like this, they will know at once he is a wanted man.\"\n\n\"So?\" said Zophiel. \"He is.\"\n\n\"But we are a week's journey now from Northampton town. What if the monks have not heard of the crime?\"\n\n\"If news hasn't spread this far, then we could take Cygnus in with us as a companion and a free man,\" Adela said eagerly. \"After all, you all said we were only keeping him bound to protect ourselves if he was being pursued.\"\n\nZophiel shook his head. \"You are forgetting the soldiers. They must have passed this way and they will certainly have made enquiries for him at the monastery.\"\n\n\"Maybe they were on other business,\" Rodrigo said.\n\n\"And maybe they were not. Do you propose to wager our freedom on guessing the mission of a soldier? Now we know where Jofre learned his recklessness. Gamble if you must, Venetian, but with coins, not our liberty.\"\n\nRodrigo's eyes blazed and he took a step forward.\n\nI broke in quickly. \"There's only one way to find out. You all remain here and I'll go in alone as a single traveller. I'll make discreet enquiries about the soldiers, find out if there has been any news from the town. If they know nothing at the monastery, then you can enter with Cygnus, provided he keeps that wing well hidden and that cloak concealed, for its colour is too distinctive. Jofre or Osmond could lend him a shirt with two sleeves and a cote-hardie. With his wing bound tightly to his body underneath, it will look as if the lad has lost an arm. There's nothing remarkable about a lad with a missing limb seeking alms in a monastery. No one will remember him.\"\n\n\"And if they have heard about the murder?\" Zophiel asked.\n\n\"Then we must wait here until dark and try to slip past the monastery at night. There'll be too many about during the day for us to pass by unnoticed.\"\n\n\"Are you seriously suggesting I should give up a warm bed and a hot meal to protect that creature?\" said Zophiel.\n\n\"No, Zophiel, I know you better than that, but you might forgo the warm bed for the fugitive's bounty. If Cygnus is forced to it, he might choose to seek sanctuary in the monastery church and then your prize will have escaped you.\"\n\nThe magician snorted. \"Abjure the realm? Be an exile for the rest of his life? That's if he made it to a port without being killed. I hardly think our little bird has the stomach to stand knee-deep in water for weeks on end, begging for a boat to take him. No ship's captain would take a man who can neither work his passage nor buy it, unless they took him to sell as a freak to a wealthy man who can afford to collect strange animals for his cages.\"\n\n\"He might prefer even that slim chance of life to the certainty of death. Men will cling to the faintest shadow of a hope to escape death.\"\n\nThere was no one at the monastery gatehouse, but making my way towards the church, I spotted an elderly monk halfheartedly sweeping the paved floor of the cloisters. The bitter wind funnelled through the pillars of the open walkway and the monk grumbled to himself, pulling up his cowl against the cold. Catching sight of me, he shuffled closer to ask me what I wanted.\n\nMonasteries are a hive of rumour and tattle. The lives of the monks and lay brothers are as monotonous as the liturgy, so they must glean what excitement they can from the travellers who pass through their doors. I've yet to meet a monk who's reluctant to stop for a gossip, and this old man was no exception.\n\nLeaning on his broom, he told me that the soldiers had indeed called at the monastery, but not to search for the fugitive storyteller. One of the soldier's mounts had cast a shoe and the monastery blacksmith was summoned to fit a new one, whilst the soldiers seized the opportunity to demand ale and meat before riding on. The news they brought was from London and it was the worst. Two hundred a day were dying in that city from the pestilence alone. The churchyards could no longer contain them. Mass graves had been dug in the poorest quarters of the city. The old monk shuddered and crossed himself, his voice dropping to a low whisper as if he feared the evil of his own words. \"The ground, they say, is not consecrated; imagine that, those poor souls.\"\n\nHe reached down with a groan to scratch at the weeping chilblains on his gnarled bare feet. His open leather sandals did little to protect his aged feet from the leeching cold of the stone floors. I felt an itch of sympathy.\n\n\"To whom do the soldiers carry this terrible report?\" I was curious. It seemed unlikely that they had been sent out simply to spread alarm in the country at large.\n\nThe old monk straightened up in surprise. \"It was not that message they were charged to carry. One of the soldiers told me what was afoot in London, but only because I asked him. I have kin there, you see, my brother and his family. Nieces and nephews, perhaps by now even great-nieces and -nephews, God save them. I know we should renounce all thoughts of kin when we enter the order, but still, one cannot help \u2026\" He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.\n\n\"And the soldiers?\" I prompted.\n\n\"Ah yes, the soldiers, they go to summon one of the King's noble lords. A Knight of the Garter has fallen to the pestilence and must be replaced, for the King must have twenty-four Garter Knights to attend him at Windsor, he insists on it for the Christmas feasting.\"\n\n\"The King is going ahead with the Christmas revels, despite the news from London?\"\n\n\"Windsor is not London. The court continues as usual and the King will have his new round table and his knights of chivalry.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he thinks the Garter Knights will protect him from the pestilence as well as give him victory in France.\"\n\nThe monk peered at me as if he wasn't sure if I was mocking him. \"The knights are sworn to Saint George; the saint will protect them from the arrows that fly from heaven as well as those which fly from the King's enemies.\"\n\n\"But you said one had already fallen?\"\n\nHe wagged his finger at me. \"Even the King, God save him, cannot read men's hearts. It may be that the knight was not worthy, or that he betrayed his oath. This pestilence is God's scourge by which he cleanses His temple of licentiousness and lust. We must all pray to be spared, pray to the holy and blessed Saint Benedict to have mercy. You have not forgotten it is All Souls' Eve. There will be special services tonight for those in purgatory. You will join us, brother, will you not? If those poor Londoners are to be laid to rest in unconsecrated ground, their souls will need all our prayers.\"\n\nIf the soldiers had no interest in the fugitive, neither did the handful of other travellers who were spending the night in the guest hall. The talk was of rain, flooding, pestilence, and their own personal hardships, which brought them back to the rain again. So, after ensuring that Cygnus' wing was bound tightly beneath his clothes and with a warning not to play the storyteller in case someone's memory was jogged, I led Cygnus and the rest of of our company wet, cold, and hungry to our lodgings.\n\nWith few in the guesthouse, we had our pick of the beds. At least in a monastery you can be reasonably certain that the beds will be clean and not lousy. The ale was good too, though the meal was meagre, thick soup and a miserable portion of bread\u2014no meat, of course, for it was fast day. The rain was lashing against the thick walls, so most of the company were content to spend the afternoon dozing around the great fire in the pilgrims' refectory.\n\nAs Adela settled herself with her sewing, she and Osmond exchanged a conspiratorial smile and nod, which sent Osmond rummaging in his pack. He straightened, holding something behind his back, and beckoned to Narigorm. With a flourish, he produced a wooden doll and held it out to the child. The toy had a daintily carved wooden nose and ears, painted eyes, a smiling mouth, rosy cheeks, and brown sheep's wool for hair. Even the limbs were jointed and moved. It was a pretty little thing.\n\n\"Adela thought you must get rather lonely, because you don't have any children to play with, so I've made you your very own baby to nurse.\"\n\nAdela beamed. \"And I have some scraps of cloth, so you can come and sit by me and I'll show you how to make a cap for your baby's head to keep her warm, just like I'm making for mine.\"\n\nNarigorm, her hands firmly clasped behind her back, stared blankly at them both.\n\n\"She's yours, little one, take her,\" Adela said encouragingly. \"You can rock her and dress her and pretend she's a real baby. It'll be good practise for you for when my baby's born, because you're going to help me look after my baby, aren't you?\"\n\nAt that Narigorm finally took the doll. She examined it carefully, running her fingers across the doll's eyes and pressing them hard against its painted mouth. Then she looked up at Adela. \"I will practise for your baby. I'll take care of them both, you'll see.\"\n\nAdela and Osmond smiled at each other like fond parents, well pleased with the success of their gift. But Narigorm wasn't smiling.\n\nCygnus and Zophiel had slipped out separately immediately after the meal. I assumed they'd gone to piss or to the lavatorium to wash, so I settled down contentedly to the first comfortable nap I'd had in weeks. But when I awoke, I found they had still not returned and Jofre had disappeared as well. Still, he was young, and full of energy; he'd doubtless gone off to find more amusing company, if that is possible in a monastery, but Cygnus' absence was more worrying.\n\nHad our swan-boy after all, decided to seek sanctuary? Surely not; forty days trapped in the chill of a monastery church, then forced to march to a distant port to seek a ship. Sent out unarmed, carrying only a cross and dressed in sackcloth, which so clearly marked the traveller out as a felon that any man with a grudge might take revenge on him along the way. Zophiel was right; no one would take that way out unless they were truly cornered. Besides, I'd not heard the sanctuary bell ringing proclaiming that someone was taking refuge in the church. No, it was far more likely Cygnus had decided to slip out and run for it while Zophiel was absent. I wouldn't blame the lad if he had.\n\nBut I had an appointment of my own to keep. I stepped outside. The day, never bright under the thick grey rain clouds, was darkening as evening hurried on. I wrapped my cloak tightly around me against the wind and rain and hurried across the courtyard towards the stables. A cobbled slope led down from the courtyard into a long underground chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. One side was divided by wooden partitions into stalls for the horses, with wooden platforms above for the grooms to sleep on. Oats, hay, and straw were stacked on raised platforms, though there seemed to be precious little of any considering winter had barely begun. If the winter turned icy as well as wet, animals would starve as well as people, for there were not enough supplies for either. The old monk, I thought, was wrong. Perhaps it was the living we should be praying for, not the dead. At least the dead had no more need of food.\n\nThere were only a few horses tethered in the stalls, tugging contentedly at their fodder, blissfully unaware of what the future might hold, but otherwise the stables appeared deserted. At the far end was a huge chamber stacked with barrels and kegs. The only light filtered down from two grated holes in the floor above, but there was light enough to see the man I sought there.\n\nThe lay brother who worked in the laundry had exceeded my expectations. At best I had hoped for a couple of discarded monks' habits, maybe three at the most, but this man had managed to bring half a dozen. They were patched, threadbare and stained, just what I was looking for. The longer the robe appears to have been worn, the more valuable it is. And as for stains\u2014if there's blood or what appears to be blood, so much the better. It was best not to enquire whether the monks' old habits had really been thrown away by their owners or if some would simply be marked \"missing\" in the laundry lists, but the lay brother would doubtless ensure that one way or another he would not be called to account for them. He seemed well content with his half of the bargain\u2014a few coins and half a dozen bottles of Saint John Shorne's water. It was as well I'd stocked up in North Marston.\n\nHe slipped out of the stables by his own staircase while I ambled back past the lines of stalls, feeling thoroughly content with the day: a good deal struck, a belly full of food, and the prospect of a warm and dry night's sleep to come. Things for once were looking up.\n\n\"Camelot?\"\n\nI gasped as a figure emerged from the shadows behind one of the tethered horses. Such frights are not good at my time of life. I leant against the partition, heart thumping.\n\n\"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.\" The young man grinned sheepishly, like a child who has been caught out in a prank.\n\n\"I wondered where you'd got to, Cygnus.\"\n\n\"I thought I'd best keep out of the way of the other travellers, just in case one of them should happen\u2026\" He trailed off, looking miserable. \"Anyway, I thought I may as well make myself useful. You've fed me for a week, Camelot, and I've done nothing to earn my keep. Poor old Xanthus needed a good wash down. Get the mud off her coat. Horses take a chill if their coats are matted; they can't keep warm. Hooves rot, too, if you don't clean them.\"\n\nAs if to confirm this Xanthus gave a low whinny and nudged him gently. Cygnus stroked her and resumed wiping her down.\n\n\"Didn't Zophiel see to his horse when he stabled her?\"\n\n\"He fed her, but he was in a hurry to get back to his cart. Said he needed to check if the boxes had shifted. But never mind Zophiel,\" he added impatiently. \"What were you and that lay brother up to, Camelot? Are you hoping to sell those monks' habits to the poor? They won't fetch much. Hardly worth the trouble of carrying them, I should think.\"\n\n\"Not to the poor, Cygnus, to the rich. Anyone poor enough to need to dress in these rags would not have the money to buy them.\"\n\n\"But the rich wouldn't be seen dead in such old things.\"\n\n\"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my lad; the rich would only be seen dead in them.\"\n\nHe shook his head in bewilderment.\n\n\"The rich with guilty consciences buy monks' robes to be buried in; then, when the Devil comes to carry their souls to hell for all their wickedness, he passes over them for he sees not a rich sinner, but a poor, pious monk. If the monk who wore it was holy enough, then the odour of sanctity will be in his robes and may shorten the sinner's time in purgatory or even open the doors of Heaven itself. Smell these.\" I thrust a particularly rank garment under Cygnus' long nose.\n\nHe recoiled at the stench.\n\nI laughed. \"The angels will smell the holiness on this one long before he ascends the ladder and will fling wide the gates. They'll not want to stop and question him too long, for they'll be too busy drawing him water for a soak.\"\n\n\"Do rich folk think the angels and the Devil can be so easily fooled by such tricks?\"\n\n\"If a man can be fooled himself he takes everyone else for a fool too, even the Devil himself. And if it comforts their last hours and their grieving families, who are we to grudge them that? Every man, rich or poor, needs hope in his last hours, and every widow needs solace in her grief.\"\n\n\"But surely, that's why they pay for chantry prayers and masses, so they can shorten their days in purgatory by prayer.\"\n\n\"Ah, but that is not enough to reassure them. The rich have learned to mistrust their fellow men. In their experience loyalty can be secured by only two things: money and fear. When a rich man is dead he can no longer command by fear, and what if the money runs out or those paid to pray grow negligent? Better to wear your salvation than depend on others for it.\" I thrust the last of the robes into my pack.\n\n\"I still can't believe the rich will buy these rags.\"\n\nI chuckled. \"You'll see in time, my lad\u2014that's if you stay with us, of course.\"\n\nAnxiety returned to his face. \"Narigorm said that Zophiel won't hand me over to the bailiff\u2014\"\n\n\"Did he tell her so?\"\n\nHe frowned, as if trying to remember her words. \"I don't think she said as much, but he must have. She seemed so certain.\"\n\nThe image of the runes, the feather, and the seashell flashed across my mind. Was Narigorm reading the future? Or was she trying to create it?\n\nCygnus bit his lip, peering anxiously at me, seeking some kind of reassurance in my face. \"Why? Don't you think she's right?\"\n\n\"Let's hope so.\" Then, seeing the fear flash again over his face, I added hastily, \"I doubt anyone is looking for you anymore. The message would have reached here by now if they were. People have more pressing concerns. With things being what they are, there aren't men to spare to go scouring the countryside for a fugitive.\"\n\nIt was better that he should believe that than worry himself to death. If they did arrest him, there would be time enough for him to worry about his fate then.\n\nI grasped his arm. \"Don't be tempted to run from here, lad. You can't return to your old profession, at least not until you know for certain they're no longer looking for you, and life is hard out there for anyone on the road just now. You'd end up begging for a living, and that's no living at all. At least, with us, you'll eat when we eat\u2014and who knows, if you make yourself useful enough with that horse, Zophiel might see you're worth more to him as a groom than a bounty.\"\n\nHis mouth twisted as if he was struggling to fight down his fear. Finally he looked at me with an expression of helpless resignation. \"I won't run, Camelot. I meant it when I said I wouldn't endanger Adela or little Narigorm. I don't believe that anyone who brings harm to a child can be ever forgiven; that's why I could never have done such a dreadful thing to that little girl. If I had a child, I would wrap her so tightly she would never know a moment's pain or fear.\" Tears shone in his eyes, and he fiercely brushed them away.\n\nI remembered that passion only too well. When I first held my baby son and saw the blueness of the sky concentrated in those big eyes, his soft little mouth open in wonderment, his fragile little fingers curling tightly around mine, trusting that I could protect him from anything in the world, I knew I would give my life to defend my son from harm. I could never have foreseen how that promise would be put to the test, but I meant it then and I have not for a single day of my life regretted keeping it. But Cygnus didn't weep for a lost child; he wept for the child he knew he would never have. It's not just princesses who refuse to marry swan-boys.\n\nHe suddenly blurted out, \"Zophiel was right when he said 'What use is one wing?' That was my mother's grief. I saw it every day in her eyes, that look of pity and guilt when she watched me, like the way you look at an animal you have maimed without meaning to. I think she'd hoped I would be born with two wings or with two hands. I don't think she would have minded which it was, but I was born neither bird nor man. She had faith, you see, but not enough for two wings, not enough to believe that a wing would grow in place of a good right hand. That's why I left in the end.\"\n\n\"Like the swan-brother in the story?\" I asked gently.\n\n\"That part of 'The Swan-Prince' tale is true. I left because I couldn't bear to see the guilt in my mother's eyes, because I was the cause of it. And I left because I didn't want to be cared for, like a crippled bird.\"\n\n\"We leave as much to get away from where we are as to find something we seek.\"\n\n\"You too?\" He glanced up at my empty eye socket.\n\n\"Believe me,\" I answered, \"I know what it is to be looked at with pity. I had my reasons to leave. I know why you left, but I'm curious about what you seek.\"\n\n\"My other wing, of course,\" the lad replied without hestitation. \"Do you think I want to go through life with one arm and one wing?\"\n\n\"Maybe not, but why not an arm in place of the wing? If you had two arms you would be wholly a man.\"\n\n\"You think two arms make you a man?\"\n\n\"Do two wings make you a bird?\"\n\nHe smiled sadly. \"With two wings, you can fly.\"\n\nAll Souls' Night is a time when all good Christian folk are either safely abed with the covers pulled tightly over their heads or piously in church sheltering under the saints and their prayers. For they say it is the night when, between sunset and sunrise, the gates of purgatory are flung open and the dead creep forth as toads or cats, owls or bats to torment those who have forgotten or neglected them.\n\nOn All Souls' Night, when I was a child, people used to leave garlands, food, and ale on the graves of their relatives to convince them that they were not neglected. But the dead were not fooled by one day's show of remembrance; they came anyway, creeping into houses, scratching at walls, rattling at shutters. We children curled up together in our beds, pretending to each other that we feared nothing, but quaking under our covers as we listened to every creak and groan, every screech and howl of that long night, thankful for the comfort of the warm and living bodies of our siblings pressed tightly beside us. But adults must face their ghosts and so we, like the rest of the travellers in the monastery guest hall, braved the cold night to join the monks in their prayers for their dead and ours, and for the dead who belonged to no one.\n\n\"Convertere, anima mea, in requiem tuam\u2026 Turn, O my soul, into thy rest\u2026\"\n\nBeside me, Rodrigo sighed and crossed himself, mouthing the words with the monks, settling into the old familiar service as a dog settles down by a warm fire. Cygnus, his long sharp nose prominently silhouetted in the candlelight, stared fixedly at the floor, as if he feared to meet the eyes of either the living or the dead. Adela, her arm around Narigorm's shoulder, gazed down at her then up at Osmond, as if the three were already a family. Would they take Narigorm in when they finally found a place to settle? I wondered. They both seemed fond of the child and already treated her as a niece if not a daughter, but would that change when their own baby was born? I suspected Narigorm would not take kindly to being displaced in their affections.\n\nIn front of us, Zophiel, his back rigid, stared straight ahead at the image of the tortured Christ hanging from the rood screen. It was hard to know if he prayed or not. And if he prayed for the dead, whom did he name? A wife? A child? I had never asked if he had such in his life. It was hard to imagine him being civil to any woman long enough to ask her to wed him, but perhaps in his youth he had been a different man, a kind and gentle man, with romance in his soul. And maybe it was a faithless wife who had soured him against her kind. Or maybe not. I don't think any man could change that much. Thinking of women, I realised that Pleasance was nowhere to be seen in the church. I felt a pang of surprise at her absence; I would have taken her to be a devout woman. Jofre's absence, on the other hand, was no surprise.\n\nThe church was unusually dark that night, to remind those present of the darkness of the grave that awaits us all. An open empty coffin had been set upon the bier and placed before the altar, a flickering candle at each corner, ready and waiting for the next corpse\u2014and there would be one, if not today, then tomorrow. Death is the only certainty in life, the coffin reminded us.\n\nEvery inch of the church walls and pillars had been painted with scenes from the Bible and the lives of the saints. By day the reds and blues, greens and gold of the paintings glowed more vibrant than a newly stitched tapestry. But the candles for this service had been carefully placed to illuminate not the gold of the saints' halos or the full round breasts of the Virgin, but the red flames which leapt between the teeth of the mouth of Hell, where sinners held up their arms, beseeching in vain for mercy, while the two-faced demons prodded them down. Prayers were too late for those condemned to Hell, but not for those in purgatory. As the walls taught us, such souls might yet be released.\n\nBeneath the painting there were offerings left by the faithful\u2014jewelled necklaces, pins, brooches and rings, silver crucifixes, jars containing costly spices\u2014bargains struck between the faithful and the Church, goods to barter for the prayers of Saint Odilo, who had insisted that all the Cluny monks should devote one day a year to pray for the dead in purgatory in addition to their regular prayers for the departed.\n\nThe monks in procession halted before the painting. In the gloom of the church, they were faceless under their deep hoods.\n\n\"Quia eripuit animam meant de morte\u2026 For He has delivered my soul from death \u2026\"\n\nWould God deliver the monks? Would He spare the monasteries? If the rumours were true, He had not spared the priests. But if pestilence also crept into the monasteries, who would be left to pray for the dead? And what of those who lay unshriven and unmourned in mass graves, would they ever be released from purgatory, if there was no one left to name them?\n\nThe monks filed out of the church, two by two, fat wax candles in their hands, the yellow flames shielded by translucent caps of horn against the wind which burst into the church as soon as the great door was opened. We followed in a solemn procession, like mourners after a coffin. The service was not yet over; there were the corpses of the monks buried in the orchard graveyard to be blessed and sprinkled with holy water.\n\nOutside it was chill and moonless; the rain had eased, but the wind had strengthened to make up for it. It tore at our clothes and bent the branches of the yews until they moaned like those souls in purgatory. We stood in a huddle under the wet branches of the fruit trees, trying to shelter behind each other from the biting wind, as the monks processed from grave to grave, stopping to flick water from the hyssop on each one. But little of the holy water reached the mounds, for it was snatched away by the wind as soon as it was flung.\n\n\"Dirige, Domine, Deus meus, in conspectu tuo viam meam\u2026 Direct, O Lord, my God, my way in Your sight\u2026\"\n\nA high-pitched giggle suddenly erupted from across the far side of the graveyard. The monks faltered in their chanting and turned in the direction of the sound. We all strained our ears to listen, but could hear nothing except for the groaning trees and the howling wind. The monks resumed their chanting, but then another shriek rang out. There was no ignoring this.\n\nThe prior stepped forward, shielding his candle from the wind, and called out in a voice that was none too steady. \"Who's there? Come out and show yourselves, whoever you are.\"\n\nBut the candle flame did not penetrate more than a few feet into the darkness.\n\n\"Come out, I say. I command you in the name of\u2014\"\n\nBut he got no further, for three dark figures rose up out of the ground and lurched forward.\n\nSeveral in the crowd screamed and tried to scramble over the graveyard wall. Even the monks backed away, crossing themselves, but the prior was made of sterner stuff. He stood his ground and, thrusting his crucifix out before him, gabbled \"Libera nos a malo. Deliver us from evil,\" over and over again as the figures stumbled towards him.\n\nThen, as the candlelight caught them, we saw what the creatures were; they were human and very much alive. Two of them I did not recognise, but I could tell from their garb that one was a young novice, the other a slightly older lay brother. But there was no mistaking the third; it was Jofre. And he, like his two companions, was as drunk as a lord. He let go of his new friends and, stumbling to the nearest grave, raised his flagon. He made an exaggerated bow.\n\n\"Here, Broth\u2026Brother Bones, you don't want water, do you? Had\u2026had quite enough of that already. Have some wine, my good man.\" He dribbled wine onto the grave. \"That'll put hairs on your chest\u2014no, wait\u2026you don't have a chest.\" He giggled. \"And here's some for all your little w\u2026worms and maggots.\"\n\nHe tipped the remains of his flagon onto the grave. Then he swayed sideways, tripped over the mound, and fell straight into the arms of the prior, on whose portly chest he vomited copiously."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "We were fortunate that the monks did not put us out of their gates that night, though it was not mercy which spared us a night on the road, but the determination of the prior and novice master to keep Jofre within their walls long enough to discover every detail of the outrage. It was plain that they would get no sense out of any of the three lads until they had sobered up, and only a night's sleep would bring about that transformation.\n\nThe monks dragged their miscreants off to spend a less than comfortable night on the hard cold boards of the penitents' cells, where they would be locked up until their real punishment was determined. But they allowed us to carry Jofre to the stables to spend the night on the floor in the straw, where he could do least damage if he vomited again. Rodrigo, white with fury, shouted and railed at him all the way. Cygnus, the only person at that moment who seemed to feel any sympathy for the boy, tried to persuade Rodrigo to take himself off to bed, telling him that he would keep an eye on the boy and see that he didn't choke in the night.\n\nZophiel turned on the storyteller furiously. \"Let him choke; it would do us all a favour. Don't you realise he's wrecked any chance of us passing through here unnoticed? Anyone who comes looking for you now is bound to find you; these monks'll remember us for years, thanks to him. That lout is a liability to us all. This is the second time he has lost us our lodgings, for the monastery certainly won't be extending their hospitality to us after tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Cygnus, I do not know how to apologise to you \u2026 to all of you.\" Rodrigo looked stricken. He grabbed the comatose Jofre by the shoulders and shook him. \"I denti di Dio! Why do you do this? You swore to me after\u2014\"\n\n\"You're wasting your breath,\" Zophiel said impatiently. \"Cygnus is right for once; let him sleep it off and deal with him tomorrow when he's sober. But when you do, Rodrigo, make sure you deliver a lesson he won't forget. He has gone too far this time and you can't go on ignoring it. As his master, you're responsible for him. If he continues to behave like this, he'll find himself stretching a rope before long, and if he does end up on the gallows, it will be you to blame.\"\n\nThe following morning Jofre was roused none too gently from his stable stall at first light. He looked pale and complained of a headache and feeling queasy, but he was not suffering nearly as much as Zophiel would have liked, nor as much as his puffyeyed drinking companions. The two, unlike Jofre, were not used to an excess of wine. They were dragged out of their cells holding their heads and wincing at the slightest sound.\n\nThe story, when it was finally wrung out of the three of them, did not exonerate any as the innocent party. It seemed that Jofre had got into conversation with the young lay brother and a couple of novices. Which of them proposed the game of dice was never determined\u2014they all blamed each other\u2014but dice was played. Since the novices had nothing to bet against Jofre's money, they'd appropriated some wine from the stores, in lieu of a stake. Only a small quantity at first, nothing that would be missed and certainly not enough to get them drunk. But what they did drink was enough to loosen their inhibitions, and it wasn't long before the gambling stakes increased and more wine was stolen and consumed. On hearing the monastery bell rung for the All Souls' service, one of the novices, who had drunk rather less than his companions, wisely withdrew from the game and, taking advantage of the darkened church, slipped into the service by a side door to join the back of the procession, hoping his earlier absence would go unnoticed. But the others continued drinking and playing, too inebriated by this time to heed the warning of the bell.\n\nAfter they had questioned the mutinous Jofre, the prior and novice master withdrew to seek out the second of the two novices, who had not yet been apprehended and was doubtless on his knees somewhere praying more earnestly than he had ever done in his life that his identity would not be revealed. We for our part set about packing up to leave.\n\nIn all probability the lay brother would be locked up in the penitents' cell and made to suffer for a week or so before being kicked out of the monastery. He would undoubtedly bear the hardest punishment in the long run, for work and shelter were hard to find. As for the novices, they would likely face a month or more of severe penances. They would consider themselves fortunate if they were permitted to eat anything but hard bread for weeks; certainly they'd tasted their last drop of wine for a good while.\n\nIt was fortunate for Jofre that the prior wanted to keep the disgraceful incident as quiet as possible and deal with it privately behind closed doors, for he knew it did not reflect well on the discipline of the monastery and both prior and novice master might be called to account, a situation they both wanted to avoid at all costs. Had it not been for that, Jofre could well have found himself facing the Church courts on a serious charge and the penalties would have been grim indeed. As it was, the prior was content to leave the matter of Jofre's discipline to his master Rodrigo.\n\nBut if Rodrigo intended to blister Jofre's ears with a tonguelashing, he was obviously saving his words until we were well away from the monastery. For unlike the night before, he remained tight-lipped and silent, despite Jofre's anxious glances in his direction. Like Jofre, the rest of us waited for the storm which we knew must surely come.\n\nIt was a grim-faced party that followed Xanthus and the wagon back out onto the road once more. Not even Zophiel suggested that Cygnus should be tied to the back of the wagon now. There was no point in pretending he was our prisoner anymore. Both monks and travellers lodging at the monastery had seen us treat Cygnus as our friend and companion. As before, once we were clear of the monastery lands, the road was nigh on deserted. The rain had settled in again, a fine mizzle, and the only sounds were trundling wagon wheels and the raucous cries of the rooks wheeling in the grey skies above as they mobbed a heron that flapped heavily too near their roosts. The thought of another night sleeping out in the open was oppressing us all.\n\nThe river in front of us was swollen, brimming to the top of the banks after all the rain, but at least it hadn't flooded, though it threatened to at any time. Where the river crossed the road the banks had been widened out and the bottom raised with large flat stones to form a ford. The fast-flowing water was muddy and choked with swirling leaves and twigs carried down from higher up the stream. To one side of the ford, a stone crooked-back bridge had been built, wide enough for people and pack horses, but not for our wagon.\n\nZophiel handed Xanthus' bridle rein to Osmond and prodded his long stave into the ford to test the depth. \"Faster and deeper than I'd like, but we've little choice. We must either cross the river here or retrace our steps a good many miles. And,\" he added, glaring at Jofre, \"thanks to our young friend, we will hardly be welcome at the monastery if we are forced to return that way. So we will have to cross.\"\n\nJofre glowered at the ground.\n\n\"Two people will have to wade out in front of Xanthus, spaced as far apart as the wagon wheels, then they can warn in time if any of the ford stones have been washed away. It had better be someone who can swim. Cygnus? I assume you can at least do that, you certainly won't be any use in steadying the wagon.\"\n\nCygnus shook his head. \"I never learned.\"\n\nZophiel swung his stave onto the wagon, almost hitting the storyteller on the head, so that he was forced to flinch away. \"A swan that can't fly or swim. What exactly can you do, boy?\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" said Osmond. \"I was always in and out of the river when I was a lad, wasn't I, Adela?\" She looked at him sharply and Osmond flushed as if he had said something he shouldn't.\n\n\"I will go too,\" said Rodrigo quietly. They were the first words he had spoken all day. \"I am taller and heavier than Camelot. The river will not find it so easy to knock me over.\"\n\nI grinned. \"Thank you, Rodrigo, for your tact in not saying what you really meant, that you are younger than I.\"\n\nRodrigo made a courtly bow, but he didn't chuckle as he normally would have; this business of Jofre was clearly preying on his mind. The sooner he dealt with the boy and cleared the air, the better for everyone.\n\nNarigorm scrambled down from her little nest in the well at the front of the wagon as Zophiel went to check that his boxes were secured, but Adela had to wait until Osmond could help her down. Her swollen belly was making the manoeuvre more difficult by the day. Pleasance, ever practical, began quietly unloading our packs from the wagon to help lighten the load.\n\n\"I swear that if the wagon was swept away, Zophiel would let us drown and save his boxes,\" Osmond muttered, stripping off his shoes and hose. \"I'd give anything to know what Zophiel has got in them. Cygnus, didn't you see what it was when you were hiding in the wagon?\"\n\n\"I did see\u2026\"\n\nBut Cygnus broke off abruptly as Zophiel reappeared from round the back of the wagon. Cygnus hastily turned away and made for the bridge. The rest of us followed, except for Adela, who was begging Osmond to be careful. He assured her that he'd be across the river before she was and, with an embarrassed grin at Rodrigo, took a tentative step into the river, shuddering as swift, icy water crept up his legs.\n\nI'll say this for Xanthus, she could rear and buck with the best of them when she was in a bad temper, but faced with real peril she was as steady as a rock. Though she hesitated on the edge of the water, she plodded her way across as Zophiel led her forward. Perhaps the familiar shapes of Rodrigo and Osmond walking ahead of her helped to keep her calm as the muddy waters churned about her.\n\nRodrigo and Osmond had almost reached the other side when a cry rang out from behind us on the bridge and almost at the same instant from Osmond. We spun round to see a young lad standing behind Adela, one hand clamped to her breast, the other hand holding a knife at her throat. An older man stood on the bank holding a long murderous-looking pike under Osmond's chin, the sharp point digging into his throat. As we stared, a woman and a girl appeared on the far side of the bridge, blocking our way across. They too were armed with knives. They looked scrawny but tough, like those who have known many times of hunger, and have survived to become the stronger for it. Filthy and ragged they may have been, but these were no cringing beggars. There was a look of malice on their faces, even on that of the young girl, which told you at once they would have no hesitation in using their weapons if they were so minded.\n\n\"Pay the toll, if you want to use this crossing.\" The man's legs were bare, but the rest of him was encased in some kind of dark, mildewed leather. His skin was as leathery as his clothes, so weathered and crinkled by sun, wind, and snow that it was hard to tell flesh from garments.\n\n\"Is this the way you collect tolls, at the point of a knife? Does your master know of this?\" demanded Zophiel. \"Who owns this crossing anyway?\"\n\n\"I own it. I live under the bridge, so I own it and I say who crosses and who don't. I'm master here.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" Rodrigo jerked his stave up out of the water, knocking the pike away from Osmond's throat, and in one fluid movement he struck his stave down hard across the man's knuckles. Old Leatherskin gave a yell, dropped the pike, and fell backwards onto the bank. In the same moment Osmond, staggering backwards as the pike blade grazed his throat, lost his footing on the slippery river bottom, slid off the ford stones, and sank into the deeper part of the river. He surfaced gasping and struggled to regain his footing, but the current was too strong. Rodrigo tried to grab him, but he was too late. Osmond was swept downstream, his stave still clutched in his hand, and without a sound he disappeared from sight round the bend of the river. Adela screamed.\n\nRodrigo hesitated only for a moment then, using his stave as a vaulting pole, he leapt for the bank just as Leatherskin reached again for his pike. But Rodrigo's stave had done its work; the man's hands were still numb from the blow. Rodrigo was able to wrench the pike away and turn it against him, pinning him down on the grass with the pike's lethal point aimed straight at his heart.\n\nFaced with all the commotion inches from her face, Xanthus, not unreasonably, began to rear and tried to back away. As she pushed, the back wheel of the wagon slipped off the edge of the ford stones and the wagon lurched sideways. It teetered perilously back and forward, the current threatening at any moment to sweep Zophiel, Xanthus, and the wagon into the river. Zophiel took a wild gamble. Grabbing her bridle firmly, he brought his whip down hard on Xanthus' hindquarters. She skipped forward and bolted for the bank, dragging the wagon the last few feet safely to the water's edge.\n\nAs soon as Zophiel reached the bank he swiftly hitched the horse's reins to the branch of a tree, then ran over to where Leatherskin lay pinned down by his own pike. Zophiel hauled him to his feet.\n\n\"Now, my friend, what were you saying about a toll?\"\n\n\"You may have bested me, but he's still got the girl,\" Leatherskin spat back with a malicious grin, nodding towards the opposite bank. The boy had pulled Adela back off the bridge onto the bank and had her kneeling on the ground in front of him, his knife pressed against her throat, like a ewe about to be slaughtered. Adela was sobbing wildly, calling out for Osmond.\n\nPleasance began to run off the bridge towards Adela, but before she could reach the terrified girl, the boy glanced up and pressed his knife tighter against Adela's neck.\n\nHe grinned, showing missing teeth. \"Don't you try and come near me. I'll cut her throat afore you get within a yard of her.\"\n\nZophiel, not to be outdone, thrust Leatherskin down on his knees. \"Tell your brat that if he doesn't let her go immediately, we'll run you through.\" And to prove he was quite capable of carrying out his threat, Zophiel jerked the man's arm up behind his back until he squealed with pain.\n\n\"If\u2026 if you kill me, he'll kill her! So I reckon it's a stalemate. But see here,\" he added in a wheedling tone, \"all we want is to make a living same as you. We look after the ford, keep it clear for folks like you, so it's only right and proper you give us a few pennies for our trouble.\"\n\n\"Who granted you the licence to collect tolls here?\" Zophiel demanded.\n\nRodrigo broke in. \"I denti di Dio, Zophiel! What does it matter if he has a licence or not? That boy has a knife to Adela's throat\u2014\"\n\n\"Watch out behind you, son!\" the woman screeched from the far bank, but the boy turned his head too late. Osmond's stave cracked down upon his skull and he fell senseless to the ground, the knife rolling harmlessly away. Then Osmond was lifting Adela to her feet and pressing her to his dripping wet shirt. Blood was oozing from the pike cut on his throat. They clung to each other desperately as if they had each feared the other dead.\n\nThe boy's mother cried out and tried to push her way over the bridge to reach her unconscious son, but Cygnus and Pleasance held her back. Cygnus firmly grasped her knife arm, trying to keep the dangerously waving blade away from his face. So frantic was she to get to her son that she put up no resistance when I wrenched the knife from her hand. The girl, meanwhile, had run back to hide under the bridge from whence came the shrill echoing cries of a baby.\n\nZophiel turned his attention to Leatherskin once more, his eyebrows raised in that triumphant way of his. \"Did you say stalemate? I think, my friend, you'll find it's checkmate.\"\n\n\"It was only a little joke.\" Leatherskin struggled to put on his most ingratiating smile. \"He'd never have harmed her, but you can't be too careful. We get all kinds trying to cross the bridge. They'd rob a poor man blind if we didn't put on a show of strength, and that's all it was, a show. Wouldn't dream of harming you good folk.\"\n\n\"Don't give me that,\" Zophiel spat. \"Collecting tolls on a crossing you don't own. Threatening travellers. How many others have you robbed? You'll swing for this, you and your whole family.\" He gave Leatherskin's arm another sharp twist.\n\nThe little man squealed and a flicker of satisfaction crossed Zophiel's face.\n\n\"Your lad crac\u2026cracked my boy's skull,\" Leatherskin gasped. \"If he's dead, I'll not be the only one for the noose.\"\n\nZophiel made no reply, but I saw that his grip on the man's arm relaxed slightly.\n\nLeatherskin looked up at him, a cunning smile on his face. \"Come now, we neither of us want to go involving the justices, do we? We can both do each other a bit of good. You'll be looking for a place to sleep tonight, somewhere you can dry off. But there's no inn for two days' walking, so it looks like you folk'll be sleeping rough, unless\u2026\" He paused in mock thought. \"I just might know of somewhere you can sleep warm tonight. What do you say? Worth a penny or two that, I reckon.\"\n\n\"What are you suggesting, that we spend the night like rats crouched under the bridge with you?\" Zophiel sneered.\n\n\"Oh, no, my great lord,\" Leatherskin replied with equal sarcasm. \"Our little bridge would be too humble for the likes of you. No, I'm talking about an inn. Leastways it was.\"\n\n\"I thought you said there was no inn in these parts.\"\n\n\"There isn't. Like I say, it was an inn. A widow woman took it over after her husband died. Did all right too, until those bloodsuckers at the monastery told her she couldn't sell her own brew anymore, had to sell what the monastery sold her at the prices they chose. Ruined her, it did. I reckon they wanted her out, but she refused to budge, said she wouldn't give 'em the satisfaction.\"\n\n\"So if the inn is closed, what good's that to us?\"\n\n\"You're so sharp you'll cut yourself. I'm coming to that. She doesn't sell ale no more, nor meals. I doubt she's got enough food for herself these days; no one has around here except for those bleeding monks.\" He spat. \"They still do all right for themselves, no matter the rest of us starve. Still, that won't worry folks like you. I daresay you carry plenty of food and ale of your own.\" He stole a covetous glance at the wagon. \"But the sleeping barn at the inn is still standing. 'course she's not allowed to call herself an innkeeper anymore, nor hang a sign, but she'll let you bed down in the barn for a few pennies and a share of your supper. She's a sour old hag, but who can blame her for being mean after what they did? Come on, what do you say? Want to know where it is? You'll not find it without I tell you where to look.\"\n\nHe nodded across the far bank towards the shivering, wet Osmond. Adela had stopped crying, but was still clinging to him, plainly shaken, her face leached of colour.\n\n\"Looks as if they could do with a night in the dry. Not good for a lass in her condition to be sleeping rough, if she's been raised in a feather bed.\"\n\n\"How do we know you're not sending us into a den of thieves and cutthroats just like yourself?\"\n\nLeatherskin put on an injured air. \"There's me trying to do a good turn and help folks \u2026\"\n\nIn the end, after Leatherskin had sworn on his mother's grave, on his children's lives, and upon the tears of the Virgin which I produced from my pack that the place was safe, and Zophiel had threatened to come back and personally hack him into little pieces if it wasn't, Zophiel handed over the small sum Leatherskin demanded for his directions. The coins disappeared inside Leatherskin's tunic so fast that even Zophiel, who was practised in sleight of hand, could not have bettered him.\n\nThat done, Leatherskin looked around the company and added slyly, \"The old inn's a good place to hide out too, if you were trying to shake someone off. Ride right on by, they would, and never see it.\"\n\nHe gulped as Zophiel grabbed him by the throat again. \"If you're after money to keep your mouth shut, my friend, you're wasting your time. We keep the King's peace. We fear no pursuers.\"\n\nLeatherskin struggled out of Zophiel's grip, massaging his throat. \"I'm only saying if you were\u2026Folks come looking for people, ask me if I've seen owt.\" He shrugged. \"Sometimes I have, sometimes I haven't.\"\n\nZophiel hesitated, his eyes narrowed. Then he laughed and tossed another small coin to Leatherskin. \"For your brazen impudence, my friend.\"\n\nPleasance bandaged both Osmond's neck and the boy's head, after rubbing a foul-smelling green ointment on both their wounds. She wasn't helped in her task by the boy's mother, who sat and cradled her groaning son, alternately cursing Osmond and blessing Pleasance with equal vehemence. I pitied the woman, robber though she may have been and worse. She and her brood were forced to nest like birds under the bridge on a little platform fashioned from old bits of wood. They slept among the flotsam and jetsam they'd salvaged from the river. But the river is a capricious master; without warning it can take back all it gives and take more besides.\n\nWe finally set off on the road again. Looking back, I saw old Leatherskin kicking his son back onto his feet, cursing him for a fool. While his wife, in turn, belaboured Leatherskin about the ears, more than outdoing him with her curses. Their daughter, the only one who seemed to notice our departure, stared vacantly after us from under the bridge, indifferent to the cries of the wailing infant clutched in her arms.\n\nLeatherskin was right; we wouldn't have found the old place without his directions. The track was almost grown over with weeds, and without a sign to guide the traveller, no one would have known it was there. Leatherskin was also right about the widow. She was indeed as sour as he had predicted, but the sleeping barn at least had a roof and door, even if it had not been used for years except by a few moth-eaten chickens.\n\nThe widow was as scrawny as her fowls. Her cheeks were sunken and she had dark hollows around her eyes as if she had eaten little but herbs for months, but for all that, she was a spirited besom, ready to defend her property with a pitchfork in one hand and a dog-whip in the other. A couple of huge hungrylooking dogs ran round the wagon growling and barking. Only the crack of Zophiel's whip and our staves discouraged them from sinking their teeth into us. We could hardly blame the widow for her suspicions. The sudden appearance of a wagon and nine strangers must have been an alarming sight. It took a long time to convince her that all we wanted was a dry place to bed down for the night. Finally the coins tossed to her as a mark of good faith and the promise of a share in our supper won her over. She grudgingly called off her dogs, not, however, before she had tested each coin thoroughly by biting them with her few remaining teeth.\n\nThe old bedding in the barn was mildewed, stinking, and verminous. There was no sleeping on that, so we gathered it up and threw it outside into the overgrown yard. But the wooden bed bases were sound enough and, though hard, better than sleeping on a damp floor. Zophiel unloaded his precious boxes and stacked them neatly in the corner of the barn, as far from the door as possible. That done, while Cygnus went off to gather fodder for Xanthus, the rest of us poked around to see what was left of the old inn itself.\n\nThe aleroom of the inn was in a worse state than the sleeping barn. The tables and benches that remained were piled high with a ragbag of broken and rusty objects that the old widow had hoarded. Cracked pots, cooking vessels long burnt through, scraps of leather that might have come from old harnesses, rags and rope were all heaped together with sacks and empty kegs. In the corner was the widow's truckle bed. Heaped with assorted coverings and old clothes, it was presently occupied by a tortoiseshell cat that hissed balefully at our entrance and dug its claws into the coverings, defying us to remove it.\n\n\"People come stealing things,\" the widow said, by way of explanation. \"I keep all my belongings where I can keep an eye on them. They want me out, you know. But I'll not budge.\"\n\nShe meant it. The air in the room was foetid, stinking of wet dog and cat piss, for the shutters on the windows were nailed shut and in addition to the iron bolts on the heavy door, she had laid two square wooden posts on either side of it, ready to be wedged against the door at night to prevent anyone kicking it in.\n\nBut despite the foulness of the aleroom we would have to use it, for it contained the only stone fireplace remaining in the inn where a fire could be safely lit without fear of a spark catching the sagging wooden buildings around. We had promised the old woman a feast, and since none of us had eaten that day, we were all looking forward to a good hot meal. That settled, Osmond took Narigorm to search for fuel while Adela and Pleasance set about preparing the food, after repeatedly reassuring the old widow that we had our own beans and mutton, so had no designs on her chickens.\n\n\"Stop fussing, woman,\" Zophiel said. \"What would we want with your lice-ridden birds? You'd have to boil those fowls for a month to be able to get your teeth into them.\"\n\nThat set her off again, this time a long tirade about the quality of her chickens. Having lived alone for so long with no one to complain to, the woman seemed determined to make up for it now by keeping up a continuous stream of grumbling. Between the prior, the novice master, Zophiel, and Leatherskin, I'd already had to listen to enough sourness in one day to pickle a barrel of pork. So I left the old widow moaning to Adela and slipped off to the barn, intending to take a little nap before supper. You know what they say about too many cooks.\n\nAs you get older, you find you can't sleep much at night, but perversely you can fall asleep in the daytime quicker than a pot boils, and this had been a particularly long and wearisome day. But I was not the only one who needed a nap. Jofre already lay curled up on one of the wooden sleeping platforms, his cloak over his face, snoring like a pig in mud. The excesses of the night before had clearly caught up with him. Doubtless he was also trying to avoid Rodrigo and thought the barn as good a place as any to lie low for a while until his master's temper had cooled.\n\nAbove the beds was a long wide hayloft reached by a rickety ladder which had once been used for storing food and fodder. There, as I hoped, I found a pile of dusty sacks and a little of last year's hay. The hay was blackened and stank of mice, but it was softer for my ancient bones than the hard wooden boards and Jofre's snores were not quite so loud up there. So I shook out the hay to ensure no mice still nested in it, covered it with the sacks, and settled myself down in the corner of the hayloft, prepared to follow Jofre's example.\n\nI'd just begun to doze off when the barn door below me opened and Rodrigo strode in carrying a lantern. He hung the lantern carefully on the wall hook, then swung the heavy beam across the door so that none could follow him. He walked across to the bed where Jofre lay snoring and stood looking down at him. I sighed; there was going to be no nap for either of us. Judging by Rodrigo's determined stance, the storm that had been threatening all day was about to break over Jofre. Since I did not want to have to listen to it, there was nothing for it but to leave them to it and join the others outside. I began to heave myself up, then stopped as I glimpsed what Rodrigo grasped in his hand.\n\nHe bent down and pulled the cloak from Jofre. Jofre, his eyes still closed, muttered something, groped for the cloak, and tried to turn away, but Rodrigo was not going to let him sleep.\n\n\"Get up.\"\n\nJofre's eyes flew open, then all in one movement he had sprung to his feet and was backing away from Rodrigo into the gloom of the barn. It was easy to see what alarmed him: Rodrigo was holding a whip in his hand, the kind you'd use to school a dog.\n\nBoy and master faced each other, tense and unmoving. Rodrigo's face was grim.\n\n\"I do not want to do this, Jofre, God knows I do not. But I cannot stand aside and watch you destroy yourself. You have such talent. I will not let you throw it away. Zophiel is right; that you behave like this is my fault. I am responsible for you.\" He shook his head as if he knew his words were again falling on deaf ears. \"I have tried talking to you, but you will not listen. There are many who said I should have done this a long time ago.\" He swallowed hard and then in as stern a voice as he could summon said, \"Take down your breeches, ragazzo.\"\n\nJofre stood frozen, apparently unable to believe his ears.\n\n\"You heard me, take them down.\" Rodrigo turned abruptly and seated himself on the low wooden bed, one leg stretched out.\n\nSo he was finally going to do it. But it was not to be a whipping on the back as a servant, felon, or martyr might receive, a beating which allows the dignity of stoicism and defiance. This was to be a child's chastisement, a humiliation. That was not wise. Much as I knew that Jofre deserved a whipping, it should not be done like this. No good could come of it.\n\n\"Please,\" Jofre begged, \"this is the last time, I swear on\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop!\" Rodrigo roared. \"I will not listen to any more of your promises. Do as you are told, ragazzo, or I swear I will take you outside and thrash you in front of the entire company, which, God knows, you deserve.\"\n\nJofre, scarlet in the face, struggled to undo the knot in the drawstring around his waist, but his hands were trembling so hard that it seemed to take him an age. At last his breeches dropped to the floor. He stood, head hanging, as if he knew this time there was no escape. And when Rodrigo beckoned, Jofre stumbled towards him without looking at him and bent over his master's leg. Rodrigo held him firmly down by the back of the neck and pulled up his shirt with his whip hand.\n\nThe young man's buttocks gleamed round and firm in the lamplight, the pale brown skin stretched tight and flawless, so smooth that it made you long to reach out and stroke it. But for the nervous tightening of the muscles under the skin, they looked as if they belonged to the statue of a god. Rodrigo hesitated. It was as if he could not bear to mar something so perfect. I think even then he might have relented had Jofre not whined, \"No, please, I promise I'll\u2026\"\n\nThat sealed his fate. The knuckles of Rodrigo's hand whitened around the handle of the whip.\n\n\"It will not work this time, Jofre,\" he said softly.\n\nThe whip descended. Jofre jerked violently, but only a gasp escaped him. A dark and rapidly swelling welt appeared across the trembling backside. The whip rose and fell again and again. The muscles in Rodrigo's arm were hard as iron from years of playing, and the master beat his apprentice with a musician's precision. He whipped him grimly slowly and thoroughly pausing just enough between the strokes to allow the pain of each slash to register. Jofre was biting his own hand to stop himself from screaming out. But now that he had begun it, Rodrigo seemed determined that this thrashing would not be quickly forgotten. Blood glistened in the lantern light, but he did not waver.\n\nJofre was sobbing, a noisy, scalding gush of tears, too fierce for its cause to be merely physical pain. \"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.\" For once, it seemed to come from the heart, not the lips.\n\nAs if the words had shattered the spell he was under, Rodrigo suddenly flung the whip away. He caught the boy in his arms, cradling him fiercely and rocking him to and fro. Jofre sobbed uncontrollably as if a dam had broken inside him and the pain and shame of his soul was bursting out.\n\n\"Why do you do it, ragazzo?\" Rodrigo murmured. \"You have so much beauty, so much life ahead of you.\"\n\n\"I'm so \u2026 so afraid. Can't\u2026stop it. I've tried, but\u2026but I can't. I can't.\"\n\n\"I know it, I know.\"\n\nThe hand that had ruthlessly wielded the whip stroked down the boy's arched neck, down his back tracing the curves and hollows, and gently over the bruised and bleeding flesh. A shudder convulsed Jofre's body. Rodrigo bent to kiss the back of his neck where curls of chestnut hair clung drenched in sweat, and Jofre lifted his tear-stained face. He kissed Rodrigo on the lips, hesitatingly at first, then passionately, almost angrily. Rodrigo leant back on the hard boards of the bed and Jofre wriggled until he was lying on top of him, fumbling at the older man's crotch. It was the master's turn to lie still as Jofre rubbed his groin against him, covering his face and neck with fierce hot kisses. Only Rodrigo's hands moved, as he tenderly caressed the boy's back, like a mother soothing a distraught child.\n\nAs Jofre reached a climax, arching and groaning, his breath coming in short rhythmic gasps, Rodrigo clasped him tightly to him, containing Jofre's passion against his own body, as if he could hold him safe against his own self-destruction.\n\nJofre gave a single loud cry, rolled off, and fell asleep almost instantly. He lay sprawled on the boards on his belly, his face turned towards me. One arm was thrown above his head, his shirt was pulled up, and his back glistened with perspiration. The guttering yellow light from the lantern flickered across the curls plastered to his wet forehead, throwing the muscles of his body into sharp relief. His face was flushed and beaded with sweat, but relaxed and unfurrowed. His lips, slightly parted, held all the innocence of a sleeping angel, an angel not yet fallen from Heaven.\n\nRodrigo leant on one elbow watching him sleeping, as if desperate to memorise every detail of the young man's beauty. Then he got to his feet, gathered up Jofre's discarded cloak, and covered him with it. He picked up the whip from the corner where he had flung it and walked wearily to the door. He turned and stood for a moment, looking back at the sleeping form. And by the soft yellow light of the lantern, I saw that tears were streaming silently down his face."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "We heard the wolf again that night. We all heard it, and this time I couldn't dismiss it as a bad dream brought on by fatigue. We had decided to eat our meal where it had been cooked, in the aleroom, even though it was crammed with the widow's rubbish. Osmond grumbled that despite the sleeping barn being cold and drafty, it would be better to eat in there where we had at least had room to bend our elbows, but I persuaded him otherwise. It would be wrong to hurt the old woman's feelings by refusing her hospitality, I said, and besides, Adela needed to stay warm at least until she had a good meal inside her. I was anxious to keep the rest of our company out of the barn as long as possible for Jofre's sake.\n\nIn truth, hospitality was not a word the widow seemed overfamiliar with. She fussed around as we made spaces to sit, agitated lest we touch anything. Muttering, she pushed crocks under tables and stacked kegs still higher on the teetering piles, warning us that she knew exactly what was in the room and not to get any ideas. I think it was only the irresistible aroma of hot food rising up from the cooking fire that made her tolerate us at all. Even the dogs seemed disposed to make friends with us, drooling round our legs and whining as the pot began to bubble and the sweet smell of mutton rose up from its depths. Finally, after what felt like hours, for we were nearly as ravenous as the dogs, Pleasance and Adela pronounced the supper ready. They asked Narigorm to round up Zophiel, Cygnus, and Jofre and tell them to come and eat.\n\n\"Not Jofre,\" Rodrigo said hastily.\n\nAdela frowned. \"I know he is in disgrace, Rodrigo, but he must eat. The poor boy has had nothing since yesterday.\"\n\n\"Jofre's sleeping,\" I broke in. \"He's not feeling well. Too much wine. But you're right, Adela, he does need to eat. Narigorm, you fetch Zophiel and Cygnus while I take Jofre some mutton. Run along now,\" I added, for she was staring at me with those ice blue disbelieving eyes of hers. \"The sooner you find them, the sooner you'll eat.\"\n\nZophiel, had he been there, would undoubtedly have said that the boy deserved to go hungry, but I knew Jofre had been punished enough for one evening. No one should have to suffer the pangs of hunger through a long cold night, when there is food to be eaten. I collected a bowl of mutton and some flat bread which Pleasance had baked in the embers of the fire and set off towards the barn.\n\nRodrigo caught up with me just before I reached it. \"Jofre\u2026I\u2026\"\n\n\"I know, Rodrigo. I saw you go into the barn with a whip. I guessed what you used it for.\" I could not tell him I had witnessed it.\n\nHe grimaced. \"I had to do it, Camelot. You understand?\"\n\n\"What you did was nothing compared to what would have happened to the boy if the prior had taken action. With luck it might have brought him to his senses.\"\n\n\"If it does not, I do not know what else I can do.\"\n\nThere was nothing I could say to that. But I guessed that neither master nor pupil was yet ready to face each other.\n\n\"Go get some food, Rodrigo, I'll see to the boy.\"\n\nHe gripped my shoulder. \"Once again we are in your debt, Camelot.\"\n\nJofre was still sleeping when I went inside. He lay curled up on his side, his cloak pulled up to his chin. But when I put the bowl and bread down beside him he jerked awake with a groan and struggled to prop himself up, wincing and clutching his backside.\n\n\"I thought you'd rather eat in here tonight. I don't suppose you feel much like sitting down at a table just now.\"\n\nIn an instant he was wide awake.\n\n\"I suppose he's told everyone.\" He said it angrily. \"Zophiel too?\"\n\n\"He's told no one,\" I replied. \"I happened to see Rodrigo come in here. And I can tell by the way you're wincing you took a beating. I'll try to keep the others out of here as long as I can, but you'd better make the most of tonight's rest. If Zophiel hears you groaning, he won't need to be told, so you'd best think of a good excuse or learn to hide your discomfort till you heal. It's my betting it'll be a good few days before you're sitting or walking comfortably again.\"\n\nJofre's fists clenched. \"It's all that bastard Zophiel's fault. Rodrigo would never have done it if Zophiel hadn't told him to. He'd no right to treat me like that, like a \u2026 a child.\"\n\n\"Rodrigo would never have beaten you if you hadn't given him cause. You're fortunate; many masters would have done far worse for much less, and you know it.\"\n\n\"I suppose you want me to say I deserved it,\" he said sullenly.\n\nI shrugged. \"What you say doesn't matter, lad. The question is, has it cured you?\"\n\n\"I won't be sitting down to a game of dice today, if that's what you mean.\"\n\n\"I daresay that was the idea, but when the stripes are healed?\"\n\nFor a moment he glared furiously at me, then his shoulders sagged. The truculence seemed to drain out of him suddenly.\n\n\"I can't help it, Camelot. Rodrigo is the greatest musician there is and the greatest teacher. I don't mean to hurt him. It's not his fault I behave as I do and that bastard Zophiel has no right to tell him he's a lousy master. It's me. It's my fault. I'm stupid and useless.\"\n\n\"You're neither of those. Rodrigo believes you have a great talent, greater even than his; that's why he pushes you. I know it is hard when you are young, but\u2014\"\n\n\"Why does everyone say 'when you are young,' as if things are going to change when I grow up and become a man? I am already a man, Camelot, though you all treat me like a child! You don't understand; there are some things I cannot help, some things which are never going to change. I don't want to be what I am, but I can't stop it.\"\n\nBut though I couldn't tell him, I understood only too well. I had been blind not to see it before. That evening in the barn I had realised for the first time what was buried inside Jofre, and it was something he both feared and despised. He loathed himself, loathed his very nature. Jofre wanted to be punished for what he carried inside himself. Perhaps that's why he had deliberately done those things that would anger Rodrigo the most. Had Rodrigo sensed that all along?\n\nBut Jofre spoke the truth when he did not answer my question, for we both knew that even if Rodrigo flogged every inch of skin from his body, it would not cure him. The only cure for his misery was to learn to embrace his own nature, and he could do that only when he found someone who could give him the kind of love he both despised and craved. Until that happened, no punishment that God or man could devise would be able to stop him from destroying himself. Like Rodrigo, I too left the barn on the verge of tears.\n\nOutside the wind was gaining strength. It promised to be a wild night. I hurried to get back into the warmth of the aleroom, but I'd not gone more than a few paces when I ran into Narigorm. She was standing in the shadows of the barn, her attention fixed on two figures struggling against the wall. It was an unequal match. Zophiel had Cygnus pinned to the wall by his throat in a way that looked far from friendly.\n\n\"You're lying, boy, I know you are. You were about to say something to Osmond at the bridge this afternoon. Don't deny it. I heard you. But whatever you think you saw, you keep your mouth shut, do you understand me, freak? If I catch you\u2014\"\n\n\"Problem, Zophiel?\"\n\nZophiel swung round at the sound of my voice and immediately dropped his hand. Cygnus took a ragged gulp of breath. He looked scared, as well he might.\n\n\"Didn't Narigorm tell you supper is ready? You'd best come at once unless you want to find your supper in those dogs, for I doubt we can hold them off much longer.\"\n\nIt was pointless asking Narigorm why she hadn't delivered the message. I wondered just how long she'd been standing there and what else she might have overheard.\n\nWe were all too hungry to talk while we ate, which was just as well. The simple act of eating can cover many kinds of silences, and that night several of us round the table had reason to be grateful for that. As the pot emptied and our bellies filled, the eating slowed and finally the dogs, which had been whining and scratching at the door, were allowed in to devour what was left. This they did as if fearing that if they didn't swallow it fast it would be snatched from their mouths. Finally, when the pot had been scraped clean and even they were convinced there was no more, they lay down and closed their eyes to dream it all again.\n\nWe were dozing in the mellow contentment that comes from a good meal when we heard the howl. The dogs' heads came up; they too had heard something, but they soon settled again. We relaxed too, thinking that what we had heard was nothing more than the wind wailing like a banshee as it tore through the trees and ramshackle buildings. But the howl came again, louder and longer. This time there was no mistake.\n\nZophiel and the dogs leapt up at the same time. The dogs ran growling to the door, the hair bristling between their shoulder blades. Zophiel hovered in the centre of the room.\n\n\"You heard it? You all heard it? Camelot, was that wolf or a dog?\"\n\n\"It sounded like a wolf.\"\n\nThe old widow crossed herself. \"Saints and all the angels preserve us\u2026\"\n\nThough the door was shut, Zophiel made a grab for one of the wooden balks to push up against it, but Rodrigo too was on his feet.\n\n\"No, wait. I have to fetch Jofre. He is alone in the barn.\"\n\n\"The barn!\" Zophiel's hand froze on the wood. He swayed as if his head wanted to rush out of the door, but his legs were refusing to carry it. I knew he was not concerned for Jofre, but his precious boxes.\n\nI tried to calm them both. \"If it is a wolf, it is only one. The barn door is shut and so is this. Jofre will be fine as long as he doesn't open the door, and he's not that foolish.\"\n\n\"That's as may be,\" the old widow said, \"but I've not heard of a wolf in these parts since I was a lass. If there's one, there's bound to be more. Always run in packs, they do.\"\n\nZophiel's face paled. \"You're sure you've not heard a wolf until tonight?\"\n\n\"I may be old, but I'm not deaf. I tell you, there's been no wolf in these parts for years. Starving they are, like the rest of us. It's driving them out of the forests. You wedge that door, before we all get eaten alive.\"\n\nCygnus stumbled forward. \"Xanthus! She's tethered in the old stable, but the walls are half tumbled down; she may as well be staked out for them to devour\u2014\"\n\nZophiel moved swiftly in front of him and opened the door wide. In an instant the two dogs bounded out. Cygnus made to follow, but Zophiel grabbed the back of the boy's shirt, flung him back into the room, and slammed the door shut.\n\nThe old widow tottered to her feet. \"My boys!\" she screeched, clawing ineffectually at Zophiel as he bolted the door. \"My boys'll be torn to pieces!\"\n\nWe could hear their excited barking fading as they ran off into the darkness. Pleasance got up and, putting her arms round the widow, gently led her back to her bench.\n\n\"Hush, now. It was only a lone wolf. If there was more, we'd have heard them answering the call. It was probably old or sick, driven out by the pack. The smell of the dogs alone will be enough to drive it off. They won't need to fight it. Hush.\" She looked up and smiled reassuringly at Cygnus, who sat rubbing a bruise, the second he had received from Zophiel that evening. \"Don't fret, Cygnus; the poor old beast won't attack any animal as big as a horse, not without its pack. The chickens are much easier prey, if it should come this way.\"\n\nI thought of the little family huddled under their bridge with no doors to keep wolves out and I prayed she was right.\n\nBut her words inflamed Zophiel. \"So you know about wolves, do you? Perhaps we should send you out there and see which it prefers, chicken or human.\"\n\nPleasance's cheeks flushed.\n\n\"Or maybe,\" Zophiel raged, \"I should have let young Cygnus there go out after all, seeing as he is half fowl.\"\n\nHaving cowed Pleasance into silence again, Zophiel might well have continued venting his spleen on Cygnus, a game he much preferred, had not Narigorm suddenly piped up, \"Pleasance isn't afraid of wolves.\"\n\nZophiel turned to stare at Narigorm, who was sitting crosslegged on the widow's truckle bed behind us. \"Then she is either more foolish than she looks or she has never encountered one.\"\n\n\"Oh, but she has,\" answered Narigorm. \"Tell them, Pleasance. Tell them the story you told me.\"\n\nPleasance shook her head and tried to retreat further into her corner, anxious as she usually was to blend unnoticed into the background. But Narigorm persisted. \"She was midwife to a wolf once. Weren't you, Pleasance?\"\n\n\"Midwife to a wolf!\" Adela's face lit up with excitement. \"How is that possible?\"\n\n\"It was nothing.\"\n\n\"Come now, Pleasance,\" said Zophiel. \"Don't be modest; midwife to a wolf, that's hardly nothing. Now that we know this much, you must satisfy our curiosity. Besides, it would be ungracious to our hostess not to repay her singular hospitality with a story. Camelot has already favoured us with his wolf story; yours can hardly be more fanciful.\"\n\nHis tone was again cold and calm as if nothing had happened, but he remained standing, his head inclined towards the door, listening to the distant barking of the dogs.\n\n\"Please, Pleasance,\" Adela begged. \"We won't let you rest until you do.\"\n\nPleasance gave a wan smile and with obvious reluctance began her tale.\n\nAdela reached out and squeezed Pleasance's hand, smiling warmly. \"I am so thankful you will deliver my baby I was so frightened thinking of it before. I am such a coward when it comes to pain, but now that I know you will be there to help\u2014\"\n\n\"It is against Gods will that the pain of birth should be eased,\" Zophiel broke in coldly. \"Birth pain is woman's punishment for succumbing to temptation. God ordains that she should suffer pain for the good of her soul.\" He glared at Adela as if hoping that she would suffer all the torments of hell during her labour.\n\n\"You'd soon change your tune if you had to give birth,\" I told him. \"Now let Pleasance tell her story in peace; you were the one who asked to hear it.\"\n\nI thought of Jofre lying in the barn and wondered if pain would indeed redeem his soul. Pain certainly changes the sufferer, but Id never seen anyone change for the better because of it.\n\nPleasance hesitated, glancing at Zophiel.\n\n\"Get on with it, woman,\" he snapped, turning his head once more towards the door, listening to the sounds outside.\n\nNervously Pleasance resumed her tale.\n\n\"What are sheidim?\" Adela wanted to know.\n\nFor a moment Pleasance seemed startled by the question. \"They are demons.\" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.\n\n\"I've never heard that word before.\"\n\n\"Maybe it is not used where you come from, Adela,\" Rodrigo said. \"I have found every village has a different word for such things. Is that not so, Pleasance?\"\n\nHe was staring at her with a curiously troubled expression on his face. His gaze darted to Zophiel, but he was still apparently intent on the sounds outside. An odd look passed between Rodrigo and Pleasance which I could not interpret, and she suddenly looked scared.\n\nRodrigo squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. \"Go on with the story. The demon\u2026\"\n\nI noticed that Pleasance's hands were trembling as she took up the tale again.\n\nPleasance reached inside her kirtle and pulled out a thick leather thong that hung about her neck, on the end of which was a large round piece of amber, fiery as a wolf's eye.\n\n\"So you see,\" she said. \"The wolves will not harm me. This is their sign.\"\n\nZophiel, from the door, began a slow, mocking clap. Pleasance flushed and hurriedly dropped the amber back inside her kirtle.\n\n\"I confess, my dear Pleasance, I was wrong,\" the magician said. \"I thought the Camelot's tale was far-fetched, but I have to say you have outdone even Camelot. Tell us, my dear Pleasance, do you honestly imagine that God would bless a woman who brings a demon into the world? To give succour to a demon is damnation to your soul.\"\n\n\"I think what Pleasance meant,\" I said, \"was that it is a good deed which is blessed, regardless of the merit of the person for whom the deed is performed. There'd be no good deeds performed in this world at all if they were only performed for the sinless. Isn't that so, Pleasance?\"\n\nShe raised her head just briefly enough to give me a weak smile and then lowered it again, as if she would have gladly crawled back into the cave of demons again rather than answer Zophiel.\n\nZophiel turned on me as I hoped he would. \"A fascinating idea, Camelot. So, if a demon appeared to you and\u2014\"\n\nHe broke off, as for the third time the wolf's howl rang through the inn. It was closer this time, still a way off, but much closer. We fell silent, listening for another howl, aware of the crackling of the fire and the rasping breathing of the old widow. Outside the wind dashed rain against the walls, whining like a dog pleading to come in. The fire burned low and the tallows burnt still lower, finally sputtering out in thin stinking trails of smoke, but no one stirred himself to light new ones. We sat stupefied in the hot stuffy room, staring into the embers of the fire. Zophiel alone was alert, his head bent, waiting for another howl. He was tense and agitated, much as he had been that night in the cave. I wondered if he too had his own wolf story. If he did, it was one that had surely unnerved him far more than those we had told.\n\nIt was only when we heard the dogs scratching and barking at the bolted door that the rest of us stirred out of our lethargy. Zophiel made no move to open the door, but the widow pushed him aside and unfastened it. Her hounds bounded in, pausing only to shake themselves vigorously as they did so, liberally spraying us all with mud, water, and blood. The widow wailed, clapping her hand to her gummy mouth, until she realised that the blood was not that of the dogs. Though both were soaked and covered in mud, there was no sign of any wounds on them. But they each held something furry and bleeding in their mouths which they laid happily in the old woman's lap, clearly expecting praise. Adela covered her eyes and shuddered.\n\n\"What is it? Is it the wolf?\"\n\nThe old widow laughed, the first time she had done so since we arrived.\n\n\"Saints preserve us. It'd be a pretty miserable runt of a wolf if it were. It's a hare, lass. My boys have been hunting and caught me a hare for my breakfast. There's my clever boys.\"\n\nShe held aloft the two ripped halves of hare in triumph, like an executioner displaying a severed head for the crowd, while the dogs leapt up at her eagerly to catch the drops of blood that dripped from the gory remains.\n\nWe left the old woman to the skinning of her hare. She hardly seemed to notice us leaving. She was too busy rubbing the dogs dry and telling them over and over what good lads they were.\n\nRain was lashing down and though we hurried to the barn, we still got thoroughly drenched. There was no sign of Jofre when we entered and I saw an expression of panic cross Rodrigo's face as he caught sight of the empty bed. Looking around, I noticed that the ladder to the hayloft was not where I had left it. Glancing up, I saw it had been pulled up into the loft. I tugged Rodrigo's sleeve and silently pointed. As Rodrigo directed the light of the lantern upwards I could just make out Jofre's form curled up on the pile of hay that I had earlier earmarked for myself. He was asleep. Or pretending to be. Perhaps he too had heard the wolf and had climbed up into the loft just in case it found its way in, or, more likely, he wanted to make sure he spent the night alone where he could nurse his stripes unobserved. I didn't grudge him the hay. His need was greater than mine for a soft place to lie that night, and even with the hay under him I doubted he was going to get a comfortable night's sleep.\n\nZophiel rushed to check his boxes as soon as the barn door was safely barred behind us. Thankfully, for all our sakes, they were intact and undisturbed, or so we concluded from his relieved expression, for he said nothing. He stripped off his wet clothes rapidly, slipping naked and shivering under his blanket on the bed-boards closest to his boxes, but I noticed for all his haste, he did not neglect to slide his long knife under the covers where it would lie ready if it should be needed.\n\nNarigorm sat in the corner of one of the beds, her knees pulled up to her chin and her skinny white arms wrapped tightly around her legs. In the dim light from the lantern, her hair glowed like a fall of new snow. She was watching Cygnus as he struggled with one hand to peel the wet hose from his goosepimpled legs. The doll Osmond had made her lay beside her.\n\nCygnus caught sight of it and chuckled. \"What have you done to your poor baby, Narigorm? I hope you don't intend to treat your children that way when you become a mother.\"\n\nI followed his gaze. Narigorm had swaddled her doll in strips of cloth, as Adela had taught her, except that the swaddling bands had been wound not only the length of the doll's body but up over the face, so it now looked more like a corpse prepared for burial than a swaddled baby. The same thought seemed to have struck Cygnus, for he suddenly looked serious and lowered his voice.\n\n\"I know you're only playing, Narigorm, but uncover the doll's face now, there's a good girl. If Adela sees it, it might upset her in her condition.\"\n\nNarigorm tilted her head. \"Why do you still keep your wing tied down?\" she asked in a clear piping voice.\n\n\"Camelot said I should, in case my wing was remembered.\"\n\n\"But there's no one to see it here, except us.\"\n\nAdela, her attention attracted by Narigorm's raised voice, glanced over from the corner where Pleasance was helping her unlace her kirtle. \"She's right. It must be uncomfortable, bound so tightly like that. Don't you get cramp in it?\"\n\n\"A little, but I don't mind. It's safer to keep it bound. Safer for all of us if I do.\"\n\nAdela waddled towards him in her veil and shift, reaching out her hands to the bindings. \"At least let me take it off for you tonight, so you can stretch it. We can rebind it in the morning if you want.\"\n\n\"Maybe the feather's regrown,\" said Narigorm. \"You said it would.\"\n\nCygnus smiled. \"Maybe. It has been itching.\"\n\nHe submitted to Adela's deft fingers as she unwound the bindings. Then, as soon as she had peeled the bindings off, he sighed with relief and stretched out the great white wing. We saw at once that there was still a gap where Narigorm had pulled out the feather. But as he lifted his wing, three more long feathers fell from it. They spiralled slowly round and round until they lay starkly white against the beaten earth of the floor. Cygnus stared at the feathers, aghast. Without lifting her gaze from the feathers on the ground, Narigorm began slowly and deliberately to wind another strip of cloth across her doll's face."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Even after all that I have witnessed, I can still remember the day we first heard those bells. Many of the villages and towns have merged into one now in my memory but not this village. You never forget that sound, like your first kiss or the birth of your first child, or your first encounter with death.\n\nIt was early December, the feast of Saint Barbara, to be exact, the saint who protects us from sudden death, lest we die unshriven with all our sins upon us. In my line of work, you have to remember these dates. In the days leading up to a saint's feast day a fragment from that saint is worth twice what it is at any other time of the year. And the demand for relics grew ever greater, so desperate were people for hope.\n\nThe rains still fell; the water continued to rise in hollows and lakes. The forests, meadows, and marshes absorbed the rain until the ground oozed water like a weeping sore. Ditches overflowed, streams became rivers, ponds became lakes. Those whose homes lay low down in the hollows watched helplessly as the water rose higher and higher until it crept up to the thresholds of their byres and cottages.\n\nWe had to retrace our footsteps several times, returning to a crossroads and trying a different route as we encountered washed-out tracks and impassable rivers. Although at every opportunity I tried to turn our company once again towards the north and the safety of the shrines at York, our way was constantly barred. We were herded along by the water snarling at our heels, forced upwards onto the higher tracks, no longer in command of our own direction.\n\nUp to that time, we had passed few travellers on the road. Save for villagers walking between home and fields, the tracks had been almost deserted, as they usually are in winter. But now, several times a day, we passed huddles of wet, starving families trudging along, women and children carrying bundles on their backs, men harnessed by ropes to small carts which they struggled to drag through the thick mud. The carts were piled high with bits of old furniture and cooking pots. They carried all they could salvage from their sodden cottages, though where they were going to find another home was impossible to say. Most likely they'd spend the winter on the roadside, burning their precious furniture to keep warm.\n\nThe bodies of those too weak and hungry to walk lay dead beside the tracks. For food, which had been scarce for months, was daily growing harder to find, and those who had it were charging a king's ransom for a handful of mildewed grain or some fragments of weevily dried fish that last year they would not have thought fit for pigs.\n\nOnce, half submerged in a sodden field, we saw the statue of Saint Florian, his face battered, his millstone tied around his neck. Since their saint was unable to protect them from the rains, the parishioners had stripped his statue of his scarlet cloak and golden halo, beaten him, and cast him out to face the elements. Many of the cottagers were no longer begging God for mercy; they were angry with Him. They felt betrayed\u2014and did they not have good reason?\n\nWe kept travelling, eking our way through the days with the birds we caught for the pot and whatever we could find to buy in the villages with the few coins we earned. Pleasance, Narigorm, and I were now the only ones in our company who had earned any money for several weeks, for no one had silver or gold to waste on music or mermaids. But though the villagers' purses were as empty as our own, they would still somehow manage to find a coin so that Pleasance could tend the suppurating sores on their feet, or barter a necklace with me for a relic which might change their luck. They could also find a penny to have the runes read for them, even if it meant going hungry for another day. Strange how desperate people are to know the future, even if they know they cannot change it. We each crave our little fragment of Saint Barbara\u2014may she preserve us from an unexpected death.\n\nAnd so it was that on Saint Barbara's day we found ourselves on another nameless track, making for another nameless village in which to spend the night. The track led over a treeless plateau of short springy grass. Xanthus kept turning her head sideways away from the wind, much to Zophiel's irritation as she dragged the cart continually to one side. But I didn't blame the poor creature; the wind stung our faces like a wet rag flicked hard against bare skin. Then in the distance we heard the bells. We didn't take any notice at first, for all we could hear were snatches of ringing carried on the wind. The village lay in the fold of the plateau. The curve of the slope as we approached concealed all but the wooden steeple of the church and the smoke of the hearth fires.\n\nAs we drew close the sound sharpened. It was not the single sonorous tolling of a bell that signified a death, nor the regular pattern of the church bells calling the faithful to Mass, but an odd jumble of noise, as if those who were ringing no longer cared if the bells tolled in unison or not. There were other sounds too, hollow metallic sounds as if people were striking iron pots with metal bars.\n\nZophiel pulled on Xanthus' bridle and we all stopped, looking at each other for answers.\n\n\"Are those warning bells?\" Adela called out from her perch on the wagon. \"What if it's a fire?\"\n\n\"Have some sense, woman,\" retorted Zophiel. \"How likely is it to be fire after all this rain?\"\n\nAdela's belly was now so swollen with child that it took the combined efforts of both Rodrigo and Osmond to get her onto the wagon and just as long for them both to heave her off again. This, together with her increasingly frequent need to dismount to pass water, was doing nothing to temper Zophiel's antagonism towards her.\n\n\"They could be raising the hue and cry,\" Osmond said. \"Perhaps there's been a murder.\"\n\nNone of us could help glancing over at Cygnus, who bit his lip. Over these past weeks even Zophiel had ceased to treat Cygnus as a fugitive, though we were still careful not to let his wing be seen in the villages, nor let him work as a storyteller just in case someone's memory should be jogged. But the rest of the time it was easy to forget he might still have a price on his head.\n\n\"It doesn't sound like a watchman's alarm,\" I said. \"The watchman's bell sounds just long enough to summon help, and in the daytime how long could it take to assemble some men? Perhaps this is some local custom celebrating Saint Barbara. Maybe the noise signifies the lightning and thunder which struck her executioner down. If it's a feast, there'll be food and they may be in need of Rodrigo and Jofre to play for their dancing.\"\n\nRodrigo chuckled. \"If that is the best they can do for music, then they need us.\" He slapped Zophiel on the back. \"Come, a feast, I like the sound of that. Warm fire, good food, maybe even some wine, what do you say, Zophiel?\"\n\nI couldn't help smiling at Rodrigo's grin. The faces of the others brightened too and we set our shoulders to the wagon with a will to get it rolling again.\n\nThe track sloped gently upwards continuing to hide the village from view, but as soon as we reached the top of the curve, we not only saw it, we smelt it. Every street and village in England has its own smell. You can sniff out the butchers' streets and the fishmongers' alleys, the tanners, the dyers, and the woodworkers with your eyes shut. For those living there, however foul the stench, it is the familiar smell of home. But this rotten-eggs stink was not the smell of home in this or any other town. It was the choking stench of burning sulphur.\n\nAcross the field strips a thick pall of smoke rose up from a patch of common land. A haywain was pulled up there and four or five men were busily lifting sacks from it. A large hole had been dug in the field and fires built all round it. Thick smoke from the smouldering wood and wet leaves rolled out across the land and the men appeared and disappeared, like ghosts, as the wind and sheeting rain gusted it across them. For one sickening moment it looked as if the men had no faces, then I realised each wore a sack over his head with slits cut in it for eyes, the sacking tucked well down into their shirts.\n\nAt that distance and with all the smoke, it was hard to make out what they were doing. They worked swiftly moving back and forth from the haywain to the pit. At first I thought they were moving sacks of grain, then the bile rose up in my throat as I realised the sacks contained not grain, but bodies. They carried the bodies over to the pit, swung them, and flung them down inside. It took two men to carry each adult body, but then I saw one man with two small sacks in his hands swinging like dead rabbits as he walked, and I knew they must be little children. He tossed those in on top of the rest. A cold sweat drenched my body. My sons had once been tiny enough to fit in those sacks. Had those little ones been torn from their sobbing parents' arms?\n\nI turned to look again at the village. The ringing of bells and the clanging of metal continued unabated. Most of the smoke was coming not from hearth fires in the cottages, but from small bonfires in the streets which sent up billows of thick yellow smoke into the darkening sky. A man walked rapidly down the street. He too had his face covered and held a burning torch up in front of him, though it wasn't yet dark enough to need such a light to see by. As he passed a shuttered cottage, the light from his torch illuminated the door just long enough to see that a mark had been daubed on it. It was a black cross.\n\nThe others in our company simply stared at the scene before them without a word, stunned speechless. I hurried to Zophiel's side. \"We'd best get moving. We need to get clear of this village.\"\n\nBut my urgent words didn't move him. He stood staring at the field of smoke and the ghost figures moving around in the heart of it. \"So this is it, then. It has overtaken us.\"\n\nJofre crouched down by the wheels of the wagon and retched. Wordlessly Rodrigo crouched beside him. He was absently rubbing the boy's back, just as I had seen him do that day I first saw them on the road, but his face was frozen into a mask of disbelief.\n\nAdela wrapped her arms around her swollen belly and began rocking back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably with the dry animal wail of a woman keening for her children, as if the corpses being thrown into the pits were her own loved ones. Osmond clambered up on the wagon and tried to take her in his arms, but she struggled from him, beating her fists against his chest, screaming at him to get away from her as though he had the contagion himself. Even Pleasance, for once, made no attempt to comfort Adela, but stood with her eyes tightly shut and her fists clenched over her breast.\n\nI could see despair setting in on everyone's faces and felt it clutching at my own heart. \"Come on now, let's get moving, get away from this stinking smoke.\"\n\n\"Where, Camelot? Where exactly are we to go now?\" Zophiel snarled. \"The pestilence is in front of us and behind us. There is nowhere left to go. Osmond, if you don't stop your stupid wife screaming, I will.\" He whirled on Narigorm. \"You, girl, you're supposed to be the soothsayer. Your runes led us here. You got us into this mess. Suppose you tell us where to go now. Shall we all grow wings like Cygnus and fly up? Because that is the only place left to go.\"\n\nAny other child would have shrunk from his anger, but Narigorm did not. She looked him squarely in the face, meeting his eyes unblinkingly \"East,\" she said simply. \"I told you already, we will go east.\"\n\nFor a moment I wondered if she actually understood what she was witnessing, that the sacks being thrown into the pit contained human bodies, but Narigorm was no ordinary child. Something in those pale expressionless eyes chilled me more than anything I was witnessing.\n\n\"No, not east, north,\" I blurted out. \"We must go north. If the pestilence is in the east and west we have to go north; it is the only way clear now.\"\n\n\"Don't be a damn fool, Camelot,\" Zophiel shouted. \"The road north lies straight through that village.\"\n\nPleasance, turning her back on the village with a shudder, slipped a protective arm about Narigorm. \"If the runes say go east we should go.\" There was pleading urgency in her voice as if she believed that Narigorm's runes could simply make the sulphur fires and black crosses disappear.\n\n\"God save me from stupid \u2026\" Zophiel screamed, raising his hands as if he was going to throttle Pleasance.\n\nHer eyes bulged in fear, but she did not retreat.\n\nZophiel, taking a deep breath, lowered his hands, trying to regain control of himself. \"Look at that village, woman, open your eyes, that\u2026,\" he pointed with a shaking finger, \"that is death! This is not a game of fortune-telling. We are not silly little girls casting apple peels over our shoulders to find out who we will marry. Our very lives depend on the choice we make now.\"\n\nPleasance hugged Narigorm to her. \"But we have to go somewhere. We can't stay here. Better to go on than back.\" Pleasance's voice was trembling, but defiant, though she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. \"And just because the pestilence has come here doesn't mean that it will touch every village. So even if we had no runes, I'd still say east.\"\n\nThough I didn't want to admit it, I knew she was right. At this moment in time there were only two choices, east or west, and we could not retrace our steps.\n\nZophiel had obviously reached the same conclusion, for he finally gave a curt nod.\n\nI swallowed hard. \"But then we must turn north at the next clear road, that will be the only safe thing to do.\"\n\nNarigorm watched Zophiel walk back to Xanthus, then she slid her cold little hand into mine just as she had done at the Midsummer Fair, and whispered.\n\n\"You won't ever reach York, Camelot. We're going east; you'll see.\"\n\nWe skirted the village as rapidly as mud and rain would allow. Xanthus seemed as anxious as the rest of us to put the village behind us and pulled the wagon with an energy I had not seen in her for weeks. She kept rolling her eyes and pricking her ears as if she felt something was pursuing her. They say horses can smell death, but perhaps it was just the smoke that bothered her.\n\nAlthough mercifully, the rain had stopped falling for a few hours, the way grew more hazardous as darkness fell. We were in another stretch of forest which made the track seem darker still, but no one suggested stopping to make camp for the night. The sound of the bells haunted our steps long after we were out of sight of the houses, finally masked by the roar of the wind in the canopy of trees. When, thankfully, we could no longer hear them, we halted long enough to light the lanterns on the wagon and walked alongside it, each of us with a hand on the wagon, grasping the wet wood. It was a sensible precaution on the dark muddy track, but it was not fear of slipping that made us hold tight to the wagon; it was that more than ever it seemed like the only home we had, the only certainty we could grasp.\n\nWe began to catch glimpses of red glowing fires between the trees and brighter yellow dots of what looked like lanterns. We looked at each other fearfully but there was no stink of sulphur here, only the sweet wholesome smell of wood smoke. We rounded a bend and found ourselves beside a long, low, opensided building, set in a wide clearing. The building was evidently a workshop of sorts, for there were two clay and stone furnaces inside, with flames dancing in the fire trenches beneath. Each had a pair of great bellows operated by treadles. Obviously whatever was made here required great heat. A third furnace, this one shaped like a bread oven, was open at the front and it was glowing red-hot inside. A number of trestles stood about with long metal tubes resting on them, great long iron pincers, clay crucibles, and wooden boards charred black. Tubs of water stood by each trestle.\n\nTwo young apprentices lay curled up asleep on the floor of the building, but four or five more were scurrying around outside in the clearing, tending fires over which stood big iron pots belching clouds of steam into the night. More furnaces dotted the clearing, which was so thoroughly cleared and trampled that not even a blade of grass survived. Near towering piles of logs there were a number of smaller huts. The place smelt of burning beech wood, a pure clean scent after the cloying sulphurous stink we had left behind.\n\nAs Zophiel halted the wagon, a man in his early twenties came round the back of the building. He started slightly as he saw us. The apprentices too caught sight of us and stopped their work. The young man waved a hand at them.\n\n\"Back to work, lads. If that potash isn't ready by first light, the master'll have my guts for garters, and if he has mine, you can be sure I'll have yours.\"\n\nHe hurried towards us, then stopped a little way off. \"Where are you from, good Sirs?\"\n\nZophiel pointed back in the direction we'd come. Seeing the look of panic on the man's face, he said, \"We know the village has the pestilence, but don't worry, my friend, we gave it a wide berth and we have no sick among us. And you, my friend, any sickness here?\"\n\nThe journeyman did not get a chance to answer.\n\nA deep voice boomed out of the shadows. \"We are all well, the Blessed Virgin be praised.\"\n\nA grey-haired man, face and arms scarred with burns, stepped out of the cover of trees. \"I am Michael, master glassmaker.\" He bowed. \"This man is my journeyman, Hugh. Though I should say he is the master now, for he has the skill that my old fingers have forgotten. Still, that is how it should be, no?\"\n\nI recognised his accent at once and so did Rodrigo.\n\n\"\u00c8 un fratello veneziano?\" my companion asked eagerly.\n\n\"Si, si.\"\n\nBoth men, beaming from ear to ear, threw their arms wide and fell into a big bear hug as if they were long-lost brothers. They began introducing everyone in sight, pausing only to hug and slap each other on the back again.\n\nFinally Master Michael threw his arms wide as if he would embrace all of us at the same time. \"Come, come, we must eat and drink. You spend the night here. I cannot give you a soft bed, but a warm one I can give you.\" He laughed, gesturing to all the fires. \"Hugh,\" he said to the journeyman, \"make our guests welcome. It is not every day I meet two of my countrymen, so let us eat while we can. Tonight we enjoy ourselves, but tomorrow we work, so do not let the boys neglect those fires, si?\"\n\nThe apprentices realised that the coming of the strangers had put their master in an exceptionally good mood and that extra food might be forthcoming, so they hurried to help us to set up camp. They stabled Xanthus in a lean-to with their two oxen, which were used for pulling their own wagon to market and dragging logs from the forest. One of the boys slipped her an apple, which won him the eternal gratitude of both Xanthus and Cygnus.\n\nMichael was a good master, the boys confided in whispers, strict but kind, apt to fly into rages if an apprentice was careless, but swift to cool down, and above all he was fair. I could understand his temper; lose concentration when throwing a clay pot and usually only the pot is spoiled, but get careless with a rod of molten glass and a man could be burned so badly, his wounds might never heal. They were quick, eager lads and they needed to be. This was not a profession for dullards.\n\nTrestles, water tubs, and such equipment as could be moved were rapidly cleared from the long workshop. Stools, sacks, and benches were brought in to make a place to eat and sleep out of the biting wind. One of the apprentices, shielding his arm with a thick leather gauntlet, stacked wood inside the red-hot glory-hole, the open furnace where glass was reheated between working. He leapt back as the sparks spat out, before covering the glory-hole to hold the heat in overnight. The heat from all the furnaces made it the warmest place we had stayed for weeks, and in testimony to this our clothes soon began to steam in the warmth, the smell of wet wool and sweat mingling with the wood smoke. As I eased my sodden boots towards the warmth of the furnace, I felt as if I would never be persuaded to move from that spot again. It is only when you get truly warm that you realise how cold you have been.\n\nLike those in the rest of the country these glassmakers had long used up their flour, beans, and peas, but they were more fortunate than those in towns, for they could forage in the forest for fruits, herbs, and fungi, and the boys were expert with the sling and catapult. They had set a large pot to bubble over a fire. Judging by the mutton bones in it, which had been boiled so often they broke at a touch, the pot was never entirely emptied. At every meal they simply added to it, water and a few handfuls of what they could find\u2014wild onions, wild garlic, sorrel, nettles, and whatever they could bring down with their slings.\n\nPleasance and Adela were soon supervising some of the boys in making extra food to supplement their pottage. Even Zophiel seemed caught up in the excitement. He brought out our last remaining cask of flour and some salt butter to add to the provisions. With the help of Osmond and Jofre and one boy's ferrets, three plump rabbits were soon spit-roasting over the woodchip fires, while some pigeons were rolled in clay and left to bake in the embers, so that the meat would stay sweet and succulent inside.\n\nPleasance had shown a couple of the lads how to make rastons in one of the cooling ovens, loaves sweetened with wild honey and scooped out to be stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs, butter and onions, then heated again until the butter melts. I swear there is nothing so warming to the stomach on a cold winter's night as sweet bread, hot from the oven, dripping with melted butter, truly a feast for Saint Barbara's day.\n\nAfter the meal the apprentice boys, stomachs stuffed to bursting, dozed off where they sat, until each was prodded awake by the journeyman Hugh, who sent them one by one, yawning and shuffling, to take a turn at stoking the fires under the iron pots in the clearings and stirring the mixture of wood ash and water. The boys would each go on watch through the night to tend the fires until the water had evaporated, leaving the potash behind to be used for melting the glass. Others stoked the furnaces and pumped the bellows, for the heat in the furnaces had to be kept up until they were required in the morning.\n\nNarigorm found a warm, dark corner of the workshop and curled up, like a well-fed cat basking in the heat of a hearth. I glimpsed her hand reaching for the leather bag around her neck and turned away, determined for once to ignore her and her runes. That was a mistake I would come to regret.\n\nSheltered from the wind and made as drowsy as the apprentices by the warmth of the furnaces, the rest of us settled down to a long evening of gossip and drinking. Talk inevitably turned to the subject we all tried so hard to forget. It was Hugh who told us about the village, staring morosely into the bottom of his tankard.\n\n\"Started there ten days ago. Leastways, that's when they found the first corpse, but God knows how long the poor soul had been dead. Neighbours noticed this terrible stench coming from one of the cottages. They banged on the door, but no one answered. No one could recall seeing anyone go in or out of the place for a couple of days. So in the end the neighbours broke the door down and found the wife lying dead in her bed. Died in agony the poor woman had, judging by the grimace on her face and the way her body was all twisted. No sign of the rest of the family. Seems as soon as they realised what it was that ailed her, they took off in the middle of the night and fled the village in secret. Likely the poor soul was still alive when they left. Still, who can blame her husband; there was nothing he could do to save his wife. Perhaps he thought he was doing right, getting the children to safety before the sickness spread to them. Maybe she even told him to go and leave her.\"\n\n\"I imagine he was more concerned to save his own skin.\" Zophiel poked at a pigeon carcass. \"He left without troubling to warn his neighbours, leaving them to find the body and risk the contagion themselves.\"\n\nHugh glanced up. \"Happen you're right, but I don't hold with judging a man till you've walked in his shoes. No man can put his hand on his heart and say for certain what he'd do if his life was threatened. The pestilence is a terrible cruel death, so they say.\"\n\nPleasance glanced sharply up as Michael muttered something that sounded like \"kineahora\" and spat rapidly three times on the back of his thick hairy fingers to ward off the evil.\n\n\"Have many fallen to it in the village?\" Adela's voice trembled.\n\n\"Near a dozen a day, we heard, Mistress. Not that we've been near the village these last few days. Some of our lads are from the village, but the master won't allow them to go home. Says if they go, they'll have to stay in the village. They can't come back here for fear they bring the contagion with them.\"\n\n\"Poor boys,\" said Adela, gazing tenderly at the tousled heads. \"They must be fearfully worried.\"\n\n\"Aye, but it won't do them any good to go home. If their families have got it, there's nothing they can do. Time enough to find out who's dead and who isn't when it's over. Did you see any signs when you came past?\"\n\nOsmond was about to answer, but I nudged his foot. I could see several pairs of eyes now awake and watching us anxiously. It would not help them to know about the pit, nor that there looked to be many more than a dozen bodies being pulled off that haywain.\n\n\"The light was too poor to see much,\" I told them. \"And we kept our distance when we smelt the sulphur smoke and heard those bells ringing.\"\n\nHugh grimaced. \"They'll keep ringing till there's not a man left standing to pull on a bell rope. They say noise drives the contagion out, especially the pealing of church bells. At least we don't have to listen to it. Be enough to drive anyone mad, those bells ringing morning, noon, and night. But I suppose anything's worth a try. I'll tell you this for nothing,\" he said, stretching and nudging another sleepy apprentice to his feet, \"something's got to work, because all those prayers the priests and the monks are sending up might as well be wood smoke for all the good they're doing.\"\n\nThe master glass-blower shook his head. \"Enough, Hugh. Our guests will think you have no respect.\"\n\n\"Aye well, ever since the summer we've had the pardoners through here in their droves, frightening the wits out of folk saying if they don't buy their indulgences before it's too late, not only will they die of the pestilence but they'll be tormented in purgatory for years after. Not cheap either, those bits of paper they sell. And who knows what's written on them in their Latin? Could be lists of the King's whores, for all we know.\"\n\nOne of the apprentices sniggered.\n\n\"Think that's funny, do you, my lad?\" Hugh dragged the boy outside by his ear, the grin on both their faces showing that they both knew Hugh spoke only in jest.\n\nMichael chuckled too. \"You must please excuse him. He is a good man, like a father to the boys, but he has no time for those he thinks take advantage of the weak. A pardoner came through here just after the pestilence came to the village and started preaching to the boys, telling them that they could buy indulgences for their dead parents. The boys are young; naturally they were upset. Hugh threw the man out. He did not take kindly to that.\"\n\nRodrigo nodded approvingly. \"If I had been here I would have thrown the pardoner out myself. They are as merciless and unfeeling as priests. They spread misery instead of relieving it.\"\n\nRodrigo leant forward impatiently. \"Enough of the troubles now. Tell us of yourself. How does one of my countrymen come to be here?\"\n\nThe glass-blower beamed, and clapped his hands together in satisfaction. \"It is a long time since anyone has asked me that.\" A hundred white and purple scars covered his hands and dark hairy arms. He was a small man, with short bandy legs, but a huge barrel chest from all the years of blowing and big muscular arms, so that his top half looked as if it had been placed on the wrong legs. His face was wrinkled and pitted, but his brown eyes were dancing with life.\n\nHis real name, he told us, lowering his voice to a confidential boom, was Michelotto, but he called himself Michael, for in his experience the English did not trust foreigners. His father, a widower and a glass-blower like himself, had brought him out of Venice before the glassmakers there were confined to the island of Murano.\n\n\"These days,\" he spread his hands and shrugged, \"they do not allow anyone to leave the island. The Doge, he worries that if they leave they will betray the secrets of glassmaking to other nations. So what if they are the finest glassmakers in the world and the best paid; what good is that when they are little better than slaves? My father, may he rest in peace, was wise to get out when he did. Me, I stay nowhere for long. As soon as the trees are gone around us we have to move to a new site. Glassmaking burns up so much wood, you see, every two or three years we must move on. But not like you, ragazzo, you move every day.\"\n\nHe leant forward and affectionately ruffled the hair of Jofre, who sat on a low stool at his feet. He had insisted on keeping Jofre at his side all through the meal, like a favoured grandchild, feeding him the choicest portions of meat from the tip of his own knife. Jofre revelled in the attention. He could hardly take his eyes off Michelotto, drinking up every word he had to say about his life in Venice. Jofre asked eagerly if the glass-blower knew his mother, but the old man shook his head sadly, knowing how much word of her meant to the boy. He had left Venice so long ago, he replied, he hardly remembered any names now. The squares and the canals he still dreamt about, but like the faces of the people in his dreams, he could no longer remember their names. Rodrigo and Jofre nodded, but there was no disguising their disappointment.\n\nFor a moment the old man sat despondently, then an idea seemed to occur to him, and excusing himself, he rose and slipped off into the darkness. Minutes later he returned, something shining in his hand. It was a small tear-shaped flask, such as a lady might use for perfumed oils. Cupped in his hand, it was dark and opaque, but when he held it up to the torchlight, the glass glowed with rich blue and purple ripples and tiny flecks of gold sparkled all over it.\n\n\"See, that is what I remember\u2014the light of Venice is like glass itself. I remember the way the evening sun sent golden sparks dancing over the waters of the lagoon. I remember the pearl light of the winter's dawn and the hot fierce red of the sun as it sets in summer, making the white marble blush pink under its heat. I remember at night when the waters of the canals turn dark as sable, how the moonlight glitters on the dark water like a silver fret on the black hair of a beautiful woman. That is what I try to make in my glass. I capture the light of my Venice in my glass.\"\n\nHe held out the little flask to Jofre, who took it carefully in both hands, holding it up to the light, twisting it to every angle, an expression of sheer wonderment on his face as every turn brought a new subtle shift of colour and pattern. Jofre reluctantly handed the glass teardrop to Adela, who was clamouring to examine it.\n\n\"It's lovely. You are so clever, Michael,\" she exclaimed, tipping the delicate glass piece into Pleasance's lap for her to admire.\n\nBut the look that passed between Michelotto and Jofre told of an understanding that was far too deep to be expressed in empty words of praise. With a sigh, Jofre took the flask from Pleasance and made to hand it back to Michelotto, but the glass-blower folded Jofre's fingers around the fragile glass. \"Take it. It is yours. You look at this and think of your mother, no? Maybe you think of me sometimes too.\"\n\nAs the yawns multiplied around the group, we finally pushed aside the benches and stools. Rolling ourselves up in our cloaks, we lay in the warmth of the furnaces to sleep. I heard Michelotto and Rodrigo slipping off somewhere, I guessed back to Michelotto's own hut, where he and Rodrigo would doubtless continue to talk long into the night over a drink or two. Rodrigo would be glad to speak in the tongue of his childhood again and I knew he was hungry for talk of home. It would not displease the old glass-blower to remember the old times either. Jofre was already asleep, the beautiful little tear-shaped flask carefully wrapped and stowed safely in his pack, but not until after he had unwrapped it several times to hold it to the light once more.\n\nIn many ways Jofre's behaviour had improved since the whipping and for the past month he had not, so far as any of us knew, been gambling in the towns or villages, leastways he had not come back drunk and there were no angry locals demanding money that he owed them. The lad obediently practised when he was told to, and with more concentration than he had shown for months, but I didn't need Rodrigo to tell me that something was wrong. Jofre made no errors in his playing. The notes were true and his fingers faultless, but his playing was wooden, as if he was deliberately divorcing himself from the music, trying to play without being affected by it. Rodrigo was angry and frustrated. He could hear better than any of us how passionless the music was and treated this as one of Jofre's sulks, Jofre's revenge for the beating. But I sensed that Jofre was not trying to frustrate his master; he was genuinely afraid to let himself feel anything after the flood of passions which had engulfed him that night in the barn. That evening, as he listened to Michelotto speak of Venice, I saw the first glimmer of life I had seen in Jofre's eyes for weeks. As I lay down to sleep that night, I hoped that the evening might be the turning point and the boy who played and sang like an angel might be back with us again.\n\nThe tumult of thundering hooves and screams woke me. It was still dark, but the clearing seemed to be full of riders weaving their horses in and out of the leaping fires, scattering the terrified apprentices. I grabbed Adela's arm and, with Osmond, we hauled her bodily into the shelter of the trees behind the workshop, well away from the exposing light of fires and torches. We pushed her down behind a thick trunk and told her to keep still. I threw my cloak over her head, so that should anyone glance that way the whiteness of her skin against her veil would not betray her. Then I dragged the reluctant Osmond away from his wife. If there was going to be trouble, Adela's best hope was to lie still, unnoticed in the shadows.\n\nZophiel too was crouching on the ground behind one of the huts. He had grabbed one of the apprentices by both arms and was shaking the cowering boy.\n\n\"I know they're soldiers, idiot boy, but whose arms do they bear?\"\n\n\"I don't know, Sir,\" the boy wailed.\n\n\"Then tell me what they look like,\" Zophiel snarled.\n\n\"Two\u2026two gold lions, Sir, passant\u2026guardant\u2026on a red ground.\"\n\n\"Was there anything above them? Think, boy, think!\"\n\n\"A mitre, Sir.\"\n\n\"A mitre? You're sure about that? And below the mitre, was there a virgin and child?\"\n\n\"There was something. I don't know, Sir, I didn't get a proper look.\"\n\nZophiel groaned. \"The Bishop of Lincoln's men.\"\n\nHe released his grip on the boy, who fled into the trees without a backwards glance.\n\n\"What do they want here? We're nowhere near Lincoln,\" Osmond whispered.\n\n\"The See of Lincoln stretches down as far as London; they have lands everywhere,\" I told him. \"Zophiel, we should\u2026\"\n\nBut Zophiel had vanished.\n\nI heard a bellow of rage that I recognized instantly. It was Rodrigo. Osmond and I hurried into the clearing.\n\nIn the centre of the clearing stood Michelotto, in the grip of two soldiers. His arms were twisted behind his back and one soldier had locked an arm around the struggling man's throat. Though the soldiers towered above him, the old man was still putting up a good fight. Two other soldiers held Rodrigo, who was also struggling in their grip. The rest of the soldiers, still on horseback, had corralled Hugh, four of the apprentices, Jofre, Pleasance, and Narigorm against one of the huts. Of Cygnus and Zophiel, there was no sign.\n\nI didn't notice the man who sat quietly on a palfrey in the shadows until he trotted forward and dismounted. It was plain from his broad-brimmed hat that he was a pardoner. He was a thin, spidery man, not much taller than Michelotto, and though his face was weather-beaten from his journeys, it still managed to retain an unhealthy pallor beneath the surface, as if he slept too little and brooded too much. It was probably as well he had chosen a life as a pardoner, for his physique suggested he would have fared badly at any profession that demanded physical labour. But he was clearly no ordinary pardoner, for he seemed to carry some authority over the Bishop's soldiers. At a nod from him, they dragged Michelotto forward.\n\nHe looked Michelotto up and down before speaking. \"Yes, this is the Jew. Well, well\u2026pestilence breaks out in a village though there is none else for miles around, and what do you know, we just happen to find a Jew living on their doorstep. Now, isn't that a coincidence?\"\n\nMichelotto jerked violently, almost wresting one hand free. \"I am no Jew, Pardoner.\"\n\nThe pardoner smiled as if the old man had made a joke. \"A glass-blower from Venice who is not a Jew? I find that hard to believe. The reason so many have died in Venice is thanks to the swarms of Jews they shelter.\"\n\n\"My family, they were Jews, but we converted when I was a child. I have papers to prove it.\"\n\n\"The worse for you, then. We hang Jews, but we burn here tics\u2026slowly.\"\n\n\"I am no heretic.\" Fear was beginning to show in Michelotto's face, as well it might.\n\n\"Any Jew or Muslim who converts to the one true Faith, then goes back to his old ways, like a dog returning to its vomit, is a heretic. A Christ-killing Jew is bad enough, but worse is a Jew who has been shown the mercy of our Lord and has spat on it.\"\n\n\"But I have not gone back. I am a good Christian. When I can, I attend Mass. It is not easy in this job to go always when I should, but I go when I can. Ask the priest.\"\n\n\"The priest is dead of the pestilence. One of the first to fall sick; don't you find that significant? But then, a heretic Jew would murder a good Christian first.\"\n\n\"But I did nothing to him! I have not seen him for weeks.\"\n\n\"But I thought you said you attended Mass regularly. Now it seems you are saying you do not.\" The pardoner's voice rose triumphantly as if he expected applause. \"And you prevent your apprentices from attending also, do you not? Trying to corrupt their innocent souls and make them as wicked as your own.\"\n\nMichelotto struggled against the hands that gripped him. \"No, you are mistaken. I do not stop them. I would never\u2014\"\n\n\"But you forbad them to go to the village last Sabbath, did you not?\" cut in the pardoner. \"Just as you ordered your journeyman to prevent them from buying indulgences.\"\n\n\"Now, look here.\" Hugh pushed his way forward. \"It was me that ordered you off our works for frightening the lads with your talk of death. The master knew nothing about it, till I told him. You can't hold that against him.\"\n\n\"Can't I?\" the pardoner rejoined, smiling. \"A master is responsible for all the actions of those he employs. And I trust you will not be so foolish as to deny that he forbad them to go to Mass on Sunday.\"\n\n\"That's because there was pestilence in the village. He wanted to stop them falling prey to it,\" Hugh said indignantly.\n\n\"When they are in mortal peril it is all the more reason that they should go to Mass to cleanse their souls. But you say your master would rather save their bodies and damn their eternal souls to hell. That sounds like Jewish logic to me. Perhaps he has corrupted you also.\"\n\nMichelotto shook his head at his journeyman. \"Enough, Hugh, no need to make trouble for yourself.\" A look of defeat had crept into his face. He turned wearily back to the pardoner. \"What must I do to convince you that I am no Jew? You want me to swear on a cross, I will do it.\"\n\n\"And have you blaspheme our Lord? If you do not believe in Christ, then the oath would have no meaning. No, I have another test for you.\"\n\nHe sauntered back to his horse and removed a wrapped parcel from the saddle pack. Slowly he began to fold back the wrappings. Michelotto tensed in the soldiers' grip, bracing to see what instrument of torture would be revealed. I glanced apprehensively around at the furnaces; there were too many places to heat a branding iron or pincers. Michelotto was used to burns, but how long could any man stand the irons?\n\nThe pardoner nodded to one of the mounted soldiers, who dismounted and came to stand beside him. He gave the parcel to the soldier, who carried it across to Michelotto and waved the contents of the package under the glass-blower's nose. We all let out our breath; inside was nothing more threatening than a rancid mound of meat. The flesh had a greenish tinge and stank, but it was not a branding iron.\n\n\"Pork,\" the pardoner said, with an evil grin. \"All you have to do is eat a little pork. A Jew or a Muslim could not eat it, but to a Christian it is good wholesome fare. All you have to do is eat the pork, without vomiting, and I shall know you are a true Christian and let you go.\"\n\n\"But the meat is gone bad,\" said Hugh fiercely. \"You cannot expect anyone to eat that!\"\n\nThe pardoner gestured to the soldier. \"Does this meat look good to you?\"\n\nThe soldier winked at him. \"So fresh, I swear I heard it squealing just now.\"\n\nThe pardoner turned back to Hugh. \"Perhaps, my young fellow, you find it smells bad because you too cannot stomach good Christian pork meat. I wonder why that could be.\"\n\n\"I will eat it.\" Michelotto's voice was flat and resigned.\n\n\"No,\" Hugh pleaded.\n\n\"What choice do I have?\"\n\nTwo soldiers held his arms tightly while a third grasped his hair, dragging his head back, and crammed piece after piece into his mouth, scarcely giving him a chance to swallow before the next piece was crammed in. Pleasance, clutching Narigorm, whimpered and buried her face in the child's hair. In the end, the rest of us were forced to turn away too. Micheletto tried to hold the foul meat down as long as he could, but they would not let him rest or draw breath. He vomited, as they knew he would.\n\nThe pardoner turned away. \"Bind him and tie him behind the horses.\"\n\nMichelotto sank to his knees, heaving over and over again. One of the apprentice boys, braver than his fellows, dashed forward and held a flask to his lips. A soldier aimed a kick at him, but the pardoner held up his hand.\n\n\"No, let him drink. Wash the meat out of his stomach. I don't want him vomiting all the way. It puts me off my breakfast. Besides, I want to bring him in alive. I don't want him dying on the road, depriving the populace of their sport. Encourages the common people, a burning; lets them know the Church has got everything under control.\"\n\nThe soldiers finally released Rodrigo and turned to mount their horses. Rodrigo ran across to the pardoner, who was already in his saddle. He grabbed the pardoner's arm.\n\n\"This man has done nothing. You must give him a chance to defend himself. You are a man of God and you know in all conscience that was no fair test. Let him answer properly!\"\n\n\"Have no fear, good fellow, he will be heard. They will hear him all over the Bishop's palace before we've finished with him. We do not burn men until they have confessed, and by the time we have finished with him, he will be begging to confess.\"\n\n\"You would torture a man in the name of a merciful God?\" Rodrigo asked bitterly.\n\nThe pardoner's eyes glittered in the torchlight. \"Just a moment, do I detect the same accent as Master Michael's? Another Venetian? Could it be we have two Jews for the price of one? Well, well. It is my lucky night.\"\n\nWith a great effort, Michelotto slowly raised his head. \"This man, a Venetian? He is a bastard Genoese. It is bad enough you call me a Jew, now you accuse me of being countryman to this whoremonger! Take me if you are going to; I'd rather burn than have to spend another minute in the company of a Genoese.\"\n\nAnd then he spat at Rodrigo. A glob of purple wine-stained spittle landed on his cheek and rolled slowly down his face.\n\nThe soldiers laughed.\n\nThe pardoner swept his gaze round the clearing. \"Spread the word. We shall root out all Jews wherever we find them, and believe me, we shall find them.\"\n\nWithin minutes they had gone, dragging Michelotto behind them on a long rope. We all stood, mute and sickened, listening to the hoofbeats fade into the distance. One of the apprentices silently began to straighten the overturned benches. One by one, as if they didn't know what else to do, the others joined him.\n\nI looked round for Jofre, but he was nowhere to be seen. He'd probably taken himself into the woods where he could vent his anger and misery unseen. He had only known the old man for a few hours, but it was plain to see how much he'd come to admire him even in that short time.\n\nIt had begun to rain again. I walked over to Rodrigo, who still stood staring down the track, though there was nothing to be seen or heard except the wind in the branches and the pattering of the raindrops.\n\n\"He denied you to save your life, Rodrigo.\"\n\nRodrigo did not answer. There were tears in his eyes.\n\nHugh stumbled across to us, his face wretched. \"It is all my fault. If I hadn't thrown the pardoner out, he'd not have come back here with the soldiers.\" He pounded his fist into the nearest tree trunk. \"I am such a fool, a stupid hot-tempered fool.\"\n\n\"He'd have come back anyway,\" I assured him. \"However much they skim off the sale of indulgences, pardoners are always greedy for more. They're always on the lookout for something they can report to their masters for an extra purse and the Church makes good use of them as spies. As you said yourself, the prayers and Masses haven't stopped the pestilence. Catching a few Jews reassures the people that something is being done to keep them safe. But God help Michelotto, it will be better for him if he does die on the road.\"\n\nFor the second time that night I woke with a start. I thought I heard the distant howl of a wolf. Around me I could see Rodrigo, Jofre, Osmond, and Adela all sitting up. The howl had woken them too. One of the apprentice boys whimpered in his sleep, but they slept on, huddled together in the workshop corner, too exhausted by the night's events to be woken by anything. I heard Osmond murmuring to comfort Adela. I lay still and listened for a few moments, but heard nothing more. One by one the others lay down again. But I couldn't settle back to sleep.\n\nI got up as quietly as I could and slipped outside to relieve myself. It was still dark. The wind roared in the branches overhead and it was cold after the warmth of the workshop. In the clearing, fires glowed ruby red under the iron pots, but the flames had died down. I was just slipping back to the workshop when a movement caught my eye. Narigorm sat near one of the potash fires, her runes scattered in front of her. A fine mist of rain was wetting her face and hair, but she was oblivious to everything except the dark symbols on the little pieces of wood.\n\n\"Too late for that now, Narigorm,\" I said. \"We could have done with the warning before the soldiers came.\"\n\n\"Nine for knowledge. Nine for nine nights on the tree. Nine for the mothers of Heimdal. And so Morrigan begins it.\"\n\n\"Begins what?\" I asked her.\n\nShe looked up and opened her eyes wide as if she had only just realised I was there. \"One has gone. Now we are eight.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, one of us has gone?\" I was tired and irritable. \"Zophiel? He'll be back, I can promise you that. He'd not go anywhere without his precious boxes, and he can't carry those on foot.\"\n\n\"Not Zophiel.\"\n\nAnother thought struck me. Cygnus. I didn't remember seeing him at all after the soldiers came. The sight of them must have frightened him out of his wits. It was hardly surprising if he had run off, and if he had, there was no reason for him to return.\n\n\"You mean Cygnus?\"\n\nShe shook her head. I knew she wanted me to guess again, but I was in no mood to play childish games. I was cold and weary. I just wanted to sleep. I turned to go.\n\n\"Pleasance.\"\n\nI turned back to Narigorm. \"Did you say Pleasance? Don't talk nonsense. She was standing with you all the time the soldiers were here; why should she have run off now?\"\n\nBy way of an answer Narigorm pointed to a rune lying across the line of one of the circles. The figure etched onto it was a straight line. Two short lines came down from that at an angle, as if a child had drawn half a pine tree.\n\n\"Ansuz, the ash tree, Odin's sign. He hung on the tree for nine days to learn the meaning of the runes.\"\n\n\"What does this have to do with Pleasance?\" I asked, but Narigorm only looked down at the runes again.\n\nI searched the runes, trying to see if I was missing something. There was no shell or feather among them, but then I saw there was something else lying on the bare earth. In the dim firelight I had almost missed it, a little sprig of some plant. I picked it up and peered at it closely. The long spike of tiny yellow flowers, though dried, was unmistakable. It was the herb agrimony and it had been bound with a coarse red thread, the same thread that midwives use to bind agrimony to the mother's thighs to help ease the passage of the baby.\n\nI crouched down and looked into Narigorm's ice blue eyes. \"Narigorm, stop playing games. Tell me where Pleasance has gone.\"\n\nShe looked at me for a long time without blinking, before she finally spoke.\n\n\"Pleasance is dead.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "We found Pleasance early the next morning. It was one of the apprentices who came back, white and trembling, to say he had found her body. He delivered his message in faltering tones and promptly vomited, but after a mug of ale was finally persuaded to lead us back to where she was.\n\nHugh, Rodrigo, Osmond, and I followed the boy through the trees, leaving Jofre in the clearing to look after Adela and Narigorm. We walked for about half an hour, and I was beginning to think the boy had lost his way or imagined the whole thing when he suddenly stopped in his tracks and pointed. A body was dangling from the high branch of an ancient oak tree. Even though her back was towards us, I recognised her immediately. Her long skirts clung wetly to her legs. Her limp arms dangled uselessly by her sides, the hands purple where the blood had pooled. The thick veil she always wore to cover her hair was missing and her dark hair was loose. Long wet strands of it snaked down over her shoulders. Her head was lolling at a strange angle.\n\nShe was hanging by a length of rope to which a leather noose had been tied. As the body rocked back and forth in the wind, the wet rope made a mewling sound, like a newborn infant, as it rubbed against the branch of the tree. As we stared aghast, there was a sudden gust of wind and the body twisted round, as if to greet us. Her eyes were open wide and seemed to be staring straight at us. The apprentice boy behind me gave a high-pitched yelp of terror and fled.\n\nOsmond was the first to gather his wits together. He climbed up the tree and, legs astride the branch, inched forward until he could reach far enough to saw at the rope with his knife. He worked carefully; there was no point in hurrying, for we could see from the sickening angle of the head that her neck was broken. Rodrigo and Hugh caught the corpse as it dropped and eased it down onto the wet leaves. Her sightless eyes stared up at us. Her skin was icy and stiff; she had been dead for some hours. I passed my hand over her eyes, but the rigour of death was already beginning to set in and, to my horror, I found I could not close them.\n\nThe leather thong had bitten deep into her neck. As Rodrigo cut it loose and pulled it away, her pierced amber wolf-stone slid into view. It was only then I realised that the noose had been fashioned from her own necklace.\n\n\"She was fortunate,\" Rodrigo murmured. \"The wolf-stone, it jerked against her neck and broke it. She died instantly. That is a blessing. I have seen men die by hanging and it is an agonisingly slow death.\" He averted his gaze from those fixed darkblue eyes and clenched his jaw hard as if trying to swallow tears. Pulling off his cloak, he laid it over her and tenderly covered her face.\n\nI tried to force myself to think. \"To break the neck in that manner means she was not hauled up by the rope. She must have been pushed off from something high.\"\n\nOsmond crouched down beside us. \"Like a horse? If the soldiers set her on a horse, then pulled it away?\"\n\nRodrigo shook his head. \"That would not break her neck, not if she swung back at an angle. It has to be a sharp drop downwards.\" He looked up at the high branch. \"If she jumped from that branch, that would have done it.\"\n\n\"You think she killed herself, then?\" I hardly dared form the words.\n\nHugh, at my elbow, took a deep intake of breath and crossed himself. \"God's blood, don't say that. Better she was murdered than that she took her own life.\"\n\n\"They could have broken her neck and then hanged her,\" Osmond said.\n\n\"I hardly think so.\" I jumped as I heard Zophiel's unmistakable drawl behind us. \"Why go to the trouble of hanging her if she was already dead? It's plain the woman killed herself. She was the sort of hysterical female who would be given to such fits of melancholia.\"\n\nRodrigo rose and glared at Zophiel. \"Where have you been hiding all night? Do you know anything of this?\"\n\n\"I really don't see that I have to account to you for my whereabouts, Rodrigo. I'm not your pupil. But since you ask, I was not, as you put it, hiding, I was in the wagon guarding our provisions. Someone had to, with those louts rampaging through the camp.\"\n\n\"It is a pity you did not stay and meet the pardoner, Zophiel. You would have got on well together.\"\n\nHugh looked from one to the other, puzzled by the antagonism between them. \"Maybe whoever did it hanged her to make it look like suicide, instead of murder.\"\n\n\"The journeyman makes a good point.\" Zophiel's voice was hard. \"Has anyone thought to enquire where our young friend Cygnus spent the night?\"\n\nWe looked at each other.\n\nOsmond said hesitatingly, \"He's right. It could be\u2026\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I don't dispute that a man who has used only one arm for his whole life has the strength and dexterity to break a woman's neck. There are many ways that might be accomplished. But to hang a dead body from a tree at that height, that requires two hands. The rope end was not tied off at ground level, which means someone would have had to climb that tree to haul her up, just as you had to climb it to cut her down, Osmond. And how would he lift a dead body up? The rope did not reach from the branch to the ground.\"\n\n\"But if the body was lying on a horse under the tree,\" Osmond said, \"that might lift it high enough. Xanthus will stand like a lamb for Cygnus.\"\n\n\"From what I've seen of him that Cygnus is a soft lad,\" Hugh said. \"I doubt he's got it in him to wring a chicken's neck. If she was murdered, it is more likely a passing stranger. Could have been one of the charcoal burners in this forest. They're a strange lot, living by themselves for months at a time. No womenfolk with them, most of them. They say even the pigs are nervous of them and it's not for fear of being made into bacon.\"\n\n\"Or,\" Rodrigo reminded us, \"she may simply have taken her own life.\"\n\nHugh looked down at the bedraggled figure at his feet. \"Aye, well, that too,\" he agreed soberly. \"By rights we ought to raise the hue and cry and send for the coroner. It is up to him to decide how she died, but\u2026Look, we've had enough trouble here. If the pardoner is brought in to testify, it's us that'll get the blame whatever. He's got it in for us. And I've the lads to think about. With their master gone and their families more than likely dead, I'm all that stands between them and starvation. We six are the only ones who know about the woman. I'm guessing she's no relatives to come looking for her, so\u2026\" He trailed off, a pleading expression on his face.\n\n\"You mean bury her quietly here and not report it,\" I said.\n\n\"God's blood, not here!\" the journeyman said quickly. \"Her ghost would never give us a moment's peace. She's died violently, by her own hand or by someone else's. Either way, her spirit would avenge itself on any in the forest. She'll not rest till we're all in the grave with her. You'll have to take her with you. Bury her well away from here where she can do no harm, and then you can travel on till you've left her ghost far behind.\"\n\nWe left the glassworks before midday. Although Hugh waved us off and wished us well, it was with a look of profound relief. The wagon now bore an extra bundle. We had wrapped the poor broken body up where it lay in the forest, for fear we should meet anyone as we carried it back to the clearing. Hugh had fetched us some sheepskins to tie round the body to disguise her shape, so that it might to the casual observer look like a bundle of skins. At least it was winter, so there were no flies to be attracted to the corpse. It was the first time I was grateful for the cold wind and rain, though it was not cold enough to keep the body for long.\n\nI was relieved to occupy my mind with the practical tasks. I was numb. I couldn't take in what had happened. I kept seeing the body hanging from the tree, the blank staring eyes, the grotesquely angled head. It was as if the figure hanging there was a puppet, made to look like Pleasance, but not really her. It was impossible that the sweet, unassuming soul I had shared a meal with just hours before was really dead. And no matter what Rodrigo said, I could not believe her capable of violence against anyone, let alone herself. Why, why would she do such a thing? It had to be murder; dreadful though that thought was. It was the only explanation which made sense.\n\nWhen we brought the body back, Hugh and Rodrigo carried it straight to the wagon while Osmond and I went to look for Adela and Narigorm. We found Cygnus sitting with his good arm around Adela, comforting her. Osmond ran forward and dragged him away from Adela, demanding to know where he had been last night.\n\nCygnus' explanation was as plausible as Zophiel's. He had fled as soon as the soldiers had charged into the clearing, without even waiting to see whose colours they bore, assuming no doubt they had come for him. He ran as deep into the forest as he could, finally crawling into a dense thicket of bushes where he had lain all night. Having fled in the dark without paying any heed to direction or landmarks, it had taken him some time to find his way back to the clearing in daylight. In fact, he said he would still be wandering round had he not heard one of the searching apprentices yelling Pleasance's name.\n\nAlthough Cygnus knew by now that Pleasance had been found hanging, he told his story guilelessly, without any sign he thought he was under suspicion. Osmond continued to eye Cygnus with distrust, but even he had to admit Cygnus' story was no less credible than Zophiel's.\n\nAdela was distraught. Though Pleasance spoke little, the two often spent time together preparing meals, with Adela chattering away enough for both of them, and Adela had come to regard her almost as a favourite aunt, the only woman she had for company.\n\nThe manner of her death shocked the younger woman deeply. \"But she was the gentlest of people. She'd never have harmed anyone. Who could have done such a wicked thing to someone like her?\"\n\nNone of us had the answer to that.\n\nI was worried that once the news had sunk in, Adela's shock and sadness would give way to fear. Her baby was due in three weeks, and she had pinned all her hopes on Pleasance to deliver her child safely. Childbirth was a treacherous time for both mother and child, but Adela had convinced herself that as long as Pleasance was there neither she nor the child could come to any harm. Only if we were able to get shelter at an inn, or nunnery, was there any chance of finding another experienced woman to help her through her labour. With the pestilence now on three sides of us, the chances of finding a roof over our heads, never mind a midwife, seemed slender indeed.\n\nWe kept our promise to Hugh and walked for two, maybe three hours before we buried Pleasance. In the end it was fear of having to spend the night camping near her grave that determined the site, for we needed enough daylight to dig and then move on some distance before night fell. It was not easy to find a spot. The forest floor seems soft, but dig a few inches and you soon run into a stubborn tangle of tree roots. Finally, we chose a place off to the south of the track, where several trees had fallen in a past storm and lay uprooted and rotting, already half buried by ferns, bone white fungi, and pillows of dark green moss.\n\nWe scraped away near the fallen tree trunk with hands, sticks, and the one spade which Zophiel had for digging the wagon out of ruts. The sweet, rich smell of leaf mould clung to our skin and mud streaked our faces before we'd dug anything deep enough to be called a grave. When we finally called a halt we had a long shallow hole partly tucked under the curve of the trunk. It was already filling with water, oozing up from the saturated earth.\n\n\"That won't be deep enough to stop animals digging up the body,\" Zophiel said. \"Cover her with rocks and cover them with earth and leaves, so the grave can't be seen.\"\n\nWe slid her into the hole. There was a soft thud as Rodrigo heaved the first rock onto the body.\n\nAt the sound, Adela moaned, \"No, don't, please,\" and sank to the ground clutching at her belly. Osmond led her back to the wagon, while we continued to cover the body with rocks and stones. I wondered if we were really doing it to keep the scavengers from mauling Pleasance's corpse or if, like Hugh, we too feared her ghost and wanted to fasten it in its grave.\n\nThe ground looked dug over, darker than the surroundings, but it was on the far side of the trunk, hidden from the track. In a day or so the soil and leaves would weather to look no different from the rest. Come spring, the grave would have settled and there would be nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the forest floor.\n\nWe stood in silence around the grave, the rain dripping down our mud-streaked faces. There wasn't anything more to be done, but it seemed indecent to simply walk away. I glanced over to where Narigorm stood. The child had not shed one tear for her nurse and protector. Even though Zophiel was not what you'd call grief-stricken, he at least seemed perturbed by the events. Narigorm, betraying neither shock nor grief, had watched the burial with curiosity, as if she was watching ants strip the flesh from the body of a squashed frog. She must have felt me watching her, for she raised her eyes and stared into mine, her words from last night echoing in my head so loudly I could have sworn she was speaking them aloud, but her lips were not moving. And so Morrigan begins it.\n\nIt was Jofre who broke the spell. He stepped forward and stuck a cross into the mound, which he had fashioned from two bound sticks. Zophiel immediately wrenched the cross out of the ground and tossed it into the undergrowth.\n\n\"Idiot boy! What's the point of us trying to disguise her grave if you're going to draw attention to it?\"\n\nJofre's cheeks flushed. \"But there's no priest to bury her; we said no words; we can't just bury her like a dog.\"\n\n\"Why not? If she killed herself, no priest would bury her. She's fortunate to have a grave. You've passed enough corpses lying where they fell to know that.\" Zophiel picked up the spade. \"Now, unless you want to spend the night with the corpse, I suggest we move on. There is barely an hour of daylight left.\"\n\nHe strode away. The rest of us muttered furtive little prayers over the grave, crossing ourselves surreptitiously before we too turned away. Rodrigo bent down and, picking up a white pebble, he placed it carefully on the end of the grave. It was a strange gesture. Had we not put enough rocks on her grave already? Jofre was the last to leave. When he thought he was unobserved, he quickly retrieved the handmade cross and laid it flat on top of the grave. I said nothing; like him, I too wanted to do something for Pleasance.\n\nAs we trudged on along the track, I dropped back behind the wagon with Rodrigo. I pulled on his arm, signalling him to slow down until the others were out of earshot.\n\n\"Tell me honestly,\" I said. \"Do you think it was murder? For if it was, I can't see a stranger's hand in this. Pleasance wouldn't have gone so far into the forest at night except with someone she knew and trusted, especially with soldiers about.\"\n\nRodrigo stared ahead at the backs of Cygnus and Jofre despondently dragging their feet through the mud. \"Maybe she went to find Cygnus. To tell him it was safe to come back.\"\n\n\"It would have been a fool's errand in the dark if she'd no idea where to look. And I still cannot fathom how Cygnus could have hanged her. Anyway, what reason would he have to murder her, unless \u2026\" I thought of what Hugh had said about the charcoal burners. Was it possible that Cygnus had tried to rape Pleasance as perhaps he had already raped and murdered a little girl? I'd be more willing to believe that of Zophiel than Cygnus.\n\nRodrigo shook his head. \"He did not do it. I know in my heart it was her own hand that tied the noose and her own feet that jumped.\"\n\n\"But why would she hang herself? There are enough poor souls dying who would give all they owned to stay alive, even if it was for just another hour. What cause did she have?\"\n\nHe studied me before replying. \"You do not know, Camelot?\"\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"You remember that night we spent with the old farmer Walter and his son, the night we found Cygnus in the wagon? Zophiel talked about burning Jews because they were to blame for the pestilence. He said how in England there were Jews still hidden among the Christians. Then last night, when the soldiers came for Michelotto, again the question of the Jews. And you saw what the pardoner did to him and what he threatened? Torture and burning?\"\n\n\"You think Pleasance was distressed about what they would do to Michelotto?\"\n\n\"For him, yes, of course. But she was also distressed, as you put it, about what they would do to her if anyone discovered her secret. Pleasance was a Jewess, Camelot. Did you not realise?\"\n\nI remembered the look on Pleasance's face that night in Walter's cottage, the way she trembled. And I had stupidly thought she was afraid of Jews.\n\n\"Are you sure? Did she tell you that?\"\n\nHe pressed his lips in a grimace. \"In a way she did. That night in the old widow's inn when she told the story of how she had been midwife to a wolf, you remember?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"She said that the cave to which she was taken was full of demons. Except that she did not use the word 'demon,' she called them sheidim. It is a word I have never heard used in this land, but I heard it often where I grew up. In Venice there was a quarter where the Jews lived. There were some fine gold-and silversmiths among them. Glass-blowers, too\u2014before, as Michelotto said, they were sent to Murano, though that was before I was born.\" He wiped the rain out of his eyes.\n\n\"Jews were tolerated because they brought wealth to the city from the traders who came to buy from them and because of the taxes they paid, for they were taxed twice as much as the Christians. Besides, whenever the priests wanted a silver casket for their relics or a fine gold chalice for their church, who else could they call upon who had the skill to make anything as fine as the Jews? The Jews mostly kept to their own quarter, for the Christians would have little to do with them, but I was drawn to them by their music from the day I could walk.\"\n\nNow that we were on the subject of music, his face lit up as it did whenever he picked up his lute.\n\n\"The Jews are fine musicians. You should hear them play for their weddings.\" Rodrigo sighed as if he longed to hear it again. \"The music would begin so softly and slowly, played by just one man, each note so pure and clear like the drops of water dripping from a leaf, and gradually the other musicians would join in and the drops would turn to a trickle and the trickle to a waterfall which crashed about your ears and made your feet dance as if they were bewitched. Some said that is exactly what their music did, bewitch you, and that the Jews intended it so. They wanted to make you dance until you dropped dead from exhaustion, for if you died while you danced, unshriven and unheeding, your ghost would be compelled to dance for eternity amongst the tombs and in the wastelands and you would never find rest. Priests said it was their way of stealing Christian souls.\n\n\"One priest in a nearby church was so convinced of it he would order the church bells rung to drown out the devilish music whenever it was played. He told Christians to hurry past the Jews' high walls with their fingers stuffed in their ears, but I did not. When I was a small boy I was forever wandering there in the hope of hearing that music. After a while they got used to me standing in the doorways, listening, and would beckon me in, even showing me how to play a few notes. That is where I first learnt to play My parents were frightened when they discovered where I went, for everyone knows the stories of how Jews are said to kill little boys and use their blood to make their Passover bread. The stories are nonsense, of course, for anyone who knows about the Jewish ways knows that they abhor blood and even soak their meat for hours to remove all drops of blood lest they sin by consuming it. But my parents believed the tales. They forbade me to go near them, but their music drew me back, whatever my parents threatened.\" He smiled fondly at the distant memory. \"Perhaps the priest was right after all and I was bewitched.\"\n\nHe paused as our way was blocked by a particularly wide puddle, mud and leaves still swirling in it from the wagon wheels that had rolled through. We stepped off the track and threaded our way through the trees to avoid it. When we rejoined the track again, Rodrigo took up his tale.\n\n\"When I was older and trying to earn every penny I could to buy my own lute, the Jews paid me well to be a Shabbes goy for them.\" He smiled at my puzzled expression. \"You do not know this word either?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Their religion forbids them to work from sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday. They take work to mean any kind of household task, so that they cannot light fires, or even candles when it gets dark. They cannot even stir the food in the pots, so they employ Christians to do these things for them, and it was then that I used to listen to the stories the old women told to pass the time, tales of sheidim and of angels, of brides possessed by dybbuks who slay their husbands on their wedding night and foolish old men brought to wisdom by their daughters.\"\n\n\"That's where you heard the word Pleasance used?\"\n\n\"I do not think she meant to say it,\" Rodrigo answered gravely. \"Maybe she did not know that it would mark her out. Words are woven into stories; they cannot easily be separated.\"\n\n\"So when Adela drew attention to it by asking what it meant, you tried to cover for Pleasance, telling us sheidim was a local village word.\"\n\nRodrigo nodded. \"I hoped that no one else would understand. I prayed they would not. I feared Zophiel might, for though he would not know the word, he is clever enough to realise it was no English word, but his mind was distracted by the wolf and only half on the tale.\"\n\nHe lowered his voice and glanced uneasily ahead, though the wagon was some way in front of us by now. \"Zophiel would not have hesitated to expose her if he suspected, and she knew this. Zophiel plays cat and mouse with Cygnus by threatening to hand him over; maybe Pleasance thought he played the same game with her. And after she saw what they did to Michelotto, perhaps she thought it better to take her own life than wait for them to come for her.\" Anger flooded his face. \"It is that pardoner and Zophiel who together are to blame for her death. Zophiel's vicious words \u2026\"\n\nI remembered what Pleasance had said the morning we were stuck in Northampton: \"Sometimes you have to leave.\" Had she any inkling then of how final that leaving might be? If only she had walked away from us on that day.\n\n\"But what if Zophiel did realise she was a Jewess?\" Rodrigo's face had paled. \"The pardoner said they hanged Jews. What if he hanged her for a Jew?\" He gripped my arm fiercely. \"Camelot, is it possible? Do you think he killed her, not just with words, but with his hands?\"\n\n\"But why? I can see that a man with his hatred of the Jews would want her dead if he knew what she was, but why kill her himself in secret rather than hand her over to the Church? I'd have thought a man like Zophiel would get far more satisfaction from seeing her humiliated and executed in public.\"\n\n\"But he has not handed over Cygnus either, though twice now he has had the opportunity. Perhaps Zophiel has his own reasons for not wanting to draw attention to himself with the authorities.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "What say you, Camelot?\" Cygnus asked. \"Are they dead or fled?\"\n\nIt was a good question, for the chantry chapel certainly appeared to be abandoned. The chapel stood hard against the central arch of the stone bridge as if it was propping it up on one side. The stone pillars which supported the base of the chantry rose out of the middle of the fast-flowing river below. Two steps led up from the bridge to the heavy wooden door of the chapel itself, but peering down over the bridge wall, I could see that there was a second chamber underneath the chapel, hanging just a foot or so above the churning water. I hoped it was a sacristy and not a burial chamber. It made me shudder to think of bodies being interred there, suspended forever above that dark rushing water.\n\nThe chantry was newly constructed. Many of the saints and grotesques which ran around the roof were still merely rough shapes blocked out by an apprentice in readiness for a master stone-carver to chisel in the fine detail. The walls and slate roof were complete, though none of the stonework had yet been painted.\n\nBut although the building was not finished, it already had an air of neglect about it. Drifts of dead leaves had accumulated in the corners of the steps and the door, and more leaves were blocking waterspouts on the roof. Blocks of masonry were piled against one of the walls, some half-worked, as if the workmen had just downed tools that afternoon, but the cut faces of the stones were covered with a green bloom betraying they had not been moved for some time.\n\nI walked back to join Cygnus and the others by the wagon. \"Whoever was working here looks to have departed in some haste, but whether it was into the next town or the next life is hard to say.\"\n\n\"Let's pray it was not into the next life, if Adela is going to have her child here,\" Cygnus replied.\n\nAdela, sitting on her usual perch on the wagon, looked aghast. \"I can't give birth to my baby in a chapel.\"\n\n\"Don't distress yourself, Adela,\" Osmond said, reaching up to squeeze his wife's hand. \"We know you can't possibly have your child here.\"\n\nCygnus tested the door before replying. The iron handle was stiff, but the heavy door was unlocked. He pushed it open but did not go in. An odour of musty dampness oozed out, but there was no hint of the putrid smell we had come to dread.\n\n\"Why not? It's solid and once we have a fire going it will be warm and dry. Besides, it's unfinished, so it cannot yet be consecrated, in which case it is just an unused building, not a chapel.\"\n\nZophiel's eyes blazed. \"It is nevertheless a sacred building. It would be a desecration to pollute it with childbirth.\"\n\nCygnus wiped the rain from his face and pointed up to a sculptured panel immediately over the door, depicting the Virgin and child, the only carvings on the outside of the chantry which had been completed. \"Surely Mary would not consider childbirth a desecration of her chapel.\"\n\n\"Hers was a sinless birth, but this\u2026this\u2026\" Zophiel was so outraged that for once he could not finish his sentence.\n\nRodrigo, who had been leaning over the bridge staring at the raging water below, straightened and glared pointedly at Zophiel. \"Murderers and thieves claim sanctuary in churches. Why not an innocent mother and child? Do you think that the birth of a baby pollutes the house of God more than the blood on the hands of a murderer?\"\n\nRodrigo still blamed Zophiel for Pleasance's death. Whether she had taken her own life or had it taken from her was one and the same to him; Zophiel was responsible, of that he was certain.\n\nBefore war broke out between them again, I tried to bring us back to the purpose.\n\n\"There is no reason why as travellers we should not take shelter in a chapel for a few days. Consecrated or not, the Church permits it. But we still don't know if it is safe to enter. We haven't resolved what happened to the workmen. This work was stopped abruptly. Granted the chapel does not smell of death, but there is a chamber below it. If we find someone dead down there, it will be too late; we will already be exposed to the contagion.\"\n\nCygnus nodded. \"I'll go in alone and search the place. If someone lies dead in there, I'll call out to you from inside and you must go on without me.\"\n\nRodrigo stepped between Cygnus and the chapel door, holding up his hands. \"No, no, Camelot is right: If you stumble across a body, it will be the end for you. You heard Hugh at the glass furnaces; the woman they found in the village had died in agony. We cannot let you put yourself in such danger. If we cannot be sure it is safe, we should all go on.\"\n\n\"We are in danger at every turn of the road. Round any corner, we could walk into someone who is dead or dying. If we don't take this chance there's every possibility that Adela will have to give birth on the road. The baby could come at any time and we don't know if we shall find anything better.\" Cygnus gestured to the road that led away from the bridge. There was not a house or barn within sight. Nothing but leafless trees and open scrubland lay in that direction as far as the eye could see, and what lay beyond was concealed by the rise of a distant scarp. \"We hadn't seen another traveller in days. We can't risk going on for much longer.\"\n\nHe pulled the neck of his hood up over his mouth and nose and twisted it firmly in position. Then he thrust Rodrigo aside. We stood in the rain and waited.\n\nWe all knew he was right. The business of where Adela would give birth was becoming more pressing by the day. Although many women, of necessity, deliver their babies on the roadside, many women die there too, and Adela, for all her Saxon blood, had not the strength of a woman bred to such hardships. It was almost Christmas and, as Cygnus said, the baby could come at any time. Jolting along in the wagon over washed-out roads, stones, and ruts in the chilling rain was surely enough to open any woman's womb. Adela had already begun to have the false pains which often precede labour, and these had terrified her so much she had convinced herself that unless she found a midwife to help her when the time came, she would die in childbirth. Since Pleasance's death, Adela's spirits had sunk so low that not even Osmond could coax a smile from her. Despite his entreaties to eat, if not for her sake then for the baby's, it was all she could do to swallow two or three mouthfuls. I began to fear that her dark forebodings would prove justified and she would not survive the birth.\n\nWe had, several times, suggested taking her to a nunnery, for the nuns have well-equipped infirmaries and great medical skill. Indeed many wealthy women send for the nuns to assist them in their confinement. But at the mere suggestion of a nunnery, Adela became hysterical, weeping that she'd rather die on the road than go into such a place. I told her we weren't suggesting that she take the veil, merely that she be delivered of her baby there, but to my great surprise even Osmond seemed vehemently opposed to the idea.\n\nSo since neither could be persuaded to it, we had no other solution but to look for an inn that was still open to travellers and prepared to take in a woman so obviously near her time. Most innkeepers are not, as we soon discovered. For as they told us, their other customers would soon be demanding their money back if they'd paid for a bed only to be kept awake all night by a woman screaming for hours. Then, they said, there's the mess which someone has to clear up, as if their serving maids didn't already have enough to do. And who's going to pay for a ruined pallet? they'd like to know. Not to mention, they added, lowering their voices, the trouble it brings if the woman dies. With things being as they are, no innkeeper wants it spread abroad that he has a dead body on his hands. They were not heartless men, but business is business in these troubled times.\n\nThe last town we'd passed through had brought us no nearer a solution. At first sight it had appeared promising. At least the town gates were wide open and the jovial gatekeeper refuted any suggestion of the pestilence having reached them. Ac cording to him, everyone was as fit as a flea inside. This hysteria about the pestilence was nothing but a pigs fart. He wasn't worried about being struck down; only those with a guilty conscience need fear it and his own conscience was as clean as a newborn babe's for he went to Mass as often as any man could. He shrewdly eyed Adela and directed us to the Red Dragon, an inn near the main square, which he claimed was run by a decent enough old biddy who could brew a good drop of ale, when she'd a mind to. She'd not turn anyone away, whatever their condition, if she was offered a little extra for her trouble. Had some friendly girls working for her too, he added, giving Zophiel a broad man-of-the-world wink. Our hopes rising, Zophiel had led Xanthus through the gates.\n\nIf every town has its own smell, this one was the stench of the midden. The street was wide enough for a wagon to pass, but ankle-deep in slimy mud, and the open sewers were clogged with refuse, so that the foul water spilled out over the road. On either side, a maze of snickets and lanes ran between huddles of squalid wooden houses and workshops, their overhanging top storeys almost touching the houses on the other side. These mean little alleys were so dark and cramped that daylight never reached into their depths, where pigs, dogs, chickens, and children scavenged and fought among the piles of stinking rubbish. As soon as we entered the town, a mass of scabby urchins swarmed alongside the wagon begging for coins. Several of the bolder ones tried to clamber into the moving wagon to see what they could steal. It took several cuts of Zophiel's long whip to send them packing.\n\nWe found the Red Dragon Inn easily enough. It looked filthy and neglected, and an unappetising smell of sour ale and boiled cabbage hung about it. Despite the cold and rain, a girl lounged in the doorway. Her hair had tumbled from her cap and her kirtle was stiff with grease. There was a ring of sores around her mouth, though she was, as the gatekeeper had told us, friendly enough and her face lit up at the sight of us. She sauntered across the street, swinging her wide hips. Her gaze roved first to Zophiel, then to Rodrigo, Jofre, and Osmond in turn as if deciding with whom to try her luck. She seemed to decide Zophiel was the man in charge. With a saucy grin, she nudged him aside with her hip and caught hold of Xanthus' bridle to lead her into the yard.\n\n\"You come along with me, Sir,\" she said. \"Stables round back. I'll show you.\"\n\nBut Zophiel thrust her firmly aside, pulling Xanthus forward and leaving the disappointed girl shouting in our wake that the beds were clean and she'd warm them herself for us.\n\n\"Zophiel, that was the Red Dragon we just passed,\" Osmond said, catching up with him. \"Aren't we stopping?\"\n\n\"Would you really have your wife give birth in there?\" Zophiel snapped. \"If she did manage to survive the birth, she'd be dead within the week from the fleas and stench.\"\n\n\"It might have been better inside,\" Osmond said weakly.\n\n\"If that slut had the cleaning of it, I very much doubt it.\"\n\nOsmond looked up at the white-faced Adela, who was swaying from side to side with the movement of the wagon. Her eyes were squeezed tight and her forehead furrowed as if she was in pain.\n\n\"There might be another inn or lodgings somewhere in the town, if we ask.\" Osmond sounded desperate.\n\n\"Look around you, boy. The gatekeeper said they don't have the pestilence, but that ignorant fool will still be denying it exists when they are slinging him into the burial pit. There could be a dozen dying already in the back rooms of those wretched houses, and we'd not know it until it was too late. You and Adela can stay here if you want, but you'll be on your own. Shall I stop and get her down? Because believe me, I'd be only too happy to leave both of you here.\"\n\nOsmond dropped his gaze, then shook his head. And so we'd moved on.\n\nCygnus was still inside the chantry. His examination of the chapel had been rapidly completed, but he then called out that he was going down to the lower floor. We heard nothing more. Rodrigo and I began to exchange uneasy glances. Surely the lad should be out by now, unless something was wrong. Xanthus shifted restlessly in the shafts, her head down against the pouring rain. Strange how you seem to get wetter in the rain when you are standing than when you are walking, more conscious of the coldness seeping down your neck. Zophiel was impatient to move on, muttering that it would be God's punishment if the boy did meet death in there after what he had the audacity to propose. Finally he tugged on Xanthus' bridle.\n\n\"Come,\" he said coldly. \"We are leaving.\"\n\nNarigorm, curled up as usual in the well at the front of the wagon, lifted her head. \"Not yet,\" she said. \"It's not time to leave yet.\"\n\nZophiel, furious now, ignored her and tried to pull the horse forward, but Xanthus braced herself and refused to budge. She seemed to know that Cygnus was missing and was not going to take a step without him. Zophiel was reaching for the whip when there was a loud flapping above our heads and several pigeons flew out of the small bell tower. Cygnus' head appeared at one of the small openings in the tower.\n\n\"It's safe,\" he called. \"There's no one here. I've searched everywhere.\"\n\nZophiel turned and stared hard at Narigorm, but she scrambled from the wagon and in a moment had disappeared through the chapel door.\n\nWe followed her cautiously. It was cold and damp inside, colder even than standing outside on the bridge, but surprisingly light. On each of the three sides of the chapel were three square-headed windows, with smaller, higher windows on the east side. Niches were hollowed out round the walls which would one day contain the figures of saints, perhaps of the Virgin herself, but these had not yet been filled. At the east end of the chapel was a raised dais on which stood a stone altar elaborately carved with the five meditations of the life of Mary. Unlike the carving on the outside of the building, these had been painted, the robes of the figures picked out in rich blues, greens, yellows and reds, and touches of gold. Directly behind the altar, wooden scaffolding had been erected against the wall on which the painting of a scene appeared almost complete, but the other walls of the chapel were as yet bare.\n\nTo one side of the sanctuary was a door opening onto a narrow spiral staircase leading to the crypt below. It was smaller than the chapel and lit only by two loop windows high up on the wall. In one corner was an angled recess containing a privy hole which emptied straight out over the river. A heavy door on the north wall led to the outside. When the river was lower there was probably a narrow island in the middle of the river to which the door gave access, a way into the chantry for people and supplies arriving by boat. But now the steps outside leading up to the door were all but covered by the turbulent water. If the river rose another foot, water would pour in under the door straight into the crypt.\n\nA few planks and trestles were scattered about the chamber, together with some empty flagons, barrels, and a brazier with blackened pieces of wood and a few charred bird bones in the bottom. A heap of fine grey wood ash still lay in the pan beneath. Fowling nets and tangles of line heaped in the corner suggested that the workmen had supplemented their rations with whatever they could catch in the river. But other than this, the crypt was empty of furnishing.\n\nAlthough it was damper and colder than the chapel, we decided to both cook and sleep in the crypt. The brazier had evidently been brought in by boat through the crypt doorway and would not easily be carried up that narrow staircase. Cygnus also pointed out that the windows in the chapel had been designed to allow any light from candles inside to shine out over the approaches to the bridge, and while there was no good reason for travellers not to take shelter in a chantry, we did not want to draw attention to our presence at night, for who knew what vagabonds and cut throats might be abroad.\n\nZophiel stated his intention to sleep without a light up in the chapel, for that was where we had stored all his boxes from the wagon. No one was of a mind to lug them all downstairs, and as Rodrigo told Zophiel when he protested, if the river level rose and we had to leave quickly we would not want to have to abandon his precious boxes, now would we? Xanthus and the wagon were concealed among the trees on the far side of the bridge on the opposite side to the town. And so we settled in and prepared to stay until Adela's baby was born.\n\nOsmond knelt in the sanctuary beside the altar, grinding a small quantity of terre verte in a mortar. I recognised it as the colour the painters use to paint flesh tones. As I watched he carefully added a few drops of oil and continued to grind vigorously with his pestle. He beamed up at me as I moved closer. His eyes were shining in a way I had never seen before.\n\n\"I hope this will work,\" he gabbled excitedly. \"I've always used eggs to bind the colour before, but at this time of year, even if we could find a hen or a goose that has not been eaten they will not be in lay. I found some old pigeon's eggs in the bell tower, but they were so raddled, they were useless. Rodrigo says some painters in Venice use oil to bind the pigment. I've never heard of it myself, but he's usually right about these things. He's given me a little of the oil he uses to keep his lute and pipes from drying out and cracking. I didn't want to take it in case he can't get more oil, for his instruments are his life, but he insisted.\"\n\nI could not help smiling at his earnestness. \"Rodrigo is a generous man, especially to a fellow artist. So what do you intend to paint?\"\n\nBy way of an answer he nodded at the eastern wall of the chapel, which was covered in scaffolding. \"I shall finish that. Whoever began this was a good painter. I hope I can do it justice.\"\n\nI moved nearer to examine the painting. It was of the Virgin Mary. She wore a stiff blue and gold mantle which she held open, and beneath her mantle, as if they were sheltering in a cave, a crowd of diminutive figures knelt serenely in prayer, like dwarfs beneath the giant queen. Two figures in the foreground were painted larger than the rest, a bejewelled merchant and his wife. The other figures appeared to depict the merchant's family\u2014his children, parents, and siblings. Also protected under Mary's cloak were several tiny houses, two ships, and a cluster of warehouses, all the property belonging to the merchant.\n\nOutside the shelter of the mantle there were other figures, but these were not praying. They were fleeing in panic, for above Mary sat Christ on his throne surrounded by angels and demons who were firing arrows and spears down onto the world below. The missiles bounced harmlessly off the Virgin's cloak, but those outside of her protection cringed in terror as the spears and arrows rained down upon them, piercing them through torsos, limbs, and eyes.\n\nMost of the painting had been completed except for the face and hands of Mary, which were sketched in red on the white wall.\n\nOsmond came across and stood beside me.\n\n\"Mary Misericordia,\" he explained. \"Our Lady of Mercy, who protects those who pray to her. And these\"\u2014he gestured to the merchant and his wife, who knelt in the foreground\u2014 \"must be the benefactors who commissioned this chantry, so that the priests could pray for their souls. They must have great wealth to build such a chapel. I can't understand why it has been abandoned when they were so near to finishing it, and at such a time when you'd think they would need the Masses of the priests more than ever.\"\n\n\"Maybe the merchant and his family have already fallen to the pestilence or he has lost his fortune and can no longer pay the workmen. Whatever the reason, if the craftsmen didn't receive their money when it was due, they wouldn't stay and work for nothing. I suspect this will not be the last building to be abandoned before it is completed.\"\n\n\"I thought nothing could touch the wealth of the merchants,\" Osmond said. \"These last few years as the harvests failed, they seem to have grown even richer. They grew fatter as the poor grew thinner. I know my father did.\"\n\n\"Your father was a merchant?\"\n\nHe nodded, frowning, and turned his face away. I waited, but he did not say more. I didn't press him. A man's history is his own business.\n\n\"Then I pity him,\" I remarked. \"This pestilence will bring a change in many fortunes, for better or worse.\" I glanced at the paint and brushes in his hand. \"I fear you can't hope to be commissioned to finish this painting, not while the pestilence rages, anyway.\"\n\nHe smiled, his dark mood vanishing in a trice. \"But I don't want to be paid. I'll finish this painting as an offering, so that the Virgin will smile down on us and Adela will be safely delivered of a healthy child.\"\n\nHe swung himself up onto the wooden scaffolding and eyed the space where the Virgin's face should be, first from one angle and then from another.\n\nI stood and watched him for a while, but Osmond was already absorbed in the first tentative brush strokes and seemed to have forgotten I was there. I walked to the door, then looked back. His brow was furrowed in concentration, yet the expression on his face was one of utter contentment as the rapid brush strokes grew more confident in his hands.\n\n\"You realise that if the craftsmen ever return here after we are gone, they will think the face of the Virgin has miraculously appeared on the wall. The chantry will grow rich from all the pilgrims coming here to see the miracle.\"\n\nHe laughed without taking his eyes from the wall. \"Then I must paint the most perfect face in England, to be worthy of such a miracle.\"\n\nFew people passed over the bridge in the next few days. It was winter and a wet winter at that, not a time for travelling unless you had to. Those families displaced by the flooding or fleeing the pestilence had not made it this far, preferring to take shelter in the towns which were still open. There was more hope of finding work and cheap lodging in a town; or if they could not find work, there would be far greater chance of receiving alms in the crowded streets than on a lonely road. Those travellers who did cross over the bridge were on urgent business. Most scarcely gave the unfinished chantry a second glance, except occasionally to cross themselves and mutter a prayer from horseback for a safe journey as they passed. It was obvious that the chapel was unfinished and unconsecrated, so no one bothered to stop to light a candle in it. And we were careful to show no lights at night. We did not wish to attract those whose business was not so honest.\n\nThen it was Christmas morning. We heard the church bells ringing in the town for the Angels' Mass at midnight and again for the Shepherds' Mass at dawn, but we didn't answer the call. As for so many throughout the land, this Christmas for us would not be as any Christmas before. In many churches, the bells would not ring and the candles would not be lit, for there would be no one left to light them.\n\nThey say that at midnight on Christmas Eve the bees in the hives sing a psalm, all the cows in the byres kneel down, and all the sheep turn to the east. They say too that every wild beast falls silent at that hour. If they are right, then what we heard after the chimes of the midnight bell died away was, as Osmond said, nothing more than the baying of a town dog provoked by the bells. But though he said it soothingly as Adela clung to him, I don't think even he believed that. We'd heard that same cry too often before to mistake it now. It was the howl of a lone wolf.\n\nOsmond held Adela tightly in his arms. \"Even if it was a wolf, we have thick stone walls and a new stout door to protect us. Not even a mouse could get in here.\"\n\n\"But it must be ravenous to come so close to a town.\"\n\n\"Even if there's a whole pack of them, we are safe in here. Now go to sleep, Adela.\"\n\nBut even if Adela could sleep, I could not. I could not get that howl out of my brain. There were wolves in the forests, but with a bounty on every wolf's head, the animals had been driven into the remote places far from highways, farms, and towns. It was true that hunger in recent years had brought some packs close to crofts and isolated villages in the dead of winter, but we had kept to the main highways; we were forced to with the wagon. So why had we heard a wolf so many times on our journey? And why only ever one, unless there was only one\u2014the same one\u2014following us? It wasn't possible, it didn't make sense, and yet still I shuddered.\n\nThe crypt remained cold and damp; the heat from the brazier scarcely penetrated the room. The sound of rushing water, which was not so noticeable during the day, grew louder in the silence of the night. Several times I woke from a fitful doze, sure that the river was in flood and was pouring into our chamber.\n\nCygnus, who had been muttering in his sleep for several nights, woke abruptly with an anguished cry and sat up trembling.\n\nNarigorm was watching him. She was sitting upright, hunched against the wall, wrapped in a blanket. Something small fell from her hand with a faint clack onto the stone flags. She swiftly retrieved it. Pulling the blanket more tightly about her, she rested her chin on her knees, then turned her head to stare into the firelight. I wondered if she had slept at all. This biting cold was hard on all of us, even the young.\n\nCygnus rose and tiptoed up the stairs. He did not return.\n\n\"Osmond, are you awake?\" Adela whispered. \"I think Cygnus might be ill. Did you hear him cry out? Should we go after him?\"\n\n\"He's not ill,\" Osmond muttered sleepily. \"When a man screams like that in his sleep it means he has a guilty conscience. I don't want you to be alone with him. He's dangerous. Who knows what goes on in the head of a creature like that?\"\n\n\"But you can't still think he murdered\u2014\"\n\n\"Will you both shut up and go to sleep?\" Jofre snapped irritably from his corner.\n\nWe must have finally slept, for when we woke again, daylight had penetrated the crypt's gloom. The damp seeping up from the cold stone floor had turned my bones to ice and it took several minutes of standing in front of the glowing brazier before my stiff and aching back was ready to move. But Osmond, despite the disturbances in the night, had woken in a remarkably cheerful mood. He was determined that something should be done to celebrate the feast day and had soon persuaded Jofre and Rodrigo to help him net some ducks on the river, while Zophiel rather more grudgingly agreed to turn his hand to trying to catch some fish.\n\nRodrigo and I were still struggling into our damp boots long after Osmond and Jofre had bounded upstairs. The others had followed, all except for Narigorm, who was still sitting hunched beside the smouldering brazier, her doll in her lap.\n\n\"You'd best stir yourself too, girl,\" I told her. \"If the lads catch anything we'll need a good fire to cook it. You and I will search for kindling and wood. You take the town side of the river and I'll take the other.\"\n\n\"I don't want to collect wood. I want to hunt for birds.\" Rodrigo chuckled. \"Leave that to Jofre and Osmond, bambina. The river is too fast. It is not safe for one as small as you.\" He patted her hair affectionately. \"Come now, as you search you can think about a plump duck roasting on the wood you collect, think how good that will taste, si?\" He took her gently by the hand, pulling her to her feet. Her wooden doll clattered to the floor.\n\nRodrigo bent to pick it up. \"I will put her safely\u2014\"\n\nHe was staring aghast at the toy in his hand. The rags were still wound around the doll's body, but they had been pulled back from its face. And now that they were removed, we could see that the doll no longer had a face. The brown wool hair had been ripped off; the carved nose and ears had been chipped away; the pretty eyes were scratched out, the mouth obliterated. Rodrigo stared from the mutilated doll to Narigorm and back again as if he could not believe a child capable of such a thing.\n\n\"Why have you done this? Osmond spent many hours carving and painting this for you. It will hurt him that you have destroyed it; Adela too.\"\n\nAny other child would have looked ashamed or tried to make excuses, but Narigorm neither blushed nor answered defiantly. She regarded Rodrigo impassively.\n\n\"It's mine and I didn't like its face. Now it can be anyone I choose.\"\n\nAs we emerged from the chantry, I was startled by the brightness of the sky. The wind had turned, the clouds had rolled back. There was even a patch of blue in the sky, just enough to make the Virgin a new cloak. I realised I had not looked up for months. You don't look up in the rain. I stood gazing up at the naked branches of the trees waving in the breeze and the rooks flying overhead, their ragged wings tossed in the gusts of wind. A flock of starlings, the pale sun glinting iridescent from their purple feathers, wheeled towards the distant scarp, and a single pigeon winged its way towards the town. I supposed birds must have taken to the wing through all those months of rain, but it was as if only that morning they had remembered how to fly.\n\nI found Cygnus on the far bank, tethering Xanthus in a new patch of grass, her coat gleaming red-gold as the light caught it. Even she seemed to sense the weather was on the turn, lifting her head and flaring her nostrils as if to taste the wind. But I could see at once that Cygnus was not caught up in a mood of excitement. His face was drawn and dark circles around his eyes made them appear blacker than ever. His movements were listless. Xanthus nuzzled him gently and he rested his cheek against her flank and closed his eyes.\n\n\"Are you unwell, Cygnus?\"\n\nHe started at my voice and straightened. He gave me a weak smile. \"Have no fear, Camelot; it's not the pestilence.\"\n\n\"There are other kinds of sickness.\"\n\n\"I'm not sick, Camelot, just tired.\" He reached down and tore up a hank of grass and fed it to Xanthus.\n\nHe turned to stare at the water surging beneath the bridge. And then he said, \"I dream of the swans, Camelot. That's what disturbs my sleep every night. They're waiting for me. I see them swimming up the river, first a pair, then three, then four. I want to swim out to them, but I can't. I see them coming, more and more from every direction until the river is full of white bodies. Their wings arch, their necks bend, and their dark eyes turn towards me, glittering in the darkness. They wait silently and I know they are waiting for me. Then suddenly they all begin to flap their wings. Their wings are beating me about the head. I have to crouch down to protect myself; the air is full of their feathers and I can't breathe. I'm gasping for air and all at once they are in the sky, flying away from me. I call out to them to wait, but they can't hear me.\"\n\nCygnus covered his face with his hand as if he was still protecting himself from the beating wings.\n\nI moved closer and put my hand on his shoulder. \"It's the crypt, Cygnus. It's too close to the river. The noise of the water crashing against the pillars is so loud it penetrates my dreams too.\" I tried to laugh. \"You'll think me an old fool, but I have nightmares that the water is pouring in and I am drowning.\"\n\nCygnus didn't smile.\n\n\"Why don't you try sleeping up in the chapel for a night or two until you are rested, Cygnus? The dreams will stop then, I'm certain of it.\"\n\nHe didn't reply. He hesitated for a minute, then began to strip off his shirt until his folded wing was exposed. He unfurled his wing, and as he did so, more feathers fell from it and were caught up by the wind. There were large gaps now in the wing, and in the brittle winter sunshine, those feathers that remained were no longer smooth and white, but matted and grey. He held out his good arm and caught a falling feather in his hand before it could be whisked away. He held it out to me, like a child offering a flower.\n\n\"Why is this happening, Camelot? I thought all I had to do was believe in my wing, but I'm losing my faith and the swans sense it; they know I am betraying them. They come to make me believe again, but the new feathers do not grow. I can't believe in them anymore. I can't believe enough to make them grow again.\"\n\nOsmond and Jofre tumbled through the door of the chantry, their arms linked, waving limp ducks in the air like favours at a tournament. Osmond was dripping wet and Jofre was caked in mud, but Jofre's eyes were sparkling and his cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. Rodrigo and Zophiel followed behind them at a more sedate pace, carrying fish and nets. They had among them caught three ducks and even a few small trout, despite Zophiel complaining that the river was too churned up and fast-flowing for good fishing. But even so, among eight hungry people, the ducks and fish would not go far, especially as we had little else to add to them. Still, we had reason to be thankful: It was a better meal than many would have that holy day.\n\nOsmond threw his birds onto the floor of the chapel and told, amid much laughter, how he had accidentally slipped down the bank into the water and had only been saved from a full ducking by Jofre grabbing him, before his head went under. Adela, once reassured that her husband had neither broken any bones nor cracked his head, fretted that he would catch his death of cold. So she insisted he strip off his wet clothes while she fetched dry ones from their pack in the chamber below. Osmond meekly did as he was bid and stood naked waiting for her to return, shivering and hugging his arms around him. He had lost weight these past few weeks and gained muscles which sculpted his body. Beads of water glistened on the fine golden hairs of his chest and he slapped at his body to warm it, for Adela, encumbered by the great bulge of her baby, was taking a long time to find him some clothes.\n\nOsmond, his teeth chattering, picked up his wet shirt and chucked it at Jofre's head. \"Don't just stand there staring, idiot. Fine friend you are, saving a man from the river only to let him freeze to death. For pity's sake, get me a blanket or something.\"\n\nJofre seemed to come out of a trance and reaching for his own cloak held it out, but Osmond, numb with cold, fumbled and dropped it.\n\nZophiel looked up from sorting the nets and lines. \"What's the matter with you, boy? Anyone would think he was a naked woman you were too scared to touch. Wrap the cloak round him and give him a good rub with it. Get his blood flowing to warm him. The last thing we need is him falling sick of ague.\"\n\nJofre flushed scarlet and picked up the cloak from where it had fallen, but Rodrigo stepped quickly forward and took it out of his hands.\n\n\"I will do it. You are as cold as he is. Go down to the brazier; get warm.\"\n\nJofre stumbled towards the stairs without a word. Rodrigo wrapped the cloak around Osmond's shoulders and pummelled him vigorously, until Osmond laughingly protested that he'd rather die of cold than be beaten to death. At that moment Adela returned with dry clothes.\n\nWe ate in the chapel. None of us could bear to go down into the dark, damp crypt to eat our Christmas feast. The winter sun shining through the windows, though not warming, filled the chapel with a light that we had craved for so long, and we drank it in as hungry prisoners who have been kept for months in a dungeon. Dappled lights from the river below were reflected up onto the white wall of the chapel, sending an endless pattern rippling across its surface, like shoals of tiny rainbow fish.\n\nIn defiance of Osmond's warning, Adela went out of her way to include Cygnus in the light hearted chatter and ensure that he received a good share of the meats. Cygnus had returned in a melancholic humour, but even he could not fail to be seduced by the irresistible aroma of roasted duck and trout and, recognising Adela's efforts to include him, tried his best to conceal his melancholy thoughts.\n\nWe ate our food slowly to make it last, not easy when you are hungry, washing each mouthful down with ale that was beginning to turn sour. We cracked open the ducks' skulls and scooped out the roasted brains, no more than a mouthful, but every mouthful counts, and sucked at the ducks' feet which had been set to boil with the last handful of beans. When every piece of flesh had been stripped from bird and fish, we tried to pretend to each other that we were full, though our stomachs told us we were lying, and we sat chewing the ends of the duck bones to extract every last flavoursome mouthful.\n\nRodrigo wistfully began to describe the Christmas feasts he had enjoyed in his lord's employ: the dancing and singing, the gaming and stag hunts and the lewd games played by the young men and women, in which all courtly manners were cast aside for the Christmas season. He told us, much to Adela's giggling embarrassment, how the men had fastened huge false cocks on themselves and chased the women. How men and women changed clothes and played at being the opposite sex, the men mincing and simpering in their kirtles, while women strode about belching and shouting orders. Then the women would climb onto the men's backs and ride them like horses in races around the hall, ending in a great tangled tumble among the rushes, helpless with laughter.\n\nThen, Rodrigo said, came the feast itself with its endless procession of pages and servants bearing in stews and breads, puddings and pies. There were swans, geese, partridges, larks, and great haunches of venison. And to crown the feast, a succulent roasted boar would be carried by four servants staggering under the weight of it. It would be glazed so that its skin shone in the torchlight and garlanded with holly, ivy, and mistletoe and set about with roasted crab apples and dried fruits.\n\nRodrigo's descriptions of the food were making us as ravenous as if we had not eaten at all, and in the end, to stop him talking about food, Zophiel told him to do his duty as a musician and play us something. Rodrigo smiled broadly as if he had just been waiting to be asked. He took up the pipes for once instead of his beloved lute and began to play the familiar strains of an old carol-dance. Cygnus, his dark mood pushed aside for the moment, got to his feet and gravely bowed at Adela.\n\n\"Will you honour me with a dance, m'lady?\"\n\nOsmond started to his feet as if to protest, but Adela had already laughingly refused with a shake of her head and her hand on her swollen belly. \"You do me great honour, m'lord, but I fear I could not waddle, never mind dance.\"\n\nCygnus then turned to Narigorm and took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet. \"Then, little mistress, I must beg a dance from you. Will you join us, m'lord Osmond, for we must have four at least?\"\n\nOsmond looked as if he would refuse, but at Adela's urging he finally conceded, made a stiff bow, then looked round for a partner. A dark look from Zophiel was enough to warn all of us that while it might be Christmas, there were still some liberties that should not be taken, not if you valued your life. So, since he obviously considered that my dancing days were long over, Osmond grabbed Jofre by the hand.\n\n\"Come, pretty maid, you shall dance with me. Now, don't be shy,\" he added as Jofre tried to pull away.\n\n\"Come on, Jofre,\" Adela called out. \"You must or you'll spoil the fun.\" Jofre reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged into the ring. Rodrigo started up the carol again and the four of them pranced round, weaving in and out of each other in a parody of a dance. Soon they were all laughing helplessly as they repeatedly turned the wrong way and collided into each other. They tried to shout out steps to each other, which left them in worse confusion, until Adela, tears of merriment streaming down her face, begged them to stop for she had a stitch in her side from laughing too much. While little Narigorm, giggling louder than any of us, begged to do it again.\n\nBreathless and still laughing, they collapsed onto the chapel floor. Osmond, scarlet in the face, waggled a finger at Zophiel.\n\n\"Come, we let you off the dance, so now it is your turn to entertain us.\"\n\nZophiel smiled, not ungraciously. \"I see, my friend, that you have appointed yourself King of the Feast, but it is the custom, is it not, that the one finding the bean in his pudding is the rightful lord. You must present your bean, if we are to obey you.\"\n\nOsmond laughed. \"I fear we have eaten every bean in the place.\"\n\n\"Surely not, my Lord.\" Zophiel leant forward and, placing one cupped hand under Osmond's chin, tapped him smartly on the back. As Osmond opened his mouth in a gasp at the slap, a dry bean shot into Zophiel's cupped hand. The astonished look on Osmond's face made us all burst out laughing again. It was an old trick, but neatly done.\n\n\"Now that you have presented your bean, my Lord, your wish is my command. What would you have me do?\"\n\n\"Amuse me, my man,\" Osmond ordered, leaning back against Adela's legs and waving his hand regally.\n\nZophiel bowed his head and, after rummaging around in his boxes, returned with several objects concealed under a cloth. He first withdrew from the cloth a wooden goblet and placed a white marble ball in it. He covered the goblet, and when he showed us the contents again, the ball had turned black. Next a dead toad in a glass bottle was brought back to life and hopped around, trying in vain to leap out. Then Zophiel placed an egg on a cloth and, when he passed over it with a stick, the egg rose by itself several inches into the air, before dropping again on the cloth.\n\nAt each new trick, Adela clapped her hands with delight like a small child and the others smiled, gasped, and laughed in turn. Only Jofre had fallen silent. The young man did not join in with the applause and laughter, remembering, no doubt, the time he had first encountered Zophiel and had been goaded by him into betting heavily on the outcome of such tricks. He had good reason to be wary; Jofre and I both knew that at any moment Zophiel might choose to remind him of it and humiliate him in front of the company. But Zophiel, it seemed, had entered into the Christmas spirit of goodwill. For once, he was refraining from tormenting anyone. He smiled with satisfaction at our gasps of admiration and after each round of applause bowed gravely.\n\n\"And now we must have a story,\" Osmond commanded, turning expectantly to Cygnus. \"No Christmas feast is complete without one.\"\n\nNarigorm wriggled around to look at him. \"Not Cygnus. Adela should tell it. She must, she's Queen of the Feast, so she must do something.\"\n\n\"Cygnus is the storyteller. I don't know any stories.\"\n\n\"Tell us about how you and Osmond fell in love, then,\" Narigorm persisted.\n\nCygnus smiled encouragingly. \"Come on, Adela. I'm sure that is a romantic story, a better one than ever I could tell.\"\n\n\"No, leave her, let her rest,\" Osmond protested.\n\nZophiel snorted. \"She can speak while she rests, can't she, or is she too feeble even to do that? I, for one, would be intrigued to know your story. You have never told us what brought you two on the road. I imagine your parents did not approve of the match, which is why you find yourself homeless.\"\n\nAdela glanced at Osmond. His face was flushed, but it was hard to know if it was from anger or embarrassment. She bit her lip, then began.\n\nAdela reached over and drew Osmond's paint-stained hand towards her, kissing it, before holding it up to show the missing top of the little finger on his left hand. Osmond blushed and hastily pulled his hand away.\n\nCygnus smacked his hand enthusiastically against the stones of the floor. \"Well done, Adela! That is a beautiful love story. It is you that should be the storyteller, not me.\"\n\nRodrigo slapped him lightly on the back. \"Come, Cygnus. You must better it.\"\n\nCygnus protested he could not, but instead told us the comic tale of the fools who try to rescue the moon from the river. As he told the tale he gibbered and capered around the chapel, making such a mime of trying to rake out the moon from an imaginary river that we were all soon helpless with mirth again. Only Jofre did not join in the laughter. He sat lost in his own thoughts.\n\nIt may not have been as grand as the Christmas festivities that Rodrigo had described, but for a few hours at least we had contrived to forget our own fears and the misery of what lay outside the chapel. But now the afternoon was drawing to a close and shadows were lengthening. The merriment had died away and we sat reluctantly preparing ourselves for another cold night down in the crypt. I thought of Pleasance lying alone in the dark forest and felt guilty at laughing.\n\nOsmond sprawled on the floor, his head resting on Adela's outstretched legs. He was lost in his own thoughts, gazing up at the painting at the far end of the chapel, as if he was itching to get back to it.\n\n\"How goes the painting, Osmond, are you making progress?\" I asked.\n\n\"Her face is finished and I have made a start on her hands. It's usual to leave the face until last, but I don't know how long we will be here and I wanted to complete that at least.\"\n\n\"Can I see?\" Narigorm asked suddenly.\n\nOsmond smiled indulgently. \"Of course; you shall see it when it's finished.\"\n\n\"But you said her face was finished. Why can't I see her face now?\"\n\nOsmond, laughing, shook his head. \"Don't be so impatient.\"\n\nAdela joined in. \"Please, Osmond. It would be such a comfort to me to know she can at last look down upon us. And as you say, if we have to leave before she is finished, we may never see it.\"\n\nOsmond was visibly torn between his desire to show off his painting and his wish to keep it covered until it was complete. But Adela's pleading won out. He rose and climbed up the scaffolding, pulling aside the cloth which hung down. He leapt down from the scaffolding and stood aside.\n\nHe hauled Adela to her feet and led her across to the sanctuary. We moved behind them and stood looking up. Adela gasped, her eyes bright with tears, and buried her head in Osmond's shoulder. It was plain to see why she was moved. The face of the Madonna was beautiful. And it was unmistakably that of Adela, even to the wisp of flaxen hair which peeped out from underneath the white veil.\n\nMost artists take the face of the woman they love as the model for the Madonna\u2014their wives, their daughters or mistresses. There have been popes and bishops who have insisted the face of their whores should be used as the face of the Virgin, so we should not have been surprised that Osmond should take his own young wife as his model.\n\nRodrigo broke the silence. \"Bellissimo, Osmond. She is superb. The face, the eyes\u2014such gentleness and compassion.\"\n\nOsmond, beaming with pride, said modestly, \"It is thanks to you, Rodrigo. It is the trick you taught me with the oil. The paint dries much more slowly than using egg tempera, so it is possible to work more slowly and carefully to blend the tones and shadows.\"\n\nHe was right: the face had a quality of life I had never seen in a painting before, the skin so warm and the eyes so alive that it looked as if at any moment the smiling lips would part and speak.\n\nRodrigo bowed. \"Not my oil, but your talent. You have a great gift and you have a model beautiful enough to inspire any artist.\"\n\nHe kissed his fingertips to Adela. She, smiling delightedly, raised her face and kissed Osmond on the cheek.\n\nWe all looked round as the heavy door to the chapel slammed behind us.\n\nZophiel called out sharply, \"Who's there?\" He strode across to the door.\n\n\"No one,\" Narigorm said. \"Jofre went out. He slammed the door.\" Then, seeing our puzzled expressions, she gave her knowing little smile. \"Jofre doesn't like it that Osmond painted Adela.\"\n\nAdela looked puzzled. \"Why? Does it offend him that a pregnant woman is painted as the Virgin?\"\n\nWith a cold lump in the pit of my stomach, I realised what Narigorm was hinting at and tried to stop her saying it. How could the little brat have known, unless she had overheard Jofre and me talking in the barn that night after his whipping? But even if she had, nothing had actually been put into words. Was she really that shrewd?\n\nI broke in hastily. \"Jofre gets bored as soon as he hasn't anything to amuse him and goes off on his own. He's always done that. It's nothing to do with the painting.\"\n\nNarigorm fixed me with a wide innocent stare. \"But it has. Jofre is jealous. He wants Osmond to paint him, not her.\"\n\nI glanced at Rodrigo, who looked distraught.\n\nZophiel too saw the expression on Rodrigo's face. A look of triumph spread slowly across his sharp features as if he had just discovered a great secret.\n\n\"So that's the way our young friend bends, is it? I've always wondered about men who choose to spend their life playing pretty tunes instead of earning their living in manly toil. Now it seems I was correct.\"\n\n\"I'd hardly call magical tricks and exhibiting mermaids manly toil, Zophiel,\" I said coldly.\n\nBut before Zophiel could retort, Osmond broke in. \"What are you trying to suggest, Zophiel?\"\n\n\"Isn't it obvious? Haven't you noticed how he's always watching you and Adela? It has been so ever since you joined us. I thought it was your wife he fancied, but now it seems you spoke truer than you know when you called him a pretty maid this afternoon. Haven't you noticed how eager he is always to go out alone with you to hunt for the pot?\"\n\nOsmond blushed furiously.\n\n\"Of course he's eager to go out hunting with Osmond. What could be more natural for a lad?\" I said firmly. \"The two of them are closest in age. A young boy like Jofre doesn't want to spend time in the company of old dotards like us; he wants to be around other young people.\"\n\nZophiel looked highly amused. \"But most young men would prefer to spend their time flirting with a beautiful woman than hunting with her husband. If I were you, Osmond, I'd keep my backside against the wall whenever Jofre's around.\"\n\nOsmond was looking more angry and uneasy by the minute. \"But I swear I've done nothing to encourage him. I'm not like that. How could he think I was one of those\u2026\"\n\nI glared at Zophiel, who was smirking, thoroughly enjoying the look of panic and embarrassment on Osmond's face.\n\n\"He doesn't think anything of the sort, Osmond,\" I said. \"If Jofre seeks out your company it's because he has come to regard you as an older brother. You can paint, hunt, swim, do all those things which any young lad would admire. Furthermore you have a beautiful wife. What young lad wouldn't regard you as his hero? He wants to be like you and naturally he wants to win your approval, nothing more. Did you never feel the same at his age for someone you admired?\"\n\n\"No, I did not,\" he said firmly.\n\nAdela took him by the arm. \"You did. Don't you remember how you used to trail after Edward D'Fraenger when you were young? You'd try all kinds of tricks to get him to notice you, and \u2026\" She broke off abruptly and shot a scared glance at Zophiel. \"I mean\u2026that's what you told me once.\"\n\nRodrigo, looking suddenly old and drawn, turned towards the door. \"I must look for Jofre; it will be dark soon.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" Cygnus called after him. \"I'll come too. I need to check on Xanthus.\"\n\nZophiel watched as the door closed behind them. \"Perhaps music is not the only thing Rodrigo has taught Jofre. It's easy for a master to corrupt an innocent young pupil to his own perverted taste. It would explain why he is so indulgent with him. He has an unusual fondness for the boy, wouldn't you say?\"\n\n\"You see evil in everyone and everything, Zophiel.\"\n\n\"Because there is evil to see, Camelot.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "Rodrigo and Cygnus searched for Jofre until well after dark, but it was futile to keep looking when the lad evidently did not want to be found. He could have run a mile or more in any direction or he could be sulking just a few yards away in the dark, ignoring their shouts. All we could do was to wait for him to return whenever he was ready.\n\nJofre did return, but not until the small hours of the morning. Zophiel had, of course, insisted on barring the chapel door as soon as it got dark, but Cygnus, Rodrigo, and I had all elected to sleep upstairs in the chapel, so were all awoken by his urgent hammering on the door.\n\n\"Wake\u2026up, wake the master of the house, I'm come a-wassailing,\" he sang out in a childish falsetto.\n\nZophiel shouted to him that he wouldn't be allowed into the chapel until he had sobered up and that a night in the cold would serve him right. But drunks seldom go away on being told to and Jofre continued to bang and sing until Rodrigo finally pushed Zophiel aside and unbarred the door. When he opened it, Jofre tumbled straight into Rodrigo's arms and thence to the floor, where he lay giggling. A small barrel rolled out of his arms, making a loud rumble on the stone pavers. Zophiel stopped it with his foot, took out the stopper, and sniffed the contents.\n\n\"Wine.\" He tipped a few drops of the red liquid into his cupped hand and tasted it. \"Strong too. Where did he get this?\"\n\nRodrigo grabbed Jofre by the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. Jofre swayed unsteadily. \"You heard him, ragazzo, where did you get this?\"\n\nJofre hiccupped. \"My friend gave it \u2026 to me.\"\n\n\"What friend?\" Rodrigo shook him.\n\nJofre flung his arms wide. \"I have lots of friends\u2026lots and lots. A dragon and knights and big, big Saracens with curved swords. There were lots of swords\u2026and a dragon. Did I tell you about the dragon?\" He sank to his knees and closed his eyes, swaying.\n\n\"Mummers,\" I said. \"He must have run into a crowd of mummers performing their play at the tavern and gone drinking with them. If there's a drop of strong drink to be found anywhere in a town, you can be sure the mummers will sniff it out. Likely some of the taverns have been holding back a few barrels for the Christmas celebrations.\"\n\nRodrigo released his grasp on Jofre's shirt and Jofre crumpled down to the floor, curled up like a baby, and fell instantly asleep.\n\nRodrigo turned away in disgust and strode over to the window, staring out into the dark swirling river.\n\nHe slapped the wall and turned back to face us, a mixture of anger and bewilderment on his face. \"Why does he do this? He was behaving better these last few weeks. I thought he had learned his lesson.\"\n\n\"You can't blame any young lad for getting drunk at Christmas,\" I told him. \"I daresay anyone who can afford it is drunk tonight in the town.\"\n\n\"Which means,\" Zophiel said tartly, \"that Jofre went into the town and has been drinking in some rat-hole where he could have picked up any contagion and brought it back here. And those drinking dens are teeming with thieves and cutpurses, any one of whom could have got our young friend here to tell them where he was staying. Are you still going to excuse him, when they follow him out here to cut our throats and take whatever we have?\"\n\n\"And just what have we got that is worth stealing, Zophiel? What are you so anxious to protect?\" I snapped.\n\nBut if I hoped to goad Zophiel into revealing anything about the contents of his precious boxes, I was wasting my time. Even when woken in the middle of the night, Zophiel's wits were still scythe-sharp. He eyed me coolly.\n\n\"The wagon, a horse, your genuine relics, Rodrigo's instruments\u2014why, even an old rag is worth the stealing to a man who is naked. We may not be rich, but still we have much that some might covet, don't you agree, Camelot?\"\n\nWe had all longed for the rain to stop, but now that it had the weather grew colder and the wind icier. The weak sun which shone through the clearing skies may have raised our spirits, but it did nothing to warm our chilled bones. Food was our biggest concern. Our stores were gone; we were reliant on what we could gather or catch, and that was no easy task.\n\nBut hunger was not the only thing which kept each of us locked in our own silent thoughts. Cygnus looked even more exhausted and wretched than before. Despite sleeping in the chapel, Cygnus' nightmares repeatedly disturbed his sleep, much to the irritation of Zophiel, who told him that if he couldn't control his own mouth, he should sleep outside in the empty wagon where only Xanthus would be disturbed.\n\nAdela, now that Christmas had come and gone with no sign of the birth, was becoming more fretful and demanding by the hour. Torn between wanting the baby out of her body and fear of the labour beginning, she was afraid to let Osmond out of her sight to go hunting in case the pains started and he wasn't there. Osmond not only had Adela to fret over, but now he could hardly bear to look Jofre in the face. He went out of his way to avoid being alone with Jofre and made a point of asking Zophiel or Rodrigo to help him with the netting of birds or hunting, tasks neither of them was skilled at. Narigorm eagerly offered to go in their stead. And Osmond, though reluctant to take her, had to admit that even experienced hunters would be hard put to match her persistence and patience when stalking prey. But any offers of help from Jofre were refused with some feeble excuse which both baffled and hurt him. Zophiel took every opportunity to goad him, but even so, at first Jofre did not appear to see the connection between Zophiel's taunts and Osmond's coldness.\n\nIt was on the feast of Saint John the Apostle, two days after Christmas, that matters came to a head. Jofre, Zophiel, and I were alone in the chapel. We had awoken to find our breath hanging as white mist in the air and a hard frost outside. Every blade of grass sparkled white in the watery sunshine and the ruts of mud were frozen into rock-hard ridges. The river was too fast-flowing to freeze over, but the puddles in the road had turned to glass. Xanthus stood under the trees, stamping her feet and snorting puffs of steam through her pink nostrils. Cygnus had already gone out to lead her to the river to drink, for her own bucket of water, put out the night before, was frozen solid.\n\nOsmond and Adela were jubilant when they saw the glittering branches of the trees. It was what we had been waiting for, what all England had been praying for. Surely the pestilence would now die away, as all summer fevers did, banished by the ice of winter. I fervently prayed it would be so, but as Zophiel had said, this summer we'd had no heat to breed the fever and still it had burned. But then if the winter frosts did not kill it, what in heaven or earth could?\n\nI was about to set out to see what I could forage when Osmond came up from the crypt below, his fowling nets over his arm and Narigorm at his side. On catching sight of Jofre, he hesitated, but then recovered himself and strode purposefully towards the chapel door without glancing at Jofre.\n\n\"Wait, Osmond,\" Jofre called. \"If you're going fowling, I'll come with you.\"\n\nOsmond grabbed Narigorm by the shoulder and held her in front of him as if she was a human shield.\n\n\"No, I can manage the nets with Narigorm. Why don't you take the sling into the woods? If we don't find many ducks, we shall need some pigeons or partridge\u2014maybe you'll catch some rabbits, that'll be good eating.\"\n\nJofre did not appear to notice Osmond's embarrassment. He picked up his cloak. \"I can go sling hunting later. The banks will be icy and the river's in flood. Narigorm won't be able to hold you if you slip. You could both be swept away. Better the two of us go, then we can look out for each other.\"\n\n\"I said no,\" Osmond snapped.\n\nAt the vehemence of his tone, Jofre recoiled.\n\n\"We'll get many more birds between us, Jofre, if we work separately from now on,\" Osmond muttered, and he rushed Narigorm out of the door before another word could be said, leaving Jofre standing in the chapel looking like a puppy that's been kicked and doesn't know why.\n\n\"It appears you have been jilted, my pretty maid,\" Zophiel drawled. Jofre gave no sign that he realised he was being addressed. He dropped his cloak and crossed to the window, where he stood looking out, lost in thought.\n\n\"Leave him alone, Zophiel,\" I warned quietly. \"We don't need any more trouble.\"\n\nZophiel ignored me. \"What a picture. A lovelorn maiden standing at the window, watching her swain depart. You must write a song about it, Jofre.\"\n\nJofre turned at the mention of his name. \"Did you say something, Zophiel?\"\n\n\"I was merely remarking on what a tragic picture you make: the jilted virgin waiting in vain for her lover. But then, you are not exactly a virgin, are you, Jofre? I imagine you have had numerous lovers already.\"\n\n\"Not as many as you've had, Zophiel,\" Jofre replied insolently.\n\n\"No? Pity.\" Zophiel studiously brushed some dirt from his sleeve. \"Too bad this one's married, then.\"\n\n\"If you're talking about Adela, I have no interest in her except as a friend.\"\n\nI winced, for I knew he had walked right into Zophiel's trap.\n\n\"No, I thought as much. Your tastes don't run to skirts, do they, Jofre? I've heard it said that some men find the meat of the cock more to their taste than the breast of the hen. Personally, I find it loathsome and revolting. Still, as I say, how unfortunate for you this particular cock is married. Who knows, you and your master might have managed\u2014\"\n\nJofre, suddenly comprehending, flushed with anger. He flew at Zophiel, his fists raised.\n\nZophiel, laughing, neatly stepped aside.\n\nI moved swiftly between them. \"Leave it, Jofre, can't you see he's trying to bait you? Go and take your anger out on the birds with your sling, where it will do some good.\"\n\nI bundled up his cloak, thrust it into his arms, and pushed him towards the door.\n\nAs I opened the door, Zophiel called out, \"I'm afraid your friend Osmond will be keeping his clothes on in your company from now on, boy, but if your tastes run to cock birds, you might try a bit of swan. I'm sure he'd be grateful; after all, a freak like him can't be getting much either.\"\n\nIt took all my strength to stop Jofre smashing his fist into Zophiel's face, something I was itching to do myself.\n\nI returned to the chapel late in the afternoon with half a sack of beechnuts, hazelnuts, and acorns. It had taken hours to gather what little I had, for, judging by the churned-up soil, either wild boar or the local pigs had been foraging heavily in the area for mast. The beechnuts would take an age to shell, but we had little else to do in the dark evenings and they could be dried for flour, if we could restrain ourselves from nibbling them for long enough. The door was unbarred and I was surprised to find the chapel empty, but I could hear Cygnus' voice drifting up from the crypt below. It sounded as if he was telling Adela a tale to keep her occupied. I barred the door to the chapel before joining them and found the two of them huddled around the brazier in the crypt. They smiled as I came into the room.\n\n\"No sign yet, Adela?\" I asked her.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"It'll come in its own time. Be thankful you can rest now, for when the baby does come, you won't have a minute's peace for years to come.\"\n\nCygnus rose and pulled his purple cloak around his shoulders. \"If you can keep Adela company, Camelot, I'll go and see to Xanthus.\"\n\n\"I'd best come up with you and bar the door again behind you. Zophiel will be furious if he comes back to find it open and all his boxes left unguarded.\"\n\nCygnus clapped his hand to his mouth. \"I left the door unbarred, didn't I? That's how you got in. I was thinking of other things and then Adela called up and \u2026\"\n\nI chuckled at his horrified expression. \"No harm done, but I suggest you don't mention it to Zophiel, otherwise you may find yourself tied to the wagon again.\"\n\nI barred the door behind Cygnus and turned again to look around the chapel, just to reassure myself that, as I said to Cygnus, there was no harm done. I checked the pile of Zophiel's boxes in the corner. The stench of the mermaid permeated the room, seaweed and that bitter perfume of myrrh and aloes. I had grown so used to the smell by now that most days I no longer noticed it; then, on other days, without warning, I would smell it afresh and the memories would come flooding back\u2014the day they brought my brother's head home.\n\nIt was months after the news came that Acre had fallen. And in all those months we didn't know if he was dead or alive. He might, we told each other, even now be on his way home to us. He could be wounded. He was being nursed somewhere until his strength returned and then he'd come limping home. One day, when we least expected it, he'd walk back through the door. We went on hoping, until that day we were summoned to the solar and saw the casket on the table in front of my father and smelt that odour.\n\nI wouldn't have recognised his head. The face was wrinkled and dark like leather, the eyelashes and beard startling white. The lips were drawn back from the teeth in an awful grin, the eyes squeezed shut as if horror-struck by something he had seen and couldn't bear to look at. They said it was his head, but I wouldn't believe it until I saw the little piece missing from his left ear where a hound had bitten him as a boy. Strange how, in the end, it is only our scars which distinguish us. My father held the head between his two hands as if my brother was again a little boy standing at his knee to receive his blessing. He did not weep. \"I can bury my son now\" was all he said.\n\nPeople blamed them, you know\u2014blamed the knights for not holding on. Even though Jerusalem had fallen many years ago, still, as long as we held Acre, people believed that one day we would take the Holy Land again. But once Acre fell, a dream fell with it. Those vanquished knights had destroyed the one last thread of hope, and people could not forgive them for that. My father said the knights who had fled were traitors, betraying Christ and their King. My father said he'd rather his son came home on his shield than as a coward. We begged him not to say it, but he had spoken and it was too late.\n\nDo you believe words have the power to kill? Who knows where they go once they are spoken aloud; they drift off like seeds in the wind. \"Speak no evil,\" my nursemaid used to tell me, \"for tiny demons lurk everywhere just waiting to catch your words and use them to tip their arrows with poison.\" My father had spoken and now my brother was dead.\n\nI heard Adela calling anxiously from below.\n\n\"Coming,\" I said.\n\nI glanced again at the boxes; none of them seemed to be missing. At least Zophiel wouldn't find out that Cygnus had left the door unbarred. I turned to go back down to Adela. The late-afternoon sun shone in through the window, sending long shafts of light across the stone floor. Layers of dust had accumulated since the builders abandoned the chapel. We hadn't troubled to sweep it. What was the point when we continually trailed mud in those first few days? But now as I turned to go, I noticed something I had not seen before. Several of the boxes had been moved, swivelled out and then pushed back into their original positions, leaving fresh fan-shaped trails in the dust. Most likely Zophiel himself had moved them before going out to fish. He constantly examined them, to ensure they had not been touched, and doubtless he had done so again that morning. For a moment I was tempted to try to open one. Then I heard the sounds of voices outside, Osmond and Narigorm returning. I went to unfasten the door once more.\n\nJofre didn't come back for supper. No one had seen him all day. Zophiel was adamant that no food should be left for him, since he had not contributed so much as a plucked sparrow to the pot. I have to confess that no one, not even Rodrigo or the tender-hearted Adela, put up more than a token protest, for we were so cold and hungry that even if we had wanted to save some food, I doubted we could have resisted eating his share.\n\nAs darkness fell, the air grew colder. Down in the crypt we stacked the brazier with wood and huddled round it in our cloaks. The wood was still too damp to burn well and gave off more smoke than heat. The river rushing below seemed louder than ever. Sometimes we heard the grinding of a branch or some other object forced against the pillar of the crypt by the surging water. The stone amplified the noise so that it sounded as if some huge beast was gnawing away at the foundations of the chapel.\n\nWe were just preparing to settle down for another chill night when we heard it. A wolf's howl, however often you hear it, still sends shivers down your spine. Adela cried out in alarm, and both Zophiel and Rodrigo started to their feet.\n\n\"Is the door still barred?\" Zophiel asked sharply. \"No one has been out since I barred it tonight?\" He looked round at us as if he thought we might have sneaked up and opened it while he wasn't looking.\n\n\"But Jofre is still out,\" Rodrigo said. \"He may be walking home. The howl came from the side of the river nearest the town. Jofre will be in danger and if he is\u2026not able to defend himself \u2026\"\n\n\"Drunk, you mean,\" said Zophiel. \"Yes, I'm afraid you may be right. When our young friend is in his cups, he's incapable of defending himself against a marauding rabbit, never mind a wolf.\" The thought seemed to give him considerable satisfaction.\n\n\"Then you will go with me to find him?\"\n\nI was astounded that Rodrigo should think for one moment that Zophiel would go, and I was not surprised by Zophiel's sneering refusal. \"You really think I am going to give up my sleep to go looking for that drunken little sod? Serve the pervert right if he does get eaten.\"\n\nBut Zophiel's hands were trembling and I knew his refusal had less to do with his contempt for Jofre than his fear of being out there in the darkness with a wolf prowling round.\n\nWe heard another howl and stiffened, listening. Adela, cringing at the sound, gazed fearfully up at the ceiling as if she thought the wolf might leap through the chapel window above our heads. Osmond pulled her tightly to him. This time not even he could pretend it was a dog.\n\n\"Wolves guard the paths of the dead,\" Narigorm said suddenly. My stomach lurched. Narigorm was crouching just outside the circle of flickering yellow light cast by the brazier. Her face and body were concealed in the thick shadows of the crypt, but her hands were in the pool of light, hovering over the runes. There were only three runes in front of her, not the whole set. I could see nothing else on the floor with the runes\u2014no shells, no herbs, no feathers. I had watched Narigorm work the runes often enough to know that using only three runes meant she was asking a question of them. A simple question, but the answer would not be simple, that I did know. And was the wolf the question? Or the answer?\n\nZophiel strode across the room and seized the child's wrist, pulling her hand away from the runes.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he said in a dangerously quiet tone.\n\nNarigorm lifted her head. Twin flames reflected in the pupils of her eyes, like fire burning in ice. \"Wolves bring the spirits of the dead home, however far they have travelled.\"\n\nCygnus shifted uneasily. \"I've heard that tale before. My mother used to tell me that the spirits of the newly dead travel the ancient straight tracks to get back to their ancestral homes. Wolves guard the tracks to make sure that the spirits of the dead are not taken from the path by demons or witches. Is that what you meant, Narigorm?\"\n\nNarigorm didn't reply, but sat motionless gazing up at Zophiel. Man and child stared at each other. It was Zophiel who looked away first. He dropped her arm as though he had been stung and turned abruptly on his heel.\n\nAs if a spell had been shattered, Rodrigo reached for his stave and cloak. \"I am going to find Jofre.\"\n\nI leant on my stave and prised myself stiffly to my feet, wrapping my cloak more tightly around me.\n\n\"I'll go with you, Rodrigo. I may be too old to make much of a fighter, but there is safety in numbers. A wolf won't attack a man in a crowd. Who else will come?\" I looked at Osmond, but he studiously avoided my gaze and stared at the floor.\n\nThe night was clear and frosty, each star bright and sparkling in its sable bed. The moon was rounded, but not quite full; tomorrow it would be. Now, though, it was bright enough to flood the bridge with opal light. Below us the water, black now, roared and surged beneath the arches. The silver moonlight glinted on its surface like scales on the back of a giant fish.\n\nOnce off the bridge the road curved away in the darkness running between scrubland littered with tree stumps. Rodrigo had brought a lantern as the law demands for those brave or foolish enough to be abroad at night, proof that our business was honest. An honest man, the law says, will go abroad openly and not wish to conceal his presence or identity. But what does the law say of those dishonest men who can then see the light from miles around, proclaiming a traveller ripe for the plucking? Who will protect the law-abiding from the law? Still, that night I feared the wolf more than man. The light would at least help keep that at bay. Cygnus had bravely joined us, and he glanced uneasily round at the bushes on either side of the road where shadows ran and branches growled.\n\nSuddenly Rodrigo stopped dead and pointed. \"Over there,\" he whispered. A pair of eyes, low to the ground, glowed in the flame. For a moment neither we nor it moved, then it turned its head and began to slip away. We caught sight of the red bushy tail and breathed a sigh of relief; a fox, only a fox. We continued on our way. Our eyes and ears began to hurt with the strain of looking and listening for any sign of the wolf, but there was none.\n\nThere was no sign on the road of Jofre either, even though the curfew bell in the town had rung an hour since. We reached the town gate. A steep embankment, topped with a wattle fence, marked the town boundary. It was in poor repair, not much defence against anyone except odd dotards like me who can no longer scramble over fences. A town like this could not afford a wall. As we expected, the cart gate in the wooden gatehouse which straddled the road was firmly shut.\n\nI rapped on the wicket gate with my staff. A small grilled shutter in the gate snapped open, revealing the head of the night watchman.\n\n\"What's your business?\" he growled.\n\n\"We've come looking for a lad.\"\n\n\"No accounting for taste.\"\n\nI ignored the remark. \"This man is the boy's master. He's come to fetch him home. The boy should have been back hours ago. You know what these young lads are, always chasing some pretty girl. Can we come in and find him?\"\n\n\"Gates are locked for the night.\"\n\n\"All the more reason to find him and to fetch him home. This lad's a bit of a handful once he's had a drink or two; he gets rowdy, disturbing good folks in their houses, chasing their daughters, smashing things. You don't want to be dealing with endless complaints on your watch, now do you? Let us in and we'll haul him out of here before he causes any trouble.\"\n\nThe watchman hesitated.\n\nI pushed a coin through the grille at him. \"For your trouble.\"\n\nThat seemed to persuade him; the small wicket gate in the main door swung open.\n\nOnce inside we described Jofre to him, but he only shrugged, impatient to return to warming his backside at his meagre fire. He told us no lads had passed through this gate, but then he had only been on watch since the curfew bell and Jofre was probably in the town long before that.\n\nWe walked three abreast down the main street, hoping that we might see Jofre making his way towards the gate. The town looked even more squalid under the glow of the night torches. Most of the houses were dark and shuttered and only the glimmer of candlelight here and there showed through the cracks. But despite the curfew bell there were still people abroad. The taverns were still open and every now and then a group of revellers would spill out onto the streets. Sometimes a man would be thrown out, landing on his backside in the street, if he was lucky, or facedown in the sewer, if he was not. The alleys and snickets were darker than before, but the odd squeal or yell which emanated from their depths suggested they were not deserted.\n\nWe drew level with the Red Dragon Inn. It was brightly lit, and sounds of raucous laughter rang out from inside. However empty their purses, there were plenty of people determined to make the most of this Christmastide whatever the rumours of pestilence, or perhaps because of them.\n\nThe door of the inn opened and a girl flung a pail of slops out into the street. We all jumped back.\n\n\"Careful, girl,\" I yelled. \"Mind where you're throwing that.\"\n\nShe looked up. It was the same serving-wench we had seen lounging outside the inn on the day we came past.\n\n\"Beg your pardon, Sirs, I\u2014\" She suddenly smiled in recognition. \"Aren't you the gentlemen came by with a wagon a few days back?\" She set the pail down and tugged at the front of her dress, revealing even more of her ample breasts. \"Managed to shake off that old sour-guts who was leading the mare, did you? Does he ever crack a smile, that one? If you're looking for a good time, you've come to the right place. You come along in with me, Sirs. We'll soon see you right.\"\n\n\"Maybe another time, but just now we're looking for the young lad who was with us. I don't know if you remember him. Slim, dark hair and brown eyes.\"\n\n\"I remember him all right. Came here a couple of nights back with the mummers. Good-looking lad, nice manners, gentle too. He could share my bed anytime, and there's not many I'd say that about. But that one's not interested in getting between my sheets, if you get my drift. Always the way with the good-looking ones, either they're monks or they're mollys.\"\n\n\"Have you seen him tonight?\"\n\n\"Maybe.\"\n\nI fumbled again in my purse; Rodrigo saw what was required and proffered a coin. The girl took it and tucked it into her bodice.\n\n\"He's in the stew.\" She caught Rodrigo's arm and pulled him a little way up the street until we came to the entrance to a dark alleyway. \"Up there, second right. You'll see the sign.\"\n\n\"You are sure he is there?\"\n\n\"Someone in the Red Dragon saw him go in. More to the point, they saw who he went in with.\" Her smile vanished and she gripped Rodrigo's arm urgently. \"You want to get him out of there, quick as you can. Like I say, he's a nice lad. I wouldn't want to see that pretty face of his messed up.\"\n\nRodrigo looked alarmed. \"You think someone is going to hurt him? Why?\"\n\n\"Look, if anyone asks, I haven't said anything, right?\"\n\nWe nodded.\n\n\"The other night when he came in with the mummers, he started getting friendly with one of our local lads, more than friendly, if you get my drift. If your lad had gone for anyone else, no one would care what he did or who he did it with, so long as he could pay for it, but Ralph is trouble. His old man is Master of the Butchers' Guild. He owns a deal of property in the town, fingers in a lot of pies, and he'd stick them in a lot more if he could. I reckon he knows the way his son leans, must do, but he won't have it. He's arranged a marriage between Ralph and the daughter of a baron who owns a dozen farms round these parts. You can see how it would be a good match; the baron produces the beasts, the butcher slaughters them. Keeps all the profits in the family, especially as the girl is the baron's only surviving child.\" She sniggered. \"Trouble is the baron wants grandchildren, lots of them, and he wants a son-in-law who'll put his back into the getting of them. If the girl's father gets a whiff of anything amiss before the wedding, it'll be off quicker than milk in a thunderstorm and Ralph's old man wouldn't take too kindly to that. Take it from me, you want to get your lad away from Ralph before his old man gets wind of it, that's if he hasn't already.\" She looked round anxiously. \"There's many round here in debt to him and might think to pay it off with a little tattle.\"\n\nWe thanked her and turned into the narrow little alley she had indicated. The overhang of the darkened houses blocked out the sky so that only a slim ribbon of stars could be seen between them. The alley stank of piss and worse, but fortunately whatever filth we were walking on had frozen over and we did not have to wade through it.\n\nAs the serving-girl had told us, the stew was easy enough to find by the sign of the bath over the door. The woman who admitted us was friendly until she discovered we had not come to bathe. Then she told us to clear off. But when we described Jofre, her attitude changed again. She seemed grudgingly grateful for our arrival.\n\n\"Aye, well, you'd best get him out of here. I don't want trouble.\" She jerked her head in the direction of one of the rooms. \"He's in there.\"\n\nWe entered. The warm room was hot and steamy, smelling of wet wood overlaid by the clean sweet smell of thyme, bay, and mint. Three big wooden bath-tubs stood in a circle in the centre of the floor with triangular wooden canopies over the top to shield the bathers from drafts and keep the steam in. The stew-house owner clearly took great care of her customers, for the tubs were lined with linen to prevent splinters. Between the tubs were several small tables. Ewers of ale and wine, and plates of roasted meats, cheese, pickled vegetables, and fruits preserved in honey lay within easy reach of the bathers. I felt my stomach growl with hunger.\n\nWe didn't recognise the two young men and the girl in the tub facing the door. They wallowed up to their necks in the hot herbed water, naked save for cloths wrapped around their hair. I longed to join them. The thought of soaking my cold aching limbs in hot water for an hour or two seemed like heaven. It had been years since I had been able to do that. Stewing in a hot bath was one of the many pleasures I'd had to forgo.\n\nThe occupants of the other two tubs were screened by the canopies. We moved forward. One of the young men, catching sight of us, raised his hands.\n\n\"We're full here. Try the other rooms.\" Then, grinning at Rodrigo, \"We can always squeeze you in, though.\"\n\nRodrigo said gruffly, \"I have not come to bathe. I have come for my pupil.\"\n\nThere was a sudden violent splash from the third tub as if someone had been startled.\n\nI walked round. There were only two in this tub, one a young man older than Jofre by a couple of years, stockier too. Even with his hair concealed by an unflattering linen cap, he was a good-looking young man with hazel eyes, square jaw, and full lips, in many ways not unlike Osmond. The other occupant of the bath, pressed as far back under the canopy as he could get, was Jofre, his eyes wide with alarm.\n\nIn light of the tavern girl's warning, I knew we needed to do this as quickly and quietly as possible. It was important that Rodrigo didn't lose his temper, not here. I turned to him. \"Go find one of the serving-wenches to bring him his clothes.\"\n\nRodrigo hesitated, but Cygnus grasped the situation at once and led him away.\n\nI turned back at Jofre. \"Come on, lad, get yourself dried. It's after curfew; we need to get back to the gate before the watch changes.\"\n\nBut Jofre, now mutinous after his initial scare, was not in a mood to come quietly. \"Why should I?\"\n\nHis face was flushed and I realised at once that the cause had as much to do with the half-empty ewer of wine on the table as the heat of the bath.\n\nThe other lad, whom I took to be Ralph, draped his arm possessively around Jofre's wet shoulders.\n\n\"He doesn't have to go. He can stay the night in the town.\"\n\n\"He's apprentice to a master and his master bids him go. He's bound by law to obey him. As you, Ralph, are bound to obey your father's wishes.\"\n\nHe looked startled that I knew his name. \"And what, Sir, is my father to do with you?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all and I'd like to keep it that way, to preserve all our skins. If you care anything at all for Jofre, you'll encourage him to leave now for his sake, if not for yours.\"\n\nBy the time Rodrigo and Cygnus came back into the room with his clothes, Jofre had been persuaded to clamber unsteadily out of the bath and was attempting to dry himself. He allowed the serving-maid to dress him. When the girl had finished, Jofre tossed a handful of coins on the table, with the carelessness of a young lord. He glowered at Rodrigo, then he leant over the bath and kissed Ralph passionately and defiantly on the mouth, before finally allowing himself to be conducted outside. It crossed my mind to wonder where he had got the money, but this was not the time to ask him, for as we emerged into the alley, I thought I saw a man leaning against the wall of a house a few yards away, watching us. I took a firm grasp of my stave, but when we reached the place there was no one to be seen. I was angry with myself for jumping at shadows; still, the quicker we got out of the town, the more relieved I'd be.\n\nJofre walked between us, shivering in the frosty night air after the heat of the bath. He was silent and I prayed that Rodrigo would have the wisdom to hold his tongue as well, at least until we were safely back in the chantry. There were too many dark alleys and lurking shadows in this place to want to draw attention to ourselves. I glanced back over my shoulder several times but could see no one following, though that did not make me feel any easier. There could have been a whole army hidden in the shadows. Rodrigo and Cygnus glanced around too, at every group of men who passed us, but no one challenged us and we finally saw the town gate ahead of us.\n\nThe watchman held out his hand for another coin to open his gate. \"So, you found the young rascal, did you? Taking him home for a thrashing, are you?\" He chuckled with satisfaction. \"You'll smart for this one, boy.\"\n\nI felt Jofre stiffen beside me and whispered, \"Hold your tongue, lad,\" as I pushed him through the gate. I gulped in the clean cold air of the night with relief. All we had to worry about now was the wolf."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "The following day was Childermas, named for the day King Herod massacred the Holy Innocents in Bethlehem and the day Judas Iscariot was born, the unluckiest day of the year, they say. Some people refuse to get out of their beds on Childermas. They think the day so cursed that they won't venture on any journey or sell goods at the market, or buy any beast, for they say what is begun on Childermas day will never be finished. And that particular Childermas seemed determined to live up to its reputation.\n\nThe day began no worse than any other. We'd managed to bring Jofre back to the chantry without incident or argument and, thankfully, without encountering the wolf. Zophiel had doubtless been ready with a few well-chosen words, but he got no chance to deliver them, for Rodrigo hustled Jofre straight down to the crypt without giving Zophiel time to say more than \"So the wolf did not devour him. What a disappointment.\"\n\nRodrigo himself had not spoken to Jofre all the way home. The frozen air and the long walk rapidly sobered Jofre up. Several times he glanced apprehensively at Rodrigo as if trying to read his master's mood, painfully aware that Rodrigo's silences were more dangerous than his rages. When we reached the crypt, Jofre, clearly expecting a confrontation, turned to face Rodrigo, defiance written all over his young face, but Rodrigo had said simply, \"It is late, Jofre. Get some sleep.\" Then he turned away to his own sleeping place and lay down without another word. Jofre stood dumbfounded for a moment, absently rubbing his backside, then he too lay down in his corner and buried his face in his cloak.\n\nBut whatever retribution Jofre feared from his master, I sensed that this time Rodrigo was not angry. Jofre's drinking and gambling, refusing to practise, wasting his talent\u2014these things made Rodrigo angry, but not this; he did not blame Jofre for this. He'd known for a long time it was inevitable and he was afraid for him.\n\nThe morning meal was a subdued affair. Everyone was tired from the disturbances of the previous night, and to break our fast we had only a thin broth boiled from the previous night's carcasses. It was quickly drunk, and wearily we began to prepare ourselves for another long day out in the cold in our search for something to put on the table.\n\nJofre had avoided meeting anyone's eye all through the meal and now, before anyone else was ready, he gathered his bag and sling hastily.\n\n\"Going hunting,\" he muttered to the floor. \"Be back before dark,\" he added with a glance at Rodrigo. He made for the stairs leading up to the chapel, but he got only as far as the second step.\n\nZophiel, descending the stairs from the chapel above, pushed Jofre back down into the crypt so savagely that Jofre stumbled and fell. He scrambled to his feet and tried to make for the stairs again, but Zophiel blocked his way.\n\n\"Not so fast, my young friend. I want some answers first. Where did you go last night?\"\n\nRodrigo stepped forward. \"He is my pupil, Zophiel. It is no business of yours where he went.\"\n\n\"I think it's very much my business, Rodrigo, when it was my money he was spending.\"\n\n\"You gave him money?\"\n\n\"I did not give anything to him, Rodrigo. Jofre stole it.\"\n\nStunned, Rodrigo turned to look at Jofre, who was hastily backing away from Zophiel, his eyes bulging in shock. An ugly red flush spread over Jofre's face, though whether this signified anger or guilt was impossible to say.\n\n\"I thought we knew all your pupil's vices\u2014indolence, drunkenness, gambling, sodomy.\" He spat this last word out. \"But now it seems we must add stealing to this ever-lengthening list. Well, boy, I'll ask you again: Where did you go last night?\"\n\n\"I didn't steal anything,\" Jofre said, his jaw clenched in fury.\n\nZophiel moved a step closer. \"So now we can add lying to the list as well, can we?\"\n\n\"Jofre does not steal,\" Rodrigo said firmly.\n\nZophiel kept his cold stare firmly fixed on Jofre's face. \"I notice, Rodrigo, you wisely avoided saying he doesn't lie. Perhaps you don't know your pupil as well as you think. Did he ever tell you, for instance, that the first time we met, Jofre lost a purse full of money to me on a wager he insisted on making to show how clever he was? He was most anxious that you did not find out about that. Perhaps he thought he'd steal from me to even the score.\"\n\nJofre raised his chin and glared at Zophiel. \"You're the liar, Zophiel. I've never stolen any money from you.\"\n\nZophiel smiled humourlessly \"No, but you stole something else, didn't you, something you could sell for money in that rat-hole of a town?\"\n\nHe produced a small box from under his cloak. It was about the size of a lady's jewel casket, except that this was made of plain wood, banded with iron. The lock had been prised open. He tipped it forward. A heap of straw fell with a whisper onto the flags.\n\n\"Empty, as you see. But yesterday morning it was not.\"\n\nHe threw the box violently into the corner, where it landed with a crash, making Adela cry out in alarm.\n\nZophiel ignored her and grabbed Jofre by the front of his shirt, pushing his face into Jofre's. \"Who did you sell it to, boy? Answer me.\"\n\nRodrigo shoved Zophiel aside and grasped Jofre's upper arms, swinging him round to face him. \"In the stew, you had money. Where did you get it from? You have earned nothing for weeks. Answer me, Jofre.\"\n\nJofre, wincing, tried in vain to wriggle out of Rodrigo's iron grip. \"I'm not a thief. I swear I didn't take anything from Zophiel. I won the money gambling on dog fighting. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be angry. But I didn't steal it, I swear!\"\n\nRodrigo searched the boy's face for a few moments. Then he released his grip, shaking his head as though he no longer knew what to believe. Jofre backed away, rubbing the rising bruises on his arms.\n\n\"So, you won it gambling, did you, Jofre?\" said Zophiel, his tone icy now. \"I congratulate you. Your luck must have changed; you've never won at gambling before. You're as useless at that as you are at lying. So, tell me, boy, where did you get the stake money? Were your new friends so generous they let you play for free or was the wager the contents of that box? Is that what you put up as your stake, boy, my property?\"\n\n\"I never touched your fucking boxes.\"\n\n\"Is that so? You know,\" said Zophiel thoughtfully, \"it is Childermas today, is it not?\"\n\nJofre looked bewildered.\n\n\"When I was a child,\" Zophiel continued, \"our teacher whipped every boy in the school on Childermas to remind them of the suffering of the Holy Innocents in Bethlehem. It's a pity to let these old customs die out.\" Without warning he twisted Jofre's arm behind his back and began pushing him towards the stairs. \"I have the horsewhip upstairs. Perhaps that will loosen your tongue.\"\n\nJofre, unable to break free, turned frantically towards Rodrigo. \"Please, stop him. I didn't do it, I swear!\"\n\nRodrigo stood with his head bowed and his arms folded, unable even to look at him.\n\nCygnus started forward. \"Wait, Zophiel. It was me, my fault.\"\n\nZophiel swung around, but did not relax his grip on Jofre. \"You stole from me?\"\n\nCygnus shook his head. \"No, no, on my oath I did not, but I did leave the door to the chapel unbarred yesterday in the afternoon. I was distracted. I forgot to bar the door behind Rodrigo when he went out, then I went downstairs to talk to Adela, leaving the chapel empty. I was telling her a story to amuse her. It wasn't until Camelot came back that I realised how long we had been talking.\"\n\n\"You were alone with Cygnus!\" Osmond said sharply, rounding on Adela.\n\n\"Why shouldn't I be? Osmond, you know this is foolish nonsense. Cygnus wouldn't\u2014\" She broke off, gasping, clutching at one of the trestles for support.\n\n\"Adela, are you ill?\" I asked.\n\nBut she shook her head. \"It's nothing. A little touch of gripe, that's all.\"\n\nZophiel cut in. \"Camelot, is this true?\"\n\n\"The door was unbarred when I returned and Cygnus and Adela were down here. I'm afraid anyone could have come in and taken whatever it is that has been stolen. What is it that has been taken, Zophiel?\"\n\nHe ignored the question. \"You didn't think to mention this?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"So few people pass this way I couldn't see anything that was obviously missing when I looked about. From the dust in the floor it appeared that a few of the boxes had been moved, but you frequently check the contents yourself, Zophiel, as you did this morning, so I assumed you'd moved them yourself before you went out.\"\n\nJofre wriggled in Zophiel's grasp. \"You see. Anyone could have taken one of your precious boxes, and I wasn't even near the chantry yesterday afternoon. I was in the town. So let me go!\"\n\nHe gave another violent squirm and succeeded this time in twisting himself free. He glowered at Zophiel.\n\n\"Apologise, Zophiel, apologise for calling me a thief.\"\n\n\"Not so fast, my young friend. Camelot is right; so few people pass this way, and if it had been a chance thief, why take the contents of a box that was under several others? Why not take the first thing he could grab, or take it all, and why bother to put everything back exactly as before? That takes time, and a thief would want to be out and away as fast as he could before he was discovered. No, my friend, I think you slunk back here and, finding the door unbarred and the room deserted, you took your chance knowing that if one of us returned unexpectedly no one would question your presence. You put everything back just as it was, in the hope that I wouldn't notice the theft straightaway, so I wouldn't link it to you. And I would not have done, if Narigorm had not come to tell me she'd read in the runes that something had been taken from me.\"\n\nNarigorm was crouching as still as a spider in the corner. She glanced up wide-eyed from under her white lashes.\n\n\"No, my young friend,\" Zophiel raged, \"what Cygnus tells me does not exonerate you; it merely explains how you did it.\"\n\nHe grabbed Jofre again and pushed him up against the wall, pinning him there by his throat.\n\n\"I could take you to the town bailiff and hand you over to be hanged, but I'm a merciful man. I'm not going to hand you over. I'm going to take you upstairs and I'm going to flog you, boy, until you admit the truth, even if I have to flay your back to the bone. Let's see if your cocksucking boyfriends still find you as pretty then, shall we?\"\n\nJofre brought his knee up sharply and caught Zophiel hard in the balls. He staggered backwards and doubled over, groaning. Adela screamed. Jofre darted towards the stairs, as Zophiel hissed through gritted teeth, \"You'll pay for that, you lying little pervert.\"\n\nJofre turned, tears of rage standing out in his eyes.\n\n\"Don't you touch me, Zophiel! Don't you ever touch me again! I know all about you. I know what's in those precious boxes of yours. And I bet there are others who'd love to know what you've got hidden. I don't need to steal anything from you; I can just sell what I know\u2014that should be worth quite a bit, don't you think?\"\n\nZophiel froze, the colour abruptly drained from his face. Jofre ran fleetly up the stairs. We heard his feet on the floor above and then we heard the outer door slam shut. The sound seemed to startle Zophiel out of his trance; he staggered to the stairs and heaved himself up, gripping hard on the stone rail. Again the door above us crashed shut.\n\nBefore any of us could follow, there was a sharp cry behind us. Adela was sagging against the wall, clutching her belly. There was a splashing sound and a puddle of water trickled out from under her skirts. I hurried towards her.\n\n\"Here, help her to sit down,\" I yelled at the stunned faces around me.\n\nAdela pushed our hands away. \"No, no\u2014\"\n\n\"Come now, Adela,\" I said soothingly. \"You should be pleased the baby is at last on its way.\"\n\n\"Not today. It can't be born on Childermas. The child will be cursed.\"\n\n\"Your waters have broken, Adela; the child's coming whether you like it or not. The best you can hope for is a long labour, so that it is not born until after midnight, but that, my girl, I would not wish on anybody.\"\n\nI turned to the others, who stood around staring, immobile. \"Osmond, you had best stay with your wife. Narigorm, we'll need water when the baby comes. You'd best fetch it now; I'll have other errands for you later. Cygnus, Rodrigo, there is nothing you can do here. You'll be better employed in finding us some food. However long this takes, we'll need to eat, and I don't think we can expect much help from Jofre or Zophiel today.\"\n\nI went to my pack and took out a small package wrapped in a scrap of soft leather. I led Rodrigo and Cygnus upstairs, where I unwrapped the bundle in front of them. Inside lay a shrivelled, blackened finger. The stump where the finger had been severed was covered in a cap of engraved silver, set with tiny fragments of turquoise and garnet. I wrapped it again and thrust it into Rodrigo's hand.\n\n\"Take this to the town. Try to sell it.\"\n\n\"But this must be valuable. I cannot do it justice\u2014\"\n\n\"You've watched me sell a saint's bones often enough to know how it's done. Besides, Cygnus will be able to spin a good tale about it even if you can't. That serving-girl at the Red Dragon will know who might be interested. The money will buy the services of a midwife; there must be some woman in the town who has the skill. Then use what's left to buy anything that will fill our bellies. There's still food to be had in that town somewhere, judging by the spread in that stew, and we'll want more than a few starlings today. If there's money enough, then bring some good sweet wine too, for Adela will be needing it before the day is out.\"\n\n\"I must also look for Jofre,\" Rodrigo said. \"If Zophiel finds him first, he will kill him.\"\n\nCygnus grinned broadly. \"No chance of that. Jofre is half the age of Zophiel and he had a good start. Besides, that was some thwack Jofre gave him. That ought to slow the bastard down for a bit.\" His expression changed to one of concern. \"Do you think Jofre really knows what Zophiel keeps in those boxes? Or was he just saying the first thing that came into his head as a way of getting back at Zophiel?\"\n\nI looked at Rodrigo and we both shook our heads.\n\n\"Either way, it hit the mark,\" I said. \"But, Cygnus, don't you know what's in them? Back at the ford you started to tell us you'd seen something.\"\n\n\"Not exactly seen. When I was hiding in the wagon during that day on the road, I daren't move in case any of you heard me, and that night, when I was alone and you were all inside the cottage, it was much too dark to see anything. I confess I did try to open some of the boxes, but only because I was looking for something to eat. Mostly the ones I tried were locked. There was one that wasn't, but that just had what felt like a small metal dish inside, and Pleasance came out then, so I didn't have a chance to try the other boxes. It was only afterwards when I saw how anxious Zophiel was about them that it struck me as odd. The mermaid I can understand, but who bothers about a little dish? I doubt even a beggar would trouble to steal that.\"\n\nRodrigo frowned. \"But you said the dish was in an unlocked box. It is what a man keeps in a locked box that\u2014\"\n\nFrom the crypt there was another agonised cry from Adela, and Osmond came bounding up the stairs. \"Come quickly, Camelot, I don't know what to do.\"\n\n\"There is nothing to do yet. Just hold your wife's hand when the pains come.\"\n\nRodrigo and Cygnus scuttled to the door as if terrified they too would be called back down. Grown men who ride boldly into battle flee like startled rabbits when faced with the horrors of a birthing chamber.\n\nCygnus closed the door behind them, then opened it again and stuck his head round.\n\n\"One thing I forgot, Camelot\u2014which saint does this finger belong to?\"\n\n\"Whichever saint the buyer's prepared to pay the most for. But don't get carried away\u2014make it a minor saint, eh, Cygnus, not Saint Peter. That would be pushing our luck.\"\n\nIt was an endless day. The pains came slowly at first and Adela wouldn't rest. She ranged around the crypt, muttering prayers and even trying to conceal her pain when a wave overtook her as if, by denying it, she could prevent the child from coming until a more auspicious day. When by mid afternoon the pains began to come faster and stronger, we made Adela as comfortable as we could, sitting her on the upturned half of a barrel, propped up by packs under her arms. When the pains came she screamed and when they subsided she cried. Osmond was alternately pacing the floor and clutching Adela's hands as if he could wring the child out of her. He looked paler and more distraught than she was and his panic was doing nothing to calm Adela.\n\nHe helped me to undress her down to her shift, but recoiled at the suggestion he should lift the shift and massage the base of her back and her buttocks to help ease her pains.\n\n\"But she's your wife,\" I told him with a wry smile. \"You've seen her naked before.\"\n\n\"You do it,\" he said, backing away.\n\n\"But she doesn't want an old man; she needs her husband.\"\n\nHe shook his head vehemently. A fleeting expression of guilt and abhorrence crossed his face and in that instant I understood what I think, deep down, I had known for many weeks. Only a woman's father or brother would recoil so violently from touching her naked body at a time like this. When Osmond climbed through that window to Adela's bed, he had not been a stranger to her. I knew now why he feared the baby would be cursed.\n\nI had no choice. I did what I could and for a while it seemed to help. But after a while not even the massaging helped. The pains redoubled and Adela was straining to push. I felt between her legs and I could feel the crowning of the baby's head. Adela's skin was tight around it. At least the baby was coming out the right way round. But it was coming soon, and there was no sign of Cygnus and Rodrigo with the midwife. If this was anything but a straightforward birth, I would not have the skill to help her.\n\nIt was many years since I had assisted at the birth of a child and I tried desperately to remember what the midwives had done then. Fragments floated back to me\u2014a reed to suck out the baby's mouth and nose and something to tie the cord. Some threads from a new clean cloth would do, but where were we to get new cloth? Something to swaddle the child in, we'd need that too. But first we needed the reed. I told Narigorm to run down to the river to find some hollow reeds, but she shook her head.\n\n\"Pleasance already has reeds.\"\n\n\"Pleasance is not here, Narigorm,\" I snapped in exasperation. \"All would be well if she was, but she's not. Now, please go to the river as I asked.\"\n\nAdela screamed as her belly was convulsed by another wave of pain.\n\nNarigorm stared at her indifferently for a moment, then said, \"The reeds are in Pleasance's pack. She got everything ready for Adela's baby weeks ago. Case it came early, she said.\"\n\nI didn't know whether to kiss her or slap her for not revealing this before.\n\nPleasance's pack didn't contain much\u2014several packs of dried herbs, a few jars of ointments, the poppy juice sleeping draught, undergarments, and a linen-wrapped package. I opened the package and laid out the contents: a roll of swaddling bands, red thread to tie the cord, red for a firstborn child, some reeds as Narigorm had said, and some agrimony to make the mother sneeze. There was also a knife with letters on it in a script I did not recognise and a small amulet of silver in the shape of a hand with the same letters repeated on the open palm.\n\nThe afternoon was drawing to a close by the time we heard hammering on the door above. It was Cygnus and he was alone. He heaved a sack of beans off his back, untied a wine flagon from around his waist, and stretched his shoulders with relief.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Camelot; we tried all the midwives the serving-girl knew. They all said the same, that any midwife who assisted at a Childermas birth would bring misfortune to all births she attended for the year to come. None would come with us, however much we offered them.\"\n\nHe lowered his voice to a whisper. \"They also said a child born on Childermas will either die or take the life of the mother. They couldn't both live.\"\n\n\"Because they won't attend the births, that's why,\" I muttered angrily.\n\nThere was another shriek from downstairs and Cygnus went pale. \"How goes it?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I can feel the top of the child's head, but the opening has not widened any more for some time now. I fear she is too small for the baby. The pains are strong, but the birth is not progressing and Adela is exhausted.\"\n\nOsmond came running upstairs. \"Is the midwife here?\"\n\n\"There are none able to come,\" I told him as calmly as I could.\n\nHe seized a handful of Cygnus' shirt and shook him. \"You were supposed to fetch a midwife hours ago. What have you been doing? Do you want Adela to die? Do you enjoy seeing women dead? Is that what excites you?\"\n\n\"Stop it, stop it,\" I commanded, pushing Osmond away. \"Do you want Adela to hear you? Rodrigo and Cygnus have tried as hard as anyone could. None of the midwives will attend a Childermas birth.\"\n\nOsmond backed away and crouched against the wall, his head in his hands. \"How can I tell her that? She's already convinced she is dying.\"\n\nI glanced helplessly around the chapel, then my gaze came to rest on the painting of the Mary Misericordia.\n\n\"Do you remember what Adela said on Christmas Day about taking comfort from the thought of Mary looking down on her? Perhaps if she sees the mantle of Mary above her she'll take strength from it. Bring her up here. The sanctuary dais is just the right height for a birthing stool; it could have been made for the purpose.\"\n\nAdela did indeed seem calmer when we eventually managed to haul her up the narrow staircase, but she was in pain and her strength was ebbing fast. We sat her on the edge of the dais. Her face was colourless and her shift was soaked with sweat. I tried everything I could remember: warm cloths on her belly; making her sneeze to expel the infant. None of it helped. I laid Pleasance's silver hand amulet on her belly and then gave it to her to hold when the pains came. She squeezed so hard it cut her hand, but still she did not open wide enough to get the child through. The skin between her legs was stretched as tight as a drum.\n\nAs dusk fell, Rodrigo returned, looking despondent. He'd searched high and low but had been unable to find Jofre, but if he couldn't find him, then neither could Zophiel. Jofre was wisely lying low somewhere until Zophiel's temper had cooled. He'd come back eventually he always did.\n\nRodrigo was devastated when he saw how ill and weak Adela was. He drew me aside. \"We must get the baby out. She cannot go on longer.\"\n\n\"I've tried everything I know. The opening's too small for the child to pass through.\"\n\n\"Then she must be cut between her legs to make the passage wider.\"\n\n\"You've done this before, Rodrigo?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"They did it to my lady when she was in labour. I heard her serving-women talk about it. Of course, I did not see it.\"\n\n\"I've seen it done once, but it takes a skilled hand. Then, if she lives, she must be stitched or she'll bleed to death.\"\n\n\"That I can do. I did it once before for a wound on my brother's leg, a long time ago. It is not the same, I know, but what else can we do?\"\n\nAdela gave another shuddering moan, arching her back. Sweat ran down her face. She was not screaming anymore. She didn't have the strength. Osmond staggered away from her, running his fingers through his hair.\n\n\"What am I to do, Camelot? This is all my fault. I should have left her with the nuns. I shouldn't have tried to help her. At least she would have been safe there. They would have taken the baby, but she would have lived.\"\n\nI shook him. \"Enough!\" Then I added more gently, \"There's nothing to be gained by blaming yourself for what's done; we have to think what to do for her now.\"\n\nRodrigo said urgently, \"You must cut her, Camelot, or they will both be lost. At least you have seen it done. Where and how long to make the cut\u2014these things I do not know.\"\n\n\"Cut her?\" Osmond cried, gripping my arm, but I brushed him aside.\n\n\"Rodrigo will explain. I'll fetch Pleasance's knife. It's clean and sharp.\"\n\nMy hands were shaking as I descended the stairs to the crypt.\n\nNarigorm sat by the brazier, her runes scattered before her in three circles drawn in wood ash on the floor. I guessed what she was asking them and I told myself I did not want to know the answer. I gathered the bundle of things Pleasance had made ready and walked back across the crypt to the foot of the stairs. Above me I could hear Adela moaning and the others talking to her in soothing voices.\n\nI stopped, one foot on the stairs, and without looking round at Narigorm, I spoke softly into the darkness behind me.\n\n\"Will we soon be nine again?\"\n\nThere was a silence so long that I thought Narigorm hadn't heard me, but when I turned to look at her she was staring at me. Her pale eyes glittered in the flames from the brazier.\n\n\"If one is added, one must be taken away,\" she said, as if the matter had been settled long ago.\n\nThen Adela will not survive this, I thought, and as I dragged my tired, aching body back up the stairs, I was aware that I was no longer shaking. Perhaps it was the certainty that Adela's life was no longer in my hands that made me suddenly detached and calm.\n\nI made Osmond sit behind Adela on the sanctuary dais so that she could lean back against him. Adela held his hand and grasped Pleasance's little silver amulet in the other. We gave her a little wine, which she sucked thirstily, but I wouldn't allow her more. She mustn't be so dulled that she could not push. We spread the pile of straw that Zophiel had shaken from his empty box on the floor of the chapel between her legs.\n\nThen I lifted her shift. Pleasance's knife was sharp and unblemished. I sliced the tight skin swiftly and surely, front, back. Adela screamed then. Blood flowed onto my hands and splashed down onto the chapel floor.\n\n\"Rodrigo, spread your hands on her belly. When she pushes, you must bear down gently, but firmly Adela, push now, push.\"\n\nThe head came free, purple and covered in Adela's bright red blood. Red for the firstborn. I managed to wriggle one finger under the child's slippery armpit.\n\n\"Again, Adela.\"\n\nShe was leaning back, her eyes closed. She moaned through clenched teeth and shook her head.\n\n\"You can, Adela. You will. Think of Mary, think of her giving birth, you can do it.\"\n\nShe leaned forward, her eyes screwed up in pain and concentration. She shrieked as I pulled and the baby came slithering out in a gush of hot fluid over my knees. It flopped across my legs and lay still, the skin blue, the eyes closed. It was a little boy. He was perfect, but he wasn't moving. I put the reed into each nostril in turn and sucked out the mucus and then did the same with the mouth. But the baby did not take a breath. I took another reed and blew into each nostril\u2014nothing. Into the mouth\u2014nothing. Adela tried to struggle upwards, calling for the child, but Osmond held her against him, his head bowed over her, covering her face. The others watched silently as I tied the purple cord with the red thread and cut it.\n\n\"Massage her belly to help the afterbirth come,\" I said as I picked up the baby by the ankles and gave him a sharp slap on his buttocks. Still he didn't cry. Cradling the flopping infant in my arms, I walked swiftly away over to the far window.\n\nNarigorm stood in the doorway watching. I didn't want to see the expression on her face. Without warning my emotions returned; anger swept over me in a wave. I could not accept this, first Pleasance, now this child. I would not allow the runes to win. I would not allow Narigorm to win. I didn't want to see that triumphant smile on her face. The baby's head hung limply over my arm. I began rubbing at the chest and limbs, as if I could rub through to the life that lay beneath the skin and release it. Behind me I could hear Adela sobbing, asking over and over again why the baby was not crying. I rubbed still harder and suddenly felt a jolt beneath my fingers like a little hiccup, then there was a thin piercing cry. I looked down. The baby's chest was moving, heaving in and out, his tiny fists flailing as if he was ready to fight the world.\n\nAt once the room behind me erupted with shouts and laughter. Rodrigo was shaking Osmond's hand. Adela stretched out her arms and I placed the infant on her chest. The newborn was covered with blood and white mucus, but underneath his colour was beginning to turn pink. His tiny fists opened and closed as if he was reaching for something we could not see. Adela lay back, a wan smile on her lips, but her face was deathly pale and covered in sweat and I realised she was shivering violently. Blood was trickling from between her legs onto the sanctuary dais and dripping onto the chapel floor.\n\nI looked back at Narigorm, still standing in the doorway. Was she right after all, that if one was added another would be taken away? Was Adela about to give her life in payment for her son's? I pushed Rodrigo aside and began to knead her belly hard.\n\n\"Cygnus, fetch coverings. Rodrigo, you must be ready to sew her as soon as the afterbirth has been delivered.\"\n\nI ripped down the front of Adela's shift and put the baby to her swollen nipple. They say if the baby suckles it helps to expel the afterbirth, but the child was too weak to suck. After what seemed like an age, the afterbirth finally came away, but the last convulsion of her belly took all her remaining strength and Adela closed her eyes and fell back into Osmond's arms. The silver amulet fell from Adela's limp hand and tinkled onto the sanctuary floor.\n\nWhile Rodrigo's deft musician's fingers stitched, I took the infant, washed him clean and swaddled him in the bands Pleasance had made ready. I blessed her for that, and though it was doubtless blasphemy, I prayed that if the dead could do anything for the living, she would watch over Adela now. It was many years since I had swaddled a child. I held the sleeping infant up to my face, drinking in the sweet smell of his damp dark hair, feeling the warm little fingers curl like rose petals round my rough finger, watching the tiny mouth purse in its sleep as if he was thinking great thoughts. It was as if I was holding my own baby sons again. I felt the weight of them, the shiver of joy when they were laid in my arms. Each so different, yet each burrowing into the warmth of my skin as if they knew I could keep them safe. I thought of my little sons and I wept for the first time in many years.\n\nRodrigo touched me on the shoulder. \"I have finished. It is the best I can do.\"\n\nI thrust the infant into his hands and went to Adela. She lay white and still in Osmond's arms. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch. Blood still ran from between her thighs. I pressed a cloth between her legs, but it was swiftly soaked through. I couldn't think how to staunch the flow. Her life was running out between my fingers.\n\nCygnus touched me lightly on the shoulder. \"Wait, there is something. My mother once\u2014\"\n\nAnd before I could ask him what he meant he had raced for the door to the bridge. It seemed like hours before he returned, but in reality it was probably only minutes, long minutes as I pressed the cloth hard against Adela until my fingers ached. Then he was back, a mound of bright green sphagnum moss dripping between his fingers. He wrung it out and thrust it towards me.\n\n\"Pack this inside her. It will staunch the blood.\"\n\nWe packed. The clear water from the moss mingled with the blood on the flags. As fresh blood splashed into the puddle, oracular shapes formed and dissolved until at last the drops of blood ceased to fall. We pulled her legs together and tied Cygnus' belt tightly around her thighs to keep them still. And we swung her round until she lay flat on the sanctuary dais, pale and still as a marble effigy.\n\nOsmond was kneeling beside Adela. He had finally unpinned her veil and her flaxen hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat. I saw now why she had refused to remove the veil before, not even to sleep. For beneath it, her hair had been savagely cropped.\n\nOsmond tenderly stroked the poor shorn locks. \"She will be all right now, won't she?\" he pleaded, his face as drawn as Adela's.\n\n\"Cygnus has gone to make her some hot mulled wine. I've told him to put some amaranthus in it to stop the bleeding. Pleasance had some of the powdered flowers in her pack. We'll try to rouse her to drink a little of that and then let her sleep awhile. We'd best make her a bed on the sanctuary platform; if we move her too soon the bleeding might start again. Let me sit with her. You go and admire your son, you've not yet held him. What will you call him?\"\n\nBut Osmond rose and staggered away from the dais without making any answer.\n\nAll through the night, Rodrigo, Osmond, and I took it in turns to sit with Adela, sponging her forehead and spooning broth and herbed wine into her a sip at a time. We warmed hot stones for her feet in the ash pan of the brazier, and rubbed her hands to restore the warmth as the night grew colder. I squeezed and rubbed her full breasts, collecting the thick yellow milk in a bowl and feeding it to the infant drop by drop from the tip of my finger.\n\nI must have fallen asleep towards morning, for when I jerked awake I found myself sitting on the chapel floor beside Adela, my head in my arms on the dais. A pearly pink light was ghosting through the window. Downstairs a mewling wail broke the silence, but as I tried to make my stiff legs stand, Adela woke and turned towards the sound. Even in the dim dawn light I could see at once that the life had come back into her eyes. She struggled to get up to go to the child, but I pushed her gently down.\n\n\"Wait, I'll bring him to you.\"\n\nWhen I bent to lay the child in her arms Adela smiled, touching his downy cheek with the tip of her finger. I crouched beside her, supporting her shoulders. I turned the infant in her arms and helped him to find her breast. He didn't seem to understand at first, but I nudged her nipple against his soft pink lips until finally his mouth closed round it and he began to suck. She relaxed against me, and for a few moments I too felt that unutterable joy as I looked down into the face of a suckling child again.\n\nI shifted slightly to ease the pain in my stiff back and heard the scrape of something metallic against the sanctuary stones. I reached down and picked up the small silver hand with its strange lettering, Pleasance's amulet. I looked up at the Madonna with her outstretched mantle and wondered which of them had kept Adela and her child safe, the Christian Virgin or the ancient Jewish amulet. Did it matter which Adela had put her faith in? Perhaps Mary too had held a Jewish amulet when her son was born. All I knew for certain was that we had beaten the runes. The runes, the omens, and the midwives had all lied. We were nine again and one had not been taken. Childermas was over and they were both alive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "A timid knock sounded on the door of the chantry.\n\nRodrigo was on his feet in an instant, relief written all over his face. \"There is Jofre at last.\"\n\nJofre hadn't returned to the chantry the previous night. None of us, except Rodrigo, had been concerned about his absence during the day. We knew if he had any sense, he'd stay well away until Zophiel's bruised balls were a little less tender. Zophiel himself had not returned until long after the curfew bell, and when he did return he was still in a foul temper.\n\n\"Did you catch up with Jofre?\" I asked innocently.\n\nHe glowered. \"Like the vermin he is, he's gone to ground. But he'll have to show up here sooner or later. And when he does, I'll make him wish he'd never been born.\"\n\nBut our concern over Adela that night had driven all other thoughts from our heads, so it was not until the next morning we realised Jofre hadn't returned at all. As soon as the bell for prime sounded from the town, Rodrigo set off to look for him. I knew what was on his mind. Had Jofre spent the night with Ralph, despite the warnings about Ralph's father? The young take warnings as challenges, and after Zophiel's humiliation of him, Jofre might seek out Ralph as a matter of defiance. Rodrigo searched all the likely haunts, but there was no sign of Jofre. Even the serving-girl at the Red Dragon hadn't seen him. Finally Rodrigo admitted defeat and came back to the chantry hoping to find Jofre waiting for him, but he was not.\n\nThe knocking came again, but before Rodrigo could reach the door, Zophiel stretched out his hand to block his way.\n\n\"Be warned, Rodrigo, this matter of the theft is not over. You're the boy's master, so I will give you time to get the truth out of him in any way you see fit, but my patience has its limits. If you do not discover the truth, I will. And,\" he added still more coldly, \"there's still the matter of his assault on me. I expect you to punish him well for that, or, as his master, it's you from whom I shall demand recompense.\"\n\nThe knocking sounded again, more urgently this time, and Rodrigo, pushing Zophiel's arm aside, went to unbar the door. But it wasn't Jofre who stood in the doorway, it was the serving-girl from the Red Dragon. Her chest was heaving as if she had been running, and despite the coldness of the day, her face was flushed and sweating.\n\nShe plucked at Rodrigo's sleeve. \"Please\u2026Sir,\" she panted, \"you must come. Your boy \u2026\" She pointed with a shaking finger in the direction of the town. \"They found him\u2026little lads found him\u2026on their way to the river.\"\n\n\"Is he hurt? Is he in trouble?\"\n\nThe girl looked away.\n\nRodrigo caught her wrist and pulled her round. \"Tell me!\"\n\n\"Please, Sir, I\u2026I'm sorry, Sir, but he's dead.\"\n\nRodrigo stared at her without comprehension. \"No, he is drunk. He knows I will be angry, so he is staying away until he is sober. But he will be back soon.\"\n\nPity creased the girl's face. \"Sir, he isn't coming back. It's his body they found.\"\n\nRodrigo snatched his hand away. \"You are mistaken. He drank too much and now he is sleeping. How could he be dead? I spoke to him yesterday. He was going hunting. He said he would be back before dark. And I said\u2026The last thing I said \u2026\"\n\nRodrigo sagged against the wall, and slid down until he was crouching on the floor, his head in his hands.\n\nOsmond pulled the now tearful girl inside and closed the door behind her. \"Tell us what happened.\"\n\n\"I don't rightly know, Sir. My two little nephews, just lads they are, set off for the river, across the common land. Then they came running back into town saying they'd found a body in the bushes. Covered in blood it was. They said it had been\u2026\" She closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to shake the words loose. For a moment she stood, her mouth working convulsively but no sounds coming out. Then she swallowed hard. \"Some men went to look. The bailiff's sent for the coroner.\"\n\n\"Have you seen the body?\" I asked.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Then how do you know it's Jofre?\" I asked gently.\n\nShe glanced over at Rodrigo, who raised his head, a look of hope in his eyes.\n\n\"One of the men recognised him. Said it was the new lad who'd been hanging round with Ralph. They all know Ralph, Sir.\"\n\n\"But they do not know Jofre,\" Rodrigo insisted. \"It is some other boy.\"\n\n\"Where is the body?\" I asked the girl.\n\n\"Still where they found it. They can't move it until the coroner gets here.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go and see it,\" I said. \"If it is him, the coroner will require someone who knew him to name him under oath.\"\n\n\"But it is not Jofre.\" Rodrigo still crouched on the floor, like a cornered animal, trapped somewhere between hope and despair.\n\n\"I'll go with you, Camelot,\" Cygnus said.\n\nRodrigo wiped his hand fiercely over his eyes and took a ragged breath. \"He is my pupil, my responsibility. I will go.\"\n\nIt was easy to see where the body lay; a dozen or so men stood clustered around it. A little way off two ragged boys stood with a woman who might be their mother. The town gate was closed, but that did not stop a gaggle of urchins taking it in turns to scramble up to peer out over the town fence in the hope of glimpsing something of what was happening below. There were more faces peering out of the upper windows of the houses nearest the fence.\n\nOne of the men broke away from the knot as we approached, holding his arms out as if we were geese to be shooed away. The serving-girl ran ahead a few paces and murmured to the man. He looked over at us, pursed his lips, then nodded reluctantly and beckoned us forward.\n\n\"Bad business, bad business. Ella here reckons him to be one of your lads. He's not a pretty sight, but you'd best come and look; the coroner will want a sworn name for his records.\"\n\n\"You wait here, Rodrigo. I'll go,\" I said.\n\n\"No, I have to see. If it is him, I will only believe it if I see it with my own eyes.\"\n\nAt a nod from the bailiff the men parted and let us through. The body was lying some distance from the main track, concealed from view of both track and town by scrub and bracken. Someone had covered it with an old cloth and the bailiff leant down and twitched it back from the face. Jofre's dark, glossy hair flopped back from his forehead, stirring in the breeze as if moved by a human breath. Under the olive skin, the face was blanched and the lips blue. I thought at first his face was covered in mud, but then I realised it was smears of dried blood which had run from several long deep scratches. There was a large purple bruise on the left cheek and temple. The eyes were open and staring, a look of abject terror on his face\u2014and no wonder, for there, on his neck, was a huge gaping wound, like an open mouth screaming. His throat had been torn out.\n\nRodrigo gave an anguished cry and fell to his knees, his hands reaching out to Jofre's hair as if he was trying to soothe him. The bailiff grabbed him.\n\n\"Can't let you touch the body,\" he said, pulling the cloth back over Jofre's face. \"Have to wait for the coroner.\"\n\nIt took three men to pull Rodrigo away, but suddenly the fight seemed to go out of him. He stumbled away into the scrub and vomited. Then he sat, his arms wrapped over his head, rocking and weeping in a tongue none of us could understand.\n\nThe men turned away, embarrassed.\n\n\"It's his lad, then?\" the bailiff asked. \"Poor beggar. 'course it's up to the coroner to decide, but I reckon it must have been a wolf. Watchman says he's heard one howling these past few nights. I thought he was daft and said as much. There's not been a wolf in these parts for years. But it looks like he might have been right after all. Wolves\u2014\"\n\nHe stopped as the serving-girl approached.\n\n\"My sister wants to take her little lads home now. They're cold and hungry. They've been hanging about for hours.\"\n\nThe bailiff shook his head. \"You can go on home if you want to, Ella, but I've told your sister and now I'm telling you: They found the corpse, so the law says they have to stay here till the coroner's questioned them.\"\n\nSo we waited. Some of the men also wanted to go, arguing that they were not witnesses, just the town's representatives, but the bailiff was having none of it. So, grumbling, they lit a fire and sat round talking in low voices and drinking the generous quantities of ale brought out by Ella, courtesy of the town's coffers. The little boys who were leaning silently against their mother cheered up when they were given a hunk of cheese and an onion apiece. Rodrigo sat by himself away from us all, staring at the ground. Cygnus went across and sat down near him. He didn't try to engage him in conversation, but merely sat, I knew, so that the grieving man would know he was not alone.\n\nThe afternoon wore on. It was bitterly cold. A raw wind sprang up and the cloth over Jofre's body billowed as if the body beneath was rising. Two men anchored it with stones. Above, in the sky, a pair of kites wheeled round in lazy circles looking for prey, their wings glinting rust red in the bright glacial sun. Finally, as the shadows began to lengthen, the town gates opened and a small man on an overlarge dun-coloured mare rode out, followed by a lad who rode saddleless on a mule. From the young man's pained expression the ride had been long and hard. The night watchman followed behind them on foot.\n\nThe bailiff stumbled to his feet, his legs so stiff from the cold that he almost fell, and hobbled across to the rider. Removing his leather cap, he bowed low, as though he was greeting royalty.\n\n\"Body's over here, Coroner, Sir.\"\n\nThe coroner tossed him his reins as if he was a stable lad. \"Let's get on with it, then. I want to be finished before dark. No sense hanging about. Are you ready, Master Thomas?\" he bellowed at his clerk.\n\nThe clerk, who was rubbing his aching backside, hastily donned a small writing board which hung suspended from a strap around his neck and scrabbled in the mule's pack for parchment, quill, and a flask of ink, getting more flustered by the minute.\n\nThe coroner impatiently tapped the side of his boot with his riding whip. \"Now, who found the corpse?\"\n\nThe bailiff thrust the reins of the coroner's horse at one of the other men and pointed to the two lads, who, now that strangers had arrived, were once again clinging to their mother's skirts.\n\n\"These two lads came across the body when they were making for the river this morning, bit after the sext bell rang, mid-morning or thereabouts.\"\n\n\"Did they raise the hue and cry?\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking,\" the bailiff said cautiously. \"They told their mother.\"\n\n\"Do we have a name for this corpse?\"\n\nI glanced at Rodrigo, still sitting away off in the scrub. He hadn't even looked up when the coroner arrived.\n\nI stepped forward. \"The body is that of Jofre, apprentice musician.\"\n\n\"You're the boy's master?\"\n\n\"No, Sir, I am a camelot. Jofre and his master are among a group of us who travel together for safety. His master's over there, but he's very distressed.\"\n\nThe coroner glanced over at Rodrigo. \"I imagine so; all that time wasted training the boy, now he'll have to start again with another, I suppose. Apprentices are more trouble than they're worth, bone idle and ungrateful, the lot of them. So when did the boy go missing?\"\n\n\"Jofre left our lodgings yesterday morning. We are lodging outside the town. We believe he may have come into the town, but he didn't return last night. One of our company gave birth last night. It was a long and difficult labour. It kept us all busy, so we didn't start looking for him until first light.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Quite. So the boy was in the town all night.\"\n\n\"Begging your pardon, Sir, but it wasn't all night.\" The night watchman hovered nervously at the coroner's elbow, twisting his hood in his hands. I had the impression that he'd been pushed forward, for he kept glancing behind him as he spoke. \"The lad left the gates alone at curfew, Sir. Locked the gate behind him myself. Likely he was attacked on the road on the way home. But it wasn't in the town, Sir, that it wasn't.\"\n\n\"Good, that narrows the time down, then. Let's take a look at this apprentice of yours, shall we?\" He turned to the townsmen. \"Gather round, everyone. As jurors the law requires that you view the corpse.\"\n\nThe men made a wide circle round the body, and Cygnus and I joined them. The bailiff dragged the corner of the cloth and this time uncovered the whole corpse. There was a gasp and several of the men, including Cygnus, turned away. The young clerk's hand trembled so violently that a great blot of ink fell across the parchment, obliterating several lines. Even the coroner hesitated for a moment, swaying on his heels, then he stepped forward and looked down.\n\nJofre was lying sprawled on his back, naked. His body was covered in blood, not only from the wound in his throat, but from what appeared to be dozens of jagged bites. But the worst thing, the thing that made even the night watchman gag, was that his genitals had been ripped away, leaving a raw and gaping wound.\n\nThe coroner swallowed hard. \"Now, men, observe the teeth marks and scratches on his body and limbs. The throat has been ripped out, and the\u2026and the private parts. Typical of a dog attack to go for the throat. I'm sure you've seen something similar yourself when a dog starts savaging sheep. Turn the corpse over, if you please.\"\n\nThe bailiff beckoned one of the men, but he backed away. Finally another came forward and together they rolled Jofre over.\n\n\"Ah yes, as you see, men, more teeth marks and scratches. I would suggest this boy has been attacked by a dog, more likely a pack of them. Have you had any trouble from dogs worrying sheep hereabouts?\"\n\nThe bailiff spoke up. \"No dogs, Coroner, but these past nights there's been reports of a wolf howling. Watchman heard it, Sir. Others heard it too.\"\n\nThe coroner raised his eyebrows, in a manner that reminded me of Zophiel. \"A wolf? In these parts?\"\n\nSeveral men nodded emphatically.\n\n\"Seems unlikely. But if you say so, a wolf it is, then.\"\n\nHe prodded Jofre's leg with the toe of his boot as if trying to rouse him.\n\n\"Stiff, but in this cold weather that won't tell us much by itself\u2014hard frost last night\u2014but it fits with what the night watch says, that he was attacked on the road going back to his lodging sometime after the curfew bell. Well, men, I must ask you to talk it over amongst yourselves and give me your verdict, but I don't think there's much doubt what happened. No need to debate this overlong. I'm sure you're as anxious as I am to close this business and get to the tavern.\" He rubbed his hands. \"I'm sorely in need of hot mulled ale and a hearty meal, as I daresay you are.\"\n\n\"Wait!\" Rodrigo burst through the ring of men. I don't know how long he had been standing looking at Jofre's body, but his face was drained of colour and his hands were repeatedly clenching and unclenching as if they were trying to grasp something.\n\nThe coroner turned. \"Ah, yes, the boy's master.\" He held out his hand. \"My condolences, Sir. Once the verdict has been returned you may remove the body for burial.\"\n\nI saw the men around us stiffen and glance at one another, but the coroner didn't appear to notice.\n\nRodrigo ignored the proffered hand. \"You say a wolf or a dog did this, but that is impossible.\"\n\nThe coroner shrugged. \"Up to those men, of course, they are the jury.\" He indicated the knot of townsmen who were huddled together, whispering. \"But you can see the bite marks.\"\n\n\"I can also see that the body is naked. He must have had clothes when he left the town. You think a wolf or a dog strips a body before it attacks it?\"\n\nThe coroner looked slightly taken aback. \"Watchman, what have you to say? Was the boy dressed when he left the town?\"\n\nThe man shuffled forward, looking anywhere but at the body. \"I think so, Sir.\"\n\nThe coroner began tapping his whip impatiently against his boot again. \"Come now, man, you think so? You surely remember whether or not someone walked through your gates naked.\"\n\nThe watchman glanced nervously behind him again. \"It was dark, Sir \u2026 he had a cloak \u2026 he could have been naked under the cloak.\"\n\n\"Why, in God's name, would a man walk around naked in midwinter? You men, did anyone here remove his clothes?\"\n\nSeveral shook their heads, but no one met the coroner's eyes.\n\nRodrigo was on his knees bending forward. \"These marks on his buttocks and legs\u2014the skin is scraped off. Earth and stones stuck in the wounds.\" He looked up. \"This body was dragged across the ground.\"\n\nA big burly man walked up. His nose was squashed sideways as if it had once been broken in a fight. He scowled at Rodrigo. \"Wolves drag their prey off to eat it\u2014any fool knows that.\"\n\n\"A sheep or a child, yes, but to drag the weight of a man? And what happened to his clothes?\"\n\nThe man's face darkened. \"I daresay he took his clothes off himself. Look, we all know what your lad was up to. Maybe he'd arranged to meet someone outside the town gates. So busy giving him one, he didn't notice the wolf till he sprang. A bare backside, all white in the moonlight, heaving up and down\u2014the wolf must have thought it was a pig. And he wasn't far wrong, was he? Anyhow, we've got our verdict, Coroner. Killed by a wolf; we're all agreed.\"\n\nThe coroner nodded, rubbing his hands against the cold. \"Excellent, excellent. Have you taken that down, boy? You must also record that since the wolf caused the death, the wolf in question is declared deodand. Bailiff, it's your duty to see the beast is hunted down, and since the town has been negligent in allowing a dangerous animal to attack travellers within its boundaries, the price for its head must go to the Crown, not the hunter. The town will hand over the bounty for the wolf's head at the next assizes. Make sure you record that, Master Thomas.\"\n\nThe bailiff and the men looked mutinous. This was nothing but a thinly disguised fine, and they knew it. Coroners always found a way to fine you for something, however careful you were. The coroner began walking back to his horse, but Rodrigo ran after him and snatched at his arm.\n\n\"Is that all you are going to do? Will you not question other people in the town? If he was out here with someone, then they must be found to testify.\"\n\n\"What is the point?\" The coroner shook him off impatiently. \"We know what happened.\"\n\nI stepped forward. \"Forgive me, Sir, but we don't know. A lone wolf would only kill for hunger. Having made a kill, it would settle down to eat, not run off. There are no signs that the flesh was gnawed or the entrails eaten. And a single wolf could not make all these bite marks both behind and in front of the person he had leapt upon. As you said yourself, Sir, it looks as if the boy was attacked by a pack of dogs, and the dogs could have been deliberately set upon him.\"\n\n\"Come now, who would do that?\" The coroner took the reins in his hand and mounted his horse. He leant down wearily. \"Watchman, did anyone follow the boy out here with dogs?\"\n\nThe watchman said hastily, \"No, Sir, no one left after curfew. More than my job's worth to let anyone in or out after curfew. That's a thing I'd never do, Sir. Value my skin too much for that.\" He flashed a scared glance in my direction.\n\nFor a moment I was tempted to reveal our visit a few nights before, but the watchman looked so terrified, I couldn't do it to him. I had a feeling he was being threatened into lying by someone he feared much more than the law.\n\nI looked up at the coroner. His mount was skipping sideways restlessly, impatient to be off. \"Sir, threats were made against the boy in town because of his friendship with a young man called Ralph. At least send for this Ralph and ask him if he saw Jofre last night.\"\n\n\"I can save you the trouble of that, Coroner.\" The man with the broken nose stepped forward. \"Ralph left town early yesterday morning. Gone to stay with his future bride's family. He'll not be back till after they're wed.\"\n\n\"Then he'll be no help to us in this matter. Besides, the verdict by the jury has been recorded; can't go changing it now. Best thing you can do now, Master Musician, is take the body up to the church for burial, then start looking around for a new apprentice. I dare say you'll find plenty of likely lads who\u2014\"\n\nThe town gate burst open and a man came running out, shouting his message before he had even reached the group. \"Bailiff, you're wanted\u2026come quick\u2026Yeldon has fallen\u2026to the pestilence.\"\n\nThe coroner's eyes opened wide in alarm. \"God's teeth, that's only three miles west from here.\"\n\nThe bailiff and most of the men were already hurrying back towards the gate. The coroner stared after them, then wheeled his horse around in the direction of the river.\n\n\"Come, Master Thomas, don't lag, we've some hard riding ahead.\"\n\n\"But I thought we were going to have supper,\" the clerk wailed.\n\n\"In there? Don't be a bloody fool, man. If someone brought news of the pestilence, the chances are they brought the pestilence as well.\" He glanced over at Rodrigo. \"As for you, Master Musician, if you've any sense you'll bury your apprentice and get back on the road as fast as you can; otherwise, he won't be the only one you'll be burying.\" He dug his heels into his horse's flank and urged her towards the bridge and away from the town.\n\nMost of the townspeople had disappeared inside the gate, but Broken-nose and another equally big man hung back. As Rodrigo and I turned to walk back towards Jofre's body, they moved in front of us, blocking our way.\n\n\"Don't even think about burying your boy in the churchyard,\" Broken-nose growled. \"'cos you won't get the body as far as the church gate.\"\n\nI stared at him. \"Are you denying him a Christian burial, after all that's happened?\"\n\nThe man shrugged. \"Just a friendly warning; save you wasting your time. Everyone in town knows he was killed by a wolf\u2014\"\n\n\"You know as well as I do that it wasn't a wolf that killed him.\"\n\nThe man grinned. \"Coroner's recorded a wolf, and if it's written down in his records it must be true. Thing is, there's not been a wolf in these parts for years, so there's rumours going round the town that this weren't no ordinary wolf. It was a werewolf, that's what they're saying. Thing is, if your young friend's been killed by a werewolf, then he'll not rest easy in his grave. Those killed by werewolves become vampires, that's what the priest says. Pestilence may have reached Yeldon, but it hasn't come here and it's not going to 'cos we've got no vampires here. And we'll do whatever we have to do to keep it that way. Understand?\"\n\nWe trudged back to the chantry in silence. Rodrigo would not allow either of us to help him carry Jofre. He bore the stiff body like a man carrying a heavy burden in penance, staggering under its weight, but shaking us off if we tried to steady him. Behind us, the sun began to set, a bloodred disc, hanging over the dark buildings of the town.\n\nOsmond, lantern in hand, came out to meet us. He began to ask what had happened, but Rodrigo walked past him without reply and gently laid the wrapped body on the sanctuary dais where only a few hours before Adela had given birth to her son. One look at our faces was enough to caution Osmond not to ask any more. Even Zophiel was silent.\n\nWe could do nothing until the rigor had worn off. At Osmond's urging we went down to the crypt and picked at some food, but, for once, none of us was hungry, except for Narigorm, who ravenously consumed her own portion and more. Rodrigo said nothing and ate nothing. He only drank. Drank too much wine for an ordinary man on an empty stomach, but we didn't try to stop him.\n\nAdela sat near the brazier, her hair once more concealed beneath the tightly pinned veil. She was rocking the baby, who whimpered fretfully, screwing up his tiny face in a series of grimaces. Adela was able to sit up now, but her face looked more drawn than ever, as if you could see the face of an old woman lying just beneath her skin. I knew the slightest movement must be causing her great pain from where I had cut her, but she tried hard to conceal it. She watched Rodrigo anxiously as if she was desperately trying to find words to console him, but none came.\n\nWe said nothing to the others of the news from Yeldon. The coroner was right: We had to move quickly, and if Zophiel found out, he would insist on leaving that very night, but with Jofre lying upstairs I knew Rodrigo would refuse and that would only lead to trouble. We had to risk staying another few hours for his sake as well as Adela's. She was not strong enough to travel yet. And she would have to be told that the frosts had not, after all, stopped the pestilence\u2014but not now; I could not bring myself to tell her that now.\n\nEventually, when we could put it off no longer, we all went upstairs, leaving Adela alone in the crypt with Narigorm and the baby. Cygnus fetched water and I lit some rushes. There was little point in concealing our presence anymore. Then tenderly, as if he could still be hurt, Rodrigo peeled back the cover from Jofre's body. Even though I already knew what lay beneath the cover, I found myself swallowing hard to keep the bitter gall from rising into my mouth. Osmond gave a strangled cry and rushed towards the barred door. He only just succeeded in opening it before retching violently, losing what little supper he had eaten.\n\nI glanced at Zophiel. He stood a little way off, staring down at the body, his face a blank mask. But his right hand had moved to the hilt of the knife in his belt and he was gripping it so hard the knuckles were bloodless.\n\nCygnus, Rodrigo, and I washed Jofre. We turned him over carefully and tended to his back first. It was easier than staring into those huge open gaping wounds. The dried blood was hard to remove, and when we did the teeth marks showed up blue and ragged against the cold waxy skin. Now that the dirt and blood had been washed away, the wounds on his back were more numerous than even I had first thought. He had been repeatedly bitten, as if animals had leapt up at him over and over again while he ran or struggled.\n\nFinally we had to turn him over again and face what we did not want to look at. Rodrigo gently wiped his face, washing the blood out of his curls, until his hair glistened wet beneath the flickering tallow candles. Under the smoking yellow light, the bruise on Jofre's cheek looked more livid than before.\n\nCygnus suddenly broke the silence. \"This is a clean cut! No wolf did this. Look!\" He pointed at the place where Jofre's genitals had been ripped away. \"See the edges of the wound\u2014this wasn't bitten or torn. It's been sliced.\"\n\nRodrigo pushed him aside and stared. Then he called to Osmond. \"The tallow, bring it here.\"\n\nOsmond did so, holding the light lower, but letting it wobble as he looked away. Rodrigo impatiently snatched it from his hand. He moved it up towards the wound in Jofre's throat. Here the bite marks were unmistakable, the flesh around the wound jagged and torn, but Cygnus was right, the wound in his groin was too clean at the edges. There were bite marks around it as if something had been snapping at the place, drawn by the smell of blood perhaps, but teeth had not inflicted this horrendous injury.\n\nRodrigo held the smoking flame close to the corpse examining every inch, then stopped.\n\n\"See, bruises on both his arms. Someone has held him tightly.\"\n\nZophiel shifted slightly in the shadows. \"You gripped his arms yourself down in the crypt yesterday, when you were questioning him about him being a thief, remember?\"\n\n\"He is no thief!\" Rodrigo sprang at him, knocking the bucket of bloody water flying. He had Zophiel by the throat, but Zophiel's reflexes were as quick as his own and in a flash his knife was pricking Rodrigo's ribs. Osmond ran forward and pulled Rodrigo away, but it was not without a struggle.\n\n\"You are to blame for this,\" Rodrigo choked out. \"If you had not falsely accused him, he would not have run off.\"\n\n\"You no more believed the boy than I did, Rodrigo, and he knew that. Your opinion mattered far more to him than mine. If either of us caused the boy to run off \u2026\" He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.\n\nRodrigo's shoulders slumped; for a moment I thought he was going to fall, but he stood swaying, his arms now limp at his sides.\n\nZophiel, still breathing heavily, lowered his knife. \"I was merely trying to point out that you yourself gripped the boy hard enough yesterday to cause the bruises. No one blames you for that. I also held him when I questioned him\u2014who knows, I might have caused a mark or two myself. Simply because he has bruises on his arms does not mean he was restrained last night.\"\n\n\"He's right, Rodrigo,\" Osmond said soothingly. \"The bruises mean nothing.\"\n\n\"And having his member sliced off, that means nothing, too?\" Rodrigo shouted. \"Jofre was murdered. Whoever did this mutilated him and set dogs on him or left him for the wolf. Either way, it was murder. And I am going to kill whoever did this. I swear it.\"\n\nI gripped his arm. \"Rodrigo, we know as well as you do that Jofre was murdered, but you have no hope of finding his killer. The townspeople will defend their own. No one will talk to us; we are travellers, outlanders.\"\n\nOsmond nodded. \"Camelot's right. You go stirring up trouble and they'll turn on all of us. Even in this place, we could not defend ourselves against a mob. Think of Adela and the baby, Rodrigo. You'd not do anything to hurt them.\"\n\n\"You do not understand,\" Rodrigo said softly. He walked across to the body of Jofre and knelt down in the pool of blood and water. He laid a hand on the boy's chest and bowed his head. His fist clenched around the hilt of his knife.\n\n\"Giuro dinanzi a le tue ferite ti vendicer\u00f2!\"\n\nI did not understand the words, but there was no mistaking the tone. I shivered.\n\nWe covered the body again and lit candles at his head and feet. All night Rodrigo kept vigil over Jofre. Osmond slept downstairs with Adela, the baby, and Narigorm, but the rest of us slept in the chapel, staves and knives in hand, just in case the townspeople should decide to ensure the corpse could not rise up and walk.\n\nI lay in the darkness, aching with tiredness from having slept so little the night before, but I couldn't sleep. In the flickering light of the candles, I could just make out the outline of Rodrigo. He knelt before the painting of Mary, his arms held wide as if on a cross. He stayed there swaying a little, but holding his arms up as if he had imposed a penance on himself or was preparing to undertake a sacred oath. Cygnus sat crosslegged at the foot of Jofre's body, his head bowed. Under his shirt, his wing moved restlessly, fluttering as if trying to escape the bindings. Then from outside came the sound we had all been dreading: the wolf's howl.\n\n\"Put those candles out!\" Zophiel was on his feet, his knife in his hands, and this time there was no disguising his fear.\n\nHe ran from window to window, peering out. The yellow candle flames shivered over the still form of Jofre's body, so that it looked as if he stirred beneath the sheet. Cygnus lifted his head and looked around, but Rodrigo didn't move from his position beneath the painting. Another cry. The howl seemed to have a new note in it that night, stronger, more triumphant, like the sound of a beast that has made a kill and is calling others to join it.\n\n\"Put the candles out!\" Zophiel shrieked.\n\nI rose, half fearful he was going to strike Cygnus in his panic. \"Whether we show a light or not makes no difference now, Zophiel. Whatever is out there knows we are here, and I am beginning to believe it has always known where we are.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "The next morning none of us could bring ourselves to broach the question which hung unspoken between us: Where was Jofre to be buried? It was not a decision we could delay. We dare not risk another night in the chantry. If the pestilence had reached the town and the townspeople started to flee, they would come this way people who might already be carrying the sickness. But Rodrigo was adamant that Jofre should not be buried in unconsecrated ground. At first he wanted to carry him with us to the nearest church, but we persuaded him that questions were bound to be asked if we turned up with a mutilated corpse. One glance at the body and the next parish would hardly be more willing to let him lie with them than the townspeople had been.\n\n\"Bury him here,\" Cygnus suggested. \"Though the chapel isn't yet consecrated, it's bound to be one day, and in the meantime, there is the painting of the Vir\u2026\" He faltered awkwardly.\n\n\"And where exactly do you plan to bury the body?\" Zophiel snapped. \"If the chapel was built on solid ground you might dig up the floor, but dig here and you'll fall straight through to the river. Do you propose to simply leave a dead man lying about in the chapel?\"\n\nOsmond, who had been pacing the floor, stopped and pointed upwards. \"Under the altar. It must be hollow; a solid block that size would be too great a weight for the vaulting below. It's a ready-made tomb. If we can prise a panel loose, or even the top, we can put him in there. We can replace the panel and I'll paint over it.\"\n\nRodrigo pressed his hand in gratitude. \"You are a good man, Osmond.\"\n\nOsmond flushed with embarrassment. \"Rodrigo, I never meant to drive Jofre away. It was just the shock when Zophiel said \u2026 I never realised, you see. If I hadn't stopped him coming fowling, then he would never have gone into town. He might still be alive\u2026What they did, it was \u2026 he didn't deserve that.\"\n\nRodrigo squeezed Osmond's shoulder. \"You must not blame yourself. You did not do this to him.\"\n\nOsmond, uncharacteristically, flung his arms round Rodrigo and hugged him. \"I'm so sorry, Rodrigo, I know he was like a son to you.\"\n\nRodrigo returned the embrace then thrust him away, tears shining in his eyes. \"Come, show me the altar; perhaps together we can move the top.\"\n\nZophiel, for once, had the grace to wait until we could hear them moving about upstairs before he spoke.\n\n\"They're wasting their time. Osmond seems to have forgotten we've no lead coffin to seal the body in. He can paint the altar as much as he likes, but it won't stop the stench that will linger for months, years even. When they come to finish the chantry and smell it, they'll open the altar up. It won't take long for people round here to work out who it is. Then the corpse will be tossed in the river, or dismembered and scattered. Rodrigo would do better to bury the body in an unmarked grave in the woods. If they can't find it, they can't dig it up again.\"\n\n\"But they won't dare throw the bones away if they think it's a monk who's interred there,\" said Cygnus, looking at me.\n\n\"And why, pray, should they think that?\" Zophiel asked coldly. He had obviously still not forgiven Cygnus for failing to put out the candles.\n\n\"Camelot has some monks' robes in his pack. Remember, Camelot, the ones you bartered for at the monastery? Cloth stays whole long after the body begins to decay. All they'll see will be the monk's habit.\"\n\n\"You are determined to make a mockery of God in everything, Cygnus, but be warned: God is not mocked.\" Zophiel, a look of disgust on his face, swept up the stairs and disappeared.\n\nThe infant, woken by Zophiel's raised voice, began to cry.\n\nCygnus knelt beside me as I rummaged in my pack for the habits. He glanced over at Adela, who was occupied with the child, then whispered, \"Has it occurred to you, Camelot, that Zophiel was also missing around the time Jofre was killed? He didn't return until well after the curfew. He must have walked back along the same track. Surely he would have seen or heard something, unless he was the one who\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't say it. I know what you're thinking. Just pray that thought does not cross Rodrigo's mind. If Rodrigo accuses Zophiel, then I fear for the lives of both of them.\"\n\nWe interred Jofre's body in the altar. Osmond carved him a large wooden cross, such as monks wear, to place in his hands. Jofre seemed to belong in monk's robes. Perhaps that is where he would have come eventually, or should have gone, among the pure clear voices that sing of a higher love than the love of women. We closed his eyes, and now that the rigor had worn off, the look of terror had melted from his face. The cowl over his head and the high-necked robes concealed his wounds so that he looked at the last like a sleeping child.\n\nRodrigo knelt and gently kissed the cold blue lips, smoothing the downy cheek with his hand as if he tucked his own son into his crib. He did not cry. He had gone beyond that into a grief too deep for tears. And I thought of Jofre's mother. Jofre had died without ever knowing if she had survived. Did she live without knowing her son was dead? It is hard to bury your own children. It breaks your heart in a way no other death can ever do, for you are burying part of yourself in that grave. Rodrigo had wanted to take Jofre home to her. It was too late now. Why do we always leave it too late?\n\nThe top of the altar grated, a mournful hollow sound, as we slid it back into position. I looked up to see Narigorm standing in the doorway to the stairs. She was holding something that glinted in her hand. As I turned to her, she held it up in the stream of watery sunshine that glinted through the chantry window. I saw again the blue and purple rippled with golden flecks, the glass tear that held the light of Venice.\n\nRodrigo took it from her, cradling it in his palm.\n\nFinally Cygnus said, gently, \"Shall we open the lid again and put it in his hand?\"\n\nRodrigo hesitated, then shook his head. \"It was made for the living so that they could remember what was lost. The dead cannot remember. One day I will give it to Adela's son, for he was born in the same hour Jofre was murdered.\" He turned back to stare at the altar. \"But not yet; there is something I must do before I can part with this.\"\n\nThe words rang in my head like the pestilence bell. Born in the same hour that Jofre was murdered. The words had been in my head all along, but I had refused to let them take form. I turned to look at Narigorm still standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the sanctuary dais where the child had been born and Jofre lay dead. In the gloom of the doorway I couldn't see her expression, but I could sense her satisfaction. The blackness of the deep stairwell behind her swelled up around her as if its very darkness was her shadow. If one is added, one must be taken away. The runes had not lied after all.\n\nEven when there is no desperate cacophony of bells echoing from the village, even when there is no thick yellow pall of sulphurous smoke, you learn to recognize the warning signs. The mills, standing like watchtowers, are silent, their sails still and locked, no rumble of the grinding stones or procession of chattering women passing to and fro with their family's flour. The water mills are also silent, no splashing of paddles, no rasping of stone upon stone, no shouts of men. And when you hear the silence, you come to hope that it is only because there is no more grain left to grind.\n\nMore chilling are the mills which are not silent, where sails spin out of control and you can feel the vibration of the grinding stones under your feet. The ghost mills, where the stones grind and grind, but no flour trickles out. Where sails and paddles batter themselves to splinters, because there is no one left to stop them. You see sheep lying dead in the field and dogs rotting in the ditches. And then you turn, turn away quickly and take the next road, any road that will take you away from the village, for you know they have something worse than hunger in their midst.\n\nMore and more of the towns and villages were falling to the pestilence. It came without warning. At dawn people would be about their business with no hint of sickness among them; by sunset a dozen would be lying dead and then it would run through the streets like fire. There was no telling who it would strike; fit young men would fall as quickly as ailing old women, without pattern or reason. So we began to fear even to enter a healthy village, in case it struck while we were there. And there was no point risking death for food, because no one had any left to sell. Most of the villagers were hungry themselves, and any fortunate enough still to have food kept it hidden for themselves, and who could blame them?\n\nAnd so we kept travelling east. We turned and twisted like eels funnelled towards the trap, but still we found ourselves facing the rising sun. Each time I tried to turn us towards the north, our way was barred by bridges washed away, roads made impassable by fallen trees, tracks blocked by villagers for fear of the pestilence. These obstacles were to be expected, natural, and yet a nagging disquiet was beginning to take root inside me, as if there was something, some force I could not name, compelling us towards the east. Why had Narigorm whispered those words, \"We're going east. You'll see.\" Was she simply saying what the runes predicted or was she more than just the messenger?\n\nThe others hardly seemed to notice the direction we were travelling in, for if our days were haunted by the fear of stumbling into the pestilence, our nights were haunted by something that was beginning to hold a greater terror. The wolf was still with us.\n\nThose first two nights after we left the chantry we heard nothing and I began to believe that the bailiff had done his job and had the beast hunted down. Then on the third night we heard it again, just as before, and this time none of us could pretend it was not the same animal. As we travelled on, so it followed, the howl never nearer, but never farther way. It didn't call every night, and in a way that was worse, for we lay awake rigid in the darkness, listening for the sound. Sometimes when we did not hear it for several days, we told ourselves it had gone, and then without warning the howl would split the night again.\n\nWe never saw so much as a glimpse of it, not a shape on a hilltop in the moonlight, not a pair of yellow eyes shining in the forest, not a paw mark in the mud, and not even the remains of a kill. But each time I heard that howl in the darkness, I thought of the savage bites on Jofre's body, the gaping hole in his throat, and the look of terror in his face, and I shuddered.\n\nIt had taken us some time to reach the healer's cottage. The road which ran up into the low long hills was only used by farm carts. It was wide enough for the wagon, but full of holes and sharp rocks, and we had to travel even more slowly than usual so as not to risk breaking a wheel shaft or laming Xanthus.\n\nThe cottage lay on a rise at the far end of a narrow, steepsided gully, close to a waterfall that tumbled over rocks before crashing down into a deep, fern-fringed pool. A boulder-filled river ran the length of the gully and curved around the base of the hillock to run parallel with the road. There was no track leading from the road up to the cottage, only a narrow path worn between huge rocks by those who had trodden the way over the years. There was no sign of its owner either, except for a trickle of smoke meandering out of the hole in the roof into the frosty morning air. But a hearth fire was a good sign; at least the householder was well enough to make one.\n\nOsmond helped Adela down from the wagon. Her face was pale and tired. The infant lay in a woven basket in her arms, staring listlessly up at her. He screwed up his face as if he wanted to cry, but no sound emerged. Adela shivered. Ever since we brought home Jofre's body, a chill had settled into her. No matter how close to the fire she sat, or how many blankets were heaped upon her, she couldn't get warm, as if the cold had pierced her bones like a wolf's bite. It had been over a month since the birth, but her strength was not returning and she was making herself worse by worrying about her son. The baby, though he had at first fed well, was now getting weaker by the day, his eyes sinking into hollows and the flesh melting away.\n\nAdela's growing anxiety for her son had turned to fear when, one evening as we made camp, Narigorm suddenly cried out, \"Look, a white bird circling, it's the omen of death,\" and pointed to a white dove in the sky above the wagon where the baby lay sleeping. Adela had snatched the infant from the wagon and Osmond had driven the dove away, but the damage was done. Adela was convinced that the sign was meant for her child, and I became increasingly haunted by the fear that if she continued to torment herself, we would be burying two more of our company before the month was out.\n\nWe needed a skilled healer. We daren't go into the towns in search of an apothecary or a doctor, even if any remained alive, and though I knew enough about herbs to treat common ailments, I did not know how to cure this. Pleasance would have known; I felt her loss more keenly than ever. She had stood in the shadows, quiet and unassuming, tending a blister there or a bellyache here. We had taken her for granted until she was no longer there, like an ancient tree you don't truly see until it is felled, and then only from the empty space in the sky do you suddenly grasp its stature.\n\nWe enquired of those we passed on the road for someone skilled in herbs, but most, like us, were far from home. They shook their heads and trudged on. Finally a goose-girl we passed on the road told us of this cottage.\n\n\"Everyone in these parts goes to her,\" she said. Then, as she shooed her hissing flock onwards, she turned and called after us. \"She's a sharp tongue, that one. Mind you don't get on the wrong side of her or she'll send you away with a flea in your ear.\"\n\nHer words rang in my ears as we stood looking up at the cottage. There was no sense in taking Adela up there if the woman wouldn't help her.\n\n\"You all wait here,\" I said. \"I'll go up alone. An old man by himself won't be any threat to her.\"\n\nThe cottage was small, round and windowless, built into the side of the gully and made of boulders and rocks, with a thatch of reeds. A leather curtain served as a door. A few hens scratched among the herbs in the sloping garden, which was bordered by a blackthorn hedge. An ancient rowan tree grew close by the cottage door. Its bright red berries had long gone, but fruit of some kind hung from its branches, pale brown, like parchment, some no bigger than a thumb, others as large as a man's fist, but I couldn't make out what they were.\n\nWhen I reached the wicker gate I stopped, intending to call out so as not to startle the woman, but before I could do so a voice rang out from inside the cottage.\n\n\"Come in. I don't bite.\" The leather curtain at the door was pulled aside and a woman stepped out. She was tall and willowy, with long iron grey hair which she wore braided in two plaits like a young girl. \"Heard your wagon coming along the track. Sound carries up here. Not many use that track\u2014even fewer since this pestilence came upon us.\"\n\n\"We don't have the pestilence,\" I said hastily.\n\n\"I know. If you had, I'd smell it. So are you coming in?\"\n\nI opened the gate and took a few steps up the path. A couple of hens bustled away, indignant at having their scratting disturbed. The woman's face turned in the direction of the sound and I saw then that her green eyes were covered in a milky white film.\n\n\"You've come for my help,\" she said. It was a statement, not a question.\n\nI gestured in the direction of the wagon, then stopped, feeling foolish. Though I have one blind eye, yet I still rely on my one good eye instead of my other senses. The voices of the rest of the company drifted up the gully as they made camp.\n\n\"We've a young woman travelling with us. She gave birth to a boy a few weeks ago, but her milk is drying up and the baby is weakening.\"\n\n\"There are many reasons why a woman's milk stops before it should. But before I can tell which herbs will help her, I'll need to feel the breasts, see if they are empty or swollen, cold or hot. Bring her here. I don't go down to the track. In the meantime, I'll give you something to help the child. Come.\"\n\nWithout waiting for me she disappeared inside the cottage. I followed her, but my footsteps faltered as I drew near the rowan tree and saw what was hanging from the branches. Dozens of dried foetuses dangled in the breeze\u2014lambs, calves, and human babies. Some were so tiny it was impossible to tell if they were human or animal; others were perfectly formed infants, but no bigger than a man's hand. The dried bodies rattled softly as they struck one another in the breeze.\n\nAs if she could see what I was staring at, the woman spoke from inside the darkness of the hut. \"These past years, more and more women have miscarried. Cattle and sheep are losing their offspring too. Evil spirits enter the womb and the woman becomes pregnant, but these offspring are born before their time. If their bodies are buried, the spirits are set free to enter the womb over and over again, preventing the woman carrying a human child.\"\n\nShe emerged holding a wooden bowl full of thick white liquid. \"The rowan tree traps the evil spirits and binds them so they cannot re-enter the womb. Rowan wood is powerful against curses and evil spirits, even stronger when it is living.\" She thrust the bowl towards me. \"Feed the baby as much of this as you can, a little at a time but often.\"\n\nI sniffed it.\n\nShe heard me and laughed. \"It's only eggs, shells and all, dissolved in spirit of angelica and beaten with a little honey. It will nourish the baby. The stronger he grows the harder he will suck, and it will help the milk come. Now, mistress, go and send the mother to me and I'll see what can be done for her.\"\n\n\"Master,\" I corrected her. \"But thank you, I will send her.\"\n\nShe frowned. \"Master? But I would have sworn\u2026\"\n\nShe reached out a hand to touch my face, but I jerked away and hurried off before she could say more, leaving her standing beneath her rowan tree under the dead babies.\n\nLater, Osmond helped Adela up the rocky path and stood outside the cottage while the woman examined her. They returned to the camp with bunches of herbs which the healer assured her would stimulate the flow of milk. Adela, though still exhausted, looked happier than she had done for days. But Osmond was not reassured. The healer had warned him that herbs alone would not help Adela for long. Unless she took more nourishment to build up her strength after the birth, her milk would dry up completely. She needed more than a diet of scrawny wild birds and herbs. She needed red meat and red wine for her blood, if she was to produce good milk for the infant. But the healer knew of no one who had any meat or wine left for sale.\n\n\"I hear they have food and wine in plenty at Voluptas,\" she told him. \"But it would take a cunning tongue to persuade them to sell it. Some have tried, they tell me, but no one has succeeded.\"\n\nIt was as if she had thrown down a challenge. It was one that Zophiel, when he heard of it, could not resist.\n\nThe friar came closer to the grille in the gate and peered first at Zophiel, then at me.\n\n\"You can turn lead into gold?\" he asked incredulously.\n\n\"You do not believe it is possible?\" Zophiel raised his eyebrows in that too-familiar gesture of his, a sure sign that he was laying a trap for some innocent to blunder into, but for once I hoped this trap would catch its prey.\n\nThe manor they called \"Voluptas,\" or \"Delight,\" was as remote as the healer's cottage. The ideal place for those who wanted to hide away from the problems of the world\u2014and those at Voluptas did. According to the healer they were mostly from London, twenty or so men and women, wealthy, handsome, and young for the most part, having fled when the pestilence first struck the city. But it was said the man who proclaimed himself their leader was not rich, handsome, or young; he was a poor friar, but one with a great gift, for he knew how to stop the pestilence.\n\nFrom what we could see of him through the grille, he wore the robe of the white friars, but this was not made of the coarse cloth with which friars usually like to humble the flesh; this was made of soft wool, thick and warm against the biting cold. His flesh was soft too and well rounded, his stubby fingers plump and dimpled at the knuckles. He held a posy of sweet herbs against his nose as he spoke to us, but they were hardly needed, for the heavy perfume which wafted from his own body was surely enough to dispel any unwelcome odours we might bring.\n\nThe friar moved the posy far enough away from his mouth to speak. \"Many believe it is possible to turn lead into gold,\" he said cautiously.\n\nZophiel smiled. I had no idea where this was heading, but I already knew from what the healer had told Osmond that my relics would buy nothing here. The people at the manor did not put their trust in saints, but in this friar, and he put his faith in neither God nor the Devil.\n\n\"From where does the pestilence come?\" Zophiel asked.\n\nThe friar looked puzzled at this change of subject. \"From a surfeit of melancholy, an imbalance in the humours,\" he said abruptly. He was plainly anxious to be back to the subject of gold.\n\nBut Zophiel hadn't finished. \"And how is this imbalance to be corrected and the pestilence prevented?\"\n\nThe friar sighed impatiently. \"As we do here: by immersing ourselves day and night in the noble arts, by eating good food, dancing, playing sweet music, smelling pleasant odours, giving free rein to the pleasures of the flesh in all its forms, denying the body nothing it craves. People fall ill when they allow themselves to dwell on unpleasant thoughts and fears, when they deny the body that which it wants and make the flesh miserable. That is why so many have fallen to the Great Mortality\u2014 they dwell upon it, and so their body falls prey to it. I don't allow it to be mentioned within these walls. Here, we think only of beauty and pleasure. But, never mind that.\" He waggled his beringed fingers impatiently. \"You spoke of changing lead into gold. What does sickness have to do with the gold?\"\n\nZophiel smiled. \"You know, my friend, that all things are composed of the four elements, earth, water, fire, and air, and the three principles, salt, sulphur, and quicksilver. Lead differs from gold only in the proportions of these things of which it is composed.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, this is well known.\"\n\nBut Zophiel would not be rushed. \"Sickness, as you have so wisely said, comes from an imbalance in the humours of the body. If you keep the mind and body in their equilibriums, the body cannot fall sick, and if the body is sick, it may be transformed into a healthy body by correcting the balance of humours. And so, my friend, it is with all things in the universe. Sequitur, one only has to find the right balance of elements and principles to turn base metal into gold. Just as you, my friend, through your wisdom, have discovered that beauty and pleasure combined is the alchemic substance that transforms base sickness into the purity of health, so others have found the substance that transforms metals from corruptible lead to the purity of gold.\"\n\n\"You have discovered the alchemist stone?\" The man's eyes lit up hungrily. \"But this is what alchemists have been seeking for years.\"\n\n\"Not a stone, my friend. As you have discovered, it is not taking blood from the body that restores the balance of the humours, as doctors have so long misguidedly believed, but adding beauty and pleasure to the body. So the alchemists did not understand what they were searching for; it is not a stone that will transform, but a liquid, an elixir.\"\n\nThe friar's eyes shone. \"And you have discovered how to make this liquid? You must be a wealthy man indeed.\"\n\nZophiel sorrowfully shook his head. \"Alas no, I have not discovered it, though I live in hope, my friend, but in my travels I have found one who has. He gave me a few drops of this precious elixir in return for some modest service I performed for him.\"\n\nHere Zophiel pressed his hand to his chest and bowed humbly, implying that the service in question had been far from modest.\n\n\"But alas I have already used most of what he gave me to keep body and soul together in these hard times. But when I heard of the transformation you had performed on the body, I couldn't resist coming here to show you what could be achieved. I knew that only a man like you would truly understand what you were witnessing. With the last remaining drops I would be prepared to demonstrate the wonder of it for your edification.\"\n\nThe friar hesitated, torn between wanting to keep us out and desire to witness the great dream. He spoke to someone standing near him and we heard sounds of someone moving away from the gate. Finally we heard the rattle of chains and locks.\n\n\"You may come in, but only as far as the gatehouse. I do not wish the women to see\u2026\" He hesitated, staring at my face.\n\nI smiled wryly; doubtless he was thinking that my purple scar and eyeless socket was a thing neither of beauty nor of pleasure.\n\nOnce inside the gate, it was I who stood and stared. After all the ravaged villages and towns, the gardens stripped bare, the crops rotting in the fields, Voluptas seemed like an hallucination brought on by hunger. Here were well-tended orchards and herb gardens, clipped and neat, ready for the spring buds. Turf seats nestled among banks of thyme and chamomile, ready for lovers when the days were warm again. Irrigation channels ran with clear water and were doubtless teeming with fish, whilst the white doves pecking around the herbs suggested that somewhere there was a well-stocked dovecote too. There was not a single thing to distract the eye from pleasure. It was a world that existed out of time.\n\nBut we weren't permitted to linger over these sights, for the friar hustled us into a small stone room to one side of the gate. A few minutes later several men came hurrying in. They were not wearing friars' robes. The fine cloth, rich colours, and warm furs they sported were proof that only the rich came here to think their beautiful thoughts. The friar knew what he was about: Preach comfort to the rich and you will grow fat; preach hell to the poor and you will starve with them.\n\nZophiel asked for a small brass brazier to be brought and some charcoal, and he made a great show of heating the charcoal and testing its heat on fragments of wood and the blade of his knife until he was happy that the temperature was correct. He produced a small crucible, held it over the brazier, and with a flourish dropped three drops of a clear viscous liquid into the heated crucible. A cloud of thick white smoke rose from the crucible. Zophiel held up a small nugget of lead, grey and dull.\n\n\"Watch closely,\" he commanded.\n\nEveryone bent nearer. They saw the lead fall into the crucible. They saw the smoke turn from white to purple to black. Everyone held their breath and then the smoke cleared.\n\n\"Observe.\"\n\nThere was a gasp as they saw the glint in the pale afternoon sunshine. Zophiel asked the friar to hold out his hand, and as he tipped the crucible over the soft fat palm, a small nugget of gold rolled into it, exactly the same shape and size as the nugget of lead. The friar winced from the heat of the gold, but he did not let it fall.\n\nI waited until we were outside again and I was sitting beside Zophiel in the wagon. Not even a nugget of gold could wrest a barrel of flour from the friar, but we were trundling back to the camp with a large cask of wine and a live sheep trussed up in the back of the wagon, which was more than I had dreamt possible.\n\nI glanced sideways at Zophiel. His thin pale face wore a look of smug satisfaction and his eyes had lost the hunted look that had haunted them ever since the day of Jofre's murder. It had been months since Zophiel had the chance to work a crowd and his success had restored the old arrogance. He had done well and he knew it.\n\n\"Gold covered by grey wax, I assume, Zophiel. Heat it and the wax burns off under the cover of the smoke. Behold, the gold beneath is revealed. Clever.\"\n\nHe inclined his head graciously in acknowledgement, flicking his whip across Xanthus' back to make her quicken her pace. She ignored him.\n\n\"But if you already had the gold, why not simply offer to exchange that for the provisions we needed? Why that mummery, which they might easily have seen through?\"\n\nA smile twitched over his thin lips. \"You're losing your touch, Camelot. They are wealthy men. They didn't want gold. What use is gold to them; there is nothing to buy with it. They wanted proof that they were right.\"\n\n\"Are you finally admitting that you can sell a man hope? Have I at last succeeded in teaching you that?\"\n\nHe laughed and flicked his whip again, harder. He was in a better mood than I had seen for months.\n\n\"No, Camelot, not hope. Hope is for the weak; have I not succeeded in teaching you that? To hope is to put your faith in others and in things outside yourself; that way lies betrayal and disappointment. They didn't want hope, Camelot; they wanted certainty. What a man needs is the certainty that he is right, no self-doubt, no fleeting thought that he might be wrong or misled. Absolute certainty that he is right\u2014that's what gives a man the confidence and power to do whatever he wants and to take whatever he wants from this world and the next.\"\n\nWe camped that night at the base of the healer's gully. We built fires and Zophiel slaughtered the sheep. His hands were skilled at that, too. A flash of his knife across its throat and the beast dropped like a stone without a struggle or cry. He caught the blood in a bowl and set it aside, then he and Osmond skinned and gutted it. Narigorm helped them, squatting on her haunches as she dragged the steaming purple entrails into the bucket.\n\nThe healer had told us that Adela should eat the liver and heart, so these I stuffed into the paunch with the kidneys and pluck, boiling it in the blood, along with the head and sheep's trotters. We set two legs to roast on spits. The remainder of the carcass we wrapped and hung from the top of the wagon, out of reach of scavenging dogs or foxes. In this cold weather it would keep for several days.\n\nWe sent up some roasted meat, a trotter, and a little of the wine to the healer by way of payment for the herbs. I declined to take them to her, but Zophiel offered to go. I had no wish to speak to the healer again.\n\nDarkness came quickly and the air grew colder still. The clear indigo sky was frosted with stars. Using the river as a defence on one side, we lit a semicircle of fires so that we could sleep between the river and the fires for protection. Then we sat under the stars warming our stomachs with the sweet roasted meat and picking the flesh off the trotters steeped in the rich blood gravy. Never had meat tasted so solid and satisfying. We stuffed ourselves until our bellies were swollen and still had appetite to crack the bones and greedily scoop out the melting yellow marrow fat.\n\nAdela, though still tired, looked brighter. I hoped the healer was right and the milk would soon flow richly. The baby lay sleeping in her arms. He had taken several spoonfuls of the egg. Already his eyes seemed less hollow and his skin smoother.\n\nThe baby had been named Carwyn, which means blessed love. Despite his precarious grasp on life, he had not been named until he was several days old. For even had we been thinking of anything else but Jofre's mutilated body, we could never have named an innocent child on the day we buried Jofre, tying him forever to the name of death.\n\nIt was Adela who named him. Osmond smiled wanly at her choice, but he never used the name. He never held Carwyn or tended him even when he cried. There was something about the baby which he couldn't bring himself to approach. He no longer sat with his arms about Adela as he used to do of an evening, but sat apart now, like Joseph in the paintings of the Nativity. Guarding, protecting, yes, but standing aside, no longer part of the mother and child.\n\nI had not told Adela and Osmond what I had guessed and I would not betray them to the rest of the company. I did not want to see the disgust in the eyes of Rodrigo and Cygnus or the pain in Adela's and Osmond's. And what right did we have to condemn them for being in love? \"Bone of my bone,\" isn't that what Adam said of Eve?\n\nBesides, little Carwyn was the sole thing that could bring a trace of a smile to Rodrigo's face. He doted on the baby and often cradled him in his arms while Adela slept. His own eyes gentled as he looked into Carwyn's dark blue ones and for a few minutes he looked again like the Rodrigo I had first seen in the inn all those months ago.\n\nSince Jofre's death, he had withdrawn into himself. His face was haggard and not just from the meagre diet. Before, I had seldom known him to go a day without practising his music. He said it was vital to keep his fingers supple. But since that hour he carried Jofre's body home, he hadn't played a single note. I think he was punishing himself by denying himself his greatest joy, because he blamed himself for Jofre's death. My heart ached for him, but I couldn't find the words to comfort him.\n\nThe only one of us unaffected by Jofre's death was Narigorm. She did not change; things changed around her. Unlike most girls of her age, she showed not the slightest interest in the new baby, almost as though he was already dead. I tried to shake the thought off, but her way of looking straight through Carwyn as though he was not there frightened me. Osmond took her hunting with him. He spent more time with her than with Carwyn. Yet even he would come back from these expeditions troubled by how much pleasure she took from the act of killing small creatures. But as Zophiel pointed out, children enjoy the triumph of catching a bird or a fish. It's a game to them.\n\nZophiel had been in a buoyant mood ever since we had returned with the wine and sheep. He recounted the tale of Voluptas with self-deprecating modesty, which from him always sounded more arrogant than a man who openly boasted. But as the moon began to rise, filling the gully with pale light and long shadows, his unease returned and he began to dart anxious glances about him, his hand straying to the knife in his belt. We all of us had drawn our knives and staves close to hand as the sky darkened. We had good reason to. Night was the domain of the wolf.\n\nI stared up at the top of the ridge above the gully. The moonlight brushed the top of the hill with a silver sheen, but nothing up there was stirring. I could hear nothing except the crackle of the fires and the water in the river rushing over the stones and boulders. As I sat in the stillness of that valley listening to the babbling of that river, I suddenly felt as if I was back in the hills of my home. I could almost see the sleek otters hunting in the streams, the water so cold and clear it numbed your fingers. I could almost taste the sweet purple bilberries crammed into my mouth, staining my lips and fingers blue. And the wind, the clean, pure wind that in winter snatched your breath away and in summer tasted like white wine. I knew it was impossible, but that night I'd have given anything to just stand there and drink in the solitary peace of it, just one last time.\n\nI startled as something huge and pale glided silently down the gully just beyond the light of the fires. Glimpsing it only out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't make out what it was. Then I heard the deep sonorous \"oohu-oohu-oohu,\" an eagle owl out hunting for his supper.\n\nCygnus shivered at the eerie sound and pulled his cloak tighter. \"What if the wolf smells the sheep carcass on the wagon?\"\n\n\"It'll be drawn to the spot where we slaughtered and skinned the sheep,\" Osmond told him. \"The smell of blood there will be stronger.\"\n\n\"But what if it follows the scent back to the camp?\" Cygnus glanced in the direction of the spot, but it lay in the shadow of the hill, too dark to see anything moving there.\n\n\"It will not,\" Zophiel said. \"It'll find all it needs there.\"\n\n\"But there is nothing except some blood-soaked grass. That'll only whet its appetite.\" Cygnus' voice shook slightly.\n\n\"There's meat there. I returned to the place and left some.\"\n\nI drew my stave closer. \"That will divert it tonight, for which I am profoundly grateful, Zophiel,\" I added hastily. \"But aren't we in danger of encouraging it to continue to follow us for food?\"\n\n\"I assure you, Camelot, that if it takes the meat tonight it will be its last meal. The meat is laced with wolfsbane. Come now, you didn't think I would simply leave it as a gift? Whatever or whoever takes that meat will not live to see dawn and then we shall be rid of it for good.\"\n\n\"Whoever?\"\n\n\"Was it not you, Camelot, who first told us the tale of the werewolf? Surely you don't dismiss the idea; after all, you have the scar to prove it.\"\n\nRodrigo broke in as if he only just realised what Zophiel said. \"Wolfsbane? You carry this poison with you?\"\n\nZophiel laughed softly. \"You take me for an assassin? No, I suspected the healer would have some. It grows well near water and it is, I'm told, effective when applied to the bites of venomous creatures, even the bite of a werewolf.\"\n\n\"The healer gave it to you?\" I couldn't imagine her handing over a quantity of deadly poison to anyone, especially a man like Zophiel.\n\n\"Let us say she was persuaded to do so.\"\n\nOsmond was on his feet in an instant. \"What did you do to her, Zophiel?\"\n\nZophiel flinched backwards, but quickly recovered himself. \"Nothing, my friend. A little bargaining, that is all.\"\n\n\"What could you have that she would want?\" he asked suspiciously.\n\n\"It is more a question of what she has. It's well known that witches use blackthorn rods to procure abortions. If they are caught with such a rod, I believe the punishment is to burn them on blackthorn pyres. She has a blackthorn hedge big enough to set a whole coven alight.\"\n\n\"You threatened her, after all she's done for us?\" Osmond shouted.\n\nRodrigo too was on his feet. Faced with the fury of both Osmond and Rodrigo, Zophiel tried to scramble up, but all three froze as the unmistakable sound of the wolf's howl echoed along the gully, reverberating through the darkness. We stared around frantically, but none of us could tell where the sound came from. Again and again the wolf howled, and each time the sound seemed to surround and swallow us. First we heard it on one side, then on the other. Osmond and Cygnus ran to the fires, poking them and piling more wood onto them until the flames roared up and golden sparks exploded into the darkness. Rodrigo, his stave grasped tightly in both hands, peered this way and that, trying to see where the attack might come from. Adela crouched on the ground, bending over the child in her arms, trying to shield her son with her own body. Zophiel wheeled around wildly, his knife raised and his lips moving soundlessly as if he was praying. The only one who did not seem to comprehend the danger was Narigorm. She stood motionless, lit by the fire, one hand extended as if she was reaching out to touch the sound. Then it was gone and silence rolled back from the hills, a silence that blotted out the crackling flames and dark rushing water, a silence more unnerving than the howl. We held our breath and listened.\n\nI don't know if the others got any sleep that night. We took it in turns to keep watch and keep the fires stoked, but even when I knew others were on watch, I couldn't sleep. Finally I saw, with relief, a thread of light come creeping over the distant hill. I must have slept then, for when I woke, the sun was up and Adela was stirring a pot over the embers of one of the fires. A thin plume of smoke rose vertically into the pale pink sky. My cloak was so stiff with frost it crackled as I tried to rise.\n\nI glanced up at the healer's cottage. No smoke rose from her hearth. Perhaps she had not yet risen. I didn't blame her. If I'd spent the night in a warm bed I wouldn't hasten to get out of it. Zophiel and Rodrigo still lay asleep, recovering from their last watch, but Osmond and Cygnus had already gone to search for wood and Narigorm was drawing water from the river.\n\nI was finishing a second bowl of broth when I saw Cygnus and Osmond striding back to the camp, their breath hanging white in the air as they hurried along. Both had bundles slung over their backs; it appeared their forage for firewood had been successful. But as Cygnus strode past me I could see that something was wrong. Zophiel had just risen and was crouching by the river, splashing water on his face. Cygnus strode up to him and pulled at the knot in the thong round his neck, letting his bundle drop with a dull thump onto the frozen ground. It wasn't firewood he carried, but the lifeless body of an owl, a large one. The black beak was wide open as if it had been gasping for air.\n\n\"This is what you killed with your wolfsbane last night, Zophiel. No wolf\u2014just this unfortunate creature.\"\n\nZophiel straightened and turned, shaking sparkling droplets of water from the tips of his long fingers. He barely glanced at the owl lying on the ground at his feet. \"Any signs the meat had been gnawed?\"\n\n\"A few strips torn from it, but they were probably taken by the owl.\"\n\nZophiel prodded the feathers with the toe of his boot. \"Eagle owl. Valuable hunting bird. It might be wild, but most likely some careless falconer lost it. I wouldn't like to be in his shoes; they'll take the price of it from his hide. Still, it's worthless now; you may as well throw it away.\"\n\nCygnus was trying to keep his temper in check, but he was losing the battle.\n\n\"Never mind the value of the bird, Zophiel,\" he shouted. \"What about the meat you left out? A few scraps of raw meat laced with poison would have been enough to kill a hungry wolf. But you put out a whole leg and part of the side too. Adela and the baby need that meat. It would have fed all of us for at least a day. You took it without even consulting us. Now because you've poisoned it we can't even use the bone for broth. I know you're terrified of the wolf, Zophiel, but this was a stupid and needless waste.\"\n\nZophiel's expression had grown increasingly venomous as Cygnus spoke. At the mention of his terror of the wolf, his eyes flashed dangerously, but unlike Cygnus, his voice was controlled and quiet.\n\n\"May I remind you that it was my skill and my gold that bought that sheep and the wine; therefore the sheep and wine were mine. The fact that I chose to share them with you, as I have also shared my wagon and my provisions, is something you should be thanking me for on your knees. Had I not chosen to be generous, you, like Adela, would have gone hungry yesterday. What I chose to do with the remains of the carcass was entirely up to me.\"\n\n\"We all share what we have, Zophiel,\" Osmond protested. \"There's many a night you've dined on what I hunted or what Camelot bartered for one of his relics.\"\n\nZophiel ignored the interruption and continued to stare malevolently at Cygnus.\n\n\"I sacrificed the meat, meat which I also could have eaten, in an attempt to keep all of us from the fate of our headstrong young friend. I trust you will allow that it is worth the sacrifice of a day's food. It's hard to eat a slice of mutton without a throat. I suggest you keep that in mind before you venture to criticise me again. And as for wasting the meat, we'll lay it out again tomorrow night and the night after if we have to. Who knows, if we're lucky, we may succeed in ridding the world of another one of your feathered cousins.\"\n\nHe kicked the body of the owl out of his way and stalked away from the riverbank. As he brushed past Cygnus, he knocked hard against him with his shoulder. Cygnus slipped on the frosty grass and staggered backwards, teetering on the edge of the bank. Unable to regain his balance, he fell into the water. The river was not deep, but it was icy. The shock made him gasp, just as the wave caused by his splash broke over his face. He choked as the water filled his mouth and lungs. Unable to get a foothold on the slippery boulders and weighed down by his heavy sodden cloak, he panicked, his eyes bulging, thrashing wildly with his one arm.\n\nRodrigo ran across the grass and splashed into the river. He grabbed Cygnus, just as his head was going under again. He pulled him upright, dragged him to the bank, and hauled him out.\n\nCygnus sank to his knees on the grass, coughing and spluttering. Rodrigo thumped him on the back as he fought for air. He remained where he was on the ground, breathing in painful shallow pants and shivering uncontrollably.\n\nRodrigo put a hand on his shoulder. \"Take off your wet clothes and come to the fire. Narigorm, fetch a blanket.\"\n\nBut Cygnus was unable to move. Rodrigo crouched down and began to peel the sodden cloak from his back. As he helped the shivering boy out of his wet clothes, Rodrigo looked up at Zophiel, who stood watching the proceedings with amusement.\n\n\"You deliberately pushed him in, Zophiel. I saw you.\"\n\n\"His temper needed cooling.\"\n\n\"You know he cannot swim.\"\n\n\"Then it's time he learned. Isn't that what swans do\u2014swim? Surely that is the point of being a swan, that and making a fine roast for the table. After all, they're no use for anything else.\"\n\nHe paused, stared, and suddenly threw his head back, roaring with laughter.\n\n\"But what have we here? It seems I was mistaken. Our little prince is not a swan after all.\"\n\nWe turned and followed Zophiel's mocking gaze. Cygnus still knelt on the grass. But he was stripped to the waist now and we saw at once what Zophiel meant. There was no wing, no feathers, just a soft pink fleshy stump, about the length of his foot, with six tiny protuberances ranged along the bottom, buds of flesh, no bigger than a woman's nipples.\n\nZophiel was grinning broadly. \"Naturally, if I had known he was just a poor cripple, I would never\u2014\"\n\nCygnus flinched at the word cripple, but Zophiel did not get the chance to finish his sentence. In one swift movement, Rodrigo had crossed to him and struck him savagely across the mouth with the back of his hand. Zophiel fell backwards to the grass, but he recovered swiftly. Holding his left hand to his mouth, he struggled to his feet. I glimpsed a flash of sunlight reflecting off something in Zophiel's right hand. I tried to shout a warning, but Osmond reached Zophiel first. He grabbed Zophiel's wrist and twisted. The knife fell to the frozen ground.\n\nOsmond kicked it away. \"Oh no, you don't, Zophiel. You asked for that.\"\n\nZophiel stood, glaring at Rodrigo, then he wiped away the blood trickling down his chin from a rapidly swelling lip.\n\n\"Have a care, Rodrigo,\" he said quietly. \"This is the second time you've raised your hand against me. I will not tolerate a third.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "There was still no smoke rising from the healer's hearth by mid-morning when we were packing up to leave the camp. I was becoming increasingly concerned, but the others seemed too preoccupied by the argument between Rodrigo and Zophiel to notice.\n\nAs they went about their tasks, the tension between Zophiel and Rodrigo was palpable. Osmond was keeping an anxious eye on both of them in case tempers flared again and he had to leap in to separate them. It was like watching a pair of growling dogs, knowing it is just a matter of time before they savage each other. Cygnus, on the other hand, was so sunk in misery and humiliation that he hardly seemed aware of his surroundings. He shook off Rodrigo's hand when he tried to help him to his feet, snatched the blanket, and took himself off to dress alone. Dry, but with his teeth chattering, he returned to the camp. He wouldn't look at any of us. When Adela tried to get him to drink some hot broth to warm himself, he pushed it away without a word and went to prepare Xanthus for the wagon. But not even Xanthus' nuzzling drew a response from him.\n\nAs we packed, I kept glancing up at the healer's cottage. I had vowed never to go back there, but I knew I couldn't leave without finding out if something was wrong. Once again I felt responsible. If I had taken the roasted meat and wine to her the day before and not Zophiel, he wouldn't have had the chance to threaten her. What if he had gone beyond threats? What if he had pushed her, as he had Cygnus, and the blind woman was lying injured or worse?\n\nIt's madness in these times to approach a dwelling where no hearth fire burns. I knew that, yet still I climbed the path to the healer's cottage. I called out as I reached the gate, but there was no reply. The garden was as I'd seen it the day before, the hens still clucking and scolding among the herbs. I walked cautiously up the path. The strange fruit on the rowan tree hung heavy with frost. The tiny bodies sparkled as they slowly revolved in the breeze.\n\nWhen I reached the cottage and still got no reply to my calls, I pushed aside the heavy leather curtain and held it up so that the watery winter sunshine would illuminate the interior. Rocks which were part of the hillside jutted into the room, forming natural ledges and shelves on which were stacked pots and clay jars. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the roof timbers. The black iron pot which hung over the fire in the centre of the room was empty and the fire beneath was banked down so that hardly a whisper of smoke escaped. Only a few bloodred lines in the grey ash, like tiny veins, showed that beneath, the fire still glowed. The furnishings in the room were simple: a wooden clothes chest, two low stools, and a narrow bed raised only a few inches above the beaten earth floor. The bed was occupied by a lanky grey cat which was curled up on the covers, regarding me impassively with big green eyes.\n\n\"Where's your mistress, then?\"\n\nThe cat blinked and licked a paw.\n\nI backed out and looked around the garden, peering behind bushes to see if the healer was lying unconscious somewhere, but there was no trace of her. Perhaps she had been so frightened by Zophiel that she had fled. I scanned the gully and the hill above, but saw no sign of anyone. The waterfall roared down over the rocks into the dark pool below. If she had fallen in there and had been dragged down by the force of the water, I had no hope of seeing her beneath the churning foam.\n\nI turned to go, pausing only to leave a flagon of Zophiel's wine by the door. Zophiel didn't know he had made her the gift, but I thought it was the least he could do.\n\nI'd closed the gate and was on the path down, when the voice called out behind me. \"If that is wine you left at my door, I thank you.\"\n\nI turned. The gate was open and the healer was standing with one hand on it, but whether she had opened it from the inside or the outside, I couldn't tell.\n\nI walked a few paces back up the path, near enough to speak without shouting, but not so close that she could touch me.\n\n\"I came to apologise for Zophiel, the man who came to you last night\u2026and to assure you that whatever he said, we will not let him carry out his threats.\"\n\n\"Your friend is a terrified man and with good cause, judging by the howls I heard last night. I pity him. That's why I gave him what he wanted, not because he threatened me.\"\n\n\"Then you heard the wolf.\"\n\n\"I heard it. Your friend did not succeed in killing it.\"\n\nI wondered just how sharp her hearing was. \"It didn't take the bait. But we're leaving. I think it will follow us, so you don't need to fear it.\"\n\n\"I fear priests and others who believe the Christ of compassion is best worshipped with bonfires and racks, but not that wolf. I know I am not its quarry.\"\n\nI looked down at our camp. I could see Cygnus backing Xanthus between the wagon shafts. \"I must go, but many thanks for your help. The woman and child are already improving.\"\n\n\"I'm glad.\"\n\nI took a couple of paces down the path before turning back; the healer still stood there, one hand on the gate, as if she expected me to say something else.\n\n\"Forgive me, but I'm curious. Where were you, just now? I couldn't see you anywhere. Did you hear me calling out to you?\"\n\nShe smiled. \"I heard you. I was there.\"\n\nAn image of grey fur and green eyes flashed into my head and before I could stop myself I blurted out, \"The cat?\"\n\nShe laughed. \"You too think I am a witch? No, not the cat, the waterfall. Water is transparent, yet it can conceal better than a solid door. There's a cave behind the falls. I discovered it long ago and my mother knew it before that. If people looked they would see it, but they don't. If you want to conceal yourself, the best place is often in plain view. But then, I think you have already discovered that, Camelot.\"\n\nOur journey that day was more fraught with dissension than usual. The ground was frozen hard, which made Xanthus' job easier and the going quicker, but despite the winter sunshine, a storm cloud had settled over the company. Adela tried to keep up a bright stream of chatter, but it had no effect. Zophiel's swollen lip was a constant reminder of the humiliation he'd suffered, and he was never one to bear such humiliations in silence. Only Narigorm was spared Zophiel's taunts. He had been wary of her ever since that night in the chantry crypt when she had spoken of wolves guarding the paths of the dead, but his unwillingness to challenge her did not extend to the rest of us. He vented his spleen first on Rodrigo, then on Cygnus, and finally on Adela, goading them at every opportunity until Osmond came close to giving him a black eye to match his lip. Rodrigo, ignoring Zophiel, tried desperately to engage Cygnus in conversation, but Cygnus, answering only in grunts, made it plain he wanted to be left alone.\n\nTo make matters worse, the track now began to skirt the edge of an ancient forest. Though the sun sparkled from the frost on the bare black branches of the trees, the forest made everyone uneasy. There were no leaves, but the thick trunks and tangle of last year's brambles made it hard to see far into the woods. After the fears of the night before, we were all on edge. Anything might be keeping pace with us in the shadows, slinking behind the trees. And it was not just beasts we had to worry about; there are human predators too. A band of cut throats might easily be concealed around the next bend and every bird call, every rustle might be their signal.\n\nAs the afternoon wore on and there seemed no end to the forest, we quickened our pace, not even stopping to eat, until we came to a fork in the road. A smaller, rougher track appeared to lead away from the trees into open country once more. None of us wanted to spend the night sleeping near that forest, so by common consent we turned Xanthus onto the rougher track.\n\nThe sun was low and the cold chill of night was already rolling in. Apart from the dark line of forest at our backs, the only thing to be seen in any direction was a distant ring of standing stones. The dark stones stood out starkly against the vast expanse of pinking sky. It was a bleak and barren place. I shuddered to think of the nature of the gods once worshipped here.\n\nIt soon became apparent that the track led to the stones and nowhere else; after all that effort we had been following a dead end. But it was too late to turn back before nightfall, so we continued pushing the wagon towards the ring of stones.\n\nThe stones in the circle were about the height of a man and twelve in number. A taller rock, like an ancient warrior queen, stood a little way outside the ring and, between this and the circle, several smaller stones lay fallen in two rows as if prostrating themselves before her. Even close up it was an eerie place, but there was comfort in it too, for these stones had withstood centuries of storms, invasions, and disasters and had survived unchanged and unchanging.\n\nAt the base of the queen rock we found a deep curved stone basin, like an oyster shell, but large enough for a man to sit in. It was placed so that any rain which fell on the rock would trickle down its surface and drip into the basin beneath. The stone surface of the basin was green with slime, but once we had broken through the thin layer of ice, the water beneath was clean and clear. At least we had water enough for Xanthus to drink and for us to cook with.\n\nThe sun was sinking rapidly and almost before it was gone, the first stars appeared, bringing with them an ice-sharp wind. We finished preparing the supper. Zophiel had laid out the poisoned bait again, some distance from our camp, but I don't think any of the rest of us believed it would work. Perhaps he didn't either. It was an amulet, a talisman, something to ward off disaster when you are powerless to prevent it. Despite what he said, Zophiel needed hope as much as the rest of us. As the skies darkened, he began pacing restlessly, peering out from between the stones in all directions, but he did not step outside their protective circle.\n\n\"Don't you want to eat, Narigorm?\" Adela called over her shoulder, as she ladled mutton into my bowl.\n\nNarigorm crouched in the shadow of one of the stones. She was hunched over, peering at something on the ground in front of her which lay within the light cast by the fire. My chest tightened into a dull ache as I watched her hands hovering in that familiar way over the ground.\n\n\"Narigorm, did you hear what Adela said? Come and eat now!\"\n\nAdela looked round in surprise at the sharpness of my voice, but Narigorm didn't move.\n\n\"I didn't realise,\" Adela said in an anxious voice. \"It's best not to disturb her, Camelot, not when she's reading runes. It might\u2026bring bad luck. I'll save her supper for her.\"\n\nThe ancient stones loomed taller in the darkness. Strange shapes danced across them in the light cast by the flames, as if a host of people circled us just beyond our sight and we glimpsed only their shadows.\n\nI took a bowl of mutton and walked across to Narigorm, deliberately standing between her and the fire to block the light. I held out the bowl, hoping the rich hot steam rising from it would make her realise she was hungry.\n\n\"Please, Narigorm,\" I said meekly, \"why don't you leave that and come and eat? No runes tonight, there's a good girl, not in this place.\"\n\n\"What harm can it do?\" Osmond said. \"Maybe she'll be able to tell us how to get rid of this wolf. If we even knew why it's following us, I'd feel better.\"\n\nWhat harm can it do? I'd never told him or any of the company what Narigorm had read in the runes the night Carwyn was born and Jofre died. I had tried to convince myself that her words had meant nothing. We'd all been so worried for Adela and the baby that night. Narigorm had only said aloud what we all privately feared. The death of Jofre had been a coincidence, nothing more. You can read anything into a fortune-teller's predictions; they deliberately make them vague enough so the words always seem to come true. Perhaps she'd not really learnt of Pleasance's death in the runes either. She could have followed her and seen her hanging. Nothing mystical about that; at least that's what I tried to tell myself.\n\nNarigorm picked up a rune and held it up in the firelight. The symbol on it resembled a pot on its side. \"Peorth reversed.\"\n\nOsmond glanced at the symbol, then quickly averted his eyes. \"Is that to do with the wolf?\"\n\n\"Peorth means a secret someone has not told.\"\n\nHe laughed uneasily. \"We all have those. Let me think. When I was a boy I was madly in love with my mother's serving-maid, but I was too shy ever to tell her. There, is that the secret?\"\n\nNarigorm shook her head. \"When peorth is reversed it means a dark secret, a dark secret that will soon be exposed.\"\n\nI heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind me, then Osmond said quietly, \"Camelot is right. You should eat now.\"\n\nBut Narigorm held up a second rune. Two V shapes were carved into it, interlocking and opposite.\n\n\"Jara. The time of harvest. The time to reap.\" In the firelight her white hair writhed with red and orange flames. She gazed up at Osmond. \"When jara lies with peorth, it means someone will reap the punishment for their dark secret soon.\"\n\nA look of utter panic crossed Osmond's face and he glanced at Adela, who was staring equally wide-eyed, her ladle arrested in mid-air, spilling its contents onto the grass.\n\n\"That's enough now, Narigorm,\" I said sharply.\n\nI intended to say more, but Zophiel spoke from the shadows.\n\nHis voice sounded oddly strained, almost pleading. \"The runes only show what might be. We have the power to change the outcome. The runes are only a warning about what will happen if we do nothing to prevent it.\"\n\nNarigorm stared at him. The light from the flames twisted across her pale face, as if vipers writhed across her skin. Then, without answering, she picked up a third rune and held it up. This one was inscribed with an angled cross.\n\n\"Nyd,\" she said. \"It's the fate rune. It means there's nothing that can be done to change the other two. The fate written in them cannot be altered. The dark secret will be revealed and it will be punished.\"\n\nThe only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the high-pitched keening of the wind as it funnelled between the stones.\n\n\"Who are these warnings for, Narigorm?\" Rodrigo asked harshly. \"Do you know that?\"\n\nShe picked something else from the ground in front of her and held it up in the firelight. It was not a rune this time, but a tiny ball of black marble.\n\n\"Whoever dropped this,\" she replied.\n\nWe looked from one to the other, perplexed, then Adela blurted out, \"Zophiel, isn't that the ball you used in the cup trick on Christ\u2014\"\n\nShe broke off. Zophiel was standing pressed flat against one of the stones, his eyes bulging in horror. Even by firelight we could see he was trembling violently. He drew his hands up over his face and, slowly, like a man who has been stabbed, he slid down the stone until he was crouching on the ground.\n\n\"You have to help me\u2026You have to stop him\u2026You can't let him kill me \u2026\"\n\nNo one moved. We were all too stunned. We had seen Zophiel scared before, but even then he had been angry, bellowing orders; to see him reduced to a quivering wreck was far more horrifying. I crossed to him and laid my hand on his arm. He flinched, but didn't shake it off.\n\n\"Zophiel,\" I said as gently as I could. \"Who are you talking about? Who's going to kill you?\" When he didn't answer, I repeated my question.\n\n\"The wolf,\" he whispered.\n\n\"Come on now, Zophiel, this howling night after night is tormenting all of us. I know it is not natural for a wolf to be following us like this, but these are strange times; men and beasts alike are hungry. But if you're thinking of what happened to Jofre, he was alone, and anyway it's far more likely he was killed by a pack of dogs deliberately set on him. As long as we stay close together a lone wolf will not attack us.\"\n\nZophiel moaned, his face still buried in his hands.\n\n\"Have you been attacked by a wolf before, is that why you've always\u2026?\"\n\nHe shook his head, but still did not raise it to look at me.\n\nThen a thought struck me. \"Zophiel, when we were in the cave, the night we first heard a wolf howl, you said that if the wolf was a beast, the fire would frighten it off, but if it was a human wolf, then the fire would attract it. Is that what you think is out there, some kind of human wolf?\"\n\nHe flinched.\n\n\"Zophiel,\" I said urgently, \"if you know what this creature is you must tell us. We have to know what we're up against.\"\n\nThere was a hiss as Osmond thrust a glowing stick into a beaker. He walked across to where Zophiel crouched.\n\n\"Hot wine,\" he said awkwardly, thrusting the beaker at Zophiel. His face wore an expression of both discomfiture and pity.\n\nZophiel took the beaker, though his hands were shaking so much I had to help him hold it. He winced as the warm wine made contact with his torn lip, but he gulped down the contents greedily.\n\nI handed the empty beaker back to Osmond. He stood looking down at the trembling figure hunched against the stone.\n\n\"Camelot's right, Zophiel. You must tell us. We need to be prepared.\"\n\n\"A wolf story\" Zophiel said with a shaky laugh. \"We've heard Camelot's and Pleasance's; now you want mine. Why not? If the runes are to be believed, you'll find out soon enough. At least if I tell you, it will be the truth, not the lies others will tell of me.\"\n\nAnd then he began, his voice still trembling, but gradually regaining its customary control.\n\nZophiel started as if he had heard something. He stared out into the darkness, pressing his back into the hard granite of the stone, drawing the shadow of it over him like a blanket as if he could disappear into it, vanish, like a ball in one of his own conjuring tricks. But however dark a place a man finds to hide, the smallest glimmer of light will pick out the whites of his eyes and I saw them now, wide with fear, gleaming like bleached bones in the moonlight.\n\nOsmond fetched him another beaker of wine and he took a gulp before resuming his tale.\n\n\"The priest cured others?\" Adela interrupted.\n\nZophiel laughed bitterly. \"Miracles are like murders. After the first one, each becomes easier than the last for, with each success, the miracle-worker's certainty in himself becomes stronger. But curing the sick and raising the dead is not enough. People want drama. They want the grand gesture, just as at the Mass the ignorant populace must have pageant and spectacle to appreciate the power and the glory of God. Offer them a quiet prayer and a simple laying-on of hands, and they think nothing important has happened. So they must be given sweat and blood. Pass your hands over a mans head, wrestle and groan and pull out a stone and tell him this is what has been causing his headache. Cry aloud in an agony of words, let them see the effort it costs, then hold up a bloody lump of gristle, saying 'This I wrested from your belly.'\"\n\nRodrigo shook his head disgustedly. \"You called Camelot a liar for selling people relics and now you tell us this.\"\n\n\"I was not selling them the fake bones of saints and telling them to put their faith in lies. Don't you understand? I was actually curing them. I only showed them the stones to make them appreciate what I was doing for them, but it was my hands that were healing them. I had the power to heal. God was working through me. He showed me that, when I brought the child back from the dead. He chose me because my soul was pure, because I had worked to make it so.\" Zophiel was breathing hard, struggling to regain control of himself.\n\n\"So what went wrong, Zophiel?\" I asked quietly.\n\nZophiel's hand, the knuckles gleaming white in the moonlight, emerged from the darkness of his cloak and in the moonlight I saw the glimmer of silver from the knife he gripped.\n\nThere was a shocked silence when Zophiel finished his tale. He sat with his head once more in his hands as if trying to blot out the memory of that day Sadness welled up inside me, not for the man huddled near the stone, but for the youth, long gone, who once had tried so hard, had so much faith.\n\n\"You were a priest?\" Adela said incredulously, as if she had only just taken in what he had told us. \"But how could you be? You're a magician, a conjuror.\"\n\nZophiel snorted. \"You think they are different? When a conjurer performs, people see what they want to see. The conjurer holds up his cup, says his abracadabra, and, behold, a white ball turns black; a toad becomes a dove; lead transforms into gold. When a priest holds up his cup and incants his Latin chant, the people say behold, wine has become blood, bread is become flesh.\"\n\n\"That is blasphemy!\" Osmond sounded more shocked than I'd ever heard him. \"Rodrigo is right, you are a hypocrite. You accused Cygnus of sacrilege when he suggested Adela could give birth in the chapel. And for you, a priest, to say\u2014\"\n\n\"Do you know what blasphemy really is, Osmond? Blasphemy is a woman. That is the thing which is an abomination before God. Women are the succubi that leech upon the soul of man. Women tear down all he has built and bring him to nothing. They lead him from God into the snares of the Devil; no man is safe from them, for even if he resists their seductions, they will find a way to bring him down. And one day you will discover that for yourself, Osmond. One day she will do to you what women always do to men: She will damn your soul.\"\n\nAdela, covering her face with her hands, scrambled up and fled towards the wagon. Casting furious looks at Zophiel, Osmond ran after her.\n\nCygnus rose to his feet, his face contorted in fury. \"How dare you speak of women like that, especially Adela? She's shown you nothing but kindness. Are you forgetting it was a woman who gave birth to you?\"\n\nBut Narigorm interrupted. \"There's no wolf in this story. You said this was a wolf story.\"\n\n\"Narigorm's right,\" I said. \"What has this tale to do with the wolf?\"\n\nZophiel drained the last dregs from the beaker of wine.\n\n\"It has everything to do with the wolf. The wolf that has been following us is a human wolf, as you surmised, Camelot. I knew he had found me the night we heard him when we were in the cave. He's been tracking me ever since.\"\n\n\"Because of the girl?\" I asked.\n\n\"No, not the girl; she does not matter to anyone. If it had been the girl they would have sent the sheriff's men after me. Out there somewhere watching us are not the sheriff's men; it is the bishop's wolf. The wolves are the men the Church pay to recover what's been taken from them. They pay them well, but only if they recover what is lost. They work alone, tracking their quarry for months, years sometimes, to recover some stolen relic or jewel. They work outside the law. There are too many precious items in churches and abbeys whose provenance would not stand up to close scrutiny in court. Which bishop or abbot can swear his relics and jewels were not once the property of someone else, someone who might in turn demand them back? The Church's wolves do not arrest people and bring them to trial. The Church cannot risk that. The wolves have their own brand of justice and they are the judge, jury, and executioner of it.\"\n\n\"But I don't understand\u2014you made no mention of theft. What did you steal?\"\n\n\"I stole nothing. I took only what was mine. I earned them. They were given to me in gratitude by those I had healed. It was the power in my hands that healed them, not the Church. They were mine to take.\"\n\nI shook my head in disbelief. \"You took the gifts that had been given to your church as thank offerings.\"\n\n\"That small metal dish I felt in the unlocked box, the night I hid in the wagon\u2014I've just realised what it was,\" Cygnus said suddenly. \"It was a paten for holy bread, wasn't it? No one would make a dish that small for anything else.\"\n\n\"That piece is of little value, but it is mine.\"\n\nA look of comprehension was spreading across Cygnus' face. \"But if Jofre got curious and searched your boxes and he saw it, he would have realised that there was something odd about a magician travelling with an object that only those in holy orders should ever touch. That's what he meant when he threatened to sell the information of what was in your boxes. He wouldn't have known who you were, but he knew no layman would have come by such an object honestly.\"\n\n\"So,\" said Rodrigo furiously, \"I was right. You threatened to hand Cygnus over to the sheriff's men, but you had no intention of doing so. You were a fugitive yourself. You could not risk standing up in court as witness against him. You tormented him with your threats because it amused you. And you accused Jofre of being a thief when you\u2014\"\n\n\"They were mine to take,\" Zophiel repeated stubbornly, ignoring Rodrigo, whose eyes were blazing with anger.\n\n\"What I don't understand,\" I said, \"is if they knew you had taken them, why didn't this wolf seize the items as soon as he found you?\"\n\n\"He didn't know for certain I had taken them. You don't think I simply walked out with them? I'm not that stupid. I was careful to make it appear that the church had been broken into. The church was surrounded by thieves and foreigners. They'd break in and steal anything just to get the price of a drink or a whore. It was easy to cast suspicion on others. The wolf had no proof, so he had to wait for a chance to look inside the wagon, or maybe he hoped I'd be foolish enough to try to sell one of the pieces.\"\n\n\"And we unwittingly protected you, because there was always one of us around,\" I said.\n\n\"Until that day in the chantry, when this useless cripple left the door unbarred\u2014the day a silver chalice was taken from my boxes.\"\n\n\"And that's what you accused Jofre of stealing,\" I said.\n\n\"The wolf took the chalice. It was a warning.\"\n\nRodrigo's fists clenched in fury. \"Then you knew Jofre had not stolen it.\"\n\nI grabbed his arm, mindful of the knife in Zophiel's hand.\n\n\"I did not know that morning, I swear! I believed it was Jofre. I thought he had taken it and sold it in the town. I went to the town that morning to try to recover it, but I could discover no trace of it. Then I realised the wolf had taken it, as a warning to me.\"\n\nRodrigo's breathing was laboured. I could feel the rage shaking his body. I prayed he would be able to keep control of his temper, for neither Cygnus nor I would be able to stop him if he lost it.\n\n\"And what happened to Jofre\u2026was that also a warning?\" he asked, his voice cracking with choked-back tears.\n\nZophiel didn't answer.\n\nI shivered. The wind was picking up and flames from the fire twisted in the gusts. Rodrigo sat with his fists pressed against his mouth, as if he could not trust himself to speak again.\n\nA thought struck me. \"But if you know the wolf is human, why lay out the poisoned meat? A man wouldn't fall for such a trick.\"\n\n\"He must be using dogs to track us under the cover of darkness. He can't risk following us too closely in open country; we'd see him. If we can get rid of the dogs, we might lose him. Besides, if he thinks the meat has been dropped by mistake or stolen by the dogs, he might be tempted to share it with them. All those weeks out there, he can't have found it any easier to find food than we have.\"\n\n\"You left meat poisoned with wolfsbane for a man!\" Cygnus cried. \"Surely you know how cruel and agonising a death that is?\"\n\nZophiel's face was twisted into a mask of fear and hatred. \"Yes, of course I know. Agonising but rapid, which is more mercy than the wolf has shown me.\"\n\nIn spite of all he'd done, I felt a wave of pity for him. Although I had no love for the man, I would not have wanted my worst enemy to torture himself like this.\n\n\"Zophiel,\" I said, trying to calm him. \"It's been over a month since the chalice was taken. Surely if he was hunting you, he would have made his move by now. What would be the sense in delaying? He would have had you arrested weeks ago if he had proof.\"\n\n\"Why are you all so stupid?\" Zophiel screamed. \"Haven't you listened to a word I've said? Don't you understand: There will be no arrest. There will be no trial. They relish their work, these men. To them, murder is an art. They want you to know they are there watching and that they can take you any time they please. They enjoy tormenting their victims first. How can you fight a man when you can't even see him? I look at faces in a crowd and I know any one of them could be him. I could brush past him on a crowded street and I wouldn't even know it. He is out there, biding his time, waiting until there are no witnesses. Then he is going to kill me\u2026he's going to kill me and there is nothing I can do to stop him.\"\n\nAs if he had been listening to these words, the wolf began to bay into the shrieking wind. Zophiel started so violently that the knife jerked from his trembling fingers and fell onto the grass. He was on his hands and knees, desperately groping around in the dark for it, when the second howl reverberated through the stones. He collapsed onto the ground, pressing his hands to his ears, and began to sob."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "We heard the singing long before we saw the procession. It was dark and the stars shone brightly, but a faint pearl shimmer on the eastern horizon whispered that dawn was not far off. We were already awake. None of us had got much sleep, with the thought of the bishop's wolf out there somewhere watching us. Al though Zophiel had regained much of his customary composure once the howls of the wolf had died away, his revelations had left us all tossing and turning, unable to settle. Zophiel himself had paced the stone circle half the night, before weariness and wine finally caught up with him. Towards morning it had grown so cold that any pretence at dozing had become impossible. One by one we had risen and crept close to the fire to sit in silence, warming our hands on beakers of a weak mutton-bone broth that had been simmering all night in the embers of the fire pit.\n\nThe chanting reached us in snatches above the wind. At first I thought it was the wind itself, singing through the stones, but as it grew louder, I realised it was human voices. Zophiel and Rodrigo hurried across to Osmond, who was still on watch and peering across the dark heath in the direction of the forest.\n\nThen we saw distant dots of light bobbing and weaving in the darkness. The lights came slowly towards us and finally we made out a line of people carrying flaming torches that trailed streams of fire and smoke behind them like pennants in the wind. Osmond hurried Adela and the baby to the wagon and pushed them underneath it. Shoving a blanket towards her, he urged her to cover herself and keep still. He made Narigorm do the same.\n\nAbout twenty men and women were walking towards us in a long line. Despite the torches, they did not look or sound like a rabble bent on destruction. We stood nervously among the stones and waited, gripping our staves. Our fire was well banked down in the fire pit, and the stones were still in darkness, so the people in the procession didn't appear to notice us at first, but they must have caught sight of the wagon, for the leader suddenly raised his arm and they all stopped.\n\nThey stood watching us, as we stood watching them. We still had darkness on our side, for though they were well illuminated by the torches, we were concealed among the stones and they could have little idea of how many we numbered. Eventually they came to some sort of a decision and started forward again. The line was a little more ragged, but the singing grew louder and finally we could make out the words.\n\n\"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.\"\n\nAs they drew level with the stones, we saw their faces turn towards us, searching the darkness anxiously, but they didn't enter the circle. Instead, they walked round until they came to the line of fallen stones leading to the tall queen stone. Still chanting, they processed up through the line of prostrate stones and there they paused to stick their torches in the ground. Then, as we stood in silence and watched, they began to strip off their clothes until each of them was naked.\n\n\"Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.\"\n\nThey stood facing the east, their arms hugged around themselves, shivering in the bitter wind. Their leader positioned himself directly in front of the queen stone. He was a small frog-like man with no neck and a rotund, sagging body, but in contrast, his legs and arms were long and spindly. He jiggled up and down on the balls of his feet in an effort to keep himself warm, his pale flaccid buttocks wobbling in the torchlight. His followers were still singing, but the sound was muffled now by clenched jaws and chattering teeth.\n\n\"Salve, regina, mater miserercordiae, Vita, dulcedo et nostra, salve! Hail, holy queen, mother of mercy, hail our life, our sweetness and our hope.\"\n\nAs the pale disc of sun edged up just over the horizon, the leader struck his fists down onto the ice in the bowl at the foot of the queen stone and stepped in. He ducked down quickly and scooped the freezing water over his head and shoulders three times, before hastily scrambling out. No sooner had he stepped out than the next stepped in, men and women, one after another, the first rays of the sun sparkling from the drops of water as they dashed them over their shivering bodies. Once the ordeal was over, each dressed as rapidly as numb fingers and wet bodies would allow. They didn't dry themselves, but pulled their shirts and shifts over their goosepimpled flesh and stuffed wet feet back into woollen hose. Through all the bathing and dressing, the round of Aves continued shakily, but unabated.\n\nIt was only when the women laid little bundles of snowdrops around the base of the stone that I finally remembered it was Candlemas Day, the purification of the Virgin, but which virgin, I wondered, for despite their Aves, this was hardly a Christian site.\n\nThe leader came across to us and nodded gravely.\n\n\"You will forgive us, brothers, for intruding on your camp, but we always bathe here at dawn on the quarter days. We didn't expect to find anyone here. No one comes here, as a rule but us.\" He sounded somewhat offended.\n\n\"A penance to purify the soul?\" said Zophiel. \"This is a heathen place to make such an act of contrition.\"\n\nThe man drew himself up to his full height, which had little effect since he was still over a head shorter than Zophiel.\n\n\"Heathen?\" he said indignantly. \"Did you not hear us singing to the Blessed Virgin? People have been coming up here for generations. The water which runs down that stone has healing powers. Why, cripples who could not walk a step have been carried here and put in that basin and they have walked back down that path on their own two feet.\"\n\nZophiel snorted. \"We have a cripple among our company. Born without an arm; do you think your water will grow him a new one?\"\n\n\"It's easy to mock, my fine fellow, but you'll be laughing on the other side of your face when you fall sick with the pestilence and we do not.\"\n\nI stepped in quickly. \"Forgive my friend, good Sir; he didn't sleep well last night. He is in a choleric humour.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps he should try the water,\" the man said tartly.\n\n\"I'll see that he does. I take it you know these parts well? Tell me, the main track over there, does it continue through the forest for many miles?\"\n\nThe man thought about this for a long time, before finally saying \"It does.\"\n\n\"Is there a crossroads or a road that forks off it?\"\n\nHe considered the matter again. \"There is.\"\n\nI tried not to get impatient, but trying to extract any information from this fellow was like trying to milk a flea. \"How far along the forest road before you reach a fork?\"\n\n\"About a mile.\"\n\n\"Does this fork go anywhere?\"\n\n\"Same direction as this. Crosses the heath, but lower down.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, Sir, but I meant is it a dead end like this one or does it lead somewhere, to a village or town perhaps?\" I could see Osmond grinning and I tried not to meet his eye.\n\n\"Leads to the sea. Take you a couple of weeks or more to get there, mind.\" Then, taking a reckless plunge, he added, \"But if you take that road you'll not get to anywhere before nightfall and you'll want to be somewhere before then.\" He glanced up at the sky. \"Wind's shifted. We'll see some snow before long.\"\n\nHe turned to go, then stopped as a new thought struck him. \"There's a drover's hut near a pinfold along that heath track. You might make that, if the snow holds off long enough. It'll be a bit of a roof over you. There's a spring there to water the horse. But,\" he added, glowering once more at Zophiel, \"it's not a healing spring, so if you want to get rid of your friend's choler, I'd give him a good bath here first if I were you.\"\n\nWith that he stalked off, leading his band of shivering supplicants back down the track towards the forest road.\n\n\"Well done, Zophiel,\" Osmond said. \"You've certainly ensured we can't look for lodgings with them. They'll be waiting for us with pitchforks and burning brands, once the news spreads.\" He turned to Rodrigo and me. \"Do we make for the drover's hut? If it's going to snow, we'll need more shelter than these stones.\"\n\n\"Break camp quickly, then,\" Zophiel said. \"Our helpful little friend omitted to tell us just how far the drover's hut was and if the track is anything like this one, I don't want to be travelling it in the snow. Cygnus, see that Xanthus is well watered before we move out, unless, of course, you want to try the water yourself first. Who knows, if our diminutive friend is right, pray nicely and you might grow another wing.\"\n\nMen say many things under the cover of darkness which, come the cold light of dawn, they bitterly regret revealing, and Zophiel was no exception. He was clearly furious that he'd been forced to confide in us the night before. And as usual with men like Zophiel, they don't blame themselves, but blame those who witness their moment of weakness. He was not going to forgive any of us for having seen his wretched state the night before and it was evident he had no intention of giving way to his fear again. But then, it is always easy to dismiss the terrors of the night when it is day, not so easy when darkness falls.\n\nThe baited carcass had caught nothing except a half dozen ravens, which lay dead on the ground around it. None of us really expected to find a wolf lying there; nevertheless, we hoped, for the alternative was to accept that whatever was following us was no animal. Rodrigo burned the carcass before we left. At least there would be no more dead birds.\n\nIt was around noon when we found the drover's hut. Our little friend was right, it was \"a bit of a roof.\" The hut was long and narrow, made from wattle and daub. Good for sheltering from summer storms, but not from winter's cold. The roof was an equally flimsy affair of overlapping wooden tiles cut from the ends of logs, but it looked sound and was steeply raked, which would be a blessing if the snow did fall. The most substantial thing about the hut was a rough stone chimney at one end.\n\nThe wooden pinfold nearest to the hut was large enough to contain a flock of sheep. There was a stone water trough inside, so it would hold Xanthus well enough. Several older pinfolds lay some distance away, made of rough stone walling which had collapsed in places. The hut itself was bare inside except for a stack of wool sacks, which served as beds for the drovers, shepherds, and stockmen who used the hut. A small sack of withered turnips lay in one corner. I wasn't sure if Xanthus had ever been offered such fare before, but if we couldn't find fodder she might be grateful for them, as would we.\n\nWe set the last of the mutton to boil over the fire. It was going to be a meagre supper, but the water would collect the fat and flavour and make a thin broth for the morning. I made Narigorm sort through the sack of turnips and toss in a few of the better ones. They were woody and shrivelled, but they might be edible if we stewed them long enough.\n\nAs I stirred the pot, Adela sat nursing little Carwyn. Her milk was flowing better now and the baby was stronger, but it wouldn't last if we couldn't find more food soon.\n\nAs if she had read my thoughts, Narigorm said, \"There's no more meat left after this, is there? If Adela doesn't eat meat, the baby will die, won't it?\"\n\nI saw the stricken look on Adela's face and said hastily, \"Don't say such foolish things, Narigorm. We still have the herbs the healer gave us. Carwyn is in no danger.\"\n\n\"There'd be another day's worth at least, if it hadn't been wasted on useless baits,\" Osmond said, glowering through the open door at Zophiel, who was collecting boxes from the wagon.\n\n\"Recriminations won't restore the meat,\" I said. \"Let's make sure we lay a piece of this aside for Adela to eat in the morning. The rest of us can do without tomorrow.\"\n\nZophiel came inside with the last of his boxes. These he stacked as neatly as ever in the corner.\n\n\"Do we have to have those in here?\" Osmond grumbled. \"There's hardly enough room for the eight of us as it is.\"\n\n\"There'd only be seven, if your wife had learned to keep her legs crossed. I have to put up with being kept awake half the night by your mewling brat.\"\n\n\"And we have to put up with being kept awake all night by your howling wolf,\" Osmond snapped. His fists clenched, but Rodrigo laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.\n\n\"Zophiel,\" I said, \"why don't you simply leave the treasures from the church for the wolf to find? I know, I know,\" I added hastily, seeing the look of outrage on his face, \"they're yours, you earned them, but surely your life is worth more than a few bits of silver. They're no good to you if you're dead.\"\n\n\"Do you really think that would make him leave me alone? The bishop may want his treasures, but the wolves feed on fear and blood. It's about exacting revenge and punishing their victim, not simply recovering what has been taken.\"\n\n\"But you said yourself the bishop would pay this man well if he recovers the items. So if he retrieves them he'll be anxious to hurry back to Lincoln to claim his reward. He won't want to waste time waiting for a chance to find you alone.\"\n\n\"If Lincoln has been hit by the pestilence, that city is so crowded it'll run through it faster than floodwaters. The bishop won't risk his corpulent posterior by exposing it to the city's foul humours. He'll have left long ago and our wolf will be in no hurry to seek him out. If the bishop lives, the wolf may return to Lincoln once this pestilence is over\u2014or he may simply disappear and keep the treasures for himself; after all, what he's paid will be a fraction of what they're worth. Who's to know he did not perish in the pestilence? Another good reason for killing me; I might take it into my head to throw myself on the mercy of the Church and confess all, including that he now has the items. No, Camelot, I am not simply going to hand my property over to a hired killer. I can wait, too. He may be stalking me, but there is something stalking all of us, including the wolf. For all his assassin's skill, he can't fight pestilence or hunger. Whichever kills him, I trust it will be painful and lingering.\n\n\"Besides,\" he added with a chill smile, \"our diminutive friend at the standing stones said this road leads to the sea, and there I will finally get my passage to Ireland. The Bishop of Lincoln's reach is long, but it does not stretch that far. In Ireland I will be safe: safe from the pestilence, safe from the wolf.\"\n\nIt was useless to argue with him. But I wondered if Zophiel would still be speaking as easily of waiting when night fell and the wolf began to bay again. If the man at the standing stones was correct, we had at least two weeks' journey ahead of us before we reached the sea and once the wolf realised where Zophiel was headed, he'd surely try to stop him before he boarded a ship.\n\nZophiel peered out of the door at the swollen clouds. \"If it snows today he won't bother us tonight. He won't want to leave tracks, his or his dogs', which could be followed back to him. So all we'll have to keep us awake tonight is that brat. Did you know the ancients used to leave sickly infants outside in the snow? It either killed or cured them. Perhaps we should revive the custom.\"\n\nAdela clasped Carwyn to her, as if she feared Zophiel would snatch him from her arms.\n\nCygnus, glancing at the outraged Osmond, said quickly, \"You'll sleep sounder under a roof, Zophiel; you won't even hear little Carwyn.\"\n\nZophiel's eyes narrowed. \"Meaning what exactly, Cygnus?\"\n\nCygnus hesitated. \"If I was being hunted, I'd be nervous about sleeping in the open. The howling would terrify anyone. I feel sorry\u2026\" He trailed off miserably, as he saw the look of fury in Zophiel's face.\n\n\"I trust I shall never sink so low as to need the pity of a cripple,\" Zophiel snarled. \"What use are you to anyone, Cygnus? You can't hunt. You have to get Rodrigo to fight your battles for you. Tell me, Cygnus, what exactly is the point of you?\"\n\nOnly Rodrigo's iron grip on his shoulder kept Osmond from launching himself at Zophiel.\n\nZophiel swung his cloak over his shoulders. \"I'm going to find fodder for Xanthus; we'll need as much as we can get if it does snow. I can't afford to have a dead horse on my hands.\"\n\n\"But if the wolf is following, you shouldn't go out there alone,\" I warned.\n\n\"Let him go, Camelot,\" Osmond said. \"Serves him right if the wolf does get him.\"\n\nZophiel made a mocking bow. \"Your concern is touching, my friend, but he will not risk striking in the open in daylight.\" He strode out without a backwards glance.\n\nOsmond's face was white with anger. \"I know being pleasant would be asking too much of him, but considering that little weasel begged for our help last night, you'd think he'd try to curb his tongue, seeing that we are all that stand between him and the bishop's wolf.\"\n\nCygnus muttered something about needing to see to Xanthus and rushed out into the cold.\n\n\"If Zophiel doesn't leave Adela and Cygnus alone, I swear I'm going to kill him,\" Osmond muttered. He pulled on his cloak. \"I'll see if I can find anything for the pot. If I take it out on a few birds or rabbits, it might stop me pounding Zophiel to a pulp.\"\n\nAdela waited until he was out of earshot. Then she turned anxiously to Rodrigo. \"Go after him, Rodrigo, please. Stop him doing anything stupid. I'm frightened. Osmond might really lose his temper and hit him. He'll use his fist, but Zophiel always goes for his knife and Osmond is not as good at defending himself as he likes to think.\"\n\nRodrigo reached over and clasped her hand. \"I swear I will not let any harm come to him, Adela.\"\n\nShe smiled up at him. \"You're a good man, Rodrigo.\"\n\nRodrigo squeezed her hand, but he did not return her smile. He followed Osmond outside.\n\nOur friend at the standing stones was right about the snow. By mid-afternoon the first flakes began to fall and soon they were swirling fast in the driving wind. Within minutes of each other, Rodrigo and Osmond both came hurrying in, banging the door behind them and sending smoke billowing back into the hut. Osmond dropped a pair of snipe on the floor.\n\n\"Best I could do. Missed more than I hit and there wasn't much to hit. Everything's gone to ground. Seemed to know the snow was on its way.\" He crouched down at Adela's feet, and looked anxiously up at her. \"I'm sorry,\" he told her. \"I'll try again tomorrow. If this snow stops, I may be able to track a hare or two to their form.\"\n\nShe brushed the snow from his shoulders and smiled affectionately. \"You've done well to catch anything. Is it bad out there?\"\n\n\"The snow's whipping so hard into your face you can't see a thing.\"\n\nThe door crashed open for a third time. Cygnus stood in the doorway. Adela glanced up at the sudden blast of cold air and screamed. Cygnus' hand was covered in bright red blood.\n\n\"What happened, Cygnus? Are you hurt?\"\n\nCygnus looked bemused, as if he didn't know why Osmond was asking.\n\n\"The blood on your hand!\"\n\nHe stared down at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. \"Blood\u2026yes, there was a lot of blood \u2026 I had to hurry.\"\n\nHe swung a sack down from his shoulder and as he pulled off his cloak we saw the front of his gipon was also soaked with blood. He peeled back the neck of the sack and exposed the freshly skinned leg of a sheep.\n\n\"Adela needs meat. If the snow lasts we may not get more food. The sheep was old. It'll be tough, but if we boil it\u2014\"\n\n\"You slaughtered a sheep?\" Relief spread across Osmond's face. \"But who on earth did you buy it from? I walked for ages and I couldn't see a cottage.\"\n\nCygnus stared down at the blood on his hand. \"I didn't buy it.\"\n\n\"You stole it?\" Adela gasped. \"That's a hanging offence! Tell me you haven't risked that to get meat for me.\"\n\nThere was a shocked silence in the room; for a moment all you could hear was the crackling of wood on the fire.\n\nCygnus shrugged, avoiding looking at her horrified face. \"I buried the marked skin under some stones. No one will come here in the snow and if they do, who's to know this isn't the same sheep Zophiel and Camelot bought.\"\n\nI swallowed hard. \"If they find you covered in blood, eating fresh mutton in a drover's hut, believe me they won't stop to ask questions.\" The penalties for sheep-stealing were merciless. I couldn't believe that Cygnus would take such a risk. He'd been so terrified of being arrested for murder, and now he was risking the gallows for a meal.\n\n\"Camelot's right. You must wash that blood off quickly.\" Adela tugged at his sleeve. \"Give me your gipon and your shirt. If I wash them in cold water before the blood has a chance to dry, we'll get the stain out.\"\n\n\"No!\" Cygnus snapped, then seeing Adela's hurt expression, he added more gently, \"No, thank you. I can wash it. I don't want you to get blood on your clothes.\"\n\nWe couldn't bring the sheep back to life, so there was nothing for it but to eat the evidence. We put the head, trotters, and offal to boil straightaway and hung the rest of the carcass up in the sack outside where the snow would keep it fresh. The wind had abated and snow was falling thickly now. Already the ground of the pinfold was white. By the time Cygnus returned from the spring, clad only in his cloak and breeches, he was shivering violently. We hung his wet clothes near the fire to dry, but Cygnus insisted on braving the snow again to lead Xanthus to the side of the hut. He tethered her close to the back of the chimney, in the lee of the hut where she could feel the warmth from the chimney stones.\n\nSnow was driving in through the open window which overlooked the pinfold. There was no shutter. The shepherds and drovers who used the hut needed to keep an eye on their charges. I volunteered to go out to the wagon to find something to fasten one of the wool-filled sacks across the window to keep out the snow and cold.\n\nXanthus was leaning gratefully against the warm chimney back, her head lowered. Her mane was already white with snow. Cygnus had tied some old sheepskins across her broad back to keep out the cold, and snow was forming a thick crust on top of them. It occurred to me that I should also fetch a spade from the wagon. If it carried on like this all night, we might have to dig our way out of the hut door.\n\nAt least we would have food to fill our bellies for the next few days. Whilst I was grateful for that, I cursed Cygnus with every name I could think of for taking such a stupid risk. I thought of the day we had first seen him telling his stories in the marketplace, and of the purple, swollen faces of the men slowly choking to death on the end of a rope in that same square. Cygnus knew only too well what they did to men who stole sheep. That day, Osmond had asked me what would drive a man to risk such a punishment. Had Zophiel's taunts driven Cygnus to do something so dangerous? Or was it what he once said to me, that no one who lets a child come to harm could ever be forgiven? Had he risked the rope for Adela and baby Carwyn?\n\nBut maybe he was right; maybe no one would come looking. If the sheep had been left to wander out on the heath in this, then they were strays or no longer had a shepherd to tend them. Why should we starve and watch a baby die when there was food for the taking? It was hard to fathom, but the old laws and the old order were crumbling about our ears. There was a new king and his name was pestilence. And he had created a new law\u2014thou shalt do anything to survive.\n\nI returned to the hut, shaking the snow from my cloak. As Osmond nailed the sack across the window, a thought struck me.\n\n\"Where's Zophiel? He can't still be looking for fodder in this. Did anyone see him when you were out?\"\n\nOsmond shook his head. \"Just as well I didn't. I'd probably have thrashed him.\"\n\n\"Cygnus? Rodrigo?\"\n\nRodrigo sat hunched over the fire. He didn't look round. \"I saw him earlier this afternoon.\"\n\n\"It'll be dark soon. Perhaps we should go and look for him. He may be lost.\"\n\n\"There's another hour of light left,\" said Osmond. \"Maybe he walked a long way and it's taking him time to get back. Any way, I'm in no hurry for him to return.\"\n\nZophiel did not return. The light was fading fast. Eventually even Osmond had to agree we needed to go out to look. If Zophiel had slipped and broken a leg, he might be lying out there helpless, though I dreaded to think what sort of patient he would make, if he was hurt. Pain and frustration would do nothing to sweeten his temper.\n\nAdela clutched at Osmond's cloak. \"What if the wolf's out there?\"\n\n\"If you mean the bishop's wolf,\" I told her, \"as Zophiel said, he'll not risk coming close in the snow and leaving tracks. Besides, there's no reason why he should harm us,\" I assured her, trying to push the image of Jofre's mutilated body out of my head.\n\n\"All the same,\" said Osmond, \"since those wretched boxes of his are in the hut, I think Rodrigo should stay here with Adela, Narigorm, and the baby. Rodrigo's the most able of us with the stave if it should come to a fight.\"\n\nRodrigo, when pressed, said he'd last seen Zophiel walking in the direction of the far pinfolds. Pulling our cloaks tightly around us against the stinging wind, Cygnus, Osmond, and I set off towards the pinfolds, fanning out so as to cover more ground between us. The snow was ankle deep, deeper where the wind had blown it into drifts. We carried torches lit from the fire, waving and calling in the hope that if Zophiel was lost he would at least see the lights or hear the shouts.\n\nIt was hard work, tramping through the snow; several times I came close to slipping and breaking a leg myself. Though the wind had eased a little, the snow was falling hard and my guttering torch did little more than illuminate the millions of soft white feathers drifting down around us. In the distance I could just make out the bobbing torches of Cygnus and Osmond. I stopped to catch my breath. The sounds of Osmond's and Cygnus' shouts drifted back, but otherwise there was a suffocating silence.\n\nWe searched until it was completely dark and my hands and feet were so cold they hurt. Then I saw the two torches moving back towards me. Osmond and Cygnus had evidently decided it was futile to continue. I also turned back. He could be anywhere out on that heath. We didn't have a hope of finding him in this.\n\nAs I neared the farthest pinfold from the hut, I saw something move on the other side of it. I stopped, holding my breath, unable to make out what it was. I could feel my heart thudding against my chest, but then it moved again and I realised with a rush of anger and relief that it was Narigorm. She had been standing there for some time, for her clothes were encrusted with snow. She was staring up into the sky, letting the white flakes fall silently onto her white hair and lashes.\n\n\"What on earth are you doing out here, Narigorm?\" I shouted. \"Have you no sense?\"\n\nShe turned, as if she had just been patiently waiting for me to come. Then she pointed at the ground. The snow was smooth and white, glittering in the torchlight. But there, near one of the walls, were three dark smudges. I leant over the wall as far as I could. Dark stones, maybe, sticking out of the drift. I moved the torch and realised it wasn't something jutting out of the snow; it was the snow itself that was stained.\n\nThere was a shape under the snow. From a distance it looked like a drift, but close up it was unmistakably the blurred form of a body. My heart pounding, I knelt down and scraped away until my fingers touched the fabric of a hood. I pulled it back. Zophiel was sprawled on his belly. There was no question that he was dead. I looked down at the three dark red patches staining the snow.\n\nA pool of blood had oozed out of a wound between the shoulder blades, the kind of wound a dagger would make if it was thrust in hard and then wrenched out again. Chances were, Zophiel would not even have seen his assassin until he felt the knife plunge in. I brushed the snow where a second, larger patch of dark blood stained the whiteness. My fingers encountered something both spongy and sharp. Fighting the urge to retch, I grabbed the cloth at Zophiel's shoulder, pulling the body up on one side.\n\nThe killer had not been content to leave it with a simple murder. Zophiel's arm had been severed between the shoulder and the elbow. From the end of the raw bloody mess, the bone protruded white and jagged. I guessed by the staining that the killer had done the same to his other arm. As I turned the body, something fell from it into the snow. Narigorm bent swiftly and picked it up. It was Zophiel's knife. It was covered with blood. Unless Zophiel had managed to wound his attacker, which seemed unlikely, then whoever had cut off his arms had used Zophiel's own knife to do it.\n\nSo the bishop's wolf had caught up with him after all. Zophiel had said that his pursuer wouldn't strike once the snow had lain and risk leaving tracks. But he had forgotten that falling snow swiftly covers tracks, even bodies. The stalking wolf had timed it well. He must have struck just as it was beginning and the falling snow had concealed him, his tracks, and his bloody deed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "Osmond and Cygnus stood staring down at Zophiel's body even as the snow continued to cover it.\n\n\"We should raise the hue and cry,\" Osmond said, his voice trembling.\n\n\"And send for the coroner?\" I said. \"What if he happens to be the same one who attended Jofre's death? Two violent deaths from among our company in a month\u2014we'd be hard put to explain that. I don't think that coroner would believe stories of the bishop's wolf; we can't even describe the man. And don't forget we have a stolen sheep in our hut too, in case you were thinking of asking him to stay for supper. No, unless we all want to be hanged, I think we should bury him before anyone else chances on the body.\"\n\n\"But the ground's frozen solid,\" Osmond protested. \"We'd never manage to dig even a shallow grave.\"\n\n\"The earth floor in the drover's hut won't be frozen,\" I said.\n\nThe torch shook in Osmond's hand. \"Are you seriously suggesting we bury him in the hut and then sit on top of his grave and eat our supper?\"\n\n\"Since the bad harvests, many people have taken to hiding their dead relatives under their thresholds or floors, if they can't pay the soul-scot for a priest to bury them.\"\n\n\"But not when they've been murdered and mutilated,\" Cygnus said, glancing down at the body and looking away. \"It's not like dying in your own bed. His spirit won't rest. It'll seek vengeance.\"\n\nThe snow was still falling hard. I could see the faces of the others were stiff with cold and I could hardly feel my own. \"For now let's cover him with the fallen stones from the wall. That and the snow will conceal him if anyone chances along here. And it will give us time to decide what to do.\"\n\nEven that was not as easy as it sounds. We had to drag the body over to the fallen part of the wall, where a heap of stones would not look out of place. Then we had to lift the stones onto the corpse with numb and painful fingers. It takes more stones than you might think to cover a man. We searched around the pinfold for the severed arms, but they had vanished.\n\nWhen we returned to the hut we found that Narigorm had already told Adela and Rodrigo about the murder, in gory detail no doubt. They sprang up as we returned, searching our faces anxiously to see if it was true. Osmond hugged Adela to him, though I think that was as much to seek comfort for himself as to comfort her, for of the two of them, he was the more shaken. It was hardly surprising, for the sight of that mutilated corpse was enough to make even the strongest stomach heave.\n\nRodrigo clutched his head with both hands as if he was trying to keep it from bursting. Finally he said, \"You left the body where it was?\"\n\n\"We covered it with stones for now,\" I told him. \"But it can't stay there. If any shepherd or drover moves the stones to repair the wall, they'll find it at once. With the arms hacked off, no one finding it is going to think the stones fell by accident and killed him.\"\n\n\"But with the snow, maybe no one will come.\"\n\n\"The snow won't last forever; they could be driving cattle or sheep this way within weeks, days even. If anyone finds him and spreads the word, that man at the standing stones is bound to remember he directed us here. He's hardly likely to forget Zophiel. We have two choices: Either we report it ourselves and trust that the coroner will believe the story about the bishop's wolf, or we hide the body so it's not found. I think hiding the body is our only option.\"\n\nRodrigo nodded grimly and turned away, crouching down by the fire and staring into the flames.\n\n\"What about Zophiel's boxes?\" Adela asked fearfully. \"The bishop's wolf might come in here to get them tonight.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"He's just murdered a man. He won't take the risk of being seen by all of us. But we should put the boxes in the wagon. Make it easy for him to take them and at least then we'll be rid of him. Although it's too late to help poor Zophiel.\"\n\n\"Well, I for one am not going to pretend that I'm sorry Zophiel is dead,\" Osmond suddenly burst out, glaring round at us. \"Look how he treated Cygnus and Adela. You're not sorry he's gone, are you, Cygnus? Or you, Rodrigo, not after the way he tormented Jofre?\"\n\nNeither of them answered him.\n\n\"Osmond, don't,\" Adela pleaded.\n\n\"What's the point of pretending? Why can't we be honest? He was a spiteful, vindictive, malicious man.\"\n\n\"Osmond, don't talk about him,\" Adela wailed, crossing herself. \"He died without being shriven. His ghost will still be here. It'll hear you.\"\n\nWe stacked the boxes in the wagon as rapidly as we could, looking fearfully over our shoulders at the slightest sound, anxious to be safely back inside the hut. And then with the door shut and braced, we ate. We hadn't eaten since dawn, but I don't think anyone tasted the food, except Narigorm, who devoured hers with more than her usual relish. We chewed and swallowed to fill our bellies, but took no pleasure in it. We might as well have been chewing old turnips as fresh mutton. I suspect no one's thoughts wandered far from the mutilated body lying out there in the dark. We covered ourselves with cloaks and blankets and slept, or pretended to, for it was an excuse not to talk.\n\nNone of us was surprised to hear the wolf that night. We propped ourselves up on our elbows and listened. The howl came from the direction of the far pinfolds, as if whoever or whatever was calling was standing on the pile of stones and flinging his triumphant cry into the night. He had made his kill. Honour was satisfied. Justice was done.\n\nAs the baying died away I became aware of another sound; someone in the hut was crying. I saw Rodrigo get up and go across to Cygnus. He wrapped his own cloak around the boy's shoulders and held him in his arms, rocking to and fro as if he comforted a frightened child.\n\n\"It is the last time we shall hear it,\" he crooned. \"It will leave us alone now. We are safe now that Zophiel is dead. We are all safe.\"\n\n\"I heard the swans again,\" Cygnus sobbed.\n\n\"No, no, ragazzo, it was the wolf you heard, but it is the last time.\"\n\n\"Didn't you hear the swans? Didn't you hear their wings as they flew over? The feathers big and white, falling down, smothering everything. I couldn't breathe. It was so cold, and their wings beating down\u2026the sound of their wings. You must have heard them.\"\n\n\"There are no swans. It was the snow that made you think of white feathers.\"\n\nHe sat with Cygnus, stroking his hair, waiting until his breathing became steady again. Then, his arm still across the boy, he lay down, but I don't think he slept.\n\nThe next morning I went out early. It had stopped snowing, though the sky was heavy and it was bitterly cold. The boxes were still in the wagon where we had left them. I walked towards the pinfold. The ground was covered in a fresh layer of snow which had smoothed over our trampling footsteps, covering too the bloodstained grass where Zophiel's body had lain. There was no sign of any tracks, either human or animal. If he had indeed stood on that pile of stones baying the news of his kill into the night, the snow had covered all traces of it.\n\nI glanced uneasily around me. Was he out there watching us still? Zophiel had been right; the bishop's wolf was a man who took pleasure in revenge. Death alone had not been enough to satisfy him. The severing of the hands was a common punishment for a thief, but why not simply cut off the hands at the wrists? It would have been easier than slicing through an upper arm. Had the wolf taken the arms as proof that he had brought his fugitive to justice? Or so that Zophiel's punishment would pursue him into the afterlife, for if Zophiel could not find his limbs on Judgment Day he'd face an eternity without them? I thought of the terrible mutilation of Jofre's body. Had the wolf been responsible for that too? With a sickening jolt I knew that none of us would be safe from a man like that until he had taken what he sought.\n\nThe freeze continued throughout the next day and night. We mostly kept to the hut, eating the stolen mutton and waiting for the weather to change. Then, on the third day, we woke to clear skies and a brilliant sun, and by mid-morning the snow was beginning to drip from the roof and melt in our footsteps. If this thaw kept up, we could travel the next morning, but so could others.\n\nWe could no longer avoid the question that none of us had been ready to face. What was to be done with Zophiel's body? Did we take it with us and hope to find a burial place, as we had with Pleasance, or leave it behind? There was no real choice. It had been hard digging in the forest even with the ground softened by months of rain. But after such a spell of cold weather, even once the snow melted, the ground was likely to remain frozen for several days. And the open heath was no place to spend hours digging a grave in frozen ground, not if you wanted to do it unobserved.\n\nRodrigo, Osmond, and I took it in turns to dig in the darkest corner of the hut where we hoped the disturbed earth would be least noticeable. Fortunately, because it was intended only as an overnight shelter, the builders had not troubled to mix the earth with straw and clay to make it hard, though it had been compressed by the many feet of those who had used the hut. We worked in silence. Adela kept her eyes averted and cradled Carwyn tightly in her arms, as if she feared the grave might swallow him.\n\nThe corpse was frozen and stiff. We rolled him in a blanket and carried him back to the hut. There we laid him, still covered, in the centre of the floor.\n\n\"We should pray,\" said Adela softly. \"He was a priest.\"\n\n\"If he was a priest he could have said the prayers over Jofre. He could have given him a Christian burial.\" Rodrigo said it bitterly.\n\nI put my hand on his arm. \"Jofre was given a good burial, better than Zophiel will have. Jofre lies under an altar and the image of the Virgin watches over him.\"\n\n\"Zophiel could have anointed his corpse.\"\n\n\"Friends who loved him washed him and laid him to rest; that is all the anointing he needed.\"\n\nIn the end we stood around the body and muttered what we could remember of the Placebo and the Dirige, the vespers and matins for the dead. With no priest to lead us we got no further than the first few verses of the psalms, but it was a service of a sort. Perhaps it would shorten his days in purgatory.\n\nOsmond and Rodrigo bent to pick up the roll of blanket containing the body, but I stopped them.\n\n\"We should strip the corpse and put it in the grave without a covering. The earth will absorb the fluids and he will decay faster. There will be less of a stench coming up through the ground. And if he is dug up, there's less chance he can be identified. Someone who saw him up by the standing stones might recognise his clothes. We'll bury the mutton bones with him too,\" I added, carefully avoiding meeting Cygnus' eyes. \"If he's found, they may think stockmen caught him stealing sheep and took matters into their own hands. No one will blame them for that in these times, and it may stop them looking further.\"\n\nNo one moved. I knew none of them wanted to touch the corpse. I felt bile rising in my throat at the thought of it, but since I had suggested it, I had no choice.\n\nOsmond put his arms round Adela and turned her away.\n\nI peeled back the blanket. Zophiel's eyes stared up at me. The skin was blanched and waxy, but the nose was almost black. His lips were drawn back so that he looked as if he was in the act of making some sneering comment.\n\nI worked as quickly as I could, trying not to look down at the mutilated body. Though the skin was beginning to thaw and soften in the warmth of the hut, he was still too frozen to be able to move the limbs. So I cut away the clothes with my knife, piece by piece. They would have to be burned. When he was finally naked, I had no choice but to ask the others to help me lift him.\n\nCygnus and I each grasped an ankle. Rodrigo stood behind the head and slid his fingers under Zophiel's shoulders, while Osmond, gritting his teeth, eased his hands under the cold naked buttocks, but we had not raised the body more than a few inches when there was a sharp cry from Narigorm that made us drop the body with a thump onto the hard earth.\n\n\"Look,\" she said, pointing. \"The wounds are bleeding again.\"\n\nA watery red liquid was dripping from the ends of his severed arms. Osmond stepped sharply backwards, crashing into the wall behind him.\n\nNarigorm took a pace nearer. \"When a murderer touches his victim's corpse, the wounds open and bleed again to show everyone who the murderer is. That means,\" she added triumphantly, \"that one of you must have murdered him. Doesn't it?\"\n\nWe stared at one another. Horror was written on every face except Narigorm's. No one moved or spoke. And at our feet, the severed stumps continued to drip their accusing blood."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "We left the drover's hut as dawn was inching over the horizon. Patches of green were appearing all over the heath and the bushes dripped in the early-morning sunshine. Drifts of snow still lay against the walls of the pinfolds and the hut, but the track was rapidly turning to a thick, muddy slush. Every traveller knows it is madness to journey in a thaw. The mud makes the pace slow and the snow conceals rocks and potholes which could easily break a limb or a wheel shaft, but none of us wanted to spend another hour in that hut.\n\nThe night before, Osmond had taken Adela and Carwyn to sleep in the wagon, for she had become terrified that Zophiel's vengeful spirit would enter the hut where his body now lay buried beneath the floor. They say that infants should never sleep in the same room as a corpse, for spirits who are torn violently from their own bodies can enter the mouths of babies while they sleep and possess them.\n\nRodrigo, Cygnus, Narigorm, and I stayed in the hut. We had sprinkled the grave with salt, placed four candles around it, and sat up to keep watch all night. We had taken the excavated earth that would not fit back in the hole and spread it across the rest of the floor, trampling it down hard. Now, if we were lucky, no one would ever know they were lying down to sleep on top of a corpse. Perhaps we sleep on corpses every night and do not know it.\n\nAll through that long night we did not talk and we dared not sleep. We stole glances at each other in the candlelight. Could he have murdered Zophiel? Or him? But it was impossible to believe that anyone other than the bishop's wolf could have done it.\n\nOsmond had threatened to kill Zophiel and was hot-tempered enough to have punched him, maybe even stabbed him in a fight, but Osmond would have fought face to face. He would never have stabbed him in the back or mutilated the body in such a terrible manner.\n\nAs for Rodrigo, it was unthinkable. Of all of them I knew and trusted this man the most. True, he had twice attacked Zophiel, and I had seen the day he whipped Jofre that once he made up his mind to do something he saw it through with an iron resolve, but why do it now? If he really believed Zophiel had murdered Jofre as Cygnus had suggested, he would have taken revenge long before this; he'd had countless opportunities.\n\nNo, if any among us had cause to kill Zophiel now it was Cygnus. Vengeance smoulders a long time in a man who is repeatedly humiliated and builds a great heat in him, so that if he does turn on his tormentor, the attack will be savage. Had all the blood on his hand and clothes come from the sheep? And there was still the shadow of the deaths of Pleasance and the little girl hanging over him. Juries had convicted men on much less. But whatever the evidence I could not believe that gentle Cygnus had murdered them or Zophiel.\n\nIt was the wolf who had killed Zophiel, I was certain of that and, as if to confirm it, the sound we most dreaded shattered the night again, the drawn-out howl we'd come to know too well. Cygnus shivered and stared wildly at the grave. He scrambled to his feet with such haste that he fell back against the wall behind him. The four candles had burnt low. They were guttering and smoking in pools of wax, but it was not those flames which held Cygnus' horrified gaze. A small blue ball of flame hovered above the centre of the grave.\n\n\"A\u2026corpse-light,\" Cygnus stammered. \"Zophiel\u2026his spirit.\"\n\nHe rushed for the door, and as he opened it, the light vanished and the four candles were extinguished as a blast of cold air rushed into the room.\n\nSomething made me turn to look at Narigorm. I could just make out her white skin by the light of the moon shining in through the open door. She was crouching, staring at the spot where the light had been. She held her hand out towards the grave, palm out, fingers spread wide as if she was trying to grasp the flame. It was the same gesture I had seen her make that night near the healer's cottage, when we heard the baying of the wolf.\n\nWe were used to tramping through mud, but slush is worse, colder for a start and more treacherous. Cygnus was leading Xanthus, and although Xanthus was used to Cygnus feeding her, grooming her, and harnessing her, she knew at once something was wrong. Zophiel had always led her when she pulled the wagon. She laid back her ears, rolled her eyes, and dug her heels in. Cygnus tried to coax her but to no avail. After a sleepless night, Cygnus was already near to breaking and Xanthus' refusal to move reduced him to tears. He was not angry with the horse. On the contrary, he seemed distraught that Xanthus was missing Zophiel. Cygnus had taken far more care of her than Zophiel ever had done and yet it was Zophiel the horse wanted.\n\nYou can pull a lady's palfrey forward by the bridle, but when a horse as big as Xanthus refuses to walk, no amount of pulling has the slightest effect. In the end Osmond was forced to do what Cygnus would not. He used the whip on her. Xanthus finally walked on, but she kept tossing her head furiously, trying to yank the bridle out of Cygnus' hand. Cygnus had to keep a tight hold to stop Xanthus biting him and anyone else who came within range of her teeth.\n\nZophiel's boxes were still in the wagon. The wolf had not yet claimed his prize. Perhaps, as Zophiel had believed, he wouldn't risk leaving tracks in the snow. The others wanted to leave the boxes behind in the hut. Believe me, I too wanted to leave them, but I knew we couldn't. There was no cover near the hut where the wolf could hide, so he must have moved some distance away before daybreak. If a drover or a traveller found boxes full of church artefacts in the hut before the wolf got to them, he would know at once they were stolen. It was not like finding a few coins you could slip into your pocket and say nothing. Word would soon get out and our friend at the standing stones would surely remember who he'd seen with a wagon capable of carrying a stack of boxes. There was nothing for it but to take them with us, knowing the wolf would follow, and leave them where only he would find them.\n\nAt intervals the track branched off in the direction of distant hamlets, but we didn't take these paths. We hurried by as fast as Xanthus would permit, for few of the cottages had smoke rising from them. The farm strips around the hamlets were untended. Once in the distance we saw a child crouching by a door, knees drawn up and face buried in his arms, but if he heard the wagon he did not raise his head. Perhaps he would never raise his head again.\n\nYou can tell who's died of hunger and who of the pestilence before you even approach the body, which is a good trick to learn if you want to stay alive. The secret is to watch the birds. You'll see them gathering over a corpse that has starved to death long before you reach it. The ravens come in first, bouncing to the ground and ambling over like monks, eyeing the corpse side ways, then coming in for the first stab. Above them the kites wheel and wait, their feathers gleaming like ox-blood in the sun. Once the ravens have opened up the corpse, they fly in, closing their wings at the last minute to turn sideways, snatching a piece of flesh in their claws before soaring back up to devour it on the wing.\n\nBut neither ravens nor kites will go near a pestilence corpse. No animals will approach it, however hungry they are. The corpse lies unmauled and rots without help of any scavenger. Its bones lie unscattered where it died and will continue to lie there until sun, rain, and winter storms give it the dignity of a burial. That's why you have to be on your guard. Keep your eyes on the ground, probe the drifts of snow, search the mud carefully, for otherwise you can stumble straight into it.\n\nPerhaps it's the stench which warns birds and animals to stay away, as if the body had rotted away inside before the victim had even stopped walking. But that had ceased to be a warning to us, for the stench hung in the air everywhere we went. It carried for miles, filling our nostrils until even the food we ate tasted of its foulness. The stench was no warning anymore. All England was rotting.\n\nWe camped that night out in the open, near a tumbled-down round tower, a spot chosen for Xanthus more than us. She'd had little to eat since the snow first fell and we needed her to remain strong. The snow had melted around the tower; the grass and herbs grew lush among the fallen stones and hollows. Adela, Osmond, and Carwyn slept in the wagon and the rest of us slept beneath it. It was to be the last time we used our little ark for shelter. For it was there, the next morning, that we left the wagon for the wolf to find, concealed from the track behind the tower. We knew he'd find it. He had found us. We had heard his howl again in the night, letting us know that he was still with us. Even in open land he still had the power to follow us unseen. And he was not giving up.\n\nOsmond was all for unloading the boxes and taking the wagon on with us, but I wanted to be sure that the wolf knew we had left all behind. There was a chance that if he saw the wagon tracks rolling on, he might think we still carried the treasures and might follow us, instead of looking for the hidden boxes. Besides, without the wagon we could take to the smaller tracks, the little paths that did not pass through towns or villages, but led to the remoter places where the pestilence might not yet have reached. Without the wagon we could finally turn to the north, for we would not need a road if we were on foot.\n\nBut we didn't leave Xanthus. How the wolf was to move his bounty was his affair. He might be on horseback for all we knew, probably was, but we would not surrender Xanthus to him.\n\nThere was something else I would not leave\u2014the mermaid. Zophiel could not have stolen her from his church. If we left her for the wolf, she would be thrown away or else sold to be exhibited to another gawping crowd, if there ever was another crowd or another fair again. The rest of the company thought I was mad to insist on taking such a useless and cumbersome object, and I could not explain to them why I could not leave her. But each time I smelt the myrrh and aloes I thought of my brother's head in my father's hands. I thought of his body lying somewhere in Acre, hacked to pieces, his head severed by a Saracen's sword and stuck on a pike for the crowds to gape at. I thought of his servant risking his life to take it down in the night and carry it home across mountains and seas. The only piece of my brother he could bring back to us, the only piece we could lay to rest. In the end it was Rodrigo who gently took the mermaid's box from me and strapped it to Xanthus' back. He alone did not ask why.\n\nWe strapped our packs to Xanthus and set off again, praying that this time the wolf would not follow. It was easier for us to travel without the wagon, except for Adela, who now had to walk. But now that she was no longer pregnant, she seemed to relish the freedom. She tied Carwyn on her back and tried her best to keep a steady pace. We made frequent stops to allow her to rest, for she tired easily, but we were all grateful for those, especially Xanthus, who ate everything she could reach each time we halted, as if she thought she might never see another blade of grass again.\n\nNarigorm was obliged to walk too. She had walked alongside the wagon before, but it was mostly when she had chosen to do so. Although she could easily keep pace with Osmond when they went hunting, now, deprived of her little rat's nest in the well of the wagon, she trailed a few paces behind us, watching, listening, but rarely saying a word, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts.\n\nWithout the wagon, the gap where Zophiel used to be in our little company had disappeared. It was possible to walk for an hour or two without seeing him lying in the bloodstained snow and without thinking of the wolf. And the mood of Rodrigo, Cygnus, Osmond, and Adela seemed to grow lighter the farther we walked from that tower. Without the heavy wagon to push and pull through the slippery mud, they realised they could go anywhere, whether there was a track or not. It was as though like the trickster, Sisyphus, they had been rolling a great boulder up a mountain and now they were unchained. The wolf had got all he wanted and they were free of him too.\n\nAs if to prove our liberation, that afternoon we came to a broad, swiftly flowing river. The bridge had been washed away, so we turned aside from the track and we followed the river downstream, letting its meandering guide us, until dusk began to close in. We camped a few yards from it, in the shelter of a thicket of birch and willow scrub. Osmond and Narigorm had caught some ducks, which bubbled in the pot over the fire, and we gathered ravenously around the fire as dusk began to settle, tucking into the stew of birds as fast as Adela ladled out the bowls.\n\nThe edge of hunger blunted, I looked around at the others. Everyone, except Narigorm, seemed unnaturally buoyant, like boys released early from the schoolroom. They were convinced that our troubles now lay behind us. But perversely, the farther we had walked from the wagon, the more panic-stricken I became. I was the one who had argued we should leave the wagon behind, but without realising it, I had come to treat it as home, the place to return to each night, the one solid and constant thing in this world that was collapsing around us. Now, strangely, after all those years travelling alone on the road, with Zophiel's wagon gone I felt cast adrift, naked and exposed as if I was about to be swept away and there was nothing to cling to.\n\nEver since the floodwaters had turned us east we had not been in control of our direction, and that frightened me. Like an animal that senses a trap it cannot see, I sensed we were being driven by something that I could only glimpse as a shadow. Three of us had died violently since we had turned east. There was no connection that I could make sense of\u2014and yet a shadow, though it has no substance of its own, is always cast by something that has.\n\nI glanced over at Narigorm. She was sitting a little way off, absorbed in her meal, tearing strips of flesh from a duck's leg. Not this time; she would not get her own way this time. I would not let the runes drive us anymore. We had to take control of our destiny again. This time we would make for the north and I would not let her runes stop us. It was the only direction that might yet take us away from the pestilence. It was a slender hope, I knew, but better than the certainty of walking into death. I edged closer to the others and kept my voice low so Narigorm could not hear.\n\n\"Now that the wolf is off our backs, we need to make some decisions. We're going to need to find food, fuel, and shelter. It's not so cold tonight, but it's only the beginning of February so we can't hope it'll last; there may be more snow to come. None of us knows how long this pestilence will last. We should turn north again, try to find an isolated place untouched by it, a place where we can settle and fend for ourselves, well away from villages or highways, until the worst is over.\"\n\nOsmond looked up, his spoon halfway to his mouth. \"But why not continue to the sea? At the coast we'd be able to catch fish as well as birds. They say some people live off what the sea provides, and the sea can't be affected by the pestilence.\"\n\n\"But the ports and the fishing villages will be\u2014they more than most. And there are too many villages along the coast. If we go north and inland we can outstrip\u2014\"\n\n\"No, no, you cannot use that.\" Rodrigo's voice cut in sharply.\n\nNarigorm had wandered back to the pot on the fire and had speared a piece of duck flesh with a knife. She turned and looked at him.\n\n\"That is Zophiel's knife,\" Rodrigo said. \"What are you doing with it?\"\n\n\"I found it. He doesn't need it anymore and it's sharper than mine.\"\n\n\"Throw it away.\"\n\n\"Why should I? It's a good knife.\" She dipped it once more into the pot.\n\n\"No! Throw it away!\" Rodrigo shouted. \"It has Zophiel's blood on it!\"\n\nNarigorm plunged the knife back in the pottage. \"I cleaned it. There's no blood on it now.\"\n\nCygnus rose and in one deft movement took the knife from Narigorm's hand. \"Rodrigo's right,\" he said quietly. \"You shouldn't be using it.\"\n\nHe threw the knife in a wide arc over the scrub towards the river and we heard a splash. For a long moment Cygnus stared at Rodrigo, then he turned away, gazing out into the darkness towards the river.\n\nAdela came bustling across and took the pot off the fire. There was little left in it, but she tipped the remains out into the bushes, wiping her hands on her skirt.\n\n\"You know it's bad luck to use a dead man's knife,\" she scolded Narigorm. \"Don't you think we've had enough misfortune already, without bringing down any more?\"\n\nShe pushed Narigorm back towards her place with an impatient little slap on her bottom as if she was a naughty toddler. Narigorm sat down, but she didn't look sulky or resentful, as I expected; she looked almost pleased with herself.\n\nAs the evening wore on we all drew closer to the fire. The trees and reeds along the river rustled in the breeze and dark water slapped against the banks. Occasionally the squeak or cry of some bird or animal, killing or being killed, reached our ears, but otherwise it was quiet. Clouds obscured the stars. It was dark, much darker than any night since Christmas. Only the light of the fire crackling in the fire pit illuminated our faces. Even though we told ourselves the wolf wouldn't trouble us again, with the coming of darkness, the old fears returned. We sat listening for something out there in the night, something that did not belong here.\n\n\"Rodrigo, can't you play or sing for us?\" Osmond finally burst out. \"It is going to be a long night. At least let's have something to while away the evening.\"\n\n\"I will tell a story, if you like,\" Cygnus said.\n\nWe looked at him in surprise; he had not told a tale since Christmas. It was a good sign. Perhaps now that Zophiel had gone and he no longer had to face the constant taunts about his arm, his misery would lift.\n\n\"Just so long as it isn't about wolves,\" Osmond said, with an attempt at a laugh.\n\n\"No wolves, just swans.\"\n\n\"Not swans,\" I said quickly. \"You shouldn't dwell\u2014\"\n\nHe smiled. \"These are not my swans, Camelot. This is the tale of the Swan Knight, grandfather to the great Godfrey de Bouillon, knight of the Crusades. It comes from a song the minstrels sing, a courtly tale. Perhaps Rodrigo will know it.\"\n\nRodrigo frowned but didn't answer. Cygnus drew his purple cloak more tightly around him and began.\n\nThere was silence as Cygnus finished his story Then Adela gave a soft sigh of satisfaction and touched his arm. \"That was beautiful, Cygnus.\"\n\nBut he was not looking at her. Instead he was looking intently at Rodrigo. For a long time they stared at each other, as comprehension dawned in Rodrigo's face. He looked horrified, then he turned away and buried his face in his hands. Finally he raised his head again and opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but Cygnus shook his head.\n\n\"No, Rodrigo, don't say it. The guilt is mine. I am a coward. Zophiel was right: I am neither man nor bird. I have neither an immortal soul in the next life nor purpose in this one. I had nothing to lose. It should have been me who did it. Forgive me, Rodrigo, forgive me.\"\n\nHe adjusted the heavy purple cloak around his shoulders and strode rapidly away into the darkness. Overhead we heard a singing in the air\u2014three swans flying towards the river. Spreading their strong white wings, they glided down and disappeared from sight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "We searched for Cygnus most of that night and found him just after dawn, half a mile downstream. His body was floating in the river. His shirt sleeve had caught on sharp broken ends of a clump of reeds and had held him against the bank; otherwise he would have been swept away. The purple cloak had fanned out to cover his head. Rodrigo plunged in recklessly as if he thought he could still save him, if only he could get to him quickly enough. Osmond and I helped Rodrigo to haul the body out. As soon as he had clambered out himself, Rodrigo fell on Cygnus' body, pushing and pressing him as if, by shaking him, he could get him to breathe again. Finally Osmond had to restrain him.\n\n\"It's no use, Rodrigo. He's gone. He's been dead for hours. He must have fallen in last night and his cloak pulled him under.\"\n\nRodrigo pulled Cygnus towards him and sat cradling him in his arms, as if he was a sleeping child.\n\n\"What I can't understand is why we didn't hear a splash or a cry,\" Osmond continued. \"Unless he had already walked too far from the camp.\"\n\nRodrigo looked up at us, his face haggard. \"He did not want us to hear.\"\n\nOsmond's eyes opened wide. \"You're not saying he deliberately went into the river to \u2026 to drown himself? But he was sitting here last night with all of us, calmly telling us a story. Why would a man do that and then go out and end his own life? Why would he do that to us? We were his friends. None of us ever said anything cruel to him. The only one who tormented him was Zophiel, and he's dead.\"\n\nI thought of what Osmond had said to Cygnus when he failed to return with a midwife for Adela. How quickly we forget our own cruelty.\n\n\"He did it because Zophiel is dead.\" Tears were now rolling down Rodrigo's cheeks.\n\n\"What do you mean because Zophiel is dead?\"\n\n\"I think Rodrigo means he \u2026 he drowned himself out of guilt,\" I said.\n\nOsmond sank onto the grass, shaking his head in disbelief. \"So are you telling me that Narigorm was right when she said that it wasn't the wolf that killed Zophiel, it was one of us? It was Cygnus who did it\u2026not that I blame him. But why kill himself? Did he think we would turn him in?\"\n\n\"No!\" Rodrigo shouted. \"No, he did not murder Zophiel. Il sangue di Dio! Did you not hear what he said last night, the last thing he said? He said it should have been him. He thought he had forced me to become a murderer, because he was too cowardly to do it himself. Zophiel accused him of not even being able to defend himself. Cygnus thought I believed that too.\"\n\nOsmond's expression was growing more bewildered.\n\nI crouched down and put an arm round Rodrigo's wet shoulders. \"But Cygnus was mistaken, wasn't he? You didn't kill Zophiel. It was the wolf.\" I wanted desperately to believe that.\n\nRodrigo looked down at the body of Cygnus. The eyes were closed, the face peaceful and smooth, all the anxiety of the last few months washed away. \"I killed him.\"\n\nIt was impossible to tell if he was talking about Cygnus or Zophiel.\n\n\"No, Rodrigo, listen to me. You didn't kill anyone. You're not to blame for either of their deaths.\"\n\nRodrigo spoke in a low monotone, his gaze fixed on Cygnus' face. \"When Zophiel left the drover's hut, I went after him. I begged him to leave Cygnus alone before he drove him to his death as he had driven Pleasance and Jofre to theirs. He claimed they had brought their own deaths upon themselves. It was nothing to do with him, he said. Sodomites like Jofre, he said, are condemned in this life and the next. Jofre's death was God's judgement for his perversion, he said, and turned his back. I threw the knife as he walked away from me.\"\n\nAll at once, I remembered the two lepers on the road in the gorge who had beaten the traveller to death, how they had turned on Osmond. A picture flashed into my mind of Rodrigo throwing his knife, of the leper's screaming, then falling dead. With a sickening jolt, I knew Rodrigo was telling the truth. He had murdered Zophiel.\n\n\"And the arms?\" Osmond asked shakily. \"You\u2026cut off the arms?\"\n\n\"With his own knife. I wanted to make it look as if the wolf had punished him for stealing; that is what I told myself. But maybe in my heart I wanted to make him like those people he despised so viciously.\"\n\nI stared down at the rushing water, glinting like armour in the morning sun. Somewhere beneath it lay the instrument of vengeance.\n\nI spoke without looking at Rodrigo. \"When Narigorm used Zophiel's knife last night, you told Narigorm the knife had Zophiel's blood on it. But you weren't there when we found the body. So you wouldn't have known Zophiel's own knife had been used on him, unless you'd done it. That's what Cygnus realised last night. That's when he knew you'd killed Zophiel, and he thought you'd done it for him. Like Beatrix, Cygnus learned the truth, and the truth \u2026\"\n\nRodrigo closed his eyes tightly as if he was in terrible pain.\n\nWe wrapped Cygnus' body in his cloak and tied him across Xanthus' back. We'd no idea what we were going to do with it. We broke camp and tramped on, veering away from the river as soon as we could, for none of us wanted to see or hear it. We didn't discuss where we might be going; it hardly seemed to matter anymore. Rodrigo walked in a daze without seeming to know where he was or who was around him. Even Xanthus seemed to sense what she was carrying and walked without her usual antics as Osmond led her. We had let Adela believe it was an accident, but I could see from the expression on Narigorm's face she didn't believe that. The child somehow knew Cygnus had killed himself, just as she knew Rodrigo had killed Zophiel.\n\nWe saw the man and boy cutting peat on the moor a long way before we reached them. It was a lonely, isolated spot and the man must have been desperate for fuel to cut it half-frozen and wet. Several piles of peat turfs stood around the long trough he had dug out; more had been stacked on a small sledge. There was no sign of a dwelling near, so they must have walked several miles to the site, but without fuel, a family can die of cold and hunger too, if they can't cook what little they catch.\n\nThe barefooted boy spotted us before his father and gave a warning. Both straightened, spades in hand, warily watching us approach. All around them lay great pools of water where men had cut peat for years, and the trench where they worked was filling up as fast as they dug. Even if it did not rain again between now and midsummer, it would take months for all the rain to seep out from this land.\n\nAs we drew close, the man's gaze was fixed upon the unmistakable shape of what lay across Xanthus' back. He crossed himself three times and took several hasty steps backwards, dragging the boy with him. I needed no runes to know what he was thinking. I tried to reassure him.\n\n\"Have no fear, Master, our friend didn't die of contagion. An accident. He drowned.\"\n\nThe peat-cutter crossed himself again. \"God rest his soul.\" He advanced a couple of steps towards us. \"The corpse road lies yonder.\" He pointed. \"You can just see the crosses marking it.\"\n\nIn the distance were several shapes which I had taken to be bushes, but now I could see were dark stone crosses. The peat-cutter plainly thought that was where we were making for, not surprising since we were carrying a corpse.\n\n\"Then a parish church lies at the end of the road.\"\n\n\"Saint Nicholas at Gasthorpe. But it won't do any good to go there. There's no vicar that can give you burial.\"\n\n\"The pestilence?\"\n\nHe crossed himself, as if the mere mention of the word might call the sickness down upon himself. \"Vicar left afore that. They'd been having a hard time of it these last years, what with the bad harvests and then the sheep sickening. Families starved. Couldn't grow enough on their bits of land to feed themselves, and what they did grow mostly failed these last years. Couldn't pay church-scots or tithes, which didn't please the vicar. But if a well's run dry you can threaten it with hell and damnation till Michaelmas and you'll still not get a drop of water from it. That's why the vicar took off. No one's seen hide nor hair of him since Lammas. Then, when the\u2026when it came, that finished the rest of the village off, leastways, those that stayed on their tofts anyway.\" He glanced at Cygnus' body. \"You'll be lucky to find a priest anywhere in these parts.\" He edged a little closer and lowered his voice, as if afraid, in this vast expanse of nothing, we might be overheard. \"Someone told me that the Bishop of Norwich said anyone now may shrive a dying man, if there's not a religious to be found to do it, and anyone may bury him too. I myself buried two of my little'uns in the churchyard. No one to say the words, but at least they were safe in holy ground. There's nothing to stop you doing the same.\" He gave us a confidential wink. \"After all, who's to know save the others that are already six feet under, and they've no cause to complain, have they?\"\n\nHe shook his head wonderingly \"Who'd have thought it? This time last year you couldn't piss without the blessing of a priest; now any Tom, Dick, or Harry, even a woman, can baptise you, marry you, shrive you, and bury you. And there's the bishop saying, Go ahead, do it yourselves, you don't need a priest. Makes you wonder why we've been paying all those scots and tithes to the priests all these years, doesn't it?\"\n\nWe agreed, then moved on.\n\nThe corpse road was hardly a track at all, just a series of small granite crosses set up at intervals to mark the way for those who had to carry their dead the many miles from the hamlets and villages that had no parish church licensed for burial. We followed the crosses until we saw the village outskirts. The nearest cottages looked as if they had been abandoned for months and the field strips were tangled with weeds.\n\nOsmond tethered Xanthus to a tree. \"Adela and Narigorm should stay here with the baby. There may be corpses in the streets. We'll go in on foot.\"\n\n\"But what about you, Osmond?\" Adela wailed. \"You mustn't risk your life.\"\n\nRodrigo began to unfasten Cygnus' body. \"You stay Osmond, I can carry him. I can dig his grave. No one else needs to come.\"\n\n\"I need to come,\" Osmond insisted. Colour stained his cheeks. \"Said things I didn't mean. Never got round to apologising. That story he told us, the night we found him stowed away in the wagon, about the cordwainer being the one who killed that child\u2014I didn't believe it then, but I do now, have done for a long time, but I never got round to telling him. I owe him this much, especially after what you both did for Adela and the baby.\"\n\nRodrigo nodded and briefly grasped Osmond's shoulder. I realised bitterly that none of us had ever got round to telling Cygnus we believed him about the murdered child. Osmond found the spade and Rodrigo heaved Cygnus' body across his shoulder.\n\n\"Wait.\" A thought struck me and I started to untie the mermaid's box from Xanthus. \"We'll bury this in the churchyard too. It's as good a place as any to lay her to rest.\"\n\nOsmond stared. \"You can't; she wasn't human. You can't bury something like that on consecrated ground. She was just a\u2026\" He faltered.\n\n\"A freak? Isn't that what Zophiel used to say of Cygnus?\"\n\nHe blushed and turned away.\n\nSo after weeks of trying to avoid the pestilence villages we finally entered one, not to find food for the living, but burial for the dead. Weeds sprouted along the main street. Some of the cottage doors and shutters lay wide open. Doubtless they had been looted for wood or anything usable after the owners hastily abandoned them. More sinister were the ones nailed shut from the outside with large black crosses painted on their doors and windows. I wondered how many dead lay inside them. So near to a parish church, yet there would be no consecrated ground for them to rest in.\n\nI had the feeling we were being watched, and turned. I thought I saw something dart into the shadows of a byre, but when I looked hard at the place I could see nothing. Rodrigo and Osmond kept turning their heads as if they too could sense something. The hush over the village was unnerving. It was almost a relief when a scrawny dog leapt out from behind one of the cottages and began to snarl and bark, still defending its toft for its owners, no doubt long since dead. Osmond threw stones at it until it retreated, tail between its legs, but it continued to bark its defiance.\n\nAs we passed a boarded-up cottage I noticed that the corner of the door had been chipped away from the inside as though someone had been still alive when the door was nailed shut and had tried desperately to escape. Whoever it was had not succeeded, for the planks on the outside of the door remained firmly nailed in place. I shuddered to think of the horror of that poor wretch's final hours. Had they succumbed to the sickness of the dead entombed with them, or had they cruelly starved to death?\n\nThe church was locked. Doubtless the vicar had taken that precaution before he left. If the village could not pay its tithes they should have no access to God, or perhaps he thought they'd strip the place bare in his absence.\n\nThe churchyard had not been scythed and long wet grass grew up over the little wooden markers. There were several stone tombs where the wealthier and more worthy had been buried, but a fox had dug its den beneath one of them and yellow bones and pieces of skull lay scattered about it. I reminded myself to collect them before we left. Better for their owner that his bones be miraculously translated into relics than that they be scattered by scavengers. We found a spot close to the wall where if there were any markers they had long since rotted away, and Osmond and Rodrigo took turns to dig. They soon unearthed old bones, but laid them carefully aside to be replaced in the hole when they filled it.\n\nI dug a grave for the baby mermaid a few yards away between two crumbling wooden crosses. My grave did not need to be wide or long; there was only a tiny body to fit into it. Then I carefully unwrapped the cage. The familiar scents of myrrh and aloes mingled with dried seaweed overwhelmed me. In burying her, it was almost like burying my brother a second time. I remembered standing at the tomb in the church when they opened it to lay his head inside, the cold, damp smell of decay rushing out, stronger than that of the incense and candles which burnt around us. I remember my mother's sobs and my father's set jaw, but I did not cry. I had cried the day my father had uttered the words \"I'd rather my son came home on a shield than as a coward.\" I had known that day my brother would not come home alive, and I had cried then until I had no more tears left to cry. The day we buried his severed head, my eyes were so dry my eyelids rasped against them. It was all I could feel.\n\nI broke the lock off the mermaid's cage with a sharp piece of stone. The little body inside was stiff, like a leather doll. I wondered how long she had been dead\u2014months, years? I had forgotten to bring anything to wrap her in, so I laid her straight into the cold earth. Beside her I placed her little mermaid doll.\n\nThen I picked up the little silver hand mirror, intending to put that in the grave with the mermaid child. I rubbed the tarnished silver surface. It's many years since I looked into a mirror, and I almost dropped it in the shock of seeing the face that peered out at me. They say mirrors cannot lie, but they speak a cruel and spiteful truth. It was as if I was looking back at a demon trapped in the mirror. Though I passed my fingers across my lumpy scar and empty eye socket many times a day, I had forgotten the horror of the sight of it. Now it rushed back to me as sharply as the day I had ordered the servants to bring me a mirror. They had begged me not to look, but I had insisted and then I knew why they avoided looking at me when they spoke, why my sons stared, then looked away. Who could blame them?\n\nYet, even after all these years, inside my head I am still unscarred, unmarked. I am still as I was when I was young. Now I had to face the fact that not only was I scarred, I had become old. My face had withered like the faces of the crab-apple dolls they make for children. My hair was silver; the blue of my good eye had faded to the grey of a winter's sky. My lips that had once kissed with such passion were thin and pale, and my skin that had once been fair and smooth was now wrinkled and tanned almost as dark as the mermaid's by the wind and sun. They say when you look into a mirror you see your soul. If so, my soul was monstrous and ancient.\n\nI shuddered and hastily turned the mirror over. Something had been inserted into the round frame on the back of the mirror, a polished piece of crystal, surrounded by a broad ring of silver, inscribed with symbols and studded with pearls. Beneath the crystal, and magnified by it, was a tiny fragment of bone. It was a relic and a valuable one, judging by the mount. I must have cried out in surprise, for Osmond came across to find out the cause.\n\n\"A reliquary.\" I held it out so that he could see. \"It was there all along, in the mermaid's cage.\"\n\nOsmond peered at it. \"I thought it was just a mirror.\"\n\n\"It always lay mirror side up; the back was hidden.\"\n\nWhat had the blind healer said\u2014The best place to hide something is often in plain view.\n\n\"Whose relic is it?\" Osmond asked.\n\nI turned the reliquary around, examining the symbols carved around the frame.\n\n\"A broken chalice and a serpent. If this bird is meant to be a raven, then this may be a relic of Saint Benedict. They say a jealous priest once poisoned the holy wine and bread and gave it to Saint Benedict. The serpent in the chalice represents the poison. When Benedict blessed the poisoned chalice, the chalice shattered. Then he called up a raven to carry off the poisoned host. The crosier is the symbol of authority as abbot, and can you see that, a book? That might represent the rule he wrote for monks and nuns.\"\n\n\"And that? What is that, a plant of some kind?\"\n\n\"A thornbush. He used to hurl himself into thorns and nettles to mortify his flesh and keep him from the sin of lust. And this symbol, I think, is the rod of discipline he wielded to wipe out corruption and licentiousness.\"\n\n\"No wonder Zophiel treasured such a relic. I'm surprised he didn't have the actual rod.\"\n\n\"Pearls for chastity and purity, yes, I'm sure this is a relic of Saint Benedict. Whichever church this was taken from has suffered a great loss. He's the saint to whom the faithful pray for a happy and peaceful death, so this relic must have attracted many pilgrims.\"\n\n\"Then this is something else Zophiel stole from Lincoln.\"\n\n\"There's no doubt it's stolen. No one would conceal a holy relic in a mermaid's cage if they weren't trying to smuggle it away from its rightful owner. But whether Zophiel stole it is a different matter. Three abbeys in France argue over which of them has the bones of Saint Benedict, and whichever abbey has them, they stole them from the abbey at Monte Cassino. If Zophiel bought this locked cage with the mermaid already in it from a merchant or a knight returning from France, he might not have realised what was behind the mirror any more than we did. We didn't find keys to any of the boxes on Zophiel's body. We don't know that he had a key to this, unless it was concealed somewhere on the wagon.\"\n\nOsmond frowned. \"They call the Virgin Mary 'the mirror without stain.' I suppose Benedict might have approved of his bone being in a mirror.\"\n\n\"And the mirror absorbs and preserves the holiness of the relic and reflects evil back onto demons who look into it.\" I winced as I said this, remembering my own reflection.\n\n\"But surely Zophiel would never put a holy relic in a mermaid's hand; that would have been the ultimate blasphemy to him,\" Osmond protested.\n\n\"He may not have seen it that way. There was a mermaid who became a saint: Saint Murgen, a mortal woman given the body of a salmon to save her from drowning. Saint Comgall at Bangor baptised Murgen because he wanted to be buried in the same coffin with her. They say there were so many miracles attributed to her after her death that she is counted as one of the Holy Virgins who stand before the throne of God. Zophiel might have considered this the perfect hiding place for the relic of a man who was so insistent on chastity. It could have been Zophiel's ultimate conjuring trick, the object in plain sight, but no one seeing it, because everyone's attention was distracted by the mermaid.\"\n\nOsmond looked down at the small, shrunken body. \"So if Zophiel did steal the relic from Lincoln, he would have hidden it in the mermaid's cage thinking that if the wolf took the other items back from him, he wouldn't bother with the mermaid and Zophiel would get away with this precious thing even if he lost the rest.\"\n\n\"On the other hand,\" I said, \"this might have been the one sleight of hand that fooled even poor Zophiel. He may have been carrying his most valuable treasure with him all this time and never even knew he had it.\"\n\n\"Poor Zophiel,\" mocked Osmond indignantly. \"You actually pity that wretch?\"\n\n\"I pity any man who doesn't realise that what he desperately seeks he already possesses. This would have brought Zophiel everything he craved\u2014fame, money and respect. With this he could have bought a position of power and authority in any monastery or church he wanted.\"\n\n\"Maybe that's exactly what he planned to do in Ireland, after he'd shaken off the wolf.\" Osmond's frown deepened and he glanced over at Rodrigo, who was bent with his spade over Cygnus' grave. \"And if it is one of the pieces stolen from Lincoln and the bishop's wolf discovers it isn't amongst the treasures he's recovered, he'll come after us again, won't he? The bishop will have told him exactly what's been taken.\"\n\nI hesitated, looking down at the crystal which lay over the sliver of bone. Bone of the man whose rule had spread across all Christendom and now governed the lives of thousands of monks and nuns in the magnificent abbeys and monasteries built in his name. If this was a true relic, it was the only genuine one I'd ever had in my possession. But could it be genuine? Could it, after all these years, be the real thing?\n\nPeople say they feel a power coming out of true relics. Some say it's like a wave of warm water washing over you, or a hot glow that courses up through your fingers until your whole body tingles. Others say it is a light of many colours that dances in front of your eyes or like the prickling of the skin you get after you've brushed against stinging nettles. But then, people have claimed as much for the relics I have sold them, because they wanted to believe in them. Did I want to believe in this? Could I have the faith that would let me feel what I had created for others? My finger hovered over the spot where the bone lay, but I drew it back. I did not want to feel\u2014nothing.\n\n\"Osmond \u2026 I don't think the bishop's wolf was ever following us.\"\n\nHe looked startled. \"We know he didn't kill Zophiel.\" Again he glanced apprehensively in Rodrigo's direction. \"But Zophiel was sure he was out there.\"\n\n\"But as Zophiel himself said, look how hard it would be for a man alone to find food in these times, even with dogs. Why go through all that needless hardship, risking the pestilence, to track Zophiel for so long? Surely he'd have struck much sooner. He had many opportunities. He could have done it the night Jofre was killed; Zophiel was out alone then too.\"\n\n\"But you heard the howls, Camelot! We all did. Something has been stalking us, and if it wasn't the bishop's wolf, then what? A real wolf?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Why would a wolf do such a thing? Even if it was a crossbreed, half-wolf, half-dog, that had attached itself to us, we would surely have seen it slinking round the camp.\"\n\n\"But if it isn't a man or an animal, Camelot, what in heaven's name is it?\"\n\nThere was a screech behind us and we whipped round. A woman was crouching by one of the tombs, knees spread apart, her hands clawing as if she was ready to spring at us. She wasn't old, maybe in her twenties, but she was naked. Her hair was matted, her skin so encrusted with dirt it was impossible to see what colour it was underneath. Flat pendulous breasts hung over ribs so painfully thin you could count every one, but in contrast to her stick-thin limbs, her belly was swollen and hard. God's blood, I thought, let that be with worms and not with child.\n\nShe stabbed a finger at me. \"I know you! You're Death, come to torment me.\" She slapped the sides of her skull viciously as if trying to beat something out of it.\n\nI hastily stuffed the mirror inside my shirt and hissed to Osmond. \"Fill in the mermaid's grave before she sees what's in there. I'll deal with her.\"\n\nI took a step towards the woman. She scuttled backwards on all fours.\n\n\"I know you. Don't take me. Don't take me!\" she shrieked.\n\n\"I haven't come for you,\" I said. \"Won't you tell me your name?\"\n\nA sly look came over her. \"Never give them your name. They have power over you, if they have your name. If Death doesn't know your name, he can't call you. Always asking me my name, but I don't tell him. Never tell him.\" She pressed her grimy hands over her mouth as if she feared the name might slip out by accident.\n\n\"You've spoken to Death before?\"\n\nThe woman raised her head, distracted by the rooks wheeling and cawing overhead. \"He tries to trick me. He uses different voices, sometimes like birds and sometimes like rain.\"\n\n\"How big is Death?\"\n\nThe woman began slapping her head again. Then she stopped and held up her hands in front of her face palms out, the thumb and forefinger of each hand touching to make a womb-shaped space through which she peered. \"Tiny, tiny he is, like a man's prick.\"\n\nI reached down and picked up the cage that had contained the mermaid. \"Next time he comes, you can catch him in there.\"\n\nThe woman put her head on one side, then shuffled closer. She wrinkled her nose, sniffing the unfamiliar odour.\n\n\"How?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Do you smell that? Death cannot resist that smell. He will creep inside, and when he does, you can slam the door shut and keep him from taking you.\"\n\nI set the cage full of shells down in front of me and backed off a few paces to allow the woman to scuttle forward and snatch it. She retreated to a safe distance and sat there crooning over it as if it was a great treasure. I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.\n\nRodrigo was standing behind me. \"You should not take the name of Death in vain, Camelot; he walks too close to us.\"\n\n\"The cage will make her feel safer. Surely it's good to ease the poor woman's crazed mind.\"\n\nOnce he would have smiled at that. Now he did not. I wondered if he would ever smile again.\n\nWe left the woman clutching her cage in the graveyard and retraced the way we had come. We were anxious to be out of this village of death as rapidly as possible.\n\nAs I studied those blinded windows, the desolation of a street where once children had blithely run and played, I was seized with a desperate, unexpected hunger sharp as a pain to know if my own children still lived. They would be grown men by now and have children of their own. I could pass them on the road and not even recognise them. Had they survived this? I had given everything I could to keep them from harm. Had that all been futile? I looked at the abandoned cottages and I saw my own house with boards nailed across its windows, a black cross slashed on its door, the hearth, where once my family had gathered in love and laughter, now cold and empty. Was there somewhere a grave with my sons in it? Or worse, no grave at all?\n\nWe had reached the last few cottages when the naked woman leapt out again from behind one of the buildings and squatted in front of us in the middle of the street. In her hand she now carried something bloody, half a rabbit, scraps of fur still on it. She thrust it out towards us. \"Food,\" she offered. She laid it in the dirt in front of us as I had done the cage and backed away. \"Food,\" she gabbled, \"for Death.\"\n\nOsmond grabbed my arm as if he really thought I was going to pick it up.\n\n\"Thank you,\" I told her, \"but we have enough. You eat it.\"\n\nThe woman looked at me slyly through her mane of snarled hair, then she darted forward. Scooping up the rabbit and ripping back the bloodied fur, she began to gnaw ravenously on the raw carcass."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Looking back, I know it was Narigorm who led us to the place of the hollows. I had finally turned us north and she had let me do it. I thought I had won, but I should have known better. She knew exactly what we were walking into, I'm sure of that.\n\nThe hollows lay between the trees, broad and shallow, like pools, but without any water. No trees or grass grew in them, nothing except strange spiky plants with red fleshy leaves, so that from a distance they looked like pools of blood. But as you walked across them you became aware of something else; the hollows were littered with the skeletons of small animals, the bleached bones and tiny skulls of rabbits, voles, mice, foxes, and birds. They were so numerous you couldn't avoid crunching them underfoot. Some were newly dead, shreds of dried flesh and fur still adhering to them; others were picked clean and whitened by the sun of several summers. In one, the skeletons of a sheep and lamb lay side by side. Among those bones were hundreds of snail shells, empty, transparent, scattered like petals by the wind. The hollows held a particular fascination for Narigorm. She spent hours sitting on the edge of the copse studying them, doubtless hoping to see something die there.\n\nIt had been fourteen days since we had buried Cygnus and with each passing day, Rodrigo was retreating further into himself. It now took the combined efforts of Adela, Osmond, and me to rouse him to the simplest of tasks. He wouldn't even look at baby Carwyn now. It was as if he was terrified to love anyone or anything again for fear that in doing so, he'd destroy them.\n\nSomething changed inside Osmond too the day we buried the swan-boy He had already made up his mind that our best hope of finding food lay along the coast, but now he was convinced that Zophiel had been right: There would be ships at the coast, a boat that could take us all to the safety of Ireland. We could sell Xanthus, he said, to pay for the voyage, and if that was not enough we could work our passage. I tried to tell him that there would be little chance of Ireland escaping pestilence. It had probably already fallen to it, but he wouldn't listen, for the wolf was on our trail once more and, like Zophiel, Osmond had come to fear the wolf even more than the pestilence. He clung to the belief that only the sea could protect us from him.\n\nEvery sense was telling me that I should break away from the company and travel on alone. But I could not bring myself to leave Rodrigo, not in the state he was in, and in truth I was afraid to be alone. But at least I persuaded Osmond to turn north and make for the coast higher up. And I foolishly comforted myself with that.\n\nBut we never reached the sea. Between land and sea, beneath wide grey skies, lay a vast expanse of marshland, the fens that guard the Wash. Pools and waterways meandered among the mud flats and reeds, glinting in the winter sun. There was no crossing the marsh unless you had a boat, and even then you would have to have been born here to fathom your way through it, for it was a bewildering maze of watery branches, most leading nowhere except to certain death in the oozing mud. Here and there in the distance we could see small islands raised a few feet above the surrounding marshes, some big enough to support a small village of cottages and byres, others merely a few sheep. The sharp smell of salt weed, mud, and rich vegetation pervaded the air, pungent and cleansing after the stench of rotting corpses.\n\nWe skirted the edge of the marsh, keeping to the higher ground, until we emerged from the trees to see a spur of hard ground jutting out into the marshland. The spur was almost an island, save for a narrow strip linking it to the mainland. Stunted trees covered much of it and at the far end lay a deserted hermit's dwelling built of stone and shaped like a beehive. Beyond that, at the tip of the spur, a roughly hewn stone cross jutted up between the dwelling and the marsh, as if to ward off whatever creatures swarmed and bred in the dark depths of the sucking, belching slime. We decided we would camp on this almost-island for a night or two, then we would continue our journey around the marsh, for it must surely come to an end soon and we'd find a way to the sea.\n\nA spur can be defended. That was why we chose it and that was what we needed, a stronghold where we could protect ourselves from the wolf. We'd heard the wolf the night we buried Cygnus and we'd heard him every night of our journey since. Adela had grown more terrified as, night after night, she clutched Carwyn to her while the howls reverberated through the darkness. She was not alone in her terror; we were all so exhausted and on edge that we fumbled tasks we had been skilled at since our infancy and stumbled over our own feet as we walked.\n\nDespite what I had said in the churchyard, Osmond was still adamant it was the bishop's wolf who was stalking us, to retrieve the relic of Saint Benedict. He needed desperately to believe that. A man, however powerful, is mortal. He has weaknesses. You can fight a man. And, as Osmond stubbornly demanded again and again, if it was not a man and not an animal, then what, in God's name, was it?\n\nBut even Osmond agreed that there was no point simply abandoning the relic. If the bishop's wolf didn't realise we had done so, he would continue to follow us and we'd be in a worse state if we had nothing with which to appease him. The best course, he said, was to take the reliquary to a church in a village not affected by the pestilence. We could make a public show of giving it to the priest so that it would come to the attention of the wolf. Then let him steal it back, if he would, from the priest. But we had not found a village without the pestilence. Those few villages we came across lay abandoned or dying, and the peat-cutter had been right; you did not need to enter the villages to know there was not a priest left among them.\n\nBut I had no intention of surrendering the relic. It had become my talisman, our protection against whatever it was that was out there. You may laugh that after all those years I had finally come to put my faith in a fragment of bone. It's easy to mock such things when the sun is shining, but when the sun begins to sink and shadows ooze towards you from the trees and you sit shivering in the darkness, waiting, then believe me, you will cling to anything to defend you against the thing you most dread.\n\nThat first night on the spur, as the moon rose, the mist crept low over the marshes, streaming out in silver ribbons over the pools and waterways, until it seemed we were an island floating on a sea of cloud in the dark sky. Each sound was magnified in the stillness, the sucking and gurgling of the water, the croaking of the frogs, the cries of night birds and the shrill screams of prey fighting for its life. Osmond built fires and set torches across the narrowest part of the spur. He knew light would not keep the wolf out, but he reasoned the wolf couldn't cross without being seen against the flames.\n\nRodrigo was on watch when the howling began. The rest of us, bone-weary were already asleep, but the first howl woke us\u2014that, and the cry of fear from Rodrigo. Osmond was on his feet faster than I was, but I told him to stay with Adela and hurried forward. Rodrigo was kneeling, staring at something up in the woods. I put my hand on his shoulder and felt him trembling violently.\n\n\"The wolf\u2014have you seen him?\"\n\nHe pointed. I peered into the dark mass of trees. A flickering light appeared and vanished among the trunks. It shimmered ghost white in the darkness, too white for any torch or lantern.\n\n\"Corpse-light,\" he whispered. He started forward, as if he was about to follow it, but I grabbed his arm.\n\n\"Don't be a fool, Rodrigo. Whatever or whoever that is, you can't tackle it in the dark.\"\n\nHe stared down at me like a man who is drunk and can't recall where he is. \"He wants me to follow. He is beckoning to me.\"\n\n\"The light's flickering, that's all. It's not beckoning. How long has it been there?\"\n\nHe ran his hand distractedly through his hair, but before he could answer, another howl rang out over the marsh. It seemed to come from the trees, but it was impossible to tell. The baying swirled around us like the mist. I could feel Rodrigo trembling.\n\nOsmond came hurrying up, his stave grasped firmly in both hands.\n\n\"See anything?\"\n\n\"Only that light.\" I pointed, but when I looked, there was nothing there.\n\nOsmond drove the end of his stave into the ground in exasperation. \"God's blood, I can't take much more of this! He wants the reliquary. We have to find a way to give it to him. Why did you have to open that cage, Camelot? Why couldn't you have left the infernal thing alone?\"\n\nI didn't answer. Rodrigo was in no state to continue the watch, so I sent him back with Osmond and stayed myself. In any case, all desire for sleep had long passed.\n\nThe marsh is a place unlike any other. It calls to you night and day. By day its voice is the cry of birds screeching and sobbing on the wind; by night the whispering reeds call forth a great slithering and hissing as though huge serpents were crawling through the mud towards you. When the moon breaks through the clouds you see them heaving and writhing, the starlight glinting off their scales. Silvery lights glide across the marshes in the darkness as if unseen people were walking across the mud where you know by day it is impossible for any human to walk, elf-fire leading men to their deaths. The marsh is always hungry and it has a thousand ways to lure you into its maw. It's not a place where your thoughts are led to God, but to the monstrous creatures that inhabit this twilight world which is neither sea nor land, water nor earth.\n\nThe cold damp mist began to creep in around me, until I was cut off from the sight and sound of any living creature. I could no longer hear the reeds whispering. A smothering silence had rolled in, heavy and palpable, like the silence that had followed the wolf howls that night in the gully, months ago. Shapes gathered out of the mist, but dissolved before I could reach them. I had never felt so alone. I was in the deadlands, the limbo where souls wander nameless and formless, unable to speak or to touch. And in that blind silence I knew it was not the nature of death that frightened me; it was what lay beyond, not Heaven, not Hell, but spirit without a form, without a place to be. I would be nowhere. I would be nothing.\n\nThe day that I left my home, I had prayed that my children would forget me. I wanted to spare them the pain of remembering. But that night, as I crouched in the white mist, waiting, I knew more than anything that I wanted them to remember. I wanted desperately to go on living in someone's memory. If we are not remembered, we are more than dead, for it is as if we had never lived.\n\nI had told Rodrigo once that we are all exiles from the past. I believed I had no need of a past. I believed that if you cut away your past you could create yourself anew. But to sever yourself from the past is to cut away the only rope that anchors you to this world, to your being. When you cut away your past, you cut away yourself. What had I become?\n\nDawn came at last and as the sun burnt away the mist, the morning sounds crackled back into life\u2014Carwyn wailing, Osmond cursing as he stubbed his toe, and Adela stoking the fire to a blaze and calling to Narigorm and Rodrigo to come and eat. They were just the ordinary sounds of people beginning their day, silly, raucous, discordant, but they were the most beautiful sounds on earth, the sounds of living people.\n\nLater that morning, as I tended the cooking fire near the stone cross, I heard the sound of splashing and saw a skin coracle being paddled towards the spur. Osmond had taken Rodrigo fowling. I'd sent Narigorm back to a stream in the trees on the mainland to fetch water, and Adela sat nursing her baby in the shelter of the hermit's dwelling. So I alone hailed the man who sat a little way off in his boat watching me.\n\n\"Any sick?\" he called out. It was by now the common greeting.\n\nWhen I reassured him we were not, he paddled closer.\n\nHe held up three long fat wriggling eels. \"Want them?\"\n\nI nodded gratefully. We bartered back and forwards until he finally agreed to take a belt and a cloak pin belonging to Cygnus. He tied the eels in a bit of sacking and held them out to me on the end of the paddle. I returned the belt and pin the same way.\n\n\"Two men netting. Fair and dark. They with you?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"They want to stick to the heights, treacherous bastard this marsh. Many a man's put his foot on something that looks solid and found himself up to his waist before he can yell. Once he's in, there's no man can get him out.\" He spat a great glob of yellow phlegm into the water. \"Outlanders see fen folk out there, think there's no harm, but fen folk know where to walk\u2014and even they get taken when the mists come up.\"\n\n\"Do you come from one of the fens?\" I glanced towards the island villages behind him.\n\nHe spat again by way of denial. \"Height man. Village beyond the trees.\" He jerked with his chin in a direction north of the spur.\n\n\"Has your village escaped the pestilence?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Came a week or two before All Hallows. Lost near enough half the village, but there's been no more gone sick since Saint Thomas Eve now. Reckon it's moved on to find some other poor bastards. You seen\u2014\"\n\nHe suddenly froze, staring over my shoulder, a look of panic on his face. I whirled, alarmed at what might be behind me, but saw only Narigorm coming towards us, pails of water in her hands.\n\nThe man fumbled for something in his shirt and pulled out a hazel twig, which he thrust out in front of him as if he was warding her off.\n\n\"That's Narigorm, a child who travels with us,\" I reassured him.\n\nHe looked relieved and sheepishly lowered his twig, but he didn't take his eyes off her. \"Thought she was a sprite or ghost, she's so pale. It's not natural.\"\n\nHe continued to stare and Narigorm, aware she was being watched, returned his gaze unblinking. He quickly averted his eyes and, picking up his paddle, deftly swung the coracle into the channel again.\n\nWithout looking back he called out, \"Make sure she doesn't comb her hair while she's in these parts. She'll comb up the white hair on the back of the waves and whip up a storm. We've seen enough death round here.\"\n\nAs I watched him paddle away I hoped for Narigorm's sake there would be no storm. If there was, I had a feeling the man would be back and he would not be alone.\n\nFortunately for all of us, the next few days were calm though cold. We were glad of the hermit's hut to shelter Adela and the baby. The floor of the hut had been dug deep below ground level, so that inside it was high enough for a man to stand upright, but not wide enough for anyone to stretch full length when they lay down. The rest of us mostly slept outside around the fire pit. At least on the marshes there was fuel and food too if you could catch it. For those who dared risk their lives, there were birds to be netted, fish to be caught, and eels to be speared. We caught few birds ourselves from the heights. Osmond was so dazed with exhaustion from the sleepless nights that he could no longer hit a bird with his sling and netting was best done on the water, but as the eel-man had warned it was too dangerous to venture into the marsh, so we traded what goods we could for fish and fowl from the men in coracles who paddled across to us. They came as much out of curiosity as a desire to trade, but they kept us fed, though we cast envious eyes on the distant islands where sheep gazed. Salt mutton is said to be the best mutton in the land, but no farmer slaughters his sheep before lambing, and if anyone, like us, was tempted to steal one, they were far out of our reach, safe on their islands.\n\nWe should have moved on after a day or two. We knew we would have to go soon, for we were running out of things to trade and we needed to be somewhere we could feed ourselves. But the truth was we were afraid to leave the safety of the spur. Osmond was convinced that if the wolf came, he would come by way of the heights, not the marsh, and at least we could watch the entrance to the spur. And though I was certain the wolf was not human, like the others, I had no desire to sleep out there in the woods with nothing to protect my back. Whatever it was, at least on the spur we would see it coming. The marsh may be lethal but, like the sheep on their islands, its very danger was our protection.\n\nBut the marsh could not protect us from the howling. Every night we lit the fires and torches across the entrance and waited with mounting tension until we heard the wolf's howl and then we strained into the darkness frantically searching for any glimmer, any sign of movement. Even though we took it in turns to watch, those who were not on watch did little more than nap, constantly alert for any new sound. Of all of us, it was Rodrigo whom it affected the most. He hardly slept at all nights and we couldn't let him take the watch, for he was so unpredictable we feared he'd rush out into the marsh, if he thought that's where the howling was coming from. Without our realising, the little spur of land had become our prison. We fooled ourselves that we were keeping the wolf out, but in truth he was keeping us in.\n\nFinally, late one afternoon as we sat round the fire, matters came to a head. Carwyn was fretful and Adela, ragged with sleeplessness and fear, burst into tears and began screaming that she could not take another night of the baying.\n\n\"I'd rather take Carwyn and walk into the marsh with him; at least it would be over,\" she sobbed.\n\n\"This is all your fault, Camelot.\" Osmond rounded on me. \"If you had left that accursed mermaid with the other boxes in the wagon, the bishop's wolf would have left us alone weeks ago. We have to leave the reliquary out for the wolf tonight. He knows we're here. He knows we have the reliquary. He's never going to leave us in peace until he has it.\"\n\n\"But we don't know that it was among the things Zophiel stole. And I've told you, I don't believe that the bishop's wolf is following us or ever was.\"\n\n\"Are you deaf as well as blind? Haven't you heard the howls? God in heaven, Camelot, see sense. You know something is following us. What else can it be?\"\n\n\"Please, Camelot,\" Adela begged, \"we have to give it up to him.\"\n\n\"We agreed we would find a church\u2014\"\n\nOsmond's fists were clenched. \"No, Camelot, we will do it now. You heard Adela; she can't take another night of this. None of us can.\" He took a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself. \"We will leave the reliquary where the spit joins the mainland, mark it with something that will show up in the dark, white cloth or stones; the bishop's wolf will claim it. Then it will be finished.\"\n\nAdela looked at me beseechingly. \"Please, Camelot. If the wolf gets tired of waiting and comes into our camp one night, he could cut our throats or even take little Carwyn in revenge. He came into the chantry without us hearing, remember?\"\n\n\"Zophiel only thought he had,\" I said without thinking.\n\nRodrigo flinched and I wished I had bitten my tongue off. For if the bishop's wolf hadn't taken the chalice, then in all probability Jofre had.\n\nI had no choice. Osmond was close to breaking. I knew he'd take the relic by force if I didn't agree, and I was no match for him. At least if the relic was still there in the morning, it might finally convince him that what was stalking us was not human. I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. \"If it will make you sleep easier, Adela, I'll do it now.\" I struggled to my feet.\n\n\"The wolf does not want the relic.\"\n\nI glanced round. Narigorm was crouching, studying the runes spread out before her.\n\n\"Then\u2026then why is he still following us?\" Osmond asked.\n\n\"The wolf wants death,\" Narigorm said.\n\nAdela buried her face in her hands and moaned.\n\n\"That's enough, Narigorm,\" I said sharply. My bowels felt as if they had been turned to icy water, but I tried not to show it. \"If it's my death he wants, the wolf needn't trouble himself; at my great age he only has to wait awhile and he'll get his wish without even lifting a finger.\"\n\nNarigorm held up a rune shaped like a V on its side. \"Kaunaz. Some say it means a blazing torch, others say it means a boil, a place of death.\"\n\n\"A boil!\" Adela cried. \"You mean the pestilence?\"\n\nNarigorm shook her head. \"If it is alone, it foretells that a gift is going to be given, a new life. But it is not alone.\" She held up a rune with a single straight line on it. \"ha means ice. You don't see ice form on water until it's too late, but it's strong enough to destroy everything in its path. ha stands for nine and the nine belongs to Hati, the wolf that swallows up the moon. But now see?\" She held the two runes up together. \"See the shape of the space between them.\"\n\nWe stared at the space where her finger repeatedly traced the shape made by the two letters together, a line with a triangle halfway down.\n\n\"Thurisaz, the thorn, the troll rune, the curse rune. It changes the meaning of the other two. Now, Kaunaz is filth and Isa is treachery. It means a gift will not be given; it will be taken. A life will not be given; it will be taken for his betrayal of those he loved.\"\n\nI suddenly remembered where I had heard her speak of troll runes before; it was the day we were trapped in the town while they searched for the fugitive Cygnus. Narigorm had watched Rodrigo, Osmond, and Jofre walk off together, then she sang a snatch of song: \"Troll runes I cut\u2026something, something\u2026frenzy, filth, and lust.\" Then she'd said, \"I didn't know who the troll runes were for, but now I do.\"\n\nWe hadn't realised it then, but that was the first day we numbered nine. Did she mean that the troll runes were for one of those three\u2014Jofre, Osmond, or Rodrigo? But Jofre was dead and now she was speaking of troll runes again; that left Osmond and Rodrigo. I looked across at Rodrigo; his face was pale and hag-ridden, his eyes blank, staring at Narigorm in fear.\n\nI turned furiously to Narigorm. \"Stop this, stop it at once. This has gone far enough.\"\n\n\"Leave her!\" Rodrigo snapped, then added, more softly, \"Let her finish. I want to know what else she reads.\"\n\nThe sun hung low in the sky. Narigorm raised her hand, palm out so that her hand covered it, then she closed her fist, sweeping her hand down slowly as if drawing the sun's rays down onto the runes. She picked up the third and last of the runes that lay in front of her. It was shaped like an arrow.\n\n\"Teiwaz, the rune of Tyr, who put his hand into the mouth of the wolf Fenrir and swore a false oath. His hand was bitten off. He surrendered himself to the wolf to save his friends. This seals the others, for its troll rune is defeat. The person who this prophecy is for cannot win against the wolf. It will destroy him.\"\n\nAdela was clutching Osmond's hand so hard that I could see her nails biting into his skin. \"But, Narigorm, I don't understand\u2014who is this for? If Camelot gives the reliquary back, surely the wolf won't kill him? He didn't steal it. He's not betrayed anyone he loved.\"\n\n\"But I have,\" Rodrigo whispered. He rose and walked rapidly away up the spur towards the heights.\n\nOsmond prised himself from Adela's grip and hurried after him. He reached for him, but Rodrigo pushed him violently away. Osmond was not fool enough to try to touch him again. He shrugged helplessly. There was nothing we could do but watch Rodrigo go until he disappeared among the trees.\n\nOsmond and I set out the reliquary on the far side of the night fires. We marked the place with a strip of linen around a tree trunk and a ring of white stones around the reliquary which would show up in the moonlight, if there was a moon. Osmond debated whether or not to set a torch up near it, but decided against it, thinking the wolf might take it for a trap. The sun was already setting and the air was turning sharp and damp. Rodrigo had not returned.\n\nOsmond glanced uneasily towards the dark trees. \"After what Narigorm said, you don't think he plans to stay on the heights and tackle the wolf, do you?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that's exactly what he might do. You start the fires and take first watch. I'll go look for him.\"\n\n\"But what if you're out there alone after dark and the wolf does come? You're no match \u2026 I should come, too.\"\n\n\"And leave Adela and Carwyn unprotected? You stay here. If the wolf wants blood, better it takes an old dotard like me.\" I remembered the savage bites on Jofre's body and felt sick.\n\nRodrigo was sitting on an outcrop of rock, staring out over the marsh as the sun began to slip bloodred behind the heights. He didn't move when I sat down beside him. Below us we could see the bright dots multiplying in the distant fen cottages, as the villagers lit lanterns and rushes to keep the darkness at bay. There was a lantern too in a little coracle, a man fishing for eel in the gathering gloom. Overhead the birds filled the pink sky with their cries as they departed for their roosting grounds. Thousands of starlings soared as one, twisting and turning until they resembled huge pillars of spiralling smoke, the sound of their wings like waves breaking on shingled beach. Rodrigo gazed around him as if he was seeing the glorious expanse of sky for the first time, or the last. Finally he spoke.\n\n\"Go back to the spur, Camelot. The runes are meant for me, not you. It is me the wolf will come for. I will be the next to die and I deserve death. I will not run away from it.\"\n\n\"Don't listen to Narigorm, Rodrigo. She's a child. She likes to frighten people. She's been worse since Carwyn arrived and Adela no longer fusses over her. You're not going to die and you most certainly do not deserve it. You are the gentlest and kindest man I've ever known.\"\n\nEven as I reassured Rodrigo, a voice inside me was whispering, \"Narigorm has never yet been wrong.\" But if that was so, the prophecy was meant for me, not Rodrigo. It must not be for Rodrigo.\n\nRodrigo looked at me, and I flinched at the coldness I saw in his eyes. \"Have you not understood, Camelot? I murdered a man and I cut off his arms and destroyed them so that he would enter the next life as the cripples he so despised. But I am not ashamed of that even now. It was not the worst thing I have done. I let two innocent young men die, and one of them was the person I loved most in the world. I should have protected them and I failed. The fault is mine that they are dead. Narigorm spoke but the truth; I betrayed them.\"\n\n\"Rodrigo, you must listen to me. You can't blame yourself. It was Ralph's father who ordered his men to kill Jofre. It was not your fault.\"\n\n\"He would never have gone back to the town if I had stood up for him against Zophiel. When Zophiel threatened to flog him, he begged me for help. And I turned away. He knew I did not believe him when he swore he had not stolen the chalice.\"\n\n\"He would never blame you for that.\" I hesitated. I'd never asked him this before, but now it seemed important to keep him talking, even if it made him angry. \"Rodrigo, when we first met, you told me your master had grown too old to manage his estate and his son had taken over, bringing with him his own musicians. Was that really the reason you left your master's employ?\"\n\nRodrigo grimaced. \"You were a stranger, and \u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026 and honesty doesn't oil the wheels of conversation,\" I finished.\n\nHe nodded. \"Who really wants to hear the truth except a priest at confession? And he is paid to bear the burden of it.\"\n\n\"I've never taken holy orders, but as the peat-cutter said, we're all priests now.\"\n\nRodrigo sat in silence. He slowly opened his clenched fist and stared at the object which lay in his palm. It was the little tear-shaped glass flask which Michelotto had given Jofre. He rolled it around in his hand, watching colours slip from blue to purple. Then he held it up so that its flecks of gold glittered in the dying rays of the sun.\n\nHe said, \"Jofre was the son of a cousin of mine, but I did not meet him until his father sent him to England to be my pupil, when he was just a boy. His father already suspected that Jofre would grow up to be a lover of men, and it revolted and shamed him and Jofre knew it. That is why he sent Jofre to me. The man had no love of music himself, but I was in England and that was far enough away for his father never to lay eyes on his son again. Jofre was heartbroken to leave his mother. He despised himself, because his father despised him. Maybe he thought that his mother too was ashamed of him, but I knew her and I do not believe she had anything in her heart except love for her son.\n\n\"He soon showed his rare talent for music. He learned easily, maybe too easily. There were many distractions in my lord's court, but knowing how homesick Jofre was, I could not bring myself to be as strict with the boy as a master should be. Then my lord's heir, his grandson, arrived to be trained in the running of the estate. He was a year or two older than Jofre, but the two seemed instantly attracted to each other. At first the old lord saw no harm in it. His grandson was quiet and studious, more suited to the Church than to court. He had not mixed much with boys his own age, and the old man seemed pleased by their friendship, encouraged it even, the two young men riding off together hawking and hunting. He thought it would do his grandson good. But then rumours began to reach the old man's ear, rumours that what was going on between the young men was more than friendship. As you saw in the town, rumours of that sort disturb men greatly when it concerns their heirs.\"\n\nI smiled wryly. \"If you have several sons, the predilections of younger sons hardly matter; they can be sent into the Church or to war. In both professions it's an advantage if they don't pine for the company of women. But heirs must marry.\"\n\nRodrigo nodded. \"Even so, I do not think the old man would have been worried by that alone. It is likely in his youth he had taken comely young men as lovers before climbing into his own marriage bed. With the virtue of highborn maids guarded like jewels, where else is a young lord to take his pleasure, except among beautiful young men, or pox-ridden girls in the manor kitchens or town stews? But discretion is everything, and that is what Jofre and the young man lacked. When the old lord tried to caution his grandson to spend less time with Jofre, Jofre drowned his resentment in gambling and drinking and the studious grandson followed his example.\"\n\nI could see where this was leading. Only one thing alarms a wealthy man more than the fear his heir will not produce sons, and that is the fear that his heir will gamble away his fortune and lands.\n\n\"My lord summoned me. He told me I must dismiss my pupil. But I had come to love Jofre. I do not mean in the way that Jofre loved men. My love for Jofre was deeper than that. It was the pure love of an older man for a younger, I swear it, Camelot. He was beautiful. He had so much life, so much talent, so much youth. He had everything before him. I knew that my talent, which had never been as great as his, would depart as my fingers stiffened and my voice cracked. I could help him to be a great musician. I wanted only to protect him, to take away his pain and self-loathing and to teach him how beautiful he was.\"\n\nHe looked at me, a desperate pleading in his eyes.\n\n\"Camelot, understand I could not dismiss him, any more than I could cut off my own hand. I begged my lord for a second chance for Jofre. I promised I would control him, keeping him far away from his grandson, but the old man knew as well as I did that it was like trying to keep a storm-tossed ship from breaking on the rocks. The two had to be separated, and since the grandson could not be sent away, Jofre must. He gave me a choice: Either I dismissed him or he would dismiss me.\"\n\n\"So you left. And you took Jofre with you.\"\n\n\"In my lord's employ there were too many idle men with nothing to do but squander their time gambling and drinking. Away from them I hoped it would stop. But, as you know, it did not. Jofre was miserable and that was his cure for misery. I tried everything. I even \u2026 I beat him, that night in the widow's inn, as you guessed.\"\n\nI nodded grimly; even now I couldn't tell him I had witnessed it and all that followed. I knew that would only add to his suffering.\n\n\"You had no choice, and it did seem to bring him to his senses for a while.\"\n\n\"Until Zophiel started to taunt him.\"\n\n\"Is that really why you killed Zophiel?\"\n\nHe turned his face away staring out over the darkening marshes. I thought he wasn't going to answer, then finally he said, \"I spoke the truth when I said I wanted to make him stop before he did to Cygnus what he had done to Jofre, but you are right, Camelot; I would not have murdered him to stop him. I would not even have killed him for what he did to Jofre, when I thought he was just a man. But when I learned he was a priest \u2026 I killed him because he was a priest, because it is priests and pardoners and their kind who destroy the young and the beautiful, the innocent and the helpless. Christ showed us compassion. He showed us Gods mercy, but they use His name to torment those they should care for. They make them ashamed of what is beautiful. They make them despise their nature and their own bodies.\n\n\"There are many cruel men in this world, Camelot\u2014men who rob and kill and prey on the weak\u2014but at least they are honest. They do not claim it is God's will. They do not drive a man to despair and say they are doing it out of love for him. If they torture someone it is only in this world; they do not condemn him to hell to be tortured for all eternity. Only the priests and bishops do that.\n\n\"The priests tell us that a man is born as he is because God wills it so, then they punish him for being that man. They tell us we are made in God's image; then what is God's image? You think God is like Jofre with the voice of an angel, a man who loves men. You think God is like Cygnus, who once had love and faith enough to grow the beautiful wing of a swan. Or is Zophiel, the priest, the image of God? Zophiel\u2014the word means God's spy, is that not so? I know about Zophiel. The Jews in Venice told me about him. He was the angel who told God that Adam and Eve had eaten the forbidden fruit. He is the one who guards the tree of life with a sword of fire to drive out anyone who tries to enter Eden. If Zophiel is the image of God, then I do not choose heaven; I choose hell.\"\n\nI had seen that terrible look on a man's face before, on the faces of those being dragged to the gallows. Some scream and plead, some swear and curse, some go serenely, convinced that the open gates of Paradise await them. But the worst, the most chilling, are those who neither fight nor embrace it, but accept it, their faces fixed in a look of utter hopelessness and despair. Their eyes stare out at you as if they are already the eyes of a dead man, and not a dead man in Paradise, but one who is in purgatory or worse, far worse.\n\nAs Rodrigo rose from the rock and walked away, I knew he was not coming back. He knew that he was going to die, and nothing I could say would change that. My art was the creation of hope, yet I couldn't conjure it for him. His belief in Narigorm's runes and his own fate were more powerful than any hope I could create for him.\n\nI couldn't let him go alone. I had no idea what he intended or what awaited him; I didn't know what I could do to prevent it. But I had to be there. If the wolf was out there waiting for him, I would see it, and if I could not kill it, at least I would finally know what it was.\n\nIt was dark by this time. The clouds obscured moon and stars. But even without light it was not hard to follow Rodrigo. He blundered forward, crashing into bushes and stumbling over tree roots, as if being pulled along on an invisible rope. Then the noise stopped. I feared I'd lost him, but as I reached the trees' edge, I saw his shape walking across the clearing.\n\nThe moon slid out from behind the clouds, and in the moonlight I saw what I had never seen in daylight. A pearly white mist lay in the bottom of the hollow. It rose only to the height of a man's knee, and as Rodrigo walked into it, it swirled about his legs. His body and head rose above it, as if he was wading in shallow luminescent water. I glanced about at the other hollows. They too had the same shallow pool of mist swirling in them, and yet there was no mist between the trees.\n\nThen I heard it, very faintly, the sound I most feared\u2014a deep and distant baying. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I gripped my stave so tightly my hand hurt. The howls were moving closer, but too quickly, too fast even for a running wolf. They seemed to be coming from every direction. I searched desperately in the darkness for a pair of eyes, the shadow of a movement, but there was nothing. Rodrigo too was frantically turning this way and that, but he seemed chained to the spot in the centre of the hollow, like a goat tethered as living bait. He held out his arm protectively as if he was waiting for the wolf to spring on him as he turned, trying to see from which direction it would come.\n\nSuddenly the sound changed; now it was a singing of wings, as if a thousand swans were bearing down on us. But there was nothing to be seen in the moonlit sky. Rodrigo had sunk to his knees, covering his head with his arms and cowering so low in the mist that I could see only his clenched fists over his head. The noise grew louder and louder. I could stand it no longer. I ran towards the hollow, trying to reach Rodrigo, but as I broke free of the trees something white caught my eye: Narigorm was squatting on the ground among the trees, her white hair gleaming in the moonlight. One hand was stretched over the runes in front of her, the other extended, palm outwards, towards the hollow. Her eyes were closed and she was rocking as if she was in a trance.\n\nI took a pace towards her. The sound of the wings seemed to be coming from her, but that was impossible. The sound changed again, back to the howling of a wolf, and this time I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the howls were coming from her. She was the centre of it. She was the creator of it. But she was not howling.\n\nHer lips were moving. \"Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan.\"\n\nThe faster she muttered, the louder the sound which seemed to emanate from her outstretched hand. She must have sensed me coming towards her, for she opened her eyes just as I raised my staff and sent the runes flying in all directions. The howling stopped instantly as if it had been severed with an axe.\n\nNarigorm leapt up, her fingers clawing towards my face in fury, but I knocked them aside with my stave. I was too furious to temper the blow, and she yelped in pain and surprise, stumbling backwards onto the ground, where she crouched like a cat, her bruised hands clenched tightly under her armpits. Any other child would have cried at such a savage blow, but Narigorm's eyes were filled with malice, not tears.\n\n\"It was you!\" I screamed at her. \"All this time, you made us think we were being followed by a wolf, but there never was a wolf, was there, human or animal?\"\n\n\"You heard a wolf.\"\n\n\"You made us hear it.\"\n\n\"Morrigan made you hear it.\"\n\n\"Who is Morrigan?\"\n\n\"The shape-shifter, the wolf, the swan, the bringer of chaos and death, the destroyer of liars. You heard the wolf only because you lied. You all lied.\"\n\nI suddenly remembered where I first heard her use that name. It was Midsummer's Day, the day we first met. \"If you lie, you lose the gift,\" she told me then. \"Morrigan destroys liars.\"\n\n\"But you heard the wolf too, Narigorm.\"\n\n\"I made it. I control it.\"\n\n\"And you controlled it to drive half our company to suicide and murder! You evil, malicious little brat. How could you do that to us when all we've done is fed you and protected you? You accuse us of treachery and betrayal, but it's you who have betrayed us.\"\n\n\"You did it. You lied. I never lie. I only read what is there in the runes. I only tell the truth.\"\n\n\"When I first saw you, your master was thrashing you for telling your truth, but if you think that was punishment, you wait until the others find out what you've done. You'll wish you'd never been born, my girl. Your vicious little game is over. You tried to kill Rodrigo, but you failed.\"\n\n\"But you're wrong, Camelot. I haven't failed. All the time you've been talking, Rodrigo has been dying. Morrigan has destroyed him too.\"\n\nI spun round. Rodrigo was nowhere to be seen.\n\nNarigorm smiled triumphantly. \"The mist that rises from the ground in the hollows is poison. Didn't you see all the dead animals? Didn't you guess? Now Rodrigo is dead too. And you loved him, didn't you?\"\n\nI stared at her aghast, then, without stopping to think, I ran. As I ran into the hollow, I tried desperately to remember where I had last seen him. My feet sent the white mist swirling around my legs, so it was like looking down into the foaming waters of a mill race. My heart was pounding and my chest felt as tight as if it was being crushed. Now that I was in it, the hollow seemed vast. The moon slipped again behind the clouds and all at once I was plunged into darkness. Only the mist still glimmered white. I bent down, trying to grope under it for Rodrigo. My senses were reeling. My head ached. I was exhausted. All those nights without proper sleep were crowding in on me; my limbs felt stiff and numb as if I had been walking for hours. All I wanted to do was to lie down in this soft white mist and sleep, just for a few minutes, surrender to it and sleep. A few minutes wouldn't matter, surely. Then I'd be able to think, I'd know what to do. I could feel myself sinking to my knees and I was powerless to stop myself falling."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "I heard Narigorm laughing. The sound struck me like a stinging slap. I pushed hard on my stave and forced myself to stand upright again. I took a big gulp of air. My head was still splitting, but my thoughts cleared. The mist was only visible at night. It hung close to the ground; that was why we had been able to walk through the hollows before without harm. Only if you knelt down so that your head was below it could it work its poison. If you stood above it, you could survive. I began to walk forward, sweeping my stave in front of me, until it connected with something. I prodded, felt my stave trace the shape of a human body. I held my breath, sank to my knees, hauled his arm round my neck and struggled to my feet again, levering Rodrigo to his feet.\n\nI didn't know if he was dead or alive; all I knew was that I had to cross those few yards to the trees before I could let him go. But he was taller and heavier than I was, and it was all I could do to keep his limp body upright. I daren't lay him down and drag him, for I knew I had to keep his head above the pooling poison. I pulled him forward step by painful step. My lungs felt as if they were on fire. Only another few yards, but I knew I was never going to make it. I had breathed in too much of the mist and now my legs were beginning to give way; I couldn't take another step. I stood there in the darkness, the weight of Rodrigo's body crushing me, the mist swirling round me. I was so dizzy that I closed my eyes to keep myself from falling. I could feel the world spinning round, the ground slipping sideways, shifting beneath my feet. I was pitching forward into the darkness.\n\nThen I felt Rodrigo's weight lifting.\n\n\"Let go, Camelot, I've got him.\"\n\nOsmond was heaving Rodrigo's body over his shoulder.\n\n\"Mist\u2026poisonous\u2026get him out,\" I murmured, but he was already striding away, bent under the weight of his limp burden. I sank to my knees, but almost at once felt myself being hauled up again as Osmond propelled me forward. The trees spun around me.\n\nI could hear Osmond slapping Rodrigo hard. \"Come on, Rodrigo. Come on, wake up. Holy Mary, Mother of God, let him wake.\"\n\nI felt something roll against my leg. My fingers closed over it and I knew what it was without opening my eyes. I grasped the cold, smooth glass of Michelotto's tear and prayed.\n\nI had not prayed in years. There had been nothing to pray for. But for the first time since I left my home in the north, I had something I could not bear to lose, someone who meant more to me than my own life. A life I would willingly have offered in exchange for his. And I did offer it. In those few moments I swore I would give everything I had for him\u2014my life, my soul, my salvation\u2014I poured them all into that one desperate prayer for Rodrigo.\n\nI took several deep breaths and opened my eyes. The ground was still slipping and twisting, but not as badly as before. Osmond held Rodrigo by the shoulders. Rodrigo's face was pale in the moonlight and his eyes were closed. I knew if I attempted to stand upright I would fall. I slipped the glass tear into my shirt and crawled across on my hands and knees.\n\nOsmond shook his head. \"It's no good. I think he's gone. I came as soon as Narigorm came running for help, but if I'd got to him sooner\u2026\"\n\n\"Narigorm?\"\n\n\"She said he tried to cross the hollow, but he had fallen. She said the mist in the hollow was poisonous. I didn't believe her at first, until she said that about the animals, then I understood. Poor little thing, she was terrified.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" I protested, \"it was Narigorm who\u2014\"\n\nThere was a strangled sound and we looked down. Rodrigo's mouth was gaping open as he tried frantically to suck in some air. His hands clawed at his throat. Osmond desperately fanned his face. For what seemed like an eternity, Rodrigo lay choking and helpless. Then at last he jerked forward in a violent spasm of coughing, before sinking back into Osmond's arms, his chest heaving painfully. He was breathing. He was alive. Rodrigo was alive.\n\nOsmond and I sat with him in the darkness until he had recovered enough to sit up. We helped him to his feet, and with his arms round our shoulders for support, he managed to stagger back to the camp. Adela came running to meet us and half-crushed the breath out of Rodrigo again as she tried to hug both him and Osmond together. We propped Rodrigo up against a pile of our packs and he lay coughing and wheezing, too weak to move.\n\nMy limbs felt as if they were on fire and my head was pounding. All I wanted to do was lie down and close my eyes. But Adela and Osmond decided it would be too dangerous to let Rodrigo and me sleep in case the poison claimed us again. So they fought against their own tiredness and sat up all night, trying to keep us awake, Osmond shaking us awake and Adela forcing broth down our throats whenever we threatened to doze off.\n\nWhile Adela and Osmond anxiously watched Rodrigo, I sensed someone else was watching too. I glimpsed the whiteness of hair in the doorway of the hermit's hut. I could feel her eyes on me, feel her hatred like a wave of icy water. I remembered that outstretched hand, the words pounding through my brain, Morrigan, Morrigan! But my head was aching so much, I couldn't make sense of any of it. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted only to sleep.\n\nNever had a dawn been so welcome. The slow pale stain crept over the edge of the marsh, bringing with it the cries of gulls and plovers, as the night slipped back like an ebbing tide. With the coming of daylight, Adela decided it was finally safe to let us sleep. We needed no persuasion.\n\nWhen I woke, the sun was already sinking over the heights. I sat up, clutching my cloak around me. It was bitterly cold. Rodrigo sat by the fire rubbing his swollen eyes as Adela handed him a bowl of something hot and steamy.\n\nHe smiled ruefully at me as I struggled over to join them.\n\n\"How are you feeling, Camelot?\" Adela asked anxiously.\n\n\"As if I've swilled a whole barrel of bad wine, except that I've not been drinking. What about you, Rodrigo?\"\n\n\"Thrown by a horse and then kicked in the head by it, except I have not been riding. Osmond tells me that you risked your life trying to pull me out last night, Camelot. I am once more in your debt, old friend.\"\n\n\"We both owe our lives to Osmond. It was he who got us out.\"\n\n\"And Narigorm too,\" Rodrigo added. \"If she had not realised the nature of the hollow and gone for help\u2014I am so stupid. I did not see the danger.\"\n\nAt the mention of Narigorm, I frowned. \"Where is she?\"\n\nAdela answered. \"She's gone fowling with Osmond. The poor child was so worried about you both, Osmond thought it would cheer her up.\"\n\nI glanced up at the darkening sky; they'd be back soon. I had to tell them what Narigorm had done before she returned. \"Rodrigo,\" I said urgently, \"what do you remember about last night?\"\n\nHe massaged his temples. \"Not much. Talking to you, I think, but I cannot remember what we spoke about\u2026Then walking through the trees\u2014it was dark, but I do not know where I was going. Back to the camp, I suppose. Then\u2026then I was curled up on the ground and Osmond was slapping me.\" He rubbed his cheek, smiling ruefully. \"He has a hard hand, that husband of yours, Adela. Remind me not to offend him.\"\n\n\"Don't you remember anything else?\" I insisted. \"How you came to be in the hollow? Try, please, it's important. Did you hear the wolf?\"\n\nHe winced. \"I do remember that. When I was in the trees I heard him. I could not tell where the sound was coming from. I wanted to see him coming, so I went out into the hollow where there were no trees. Then\u2026then the swans, a huge flock of swans was flying down towards me. I tried to protect myself. The noise was deafening. I could not breathe.\" He covered his face with his hands, trembling violently as the memory seized him.\n\n\"That's because you crouched down in the mist, to protect yourself from the swans. But there were no swans and no wolf. It was Narigorm who was conjuring those sounds. I saw her. She was in the trees watching you. The sounds were coming from her. It's been her all along making the wolf howls.\"\n\nThey both stared at me as if I had grown two heads.\n\nAdela said gently, \"Camelot, how could a little girl make those sounds? When we've heard the wolf before, Narigorm's been with us. She hasn't been howling. It's the poison of the white mist. It made you imagine things.\"\n\n\"No, it's not the mist. There never has been a wolf. Narigorm has been conjuring a Sending, the power of the runes sent out in the form of a wolf and sometimes a swan. I watched her do it last night. She's been using the Sending to drive us all to our deaths and she nearly succeeded again with you last night, Rodrigo, and me too. That wasn't a prophecy that Narigorm read in the runes yesterday; it was a curse, a curse she sent out. She traced the outline of the troll rune with her finger and brought its power to life.\"\n\nRodrigo stared at me. \"This is madness. As Adela says, it is the white mist that has poisoned you, made you see devils and demons. Narigorm came to fetch help, is that not so, Adela? The child saved our lives.\"\n\n\"No, listen. I scattered her runes, I broke her spell. She delayed me until she was sure you were dead, then she sent me into the hollow. She was watching me, waiting until I too fell. I could hear her laughing. Only then did she go for Osmond. She thought by the time Osmond found us, I too would be dead. She's spent hours there watching animals die in the mist. She knew it didn't take long. Perhaps she even thought Osmond too would succumb to the mist if he started to search for us.\"\n\nRodrigo's frown deepened. \"You are imagining this. Maybe you are right, maybe there were no swans and the white mist made this illusion for me, but the wolf is real. Narigorm does not make this sound.\"\n\nI tried to argue, but he held up his hand to silence me. Then he lumbered unsteadily to his feet and walked slowly back towards the mainland.\n\nWith a sense of mounting despair, I watched Rodrigo vanish among the trees. I turned to Adela. \"If the wolf is real, did he claim his reliquary last night?\"\n\nShe hesitated, then shook her head. \"But that proves nothing, Camelot. With all the commotion, he was hardly likely to risk coming, was he?\"\n\nI glanced carefully around to make quite sure we were alone before I spoke. \"Adela, even if you do not believe me about Narigorm, promise me that you will not let her find out that Osmond is your brother. She must never know.\"\n\n\"He's not! He's not! He's my husband.\"\n\n\"I think he is your brother. And Carwyn is his child.\"\n\nShe looked away, unable to meet my gaze. \"How\u2026how long have you known?\"\n\n\"I suspected from the first night in the cave, but I became certain the night you gave birth. Osmond took you away from the convent, didn't he? Were you sent there because of the baby?\"\n\nShe nodded, staring at the ground, her veil falling across her scarlet cheeks. \"I was betrothed to a merchant, a friend of my father's, but he had to travel on business, so the marriage date was set for the month after he returned. But before he returned my cousin told my mother my linen had not been stained for two months and my mother summoned the physician. When they learned I was\u2026with child, my parents were enraged. They knew the merchant would not marry a woman who was pregnant by another; who would? They demanded to know who the father was, but even though they beat me, I wouldn't tell them. I couldn't. They were angry enough that I had slept with a man, but if they had discovered that man was my own brother \u2026 So my parents had me taken to a convent in disgrace.\"\n\nThe story spilled out of her. \"The nuns treated me as if I was a whore who should have been made to walk barefoot in a sheet through the town. They kept me locked in a cold, dark penitent's cell with little food for days at a time. Perhaps they hoped I'd lose the child. 'The fruit of sin,' they called him. If they'd really known the nature of that sin\u2026But I wanted Carwyn. Even though I knew he was my shame, I wanted him so much because he was Osmond's son. As long as I could feel Osmond's child growing inside me, I knew they could not separate me from him.\n\n\"But the nuns told me that when my baby was born, he would be sent away to be raised. I would become a nun, spend my life learning to subdue my lusts and atoning for my wickedness. I would be a bride of Christ. He would be my husband. I would surrender every part of me to Him, and if I refused Him, His vengeance would be terrible.\"\n\n\"But Osmond rescued you?\"\n\nShe bent and, one by one, fed twigs into the glowing ashes of the fire to coax a blaze. Then she spoke so softly I had to draw closer to hear her.\n\n\"Osmond was away. He was working as journeyman to a master painter. He didn't even know that he had got me with child. When he returned, he discovered where I had been sent and why. He knew at once the child must be his and he was appalled at what he had done, but he could tell no one. He came to see me, though our parents had forbidden it. He told the sisters he had come with a message from my father. He could see at once how wretched and thin I had become. He could not bear it, so he bribed one of the lay women to help me escape. He couldn't return to his work, because he knew our father would come looking for us there. So we were forced to go on the road. His master still held his papers; he couldn't go back for them.\"\n\n\"And without them, he can't work as a painter.\"\n\nShe nodded miserably.\n\n\"Osmond must love you very much,\" I told her gently.\n\n\"And I love him. You cannot know how much. Without him, I feel I've been cut in two, as if part of my very being has been taken from me. Maybe Zophiel was right and I have damned his soul to hell, and he mine. But we cannot exist without each other. Can you understand that, Camelot?\"\n\n\"Of course I can, Adela. How could I not?\"\n\nI saw the desperate pleading in her blue eyes and I wanted to hug her tightly and tell her that there was no one in heaven or earth who could condemn a love that blazed as pure as hers. But I knew that wasn't true. They would condemn her.\n\n\"Adela, at all costs you must keep this from Narigorm; she must not find out.\"\n\n\"But she adores Osmond. Even if she discovered the truth, she would do nothing to hurt him. She would not report us to the Justices or the Church.\"\n\nI did not want to hurt her, but I had to make her understand. \"Come with me, Adela. I want to show you something.\"\n\nI led her into the dark interior of the hermit's shelter and scrabbled around under some empty sacks until I found what I was looking for.\n\n\"You remember the doll Osmond carved for Narigorm? Look at it, Adela, look at the face; she has destroyed it.\" I thrust the doll into her hands.\n\n\"You're mistaken, Camelot; she hasn't destroyed her. She's just painted a new face on her, white like her own. It was stupid of us. We should have realized that the child would want a doll which looked like her.\"\n\nI took the doll from her and stepped outside. I held it up so that the dying rays of the sun would illuminate its face. Narigorm had indeed given the doll a new face, but it wasn't painted. Its mouth was formed from the bleached white bones of a mouse, with sharp shrew's teeth set between the bone lips. The eyes and ears were fashioned from bones of a frog and the nose was the blanched beak of a little dead bird. It had taken patience to do this, patience and skill far beyond that of a normal child.\n\nI heard the shouts of Osmond and Narigorm returning, swinging several birds by their necks. I just had time to slip back inside the hut to push the doll back under the sacks again.\n\n\"Just promise me, Adela, promise me you will never let her find out.\"\n\nBut Adela had already gone to greet them.\n\nAll talk of last night was pushed aside as we plucked and drew and boiled the birds for supper. But every time I glanced up I saw Adela and Rodrigo watching me warily, as if they feared I was about to run round the camp tearing off my clothes and babbling about demons. They no doubt believed the white mist had robbed me of what little wits my ancient body still commanded. I knew if the wolf howled again that night from the heights, it would only serve to prove my insanity.\n\nI thought about it carefully. Narigorm could control the Sending only when she was awake. If Narigorm was seen to sleep and the wolf was silent, perhaps then they would finally heed my warning. I remembered the poppy syrup in Pleasance's pack. I waited until the others were occupied, then I searched for it. Just a few drops would be enough, and getting her to swallow them wasn't difficult; Narigorm always wanted more. Adela filled her first bowl, but I filled her second.\n\nNarigorm, as Adela herself remarked, slept the sleep of the innocent from dusk to dawn and, that night, so did the wolf."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Narigorm was still drowsy the next day and unsteady on her feet. My role in that gave me no qualms, given how I'd felt after the white mist. At Adela's urging, Narigorm stayed in the camp while Osmond and Rodrigo went to see what they could catch. I followed on the pretext of searching for wood and hurried to catch up with them as soon as we were out of sight of the others. The black despair that had settled on Rodrigo since Cygnus' suicide seemed to have lifted a little, as if coming so close to death himself had somehow jolted him back to life. But I knew this recovery was as fragile as glass and would shatter in an instant if Narigorm resumed her tricks.\n\nRodrigo and Osmond exchanged a glance as I called out to them. Clearly I had been the subject of their conversation; they eyed me warily. I couldn't afford to waste time building up to what I had to say.\n\n\"Osmond, I take it Rodrigo has told you what I said yesterday afternoon about Narigorm?\"\n\nHe nodded, saying hastily, \"But no one blames you, Camelot. The poisoned mist made you imagine things.\"\n\nI ignored this. \"Last night we did not hear the wolf, nor did he take the reliquary. That's because Narigorm slept all night. When she's awake, she controls the Sending; when she sleeps, the wolf is silent.\"\n\nI thought it wisest not to mention I had drugged her. They really would think I was mad.\n\n\"But that proves nothing,\" Osmond said. \"Some nights the wolf howls, sometimes he doesn't. Look, I've been thinking about what you told Rodrigo, but I realised we first heard the wolf that night in the cave, the night Zophiel, Adela, and I joined you. Narigorm wasn't with us then.\"\n\n\"That night in the cave, it probably was a real wolf. There are wolves still remaining in that wilderness of caves and gorges. Or, as Zophiel said, it could have been one of the outlaws who hide up in those places, but human or animal, whatever we heard that night didn't follow us. We never heard a wolf again until Narigorm joined us, and then only when there were nine of us, which was weeks later. Remember what Narigorm said yesterday? 'Nine belong to the wolf.' The day we first saw Cygnus telling stories in the marketplace, I saw her read the runes and she said, \"There is one to come before it can begin.\" Only after Cygnus joined us, making the nine, did we start to hear the wolf and think it was following us. I know it doesn't seem possible, but the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that she has somehow been behind every death in our company.\"\n\nRodrigo put his hand on my shoulder. \"This is not like you. You must rest. These deaths and the long journey have made you ill. Go back to the camp. We will all talk later.\"\n\n\"No, you have to listen to me now. When you were in the hollow, Narigorm told me that each of us heard the wolf because we had each lied. She's used the runes and the wolf howls to play on our fears and guilt to get us to expose our secrets and our lies, and then she drove us to destroy ourselves, just as she tried to do to you the other night, Rodrigo. Narigorm brought out Zophiel's knife deliberately, to make you betray the fact that you'd killed him. Then with her runes she tried to play on your guilt to drive you to your death, just as she had Cygnus. Narigorm failed to kill you, but it won't stop her trying again. And when she has destroyed you, she'll turn her attention to Adela and Osmond, even baby Carwyn.\"\n\n\"A baby can't lie,\" Osmond said.\n\n\"What if the baby is the lie?\"\n\nHis eyes widened and he stared at me. Then he flushed and looked away.\n\nRodrigo was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to register Osmond's alarm. \"But why should she want to kill us, Camelot?\" he burst out. Then, realising he was talking to the old and mad, he spoke slowly and patiently. \"Pleasance was not driven to her death by hearing the wolf.\"\n\n\"But she was tricked into betraying herself by the wolf. Why did she tell us the tale about being midwife to the wolf when she had always wisely kept silent before? Because when we heard the wolf that night, it gave Narigorm the excuse to make her tell the tale of being the wolf's midwife. What if she knew the telling of it would trap Pleasance into revealing she was a Jew? You told me yourself\u2014Pleasance knew she had given herself away by using that word sheidim.\"\n\nRodrigo shook his head. \"How could a child know the danger that lay in a word? Pleasance cared for the child when she was abandoned. If Narigorm begged for the tale again, it was in innocence. It is Zophiel you should blame for the death of Pleasance. It was his bitter words against the Jews that drove her into such fear.\"\n\n\"But if they were companions, Rodrigo, it is even more likely that Narigorm had already discovered Pleasance was a Jew and was just looking for a way to trick her into revealing it to us. But it wasn't only Pleasance whom Narigorm drove to destruction. The child used the wolf's howl to convince Zophiel he was being hunted by the bishop's wolf. She could have easily taken the chalice from the chantry herself to frighten Zophiel or make him turn on Jofre. She had as much opportunity as Jofre to take it. Don't forget, Zophiel said he didn't know it was missing until Narigorm read in the runes that something had been taken from him. Zophiel accusing Jofre of theft was what drove Jofre back to that town and to his death. And think back to why Jofre went to the town in the first place: Narigorm insisted on seeing the face of the Madonna, knowing that Osmond had painted the face of the person he loved, his wife Adela. Narigorm realised that Jofre would be jealous enough to betray his feelings for Osmond. And in the event that wasn't enough, she told us Jofre had feelings for Osmond. And she said so in front of Zophiel, knowing full well that Zophiel would torment Jofre with it.\n\n\"And,\" I rushed on desperately, seeing their disbelieving looks, \"why did Zophiel finally confess to us about the stolen church treasures? Because Narigorm had convinced him he was being pursued by the bishop's wolf and she told us she had read in the runes that someone would soon reap their punishment for a dark secret they had been hiding. She produced that black marble ball, claiming the runes were meant for Zophiel, knowing that if he had anything to hide, it would terrify him into a confession. You told me yourself, Rodrigo, if you hadn't discovered he was a priest, you would not have killed him. She manipulated you into that just as she had manipulated Zophiel into accusing Jofre. And even if you hadn't killed him, she was driving Zophiel to such fear and aggression with her wolf howls that sooner or later Osmond would probably have been driven to attack him\u2014that's if he hadn't knifed you or Osmond first.\"\n\n\"You think I am so stupid I could be tricked into committing murder by a child?\" Rodrigo said furiously. \"I killed Zophiel. Narigorm had nothing to do with it.\"\n\nOsmond laid a hand on his arm as if trying to remind him they were dealing with a lunatic who didn't know what he was saying. \"Camelot, even if you're right about the others, Narigorm did not force Cygnus to reveal a lie.\"\n\n\"But she did. Cygnus told us his stump had grown into a real wing because that is what he honestly believed, but I've been thinking about that. Do you remember the night we found Cygnus hiding in the wagon and brought him into the cottage with Old Walter and his son?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Osmond said, \"and I also remember it was Zophiel who forced him to tell his story.\"\n\n\"But think about what happened afterwards. Narigorm pulled a feather out of Cygnus' wing. She said if the wing was real, the feather would grow back. But it didn't\u2014and once that feather had been pulled out, the rest started to fall out. Pulling out the feather exposed a lie, even though it was one Cygnus believed in. And again she used Zophiel to torment him, that and the sound of the swans' wings she made him hear, night after night in his dreams.\"\n\nOsmond shook his head. \"I can see that Narigorm may have caused some trouble between us, but she couldn't have known what would happen. It was all done innocently. It would make more sense if you said it was the bishop's wolf who was behind all of these deaths, except that not even a man of his cunning could have planned these things.\"\n\n\"That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you; there never was a bishop's wolf,\" I snapped in exasperation. I took a shaky breath. \"I believe Narigorm somehow used the runes to draw us to her, somehow she assembled us, because she needed us, nine of us, to play her game. But I don't believe she planned the details of the game itself. She has a child's instinct for discovering the fears and weaknesses in others and using them. She plays her game just to see what will happen. Have you never watched children play a game of chess? An adult will plan his moves, but a child will just experiment to see the effect if he moves this piece or that, and when he finds a weakness he shows no mercy, but drives it to checkmate. She has been deliberately pitting us against each other, using us as her chess pieces.\"\n\n\"Camelot, what are you saying?\" Osmond ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.\n\n\"She will find a way to destroy each one of us if we don't get away from her. We have to leave her here and go on without her.\"\n\n\"Abandon a child?\"\n\n\"Not a child\u2014a ruthless and powerful killer. Osmond, you have Adela and Carwyn to think of, you can't risk her turning on them, and, believe me, she will if she sees the opportunity. Let's leave her here. She has shelter and she knows how to hunt and fish. She won't starve.\"\n\nOsmond backed away. \"Camelot, you can't mean this. Narigorm is an innocent child. She saved both your lives, remember? If any one of us is to blame for the deaths of the others, it was Zophiel with his vicious tongue. Rodrigo did us all a favour by killing him.\"\n\n\"But, Osmond, can't you see\u2014\"\n\n\"No, Camelot, no, I won't listen to any more of this. Rodrigo, are you coming?\"\n\n\"Rodrigo?\" I pleaded.\n\nHe regarded me sadly. \"I am sorry, Camelot, sorry that you should believe such things.\"\n\nI watched him follow Osmond into the trees and I shivered in the cold, knowing I had offended the one man whose good opinion mattered to me more than anything else. In time he'd forgive me, put it down to the madness of the poison mist, but only if I never spoke of it again. The image of the doll's face flashed into my mind's eye. What if Narigorm already knew Adela and Osmond's secret? I had to convince them all of the danger they were in.\n\nAbove the branches of the trees, birds were punched back and forth by the strengthening wind. I picked up my stave and turned towards the heights.\n\n\"They'll never believe you.\"\n\nI wheeled round. Narigorm stood nearby, a pail in each hand. How long had she been there?\n\n\"You're old and you're mad, that's what they think. They know you make up lies about your relics. They think this is just another one. You can't stop me. Morrigan is too strong for you, Camelot.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "It took me over three hours to reach the village on the heights. It would have been quicker by boat, but I didn't have one. There was no path. I just kept heading north through the trees, frequently having to cut inland to find ways across the tongues of the marsh which licked into the heights and the streams which ran down from it. Finally, I saw the smoke from the cottages climbing into the sky.\n\nThe village ran round a small harbor on the side of a wide river that cut through the marsh and eventually emptied into the sea. Before the pestilence, the village must have been a bustling port, but there were no merchants' ships in the harbor now, only a few small boats big enough for two or three men to fish from. There was a squat church, no bigger than a chapel, dwarfed by its round, flat-topped tower that had a fire-beacon set ready on top of it to guide the boats home in bad weather. Many of the cottages were boarded up. Many were marked with the dreaded black crosses, but here and there I glimpsed people busily about their work, mending a net, fetching water, or washing clothes. As I descended from the woods I saw the raw bare mounds of earth on the far side of the village and the blackened circles where fires had burned around mass graves.\n\nThere were only four or five customers in the inn on the quayside. The innkeeper's wife thumped down a steaming bowl in front of one of them. She glanced up curiously as I entered, but did not recoil from the sight of me, as many do. An inn keeper's wife who keeps house on the quayside sees worse mutilations than my face among the sailors and fishermen she serves.\n\n\"Fish soup and bread. It's all I've got, and there's some who should be thankful to get anything,\" she declared, giving a sour look at the man whom she'd just served.\n\n\"Take my advice, stay away from the bread. She makes it with sawdust. It's so hard I'm thinking of using it to shoe the horses.\"\n\nHe was a big man, backside broad as a bear, but he knew enough to cover his head and duck smartly as she aimed a slap at his head.\n\n\"You watch your tongue, William. I'd like to see you make a decent bread when all you've got is roots to grind.\"\n\n\"You couldn't make a decent bread when you'd best wheat,\" chimed in another customer, but he was not as quick at dodging her hand, and his friends laughed as he ruefully rubbed the back of his head. The potboy stood grinning inanely, but swiftly wiped the smile off his face as the innkeeper's wife turned on him.\n\n\"You seen to those pigs yet? And I don't mean this lot. Get on with it, boy, or Master Alan here won't be the only one with a sore pate.\"\n\nThe potboy backed out, while the men grinned broadly.\n\n\"What brings you from the old hermit's island? It's a fair step by land.\"\n\nI glanced around and saw, sitting on a bench in the corner, the man who had brought us the eels.\n\n\"Heard the fish soup was worth the walk,\" I replied, and the innkeeper's wife smiled in spite of herself.\n\n\"Not brought that white-haired girl, have you?\" he asked.\n\nI was aware of a murmur of interest among the other men. One spat on the back of his fingers. Clearly the eel-man had told them all about Narigorm. I took a trembling breath. My hands were cold as ice. I had no idea if this was going to work. If it failed, I could be making matters worse for all of us. But it was the only hope I had. \"It's about her I've come,\" I said, and the men edged a little closer.\n\nI've spun many stories in my time for food and for shelter, but never before for our lives. There was silence in the inn as I finished my tale.\n\n\"So you see she has destroyed many villages just like yours. If you don't act now, she'll destroy you too. The others in my company are under her spell and I'm an old man. I can't act alone, but I can help you deal with her.\"\n\nFinally, the eel-man spoke. \"Camelot's right about the girl. You all know I've not caught a thing since she gave me the evil eye, and my little'un fell and broke her leg in that very hour she looked at me. With that hair of hers she could whip up such a storm as to destroy all the villages on this coast. I remember my father telling of the great storm fifty years back that took whole villages. Not a soul left alive. Cottages, churches, fields\u2014all still out there under the sea. That witch'll destroy us all if we give her half a chance. We've got to get rid of her.\"\n\n\"That's all very well,\" retorted the innkeeper's wife, \"but if she's as powerful as you say, how are we to do that?\"\n\nAll eyes turned expectantly to me.\n\nI'd had plenty of time to think this through during my long walk. \"Tonight, after dark, come by boat to the spur. I'll make sure my companions are asleep; the child too. You seize her, cover her head, and tie her up, so she can't look at you. But you must stuff your ears before you reach the spur. She can conjure up sounds that can make you run mad. Whatever you think you hear\u2014wolves, swans, a tempest\u2014take no notice. They're merely sounds and can't hurt you, but don't unplug your ears till her hands are tightly bound. She uses her hands for the Sending.\"\n\nAll nodded.\n\n\"Wax ought to do it,\" the eel-man said. \"That'll stop our ears. But what do we do with her when we've taken her?\"\n\nI hesitated. I wanted to say, Just lock her up, keep her away from us, until I've got Rodrigo and the others so far away she can never find us. But I knew that would not be enough to protect us.\n\nThe blacksmith shifted his massive backside on the bench. \"Seems plain enough to me: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' Can't see as we have a choice. We have to kill her. It'll be the only way to lift the evil eye from Gunter here and stop her from harming the rest of us.\"\n\nThere was a pause as they digested this, but not even the innkeeper's wife protested this time.\n\n\"We'll have to do it so she can't curse us as she dies,\" the innkeeper said.\n\nGunter nodded. \"And so her spirit can't rise to wreak vengeance.\"\n\n\"First catch your fish before you argue how to cook it,\" the innkeeper's wife said tartly.\n\nThe innkeeper adopted the brisk tone of one who considers it his duty to take charge. \"Bring her trussed and gagged and lock her in the church tower. The church is holy ground and will keep her spirit bound. Then we'll hold a meeting to decide how the killing's to be done.\"\n\nI didn't want to know how they would do it. If I did, I knew my nerve would fail me. I rose. \"I must get back before they become suspicious. You'll come tonight, then?\"\n\nThey eyed each other uncertainly.\n\nGunter said, \"You'll see to it your companions don't interfere? Those men you've got with you look as if they'd be handy with a quarterstaff, and I've got enough troubles without getting my head cracked.\"\n\n\"I'll set a light at the foot of the cross at the end of the spur when it's safe,\" I promised.\n\n\"We'll wait for the light, then.\"\n\nIt wasn't so easy to use the poppy juice a second time. I would have to be seen to eat, so I couldn't risk putting it in the pottage itself. It would have to go into the bowls themselves, all of them except mine, but Adela usually ladled out the pottage. But a surreptitious pinch on Carwyn's thigh made him cry and brought Adela running to comfort him, grateful for my offer to ladle the pottage out into the bowls. I handed them to Osmond and Rodrigo, who tucked in straightaway, ravenous after a day's hunting, but as Narigorm carried her bowl back to her place she appeared to trip and the contents of the bowl landed upside down on the grass.\n\n\"Never mind, I'll get you some more,\" I said, hiding the tremble in my voice.\n\nShe smiled sweetly. \"Oh no, you rest, Camelot. I'll get it.\"\n\nThere was nothing I could do. Did she know I had drugged her the night before? She was clever enough to have worked that out.\n\nAdela took a long time settling Carwyn. By the time she came to eat, the bowl I had placed in front of her had gone cold. Before I could stop her, she tipped it back into the steaming pot, stirred it, and ladled out a fresh bowl. No matter, I told myself. As long as Rodrigo and Osmond were asleep, I could deal with Adela, and maybe she had taken enough, for she seemed sleepy anyway, which was more than could be said for Narigorm.\n\nOsmond and Rodrigo quickly became drowsy. Osmond was happy to accept that I took first watch; in fact he could scarcely keep his eyes open long enough to murmur his agreement. I feared I had administered too much. One by one I watched them nod off, until only Narigorm remained awake. She sat curled near the fire, her back to the marsh, her pale eyes glittering in the firelight and her hair turned to a mass of dancing flame as it blew in the wind.\n\nAs casually as I could I went to the cross and set a lantern beneath it, so that the cross was lit up against the pitch-dark sky. It was bitterly cold and the wind was gathering strength. Was Gunter right? Was Narigorm capable of raising a storm with the shaking of her hair? I'd encouraged them to believe it. I prayed it was a lie that would not turn out to be the truth. I returned to the fire.\n\nNarigorm was watching me. \"Why have you set a lantern there? Do you think the cross will protect you from the wolf?\"\n\nI nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak. My ears were straining to hear the plop of oars over the wind's mounting whine. The flames in the fire pit blew this way and that. I moved a stone to shelter the top a little more.\n\n\"You put something in my food last night to make me sleep.\"\n\nI didn't reply.\n\n\"You think if I sleep the wolf won't come. But you know she will come tonight, don't you?\" There was a note of pleasure in her voice. \"That's why you made the others sleep. You think if they sleep they can't hear the wolf. But they can. Cygnus heard the swans in his sleep. It is worse if you hear the wolf in your sleep, because then you have to face her alone. In your dreams she can do anything.\"\n\nThere was no moon tonight, thick heavy clouds blotted out the stars. The pale light reflecting from the cross seemed to penetrate no more than a hand's breadth into the darkness. Would they even see it?\n\n\"Why do you do this, Narigorm?\"\n\n\"Because I can.\"\n\n\"You spoke before of Morrigan. She's an ancient goddess, a savage goddess. Do you do this to serve her?\"\n\nI wanted to keep her talking, keep her occupied, but she wasn't listening.\n\nShe had taken the runes out of her bag and now she scattered them. Then I saw her place something else in the center of them. It was a clipping of coarse hair. I recognised it by the white bindings around it. I had tied it. It was hair I used to sell as the beard of Saint Uncumber. I'd given a wisp of it to the bride at the Cripples' Wedding. My stomach tightened. I knew what Narigorm was doing. She wanted to use something of mine, but why had she chosen that? She could not know the significance of it to me. I prayed she did not.\n\nShe turned over one rune. \"Othel reversed. Othel, the home. You think of your home long ago, but reversed means you are alone. You will be alone.\"\n\nDid that mean they wouldn't come? I tried not to think about the villagers, afraid that if I let my thoughts turn to them, somehow she'd see them in the runes.\n\n\"Now I'll ask them what you fear.\" She picked up a second rune. \"This isn't a wolf rune. You don't fear a wolf. This is Hagall\u2014hail. Threat and destruction. A battle.\" She looked up at me. \"That's it, isn't it. A battle? Now what is the lie?\"\n\nI wanted her to stop. I knew if I scattered the runes I could stop her for tonight, but that would not finish it. There'd be other nights. Only if I let her continue did I stand any chance of ending this for good.\n\n\"Beorc reversed\u2014the birch tree. The mother, but reversed. Your family dead, is that it? No\u2026no, that's not the lie.\"\n\nShe stared at me, her eyes widening in surprise, then she tossed back her head and laughed. She picked up the lock of beard and, pulling the binding loose, she held the hairs up in the wind, her other hand covering the runes.\n\nShe lifted her head and closed her eyes. \"Hagall, Morrigan. Hagall, Hagall, Hagall.\"\n\nI heard the screams of women and children, the clang of swords clashing, shouting and cursing. And above all the noise, I heard my own children crying out, begging me to help them. I turned this way and that, looking for them. The night was too dark. I thrust a branch into the fire and pulled it out, but the wind immediately snuffed out the flame. The wind was roaring now, but above its shrieking I could hear my little sons screaming from beyond the cross. They were crying for me, calling out to me again and again, fear and desperation in every sob. They were out there on the marsh. They were in danger and they needed me. I had to get to them. I ran past the cross, towards the end of the spur. I could see their shapes in the marsh, their arms stretching out to me. They were sinking before my eyes. If I could reach out to them, grab an arm, a hand, anything. I scrambled down the edge of the island, slipping and sliding on the wet grass towards the marsh. My foot sank into the cold, dark, oily water. I felt myself falling. I tried to grab on to a tussock to stop myself, but the wet grass slid through my hands. I was sinking."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "My leg had slipped up to the thigh into the cold muddy water, before something heavy collided with me. Hands caught hold of me, yanked me upwards and thrust me aside, and by the light of the lantern on the cross I saw two shapes dart past me. I turned to see one of the figures slide up behind Narigorm and thrust a sack over her head. At once the sound of battle and screaming ceased. I could hear only the muffled cries of Narigorm as she struggled. William\u2014I could see it was him from his massive outline\u2014was trying to stuff something under the sack into her mouth and cursing loudly as she bit him. Gunter was trying to bind her hands behind her. But before he could secure her another figure leapt at him.\n\n\"Leave her! Leave her alone!\"\n\nIt was Adela. She had woken. She was beating Gunter with Osmond's stave. He dropped Narigorm's rope and tried to protect his head, cowering under the blows that Adela rained down on him. I moved swiftly, grabbing Adela's upraised arm and jerking her backwards. She fell awkwardly, crying out in pain. I pinned her to the ground.\n\nNarigorm was fighting for her life. She had thrown off the ropes and it was all William could do to hold her. Two other men came running up the spur. They grabbed Narigorm and held her as William and Gunter struggled to tie the ropes round the thrashing girl.\n\nBehind the men, I saw Rodrigo stirring. He tried to roll to his knees, still drugged by the poppy juice.\n\n\"Get the girl out of here,\" I shouted to William, then realised none of them could hear me. They had taken me at my word and stuffed their ears. If Rodrigo found his feet and his stave \u2026 I took a desperate gamble. I let Adela go. Snatching up her stave, I covered the few yards to Rodrigo. I brought the end of the stave down smartly across his shoulders; he groaned and slumped down into the grass.\n\nWilliam slung Narigorm over his shoulder and all four men hurried down the spur and disappeared below the cross. In the darkness I heard the splashing of oars. Then that sound, too, was borne away on the wind.\n\nI gathered up as many of the scattered runes as I could find and hurled them into the black water. Then I walked to the cross and crouched down with my back to it, staring out into the impenetrable darkness of the marsh beyond. Behind me I could hear Adela sobbing, trying to rouse Osmond and Rodrigo. Little Carwyn was wailing, but even the wind tearing at the rushes seemed muffled: It was as if my ears, like those of the villagers, were stuffed with wax.\n\nWhat had I become? Was I that demon which stared out at me from the mirror? Had I truly become that foul thing? I thought of a child lying bound and gagged in the icy water at the bottom of a boat, tossed up and down, unable to see where she was going or who had taken her. I imagined her terror, wondering what these strangers were going to do to her. And I knew what they were going to do; they were going to kill her. I didn't know how, but I knew it would not be gentle. They had to do it thoroughly. What would they choose? Drowning? Hanging? Burning? I shuddered. What had Rodrigo said? \"You should not take the name of Death in vain.\"\n\nShe'd asked the runes, \"What was the lie?\" There were so many, and I had meant them well. My lies had brought hope where there was none. I'd believed mine was the greatest of all the arts, the noblest of all the lies, the creation of hope. I thought hope could overcome everything, but I was wrong. Hope cannot overcome truth. Hope and truth cannot co-exist. Truth destroys hope. The most savage cruelties man inflicts on man are committed in the pursuit of truth. My last lie had been the most honest, the most honourable of them all, for there is an art greater even than the creation of hope. The greatest art of all is the destruction of truth.\n\nThe clouds opened before morning. An icy cold rain beat down with a savage ferocity. I welcomed the stinging of my face and hands; it felt like a penance, a cleansing. I sat in front of the cross, accepting the rain's whipping, until the candle in the lantern died and the pale grey dawn drenched the marshes in light. Behind me, the others stirred. Adela, unable to rouse either Osmond or Rodrigo from their drugged repose, had taken Carwyn in her arms and cried herself to sleep. Now that they were awake, I would have to face them. I only prayed I could make them understand I had done what I'd done to save them.\n\nAdela sat inside the hermit's hut, cradling her child, and Rodrigo and Osmond huddled at the doorway. Adela had clearly recounted the events of the night before, for as I approached Osmond leapt up and seized my arm. His brow was furrowed with anxiety.\n\n\"Who were they who came last night and where have they taken Narigorm?\"\n\nI thought about inventing some tale of having dragged Adela away from Gunter to keep her from being hurt, my hitting Rodrigo to keep him from harm. They would have believed me. They wanted to believe me. They did not want the truth, as Rodrigo had said; who but a priest does? But I was too weary to create a lie for them this time. I needed to confess. I had no strength left to do otherwise.\n\n\"Villagers took Narigorm.\"\n\nAdela's eyes were red and swollen. \"But why did you pull me off them? I could have stopped them. I tried\u2014\"\n\n\"You were no match for four big men, Adela. There was nothing you could have done.\"\n\n\"We'll have to go after them and rescue her,\" Osmond said. \"Where's their village? I can't understand why I slept through all that commotion, Rodrigo too. Adela said she couldn't wake us.\"\n\nRivulets of silver water trickled around the stones in the grass. I wondered if this rain would go on falling until the next Midsummer's Day.\n\n\"I drugged you so you wouldn't wake. They would have hurt you if you'd fought them. They were determined to take her.\"\n\nAll three of them stared at me, shock on each face.\n\nOsmond rubbed his forehead. \"But I don't understand. If you knew they were coming, why didn't you warn us? We could have hidden her. We could have beaten them if we'd been prepared. And, anyway, how did you know they were going to come?\"\n\nWhy were they asking me these questions? What did it matter? They were safe now, didn't they understand that?\n\n\"Why have they taken her, Camelot?\" Rodrigo winced as he moved.\n\n\"They were afraid of her white hair. They thought if she combed it, it would stir up the white waves of a storm.\" I was sorry I'd hurt him. I must have hit him hard.\n\n\"Then we must tell them we'll take her away from here,\" Osmond said firmly. \"They needn't be\u2014\"\n\n\"I think that is not the only reason,\" Rodrigo broke in. \"You knew they were coming. Why did they take her, Camelot?\" he repeated. There was a cold anger in his eyes, as if he already knew the answer.\n\nI met his gaze steadily. \"You wouldn't believe the danger you were in from her. So I went to them. They were already afraid of her. It was easy to persuade them that she was dangerous. I convinced them they had to get rid of her.\"\n\n\"And what will they do with her?\"\n\nThis time I couldn't meet his gaze. \"They will\u2026kill her. They must. It's the only way to stop her.\"\n\nAdela clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes blank with horror.\n\nOsmond, already pale, was swaying as if he was about to be sick. \"No, Camelot, you wouldn't do such a thing, a kind old man like you, to trick a group of villagers into murdering an innocent child. You couldn't.\"\n\nRodrigo was on his feet. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me and I almost wanted him to. If he had beaten me half to death, I would have welcomed the pain of it, the punishment of it. But instead he stared at me as if he didn't know who I was.\n\n\"You have murdered a child and you did not even have the courage to kill her with your own hands. II sangue di Dio! I have killed men, but at least I thrust in the knife myself; I did not get others to do it for me.\"\n\nHe raised his fist as if he was going to punch me. I braced myself, but the blow didn't fall. He shook his head.\n\n\"I cannot bring myself to touch you,\" he said in disgust. \"You are a coward, Camelot, a filthy coward.\"\n\nHe spat into my face. His spittle oozed down my cheek and I did not wipe it away.\n\n\"Go. Go now and get as far away from us as you can, for if I ever see your monstrous face again I shall kill you with my bare hands. And make no mistake: Unlike you, I am man enough to do it, Camelot.\"\n\nRain was falling fast now. Soon it would fill the hollows where the dead creatures lay, scattering the shells and drowning the bones. Rain slips through your fingers as easily as words blow away in the wind, and yet it has the power to destroy your whole world.\n\nI picked up my pack and walked away without looking back. As I passed her, Xanthus pricked up her ears and gave a little whinny, but I could not trust myself even to pat her. I walked until I was far enough away from the camp for them not to hear and then I wept uncontrollably like a child."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "I was finally going home, returning at last to the wild lonely hills they call the Cheviots. There was no other place left for me to go, no other place on the face of the land where I could take refuge. I ached for it. I needed to touch it, to smell it, to bury myself deep in its familiar earth. Only that need kept me walking, one step, then another and another. Like an animal hunted beyond exhaustion, even dying I would have crawled to reach my home.\n\nBut what is home? I had asked myself that question on the day it all began, a day that seemed like a lifetime ago. And I asked it again, tumbling it over and over in my mind as I trudged northwards. Is home the place where you were born? To the old, that has become a foreign country. Is it the place you lay your head each night? If that were so then every ditch, barn, and forest in the land I should name as home, for I've slept in most of them. Is it the place which has soaked up the blood of your ancestors? That's the home of the dead, not the living. Is home then the place that shelters your loved ones? Not when the one you love is absent.\n\nIt has taken me months, years perhaps, to fathom the answer. Home is the place you return to when you have finally lost your soul. Home is the place where life is born, not the place of your birth, but the place where you seek rebirth. When you no longer remember which tale of your own past is true and which is an invention, when you know that you are an invention, then is the time to seek out your home. Perhaps only when you have come to understand that can you finally reach home.\n\nI had travelled through a devastated landscape, skirting deserted villages and empty barns. Crops, beaten down into the mud, lay unharvested, rotting to the color of the dirt from which they sprang. Pastures were eerily silent, sheep and cattle dead or wandered off to fend for themselves. No smoke rose from the hearths of houses. No hammer blows echoed from the blacksmith's forge.\n\nOnce children's voices had shrieked through windows; now weeds scrambled out through the empty casements. Thatch slumped to the ground and doors swung back and forth in the wind with the hollow banging of a leper's clapper. The churches still stood proudly, but they were hollow and empty. The market crosses rose in silence and no hands touched them to swear or seal a bargain. Little children and feeble old men wandered among the silent cottages, waiting for someone to return for them, but no one ever came. Once, among the black-crossed houses, I saw a man hang himself. He had survived and that was too much for him to bear.\n\nThe roads were full of people on the move now, some travelling alone, their families dead or abandoned, some in groups making for the towns where there might be a hope of food or work. Some were mad with horror and grief; others were hardened to the point where they would cut a man's throat for a handful of dry beans. And if they did, no one lifted a finger to stop them, for there were no courts left to try a man and no executioners alive to hang him. Sometimes I wondered if God too had died up there in His heaven, if heaven, too, stood silent and boarded up, the angels left rotting on pavements of gold.\n\nEvery village and town had its pits and, between them, the smoking piles of leaves and rags. Once, on common land outside a village, I drew near a small knot of people silently watching at a distance as masked men swung the bodies of adults and children by arms and legs and tossed them into the common grave. One small girl seemed to cry out and a mother in the group tried to run towards the pit, but others caught her and held her back.\n\n\"Gas escaping from the body is all,\" one man muttered as the child was tossed in with the rest. \"You think you see an arm move,\" he said, \"but it's only putrefaction. Doesn't do to look at them. Just swing and throw.\" His voice was dead, as if he described the harrowing of the fields.\n\nOne of the women in the little group glanced briefly in my direction. Then she stared.\n\n\"I remember you.\"\n\nShe looked familiar, but I couldn't place her. Me, with my scar, no one ever forgets me. I smiled faintly by way of acknowledgement and kept on walking, but she came hurrying after me.\n\n\"Wait\u2014you were with the two musicians who played at my village, for the Cripples' Wedding. Good-looking lads they were, especially the young one.\"\n\n\"And you wore a yellow kirtle.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"Fancy you remembering that.\"\n\n\"There was a fight over you, if I recall.\"\n\nShe grimaced. \"Those two musician friends of yours, are they here?\" She glanced around hopefully.\n\nTears welled up in my eye and, furious with myself, I dashed them away. I shook my head.\n\nShe turned her face away. No one asks anymore what has happened to those who have disappeared. I was grateful for that.\n\n\"The wedding, did it keep your village safe?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"Is anywhere safe? But I left soon after the wedding. Edward was the jealous type, used his fists too often, like his father. I'd seen what I was in for after we were wed. I ran off with another lad, but that didn't last. I get by. There are still men who'll pay for a good time, more so now when they figure it might be their last chance.\" She jerked her head in the direction of the pit. \"Reckon it's best if you don't have anyone you care about; then it can't hurt you. Don't have to be afraid of losing someone if you've no one to lose.\" A shadow passed across her face. \"I'm sorry about the musicians, though,\" she added. \"He was handsome, that boy.\"\n\nI turned to go, then stopped and reached into my pack. \"Wait. Take this. It's valuable. It's a relic of Saint Benedict. You can sell it. It'll buy you food and shelter for a long time.\"\n\nOnce I would have told her it would keep her safe from the pestilence, but I knew that neither she nor I believed that anymore.\n\nShe drew back her hands. \"Why are you giving it to me?\"\n\n\"It's a penance. For a crime I've committed.\"\n\n\"I can't pray for you. I don't pray for anything anymore. What's the point?\"\n\n\"That's why I am giving it to you. I don't want to trade it for prayers. I am beyond prayers. I want you to have it because you remember.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Master.\"\n\n\"Master,\" she called me. She was the last one to call me that.\n\nI had travelled as fast as I could, certain that I would arrive too late. But when I reached the gates of the manor I saw with relief that there were no boards on the windows, no cross on the door. Then I stopped, afraid to go in. I don't know what I feared most\u2014that I would see that look of loathing in their eyes that I had seen in Rodrigo's or that they would not even know who I was. I waited outside the gates for hours. People passing in and out no doubt took me for a beggar, but then I heard a voice at my elbow.\n\n\"It is you. I've been watching you all day to be sure. My mother always said you'd come back.\"\n\n\"You know me.\"\n\n\"I'd not have, but for your scar. You'll not remember me. Cicely, Marion's daughter. In your day, she was a dairy maid. She often talked of you, of that day when you got your scar. I was too young to remember that, but I remember the day you left.\"\n\n\"Marion\u2026yes, I remember her. Is she well?\"\n\nCicely's face clouded. \"She died, years ago. You've been away a long time.\"\n\n\"And my sons?\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"Nicholas is lord now.\"\n\n\"The youngest. Then Philip and Oliver are dead.\"\n\nShe pressed her lips together. \"But Nicholas'll be right pleased to see you. I've often heard him tell his children about you. Mind you, I dare say the tale has grown big enough over the years to wag itself, but then you'll be able to set him right.\"\n\n\"I have grandchildren?\"\n\nShe beamed. \"You have, and a great-grandchild too.\"\n\nThose steps into the manor were the longest and hardest I've taken for years, harder even than the steps I trod in leaving it. I couldn't believe that anyone I knew was still alive, and I was more afraid to meet them than I would have been to see their ghosts. I knew ghosts. I'd travelled with them for a long time. I was no longer afraid of the dead, only of the living.\n\nEvery time I closed my eyes I saw her face and heard her cries for help. What had Cygnus said? \"No one who brings harm to a child can ever be forgiven.\" And I had murdered her. No, not murdered: Rodrigo was right, for what I had done had been far worse than that. I was the most despicable of all cowards, for I had persuaded others to kill for me. How could Rodrigo know the pain and self-loathing which comes from that? I thought of the little girl the cordwainer had murdered. He had done it himself with his naked hands, stared her terror and pain straight in the face. Was that less cowardly than what I had done?\n\nBut when I closed my eyes I would also remember the expression of triumph on Narigorm's face as she had forced Rodrigo to his knees in the pool of poison, and then I was no longer sorry. Not sorry when I thought of Pleasance and Cygnus and Jofre and, yes, even poor Zophiel. Narigorm is dead, but Rodrigo, Adela, Osmond, and Carwyn are alive. She cannot hurt them now. She cannot hurt anyone anymore with her deadly game of truth.\n\nThe truth? Yes, I think it is time for that now, long past time. Narigorm discovered the truth about me that last night when she held Saint Uncumber's beard to the wind. Saint Uncumber had to pray for her disfigurement; I was given mine.\n\nI was, as I think you have already guessed, a woman once, a long time ago, and now I am again. My maid dresses me in kirtle and wimple. My grandchildren call me grandam, but still I forget. I forget how to sit and how to stitch tapestries and how to do all those things which make us women. But they forgive me because I'm old, a curiosity with strange tales to tell that they love to hear but do not quite believe. They even forgive my scar now, for when you're old you are sexless. Men's beards fall out and women's chins sprout hairs. Men grow plump dugs while women's breasts shrink to flaps and the skin on your belly hangs so loose who can tell what it covers, when what it covers no longer stirs despite your daydreams. And when the worms strip our corpses to the bone who can name the mistress or master, the beauty or the beast? And I've been all those in my time. Daughter, wife, mother\u2014those too. Now I learn I am a widow, but I might as well have been a widow then for all the husband he was.\n\nThe Crusades to the Holy Land were long over, but the Pope declared that fighting the Turks was still a holy war, a sacred duty, a noble cause, and gave his blessing to looting, murdering, and raping round half the world in search of stolen wealth and glory. I gave my husband three healthy sons. They slithered out as regularly as lambs from a ewe and my husband stayed long enough to be sure he had spawned an heir and a spare, then he was off, away for years fighting the Turks, leaving me to mind his lands at home, raise his children, and protect his property. But we got by well enough without him. To tell the truth, none of us could remember what he had done when he was at home, so it hardly seemed to matter if he came back or not, until the Scots decided to pay us a visit.\n\nIt was not an army, you understand, more a drunken rabble who'd scarcely been bothered to polish their weapons, not expecting any resistance with half the able-bodied men away. I heard the shouts of the men, the overturning furniture and smashing of pots. Then I heard the screams of my children crying out in fear. I knew the servants would scatter in terror without someone to urge them to resist. But I would not let them hurt my children, not as long as I had breath enough to stop them. I was sick with fear, but I heard my father's voice ringing in my ears: \"better he come home on a shield than as a coward.\" So I put on a helmet and picked up a sword.\n\nAnger can give you the strength of a man. Fear can make you far stronger. I managed to get in a dozen creditable strokes before the blow fell on me. The servants were shamed into staying to fight and, ill prepared for any kind of resistance, the Scots fled with the job only half done. I was wounded, yes, but not quite dead. A glancing blow, the servants told me later, else it would have hewn my skull in two. They said Saint Michael himself must have been watching over me. If he was, his attention wandered, for the wound was deep, cutting right down to the gleaming white bone beneath. It took my eye and split my nose. Not that I knew or cared at the time.\n\nFor weeks I lay in my husband's bed, drifting in and out of a drugged sleep and raging fever. Finally the fever broke and I got up, shaky as a newborn lamb, but what else could I do? There was still a manor to run. My wound healed well enough in time, but it left a vivid purple scar. My nose was spread half across my cheek and I had one empty eye socket, but I was alive and we carried on much as we had before.\n\nMy brave husband came back from fighting the Turks and brought me a robe of silk and a necklace of human teeth. He sat up night after night by his hearth telling tales of battle. Apparently the Turks are ten times more ferocious and fearless than the Scots. \"Perhaps we should invite them here to drive the Scots back,\" I suggested and he laughed, but he didn't kiss me. That's when I learnt the truth about scars. A man with a battle-scar is a veteran, a hero, given an honoured place at the fire. Small boys gaze up fascinated, dreaming of winning such glorious badges of courage. Maids caress his thighs with their buttocks as they bend over to mull his ale. Women cluck and cosset, and if in time the other men grow a little weary of that tale of honor, then they call for his cup to be filled again and again till he is fuddled and dozes quietly in the warmth of the embers.\n\nBut a scarred woman is not encouraged to tell her story. Boys jeer and mothers cross themselves. Pregnant women will not come close for fear that if they look upon such a sight, the infant in their belly will be marked. You've heard the tales of beauty and the beast. How a fair maid falls in love with a monster and sees the beauty of his soul beneath the hideous visage. But you've never heard the tale of the handsome man falling for the monstrous woman and finding joy in her love, because it doesn't happen, not even in a storyteller's tale. The truth is that the scarred woman's husband buys her a good thick veil and enquires about nunneries for the good of her health. He spends his days with his falcons and his nights instructing page boys in their duties. For if nothing else, the wars taught him how to be a diligent master to such pretty lads.\n\nSo I handed my name to my niece, a flawless whey-faced virgin. Told her she could use it how she pleased. My only regret was leaving my little sons. But I had seen them shudder as they looked at me and watched them stare at the floor when they were forced to speak with me, and I knew they were ashamed to own me as their mother. So I put on a man's garb and set off to see where the road would take me. And there I found a use for my scar; it was the provenance of my relics, and for this people paid me well.\n\nIf I had told Rodrigo the truth about me, would he have forgiven me? Would it have made a difference to him that I was a woman? Would he still have called me a coward? Probably he'd have called me worse, for the world thinks that for a man to kill a child is cowardice; for a woman it is a crime beyond punishment. But it matters to me what he thinks, as Narigorm knew. I loved Rodrigo. I still do. I think he was the only man I ever loved. Would he have loved me if he'd known? No, I'd have seen him recoil in revulsion; he is a man, after all, and I am a scarred woman, an old woman. Better he should hate me for being a coward than loathe me for being what I am.\n\nSometimes I take out the tear of Venice and hold it up to the light and remember those nights in the rain and the nights under the stars; the way the sunlight turned Xanthus' coat to russet fire and firelight reflected golden in Jofre's eyes as he sang and the way Rodrigo looked at him. I would have liked to have seen that city of light and the streets where Rodrigo played as a boy. I would have liked to have heard the music of the Jews as they danced at their weddings. But who knows if there are any Jews left in Venice now, or even children to play in that city's streets?\n\nI am glad my travelling days are over. Here I sit surrounded by my son and my grandchildren and great-grandchild in the warmth and comfort of a solid house. I sleep on a soft feather bed and sit in a comfortable chair. I have only to raise my little finger for maids to come running with possets and mulled wine. I'm content to end my days here. What more could anyone ask?\n\nCecily comes into the solar now. She drops a curtsey.\n\n\"If you please, Mistress, there's a child at the door begs leave to speak with you.\"\n\n\"A child from the village?\" I smile. There've been a lot of those. Some sent by their mothers with a small gift to welcome me home, some just curious to see if my face is really as terrible a sight as their brothers and sisters have whispered.\n\n\"Oh no, Mistress, she's not from round here. I've never seen this one before, and she's not a child you'd be likely to forget if you had.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I ask, though I am too warm and drowsy to care.\n\n\"A strange-looking little thing she is, hair like my old mother's before she died. White\u2014I don't mean blond, white like skimmed milk\u2014and her skin's so pale, it's not natural, if you know what I mean. Still, she can't help that, can she? She's such an innocent little smile, you can't help but be drawn to her.\"\n\nSuddenly, I am wide awake. An icy chill runs down my spine. The room seems to sway. It can't be. It's not possible.\n\nCecily puts out her hand. \"Are you ill, Mistress? You've gone quite pale.\"\n\n\"You're sure she asked for me?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Mistress, she was very particular. It's you she wants. She seems to know all about you. Shall I let her in?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Historical Notes",
                "text": "Eyewitness accounts differ as to exactly when the Black Death entered Britain; dates range from June 1348 to as late as the autumn of that year. Several towns and villages have claimed the unhappy title of being the site of the first outbreak, from Melcombe in Dorset, now part of Weymouth, to Southampton and Bristol. There probably was no single point of entry: Any number of ships from the Channel Islands and Europe may have carried the plague to various ports in England within weeks of each other.\n\nAlthough we now refer to the terrible epidemic which devastated Europe in the Middle Ages as the Plague or Black Death, neither of these terms was used until centuries later. At the time it was known as the Pestilence, the Great Mortality, or, in France, morte bleue, from the bruises on the skin resulting from subdural hemorrhaging. Contemporary accounts suggest that the plague did not just affect humans; sheep, cattle, horses, and pigs also died from it.\n\nWe now believe that not one but three plagues raged across Europe in 1348\u2014Bubonic Plague spread by rat fleas, characterized by the buboes or swellings in groins and armpits, which brings about death in two to six days; Pneumonic Plague, attacking the lungs, which is spread through coughing and breathing; and Septicemic Plague, where the bacteria enter the bloodstream, causing death within the day.\n\nIt is now thought that many of the victims in Britain in the 1348/1349 outbreak died from the more infectious Pneumonic Plague, spreading directly from human to human, although later outbreaks may well have been Bubonic Plague.\n\nThe 1348 plague was only the latest in a series of disasters to hit Britain. The period between 1290 and 1348 had seen a rapid and drastic climate change which was so noticeable the Pope ordered special prayers to be said daily in every church. Eyewitness accounts claimed that 1348 was a particularly bad year, for it rained every day from Midsummer's Day to Christmas Day. Climate change brought about crop failure, liver fluke in sheep, and murrain in cattle, as well as causing widespread flooding which virtually wiped out the salt industry on the east coast. This, combined with a population explosion, meant that as many people died from starvation as from the plague itself.\n\nMany different causes for the plague were proposed by the Church and others, including divine punishment, bad air, imbalance of humours, overeating, or vampires. At that time it was considered heresy by the Church not to acknowledge the existence of vampires and werewolves. Jews were also accused of causing the plague by poisoning the wells and were attacked and murdered across Europe. In spite of the Popes declaration that the Jews were not to blame for the pestilence and forbidding anyone to harm them, in Strasbourg on Saint Valentine's Day 1349, two thousand Jews were offered the choice between forced baptism and death. The majority, including babies and children, were burned alive on a wooden platform in the cemetery. Even in England, anti-Jewish hysteria was widespread, despite all Jews having been expelled from Britain in 1290.\n\nIn desperation people tried anything to stop the plague from spreading, including the curious custom of the \"Cripples' Wedding.\" This practise was common in Britain and Europe in the Middle Ages and continued for many centuries as a means of warding off the spread of deadly epidemics. The last known recorded case I have found was in Krakow in Poland in the late nineteenth century.\n\nDuring the Middle Ages, there was a lively though illegal trade in secondhand monks' robes which were used to dress the corpses of the wealthy in order to fool the devil. Sometimes this was taken as far as depicting the deceased in a monk's habit on the brasses on top of the tombs. This practise may also have been to deter grave robbers, who might draw the line at disturbing the resting place of a holy man, especially if they believed that a poor monk would be buried with nothing of value.\n\nThe depiction of the Virgin as Mary Misericordia became popular as a protective icon against the plague. The earliest surviving example was painted in 1372 by the artist Barnaba of Modena for the cathedral in Genoa, but I have taken a fiction writer's liberty of assuming that, since even the most insignificant medieval churches and chapels in England and Europe were covered in frescoes, there may have been earlier depictions of the misericordia by unknown artists which did not survive the ravages of time or the Reformation. Around this time, artists in Europe were beginning to experiment with using oil to bind the paint on walls. Most of these early experiments were not successful and the paintings decayed rapidly after a few years.\n\nIn the year 1348, King Edward III ruled England, having wrested the throne from his mother's lover, Roger Mortimer, who had murdered Edward's father. Until his death in 1377, Edward was occupied in waging war on France and Scotland.\n\nThe Hundred Years War (1337\u20131453) between England and France began when Philip VI of France annexed Gascony in Europe, land claimed by the English throne. The historical reasons behind the dispute are far more complex than I have space to relate here. But legend has it that Philip provoked the first battle by serving a roasted heron, or in some versions, a peacock, to the young King Edward, a gross insult as these birds were symbols of cowardice. The war which raged off and on for over a century was not a nationwide conflict as we know today, but a series of isolated battles fought in Europe, which caused great hardship to the ordinary people of England, though mainly due to trade restrictions and massive taxation rather than bloodshed.\n\nKing Edward III was fascinated by the legends of King Arthur and the Round Table and, inspired by these tales, he founded his own order of chivalry, the Knights of the Garter, in 1348. This exclusive brotherhood of knights, based at St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle, continues to the present day. Since the Middle Ages, many famous people have been admitted to the Order of the Garter, among them Britain's first female Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, who was invested as a Knight of the Garter when she retired from politics.\n\nMiddle English, the language of this period, is almost a foreign language to modern readers, as those who have tried to translate Chaucer will know. And the words from the 1300s which have survived into modern English have often drastically changed in meaning. Throughout the novel I have tried to avoid references to post-Freudian words and concepts such as subconscious. But I believe that emotions like love, jealousy, hatred, embarrassment, etc. are feelings which man has experienced since the Stone Age. Although some of these terms were not current in the fourteenth century, I believe their use is justified in a novel, because the feelings they represent were understood by medieval people, just as they are today. I think that one of the primary aims of a historical novel is to invite the reader to enter history and share the emotions of our ancestors. Human nature doesn't change.\n\nSome readers might also question the use of language relating to homosexuality in the novel. The records of homosexual practise in the Middle Ages were in ecclesiastical and legal documents, written in Latin or French. The writers were more concerned with describing the salacious details of the \"crime\" than inventing names for the perpetrators. These formal reports probably bore as much relation to the language of the working people as government reports do today. I am sure that medieval people hurled terms of abuse at each other just as they do now, but of course medieval peasants didn't write. Therefore, I hope readers will forgive the use of some terms of abuse within the novel which date from a later period."
            },
            {
                "title": "Glossary",
                "text": "Avering: A medieval con trick performed by beggars to obtain money. Some beggars would strip themselves, hide their clothes, and pretend to have been robbed. Others would fake illnesses by sticking on fake boils made of wax or tumors made from raw offal to get alms from townspeople or the Church.\n\nBarbette: A cloth band that went round the face of the wearer under the chin, which together with a band known as a fillet, around the forehead, was the structure to which the veil, wimple, or headdress was pinned. The barbette was worn by women throughout the thirteenth century, but by 1348 it was disappearing, to be replaced with a band that went round the back of the head instead of under the chin. The barbette was still retained by various orders of nuns well into the twentieth century.\n\nBastles and peles: Unique features of the border counties, especially Northumberland, where the constant raids and wars between the Scots and the English meant that people on both sides of the shifting border lived in fear of attack. Peles were oblong towers, built to withstand a siege, with stone walls about three to four feet thick, in which people could take refuge. Livestock and food were kept in the basement and people occupied the two or three storeys above. Bastles were fortified farmhouses where people would live all year round. They can still be seen today.\n\nBoggart: A mischievous imp or poltergeist inhabiting country areas. It caused destruction in cottages and farms, making things go bump in the night, causing weeds to spring up in fields and the cow's milk to dry up. It also played malicious tricks on travellers. It usually became attached to a particular place or family and would not leave.\n\nBrawn and sharp sauce: Fried brawn, known as braun feyez, was made from trimmings of the pigs head, trotters, tail, and tongue boiled for hours with onions, spices, and herbs. Once the liquid was reduced, the thick mass was left in a cold dish until the meats were set in jelly. The block of brawn was turned out, sliced, and fried in lard or butter. It was served with a sour vinegar sauce, gruant tartez, to offset the rich greasy meat.\n\nCamelot: A medieval peddler or hawker who also sold or carried news. Camelots had a reputation for trading in goods that were not always genuine or might have fallen off the back of a cart. The name is still used today in France for a street peddler or newspaper seller.\n\nCoracle: A round or oval, single-manned boat, made from a light wooden or willow frame covered by animal hides. Coracles were designed so that they could easily be carried on a man's back over stretches of dry land and were particularly useful in marsh and fenland areas, where they were used to cross the many streams and lakes between the islands. Coracles were used in Britain from the Bronze Age right up to the last century.\n\nCordwainer: A shoemaker who worked in cordwain or cordovan leather, which was a fine red leather imported from Spain and used to make the best-quality shoes and boots. Eventually, cordwainer became the name for all shoemakers.\n\nCorpse Road: Only parish churches were licensed to bury corpses, so villagers in outlying areas would often be obliged to carry their dead many miles across moors, hills, or forests to bury them. These ways were marked by a series of stone or wooden crosses to guide the mourners. The last known use of a corpse road was in 1736 in Cumbria, between the village of Mardale Green and Shap parish church, a distance of around six miles (ten kilometers) over steep hills.\n\nCote-hardie: An open-sleeved supertunic. For men, this was worn over a gipon and shirt. Tight fitting across the chest, it flared into a skirt below the waist, open in front and reaching to the knees. The old and poorer men wore looser and longer cote-hardie reaching to the calves. As the 14th century progressed, the fashionable men wore the cote-hardie shorter and shorter until it barely covered the hips. The cote-hardie worn by women was low-necked, close fitting, and fell to the calves. It was worn over the kirtle or gown. The women's cote-hardie either buttoned down to the waist or was pulled on over the head.\n\nDeodand: from Deo dandum, \"given to God.\" Any object or animal which caused the death of a person was declared deodand and it or its value was forfeit to the Crown. This might include a horse that trampled someone, a tree that the deceased had fallen from, a chimney that had collapsed on him, or a hoe that had accidentally hit him. This tax was introduced by the Norman conquerors and was bitterly resented by the ordinary people.\n\nFaith cakes: Saint Faith, a third-century virgin and martyr, was patron saint of pilgrims and prisoners. She was martyred by being roasted alive on a brazen bed. When that failed to kill her, she was beheaded. On her feast day, October 6, people ate cakes griddled on hot irons, ensuring safe and successful pilgrimages.\n\nFret: An open-weave ornamental net which covered the hair. Wealthy women might have frets fashioned from silver or gold thread, or even studded with semiprecious stones.\n\nGipon: An under tunic worn over a shirt and under the cote-hardie. Close-fitting and slightly waisted, the men's gipon reached to the knees, with tightly fitting sleeves. The bodice was often padded for warmth and protection.\n\nGolem: From the Hebrew, meaning unformed. In kabbalistic magic, soil or clay was made into the statue of a man and brought to life by placing a slip of paper under its tongue on which was written the tetragrammation (the four-letter name of God). The resulting zombie-like being would obey only the master who had made him and was immensely strong and destructive, but very stupid. Christians came to believe that any book or paper with Hebrew lettering could be used to animate a golem.\n\nHue and cry: The first person to discover a robbery or a body was legally obliged to raise the hue and cry: in other words, sound the alarm and rouse his neighbors. On hearing this, all able-bodied men had to start hunting down the perpetrator. Failure to comply with this law meant heavy fines for the individual and often the whole community.\n\nJourneymen: Craft guilds were first licensed in 1170, and were introduced to control quality and employment within that craft. A boy would first serve as an unpaid apprentice to a master craftsman for a period of years. Once he had his papers to prove he had completed his apprenticeship, he could work for pay as a journeyman, under the guidance of a master craftsman. As a journeyman he paid a fee to the guild and also produced a \"masterpiece\" to demonstrate his skill. If his work was good enough and if he could obtain the support of other guild members, he might eventually gain full admission to the guild as a master craftsman himself.\n\nKirtle: A gown worn by women. By the first half of the fourteenth century, the kirtle was cut to reveal the body shape and moulded to the figure as far as the hips, where it widened into folds which swept to the ground.\n\nLivery: The aim of most minstrels was to obtain a livery, that is, gain a permanent position in a wealthy household. They would then wear the colours or emblems of the lord who employed them. This not only ensured a comfortable and secure employment, but meant they could charge their expenses to the lord's account if they had to travel. The penalties for wearing a lord's livery when not employed by him were severe.\n\nMarzapane: The sweet which came to be called marchpane and then marzipan in England. Although some cities in Europe claim to have invented it when there was a drought and almonds were the only crop to survive, most researchers believe it was actually invented in the Middle East around the eighth century and was brought to Venice by returning Crusaders. Since sugar was a key ingredient, it was expensive. It only became widely used in England in the fifteenth century.\n\nMidden: The place in the garden or courtyard used to dump kitchen waste, the contents of chamber pots, soiled rushes, and manure from cleaning byres and yards.\n\nMummers: These were male villagers or townsfolk who, in their spare time, performed plays during festivals in the many taverns and town squares. Mummers' plays originated in ancient fertility rites dating back to pre-Christian times. These bawdy plays often culminated in a battle in which the hero was slain and then brought back to life. Traditional characters included a green-man dressed in leaves, men wearing horned animal skulls, and men dressed as women with huge breasts. In addition to these mythical creatures, the heroes and villains of the day, such as Saracens and knights, were also incorporated into the plays. Since the mummers were rewarded for each performance with ale, mead, cider, or wine, the plays were apt to get more lewd and violent as the evening progressed. Some villages in England still maintain the old tradition of the annual mummers' play.\n\nMutton olives: A mixture of suet, onion, herbs, and spices was spread on thin, beaten slices of mutton. The stuffed mutton slices were rolled up, skewered, and baked in butter. The mutton olives were served sprinkled with crumbled egg yolks and yet more spices.\n\nPalfrey: A small docile horse or pony, most commonly used by ladies or clerics who, hampered by their long robes or inexperience at riding, found larger mounts hard to handle.\n\nPinfold: A stone or wooden enclosure, usually circular, used to corral animals at night. Often to be found on drovers' roads, so that herdsmen and drovers could safely contain the flocks while they slept. The term was also used for a pound where stray or confiscated animals could be held until the owner paid his fine.\n\nPosset: Unlike the rich dish of eggs and cream which it was later to become, the medieval posset was a warming drink simply made from hot milk slightly curdled with ale or wine. It was sweetened with honey and flavoured with spices such as ginger, cloves, and cinnamon. It was thought particularly effective at warding off chills.\n\nPottage: The main staple dish eaten at least once a day by everyone, rich or poor. Varying between a thin broth and a very thick stew, its base would be an herb, vegetable, or meat stock, to which cereals, peas, beans, vegetables, and meat, or fish would be added, depending on the wealth of the person and the season of the year.\n\nScots and tithes: As well as requiring each household to give tithes, a percentage of livestock, grain, candles, etc., to the Church on pain of minor excommunication, the Church also demanded scots, or sums of money to perform certain rites, such as christenings and marriages, including a soul-scot for burials. The people regarded the soul-scot as a tax on death. These scots were enshrined in law by King Alfred, 871\u2013901 A.D.\n\nScrip: A leather bag used by pilgrims and travellers to carry small items.\n\nSending: People believed that warlocks and witches had the power to conjure a Sending, in the form of an animal or insect which could travel hundreds of miles to kill the victim. Often these were sent against wrongdoers who had fled or those from the community who had broken a promise to return home. Victims would feel its approach for several hours or days before it reached them and begin to feel sleepy, ill, and terrified.\n\nTallows: Only the Church and the wealthy could afford candles made from wax for lighting, so the rest of the population used tallows, also known as rushlights. The wicks were made either from pieces of old rope or the pith from stripped rushes. These wicks were dipped in animal fat rendered from carcasses or in the dripping grease from roasting meat. As a result, burning tallows were not only smoky, but they stank.\n\nTrencher: A stale loaf of bread, usually four days old, cut into thick, slightly hollow slices, which would act as a plate on which the meal would be served. After the meal the trenchers, which had soaked up the juices and gravies of the meal, would be given to the poor or the dogs or pigs to eat.\n\nVampires: The existence of vampires was first recognised by the Church in 1215, at the Fourth Lateran Council in Rome, which declared that only the Church had the power to destroy these creatures. The word vampire was not used in English until 1734. The term used in medieval times translates literally as the undead. However, I have avoided using the term the undead in this novel because, for modern readers, it conjures up images of half-decayed lumbering zombies, whereas the medieval vampire was swift, cunning, and highly intelligent. Since vampires feasted on the living, far from being in a state of decay, they appeared unnaturally healthy. Anyone might become a vampire after death if he'd led a wicked life, or had been bitten by a werewolf, or had not been properly buried. In the Middle Ages, vampires were feared most because they were said to spread contagion.\n\nWiddershins: To circle anticlockwise or against the sun, hence against nature, strengthening the forces of darkness. Going widdershins was often a feature of dark spells and conjuring the dead; therefore, people were careful not to do it by accident, for it would bring bad luck. But it could also be used to reverse the current state of affairs by turning a run of bad fortune into good."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Mistress of the Art of Death 1) Mistress of the Art of Death",
        "author": "Ariana Franklin",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "ENGLAND, 1171",
                "text": "Here they come. From down the road we can hear harnesses jingling and see dust rising into the warm spring sky.\n\nPilgrims returning after Easter in Canterbury. Tokens of the mitered, martyred Saint Thomas are pinned to cloaks and hats--the Canterbury monks must be raking it in.\n\nThey're a pleasant interruption in the traffic of carts whose drivers and oxen are surly with fatigue from plowing and sowing. These people are well fed, noisy, exultant with the grace their journey has gained them.\n\nBut one of them, as exuberant as the rest, is a murderer of children. God's grace will not extend to a child-killer.\n\nThe woman at the front of the procession--a big woman on a big roan mare--has a silver token pinned to her wimple. We know her. She's the prioress of Saint Radegund's nunnery in Cambridge. She's talking. Loudly. Her accompanying nun, on a docile palfrey, is silent and has been able to afford only Thomas a Becket in pewter.\n\nThe tall knight riding between them on a well-controlled charger--he wears a tabard over his mail with a cross showing that he's been on crusade, and, like the prioress, he's laid out on silver--makes sotto voce commentaries on the prioress's pronouncements. The prioress doesn't hear them, but they cause the young nun to smile. Nervously.\n\nBehind this group is a flat cart drawn by mules. The cart carries a single object; rectangular, somewhat small for the space it occupies--the knight and squire seem to be guarding it. It's covered by a cloth with armorial bearings. The jiggling of the cart is dislodging the cloth, revealing a corner of carved gold--either a large reliquary or a small coffin. The squire leans from his horse and pulls the cloth straight so that the object is hidden again.\n\nAnd here's a king's officer. Jovial enough, large, overweight for his age, dressed like a civilian, but you can tell. For one thing, his servant is wearing the royal tabard embroidered with the Angevin leopards and, for another, poking out of his overloaded saddlebag is an abacus and the sharp end of a pair of money scales.\n\nApart from the servant, he rides alone. Nobody likes a tax gatherer.\n\nNow then, here's a prior. We know him, too, from the violet rochet he wears, as do all canons of Saint Augustine.\n\nImportant. Prior Geoffrey of Saint Augustine's, Barnwell, the monastery that looks across the great bend of the River Cam opposite Saint Radegund's and dwarfs it. It is understood that he and the prioress don't get on. He has three monks in attendance, and also a knight--another crusader, judging from his tabard--and a squire.\n\nOh, he's ill. He should be at the procession's front, but it seems his guts--which are considerable--are giving him pain. He's groaning and ignoring a tonsured cleric who's trying to engage his attention. Poor man, there's no help for him on this stretch, not even an inn, until he reaches his own infirmary in the priory grounds.\n\nA beef-faced citizen and his wife, both showing concern for the prior and giving advice to his monks. A minstrel, singing to a lute. Behind him there's a huntsman with spears and dogs--hounds colored like the English weather.\n\nHere come the pack mules and the other servants. Usual riffraff.\n\nAh, now. At the extreme end of the procession. More riffraffish than the rest. A covered cart with colored cabalistic signs on its canvas. Two men on the driving bench, one big, one small, both dark-skinned, the larger with a Moor's headdress wound round his head and cheeks. Quack medicine peddlers, probably.\n\nAnd sitting on the tailboard, beskirted legs dangling like a peasant, a woman. She's looking about her with a furious interest. Her eyes regard a tree, a patch of grass, with interrogation: What's your name? What are you good for? If not, why not? Like a magister in court. Or an idiot.\n\nOn the wide verge between us and all these people (even on the Great North Road, even in this year of 1171, no tree shall grow less than a bowshot's distance from the road, in case it give shelter to robbers) stands a small wayside shrine, the usual home-carpentered shelter for the Virgin.\n\nSome of the riders prepare to pass by with a bow and a Hail Mary, but the prioress makes a show of calling for a groom to help her dismount. She lumbers over the grass to kneel and pray. Loudly.\n\nOne by one and somewhat reluctantly, all the others join her. Prior Geoffrey rolls his eyes and groans as he's assisted off his horse.\n\nEven the three from the cart have dismounted and are on their knees, though, unseen at the back, the darker of the men seems to be directing his prayers toward the east. God help us all--Saracens and others of the ungodly are allowed to roam the highways of Henry II without sanction.\n\nLips mutter to the saint; hands weave an invisible cross. God is surely weeping, yet He allows the hands that have rent innocent flesh to remain unstained.\n\nMounted again, the cavalcade moves on, takes the turning to Cambridge, its diminishing chatter leaving us to the rumble of the harvest carts and the twitter of birdsong.\n\nBut we have a skein in our hands now, a thread that will lead us to that killer of children. To unravel it, though, we must first follow it backward in time by twelve months....\n\n...TO THE YEAR 1170. A screaming year. A king screamed to be rid of his archbishop. Monks of Canterbury screamed as knights spilled the brains of said archbishop onto the stones of his cathedral.\n\nThe Pope screamed for said king's penance. The English Church screamed in triumph--now it had said king where it wanted him.\n\nAnd, far away in Cambridgeshire, a child screamed. A tiny, tinny sound, this one, but it would reach its place among the others.\n\nAt first the scream had hope in it. It's a come-and-get-me-I'm-frightened signal. Until now, adults had kept the child from danger, hoisted him away from beehives and bubbling pots and the blacksmith's fire. They must be at hand; they always have been.\n\nAt the sound, deer grazing on the moonlit grass lifted their heads and stared--but it was not one of their own young in fear; they went on grazing. A fox paused in its trot, one paw raised, to listen and judge the threat to itself.\n\nThe throat that issued the scream was too small and the place too deeply isolated to reach human help. The scream changed; it became unbelieving, so high on the scale of astonishment that it achieved the pitch of a huntsman's whistle directing his dogs.\n\nThe deer ran, scattering among the trees, their white scuts like dominoes tumbling into the darkness.\n\nThe scream was pleading now, perhaps to the torturer, perhaps to God, please don't, please don't, before crumbling into a monotone of agony and hopelessness.\n\nThe air was grateful when eventually the child fell silent and the usual night noises took over again; a breeze rustling through bushes, the grunt of a badger, the hundred screams of small mammals and birds as they died in the mouths of natural predators.\n\nAt Dover, an old man was being hurried through the castle at a rate not congenial to his rheumatism. It was a huge castle, very cold and echoing with furious noises. Despite the rate he had to go, the old man remained chilled--partly because he was frightened. The court sergeant was taking him to a man who frightened everybody.\n\nThey went along stone corridors, sometimes past open doors issuing light and warmth, chatter and the notes of a lyre, past others that were closed on what the old man imagined to be ungodly scenes.\n\nTheir progress sent castle servants cowering or flung them out of the way so that the two of them left behind them a trail of dropped trays, spattered piss pots, and bitten-off exclamations of hurt.\n\nOne final circular staircase and they were in a long gallery of which this end was taken up by desks lining the walls and a massive table with a top of green felt partitioned into squares. There were varying piles of counters on the squares. Thirty or so clerks filled the room with the scratch of quills on parchment. Colored balls flicked and clicked along the wires of their abaci so that it was like entering a field of industrious crickets.\n\nIn the whole place, the only human being at rest was a man sitting on one of the windowsills.\n\n\"Aaron of Lincoln, my lord,\" the sergeant announced.\n\nAaron of Lincoln went down on one painful knee and touched his forehead with the fingers of his right hand, then extended the palm in obeisance to the man on the windowsill.\n\n\"Do you know what that is?\"\n\nAaron glanced awkwardly behind him at the vast table and didn't answer; he knew what it was, but Henry II's question had been rhetorical.\n\n\"It ain't for playing billiards, I'll tell you that,\" the king said. \"It's my Exchequer. Those squares represent my English counties, and the counters on them show how much income from each is due to the Royal Treasury. Get up.\"\n\nHe seized the old man and took him to the table, pointing to one of the squares. \"That's Cambridgeshire.\" He let Aaron go. \"Using your considerable financial acumen, Aaron, how many counters do you reckon are on it?\"\n\n\"Not enough, my lord?\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" Henry said. \"A profitable county, Cambridge--usually. Somewhat flat, but it produces a considerable amount of grain and cattle and fish, and pays the Treasury well--usually. Its sizable Jewish population also pays the Treasury well--usually. Would you say the number of counters on it at the moment do not present a true representation of its wealth?\"\n\nAgain, the old man did not reply.\n\n\"And why is that?\" Henry asked.\n\nAaron said wearily, \"I imagine it's because of the children, my lord. The death of children is always to be lamented....\"\n\n\"Indeed it is.\" Henry hoisted himself up on the edge of the table, letting his legs dangle. \"And when it becomes a matter of economics, it's disastrous. The peasants of Cambridge are in revolt and the Jews are...where are they?\"\n\n\"Sheltering in its castle, my lord.\"\n\n\"What's left of it,\" Henry agreed. \"They are indeed. My castle. Eating my food on my charity and shitting it out immediately because they're too scared to leave. All of which means they're not earning me any money, Aaron.\"\n\n\"No, my lord.\"\n\n\"And the revolting peasants have burned down its east tower, which contains all records of debts owed to the Jews, and therefore to me--to say nothing of the tax accounts--because they believe the Jews are torturing and killing their children.\"\n\nFor the first time, a whistle of hope sounded among the execution drums in the old man's head. \"But you do not, my lord?\"\n\n\"Do not what?\"\n\n\"You do not believe Jews are killing these children?\"\n\n\"I don't know, Aaron,\" the king said pleasantly. Without taking his eyes off the old man, he raised his hand. A clerk ran forward to put a piece of parchment in it. \"This is an account by a certain Roger of Acton saying that such is your regular practice. According to the good Roger, Jews usually torture at least one Christian child to death at Easter by putting it in a hinged barrel inwardly pierced by nails. They always have, they always will.\"\n\nHe consulted the parchment. \"'They do place the child into the barrel, then close the barrel so that the pins do enter his flesh. These fiends do then catch the blood as it seeps into their vessels to mix with their ritual pastries.'\"\n\nHenry II looked up: \"Not pleasant, Aaron.\" He returned to the parchment. \"Oh, and you laugh a lot while you're doing it.\"\n\n\"You know it is not true, my lord.\"\n\nFor all the notice the king took, the old man's interjection might have been another click on an abacus.\n\n\"But this Easter, Aaron, this Easter, you've started crucifying them. Certainly, our good Roger of Acton claims that the infant who's been found was crucified--what was the child's name?\"\n\n\"Peter of Trumpington, my lord,\" supplied the attendant clerk.\n\n\"That Peter of Trumpington was crucified, and therefore the same fate may well overcome the other two children who are missing. Crucifixion, Aaron.\" The king spoke the mighty and terrible word softly, but it traveled along the cold gallery, accreting power as it went. \"There's already agitation to make Little Peter a saint, as if we didn't have enough of them already. Two children missing and one bloodless mangled little body found in my fenland so far, Aaron. That's a lot of pastries.\"\n\nHenry got down from the table and walked up the gallery, the old man following, leaving the field of crickets behind. The king dragged a stool from under a window and kicked another in Aaron's direction. \"Sit down.\"\n\nIt was quieter at this end; damp, bitter air coming through the unglazed windows made the old man shake. Of the two, Aaron was the more richly clothed. Henry II dressed like a huntsman with careless habits; his queen's courtiers oiled their hair with unguents and were scented with attars, but Henry smelled of horses and sweat. His hands were leathery; his red hair was cropped close to a head as round as a cannonball. Yet nobody, Aaron thought, ever mistook him for other than what he was--the ruler of an empire stretching from the borders of Scotland to the Pyrenees.\n\nAaron could have loved him, almost did love him, if the man had not been so horrifyingly unpredictable. When this king was in a temper, he bit carpets and people died.\n\n\"God hates you Jews, Aaron,\" Henry said. \"You killed His Son.\"\n\nAaron closed his eyes, waiting.\n\n\"And God hates me.\"\n\nAaron opened his eyes.\n\nThe king's voice rose in a wail that filled the gallery like a despairing trumpet. \"Sweet God, forgive this unhappy and remorseful king. Thou knowest how Thomas a Becket did oppose me in all things so that in my rage I called for his death. Peccavi, peccavi, for certain knights did mistake my anger and ride to kill him, thinking to please me, for which abomination You in Your righteousness have turned Your face from me. I am a worm, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa. I crawl beneath Your anger while Archbishop Thomas is received into Your Glory and sitteth on the right hand of Your Gracious Son, Jesus Christ.\"\n\nFaces turned. Quills were poised in mid-account, abaci stilled.\n\nHenry stopped beating his breast. He said conversationally, \"And if I am not mistaken, the Lord will find him as big a pain in the arse as I did.\" He leaned over, put a finger gently beneath Aaron of Lincoln's lower jaw, and raised it. \"The moment that those bastards chopped Becket down, I became vulnerable. The Church seeks revenge, it wants my liver, hot and smoking, it wants recompense and must get it, and one of the things it wants, has always wanted, is the expulsion of you Jews from Christendom.\"\n\nThe clerks had returned to their work.\n\nThe king waved the document in his hand under the Jew's nose. \"This is a petition, Aaron, demanding that all Jews be sent away from my realm. At this moment, a copy also penned by Master Acton, and may the hounds of hell chew his bollocks, is on its way to the Pope. The murdered child in Cambridge and the ones missing are to be the pretext for demanding your people's expulsion, and, with Becket dead, I shall be unable to refuse, because if I do, His Holiness will be persuaded to excommunicate me and put my whole kingdom under interdict. Does your mind encompass interdict? It is to be cast into darkness; babies to be refused baptisms, no ordained marriage, the dead to remain unburied without the blessing of the Church. And any upstart with shit on his trousers can challenge my right to rule.\"\n\nHenry got up and paced, pausing to straighten the corner of an arras that the wind had disarranged. Over his shoulder, he said, \"Am I not a good king, Aaron?\"\n\n\"You are, my lord.\" The right answer. Also the truth.\n\n\"Am I not good to my Jews, Aaron?\"\n\n\"You are, my lord. Indeed, you are.\" Again, the truth. Henry taxed his Jews like a farmer milked his cows, yet no other monarch in the world was fairer to them or kept such order in his tight little kingdom that Jews were safer in it than in almost any other country of the known world. From France, from Spain, from the crusade countries, from Russia, they came to enjoy the privileges and security to be found in this Plantagenet's England.\n\nWhere could we go? Aaron thought. Lord, Lord, send us not back into the wilderness. If we can no longer have our Promised Land, let us live at least under this pharaoh, who keeps us safe.\n\nHenry nodded. \"Usury is a sin, Aaron. The Church disapproves of it, doesn't let Christians sully their souls with it. Leaves it to you Jews, who haven't got any souls. It does not stop the Church borrowing from you, of course. How many of its cathedrals have been built on your personal loans?\"\n\n\"Lincoln, my lord.\" Aaron began counting on his shaking, arthritic fingers. \"Peterborough, Saint Albans, then there have been no less than nine Cistercian abbeys, then there's--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. The real point is that one seventh of my annual revenue comes from taxing you Jews. And the Church wants me to get rid of you.\" The king was on his feet, and once again harsh Angevin syllables blasted the gallery. \"Do I not maintain peace in this kingdom such as it has never known? God's balls, how do they think I do it?\"\n\nNervous clerks dropped their quills to nod. Yes, my lord. You do, my lord.\n\n\"You do, my lord,\" Aaron said.\n\n\"Not by prayer and fasting, I tell you that.\" Henry had calmed himself again. \"I need money to equip my army, pay my judges, put down rebellion abroad, and keep my wife in her hellish expensive habits. Peace is money, Aaron, and money is peace.\" He grabbed the old man by the front of his cloak and dragged him close. \"Who is killing those children?\"\n\n\"Not us, my lord. My lord, we don't know.\"\n\nFor one intimate moment, appalling blue eyes with their stubby, almost invisible eyelashes peered into Aaron's soul.\n\n\"We don't, do we?\" the king said. The old man was released, steadied, his cloak patted back into shape, though the king's face was still close, his voice a tender whisper. \"But I think we'd better find out, eh? Quickly.\"\n\nAs the sergeant accompanied Aaron of Lincoln toward the staircase, Henry II called, \"I'd miss you Jews, Aaron.\"\n\nThe old man turned round. The king was smiling, or, at least, his spaced, strong little teeth were bared in something like a smile. \"But not near as much as you Jews would miss me,\" he said.\n\nIn Southern Italy several weeks later...\n\nGordinus the African blinked kindly at his visitor and wagged a finger. He knew the name; it had been announced with pomp: \"From Palermo, representing our most gracious king, his lordship Mordecai fil Berachyah.\" He even knew the face, but Gordinus remembered people only by their diseases.\n\n\"Hemorrhoids,\" he said, triumphantly, at last, \"you had piles. How are they?\"\n\nMordecai fil Berachyah was not easily disconcerted; as personal secretary to the King of Sicily and keeper of the royal secrets, he couldn't afford to be. He was offended, of course--a man's hemorrhoids should not be bandied about in public--but his big face remained impassive, his voice cool. \"I came to see whether Simon of Naples got off all right.\"\n\n\"Got off what?\" Gordinus asked interestedly.\n\nGenius, thought Mordecai, was always difficult to deal with and when, as here, it was beginning to decay, it was near impossible. He decided to use the weight of the royal \"we.\"\n\n\"Got off to England, Gordinus. Simon Menahem of Naples. We were sending Simon of Naples to England to deal with a trouble the Jews are having there.\"\n\nGordinus's secretary came to their aid, walking to a wall covered by cubbyholes from which rolls of parchment stuck out like pipe ends. He spoke encouragingly, as to a child. \"You remember, my lord, we had a royal letter...oh, gods, he's moved it.\"\n\nThis was going to take time. Lord Mordecai lumbered across the mosaic floor that depicted fishing cupids--Roman, at least a thousand years old. One of Hadrian's villas, this had been.\n\nThey did themselves well, these doctors. Mordecai ignored the fact that his own palazzo in Palermo was floored with marble and gold.\n\nHe sat himself down on the stone bench that ran round an open balustrade overlooking the town below and, beyond it, the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea.\n\nGordinus, ever alert as a doctor if nothing else, said, \"His lordship will require a cushion, Gaius.\"\n\nA cushion was fetched. So were dates. And wine. Gaius asked nervously, \"This is acceptable, my lord?\" The king's entourage, like the kingdom of Sicily and southern Italy itself, consisted of so many faiths and races--Arabs, Lombards, Greeks, Normans, and, as in Mordecai's case, Jews--that an offer of refreshment could be an offense against some religious dietary law or another.\n\nHis lordship nodded; he felt better. The cushion was a comfort to his backside, the breeze from the sea cooled him, and the wine was good. He shouldn't be offended by an old man's directness; in fact, when his business was over, he would indeed bring up the subject of his piles; Gordinus had cured them last time. This was, after all, the town of healing, and if anyone could be described as the doyen of its great medical school, it was Gordinus the African.\n\nHe watched the old man forget that he had a guest and return to the manuscript he'd been reading, the drooping, brown skin of his arm stretching as his hand dipped a quill in ink to make an alteration. What was he? Tunisian? Moor?\n\nOn arrival at the villa, Mordecai had asked the majordomo if he should remove his shoes before entering, adding, \"I have forgotten what your master's religion is.\"\n\n\"So has he, my lord.\"\n\nOnly in Salerno, Mordecai thought now, do men forget their manners and their god in the greater worship of the sick.\n\nHe wasn't sure he approved; very wonderful, no doubt, but eternal laws were broken, dead bodies dissected, women relieved of threatening fetuses, females allowed to practice, the flesh invaded by surgery.\n\nThey came in the hundreds: people who'd heard the name of Salerno and yet journeyed to it, sometimes on their own account, sometimes carrying their sick, blundering across deserts, steppes, marshes, and mountains, to be healed.\n\nLooking down on a maze of roofs, spires, and cupolas, sipping his wine, Mordecai marveled, not for the first time, that this town of all towns--and not Rome, not Paris, not Constantinople, not Jerusalem--had developed a school of medicine that made it the world's doctor.\n\nJust then the clang of the monastery bells sounding for nones clashed with the call to prayer from the muezzin of mosques and fought with the voice of synagogue cantors, all of them rising up the hill to assault the ears of the man on the balcony in an untidy blast of major and minor keys.\n\nThat was it, of course. The mix. The hard, greedy Norman adventurers who'd made a kingdom out of Sicily and southern Italy had been pragmatists, but far-seeing pragmatists. If a man suited their purpose, they didn't care which god he worshipped. If they were to establish peace--and therefore prosperity--there must be integration of the several peoples they'd conquered. There would be no second-class Sicilians. Arab, Greek, Latin, and French were to be the official languages. Advancement for any man of any faith, as long as he was able.\n\nNor should I complain, he thought. After all, he, a Jew, worked with Greek Orthodox Christians along with popish Catholics for a Norman king. The galley he'd disembarked from was part of the Sicilian royal navy in the charge of an Arab admiral.\n\nIn the streets below, the jellabah brushed against knightly mail, the kaftan against monkish habit, their owners not only not spitting at one another but exchanging greetings and news--and, above all, ideas.\n\n\"Here it is, my lord,\" Gaius said.\n\nGordinus took the letter. \"Ah yes, of course. Now I remember. 'Simon Menahem of Naples to set sail on a special mission...' Nymm, nymmm. '...the Jews of England being in a predicament of some danger...native children are put to torture and death...' Oh, dear. '...and blame falling on the Jews...' Oh dear, dear. 'You are commanded to discover and send with the aforementioned Simon a per son versed in the causes of death, who speaks both English and Hebrew yet gossips in neither.'\"\n\nHe smiled up at his secretary. \"And I did, didn't I?\"\n\nGaius shifted. \"There was some question at the time, my lord....\"\n\n\"Of course I did, I remember perfectly. And not just an expert in the morbid processes but a speaker of Latin, French, Greek, as well as the languages specified. A fine student. I told Simon so because he seemed a little concerned. 'You can't have anyone better,' I told him.\"\n\n\"Excellent.\" Mordecai rose. \"Excellent.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Gordinus was still triumphant. \"I think we met the king's specification exactly, didn't we, Gaius?\"\n\n\"Up to a point, my lord.\"\n\nThere was something in the servant's manner--Mordecai was trained to notice such things. And why, now that he came to think of it, had Simon of Naples been concerned at the choice of the man who was to accompany him?\n\n\"How is the king, by the way?\" Gordinus asked. \"That little trouble clear up?\"\n\nIgnoring the king's little trouble, Mordecai spoke directly to Gaius: \"Who did he send?\"\n\nGaius glanced toward his master, who'd resumed reading, and lowered his voice. \"The choice of person in this case was unusual, and I did wonder...\"\n\n\"Listen, man, this mission is extremely delicate. He didn't choose an Oriental, did he? Yellow? Stick out like a lemon in England?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't.\" Gordinus's mind had rejoined them.\n\n\"Well, who did you send?\"\n\nGordinus told him.\n\nIncredulity made Mordecai ask again, \"You sent...who?\"\n\nGordinus told him again.\n\nMordecai's was another scream to rend that year of screams: \"You stupid, stupid old fool.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Our prior is dying,\" the monk said. He was young and desperate. \"Prior Geoffrey is dying and has nowhere to lay his head. Lend us your cart in the name of God.\"\n\nThe whole cavalcade had watched him quarreling with his brother monks over where their prior should spend his last earthly minutes, the other two preferring the prioress's open traveling catafalque, or even the ground, to the covered cart of heathenish-looking peddlers.\n\nIn fact, the press of black-clad people on the road attending to the prior so hemmed him in where he reeled in his pain, pecking at him with advice, that they might have been crows fluttering around carrion.\n\nThe prioress's little nun was urging some object on him. \"The saint's very finger knuckle, my lord. But apply it again, I beg. This time, it's miraculous property...\"\n\nHer soft voice was almost drowned in the louder urgings of the clerk called Roger of Acton, he who had been importuning the poor prior for something ever since Canterbury. \"The true knuckle of a true saint crucified. Only believe...\"\n\nEven the prioress was trumpeting concern of a sort. \"But apply it to the afflicted part with stronger prayer, Prior Geoffrey, and Little Saint Peter shall do his bit.\"\n\nThe matter was settled by the prior himself, who, between bellows of profanity and pain, was understood to prefer anywhere, however heathenish, as long as it got him away from the prioress, the pestering damn cleric, and the rest of the gawking bastards who were standing around watching his death throes. He was not, he pointed out with some vigor, a bloody sideshow. (Some passing peasants had stopped to mingle with the cavalcade and were regarding the prior's gyrations with interest.)\n\nThe peddlers' cart it was. Thus, the young monk made his appeal to the cart's male occupants in Norman French and hoped they'd understand him--until now, they and their woman had been heard gabbing in a foreign tongue.\n\nFor a moment, they seemed at a loss. Then the woman, a dowdy little thing, said, \"What is the matter with him?\"\n\nThe monk waved her off. \"Get away, girl, this is no matter for women.\"\n\nThe smaller of the two men watched her retreat with some concern but said, \"Of course...um?\"\n\n\"Brother Ninian,\" said Brother Ninian.\n\n\"I am Simon of Naples. This gentleman is Mansur. Of course, Brother Ninian, naturally our cart is at your service. What ails the poor holy man?\"\n\nBrother Ninian told them.\n\nThe Saracen's facial expression did not change, probably never did, but Simon of Naples was all sympathy; he could imagine nothing so bad. \"It may be that we can be of even more assistance,\" he said. \"My companion is from the school of medicine at Salerno...\"\n\n\"A doctor? He's a doctor?\" The monk was off and running toward his prior and the crowd, shouting as he went. \"They're from Salerno. The brown one's a doctor. A doctor from Salerno.\"\n\nThe very name was a physic; everyone knew it. That the three came from Italy accounted for their oddity. Who knew what Italians looked like?\n\nThe woman rejoined her two men at the cart.\n\nMansur was regarding Simon with one of his looks, a slow form of ocular flaying. \"Gabblemouth here said I was a doctor from Salerno.\"\n\n\"Did I say that? Did I say that?\" Simon's arms were out. \"I said my companion...\"\n\nMansur turned his attention to the woman. \"The unbeliever can't piss,\" he told her.\n\n\"Poor soul,\" said Simon. \"Not for eleven hours. He exclaims he will burst. Can you conceive of it, Doctor? Drowning in one's own fluids?\"\n\nShe could conceive of it; no wonder the man capered. And he would burst, or at least his bladder would. A masculine condition; she'd seen it on the dissecting table. Gordinus had performed a postmortem on just such a case, but he had said that the patient could have been saved if...if...yes, that was it. And her stepfather had described seeing the same procedure in Egypt.\n\n\"Hmmm,\" she said.\n\nSimon was on it like a raptor. \"He can be helped? Lord, if he might be healed, the advantage to our mission would be incalculable. This is a man of influence.\"\n\nBe damned to influence; Adelia saw only a fellow creature that suffered--and, unless there was intervention, would continue to suffer until poisoned by his own urine. Yet if she were wrong in the diagnosis? There were other explanations for retention. If she fumbled?\n\n\"Hmmm,\" she said again, but her tone had altered.\n\n\"Risky?\" Simon's attitude had also altered. \"He could die? Doctor, let us consider our position....\"\n\nShe ignored him. She almost turned and opened her mouth to ask Margaret's opinion before deadening loneliness overtook her. The space that had been occupied by the bulk of her childhood nurse was empty, would remain empty; Margaret had died at Ouistreham.\n\nWith desolation came guilt. Margaret should never have attempted the journey from Salerno, but she had insisted. Adelia, overfond, needing female companionship for propriety's sake, dreading any but this valued servant's, had acquiesced. Too hard. Near a thousand miles of sea voyaging, the Bay of Biscay at its worst, it had been too hard on an old woman. An apoplexy. The love sustaining Adelia for twenty-five years had withdrawn into a grave in a tiny cemetery on the banks of the Orne, leaving her to face the crossing to England alone, a Ruth among the alien corn.\n\nWhat would that dear soul have said to this?\n\n\"I don't know why you'm asking, you never take no heed anyway. You'm going to take the chance with the poor gentleman, I know you, flower, so don't you bother with my opinion, the which you never do.\"\n\nThe which she never did.\n\nAdelia's mouth became gentle as the remembered rich Devonian syllables sang in her head; Margaret had only ever been her sounding board. And her comfort.\n\n\"Perhaps we should leave well alone, Doctor,\" Simon said.\n\n\"The man is dying,\" she said. She was as aware as Simon of the danger to them if the operation failed; she had felt little but desolation in this unfamiliar country since they landed, its strangeness giving even the most jovial company a seeming of hostility. But in this matter, the possible threat was of as little account as the possible benefit to them if the prior could be mended. She was a doctor; the man was dying. There was no choice.\n\nShe looked around her. The road, probably Roman, ran straight as a pointing finger. To the west, on her left, was flatness, the beginning of the Cambridgeshire fens, darkening meadow and wetland meeting a linear sunset in vermilion and gold. On her right, the wooded side of a hill of no great height and a track leading up to it. Nothing habitable anywhere, not a house, not a cottage, not a shepherd's hut.\n\nHer eyes rested on the ditch, almost a dike, that ran between the road and the rise of the hills; she'd been aware of what it contained for some time, as she was aware of all nature's goodies.\n\nThey'd need privacy. Light too. And some of the ditch's contents.\n\nShe gave her instructions.\n\nThe three monks approached, supporting their suffering prior. A protesting Roger of Acton trotted alongside, still urging the efficacy of the prioress's relic.\n\nThe oldest monk addressed Mansur and Simon: \"Brother Ninian says you are doctors from Salerno.\" His face and nose could have sharpened flint.\n\nSimon looked toward Mansur over the head of Adelia, who stood in the middle of them. With strict adherence to the truth, he said, \"Between us, sir, we have considerable medical knowledge.\"\n\n\"Can you help me?\" The prior yelled it at Simon, jerkily.\n\nThere was a nudge in Simon's ribs. Bravely, he said, \"Yes.\"\n\nEven so, Brother Gilbert hung on to the invalid's arm, reluctant to surrender his superior. \"My lord, we do not know if these people are Christians. You need the solace of prayer; I shall stay with you.\"\n\nSimon shook his head. \"The mystery about to be performed must be performed in solitude. Privacy is a necessity between doctor and patient.\"\n\n\"For the sake of Christ, give me relief.\" Again, it was Prior Geoffrey solving the matter. Brother Gilbert and his Christian solace were knocked into the dust, the other two monks pushed aside and told to stay, his knight to stand guard. Flailing and staggering, the prior reached the cart's hanging tailboard and was heaved up it by Simon and Mansur.\n\nRoger of Acton ran after the cart. \"My lord, if you would but try the miraculous properties of Little Saint Peter's knuckle...\"\n\nThere was a scream: \"I tried it and I still can't piss.\"\n\nThe cart rocked up the incline and disappeared among the trees. Adelia, having grubbed around in the ditch, followed it.\n\n\"I fear for him,\" Brother Gilbert said, though jealousy outweighed anxiety in his voice.\n\n\"Witchcraft.\" Roger of Acton could say nothing unless he shouted it. \"Better death than revival at the hands of Belial.\"\n\nBoth would have followed the cart, but the prior's knight, Sir Gervase, always one to tease monks, was suddenly barring the way. \"He said no.\"\n\nSir Joscelin, the prioress's knight, was equally firm. \"I think we must leave him be, Brother.\"\n\nThe two stood together, chain-clad crusaders who had fought in the Holy Land, contemptuous of lesser, skirted men content to serve God in safe places.\n\nThe track led to a strange hill. The cart bumped up the rise that eventually led to a great, grassy ring standing above the trees, catching the last of the sun so it gleamed like a monstrous bald, green, flattopped head.\n\nIt cast unease over the road at its foot, where the rest of the cavalcade had decided not to proceed now that its force was split but to camp on the verge within call of the knights.\n\n\"What is that place?\" Brother Gilbert asked, staring after the cart even though he could not see it.\n\nOne of the squires paused in unsaddling his master's horse. \"That up there's Wandlebury Ring, master. These are the Gog Magog hills.\"\n\nGog and Magog, British giants as pagan as their name. The Christian company huddled close around the fire--and closer yet as the voice of Sir Gervase came whoo-hooing across the road from the dark trees: \"Bloo-oo-od sacrifice. The Wild Hunt is in cry up here, my masters. Oh, horrible.\"\n\nSettling his hounds for the night, Prior Geoffrey's huntsman blew out his cheeks and nodded.\n\nMansur didn't like the place, either. He reined in about halfway up, where the cart could be on a wide level dug out of the slope. He unharnessed the mules--the moans of the prior inside the cart were making them restless--and tethered them so that they could graze, then set about building a fire.\n\nA bowl was fetched, the last of the boiled water poured into it. Adelia put her collection from the ditch into the water and considered it.\n\n\"Reeds?\" Simon said. \"What for?\"\n\nShe told him.\n\nHe turned pale. \"He, you...He will not allow...He is a monk.\"\n\n\"He is a patient.\" She stirred the reed stems and selected two, shaking them free of water. \"Get him ready.\"\n\n\"Ready? No man is ready for that. Doctor, my faith in you is absolute but...may I inquire...you have carried out the procedure before?\"\n\n\"No. Where's my bag?\"\n\nHe followed her across the grass. \"At least you have seen it performed?\"\n\n\"No. God's ribs, the light will be bad.\" She raised her voice. \"Two lanterns, Mansur. Hang them inside from the canopy hoops. Now, where are those cloths?\" She began delving in the goatskin bag that carried her equipment.\n\n\"Should we clarify this matter?\" Simon asked, trying for calm. \"You have not performed the operation yourself, nor have you seen it done.\"\n\n\"No, I told you.\" She looked up. \"Gordinus mentioned it once. And Gershom, my foster father, described the procedure to me after a visit to Egypt. He saw it depicted on some ancient tomb paintings.\"\n\n\"Ancient Egyptian tomb paintings.\" Simon gave each word equal weight. \"In color, were they?\"\n\n\"I see no reason why it should not work,\" she said. \"With what I know of male anatomy, it is a logical step to take.\"\n\nShe set off across the grass. Simon threw himself forward and stopped her. \"May we pursue this logic a little further, Doctor? You are about to perform an operation, it may be a dangerous operation...\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.\"\n\n\"...on a prelate of some importance. His friends await him there\"--Simon of Naples pointed down the darkening hill--\"not all of them rejoicing at our interference in this matter. We are strangers to them, we have no standing in their eyes.\" To continue, he had to dodge in front of her, for she would have gone on toward the cart. \"It could, I'm not saying it will, but it could be that those friends have a logic of their own, and, should this prior die, they will hang the three of us like logical washing on a clothesline. I say again, should we not let nature take its course? I merely ask it.\"\n\n\"The man is dying, Master Simon.\"\n\nThen the light of Mansur's lanterns fell on her face and he stood back, defeated. \"Yes, my Becca would do the same.\" Rebecca was his wife, the standard by whom he judged human charity. \"Proceed, Doctor.\"\n\n\"I shall need your assistance.\"\n\nHe raised his hands and then let them drop. \"You have it.\" He went with her, sighing and muttering. \"Would it be so bad if nature took its course, Lord? That's all I'm asking.\"\n\nMansur waited until the two had climbed into the cart, then settled his back against it, folded his arms, and kept watch.\n\nThe last ray from the dying sun went out, but no compensating moon had yet taken its place, leaving fen and hill in blackness.\n\nDown on the roadside verge, a bulky figure detached itself from the companionship round the pilgrims' fire, as if to answer a call of nature. Unseen in the blackness, it crossed the road and, with an agility surprising in the weighty, leaped the ditch and disappeared into the bushes by the side of the track. Silently cursing the brambles that tore its cloak, it climbed toward the ledge on which the cart rested, sniffing to allow the stink of the mules to guide it, sometimes following a glimpse of light through the trees.\n\nIt paused to try and listen to the conversation of the two knights who stood like forbidding statuary on the track out of sight of the cart, the nosepieces of their helmets rendering the one indistinguishable from the other.\n\nIt heard one of them mention the Wild Hunt.\n\n\"...the devil's hill, no doubt of it,\" the companion replied clearly. \"No peasant comes near the place, and I could wish we hadn't. Give me the Saracens any day.\"\n\nThe listener crossed himself and climbed higher, picking his way with infinite care. Unseen, he passed the Arab, another piece of statuary in the moonlight. Finally he had reached a point from which to look down on the cart, its lanterns giving it the appearance of a glowing opal on black velvet.\n\nHe settled himself. Around him, the undergrowth rustled with the comings and goings of uncaring life on the woodland floor. Overhead, a barn owl shrieked as it hunted.\n\nThere was a sudden gabble from the cart. A light, clear voice: \"Lie back; this shouldn't hurt. Master Simon, if you would lift up his skirts....\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey was heard to say sharply, \"What does she do down there? What's in her hand?\"\n\nAnd the man addressed as Master Simon: \"Lie back, my lord. Close your eyes; be assured this lady knows what she's about.\"\n\nAnd the prior, panicking: \"Well, I don't. I am fallen to a witch. God have mercy on me, this female will snatch my soul through my pizzle.\"\n\nAnd the lighter voice, sterner, concentrating: \"Keep still, blast you. Do you want a burst bladder? Hold the penis up, Master Simon. Up, I need a smooth passageway.\"\n\nThere was a squeak from the prior.\n\n\"The bowl, Simon. The bowl, quick. Hold it there, there.\"\n\nAnd then a sound, like the splash of a waterfall into a basin, and a groan of satisfaction such as a man makes in the act of love, or when his bladder is relieved of a content that has been torturing it.\n\nOn the ledge above, the king's tax collector opened his eyes wide, pursed his lips in a moue of interest, nodded to himself, and began his descent.\n\nHe wondered if the knights had heard what he'd heard. Probably not, he thought; they were nearly out of earshot of the cart, and the coifs that cushioned their heads from the iron of their helmets deadened sound. Only he, then, apart from the cart's occupants and the Arab, was in possession of an intriguing piece of knowledge.\n\nReturning the way he had come, he had to crouch in shadow several times; it was surprising, despite the darkness, how many pilgrims were venturing on the hill this night.\n\nHe saw Brother Gilbert, presumably attempting to find out what was going on in the cart. He saw Hugh, the prioress's huntsman, either on the same business or maybe investigating coverts, as a huntsman should. And was the indistinct shape slipping into the trees that of a female? The merchant's wife looking for somewhere in private in which to answer a call of nature? A nun on the same errand? Or a monk?\n\nHe couldn't tell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Dawn lighted on the pilgrims by the side of the road and found them damp and irritable. The prioress railed at her knight in discontent when he came to ask how she had passed the night: \"Where were you, Sir Joscelin?\"\n\n\"Guarding the prior, madam. He was in the hands of foreigners and might have needed assistance.\"\n\nThe prioress didn't care. \"Such was his choice. I could have proceeded last night if you had been with us for protection. It is only four miles more to Cambridge. Little Saint Peter is waiting for this reliquary in which to lodge his bones and has waited long enough.\"\n\n\"You should have brought the bones with you, madam.\"\n\nThe prioress's trip to Canterbury had been a pilgrimage not only of devotion but also to collect the reliquary that had been on order from Saint Thomas a Becket's goldsmiths for a twelvemonth. Once the skeleton of her convent's new saint, which was lying in an inferior box in Cambridge, was interred in it, she expected great things from it.\n\n\"I carried his holy knuckle,\" she snapped, \"and if Prior Geoffrey possessed the faith he should, it would have been enough to mend him.\"\n\n\"Even so, Mother, we could not have left the poor prior to strangers in his predicament, could we?\" the little nun asked gently.\n\nThe prioress certainly could have. She had no more liking for Prior Geoffrey than he had for her. \"He has his own knight, does he not?\"\n\n\"It takes two to stand guard all night, madam,\" Sir Gervase said. \"One to watch while the other sleeps.\" He was short-tempered. Indeed, both knights were red-eyed, as if neither had rested.\n\n\"What sleep did I have? Such a disturbance there was with people coming and going all around. And why does he demand a double guard?\"\n\nMuch of the ill feeling between Saint Radegund's convent and Saint Augustine's canonry of Barnwell was because Prioress Joan suspected jealousy on the prior's part for the miracles already wrought by Little Saint Peter's bones at the nunnery. Now, properly encased, their fame would spread, petitioners to them would swell her convent's income, and the miracles would increase. And so, without doubt, would Prior Geoffrey's envy. \"Let us be on our way before he recovers.\" She looked around. \"Where's that Hugh with my hounds? Oh, the devil, he's surely never taken them onto the hill.\"\n\nSir Joscelin was off after the recalcitrant huntsman on the instant. Sir Gervase, who had his own dogs among Hugh's pack, followed him.\n\nThe prior was regaining strength after a good night's sleep. He sat on a log, eating eggs from a pan over the Salernitans' fire, not knowing which question to ask first. \"I am amazed, Master Simon,\" he said.\n\nThe little man opposite him nodded sympathetically. \"I can understand, my lord. 'Certum est, quia impossibile.'\"\n\nThat a shabby peddler should quote Tertullian amazed the prior further. Who were these people? Nevertheless, the fellow had it exactly; the situation must be so because it was impossible. Well, first things first. \"Where is she gone?\"\n\n\"She likes to walk the hills, my lord, studying nature, gathering herbs.\"\n\n\"She should take care on this one; the local people give it a wide berth, leaving it to the sheep; they say Wandlebury Ring is the haunt of the Wild Hunt and witches.\"\n\n\"Mansur is always with her.\"\n\n\"The Saracen?\" Prior Geoffrey regarded himself as a broad-minded man, also grateful, but he was disappointed. \"Is she a witch, then?\"\n\nSimon winced. \"My lord, I beg you.... If you could avoid mentioning the word in her presence.... She is a doctor, fully trained.\"\n\nHe paused, then added, \"Of a sort.\" Again, he stuck to the literal truth. \"The Medical School of Salerno allows women to practice.\"\n\n\"I had heard that it did,\" the prior said. \"Salerno, eh? I did not believe it any more than I credited cows with the ability to fly. It appears that I must now look out for cows overhead.\"\n\n\"Always best, my lord.\"\n\nThe prior spooned some more eggs into his mouth and looked around him, appreciating the greenery of spring and the twitter of birdsong as he had not for some time. He was reassessing matters. While undoubtedly disreputable, this little company was also learned, in which case it was not at all what it seemed. \"She saved me, Master Simon. Did she learn that particular operation in Salerno?\"\n\n\"From the best Egyptian doctors, I believe.\"\n\n\"Extraordinary. Tell me her fee.\"\n\n\"She will accept no payment.\"\n\n\"Really?\" This was becoming more extraordinary by the minute; neither this man nor the woman appeared to have a shilling to bless themselves with. \"She swore at me, Master Simon.\"\n\n\"My lord, I apologize. I fear her skills do not include the bedside manner.\"\n\n\"No, they do not.\" Nor any womanly wiles, as far as the prior could see. \"Forgive an old man's impertinence but, so that I may address her correctly, to which of you is she...attached?\"\n\n\"Neither of us, my lord.\" The peddler was more amused than offended. \"Mansur is her manservant, a eunuch--a misfortune that befell him. I myself am devoted to my wife and children in Naples. There is no attachment in that sense; we are merely allies through circumstance.\"\n\nAnd the prior, though not a gullible man, believed him, which also increased his curiosity. What the devil were the three doing here?\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" he said out loud and sternly, \"I must tell you that, whatever your purpose in Cambridge, it will be compromised by the peculiarity of your menage. Mistress Doctor should have a female companion.\"\n\nThis time it was Simon who was surprised, and Prior Geoffrey saw that the man did indeed see the woman as merely a colleague. \"I suppose she should,\" Simon said. \"There was one in attendance when we started out on this mission, her childhood nurse, but the old woman died on the way.\"\n\n\"I advise you to find another.\" The prior paused, then asked, \"You make mention of a mission. May I inquire what it is?\"\n\nSimon appeared to hesitate.\n\nPrior Geoffrey said, \"Master Simon, I presume that you have not traveled all the way from Salerno merely to sell nostrums. If your mission is delicate, you may tell me with impunity.\" When the man still hesitated, the prior clicked his tongue at having to point out the obvious. \"Metaphorically, Master Simon, you have me by the balls. Can I betray your confidence when you are in a position to counter such betrayal merely by informing the town crier that I, a canon of Saint Augustine, a person of some consequence in Cambridge, and, I flatter myself, in the wider realm also, did not only place my most private member in the hands of a woman but had a plant shoved up it? How, to paraphrase the immortal Horace, would that play in Corinth?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" Simon said.\n\n\"Indeed. Speak freely, Master Simon. Sate an old man's curiosity.\"\n\nSo Simon told him. They had come to discover who was murdering and abducting Cambridge's children, he said. It must not be thought, he said, that their mission was intended as a usurpation of local officials, \"only that investigation by authority sometimes tends to close more mouths than it opens, whereas we, incognito and disregarded...\" Being Simon, he stressed this at length. It was not interference. However, since discovery of the murderer was protracted--obviously a particularly cunning and devious killer--special measures might fit the case....\n\n\"Our masters, those who sent us, appear to think that Mistress Doctor and I have the appropriate skills for such a matter....\"\n\nListening to the tale of the mission, Prior Geoffrey learned that Simon of Naples was a Jew. He felt an immediate surge of panic. As master of a great monastic foundation, he was responsible for the state of the world when it must be handed over to God on the Day of Judgment, which might be anytime soon. How to answer an Almighty who had commanded that the one true faith be established in it? How to explain at the throne of God the existence of an unconverted infection in what should be a whole and perfect body? About which he had done nothing?\n\nHumanism fought the training of the seminary--and won. It was an old battle. What could he do? He was not one of those who countenanced extermination; he would not see souls, if Jews had souls, severed and sent into the pit. Not only did he countenance the Jews of Cambridge, he protected them, though he railed mightily against other churchmen for encouraging the sin of usury in borrowing from them.\n\nNow he, too, was in debt to one such--for his life. And, indeed, if this man, Jew or not, could solve the mystery that was causing Cambridge's agony, then Prior Geoffrey was his to command. Why, though, had he brought a doctor, a female doctor, with him?\n\nSo Prior Geoffrey listened to Simon's story, and where he had been amazed before, he was now floundered, not least by the man's openness, a characteristic he had not come across in the race until now. Instead of canniness, even cunning, he was hearing the truth.\n\nHe thought, Poor booby, he takes little persuasion to unload his secrets. He is too artless; he has no guile. Who has sent him, poor booby?\n\nThere was silence when Simon had finished, except for a blackbird's song from a wild cherry tree.\n\n\"You have been sent by Jews to rescue the Jews?\"\n\n\"Not at all, my lord. Really, no. The prime mover in this matter appears to be the King of Sicily--a Norman, as you know. I wondered at it myself; I cannot but feel that there are other influences at work; certainly our passports were not questioned at Dover, leaving me to opine that English officialdom is not unaware of what we are about. Be assured that, should the Jews of Cambridge prove guilty of this most dreadful crime, I shall willingly lay my hands to the rope that hangs them.\"\n\nGood. The prior accepted that. \"But why was it necessary for the enterprise to include this woman doctor, may I ask? Surely, such a rara avis, if she is discovered, will attract most unwelcome attention.\"\n\n\"I, too, had my doubts at first,\" Simon said.\n\nDoubts? He'd been appalled. The sex of the doctor who was to accompany him had not been revealed to him until she and her entourage boarded the boat to take them all to England, by which time it was too late to protest, though he had protested--Gordinus the African, greatest of doctors and most naive of men, taking his gesticulations as waves of farewell and fondly waving back as the gap between taffrail and quay took them away from each other.\n\n\"I had my doubts,\" he said again, \"yet she has proved modest, capable, and a proficient speaker of English. Moreover\"--Simon beamed, his creased face crinkling further in pleasure, taking the prior's attention away from a sensitive area; there would be time to reveal Adelia's particular skill, and it was not yet--\"as my wife would say, the Lord has His own purposes. Why else should she have been on hand in your hour of greatest need?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey nodded slowly. That was undoubted; he'd already been on his knees in thanks to Almighty God for putting her in his way.\n\n\"It would be helpful, before we arrive in the town,\" pursued Simon of Naples, gently, \"to learn what we can of the killing of the murdered child and how it came about that two others are missing.\" He let the sentence hang in the air.\n\n\"The children,\" Prior Geoffrey said at last, heavily. \"I have to tell you, Master Simon, that by the time we set off for Canterbury, the number of those missing was not two, as you have been told, but three. Indeed, had I not vowed to make this pilgrimage, I would not have left Canterbury for dread the number might rise again. God have mercy on their souls; we all fear the little ones have met the same fate as the first child, Peter. Crucified.\"\n\n\"Not at the hands of Jews, my lord. We do not crucify children.\"\n\nYou crucified the Son of God, the prior thought. Poor booby. Admit to being a Jew where you are going and they will tear you to pieces. And your doctor with you.\n\nDamn it, he thought, I shall have to take a hand in the business.\n\nHe said, \"I must tell you, Master Simon, that our people are much aroused against the Jews, they fear that other offspring may be taken.\"\n\n\"My lord, what inquiry has been made? What evidence that Jews are to blame?\"\n\n\"The charge was made almost immediately,\" said Prior Geoffrey, \"and, I am afraid, with reason...\"\n\nIt was Simon Menahem of Naples's genius as agent, investigator, go-between, reconnoiterer, spy--he was used in all such capacities by such of the powerful as knew him well--that people took him to be what he seemed. They could not believe that this puny, nervous little man of such eagerness, even simplicity, who spilled information--all of it trustworthy--could outwit them. Only when, the deal fixed, the alliance sealed, the bottom of the business uncovered, did it occur to them that Simon had achieved exactly what his masters wanted. But he is a booby, they would tell themselves.\n\nAnd it was to this booby, who had judged the prior's character and newfound indebtedness to the last jot and tittle, that a subtle prior found himself recounting everything the booby wished to know.\n\nIt had been just over a year ago. Passiontide Friday. Eight-year-old Peter, a child from Trumpington, a village on the southwest edge of Cambridge, was sent by his mother to gather pussy willow, \"which, in England, replaces the palm in decoration for Palm Sunday.\"\n\nPeter had shunned willows near his home and trotted north along the Cam to gather branches from the tree on the stretch of riverbank by Saint Radegund's convent, which was claimed to be especially holy, having been planted by Saint Radegund herself.\n\n\"As if,\" said the prior, bitterly interrupting his tale, \"a female German saint of the Dark Ages would have tripped over to Cambridgeshire to plant a tree. But that harpy\"--thus he referred to the prioress of Saint Radegund's--\"will say anything.\"\n\nIt happened that, on the same day, Passiontide Friday, several of the richest and most important Jews in England had gathered in Cambridge at the house of Chaim Leonis for the marriage of Chaim's daughter. Peter had been able to view the celebrations from the other side of the river on his way to gather branches of willow.\n\nHe had not, therefore, returned home the same way but had taken the quicker route to Jewry by going over the bridge and passing through the town so that he could see the carriages and caparisoned horses of the visiting Jews in Chaim's stable.\n\n\"His uncle, Peter's uncle, was Chaim's stabler, you see.\"\n\n\"Are Christians allowed to work for Jews here?\" Simon asked, as if he didn't know the answer already. \"Great heavens.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. The Jews are steady employers. And Peter was a regular visitor to the stables, even to the kitchens, where Chaim's cook--who was a Jew--sometimes gave him sweetmeats, a fact that was to count against the household later as enticement.\"\n\n\"Go on, my lord.\"\n\n\"Well. Peter's uncle, Godwin, was too busy with the unusual influx of horses to pay attention to the boy and told him to be off home, indeed thought he had. Not until late that night, when Peter's mother came inquiring to town, did anyone realize the child had disappeared. The watch was alerted, also the river bailiffs--it was likely the boy had fallen into the River Cam. The banks were searched at dawn. Nothing.\"\n\nNothing for more than a week. As townsfolk and villagers crawled on their knees to the Good Friday cross in the parish churches, prayers were addressed to Almighty God for the return of Peter of Trumpington.\n\nOn Easter Monday the prayer was granted. Hideously. Peter's body was discovered in the river near Chaim's house, snagged below its surface under a pier.\n\nThe prior shrugged. \"Even then blame did not fall on the Jews. Children tumble, they fall into rivers, wells, ditches. No, we thought it an accident--until Martha the laundress came forward. Martha lives in Bridge Street and among her clients is Chaim Leonis. On the evening of Little Peter's disappearance, she said, she had delivered a basket of clean washing to Chaim's back door. Finding it open, she'd gone inside--\"\n\n\"She delivered laundry so late in the day?\" Simon expressed surprise.\n\nPrior Geoffrey inclined his head. \"I think we must accept that Martha was curious; she had never seen a Jewish wedding. Nor have any of us, of course. Anyway, she went inside. The back of the house was deserted, the celebrations having moved to the front garden. The door to a room off the hall was slightly open--\"\n\n\"Another open door,\" Simon said, apparently surprised again.\n\nThe prior glanced at him. \"Do I tell you something you already know?\"\n\n\"I beg pardon, my lord. Continue, I beseech you.\"\n\n\"Very well. Martha looked into the room and saw--says she saw--a child hanging by his hands from a cross. She was given no chance to be other than terrified because, just then, Chaim's wife came down the passageway, cursed her, and she ran off.\"\n\n\"Without alerting the watch?\" Simon asked.\n\nThe prior nodded. \"Indeed, that is the weakness in her story. If, if, Martha saw the body when she says, she did not alert the watch. She alerted nobody until after Little Peter's corpse was discovered. Then, and only then, did she whisper what she had seen to a neighbor, who whispered it to another neighbor, who went to the castle and told the sheriff. After that, evidence came thick and fast. A branch of pussy willow was found dropped in the lane outside Chaim's house. A man delivering peat to the castle testified that from across the river on Passiontide Friday, he saw two men, one wearing the Jewish hat, toss a bundle from Great Bridge into the Cam. Others now said they had heard screams coming from Chaim's house. I myself viewed the corpse after it had been dragged from the river and saw the stigmata of crucifixion on it.\" He frowned. \"The poor little body was horribly bloated, of course, but there were the marks on the wrists, and the belly had been split open, as if by a spear, and...there were other injuries.\"\n\nThere had been immediate uproar in the town. To save every man, woman, and child in Jewry from slaughter, they had been hurried to Cambridge Castle by the sheriff and his men, acting on behalf of the king, under whose protection the Jews were.\n\n\"Even so, on the way, Chaim was seized by those seeking vengeance and hanged from Saint Radegund's willow. They took his wife as she pleaded for him and tore her to pieces.\" Prior Geoffrey crossed himself. \"The sheriff and myself did what we could, but we were outdone by the townsfolk's fury.\" He frowned; the memory pained him. \"I saw decent men transform into hellhounds, matrons into maenads.\"\n\nHe lifted his cap and passed his hand over his balding head. \"Even then, Master Simon, it might be that we could have contained the trouble. The sheriff managed to restore order, and it was hoped that, since Chaim was dead, the remaining Jews would be allowed to return to their homes. But no. Now onto the floor steps Roger of Acton, a cleric new to our town and one of our Canterbury pilgrims. Doubtless you noticed him, a lean-shanked, mean-featured, whey-faced, importunate fellow of dubious cleanliness. Master Roger happens\"--the prior glared at Simon as if finding fault with him--\"happens to be cousin to the prioress of Saint Radegund, a seeker after fame through the scribbling of religious tracts that reveal little but his ignorance.\"\n\nThe two men shook their heads. The blackbird went on singing.\n\nPrior Geoffrey sighed. \"Master Roger heard the dread word 'crucifixion' and snapped at it like a ferret. Here was something new. Not merely an accusation of torture such as Jews have ever inspired...I beg your pardon, Master Simon, but it has always been so.\"\n\n\"I fear it has, my lord. I fear it has.\"\n\n\"Here was a reenactment of Easter, a child found worthy to suffer the pains of the Son of God and, therefore, undoubtedly, both a saint and a miracle-giver. I would have buried the boy with decency but was denied by the hag in human form who poses as a nun of Saint Radegund.\"\n\nThe prior shook his fist toward the road. \"She abducted the child's body, claiming it as hers by right merely because Peter's parents dwell on land belonging to Saint Radegund. Mea culpa, I fear we wrangled over the corpse. But that woman, Master Simon, that hellcat, sees not the body of a little boy deserving Christian burial but an acquisition to the den of succubae she calls a convent, a source of income from pilgrims and from the halt and the lame looking for cure. An attraction, Master Simon.\" He sat back. \"And such it has become. Roger of Acton has spread the word. Our prioress was seen taking advice from the money changers of Canterbury on how to sell Little Saint Peter relics and tokens at the convent gate. Quid non mortalia pectora cogis, auri sacra fames! To what do you not drive human hearts, cursed craving for gold!\"\n\n\"I am shocked, my lord,\" Simon said.\n\n\"You should be, Master Simon. She has a knuckle taken from the boy's hand that she and her cousin pressed on me in my travail, saying it would mend me in the instant. Roger of Acton, do you see, wishes to add me to the list of cures, that my name might be on the application to the Vatican for the official sainting of Little Saint Peter.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"The knuckle, which, such was my pain, I did not scruple to touch, was ineffective. My deliverance was from a more unexpected source.\" The prior got up. \"Which reminds me, I feel the urge to piss.\"\n\nSimon put out a hand to detain him. \"But what of the other children, my lord? The ones still missing?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey stood for a moment, as if listening to the blackbird. \"For a while, nothing,\" he said. \"The town had sated itself on Chaim and Miriam. The Jews in the castle were preparing to leave it. But then another boy disappeared and we did not dare to move them.\"\n\nThe prior turned his face away so that Simon could not see it. \"It was on All Souls' Night. He was a boy from my own school.\" Simon heard the break in the prior's voice. \"Next, a little girl, a wildfowler's daughter. On Holy Innocents Day, God help us. Then, as recently as the Feast of Saint Edward, King and Martyr, another boy.\"\n\n\"But, my lord, who can accuse the Jews of these disappearances? Are they not still locked in the castle?\"\n\n\"By now, Master Simon, Jews have been awarded the ability to fly over the castle crenels, snatching up the children and gnawing them before dropping their carcasses in the nearest mere. May I advise you not to reveal yourself. You see\"--the prior paused--\"there have been signs.\"\n\n\"Signs?\"\n\n\"Found in the area where each child was last seen. Cabalistic weavings. The townsfolk say they resemble the Star of David. And now\"--Prior Geoffrey was crossing his legs--\"I have to piss. This is a matter of some moment.\"\n\nSimon watched him hobble to the trees. \"Good fortune, my lord.\"\n\nI was right to tell him as much as I did, he thought. We have gained a valuable ally. For information, I traded information--though not all of it.\n\nThe track toward the brow of Wandlebury Hill had been made by a landslip that breached part of the great ditches dug out by some ancient peoples to defend it. The passage of sheep had evened it out and Adelia, a basket on her arm, climbed to the summit in minutes without losing breath--to find herself alone on the hilltop, an immense circle of grass dotted currantlike with sheep droppings.\n\nFrom a distance, it had appeared bald. Certainly the only high trees were down its side, with a clump along one easterly edge, and the rest was covered with shrubby hawthorn and juniper bushes. The flattish surface was pitted here and there with curious depressions, some of them two or three feet deep and at least six feet across. A good place to wrench your ankle.\n\nTo the east, where the sun was rising, the ground fell away gently; to the west, it dropped fast to the flat land.\n\nShe opened her cloak, clasped her hands behind her neck, stretching, letting the breeze pierce the despised tunic of harsh wool bought in Dover that Simon of Naples had begged her to wear.\n\n\"Our mission lies among the commoners of England, Doctor. If we are to mingle with them, learn what they know, we must appear as they do.\"\n\n\"Mansur looks every inch a Saxon villein, naturally,\" she'd said. \"And what of our accents?\"\n\nBut Simon had maintained it was a matter of degree that three foreign medicine peddlers, always popular with the herd, would hear more secrets than a thousand inquisitors. \"We shall not be removed by class from those we question; it is the truth we want, not respect.\"\n\n\"In this thing,\" she'd said of the tunic, \"respect will not be forthcoming.\" However, Simon, more experienced in deception than she, was the leader of this mission. Adelia had put on what was basically a tube, fastened at the shoulders with pins but retaining her silk undershift--though never one to swim in the stream of fashion, she'd be damned if, even for the King of Sicily, she tolerated sackcloth next to the skin.\n\nShe closed her eyes against the light, tired from a night spent watching her patient for signs of fever. At dawn the prior's skin had proved cool, his pulse steady; the procedure had been successful for the moment; it now remained to be seen whether he could urinate without help and without pain. So far so good, as Margaret used to say.\n\nShe started walking, her eyes searching for useful plants, noticing that her cheap boots--another blasted disguise--sent up sweet, unfamiliar scents at each step. There were goodies here among the grass, the early leaves of vervains, ale-hoof, catmint, bugle, Clinopodium vulgare, which the English called wild basil, though it neither resembled nor smelled like true basil. Once she had bought an old English herbal that the monks of Saint Lucia had acquired but couldn't read. She'd given it to Margaret as a reminder of home, only to reappropriate it to study for herself.\n\nAnd here they were, its illustrations, growing in real life at her feet, as thrilling as if she'd encountered a famed face in the street.\n\nThe herbalist author, relying heavily on Galen, like most of his kind, had made the usual claims: laurel to protect from lightning, all-heal to ward off the plague, marjoram to secure the uterus--as if a woman's uterus floated up to the neck and down again like a cherry in a bottle. Why did they never look?\n\nShe began picking.\n\nAll at once she was uneasy. There was no reason for it; the great ring was as deserted as it had been. Clouds changed the light as their shadows chased one another briskly across the grass; a stunted hawthorn assumed the shape of a bent old woman; a sudden screech--a magpie--sent smaller birds flying.\n\nWhatever it was, she had an apprehension that made her want to be less vertical in all this flatness. So foolish she'd been. Tempted by its plants and the apparent isolation of this place, tired of the chattering company she'd been surrounded with since Canterbury, she'd committed the error, the idiocy, of venturing out alone, telling Mansur to stay and care for the prior. A mistake. She had abrogated all right to immunity from predation. Indeed, without the company of Margaret and Mansur, and as far as men in the vicinity were concerned, she might as well be wearing a placard saying \"Rape me.\" If the invitation were accepted, it would be regarded as her fault, not the rapist's.\n\nDamn the prison in which men incarcerated women. She'd resented its invisible bars when Mansur had insisted on accompanying her along the long, dark corridors of the Salerno school, making her look overprivileged and ridiculous as she went from lecture to lecture, and marking her out. But she'd learned--oh, she'd learned--her lesson, that day when she'd avoided his chaperonage: the outrage, the desperation with which she'd had to scrabble against a male fellow student; the indignity of having to scream for help, which, thank God, had been answered; the subsequent lecture from her professors and, of course, Mansur and Margaret, on the sins of arrogance and carelessness of reputation.\n\nNobody had blamed the young man, although Mansur had afterward broken his nose by way of teaching him manners.\n\nBeing Adelia and still arrogant, she forced herself to walk a little farther, though in the direction of the trees, and pick a plant or two more before looking around.\n\nNothing. The flutter of hawthorn blossom on the breeze, another sudden dimming of light as a cloud chased across the sun.\n\nA pheasant rose, clattering and shrieking. She turned.\n\nIt was as if he had sprung out of the ground. He was marching toward her, casting a long shadow. No pimply student this time. One of the pilgrimage's heavy and confident crusaders, the metal links of his mail hissing beneath the tabard, the mouth smiling but the eyes as hard as the iron encasing head and nose. \"Well, well, now,\" he was saying with anticipation. \"Well, well, now, mistress.\"\n\nAdelia experienced a deep weariness--at her own stupidity, at what was to come. She had resources; one of them, a wicked little dagger, was tucked in her boot, given to her by her Sicilian foster mother, a straightforward woman with the advice to stick it in the assailant's eye. Her Jewish stepfather had suggested a more subtle defense: \"Tell them you're a doctor and appear concerned by their appearance. Ask if they've been in contact with the plague. That'll lower any man's flag.\"\n\nShe doubted, though, whether either ploy would prevail against this advancing mailed mass. Nor, considering her mission, did she want to broadcast her profession.\n\nShe stood straight and tried loftiness while he was still a way off. \"Yes?\" she called sharply. Which might have been impressive had she been Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar in Salerno, but on this lonely hill, it did little for a poorly dressed foreign trull known to travel in a peddler's cart with two men.\n\n\"That's what I like,\" the man called back. \"A woman who says yes.\"\n\nHe came on. No doubt about his intention now; she dropped, groping into her boot.\n\nThen two things happened at once--from different directions.\n\nOut of the clump of trees came the whoom-whoom sound of air being displaced by something whirling through it. A small ax buried its blade in the grass between Adelia and the knight.\n\nThe other was a yell from across the hill. \"In the name of God, Gervase, call your bloody hounds and go down. The old girl's champing at her bit.\"\n\nAdelia watched the knight's eyes change. She leaned forward and, with an effort, pulled the ax from the ground and stood up with it, smiling. \"It must be magic,\" she said in English.\n\nThe other crusader was still shouting for his friend to find his dogs and go down to the road.\n\nThe discomfiture in this one's face changed to something like hatred, then, deliberately, to disinterest as he turned on his heel and strode away to join his fellow.\n\nYou've made no friend there, Adelia told herself. God, how I loathe being afraid. Damn him, damn him. And damn this damned country; I didn't want to come in the first place.\n\nIll-tempered because she was shaking, she walked toward a shadow under the trees. \"I told you to stay with the cart,\" she said in Arabic.\n\n\"You did,\" Mansur agreed.\n\nShe gave him back his ax--he called it Parvaneh (butterfly). He tucked it into the side of his belt so as to be out of sight under his robe, leaving his traditional dagger in its beautiful scabbard on display at the front. The throwing ax as a weapon was rare among Arabs but not for the tribes, and Mansur's was one of them, whose ancestors had encountered the Vikings that had ventured into Arabia where, in exchange for its exotic goods, they had traded not only weapons but also the secret of how to make the superior steel of their blades.\n\nTogether, mistress and servant made their way down the hill through the trees, Adelia stumbling, Mansur striding as easily as on a road.\n\n\"Which of the goats' droppings was that?\" he wanted to know.\n\n\"The one they call Gervase. The other's name is Joscelin, I think.\"\n\n\"Crusaders,\" he said, and spat.\n\nAdelia, too, had little opinion of crusaders. Salerno was on one of the routes to the Holy Land and, whether going out or coming back, most soldiers of the crusading army had been insufferable. As pig-ignorant as they were enthusiastic for God's work, those going out had disrupted the harmony in which different creeds and races lived in Sicily's kingdom by protesting against the presence of Jews, Moors, and even Christians whose practices were different from their own, often attacking them. On the way back, they were usually embittered, diseased, and impoverished--only a few had been rewarded with the fortune or holy grace they'd expected--and, therefore, just as troublesome.\n\nShe knew of some who'd not gone to Outremer at all, merely staying in Salerno until they'd exhausted its bounty before returning home to gain the admiration of their town or village with a few tall tales and a crusading cloak they'd bought cheap in Salerno's market.\n\n\"Well, you scared that one,\" she said now. \"It was a good throw.\"\n\n\"No,\" the Arab said, \"I missed.\"\n\nAdelia turned on him. \"Mansur, you listen to me. We are not here to slaughter the populace....\"\n\nShe stopped. They had come to a track, and just below them was the other crusader, the one called Joscelin, protector of the prioress. He had found one of the hounds and was bending down, attaching a leash to its collar, berating the huntsman who was with him.\n\nAs they came up, he raised his head, smiling, nodded at Mansur, and wished Adelia good day. \"I am glad to see you accompanied, mistress. This is no place for pretty ladies to wander alone, nor anyone else for that matter.\"\n\nNo reference to the incident on the top of the hill, but it was well done; an apology for his friend without directly apologizing, and a reproof to her. Though why call her pretty when she was not, nor, in her present role, did she set out to be? Were men obliged to flirt? If so, she thought reluctantly, this one probably had more success than most.\n\nHe had taken off his helmet and coif, revealing thick, dark hair curled with sweat. His eyes were a startling blue. And, considering his status, he was showing courtesy to a woman who apparently had none.\n\nThe huntsman stood apart, unspeaking, sullenly watching them all.\n\nSir Joscelin inquired after the prior. She was careful to say, indicating Mansur, that the doctor believed his patient to be responding to treatment.\n\nSir Joscelin bowed to the Arab, and Adelia thought that, if nothing else, he'd learned manners on his crusade. \"Ah, yes, Arab medicine,\" he said. \"We gained a respect for it, those of us who went to the Holy Land.\"\n\n\"Did you and your friend go there together?\" She was curious about this disparity between the two men.\n\n\"At separate times,\" he said. \"Oddly enough, though both of us are Cambridge men, we did not meet up again until our return. A vast place, Outremer.\"\n\nHe had done well out of it, to judge from the quality of his boots and the heavy gold ring on his finger.\n\nShe nodded and walked on, remembering only after she and Mansur had passed that she ought to have curtsied to him. Then she forgot him, even forgot the brute who was his friend; she was a doctor, and her mind was directed to her patient.\n\nWhen the prior came back in triumph to the camp, it was to find that the woman had returned and was sitting alone by the remains of the fire while the Saracen packed the cart and harnessed the mules.\n\nHe'd dreaded the moment. Distinguished as he was, he had lain, half-naked and puling with fear, before a woman, a woman, all restraint and dignity gone.\n\nOnly indebtedness, the knowledge that without her ministration he would have died, had stopped him from ignoring her or stealing away before they could meet again.\n\nShe looked up at his step. \"Have you passed water?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Curtly.\n\n\"Without pain?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Good,\" she said.\n\nIt was...he remembered now. A vagabond woman had gone into a difficult labor at the priory gates, and Brother Theo, the priory infirmarian, had perforce attended her. Next morning, when he and Theo had visited mother and baby, he wondering which would be most ashamed by their encounter--the woman, who'd revealed her most intimate parts to a man during the birth, or the monk, who'd had to involve himself with them.\n\nNeither. No embarrassment. They had looked on each other with pride.\n\nSo it was now. The bright brown eyes regarding him were briskly without sex, those of a comrade-in-arms; he was her fellow soldier, a junior one perhaps; they had fought against the enemy together and won.\n\nHe was as grateful to her for that as for his deliverance. He hurried forward and took her hand to his lips. \"Puella mirabile.\"\n\nHad Adelia been demonstrative, which she wasn't, she would have hugged the man. It had worked then. Not having practiced general medicine for so long, she had forgotten the incalculable pleasure of seeing a creature released from suffering. However, he had to be aware of the prognosis.\n\n\"Not as mirabile as all that,\" she told him. \"It could happen again.\"\n\n\"Damn,\" the prior said, \"damn, damn it.\" He recovered himself. \"I beg your pardon, mistress.\"\n\nShe patted his hand and sat him down on the log, settling herself on the grass, her legs tucked beneath her. \"Men have a gland that is accessory to the male generative organs,\" she said. \"It surrounds the neck of the bladder and the commencement of the urethra. In your case, I believe it to be enlarged. Yesterday it pressed so hard that the bladder could not function.\"\n\n\"What am I to do?\" he asked.\n\n\"You must learn to relieve the bladder, should the occasion arise, as I did--using a reed as a catheter.\"\n\n\"Catheter?\" She'd used the Greek word for a tube.\n\n\"You should practice. I can show you.\"\n\nDear God, he thought, she would. Nor would it mean anything to her but a medical procedure. I am discussing these things with a woman; she is discussing them with me.\n\nOn the journey from Canterbury he'd barely noticed her, except as one of the ragtag--though, now that he came to think of it, during the overnight rests at the inns she had joined the nuns in the women's quarters rather than staying in the cart with her men. Last night, when she had frowned down on his privates, she might have been one of his scribes concentrating on a difficult manuscript. This morning, her professionalism sustained them both above the murky waters of gender.\n\nYet she was a woman and, poor thing, as plain as her talk. A woman to blend so well into a crowd as to disappear, a background woman, a mouse among mice. Since she was now in the forefront of his attention, Prior Geoffrey felt an irritation that this should be so. There was no reason for such homeliness; the features were small and regular, as was what little he could see of her body beneath an enveloping cloak. The complexion was good, with the dusky, downy fairness to be found sometimes in northern Italy and Greece. Teeth white. Presumably there was hair beneath the cap with its rolled brim pulled down to her ears. How old was she? Still young.\n\nThe sun shone on a face that eschewed prettiness for intelligence, shrewdness taking away its femininity. No trace of artifice, she was clean, he gave her that, scrubbed like a washboard, but, while the prior was the first to condemn paint on women, this one's lack of artifice was very nearly an affront. A virgin still, he would swear to it.\n\nAdelia saw a man overfed, as so many monastic superiors were, though in this case gluttony was not the result of an appetite for food compensating for the deprivation of sex; she felt safe in his company. Women were natural beings for him; she knew that in an instant because it was so rare, neither harpies nor temptresses. The desires of the flesh were there but not indulged, nor kept in check by the birch. The nice eyes spoke of someone at ease with himself, worldliness living cheek by jowl--too much jowl--with goodness, a man who tolerated petty sins, including his own. He found her curious, of course--everybody did once they'd noticed her.\n\nNice as he was, she was becoming irritated; she'd been up most of the night attending to him; the least he could do was attend to her advice now.\n\n\"Are you listening to me, my lord?\"\n\n\"I beg pardon, mistress.\" He sat up straight.\n\n\"I said I can show you the use of a catheter. The procedure is not difficult when you know how to do it.\"\n\nHe said, \"I think, madam, we will wait upon the necessity.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" It was up to him. \"In the meantime, you carry too much weight. You must take more exercise and eat less.\"\n\nStung, he said, \"I hunt every week.\"\n\n\"On horseback. Follow the hounds on foot instead.\"\n\nDomineering, Prior Geoffrey thought. And she comes from Sicily? His experience of Sicilian women--it had been short but unforgettable--remembered the allures of Araby: dark eyes smiling at him above a veil, the touch of hennaed fingers, words as soft as the skin, the scent of...\n\nGod's bones, Adelia thought, why do they attach such importance to frippery? \"I can't be bothered,\" she said snappily.\n\n\"Eh?\"\n\nShe sighed with impatience. \"I see you are regretting that the woman, like the doctor, is unadorned. It always happens.\" She glared at him. \"You are getting the truth of both, Master Prior. If you want them bedecked, go elsewhere. Turn over that stone\"--she pointed to a flint nearby--\"and you will find a charlatan who will dazzle you with the favorable conjunction of Mercury and Venus, flatter your future, and sell you colored water for a gold piece. I can't be bothered with it. From me you get the actuality.\"\n\nHe was taken aback. Here was the confidence, even arrogance, of a skilled artisan. She might be a plumber he'd called in to mend a burst pipe.\n\nExcept, he remembered, that she'd stopped his particular pipe from bursting. However, even practicality could do with ornamentation. \"Are you as direct with all your patients?\" he asked.\n\n\"I don't have patients usually,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not surprised.\"\n\nAnd she laughed.\n\nEntrancing, the prior thought. He remembered Horace: Dulce riden tem Lalagen amabo. I will love Lalage, who laughs so sweetly. Yet laughter in this young woman gave her instant vulnerability and innocence, being at such odds with the stern lecturing she'd assumed before, so that his sudden welling affection was not for a Lalage but for a daughter. I must protect her, he thought.\n\nShe was holding something out to him. \"I have prescribed a diet for you.\"\n\n\"Paper, by the Lord,\" he said. \"Where did you obtain paper?\"\n\n\"The Arabs make it.\"\n\nHe glanced at the list; her writing was abominable, but he could just decipher it. \"Water? Boiled water? Eight cups a day? Madam, would you kill me? The poet Horace tells us that nothing of worth can come from drinkers of water.\"\n\n\"Try Martial,\" she said. \"He lived longer. Non est vivere, sed valere vita est. Life's not just being alive but being well.\"\n\nHe shook his head in wonder. Humbly, he said, \"I beg you, tell me your name.\"\n\n\"Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar,\" Adelia said. \"Or Dr. Trotula, if you prefer, which is a title conferred on women professors in the school.\"\n\nHe didn't prefer. \"Vesuvia? A pretty name, most unusual.\"\n\n\"Adelia,\" she said, \"I was merely found on Vesuvius.\" She was stretching out her hand as if to hold his. He held his breath.\n\nInstead she took his wrist, her thumb on its top, the other fingers pressed into its soft underpart. Her fingernails were short and clean, like the rest of her. \"I was exposed on the mountain as a baby. In a crock.\" She talked absently, and he saw that she was not really informing him, merely keeping him quiet while she sounded his pulse. \"The two doctors who found and raised me thought it possible I was Greek, exposure having been a Greek custom with an unwanted daughter.\"\n\nShe let go of his wrist, shaking her head. \"Too fast,\" she said. \"Truly, you should lose weight.\" He must be preserved, she thought. He would be a loss.\n\nPeculiarity after peculiarity was making the prior's head reel. And while the Lord might exalt those of low degree, there was no necessity for her to display her ignoble beginnings to all and sundry. Dear, dear. Away from her milieu, she would be as exposed as a snail without its shell. He asked, \"You were raised by two men?\"\n\nShe was affronted, as if he suggested her upbringing had been abnormal. \"They were married,\" she said, frowning. \"My foster mother is also a Trotula. A Christian-born Salernitan.\"\n\n\"And your foster father?\"\n\n\"A Jew.\"\n\nHere it was again. Did these people blurt it to the fowls of the air? \"So you were brought up in his faith?\" It mattered to him; she was a brand, his brand, a most precious brand, to be saved from the burning.\n\nShe said, \"I have no faith except in what can be proved.\"\n\nThe prior was appalled. \"Do you not acknowledge the Creation? God's purpose?\"\n\n\"There was creation, certainly. Whether there was purpose, I don't know.\"\n\nMy God, my God, he thought, do not strike her down. I have need of her. She knows not what she says.\n\nShe was standing up. Her eunuch had turned the cart ready for its descent to the road. Simon was walking toward them.\n\nThe prior said, because even apostates had to be paid, and he pitied this one with all his heart, \"Mistress Adelia, I am in your debt and would weight my end of the scales. A boon and, with God's grace, I will grant it.\"\n\nShe turned and regarded him, considering. She saw the nice eyes, the clever mind, the goodness; she liked him. But the command of her profession was for his body--not yet, but one day. The gland that had restricted the bladder, weigh it, compare it...\n\nSimon broke into a run; he'd seen that look of hers before. She had no judgment other than in medicine; she was about to ask the prior for his corpse when he died. \"My lord, my lord.\" He was panting. \"My lord, if you would grant a kindness, prevail upon the prioress to let Dr. Trotula view Little Saint Peter's remains. It may be that she can throw light on the manner of his passing.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" Prior Geoffrey looked at Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar. \"And how may you do that?\"\n\n\"I am a doctor to the dead,\" she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "As they approached the great gate of Barnwell Abbey, they could see Cambridge Castle in the distance on the only height for miles around, its outline made ragged and prickly by the remains of the tower that had been burned the year before and the scaffolding now surrounding it. A pygmy of a fortress compared with the great citadels hung upon the Appenines that Adelia knew, it nevertheless lent a burly charm to the view.\n\n\"Of Roman foundation,\" Prior Geoffrey said, \"built to guard the river crossing, though, like many another, it failed to hold off either Viking or Dane--nor Duke William the Norman, come to that; having destroyed it, he had to build it up again.\"\n\nThe cavalcade was smaller now; the prioress had hastened ahead, taking her nun, her knight, and cousin Roger of Acton with her. The merchant and his wife had turned off toward Cherry Hinton.\n\nPrior Geoffrey, once more horsed and resplendent at the head of the procession, was forced to lean down to address his saviors on the driving bench of the mule cart. His knight, Sir Gervase, brought up the rear, scowling.\n\n\"Cambridge will surprise you,\" the prior was saying. \"We have a fine School of Pythagoras, to which students come from all over. Despite its inland position, it is a port, and a busy one, nearly as busy as Dover--though blessedly more free of the French. The waters of the Cam may be sluggish, but they are navigable to their conjunction with the River Ouse that, in turn, discharges into the North Sea. I think I may say that there are few countries of the world's East that do not come to our quays with goods that are then passed on by mule trains to all parts of England along the Roman roads that bisect the town.\"\n\n\"And what do you send back, my lord?\" Simon asked.\n\n\"Wool. Fine East Anglian wool.\" Prior Geoffrey smirked with the satisfaction of a high prelate whose grazing provided a good proportion of it. \"Smoked fish, eels, oysters. Oh, yes, Master Simon, you may mark Cambridge to be prosperous in trade and, dare I say it, cosmopolitan in outlook.\"\n\nDare he say it? His heart misgave as he regarded the three in the cart; even in a town accustomed to mustached Scandinavians, Low Countrymen in clogs, slit-eyed Russians, Templars, Hospitallers from the Holy Lands, curly-hatted Magyars, snake charmers, could this trio of oddities go unremarked? He looked around him, then leaned lower and hissed. \"How do you intend to present yourselves?\"\n\nSimon said innocently, \"Since our good Mansur has already been credited with your cure, my lord, I thought to continue the deception by setting him up as a medical man with Dr. Trotula and myself as his assistants. Perhaps the marketplace? Some center from which to pursue our inquiries...\"\n\n\"In that damned cart?\" The indignation Simon of Naples had courted was forthcoming. \"Would you have the lady Adelia spat on by women traders? Importuned by passing vagabonds?\" The prior calmed himself. \"I see the need to disguise her profession, lady doctors being unknown in England. Certainly, she would be considered outlandish.\" Even more outlandish than she is, he thought. \"We shall not have her degraded as some quacksalver's drab. We are a respectable town, Master Simon, we can do better for you than that.\"\n\n\"My lord.\" Simon's hand touched his forehead in gratitude. And to himself: I thought you might.\n\n\"Nor would it be wise for any of you to declare your faith--or lack of it,\" the prior continued. \"Cambridge is a tightly wound crossbow, any abnormality may loose it again.\" Especially, he thought, as these three particular abnormalities were determined on probing Cambridge's wounds.\n\nHe paused. The tax collector had come up and reined his horse to the mule's amble, waving an obeisance to the prior, sending a nod to Simon and Mansur, and addressing Adelia: \"Madam, we have been in convoy together, and yet we have not been introduced. Sir Rowley Picot at your service. May I congratulate you on effecting the good prior's recovery?\"\n\nQuickly, Simon leaned forward. \"The congratulations belong to this gentleman, sir.\" He indicated Mansur, who was driving. \"He is our doctor.\"\n\nThe tax collector was interested. \"Indeed? One was informed that a female voice was heard directing the operation.\"\n\nWas one, indeed? And by whom? Simon wondered. He nudged Mansur. \"Say something,\" he told him in Arabic.\n\nMansur ignored him.\n\nSurreptitiously, Simon kicked him on the ankle \"Speak to him, you lump.\"\n\n\"What does the fat shit want me to say?\"\n\n\"The doctor is pleased that he has been of service to my lord prior,\" Simon told the tax inspector. \"He says he hopes he may administer as well to anyone in Cambridge who wishes to consult him.\"\n\n\"Does he?\" Sir Rowley Picot said, neglecting to mention his own knowledge of Arabic. \"He says it amazing high.\"\n\n\"Exactly, Sir Rowley,\" Simon said. \"His voice can be mistaken for a woman's.\" He became confidential. \"I should explain that the lord Mansur was taken by monks while yet a child, and his singing voice was discovered to be so beautiful that they...er...ensured it would remain so.\"\n\n\"A castrato, by God,\" Sir Rowley said, staring.\n\n\"He devotes himself to medicine now, of course,\" Simon said, \"but when he sings in praise of the Lord, the angels weep with envy.\"\n\nMansur had heard the word \"castrato\" and lapsed into cursing, causing more angels' tears by his strictures on Christians in general, and the unhealthy affection existing between camels and the mothers of the Byzantine monks who'd gelded him in particular--the sound issuing in an Arabic treble that rivaled birdsong and melted on the air like sweet icicles.\n\n\"You see, Sir Rowley?\" Simon asked over it. \"That was doubtless the voice heard.\"\n\nSir Rowley said, \"It must have been.\" And again, smiling with apology, \"It must have been.\"\n\nHe continued to try and engage Adelia in conversation, but her replies were short and sullen; she'd had her fill of importuning Englishmen. Her attention was on the countryside. Having lived among hills, she had expected to be repelled by flat land; she had not reckoned on such enormous skies, nor the significance they gave to a lonely tree, the crook of a rare chimney, a single church tower, outlined against them. The multiplicity of greenness suggested unknown herbs to be discovered, the strip fields made chessboards of emerald and black.\n\nAnd willows. The landscape was full of them, lining streams, dikes, and lanes. Crack willow for stabilizing the banks, golden willow, white willow, gray willow, goat willow, willows for making bats, for growing osiers, bay willow, almond willow, beautiful with the sun dappling through their branches, and more beautiful still because, with a concoction of willow bark, you could relieve pain....\n\nShe was jerked forward as Mansur pulled in the mules. The procession had come to an abrupt halt, for Prior Geoffrey had held up his hand and begun to pray. The men swept off their caps and held them to their breasts.\n\nEntering the gate was a dray splashed with mud. A dirty piece of canvas laid on it showed the shape of three small bundles beneath. The drayman led his horses with his head bowed. A woman followed him, shrieking and tearing at her clothing.\n\nThe missing children had been found.\n\nThe Church of Saint Andrew the Less in the grounds of Saint Augustine's, Barnwell, was two hundred feet long, a carved and painted glory to God. But today the grisailled spring sunlight from the high windows ignored the glorious hammer roof, the faces of recumbent stone priors round the walls, the statue of Saint Augustine, the ornate pulpit, the glitter of altar and triptych.\n\nInstead it fell in shafts on three small catafalques in the nave, each covered with a violet cloth, and on the heads of the kneeling men and women in working clothes gathered round them.\n\nThe remains of the children, all three, had been found on a sheep path near Fleam Dyke that morning. A shepherd had stumbled over them at dawn and was still shuddering. \"Weren't there last night, I'll take my oath, Prior. Couldn't have been, could they? The foxes ain't been at them. Lying neat side by side they was, bless them. Or neat as they could be, considering...\" He'd stopped to retch.\n\nAn object had been laid on each body, resembling those that had been left at the site of each child's disappearance. Made from rushes, they resembled the Star of David.\n\nPrior Geoffrey had ordered the three bundles taken to the church, resisting one mother's desperate attempts to unwrap them. He had sent to the castle, warning the sheriff that it might be attacked again and requesting the sheriff's reeve in his capacity as coroner to view the remains immediately and order a public inquest. He'd imposed calm--though it rumbled with underlying heat.\n\nNow, resonating with certainty, his voice stilled the mother's shrieks into a quiet sobbing as he read the assurance that death would be swallowed up in victory. \"We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump.\"\n\nAlmost, the scent issuing in from the bluebells outside the open doors and the lavished incense from within them covered the stench of decay.\n\nAlmost, the clear chant of the canons drowned out the buzz of trapped flies coming from under the violet mantles.\n\nSaint Paul's words assuaged a little of the prior's grief as he envisaged the souls of the children romping in God's meadows, yet not his anger that they had been catapulted into them before their time. Two of the children he did not know, but one of the boys was Harold, the eel seller's son, who had been a pupil at Saint Augustine's own school. Six years old and a bright child, learning his letters once a week. Identified by his red hair. A right little Saxon, too--he'd scrumped apples from the priory orchard last autumn.\n\nAnd I tanned his backside for him, the prior thought.\n\nFrom the shadow of a rear pillar, Adelia watched some comfort seep into the faces round the catafalques. The closeness between priory and town was strange to her; in Salerno, monks, even monks who went out into the world to perform their duties, kept a distance between themselves and the laity.\n\n\"But we are not monks,\" Prior Geoffrey had told her, \"we are canons.\" It seemed a slight dissimilarity: Both lived in community, both vowed celibacy, both served the Christian God, yet here in Cambridge the distinction made a difference. When the church bell had tolled the news that the children were found, people from the town had come running--to hug and to be hugged in commiseration.\n\n\"Our rule is less rigid than Benedictine or Cistercian,\" the prior had explained, \"less time given to prayer and choral duty and more to education, relief of the poor and sick, hearing confession, and general parish work.\" He'd tried to smile. \"You will approve, my dear Doctor. Moderation in all things.\"\n\nNow she watched him come down from the choir after the dismissal and walk with the parents into the sunlight, promising to officiate at the funerals himself, \"and discover the devil who has done this.\"\n\n\"We know who done it, Prior,\" one of the fathers said. Agreement echoed like the growl of dogs.\n\n\"It cannot be the Jews, my son. They are still secured in the castle.\"\n\n\"They're getting out someways.\"\n\nThe bodies, still under their violet cloths, were carried reverently on litters out a side door, accompanied by the sheriff's reeve, wearing his coroner's hat.\n\nThe church emptied. Simon and Mansur had wisely not attempted to come. A Jew and a Saracen among these sacred stones? At such a time?\n\nWith her goatskin carryall at her feet, Adelia waited in the shadow of one of the bays next to the tomb of Paulus, Prior Canon of Saint Augustine's, Barnwell, taken to God in the year of Our Lord 1151. She nerved herself for what was to come.\n\nShe had never yet shirked a postmortem examination; she would not shirk this one. It was why she was here. Gordinus had said, \"I am sending you with Simon of Naples on this mission not just because you are the only doctor of the dead to speak English, but because you are the best.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she'd said, \"but I do not want to go.\"\n\nShe'd had to. It had been ordered by the King of Sicily.\n\nIn the cool stone hall that the Medical School of Salerno devoted to dissection, she'd always had the proper equipment and Mansur to assist her, relying on her foster father, head of the department, to relay her findings to the authorities. For, though Adelia could read death better than her foster father, better than anybody, the fiction had to be maintained that the investigation of bodies sent by the signoria was the province of Dr. Gershom bin Aguilar. Even in Salerno, where female doctors were permitted to practice, the dissection that helped the dead to explain how they'd died--and, very often, at whose hands--was regarded with revulsion by the Church.\n\nSo far science had fought off religion; other doctors knew the use of Adelia's work, and it was an open secret among the lay authorities. But should an official complaint be made to the Pope, she'd be banned from the mortuary and, quite possibly, the school of medicine itself. So, though he writhed under the hypocrisy, Gershom took credit for achievements that were not his.\n\nWhich suited Adelia to her boots. Staying in the background was her forte: for one thing, it avoided the Church's eye; for another thing, she did not know how to converse on womanly subjects as she was expected to, and did it badly because they bored her. Like a hedgehog blending into autumn leaves, she was prickly to those who tried to bring her into the light.\n\nIt was another matter if you were ill. Before she devoted herself to postmortem work, the sick had seen a side to Adelia that few others did, and still remembered her as an angel without wings. Recovering male patients had tended to fall in love with her, and it would have surprised the prior to learn that she'd received more requests for her hand in marriage than many a rich Salernitan beauty. All had been turned down. It was said in the school's mortuary that Adelia was interested in you only if you were dead.\n\nCadavers of every age came to that long marble table in the school from all over southern Italy and Sicily, sent by signoria and praetori who had reason to want to know how and why they'd died. Usually, she found out for them; corpses were her work, as normal to her as his last to a shoemaker. She approached the bodies of children in the same way, determined that the truth of their death should not be buried with them, but they distressed her, always pitiful and, in the case of those who had been murdered, always shocking. The three awaiting her now were likely to be as terrible as any she had seen. Not only that, but she must examine them in secrecy, without the equipment provided by the school, without Mansur to assist her, and, most of all, without her foster father's encouragement: \"Adelia, you must not quail. You are confounding inhumanity.\"\n\nHe never told her she was confounding evil--at least, not Evil with a capital E, for Gershom bin Aguilar believed that Man provided his own evil and his own good, neither the devil nor God having anything to do with it. Only in the medical school of Salerno could he preach that doctrine, and even there not very loudly.\n\nThe concession to allow her to carry out this particular investigation, in a backward English town where she could be stoned for doing it, was a marvel in itself and one that Simon of Naples had fought hard to gain. The prior had been reluctant to give his permission, appalled that a woman was prepared to carry out such work and fearing what would happen if it were known that a foreigner had peered at and prodded the poor corpses: \"Cambridge would regard it as desecration; I'm not sure it isn't.\"\n\nSimon had said, \"My lord, let us find out how the children died, for it is certain that incarcerated Jews could have had no hand in it; we are modern men, we know wings do not sprout from human shoulders. Somewhere, a murderer walks free. Allow those sad little bodies to tell us who he is. The dead speak to Dr. Trotula. It is her work. They will talk to her.\"\n\nAs far as Prior Geoffrey was concerned, talking dead were in the same category as winged humans: \"It is against the teaching of Holy Mother Church to invade the sanctity of the body.\"\n\nHe gave way at last only on Simon's promise that there would be no dissection, only examination.\n\nSimon suspected that the prior's compliance also arose less from belief that the corpses would speak than from the fear that, if she were refused, Adelia would return to the place from which she'd come, leaving him to face the next onslaught of his bladder without her.\n\nSo now, here, in a country she hadn't wanted to come to in the first place, she must confront the worst of all inhumanities alone.\n\nBut that, Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, is your purpose, she told herself. In times of uncertainty, she liked to recount the names that had been lavished on her, along with education and their own extraordinary ideas, by the couple that had picked her up from her lava-strewn cradle on Vesuvius and taken her home. Only you are fitted to do it, so do it.\n\nIn her hand was one of the three objects that had been found on the bodies of the dead children. One had been already delivered to the sheriff, one torn to pieces by a rampaging father. The third had been saved by the prior, who had quietly passed it to her.\n\nCarefully, so as not to attract attention, she held it up to catch a shaft of light. It was made of rushes, beautifully and with great intricacy woven into a quincunx. If it was meant to be a Star of David, the weaver had left out one of the points. A message? An attempt to incriminate the Jews by someone poorly acquainted with Judaism? A signature?\n\nIn Salerno, she thought, it would have been possible to locate the limited number of people with skill enough to make it, but in Cambridge, where rushes grew inexhaustibly by the rivers and streams, weaving them was a household activity; merely passing along the road to this great priory, she had seen women sitting in doorways, their hands engaged in making mats and baskets that were works of art, men thatching rush roofs into ornate sculptures.\n\nNo, there was nothing the star could tell her at this stage.\n\nPrior Geoffrey came bustling back in. \"The coroner has looked at the bodies and ordered a public inquest--\"\n\n\"What did he have to say?\"\n\n\"He pronounced them dead.\" At Adelia's blink, he said, \"Yes, yes, but it is his duty--coroners are not chosen for their medical knowledge. Now then, I've lodged the remains in Saint Werbertha's anchorage. It is quiet there, and cold, a little dark for your purposes, but I have provided lamps. A vigil will be kept, of course, but it shall be delayed until you have made your examination. Officially, you are there to do the laying out.\"\n\nAgain, a blink.\n\n\"Yes, yes, it will be regarded as strange, but I am the prior of this foundation and my law is second only to Almighty God's.\" He bustled her to the side door of the church and gave her directions. A novice weeding the cloister garden looked up in curiosity, but a click of his superior's fingers sent him back to work. \"I would come with you, but I must go to the castle and discuss eventualities with the sheriff. Between us, we have to prevent another riot.\"\n\nWatching the small, brown-clad figure trudge off carrying its goatskin bag, the prior prayed that in this case, his law and Almighty God's coincided.\n\nHe turned round in order to snatch a minute in prayer at the altar, but a large shadow detached itself from one of the nave's pillars, startling him and making him angry. It had a roll of vellum in its hand.\n\n\"What do you here, Sir Rowley?\"\n\n\"I was about to plead for a private view of the bodies, my lord,\" the tax collector said, \"but it seems I have been preempted.\"\n\n\"That is the job of the coroner, and he's done it. There will be an official inquest in a day or two.\"\n\nSir Rowley nodded toward the side door. \"Yet I heard you instructing that lady to examine them further. Do you hope for her to tell you more?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey looked around for help and found none.\n\nThe tax collector asked with apparent genuine interest, \"How might she do that? Conjurement? Invocation? Is she a necromancer? A witch?\"\n\nHe'd gone too far. The prior said quietly, \"Those children are sacred to me, my son, as is this church. You may leave.\"\n\n\"I apologize, my lord.\" The tax collector didn't look sorry. \"But I too have a concern in this matter, and I have here the king's warrant whereby to pursue it.\" He waved a roll so that the royal seal swung. \"What is that woman?\"\n\nA king's warrant trumped the authority of a canonry prior, even one whose word was next to God's. Sullenly, Prior Geoffrey said, \"She is a doctor versed in the morbid sciences.\"\n\n\"Of course. Salerno. I should have known.\" The tax collector whistled with satisfaction. \"A woman doctor from the only place in Christendom where that is not a contradiction in terms.\"\n\n\"You know it?\"\n\n\"Stopped there once.\"\n\n\"Sir Rowley.\" The prior raised his hand in admonition. \"For the safety of that young woman, for the peace of this community and town, what I have told you must remain within these walls.\"\n\n\"Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur, my lord. First thing they teach a tax collector.\"\n\nNot so much wise as cunning, the prior decided, but probably able to keep silent. What was the man's purpose? At a sudden thought, he held out his hand. \"Let me see that warrant.\" He examined it, then handed it back. \"This is merely the usual tax collector's warrant. Is the king taxing the dead now?\"\n\n\"Indeed not, my lord.\" Sir Rowley seemed affronted by the idea. \"Or not more than usual. But if the lady is to conduct an unofficial inquest, it might subject both town and priory to punitive taxes--I don't say it will, but the regular amercements, confiscation of goods, et cetera, might apply.\" The plump cheeks bunched in an engaging smile. \"Unless, of course, I am present to see that all is correct.\"\n\nThe prior was beaten. So far Henry II had withheld his hand, but it was fairly certain that at the next assize, Cambridge would be fined, and fined heavily, for the death of one of the king's most profitable Jews.\n\nAny infringement of his laws gave the king an opportunity to fill his coffers at the expense of the infringers. Henry listened to his tax collectors, the most dreaded of royal underlings; if this one should report to him an irregularity connected with the children's deaths, then the teeth of that rapacious Plantagenet leopard might tear the heart out of the town.\n\n\"What do you want of us, Sir Rowley?\" Prior Geoffrey asked wearily.\n\n\"I want to see those bodies.\" The words were spoken quietly, but they flicked at the prior like a lash.\n\nApart from the fact that its three-foot-thick walls kept it cool, and its situation in a glade at the far end of Barnwell's deer park was isolated, the cell in which the Saxon anchoress Saint Werbertha had passed her adult life--until, that is, it had been ended somewhat abruptly by invading Danes--was unsuitable for Adelia's purposes. For one thing, it was small. For another, despite the two lamps the prior had provided, it was dark. A slit of a window was shut by a wooden slide. Cow parsley frothed waist-high around a tiny door set in an arch.\n\nDamn all this secrecy. She would have to keep the door open in order to have enough light--and the place was already beset by flies trying to get in. How did they expect her to work in these conditions?\n\nAdelia put her goatskin bag on the grass outside, opened it to check its contents, checked them again--and knew she was putting off the moment when she would have to open the door.\n\nThis was ridiculous; she was not an amateur. Quickly, she knelt and asked the dead beyond the door to forgive her for handling their remains. She asked to be reminded not to forget the respect owed to them. \"Permit your flesh and bone to tell me what your voices cannot.\"\n\nShe always did this; whether the dead heard her she was unsure, but she was not the complete atheist her foster father was, though she suspected that what lay ahead of her this afternoon might convert her into one.\n\nShe rose, took her oilcloth apron from the bag, put it on, removed her cap, tied the gauze helmet with its glazed eyepiece over her head, and opened the cell door....\n\nSir Rowley picot enjoyed the walk, pleased with himself. It was going to be easier than he'd thought. A mad female, a mad foreign female, was always going to be forced to succumb to his authority, but it was unexpected bounty that someone of Prior Geoffrey's standing should also be under his thumb through association with the same female.\n\nNearing the anchorage, he paused. It looked like an overgrown beehive--Lord, how the old hermits loved discomfort. And there she was, a figure bending over something on a table just inside its open door.\n\nTo test her, he called out, \"Doctor.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nAh, hah, Sir Rowley thought. How easy. Like snatching a moth.\n\nAs she straightened and turned toward him, he began, \"You remember me, madam? I am Sir Rowley Picot, whom the prior--\"\n\n\"I don't care who you are,\" the moth snapped. \"Come in here and keep the flies off.\" She emerged, and he was presented with an aproned human figure with the head of an insect. It tore a clump of cow parsley from the ground and, at his approach, shoved the umbellifers at him.\n\nIt wasn't what Sir Rowley had in mind, but he followed her, squeezing through the door to the beehive with some difficulty.\n\nAnd squeezing out again. \"Oh my God.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" She was cross, nervy.\n\nHe leaned against the arch of the doorway, breathing deeply. \"Sweet Jesus, have mercy on us all.\" The stench was appalling. Even worse was what lay exposed on the table.\n\nShe tutted with irritation. \"Stand in the doorway then. Can you write?\"\n\nWith his eyes closed, Rowley nodded. \"First thing they teach a tax collector.\"\n\nShe handed him a slate and chalk. \"Put down what I tell you. In between times, keep fanning the flies away.\"\n\nThe anger went out of her voice, and she began speaking in monotone. \"The remains of a young female. Some fair hair still attached to the skull. Therefore she is\"--she broke off to consult a list she'd inked onto the back of her hand--\"Mary. The wildfowler's daughter. Six years old. Disappeared Saint Ambrose, that is, what, a year ago? Are you writing?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" The chalk squeaked over the slate, but Sir Rowley kept his face to the open air.\n\n\"The bones are unclothed. Flesh almost entirely decomposed; what there is has been in contact with chalk. There is a dusting of what appears to be dried silt on the spine, also some lodged in the rear of the pelvis. Is there silt near here?\"\n\n\"We're on the edge of the silt fens. They were found on the fen edge.\"\n\n\"Were the bodies lying faceup?\"\n\n\"God, I don't know.\"\n\n\"Hmm, if so, it would account for the traces on the back. They are slight; she wasn't buried in silt, more likely chalk. Hands and feet tied by strips of black material.\" There was a pause. \"There are tweezers in my bag. Give them to me.\"\n\nHe fumbled in the bag and passed on a pair of thin wooden tweezers, saw her use them to pick at a strip of something and hold it to the light.\n\n\"Mother of God.\" He returned to the doorway, his arm reaching inside to continue whisking the cow parsley about. From the woodland beyond came the call of the cuckoo, confirming the warmth of the day, and the smell of bluebells among the trees. Welcome, he thought, oh God, welcome. You're late this year.\n\n\"Fan harder,\" she snapped at him, then resumed her monotone. \"These ties are strips of wool. Mmm. Pass me a vial. Here, here. Where are you, blast you?\" He retrieved a vial from her bag, gave it to her, waited, and retook possession of it, now containing a dreadful strip. \"There are crumbs of chalk in the hair. Also, an object adhering to it. Hmm. Lozenge-shaped, possibly a sticky sweetmeat of some kind that has now dried to the strands. It will need further examination. Hand me another vial.\"\n\nHe was instructed to seal both vials with red clay from the bag. \"Red for Mary, a different color for each of the others. See to it, please.\"\n\n\"Yes, Doctor.\"\n\nUsually prior Geoffrey went in pomp to the castle, just as Sheriff Baldwin returned his visits with equal pomp; a town must always be aware of its two most important men. Today, however, it was a sign of how troubled the prior was that trumpeter and retinue had been left behind and he rode across Great Bridge to Castle Hill with only Brother Ninian in attendance.\n\nTownspeople pursued him, hanging on to his stirrups. To all of them he replied in the negative. No, it wasn't the Jews. How could it have been? No, be calm. No, the fiend hadn't been caught yet, but he would be, God's grace he would be. No, leave the Jews be, they did not do this.\n\nHe worried for Jew and Gentile. Another riot would bring the king's anger down on the town.\n\nAnd as if that wasn't enough, the prior thought savagely, there was the tax collector, God punish him and all his breed. Apart from the fact that Sir Rowley's probing fingers were now investigating a matter the prior would rather, much rather, they had not meddled with, he was concerned for Adelia--and for himself.\n\nThe upstart will tell the king, he thought. Both she and I will be undone. He suspects necromancy; she will be hanged for it, while I...I shall be reported to the Pope and cast out. And why, if the taxman wished to see the bodies so much, did he not insist on being present when the coroner examined them? Why avoid officialdom when the man was, himself, official?\n\nJust as troubling was the familiarity of Sir Rowley's round face--Sir Rowley, indeed; since when did the king confer knighthood on tax collectors?--it had bothered him all the way from Canterbury.\n\nAs his horse began to labor up the steep road to the castle, the prior's mind's eye pictured the scene that had been played out on this very hill a year ago. Sheriff's men trying to hold off a maddened crowd from frightened Jews, himself and the sheriff bellowing uselessly for order.\n\nPanic and loathing, ignorance and violence...the devil had been in Cambridge that day.\n\nAnd so had the tax collector. A face glimpsed in the crowd and forgotten until now. Contorted like all the others as its owner struggled...struggled with whom? Against the sheriff's men? Or for them? In that hideous conglomeration of noise and limbs, it had been impossible to tell.\n\nThe prior clicked his horse to go on.\n\nThe man's presence on that day in this place was not necessarily sinister; sheriffs and taxmen went together. The sheriff collected the king's revenue; the king's collector ensured that the sheriff didn't keep too much of it.\n\nThe prior reined in. But I saw him at Saint Radegund's fair much later. The man was applauding a stilt-walker. And that was when little Mary went missing. God save us.\n\nThe prior dug his heels into the horse's side. Quickly now. More urgent than ever to talk to the sheriff.\n\n\"Mmm. The pelvis is chipped from below, possibly accidental damage postmortem but, since the slashes seem to have been inflicted with considerable force and the other bones show no damage, more probably caused by a instrument piercing upward in an attack on the vagina....\"\n\nRowley hated her, hated her equable, measured voice. She did violence to the feminine even by enunciating the words. It was not for her to open her woman's lips and give them shape, loosing foulness into the air. She had become spokesman for the deed and thereby complicit in its doing. A perpetrator, a hag. Her eyes should not look on what she saw without expelling blood.\n\nAdelia was forcing herself to see a pig. Pigs were what she'd learned on. Pigs--the nearest approximation in the animal world to human flesh and bone. Up in the hills, behind a high wall, Gordinus had kept dead pigs for his students, some buried, some exposed to the air, some in a wooden hut, others in a stone byre.\n\nMost of the students introduced to his death farm had been revolted by the flies and stench and had fallen away; only Adelia saw the wonder of the process that reduced a cadaver to nothing. \"For even a skeleton is impermanent and, left to itself, will eventually crumble to dust,\" Gordinus had said. \"What marvelous design it is, my dear, that we are not overwhelmed by a thousand years' worth of accumulated corpses.\"\n\nIt was marvelous, a mechanism that went into action as breath departed the body, releasing it to its own device. Decomposition fascinated her because--and she still didn't understand how--it would occur even without the help of the flesh flies and blowflies, which, if the corpse were accessible to them, came in next.\n\nSo, having achieved qualification as a doctor, she'd learned her new trade on pigs. On pigs in spring, pigs in summer, pigs in autumn and winter, each season with its own rate of decay. How they died. When. Pigs set up, pigs with heads down, pigs lying, pigs slaughtered, pigs dead from disease, pigs buried, pigs unburied, pigs kept in water, old pigs, sows that had littered, boars, piglets.\n\nThe piglet. The moment of divide. Recently dead, only a few days old. She'd carried it to Gordinus's house. \"Something new,\" she'd said. \"This matter in its anus, I can't place it.\"\n\n\"Something old,\" he'd told her, \"old as sin. It is human semen.\"\n\nHe'd guided her to his balcony overlooking the turquoise sea and sat her down and fortified her with a glass of his best red wine and asked her if she wanted to proceed or return to ordinary doctoring. \"Will you see the truth or avoid it?\"\n\nHe'd read her Virgil, one of the Georgics, she couldn't remember which, that took her into roadless, sun-soaked Tuscan hills, where lambs, full of winey milk, leaped for the joy of leaping, tended by shepherds swaying to the pipes of Pan.\n\n\"Any one of which may take a sheep, shove its back legs into his boots and his organ into its back passage,\" Gordinus had said.\n\n\"No,\" she'd said.\n\n\"Or into a child.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Or a baby.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" he'd said, \"I have seen it. Does that spoil the Georgics for you?\"\n\n\"It spoils everything.\" Then she'd said, \"I cannot continue.\"\n\n\"Man hovers between Paradise and the Pit,\" Gordinus told her cheerfully. \"Sometimes rising to one, sometimes swooping to the other. To ignore his capacity for evil is as obtuse as blinding oneself to the heights to which he can soar. It may be that it is all one to the sweep of the planets. You have seen Man's depths for yourself. I have just read you some lines of his upward flight. Go home, then, Doctor, and put on the blindfold, I do not blame you. But at the same time, plug your ears to the cries of the dead. The truth is not for you.\"\n\nShe had gone home, to the schools and hospitals to receive the plaudits of those she taught and to whom she administered, but her eyes were unbound now, and her ears unplugged, and she had become pestered by the cries of the dead, so she'd returned to the study of pigs and, when she was ready, to human corpses.\n\nHowever, in cases like the one on the table before her now, she resumed a metaphorical blindfold so that she could still function, donning self-imposed blinkers to halt a descent into uselessness through despair, a necessary obscurity that permitted sight but allowed her to see not the torn, once immaculate body of a child but instead the familiar corpse of a pig.\n\nThe stabbing around the pelvis had left distinctive marks; she had seen knife wounds before, but none like these. The blade of the instrument that had caused them appeared to be much faceted. She would have liked to remove the pelvis for leisurely examination in better light, but she had promised Prior Geoffrey to do no dissection. She clicked her fingers for the man to pass her the slate and chalk.\n\nHe studied her while she drew. Slants of sunlight from between the bars of Saint Werbertha's tiny window fell on her as on a monstrous blowfly hovering over the thing on the table. The gauze smoothed the features of her face into something lepidopteral, pressing strands of hair against her head like flattened antennae. And hmmm, the thing buzzed with the insistence of the feeding, winging, clustering cloud that hovered with her.\n\nShe finished the diagram and held out the slate and chalk so that the man could receive them back. \"Take them,\" she snapped. She was missing Mansur. When Sir Rowley didn't move, she turned and saw his look. She'd seen it on others. Wearily, she said, almost to herself, \"Why do they always want to shoot the messenger?\"\n\nHe stared back at her. Was that what his anger was?\n\nShe came outside, brushing away flies. \"This child is telling me what happened to her. With luck, she may even tell me where. From that, with even more luck, we may be able to deduce who. If you do not wish to learn these things, then get to hell. But first, fetch me someone who does.\"\n\nShe lifted the helmet from her head, clawing her fingers through her hair, a glimpse of dark blond, turning her face to the sun.\n\nIt was the eyes, he thought. With her eyes closed, she reverted to her years, which, he saw, numbered a few less than his own, and to something approximating the feminine. Not for him; he preferred them sweeter. And plumper. The eyes, when open, aged her. Cold and dark like pebbles--and with as much emotion. Not surprising, when you considered what they looked on.\n\nBut if in truth she could work the oracle...\n\nThe eyes turned on him. \"Well?\"\n\nHe snatched the slate and chalk from her hand. \"Your servant, mistress.\"\n\n\"There's more gauze in there,\" she said. \"Cover your face, then come in and make yourself useful.\"\n\nAnd manners, he thought, he liked them with manners. But as she retied her mask over her head, squared her skinny shoulders, and marched back into the charnel house, he recognized the gallantry of a tired soldier reentering battle.\n\nThe second bundle contained Harold, redheaded son of the eel seller, pupil at the priory school.\n\n\"The flesh is better preserved than Mary's, to the point of mummification. The eyelids have been cut away. Also the genitals.\"\n\nRowley put down the whisk to cross himself.\n\nThe slate became covered with unutterable words, except that she uttered them: binding cord. A sharp instrument. Anal insertion.\n\nAnd, again, chalk.\n\nThat interested her. He could tell from the humming. \"Chalkland.\"\n\n\"The Icknield Way is near here,\" he told her helpfully. \"The Gog Magog hills, where we stopped for the prior, are of chalk.\"\n\n\"Both children have chalk in their hair. In Harold's case, some has been embedded in his heels.\"\n\n\"What does that say?\"\n\n\"He was dragged through chalk.\"\n\nThe third bundle contained the remains of Ulric, eight years old, gone missing on Saint Edward's of this year and which, because his disappearance had taken place more recently than the others', brought forth frequent hmms from the examiner--an alert to Rowley, who'd begun to recognize the signs that she had more and better material to investigate.\n\n\"No eyelids, no genitals. This one wasn't buried at all. What was the weather this March in this area?\"\n\n\"I believe it to have been dry all over East Anglia, ma'am. There was general complaint that newly planted crops were withering. Cold but dry.\"\n\nCold but dry. Her memory, renowned in Salerno, searched the death farm and fell on early-spring pig number 78. About the same weight. That, too, had been dead just over a month in the cold and dry, and was of more advanced decomposition. She would have expected this one to be in an approximately similar state. \"Were you kept alive after you went missing?\" she asked the body, forgetting that a stranger, and not Mansur, was listening.\n\n\"Jesus God, why do you say that?\"\n\nShe quoted Ecclesiastes as she did to her students: \"To everything there is a season...a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to pluck up that which is planted. Also a time to putrefy.\"\n\n\"So the devil kept him alive? How long?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nThere were a thousand variations that could cause the difference between this corpse and pig 78. She was irritable because she was tired and distressed. Mansur wouldn't have asked, knowing better than to treat her observations as conversation. \"I won't be drawn on it.\"\n\nUlric also had chalk embedded in his heels.\n\nThe sun was beginning to go down by the time each body had been wrapped up again, ready for encoffining. The woman went outside to take off her apron and helmet while Sir Rowley took down the lamps and put them out, leaving the cell and its contents in blessed darkness.\n\nAt the door, he knelt as he once had in front of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. That tiny chamber had been barely larger than the one now before him. The table on which the Cambridge children lay was about the same size as Christ's tomb. It had been dark there, too. Beyond and about had been the conglomeration of altars and chapels that made up the great basilica that the first crusaders had built over the holy places, echoing with the whispers of pilgrims and the chant of Greek Orthodox monks singing their unending hymns at the site of Golgotha.\n\nHere there was only the buzz of flies.\n\nHe'd prayed for the souls of the departed then, and for help and forgiveness for himself.\n\nHe prayed for them now.\n\nWhen he came out, the woman was washing herself, laving her face and hands from the bowl. After she had finished, he did the same--she'd lathered the water with soapwort. Crushing the stems, he washed his hands. He was tired; oh, Jesus, he was tired.\n\n\"Where are you staying, Doctor?\" he asked her.\n\nShe looked at him as if she hadn't seen him before. \"What did you say your name was?\"\n\nHe tried not to be irritated; from the look of her, she was even more weary than he was. \"Sir Roland Picot, ma'am. Rowley to my friends.\"\n\nOf which, he saw, she was not likely to be one. She nodded. \"Thank you for your assistance.\" She packed her bag, picked it up, and set off.\n\nHe hurried after her. \"May I ask what conclusions you draw from your investigation?\"\n\nShe didn't answer.\n\nDamn the woman. He supposed that, since he'd written down her notes, she was leaving him to draw his own conclusions, but Rowley, who was not a humble man, was aware that he had encountered someone with knowledge he could not hope to attain. He tried again: \"To whom will you report your findings, Doctor?\"\n\nNo answer.\n\nThey were walking through the long shadows of the oaks that fell over the wall of the priory deer park. From the priory chapel came the clap of a bell sounding vespers, and ahead, where the bakery and brew house stood outlined against the dying sun, figures in violet rochets were spilling out of the buildings into the walkways like petals being blown in one direction.\n\n\"Shall we attend vespers?\" If ever he'd needed the balm of the evening litany, Sir Rowley felt he needed it now.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\nAngrily, he said, \"Will you not pray for those children?\"\n\nShe turned and he saw a face ghastly with fatigue and an anger that outmatched his. \"I am not here to pray for them,\" she said. \"I have come to speak for them.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Returning from the castle that afternoon to the not inconsiderable house that had accommodated the succession of Saint Augustine's priors, Prior Geoffrey had yet more arrangements to make.\n\n\"She's waiting for you in your library,\" Brother Gilbert said curtly. He didn't approve of a tete-a-tete between his superior and a woman.\n\nPrior Geoffrey went in and sat himself in the great chair behind his table desk. He didn't ask the woman to sit down because he knew she wouldn't; he didn't greet her, either--there was no need. He merely explained his responsibility for the Salernitans, his problem, and his proposed solution.\n\nThe woman listened. Though neither tall nor fat, in her eelskin boots, her muscled arms folded over her apron, gray hair escaping from the sweat-stained roll round her head, she had the massive, feminine barbarity of a sheela-na-gig that turned the prior's comfortable, book-lined room into a cave.\n\n\"Thus I have need of you, Gyltha,\" Prior Geoffrey said, finishing. \"They have need of you.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"Summer's a-coming in,\" Gyltha said in her deep voice. \"Summer I'm busy with eels.\"\n\nIn late spring, Gyltha and her grandson emerged from the fens wheeling tanks full of squirming, silver eels and settled into their reed-thatched summer residence by the Cam. There, out of a wonderful steam, emerged eels pickled, eels salted, eels smoked, and eels jellied, all of them, thanks to recipes known only to Gyltha, superior to any other and bought up immediately by waiting and appreciative customers.\n\n\"I know you are,\" Prior Geoffrey said patiently. He sat back in his great chair and reverted to broad East Anglian. \"But that's dang hard work, girl, and you're getting on.\"\n\n\"So're you, bor.\"\n\nThey knew each other well. Better than most. When a young Norman priest had arrived in Cambridge to take over its parish of Saint Mary's twenty-five years before, his house had been kept for him by a well-set-up young fenland woman. That they might have been more to each other than employer and employee had not raised an eyebrow, for England's attitude toward clerical celibacy was tolerant--or slack, depending on which way you looked at it--and Rome had not then begun to shake its fist at \"priests' wives,\" as it did now.\n\nThough young Father Geoffrey's waist had swelled on Gyltha's cooking, and young Gyltha's waist had swelled also, though whether from her cooking or something else, nobody knew the truth of it except those two. When Father Geoffrey was called by God to the canonry of Saint Augustine, Gyltha had disappeared into the fenland from which she had come, refusing the allowance offered to her.\n\n\"What iffen I throw in a skivvy or two,\" the prior said now, winningly. \"Bit of cooking, bit of organizing, that's all.\"\n\n\"Foreigners,\" said Gyltha. \"I don't hold with foreigners.\"\n\nLooking at her, the prior was reminded of Guthlac's description of the fen folk in whom that worthy saint had tried to instill Christianity: \"Great heads, long necks, pale faces, and teeth like horses. Save us, from them, O Lord.\" But they'd had the means and the independence to resist William the Conqueror longer and more strongly than the rest of the English.\n\nNor was intelligence lacking among them. Gyltha had it; she was the beau ideal as housekeeper for the menage Prior Geoffrey had in mind--outre enough, yet sufficiently well known and trusted by the townsfolk of Cambridge to provide a bridge between it and them. If she would agree...\n\n\"Weren't I a foreigner?\" he said. \"You took me on.\"\n\nGyltha smiled, and for a moment the surprising charm reminded Prior Geoffrey of their years in the priest's little house next to Saint Mary's church.\n\nHe pressed home his advantage. \"Be good for young Ulf.\"\n\n\"That's doing well enough at school.\"\n\n\"When that do bother to come.\" Young Ulf's acceptance at the priory school had been less to do with his cleverness, which was considerable if idiosyncratic, than to Prior Geoffrey's unconfirmed suspicion that the boy, being Gyltha's grandson, was also his own. \"Sore need of a bit of gentrifying, though, girl.\"\n\nGyltha leaned forward and put a scarred finger on the prior's writing desk. \"What they doing here, bor? You going to tell me?\"\n\n\"Took ill, didn't I? Saved my old life, she did.\"\n\n\"Her? I heard it was the blackie.\"\n\n\"Her. And not witchery, neither. Proper doctor she is, only best nobody don't know it.\"\n\nThere was no point in concealing it from Gyltha, who, if she took on the Salernitans, would find out. In any case, this woman was as close as the seaweeded oysters that she made him a present of every year, of which a fine selection was at this moment in the priory's ice-house.\n\n\"I don't be sure who sent they three,\" he went on, \"but they do mean to find out who's killing the children.\"\n\n\"Harold.\" Gyltha's face showed no emotion, but her voice was soft; she did business with Harold's father.\n\n\"Harold.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Weren't Jews, then?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Didn't reckon it was.\"\n\nFrom across the cloisters connecting the prior's house with the church came the bell calling the brotherhood to vespers.\n\nGyltha sighed. \"Skivvies as promised, and I only do the bloody cooking.\"\n\n\"Benigne. Deo gratias.\" The prior got up and accompanied Gyltha to the door. \"Old Tubs still breeding they smelly dogs?\"\n\n\"Smellier than ever.\"\n\n\"Bring un with you. Attach it to her, like. If her's asking questions, it'll maybe cause trouble. Her needs keeping an eye on. Oh, and they don't none of 'em eat pork. Or shellfish.\" He slapped Gyltha's rump to send her on her way, folded his arms beneath his apron, and went on his own toward the chapel for vespers.\n\nAdelia sat on a bench in the priory's paradise breathing in the scent of rosemary from the low hedging that bordered the flower bed at her feet and listened to the psalms of vespers filter out of cloister through the evening air across the walled vegetable garden and thence to the paradise with its darkening trees. She tried to empty her mind and let the masculine voices pour salve on the hurt caused by masculine abomination. \"Let my prayer be counted as incense before you,\" they chanted, \"and the lifting of my hands as an evening sacrifice.\"\n\nThere would be supper at the priory guesthouse, where Prior Geoffrey had lodged her and Simon and Mansur for the night, but it would entail sitting round the table with other travelers, and she was not fit for petty conversation. The straps of her goatskin bag were buckled tight so that, for this little space, the information the dead children had given her was trapped within it, chalk words on a slate. Undo the straps, as she would tomorrow, and their voices would burst out, beseeching, filling her ears. But tonight even they must be muted; she could bear nothing but the stillness of the evening.\n\nNot until it was almost too dark to see did she stand, pick up her bag, and walk along the path leading to the long shafts of candlelight that indicated the windows of the guesthouse.\n\nIt was a mistake to go to bed without food; she lay in a narrow cot in a narrow cell off the corridor devoted to women guests, resenting the fact that she was there at all, resenting the King of Sicily, this country, almost the dead children themselves for imposing the burden of their agony on her.\n\n\"I cannot possibly go,\" she'd told Gordinus when he'd first broached the subject. \"I have my students, my work.\"\n\nIt was not a matter of choice, however. The command for an expert in death had come down from a king against whom, since he also ruled southern Italy, there was no appeal.\n\n\"Why do you choose me?\"\n\n\"You meet the king's specifications,\" Gordinus had said. \"I know of no one else who does. Master Simon will be fortunate to have you.\"\n\nSimon had considered himself not so much fortunate as burdened; she'd seen that at once. Despite her credentials, the presence of a woman doctor, an attendant Arab, and a female companion--Margaret, blessed Margaret, had been alive then--had piled a Pelion of complication on the Ossa of an already difficult assignment.\n\nBut one of Adelia's skills, honed to perfection in the rough-and-tumble of the schools, was to make her femininity near invisible, to demand no concession, to blend in almost unnoticed among the largely male fraternity. Only when her professionalism had been called into question did her fellow students find that there was a very visible Adelia with a rough edge to her tongue--in listening to them, she had learned how to swear--and an even rougher edge to her temper.\n\nThere had been no need to display either to Simon; he had been courteous and, as the journey went on, relieved. He found her modest--a description, Adelia had long decided, that was applied to women who gave men no trouble. Apparently, Simon's wife was the acme of Jewish modesty, and he judged all other women by her. Mansur, Adelia's other accessory, proved to be his invaluable self and, until reaching the coast of France, where Margaret had died, they had traveled in sweet accord.\n\nBy now, it took the regularity of her periods for her to remember that she was not a neutered being. On reaching England, the trio's transfer to a cart and adoption of their roles as a traveling medicine troop had caused none of them little more than discomfort and amusement.\n\nThere remained the mystery of why the King of Sicily should involve Simon of Naples, one of his most capable investigators, let alone herself, in a predicament that the Jews of a wet, cold little island on the edge of the world had gotten themselves into. Simon had not known, nor had she. Their instructions were to see the Jews' name washed of the taint of murder, an aim to be accomplished only by discovering the identity of the true killer.\n\nWhat she had known was that she would not like England--and she didn't. In Salerno, she was a respected member of a highly regarded medical school where nobody, except newcomers, expressed surprise on meeting a female practitioner. Here, they'd duck her in a pond. The bodies she'd just examined had darkened Cambridge for her; she'd seen the results of murder before but rarely any so terrible as these. Somewhere in this county a butcher of children walked and breathed.\n\nIdentifying him would be made harder by her unofficial position and the pretense that she wasn't doing it at all. In Salerno she worked, however unacknowledged, with the authorities; here she had only the prior on her side, and even he dare not declare the fact.\n\nStill resentful, she went to sleep and dreamed dark dreams.\n\nShe slept late, a concession not usually granted to other guests. \"Prior said as you could forgo matins, you being so tired,\" Brother Swithin, the chubby little guest-master told her, \"but I was to see you ate hearty when you woke.\"\n\nShe breakfasted in the kitchen on ham, a rare luxury for one who traveled with a Jew and a Moslem, cheese from the priory's sheep, bread fresh from the priory's bakery, new-churned butter and preserve of Brother Swithin's own pickling, a slice of eel pie, and milk warm from the cow.\n\n\"You was thrawn, maid,\" Brother Swithin said, ladling her more milk from the churn. \"Better now?\"\n\nShe smiled at him through a white mustache. \"Much.\" She had been thrawn, whatever that was, but vigor had returned, resentment and self-pity gone. What did it matter that she must work in a foreign land? Children were universal; they inhabited a state superseding nationality with a right to protection by an eternal law. The savagery inflicted on Mary, Harold, and Ulric offended no less because they were not Salerno-born. They were everybody's children; they were hers.\n\nAdelia felt a determination such as she had never known. The world had to be made cleaner by the removal of the killer. \"Whoso shall offend one of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck....\"\n\nNow, round the neck of this offender, though he was as yet in ignorance of it, had been hung Adelia, Medica Trotula of Salerno, doctor to the dead, who would strive with all her knowledge and skill to bring him down.\n\nShe returned to her cell to transcribe her observations from slate to paper so that, on her return to Salerno, she might deliver a record of her findings--though what the King of Sicily wanted with it, she did not know.\n\nIt was terrible work, and slow; more than once she had to throw down her quill in order to cover her ears. The walls of the cell echoed with the children's screams. Be quiet, oh, be quiet, so that I may track him down. But they had not wanted to die and could not be hushed.\n\nSimon and Mansur had already departed to take up residence in accommodation the prior had found for them in the town so that the mission might have privacy. It was gone noon before Adelia set off after them.\n\nBelieving it to be her business to investigate the murderer's territory and see something of the town, she was surprised, but not displeased, to find that Brother Swithin, busy with a new influx of travelers, was prepared to let her go without an escort and that in Cambridge's teeming streets, women of all castes bustled about their business unaccompanied and with faces unveiled.\n\nThis was a different world. Only the students from the School of Pythagoras, red-capped and noisy, were familiar to her; students were the same the world over.\n\nIn Salerno, thoroughfares were shadowed by upper walkways and overhangs built to keep out a barbarous sun. This town opened itself wide like a flat flower to catch what light the English sky gave it.\n\nTrue, there were sinister side alleys with tweedy, reed-thatched houses crammed together like fungi, but Adelia kept to main roads, asking her way without fear for her reputation or purse as she would not have done at home.\n\nHere it was water, not sun, that the town bowed to; it coursed in runnels down both sides of a street so that every dwelling, every shop, had a footbridge to it. Cisterns, troughs, ponds confused the sight into seeing double; a roadside pig was exactly reflected by the puddle it stood in. Swans apparently floated on themselves. Ducks on a pond swam over the arched, chevroned doorway of the church looming above it. Errant streams contained images of roofs and windows, and willow fronds appeared to grow upward from the rivulets that mirrored them.\n\nAdelia was aware that Cambridge piped to her, but she would not dance. To her, the double reflection of everything was symptomatic of a deeper duplicity, two-faced, a Janus town, where a creature that killed children walked on two legs like any other man. Until it was discovered, all of Cambridge wore a mask that she could not look on without wondering if a wolf's muzzle lay beneath.\n\nInevitably, she lost her way.\n\n\"Can you direct me to Old Benjamin's house, if you please?\"\n\n\"What you want with that, then, maid?\"\n\nThis was the third person she'd stopped with a request for direction and the third to inquire why she wanted it. \"I'm considering opening a bawdy house\" was an answer that came to mind, but she'd already learned that Cambridge inquisitiveness needed no tweaking; she merely said, \"I should like to know where it is.\"\n\n\"Up the road a ways, turn left onto Jesus Lane, corner facing the river.\"\n\nTurning to the river, she found a small crowd had gathered in order to watch Mansur unpack the last contents of the cart, ready to carry them up a flight of steps to the front door.\n\nPrior Geoffrey had considered it only just, since the three were here on the Jews' behalf, that the Salernitans should occupy one of Jewry's abandoned houses during their stay.\n\nHe'd considered that to move them into Chaim's rich mansion a little farther along the river would be ill-advised.\n\n\"But Old Benjamin has inspired less animosity in the town, for all he's a pawnbroker, than did poor Chaim with his riches,\" he'd said, \"and he has a good view of the river.\"\n\nThat there was an area called Jewry, of which this place stood on the edge, brought home to Adelia how the Jews of Cambridge had been excluded from or had excluded themselves from the life of the town--as they had been from nearly all the English towns she'd passed through on the way.\n\nHowever privileged, this was a ghetto, now deserted. Old Benjamin's house spoke of an incipient fear. It stood gable end on the alley to present as little of itself as possible to outside attack. It was built of stone rather than wattle and daub, with a door capable of withstanding a battering ram. The niche on one of the doorposts was empty, showing that the case holding the mezuzah had been torn out.\n\nA woman had appeared at the top of the steps to help Mansur with their luggage. As Adelia approached, an onlooker called, \"You doing for they now, then, Gyltha?\"\n\n\"My bloody business,\" the woman on the steps called back. \"You mind yours.\"\n\nThe crowd tittered but did not move away, discussing the situation in uninhibited East Anglian English. Already, something of what had happened to the prior on the road had become common currency.\n\n\"Not Jews, then. Our Gyltha wouldn't hold with doing for the ungodly.\"\n\n\"Saracens, so I heard.\"\n\n\"That with the towel over his head, 'tis said he's the doctor.\"\n\n\"More devil than doctor from the look of he.\"\n\n\"Cured Prior, so they say, Saracen or not.\"\n\n\"How much do he charge, I wonder?\"\n\n\"That their fancy piece?\" This was addressed over Adelia's head with a nod toward her.\n\n\"No, it is not,\" she said.\n\nThe questioner, a man, was taken aback. \"Talk English then, maid?\"\n\n\"Yes. Do you?\" Their accent--a chant of oy's, strange inflections, and rising sentence endings--was different from the West Country English she'd learned at Margaret's knee, but she could just understand it.\n\nShe appeared to have amused rather than offended. \"Sparky little moggy, in't she?\" the man said to the assembly. Then, to her: \"That blackie. Mix a good physic, can he?\"\n\n\"As good as any you'll find round here,\" she told him. Probably true, she thought. The infirmarian at the priory would be a mere herbalist who, though he rendered it freely, gained his knowledge from books--most of them wildly inaccurate, in Adelia's opinion. Those he couldn't treat and who were beyond treating themselves would be at the mercy of the town's quacks, to be sold elaborate, useless, costly, and probably disgusting potions, more intended to impress than cure.\n\nHer new acquaintance took it as a recommendation. \"Reckon as I'll pay that a visit, then. Brother Theo up at the priory, he's given up on I.\"\n\nA grinning woman nudged her neighbor. \"Tell her what's wrong with thee, Wulf.\"\n\n\"He do reckon as I've a bad case of malingering,\" Wulf said obediently, \"an he be at a loss how to treat it.\"\n\nAdelia noticed there were no questions as to why she and Simon and Mansur had come. To Cambridge men and women, it was natural that foreigners should settle in their town. Didn't they come from all parts to do business? Where better? Abroad was dragon country.\n\nShe tried to push her way through to get to the gate, but a woman holding up a small child blocked her way. \"That ear's hurting him bad. He do need doctoring.\" Not everybody in the crowd was here out of curiosity.\n\n\"He's busy,\" Adelia said. But the child was whimpering with pain. \"Oh, I'll look at it.\"\n\nSomeone in the crowd obligingly held up a lantern while she examined the ear, tutted, opened her bag for her tweezers--\"Hold him still, now\"--and extracted a small bead.\n\nShe might as well have breached a dam. \"A wise woman, by lumme,\" somebody said, and within seconds she was being jostled for her attention. In the absence of a doctor, a wise woman would do.\n\nRescue came in the form of the one who'd been addressed as Gyltha. She came down the steps and made a path to Adelia by jabbing obstructing bodies with her elbows. \"Clear off,\" she told them. \"Ain't even moved in yet. Come back a'morrow.\" She pushed Adelia through the gate. \"Quick, girl.\" Then she used her bulk to shut the gate and hissed, \"You done it now.\"\n\nAdelia ignored her. \"That old man there,\" she said, pointing. \"He has an ague.\" It looked like malaria and was unexpected; she'd thought the disease to be confined to the Roman marshes.\n\n\"That's for the doctor to say,\" Gyltha said loudly for the benefit of her listeners, then, for Adelia's, \"Get in, girl. He'll still have it a'morrow.\"\n\nThere was probably little to be done, anyway. As Gyltha pulled her up the steps, Adelia shouted, \"Put him to bed,\" at a woman supporting the shaking old man. \"Try and cool the fever,\" managing to add, \"Wet cloths,\" before the housekeeper hauled her inside and shut the door.\n\nGyltha shook her head at her. So did Simon, who'd been watching.\n\nOf course. Mansur was the doctor now; she must remember it.\n\n\"But it is interesting if it is malaria,\" she said to Simon. \"Cambridge and Rome. The common feature is marshland, I suppose.\" In Rome, the disease was attributed by some to bad air, hence its name, by others to drinking stagnant water. Adelia, for whom neither supposition had been proved, kept an open mind.\n\n\"Wonderful lot of ague in the fens,\" Gyltha told her. \"Us do treat that with opium. Stops the shakes.\"\n\n\"Opium? You grow the poppy round here?\" God's rib, with access to opium, she could alleviate a lot of suffering. Her mind reverting to malaria, she muttered to Simon, \"I wonder if I might have the chance to look at the old man's spleen when he dies.\"\n\n\"We could ask,\" Simon said, rolling his eyes. \"Ague, child murder: What's the difference? Let's declare ourselves.\"\n\n\"I had not forgotten the killer,\" Adelia said, sharply. \"I have been examining his work.\"\n\nHe touched her hand. \"Bad?\"\n\n\"Bad.\"\n\nThe worn face before her became distressed; here was a man with children, imagining the worst that could happen to them. He has a rare sympathy, Simon, she thought, it's what makes him a fine investigator. But it takes its toll.\n\nMuch of his sympathy was for her. \"Can you bear it, Doctor?\"\n\n\"It's what I am trained for,\" she told him.\n\nHe shook his head. \"Nobody is trained for what you have seen today.\" He took in a deep breath and said in his labored English, \"This is Gyltha. Prior Geoffrey send her to keep house kindly. She know what we do here.\"\n\nSo, it appeared, did someone who'd been lurking in a corner with an animal. \"This is Ulf. Grandson of Gyltha, I think. Also this--what is?\"\n\n\"Safeguard,\" Gyltha told him. \"And take off thy bloody cap to the lady, Ulf.\"\n\nNever had Adelia seen a trio more comprehensively ugly. Woman and boy had coffin-shaped heads, big-boned faces, and large teeth, a combination she was to recognize as a fenland trait. If the child Ulf wasn't as alarming as his grandmother, it was because he was a child, eight or nine years old, his features still blunted by puppyhood.\n\nThe \"safeguard\" was an overlarge ball of matted wool from which emerged four legs like knitting needles. It appeared ovine but was probably a dog; no sheep smelled as bad.\n\n\"Present from Prior,\" Gyltha said. \"You're to do the feeding of it.\"\n\nNor was the room they were gathered in any more prepossessing. Cramped and mean, the front door led straight into it, with an equally heavy door opposite giving to the rest of the house. Light from two arrow slits showed bare and broken shelving.\n\n\"Where Old Ben did his pawnbroking,\" Gyltha said, adding with force, \"only some bugger's stole all the pledge goods.\"\n\nSome other bugger, or perhaps the same one, had also used the place as a latrine.\n\nAdelia was clawed by homesickness. Most of all for Margaret, that loving presence. But also, oh, God, for Salerno. For orange trees and sun and shade, for aqueducts, for the sea, for the sunken Roman bath in the house she shared with her foster parents, for mosaic floors, for trained servants, for acceptance of her position as medica, for the facilities of the school, for salads--she hadn't eaten green stuff since arriving in this godforsaken, meat-stuffing country.\n\nBut Gyltha had pushed open the inner door, and they were looking down the length of Old Benjamin's hall--which was better.\n\nIt smelled of water, lye, beeswax. At their entrance, two maids with buckets and mops whisked out of sight through a door at the far end. From a barrel-vaulted roof hung burnished synagogue lamps on chains, lighting fresh green rushes and the soft polish of elm floorboards. A stone pillar supported a winding staircase leading up to an attic floor and down to the undercroft.\n\nIt was a long room, made extraordinary by glazed windows that ran higgledy-piggledy along its left length, their different sizes suggesting that Old Benjamin, on a waste-not-want-not principle, had enlarged or reduced the original casements to fit in their place such unreclaimed glass as came into his possession. There was an oriel, two lattices--both open to allow in the scent of the river--one small sheer pane, and a rose of stained glass that could have originated only in a Christian church. The effect was untidy but a change from the usual bare shuttering, and not without charm.\n\nFor Mansur and Simon, however, the ne plus ultra was elsewhere--in the kitchen, a separate building beyond the house. They urged Adelia toward it. \"Gyltha is a cook,\" Simon said as one emerging from the dust of Egypt into Canaan, \"our prior...\"\n\n\"May his shadow never grow less,\" Mansur said.\n\n\"...our good, good prior has sent us a cook on a par with my own dear Becca.\" Rebecca was his wife. \"Gyltha superba. Look, Doctor, look what she is preparing.\"\n\nIn a huge fireplace, things were turning on spits, spattering fat into glowing peat; kettles hung from hooks exuded herby, fishy steam; cream-colored pastry lay ready to be rolled on the great floured table. \"Food, Doctor, succulent fish, lampreys--lampreys, praise to the Lord--duck seethed in honey, suckling lamb.\"\n\nAdelia had never seen two men so enthused.\n\nThe rest of daylight was spent unpacking. There were rooms to spare. Adelia had been allotted the solar, a pleasant room overlooking the river--a luxury after the communal beds of the inns. Its cupboards were bare, having been ransacked by the rioters, leaving her with welcome shelves on which to lay out her herbs and potions.\n\nThat evening, Gyltha, calling them to supper, was irritated by the time it took Mansur and Simon to carry out their ritual ablutions, and Adelia, who suspected that dirt was poisonous, to wash her hands before coming to the table. \"That'll get cold,\" she snapped at them. \"I ain't cooking for heathens as don't care if good food goes cold.\"\n\n\"You are not,\" Simon assured her, \"Gyltha, you are not.\"\n\nThe dining table was garnished with the riches of a fenland seething with fowl and fish; to Adelia's homesick eyes it lacked sufficient greenstuff, but it was undoubtedly fine.\n\nSimon said, \"Blessed are you, HaShem, our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,\" and tore a piece from the white loaf on the table to eat it.\n\nMansur invoked the blessing of Salman the Persian, who had given Mohammed food.\n\nAdelia said, \"May good health attend us,\" and they sat down to dine together.\n\nOn the boat from Salerno, Mansur had eaten with the crew, but the last leg of the journey through English inns and around campfires had imposed a democracy that none of them was willing to abandon. In any case, since Mansur now posed as head of the household, it was incongruous to send him to eat with the maids in the kitchen.\n\nAdelia would have reported her findings over dinner, but the men, knowing what they were likely to be, refused to disturb their stomachs with anything except Gyltha's cooking. Or to make any conversation, for that matter. Adelia was amazed by the time and praise two men could lavish on suckling lamb, custards, and cheeses.\n\nFor her, food was analogous to the wind--necessary for the propulsion of boats, living beings, and the sails of windmills but otherwise to be unremarked.\n\nSimon drank wine. A barrel from his favorite Tuscan vineyard had traveled with them, English wines reportedly being undrinkable. Mansur and Adelia drank boiled and strained water because they always did.\n\nSimon kept urging Adelia to take some wine and to eat more, despite her protestations that she had breakfasted too well at the priory. He was concerned that her examination of the bodies had sickened her to the point of illness. It was how it would have affected him, but she saw it as a reflection on her professionalism and said sharply, \"That was my job. Why else have I come?\"\n\nMansur told him to leave her alone. \"Always, the doctor pecks like a sparrow.\"\n\nThe Arab certainly wasn't pecking. \"You'll get fat,\" Adelia warned him. It was his horror; too many eunuchs ate themselves into obesity.\n\nMansur sighed. \"That woman is a siren of cooking. She calls a man's soul through his stomach.\"\n\nThe idea of Gyltha as a siren delighted Adelia. \"Shall I tell her so?\"\n\nTo her surprise, he shrugged and nodded.\n\n\"Ooh,\" she said. In all the years since he had been appointed by her foster parents to be her bodyguard, she had never known him to pay a compliment to a female. That it should be a woman with the face of a horse and with whom he did not share a common language was unexpected and intriguing.\n\nThe two maids who served them, both confusingly called Matilda and differentiated by only the initials of their parish saints, therefore answering to Matilda B. and Matilda W., were as wary of Mansur as of a performing bear that had sat down to dine. They emerged from the open passage that led from the kitchen to a door behind the dais, taking and replacing dish after dish without approaching his end of the table, giggling nervously and leaving the food to be passed down to him.\n\nWell, Adelia thought, they'll have to get used to him.\n\nAt last the table was cleared. Simon metaphorically girded his loins, sighed, and sat back. \"And so, Doctor?\"\n\nAdelia said, \"This is supposition, you understand.\" It was her invariable caveat.\n\nShe waited for both men to acquiesce, then drew in a deep breath. \"I believe the children were taken to chalkland to be killed. This may not apply to Little Saint Peter, who seems to have been a different case, perhaps because he was the first victim and the killer had not yet lapsed into routine. But of the three I examined, there was chalk embedded in the heels of both boys, indicating they were dragged through it, and evidence of it on the remains of all of them. Their hands and feet were bound with torn strips of cloth.\"\n\nShe looked toward Simon. \"Fine, black wool. I have kept samples.\"\n\n\"I will inquire among the wool merchants.\"\n\n\"He did not bury one of the bodies but kept that, too, somewhere dry and cool.\" She kept her voice steady. \"Also, it may be that the female was stabbed repeatedly in the pubic region, as were the boys. The best preserved of the males lacked his genitals, and I would say the others, too, suffered in the same way.\"\n\nSimon had covered his face with his hands. Mansur sat very still.\n\nAdelia said, \"I believe in each case he cuts off their eyelids, whether before or after death I cannot say.\"\n\nSimon said quietly, \"Fiends walk among us. What do you do, Lord, to allow the torturers of Gehenna to inhabit human bodies?\"\n\nAdelia would have argued that to attribute satanic forces to the murderer was partly to absolve him, making him victim to an outside force. To her, the man was rabid, like a dog. But then, she thought, Perhaps allowing that he is diseased also gives an excuse to what is unpardonable.\n\n\"Mary...\" She paused. Naming a corpse was a mistake she did not usually make; it did away with objectivity, introduced emotion when it was essential to remain impersonal; she didn't know why she'd done it.\n\nShe began again: \"The female had something stuck to her hair. At first I thought it to be semen....\" Simon's hand gripped the table, and she remembered she was not addressing her students. \"However, the object has preserved its original oblong shape, probably a sweetmeat.\"\n\nNow then.\n\nShe said quietly, \"We must consider particularly the time and location of the bodies' discovery. They were found on silt; there was a dusting of it on each, but the shepherd who came across them assured Prior Geoffrey that they were not there the day before. Therefore, they had been taken from where they were kept, in chalk, to the site where the shepherd found them yesterday morning, on silt.\"\n\nIt seemed a year ago.\n\nSimon's eyes were on hers, reading them. \"We came to Cambridge yesterday morning,\" he said. \"The night before we were...what was the name of that place?\"\n\n\"Part of the Gog Magog hills.\" Adelia nodded. \"On chalk.\"\n\nMansur followed what she was implying. \"So in the night the dog moved them. For us?\"\n\nShe shrugged; she pronounced on only what was provable; others must draw the inference. She waited to see what Simon of Naples would make of it. Journeying together had engendered respect for him; the excitability, near gullibility, he displayed in public was not a deliberate disguise but a reaction to being in public and in no way represented a mind that calculated with brilliance and at speed. She regarded it as a compliment to herself and to Mansur that when they were alone, they were allowed to see his brain at work.\n\n\"He did.\" Simon's fists gently drummed the table. \"It is too immediate for coincidence. How long have the little souls been missing? A year in one case? But when our cavalcade of pilgrims stops on the road and our cart moves up the hillside...all at once they are found.\"\n\nMansur said, \"He sees us.\"\n\n\"He saw us.\"\n\n\"And he moves the bodies.\"\n\n\"He moved the bodies.\" Simon splayed his hands. \"And why? He was afraid we would find where he kept them on the hill.\"\n\nAdelia, playing devil's advocate, asked, \"Why should he be afraid of us discovering them? Other people must have walked those hills these past months and not found them.\"\n\n\"Maybe not so many. What was the name, the name of the hill we were on?...The prior told me....\" He tapped his forehead, then looked up as a maid came in to trim the candlewicks. \"Ah. Matilda.\"\n\n\"Yes, master?\"\n\nSimon leaned forward. \"Wand-le-bury Ring.\"\n\nThe girl's eyes widened; she made the sign of the cross and backed out the way she had come.\n\nSimon looked round. \"Wandlebury Ring,\" he said. \"What did I say? Our prior was right; it is a place of superstition. Nobody goes there; it is left to sheep. But we went there last night. He saw us. Why had we come? He does not know. To spread our tents? To stay? To walk the ground? He cannot be sure what we will do, and he is afraid because that is where the bodies are and we may find them. He moves them.\" He leaned back in his chair. \"His lair is on Wandlebury Ring.\"\n\nHe saw us. Adelia was inflicted by an image of batlike wings cringing over a pile of bones, a snout sniffing the air for intruders, a sudden gripe of the talons.\n\n\"So he digs the bodies up? He carries them a distance? He leaves them to be found?\" Mansur said, his voice higher than ever with incredulity. \"Can he be so foolish?\"\n\n\"He was trying to lead us away, so we would not know the bodies were first laid in chalk,\" said Simon. \"He didn't reckon with Dr. Trotula here.\"\n\n\"Or does he want them to be found?\" Adelia suggested. \"Is he laughing at us?\"\n\nGyltha came in. \"Who's been scaring my Matildas?\" She was aggressive and was holding a pair of candle trimmers in a manner that caused Simon to fold his hands over his lap.\n\n\"Wand-le-bury Ring, Gyltha,\" Simon said.\n\n\"What about it? Don't you credit that squit they talk about the ring. Wild Hunt? I don't hold with it.\" She took down a lantern and began snipping. \"Just a bloody hill, Wandlebury is. I don't hold with hills.\"\n\n\"Wild Hunt?\" Simon asked. \"What is Wild Hunt?\"\n\n\"Pack of bloody hounds with red eyes led by the Prince of Darkness, and I don't credit a word of it, them's ordinary sheep-killers, I reckon, and you come down out of there, Ulf, you liddle grub, afore I set the pack on you.\"\n\nThere was a gallery at the other end of the hall, its staircase hidden by a door in the wainscoting, out of which now sidled the small, unprepossessing figure of Gyltha's grandson. He was muttering and glaring at them.\n\n\"What does the boy say?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\" She cuffed the child toward the kitchens. \"You ask that loafer Wulf about the Wild Hunt; he's full of squit. Reckons he saw it once, and he'll sell you the tale for a drink of ale.\"\n\nWhen she'd gone, Simon said, \"Wild Hunt, Benandanti, the Chausse Sauvage. Das Woden here. It is a superstition encountered all over Europe and varies very little; always hounds with eyes of fire, always a black and terrible horseman, always death to those seeing them.\"\n\nQuiet fell on the room. Adelia was more aware than she had been of the darkness beyond the two open lattice windows, where things rustled in the long grass. From the reeds by the river, the spring call of a bittern had accompanied their meal; now the notes took on the resonance of a drum heralding an approaching funeral.\n\nShe rubbed her arms to rid them of gooseflesh. \"So we are to assume that the killer lives on the hill?\" she asked.\n\nSimon said, \"It may be that he does. Maybe not. As I understand it, the children went missing from around the town; it is unlikely that all three would have ventured so far as the hill at different times under their own volition. There are long odds against a creature spending every minute in such surroundings so that he may guard his lair and espy someone approaching it. Either they were lured there, which is also unlikely--it is a distance of some miles--or they were taken. We may assume, therefore, that our man looks for his victims in Cambridge and uses the hill as his killing ground.\"\n\nHe blinked at his wine cup as if seeing it for the first time. \"What would my Becca say to all this?\" He took a sip.\n\nAdelia and Mansur stayed quiet; there was more--something that had been prowling outside was going to come in.\n\n\"No\"--Simon was speaking slowly now--\"no, there is another explanation. Not one I like, but it must be considered. Almost certainly, our presence at the hill precipitated the removal of the bodies. What if, instead of being spotted by a killer who was already in situ--a most fortuitous happening--what if we brought him with us?\"\n\nIt was in the room now.\n\nSimon said, \"While we were attending Prior Geoffrey, what were the others of our party doing in that long night? Eh? My friends, we have to consider the possibility that our killer is one of the pilgrims we joined at Canterbury.\"\n\nThe night beyond the lattices became darker."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Soft beds were something else Gyltha didn't hold with. Adelia had wanted a mattress stuffed with goosedown such as she'd slept on in Salerno, and said so. Cambridge skies, after all, were stippled with geese.\n\n\"Goose feathers is buggers to wash,\" Gyltha said. \"Straw's cleaner, change that every day.\"\n\nThere was an unsought tension between them; Adelia had requested more salad with her meals, a demand Gyltha treated as lese-majeste. Now, here was a moment of test; the response would decide who had future authority.\n\nOn the one hand, the process of running even such a modest household as this was beyond Adelia, who had few accomplishments necessary for it, knowing little of provisioning nor dealing with any merchants other than apothecaries. She could neither spin nor weave; her knowledge of herbs and spices was medical rather than culinary. Her sewing was restricted to mending torn flesh or cobbling together cadavers she had taken apart.\n\nIn Salerno, these things had not mattered; the blessed man who was her foster father had early recognized a brain rivaling his own and, because that was Salerno, had put her to becoming a doctor as he and his wife were. The organization of their large villa was left to his sister-in-law, a woman who had run it as if on greased wheels without ever raising her voice.\n\nTo all this, Adelia added the fact that her stay in England was to be temporary and would leave her no time for domesticity.\n\nOn the other hand, she was not prepared to be bullied by a servant. She said sharply, \"See to it that the straw is indeed changed every day.\"\n\nA compromise, honors temporarily in Gyltha's favor, the final outcome still to be decided. Not now, though, because her head ached.\n\nLast night the Safeguard had shared the solar with her--another battle lost. To Adelia's protests that the dog stank too much to bed anywhere but outside, Gyltha had said, \"Prior's orders. That's to go where you go.\" And so the animal's snores had mingled with unaccustomed calls and shrieks from the river, just as her dream had been made terrible by Simon's suggestion that the killer's face would be familiar to them.\n\nBefore retiring, he'd expanded on it: \"Who slept by that campfire on the road and who left it? A monk? A knight? Huntsman? Tax collector? Did any of them steal away to gather up those poor bones--they were light, remember, and perhaps he took a horse from the lines. The merchant? One of the squires? Minstrel? Servants? We must consider them all.\"\n\nWhichever one it was had swooped through her solar window last night in the shape of a magpie. It carried a living child in its claws. Sitting on Adelia's chest, it dismembered the body, a lidless eye gleaming perkily at her as it pecked out the child's liver.\n\nIt was a visitation so vivid that she woke up gasping, convinced a bird had killed the children.\n\n\"Where is Master Simon?\" she asked Gyltha. It was early; the west-facing windows of the hall gave onto a meadow that was still shadowed by the house until its decline approached the river, where sunlight was shining on a Cam so polished, so deep and flat and wandering among the willows that Adelia had to suppress a sudden urge to go and dabble in it like a duck.\n\n\"Gone out. Wanted to know where there was wool merchants.\"\n\nIrritably, Adelia said, \"We were to go to Wandlebury Hill today.\" It had been agreed last night that their priority was to discover the killer's lair.\n\n\"So he did say, but acause Master Darkie can't go, too, he are going termorrer.\"\n\n\"Mansur,\" Adelia snapped. \"His name's Mansur. Why can't he go?\"\n\nGyltha beckoned her to the end of the hall and into Old Benjamin's shop. \"Acause of them.\"\n\nStanding on tiptoe, Adelia looked through one of the arrow slits.\n\nA crowd of people was by the gate, some of them sitting as if they had been there a long time.\n\n\"Waiting to see Dr. Mansur,\" Gyltha said with emphasis. \"'S why you can't go pimbling off to the hills.\"\n\nHere was a complication. They should have foreseen it but, in allowing Mansur to be set up as a doctor, an untried, foreign doctor in a busy town, it had not occurred to them that he would be burdened with patients. News of their encounter with the prior had spread; a cure for ills was to be found in Jesus Lane.\n\nAdelia was dismayed. \"But how can I treat them?\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"From the look, most of 'em's dying anyway. Reckon as them's Little Saint Peter's failures.\"\n\nLittle Saint Peter, the small, miraculous skeleton whose bones the prioress had trumpeted like a fairground barker all the way from Canterbury.\n\nAdelia sighed for him, for the desperation that sent the suffering people to him, and, now, the disappointment that brought them to her. The truth was that, except in a few cases, she could do no better. Herbs, leeches, potions, even belief could not hold back the tide of disease to which most of humanity was subject. She wished it wasn't so. God, she wished it.\n\nIt was a long time, in any case, that she'd had to do with living patients--other than those in extremis when no ordinary doctor was available, as the prior had been.\n\nHowever, pain had gathered outside her door; she could not ignore it; something had to be done. Yet if she were to be seen practicing medicine, every doctor in Cambridge would go running to his bishop. The Church had never approved of human interference in disease, having held for centuries that prayer and holy relics were God's method of healing and anything else was satanic. It allowed treatment to be carried out in the monasteries and, perforce, tolerated lay doctors as long as they did not overstep the mark, but women, being intrinsically sinful, were necessarily banned except in the case of authenticated midwives--and they had to take care not to be accused of witchcraft.\n\nEven in Salerno, that most esteemed center of medicine, the Church had tried to enforce its rule that physicians should be celibate. It had failed, as it had failed in prohibiting the city's women practitioners. But that was Salerno, the exception which proved the rule....\n\n\"What are we to do?\" she said. Margaret, most practical of women, would have known. There's ways round everything. Just you leave it to old Margaret.\n\nGyltha tutted. \"What you whinnicking for? 'S easy as kiss me hand. You act like you'm the doctor's assistant, his potions mixer or summat. They tell you in good English what's up with they. You say it to the doctor in that gobble you talk, he gobbles back, and you tell 'em what to do.\"\n\nCrudely put but with a fine simplicity. If treatment were needed, it could appear that Dr. Mansur was instructing his assistant. Adelia said, \"That's rather clever.\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"Should keep us out the nettles.\"\n\nTold of the situation, Mansur took it calmly, as he took everything. Gyltha, however, was dissatisfied with his appearance. \"Dr. Braose, him over by the market, he's got a cloak with stars on it, and a skull on his table and a thing for telling the stars.\"\n\nAdelia stiffened, as she did at any suggestion of magic. \"This one is practicing medicine, not wizardry.\" Cambridge would have to settle for a kaffiyeh framing a face like a dark eagle and a voice in the upper ranges. Magic enough for anybody.\n\nUlf was sent to the apothecaries with a list of requirements. A waiting area was established in the room that had been the pawnshop.\n\nThe very rich employed their own doctors; the very poor treated themselves. Those who'd come to Jesus Lane were neither one nor the other: artisans, wage earners who, if the worst came to the worst, could spare a coin or two, even a chicken, to pay for treatment.\n\nThe worst had come to most of them; home remedies hadn't worked, nor had giving their money and poultry to Saint Radegund's convent. As Gyltha had said, these were Little Saint Peter's failures.\n\n\"How did this come about?\" Adelia asked a blacksmith's wife, gently swabbing eyes gummed tight with yellow encrustation. She remembered to add, \"The doctor wants to know.\"\n\nIt appeared that the woman had been urged by the prioress of Saint Radegund's to dip a cloth into the ooze of decomposing flesh that had been the body of Little Saint Peter after it was dragged from the river, then wipe her eyes with it in order to cure her increasing blindness.\n\n\"Somebody should kill that prioress,\" Adelia said to Mansur in Arabic.\n\nThe blacksmith's wife caught the meaning, if not the words, and was defensive. \"Weren't Little Saint Peter's fault. Prioress said as I didn't pray hard enough.\"\n\n\"I'll kill her,\" Adelia said. She could do nothing about the woman's blindness but sent her on her way with an eyewash of weak, strained agrimony that, with regular use, should get rid of the inflammation.\n\nThe rest of the morning did little to alleviate Adelia's anger. Broken bones had been left too long and set crookedly. A baby, dead in its mother's arms, could have been saved its convulsions by a decoction of willow bark. Three crushed toes had gone gangrenous--a cloth soaked in opium held for half a minute over the young man's nose and swift application of the knife saved the foot, but amputation would not have been necessary if the patient hadn't wasted time appealing to Little Saint Peter.\n\nBy the time the amputee had been stitched, bound, rested, and taken home, and the waiting room emptied, Adelia was raving. \"God-damn Saint Radegund's and all its bones. Did you see the baby? Did you see it?\" In her temper, she turned on Mansur. \"And what were you doing, recommending sugar for that child with the cough?\"\n\nMansur had tasted power; he'd begun to make cabalistic arm movements over the patients' heads as they bowed before him. He faced Adelia. \"Sugar for a cough,\" he said.\n\n\"Are you the doctor now? Sugar may be the Arab remedy, but it is not grown in this country and is very expensive here; neither, in this case, would it be any damned use.\"\n\nShe stamped off to the kitchen to take a drink from the bouser, flinging the tin cup back into the water when she'd finished. \"Blast them, blast their ignorance.\"\n\nGyltha looked up from rolling pastry crust; she'd been on hand to interpret some of the more impenetrably East Anglian symptoms--\"wambly\" had proved to mean unsteadiness of the legs. \"You saved young Coker's foot for un, though, bor.\"\n\n\"He's a thatcher,\" Adelia said. \"How can he climb ladders with only two toes on one foot?\"\n\n\"Better'n no bloody foot at all.\"\n\nThere'd been an alteration in Gyltha, but Adelia was too depressed to notice it. This morning twenty-one desperate people had come to her--or, rather, to Dr. Mansur--and she could have helped eight of them if they'd attended sooner. As it was, she'd saved only three--well, four really--the child with the cough might benefit from inhalation of essence of pine if its lungs weren't too affected.\n\nThe fact that until now she hadn't been in residence to treat anybody passed her by; they'd been in need.\n\nAbsentmindedly, Adelia munched a biscuit Gyltha slid under her hand. Furthermore, she thought, if patients continued to arrive at this rate, she would have to set up her own kitchen. Tinctures, decoctions, ointments, and powders needed space and time for their manufacture.\n\nShop apothecaries tended to skimp; she'd never trusted them since Signor D'Amelia had been discovered interlacing his more expensive powders with chalk.\n\nChalk. That's where she and Simon and Mansur should be this minute, searching the chalk of Wandlebury Hill, though she granted that Simon had been right not to go alone to that eerie place if only because it would need more than one person to peer into all those strange pits, let alone the possibility that the killer might peer back, in which case Mansur would come in handy.\n\n\"You say Master Simon is visiting wool merchants?\"\n\nGyltha nodded. \"Took they strips as that devil tied the childer up with. See if any on 'em sold it, and who to.\"\n\nYes. Adelia had washed and dried two of the pieces ready for him. Since Wandlebury Hill must wait, Simon was using the time in another direction, though she was surprised that he had made Gyltha privy to what he was up to. Well, since the housekeeper was in their confidence...\n\n\"Come upstairs,\" Adelia told her, leading the way. Then she paused. \"That biscuit...\"\n\n\"My honey oatcake.\"\n\n\"Very nourishing.\"\n\nShe took Gyltha to the table in the solar on which stood the contents of her goatskin bag. She pointed to one of them. \"Have you seen anything like that before?\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I believe it to be a sweetmeat of some sort.\"\n\nThe thing was lozenge-shaped, dried rock-hard and gray. It had taken her sharpest knife to shave a sliver from it, an action that revealed a pinkish interior and released, faint as a sought-for memory, a second's suggestion of perfume. She said, \"It was tangled in Mary's hair.\"\n\nGyltha's eyes squeezed shut as she crossed herself, then opened to peer closely.\n\n\"Gelatine, I would say,\" Adelia urged her. \"Flower-flavored, or fruit. Sweetened with honey.\"\n\n\"Rich man's confit,\" Gyltha said immediately. \"I ain't seen the like. Ulf.\"\n\nHer grandson was in the room within a second of the call, leading Adelia to suppose he'd been outside the door.\n\n\"You seen the like of this?\" Gyltha asked him.\n\n\"Sweetmeats,\" the boy growled--so he had been outside the door. \"I buy sweeties all the time, oh, yes, money to burn, me...\"\n\nAs he grumbled, his sharp little eyes took in the lozenge, the vials, the remaining strips of wool drying by the window, all the exhibits brought back from Saint Werbertha's anchorage.\n\nAdelia threw a cloth over them. \"Well?\"\n\nUlf shook his head with compelling authority. \"Wrong shape for round here. Twists and balls, this country.\"\n\n\"Cut off then,\" Gyltha told him. When the boy had gone, she spread her hands. \"If he ain't seen the like, it don't swim in our pond.\"\n\nIt was disappointing. Last night the magnitude of suspecting every man in Cambridge had been reduced by the decision to devote their attention to the pilgrims. Even so, discounting wives, nuns, and female servants, the number for investigation was forty-seven. \"Surely we may also discount the merchant from Cherry Hinton? He seemed harmless.\" But consultation with Gyltha had placed Cherry Hinton to the west of Cambridge and therefore on a line with Wandlebury Hill.\n\n\"We discount nobody,\" Simon had said.\n\nIn order to narrow suspicion through what evidence they had before starting to ask questions of and about forty-seven people, Simon had taken for himself the task of locating the source of the scraps of wool, Adelia the lozenge.\n\nWhich was proving unidentifiable.\n\n\"Yet we must suppose that its rarity will strengthen its connection with the killer once we find him,\" Adelia said now.\n\nGyltha cocked her head. \"You reckon he tempted Mary with it?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Poor little cosset Mary was, frit of her father--always fetching her and her mother a blow, he was--frit of everything. Never ventured far.\" Gyltha viewed the lozenge: \"Did you tempt her away, you beggar?\"\n\nThe two women shared a moment's reflection...a beckoning hand, the other holding out an exotic sweetmeat, the child attracted closer, closer, a bird drawn by a gyrating stoat...\n\nGyltha hurried off down the stairs to lecture Ulf on the danger of men who offered goodies.\n\nSix years old, Adelia thought. Frightened of everything, six years of a brutal father and then a dreadful death. What can I do? What shall I do?\n\nShe went downstairs. \"May I borrow Ulf? There may be some purpose in seeing the place from which each child disappeared. Also, I should like to examine Little Saint Peter's bones.\"\n\n\"They can't tell you much, girl. The nuns boiled him.\"\n\n\"I know.\" It was the usual practice with the body of a putative saint. \"But bones can speak.\"\n\nPeter was the primus inter pares of the murdered children, the first to disappear and the first to die. As far as could be deduced, his was the only one whose death did not accord with the others', since, presumably, it had occurred in Cambridge.\n\nAlso, his was the only death to be accredited to crucifixion and, unless that could be disproved, she and Simon would have failed in their mission to exonerate the Jews, no matter how many killers they produced from the chalk hills.\n\nShe found herself explaining this to Gyltha. \"Perhaps the boy's parents can be persuaded to talk to me. They would have seen his body before it was boiled.\"\n\n\"Walter and his missus? They saw nails in them little hands and the crown of thorns on that poor little head and they won't say no different, not without losing themselves a mort of cash.\"\n\n\"They're making money from their son?\"\n\nGyltha pointed upriver. \"Get you to Trumpington and their cottage, the which you can't see for folk clamoring to go inside it so's to breathe air as Little Saint Peter breathed and touch Little Saint Peter's shirt, the which they can't acause he was wearing his only one, and Walter and Ethy sitting at their door charging a penny a time.\"\n\n\"How shameful.\"\n\nGyltha hung a kettle over the fire and then turned. \"Seems you've never wanted for much, mistress.\" The \"mistress\" was ominous; such rapport as had been achieved that morning had waned.\n\nAdelia admitted she had not.\n\n\"Then s'pose you wait til you got six childer to feed apart from the one that's dead and obliged for the roof over your head to do four days a week plowing and reaping of the nunnery's fields as well as your own, to say nought of Agnes being bonded to do its bloody cleaning. Maybe you don't care for their way, but that's not shameful, that's surviving.\"\n\nAdelia was silenced. After a while, she said, \"Then I shall go to Saint Radegund's and ask to see the bones in its reliquary.\"\n\n\"Huh.\"\n\n\"I shall look around me, at least,\" Adelia said, piqued. \"Shall Ulf guide me or not?\"\n\nUlf would, though not willingly. So would the dog, though it seemed to scowl as horribly as the boy.\n\nWell, perhaps with such companions--but such companions--she would blend into the Cambridge scenery.\n\n\"Blend into the scenery,\" she said to Mansur with emphasis when he readied himself to accompany her. \"You can't come. I'd as easy blend in with a troop of acrobats.\"\n\nHe protested, but she pointed out that it was daylight, there were plenty of people about, and she had her dagger and a dog whose smell could fell an assailant at twenty paces. In the end, she thought, he was not reluctant to stay behind with Gyltha in the kitchen.\n\nShe set off.\n\nBeyond an orchard, a raised balk ran along the edge of a common field leading down to the river, angled with cultivated strips. Men and women were hoeing the spring planting. One or two touched their forehead to her. Farther along, the breeze bellied washing that was pinned to tenterhooks.\n\nThe Cam, Adelia saw, was a boundary. Across the river was a countryside of gently rising uplands, some forested, some parkland, a mansion like a toy in the distance. Behind her, the town with its noisy quays crowded the right bank as if enjoying the uninterrupted view.\n\n\"Where's Trumpington?\" she asked Ulf.\n\n\"Trumpington,\" the boy grumbled to the dog. They went left. The angle of the afternoon sun showed that they had turned south. Punts went past them, women as well as men poling themselves about their business, the river their thoroughfare. Some waved to Ulf, the boy nodding back and naming each one to the dog. \"Sawney on his way for to collect the rents, the old grub...Gammer White with the washing for Chenies...Sister Fatty for to supply the hermits, look a her puff...Old Moggy finished early at the market...\"\n\nThey were on a causeway that kept Adelia's boots, the boy's bare feet, and Safeguard's paws from sinking into meadows where cows grazed on deep grass and buttercups among willow and alder, their hooves causing a sucking sound as they moved to a fresh patch.\n\nShe'd never seen so much greenness in so great a variety. Or so many birds. Or such fat cattle. Pasture in Salerno was burned thin and good only for goats.\n\nThe boy stopped and pointed to a cluster of thatch and a church tower in the distance. \"Trumpington,\" he informed the dog.\n\nAdelia nodded. \"Now, where is Saint Radegund's tree?\"\n\nThe boy rolled his eyes, intoned \"Saint Raddy's,\" and set off back the way they had come.\n\nWith Safeguard plodding dispiritedly behind them, they crossed the river by a footbridge so that this time they were following the Cam's left bank northward, the boy complaining to the dog at every step. From what Adelia could understand, he resented Gyltha's change of occupation. As errand boy to his grandmother's eel business, he occasionally received pourboires from the customers, a source of money now cut off.\n\nAdelia ignored him.\n\nA hunting horn sounded musically in the hills to the west. Safeguard and Ulf raised their disreputable heads and paused. \"Wolf,\" Ulf told the dog. The echo died and they went on.\n\nNow Adelia was able to look across the water to Cambridge town. Set without competition against pure sky, its jumbled roofs that were spiked with church towers gained significance, even beauty.\n\nIn the distance loomed Great Bridge, a massive, workmanlike arch crammed with traffic. Beyond it, where the river formed a deep pool below the castle on its hill--almost a mountain in this terrain--shipping so crowded the quays it seemed impossible, from this view, that it should disentangle itself. Wooden cranes dipped and rose like bowing herons. Shouts and instructions were being issued in different languages. The crafts were as varied as the tongues; wherries, horse-drawn barges, poled barges, rafts, vessels like arks--even, to Adelia's astonishment, a dhow. She could see men with blond plaits, hung about with animal skins so that they looked like bears, performing a leaping dance back and forth between barges for the amusement of working dockers.\n\nCarried on the breeze, the noise and industry accentuated the quietness of the bank where she walked with the boy and the dog. She heard Ulf informing the dog that they were approaching Saint Radegund's tree.\n\nShe'd worked that out for herself. It had been fenced off. A stall stood just outside the palings with a pile of branches on it. Two nuns were breaking off twigs, attaching a ribbon to each, and selling them to relic-seekers.\n\nThis, then, was where Little Saint Peter had taken his Easter branches and where, subsequently, Chaim the Jew had been hanged.\n\nThe tree stood outside the convent grounds, which were marked here by a wall that, on the river side, led down to gates next to a boathouse and a small quay but which, heading west, ran so far back into the forested countryside that Adelia could see no end to it.\n\nInside the open gates, other nuns busied themselves among a mass of pilgrims like black-and-white bees directing honey-gatherers into their hive. As Adelia went under the entrance arch, a nun sitting at a table in the sunny courtyard was telling a man and wife ahead of her, \"Penny to visit Little Saint Peter's tomb,\" adding, \"Or a dozen eggs, we're low on eggs, hens ain't laying.\"\n\n\"Pot of honey?\" the wife suggested.\n\nThe nun tutted, but they were allowed to pass in. Adelia contributed two pennies since the nun was prepared to exclude Safeguard if she did not and Ulf was reluctant to enter without the dog. Her coins clinked into a bowl already nearly full. The argument had held up the line of people that formed behind her, and one of the nuns marshaling it became angry at the delay and almost pushed her through the gates.\n\nInevitably, Adelia compared this, the first English nunnery she had visited, with Saint Giorgio's, largest of the three female convents in Salerno and the one with which she was most familiar. The comparison was unfair, she knew; Saint Giorgio's was a rich foundation, a place of marble and mosaic, bronze doors opening into courtyards where fountains cooled the air, a place, Mother Ambrose always said, \"to feed with beauty the hungry souls who come to us.\"\n\nIf the souls of Cambridge looked for such sustenance from Saint Radegund's, they went empty away. Few had endowed this female house, suggesting that the rich of England did not esteem women's worship. True, there was a pleasing simplicity of line in the convent's collection of plain stone oblong outbuildings, though none of them any bigger nor more ornate than the barn in which Saint Giorgio's kept its grain, but beauty was lacking. So was charity. Here, the nuns were employed in selling rather than giving.\n\nStalls set up along the path to the church displayed Little Saint Peter talismans, badges, banners, figurines, plaques, weavings from Little Saint Peter's willow, ampullae containing Little Saint Peter's blood, which, if it were human blood, had been so watered as to show only the lightest taint of pink.\n\nThere was a press to buy. \"What one's good for gout?...For the flux?...For fertility?...Can this cure staggers in a cow?\"\n\nSaint Radegund's was not waiting on the years it would take for its martyred son to be confirmed in sainthood by the Vatican. But then, neither had Canterbury, where the industry based on the martyrdom of Saint Thomas a Becket was immensely bigger and better organized.\n\nChastened by Gyltha's strictures on want, Adelia could not blame so poor a convent for exploitation, but she could despise the vulgarity with which it was being done. Roger of Acton was here, striding up and down the line of pilgrims, brandishing an ampulla, urging the crowd to buy: \"Whoso shall be washed in the blood of this little one need never wash again.\" The sour whiff as he passed suggested he took his own advice.\n\nThe man had capered the journey from Canterbury, a demented monkey, always shouting. His earflapped cap was still too large for him, his green-black robe daubed with the same mud and food splashes.\n\nOn a pilgrimage that had consisted mainly of educated people, the man had appeared an idiot. Yet here, among the desperate, his cracked voice carried compulsion. Roger of Acton said \"Buy,\" and his hearers bought.\n\nIt was expected that God's finger infected those it touched with holy madness; Acton was commanding the respect accorded to skeletal men gibbering in the caves of the East, or to a stylite balancing on his pillar. Did not saints embrace discomfort? Had not the corpse of Saint Thomas a Becket been wearing a hair shirt swarming with lice? Dirt, exaltation, and an ability to quote the Bible were signs of sanctity.\n\nHe was of a type Adelia had always found to be dangerous; it denounced eccentric old women as witches and hauled adulterers before the courts, its voice inciting violence against other races, other beliefs.\n\nThe question was how dangerous.\n\nWas it you? Adelia wondered, watching him. Do you prowl Wandlebury Ring? Do you truly wash in the blood of children?\n\nWell, she wasn't going to ask him yet, not until she had reason, but in the meantime, he remained a fitting candidate.\n\nHe didn't recognize her. Neither did Prioress Joan, who passed them on her way to the gates. She was dressed for riding and had a gyrfalcon on her wrist, encouraging the customers as she went with a \"Tallyho.\"\n\nThe woman's confident, bullying manner had led Adelia to expect that the house of which she was the head would prove to be the acme of organization. Instead, slackness was apparent: weeds grew around the church; there were missing tiles on its roof. The nuns' habits were patched, the white linen beneath the black wimples showed mostly dirty; their manners were coarse.\n\nShuffling behind the line entering the church, she wondered where the money gained from Little Saint Peter was going. Not, so far, to the greater glory of God. Nor on comfort for the pilgrims: no one assisted the sick; there were no benches for the lame while they waited; no refreshment. The only suggestion for overnight accommodation was a curling list of the town's inns pinned to the church gate.\n\nNot that the supplicants shuffling with her seemed to care. A woman on crutches boasted of visits to the glories of Canterbury, Winchester, Walsingham, Bury Saint Edmunds, and Saint Albans as she displayed her badges to those around her, but she was tolerant of the shabbiness here: \"I got hopes of this un,\" she said. \"He'm a young saint yet, but he was crucified by Jews; Jesus'll listen to him, I'll be bound.\"\n\nAn English saint, one who'd shared the same fate, and at the same hands, as the Son of God. Who had breathed the air they breathed now. Despite herself, Adelia found herself praying that he would.\n\nShe was inside the church now. A clerk sat at a table by the doors, taking down the deposition of a pale-faced woman who was telling him she felt better for having touched the reliquary.\n\nThis was too tame for Roger of Acton, who came bounding up. \"You were strengthened? You felt the Holy Spirit? Your sins washed away? Your infirmity gone?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the woman said, and then more excitedly: \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Another miracle!\" She was dragged outside to be displayed to the waiting line. \"A cure, my people! Let us praise God and his little saint.\"\n\nThe church smelled of wood and straw. The chalk outline of a maze on the nave suggested that someone had attempted to draw the labyrinth of Jerusalem on the stones, but only a few of the pilgrims were obeying the nun trying to make them walk it. The rest were pushing toward a side chapel where the reliquary lay hidden from Adelia's view by those in front of her.\n\nWhile she waited she looked around. A fine stone plaque on one wall declaring that \"in the Year of Our Lord 1138, King Stephen confirmed the gift which William le Moyne, goldsmith, made to the nuns of the cell newly founded in the town of Cambridge for the soul of the late King Henry.\"\n\nIt probably explained the poverty, Adelia thought. Stephen's war with his cousin Matilda had ended in triumph for Matilda, or, rather, Henry II, her son. The present king would not be happy to endow a house confirmed by the man his mother had fought for thirteen years.\n\nA list of prioresses declared that Joan had taken up her position only two years previously. The church's general disrepair showed she lacked enthusiasm for it. Her more secular interest was suggested by the painting of a horse with the subscription: \"Braveheart. A.D. 1151--A.D. 1169. Well Done, Thou Good and Faithful Servant.\" A bridle and bit hung from the wooden fingertips of a statue to Saint Mary.\n\nThe couple in front had now reached the reliquary. They dropped to their knees, allowing Adelia to see it for the first time.\n\nShe caught her breath. Here in a white blaze of candles was transcendence to forgive all the grossness that had gone before. Not just the glowing reliquary but the young nun at its head who knelt, still as stone, her face tragic, her hands steepled in prayer, brought to life a scene from the Gospels: a mother, her dead child; together they made a scene of tender grace.\n\nAdelia's neck prickled. She was suddenly ravished by the wish to believe. Here, surely, in this place was radiant truth to sweep doubt up to Heaven for God to laugh at.\n\nThe couple was praying. Their son was in Syria--she'd heard them talking of him. Together, as if they'd been practicing, they whispered, \"Oh holy child, if you'd mention our boy to the Lord and send him home safe, we'd be grateful evermore.\"\n\nLet me believe, God, Adelia thought. A plea as pure and simple as this must prevail. Only let me believe. I am lonely for belief.\n\nHolding each other, the man and woman moved away. Adelia knelt. The nun smiled at her. She was the shy little one who had accompanied the prioress to Canterbury and back, but now timidity had been transfigured into compassion. Her eyes were loving. \"Little Saint Peter will hear you, my sister.\"\n\nThe reliquary was shaped like a coffin and had been placed on top of a carved stone tomb so that it should be on eye level with those who knelt to it. This, then, was where the convent's money had gone--into a long, jewel-encrusted casket on which a master goldsmith had wrought domestic and agricultural scenes depicting the life of a boy, his martyrdom by fiends, and his ascension to Paradise borne upward by Saint Mary.\n\nInset along one side was mother-of-pearl so thin that it acted as a window. Peering into it, Adelia could see only the bones of a hand that had been propped up on a small velvet pillow to assume the attitude of benediction.\n\n\"You may kiss his knuckle, if you wish.\" The nun pointed to a monstrance lying on a cushion on top of the reliquary. It resembled a Saxon brooch and had a knobbled, tiny bone set in gold among precious stones.\n\nIt was the trapezium bone of the right hand. The glory faded. Adelia returned to herself. \"Another penny to view the whole skeleton,\" she said.\n\nThe nun's white brow--she was beautiful--furrowed. Then she leaned forward, removed the monstrance, and lifted the reliquary's lid. As she did so, her sleeve crumpled to show an arm blackened with bruises.\n\nAdelia, shocked, looked at her; they beat this gentle, lovely girl. The nun smiled and smoothed her sleeve down. \"God is good,\" she said.\n\nAdelia hoped He was. Without asking permission, she picked up one of the candles and directed its flame toward the bones.\n\nBless him, they were so small. Prioress Joan had magnified her saint in her mind; the reliquary was too large; the skeleton was lost in it. She was reminded of a little boy dressed in clothes too big for him.\n\nTears prickled Adelia's eyes even as they took in the fact that the only distortion of the hands and feet was from the missing trapezoid. No nails had been hammered into these extremities, neither was the rib cage or spine punctured. The wound from a spear that Prior Geoffrey had described to Simon had more likely been due to the process of mortification swelling the body beyond what the skin could bear. The stomach had split open.\n\nBut there, around the pelvic bones, were the same sharp, irregular chippings she had seen on the other children. She had to stop herself from putting her hand into the reliquary to lift them out for examination, but she was almost sure; the boy had been repeatedly stabbed with that distinctive blade of a kind she had never seen before.\n\n\"Hey, missus.\" The line behind her was becoming restive.\n\nAdelia crossed herself and walked away, putting her penny onto the table of the clerk at the door. \"Are you cured, mistress?\" he asked her. \"I must record any miracles.\"\n\n\"You may put down that I feel better,\" she said.\n\n\"Justified\" would have been a more accurate word; she knew where she was now. Little Saint Peter had not been crucified; he had died even more obscenely. Like the others.\n\nAnd how to declare that to a coroner's inquest? she thought, sourly. I, Dr. Trotula, have physical proof that this boy did not die on a cross but at the hands of a butcher who still walks among you.\n\nPlay that to a jury knowing nothing of anatomical sciences and caring less, demonstrated to them by a foreign woman.\n\nIt wasn't until she was outside in the air that she realized Ulf had not come in with her. She found him sitting on the ground by the gates with his arms round his knees.\n\nIt occurred to Adelia that she had been unthinking. \"Were you acquainted with Little Saint Peter?\"\n\nLabored sarcasm was addressed to the Safeguard. \"Never went to bloody school with un wintertime, did I? 'Course I never.\"\n\n\"I see. I am sorry.\" She had been thoughtless; the skeleton back there was once a schoolfellow and a friend to this one, who, presumably, must grieve for him. She said politely, \"However, not many of us can say we attended lessons with a saint.\"\n\nThe boy shrugged.\n\nAdelia was unacquainted with children; mostly she dealt with dead ones. She saw no reason to address them other than as cognitive human beings, and when they did not respond, like this one, she was at a loss.\n\n\"We will go back to Saint Radegund's tree,\" she said. She wanted to talk to the nuns there.\n\nThey retraced their steps. A thought struck Adelia. \"By any chance did you see your schoolfellow on the day he disappeared?\"\n\nThe boy rolled his eyes at the dog in exasperation. \"Easter that was. Easter me and Gran was still in the fens.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" She walked on. It had been worth a try.\n\nBehind her, the boy addressed the dog: \"Will did, though. Will was with him, wasn't he?\"\n\nAdelia turned round. \"Will?\"\n\nUlf tutted; the dog was being obtuse. \"Him and Will was picking pussy willow both.\"\n\nThere'd been no mention of a Will in the account of Little Saint Peter's last day that Prior Geoffrey had given to Simon and that Simon had passed on to her. \"Who is Will?\"\n\nWhen the child was about to speak to the dog, Adelia put her hand on the boy's head and screwed it round to face her. \"I would prefer it if you talked directly to me.\"\n\nUlf retwisted his neck so that he could look back at the Safeguard. \"We don't like her,\" he told it.\n\n\"I don't like you, either,\" Adelia pointed out, \"but the matter at issue is who killed your schoolmate, how, and why. I am skilled in the investigation of such things, and in this case I have need of your local knowledge--to which, since you and your grandmother are in my employment, I am entitled. Our liking for each other, or lack of it, is irrelevant.\"\n\n\"Jews bloody did it.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\nFor the first time, Ulf looked straight at her. Had the tax collector been with them at that moment, he would have seen that, like Adelia's when she was working, the boy's eyes aged the face they were set in. Adelia saw an almost appalling shrewdness.\n\n\"You come along o' me,\" Ulf said.\n\nAdelia wiped her hand down her skirt--the child's hair where it stuck out from his cap had been greasy and quite possibly inhabited--and followed him. He stopped.\n\nThey were looking across the river at a large and imposing mansion with a lawn that led down to a small pier. Closed shutters on every window and weeds growing from the gutters showed it to be abandoned.\n\n\"Chief Jew's place,\" Ulf said.\n\n\"Chaim's house? Where Peter was assumed to have been crucified?\"\n\nThe boy nodded. \"Only he weren't. Not then.\"\n\n\"My information is that a woman saw the body hanging in one of the rooms.\"\n\n\"Martha,\" the boy said, his tone putting the name into the same category as rheumatism, unadmired but to be put up with. \"That'll say anything to get her bloody noticed.\" As if he'd gone too far in condemning a fellow Cambriensan, he added, \"I ain't saying her never, I'm saying her never bloody see it when her says she did. Like old Peaty. Look here.\"\n\nThey were off again, past Saint Radegund's willow and its stall of branches, to the bridge.\n\nHere was where a man delivering peat to the castle had seen two Jews casting a bundle, presumed to be the body of Little Peter, into the Cam. She said, \"The peat seller was also mistaken?\"\n\nThe boy nodded. \"Old Peaty, he'm half blind and a wormy old liar. He didn't see nothing. Acause...\"\n\nNow they were returning the way they'd come, back to the spot opposite Chaim's house.\n\n\"Acause,\" said Ulf, pointing to the empty pier protruding into the water, \"Acause that's where they found the body. Caught under them bloody stanchions like. So nobody threw nothing over the bridge acause...?\"\n\nHe looked at her expectantly; this was a test.\n\n\"Because,\" Adelia said, \"bodies do not float upstream.\"\n\nThe worldly wise eyes were suddenly amused, like those of a teacher whose student had unexpectedly come up to scratch. She'd passed.\n\nBut if the testimony of the peat seller was so obviously false, thus casting doubt on that of the woman who claimed that only a little while before, she had seen the crucified body of the child in Chaim's house, why had the finger of guilt pointed straight at the Jews?\n\n\"Acause they bloody did it,\" the boy said, \"only not then.\" He gestured with a grubby hand for her to sit down on the grass, then sat beside her. He began talking fast, allowing her entrance into a world of juveniles who formed theory based on data differently observed and at odds with the conclusions of adults.\n\nAdelia had difficulty following not only the accent but the patois; she leaped onto phrases she could recognize as if jumping from tussock to tussock across a morass.\n\nWill, she gathered, was a boy of about Ulf's age, and he had been on the same errand as Peter, to gather pussy willow for Palm Sunday decoration. Will lived in Cambridge proper, but he and the boy from Trumpington had encountered each other at Saint Radegund's tree, where both had been attracted by the sight of the wedding celebrations on Chaim's lawn across the river. Will had thereupon accompanied Peter over the bridge and through the town in order to see what was to be seen in the stables at the back of Chaim's house.\n\nAfterward, Will had left his companion to take the needed willow branches back home to his mother.\n\nThere was a pause in the narration, but Adelia knew there was more to come--Ulf was a born storyteller. The sun was warm, and it was not unpleasant to sit in the dappling shade of the willows, though Safeguard's coat had acquired something noisome on the walk that became more pungent as it dried. Ulf, with his prehensile little feet in the river, complained of hunger. \"Give us a penny and I'll go to the pie shop for us.\"\n\n\"Later.\" Adelia prodded him on. \"Let me recapitulate. Will went home and Peter disappeared into Chaim's house, never to be seen again.\"\n\nThe child gave a mocking sniff. \"Never to be seen by any bugger 'cept Will.\"\n\n\"Will saw him again?\"\n\nIt had been later that day, getting dark. Will had returned to the Cam to bring a supper pail to his father, who was working into the night caulking one of the barges ready for the morning.\n\nAnd Will on the Cambridge side had seen Peter across the river, standing on the left bank--\"Here he was, right here. Where we're bloody sitting.\" Will had called out to Peter that he should be getting home.\n\n\"So he ought've,\" Ulf added, virtuously, \"you get caught in them Trumpington marshes of a night, will o'the wisps lead you down to the Pit.\"\n\nAdelia ignored will o'the wisps, not knowing, nor caring, what they were. \"Go on.\"\n\n\"So Peter, he calls back he's going to meet someone for the Jew-Jews.\"\n\n\"Ju-jus?\"\n\n\"Jew-Jews.\" Ulf was impatient, twice prodding a finger in the air toward Chaim's house. \"Jew-Jews, that's what he said. He was going to meet someone for the Jew-Jews, and would Will come with him. But Will says no, and he's bloody glad he did, acause that's when nobody saw Peter after.\"\n\nJew-Jews. Meeting someone for the Jew-Jews? Running an errand on the Jew-Jews' behalf? And why that infantile term? There were a hundred derogatory terms for Jews; since she'd been in England she'd heard most of them, but not that one.\n\nShe puzzled over it, recreating the scene at the river on that night. Even today in full sunlight, even with the crowd around Saint Radegund's tree farther up, this bit of bank was quiet, forest and parkland closing in behind it. How shadowy it would have been then.\n\nPeter's character, she thought, emerged from the narrative as fey, romantic; Ulf had described a child more easily distracted than the dependable Will.\n\nShe saw him now: a small figure, waving to his friend, pale among the dusk of the trees, disappearing into them forever.\n\n\"Did Will inform anyone of this?\"\n\nWill had not, at least not the adults. Too scared the bloody Jews would come after him next. And right to be so, in Ulf's opinion. Only to his peers, that knee-high, hidden, disregarded, secret world of childhood camaraderie, had Will committed his secret.\n\nThe result, in any case, had been the desired one: The Jews had been accused and the perpetrator and his wife punished.\n\nLeaving the ground clear for the murderer to kill again, Adelia thought.\n\nUlf was watching her. \"You want more? There's more. Get your boots wet, though.\"\n\nHe showed her his final proof that Peter had returned to Chaim's house later that night, proof of Chaim's guilt. Because she had to scramble down the bank to the river's edge and bend low, it did indeed involve getting her feet wet. And the bottom of her skirt. And a considerable amount of Cambridge silt over the rest of her. Safeguard came with them.\n\nIt was when the three emerged back onto the bank that darker shadows than those of the trees fell across them.\n\n\"God's eyes, it's the foreign bitch,\" Sir Gervase said.\n\n\"Rising as Aphrodite from the river,\" Sir Joscelin said.\n\nThey were in hunting leathers, sitting their sweat-flecked horses like gods. The corpse of a wolf slung in front of Sir Joscelin had a cloak lain over it from which a dripping muzzle hung down, still caught in the rictus of a snarl.\n\nThe huntsman who'd accompanied them on the pilgrimage was in the background, holding three wolfhounds on a leash, each one of which was big enough to pick Adelia up and carry her off. The dogs' eyes watched her mildly from rough, mustachioed faces.\n\nShe would have walked away, but Sir Gervase kneed his horse forward so that she and Ulf and Safeguard were in a triangle formed on two sides by horses with the river as its base behind them.\n\n\"We should ask ourselves what our visitor to Cambridge is doing paddling in the mud, Gervase.\" Sir Joscelin was amused.\n\n\"We should. We should also damn well tell the sheriff about her magic axes when a gentleman deigns to notice her.\" More jovial now, but still threatening, Gervase was out to regain the supremacy he'd lost to Adelia in their encounter. \"Eh? What about that, witch? Where's your Saracen lover now?\" Each question came louder. \"What about ducking you back in the water? Eh? Eh? Is that his brat? It looks dirty enough.\"\n\nShe wasn't frightened this time. You ignorant clod, she thought. You dare talk to me.\n\nAt the same time she was fascinated; she didn't take her eyes off him. More hatred here, enough to eclipse Roger of Acton's. He'd have raped her on that hill merely to show that he could--and would now if his friend were not by. Power over the powerless.\n\nWas it you?\n\nThe boy beside her was as still as death. The dog had crept behind her legs where the wolfhounds couldn't see him.\n\n\"Gervase,\" Sir Joscelin said sharply. Then, to her: \"Pay my friend no mind, mistress. He's waxy because his spear missed old Lupus here\"--he patted the wolf's head--\"and mine didn't.\" He smiled at his companion before turning to look down again on Adelia. \"I hear the good prior has found you better accommodation than a cart.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, \"he has.\"\n\n\"And your doctor friend? Is he setting up here?\"\n\n\"He is.\"\n\n\"Saracen Quack and Whore, that'll look good on the shingle.\" Sir Gervase was getting restive and more outrageous.\n\nThis is what it's like to be among the weak, Adelia thought. The strong insult you with impunity. Well, we'll see.\n\nSir Joscelin was ignoring the man. \"I suppose your doctor can do nothing for poor Gelhert here, can he? The wolf sliced his leg.\" He jerked his head toward one of the hounds. It had a paw raised.\n\nAnd that, too, is an insult, Adelia thought, though you may not mean it to be. She said, \"He is better with humans. You should advise your friend to consult him as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"Eh? What's the bitch say?\"\n\n\"Do you think him ill then?\" Joscelin asked.\n\n\"There are signs.\"\n\n\"What signs?\" Gervase was suddenly anxious. \"What signs, woman?\"\n\n\"I am not in a position to say,\" she told Joscelin. Which was true, since there were none. \"But it would be as well for him to consult a doctor--and quickly.\"\n\nAnxiety was turning to alarm. \"Oh my God, I sneezed a full seven times this morning.\"\n\n\"Sneezing,\" Adelia said, reflectively. \"There it is, then.\"\n\n\"Oh my God.\" He wrenched the reins and wheeled his horse, spiking its side with his spurs, leaving Adelia spattered with mud but content.\n\nSmiling, Joscelin raised his cap. \"Good day, mistress.\"\n\nThe huntsman bowed to her, gathered the hounds, and followed them.\n\nIt could be either of them, Adelia told herself, watching them go. Because Gervase is a brute and the other is not means nothing.\n\nSir Joscelin, for all his pleasant manner, was as likely a candidate as his objectionable companion, of whom he was obviously fond. He'd been on the hill that morning.\n\nBut then, who had not? Hugh, the huntsman with a face as bland as milk that might well harbor as much viciousness as Roger of Acton without showing it. The fat-cheeked merchant from Cherry Hinton. The minstrel, too. The monks--the one they called Brother Gilbert was a hater if ever she'd met one. All had access to Wandlebury Ring that night. As for the inquisitive tax inspector, everything about him was subject to suspicion.\n\nAnd why do I consider only the men? There's the prioress, nun, merchant's wife, servants.\n\nBut, no, she absolved all females; this was not a woman's crime. Not that women were incapable of cruelty to children--she had examined many results of torture and neglect--but the only cases that even approached this one's savage, sexual assault had involved men, always men.\n\n\"They talked to you.\" Ulf's stillness, unlike her own, had been the grip of awe. \"Crusaders, they are. Both on 'em. Been to the Holy Land.\"\n\n\"Have they indeed,\" she said flatly.\n\nThey had, and had come back rich, having won their spurs. Sir Gervase held Coton manor by knight's fee of the priory. Sir Joscelin held Grantchester manor of Saint Radegund's. Great hunters they were and borrowed Hugh and his wolfhounds from Prior Geoffrey when they had to run down a devil like the one across Sir Joscelin's horse--been taking lambs over Trumpington way, it had--acause Hugh was the best wolf hunter in Cambridgeshire....\n\nMen, she thought, listening to him run on in his admiration. Even when they are small boys...\n\nBut this one was looking up at her now, worldly wise again. \"And you stood to 'em,\" he said.\n\nShe, too, had won her spurs.\n\nCompanionably, they walked back to Old Benjamin's together, the disgraced Safeguard trailing behind them.\n\nIt was dark by the time Simon returned to the house, hungry for the eel stew with dumplings and fish pie awaiting him--the day was Friday and Gyltha strictly observed it--complaining of the great number of wool merchants plying their trade in and around Cambridge.\n\n\"Amiable beings to a man, each one amiably explaining to me that my ties came from an old batch of wool...something about its nap, apparently...but, oh, dear me, yes, not impossible to trace the bale it came from were I prepared to pursue its history.\"\n\nFor all the insignificance of his looks and dress, Simon of Naples came of a wealthy family and had never considered before the journey that wool made from the sheep to the clothyard. It amazed him.\n\nHe instructed Mansur and Adelia as he ate.\n\n\"They use urine to clean the fleeces, did you know? Wash it in vats of piss to which whole families contribute.\" Carding, fulling, weaving, dyeing, mordants. \"Can you conceive of the difficulty in achieving of the color black? Experto crede. It must be based on deep blue, woad or a combination of tannin and iron. I tell you, yellow is simpler. I have met dyers today who would that we all dressed in yellow, like ladies of the night....\"\n\nAdelia's fingers began to tap; Simon's glee suggested that his quest had been successful, but she also had news.\n\nHe noticed. \"Oh, very well. The ties are deemed to be worsted from their solid, compact surface, but, even so, we could not have traced it if this strip...\" Simon ran it lovingly through his hand and Adelia saw that in the thrill of investigation he had all but forgotten the use to which it had been put. \"If this strip had not included part of a selvedge, a warp-turned selvedge for strengthening edges, distinctive to the weaver...\"\n\nHe caught her eye and gave in. \"It is part of a batch sent to the Abbot of Ely three years ago. The abbot holds the concession to supply all religious houses in Cambridgeshire with the cloth in which to dress their monastics.\"\n\nMansur was the first to respond. \"A habit? It is from a monk's habit?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThere was one of the reflective silences to which their suppers were becoming subject.\n\nAdelia said, \"The only monastic we can absolve is the prior, who was with us all night.\"\n\nSimon nodded. \"His monks wear black beneath the rochet.\"\n\nMamsur said, \"So do the holy women.\"\n\n\"That is true\"--Simon smiled at him--\"but in this case irrelevant, for in the course of my investigations I came across the merchant from Cherry Hinton again who, as luck would have it, deals in wool. He assures me that the nuns and his wife and the female servants spent the night under canvas, ringed outside and guarded by the males of the company. If one of those ladies is our murderer, she could not have gone unnoticed to tramp the hills carrying bodies.\"\n\nWhich left the three monks accompanying Prior Geoffrey. Simon listed them.\n\nYoung Brother Ninian? Surely not. Yet why not?\n\nBrother Gilbert? A displeasing fellow, a possible subject.\n\nThe other one?\n\nNobody could remember either the face or the personality of the third monk.\n\n\"Until we make more inquiries, speculation is bootless.\" Simon said. \"A spoiled habit, cast out onto a midden perhaps; the killer could have acquired it anywhere. We will pursue it when we are fresher.\"\n\nHe sat back and reached for his wine cup. \"And now, Doctor, forgive me. We Jews so rarely join the chase, you see, that I have become as tedious as any huntsman with a tale of how he ran his quarry down. What news from your day?\"\n\nAdelia began her account chronologically and was more brusque about it; the ending of her own day's hunt had been more fruitful than Simon's, but she doubted if he would like it. She didn't.\n\nHe was encouraged by her view of Little Saint Peter's bones. \"I knew it. Here's a blow for our side. The boy never was crucified.\"\n\n\"No, he wasn't,\" she said, and took her listeners to the other side of the river and her conversation with Ulf.\n\n\"We have it.\" Simon spluttered wine. \"Doctor, you have saved Israel. The child was seen after leaving Chaim's house? Then all we must do is gather up this boy Will and take him to the sheriff. 'You see, my lord Sheriff, here is living proof that the Jews had nothing to do with the death of Little Saint Peter....'\" His voice trailed away as he saw the look on Adelia's face.\n\n\"I am afraid they did,\" she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Over the year, the watch kept on Cambridge Castle by the townspeople to make sure the Jews inside did not escape from it had dwindled to Agnes, the eel seller's wife and mother to Harold, whose remains still awaited burial.\n\nThe small hut she'd built for herself out of withies looked like a beehive against the great gates. By day she sat at its entrance, knitting, with one of her husband's eel glaives planted spike end down on one side of her, and on the other a large handbell. By night she slept in the hut.\n\nOn the occasion during the winter when the sheriff had tried to smuggle the Jews out through the dark, thinking she was asleep, she had used both weapons. The glaive had near skewered one of the accompanying sheriff's men; the bell had raised the town. The Jews had been hurried back inside.\n\nThe castle postern was also guarded, this time by geese kept there for the purpose of declaring the emergence of anyone trying to get out, much as the geese of the Capitoline had warned Rome that the Gauls were trying to get in. An attempt by the sheriff's men to shoot them from the castle walls had caused such honking that, again, the alarm was raised.\n\nClimbing the steep, winding, fortified road up to the castle, Adelia expressed surprise that commoners were allowed to flout authority for so long. In Sicily a troop of the king's soldiers would have solved the problem in minutes.\n\n\"And result in massacre?\" Simon said. \"Where could it escort the Jews that would not give rise to the same situation? The whole country believes the Jews of Cambridge to be child-crucifiers.\"\n\nHe was downcast today and, Adelia suspected, very angry.\n\n\"I suppose so.\" She reflected on the restraint with which the king of England was dealing with the matter. She could have expected a man like him, a man of blood, to wreak awful revenge on the people of Cambridge for killing one of his most profitable Jews. Henry had been responsible for the death of Becket; he was a tyrant, after all, like any other. But so far he had held his hand.\n\nWhen asked what she thought might happen, Gyltha had said the town did not look forward to the fine that would be imposed on it for Chaim's death, but she wasn't anticipating wholesale hangings. This king was a tolerant king as long as you didn't poach his deer. Or cross him beyond endurance, as Archbishop Thomas had.\n\n\"Ain't like the old days when his ma and uncle Stephen were warring with each other,\" she'd said. \"Hangings? A baron'd come galloping up--didn't matter which side he was on, didn't matter which side you was on, he'd hang you just for scratching your arse.\"\n\n\"Quite right, too,\" Adelia had said. \"A nasty habit.\" The two of them were beginning to get on well.\n\nThe civil war between Matilda and Stephen, Gyltha said, had even penetrated the fens. The Isle of Ely with its cathedral had changed hands so many times, you never knew who was abbot and who wasn't. \"Like we poor folk was a carcass and wolves was ripping us apart. And when Geoffrey de Mandeville came through...\" At that point, Gyltha had shaken her head and fallen silent. Then she said, \"Thirteen years of it. Thirteen years with God and saints sleeping and taking no bloody notice.\"\n\n\"Thirteen years when God and his saints slept.\" Since her arrival in England, Adelia had heard that phrase used about the civil war a score of times. People still blanched at the memory. Yet on the accession of Henry II, it had stopped. In twenty years it had never restarted. England had become a peaceful country.\n\nThe Plantagenet was a more subtle man than she'd classified him; perhaps he should be reconsidered.\n\nThey turned the last corner of the approach and emerged onto the apron before the castle.\n\nThe simple motte and bailey the Conqueror had built to guard the river crossing had gone, its wooden palisade replaced by curtain walls, its keep grown into the accommodation, church, stables, mews, barracks, women's quarters, kitchens, laundry, vegetable and herb gardens, dairy, tiltyards, and gallows and lockup necessary for a sheriff administering a sizable, prosperous town. At one end, scaffolding and platforms clad the growing tower that would replace the one that had burned down.\n\nOutside the gates, two sentries leaned on their spears and talked to Agnes where she sat, knitting, on a stool outside her beehive. Somebody else was sitting on the ground, resting his head against the castle wall.\n\nAdelia groaned. \"Is the man ubiquitous?\"\n\nAt the sight of the newcomers, Roger of Acton leaped to his feet, picked up a wooden board on a stick that had been lying beside him, and began shouting. The chalked message read: \"Pray for Littel Saint Peter, who was crucafid by the Jews.\"\n\nYesterday he'd favored the pilgrims to Saint Radegund's; today, it appeared, the bishop was coming to visit the sheriff and Acton was ready to waylay him.\n\nAgain, there was no recognition of Adelia, nor, despite Mansur's singularity, of the two men with her. He doesn't see people, she thought, only fodder for hell. She noticed that the man's dirty soutane was of worsted.\n\nIf he was disappointed that he didn't yet have the bishop to hector, he made do. \"They did scourge the poor child till the blood flowed,\" he yelled at them. \"They kept gnashing their teeth and calling him Jesus the false prophet. They tormented him in divers ways and then crucified him....\"\n\nSimon went up to the soldiers and asked to see the sheriff. They were from Salerno, he said. He had to raise his voice to be heard.\n\nThe elder of the guards was unimpressed. \"Where's that when it's at home?\" He turned to the yelling clerk. \"Shut up, will you?\"\n\n\"Prior Geoffrey has asked us to attend on the sheriff.\"\n\n\"What? I can't hear you over that crazy bastard.\"\n\nThe younger sentry pricked up. \"Here, is this the darky doctor as cured the prior?\"\n\n\"The same.\"\n\nRoger of Acton had spotted Mansur now and come up close; his breath was rank. \"Saracen, do you acknowledge our Lord Jesus Christ?\"\n\nThe older sentry cuffed him round the ear. \"Shut up.\" He turned back to Simon. \"And that?\"\n\n\"Milady's dog.\"\n\nUlf had, with difficulty, been left behind, but Gyltha had insisted that the Safeguard must go with Adelia everywhere. \"He is no protection,\" Adelia had protested. \"When I was facing those damned crusaders, he skulked behind me. He's a skulker.\"\n\n\"Protection ain't his job,\" Gyltha had said. \"He's a safeguard.\"\n\n\"Reckon as they can go in, eh, Rob?\" The sentry winked at the woman in the entrance to her withy hut. \"All right by you, Agnes?\"\n\nEven so, the guard captain was fetched, and was satisfied that the three were not concealing weapons before they were allowed through the wicket. Acton had to be restrained from going in with them. \"Kill the Jews,\" he was shouting, \"kill the crucifiers.\"\n\nThe reason for precaution became apparent as they were ushered into the bailey; fifty or so Jews were taking exercise in it, enjoying the sun. The men were mainly walking and talking; women were gossiping in one corner or playing games with their children. As with all Jews in a Christian country, they were dressed like anyone else, though one or two of the men wore the conelike Judenhut on their heads.\n\nBut what distinguished this particular group as the Jews was their shabbiness. Adelia was startled by it. In Salerno there were poor Jews, just as there were poor Sicilians, Greeks, Moslems, but their poverty was disguised by the alms flowing from their richer brethren. In fact, it was held, somewhat sniffily, by the Christians of Salerno that \"the Jews have no beggars.\" Charity was a precept of all the great religions; in Judaism, \"Give unto Him of what is His, seeing that thou and what thou hast are His\" was law. Grace was bestowed on the giver rather than the receiver.\n\nAdelia remembered one old man who'd driven her foster mother's sister to distraction by his refusal to say thank you for the meals he'd taken in her kitchen. \"Do I eat what is yours?\" he used to ask. \"I eat what is God's.\"\n\nThe sheriff's charity to his unwanted guests, it appeared, was not so munificent. They were thin. The castle kitchen, Adelia thought, was unlikely to accord with the dietary laws, and therefore its meals would in many cases remain uneaten. The clothes in which these people had to hurry from their homes the year before were beginning to tatter.\n\nSome of the women looked up expectantly as she and the others crossed the bailey. Their men were too deep in discussion to notice.\n\nWith the younger soldier from the gate leading the way, the three passed over the moat bridge, under the portcullis, and across another court.\n\nThe hall was cool, vast, and busy. Trestle tables stretched down its length, covered with documents, rolls, and tallies. Clerks poring over them occasionally broke off to run to the dais, where a large man sat in a large chair at another table on which other documents, rolls, and tallies were growing at a rate threatening to topple them.\n\nAdelia was unacquainted with the role of sheriff, but Simon had said that as far as each shire was concerned, this was the man of greatest importance next to the king, the royal agent of the county who, with the diocesan bishop, wielded most of its justice and alone was responsible for the collection of its taxes, the keeping of its peace, pursuing its villains, ensuring there was no Sunday trading, seeing to it that everybody paid church tithes and the Church paid its dues to the Crown, arranging executions, appropriating the hanged one's chattels for the king, as well as that of waifs, fugitives, outlaws, ensuring that treasure trove went into the royal coffers--and twice a year delivering the resultant money and its accounting to the king's Exchequer at Winchester, where, Simon said, a penny's discrepancy could lose him his place.\n\n\"With all that, why does anyone want the job in the first place?\" Adelia inquired.\n\n\"He takes a percentage,\" Simon said.\n\nTo judge from the quality of the clothes the Sheriff of Hertfordshire was wearing and the amount of gold and jewels adorning his fingers, the percentage was a big one, but at the moment, it was doubtful whether Sheriff Baldwin thought it enough. \"Harassed\" hardly described him; \"distracted\" did.\n\nHe stared with manic vacancy at the soldier who announced his visitors. \"Can't they see I'm busy? Don't they know the justices in eyre are coming?\"\n\nA tall and bulky man, who'd been bending over some papers at the sheriff's side, straightened up. \"I think, my lord, these people may be helpful in the matter of the Jews,\" Sir Rowley said.\n\nHe winked at Adelia. She looked back at him without favor. Another as ubiquitous as Roger of Acton. And perhaps more sinister.\n\nYesterday a note had arrived for Simon from Prior Geoffrey, warning him against the king's tax collector: \"The man was in the town on two occasions at least when a child disappeared. May the good Lord forgive me if I cast doubt where none is deserved, but it behooves us to be circumspect until we are sure of our ground.\"\n\nSimon accepted that the prior had cause for suspicion, \"but no more than for anyone else.\" He'd liked what he had seen of the tax collector, he said. Adelia, made privy to what lay beyond the amiable exterior when Sir Rowley had forced his presence on her examination of the dead children, did not. She found him disturbing.\n\nIt appeared he had the castle in thrall. The sheriff was staring up at him for help, incapable of dealing with any but his own immediate troubles. \"Don't they know there's an eyre coming?\"\n\nRowley turned to Simon. \"My lord wishes to know your business here.\"\n\nSimon said, \"With the lord's permission, we would speak to Yehuda Gabirol.\"\n\n\"No harm in that, eh, my lord? Shall I show them the way?\" He was already moving.\n\nThe sheriff grabbed at him. \"Don't leave me, Picot.\"\n\n\"Not for long, my lord, I promise.\"\n\nHe ushered the trio down the hall, talking all the way. \"The sheriff's just been informed that the justices in eyre are intending to hold an assize in Cambridge. Coming on top of the presentment he must make to the Exchequer, that means considerable extra work, and he finds himself somewhat, shall we say, overwhelmed. So do I, of course.\"\n\nHe smiled chubbily down at them; a less overwhelmed man would have been difficult to find. \"One is trying to discover what debts are owed to the Jews and, therefore, to the king. Chaim was the chief moneylender in this county, and all his tallies went up in the tower fire. The difficulty of recovering what is not there to speak for itself is considerable. However...\"\n\nHe gave an odd little sideways bow to Adelia. \"I hear Madam Doctor has been dabbling in the Cam. Not a doctorly thing to do, one would have thought, considering what pours into it. Perhaps you had your reasons, ma'am?\"\n\nAdelia said, \"What is an assize?\"\n\nThey had gone through an arch and were following Sir Rowley up the winding staircase of a tower, the Safeguard pattering behind them.\n\nOver his shoulder, the tax collector said, \"Ah, an assize. A judgment really, by the king's traveling justices. A Day of Judgment--and nearly as terrible as God's for those in its scales. Judgment of ale and punishment for the watering down of. Judgment of bread, ditto for the underweight of. Gaol delivery, guilt or innocence of prisoners therein. Presentments of land, ownership of, presentment of quarrels, justification for...the list goes on. Juries to be provided. Doesn't happen every year, but when it does...Mother of God help us, these steps are steep.\"\n\nHe was puffing as he led them up. Shafts of sun coming in through arrow slits deep in the stone lit tiny landings, each with its arched door.\n\n\"Try losing weight,\" Adelia told him, her eyes presented with his backside as it ascended.\n\n\"I am a man of muscle, madam.\"\n\n\"Fat,\" she said. She slowed so that he rounded the next twist ahead of her and she could hiss at Simon at her rear, \"He is going to listen in to what we have to say.\"\n\nSimon took his hands off the rail that had been aiding him upward and spread them. \"He must know our business here already. He knows--Lord, he's right about these stairs--who you are. Where's the difference?\"\n\nThe difference was that the man would draw conclusions from what was to be said to the Jews. Adelia distrusted conclusions until she had all the evidence. Also, she distrusted Sir Rowley. \"But if he should be the killer?\"\n\n\"Then he knows already.\" Simon closed his eyes and groped for the rail.\n\nSir Rowley was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, much put out. \"You think me fat, mistress? I'd have you know that when he heard I was on the march, Nur-ad-Din would pack up his tents and steal away into the desert.\"\n\n\"You went on crusade?\"\n\n\"The Holy Places couldn't have done without me.\"\n\nHe left them in a small circular room, of which the only amenities were some stools, a table, and two unglazed windows with spreading views, promising that Master Gabirol would attend them in minutes and that he'd send up his squire with refreshments.\n\nWhile Simon paced and Mansur stood, a statue as usual, Adelia went to the windows, one facing west, the other east, to study the panorama afforded by each.\n\nTo the west, among the low hills, she could see battlemented roofs from which flew a standard. Even miniaturized by distance, the manor that Sir Gervase held from the priory was larger than Adelia would have expected of a knight's fee. If Sir Joscelin's, held from the nuns, to the southeast and beyond either window's view, was as big, both gentlemen appeared to have done well from their tenancies and crusading.\n\nTwo men came in. Yehuda Gabirol was young, his black earlocks cork-screwed against cheeks that were hollow and tinged with an Iberian pallor.\n\nThe uninvited guest was old and had found the climb hard. He clung to the doorpost, introducing himself to Simon in a wheeze. \"Benjamin ben Rav Moshe. And if you're Simon of Naples, I knew your father. Old Eli still alive, is he?\"\n\nSimon's bow was uncharacteristically curt, as was his introduction of Adelia and Mansur, merely giving their names without explaining their presence.\n\nThe old man nodded to them, still wheezing. \"Is it you occupying my house?\"\n\nSince Simon showed no sign of replying, Adelia said, \"We are. I hope you don't mind.\"\n\n\"I should mind?\" Old Benjamin said sadly. \"In good shape is it?\"\n\n\"Yes. Better for being occupied, I think.\"\n\n\"You like the hall windows?\"\n\n\"Very nice. Most unusual.\"\n\nSimon addressed the younger man. \"Yehuda Gabirol, just before Passover a year ago, you married the daughter of Chaim ben Eliezer here in Cambridge.\"\n\n\"The cause of all my troubles,\" Yehuda said gloomily.\n\n\"The boy came all the way from Spain to do it,\" Benjamin said. \"I arranged it. A good marriage, though, I say it myself. If it turned out unfortunate, is that the fault of the shadchan?\"\n\nSimon continued to ignore him, his eyes on Yehuda. \"A child of this town disappeared on that day. Perhaps Master Gabirol could cast light on what happened to him.\"\n\nAdelia had never seen this side of Simon; he was angry.\n\nThere was an outburst of Yiddish from both men. The young one's thin voice rose over Benjamin's deeper one: \"Should I know? Am I the keeper of English children?\"\n\nSimon slapped him across the face.\n\nA sparrow hawk landed on the west windowsill and took off again, disturbed by the vibration inside the room as the sound of Simon's slap reverberated round the walls. Fingermarks rose on Yehuda's cheek.\n\nMansur stepped forward in case of retaliation, but the young man had covered his face and was cowering. \"What else could we do? What else?\"\n\nAdelia stood unnoticed by the window as the three Jews recovered themselves enough to drag three stools into the center of the room and sit down on them. A ceremony even for this, she thought.\n\nBenjamin did most of the talking while young Yehuda cried and rocked.\n\nA good wedding it had been, Old Benjamin said, an alliance between cash and culture, between a rich man's daughter and this young Spanish scholar of excellent pedigree whom Chaim intended to keep as an eidem af kest, a resident son-in-law to whom he would give a dowry of ten marks....\n\n\"Get on,\" Simon said.\n\nA fine early spring day it was; the chuppah in the synagogue was decorated with cowslips. \"I myself shattered the glass....\"\n\n\"Get on.\"\n\nSo back to Chaim's house for the wedding banquet, which, such was Chaim's wealth, had been expected to go on for a week. Fife, drums, fiddle, cymbals, tables weighed with dishes, wine cups filled and refilled, enthronement of the bride under white samite, speeches--all this on the riverside lawn because the house was scarcely big enough to entertain all the guests, some of whom had traveled more than a thousand miles to get there.\n\n\"Maybe, maybe a little bit, Chaim was showing off to the town,\" Benjamin admitted.\n\nInevitably, he was, Adelia thought. To burghers who would not invite him to their houses yet were quick enough to borrow from him? Of course he was.\n\n\"Get on.\" Simon was remorseless, but at that moment Mansur raised a hand and began tiptoeing to the door.\n\nHim. Adelia tensed. The tax collector was listening.\n\nMansur opened the door with a pull that took half of it off its hinges. It was not Sir Rowley who knelt on the threshold, ear at keyhole level, it was his squire. A tray with a flagon and cups was on the floor beside him.\n\nIn one flowing movement, Mansur scooped up the tray and kicked the eavesdropper down the stairs. The man--he was very young--tumbled to the turn of the stairwell which caught him so that he was doubled with his legs higher than his head. \"Ow. Ow.\" But when Mansur shifted as if to follow him down and kick him again, the boy writhed to his feet and pattered away down the steps, holding his back.\n\nThe odd thing was, Adelia thought, that the three Jews sitting on the stools paid the incident little attention, as if it was of no more moment than another bird landing on the windowsill.\n\nIs that plump Sir Rowley the killer? What exercises him about these murdered children?\n\nThere were people--she knew because she'd encountered them--who became excited by death, who tried to bribe their way into the school's stone chamber when she was working on a corpse. Gordinus had been obliged to put a guard on his death field to shoo away men, even women, wanting to gaze on the festering carcasses of the pigs.\n\nShe hadn't detected that particular salacity in Sir Rowley during the examination she'd carried out in Saint Werbertha's cell; he'd seemed appalled.\n\nBut he'd sent his creature--Pipin, that was the squire's name--to listen at the keyhole, which suggested that Sir Rowley wished to keep himself abreast of her and Simon's investigation, either through interest--in which case, why doesn't he ask us directly?--or through fear that it would lead to him.\n\nWhat are you?\n\nNot what he seemed was the only answer. Adelia returned her attention to the three men in their circle.\n\nSimon had not yet allowed Mansur to offer round the contents of the tray; he was forcing the two Jews on, through the events of Chaim's daughter's wedding.\n\nTo the evening. A chilly dusk descending, the guests had retired back into the house to dance, but the lamps across the garden were left burning. \"And maybe, a little bit, the men were getting drunk,\" Benjamin said.\n\n\"Will you tell us?\" Never had Simon shown anger like this.\n\n\"I'm telling you, I'm telling. So the bride and her mother--two women closer than those two ain't been seen--they wander outside for air, talking...\" Benjamin was slowing up, reluctant to get to whatever it was.\n\n\"There was a body.\" Everybody turned to Yehuda; he'd been forgotten. \"In the middle of the lawn, like someone throw it from the river, from a boat. The women saw it. A lamp shone on it.\"\n\n\"A little boy?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\" Yehuda, if he'd seen it at all, had glimpsed it through a haze of wine. \"Chaim saw it. The women screamed.\"\n\n\"Did you see it, Benjamin?\" Adelia made her first interjection.\n\nBenjamin glanced at her, dismissed her, and said to Simon, as if it was an answer, \"I was the shadchan.\" The arranger of this great wedding, feted with wine on all sides? He should be capable of seeing anything?\n\n\"What did Chaim do?\"\n\nYehuda said, \"He put out all the lamps.\"\n\nAdelia saw Simon nod, as if it was reasonable; the first thing you did when you discovered a corpse on your lawn, you put out the lamps so that neighbors or passersby should not see it.\n\nIt shocked her. But then, she thought, she was not a Jew. The libel that at Passover time Jews sacrificed Christian children was attached to them like an extra shadow sewn on their heels to follow them everywhere. \"The legend is a tool,\" her foster father had told her, \"used against every feared and hated religion by those who fear and hate it. In the first century, under Rome, the ones accused of taking the blood and flesh of children for ritual purposes were the early Christians.\"\n\nNow, and for many ages, the child-eaters had been the Jews. So deeply entrenched in Christian mythology was the belief, and so often had Jews suffered for it, that the automatic response to finding the body of a Christian child on a Jewish lawn was to hide it.\n\n\"What could we do?\" Benjamin shouted. \"You tell me what we should have done. Every important Jew in England was with us that night. Rabbi David had come from Paris, Rabbi Meir from Germany, great biblical commentators, Sholem of Chester had brought his family. Did we want lords like these torn to pieces? We needed time for them to get away.\"\n\nSo while his important guests took horse and scattered into the night, Chaim wrapped the body in a tablecloth and carried it to his cellar.\n\nHow and why the little corpse had appeared on the lawn, who had done whatever it was that had been done to it, these things hardly entered the discussion among the remaining Cambridge Jews. The concern was how to get rid of it.\n\nThey didn't lack humanity, Adelia assured herself, but each Jew had now felt so close to being murdered himself, and his family with him, that any other preoccupation was beyond him.\n\nAnd they'd botched it.\n\n\"Dawn was breaking,\" Benjamin said. \"We'd come to no conclusion--how could we think? The wine, the fear. Chaim it was who decided for us, his neighbors, God rest his soul. 'Go home,' he said to us. 'Go home and be about your business as if nothing has happened. I will deal with it, me and my son-in-law.'\" Benjamin raised his cap and clawed his fingers over his scalp as if it still had hair on it. \"Yahweh forgive us, that's what we did.\"\n\n\"And how did Chaim and his son-in-law deal with it?\" Simon was leaning forward toward Yehuda, whose face was again hidden by his hands. \"It was daytime now--you couldn't smuggle it out of the house without someone seeing you.\"\n\nThere was silence.\n\n\"Maybe,\" Simon went on, \"maybe at this point perhaps Chaim remembers the conduit in his cellar.\"\n\nYehuda looked up.\n\n\"What is it?\" Simon asked, almost without interest. \"A shit hole? An escape route?\"\n\n\"A drain,\" Yehuda said sullenly. \"There's a stream through the cellar.\"\n\nSimon nodded. \"So there's a drain in the cellar? A large drain? Leading into the river?\" For a second his gaze shifted to Adelia, who nodded back at him. \"The mouth comes out under the pier where Chaim's barges tie up?\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\n\"So,\" Simon said, still mild, \"you pushed the body down it.\"\n\nYehuda rocked, crying again. \"We said prayers over it. We stood in the dark of the cellar and recited the prayers for the dead.\"\n\n\"You recited the prayers for the dead? Good, that's good. That will please the Lord. But you didn't go to see if the body floated free when it got to the river.\"\n\nYehuda stopped crying in surprise. \"It didn't?\"\n\nSimon was on his feet, raising his arms in supplication to the Lord, who allowed fools like these.\n\n\"The river was searched,\" Adelia interposed in Salernitan patois for Simon's and Mansur's ears only. \"The whole town was out. Even if the body had been caught by a stanchion under the pier, a search such as that would have found it.\"\n\nSimon shook his head at her. \"They had been talking,\" he said, wearily, in the same tongue. \"We are Jews, Doctor. We talk. We consider the outcome, the ramifications; we wonder if it is acceptable to the Lord and if we should do it anyway. I tell you, by the time they finished gabbing and made their decision, the searchers had been and gone.\" He sighed. \"They are donkeys and worse than donkeys, but they didn't kill the boy.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Though there was no court of law that would believe it. Rightly terrified for their own lives, Yehuda and his father-in-law had done a desperate thing and done it badly, gaining themselves only a few days' respite, during which the body, snagged below the waterline under the pier, swelled to the point where it unsnagged itself and floated to the surface.\n\nShe turned to Yehuda, unable to wait any longer. \"Before it went into the drain, did you examine the body? What condition was it in? Was it mutilated? Was it clothed?\"\n\nYehuda and Benjamin regarded her with disgust. \"You bring a female ghoul into our company?\" Benjamin demanded of Simon.\n\n\"Ghoul? Ghoul?\" Simon was in danger of hitting somebody again, and Mansur put out a hand to stop him. \"You shove a poor little boy down a drain and you talk to me of ghouls?\"\n\nAdelia left the room, leaving Simon in full tirade. There was one person still in the castle who could tell her what she wanted to know.\n\nAs she crossed the hall on her way to the bailey, the tax collector noted her departure. He left the sheriff's side for a moment to instruct his squire.\n\n\"That Saracen's not with her, is he?\" Pipin was nervous; he was still favoring his back.\n\n\"Just see whom she talks to.\"\n\nAdelia walked across the sunlit bailey toward the corner where the Jewish women were gathered. She was able to pick out the one she sought by her youth and the fact that, of all the women, she had been given a chair to sit on. And by her distended belly. At least eight months gone, Adelia judged.\n\nShe bowed to Chaim's daughter. \"Mistress Dina?\"\n\nDark eyes, huge and defensive, turned to look at her. \"Yes?\"\n\nThe girl was too thin for the good of her condition; the rounded stomach might have been an invasive protuberance that had attached itself to a slender plant. Hollowed sockets and cheeks were darkened in a skin like vellum.\n\nThe doctor in Adelia thought, You need some of Gyltha's cooking, lady; I shall see to it.\n\nShe introduced herself as Adelia, daughter of Gershom of Salerno. Her foster father might be a lapsed Jew, but this was not the time to bring up either his or her own apostasy. \"May we talk together?\" She looked around at the other women, who were gathering close. \"Alone?\"\n\nDina sat motionless for a moment. She was veiled to keep off the sun in near-transparent gossamer; her ornate headdress was not everyday wear. Silk encrusted with pearls peeped out from under the old shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Adelia thought with pity, She's in the clothes she was married in.\n\nAt last, a flap of the hand sent the other women scattering; fugitive as she was, orphaned as she was, Dina still held rank among her sex as daughter of the man who had been the richest Jew in Cambridgeshire. And she was bored; having been cooped up with them for a year, she would have heard everything her companions had to say--and heard it several times.\n\n\"Yes?\" The girl lifted her veil. She was sixteen, perhaps, no more, and lovely, but her face was setting into bitterness. When she heard what Adelia wanted, she turned it away. \"I will not talk about it.\"\n\n\"The real murderer must be caught.\"\n\n\"They are all murderers.\" She cocked her head to one side in the attitude of listening, raising a finger so that Adelia should listen with her.\n\nFaintly, from beyond the curtain wall, came shouts indicating that Roger of Acton was responding to the arrival of the bishop at the castle gates. \"Kill the Jews\" was distinguishable among the gabble.\n\nDina said, \"Do you know what they did to my father? What they did to my mother?\" The young face crumpled, becoming even younger. \"I miss my mother. I miss her.\"\n\nAdelia knelt beside her, taking the girl's hand and putting it to her cheek. \"She would want you to be brave.\"\n\n\"I can't be.\" Dina put back her head and let the tears gush.\n\nAdelia glanced to where the other women were teetering anxiously and shook her head to stop them coming forward. \"Yes, you can,\" she said. She laid Dina's hand and her own on the swell of the girl's stomach. \"Your mother would want you to be brave for her grandchild.\"\n\nBut Dina's grief, having burst out, was mixed with terror. \"They'll kill the baby, too.\" She opened her eyes wide. \"Can't you hear them? They're going to break in. They're going to break in.\"\n\nHow hideous it was for them. Adelia had imagined the isolation, even the boredom, but not the day-to-day waiting, like an animal with its leg in a trap, for the wolves to come. There was no forgetting that there was a pack outside; Roger of Acton's howl was there to remind them.\n\nShe made ineffectual pats of comfort. \"The king won't allow them in.\" And \"Your husband's here to protect you.\"\n\n\"Him.\" It was said with a contempt that dried tears.\n\nWas it the king so derided? Or the husband? The girl would not have set eyes on the man she'd been told to marry until the day she married him; Adelia had never thought it a good custom. Jewish law did not permit a young woman to be married against her will, but too often that meant only that she could not be forced to wed a man she hated. Adelia herself had escaped marriage through the liberality of a foster father who had complied with her wish to remain celibate. \"There are good wives aplenty, thank God,\" he'd said, \"but few good doctors. And a good woman doctor is above rubies.\"\n\nIn Dina's case, a fearful wedding day and the incarceration that followed it had not augured well for marital bliss.\n\n\"Listen to me,\" Adelia said briskly. \"If your baby is not to spend the rest of its life in this castle, if a killer is not to stay free and murder other children, tell me what I want to know.\" Out of desperation, she added, \"Forgive me but, by extension, he also killed your parents.\"\n\nWet-lashed, beautiful eyes studied her as if she were an innocent. \"But that was why they did it. Don't you know that?\"\n\n\"Know what?\"\n\n\"Why they killed the boy. We know that. They killed him only so that we should be blamed. Why else would they put his corpse in our grounds?\"\n\n\"No,\" Adelia said. \"No.\"\n\n\"Of course they did.\" Dina's mouth was ugly with a sneer. \"It was planned. Then they set the mob on, kill the Jews, kill Chaim the usurer. That's what they shouted, and that's what they did.\"\n\n\"Kill the Jews.\" The echo came parrotlike from the gate.\n\n\"Other children have died since,\" Adelia said. She was taken aback by a new thought.\n\n\"Them too. They were killed so that the mob will have an excuse when they come to hang the rest of us.\" Dina was inexorable. Then she wasn't. \"Did you know my mother stepped in front of me? Did you know that? So they tore her apart and not me?\"\n\nSuddenly, she covered her face and rocked back and forth as her husband had done minutes before, only Dina was praying for her dead: \"Oseh sholom bimromov, hu ya'aseh sholom olaynu, v'al kol yisroel. Omein.\"\n\n\"Omein.\" He who makes peace in his high holy places, may he bring peace upon us and upon all Israel. If you are there, God, Adelia prayed, let it be thus.\n\nOf course these people would see their plight as deliberately engineered, a plot by goyim to murder children if, in so doing, they could murder Jews. Dina did not ask why; history was her answer.\n\nGently, firmly, Adelia pulled Dina's hands down so that she could look into the girl's face. \"Listen to me, mistress. One man killed those children, one. I have seen their bodies, and he is inflicting injuries on them so terrible that I will not tell you what they are. He is doing it because he has lusts we do not recognize, because he is not human as we understand it. Now Simon of Naples has come to England to free the Jews of this guilt, but I do not ask you to help him because you are a Jew. I ask you because it is against all the law of God and men that children should suffer as those children suffered.\"\n\nThe castle's noise was climbing up its daylong crescendo, diminishing Roger of Acton's ravings to a bird's chirrup.\n\nA bull waiting to be baited was adding its bellow to the rasp of a grindstone where squires were sharpening their master's blades. Soldiers were drilling. Children, newly let out to play in the sheriff's garden, laughed and shouted.\n\nAway in the tiltyard, a tax collector who had decided to shed some of his weight had joined the knights practicing with wooden swords.\n\n\"What do you want to know?\" Dina asked.\n\nAdelia patted her cheek. \"You are worthy of your brave mother.\" She took in her breath. \"Dina, you saw that body on the lawn before the lights were put out, before it was covered by the tablecloth, before it was taken away. What condition was it in?\"\n\n\"The poor child.\" This time Dina wept not for herself, nor for her baby, nor for her mother. \"The poor little boy. Somebody had cut off his eyelids.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "I had to make sure,\" Adelia said. \"The boy could have died at the hands of someone other than our killer, or even accidentally--the injuries might have been sustained after death.\"\n\n\"They do that,\" Simon said. \"When they're accidentally dead, they leap up on the nearest Jewish lawn.\"\n\n\"It was necessary to make sure he died as the others did. It had to be proved.\" Adelia was as tired as Simon, though she didn't regard the Jews' treatment of the body on their lawn with the disgust that he did; she was sorry for them. \"We can now be certain the Jews didn't kill him.\"\n\n\"And who will believe it?\" Simon was determinedly depressed.\n\nThey were at supper. The last of the sun coming almost directly through the ridiculous windows was warming the room and touching Simon's pewter flagon with gold. To save the wine, he'd reverted to English beer. Mansur was drinking the barley water that Gyltha made for him.\n\nIt was Mansur who asked now, \"Why does the dog cut off their eyelids?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Adelia didn't want to consider the reason.\n\n\"Would you know what I think?\" Simon said.\n\nShe would not. In Salerno, she was presented with bodies, some of which had died in suspicious circumstances; she examined them; she gave her results to her foster father, who, in turn, told the authorities; the bodies were taken away. Sometimes, always later, she learned what happened to the perpetrator--if he or she had been found. This was the first time she had been involved in physically hunting down a killer, and she was not enjoying it.\n\n\"I think they die too quickly for him,\" Simon said. \"I think he wants their attention even after they are dead.\"\n\nAdelia turned her head away and watched midges dancing in a shaft of sun.\n\n\"I know what parts I'll cut off when we catch him, inshallah,\" Mansur said.\n\n\"I shall assist you,\" Simon agreed.\n\nTwo men so different. The Arab, looming in his chair, dark face almost featureless against the white folds of his headdress; the Jew, the sun catching the line of his cheek, leaning forward, his fingers turning and turning his flagon. Both in accord.\n\nWhy did men think that was the worst thing? Perhaps, for them, it was. But it was trivial, like castrating a rogue animal. The harm done by this particular creature was too vast for human reprisal, the pain it had caused spread too far. Adelia thought of Agnes, mother of Harold, and her vigil. She thought of the parents who'd gathered round the little catafalques in Saint Augustine's church. Of two men in Chaim's cellar, praying as they did violence to their nature by ridding themselves of a fearful burden. She thought of Dina and the shadow fallen over her that could never be lifted.\n\nIt accounted for the wish for eternal damnation, she thought, that there could be no reparation made to such dead, nor for the living they'd left behind. Not in this life.\n\n\"Do you agree with me, Doctor?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"My theory on the mutilations.\"\n\n\"It is not in my brief. I am not here to understand why a murderer does what he does, merely to prove that he did it.\"\n\nThey stared at her.\n\n\"I apologize,\" she said more quietly, \"but I will not enter his mind.\"\n\nSimon said, \"We may have to do that very thing before this business is finished, Doctor. Think as he thinks.\"\n\n\"Then you do it,\" she said. \"You're the subtle one.\"\n\nHe took in a sad breath; they were all gloomy this evening. \"Let us consider what we know of him so far. Mansur?\"\n\n\"No killings here before the saint boy. Maybe he came new to this place a year ago.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you think he's done this before, somewhere else?\"\n\n\"A jackal is always a jackal.\"\n\n\"True,\" Simon said. \"Or he could be a new recruit to the armies of Beelzebub, just starting to slake his desires.\"\n\nAdelia frowned; that the killer should be a very young man did not accord with her sense of him.\n\nSimon's head came up. \"You don't think so, Doctor?\"\n\nShe sighed; she was to be drawn in despite herself. \"Are we supposing?\"\n\n\"We can do little else.\"\n\nReluctantly, because the apprehension came from less than a shadow glimpsed in a fog, she said, \"The attacks are frenzied, which argues youth, but they are planned, which argues maturity. He lures them to a special and isolated place, like the hill; I think that must be so because nobody hears their torture. Possibly, he takes his time, not in the case of Little Peter--he was more hurried there--but with the subsequent children.\"\n\nShe paused because the theory was hideous and founded on such little proof. \"It may be that they are kept alive for some time after their abduction. That would argue a perverted patience and a love of prolonged agony. I would have expected the corpse of the most recent victim, considering the day he was taken, to have displayed more advanced decomposition than it did.\"\n\nShe glared at them. \"But that could be due to so many causes that, as a proposition, it bears no weight at all.\"\n\n\"Ach.\" Simon pushed his cup away as if it offended him. \"We are no further. We shall, after all, have to inquire into the movements of forty-seven people, whether they wear black worsted or not. I shall have to write to my wife and tell her I will not be home yet.\"\n\n\"There is one thing,\" Adelia said. \"It occurred to me today when I talked with Mistress Dina. That poor lady believes all the killings are the result of a conspiracy to blame her people....\"\n\n\"They are not.\" Simon said. \"Yes, he tries to implicate the Jews with his Stars of David, but that is not why he kills.\"\n\n\"I agree. Whatever the prime motive for these murders, it is not racial; there is too much sexual ferocity involved.\"\n\nShe paused. Having sworn not to enter the mind of the killer, she could feel it reaching out to enmesh her. \"Nevertheless, he may see no reason why he should not gain from it. Why did he cast Little Peter's body on Chaim's lawn?\"\n\nSimon's eyebrows went up; the question didn't need asking. \"Chaim was a Jew, the eternal scapegoat.\"\n\n\"It worked damn well, too,\" Mansur said. \"No suspicion on the killer. And\"--he dragged a finger across his throat--\"good-bye, Jews.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Adelia. \"Good-bye, Jews. Again, I agree it is probable that the man wanted to implicate the Jews while he was about it. But why choose that particular Jew? Why not put the body near one of the other houses? They were deserted and dark that night because all Jewry was attending Dina's wedding. If he were in a boat--and presumably he was--the killer could have lain the corpse here; this house, Old Benjamin's, is near the river. Instead, he took unnecessary risk and chose Chaim's lawn, which was well lighted, to throw the body onto.\"\n\nSimon leaned even further forward until his nose almost touched one of the table's candlesticks. \"Continue.\"\n\nAdelia shrugged. \"I merely look at the end result. The Jews are blamed; a mob is fired into madness; Chaim, the biggest moneylender in Cambridge, is hanged. The tower holding the records of all those owing money to the usurers goes up in flames, Chaim's with it.\"\n\n\"He owed money to Chaim? Our killer having satisfied his perversion also wants his debt canceled?\" Simon considered it. \"But could he have reckoned on the mob burning the tower down? Or that it would turn on Chaim and hang him, for that matter?\"\n\n\"He is in the crowd,\" Mansur said, and his boy's voice went into a shriek: \"Kill the Jews. Kill Chaim. No more filthy usury. To the castle, people. Bring torches.\"\n\nStartled by the sound, the head of Ulf peeped over the rail of the gallery, a white and unruly dandelion clock in the growing darkness. Adelia shook a finger at it. \"Go to bed.\"\n\n\"Why you talking that foreign gobble?\"\n\n\"So you can't eavesdrop. Go to bed.\"\n\nMore of Ulf appeared over the rail. \"You reckon the Judes didn't do for Peter and them after all, then?\"\n\n\"No,\" Adelia told him and added, because, after all, it was Ulf who had discovered and shown her the drain, \"Peter was dead when they found him on the lawn. They were frightened and put him into the drain to take suspicion off themselves.\"\n\n\"Mighty clever of 'em, weren't it?\" The boy gave a grunt of disgust. \"Who did do for him, then?\"\n\n\"We don't know. Somebody who wanted to see Chaim blamed, perhaps someone who owed him money. Go to bed.\"\n\nSimon held up his hand to detain the boy. \"We do not know who, my son. We try to find out.\" To Adelia he said in Salernitan, \"The child is intelligent; he has already been of use. Perhaps he can scout for us.\"\n\n\"No.\" She was surprised by her own vehemence.\n\n\"I can help.\" Ulf left the balustrade to come pattering down the stairs in a rush. \"I'm a tracker. I got my hoof all over this town.\"\n\nGyltha came in to light the candles. \"Ulf, you get to bed afore I feed you to the cats.\"\n\n\"Tell 'em, Gran,\" Ulf said desperately. \"Tell how I'm a fine tracker. And I hear things, don't I, Gran? I hear things nobody else don't acause nobody don't notice me, I can go places.... I got a right, Gran, Harold and Peter was my friends.\"\n\nGyltha's eyes met Adelia's and the momentary terror in them told Adelia that Gyltha knew what she knew: The killer would kill again.\n\nA jackal is always a jackal.\n\nSimon said, \"Ulf could come with us tomorrow and show us where the three children were found.\"\n\n\"That's at the foot of the ring,\" Gyltha objected. \"I don't want the boy near it.\"\n\n\"We have Mansur with us. The killer is not on the hill, Gyltha, he is in town; from the town, the children were abducted.\"\n\nGyltha looked toward Adelia, who nodded. Safer that Ulf should be in their company than wandering Cambridge following a trail of his own.\n\nGyltha considered. \"What about the sick?\"\n\n\"Surgery will be closed for the day,\" Simon said firmly.\n\nEqually firmly, Adelia said, \"On his way to the hill, the doctor will call on yesterday's worst cases. I want to make sure of the child with the cough. And the amputation needs his dressing changed.\"\n\nSimon sighed. \"We should have set up as astrologers. Or lawyers. Something useless. I fear the spirit of Hippocrates has lain a yoke of duty across our shoulders.\"\n\n\"It has.\" In Adelia's limited pantheon, Hippocrates ruled supreme.\n\nUlf was persuaded to the undercroft where he and the servants slept, Gyltha retired to the kitchen, and the three others resumed their discussion.\n\nSimon drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. He stopped. \"Mansur, my good, wise friend, I believe you are right, our killer was in the crowd a year ago, urging the death of Chaim. Doctor, you agree?\"\n\n\"It could be so,\" Adelia said cautiously. \"Certainly Mistress Dina believes the mob was being set on with intent.\"\n\nKill the Jews, she thought, the demand beloved of Roger of Acton. How fitting if that creature proved as horrid in action as in person.\n\nShe said so out loud, then doubted it. The children's murderer was surely persuasive. She could not imagine the timorous Mary being tempted by Acton, however many sweetmeats he offered her. The man lacked guile; he was a ranting buffoon, ugly. Nor, despising the race as he did, was he likely to have borrowed from a Jew.\n\n\"Not necessarily so,\" Simon told her. \"I have seen men leave my father's counting house, condemning his usury while their purses bulged with his gold. Nevertheless, the fellow wears worsted, and we must see if he was in Cambridge on the requisite dates.\"\n\nHis spirits had risen; he would not be long returning to his family after all. \"Au loup!\" Beaming at their puzzlement, he said, \"We are on the scent, my friends. We are Nimrods. Lord, if I had known the thrill of the chase, I would have neglected my studies for the hunting field. Tyer-hillaut! Is that not the call?\"\n\nAdelia said kindly, \"I believe the English cry halloo and tallyho.\"\n\n\"Do they? How quickly language corrupts. Ah, well. However, our quarry is in sight. Tomorrow I shall return to the castle and use this excellent organ\"--he tapped his nose, which was twitching like a questing shrew's--\"to sniff out which man it is in this town that owed Chaim money he was reluctant to repay.\"\n\n\"Not tomorrow,\" Adelia said. \"Tomorrow we go to Wandlebury Hill.\" To search, it would need all three of them. And Ulf.\n\n\"The day after, then.\" Simon was not to be put off. He raised his flagon first to Adelia, then Mansur. \"We are on his track, my masters. A man of maturity in age, on Wandlebury Hill three nights ago, in Cambridge on such and such a day, a man in heavy debt to Chaim and leading the crowd as it bays for the moneylender's blood. With access to black worsted.\" He drank deep and wiped his mouth. \"Almost we know the size of his boots.\"\n\n\"Who may be someone entirely different,\" Adelia said.\n\nTo that list she would have added a cloak of geniality, for surely if, like Peter, the children had gone willingly to meet their killer, they had been persuaded by charm, even humor.\n\nShe thought of the big tax collector.\n\nGyltha didn't hold with her employers staying up too late and came in to clear the table while they were yet sitting at it.\n\n\"Here,\" she said, \"let's have a look at that confit of yourn. I got Matilda B.'s uncle in the kitchen; he's in the confectionary trade. Might be as he's seen the like.\"\n\nIt wouldn't do in Salerno, Adelia thought, as she trudged upstairs. In her parents' villa, her aunt made sure that servants not only knew their place but kept to it, speaking--and with respect--when spoken to.\n\nOn the other hand, she thought, which is preferable? Deference? Or collaboration?\n\nShe brought down the sweetmeat that had been entangled in Mary's hair and put it with its square of linen on the table. Simon shrank from it. Matilda B.'s uncle poked at it with a finger like pasty and shook his head.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Adelia tipped a candle to give better light.\n\n\"It's a jujube,\" Mansur said.\n\n\"Made with sugar, I reckon,\" the uncle said. \"Too dear for my trade, we do sweeten with honey.\"\n\n\"What did you say?\" Adelia asked of Mansur.\n\n\"It's a jujube. My mother made them, may Allah be pleased with her.\"\n\n\"A jujube.\" Adelia said. \"Of course. They make them in the Arab quarter in Salerno. Oh, God...\" She sank into a chair.\n\n\"What is it?\" Simon was on his feet. \"What?\"\n\n\"It wasn't Jew-Jews, it was jujubes.\" She squeezed her eyes shut, hardly able to bear a renewal of the picture in which a little boy looked back before disappearing into the darkness of trees.\n\nBy the time she opened them, Gyltha had ushered Matilda B. and her uncle out of the room and then come back to it. Uncomprehending faces stared into hers.\n\nAdelia said in English, \"That's what Little Saint Peter meant. Ulf told us. He said Peter called across the river to his friend Will that he was going for the Jew-Jews. But he didn't. He said that he was going for the jujubes. It's a word Will can't have heard before; he translated it as 'Jew-Jews.'\"\n\nNobody spoke. Gyltha had taken a chair and sat with them, elbows on the table, her hands to her forehead.\n\nSimon broke the silence: \"You are right, of course.\"\n\nGyltha looked up. \"That's what they was tempted with, sure enough. But I never heard of un.\"\n\n\"An Arab trader may bring them,\" Simon pointed out. \"They are a sweetmeat of the East. We look for someone with Arab connections.\"\n\n\"Crusader with a sweet tooth, maybe,\" Mansur said. \"Crusaders bring them back to Salerno, maybe one brings them to here.\"\n\n\"That's right.\" Simon was becoming excited again. \"That's right. Our killer has been to the Holy Land.\"\n\nOnce again, Adelia thought not of Sir Gervase nor Sir Joscelin, but of the tax collector, another crusader.\n\nSheep, like horses, will not willingly tread on the fallen. The shepherd called Old Walt, following his flock to its day's grazing on Wandlebury Hill, had seen a gap appear in its woolly flow as if an unseen prophet had called on it to divide. By the time he'd reached the obstruction it had avoided, the ongoing sea of sheep had become seamless once more.\n\nBut his dog had set to howling.\n\nThe sight of the children's bodies, a strange weaving laid on the chest of each one, had broken the tenor of a life into which the only enemy was bad weather, or came on four legs and could be chased away.\n\nNow Old Walt was mending it. His dry, creased hands were folded on his crook, a sack over his bent head and shoulders, eyes like beads set deep, contemplating the grass where the corpses had lain, muttering to himself.\n\nUlf, who sat close by, said he was praying to The Lady. \"To heal the place, like.\"\n\nAdelia had moved some yards away, had chosen a tussock, and was sitting on it, Safeguard by her side. She'd tried questioning the shepherd, but, though his glance had swept over her, he had not seen her. She'd seen him not seeing her, as if a foreign woman was so far outside his experience as to be invisible to him.\n\nThis must be left to Ulf, who, like the shepherd, was a fenlander and therefore claimed a solid position in the landscape.\n\nSuch a weird landscape. To her left the land descended to the flatness of the fens and the ocean of alder and willow that kept its secrets. Away to her right, in the distance, was the bare hilltop with its wooded sides where she, Simon, Mansur, and Ulf had spent the last three hours examining the strange depressions in its ground, bending to peer under bushes, looking for a lair where murder had been done--and not finding it.\n\nLight rain came and went as clouds obscured the sun and then let it shine again.\n\nKnowing that a Golgotha was nearby had affected natural sound: the song of warblers, leaves trembling in the rain, the breeze creaking an ancient apple tree, the puffing of Simon the townsman as he stumbled. The crisp sound of sheep tearing mouthfuls of grass had, for her, been overlaid by a heavy silence still vibrating with unheard screams.\n\nShe'd been glad of an excuse when, far off, she saw the shepherd, the priory's shepherd--for these were Saint Augustine sheep--and had gone with Ulf to talk to him, leaving the two men still searching.\n\nFor the tenth time, she went over the reasoning that had brought them all to this place. The children had died in chalk, no doubt of it.\n\nThey had been found on silt--down there, on a muddy sheepwalk that led eventually to the hill. And, what's more, found on the very morning after the hill had been disturbed by an ingress of strangers.\n\nErgo, the corpses had been moved in the night. From their chalk graves. And the nearest chalk, the only possible chalk outcrop from which they could have been carried in the time, was Wandlebury Ring.\n\nShe looked toward it, blinking away rain from the latest shower, and saw that Simon and Mansur had disappeared.\n\nThey would be scrambling among the deep, dark avenues, made darker by overhanging trees, that had once been the hill's encircling ditches.\n\nWhat ancient people had fortified the place with those ditches and for what purpose? She found herself wondering if the children's was the only blood that had been shed there. Could a place be intrinsically evil and attract to itself the blackness in men's souls as it had attracted the killer's?\n\nOr was Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar as prey to superstition as an old man muttering spells over a stretch of grass?\n\n\"Is he going to talk to us or not?\" she hissed at Ulf. \"He must know if there's a cave up there. Something.\"\n\n\"He don't go up there no more,\" Ulf hissed back. \"Says Old Nick dances on that of nights. Them hollows is his footprints.\"\n\n\"He allows his sheep up there.\"\n\n\"Best grazing for miles this time of year. His dog's with 'em. Dog allus tells un if aught's amiss.\"\n\nAn intelligent dog, and a mere lift of its lip had sent Safeguard cowering.\n\nShe wondered which lady the shepherd was praying to. Mary, mother of Jesus? Or a more ancient mother?\n\nThe Church had not managed to banish all the earth gods; for this old man, the depressions on the hilltop would be the hoofprints of a horror that predated Christianity's Satan by thousands of years.\n\nInto her mind's eye came the picture of a giant horned beast trampling on the children. She grew cross with herself in consequence--what was the matter with her?\n\nShe was also becoming wet and cold. \"Ask him if he's actually seen Old Nick up there, blast him.\"\n\nUlf put the question in a low-voiced singsong that she couldn't catch. The old man replied in the same tone.\n\n\"He don't go near, he says. And I won't blame un. He seen the fire o' nights, though.\"\n\n\"What fire?\"\n\n\"Lights. Old Nick's fire, Walt reckons. The which he dances round.\"\n\n\"What sort of fire? When? Where?\"\n\nBut the staccato of questions had disturbed the peace the shepherd was making with the spirit of the place. Ulf gestured for quiet and Adelia returned to her contemplation of the spiritual, good and bad.\n\nToday on the hill, she had been glad that beneath her tunic was the little wooden crucifix that Margaret had given to her, though it was for Margaret's sake that she always wore it.\n\nIt wasn't that she had anything against the faith of the New Testament; left alone, it would be a tender and compassionate religion; indeed, on her knees beside her dying nurse, it had been Margaret's Jesus she had beseeched to save her. He hadn't, but Adelia forgave him that; Margaret's loving old heart had grown too tired to go on--and at least the end had been peaceful.\n\nNo, what Adelia objected to was the Church's interpretation of God as a petty, stupid, moneygrubbing, retrograde, antediluvian tyrant who, having created a stupendously varied world, had forbidden any inquiry into its complexity, leaving His people flailing in ignorance.\n\nAnd the lies. At seven years old, learning her letters at Saint Giorgio's convent, Adelia had been prepared to believe what the nuns and the Bible told her--until Mother Ambrose had mentioned the ribs...\n\nThe shepherd had finished his prayers and was telling Ulf something.\n\n\"What does he say?\"\n\n\"He's saying about the bodies, what the devil done to them.\"\n\nIt was noticeable that Old Walt addressed Ulf as an equal. Perhaps, Adelia thought, the fact that the boy could read raised him to a level in the shepherd's eyes that obviated the difference in their ages.\n\n\"What's he saying now?\"\n\n\"He's saying the which he never saw the like of it, not since Old Nick was here last time and did similar to some of the sheep.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" A wolf or something.\n\n\"Says he'd hoped he'd seen the last of the bugger then, but he's come back.\"\n\nWhat Old Nick did to the sheep. Sharply, Adelia asked, \"What did he do?\" And then she asked, \"What sheep? When?\"\n\nUlf put out the question and received the answer. \"Year of the great storm, that was.\"\n\n\"For God's sake. Oh, never mind. Where did he put the carcasses?\"\n\nAt first Adelia and Ulf used tree branches as spades, but the chalk was too friable to be raised in chunks, and they were reduced to digging with their hands. \"What we looking for?\" Ulf had asked, not unreasonably.\n\n\"Bones, boy, bones. Somebody, not a fox, not a wolf, not a dog...somebody attacked those sheep, he said so.\"\n\n\"Old Nick, he said.\"\n\n\"There isn't any Old Nick. The wounds were similar, didn't he say?\"\n\nUlf's face went dull, a sign--she was beginning to know him--that he hadn't enjoyed hearing the shepherd's description of the wounds.\n\nAnd perhaps he should not have heard it, she thought, but it was too late now. \"Keep digging. In what year was the great storm?\"\n\n\"Year Saint Ethel's bell tower fell down.\"\n\nAdelia sighed. Seasons went by uncounted in Ulf's world, birthdays passed without recognition, only unusual events recorded the passage of time. \"How long ago was that?\" She added, helpfully, \"In yuletides?\"\n\n\"Weren't yuletide, were prim-e-rose time.\" But the look on Adelia's chalk-streaked face urged Ulf to put his mind to it. \"Six, seven Christmases gone.\"\n\n\"Keep digging.\"\n\nSix, seven years ago.\n\nThat, then, was when there had been a sheep stall on Wandlebury Ring. Old Walt said he used to shut the flock in it overnight. Not anymore, not since the morning he'd found its door torn open and carnage in the grass around it.\n\nPrior Geoffrey, on being told, had discounted his shepherd's tale of the devil. A wolf, Prior Geoffrey had said, and set the hunt to find it.\n\nBut Walt knew it wasn't a wolf; wolves didn't do that, not that. He had dug a pit at the bottom of the hill, away from the grazing, and carried the carcasses down one by one to bury them in it, \"laying them out reverent,\" as he told Ulf.\n\nWhat human soul was so tormented that it would knife and knife a sheep?\n\nOnly one. Pray God, only one.\n\n\"Here we go.\" Ulf had uncovered an elongated skull.\n\n\"Well done.\" On her side of the pit they'd made, Adelia's fingers also encountered bone. \"It's the hindquarters we want.\"\n\nOld Walt had made it easy for them; in his attempt to give peace to the spirits of his sheep, he had arranged the corpses neatly in rows, like dead soldiers on a battlefield.\n\nAdelia dragged out one of the skeletons and, sitting back, laid its tail end across her knees, brushing away chalk. She had to wait for another shower to pass before the light was bright enough to examine it. At last it was.\n\nShe said, quietly, \"Ulf, fetch Master Simon and Mansur.\"\n\nThe bones were clean, the wool no longer clinging to them, consistent with them having lain here for a long time. There was terrible damage to what, in a pig--the only animal skeleton with which she was familiar--would have been the pelvis and pubes. Old Walt had been right; no toothmarks, these. Here were stab wounds.\n\nWhen the boy had gone, she felt for her purse, loosened the drawstring, brought out the small traveling slate that went everywhere with her, opened it, and began to draw.\n\nThe gouges in these bones corresponded to those inflicted on the children; not caused by the same blade, perhaps, but by one very similar, crudely faceted like the end of a flattish piece of wood that had been whittled to a point.\n\nWhat in hell's weaponry was it? Certainly not wood. Not a steel blade, not necessarily iron, too roughly shaped. Sharp, though, hideously sharp--the animal's spine had been severed.\n\nWas this where the killer's shocking sexual rage had first shown itself? On defenseless animals? Always the defenseless with him.\n\nBut why the hiatus between six, seven years ago and this last year? Compulsions like his could surely not be held in for so long. Presumably, they hadn't been; other animals had been killed elsewhere and their death put down to a wolf. When had animals ceased to satisfy him? When had he graduated to children? Was Little Saint Peter his first?\n\nHe moved away, she thought. A jackal is always a jackal. There have been other deaths in other places, but that hill up there is his favored killing place. It is the ground where he dances. He's been away, and now he's come back.\n\nCarefully, Adelia closed the slate against the rain, put the skeleton aside, and lay down on her front so that she could reach into the pit for more bones.\n\nSomebody bade her good morning.\n\nHe's come back.\n\nFor a moment she was very still, then she rolled over, awkward and exposed, her hands on the skeletons in the pit behind her in order to support her upper body from collapsing on top of them.\n\n\"Talking to bones again?\" the tax inspector asked with interest. \"What will these say? Baa?\"\n\nAdelia became aware that her skirt had ridden up to show a considerable amount of bare leg, and she was in no position to pull it down.\n\nSir Rowley leaned down to put his hands under her armpits and raise her like a doll. \"A lady Lazarus from the tomb,\" he said, \"complete with gravedust.\" He began patting at her person, releasing clouds of sour-smelling chalk.\n\nShe pushed his hand away, no longer frightened but angry, very angry. \"What do you do here?\"\n\n\"Walking for my health, Doctor. You should approve.\"\n\nHe gleamed with health and good humor; he was the most defined thing in the gray landscape, ruddy cheeks and cloak; he looked like an oversized robin. He swept off his cap to bow to her and in the same movement picked up her slate. With apparent clumsiness, he knocked it open, exposing the drawings for him to look at.\n\nGeniality went. He bent down to peer at the skeleton. Slowly, he straightened. \"When was this done?\"\n\n\"Six or seven years ago,\" she said.\n\nShe thought, Was it you? Is there madness behind those jaunty blue eyes?\n\n\"So he began with sheep,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes.\" A swift intelligence? Or the cunning to assume it, knowing what she had surmised already?\n\nHis jaw had tightened. It was a different, much less good-natured man, who stood in front of her now. He seemed to have gotten thinner.\n\nThe rain was increasing. No sign of Simon or Mansur.\n\nSuddenly he had her by the arm and was pulling her along. Safeguard, having given no warning of the man's approach, scampered happily behind them. Adelia knew she should be afraid, but all she felt was outrage.\n\nThey stopped under a sheltering beech tree, where Picot shook her. \"Why are you ahead of me each time? Who are you, woman?\"\n\nShe was Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, and she was being manhandled. \"I am a doctor of Salerno. You will show me respect.\"\n\nHe looked at his big hands that were clutching her arms and released her. \"I beg your pardon, Doctor.\" He tried smiling. \"This won't do, will it?\" He took off his cloak, laid it carefully at the foot of the tree, and invited her to sit on it. She was glad to do so; her legs were still shaking.\n\nHe sat down beside her, talking reasonably. \"But do you see, I have a particular interest in discovering this killer, yet each time I follow a thread that might take me into the depth of his labyrinth, I find not the Minotaur but Ariadne.\"\n\nAnd Ariadne finds you, she thought. She said, \"May I ask what thread it was led you here today?\"\n\nSafeguard lifted a leg against the tree trunk, then settled itself on an unoccupied corner of the cloak.\n\n\"Oh, that,\" Sir Rowley said. \"Easily explained. You were good enough to employ me in writing down the story those poor bones told you in the hermit's hut, their removal from chalk to silt. A moment's reflection even suggested when that removal took place.\" He looked at her. \"I assume your menfolk are searching the hill?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"They won't find anything. I know damn well they won't, because I've been prowling it myself for the last two evenings and believe me, lady, it is no place to be when night comes down.\"\n\nHe slammed his fist down on the stretch of cloak between them, making Adelia jump and Safeguard look up. \"But it's there, goddammit. The clue to the Minotaur leads there. Those poor youngsters told us it did.\" He looked at his hand as if he hadn't seen it before, uncurling it. \"So I made my excuses to the lord sheriff and rode over to have yet another look. And what do I find? Madam Doctor listening to more bones. There, now you know all about it.\"\n\nHe'd become cheery again.\n\nRain had been pattering while he talked; now the sun came out. He's like the weather, Adelia thought. And I don't know all about it.\n\nShe said, \"Do you like jujubes?\"\n\n\"Love 'em, ma'am. Why? Are you offering me one?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" He squinted at her as at someone whose mind shouldn't be disturbed further, then spoke slowly and kindly. \"Perhaps you would tell me who sent you and your companions on this investigation?\"\n\n\"The King of Sicily,\" she said.\n\nHe nodded cautiously. \"The King of Sicily.\"\n\nShe began to laugh. It might have been the Queen of Sheba or the Grand Inquisitor; he couldn't recognize the truth because he didn't use it. He thinks I am mad.\n\nAs she laughed the sun sent its light through the young beech leaves to fall on her like a shower of newly minted copper pennies.\n\nHis face changed so that she sobered and looked away from him.\n\n\"Go home,\" he said. \"Go back to Salerno.\"\n\nNow she could see Ulf leading Simon and Mansur toward them from the direction of the sheep pit.\n\nThe tax collector was all reasonableness again. Good day, good day, my masters. Having attended the good doctor while she was performing the postmortem on the poor children...he, like them, had suspected the hill as being the site of...had searched the ground yet found nothing...Should they not, all four, exchange what knowledge they possessed to bring this fiend to justice?\n\nAdelia moved away to join Ulf, who was slapping his cap against his leg to shake off raindrops. He waved it in the direction of the tax collector. \"Don't like that un.\"\n\n\"I don't either,\" Adelia said, \"but the Safeguard seems to.\"\n\nAbsentmindedly--and she thought he would be sorry for it later--Sir Rowley was caressing the dog's head where it leaned against his knee.\n\nUlf growled in disgust. Then he said, \"You reckon them sheep were done for by him as did for Harold and the others?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"It was a similar weapon.\"\n\nUlf mused on it. \"Wonder where he's been killing betwixt times?\"\n\nIt was an intelligent question; Adelia had asked it of herself immediately. It was also the question the tax collector should have asked. And hadn't.\n\nBecause he knows, she thought.\n\nDriving back to town in the cart, like a good medicine vendor after a day picking herbs, Simon of Naples expressed gratification at having joined forces with Sir Rowley Picot. \"A quick brain, for all his size, none quicker. He was most interested in the significance we place on the appearance of Little Saint Peter's body on Chaim's lawn and, since he has access to the county's accounts, he has promised to assist me in discovering which men owed Chaim money. Also, he and Mansur are going to investigate the Arab trade ships and see which of them carries jujubes.\"\n\n\"God's rib,\" Adelia said. \"Did you tell him everything?\"\n\n\"Most everything.\" He smiled at her exasperation. \"My dear Doctor, if he is the killer, he knows everything already.\"\n\n\"If he's the killer, he knows we're closing him round. He knows enough to wish us away. He told me to go back to Salerno.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. He is concerned for you. 'This is no matter to involve a woman,' he told me. 'Do you want her murdered in her bed?'\"\n\nSimon winked at her; he was in a good mood. \"Why is it that we are always murdered in our beds, I wonder. We are never murdered at breakfast time. Or in our bath.\"\n\n\"Oh, stop it. I don't trust the man.\"\n\n\"I do, and I have considerable experience of men.\"\n\n\"He disturbs me.\"\n\nSimon winked at Mansur. \"Considerable experience of women, too. I believe she likes him.\"\n\nFuriously, Adelia said, \"Did he tell you he was a crusader?\"\n\n\"No.\" He turned to look at her, grave now. \"No, he did not tell me that.\"\n\n\"He was.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "It was the custom of those in Cambridge who had been on pilgrimage to hold a feast after their return. Alliances had been made on the journey, business conducted, marriages arranged, holiness and exaltation experienced; the world in general had been widened; and it was pleasurable for those who had shared these things to be brought together once more to discuss them and give thanks for a safe return.\n\nThis pilgrimtide it was the turn of the Prioress of Saint Radegund's to host the feast. Since, however, Saint Radegund was yet a poor, small convent--a situation soon to be altered if Prioress Joan and Little Saint Peter had anything to do with it--the honor of holding it on her behalf had been awarded to her knight and tenant, Sir Joscelin of Grantchester, whose hall and lands were considerably larger and richer than hers, a not unusual anomaly in the case of those who held part in fee of the lesser religious houses.\n\nA famous feast-giver, Sir Joscelin. It was said that when he'd entertained the Abbot of Ramsay last year, thirty beeves, sixty pigs, a hundred and fifty capon, three hundred larks (for their tongues), and two knights had died in the cause, the latter in a melee laid on for the abbot's entertainment that had gotten gloriously out of hand.\n\nInvitations were therefore valued; those who had not been on the pilgrimage but were closely associated with it, stay-at-home wives, daughters, sons, the good and the great of the shire, canons, and nuns, thought themselves illused not to be included. Since most of them were, the caterers t0 Cambridge's finery had been kept busy with barely a spare breath to bless the names of Saint Radegund's prioress and her loyal knight, Sir Joscelin.\n\nIt was not until the morning of the day itself that a Grantchester servant arrived with an invitation for the three foreigners in Jesus Lane. Dressed for the occasion, complete with a horn to blow, he was put out when Gyltha took him in at the back door.\n\n\"No use going by the front way, Matt, Doctor's physicking.\"\n\n\"Let's just blow a call, Gylth. Master sends his invites with a call.\"\n\nHe was taken into the kitchen for a cup of home brew; Gyltha liked to know what was going on.\n\nAdelia was in the hall, wrangling with Dr. Mansur's last patient of the day; she always kept Wulf to the end.\n\n\"Wulf, there is nothing wrong with you. Not the strangles, not ague, not the cough, not distemper, not diper bite, whatever that is, and you are certainly not lactating.\"\n\n\"Do the doctor say that?\"\n\nAdelia turned wearily to Mansur. \"Say something, Doctor.\"\n\n\"Give the idle dog a kick up his arse.\"\n\n\"The doctor prescribes steady work in fresh air,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"With my back?\"\n\n\"There is nothing wrong with your back.\" She regarded Wulf as a phenomenon. In a feudal society where everybody, except the growing mercantile class, owed work to somebody else for their existence, Wulf had escaped vassalage, probably by running away from his lord and certainly by marrying a Cambridge laundress who was prepared to labor for them both. He was, quite literally, afraid of work; it made him ill. But in order to escape the derision of society, he needed to be adjudged ill in order to avoid becoming so.\n\nAdelia was as gentle with him as with all her patients--she wondered if his brain could be pickled postmortem and sent to her so that she might examine it for some missing ingredient--but she refused to compromise her duty as a doctor by diagnosing or prescribing for a physical complaint where none existed.\n\n\"How about malingering? I'm still a-suffering from that, ain't I?\"\n\n\"A bad case,\" she said and shut the door on him.\n\nIt was still raining and therefore chilly and, since Gyltha didn't hold with lighting a fire in the hall from the end of March to the beginning of November, the warmth of Old Benjamin's house lay in its kitchen outside, a roaring place equipped with apparatus so fearful that it could be a torture chamber if it weren't for its ravishing smells.\n\nToday it held a new object, a wooden barrel like a washerwoman's lessiveuse. Adelia's best saffron silk underdress, as yet unworn in England, hung from a flitch hook above it to steam out the wrinkles. She had thought the gown to be still in the clothes press upstairs.\n\n\"What's that for?\"\n\n\"Bath. You,\" Gyltha said.\n\nAdelia was not unwilling; she hadn't bathed since last climbing out of the tiled and heated pool in her stepparents' villa that the Romans had installed nearly fifteen hundred years before. The bucket of water carried to the solar every morning by Matilda W. was no replacement. However, the scene before her prefigured an event, so she asked, \"Why?\"\n\n\"I ain't having you let me down at the feast,\" Gyltha said.\n\nSir Joscelin's invitation to Dr. Mansur and his two assistants, so Gyltha said, having put his man to the inquisition, was at Prior Geoffrey's prompting--if not true pilgrims, they had at least joined the pilgrimage on its return journey.\n\nTo Gyltha it was a challenge; the stoniness of her face showed that she was excited. As she had allied herself with these three queer fish, it was necessary for her self-esteem and social standing that they appear well when exposed to the scrutiny of the town's illustrious. Her limited knowledge of what such an occasion demanded was being augmented by Matilda B., whose mother was scrubwoman at the castle and had witnessed preparations for the tiring of the sheriff's lady on feast days, if not the tiring itself.\n\nAdelia had spent too much of her girlhood in study to join the festivity of other young women; later, she had been too busy. Nor, since she was not to marry, had her foster parents encouraged her in the higher social graces. She had subsequently been ill-equipped to attend the masques and revelry in the palaces of Salerno and, when forced to do so, had passed most of the time behind a pillar, both resentful and embarrassed.\n\nThis invitation, therefore, sounded an old alarm. Her immediate instinct was to find an excuse to refuse. \"I must consult Master Simon.\"\n\nBut Simon was at the castle, closeted with the Jews in an effort to discover whose indebtedness might have spurred Chaim's death.\n\n\"He'll say as you all got to go,\" Gyltha told her.\n\nHe probably would; with almost everyone they suspected gathered under one roof, tongues loosened by drink, it would be an opportunity to find out who knew what about whom.\n\n\"Nevertheless, send Ulf to the castle to ask him.\"\n\nTruth to tell, now that she thought about it, Adelia was not unwilling to go. Death had overlain her days in Cambridge with the murdered children, also with some of her patients; the little one with the cough had given way to pneumonia, the ague had died, so had the kidney stone, so had a new mother brought in too late. Adelia's successes--the amputation, the fever, the hernia--were discounted in the sum of what she regarded as her failures.\n\nIt would be nice, for once, to forgather with the living healthy at play. As usual, she could hide in the background; she would not be noticed. After all, she thought, a feast in Cambridge could not compete with the sophistication of its Salerno equivalent in the palaces of kings and popes. She need not be daunted by what, inevitably, would be a bucolic affair.\n\nAnd she wanted that bath. Had she known that such a thing were possible, she would have demanded one before now; she'd assumed that preparing baths was one of the many things Gyltha didn't hold with.\n\nShe had no choice, anyway; Gyltha and the two Matildas were determined. Time was short; an entertainment that could last six or seven hours began at noon.\n\nShe was stripped and plunged into the lessiveuse. Washing lye was poured in after her, along with a handful of precious cloves. She was scrubbed with a bathbrick until nearly raw and held under while her hair was attacked with more lye and a brush before being rinsed with lavender water.\n\nHauled out, she was wrapped in a blanket and her head inserted into the bread oven.\n\nHer hair was a disappointment, more had been expected of its emergence from the cap or coif she always wore; she habitually sheared it off at shoulder length.\n\n\"Color's all right,\" Gyltha said grudgingly.\n\n\"But that's too short,\" Matilda B. objected. \"Us'll have to put that in net pockets.\"\n\n\"Net costs.\"\n\n\"I don't know that I'm going yet,\" Adelia shouted from the oven.\n\n\"You bloody are.\"\n\nOh, well. Still on her knees at the oven, she directed her tiring women to her purse. Money was plentiful; Simon had been provided with a letter of credit on Luccan merchant bankers with agents in England and had drawn on it for them both.\n\nShe added, \"And if you're for the market, it's time you three had new kirtles. Buy an ell of best camlet for yourselves.\" Their goodwill made her ashamed that they should be shabby while she was resplendent.\n\n\"Linen'll do,\" Gyltha said shortly, pleased.\n\nAdelia was pulled out, put into her shift and underdress, and set on a stool to have her hair brushed until it gleamed like white gold. Silver net had been purchased and stitched into little pockets that were now being pinned over the plaits round her ears. The women were still working on it when Simon arrived with Ulf.\n\nAt the sight of her, he blinked. \"Well. Well, well, well...\"\n\nUlf's mouth had fallen open.\n\nEmbarrassed, Adelia said crossly, \"All this fuss, and I don't know if we should go at all.\"\n\n\"Not go? Dear Doctor, if Cambridge were denied the sight of you now, the very skies would weep. I know of only one woman as beautiful, and she is in Naples.\"\n\nAdelia smiled at him. Subtle little man that he was, he knew she would be comfortable with a compliment only if it was without coquetry. He was always careful to mention his wife, whom he adored, not just to point out that he was out-of-bounds but to reassure her that she, Adelia, was out-of-bounds to him. Anything else would have jeopardized a relationship that was close of necessity. As it was, it had allowed them to be comrades, he respecting her professionalism, she respecting his.\n\nAnd it was nice of him, she thought, to put her on a par with the wife whom he still saw in his mind's eye as the slim, ivory-skinned maiden he had married in Naples twenty years before--though, probably, having since borne him nine children, the lady was not as slim as she had been.\n\nHe was triumphant this morning.\n\n\"We shall soon be home,\" he told her. \"I shall not say too much until I have uncovered the requisite documents, but there are copies of the burned tallies. I was sure there must be. Chaim had lodged them with his bankers and, since they are extensive--the man seems to have lent money to all East Anglia--I have taken them to the castle in order that Sir Rowley may assist me in perusing them.\"\n\n\"Is that wise?\" Adelia asked.\n\n\"I think it is, I think it is. The man is versed in accounting and as eager as we are to discover who owed what to Chaim and who regretted it so mightily as to want him dead.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\"\n\nHe would not listen to Adelia's doubts; Simon thought he knew the sort of man Sir Rowley was, crusader or not. A hasty change into his best clothes so as to be ready for Grantchester and he was out of the door, heading back to the castle.\n\nLeft to herself, Adelia would have put on her gray overdress in order to tone down the brightness of the saffron that would therefore only show at bosom and sleeves. \"I don't want to attract attention.\"\n\nThe Matildas, however, plumped for the only other item of note in her wardrobe, a brocade with the colors of an autumn tapestry, and Gyltha, after a short waver, agreed with them. It was slid carefully over Adelia's coiffure. The pointed slippers Margaret had embroidered with silver thread went on with new white stockings.\n\nThe three arbiters stood back to consider the result.\n\nThe Matildas nodded and clasped their hands. Gyltha said, \"Reckon as she'll do,\" which was as near as she approached to hyperbole.\n\nAdelia's brief glimpse of her reflection in the polished but uneven bottom of a fish kettle showed something like a distorted apple tree, but obviously she passed muster with the others.\n\n\"Ought to be a page as'll stand behind Doctor's at the feast,\" Matilda B. said. \"Sheriff and them allus takes a page to stand behind their chairs. Fart-catchers, Ma calls them.\"\n\n\"Page, eh?\"\n\nUlf, who had been staring at Adelia without closing his mouth, became aware that four pairs of eyes rested on him. He began running.\n\nThe ensuing chase and battle were terrible. Ulf's screams brought neighbors round to see if another child was in danger of its life. Adelia, standing well back in case she be splashed by the lessiveuse's turmoil, was in pain from laughing.\n\nMore cash was expended, this time at the business premises of Ma Mill, whose ragbags contained an old but serviceable tabard of almost the right size that responded nicely to a rub with vinegar. Dressed in it and with his flaxen hair bobbed around a face like a gleaming, discontented pickled onion, Ulf too passed muster.\n\nMansur eclipsed them both. A gilded agal held the veil of his kaffiyeh in place; silk flowed long and light around a fresh white woollen robe. A jeweled dagger flashed on his belt.\n\n\"O Son of the Noonday,\" Adelia said, bowing. \"Eeh l-Halaawa di!\"\n\nMansur inclined his head, but his eyes were on Gyltha, who took a poker to the fire, face averted. \"Girt great maypole,\" she said.\n\nOh ho, Adelia thought.\n\nThere was much to smile at in the aping of fine manners, at the reception of hoods, swords, and gloves from guests whose boots and cloaks were muddied by the walk from the river--nearly everybody had been punted from town--at the stiff use of titles by those who had known each other intimately for years, at the rings on female fingers toughened by the making of cheese in their owner's home dairy.\n\nBut there was also much to admire. How friendlier it was to be greeted at the arched door with its carved Norman chevrons by Sir Joscelin himself than announced by an ivory-wanded, high-chinned majordomo. To be handed warming spiced wine on a cool day, not iced wine. To smell mutton, beef, and pork sizzling on spits in the courtyard rather than to pretend with one's host, as one did in southern Italy, that food was being conjured by a wave of the hand.\n\nAnyway, with the scowling Ulf and Safeguard at her heels rather than the lapdogs carried by pages attendant on some of the other ladies, Adelia was in no position to be supercilious.\n\nMansur, obviously, had gained status in Cambridge's eyes, and his dress and height came in for attention. Sir Joscelin welcomed him with a graceful salute and a \"Salaam alaikum.\"\n\nThe matter of his kard was also resolved with charm. \"The dagger is not a weapon,\" Sir Joscelin told his porter, who was struggling to wrest it from Mansur's belt and put it with the guests' swords. \"It is a decoration for such a gentleman as this, as we old crusaders know.\"\n\nHe turned to Adelia, bowing, and asked her to translate his apology to the good doctor for the tardiness of their invitation. \"I feared he would be bored by our rustic amusements, but Prior Geoffrey assured me otherwise.\"\n\nThough he had always shown her civility, even when she must have seemed to him to be a foreign trollop, Adelia realized that Gyltha had circulated word that the doctor's assistant was virtuous.\n\nThe prioress's welcome was offhand through lack of interest, and she was taken aback by her knight's greeting to both Mansur and Adelia. \"You have had dealing with these people, Sir Joscelin?\"\n\n\"The good doctor saved the foot of my thatcher, ma'am, and probably his life.\" But the blue eyes, amused, were directed at Adelia, who feared that Sir Joscelin knew who had performed the amputation.\n\n\"My dear girl, my dear girl.\" Prior Geoffrey's grip on her arm propelled her away. \"How beautiful you look. Nec me meminisse pigebit Adeliae, dum memor ipse mei, dum spiritus hos regit artus.\"\n\nShe smiled up at him; she had missed him. \"Are you well, my lord?\"\n\n\"Pissing like a racehorse, I thank you.\" He bent toward her ear so that she should hear him above the noise of conversation. \"And how goes the investigation?\"\n\nThey had been remiss not to keep him informed; that they had been able to investigate as much as they had was due to this man, but they'd been so busy. \"We have made ground and hope to make more tonight,\" she told him. \"May we report to you tomorrow? Particularly, I want to ask you about...\"\n\nBut there was the tax collector himself, two yards away and staring at her over the head of the crowd. He began to wade through an intervening group toward her. He looked less plump than he had.\n\nHe bowed. \"Mistress Adelia.\"\n\nShe nodded to him. \"Is Master Simon with you?\"\n\n\"He is delayed at the castle.\" He gave her a conspiratorial wink. \"Having to escort the sheriff and his lady here, I was forced to leave him to his studies. He begged me to tell you he will attend later. May I say...\"\n\nWhatever he wished to say was interrupted by a trumpet call. They were to dine.\n\nHer fingers raised high on his, Prior Geoffrey joined the procession to take Adelia into the hall, Mansur at his side. There they had to separate, he to the top table that stood across the dais at one end, she and Mansur to their more lowly position. She was interested to see where this would be; precedence was a formidable concern for host and guest alike.\n\nAdelia had witnessed her Salerno aunt near to collapse from the worry of placing highborn guests at table in an order that would not mortally offend one or the other. Theoretically, the rules were clear: a prince to equal an archbishop, bishop to an earl, baron in fief before a visiting baron, and so on down the line. But suppose a legate, equal to a visiting baron, was papal--where did he sit? What if the archbishop had crossed the prince, as was so often the case? Or vice versa? Which was even more frequent. Fisticuffs, feuds could result from the unintended insult. And the poor host always to blame.\n\nIt was a matter that had exercised even Gyltha, whose vicarious honor was involved, and who had also been called to Grantchester for the night to do interesting things with eels in its kitchens. \"I'll be a-watching, and if Sir Joscelin do put any of you below the salt, that's the last barrel of eels he do get from me.\"\n\nAs she entered, Adelia glimpsed Gyltha's head poking out anxiously from behind a door.\n\nShe could sense tension, see eyes glancing left and right as Sir Joscelin's marshal ushered the guests to their places. The lower pecking orders, particularly self-made men whose ambition outran their birth, were as sensitive as the high, perhaps more so.\n\nUlf had already done some scouting. \"He's up here, and you're down there,\" he said, jerking a thumb back and forth between Adelia and Mansur. He adopted the slow, careful baby talk he always used to Mansur. \"You. Sitty. Here.\"\n\nSir Joscelin had been generous, Adelia thought, relieved for Gyltha's sake--and also for her own; Mansur was touchy about his dignity, and, decoration or not, he had a dagger in his belt. While he hadn't been put at the top table with the host and hostess, prior, sheriff, et cetera, nor could he expect to be, he was quite near it on one of the long trestles that ran the length of the great hall. The lovely young nun who had allowed Adelia to look at Little Saint Peter's bones was on his left. Less happily, Roger of Acton had been placed opposite him.\n\nPositioning the tax collector must have called for considerable reflection, she thought. Unpopular in his calling, but nevertheless the king's man and, at the moment, the sheriff's right hand. Sir Joscelin had opted for safety as far as Sir Rowley Picot was concerned. He was next to the sheriff's wife, making her laugh.\n\nAs ostensibly a mere female potion-mixing doctor's attendant, and foreign at that, Adelia found herself on another of the trestles in the body of the hall toward its lower end--though several positions above the ornate salt cellar that marked the division between guests and those serfs who were present to fulfill Christ's command that the poor be fed. The even poorer were gathered in the courtyard round a brazier, waiting for the scraps.\n\nShe was joined on her right by the huntsman, Hugh, his face as impassive as ever, though he bowed to her courteously enough. So did an elderly little man she did not know who took his place on her left.\n\nShe was unhappy to see that Brother Gilbert had been placed directly across from her. So was he.\n\nTrenchers were brought round, and there was covert slapping by parents of their young people's hands as they reached to break off a piece, for there was much to happen before the bread could have food put upon it. Sir Joscelin must declare his fealty for his liege, Prioress Joan, which he did on one knee and with a presentation of his rent, six milk-white doves in a gilt cage.\n\nPrior Geoffrey must say grace. Wine cups must be filled for the dedicatory toast to Thomas of Canterbury and his new recruit to martyred glory, Little Peter of Trumpington, the raisons d'etre of the feast. A curious custom, Adelia thought, as she stood to drink to the health of the dead.\n\nA discordant shriek cut across the respectful murmurs. \"The infidel insults our holy saints.\" Roger of Acton was pointing in triumphant outrage at Mansur. \"He drinks to them in water.\"\n\nAdelia closed her eyes. God, don't let him stab the swine.\n\nBut Mansur stayed calm, sipping his water. It was Sir Joscelin who administered a rebuke clear to the entire hall: \"By his faith, this gentleman forswears liquor, Master Roger. If you cannot hold yours, may I suggest you follow his example.\"\n\nNicely done. Acton collapsed onto his bench. Adelia's opinion of her host rose.\n\nDo not be charmed, though, she told herself. Memento mori. Literally, remember death. He may be the killer; he is a crusader. So is the tax collector.\n\nAnd so was another man on the top table; Sir Gervase had watched every step of her progress into the hall.\n\nIs it you?\n\nAdelia was assured now that the man who had murdered the children had been on crusade. It was not merely identification of the sweetmeat as an Arab jujube, but that the hiatus between the attack on the sheep and the one on the children coincided exactly with a period when Cambridge had responded to the call of Outremer and sent some of its men to answer it.\n\nThe trouble was that there had been the absence of so many....\n\n\"Who left town in the Great Storm year?\" Gyltha had said when applied to. \"Well, there was Ma Mill's daughter as got herself in the family way by the peddler....\"\n\n\"Men, Gyltha, men.\"\n\n\"Oh, there was a mort of young men went. See, the Abbot of Ely called for the country to take the Cross.\" By \"country\" Gyltha meant \"county.\" \"Must of been hundreds went off with Lord Fitzgilbert to the Holy Places.\"\n\nIt had been a bad year, Gyltha said. The Great Storm had flattened crops, flood swept away people and buildings, the fens were inundated, even the gentle Cam rose in fury. God had shown His anger at Cambridgeshire's sins. Only a crusade against His enemies could placate Him.\n\nLord Fitzgilbert, looking for lands in Syria to replace his drowned estates, had planted Christ's banner in Cambridge's marketplace. Young men with livelihoods destroyed by the storm came to it, and so did the ambitious, the adventurous, rejected suitors, and husbands with nagging wives. Courts gave criminals the option of going to prison or taking the Cross. Sins whispered to priests in confession were absolved--as long as the perpetrator joined the crusade.\n\nA small army marched away.\n\nLord Fitzgilbert had returned pickled in a coffin and now lay in his own chapel under a marble effigy of himself, its mailed legs crossed in the sign of a crusader. Some arrived home and died of the diseases they carried with them, to lie in less exalted graves with a plain sword carved into the stone above. Some were merely a name on a mortuary list carried by survivors. Some had found a richer, drier life in Syria and opted to stay there.\n\nOthers came back to take up their former occupation so that, according to Gyltha, Adelia and Simon must now take a keen look at two shopkeepers, several villeins, a blacksmith, and the very apothecary who supplied Dr. Mansur's medicines, not to mention Brother Gilbert and the silent canon who had accompanied Prior Geoffrey on the road.\n\n\"Brother Gilbert went on crusade?\"\n\n\"That he did. Nor it ain't no good suspecting only them as came back rich like sirs Joscelin and Gervase,\" Gyltha had said relentlessly. \"There's lots borrow from Jews, small amounts maybe but big enough to them as can't pay the interest. Nor it ain't certain a fellow yelling for the Jew to swing was the same devil killed the little uns. There's plenty like to see a Jew's neck stretch and they call theyselves Christians.\"\n\nDaunted by the size of the problem, Adelia had grimaced at the housekeeper for her logic even as she'd acknowledged it as inescapable.\n\nSo now, looking around, she must attach no sinister significance to Sir Joscelin's obvious wealth. It could have been gained in Syria, rather than from Chaim the Jew. It had certainly transformed a Saxon holding into a flint-built manor of considerable beauty. The enormous hall in which they ate possessed a newly carved roof as fine as any she'd seen in England. From the gallery above the dais issued music played with professional skill on recorder, vielle, and flute. The personal eating irons that a guest usually took to a meal had been made redundant by a knife and spoon laid at each place. Saucers, finger bowls waiting on the table were of exquisite silverwork, the napkins of damask.\n\nShe expressed her admiration to her companions. Hugh the huntsman merely nodded. The little man on her left said, \"But you ought to've seen that in old days, wonderful wormy barn of a place near to falling down that was when Sir Tibault had un, him as was Joscelin's father. Nasty old brute he was, God rest him, as drank hisself to death in the end. Ain't I right, Hugh?\"\n\nHugh grunted. \"Son's different.\"\n\n\"That he is. Different as chalk and cheese. Brought the place back to life, Joscelin has. Used un's gold well.\"\n\n\"Gold?\" Adelia asked.\n\nThe little man warmed to her interest. \"So he told me. 'There's gold in Outremer, Master Herbert,' he said to me. 'Hatfuls of it, Master Herbert.' See, I'm by way of being his bootmaker; a man don't fib to his bootmaker.\"\n\n\"Did Sir Gervase come back with gold as well?\"\n\n\"A ton or more, so they say, only he ain't so free with his money.\"\n\n\"Did they acquire this gold together?\"\n\n\"Can't answer for that. Probable they did. They ain't hardly apart. David and Jonathan, them.\"\n\nAdelia glanced toward the high table at David and Jonathan, good-looking, confident, so easy together, talking over the prioress's head.\n\nIf there were two killers, both in accord...It hadn't crossed her mind, but it should have. \"Do they have wives?\"\n\n\"Gervase do, a poor, dribblin' little piece as stays home.\" The bootmaker was happy to display his knowledge of great men. \"Sir Joscelin now, he's atrading for the Baron of Peterborough's daughter. Good match that'd be.\"\n\nA shrill horn blasted away all talk. The guests sat up. Food was coming.\n\nAt the high table, Rowley Picot allowed his knee to rub against that of the sheriff's wife, keeping her happy. He also winked at the young nun seated at the trestle below to make her blush, but found that his eyes were more often directed toward little Madam Doctor down among the toilers and hewers. Washed up nicely, he'd give her that. Creamy, velvety skin disappeared into that saffron bodice, inviting touch. Made his fingertips twitch. Not the only thing to twitch, either; that gleaming hair suggested she was blonde all over....\n\nDamn the trollop--Sir Rowley shook off a lubricious reverie--she was finding out too much, and Master Simon with her, relying on their bloody great Arab for protection, a eunuch, for God's sake.\n\nTo Hell, thought Adelia, there's more.\n\nFor the second time, a blast on the horn had announced another course from the kitchen, led by the marshal. More and even larger platters, piled like petty mountains, each needing two men to carry them, were greeted with cheers from the merry diners, who were getting merrier.\n\nThe wreckage from the first course was removed. Gravy-stained trenchers were put into a wheelbarrow and taken outside to where ragged men, women, and children waited to fall on them. Fresh ones took their place.\n\n\"Et maintenant, milords, mesdames...\" It was the head cook again. \"Venyson en furmety gely. Porcelle farce enforce. Pokokkye. Crans. Venyson roste. Conyn. Byttere truffee. Pulle endore. Braun freyes avec graunt tartez. Leche Lumbarde. A soltelle.\"\n\nNorman French for Norman food.\n\n\"That's France talk,\" explained Master Herbert, the bootmaker, to Adelia kindly, as if he hadn't said so the first time, \"as Sir Joscelin brought that cook from France.\"\n\nAnd I wish he might go back there. Enough, enough.\n\nShe was feeling strange.\n\nTo begin with, she had refused wine and asked for boiled water, a request that had surprised the servant with the wine pitcher and had not been fulfilled. Persuaded by Master Herbert that the mead being offered as an alternative to wine and ale was an innocuous drink made from honey, and being thirsty, she had emptied several cups.\n\nAnd was still thirsty. She waved frantically at Ulf to bring her some of the water from Mansur's ewer. He didn't see her.\n\nIt was Simon of Naples who waved back. He'd just entered and bowed a deep apology to Prioress Joan and Sir Joscelin for his late arrival.\n\nHe's learned something, Adelia thought, sitting up. She could tell from his very walk that his time with the Jews had yielded fruit. She watched him talking excitedly to the tax collector at the end of the high table before he disappeared from her view to take his seat farther up the trestle and on the same side of it as herself.\n\nWeek-dead peacocks still displaying their tail were on the board; litters of crispy baby pigs sucked sadly on the apple between their jaws. The eye of a roasted bittern, which would have looked better un-roasted among the fenland reeds where it belonged, stared accusingly into Adelia's.\n\nSilently, she apologized to it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry they stuffed truffles up your arse.\n\nAgain, she glimpsed Gyltha's face peering round the kitchen door. Adelia sat up straight again. I am doing you credit, I am, I am.\n\nVenison in a stew of corn appeared on her clean trencher. It was joined by \"gely\" from a saucer. Red currant, probably. \"I want salads,\" she said hopelessly.\n\nThe prioress's rent had escaped from their cage and joined the sparrows in the rafters to plop droppings on the tables below.\n\nBrother Gilbert, who'd been ignoring the nuns on either side of him and was staring at Adelia instead, leaned across the table. \"I should think you ashamed to show your hair, mistress.\"\n\nShe glared back. \"Why?\"\n\n\"You would better hide your locks beneath a veil, better dress in mourning garments, neglect your exterior. O Daughter of Eve, don the penitential garb that women must derive from Eve's ignominy, the odium of it being the cause of the fall of the human race.\"\n\n\"Wasn't her fault,\" said the nun on his left. \"Fall of the human race wasn't her fault. Wasn't mine, neither.\"\n\nShe was a skinny, middle-aged woman who had been drinking heavily, as had Brother Gilbert. Adelia liked the cut of her jib.\n\nThe monk turned on her. \"Silence, woman. Would you argue with the great Saint Tertullian? You, from your house of loose living?\"\n\n\"Yah,\" the nun said, crowing, \"we got a better saint than you got. We got Little Saint Peter. Best you've got is Saint Etheldreda's big toe.\"\n\n\"We have a piece of the True Cross,\" Brother Gilbert shouted.\n\n\"Who ain't?\" said the nun on his other side.\n\nBrother Gilbert descended from his high horse into the blood and dust of the battleground. \"A muck of good Little Saint Peter'll do you when the archdeacon investigates your convent, you slut. And he will. Oh, I know what goes on at Saint Radegund's--slackness, holy office neglected, men in your cells, hunting parties, sliding upriver to provision your anchorites. I don't think. Oh, I know.\"\n\n\"So we do provision 'em.\" This was the nun on Brother Gilbert's right, as plump as her sister in God was thin. \"If I visit my aunty after, where's the harm?\"\n\nUlf's voice repeated itself in Adelia's head. Sister Fatty for to supply the hermits, look a her puff. She squinted at the nun. \"I saw you,\" she said happily. \"I saw you poling a punt upriver.\"\n\n\"I'll wager you didn't see her poling back.\" Brother Gilbert was spitting in his fury. \"They stay out all night. They comport themselves in licentiousness and lust. In a decent house, they'd be whipped until their arses bled, but where's their prioress? Out hunting.\"\n\nA man who hates, Adelia thought, a hateful man. And a crusader. She leaned across the table. \"Do you like jujubes, Brother Gilbert?\"\n\n\"What? What? No, I loathe confits.\" He turned from her to resume his denunciation of Saint Radegund's.\n\nA quiet, sad voice on Adelia's right said, \"Our Mary liked confits.\" Appallingly, tears were running down the sinewy cheeks of Hugh the huntsman and plopping into his stew.\n\n\"Don't cry,\" she said, \"don't cry.\"\n\nA whisper came from the bootmaker on her left: \"She was his niece. Little Mary as was murdered. His sister's child.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\" Adelia touched the huntsman's hand. \"I'm so sorry.\"\n\nBleary, infinitely sad, his blue eyes looked into hers. \"I'll get him. I'll tear his liver out.\"\n\n\"We'll both get him,\" she said and became irritated that Brother Gilbert's harangue should be intruding on such a moment. She stretched across the board to poke the monk in his chest. \"Not Saint Tertullian.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Tertullian. Fellow you quoted on Eve. He wasn't a saint. Did you think he was a saint? He wasn't. He left the Church. He was\"--she said it carefully--\"heterodoxal. That's what he was. Joined the Montanists, Subsequently never declared a saint.\"\n\nThe nuns rejoiced. \"Didn't know that, did you?\" the skinny one said.\n\nBrother Gilbert's reply was drowned by yet another trumpet blast and another course processing by the high table.\n\n\"Blaundersorye. Quincys in comfyte. Curlews en miel. Pertyche. Eyround angels. Pety-perneux...\"\n\n\"What's petty-perno?\" asked the huntsman, still crying.\n\n\"Little lost eggs,\" Adelia told him and began to weep uncontrollably.\n\nThe part of her brain that hadn't totally lost its battle with mead got her to her feet and carried her to a sideboard containing a jug of water. Clutching it, she aimed for the door, Safeguard behind her.\n\nThe tax collector watched her go.\n\nSeveral guests were already in the garden. Men were contemplatively facing tree trunks; women were scattering to find a quiet place to squat. The more modest were forming an agitated queue for the shrouded benches with bottom-sized holes that Sir Joscelin had provided over the stream running down to the Cam.\n\nDrinking fiercely from her jug, Adelia wandered off, past stables and the comforting smell of horses, past dark mews where hooded raptors dreamed of the swoop and kill. There was a moon. There was grass, an orchard...\n\nThe tax collector found her asleep beneath an apple tree. As he reached out, a small, dark, smelly shape beside her raised its head and another, much taller and with a dagger at its belt, stepped from the shadows.\n\nSir Rowley displayed empty hands to them both. \"Would I hurt her?\"\n\nAdelia opened her eyes. She sat up, feeling her forehead. \"Tertullian wasn't a saint, Picot,\" she told him.\n\n\"I always wondered.\" He squatted down beside her. She'd used his name as if they were old friends--he was dismayed by the pleasure that gave him. \"What were you drinking?\"\n\nShe concentrated. \"It was yellow.\"\n\n\"Mead. You need a Saxon constitution to survive mead.\" He pulled her to her feet. \"Come along, you'll have to dance it off.\"\n\n\"I don't dance. Shall we go and kick Brother Gilbert?\"\n\n\"You tempt me, but I think we'll just dance.\"\n\nThe hall had been cleared of its tables. The gentle musicians of the gallery had transformed into three perspiring, burly men on the dais, a tabor player and two fiddlers, one of them calling the steps in a howl that overrode the squealing, laughing, stamping whirl on what was now a dance floor.\n\nThe tax collector pulled Adelia into it.\n\nThis was not the disciplined, fingertip-holding, toe-pointing, complex dancing of Salerno's high society. No elegance here. These people of Cambridge hadn't time to attend lessons in Terpsichore, they just danced. Indefatigably, ceaselessly, with sweat and stamina, with zest, compelled by savage ancestral gods. A stumble here or there, a wrong move, what matter? Back into the fray, dance, dance. \"Strike.\" Left foot to the left, the right stamped against it. \"Back to back.\" Catch up one's skirt. Smile. \"Right shoulder to right shoulder.\" \"Left circle hey.\" \"Straight hey.\" \"Corner.\" \"Weave, my lords and ladies, weave, you buggers.\" \"Home.\"\n\nThe flambeaux in their holders flickered like sacrificial fires. Bruised rushes on the floor released green incense into the room. No time to breathe, this is \"Horses Brawl,\" back, circle, up the middle, under the arch, again, again.\n\nThe mead in her body vaporized and was replaced by the intoxication of cooperative movement. Glistening faces appeared and disappeared, slippery hands grasped Adelia's, swung her: Sir Gervase, an unknown, Master Herbert, sheriff, prior, tax collector, Sir Gervase again, swinging her so roughly that she was afraid he might let go and send her propelling into the wall. Up the middle, under the arch, gallop, weave.\n\nVignettes glimpsed for a second, and then gone. Simon signaling to her that he was leaving but his smile--she was being revolved with speed by Sir Rowley at that moment--telling her to stay and enjoy herself. A tall prioress and a small Ulf swinging round on the centrifuge of their crossed hands. Sir Joscelin talking earnestly to the little nun as they passed back-to-back in a corner. An admiring circle round Mansur, his face impassive as he danced over crossed swords to an intoned maqam. Roger of Acton trying to make a circling carole go to the right: \"Those that turn to the left are perverse, and God hates them. Proverbs twenty-seven.\" And being trampled.\n\nDear Lord, the cook and the sheriff's lady. No time to marvel. Right shoulder to right shoulder. Dance, dance. Her arms and Picot's forming an arch, Gyltha and Prior Geoffrey passing under it. The skinny nun with the apothecary. Now Hugh the huntsman and Matilda B. Those below the salt, those above it in thrall to a democratic god who danced. Oh, God, this is joy on the wing. Catch it, catch it.\n\nAdelia danced her slippers through and didn't know it until friction burns afflicted the soles of her feet.\n\nShe spun out of the melee. It was time to go. A few guests were leaving, though most were congregating at the sideboards on which supper was being set out.\n\nShe limped to the doorway. Mansur joined her. \"Did I see Master Simon leave?\" she asked him.\n\nHe went to look and came back from the direction of the kitchen with a sleeping Ulf in his arms. \"The woman says he went ahead.\" Mansur never used Gyltha's name; she was always \"the woman.\"\n\n\"Are she and the Matildas staying?\"\n\n\"They help to clear up. We take the boy.\"\n\nIt seemed that Prior Geoffrey and his monks had long gone. So had the nuns, except for Prioress Joan, who was at a sideboard with a piece of game pie in one hand and a tankard in the other; she was so far mellowed as to smile on Mansur and wave a benediction with the pie over Adelia's curtseyed thanks.\n\nSir Joscelin they met coming in from the courtyard where firelit figures gnawed on bones.\n\n\"You honored us, my lord,\" Adelia told him. \"Dr. Mansur wishes me to express our gratitude to you.\"\n\n\"Do you go back via the river? I can call my barge....\"\n\nNo, no, they had come in Old Benjamin's punt, but thank you.\n\nEven with the flambeau burning in its holder on a stanchion at the river's edge, it was almost too dark to distinguish Old Benjamin's punt from the others waiting along the bank, but since all of them, bar Sheriff Baldwin's, were uniformly plain, they took the first in line.\n\nThe still-sleeping Ulf was lain across Adelia's lap where she sat in the bow; Safeguard stood unhappily with his paws in bilge. Mansur took up the pole....\n\nThe punt rocked dangerously as Sir Rowley Picot leaped into it. \"To the castle, boatman.\" He settled himself on a thwart. \"Now, isn't this nice?\"\n\nA slight mist rose from the water and a gibbous moon shone weakly, intermittently, sometimes disappearing altogether as over-arching trees on the banks turned the river into a tunnel. A lump of ghastly white transformed into a flurry of wings as a protesting swan got out of their way.\n\nMansur, as he always did when he was poling, sang quietly to himself, an atonal reminiscence of water and rushes in another land.\n\nSir Rowley complimented Adelia on her boatman's skill.\n\n\"He is a Marsh Arab,\" she said. \"He feels at home in fenland.\"\n\n\"Does he now? How unexpected in a eunuch.\"\n\nImmediately, she was defensive. \"And what do you expect? Fat men lolling around a harem?\"\n\nHe was taken aback. \"Yes, actually. The only ones I ever saw were.\"\n\n\"When you were crusading?\" she asked, still on the attack.\n\n\"When I was crusading,\" he admitted.\n\n\"Then your experience of eunuchs is limited, Sir Rowley. I fully expect Mansur to marry Gyltha one day.\" Oh, damn it, her tongue was still loose from the mead. Had she betrayed her dear Arab? And Gyltha?\n\nBut she would not have this, this fellow, this possible murderer, denigrate a man whose boots he was not fit to lick.\n\nRowley leaned forward. \"Really? I thought his, er, condition would put marriage out of the question.\"\n\nDamn and blast and hellfire, now she had placed herself into the position of having to explain the circumstances of the castrated. But how to put it? \"It is only that children of such a union are out of the question. Since Gyltha is past childbearing age anyway, I doubt that will concern them.\"\n\n\"I see. And the other, er, condolences of marriage?\"\n\n\"They can sustain an erection,\" she said sharply. To hell with euphemisms; why sheer away from physical fact? If he hadn't wanted to know, he shouldn't have asked.\n\nShe'd shocked him, she could tell; but she hadn't finished with him. \"Do you think Mansur chose to be as he is? He was taken by slavers when he was a small child and sold for his voice to Byzantine monks, where he was castrated so that he might keep his treble. It is a common practice with them. He was eight years old, and he had to sing for the monks, Christian monks, his torturers.\"\n\n\"May I ask how you acquired him?\"\n\n\"He ran away. My foster father found him on a street in Alexandria and brought him home to Salerno. My father specializes in acquiring the lost and abandoned.\"\n\nStop it, stop it, she told herself. Why this wish to inform? He is nothing to you; he may be worse than nothing. That you have just spent the time of your life with him is nothing.\n\nA moorhen clooped and rustled in the reeds. Something, a water rat, slid into the water and swam away, leaving a wake of moonlit ripples. The punt entered another tunnel.\n\nSir Rowley's voice sounded in it. \"Adelia.\"\n\nShe closed her eyes. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"You have contributed all you can to this business. When we reach Old Benjamin's, I shall come in with you and have a word with Master Simon. He must be made to see that it is time you went home to Salerno.\"\n\n\"I do not understand,\" she said. \"The killer is not yet uncovered.\"\n\n\"We're closing on his coverts; if we flush him, he'll be dangerous until we can bring him down. I don't want him leaping on one of the beaters.\"\n\nThe anger the tax collector always inspired in her came hot and sharp. \"One of the beaters? I am qualified, qualified, and chosen for this mission by the King of Sicily, not by Simon, and certainly not by you.\"\n\n\"Madam, I am merely concerned for your safety.\"\n\nIt was too late; he would not have suggested that a man in her position go home; he had insulted her professional ability.\n\nAdelia lapsed into Arabic, the only tongue in which she could swear freely, because Margaret had never understood it. She used phrases overheard during Mansur's frequent quarrels with her foster parents' Moroccan cook, the one language that could counteract the fury Sir Rowley Picot ever inspired in her. She spoke of diseased donkeys and his unnatural preference for them, of his doglike attributes, his fleas, his bowel performance, and his eating habits. She told him what he could do with his concern, an injunction again involving his bowels. Whether Picot knew what she was saying or didn't was irrelevant; he could get the gist.\n\nMansur poled them out of the tunnel, grinning.\n\nThe rest of the journey passed in silence.\n\nWhen they reached Old Benjamin's house, Adelia would not let Picot accompany her to it. \"Shall I take him on to the castle?\" Mansur wanted to know.\n\n\"Anywhere, take him anywhere,\" she said.\n\nThe next morning, when a water bailiff came to tell Gyltha that Simon's corpse was being delivered to the castle, Adelia knew she had been swearing as their punt passed his body where it had floated, face down, in the Trumpington reeds."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Is she hearing me?\" Sir Rowley asked Gyltha.\n\n\"They're hearing you in Peterborough,\" Gyltha said. The tax collector had been shouting. \"She just ain't listening.\"\n\nShe was listening, but not to Sir Rowley Picot. The voice she heard was that of Simon of Naples, clear as clear, and saying nothing significant, merely chatting as he'd used to chat in his light, busy tenor--actually, at the moment, about wool and its processes. \"Can you conceive of the difficulty in achieving of the color black?\"\n\nShe wanted to tell him that her difficulty now was of conceiving him to be dead, that she was delaying the moment because the loss was too great and must therefore be ignored, a life removed revealing a chasm that she had not seen because he'd filled it.\n\nThey were mistaken. Simon was not the sort of person to be dead.\n\nSir Rowley looked around Old Benjamin's kitchen for help. Were all its women poleaxed? And the boy? Was she going to sit and stare into the fire forever?\n\nHe appealed to the eunuch, who stood with folded arms, staring out the doorway at the river.\n\n\"Mansur.\" He had to go close so that their faces were level. \"Mansur. The body is at the castle. Any minute the Jews are going to discover that it is there and bury it themselves. They know him to be one of their own. Listen to me.\" He reached up to the man's shoulders and shook him. \"There's no time for her to mourn. She must examine the corpse first. He was murdered, don't you see?\"\n\n\"You speak Arabic?\"\n\n\"What do you think I'm speaking, you great camel? Wake her up, make her move.\"\n\nAdelia put her head on one side to consider the balance that had been maintained, the sexless affection and acceptance, respect with humor, a friendship so rare between a man and a woman that such a one was unlikely to be granted to her again. She knew now something of what it would be like to lose her foster father.\n\nShe grew angry, accusing Simon's shade of culpability. How could you be so careless? You were of value to us all; it is a deprivation; dying in a muddy English river is so silly.\n\nThat poor woman he had loved so much. His children.\n\nMansur's hand was on her shoulder. \"This man is saying Simon was murdered.\"\n\nIt took a minute, then she was on her feet. \"No.\" She was facing Picot. \"It was an accident. That man, the waterman, told Gyltha it was an accident.\"\n\n\"He'd found the tallies, woman, he knew who it was.\" Sir Rowley clenched his teeth with exasperation, then began to speak slowly. \"Listen to me. Are you listening?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He came late to Joscelin's feast. Are you hearing me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I saw him.\"\n\n\"He came to the top table to make his apologies for being late. The marshal showed him to his place, but as he went by me, he stopped and patted a wallet on his belt. And he said...Are you listening? He said, 'We have him, Sir Rowley. I have found the tallies.' He spoke low, but that's what he said.\"\n\n\"'We have him, Sir Rowley,'\" Adelia repeated.\n\n\"That's what he said. I've this minute seen his body. There's no wallet on his belt. He was killed for it.\"\n\nAdelia heard Matilda B. squeaking with distress, Gyltha uttering a moan. Were she and Picot speaking English? They must be.\n\n\"Why should he tell you that?\" she asked.\n\n\"Great heavens, woman, we'd been attending to it together all day. It was inconceivable that the only debt tallies were those that were burnt. The damned Jews could have laid their hands on them any day if they'd only realized it; they were with Chaim's banker.\"\n\n\"Don't you say that about them.\" She had a hand on his chest and was pushing him. \"Don't say it. Simon was a Jew.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" He caught her hands. \"It's because he was a Jew that you must come with me now and examine his body before the Jews get hold of it.\" He saw her expression and stayed remorseless. \"What happened to him. When. From that, with even more luck, we may be able to deduce who. You taught me that.\"\n\n\"He was my friend,\" she said. \"I cannot.\" Her soul rebelled at the thought, and so would Simon's--to be exposed, fingered, cut, and by her. Autopsy was against Jewish law in any case. She would defy the Christian Church any day, but, for Simon's dear sake, she would not offend the Jewish.\n\nGyltha stepped in between them to peer carefully into the tax collector's face. \"What you're saying. Master Simon was killed by him as killed the children? Is that right?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.\"\n\n\"And she can tell from looking at his poor corpse?\"\n\nSir Rowley recognized an ally and nodded. \"She might.\"\n\nGyltha addressed Matilda B. \"Get her cloak.\" And to Adelia, \"We'll go together.\" And to Ulf, \"You stay here, boy. Give the Matildas a hand.\"\n\nBetween them, with Mansur and the Safeguard following, Adelia was hustled through the streets toward the bridge. She was still gabbling her protest. \"It can't have been the killer. He only attacks the defenseless. This is different, this is...\" She slowed as she tried to think what it was. \"This is everyday awfulness.\"\n\nTo the water bailiff, who had come to tell them, bodies in his river were commonplace. Nor had she questioned his verdict of simple drowning, she who had examined so many waterlogged corpses on the marble table in Salerno's mortuary. People drowned in their baths; sailors fell overboard, like most sailors, unable to swim; freak waves plucked victims into the sea. Children, men, and women drowned in rivers, pools, fountains, puddles. People made tragic misjudgments, took an unwary step. It was an ordinary way of dying.\n\nShe heard the tax collector's huff of impatience as he hurried her on. \"Our man is a wild dog. Wild dogs leap for the throat when they're threatened. Simon had become a threat.\"\n\n\"He weren't very big, neither,\" Gyltha said. \"Nice little man, but no more to un than a rabbit.\"\n\nNo, there wasn't. But to be murdered. Adelia's mind fought against it. She and Simon had come to resolve a predicament that the people of a minor town in a foreign country had gotten themselves into, not to enter into the same predicament with them. She had regarded the two of them as excluded from it by some special dispensation given to investigators. And so, she knew, had Simon.\n\nShe halted in her tracks. \"We've been at risk?\"\n\nThe tax collector stopped with her. \"Well, I'm glad you've seen it. Did you think you had exemption?\"\n\nThey were bustling her on again, the two of them talking over her head.\n\n\"Did you see him leave, Gyltha?\"\n\n\"Not to say leave. He looked into the kitchen with compliments to the cook and say good-bye to me.\" Gyltha's voice wavered for a moment. \"Always the polite gentleman he was.\"\n\n\"Was that before the dancing began?\"\n\nGyltha sighed. It had been busy in Sir Joscelin's kitchen last night.\n\n\"Beggared if I can remember. Might've been. He said as he must apply himself to study afore he went to bed, that I do recall. The which he was a-leaving early.\"\n\n\"'Apply himself to study.'\"\n\n\"His very words.\"\n\n\"He was going to look through the tallies.\"\n\nAs usual, the bridge was crowded; they had trouble walking in line and, with Sir Rowley keeping a firm grip on her, Adelia was bumped into by passersby, most of them clerks, all in a hurry, each with a distinctive chain around his neck, lots of them. Officialdom had come to Cambridge. Vaguely, she wondered why.\n\nQuestion and answer went on over her head.\n\n\"Did he say he was walking home? Or going by boat?\"\n\n\"With never a blink of light? He'd never walk, surely.\" Like most Cambridge people, Gyltha regarded the boat as the only form of transport. \"There'd be someone leaving the same time as would've offered to drop un off home.\"\n\n\"I fear that is what somebody did.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear God, help us all.\"\n\nNo, no, Adelia thought. Simon was not unwary; he was not a child to be tempted by jujubes. Foolishly, townsman that he was, he had attempted to walk back along the riverbank. He slipped in the dark; it was an accident.\n\n\"Who did leave at the same time?\" Picot's voice.\n\nBut Gyltha could not tell him. Anyway, they had reached the castle. No Jews in the inner court today; instead, there were more clerks, dozens, like an infestation of beetles.\n\nThe tax collector was answering Gyltha: \"Royal clerks, here to get all ready for the assize. It takes days to be prepared for the justices in eyre. Come on, this way. They took him to the chapel.\"\n\nSo they had, but, by the time the three reached it, the chapel was empty except for the castle priest, who was busily swinging a thurible up and down the nave to resanctify it. \"Did you know the corpse was that of a Jew, Sir Rowley? Such a thing. We thought him to be Christian, but when we laid it out...\" Father Alcuin took the tax collector by the arm and led him away so that the women should not hear. \"When we unclothed it, we saw the evidence. It was circumcised.\"\n\n\"What's been done with him?\"\n\n\"It could not stay here, for all heaven. I called for it to be taken away. It cannot be buried here, however the Jews fuss for it. I have sent for the prior, though it is more a matter for the bishop, but Prior Geoffrey knows how to quiet the Israelites.\"\n\nFather Alcuin caught sight of Mansur and paled. \"Will you bring another paynim into this holy place? Get him out, get him out.\"\n\nSir Rowley saw the despair in Adelia's face and took the little priest by the front of his robe, raising him several inches off the ground. \"Where have they taken the body?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Let me down, you fiend.\" As he regained his feet, he said defiantly, \"Nor do I care.\" He returned to clanking the thurible, disappearing in a cloud of incense and bad temper.\n\n\"They're not treating him with respect,\" Adelia said. \"Oh, Picot, see that he has a proper Jewish burial.\" Cosmopolitan humanist he might have appeared, but au fond Simon of Naples had been a devout Jew; her own nonobservance had always troubled him. For his body to be merely disposed of, the rites of his religion ignored, was terrible to her.\n\n\"That's not right,\" Gyltha agreed. \"It's like the Good Book says, 'They have taken away my Lord and I know not where they have laid him.'\"\n\nBlasphemy perhaps, but it was said with indignation and sorrow.\n\n\"Ladies,\" Sir Rowley Picot said, \"if I have to go to the Holy Ghost for it, Master Simon will be buried with reverence.\" He went off and came back. \"The Jews have already taken him, it seems.\"\n\nHe set off toward the Jews' tower. As they followed him, Adelia slipped her hand into that of her housekeeper.\n\nPrior Geoffrey was at its door, talking to a man Adelia did not know but whom she recognized at once to be a rabbi. It wasn't the locks or the untrimmed beard; he was dressed much the same, and as shabbily, as his fellow Jews. It was the eyes; they were scholarly, sterner than Prior Geoffrey's but with the same breadth of knowledge and a wearier amusement. Men with eyes like those had gently disputed Jewish law with her foster father. A Talmudic scholar, she thought, and was relieved; he would care for Simon's body as Simon would have wished. But he would not, since it was forbidden, allow the corpse to be subject to an autopsy, despite anything Sir Rowley could do--and that also was a relief to Adelia.\n\nPrior Geoffrey was holding her hands. \"My dear girl, such a blow, such a blow for us all. The loss to you must be incalculable. God's grace and how I liked the man, ours was a brief acquaintance, yet I perceived the sweetness of soul in Master Simon of Naples and I grieve at his passing.\"\n\n\"Prior, he must be buried according to Jewish law, which means he has to be buried today.\" To keep a corpse above ground any longer than twenty-four hours was to humiliate it.\n\n\"Ah, as to that...\" Prior Geoffrey was uneasy. He turned to the tax collector, as did the rabbi--this was men's business. \"A situation has arisen, Sir Rowley. Indeed, I am surprised it has not come up before, but it appears--happily, of course--that none of Rabbi Gotsce's people here in the castle have died during their year of incarceration....\"\n\n\"It must be the cooking.\" It was a deep voice, Rabbi Gotsce's, and, if he'd made a joke, his face showed no sign of it.\n\n\"Accordingly,\" the prior went on, \"and I admit my fault in this, no arrangement has yet been made....\"\n\n\"There is no burial ground for Jews in the castle,\" Rabbi Gotsce said.\n\nPrior Geoffrey nodded. \"I fear Father Alcuin is claiming the entire precinct as Christian ground.\"\n\nSir Rowley grimaced. \"Perhaps we can smuggle him down to the town tonight.\"\n\n\"There is no burial ground for Jews in Cambridge,\" Rabbi Gotsce said.\n\nThey all stared at him, except the prior, who looked ashamed.\n\n\"What was done for Chaim and his wife, then?\" Rowley asked.\n\nReluctantly, the prior said, \"In unsanctified ground, with the suicides. Anything else would have inflamed another riot.\"\n\nThe open door of the tower before which they all stood showed a to-do in progress behind it. Women with basins and cloths in their arms were running up and down the circular stair while a group of men stood in the hallway, talking. Adelia saw Yehuda Gabirol in the middle of it, clutching his forehead.\n\nShe clutched her own because, on top of everything else, confusing the issue, somebody was in pain. The conversation of prior, rabbi, and tax collector was being interrupted every now and then by a loud and deep sound issuing from one of the tower's upper windows, something between a groan and the huff of a faulty pair of bellows. The men were ignoring it.\n\n\"Who is that?\" she asked, but nobody attended to her.\n\n\"Where do you usually take your dead, then?\" Rowley asked the rabbi.\n\n\"To London. The king is good enough to allow us a cemetery near the Jewish quarter in London. It has always been so.\"\n\n\"It's the only one?\"\n\n\"The only one. If we die in York or on the border to Scotland, in Devon or Cornwall, we must take our coffin to London. We have to pay a special toll, of course. And then there's the hiring of the dogs that bark at us as we pass through the towns.\" He smiled without mirth. \"It comes expensive.\"\n\n\"I didn't know,\" Rowley said.\n\nThe little rabbi bowed politely. \"How should you?\"\n\n\"We are at an impasse, you see,\" Prior Geoffrey said. \"The poor body cannot be interred in the castle grounds, yet I doubt we could elude the townspeople long enough, or safely enough, to smuggle it to London.\"\n\nLondon? Smuggle? Adelia's distress grew into anger she could hardly contain.\n\nShe stepped forward. \"Forgive me, but Simon of Naples is not an inconvenience to be disposed of. He was sent to this place by the King of Sicily to root out a killer in your midst, and if this man here is right\"--she pointed to the tax collector--\"he died for it. In the name of God, the least all of you can do is bury him with respect.\"\n\n\"She's right, Prior,\" Gyltha said. \"Good little man, he was.\"\n\nThe two women were embarrassing the men. Further embarrassment came from the upper window in another groan that turned into an unmistakably feminine shriek.\n\nRabbi Gotsce felt called upon to explain. \"Mistress Dina.\"\n\n\"The baby?\" demanded Adelia.\n\n\"A little before its time,\" the rabbi told her, \"but the women have hopes of its safe arrival.\"\n\nShe heard Gyltha say, \"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.\"\n\nAdelia did not ask how Dina did, for at that moment, Dina obviously did badly. Adelia's shoulders drooped as a little of the anger went out of her. Something would be gained, then, some new, good thing in a wicked world.\n\nThe rabbi saw it. \"You are a Jew, madam?\"\n\n\"I was brought up by a Jew. I am nothing except Simon's friend.\"\n\n\"So he told me. Be at peace, my daughter. For us of this poor little community, your friend's burial is a sacred task obligatory to us all. Already we have performed the Tahara, the washing and cleansing of his body as it begins its journey to its next stage. He has been clad in the simple white shroud of the Tachrichim. A coffin of willow twigs as commanded by the great sage, Rabban Gamliel, is even now being prepared for him. See? I tear my clothes for him.\" The rabbi ripped the front of his already somewhat ragged tunic in the gesture of ritual mourning.\n\nShe should have known. \"Thank you, Rabbi, thank you.\" However, there was one more thing. \"But he should not be left alone.\"\n\n\"He is not alone. Old Benjamin acts as shomer and keeps vigil over him and is reciting the appropriate psalms.\" Rabbi Gotsce looked around. The prior and the tax collector were deep in discussion. He lowered his voice. \"As to the burial. We are a flexible people, we have had to be, and the Lord recognizes what is impossible for us. He is not unkind if we adapt a little.\" His voice lowered almost to a whisper. \"We have always found that Christian laws, too, are flexible, especially when it comes to money. We are collecting what little cash we have between us to buy a plot in the earth of this castle where our friend may be laid with reverence.\"\n\nAdelia smiled for the first time that day. \"I have money, and plenty.\"\n\nRabbi Gotsce stood back. \"Then what need to worry?\" He took her hand to pronounce the blessing prescribed for those that mourned, \"Blessed is the Eternal our God, Ruler of the universe, the true judge.\"\n\nFor a moment, Adelia felt a grateful peace; perhaps it was the blessing, perhaps it was being in the presence of well-intentioned men, perhaps it was the advent of Dina's baby.\n\nYet, she thought, however they bury him, Simon is dead; something of great value has been withdrawn from the world. And you, Adelia, are called upon to establish whether it was taken accidentally or through murder--no one else can.\n\nShe still felt a reluctance to examine Simon's body, which, she realized, was partly a fear of what it might tell her. If the beast at large had killed him, it had made a mortal thrust not only at Simon but at her resolve to continue their mission. Without Simon, the responsibility was hers only, and without Simon she was a lonely, broken, and very frightened reed.\n\nBut the rabbi, to whom Sir Rowley had been speaking very fast, wasn't intending to let her near the body of Simon of Naples. \"No,\" he was saying, \"not at all, and certainly not a woman.\"\n\n\"Dux femina facti,\" interjected Prior Geoffrey helpfully.\n\n\"Sir, the prior is right,\" Rowley pleaded. \"In this matter, the leader of our enterprise is a woman. The dead speak to her. They tell her the cause of the death, from which we may deduce who caused it. We owe it to the dead man, to justice, to see if the children's killer was also his. Lord's sake, man, he was acting for your people. If he was murdered, don't you want him avenged?\"\n\n\"Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor.\" The prior was still being helpful. \"Rise up from my dead bones, avenger.\"\n\nThe rabbi bowed. \"Justice is good, my lord,\" he said, \"but we have found that it is only in the next world that it can be achieved. You ask that this be done for the Lord's sake, yet how can we please the Lord by breaking His laws?\"\n\n\"Stubborn beggar, that one,\" Gyltha said to Adelia, shaking her head.\n\n\"It's what makes him a Jew.\"\n\nSometimes Adelia wondered how both the race and the religion had survived at all in the face of an almost universal and, to her, inexplicable hostility. Homelessness, persecution, degradation, attempted genocide, all these things had been visited on the Jewish people--who clung even more tenaciously to their Jewishness. During the First Crusade, Christian armies, filled with religious zeal and liquor, seeing it as their evangelic duty to convert such Jews they came across, had presented them with the alternative of baptism or death. The answer had been thousands of dead Jews.\n\nA reasonable man, Rabbi Gotsce, but he would die on the steps of this tower before a tenet of his faith was broken and a woman was allowed to touch the corpse of a man, however gainful that touch might prove.\n\nWhich only showed, Adelia thought, that the three great religions were at least united when it came to the inferiority of her sex. Indeed, a devout Jew at his prayers thanked God every day that he had not been born a woman.\n\nWhile her mind was occupied, there had been energetic talk in progress in which Sir Rowley's voice was uppermost. He came over to her now. \"I've gained this much,\" he said. \"The prior and I are to be allowed to look at the body. You may stay outside and tell us what to look for.\"\n\nLudicrous, but it seemed to suit everybody, including herself....\n\nWith considerable labor, the Jews had carried the corpse to the room at the top of the tower, the only one unoccupied, in which she and Simon and Mansur had first encountered Old Benjamin and Yehuda.\n\nAs if afraid that she might invade it in an excess of zeal, the rabbi made Adelia wait on the landing of the staircase below, the Safeguard with her. She heard the door of the room open. A quick burst of Old Benjamin's voice chanting the Tehillim came down the stairwell to her before the door closed again.\n\nPicot is right, she thought. Simon should not be put into the ground unheard. The spirit of the man himself would see it as greater desecration that nobody should listen to what his body had to say.\n\nShe sat down on a stone stair and composed herself, directing her mind to the mechanism of death by drowning.\n\nIt was difficult. Without being able to cut a section of lung to see if it had ballooned and contained silt or weed, the diagnosis would largely depend on excluding other causes of death. In fact, she thought, there was unlikely to be any sign at all to tell them if it were murder. She could probably establish that it was drowning, whether or not Simon was alive when he went into the water, but that would still beg the question: Had he fallen or been pushed?\n\nOld Benjamin's voice, \"Lord, thou has been our dwelling place in all generations....\" And the thud of the tax collector's boots coming heavily down the stairs to her.\n\n\"He looks peaceful. What do we do?\"\n\nShe said, \"Is there froth coming from the mouth and nostrils?\"\n\n\"No. They've washed him.\"\n\n\"Press on the chest. If there is froth, wipe it away and press again.\"\n\n\"I don't know if the rabbi will let me. Gentile hands.\"\n\nAdelia stood up. \"Don't ask him, just do it.\" She had become doctor to the dead again.\n\nRowley hurried back upstairs.\n\n\"...Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day....\"\n\nShe leaned on the triangle of the arrow slit beside her, absentmindedly stroking Safeguard's head and looking out at the view she had seen before, of the river and the trees and hills beyond it, a Virgilian pastoral.\n\nBut I am afraid of the terror by night, she thought.\n\nSir Rowley was beside her again. \"Froth,\" he said, shortly, \"both times. Pinkish.\"\n\nAlive in the water, then. Indicative but not proof; he could have suffered a disruption of the heart and toppled into the river because of it. \"Is there bruising?\" she asked.\n\n\"I can't see any. There are cuts between his fingers. Old Benjamin said they found plant stalks in them. Does that mean something?\"\n\nAgain, it meant that Simon was alive when he went into the river; in the terrible minute or so that it took for him to die, he'd torn at reeds and weed that had been retained as his hands closed in the fatal spasm.\n\n\"Look for bruising on his back,\" she said, \"but don't lay him on his face; it's against the law.\"\n\nThis time she could hear him arguing with the rabbi, Rowley's voice and Rabbi Gotsce's both sharp. Old Benjamin ignoring them both. \"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.\"\n\nSir Rowley won. He came back to her. \"There's a spread of bruising here and here,\" he said, putting his hand over one shoulder and then the other to indicate a line across his upper back. \"Was he beaten?\"\n\n\"No. It happens sometimes. The struggle to get back to the surface ruptures muscles around the shoulders and neck. He drowned, Picot. That is all I can tell you, Simon drowned.\"\n\nRowley said, \"There's one very distinct bruise. Here.\" This time he crooked his arm around his back, waggling his fingers and turning round so that she could see them. It was a spot between the lower shoulder blades. \"What caused that?\"\n\nSeeing her frown, he spat on the stair at his feet and knelt down to stir a small wet circle on the stone. \"Like this. Round. Distinct, as I say. What is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Exasperation overtook her. With their petty laws, with their fear of women's incipient impurity, with their nonsense, they were erecting a barrier between doctor and patient. Simon was calling out to her, and they wouldn't let her hear him. \"Excuse me,\" she said.\n\nShe went up the stairs and marched into the room. The body lay on its side. It took less than a moment before she marched out again.\n\n\"He was murdered,\" she told Rowley.\n\n\"A barge pole?\" he asked.\n\n\"Probably.\"\n\n\"They held him down with it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The curtain wall was a rampart from which archers could repel--and during the war of Stephen and Matilda had repelled--an attack on the castle. Today it was quiet and empty except for a sentry doing his rounds of the allure and the cloaked woman with a dog standing by one of the crenels to whom he bade an unanswered good-day.\n\nA fine afternoon. The westerly breeze had pushed the rain farther east and was scudding lambswool clouds across a laundered blue sky, making the pretty, busy scene Adelia looked down on prettier and busier by billowing the canvas roofs of the market stalls, fluttering the pennants of the boats moored by the bridge, swaying the willow branches farther down into a synchronized dance, and whisking the river into glistening irregular wavelets.\n\nShe didn't see it.\n\nHow did you do it? she was asking Simon's murderer. What did you say to tempt him into the position enabling you to push him into the water? It would not have taken much strength to hold him down by the pole jabbed into his back; you would have leaned your weight on it, making it impossible to dislodge.\n\nA minute, two, while he scrabbled like a beetle, until that life of complexity and goodness was extinguished.\n\nOh, dear heaven, what had it been like for him? She saw flurries of silt cloud the encompassing, entrapping weed, watched the rising bubbles of the last remnants of breath. She began to gasp in vicarious panic...as if she were taking in water, not clean Cambridge air.\n\nStop it. This does not serve him.\n\nWhat will?\n\nUndoubtedly, to bring his killer, who was also the children's, to the seat of justice, but how much more difficult that would be without him. \"We may have to do that very thing before this business is finished, Doctor. Think as he thinks.\"\n\nAnd she had answered, \"Then you do it. You're the subtle one.\"\n\nNow she must try to enter a mind that saw death as an expedient: in the case of children, pleasurable.\n\nBut she could see only the diminution it had brought about. She had become smaller. She knew now that the anger she had felt at the children's torture had been that of a deus ex machina called down to set matters right. She and Simon had been apart, above the action, its finale, not its continuance. For her, she supposed, it had been a form of superiority--it was not in the play that its gods become protagonists--which Simon's murder had now removed, casting her among the Cambridge players, as ignorant and as helpless as any of those tiny, breeze-blown, fate-driven figures down there.\n\nShe was joined in a democracy of misery to Agnes, sitting outside her beehive hut below; to Hugh the huntsman, who had wept for his niece; to Gyltha and every other man and woman with some beloved soul to lose.\n\nIt wasn't until she heard familiar footsteps approaching along the rampart that she knew she had been waiting for them. The only plank she had been given to hold on to in this maelstrom was the knowledge that the tax collector was as innocent of the murders as she herself. She would have been happy, very happy, to apologize humbly to him for her suspicion--except that he added to her confusion.\n\nTo all but her intimates, Adelia liked to appear imperturbable, putting on the kindly but detached manner of one called to profession by the god of medicine. It was a veneer that had helped deflect the impertinence and overfamiliarity and, occasionally, the downright physical presumption with which her fellow students and early patients had offered to treat her. Indeed, she actually thought of herself as withdrawn from humanity, a calm and hidden resort that it could call on in need, though one which did not involve itself in its vulnerability.\n\nBut to the owner of the coming footsteps, she had shown grief and panic, called for help, pleaded, had leaned on him, even in her misery had been grateful that he was with her.\n\nAccordingly, the face Adelia turned up to Sir Rowley Picot was blank. \"What was the verdict?\"\n\nShe had not been called to give evidence to the jurors hastily assembled for the inquest on Simon's body. Sir Rowley had felt that it would not be in her interest, nor that of the truth, if she were exposed as an expert on death. \"You're a woman, for one thing, and a foreigner, for another. Even if they believed you, you would achieve notoriety. I will show them the bruise on his back and explain that he was trying to investigate the finances of the children's killer and therefore became the murderer's victim, though I doubt whether coroner or jury--they're all bumpkins--will have the wit to follow that tangled skein with any credence.\"\n\nNow, from his look, she saw that they had not. \"Accidental death by drowning,\" he told her. \"They thought I was mad.\"\n\nHe put his hands on the crenel and expelled an exasperated breath at the town below. \"All I may have achieved is to sap their conviction by an inch or two that it was one of their own and not the Jews who murdered Little Saint Peter and the others.\"\n\nFor a second, something reared in the turbulence of Adelia's mind, showing hideous teeth, then sank again, to be hidden by grief, disappointment, and anxiety.\n\n\"And the burial?\" she asked.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said. \"Come with me.\"\n\nSlavishly, the Safeguard was on its spindle legs in a minute and trotting after him. Adelia followed more slowly.\n\nBuilding was in progress in the great courtyard. The chatter of gathered clerks was being drowned by an insistent, deafening banging of hammer on wood. A new scaffold was going up in one corner to hold the triple gallows for use in the assizes when the justices in eyre emptied the county's gaols and tried the cases of those thus brought before them. Almost as high as the nooses would be, a long table and a bench reached by steps were being erected near the castle doors to place the judges above the multitude.\n\nSome of the din faded as Sir Rowley led Adelia and her dog round a corner. Here, sixteen years of royal Plantagenet peace had allowed Cambridgeshire's sheriffs to throw out an abutment, an attachment to their quarters from which steps led down to this sunken walled garden approached from outside by a gate in an arch.\n\nInside, going down the steps, it was quieter still, and Adelia could hear the first bees of spring blundering in and out of flowers.\n\nA very English garden, planted for medicine and strewing rather than spectacle. At this time of year, color was lacking except for the cowslips between the stones of the paths and a mere impression of blue where a bank of violets crowded along the bottom of a wall. The scent was fresh and earthy.\n\n\"Will this do?\" Sir Rowley asked casually.\n\nAdelia stared at him, dumb.\n\nHe said with exaggerated patience, \"This is the garden of the sheriff and his lady. They have agreed to let Simon be buried in it.\" He took her arm and led her down a path to where a wild cherry tree drifted delicate white blossoms over untended grass sprinkled with daisies. \"Here, we thought.\"\n\nAdelia shut her eyes and breathed in. After a while, she said, \"I must pay them.\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\" The tax collector was offended. \"When I say that this is the sheriff's garden, I should more properly call it the king's, the king being the ultimate owner of England's every acre, except those belonging to the Church. And since Henry Plantagenet is fond of his Jews and since I am Henry Plantagenet's man, it was merely a matter of pointing out to Sheriff Baldwin that by accommodating the Jews, he would also be accommodating the king, which, in another sense, he will--and soon, since Henry is due to visit the castle shortly, another factor I pointed out to his lordship.\"\n\nHe paused, frowning. \"I shall have to press the king for Jewish cemeteries to be put in each town; the lack is a scandal. I cannot believe he's aware of it.\"\n\nNo money was involved, then. But Adelia knew whom she should pay. It was time to do it, and do it properly.\n\nShe bent her knee to Rowley Picot in a deep bow. \"Sir, I am in your debt, not only for this kindness, but for ill suspicion that I have harbored against you. I am truly sorry for it.\"\n\nHe looked down at her. \"What suspicion?\"\n\nShe grimaced with reluctance. \"I believed you might be the killer.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"You have been on crusade,\" she pointed out, \"as, I think, has he. You were in Cambridge on the pertinent dates. You were among those near Wandlebury Ring on the night the children's bodies were moved....\" God's rib, the more she expounded the theory, the more reasonable it seemed; why should she apologize for it? \"How else would I think?\" she asked him.\n\nHe had become statuelike, his blue eyes staring at her, one finger pointing at her in disbelief and then at himself. \"Me?\"\n\nShe became impatient. \"I see it was a base suspicion.\"\n\n\"It damned well was,\" he said with force, and startled a robin into flying away. \"Madam, I would have you know I like children. I suspect I may have fathered quite a few, even if I can't claim any. Goddammit, I've been hunting the bastard, I told you I was.\"\n\n\"The killer could have said as much. You did not explain why.\"\n\nHe thought for a moment. \"I didn't, did I? Strictly speaking, it is nobody's business except mine and...though in the circumstances...\" He stared down at her. \"This will be a confidence, madam.\"\n\n\"I shall keep it,\" she said.\n\nThere was a turfed seat farther up the garden where young hop leaves formed a tapestry against the brick of the wall. He pointed her to it and then sat beside her, his linked hands cradling one of his knees.\n\nHe began with himself. \"You should know that I am a fortunate man.\" He had been fortunate in his father, who was saddler to the lord of Aston in Hertfordshire and had seen to it that he had schooling, fortunate in the size and strength that made people notice him, fortunate in possessing a keen brain. \"You should also know that my mathematical prowess is remarkable, as is my grasp of languages....\"\n\nNot backward in coming forward, either, Adelia thought, amused. It was a phrase she'd picked up from Gyltha.\n\nYoung Rowley Picot's abilities had early been recognized by his father's lord, who had sent him to the School of Pythagoras here in Cambridge where he had studied Greek and Arab sciences and where, in turn, he'd been recommended by his tutors to Geoffrey De Luci, chancellor to Henry II, and taken into his employment.\n\n\"As a tax collector?\" Adelia asked innocently.\n\n\"As a chancery clerk,\" Sir Rowley said, \"to begin with. Eventually, I came to the attention of the king himself, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Will I proceed with this narrative?\" he wanted to know. \"Or shall we discuss the weather?\"\n\nChastened, she said, \"I beg you to continue, my lord. Truly, I am interested.\" Why am I teasing him, she wondered, on this day of all days? Because he makes it bearable for me with everything he does and says.\n\nOh, dear God, she thought with shock, I am attracted to him.\n\nThe realization came like an attack, as if it had been gathering itself in some cramped and secret place inside her and had grown suddenly too big to remain unnoticed any longer. Attracted? Her legs were weak with it, her mind registering intoxication as well as something like disbelief at the improbability and protest at the sheer inconvenience.\n\nHe is too light a man for me; not in weight certainly, but in gravitas. This is an infliction, a madness wreaked on me by a garden in springtime and his unsuspected kindness. Or because I am desolate just now. It will pass; it has to pass.\n\nHe was talking with animation about Henry II. \"I am the king's man in all things. Today his tax collector, tomorrow--whatever he wants me to be.\" He turned to her. \"Who was Simon of Naples? What did he do?\"\n\n\"He was...\" Adelia tried to gather her wits \"Simon? Well...he worked secretly for the King of Sicily, among others.\" She clenched her hands--he must not see that they trembled; he must not see that. She concentrated. \"He told me once that he was analogous to a doctor of the incorporeal, a mender of broken situations.\"\n\n\"A fixer. 'Don't worry, Simon of Naples will see to it.'\"\n\n\"Yes. I suppose that is what he was.\"\n\nThe man beside her nodded, and because she was now furiously interested in who he was, in everything about him, she understood that he, too, was a fixer and that the King of England had said in his Angevin French, \"Ne vous en faites pas, Picot va tout arranger.\"\n\n\"Strange, isn't it,\" the fixer said now, \"that the story begins with a dead child.\"\n\nA royal child, heir to the throne of England and the empire his father had built for him. William Plantagenet, born to King Henry II and Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1153. Died 1156.\n\nRowley: \"Henry doesn't believe in crusade. Turn your back, he says, and while you're away, some bastard'll steal your throne.\" He smiled. \"Eleanor does, however; she went on one with her first husband.\"\n\nAnd had created a legend still sung throughout Christendom--though not in churches--and brought to Adelia's mind images of a bare-breasted Amazon blazing her naughty progress across desert sands, trailing Louis, the poor, pious king of France, in her wake.\n\n\"Young as he was, the child William was forward and had vowed he would go on crusade when he grew up. They even had a little sword made for him, Eleanor and Henry, and after the boy died, Eleanor wanted it taken to the Holy Land.\"\n\nYes, Adelia thought, touched. She had seen many such pass through Salerno, a father carrying his son's sword, a son his father's, on their way to Jerusalem on vicarious crusade as a result of a penance or in response to a vow, sometimes their own, sometimes that of their dead, which had been left unfulfilled.\n\nPerhaps a day or so ago she would not have been so moved, but it was as if Simon's death and this new, unsuspected passion had opened her to the painful loving of all the world. How pitiable it was.\n\nRowley said, \"For a long time the king refused to spare anybody; he held that God would not refuse Paradise to a three-year-old child because he hadn't fulfilled a vow. But the queen wouldn't let it rest and so, what was it, nearly seven years ago now, I suppose, he chose Guiscard de Saumur, one of his Angevin uncles, to take the sword to Jerusalem.\"\n\nAgain, Rowley grinned. \"Henry always has more than one reason for what he does. Lord Guiscard was an admirable choice to take the sword: strong, enterprising, and acquainted with the East, but hot-tempered like all Angevins. A dispute with one of his vassals was threatening peace in the Anjou, and the king felt that Guiscard's absence for a while would allow the matter to calm down. A mounted guard was to go with him. Henry also felt that he should send a man of his own with Guiscard, a wily fellow with diplomatic skills, or, as he put it, 'Someone strong enough to keep the bugger out of trouble.'\"\n\n\"You?\" Adelia asked.\n\n\"Me,\" Rowley said smugly. \"Henry knighted me at the same time because I was to be the sword carrier. Eleanor herself strapped it to my back, and from that day until I returned it to young William's tomb, it never left me. At night, when I took it off, I slept with it. And so we all set off for Jerusalem.\"\n\nThe place's name overcame the garden and the two people in it, filling the air with the adoration and agony of three inimical faiths, like planets humming their own lovely chords as they hurtled to collide.\n\n\"Jerusalem,\" Rowley said again, and his words were those of the Queen of Sheba: \"Behold, the half was not told me.\"\n\nAs a man entranced, he had trodden the stones made sacred by his Savior, shuffled on his knees along the Via Dolorosa, prostrated himself, weeping, at the Holy Sepulchre. It had seemed good to him, then, that this navel of all virtue should have been cleansed of heathen tyranny by the men of the First Crusade so that Christian pilgrims should once more be able to worship it as he worshipped. He had floundered in admiration for them.\n\n\"Even now I don't know how they did it.\" He was shaking his head, still wondering. \"Flies, scorpions, thirst, the heat--your horse dies under you, just touching your damned armor blisters your hands. And they were outnumbered, ravaged by disease. No, God the Father was with those early crusaders, else they could never have recaptured His Son's home. Or that's what I thought then.\"\n\nThere were other, profane pleasures. The descendants of the original crusaders had come to terms with the land they called Outremer; indeed, it was difficult to distinguish between them and the Arabs whose style of living they now imitated.\n\nThe tax collector described their marble palaces, courtyards with fountains and fig trees, their baths--\"I swear to you, great Moorish baths sunk into the floor\"--and the rich, pungent scent of seduction drenched the little garden.\n\nRowley, particularly, of all his group of knights, had been bewitched, not just by the outlandish, exotic holiness of the place but by its diffusion and complexity. \"That's what you don't expect--how tangled it all is. It's not plain Christian against plain Saracen, nothing as straightforward as that. You think, God bless, that man's an enemy because he worships Allah. And, God bless, that fellow kneeling to a cross, he's a Christian, he must be on our side--and he is a Christian, but he isn't necessarily on your side, he's just as likely to be in alliance with a Moslem prince.\"\n\nThat much Adelia knew. Italian merchant-venturers had traded happily with their Moslem counterparts in Syria and Alexandria long before Pope Urban called for the deliverance of the Holy Places from Mohammedan rule in 1096, and they had cursed the crusade to hell then and cursed again in 1147, when men of the Second Crusade went into the Holy Land once more with no more understanding than their predecessors had had of the human mosaic they were invading, thus disrupting a profitable cooperation that had existed for generations between differing faiths.\n\nAs Rowley described a melange that had delighted him, Adelia was alarmed at how the last of her defenses against him crumbled. Always one to categorize, quick to condemn, she was finding in this man a breadth of perception rare in crusaders. Don't, don't. This infatuation must be dispelled; it is necessary for me not to admire you. I do not wish to fall in love.\n\nUnaware, Rowley went on. \"At first I was amazed that Jew and Moslem were as ardent in their attachment to the Holy Temple as I was, that it was equally holy to them.\" While he did not allow the realization to put a creep of doubt into his mind about the rightness of the crusading cause--\"that came later\"--he nevertheless began to find distasteful the loud, bullying intolerance of most of the other newcomers. He preferred the company and way of life of crusaders who were descendants of crusaders and who had accommodated themselves to its melting pot. Thanks to their hospitality, the aristocratic Guiscard and his entourage were able to enjoy it.\n\nNo question of returning home, not yet. They learned Arabic, they bathed in unguent-scented water, joining their hosts in hunting with ferocious little Barbary falcons, enjoying loose robes and the company of compliant women, sherbet, soft cushions, black servants, spiced food. When they went to war, they covered their armor with burnooses against the sun, indistinguishable from the Saracen enemy apart from the crosses on their shields.\n\nFor go to war Guiscard and his little band did, so completely had they turned from pilgrims into crusaders. King Amalric had issued an urgent call to arms to all the Franks in order to prevent the Arab general Nur-ad-Din, who had marched into Egypt, from uniting the Moslem world against Christians.\n\n\"A great warrior, Nur-ad-Din, and a great bastard. It seemed to us, then, you see, that in joining the King of Jerusalem's army, we were also joining the King of Heaven's.\"\n\nThey marched south.\n\nUntil now, Adelia noticed, the man next to her had spoken in detail, building for her white and golden domes, great hospitals, teeming streets, the vastness of the desert. But the account of his crusade itself was sparse. \"Sacred madness\" was all he had to say, though he added, \"There was chivalry on both sides, even so. When Amalric fell ill, Nur-ad-Din ceased fighting until he was better.\"\n\nBut the Christian army was followed by the dross of Europe. The Pope's pardon to sinners and criminals as long as they took the cross had released into Outremer men who killed indiscriminately--certain that, whatever they did, they would be welcomed into Jesus' arms.\n\n\"Cattle,\" Rowley said of them, \"still stinking of the farmyards they came from. They'd escaped servitude; now they wanted land and they wanted riches.\"\n\nThey'd slaughtered Greeks, Armenians, and Copts of an older Christianity than their own because they thought they were heathens. Jews, Arabs, who were versed in Greek and Roman philosophy and advanced in the mathematics and medicine and astronomy that the Semitic races had given to the West, went down before men who could neither read nor write and saw no reason to.\n\n\"Amalric tried to keep them in check,\" Rowley said, \"but they were always there, like the vultures. You'd come back to your lines to find that they'd slit open the bellies of the captives because they thought Moslems kept their jewels safe by swallowing them. Women, children, it didn't matter to them. Some of them didn't join the army at all; they roamed the trade routes in bands, looking for loot. They burned and blinded, and when they were caught, they said they were doing it for their immortal souls. They probably still are.\"\n\nHe was quiet for a moment. \"And our killer was one of them,\" he said.\n\nAdelia turned her head quickly to look up at him. \"You know him? He was there?\"\n\n\"I never set eyes on him. But he was there, yes.\"\n\nThe robin had come back. It fluttered up onto a lavender bush and peered at the two silent people in its territory for a moment before flying off to chase a dunnock out of the garden.\n\nRowley said, \"Do you know what our great crusades are achieving?\"\n\nAdelia shook her head. Disenchantment did not belong on his face, but it was there now, making him look older, and she thought that perhaps bitterness had been beneath the jollity all along, like underlying rock.\n\n\"I'll tell you what they're achieving,\" he was saying. \"They're inspiring such a hatred amongst Arabs who used to hate each other that they're combining the greatest force against Christianity the world has ever seen. It's called Islam.\"\n\nHe turned away from her to go into the house. She watched him all the way. Not chubby now--how could she have thought that? Massive.\n\nShe heard him calling for ale.\n\nWhen he came back, he had a tankard in each hand. He held one out to her. \"Thirsty work, confession,\" he said.\n\nWas that what it was? She took the pot and sipped at it, unable to move her eyes away from him, knowing with a dreadful clarity that whatever sin it was he had to confess, she would absolve him of it.\n\nHe stood looking down at her. \"I had William Plantagenet's little sword on my back for four years,\" he said. \"I wore it under my mail so that it should not be damaged when I fought. I took it into battle, out of it. It scarred my skin so deep that I'm marked with a cross, like the ass that carried Jesus into Jerusalem. The only scar I'm proud of.\" He squinted. \"Do you want to see it?\"\n\nShe smiled back at him. \"Perhaps not now.\"\n\nYou are a drab, she told herself, seduced into infatuation by a soldier's tale. Outremer, bravery, crusade, it is illusory romance. Pull yourself together, woman.\n\n\"Later, then,\" he said. He sipped his ale and sat down. \"Where was I? Oh, yes. By this time we were on our way to Alexandria. We had to prevent Nur-ad-Din from building his ships in the ports along the Egyptian coast; not, mind you, that the Saracens have taken to sea warfare yet--there's an Arab proverb that it is better to hear the flatulence of camels than the prayers of fishes--but they will one day. So there we were, fighting our way through the Sinai.\"\n\nSand, heat, the wind the Moslems called khamsin scouring the eyeballs. Attacks coming out of nowhere by Scythian mounted archers--\"Like damned centaurs they were, loosing arrows at us thick as a locust swarm so that men and horses ended up looking like hedgehogs.\" Thirst.\n\nAnd in the middle of it, Guiscard falling sick, very sick.\n\n\"He'd rarely been ill in his life, and he was all at once frightened by his own mortality--he didn't want to die in a foreign land. 'Carry me home, Rowley,' he said, 'Promise to take me to Anjou.' So I promised him.\"\n\nOn behalf of his sick lord, Rowley had knelt to the King of Jerusalem to beg for and be granted leave to return to France. \"Truth to tell, I was glad. I was tired of the killing. Is this what the Lord Christ came to earth for? I kept asking myself that. And the thought of the little boy in his tomb waiting for his sword was beginning to trouble my sleep. Even so...\"\n\nHe drank the last of his ale, then shook his head, tired. \"Even so, the guilt when I said good-bye...I felt a traitor. I swear to you, I'd never have left with the war unwon if it hadn't fallen to me to see Guiscard home.\"\n\nNo, she thought, you wouldn't. But why apologize? You are alive, and so are the men you would have killed if you had stayed. Why feel more shame for leaving such a war than pursuing it? Perhaps it is the brute in men--and dear heaven, it is certainly the base brute in me that I thrill to it.\n\nHe had begun organizing the journey back. \"I knew it wouldn't be easy,\" he said. \"We were deep in the White Desert at a place called Baharia, a biggish settlement for an oasis, but if God has ever heard of it, I'll be surprised. I intended to head back west to strike the Nile and sail up to Alexandria--it was still in friendly hands then--and take passage to Italy from there. But apart from the Scythian cavalry, assassins behind every bloody bush, wells poisoned, there were our own dear Christian outlaws looking for booty--and over the years, Guiscard had acquired so many relics and jewels and samite that we were going to be traveling with a pack train two hundred yards long, just asking to be raided.\"\n\nSo he'd taken hostages.\n\nAdelia's tankard jerked in her hand. \"You took hostages?\"\n\n\"Of course I did.\" He was irritated. \"It's the accepted thing out there. Not for ransom as we do in the West, you understand. In Outremer, hostages are security.\"\n\nThey were a guarantee, he said, a contract, a living form of good faith, a promise that an agreement would be kept, part and parcel of the diplomacy and cultural exchange between different races. Frankish princesses as young as four years old were handed over to ensure an alliance between their Christian fathers and Moorish captors. The sons of great sultans lived in Frankish households, sometimes for years, as warranty for their family's good behavior.\n\n\"Hostages save bloodshed,\" he said. \"They're a fine idea. Say you're besieged in a city and want to make terms with the besiegers. Very well, you demand hostages to ensure that the bastards don't come in raping and killing and that the surrender takes place without reprisals. Then again, suppose you have to pay a ransom but can't raise all the cash immediately, ergo you offer hostages as collateral for the rest. Hostages are used for just about anything. When Emperor Nicepheros wanted to borrow the services of an Arab poet for his court, he gave hostages to the poet's caliph, Harun al-Rashid, as surety that the man would be returned in good order. They're like pawnbrokers' pledges.\"\n\nShe shook her head in wonder. \"Does it work?\"\n\n\"To perfection.\" He thought about it. \"Well, nearly always. I never heard of a hostage paying the penalty while I was there, though I gather the early crusaders could be somewhat hasty.\"\n\nHe was eager to reassure her. \"It's an excellent thing, you see. Keeps the peace, helps both sides understand each other. Those Moorish baths now--we men of the West would never have known about them if some highborn hostage hadn't demanded that one be installed.\"\n\nAdelia wondered how the system worked in reverse. What did the European knights, of whose cleanliness she had no great opinion, teach their captors in return?\n\nBut she knew this was wandering from the point. The narrative was slowing. He doesn't want to arrive at it, she thought. I don't want him to, either; it will be terrible.\n\n\"So I took hostages,\" he said.\n\nShe watched his fingers crease the tunic on his knees.\n\nHe had sent an emissary to Al-Hakim Biamrallah at Farafra, a man who ruled over most of the route he would have to take.\n\n\"Hakim was of the Fatimid persuasion, you see, a Shia, and the Fatimids were taking our side against Nur-ad-Din, who wasn't.\" He cocked an eye at her. \"I told you it was complicated.\"\n\nWith the emissary had gone gifts and a request for hostages to ensure the safe passage of Guiscard, his men, and pack animals to the Nile.\n\n\"That's where we were going to leave them. The hostages. Hakim's men would pick them up from there.\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said very gently.\n\n\"Cunning old fox, Hakim,\" Rowley said in tribute, one cunning fox to another. \"White beard down to here but more wives than you could shake a stick at. He and I had already met several times on the march; we'd gone hunting together. I liked him.\"\n\nAdelia, still watching Rowley's hands, nice hands, grip and grip again like a raptor's on a wrist. \"And he agreed?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, he agreed.\"\n\nThe emissary had returned minus the gifts and plus hostages, two of them, both boys: Ubayd, Hakim's nephew, and Jaafar, one of his sons. \"Ubayd was nearly twelve, I think; Jaafar...Jaafar was eight, his father's favorite.\"\n\nThere was a pause, and the tax collector's voice became remote. \"Pleasant boys, well-mannered, like all Saracen children. Excited to be hostages for their uncle and father. It gave them status. They regarded it as an adventure.\"\n\nThe large hands curved, showing bone beneath the knuckles. \"An adventure,\" he said again.\n\nThe gate to the sheriff's garden creaked and two men came in carrying spades, and walked past Sir Rowley and Adelia with a tug of their caps and on down the path to the cherry tree. They began digging.\n\nWithout comment, the man and woman on the turf bench turned their heads to watch as if observing shapes across a distance, nothing to do with them, something happening in another place entirely.\n\nRowley was relieved that Hakim had sent not only mule and camel drivers to help with Guiscard's goods but also a couple of warriors as guards. \"By this time, our own party of knights was diminished. James Selkirk and D'Aix had been killed at Antioch; Gerard De Nantes died in a tavern brawl. The only ones left of the original group were Guiscard and Conrad De Vries and myself.\"\n\nGuiscard, too weak to mount a horse, rode in a palanquin that could go only at the pace of the slaves who carried it, so it was a long, slow train that began the journey across the parched countryside--and Guiscard's condition worsened to the point where they couldn't go on.\n\n\"We were midway, as far to go back as to continue, but one of Hakim's men knew of an oasis a mile or so off the track, so we took Guiscard there and pitched our pavilions. Tiny place it was, empty, a few date palms, but, by a miracle, its spring was sweet. And that's where he died.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" Adelia said. The dreariness descending on the man beside her was almost palpable.\n\n\"So was I, very.\" He lifted his head. \"No time to sit and weep, though. You of all people know what happens to bodies, and in that heat it happens fast. By the time we reached the Nile, the corpse would have been...well.\"\n\nOn the other hand, Guiscard had been a lord of Anjou, uncle to Henry Plantagenet, not some vagabond to be buried in a nameless hole scratched out of Egyptian grit. His people would need something of him returned over which to perform the funeral rites. \"Besides, I'd promised him to take him home.\"\n\nIt was then, Rowley said, that he made the mistake that would pursue him to the grave. \"May God forgive me, I split our forces.\"\n\nFor the sake of speed, he decided to leave the two young hostages where they were while he and De Vries with a couple of servants made a dash back to Baharia, carrying the corpse with them in the hope of finding an embalmer.\n\n\"We were in Egypt, after all, and Herodotus goes into quite disgusting detail on how the Egyptians preserve their dead.\"\n\n\"You read Herodotus?\"\n\n\"His Egyptian stuff, very informative about Egypt is Herodotus.\"\n\nBless him, she thought, prancing about the desert with a thousand-year-old guide.\n\nHe went on. \"They were content with the situation, the boys, quite happy. They had Hakim's two warriors to guard them, plenty of servants, slaves. I gave them Guiscard's splendid bird to fly while we were away--they were keen falconers, both. Food, water, pavilions, shelter at night. And I did everything I could; I sent one of the Arab servants to Hakim to tell him what had occurred and where the boys were, just in case anything happened to me.\"\n\nA list of excuses to himself; he must have gone over it a thousand times. \"I thought we were the ones taking the risk, De Vries and I, being just the two of us. The boys should have been safe enough.\" He turned to her as if he would shake her. \"It was their damned country.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Adelia said.\n\nFrom the bottom of the garden where the men were digging Simon's grave came the regular scrape and scatter, scrape and scatter, of earth being lifted and discarded. They might have been three thousand miles away from the crucible of hot sand in which, by now, she could barely breathe.\n\nA harness had been constructed to carry the palanquin containing Guiscard's corpse between a couple of pack animals and, with only two mule drivers as accompaniment, Sir Rowley Picot and his fellow knight had ridden with it as fast as they could.\n\n\"It turned out there wasn't an embalmer in Baharia, but I found some old shaman who cut the heart out for me and put it in pickle while the rest was boiled down to the skeleton.\"\n\nThat had proved a lengthier process than Rowley was expecting, but at last, with Guiscard's bones in a satchel and the heart in a stoppered jar, he and De Vries had set off back to the oasis, approaching it eight days after they'd left it.\n\n\"We saw the vultures while we were still three miles off. The camp had been raided. All the servants were dead. Hakim's warriors had given a good account of themselves before they were hacked to pieces, and there were three bodies belonging to the raiders. The pavilions had gone, the slaves, the goods, the animals.\"\n\nIn the terrible desert silence, the two knights heard a whimper coming from the top of one of the date palms. It was Ubayd, the older boy, alive and physically unhurt. \"The attack had been at night, you see, and in the darkness he and one of the slaves had managed to shin up a tree and hide in the fronds. The boy had been there a day and two nights. De Vries had to climb up and unhook his hands to get him down. He'd seen everything; he couldn't move.\"\n\nThe one they couldn't find was eight-year-old Jaafar.\n\n\"We were still scouring the place for him when Hakim and his men arrived. He'd received news that there was a raiding party loose in the land just about the same time that he'd gotten my message. He'd immediately ridden like a wind from hell for the oasis.\"\n\nRowley's great head went down as if to receive coals of fire. \"He didn't blame me. Hakim. Not a word, not even later when we found...what we found. Ubayd explained, told the old man it wasn't my fault, but these last years I've known whose fault it was. I should never have left them; I should have taken the boys with me. They were my responsibility, you see. My hostages.\"\n\nAdelia's fingers covered the gripping hands for a moment. He didn't notice.\n\nWhen, eventually, Ubayd had been able to speak of it, he'd told them that the raiding party had been twenty to twenty-five strong. He'd heard different languages spoken as the slaughter below him went on. \"Frankish mainly,\" he'd said. He'd heard his little cousin cry to Allah for help.\n\n\"We tracked them. They had a lead of thirty-six hours, but we reckoned that they'd be slowed by all the loot. On the second day we saw the hoofprints of a lone horse that had broken away from the rest and turned south.\"\n\nHakim sent some of his men after the raiders' main party while he and Rowley followed the tracks of the single horseman.\n\n\"Looking back, I don't know why we did that; the man could have veered off for a dozen reasons. But I think we knew.\"\n\nThey knew when they saw the vultures circling over a single object behind one of the dunes. The naked little body was curled in the sand like a question mark.\n\nRowley had his eyes shut. \"He'd done such things to that little boy as no human being should look on or describe.\"\n\nI looked on them, Adelia thought. You were angry when I looked on them in Saint Werbertha's hut. I described them, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry for you.\n\n\"We'd played chess together,\" Rowley said, \"the boy and I. On the journey. He was a clever child, he used to beat me eight times out of ten.\"\n\nThey'd wrapped the body in Rowley's cloak and taken it to Hakim's palace, where it was buried that night to the sound of ululating, grieving women.\n\nThen the hunt began in earnest. Such a strange chase it was, led by a Moslem chieftain and a Christian knight, skirting battlefields where the crescent and the cross were at war with each other.\n\n\"The devil was loose in that desert,\" Rowley said. \"He sent sand-storms against us, obliterating tracks, resting places were waterless and devastated either by crusader or Moor, but nothing was going to stop us, and at long last we caught up with the main party.\"\n\nUbayd had been right, it was a ragtag.\n\n\"Deserters, mainly, runaways, the prison sweepings of Christendom. Our killer had been their captain, and in carrying off the boy, he'd also taken most of the jewels and abandoned his men to their own devices, which weren't much. They hardly put up any resistance; most of them were silly with hasheesh, and the rest were fighting among themselves over the remaining booty. We questioned each one of them before he died: Where's your leader gone? Who is he? Where does he come from? Where will he make for? Not one of them knew much about the man they'd followed. A ferocious leader, they said. A lucky man, they said.\"\n\nLucky.\n\n\"Nationality means nothing to scum like those; to them he was just another Frank, which means he could have originated anywhere from Scotland to the Baltic. Their descriptions weren't much better, either: tall, medium-height, darkish, fairish--mind you, they were saying anything they thought Hakim wanted to know, but it was as if each saw him differently. One of them said he had horns growing out of his head.\"\n\n\"Did he have a name?\"\n\n\"They called him Rakshasa. It's the name of a demon. Moors frighten naughty children with it. From what I could gather from Hakim, the Rakshasi came out of the Far East--India, I think. The Hindus set them on the Moslems in some ancient battle. They take different shapes and ravage people at night.\"\n\nAdelia leaned out and picked a lavender stalk, rubbing it between her fingers, looking around the garden to root herself in its English greenness.\n\n\"He's clever,\" the tax collector said, and then corrected himself. \"No, not clever, he has instinct, he can sniff danger on the air like a rat. He knew we were after him, I know he knew. If he'd made for the Upper Nile, and we were sure he would, we'd have taken him--Hakim had sent word to the Fatimid tribes--but he cut northeast, back into Palestine.\"\n\nThey picked up the scent again in Gaza, where they found he'd sailed from its port of Teda on a boat bound for Cyprus.\n\n\"How?\" asked Adelia. \"How did you pick up his scent?\"\n\n\"The jewels. He'd taken most of Guiscard's jewels. He was having to sell them one by one to keep ahead of us. Every time he did, word got back through the tribes to Hakim. We were given his description--a tall man, almost as tall as me.\"\n\nAt Gaza, Sir Rowley lost his companions. \"De Vries wanted to stay in the Holy Land; anyway, he wasn't under the obligation that I was; Jaafar hadn't been his hostage, and he hadn't taken the decision that got the boy killed. As for Hakim...good old man, he wanted to come with me, but I told him he was too ancient and anyway would stick out in Christian Cyprus like a houri among a huddle of monks. Well, I didn't put it like that, though such was the gist. But there and then I knelt to him and vowed by my Lord, by the Trinity, by the Mother Mary, that I'd follow Rakshasa if necessary to the grave and I'd cut the bastard's head off and send it to him. And so, with God's help, I shall.\"\n\nThe tax collector slipped to his knees, took off his cap, and crossed himself.\n\nAdelia sat still as stone, confused by the repulsion and the terrible comfort she found in this man. Some of the loneliness into which she'd been cast by Simon's death had gone. Yet he was not another Simon; he had stood by, perhaps assisted in, questioning the raiders; \"questioning\" undoubtedly being a euphemism for torture until death, something Simon would not and could not have done. This man had sworn by Jesus, whose attribute was mercy, to exact revenge, was praying for it at this minute.\n\nBut when she had covered his clawing hand, the back of her own had been wetted with his tears and, for a moment, the space that Simon had left had been filled by someone whose heart, like Simon's, could break for the child of another race and faith.\n\nShe composed herself; he was getting up so that he could pace while he told her the rest.\n\nJust as he had taken her with him on his every step across the wasteland of Outremer, now she went with him as, still carrying his relics of the dead, he followed the man they called Rakshasa back through Europe.\n\nFrom Gaza to Cyprus. Cyprus to Rhodes--just one boat behind, but a storm had separated chase and chaser so that Rowley had not picked up the trail again until Crete. To Syracuse, and from there up the coast of Apulia. To Salerno...\n\n\"Were you there then?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, I was there.\"\n\nTo Naples, to Marseilles, and then overland through France.\n\nA more curious passage no man ever took in a Christian country, he told her, because Christians played so little part in it. His helpers were the disregarded: Arabs and Jews, artisans in the jewel trade, trinket makers, pawnbrokers, moneylenders, workers in alleys where Christian townsmen and women sent their servants with objects for mending, ghetto dwellers--the sort of people to whom a pursued and desperate killer with a jewel to sell was forced to apply for money.\n\n\"It wasn't the France I knew; I might have been in a different country altogether. I was a blind man in it, and they were my knotted string. They'd ask me, 'Why do you hunt this man?' And I would answer, 'He killed a child.' It was enough. Yes, their cousin, aunt, sister-in-law's son had heard of a stranger in the next town with a bauble to sell--and at a knockdown price, for he must sell it quickly.\"\n\nRowley paused. \"Are you aware that every Jew and Arab in Christendom seems to know every other Jew and Arab?\"\n\n\"They have to,\" Adelia said.\n\nRowley shrugged. \"Anyway, he never stayed anywhere long enough for me to catch up with him. By the time I got to the next town, he'd taken the road north. Always north. I knew he was heading for somewhere particular.\"\n\nThere were other, dreadful knots in the string. \"He killed at Rhodes before I got there, a little Christian girl found in a vineyard. The whole island was in uproar.\" At Marseilles there'd been another death, this time of a beggar boy snatched from the roadside, whose corpse had suffered such injuries that even the authorities, not usually troubled by the fate of vagabonds, had issued a reward for the killer.\n\nIn Montpellier another boy, this one only four years old.\n\nRowley said, \"'By their deeds ye shall know them,' the Bible tells us. I knew him by his. He marked my map with children's bodies; it was as if he couldn't go more than three months without sating himself. When I lost him, I only had to wait to hear the scream of a parent echoing from one town to another. Then I took horse to follow it.\"\n\nHe also found the women Rakshasa left in his wake. \"He has an attraction for women, the Lord only knows why; he doesn't treat them well.\" All the bruised creatures Rowley had questioned refused to help him in his quest. \"They seemed to expect and hope he would come back to them. It didn't matter; by this time, anyway, I was following the bird he had with him.\"\n\n\"A bird?\"\n\n\"A mynah bird. In a cage. I knew where he'd bought it, in a souq in Gaza. I could even tell you how much he paid for it. But why he kept it with him...perhaps it was his only friend.\" There was the rictus of a smile on Rowley's face. \"It got him noticed, thanks be to God; more than once I received word of a tall man with a birdcage on his saddle. And in the end, it told me where he was going.\"\n\nBy this time hunter and hunted were approaching the Loire Valley, Sir Rowley distracted because Angers was the home of the bones he carried. \"Should I follow Rakshasa as I had sworn? Or fulfill my vow to Guiscard and take him to his last resting place?\"\n\nIt was in Tours, he said, that his dilemma took him to its cathedral to pray for guidance. \"And there Almighty God, in His wonder and grace and seeing the justice of my cause, opened His hand unto me.\"\n\nFor, as Rowley left the cathedral by its great west door and went blinking into the sunlight, he heard the squawk of a bird coming from an alley where its cage hung in the window of a house.\n\n\"I looked up at it. It looked down at me and said good-day in English. And I thought, the Lord has led me to this alley for a purpose; let us see if this is Rakshasa's pet. So I knocked on the door and a woman opened it. I asked for her man. She said he was out, but I could tell that he was there and that it was him--she was just such a one as the others, draggled and frightened. I drew my sword and pushed past her, but she fought me as I tried to go up the stairs, clinging to my arm like a cat and screaming. I heard him shout from the upstairs room, then a thump. He'd leapt out of the window. I turned back down, but the woman hampered me all the way, and by the time I regained the alley, he'd gone.\"\n\nRowley ran his hands over his thick, curly hair in despair at describing the fruitless chase that had followed. \"In the end, I went back to the house. The woman had left, but in the upstairs room the bird was fluttering in its cage on the floor where he'd knocked it down as he jumped. I picked the cage up and the bird told me where I would find him.\"\n\n\"How? How did it tell you?\"\n\n\"Well, it didn't give me his address. It looked at me out of that wattled, cocky eye they have and said I was a pretty boy, a clever boy--all the usual things, their banality made shocking by the knowledge that I was hearing Rakshasa's voice. He had trained it. No, there was nothing special in what it said but in how it said it. It was the accent. It spoke in a Cambridgeshire accent. The bird had copied the speech of its master. Rakshasa was a Cambridgeshire man.\"\n\nThe tax collector crossed himself in gratitude to the god who had been good to him. \"I let the bird prattle through its repertoire,\" he said. \"There was time enough now, I could take Guiscard to Angers. I knew where Rakshasa was heading; he was going home to settle down with what remained of Guiscard's jewels. So he did and so he has, and this time he shall not escape me.\"\n\nRowley looked at Adelia. \"I've still got the cage,\" he said.\n\n\"What happened to the bird?\"\n\n\"I wrung its neck.\"\n\nThe gravediggers had left, unnoticed, their work done. The long shadow of the wall at the end of the garden had reached the turf seat.\n\nAdelia, shivering from the chilly descent of evening, realized she had been cold for some time. Perhaps there was more to say, but at the moment she could not think of it. Nor could he. He got up. \"I must see to the arrangements.\"\n\nOthers had seen to them for him.\n\nA sheriff, an Arab, a tax collector, an Augustine prior, two women, and a dog stood at the top of the steps outside the house as Simon of Naples in his willow coffin, preceded by torchbearers and followed by every male Jew in the castle, was carried to his place beneath the cherry tree at the other end of the garden. They were invited no nearer. Under a waxing, gibbous moon the figures of the mourners appeared very dark and the cherry blossom very white, a flurry of suspended snow.\n\nThe sheriff fidgeted. Mansur put his hands on Adelia's shoulders and she leaned back against him, listening more to the cascade of the rabbi's deep notes as he repeated the ninety-first Psalm than able to distinguish its words.\n\nWhat she disregarded, what all of them paid no attention to because they were used to a noisy castle, was the sound of raised voices down by the main gates to which Father Alcuin, the priest, had taken his discontent.\n\nThere, having listened to it, Agnes had left her hut and run into town, and Roger of Acton had begun to persuade the guards that their castle was being desecrated by the secret burial of a Jew in its precincts.\n\nThe mourners under the cherry tree heard it; their ears were attuned to trouble.\n\n\"El ma'aleh rachamim.\" Rabbi Gotsce's voice didn't falter. \"Sho-chayn bahm-ro... Lord, filled with Motherly Compassion, grant a full and perfect rest to our brother Simon under the wings of Your sheltering presence among the lofty, holy, and pure, radiant as the shining firmament, and to the souls of all those of all Your peoples who have been killed in and around the lands where Abraham our Forebear walked....\"\n\nWords, thought Adelia. An innocent bird can repeat the words of a killer. Words can be said over the man he killed and pour balm on the soul.\n\nShe heard the hit, hit, hit of earth being thrown onto the coffin. Now the procession was filing up through the garden to go out of its gate and, although she was not a Jew and a mere woman at that, each man gave her a blessing as he passed the foot of the steps on which she stood. \"Hamakom y'nachem etchem b'toch sh'ar availai tziyon ee yerushalayim. May God comfort you among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.\"\n\nThe rabbi paused and bowed to the sheriff. \"We are grateful for your beneficence, my lord, and may you be spared trouble because of it.\" Then they were gone.\n\n\"Well,\" Sheriff Baldwin said, brushing his gown, \"we must get back to work, Sir Rowley. If the devil does indeed find work for idle hands, he will discover none here tonight.\"\n\nAdelia expressed her gratitude. \"And may I visit the grave tomorrow?\"\n\n\"I suppose so, I suppose so. You might bring Senor Doctor here with you. All this worry has produced a fistula that makes my sitting uncomfortable.\"\n\nHe looked toward the gate. \"What is that turmoil, Rowley?\"\n\nIt was ten or so men armed with a variety of domestic weapons, garden forks, eel glaives, led by Roger of Acton, and all of them feverish with a rage that had been pent up too long, all rushing into the garden screaming in so many different curses that it took a moment to distinguish the theme of \"child-killer\" and \"Jew.\"\n\nActon was coming to the steps, waving a flambeau in one hand and a garden fork in the other. He was shouting. \"The Jew shall be sunk in the pit he hath made, for the Lord has redeemed us from his filth. We have come to cast him out from our inheritance. O fear the name of the Lord, thou traitors.\" His mouth sprayed spit. Behind him, a big man was brandishing a wicked-looking kitchen cleaver.\n\nThe other men were scattering in a search and he turned to them. \"Find the grave, my brothers, so we may execute our fury upon his carcass. For ye have been promised that he who chastiseth the heathen shall not be corrected.\"\n\n\"No,\" Adelia said. They had come to dig him up. They had come to dig Simon up. \"No.\"\n\n\"Trollop.\" Acton was ascending the steps, the fork pointing at her. \"Thou hast gone a-whoring after the child-killers, but we shall not bear thy shame anymore.\"\n\nOne of the men was standing by the cherry tree, shouting and gesticulating at the others. \"Here, it's here.\"\n\nAdelia dodged Acton as she went down the steps and began running toward the grave. What she would do when she got there was not in her mind--she could think only of stopping this terrible thing.\n\nSir Rowley Picot went after her, Mansur just behind him, Roger of Acton on his heels, the other intruders running to intercept. Everybody met in a crashing, howling, punching, beating, stabbing, trampling confluence. Adelia went down under it.\n\nSuch violence was unknown to her; it wasn't the pain but the whacking shock of men's sudden, furious strength. A boot broke her nose; she covered her head while above her the world fractured into jagged pieces.\n\nSomewhere a voice dominated all, steady and commanding--the prior's.\n\nBit by bit, the shards fell away. There was nothing. Then there was something and she was able to stagger to her feet and see figures retreating from the place were Rowley Picot lay with a cleaver end down in his groin, blood overflowing from around the buried part of its blade."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Am I dead?\" asked Sir Rowley of nobody in particular.\n\n\"No,\" Adelia told him.\n\nA weak, pale hand searched beneath the bedclothes. There was a cry of raw agony. \"Oh, Jesus God, where's my prick?\"\n\n\"If you mean your penis, it is still there. Under the pads.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" The sunken eyes opened again. \"Will it work?\"\n\n\"I am sure,\" Adelia said clearly, \"that it will function satisfactorily in every respect.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nHe'd gone again, comforted by the brief exchange while unaware that it had taken place.\n\nAdelia leaned over and pulled the blanket straight. \"But it was a damned near thing,\" she told him softly. Not just the loss of his membrum virilis but his life. The cleaver had struck the artery, and she'd had to keep her fist in the wound while he was carried indoors to stop him bleeding to death before she could use Lady Baldwin's needle and embroidery thread--and even then to be so hampered by pumping blood that she knew, if none of those gathered anxiously about her did, it was a matter of blind luck whether or not the sutures were in the right place.\n\nThat had been only half the battle. She'd managed to extract the pieces of tunic that the cleaver had pushed into the wound, but how much detritus remained from the blade itself had been anyone's throw of the dice. Foreign matter could, and usually did, lead to poisoning, which led to death. She'd recalled dismembering resultant gangrenous corpses--recalled, too, the remote curiosity with which she'd looked for the site that had spread its fatality.\n\nThis time she had not been remote. When Rowley's wound inflamed and he went into delirium from fever she had never prayed so hard in her life as she bathed him in cold water and dripped cooling draughts between lips that were flaccid and ghastly as a dead man's.\n\nAnd to what had she prayed? Something, anything. Pleading, begging, demanding that it should help her pull him back to life.\n\nDamn it. What had she vowed to all the gods she'd called on? Belief? Then she was now a follower of Jehovah, Allah, and the Trinity, with Hippocrates thrown in, and had wept with gratitude to all of them as the sweat broke out on the patient's face and his breathing returned from stertor to a soft and natural snore.\n\nThe next time he woke up, she watched his hand make its instinctive exploration. Such primitive beings, men.\n\n\"Still there.\" The eyes closed with relief.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. Even facing death's portals, they retained consciousness of their sexuality. Prick, indeed--such an aggressive euphemism.\n\nThe eyes opened. \"You still here?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"Five nights and...\" She looked toward the window, where the afternoon sun was sending stripes of light through its mullions onto the floorboards. \"Approximately seven hours.\"\n\n\"So long? Blind me.\" He tried lifting his head. \"Where is this?\"\n\n\"The top of the tower.\" Shortly after the operation, which had been performed on the sheriff's kitchen table, Mansur had carried the patient to the Jews' upper room--an amazing feat of strength--so that doctor and patient should have privacy and quiet while she engaged in the battle for his life.\n\nThe room had no garderobe; on the other hand, Adelia had been blessed with people willing--nay, eager--to go up and down the stair carrying chamber pots, most of them Jewish women grateful to Sir Rowley for his defense of a Jewish grave. Indeed, saving Sir Rowley had been a cooperative effort, and if Adelia had refused most of the help on offer, it was in order not to offend Mansur and Gyltha, who made the cause their own.\n\nA breeze came through the room's unglazed windows, free of the bad airs circulating at the lower level of the castle and its open cesspits, sullied only by a whiff of Safeguard that entered through the gap under the door to the stairs, to which he had been banished. Even after a bath, the dog's pelt almost immediately acquired a stink that attacked the nose. It was the only thing about him that did attack; he had been notably absent from the melee in the sheriff's garden, in which, by rights, he should have involved himself on his mistress's behalf.\n\nThe voice from the bed asked now, \"Did I kill the bastard?\"\n\n\"Roger of Acton? No, he is well, though incarcerated in the donjon. You managed to lame Quincy the butcher and hack Colin of Saint Giles in the neck, and there's a blacksmith whose prospects of fatherhood are not as sanguine as your own, but Master Acton escaped unharmed.\"\n\n\"Merde.\"\n\nEven this much conversation had tired him; he drifted off.\n\nCopulation as the first priority, she thought. Battle as the second. And although you are now considerably thinner, gluttony has been in evidence, so has arrogance. That represents most of the cardinal sins. So why, out of all humanity, are you the one for me?\n\nGyltha had guessed. At the height of Rowley's fever, when Adelia had refused to let the housekeeper replace her at the bedside, Gyltha had said, \"Love un you may, woman, but that'll not help un iffen you drop.\"\n\n\"Love him?\" It was a screech. \"I am caring for a patient; he's not...oh, Gyltha, what am I to do? He's not my sort of man.\"\n\n\"What sort's got bugger-all to do with it,\" Gyltha had said, sighing.\n\nAnd, indeed, Adelia was compelled to confess that it hadn't.\n\nTrue, there was much to be said for him. As he had demonstrated for the Jews, he was an incipient defender of the defenseless. He was funny, he made her laugh. And in his fever, he had visited again and again the dune where a child's torn body lay--to suffer once more the same guilt and grief. His mind had pursued the killer through a delirium as hot and terrible as desert sands until Adelia had fed him an opiate for fear that it would wear out the weakened body.\n\nBut there was as much to be said against him. In the same fever he had babbled with carnal appreciation of the women he had known, often confusing their attributes with food he'd also enjoyed in the East. Small, slender Sagheerah, tender as an asparagus spear; Samina, sufficiently fleshed for a full-course meal; Abda, black and beautiful as caviar. It had been not so much a list as a menu. As for Zabidah...Adelia's narrow knowledge of what men and women got up to in bed had been stretched to shocked amazement by the antics of that acrobatic and communally minded female.\n\nMore chilling was the revelation of a driving ambition. At first Adelia, listening to the fantastical conversations he was holding with an unseen person, had mistaken his frequent use of \"my lord\" as being directed at his heavenly king--until it turned out he was referring to Henry II. The compelling need to find and punish Rakshasa had allied itself to serving the King of England at the same time. If he should rid Henry of a nuisance that was depriving the Exchequer of its income from Cambridge's Jews, Rowley expected royal gratitude and advancement.\n\nVery considerable advancement, too. \"Baron or bishop?\" he would ask in his dementia, clutching at Adelia's hand as it tried to soothe him, as if it were her decision. \"Bishopric or barony?\"\n\nThe golden prospect of either would add to his agitation--\"It won't move, I can't move it\"--as if the wagon he had attached to the royal star was proving too heavy to stir.\n\nSuch, then, was the man. Undoubtedly brave and compassionate but a gourmandizing, womanizing, cunning, and greedy seeker after status. Imperfect, licentious. Not a man Adelia had expected, or wanted, to love.\n\nBut did.\n\nWhen that suffering head had turned on the pillow, exposing the line of the throat, and he had pleaded for her--\"Doctor, are you there? Adelia?\"--his sins, like her heart, had melted away.\n\nAs Gyltha said, the sort of man he was had bugger-all to do with it.\n\nYet it must matter. Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar had her own fixity of purpose. It did not aspire to preferment or riches but to serving the particular gift she had been given. For a gift it was, and with it had come the obligation not to give birth to life as other women did but to discover more about life's nature and thereby save it.\n\nShe had always known, and still knew it, that romantic love was not for her; in that respect, she was as bound to chastity as any nun married to God. As long as that chastity had been cloistered in the Medical School of Salerno, she had envisaged its untroubled continuance into a quiet, useful, and respected old age, contemptuous--she admitted it--of women who surrendered to flailing passion.\n\nSitting in this tower room, she accused that former self of plain damned ignorance. You didn't know. Didn't know of this rampage that makes the mind lose its reason against all better judgment.\n\nBut you must reason, woman, reason.\n\nThe hours during which she had labored to save the man had been a privilege; saving anybody's life was a privilege; his, her joy. She had begrudged being called away from his side to treat the patients whom the Matildas redirected to the castle so that she and Mansur could heal them, though she had done it.\n\nNow it was time for common sense.\n\nMarriage was out of the question, even supposing he offered it, which was unlikely. Adelia had a strong estimation of her own worth, but she doubted it if he could recognize it. For one thing, to judge from the color of the pubic hair he had described during his more lubricious ravings, his preference was for brunettes. For another, she could not--would not--enter the lists against the likes of Zabidah.\n\nNo, a reserved, plain-faced woman doctor was unlikely to attract him; such yearning as he had shown for her in his fever had been a request for relief.\n\nIn any case, he thought of her as sexless or his account of his crusade would not have been so frank and so full of swear words. A man talked to a friendly priest in those terms, to a Prior Geoffrey perhaps, not to the lady of his fancy.\n\nIn any case, with a bishopric in his sights, he could not offer marriage to anybody. And a bishop's mistress? There were plenty of them, some being ostentatious, shameless strumpets, others a rumor, a thing of gossip and sniggers, hidden away in a secret bower, dependent on the whim of their particular diocesan lover.\n\nWelcome to the Gates of Heaven, Adelia, and what did you do with your life? My lord, I was a bishop's whore.\n\nAnd if he became a baron? He would look for an heiress to increase his estates, as they all did. Poor heiress, a life devoted to store cupboard, children, entertaining, and setting one's husband's bloody deeds to song when he came back from whatever battlefield his king had dragged him off to. Where, undoubtedly, said husband had taken other women--brunettes, in this case--and fathered bastards on them with the concupiscence of a rutting rabbit.\n\nDeliberately, exhausted, she worked herself into such a fury at the hypothetically adulterous Sir Rowley Picot with his hypothetical and illegitimate brats that, Gyltha now coming into the room with a bowl of gruel for him, Adelia told her, \"You and Mansur look after the swine tonight. I'm going home.\"\n\nYehuda waylaid her at the bottom of the steps to inquire after Rowley and to drag her off to see his new son. The baby nuzzling at Dina's breast was tiny but seemed to have all its requisites, though its parents were concerned that it was not gaining sufficient weight.\n\n\"We've agreed with Rabbi Gotsce that Brit Mila should be delayed beyond the eight days. Do it when he is stronger,\" Yehuda said, anxiously. \"What do you think, mistress?\"\n\nAdelia said that it was probably wise not to subject the child to circumcision until it was a better size.\n\n\"Is it my milk, do you think?\" Dina said. \"I don't have enough?\"\n\nMidwifery was not Adelia's field; she knew the principles, but Gordinus had always taught his students that the practice was better left to wise women of whatever denomination unless there were complications in the case. His belief, based on observation, was that more babies survived when delivered by experienced women than by male doctors. It was not a teaching that made him popular with either the general medical profession or the Church, both of which found it profitable to condemn most midwives as witches, but the death toll in Salerno not only among babies but their mothers whose accouchement had been attended by male physicians suggested that Gordinus was right.\n\nHowever, the baby was very small and seemed to be sucking without profit, so Adelia ventured, \"Have you considered a wet nurse?\"\n\n\"And where do we find one of those?\" Yehuda demanded with an Iberian sneer. \"Did the mob that drove us in here make sure we had lactating mothers among our number? They overlooked it, I don't know why.\"\n\nAdelia hesitated before saying, \"I could ask Lady Baldwin if there is one in the castle.\"\n\nShe waited for condemnation. Margaret had originally been her wet nurse, and Adelia knew of other Christian women employed in that capacity by Jewish households, but whether this stiff-necked little enclave would contemplate its newest recruit being put to a goy's breast...\n\nDina surprised her. \"Milk's milk, my husband. I would trust Lady Baldwin to find a clean woman.\"\n\nYehuda put his hand gently on his wife's head. \"As long as she understands that it is not your fault. With all you have suffered, we are lucky to have a son at all.\"\n\nOh ho, Adelia thought, fatherhood is improving you, young man. And Dina, though anxious, looked happier than the last time she'd seen her; this had the makings of a better marriage than its beginning had promised.\n\nAs she left them, Yehuda followed her out. \"Doctor...\"\n\nAdelia turned on him fast. \"You must not call me that. The doctor is Master Mansur Khayoun of Al 'Amarah. I am but his helper.\"\n\nObviously, the tale of the operation in the sheriff's kitchen had circulated, and she had enough troubles without the inevitable opposition she would encounter from Cambridge's physicians, let alone the Church, if her profession became generally recognized.\n\nPerhaps she could put down the presence of Mansur--he had stood by during the procedure--to that of a master overseeing the work. Claim it had been a Moslem holy day and that Allah wouldn't allow him to touch blood during its hours. Something like that.\n\nYehuda bowed. \"Mistress, I only wish to say that we are naming the baby Simon.\"\n\nShe took his hand. \"Thank you.\"\n\nThough still tired, the day altered for her; life itself had altered with a swing. She felt, quite literally, uplifted by the naming of the child--she experienced a curious feeling of bobbing.\n\nIt was being in love, she realized. Love, however doomed, had the capacity to attach buoys to the soul. Never had seagulls circled with such purity against the eggshell-blue sky, never had their cries been so thrilling.\n\nVisiting the other Simon was a priority, and on her way to the sheriff's garden, Adelia toured the bailey, looking for flowers to take to his grave. This part of the castle was strictly utilitarian, and its roaming hens and pigs had stripped it of most vegetation, but some Jack-by-the-hedge had colonized the top of an old wall and a blackthorn was flowering on the Saxon mound where the original wooden keep had stood.\n\nChildren were sliding down the slope on a plank of wood, and while she painfully snapped off some twigs, a small boy and girl came up to chat.\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"It's my dog,\" Adelia told them.\n\nThey considered the statement and animal for a moment. Then, \"That blackie you come with, lady, is he a wizard?\"\n\n\"A doctor,\" she told them.\n\n\"Is he mending Sir Rowley, lady?\"\n\n\"He's funny, Sir Rowley,\" the little girl said. \"He says it's a mouse in his hand but it's a farthing really, what he gives us. I like him.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" Adelia said helplessly, finding it sweet to make the confession.\n\nThe boy said, pointing, \"That's Sam and Bracey. Shouldn't have let 'em in, should they? Not even to kill Jews, my pa says.\"\n\nHe was indicating to a spot near the new gallows on which stood a double pillory with two heads protruding from it, presumably those of the guards on the gate when Roger of Acton and the townspeople had gained entrance to the castle.\n\n\"Sam says he didn't mean to let them in,\" the girl said. \"Sam says the buggers rushed him.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Adelia said. \"How long have they been there?\"\n\n\"Shouldn't have let 'em in, should they?\" the boy said.\n\nThe little girl was more forgiving. \"They free 'em of nights.\"\n\nSo bad for the back, the pillory. Adelia hurried over to it. A wooden sign had been hung about each man's neck. It read: \"Failed in Duty.\"\n\nCarefully avoiding the ordure that was collecting round the feet of the pillory's victims, Adelia placed her posy on the ground and lifted one of the signs. She settled the guard's jerkin so that it formed a buffer between his skin and the string that had been cutting into his neck. She did the same for the other man. \"I hope that's more comfortable.\"\n\n\"Thank you, mistress.\" Both stared straight ahead with military directness.\n\n\"How much longer must you remain here?\"\n\n\"Two more days.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Adelia said. \"I know it cannot be easy, but if you let your wrists take the weight from time to time and incline your legs backwards, it will reduce the strain on the spine.\"\n\nOne of the men said flatly, \"We'll bear it in mind, mistress.\"\n\n\"Do.\"\n\nIn the sheriff's garden, the sheriff's wife, who was at one end overseeing the division of tansy roots, was holding a shouted conversation with Rabbi Gotsce at the other, where he bent over the grave.\n\n\"You should wear it in your shoes, Rabbi. I do. Tansy is a specific against the ague.\" Lady Baldwin's voice carried effortlessly to the ramparts.\n\n\"Better than garlic?\"\n\n\"Infinitely better.\"\n\nCharmed and unseen, Adelia lingered in the gateway until Lady Baldwin caught sight of her. \"There you are, Adelia. And how is Sir Rowley today?\"\n\n\"Improving. I thank you, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Good, good. We cannot spare such a brave fighter. And what of your poor nose?\"\n\nAdelia smiled. \"Mended and forgotten.\" The race to halt Rowley's hemorrhage had obliterated everything else. She'd only become aware of the fracture to her nose two days later, when Gyltha commented on the fact that it had become humped and blue. Once the swelling went down, she'd clicked the bone into place without trouble.\n\nLady Baldwin nodded. \"What a pretty posy, very green and white. The rabbi is seeing to the grave. Go down, go down. Yes, the dog too--if that's what it is.\"\n\nAdelia went down the path to the cherry tree. A simple wooden board had been laid over the grave. Carved into it was the Hebrew for \"Here lies buried\" followed by Simon's name. On the bottom were the five letters for \"May his soul be bound up in the bond of life eternal.\"\n\n\"It will do for now,\" Rabbi Gotsce said. \"Lady Baldwin is finding us a stone to replace it, one that's too heavy to lift, she says, so Simon cannot be desecrated.\" He stood up and dusted his hands. \"Adelia, that is a fine woman.\"\n\n\"Yes, she is.\" Much more than the sheriff's, this was his wife's garden; it was where her children played and from which she took the herbs to flavor her food and scent her rooms. It had been no mean sacrifice to surrender part of it to the corpse of a man despised by her religion. Admittedly, since this was ultimately royal ground, it had been imposed on her force majeure, but whatever she felt in private, Lady Baldwin had acceded with grace.\n\nBetter still, the principle that giving imposes obligation on the giver as well as the recipient had come into play, and Lady Baldwin was showing concern for the welfare of the strange community in her castle. The newest little Baldwin's baby clouts had been passed on to Dina and the suggestion made that the community should have a share in the castle's great bread oven instead of baking for themselves.\n\n\"They're really human beings just like us, you know,\" Lady Baldwin had lectured Adelia when visiting the sickroom bearing calf's-foot jelly for the patient. \"And their rabbi is quite knowledgeable on the subject of herbs, really quite knowledgeable. Apparently they eat a lot of them at Easter, though they seem to choose the bitter ones, horseradish and such. Why not a little angelica, I asked him. To sweeten it up?\"\n\nSmiling, Adelia had said, \"I think they're supposed to be bitter.\"\n\n\"Yes, so he told me.\"\n\nNow, asked if she knew of a wet nurse for Baby Simon, Lady Baldwin promised to supply one. \"And not one of the castle trollops, either,\" she said. \"That baby needs respectable Christian milk.\"\n\nThe only one who had failed Simon, Adelia thought as she placed her posy, was herself. His name on the simple board should shriek of murder instead of portraying a supposed victim of his own negligence.\n\n\"Help me, Rabbi,\" she said. \"I must write to Simon's family and tell his wife and children he is dead.\"\n\n\"So write,\" Rabbi Gotsce said. \"We shall see to sending the letter; we have people in London who correspond with Naples.\"\n\n\"Thank you, I would be grateful. It's not that, it's...what shall I write? That he was murdered but his death has been recorded as an accident?\"\n\nThe rabbi grunted. \"If you were his wife, what would you want to know?\"\n\nShe said immediately, \"The truth.\" Then she considered. \"Oh, I don't know.\" Better for Simon's Rebecca to grieve over a drowning accident than to envisage again and again Simon's last minutes as she did, to have her mourning polluted by horror, as was Adelia's, to desire justice on his killer so much that she could not take ease in anything else.\n\n\"I suppose I shall not tell them,\" she said, defeated. \"Not while he is unavenged. When the killer is found and punished, perhaps then we can give them the truth.\"\n\n\"The truth, Adelia? So simple?\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\"\n\nRabbi Gotsce sighed. \"To you, maybe. But as the Talmud tells us, the name of Mount Sinai comes from our Hebrew word for hatred, sinah, because truth produces hate for those who speak it. Now, Jeremiah...\"\n\nOh, dear, she thought. Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. None of the slow, worldly-wise, clever Jewish voices lecturing in the sunlit atrium of her foster parents' villa had ever mentioned Jeremiah without prophesying evil. And it was such a nice day, and there was beautiful detail in the flowers of the cherry blossom.\n\n\"...we should remember the old Jewish proverb that truth is the safest lie.\"\n\n\"I've never understood it,\" she said, coming to.\n\n\"No more have I,\" the rabbi said. \"But by extension it tells us that the rest of the world never wholly believes a Jewish truth. Adelia, do you think that sooner or later the real killer will be revealed and condemned?\"\n\n\"Sooner or later,\" she said. \"God send it be sooner.\"\n\n\"Amen to that. And on that happy day, the good people of Cambridge will line up outside this castle, weeping and sorry, so sorry, for killing two Jews and keeping the rest imprisoned? That also you believe? The news will speed through Christendom that Jews do not crucify children for their pleasure? You believe that, too?\"\n\n\"Why not? It is the truth.\"\n\nRabbi Gotsce shrugged. \"It's your truth, it's mine, it was truth for the man who lies here. Maybe even the townsfolk of Cambridge will believe it. But truth travels slowly and gets weaker as it goes. Suitable lies are strong and run faster. And this was a suitable lie; Jews put the Lamb of God to the cross, therefore they crucify children--it fits. A nice, agreeable lie like that, it scampers through all Christendom. Will the villages in Spain believe the truth if it limps so far? Will the peasants of France? Russia?\"\n\n\"Don't, Rabbi. Oh, don't.\" It was as if this man had lived a thousand years; perhaps he had.\n\nHe bent to remove a piece of blossom from the grave and stood up again, taking her arm and walking her to the gate. \"Find the killer, Adelia. Deliver us from this English Egypt. But in the end, it will still be the Jews who crucified that child.\"\n\nFind the killer, she thought as she went down the hill. Find the killer, Adelia. No matter that Simon of Naples is dead and Rowley Picot is out of action, leaving only me and Mansur. Mansur doesn't speak the language and I am a doctor, not a bloodhound. And that's on top of the fact that we're the only people who think there is a killer yet to be found.\n\nThe ease with which Roger of Acton had enlisted recruits for his attack on the castle garden showed that Cambridge still believed the Jews to be responsible for ritual murder, despite the fact that they were incarcerated when three of the killings had been committed. Logic played no part in it; the Jews were feared because they were different and, for the townspeople, that fear and difference endowed supernatural ability. The Jews had killed Little Saint Peter, ergo they had killed the others.\n\nDespite this, despite the rabbi and Jeremiah, despite grief for Simon, her decision to renounce carnal love and pursue science in chastity, the day persisted in presenting itself as beautiful to her.\n\nWhat is this? I am extended, stretched thin, vulnerable to death and other people's pain but also to life in its infinite width.\n\nThe town and its people swam in pale gold effervescence like the wine from Champagne. A bunch of students touched their caps to her. She was forgiven the toll for the bridge when, fumbling in her pocket for a halfpenny, it was found that she didn't have one. \"Oh, get on, then, and good day to you,\" the tollman said. On the bridge itself, carters raised their whips in salute to her, pedestrians smiled.\n\nTaking the longer way along the riverbank to Old Benjamin's house, willow fronds brushed her in good fellowship and fish came to the surface of the river in bubbles that responded to those in her veins.\n\nThere was a man on Old Benjamin's roof. He waved at her. Adelia waved back.\n\n\"Who is that?\"\n\n\"Gil the thatcher,\" Matilda B. told her. \"Reckons his foot's better and reckons there's a tile or two on that roof as needs fixing.\"\n\n\"He's doing it for nothing?\"\n\n\"A'course for nothing,\" Matilda said, winking. \"Doctor mended his foot for un, didn't he?'\n\nAdelia had put down as bad manners the lack of gratitude shown by Cambridge patients who rarely, if ever, said they were obliged for the treatment they received from Dr. Mansur and his assistant. Usually, they left the room looking as surly as when they'd arrived, in sharp contrast to Salernitan patients who would spend five minutes in her praise.\n\nBut as well as the mending of the tiles, there was to be duck for dinner, provided by the woman, whose growing blindness was at least made less miserable by eyes that no longer suppurated. A pot of honey, a clutch of eggs, a pat of butter, and a crock of a repellent-looking something that turned out to be samphire, all left wordlessly at the kitchen door, suggested that Cambridge folk had more concrete ways of saying thank you.\n\nSomething important was lacking. \"Where's Ulf?\"\n\nMatilda B. pointed toward the river where, under an alder, the top of a dirty brown cap was just apparent above the reeds. \"Catching trout for supper, but tell Gyltha as we're keeping an eye on un. We told un he's not to shift from that spot. Not for jujubes, not for nobody.\"\n\nMatilda W. said, \"He's missed you.\"\n\n\"I missed him.\" And it was true; even in the fury to save Rowley Picot, she had regretted her absence from the boy and sent him messages. She had almost wept over the bunch of primroses tied with a bit of string that he had sent her via Gyltha, \"to say he was sorry for your loss.\" This new love she felt radiated outward in its incandescence; with the death of Simon, its glow fell on those whom, she realized now, had become necessary to her well-being, not least the small boy sitting and scowling on an upturned bucket among the reeds of the Cam with a homemade fishing line in his grubby hands.\n\n\"Move over,\" she told him. \"Let a lady sit down.\"\n\nGrudgingly, he shifted and she took his place. To judge from the number of trout thrashing in the creel, Ulf had picked the spot well; not actually on the Cam proper, he was fishing a stream that welled in the reeds and cut through the silt, forming a decent-sized channel before reaching the river.\n\nCompared with the King's Ditch on the other side of town, a stinking and mostly stagnant dike that had once served to repel invading Danes, the Cam itself was clean, but the fastidious Adelia, though perforce she ate them on Fridays, entertained a suspicion of fish from a river that received effluent from humans and cattle as it meandered through the county's southern villages.\n\nShe appreciated Ulf's choice of springwater into which to make his casts. She sat in silence for a while, watching the fish move, sliding through the water, as clear as if they swam in air. Dragonflies flashed, gemlike, among the reeds.\n\n\"How's Rowley-Powley?\" It was a sneer.\n\n\"Better, and don't be rude.\"\n\nHe grunted and got on with his fishing.\n\n\"What worms are you using?\" she asked politely. \"They work well.\"\n\n\"These?\" He spat. \"Wait til the hangings when the 'sizes start, then you'll see proper worms, take any fish they will.\"\n\nUnwisely, she asked, \"What have hangings to do with it?\"\n\n\"Best worms is them under a gallows with a rotting corpse on it. I thought ev'body knew that. Take any fish, gallows' worms will. Di'n't you know that?\"\n\nShe hadn't and wished she didn't. He was punishing her.\n\n\"You're going to have to talk to me,\" she said. \"Master Simon is dead, Sir Rowley's laid up. I need someone who thinks to help me find the killer--and you're a thinker, Ulf, you know you are.\"\n\n\"Yes, I bloody am.\"\n\n\"And don't swear.\"\n\nMore silence.\n\nHe was using a float, a curious contraption of his own invention that ran his line through a large bird's quill so that the bait and tiny iron hooks were kept to the surface of the water.\n\n\"I missed you,\" she said.\n\n\"Huh.\" If she thought that was going to placate him...but after a while he said, \"Do we reckon as he drowned Master Simon?\"\n\n\"Yes. I know he did.\"\n\nAnother trout rose to a worm, was unhooked, and thrown into the creel. \"It's the river,\" he said.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Adelia sat up.\n\nFor the first time, he looked at her. The small face was screwed up in concentration. \"It's the river. That's what takes 'em. I been asking about...\"\n\n\"No.\" She almost screamed it. \"Ulf, whatever...you mustn't, you must not. Simon was asking questions. Promise me, promise me.\"\n\nHe looked at her with contempt. \"All I done was talk to the kin. No harm in that, is there? Was he a-listening when I done it? Turns hisself into cra and perches on trees, does he?\"\n\nA crow. Adelia shivered. \"I wouldn't put it past him.\"\n\n\"That's dizzy talk. You want to know or not?\"\n\n\"I want to know.\"\n\nHe pulled in his line and detached it from rod and float, arranged both carefully in the wicker box that East Anglians called a frail, then sat cross-legged facing Adelia, like a small Buddha about to deliver enlightenment.\n\n\"Peter, Harold, Mary, Ulric,\" he said. \"I talked with their kin, the which nobody else seems to have listened to. Each of un, each of un, was seen last at the Cam here or heading for un.\"\n\nUlf lifted a finger. \"Peter? By the river.\" He lifted another. \"Mary? She was Jimmer the wildfowler's young un--Hugh Hunter's niece--and what was she about, last seen? Deliverin' a pail o' fourses to her pa in the sedge up along Trumpington way.\"\n\nUlf paused. \"Jimmer was one of them rushed the castle gates. Still blames the Jews for Mary, Jimmer does.\"\n\nSo Mary's father had been among that terrible group of men with Roger of Acton. Adelia remembered that the man was a bully and, quite probably, easing his own guilt for the treatment of his daughter by attacking the Jews.\n\nUlf continued with his list. He jerked a thumb upriver. \"Harold?\" A frown of pain. \"Eel seller's boy, Harold'd gone for water as to put the elvers in. Disappeared...\" Ulf leaned forward. \"Making for the Cam.\"\n\nHer eyes were on his. \"And Ulric?\"\n\n\"Ulric,\" said Ulf, \"lived with his ma and sisters on Sheep's Green. Taken Saint Edward's Day. And what day was Saint Edward's last?\"\n\nAdelia shook her head.\n\n\"Monday.\" He sat back.\n\n\"Monday?\"\n\nHe shook his head at her ignorance. \"You frimmocking me? Washday, woman. Mondays is washday. I talked to his sister. Run out of rainwater to boil, they had, so Ulric was sent with a yoke o' pails...\"\n\n\"Down to the river,\" she finished for him in a whisper.\n\nThey stared at each other and then, together, turned their heads to look toward the Cam.\n\nIt was full; there had been heavy rain during the week; Adelia had shuttered the window of the tower room to stop it coming in. Now, innocent, polished by the sun, it fitted the top edge of its banks like sinuous marquetry.\n\nHad others noticed it as a common factor in the children's deaths? They must have, Adelia thought; even the sheriff's coroner wasn't entirely stupid. The significance, however, could have escaped them. The Cam was the town's larder, waterway, and washpot; its banks provided fuel, roofing, and furniture; everybody used it. That all the children had disappeared while in its vicinity was hardly less surprising than if they had not.\n\nBut Adelia and Ulf knew something else; Simon had been deliberately drowned in that same water--a coincidence stretched too far.\n\n\"Yes, \"she said, \"it's the river.\"\n\nAs evening drew on, the Cam became busy, boats and people outlined against the setting sun so that features were indistinguishable. Those going home after a day's work in town hailed workers coming back from the field to the south, or cursed as their craft caused a jam. Ducks scattered, swans made a fuss as they took flight. A rowing boat carried a new calf that was to be fed by hand at the fireside.\n\n\"Reckon as it took Harold and the others to Wandlebury?\" Ulf asked.\n\n\"No. There's nothing there.\"\n\nShe had begun to discount the hill as the site where the children were murdered; it was too open. The extended suffering they had been subjected to would have required their killer to have more privacy than a hilltop could offer, a chamber, a cellar, somewhere to contain them and their screams. Wandlebury might be lonely, but agony was noisy. Rakshasa would have been fearful of it being heard, unable to take his time.\n\n\"No,\" she said again. \"He may take the bodies to it, but there's somewhere else....\" She was going to say \"where they're put to death,\" then stopped; Ulf was only a little boy, after all. \"And you're right,\" she told him. \"It's on or near the river.\"\n\nThey continued to watch the moving frieze of figures and boats.\n\nHere came three fowlers, their punt low in the water from its piles of geese and duck destined for the sheriff's table. There went the apothecary in his coracle--Ulf said he had a lady friend near Seven Acres. A performing bear sat in a stern while his master rowed it to their hovel near Hauxton. Market women went by with their empty crates, poling easily. An eight-oared barge towed another behind it bearing chalk and marl, heading for the castle.\n\n\"Why d'you go, Hal?\" Ulf was muttering. \"Who was it?\"\n\nAdelia was thinking the same thing. Why had any of the children gone? Who was it on that river had whistled them to the lure? Who had said, \"Come with me?\" and they'd gone. It couldn't have been merely the temptation of jujubes; there must have been authority, trust, familiarity.\n\nAdelia sat up as a cowled figure punted past. \"Who's that?\"\n\nUlf peered through the fading light. \"Him? That's old Brother Gil.\"\n\nBrother Gilbert, eh? \"Where's he going?\"\n\n\"Taking the host to the hermits. Barnwell's got hermits, same as the nuns, and near all of 'em live along the banks upriver in the forests.\" Ulf spat. \"Gran don't hold with them. Dirty old scarecrows, she reckon, cuttin' theyselves off from everybody else. Ain't Christian, Gran says.\"\n\nSo Barnwell's monks used the river to supply the recluses just as the nuns did.\n\n\"But it's evening,\" Adelia said. \"Why do they go so late? Brother Gilbert won't be back in time for Compline.\"\n\nThe religious lived by the tolling of holy hours. For Cambridge generally, the bells acted as a daytime clock; appointments were made by them, sandglasses turned, business begun and closed; they rang laborers to their fields at Lauds, sent them home at vespers. But their clanging by night allowed sleeping laity the schadenfreude of staying in bed while nuns and monks were having to issue from their cells and dorters to sing vigils.\n\nAn appalling knowingness spread over Ulf's unlovely little features. \"That's why,\" he said. \"Gives 'em a night off. Good night's sleep under the stars, bit of hunting or fishing next day, visit a pal, maybe, they all do it. 'Course the nuns take advantage, Gran says, nobody don't know what they get up to in them forests. But...\"\n\nSuddenly, he was squinting at her. \"Brother Gilbert?\"\n\nShe squinted back, nodding. \"He could be.\" How vulnerable children were, she thought. If Ulf with all his mother-wit and knowledge of the circumstances was slow to suspect someone of standing that he knew, the others had been easy prey.\n\n\"He's grumpy, old Gil, I grant,\" the child said, reluctant, \"but he speaks fair to young 'uns and he's a cru--\" Ulf clapped his hands over his mouth and for the first time Adelia saw him discomposed. \"Oh my arse, he went on crusade.\"\n\nThe sun was down now and there were fewer boats on the Cam; those that were had lanterns at the prow so that the river became an untidy necklace of lights.\n\nStill the two of them sat where they were, reluctant to leave, attracted and repelled by the river, so close to the souls of the children it had taken that the rustle of its reeds seemed to carry their whispers.\n\nUlf growled at it. \"Why don't you run backwards, you bugger?\"\n\nAdelia put her arm round his shoulders; she could have wept for him. Yes, reverse nature and time. Bring them home.\n\nMatilda W.'s voice shrieked for them to come in for their supper.\n\n\"How's about tomorrow, then?\" Ulf asked as they walked up to the house. \"We could take old Blackie. He punts well enough.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't dream of going without Mansur,\" she said, \"and if you don't show him respect, you will stay behind.\"\n\nShe knew, as Ulf did, that they must explore the river. Somewhere along its banks there was a building, or a path leading to a building, where such horror had occurred that it must declare itself.\n\nIt might not have a sign outside to that effect, but she would know it when she saw it.\n\nThat night, there was a figure standing on the far bank of the Cam.\n\nAdelia saw it from her open solar window when she was brushing her hair and was so afraid she could not move. For a moment, she and the shadow under the trees faced each other with the intensity of lovers separated by a chasm.\n\nShe backed away, blowing out her candle and feeling behind her for the dagger she kept on her bedside table at night, not daring to take her eyes off the thing on the other bank in case it leaped across the water and in through the window.\n\nOnce she had steel in her hand she felt better. Ridiculous. It would need to have wings or a siege ladder to reach Old Benjamin's windows. It couldn't see her now; the house was in darkness.\n\nBut she knew it watched as she closed the lattice. Felt its eyes piercing the walls as she padded on bare feet downstairs to make sure everywhere was bolted, Safeguard reluctantly following.\n\nTwo arms raised a weapon above her head as she reached the hall.\n\n\"Gor bugger,\" said Matilda B. \"You gone and scared the shit out of I.\"\n\n\"Likewise,\" Adelia told her, panting. \"There's somebody across the river.\"\n\nThe maid lowered the poker she'd been holding. \"Been there every night since your lot went to the castle. Watching, always watching. And little Ulf the only man in the place.\"\n\n\"Where is Ulf?\"\n\nMatilda pointed toward the stairs to the undercroft. \"Safe asleep.\"\n\n\"You're sure?\"\n\n\"Certain.\"\n\nTogether the two women peered through a pane in the rose window.\n\n\"Gone now.\"\n\nThat the figure had disappeared was worse than if it were still there.\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me?\" Adelia wanted to know.\n\n\"Reckon as you had enough on your shoulders. Told the watch, though. Shit lot of good they were. Didn't see nobody nor nothin', not surprising, the rumpus they made marching over the bridge to get there. Peeping Tom, they reckoned it was.\"\n\nMatilda B. went to the middle of the room to replace the poker. For a second, it vibrated against the bars of the fire grate as if the hand that held it was shaking too much to release it. \"Ain't a Peeping Tom, though, is it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe next day, Adelia moved Ulf into the castle tower to stay with Gyltha and Mansur."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "You will not go without me,\" Sir Rowley said, struggling out of bed and falling. \"Ow, ow, God rot Roger of Acton. Give me a cleaver and I'll chop his privates for him, I'll use them for fish bait, I'll...\"\n\nTrying not to laugh, Adelia and Mansur raised her patient from the floor and put him back to bed. Ulf retrieved his nightcap and replaced it on his head.\n\n\"It will be safe enough with Mansur and Ulf--and we are going in daylight,\" she said. \"You, on the other hand, will indulge in light exercise. A gentle walk round the room to strengthen the muscles, that is all you are capable of at the moment, as you see.\"\n\nThe tax collector let out a snarl of frustration and hammered his bedclothes, an action that caused another moan, this time of pain.\n\n\"Stop that nonsense,\" Adelia told him. \"Anyway, it wasn't Acton who wielded the cleaver. I'm not sure who it was, there was such a confusion.\"\n\n\"I don't care. I want him hanged before the assize judges look at his bloody tonsure and let him go.\"\n\n\"He should be punished,\" she said. Acton was certainly responsible for whipping into a frenzy the group that had forced their way in to desecrate Simon's grave. \"But I hope he is not hanged.\"\n\n\"He attacked a royal castle, woman, he damn near neutered me, he needs basting over a slow fire with a spit up his arse.\" Sir Rowley shifted his position and looked at her sideways. \"Have you at all dwelt on the fact that you and I were the only ones to receive injury in the melee? Apart from the likely lads I put out of action, I mean.\"\n\nShe had not. \"In my case, a broken nose hardly merits the title of injury.\"\n\n\"It could have been a great deal worse.\"\n\nIt could, but it had been accidental; in a sense, her own fault for running into battle.\n\n\"Moreover,\" Rowley said, still cunning, \"the rabbi remained unhurt.\"\n\nShe was becoming confused. \"Are you implicating the Jews?\"\n\n\"Of course not. I am merely pointing out that the good rabbi was not set upon. What I'm saying is that only two people remain inquiring into the death of the children now that Simon is dead. You and I. And we were hurt.\"\n\n\"And Mansur,\" she said absently. \"He wasn't hurt.\"\n\n\"They didn't see Mansur until he came into the fight. Besides, he hasn't been asking questions, his English isn't good enough.\"\n\nAdelia pondered it. \"I don't follow your argument,\" she said. \"Are you saying that Roger of Acton is the children's killer? Acton?\"\n\n\"I'm saying, damn it\"--physical weakness was making Rowley testy--\"I'm saying that he was put up to it. The suggestion was made to him or to one of his gang that you and I were Jew lovers better off dead.\"\n\n\"All Jew lovers are better off dead in his view.\"\n\n\"Somebody,\" the tax collector said between gritted teeth, \"somebody is after us. Us, you and me.\"\n\nYou, oh, dear God, she thought. Not us; you. You've been asking questions, Simon and you. At the feast, Simon was addressing you: \"We have him, Sir Rowley.\"\n\nShe groped for the edge of the bed and sat down on it.\n\n\"Ah ha,\" Rowley said, \"Now it's dawning. Adelia, I want you away from Old Benjamin's. You can move in here with the Jews for a while.\"\n\nAdelia thought of last night's figure among the trees. She had not told Rowley what she and Matilda B. had seen; he could do nothing about it, and there was no point in adding to his frustration because he could not.\n\nIt was Ulf the thing had menaced; it was after another child, had specified this particular one for itself. She'd known it then and she knew it now; it was why the boy must spend his nights in the castle and his days always with Mansur nearby.\n\nBut, dear God, if the creature considered Rowley a threat to itself--it was so clever; it had resources--two people she loved were in danger.\n\nThen she thought: Damn it, Rakshasa is achieving what he likes at our expense and locking us all in this damned castle. We shall never find him like this. I, at least, must have the freedom to move.\n\nShe said, \"Ulf, tell Sir Rowley your theory about the river.\"\n\n\"No. He'll say that's squit.\"\n\nAdelia sighed at the incipient jealousy between these two males in her life. \"Tell him.\"\n\nThe boy did so sullenly and without conviction.\n\nRowley pooh-poohed it. \"Everybody's near the river in this town.\" He was equally dismissive of Brother Gilbert as an object of suspicion. \"You think he's Rakshasa? A weedy monk like him couldn't cross Cambridge Heath, let alone the desert.\"\n\nThe argument swayed back and forth. Gyltha entered carrying Rowley's breakfast tray and joined in.\n\nWhile it lasted, though they spoke of horror and suspicion, some of the sting was drawn for Adelia. They were dear to her, these people. To banter with them, even about life and death, was so pleasurable to her who had never bantered that for this moment she knew a piercing happiness. Hic habitat felicitas.\n\nAs for the big, flawed, magical man in the bed, cramming ham into his mouth, he had been hers, his life hers, gained not only by her expertise but by the strength that had flowed out of her into him, a grace sought and granted.\n\nThough marvelous to her, it was a sadly one-sided love affair, and she would have to live on it for the rest of her life. Every moment spent in his company confirmed that to show her vulnerability to him would be ruinous; he would use it either to reject or, even worse, to manipulate. His and her intents were mutually destructive.\n\nAlready, it was ending. With the wound scabbing nicely, he refused to let her dress it, depending instead on the ministrations of Gyltha or Lady Baldwin. \"It's indecent for a maiden female to be finicking about in that man's part,\" he'd said crossly.\n\nShe had forborne asking him where he would be if she hadn't finicked in the first place; she was no longer his necessity; she must withdraw.\n\n\"At any rate,\" she said now, \"we must explore the river.\"\n\n\"In the name of God, don't be so bloody stupid,\" Rowley said.\n\nAdelia got up; she was prepared to die for the swine but not to be insulted. As she tucked the bedclothes more firmly around him, he was enveloped in the smell of her, a mixture of the bogbean tincture that she administered to him three times a day and the chamomile in which she washed her hair--a scent quickly obliterated by the stink of the dog as it passed the bed to follow her out of the room.\n\nRowley looked around in the silence she left. \"Am I not right?\" he said in Arabic to Mansur, and then fractiously, because he was exhausted, \"I won't have her exploring that scum-sucking river.\"\n\n\"Where would you have her, effendi?\"\n\n\"Flat on her back where she belongs.\" If he hadn't been weak and pettish, he wouldn't have said it--at least, not out loud. He looked nervously at the Arab, who was advancing; he was in no state to fight the bastard. \"I didn't mean it,\" he said hastily.\n\n\"That is as well, effendi,\" Mansur said, \"or I should be forced to reopen your wound and extend it.\"\n\nNow Rowley was enveloped in a smell that took him back to the souqs, a mixture of sweat, burnt frankincense, and sandalwood.\n\nThe Arab bent over him and placed the tips of his left fingers and thumb together in front of Rowley's face, then touched them with his right forefinger, a delicate movement that nevertheless cast doubt on Sir Rowley's parentage by indicating that he had five fathers.\n\nThen he stood back, bowed, and left the room, followed by the dwarfish child whose own gesture was simpler, cruder, but just as explicit.\n\nGyltha gathered up the tray and its wreckage before going after them. \"Don't know what you said, bor, but there's better ways of putting it.\"\n\nOh, Lord, he thought, sinking back, I am become childish. Lord, deliver me, though, it is true. That's where I want her, in bed, under me.\n\nAnd he wanted her so much that he'd had to stop her dressing his wound with that green muck--What was it? Comfrey?--because his adjacent part had gotten its strength back and tended to rise every time she touched him.\n\nHe berated his god and himself for putting him in such a fix; she was not at all his type of woman. Remarkable? Never a woman more so; he owed her his life. On top of that, he could talk to her as he could to no other, male or female. He had revealed more of himself while telling her about his hunt for Rakshasa than he had when he'd related it to the king--and, he was afraid, had revealed a damn sight more in his delirium. He could swear in her company--though not at her, as her departure from the room had just proved--making her an easy as well as desirable companion.\n\nCould she be seduced? Quite probably; she might be conversant with all the functions of the body, but she was undoubtedly naive about what made its heart beat faster--and Rowley had learned to have faith in his considerable, though little understood, attraction for women.\n\nSeduce her, however, and at one stroke you removed not only her clothing but her honor and, of course, her remarkableness, thus rendering her just another woman in another bed.\n\nAnd he wanted her as she was; her hmms as she concentrated, her appalling dress sense--though she had looked very nice indeed at the Grantchester feast--the importance she ascribed to all humanity, even its dregs, especially its dregs, the gravity which could dissolve into an astonishing laugh, the way she squared her shoulders when she felt daunted, the way she mixed his dreadful medicines and the kindness of her hands as she held the cup to his mouth, the way she walked, the way she did everything. She had a quality he had never known; she was quality.\n\n\"Oh to hell,\" said Sir Rowley to the empty room. \"I'll have to marry the woman.\"\n\nThe venture upriver, while beautiful, proved fruitless. Considering its purpose, Adelia was ashamed of enjoying so much a day spent in drifting through tunnels formed by overbranching trees from which they emerged into sunlight where women momentarily ceased laundering to wave and call, where an otter swam craftily by the side of the punt while men and hounds on the far side hunted for it, where fowlers spread their nets, where children tickled for trout, where mile-long stretches of bank were empty except for warblers balancing perilously on the reeds as they sang.\n\nThe Safeguard loped dolefully along the bank, having rolled in something that made his presence in the punt untenable, while Mansur and Ulf took turns poling, competing with each other in a skill seeming so easy that Adelia asked if she might try, eventually clinging to the pole like a monkey as the punt proceeded without her and having to be rescued by Mansur because Ulf was laughing too hard to move.\n\nShacks, huts, fowlers' hides aplenty lined the river--each one likely to be deserted by night and each desolate enough for any scream issuing from it to be heard only by the wildlife--so many that it would have taken a month to investigate them all and a year to follow the little beaten paths and bridges through the reeds that led to others.\n\nTributaries flowed into the Cam, some of them mere streams, some of considerable size and navigable. These great flatlands, Adelia realized, were veined with waterways; causeways, bridges, roads were ill-kept and often impassable, but anybody could go anywhere with a boat.\n\nWhile Safeguard chased birds, the other three explorers ate some of the bread and cheese and drank half the cider that Gyltha had provided, sitting on a bank by the boathouse at Grantchester where Sir Joscelin stored his punts.\n\nWater sent quiet, wobbling reflections onto walls that held oars, poles, and fishing tackle; nothing spoke of death. In any case, a look toward the great house in the distance showed that, like all manors, Sir Joscelin's was too occupied for horror to take place unnoticed. Unless dairymaids, cowherds, stablers, fieldhands, and the house servants were all complicit in the children's abduction, the crusader was not a murderer in his own home.\n\nGoing back down the river toward town, Ulf spat into the water. \"Waste of bloody time that was.\"\n\n\"Not entirely,\" Adelia told him. The excursion had brought home something she should have recognized before. Whether they went willingly with their abductor or not, the children would have been seen. Every boat on these stretches below the Great Bridge had a shallow draft and low gunwales, making it impossible to conceal the presence of anyone bigger than a baby--unless he or she were lying flat under the thwarts. Therefore, either the children had hidden themselves or they had been rendered unconscious and a coat, a piece of sacking, something, had been thrown over them for the journey that had taken them to the place of their death.\n\nShe pointed this out in Arabic and English.\n\n\"He does not use a boat, then,\" Mansur said. \"The devil throws them across his saddle. Takes a route across country unseen.\"\n\nIt was possible; most habitation in this part of Cambridgeshire was on a waterway, its interior virtually deserted apart from grazing cloven-hoofed beasts, but Adelia didn't think so; the predominance of the river in each child's disappearance argued against it.\n\n\"Then it is the thebaicum,\" Mansur suggested.\n\n\"Opium?\" That was more likely. Adelia had been gratified by how extensively the Eastern poppy was grown in this unlikely area of England and by the availability of its properties, but also alarmed. The apothecary, he who visited his mistress by night, distilled it in alcohol, calling it Saint Gregory's Cordial, and sold it to anybody, though keeping it below his counter out of sight from clerics who condemned the mixture as godless for its ability to relieve pain, an attribute that should be left exclusively to the Lord.\n\n\"That's it,\" Ulf said. \"He gives 'em a drop of the Gregory's.\" He crinkled up his eyes and exposed his teeth. \"Take a sip of this, my pretty, and come along of me to paradise.\"\n\nIt was a caricature of wheedling malevolence that chilled the warmth of spring.\n\nAdelia was chilled again when, next morning, she sat in the sanctum of a leaded-windowed countinghouse on Castle Hill. The room was stacked with documents and chests bound by chains with locks, a hard-cornered, masculine room built to intimidate would-be borrowers and to accommodate women not at all. Master De Barque, of De Barque Brothers, received her into it with reluctance and met her request with a negative.\n\n\"But the letter of credit was in the name both Simon of Naples and myself,\" Adelia protested and heard her voice being absorbed into the walls.\n\nDe Barque extended a finger and pushed a roll of vellum with a seal on it across the table to her. \"Read it for yourself, mistress, if you are capable of understanding Latin.\"\n\nShe read it. Among the \"heretofores\" and \"wherebys\" and \"compliance therewith\" the Luccan bankers in Salerno, the issuers, promised to pay on behalf of the applicant, the King of Sicily, to the Brothers De Barque of Cambridge such sums as Simon of Naples, the beneficiary, should require. No other name was mentioned.\n\nShe looked up into the fat, impatient, disinterested face. How vulnerable to insult you were if you lacked money. \"But it was understood,\" she said. \"I was Master Simon's equal in the enterprise. I was chosen for it.\"\n\n\"I am sure you were, mistress,\" Master De Barque said.\n\nHe thinks I came along as Simon's strumpet. Adelia sat up, squaring her shoulders. \"An application to the Salerno bank or to King William in Sicily will verify me.\"\n\n\"Then make it, mistress. In the meantime...\" Master De Barque picked up a bell on the table and rang it to summon his clerk. He was a busy man.\n\nAdelia sat where she was. \"It will take months.\" She didn't have enough money to pay even what it would cost to send the letter. There had been only a few clipped pennies in Simon's room when she'd gone to look; either he had been preparing to apply to these bankers for more or he had kept what he had in the wallet his killer had taken. \"May I borrow until--\"\n\n\"We do not lend to women.\"\n\nShe resisted the clerk taking her by the arm to lead her out. \"Then what am I to do?\" There was the apothecary's bill to pay, Simon's headstone to be inscribed by a stonemason, Mansur needed new boots, she needed new boots...\n\n\"Mistress, we are a Christian organization. I suggest you apply to the Jews. They are the king's chosen usurers, and I understand you are close to them.\"\n\nThere it was, in his eye. She was a woman and a Jew lover.\n\n\"You know the Jews' situation,\" she said desperately. \"At present they have no access to their money.\"\n\nFor a moment the flesh on Master De Barque's face creased into warmth. \"Have they not?\" he said.\n\nAs they went up the hill, Adelia and Safeguard were passed by a prison cart containing beggars; the castle beadle was rounding them up ready for sentence at the coming assize. A woman was shaking its bars with skeletal hands.\n\nAdelia stared after her. How powerless we are when we're destitute.\n\nNever in her life had she been without money. I must go home. But I cannot, not until the killer is found, and even then, how can I leave? She turned her mind from the name; she would have to leave him sooner or later.... In any case, I cannot travel. I have no money.\n\nWhat to do? She was a Ruth amid alien corn. Ruth had solved her situation by marrying, which was not an option in this case.\n\nCould she even exist? Patients had been redirected to the castle while she'd been there, and, in between looking after Rowley, she and Mansur had attended to them. But nearly all were too poor to pay cash.\n\nHer anxiety was not placated when, on entering the castle's tower room with Safeguard, she found Sir Rowley up and dressed, sitting on the bed, and chatting with Sir Joscelin of Grantchester and Sir Gervase of Coton. As she bustled toward him, she said irritably to Gyltha, who stood sentinel-like in a corner, \"He's supposed to be resting.\" She ignored the two knights who had risen at her entrance--Gervase reluctantly and only at a signal from his companion. She took the patient's pulse. It was steadier than her own.\n\n\"Don't be angry with us, mistress,\" Sir Joscelin said. \"We came to sympathize with Sir Rowley. It was God's mercy you and the doctor were by. The wretch Acton...we can only hope the assize will not allow him to escape the rope. We are all agreed hanging's too good for him.\"\n\n\"Are you, indeed?\" she snapped.\n\n\"The lady Adelia does not countenance hanging; she has crueler methods,\" Rowley said. \"She'd treat all criminals with a hearty dose of hyssop.\"\n\nSir Joscelin smiled. \"Now that is cruel.\"\n\n\"And your methods are effective, are they?\" Adelia asked. \"Blinding and hanging and cutting off hands makes us all safer in our beds, does it? Kill Roger of Acton and there will be no more crime?\"\n\n\"And the killer of the children, mistress,\" Sir Joscelin asked gently. \"What would you have done to him?\"\n\nAdelia was slow to answer.\n\n\"She hesitates,\" Sir Gervase said with disgust. \"What sort of woman is she?\"\n\nShe was a woman who regarded legislated death as an effrontery by those imposing it--so easily and sometimes for so little cause--because life, to her, who wished to save it, was the only true miracle. She was a woman who never sat with the judge or stood with the executioner but always clung to the bar with the accused. Would I have come to this place in his or her circumstances? Had I been born to what he or she was born to, would I have done differently? If someone other than two doctors from Salerno had picked up the baby on Vesuvius, would it cower where this man or woman cowers?\n\nFor her, the law should be the point at which savagery ended because civilization stood in its path. We do not kill because we stand for betterment. She supposed the killer had to die and most certainly would, the putting down of a rabid animal, but the doctor in her would always wonder why it had turned rabid and grieve for not knowing.\n\nShe turned away from them to go to the medicine table and noticed for the first time how rigidly Gyltha was standing. \"What's the matter?\"\n\nThe housekeeper looked worn, suddenly aged. Her hands were flat and supporting a small reed casket in much the same manner as the faithful received consecrated bread from the priest before putting it into the mouth.\n\nRowley called from his bed, \"Sir Joscelin has brought me some sweetmeats, Adelia, but Gyltha won't let me have them.\"\n\n\"Not I,\" Joscelin said. \"I am merely their porter. Lady Baldwin asked me to carry them up the stairs.\"\n\nGyltha's eyes held Adelia's, then looked down at the casket. Letting it rest on one hand, she raised its lid slightly with the other.\n\nInside, lying on pretty leaves, like eggs in a nest, was an assortment of colored, scented, lozenge-shaped jujubes.\n\nThe two women stared at each other. Adelia felt ill. With her back to the men, she silently shaped the word: \"Poison?\"\n\nGyltha shrugged.\n\n\"Where's Ulf?\"\n\n\"Mansur,\" Gyltha mouthed back. \"Safe.\"\n\nAdelia said slowly, \"The doctor has forbidden Sir Rowley confits.\"\n\n\"Hand them round to our visitors, then,\" Rowley called from his bed.\n\nWe can't hide from Rakshasa, Adelia thought. We are targets; wherever we are, we stand exposed like straw men for him to shoot at.\n\nShe nodded her head toward the door and turned to the men, while behind her, Gyltha left the room, carrying the casket with her.\n\nThe medicines. Hurriedly, Adelia checked them. All stoppers were in place, the boxes piled neatly as she and Gyltha always left them.\n\nYou are being absurd, she thought; he is somewhere outside; he cannot have tampered with anything. But last night's horror of a Rakshasa with wings was on her and she knew she would change every herb, every syrup on the table before administering them.\n\nIs he outside? Has he been here? Is he here now?\n\nBehind her, the conversation had turned to horses as it always did among knights.\n\nShe was aware of Gervase lolling in his chair because she felt his awareness of her. His sentences were grunted and abstracted. When she glanced at him, his look turned to a deliberate sneer.\n\nKiller or not, she thought, you're a brute and your presence is an insult. She marched to the door and held it open. \"The patient is tired, gentlemen.\"\n\nSir Joscelin rose. \"We are sorry not to have seen Dr. Mansur, aren't we, Gervase? Pass on our compliments to him, if you would.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\" Sir Gervase demanded.\n\n\"Improving Rabbi Gotsce's Arabic,\" Rowley told him.\n\nAs he passed her on his way out, Gervase muttered, as if to his companion, \"That's rich, a Jew and a Saracen in a royal castle. Why to hell did we go on crusade?\"\n\nAdelia slammed the door behind him.\n\nRowley said crossly, \"Damn it, woman, I was edging the talk round to Outremer to find out who was where and when; one might let something slip about the other.\"\n\n\"Did they?\" she demanded.\n\n\"You ushered them out too fast, damn it.\" Adelia recognized the irritability of recuperation. \"Oddly enough, though, Brother Gilbert admitted to being in Cyprus at about the right time.\"\n\n\"Brother Gilbert was here?\"\n\nAnd Prior Geoffrey and Sheriff Baldwin and the apothecary--with a concoction he'd sworn would heal a wound within minutes--and Rabbi Gotsce. \"I'm a popular man. What's the matter?\" For Adelia had slammed a box of powdered burdock so hard on the table that its lid came off, emitting a cloud of green dust.\n\n\"You are not popular,\" she said, teeth gritted. \"You are a corpse. Rakshasa would poison you.\"\n\nShe went back to the door, calling for Gyltha, but the housekeeper was already coming up the stairs, still holding the casket. Adelia snatched it from her, opened it, and shoved it under Rowley's nose. \"What are those?\"\n\n\"Dear Christ,\" he said. \"Jujubes.\"\n\n\"I been asking round,\" Gyltha said. \"Little girl handed 'em to one of the sentries, saying as they was from her mistress for the poorly gentleman in the tower. Lady Baldwin was going to carry 'em up, but Sir Joscelin said he'd save her legs. Always the polite gentleman, he is, not like t'other.\"\n\nGyltha didn't hold with Sir Gervase.\n\n\"And the little girl?\"\n\n\"Sentry's one of them sent from London by the king to help guard the Jews. Barney, his name is. Didn't know her, he says.\"\n\nMansur and Ulf were summoned so that the matter could be gone over in conference.\n\n\"They could be merely jujubes, as they seem,\" said Rowley.\n\n\"Suck one an' see,\" Ulf told him sharply. \"What you think, missus?\"\n\nAdelia had picked one up in her tweezers and was smelling it. \"I can't tell.\"\n\n\"Let's test them,\" Rowley said. \"Let's send them down to the cells for Roger of Acton, with our compliments.\"\n\nIt was tempting, but instead Mansur took them down to the courtyard to throw the casket on the smithy fire.\n\n\"There will be no more visitors to this room,\" Adelia instructed. \"And none of you, especially Ulf, is to leave the castle or wander in it alone.\"\n\n\"Goddammit, woman, we'll never find him like that.\"\n\nRowley, it appeared, had been carrying on his own investigation from his bed, using his role as tax inspector to question his visitors.\n\nFrom the Jews he had learned that Chaim, according to his code, had never talked about his clients nor mentioned the size of their debts. His only records were those that had burned or been stolen from Simon's body.\n\n\"Unless the Exchequer in Winchester has a list of tallies, which it may well do--I've sent my squire there to find out--the king will not be best pleased; the Jews provide a large part of this nation's income. And when Henry isn't pleased...\"\n\nBrother Gilbert had announced that he would rather burn than approach Jews for money. The crusading apothecary as well as Sir Joscelin and Sir Gervase had said the same, though less forcefully. \"They're not likely to tell me if they did, of course, but all three seem finely set up from their own efforts.\"\n\nGyltha nodded. \"They done well out of the Holy Land. John was able to start his 'pothecary shop when he got back. Gervase, nasty little turd he was as a boy and he ain't any pleasanter now, but he's getting hisself more land. And young Joscelin as didn't have a rag to his arse thanks to his pa, he's made a palace out of Grantchester. Brother Gilbert? He's allus Brother Gilbert.\"\n\nThey heard labored breathing on the stairs and Lady Baldwin came in, holding her side with one hand and a letter in the other. \"Sickness. At the convent. Lord help us. If it be the plague...\"\n\nMatilda W. followed her in.\n\nThe letter was for Adelia and had been delivered first to Old Benjamin's house whence Matilda W. had brought it. It was a scrap of parchment torn from some manuscript, showing its terrible urgency, but the writing on it was strong and clear.\n\n\"Prioress Joan presents her compliments to Mistress Adelia, assistant to Dr. Mansur, of whom she has heard good reports. Pestilence has broken out amongst us and I ask in the name of Jesus and his dear Mother for said Mistress Adelia to visit this convent of the blessed Saint Radegund that she may then report to the good doctor and solicit his advice on what may alleviate the sisters' suffering, it being very severe and some near to death.\"\n\nA postscript read: \"To be no haggling over fees. All this to be done with discretion so as to avoid the spread of alarm.\"\n\nA groom and horse were awaiting Adelia in the courtyard below.\n\n\"I shall send you with some of my beef tea,\" Lady Baldwin told Adelia. \"Joan is not usually alarmed. It must be dire.\"\n\nIt must be, Adelia thought, for a Christian prioress to beg the aid of a Saracen doctor.\n\n\"The infirmaress have gone down with it,\" Matilda W. said--she'd heard the groom's report. \"Spewing and shitting fit to bust, the lot of 'em. God help us if it be the plague. Ain't this town suffered enough? What's Little Saint Peter at that the holy sisters ain't spared?\"\n\n\"You will not go, Adelia,\" Rowley said.\n\n\"I must.\"\n\n\"I fear she should,\" said Lady Baldwin. \"The prioress does not allow a man in the nuns' inner sanctum, despite those wicked rumors, except a priest to hear their confession, of course. With the infirmaress hors de combat, Mistress Adelia is the next best thing, an excellent thing. If she keeps a clove of garlic up each nostril, she cannot succumb.\" She hurried away to prepare her beef tea.\n\nAdelia was giving explanations and instruction to Mansur. \"O friend of the ages, look after this man and this woman and this boy while I am absent. Let them go nowhere alone. The devil is abroad. Guard over them in the name of Allah.\"\n\n\"And who shall guard over you, little one? The holy women will not object to the presence of a eunuch.\"\n\nAdelia smiled. \"It is not a harem, the women safeguard their temple from all men. I shall be safe enough.\"\n\nUlf was tugging at her arm. \"I can come. I ain't growed yet, they know me at Saint Raggy's. And I don't never catch nothing.\"\n\n\"You're not going to catch this, either,\" she said.\n\n\"You will not go,\" Rowley said. Wincing, he dragged Adelia to the window away from the others. \"It's a bloody plot to get you unprotected. Rakshasa's in it somewhere.\"\n\nBack on his feet, Adelia was reminded of how big he was and what it was for a powerful man to be kept powerless. Nor had she realized that, for him, Simon's murder had seemed a preliminary to her own. Just as she was frightened for him, so was he for her. She was touched, gratified, but there were things to attend to--Gyltha must be told to change the medicines on the table; she had to collect others from Old Benjamin's...she didn't have time for him now.\n\n\"You're the one who's been asking questions,\" she said gently. \"I beg you to take care of yourself and my people. You merely need nursing at this stage, not a doctor. Gyltha will look after you.\" She tried to disengage herself from him. \"You must see that I have to go to them.\"\n\n\"For God's sake,\" he shouted. \"You can stop playing the doctor for once, can't you?\"\n\nPlaying the doctor. Playing the doctor?\n\nThough his hand was still on her, it was as if the ground had fallen between them, and looking up into his eyes, she saw herself across the chasm--a pleasant little creature enough but a deluded one, merely busying itself, a spinster filling in time until she should be claimed by what was basic for a woman.\n\nBut if so, what was the line of suffering that waited for her every day? What was Gil the thatcher who was able to climb up ladders?\n\nAnd what are you, she thought, amazed, looking into his eyes, who should have bled to death and didn't?\n\nShe knew in absolute certainty now that she should never marry him. She was Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, who would be very, very lonely but always a doctor.\n\nShe shook herself free. \"The patient can resume solid food, Gyltha, but change all those medicaments for fresh,\" she said and went out.\n\nAnyway, she thought, I need that fee the prioress promised.\n\nSaint Radegund's church and its outhouses near the river were deceptive, having been built after the Danes stopped invading and before the foundation ran out of money. The main body of the convent, its chapel and residences, was larger and lonelier and had known the reign of Edward the Confessor.\n\nIt stood away from the river hidden among trees so that Viking longboats snaking through the shallow waters of the Cam tributaries might not find it. When the monks, who'd inhabited it originally, died out, the place had been granted to religious women.\n\nAll this Adelia learned over the shoulder of Edric as, with Safeguard following, his horse carried them both into the convent estate via a side gate in its wall, the main gates having been barred against visitors.\n\nLike Matilda W., the groom was aggrieved by Little Saint Peter's failure to do his job. \"It do look bad shutting up, with the pilgrim season just starting proper,\" he said. \"Mother Joan's right put out.\"\n\nHe set Adelia down by a stable block and kennels, the only well-kept convent buildings she had seen so far, and pointed to a path skirting a paddock. \"God go with you, missis.\" Obviously, he would not.\n\nAdelia, however, was not prepared to be cut off from the outside world. She ordered the man to go to the castle each morning, taking any message she might need to send and asking how her people did, and to bring back the answer.\n\nShe set off with Safeguard. The clatter of the town across the river faded. Larks rose around her, their song like bursting bubbles. Behind her the prioress's hounds sent up a belling and a roe deer barked somewhere in the forest ahead.\n\nThe same forest, she remembered, that contained the manor of Sir Gervase, and into which Little Saint Peter had disappeared.\n\n\"Can this be managed?\" Prioress Joan demanded. She was more haggard than when Adelia had last seen her.\n\n\"Well, it isn't the plague,\" Adelia told her, \"nor typhus, Lord be thanked; none of the sisters has the rash. I believe it to be cholera.\"\n\nShe added, because the prioress went pale, \"A milder form than the one found in the East, though bad enough. I am concerned for your infirmaress and Sister Veronica.\" The oldest and the youngest. Sister Veronica was the nun who, praying over Little Saint Peter's reliquary, had presented Adelia with an image of imperishable grace.\n\n\"Veronica.\" The prioress appeared distraught--and Adelia liked her better for it. \"The sweetest-natured of them all, may God attend her. What is to be done?\"\n\nWhat indeed? Adelia glanced in dismay across to the other side of the cloister, where, beyond the pillars of its walk, rose what looked like an outsize pigeon-loft, two rows of ten doorless arches, each giving to a cell less than five feet wide, inside which lay a prostrate nun.\n\nThere was no infirmary--the title \"infirmaress\" seemed to be an honorary designation settled on the elderly Sister Odilia merely because she was skilled in herbs. No dorter, either--nowhere, in fact, for the nuns to be cared for collectively.\n\n\"The original monks were ascetics who preferred the privacy of individual cells,\" the prioress said, catching Adelia's look. \"We keep to them because as yet we have had no money to build. Can you manage?\"\n\n\"I shall need assistance.\" Caring single-handedly for twenty women severely afflicted with diarrhea and vomiting would be hard enough in a ward, but to fetch and carry from cell to cell, up and down the wickedly narrow and railless flight of steps that led to the upper cells, would cut down the carer herself.\n\n\"I fear our servants fled at the mention of plague.\"\n\n\"We don't want them back in any case,\" Adelia said firmly. A glimpse of the convent house suggested that those who should have kept it ordered had allowed slovenliness to reign long before disease overtook it, a slackness that might have caused the disease itself.\n\nShe said, \"May I ask if you eat with your nuns?\"\n\n\"And what has that to do with the price of fish, mistress?\" The prioress was offended, as if Adelia was accusing her of dereliction.\n\nSo Adelia was, in a way. She remembered Mother Ambrose's care for the physical and spiritual nourishment of her nuns while presiding over meals in Saint Giorgio's immaculate refectory, where wholesome food was accompanied by a reading from the Bible, where a nun's lack of appetite for either could be noted and acted on. But she did not want confrontation so early and said, \"It may have something to do with the poisoning.\"\n\n\"Poisoning? Do you suggest that someone is trying to murder us?\"\n\n\"Deliberately, no. Accidentally, yes. Cholera is a form of poisoning. Since you yourself seem to have escaped it...\"\n\nThe prioress's expression suggested that she was beginning to regret calling Adelia in. \"As it happens, I have my own quarters, and I am usually too occupied by convent business to eat with the sisters. I have been at Ely this last week, consulting with the abbot on...on religious matters.\"\n\nBuying one of the abbot's horses, so Edric the groom had said.\n\nPrioress Joan went on: \"I suggest you confine your interest to the matter in hand. Inform your doctor that there are no poisoners here and, in the name of God, ask him what is to be done.\"\n\nWhat had to be done was to solicit help. Satisfied that it was not the convent's air causing the nuns' sickness--though the place was dank and smelled of rot--Adelia walked back to the kennels and sent Edric the groom for the Matildas.\n\nThey arrived, and Gyltha with them. \"The boy's safe in the castle with Sir Rowley and Mansur,\" she said when Adelia reproved her. \"Reckon you need me more than he do.\"\n\nThat was undoubted, but it was dangerous for them all.\n\n\"I shall be glad of you by day,\" Adelia told the three women. \"You shall not stay by night because, while the pestilence lasts, you will not eat any of the convent's food nor drink its water. I insist on this. Also, buckets of brandy will stand in the cloister, and after touching the nuns, or their chamber pots, or anything that is theirs, you must lave your hands in them.\"\n\n\"Brandy?\"\n\n\"Brandy.\"\n\nAdelia had her own theory concerning diseases such as the one ravaging the nuns. Like so many of her theories, it did not accord with that of Galen or any other medical influences in vogue. She believed that the flux in cases like this was the body's attempt to rid itself of a substance it could not tolerate. Poison in one form or another had gone in and, ergo, poison was coming out. Water itself was so often contaminated--as in the poorer districts of Salerno, where disease was ever-present--it must be treated as a source of the original poison until proved otherwise. Since anything distilled, in this case brandy, frequently stopped wounds from putrefying, it might also act on any ejected poison that touched the hands of a nurse and prevent her from ingesting it herself.\n\nSo Adelia reasoned and acted on.\n\n\"My brandy?\" The prioress expressed dissatisfaction at seeing the cask from her cellar poured into two buckets.\n\n\"The doctor insists on it,\" Adelia told her, as if the messages Edric brought from the castle had contained instructions from Mansur.\n\n\"I would have you know that is best Spanish,\" Joan said.\n\n\"An even stronger specific.\"\n\nSince they were all in the kitchen at that moment, Adelia had the prioress at a disadvantage; she suspected the woman of never having entered it. The place was dark and verminous; several rats had fled at their entrance--Safeguard yelping after them with the most animation Adelia had ever seen in him. The stone walls were encrusted with grease. Such grooves of the pine table block that could be seen beneath litter were filled with grime. There was a smell of rotting sweetness. Pots hanging from hooks retained furred remnants of meals, flour bins were uncovered, and there was a suggestion of movement in their contents, the same applied to the open vats of cooking water--Adelia wondered if it was in one of these that the nuns had boiled Little Saint Peter's corpse and whether it had been cleaned afterward. Shreds clinging to the blade of a meat cleaver stank like pus.\n\nAdelia looked up from sniffing them. \"No poisoner here, you say? Your cooks should be arrested.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" the prioress said. \"A bit of dirt never hurt anybody.\" But she pulled at the collar of her pet gazehound to stop him from licking an unidentified mess sticking to a platter on the floor. Rallying, she said, \"I am paying Dr. Mansur that my nuns be made well, not for his subordinate to spy on the premises.\"\n\n\"Dr. Mansur says that to treat the premises is to treat the patient.\"\n\nAdelia would not give way on this. She had fed a pill of opium to the worst cases in the cells in order to relieve their cramps, and now, apart from washing the rest and giving them sips of boiled water--which Gyltha and Matilda W. were already about--little could be done for the invalids until the kitchen was fit to use on their behalf.\n\nAdelia turned to Matilda B., whose Herculean task this was to be. \"Can you do it, little one? Cleanse these Augean stables?\"\n\n\"Kept horses in here as well, did they?\" Rolling up her sleeves, Matilda B. looked around her.\n\n\"Quite probably.\"\n\nFollowed resentfully by the prioress, Adelia went on a tour of inspection. An aumbry in the refectory contained labeled jars that spoke well of Sister Odilia's knowledge of herbology, though it also held a plentiful supply of opium--too plentiful, in the opinion of Adelia, who, knowing the drug's power, kept her own cache to a minimum in case of theft.\n\nThe convent's water proved healthy. A peat-colored but pure ground spring had been enclosed in a conduit that ran through the buildings, first to serve the kitchen before supplying the fish in the convent's stew outside, then on to the nuns' laundry, lavatorium, and, finally, to course along a helpful slope under the long, many-holed bench in the outhouse that was the privy. The bench was clean enough, though nobody had brushed out the runnel beneath it for many a long month--a job that Adelia reserved for the prioress, seeing no reason why Gyltha or the Matildas should have to do it.\n\nBut that was for later. Having done her best to ensure that the condition of her patients was not made worse, Adelia turned her energy to saving their lives.\n\nPrior Geoffrey came to save their souls. It was generous of him, considering the feud between him and the prioress. It was also brave; the priest who usually heard the sisters' confession had refused to risk the plague and instead sent a letter containing a generalized absolution for any sins that might come up.\n\nIt was raining. Gargoyles spouted water from the roof of the cloister walk into the unkempt garden at its center. Prioress Joan received the prior, thanking him with stiff politeness. Adelia took his wet cloak to the kitchen to dry.\n\nBy the time she returned, Prior Geoffrey was alone. \"Bless the woman,\" he said. \"I believe her to suspect me of trying to steal Little Saint Peter's bones while she is yet at this disadvantage.\"\n\nAdelia was happy to see him. \"Are you well, Prior?\"\n\n\"Well enough.\" He winked at her. \"Functioning nicely so far.\"\n\nHe was leaner than he had been and looked fitter. She was relieved for that, and also by his mission. \"Their sins seem so little, except to them,\" she said of the nuns. In their more terrible moments, when they thought themselves near death, she had heard most of her patients' reasons for dreading hellfire. \"Sister Walburga ate some of the sausage she was taking upriver for the anchorites, but you'd think from her distress that she was a Horseman of the Apocalypse and the Whore of Babylon rolled into one.\"\n\nIndeed, Adelia had already discounted the accusations made by Brother Gilbert against the nuns' behavior. A doctor learned many secrets from an acutely ill patient, and Adelia found these women to be slapdash perhaps, undisciplined, mostly illiterate--all failings that she put down to the negligence of their prioress--but not immoral.\n\n\"She shall be reconciled through Christ for the sausage,\" Prior Geoffrey said solemnly.\n\nBy the time he had finished confessing the sisters on the ground floor, it was dark. Adelia waited for him outside Sister Veronica's cell at the end of the row, to light him to the upper cells.\n\nHe paused. \"I have given Sister Odilia the last rites.\"\n\n\"Prior, I hope to save her yet.\"\n\nHe patted her shoulder. \"Not even you can perform miracles, my child.\" He looked back to the cell he had just left. \"I worry for Sister Veronica.\"\n\n\"So do I.\" The young nun was ill beyond what she should be.\n\n\"Confession has not eased that child's sense of sin,\" Prior Geoffrey said. \"It can be the cross of those who are holy-minded, like her, that they fear God too much. For Veronica, the blood of our Lord is still moist.\"\n\nHaving seen him, complaining, up steps that were slippery from the rain, Adelia went back down the row to Odilia's cell. The infirmaress lay as she had for days, her twiggy, soil-engrained hands plucking at her blanket in an effort to throw it off.\n\nAdelia covered her, wiped away some of the unction trickling down her forehead, and tried to feed her Gyltha's calf's-foot jelly. The old woman compressed her lips. \"It will give you strength,\" Adelia pleaded. It was no good; Odilia's soul wanted free of the empty, exhausted body.\n\nIt felt like desertion to leave her, but Gyltha and the Matildas had gone for the night, though reluctantly, and with only the prioress and herself to do it, Adelia had to see the other sisters fed.\n\nWalburga, she who had been Ulf's \"Sister Fatty\" and was now much thinner, said, \"The Lord has forgiven me; the Lord be praised.\"\n\n\"I thought he might. Here, open your mouth.\"\n\nBut after a few spoonfuls, the nun again showed concern. \"Who'll be a-feeding our anchorites now? 'Tis wicked to eat if they be starving.\"\n\n\"I'll speak to Prior Geoffrey. Open up. One for the Father. Good girl. One for the Holy Ghost...\"\n\nSister Agatha, next door, had another bout of sickness after taking three spoonfuls. \"Don't you worry,\" she said, wiping her mouth, \"I'll be better tomorrow. How's the others doing? I want the truth now.\"\n\nAdelia liked Agatha, the nun who had been brave enough, or drunk enough, to provoke Brother Gilbert at the Grantchester feast. \"Most are better,\" she said, and then, in response to Agatha's quizzical look, \"but Sister Odilia and Sister Veronica are still not as well as I'd like.\"\n\n\"Oh, not Odilia.\" Agatha said, urgently, \"Good old stick, she is. Mary, Mother of God, intercede for her.\"\n\nAnd Veronica? No intercession for her? The omission was strange; it had been evident when other nuns asked after their sisters in Christ; only Walburga, who was about the same age, had inquired for her.\n\nPerhaps the girl's beauty and youth were resented, as was the fact that she was the prioress's obvious favorite.\n\nFavorite, indeed, Adelia thought. There had been agony in Joan's face that spoke of great love when she looked on Veronica's suffering. Being sensitive to the existence of love in all its forms now, Adelia found herself sincerely pitying the woman and wondered if the energy she put into her hunting was a way of redirecting a passion for which, as a nun, and especially one in authority, she must be clawed by guilt.\n\nHad Sister Veronica been aware of being an object of desire? Probably not. As Prior Geoffrey said, there was an otherworldliness to the girl that spoke of a spiritual life the rest of the convent lacked.\n\nThe other nuns must know of it, though. The young nun didn't complain, but the bruises on her skin suggested she'd been physically bullied.\n\nWhen he'd finished in the upper cells, Adelia made the prior wash his hands in the brandy. The procedure bemused him. \"Usually, I take it internally. However, I no longer question anything you would have me do.\"\n\nShe lit him to the gate, where a groom waited for him with their two horses. \"A heathenish place, this,\" he said, lingering. \"Perhaps it is the architecture or the barbarous monks who built it, but I am always more conscious of the Horned One than of sanctity when I am in it, and for once I am not referring to Prioress Joan. The arrangement of those cells alone...\" He grimaced. \"I am reluctant to leave you here--and with so little help.\"\n\n\"I have Gyltha and the Matildas,\" Adelia told him, \"and the Safeguard, of course.\"\n\n\"Gyltha is with you? Why did I not see her? Then there's no need for worry; that woman can dispel the forces of darkness single handed.\"\n\nHe gave her his blessing. The groom took the chrismatory box from him, put it in a saddlebag, heaved him up on his horse, and they were gone.\n\nIt had stopped raining, but the moon, which should have been full, was heavily clouded. Adelia stood for a minute or two after they had disappeared, listening to the sound of hooves diminishing into the blackness.\n\nShe hadn't told the prior that Gyltha did not stay at night and that it was at night when she became afraid.\n\n\"Heathenish,\" she said out loud. \"Even the prior feels it.\" She went back into the cloister but left the gates open; it was nothing outside the convent that frightened her, it was the convent itself; there was no air to it, nothing of God's light, no windows even in the chapel, just arrow slits set into walls of heavy, unadorned stone that reflected the savagery they had been built to withstand.\n\nBut it has gotten in, Adelia thought. The hideously ancient, hogback tomb in the chapel was carved with wolves and dragons biting each other. Scrollwork on the altar circled a figure with arms upheld, Lazarus perhaps, though candlelight gave it a demonic quality. The foliage surrounding the arches of the cells imitated the encroaching forest that tangled buttresses in ivy and creepers.\n\nAt night, sitting by a nun's cot, she, who did not credit the devil, found herself listening for him and being answered by the shriek of an owl. For Adelia, as for Prior Geoffrey, the twenty gaping holes, ten below, ten above, in which the nuns were stacked, reinforced the barbarity. Called to another cell, she had to urge herself to brave the wicked, black steps and narrow ledge that led to it.\n\nBy day, when Gyltha and the Matildas returned, bringing with them noise and common sense, she allowed herself an hour or two's rest in the prioress's quarters, but even then the two rows of cells infiltrated her exhausted dozes with reproach, as if they were graves of troglodyte dead.\n\nTonight, when she walked the length of the cloister to look in on Sister Veronica, the light of her lantern flickered the ugly heads of the pillars' capitals into life. They grimaced at her. She was glad of the dog by her side.\n\nVeronica lay tossing in her cot, apologizing to God for not dying. \"Forgive me, Lord, that I am not with you. Suspend Thy wrath at my transgressions, Dear Master, for I would come to You if I could....\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" Adelia told her. \"God is perfectly happy with you and wants you to live. Open your mouth and have some nice calf's-foot jelly.\"\n\nBut Veronica, like Odilia, would not eat. Eventually, Adelia gave her half an opium pill and sat with her until it took effect. It was the barest cell of the twenty, its only ornament a cross that, like all the nuns' wall crucifixes, was woven from withies.\n\nSomewhere out in the marsh, a bittern boomed. Water dripped on the stones outside with a regularity that made Adelia's nerves twitch. She heard retching from Sister Agatha's cell farther along the cloister, and went to her.\n\nEmptying the chamber pot meant leaving the cloister. A shift of cloud allowed some moonlight on her return, and Adelia saw the figure of a man by one of the walk's pillars.\n\nShe closed her eyes against it, then opened them and went forward.\n\nIt was a trick of shadow and the glistening of rain. There was nobody there. She put her hand on the pillar to lean against it for a moment, breathing hard; the figure had been wearing horns. Safeguard appeared to have noticed nothing, but then he rarely did.\n\nI am very tired, she thought.\n\nPrioress Joan cried out sharply from Odilia's cell....\n\nWhen they'd said the prayers, Adelia and the prioress wrapped the infirmaress's body in a sheet and carried it between them to the chapel. They laid it on a makeshift catafalque of two tables covered by a cloth and lit candles to stand at the head and the foot.\n\nThe prioress stayed to chant a requiem. Adelia went back to the cells to sit with Agatha. All the nuns were asleep, for which she was thankful; they need not know of the death until the morning, when they would be stronger.\n\nThat is, if morning ever comes to this awful place, she thought. \"Heathenish,\" the prior had said. At this distance, the strong, single contralto echoing from the chapel sounded not so much a Christian requiem as a lament for a fallen warrior. Had it been Odilia's death or some element in the very stones that conjured the horned figure in the cloister?\n\nFatigue, Adelia told herself again. You are tired.\n\nBut the image persisted, and to rid herself of it, she used her imagination to transpose it with another figure, this one more rotund, more funny, infinitely beloved, until Rowley stood there in the horror's stead. With that comforting presence on guard outside, she fell asleep.\n\nSister Agatha died the next night. \"Her heart seems to have just stopped beating,\" Adelia wrote in a message to Prior Geoffrey. \"She was doing well. I did not expect it.\" And had cried for it.\n\nWith rest and Gyltha's good food, the remaining nuns recovered swiftly. Veronica and Walburga, being younger than the others, were up and about sooner than Adelia would have liked, though it was difficult to resist their high spirits. However, their insistence that they should go upriver to supply the neglected anchorites was not sensible, especially as, in order to take sufficient food and fuel, one nun would be poling one punt and her sister yet another.\n\nAdelia went to Prioress Joan with an appeal that they be stopped from exhausting themselves.\n\nBeing worn out herself, she did so tactlessly: \"They are still my patients. I cannot allow it.\"\n\n\"They are still my nuns. And the anchorites my responsibility. From time to time, Sister Veronica, especially, needs the freedom and solitude to be found among them; she has sought it, and I have always granted it.\"\n\n\"Prior Geoffrey promised to supply the anchorites.\"\n\n\"I have no opinion of Prior Geoffrey's promises.\"\n\nIt was not the first time, nor the second, nor the third, that Joan and Adelia had locked horns. The prioress, conscious that her many absences had brought both convent and nuns to the brink of ruin, involuntarily tried to retain her authority by opposing Adelia's.\n\nThey had argued over Safeguard, the prioress saying that he stank, which he did--but not more than the living conditions of the nuns. They had argued over the administration of opium, on which the prioress had decided to take the side of the Church. \"Pain is Godsent, only God should take it away.\"\n\n\"Who says so? Where in the Bible does it say that?\" Adelia had demanded.\n\n\"I am told the plant is addictive. They will form a habit of taking it.\"\n\n\"They won't. They don't know what they are taking. It is a temporary panacea, a soporific to relieve their suffering.\"\n\nPerhaps because she had won that argument, she lost this. The two nuns were given their superior's permission to take supplies to the anchorites--and Adelia, knowing she could do no more for it, left the convent two days later.\n\nWhich was the same time the assize arrived in Cambridge.\n\nThe noise was tremendous in any case, but for Adelia, whose ears had become accustomed to silence, it was like being battered. Weighted by her heavy medicine case, the walk from the convent house had been a hard one, and now, wanting only to get back to Old Benjamin's and rest, she stood in a crowd on the wrong side of Bridge Street as the parade passed.\n\nAt first she didn't realize this was the assize; the cavalcade of musicians in livery blowing trumpets and beating tabors took her back to Salerno, to the week before Ash Wednesday when the carnevale came to town despite all the Church could do to prevent it.\n\nHere came more drums--and beadles, such ornate livery, with great gold maces over their shoulders. And heavens, mitered bishops and abbots on caparisoned horses, one or two actually waving. And a comic executioner with hood and ax...\n\nThen she knew the executioner wasn't comic; there would be no tumblers and dancing bears. The three Plantagenet leopards were blazoned everywhere, and the lovely palanquins now going by on the shoulders of tabarded men contained the judges of the king come to weigh Cambridge in their scales and, if Rowley was correct, find much of it wanting.\n\nYet the people around her cheered as if starved of entertainment, as if the trials and fines and death sentences to come would provide it.\n\nBewildered by hubbub, Adelia suddenly saw Gyltha pushing to the front of the crowd across the street, her mouth open as if she, too, were cheering. But she wasn't cheering.\n\nDear God of All, don't let her be saying it. It is unsayable, not to be borne. Don't look like that.\n\nGyltha ran into the street so that a rider had to rein in, swearing, his horse jittering to one side to avoid trampling her. She was talking, looking, clutching. She was coming close, and Adelia stood back to avoid her, but the shriek penetrated everything. \"Any of you seen my little boy?\"\n\nShe might have been blind. She caught at Adelia's sleeve without recognizing her. \"You seen my little boy? Name's Ulf. I can't find un.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "She sat on the Cam's bank in the same spot, on the same upturned pail that Ulf had sat on to do his fishing.\n\nShe watched the river. Nothing else.\n\nBehind the house at her back, the streets were full of noise and bustle, some of it to do with the assize, much of it caused by the search for Ulf. Gyltha herself, Mansur, the two Matildas, Adelia's patients, Gyltha's customers, friends, neighbors, parish reeve, and those merely concerned all were looking for the child--with increasing despair.\n\n\"The boy was restive in the castle and wished to go fishing,\" Mansur had told Adelia, so stolid as to be almost rigid. \"I came with him. Then the small, fat one\"--he referred to Matilda B.--\"called me into the house to mend a table leg. When I came outside again, he was gone.\" The Arab refused to meet her eye, which told her how upset he was. \"You may tell the woman I am sorry,\" he'd said.\n\nGyltha hadn't blamed him, hadn't blamed anybody; the terror was too great to convert into anger. Her frame wizened into that of a much smaller, older woman; she would not stay still. Already she and Mansur had been upriver and down, asking everybody they met if they had seen the boy and jumping into boats to tear the cover off anything hidden. Today they were questioning traders by the Great Bridge.\n\nAdelia did not go with them. All that night she'd stayed in the solar window, watching the river. Today she sat where Ulf had sat and went on watching it, gripped by a grief so terrible that she was immobilized--although she would have stayed on the bank in any case. \"It's the river,\" Ulf had said, and in her head she listened to him say it over and over again, because, if she stopped listening, she would hear him scream.\n\nRowley came crashing through the reeds, limping, and tried to take her away. He said things, held her. He seemed to want her to go to the castle, where he was forced to stay, being so busy with the assize. He kept mentioning the king; she hardly heard him.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said, \"but I must remain here. It's the river, you see. The river takes them.\"\n\n\"How can the river take them?\" He spoke gently, thinking her mad, which, of course, she was.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she told him. \"I have to stay here until I do.\"\n\nHe nagged at her. She loved him but not enough to go with him; she was under the direction of a different, more commanding love.\n\n\"I shall come back,\" he said at last.\n\nShe nodded, barely noticing that he had gone.\n\nIt was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. Some of the passing boat people who knew what had happened shouted encouragement to the woman on the bank sitting on her upturned bucket with a dog beside her. \"Don't worry, my duck. He's maybe playing some'eres. He'll turn up like a bad penny.\" Others averted their eyes from her and remained silent.\n\nShe didn't see or hear them, either. What she saw was Ulf's naked, skinny little body struggling in Gyltha's hands as she held it over the bath preparatory to letting it drop into the water.\n\nIt's the river.\n\nShe made up her mind when, in the late afternoon, Sister Veronica and Sister Walburga came by in their punt. Walburga saw her and poled to the bank. \"Now don't you lecture us, mistress. Prior didn't send enough supplies upriver to feed a kitten, and we got to go up again with more. But we're strong again, ain't we, Sister? Strong in the power of God.\"\n\nSister Veronica was concerned. \"What is it, mistress? You look tired.\"\n\n\"Not to be wondered at,\" Walburga said. \"Wearied from a-looking after us. Angel, she is, blessings on her.\"\n\nIt's the river.\n\nAdelia got up from her bucket. \"I shall come with you, if I may.\"\n\nPleased, they helped her into the punt and sat her on the stern thwart, her knees bent up to her chin with a crate of hens under her feet. They laughed when Safeguard--\"Old Smelly,\" they called him--disgruntledly set off to follow them by the towpath.\n\nPrioress Joan, they said, was telling the world that Little Saint Peter had been vindicated, for when had so many been so ill and only two died, one of those elderly? The saint had been tested and not found wanting.\n\nThe two nuns took turn-and-turn-about at poling with a frequency that showed they hadn't recovered all their strength yet, but they made little of it. \"Harder yesterday,\" Walburga said, \"when us was poling separate punts. But we got the Lord's strength on our side.\" She could go the farthest before she rested; nevertheless, Veronica was the more lissome and economic in movement and made a lovelier shape as her slim arms pressed on the pole and raised it, hardly stirring water that was turning amber in the setting of the sun.\n\nTrumpington flowed past. Grantchester...\n\nThey were on a part of the river left unexplored on Adelia's day with Mansur and Ulf. Here it divided, becoming two rivers, the Cam to the south, the other entering it from the east.\n\nThe punt turned east. Walburga, who was poling, answered Adelia's question--the first she had asked. \"This? This be the Granta. This un takes us to the anchorages.\"\n\n\"And your auntie,\" Veronica said, smiling. \"It takes us to your auntie as well, Sister.\"\n\nWalburga grinned. \"That it do. Her'll be surprised seeing me twice in a week.\"\n\nThe countryside changed with the river, becoming something resembling flat upland where reed and alder fell back to be replaced by firm grass and taller trees. In the twilight, Adelia could see hedges and fences rather than dikes. The moon, which had been a thin, round wafer in the evening sky, gained substance.\n\nSafeguard was beginning to limp, and Veronica said he should travel with them, poor thing. Once the hens stopped protesting at his presence, there was silence broken only by the last twittering of birds.\n\nWalburga took the punt to an inlet from which a path led to a farm. As she lumbered out, she said, \"Now don't you go lifting all that stuff on your own, Sister. Get the old codgers to help you.\"\n\n\"They will.\"\n\n\"And you can manage it back on your own?\"\n\nVeronica nodded and smiled. Walburga curtsied to Adelia, then waved them off.\n\nThe Granta became narrower and darker, finding its way through a winding, shallow valley in which beeches occasionally came down to the water and Veronica had to crouch to avoid branches. She stopped to light a lantern, which she placed on the board at her feet so that it lit the black water ahead for a yard or so and reflected the green eyes of some animal that looked at them before turning away into the undergrowth.\n\nAs they cleared the trees, the moon reached them again to silver a black-and-white landscape of pasture and hedge. Veronica poled to the left bank. \"Journey's end, the Lord be praised,\" she said.\n\nAdelia peered ahead and pointed to a huge, flattopped shape in the distance. \"What's that?\"\n\nVeronica turned to look. \"There? That's Wandlebury Hill.\"\n\nOf course, it would be.\n\nA tiny, twinkling star seemed to have landed on the hill's head, deceptive in the nature of stars so that a blink sent it away and another blink brought it back.\n\nShe shifted in order to let Veronica lift the hen crate from under her legs. \"I shall wait here,\" she said.\n\nThe nun looked at her doubtfully, and then at the baskets still in the punt needing to be carried to the unseen anchorages.\n\nAdelia said, \"Would you leave the lantern with me?\"\n\nSister Veronica cocked her head. \"Feared of the dark?\"\n\nAdelia considered the question. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Keep it then, and the Lord take care of you. I'll be back in a while.\" The nun hefted a sack over her shoulder and, gripping the crate in her other hand, set off up a moonlit track leading into trees.\n\nAdelia waited until she'd gone, then lifted Safeguard onto the bank, picked up the lantern, raised it to see that its candle was good and stout, and began walking.\n\nFor a while, the river and its accompanying path meandered in the general direction in which she headed, but, after perhaps a mile, she saw that it would take her too far to the south. She left it to keep due east as the crow flew--except that a crow wouldn't have been impeded by the obstacles that now met Adelia: great stretches of brambles, hillocks, and dips made slippery by the recent rain, hurdle fences that sometimes could be climbed or crawled through and sometimes couldn't.\n\nIf human eyes watched from Wandlebury Hill, they saw a tiny, errant light straying across the dark country, going this way and that with apparent aimlessness as Adelia circumambulated one obstruction, then another. Sometimes the light paused because she fell, and fell awkwardly in an attempt to keep the lantern from hitting the ground and going out, Safeguard standing by until she got up.\n\nOccasionally, not having heard it, she was startled by a deer or fox fleeing across her path--her own sobbing breath being too loud to hear anything else, though she sobbed not from grief nor exhaustion but from effort.\n\nHowever, the watcher on Wandlebury Hill, if there were a watcher, could have seen that for all its vagaries, the little light was coming closer.\n\nAnd Adelia, struggling through her valley of shadows, saw the hill slowly swell until it dominated everything else ahead. The star that had gotten entangled on its brow was no longer intermittent but sent out a steady glow.\n\nShe nearly retched as she went, sick with her own stupidity. Why didn't I go here straight away? The bodies of the children told me, told me. Chalk, they said. We were killed on chalk. The river fixated me. But the river leads to Wandlebury Hill. I should have known.\n\nScratched and bleeding, limping, yet with the lantern still lit, she heaved herself up onto a flat surface and found it to be the spot on the Roman road where Prior Geoffrey had once screamed to anyone who would listen that he could not piss.\n\nThere was nobody about; indeed, it was late now and the moon was high, but Adelia was encapsulated away from time; there was no past where people lived; there wasn't a child called Ulf, she had stopped hearing or seeing him; there was a hill, and she must reach its top. Followed by the dog, she took the steep track without recalling the occasion on which she had first taken it, merely knowing that it was the way to go.\n\nWhen she gained the top, she had to look for the twinkling light, bewildered that it had led her from a distance but was no longer apparent. Oh, God, don't let it be put out. In darkness and among this vast expanse of hummocks, she'd never find the place.\n\nShe saw it, a glow through some bushes ahead, and ran, forgetting the depressions in the ground. This time, when she fell, the lantern went out. No matter. She began to crawl.\n\nIt was a strange light, neither a fire nor the diffusion of candles--more like a beam directed upward. Scrabbling toward it, her hands touched nothing and she was jerked forward so that she was humped over a slope. Safeguard was looking straight ahead, and there it was, three yards away from her in the center of the bowl-like depression. It wasn't a fire or lanterns. There was nobody there. The light came from a hole in the ground. It was the gaping mouth of hell lit by the flames below.\n\nAll Adelia's training had to come to her aid then, every nut of natural philosophy, every hypothesis proved, every yardstick of common sense had to be set against unreason in order to fight the howling panic that sent her scrabbling away from the hole, wailing. She prayed for deliverance: From terror by night, Almighty God defend me.\n\n\"It's not the Pit,\" a voice said, primly, in her head, \"It's a pit.\"\n\nOf course it was. A pit. Just a pit. And Ulf was in it.\n\nShe started to crawl forward and struck her knee against something that lay in the grass and had seemed merely part of the ground but which, after a minute, her exploring hands discovered to be manufactured--a huge and solid wheel. She crawled over it, finding it covered with turf.\n\nShe put out her hand to stop Safeguard from coming too close, then, with the slowness of a turtle, extended her neck to look over the pit's edge.\n\nNot a pit. A shaft, some six feet across and the Lord only knew how deep--the light rising from its bottom confused distance--but deep. A ladder led down into whiteness--white, all white, as far as she could see.\n\nChalk. Of course it was chalk, the chalk on the dead children.\n\nRakshasa hadn't dug it; excavation such as this had involved the labor of hundreds. He'd found it and used it; how he'd used it.\n\nIs that what all the depressions on the hill were? The filled-in entrances to mines? But who had needed chalk on such a scale?\n\nIt doesn't matter; their purpose doesn't matter now. Ulf is down there.\n\nSo is the killer. He's lit the place--those are flambeaux down there; this is the light the shepherd saw. Dear Lord, we should have found it; we walked this stinking hill, skirting every depression to look into it; how did we miss this open invitation to the underworld?\n\nBecause it wasn't open, she thought. The turfed wheel she'd crawled across wasn't a wheel at all, it was a cover, a lid, a wellhead. When it was in place, it made this dip in the ground look like any other.\n\nSuch a clever fellow, Rakshasa.\n\nBut some of Adelia's skin-crawling horror of the killer left her because she knew that when Simon's cart had carried Prior Geoffrey up the track to Wandlebury Hill, Rakshasa had panicked. Like the guilty thing he was, he had taken the bodies from the shaft by night and carried them down the hill, so that his lair would be kept secret.\n\nThis shaft is your place, she thought, so precious it makes you vulnerable. It glares for you as it does for me now, even when the lid is on; it is the tunnel into your body, the entrance to your rotting soul, your doom to be discovered. For you, its existence cries to God, whom it outrages.\n\nAnd I've found it.\n\nShe listened. The hill around her rustled with life, but the shaft delivered no sound. She should not have come alone, oh, mercy, she should not. What service was she providing that little boy by bringing no reinforcement and in telling nobody where she had gone?\n\nYet the moment had demanded it; she could not think of what else she might have done. Anyway, it was done, the milk was spilt and, somehow, she had to mop it up.\n\nIf Ulf were dead, she could pull out the ladder and push the wheel into place, entombing the living killer, and walk away while Rakshasa thrashed around in his own sepulchre.\n\nBut she had followed the belief that Ulf wasn't dead, that the other children had been kept alive in Rakshasa's larder until he was ready for them--a hypothesis based on what the body of a dead boy had once told her. Such frail evidence, such a gossamer of belief, yet it had pulled her into the nuns' punt and marched her across country to this hellhole so that...\n\nSo that what?\n\nLying prone, with her head over the pit, Adelia considered her choices with the chill logic of despair. She could run for help, which, considering how long it would take, was no option at all--the last habitation she'd seen had been Sister Walburga's auntie's farm--and now that she was close to Ulf, she could not leave him. She could descend the shaft and be killed, which in the end she must be prepared to do if, thereby, Ulf could escape.\n\nOr, and this had considerably more merit, she thought, she could descend and kill the killer. Which entailed finding a weapon. Yes, she must look for a stick, or a stone, anything sharp...\n\nBeside her, the Safeguard shifted suddenly. A pair of hands seized Adelia's ankles and raised them so that she slid forward. Then, with a grunt of effort, somebody threw her down the pit.\n\nWhat saved her was the ladder. It met her fall halfway down, breaking some of her ribs on impact but allowing her body to slither the rest of the way on its lower rungs. She had time--it seemed quite a long time--to think I must stay conscious before her head struck the ground and she wasn't.\n\nAwareness was a long time coming to her, traveling slowly through a misty crowd of people who insisted on moving about and shifting her and talking, which irritated her to the point where, if she hadn't been in such pain, she'd have told them to stop. Gradually, they went away and the sound of voices dwindled down to one that persisted in being just as irritating.\n\n\"Do be quiet,\" she said and opened her eyes, but the effort hurt so much that she decided to stay unconscious for a while, which was just as impossible because there was horror waiting for her and someone else, so that her mind, determined on her own and the someone else's survival, insisted on working.\n\nStay still and think. God, the pain; her head was being trepanned. That would be concussion--how severe it was impossible to estimate without knowing for how long she'd been unconscious; the length of time would indicate the severity. Damnation, it hurt. And so did her ribs, possibly two fractures there but--she experimented with a deep breath, wincing--probably no puncture of the lung. It wasn't helped by the fact that she seemed to be standing with her arms over her head, causing compression on her chest.\n\nIt doesn't matter. You're in such danger, your medical condition doesn't matter. Think and survive.\n\nSo. She was in the shaft. She remembered being at its top; now she was at its bottom; her brief glimpse had shown enclosing whiteness all around. What she couldn't remember was getting from one to the other--the natural result of concussion. Pushed or fallen, obviously.\n\nAnd somebody else had fallen, or had been brought down before or after Adelia herself, because the attempt at opening her eyes had shown a figure against the opposite wall. It was this someone who was ceaselessly and so irritatingly making a noise.\n\n\"Save-and-preserve-me, dear-Lord-and-Master-and-I-shall-follow-Thee-all-my-days-I-will-abase-myself-unto-Thee. Punishme-with-Thy-whips-and-scorpions-yet-keep-me-safe....\"\n\nThe babbling was Sister Veronica's. The nun stood ten or so feet away on the other side of the ceilingless chamber that was the pit of the shaft. Her wimple and coif had been torn down to her neck and her hair hung over her face like wisps of dark mist. Her hands were stretched above her head where, like those of Adelia, they were manacled to a bolt.\n\nShe was out of control with terror, spittle running down her chin, her body shaking so that the iron manacles about her wrists rattled an accompaniment to the prayer for release issuing from her mouth.\n\n\"I wish you'd be quiet,\" Adelia said petulantly.\n\nVeronica's eyes widened with shock and, a little, with justified accusation. \"I followed you,\" she said. \"You'd gone, and I followed you.\"\n\n\"Unwise,\" Adelia told her.\n\n\"The Beast is here, Mary, Mother of God, protect us, he took me, he's down here, he'll eat us, oh, Jesus, Mary, save us both, he's horned.\"\n\n\"I dare say he is, just stop shouting.\"\n\nEnduring the pain, Adelia turned her head to look around. Her dog lay sprawled at the bottom of the ladder, his neck broken.\n\nA sob forced itself out of her throat. Not now, not now, she told herself; there's no room for it; you can't grieve now. To survive you must think. But oh, Safeguard...\n\nFlames from two torches stuck into holders at head height on either side of the chamber illuminated rough, round walls of whiteness marred here and there by a green algae so that she and Veronica stood as if at the bottom of a massive tube of thick, dirty, crumpled paper.\n\nThey stood alone; there was no sign of the nun's Beast, though leading off from either side were two tunnels. The opening to the one on Adelia's left was small, a crawling space barred by an iron grating. The one to the right was lit by unseen torches and had been enlarged to admit a man without bending. A curve in it blocked her view of its length, but just inside the entrance, propped against the wall and reflecting the chalk opposite, stood a battered, polished shield engraved with the cross of crusade.\n\nAnd in the place of honor, in the center of this torture chamber, midway between her and Veronica and the dead dog, stood the Beast's altar.\n\nIt was an anvil. So ordinary in its rightful place, so awful here; an anvil heaved from the thatched warmth of a smithy so that children might be penetrated on it. The weapon lay on its top, shiny among the stains, a spearhead. It was faceted--as were the wounds it had inflicted.\n\nFlint, dear God, flint. Flint that occurred in chalk, seams of it. Ancient devils had labored to dig this mine in order to reach flint that they might shape it and kill with it. As primitive as they, Rakshasa used an implement made by a dark people in a dark time.\n\nShe shut her eyes.\n\nBut the bloodstains were dull; nobody had died on that anvil recently.\n\n\"Ulf,\" she shrieked, opening her eyes. \"Ulf.\"\n\nTo her left, from far up the darkness of the left-hand tunnel, deadened by the porous chalk yet audible, came a mumbling groan.\n\nAdelia turned her face up to the circle of sky above her head and gave thanks. The sickness of concussion, nausea from the smell of obliterating chalk, from the stink of whatever resin it was the torches were burning, gave way to a waft of fresh, May air. The boy lived.\n\nWell now. There, on the anvil, just a couple of yards away, lay a weapon all ready for her hand.\n\nThough her hands were tethered, from what she could see of Sister Veronica's situation and if it resembled her own, the manacles holding their upstretched arms were attached to a bolt that went into the bare chalk. And chalk was chalk; it crumbled--as much use for retaining a fixture as sand.\n\nAdelia flexed her elbows and pulled at the bolt above her head. Oh, God, oh, hell. Pain like hot wire through the chest. This time, she'd surely, surely punctured a lung. She hung, puffing, waiting for blood to come into her mouth. After a while, she realized it wasn't going to, but if that blasted nun didn't cease moaning...\n\n\"Stop gibbering,\" she yelled at the girl. \"Look, pull. Pull, damn you. The bolt. In the wall. It'll come out if you tug it.\" Even in pain, she'd felt a tiny give in the chalk above.\n\nBut Veronica couldn't, wouldn't, comprehend; her eyes were wide and wild like a deer facing the hounds; she was gibbering.\n\nIt is up to me.\n\nAnother full tug was to be avoided, but wiggling the manacles might shift the bolt sufficiently to create a cavity around it and enable it to be eased out.\n\nFrantically, she began jiggling her hands up and down, oblivious now to everything except a piece of iron, as if she were enclosed in chalk with it, moving it grain by grain, hurting, hurting, but seeing the near end of the protesting bolt separating from...\n\nThe nun screamed.\n\n\"Quiet,\" Adelia screamed back. \"I'm concentrating.\"\n\nThe nun went on screaming. \"He's coming.\"\n\nThere had been a flicker of movement to the right. Reluctantly, Adelia turned her head. The tunnel's bend, which was in Veronica's view, prevented Adelia, opposite her, from seeing the thing itself, but she saw it mirrored in the shield. The uneven, convex surface threw back a reflection of dark flesh, at once diminished and monstrous. The thing was naked and looking at itself. Preening, it touched its genitals and then the apparatus on its head.\n\nDeath was preparing for his entrance.\n\nIn that extremity of terror, everything abandoned Adelia. If she could have sunk to her knees, then she'd have crawled to the creature's feet: Take the nun, take the boy, leave me. If her hands were free, she'd have bolted for the ladder, leaving Ulf behind. She lost courage, rationality, everything except self-preservation.\n\nAnd regret. Regret pierced the panic with a vision, not of her Maker but of Rowley Picot. She was going to die, and disgustingly, without having loved a man in the only health there was.\n\nThe thing came out of the tunnel; it was tall, made taller by the antlers on its head. Part of a skinned stag's mask covered the upper face and nose, but the body was human, with dark hair on chest and pubis. Its penis was erect. It pranced up to Adelia, pushing itself against her. Where deer eyes should have been, there were holes from which blue, human eyes blinked at her. The mouth grinned. She could smell animal.\n\nShe vomited.\n\nAs it sheered back to avoid her spew, the antlers rocked and she saw that bits of string tied the antlered contraption to Rakshasa's head, though not tightly enough to prevent them from wobbling when he made a sudden movement.\n\nHow vulgar. Contempt and fury engulfed her; she had better things to do than stand here threatened by a mountebank in a homemade headdress.\n\n\"You stinking crap-hound,\" she told him. \"You don't frighten me.\" At that moment, he hardly did.\n\nShe'd discomfited him; the eyes in the mask shifted; a hiss came from between the teeth. As he retreated, she saw that the penis had drooped.\n\nBut he was feeling behind him with one arm while looking at Adelia. His hand found Sister Veronica's body, crawled upward until it reached the neck of her habit, and ripped it down to the waist. She screamed.\n\nStill watching Adelia, the thing swaggered for a moment, then turned and bit Veronica on the breast. When it turned back to see Adelia's reaction, its penis was rampant again.\n\nAdelia began to swear; language was the only missile she had, and she pelted him with it: \"You turd-mouthed, stench-sucking lummox, what are you good for? Hurting women and children when they're tied? Not excited any other way? Dress like a dog's beef, you son of a pox-ridden sow, under it all you're no man, just a betty-buttered mother's boy.\"\n\nWho this screaming self was, Adelia didn't know, didn't care. It was going to be killed, but it wasn't going to die in debasement like Veronica; it would go cursing.\n\nLord Almighty, she'd hit the gold; the thing had lost his erection again. He hissed and, still looking at her, wrenched the nun's clothes down to the crotch.\n\nArabic, Hebrew, Latin, and Gyltha's Saxon English, Adelia used them all; filth from unknown gutters came to her aid now.\n\nA jellybag, she called him, a snot-faced, arse-licking, goat-fucking, bum-bellied, farting, turd-breathed apology, Homo insanus.\n\nAs she shouted, she watched the thing's penis; it was a flag, a signal to her victory or his. The act of killing would bring it to emission, she knew, but, in order for it to be in a condition to emit, the Beast needed his victim's fear. There were creatures...her stepfather had told her...reptiles that dragged humans underwater and stashed them until their flesh was soft enough to make a pleasurable meal. For this one, terror was the tenderizer. \"You...you corkindrill,\" she yelled at it. Fear nourished Rakshasa; it was his excitement, his soup. Deny it to him and, dear God grant it, he couldn't kill.\n\nShe shrieked at him. He was a farting, pudding-pulling chaser, a maggot-brained hog with a cock like a winkle; she'd seen bigger balls on a raspberry.\n\nNo time to be amazed at herself. Survive. Taunt. Keep blood in your veins and out of his. With every word, she jiggled the iron cuffs around her hands--and the bolt in the chalk moved more and more easily.\n\nThere was blood on Veronica's stomach--her fear had gone beyond terror into a state where her body remained flaccid to the thing's abuse--her head back, eyes closed, her mouth in the rictus of a skull.\n\nAdelia kept swearing.\n\nBut now Rakshasa was himself tearing the nun's manacles out of the wall. He stood back to hit the girl across the mouth and then took her by the scruff of her neck to march her toward the small tunnel where he slammed her to her knees. He removed the grating with one pull. He pointed. \"Fetch,\" he said.\n\nAdelia's cursing faltered. He was going to bring the child into this uncleanness and befoul him.\n\nVeronica, on her knees, looked up at her torturer, apparently bewildered. Rakshasa kicked her backside and pointed into the hole, but he was watching Adelia. \"Fetch the boy.\"\n\nThe nun crawled into the tunnel and the clank of the manacles on her hands as she moved became muffled.\n\nAdelia prayed a silent scream: Almighty God, take my soul; I am past what can be borne.\n\nRakshasa had picked up the body of Safeguard. He threw it on the anvil so that it was on its back. Still watching Adelia, his hand reached for the flint knife and ran its point experimentally down the back of his wrist. He put up his arm to show her the blood.\n\nHe needs my fear, she thought. He has it.\n\nThe antlers wobbled as, for the first time, he took his gaze off Adelia and looked down. He raised the knife....\n\nShe closed her eyes. It was a reenactment, and she would not watch it. He will cut off my eyelids, and I shall not watch it.\n\nBut she had to listen to the knife striking into flesh and the squelch and the splinter of bone. On and on.\n\nThere was no more swearing in her now, no defiance; her hands were still. If there is a hell, she thought dully, his will be set apart.\n\nThe noises stopped. She heard the approaching pad of his feet, smelled his stink. \"Watch,\" he said.\n\nShe shook her head and felt a blow on her left arm that brought her eyes open. He'd stabbed her to get her attention. He was pettish. \"Watch.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThey both heard it: a scuffling from the little tunnel. Teeth showed beneath the stag's mask. He looked toward the entrance where Ulf was stumbling out. Adelia looked with him.\n\nGod save him, the boy was so small, so plain, too real, too normal against the monstrous stage the creature had set for him; he skewed it so that Adelia was ashamed to be on it in his presence.\n\nHe was fully dressed but tottering and semiconscious, his hands tied in front of him. There were blotches round his mouth and nose. Laudanum. Held over his face. To keep him quiet.\n\nHis eyes traveled slowly to the shredded mess on the anvil and widened.\n\nShe shouted, \"Don't be frightened, Ulf.\" It wasn't an exhortation but a command: don't show fear; don't feed him.\n\nShe saw him try to concentrate. \"I ain't,\" he whispered.\n\nCourage returned to Adelia. And hatred. And ferocity. No pain on earth could stop her from this. Rakshasa had turned half away from her in Ulf's direction. She jerked her hands and the bolt came out of the wall. In the same movement she brought her arms down so that the chain connecting the manacles to each other should go over Rakshasa's neck that she might throttle him with it.\n\nShe hadn't achieved enough height, and the chain caught on the antlers. She swung on it so that the headdress tilted ludicrously backward and to one side, its strings dragging tight under Rakshasa's nose and across his eyes.\n\nFor a moment he was blinded, and the assault took him off balance. His foot slid and he went down, Adelia with him--into the segments of dog intestines that made the floor slippery.\n\nThere was grunting, hers or Rakshasa's, and she hung on, she couldn't do anything else, linked by chain to the antlers, to which he was linked by string; they were joined together, his body crooked under hers, her knees on his outstretched knife arm. Awkwardly placed, he struggled to throw her off so that he could strike backward with it; she struggled so that he shouldn't displace and kill her. All the time she was shouting: \"Get out, Ulf. The ladder. Get out.\"\n\nThe back beneath her rose; she rose with it and then went down as Rakshasa slipped again. The knife went out of his hand into the slick. Still carrying Adelia, he crawled for it, shoving against Ulf and Veronica in his effort so that they fell into the melee. The four of them rolled back and forth across the mess of the floor in an intricate bundle.\n\nThere was a new element somewhere. A sound. It meant nothing; Adelia was blind and deaf. Her hands had found the antlers and were awkwardly twisting them so that a point should go into Rakshasa's skull. The new noise was nothing, her own agony nothing. Twist. Into the brain. Twist. Mustn't bump me off. Mustn't let go. Twist. Kill.\n\nThe string on the antlers broke, leaving them in her hands. The body beneath slithered away from her and, turning, crouched to spring.\n\nFor a second they were opposite each other, glaring and panting. The noise was loud now; it came from the top of the shaft, a combination of familiar sounds so inappropriate to this struggle that Adelia paid them no mind.\n\nBut they meant something to the Beast; its eyes changed; she saw a dulling; the alert joy of the kill went from them. The thing was still a beast with teeth exposed, but its head was up, sniffing, considering; it was scared.\n\nDear God, she thought, and was afraid to think, that's what it is; beautiful, oh beautiful, the blow of a horn and the belling of hounds.\n\nThe hunt had come for Rakshasa.\n\nHer lips split into a grin as bestial as his. \"Now you die,\" she said.\n\nA shout came down the shaft. \"Halloooo.\" Beautiful, oh beautiful. It was Rowley's voice. And Rowley's big feet coming down the ladder.\n\nThe thing's eyes were everywhere, looking frantically for the knife. Adelia saw it first. \"No.\" She fell on it, covering it. You shan't have it.\n\nRowley, sword in hand, was nearing the bottom of the ladder, obstructed in getting off it by the bodies of Ulf and Veronica.\n\nFrom the floor, Adelia reached to grip Rakshasa's heel as it went past, but her fingers slipped on its grease. Rowley was kicking the nun and boy out of his way. Adelia's view of Rakshasa's legs and buttocks as he sprinted for the big tunnel was blocked by Rowley's sprinting after him. She saw Rowley fall, flailing, as he tripped over the shield; she heard him curse--and then he was gone.\n\nShe sat and looked up. The baying of hounds was loud now; she could see snouts and teeth poking round the head of the shaft. The ladder was shaking; somebody else was clambering onto it, ready to come down.\n\nThere was nowhere in her body that didn't hurt. To collapse would be nice, but she dare not do it yet. It wasn't over--the knife had gone.\n\nAnd so had Veronica and the child.\n\nRowley came rushing out of the tunnel, kicking the shield out of the way so that it skidded and hit the anvil. He grabbed a flambeau from the wall and disappeared with it into the tunnel again.\n\nShe was in darkness; the other torch was gone. A flicker of light showed her a puff of chalk dust and the hem of a black habit disappearing into the tunnel Ulf had come out of.\n\nAdelia crawled after it. No. No, not now. We're rescued. Give him to me.\n\nIt was a wormhole, an exploratory dig that had not been worked because the flare of Veronica's torch when it came showed a gnarled, glistening line of flint running along it like a dado. The tunnel turned with the seam, cutting her off from the light ahead, and she was in a blackness so deep she might have gone blind. She went on.\n\nNo. Not now. Now we're rescued.\n\nIt was lopsided crawling; her left arm was weakening where Rakshasa had stabbed it. Tired, so tired. Tired of being frightened. No time to be tired, no. Not now. Nodules of chalk crumbled under her right hand as her palm pressed her forward. I shall have him from you. Give him to me.\n\nShe came on them in a tiny chamber, huddled together like a couple of rabbits, Ulf limp in the nun's grasp, his eyes closed. Sister Veronica held the torch high in one hand; the other, around the child, had the knife.\n\nThe nun's lovely eyes were thoughtful. She was reasonable, though dribble emerged from the corner of her mouth. \"We must protect him,\" she told Adelia. \"The Beast shall not have this one.\"\n\n\"He won't,\" Adelia said, carefully. \"He's gone, Sister. He will be hunted down. Give me the knife now.\"\n\nSome rags lay next to an iron post planted deep in the ground with a dog lead trailing from it, the collar just big enough for a child's neck. They were in Rakshasa's larder.\n\nCircular walls were turned red by the flickering torchlight. The drawings on them wriggled. Adelia, who daren't take her eyes away from those of the nun, would not have looked at them in any case; in this obscenity of a womb, the embryos had waited not to be born but to die.\n\nVeronica said, \"Whoso shall offend one of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone be hanged about his neck.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sister,\" Adelia said, \"it would be.\" She crawled forward and took the knife out of the nun's hand.\n\nBetween them, they dragged Ulf through the wormhole. As they came out, they saw Hugh the hunter looking around him like a dazed thing with a lantern in his hand. Rowley emerged from the other tunnel. He was swearing and frantic. \"I lost him; there's dozens of bloody tunnels along there, and my bloody torch went out. The bastard knows his way, I don't.\" He turned on Adelia as if he was furious with her--he was furious with her. \"Is there another shaft somewhere?\" As an afterthought, he asked, \"Are you women hurt? How's the boy?\"\n\nHe urged them up the ladder, tucking Ulf under his arm.\n\nFor Adelia the climb was interminable, each rung an achievement gained through pain and a faintness that would have toppled her to the bottom again if she'd not had Hugh's hand supporting her back. Her arm stung where the creature had stabbed it, and she became concerned that it might be poisoned. How ridiculous to die now. Put brandy on it, she kept thinking, or sphagnum moss would do; mustn't die now, not when we've won.\n\nAnd as her head reached above the shaft and air touched it...We have won. Simon, Simon, we've won.\n\nClinging to the top rung, she looked down toward Rowley. \"Now they'll know the Jews didn't do it.\"\n\n\"They will,\" he said. \"Get on.\" Veronica was clinging to him, crying and gabbling. Adelia, struggling to get off the ladder, was nosed by hounds, their tails in frantic motion as if with pleasure at a job well done. Hugh called to them, and they backed away. When Rowley emerged, Adelia said, \"You tell them. Tell them the Jews didn't do it.\"\n\nTwo horses were grazing nearby.\n\nHugh said, \"That where our Mary died? Down there? Who done it?\"\n\nShe told him.\n\nHe stood still for a moment, the lantern lighting his face from below so that terrible shadows distorted it.\n\nTeetering with frustration and indecision, Rowley shoved Ulf into Adelia's arms. He needed men to hunt the tunnels below, but neither of the two women was in a condition to fetch them, and he dared not go himself or send Hugh.\n\n\"Somebody's got to guard this shaft. He's under this bloody hill, and sooner or later he'll pop out like a bloody rabbit, but there's maybe another exit somewhere.\" He snatched Hugh's lantern and set off across the hilltop in what he knew, they all knew, was a hopeless attempt to find it.\n\nAdelia laid Ulf on the grass above the edge of the depression, taking off her cloak to pillow it under his head. Then she sat down beside him and breathed in the smell of the night--how could it still be night? She caught the scent of hawthorn and juniper. Sweet grass reminded her that she was filthy with sweat and blood and urine, probably her own, and the stink of Rakshasa's body, which, she knew, if she spent her life in a bath, would never again quite leave her nostrils.\n\nShe felt expended, as if everything had gone from her and left just a trembling slough of skin.\n\nBeside her, Ulf jerked into a sitting position, gasping at the reviving air, his fists clenched. He looked around, at the landscape, the sky, Hugh, the dogs, Adelia. He had trouble enunciating. \"Where's...this at? Am I out?\"\n\n\"Out and safe,\" she told him.\n\n\"They...got un?\"\n\n\"They will.\" God send they would.\n\n\"He never...scared me,\" Ulf said, beginning to shake. \"I fought the bugger...shouted...kept fighting.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Adelia told him. \"They had to quiet you with poppy juice. You were too brave for them.\" She put her arm round his shoulders as his tears began. \"No need to be brave anymore.\"\n\nThey waited.\n\nA suspicion of gray in the sky to the east suggested that the night would actually have an end. Across the other side of the depression, Sister Veronica was on her knees, her whispered prayers like the rustle of leaves.\n\nHugh was keeping one foot on the top of the shaft's ladder so that he might feel any movement on it, one hand on the hunting knife at his belt. He soothed his dogs, murmuring their names and telling them they were brave.\n\nHe glanced at Adelia. \"Followed the scent of that old mongrel of yourn all the way, my lads did,\" he said.\n\nThe hounds looked up as if they knew they'd been mentioned. \"Sir Rowley, he were in rare old taking. 'She's gone after the boy,' he said, 'and very like got herself killed doing it.' Called you a fair few names in his temper, like. But I told un. 'That's a fine old stinker, that ol' dog of hers. My lads'll track un,' I said. Was that the old boy down there?\"\n\nAdelia roused herself. \"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm right sorry for that. Did his job, though.\"\n\nThe hunter's voice was controlled, dull. Somewhere in the tunnels below their feet ran the creature that had slaughtered his niece.\n\nA rustle that caused Hugh to take the knife from his belt was the launch of a long-eared owl on its last foray of the night. There was sleepy twittering as small birds woke up. Rowley himself, and not just his lantern, could be seen now, a big, busy shape using its sword as a stick to prod the ground. But every bush on the studded, uneven ground flaked the moonlight with a shadow that could conceal a more sinuous darkness wriggling away.\n\nThe sky to the east became extraordinary, a lowering, threatening red band with streaks of jagged black.\n\n\"Shepherd's warning,\" Hugh said, \"devil's dawn.\"\n\nListlessly, Adelia watched it. Ulf, beside her, showed equal indifference.\n\nHe is damaged, Adelia thought, as I am; we have been to places beyond experience and are stained by them. Perhaps I can bear it, but can he? He especially has been betrayed.\n\nWith that, energy came back to her. Painfully, she got to her feet and walked round the rim of the depression to where Veronica knelt, her hands steepled high so that the growing dawn light shone on them, her graceful head lowered in prayer, as Adelia had first seen it.\n\n\"Is there another exit?\" Adelia asked.\n\nThe nun didn't move. Her lips stilled for a moment before she resumed the whispered paternoster.\n\nAdelia kicked her. \"Is there another exit?\"\n\nThere was a rasp of protest from Hugh.\n\nUlf's gaze, which had followed Adelia, transferred to the nun. His treble rang out across Wandlebury Hill. \"It was her.\" He was pointing to Veronica. \"Wicked, wicked female, she is.\"\n\nHugh, shocked, whispered, \"Hush, lad.\"\n\nTears were plopping down Ulf's ugly little face, but it had regained intelligence and intent and bitter anger. \"'Twas her. As put stuff over my face, as took me. She's in with un.\"\n\n\"I know she is,\" Adelia said. \"She threw me down the shaft.\"\n\nThe nun's eyes stared up at her, beseeching. \"The devil was too strong for me,\" she said. \"He tortured me--you saw him. I never wanted to do it.\" Her eyes shifted and glowed red as they reflected the dawn behind Adelia's back.\n\nHugh and Ulf, too, had turned suddenly to the east. Adelia spun round. The sky had flamed into savagery like an entire hemisphere alight and advancing to overwhelm them all. And there, as if he had conjured it, was the devil himself outlined in black against it, naked and running like a stag.\n\nRowley, fifty yards away, hared to intercept it. The figure capered for a second and changed direction. The watchers heard Rowley's howl: \"Hugh. He's getting away. Hugh.\"\n\nThe huntsman knelt, whispering to his hounds. He unleashed them. With the ease of rocking horses, they began the chase toward the sunrise.\n\nThe devil ran--God, how he ran--but now the hounds were outlined against the same stretch of sky.\n\nThere was a moment that stayed with those who saw it like a detail of hell on an illuminated manuscript, black on red gold, the dogs in mid-leap and the man with hands upraised as if he would climb the air, before the pack fell on Sir Joscelin of Grantchester and tore him to pieces."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Adelia and Ulf were helped onto one of the horses that Rowley and the huntsman had ridden to the hill. Hugh hoisted the nun onto the other. Taking the reins, the men picked their way down the hill, avoiding rough patches so that Adelia should not be jounced about.\n\nThey went in silence.\n\nIn his free hand, Rowley carried a bag made out of his cloak. The object in it was round and attracted attention from the hounds until Hugh called them off. After a first glance, Adelia avoided looking at it.\n\nThe rain that the dawn had threatened began when they reached the road. Peasants on their way to work put up their hoods, glancing from under them at the little procession with its following of redjowled dogs.\n\nPassing an area of bog, Rowley pulled the horse up and spoke to Hugh, who squelched off the road and came back with a handful of bog moss.\n\n\"Is this the muck you put on wounds?\"\n\nAdelia nodded, squeezed some of the water out of the sphagnum moss, then applied it to her arm.\n\nIt would be nonsensical to die of putrefaction now, though at the moment she had no feeling left in which to wonder why that should be so.\n\n\"Better put some on your eye as well,\" Rowley said, and she realized that there was yet another pain and that her left eye was closing.\n\nThe nun's horse had drawn level. Adelia saw without interest that the girl sat with her face hidden by the cloak Hugh had wrapped her in for decency's sake.\n\nRowley saw her look. \"May we go on now?\" he asked, as if she had demanded the delay. He pulled on the reins without waiting for a reply.\n\nAdelia roused herself. \"I haven't thanked you,\" she told him, and felt the pressure of Ulf's hand on her shoulders. \"We thank you....\" There weren't words for it.\n\nShe might have dislodged a stone from a dam.\n\n\"What in hell did you think you were doing? Do you know what you put me through?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she told him.\n\n\"Sorry? Is that an apology? Are you apologizing? Have you any conception...? Let me tell you it was God's mercy I left the assize early. I set out for Old Benjamin's because I was sorry for you in your misery. Misery? Mary of God, what was it for me when I found you gone?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said again. Somewhere, deep in the impassivity of exhaustion that encased her, a tiny shift, a bubble of movement.\n\n\"Matilda B. said you'd likely gone to church to pray. But I knew, oh, I knew. She was waiting for the bloody river to tell her something, I said. It's told her. She's gone after the bastard like the witless female she is.\"\n\nThe bubble grew and was joined by others. She heard Ulf snuffling, like he did when he was amused. \"You see...\" she said.\n\nBut Rowley was remorseless, his wrongs too great. He'd heard Hugh's horn blowing on the other bank and had waded the bloody river to get to him. Immediately, the huntsman had suggested tracking Adelia by Safeguard's scent.\n\n\"Hugh said Prior Geoffrey attached the bloody animal to you for that very purpose, having worried for your safety in an alien town and no other canine leaving a scent so rank. I always wondered why you went everywhere with the cur, but at least it had the sense to leave a trail, which was more than you did\"\n\nBless him, so cross. Adelia looked down at the tax inspector and breathed in the magic of the man.\n\nHe'd made a dash into Old Benjamin's house and up to Adelia's room, he said. Grabbed the mat the Safeguard slept on and came down again to shove it under Hugh's hounds' noses. He'd acquired the horses by snatching them from under passing, innocent, protesting riders.\n\nGalloping along the towpath... following the scent along the Cam, then the Granta. Nearly losing it across country... \"And would have if that dog of yours hadn't stank the heavens out. And years off my life with it, you shatterbrained harpy. Do you know what I've suffered?\"\n\nUlf was now openly guffawing. Adelia, hardly able to breathe, thanking Almighty God for such a man. \"I do love you, Rowley Picot,\" she managed.\n\n\"That's neither here nor there,\" he'd said. \"And it's not funny.\"\n\nShe began drifting off to sleep and was kept in the saddle only by the pressure of Ulf's hands on her shoulders--for him to clasp her round the body was too painful.\n\nLater, she was to remember passing through Barnwell priory's great gates and thinking of the last time she and Simon and Mansur had entered them in a peddler's cart, as ignorant as babes unborn of what faced them. They'll know now, Simon. Everybody will know.\n\nAfter that, the dozes deepened into a long unconsciousness in which she was only vaguely aware of Rowley's voice like the rap of a drum issuing explanation, orders, and Prior Geoffrey's, appalled but also giving instruction. They were overlooking the most important thing, and Adelia woke up long enough to voice it--\"I want a bath\"--before relapsing to sleep.\n\n\"...AND IN THE NAME OF GOD, stay there,\" Rowley told her. A door slammed.\n\nShe and Ulf were alone on a bed in a room, and she was looking up at the timber beams and purlins of a ceiling she'd seen before. Candles--candles? Wasn't it day? Yes, but shutters were closed against rain that beat on them.\n\n\"Where are we?\"\n\n\"Prior's guesthouse,\" Ulf said.\n\n\"What's happening?\"\n\n\"Dunno.\"\n\nHe sat beside her with his knees drawn up, staring at nothing.\n\nWhat is he seeing? Adelia put her undamaged arm round him and hugged him close. He is my only companion, she thought, as I am his. The two of them had survived a travail that no one now living had made; only they knew how great was the distance they'd traveled and how long it had taken them and, indeed, how far they had yet to go. Exposure to the extremes of darkness had made them aware of things, not least about themselves, that they should not have known.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she said.\n\n\"Nothin' to tell. She poles up to where I was fishing and it's 'Oh, Ulf, I think the punt's leaking.' Nice as honey. Next thing there's stuff over my face and I'm gone. Woke up in the pit.\"\n\nHe threw back his head and an incredulous cry that spoke for the shattered innocence of the ages rang through the room. \"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nDesperately, the little boy turned on her. \"She was a lily. He was a crusader.\"\n\n\"They were freaks. It didn't show in their countenance, but they were freaks that found each other. Ulf, there are more of us than there are of those. Infinitely more. Hold fast to that.\" She was trying to hold fast to it herself.\n\nThe child's eyes fed off hers. \"You come after me.\"\n\n\"They were not going to have you.\"\n\nHe considered it for a while, and then something of its old self crept back into the ugly little face. \"I heard you. Gor, you didn't half swear. I ain't heard cussing like that, not even when the troopers came to town.\"\n\n\"You ever tell anybody and it's back to the pit.\"\n\nGyltha was in the doorway. Like Rowley, who loomed behind her, she was furious with relief. Tears ran down her face. \"You little maggot,\" she shouted at Ulf. \"Didn't I tell you? I'll wallop your backside for you.\"\n\nSobbing, she ran to gather up her grandson, who gave a sigh of contentment and held out his arms to her.\n\n\"Out,\" Rowley told them. There were laden servants behind him; Adelia saw the concerned face of Brother Swithin, the priory guest-master.\n\nAs Gyltha headed for the door with Ulf in her arms, she paused to ask Rowley, \"Sure as I can't do nothing for her?\"\n\n\"No. Out you go.\"\n\nGyltha still lingered, looking at Adelia. \"Was a good day when you came to Cambridge,\" she said. She went out.\n\nMen came in with a huge tin bath and began pouring steaming jugs of water in it; one had bars of yellow soap resting on a pile of the harsh segments of old sheeting that passed for towels in the monastery.\n\nAdelia watched the preparations hungrily; if she could not wash the filth the killers had imposed on her mind, she could at least scrub it from her body.\n\nBrother Swithin was troubled by the arrangements. \"The lady is injured, I should fetch the infirmarian.\"\n\nRowley said, grimly, \"When I found the lady, she was rolling on the ground in battle with the forces of darkness; she will survive.\"\n\n\"There should at least be a female attendant....\"\n\n\"Out,\" Rowley said. \"Out now.\" He opened his arms and scooped the whole boiling of them to the door and shut it on them. He was a massive man, Adelia realized. The fat she'd derided was lessened; he was still heavy, but great strength of muscle had been revealed.\n\nLumbering to where she lay, he put his hands under her armpits, lifted her so that she stood on the floor, and began undressing her, picking her dreadful clothes off with surprising delicacy.\n\nShe felt very small. Was this seduction? For certain he would stop when he reached her shift.\n\nIt wasn't and he didn't; this was care. As he picked up her naked body and slipped it into the bath, she looked into his face; it might have been Gordinus's, intent over an autopsy.\n\nI should be embarrassed, she thought. I would be embarrassed, but I am not.\n\nThe bath was warm and she slid down it, grabbing one of the soaps before she went completely underwater, scrubbing, rejoicing in the harshness against her skin. Raising her arms was difficult, so she surfaced long enough to ask him to wash her hair and felt his fingers strong against her scalp. The servants had left ewers of fresh water that he poured over her hair to rinse it.\n\nShe couldn't bend to reach her feet without pain, so he laved those as well, intent, meticulously going between the toes.\n\nShe thought, watching him, I am in a bath, naked in a bath with no bubbles, and a man is washing me; my reputation is doomed and to hell with it. I've been to hell and all I wanted in it was to be alive for this man. Who carried me out of it.\n\nIt was as if she and Ulf, all of them, had fallen into a world not even nightmare had prepared them for but which coexisted with the normal so closely that an unguarded step gained access to it. It was at the end of everything, or perhaps at the beginning, a savagery that, though they had survived it, revealed convention as an illusion. The thread of her life had so nearly been sheared that never again would she depend on having a future.\n\nAnd in that moment, she had wanted this man. Still wanted him.\n\nAdelia, who'd thought she was conversant with all conditions of the body, was new to this one. She felt soapy, lubricated, within as well as without; it was as if she were bursting into foliage, her skin rising toward him, desperate for him to touch it--he who, at the moment, was regarding not her breasts but the bruises across her poor ribs.\n\n\"Did he hurt you? Truly hurt you, I mean?\" he asked.\n\nShe wondered what he considered the bruises and the wound in her arm to be, and her eye. Then she thought: Ah, was I raped? It matters to them. Virginity is their holy grail.\n\n\"And if he did?\" she asked gently.\n\n\"That's the thing,\" he said. He was kneeling beside the bath now so their heads could be on a level. \"All the way to the hill, I was seeing what he could do to you, but, as long you survived it, I didn't care.\" He shook his head at the extraordinary. \"Fouled or in pieces, I wanted you back. You were mine, not his.\"\n\nOh, oh.\n\n\"He didn't touch me,\" she said, \"apart from this and this. I'll mend.\"\n\n\"Good,\" he said briskly, and got up. \"Well, there's much to do. I can't be dallying with women in baths; there's arrangements to be made, not least for our marriage.\"\n\n\"Marriage?\"\n\n\"I shall speak to the prior, of course, and he will speak to Mansur; these things must be done with propriety. And there's the king...tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after, when all's settled.\"\n\n\"Marriage?\"\n\n\"You have to marry me now, woman,\" he said, surprised. \"I've seen you in your bath.\"\n\nHe was going, actually leaving.\n\nShe hauled herself painfully out of the bath, grabbing one of the towels. There wouldn't be a tomorrow, didn't he realize? Tomorrows were full of awful things. Today, now, was the essential. There was no time for propriety.\n\n\"Don't leave me, Rowley. I can't endure to be alone.\"\n\nAnd that was true. Not all the forces of darkness were vanquished; one was still somewhere in this building; some would stalk her memory always. Only he could keep them out.\n\nWincing, she slid her arms round his neck and felt the warm, damp softness of her skin against his.\n\nGently, he disengaged them. \"This is another thing, don't you see, woman? This is a marriage between us; it must be in accordance with holy law.\"\n\nA fine moment, she thought, for him to worry about holy law. \"There isn't time, Rowley. There isn't any time beyond that door.\"\n\n\"No, there isn't. I've got a great deal to see to.\" But he was beginning to pant. Her bare feet were standing on his boots, the towel had slipped, and every inch of her body that could reach it was pressed against his.\n\n\"You're making this very hard for me, Adelia.\" His mouth quirked. \"In more ways than one.\"\n\n\"I know.\" She could feel it.\n\nHe pretended to sigh. \"It won't be easy making love to a woman with broken ribs.\"\n\n\"Try,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh, dear Christ,\" he said harshly. And carried her to the bed. And tried. And did very well, first cradling her and crooning to her in Arabic as if neither English nor French was sufficient to express how beautiful she was to him, black eye or not, and after that, supporting his weight on his arms so as not to crush her.\n\nAnd she knew herself to be beautiful to him, just as he was beautiful to her, and this was sex, was it, this throbbing, slippery ride to the stars and back.\n\n\"Can you do it again?\" she asked.\n\n\"Good God, woman. No, I can't. Well, not yet. It's been a difficult day.\" But again, after a while, he tried and did equally well.\n\nBrother Swithin was not generous with his candles, and they went out, leaving the room in semidarkness from the rain still lashing against the shutters. She lay crooked in her lover's arm, breathing in the wonderful smell of soap and sweat.\n\n\"I love you so much,\" she said.\n\n\"Are you crying?\" He sat up.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are. Coitus does that to some women.\"\n\n\"You'd know, of course.\" Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.\n\n\"Sweetheart, this is completion. He's gone, she will be...well, we'll see. I shall be rewarded as I deserve, and you, too--not that you deserve anything. Henry will give me a nice barony that we can both get fat on and rear dozens of nice, fat little barons.\"\n\nHe got out of bed and reached for his clothes.\n\nHis cloak is missing, she thought. It is somewhere outside this room with Rak shasa's head in it. Everything terrible is beyond that door; the only completion you and I shall ever have is with us now.\n\n\"Don't go,\" she said.\n\n\"I'll be back.\" His mind had already moved away from her. \"I can't stay here all day, forced to swive insatiable women against my will. There's things to do. Go to sleep.\"\n\nAnd he'd gone.\n\nStill watching the door, she thought, I could have him for always. I could have him and our little barons. What is playing the doctor compared to happiness like that? Nothing. Who are the dead to rob me of life?\n\nWith that settled, she lay back and closed her eyes, yawning, replete. But as she drifted into sleep, her last coherent thought was of the clitoris. What an organ of surprise and wonder it is. I must pay it more attention the next time I dissect a female.\n\nAlways and ever the doctor.\n\nShe came to, protesting at someone's repetition of her name, determined to stay asleep. She sniffed in the pungency of clothes kept in pennyroyal against the moth.\n\n\"Gyltha? What time is it?\"\n\n\"Night. And time you was up, girl. I brought you fresh clothes.\"\n\n\"No.\" She was stiff and her bruises were aching; she was staying in bed. She made a concession by squinting out of one eye. \"How's Ulf?\"\n\n\"Sleepin' the sleep of the just.\" Gyltha's rough hand cupped Adelia's cheek for a moment. \"But you both got to get up. There's some high-and-mighties gatherin' over the way as want answers to their questions.\"\n\n\"I suppose so,\" she said wearily. They were quick with their trial. Her evidence and Ulf's would be essential, but there were things better left unremembered.\n\nGyltha went for food, collops of bacon swimming in a beany, delicious broth, and Adelia was so hungry that she hoisted herself into a sitting position. \"I can feed myself.\"\n\n\"No, you bloody can't.\" Since words failed her, Gyltha's gratitude for the safe return of her grandson could best be expressed by stuffing huge spoonfuls into Adelia's mouth as into a baby bird's.\n\nThere was one question that had to be asked through the bacon. \"Where have they put...?\" She couldn't bring herself to name the madwoman. And I suppose, Adelia thought with even greater weariness, because she is a madwoman, I must see to it that they do not torture her.\n\n\"Next door. Being waited on like Lady Muck-a-muck.\" Gyltha's lips shriveled as if touched by acid. \"They don't believe it.\"\n\n\"Don't believe what? Who don't?\"\n\n\"As her did them...things, along of him.\" Neither could Gyltha bring herself to use the names of the killers.\n\n\"Ulf can tell them. So can I. Gyltha, she threw me down the shaft.\"\n\n\"See her do it, did you? And what's Ulf's word worth? A ignorant little slip as sells eels along of his ignorant old gran?\"\n\n\"It was her.\" Adelia spat out food because panic was rising in her throat. It was one thing for the nun to be spared torture, quite another that she be set free; the woman was insane; she could do it again. \"Peter, Mary, Harold, Ulric...of course they went with her; they trusted her. A holy sister? Offering jujubes a crusader taught her how to make? Then the laudanum over their noses--believe me, there's a plentiful supply at the convent.\" Afresh, Adelia saw delicate hands upraised in prayer turn downward into clawed iron bands. \"Almighty God...\" She rubbed her forehead.\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"Saint Raddy's nuns don't do that, seemingly.\"\n\n\"But it was the river. I knew, that's why I got into her boat. She had the freedom of the river, up and down--to Grantchester, to him. She was familiar; people waved at her or didn't notice her at all. A saintly nun taking supplies to anchorites? Nobody to check her movements, certainly not Prioress Joan. And Walburga, if she was with her, Walburga always went off to her aunt's. What do they think she was doing when she stayed out all night?\"\n\n\"I know this, Ulf do knows it. But see...\" Gyltha was a dogged devil's advocate. \"She's near as hurt as you are. They brought in one of the sisters to bathe her on account of I wouldn't touch the hag, but I took a look. Bruises all over, bites, eye closed like yourn. The nun as was a-washing her wept for how the poor thing suffered, and all for coming to help you.\"\n\n\"She...liked it. She enjoyed him hurting her. It's true.\" For Gyltha had drawn back, frowning with incomprehension. How to explain to her, to anybody, that the nun's screams of terror during the beast's attack had mingled with shrieks of insane, exquisite joy?\n\nShe can't understand such perversity, Adelia thought in despair, and I can't either. Dully, she said, \"She procured those children for him. And she killed Simon.\"\n\nThe bowl slipped out of Gyltha's hand and rolled across the room, spilling broth over the wide, elm floorboards. \"Master Simon?\"\n\nAdelia was back in Grantchester on the night of the feast, watching Simon of Naples talk excitedly to the tax collector at the end of the high table, the tallies in his wallet, only a few places from the chair in which sat the giver of the feast, whom they incriminated, only a few more from the woman who had procured the murderer's victims for him.\n\n\"I saw him tell her to kill Simon.\" And she saw them again now, dancing together, the crusader and the nun, the one instructing the other.\n\nDear Lord, she should have realized then. Irascible, woman-hating Brother Gilbert had as good as told her without knowing the import: \"They stay out all night. They comport themselves in licentiousness and lust. In a decent house, they'd be whipped until their arses bled, but where's their prioress? Out hunting.\"\n\nSimon leaving early, to examine the tallies he'd gained and find out who it was who had a financial reason for implicating Jews in the murders. His host coming back from the garden after a short absence, having seen his creature on her way.\n\n\"She left the feast early, Grantchester. I think I saw the other nuns later on, but not her. Did I? Yes, I'm sure I did. And the prioress stayed even later.\"\n\nAnd then what? The gentlest and most angelic of the sisters...? \"So far to walk on this dark night, Master Simon, may I not punt you home? Yes, yes, there is room. I am alone, glad of your company.\"\n\nAdelia thought of the Cam's willow-dark stretches and a slim figure with wrists strong as steel stabbing a pole into the water, pressing it down on a man as on a speared fish while he floundered and drowned.\n\n\"He told her to kill Simon and steal his wallet,\" Adelia said. \"She did what he told her; she was enslaved to him. In the pit I had to take Ulf from her. I think she was going to kill him so that he couldn't give her away.\"\n\n\"Don't I know?\" Gyltha asked, even as her hands made pushing notions against the knowledge. \"Ain't Ulf told me what she did? And me knowing what both would have done to the boy if the good Lord hadn't sent you to stop 'em. What they did to the others...\" Her eyes went into slits and she stood up. \"Let's you and me go next door and stick a pillow on her face.\"\n\n\"No. Everyone must know what she did, what he did.\"\n\nRakshasa had escaped justice. His terrible end...Adelia shut her mind to avoid the vision against the sunrise...had not been justice. Eliminating that creature from the earth it sullied had not weighted its side of the scales against the pile of little bodies it had left in its passage from the Holy Land.\n\nEven if they had captured it, dragged it to the assize, put it on trial, and executed it, the scales would have remained unbalanced for those whose children had been torn from them, but at least people would have known what it had done and seen it pay. The Jews would have been publicly exonerated. Most important, the law that brought order from chaos, that separated civilized humanity from the animals, would have been upheld.\n\nWhile Gyltha helped her to dress, Adelia examined her conscience to see whether her objection against capital punishment had been abandoned. No, it had not; it was a principle. The mad must be restrained, certainly, yet not judicially killed. Rakshasa had escaped legal exposure: His collaborator must not. Her actions had to be recounted in full common view so that some equilibrium was brought into the world.\n\n\"She has to stand trial,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"You think she's a-going to?\"\n\nA knock on the door was Prior Geoffrey's. \"My dear girl, my poor, dear girl. I thank the Lord for your courage and deliverance.\"\n\nShe brushed his prayers aside. \"Prior, the nun...She was his accomplice in everything. As much a killer as he was, she murdered Simon of Naples without a thought. You do believe that?\"\n\n\"I fear I must. I have listened to Ulf's account, which, though confused by whatever soporific she gave him, leaves no doubt that she abducted him to that place where he was put in danger of his life. I have also heard what Sir Rowley and the hunter had to tell. This very evening I visited that hole with them....\"\n\n\"You've been to Wandlebury?\"\n\n\"I have,\" the prior said wearily. \"And never was I so close to hell. Oh, dear, the equipment we found there. One can only rejoice that Sir Joscelin's soul will burn for eternity. Joscelin...\" The emphasis was to help him believe it. \"A local boy. I had marked him as a future sheriff of the county.\" A spark of indignation enlivened the prior's tired eyes. \"I even accepted a donation toward our new chapel from those heinous hands.\"\n\n\"Jews' money,\" Adelia said. \"He owed it to the Jews.\"\n\nHe sighed. \"I suppose it was. Well, at least our friends in the tower have been absolved.\"\n\n\"And is the town to be made aware that they are absolved?\" Adelia jerked an inelegant thumb toward the room in which the nun was housed. \"She will be put on trial?\" She was getting restive; there was a reservation, a fogginess, in some of the prior's answers.\n\nHe went to the window and opened the shutter a crack. \"They said it would rain. The dawn was a true shepherd's warning, apparently. Well, the gardens need it after a dry spring.\" He closed the shutter. \"Yes, an announcement declaring the Jews' innocence shall be trumpeted in full assize--thank heaven it is still in progress. But as for the...female...I have asked for a convocation of all those concerned to get to the truth of the matter. They are gathering now.\"\n\n\"A convocation? Why not a trial?\" And why at nighttime?\n\nAs if she hadn't spoken, he said, \"I expected it to meet at the castle, but the clerk of the assize deemed that an inquiry be better held here so that the legal processes should not be confused. And after all, it is here that the children are buried. Well, we shall see, we shall see.\"\n\nSuch a good man, her first friend in England and she had not thanked him. \"My lord, I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for your gift of the dog, bless him...Did you see what was done to him?\"\n\n\"I saw.\" Prior Geoffrey shook his head, then smiled a little. \"I ordered his remnants gathered and given to Hugh, whom Brother Gilbert suspects of secretly burying his hounds in the priory graveyard when no one is by. The Safeguard may well lie with human beings who are less faithful.\"\n\nIt had been a small grief among all the rest but a grief nevertheless; Adelia was comforted.\n\n\"However,\" the prior went on, \"as you and I know, you also owe your life to someone with more right to it, and, in part, I am here for him.\"\n\nBut her mind had reverted to the nun. They're going to let her go. None of us saw her kill: not Ulf, not Rowley, not me. She's a nun; the Church fears a scandal. They're going to let her go.\n\n\"I won't have it, Prior,\" she said.\n\nPrior Geoffrey's mouth had been shaping words that obviously pleased him; now it stopped, open. He blinked. \"A somewhat hasty decision, Adelia.\"\n\n\"People must know what was done. She must be brought to trial, even if she is adjudged too mad for sentence. For the children's sake, for Simon's, for mine; I found their lair and was near killed for it. I will have justice--and it must be seen to be done.\" Not from blood-lust, nor even revenge, but because, without a completion, the nightmares of too many people would be left open-ended.\n\nThen something the prior had said caught up with her. \"I beg your pardon, my lord?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey sighed and began again. \"Before he was forced to return to the assize--the king has arrived, you know--he approached me. For lack of anyone else, he seems to regard me as in loco parentis....\"\n\n\"The king?\" Adelia wasn't keeping up.\n\nThe prior sighed once more. \"Sir Rowley Picot. Sir Rowley has asked me to approach you with a request--indeed, his manner suggested it to be a foregone conclusion--for your hand in marriage.\"\n\nIt was all one with this extraordinary day. She had gone down into the pit and been raised from it. A man had been torn to death. Next door was a murderess. She had lost her virginity, gloriously lost it, and the man who had taken it now reverted to etiquette, using the good offices of a surrogate father to request her hand.\n\n\"I should add,\" Prior Geoffrey said, \"that the proposal is made at some cost. At the assize, the king offered Sir Rowley the bishopric of Saint Albans, and with my own ears I heard Picot reject the position on the grounds that he wished to remain free to marry.\"\n\nHe wants me as much as that?\n\n\"King Henry was not pleased,\" the prior went on. \"He has a particular wish to appoint our good tax collector to the see of Saint Albans, nor is he used to being thwarted. But Sir Rowley was not to be moved.\"\n\nNow it was Adelia's mouth that remained paused over the answer she had known she must make, unable to make it.\n\nWith the rush of love came fear that she would accept because she so very much wanted to, because this morning Rowley had soothed away the mental damage done and purified it. Which, of course, was the danger in itself. He has made such sacrifice for me. Isn't it right, and beautiful, that I make similar sacrifice for him?\n\nSacrifice.\n\nPrior Geoffrey said, \"He may have disappointed King Henry, but he charges me to tell you that he is still well regarded and marked for high position so that there can be no disadvantage to you by the match.\" When Adelia still didn't answer, he went on: \"Indeed, I have to say I would be content to see you bound to him.\"\n\nBound.\n\n\"Adelia, my dear.\" Prior Geoffrey took her hand. \"The man deserves an answer.\"\n\nHe did. She gave it.\n\nThe door opened and Brother Gilbert stood on the threshold, rendering the scene before him--his superior in the company of two women in a bedroom--into something naughty. \"The lords are assembled, Prior.\"\n\n\"Then we must attend them.\" The prior raised Adelia's hand and kissed it, but it was his wink at Gyltha--who winked back--that was naughty.\n\nThe convoked lords were met in the monastery's refectory rather than its church so that the canons were free to keep the hours of vigil where and when they always did; nor, having taken supper and it being some hours until breakfast, need they disturb the convocation at its business.\n\nOr even know it has taken place, Adelia thought.\n\nThey called it a convocation, but it was, in effect, a trial. Not of the young nun who stood suitably chaperoned between her prioress and Sister Walburga, her head modestly bowed and her hands meekly folded.\n\nThe accused was Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, a foreigner, who, according to an angry Prioress Joan called from her bed, had made an unwarranted, obscene, devilish accusation against an innocent and godly member of the holy order of Saint Radegund, and must be whipped for it.\n\nAdelia stood in the middle of the hall with the imps that studded the beams of its hammer roof grinning down at her. Its long table with its benches had been pushed to one side against a wall, so that the line of chairs at the far end in which the judges sat was off-center, skewing the room's otherwise lovely proportions for her and giving another scrape to nerves already quivering from disbelief, anger, and, it had to be said, plain fear.\n\nFor facing her were three of the several justices in eyre who had come to Cambridge for its assize--the Bishops of Norwich and Lincoln, and the Abbot of Ely. They represented England's legal authority. They could close their jeweled fists and crush Adelia like a pomander. Also, they were cross at being summoned from a sleep they deserved after the long day's hearings at the assize, at traveling from the castle to Saint Augustine's in darkness and pouring rain--and at her. She could feel hostility emanating from them strong enough to blow the floor's rushes down its length and into a pile at her feet.\n\nMost hostile of all was an Archdeacon of Canterbury, not a judge but someone who regarded himself, and, apparently, was regarded by the others, as a mouthpiece for the late, sainted Thomas a Becket and seemed to think that any attack on a member of the Church--such as Adelia's denunciation of Veronica, sister of Saint Radegund--was comparable to Henry II's knights spilling Becket's brains on his cathedral floor.\n\nThat they were all churchmen had taken Prior Geoffrey aback. \"My lords, I'd hoped that some lords temporal might also attend.\"\n\nThey silenced him; they were, after all, his spiritual superiors. \"It is purely a Church matter.\"\n\nWith them was a young man in nonclerical dress, slightly amused by the whole proceeding and using a portable writing desk to make notes of it on a parchment. Adelia knew his name only because one of the others addressed him by it--Hubert Walter.\n\nBehind their chairs were ranged a selection of assize attendants, two clerks, one of them asleep where he stood, a man-at-arms who'd forgotten to take off his nightcap before putting on his helmet, and two bailiffs with manacles at their belt, each carrying a mace.\n\nAdelia stood apart and alone, though for a while Mansur had stood beside her.\n\n\"What is...that, Prior?\"\n\n\"He is Mistress Adelia's attendant, my lord.\"\n\n\"A Saracen?\"\n\n\"A distinguished Arab doctor, my lords.\"\n\n\"She has no need of either a doctor or an attendant. Nor have we.\"\n\nMansur had been banished from the room.\n\nPrior Geoffrey was standing to one side of the line of chairs with Sheriff Baldwin--Brother Gilbert behind them both.\n\nHe had done his best, bless him; the dreadful story had been told, Adelia's and Simon's part in it explained, their discoveries and Simon's death recounted, the evidence delivered of the prior's own eyes as to what lay beneath Wandlebury Hill--and he had outlined the charge against Sister Veronica.\n\nHe had carefully mentioned neither Adelia's examination of the children's bodies nor her qualification for it--a neglect for which she thanked God; she was in enough trouble, she knew, without facing an accusation of witchcraft.\n\nHugh the hunter had been called into the refectory with his frankpledges, the men who, under England's legal system, answered for his honesty. He'd stood with his hat on his heart to state that, looking down the shaft, he had seen a bloody, naked figure that he recognized as Sir Joscelin of Grantchester. That he had later descended into the tunnels. That he had examined the flint knife. That he had recognized the dog collar attached to the chain in the womblike chamber....\n\n\"'Twas Sir Joscelin's, my lords. I'd seen it a dozen times on his own hound in former days--had his seal embossed in its leather, so it did.\"\n\nThe dog collar was produced, the seal examined.\n\nNo doubt that Sir Joscelin of Grantchester had killed the children--the judges had been appalled. \"Joscelin of Grantchester shall be declared base felon and murderer. The remains of his corpse shall hang in Cambridge market square for all to see and shall not be accorded Christian burial.\"\n\nAs for Sister Veronica...\n\nThere was no direct evidence against her, because Ulf was not allowed to give it.\n\n\"How old is the child, Prior? He may not be accorded frankpledge until he is twelve.\"\n\n\"Nine, my lord, but a percipient and honest boy.\"\n\n\"Of what degree?\"\n\n\"He is free, my lords, not a villein. He works for his grandmother and sells eels.\"\n\nAt this point, there was an interjection from Brother Gilbert, who whispered treacherously into the ear of the archdeacon with every sign of satisfaction.\n\nAh, the grandmother was not married, never had been, possibly the progenitor of illegitimate children. The boy was likely a bastard, then, of no degree whatsoever: \"The law does not recognize him.\"\n\nSo Ulf, like Mansur, was banished to the kitchen that lay behind the refectory, with Gyltha's hand over his mouth to stop him from shouting out, both of them listening on the other side of the open hatch from which a smell of bacon and broth came to mingle with that of the rich, rain-dampened ermine lining the judges' cloaks, while Rabbi Gotsce, also in the kitchen, translated into English for them proceedings that were being held in Latin.\n\nThe court had been scandalized by his very presence.\n\n\"You would bring a Jew before us, Prior Geoffrey?\"\n\n\"My lords, the Jews of this town have been grossly maligned. It can be shown that Sir Joscelin was one of their chief debtors, and it was part of his wickedness to see them accused of murder and their tallies burned.\"\n\n\"Has the Jew evidence of this?\"\n\n\"The tallies were destroyed, my lord, as I said. But surely the rabbi is entitled to...\"\n\n\"The law does not recognize him.\"\n\nThe law didn't recognize, either, that a nun whose purity of soul shone in her face could do what Adelia had said she had done.\n\nHer prioress spoke for her....\n\n\"Like Saint Radegund, our beloved foundress, Sister Veronica was born in Thuringia,\" she said. \"But her father, a merchant, settled in Poitiers, where she was offered to the convent at the age of three and sent to England while still a child, though one whose devotion to God and His Holy Mother was in evidence then and has been ever since.\"\n\nPrioress Joan had tempered her voice; her rein-callused hands were in her sleeves; she was every inch the superior of a well-ordered house of God. \"My lords, I stand for this nun's modesty and temperance and her devotion to the Lord--many a time when the other nuns were at recreation, Sister Veronica has been on her knees beside our blessed little saint, Peter of Trumpington.\"\n\nThere was a muffled squeak from the kitchen.\n\n\"Whom she lured to his death,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"Hold your tongue, woman,\" the archdeacon told her.\n\nThe prioress turned on Adelia, finger pointing, her voice a hunting horn. \"Judge, my lords. Judge between that, a slandering viper, and here, this exemplar of saintliness.\"\n\nIt was a pity that the dress Gyltha had brought her from Old Benjamin's was the one Adelia had worn to the Grantchester feast, too low in the bodice and too high in color to compare well with the nuns' sleekly sober black and white. A pity, too, that in her joyous fluster over Ulf's return, Gyltha had forgotten to bring a veil or cap and that, therefore, Adelia, whose previous cap lay somewhere under Wandlebury Hill, was as bareheaded as a harlot.\n\nNo one except Prior Geoffrey spoke for her.\n\nNot Sir Rowley Picot; he wasn't there.\n\nThe Archdeacon of Canterbury rose to his feet, which were still in slippers. He was a tiny old man, full of energy. \"Let us expedite this matter, my lords, that we may return to our beds and, should we find it has been raised out of malice\"--the face he turned on Adelia was that of a malevolent monkey--\"let those responsible be sent to the whipping post. Now, then...\"\n\nOne by one, the bricks on which Adelia had built her case were examined and discarded.\n\nThe word of an eel-selling bastard minor to condemn a bride of Christ?\n\nThe good sister's familiarity with the river? But who was not familiar with boatmanship in this waterlogged town?\n\nLaudanum? Was it not generally available at any apothecary's?\n\nSpending the occasional night away from her convent? Well...\n\nFor the first time, the young man called Hubert Walter raised his voice, and his head from his note-taking: \"Perhaps that does call for explanation, my lord. It is...unusual.\"\n\n\"If I may speak, your lordships.\" Prioress Joan stepped forward again. \"Taking supplies to our anchorites is an act of charity that exhausts Sister Veronica's strength--see how frail she is. Accordingly, I have allowed her permission to spend such nights in rest and contemplation with one of our lady eremites before returning to the convent.\"\n\n\"Laudable, laudable.\" The eyes of the judges rested appreciatively on Sister Veronica's willow-wand figure.\n\nWhich lady eremite, Adelia wondered, and why should she not be hauled before this court to be asked how many nights she and the frail Veronica have spent in contemplation?\n\nNone, I'll warrant.\n\nBut it was useless; the anchorite, being an anchorite, would not come. Demanding that she attend could only confirm Adelia's stridency as opposed to Veronica's respectful silence.\n\nWhere are you, Rowley? I cannot stand here alone. Rowley, they're going to let her go.\n\nThe dismemberment went on. Who had seen Simon of Naples die? Had not the inquest confirmed that the Jew drowned accidentally?\n\nThe walls of the great room were closing in. A bailiff studied the manacles he carried as if to judge them small enough for Adelia's wrists. Above her head, the gargoyles gibbered in glee and the eyes of the judges stripped the skin off her.\n\nNow the archdeacon was questioning her motive in going to Wandlebury Hill at all. \"What led her to that infamous place, my lords? How did she know what went on there? Can we not assume that it was she who was in league with the devil of Grantchester, and not the holy sister she accuses--whose only crime, it seems, was to follow her out of concern for her safety?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey opened his mouth but was forestalled by the clerk Hubert Walter, still amused. \"I think we must accept, my lords, that all four children died before this female set foot in England. We may at least acquit her of their murder.\"\n\n\"Really?\" The archdeacon was disappointed. \"Nevertheless, we have proved her a slanderer and, by her own statement, she had knowledge of the pit and its circumstances. I find that curious, my lords. I find it suspicious.\"\n\n\"So do I.\" The Bishop of Norwich broke in, yawning. \"Take the damned female to the whipping post and be done with it.\"\n\n\"Is that the verdict of you all?\"\n\nIt was.\n\nAdelia shouted, not for herself but for Cambridgeshire's children. \"Don't let her go, I beg you. She can kill again.\"\n\nThe judges weren't listening, not looking at her--their attention had been claimed by somebody who'd entered the refectory from the kitchen, where he'd taken himself a bowl of bacon broth and was now eating it.\n\nHe blinked at the assembly. \"A trial, is it?\"\n\nAdelia waited for this plainly dressed man in leather to be blasted back to where he came from. A couple of boar hounds had slouched in with him--a hunter, then, who'd wandered here by mistake.\n\nBut the lord judges were standing. Were bowing. Were remaining on their feet.\n\nHenry Plantagenet, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, Count of Anjou, hoisted himself up on the refectory table, letting his legs dangle, and looked around. \"Well?\"\n\n\"Not a trial, my lord.\" The Bishop of Norwich was as awake and fluttering as a lark now. \"A convocation, merely a preliminary inquiry into the matter of the town's murdered children. The killer has been identified, but that\"--he pointed in the direction of Adelia--\"that female has brought an accusation of complicity against this nun of Saint Radegund.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" the king said, pleasantly, \"I thought our lords spiritual were somewhat overrepresented. Where's De Luci? De Glanville? The lords temporal?\"\n\n\"We did not wish to disturb their rest, my lord.\"\n\n\"Very thoughtful,\" Henry said, still pleasant though the bishop quailed. \"And how are we getting on?\"\n\nHubert Walter had left his place to stand by the king, holding out his parchment.\n\nHenry took it, putting down his bowl of broth. \"I hope nobody minds if I make myself familiar with the case--it's been causing me some trouble, you see; my Cambridge Jews have been incarcerated in the castle tower because of it.\"\n\nHe added mildly enough, but, again, the judges shifted in discomfort, \"And I've lost revenue accordingly.\"\n\nScanning the parchment, he leaned down and took a handful of rushes from the floor. There was silence as he read, except for the beat of rain against the high windows and a contented gnawing from one of the dogs, who'd found a bone under the table.\n\nAdelia's legs were trembling so much that she didn't know whether they'd hold her up; this plain, casual-seeming man had brought a directionless terror into the refectory.\n\nHe began murmuring, holding the parchment to a candelabra on the table in order to see it better. \"Boy says abducted by the nun...not recognizable in law...hmm.\" He put one of the rushes he was holding down beside the light. Absently, he said, \"Splendid broth, Prior.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my lord.\"\n\n\"The nun's knowledge and use of the river\"--another rush was laid beside the first--\"An opiate...\" This time, the rush was put across the top of the other two. \"All-night vigils with an anchorite...\" He looked up. \"Has the anchorite been called to witness? Oh, no, I forgot--this is not a trial.\"\n\nAdelia's legs became weaker, this time with a hope so tenuous she hardly dared entertain it. Henry Plantagenet's rushes, neatly crisscrossed as if he were going to play spillikin with them, were multiplying with each piece of evidence she'd brought against Veronica.\n\n\"Simon of Naples...drowned whilst in possession of tallies...the river again...a Jew, of course, well, what can you expect...\" Henry shook his head at the carelessness of Jews and read on.\n\n\"The laywoman's suspicions...Wand-le-bury Hill...maintains she was thrown down a pit...didn't see who...tussles...laywoman and nun...both injured...child rescued...local knight responsible...\"\n\nHe looked up, then down at the pile of rushes, then at the judges.\n\nThe Bishop of Norwich cleared his throat. \"As you see, my lord, all the charges against Sister Veronica are unsubstantiated. Nobody can incriminate her because...\"\n\n\"Except the boy, of course,\" Henry interrupted, \"but we can't give any legal weight to him, can we? No, I agree...all circumstantial.\"\n\nHe looked once more at his rushes. \"Hell of a lot of circumstance, mind you, but...\" The king puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and the rushes scattered. \"So what did you decide to do about this slanderous lady...what's her name? Adele? Your handwriting is pitiable, Hubert.\"\n\n\"I apologize, my lord. She is called Adelia.\"\n\nThe archdeacon was becoming restive. \"It is unpardonable that she should level calumnies such as these against a religious; it cannot be overlooked.\"\n\n\"It certainly can't,\" Henry agreed. \"Should we hang her, do you think?\"\n\nThe archdeacon battled on. \"The woman is a foreigner; she has come from nowhere in company with a Jew and a Saracen. Is she to be allowed to slander Holy Mother Church? By what right? Who sent her and why? To sow discord? I say the devil has put her amongst us.\"\n\n\"It was me, really,\" the king said.\n\nThe room was silenced as if an avalanche of snow had muffled it. From the door behind the judges came the sound of shuffling, splashing feet as Barnwell's canons groped their way through the rain along the cloister to church.\n\nHenry looked at Adelia for the first time and exposed his ferocious little teeth in a grin. \"Didn't know that, did you?\"\n\nHe turned on the judges, who, not having been invited to sit, were still standing. \"You see, my lords, children were disappearing in Cambridge and so were my revenues. Jews in the tower. Trouble in the streets. As I said to Aaron of Lincoln--you know him, Bishop; he lent you money for your cathedral--Aaron, I said, something must be done about Cambridge. If the Jews are slaughtering infants for their rituals, we must hang them. If not, somebody else must hang. Which reminds me...\" He raised his voice. \"Come in, Rabbi, I'm told this is not a trial.\"\n\nThe door from the kitchen opened and Rabbi Gotsce entered cautiously, bowing with a frequency that showed he was nervous.\n\nThe king took no more notice of him. \"Anyway, Aaron went away to consider and, having considered, returned. He said that the man we needed was a certain Simon of Naples--another Jew, I fear, my lords, but an investigator of renown. Aaron also suggested that Simon be asked to bring with him a master in the art of death.\" Henry bestowed another of his smiles on the judges. \"I expect you are asking yourselves: What is a master in the art of death? I know I did. A necromancer? A species of refined torturer? But no, it appears there are qualified men who can read corpses and, in this case, might gain from the manner of the Cambridge children's murder an indication as to the perpetrator. Is there any more of this excellent broth?\"\n\nThe transition was so fast that it was some minutes before Prior Geoffrey roused himself and crossed to the hatch as if a man in a dream. It seemed natural that a woman's hand extend a steaming bowl to him. He took it, walked back, and proffered it to the king on bended knee.\n\nThe king had employed the interim in chatting to Prioress Joan. \"I hoped to go after boar tonight. Is it too late, do you think? Will they have returned to their lair?\"\n\nThe prioress was bewildered but charmed. \"Not yet, my lord. May I recommend you employ your hounds toward Babraham, where the woods...\" Her voice trailed away as realization overtook her. \"I repeat hearsay, my lord. I have little time for hunting.\"\n\n\"Really, madam?\" Henry appeared gently surprised. \"I have heard you famed as a regular Diana.\"\n\nAn ambush, Adelia thought. She realized she was watching an exercise that, whether it succeeded or not, raised cunning to the realm of art.\n\n\"So,\" the king said, chewing, \"thank you, Prior. So, I asked Aaron, 'Where in hell can I find a master in the art of death?' And he said, 'Not in hell, my lord, in Salerno.' He likes his little quips, does our Aaron. It seems the excellent medical school in Salerno produces men qualified in that recondite science. So, to cut a long story short, I wrote to the King of Sicily.\" He beamed at the prioress. \"He's a friend, you know. I wrote begging the services of Simon of Naples and a death master.\"\n\nHaving swallowed too quickly, the king began to cough and had to be slapped on the back by Hubert Walter.\n\n\"Thank you, Hubert.\" He wiped his eyes. \"Well, two things went awry. For one thing, I was out of England putting down the bloody Lusignans when Simon of Naples arrived in this country. For another, it appears that in Salerno they qualify women in medicine--can you believe it, my lords?--and some idiot who couldn't tell Adam from Eve sent not a master in the art of death but a mistress. There she is.\"\n\nHe looked at Adelia, though nobody else did; they watched the king, always the king. \"So I'm afraid, my lords, we can't hang her--much as we want to. She's not our property, you see, she's a subject of the King of Sicily, and friend William will want her returned to him in good condition.\"\n\nHe was down from the table now, walking the floor and picking his teeth as if in deep reflection. \"What do you say, my lords? Do you think, in view of the fact that this woman and a Jew, between them, seem to have saved further children from a nasty death at the hands of a gentleman whose head is even now pickling in the castle brine bucket...\" He drew a puzzled breath, shaking his head. \"Can we so much as scourge her?\"\n\nNobody said anything; they weren't meant to.\n\n\"In fact, my lords, King William will take it amiss if there is interference with Mistress Adelia, any attempt to charge her with witchcraft or malpractice.\" The king's voice had become a whip. \"And so shall I.\"\n\nI am your servant all my days. Adelia was limp with gratitude and admiration. But can you, even you, great Plantagenet, bring the nun to open trial?\n\nRowley was in the room now, large, and bowing to the much shorter Henry, handing things to him. \"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lord.\" A look passed between them and Rowley nodded. They were in league, he and the king.\n\nHe walked up the refectory to stand beside Prior Geoffrey. His cloak was dark with rain and he smelled of fresh air; he was fresh air, and she was suddenly overjoyed that her bodice was low and her head bare, like a harlot. She could have stripped for him all over again. I am your harlot whenever you want, and proud of it.\n\nHe was saying something. The prior was giving instructions to Brother Gilbert, who left the room.\n\nHenry had gone back to his place on the table. He was beckoning to the fattest of the three nuns in the center of the hall. \"You, Sister. Yes, you. Come here.\"\n\nPrioress Joan watched with suspicion as Walburga advanced hesitantly toward the king. Veronica's eyes remained downcast, her hands as still as they had been from the first.\n\nMore gently now, but with every word audible, the king said, \"Tell me, Sister, what you do at the convent? Speak up. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.\"\n\nIt came, breathy at first, but few could resist Henry when he was pleasant, and Walburga wasn't one of them. \"I contemplates the Holy Word, my lord, like the others, and say the prayers. And I pole supplies to the anchorites....\" A note of doubt there.\n\nIt came to Adelia that Walburga, with her shaky Latin, was so bewildered by the proceedings that she had not attended to most of them.\n\n\"And we keep the hours, almost nearly always....\"\n\n\"Do you eat well? Plenty of meat?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my lord.\" Walburga was on firm ground and gaining confidence. \"Mother Joan do always brings back a buck or two from the hunt, and my auntie's good with butter and cream. We eat main well.\"\n\n\"What else do you do?\"\n\n\"I polishes Little Saint Peter's reliquary, and I weaves tokens for the pilgrims to buy, and I--\"\n\n\"I'll wager you're the best weaver in the convent.\" Very jovial.\n\n\"Well, I'm pretty with it, my lord, though I do say it as shouldn't, but maybe Sister Veronica and poor Sister Agnes-as-was run me close.\"\n\n\"I expect you have individual styles?\" At Walburga's blink, Henry rephrased it. \"Say I wanted to buy a token from a pile of tokens. Could you tell me which one was yours and which one Agnes's? Or Veronica's?\"\n\nMy God. Adelia's skin was prickling. She tried to catch Rowley's eye, but he would not look at her.\n\nWalburga chuckled. \"No need, my lord. I'll do one for you for free.\"\n\nHenry smiled. \"Tut, and I've just sent Sir Rowley to fetch some.\" He held out one of the small objects, some figures, some mats that Rowley had given him. \"Did you make this one?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, that's Sister Odilia's afore she died.\"\n\n\"And this one?\"\n\n\"That's Magdalene's.\"\n\n\"This?\"\n\n\"Sister Veronica's.\"\n\n\"Prior.\" It was a command.\n\nBrother Gilbert was back. Prior Geoffrey was bringing another object for Walburga to look at. \"And this, my child? Who made this one?\" It lay on his outstretched palm, like a star made of rushes, beautifully and intricately woven into quincuncial shape.\n\nWalburga was enjoying the game. \"Why, that's Sister Veronica's, too.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Sure as sure, my lord. It's her fun. Poor Sister Agnes said as perhaps she shouldn't, them looking heathenlike, but we didn't see no harm.\"\n\n\"No harm,\" the king said, softly. \"Prior?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey faced the judges. \"My lords, that is one of the tokens that were lying on the corpses of the Wandlebury children when we found them. This nun has just identified it as being made by the accused sister. Look.\"\n\nInstead, the judges looked at Sister Veronica.\n\nAdelia held her breath. It's not conclusive; she can make a hundred excuses. It's clever, but it's not proof.\n\nIt was proof for Prioress Joan; she was staring at her protegee in agony.\n\nIt was proof for Veronica. For a moment, she was still. Then she shrieked, raising her head and two shaking hands. \"Protect me, my lords. You think he was eaten by dogs, but he's up there. Up there.\"\n\nEvery eye followed hers to the rafters where the gargoyles laughed back at them from the shadows, then down again to Veronica. She had fallen to the floor, squirming. \"He'll hurt you. He hurts me when I don't obey him. He hurt when he entered me. He hurts. Oh, save me from the devil.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "The air in the room heated and became heavy. Men's eyelids half closed, their mouths went slack and their bodies rigid. Veronica gyrated among the rushes on the floor, pulling at her habit, pointing to her vagina, shrieking that the devil had entered her there, there.\n\nIt was as if the featherweight token had proved a final weight on guilt so heavy and so vast that she assumed it all lay exposed. A door had been broken open and something fetid was coming out of it.\n\n\"I prayed to the Mother...save me, save me, dear Mary...but he speared me with his horn, here, here. How it hurt...he had antlers...I couldn't...sweet Son of Mary, he made me watch him do things...horrible things, horrible...there was blood, such blood. I thirsted for the blood of the Lord, but I was the devil's slave...he hurt, he hurt...he bit my breasts, here, here, he stripped me...beat me...he put his horn in my mouth...I prayed for sweet Jesus to come...but he is the Prince of Darkness...his voice in my ears telling me to do things...I was afraid...stop him, don't let him...\"\n\nPrayers, abasement. It went on and on.\n\nBut so did your alliance with the beast, Adelia thought. On and on. Months of it. Child after child procured, its torture observed, and never an attempt to break free. That's not enslavement.\n\nIf she was exposing her soul, Veronica was also exposing her young body: her skirt was above her hocks; her slight breasts showed beneath the rents in her habit.\n\nIt's a performance; she's blaming the devil; she killed Simon; she's enjoying it. It's sex, that's what it is.\n\nA glance at the judges showed them enthralled, worse than enthralled: the Bishop of Norwich's hand was on his crutch; the old archdeacon was puffing. Hubert Walter's mouth dribbled. Even Rowley was licking his lips.\n\nIn a moment's pause while Veronica gasped for breath, a bishop said, almost reverently, \"Demonic possession. As clear a case as I ever saw.\"\n\nSo the demons did it. Another attempt by the Prince of Darkness to undermine Mother Church, a regrettable but understandable incident in the war between sin and sanctity. Only the devil to blame. In despair, Adelia glanced up and into the face of the one man in the room who was looking on with sardonic admiration.\n\n\"She killed Simon of Naples,\" Adelia said.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"She helped to kill the children.\"\n\n\"I know,\" the king said.\n\nVeronica was crawling along the floor now, worming her way to the judges. She clasped the archdeacons' slippers, and her soft, dark hair cascaded over his feet. \"Save me, my lord, let him not force me again. I thirst for the Lord; give me back to my Redeemer. Send the devil away.\" Reasonless, disheveled, the innocence had gone and sexual beauty had taken its place, older and more bruised than what it replaced but beauty nevertheless.\n\nThe archdeacon was reaching down to her. \"There, there, my child.\"\n\nThe table shook as Henry bounced off it. \"Do you keep pigs, my lord Prior?\"\n\nPrior Geoffrey dragged his eyes away. \"Pigs?\"\n\n\"Pigs. And somebody get that woman to her feet.\"\n\nInstructions were given. Hugh left the room. The two men-at-arms raised Veronica so that she hung between them. \"Now then, mistress,\" Henry said to her, \"you may help us.\"\n\nVeronica's eyes as they slid up to his showed a moment's calculation. \"Return me to my Redeemer, my lord. Let me wash my sins in the blood of the Lord.\"\n\n\"Redemption is in the truth, and therefore in telling us how the devil killed the children. In what manner. You must show us.\"\n\n\"The Lord wants that? There was blood, so much blood.\"\n\n\"He insists on it.\" Henry held up a warning hand to the judges, who were on their feet. \"She knows. She watched. She shall show us.\"\n\nHugh came in with a piglet that he displayed to the king, who nodded. As the hunter carried it past her toward the kitchen, a bewildered Adelia glimpsed a small, rounded, snuffling snout. There was a smell of farmyard.\n\nOne of the men-at-arms went by, steering Veronica in the same direction, followed by the other, who held a leaf-shaped knife ceremonially on his outstretched palms, the flint knife, the knife.\n\nIs that what he means to happen? God save us, dear God save us all.\n\nThe judges, everybody, Walburga blinking, were crowding toward the kitchen. Prioress Joan would have held back, but King Henry grasped her elbow and took her with him.\n\nAs Rowley passed her, Adelia said, \"Ulf mustn't see this.\"\n\n\"I've sent him home with Gyltha.\" Then he'd gone, too, and Adelia stood in an empty refectory.\n\nWas it planned? There was more to this than proving Veronica's guilt: Henry was after the Church that had condemned him for Becket.\n\nThat, too, was horrible. A trap laid by an artful king, not just for the creature that might or might not fall into it according to how artful it was, but to show his greater enemy its own weakness. And however vile the creature it was laid for, a trap was always a trap.\n\nComings and goings had left the door to the cloister open. Dawn was breaking and the canons were chanting, had been chanting all the time. As she listened to the unison weaving back order and grace, she felt the night air cooling tears on her cheeks that she hadn't known were there.\n\nFrom the kitchen she heard the king's voice: \"Put it on the chopping block. Very well, Sister. Show us what he did.\"\n\nThey were putting the knife in Veronica's hand....\n\nDon't use it, there's no need...just tell them.\n\nThe nun's voice came clear through the hatch. \"I will be redeemed?\"\n\n\"The truth is redemption.\" Henry, inexorable. \"Show us.\"\n\nSilence.\n\nThe nun's voice again: \"He didn't like them to close their eyes, you see.\" There came the first squeal from the piglet. \"And then...\"\n\nAdelia covered her ears, but her hands couldn't keep out another squeal, then another, shriller now, another...and the female voice rising over it: \"Like this, and then this. And then...\"\n\nShe's mad. If there was cunning before, it was the cunning of the insane. Even that has left her now. Dear God, what is it like inside that mind?\n\nLaughter? No, it was giggling, a manic sound and growing, sucking life out of the life it was taking, Veronica's human voice turning non-human, rising over the dying shrieks of the piglet until it was a bray, a sound that belonged to big, grass-stained teeth and long ears. It went out into the night's normality to fracture it.\n\nIt hee-hawed.\n\nThe men-at-arms brought her back into the refectory and threw her on the floor where the piglet's blood soaking her robe puddled into the rushes. The judges made a wide circle to pass her, the Bishop of Norwich brushing absentmindedly at his splashed gown. Mansur's and Rowley's expressions were fixed. Rabbi Gotsce was white to the lips. Prioress Joan sank onto the bench and buried her head in her arms. Hugh leaned against the doorjamb to stare into space.\n\nAdelia hurried to Sister Walburga, who'd staggered and fallen, clawing for air. She knelt, her hand tight round the nun's mouth. \"Slowly now. Breathe slowly. Little breaths, shallow.\"\n\nShe heard Henry say, \"Well, my lords? It appears she gave the devil every cooperation.\"\n\nApart from Walburga's panicking breath, the room was quiet.\n\nAfter a while, somebody, one of the bishops, spoke: \"She will be tried in ecclesiastical court, of course.\"\n\n\"Given benefit of clergy, you mean,\" the king said.\n\n\"She is still ours, my lord.\"\n\n\"And what will you do with her? The Church cannot hang; it can't shed blood. All your court can do is excommunicate her and send her out into the lay world. What happens the next time a killer whistles for her?\"\n\n\"Plantagenet, beware.\" It was the archdeacon. \"Would you yet wrangle with holy Saint Thomas? Is he to die again at the hands of your knights? Would you dispute his own words? 'The clergy have Christ alone as king and under the King of Heaven; they should be ruled by their own law.' Bell, book, and candle are the greatest coercion of all; this wretched woman shall lose her soul.\"\n\nHere was the voice that had echoed through a cathedral with an archbishop's blood on its steps. It echoed through a provincial refectory where the blood of a piglet soaked into the tiles.\n\n\"She's already lost her soul. Is England to lose more children?\" Here was the other voice, the one that had used secular reason against Becket. It was still reasonable.\n\nThen it wasn't. Henry was taking one of the men-at-arms by the shoulders and shaking him. He moved on to shake the rabbi, then Hugh. \"Do you see? Do you see? This was the quarrel between Becket and me. Have your courts, I said, but hand the guilty over to mine for punishment.\" Men were being hurled around the room like rats. \"I lost. I lost, d'you see? Murderers and rapists are loose in my land because I lost.\"\n\nHubert Walter was clinging to one of his arms, pleading and being dragged along. \"My lord, my lord...remember, I beg you, remember.\"\n\nHenry shook him off, stared down at him. \"I won't have it, Hubert.\" He dragged his hand across his mouth to wipe away the spittle. \"You hear me, my lords? I won't have it.\"\n\nHe was calmer now, facing the trembling judges. \"Try it, condemn it, take its soul away, but I will not have that creature's breath polluting my realm. Send it back to Thuringia, to the far Indies, anywhere, but I will lose no more children, and by my soul's salvation, if that thing is still breathing Plantagenet air in two days' time, I shall proclaim to the world what the Church has loosed on it. And you, madam...\"\n\nIt was Prioress Joan's turn. The king pulled her head up from the table by her veil, dislodging the wimple to show wiry, gray hair. \"And you...If you'd controlled your sisterhood with half the discipline you apply to your hounds...She goes, do you understand? She goes or I tear down your convent stone by stone with you in it. Now leave this place and take that stinking maggot with you.\"\n\nIt was a ragged departure. Prior Geoffrey stood at the door, looking old and unwell. Rain had stopped, but the chilly, moist dawn air raised a ground mist and the hooded, cloaked figures mounting their horses or getting into palanquins were difficult to distinguish. Quiet, though, except for the strike of hooves on cobbles and the huff from horses' nostrils and the singing of an early thrush and the crow of a cockerel from a hen run. Nobody spoke. Sleepwalkers, all of them, souls in limbo.\n\nOnly the king's departure had been noisy, a rush of boar hounds and riders galloping toward the gates and open country.\n\nAdelia thought she saw two veiled figures being escorted away by men-at-arms. Perhaps the hatted, bowed shape plodding on a solitary course toward the castle was the rabbi. Only Mansur was here beside her, God bless him.\n\nShe went and put her arm around Walburga, who had been forgotten. Then she waited for Rowley Picot. And waited.\n\nEither he wasn't coming or he had already gone. Ah, well...\n\n\"It seems we must walk,\" she said. \"Are you well enough?\" She was concerned for Walburga; the girl's pulse had been alarming after she'd seen what she should never have seen in the kitchen.\n\nThe nun nodded.\n\nTogether they ambled through the mist, Mansur striding beside them. Twice Adelia turned to look for the Safeguard; twice she remembered. When she turned for a third time...\"Oh no, dear God, no.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Mansur asked.\n\nIt was Rakshasa walking behind them, his feet hidden in the mist.\n\nMansur drew his dagger, then half-replaced it. \"It's the other. Stay here.\"\n\nStill gasping with shock, Adelia watched him go forward to speak to Gervase of Coton, whose figure so much resembled that of a dead man, a Gervase who now seemed reduced and oddly diffident. He and the Arab strolled farther along the track and were lost to view. Their voices were a mumble. Mansur's English had improved these last weeks.\n\nHe came back alone. The three of them walked on together. \"We send him a pot of snakeweed,\" Mansur said.\n\n\"Why?\" Then, because everything normal had been cast adrift, Adelia grinned. \"He's...Mansur, has he got the pox?\"\n\n\"Other doctors have been of no help to him. The poor man has attempted these many days to consult me. He says he has watched the Jew's house for my return.\"\n\n\"I saw him. He scared the wits from me. I'll give him bloody snakeweed, I'll put pepper in it, I'll teach him to lurk on riverbanks. Him and his pox.\"\n\n\"You will be a doctor,\" Mansur reproved her. \"He is a worried man, frightened of what his wife will say, Allah pity him.\"\n\n\"Then he should have been faithful to her,\" Adelia said. \"Oh, tut, it'll go in time if it's gonorrhea.\" She was still grinning. \"But don't tell him that.\"\n\nIt was lighter when they gained the gates toward the town, and they could see the Great Bridge. A flock of sheep was trotting over it, making for the shambles. Some students were stumbling home after a hard night out.\n\nPuffing, Walburga said suddenly in disbelief, \"But she were the best of us, the holiest. I admired her, she were so good.\"\n\n\"She had a madness,\" Adelia said. \"There's no accounting for that.\"\n\n\"Where'd it come from?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Always there, perhaps. Stifled. Doomed to chastity and obedience at the age of three. A chance meeting with a man who overpowered--Rowley had talked of Rakshasa's attraction for women. \"The Lord only knows why; he doesn't treat them well.\" Had that coition of frenzy released the nun's derangement? Maybe, maybe. \"I don't know,\" Adelia said again. \"Take shallow breaths. Slowly, now.\"\n\nA horseman cantered up as they arrived at the foot of the bridge. Sir Rowley Picot looked down at Adelia. \"Am I to be given an explanation, mistress?\"\n\n\"I explained to Prior Geoffrey. I am grateful and honored by your proposal....\" Oh, this was no good. \"Rowley, I would have married you, nobody else, ever, ever. But...\"\n\n\"Did I not fuck you nicely this morning?\"\n\nHe was deliberately speaking English, and Adelia felt the nun beside her flinch at his use of the old Anglo-Saxon word. \"You did,\" she said.\n\n\"I rescued you. I saved you from that monster.\"\n\n\"You did that, too.\"\n\nBut it had been the jumble of powers she and Simon of Naples possessed between them that had led to the discovery on Wandlebury Hill, despite her own misjudgment in going there alone.\n\nThose same powers had led to the saving of Ulf. It had liberated the Jews. Though it had been mentioned by none except the king, their investigation had been a craft of logic and cold reason and...oh, very well, instinct, but instinct based on knowledge; rare skills in this credulous age, too rare to be drowned as Simon's had been drowned, too valuable to be buried, as hers would be buried in marriage.\n\nAll this Adelia had reflected on, in anguish, but the result had been inexorable. Though she had fallen in love, nothing in the rest of the world had changed. Corpses would still cry out. She had a duty to hear them.\n\n\"I am not free to marry,\" she said. \"I am a doctor to the dead.\"\n\n\"They're welcome to you.\"\n\nHe spurred his horse and set it at the bridge, leaving her bereft and oddly resentful. He might at least have seen her and Walburga home.\n\n\"Hey,\" she yelled after him, \"are you sending Rakshasa's head back east to Hakim?\"\n\nHis reply floated back: \"Yes, I bloody well am.\"\n\nHe could always make her laugh, even when she was crying. \"Good,\" she said.\n\nMuch happened in cambridge that day.\n\nThe judges of the assize listened to and gave their verdict on cases of theft, of coin-clipping, street brawls, a smothered baby, bigamy, land disputes, ale that was too weak, loaves that were short, disputed wills, deodands, vagabondage, begging, shipmasters' quarrels, fisticuffs among neighbors, arson, runaway heiresses, and naughty apprentices.\n\nAt midday, there was a hiatus. Drums rolled and trumpets called the crowds in the castle bailey to attend. A herald stood on the platform before the judges to read from a scroll in a voice that reached to the town: \"Let it be known that in the sight of God and to the satisfaction of the judges here present the knight yclept Joscelin of Grantchester has been proved vile murderer of Peter of Trumpington; Harold of Saint Mary Parish; Mary, daughter of Bonning the wildfowler, and Ulric of the parish of Saint John, and that the aforesaid Joscelin of Grantchester died during his capture as befitted his crimes, being eaten by dogs.\n\n\"Let it also be known that the Jews of Cambridge have been quitted of these killings and all suspicion thereof, whereby they shall be returned to their lawful homes and business without hindrance. Thus, in the name of Henry, King of England, under God.\"\n\nThere was no mention of a nun. The Church was silent on that matter. But Cambridge was full of whispers and, in the course of the afternoon, Agnes, eel seller's wife and mother to Harold, pulled apart the little beehive hut in which she had sat outside the castle gates since the death of her son, hauled its material down the hill, and rebuilt it outside the gates of Saint Radegund's convent.\n\nAll this was seen and heard in the open.\n\nOther things were done in secrecy and darkness, though exactly who did them nobody ever knew. Certainly, men high in the ranks of Holy Church met behind closed doors where one of them begged, \"Who will rid us of this shameful woman?\" just as Henry II had once cried out to be rid of the turbulent Becket.\n\nWhat happened next behind those doors is less certain, for no directions were given, though perhaps there were insinuations as light as gnats, so light that it could not be said they had even been made, wishes expressed in a code so byzantine that it could not be translated except by those with the key to it. All this, perhaps, so that the men--and they were not clerics--who went down Castle Hill to Saint Radegund's could not be said to be acting on anyone's command to do what they did.\n\nNor even that they did it.\n\nPossibly Agnes knew, but she never told anybody.\n\nThese things, both transparent and shadowed, passed without Adelia's knowledge. On Gyltha's orders, she slept round the clock. When she woke up, it was to find a line of patients winding down Jesus Lane, waiting for Dr. Mansur's attention. She dealt with the severe cases, then called a halt while she consulted Gyltha.\n\n\"I should go to the convent and look to Walburga. I've been remiss.\"\n\n\"You been mending.\"\n\n\"Gyltha, I don't want to go to that place.\"\n\n\"Don't then.\"\n\n\"I must; another attack like that could stop her heart.\"\n\n\"Convent gates is closed and nobody answering. So they say. And that, that...\" Gyltha still couldn't bring herself to say the name. \"She's gone. So they say.\"\n\n\"Gone? Already?\" Nobody dallies when the king commands, she thought. Le roi le veut. \"Where did they send her?\"\n\nGyltha shrugged. \"Just gone. So they say.\"\n\nAdelia felt relief spreading down to her ribs and almost mending them. The Plantagenet had cleansed his kingdom's air so that she could breathe it.\n\nThough, she thought, in doing so, he has fouled another nation's. What will be done to her there?\n\nAdelia tried to avoid the image of the nun writhing as she had on the floor of the refectory but this time in filth and darkness and chains--and couldn't. Nor could she avoid concern; she was a doctor, and true doctors made no judgments, only diagnoses. She had treated the wounds and diseases of men and women who'd disgusted her humanity but not her profession. Character repelled; the suffering, needy body did not.\n\nThe nun was mad; for society's sake, she must be restrained for as long as she lived. But \"the Lord pity her and treat her well,\" Adelia said.\n\nGyltha looked at her as if she, too, were a lunatic. \"She's been treated like she deserves,\" she said stolidly. \"So they say.\"\n\nUlf, for a miracle, was at his books. He was quieter and more grave than he had been. According to Gyltha, he was expressing a wish to become a lawyer. All very pleasing and admirable--nevertheless, Adelia missed the old Ulf.\n\n\"The convent gates are locked, apparently,\" she told him, \"yet I need to get in to see Walburga. She's ill.\"\n\n\"What? Sister Fatty?\" Ulf was suddenly back on form. \"You come along of me; they can't keep me out.\"\n\nGyltha and Mansur could be trusted to treat the rest of the patients. Adelia went for her medicine chest; lady's slipper was excellent for hysteria, panic, and fearfulness. And rose oil to soothe.\n\nShe set off with Ulf.\n\nOn the castle ramparts, a tax collector who was taking a well-earned rest from assize business recognized two slight figures among the many crossing the Great Bridge below--he would have recognized the slightly larger one in the unattractive headgear among millions.\n\nNow was the time, whilst she was out of the way. He called for his horse.\n\nWhy Sir Rowley Picot found himself compelled to ask advice for his bruised heart from Gyltha, eel seller and housekeeper, he wasn't sure. It may be because Gyltha was the closest female friend in Cambridge to the love of his life. Maybe because she had helped to nurse him back to life, was a rock of common sense, maybe because of the indiscretions of her past...he just did, and to hell.\n\nMiserably, he munched on one of Gyltha's pasties.\n\n\"She won't marry me, Gyltha.\"\n\n\"'Course she won't. Be a waste. She's...\" Gyltha tried to think of an analogy to some fabled creature, could only come up with \"uni-corn,\" and settled for \"She's special.\"\n\n\"I'm special.\"\n\nGyltha reached up to pat Sir Rowley's head. \"You're a fine lad and you'll go far, but she's...\" Again, comparison failed her. \"The good Lord broke the mold after He made her. Us needs her, all of us, not just you.\"\n\n\"And I'm not going to damn well get her, am I?\"\n\n\"Not in marriage, maybe, but there's other ways of skinning a cat.\" Gyltha had long ago decided that the cat under discussion, special though it was, could do with a good, healthy, and continual skinning. A woman might keep her independence, just as she had herself, and could still have memories to warm the winter nights.\n\n\"Good God, woman, are you suggesting...? My intentions toward Mistress Adelia are...were...honorable.\"\n\nGyltha, who had never considered honor a requisite for a man and a maid in springtime, sighed. \"That's pretty. Won't get you nowhere, though, will it?\"\n\nHe leaned forward and said, \"Very well. How?\" And the longing in his face would have melted a flintier heart than Gyltha's.\n\n\"Lord, for a clever man, you'm a right booby. She's a doctor, ain't she?\"\n\n\"Yes, Gyltha.\" He was trying to be patient. \"That, I would point out, is why she won't accept me.\"\n\n\"And what is it doctors do?\"\n\n\"They tend their patients.\"\n\n\"So they do, and I reckon there's one doctor as might be tenderer than most to a patient, always supposing that patient was taken poorly and always supposing she was fond of un.\"\n\n\"Gyltha,\" Sir Rowley said earnestly, \"if I wasn't suddenly feeling so damn ill, I'd ask you to marry me.\"\n\nThey saw the crowd at the convent gates when they'd crossed the bridge and cleared the willows on the bank. \"Oh, dear,\" Adelia said, \"word has got around.\" Agnes and her little hut were there, like a marker to murder.\n\nIt was to be expected, she supposed; the town's anger had been transferred, and a mob was gathering against the nuns just as it had against the Jews.\n\nIt wasn't a mob, though. The crowd was big enough, artisans and market traders mainly, and there was anger, but it was suppressed and mixed with...what? Excitement? She couldn't tell.\n\nWhy weren't these people more enraged, as they had been against the Jews? Ashamed, perhaps. The killers had turned out to be not a despised group, but two of their own, one respected, one a trusted friend they waved to nearly every day. True, the nun had been sent away to where they couldn't lynch her, but they must surely blame Prioress Joan for her laxity in allowing a madwoman the terrible freedom she'd had for so long.\n\nUlf was talking with the thatcher whose foot Adelia had saved, both of them using the dialect in which Cambridge people spoke to each other and that Adelia still found almost incomprehensible. The young thatcher was avoiding her eye; usually, he greeted her with warmth.\n\nUlf, too, when he came back, wouldn't look at her. \"Don't you go in there,\" he said.\n\n\"I must. Walburga is my patient.\"\n\n\"Well, I ain't coming.\" The boy's face had narrowed, as it did when he was upset.\n\n\"I understand.\" She shouldn't have brought him; for him, the convent had been home to a hag.\n\nThe wicket in the solid wooden gates was opening, and two dusty workmen were clambering out; Adelia saw her chance and, with an \"excuse me,\" stepped in before they could close it. She shut it behind her.\n\nThe strangeness was immediate, as was the silence. Somebody, presumably the workmen, had nailed planks of wood diagonally across the church door that had once opened for pilgrims crowding to pray before the reliquary of Little Saint Peter of Trumpington.\n\nHow curious, Adelia thought, that the boy's putative status as a saint would be lost now that he'd been sacrificed not by Jews but Christians.\n\nCurious, too, that the weedy untidiness ignored by an uncaring prioress should so quickly put on the appearance of decay.\n\nTaking the path toward the convent building, Adelia had to prevent herself from thinking that the birds had stopped singing. They hadn't, but--she shivered--their note was different. Such was the imagination.\n\nPrioress Joan's stable and mews were deserted. Doors hung open on empty horse boxes.\n\nThe sisters' compound was still. At the entrance to the cloister, Adelia found herself reluctant to go on. In the unseasonable grayness of the day, the pillars round the open grass were a pale remembrance of a night when she'd seen a horned and malevolent shadow in their center, as if the obscene desire of the nun had summoned it.\n\nFor heaven's sake, he's dead and she's gone. There's nothing here.\n\nThere was. A veiled shape was praying in the south walk as still as the stones it knelt on.\n\n\"Prioress?\"\n\nIt didn't move.\n\nAdelia went up to her and touched her arm. \"Prioress.\" She helped her up.\n\nThe woman had aged overnight, her big, plain face etched deep and deformed into a gargoyle's. Slowly, her head turned. \"What?\"\n\n\"I've come to...\" Adelia raised her voice; it was like talking to the deaf. \"I've brought some medicines for Sister Walburga.\" She had to repeat it; she didn't think Joan knew who she was.\n\n\"Walburga?\"\n\n\"She was ill.\"\n\n\"Was she?\" The prioress turned her eyes away. \"She's gone. They've all gone.\"\n\nSo the Church had stepped in.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Adelia said. And she was; there was something terrible in seeing a human being so deteriorated. Not just that, something terrible in the dying convent as if it were sagging; she had the impression that the cloister was tilting sideways. There was a different smell to it, another shape.\n\nAnd an almost imperceptible sound, like the buzzing of an insect trapped in a jar, only higher.\n\n\"Where has Walburga gone?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Sister Walburga. Where is she?\"\n\n\"Oh.\" An attempt at concentration. \"To her aunt's, I think.\"\n\nThere was nothing to do here, then; she could get away from this place. But Adelia lingered. \"Is there anything I can do for you, Prioress?\"\n\n\"What? Go away. Leave me alone.\"\n\n\"You're ill, let me help you. Is there anyone else here? Lord's sake, what is that sound?\" Feeble as it was, it irritated the ear like tinnitus. \"Don't you hear it? A sort of vibration?\"\n\n\"It is a ghost,\" the gargoyle said. \"It is my punishment to listen to it until it stops. Now go. Leave me to listen to the screams of the dead. Even you cannot help a ghost.\"\n\nAdelia backed away. \"I'll send somebody,\" she said, and for the first time in her life, she ran from the sick.\n\nPrior Geoffrey. He'd be able to do something, take her away, though the ghosts haunting Joan would follow her wherever she went.\n\nThey followed Adelia as she ran, and she almost fell through the wicket in her hurry to get out.\n\nRighting herself, she came face-to-face with the mother of Harold and couldn't look away. The woman was staring at her as if they shared a secret of supreme power.\n\nWeakly, Adelia said, \"She's gone, Agnes. They've sent her away. They've all gone; there's only the prioress....\"\n\nIt wasn't enough; a son had died. Agnes's terrible eyes said there was more; she knew it, they both knew it.\n\nThen she did. All its parts fused into the one knowledge. The smell--so out of context she hadn't recognized the sour odor of fresh mortar for what it was. God, God, please. She'd seen it, a corner of her eye noting with dissatisfaction an imbalance that was the asymmetry of the nuns' pigeonholes which should have been ten on top of ten and had been ten on top of nine--a blank wall where the lower tenth cell should have been.\n\nShe understood. The silence with its vibration...like the buzzing of an insect trapped in a jar, \"the screams of the dead.\"\n\nBlind, Adelia stumbled through the crowd and vomited.\n\nSomebody was tugging at her sleeve, saying something. \"The king...\"\n\nThe prior. He could stop it. She must find Prior Geoffrey.\n\nThe tugging became insistent. \"The king commands your attendance, mistress.\"\n\nIn the name of Christ, how could they in Christ's name?\n\n\"The king, mistress...\" Some liveried fellow.\n\n\"To hell with the king,\" she said. \"I have to find the prior.\"\n\nShe was gripped by the waist and swung up onto a horse. It was trotting, the royal messenger loping alongside with its reins in his hands. \"Better you don't send kings to hell, mistress,\" he said amiably. \"They usually been there.\"\n\nThey were over the bridge, up the hill, through the castle gates, across the bailey. She was lifted off the horse.\n\nIn the sheriff's family garden, in which Simon of Naples lay buried, Henry II, who'd been to hell and returned, was sitting cross-legged on the same grass bank where she had sat and listened to Rowley Picot tell of his crusade. He was mending a hunting glove with needle and twine as he dictated to Hubert Walter, who knelt by his side, a portable writing table round his neck.\n\n\"Ah, mistress...\"\n\nAdelia flung herself at his feet. After all, a king might do. \"They've walled her up, my lord. I beg you, stop it.\"\n\n\"Who's walled up? What am I to stop?\"\n\n\"The nun. Veronica. Please, my lord, please. They've walled her up alive.\"\n\nHenry regarded his boots, which were being clutched at. \"They told me they'd sent her to Norway. I thought that was odd. Did you know this, Hubert?\"\n\n\"No, my lord.\"\n\n\"You've got to let her out, it's obscene, an abomination. Oh my God, my God, I can't live with this. She's mad. It's her madness that's evil.\" In her agony, Adelia's hands thumped the ground.\n\nHubert Walter lifted the little desk from his neck and then Adelia to sitting position on the bank, speaking gently as if to a horse, \"Quietly, mistress. Steady. There, there, calmly now.\"\n\nHe passed her an inky handkerchief. Adelia, fighting for control, blew her nose on it. \"My lord...my lord. They have walled up her cell in the convent with her inside. I heard her screaming. Whatever she did, this cannot...cannot be allowed. It is a crime against heaven.\"\n\n\"Seems a bit harsh, I must say,\" Henry said. \"That's the Church for you. I'd have just hanged her.\"\n\n\"Well, stop it,\" Adelia shouted at him. \"If she's without water...without water the human body can still survive three or four days, the suffering.\"\n\nHenry was interested. \"I didn't know that. Did you know that, Hubert?\" He took the handkerchief from Adelia's fist and wiped her face with it, very sober now. \"You realize I can't do anything, don't you?\"\n\n\"No, I don't. The king is the king.\"\n\n\"And the Church is the Church. Were you listening last night? Then listen to me now, mistress.\" He slapped her hand as she turned her head away, then took it in his own. \"Listen to me.\" He raised both their hands so that they pointed in the direction of the town. \"Down there is a crazed tatterdemalion they call Roger of Acton. A few days ago, the wretch incited a mob to attack this castle, this royal castle, my castle, in the course of which your friend and my friend, Rowley Picot, was injured. And I can do nothing. Why? Because the wretch wears a tonsure on his head and can spout a paternoster, thus making him a clerk of the Church and entitled to benefit of clergy. Can I punish him, Hubert?\"\n\n\"You kicked his arse for him, my lord.\"\n\n\"I kicked his arse for him, and even for that, the Church takes me to task.\"\n\nAdelia's arm bobbed up and down as the king made his point with it. \"After those damned knights interpreted my anger as instruction and rode to kill Becket, I had to submit to scourging by every member of Canterbury Cathedral's chapter. Humiliation, baring my back to their whips, was the only way to prevent the Pope laying all England under interdict. Every bloody monk--and believe me, those bastards can lay it on.\" He sighed and dropped Adelia's hand. \"One day this country will be rid of papal rule, God willing. But not yet. And not through me.\"\n\nAdelia had stopped listening, absorbing the gist perhaps but not the words. Now she got up and began to walk down the garden path toward the place where they'd buried Simon of Naples.\n\nHubert Walter, shocked by such lese-majeste, would have gone after her but was restrained. He said, \"You take great pains over that rude and recalcitrant female, my lord.\"\n\n\"I have a use for the useful, Hubert. Phenomena like her don't fall into my lap every day.\"\n\nMay was becoming itself at last, and the sun had emerged to enliven a garden refreshed by rain. Lady Baldwin's tansy had taken, bees were busy among the cowslips.\n\nA robin that was perched on the grave hopped away at her approach, though not far. Stooping, Adelia used Hubert Walter's handkerchief to brush off its droppings.\n\nWe are among barbarians, Simon.\n\nThe wooden board had been replaced by a handsome slab of marble incised with his name and the words: May his soul be bound up in the bond of life eternal.\n\nKindly barbarians, Simon said to her now. Fighting their own barbarity. Think of Gyltha, Prior Geoffrey, Rowley, that strange king...\n\nNevertheless, Adelia told him, I cannot bear it.\n\nShe turned and, collected now, walked back up the path. Henry had returned to mending his glove and looked up at Adelia's approach. \"Well?\"\n\nBowing, Adelia said, \"I thank you for your indulgence, my lord, but I can stay here no longer. I must return to Salerno.\"\n\nHe bit off the thread with his strong little teeth. \"No.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\"\n\n\"I said no.\" The glove was put on, and Henry waggled his fingers, admiring the mending. \"By the Lord, I'm clever. Must get it from the tanner's daughter. Did you know I had a tanner in my ancestry, mistress?\" He smiled up at her. \"I said no, you can't go. I have a need for your particular talents, Doctor. There are plenty of dead in my realm that I would wish to be listened to, by God there are, and I want to know what they say.\"\n\nShe stared at him. \"You can't keep me here.\"\n\n\"Hubert?\"\n\n\"I think you will find that he can, mistress,\" Hubert Walter said apologetically. \"Le roi le veut. Even now on my lord's instructions, I am penning a letter to the King of Sicily, asking if we may borrow you a while longer.\"\n\n\"I'm not an object,\" Adelia shouted. \"You can't borrow me, I'm a human being.\"\n\n\"And I'm a king,\" the king said. \"I may not be able to control the Church, but, by my soul's salvation, I control every bloody port in this country. If I say you stay, you stay.\"\n\nHis face as he looked at her had a kindly disinterest, even in its pretended anger, and she saw that his amiability, the frankness so charming, was a mere tool helping him rule an empire and that, to him, she was nothing more than a gadget that might one day come in useful.\n\n\"I also am to be walled up, then,\" she said.\n\nHe raised his eyebrows. \"I suppose you are, though I hope you will find your confines somewhat larger and more pleasing than...well, we won't talk of it.\"\n\nNobody will talk of it, she thought. The insect will buzz in its bottle until it falls silent. And I shall have to live with the sound for the rest of my life.\n\n\"I'd let her out if I could, you know,\" Henry said.\n\n\"Yes. I know.\"\n\n\"In any case, mistress, you owe me your services.\"\n\nHow long will I have to buzz before you let me out? she wondered. The fact that this particular bottle has become beloved to me is neither here nor there.\n\nThough it was.\n\nShe was recovering now and able to think; she took time to do it. The king waited her out--an indication, she thought, of her value to him. Very well, then, let me capitalize on it. She said, \"I refuse to stay in a country so backward that its Jews are afforded only the one burial ground in London.\"\n\nHe was taken aback. \"God's teeth, aren't there any others?\"\n\n\"You must know there are not.\"\n\n\"I didn't, actually,\" he said. \"We kings have a great deal to concern ourselves with.\" He snapped his fingers. \"Write it down, Hubert. The Jews to have burial grounds.\" And to Adelia: \"There you are. It is done. Le roi le veut.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" She returned to the matter in hand. \"As a matter of interest, Henry, in what way am I in your debt?\"\n\n\"You owe me a bishop, mistress. I had hopes of Sir Rowley taking my fight into the Church, but he has turned me down to be free to marry. You, I gather, are the object of his marital affections.\"\n\n\"No object at all,\" she said wearily. \"I, too, have turned him down. I am a doctor, not a wife.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Henry brightened and then assumed a look of mourning. \"Ah, but I fear neither of us will have him now. The poor man is dying.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Hubert?\"\n\n\"So we understand, mistress,\" Hubert Walter said, \"the wound he received in the attack on the castle has reopened, and a medical man from the town reports that--\"\n\nHe found himself addressing empty air; lese majeste again. Adelia had gone.\n\nThe king watched the gate slam. \"Nevertheless, she's a woman of her word and, happily for me, she won't marry him.\" He stood up. \"I believe, Hubert, that we may yet install Sir Rowley Picot as Bishop of Saint Albans.\"\n\n\"He will be gratified, my lord.\"\n\n\"I think he's going to be--any moment now, lucky devil.\"\n\nThree days after these events, the insect stopped buzzing. Agnes, mother of Harold, dismantled her beehive hut for the last time and went home to her husband.\n\nAdelia didn't hear the silence. Not until later. At the time, she was in bed with the bishop-elect of Saint Albans.\n\nThere they go, the justices in eyre, taking the Roman road from Cambridge toward the next town to be assized. Trumpets sound, bailiffs kick out at excited children and barking dogs to clear the way for the caparisoned horses and palanquins, servants urge on mules laden with boxes of closely written vellum, clerks still scribble on their slates, hounds respond to the crack of their masters' whip.\n\nThey've gone. The road is empty, except for steaming piles of manure. A swept and garnished Cambridge breathes a sigh of relief. At the castle, Sheriff Baldwin retires to bed with a wet cloth over his head while, in his bailey, corpses on the gallows move in a May breeze that flutters blossoms over them like a benison.\n\nWe have been too busied with our own events to watch the assize in action, but, if we had, we should have witnessed a new thing, a wonderful thing, a moment when English law leaped high, high, out of darkness and superstition into light.\n\nFor, during the course of the assize, nobody has been thrown into a pond to see if they are innocent or guilty of the crime of which they stand accused. (Innocence is to sink, guilt to float.) No woman has had molten iron placed in her hand to prove whether or not she has committed theft, murder, et cetera. (If the burn heals within a certain number of days, she is acquitted. If not, let her be punished.)\n\nNor has any dispute over land been settled by the God of Battles. (Champions representing each disputant fight until one or other is killed or cries \"craven\" and throws down his sword in surrender.)\n\nNo. The God of Battles, of water, of hot iron, has not been asked for His opinion as He always has before. Henry Plantagenet does not believe in Him.\n\nInstead, evidence of crime or quarrel has been considered by twelve men who then tell the judge whether or not, in their opinion, the case is proved.\n\nThese men are called a jury. They are a new thing.\n\nSomething else is new. Instead of the ancient, jumbled inheritance of laws whereby each baron or lord of the manor can pronounce sentence on his malefactors, hanging or not according to his powers, Henry II has given his English a system that is orderly and all of a piece and applies throughout his kingdom. It will be called Common Law.\n\nAnd where is he, this cunning king who has moved civilization forward?\n\nHe has left his judges to proceed about their business and has gone hunting. We can hear his hounds baying over the hills.\n\nPerhaps he knows, as we know, that he will be remembered in popular memory only for the murder of Thomas a Becket.\n\nPerhaps his Jews know--for we know--that, though they have been locally absolved, they still carry the stigma of ritual child murder and will be punished for it through the ages.\n\nIt is the way of things.\n\nMay God bless us all."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Lionheart",
        "author": "Sharon Kay Penman",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Plantagenets"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "Theirs was a story that would rival the legend of King Arthur and Guinevere, his faithless queen. He was Henry, firstborn son of the Count of Anjou and the Empress Maude, and from an early age, he'd seemed to be one of Fortune's favorites. Whilst still Duke of Normandy, he'd dared to steal a queen, and by the time he was twenty-one, he'd claimed the crown that had eluded the Empress Maude. She was Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine, a great heiress and a great beauty who trailed scandal in her wake, her tragedy that she was a woman born in an age in which power was the preserve of men. The French king Louis had rejected Eleanor for her failure to give him a male heir. She gave Henry five, four of whom survived to manhood. They ruled over an empire that stretched from Scotland to the Mediterranean Sea, and for a time, their union seemed blessed.\n\nHenry loved his sons, but not enough to share power with them. Nor would he give Eleanor a say in the governance of her beloved Aquitaine. The result would be the Great Rebellion of 1173, in which Henry's three eldest sons rose up against him, urged on by their mother, his own queen, an act of betrayal unheard of in their world. Henry won the war, but at great cost. His sons he could forgive; Eleanor he could not, for she'd inflicted a wound that would never fully heal.\n\nHenry sought to make peace with his sons, but they were bitter that he continued to hold their mother prisoner and resentful that he kept them under a tight rein. Because he felt he could no longer trust them, he tried to bribe or coerce them into staying loyal. A great king, he would prove to be a failure as a father, for he was unable to learn from his mistakes.\n\nHis eldest and best-loved son, Hal\u2014beguiling and handsome and utterly irresponsible\u2014died in another rebellion against his sire, repenting when he was on his deathbed, when it was too late.\n\nUpon Hal's death, the heir apparent was his brother Richard, who'd been raised in Eleanor's Aquitaine, meant from birth to rule over her duchy. Geoffrey, the third brother, had been wed to a great heiress of his own, Constance, the Duchess of Brittany. And then there was John, called John Lackland by his father in jest, for by the time he was born, there was little left for a younger fourth son. Henry was bound and determined to provide for John, too, and he unwittingly unleashed the furies that would bring about his ruin.\n\nHenry demanded that Richard yield up Aquitaine to John, reasoning that Richard no longer needed the duchy now that he was to inherit an empire. But Richard loved Aquitaine, as he loved his imprisoned mother, and he would never forgive Henry for trying to take the duchy from him.\n\nHenry made the same mistake with Geoffrey, withholding a large portion of his wife's Breton inheritance to ensure Geoffrey's good behavior. He only succeeded in driving Geoffrey into rebellion, too, and he'd allied himself with Philippe, the young French king, when he was killed in a tournament outside Paris.\n\nThe king who'd once jested about his surfeit of sons now had only two. When he stubbornly refused to recognize Richard as his heir, his son began to suspect that he meant to disinherit him in favor of John. Following in the footsteps of his brothers Hal and Geoffrey, Richard turned to the French king for aid, and it eventually came to war. By then, Henry was ailing and did not want to fight his own son. Richard no longer trusted him, though, and Henry was forced to make a humiliating surrender. But the worst was still to come. As Henry lay feverish and wretched at Chinon Castle, he learned that John, the son for whom he'd sacrificed so much, had betrayed him, making a private peace with Richard and King Philippe. Henry died two days later, crying, \"Shame upon a conquered king.\" Few mourned. As was the way of their world, eyes were already turning from the sunset to the rising sun, to the man acclaimed as one of the best battle commanders in all of Christendom, Richard, first of that name to rule England since the Conquest."
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1189",
                "text": "[ Aboard the Galley San Niccol\u00f2 ]\n\nAlicia had been fearful long before she faced death in the Straits of Messina. She'd been afraid since the spring, when she'd lost her father and the only home she'd ever known. Even the arrival of her brother Arnaud did not ease her anxiety, for he was ill equipped to assume responsibility for a little sister. Arnaud was a warrior monk, one of that famed brotherhood-in-arms known as the Knights Templar, returning to Outremer to join the struggle to free the Holy City of Jerusalem from the infidels known as Saracens or Turks. Unable either to provide for Alicia's future or to abandon her, he'd felt compelled to take her with him. Alicia was grateful, but bewildered, too, for she did not know what awaited her in the Holy Land, and she suspected that her brother did not know, either. As he was her only lifeline, she had no choice but to trust in Arnaud and God as they left France behind.\n\nThe overland journey had been hard upon a young girl unaccustomed to travel. Arnaud had been kind in a distracted sort of way, though, and his fellow Templars had done their best to shield her from the rigors of the road, so some of her anxiety had begun to subside by the time they reached Genoa. But her fear came rushing back as soon as she set foot upon the wet, quaking deck of the San Niccol\u00f2.\n\nArnaud was pleased that he'd been able to book passage on a galley, explaining to Alicia that it would not be becalmed like naves and busses that relied solely upon sails, showing her the two banks of oars on each side of the ship. Alicia saw only how low it rode in the water, and she no longer worried about her uncertain prospects in Outremer, sure that she'd never survive the sea voyage.\n\nShe'd become seasick even before the Genoese lighthouse had receded into the distance. During the day, she huddled miserably in her small allotted space on the deck, obeying Arnaud's orders not to mingle with the other passengers, trying to settle her queasy stomach by nibbling on the twice-baked ship's biscuits. While some of the passengers had brought their own food, Arnaud had not, for he took seriously his Templar vows of poverty, obedience, and abstinence. The nights were by far the worst, and Alicia dreaded to see the sun sink into the sea behind them. She slept poorly, kept awake by the creaking and groaning of the ship's timbers, the relentless pounding of waves against the hull, the snoring of their neighbors, and the skittering sounds made by rats and mice unseen in the darkness. Each passenger was provided with a terra-cotta chamber pot and, with every breath she took, she inhaled the rank smells of urine and vomit and sweat. Lying awake as the hours dragged by until dawn, scratching flea bites and blinking back tears as she remembered the peaceful and familiar life that had once been hers, she yearned for the comfort of her brother's embrace, but Templars were forbidden to show physical affection to women, even their own mothers and sisters.\n\nWhile most of the passengers were males, merchants and pilgrims and swaggering youths who'd taken the cross and boasted endlessly about the great deeds they'd perform in the Holy Land, there were several women returning to Tyre with their husbands after visiting family back in France, and even a few female pilgrims determined to fulfill their vows in the midst of war. One kindly matron would have taken Alicia under her wing, touched by the girl's youth, but Alicia was too shy to respond, not wanting to displease Arnaud.\n\nShe did listen to the other woman's cheerful conversation, though, marveling that she seemed so blithe about coming back to a land under siege. The port of Tyre and a few scattered castles were all that was left to the Christians in the Holy Land. Acre, Jaffa, and the sacred city of Jerusalem had all fallen to the infidels. On their journey, Alicia had heard her brother rant about the wickedness of the Saracens, bitterly cursing the man who led them, the Sultan of Egypt and Syria, Salah al-D\u012bn, known to the Christians as Saladin. Every time Alicia heard the name of Arnaud's godless nemesis, she shivered. Arnaud's courage was beyond question. He didn't even seem afraid of the perilous, hungry sea. If he died fighting the infidels, his entry into Paradise would be assured. But what would happen to her?\n\nArnaud had told her that their voyage to Tyre would take about thirty-five days, explaining that the prevailing winds blew from the west and they'd make faster time with the wind at their back. Voyages from the Holy Land took much longer, he said, since ships were sailing into the wind. When he added casually that it mattered naught to them since they'd not be returning to France, Alicia felt a pang of dismay, for she did not know if she wanted to live out her life in the alien, war-torn kingdom known as Outremer\u2014the Land beyond the Sea. She'd overheard Arnaud talking about her to one of his Templar companions, saying that he knew the abbess of Our Lady of Tyre and she might be willing to take his sister in as a boarder and later as a novice. Alicia realized she could not stay with Arnaud in Tyre, for women were banned from their temples and commanderies, even orphaned little sisters. But she was not sure she wanted to be a nun. Shouldn't that be a free choice, not a last resort? Wouldn't it please the Lord Christ more if His brides came to Him willingly, not because they had nowhere else to go?\n\nThe weather had remained clear for the first week, but as they approached the isle of Sicily, they could see smoke rising up into the sky. Alicia's brother told her this was Sicily's famous Mountain of Fire, which many claimed to be one of the portals of Hell, for it belched smoke and noxious fumes and even liquid flames that spilled over the slope and burned a path of destruction down to the sea. Arnaud and his companions had already alarmed her by relating the ancient legend of Scylla, a six-headed sea monster who lurked in a cave facing the Straits of Messina. Directly opposite her was Charybdis, a whirlpool waiting to suck ships into its maw. If ships trying to avoid Charybdis ventured too close to Scylla's cave, she seized these unlucky vessels and feasted upon the captured sailors. Realizing belatedly that this was no story for his young sister's ears, Arnaud had hastened to reassure her that the tale was merely folklore. She wanted to believe him, but a land that harbored fiery mountains might easily shelter sea monsters, too, and each time she eyed the distant Sicilian coastline, she surreptitiously made the sign of the cross.\n\nThe other passengers were increasingly uneasy as they drew closer to the Faro, the straits separating Sicily from the mainland. Even the sailors seemed on edge, for at its narrowest point, it was only two miles wide and the currents were notoriously turbulent, seething like a \"boiling cauldron\" one merchant said grimly. Like Charybdis, Alicia thought, wondering which was worse, to be drowned or devoured, and wondering, too, what other trials lay ahead.\n\nShe was not long in finding out. A darkening sky warned of a coming storm, and the ship's master ordered that the sails be lowered as the wind rose and black, ominous clouds clustered overhead. The rain held off, but the sea soon pitched and rolled wildly, their ship sinking into troughs so deep that they were walled in by water. As the galley floundered, they were drenched by the waves breaking over the gunwales, bruised and battered against the heaving deck, tossed about like so many rag dolls. Sure that death was imminent, passengers and sailors alike offered up desperate prayers, but by now the wind was so loud they could not even hear their own words. Alicia was so petrified that her throat had closed up, and she could neither pray nor weep, waiting mutely for Scylla or Charybdis to claim the San Niccol\u00f2 and end their suffering.\n\nWhen the ship suddenly shuddered and stopped dead in the water, she was sure that they had been seized by Scylla's bloody talons. But the sailors were yelling and scrambling across the deck, and after a time, she could comprehend what Arnaud was shouting into her ear. \"We've run aground!\"\n\nGrappling for boat hooks and oars, the crew sought to push off from the shoal. But as the galley fought for its life, one of its two masts snapped in half and plunged into the sea. The ship's master lurched toward Arnaud and the other Templars. Knowing he could not compete with the howling wind, he relied upon gestures, pointing toward the longboat tethered in the stern and then toward the knights' scabbards. Arnaud was quick to understand. They were going to launch the longboat and try to reach the shore, less than half a mile away, and the master wanted them to maintain order, to keep the panicked passengers from mobbing the boat. Grasping Alicia by her shoulders, he pulled her to her feet, holding her tightly as they headed for the stern.\n\nAlicia could never clearly recall her final moments upon the San Niccol\u00f2. She had only snatches of memory\u2014the men kept at bay by the drawn swords of the Templars, the most important of the passengers scrambling into the longboat, the eerie calm of the ship's master and the ashen-faced sailors. Once the affluent merchants, the women, an archdeacon, and several priests had climbed aboard, the master gestured for the Templars to join them. They were men who'd tested their courage against Saracen steel, and they did not hesitate now, sheathing their swords and clambering into the longboat. Alicia was too frozen with fear to move. Arnaud picked her up as if she were a feather, telling her to close her eyes as the longboat was lowered into the heaving sea.\n\nHer memory went blank at that point, and the next thing she remembered, the current had thrust their little craft onto the Sicilian shoreline. The oarsmen leaped out into the water and began to drag the boat up onto the beach, and soon the passengers were jumping to safety, falling to their knees and thanking the Almighty for their deliverance. People seemed to have appeared from nowhere, helping the shipwreck survivors away from the crashing waves. An elderly man speaking a tongue that was utterly incomprehensible to Alicia jerked off his own mantle and wrapped her in it. She tried to thank him, but her teeth were chattering too much for speech. Someone else was offering a wineskin and she obeyed unthinkingly, gasping as the liquid burned its way down her throat. But where was Arnaud?\n\nWhen she saw her brother standing by the beached longboat, she stumbled toward him, crying out in horror as she realized what was happening. Several of the sailors had balked, but the others were going back for the doomed passengers and their shipmates, and the Templars were going with them.\n\nArnaud turned as she screamed his name. He was saying that they were needed to help man the oars, saying there were Christian pilgrims still on the ship and it was his duty to rescue them, that it would shame him to stay on shore whilst the sailors braved the sea again. Alicia didn't understand, didn't even hear his words. Sobbing, she clung to him with all her feeble strength, begging him not to go, and he finally had to tear himself away, kissing her upon the forehead before he shoved her back onto the sand. \"God will protect me,\" he insisted, with a grimace that he meant as a smile, and then scrambled into the longboat as they launched it out onto the churning waves.\n\nBy the time Alicia got to her feet, her brother was gone. Others had joined her at the water's edge, watching as the longboat fought the storm. It had almost reached the trapped ship when it was slammed by a monster wave. Alicia began to scream even before the longboat disappeared into its roiling depths. Hands were gripping her now, pulling her away, but she paid them no heed. Her eyes frantically searching the raging sea, she continued to scream for her brother.\n\nThe male survivors of the San Niccol\u00f2 wreck were given shelter at the monastery of San Salvatore dei Greci overlooking the harbor, and the injured women had been taken to the convent of Santa Maria della Valle, just west of Messina. Having strangers in their midst was always disruptive for the nuns, but it was the arrival of William de Hauteville and his entourage that created the real excitement, especially among the novices, for not even nuns were immune to his potent appeal of beauty, high birth, and gallant good manners.\n\n\"We were expecting a visit from you, my lord,\" the mother abbess said with a fond smile, for she'd known William for most of his thirty-six years. \"You've always been very generous to those poor souls shipwrecked in your domains, and I was sure you'd be no less openhanded with the survivors of the San Niccol\u00f2.\"\n\n\"I do but follow the teachings of Our Lord Christ,\" William said, with becoming modesty and a dazzling smile. \"'Be ye therefore merciful, as Your Father also is merciful.'\" They were walking in the gardens, lush with summer blooms, for Sicily had been blessed with a mild climate. William paused to pluck a fragrant flower and presented it to the elderly abbess with a flourish. \"Have your hosteller speak with my steward, my lady abbess, and he will reimburse your abbey for the expenses you've incurred in caring for these castaways. I've given orders that men should search the beaches for the dead, but I doubt that their bodies will be recovered. It is a sad fate to be denied a Christian burial, especially for the Knights of God. They deserved better than that.\"\n\nAbbess Blanche was in full agreement; she shared William's admiration for the Templars. Their deaths seemed all the more tragic because their sacrifice had been needless. The galley had not gone down as quickly as all feared, and once the storm passed, the local people rowed out in small boats and ferried the stranded survivors to shore, charging exorbitant fees for that service. Only then did the San Niccol\u00f2 break up and sink quietly beneath the waves.\n\n\"Our costs have been minimal, my lord, for only three of the women passengers were injured. One broke her arm when she was flung against the tiller, and the second sprained her ankle when she jumped out of the longboat. But the third...\" The abbess shook her head and sighed. \"We know very little about her, for the other passengers say she kept to herself. They could tell me only her name\u2014Alicia de Sezanne\u2014and that she is the sister of one of the drowned Templars. She is just a child and I fear that she is all alone in the world now, may Our Blessed Mother pity her plight.\"\n\n\"She has no family?\" William frowned. \"Poor little lass. If her brother was a Templar, she must be gently born. Surely she has kin somewhere? What did she tell you?\"\n\n\"Nothing, my lord. She has not spoken a word for a fortnight. Indeed, I am not even sure if she hears what we say to her, and if the passengers had not told me otherwise, I'd think she was a deaf-mute. It has been a struggle to get her to eat even a few swallows of soup. She just lies there.... I do not know what will become of the child, truly I do not. What if her grief has driven her mad?\"\n\nShe paused then, hoping that William would come up with a solution, and he did not disappoint her. \"Suppose I ask my wife to come and see the lass?\" he said thoughtfully. \"She may be able to break through the girl's shell. She is very good at that, you know.\"\n\n\"What a wonderful idea, my lord! Do you think the Lady Joanna would be willing?\"\n\nHis smile was both indulgent and affectionate. \"My wife has never been able to resist a bird with a broken wing.\"\n\nJoanna paused in the doorway of the infirmary, beset by sudden doubts. What was she to say to the child? What comfort could she offer? \"How old did you say she was, Sister Heloise?\"\n\n\"We cannot be sure, Madame, but we think she looks to be about ten years or so, mayhap eleven.\"\n\nToo young to understand why God had taken her brother, Joanna thought, and then smiled, without any humor. She was nigh on twenty-four, and she did not understand, either. \"Take me to her,\" she said, and followed the young nun across the chamber toward a corner bed. She was touched by her first sight of that small, forlorn figure, lying so still that it was a relief to see the faint rise and fall of her chest. The girl seemed pathetically fragile and frail, her face turned toward the wall, and when Joanna spoke her name, she did not respond. Signaling for Sister Heloise to bring a chair over, Joanna sat beside the bed and pondered what to say.\n\n\"I am so very sorry for your brother's death, Alicia. You can be proud of his courage, and... and it must be some comfort to know that he is in the Almighty's Embrace. My confessor assured me that one of God's Knights would be spared Purgatory, that Heaven's Gates would be opened wide to him....\" There was no indication that Alicia had even heard her, and Joanna's words trailed off. How could she expect the lass to find consolation in theology? All Alicia knew was that her brother was dead and she was abandoned and alone.\n\n\"I would not presume to say I know what you are feeling, Alicia. I can tell you this, though, that I know what it is like to lose a brother. I have grieved for three of mine, and for a sister, too....\" Despite herself, her voice wavered at the last, for the death of her sister was still a raw wound. \"I wish I could tell you that the pain will eventually heal. But that would be a lie. This is a sorrow you will take to your grave. In time, though, you'll learn to live with it, and that is all we can hope for.\"\n\nShe waited then, to no avail. Trying a new tack, she said quietly, \"The world must be a very frightening place to you now. I cannot begin to imagine how alone you must feel. But you are not as alone as you think, Alicia. I promise you that.\"\n\nAgain her words were swallowed up in silence. She was usually good with children. Of course she'd never dealt with one so damaged before. \"We share something else in common, lass. I was your age when I first came to Sicily, just eleven years old. I remember the journey all too well, for I had never been so wretched.\" She was following her instincts now, speaking in the soothing tones she'd have used to calm a nervous filly. \"I was so sick, Alicia, feeding the fish day and night. Were you seasick, too? It got so bad for me that we had to put into port at Naples and continue our journey on land. For years I had dreadful dreams about that trip and my husband had great difficulty in coaxing me to set foot on a ship again. I remember arguing with him that the Almighty had not intended man to fly, or else he'd have given us wings, and since we did not have gills like fish, clearly we were not meant to venture out onto the sea, either. He just laughed, but then he's never been seasick a day in his life....\"\n\nShe continued on in that vein for a while, speaking lightly of inconsequential matters in the hope of forging a connection, however tenuous, with this mute, motionless little girl. At last she had to concede defeat, and after exchanging regretful looks with Sister Heloise, she started to rise from the chair. It was then that Alicia spoke. Her words were mumbled, inaudible, but they were words, the first anyone had heard her utter since her brother drowned.\n\nTrying to hide her excitement, Joanna said as calmly as she could, \"I am sorry, Alicia. I could not hear you. Can you repeat yourself?\"\n\n\"I am twelve,\" Alicia said, softly but distinctly, \"not eleven.\"\n\nJoanna almost laughed, remembering how affronted she'd been to be taken for younger than she was, a mortal insult for most children. \"Mea culpa,\" she said. \"But in my defense, it is not easy to tell how old you are when you will not look at me.\" She waited, then, holding her breath, until the bed creaked and Alicia slowly turned away from the wall. Joanna could see why the nuns had mistaken her age. She had round cheeks, a rosebud mouth, and freckles sprinkled over an upturned nose, a child's face, innocent and open to hurt. Joanna doubted that she'd begun her flux yet, for her lean and angular little body showed no signs of approaching womanhood.\n\n\"I am Joanna,\" she said, for she'd found that with children, the simplest approach was often the best. \"I am here to help you.\"\n\nAlicia had to squint, for she'd not looked into direct light for days and sun was flooding into the chamber, enveloping Joanna in a golden glow. She was the most beautiful woman Alicia had ever seen, and the most glamorous, with flawless, fair skin, copper-color hair covered by an embroidered silk veil, emerald-green eyes, and graceful white fingers adorned with jewels. Alicia was dumbfounded, not sure if this glorious vision was a figment of her fevered imagination. \"Are you real?\" she blurted out, and the vision laughed, revealing a deep dimple that flashed like a shooting star, and assured her she was very much a flesh-and-blood woman.\n\nThe flesh-and-blood women in Alicia's world did not look like this one. \"May I... may I ask you a question? Did you truly lose three brothers?\"\n\n\"I spoke the truth, Alicia. My eldest brother died ere I was even born, but my other brothers had reached manhood when death claimed them. Hal was stricken with the bloody flux, and Geoffrey was killed in a French tournament. And this summer my elder sister Tilda died of a fever. Indeed, I only learned of her death a few weeks ago.\" Joanna bit her lip, for the shock of Tilda's death had yet to abate; her sister had been just thirty-three.\n\nAlicia regarded her solemnly. \"You said the hurt never goes away. Will I grieve for Arnaud to the end of my days?\" She was reassured when Joanna gave her the same straightforward answer, telling her the truth rather than what she wanted to hear. \"Did you love your brothers?\"\n\n\"Very much, Alicia. They were all older than me, except for my brother Johnny, and they spoiled me outrageously, as I imagine Arnaud did with you.\"\n\n\"No...\" Alicia hesitated, but with gentle encouragement, she continued and eventually Joanna learned the history of this woebegone orphan. She came from Champagne, where her father had served as steward for one of the count's vassals. He'd died that past spring, leaving Alicia and two older brothers, Odo, his eldest and heir, and Arnaud, who'd been long gone from their lives, serving God in distant lands. Odo had not wanted to be burdened with her, she confided to Joanna, and he and his wife had arranged to marry her off to a neighbor, a widower who was willing to overlook her lack of a marriage portion. She had not wanted to wed him, for his breath reeked and he was very old, \"even older than my papa! And I did not think I was ready to be a wife. Odo and Yvette paid me no heed, though, and were making ready to post the banns when Arnaud arrived from Paris.\"\n\nArnaud had been outraged by the match, and he quarreled bitterly with Odo, demanding that he provide a marriage portion so they could find her a suitable husband when she was of a proper age to wed. But Odo had turned a deaf ear. Arnaud knew Odo would wed her to the neighbor as soon as he was gone, and so he took her with him. \"I think he had a nunnery in mind. He promised, though, to look after me, to make sure that I was always safe....\"\n\nTears had begun to well in Alicia's eyes, the first she'd shed since that awful day on the beach. Joanna gathered the child into her arms and held Alicia as she wept. But she had a practical streak, too, and glancing over Alicia's heaving shoulder, she caught the nun's eye and mouthed a silent command to fetch food from the abbey kitchen. Sister Heloise gladly obeyed, first hastening to find the abbess and give her the good news that the Lady Joanna had succeeded where everyone else had failed. She'd coaxed this unhappy child from the shadows back into the light.\n\nAfter a fortnight in bed, Alicia was surprised by how weak she felt when she first ventured outside. Tiring quickly, she sank down on a bench in the cloisters, taking pleasure in the warmth of the Sicilian sun upon her face. Brightly colored birds flitted from bush to bush and she tracked their passage with interest. It helped, she had discovered, to focus only upon the moment, and she resolutely refused to let herself dwell upon her fears, to think of the future she so dreaded. For now, the kindness of the nuns and her beautiful benefactor was enough.\n\nGrowing drowsy, she stretched out on the bench and soon fell asleep. When she awoke, she got hastily to her feet and greeted the abbess in the deferential manner that she'd copied from the nuns. Smiling, Blanche bade her sit back down again, saying she needed to regain her strength for the journey, and Alicia went suddenly cold. \"A journey?\" she whispered. \"I am leaving here?\"\n\n\"In two days' time. I do not suppose you can ride a mule? No matter, I am sure Lady Joanna can provide a horse litter for you. Her lord husband has already returned to Palermo, but she remained behind, waiting till you were well enough to travel.\"\n\nAlicia didn't understand. \"Why is she taking me to Palermo?\"\n\n\"Well, that is where she and Lord William live, child. They have a palace here in Messina, too, but their favorite home is in Palermo.\"\n\n\"Am I... am I to live with her?\" That seemed too much to hope for, though. \"Why would she want me?\"\n\nThat was a question some of Blanche's nuns had been asking, too. But not the abbess. She had no doubt that this bedraggled, pitiful kitten had stirred Joanna's thwarted maternal instincts. \"Why not? There is always room for young women in the royal household, and taking you in would be a way to honor your brother, too. He died a martyr's death, for he was on his way to the Holy Land and he sacrificed himself to save his fellow Christians.\"\n\nBy now Alicia was thoroughly confused. \"Does the Lady Joanna live in the royal household, then?\"\n\nThe abbess looked at her in surprise. \"You do not know who she is?\"\n\nAlicia flushed, taking those incredulous words as an implied rebuke. \"I thought of her as my guardian angel,\" she said, staring down at the ground.\n\n\"Well, she is indeed that,\" the older woman acknowledged. \"But your angel wears a crown, not a halo. Lady Joanna is the daughter of the English king, Henry Fitz Empress, and the queen of William de Hauteville, the King of Sicily.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "AUGUST 1189",
                "text": "[ Palermo, Sicily ]\n\nAlicia had no memories of her mother, who'd died when she was three. It took no time at all for Joanna to fill that empty place in the girl's heart, for no one had ever shown her such kindness. She was so completely under Joanna's spell that she was even able to overcome her panic when Joanna revealed that they'd have to travel to Palermo by ship, explaining that it was only about one hundred and forty miles, but the roads were so bad that the journey could take up to four weeks by land. They'd stay within sight of the shoreline, she promised, and although it took more courage than Alicia thought she had, she followed the young Sicilian queen onto the royal galley, for drowning was no longer her greatest fear.\n\nShe felt at times as if she'd lost touch with reality, for there was a dream-like quality to the weeks after the sinking of the San Niccol\u00f2. She'd never met a man as charming as Joanna's husband, had never seen a city as beautiful as Palermo, had never imagined that people could live in such comfort and luxury, and at first Sicily seemed truly like the biblical land of milk and honey.\n\nOn the voyage to Palermo, Joanna had enjoyed telling Alicia about the history of her island home. Sicily was a jewel set in a turquoise sea, she'd said poetically, but its beauty and riches had been both a blessing and a curse, for it had been captured in turn by the Carthaginians, the ancient Greeks, the Romans, Germanic tribes, the Greek empire of Constantinople, and then the Saracens. In God's Year 1061, a Norman-French adventurer named Roger de Hauteville had been the one to launch an invasion from the mainland. It was so successful that in 1130, his son and namesake had himself crowned as Sicily's first king, whose domains would soon encompass all of southern Italy, too.\n\n\"He was my lord husband's grandfather,\" Joanna said, smiling at Alicia's wonderment. But it was not Sicily's turbulent past that amazed the girl; it was that the Kingdom of Sicily was younger than her own father, who'd died the day after his sixty-fourth birthday. How could such a magical realm have been in existence for less than six decades?\n\nShe was captivated by Palermo, set in a fertile plain of olive groves and date palms, its size beyond her wildest imaginings; her brother had told her that Paris had fifty thousand citizens, but Joanna said Palermo's population was more than twice that number. Alicia was impressed by the limestone houses that gleamed in the sun like white doves, by the number of public baths, the orchards of exotic fruit that she'd never tasted: oranges, lemons, limes, and pomegranates. But it was the royal palaces that utterly dazzled her, ringing the city like a necklace of opulent, shining pearls.\n\nJoanna and William's primary residence was set in a precinct known as the Galca, which held palaces, churches, chapels, gardens, fountains, a menagerie of exotic animals, and the ruins of an ancient Roman amphitheater. The royal apartments were situated in a section of the main palace called the Joharia, flanked by two sturdy towers. A red marble staircase led to the first floor, with an entrance to the king's chapel, where Alicia came often to pray for her brother's soul and to marvel at its magnificence. The nave was covered with brilliant mosaic stones dramatizing scenes from the Old and New Testaments, the floor inlaid with circles of green serpentine and red porphyry encased in white marble, and the ceiling honeycombed; one of the walls even contained a water clock, a device quite unknown in France.\n\nThe palace itself was splendidly decorated with vivid mosaic depictions of hunters, leopards, lions, centaurs, and peacocks. Alicia's father had once taken her to the Troyes residence of the Count of Champagne, and she'd come away convinced that no one in Christendom lived as well as Lord Henri. She now knew better. Joanna's coffers were filled with the finest silks, her chambers lit by lamps of brass and crystal and scented by silver incense burners, her jewelry kept in ivory boxes as well crafted as the treasures they held. She bathed in a copper bathtub, read books whose covers were studded with gemstones, played with her dogs in gardens fragrant with late-blooming flowers, shaded by citrus trees, and adorned with elegant marble fountains. She even had a table of solid gold, set with silver plate and delicacies like sugar-coated almonds, dates, hazelnuts, melons, figs, pomegranates, oranges, shrimp, and marzipan tortes. Alicia could not envision a more luxurious world than the one Joanna had married into; nor could she imagine a woman more deserving of it than the Sicilian queen, her \"angel with a crown.\"\n\nBut if she embraced Joanna and her handsome husband wholeheartedly, some of her initial enthusiasm for their lush, green kingdom soon dimmed. While there was much to admire, there were aspects of Sicilian life that she found startling and others that profoundly shocked her. Palermo seemed like the biblical Babel, for not only were there three official languages\u2014Latin, Greek, and Arabic\u2014people also spoke Norman-French and the Italian dialect of Lombardy. Even the realm's religious life was complex and confusing, for the Latin Catholic Church vied with the Greek Orthodox Church for supremacy, and Palermo was home, too, to mosques and synagogues.\n\nThere had been Jews in Champagne, of course, but they were only allowed to earn their living as moneylenders. The Jewish community in Palermo was numerous, prosperous, and engaged in occupations forbidden to them in France; they were craftsmen, doctors, merchants, and dominated the textile industry. Alicia found it disconcerting to see them mingling so freely with the other citizens of the city, for her brother had told her that the French king, Philippe, had banished the Jews from Paris and he'd spoken of their exile with obvious approval.\n\nShe was uncomfortable in the city markets, for while they offered a vast variety of enticing goods, they offered slaves for sale, too. They were Saracens, not Christians, and Alicia took comfort in that. But she still found the sight of those manacled men and women to be unsettling, for slavery was not known in France.\n\nThere was so much in Sicily that was foreign to her. It was easy to appreciate the island's beauty and affluence, the mild climate, the prosperity of its people. Although its diversity was like nothing she'd ever experienced, she did not feel threatened by it. But she did not think that she could ever accept the presence of Saracen infidels living so freely in a Christian country, even allowed to be judged by Islamic law.\n\nEvery time she saw a turbaned Arab sauntering the city streets, she shrank back in alarm. When she heard the cries of the muezzin summoning Muslims to their prayers, she hastily crossed herself, as if to ward off the evil eye. She was baffled that there should be Arabic phrases on the gold tari, the coinage of the realm. She did not understand why young Sicilian women adopted Saracen fashions, often wearing face veils in public and decorating their fingers with henna. She was stunned when she learned that Muslims served in King William's army and navy, and some were actively involved in his government. They were known as the Palace Saracens, men of odd appearance, uncommonly tall, with high-pitched voices and smooth skin, lacking any facial hair. She'd heard them called eunuchs; when one of Joanna's ladies had explained the meaning of that foreign word, she'd been horrified, and for the first time she wondered if she'd ever feel truly at home in this alien land.\n\nHer brother had said Saracens were the enemies of God, telling her how they'd desecrated Christian churches after capturing Jerusalem, exposing the precious fragment of the True Cross to jeering crowds in the streets of Damascus. The abbess had assured her that Arnaud died a martyr to his faith. So how could King William find so much to admire in Saracen culture? Why was he fluent in the tongue of the infidels and a patron of Arab poets? How could he entrust his very life to unbelievers? For he not only had a personal bodyguard of black Muslim slaves, his palace cooks, his physicians, and his astrologers were all Saracens, too.\n\nBewildered and deeply troubled, Alicia yearned to confide her fears to Joanna. She dared not do so, though, because of the Lady Mariam, with slanting eyes, hair like polished jet, and the blood of Saracens running through her veins. She spoke French as well as Arabic, and accompanied Joanna to church. But she was one of them, a godless infidel. And yet it was painfully obvious to Alicia that Joanna loved her. Of Joanna's ladies, only two were truly her intimates\u2014Dame Beatrix, a tart-tongued Angevin in her middle years who'd been with Joanna since childhood, and the Lady Mariam. The Saracen.\n\nAs the weeks passed, Alicia found herself becoming obsessed with the Lady Mariam, a flesh-and-blood symbol of all that she could not understand about Sicilian society. She studied the young woman covertly, watching suspiciously as Mariam dutifully attended Mass and prayed to the God of the Christians. She thought her scrutiny was unobtrusive, until the day Mariam glanced over at her during the priest's invocation and winked. Alicia was so flustered that she fled the church, feigning illness to explain her abrupt departure. But after that, she had to know Mariam's secrets, had to know how she'd embedded herself in the very heart of a Christian queen's household.\n\nWhile Joanna continued to treat her with affection, her other ladies had paid Alicia little heed, either jealous of Joanna's favor or considering her too young to be of any interest. Alicia had been observing them for weeks, though, so she knew which ones to approach: Emma d'Aleramici and Bethlem de Greci. They'd shown Alicia only the most grudging courtesy. But they loved to gossip and she hoped that would matter more to them than her relative insignificance.\n\nShe was right. Emma and Bethlem were more than willing to tell her of Mariam's scandalous history. Mariam was King William's half-sister, they confided gleefully, born to a slave girl in his late father's harim. William's widowed mother had shown little interest in her son's young, homesick bride, and so he'd turned Joanna's care over to his aunt Constance, who was only twenty-four years old herself. It was Constance who'd chosen Mariam as a companion for Joanna, Bethlem revealed. Apparently she'd thought the fact that they were the same age was more important than her dubious background and tainted blood, Emma added, and that was how Mariam had insinuated herself into the queen's favor.\n\nEmma and Bethlem's spitefulness awakened in Alicia an unexpected emotion, a flicker of sympathy for Mariam. She was impressed, too, to find out that Mariam had royal blood. But what was a harim? They were happy to enlighten her, explaining that all of the Sicilian kings had adopted the shameful custom of the Arab emirs, keeping Saracen slave girls for their pleasure. Mariam's mother was one of these debased women, and Mariam the fruit of the first King William's lust. And when Alicia cried out that surely Queen Joanna's lord husband did not keep a harim, too, they laughed at her na\u00efvet\u00e9. Of course he did, they told her, and why not? What man would not want a bedmate who was subject to his every whim? A bedmate who could never say no, whose very existence depended upon pleasing him, upon fulfilling all of his secret desires, no matter how depraved.\n\nAlicia did not know what they meant. What a man and woman did in bed was a mystery to her, something that happened once they were married. She knew that not all men were faithful to their wives, had heard her eldest brother Odo's servants gossiping about his roving eye. But her brother's wife was skeletal thin and sharp-tongued and Alicia could not remember ever hearing her laugh. Whereas Joanna was beautiful and lively and loving. How could William want any woman but the one he'd wed?\n\nAs it happened, joanna was pondering that very question on a mild November night, lying awake and restless beside her sleeping husband. She had no basis for comparison, but she wondered sometimes if their love-making was lacking something. It was pleasant enough, but never fully satisfying; she was always left wanting more, even if she was not sure what that was. She did not let herself dwell upon these thoughts, though, choosing to laugh at herself instead. What did she expect? That flesh-and-blood men and women burned with the grand passion of the lovers in troubadour songs?\n\nBut on this particular night, she had more on her mind than the carnal pleasures which the Church said were sinful if not undertaken for the purpose of procreation. She was resentful that William had not come to her bed last week, when she'd been at her most fertile. It was every wife's duty to provide her husband with heirs, a duty all the more urgent when a kingdom was at stake. Joanna's yearning for a baby was much more than a marital obligation, though. It was an ache that never went away, hers the pained hunger of a mother who'd buried a child.\n\nShe still grieved for the beautiful little boy whose life had been measured in days, and did not understand why she'd not conceived again in the eight years since Bohemund's death. She'd been worried enough to consult the female doctors at the famed medical school in Salerno, and had been told that a woman's womb was most receptive to her husband's seed immediately after her monthly flux ended. Joanna had relayed that information to William, but he did not always come to her at these critical times, and when that happened, she could only fret and fume in silence, angry and frustrated.\n\nIt seemed unfair that he should have complete control over conduct that mattered so much to them both. But she could not come to him unbidden. The few times that she'd done so, he'd obviously been displeased by her boldness. Although this passive role did not come easily to her, she'd done her best to play by his rules, for it would have been humiliating to go to his private chamber and find him in bed with one of his Saracen concubines. The Church might preach that husbands and wives owed a \"marital debt\" to each other, but how was a wife to collect it when her husband had a harim of seductive slaves at his beck and call?\n\nShe still remembered how shocked she'd been to learn of his harim, a year or so after her arrival in Sicily. As young as she was, she already knew that fidelity was thought to be a mandate for women, not men; her father's affair with Rosamund Clifford had been an open secret for years. But this was different. How could a Christian king embrace such a debauched, infidel practice? Why would he want to live like an Arab emir?\n\nWhen she'd confronted William with her newfound knowledge, he'd been amused by her forthrightness, explaining nonchalantly that he was merely following in the ways of his father and grandfather. Sicily had its own customs, its own traditions, and his harim had nothing to do with her or their marriage, which he was sure she'd understand once she was older. Even at age twelve, Joanna had known she was being patronized. She'd consoled herself that surely he'd put these women aside after she was old enough to share his bed.\n\nBut he hadn't. They'd consummated their marriage once she turned fourteen, yet nothing changed. By then Joanna fancied herself in love with him, and that had been a painful time for her. Looking back now, she felt a wry sympathy for that young girl, so innocent and starry-eyed. How could she not have been bedazzled by William, who'd seemed like one of the heroes in those troubadour tales she so enjoyed? He was tall and graceful, with long fair hair, compelling dark eyes, and an easy, engaging smile; he was also courteous, good-natured, and well educated. She'd felt herself so blessed, so fortunate that it seemed churlish to object to a few snakes in her Eden, even if they were alluring, dusky-skinned temptresses who were sleeping with her husband.\n\nJoanna was not sure when she'd fallen out of love with William, assuming it had been love and not youthful infatuation. It may have begun after they'd lost their son, for they were both devastated by his death and yet they grieved alone. She'd turned to him for comfort, but he'd withdrawn into his own sorrow, and instead of coming closer together, they'd drifted further apart.\n\nBut a good marriage did not need love to flourish, and people did not enter into matrimony with expectations of finding their romantic soul mates. Joanna had many reasons to be thankful that she was William's wife, and she knew she was much luckier than the vast majority of women, including those secluded slave girls in her husband's harim.\n\nIt was true that as she matured, she began to have misgivings about William's prudence and his political judgments. He pursued a very aggressive foreign policy, one motivated as much by revenge as ambition, for he bore a bitter grudge against the emperor of the Greek Empire, who'd betrothed his daughter to William and then changed his mind, leaving William waiting in vain for her arrival at Taranto. William never forgot that public humiliation, and never forgave. He'd bided his time and saw his chance midst the chaos that followed the emperor's sudden death. He dispatched the Sicilian fleet and a large army to capture Constantinople, but the result was a costly, embarrassing defeat.\n\nJoanna had been troubled by his determination to conquer the Greek Empire, for it did not seem likely to succeed. In that, she was her father's daughter, a pragmatist at heart. She was even more troubled by the marriage that William made to pave the way for his war. There had long been great enmity between the Kingdom of Sicily and the Holy Roman Empire, but when Emperor Frederick Barbarossa had unexpectedly offered a marital alliance, William accepted, for that would free him to devote all his efforts to the conquest of the Greek Empire. And so he'd wed his aunt Constance to Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, the King of Germany and the emperor's eldest son and heir. The marriage created an uproar in Sicily, for it raised a frightening specter. If William were to die without a son or daughter to succeed him, Constance would be the heiress to the Sicilian throne, and the Sicilians would rather have the Devil himself rule over them than Constance's hated German husband.\n\nJoanna had shared the public distaste for this alliance, for the Holy Roman Emperor had long been a foe of her family's House. Moreover, she hated to see Constance, whom she'd grown to love, sent off to exile in Germany, a cold, harsh land to a woman accustomed to the sun-splashed warmth of Palermo. Heinrich was only twenty at the time of the marriage, eleven years younger than Constance, but he'd already earned a reputation for brutality, and Joanna doubted whether even an empress's crown would compensate Constance for the life she'd lead with Heinrich. William had brushed aside her misgivings, though, just as he ignored the impassioned, panicky objections of his subjects. He was young and healthy, after all, and Joanna had proven herself capable of bearing a son, so he was confident that Heinrich would never be able to claim Sicily on Constance's behalf, and it irked him that others remained so adamantly opposed to their union.\n\nJoanna had kept her qualms to herself after Constance's marriage, for what was done was done. Nor did she blame William for not heeding her advice. Unlike her mother, who'd ruled Aquitaine in her own right, she was merely William's consort and the power was his, not hers. She'd done her best to comfort him after his army's devastating defeat by the Greeks, for that was a wife's duty, but to her dismay, he vowed to continue the war at a later date. She was greatly relieved when he had to put his Greek ambitions aside, even if the cause was the disastrous news out of Outremer. The King of Jerusalem's army had been destroyed by the forces of Salah al-D\u012bn, and before the year was out, he'd taken the Holy City itself. William was horrified, and he'd immediately dispatched the Sicilian fleet to the aid of Tyre, the last bastion of Christian control, while offering his harbors, riches, and armed forces to the kings who'd taken the cross and sworn to recapture Jerusalem from the Saracens.\n\nJoanna felt some guilt that the catastrophic loss of Jerusalem should be the cause of joy, but the crusade would mean that she'd get to see her father and her brother Richard, for they'd both taken the cross. It had been thirteen years since she'd left her home and family, and she was elated at the prospect of their reunion. When word trickled across the Alps and into Italy of fresh discord between Henry and Richard, she'd refused to let it discourage her. Her father and Richard were often at odds, for they were both stubborn, strong-willed men and Richard remained embittered by the continuing confinement of their mother. She had no trouble convincing herself that they'd patch up this latest squabble, too, as they'd done in the past, and she continued to lay plans for their arrival, for she wanted their welcome to be truly spectacular. She wanted to show them that they'd made the right decision in wedding her to William.\n\nShe'd even entertained the notion of accompanying them to the Holy Land. Her mother had done so while wed to the French king Louis, had risked her life and reputation by taking part in a crusade that was an abysmal failure, one that eventually led to the end of her marriage to Louis and remarriage to Joanna's father. Joanna would gladly have followed in her mother's footsteps, for it would be the experience of a lifetime. But she could not be sure that William meant to join the crusaders. He'd been very generous in the help he offered. Would he actually leave Sicily, though? He never had done so in the past. He'd launched military expeditions to Egypt, North Africa, Greece, and Spain, but not once had he taken a personal role in one of his campaigns. And this was Joanna's secret fear, one she could not even acknowledge to herself, that William would again stay safely at home while he sent men out to die in his name.\n\nHis harim and faulty political judgment were minor matters compared to this dark shadow. Theirs was a world in which a king was expected to lead his men into war. Her father had done so since the age of sixteen. So had all her brothers and her mother's male relatives. Even Philippe Capet, the French king, who had a known distaste for war, still commanded his own armies. So had William's grandfather and his father. Joanna could think of no other ruler in Christendom who'd never bloodied his sword in combat. Only William.\n\nJoanna had not allowed herself to venture any farther along this dangerous road. She was by nature both an optimist and a realist, believed in making the best of what she had rather than yearning for what might have been. She could be happy with William even if she did not love him. But she did not think she could find contentment in marriage to a man she did not respect, and so she kept that door tightly shut and barred. Of course William would accompany her father and brother to the Holy Land. He'd been deeply grieved by Jerusalem's fall, had withdrawn for days to mourn its loss, even donning sackcloth. It was true he'd not yet taken the cross himself, but surely he would do so when the time came. She firmly believed that. She had to believe that.\n\nShe finally fell asleep, but her rest was not a peaceful one, for she was awakened several times by her husband's tossing and turning. They both slept later than usual in consequence, and when Joanna opened her eyes, the chamber was filled with light. William was stirring, too. His hair had tumbled onto his forehead, giving him a youthful, disheveled look that she found very appealing. He still retained his summer tan, his skin bronzed wherever it had been exposed to the hot Sicilian sun, and as he started to sit up, she found herself watching the play of muscles across his chest. She could feel her body warming to desire, thinking that she was indeed lucky compared to those countless wives who shared their beds with men potbellied, balding, and foul-smelling. William had an eastern appreciation for bathing and she enjoyed breathing in the clean, seductive smell of male sweat.\n\n\"God's Blessings upon you, O Musta'z,\" she murmured throatily, playfully using one of his Arabic titles, which they'd turned into a private joke, for it meant \"The Glorious One.\" Sliding over, she nestled against his body, trailing her hand across his stomach to let him know her intentions were erotic, not merely affectionate.\n\nHis response stunned her. \"Do not do that!\" he snapped, pushing her hand away. Sitting up, he grimaced and then glanced over, saw the stricken look on her face. \"Ah, Joanna... I am sorry, darling,\" he said quickly. \"I did not mean to growl at you like that. But that ache in my belly has gotten much worse since yesterday and even your light touch caused pain.\"\n\nJoanna had never known anyone as concerned with his health as her husband. He insisted that his physicians live in the palace and when he heard of the new arrival of a doctor of renown, he would make it worth the man's while to remain in Sicily and enter his service. Because he rarely seemed sick, Joanna had learned to view his preoccupation as an endearing quirk. She remembered now that he had been complaining last night of soreness in his abdomen, and when he revealed that he'd slept poorly and the pain had moved down into the lower right side of his belly, she showed the proper wifely sympathy, feeling his forehead for fever and asking if he wanted her to summon one of his physicians straightaway.\n\n\"No... I think not,\" he decided. \"I'll see Jamal al-D\u012bn later if I do not feel better.\" He offered amends then for his earlier rudeness with a lingering kiss and, peace made between them, they rose to begin their day.\n\nJoanna had promised to take Alicia to see Zisa, their nearby summer palace in the vast park called the Genoard, and after making sure that her husband had consulted his chief physician, Jamal al-D\u012bn, she saw no reason not to keep her promise. Accompanied by several of her younger attendants and household knights, they made a leisurely progress down the Via Marmorea, acknowledging the cheers of the market crowds and throwing handfuls of copper follari to the shrieking children who sprinted alongside their horses.\n\nJoanna's obvious popularity with her subjects was a source of great pleasure to Alicia. She was already in high spirits, for Joanna's favorite Sicilian hound had whelped and she'd been promised one of the puppies for her own. She'd spent the morning with a tutor, for Joanna was determined that she learn to read and write, and feeling like a bird freed from its cage, she was talking nonstop, pointing out sights that caught her eye and blushing happily when the queen complimented her riding style, for that was another of her lessons.\n\nJoanna was gratified to see the difference that the past few months had made; this cheerful chatterbox could not have been more unlike that mute, terrified child she'd first encountered in the abbey infirmary. Upon their arrival at Zisa, she enjoyed taking Alicia on a tour of the palace's remarkable hall, where a marble fountain cascaded water into a channel that flowed across the hall and then outside into a small reflecting pool. Alicia was awestruck, kneeling to study the mosaic fish that seemed to be swimming in the ripples generated by a hidden pump, and giggling in polite disbelief when Joanna told her that during special feasts, tiny amphorae of wine were borne along by the water to the waiting guests.\n\nAs fascinated as Alicia was with the indoor fountain, she was even more interested in the royal menagerie, home to lions, leopards, peacocks, a giraffe, and elegant cheetahs which Joanna swore could be trained to walk on leashes. Afterward, they took advantage of the warm spell known as St Martin's summer and had a light meal by the large artificial lake, sitting on blankets and rooting in the wicker baskets packed by palace cooks with savory wafers, cheese, sugar plums, and oranges. Joanna would later look back upon this sunlit November afternoon as a final gift from the Almighty, one last treasured memory of the privileged life that had been hers in the island kingdom of Sicily. But at the time, it seemed only a pleasant interlude, a favor to an orphaned child in need of days like this.\n\nJoanna's knights were flirting with her ladies, her dogs chasing unseen prey in the orchards behind them. Finding herself briefly alone with the queen, Alicia seized her chance and bravely broached the subject that had been haunting her for weeks. \"May I ask you a question, Madame? The Lady Mariam...\" She hesitated and then asked bluntly, \"Is she truly a Christian?\"\n\n\"Yes, she is, Alicia. Her mother died when Mariam was very young, just as your mother did. Mariam was brought up in the palace and naturally she was raised in the Truth Faith, for it would have been cruel indeed to deny her salvation.\" Joanna finished peeling an orange before saying, \"I know why you are confused. You've heard the talk, the gossip that the Saracens who've converted are not true Christians, that they continue to practice their infidel faith in secret... have you not?\"\n\nWhen Alicia nodded shyly, Joanna handed a section of fruit to the girl. \"That is most likely true,\" she admitted composedly. \"The Palace Saracens take Christian names and attend Mass, but I am sure many of them do cling to the old ways. My husband and his father and grandfather before him believed that this is a matter between a man and his God. People ought not to be converted by force, for that renders their conversion meaningless. I've heard men accuse us of turning a blind eye, and I suppose we do, but it is for the best. Judge the results for yourself, child. Where else in Christendom do members of differing faiths live in relative peace?\"\n\n\"But... but my brother said that nothing was more important than recovering the Holy City from the infidels,\" Alicia whispered, relieved when Joanna nodded vigorously.\n\n\"Your brother was right. The Saracens in Outremer are our enemies. But that does not mean the Saracens in Sicily must be our enemies, too. Think of old Hamid, who tends to the royal kennels. Remember how patiently he talks to you about the dogs, promising to help you teach your puppy. Do you think of him as an enemy?\"\n\n\"No,\" Alicia said slowly, after a long pause. \"I suppose I do not....\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Joanna said, pleased that Alicia was such a quick study. \"Let me tell you a story, lass, one that was told to me by my husband. Twenty years ago, a dreadful earthquake struck our island. Thousands died at Catania, but Palermo was luckier and the damage was less here. The people were still very fearful and William heard nothing but cries and prayers to Allah and His Prophet from those who had supposedly embraced the Christian faith. He did not rebuke them, though, instead told them that each one should invoke the God he worships, for those who have faith would be comforted.\"\n\nAlicia was still bewildered, but if Joanna and William did not believe all Saracens were the spawn of the Devil, she would try to believe it, too, she decided. \"And Lady Mariam... she is a true Christian, not a pretend one?\"\n\nJoanna laughed, assured her that Mariam was indeed a \"worshipper of the Cross,\" as the Muslims called those of the Christian faith, and then rose to her feet, brushing off her skirts, for she saw one of the palace servants hastening up the pathway toward them.\n\n\"Madame.\" He prostrated himself at her feet in the eastern fashion, waiting for her permission to rise. When he did, she caught her breath, for his eyes were filled with fear. \"You must return to the palace, my lady. It is most urgent. Your lord husband the king has been stricken with great pain and is asking for you.\"\n\n\"Of course. Alicia, fetch the others.\" Joanna studied the man's face intently. \"What do his doctors say, Pietro?\"\n\nHe looked down, veiling his eyes. \"They say that you must hurry, my lady.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "NOVEMBER 1189",
                "text": "[ Palermo, Sicily ]\n\nAs the Lady Mariam approached the king's private quarters in the Joharia, she saw the vice chancellor, Matthew of Ajello, hobbling toward her. For more than thirty years, he'd been a powerful force in Sicilian politics. Ambitious, ruthless, shrewd, and farseeing, he'd been an effective ally and a dangerous foe, but he was now in the winter of his life, suffering from the relentless ailments of age, and some of his enemies believed his influence was waning. Mariam thought they were fools, for those heavy-lidded dark eyes still blazed with intelligence and vitality. She smiled at the sight of that stooped, wizened figure, for she had a fondness for the old man, rogue though he may be.\n\nHe greeted her with a courtly flourish, but when she asked if there had been any change in the king's condition, he slowly shook his head. \"My poor William,\" he said sadly, \"my poor Sicily...\"\n\nMariam felt a chill, for he seemed to be offering an epitaph both for her brother and his kingdom. Seeing how his words had affected her, Matthew sought to sound more cheerful, saying with a surprisingly youthful grin, \"A pity you were not here at noon, my dear, for that pompous ass, the Archbishop of Palermo, made a ridiculous spectacle of himself\u2014again. He actually began to argue with the Archbishop of Monreale about where the king ought to be buried, insisting that his cathedral was the proper site even though we all know the king founded Monreale as his family's mausoleum. The Archbishop of Monreale was understandably horrified that he'd bring up such a subject at such a time and tried to silence him ere the queen overheard. But Archbishop Walter plunged ahead unheedingly and ran straight into a royal tempest.\"\n\n\"Joanna heard?\" Mariam said and winced when he nodded.\n\n\"I met her mother once... did I ever tell you, my dear? The incomparable Eleanor of Aquitaine. It was more than forty years ago, but the memory is still green. She and her husband\u2014it was the French king then\u2014were on their way home from the Holy Land when their ships were set upon by pirates in the pay of the Greek emperor. Fortunately, our King Roger's fleet was in the area and came to the rescue. But the queen's ship was blown off course and by the time it dropped anchor in Palermo's harbor, she was quite ill. Once she'd recovered, I was given the honor of escorting her to Potenza, where her husband and King Roger were awaiting her. She was a remarkable woman, very beautiful, of course,\" he said, with a nostalgic sigh. \"But she did have a temper. I saw today that she passed it on to her daughter. Our bombastic archbishop wilted before the Lady Joanna's fury, shed his dignity like a snake shedding its skin, and bolted, his robes flapping in the breeze.\"\n\nMariam could not share his satisfaction, even though she did share his dislike of Archbishop Walter. What must it have been like for Joanna, keeping vigil by her husband's sickbed and hearing the prelates squabble over where he was to be buried? Bidding the vice chancellor farewell, she continued on her way. When she glanced back, she saw Matthew was almost out of sight, moving with surprising speed for a man so crippled by gout. He would never be as inept as the archbishop, but he'd been bitterly opposed to Constance's German marriage, and she was sure he was already plotting how best to thwart Heinrich should William die.\n\nMariam was no more eager than the vast majority of William's subjects to see Sicily swallowed up by the Holy Roman Empire. She loved Constance as much as Joanna did, but she loved her Sicilian homeland, too, and had no doubts that the kingdom would suffer under Heinrich's iron yoke. Damn William's stubbornness for refusing to see what a great risk he was taking! This spurt of anger shamed her. How could she be wrathful with her brother when he could well be dying?\n\nTwo of William's African bodyguards moved aside respectfully as she approached the door to his bedchamber. It was then that she saw the reddish-brown creature huddled on the floor. Recognizing Ahmer, her brother's favorite Sicilian hound, she frowned. But her disapproval was directed at William's Saracen doctors, not Ahmer. Muslims looked upon dogs as dirty animals, and she knew they were responsible for banishing Ahmer from his master's bedside. The hound whimpered as she scratched his head, and she found herself smiling as a memory surfaced, one of William debating his chief physician, Jamal al-D\u012bn, about the status of dogs. Jamal had insisted that they were ritually unclean and were to be shunned by Believers, and William, whose Arabic was fluent enough to allow him to read their holy book, had pounced gleefully, pointing out that there was only one reference to dogs in the Qur'an and it was a positive one, citing the Companion in the Cave sura as proof. Her smile faded then, for she could not help wondering if they'd ever be able to engage in such good-natured arguments again. Each time she saw William, he seemed to be losing more ground.\n\nOpening the door, she let Ahmer squeeze in ahead of her. She had a moment of concern, fretting that he'd jump onto the bed, but he seemed to sense the gravity of the situation and sat down sedately at Joanna's feet, his almond-shaped eyes never straying from William's motionless form. Joanna's drawn face and slumping shoulders bespoke her utter exhaustion, but she mustered up a smile, saying, \"Your sister is here, my love.\"\n\nMariam sat in a chair by the bed, reaching for William's hand as she tried to conceal her dismay at the deterioration in his appearance. Her handsome brother looked like an ashen, spectral version of himself, his eyes sunken and his cheeks gaunt. He'd lost an alarming amount of weight in so brief a time, and his skin felt cold and clammy to her touch. \"Zahrah,\" he said hoarsely, bringing tears to Mariam's eyes with the use of this Arabic childhood endearment. He was obviously in great pain. He seemed pleased, though, when she told him she'd sneaked his dog in, and dangled his fingers over the edge of the bed for Ahmer to lick.\n\nThe physicians had been conferring in a corner, studying a vial of liquid that Mariam assumed was William's urine. Glancing over, Jamal al-D\u012bn noticed the dog and glared at Mariam, who favored him with an innocent smile. When he approached the bed to take his patient's pulse, Mariam took advantage of the distraction to implore Joanna to get some sleep, but the other woman stubbornly shook her head.\n\n\"He is calmer when I am here,\" she said before lowering her voice still further to whisper an indignant account of the Archbishop of Palermo's gaffe. \"That wretched old man still bears a grudge against William for establishing an archbishopric at Monreale. But I never imagined that his rancor would impel him to contemplate burying William whilst he is still alive!\"\n\nMariam concurred, but all the while she was regarding Joanna with sympathy so sharp it felt like a dagger's edge. Joanna seemed to be the only one blind to the truth, that William's labored breaths were measurable and finite. Barring a miracle, he was dying, and all knew it but his wife. While Jamal al-D\u012bn spoon-fed his patient an herbal remedy for intestinal pain, Mariam continued to urge Joanna to take a brief nap. When William added his voice to Mariam's, she finally agreed, promising to be back before the bells rang for Vespers.\n\nAs soon as she was gone, William beckoned his sister to the bed. \"Send for a scribe,\" he murmured. \"I want to list all that I bequeath to the English king for his campaign to recover Jerusalem. Joanna became distraught whenever I mentioned it....\" And as their eyes met, Mariam realized that there had been an odd role reversal between her brother and his wife. Joanna had always been the practical partner, William the dreamer, given to impulse and whims. Yet now she was the one in denial and he was looking reality in the face without blinking.\n\nIt took William a long time to dictate his letter, for his strength was ebbing and he had to pause frequently to rest. Mariam sat by the bed, holding his hand, half listening as he offered up the riches of Sicily for a crusade he would never see. \"A hundred galleys... sixty thousand seams of wheat, the same number of barley and wine... twenty-four dishes and cups of silver or gold...\" When he was finally done, she tried to get him to eat some of the soup sent up by the palace cooks in hopes of tempting his fading appetite, but he turned his head aside on the pillow and she put the bowl down on the floor for Ahmer, which earned her a weak smile from William and a look of genuine horror from Jamal al-D\u012bn.\n\nWilliam's fever was rising and Mariam took a basin from the doctors and put a cool compress upon his hot forehead. \"At least...\" William swallowed with difficulty. \"At least I need not worry about Joanna... Monte St Angelo is a rich county...\"\n\n\"Indeed it is,\" Mariam said, her voice muffled. Joanna had been provided with a very generous dowry at the time of her marriage. It was to William's credit that even in the midst of his suffering, he was concerned for his wife's future welfare. Did he spare a thought, too, for his kingdom? Did he regret that foolhardy alliance now that it was too late? Gazing into William's eyes, Mariam could not tell. She found herself hoping that he was not tormented with such regrets. He had been a careless king, but he'd been a kind and loving brother, and she did not want him to bear such a burden in his last hours. What good would it do, after all?\n\nJoanna jerked upright in the chair, ashamed to have dozed off. Her eyes flew to the bed, but William seemed to be sleeping. He had not looked so peaceful in days and her faltering hopes rekindled. Taking care not to awaken him, she smiled at his doctor. \"He appears to be resting comfortably. Surely that is a good sign?\"\n\nJamal al-D\u012bn regarded her somberly. \"I gave him a potion made from the juice of the opium poppy. It eased his pain and helped him to sleep. Alas, it will not cure his ailment, Madame.\"\n\nJoanna bit her lip. \"But he may still recover?\"\n\n\"Inshallah,\" he said softly, \"Inshallah.\"\n\nPhysicians were the same, no matter their religion. Joanna knew that when they said \"God willing,\" there was little hope. Leaning over the bed, she kissed her husband gently upon his forehead, his eyelids, and his mouth.\n\nJoanna paused in the doorway of the palatine chapel, waiting until her eyes adjusted to the shadows. When a priest appeared, she waved him away. Approaching the altar, she sank to her knees on the marble floor, and began to pray to the Almighty and the Blessed Martyr, St Thomas of Canterbury, entreating Them to spare her husband's life, not for her sake or even for William's, but for his island kingdom and all who dwelled there in such peace. Never had she offered up prayers that were so heartfelt, so desperate, or so utterly without hope.\n\nFew monarchs were as mourned as William de Hauteville. His death was greeted with genuine and widespread sorrow by his subjects, for his reign had been a time of prosperity and security, in dramatic contrast to the troubled years when his father had ruled. For three days, they filled the streets of Palermo, lamenting in the Sicilian manner. Women wore black, dressed their servants in sackcloth, their hair unbound and disheveled, wailing to the beat of drums and tambours, their grieving magnified by their fear, for none knew what the future now held.\n\nTaking advantage of her privileged position as Joanna's childhood nurse, Dame Beatrix was reproaching Joanna for \"not eating enough to keep a nightingale alive. I know you've no appetite, but you must force yourself lest you fall ill. Indeed, you are much too pale. Should I summon a doctor?\"\n\n\"There is no need,\" Joanna said hastily. \"I am not ailing, Beatrix. I have not been sleeping well.\"\n\nBeatrix's brisk, no-nonsense demeanor crumbled. \"I know, my lamb, I know....\"\n\n\"None of it seems real,\" Joanna confessed. \"I cannot count how many times I have awakened in the morning, thinking I'd had a truly dreadful dream. It is almost like reliving that moment of William's death, over and over again. When am I going to accept it? When am I going to be able to weep for him, Beatrix? I feel... feel as if there is ice enclosing my heart, freezing my tears...\"\n\nBeatrix sat beside Joanna on the bed, putting her arm around the younger woman. \"I remember my late husband, may God assoil him, telling me about battlefield injuries. He said that sometimes when a man was severely wounded, he did not feel the pain straightaway. He thought it was the body's way of protecting itself.\"\n\nJoanna leaned into the older woman's embrace even as she said with a rueful smile, \"So you are saying I should be patient? That the pain is lurking close at hand, waiting to pounce?\"\n\nBeatrix would have sacrificed ten years of her life if by doing so she could spare Joanna sorrow. But she had never lied to Joanna, not to the homesick little girl or the grieving young mother or the bewildered new widow. \"Scriptures say for everything there is a season. Your tears will come, child. In time, this will seem all too real to you.\"\n\nJoanna did not reply and after a few moments she rose, crossing the chamber toward the window. The blue Sicilian sky was smudged with smoke to the west, and she thought reality was to be found out in the streets of Palermo. \"The rioting continues,\" she said bleakly, \"with men taking advantage of William's death to pillage the Saracen quarters. Barely a fortnight after his death and his people are already turning upon one another, putting the peace of the kingdom at risk. How he'd have hated that, Beatrix. He was always so proud that there had been no rebellions or plots after he came of age and that Christians, Muslims, and Jews lived in harmony under his rule...\"\n\n\"Saracens make good scapegoats in times of trouble.\" This new voice came from the doorway, and Joanna turned toward the speaker, nodding in unhappy agreement as Mariam entered the chamber. \"The palace seneschal is waiting outside, Joanna. He says the Archbishop of Palermo is here, seeking to speak with you.\"\n\nJoanna's mouth tightened. Her first impulse was to send him away. She was not sure she trusted herself to be civil to the man who'd defied William's express wish to be buried at Monreale, ordering the royal sarcophagus to be taken to his own cathedral in the city. Faced with the outraged opposition of Joanna, the Archbishop of Monreale, and Matthew of Ajello, Archbishop Walter had eventually backed down and William was interred at Monreale, but he'd spitefully refused to surrender the magnificent porphyry tomb William had commissioned for his final resting place.\n\nJoanna spat out an imprecation that would have done her profane father proud. But then she said, \"Tell the seneschal to escort him to William's audience chamber.\" Seeing their surprise, she said, grimacing, \"He is the only one who supports Constance's claim to the crown. I owe it to her to hear what he has to say.\"\n\nThe audience chamber had always been Joanna's favorite room, an elegant vision of gold and green and blue artistry. Now, though, the colors seemed subdued, the designs static and flat. It was as if the archbishop's very presence leeched all the vibrancy and life from the mosaics. Interrupting his diatribe against the other members of the royal inner council, Joanna said impatiently, \"So you are saying the council is split over the succession?\"\n\n\"That vile miscreant and his accursed puppet are up to their necks in the muck, Madame. They began intriguing as soon as the king was stricken, plotting to put Tancred of Lecce on the throne, and they paid us no heed when my brother and I reminded them that all of the kingdom's nobility had sworn their fidelity to the Lady Constance ere she departed the realm to wed Lord Heinrich.\"\n\nJoanna had no difficulty interpreting his intemperate language; the \"vile miscreant\" was the vice chancellor, Matthew of Ajello, and the \"accursed puppet\" the Archbishop of Monreale. She thought it was a sad irony that Constance's adversaries were men far more capable and trustworthy than her advocates, the archbishop and his weak-willed brother, whose service as Bishop of Agrigento had been utterly undistinguished so far. With men of their caliber in her camp, Constance was bound to lose. It was so unfair. Constance was the legal heiress of the House of Hauteville, King Roger's daughter, while Tancred of Lecce was merely an illegitimate son of Roger's eldest son. What greater proof could there be of their desperation that Matthew and the archbishop were willing to embrace a man bastard-born rather than see the crown go to Heinrich? Why had William been so shortsighted? If only he'd chosen another husband for Constance, anyone but a hated German prince! By marrying her off to Heinrich, he'd robbed her of her rightful inheritance.\n\nJoanna did her best to suppress her anger, for there was no undoing William's mistake. \"What of the other lords? Do all the noble families support Tancred, too?\"\n\n\"I regret to say most do, my lady. Naturally I am not privy to their conspiracy, but I have my own ears and eyes. The Count of Andria has advanced a claim, too, but many feel his blood ties to the Royal House are tenuous, and they have settled upon Tancred as their choice, overlooking his base birth, may God forgive them. My informants say they wasted no time in sending Matthew's son to Rome to argue Tancred's case with the Holy Father. So our only hope is that Pope Clement will recoil at the thought of crowning a man not lawfully begotten.\"\n\n\"If that is Constance's only hope, then she is well and truly doomed. Nothing frightens the papacy more than the prospect of seeing the Kingdom of Sicily united with the Holy Roman Empire.\" Not for the first time, Joanna marveled that she must point out something so obvious. \"The Pope will gladly overlook Tancred's tainted birth if that will prevent Heinrich from claiming the Sicilian crown. He'll keep his support covert, not daring to openly antagonize the emperor and Heinrich, but covert support will be enough to carry the day for Tancred.\"\n\nJoanna had begun to pace, wondering if there was any chance England might intercede on Constance's behalf. No, that hawk would not fly. Her father would no more aid the son of the Holy Roman Emperor than he would ally with the Sultan of Egypt. Turning, she saw that Archbishop Walter was looking at her in befuddlement. He seemed surprised that a woman could have any understanding of political matters. Did he think she'd never discussed statecraft with William? She was the daughter of the greatest king in Christendom and Eleanor of Aquitaine, not one of William's secluded harim slave girls, and she longed to remind the archbishop of that. No longer able to endure his odious presence, she was about to end the audience when the door burst open and the Archbishop of Monreale strode into the chamber, flanked by her seneschal, Mariam, Beatrix, and a monk clad in the black habit of the Benedictine order.\n\nJoanna was startled by this blatant breach of protocol, but Archbishop Walter was incensed. \"How dare you come into the queen's presence unbidden and unannounced! You've the manners of a lowborn churl, a great irony given how often you've maligned my family origins!\"\n\nArchbishop Guglielmo responded with the most lethal weapon in his arsenal; he ignored the other prelate entirely, not even deigning to glance in his direction. \"My lady queen, I seek your pardon for my abrupt entrance; I mean no disrespect. But it was urgent that I speak with you at once. I bear a message of great import from the English king. I regret to be\u2014\"\n\nIt had been months since Joanna had heard from either of her parents, and she interrupted eagerly. \"A letter from my lord father? Where is it?\"\n\nThe archbishop hesitated. \"No, Madame,\" he said at last, \"a letter from your brother.\"\n\n\"But you said the king...\" Joanna's words trailed off. \"My father... he is dead?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madame. He died at Chinon Castle in July, and your brother Richard was crowned in September.\"\n\n\"July? And we are getting word in December?\" Archbishop Walter was incredulous. \"What sort of scheme are you and the vice chancellor hatching now?\"\n\nThe Archbishop of Monreale swung around to confront him. \"How could I possibly benefit by lying to the queen so cruelly? King Richard sent a messenger several months ago. But the man fell ill on the journey, got no farther than the abbey at Monte Cassino. He was stricken with a raging fever and the monks did not expect him to live. But after some weeks, he regained his senses and confided his mission to the abbot. Since he was too weak to resume his travels, the abbot dispatched Brother Benedict with the letters, one from King Richard and one from Queen Eleanor. He took the overland route, loath to sail during winter storms, and just reached my abbey this morn\u2014\"\n\n\"Your abbey?\" Archbishop Walter was sputtering, so great was his fury. \"And why should the letters\u2014assuming they are even genuine\u2014be sent to you? What greater proof of a plot\u2014\"\n\n\"He sent the letters to me because Monreale is a Benedictine abbey like Monte Cassino and he knew I could be trusted to deliver these letters to the queen!\"\n\nBy now they were both shouting at each other, but Joanna was no longer listening. William had often told her about the great earthquake that had struck Sicily twenty years ago, describing the sensations in vivid detail, and she felt like that now, as if the very ground were quaking under her feet. Turning aside, she clung gratefully to Beatrix for support as she sought to accept the fact that her world had turned upside down yet again.\n\nWord had spread swiftly through the palace and Joanna's chaplain was awaiting her by the door of the palatine chapel. He'd been in her service since her arrival as a child-bride, and after one look at her face, he knew she did not want his comfort, not yet. \"I would have a Requiem Mass for my lord father on the morrow,\" she said, her voice sounding like a stranger's to him, faint and far away. When he would have followed her into the chapel, she asked to be alone and he positioned himself in the entrance, ready to repel an army if need be to give her privacy to pray and to grieve.\n\nJoanna felt as if she were in a waking dream; nothing seemed familiar or real. How could her father be dead? He had dominated his world like the Colossus of Rhodes, towering above mortal men, stirring awe and fear in his wake for more than thirty years. To imagine him dead was like imagining the sun blotted out. Stumbling slightly, she knelt before the high altar and began to recite the Pater Noster. \"Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.\" She still clutched the letters, not yet ready to read them. She found herself struggling to remember the rest of the prayer, one she'd known by heart since childhood, and then she crumpled to the ground, overwhelmed by a torrent of scalding tears, her body wracked with sobs as she wept for her father, for her husband, and for Sicily, the land she'd come to love.\n\nWilliam's death had destroyed the sense of security that Alicia had gained in the months since the sinking of the San Niccol\u00f2. Suddenly Sicily had become an alien place again, a dangerous place. She grieved for the young king and for Joanna, who seemed like a lost soul, pallid and frail-looking in her stark black mourning gowns and veils. She was frightened by the outbreaks of street violence and she could tell that the palace's Saracen servants were frightened, too. Almost overnight, everything had changed.\n\nAlicia had seen little of Joanna in the weeks after William's death, and when she did, the queen seemed distant and preoccupied. The royal household was in a state of turmoil. Two of Joanna's ladies-in-waiting had already departed her service, for they were kin to the Countess Sybilla, the wife of Tancred of Lecce. But Alicia knew that several others were talking of leaving, too, hoping that Sybilla might take them on. A reigning queen was a far more attractive mistress than a widowed one.\n\nAfter finding Alicia crying, Beatrix had reassured the girl that Joanna's future was secure. She held the Honour of Monte St Angelo, with the revenues from all its cities and towns, Beatrix explained, thinking it best not to mention that Monte St Angelo was on the mainland, far from Palermo. Alicia took comfort from that, for her trust in Joanna was absolute and she felt sure that Joanna would take her along when she moved to her dower lands. But then they got word of the English king's death and everything changed yet again.\n\nAfter the Requiem Mass for her father, Joanna had withdrawn into her bedchamber, and Alicia sought out Emma d'Aleramici and Bethlem de Greci for answers. The news of the English king's passing seemed to have alarmed everyone and she wanted to know why.\n\nShe found them in the process of packing their belongings, obviously planning to leave Joanna's service. Last week she'd overheard them discussing their chances of entering Sybilla's household once she was crowned, reluctantly concluding that she was not likely to accept them and it was better to remain with Joanna than to return to the tedium of their own homes. So what had changed their minds?\n\nThey were quite willing to tell her, always welcoming an opportunity to gossip. Joanna's influence had died with William, they said bluntly. It would have been different if she'd given William a son, for then she'd have been regent until he came of age. She had still been more fortunate than most barren, widowed queens, though, for she was the daughter of a great and powerful king, a man known to be very protective of his children, at least the females in the family. All knew how he'd come to the aid of his daughter Matilda when her husband, the Duke of Saxony and Bavaria, had been driven into exile by the Holy Roman Emperor, giving them refuge at his court whilst he maneuvered to get their banishment edict revoked.\n\nBut once he died, Joanna was vulnerable, fair game for those who might want to abduct her and force her into marriage. She was a valuable prize, they told the horrified Alicia, for she was beautiful and her dower lands were rich enough to tempt any man. So they were looking after their own interests whilst they still could.\n\n\"But... but Lady Joanna still has a royal protector,\" Alicia stammered. \"Her brother is the English king now. Surely he'd come to her aid if\u2014\" She broke off in bewilderment, for they'd begun to laugh at her.\n\n\"You are such a child, know nothing of the ways of the world. Brothers rarely show much concern for sisters sent off to distant lands. That is especially true when the needed alliance died with a sister's foreign husband. If you want proof of that, consider the sad history of Agnes Capet, the French king's little sister.\"\n\nAlicia sensed that she did not want to know Agnes's story, but she made herself ask, not wanting to display timidity before these women she disliked. \"What happened to her?\"\n\nBethlem hesitated, suddenly realizing that Alicia was too young to hear of these horrors. Emma had no such qualms, however. \"Agnes was betrothed to Alexius, the son of the Emperor of the Greeks, sent off to Constantinople at age eight and wed to the boy the following year when she was only nine. That was well below the canonical age for marriage, of course, but the Greeks are barbarians and care little for such niceties. That same year the emperor died and Agnes and Alexius, who was ten, ascended the throne. But two years later a cousin named Andronicus Comnenus seized control of the government. Shall I tell you what happened next?\"\n\nBy now Alicia was positive she did not want to know, already feeling great pity for the little French princess sent to live amongst barbarians. She shook her head mutely, but Emma was enjoying herself and forged ahead.\n\n\"When Andronicus took power, he began to get rid of anyone he saw as a threat. He poisoned Alexius's sister Maria and her husband, the very same Maria who was to wed our King William until the emperor changed his mind. He then forced Alexius to sign his own mother's death warrant and had her strangled. The next year he had himself crowned co-emperor with Alexius. You can guess what he did then. He murdered Alexius and had the boy's body thrown into the River Bosphorus. Poor Agnes found herself widowed at age twelve, but the worst was still to come. Andronicus forced her to marry him. Can you imagine wedding your husband's murderer?\n\n\"He was more than fifty years older than Agnes, too,\" Emma said with a fastidious shudder. \"The thought of bedding a man so aged is enough to make me want to take a vow of chastity! Andronicus soon revealed himself to be a monster, began a reign of terror, and within two years, the people of Constantinople rose up against him. He fled with Agnes and his favorite concubine, but they were captured and brought back to the city, where he was subjected to torture and then turned over to the mob. He was doused with boiling water, had his eyes gouged out, his hand cut off\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop!\" Alicia cried in a strangled voice, fighting back nausea.\n\nEmma cocked a finely plucked brow. \"I hope Agnes is not as squeamish as you, Alicia, given all she has had to endure. Surely you want to know what became of her? Sadly, we do not know. That was four years ago and her fate remains a mystery. I assume she is still alive, still dwelling in Constantinople, unless her ordeal drove her mad. But the point of my story is that Agnes is the full sister of Philippe Capet, the powerful King of France, and he did nothing whatsoever on her behalf. Brothers cannot be relied upon, Alicia, and that is why Bethlem and I are leaving your beloved queen's service. A woman's lot is not an easy one, and once she has no husband or father to protect her\u2014\"\n\n\"That is enough!\" They all spun around as Mariam stalked toward them. Alicia shrank back, but then realized that she was not the target of Mariam's wrath. \"The two of you ought to be ashamed,\" she said scathingly, \"scaring the child with such ghastly tales. What do you plan to do next, torture Alicia's new puppy or poison the garden songbirds?\"\n\n\"It was not me!\" Bethlem protested, her voice rising in a squeak. Emma attempted to stand her ground, but she was soon squirming under the heat in Mariam's blazing brown eyes, and when Mariam told them to get out, neither woman argued. Once they'd fled the chamber, Mariam took Alicia's hand and led the trembling child over to the window-seat.\n\n\"You must not pay any heed to those spiteful cats, Alicia. They have not a single brain between the two of them, just more malice than the law ought to allow.\"\n\n\"Was... was it true, though?\"\n\n\"Alas, what she said about Agnes was true. But her tragedy has naught to do with Joanna, who is in no peril. This is Palermo, not Constantinople. Ours is a more civilized society. And Joanna is far from friendless. Have you forgotten that her brother rules the greatest empire in Christendom?\"\n\n\"Yes, but... but the French king\u2014\"\n\n\"Philippe and Richard are as unlike as chalk and cheese. I know Joanna has told you stories of her brother. He is a brilliant battle commander, utterly without fear, so courageous that men call him the Lionheart. No one would ever call Philippe that, trust me. Mayhap Rabbitheart,\" Mariam added, and succeeded in coaxing a smile. \"Now do you feel better?\"\n\nAlicia nodded, realizing to her surprise that she did indeed trust Mariam. \"But what will happen when this Tancred becomes king? Emma and Bethlem said he is bastard-born, that he rebelled against King William's father and spent years in gaol, that he is so ugly men call him the 'monkey,' that\u2014\"\n\n\"Alicia, by now you ought to know better than to believe anything Emma or Bethlem says. Yes, Tancred was born out of wedlock, but he is of good blood; his mother was the daughter of a lord. And yes, he did rebel against William's father. But he was pardoned by Queen Margarita and served William loyally during his minority and afterward. He is a brave soldier and a capable administrator and I believe he truly cares about Sicily. He is not a man to maltreat a woman, least of all Joanna, his cousin's widow.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Lady Mariam,\" Alicia said gratefully. \"But... but you did not deny that Tancred looks like a monkey?\"\n\n\"Well, there you have me,\" Mariam admitted, \"for poor Tancred has been cursed with a face that would scare a gargoyle,\" and they both laughed, a moment that would mark a turning point for Alicia. From then on, she viewed the Lady Mariam as an ally, and she jettisoned the last of her brother Arnaud's values, adopting the beliefs of Joanna's Sicily as her own.\n\nThe rainy season began in the autumn and when Tancred of Lecce's ship dropped anchor in Palermo's harbor at dawn on December 11, a steady, chill rain had been falling for days. Undaunted by the winter weather, he hastened to a council meeting with Matthew of Ajello, the Archbishop of Monreale, and the highborn lords of the realm. Despite the dynastic nature of the Sicilian kingship, Tancred was elected king by unanimous consent, for those who disapproved, such as the Archbishop of Palermo and his brother, had not been invited. That evening Tancred, his fourteen-year-old son Roger, and a military escort rode to the royal palace for a task that was both necessary and unpleasant. Tancred was not looking forward to it, but he refused to delegate it to others, for honor demanded that he be the one to tell the queen; he owed her that much.\n\nAs they approached the Joharia, Tancred noticed that Roger's steps were lagging, and he found himself torn between amusement and impatience, for he understood Roger's reluctance. The boy was totally besotted with Joanna, could not speak to her without blushing, squirming, and stammering.\n\n\"Roger,\" Tancred said, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. When Roger met his eyes, he felt a surge of parental pride, for his son was all that he was not: tall and well formed. \"Would you rather wait here whilst I speak with the queen?\" He thought it was only fair to offer Roger that choice, for Matthew of Ajello had also begged off from accompanying them, using his gout as an excuse to avoid facing Joanna, whom he'd always liked.\n\nRoger was silent for a few moments and then shook his head resolutely. \"No, Papa, I will come with you.\" Tancred smiled and they continued on.\n\nJoanna was awaiting them in the royal audience chamber, accompanied by her seneschal, her chaplain, several of her household knights, and her ladies Beatrix and Mariam. She had already heard of the day's events, and while she was not happy that Tancred should claim the crown that belonged to Constance, she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She did not know Tancred very well, but what she did know was to his credit: He'd served William loyally and had distinguished himself in William's disastrous military campaign against the Greeks. She could only pray that he was up to the challenge and would be able to restore peace to their island kingdom.\n\nRefusing Joanna's polite offer of wine and fruit, Tancred wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter. \"Madame, I have come to tell you that I have been chosen by the lords of this realm to rule as king. The election was held this afternoon, and the coronation will take place after Epiphany, at which time I shall name my son the Duke of Apulia.\"\n\nAlthough Joanna liked Roger, it still hurt to think of him bearing the title that had so briefly belonged to her infant son. \"My congratulations, Roger,\" she said with a smile before turning back to his father. Tancred's cool formality was a change from past occasions when he'd affably chatted with \"Cousin William\" and his \"lovely lady.\" She wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as she did. Taking her cue from him, she addressed him now as \"My lord,\" saying that she wished him well. To say more would be hypocrisy and they both knew it.\n\n\"You say the coronation is set for January? I will be sure to vacate the palace by then,\" she assured him. \"I may choose to rent a house in Palermo until the spring, as I would rather not make the long journey to Monte St Angelo during the winter months.\" Her smile this time was not as warm as the one she'd bestowed upon Roger, for it was not easy to ask when it had always been hers to command. \"I assume that meets with your approval, my Lord Tancred?\"\n\nShe'd made the request as a mere courtesy, and she was shocked when he said, \"I am sorry, Madame. That will not be possible.\"\n\nWas he so eager to get her out of Palermo? \"As you wish,\" she said coolly. \"I will depart as soon as the arrangements can be made.\"\n\n\"I am afraid you do not understand, Madame. Whilst Monte St Angelo is a wealthy province, its greatest importance is strategic. It controls the roads from the Alpine passes, the route that Heinrich von Hohenstaufen will take when he leads an army into Italy. It is imperative that Monte St Angelo remains under royal control. I regret, therefore, that I cannot permit it to be given over to you.\"\n\nJoanna had never expected this. \"I am sure I need not remind you that my dowry is guaranteed both by my marriage contract and the inheritance laws of the realm. So what do you propose to offer in exchange for Monte St Angelo, my lord?\"\n\n\"I do not deny the truth of what you say, my lady. But I am facing a rebellion. Many Saracens have fled to the hills after the unrest in Palermo and have begun to fortify villages, whilst some of the mainland lords continue to support the Count of Andria's false claim to the crown. An even greater threat is posed by the Germans, for we know Heinrich will wage war on his wife's behalf, with all the resources of his father's empire to draw upon.\"\n\nJoanna's mouth had gone dry. \"Just what are you saying, my lord?\"\n\n\"I am saying that I cannot afford to compensate you for the loss of your dowry lands,\" he said bluntly, and Joanna's knights began to mutter among themselves, their anger all the greater for their sense of helplessness. Roger was no longer looking at Joanna, and Tancred wished he were elsewhere, too. He'd known it would not be easy, and was hoping she'd not burst into tears, for he felt awkward and ill at ease with weeping women. He saw now that he needn't have worried, for she'd raised her chin and was staring at him defiantly.\n\n\"So you plan to turn me out penniless? Or do you have some other surprises in store for me, my lord?\"\n\nTancred did not try to sweeten the brew; it was bound to go down hard. \"I will speak candidly with you, Madame. You and your lord husband were well loved by the people, and I am sure there will be much sympathy for your... situation. Your own sympathy for the Lady Constance is well known, too. Should you fall into Heinrich's hands, either by choice or by chance, he would make good use of you to advance his wife's cause. I think it best, therefore, that you remain here in Palermo.\"\n\nBy now there were outraged protests by Joanna's knights and gasps from her women. She was stunned, too. But she'd not give this man the satisfaction of seeing how shaken she was. She knew how her mother would have reacted to such a threat and she responded accordingly. \"So I am under arrest? Is it to be the palace dungeon, or have you someplace else in mind?\"\n\nTancred had dreaded female hysteria. Now, though, he found himself irked by her icy composure. \"Of course not!\" he snapped. \"You will be lodged in comfortable quarters and will be treated with courtesy and respect; upon that, you have my word. And once I am secure upon my throne, I hope to be able to review your circumstances. But for now, you may consider yourself a guest of the Crown.\"\n\n\"I consider myself a hostage, my lord,\" Joanna snapped back. \"It is obvious that there is no point in arguing with you. But this I will say, and I hope you heed it. You think I am utterly defenseless now that my lord husband and my father the English king are dead. That is a great mistake, and you will answer dearly for it.\"\n\n\"I believe the Almighty will understand, my lady.\"\n\nJoanna's lips curved in an angry, mocking smile. \"The Almighty may, but my brother, the Lionheart, will not.\"\n\nTancred was not a vindictive winner and was willing to concede her the last word. He bowed stiffly and withdrew, leaving her standing in the wreckage of the life that just a month ago had seemed well-nigh perfect."
            },
            {
                "title": "MARCH 1190",
                "text": "[ Nonancourt Castle, Normandy ]\n\nAfter William Marshal's young wife had been presented to the Queen of England, Will guided Isabel toward the relative privacy of a window-seat, for he knew she'd be eager to discuss it with him. And, indeed, as soon as they were seated, she turned toward him, cheeks flushed with excitement.\n\n\"She is not as beautiful as I'd heard, Will. I suppose that is because she is so old now. You said she was nigh on sixty-and-six.\" Isabel paused to marvel at that vast age, for both of her parents had died in their forties. \"Are you sure the king is not here yet?\" She sat up straight, her eyes sweeping the crowded hall. \"What does he look like?\"\n\n\"Richard is taller than most men, two fingers above six feet, with curly hair betwixt red and gold. Trust me, lass, he is not one to pass unnoticed. If he were here, you'd need none to point him out to you.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope he comes soon, for I must be the only one at court who has not even laid eyes upon the king.\" Isabel looked around, then, for Richard's brother, but could find no one who matched the king's description. \"Count John is not here, either?\"\n\n\"John is over there, the one talking to the Lady Alys, in the green gown.\" Will started to identify Alys as the French king's sister, Richard's neglected, long-suffering betrothed, then remembered that Isabel knew Alys better than he did, for prior to their marriage she'd resided at the Tower of London with Alys and another rich heiress, Denise de Deols.\n\n\"John does not look at all like Richard, does he? He is as dark as a Spaniard, and nowhere near as tall as you, Will.\" Isabel gave her husband a fond glance from the corner of her eye. \"He is handsome, though, I must admit. In fact, I've never seen so many comely men gathered in one place. Look at that youth with the fair hair and sky-blue eyes, just like a Norse raider! And there is another beautiful lad\u2014can you use the word 'beautiful' for men? The one laughing, with chestnutcolored hair.\"\n\nWill took her teasing in stride, for he was amused by her lively, playful personality and was too sure of his manhood to deny his young bride the fun of flirting. He'd never hoped to be given such a prize\u2014a great heiress like Isabel\u2014for he was just a younger son of a minor baron, a man whose worth had been measured by the strength and accuracy of his sword arm. He still remembered his astonishment when the old king had promised Isabel de Clare to him, a deathbed reward for years of steadfast loyalty. He'd been sure that his bright future was lost when King Henry's life ebbed away at Chinon Castle. But the new king, Richard, had confirmed Henry's dying promise and, at that moment, Will had begun to believe in miracles.\n\n\"You truly are a king's granddaughter,\" he said, \"for you've singled out men with royal blood flowing in their veins. Your 'Norse raider' is Henri of the House of Blois, the Count of Champagne, nephew to two kings\u2014Richard and Philippe of France. And your 'beautiful lad' is Richard's Welsh kinsman, Morgan ap Ranulf. His father was the old king's favorite uncle, and Morgan served Richard's brother Geoffrey until his death, then joined Henry's household.\"\n\n\"Life at court is going to be rather dull with so many gallant young lords off to fight the Saracens,\" Isabel said with a mock sigh, still bent upon mischief. It was a safe game, for Will wasn't tiresomely jealous like so many husbands. Her friend and Tower companion, Denise de Deols, had recently been wed to King Richard's cousin, Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny, and he was so possessive she had to conduct herself as circumspectly as a nun.\n\n\"They have not all taken the cross. John is not going to the Holy Land.\"\n\nIsabel's pert, vivacious demeanor sometimes led others to underestimate her; she had a quick brain and was a surprisingly good judge of character for a girl of eighteen. She caught the unspoken undertones in her husband's voice, and eyed him curiously. \"You do not like Count John, do you, Will?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said tersely, \"I do not.\"\n\nSeeing that he did not want to discuss the king's brother, she obligingly steered the conversation in a more agreeable direction, asking the identity of the woman talking with Morgan ap Ranulf. When Will told her that was Constance, the Duchess of Brittany, Isabel studied the older woman with heightened interest. She knew Constance had been betrothed to Richard's brother Geoffrey in childhood, wed to him at twenty, widowed five years later. Will had told her King Henry had then compelled Constance to marry his cousin, the Earl of Chester, wanting to be sure her husband would be loyal to the English Crown. She'd reluctantly agreed to the marriage in order to retain wardship of her two young children, but one of Richard's first acts after his coronation had been to demand that she turn her daughter over to his custody.\n\nGazing at the Breton duchess, Isabel felt a pang of sympathy, and moved her hand protectively to her abdomen. She knew, of course, that children of the highborn were usually sent off to other noble households for their education. Constance's daughter had been just five, though, taken against her mother's will. Isabel had been taught that a wife's first duty was to her husband, not her children, but she'd often wondered if a woman's maternal instincts could be stifled so easily. She was only in the early months of her first pregnancy and already she felt that she'd defend the tiny entity in her womb with her last breath.\n\n\"Will you introduce me to the duchess, Will?\" Receiving an affirmation, she continued her scrutiny of the hall. \"Is that the Archbishop of York? And my heavens, who is that man?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is the Archbishop of York, Richard's half-brother,\" William said, then followed her gaze to see who had provoked her outburst. \"Ah... that is Guillaume Longchamp, the Bishop of Ely, the king's chancellor and most trusted adviser. At first sight, he seems a pitiful figure, small and ugly and crippled in the bargain. But do not be misled by his paltry size or his lameness, for his intelligence is exceeded only by his arrogance.\"\n\n\"No, not him. That man over there, the one who looks like he escaped from Hell!\"\n\nOnce Will identified the object of her interest, he smiled grimly. \"That is Mercadier. I assume he must have a given name, but I've never heard it. His past is a mystery, too. I know only that he entered Richard's service about seven years ago as a routier\u2014that is the term used for men like Mercadier, men who sell their swords to the highest bidder. He has been loyal to Richard, I'll grant him that much, and he is as fearless in battle as Richard himself. But he knows no more of mercy than a starving wolf, and when he walks by, other men step back, instinctively making the sign of the cross.\"\n\nIsabel was staring openly at the routier captain, mesmerized by his sinister appearance\u2014lanky black hair, cold pale eyes, and the worst facial scar she'd ever seen, slashing across his cheek to his chin like a diabolical brand, twisting the corner of his mouth into a mockery of a smile. \"If ever there was a man who had a rendezvous with the hangman, that is the one,\" she declared, suppressing a shiver. Suddenly the great hall lost some of its appeal. \"I am tired, Will. May we retire to our chamber?\"\n\n\"Of course, Isabel.\" Will's natural courtliness had been greatly enhanced by Isabel's pregnancy, so much so that she had to remind herself not to take advantage of his solicitude. \"We'll have to bid the queen good night first,\" he said, helping her to rise. As they headed toward the dais, he identified the woman who'd just joined Eleanor.\n\n\"That is the Lady Hawisa, the Countess of Aumale. She'd been wed to one of King Henry's friends, the Earl of Essex, but he died in December and Richard ordered her to marry a Poitevin lord, William de Forz. The Lady Hawisa balked, though, actually dared to defy the king. You great heiresses tend to be a stubborn lot,\" he murmured, showing that when it came to teasing, he could give as good as he got. \"But Richard is a stubborn one, too, and he seized her estates until she yielded. She accompanied Queen Eleanor from England, and most likely will be wed once Lent is done.\"\n\nIsabel came to a sudden stop. Her eyes shifted from the Lady Hawisa, soon to marry a man not of her choosing, to the queen, held prisoner by her own husband for sixteen years, and then over to the Duchess of Brittany, another unwilling wife, in conversation now with a woman who asked only to be wed, the unfortunate French princess Alys, a bride-to-be who'd become a hostage instead. Isabel was too well bred to make a public display of affection, but she reached out, grasped her husband's hand so tightly that he looked at her in surprise. \"Oh, Will,\" she whispered, \"how lucky I am, how very lucky....\"\n\nAs they emerged into the castle bailey, darkness was falling and clouds hid the moon. Clinging to Will's arm, Isabel raised her skirts so they'd not trail in the mud, wrinkling her nose at the rank odor of horse manure. Riders were coming in and she and Will paused to watch, for the new arrivals were creating a stir. Men were running along the battlements, dogs were barking, and torches flaring. Isabel found herself staring at the lead rider. He was mounted astride a splendid grey stallion, and although his travel cloak was splattered with mud, she could see the material was a fine wool, dyed a deep shade of blue; his saddle was ornamented with ivory plates, the pommel and cantle decorated with gemstones, and his spurs shone like silver even in the encroaching shadows. As she watched, he pulled back his hood, revealing a handsome head of bright coppery hair, piercing grey eyes, and the whitest, cockiest smile Isabel had ever seen. As he swung from the saddle into a circle of light cast by the flaming torches, Isabel squeezed her husband's arm. \"You were right, Will. Only a blind man would not know he was looking at a king.\"\n\nEleanor's chamber was a cheerful scene. A harpist was playing for their pleasure as the women chatted and stitched, for even the highborn were not exempt from the needlework that was a woman's lot. Denise de Deols was trading gossip with Isabel Marshal as they embroidered, and Eleanor's attendants were occupied with an altar cloth intended as a gift for the castle chaplain. But not all of the women were engaged in such decorous activities. The Countess of Aumale was playing a tavern dice game with Eleanor's granddaughter, Richenza, and Eleanor herself was flipping idly through a book on her lap, for sewing had always bored her. She was finding it difficult to concentrate, and finally set the book aside, getting to her feet. She was at once the focus of all eyes, and when she reached for her mantle, the other women started to rise, too.\n\nShe waved them back into their seats. She was in no mood for company, but she knew they'd consider it highly unseemly for a queen to venture out on her own. Eleanor had never given a fig for what other people thought. She'd learned many lessons, though, in those long years of confinement, one of which was that a wise woman picked her battles, and she relented at the last moment, allowing her granddaughter to accompany her.\n\nShe'd become quite fond of Richenza, who'd remained behind with her youngest brother when her father's exile had ended and her parents returned to Germany. She was now eighteen, newly a bride, already displaying an independent streak that endeared her to Eleanor, who'd learned long ago that a woman without inner resources would not thrive in their world. Richenza's name had been deemed too exotic for English or French ears and she'd been rechristened Matilda, but once her parents departed, she sought to reclaim her German name, clinging to it as a tangible remembrance of her former life. To most people, she was the Lady Matilda, future Countess of Perche, but to her indulgent family, she was once again Richenza. Even her husband proved willing to overlook the alien sound of her name, for while Richenza had not inherited her mother's fair coloring\u2014she had her father's dark hair and eyes\u2014she had been blessed in full measure with Tilda's beauty.\n\nEleanor glanced at the girl from time to time as they crossed the bailey, drawing comfort from Richenza's presence, for although she did not physically resemble her mother, she was still Tilda's flesh-and-blood, evoking memories with the familiar tilt of her head, the sudden flash of dimples. She had Tilda's tact, too, for she waited until they'd reached the castle gardens and were out of earshot of curious onlookers before voicing her concern.\n\n\"Grandame, forgive me if I am being intrusive. But you've seemed restless and out of sorts in these recent weeks. Would it help to talk about your worries?\"\n\n\"No, child, but I bless you for your keen eye and your loving heart.\"\n\nRichenza revealed then how keen her eye really was. \"Are you anxious about Uncle Richard's safety in the Holy Land? I know I am.\"\n\nEleanor regarded the girl in surprise. She hadn't realized her granddaughter was so perceptive. \"I have been melancholy of late,\" she admitted, \"but it will pass, Richenza. It always does.\"\n\n\"God willing,\" Richenza said softly. She wished that her grandmother was less guarded, for in sharing Eleanor's sorrows, they could have shared hers, too. She still mourned her mother fiercely, and she suspected that Eleanor's \"melancholy\" was a belated mourning for her own dead, all taken during last year's fateful summer. A daughter dying in a foreign land. The woman who'd been her closest friend. And the husband who'd been partner, lover, enemy, and gaoler. Richenza had seen Henry and Eleanor together often enough to realize that theirs had been a complicated, volatile, and contradictory bond, one few others could understand. But to Richenza, it seemed quite natural that Eleanor could have rejoiced in the death that set her free while grieving for the man himself.\n\nEleanor reached out, stroking her granddaughter's cheek. \"You are very dear to me,\" she said, adding briskly, \"now I am going to speak with the castle chaplain about that altar cloth we've promised him. And you, my dearest, are going to bid your husband welcome.\"\n\nFollowing Eleanor's gaze, Richenza saw that Jaufre had indeed ridden into the castle bailey, and a smile flitted across her lips, for she'd found marriage to her liking and when she offered up prayers for her uncle Richard, she prayed even more fervently that the Almighty would safeguard Jaufre, too, in that blood-soaked land where the Lord Christ had once walked. She waved to Jaufre before turning back to her grandmother. But Eleanor had gone.\n\nEleanor had mentioned the altar cloth as a pretext, not wanting to continue the conversation. She had never found it easy to open her heart, especially to those of her own sex. She'd only had two female confidantes\u2014her sister Petronilla and Henry's cousin Maud, Countess of Chester. Petronilla had been dead for a number of years, but Maud's loss was still raw, as she'd died barely six months ago. Glancing over her shoulder, Eleanor saw that Richenza was hastening to greet her husband. Turning away, she headed toward the chapel.\n\nIt was deserted at that hour and she found the stillness soothing. Pausing to dip her fingers in a holy water font reserved for clerics and the highborn\u2014for even in church class differences were recognized\u2014she moved up the nave. Kneeling before the altar, she offered prayers for lost loved ones. William, the first of her children to die, the image of that heartbreakingly tiny coffin still burned into her brain. Hal, the golden son, a wasted life. Geoffrey, called to God too soon. Tilda, a gentle soul surely spared the rigors of Purgatory. Maud, missed as much as Eleanor's blood sister. And Harry, whose name had so often been both a caress and a curse. \"Requiescat in pace,\" she murmured and rose stiffly to her feet.\n\nIt had taken her by surprise, this quiet despondency. It was not dramatic or despairing, more like a low fever, but it had lingered in the weeks following the Christmas festivities. And because Eleanor the prisoner had mastered one skill that had often eluded Eleanor the queen and duchess\u2014the art of introspection\u2014she'd been giving some thought to this change in mood. Could Richenza be correct? Was it a mother's anxiety that was fueling her unease?\n\nThere was justification for such fears, God knows. How many of the men who took the cross ever saw their homes again? Outremer had become a burial ground for thousands of foreign-born crusaders. And since she'd regained her freedom, she'd made a startling discovery about her eldest surviving son. Richard had won battlefield laurels at an early age, earning himself a well-deserved reputation for what their world most admired\u2014military prowess. But his health was not as robust as his appearance would indicate; she'd learned that he was subject to recurrent attacks of quartan fever, contracted during one of his campaigns in the Limousin. And more men were killed by the noxious diseases and hellish heat of the Holy Land than by Saracen swords.\n\nOr was it memories of last summer? So much had happened, so fast. On the day her husband had drawn his last, tortured breath, she'd been a royal captive. By nightfall, she was the most powerful woman in Christendom, the one person who had the complete trust of England's new king. The news of Maud's death had reached her soon after Richard's coronation; it had taken longer for word of Tilda's death to come from Germany. But there'd been little time to mourn, for in those early weeks of Richard's kingship, they'd been riding the whirlwind.\n\nThe more she thought about her flagging spirits, the more it made sense to her. She was grieving for the dead and fearing for the living, for the son who'd always been closest to her heart. And because she was a political being to the very marrow of her bones, she feared, too, for her duchy and their kingdom should evil befall Richard in the Holy Land. She'd have given a great deal if only she could have convinced him to abandon his quest, or at least delay it until he was firmly established upon his throne. But she knew that was a hope as easily extinguished as a candle's flame. Richard would gladly sacrifice his life, if in so doing he could free Jerusalem from the infidels.\n\nEleanor leaned against the altar. \"Ah, Harry,\" she said softly, \"if only Richard shared your sense of practicality. You were satisfied to be a king, not the savior of Christendom.\"\n\n\"Madame.\"\n\nEleanor spun around, her cheeks burning. She wasn't easily flustered, but being caught talking to her dead husband was embarrassing. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the intruder. Constance of Brittany was once her daughter by marriage, but Eleanor regarded her now without warmth. \"Lady Constance,\" she said coolly as the younger woman dropped a rather perfunctory curtsy.\n\n\"My lady queen, may I speak with you?\" Taking Eleanor's consent for granted, Constance approached the altar. \"I have come to ask a favor,\" she said, although there was nothing of the supplicant in either her voice or her posture; Constance had learned at an early age to use pride as a shield. \"It is my hope that you will speak with the king on my behalf. He claimed the custody of my daughter last autumn and sent her off to England despite the agreement I'd struck with his lord father. King Henry promised that he'd permit me to keep Aenor with me if I agreed to wed the Earl of Chester. I held to my side of the bargain, but now my daughter is gone and I've not seen her in nigh on six months. Where is the fairness in that?\"\n\n\"Your deal was with Henry, not Richard. Does it truly surprise you that Richard regards you with suspicion? How many times did you ally yourself with his enemies? How many times did Geoffrey lead a Breton army into Aquitaine?\"\n\n\"I've sought only to protect Brittany, to safeguard my duchy. I would think that you of all women would understand that, for Aquitaine has been the lodestar of your life. You even sacrificed your marriage for it. So how can you judge me?\"\n\n\"I am not judging you for your devotion to your duchy,\" Eleanor said icily. \"I am faulting you for your inability to learn from your mistakes. You have never made a secret of your antipathy\u2014\"\n\n\"Are you saying I had no reason for resentment? Have you forgotten that Henry forced my father to abdicate and sent him into exile? I was five years old when I was torn from the only home I'd ever known and betrothed to his son. Yes, I bore him a grudge. I was not a saint.\"\n\n\"Or a good wife to my son!\"\n\nConstance gasped, for she'd not seen that coming. \"I do not know what you mean, Madame.\"\n\n\"I mean that you did all you could to estrange Geoffrey from his family. Again and again you urged him to make war upon Richard, and then you convinced him to disavow his father and ally himself with our greatest enemy, the French king.\"\n\n\"That is not true! I never encouraged Geoffrey to do that. It was his decision to seek out Philippe in Paris.\"\n\nEleanor did not bother to hide her disbelief. \"I am not saying you bear all the blame. Geoffrey must bear some, too, as must my husband. But this I do know for certes. If Geoffrey had not gone over to the French king, he'd not have been taking part in that tournament, and he'd still be alive today.\"\n\nThe manifest unfairness of that left Constance momentarily speechless. \"How dare you blame me for his death? I loved Geoffrey!\"\n\n\"Did you, indeed?\" Eleanor said skeptically. \"I will grant you this much, Constance. I do believe you love your children. But you are putting their future in peril by your stubborn hostility toward Richard. If you were half as clever as you think you are, you'd see that. Richard will be facing daily dangers in the Holy Land, and if he dies there, he leaves no heir of his body, only his brother and his nephew\u2014your son, Arthur. Any other woman would be doing whatever she could to gain Richard's goodwill, to convince him that he should name Arthur as his successor in case he dies without a son of his own. But just as your desire for vengeance was stronger than your so-called love for Geoffrey, it is stronger than your responsibilities as a mother and as a duchess, for you cannot be such a fool as to believe Brittany would fare better under French rule.\"\n\nWhen Constance would have protested, Eleanor raised her hand in an imperious gesture. \"There is nothing more for you to say. I will not intercede with Richard on your behalf\u2014not until you prove that you can be trusted.\" Brushing past the Breton duchess, she walked swiftly toward the door. Her outward calm was deceiving, for the accusations she'd made against Constance had ripped open a wound that had never fully healed. She'd had to accept the fact that Hal had brought about his own doom. But Geoffrey... surely Geoffrey could have been saved. If only Harry had not been so stubborn, if only Geoffrey had not been so proud. If only his wife had not been so vengeful and filled with malice.\n\nConstance had begun to shake, so great was her fury and her pain. She was almost as angry with herself as she was with Eleanor, for she realized how badly she'd botched things. She'd made an enemy of the only woman who could have helped her. She'd ruined her one chance of getting her daughter back. I loved Geoffrey! The irony of her outburst did not escape her\u2014that she'd admitted to Geoffrey's mother what she'd never said to him.\n\nShe sank down on the step leading into the choir, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees to stop her trembling. How dare Eleanor accuse her of being a bad mother? Geoffrey's parents had failed their children in so many ways, above all in having favorites. For Henry, it had been Hal and then John, and for Eleanor, Richard. Geoffrey had been the forgotten son. He'd always sworn that he'd never make that mistake with his children, that he would be a better father than his own. But he'd had so little time with Aenor and had never even seen his son, for Arthur had been born seven months after his death.\n\nTears had begun to burn Constance's eyes, but she blinked them back, for what good would crying do? She could fling herself onto the floor of this church and weep and wail until she had no more tears, until her cries would echo unto Heaven. But Geoffrey would still be dead. She'd still be yoked to a man she could not abide. Her son would still face a precarious future, her daughter would still be a hostage, and Brittany would remain trapped between England and France, a rabbit hunted by wolves.\n\nConstance hadn't heard the soft footsteps approaching and her head came up sharply at the sound of her name. Angrily swiping the back of her hand against her wet cheeks, she frowned at the sight of the woman coming toward her. Since her arrival at Nonancourt, Alys Capet had been seeking her out at every opportunity, eager to reminisce about their shared past. It was true that Constance and Alys and Joanna had passed several years at the queen's court in Poitiers, but friendship needed more than proximity to flourish. The fact was that Joanna had been too young, and Constance and Alys, while the same age, had never liked each other. Constance remembered even if Alys apparently did not, and she'd been hard put to be civil, as Alys insisted upon making their time together sound like an idyllic childhood. Now before she could get to her feet, Alys sat beside her upon the altar step.\n\n\"Constance, you've been weeping! What is wrong? May I be of any help?\"\n\nHer concern seemed genuine and, much to Constance's dismay, she heard herself blurt out that she'd just sought Eleanor's aid in recovering her daughter, to no avail. It was almost as if the words had escaped of their own will, for she'd never have chosen Alys as a confidante. But there was no calling them back, and Alys responded with such sympathy and indignation that Constance told her how Richard's men had swooped down upon Brittany and carried Aenor off to England within a fortnight of his coronation. \"They have been keeping her at Winchester,\" she concluded bleakly, \"and I have no idea when I'll be able to see her again....\"\n\nAlys had insisted upon putting a consoling arm around Constance's shoulders, much to the latter's discomfort. But at the mention of Winchester, Alys forgot about offering solace and looked at Constance in surprise. \"Aenor is not at Winchester. She is in Normandy now. She traveled upon the queen's own ship. Once we landed at Barfleur, the rest of us headed south toward Nonancourt to meet Richard whilst Aenor was sent to Rouen. You did not know?\"\n\n\"Obviously not,\" Constance snapped, her brain racing as she sought to process this new and startling bit of information. She was furious that no one had thought to inform her, but the mere fact that Aenor was no longer in England was surely a reason for rejoicing. At the least, visits would be much easier. Would Richard permit it, though? If she approached him in public, midst a hall filled with eyewitnesses, and asked for permission to see her daughter, how could he dare say no? He'd be shamed into agreeing. But she could not make the same mistake with him that she'd done with Eleanor. God help her, she must assume the role of a humble petitioner, swallow her pride even if she choked on it.\n\nAlys had continued to talk, but Constance was so caught up in her own thoughts that she was no longer listening. It was only when she heard her mother's name that she turned back to the other woman. \"My mother?\"\n\nAlys nodded. \"Yes, the Lady Margaret was permitted to visit Aenor at Winchester.\" Doing her best to ease Constance's worries, she said earnestly, \"Aenor is being well treated, Constance, truly she is. At Winchester, she often played with the Lady Richenza's little brother, and the queen made sure that well-bred palfreys were provided for her escort. She was sent off to Rouen in fine style, as befitting a child of her high birth.\"\n\nConstance had never doubted that Aenor would be comfortably housed or given solicitous servants, so she was not appeased to hear it confirmed. It was some comfort, though, that her mother had spent time with Aenor. Margaret had wed an English baron after the death of Constance's father, and Constance had hoped she'd be able to keep an eye upon Aenor. Alys had a pleasant voice, but it was grating now on Constance's nerves, for she needed time alone to marshal her thoughts and plan how best to approach Richard. She paid the other woman no heed until Alys said something so startling that she whipped her head around to stare at the French princess. \"What did you say?\"\n\nBy now they were both on their feet, brushing off their skirts. \"I said that I can be of little assistance to you now, Constance. But once I am queen, I promise that I will do all in my power to have Aenor returned to you.\"\n\nConstance was dumbfounded. Did Alys truly believe that Richard was going to marry her? If so, she was more na\u00efve than a novice nun and more forgiving than the Blessed Mother Mary. If she'd been treated as shabbily as Alys, Constance would have prayed every day for the demise of her tormentor. Where was Alys's indignation, her spine?\n\nBut as she gazed into the other woman's face, Constance was struck by Alys's wide-eyed, girlish mien. Alys was the elder of the two by six months, would be thirty come October. At that age, she ought to have been in charge of her own household, presiding over her highborn husband's domains in his absence, a mother and wife, mayhap even a queen. Instead, she'd spent these formative years in pampered, secluded confinement, with no duties or responsibilities, denied the chance to mature, denied her womanhood. And Constance suddenly understood why Alys had been so eager to claim a friendship that had existed only in her own imagination, why\u2014despite all evidence to the contrary\u2014she still clung to the romantic belief that she would marry the man to whom she'd been betrothed since the age of nine. Looked upon in that light, it was not even surprising. Who would expect a tame bird to fend for itself if it were set free after a lifetime of gilded captivity?\n\nWith this realization, Constance found herself faced with an uncomfortable dilemma. Should she be the one to shatter Alys's illusions? Constance had little patience with fools, yet there was no cruelty in her nature. To tell Alys the truth was akin to pulling the wings off a butterfly. But someone had to tell her. Surely it would be less painful coming here and now. The alternative would be to hear it from Richard himself, and Constance did not trust him to be tactful as he trampled Alys's dreams underfoot.\n\n\"Alys... there is something you must know, and better you hear it from me than from Richard. He has no intention of marrying you.\"\n\nColor flamed into Alys's face and then ebbed, leaving her white and shaken. \"That is not true! It was his father who kept delaying our marriage, not Richard.\"\n\n\"Alys, you need to face the truth. Richard has been king for over six months. If he'd wanted to marry you, it would have happened by now. He has never had any interest in making you his wife, at first because your marriage portion was so meager and then because he no longer trusts your brother, the French king. None of this is your doing but you must\u2014\"\n\n\"No!\" Alys shook her head vehemently, began to back away. \"You have not changed at all, Constance, you are still as sharp-tongued and jealous as you always were!\"\n\nConstance blinked. \"Jealous?\"\n\n\"Yes, jealous! Joanna and I were raised to be queens, but you had to settle for less and you still resent me for it.\"\n\nConstance experienced the righteous resentment of a Good Samaritan not only rebuffed but accused of unworthy motives. She started to defend herself, but Alys had whirled and was halfway up the nave, making her escape in a swirl of silken skirts. Constance made no attempt to call her back. She'd done what she could. It was now up to Alys. She could accept the truth or continue to dwell in her fantasy world. Suddenly Constance felt very tired. Watching Alys retreat, she faced a bitter truth of her own\u2014that she'd rather have been Geoffrey's duchess than the queen of any kingdom under God's sky."
            },
            {
                "title": "MARCH 1190",
                "text": "[ Nonancourt Castle, Normandy ]\n\nIn order to have a private conversation without fear of eavesdroppers, Eleanor had retreated to her bedchamber with her son. After dismissing her attendants, Richard joked that they ought to plug the keyhole with candle wax to thwart any French spies. Taking the wine cup he was holding out, Eleanor raised an eyebrow. \"Is your news as incendiary as that?\"\n\nRichard had seated himself by the fire, stretching long legs toward its welcome warmth\u2014for spring came later to Normandy than it did to their beloved Aquitaine\u2014and regarded her enigmatically over the rim of his wine cup. \"Let's just say it is news that Philippe would pay dearly to have, news I do not intend to share with him when we meet at Dreux on Friday.\"\n\n\"May I hope that you do intend to share it with me... eventually?\" But Eleanor's impatience was feigned, for she was accustomed to this sort of teasing. Henry had been a master of suspense, too. It struck her how alike her husband and son were, doubtless one of the main reasons why they'd so often been at odds.\n\n\"You know I was in Aquitaine last month. I spent several days in Gascony at La R\u00e9ole, and during that time I had a very private meeting with trusted agents of the King of Navarre.\"\n\n\"Did you now?\" Eleanor sat back in her chair, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. They'd talked about this before, the possibility of a marital alliance with the Navarrese king, and were in agreement as to its potential. \"I know you've raised the matter with Sancho in the past. I take it he is still interested.\"\n\n\"Why would he not be? We still do have some issues to agree upon. So when I'm back in the south later this spring, I will meet again with his envoys, mayhap his son. What do they say about marriage contracts, Maman\u2014that the Devil is in the details? But I am confident that we have an understanding, for it will be a good deal for both sides. I gain a valuable alliance, and God knows I'll need a reliable ally to safeguard my southern borders from that whoreson in Toulouse. It is not by chance that Count Raimon is the only lord of note who has not taken the cross. He thinks this will be a rare opportunity to wreak havoc whilst I am occupied in the Holy Land. I'd wager he is already laying plans to invade Quercy even as we speak. But between Sancho and Alfonso,\" he said, referring to the King of Aragon, a friend since boyhood, \"I think they can keep him in check until I return.\"\n\n\"Yes, it would be an advantageous match,\" Eleanor agreed. Neither bothered to mention what Navarre was gaining from it, for that was obvious. Sancho's daughter would become Queen of England, a lofty elevation for a young woman from a small Spanish kingdom. Sipping her wine contentedly, she studied her son, thinking he was taking pleasure, too, in outwitting the French king, for their friendship had been one of expediency, and once Henry had been defeated, the erstwhile allies were soon regarding each other with suspicion and hostility.\n\n\"Does...\" She paused, prodding her memory to recall the girl's name. \"Does Berengaria speak French? The native tongue of Navarre is Romance, is it not?\"\n\n\"When I visited her father's court six years ago, her grasp of French was somewhat tenuous, but Sancho assured me that she has studied it diligently since then.\" Richard's smile was complacent. \"The chance of a crown proved to be a powerful inducement. And she knows our lenga romana quite well, for it is spoken in many parts of Navarre.\" He was pleased by that, for like Eleanor, he was fluent in both French and the language of Aquitaine. \"I write most of my poetry in lenga romana and I'd prefer not to have to translate it for her.\"\n\nEleanor was pleased, too, that Berengaria spoke the lenga romana, for that indicated she was well educated and familiar with the troubadour culture of the south. While compatibility was not a consideration in royal marriages, it did make marital harmony more likely, and Eleanor, like any mother, wanted her son to be content with the bride he chose. \"When we've discussed this in the past, Richard, we spoke of political concerns, not personal ones. But after the marriage contract has been signed and the vows said, you'll be sharing your life with a flesh-and-blood woman. What are you seeking in a wife?\"\n\n\"Fertility,\" he quipped, but then, seeing that she really wanted to know, he paused to give it some thought. \"I'd want her to be sensible, not flighty or needy. Not overly pious, for no man wants to bed a nun. What else? A queen must be educated and worldly, of course...\"\n\nHe almost added \"loyal\" but caught himself in time, for his mother's loyalty to his father had been neither unconditional nor enduring. In his eyes, she could do no wrong. But he preferred a more conventional wife for himself, just as he did not want the tempest that had been his parents' marriage. Civility seemed a much safer foundation for a royal union than wanton lust or love that burned so fiercely it became indistinguishable from hatred.\n\nAlmost as if she'd read his mind, Eleanor startled him by saying dryly, \"The best marriages are based upon benign indifference or detached goodwill. That was the advice Harry's father gave him ere we wed. Looking back, I suspect he may have been right.\" She knew she would not have given up the passion, though, for she had not been born for safe harbors. \"It sounds as if you have a realistic grasp of matrimony, Richard, which bodes well for you and your bride, and you seem satisfied with the girl herself. But I can only marvel at your powers of persuasion, even with a crown in the offing. Not many fathers would agree to wed a daughter to a man already betrothed to another woman for more than twenty years. How did you get Sancho to overlook your plight-troth to Philippe's sister?\"\n\n\"Sancho knows that marriage will never take place.\"\n\n\"But does Philippe?\"\n\n\"Well, not yet,\" he conceded. \"I cannot very well renounce the betrothal now, for Philippe would seize upon that as an excuse to forswear his holy vow. He never wanted to take the cross, was shamed into doing so by the Archbishop of Tyre's fiery public sermon. And if Philippe does not go to Outremer, I dare not go myself.\" Richard's mouth twisted, as if the French king's very name tasted foul. \"As soon as I was gone, he'd overrun Normandy, making war upon my subjects instead of the Saracens, damn his craven soul to Hell.\"\n\n\"I am not arguing with you, Richard. I can see the logic in waiting until Philippe has committed himself too fully to back out. But whether you reject Alys now or when you reach the Holy Land, Philippe is going to take it very badly. Not that he cares a whit for Alys herself. He cares a great deal, though, about his pride, and he will try to hold you to the betrothal, claiming that you have no legal grounds for breaking it.\"\n\n\"Ah, but that is the beauty of it, Maman,\" Richard said, his eyes gleaming.\n\n\"Philippe has given me the grounds. Two years ago, when he was desperate to turn me against my father, he sent the Count of Flanders to me with a story likely to do that. You remember the meeting we had at Bonsmoulins?\"\n\n\"All too well.\" It was then that Richard had given Henry one last chance to acknowledge him publicly as his heir. When Henry balked, he'd unwittingly confirmed Richard's darkest suspicions\u2014that he meant to crown John\u2014and Richard had reacted with a dramatic renunciation, kneeling and doing homage to Philippe for Aquitaine and Normandy and his \"other fiefs on this side of the sea.\" Henry had been stunned, and when she heard, Eleanor had wept, knowing there would be no going back. The bitter struggle between father and son could end only in defeat or death for one of them.\n\n\"Well, ere we met him at Bonsmoulins, I had a secret conclave with Philippe at Mantes. Philippe had been claiming for some time that I was in danger of being disinherited. But to make sure I had grievances enough to hold firm, he sent the Count of Flanders to me with a rather remarkable tale\u2014that my father was swiving my betrothed.\"\n\n\"Jesu!\" But once the shock ebbed, she shook her head emphatically. \"I do not believe that. Harry had his flaws. God alone knows how many women he bedded over the years. He was accused of any number of sins, some true, some not. But no one ever called him a fool, and seducing his son's betrothed, the sister of the King of France, no less, would have been more than foolhardy. It would have been utter madness.\"\n\nRichard grinned, for his mother had unknowingly used almost exactly the same words to refute the accusation as his chancellor, Guillaume Longchamp, had once done. \"I know,\" he said. \"I never gave it any credence, either. Philippe's weakness is that he tends to hold his foes too cheaply. I suppose he thought I'd be so outraged that I'd not see the great gaps in the story.\"\n\n\"Well, many men would have reacted like that. But not anyone who knew Harry. He would never have jeopardized so much for so little.\"\n\nRichard was amused that they were defending Henry on grounds of pragmatism, not morality. He doubted that a priest would approve of such a cynical argument, but it rang more true to him than any claims of virtue. \"So you see,\" he said, \"Philippe has given me the key to unlock the chains binding me to Alys. I will be appalled that he'd expect me to wed a woman who'd lain with my father, truly appalled.\"\n\nEleanor began to laugh, for what could be more satisfying than turning an enemy's own weapon against him? Neither she nor Richard gave much thought to Alys, the innocent pawn, for when kingdoms were at stake, it was easy to justify almost any action in the name of a greater good.\n\nRising, Richard held out his hand. \"I just wish you could be there to see Philippe's face when I tell him, Maman. Now I want you to accompany me to the castle solar. I have made some changes in my plans to safeguard the governance of my realm whilst I am away, will reveal them at the great council meeting tomorrow. Since not all will be pleased, I thought it only fair to warn several of them beforehand, giving them time to come to terms with these changes. They are awaiting me now in the solar.\"\n\nEleanor rose and took his arm, gratified that he always included her in matters of state, that he truly valued her opinions and her political instincts. She wondered occasionally if things might have been different had her husband only showed her the same trust and respect that her son did. But she also knew that the intimate bond she had with Richard was what Henry had desperately wanted, too, not understanding why the sons he'd so loved had become his enemies\u2014and that was a regret she'd take to her grave, her awareness of the part she'd played in their family's tragic disintegration. As they moved toward the door, she asked whom they'd be meeting and stopped in her tracks when Richard told her.\n\n\"Is that a jest? You've put your brothers and the Bishop of Durham and Longchamp together in one chamber and left them alone? Good Lord, Richard, you'd be hard pressed to find four men who loathe one another more than that lot does! Geoff will never forgive John for abandoning Harry as he lay dying, and John cannot abide him, either. Durham was adamantly opposed to Geoff's elevation to the archbishopric of York, and they all despise your chancellor. We're likely to find the solar knee-deep in blood.\"\n\n\"I know. It will be even better than a bearbaiting.\"\n\nShe eyed him dubiously, thinking that she'd never fully understand the male sense of humor. \"But who is the bear and who are the hounds?\"\n\n\"We'll soon find out,\" he said and opened the door.\n\nGeoffrey Fitz Roy considered himself blessed to have been the son of Henry Fitz Empress. He'd not been so lucky in the circumstances of his birth, for his mother had been one of Henry's passing fancies, and even a royal bastard began life at a distinct disadvantage. Henry had been determined that Geoff would not suffer from the stigma of illegitimacy, though, and had sought a career in the Church for his eldest son, ignoring the obvious\u2014that Geoff was utterly unsuited for the priesthood. He'd named Geoff to the bishopric of Lincoln when he was only twenty-one, much to Geoff's dismay. Because he was under the canonical age for such an elevated post, Geoff had persuaded Henry to delay his ordination and years later, when the Pope demanded that he either accept consecration or resign, Geoff had chosen the latter, for he was much more at home on the battlefield than at the altar. He'd become his father's chancellor then, fiercely loyal to Henry and bitterly resentful of the half-brothers who'd caused his sire so much grief.\n\nBut Henry had expressed a deathbed hope that Geoff be given the archbishopric of York, and Richard declared that he would carry out his father's wishes. Knowing the ill will between Richard and Geoff, many people had been surprised, speculating that Richard must be feeling guilty for having gone to war against his father. Geoff was highly skeptical of that theory, convinced that none of his half-brothers were capable of remorse or regret. He was sure that Richard had forced him to take a priest's vows because that would bar him from laying any claims to the English crown. While he did not doubt that he'd have made a good king, a better one than any of his faithless brothers, he'd known it would never come to pass. It was true that William the Bastard had claimed his father's duchy of Normandy and then used it to launch a successful invasion of England. But that was well over a hundred years ago, and the Holy Church would no longer sanction the coronation of one born out of wedlock. Some churchmen did not think a bastard ought to be a bishop, either, and Geoff was one of them, for all the good it did him.\n\nShifting in his seat, Geoff glowered at the other inhabitants of Nonancourt's solar, thinking he'd rather have been trapped in a badger den than here with this unholy trinity. Guillaume Longchamp had once been Geoff's own clerk, but with a fine eye for the main chance, he was soon serving Richard, and he'd benefited lavishly once Richard became king. Now he and the Bishop of Durham were joint justiciars, set to rule England during Richard's prolonged absence in Outremer, and Geoff thought only the Almighty's Divine Mercy could save his homeland from utter ruination. With that prideful pair at the helm, they'd run the ship of state onto the rocks in no time at all.\n\nGeoff did not trust Longchamp, but he had a greater grudge against Hugh de Puiset, the Bishop of Durham, for the latter had sabotaged his attempts to regain royal favor. After they'd clashed over the appointment of Hugh de Puiset's nephew as treasurer of York, Richard had seized Geoff's castles and Episcopal estates, and Geoff had to promise to pay two thousand pounds to get them back. But the Bishop of Durham would not relinquish custody of these manors, refusing to allow Geoff to collect their revenues, thus making it impossible for him to pay that large fine. Richard had then confiscated his estates again and increased the fine, brushing aside Geoff's attempts to lay the blame at Hugh de Puiset's door.\n\nSo Geoff would have freely conceded that he disliked Longchamp and loathed the Bishop of Durham. But even de Puiset's treachery paled in comparison with the sins of Geoff's half-brother John, the Count of Mortain, who'd betrayed his dying father, breaking Henry's spirits and his heart in the last days of his life. Geoff's gaze moved coldly now past the diminutive chancellor and the tall, elegant bishop, shooting daggers at the young man standing by the window.\n\nJohn sensed Geoff's eyes boring into his back, and his jaw muscles tightened, his fists clenching and unclenching as he sought to control his fury. He'd had enough of Geoff's self-righteous censure, was bone-weary of being treated as if he bore the Mark of Cain. He'd done no more than countless other men had done, swimming away from a sinking ship. He'd never fought against his father as Hal, Geoffrey, and Richard had done. He was not the one who'd dragged Henry from his sickbed to make a humiliating surrender at Colombi\u00e8res; Richard and Philippe bore the blame for that. He'd been loyal to his sire almost to the last, which was more than his brothers could say. Yes, Geoff had been loyal, too, but what other choice had he? He was a king's bastard, utterly dependent upon the man who'd sired him whilst rutting with a whore.\n\nJohn could feel the heat rising in his face. It was so unfair. Yes, he'd made a secret peace with Richard and the French king, but he had not wanted it to be that way. He'd not forsaken his father until the waves were beginning to break over the deck. He was sure Henry would not have wanted them both to drown.\n\nAnd in the weeks after his father's death, it seemed as if he'd been vindicated, for he had been welcomed by Richard, shown a generosity that he'd not truly expected, for his brothers had usually treated him either with indifference or annoyance. Eleven, nine, and eight years younger than Hal, Richard, and Geoffrey, fifteen years younger than Geoff, he'd always felt like the foundling, the afterthought, John Lackland. He was finally given his just due, though, once Richard became king. He was wed at long last to a great heiress, Avisa of Gloucester, a marriage that his father had promised but never delivered. He was given vast estates in six English shires, lands with income worth four thousand pounds a year. He was someone of importance, no longer the insignificant little brother. He was the heir to the English throne.\n\nBut that triumphant flush had soon faded. Geoff was not the only one who scorned him for doing what any sensible man would have done. Most were not as outspoken as Geoff, but he could see it in their eyes\u2014their silent disdain. Will Marshal, that Welsh whelp Morgan, Baldwin de Bethune, all those who'd stayed with his father till the last, daring to judge him. He would not defend himself, for he was a prince of the blood royal, mayhap one day a king, and kings were accountable only to the Almighty. But he could not brush aside their implied condemnation as he knew Richard would have done. Their disapproval shadowed his days and bad dreams disrupted his nights, for Henry came to him in those lonely hours before dawn, a mute, reproachful ghost haunting his sleep. John would wager the surety of his soul that Richard was never stalked by that unrelenting spirit, never troubled by vain regrets. Everything was always so easy for Richard.\n\nNo longer able to abide Geoff's unspoken accusations, John swung around, staring defiantly at the older man. \"If you have something to say, Geoff, say it then,\" he challenged, a gauntlet the reluctant archbishop was quick to pick up.\n\n\"Right gladly,\" he growled, rising to his formidable height, angry color staining his cheeks.\n\n\"It will serve for naught to squabble amongst ourselves,\" the Bishop of Durham interceded smoothly. \"My lord archbishop, my lord count. I realize that nerves are on the raw, that we have had disputes in the past that are not easy to put aside. But we owe it to the king to do so, for he will depend upon us to cooperate with one another, to govern in a spirit of harmony whilst he is overseas, fighting the godless infidels who've captured the holiest city in Christendom.\"\n\nAs unlike as they were, a remarkably similar expression crossed the faces of the estranged brothers, the look of men marveling at such blatant, shameless sanctimony. Guillaume Longchamp stifled a smile, preferring to maintain the dignified bearing of one who was above the fray. He thought the Archbishop of York was a dangerous hothead and the Count of Mortain an even more dangerous adversary, for John had few if any scruples and a newly awakened appetite for power. But he reserved his greatest contempt for Hugh de Puiset. The Bishop of Durham was the epitome of all that Longchamp most despised\u2014an arrogant, smug hypocrite, who'd traded upon his high birth, good looks, and glib tongue to advance himself in the Church and at the royal court.\n\nLongchamp was Hugh's opposite in all particulars, for he'd risen by merit alone, overcoming his modest family background, his small stature, and unprepossessing appearance, no easy task in a world in which people saw physical deformity as an outer manifestation of inner evil. He'd realized early in life that he was much more intelligent than most, and took pride in his intellectual abilities, burning to prove himself to all who'd dismissed him as a \"lowborn cripple\" or an \"ugly dwarf.\" Once he'd entered the Duke of Aquitaine's service and rose rapidly in Richard's favor, he was no longer treated with ridicule. His detractors became enemies, and he gloried in their hostility. The ambition he'd always kept hidden now came to the fore, and he dared to dream of what had once been unthinkable\u2014a bishopric. And indeed, when Richard became king, he rewarded Longchamp with the bishopric of Ely and the chancellorship. In turn, Longchamp rewarded Richard with the sort of loyalty that was beyond value, almost spiritual in its selfless intensity, rooted as much in Richard's acceptance of his physical flaws as in the tangible benefits of royal favor.\n\nLongchamp's ambitions were no longer earthbound, soared higher and higher with each elevation: chancellor, bishop, and then justiciar. He'd even begun to think of the pinnacle of Church power. The Archbishop of Canterbury was going to the Holy Land, too, and he was not a young man. A vacancy might well occur in the next year or two, and what would be more natural than that the king should look to the one man he knew he could trust.\n\nBut what Longchamp's enemies did not understand was that he was also a man of piety. He was not a worldly prince of the Church like the Bishop of Durham, who lived as lavishly as any king, claimed an earldom, and flaunted a mistress by whom he'd had at least four children. Longchamp was offended by such a blatant disregard for a priest's holy vows, and he meant to punish Hugh de Puiset for his carnal sins as well as for his political machinations and unabashed greed. Looking now at the bishop, so graceful and urbane and haughty, Longchamp smiled to himself, sure that a day of reckoning was coming.\n\nThey all jumped to their feet then as the door opened and the king and his mother swept into the chamber; Richard could no more make an unobtrusive entrance than he could have understood his brother John's crippling insecurities. \"I trust you've been able to entertain yourselves whilst I was delayed,\" he said blandly, giving himself away by the amused glint in his eyes.\n\nAfter they'd all greeted Eleanor, Richard wasted no time getting to the heart of the meeting. \"Tomorrow I will be announcing to the great council that I have decided to change my original arrangements for governing the realm whilst I am away. Instead of acting as co-justiciars, you, my lord,\" he said to the Bishop of Durham, \"will be justiciar north of the River Humber, and my chancellor will act as justiciar for the rest of England.\"\n\nHugh de Puiset drew a sharp breath, then swung around to glare accusingly at Longchamp. The chancellor had not yet mastered the art of inscrutability, and one glance told Hugh that his suspicions were right; Longchamp had known this was coming. It was an easy step from that to the next\u2014that he had planted this noxious seed and then watered it till it took root in Richard's mind. \"My lord king, surely you do not doubt my loyalty? I've had far more experience than the Bishop of Ely, know the barons of the kingdom as he does not\u2014\"\n\n\"The decision has been made, my lord bishop,\" Richard interrupted. \"I am not disrespecting you, merely doing what is best for England.\" Hugh would have continued his protest, but Richard was already turning his attention upon his brother Geoff.\n\n\"I do not have the money to pay that fine,\" Geoff said morosely before Richard could speak.\n\n\"That can be discussed later. What I've come to tell you now is that I will require you to swear a solemn oath that you will not set foot in England for the next three years.\" Geoff's mouth dropped open, and then his eyes flashed. Richard gave him no chance to object, though. \"I will be requiring the same oath from you, Johnny,\" he told John, whose response was more guarded than Geoff's. He stiffened, but said nothing, slanting his gaze from Richard to Eleanor, back to Richard again.\n\nRichard let the silence stretch out, smothering any embers of rebellion, and then got to his feet. \"I shall see you at the great council tomorrow,\" he said, and after beckoning to his chancellor, he kissed his mother on the cheek and sauntered out, Longchamp hurrying to catch up. Geoff was the next to go, fuming helplessly. The Bishop of Durham would have lingered to argue his case with Eleanor, but she was not receptive and he soon departed, too, followed by John.\n\nWelcoming this rare chance to be alone, Eleanor sat down in the window-seat. She approved of Richard's move to circumscribe the Bishop of Durham's authority, for he'd never impressed her, a courtier cloaked in the garb of a cleric. But there were risks, too, in the road Richard had chosen. Longchamp was now chancellor and chief justiciar, in possession of the king's great seal and the Tower of London. If Richard's request to make him a papal legate was granted by the Holy Father, he'd have a formidable arsenal of weapons, both religious and secular. Was it wise to give any one man that much power?\n\nA soft knock interrupted her musings. \"Enter,\" she said with a sigh; she should have known her solitude would be fleeting. To her surprise, it was John. \"May I speak with you, Madame?\" he asked formally. \"It is a matter of importance.\"\n\n\"Come in, John.\" When she gestured toward the window-seat, he declined with a quick shake of his head, keeping some distance between them by leaning against the table. Of all her children, he alone had inherited her coloring, dark hair and hazel eyes. He did not speak immediately and she regarded him pensively. How could she feel so detached from a child of her womb, her flesh-and-blood?\n\nShe supposed it was not truly so surprising, though, for he'd been six when she'd been captured and turned over to her wrathful husband. She had not been denied access to her daughter Joanna and eventually Henry had relented, allowing her older sons to visit her, too. But she'd not seen John again until he was twelve and then rarely, even after Henry had dramatically eased the terms of her confinement. He'd been Henry's, never hers. As she gazed into the greenish-gold eyes so like her own, a memory flickered of an afternoon soon after Hal's death. She'd confessed to Geoffrey that she did not really know John, and Geoffrey had proven once again that he was the family seer, predicting that Henry did not really know John, either.\n\n\"Mother... I fear that Richard may be making a mistake in investing so much royal authority in his chancellor.\"\n\n\"Oh? Do you have reason to doubt Longchamp's loyalty?\"\n\n\"No, I do not. But loyalty is not the only consideration. There are men who function quite well as second in command, yet do not thrive when given absolute authority, and it can be argued that Longchamp will be acting as a de facto king with Richard away in the Holy Land for who knows how long. Especially if he is named a papal legate, as the rumors go.\"\n\nEleanor was surprised that he knew about the papal legateship, for that was not common knowledge. But she was intrigued that John was showing such interest in political matters. He was twenty-three now. At that age, their eldest son had cared only for tournaments. Her face shadowed, for memories of Hal were always painful, their beautiful golden boy who'd had more charm than the law ought to allow and barely a brain in his head.\n\n\"I do not think Longchamp will be able to meet Richard's expectations,\" John said, choosing his words with care. \"Our English barons are likely to balk at taking commands from a man of obscure birth. Yes, I know,\" he said when Eleanor started to speak. \"He is not the grandson of a peasant, as the Bishop of Coventry claims. But neither is he highborn, not like the men he must rule over. Mayhap if he were more tactful... but his arrogance beggars belief. He makes enemies easily.\"\n\n\"So what are you asking of me, John? You want me to convince Richard not to leave the government in Longchamp's hands? He'd not heed me.\"\n\n\"I know. But he might listen to you if you argued against exiling me for three years.\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said noncommittally, and John moved closer, trying to read her face without success.\n\n\"I ought to be there, Mother. My presence might temper Longchamp's more overweening inclinations. And then, too...\" John paused, meeting his mother's gaze steadily. \"If evil befalls Richard in the Holy Land, would you want me in England, able to take control of the realm? Or hundreds of miles away in Normandy or Anjou?\"\n\nHe knew he'd gambled with such blunt talk, but he saw that he'd won when she smiled ever so faintly. \"I will give it some thought,\" she said, and then, \"I think I am beginning to see what Harry saw in you, John.\" And when John flinched, that told her, too, much about this stranger, her son."
            },
            {
                "title": "MARCH 1190",
                "text": "[ Dreux Castle, France ]\n\nIt was customary for the kings of England and France to hold their conclaves out in the open to preclude treachery; a favorite site had been the Peace Elm near Gisors, until Philippe had lost his temper after an unproductive encounter with Henry and ordered the tree cut down. But because Richard and Philippe were purportedly allies, united in a sacred quest to recover Jerusalem, they'd chosen Dreux Castle for their meeting, a French fortress just eight miles from Richard's stronghold at Nonancourt. Henri, the young Count of Champagne, was glad of it, for the sixteenth had been stormy, not a day to be huddled in a muddy field at the mercy of slashing March winds.\n\nThe great hall was crowded with dignitaries\u2014barons of the two kings and princes of the church. Richard and Philippe had formally sworn to serve each other faithfully and to defend the other's lands as if they were his own. Their lords also agreed to honor the peace, and the prelates then vowed to excommunicate any man who broke this covenant.\n\nBut there were still issues to be hammered out, and Richard, Philippe, and their most trusted advisers were seated at a long trestle table in the center of the hall, discussing those matters with tight smiles and barbed courtesy. Henri was watching them with keen interest, for he was uniquely bound to both kings. When he was in a mischievous mood, Henri liked to boast of his convoluted family tree, explaining that his mother, Countess Marie, was the child of Queen Eleanor's first marriage to Louis of France, and thus a half-sister to Richard on her maternal side and half-sister to Philippe on the paternal side. Moreover, Henri would continue gleefully, his father was the brother of Philippe's mother, thus making him nephew to Philippe twice over. By then his listeners' heads would be spinning and Henri would be laughing so hard he rarely got to reveal that his mother and his aunt Alix were sisters by blood and marriage, for they'd wed brothers, his father and his uncle Thibault, who were therefore also brothers and brothers-in-law. Or what Henri considered the greatest oddity of all, that his grandfather had been both father-in-law and brother-in-law to the same men, for Louis had wed his two daughters by Eleanor to the brothers of his third wife, Philippe's mother.\n\nNot only was Henri blood-kin to Philippe, the French king was his liege lord; he held Champagne from the French Crown. And he and Philippe were of an age, twenty-three and twenty-four, respectively. But Henri had ridden into Dreux in Richard's entourage, not Philippe's, even though he knew the French king would not be pleased by his presence in the enemy camp. Henri was young enough, though, to delight in tweaking the lion's tail. And he enjoyed his uncle Richard's company, whereas his idea of Purgatory was more than an hour alone with his uncle Philippe, for they had nothing whatsoever in common as far as Henri could tell.\n\nLike most young men, Henri loved the hunt, tournaments, horses, gambling, troubadour songs, wine, women, and war. Philippe was bored by hunting, had banned tournaments in France, disliked horses and only rode the most docile mounts, never gambled or swore, cared nothing for music, and saw war as the means to an end, not as a way to test his manhood. He did like wine and women, although he'd been wed since he was fifteen, and if he strayed from his queen's marital bed, he was discreet about it. Moreover, Philippe was of a nervous disposition; he was known to flinch at sudden loud noises and was rarely without bodyguards. Henri much preferred spending time with Richard, who swore like a sailor, loved spirited stallions, wrote both courtly and bawdy poetry, had done his share of youthful carousing, and gloried in the challenges of the battlefield.\n\nAbove all, Henri admired Richard for being one of the first to take the cross. Philippe was a reluctant crusader, and that alone was enough to damn him in the eyes of his nephew, for Henri's own father had taken the cross twice. He'd participated in the disastrous second crusade led by Louis of France, and then made another pilgrimage to the Holy Land with the Count of Flanders; on his way home, he'd been captured and held for ransom, dying soon after his release, his health broken by that stint in a Turkish prison. Henri had been fourteen at the time, and he saw the coming crusade as a sacred quest to honor his father's memory.\n\nRichard and Philippe were exchanging gritted-teeth smiles, and it looked to Henri as if they'd be at this for the foreseeable future. He was turning away to find a wine bearer when he was waylaid by his uncle Thibault. \"It is one thing to go hunting or drinking with Richard, Henri. But when you rode into Dreux at his side, you risked stirring up suspicions about where your true loyalties lie. Please tell me you are not now planning to travel with him to the Holy Land.\"\n\nHenri had adored his father, his uncle not so much. But Thibault was the head of the House of Blois and Henri had been raised to respect his elders. So instead of responding as he'd have liked\u2014telling Thibault that he and Philippe could both piss in a leaking pot\u2014he said mildly, \"You need not fret, Uncle. I still intend to accompany you and my uncle Etienne and the Count of Clermont.\" That had been an easy decision, for they'd be able to depart after Easter, whilst he thought they might see the Second Coming ere Richard and Philippe finally got under way. \"I know it is no easy task to transport an army,\" he conceded. \"Richard told me that he had to order fifty thousand horseshoes from an iron mine in Devon and he expects to bring at least ten thousand horses.\" Henri shook his head, marveling at the magnitude of such an undertaking. \"Fortunately, it is much easier for us; we need only hire ships in Marseille and, God willing, we'll reach Tyre ere it falls to the Saracens.\"\n\nHenri stopped, seeing that his uncle was not listening. Following Thibault's gaze, he saw that Philippe was no longer at the table, nowhere in the hall, and the English did not look very happy. What now? he wondered, and headed toward Richard to find out what was going on.\n\nRichard didn't know much more than Henri, though, saying that Philippe had been called away by the castle steward. \"I am guessing a courier has ridden in,\" he said, \"but I cannot see what would be important enough to interrupt these discussions. Unless we get these matters settled, we'll have to delay our departure yet again. We've lost enough time as it is. It has been over two years since I took the cross, Henri, two years!\"\n\nRichard signaled to a wine bearer, and Henri stayed to commiserate with Richard and Will Marshal and Hubert Walter, the newly named Bishop of Salisbury, who'd be accompanying Richard to the Holy Land. But the longer Philippe was gone, the more impatient Richard became, and by the time the French king finally returned to the hall, the English king's temper, never dormant, was beginning to smolder. Striding over to confront Philippe, he said, with pointed politeness, \"Are you ready to resume our talks now, my lord?\"\n\n\"No, I am not. We'll have to address these matters at a later time.\"\n\nRichard's mouth tightened. But his protest never left his lips, for he was becoming aware that something was not quite right with Philippe. The younger man had a naturally ruddy complexion, but now his face had taken on a sickly ashen hue, and his voice sounded oddly hoarse, as if his words had been forced from a throat swollen and raw. \"Are you ailing?\" Richard asked abruptly, dispensing with court etiquette, but Philippe merely looked at him stonily.\n\n\"We are done here,\" he said curtly. \"We'll meet at V\u00e9zelay in July as previously agreed upon. Any remaining matters can be resolved then.\" And to the astonishment of Richard and the others within earshot, he then turned on his heel without another word and walked away.\n\nNo one knew what to make of this, and speculative murmurs swept the hall. Richard was angry, but puzzled, too. Drawing Henri aside, he said quietly, \"If he is playing some damnable game to delay our departure yet again, he'll regret it. Can you find out what he's up to, Henri?\"\n\n\"If I have to sneak into his chapel and overhear his confession,\" Henri promised cheerfully, and when Richard departed soon afterward, the Count of Champagne remained behind in Dreux, eagerly embracing this new role\u2014that of royal spy.\n\nMost people arranged their lives around the cycles of the sun, rising at dawn and going to bed once darkness descended, for candles and lamps were expensive, and few could afford the vast numbers of tapers, torches, and rushlights needed to keep night at bay. As kings did not have that concern, Richard and Eleanor felt free to follow their own inner clocks. After a late supper upon his return to Nonancourt, Richard was holding court in the great hall. A minstrel and musicians had entertained, followed by a jape in which a motley-clad fool juggled balls and knives, accompanied by a small dog that danced on her hind legs, turned cartwheels, and balanced on a beam set between wooden trestles.\n\nRichard had enjoyed the minstrel's songs, but he soon lost interest in the antics of the fool and his dog, and withdrew to a window-seat for a low-voiced conversation with his chancellor and Will Marshal. From her seat upon the dais, Eleanor glanced his way from time to time, knowing he was trying to anticipate any crisis that might arise in his absence. The coordination of a crusade of this size was more than daunting. While lords and knights would provide their own weapons and armor, infantrymen would have to be outfitted. The army would need horses and fodder, crossbow bolts, beans and cheese and salt and dried meat, blankets, wine, barrels of silver pennies for expenses abroad, medical supplies\u2014the list was endless. Richard was doing what no other crusading king had dared\u2014assembling and equipping his own fleet of more than a hundred ships, and the cost of these ships and wages for the crews was likely to reach fourteen thousand pounds, more than half the royal revenue from England. Richard had raised huge sums by methods that sometimes verged upon extortion, dismissing all his sheriffs and making them buy their posts back, levying heavy fines, offering town charters, forest rights, earldoms, lordships, and bishoprics for cash, recognizing Scotland's independence in return for ten thousand marks. Men joked, some bitterly, that it was a wonder he'd not taken bids on the very air the English breathed, and Richard himself had jested that he'd have sold London if only he could have found a buyer.\n\nEleanor was uneasy about such massive expenditures, wondering how the royal treasury could ever be replenished, for she'd been spared the crusading fever that had infected her son and so many others. But she took comfort in Richard's strategic sense, his impressive grasp of logistics. Her French husband's crusade had been a catastrophe of inept organization and shortsighted mistakes. If Richard must do this, she wanted the odds to be in his favor, and she was grateful that he seemed to be so adept at comprehensive planning.\n\nShe was dreading his departure as she'd dreaded few events in her life, well aware that he'd be wagering with Death on a daily basis. And each morning she would awaken not knowing if he'd survived another day in that earthly Hell. Could the Almighty take yet another of her sons? She knew the answer to that, knew the cemeteries of Christendom were filled with the children of grieving mothers. And if Richard was slain on a distant, desert battlefield, the empire his father had forged at such great personal cost might well die with him.\n\n\"Grandame?\" Richenza had reached out to touch her hand, concerned by the faraway look in her grandmother's eyes, sure that whatever Eleanor was seeing, it was not the great hall at Nonancourt Castle. Relieved when Eleanor blinked and then summoned up a smile, she asked if it would be permissible to seek out Alys, a forlorn figure hovering on the edge of the festivities.\n\n\"She looks so lonely, Grandame,\" she said forthrightly. She knew, of course, that Alys would never be her uncle Richard's queen. So, too, did everyone else at court and they preferred to keep Alys at a distance, either because they found her presence uncomfortable or because they did not want to risk royal disfavor. It had not been so awkward, Richenza thought, whilst the Lady Denise, the Duchess of Brittany, and Isabel Marshal had been present, for they'd been Alys's friends. But Constance and her Breton lords had ridden off that morn, having gotten permission from Richard to visit her daughter in Rouen; Denise and Andr\u00e9 had departed, too, and Isabel was absent from the hall tonight, suffering from the queasiness of early pregnancy. Now that Alys was alone with her ladies-in-waiting, Richenza could not stand by and watch her be politely shunned for no sin of her own.\n\nEleanor glanced toward Alys, then back at her granddaughter. \"Of course you may, child. You need not seek my permission to perform a kindness,\" she assured the girl, thinking that it would be best for all concerned, including Alys, when she was settled at Rouen Castle. \"Richenza... first tell your uncle John that I wish to speak with him.\"\n\nRichenza fulfilled her errand with her usual dispatch, and John was soon approaching the dais, looking pleased but wary, too. Once he'd seated himself beside her, Eleanor said, pitching her voice for his ear alone, \"You were at Dreux this afternoon. What do you think happened?\" When he admitted that he did not know, she divulged the real reason why she'd summoned him. \"I have never met the French king,\" she said regretfully, \"so I have to rely upon the opinions of others. Richard believes Philippe to be a coward, so that naturally colors his judgment.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" John echoed, thinking that Richard's sole measure of a man was his willingness to bleed. \"So... you want to know what I think of Philippe?\" His question was a delaying tactic, for he sensed that she was testing him, and he wanted to be sure that he did not disappoint. \"I agree that Philippe is a cautious sort,\" he said carefully, \"but I do not know if that makes him craven. Most men are more familiar with fear than my brother. I do think Philippe is more dangerous than Richard does, for he is clever and ruthless and utterly single-minded. And he loathes Richard with the sort of passion that burns to the bone.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" Eleanor studied her youngest son intently. He'd never shown much political acumen, unless deserting the losing side in his father's last war qualified. The one time he'd been entrusted with authority, when Henry sent him to govern Ireland, he'd made an utter botch of it, allowing his young knights to mock and ridicule the Irish lords, spending money so lavishly that he'd been unable to pay his routiers, who'd then defected to the Irish. It was true he'd been just eighteen then. Of course Richard and Geoffrey had been leading successful campaigns in Aquitaine and Brittany at that age. But she wanted very much to believe that John was maturing, that he was capable of learning from his mistakes, for if he was another Hal, their dynasty might well be doomed.\n\n\"Why do you believe Philippe bears such a grudge against your brother? Richard has never had a serious falling-out with Philippe.\" Not yet, she amended silently, thinking of Alys and Berengaria.\n\nJohn was surprised that the question even needed to be asked. \"Richard is all that Philippe is not,\" he said candidly. \"He overshadows most men without even trying. But kings do not expect to be overshadowed and take it rather badly. Philippe does not seem to me like one given to self-doubts. I think it grievously wounds his pride, though, that he will always be the moon to Richard's sun. And now they are going off together to the Holy Land, where he must look forward to being eclipsed by Richard at every opportunity, knowing he cannot hope to compete with Richard's battlefield heroics.\" John flashed a sudden, sardonic smile. \"I could almost pity poor Philippe, if only he did not have a stone where his heart ought to be.\"\n\n\"I suspect there is much truth in what you say,\" Eleanor said thoughtfully, although she could not help wondering if John could discern Philippe's envy so easily because he shared it. But when she smiled, John decided that if this had indeed been a test, he'd passed it.\n\nJust then there was a stir at the end of the hall and Henri of Champagne and his men entered. Eleanor was instantly alert, for Henri would not have ridden back after dark unless he'd found out something of importance. Richard had the same thought, for he was already moving to intercept the young count.\n\nHenri offered a graceful obeisance. \"My liege, Madame. I bring sad news from Dreux. Queen Isabelle died in childbed yesterday in Paris, after giving birth to stillborn twin sons.\"\n\nHis revelation was met with an unnatural silence. For an uneasy moment, every woman of childbearing age found herself identifying with the young French queen, and every husband was reminded how dangerous childbirth could be. People began to make the sign of the cross, to murmur conventional expressions of piety and sympathy for the bereaved French king; some of them even meant it. A pall had settled over the hall, for Isabelle's death was an unwelcome proof of their own mortality, of the Church's insistent teachings that flesh was corrupt, the body but an empty husk for the soul, and death came for them all, even the highborn.\n\nRichard joined Eleanor and John on the dais, and after a few moments, so did Richenza. Seeing how pale she was, Eleanor rose and slipped her arm around the girl's slender waist. \"That is so sad,\" Richenza said, \"so very sad....\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" Eleanor agreed. \"But you must not take Isabelle's tragic death too much to heart, Richenza. There are some women who are more suited for the cloisters than the marriage bed, and Isabelle was one of them. Within five years, she had at least five pregnancies, only one of which produced a live baby, and Louis is said to be a sickly little lad. Another son died within hours, and she suffered several miscarriages, too. Most women do not have such difficulty in the birthing chamber. I had ten healthy children myself, after all. We have no reason to think that your pregnancy will not be as easy as mine were.\"\n\nRichard looked from his mother to his niece. \"Are you with child, lass?\"\n\nRichenza blushed and nodded, marveling that her grandmother had somehow divined her secret, for she'd told no one but her husband so far. She found herself enfolded then in her uncle Richard's arms as he offered her his hearty congratulations. John kissed her, too, and their pleasure helped to dispel the chill cast by the French queen's death. Henri was waiting patiently to speak with Richard, but the king detoured to slap Richenza's husband jovially on the back before joining his nephew. Richenza then hastened over to explain to Jaufre how the king knew of her pregnancy, for they'd agreed to keep it private until she'd passed the risky first months.\n\nGlancing at her youngest son, Eleanor found herself thinking that she'd not been entirely honest with Richenza, for John's birth had been a very difficult and dangerous one. He'd come early, on a snowy December night, soon after she'd confirmed Henry's affair with Rosamund Clifford, a girl young enough to have been her daughter, and the bitter circumstances of his birth had kept her from bonding with him as she had with her other children. Years later, this would come to be one of her greatest regrets, but by then it was too late. Looking pensively at John now, she wondered if she'd been wrong about that. The mistakes she and Henry had made with Hal and Geoffrey could never be made right. But John was still alive. Was it truly too late?\n\nEleanor had retired for the night soon afterward, dismissing all of her ladies-in-waiting but Amaria, who'd served her so loyally during those long years of confinement. When she began to tell Amaria of the French queen's death, she was surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. How fragile life was, how fleeting their days on earth, and how fickle was Death, claiming the young as often as the old, the healthy as often as the ailing, cruelly stealing away a baby's first breath, a mother's fading heartbeat. And if he showed so little mercy in the birthing chamber, what pity could he be expected to display on the bloody battlefields of Outremer?\n\nSensing Eleanor's dark mood, Amaria did not try to engage her mistress in their usual nightly conversation. As she moved unobtrusively about the chamber, there was a sudden rap on the door, startling both women. Eleanor came quickly to her feet as soon as she saw her sons standing in the doorway, a premonition of trouble prickling down her spine.\n\nAfter assuring Amaria that she need not withdraw, Richard crossed the chamber to his mother, with John trailing a few feet behind. \"It was not the news of the French queen's death that brought Henri back to Nonancourt tonight, Maman; that could have waited till the morrow. Whilst he was at Dreux, another courier arrived, bearing papal letters for Philippe and for me. After talking with the messenger, Henri took the liberty of opening my letter to confirm what the man said. He thought it best to confide its contents to me in private first, ere announcing it in the great hall. The King of Sicily is dead.\"\n\nEleanor sat down upon the bed, biting her lip to keep from crying out at the unfairness of the Almighty. Was it not enough that Joanna had been denied the child she so desperately wanted? Must she lose her husband, too, be widowed at the age of twenty-four? \"My poor girl...\"\n\n\"I could scarcely credit the news,\" Richard confessed. Like his mother, he ached for Joanna's pain. However little love there'd been between him and his brothers, he'd always cared for his sisters, especially Joanna, the youngest, the family favorite. But he did not have the luxury of responding merely as a brother, for William de Hauteville's unexpected death could have dire consequences for the king. William had offered Sicily's ports and riches and its formidable fleet to aid in the recovery of Jerusalem. Losing him as an ally was a setback of monumental proportions. And the silence surrounding his death held sinister implications of its own.\n\n\"When did he die, Richard?\" At his answer, she stared at him incredulously. \"November eighteenth? And we are only hearing of it now?\"\n\n\"I know,\" he said. \"It makes no sense. If a courier can travel from England to Rome in one month's time, why would it take four months for us to receive news of such magnitude?\"\n\n\"Well... the roads south of Rome are dreadful, little better than goat tracks in places,\" Eleanor said, the memories of her Italian sojourn still vivid despite the passage of forty years. \"And they were even more deplorable in Sicily. But why was the letter sent by the Pope? Why have we not heard from Joanna?\"\n\n\"I was wondering that myself. Henri had the wit to bring the courier back to Nonancourt, and from him I learned that this was the second papal messenger. The first one mysteriously vanished en route. The Pope was too wary to commit his suspicions into writing, but he entrusted his man with a verbal message, too. He suspects that the Germans may have intercepted his first courier.\"\n\nJohn had so far been a silent witness. During his childhood, he'd been either ignored or bullied by his brothers, and he'd never been one to forgive and forget. His two oldest sisters had been sent off to foreign lands when he was too young to remember them, but Joanna had been his companion and playmate and fellow pupil at Fontevrault Abbey, and he'd missed her very much after her departure for Sicily. John's family feelings were ambivalent at best, but not where Joanna was concerned, and he was genuinely distressed on her behalf.\n\n\"Germans?\" he interjected before he could think better of it. \"You mean the Holy Roman Emperor? I thought Frederick set out for the Holy Land months ago.\"\n\n\"He did, Johnny,\" Richard said with uncharacteristic patience. \"But his eldest son remained in Germany and William's death would be of great interest to Heinrich, for his wife is the rightful heiress to the Sicilian crown. The Pope says that Heinrich and Constance learned that William was dead not long after Christmas. He thinks Heinrich may have wanted to delay word reaching England until he'd been able to secure his claim to Sicily. I'd like it not if Sicily fell into Heinrich's hands, no more than the Pope would, and Heinrich well knows it. If Heinrich seizes the Sicilian throne, how likely is it that he'd honor William's promises of supplies and the use of his ports and ships?\"\n\nEleanor understood Richard's concern about losing his Sicilian alliance, but at the moment, her own concern was for her daughter. \"Even if Heinrich did waylay the missing papal courier,\" she pointed out, \"that still does not explain why there has been no word from Joanna. I do not like her silence, Richard, not at all.\"\n\nRichard hesitated, but he'd never lied to her and was not about to start now. \"I do not like it, either, Maman.\"\n\nJohn was cursing himself for not having paid more attention to Italian and German matters and vowed to remedy that in the future, for he was learning that knowledge was power. As much as he disliked revealing his ignorance, especially to Eleanor and Richard, his anxiety for Joanna prevailed over pride.\n\n\"You think, then, that Heinrich would have led an army into Italy as soon as he learned of William's death. How would he treat Joanna?\" Adding quickly, \"He would have no reason to look kindly upon one of our family,\" for he did not want them to think he was uninformed about the hostility between the Angevins and the House of Hohenstaufen, a political rivalry that had become personal when Henry wed his daughter Tilda to the Emperor Frederick's most recalcitrant vassal, the Duke of Saxony.\n\nIt was Eleanor who addressed his concern. \"Heinrich's wife was very close to Joanna ere her marriage. Although from what I've heard about Heinrich, I have trouble imagining him as an uxorious husband.\"\n\nThat masterly understatement earned her a smile from Richard. \"It is by no means certain that Heinrich will prevail. The Sicilians quite sensibly are balking at the prospect of a German master, and the Pope says that several of William's lords are advancing claims of their own to his crown.\"\n\nA silence greeted this revelation, as they considered what that might mean for Joanna. John at last gave voice to what they were all thinking. \"So Joanna could be caught up in the midst of a war.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Eleanor said reluctantly, \"that could well explain why we've not heard from her.\" It was only natural that she should fear for her soldier son's life in faroff Outremer, a land convulsed by war. But how could she have been expected to see danger for her daughter, ruling over a sunlit island paradise? It would seem that the Almighty possessed a perverse sense of humor."
            },
            {
                "title": "JUNE 1190",
                "text": "[ Chinon, Touraine ]\n\nThe Count of Perche's son had escorted his young wife to Chinon Castle so that she might spend time with her grandmother and bid her uncle farewell before Richard departed for the Holy Land. Jaufre and Richenza reached Chinon in midmonth. Three days later, Richard arrived with a large entourage of barons, knights, and bishops, after a successful mission into his southern domains to punish the Lord of Chis, a lawless vassal who'd been robbing pilgrims on their way to the Spanish shrine at Santiago de Compostela.\n\nThe next morning Jaufre found the English king holding informal court in the great hall. The men seemed in high spirits, their laughter wafting toward him even as he crossed the threshold. Richard was engaging in a good-natured argument with a young man who looked vaguely familiar to Jaufre; as he drew closer, he recognized the king's Welsh cousin, Morgan ap Ranulf. Edging inconspicuously into the circle of men, he murmured a discreet query to another of Richard's cousins, the Poitevin lord, Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny. Morgan was boasting of the prowess of Welsh archers, Andr\u00e9 replied, sounding as skeptical as Richard looked.\n\n\"So you are saying that the arrows penetrated an oaken door that was four fingers thick?\" Richard shook his head, grinning. \"Why do I doubt that, Morgan?\"\n\n\"Because you're not Welsh,\" Morgan shot back cheekily. \"If you doubt me, my liege, you need only consult some of your Marcher barons. Ask the Lord of Brecon, William de Braose, to tell you what happened to one of his knights in a skirmish with the Welsh. He was struck with an arrow that pierced his hauberk and thigh, pinning him to his saddle. And when he swung his stallion around, a second arrow impaled him on the other leg!\"\n\nThat evoked another wave of incredulous laughter. \"And the reason why Welsh arrows have such magical power? Are they blessed by Merlin?\"\n\nMorgan took the teasing in stride. \"No, my lord king. Welsh archers have no need for Merlin's blessings as long as they are shooting Welsh bows, which are more deadly than crossbows, God's Truth.\"\n\n\"And why is that, Cousin?\" Richard asked, no longer joking, for few subjects interested him more than weaponry. \"The crossbows are baneful enough for the Pope to ban their use against all but infidels. What makes your Welsh bows so dangerous?\"\n\n\"Welsh bows are nigh on a foot longer than the bows known in England or France.\"\n\nSome of the other men continued to joke about the \"magical Welsh bows.\" Richard was not one of them. \"Yes,\" he said thoughtfully, \"that makes sense. The greater the length of the stave, the greater the force of the bow. So they have more power than the crossbows. What other advantages, Morgan?\"\n\n\"An archer can shoot four or five arrows in the time that it will take a crossbowman to reset his weapon to shoot again. But they do have one great disadvantage, my lord. It does not take much skill to learn to shoot a crossbow, nor does it take much strength. That is not so for the Welsh bow, which needs much time and effort to master it.\"\n\n\"A pity,\" Richard said, for he had neither the time to hire some of those elite Welsh archers nor to teach other men their lethal skill. He'd have to make do with his contingent of crossbowmen. His gaze happened to alight then upon Jaufre of Perche. \"I hope you've brought my niece with you?\" Getting a confirmation, he welcomed the younger man with an easy smile. \"So... are you planning to sail with us to the Holy Land?\"\n\nJaufre hesitated, wishing he could do so. It ought to have been acceptable, for Richard was his uncle by marriage, after all. He knew better, though, knew that the French king would have seen it as an act of disloyalty, and while Richard was his kinsman by marriage, Philippe was his liege lord. \"King Philippe requested that I accompany him, my lord,\" he said, relieved when Richard did not seem offended. He'd leaped at the chance to wed the English monarch's niece and blessed his luck from the moment he first laid eyes upon his bride-to-be, but he'd not anticipated how challenging it would be to keep both kings contented. Eager to change the subject, he said quickly, \"What happened with the Lord of Chis? I'd wager he soon repented his crimes, no?\"\n\n\"I daresay he did,\" Richard agreed, \"up until the moment when I hanged him.\"\n\nJaufre blinked, not sure if the English king were jesting or not, for lords were rarely if ever held to the same standard of justice as those of lesser birth. But as he met Richard's eyes, he saw that Richenza's uncle was serious\u2014dead serious\u2014and he wondered if Saladin knew the mettle of the foe he'd soon be facing. He wondered, too, if Philippe knew.\n\nThere were few days more perfect than a summer afternoon in the Loire Valley, and after their noontime dinner, Richard had chosen to savor its pleasures out in the castle gardens. He'd ordered chairs to be fetched for Eleanor, Richenza, and the Countess of Aumale, but he and Jaufre made themselves comfortable on the grassy mead, tossing a wineskin back and forth. The women were more decorous and sipped from silver-gilt wine cups, so ornate that Richard joked he ought to sell them, for when it came to financing his campaign, every denier counted. He had been surprised to find the Countess of Aumale in his mother's household, but he bore her no grudge now that Hawisa had yielded to his will and wed William de Forz, and to show that bygones were bygones, he favored her with a smile, saying, \"I have some good news for you, my lady. I am naming your husband as one of my fleet commanders.\"\n\n\"An honor, indeed,\" Hawisa said, for such a response was expected of a wife, even one who fervently hoped that her new husband would never return from the Holy Land. She was too shrewd to continue fighting a battle already lost, though, and shared such heretical thoughts with no one. \"My liege... I recently received a troubling letter from my steward at Skipton-in-Craven, regarding the unrest in Yorkshire since the slaughter of the Jews in the city of York. Men are concerned that violence will break out again once you have left for Outremer. Can you assure me that measures have been taken to keep the King's Peace?\"\n\nHer bluntness raised a royal eyebrow, but did not kindle the royal temper, for Richard was in a good mood now that the time for his crusade was finally nigh. Reminding himself that this irksome female was also a great landholder and she therefore had a legitimate concern, he said, \"You may rest easy, my lady countess. As soon as I got word of the York massacre, I dispatched my chancellor to England to restore order and punish the guilty. Bishop Longchamp led an armed force to York, where he discovered that the culprits had fled into Scotland. He took strong measures, though, to make sure such an outrage will never happen again in my domains, dismissing the Yorkshire sheriff and the castellan, imposing heavy fines, and taking one hundred hostages from the city.\"\n\n\"I am gladdened to hear that, my lord.\" Hawisa still feared for England's peace in Richard's absence, but she knew better than to raise these doubts with the king. She could only hope that Longchamp's swift action would put the fear of God into Yorkshire's lawless and masterless men.\n\nJaufre glanced uneasily toward his wife, for he knew she'd not heard of the York massacre and he preferred to keep it that way, believing that a pregnant woman needed to be sheltered from strong emotions. Moreover, he did not trust Richard to give Richenza a suitably censored account of the York atrocity, for no son of Eleanor of Aquitaine could fully understand the fragility of the female sex. And as he feared, Richenza was quick to ask, \"What happened in York, Uncle? Was the Jewry attacked?\"\n\n\"That was the least of it, lass.\" Richard sat up, scowling. \"There are times when I think most men have less brains than God gave to sheep. I thought we'd quenched the fires after the London rioting, but apparently some embers still smoldered.\"\n\n\"When was there rioting in London?\"\n\n\"On my coronation day. You did not hear of that?\"\n\n\"On your coronation day,\" Richenza reminded him with a smile, \"Jaufre and I were being married in Rouen.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, so you were.\" Richard returned her smile, but it soon faded as he called up memories of the ugly incident that had marred what should have been a sacred event, the day when he'd been consecrated with the holy chrism, crowned as England's king and God's Anointed. \"In the past when campaigns were proclaimed against the Saracens, they often stirred up hatred against the Jews, the 'infidels in our midst,' as I've heard them called. I'd hoped to avoid any such outbursts by forbidding Jews to attend my coronation. But two affluent Jews, Benedict and Josce of York made the journey anyway. They came bearing gifts in hopes of winning royal favor. Instead they unwittingly caused a riot. A crowd had gathered outside the palace gates, and some of them fell upon the Jews, began to beat and curse them. Josce was able to escape, but Benedict was grievously wounded and then terrorized into accepting baptism. The mob was now drunk with blood lust and they surged back into London, where they attacked any Jews they found, killing at least thirty, and setting the Jewry afire.\"\n\nRichenza was frowning. \"It is shameful when men commit murder in God's Name. Scriptures say plainly that Jews are not to be killed, ordering us to 'Slay them not,' for it is ordained that they will one day come to salvation through Our Lord Christ and bring about the Second Coming. Were you able to punish the guilty ones, Uncle?\"\n\n\"We arrested some, hanged three, but it is almost impossible to identify members of a mob. The Archbishop of Canterbury and I interviewed the Jew Benedict, who recanted his conversion. The archbishop was wroth with him for that, unable to understand why he'd rather be 'the Devil's man instead of God's,' but a baptism done at knifepoint surely cannot please the Almighty. My main concern was making sure this did not happen elsewhere, and I sent writs throughout the realm, commanding my subjects to leave the Jews in peace. And indeed they did... as long as I remained in England. But after I crossed over to Normandy in December, trouble was not long in breaking out again.\"\n\n\"Was that when the York Jews were attacked?\"\n\n\"No, it began in East Anglia, at Lynn and Norwich, and then spread like the pox to Stamford, St Edmundsbury, and Lincoln. Men who'd taken the cross were eager to fight infidels, and the Jews were closer at hand than the Saracens. Drunken mobs were soon pillaging the Jewish quarters in those towns, forcing the Jews to take refuge in the royal castles.\"\n\nThe echoes of anger in Richard's voice did not surprise his audience, for the rioters had dared to disobey his royal writ and to threaten the King's Peace. No king could tolerate such lawless defiance, especially one about to depart on crusade. \"Eventually, the madness reached York.\" By now Richard was on his feet, heedlessly trampling daisies underfoot as he paced. \"But there it was different. At York, the mob was urged on by men of rank, men who owed money to the Jews. First they set a fire to distract the Watch, then broke into Benedict's house, killed his family, and stripped it bare. Most of the city's Jews fled to the royal castle for safety, but the mob continued to roam the streets. They attacked the house of the other moneylender, Josce, beat any Jews they found, and forced them to accept baptism. York had become a place without law, a city in my realm!\" Richard's voice cracked like a whip, sending several nesting birds fluttering from trees up into the sky.\n\nBy now Jaufre was squirming, unable to think of a way to spare his wife a ghastly story sure to trouble her soft heart, for he knew most women hated to hear of the deaths of children, even if they were infidels. Unaware of his husband's discomfort, Richenza was regarding Richard with a puzzled expression. \"But if the York Jews took shelter in the castle, why were they not safe from the mob?\"\n\n\"Because the castellan left the castle and whilst he was gone, the fools panicked and decided they could not trust him. So when he returned, they overpowered the garrison and refused to let him back in.\"\n\nJaufre was trying to catch the other man's eye in hopes of sending a mute message, but Richard never noticed. \"That was the first mistake. The second was made by the idiot castellan, who then panicked in his turn and summoned the sheriff of the shire. He was the one who made the third, fatal mistake, deciding to assault the castle and drive the Jews out.\" Richard paused, using an extremely vivid obscenity to describe the sheriff, but since he habitually swore in lenga romana, only Eleanor understood. \"The drunken louts happily joined in, of course, and by the time the sheriff realized how grievously he'd erred and tried to call the attack off, it was too late. By then the mob was utterly in control, spurred on by a demented hermit who'd convinced them they were doing God's Work. The Jews managed to defend themselves for two days, but when siege engines were brought out, they realized they were doomed.\"\n\nRichard paused again, reliving the rage he'd felt upon hearing of the massacre in York. \"Rather than be butchered by the mob, the Jews chose to die by their own hands. Husbands slit the throats of their wives and children, Josce being the first to slay his family. The men were then slain by Josce and their rabbi, what they call their priests. I've been told nigh on a hundred and fifty Jews took refuge in the castle, and most of them chose to die. By morning\u2014the eve of Palm Sunday, it was, too\u2014there were only a score or so still alive.\"\n\nRichenza was staring at him in horror. \"God in Heaven,\" she whispered, as Jaufre got hastily to his feet and crossed to her side. She ignored his attempt at consolation, keeping her eyes upon her uncle, almost as if she sensed the worst was still to come. \"What happened to those Jews?\"\n\n\"The survivors appealed for mercy, offering to accept Christian baptism, and they were promised that their lives would be spared. But when they emerged from the castle with their families, the mob seized them and murdered them all.\"\n\nRichenza shuddered, instinctively bringing her hands up as if to shelter her unborn baby from such a world. \"Even the children, Uncle Richard?\"\n\n\"Yes, lass, even the children.\" To Richard, this was the cruelest twist of all, that the mob had treacherously slain people seeking God's Grace. He'd been taught that the Almighty held His Breath over every Jew, waiting to see if he would choose Christ as his Saviour. He understood that the surviving Jews most likely sought baptism out of fear, but what if their ordeal had awakened them to the Divine Truth? Not only had they been shamefully betrayed, they'd been denied salvation.\n\n\"What happened next revealed the real reason for the rioting,\" he said. And now his anger was that of a king, not a man of faith. \"The leaders of the mob forced their way into York Minster, where the Jews had kept their debt bonds. They terrified the monks into giving up the bonds, and then burned them right there in the nave of the church.\"\n\nRichard had begun to pace again. In destroying the bonds, the rioters had struck a blow at the Crown itself, for the debts of Jews were also the debts of the king. The Jews were an important source of royal revenue and they were under royal protection. So this had been an act of political defiance as well as an outrage against the Church and the laws of the realm. And justice would not be done. The citizens of York had sworn that they'd played no part in the assault on the castle, blaming strangers and soldiers who'd taken the cross, and the few men identified\u2014those who'd burned the bonds\u2014had long since fled the city by the time Longchamp arrived. His action in punishing the sheriff and castellan would strike fear into others of rank, men unaccustomed to being held to account for their sins or their blunders. Their fall from favor ought to be enough to prevent another York. But Richard could take little satisfaction from that. When men defied the Crown, they deserved to hang.\n\n\"The stupidity of men never fails to amaze me,\" he said. \"How does killing defenseless Jews aid in the rescue of the Holy City? Only in Winchester did reason prevail. Some fools accused the local Jews of ritual murder when a Christian child died, a charge dismissed by the royal justices as being without merit. A pity they could not have shown such sense in the other towns.\"\n\n\"The poor and the uneducated are most likely to believe such tales,\" Eleanor observed, reaching out to squeeze her granddaughter's hand. \"They think the Jews practice the Black Arts, fear what they do not understand. Fortunately, men of rank are not as susceptible to such superstitions, nor are the princes of the Church. You all know I was no friend to the sainted Bernard of Clairvaux,\" she said with a thin smile, remembering the abbot's oft-quoted declaration that the Angevins came from the Devil and to the Devil they would go. \"But when a Cistercian monk began preaching that German Jews must be slain ere war could be made upon the Saracens, Bernard hastened to Germany and single-handedly kept violence from breaking out.\"\n\nRichard demurred at that, saying, \"Not all men of rank are so rational, though. The French king once told me about a Christian child supposedly killed by the Jews in Pontoise. Even though this took place ere Philippe was born, he harbored no doubts whatsoever that the boy had been sacrificed in some vile Jewish ritual. When I reminded Philippe that his lord father had never believed such tales, he bristled like a hedgehog, claiming that Louis had been easily led astray, and then babbled some nonsense about the Jews meeting secretly in caves beneath Paris to sacrifice Christian children. Philippe Capet,\" he said, in a voice dripping with scorn, \"may be the greatest fool ever to sit on the French throne, and considering that they once had a king known as Charles the Simple, that is saying quite a lot.\"\n\nJaufre now found himself in an extremely awkward position, not wanting to offend his wife's uncle, but feeling obligated to defend his liege lord. \"King Philippe is not the only one to give credence to those accusations against the Jews. I was just a lad when it happened, but I remember my father telling me that the Count of Blois once executed a number of Jews for killing a Christian child.\"\n\n\"When was this?\" Richard demanded, and when Jaufre said he thought it had occured nigh on twenty years ago, he gave a dismissive shrug. \"I was only about thirteen then, know nothing of this.\"\n\n\"But I do,\" Eleanor interjected. \"I remember the incident well, and the guilt lay with Count Thibault, not the unhappy Jews. Thibault is the uncle of your cousin Henri of Champagne,\" she added for Richenza's sake, knowing the girl was not yet familiar with the bloodlines of the French nobility. \"I hear he has gone to the Holy Land to expiate his sins, as well he should, for he has the blood of innocents upon his hands.\"\n\n\"I do not understand, Madame,\" Jaufre objected, feeling compelled to continue his half-hearted defense of the French king. \"How can the count be responsible for a crime committed by Jews?\"\n\n\"There was no crime, Jaufre. The charge was particularly outrageous, for there was no body, either, nor even any reports of a missing child. A servingman claimed he saw a Jewish peddler throw a child's body into the River Loire, and the story grew from there, until it was being said the boy had been crucified. Mind you, there was no evidence whatsoever to back up this charge, but Thibault ordered the arrest of all the Jews in Blois, some forty souls. Thirty-one men and women were burned at the stake, the others imprisoned, and their children forced to undergo baptism.\"\n\nRichard spoke for them all when he asked, \"Why? From what you've just told us, Maman, Thibault could not possibly have believed the story. So why did he do it?\"\n\n\"For the meanest, most unworthy of reasons, Richard\u2014to quell a scandal. You see, Thibault had been imprudent enough to take a local Jewess as his concubine. He was careless, too, and it eventually became known. When it did, he found himself facing the wrath of the Church, the outrage of his fellow Christians, and the fury of his wife\u2014my daughter Alix, from my marriage to the French king,\" she explained in another aside to Richenza. \"So when this charge was made, Thibault seized upon it to prove that he was no longer ensorcelled by his Jewess mistress, sacrificing those thirty-one men and women to regain the goodwill of his subjects and to appease the bishops of Blois.\"\n\nRichenza had a vivid imagination and could envision all too well the horror the Jews had endured, for surely death by fire was the worst of fates. She shivered and Jaufre slid his arm around her waist, angry with Richard and Eleanor for telling his pregnant wife stories sure to disturb her sleep that night. After a somber silence, Richenza thought to ask about the rest of the Jews, those who'd been imprisoned rather than sent to the stake.\n\n\"The other French Jews were horrified at what had befallen their brethren in Blois. They were understandably terrified, too, that the anger against Jews would spread to their cities, and they appealed to the French king. Louis too often showed as much backbone as a hempen rope, but he was always steadfast in his protection of the French Jews, never believing those stories of ritual murder. He at once issued a charter to be published throughout his domains, warning his subjects that the Jews were not to be molested or threatened, and they were not. The Jews also turned to Thibault's brother, the Count of Champagne, for aid. He had already dismissed a similar accusation against the Jews in Epernay, and like Louis, he took measures to see to their safety. Meanwhile, the Jews sought help from the third brother, the Bishop of Sens, and through his mediation, Thibault agreed to release the imprisoned Jews and to return the children who'd been forcibly baptized. Harry heard that Thibault had extorted a hundred pounds from the Jews for that concession, and I cannot say it would surprise me if so. And no,\" Eleanor said, anticipating their next questions, \"I do not know the fate of his Jewess once she was freed from prison. Nor do I know how Thibault managed to placate his wife.\"\n\nNow it was Eleanor's turn to fall silent, thinking of Alix, the daughter she'd not seen in nigh on forty years, for once their marriage had ended, Louis had banished her from their daughters' lives, had done all he could to blacken her memory. At least Harry had not entirely forbidden her to see their children during her long confinement, and she had to admit he had far more reason than Louis for doing so.\n\nLooking back at the woman she'd once been, Louis's unhappy, bored wife and Harry's reckless, rebel queen, she sometimes felt as if that younger Eleanor was a stranger, one often in need of the guidance she could now have provided. Why was it that wisdom seemed to come only with age, when it no longer mattered as much? No, that was not so. It did matter, and she was determined that her children should benefit from the lessons she'd learned at such great cost in the course of her long and eventful life. Glancing from Richard to Richenza, she tempered her silent vow with a prudent God willing, for she finally understood that the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happened to them all.\n\nJaufre had soon concocted an excuse to take Richenza back to their chamber, treating his wife with the exaggerated care of one handling a rare and exotic flower that could be bruised by a breath. Hawisa watched them wistfully, but then tossed her head, summoning up a brittle smile. \"Men are so solicitous, so awestruck over the first child. Alas, Richenza will find that by her third or fourth pregnancy, he'll be wondering why she must take a full nine months when his favorite greyhound bitch can whelp in two.\"\n\nEleanor laughed. Richard was not as amused, but he held his tongue until Hawisa had tactfully excused herself and moved out of earshot. \"Passing strange that she'd make such a jest when her first marriage was barren. Nor do I understand why you seem to like the woman's company, Maman. She is as strong-willed as any man, with a tongue sharp enough to slice bread.\"\n\n\"She jests about childbirth, Richard, for the same reason that men use humor to hide their unease ere a battle begins. And yes, I do enjoy her company. She was courageous enough to resist a marriage she did not want, but sensible enough to yield once she saw defeat was inevitable. And in case you've not noticed, I have a mind of my own, too.\"\n\nHe chuckled. \"That would be like not noticing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.\"\n\nEleanor emptied her wine cup, setting it down in the grass at her feet. \"If my memory serves, Will Marshal's elder brother John was the sheriff of Yorkshire. I thought I saw him in your entourage, and that explains it. He came to beg for his post back?\"\n\nRichard nodded. \"He can grovel from now till Martinmas, for all the good it will do him. Gross incompetence is the least of his sins. Longchamp suspects him of being hand in glove with the instigators of the rioting, although he admits he has not been able to prove it. That is why he acted so swiftly, dismissing Marshal and appointing his brother, Osbert, as sheriff in his stead.\"\n\nEleanor had no problems with the dismissal of John Marshal, who'd shown appallingly poor judgment. But by replacing Marshal with his own brother, Longchamp was playing into his enemies' hands, giving them a means of impugning his motives. \"You told me that the Pope agreed to name Longchamp as a papal legate\u2014\"\n\n\"'Agreed'?\" Richard interrupted. \"He sold the office plain and simple, extorting fifteen hundred marks from me ere he'd even consider it.\"\n\n\"Be that as it may, Longchamp is now the papal legate, chancellor, justiciar, and Bishop of Ely. You are entrusting great authority to one man, Richard. Do you think that is wise? History shows us that peace is more likely when you have two rivals of equal power. Should the balance tip too far in one direction, war becomes inevitable, as with Athens and Sparta or Rome and Carthage.\"\n\nRichard claimed one of the vacant seats. \"And who are you nominating to play Sparta to Longchamp's Athens? Might it be Johnny, by chance?\"\n\n\"Yes, John did approach me about that vow you demanded of him. He thinks it would be dangerous if you and he both were absent from England for the next few years. And after giving it some thought, I agree with him. His very presence will reassure those barons who are suspicious of Longchamp's intentions. And Longchamp might well temper his dealings with those same discontented barons if he knows they can turn to your brother with their grievances. As it is, you've denied them any outlet for their complaints.\"\n\n\"There is truth in what you say, Maman. Longchamp would have done better not to thrust his brother into Marshal's place. But if I overruled him, I'd be subverting his authority when he most needs it. I know he is not without flaws. I can trust him, though, with no misgivings whatsoever. Can I say as much for Johnny?\"\n\n\"I raised this very question last summer at Winchester. I was somewhat surprised by your lavish generosity to John since you'd shown no favor to the other men who'd abandoned Harry, whilst rewarding men who'd stayed loyal to him. Do you remember what you told me? You said John deserves a chance to show he can be trusted. Has he given you any reason to exile him from England?\"\n\n\"No,\" Richard admitted, \"he has not.\" Picking up the cup Richenza had left behind, he drained the last of the wine before saying, \"Who am I to argue with myself? Or with you, Maman. Tell Johnny I free him from his oath.\"\n\nEleanor smiled, but she was not as confident as she'd have Richard believe, for her youngest was still a mystery to her. She could only hope John would prove her right.\n\n\"If I am releasing Johnny, I suppose I'll have to open the door of Geoff's cage, too,\" Richard said, rolling his eyes. \"Actually I'd been giving that some thought, for had he been in York, he might have been able to keep Marshal from panicking. Say what you will about Geoff, he does not lack for courage and would have thought nothing of plunging into the midst of that mob, swinging his crozier like a battle-axe!\"\n\nThat image amused them both. Eleanor was becoming puzzled, though, that he'd not yet brought up the subject of his bride-to-be. He'd told her last night that while he was in Bayonne, he'd been able to slip across the border for a secret meeting with the King of Navarre, settling the last issues of the marriage contract. Now that they were alone, why was he not sharing with her what had been decided? Surely Sancho could not have been dissatisfied with the generous dower Richard was offering? Berengaria was to receive Gascony and, after Eleanor's death, lands in Normandy and Anjou as well. So why was Richard suddenly so tight-lipped about the deal he'd struck with Sancho?\n\nAt last losing patience, Eleanor said, \"So... tell me of the meeting with Sancho and his son. I assume he was contented with the dower?\"\n\n\"Indeed he was. No, there was but one obstacle to overcome. Sancho was unwilling to delay the marriage until my return from the Holy Land. Quite understandable,\" Richard said with a sudden grin, \"since neither he nor his daughter would benefit if I were inconveniently slain in Outremer. Nor did I want to delay the marriage, either. My wife's father would make a more reliable ally than the father of my betrothed. And if it is my destiny to die in the Holy Land, I'd rather not entrust my empire to either Johnny or Arthur, so the quicker Berengaria can give me a son, the better.\"\n\nEleanor frowned, for she did not like him to discuss his death so nonchalantly. She already knew the odds were not in his favor for a safe return, did not need to be reminded of that in casual conversation. \"But you cannot wed the girl ere you leave or you'll be leaving without Philippe. So how did you resolve it?\"\n\n\"We could think of only one way\u2014have Berengaria join me in Sicily and marry me there or, if she arrives during Lent, then once we reach Outremer.\"\n\n\"And you actually got her father to agree to this?\" Eleanor was incredulous. \"I know you can be convincing when you put your mind to it, Richard, but with a tongue as agile as that, you could lick honey off thorns!\"\n\n\"Well, Sancho did impose one condition. To show my good faith and to safeguard his daughter's honor, I told him that you would travel to Navarre and bring Berengaria to me in Sicily.\"\n\nEleanor's eyes widened. \"Did you now? Richard, you do remember that this will be my sixty-sixth summer on God's Earth? Most women of that age do not stir from their hearths, but you want me to traverse the Pyrenees and then make a winter crossing of the Alps? Would you like me to make a side trip to Cathay, too?\"\n\nRichard could not hide his dismay, for he'd taken his mother's consent for granted, and if she balked now, the marriage itself might be put at risk. \"Maman... I ought to have consulted with you first. I just assumed you'd agree, but if you do not want to\u2014\" He stopped then, for Eleanor had begun to laugh. Letting out a sigh of relief, he confessed, \"Jesu, but you gave me a bad moment there! I thought you truly did not want to go.\"\n\n\"Not want to go? Do you know me as little as that, Richard? I've always loved to travel, have always been eager to see new places and sights, one of the reasons why I found Harry's confinement so hard to bear. I never expected to visit a Spanish kingdom, nor to see Sicily again. You are offering me a rare gift, a chance to see my son wed and to have one last adventure.\"\n\n\"I knew I could rely upon you, Maman, be it to bring me a bride or keep England at peace whilst I am gone.\" It had been disconcerting to be reminded that she was only four years removed from her biblical three-score and ten, a great age for a woman who'd always seemed ageless to him. It was an unwelcome thought and he was quick to push it away, for midst the turmoil and chaos that had roiled their family life as long as he could remember, his mother had been the one constant, the only island in a turbulent sea. Leaning over, he kissed her exuberantly on both cheeks, calling her his lodestar and his luck.\n\nHe would have escorted her back into the castle then, but she chose to remain in the gardens, for the sun had begun its slow slide toward the horizon and the sky had taken on a golden glow. Agreeing to let him send her ladies out to her, Eleanor leaned back in her chair, watching as he strode off. He could no more amble than he could fly, was always rushing from one moment to the next, eager to seize the day. \"Just like you, Harry,\" she murmured, wondering what he'd have thought of her latest quest.\n\nIt would never have occurred to her to tell Richard no. She had sixteen years' worth of energy stored up. What better way to expend it than to bring her favorite son a wife? It was true that she was facing a journey that would have daunted a woman half her age. But Richard needed her. And it would indeed be an adventure, ending where she most wanted to be\u2014in Sicily, reunited with her daughter. They'd learned by now that a bastard cousin of William de Hauteville had seized the crown, and Heinrich was said to be planning a military response. But they still knew nothing of Joanna, not even her whereabouts. Richard had promised that he would find her, though, and whatever had gone wrong for her, he would make right. If she had been forced into marriage with one of Tancred's lords, as was too often the case with young widows and heiresses, he would free her from it, he vowed. He sounded so sure of himself that it was easy for Eleanor to believe, too. Only death could defeat his resolve, and Eleanor refused even to acknowledge the possibility that her daughter's silence could have such a simple and sinister explanation. Richard would restore Joanna to them. He would not fail."
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1190",
                "text": "[ Lyon, France ]\n\nRichard met Philippe at V\u00e9zelay in early July, where, forty-five years earlier, Richard's mother and Philippe's father had taken the cross. The two kings made a solemn pact to \"share equally whatever they conquered together,\" and the third crusade got under way. Most of Philippe's lords had already departed for the Holy Land, so he had a much smaller force than Richard, who had almost seven thousand men under his command. With such a large infantry, they could manage less than fifteen miles a day, and did not reach the city of Lyon until the thirteenth.\n\nAfter Richard and Philippe and their households had crossed the wooden bridge spanning the Rhone, they set up their tents on high ground overlooking the river. Dismounting, Philippe handed the reins to his squire and then accepted a wineskin, for his mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He felt as if he'd been bathing in dust, for smothering clouds had been churned up by horses, carts, and thousands of marching feet. The sun was a fiery white sphere in a sky bleached of all blue, beating down upon them with brutal intensity. It was hard to imagine that Outremer could be as hot, and yet he'd heard it claimed that summers there were a foretaste of Hell. Wherever Eden had been, surely it could not have been located in the Holy Land, where dust storms turned day into night and rivers trickled away into cracked, parched earth and mysterious, lethal maladies struck men down without warning, more dying from plagues and fevers than from Saracen swords.\n\nPhilippe could not admit even to his confessor how loath he was to make this perilous journey, leaving his realm and his sickly little son behind. It ought to be enough that he was a good Christian, a good king, and yet he knew it was not, at least not in the eyes of other men. The only one who'd shared his reluctance to take the cross had been the man he'd done so much to destroy, and he supposed that Henry was laughing now from the depths of Hell. Henry had appreciated irony\u2014all those accursed Angevins did\u2014so most likely he'd also found it ironic that the youth he'd aided again and again had become the instrument of his doom. But Philippe had no regrets. He'd done what he must, for it was his destiny to restore France to greatness, as it had been in the days of Charlemagne.\n\n\"Why so doleful, Philippe?\" The question\u2014sudden, intrusive\u2014caught the young French king by surprise, and he frowned as Richard reined in beside him, stepping back as the stallion's pawing hooves kicked up yet more dust. The older man was grinning down at him, odiously cheerful, as he'd been every blessed day since their departure from V\u00e9zelay. \"Damn me if you do not look like a poor wretch on his way to the gallows. It could be worse, much worse. You could be the only one leaving for the Holy Land whilst I remained behind to look after your lands for you.\"\n\nRichard laughed then, while Philippe forced a sour smile. He would never understand why the English king took pleasure in telling awkward truths in the guise of jests. But Richard's perverse sense of humor was just one more burden he had to bear. Why could Richard not have been the one to die of the bloody flux instead of Hal? Life would have been so much easier had Henry's amiable eldest son succeeded him. He'd have made a fine king\u2014for France\u2014easily bored, frivolous, and fickle. But Hal was seven years dead, and his grieving widow\u2014Philippe's older sister Marguerite\u2014long since wed to the King of Hungary. And Hal's brother Geoffrey, the only man Philippe had ever respected, was dead, too.\n\nEven now, thinking of Geoffrey stirred faint echoes of loss, for he had been the ideal ally, mayhap even a friend, whereas Richard embodied all that Philippe most despised in other men\u2014swaggering, arrogant, reckless. Their day of reckoning would eventually come and he did not doubt that when it did, his brains would prevail over Richard's brawn. It was vexing, though, to have to watch as a man inferior to him in all the ways that truly mattered was lavished with praise, acclaim, and renown. And the Holy Land would be the perfect stage for Richard, a never-ending circus of bloodshed and posturing and battlefield heroics.\n\nBelow them, soldiers were moving out onto the bridge. It would take forever and a day to get them all across, Philippe thought gloomily. At least then he'd be spared Richard's irksome company for a while, as they'd agreed to separate once they'd crossed the Rhone, Philippe and his men heading overland for Genoa, where he'd hired ships to transport the French to Sicily, and Richard riding south to Marseille, where his fleet would be awaiting his arrival. Cheered up somewhat by the thought of their impending separation, Philippe was turning toward his tent when the screams began.\n\nWhirling around, he gasped at the sight meeting his eyes. Several arches of the wooden bridge had collapsed under the weight of so many men, flinging them into the river. Some were clinging desperately to the bridge pilings and wreckage, while others were struggling in the water, all of them calling upon the Almighty and their fellows for aid.\n\nRichard had already galloped his stallion down the hill, shouting commands. Men were throwing ropes out into the river, extending lances for the drowning to catch on to, and several knights were bravely urging their mounts into the turbulent current. Philippe was not surprised when one horse balked at the water's edge, sending his rider splashing into the river, for it had been his experience that horses were as flighty and unpredictable as women. He was surprised, though, by the speed and success of the rescue effort. Soon most of the floundering men had been pulled to safety; they lost only two to the Rhone's flood tide. But their armies were now cut off from their commanders, trapped on opposite sides of the surging river.\n\nPhilippe's tent offered welcome shelter from the noonday heat, but it was rather crowded, for he'd been joined by his cousins, the Duke of Burgundy, the Count of Nevers, and the Archbishop of Chartres, the Count of Perche's son, Jaufre, and several other lords and knights. Guillaume des Barres alone took up enough space for any two men; he was as sturdy as an oak and almost as tall. He was one of the most popular members of Philippe's entourage, for he'd never let his battle renown go to his head, and was adroit at using humor to prevent minor squabbles from flaring into more serious confrontations. Keeping their men from turning their tempers upon one another before they could fight the Saracens was a serious concern. Richard had issued a strict code of conduct for the sailors, with severe penalties for murder, brawling, theft, gambling, and blasphemy. But these prohibitions were not aimed at maintaining the peace between highborn lords accustomed to getting their own way, and Guillaume des Barres had taken it upon himself to make their journey as free of strife as he could.\n\nGuillaume wished that he could ease his king's mind, too, for Philippe was obviously troubled. He'd dispatched couriers back to Paris, bearing letters to his mother and uncle with further instructions for governing in his absence, but after that he'd lapsed into a brooding silence, paying no heed to the conversations swirling about him. When Guillaume challenged him to a game of chess now, he seemed tempted, for that was a pastime that played to his strengths, requiring a strategic sense and patience. But that brief flicker of interest did not catch fire.\n\nInstead, he signaled for a small coffer to be brought to him, and read again the last report of his son's health. Louis was just three, and often ailing. Philippe's greatest dread was that he would die in the Holy Land and Louis would not live to reach manhood. Why had the Almighty taken the twin boys born in March? Had they lived, he could have left France with far fewer fears for the future of his dynasty. Instead, Isabelle had bled to death, never seeing or holding the pitiful little bodies expelled from her womb, and Philippe's destiny rested upon the thinnest of threads, the fragile life of his only surviving son.\n\nPhilippe did not understand why Richard seemed so unconcerned about his own lack of an heir of his body. He was fortunate enough to have a brother full grown, it was true, and a young nephew who had been blessed with the robust good health denied to Philippe's own son. Was he content to have the crown pass to John or Arthur? Or was he utterly and blasphemously confident that he'd not die in the Holy Land? Knowing Richard, it was most likely the latter, Philippe thought morosely. The Angevins were notorious for confusing the Almighty's Will with their own.\n\n\"Sire!\" The flap was ripped aside and Mathieu de Montmorency plunged into the tent. Mathieu was highborn, blood-kin to Philippe's queen, but his presence was proving to be another irritant to the French king's raw nerves, for Mathieu was just sixteen and so enthusiastic about their crusade that he seemed drunk on excitement alone. Now his face was flushed and his smile so euphoric that Philippe knew he was not going to enjoy whatever the boy had come to tell him.\n\n\"I have wondrous news, my liege! Our problems are over, thanks to the English king. Richard has come up with a truly brilliant idea. He wants to build a bridge of small boats, lashing them together so our soldiers may cross the river. His men are already searching the shorelines and commandeering whatever boats they find...\"\n\nMathieu belatedly became aware of the silence. He'd expected the men to share in his delight, but they showed no such joy, their expressions wary and guarded. Mathieu looked from them to Philippe in dismay, realizing he'd somehow incurred his king's disfavor.\n\n\"I am surprised Richard is bothering with a bridge,\" Philippe snapped. \"Why does he not simply smite the waters, the way Moses parted the Red Sea?\"\n\nRichard reached the port of Marseille on the last day of July, but his fleet was not there. He would later learn the delay was due to a riotous stopover at Lisbon, where the sailors got roaring drunk, attacking Jews and Muslims and accosting women, whether they were prostitutes or respectable wives. The enraged King of Portugal ordered the city gates shut, trapping hundreds of sailors, who were then tossed into prison until they sobered up and their leaders made amends for their offenses. As a result, they were three weeks late in getting to Marseille, and by then Richard was already gone. After waiting a week, he hired two large vessels known as busses and twenty galleys, leaving word for his fleet to catch up with him in Italy.\n\nSix days later, Richard's ships dropped anchor at Genoa, where Philippe was lying ill. The French king requested the loan of five of Richard's rented galleys. When Richard offered three, Philippe reacted with anger and refused any. It occurred to many of their men that this was probably not a good omen for a future harmonious partnership between the two kings.\n\nMorgan ap Ranulf sometimes wondered if it was sinful to be enjoying a holy quest as much as he was enjoying their sojourn in Italy. He'd been nervous at first, for the Welsh were not a nation of seafarers. But the voyage had been easy on even the most delicate of stomachs so far. They cruised along the Italian coast, rarely out of sight of land, often putting ashore so the men could stretch their legs and visit local sites, for Richard shared Morgan's interest in sightseeing.\n\nEvery day brought fresh delights for educated and inquisitive travelers. Morgan hoped he'd remember enough to regale his family once he was back in Wales\u2014a pirate castle on the summit of Cape Circeo, the volcanic island of Ischia, the Roman baths at Baia. They tarried for ten days at Naples, so interesting did they find the sights there. Morgan accompanied Richard to visit the crypt at San Gennaro, where the four mummified sons of a legendary French hero were proudly displayed, and he then went to see Virgil's tomb, the ruins of a pagan Greek temple, and the isle of the Sirens where Ulysses had nearly been lured to his doom.\n\nMorgan was even more intrigued by the exotic sea life of the Mediterranean. He'd befriended a helmsman from Brittany, for Breton and Welsh were similar enough for mutual understanding, and Kavan was happy to share his knowledge, pointing out seals basking in the sun on the rocky shoreline, flying fish that arced through the air like silver arrows, the fin of a shark shadowing their fleet, and once a whale with oddly wrinkled skin that was almost as long as their galley; watching in awe, Morgan no longer doubted the scriptural story of Jonah. It was the dolphins, though, that won his heart. They would splash playfully in the wake of the galleys, and then swim boldly alongside the ships, making loud clicking sounds as if they were trying to talk to the men peering at them over the gunwales, and Morgan marveled that he was actually looking upon the legendary creatures seen by Caesar and Alexander.\n\nHe'd had only one disappointment so far. When they landed at the mouth of the Tiber River, the cardinal bishop of Ostia was waiting to invite Richard to visit His Holiness the Pope at Rome, just sixteen miles away. The king was having none of that, though, and subjected the cardinal to a caustic lecture on the sins of simony, accusing Pope Clement of extorting large sums from the English Crown in return for naming Longchamp as a papal legate and approving the consecration of the Bishop of Le Mans.\n\nSo they never got to Rome. Instead, Morgan got his first glimpse of the English king's fabled, fiery temper. He had entered Richard's service with some reluctance, for he'd been devoted to the king's brother Geoffrey, and had then served his father, an anguished eyewitness to the wretched death of the old king at Chinon. But Morgan was a realist and Richard was now king, so he'd attempted to put the past behind him. He was still getting to know Richard, and he'd been unnerved by the intensity of his royal cousin's rage at Ostia. Henry had been notorious for his own bursts of temper, said to be hot enough to blister paint off walls. Morgan had soon concluded, however, that there was a calculated element in Henry's rages, just one more weapon in a king's arsenal. But as Richard verbally flayed the discomfited cardinal, Morgan felt as if he were watching a fire at full blaze, one that could easily have gotten out of control, and that had never been true of Richard's father.\n\nAside from missing Rome, though, Morgan had no complaints, and he had to admit Richard had gone out of his way to treat him as a kinsman, which did much to elevate his status in the royal household. So he put aside any lingering misgivings, determined to make the most of these carefree, pleasant days in Italy, knowing life would be neither carefree nor pleasant once they reached Outremer.\n\nTheir leisurely progress down the Italian peninsula would soon come to an end. Upon leaving Naples, they'd ridden to Salerno so Richard could consult with the city's famed doctors about his recurrent bouts of quartan fever. While there, he finally got word that his missing ships had been spotted near Messina, and he at once picked up their pace, no longer having time to spare for sightseeing. Richard had heard troubling rumors in Naples that Joanna had not been seen in nigh on a year. Now that they'd soon be rendezvousing with the royal fleet, he was hopeful that he'd finally get reliable news about his sister's circumstances.\n\nBy september 21, richard had reached Mileto in Calabria, where he was offered the hospitality of the Benedictine abbey of Holy Trinity. Like many of the other knights, Morgan had found lodgings in the town, and the next morning, he strolled back to the abbey in hopes of breaking his night's fast in the guest hall. There he found the king in a volcanic rage, stalking about the hall like a great cat on the prowl, spitting out curses under the awed eyes of Mileto's bishop, abbot, and monks.\n\nMorgan sidled up to a friend, the Fleming Baldwin de Bethune, who'd been with him in the old king's service. \"What has happened? Why is the king so wrathful?\"\n\n\"He learned that his sister has been grievously maltreated by the usurper. Not only did Tancred seize the dower lands that were rightfully hers, he has been holding her prisoner in Palermo, keeping her isolated from the rest of the world so she could not appeal to Richard or to the rightful Queen of Sicily, the Lady Constance. Richard,\" Baldwin said dryly, \"took the news rather badly.\"\n\n\"This Tancred must be a fool!\"\n\n\"According to the bishop, Tancred had more immediate worries than the anger of a distant English king, for he was facing a rebellion of the island Saracens and fearing a German invasion. I suppose he hoped that political turmoil would keep Richard in his own domains or that he'd be as indifferent a brother as the French king. Those were two serious miscalculations.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" Morgan agreed, wondering if they'd be shedding blood in Sicily ere they even reached the Holy Land. Not that he blamed Richard for reacting with such fury, for he had a sister, too, back in Wales. He thought it likely that the news of Joanna's imprisonment had also lacerated an old wound, for all knew how bitterly Richard had resented his mother's long confinement. He suspected that Tancred might be about to pay a debt twice over, both for Joanna and Queen Eleanor.\n\nRichard had gotten his temper under control long enough to bid his Benedictine hosts and the bishop a courteous farewell, making a generous donation to the abbey coffers before giving the command to move out. They'd planned to return to their ships for the final leg of their journey, but Richard changed his mind once he was in the saddle. \"The rest of you go ahead,\" he ordered. \"I need some time to myself. Have my galley meet me at Bagnara.\"\n\nHis knights and lords raised an immediate protest. Richard's habit of going off on his own without a thought to his personal safety had given them more than one sleepless night. He usually paid no heed to their fears, annoyed that they thought he, of all men, had need of a nursemaid, but this morning he made a grudging concession and agreed to take a knight with him. His gaze falling upon his cousin, he decided Morgan would do as well as any, and told the Welshman he could come along.\n\nMorgan was less than thrilled to be accompanying Richard in his present dark mood, but he hastened to mount and follow the king as they rode out of the abbey precincts. Once they were on the road, some of Richard's anger seemed to dissipate in the open air, and by the time they stopped to water their horses, he was telling Morgan about the plans for his entry into Messina.\n\n\"Philippe arrived last week, in a single ship if you can believe that, with all the fanfare of a merchant returning home from a day at the market.\" Richard shook his head in mock sorrow at the French king's lack of majesty. \"There is more to power, Morgan, than the exercise of it. There is also the demonstration of it, as I shall show Philippe and the citizens of Messina on the morrow.\"\n\nMorgan was not fully in agreement with Richard, for Henry had been utterly indifferent to the trappings of power, needing no props to display his mastery over other men. He was not about to argue with the king, though. Instead, he offered his sympathy for the Lady Joanna's plight, which Richard acknowledged with a nod, saying ominously, \"God help Tancred if he has laid so much as a finger on her.\"\n\nThey'd dismounted beside a small stream so their horses could drink, and they soon began to attract the attention of the inhabitants of nearby houses, who shared the curiosity of villagers worldwide about strangers in their midst. Eventually, a matronly woman approached, speaking a tongue that was alien to them both, though Richard guessed it was an odd dialect of Greek. She made it clear by gestures that she had food and drink for sale, and after Morgan fumbled in his scrip for a few Sicilian coins\u2014kings rarely bothered to carry money\u2014she returned with slices of freshly baked bread smeared with olive oil, and two clay cups of a strong red wine. She'd been followed by her daughter, and Morgan could not resist flirting a bit, exchanging complicit smiles with the girl until her mother noticed and shooed her back toward their house.\n\n\"I'd take care if I were you, Morgan,\" Richard said, amused by the byplay. \"I hear they are right protective of their womenfolk in Sicily, and a wink or a lingering gaze can cost a man dearly. So unless you have peculiar yearnings to become a gelding, I suggest we ride on.\" He stopped, though, in the act of mounting his stallion, his head cocked. \"Did you hear that?\"\n\nMorgan nodded. \"It sounded like a hawk.\" When it came again, he was taken aback by Richard's next action. Tossing his reins to Morgan, he strode off toward a nearby house. The woman's pretty daughter had ventured out again and was removing laundry from a line of rope tied between two trees, watching Morgan all the while. He was tempted to go over and help but, mindful of Richard's warning, he stayed with the horses, giving her a regretful smile and a shrug.\n\nIt was a tranquil scene, people going about their daily chores, dogs sleeping in the sun, children interrupting a game with wooden weapons to stare at Morgan's real sword. He was about to toss them a few coins when the village peace was suddenly shattered by angry voices and the piercing cry of a hawk. Morgan tensed as several men hurried toward the house, for by now he recognized one of the raised voices as Richard's. He couldn't make out the words, but there was no mistaking the belligerent tone. He hastily swung up into the saddle just as the door burst open and Richard backed out, using a knife to keep the furious villagers at bay.\n\n\"Morgan!\" he yelled, not daring to take his gaze from the threatening crowd, for by now other villagers had been drawn into the fray, several carrying pitchforks and hammers. They scattered as Morgan rode into their midst, giving Richard the time he needed to mount his own stallion. Spurring their horses, they soon outdistanced the curses, barking dogs, and a few poorly thrown rocks.\n\nWhen they at last drew rein on the crest of a hill, Morgan turned in the saddle to stare at the other man. \"What in Christ's Name was that all about?\"\n\n\"The hawk,\" Richard said, as if that were self-explanatory, busying himself in brushing a powdery substance from his tunic. It looked like flour to Morgan and that only deepened the mystery.\n\n\"What about the hawk?\"\n\n\"It was a fine goshawk, obviously stolen.\" Richard paused, having discovered a cut on his wrist. \"But when I seized it, they protested vigorously and tried to stop me from leaving with it.\" Seeing the incredulous expression on his cousin's face, he said impatiently, \"Rustics are not allowed to own hawks. You know that, Morgan.\"\n\nMorgan opened his mouth, about to point out the obvious. That may be true enough in England or France, but this is Sicily! He caught himself in time, and then said in measured tones, \"Under the circumstances, would it not have been easier just to give them back their blasted hawk?\"\n\n\"Why? They were in the wrong, not me. At first they were just cursing me; at least that is what I assume all that shouting meant. But then one hothead lunged at me with a knife. I was not about to spill a peasant's guts in front of the fool's family, so I hit him with the flat of my sword. But damned if the blade did not snap in two!\" Richard sounded astonished and indignant. \"When I think how much I paid for it.... Then they were all flailing at me, even the women. I snatched up whatever I could, pelting them with apples and eggs until I could wrest the knife away and reach the door.\"\n\nLooking over his shoulder at the village below them, Richard frowned. \"And they still have the goshawk.\"\n\n\"I do hope you are not thinking of going back.\" Morgan was trying very hard to act as if Richard's insanity was normal behavior for a king, but it was not easy. He could not imagine Geoffrey or Henry ever getting themselves into such a ludicrous predicament. \"You do know you are bleeding?\"\n\n\"My head?\" Richard explored the gash, looked at his bloodied fingers, and shrugged. \"That must have happened when the man's wife hit me with her broom. She was buzzing about like a maddened hornet. I am probably lucky she was not the one wielding the knife!\"\n\nThe image of the King of England under assault by an outraged Sicilian housewife was too much for Morgan, and he nearly strangled as he tried to choke back his mirth. Fortunately for him, Richard was also beginning to see the humor in his mishap. His mouth twitched and soon both men were laughing so hard that they had to dismount, leaning against their horses as they sought to get their hilarity under control. When Richard admitted that one greybeard had swung at him with a crutch, Morgan lost it altogether and sank to his knees, gasping for breath.\n\nRichard reached down, pulling Morgan to his feet, and then unhooked a wineskin from his saddle. They took turns drinking from it, not caring that the wine was warm and overly spiced. Realizing that they'd best be on their way if they hoped to reach Bagnara in time to cross the straits, they remounted and Richard tossed the empty wineskin into the grass. After a moment, he glanced over at Morgan with a grin. \"I ought to send you back to retrieve the goshawk,\" he joked and learned a new swear word from his Welsh cousin.\n\nWhen they got to Bagnara, they found Richard's private galley waiting for them. So was the royal fleet, having at last caught up with the king, and Morgan thought it was an astounding and magnificent sight: over a hundred ships riding at anchor, so many masts reaching skyward that it was like gazing upon a floating forest. They crossed the straits without difficulty and set up tents upon the beach a few miles from Messina. At supper that night, Richard had his companions in hysterics as he related the day's misadventure, comically describing the goshawk, the enraged rustics, and the woman armed with a deadly broom. It was an amusing story and Morgan conceded that Richard told it well; too well, for the men were laughing so much that they did not seem to realize what a narrow escape their king had in that little village near Mileto. He could have been killed or severely wounded by one of those understandably irate peasants, and what would have befallen their holy quest then? It was a question that would trouble Morgan's peace in the days and weeks to come.\n\nThe citizens of Messina had been disappointed by the French king's inconspicuous entry into their city, for they'd become accustomed to splendor and pageantry from their royalty. But Philippe had no interest in impressing Sicilian merchants and burghers. He'd been suffering from seasickness brought on by a storm so violent they'd had to jettison some of their supplies to stay afloat, and he'd wanted only to set his feet on firm land again. Moreover, he was shrewd enough to realize that Tancred, an insecure king of dubious bloodlines, would not appreciate being outshone by foreign monarchs. And he was rewarded for his modest arrival, being welcomed warmly on Tancred's behalf by Jordan Lapin, the new Governor of Messina, who turned the royal palace over to the French for their stay in Sicily.\n\nPhilippe was entertaining a delegation of Sicilian lords and prelates, including Jordan Lapin; Margaritis of Brindisi, the highly respected admiral of Tancred's fleet; and Richard Palmer, an Englishman who'd managed to become the Archbishop of Messina. Attendants padded in and out, bringing dishes of ripe fruit and refilling wine cups. They were, Philippe thought, the perfect servants, invisible and deferential. It was unsettling, though, to be waited upon by men of the same blood as those he'd be fighting in Outremer. Sicily was a strange land, and while he admired its riches, he could not help wondering if it was truly a Christian kingdom. In his brief stay, he'd seen indications of indolence and moral laxity, the same corrupt influences that had tainted society in Aquitaine and Toulouse. He would be glad when he could depart for the Holy Land and was disheartened to be told that the season for sailing was all but past, that winter storms would make it too dangerous to venture out onto the open sea.\n\n\"And so, my lord,\" the archbishop was saying with a genial smile, \"it is our hope that you'll give consideration to our king's offer of an alliance between the kingdoms of France and Sicily. Lord Tancred has several lovely daughters, any one of whom would make a fine queen for you or mayhap a bride for your young son.\"\n\n\"I am honored by the offer,\" Philippe said with a noncommittal smile of his own, wondering if Tancred really thought he'd jeopardize his friendship with the Holy Roman Emperor for an alliance with a bastard-born usurper as likely to be overthrown by his own subjects as by the Germans. \"I have indeed heard of the beauty of your king's daughters.\"\n\n\"We want to make your stay in Sicily as pleasant as possible, my lord king. I hope you will not hesitate to ask if I may be of any service whatsoever,\" Jordan Lapin was declaring when one of the admiral's men entered and murmured a few words in his ear.\n\nMargaritis rose at once. \"I ask your pardon, my liege, but we must depart. Richard of England's fleet is entering the harbor.\"\n\nPhilippe did not believe in delaying unpleasant tasks, preferring to get them over with as soon as possible. \"We will accompany you,\" he said, rising, too. \"I am eager to see the English king, who is my former brother by marriage and a valued ally.\"\n\nThe wharves, docks, and beaches were crowded with spectators by the time Philippe and the Sicilian officials arrived. Coming to a halt, they gaped at the drama being played out before them. As far as the eye could see were brightly painted warships, shields hanging over the gunwales of the galleys, banners and pennons flying from their mastheads, as the oarsmen rowed in time to the beat of drums. Trumpets were blaring and horns blasting. The sun glittered on metallic hauberks and helmets, the turquoise waters of the harbor churning with frothy waves. And with an unerring instinct for stagecraft, Richard was standing erect in the prow of the lead galley, bareheaded, the wind tousling his red-gold hair, regal and proud, the very essence of what a king ought to be, all that Philippe Capet was not.\n\nFor that was the thought, however unkind, that crossed the minds of those witnessing Richard's spectacular entry into Messina. It crossed Philippe's mind, too, as he made ready to welcome his \"brother by marriage and valued ally.\"\n\nAfter Richard's arrival, philippe made a rash decision quite out of character for him, announcing that he would leave at once for the Holy Land although the sailing season was rapidly coming to a close. But even nature seemed to be conspiring against him, for no sooner had he left the harbor than contrary winds sprang up, forcing him to abandon his impulsive plan. For better or worse, he would be wintering in Sicily with the English king.\n\nMatthew of Ajello, the new chancellor of Sicily, arrived at the royal palace in Catania several hours after Compline. He was not in a cheerful frame of mind, for it had been raining for most of the day and wet weather aggravated his gout. He knew why he'd been summoned at such an hour. Tancred had heard of the English king's arrival in Messina.\n\nHe was escorted at once up to Tancred's private chamber, where he found the king, his wife Sybilla, her brother Riccardo, the Count of Acerra, and their eldest son, Roger. So this was to be a family conference, was it? Matthew did not blame Tancred for taking his troubles to heart. God knows, he had enough of them. They'd finally put down the Saracen rebellion, and a German force led by the Bishop of Mainz had been repelled that past May. But the Saracens did not have the same loyalty to Tancred that they had to William. It was only a matter of time until Heinrich launched a full-scale invasion. And now they had the English king to deal with, a man with the Devil's own temper, and a genuine grievance against Tancred. No, Matthew understood why Tancred had so many wakeful nights and uneasy days. What he did not understand was why Tancred was suddenly balking at taking his advice. Who'd have thought that it would be so much easier to make him king than to keep him one?\n\nMatthew took a seat as close as he could get to the brazier of smoldering sea coals, for at his age, the cold and damp seemed to penetrate into his very bones. He smiled gratefully when Roger hurried over with a stool so he could prop up his throbbing foot. He was a good lad, Roger, would make a good king one day\u2014if they made no foolish mistakes now, if he could get Tancred to listen to reason.\n\nSybilla, a conscientious hostess even in the midst of a crisis, had seen to it that a cup of his favorite wine was waiting for Matthew. Before he could touch it, Tancred leaned across the table and thrust a letter toward him. \"A message from the English king,\" he said. \"Read it.\"\n\nMatthew had barely scanned the letter before Tancred erupted. \"He demands that I send his sister to him in Messina with an escort to see to her safety, that I restore all of her dower lands to her, and for good measure, that I compensate her for the 'suffering' she endured at my hands. From the hostile tone of this letter, you'd think I'd been holding the woman in an underground dungeon instead of at the Zisa Palace!\"\n\n\"For all we know, he may have been told that she was being maltreated,\" Matthew said, reading the letter again, more deliberately this time.\n\n\"I do not care if he thinks I sold her to the Caliph of Baghdad! You've read the letter, Matthew. This is not the language that one king uses to another king.\"\n\n\"No... it is the language of an angry brother, one with a formidable fleet at his command and the largest army ever to set foot on Sicilian soil.\"\n\nTancred gave Matthew a sharp look. \"I do not want to have that argument again, Matthew. You made it quite clear that you think we'd do better in seeking an alliance with England, not France. But I will not be treated as if I am of no consequence. I am an anointed king, and by God, he will acknowledge me as one!\"\n\nGlancing around the chamber, Matthew saw that Tancred had the full support of his brother-in-law. That did not surprise him, for Riccardo was a man of action, not given to contemplation. Sybilla looked worried, though, and he took hope from that, for he knew how much influence she wielded with Tancred. Roger had withdrawn into the shadows filling the corners of the room, but Matthew knew he'd do whatever his father wanted, even if he had doubts himself. Matthew decided it was time to call for reinforcements; on the morrow he'd summon the Archbishop of Monreale to Catania.\n\nTaking the letter back, Tancred was reading it again, heat rising in his face and neck. \"The English king does not seem to realize that he is not in a position to make threats. This is my kingdom, not his. And his sister is in my hands, not his. Suppose I hold her as a hostage for his good behavior?\"\n\nThere was an involuntary movement from Roger, quickly stilled. Matthew suppressed a sigh, wondering why Tancred did not see that one man's hostage was another man's pretext for a war of conquest. \"I would advise against that, my liege,\" he said quietly. \"I would advise very strongly against that.\"\n\n\"What a surprise,\" Riccardo said sarcastically. But Tancred did not reply. Instead, he crumpled the parchment in his hand, then crossed to the brazier and dropped it onto the coals. As the acrid odor of burning sheepskin filled the chamber, he stood without moving until the letter had been reduced to ashes."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEPTEMBER 1190",
                "text": "[ Palermo, Sicily ]\n\nWhere had Maman found the strength to face those endless days? How could she have borne the inactivity, she who'd always been occupied from dawn till dusk? How had she abided the isolation, not knowing what was happening in the world beyond those castle walls? That was what Joanna found most difficult\u2014the lack of news. Was Richard on the way to Outremer? Or had he been detained by another war with France? Did he still intend to stop over in Sicily? Did he even know of her plight? Had Tancred denied him the use of Sicilian ports? How secure was Tancred's throne? When would Heinrich lead a German army into Sicily to claim Constance's crown?\n\nJoanna had no illusions, did not see Heinrich von Hohenstaufen as her savior. Constance would do all she could, but would Heinrich pay her any heed? Joanna doubted it. A man known to be cold-hearted and vengeful, he would be sorely tempted to punish Richard by continuing her captivity or forcing her to make a deliberately demeaning marriage to a German lord of low rank. That was the fate Joanna most feared, being wed against her will to a husband of Tancred or Heinrich's choosing. Tancred had implied that he might reconsider her position once he'd defeated his enemies. Joanna doubted that, too. Most likely he'd marry her off to a man he could trust, just as her father had done with her brother Geoffrey's widow, Constance of Brittany.\n\nPutting up a brave front before the other women, Joanna acted as if she was certain that she'd regain her freedom. She'd not lost faith in her brother, was sure that Richard would do all in his power to rescue her. But she'd learned some painful lessons in the mysterious Ways of the Almighty, which were so often beyond the understanding of mortal men. Why had God taken William so suddenly? Their infant son? Hal and Geoffrey and Tilda? Those were questions she could not answer, so how could she know what He intended for her?\n\nAs September drew to a close, Joanna found it harder and harder to maintain her confident pose, for she was dreading the days to come. In less than a fortnight, she would mark her twenty-fifth birthday. In November, it would be a year since her husband's death. And in December, she'd begin her second year of confinement. She resorted to her talisman, whispering, Sixteen years, in those lonely hours when sleep would not come, but it was losing its potency. How, Maman? How did you endure it?\n\nJoanna was startled by the unexpected appearance of her gaoler, Hugh Lapin, as church bells were summoning the faithful to Compline. Hugh had always treated her with respect, but he'd also made sure that she was kept secluded, in adherence to his new king's command. He and his brother Jordan had profited handsomely from their support of Tancred; Hugh was now Count of Conversano and justiciar of Apulia, while Jordan fared even better, as Count of Bovino and Governor of Messina. She acknowledged Hugh's greeting courteously, for it made no sense to antagonize her warden, but her women were not as prudent. Gathering around her protectively, they glared at him with open hostility. William's dog had become Joanna's shadow after his master's death and, sensitive to the sudden tension in the chamber, Ahmer growled low in his throat. Resting her hand reassuringly upon the hound's head, Joanna sought to appear unconcerned. But all the while her mind was racing. Why was he here at such an hour? What did he want?\n\n\"My lady queen, I ask your pardon for giving you so little warning, but I had none myself. A ship is waiting in the harbor for you, ready to sail tonight. Will your women be able to pack your belongings within the hour? If not, I will send servants to be of assistance.\"\n\nJoanna's breath hissed through her teeth. \"Where am I going, my lord?\"\n\nLooking uncomfortable, he shook his head apologetically. \"I am sorry, Madame, but I am not able to tell you.\" If it were up to him, he'd have answered what was a very reasonable question under the circumstances. But he was not about to risk offending his king, for Tancred's terse command had been smoldering with barely suppressed fury.\n\nJoanna stared at him in dismay. The secrecy was alarming, as was the fact that she was being hurried out of the city under cover of night, so the citizens of Palermo would not know of her departure. What would be awaiting her at the end of this ominous voyage? A less comfortable prison than the Zisa? An unwanted husband? \"I am taking my dogs,\" she said, raising her chin defiantly.\n\nThe count was glad that he could accommodate her wishes, since he'd had no orders to the contrary. \"As you will, my lady.\" His gaze shifting then to Beatrix, he said, \"Be sure to pack all of the queen's possessions. She will not be returning to Palermo.\"\n\nTheir ship stayed close to the coast, and by the eve of Michaelmas, it was approaching the Straits of Messina. Joanna had retreated into the canvas tent set up to shelter the women, saying that she needed to comfort Alicia as they entered the turbulent waters of the Faro, where her brother had drowned. Mariam knew that Joanna had another reason for her withdrawal; she did not want the crew or the arrogant ship's master as witnesses if she became queasy. She was no longer that little girl who'd suffered so much from seasickness that she'd had to continue her marital journey by land but, like Alicia, she would take to her grave a deep-rooted fear of the sea. Mariam preferred to stay out in the open air, and she was leaning over the gunwale, watching seagulls swoop and circle overhead when the ships came into view.\n\nDuring the last year of William's reign, he'd sent the Sicilian fleet to cruise the waters of Outremer, keeping the Saracens from blockading Tyre. But Mariam was not surprised that it would have been recalled by Tancred, given his precarious grasp on power. The fleet was under the command of the renowned admiral, Margaritis of Brindisi, who happened to be Mariam's brother-in-law, for he was wed to her half-sister Marina, another of the out-of-wedlock daughters sired by the first King William. For a fleeting moment, Mariam wondered if she could coax Margaritis into speaking up for Joanna, then laughed at her own foolishness. The admiral was a man of many talents, a born sailor who'd been a highly successful pirate before he'd won royal favor, but he was more likely to sprout wings than to be swayed by an appeal to sentiment. Moreover, Mariam had not been close to Marina. Like her other half-sisters, one of whom was wed to the Emperor of Cyprus, they were all much older than Mariam, who'd been born in the last year of her father's life.\n\nAs their galley began to maneuver among the anchored ships, Mariam was pleased when Joanna joined her on deck. \"Margaritis is back from the Holy Land, Joanna. I did not realize the Sicilian fleet was so numerous, did you?\"\n\n\"That is not the Sicilian fleet.\" Joanna's voice sounded so oddly muffled that Mariam swung around to face her. Joanna was smiling, though, one of the most blindingly radiant smiles Mariam had ever seen. \"Look,\" she said, pointing. Following her gesture, Mariam gazed upward and saw, for the first time, the gold and scarlet banner flying from mastheads, silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the September sky\u2014the royal lion of England.\n\nThe ship's master had begun to regret that Messina was a deepwater port, with ships able to dock at the city wharves. If he'd anchored out in the harbor, he'd not be arguing with this troublesome woman; he knew she was a queen, but since he was not Sicilian, he wasn't impressed by her status. \"As I have explained, Madame,\" he said impatiently, \"my orders are very clear. I am to hand you over to the governor, and he will then escort you to the English king's camp.\"\n\nJoanna scowled, not liking the image conjured up by the phrase \"hand you over,\" as if she were a sack of flour to be delivered to a local baker. \"And how long do you expect me to wait? It has already\u2014\" When her frown vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile, the master had an unpleasant premonition. She was looking past him, and he turned, already suspecting what he would see. People on the wharves were clearing a path for approaching riders. They were clad in mail, the sun reflecting off the metal links of their hauberks, the man in the lead astride a snorting grey stallion that seemed bred for the battlefield, not the city streets of Messina. Realizing that he was staring defeat in the face, the master brusquely ordered his crew to lower the gangplank.\n\nJoanna wanted to greet richard in a dignified fashion; after all, she was no longer the cheeky little sister he remembered, but a wife, mother, widow, and queen. Her resolve lasted until she set foot on the dock. Swinging from the saddle, Richard tossed the reins to one of his men and strode toward her, smiling. Picking up her skirts then, she ran into his arms. They'd attracted a crowd and people were jostling to get closer, having recognized their queen. The arrival of the large English army had not been welcomed by the citizens of Messina, and already there'd been some hostile clashes between the locals and soldiers. But for now, all of those watching were beaming, touched by this dramatic reunion of brother and sister.\n\nWhen Richard released her, Joanna felt as if the air had been squeezed from her lungs, so tightly had he hugged her, and her eyes were brimming with tears, she who'd cried so rarely during those miserable months of captivity. \"Oh, Richard... I have never been so happy in all of my born days!\"\n\n\"Me, too, irlanda,\" he said, and that forgotten pet name caused her tears to fall in earnest. Her brothers had delighted in finding teasing and affectionate endearments for their baby sister; Hal had called her \"imp\" and Geoffrey \"kitten,\" but Richard had preferred \"swallow\" and \"lark\" and \"little bird,\" always in the lenga romana of their mother's homeland.\n\n\"Joanna... you must tell me the truth.\" Richard was no longer smiling. \"Have you been hurt?\"\n\nThe tight line of his mouth and the grim tone told her what he was asking, and she hastened to shake her head. \"No, Richard, no. My honor is quite intact, I promise you. To give the Devil his due, Tancred saw to it that I was always treated with respect. My confinement was a comfortable one,\" she insisted, thinking again of their mother's captivity, and then she grinned. \"Mind you, the wretched man did hold me hostage and steal my dower lands, so I'd not want to praise him too much!\"\n\nRichard put his arm around her shoulders again, saying, \"Well, you're safe now, lass.\" And in the security of her brother's embrace, Joanna could finally admit to herself just how frightened she'd been.\n\nRichard had taken Joanna to the nunnery of St Mary's, for he was lodging in a house on the outskirts of the city, the royal palace having been given over to the French king and his entourage. After a celebratory meal in the guest hall, the other women had retired for the evening, while Joanna and Richard sought to fill in the gaps of the past fourteen years. Only Mariam had not gone to bed. Sometime after midnight, she'd dozed off, awakening with a start to find Joanna leaning over her.\n\n\"I told you not to wait up for me,\" she chided, as Mariam sat up, yawning.\n\n\"And when do I ever listen to you? What time is it? Is it dawn yet?\"\n\n\"Soon,\" Joanna said, climbing onto the bed beside her. \"There was so much to say, Mariam! I wanted to tell him about William and my life in Sicily, and I wanted to know about the strife that tore our family apart. But Richard had few answers for me, not when it came to our father and brothers.\" Joanna pulled off her veil and shifted so Mariam could free her hair from its pins. \"It is almost as if some evil spell was cast upon them all....\"\n\n\"And is your brother as you remembered him?\"\n\n\"Indeed\u2014confident, prideful, amusing, and stubborn,\" Joanna joked, leaning back with a contented sigh as Mariam began to brush out her hair. \"He says we cannot stay in Messina, that it is not safe. There have already been fights between his men and the townspeople and he fears it will only get worse, so he means to find us a secure lodging across the Faro. I told him I wanted to remain here in Messina with him, but he would not heed me. As I said,\" she smiled, \"stubborn!\"\n\n\"I'd say that was a family trait,\" Mariam teased, and Joanna gave the other woman a quick, heartfelt hug.\n\n\"You are as dear to me as my own sisters,\" she proclaimed, \"and I will never forget your loyalty in my time of need. To prove it, I am going to divulge a secret. But you must promise not to speak of it to anyone else.\"\n\n\"Of course I promise. What is it?\" Mariam prodded, for she shared Joanna's love of mysteries.\n\n\"I've told you about Richard's long-standing plight-troth with the French king's sister. Well, it will never come to pass. I know, hardly a surprise, for it is obvious to all but the French king that Richard has no intention whatsoever of marrying Alys. That is not the secret. This is\u2014that Richard has agreed to wed Berengaria, the daughter of Sancho, the King of Navarre, and she is coming to join him in Sicily.\"\n\nMariam knew more of Navarre than most people, for William's mother had been a princess of that Spanish kingdom, Sancho's sister. \"Then you'll be getting a cousin as well as a sister by marriage,\" she said, \"since her father was William's uncle.\" The Navarrese connection made the news more interesting than it would otherwise have been, but she was still surprised that Joanna seemed so excited about the arrival of a woman she did not know\u2014until Joanna told her the rest, the heart of her secret.\n\n\"And guess who is bringing her to Richard? My mother! Yesterday I was not sure that I'd ever see any of my family again and now... now I have not only been reunited with my brother, but my mother is on her way to Sicily, too.\" Stretching out on the bed, Joanna confided, \"I never dared hope for so much....\"\n\nMariam was more eager to meet the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine than Sancho's daughter, and she was delighted that Joanna would be given this rare opportunity to see her mother again; a foreign marriage usually meant lifelong exile for highborn young women like Joanna. Rising, she crossed the chamber to pour two cups of the night wine sent over by the abbess. \"I am so pleased for you, dearest. Fortune's Wheel has truly turned with a vengeance, has it not?\"\n\nWhen Joanna did not answer, Mariam glanced over her shoulder, and then smiled, for the young queen had fallen asleep in the time it had taken to lay her head upon her pillow. Returning to the bed, Mariam covered her with a blanket. \"Sleep well,\" she murmured, \"and God bless your brother for justifying your faith in him.\"\n\nRichard returned to the nunnery the next day, bringing two kinsmen for Joanna to meet: their maternal cousin, Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny, and their paternal cousin, Morgan ap Ranulf. But Richard and Joanna had soon withdrawn to the nunnery's parlor for more private conversation, as they'd just scratched the surface the day before. Left to amuse themselves, Andr\u00e9 began a dice game with several of their knights and Morgan took Joanna's dog out into the cloisters.\n\nHe was intrigued by Ahmer's appearance, for the Sicilian cirneco had ears like a rabbit and fur as red as a fox. Sicily was an unusual land in all respects, so it seemed only natural that even its dogs would be unlike dogs elsewhere. Morgan had never seen palm trees before, or birds that looked like feathered jewels, or churches that had once been mosques, giving the city an exotic aura all its own. The women were exotic, too, sashaying about the streets in silks and fluttering veils, bejeweled fingers decorated with henna, wellborn Christian ladies choosing to dress like Saracens. Morgan wondered if it was Sicily's alien aspects that seemed to unsettle so many of Richard's men. It did not help that the Messinians were overwhelmingly of Greek heritage, followers of the Greek Orthodox Church. Were they even true Christians? All knew that Rome was God's City, after all, not Constantinople.\n\nAs a Welshman, Morgan had an outsider's perspective, so he was willing to give the Messinians the benefit of the doubt, at least until they proved him wrong. But in less than a week, most of his comrades and fellow crusaders had become convinced that the citizens of Messina were bandits in the guise of merchants, vintners, and shopkeepers. Seated on a bench under a fragrant citrus tree in the convent's guest cloisters, within sight of the turquoise waters of the straits, Morgan thought he'd rarely looked upon a scene so lovely or so tranquil, although he suspected that the tranquility was an illusion, a candle soon to be guttered out by the storms gathering along the horizon\u2014the growing hostility between the townspeople and the crusaders.\n\nSeveral of their knights had entered the cloisters, plucked an orange from a nearby tree, and began a boisterous game of catch. They paused, though, at sight of the woman gliding up the walkway. She attracted Morgan's eye, too, for she was a vision in embroidered gold silk, with jangling bracelets, gilt slippers, and a delicately woven veil the color of a sunset sky. He'd been throwing sticks for Ahmer to chase, and he reached now for another one, meaning to toss it into the vision's path, saying softly, \"Go get it, boy. Act as my lure.\" But one of the knights was quicker, swaggering across the mead to intercept the woman as she passed. Morgan shook his head, marveling that men could be such fools. Her elegant garb proclaimed that she was of high rank, either a nunnery guest or a member of the queen's own household, definitely not someone to be accosted as if she were a street whore. \"Come on, Ahmer,\" he said. \"Let's go rescue a damsel in distress.\"\n\nHe soon saw there was no need of that. She turned upon the would-be lothario with such outrage that none could doubt her privileged status. Morgan was still out of hearing range, but he could see the knight wilting under her scorn. By the time Morgan reached them, the man was in full retreat, his friends were roaring with laughter, and the woman was threatening him with the fate that all males most dreaded. To the Welshman's astonishment, she switched then from fluent, colloquial French to an alien tongue, so foreign that he decided it could only be Arabic.\n\nAt the sound of Morgan's footsteps on the pathway, she spun about, ready to take on another antagonist, and he hastily raised his hands in playful surrender. \"I come in peace, my lady. My dog and I thought\u2014erroneously\u2014that you might be in need of our assistance. But I soon saw the poor fellow was the one needing help!\"\n\nShe was taller than many women, with more curves than was fashionable, at least in France and England, her face half hidden by her veil. He was fascinated by what he could see, though, for her eyes were so light a shade of brown that they appeared golden in the sun. She'd glanced down at the dog, saying, \"What strange company are you keeping these days, Ahmer?\" But then she turned those mesmerizing eyes upon him, and he found he could not look away. \"I must thank you then,\" she said, \"for your good manners, since so many men have no manners at all.\"\n\n\"I'll give you no argument about that,\" he said cheerfully. \"May I pose a question, though? I could not help overhearing some of the tongue-lashing you gave that fool. Was the tongue Arabic?\"\n\nThose almond-shaped eyes seemed to narrow, ever so slightly. \"Yes,\" she said, \"it was Arabic. No other language can match its creative insults or its colorful curses.\"\n\n\"Mayhap you could teach me one or two of them, then?\" Morgan gave her his most beguiling smile. \"In return, I will gladly teach you a few of mine.\"\n\n\"I rather doubt that you know any I do not.\"\n\n\"Ah, but do you speak Welsh, my lady? Or English?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot say that I do. In fact, I've never even heard either of those tongues spoken.\"\n\n\"The pleasure is mine, then. Beth yw eich enw? Thou may me blisse bringe.\"\n\n\"Judging from your honeyed tone, I do not think those are curses, sir knight.\"\n\n\"You've caught me out, my lady. I asked your name and then I dared to hope that you may bring me bliss. A smile would do it.\"\n\n\"You are easily satisfied, then.\" But as she reached down to pat Ahmer, her veil slipped, as if by chance, and his pulse quickened, for she had skin as golden as her eyes and a full, ripe mouth made for a man's kisses. She did not attempt to replace the veil, instead saying coolly, \"Staring like that may not be rude in your homeland, but it is very rude in mine.\"\n\n\"Mea culpa, demoiselle. But I could not help myself. For you are truly the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" She sounded very skeptical. \"I assume you are one of King Richard's men. So surely you've met his sister, the queen.\"\n\n\"Yes, I had that honor this morn.\"\n\n\"Then either your vision is flawed or you are a liar, for the Lady Joanna is far more beautiful than I am.\" Drawing the veil across her face again, she moved around him and began to walk away.\n\nMorgan was not about to give up yet. \"Yes,\" he called after her, \"but can the Lady Joanna swear in Arabic?\"\n\nShe didn't pause, nor did she answer him. But Morgan watched her go with a grin, for he was sure he'd heard a soft murmur of laughter floating back on the breeze.\n\nJoanna had no trouble reconciling her memories with reality; the nineteenyear-old brother who'd escorted her to Marseille and the waiting Sicilian envoys was recognizable in the thirty-three-year-old man who'd pried open the door of her gilded prison. But for Richard, those fourteen years had wrought dramatic changes in the little girl he'd remembered with such affection. \"Are you sure you're my sister?\" he joked. \"I have never seen such a remarkable transformation. Well, not since I last saw a butterfly burst from its cocoon!\"\n\n\"Are you calling me a caterpillar?\" Joanna feigned indignation, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, so easily had they slipped back into their familiar family roles. \"I was an adorable child!\"\n\n\"You were spoiled rotten, irlanda, for you took shameless advantage of your position as the baby of the family. You managed the lot of us like so many puppets.\" Richard paused for comic effect. \"Though I suppose that was good training for marriage.\"\n\n\"Indeed it was,\" she agreed, for she believed that a woman with brothers had a decided advantage over other women when it came to understanding the male mind. \"But I was not the baby of the family. That was Johnny.\"\n\nRichard did not want to talk about John, for he knew that would inevitably lead to further conversation about Hal and Geoffrey and then their father. So far he'd been successful in avoiding a serious discussion of their family feuding, but he knew sooner or later he'd have to answer her questions. Just not yet. He sensed she'd be hurt by the truth\u2014that he'd detested Hal and Geoffrey\u2014for she'd had an inexplicable fondness for the pair of them. She did not know how Hal had plotted with rebel lords in Aquitaine to overthrow him, how Geoffrey had twice led armies into his duchy, once with Hal and then with Johnny. He held no grudge against Johnny, for he'd been only seventeen at the time. But he was not sorry that Hal and Geoffrey were dead. Nor was he sorry that their father was dead, although he did regret that the ending had been so bitter. He'd not wanted it to be that way, had been given no choice. How could he expect Joanna to understand all this, though? A pity their mother would not be here for months. It would have been so much easier if he could have left the explanations to her.\n\nTo deflect any questions about their family's internal warfare, he said quickly, \"When I warned Tancred that you must be released straightaway, I demanded the return of your dower lands, too. Moreover, I told him to include a generous sum as recompense for your ordeal.\"\n\n\"Did you truly, Richard? Very good!\" By Joanna's reckoning, Tancred owed her a huge debt, and she thought it was wonderful that she had so formidable a debt collector in Richard. \"Tancred owes you a debt, too.\"\n\nRichard was immediately interested. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"William died without a will. But he meant to leave our father a vast legacy, to be used in freeing Jerusalem from the infidels. He would have wanted that legacy to pass to you now that Papa is dead, for the fate of the Holy City mattered greatly to him.\"\n\n\"Do you know what he intended to bequeath, Joanna?\"\n\n\"Indeed I do. A twelve-foot table of solid gold, twenty-four gold cups and plates, a silk tent large enough to hold two hundred men, sixty thousand measures of wheat, barley, and wine, and one hundred armed galleys, with enough provisions to feed their crews for two years.\"\n\n\"Bless you, lass!\" Richard swept her up into a jubilant embrace. \"I bled England white for this holy quest, would have pawned the crown jewels if Maman had let me. A bequest like this is worth more than I can begin to tell you, and might well make your husband the savior of Outremer.\"\n\n\"William would have been so pleased to hear you say that.\" Tilting her head so she could look up into his face, she gave him a smile that somehow managed to hold sadness, satisfaction, mischief, and even a hint of malice. \"And if Tancred balks at honoring the legacy, I might remember other items that William wanted to bestow upon you. Be sure to tell him that, Richard.\"\n\nRichard was laughing, delighted to discover that his little sister shared the family flair for revenge. But just then they were interrupted by one of his men with surprising news. The French king had arrived to pay his respects to Joanna.\n\nPhilippe was not looking forward to his courtesy call upon Joanna, for he found it stressful to spend any time in Richard's company. Moreover, he was bone-weary of the fuss Richard had made over his sister's predicament, for he was convinced that the English king had an ulterior motive for his most innocent act. Since he found it hard to believe that Richard could still be so fond of a woman he had not seen for fourteen years, he'd concluded that the other man was using Joanna in a subtle attempt to make him look bad, wanting people to contrast Richard's concern for Joanna with his own lack of concern for his youngest sister, Agnes. He found it very irritating. What was he supposed to have done\u2014launched a war against the Greek Empire? Led an army to lay siege to Constantinople?\n\nBut like it or not, he felt obligated to welcome Richard's sister to Messina, knowing that failure to do so would have made him seem petty and discourteous; she was a queen, after all. Accompanied by his cousin Hugh, the Duke of Burgundy, Jaufre of Perche, and Mathieu de Montmorency, he was in a better mood by the time they reached the convent, for they'd been cheered in the streets by the townspeople. The Messinians were showing far more friendliness to the French than to their English allies, and Philippe was gratified that they had not been seduced by Richard's usual theatrics.\n\nThe abbess herself escorted them into the guest hall. The irrepressible young Mathieu came to an abrupt halt at sight of the woman standing by Richard's side. \"My God, she's gorgeous!\" Jaufre had taken the teenager under his wing, having seen how easily he irked Philippe, and he gave the boy a reproachful look, for lavishing praise on Richard's sister was no way to regain the French king's favor. But when he glanced toward Philippe, Jaufre was astonished to see that he was staring at Joanna with the same rapt expression as Mathieu. He was even more astonished when Philippe strode forward to greet Richard with impeccable courtesy and Joanna with outright enthusiasm.\n\n\"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Madame. I do have a bone to pick with your lord brother, though, for he never told me how very beautiful you were.\"\n\nThis was familiar ground to Joanna, who was an accomplished flirt. \"My brother has indeed been remiss, my lord king, for he did not tell me how gallant you were, either.\" And when Philippe offered his arm, she allowed him to escort her toward a window-seat so they could converse in greater privacy.\n\nThis was a side of Philippe that none had ever seen before, not even his own men, and they watched in amazed amusement as the dour French king was suddenly transformed into a courtier, ordering wine to be brought for Joanna, displaying so much animation that he seemed to shed years before their eyes, reminding them that he was but twenty-five and in need of a new queen to grace his throne and his bed.\n\nRichard showed no obvious reaction to the French king's unexpected interest in his sister, for he'd long ago mastered that most valuable of kingly skills\u2014showing the world only what he wanted it to see. But those who knew him well were not deceived, and the Duke of Burgundy could not resist sauntering over to make mischief. \"Our king and your sister seem right taken with each other, even smitten. Passing strange, the ways of fate. Who knows, mayhap there might be a double wedding in the future, you and the Lady Alys and my cousin Philippe and the Lady Joanna.\"\n\nRichard had long borne the Duke of Burgundy a legitimate grievance, for Hugh and the Count of Toulouse had joined forces with Hal in his attempt to lay claim to Aquitaine, hastily abandoning that sinking ship once Hal had been stricken with a mortal ailment. Richard had not called the duke to account, but he rarely forgave a wrong and never forgot one. He was not about to give Hugh the satisfaction of seeing his barb had drawn blood, though, and refused to take the bait, saying only, \"Passing strange, indeed. Life is filled with turns and twists and we never know what lies around the next bend in the road.\" All the while thinking that Hugh would one day find an unpleasant surprise awaiting him on that road, and thinking, too, that he'd see Joanna wed to Lucifer himself ere he'd let her marry Philippe Capet.\n\n\"Joanna, we need to talk. I think it is only fair to tell you that under no circumstances would I consent to a union between you and the French king. The man is sly, craven, and untrustworthy\u2014\" Richard got no further, for Joanna had begun to laugh.\n\n\"Philippe and me? Good Heavens, Richard, the thought never crossed my mind!\"\n\nRichard felt a surge of relief. \"I am very glad to hear that, lass! The way he was doting upon you, I half expected him to make an offer for you then and there, and I was not the only one who thought that. But if you had no interest in him, why were you encouraging his courtship?\"\n\n\"I was flirting with him, Richard, not inviting him into my bed! What was I supposed to do\u2014publicly humiliate him by rejecting his overtures? Not only would that have been the height of bad manners, it would have been foolish, too. Offending a king is never a wise move, especially when that king is supposed to be my brother's ally.\"\n\nHe looked at her in surprise, for few people dared to speak so forthrightly to him. \"You are right, of course,\" he conceded. \"Since Philippe can vex me merely by breathing, you can imagine how much I enjoyed watching him pant over you like a lovesick calf. I'd not trust him with the lowliest of sumpter horses, much less my sister!\"\n\n\"I am glad that you value me more than a sumpter horse,\" she said, seeking to match his playful tone, although she'd not been misled by it. She found it troubling that he was trapped in an alliance with a man he scorned; that did not bode well for their success in the Holy Land. But there was naught she could do about it. Even if Philippe was truly smitten with her\u2014and she very much doubted that\u2014it would change nothing. According to Richard, their father had saved Philippe's kingship repeatedly in the early years of his reign, protecting him from his mistakes of youth and inexperience. And yet he had turned upon Henry without hesitation when the opportunity arose, hounding him to that wretched end at Chinon. A man so utterly incapable of gratitude was not one to be swayed by lust.\n\n\"You need not worry, Richard. Philippe let his guard down this afternoon, and I daresay he is already regretting it. I am sure he quickly realized that my charms could not compensate for the misery of having you as his brother-in-law.\"\n\nRichard blinked and then it was his turn to laugh. By God, she was her mother's daughter. \"I hope you are right. It would be awkward if he actually made an offer for you. To save his pride, I'd have to tell him you were already spoken for, and then I'd need to find a husband for you in such haste that any fool with a pulse would do.\"\n\n\"It is reassuring to know you'll have my best interests at heart, Brother,\" Joanna said wryly. \"But I'd rather you not be in such a hurry to marry me off. I do not know what the future holds for me. I am eager to find out, though.\"\n\n\"I want to talk with you about that, Joanna. It is my hope that you'd be willing to accompany me to Outremer. I think your presence would be a comfort to Berengaria.\"\n\nHe was asking a great deal, for life was not easy for women in the Holy Land, not even for queens. Just getting there would mean severe hardships and danger\u2014and a daunting sea voyage. But Joanna did not hesitate, for how could she refuse him? If not for Richard, she'd have had no future at all. And she found it rather touching that he'd realized Berengaria would be in need of comfort; she would not have expected that of him.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"of course I am willing, Richard. I owe you so much, welcome a chance to do something for you in return. Besides, it will be a great adventure!\"\n\n\"Yes, it will,\" he said, pleased that she understood that. \"You are indeed a sister to be proud of, Joanna. And who knows,\" he added with a grin, \"mayhap we'll find you a husband in the Holy Land!\"\n\n\"So you think Saladin may be in need of another wife?\" she riposted and they both laughed, for they were finding in each other what had often been lacking for the Angevins: a sense of family solidarity.\n\nThe following day, richard crossed the Faro, took possession of the town of Bagnara, and installed Joanna and her household in the Augustinian priory of St Mary, with a strong guard of knights and men-at-arms to see to her safety. Returning to Messina the next morning, he then seized the Greek Orthodox monastery of the Holy Saviour, located on a strategic spit of land outside the harbor; summarily evicting the monks, he turned the abbey into a storage facility for his siege engines, provisions, and horses. The citizens of Messina were enraged by his high-handed action, but alarmed, too, for now that he held both Bagnara and the monastery, he controlled the straits, and they began to wonder what his intentions were. So did Tancred."
            },
            {
                "title": "OCTOBER 1190",
                "text": "[ Messina, Sicily ]\n\nIt began innocently enough, with a dispute between one of Richard's soldiers and a woman selling loaves of bread. When he accused her of cheating him, she became enraged, and he was set upon by her friends and neighbors, badly beaten by citizens very resentful of these insolent foreigners in their midst. They then shut the gates of Messina to the English and put up chains to bar the inner harbor to their ships. Infuriated that crusaders should be treated so shabbily, the English were all for forcing their way into the city. Only Richard's appearance upon the scene prevented a riot. After dispersing his angry men with some difficulty, he summoned the French king and the Sicilian officials to an urgent meeting the next day at his lodgings, in hopes of resolving these grievances through diplomacy.\n\nThe Messinians were represented by their governor, Jordan Lapin, Admiral Margaritis, and the archbishops of Messina, Monreale, and Reggio. The French king was accompanied by the Duke of Burgundy, the counts of Nevers and Louvain, Jaufre of Perche, and the bishops of Chartres and Langres. Richard's companions included the archbishops of Rouen and Auch, and the bishops of Bayonne and Evreux. But before the conference began, he drew the French king aside for a private word.\n\n\"We cannot sail for Outremer until the favorable winds return in the spring. Since we're going to be stuck here all winter, we cannot allow these stupid squabbles to continue. It will help immeasurably if you and I present a united front, Philippe. I assume I can count upon your support in these negotiations.\"\n\n\"My men have encountered no troubles with the Messinians. The strife did not begin until your army arrived, so I'd look to them as the source of contention, not the local people.\"\n\n\"How many men do you have with you\u2014less than a thousand? I doubt that the French would be such welcome guests if they numbered as many as mine.\"\n\n\"Or mayhap it is simpler than that, Richard. Mayhap your men are not as well disciplined as mine.\"\n\n\"Need I remind you that Saladin is the enemy, not me?\"\n\n\"And need I remind you that your men took the cross to fight the Saracens, not the Sicilians?\"\n\nAnd on that sour note, the peace conference began.\n\nThe discussions were going better than Richard had expected, solely due to the diplomatic efforts of one man, the Archbishop of Monreale. Jordan Lapin and Admiral Margaritis were openly hostile, complaining angrily about the bad behavior of the English. Philippe declared that the French were impartial and offered to mediate, but he also agreed with all of the Sicilian accusations, much to Richard's fury. Only the archbishop seemed willing to concede that there were wrongs on both sides; he alone did not reject Richard's proposal to set fixed prices for bread and wine, and did his best to calm rising tempers.\n\nJordan Lapin was not as conciliatory. \"Prices have risen because the demand for food has increased dramatically, not because our people are seeking to cheat your men. I should think that would be obvious to anyone with a brain in his head!\"\n\n\"What is obvious,\" Richard said curtly, \"is that something is amiss when a loaf of bread suddenly costs more than three chickens, or the price of wine triples from one day to the next. Your king, may God assoil him, often said that nothing was more important than the recovery of Jerusalem. He would have been appalled that his subjects are seeking to defraud Christian pilgrims, men who've taken the cross.\"\n\nJordan glared across the table at the English king. \"My lord William would have been appalled to see those 'Christian pilgrims' behaving like barbarians in a city of his realm. And your lords do nothing to rein them in. When I complained to one of your barons about the way his men were accosting our women, he laughed. He laughed and said they were not trying to seduce the wives, just to annoy the husbands!\"\n\nRichard hastily brought his wine cup to his mouth, but not in time to hide a grin. \"They are soldiers, not saints. Yes, some of them are going to flirt with women and get drunk and brawl in your taverns. But I can control my army as long as they do not think they are being gulled or duped. That is why it is so important to fix prices. Nor are your people blameless in this. I've heard them cursing my men in the marketplace, jeering and calling them 'long-tailed English.'\"\n\nThe governor interrupted to point out that the English were just as offensive, using the insulting term \"Griffon\" to refer to citizens of Greek heritage. Richard ignored him, turning his attention to Margaritis. \"I've been told that your crews roam the streets, my lord admiral, seeking to start fights with any English they find.\"\n\nMargaritis shrugged. \"They are sailors, not saints.\" As their eyes met, the Greek admiral and the English king shared a brief moment of understanding, one soldier to another. It did not last, though. The governor reclaimed control of the conversation, insisting that Richard pay for property damages and threatening to declare Messina off-limits to all of his men. The Archbishop of Monreale again stepped into the breach, and was attempting to find common ground when the door burst open.\n\n\"My liege, you must come at once!\" Baldwin de Bethune was flushed and out of breath. \"Hugh de Lusignan's lodging is under attack!\"\n\nThe de Lusignans were some of Richard's most troublesome vassals, but they were his vassals. Jumping to his feet, he started toward the door, pausing only when the governor demanded to know what he meant to do. \"I mean to do what you are either unable or unwilling to do, my lord count,\" he said sharply. \"I am going to restore order in Messina.\"\n\nTurning at the sound of his name, Morgan saw a friend, Warin Fitz Gerald, coming toward him. \"I just heard about the attack on de Lusignan's house. The king chased the mob off?\"\n\nMorgan nodded. \"They fled when he rode up with some of his knights. But he has run out of patience, Warin, and he returned to his lodgings to arm himself. I think he means to take the city.\"\n\n\"About time! The lot of them are worse than vultures, eager to pluck our bones clean, and if one of our men dares to venture off on his own, he's likely to end up dead in an alley or floating facedown in the harbor.\" Warin paused, giving the younger man a quizzical look. \"So why are you not happier about it, Morgan? We get to teach those grasping louts a much-needed lesson and have some fun doing it. Yet you look about as cheerful as a Martinmas stoat.\" Warin was genuinely puzzled, for he knew the Welshman was no battle virgin; he'd bloodied his sword in the service of both the old king and Richard's brother Geoffrey. \"Why are you loath to punish the Griffons as they deserve?\"\n\n\"I am not.\" Morgan hesitated, not sure he could make Warin understand.\n\n\"When the king ordered the townsmen to disperse, they defied him at first, jeering and cursing and even daring to make that evil-eye gesture of theirs. He was infuriated by their defiance, angrier than I've ever seen him, and I've seen him as hot as molten lead.\"\n\n\"So? Kings do not take well to mockery. What of it?\"\n\nMorgan paused again. How could he admit that he had misgivings about Richard's judgment, that he feared Richard's temper might lead him into doing something rash? He was spared the need to respond, though, for Richard had just ridden into the camp. The knights of his household were gathering around him, and Morgan and Warin hastened to join them. By the time they reached him, Richard had just chosen Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny to lead the assault upon the town gates.\n\nAndr\u00e9 was delighted, but surprised, too, for he'd never known Richard not to be the first one into the breach. \"We will need time to make a battering ram, though\u2014\"\n\nRichard was already shaking his head. \"No... take axes and strike at the gate hinges. That will keep them occupied whilst I lead some of our men around to the west. There is a postern gate in the wall there and the approach is so steep that it is not well guarded. We ought to be able to force an entry easily enough, and once we're inside, we can open the gates for the rest of you whilst our galleys attack the city from the sea.\"\n\nThat met with enthusiastic approval. Morgan felt a rush of relief, realizing his qualms had been needless. There was nothing haphazard or impulsive about the battle plan Richard had just proposed; it was well conceived and tactically sound. But he had to ask. \"How do you know about that postern gate, sire?\"\n\n\"The day after my arrival in Messina, I went out and inspected the city's defenses.\"\n\nMorgan wasn't sure what surprised him the most\u2014that Richard had the foresight to anticipate trouble with the townspeople, or that he sounded so coolly matter-of-fact now. It was as if the liquid fire of Sicily's great volcano had suddenly iced over, he marveled, so dramatic had been this transformation from enraged king to calculating battle commander, and when Richard began to select men for that covert assault upon the postern gate, he was among the first to volunteer.\n\nThe ascent was a steep one, but once they reached the postern gate, they discovered that Richard was right and it was unguarded. A startled sentry did not appear until their axes had smashed it open, and his cry of alarm was choked off by a crossbow bolt to the throat. Scrambling through the shattered timbers, they followed Richard into a ghost city, for at first it seemed like one. The street was deserted, and the few civilians they encountered fled before them. They advanced cautiously, knowing word would quickly spread of their intrusion, and people were soon shouting and cursing from open windows. Before long, rocks and crockery and arrows were raining down upon them, but they fended off the aerial onslaught with their shields. One bold householder flung the contents of a chamber pot and drenched an unlucky soldier, much to his outrage and the amusement of the others. He wanted to exact vengeance then and there, but was sternly reminded that they had more pressing matters. He was still arguing about it, though, when one of Richard's scouts came racing back, warning that a large group of men were gathering ahead.\n\nRichard dispatched some of his knights toward a nearby alley, saying it led into a street that ran parallel to their own. Morgan was one of the men chosen for this diversion and they took off at a run, hoping to cover as much distance as possible while they still had the element of surprise. Impressed by the thoroughness of their king's reconnaissance, for the alley had indeed opened into a narrow lane, they hastened along it until they came to a wider cross street. By now they could hear the unmistakable clamor of conflict and they followed the sound, soon coming onto a chaotic scene.\n\nSeveral carts had been overturned to form an impromptu barricade. The townsmen crouching behind it outnumbered Richard's knights and crossbowmen, but they were mismatched against battle-seasoned, mail-clad warriors and were already giving ground by the time Morgan and his companions assailed them from the rear. Within moments the skirmish was over, the burghers in flight. Hurrying to keep pace with their king, the men followed him into another alley, barely a sword's length in depth, and saw ahead of them one of the city gates.\n\nHere they encountered fierce resistance from the guards, and in the bloody street battle that ensued, men on both sides began to die. Morgan was caught up in the emotional maelstrom peculiar to combat, a familiar surge of raw sensation in which excitement was indistinguishable from fear. A soldier was lunging forward, shouting in Greek. Morgan was yelling, too, Welsh curses interspersed with the battle cry of the English Royal House, \"Dex aie!\"\n\nHis foe's sword was already raised high. It swept down before Morgan could get his shield up to block the blow and he took the hit on his shoulder. A sword could slice through mail with lethal force, but only if it was a direct strike. Morgan was blessed that day, for the aim was off and the blade's edge skipped over the metal links instead of cutting into flesh and bone. He staggered under the impact, somehow kept his balance, and slashed at his adversary's leg. There was a spurt of blood and a scream. As the man's knee buckled, Morgan slammed him with his shield, then hurdled his crumpled body and went to the aid of Baldwin de Bethune, whose sword blade had just broken against an enemy axe.\n\nBaldwin's foe turned swiftly upon Morgan, swinging his axe to hook the edge of the Welshman's shield. But Morgan had been trained to thwart just such a gambit. Instead of instinctively resisting, he let himself be pulled toward his opponent and counterthrust, his sword cutting through the other man's mail coif and slicing off his ear before the blade bit into his neck. As the man fell, Baldwin snatched up his axe, giving Morgan a grateful grin before the tide of battle swept them apart.\n\nSome of Morgan's companions were already starting to loot bodies, but there were still several pockets of fighting, as savage as any drunken alehouse brawl. Morgan caught sight of his king then, just in time to see Richard perform a classic maneuver known as a \"Cut of Wrath,\" making a powerful, downward diagonal strike that severed his attacker's arm at the elbow. Without even pausing for breath, he whirled to take on a new opponent, this one wielding a spear. Morgan started toward them in alarm, for he'd never seen a spear so long. It looked almost like a lance, and he thought it could be difficult for a swordsman to counter its greater reach. But as the man charged him, Richard leaped aside and then brought his sword down upon the weapon, chopping off the spearhead before the man could react. He gaped at his demolished spear, then spun around and fled. Morgan was no less astonished, for the shaft had been reinforced with strips of metal and yet Richard had sliced through it as if it were butter.\n\nAs he reached Richard, a cheer went up, for their men had taken control of the gate. As they flung it open, their troops streamed into the city, and they raised another cheer, knowing that Messina was theirs.\n\nRichard had picked up the broken spear. \"Look at this, Morgan. Have you ever seen such a weapon?\"\n\nMorgan hadn't. Instead of a spearhead, a hooked blade had been attached to the haft. It was undeniably interesting, but it seemed neither the time nor the place to have a casual conversation about Sicilian innovations in weaponry. Richard had not waited for him to respond, though, and was already beckoning to Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny. \"Send some of our knights to guard the royal palace. If our lads go looking for booty there, Philippe will have a stark raving fit. There's likely to be more fighting, too, so make sure that our men do not start celebrating until it's safe to do so.\"\n\n\"I'll see to it,\" Andr\u00e9 promised. \"But afterward... they can have their sport?\" Richard nodded. \"Yes, but do not let it get out of hand, Andr\u00e9. Remind them that we're going to have to spend the winter here. Our men can have their fun, but keep it within reason. No slaughtering the citizens if they're not offering resistance.\"\n\nMorgan was impressed by Richard's composure in the midst of madness. His own emotions were still in turmoil. He'd killed at least one man and had nearly been killed himself, good reasons to get drunk, he decided. But then he had a better idea and hurried after Richard, who was heading toward the harbor, where smoke had begun to spiral up into the sky.\n\n\"My liege, someone ought to bring word to your sister that the city has been captured. She'll be able to see the smoke from Bagnara and will be fearing the worst.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" Richard conceded. \"Good thinking, Cousin. Are you volunteering for the mission?\" When Morgan nodded eagerly, Richard slapped him playfully on the shoulder. \"You'd best wash up first, then. Women tend to be squeamish about blood and gore.\"\n\nBy the time they reached the harbor, the smoke had become so thick that an early dusk seemed to have settled over the city, the sun utterly obscured by those billowing black clouds. Richard was relieved to discover that the town was not on fire; it was the Sicilian fleet that was burning. Several of his admirals were already on the scene and they began complaining to him about the actions of the French, declaring they'd assisted the townspeople in keeping their ships from entering the inner harbor.\n\nSeeing that Richard would be occupied for some time to come, Morgan sank down on a nearby mounting block. All around him was bedlam. Soldiers were looting shops and houses, gleefully carrying off the riches of Messina\u2014candlesticks, furs, jewelry, bolts of expensive cloth, spices. They were also helping themselves to sides of bacon, sacks of flour, and baskets of eggs, claiming livestock, chickens, and horses. Some were helping themselves to local women, too, for screams were echoing from houses and alleyways. From where he sat, Morgan could see bodies sprawled in the street. He hoped he'd not lost any friends in the fighting. He was more shaken than he was willing to admit, and he decided to find a tavern, a public bathhouse, and a boat to ferry him across the Faro, in that order.\n\nJoanna had watched in dismay as smoke darkened the sky above Messina. She was not surprised when the English lion was soon flying over the city, for Richard was the most celebrated soldier in Christendom. His sister rejoiced in his victory. But the queen could take no pleasure in the sight of a foreign flag on Sicilian soil. She did not doubt that the townspeople of Messina had been vexing, belligerent, and eager for profit, for they were known to be like that with their fellow citizens. They were still William's subjects, her subjects, however, and she grieved that it had come to this.\n\nShe'd never expected that she'd have to choose between her two lives, her two worlds. But her precarious position was brought home to her by the Bishop of Bagnara, who'd demanded that she intercede on behalf of the Messinians and berated her as he'd not have dared to berate Richard. He was so incensed that he'd inflamed her own temper; she found herself fiercely defending her brother, burning yet another of her Sicilian bridges. After his angry departure, she'd remained at a window in her bedchamber, staring out across the straits at Messina for hours, her eyes blurring with tears.\n\nMorgan's arrival was the only flicker of light in a very dark day. Heedless of convention, she had him brought to her private chamber, greeting him so warmly that he actually blushed, for he was somewhat in awe of this beautiful cousin whom he'd known for less than a week. Joanna's common sense told her that Morgan could not tell her what she yearned to hear. He could not deny that Messina had fallen to Richard's troops. But she hoped that he might be able to explain the bloodshed in a way that would enable her to accept it as inevitable and thus reconcile her divided loyalties.\n\nIt had not occurred to Morgan that she might not see Messina's fall in the same light that he did\u2014as a triumph. The aftermath of battle could be intoxicating, and his senses were still reeling from the sweetness of his reprieve, as well as from several flagons of spiced Messinian wine. The sight of Joanna reminded him of the feats her brother had performed that day, and he launched into an enthusiastic account of the battle, lavishly praising the courage of their men and boasting of the ease with which they'd captured the city.\n\n\"Your brother's strategy was brilliant, my lady. He is by far the best battle commander I've ever seen, leading the assault himself, always in the very thick of the fighting.\" He started to tell her that more than twenty of Richard's own household troops had died in the attack but decided it was better she not know that. \"The king is utterly without fear and I understand now why his men vow they'd follow him to Hell and back. So would I, for he is doing God's Work, destined to regain Jerusalem from the infidels.\"\n\n\"You believe that, Morgan... truly?\" And when he assured her earnestly that he did, Joanna discovered there was comfort in that thought, in the reminder that nothing mattered more than the recovery of the Holy Land. \"If Richard is doing God's Work, does that mean the Messinians were heeding the Devil's whispers? Were many of them slain, Cousin?\"\n\n\"Not so many.\" He almost added, \"Not as many deaths as they deserved,\" but thought better of it, remembering Richard's warning that women were distressed by violence. \"There was plundering, of course, for that is a soldier's right. But the king took measures to make sure there'd be no widespread slaughter.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear that.\" She was silent for a few moments before saying softly, \"Did... did my brother give any orders to protect the women of the city?\"\n\nMorgan found himself at a rare loss for words, suddenly realizing that she had come to consider Sicily as her home. He supposed it was to be expected that she'd pity the wives and maidens of Messina, for rape was likely to be a fear ingrained in every woman's soul, even one as highborn as Joanna. He wondered if he ought to lie to her, decided she'd not believe him if he did. \"My lady... men see that as a soldier's right, too.\"\n\nShe said nothing, but he'd begun to notice the signs of stress\u2014her pallor, the dark hollows under her eyes. \"It was not as brutal as it could have been, Madame,\" he said, and Joanna gave him a wan smile, thinking that was a meager comfort to Messina, yet recognizing the uncompromising truth of it, too.\n\n\"It was good of you to bring me word yourself, Cousin Morgan. You'll not be wanting to cross the Faro after dark, so I'll see that a comfortable bed is made ready for you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Madame.\" Morgan glanced toward Joanna's attendants, who'd withdrawn across the chamber to give them privacy. The woman he'd wanted to see was not among them. \"I was hoping I might pay my respects to the Lady Mariam.\"\n\nJoanna gave him a surprised look and, then, her first real smile of the day. \"Mariam mentioned that she'd met one of Richard's knights at the nunnery, a 'cocky, silver-tongued rogue,' she said, 'with a great interest in learning Arabic.' So that was you, Cousin?\"\n\nMorgan grinned, pleased beyond measure that Mariam had discussed him with Joanna; that was surely a good sign. \"Do you think she might see me?\" But when Joanna hesitated, some of his confidence waned.\n\n\"It might be better to wait for another time, Morgan. This has been a difficult day for her.\"\n\nMorgan was disappointed, but it made sense that Mariam would mourn the fall of Messina, for the blood of a Sicilian king ran in her veins. After taking his leave of Joanna, he was escorted to the priory guest hall. Richard had garrisoned Bagnara with a large number of knights sworn to see to Joanna's safety, and the hall was crowded. Upon learning that Morgan had taken part in the assault upon the town, they were eager to hear his account, and he was quite willing to accommodate them. Eventually, men unrolled blankets and made ready to bed down. Morgan's nerves were still vibrating like a taut bowstring and he knew sleep would not come for hours yet. Helping himself to a wineskin, he wound his way midst the bodies and bedrolls, and then slipped out a side door.\n\nThe night was mild, the sky spangled with remote pinpoints of light. On this October evening, his Welsh homeland seemed as distant as those glittering stars. It was a pleasure to inhale air untainted by the coppery smell of blood or the stench of gutted entrails. He would, he decided, find the priory church and offer up prayers for the men who'd died that day. For Joanna's sake, he would pray, too, for Messina's dead.\n\nThe church was scented with incense, shadowed and still. Morgan knelt at the high altar and felt a calm descending upon his soul, God's Peace entering his heart. After praying for those who'd died on this October Thursday, he prayed for his dead liege lords, for Geoffrey and Henry, hoping they would not see it as a betrayal\u2014that he'd pledged his loyalty to Richard. He rose with some difficulty, for his body had stiffened in the hours since the battle, his muscles cramping and his shoulder throbbing with the slightest movement. It was already turning the color of summer plums, the bruises seeming to reach into the very marrow of his bones. But the injury could have been worse, could have been fatal. God willing, he would live out his biblical three-score years and ten. If not, better to die before the walls of Jerusalem than in the dusty streets of Messina.\n\nHe was about to depart when a gleam of light drew his attention. The windows were encased in glass, yet more proof of the affluence of Sicily, and he could see a faint glow coming from the cloisters. He peered through the cloudy glass, and then he smiled, for a woman was sitting on a bench in one of the carrels, a lantern beside her, a familiar red dog lounging at her feet.\n\nShe glanced up at the sound of his footsteps on the walkway, a flicker of recognition crossing her face, followed by a frown. Before she could speak, he said quickly, \"Lady Mariam, forgive me for disturbing you. I'd been in the church, praying for those who'd died today.\" When she did not speak, he moved closer, oddly pleased when Ahmer wagged his tail in a lazy welcome. \"I came to tell the queen about the strife in Messina. I can tell you, too, if that be your wish.\"\n\nShe was not wearing a face veil tonight, but her silver bracelets and bright silken gown still gave her an exotic appearance; he was near enough now to catch the faint fragrance of sandalwood, to see the graceful fingers clasped in her lap, decorated with henna in the Saracen fashion. But there was no light in those golden eyes, and he knew at once that this woman was in no mood for playful flirtation or teasing banter.\n\n\"What makes you think I'd want to hear about it?\"\n\nHer tone was challenging, but he took encouragement from it, nonetheless; at least she was not telling him to go away. \"Messina is a Sicilian city,\" he said, choosing his words with care, \"and you are the daughter of a Sicilian king. If the bloodshed brought distress to the Lady Joanna, it must be even more distressing for you.\"\n\n\"Actually, it was not,\" she said coolly, much to his surprise. \"I have no reason to grieve for Messina. Shall I tell you why? Because it is not Palermo.\"\n\n\"I am not sure I understand.\"\n\n\"Why should you?\" She'd been curled up on the bench like a sleek, elegant cat, her feet tucked under her skirts, but the tension in her body belied her casual pose. \"The inhabitants of Messina are Greek. I believe you call them Griffons. Your men distrust them because they heed the Patriarch of Constantinople and not the Holy Father in Rome. But it is not their religious beliefs that I find objectionable. It is their loathing for those of Saracen blood. Aside from the ones who serve the king, few Saracens dare to dwell in Messina. So I do not mourn that the Messinians have reaped what they have too often sown.\"\n\nMorgan decided that it would take a lifetime to understand the crosscurrents and rivalries in this strange land called Sicily. \"I am not sorry to hear you say that, my lady. I'd feared that you might see me as one of those 'long-tailed Englishmen' who'd wreaked havoc upon the innocent citizens of Messina, that you'd not believe we were provoked into taking control of the city.\"\n\nHe knelt by the bench, ostensibly to pet Ahmer, and looked up intently into her face. \"But it is obvious that you are greatly troubled this night. If it is not the bloodshed in Messina, what causes you such sadness? I know it is presumptuous of me to ask such a question. I have found, though, that sometimes it is easier to confide in a stranger, doubtless why so many drunken confessions are exchanged in taverns and alehouses.\"\n\nShe ducked her head, but not in time. Catching that fleeting smile, he felt a triumphant flush, as warming as wine. \"Take up my offer, Lady Mariam. I can be a good listener, and surprisingly perceptive for one of those long-tailed English. Although I ought to say at the outset that being called 'English' is a mortal insult to a Welshman.\"\n\nShe gave him a speculative, sidelong glance. \"I do not remember telling you my name. How did you learn it?\"\n\n\"I was not only smitten, I was resourceful, too,\" he said with a grin. \"I befriended some of the abbey servants, asking about the lovely lady with amber-colored eyes who was likely a member of the queen's household. They knew at once whom I meant, told me that my heart had been stolen by King William's sister.\"\n\nShe turned her head to look him full in the face. \"They told you, then, that my mother was a Saracen?\"\n\nHe started to joke that they may have mentioned it, but caught himself in time, sensing that his answer mattered. Dropping his teasing tone, he said only, \"Yes, they did.\"\n\nHe saw it was the right answer, saw, too, that she seemed to be wavering. \"No,\" she said, after a long silence. \"You would not understand. You know nothing of dual loyalties, of the whispers of the blood.\"\n\n\"Did you not hear me say I am Welsh, cariad? Who would know better than a Welshman in the service of an English king?\"\n\nHer gaze was searching. \"What would you do, then, if your English king led an invasion into Wales?\"\n\n\"If it were Gwynedd, my loyalty to my family and my homeland would prevail over my loyalty to the king. If he attacked South Wales, it would depend upon the justness of his cause, upon whether I felt that he was in the right.\"\n\n\"You answered that very quickly,\" she observed. \"So quickly that I think you must have given it some thought.\"\n\n\"I have,\" he admitted, \"for there is no love lost between the Welsh and the English. Not that Richard thinks of himself as English. He enjoys ruling over them, but does not see himself as one of them, being a true son of Aquitaine. So you see, my lady, our loyalties are almost as murky as those of you Sicilians.\" Starting to rise, he found that he had to steady himself with a hand on the bench. \"Jesu, I think I aged ten years in the streets of Messina. So... now that you know how I would deal with a crisis of conscience, shall we discuss yours?\"\n\nMariam's face was guarded, but her fingers had begun to clench and unclench in her lap. He was willing to wait, and at last she said, \"Richard wants Joanna to accompany him to Outremer and she has asked me to come with her.\"\n\n\"May I?\" he asked, gesturing toward the bench. When she nodded, he sat down beside her, expelling an audible sigh that had more to do with his aching bones than the proximity of this desirable female body. \"We are very enlightened in Wales, allow children born out of wedlock to inherit if they are recognized by their fathers. I would guess that Sicily is as backward as England and France in that regard, but since you're the daughter of a king, I'm guessing, too, that you've been provided for. So you are not dependent upon the queen's bounty and could remain in Palermo if you wish.\"\n\nTaking her silence as assent, he shifted gingerly on the bench before continuing. \"Those helpful abbey servants told me you'd been with Lady Joanna since her arrival in Sicily, so clearly there is a deep affection between you. Why would you balk, then? I can think of only two reasons. Many women would shrink from the hardships and dangers of such a voyage\u2014but not you, Lady Mariam. That leaves those 'whispers of the blood.' You feel a kinship with the Saracens of Sicily, and fear that you may feel kinship, too, with the Saracens of Syria.\"\n\nShe stared at him in astonishment. \"You do not know me. As you said, we are strangers. So however did you guess that?\"\n\n\"We Welsh have second sight.\"\n\n\"I think you do. What is your name\u2014Merlin?\"\n\n\"Ah, so Lady Joanna has introduced you to the legend of King Arthur, who was Welsh, by the way.\" Getting stiffly to his feet, he reached for her hand and brushed a kiss across those hennaed fingers. \"Ask your queen to tell you about her Welsh cousin. Good night, my lady, and God keep you safe.\"\n\n\"Wait\u2014I have not solved my 'crisis of conscience' yet!\"\n\n\"Yes, you have. You just were not asking yourself the right question.\"\n\nMariam did not know whether to be annoyed or intrigued, finally deciding she was both. \"At least tell me what 'cariad' means.\"\n\n\"You can safely assume it is not a Welsh curse, my lady.\" Although he'd already moved from the moonlight into the shadows, she could hear the smile in his voice and could not help smiling in return.\n\nOnce he'd gone, she slipped off the bench and began to pace the cloisters pathway, Ahmer trailing loyally at her heels. What was the right question, then? She'd been raised at the royal court, but \"Merlin\" was right; she'd always felt a kinship to her mother's people, the \"Saracens of Sicily.\" Even though most of them still practiced the faith of Islam and she was a Christian, she'd heard those whispers of the blood. Just as \"Merlin\" had heard the whispers from... Gwynedd, was it? What had he said about the other Welsh, though? Ah, yes, that his loyalty would depend upon the justness of the cause.\n\nShe came to an abrupt halt, and then bent down and put her arms around the dog. \"He was right, Ahmer. I was asking the wrong question. Do I believe that Jerusalem should be retaken from the Syrian Saracens? Yes, I do.\" Hugging the puzzled dog, she began to laugh, so great was her relief. \"Of course I do!\"\n\nThe archbishop of monreale was not sure what sort of reception to expect in Catania. He knew that he and Chancellor Matthew had not been in the king's good graces lately, for they'd been telling him what he did not want to hear\u2014that an alliance with the English would better serve Sicily's interests than one with the French. Now that the English king had dared to seize the second city of his realm, whose voices was Tancred more likely to heed\u2014those demanding vengeance or those urging moderation and restraint?\n\nBefore he could make his presence known to the king, he was intercepted by the chancellor. Following Matthew into the chapel, he said dryly, \"I assume we are not here to pray?\"\n\nMatthew smiled. \"Given my sinful past, I have need of all the prayers I can get. But I wanted to speak with you ere you see the king. Jordan Lapin and the admiral got here first, and as you'd expect, they were in a rage, the killing kind. Not only did the city fall whilst they looked on, their houses were amongst those plundered by the English. So quite understandably, they are hell-bent upon war. As are Tancred's brother-in-law and most of his council, especially after they learned of the French king's offer.\"\n\n\"What offer, Matthew?\"\n\n\"You'd almost think Messina was a French city, so great was Philippe's fury. Some of it is wounded pride. The Messinians had appealed to him for protection, and then he had to stand by and watch whilst Richard captured the city in less time than it would take a priest to chant Matins. But much of it seems to be pure and honest hatred. If I were a gambling man, I'd be giving odds that the English and the French turn upon each other long ere they ever reach the Holy Land.\"\n\n\"The offer, Matthew,\" the archbishop prodded. \"What was the offer?\"\n\n\"Philippe sent the Duke of Burgundy to Tancred, suggesting that they form an alliance against Richard, promising the use of French troops in an attack upon the English.\"\n\nThe archbishop's jaw dropped. \"What does the king say to this?\"\n\n\"His head is at war with his heart. He knows that Heinrich von Hohenstaufen is our true enemy, but Richard's arrogance is a bitter brew to swallow. I'd still hoped to be able to convince him that Richard would make a more useful ally than Philippe. But now I fear that this offer from the French might tip the scales in favor of war with the English.\"\n\n\"I think I'd best see the king straightaway, then,\" the archbishop said, \"for I have information about the French king that he needs to know.\"\n\nTancred looked haggard, his sallow complexion and red-rimmed eyes testifying to anxious days and sleepless nights. \"Sit down, my lord archbishop,\" he said wearily. \"But do not waste your breath arguing that the English king's enmity toward Hohenstaufen matters more than his outrageous seizure of Messina. I've already heard enough of that from the chancellor.\"\n\n\"You well know that the English king is no friend to the Holy Roman Emperor, my liege, so there is no need to remind you of it. I would rather talk with you about the French king.\"\n\n\"Matthew told you of the Duke of Burgundy's message? I admit I was taken by surprise. But the duke brought a letter in Philippe's own hand, apparently written whilst the city was still under attack, for it is splattered with ink blots as if he were gripping his pen like a sword. Show him the letter, Matthew. Let him see for himself.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt the sincerity of the French king's rage, sire. But his actions after the fall of the city do raise doubts about the sincerity of his offer. As angered as he was by Richard's attack upon Messina, he was even angrier to see the English flag flying over the city afterward. He demanded that the French flag be flown instead, reminding Richard of a pact they'd made at V\u00e9zelay to share equally all spoils during their campaign.\"\n\nTancred stiffened. \"You are sure of this?\"\n\n\"I am, my lord. As you'd expect, Richard did not take kindly to the demand. I heard that his first impulse was to tell Philippe exactly where he could fly those French flags, in vivid and rather obscene detail. But when he calmed down, he agreed to replace his banners with those of the Hospitallers and the Templars, putting the city in their custody until he could come to terms with you.\"\n\nTancred slumped back in his chair as the other men exchanged troubled glances. Richard was not going to be satisfied until Tancred turned over Joanna's dower and William's legacy. But once this was done, he'd be more amenable than Philippe to an alliance against the Holy Roman Empire. Tancred knew this, for he was far from a fool. But would he be willing to put Sicily's welfare above his lacerated pride?\n\nRichard arrived in Bagnara bearing gifts\u2014casks of wine for his knights and a beautiful chestnut mare for his sister, white mules for her ladies. He brought word, too, that peace reigned in Messina now that the dead had been buried, hostages taken for the citizens' good behavior in the future, prices set for bread and wine, and some of the plundered goods returned. He was in such high spirits that Joanna suspected he had more to tell her, and that would prove to be true.\n\n\"I am sorry I could not come over sooner, Joanna, but for the past few days I've been having secret negotiations with the Archbishop of Monreale and the chancellor's son; the old man's health did not allow him to make the trip from Catania.\"\n\n\"There is no need to apologize, Richard. I know there were not enough hours in the day to get everything sorted out. Besides, Morgan has been very conscientious about keeping us informed of developments in Messina. Hardly a day has passed without him paying us a visit.\"\n\n\"Yes, I'd noticed the lad was spending much of his time here in Bagnara this week. Need I remind him that you and he are cousins, irlanda?\"\n\n\"I do enjoy his company, for I suspect he is a bit of a rake, and women always find men like that irresistible,\" she said with a laugh. \"But it is not my charms that are luring him across the Faro. He is very taken with Mariam.\"\n\nRichard was not sure who Mariam was, had no real interest in finding out. \"Are you not going to ask how the negotiations with Tancred are going?\"\n\n\"Since you have that cat-in-the-cream look about you, Brother, I'm guessing they are going well.\"\n\n\"Better than that, lass. Tancred and I have made peace, and he has agreed to compensate you for the loss of your dower lands. How does twenty thousand ounces of gold sound to you?\"\n\nTo Joanna, that sounded very good, indeed. \"That is wonderful, Richard!\" she cried, and flung herself into his arms. \"And what of William's legacy?\"\n\n\"Another twenty thousand ounces in gold,\" Richard said, sounding very pleased with himself. \"Officially it is to be an advance payment for the marriage of his daughter to my heir, and is to be paid to the girl when the marriage takes place... if it ever does. It is a satisfactory arrangement, saving Tancred's pride and giving me the use of the money in the Holy Land. I might well need to draw upon your share, too, Joanna, depending upon how long we're in Outremer. Would you have any objections to this?\"\n\n\"Of course not, Richard! I'd not begrudge you my last copper follaris,\" she promised, generously and a little recklessly. \"You said there is to be a marriage? Tancred's daughters are very young, but is he willing to wait until you have a son? He does not know about Berengaria, after all.\"\n\n\"No, Tancred preferred a flesh-and-blood heir for his girl. So I had to provide one for him.\"\n\n\"But Johnny already has a wife. You told me you'd permitted him to wed the Gloucester heiress.\"\n\n\"I did. Since they'd not been granted a dispensation for their marriage\u2014they are cousins\u2014I suppose it might have been possible to have it annulled. But I was not about to pay the Pope's price for a favor like that. Fortunately I had another prospect, this one happily free of any marital entanglements\u2014my little nephew Arthur.\"\n\n\"Good Heavens, Richard!\" Joanna was shocked that he seemed so casual about the succession to the English Crown, switching heirs as if it were of no greater matter than switching saddles. But then she realized why; he did not expect either John or Arthur to succeed him. And God willing, Berengaria would give him a son; she fervently hoped so. What of Johnny, though? How would he take this?\n\n\"I was very fond of Johnny once,\" she said. \"We were the two youngest, together at Fontevrault Abbey, and it was only natural that we'd form a bond. Granted, I have not seen him since I was ten and he was nine, so I know naught about the man he's become. But you indicated that he sees himself and not Arthur as your heir. Will he not be very disappointed when he hears of this treaty with Tancred?\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" he said and shrugged. \"But I never formally named him as my heir. He must have realized that it is likely I'd wed and sire a son of my own and, if not, that is his misfortune, not mine. I have already dispatched Hugh de Bardolf to England; he sailed this morning. With luck, he'll bring the news to my justiciar, Longchamp, ere Johnny gets wind of it. If you're right and Johnny does take it badly, Longchamp will make sure that he does no more than sulk.\"\n\nJoanna hoped that would be so. \"I am glad that you've come to terms with Tancred, Richard. As dearly as I love Constance, I would not have wanted to see Heinrich ruling over Sicily. From what I've heard of the man, he is one to nurse a grievance to the grave. I do not know about Johnny, but I am sure you've made an enemy of Heinrich. He is going to be utterly enraged when he learns that Tancred's kingship has been formally recognized by England. With this treaty, you may have earned his undying enmity.\"\n\n\"I would hope so!\" he said and laughed, sounding so carefree and confident that she could not help laughing with him.\n\nWhen philippe learned that Tancred had agreed to pay Richard forty thousand ounces of gold, he was infuriated and claimed half of that amount as his share. Richard was no less infuriated by this demand, pointing out that Joanna's dower could not possibly be considered spoils of war. The French king remained adamant, though, and Richard eventually and very grudgingly agreed to give Philippe a third, for he feared that the French might desert the crusade if he did not. After they'd patched up this latest dispute, they settled down to pass the winter in Messina and to await the return of favorable winds in the spring. But unbeknownst to Philippe, Richard was also awaiting the arrival of his mother and betrothed."
            },
            {
                "title": "OCTOBER 1190",
                "text": "[ Pamplona, Navarre ]\n\nPamplona was an ancient city, founded by the Roman general Pompey. Located on the pilgrim road to the holy shrine of San Juan Compostela, it was the Navarrese city best known to the world beyond the Pyrenees, and at one time Navarre had even been called the Kingdom of Pamplona. But Sancho de Jimenez spent little time there, for it was an Episcopal city, and his relationship with its bishop was a tense one. So the impending arrival of the English queen posed a dilemma for him. He'd have preferred to entertain her at Tudela, yet it seemed very inhospitable to expect her to travel another sixty miles after such a long journey; even his palace at Olite was still almost thirty miles farther south. He'd been building a residence in Pamplona, but it was not completed. He'd finally decided that Eleanor's comfort mattered more than his reluctance to request a favor from a man he disliked. The bishop was quite willing to play host to his king and his royal guest, relishing an opportunity to have Sancho in his debt and curious, too, to meet the woman who'd been the subject of so much gossip for more than half a century.\n\nEleanor's welcome had been lavish enough to please all concerned: a princely feast meant to show her that Pamplona could match the splendors of Poitiers and Paris. The guests had not departed to their lodgings in the bishop's palace or within the city until long after darkness had descended upon the Arga River valley. But not all were ready for their beds, and Sancho's eldest son and namesake was walking in the gardens with his sister.\n\n\"So... what did you think of your future mother-in-law, little one?\"\n\n\"I found her to be gracious, charming, and rather formidable,\" Berengaria said and then paused. \"As long as she lives, there will be two Queens of England.\"\n\n\"For some brides, that would be one queen too many. But not you?\" Sancho asked, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.\n\n\"She is Richard's mother. I will be Richard's wife. I do not see why we must be rivals, much less adversaries. I am sure we can both carve out our own domains, hers in the council chamber and mine in the bedchamber. Besides,\" she said, with a faint smile, \"I would be foolish, indeed, to begin a war I could not hope to win.\"\n\nSancho smiled, too. \"How did one so young become so wise?\" he teased before saying, on a more serious note, \"You'll need to keep your wits about you in that family, for they are not like us, little one.\"\n\n\"The Devil's Brood?\"\n\n\"Ah, so you heard that, did you? You know I count Richard as a friend, but he and his brothers could have taught Cain and Abel about brotherly strife. And his war with his sire was proof to many that St Bernard was right when he said the Angevins came from the Devil and to the Devil they'd go. It will not be easy for you to understand them, coming from a family as tightly knit as ours.\"\n\n\"But their family is not utterly lacking in love, Sancho. Richard is fond of his sisters, and all know he and his mother are like spokes on the same wheel.\"\n\nSancho knew how deeply Berengaria missed their own mother, who'd died in childbirth when she was nine, and he was not surprised that she sounded wistful of Richard's close bond with Eleanor. He hoped she had no illusions about Eleanor filling that void for her. Fortunately, his sister had always been sensible, for he suspected that a starry-eyed romantic would not have fared well as Richard's wife. He knew Berengaria's delicate appearance and serene demeanor belied an inner will as strong as his own. He was protective of her, nonetheless, and found himself asking now, even though it was too late, \"You are content with this match... truly?\"\n\n\"Of course I am, Sancho,\" she said at once, wanting to put his mind at ease. She was scrupulously honest, though, and felt compelled to confide, \"I confess it is not the destiny I'd expected for myself. I have always yearned for tranquility and I suspect life with Richard will be anything but tranquil.\"\n\nComing from anyone else, he'd have taken that for a droll understatement. But his sister lacked any sense of the absurd and would not see the irony in it\u2014that a young woman who'd once thought of becoming a nun, craving neither attention nor influence and comfortable in the shadows, was about to wed the most renowned king in Christendom, a man who gloried in his fame and wielded power as zestfully as he handled a sword.\n\nBerengaria read faces well and saw the shadow that crossed his. \"But it is the destiny that the Almighty and our father chose for me, Sancho, and I do not question it. It is flattering, too, that Richard should have picked me, for he has seen me and knows that I am no great beauty.\" When he would have protested, she stopped him with a smile. \"Bless you, dearest, but I possess a mirror. Mind you, I am not saying I am plain or drab. I think my eyes are my best feature, and I've been told I have a pleasing smile. But I am not a beauty as Richard's mother was, or as his sisters are said to be. So it is good that we've already met and I need not worry that he might be disappointed.\"\n\nSancho was touched by her matter-of-fact appraisal of her attributes. \"Richard is a lucky man,\" he said and snatched her up in his arms, whirling her around while she protested this was not seemly, but laughing, too.\n\nNeither one had heard the footsteps on the path or realized that their father was watching with a fond smile. As always he was amused by the contrast they presented. Berengaria was barely five feet and Sancho towered above her like a vast oak, for he was said to be the tallest man in all of Navarre, more than seven feet in height, one reason why he'd become known as Sancho el Fuerte\u2014Sancho the Strong. Sancho senior had been given an accolade of his own, Sancho el Sabio\u2014Sancho the Wise\u2014a tribute to his shrewdness in dealing with his powerful, predatory neighbors in Castile and Aragon. Berengaria's marriage had further enhanced his reputation in the eyes of his subjects, for what better ally could Navarre have than the redoubtable Lionheart?\n\nBut on this moonlit October night in the Bishop of Pamplona's garden, the king found himself beset with a father's misgivings. He loved all five of his children, even more fiercely since the tragic loss of his wife, but Berengaria had always been his secret favorite. He knew he was being foolish, for she was nigh on twenty-one, well past the age when princesses were wed. It was time for her to try her wings. Yet how empty the nest would be without her.\n\n\"Papa!\" Berengaria blushed at being caught in such tomfoolery and made Sancho put her down. Coming toward him, she turned her cheek for his kiss. \"The revelries were truly spectacular. People will be talking of it for weeks to come.\"\n\n\"I daresay even the most illustrious Queen of England was duly impressed,\" Sancho said with a grin, for their father's admiration of Eleanor of Aquitaine had long been a family joke. He'd met her in Limoges nigh on twenty years ago, and had returned to Navarre singing her praises so enthusiastically that his own queen had feigned jealousy. He'd even interceded on Eleanor's behalf after her ill-fated rebellion, asking Henry to show her mercy, a gallant gesture that had pleased Sancho's wife and irked the English king. In welcoming Richard's mother to Pamplona, he was also entertaining a glamorous ghost from his past, and the obvious pleasure he'd taken in the reunion gave his children pleasure, too.\n\n\"Yes, it did go well,\" he agreed modestly, as if he'd not fretted over every detail beforehand. \"Our esteemed bishop is claiming full credit, of course. But at least he is no longer grumbling about being a member of your escort, Berenguela. He is finally seeing it as the honor it is.\" He glanced questioningly then at Sancho. \"Have you told her yet, lad?\"\n\nSancho shook his head, for he'd known their father would want to do it. He watched, still smiling, as their sire took Berengaria's hands in his. \"Your brother and I have been discussing it, sweetheart, and we've decided that he will accompany you on your bridal journey.\"\n\nBerengaria's delight was revealing, showing how much she was dreading that final farewell. For once utterly oblivious to her dignity, she embraced her father with a squeal of joy, and then pulled her brother's head down so she could scatter haphazard kisses into his beard. Laughing, Sancho warned that he could not escort her all the way to Messina, not daring to spare so much time away from Navarre. But he would see her safely across France and through the alpine passes into Italy, he promised, and saw that he could not have given her a more welcome wedding gift.\n\nBerengaria soon retired for the evening, but before returning to the great hall to collect her duennas, she bade them good night with a smile radiant enough to rival the silvered Spanish moonlight. They watched her go in silence, and as soon as she was out of earshot, Sancho's father said softly, almost as if to himself, \"Am I doing right by her?\"\n\nSancho looked at him in surprise. \"Papa, you've arranged a brilliant future for her!\"\n\n\"Yes... but will she be happy?\"\n\nSancho doubted that there was another king under God's sky who'd have asked a question like that. But his parents' marriage had been that rarest of rarities, a political union that had evolved into a genuine love match. He was sure that his father had never been unfaithful to his mother, and he was still faithful to her memory. In the eleven years since her death, he'd taken concubines from time to time, but he'd not taken another wife, and Sancho did not think he ever would.\n\n\"Yes, Papa,\" he said, with all the conviction at his command, \"I do think Berenguela will be happy as Richard's queen.\"\n\nHe could see that his father took comfort from his certainty, and he was glad of it. It was not as if he'd lied, after all. Why would Berenguela and Richard not find contentment together? The ideal wife was one who was chaste, obedient, and loyal. Berenguela would come to her marriage bed a virgin and would never commit the sin of adultery. She believed it was a wife's duty to be guided by her husband. And she would be loyal to Richard until her last mortal breath\u2014whether he deserved it or not.\n\nRichard's father had been renowned for the speed of his campaigns; Henry had once covered two hundred miles in just four days. Most travelers set a more measured pace and would be very pleased to manage thirty miles a day in summer and twenty in winter. Traveling with a large retinue slowed the rate of speed, however, and Eleanor and Berengaria were averaging only about fifteen miles a day, for they were accompanied by Poitevin bishops and barons, Navarrese prelates and lords, ladies-in-waiting, grooms, servants, knights, and enough soldiers to guarantee their safety. The presence of women inevitably slowed them down, for they had to ride sidesaddle or in horse litters. But so far they'd not encountered any severe storms and Eleanor remained confident that they would be able to reach Naples by mid-February, where Richard's ships would be waiting to convey them to Messina.\n\nWithin a month of departing Pamplona, they'd reached the city of Avignon, where they crossed the River Rhone over the splendid new St Benezet Bridge, and then followed the old Roman road north along the River Durance. As they'd traveled through southern France, they'd accepted the hospitality of the local nobility\u2014the Trencavels of Carcassonne, Viscountess Ermengard of Narbonne, the ailing Lord of Montpelier\u2014although they'd detoured around Toulouse, whose count was no friend to the Angevins. When castles were not available, they stayed at monasteries, but rarely for more than a night, as Eleanor was determined to get to Sicily before February 27 and the start of Lent, when marriages would be banned.\n\nThat was the only intimate confidence she'd shared with Berengaria so far\u2014her confession that she very much wanted to attend Richard's wedding. She was quite willing to discuss politics and statecraft with her son's betrothed, and she was willing, too, to indulge Berengaria's curiosity and tell her stories of Richard's boyhood. But she revealed nothing of herself, to Berengaria's disappointment, for the younger woman hoped that they might forge a bond during their long journey.\n\nBerengaria did form an unexpected friendship, though, with one of Eleanor's ladies, the Countess of Aumale. Wary initially of the countess's sarcastic asides, she was gradually won over by Hawisa's often startling candor. Hawisa had proven to be a good source of information, too, for her first husband had been a close friend of the old king. From her, Berengaria learned that Nicholas de Chauvigny, the courtly middle-aged knight in charge of Eleanor's household, had been with her when she was captured by Henry's men and had been imprisoned for his loyalty to the queen. She pointed out one of the notorious de Lusignan clan and shocked Berengaria by telling her how they'd dared to ambush Eleanor in a foolhardy abduction attempt after Henry had seized their major stronghold. A young knight, William Marshal, had held them at bay long enough for the queen to escape, thus beginning his illustrious career in the service of the English Crown.\n\nBerengaria thought the de Lusignans sounded more like brigands than vassals, yet she had to admit their history could have come straight from a troubadour's tale. After numerous rebellions, several brothers from the unruly family had sought their fortunes in Outremer, where Guy de Lusignan had unexpectedly made a brilliant marriage with Sybilla, the elder sister of Baldwin, the Leper King. After Baldwin's death, the crown had eventually passed to Sybilla and Guy, and this highly unpopular knight, a younger son with limited prospects, found himself the King of Jerusalem. His reign had been a disaster, for he'd rashly led his army against Salah al-D\u012bn at the Horns of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn and suffered a devastating defeat, one which led to the capture of the Holy City. Freed by Salah al-D\u012bn, who'd said that kings did not kill kings, he'd returned to Tyre, the only city still in Christian hands. But Tyre was now under the control of Conrad d'Aleramici, son of the Marquis of Montferrat, an Italian-German aristocrat and adventurer who'd won the gratitude of the citizens by staving off a Saracen attack, and Conrad not only refused to acknowledge Guy as his king, he'd refused Guy entry into the city. Guy had no political skills or sense, but he'd never lacked for courage and he'd ridden off to lay siege to Acre. To the surprise of Saracens and Christians alike, this gallant, foolhardy gesture inspired others; and as the siege dragged on, more and more men joined Guy before the walls of Acre. He was still a king without a kingdom, though, his fierce rivalry with Conrad yet another problem confronting Richard and Philippe upon their arrival in the Holy Land.\n\nThe winter had been mild so far, but it was snowing when they reached the town of Sisteron, situated on both sides of the Durance in a narrow gap between two mountain ranges. Here they hired the local guides known as \"marons\" and encountered travelers who'd trekked from Italy into France and were eager to share their stories of hardship and peril, dramatic tales of deadly avalanches and steep alpine paths and dangers so great that it was easy to conclude Hell was an icy, frigid wasteland, not the fiery pits of flame proclaimed by priests.\n\nTheir progress slowed dramatically; on some days, they only covered three or four miles. The marons led the way, using long staves to test the snow's depth, setting out wooden stakes to mark the path. It was bitterly cold now, their breaths lingering in the air like wisps of pallid smoke, men's beards stiff with hoarfrost, tears freezing in the time it took to trickle down chapped, reddened skin. The cloud-shrouded jagged peaks sometimes blotted out the sun, and the winds roared relentlessly through the ravines, the eerie echoes reminding them that dragons were said to dwell in ice caves on the barren slopes. The routier Mercadier scoffed at these legends, though, wanting to know why any sensible dragon would choose to freeze its bleeding ballocks off instead of flying away to warmer climes.\n\nBerengaria disapproved of his crude language, but appreciated his pointing out the obvious to their men; there was enough to fear in the Alps without adding dragons and monsters to the list. She had very ambivalent feelings about Mercadier, for Hawisa had acquainted her with his fearsome past. This dark-haired man with the sinister scar had an even more sinister reputation, one of the most notorious of the routiers who sold their swords to the highest bidder. It was said that grass withered where he'd walked, Hawisa murmured, eyeing Mercadier with fascinated horror. But he'd served Richard faithfully for the past seven years, she assured Berengaria, and his presence here showed the king's concern for the safety of his mother and his betrothed. Berengaria agreed that Mercadier's very appearance would be enough to frighten off most bandits, for he looked like one of Lucifer's own. She found it disquieting, though, that Richard would admit an ungodly routier into his inner circle, and she realized how little she really knew about the man she'd soon wed.\n\nThe women had to ride astride now, for sidesaddles were too dangerous. They'd been forced to leave their carts behind in Sisteron, transferring the contents to pack mules and bearers, men who made their living as the marons did, by braving the mountain passes in all but the worst weather. The air was so thin that some were suffering headaches, queasiness, and shortness of breath, common complaints of those unaccustomed to such heights, according to the marons. They spent Christmas in the village of Brian\u00e7on, just a few miles from the Montgen\u00e8vre Pass, but a storm blew in soon afterward, trapping them for more than a week, and they were not able to continue their journey until the approach of Epiphany.\n\nThey passed the night at a travelers hospice and departed at first light, after kneeling in the snow as one of the bishops prayed to the \"Holy Lord, Almighty Father, and Eternal God,\" entreating Him to send His angels of peace to show His servants the way and to let the Holy Spirit accompany them in their time of need. And then they began their trek up Montgen\u00e8vre.\n\nThe sky was a blanched blue-ice that seemed as bloodless and frozen as the lifeless, empty landscape, and the surrounding drifts of snow were so blindingly bright that they had to squint and shade their eyes. They were vastly relieved to reach the summit of the pass, only to realize that the worst still lay ahead of them. The men would have to dismount and lead their horses, the marons directed, and the queen and her ladies must be strapped into ox hides so they could be slid down the slope. None bridled at the marons' assertiveness, for on the alpine heights of Montgen\u00e8vre, theirs was the command of kings. Seeing the dismay on so many faces, the marons tried to reassure these novice mountaineers that it could have been much worse. There had been journeys when the horses had to be lowered on ropes, their legs bound. This time they need only blindfold the more fearful of the animals, they said cheerfully. After an oppressive silence, Hawisa stirred nervous laughter when she said, as if ordering a cup of wine, \"I'll take a blindfold, too, if you please.\"\n\nEleanor had crossed the Alps once before; she'd been much younger then, though. \"I never expected to be sledding down a mountain at my age,\" she muttered to Hawisa, but she was the first to allow herself to be wrapped in an ox hide, for queens led by example. It was a rough, bumpy ride, but she made only one concession to the brittle bones and physical frailties of a woman of sixty-six, closing her eyes during the most perilous part of the descent. She could hear horses whinnying in fright, could hear men's muffled oaths as they edged along the trail, sometimes on their hands and knees, and then, hysterical sobbing. She was thankful when the cries were abruptly cut off, for they'd been warned that even loud talking could bring on an avalanche. She wondered if that terrified woman was one of her ladies or one of Berengaria's. She wondered, too, if any queen had ever been swallowed up in an alpine crevice. Was Harry watching from Purgatory and laughing? And how in God's Name had the Carthaginian general Hannibal ever gotten elephants across the Alps?\n\nA hospice was nestled at the foot of the pass, its monks waiting to welcome the shaken, shivering travelers with mulled wine and the promise of food and beds for the night; they knew from experience that even highborn guests would not complain if the wine was weak, the blankets frayed, and the straw mattresses infested with fleas, so thankful would they be to have survived their pilgrimage through the Montgen\u00e8vre Pass. The women were escorted to safety first; it would be hours before the pack mules and the last of the bearers trudged into the hospice. They huddled in front of the open hearth, seeking to thaw frozen fingers and feet, expressing their heartfelt relief that the worst was over. Until they had to return in the spring, Hawisa reminded them darkly, and it would be almost as dangerous then, for the marons claimed avalanches were more common when the snows began to melt. \"I may well start life anew in Sicily,\" she declared, so dramatically that Eleanor could not help smiling, and held out her wine cup for Hawisa to share, a gesture of royal favor that caused some of the other women to look askance at the countess.\n\nHawisa drank deeply, sighing with pleasure as the wine's warmth flowed into her veins. \"Did you hear that Spanish girl, Uracca?\" she asked the queen. \"She was on the verge of panic, and it might well have spread. But Mercadier strode over and stopped her screams by clamping his hand over her mouth. She was quiet as a mouse after that!\"\n\n\"I daresay she was,\" Eleanor said dryly, for she'd noticed Mercadier's unsettling affect upon women; they were either appalled or secretly attracted in spite of themselves. When she said as much to Hawisa, the countess laughed, saying she'd never confess which response was hers, and Eleanor laughed, too, for the younger woman's blithe insouciance stirred echoes of a dearly missed friend, Maud, the Countess of Chester.\n\n\"Of course, once we were safe, Uracca went off in a fury to Berengaria, complaining that a 'lowborn routier' had dared to lay his hands upon her. But Berengaria surprised me. She gave the girl a right sharp talking to, saying that she'd put us all at risk. She then told her, more kindly, that it is only natural to be afraid, but a gentlewoman must not give in to it.\"\n\nEleanor glanced across the chamber, where Berengaria was conversing quietly with her brother; she missed no opportunities to spend time with Sancho, for he'd soon be leaving them, planning to go no farther than Milan. \"Blood does tell,\" she agreed. \"Berengaria has shown commendable courage so far. I am sure she has not endured hardships like these, but she never complains. I think she will make Richard a good wife.\"\n\n\"Mayhap you ought to tell her that, Madame.\"\n\nEleanor was taken by surprise. \"Mayhap I will,\" she said at last, and Hawisa hoped that she would, knowing how much her praise would mean to Berengaria. She'd not expected to like Richard's young bride as much as she did, and she wished the girl well, even though she was certain that a wife would always be incidental to a military man like Richard. But that did not mean their marriage would not be a success. All that truly mattered was that Berengaria fulfilled her duties as a queen\u2014that she provide Richard with a son and heir.\n\nAll of them were thankful to leave the Alps behind, but Eleanor was particularly happy to cross into Italy, for she hoped now to be able to reestablish contact with Richard. She hoped, too, to learn the reason for her daughter's disquieting silence. As soon as they reached Turin, where they accepted the hospitality of the young Count of Savoy, she immediately dispatched a courier with instructions to ride with all possible speed to Genoa and there take ship for Messina, carrying a letter to her son. The teenage count knew nothing of the events in Sicily, though. She had somewhat better luck at Milan, where the bishop had heard of a peace made between Richard and the Sicilian king, Tancred. But he could tell her nothing of Joanna. Eleanor consoled herself with common sense; surely word would have gotten out if evil had befallen Joanna? She was not surprised by the lack of information, for Sicily must seem as remote to the people of the Piedmont region as the moon in the heavens. At least she'd learn more in Rome, for the papacy had a vested interest in the fate of the Sicilian kingdom.\n\nBishop Milo insisted upon accompanying them through Piedmont, an act of commendable courtesy in light of the fact that their next stop would be Lodi, which had long been a bitter rival of Milan. Eleanor had already contacted the bishop of that riverside town to arrange for accommodations, and they departed Milan before dawn, for Lodi was more than twenty miles away. They set a faster pace than usual, but darkness had long since fallen by the time they saw the city walls in the distance. Cursing the weakness of age, Eleanor had been forced to ride the last part of the journey in her horse litter, and she leaned out the window at the sound of shouting. The young knight who'd ridden on ahead to let the Bishop of Lodi know of their impending arrival was back. His mount was lathered, evidence of haste, and Eleanor beckoned to him. \"Is something amiss? The bishop is still expecting us?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madame, he is. But he is as flustered as a rabbit in a fox den,\" the youth said and then grinned. \"He did not expect to be entertaining the Queen of England and the King and Queen of Germany at the same time, but that is what he's facing. Heinrich von Hohenstaufen and the Lady Constance arrived this morn with a vast entourage\u2014a baker's dozen of bishops, several German counts, Lord Boniface of Montferrat, and so many knights and men-at-arms it would take half a day to count them all.\"\n\nEleanor sat back against the cushions as she processed this startling news. \"So his war against Tancred has begun. Passing strange that he'd not have waited until the spring. Few campaigns are fought in winter.\"\n\n\"He has a pressing need to get to Rome, Madame\u2014to be crowned by the Holy Father without delay.\"\n\nEleanor drew a sharp breath. \"His father is dead?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady, he is. According to the bishop, the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa drowned last summer whilst trying to cross a river in Armenia. His younger son led their army on to the Holy Land, but most of them died or deserted along the way. Heinrich did not learn of his father's death until last month, and set out for Rome as soon as he could. The bishop says that once he is crowned as emperor, he'll lead his army into Sicily to claim the throne.\"\n\nFrederick's death would be a blow to Richard and the other crusaders, for Heinrich was not likely to take the cross, at least not until he'd been crowned as King of Sicily. It would be an even greater blow to Tancred, for now Heinrich could draw upon all the resources of the Holy Roman Empire to win his war. The ramifications of Frederick's death would be felt throughout Christendom. But it would begin in Lodi, with this chance meeting of Richard's mother and an avowed enemy of their House.\n\n\"Well,\" Eleanor said, after several moments of silence, \"this ought to be interesting.\"\n\nBecause Heinrich was an ally of the French king, they decided that it would be best if Berengaria's true identity was not made known to him, and she agreed to pose as one of Eleanor's ladies. The Bishop of Milan already knew that she was the Navarrese king's daughter, but he was quite willing to honor Eleanor's request for secrecy. Although it was almost thirty years since Heinrich's father had deliberately reduced the city of Milan to rubble and charred timbers, the Milanese had long memories.\n\nBerengaria's parting from her brother had been painful, for she did not know when they'd meet again. She kept her grieving to herself, though, and prepared to follow Eleanor's lead when they met the new Holy Roman Emperor and his consort. She was not sure what to expect, given Heinrich's hostility toward the English Crown. But when she broached the subject with Eleanor, the older woman laughed, saying that she and Heinrich would be poisonously polite, scrupulously observe all the proprieties, and then studiously avoid each other for the balance of their joint stay in Lodi. She even sounded grimly amused at the prospect, and to Berengaria, that was further proof that she'd never fully understand the enigmatic English queen. They are not like us, little one.\n\nHeinrich von Hohenstaufen was not as Berengaria had envisioned him. He was of moderate height, but seemed shorter because of his slight, almost frail physique. His face would have been handsome if it was not so thin, and his fine blond hair and patchy beard made him seem even younger than his twenty-five years. He could not have been more unlike her brother Sancho or her betrothed, the Lionheart, and her first impression was that he was not at all kingly. But she changed her mind as soon as she looked into those piercing pale eyes, for what she saw in their depths sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.\n\nThinking that she'd not have wanted to be wed to this man, Berengaria had glanced toward his wife with both sympathy and curiosity, for her father's sister Margarita had often written to them about life at the Sicilian court. Constance de Hauteville was as tall as her husband, very elegant in a lilac gown embroidered with gold threads and tiny seed pearls. Her veil and wimple hid her hair, but Berengaria was sure she'd been blessed with the flaxen tresses so praised by troubadours, for her skin was very white and her eyes were an extraordinary shade of blue, star sapphires framed by thick golden lashes. Berengaria had expected her to be fair, for the de Hautevilles were as acclaimed for their good looks as Henry and Eleanor's brood. Time or marriage had not been kind to Constance, though; in her mid-thirties now, she was almost painfully thin, and what remained of her beauty had become a brittle court mask. Her manners were flawless, her bearing regal. But Berengaria could see in this aloof, self-possessed woman no traces of the girl in her aunt Margarita's letters, the fey free spirit who'd been privileged to grow up in Eden.\n\nJust as Eleanor had predicted, the conversation was coldly correct. She'd offered her condolences for the death of Heinrich's father and received an appropriate response in return. They then talked of the weather and their respective journeys through the Alps, both agreeing that his had been the easier route, for the Brenner Pass was at a much lower altitude than Montgen\u00e8vre. The stilted dialogue was rendered even more awkward by their language barrier, and long pauses ensued while Heinrich's German was translated into French for Eleanor's benefit and her replies were then repeated in his native tongue. The visibly nervous Bishop of Lodi had finally begun to relax, thinking this unsettling encounter was almost over, when Heinrich chose to veer off the road paved with platitudes.\n\nHis translator gave him a startled look, and then lowered his eyes discreetly as he relayed the message to Eleanor. \"My lord king says that he was pleased to hear of your arrival, Madame, for he is sure that you could not have reached such a venerable age without acquiring the prudence and wisdom that your son so obviously lacks. It is his hope that you will exert your influence with the King of the English ere it is too late. His rash decision to embrace that bastard Tancred and even to sanctify their unholy alliance by wedding his heir, Arthur of Brittany, to the usurper's daughter is one that will cost England dearly\u2014unless you can convince him that he has made a monumental blunder.\"\n\nBerengaria was grateful that no eyes were upon her, for she could not suppress a gasp. When she looked toward Eleanor, she felt a flicker of admiration, for the queen did not even blink at the astonishing news that her son John had been disinherited in favor of a Breton child who was not yet four years old. \"Tell Lord Heinrich,\" she said, with a smile barbed enough to draw blood, \"that I have the utmost confidence in the judgment of my son, the English king. I will overlook his blatant bad manners, though, as reaching such a 'venerable age' has given me a greater understanding of the human heart. It must be unbearably humiliating and humbling for him\u2014being rejected by the lords and citizens of Sicily in favor of a man born out of wedlock.\"\n\nThe translator looked as if he'd swallowed his tongue. \"Madame, I... I cannot tell him that!\"\n\n\"Of course you cannot,\" the Bishop of Milan interceded smoothly. \"Let me do it.\" And Milo gleefully proceeded to do just that, in fluent Latin. By the time he was done, Heinrich's pale skin was blotched with hot color. He spat out something in German, then turned on his heel and stalked away, as the counts of Eppan and Shaumberg and the Bishop of Trent jettisoned their dignity and scurried to catch up with him.\n\nConstance did not follow. Instead she accepted a wine cup from a passing servant and smiled blandly at Eleanor. \"I'd rather not translate that last remark, if you do not mind, my lady.\" Eleanor smiled just as blandly, saying that sometimes translations were unnecessary and, to Berengaria's amazement, the two women then began to chat nonchalantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Listening as they discussed benign topics of interest to neither of them, Berengaria wondered if she'd ever achieve that sort of icy aplomb. How did they learn to immerse the woman in the queen? Could she learn to do that, too? Did she even want to learn?\n\nThe conversation soon turned to music, for Boniface of Montferrat was a noted patron of troubadours, with one of the best known in his entourage here at Lodi: Gaucelm Faidit. Gaucelm was native to Eleanor's world, a son of the Limousin, and she assured Constance that they could look forward to an evening of exceptional entertainment. \"Gaucelm Faidit was often at my son Geoffrey's court in Brittany and with Richard in Poitou ere he became king. I've been told that Gaucelm and Geoffrey once composed a tenso together, and I would dearly love to hear it.\"\n\n\"I'm sure that can be arranged. I know your son Richard is a poet. Geoffrey was one, too, then?\"\n\n\"He turned his hand to poetry from time to time, but not as often as Richard, who derives great pleasure from music. If you'll overlook a mother's pride, I can honestly say that several of his sirventes are as sardonic and witty as any composed by Bertran de Born.\"\n\n\"Does he write in French or in lenga romana?\" Constance asked, sounding genuinely curious, and nodded thoughtfully when Eleanor said he composed in both languages but preferred the lenga romana of Aquitaine. \"My lord husband is a poet, too... did you know that, Madame? Heinrich could easily compose in Latin, or even French. But like your son, he prefers his native tongue, and has written several songs of courtly love that are quite good\u2014if you'll overlook a wife's pride.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Most interesting. Lord Heinrich is a man of hidden talents,\" Eleanor murmured, all the while seeking to decipher the message cloaked in those seemingly casual words. Constance had just alerted her\u2014and with a subtlety that Eleanor could appreciate\u2014that she should guard her speech in Heinrich's hearing, for if he understood enough French to compose in it, he'd had no need of a translator. What she did not understand was why the other woman was giving her this warning.\n\nShe soon had her answer, though. Constance glanced about the hall, saw that they were no longer attracting attention, their conversation too banal to stir suspicions, and lowered her voice, pitching it for Eleanor's ears alone. \"You said that you were traveling to Rome, Madame. Since you've come so far, I assume you'll continue on to see your son in Messina. If I give you a letter for your daughter, will you deliver it to Joanna for me?\"\n\nEleanor did not hesitate, instinctively sure that the other woman was acting for herself, not for Heinrich. \"Of course I will. Joanna often mentioned you in her letters, saying you'd done much to ease her loneliness when she arrived in Palermo.\"\n\nFor the first time, Eleanor saw a genuine smile light Constance's face. It had a transforming effect, shedding years and cares and calling up the ghost of the carefree young girl she'd once been. \"I always thought of Joanna as if she were my flesh-and-blood. Mayhap not a daughter since there were only eleven years between us, but most definitely a little sister. During our stay in Lodi, I would be pleased to share with you stories of Joanna's girlhood at William's court.\"\n\n\"That would give me great pleasure, Lady Constance.\" Eleanor proved then that Constance had won her trust by saying with unguarded candor, \"Do you know what has befallen my daughter? William's death was followed by a strange and ominous silence. She did not write and I very much fear it was because she was unable to do so. I'd hoped to learn more in Rome, but I am guessing that your lord husband hears of it as soon as a tree falls in a Sicilian forest.\"\n\n\"Indeed, he does. You had reason for concern, Madame, for Joanna was ill treated by Tancred. He seized her dower lands and then held her prisoner in Palermo, fearing her popularity with the people and her fondness for me. But she is safe now, has been free since last September. Have you ever heard of a scirocco? It is the name we use for a wind that comes out of the African desert and rages across the sea to Sicily, where it wreaks great havoc. Well, your Richard swept into Messina like a scirocco, and Tancred not only set Joanna at liberty, he soon settled her dower claims, too. I daresay his sudden change of heart had something to do with the fact that Richard had seized control of Messina. It is called negotiating from a position of strength, I believe.\"\n\nEleanor paid Constance a rare compliment, allowing the younger woman to see the vast relief that flooded through her soul. \"Thank you,\" she said simply, and they exchanged a look of silent understanding, the mutual recognition that women like them, however high of birth and resolute of will, would always be birds with clipped wings, unable to soar in a world ruled by men.\n\nDespite the presence of a king and two queens, the center of attention soon proved to be the younger son of an Italian marquis. Boniface of Montferrat was a magnet for all eyes, for he was strikingly handsome, with curly fair hair, vivid blue eyes, and the easy smile of a man who well knew the potent appeal of his own charm. He had a reputation for battlefield heroics and reckless gallantry, his exploits often celebrated by the troubadours who frequented his court, and, unlike his German cousin Heinrich, he was outgoing and affable. Fluent in four languages, one of which was the lenga romana of Aquitaine, he and Eleanor were soon chatting like old and intimate friends. He continued to hold sway over the high table during their elaborate meal, flattering Heinrich, flirting with Constance, jesting with Eleanor and Bishop Milo. But when the talk turned to the struggle with the Saracens, he related a story about his brother Conrad that caused an astonished silence to settle over the hall.\n\nFor the benefit of those unfamiliar with his family history, he explained that his eldest brother William had been wed to the Lady Sybilla, sister of Baldwin, the Leper King, but he'd died soon afterward, and Sybilla had then made that accursed marriage to Guy de Lusignan, which resulted in the loss of the Holy Land to the infidels. \"My lord father was amongst those taken prisoner at the Battle of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. When my brother Conrad took command of Tyre, Saladin brought our father to the siege, demanding that Conrad yield the city or our sire would be put to death before his very eyes. He did not know my brother, though. Conrad shouted down from the walls that he'd never surrender Tyre, that his father had lived a long life and Saladin should go ahead and kill him!\"\n\nBoniface paused then for dramatic effect, and burst out laughing at the dumbfounded expressions on the faces turned toward him. \"Conrad does not lack for filial devotion, I assure you. But he would never surrender the only city still under Christian control, and if the price of Tyre's survival was our father's death, so be it.\"\n\nMost of those listening were greatly impressed by Conrad's piety. Only Eleanor thought to ask what had happened to his father. Boniface's answer was somewhat anticlimactic. \"Oh, Saladin eventually freed him, and he was allowed to join Conrad in Tyre.\"\n\nBoniface then diplomatically shifted attention back to his royal cousin, asking Heinrich about his Sicilian campaign. Eleanor was no longer listening, for Boniface's offhand revelation had stirred an old memory from the waning years of England's civil war. At the age of five, Will Marshal had been offered up by his father as a hostage, a pledge of John Marshal's good faith. But Marshal had broken his oath, and when the outraged King Stephen had warned that his son would die if he did not surrender Newbury Castle as he'd promised, his ice-blooded reply had passed into legend. Go ahead and hang Will, he'd said, for he had the hammer and anvil with which to forge other and better sons. John Marshal had gambled the life of his son upon his understanding of his foe, sure that Stephen could not bring himself to hang a child\u2014and indeed, Will had been spared. Eleanor wondered now if Conrad had been wagering, too, upon an enemy's honor.\n\nTheir host had engaged harpists to play while his guests dined. Afterward, Boniface's renowned troubadour took center stage. Gaucelm's repertoire was an extensive one, offering cansos of love and the dawn songs known as albas, interspersed with the stinging political satire of the sirvente. When he retired to thunderous applause, several of Boniface's joglars were summoned next. They began with a tactful tribute to Boniface's liege lord, performing one of Heinrich's songs of courtly love, although only the members of the royal retinue understood German. They then accepted audience requests, and the hall was soon echoing with popular songs of past troubadour stars like Bertran de Born, Jaufre Rudel, and a female trobairitz who'd composed under the name Comtessa de Di\u00e1.\n\nAs the evening progressed, the songs became increasingly bawdy, culminating in Heinrich's request for a song by Eleanor's grandfather, Duke William of Aquitaine, a man often called \"the first troubadour,\" who'd delighted in outraging the Church both in his life and in his songs. The one chosen by Heinrich was surely his most ribald, the rollicking tale of a knight who'd pretended to be mute so two highborn ladies would think it safe to dally with him. After testing him by letting a savage tomcat rake its claws along his bare back, they'd taken him to bed, where he boasted that he'd sinned so often that he'd been left in a woeful state \"with harness torn and broken blade.\" When he'd recovered from his amorous ordeal, he'd sent his squire back to the women, requesting that, in his memory, they \"Kill that cat!\"\n\nThe song was a carnal celebration of sin, but if Heinrich had hoped to embarrass the English queen, he'd misread his adversary. Eleanor was proud of her incorrigible, scandalous grandfather, and she laughed as loudly as anyone in the hall at his amatory antics. It was her son's betrothed who was embarrassed by the blunt language and immoral message. Berengaria had listened with discomfort as the songs became more and more unseemly. She'd been particularly offended that a woman could have written the lascivious lines penned by the Comtessa de Di\u00e1, \"I'd give him reason to suppose he was in Heaven, if I deigned to be his pillow,\" for the comtessa's song was a lament for an adulterous lover. Berengaria kept her disapproval to herself, sipping her wine in silence as the hall rocked with laughter, but she'd not yet mastered one of the subtleties of queenship: the art of subterfuge. Her face was still the mirror to her soul and her unease was noticed.\n\nAs the evening revelries drew to an end, Hawisa seized the first opportunity to draw her aside. \"You seemed disquieted earlier,\" she said with her usual forthrightness. \"Is something preying upon your mind?\"\n\nBy now Berengaria had become accustomed to the countess's disregard for propriety. Sancho's departure had left her feeling dispirited and forlorn, her loneliness exacerbated by her inability to join in the evening's merriment, and she welcomed Hawisa's concern, for tonight she was in need of a friend. \"I was downcast,\" she admitted shyly. \"I miss Sancho already. And the entertainment was not to my liking.\"\n\nHawisa's plucked blond brows shot upward. \"You do not fancy troubadour poetry?\"\n\n\"No, not really. It has not flourished in Navarre, not as it has in Aragon or Aquitaine. And to be honest, I find much of it distasteful. I can understand why the Church disapproves of the troubadours, for some of their songs glorify infidelity.\" Berengaria did not think she'd said anything out of the ordinary and she was surprised to see an expression of dismay cross the other woman's face.\n\n\"Because you speak their lenga romana, the queen and Richard took it for granted that you'd take pleasure in their music. You do know that Richard composes troubadour poetry himself?\" After a moment to reflect, though, Hawisa shrugged. \"Well, no matter as long as you've been forewarned. We'll just keep this as our secret and no harm done.\"\n\nNow it was Berengaria's turn to stare in dismay. \"Are you saying I should lie to Richard? I could not do that, Lady Hawisa, for I believe there ought to be truth between a husband and wife.\"\n\n\"Good heavens, child, marriages are made of lies!\" Hawisa said, laughing. \"They can no more withstand the truth than a bat could endure the full light of day. I am simply suggesting that you practice a harmless deception. If the husband is content, most often the wife will be content, too, for he'll be less likely to take out his bad moods on her. I assure you that other women weave these small falsehoods into the daily fabric of their lives, be it feigning pleasure in the bedchamber or feigning interest in the great hall, and they see no need to confide such falsehoods to their confessors!\" Hawisa beamed at the younger woman, pleased to be able to instruct her in the intricacies of wedlock, oblivious to the fact that she'd never applied any of these lessons in either of her marriages.\n\nBerengaria was too well mannered to admit that she found Hawisa's advice to be cynical and demeaning. So she merely smiled politely. But then she stiffened, for she'd just noticed the woman standing a few feet away. When heat flamed into Berengaria's face, Hawisa was touched by her innocence, thinking she'd been embarrassed by the talk of marital sex. But she was mistaken. Berengaria's consternation was due to the alarming realization that Heinrich's wife had overheard them discussing her marriage to his enemy, the English king.\n\nBerengaria was horrified by her blunder. How could she have been so careless? The queen had cautioned them that her identity must remain secret from Heinrich, lest he warn Philippe of Richard's intention of repudiating Alys. And now her secret had been delivered into the hands of Heinrich's queen. She was utterly at a loss, not knowing how to remedy her mistake. She shrank from the thought of confessing to Eleanor, her pride rebelling at the very notion, for she did not want Richard's mother to think less of her, to know that she'd failed in so simple a task. Nor did she want to implicate Hawisa, and how could she confess without admitting the part the countess had played in their heedless conversation? Yet Eleanor must be alerted to the danger, so how could she stay silent?\n\nIn the end, desperation drove her to approach Constance. The other woman listened impassively as she made a halting request for a private word. It was only when the queen murmured in German and her ladies withdrew that Berengaria knew her plea had been granted. As their eyes met, Berengaria felt dwarfed in comparison to Constance, who was so much taller, so much older, and so much more experienced in the ways of statecraft. Not knowing what else to do, she fell back upon candor, saying quietly, \"I believe you may have overheard my conversation with the Countess of Aumale, Madame.\"\n\nIt occurred to her that it would be easy for Constance to deny she'd heard anything, and what would she do then? But to her relief, the German queen nodded, almost imperceptibly. \"I was not intending to eavesdrop,\" she said, with the faintest hint of a smile, \"but yes, I did hear some of your conversation. Am I correct in assuming you are the King of Navarre's daughter?\" She did smile then, at Berengaria's unguarded amazement, saying, \"I do not have second sight, I assure you. Bishop Milo mentioned that King Sancho's son had accompanied Queen Eleanor as far as Milan. Since he is known to be friendly with the English king, I thought his escort was a courtesy to Richard. But once I overheard the countess extolling the advantages of marital ambiguity, I saw Lord Sancho's presence in another light.\"\n\nThat Constance de Hauteville was so clever only increased Berengaria's despondency. She could never outwit this woman. \"I am Berengaria de Jimenez,\" she said, \"the daughter of King Sancho, sixth of that name to rule the kingdom of Navarre. It is my earnest hope, Madame, that you will consider keeping my identity to yourself. My betrothal to King Richard has not been made public yet and...\" She could go no further, overcome by the futility of her entreaty. Why would Constance agree to assist Richard, the man who'd allied himself with Tancred, who'd usurped her throne? But Constance was waiting expectantly, and she said drearily, \"It was a foolish idea. Why would you want to do a service for the English king?\"\n\n\"You are right,\" Constance said. \"I have no reason whatsoever to oblige the English king, nor would I do so. But I am willing to keep silent for the King of Navarre's daughter.\"\n\nBerengaria's brown eyes widened. \"Youyou mean that?\" she stammered. \"You will say nothing to your lord husband?\"\n\n\"Nary a word. Consider it a favor from one foreign bride to another.\"\n\nOverwhelmed with gratitude, Berengaria watched as Constance turned away then, crossing the hall to join her husband. It was ridiculous to feel pity for a woman so blessed by fortune. She knew that. But she knew, too, that she'd never seen anyone as profoundly unhappy as Constance de Hauteville, on her way to Rome to be crowned Empress of the Holy Roman Empire."
            },
            {
                "title": "FEBRUARY 1191",
                "text": "[ Messina, Sicily ]\n\nIn the span of one week, Richard received two messages from his mother, dispatched from Turin and Lodi, a letter from Chancellor Longchamp's cojusticiars in England, complaining of his arrogance and refusal to heed any opinion but his own, and a warning from Longchamp himself, reporting that Count John had recently returned to England in a disgruntled frame of mind, having learned of Arthur's designation as Richard's heir. But these messages were eclipsed by the one that arrived on February 1 from Outremer, an urgent appeal for aid from Guy de Lusignan, his desperation proven as much by the timing of his letter as by his words themselves, for few ships ventured from Mediterranean ports during the stormy winter months.\n\nRichard had RIDDEN OFF after getting Guy's message, heading for the royal palace to inform Philippe of the latest developments in Outremer. Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny had been privy to the letter's contents, and he was soon surrounded by Baldwin de Bethune, Morgan ap Ranulf, and Robert Beaumont, the new Earl of Leicester. Robert had been given the earldom by Richard that very morning, word having reached them in the past week of his father's death. The elder Beaumont had chosen a land route to Outremer, and it had proven to be as unlucky for him as it had been for Frederick Barbarossa; he'd died in Romania that past September.\n\nAndr\u00e9 glanced from face to face, then nodded. \"The king will be announcing the news soon enough, so I see no reason to make you wait. The word from Outremer was not good. There have been many deaths, more from sickness than Saracen swords, and they are suffering from famine as well as plague. Amongst those who've died at Acre are Thibault, the Count of Blois, and his brother, the Count of Sancerre. The Archbishop of Canterbury was also taken ill, dying on November nineteenth. But the most significant death was that of the Queen of Jerusalem. The Lady Sybilla died of the plague in October, a few days after her two young daughters were called home by God.\"\n\nThe other men exchanged troubled glances, understanding now why Richard had seemed so grim as he'd ridden out of camp. Guy de Lusignan's hold upon power had always been precarious, given his widespread unpopularity, but with the death of his queen and daughters, he was rendered truly superfluous, for the bloodright to the throne had been vested in Sybilla.\n\n\"Who does the crown pass to now, then?\" Leicester asked, for he was quite unlike his late, unlamented father and, having no false pride, was willing to ask if he did not know. \"Does Sybilla have any other kin?\"\n\n\"Yes, a younger half-sister, Isabella. But she was wed to a man even less respected than Guy de Lusignan, a lord named Humphrey de Toron who'd long been regarded as a weakling and milksop. Knowing that none wanted to see Humphrey crowned, Conrad of Montferrat saw his chance and seized it. Conspiring with the Bishop of Beauvais and Isabella's mother, Queen Maria, who is now wed to one of the powerful Ibelin family, he argued that Isabella's marriage to Humphrey was invalid because she'd been only eight when the marriage was arranged and eleven when it took place.\"\n\n\"And how did Conrad benefit from this?\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 smiled. \"Ah, Morgan, you Welsh do get right to the heart of the matter. Conrad offered to wed Isabella himself once she was free of Humphrey\u2014for the good of the kingdom, of course. I daresay he'd have taken her if she'd been a misshapen, poxed hag, but Conrad has always had the Devil's own luck, for the girl is just eighteen and said to be a beauty. Humphrey balked, though, and so did Isabella, saying she'd freely given her consent. There was some sympathy for Humphrey at first, but he lost it all when one of Conrad's men challenged him to a duel to settle the matter and he refused. Isabella showed more backbone, insisting she loved her husband and did not want to be parted from him. But Conrad and her mother eventually bullied her into going along with it, arguing that only a strong king could save Outremer from Saladin. The Archbishop of Canterbury was made of sterner stuff, though, and flatly refused to annul the marriage, saying it was valid in the Eyes of God. But then he was stricken with the plague. As soon as he died, Conrad got the Archbishop of Pisa to annul Isabella's marriage and they were quickly wed by Philippe's cousin, the Bishop of Beauvais. So now Conrad is claiming the crown as Isabella's husband and Guy de Lusignan is entreating Richard to come to his aid as soon as possible, arguing that he is the rightful king.\"\n\nThere was silence after he was done speaking, for they understood the implications of Guy's plea. Conrad was cousin both to the French king and the new Holy Roman Emperor, while Guy was Richard's vassal, with the right to claim his liege lord's protection. They could well end up fighting one another instead of the Saracens.\n\nRichard was still in a foul mood the next day, infuriated that these political rivalries were putting the crusade at risk. Rather than brooding about it, he decided to exercise his stallion, setting out along the coastal road with his cousins and some of his household knights. It was remarkably mild for Candlemas, the sea shimmering like blue-green glass, the sun warm on their faces, their horses eager to run, and by the time they headed back toward Messina, Richard was in better spirits.\n\n\"Guy says that Conrad bribed the archbishop and others to gain their support,\" he told Andr\u00e9 and Morgan, \"and he claims Conrad was not even free to wed, having left a wife back in Montferrat and another one in Constantinople. Of course Conrad swore that they both were dead,\" he said, with such obvious skepticism that Morgan saw he'd already made up his mind. He was going to support his vassal, just as Philippe would surely support Conrad, his cousin. As he glanced over at the English king, a Welsh proverb popped into Morgan's head. Nid da y peth ni phlyco warned it was a bad bow that would not bend. From what he'd so far seen in Sicily, neither Richard nor Philippe were ones for bending.\n\n\"As if you did not have troubles in abundance,\" Andr\u00e9 sympathized, \"now you must quickly act to fill the vacancy at Canterbury. Lord knows who those fool monks would elect if left to their own devices.\"\n\n\"Actually, I've been thinking about that for some time,\" Richard admitted. \"Archbishop Baldwin was elderly, not in good health, and likely to die in the Holy Land. So I already have a man in mind\u2014the Archbishop of Monreale.\" Richard grinned then, for he enjoyed catching others by surprise. \"During our negotiations over Messina, he impressed me with his intelligence and integrity. He has taken the cross, too, unlike so many of his fellow prelates who were loath to give up the comforts of home. The Canterbury monks are as stubborn as mules, so they might well balk at electing one they consider a foreigner. But I'll soon\u2014\" Breaking off suddenly, he reined in his horse. \"What is happening up ahead?\"\n\nThe road was blocked, men on horseback milling about, others dismounted, all of them watching a bohort, an informal tournament taking place in an adjacent field. Some of the bystanders were English, but most were French, and they were laughing and shouting rude advice as knights engaged one another with long reeds called sugar canes by the Sicilians. At the sight of his wife's uncle, Jaufre swung his mount around to greet the English king. \"We came upon a peasant taking his canes to market,\" he said, pointing toward an elderly farmer; holding the reins of his donkey, he was watching with bemusement as these foreigners wielded his canes like lances. He did not seem indignant, but Richard still asked if he'd been paid for his crop, for he wanted no more trouble with the townspeople during the remainder of their stay.\n\n\"We kept handing over coins until he smiled,\" Jaufre assured Richard, for Philippe was just as adamant that the Messinians not be cheated. \"Why not join in, my liege? We have more than enough canes. Unless of course your men fear defeat?\"\n\nThe challenge was good-natured, given with a grin, and Richard saw that his knights were eager to accept it. \"Go on,\" he said indulgently, and most of them quickly dismounted, squabbling with one another over the longest, sturdiest canes. Richard had no interest in joining them, for he had no need to hone his own skills and dismissed tournaments as mere rehearsals for the real event. But then the young Mathieu de Montmorency noticed the new arrivals.\n\n\"My lord king,\" he cried out gleefully, \"you are just in time! Surely you are not going to pass up a chance to knock a French knight on his arse? You can have my own cane to smite them!\"\n\nMathieu offered it then with a dramatic flourish, and to the surprise of Richard's men, he reached out and took it. They knew Richard deliberately encouraged the boy's hero worship because it obviously annoyed Philippe. But they knew, too, his indifference to tourneys. \"He must be as just as bored as we are,\" Andr\u00e9 murmured to Morgan. As he followed the direction of Richard's gaze, though, he drew a sharp breath. \"Ballocks!\"\n\nMorgan and Baldwin looked, too, saw nothing out of the ordinary. When they turned questioningly to him, Andr\u00e9 said softly, \"There's the reason for his sudden interest, the man on that bay stallion\u2014Guillaume des Barres.\"\n\nThey both knew of the French knight, of course, for he was almost as celebrated for his martial skills as William Marshal. It made sense to them that Richard should want to test himself against such a worthy foe, and they saw no cause for concern; it was only a bohort, after all. But then Andr\u00e9 quietly told them of Richard's history with the other man.\n\n\"It happened the year ere the old king died. Richard had not yet forged an alliance with Philippe, and when he got word that the French king was at Mantes, he made a raid into the surrounding countryside. There was a skirmish with the French and he captured Guillaume des Barres. Because he was a knight, Richard accepted his pledge, and continued the fight. But des Barres broke his parole and escaped by stealing a sumpter horse.\"\n\nSeeing their surprise, Andr\u00e9 shrugged. \"I do not know why he dishonored himself like that. Mayhap he acted impulsively when he saw a chance to flee. Mayhap he feared he'd not be able to pay the ransom Richard would demand. I can only tell you that Richard was outraged when he learned of it and has borne des Barres a grudge ever since.\"\n\nBaldwin and Morgan agreed that Richard had a legitimate grievance. They did not share Andr\u00e9's unease, though, for when had a man ever been run through with a sugar cane? And surely des Barres would have the sense to keep out of Richard's way.\n\nNow that there was to be a French\u2013English clash, the impromptu bohort seemed more like a genuine tournament, and Richard's unusual participation ratcheted up the excitement. The knights lined up on opposite sides of the field, and since no one had a trumpet, the signal was the battle cry of the first crusade. \"Deus vult!\" \"God wills it!\" Their stallions kicking up clouds of dust, the men charged toward one another as the spectators shouted and cheered.\n\nJust as Andr\u00e9 had suspected, Richard headed straight for Guillaume des Barres, his path as true as an arrow. Guillaume urged his mount forward and they came together in the center of the field. Richard got the worst of the exchange, for his cane broke when Guillaume parried the blow. He was circling around to get another cane from one of his squires when he saw the triumphant smile on the other man's face. Disregarding the outstretched cane, he spurred his stallion forward as if they were on the battlefield, slamming into Guillaume's bay with such force that he stumbled and Guillaume would have gone sailing over his head had he not grabbed the mane. But Richard had not emerged unscathed, for the impact loosened his cinch and his saddle started to slip. He swiftly dismounted, snatched the reins of the nearest horse, and vaulted up into the saddle to continue the attack.\n\nBy now they had attracted the attention of the spectators and even some of the men on the field, who'd lowered their canes to watch. Guillaume had managed to regain his balance. When Richard's stallion charged him again, his bay shied and only his skilled horsemanship kept him from falling. Before he could right himself, Richard grabbed his arm and yanked, expecting to pull him from the saddle. He had not often encountered a foe with his physical strength, but now he found himself unable to dislodge the other man. Guillaume clutched his horse's neck, clasping his knees tightly against the animal's sides, and when Richard angrily demanded that he yield, he stubbornly refused, resisting the English king's attempts to unseat him as if his very life depended upon the outcome.\n\nAll eyes were riveted upon them, the French dismayed to see one of their own in danger of being publicly humiliated, the English cheering their king on. But gradually the spectators fell silent, worried by the ferocity of the struggle, so utterly out of place in the midst of a bohort. It was the newly titled Earl of Leicester who sought to break the impasse. Impulsively spurring his stallion forward, he reined in beside Guillaume and reached out to grab the French knight. He had good intentions, wanting only to help his king. He did not know Richard that well, though. Those who did, winced.\n\n\"Get away!\" Richard snarled. \"This is between the two of us!\" By now their exertion had begun to take a toll. Both men were flushed and panting, their chests heaving and their tunics soaked in sweat, their faces smeared with dust. After Leicester's brutal rebuff, none dared to intervene. They could only hope that neither man would draw his sword and turn this bizarre duel of wills into a combat to the death.\n\n\"Yield, you misbegotten son of a whore!\" Again and again Richard pulled with all of his considerable strength, but to no avail. The other man clung to his horse like a barnacle, refusing to admit defeat. At last Richard released his grip and drew back. Feeling as if his arm had been wrenched from its socket, Guillaume straightened up in the saddle, keeping his eyes warily upon the English king, for Richard's fury showed no sign of abating. To the contrary, he was staring at Guillaume with such utter and implacable hatred that the Frenchman felt a chill, for now that the red haze of battle was subsiding, he was realizing how grievously his pride had led him astray.\n\nHe had no chance to offer an olive branch, though. \"Get yourself from my sight,\" Richard said, his words all the more alarming for the flat, measured tone in which they were uttered, \"and take care never to come before me again. From now on, you are my enemy and there is no place for you in our army.\"\n\nGuillaume gasped, for that sounded ominously like a sentence of banishment. That was how the other men took it, too, and an uneasy silence fell, no one quite understanding how a friendly game with canes could end in an ultimatum and exile.\n\nGuillaume des barres was too edgy to sit and was pacing back and forth. When Jaufre walked over to offer a wine cup, he shook his head. \"You think our king will be able to make him see reason?\"\n\n\"I do,\" Jaufre said, hiding his doubts with a display of hearty confidence. \"Once Richard's anger cools, he'll see the unfairness of it.\"\n\n\"But what if he does not?\" This mournful query came from the window-seat where Mathieu de Montmorency was huddled, knees drawn up to his chest. Jaufre felt a twinge of pity, for the boy had been even more shaken than Guillaume by Richard's threat. Jaufre had not liked this glimpse of Richard's dark side, either, but unlike Mathieu, he'd never seen the English king as the living embodiment of the chivalric code. He was about to offer Mathieu the same assurances he'd just given Guillaume when the youth twisted sideways on the seat and leaned out the open window. \"The king is back! But he looks so grim! Do you think that means...\"\n\n\"He always looks grim, lad,\" Jaufre said, thinking that Philippe doled out smiles the way a miser doled out coins. Within moments, Philippe strode into the hall. One glance at his narrowed eyes and thinned mouth told them that his mission had been a failure. He was trailed by the Duke of Burgundy, who shook his head and grimaced.\n\n\"He would not heed you, my liege?\" Now that he was facing the worst, Guillaume's nervousness had ebbed, and he sounded quite calm, his the sangfroid of a man who'd spent most of his life soldiering.\n\n\"No.\" Philippe bit off the word so tersely that they could see the muscles clenching along his jawline. \"He remains adamant, insisting that you be dismissed from my service. He dared to give orders to me, an anointed king and his liege lord!\"\n\n\"So be it,\" Guillaume said softly, and then raised his head, squaring his shoulders. \"I will leave Messina as he demands, for I do not want to jeopardize our quest. Nothing matters more than the recovery of the Holy Land. But I will not abandon my vow. If I cannot accompany you to Outremer, my liege, I will go on my own.\"\n\n\"No, you are going nowhere!\" Philippe said sharply, and Guillaume looked to the other men for guidance.\n\nSeeing that the Duke of Burgundy was not going to intercede, Jaufre suppressed a sigh. \"Sire... Guillaume is right. Ours is a sacred quest, one that requires sacrifices.\"\n\nPhilippe's lip curled disdainfully. \"Sacrifices? What sacrifices has Richard made?\"\n\n\"Mayhap it was the wrong choice of words. I ought to have said 'compromises.' I am not defending Richard. He is in the wrong, not Guillaume. But he has been the one to compromise in the past.\"\n\nPhilippe's gaze was so piercing that Jaufre took an involuntary step backward. But farther than that he would not go. \"You may not want to hear it, my lord king. It has to be said, though. After Richard seized Messina, you demanded that he lower his banners and replace them with yours. Even though you'd taken no part in the capture of the city, he agreed to fly the flags of the Templars and Hospitallers instead of his own. He compromised. And when he got that gold from Tancred, he gave you a third, even though you had no claim to Queen Joanna's dower. Again, he compromised. Now... now it is your turn.\"\n\nTo Jaufre's relief, he got support then from an unexpected source\u2014from Hugh of Burgundy. \"As much as it pains me to say it, Cousin, Jaufre is right. You do need to compromise, however unjust Richard's demand. Humor him for now, if that will keep the peace between you. Mark it down as a debt owed, one to be repaid when the time is right.\"\n\nPhilippe did not have much regard for Jaufre's opinion, suspicious of his marriage to Richard's niece, but he did respect Hugh's judgment. After a long, labored silence, he beckoned to Guillaume. \"I will ask Tancred to give you shelter at Catania. But this I promise you\u2014that when I sail for Outremer, you will sail with me.\"\n\nPhilippe's anger burned all the hotter that Guillaume had behaved so honorably, offering no protests, no complaints about the injustice of the banishment. He was still fuming hours later when a messenger arrived, bearing a letter from Heinrich von Hohenstaufen. Breaking the seal, he scowled to see it was in Latin, for he had no knowledge of the language that was the voice of the Church, a verbal bridge linking the countries of Christendom. Rather than summoning a scribe or clerk, he handed the letter to his cousin. \"You know Latin, Hugh. What does it say?\"\n\nHugh scanned the contents, then looked up at the others in genuine surprise. \"He says that Richard's mother is in Italy! They crossed paths at Lodi last month.\" After a moment to reflect, he said, \"That is one mystery solved, then. At least now we know how Richard learned of Frederick Barbarossa's death ere we did.\"\n\nPhilippe shook his head impatiently. \"That does not matter. What does is the reason for that witch's presence in Italy. What could be important enough to justify such a long and difficult journey at her age?\" He was looking at Hugh, but it was obvious to the others that he was no longer seeing the duke, his gaze turning inward. \"Why did he send for her?\" he muttered, as if to himself. \"What is that swine up to now?\"\n\nAt Rome, Eleanor had another chance meeting, this time with Philip d'Alsace, the Count of Flanders, who'd also taken the cross and was on his way to Outremer. He decided to accompany them south to Naples, and as she watched Eleanor conversing composedly with the count, Berengaria could only marvel at the older woman's self-possession, for Hawisa had confided that the queen had good reason to detest Philip. He'd been wed to Eleanor's niece, her sister's daughter, Hawisa revealed, and after some years of a childless marriage, he'd accused her of adultery. The man said to be her lover had been brutally murdered, but Philip had not divorced his wife; instead he'd compelled her to turn her inheritance, the rich county of Vermandois, over to him. According to Hawisa, many people felt the charges were false; the alleged lover's brothers were so outraged that they'd rebelled. And yet Eleanor made sure that the count saw only the queen, never the angry aunt, still more proof to Berengaria that she was entering an alien world where statecraft seemed to matter more than family feelings or even the teachings of the Holy Church.\n\nIn Naples, Aliernus Cottone, the city's compalatius, welcomed them effusively, hosting a lavish feast in their honor and turning one of Tancred's castles over to them for the duration of their stay in his city, a stone fortress on a small island in the harbor. They then settled down to await the arrival of Richard's ships. Now that she was within days of her reunion with her son, Eleanor's spirits soared, but Hawisa's plummeted, for she was not eager to see her new husband, William de Forz.\n\nBerengaria's emotions were more ambivalent; she was excited to meet Richard again, but she was nervous, too, now that her new life was about to begin, for she was starting to realize how much would be demanded of her as England's queen.\n\nRichard's galleys entered the city harbor at nightfall. Richard had sent one of his admirals, William de Forz, and two of his kinsmen, Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny and Morgan ap Ranulf, to escort his mother and betrothed to Messina. The men were tired, dirty, and hungry after their voyage, and they were grateful when Eleanor sent them off to their sleeping quarters, where baths and food awaited them. De Forz departed at once, insisting that his wife personally tend to his needs. Andr\u00e9 and Morgan soon followed, after giving Eleanor letters from Richard and Joanna.\n\nEleanor picked up an oil lamp and sat down to read the letters. But as she was about to break the seal on the first one, she glanced up and saw the forlorn look on Berengaria's face. After spending more than three months together, she'd concluded that the girl would make a suitable wife for her son; her quiet courage and common sense were qualities he'd appreciate. She'd been pleased that Berengaria had shown no signs of the \"neediness\" that Richard had fretted about, but she could understand why the young woman was disappointed that there'd been no letter for her, and so she said, with a wry smile, \"Even the most intelligent of men can lack a woman's perception or insight, child. That was surely true of Richard's father, who had not a spark of romance in his soul. When we were first wed, he bestowed compliments so sparingly that I finally complained. He said he saw no point in flattery, for if a woman was a beauty, she already knew it, and if she was not, she'd know he lied.\"\n\nWhile Berengaria was slightly embarrassed that Eleanor had seen her chagrin, it was the first time that Richard's mother had spoken to her like this, woman to woman, and she reveled in the intimacy. \"Is Richard like his father?\"\n\nEleanor started to speak, then realized, somewhat to her surprise, that she did not know how her son was with a woman. She'd been cheated of so much during her years of captivity, losing time with her children that could never be gotten back. But one lesson she'd learned long ago was that regrets served for naught. And so she smiled at Berengaria, saying, \"Yes, they were more alike than either one would admit. So I can speak from my own experience when I tell you that life with Richard will not always be peaceful. But it will never be dull.\"\n\nBerengaria returned Eleanor's smile, remembering a dinner conversation they'd had in Rome with an Italian countess. She'd asked playfully what quality they most valued in a husband, offering wealth as her own criterion. Hawisa had quipped that the ideal husband was one who was absent, while Eleanor had chosen one with wit, a man who could make her laugh. Berengaria would have picked kindness, thinking of her father and the tenderness he'd always shown her mother. She'd not spoken her thoughts aloud, though, not wanting them to think her na\u00efve. She wished now that she could ask Eleanor if her son was kind. But she would have to find that out for herself.\n\nBerengaria did not like hawisa's new husband. William de Forz dominated the conversation at dinner the next day, not even letting the Count of Flanders get a word in edgewise. He dwelt upon his command of Richard's fleet at interminable length, making ocean voyages sound so perilous that Berengaria shivered, thinking of the turbulent, untamed sea that lay between Italy and Outremer. But what followed was even worse, for he began to tell the women about the great perils awaiting their army in the Holy Land.\n\n\"Plague and famine haunt that unhappy kingdom,\" he proclaimed theatrically, \"posing far greater threats than the most bloodthirsty of Saracen infidels. During the winter when ships could not reach the camp at Acre, food became so scarce that a penny loaf of bread sold for as much as forty shillings, a single egg cost six deniers, and a sack of corn one hundred pieces of gold. Horses were worth more dead than alive, and men were reduced to eating grass to survive. If the bishops of Salisbury and Verona had not raised money to feed the poor, the Good Lord alone knows how many might have died.\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 and Morgan exchanged amused glances, for de Forz's posturing made it sound as if he'd been present at the siege of Acre instead of getting the news secondhand from Guy de Lusignan's letter to Richard. \"The arrival of three supply ships eased the famine,\" he continued, \"but there was no protection against the plague. Death relentlessly stalks that bloody ground, and high birth is no defense. The Queen of Jerusalem and her young daughters died at Acre. So did the Count of Blois and his brother. The Archbishop of Canterbury. The Grand Master of the Templars. And your grandson, Madame, the young Count of Champagne....\"\n\nWhen Eleanor gasped, de Forz belatedly hastened to reassure her. \"Nay, he is not dead. But he was struck down by the same illness that killed his uncles, and for a time they despaired of his life. They say the very air of Outremer is noxious to newcomers, for how else to explain why so many are stricken so soon after their arrival?\"\n\nMorgan noticed Eleanor's sudden pallor. Glancing over, he saw that Berengaria was looking distressed, too, and he frowned, marveling that de Forz could be such a lack-wit. Did he truly think Richard's mother and betrothed wanted to hear of all those deaths, of all the dangers the king wald be facing in Outremer? \"The king built a wooden castle on the hill above Messina,\" he said abruptly, determined to banish the fearful images de Forz had been conjuring up, \"and he had all the sections marked so it can be taken apart and packed up when he departs for Outremer. He has done the same for his siege engines, too, so they can be easily reassembled at Acre.\"\n\nThe women seemed interested in that, but de Forz was not ready to relinquish control of the conversation. \"Tell them what he calls the castle, Morgan,\" he said with a grin. \"Mate-Griffon, or Kill the Greeks!\" He then launched into a melodramatic account of Richard's seizure of Messina before returning to his favorite subject, the killing fields of the Holy Land.\n\nBy now Andr\u00e9 had also noticed the effect de Forz's blustering was having upon Eleanor and Berengaria. Leaning forward, he interrupted smoothly, \"I think the queen and the Lady Berengaria would rather hear about the king's meeting with the prophet, Joachim of Corazzo.\"\n\n\"Indeed I would.\" Eleanor turned toward Berengaria, intending to explain that Joachim was a celebrated holy man, renowned for his knowledge of Scriptures and his interpretations of the Book of Revelations. But Berengaria needed no such tutoring.\n\n\"I've heard of him!\" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. \"He says that there are three ages, that of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, and that the Last Days are nigh, which will precede the Last Judgment.\"\n\n\"Exactly so, my lady,\" Andr\u00e9 confirmed. \"The king wanted to hear his prophesies for himself, as he'd heard that Joachim identifies Saladin as the sixth of the seven great enemies of the True Faith. We were much heartened by what he told us\u2014that Saladin will be driven from the Kingdom of Jerusalem and slain, and it will be King Richard who brings this about.\"\n\nBerengaria felt a thrill of pride, greatly honored that her betrothed was the man chosen by God to fulfill these holy prophesies and vanquish such a deadly foe of the Church. She found it very encouraging, too, that Richard had sought the mystic out, for that showed his faith had deeper roots than his worldly demeanor might indicate.\n\n\"Joachim claimed that the Antichrist, the last of Holy Church's seven tormentors, is already born,\" Andr\u00e9 resumed, \"and dwelling in Rome. According to Joachim, he will seize the apostolic throne and proclaim himself Pope ere being destroyed by the Coming of the Lord Christ.\"\n\nDe Forz cut in again, chuckling. \"The king disputed Joachim on that point, suggesting that the Antichrist was already on the apostolic throne, the current Pope, Clement III!\"\n\nThat evoked laughter, for they all knew how much Richard disliked Clement. But to Berengaria, Richard's sardonic gibe skirted uncomfortably close to blasphemy, and she could manage only a flicker of a smile. She forgot her discomfort, though, with de Forz's next revelation.\n\n\"Soon thereafter, the king made a dramatic act of penance, summoning his bishops to the chapel where he knelt half naked at their feet and confessed to a sinful, shameful past in which he'd yielded to the prickings of lust. He abjured his sin and gladly accepted the penance imposed upon him by the bishops, who commended him for his repentance and bade him live henceforth as a man who feared God.\"\n\nBerengaria caught her breath and then smiled, suffused with such utter and pure joy that she seemed to glow and, for that moment, she looked radiantly beautiful. \"How courageous of him,\" she murmured, more impressed by that one act of devout contrition than by all the tales she'd heard of Richard's battlefield heroics. \"Scriptures say that 'God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.'\"\n\nEleanor murmured a conventional piety, but, unlike Berengaria, she was more puzzled than gratified by Richard's spectacular atonement. She was convinced that her husband's equally spectacular penance at the martyred Thomas Becket's tomb in Canterbury had been more an act of desperation than one of contrition. She knew, though, that Richard was more emotional and impulsive than his father. Moreover, he had a flair for high drama that Henry had utterly lacked. Was that enough to explain his mea culpa in Messina? Were his sins so great that he felt the need for a public expiation?\n\nOnce the meal was over, a harpist was summoned to play and the guests broke into small groups. William de Forz withdrew to a window-seat with the Count of Flanders for a spirited discussion of recent political developments in Outremer. Morgan was flirting with Berengaria and several of her ladies. Eleanor could not help noting that Hawisa stayed as far away from de Forz as she could get, and she felt a flicker of sympathy, for she'd become fond of the outspoken countess and she knew what it was like to be yoked to an unwanted husband. She chatted for a time with the Navarrese envoys and then seized her chance to draw her kinsman aside for a private word.\n\n\"You know Richard as well as any man alive,\" she said quietly, \"for you've fought beside him for years. Tell me, Andr\u00e9... what impelled him to make an act of atonement like that?\"\n\n\"I think it was because of what Joachim told him, Madame. He said that the king is destined to fulfill those prophesies, that Almighty God will grant him victory over his enemies and glorify his name for all eternity. Naturally, such a prophesy gladdened the king's heart, but I believe it caused him to search his soul, too. To be told that his deeds could bring about the salvation of mankind is both a great honor and a great burden. I think he wanted to be sure that he was worthy, and so he felt the need to cleanse himself of past sins.\"\n\nEleanor was glad that she'd asked Andr\u00e9, for his explanation made perfect sense to her. \"Well,\" she said with a smile, \"he surely emerged as pure as one of the Almighty's own lambs after such a public scourging of his soul.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Madame.\" Andr\u00e9's answering smile was bland, for not for the surety of his own soul would he have discussed Richard's sins with his mother, even a mother as worldly as this one. Theirs was a friendship that went deeper than blood, for it had been forged on the battlefield, and he thought it likely that only Richard's confessor knew more about his cousin's vices than he did, for some he had witnessed, some he had shared, a few he had suspected, and others neither he nor Richard considered to be sins at all.\n\nTurning away then to fetch Eleanor more wine, Andr\u00e9 found himself dwelling upon those questions that all true Christians must grapple with. He believed that he was a good son of the Church. But he did not understand why lust was so great a sin. Why must his faith be constantly at war with his flesh? He listened dutifully when priests warned that he must not lie with his wife in forbidden positions or on holy days or Sundays or during Lent, Advent, or Pentecost. He did not always follow those prohibitions, though, and this was a source of dissention in his marriage. But why was it a sin if Denise mounted him or if they made love in the daylight? Why was a man guilty of adultery if he burned with excessive love for his own wife?\n\nIt sometimes seemed to him that the Church Fathers knew little of the daily struggles of ordinary men and women. In his world, fornication was not a vice, at least not for men, and it was his secret belief that adultery ought to be a conditional sin, too. What of married men who'd taken the cross? Were they supposed to live as chastely as saints until they could be reunited with their wives? Even the worst sins, those held to be against nature, any sex act that was not procreative, seemed less wicked under certain circumstances. If a poor couple could not afford another child, was it truly so evil to try to avoid pregnancy? He thought the sin of sodomy was more understandable, more forgivable, when committed by soldiers, for what did clerics know of the solidarity of men at war or the sudden, burning urges that followed a battle, a narrow escape from death? All knew that was a vice of the monastery, and surely the Almighty would judge soldiers less harshly than easy-living, privileged monks? No, it seemed to him that there were greater sins than those of the flesh, and no sermons about the Devil's wiles and eternal damnation had explained to his satisfaction why the Lord God would have made carnal intercourse so pleasurable if such pleasure was a pathway to Hell. Certain that celibacy was an unattainable goal for most men and women, he'd found himself a confessor who'd lay light penances and he took communion before battles so he'd die in a state of grace. More than that, he was convinced, a man could not do.\n\nHe'd just returned to Eleanor with a goblet of sweet red wine from Cyprus when his cousin Nicholas de Chauvigny hastened toward them. \"Madame, the compalatius has just ridden in and is requesting to speak with you.\"\n\nAs they awaited his entry, Eleanor commented to Andr\u00e9 that Aliernus Cottone had doubtless heard of their arrival and wanted to bid them welcome on King Tancred's behalf. That seemed likely to Andr\u00e9. But he changed his mind as soon as the compalatius was ushered into the hall, for his discomfort was obvious to all with eyes to see.\n\nEleanor noticed it, too, and she began to assess the man at Aliernus's side. His costly garments proclaimed him to be a lord of rank, as did the sword at his hip, and unlike his companion, he seemed utterly at ease, with the smug complacency of one who enjoyed being the bearer of bad tidings.\n\nThe Count of Flanders had sauntered over to join them, his nonchalant smile belied by his narrowed gaze, for Philip read men as well as Eleanor did. After exchanging greetings, Aliernus introduced the stranger as Count Bernard Gentilis of Lesina, Captain and Master Justiciar of Terra de Lavoro, and then said, with the resolve of one determined to get an unpleasant task over with, \"The count brings unwelcome news, Madame. I will let him speak for himself, though.\"\n\nEleanor realized then that Aliernus's disquiet was actually the embarrassment of a man confronted with a duty he did not like. \"My lord count?\" she asked silkily. \"I assume you come from King Tancred. Since he is allied with my son, the English king, I cannot imagine that any news from him would be unwelcome.\"\n\n\"I have been instructed to tell you, Madame, that you may not sail from Naples. My lord king has decided that your entourage is too large to be accommodated in Messina, and you must continue your journey by land.\"\n\nThere was a moment of shocked silence before the hall erupted in angry protest, William de Forz identifying himself grandly as the king's admiral and Andr\u00e9 dismissing the count's explanation as utter rubbish. It was Philip d'Alsace, though, who shouted the others down, demanding to know if this idiotic order applied to him, too.\n\nThe Count of Lesina seemed unperturbed by the hornet's nest he'd stirred up. \"No, my lord Count of Flanders, you may go wherever you will,\" he said with insulting indifference. \"My orders apply only to the English queen.\"\n\nBy now Berengaria had moved to Eleanor's side, looking bewildered but resolute, and the older woman gave her a quick glance of reassurance. The quarrel was heating up and Eleanor interrupted before it could get out of control. Drawing Philip and Richard's men aside, she said in a voice pitched for their ears alone, \"We accomplish nothing by arguing with this man. We need to learn why Tancred has issued such an inexplicable order, and only my son can do that. I think you ought to return to Messina on the morrow and let Richard know what has happened.\"\n\nThis delay meant that they would arrive in Messina after the start of Lent and she would not be able to see Richard and Berengaria wed. It was a great disappointment, but she was not about to let anyone see that, for she'd had much practice at hiding her heart's wounds. Instead of raging as she yearned to do, she said calmly, \"Tell Richard that we are well and will continue our journey south whilst he resolves this matter with Tancred.\"\n\nRichard's ASTONISHMENT gave way almost at once to outrage. He resisted his first impulse, which was to berate the Count of Flanders for not remaining with his mother and Berengaria; he could not blame Philip for his eagerness to reach the Holy Land and an overland passage would add another month to his journey. Instead he said, \"How would you like to meet the King of Sicily, Cousin?\" Not waiting for Philip's reply, he beckoned to one of his knights. \"Ride to Catania with all due speed, and tell Tancred that the King of England will be there by week's end, if not sooner.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MARCH 1191",
                "text": "[ Catania, Sicily ]\n\nFacing Tancred across a wooden trestle table was not the same as facing him across a battlefield, but the hostility in the chamber was unmistakable. Richard's gaze flicked from the Sicilian king to his teenage son, Roger, and then to his counselors, the aged Matthew of Ajello and his two grown sons, Tancred's brother-in-law, the Count of Acerra, the Archbishop of Monreale, the pirateadmiral Margaritis, and Jordan Lapin. While he'd arrived with a large escort, Richard had been accompanied into the council chamber only by his cousins, the Count of Flanders and Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny, and by Gautier de Coutances, the Archbishop of Rouen. They'd so far remained silent, content to let Richard speak for himself. With Tancred, it was just the opposite; his advisers were doing all the talking, while he said very little, studying Richard through opaque, heavy-lidded eyes. While they were obviously on the defensive\u2014it was difficult to mount a convincing argument for the claim that Messina could not have accommodated Eleanor's entourage\u2014they were not giving any ground, insisting that their king must act in the best interests of his own subjects. And Richard's patience, always as ephemeral as morning mist, soon evaporated in a surge of exasperation.\n\n\"I have a suggestion,\" he said abruptly. \"At this rate, Easter will have come and gone ere we've made any progress whatsoever. Counselors always seem to have time to waste; kings do not. So it would be in our mutual interest, my lord Tancred, if you and I threshed out the wheat from the chaff by ourselves. Unless, of course, you feel more comfortable here in the council chamber....\"\n\nIt was a challenge few kings could have refused and Tancred was quick to accept it. Shoving back his chair, he got to his feet and said tersely, \"Follow me.\"\n\nAs the monarchs approached the gardens, they were watched with curiosity and some amusement by the palace guards, for the two men could not have presented a more dramatic contrast. Even Richard's enemies acknowledged that he looked like a king out of legend, tall and athletic and golden, whereas even Tancred's most devoted supporters would admit that there was nothing regal about his appearance, for he was of small stature and very ill favored. But there was affection, not derision, in the smiles of the guards, for in the fourteen months since he'd claimed the crown, Tancred had displayed qualities that men-at-arms valued more than a handsome face and a royal bearing: courage and energy and tenacity.\n\nTancred would have been greatly surprised had he known the English king agreed with his soldiers. Richard had devoted most of his life to perfecting the martial skills that had won him such fame, but he did realize that he'd been blessed by the Almighty with physical advantages not given to all\u2014uncommon height and strength and cat-quick reflexes. It was obvious to him that Tancred's military prowess had been earned by sheer force of will, by his refusal to accept his body's limitations and his willingness to risk all on the field of battle. To Richard, that made him a man deserving of respect, and he stopped as soon as they came to a marble fountain so Tancred would not have to struggle to keep pace, for his shorter legs required him to take two steps for every one of Richard's.\n\nPerching on the edge of the fountain, Richard regarded the other man thoughtfully. \"We are both kings. But we are both soldiers, too, and I cannot believe that you fancy these diplomatic dances any more than I do. So let's speak candidly. Unless I know your real reason for refusing to permit my mother to sail from Naples, we do not have a prayer in Hell of reaching any sort of understanding.\"\n\nTancred continued to pace back and forth, keeping his eyes upon Richard all the while. \"Do you truly want to reach an understanding?\"\n\nRichard blinked. \"Why would I not? We are allies, after all.\"\n\n\"Allies of expediency,\" Tancred said bluntly, \"dictated by circumstances. But who is to say what will happen if those circumstances change? And the death of Frederick Barbarossa is a great change indeed.\"\n\n\"So you feel the need to take greater precautions now that Heinrich is stepping into his father's shoes. You want to protect your borders. I understand that. But surely you do not see my aging lady mother as a threat, Tancred?\"\n\nTancred was quick to respond with sarcasm of his own. \"Come now, Richard. Your 'aging lady mother' is no matronly widow in her sunset years, content to embroider by the hearth and dote upon her grandchildren. In the game of statecraft, Eleanor of Aquitaine has been a high-stakes player for more than fifty years. You could not have chosen a better agent to confer with Heinrich. Did they reach an accord at Lodi? Or did she merely open the door so you could then pass through?\"\n\nRichard was more astonished than angry. \"Is that what this is about? You think my mother was scheming with Heinrich? Their meeting at Lodi was happenstance, no more than that, and to hear my mother tell it, it was awkward for both of them.\"\n\n\"Happenstance is like charity in that it covers a multitude of sins. Suppose I accept what you say\u2014that their meeting at Lodi was by chance\u2014however unlikely that seems. But that still does not explain your mother's presence in Italy. She is well past the age to be crossing the Alps in winter unless she had an urgent reason for doing so. Why is she here, Richard, if not to strike a deal with Heinrich?\"\n\nBefore Richard could reply, Tancred flung up his hand, for there was a relief in being able to confront the English king with the suspicions that had been so damaging to his peace of mind. \"If you are about to remind me of the hostility between the Angevins and the von Hohenstaufens, spare your breath. Mutual interests can bridge the greatest of gaps, as we both know. At one time, you were considering a marriage with one of Frederick's daughters, were you not? So is it so far-fetched that you and Heinrich could reach an accord at my expense? I have been told that he has offered you enough gold to buy an entire fleet and has promised to send German troops to the Holy Land, whilst your own mother has suddenly turned up in Lodi with that treacherous two-legged snake. Why should I not believe that I am about to be stabbed in the back?\"\n\nRichard was quiet for several moments, considering his options. \"So you think Heinrich has bribed me to abandon our alliance? You are a brave man to say that to my face. But I will not take offense, for I think someone is playing a very dangerous game with us both. I am no man's pawn, though, and neither are you. Let's prove it by making a bargain here and now. I will tell you the true reason for my mother's arrival in Italy if you then tell me who has been pouring this poison into your ear.\"\n\nTancred's mistrust was still obvious, yet he did not hesitate. \"Fair enough.\"\n\n\"My mother is bringing me a bride, the Lady Berengaria, daughter of King Sancho of Navarre.\"\n\n\"I thought you were plight-trothed to Philippe's sister.\"\n\n\"For more than twenty years, surely the world's longest march to the altar. I have valid grounds for refusing the marriage, grounds the Church will recognize. But that is between Philippe and me.\"\n\n\"It is none of my concern, and I'll be the first to admit that. Yet would it not have been easier to disavow the plight-troth and wed the Spanish princess whilst you were still in your own lands?\"\n\n\"I dared not do that, for Philippe had not wanted to take the cross. In fairness, neither did my father, but they were both shamed into it by the Archbishop of Tyre. I knew that Philippe would seize upon any excuse to forswear his oath, and I would have given him a silver-gilt one had I revealed my intention to marry Sancho's daughter. He would have refused to sail for Outremer, using my action as his pretext, for he cares naught for the future of the Holy Land. And then I'd have been faced with an impossible choice\u2014to break my blood oath to liberate Jerusalem in order to defend my own lands, or to honor it, knowing that my domains would be overrun by French forces as soon as we sailed from Marseille. I chose the lesser of evils, and whilst I do not deny it was underhanded, I have no regrets.\"\n\n\"You have even less reasons for regret than you think, Richard. Philippe is the one who has been 'pouring poison' into my ear. He insisted that you and Heinrich were conspiring against me, claiming that Heinrich has bought your support, and using the Lodi meeting to lend credibility to his accusations.\" Tancred paused then, mustering up a small, abashed smile. \"I suppose I was a fool to heed him. But he was very convincing.\"\n\n\"I daresay he was,\" Richard said grimly. \"He has proven himself to be diabolically adept at taking advantage of other men's vulnerabilities, using my brothers against my father with a puppeteer's sure touch. In my case, I was using him as much as he was using me, and he had a rude awakening once he realized that. In truth, I think that is one reason why he harbors such animosity toward me.\"\n\nTancred thought it was probably simpler than that; the two men seemed like fire and ice to him, so utterly unlike in every way that conflict was inevitable. The tragedy was that their bitter rivalry would continue to rage in Outremer, and that did not bode well for the rescue of Jerusalem.\n\nTo the surprise of all, including the two kings, Richard and Tancred discovered they found pleasure in each other's company, and the brief confrontational visit stretched into a five-day sojourn, with excursions to Mount Etna and the holy shrine of St Agatha, with feasting as lavish as Lenten rules allowed, and an exchange of royal largesse. Richard presented the Sicilian king with Excalibur, the sword of the fabled King Arthur, discovered at Glastonbury Abbey. Tancred offered a more practical gift: fifteen galleys and four horse transports for the crusade.\n\nThe night before richard's departure, a messenger had arrived from Philippe announcing his intention to meet him at Taormina, halfway between Catania and Messina. This came as no surprise, for Richard and Tancred did not doubt that his prolonged stay must be a source of growing unease for the French king, wondering what secrets were being revealed, what confidences exchanged. Tancred then decided to accompany Richard as far as Taormina, knowing such a gesture of royal goodwill would cause Philippe even greater disquiet. Before they rode out the next morning, though, he took Richard into his private solar, saying he had another gift for the English king.\n\nRichard insisted that no further gifts were necessary, pointing out that nothing could be more welcome than those fifteen galleys. But Tancred merely smiled and produced a key, which he used to unlock an ivory coffer. Removing a rolled parchment, he held it out, still with that enigmatic half-smile. \"You need to read this, Richard.\"\n\nTaking the letter, Richard moved into the morning light streaming through the window. He'd read only a few lines before he spun around to stare at the Sicilian king. \"Jesu! Where did you get this, Tancred?\"\n\n\"From the Duke of Burgundy. He brought it to me last October, just after you'd taken Messina. The seal is broken, of course, but it is written in Philippe's own hand. Keep reading, for it soon gets very interesting indeed. Your fellow Christian king and sworn ally offers to fight with me if I decide to make war upon you.\"\n\nBy the time Richard had finished reading, his hand had clenched into an involuntary fist. He eased his grip, then, not wanting to damage the parchment, for he understood what a lethal weapon he'd just been given. \"I did not think that faithless weasel could surprise me, but even I did not expect a betrayal of such magnitude. If any proof was needed of his indifference to Jerusalem's fate, here it is for all the world to see.\" After rereading the letter, he glanced back at the Sicilian king, his gaze searching. \"Why did you show me this, Tancred?\"\n\n\"Because I do care about the fate of Jerusalem, and I thought you ought to know you'll have more enemies than Saladin in Outremer.\"\n\nTheir eyes met and held, and Richard found himself admiring the Sicilian king's subtle vengeance. He did not doubt that Tancred was sincere in his desire to aid in the delivery of the Holy City. But Tancred was not a man to leave a debt unpaid, and with this damning letter he would be paying Philippe back in the coin of his choosing.\n\nThe French king returned to Messina in a cold fury, for he'd ridden all the way to Taormina only to discover that Richard had already departed via another road. Tancred was no help at all, blandly shrugging off Philippe's questions and insisting he did not know why Richard had not waited for his arrival. Philippe usually set a moderate pace due to his dislike of horses, but spurred on by anger, he reached Messina not long after Compline had begun to ring. The next morning, he rose early and after hearing Mass, he headed out of the city for a confrontation with the English king.\n\nRichard had continued to reside in a house on the outskirts of Messina, using Mate-Griffon only for entertaining. As Philippe dismounted in the courtyard, his eyes fell upon the Count of Flanders and his mouth thinned. Philip was his godfather and his uncle by wedlock, for he'd arranged Philippe's marriage to his niece Isabelle. That was back in the early days of Philippe's reign, when the Flemish count had believed the young French king was malleable, easily led. When Philip discovered the steel in the boy's soul, their clash of wills had soon led to armed conflict. Twice the old English king had intervened on Philippe's behalf, patching up an uneasy peace between Flanders and France, but the French king had a long memory. After exchanging acerbic greetings with Philip, he followed the Flemish count into the great hall.\n\nThere he received an equally icy welcome by Richard. When he demanded to know why Richard had not waited at Taormina, the other man stared at him for so long that he began to bristle, thinking he was not going to get an answer. But then Richard said curtly, \"We need to talk about this in more private surroundings.\" And without waiting for Philippe to agree, he led the way toward the family chapel that adjoined the hall. Philip of Flanders, the Archbishop of Rouen, and Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny trailed after him without a word being said, as if they'd been expecting just such a move.\n\nPhilippe was followed by his own retinue\u2014the bishops of Chartres and Langres, his cousins, the Count of Nevers and Hugh of Burgundy, Jaufre of Perche, and Druon de Mello. The chapel was a small one and the men had to jockey for space, finding it a challenge not to tread on toes or jab elbows into ribs. Breathing in the pungent scents of incense, sweat, and tallow-dipped rushlights sputtering in wall sconces, Philippe looked around in distaste. The church seemed dingy to him; the whitewashed walls were streaked with smoke, the floor rushes matted and rank, and the magnificent reliquary of rock crystal and gold on the altar seemed utterly out of place in such shabby surroundings. Moreover, this chapel had been the scene of Richard's spectacular Christmas penance. Philippe was convinced that Richard got as drunk on fame as some men did on wine, and he saw that dramatic act of expiation as just one more example of the English king's constant craving for attention, although he never doubted that Richard had as many sins to atone for as Judas Iscariot.\n\n\"This is ridiculous,\" he said. \"There are not even any prayer cushions to sit upon. You may not want us to dine with you, my lord king, but surely you can spare some wine in your solar.\"\n\nHis men chuckled at that; Richard did not. \"I chose to have this talk here because I would never shed blood in God's House.\"\n\nPhilippe was staring at him in shock. Before he could recover, Richard moved to the altar and picked up the parchment he'd placed next to the reliquary. \"I'd planned to demand an explanation from you. But what would be the point? Your own words speak for themselves.\"\n\nWatching intently as the French king took the letter, Richard gave the younger man credit for his self-control. Not a muscle flickered and he showed no emotion even after he'd recognized what he was reading; he could not keep heat from rising in his face and throat, though, a sudden surge of color noticeable even in the subdued lighting of the chapel. Philippe's men were watching in obvious confusion, and Richard turned toward them. \"Since I doubt that your king is going to read his letter aloud, let me enlighten you. It is a message that he sent to King Tancred, offering to fight alongside him should Tancred declare war upon his English allies.\"\n\nThere was a stifled sound, like a collective catch of breath. As Richard had expected, the only one who did not seem stunned was Hugh of Burgundy. Philippe's head jerked up and he flung the letter down into the floor rushes. \"This is a clumsy forgery.\"\n\n\"And why would Tancred bother to forge a letter? How would he benefit from setting us at odds?\"\n\n\"How would I know?\" Philippe snapped. \"I can only tell you that it is not mine.\"\n\n\"Tancred says the letter was delivered by the Duke of Burgundy. Are you also going to disclaim any knowledge of it, Hugh?\"\n\n\"Indeed I am,\" the other man said coolly. \"I know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"Then you ought to be willing to prove it.\" Before Hugh guessed what Richard had in mind, he'd snatched up the reliquary. \"This contains a splinter of the True Cross. Swear upon it, Hugh, swear that your king is right and this is a damnable forgery.\"\n\nHugh was not easily disconcerted, but Richard had managed it now. His eyes cut toward Philippe, back to the holy relic. He made no move to take it, though, and Richard's mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. \"Well, at least you'll not lie to God. What about you, Philippe? Dare you to swear upon the True Cross?\"\n\nPhilippe ignored the challenge. \"I am beginning to understand now. This is not that bastard Tancred's doing. The two of you are in collusion. You've hatched this ludicrous plot to provoke a breach between us, to put me in the wrong.\"\n\n\"And why would I want to do that?\"\n\n\"So you'd have an excuse not to marry my sister!\" Philippe almost spat the words, and this time Richard's smile was like an unsheathed dagger.\n\n\"You are half right. I have no intention of marrying your sister. But I need no excuse or pretext, for our union is prohibited by the Holy Church.\"\n\n\"What are you claiming, Richard? That you've suddenly discovered you and Alys are related within the forbidden degree? Do you truly expect the Pope to believe such drivel? After a betrothal of more than twenty years?\"\n\nPhilippe had regained his balance by now and his voice throbbed with such scornful indignation that his men found themselves nodding in agreement.\n\n\"I am not talking of consanguinity. That can be remedied if a dispensation is granted. This is a far more serious impediment.\" Richard's eyes swept the chapel before coming to rest upon the Archbishop of Rouen. \"Is it not true, my lord archbishop, that Holy Scriptures say it is a mortal sin for a man to have carnal knowledge of his father's wife?\" Getting a solemn affirmation of that from the prelate, Richard swung around to confront Philippe. \"Would it be any less of a sin for a man to bed his father's concubine?\"\n\nAll the color had drained from Philippe's face. \"Damn you, what are you saying?\"\n\n\"I am saying that I was told my father took your sister as his leman, that she may have borne him a child, and their liaison was notorious enough for it to become known at the French court\u2014\"\n\n\"Enough!\" Philippe took a quick step forward, his hand dropping instinctively to the hilt of his sword. \"You'll rot in Hell for this!\"\n\n\"Me?\" Richard feigned surprise. \"Most people would say that I'm the one wronged. If my father seduced my betrothed, then surely he is the one burning in Hell. And if the story is false, if it was contrived for political advantage, then the one responsible will be judged even more harshly\u2014by the Almighty and by all of Christendom once his perfidy is exposed.\"\n\n\"My lord Richard.\" The Bishop of Chartres had stepped forward, saying gravely, \"Can you provide proof of this most serious accusation?\"\n\n\"I can provide witnesses who heard that he'd bedded her. And I can give you the name of the man who told me\u2014Philip d'Alsace, the lord Count of Flanders.\"\n\nAll heads turned toward Philip, who seemed untroubled to find himself the center of attention. For a moment, he studied the French king, who returned his gaze with a hawk's unblinking intensity, saying in a dangerously soft voice, \"You'd best think ere you speak, my lord count, for your heedless words could have consequences you cannot even begin to imagine.\"\n\n\"Surely you're not threatening him, Philippe?\" Richard jeered, earning himself a look from the French king that was truly murderous.\n\n\"Not at all.\" Philip dismissed Richard's accusation with a casual wave of his hand, as nonchalantly as if they'd been exchanging social pleasantries. \"I am sure my nephew by marriage merely meant to remind me how much was at stake. You need not worry, Philippe; I understand quite well. What Richard has said... it is true. I did seek him out at Mantes not long after Martinmas in God's Year 1188 and told him of the troubling gossip I'd heard about his father and the Lady Alys. Can I swear upon yonder holy relic that the rumors were true? Of course not. But I felt that he had a right to know of these rumors since he was betrothed to the lady. In his place, I would have wanted to know. Any man would,\" he said, with a sudden, sardonic smile that both acknowledged his own sordid marital history and dared anyone to mention it.\n\nWith all eyes now upon him, awaiting his response, Philippe drew several bracing breaths as he sought to get his rage under control. As he looked around the chapel, he could see that even his men had been won over by Richard's argument; how could he be expected to wed a woman who may have been his own father's bedmate? \"I do not believe these malicious reports,\" he said fiercely. \"They are vile lies meant to tarnish the honor of the French Crown, and I will not permit my sister's reputation to be besmirched like this.\"\n\n\"I see no reason to do that, either,\" Richard said, for he could afford to be magnanimous now that victory was within reach. \"I have never blamed the lass. We know women are weak and easily led into sin, and we know, too, that kings are ones for getting their own way. Release me from my promise to wed Alys and I am content. I will gladly return her to your custody and that will end it.\"\n\nUntil that moment, Philippe would not have thought it possible to loathe another man as much as he now loathed Richard. \"And are you going to return Gisors Castle and the Vexin, too?\" he snarled. \"A fine bargain you want me to make. You get to keep her dowry and I get back a woman whose value on the marriage market is\u2014\"\n\n\"My liege, this serves for naught.\" The Bishop of Chartres was regarding Philippe somberly. \"We are in agreement that the plight-troth is no longer binding upon the English king. I would suggest that we select trustworthy men to conduct the necessary negotiations, but this is neither the time nor the place.\"\n\nPhilippe opened his mouth, closed it again. If Bishop Renaud, who was his cousin as well as one of his prelates, saw Richard as the wronged party, then this was a war he'd already lost. \"So be it,\" he said through gritted teeth and turned on his heel, shoving aside anyone in his path as he stalked from the chapel.\n\nAs the other men exited the church, Richard leaned over and retrieved Philippe's letter from the floor rushes. He'd been confident he would prevail, having the bishops and Leviticus on his side. But the letter had undoubtedly made his task easier, for Philippe's men were more receptive to his argument after seeing their king's treachery laid bare like this. What Philippe failed to understand was that many of his vassals had been proud to take the cross and they did not think Christian kings should be fighting each other instead of the infidels. Richard rolled the parchment up, tucking it into his belt. He was free of Alys at long last and he still held Gisors and the Vexin. Not a bad day's work.\n\nHe glanced up at the sound of footsteps. Not everyone had left, for the Count of Flanders was several feet away. Sauntering toward the altar, Philip ran his hand admiringly over the reliquary. \"It was clever to confront Philippe here. Does this truly contain a sliver of the True Cross?\"\n\n\"Of course it does. I borrowed it from the Archbishop of Messina.\" Richard had been surprised when Philip had indicated his willingness to speak honestly about their meeting at Mantes. Now that the count had proven true to his word, he was grateful. But he was also puzzled by the other man's motivation, for selfinterest had been the guiding force of Philip's life, and he did not see how his cousin had benefited from his candor. To the contrary, he'd just made a mortal enemy of the French king.\n\n\"I'd be hard put to decide which one of us Philippe hates more at the moment,\" he said, and Philip laughed softly.\n\n\"If it were a horse race, I'd wager that I win by a nose,\" he said, \"for he felt the prick of my blade at his throat. But then I unexpectedly showed mercy and he'll never forgive me for that.\"\n\nRichard laughed, too, for he thought that was an astute assessment of the French king's character. \"By not revealing that Philippe was the one who'd told you about the seduction rumors? No, that is something Philippe would not have wanted known. I've often wondered about that. Think you that he invented the story out of whole cloth?\"\n\n\"I've thought about that, too. It is true that he feared you'd reconcile again with your father, as you'd done so often in the past, and that would be far less likely if you believed your father had been swiving your betrothed. But I doubt that he was the source of the story, for Philippe is too protective of his own honor. I think he probably heard it from one of his spies, who'd picked it up from any of your father's legion of enemies. To hear some of them tell it, Harry was like a stag in rut, always on the prowl. I remember a similar accusation made against him some years earlier, that he'd deflowered the daughter of a rebellious baron in Brittany, so it might be the Alys tale had its roots in that charge. Any truth to that Breton story, you think?\"\n\n\"Your guess is as good as mine,\" Richard said with a shrug. \"From what I've heard, he preferred knowing bedmates, not skittish virgins.\" He thought that showed his father's common sense, for he'd never understood why so many men prided themselves upon luring coy or chaste women into their beds. Why bother with smiles and songs when it was so much easier and quicker to buy a bedmate with coins?\n\nWhile Richard had little interest in discussing his father's carnal conquests, he did want to know why Philip had taken such a risk. \"You're going to pay a price for your honesty, as you well know. Not many men would have dared to defy Philippe like that, for he's one to nurse a grudge to the end of his earthly days. Yet that does not seem to trouble you.\"\n\n\"And you want to know why.\" Philip leaned back against the altar and was silent for a moment. \"Ah, hellfire, Cousin, I'd think the answer would be obvious. I am nigh on fifty and there are mornings when I feel every one of those fifty years, thanks to aging and the joint-evil. I can no longer ride from dawn till dusk without aching bones, find the pleasures of the flesh are losing their allure, and I've had to face the fact that I'll not be siring a son to follow after me. At this point in my life, I do not much care about disappointing Philippe Capet. What matters is not disappointing the Almighty. This is the second time I've taken the cross. The first time I had less worthy motives, for I had it in mind to meddle in Outremer's politics, hoping to see the Leper King's sisters wed to men of my choosing. As you know, that did not happen. Now I've been given another chance, and I mean to make the most of it. Most likely I'll die in the Holy Land, but to die fighting for Jerusalem is not such a bad fate, is it?\"\n\nRichard had never expected to feel such a sense of solidarity with Philip, for they'd been rivals for as long as he could remember. Now he found himself looking at his cousin through new eyes. \"No, it is not such a bad fate at all,\" he agreed, although he did not share the older man's fatalism. He was confident that he would return safely from Outremer, for surely it was not God's Will that he die in a failed quest.\n\nThe count of flanders gave Philippe another reason to despise him by hammering out an agreement that handed Richard virtually all that he sought, for the French king's bargaining position had been crippled by the exposure of his double-dealing, the disapproval of his own vassals, and the Church's rigid code governing sexual relations. Richard was released from his promise to wed Alys in return for a face-saving payment of ten thousand silver marks to Philippe. He was to retain the great stronghold of Gisors and the Vexin; it would revert to the French king only if he died without a male heir. The other lands in dispute were disposed of according to which king held them at the present time. And Alys was to be returned to Philippe's custody upon the conclusion of the crusade.\n\nEleanor and Berengaria reached the ancient seacoast city of Reggio on the twenty-ninth of March, where they were welcomed by its archbishop and installed in the royal castle. Berengaria was anxious now that she could see Messina from the window of her bedchamber, and she had a restless night. As a result, she slept past dawn, and when she was awakened later that morning, she was startled to see a blaze of sunlight filling the room. \"Why did you not wake me, Uracca?\" she said reproachfully, for she could not remember the last time she'd missed Morrow Mass.\n\n\"My lady, you must get up! The English king is here!\"\n\nBerengaria sat bolt upright in the bed. \"Are you sure? We were not expecting him till late this afternoon!\"\n\n\"He is with the queen, and they have requested that you join them in the solar.\" The girl's eyes were round. \"I see why they call him Coeur de Lion, my lady, for he is as golden as a lion and just as large!\"\n\nShe continued to burble on, but Berengaria was no longer listening. Fumbling for her bedrobe, she flung the coverlets back. \"Fetch my clothes!\" Her ladies obeyed, pulling her linen chemise over her head and then helping with her gown, lacing it up with fingers made clumsy by their haste, and then fastening a braided silk belt around her hips. She sat on the bed as they gartered her stockings at the knees, while Uracca undid her night plait and tried to brush out the tangles. When they brought over a polished metal mirror, Berengaria felt a pang of disappointment, for she'd planned to wear her best gown for her first meeting with Richard, not this rather plain one of blue wool. She was debating with herself whether she had time to change into the green silk with the violet sleeves when a knock sounded on the door.\n\nAs one of the women hurried over to open it, Berengaria reached for a wimple and veil. \"Tell the servant that I will be ready soon, Loretta.\" This was not how it was supposed to be, she thought, a flicker of resentment beginning to smolder. But at that moment, Loretta cried out that the queen herself was at the door. Berengaria gasped, forewarned by a sudden premonition. There was no time for the wimple, but she managed to cover her hair decently with a veil before Loretta opened the door and Eleanor entered, with Richard right behind her.\n\n\"You must forgive my son's bad manners, child. If I did not know better, I'd think he had been raised by wolves.\"\n\nEleanor's reprimand was nullified by her indulgent tone. Later, Berengaria would remember and realize that Richard could do no wrong in his mother's eyes. Now she had no thoughts for anyone but the man striding toward her. She quickly sank down in a deep curtsy, lowering her gaze modestly, for well-bred young women were expected to be demure and self-effacing in the company of men. But then that rebellious glimmer sparked again, and, as Richard raised her up, she lifted her chin and looked him full in the face.\n\nIf he thought her boldness displeasing, as men in her country would have done, he hid it well, for he was smiling. \"My mother is right,\" he said lightly, \"but for once I have an excuse for my bad manners. What man would not be eager to see his bride?\" He kissed her fingers with a courtly flourish, and then pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand.\n\nHis breath was warm on her skin and Berengaria felt an odd frisson go up her back. He was as handsome as she remembered, but she did not remember being as intensely aware of his physical presence as she was now. How tall he was! She had to tilt her head to look up into his face, and as their eyes met, she found she could not tear her gaze away. His beard was closely trimmed, his teeth even, his lips thin but well shaped, his eyes the color of smoke. But a crescent-shaped scar slanted from one eyebrow into his hairline, and the hand still clasping hers bore another scar, this one zigzagging along his thumb and disappearing into the tight cuff of his sleeve. She wondered how many other battle scars were hidden underneath his tunic, and then blushed hotly, shocked by her own unseemly thoughts.\n\n\"I'd forgotten what a little bit of a lass you were,\" Richard said, and she gave him a quick sidelong glance. He did not seem disappointed, though, for he was still smiling.\n\n\"And I'd forgotten how tall you were,\" she said, returning his smile shyly. \"Not as tall as my brother, of course, but then no men are...\" Worrying that she was babbling like Uracca, she let the rest of her sentence trail off. Richard had turned toward his mother, saying that he'd never seen another man as tall as Sancho, and she took advantage of his distraction to take a backward step, for she was finding his close physical proximity to be rather unsettling. It seemed safer to concentrate upon his conversation with his mother instead of her own wayward thoughts, and she glanced toward Eleanor. What she heard was disappointing, for Richard wanted them to leave Reggio as quickly as possible, and she'd hoped to have time to change her gown. But it would never have occurred to her to object, and she murmured her assent when Richard asked if she'd soon be ready to depart.\n\nEleanor had reassured Richard that little unpacking had been done because of their late arrival in Reggio the night before, and a glance around the chamber confirmed that for him. \"Good,\" he said. \"Why don't you let the others know we're leaving, Maman? I'll be with you as soon as I've had a private word with my bride.\" He was both amused and annoyed by the reaction of Berengaria's duennas, for they looked as horrified as if he'd just announced that he planned to drag the girl off to a bawdy house. But he left the matter in his mother's capable hands, watching with a grin as she ushered the women out. Like so many clucking hens, he thought, and turned back to Berengaria as soon as the door closed behind them.\n\nTo his surprise, she looked as flustered as her duennas. So it was true that Spanish women were kept almost as sequestered as Saracen wives. Well, the lass would just have to adapt to Angevin ways, for Navarre was part of her past now. \"You need to explain to your women, little dove, that I do not always have ravishment in mind when I seek some privacy with you.\"\n\nBerengaria blushed again, her lashes fluttering downward as she explained softly that she'd never been alone with a man before, for that would cause a great scandal. \"Other than family, of course,\" she added and then her breath quickened, for Richard had reached for the long, dangling ends of her silk belt and was playfully pulling her toward him.\n\n\"So...\" he said, and there was a low, intimate tone to his voice now that she found both mesmerizing and disquieting. \"Sancho's little sister is all grown up....\" There was no longer space between them, and she could feel the heat of his hands through the thin wool of her gown as he slid them down to her waist. \"I am going to take a wild guess and venture that you've never been kissed?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" she whispered, shivering when his fingers moved caressingly along her throat. But she did not protest when he tilted her chin up and then brought his head down, his mouth covering hers. The kisses were gentle at first, awakening sensations that were unfamiliar but not unpleasant. When his arms tightened around her, she followed his lead, dimly aware that this was surely sinful but paying more heed to the messages her body was sending to her brain\u2014that she liked what he was doing to her. When he at last ended the embrace, she felt lightheaded and out of breath, relieved that he meant to take it no further, and understanding for the first time why men and women put their immortal souls at risk for the carnal pleasures of the flesh.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"now you've been kissed, Berenguela. But I promised irlanda that we'd get to Bagnara by noon, and if we do not, she'll put some vile Sicilian curses on my head.\"\n\nBerengaria did not find it as easy as Richard to return to the real world. She could still taste his mouth, feel his hands on her waist, and she had no idea who Irlanda was or where Bagnara was, either. But when he took her hand and propelled her toward the door, she followed obediently for several steps. Stopping abruptly then, she looked up at him in delighted surprise. \"You called me Berenguela!\"\n\n\"Why not? It is your name, after all.\"\n\n\"Yes, but for the past five months, I've heard only Berengaria, the French version, for I was told it was more fitting for your queen. Berenguela is my real name, what I am called in Navarre. And you remembered!\"\n\n\"I like the musical sound of it,\" he said, reminding her that he was a poet, too. \"I find it more pleasing to the ear than Berengaria. But it does make sense for you to have a French name when the majority of my subjects speak French. So we'll compromise. You can be Berengaria at court, Berenguela in bed.\"\n\nNot waiting for her response, he opened the door and started swiftly down the stairs, towing Berengaria behind him. Feeling as if she had been caught up in a whirlwind, she let herself be swept along, for what else could she do?\n\nJoanna had managed to lay out an impressive dinner, given that it was Lent and she'd had only one day's notice. The priory guest hall was filled with linen-draped trestle tables for all the people accompanying Eleanor, Berengaria, and Richard. But she'd reserved the high table for her family, not willing to share her mother with any others, however briefly.\n\nBerengaria found herself forgotten in the jubilation of the Angevin family reunion, but she didn't mind. She'd been deeply touched by Joanna's joy, and slightly envious, too, for she'd have given almost anything to see her own mother again. They'd been talking nonstop during the meal and she was content to listen and to learn, although she did not catch all of their words. She'd spoken the lenga romana with Eleanor and Richard, but apparently Joanna's grasp of that language had waned during her years in Sicily, and they were conversing in French, at times too rapidly for Berengaria, whose own French was adequate but not yet fully fluent. There was no mistaking their pleasure, though, and after all the stories she'd heard of the Devil's Brood, it was reassuring to see such obvious family affection. She did not understand how Richard could have hated his own father and brothers, but there could be no doubt that he loved his mother and sister, and she took heart from that.\n\nRichard remembered her from time to time; occasionally he smiled and once he winked. But for most of the meal, he was focused upon his mother, for he and Joanna were competing for Eleanor's attention. Joanna wanted to talk of family, the one she'd left behind and the one she'd found in Sicily. But Richard was intent upon political matters, and as soon as the last course was done, he shoved his chair back and rose to his feet.\n\n\"I need to borrow Maman for a while, irlanda, but I promise to have her back at Bagnara tonight.\"\n\n\"Richard, no!\" Joanna flung her napkin down and jumped to her feet, too. \"It has only been nine months since you've last seen Maman, but we've been separated for nigh on fifteen years!\"\n\nBerengaria was astonished that Joanna should dare to challenge Richard like that. She enjoyed a free and easy relationship with her own brother, but Richard seemed much more formidable than Sancho; moreover, she'd not have disputed Sancho in public. Richard showed no signs of anger, though. Leaning down, he kissed his sister on the cheek, saying with a coaxing smile, \"I know how much you've missed Maman. However, it cannot be helped. We've got to talk about the news from Rome.\"\n\nJoanna was not won over and continued to argue until Eleanor intervened, saying she'd make sure that Richard brought her back from Messina by Vespers. Watching wide-eyed, Berengaria found herself hoping that Richard would not forget to bid her farewell, for it was obvious to her that his mind was very much on that \"news from Rome.\" Her worry was needless, for he took the time to kiss her hand and to tell Joanna to look after her before he escorted his mother from the hall.\n\nBerengaria had assumed that she and Richard would spend their first day together. Glancing toward Joanna, she saw that the other woman was frowning and she wondered if Richard's sister found this as awkward as she did. While Joanna had welcomed her warmly, they were still strangers, after all. Richard had mentioned casually that Joanna would be accompanying them to the Holy Land, and Berengaria wasn't sure how she felt about that. She found Joanna somewhat intimidating, for she was extremely beautiful and worldly and self-confident, all the things that Berengaria knew she herself was not.\n\n\"Did you ever want to throttle your brother, Berengaria?\" Joanna made a wry face. \"I ought to have known he'd pull a sneaky trick like this, for he has not enough patience to fill a thimble.\"\n\n\"Is he always so... so sudden?\" Berengaria asked, and Joanna grinned.\n\n\"All the males in my family are like that. My father was the worst of the lot, unable to be still even during Mass. At least Richard can get through Prime or Vespers without squirming. But once he gets an idea into his head, he wants to act upon it straightaway.\"\n\nBerengaria was disarmed by Joanna's easy bantering and ventured to confide, \"Things seem to happen so fast with him. That will take getting used to, I think.\"\n\n\"You'll have to,\" Joanna said, \"for he's not likely to slow down. I'd say the secret of marriage to Richard is just to hold on tight and enjoy the ride!\"\n\nBerengaria flushed, for as innocent as she was, she still could recognize a double entendre when she heard one. As she met Joanna's eyes, she saw in them amusement and a glint of mischief. But she saw, too, genuine friendliness and, in that moment, she decided she was glad that Joanna would be coming with them. As she entered this new and alien Angevin world, what better guide could she have than Richard's favorite sister?"
            },
            {
                "title": "MARCH 1191",
                "text": "[ Messina, Sicily ]\n\nEleanor leaned back in her chair, regarding her son with affectionate, faintly suspicious hazel eyes. Richard had explained why he'd\u2014as he put it\u2014switched horses in midgallop, designating his little nephew Arthur as his heir instead of his brother John. He'd been candid about his troubles with the recalcitrant citizens of Messina, and he'd surprised her by speaking well of Tancred, insisting that he'd made sufficient restitution for his ill treatment of Joanna. But so far he'd not said a word about the \"news from Rome,\" and she was wondering why. Before she could ask him, though, he launched into a scathing account of the French king's duplicity, and she listened with interest, marveling that Philippe could have been a son of the mild-mannered Louis's loins.\n\n\"So Philippe is the one responsible for making me miss your wedding. I owe him a debt for that, and will look forward to repaying it.\"\n\nRichard smiled, thinking that he'd have loved to witness his mother's retribution. \"Alas, it will have to wait, for Philippe is no longer in Messina. He sailed for Outremer this morning at dawn, in such haste I could almost believe he did not want to meet you and my bride, Maman.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to hear that,\" Eleanor said truthfully; she'd wanted to judge for herself the danger that the French king posed to her son. \"Meeting Heinrich was quite interesting, for I now know that if he were cut, he'd bleed pure ice. I was hoping to have an opportunity to take Philippe's measure, too.\"\n\n\"Philippe is more of an annoyance than a threat,\" Richard said derisively. \"If he were cut, he'd most likely faint, since I doubt that he's ever seen blood up close, for certes not on the battlefield.\"\n\n\"You still have not told me why we must confer in private like this. If I were not the trusting sort, Richard, I'd think that you have something to tell me that I'll not want to hear.\"\n\nA flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a fond smile. \"You know me far too well, Maman.\" Rising, he busied himself in fetching her a cup of wine, such an obvious delaying tactic that she did not bother to point it out. \"Last night a messenger arrived from Rome,\" he said after he'd resumed his seat. \"The Pope has been called home to God\u2014or the Devil, depending upon which master he served. Clement died on March twentieth.\"\n\n\"And...?\" Eleanor prompted. \"Have they chosen his successor yet?\"\n\n\"Not officially, but I have it on good authority that they'll select one of the Orsini family, Cardinal Giacinto of Santa Maria in Scola Greca. I believe you've met him, Maman?\"\n\n\"I did,\" she confirmed, \"many years ago. An odd choice, for he must be well into his eighties by now.\"\n\n\"Eighty-five, I'm told.\" Richard leaned forward, his eyes probing hers. \"As little as I liked Clement, at least I knew whom I was dealing with. And he was receptive to English needs as long as I made it worth his while. So his death is inconvenient, for I'd recently put several requests before the papal curia, one of them to confirm Longchamp again as his papal legate.\"\n\nShe raised an eyebrow, for she'd heard in Rome of the growing complaints about Longchamp's heavy-handed rule. \"Is that wise, Richard?\"\n\n\"I know,\" he conceded, \"I know.... He has been collecting enemies as hungrily as a squirrel hoarding acorns. I'm not happy about it, but his loyalty is not in question. He needs to be reined in ere he goes too far, though, so I am sending the Archbishop of Rouen back to England to do just that. Between the two of you, you ought to be able to keep Longchamp from getting too besotted with his own importance.\"\n\nEleanor thought the Archbishop of Rouen was a good choice. \"I still do not see why we could not have discussed this at Bagnara.\"\n\n\"Because I need you to be in Rome for the new Pope's consecration, and Joanna will not be happy about that.\"\n\n\"Neither am I, Richard. I've been here less than a day!\"\n\n\"I know how much I ask of you, Maman. But we must make sure that the new Pope is friendly to English interests, and to do that, we need to get to him ere Philippe and Heinrich do.\" Seeing her frown, he said before she could refuse, \"There is no one better than you at such diplomacy. Moreover, you already know the man and none would doubt your authority to speak for me.\"\n\nEleanor's eyes searched his face intently. After a silence that he found ominous, she said with a sigh, \"Very well. But it will be up to you to reconcile Joanna to our abrupt departure. I am sure she'd expected to have some time to get to know Berengaria.\"\n\nRichard looked uncomfortable. \"Joanna will not be returning with you, Maman. I want her to accompany us to Outremer. It will not be easy for Berenguela in the Holy Land, and I thought she'd feel less homesick if she had Joanna for company. That is even more true now that we cannot wed until the end of Lent, for her reputation will suffer if she does not have a woman of high rank to act as her... duenna, as the Spanish call it.\"\n\nEleanor bit her lip to keep from protesting. As little as she liked it, his reasoning made sense. \"I will not be rushing off on the morrow,\" she warned. \"I'll act as your envoy at the papal court, but I want some time with my daughter first.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" he agreed hastily and leaned over to graze her cheek with a grateful kiss before holding out his hand to assist her to her feet. \"I am truly sorry that we cannot wed whilst you're here, Maman. You missed so many family events during those years of confinement. It does not seem fair that you'll be deprived of my wedding, too.\"\n\nEleanor was both surprised and touched that he understood how much it had meant to her. \"So...\" she said with a warm smile, \"what do you think of your bride?\"\n\n\"She seems quite suitable,\" he said with an easy smile of his own. \"From all you've told me, she acquitted herself well during the hardships of your journey. I think she'll make a good queen.\"\n\nEleanor thought so, too. But for a moment, she felt an unexpected pang of regret, for she was in her twilight while Berengaria's sun was just rising. Almost at once, she rejected that twinge of envy, for she'd not have traded her past for her daughter-in-law's youth. She'd experienced so much that Berengaria never would, that few women had, and she smiled, thinking that no man would ever have dismissed her with Richard's casual \"quite suitable.\" She'd wanted more, and if her memories were bittersweet now, they still testified to a life lived to the fullest, a life that had not lacked for passion or adventure or the \u00e9lan of her beloved Aquitaine.\n\nRichard was looking at her curiously. \"You've an odd expression, Maman. If you were a cat, you'd be licking cream from your whiskers. What were you thinking?\"\n\nShe gave him a half-truth. \"Of my marriage and yours. Have you given any thought to how awkward it will be for Philippe, having to bear witness as you wed the woman who replaced his sister?\"\n\n\"Why? You think I ought to ask Philippe to give the bride away?\" He laughed down at her, stirring memories of the mischievous boy he'd once been, and she stilled the voice whispering that he took his enemies too lightly, for she knew he'd not have heeded her words of warning.\n\nEleanor did not depart for another four days, despite Richard's coaxing. It was not until the afternoon of April 4 that her ship's oarsmen began to maneuver their way out into the harbor. Richard, Joanna, and Berengaria stood on the quay, and Eleanor continued to return their farewell waves until Messina began to recede into the distance. A northwest wind had robbed the sun of much of its warmth, but Hawisa stayed loyally beside the queen instead of withdrawing to the shelter of their canvas tent. She knew that this parting was painful for Eleanor, so she'd done her best to hide her own elation, her joy that she'd not have to lay eyes again upon her husband for many months, if ever. Men died so easily in the Holy Land, after all.\n\nEleanor remained on deck, indifferent to the spray splashing over the gunwale. \"I knew Richard would be facing daily danger in Outremer,\" she said at last. \"But I'd not expected to have to fear for my daughter's safety, too.\"\n\nHawisa glanced at the queen's profile, wishing she could say there was no cause for anxiety. She couldn't, of course, for the deadly miasmas and maladies of those eastern climes did not discriminate between men and women. But she wanted to offer some comfort, for she greatly admired the aging queen. \"I understand your concern, Madame. I feel confident, though, that the Lady Joanna will come to no harm, not with the king to protect her. I'd wager that even Death himself would think twice ere he took Richard on,\" she said lightly, \"for I've never met a man who was so invincible.\"\n\nHer attempt at humor failed. \"Richard is not invincible,\" Eleanor said sharply. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she added, so softly Hawisa barely heard her, \"He just thinks he is....\"\n\nMorgan was very pleased to be one of the knights chosen to accompany Richard to Bagnara. Life had gotten hectic in Messina now that their departure date was so close, and he welcomed this brief respite from his supervisory duties at the waterfront. He welcomed, too, the chance to renew his flirtation with the Lady Mariam and to visit with his cousin Joanna. After Richard went off to see Berengaria, Morgan strolled over to the guest hall with Warin Fitz Gerald, Baldwin de Bethune, and the Pr\u00e9aux brothers, Pierre, Guilhem, and Jean.\n\nThey were in high spirits, anticipating a pleasant supper with Joanna and her ladies, joking that they might even get to spend the night, for plight-troths were almost as binding as actual marriage vows and they all knew Richard was not one for waiting. While they were excited to be leaving Sicily at long last and eager to reach the siege of Acre, they were also uneasy, dreading the dangerous sea voyage that lay ahead of them, and so their laughter was loud and their badinage caustic. They mocked Pierre, whose recent run of bad luck carried over into several dice games, they threatened to tell Mariam of Morgan's frequent visits to a dockside tavern and a buxom, black-eyed servingmaid, and they tormented Guilhem, who'd unwisely confessed to a fear of the sea, with tales of shipwrecks and savage storms. But when Richard suddenly strode into the hall and tersely announced that they were returning to Messina, they got hastily to their feet, keeping their faces carefully blank and their tongues bridled. They nodded dutifully when he told them to fetch their ship's crew from the town tavern, and it was only after he'd gone to find Joanna that they dared to exchange knowing grins.\n\nJoanna was in the priory gardens, teaching Alicia how to play chess. She was taken by surprise when Richard appeared without warning, announced he was going back to Messina, and turned on his heel before she could respond. She caught up with him in a few strides, though, grasping his arm while she looked up into his face. \"Why are you leaving so soon? You just got here\u2014\" Comprehension dawning, she tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. \"Oh... she turned you down?\"\n\nIt was one of the few times she'd seen her brother off balance. He stared at her in open astonishment. \"What are you, a witch?\"\n\n\"It hardly took second sight to figure that out.\" She glanced around to make sure Alicia was out of earshot, pleased to see the girl was already making a discreet exit. \"You are obviously in a temper, and you have not been here long enough to quarrel with anyone but Berengaria. I'm surprised, though, that she was bold enough to tell you no.\"\n\nRichard had been surprised, too. \"I had no idea she could be so stubborn. The plight-troth is binding upon us, the marriage but a formality\u2014\"\n\n\"Not to Berengaria.\"\n\n\"Even if we'd not been plight-trothed, it is no great sin, venial at most.\"\n\nJoanna was not going to be sidetracked by a discussion of fornication. She didn't doubt that most men shared Richard's view, and many women, too. What mattered, though, was that Richard's betrothed did not. \"This is an argument you do not need\u2014or even want\u2014to win, Brother. I'm sure you've not been living like a monk whilst waiting for her arrival. If you've an itch, you can get it easily scratched in Messina. But if you coax or coerce Berengaria into doing something she sees as a grievous sin, you could make her skittish of the marriage bed. And Morgan and Andr\u00e9 say you never commit your troops to battle without first weighing the consequences and assessing the risks.\"\n\nRichard wasn't sure if he was annoyed or amused. \"Well, this I can say for certes, that I never expected to be lectured on carnal matters by my little sister.\"\n\n\"Your 'little sister' is a woman grown, in case you've not noticed. For a number of years, I presided over a court as worldly as any in Christendom, and that includes Maman's court at Poitiers.\" There was an edge to her smile. Yes, Maman had been forced to overlook Papa's infidelities, but at least he'd not kept a harim of Saracen slave girls. She was not about to discuss that with her brother, though. Instead she linked her arm through his and then gave him a playful push, telling him to go back to Messina whilst she comforted his bashful bride.\n\nJoanna was as good as her word, and soon thereafter, she knocked upon the door of Berengaria's guest cottage. It opened so quickly she knew the other woman must have been expecting Richard to return, an inference confirmed by the conflicted emotions that chased across Berengaria's face: hope, disappointment, and relief. She stepped aside, politely opening the door wider when Joanna asked to enter.\n\nJoanna was glad to see she was still alone, not having called her duennas back yet, for a delicate discussion like this required privacy. She was glad, too, that Berengaria did not seem overly distraught; she'd half expected to find her in hysterics, weeping and apprehensive. But her pallor was the only sign of distress; Berengaria's brown eyes were dry. Joanna suddenly wished she'd thought out what she wanted to say beforehand. Too late to retreat now, though. \"I thought you might feel like talking, Berengaria. I remember my first argument with William\u2014\"\n\nBerengaria gasped. \"Richard told you?\"\n\n\"No, he did not,\" Joanna said hastily. \"I guessed, which was easy enough to do, since he looked like a storm cloud. Also, I know how eager men are to plant their flags and claim their territory.\"\n\nBerengaria raised her chin. \"If you've come to counsel me to yield\u2014\"\n\n\"Indeed not! You must follow the dictates of your conscience, not Richard's. Assuming he has one,\" Joanna added with a grin. \"Actually, I think it was good that you stood up to him. It never hurts to remind a man that he cannot always have his own way. I wanted to make sure that you were not overly troubled by the quarrel. You need not fear that he'll nurse a grudge or that he is well and truly wroth with you, for he is not.\"\n\nBerengaria surprised her then by saying, \"I know. I could see that he was more vexed than outraged.\" Sitting down on a coffer chest, she studied the other woman, trying to make up her mind. It would be wonderful to have a confidante, to be able to talk about the confusing feelings and urges that were preying on her peace. But did she dare to confide in Richard's sister? When Joanna moved to the table and poured wine for them both, she said before she could repent of it, \"I wish Richard and I had not quarreled. But I am not so sheltered that I do not know husbands and wives will disagree. It is something else that is troubling me, a serious sin....\"\n\nJoanna did not like the sound of that. Summoning up what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she seated herself beside Berengaria on the coffer. \"Can you tell me about it?\"\n\nBerengaria wavered before saying in a low voice, no longer meeting Joanna's eyes. \"Padre Domingo, my confessor, cautioned me that I must be vigilant in protecting my virtue. He said... said Richard might want to lie with me ere we were wed, but I must not permit it. So I was prepared when he...\" She let her words trail off, but then she stiffened her spine and said resolutely, \"I did not expect, though, to like it so much when Richard kisses me. I was too prideful, Joanna, sure that I could not be tempted by the sin of lust....\"\n\n\"I see,\" Joanna murmured, trying to conceal her relief. She'd feared Berengaria was going to confess that she believed sexual intercourse was always a sin, even in the marriage bed, for she knew some women took to heart the Church's teaching that no fruitfulness of the flesh could be compared to holy virginity, the highest form of spiritual purity. She watched color stain Berengaria's cheeks and she suddenly realized that Padre Domingo was probably her only source of information about carnal desires. Her mother had died when she was just nine, and her sisters were younger than she. Joanna was convinced that there was not a father ever born willing to discuss lust with his daughter, and she doubted that Berengaria's brother would have been willing, either. She doubted, too, that Berengaria, reserved and proud, would have turned for advice to her attendants, for they were all flighty young girls, and if one was not a virgin, she'd never have admitted it.\n\nJoanna felt a surge of sympathy for her brother's young bride, thinking how lucky she herself had been. Her mother had always been candid and comfortable about sexual matters, and Joanna had concluded at an early age that the marriage bed must be a place of great pleasure since her parents spent so much time in theirs. Wed at eleven, she'd had years to get to know her husband before she was old enough to consummate their marriage, and she'd had trusted female confidantes in Beatrix, Mariam, and Constance. Poor Berengaria, with only Padre Domingo to show her the way, the blind leading the blind! Well, it was not too late, thankfully.\n\n\"When Padre Domingo was warning you of the dangers of lust, did he happen to mention that marital sex is not a sin?\"\n\n\"Yes... but only if it is done for procreation.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" Joanna said triumphantly. \"The Church teaches that there are four reasons for a husband to have carnal knowledge of his wife, and only one is a sin. As you said, it is never sinful when it is done in hopes of having a child. But it is not sinful either if it is to pay the marital debt.\"\n\nBerengaria looked puzzled, but interested. \"What is the marital debt?\"\n\n\"Padre Domingo forgot to tell you about that, did he? According to St Paul's teaching, the husband must render the conjugal debt to the wife and the wife to the husband, for he has power over her body and she over his. The Church position on this is so uncompromising that even if a husband or wife contracts leprosy, the partner still owes the marital debt.\"\n\nBerengaria's eyes were wide with amazement. \"You mean that I could demand this 'debt' from Richard and he'd have to oblige me?\" And when Joanna confirmed that he would, that idea was so improbable to Berengaria that she began to giggle. Joanna joined in her merriment, and their shared laughter did much to diffuse any awkwardness between them.\n\n\"The third permissible reason for having marital sex,\" Joanna resumed, \"is one of the reasons for getting married, to avoid the sin of fornication.\" She almost added that most people parted company with the Church on that, agreeing with Richard that fornication was harmless as long as the participants weren't married or had not taken holy vows, but she thought better of it. \"The only time that a married couple sin is if they are so driven by lust that satisfying their carnal needs is all that matters to them.\"\n\n\"Oh....\" Berengaria was quiet for a moment, considering what she'd just been told, and then she smiled. \"Joanna, thank you! You see... I told Richard that we could not lie together until we were properly wed. Yet I did not dare remind him that even married couples are supposed to abstain during Lent. After he left, I realized that this would pose a problem in our marriage, for there are so many days when the Church prohibits carnal union\u2014Sundays and Wednesdays and Fridays and during Pentecost and Advent or when the wife is with child.... Somehow I could not envision Richard taking all these restrictions in good grace. And as his wife, I could not refuse him, which would mean that I'd be sharing his sin. But now I see that I would not be sinning, that I'd merely be satisfying the marital debt!\"\n\nShe laughed, almost giddy with relief. But then her face shadowed again. \"You said it was still a sin to be 'driven by lust.' I feel reasonably sure that I feel lust when Richard kisses me, Joanna, or touches me...\" She was blushing hotly now, and Joanna felt a protective urge that was almost maternal.\n\n\"You feel desire,\" she corrected, \"the natural desire that a woman is supposed to feel for her husband. And that is not a sin. It is part of the Almighty's Plan, for many doctors believe that a woman cannot conceive unless she experiences pleasure.\"\n\nThis was a day of surprises for Berengaria. \"Is that truly so?\"\n\nJoanna hesitated, but Berengaria had been very candid. It seemed only fair to be candid in return. \"Richard told you that my son died soon after birth.\" She had to blink rapidly, for there were some wounds that never fully healed. \"I was unable to conceive again after that. Eventually, I had William take me to Salerno, which has some of the best doctors in Christendom, and a few of them are female. I consulted several of these women physicians, hoping they could help. They told me when a woman was most fertile and gave me herbs and assured me that I was more fortunate than many wives, for I enjoyed making love with William. That would improve my chances of getting pregnant, they said....\" She managed a flickering smile, a slight shrug.\n\nBerengaria found herself blinking back tears, too, for the pain on Joanna's face was so naked that she felt as if it struck at her own heart. \"I cannot even imagine what it would be like to lose a baby,\" she confessed. \"But it must be of some comfort to know that he is in God's Keeping, blessed and safe for all eternity.\" When Joanna nodded, Berengaria overcame her natural reticence and squeezed her sister-in-law's hand. \"I am very glad that you are coming with us,\" she confided. After a few moments of companionable silence, though, she said, \"But what of a woman who is raped and then gets with child? That happened to a milkmaid at our palace in Olite. She was forced by a drunken lout, so I am sure she got no pleasure from it. Yet she became pregnant.\"\n\n\"That same thought occurred to me, too,\" Joanna admitted, \"and I asked the Salerno doctors and midwives about it. Most likely a male physician would have insisted pregnancy was proof of pleasure. Women know better, of course. So, yes, a woman can sometimes conceive even if she was unwilling. But they assured me it is true more often than not, and it made sense to me that a husband's seed would be more likely to take root if his wife was relaxed and receptive.\"\n\nBerengaria thought that made sense, too. \"I am grateful we had this talk,\" she said, smiling at the older woman. \"You are much more knowledgeable about carnal matters than Padre Domingo!\"\n\n\"Consulting a priest about carnal matters is like asking a blind man to describe a sunset,\" Joanna said teasingly, and was gratified when Berengaria joined in her laughter, for even a few days ago, she was sure the young Spanish woman would have seen such flippancy as blasphemous. She began to relate a story she'd heard some years ago, one meant to reinforce in Berengaria's mind the link between sexual pleasure and conception: that the French king had been persuaded to divorce Eleanor only after his advisers convinced him that she'd never bear him a son now that their marriage was irretrievably broken and she was unlikely to find satisfaction in his bed.\n\nJoanna was very pleased with herself, confident that she'd done much this afternoon to make sure her brother's marriage would be a successful one. It might be a good idea, though, to suggest to Richard that Padre Domingo be sent back to Navarre and a more open-minded confessor found for his bride. A pity Richard would never know how much he owed her. But she could not tell him without violating Berengaria's trust, and she had no intention of doing that. She thought they'd planted the seeds this day of something worth nurturing\u2014a genuine friendship.\n\nRichard had his wooden castle dismantled and the sections were marked before being stowed in ships to be reassembled in Outremer. The same was done for his numerous siege engines. As his army made ready for departure, huge crowds gathered upon the docks to watch. The Messinians were awed by the magnitude of the undertaking. The cargo vessels were gradually filled with tuns of wine, sacks of flour and cheese and dried fruit and beans and salted meat; rumors spread that these long-tailed Englishmen were taking more than ten thousand slabs of cured pork alone. They were fascinated by the endless procession of provisions being lugged onto the gangplanks: huge barrels of water, grain and hay, arrows, crossbow bolts, armor, saddles, blankets, tents, and coffers filled with silver pennies, gold plate, and jewels, an astonishing mix of the mundane and the precious.\n\nDaily life in Messina came to a halt, and even the markets were deserted as people gathered to watch hundreds of horses being loaded upon transport galleys called \"taride.\" These vessels were backed onto the beaches instead of the wharves, and port doors were opened in their sterns. Then the stallions were blindfolded and led up ramps into the ships, where they'd be separated by wooden hurdles and held upright by canvas slings that slid under their bellies and were attached to overhead iron rings. A tarida usually accommodated forty horses, and once they were stabled below deck, the vertical inner door was barred and the outer door caulked to make it watertight. The loading of so many high-strung destriers did not always go smoothly. Sometimes the horses balked and men's tempers flared, and the spectators agreed it was almost as entertaining as a troupe of traveling players.\n\nIt was not until Wednesday in Holy Week that the royal fleet was ready to sail, and most of the city turned out for the event, thankful that this foreign army was finally departing but also delighting in this extraordinary spectacle. More than two hundred ships and seventeen thousand soldiers and sailors. Large transport vessels called busses. Naves that relied only upon sails. And the ships that drew all eyes and evoked admiring murmurs from the townspeople\u2014the sleek, deadly war galleys, painted in bright colors, their gunwales hung with shields, the red and gold banners of the English king streaming from their mastheads. The crusade of Richard Coeur de Lion was at last under way.\n\nAfter such a dramatic departure from Messina, what followed was anticlimactic. The wind died and the fleet found itself becalmed off the coast of Calabria. They were forced to drop anchor and wait. After the sun had set in a blood-red haze, many took comfort from the glow of the lantern placed aloft in Richard's galley. He'd promised to light it each and every night, a guiding beacon for his ships, reassuring proof of his presence in the midst of the dark, ominous Greek Sea. The next day the winds picked up, but they remained weak and variable, and not much progress was made. Yet so far the voyage had been calm and for that, seventeen thousand souls were utterly thankful.\n\nRichard had chosen one of the largest busses for Joanna and Berengaria; it was a heavy, cumbersome vessel, but safer than the low-riding galleys. As Good Friday dawned, the fleet sailed on, the swift galleys holding back to keep pace with the slower craft. Determined to keep them all together, Richard kept a sharp eye out for any stragglers\u2014like a sheepdog nipping at the heels of its flock, his men joked. But they welcomed the sound of trumpets echoing from one ship to another, and took heart from the sight of the royal galley cleaving the waves like a battle sword as it led the way toward the Holy Land.\n\nBy midmorning, the winds shifted, coming now from the south, and the sea grew choppy. As their buss wallowed in the heavy swells, most of the women were soon stricken with seasickness. To her dismay, Joanna discovered that she was still as susceptible to mal de mer as she'd been during her initial sea voyage at the age of eleven. As her suffering intensified, she was groggily grateful to her future sister-in-law; Berengaria never left her side, holding a basin when she had to vomit, wiping the perspiration from her face with a cool, wet cloth, fetching a vial of ginger syrup herself and gently persevering until Joanna had choked it down. The atmosphere in their tent was stifling, the stench enough to roil heaving stomachs, their coffers and trundle beds pitching every time the ship did. Joanna's dogs were whimpering softly, and she could hear the sobbing of one of Berengaria's ladies. When she realized that Alicia was huddled by her bed, she tried to put a comforting arm around the girl's trembling shoulders. But it was then that the deck dropped so steeply that several of the women screamed and Joanna would have been thrown from the bed had Berengaria not grasped her arm and held tight. None of them breathed until the ship righted itself, sure for a terrifying moment that they were plummeting down to their deaths.\n\n\"Joanna!\" A gust of salt air swept in as Mariam stumbled into the tent. Her face was blanched of all color, and she clutched her pater noster beads so tightly the string had frayed. \"The ship's master... he says a bad storm is nigh.\"\n\nThe sky darkened long before the rain arrived. It was as if night had come, hours before its time. The crew of Richard's galley was rushing to lower the sails, tugging on the pulleys that controlled the halyard. All the day's light had been smothered by sinister storm clouds as black as pitch, and as Richard and his men watched in awe, lightning blazed overhead, casting an eerie green glow over their ship. The sea was tossing and bucking like an unbroken horse, and each time the galley plunged into a trough, it took an eternity until it struggled back up again. Most of Richard's companions fled to the dubious shelter of their tent, but he had always faced his foes head-on and he remained on deck, clinging for support to the gunwale as the sailors struggled to pull in the oars.\n\nThe hours that followed were the most frightening of his life. The waves flung their ship about as if it were a child's toy; never had he felt so helpless, so at the mercy of forces beyond his control. The helmsman remained at the tiller, jerking it with all of his strength, but it was obvious to Richard that the rudder was not responding. Rain was soon pelting down, stinging with needle-sharpness against his skin; within moments, he was utterly drenched. Water was splashing over the gunwale and the deck was awash. Each time a wave smashed into the hull, it sounded as if millstones were raining down upon them, and the wind was keening like the souls of the damned. Distant peals of thunder were much closer now, and when lightning stabbed through the clouds, he was horrified to see it strike the mast of a nearby galley, half blinding him with a searing flash of blue-white fire. Flames illuminated the doomed ship for a harrowing moment, and then it was gone, swept away into the black void of sea and sky, the drowning men's screams muffled by the howling wind. Richard did not dare release his hold on the gunwale to make the sign of the cross; closing his eyes, he entreated the Almighty to spare his fleet and his men, offering up a despairing prayer that he not be punished for past sins ere he had the chance to redeem himself in the Holy Land.\n\nThe squall was as swift-moving as it was savage, and by evening the wind's force began to ease and the sea gradually quieted. The sailors recovered first, for they were accustomed to gambling with Death and winning. For those experiencing their first storm at sea, it was not as easy. Richard's men, their bodies bruised and battered, their stomachs still churning, were too shaken to sleep, and slumped, glassy-eyed and mute, on their soaked bedding, not yet believing their reprieve.\n\nRichard could not sleep, either. He did his best to appear composed, for a battle commander must not show fear before his soldiers. But he did not think his appetite would ever come back, and he found he had no more control over his brain than he'd had over the tempest. He could not forget the faces of the men on that burning galley. Two hundred and nineteen ships. How many of them had survived the storm? How many men had he lost? What of his sister? Berenguela? Surely their buss was sturdy enough to have ridden out the gale? How could it be God's Will that they perish at sea, alone and afraid?\n\nAlmost as if nature were making amends for the Good Friday storm, the winds were favorable the next morning and on the four days that followed. By Wednesday, April 17, a dawn flight of birds and seaweed in the water alerted the sailors that they were approaching land. When the ship's master informed Richard that the island of Crete lay ahead, Richard gave the order to put ashore there.\n\nThe southwest coast of Crete was exposed to southerly winds and sudden squalls sweeping down from the mountains, so the fleet had to seek shelter on the island's northwest coast, finally dropping anchor in the Gulf of Chandax. Richard then dispatched Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux in a small galley called a \"sagitta,\" with orders to count their ships as they straggled in, to see if any were missing and if any were in need of storm repairs. After that, he settled down to do what he found most difficult\u2014wait.\n\nThe sun was flaming out in spectacular fashion when Jaufre of Perche was rowed over to the king's galley. He found Richard studying maps of Rhodes and Cyprus, which had been designated as rendezvous ports in case the fleet was scattered at sea. Refusing an offer of cheese and bread, Jaufre confessed that the mere sight of food would be enough to make him sprint for the gunwale and begin feeding the fish. He did accept a cup of wine, though, saying, only half in jest, that he'd heard Crete was a fine place, and if his men began to desert, he'd be sorely tempted to join them.\n\n\"I was told that the mountain we saw as we approached the coast is midway between Messina and Acre,\" Richard said. \"But if I thought the second half of the journey would be as accursed as the first half, I might consider starting life anew in Crete myself. You may have been better off sailing with Philippe, Jaufre. At the least, you'd be approaching the Holy Land by now, with the worst of the voyage behind you.\"\n\n\"I've no regrets about that,\" Jaufre said noncommittally. He'd never discussed with Richard the reasons for his defection, but the English king had not been surprised by his decision, for he'd seen the look of shock on Jaufre's face during that chapel confrontation with Philippe. It had taken courage, though, to defy his king, and Richard intended to bestow enough favors upon Jaufre and Richenza to compensate for Philippe's hostility.\n\n\"Besides,\" Jaufre added with a smile, \"if I'd sailed with Philippe, I'd not have been in Messina for your lady mother's arrival and I'd not have gotten her news\u2014that my wife gave birth to a healthy son last September. My father will be overjoyed when he hears, for this is his first grandchild.\"\n\nJaufre's father had been at the siege of Acre for the past year. Seeing the genuine pleasure on the young man's face, Richard was surprised to find himself envying the bond that obviously existed between the count and his son. He did not often think of his turbulent relationship with his own father, for he'd never been one to dwell upon past regrets. Mayhap it was because he'd come so close to death during that Good Friday storm, he decided. He'd certainly had his share of narrow escapes on the battlefield, but a man fighting for his life did not have time for fear. \"My father liked to boast that he'd never gotten seasick in all those Channel crossings, but I wonder how he'd have fared\u2014\" He broke off, then, for he'd heard the shouting that heralded Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux's return.\n\nPlunging from the tent, with Jaufre right at his heels, Richard was waiting on deck as a ladder was lowered into Guilhem's smaller vessel. Scrambling aboard, he gave the king a look of such misery that Richard's mouth went suddenly dry.\n\n\"My news is not good, my lord. Twenty-five of our ships are missing.\"\n\nThere were gasps from the men gathered around to hear Guilhem's report. Richard spat out a savage oath, profane enough to impress even the tough-talking sailors. But when Guilhem looked away, no longer meeting his eyes, Richard knew worse was to come. \"What else?\" he said hoarsely. \"Hold nothing back.\"\n\n\"I am so sorry, my liege. But one of the missing ships is the buss carrying Queen Joanna and the Lady Berengaria.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1191",
                "text": "[ Off the Coast of Cyprus ]\n\nAll of the passengers of the buss had crowded to the gunwales, so hungry were they for their first glimpse of land in more than two weeks. The Good Friday storm had swept their vessel far out to sea, almost to the African coast, where they'd then been becalmed for some nerve-wracking days, dreading both pirates and Saracen ships. Then their attempt to sail to the fleet's first rendezvous, Rhodes, had been defeated by contrary winds. The buss's master had finally decided to head for the next gathering point at Cyprus, charting his course by the sun's position in the heavens and a floating magnetized needle that pointed toward the pole star. As a courtesy, he'd first consulted Stephen de Turnham, the English baron charged to see to the safety of Richard's women. Stephen was wise enough to defer to the master's far greater knowledge of the sea, and his faith was justified on the first of May when a sailor up in the rigging called out the sweetest words any of them had ever heard: \"Land on the larboard side!\"\n\nAt first, the passengers could see nothing. But then the smudged shadows along the horizon slowly began to take shape. In the distance, the sea was changing color, shading from deep blue to turquoise as the water grew shallower. \"Is that Cyprus?\" Berengaria asked, and when the master said it was, her murmured \"Gracias a Dios\" needed no translation, found echoes in every heart. She turned then, intending to thank the master, too, for they'd survived because of his seamanship. But at that moment, Joanna appeared on deck.\n\nIt was the first time she'd left the tent in days, and she blinked and squinted in the blaze of midday sun. As much as they'd all suffered during their ordeal, none had been as desperately ill as Joanna. She'd lost so much weight that she seemed alarmingly frail, her collarbones thrown into sudden prominence, her gown gaping at the neckline, and her chalky-white pallor made the dark shadows under her eyes look like bruises. Berengaria started toward her, but Stephen de Turnham and Mariam reached her first. She was too unsteady on her feet for false pride, and allowed them to guide her toward the gunwale. She was soon swallowing convulsively and when Berengaria took her hand, it was clammy to the touch. But she kept her eyes upon the horizon, watching with a painful intensity as the coast of Cyprus gradually came into view.\n\n\"Oh, no!\" Joanna's murmur reached no farther than Berengaria's ears, more like a broken breath than a cry. They looked at each other in dismay and then back at the beautiful, blue-green, empty sea. For by now they ought to have seen a floating forest of timber masts, sails furled as the ships rode at anchor offshore. An involuntary groan burst from dozens of throats, so sure had they all been that they'd find the royal fleet awaiting them in Cyprus. None voiced their fears aloud, though, for the knights did not want to alarm the women, and Joanna and Berengaria's ladies-in-waiting dared not speak out, for their mistresses had entered into a conspiracy of silence, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that Richard's ship might have gone down in that Good Friday gale.\n\nThe silence that settled over the deck was a strangled one, therefore, fraught with all that they dare not say. When she saw Uracca struggling to stifle a sob, Berengaria forced a smile and offered the only comfort she could, saying with false heartiness, \"How wonderful it will be to set foot on land again.\"\n\nShe was taken aback by Joanna's vehement reaction to that innocuous comment. \"No!\" Seeing Berengaria's lack of comprehension, Joanna drew a bracing breath before saying, more calmly, \"Cyprus is ruled by a man unworthy of trust. Isaac Comnenus seized power six years ago and dares to call himself emperor. But he has no honor, no scruples, and no mercy. We cannot go ashore.\"\n\n\"The queen is right,\" Stephen de Turnham said, swiftly and very firmly, wanting to head off any arguments. \"Ere we left Messina, we were told to sail for Cyprus if our ships became separated. But the king said that if we arrived first, under no circumstances were we to land. We must await the arrival of the fleet.\" Another silence fell at that. But while none were willing to say it aloud, the same thought was in all their minds. The fleet ought to have been here by now. What if it never comes?\n\nThe realization that her brother was still missing seemed to have sapped the last of Joanna's strength and she asked Stephen to escort her back to the tent. Berengaria would have liked to escape the scrutiny of the others, too, but she sensed that Joanna needed some time to herself. Instead, she drew Mariam aside. \"Can you tell me more of this man? Joanna called him Isaac Comnenus. Is he a member of the Royal House of Constantinople?\"\n\n\"Yes, he was a kinsman of the old emperor. He has good bloodlines, but a dubious past. Cyprus was a possession of the Greek Empire, and seven years ago, Isaac showed up on the island, claiming to be its new governor. I've heard it said that his documents were forged; be that as it may, his claim was accepted. The following year, that monster Andronicus was overthrown and slain, and Isaac took advantage of the chaos in Constantinople to declare himself the Emperor of Cyprus. Actually, he just calls himself the emperor, so his ambitions may well extend to the Greek Empire itself. But he has Cyprus in a stranglehold, maintaining power by hiring Armenian routiers and terrorizing the local population. He is loathed and feared by the Cypriots for arbitrarily seizing their property and imposing high taxes. And he has a truly vile reputation where women are concerned; even respectable wives and daughters are not safe from his lustful attentions.\"\n\nBerengaria glanced toward the rolling hills now silhouetted against the sky. After so long at sea, Cyprus looked like a veritable Eden, but the snake in this Eden sounded more lethal than any viper. She was puzzled that this was the first she'd heard of Isaac Comnenus, given that his island was a rendezvous point for their fleet. \"I am surprised,\" she confessed, \"that Joanna did not mention this man to me.\"\n\n\"She was ashamed to do so,\" Mariam said bluntly, \"for Isaac Comnenus was her husband's ally.\" She smiled, somewhat sadly, at Berengaria's shocked expression. \"My brother had a good heart, but his judgment was flawed. So great was his hatred of the Greek Empire that he'd have allied himself with Lucifer himself to bring Constantinople down. As for Isaac, he realized the new Greek emperor would seek to reclaim Cyprus, so he made overtures to all of the empire's enemies. He benefited far more from this alliance than Sicily did, for when Constantinople sent an invasion force, the fleet of William's admiral, Margaritis, easily scattered them. After stories began to trickle back to Palermo of Isaac's cruelties, I think William had second thoughts, but he was too stubborn to admit it. And by then it was too late for my half-sister Sophia, who'd been packed off to Cyprus as Isaac's bride. Fortunately for me, I was wed when Isaac proposed that marital pact. But Sophia fancied the idea of being an empress....\" Mariam suppressed a sigh. Did a crown truly matter if she reigned in Hell?\n\nBerengaria blinked in surprise. \"I did not know you'd been married. Did your husband...?\"\n\nMariam was amused by that delicate pause. \"My husband died after four years of marriage. He was a good man, albeit old enough to be my father, and I had no complaints as his wife. But widowhood is the only time when a woman is not under a man's thumb, first as daughter and then as wife, and I like the freedom\u2014\"\n\nMariam cut herself off so abruptly that Berengaria instinctively turned to see what had caught the other woman's attention. And then she, too, gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth as she looked toward the Cypriot coast.\n\nAs soon as she was alone, joanna slumped down onto her bed, keeping her eyes tightly shut so no tears could squeeze through her lashes. She would not cry for her brother; that would be a betrayal of faith, an admission that he could be dead. But where was he? Surely the fleet would not have sailed on to Outremer? Did he think they'd perished in that accursed storm? No, he would not give up hope that easily, not Richard. When Star, her favorite hound, put a paw on the bed and whined, she rolled over and gathered the dog into her arms. \"Sweet girl, you hate the sea, too. How dreadful it must be for the poor horses....\"\n\n\"Joanna!\" Mariam pulled the tent flap aside. \"You need to come back out on deck.\"\n\nWith Mariam's help, Joanna got to her feet. She asked no questions, already sure she'd not like the answers. They were well into the bay by now, and the hills seemed beautiful beyond words after endless vistas of nothing but sky and sea. A ship was anchored not far from shore, a buss like theirs. Its deck was filled with waving, shouting men, but the passengers on Joanna's ship were staring past them at the shredded sails, broken masts, and shattered timbers scattered along the beach, skeletal remains partially buried in the sand, washed by the waves, a scene of destruction and death looking eerily peaceful in the bright May sunlight.\n\n\"Dear God...\" Joanna made the sign of the cross with a hand that shook. \"How... how many?\"\n\nStephen de Turnham shook his head, unwilling even to hazard a guess, but after studying the wreckage with a grim, practiced eye, the master said, \"Two ships, mayhap three.\"\n\nThe other buss had erupted into frantic activity, and their longboat was soon launched, men straining at the oars to close the gap between the two vessels. The master gave the command to drop their anchors, and as his sailors hastened to obey, a ladder was flung over the side. Joanna recognized Hugh de Neville, one of Richard's household knights, as he scrambled up the ladder, and felt comforted by the sight of a familiar face in this alien, inhospitable environment.\n\nHugh seemed just as glad to see her. \"Lady Joanna, thank God you're safe!\" Ever the gallant, he insisted upon kissing her hand before answering the questions bombarding him from all sides. \"When the great storm hit,\" he said, pausing to take deep, grateful gulps from a proffered wineskin, \"our ship and three others managed to stay together. It was a week ago today that we were approaching Cyprus. A sudden squall came up and drove us toward the shore. Our ship's anchors held, but theirs did not and they were swept onto the rocks and broke apart. Many drowned, may the Almighty have mercy upon their souls. Some clung to the floating debris and managed to reach the beach, battered and halfnaked from the waves. We could only watch as the local people\u2014God-cursed Griffons\u2014came out and took them away.\"\n\nHugh paused to drain the wineskin. \"King Richard had warned us that Cyprus was ruled by a tyrant, an ungodly man who preys upon pilgrims, extorting ransoms from the wealthy and enslaving the poor. So we feared for the survivors and sent a small landing party ashore at dawn, hoping to discover their whereabouts. By the Grace of God, the first one we encountered was an elderly priest. None of us spoke Greek, but he had a smattering of French. He managed to convey to us that our comrades had been taken prisoner. His agitation and his gestures made it clear that we were in great danger, so we retreated back to our ship. After that, all we could do was wait... and pray.\"\n\n\"You acted wisely,\" Stephen said, catching the undertones of remorse in the other man's voice. \"It would have served for naught to join them in their prison. One of our sailors is from Messina and Greek is his mother tongue. We'll send him ashore after dark to see if he can learn where they're being held. Once we know that, we can decide what to do next.\"\n\nHugh's face was sunburned and gaunt, a raw, red welt slashing across his forehead into his hairline. But his smile was radiant with relief. \"When we saw your sail, we dropped to our knees and gave thanks to God for answering our prayers. Where is the fleet? When will the king get here?\" His smile fading as his words were met with averted eyes and utter silence.\n\nJoanna's companions were convinced that her weakened state was due in large measure to her inability to keep fluids down or to get the rest her ailing body needed. Mariam had brought along a store of useful herbs and persuaded her friend to take a sleeping draught after drinking a cup of seawater, which was said to aid those suffering from mal de mer. Whether it was because they were now anchored in the relative calm of the bay or because she'd reached her breaking point, the draught worked and Joanna fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted almost eighteen hours. When she finally awakened, she was surprised to discover it was now late afternoon on the following day and even more astonished to learn that she'd slept through a gaol break and a rescue mission.\n\nMuch to Joanna's relief, she found that she needed a chamber pot for its proper purpose and not because she was overcome by nausea again. Beatrix and the young widow H\u00e9l\u00e8ne helped her to dress as Mariam perched on their clothes coffer and told her of the day's eventful happenings.\n\n\"Whilst it was still dark and there were no sentries on the beach, Stephen had Petros rowed ashore. He seemed remarkably cocky for one going alone into the lion's den, but young men ofttimes seem to have more courage than common sense. It was arranged to pick him up at nightfall, but he suddenly appeared on the beach in midmorning, astride a mule. He rode it right past the startled guards and out into the bay! At that point he and the mule had a difference of opinion, the mule wanting to return to shore and Petros to continue on. The mule won. But Petros slid off into the water and swam like a fish toward Hugh's ship, which was closer than ours. I do like that lad's style,\" Mariam said with a grin before continuing.\n\n\"When he was pulled onboard, he said that he'd found our men being held in a house on the outskirts of Amathus, that village off the beach. It did not seem to him as if they were well guarded, and when he saw several of them at an upper window, he said he acted on impulse, yelling out in French that a second buss had dropped anchor offshore. Soon thereafter, he heard shouting and thumping and realized they were trying to overpower their captors, so he raced back to the beach, 'borrowing' the mule along the way. Stephen and Hugh at once ordered their knights and crossbowmen into our longboats and they rowed for shore, where they found the prisoners had broken out and were being chased by the villagers. Their arrival tipped the scales in our favor, and after some fighting which we could actually see from our buss, our men reached safety on our ships. That noise you hear is the victory celebration. It was,\" Mariam concluded, eyes sparkling, \"well done, Joanna, well done, indeed!\"\n\nJoanna agreed that it was, hoping that this bold sortie would raise morale. She did not ask about the missing fleet, for Mariam's silence on that issue was an answer in itself. Instead, she managed to swallow a little wine and even a few bites of bread, the first solid food she'd had in days, and then ventured out onto the deck with Mariam unobtrusively bracing her on one side and Beatrix on the other.\n\nHer appearance was welcomed with boisterous enthusiasm, and she had to listen again to an account of the day's events, this one offered by the participants themselves. Petros was the hero of the hour, obviously enjoying his well-earned turn on center stage, and much praise was also lavished upon Roger de Harcourt, a Norman knight who'd managed to seize a local man's mare, charging into the crowd of pursuers and riding down those who were not agile enough to jump out of the way. Now that they had an audience of highborn women, the men were only too happy to gloss over the very real dangers they'd faced and the blood spilled on both sides, dwelling instead upon the sweet taste of their triumph and the individual heroics of men like Petros and Roger. Joanna and Berengaria and their ladies played their part, too, with sincere exclamations of admiration and approbation and, for a time, all were able to ignore the realities of their plight, stranded in the domains of a man said to surpass Judas in faithlessness and Ganelon, the betrayer of Roland, in treachery.\n\nThe respite soon came to an end. While the men were laughing and teasing Roger for having ridden a mare, a mount deemed unmanly for knights, Stephen quietly drew Joanna and Berengaria aside. \"Isaac knew of your presence in the fleet, and when the shipwrecked men were interrogated, they were asked many questions about you both. You can be sure he now knows that it is your ship out in the bay, for the people on shore will have told him they've seen women aboard. I daresay Isaac can scarce believe his good luck, and like as not, he is already wondering how much ransom to demand.\"\n\nJoanna was expecting news like this, but Berengaria was shocked. \"Surely he could not be that foolhardy? He must know that even if Richard paid to get us safely back, he'd then wreak a terrible vengeance upon Isaac and Cyprus.\"\n\n\"From what I've heard, Isaac Comnenus is both arrogant and stupid, a dangerous combination.\" Stephen hesitated before deciding that they deserved to know the full extent of the danger they were facing. \"I am sure he has heard what happened in Messina and he must be uneasy about the arrival of an army led by a soldier king. He may well be thinking that you ladies could prove to be very useful hostages. There have been rumors for years of Isaac's clandestine contacts with the Saracens. What would King Richard do if Isaac threatened to turn you over to Saladin?\"\n\nBerengaria's face was suddenly ashen. Joanna had not considered a threat like that, either. But she soon rallied her defenses and said briskly, \"That will never happen. I have no desire to end up in a Saracen harim, which is likely even worse than a Sicilian one. Moreover, I would die ere I let Isaac use us as weapons against my brother like that. It is unthinkable that Richard should have to choose between rescuing us and recovering the Holy City.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Berengaria said resolutely, and Stephen gave the women a tight smile that was both admiring and grim, assuring them that his men would fight to the death in defense of the king's sister and betrothed. But after they were left alone by the gunwale, Berengaria said softly, \"What now, Joanna?\"\n\n\"We do what Hugh de Neville did. We wait and we pray that Richard arrives ere Isaac does.\"\n\nJoanna's prayer was not to be answered. The next day, the men and women on the two busses spent hours staring out to sea, but no sails appeared on the distant horizon. In the afternoon, though, there was a sudden commotion on the beach. Riders were being greeted by the sentries, and so much deference was paid to a richly clad man on a spirited dun stallion that few doubted they were looking upon the self-proclaimed Emperor of Cyprus.\n\nHugh had rowed over to Stephen's ship, and when they saw a small boat launched from the beach, he said bleakly, \"Here is trouble on the way.\"\n\nIt drew so close to the buss that some of the crossbowmen had itchy trigger fingers and exchanged looks of resignation and longing. As soon as it had dropped anchor, a man rose and made his way to the prow. His clothing and sword proclaimed him to be a person of rank, as did the fact that he addressed them in French. It was so heavily accented, though, that they did not find him easy to understand, and Stephen beckoned Petros to join them at the gunwale.\n\nDelighted to be the center of attention again, Petros called out in Greek. The man looked both surprised and relieved, and the two engaged in a conversation that was utterly incomprehensible to those listening; the only words they could make out was the name \"Isaakios Doukas Komnenos.\"\n\nStepping back from the rail, Petros rolled his eyes. \"What a pile of\u2014\" Remembering that the queen and queen-to-be were listening, he censored himself and said with a shake of his head, \"He was amazed that there would be one amongst the barbarians who could speak Greek. He claims to be some highborn local lord, but I think he is one of Isaac's lackeys, so I paid no heed to his name or title. This is his message from his august emperor; Christ keep me if he did not call Isaac Kosmokrator!\" Seeing the blank looks, he said with a chuckle, \"It means 'master of the world.' Anyway, Isaac wants us to believe that he knew nothing about the imprisonment and deaths of our men. He says he was greatly displeased to hear of it and will punish the culprits severely. I was hard put to keep a straight face at that point, God's Truth!\"\n\nBut when Stephen prompted him to relay the rest of the message, Petros lost his jaunty demeanor. \"He wants you to come ashore, my lady,\" he told Joanna. \"You and the 'Damsel of Navarre.' He says he will put his palace at Limassol at your disposal and do all in his power to make your stay in Cyprus a pleasant one. It was like watching a wolf trying to coax lambs into his cave, but this wolf is not going away.\"\n\n\"Tell him,\" Joanna said, \"that we are greatly honored by his kind invitation. But we are awaiting the arrival any day now of my brother the English king and his fleet. King Richard, known throughout Christendom as the Lionheart in recognition of his great prowess on the battlefield, will gladly accept the emperor's hospitality once he reaches Cyprus. Whilst we wait, we wish to send some of our men ashore to replenish our water supply. As we are pilgrims on our way to the Holy Land, I am sure that one as celebrated for his Christian faith and generous spirit as the illustrious Emperor Isaac will gladly grant our small request.\"\n\nPetros had listened intently, committing her words to memory, and then nodded, giving her an approving grin. \"Well said, my lady.\" Leaning over the gunwale, he spoke at some length and with considerable animation. The other man's face was grim by the time he was done speaking and his own response was terse. As his boat headed toward the beach, Petros turned back to his attentive audience. \"I told him what you said, my lady, throwing in a few sweeteners by calling Isaac all the high-flown titles I could think of. The lackey was not pleased, as you could see. He said he'd tell Isaac of your request for water. He also said that he hoped you'd reconsider, for his emperor might well take your refusal as an insult. I got the sense,\" Petros said somberly, \"that he was speaking for himself then. I'd wager Isaac is not one for rewarding failure.\"\n\nIt was quiet for a time after that. Hugh made a point of telling Joanna that he thought she'd refused Isaac's offer very tactfully, and with luck, that might well be the end of it. They both knew better, though.\n\nIsaac's man was back the next morning, this time requesting permission to come aboard their buss. He was conspicuously ill at ease, obviously fearing that he might be held hostage by these alien barbarians. Stephen would have considered it had he thought Isaac actually cared about the welfare of anyone but himself. But when Isaac had defied the Greek emperor Andronicus, the two kinsmen who'd stood surety for his good faith had been put to a gruesome death by impaling, and there was no evidence that their fate had weighed upon Isaac's conscience. His messenger was bringing gifts from the emperor for Joanna and Berengaria: Cypriot wine and bread and ram's meat.\n\nJoanna had to stifle a hysterical giggle. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. When he again urged the women to come ashore, she told him that they dared not, for they could not leave the ship without the permission of her brother the king. No man had ever looked at her as he did now, with utter and implacable hatred. Even though she knew he dreaded returning to Isaac with another refusal, she found it unsettling, nonetheless. He did get the last word, though, telling them brusquely that his emperor had refused to give them permission to replenish their water supplies, saying there would be water in plenitude in the royal palace.\n\nAfter his departure, there was nothing to do but stare out to sea. But in late afternoon, a flurry of activity began on the beach. Men rowed out to the wrecked ships and began chopping at the broken masts. Others were bringing carts from the direction of Limassol, the nearest town, and whipping heavily laden small donkeys. As those on the ships watched, the doors of houses and shutters and planks were piled onto the sand, soon joined by barrels and fence rails and large shields, even benches. A barrier was being constructed out of whatever materials the Cypriots could lay their hands upon. Their barricade might be makeshift, but there was no mistaking the intent. These were preparations for war.\n\nTheir fifth morning at Cyprus dawned in a sunrise of breathtaking beauty, pale gold along the horizon, and a rich, deep red above as clouds drifted into the sun's flaming path; for a timeless moment, it looked as if the earth itself were afire. Then as if by magical sleight of hand, the vivid colors disappeared and the sky took on the same brilliant blue as the foam-crested waves below, the clouds now gliding along like fleecy white swans in a celestial sea. Enticing scents wafted out into the bay, the fragrances of flowers and oranges and sandalwood, the sweet balm of land, almost irresistible to people trapped in seagoing gaols, ships they'd come to hate for the fetid smells and lack of privacy and constant rolling and pitching, even at anchor. This Sunday gave promise of being a day of surpassing loveliness and Joanna hated it, caught up in a sense of foreboding so strong that she could almost taste it. Something terrible was going to happen today.\n\nShe had not long to wait before her premonition took tangible shape and form: five large ebony galleys. At first some of the others had been excited by the lookout's shout, but they soon realized that these galleys came from the wrong direction, from the east. They anchored close to shore and several armor-clad men embarked in small boats, on their way to confer with the man who commanded these deadly instruments of war.\n\nWithin the hour, Isaac's envoy was making his by-now familiar voyage out to their ship. This time, his little boat did not anchor, the men resting on their oars as he shouted across the water. Petros chewed on his lower lip, mumbling the message, as if that could somehow make it less than what it was\u2014an ultimatum. \"He says the emperor is done with waiting. He insists that you come ashore today. The lackey added the usual blather about hospitality, but he did not even try to make it sound convincing. What do I tell him, my lady?\"\n\nJoanna plucked at Stephen's sleeve and they drew away from the rail, joined after a moment by the ship's master. \"Tell me the truth,\" she said. \"It is obvious they mean to take us by force if we do not agree. Can they do that?\"\n\nWhile her question was ostensibly directed at Stephen, it was really for the master to answer. Staring across the bay at those predatory beaked galleys, he said glumly, \"Yes, I fear that they can. We do not have enough water to venture out into the open sea. And even if we did, the winds today are light and variable. We'd not be able to outrun them. I am not saying they'd have an easy time of it. A lot of men would die. But they'd likely be able to take the ship.\"\n\nJoanna looked from one man to the other. \"So we yield or we fight and lose. I do not like either of those choices. Find me another one,\" she said tautly, and they stared at her in wary surprise, suddenly remembering that this woman was the daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the sister of the Lionheart. Turning away, she returned to the rail. \"Tell him, Petros, that we will be honored to accept the emperor's kind offer of shelter. We will have need of a doctor, for the Lady Berengaria is ill. But I think she will be well enough on the morrow for us to leave the ship for the emperor's palace in Limassol.\"\n\nThe man in the boat frowned, insisting that the emperor wanted them to come ashore today, claiming that a storm was brewing and they'd be safer on land. But when Joanna repeated her promise to disembark the next morning, he was forced to settle for that. The ship's passengers watched in silence as he was rowed back toward the beach. Joanna closed her eyes for a moment, blocking out the sinister sight of those galleys, their sails as red as blood. Looking over then at Stephen and the master, she said, \"I've bought us some time. Now it is up to you to make the most of it.\"\n\nThey eventually came up with a third option, although it, too, was fraught with peril. They would try to slip out of the bay under cover of darkness that night and head for the island's northern coast. There were sheltered coves where they could take refuge, and with luck, it might take Isaac a while to track them down. The winds would have to be favorable, though. And even if they succeeded in slipping out of this trap, they risked another danger. What if the king's fleet arrived and found them gone? Limassol was the designated port; he'd not think to look for them on the other side of the island. Since it was still a better choice than surrendering, it was agreed upon, and Stephen sent their boat over to Hugh's buss to let them know what was planned. Meanwhile, men continued to work on the beach barricade, more armed guards appeared to keep watch on the two ships, and the five galleys rode easily at anchor, sea wolves awaiting the word to attack.\n\nNever had a day passed so slowly. The men occupied themselves with their weapons, sharpening their swords on whetstones and replacing the strings of their crossbows. But for the women, there was nothing to do but gaze out hopelessly at that vast, empty sea. When Joanna found Alicia weeping soundlessly in a corner of the tent, she felt remorse stab her as sharply as any dagger's blade. Gathering the girl to her, she dried Alicia's tears with her sleeve. \"I am so sorry, Alicia. I ought to have insisted that you remain in Sicily, I ought to...\"\n\n\"No.\" Alicia clung tightly, but her voice had steadied. \"I want to be with you.\" Joanna did the only thing she could and sat with the child, stroking her blond braids as she tried not to think what might befall Alicia and the other women if they ended up in Isaac Comnenus's power. She thought she and Berengaria could reasonably expect to be safe from molestation; damaged goods were worthless in trade. But who would protect Mariam and Beatrix and H\u00e9l\u00e8ne and Alicia?\n\nThe sun was slowly sliding into the sea when Berengaria found Joanna standing at the rail, watching as the waves took on delicate tints of rose and lavender. For a time they stood in silence. \"When we were in Bagnara,\" Joanna said at last, \"my mother told me something my father had once said to her, that kings play chess with the lives of other men. So do queens, Berengaria, so do queens....\"\n\n\"I have faith that all will be well for us, Joanna.\" Berengaria was not sure if she still believed that, for this terrible sea voyage had not been what she'd expected when her father promised her to the English king. So much had gone wrong. It was almost as if the Almighty had turned His Face away from them. But true faith did not waver when tested. If she yielded to despair, she'd be failing her God, herself, and the man she'd pledged to wed. \"I am sure of that,\" she said, with all the conviction at her command, and Joanna managed a shadowy smile, thankful that her brother had chosen a woman of courage for his wife.\n\nA sudden shout turned all eyes toward the rigging, where a sailor had been perched all day. Straddling the mizzenmast, he leaned over so far that he seemed in danger of losing his balance. \"I see a sail to the west!\"\n\nIt seemed to take forever before those on deck could see it, too, a large ship skimming the waves, its sails billowing out like canvas clouds. When the lookout yelled that there were two ships, excitement swept the buss, for with these reinforcements, surely they could fend off Isaac's galleys? Men were laughing and slapping one another on the back, sailors scrambling up into the rigging to get a better view, and Joanna's dogs began to bark, hoarsely, as if they'd forgotten how. \"You see,\" Berengaria said, with a beatific smile. \"God does hear our prayers.\"\n\n\"Yes, He does,\" Joanna agreed, for it would have been churlish to quibble with salvation. But she could not banish the question from her mind as she could from her lips. Where was the fleet? Where was Richard?\n\nIt happened with such suddenness that men were not sure at first if they could trust their senses. There was nothing to the west but sea and sky and those two ships tacking against the wind. And then the horizon was filled with sails, stretching as far as the eye could see. A moment of stunned disbelief gave way almost at once to pandemonium, and for the rest of their lives, there would be men who vowed they'd never experienced an emotion as overwhelming as the joy of deliverance on a May Sunday off the coast of Cyprus.\n\nThe sharp-eyed sailors spotted it first. \"The Sea-Cleaver! The king's galley!\" But Richard's women needed to see it for themselves, scarcely breathing until it came into focus, looking like a Norse long-ship, its hull as red as the sunset, its sails catching the wind, and streaming from its masthead the banner emblazoned with the royal lion of England.\n\nBerengaria found it hard to tear her gaze away from the sight of that blessed galley. \"It is like a miracle, Joanna,\" she said in awe, \"that he should reach us in our hour of greatest need.\"\n\nJoanna gave a shaken laugh. \"Richard has always had a talent for making a dramatic entrance, but he has outdone himself with this one!\"\n\nAs soon as richard swung himself up onto the deck, Joanna took a backward step to make sure the first one he greeted was Berengaria. She needn't have worried, though. For once, the younger woman's Spanish reserve was forgotten and she flung herself into Richard's arms. He embraced Joanna next, and then Berengaria again, this time bending her backward in a kiss that seared like a brand and left her flushed and breathless. But when he really looked at Joanna, his own breath hissed through his teeth and his hand clamped onto her arm hard enough to hurt. \"Jesu, Joanna!\"\n\n\"I do not feel as wretched as I look,\" she assured him hastily. \"Truly I am on the mend. But where were you, Richard? We were half out of our minds with worry!\"\n\n\"We ended up having to spend ten days in Rhodes, waiting for the missing ships to straggle in. I sent out galleys to look for our lost sheep, and that took time,\" he said with a quick smile. He'd also been stricken with a recurrence of the malarial fever that had plagued him for years, but he saw no reason to mention that since he preferred to deal with his illnesses by ignoring them if possible. \"We finally sailed on last Wednesday and would have been here earlier had we not encountered a storm in the Gulf of Satalea. We were actually blown backward by the winds.\"\n\nEven as he was speaking, his gaze had shifted past the women to the barricaded beach and the stark evidence that ships had run aground. \"Not all of my fleet is with me, but it looks as if I got here just in time. What is going on?\"\n\nHe'd directed that last question toward Stephen de Turnham, but Stephen had taken Joanna's measure by now and he deferred politely to her. \"Three of our ships sank after being blown onto the rocks, and one of the men drowned was your vice chancellor,\" Joanna said sadly, knowing that would grieve him. \"That buss is Hugh de Neville's. He and Stephen have been a godsend, Richard, doing all they could to keep us safe under very difficult circumstances.\"\n\nHis eyes had narrowed. \"Tell me about those 'difficult circumstances.'\"\n\nThey did, Joanna now the one to defer to Stephen when it came to describing the struggle to free their men. Richard listened in ominous silence, then summoned Roger de Harcourt to get a firsthand account of their imprisonment. He even called Petros over to question him about what he'd seen in Amathus. And then he moved over to the gunwale, stood for a time staring at the beach and those low-riding Greek galleys. When he turned back to the other men, there was a universal sense of relief that this lethal rage was not directed at any of them.\n\n\"It takes great courage to maltreat half-drowned shipwreck survivors and to threaten defenseless women. But now we will see how Isaac likes dealing with me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1191",
                "text": "[ Akrotiri Bay, Cyprus ]\n\nThe women's buss dared to venture closer to shore after the arrival of the royal fleet. Blessed with calmer waters and no longer fearful of the Cypriot emperor's treacherous intentions, they enjoyed their first night's peaceful sleep since the Good Friday storm. So they were still abed the next morning when Alicia darted into their tent, exclaiming that they must come out on deck straightaway. Making themselves presentable in record haste, they emerged into the white-gold sunlight, only to halt in shock, for the bay was afloat with small boats, all heading toward the barricaded beach.\n\nStephen de Turnham's knights were lined up along the gunwale, watching and cheering as if they were spectators at a game of camp-ball. Stephen himself was in a far more somber mood. He turned at once, though, to greet Joanna and Berengaria with deference and, in response to their alarmed questions, he answered concisely and candidly.\n\n\"The king sent two of his knights and an armed escort ashore at dawn, along with a man fluent in Greek, for he'd prudently thought to ask Tancred for a translator. They carried a message to Isaac, seeking redress for the harm done to his shipwrecked men, who'd been robbed as well as imprisoned. They soon returned, reporting that they thought Isaac must be mad, for his response was an amazingly rash one to make to a justly aggrieved king with an army at his command. They said he blustered and ranted, insisting that a mere king had no right to make demands upon an emperor. When they asked if that was truly his reply, he spat out a one-word Greek oath. Tancred's man was not sure how to translate it into French, but he said it was highly insulting. When this was told to our king, he showed that he could be just as terse as Isaac. His response: 'To arms!'\"\n\nJoanna and Berengaria shared the same conflicted emotion, pride in Richard warring with concern for his safety. Joining Stephen at the gunwale, Joanna soon noticed his tension; he'd kept his eyes on the shore even while answering their questions, one hand clasping and unclasping the sword hilt at his hip, almost as if acting of its own volition. \"It must be hard for you,\" she said sympathetically, \"having to stand guard over us instead of taking part in the invasion.\"\n\nHe acknowledged her perception with a crooked smile. \"I cannot deny, Madame, that if I'd had my choice, I'd be at my king's side, especially here, especially now.\"\n\n\"Is this so dangerous, then?\" she asked in a low voice and when he nodded, she felt a chill that not even the sun's sultry heat could vanquish. \"Can you tell me why, Sir Stephen? And please, treat me as you would a man and answer me truthfully.\"\n\n\"No one would ever mistake you for a man, my lady,\" he said, with a surprise flash of gallantry. \"But I will honor your courage with the honesty you seek. The king is attempting one of the most dangerous and difficult of military actions\u2014landing upon an unfamiliar beach occupied by an enemy army on their own ground. Our men are not at their best, not after so much time at sea, and those skiffs and snekas offer little protection from the Cypriot crossbowmen.\"\n\n\"Are you saying that they will be defeated?\"\n\n\"Indeed not, my lady!\" He sounded genuinely affronted. \"We will prevail, for I trust in the Almighty and King Richard. But men will die this day and there will be sights not suitable for female eyes. It might be best if you and your ladies retire to the tent until the fighting is over.\"\n\nJoanna took him at his word and bade H\u00e9l\u00e8ne take Alicia back into the tent, much to the girl's distress. But she did not follow, for she could not believe that an All-Merciful God would allow her brother to die before her eyes. While there was a corner of her mind that recognized the lack of logic in such a conviction, she did not let herself acknowledge it. If she stayed out on deck, she'd be assuring his safety.\n\nHer throat closed up, though, when she saw the Cypriot galleys raise anchor, for how could the small landing craft fend off those sinister sea wolves? Stephen seemed to read her mind, for he pointed out that the first rows of their boats were filled with crossbowmen and archers. She saw that he was right, and as soon as the enemy galleys went on the attack, Richard's arbalesters unleashed a withering fire. Joanna had often heard men claim that they'd seen the sky darken as arrows took flight, but she'd always dismissed it as hyperbole\u2014until now. The men on the galleys were shooting back, and she watched in horror as bodies fell into the bay, the bright blue water taking on a red tinge where they splashed and sank. But the crossbowmen in the skiffs were coordinating their attacks; as men loosed their bolts, they ducked down to reload while the second row rose to take aim. The result was that arrows and bolts were smashing into the galleys in waves, one right after another, giving the men no chance to reload their own weapons. The knights on Joanna's ship were cheering wildly now. She was slower to understand. It was not until several men jumped into the sea to evade the lethal bolts raining down upon them that she realized the galleys had been effectively taken out of the action.\n\nFor a moment she forgot that men were dying, feeling only a fierce surge of pride. \"Stephen, they are winning!\" Getting a more measured response from him, a \"Not yet. But we will.\"\n\nThere was such confusion and dismay on the beach that it was obvious its defenders had been expecting the galleys to wreak havoc with the small boats of the invading force. But when Richard's crossbowmen and archers now turned their fire upon them, they hastily retreated to their wooden barricade and began to shoot back. Once again the sun seemed to dim behind clouds of shafted death. Even to Joanna's untutored eye, it appeared as if the men in boats were making no progress toward shore, the skiffs wallowing in the surf. Turning toward Stephen, she saw her own apprehension mirrored on his face. Gripping the gunwale until his knuckles whitened, he leaned forward, his body rigid, and she realized that victory hung in the balance.\n\n\"Stephen, what if... what if they cannot land?\"\n\n\"He'll not let that happen,\" he insisted, just as the knights began to shout and pump their fists in the air. Joanna squinted to see, half blinded by the glare of sun on water. One of the snekas had shot through a gap between boats, its crew straining at the oars as it headed straight for the beach. Joanna gasped, her eyes locking upon the armed and helmeted figure standing in the prow, unable to choke back a muffled protest as he jumped from the boat into the water and began to wade through the shallows toward shore. All around her, men were yelling, cursing, laughing. Her courage finally failing her, she spun around and buried her face in Stephen's shoulder, not even aware of what she did, knowing only that she could not bear to watch her brother die.\n\n\"You need not fear, my lady. They are following him. Look for yourself!\"\n\nStephen had expected to see tears streaking her face. When she raised her head, though, her eyes were dry. But they were still filled with fear as she turned back toward the beach. \"Blessed Mother Mary,\" she breathed, for Stephen was right; dozens of knights had leapt from their skiffs, heedless of their armor, and were splashing after their king. Richard had already reached the shore. If he was aware of his vulnerability in that moment, he gave no indication of it, raising his shield to deflect arrows and then swinging around to confront the armed rider bearing down upon him. Joanna's mouth was too dry for speech. She heard a woman's scream behind her, and for an anguished moment, her eyes and Berengaria's caught and held. When she dared to look again, a riderless horse was rearing up, a body lay crumpled at Richard's feet, and the sand was rapidly turning red. By now his knights were scrambling onto the beach, and when Richard charged toward the barricades, they raced to catch up with him, flashes of light reflecting off raised swords and shields, shouting like madmen.\n\nStephen glanced at Berengaria, who was clinging to the rail as if her knees could no longer support her, and he blamed himself for not insisting that she retreat to the tent, for he thought she would have been more biddable than Joanna, more likely to have heeded him. Women were not meant to see bloodshed. As little as he liked to criticize his king, they ought not to be here at all. \"The worst is over now,\" he said calmly. \"The king won his victory as soon as he set foot upon the beach.\"\n\n\"How can you be so sure? They have much larger numbers. Even I can see that.\"\n\nHe was surprised by the steadiness of Berengaria's voice, but pleased, too, for he knew she'd have need in Outremer for all the strength she could muster. \"It matters for naught if we're outnumbered, my lady. We know more of war than they do.\"\n\nStephen proved to be an accurate seer. The hand-to-hand combat on the beach was fierce but brief, and the emperor's men were soon in flight, with Richard's knights in close pursuit. The rest of his boats were landing now, some of the soldiers pausing to loot the bodies of the slain before climbing over the broken barricade and disappearing from sight. Several ships had already corralled the drifting Cypriot galleys, sailors nimbly leaping onto the bloodied decks and flinging anchors over the side. Joanna averted her gaze as they began to dump bodies overboard, and Berengaria shuddered.\n\n\"Will it be like this in the Holy Land?\" she asked, and Joanna had no answer for her.\n\nIn midafternoon, richard sent word to Stephen that he was to bring the women ashore. They discovered, though, that it was much more difficult to leave the ship than it had been to board it, for they'd been able to cross a gangplank from the dock to the deck in Messina and now they had to be lowered into a sagitta, which rode so low in the water that they were soon drenched with spray and Joanna had to fight off a recurrence of nausea in the pitching, rolling waves. They were not rowed toward the beach at Amathus, Stephen explaining that Limassol lay a few miles to the east, and it was there that they'd find shelter. Even though it meant a longer trip in that accursed small galley, the women were glad to be spared the sight of Amathus, where the fighting had occurred. They'd already seen more bodies in one day than they'd expected to see in their entire lifetimes.\n\nLimassol was a small town of undistinguished appearance\u2014houses of sundried brick, dusty, deserted streets, no signs of life. It looked forlorn, abandoned, and above all, vulnerable, for it lacked walls, although it did have a paltry, neglected citadel at the mouth of the River Garyllis. But Limassol also looked peaceful, and for that they were thankful. Isaac's self-proclaimed palace could not begin to compare with the royal palaces in Palermo and Messina. After almost four weeks at sea, it still seemed like paradise to the women, and they set about exploring it with zest, laughing at the antics of the dogs, for they had yet to regain their landlegs, and exclaiming in delight when they discovered fruit trees in the courtyard. They also found two servants cowering behind a wall hanging. Fortunately, Joanna had thought to bring Petros along. He'd been sulking, unhappy that Richard had chosen to rely upon Tancred's interpreter. Being asked to communicate with these terrified girls cheered him up considerably, and he was successful in reassuring them that these \"barbarian women\" would treat them well. They scurried away and returned with flagons of wine, bread, figs, olives, dates, goat cheese, and oranges. Joanna's appetite had yet to return, but the others fell upon the food with gusto, marveling that their prospects could have improved so dramatically in just one day.\n\nA twilight sky had shaded from violet to plum when Jaufre and Morgan arrived, sent by Richard to make sure the women were safely settled in. They were in high spirits, eager to share stories of the day's events. By now Joanna understood that men were often euphoric in the aftermath of battle, but it was a learning experience for Berengaria, who was bewildered that they could shrug off death and bloodshed with such apparent ease.\n\nIsaac's men had scattered like chickens when a hawk flies overhead, they reported gleefully, and Richard had turned Amathus over to his soldiers as their reward. Not that there was much worth taking; Amathus had once been an important city back when the Persians and the Romans ruled Cyprus, yet it was a pitiful place today, a ghost of its former greatness. Some of the knights had hoped to find better pickings in Limassol, they admitted. But there were large communities here of foreign merchants from the Italian city-states of Genoa and Venice, and they'd greeted the king like a liberator. So Richard had ordered that it not be sacked.\n\nNeither man could remember when he'd last eaten, so they finished the food as they told the women how they'd pursued the fleeing Griffons through Amathus and into the hills beyond. At one point the king had even encountered Isaac himself and challenged him to combat. But the tyrant had run for his life, they chortled, whilst Richard fumed that he had no horse to give chase. Then he spotted a pack horse and vaulted onto its back. It did not even have proper stirrups, just hemp cords, and he had no chance of catching Isaac, who was mounted upon a handsome dun stallion, said to be faster than a lightning bolt. When they continued to dwell upon the attributes of this wonderful horse, Joanna finally had to interrupt, asking the one question that mattered. Where was Richard and could they expect to see him that evening?\n\nJaufre and Morgan glanced at each other and shrugged. The king had gone back to the beach whilst more of his men came ashore, giving orders to tend to the wounded and bury the dead, then met with the merchants again to assure them that their families and property would be safe, and sent out scouts to discover the whereabouts of Isaac's army. At this point, Joanna raised a hand to cut off their recital, for their meaning was clear enough. Richard would get to them when he could; at the moment, they were not a high priority.\n\nMorgan then redeemed himself by making a suggestion that was both intriguing and vaguely scandalous. Would they like to make use of the public baths? The women looked at one another, seriously tempted. But none of them had ever been to a public bath before. Was it something that respectable, well-bred women did? As a queen, Joanna had greater liberty to defy conventions. She knew, though, that she was too exhausted to take another step, and started to shake her head when she remembered that Isaac was said to love luxury. Surely he'd have a bath somewhere in his palace? The little Greek servingmaids quickly confirmed that it was so, and after that, the women could not wait for their guests to leave, so eager were they to wash away the grime of their voyage in perfumed, warm water.\n\nBy the time they'd gotten some of their guards to haul and heat water and then took turns soaking in Isaac's large copper bathing tub, it was full dark. Wrapped in bedrobes, Joanna and Berengaria towel-dried and brushed out each other's hair, the easy familiarity reminding them both of their childhood and sisters they might never see again. It was Berengaria who gave voice to their shared nostalgia, confiding, \"I do not think I could have endured this voyage without you, Joanna.\"\n\n\"You do not give yourself enough credit, for you are stronger than you think.\" Joanna could not help adding, then, with a rueful smile, \"If you'd known what lay ahead, I daresay you'd have run for the nearest nunnery when your father broached the matter of marriage with my brother. And who could blame you?\"\n\nBerengaria wondered if she'd ever get used to Angevin candor. Richard and Joanna were constantly saying aloud what other people did not even dare to whisper. There had indeed been times when she'd yearned for her tranquil, lost world of Navarre, not sure if a crown was truly worth so much misery. \"I admit I did not bargain on an Isaac Comnenus. But till the day I draw my last breath, I will remember the sight of Richard's galley against that sunset sky, like the champion in a minstrel's chanson. What woman would not be proud to have such a man for her husband?\"\n\nShe'd inadvertently touched upon a tender spot. As she'd grown into womanhood, Joanna had done her best to deny her qualms about a husband who sent other men out to die without ever putting himself at risk. But Richard's flashy heroics had done much to tarnish William's memory, casting a sad shadow over her marriage, reminding her that her father had always led his troops into battle, as had her brothers. Even Philippe did so. Only William had stayed at home, William who'd yoked Constance to a hateful husband so he could pursue his foolish dreams of destiny, willing to spill any blood but his own to lay claim to Constantinople. She lowered her head, hiding the tears that suddenly burned her eyes. Was that all her life in Sicily had amounted to\u2014a husband she could not respect and a son whose tiny tomb she might never see again?\n\nBerengaria sensed that something was wrong. She was not sure what to do, though, for she was developing with Joanna something she'd never had before\u2014a friendship between equals\u2014and she fretted that questions borne of empathy might be taken as intrusive. She was not given the chance to make up her mind, for at that moment Richard made one of his typical entrances, unexpected and unannounced.\n\nJoanna's ladies were amused by his brash invasion of the women's quarters; Berengaria's were horrified. Midst laughter and shrieks, they retreated into the inner sanctum, the bedchamber set aside for their mistresses. Joanna was already on her feet. She was about to embrace him when she realized that he was still wearing his hauberk. Her eyes drawn irresistibly to the dried blood caked on some of the iron links, she said, as calmly as she could, \"I trust none of that is yours?\"\n\n\"From a skirmish like that? I've not so much as a scratch.\" Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gazed down intently into her face. \"Well, at least you are not as pale as yesterday. You gave me quite a scare, you know.\"\n\n\"I gave you a scare? How do you think we felt, Richard, watching you take on all of Isaac's army by yourself?\"\n\n\"I knew my men would follow,\" he said, dismissing the danger with a negligent gesture. \"And I knew, too, that Isaac's men were likely to be ill-trained, poorly paid, and not eager to die on his behalf.\"\n\nJoanna was not won over by that argument and was about to remind him that it would have taken only one well-aimed arrow. But he was already turning his attention toward his betrothed.\n\nWhile he'd been greeting Joanna, Berengaria had belted her bedrobe. Remembering then that her hair was tumbling down her back, she looked around hastily for her veil. When she would have snatched it up, Richard reached out and caught her hand. \"Do not cover your hair, Berenguela. I like it loose like this.\"\n\nBerengaria let the veil flutter to the floor at her feet. She knew it was not seemly that he should see her like this until they were wed. But as their eyes met, she realized that if he meant to share her bed this night, it would not be easy to deny him. Moreover, she was not sure that she'd want to say no. Shocked by her own thoughts, she forced herself to wrench her gaze away from his. Because of her discussions with Joanna, she no longer worried that she'd be imperiling her soul by finding pleasure in her husband's embrace. But she knew that what she was contemplating now was most definitely a sin.\n\nHe still held her hand and she found herself staring at their entwined fingers, imaging his clasped around a sword hilt. What he'd done this day was both exhilarating and terrifying. As much as she'd feared for his life, she'd been thrilled, too, for would Almighty God have blessed him with such lethal skills if he were not destined to be the savior of Jerusalem?\n\n\"I am truly sorry that you both had to endure so much,\" he said, glancing from one woman to the other. \"But I promise you that you'll never face danger like this again.\"\n\nWhile Joanna did not doubt his sincerity, that was not a promise he could keep. Not even Richard could exert royal control over the forces of nature, over another Good Friday storm or a plague stalking the siege camp at Acre. She would never point that out to him, though, and said lightly, \"As long as you keep riding to our rescue in the nick of time, we will have no complaints.\"\n\nSpying a flagon of wine, Richard strode over and poured wine for them. \"My little sister is too modest,\" he said to Berengaria. \"I'd wager that she'd have been more than a match for Isaac. For certes, she had Stephen de Turnham quaking in his boots.\" Seeing her lack of comprehension, he grinned. \"Ah, she did not tell you about that?\"\n\nReturning with the wine, he took obvious pride in relating Joanna's ultimatum to Stephen. He brushed aside their questions about the fight on the beach, insisting that it was more of a brawl than a genuine battle, an argument that would have been more persuasive had they not been eyewitnesses. He told them that Philippe had safely arrived in Outremer, for they'd encountered a dromon from Acre after they'd left Rhodes, and he expressed concern that the city might fall ere he reached the siege, saying, \"God forbid that Acre should be won in my absence, for it has been besieged for so long, and the triumph, God willing, will be so glorious.\" And when they asked him why only part of the fleet was with him, he said he'd sailed against the wind after hearing that a large buss had been spotted off the coast of Cyprus, revealing how seriously he'd taken the threat posed by Isaac Comnenus. But he asked few questions about their own ordeal. They were glad of it, though, not wanting to add to his burdens.\n\nWhen he suddenly rose and bade them good night, they were caught by surprise. Joanna protested, sure that he'd not had a proper meal all day, and he allowed that was true. \"But I cannot spare the time. My scouts told me that Isaac has committed yet another astonishing blunder and his army is camped just a few miles to the west of Limassol. The fool thinks he is safe there, for he also thinks that we have no horses. So I plan to unload some of them tonight and pay him a visit on the morrow.\"\n\nLeaning over, he dropped a playful kiss on the top of Joanna's head, then pulled Berengaria to her feet. But while his mouth was warm on hers and he took care to not to embrace her too tightly, murmuring he did not want her to be scratched by his hauberk, she sensed his distraction; his mind was already upon that moonlit beach and the surprise he had in store for the Cypriot emperor.\n\nAnd then he was gone, as quickly as he'd come, leaving the two women to look at each other in bemusement. Berengaria wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed; some of both, she decided. \"I know,\" she told Joanna, with a rueful smile of her own. \"I know... hold tight and enjoy the ride.\"\n\nUnder Richard's supervision, fifty horses were unloaded from a tarida and exercised upon the beach to ease their stiffness and cramped muscles. He then returned to the army camp they'd pitched on the outskirts of Limassol and got a few hours' sleep. Early the next morning, he inspected their defenses, wanting to make sure that they were safe from enemy attack in his absence. Since he thought a clash was likely, he ordered a number of knights and men-at-arms to follow on foot. And then he rode out with more than forty knights and a few clerks to see Isaac's army for himself.\n\nHis scouts had reported that the emperor was camped some eight miles east of Limassol, near the village of Kolossi. The countryside was deserted, no travelers on the roads, no farmers tending to their fields, for most of the people had fled to the hills with their livestock and what belongings they could carry away. Richard and his knights kept their mounts to an easy canter, wanting to spare their seabattered horses as much as possible. Despite the taut anticipation of battle, the men found themselves enjoying the warmth of the sun, a wind that carried the fragrance of flowers and myrtle rather than the salt tang of the sea, and the familiar movement of their stallions between their legs instead of the alarming pitching and rolling of galley decks slick with foam. Soon afterward, as they passed through an olive grove, they encountered a few of Isaac's soldiers.\n\nThe Greek horsemen at once retreated. Richard and his men followed, and before long they could see the Cypriot encampment in the distance. Their approach caused a commotion, and as they reached the mouth of the valley, they saw Isaac's men massing behind the stream that separated the two forces. The emperor's pavilion was visible behind the army lines, a splendid structure that irresistibly drew the eyes of Richard's knights, wondering what riches lay within. Isaac himself was nowhere in sight and they joked among themselves that he must be sleeping late this morn.\n\nRichard paid no heed to their edgy banter, studying the enemy with a growing sense of disgust. When Andr\u00e9 drew rein beside him, he said, \"Have you ever seen such a pitiful sight? Where are their sentries? Where are their captains? Look at the way they are milling around, more like a mob than an army. Isaac ought to be ashamed to put men such as this in the field. Whilst we were in Rhodes, I was told that he has to rely upon Armenian routiers from the Kingdom of Cilicia, and it is obvious he has hired the dregs. No surprise there, for would you sell your sword to a man like Isaac if you could find service elsewhere?\"\n\nSome of the others saw only the size of the army, not its lack of discipline. Hugh de la Mare, one of Richard's clerks, nudged his mount to the king's side. \"Come away, sire,\" he entreated. \"Their numbers are too overwhelming.\"\n\nThe knights close enough to hear grinned and looked at Hugh with sardonic pity, knowing what was coming. Richard turned in the saddle and, for a long moment, stared at the other man as if he could not believe his own ears. \"Tend to your books and Scriptures, sir clerk,\" he said icily, \"and leave the fighting to us.\"\n\nAs Hugh hastily fell back, Andr\u00e9 laughed. \"Say what you will of clerks, Cousin, they can count. He is right that we're greatly outnumbered.\"\n\nRichard took no offense, for he knew that an experienced soldier like Andr\u00e9 would not see numbers as the only factor that mattered. \"But look at them,\" he said, gesturing scornfully toward their agitated foes. \"Are they making ready to charge? Lining up in battle array? No, they are huddling behind that shallow stream as if it were a raging torrent, wasting arrows since we're out of range, whilst shouting and cursing as if we could be slain by their insults alone. And where is their noble commander? Watching from yonder hill instead of being down there with his men.\"\n\nFollowing the direction of Richard's gaze, Andr\u00e9 and the Earl of Leicester saw that he was right. Horsemen were gathered on a nearby slope, and one of the riders was mounted on a magnificent dun stallion. As he snorted and pawed the earth, Richard said, \"At least Isaac's destrier is eager to fight. But he looks to be the only one.\" And with that, he gave the signal his men had been expecting. Shifting his lance from its fautr\u00e9, he couched it under his right arm and spurred his horse forward, shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House, \"Dex aie!\"\n\nThere were few sights more impressive or more daunting than a cavalry charge of armed knights, especially to men unaccustomed to this form of warfare. The ground trembled under the hooves of their stallions, such thick clouds of dust kicked up in their wake that they seemed to be trailing smoke. Archers watched in dismay as their arrows bounced off shields or embedded themselves harmlessly in mail hauberks. There was disbelief at first, shock that these lunatic barbarians would actually dare to attack when they were vastly outnumbered. Even as some of their equally astonished captains rallied and began to shout orders, most of the routiers continued to gape at the oncoming wave and then, self-preservation prevailing over training, they scattered to avoid being trampled underfoot.\n\nRichard had already selected his opponent, a man on a raw-boned chestnut, and leveled his lance as he braced himself for the impact. It struck the other rider in the chest, flinging him backward in a spray of crimson. Dropping his shattered lance, Richard slid his left arm through the straps of his shield and unsheathed his sword. A soldier ran at him, axe raised high. He smashed his attacker in the face with his shield and, as he went down, Richard's destrier rode right over him, screaming in rage at the sight of another stallion. This horseman was swinging a sword with a curved blade. He missed. Richard did not.\n\nAll around him, his knights were either closing with foes or looking for men to attack, for the ragged Cypriot line had broken just as he'd expected it would. Once they discovered that staving off these battle-seasoned veterans was not as enjoyable as terrorizing defenseless civilians, many of Isaac's routiers lost interest in fighting and fled. His crossbowmen had already sensibly faded away, as had the local men forced to fight for the emperor. Ahead of Richard loomed the emperor's luxurious pavilion, but that was not his target. Spurring his destrier, he struck down the banner-bearer who'd courageously held his ground in defense of the imperial standard. Reining in before the wooden cart that anchored it, Richard grasped the staff, jerked, and cast the flag to the ground as nearby knights cheered.\n\nGuilhem de Pr\u00e9aux appeared beside him. He was drenched in other men's blood; even the nasal guard of his helmet was splattered. But his smile was jubilant. \"Well done, sire! We've got them on the run. Can we claim our rewards now?\"\n\nRichard's gaze swept the Cypriot camp, by now empty of all but bodies, trampled tents, smoldering fires, a few riderless horses, and dropped or discarded shields, swords, and slings. At the head of the valley, rising puffs of dust signaled the imminent arrival of the rest of their men. \"Yes, you've earned it, Guilhem, all of you. But not the standard. That is mine, so guard it well.\"\n\n\"I will, my liege,\" Guilhem promised. \"You were right about Isaac's hired men\u2014a worthless lot. No tears will be shed for them\u2014\" But Richard was no longer there, for he'd spotted the small band of riders cutting across the battlefield, protectively surrounding a man on a tall dun stallion. With a defiant yell, Richard took off after them, his destrier responding gallantly to his urging, and at first the distance seemed to be narrowing. But after that one brief spurt, his mount faltered, shortening stride, and he was forced to ease up, realizing the horse was in no condition for an all-out pursuit after a month at sea. Reaching over to stroke the animal's lathered neck, he watched and cursed as Isaac's destrier bore him to safety, his hooves skimming the ground so smoothly he seemed to be flying.\n\n\"Sire?\" The Earl of Leicester had ridden after Richard, and now pulled up alongside him. \"Is that the emperor?\"\n\n\"Yes, God rot him,\" Richard said savagely. \"If I'd just seen him sooner...\" Leicester didn't think the king had any reason to reproach himself, not after winning two such spectacular victories in the span of one day. \"Our men have never been so happy,\" he said, gesturing around the camp, \"for never have they found such rich booty. Horses, oxen, cows, sheep, goats, weapons, armor, wine, food, and in Isaac's tent, gold and silver plate, fine clothes, silken bedding. I had no idea that Cyprus was so wealthy.\"\n\n\"My liege!\" This time it was Baldwin de Bethune and Morgan. Coming from the direction of Isaac's plundered tent, they were prodding a man forward with their swords. Reaching Richard, they forced their prisoner to his knees. \"This one claims to be a magistros, one of Isaac's court officials, so we thought he'd be worth more alive than dead.\"\n\nRichard looked down at their new hostage. \"He speaks French?\"\n\n\"A little, lord king,\" the man said quickly; having decided that he was not willing to die for the fugitive emperor, his only other choice was to ingratiate himself with the barbarians and hope they'd find him useful enough to spare his life.\n\n\"Take him back with us,\" Richard said, and dispatched Leicester to find out how many casualties they'd suffered. All around him, his soldiers were enthusiastically looting the camp. He found himself unable to share their elation, not when he'd come so close to ending it here and now. He should have known that Isaac would be too craven to fight like a man. \"You,\" he said curtly, pointing to the prisoner. \"You know the emperor's dun stallion?\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" The man nodded vigorously. \"That is Fauvel. Very fast. None catch him.\"\n\n\"Fauvel,\" Richard repeated. Isaac did not deserve a horse like that. Nor did he deserve a crown. And God willing, he'd soon lose both.\n\n\"Stop squirming, lamb.\" Beatrix's voice sounded muffled, for she was holding pins in her mouth as she marked where the seams of Joanna's bodice would have to be taken in.\n\n\"I still do not think this is necessary,\" Joanna complained. \"Now that I'm on the mend, surely I'll gain back the weight I lost.\"\n\n\"And until then walk around in gowns that fit you like tents? I do not think so,\" Beatrix said firmly, hers the self-assurance of one who'd been tending to Joanna since the cradle.\n\nJoanna sighed, feeling like an unruly child instead of a grown woman, wife, and widow. Casting a mischievous glance toward her future sister-in-law, she said, \"I was thinking, Berengaria, that we ought to visit a public bath this afternoon. Donna Catarina\u2014the wife of that Venetian merchant\u2014says this particular one is delightfully decadent, like the bathhouses in Constantinople, with scented oils and pools of hot and cold water. I suppose I can go with Mariam if you think your duennas would not approve...?\"\n\nBerengaria had been frowning over a parchment, trying to compose a letter to her family that would be honest without giving her father an apoplectic seizure; it was too delicate a task to entrust to Joanna's clerk. She glanced up quickly, but realized that she was being teased, and said composedly, \"I am beginning to think you're more in need of duennas than I am, Joanna. As for Mariam, she appears to have other matters on her mind than public baths. It certainly sounds that way.\"\n\nAs laughter was floating into the open window from the courtyard, Joanna could not argue with that. Tilting her head to listen, she said with a smile, \"For years I've watched men flirt with Mariam, but I've never known her to flirt back\u2014until now. Of course if he were not my cousin, I might be tempted to flirt with Morgan, too.\"\n\nAlicia was kneeling in the window-seat, playing with the dogs. Looking out, she reported, \"Lady Mariam and Sir Morgan are seated together on a bench. I think he is teaching her a game, for they are throwing dice.\" She giggled then, saying, \"She just accused him of cheating.\" Twisting around on the window-seat, she said, \"I like it here in Cyprus, my lady. Do you think we will be staying long?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Alicia,\" Joanna admitted. \"But I will ask my brother when I see him next\u2014whenever that may be.\" She at once regretted that mild sarcasm, for she was not being fair to Richard. It was true they'd seen him only once in the past three days, but that was hardly his fault. After defeating Isaac at Kolossi, he'd put out an edict by public crier that the local people who wanted peace had nothing to fear, that his quarrel was only with Isaac. Since then, Cypriots had been flocking to his camp, many with stories to tell of the emperor's cruelties and grasping ways. Cyprus had a surprising number of bishoprics for such a small islandfourteen in all\u2014and several of these prelates had come to seek assurances from Richard, too. And she knew he continued to be occupied with military matters, sending out scouts to keep track of Isaac's whereabouts, and meeting with the Knights Hospitaller, a martial order of warrior monks almost as celebrated as the Templars, who'd established a presence in Cyprus before Isaac's usurpation. It was still frustrating, though, to know so little about what was occurring, and she worried lest Berengaria feel neglected, for a bride-to-be might reasonably expect more attention than a sister would.\n\nAlicia was still spying on Mariam and Morgan, and she informed them now, \"I think he is going to kiss her. But she\u2014Oh! The king is here!\" In her excitement, she almost tumbled out the window, for Richard's rescue had convinced her that he was the greatest knight in all of Christendom. Joanna hastened over to put a steadying hand on the girl's shoulder and to see for herself.\n\n\"Alicia is right. Richard has just arrived, with a few bishops and some of his knights. But he is talking to Mariam, so he will not be up straightaway,\" she said, letting Berengaria know she'd have a few moments to adjust her veil or rub perfume onto her wrists. \"Mariam is probably asking him if he has heard anything about her sister. Sophia is unlucky enough to be wed to the Cypriot emperor,\" she explained to Alicia, who shivered and crossed herself for, if she now believed Richard could walk upon water, she was no less sure that Isaac was the Antichrist.\n\nWhen Richard strolled into the chamber, Beatrix had already made a discreet departure, taking the reluctant Alicia with her, Joanna was removing the last of the pins from her bodice, and Berengaria was biting her lips surreptitiously to give them color. He shook his head at the sight of the dogs, saying, \"Whenever I see those strange beasts, I think I've stumbled into a fox burrow.\"\n\n\"I'll have you know cirnecos are greatly valued in Sicily,\" Joanna said, coming over to give him a quick hug and a critical appraisal. \"Well, you do not appear to have suffered any injuries since we saw you last. Does that mean you've had no more 'skirmishes' with Isaac?\"\n\n\"Nary a one,\" he said, crossing the chamber to give Berengaria a casual kiss. \"In fact, that is one reason why I stopped by\u2014to tell you that the Hospitallers have brought me a message from Isaac. He is asking for peace, promising to meet whatever demands I make of him.\" Richard's smile was skeptical. \"I put as much store in his sworn word as I would in Philippe's. But we shall see.\"\n\nBoth women were delighted, and Joanna moved to a table, pouring wine so they could celebrate Richard's victory. They knew they would be fearing for his life day and night once they reached the Holy Land, but at least they could enjoy a brief respite until they left Cyprus. Sipping Isaac's excellent red wine, Joanna realized that this truce would allow them to see some of the island, an appealing prospect after being stranded in Limassol for the past four days.\n\n\"The wives of the Venetian and Genoese merchants have been coming by to pay their respects and to tell us how happy their husbands were with your arrival; apparently the only thing that would make them happier would be if you dispatched Isaac to the Devil forthwith. They were telling us about a place called Kourion, a few miles east of Kolossi. It was once the site of an ancient city and there are many ruins still there, including a large amphitheater and a sanctuary for the pagan god Apollo. Could you take us to visit Kourion, Richard? I've seen an amphitheater in Sicily but Berengaria has not, and you've always been interested in history...\"\n\nJoanna halted then, for her brother was shaking his head, saying he did not think it would be possible. She was not willing to give up so easily, though. \"If you cannot spare the time, then surely Stephen could accompany us? Or is it that you do not think we'd be safe even with his knights?\"\n\n\"Most likely you would, but I'd as soon not take the risk.\"\n\nJoanna fell silent, suddenly realizing what life would be like for her and Berengaria in Outremer\u2014as sequestered as William's harim girls, under guard as if they were prisoners or hostages. At least her mother had gotten to see the great city of Antioch during her pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Almost at once, though, she chided herself for her lack of faith. Their seclusion would be a small price to pay for the opportunity to walk the hallowed streets of Jerusalem, to follow in the footsteps of the Blessed Lord Christ.\n\nSetting his wine cup down, Richard looked from one woman to the other. \"I have something else to tell you. I think Berenguela and I should get married on Sunday.\"\n\nThey stared at him, eyes wide, mouths open. \"Are you serious?\" Joanna said incredulously.\n\n\"Very. Lent is over, so we are free to wed. And there are some compelling reasons for not waiting until we get to Acre. Do we really want Philippe lurking in the shadows, looking like a disgruntled vulture eager to pick my bones? And an army encampment is not the ideal site for a royal wedding. I could probably think of a few more reasons for wedding here and now,\" he added playfully, amused by how easily he could make Berenguela blush. \"But more to the point, I cannot think of any reasons why we should not wed in Cyprus.\"\n\n\"Well, I can.\" Joanna was regarding her brother in dismayed astonishment.\n\n\"That is two days hence, Richard! How could we possibly prepare for a royal wedding in so little time?\"\n\n\"How hard could it be? I assume Berenguela did not intend to get married stark naked, so she must have a suitable gown in her coffers. I thought we'd have her coronation at the same time.\" Richard glanced over at his mute betrothed and smiled. \"I daresay you'll be the first and the last Queen of England ever to be crowned in Cyprus, little dove.\"\n\n\"But what about food? And entertainment? And\u2014\"\n\n\"I have complete confidence in you, irlanda, am sure you'll do just fine. But it is only fair that we let the bride decide.\" They'd been conversing in French. Richard switched now to lenga romana, a language more familiar to Berengaria. \"So... what say you, Berenguela? Do you want to marry me on Sunday?\"\n\nBerengaria well knew what response was expected of her. For twenty-one years, she'd been taught that a highborn young woman must be demure and dutiful in the presence of men. She must keep her eyes cast down and not speak out of turn. Above all, she must be chaste and modest and guard against impure thoughts. The proper answer would be to defer to Richard as her lord and husband, to say she'd be guided by his wishes in this, as in all matters. But Joanna and Queen Eleanor were not at all demure or submissive, and it was obvious that he loved them dearly. She hesitated, sensing that she was at a crossroads, and then, disregarding the lessons of a lifetime, she followed her heart. Looking up into his face, she said, softly but clearly, \"I would very much like to wed you on Sunday, Richard.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1191",
                "text": "[ Limassol, Cyprus ]\n\nBerengaria was astonished by how much Joanna had been able to accomplish in so little time. She'd had the inspired idea to seek the assistance of the wives of the Italian merchants, who were delighted by the prospect of a royal wedding and eagerly volunteered the services of their cooks and household servants. After their shipboard ordeal, the women took particular pleasure in appropriating the Cypriot emperor's personal effects. Isaac's reputation for luxurious living was borne out by the contents of coffers and cupboards: finely woven linen tablecloths, gold and silver plate, gem-encrusted cups, ivory salt cellars, Venetian glassware, a silk baldequin canopy, silver-gilt candlesticks, and costly, exotic spices, all of which would be put to good use. It had been decided that the wedding ceremony and coronation would be held in the chapel of St George, and the guests would then return to Isaac's palace for the revelries. The floor of the great hall was now covered with fragrant rushes, and scarlet flowers were everywhere, garlanding the doors and windows, floating in the ewers of scented water that would be provided for guests to wash their hands between courses.\n\nBerengaria had no false pride, well aware that her experience in Navarre could not compare to Joanna's, for the lavish hospitality of the Sicilian court had been famed far beyond its borders. She was thankful, therefore, that the other woman had taken over the wedding preparations. She was touched, too, that Joanna took care to consult her on every decision. There would be three courses, each with five dishes; did Berengaria think that would be adequate? One of the Venetian cooks suggested a risotto of rice and chicken baked in pomegranate juice; did Berengaria agree? Did she want a Lombard stew of pork, onions, wine, and spices? What about a fruit pottage with strawberries and cherries? Berengaria gratefully approved the bountiful menu: oysters, roast venison, sturgeon eggs which Isaac had imported from the Black Sea, haunches of the native sheep called agrinon, egg custard, blancmange, fried eels, and salmon in jelly. She also approved Joanna's selection of wines from Isaac's buttery: an Italian vernage, a wine named after the city of Tyre, sweet wines from Greece, local red wines, and the costly spiced wine known as hippocras.\n\nWhen she fretted, though, that Joanna might be undertaking too much in light of her recent illness, the Sicilian queen brushed her qualms aside, saying staunchly, \"I am not going to let my sister-by-marriage be wed in a cursory manner. Now... how does this sound to you? In addition to our own minstrels, we will have harpists and other musicians who can play the rebec and the lute. Also tumblers and a man who can juggle torches\u2014or so he says. I suppose we can have pails of water on hand, just in case. And one of the Genoese merchants will provide a trumpeter to introduce the courses.\"\n\nGlancing around, then, to make sure the other women were not within hearing, Joanna lowered her voice. \"How are you bearing up? Are you nervous? Most brides are,\" she said quickly, lest Berengaria take the question as an implied criticism.\n\n\"Yes... a little. But not as much as I expected to be,\" Berengaria confided. She was about to thank Joanna again, this time for her counseling about the marriage bed, when they were informed that Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny had just arrived.\n\n\"Have you noticed how often Andr\u00e9 has been stopping by?\" Joanna asked as they made their way toward the great hall. \"He's been paying court to H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, who told him forthrightly that he is very charming and very married. Apparently he is also very stubborn.\"\n\nBut as soon as they reached the hall, they discovered that Joanna's cousin had more on his mind than a casual dalliance. \"Three sails were sighted on the horizon,\" Andr\u00e9 reported even before greetings had been exchanged. \"As these galleys were coming from the east, we thought they might be bringing word of the siege of Acre. The king, bless him, was not willing to wait patiently on shore, and went out to meet them in a small boat. He was soon back, sending me to tell you there will be highborn guests for dinner\u2014Guy de Lusignan, his brother Joffroi, Humphrey de Toron, whose wife was stolen so shamefully by Conrad of Montferrat, the Prince of Antioch, the Count of Tripoli, and the brother of the Prince of Armenia.\"\n\nJoanna stared at him, and then looked at Berengaria, the same dismayed thought in both their minds: As if they did not have enough to do, with the wedding scheduled for the morrow! \"The de Lusignans,\" Joanna said wearily, \"have always had a deplorable sense of timing.\"\n\nGuy de Lusignan was quite handsome, tall and well formed, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, clean-shaven in the fashion of Outremer. And he was young to have gained and lost a kingdom and a queen, not that much older than Richard. He was very attentive to Joanna and Berengaria, flirtatious and lavish with the practiced charm that had served him so well in the past. Neither woman liked him at all.\n\nThey both felt some sympathy for Humphrey de Toron, Queen Isabella's discarded husband. He, too, was very handsome, but without Guy's swagger, his dark eyes filled with intelligence and sadness, a poet in a land that venerated soldiers. They felt even more sympathy for his young wife, though, pulled from his gentle embrace and thrust against her will into the arms of Conrad of Montferrat, a man as unlike Humphrey as a sword blade was unlike a lute. How alone and abandoned she must have felt, a young girl of eighteen confronted with Conrad's iron will, with an ally in her own mother. But Humphrey had failed her, too. A husband unwilling or unable to fight for his wife was not a husband either of them would want. The world was too dangerous a place to depend upon the protection of poets.\n\nAfter the meal was done, the conversation turned to politics. Richard was infuriated to learn that Philippe had arbitrarily recognized Conrad as King of Jerusalem, and he agreed to aid Guy in reclaiming the crown, giving the destitute king without a kingdom the sum of two thousand silver marks, for Guy had expended the last of his resources upon the siege of Acre. Watching as Guy, his brother, Humphrey, and one hundred sixty of their knights knelt and did homage to Richard, Joanna was grimly amused by the irony inherent in that dramatic scene, for the de Lusignans had long been a burr under the Angevin saddle.\n\nBerengaria was shocked by Joanna's sotto voce account of de Lusignan sins; not only had they rebelled repeatedly against Richard's father and against Richard himself when he was Count of Poitou, they'd even dared to ambush Queen Eleanor, who'd been saved from capture by the courage of the young Will Marshal. By an absurd twist of fate, Joanna revealed, it was his family's perfidy that had gotten Guy a crown. His older brother Amaury had fled to the Holy Land to evade the king's wrath, and eventually summoned Guy to join him. The de Lusignans were as surprised as everyone else when Guy snared the Leper King's sister. Lowering her voice even further, Joanna said, \"When his brother Joffroi learned of Guy's good fortune, he is said to have commented, 'If they'd make Guy a king, they'd have made me a god.' Joffroi later joined his brothers when Richard forced him to take the cross after one rebellion too many, and he and Amaury won respect for their military skills. But Guy was the feckless little brother, not taken seriously by anyone until Sybilla took him as her husband.\"\n\nJoanna smiled. \"The lords of Outremer would not recognize her as queen after her brother's death unless she first divorced Guy. But as soon as she was crowned, she announced that she had the right to pick her own consort and put the crown herself upon Guy's handsome head. She was clever, was Sybilla. A poor judge of men, though, for Guy's flawed leadership would result in the disaster at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. Richard says that was one of the most inept and inexcusable military blunders since the dawn of time. He gets angry every time he talks about it. He grudgingly gives Guy credit for courage, but says he has not the sense God gave a goat!\"\n\n\"Then how can he be so friendly to Guy?\" Berengaria said, looking across the hall where Richard was engaged in amiable conversation with the de Lusignans.\n\nJoanna blinked in surprise. \"Because he is a king, dearest. Because the de Lusignans, whatever their manifest failings, are still his vassals and he owes them his protection.\" Honesty then compelling her to add, \"And because Philippe has chosen to back Conrad.\"\n\nTo Berengaria, Outremer was beginning to sound more and more like a labyrinth. Once Richard got in, could he ever get out? She did not understand how Christians could feud so fiercely with their fellow Christians whilst the Saracens laid claim to the Holy City. No one's motives seemed utterly pure or untainted by political considerations. Even Richard was influenced by his rivalry with the French king, and she feared that Philippe saw Richard as the enemy, not Saladin. But then she banished these disquieting thoughts, determined not to let forebodings cast a shadow over the most important day of her life. On the morrow she would become Richard's wife, would be crowned as his queen. Nothing mattered more than that.\n\nFrom the twelfth-century chronicle Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi: \"On the following day, a Sunday, on the Feast of St Pancras, King Richard and Berengaria, daughter of the King of Navarre, were married at Limassol. The young woman was very wise and of good character. She was there crowned queen. The Archbishop of Bordeaux was present at the ceremony, as was the Bishop of Evreux, and the Bishop of Bayonne, and many other magnates and nobles. The king was merry and full of delight, pleasant and agreeable to everyone.\"\n\nRichard could not even remember the last time he'd bedded a virgin, for he'd long ago concluded that coy or skittish maidens were more trouble than they were worth. He'd always taken a very matter-of-fact, pragmatic approach to his body's needs. When he was tired, he slept. When he was hungry, he ate. And when he felt lustful, he looked around for a bedmate, with convenience and proximity being important considerations. He was amused when his friends became besotted with concubines or light o' loves, knowing it would not last; fevers of the flesh never did. A flame fed by lust was bound to burn out once the craving was satisfied, and for that, one woman would usually do as well as another. Although he enjoyed writing courtly poetry, he had no great interest in the workings of the female brain, for women were too often lacking in logic or backbone, either overly headstrong or weak-willed and timid. Like Sybilla, who'd well nigh doomed her kingdom because she'd wanted Guy de Lusignan in her bed. Or her sister Isabella, who'd let herself be bullied into marrying Conrad.\n\nThankfully, the women in his own family were not like most of their sex. His mother could think like a man, and rule better than most kings. And his sisters had been blessed with courage and common sense, especially Joanna, Marie, and Tilda, may God assoil her sweet soul. He had hopes for her daughter, too, as Richenza did not seem prone to feminine whims or foolishness. And so far, what he'd seen of Berenguela was encouraging. She might look as fragile and unsubstantial as a feather floating on the wind, but she'd showed fortitude and bravery when faced with hardships and outright danger.\n\nNor was she a casual bedmate, to be forgotten come dawn. She was his queen, his wife, and he owed it to her to make her first time as easy as he could. Moreover, he liked the lass, he truly did. So he'd limited his wine during the evening, wanting to be clear-headed, for he was not accustomed to pacing himself, to hold back when his every urge was to plunge ahead. He'd also told his squires to sleep elsewhere that night, in deference to his bride's modesty, and had done what he could to keep the bedside revelries brief, knowing this would be her first exposure to bawdy male humor. So by the time he slid into bed beside her, he was feeling rather proud of himself for being more sensitive to her needs than most men would have been.\n\nHe'd occasionally heard stories of brides who'd gone to the marriage bed as if to a sacrificial altar, so convinced they were committing a mortal sin that they were trembling with fear or rigid with disgust. He had no such concerns about Berenguela, though, and she justified his faith by smiling shyly when he drew her into his arms. Reminding himself of her inexperience, he kept his kisses gentle at first, murmuring endearments and reassurances in lenga romana as his caresses grew more intimate. She did not reciprocate, but she did not protest as he explored her body. Her breath quickening, she closed her eyes, letting him do what he wanted, and he decided that bedding a virgin was not so burdensome after all.\n\nDespite his good intentions, he realized that he'd risk spilling his seed too soon if he waited much longer, and reached for a pillow, sliding it under her hips before he mounted her. \"I will try not to hurt you, Berenguela,\" he promised, parting her thighs. Her arms were tightly wrapped around his neck, and he barely heard her response, soft as a breath against his ear. \"I know the first time will hurt,\" she whispered. \"But... but will it fit?\" He gave a sputter of surprised laughter, delighted by her unexpected spark of humor, and then stopped listening to his brain, let his body take control. She stiffened at his first thrust, but she did not cry out, not until after he'd found satisfaction and collapsed on top of her.\n\n\"Richard, I cannot breathe,\" she gasped, sounding panicky, and he supported himself on his elbows until he was ready to withdraw, joking that she was too delicate a filly to bear a rider's full weight. Her eyes were tightly shut, but he could see tears trickling through her lashes. Had it been that painful for her, then? He had no experience in comforting tearful bedmates, and no interest in acquiring any. But this was his wife, and she had the right to expect soothing words, an affectionate embrace. Shifting onto his side, he reached over to stroke her wet cheek. It was then that he saw all the blood. \"Christ Jesus!\"\n\nHer eyes flew open. \"What? Did I... did I do something wrong, Richard?\"\n\n\"Good God, woman, you're bleeding like a stuck pig!\" He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, trying to decide if a doctor or a midwife should be summoned. Better a midwife, since they were accustomed to dealing with female ailments.\n\nBefore he could rise, though, she reached out and caught his arm. \"I think this is natural, Richard,\" she said, sounding remarkably calm to him for a woman who might well be bleeding to death. \"Because I knew so little about carnal matters, I spoke to Joanna beforehand. She said that the first time is different for each woman. It can be quite painful or hardly hurt at all, and bleeding can be very meager or a flood. Yes, it hurt when my maidenhead was breached, but no more than it was supposed to, I'm sure. Otherwise, I'd still be bleeding and I am not.\"\n\nRichard exhaled an audible, uneven breath, so great was his relief. \"For a moment, I was afraid I'd ruptured you,\" he admitted. \"You are such a little bit of a lass....\"\n\nHe still looked dubious as he glanced down at the blood-soaked sheet, and she said quickly, \"I would rather I bled a lot than not at all. At least now I have provided you with indisputable proof that I came to my marriage bed a maiden.\"\n\nRichard was beginning to see the humor in it, that she should be the one reassuring him. \"I harbored no misgivings whatsoever about your virtue,\" he said, hiding a smile as he attempted to match her serious tone. \"Even had you not bled a drop, I would never have doubted you.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, sounding as if he'd paid her a great compliment.\n\n\"You're very welcome.\" Getting to his feet, he stood by the bed, frowning at what he saw. The women had done their best to transform the chamber into a bridal bower. It was aglow with white wax candles. The floor rushes were fresh and fragrant with the sweet scent of myrtle, its bright green leaves and delicate white flowers scattered about with a lavish hand. Cinnamon and cloves had been burned to perfume the air. A gleaming gold wine flagon and two crystal cups had been set upon a linen-draped table, next to a platter of wafers, figs, and candied orange peels. There was even a silver bowl filled with ripe pomegranates and hazelnuts, both of which were thought to be aphrodisiacs; Richard saw his sister's fine hand in that playful touch. But they'd forgotten to set out one of a bedchamber's basic needs; there was no washing basin or any towels.\n\nWhen he finally came back to the bed, he was carrying the wine flagon, a napkin, and a richly embroidered silk mantle that he'd found in one of the coffers. Setting them down, he slipped his arms under Berengaria's shoulders and knees and picked her up before she'd realized what he meant to do. \"Hold on to me,\" he directed, and when she did, he shifted her weight to one arm and with his free hand spread the mantle over the wet, stained sheet. \"I hope this is Isaac's favorite cloak,\" he said, and deposited her back onto the bed while she was still marveling that he'd been able to lift her with such obvious ease. \"This is the best I can do,\" he explained, pouring wine onto the napkin. \"I suppose we can consider it a baptism of sorts.\"\n\nShe blushed when he began to wipe the blood from her thighs, but when he joined her in bed, she slid over until their bodies touched. It was only then that he realized how tired he was and he laughed softly; who knew that deflowering virgins was such hard work? When she gave him an inquiring look, he kissed her on the forehead. \"Sleep well, little dove.\"\n\n\"You, too, my lord husband,\" she whispered. He was soon asleep, but she lay awake beside him, watching the candles twinkle in the shadows like indoor stars as she thought about their love-making. It had hurt more than she'd expected and she'd derived no pleasure from it. The intimacy of the act would take getting used to; she'd been shocked when he'd touched her in places she'd never even touched herself. And what he'd taken as a jest had been a genuine concern, for she'd never seen a naked man until tonight. But she was very grateful that he'd tried to be gentle with her, and she would never forget that this man who'd seen so much blood had been so dismayed at the sight of hers. Richard had placed her crown on the table, joking that she could wear it to bed if she wished. She could see it now, catching the candlelight in a glimmer of gold and silver. But it was her wedding band that held her gaze. She was Richard's queen. Tonight, though, it mattered more that she was his wife.\n\nTwo days later, richard met the Cypriot emperor in a fig orchard between the sea and the Limassol road. Determined to awe Isaac with the power of the English Crown, Richard was mounted on a white Spanish stallion as handsome and spirited as Isaac's Fauvel, the cantle of his saddle decorated with snarling golden lions, his spurs and sword hilt gilded with gold, his scabbard indented with silver. He wore a tunic of rose samite, a mantle woven with silver half-moons and shining suns, and a scarlet cap embroidered in gold thread. A large crowd had gathered to witness the remarkable spectacle: Richard's knights and men, the Italian merchants, and local people daring their emperor's wrath for the rare pleasure of seeing him publicly humiliated. Richard's appearance created quite a stir, dazzling the citizens and causing much amusement among his soldiers, who'd so often seen him soaked in blood, sweat, and mud. By the time the Cypriot emperor arrived, he was already at a disadvantage, just as Richard had hoped.\n\nAt a distance, he was very regal, astride Fauvel, his saddle and trappings just as gaudy as Richard's. His purple silk mantle was studded with precious gems, and his long, fair hair was graced by a golden crown. The English were surprised by his youth, for he appeared to be about Richard's age, in his early thirties. At closer range he was not quite so impressive, for he was sharp-featured, with darting pale eyes and a thin slash of a mouth unfamiliar with smiles. Richard's knights had long ago learned how deceptive appearances could be, for sometimes the most ignoble souls were camouflaged by attractive exteriors. Staring at the Cypriot emperor, they exchanged knowing glances, agreeing that this was one pirate ship not flying false colors; Isaac Dukos Comnenus looked to be exactly what he was, a man doomed to burn for aye in Hell everlasting.\n\nGarnier de Nablus, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller of Jerusalem, had brokered the peace conference and he acted now as intermediary, making use of one of his Cypriot Hospitallers to translate French into Greek. They met in the center of the field, Richard's Spanish destrier and the fiery Fauvel eyeing each other with as much suspicion as their riders. The spectators nudged one another and grinned, agreeing that it was fortunate the English king and the Cypriot emperor were both skilled horsemen or else their stallions might have taken it upon themselves to end this parley here and now.\n\nRichard was willing to follow the protocol for such surrenders, but not to waste much time doing it. So while he greeted Isaac with cold courtesy, he soon laid out his terms for peace. When they were translated for Isaac's benefit, the Greek speakers in the audience gasped, murmuring among themselves that this would be too bitter a brew for Isaac to swallow. Richard demanded that Isaac swear fealty to him, that he take the cross and accompany the English to the Holy Land, provide one hundred knights, five hundred horsemen, and five hundred foot soldiers for the service of God and the Holy City, and pay thirty-five hundred marks in compensation for the injuries inflicted upon Richard's men. As a pledge of his good faith, he would be required to surrender all of his castles to the English king and to offer his only daughter and heir as a hostage. There was great astonishment, therefore, among those who knew Isaac when he indicated to Garnier de Nablus that he was willing to accept Richard's terms.\n\nOnce agreement had been reached, Richard and Isaac dismounted, and after the emperor had sworn an oath of fealty, they exchanged the ritual kiss of peace. As a gesture of goodwill, Richard then offered to return Isaac's tent and the silver plate plundered from it at the battle of Kolossi. Isaac at once ordered it set up in the open field, announcing he preferred to camp there rather than to enter Limassol, where there might not be adequate accommodations for his men. Since Richard had appropriated his palace and the fortress of St George, no objections were raised. Richard gave orders for wine and food to be sent out to the emperor's encampment, and they agreed to meet on the morrow to arrange for the transfer of Isaac's castles to castellans of Richard's choosing, and to make plans for their joint departure for Acre. The conference ended with an exchange of courtesies that was impeccably correct and utterly unconvincing.\n\nAs they rode back toward Limassol, Jaufre spurred his horse to catch up with Richard and Andr\u00e9. Richard seemed in good spirits, talking about the arrival that morning of the remainder of his galleys from Rhodes. He said nothing, though, about the peace he'd just concluded with the Cypriot emperor, not until Jaufre expressed his concern. \"My liege, those are harsh terms you imposed upon him.\"\n\n\"Yes, they are,\" Richard agreed, tracking with his eyes the graceful flight of a hawk, soaring on the wind high above their heads.\n\n\"I think it was wise to demand sureties for his good faith. But will even that be enough? His entire history is one of deceit and betrayal. Do you truly expect him to honor the pact?\"\n\nRichard shrugged. \"That is up to him. The choice is his.\"\n\n\"I find it suspicious that he would agree so readily,\" Jaufre confessed, but then he caught the look of amusement that passed between Richard and Andr\u00e9 and he understood. Reassured, he said no more and they rode on in silence.\n\n3As Richard crossed the chamber, Berengaria watched him through her lashes. Few big men could move with such easy grace. She knew he was called Lionheart in tribute to his reckless courage, but she thought the name fit in more ways than one, for he was as quick as a cat, too, a very large, tawny cat. It was a revelation to her, this realization that the male body could be beautiful.\n\nHe handed her the wine cup before getting back into bed, saying, \"How many women have a king at their beck and call?\" She smiled, taking several swallows of Isaac's sweet white wine. But when she passed it back, he didn't drink himself. Settling against the pillows, he regarded her with an expression she could not read. \"If you are still sore, Berenguela, I am sure the other women could advise you about herbs or ointments that would help the healing.\"\n\nSo he'd noticed! She'd not expected that. She took another sip of wine to cover her confusion. \"It is still new to me,\" she admitted. \"This is just our third night together. Based on my experience so far, I am sure I will not begrudge paying the marriage debt.\" She gave him a smile, then, that belied the formal, stilted phrasing of her words. \"But there is something we need to talk about, Richard. I am just not sure how to begin....\"\n\nHe reached over and took the wine cup, setting it down in the rushes. \"Say it straight out. That saves a lot of time.\"\n\nHe made it sound so easy. She sighed. \"Very well. I would never want to offend or insult you, Richard, truly I would not. But your... your male member is so large that\u2014\" She got no further, for her husband was roaring with laughter. This was not the response she'd expected and she stared at him in bewilderment.\n\n\"I am not laughing at you, little dove,\" he said, once he'd gotten his breath back. \"But your innocence is downright endearing at times!\" Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss. \"Trust me on this. There is not a man born of woman who'd ever take it as an insult to be told that his 'male member' was too large.\"\n\nShe did not understand his hilarity, but then she was often puzzled by male humor. And despite his denial, she did think he was laughing at her. His amusement was far preferable, though, to the other reactions she'd imagined. She'd been unable to approach Joanna, for this was too intimate a topic to discuss with his sister. And so she'd nerved herself to confide in Mariam, greatly relieved to be told there was a simple solution to her problem. But as awkward as that conversation had been, this one with Richard was even worse. There was no going back now, though.\n\n\"It is the moment of entry that is painful,\" she said, startling herself by her own bluntness. \"After that, it does not hurt much at all. I am indeed an 'innocent,' as you've often reminded me, so I sought advice from someone more knowledgeable about such matters, one of Joanna's ladies. She said there would be no discomfort if we used a scented oil first....\"\n\nShe paused, hoping there was no need to be more explicit. But his expression was quizzical, expectant. \"Yes?\" he prompted. \"A scented oil. And then what?\"\n\nShe blushed, acutely embarrassed. She was bracing herself to blurt it out when she noticed that the corner of his mouth was curving, ever so slightly. Suddenly suspicious, she sat up in bed, heedless of her nudity. \"You know what I am talking about,\" she accused. \"You are just teasing me!\"\n\nThat set him off again. But he sought to get his laughter under control once he saw that she was genuinely upset. \"You are right,\" he confessed. \"I was teasing you. I am sorry, Berenguela. I have always teased my sisters\u2014they'd say 'tormented'\u2014and I forget that you are not as accustomed to Angevin humor.\"\n\nHe sounded contrite, but she was not entirely mollified. \"You must remember, Richard,\" she said with as much dignity as she could muster, \"that I am still learning to be a wife, and Pamplona is a far different world than Poitiers.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" he said again, \"absolutely right. I cannot promise to mend my wicked ways overnight, but I will try, Berenguela.\"\n\nThere was still a teasing undertone to his apology, but she did not mind as much now, for he'd drawn her into his arms. She cradled her head against his chest, listening to the lulling beat of his heart against her ear. \"So,\" he said, \"ask your confidante for some of that oil and we will try it tomorrow night.\" When she smiled and nodded, he slid his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. \"Of course, if I am going to be basted with oil like a Michaelmas goose, it is only fair that my wife be the one to do the basting.\"\n\nAs he expected, color surged into her face again, even giving her throat a rosecolored glow. But she surprised him by bravely agreeing that it was indeed only fair. Taking pity on her, he said, \"We'll see, little dove. You are just learning to... cook, after all.\"\n\nHe retrieved the wine cup from the floor and they took turns drinking from it. When he yawned, she knew she'd have to make a decision soon. Joanna had warned her that it was not a good idea to have a serious conversation after love-making, for men usually wanted to roll over and go to sleep. But the only time she seemed to have Richard's undivided attention was in bed. When he shifted his position, she knew it was now or never, for she'd observed that he liked to sleep on his side. \"Richard... I need to talk to you.\"\n\nHe propped himself up on his elbow, and she drew the sheet against her breasts, nervously twisting her wedding ring as she tried to think of a way to ease into it. Not finding any, she took his earlier advice to say it straight out. \"Joanna told me that you have a young son.\"\n\n\"Did she, now?\" Richard's voice was even, giving nothing away. But she was learning to read the subtle signs behind that guarded court mask, and she knew he was not pleased.\n\n\"Please do not be angry with her, Richard. She only told me because she did not want me to hear it through gossip. She did not see it as breaking a confidence since so many others know about him.\"\n\nRichard had to grudgingly concede the truth in that. \"Yes,\" he said, \"I have a son. Philip is ten, and lives in Poitiers.\"\n\n\"Does he live with his mother?\"\n\n\"No. I assumed responsibility for him when he was very young.\"\n\nFrom the terseness of his answers, she knew that he was not happy having this conversation. If the boy was ten now, that would mean he'd been conceived when Richard was young himself, only about twenty-two or so. She thought it was to his credit that he'd acknowledged Philip as his, for she knew not all men of high birth bothered about the consequences of their carnal exploits. She was very proud of her brother Sancho for taking his own bastard sons under his care and making sure they wanted for nothing.\n\n\"Is there a reason why you are asking about the lad, Berenguela?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is. I thought that when we return from Outremer, you might want him to live with us. I wanted to assure you that I would do all in my power to make him most welcome.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" He did not try to hide his surprise. \"You are not troubled that he was born out of wedlock?\"\n\n\"Why would I blame him for a sin that was yours, Richard? That would be unjust.\"\n\nHe did not consider it a sin at all, but he saw no point in arguing that with her. \"By the time we get back, Philip will be old enough to begin his training as a squire, so he'd not be living in our household. But I will want him to visit, of course, and it gladdens me that you would welcome him, Berenguela.\"\n\n\"My father is a man of deep faith, and he often spoke to us about the power of Divine Mercy, pointing out that if the Almighty is willing to forgive us our trespasses, how can mortal man do less? He is a great admirer of St Augustine, and one of his favorite quotations is 'Cum dilectione hominum et odio vitiorum.' I do not know Latin but I've heard him quote it so often that it took root in my memory. He said it meant 'Love the sinner and hate the sin.'\"\n\nLike all of Henry and Eleanor's sons, Richard had been well grounded in Latin. \"The actual translation is 'With love for mankind and hatred of sins,' but I'd say that is close enough.\" His own favorite quotation from St Augustine was a prayer to \"Give me chastity and continence, but do not give it yet.\" He suspected, though, that his wife would not find it as amusing as he did. Leaning over again, he gave her a lingering kiss before saying, \"This has been a most interesting evening, little dove. But I am supposed to meet again with Isaac in the morn and if I do not get some sleep, I'll be in no shape to fend off his excuses and lies. Whilst he claimed today that he was willing to accept my terms, I'll not be surprised if he tries to weasel out of the more onerous ones.\"\n\nShe thought that was a tactful way to let her know he was done talking for the night. The rhythm of his breathing soon told her that he slept. She was still wide awake, but she did not mind, for she had much to think about. She knew she'd pleased him tonight. That last kiss had been somehow different; in the past they'd either been casual or demanding and passionate. But this one had been tender. Their bed hangings were drawn back as he'd agreed to let his squires sleep elsewhere for a few more days, and the chamber was silvered with moonlight, for they'd left a window open to the mild May air. After such a frightening introduction to Cyprus, she'd never have expected to feel any affection for the island, but she was collecting memories that she'd cherish till the end of her earthly days.\n\nWatching Richard as he slept, she remembered the uncertainty of her journey to Sicily, wondering what manner of man he was, wondering if he would prove kind. She thought she could answer that now; no, he was not. That was as it ought to be, though, for kindness would avail him naught in his battle to save the Holy Land. Yet he was kind to her, at least so far, and she felt grateful to see a side of his nature that no one else did. Her feelings about marrying Richard had been more ambivalent than she'd been willing to admit, even to herself. Refusal was out of the question, for she'd known how much her father and brother had wanted this alliance. Marriage to the King of England was a great honor for Navarre, some of Richard's luster sure to spill over onto her father's court. It was an honor for her, too, that he'd chosen her when he could have had any woman he wanted as his queen.\n\nBut she'd realized that her life would never be the same, that she would be surrendering to forces utterly beyond her control, and there had been times when she'd feared the unknown future awaiting her, times when she'd felt as if she'd been swept up in an Angevin riptide, carried far from all that was familiar and safe. She'd been determined to do her duty as queen, wife, and mother, determined not to disappoint Richard or shame her father. So far nothing had turned out as she'd expected, though. She'd not envisioned a friend like Joanna or an enemy like Isaac Comnenus. And nothing had prepared her for Richard Coeur de Lion.\n\nHer long hair had caught under her hip and she tugged to free it, wishing she could put it in a night plait. But Richard liked it loose, had wrapped it around his throat during their love-making. In the morning she would ask Mariam for the scented oil. Mariam had hinted that there were other erotic uses for it, and she decided that she would ask about them, too. Innocence was an admirable attribute for a virgin maid, not so much for a wedded wife. She drifted off to sleep with a smile, wondering if she would dream of Michaelmas geese.\n\nBerengaria jerked upright, torn from sleep so abruptly that she felt disoriented. It was not yet dawn, for the sky visible from the window still glimmered with a scattering of stars. Someone was pounding on the door and she could hear raised voices. Richard was already out of bed, sliding his sword from its scabbard. Striding to the door, he apparently heard enough to be satisfied there was no imminent danger, for he lifted the latch. Clutching the sheet modestly to her throat, Berengaria waited anxiously as he exchanged a few words with someone on the other side of the door, her imagination taking flight as she tried to guess what was wrong.\n\n\"Tell them I'll be there straightaway,\" Richard directed his unseen audience. \"And send my squires in to help me arm myself.\" Closing the door, he moved to a coffer and began to select clothes at random. \"Isaac seems to have had a change of heart,\" he said as he pulled his braies up over his hips. \"He fled his camp in the middle of the night, leaving all of his belongings behind.\"\n\n\"That wicked, deceitful man!\" Berengaria was highly indignant, but alarmed, too. She'd thought that Isaac was part of their past, and suddenly here he was again, posing a new danger to Richard, threatening to disrupt their departure for Outremer. \"Surely the Almighty will punish him as he deserves for this latest treachery!\"\n\n\"From your lips to God's ear, little dove,\" Richard said, pulling a shirt over his head. \"Have you seen my boots?\"\n\n\"Over there, under the table.\" Berengaria sat up, watching him in growing puzzlement. He did not seem surprised by Isaac's flight. He did not even sound angry. \"Were you expecting him to do this, Richard?\"\n\n\"Well, I had hopes,\" he said, sitting down to attach his chausses to his braies.\n\n\"But it was hard to believe that even Isaac could be so foolhardy. Of course,\" he said with a sudden grin, \"he may have been tempted by the ease of it. Had he been lodged in Limassol midst my men, it would have been more difficult to sneak away in the night like that.\"\n\nBy now she was thoroughly confused. \"I do not understand. You want to fight him? Why?\"\n\n\"It is quite simple, Berenguela. With favorable winds, a ship can sail from the port at Famagusta to the Syrian coast in just a day.\" He could see that she still did not comprehend, and said with rare patience, \"It is not enough to retake Acre or even Jerusalem. Then we have to hold them in a land where we are vastly outnumbered, and we cannot do that unless we can keep the kingdom supplied with food, weapons, and soldiers. That means relying upon other Christian countries for such aid. As soon as I looked at a map, I saw that Cyprus would make an ideal supply base for the Holy Land. It would be an invaluable ally\u2014if it were not ruled by a renegade, a man suspected of conniving with Saladin.\"\n\nShe was staring at him. \"Are you saying you planned to take Cyprus?\"\n\n\"Well, the thought did cross my mind. How could it not? Its strategic importance was obvious to any man with eyes to see. And the more I heard about Isaac\u2014a man so hated that he'd not be likely to have the support of the Cypriots\u2014the more convinced I became that Cyprus would benefit as much as Outremer if he were deposed. Whilst I did not sail from Messina with the intent of taking Cyprus from him, I did mean to seize the opportunity if one presented itself.\"\n\nBerengaria was dumbfounded. \"Is that why you chose Cyprus as a rendezvous point for the fleet? And why you asked Tancred for a Greek interpreter?\"\n\n\"No to your first question, yes to your second. Cyprus was the logical choice, indeed the only choice, for there were no other islands beyond Rhodes. Of course I did not expect the fleet to be scattered and for certes I did not expect your ship to reach Limassol on its own.\"\n\n\"But... but why did you agree to make peace with Isaac, then?\"\n\n\"Because it seemed like I might get what I wanted without having to fight for it. He agreed to swear fealty to me and pledged his full support to recapture Jerusalem. If he honored the terms, we'd have gotten a thousand men, the promise of Cypriot harvests, and money I could put toward the cost of the campaign. Naturally, I trusted him about as much as I'd trust a viper, so I demanded his daughter as a hostage and the surrender of his castles. If he'd kept faith, I'd have been satisfied with that.\"\n\n\"Did you think he would keep faith?\"\n\nHe smiled without answering and went to the door to admit his squires. Jehan and Saer were so excited they could barely contain themselves, seeming so young and eager to Berengaria that she felt a pang. \"I'll wait to arm myself until after I meet with my commanders,\" Richard decided, but when the boys objected, protesting that Isaac might well seek to win by treachery what he could not win on the field, he agreed to wear his hauberk. Berengaria had not even considered the dangers of a hidden crossbowman and she reached for the coverlets, pulling them up around her shoulders to combat a sudden chill.\n\nHis squires had assisted Richard with his hauberk and he was buckling his scabbard. She was still trying to come to terms with this new knowledge, that Richard had been two steps ahead of the Cypriot emperor from the very first. If Isaac were not such a monster, she might have felt a twinge of pity for him. But she did not doubt he deserved whatever Richard had in mind for him, and now that it had been explained to her, she could see that holding Cyprus would be very beneficial to the Holy Land. Yet how could Richard spare the time to defeat Isaac when they were awaiting him at the siege of Acre?\n\nComing back to the bed, Richard leaned over and kissed her. \"Keep that oil handy,\" he said. \"I'll send your women in so you can dress.\"\n\n\"What of the men at Acre, Richard? Will they not be upset by this delay?\"\n\n\"It will not take that long.\"\n\n\"How long would it take to conquer an entire country?\" She'd not realized she'd spoken the words aloud, not until Richard paused on his way to the door.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I wagered Andr\u00e9 that we could do it in a fortnight.\" And then he was gone, leaving her alone in their marriage bed, a bride of four days, staring at that closing door."
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1191",
                "text": "[ Famagusta, Cyprus ]\n\nJaufre did not know what to expect as their army approached the town called Ammokhostos by the Greek-speaking Cypriots and Famagusta by the \"Latins,\" the term for those who adhered to the Pope in Rome rather than the Patriarch in Constantinople. Richard had quickly learned that Isaac had fled toward Famagusta, for the Cypriot emperor was now reaping the hatred he'd sown for the past seven years, and his long-suffering subjects were willing, even eager, to provide information that might mean his downfall. Leaving Berengaria and Joanna in Limassol under the protection of the Prince of Antioch and the Armenian prince Leo, Richard entrusted Guy and Joffroi de Lusignan to lead his army overland while he sailed along the coast to Famagusta with some of his fastest galleys.\n\nSo Jaufre was sure that the king would already have reached Famagusta. But what sight would await them? A city under siege? Charred houses and still smoldering ruins? Instead they came upon a scene of surprising tranquility. Richard's galleys rode at anchor in the harbor, and his army was encamped upon the beach, soldiers strolling about as if they hadn't any fears for their safety. The town itself seemed no less peaceful. It looked like a mere village to Jaufre, with narrow streets and alleys and small houses with flat, tiled roofs. He could not imagine how Isaac had hoped to hold it, for it lacked walls like Limassol, and the buildings he could see were simple structures; he was truly amazed to be told that one of them was the residence of the Archbishop of Cyprus.\n\nDespite the apparent serenity of this Cypriot seaport, the English camp was well guarded. They were saluted cheerfully by men glad to have been spared that long, dusty journey, and the de Lusignans and Jaufre were escorted to Richard's large pavilion. Once greetings had been exchanged, Richard explained that Isaac had retreated inland as soon as he'd gotten word of the fleet's approach. Some of the citizens had fled, too, but others flocked to the harbor to welcome the invaders, reassured by what they'd heard about the treatment of Cypriots who'd offered no resistance.\n\n\"You'd best get a good night's sleep,\" Richard told the new arrivals. \"We march at dawn for the interior of the island.\" He had a map spread out upon the table, and showed them his intended target, the town called Lefkosia by the Greeks and Nicosia by the Latins. \"We've had reports that Isaac is lurking in the vicinity of Nicosia, about forty miles east of here. So on the morrow, we go to find him.\"\n\nPeering over Richard's shoulder at the map, Jaufre asked if Nicosia was walled; he'd been astonished that the Cypriot towns were so vulnerable to attack. \"I thought the man was foolhardy beyond belief when he dared to defy you as he did. But now that I know his so-called empire is so defenseless, I think he must be mad.\"\n\n\"According to what I've been told, there is a small fortress at Nicosia, but the town itself has no walls, so it is not likely that Isaac will try to make a stand there. My guess is that he will seek to ambush us on the road, and when that fails\u2014as of course it will\u2014he will then retreat to one of his citadels along the north coast. Apparently he does have several well-fortified castles there. The strongest is the one at Kyrenia.\" Richard gestured toward a spot on the map. \"Supposedly this is where he keeps his treasure and the local people say he sent his wife and daughter there for safety. He also has castles at Deudamour, Buffavento, and Kantara.\"\n\nRichard was interrupted then when one of his knights entered the tent to announce that some monks had ridden into the camp and were seeking an audience. \"One says he is the abbot of... Mahera or Makera?\"\n\nRichard glanced toward one of Famagusta's Venetian merchants for enlightenment. He was not disappointed, for the mercer was already nodding knowledgeably. \"Makheras Monastery. That would be Abbot Nilus. You ought to see him, my lord king, for he is highly respected. Next to the archbishop and a revered hermit who lives in a cave near Paphos, Abbot Nilus wields great influence, even more so than most bishops.\"\n\nWhen Richard indicated he would see the abbot, his knight went to fetch him. As he ushered the monks through the camp, their long, bushy beards raised some English eyebrows, for this Greek fashion seemed bizarre to most of the soldiers, who were either clean-shaven or had closely trimmed beards like Richard. They were careful not to show any overt amusement, though, for the king had given orders not to harass the locals. But Abbot Nilus was aware of the disrespectful stares, the murmured jests about \"Griffons,\" and he hoped he'd not made a mistake in approaching the barbarians like this. At first he'd held back even as other bishops and abbots sought to make peace with these English invaders, for he'd known how vengeful Isaac would be once they were gone. It was only when it began to look as if the emperor might truly be deposed that he'd dared to seek English protection for his abbey. Now he was not so sure he'd made the right decision.\n\nSome of his misgivings waned as he entered the king's tent and saw so many familiar faces: Italian merchants who'd resided for years in Famagusta, the bishops of Kition and Tremetousha, and several highborn defectors from Isaac's court. His pride was soothed, too, by his courteous reception, and when the English reassured him that they meant no harm to monasteries or churches, Nilus decided to trust this Latin warrior-king, at least enough to relay information that might hasten Isaac's defeat. He'd been relying upon a Venetian merchant to act as translator, and he told the man now to ask the English king if he knew why Isaac had fled like a thief in the night.\n\n\"I do not think he ever meant to keep faith with our pact,\" Richard said candidly, \"though he hoped to fool us into believing he would. I admit I was surprised that he bolted within hours. I suppose he found the terms too humiliating even if he did not intend to abide by them.\"\n\n\"That may well be. But I heard that he was warned to flee by one of your own.\" Richard frowned as he glanced from the abbot to the interpreter. \"Ask him what he means by that. Is he accusing one of my men of treachery?\"\n\nAfter a murmured exchange with Abbot Nilus, the merchant shook his head. \"He meant a Latin, my liege. He says a lord from Outremer sailed for Cyprus as soon as they learned of your clash with Isaac. This man told Isaac that you meant to seize him come morning and this is why he ran as he did.\" Anticipating Richard's next question, he turned again to Nilus. \"He says the name of this evil adviser is Pagan, the Lord of Haifa.\"\n\nThe name meant nothing to Richard or his knights, but the de Lusignans and Humphrey de Toron reacted as if they'd been told Judas was in their midst. Pagan de Haifa, they told him, was a close ally of Conrad of Montferrat and a bitter enemy of the de Lusignans. It was obvious what Pagan hoped to do, Guy sputtered. He wanted Richard's war with Isaac to drag on, keeping him occupied on Cyprus long enough for Conrad to seize Acre and gain all the glory for himself, thus making sure that few could oppose his claim to the Kingdom of Jerusalem.\n\nGlancing around, Nilus saw that most of the men shared Guy's indignation. Richard alone looked amused. \"If that is true,\" he said, \"it is indeed proof that the Almighty has a sense of humor, for by running away, Isaac provided me with the justification for taking Cyprus from him. I really ought to send Pagan and Conrad some of Isaac's wine in appreciation for their help.\"\n\nThat stirred some amusement among his knights, but the de Lusignans continued to fume, fearing that this delay could prove fatal to Guy's hopes of regaining his crown. Jaufre also worried that Richard may have bitten off more than he could chew. He did not doubt that Isaac would be defeated. Yet if Conrad took Acre whilst Richard took Cyprus, would it be worth it? \"Are you sure, my liege,\" he said, \"that you can conquer the entire country ere Acre falls?\"\n\nRichard's mouth quirked. \"Well, it is a small country.\" After the laughter subsided, he said, no longer joking, \"Tell me this, Jaufre. How many men do you think are willing to die for Isaac Comnenus?\" And when this was translated for Nilus's benefit, the abbot smiled grimly, thinking that could well serve as the hated despot's epitaph.\n\nThe elderly archbishop Barnabas shared the views of his compatriots\u2014eager to see Isaac deposed, but eager, too, to see the English army sail for the Holy Land. So far Famagusta had been spared the usual misery that befell occupied towns and he meant to keep it that way, hosting an elaborate feast that evening in honor of his unwelcome guests. The meal had just ended when Richard got word that a galley had been spotted approaching the harbor, flying the flag of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.\n\nAs the news rippled across the hall, Richard found himself struggling with conflicting emotions. He knew that as a Christian, he ought to be praying that Acre had fallen. But he dreaded to hear it, for he could not bear that the siege should have ended before he got there to take part in the assault. \"Do you think it is a sin to hope that Acre holds out for another few weeks?\" he asked his companions with a tight smile, and then crossed the hall to tell the archbishop and Abbot Nilus about the approaching ship.\n\nHis audience\u2014Morgan, Baldwin de Bethune, and Jaufre\u2014were equally ambivalent, especially after learning of Pagan of Haifa's meddling. As they glanced around, they could see that the de Lusignans and Humphrey de Toron and their knights were making no attempt to hide their consternation. It seemed to take forever before one of Richard's men hurried into the hall to announce that envoys from the French king had arrived. Realizing what they all were thinking, he shook his head emphatically, letting them know the siege of Acre continued.\n\nMorgan recognized one of the lead knights, for Druon de Mello had been a member of the French king's household during their stay in Messina. He did not know Druon's companion, a stocky, powerfully built man in his early thirties who strode into the hall with the swagger of one accustomed to getting deference from others. He was clad in an obviously expensive hauberk, which was partially covered by an equally expensive surcote emblazoned with a coat of arms unfamiliar to Morgan. He was surprised that the stranger would come armed into the hall, for most men preferred to eschew the weight of their hauberks unless they expected to be in physical danger. And so he instinctively sensed that this man was bringing trouble into their midst even before he heard Jaufre's dismayed hiss of breath.\n\n\"I cannot believe Philippe sent him!\" Lowering his voice, Jaufre said, \"That is Philip de Dreux, the Bishop of Beauvais and Philippe's first cousin. He is also the man loathed by the de Lusignans almost as much as Conrad, for he connived with Conrad to steal Isabella from Humphrey de Toron and then performed the marriage ceremony himself.\"\n\nMorgan had heard of the bishop, who was said to love battles more than books and had won himself a reputation for being utterly fearless in combat. It astonished him that the French king would entrust a message to a man whose very presence was a provocation to the de Lusignans. Remembering, then, that there was said to be bad blood between Richard and Beauvais, too, he started hastily toward the newcomers. Jaufre and Baldwin and a number of Richard's other knights were already in motion.\n\nRichard's greeting had been icy enough to put the bishop at risk for frostbite, and the latter's response was so terse as to be downright rude. It was left to Druon de Mello to try to pass over the awkwardness with strained courtesy. Because he respected the older man, Richard thawed somewhat, but he pointedly addressed himself to Druon, all the while staring at Beauvais with a hawk's predatory appraisal. The bishop glared back, conveying defiance with no need of words. It was then that Guy de Lusignan pushed his way through the crowd.\n\n\"First Pagan de Haifa and now Conrad's tame bishop,\" Guy said with a sneer. \"Conrad must truly be desperate to keep us here in Cyprus.\"\n\n\"I do not know what you are babbling about,\" Beauvais said disdainfully. \"I do indeed respect Conrad of Montferrat, but I do not do his bidding. I answer only to Almighty God.\"\n\nGuy feigned surprise. \"God told you to marry Isabella to a man who already had a wife?\"\n\n\"Conrad's Greek wife was dead, so there was no impediment to his marriage with Queen Isabella.\"\n\n\"The 'Greek wife' you dismiss so easily has a name and an identity of her own\u2014the Lady Theodora, sister to the Emperor of the Greeks. Nor is she dead, as you so conveniently claim. She is well and living in Constantinople.\" This challenge came from a new speaker, Humphrey de Toron, who was staring at the bishop with the frustrated fury of a man who realized that his words would be neither heard nor heeded.\n\nJust as he feared, Beauvais did not even bother to deny his charge, for they both knew that the truth of it was irrelevant. \"I am not here to argue a matter that was decided months ago. I bear a message from the king of the French.\" His gaze flicking from Guy and Humphrey as if they were negligible, he turned his attention back to Richard, \"He wants to know why you are tarrying here in Cyprus when there is such an urgent need for your presence at the siege of Acre.\"\n\n\"'Tarrying here in Cyprus'?\" Richard echoed incredulously. \"What do you fools think\u2014that we've been lolling about on the beach, taking our ease with their wine and their women? It does not surprise me, my lord bishop, that you apparently cannot read a map, but I expected better of your king. Cyprus is an ideal supply base for the Holy Land, or it was until Isaac Comnenus seized power. It is too dangerous to leave so strategic an island in the hands of a man hostile to the Kingdom of Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"And why is he 'hostile' to us? Because you were intent upon its conquest from the day you sailed from Messina!\"\n\nThere were angry protests at that from many of Richard's men. Richard was as outraged as his knights. \"Isaac Comnenus has refused for years to send supplies to the Holy Land. He would not even permit ships from Outremer to dock in Cypriot harbors. And whilst he plotted with Saladin, men died at Acre\u2014not from battle wounds, but from hunger!\"\n\n\"My lord king knew you'd have excuses for your irresponsible actions; he says you always do.\" At that, Druon de Mello, who'd been looking increasingly uncomfortable, sought to intervene, but the bishop ignored him. \"I suppose we must be thankful that you confined yourself to Cyprus and did not go off on a whim to assault Constantinople. But the irrefutable fact is that good Christian knights are dying at Acre because settling a grudge matters more to you than the success of the siege.\"\n\n\"Since you are so free with your advice, let me give you some, Beauvais. It is always better to let men think you're one of God's great fools than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. It is obvious that you know as little about siege warfare as you do about the spiritual duties of a bishop. I have already arranged to send ships to Acre loaded with grain and\u2014\"\n\n\"And are you sending, too, the Cypriot treasury? I admit that this has been a right profitable digression for you. But it might cost you what you value most, my lord Lionheart\u2014that reputation you've so carefully cultivated for demented courage. The longer you remain in Cyprus, killing fellow Christians instead of God's true enemies, the Saracens, the more likely it is that men will begin to wonder if it is cowardice that keeps you here.\"\n\nRichard had been standing on the dais. He came down the steps so fast now that the alarmed French knights clustered protectively around the bishop. \"I'll tell you what cowardice is,\" Richard spat. \"It is hiding behind your holy vows, using them as your shield. You know full well that I'd kill any man who dared to call me a coward. But you know, too, that I'd not be likely to strike down a prince of the Church.\"\n\n\"Now why would I think that? After all, your family has a history of ill-treating princes of the Church. If my memory serves, your grandfather, Geoffrey of Anjou, once ordered a bishop to be gelded. And it is barely twenty years since your father's knights left a saint bleeding to death on the floor of his own cathedral.\"\n\nThe expression on Richard's face was one that his men had often seen\u2014on the battlefield\u2014and hands instinctively dropped to sword hilts. He surprised them, though, by not lunging for Beauvais's throat as they expected. \"You're right,\" he said, with a very dangerous smile. \"My father was exonerated by the Pope for the part he played in a holy martyr's murder. So why should I worry about dispatching a luxury-loving, godless pretend-priest to Hell?\"\n\nBeauvais's lips peeled back in a snarling smile of his own. But Guy de Lusignan gave him no chance to respond. He'd been seething at the other man's contemptuous dismissal, and now he said menacingly, \"Well, I have no qualms whatsoever about shedding the blood of a bishop. You'd best bear that in mind, Beauvais, for I doubt you're in a state of grace to meet your Maker. Where would you ever find a priest corrupt enough or drunk enough to absolve you of all your sins?\"\n\nRichard laughed, a chilling sound. Beauvais did not appear at all intimidated by either king, though. \"It would give me great pleasure to put the anathema of excommunication upon any man rash enough to lay hands upon a consecrated bishop. You'd best bear that in mind, de Lusignan. As for you, my lord Lionheart\u2014\"\n\nHe got no further, for Guy took a threatening step forward. \"Call me by my rightful title, you son of a whore!\"\n\nThe bishop's eyes gleamed. \"Which title is that? Surely not the one you earned in Sybilla's bed? Or mayhap you mean 'hero of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn.' No, that will not do, either, for that was the battle in which the entire army of the Kingdom of Jerusalem was destroyed by Saladin, destroyed because of your unforgivable, idiotic blunders!\"\n\nWhen Guy lunged at him, the bishop started to draw his sword. It never cleared the scabbard, though, for Joffroi de Lusignan grabbed his brother just as Jaufre darted forward and interposed himself between the two men. \"You are shaming yourself, my lord bishop,\" he said, \"and worse, you are shaming our king. I cannot believe Philippe sent you here to shed blood in the Archbishop of Cyprus's house.\"\n\n\"No, he did not!\" Druon de Mello seized his chance and said loudly, \"Our lord king bade us tell King Richard to stop wasting time and make haste to reach Acre, for he has been delaying a full assault upon the city as a courtesy to the English king\u2014\" Druon stopped in astonishment, for the hall was rocking with derisive laughter. He scowled, angry that they dared to mock his king like this. But after a moment to reflect, he decided their mockery was a small price to pay for the dispersal of this dangerous tension. He knew, even if he feared his king did not, that their hopes of recovering Jerusalem rested upon the military expertise of the English king, and for that, Druon was willing to overlook Richard's arrogance and bravado, even his regrettable alliance with Guy de Lusignan.\n\nRichard raised a hand for silence. \"Go back to Philippe, Sir Druon, and tell him that I will not leave for Acre until I have secured Cyprus for the Holy Land. Remind him that a king does not give orders to another king. Now return to your ship and pass the night. But at dawn, set sail for Outremer, for I want this man gone from here by the time I rise from my bed tomorrow.\" And with that, he deliberately turned his back on the bishop and walked away.\n\nJoffroi de Lusignan had pulled his raging brother aside, and although the bishop seemed inclined to continue the confrontation, Druon and the French knights were already withdrawing, giving him no choice but to follow. Jaufre took it upon himself to make sure Beauvais would actually return to his galley and hastened after them. Richard was still infuriated and was giving voice to his wrath before a very receptive audience. But slowly calm began to settle over the hall again.\n\nThe aged Archbishop of Cyprus and Abbot Nilus had been dumbfounded witnesses from their seats upon the dais. As they exchanged glances now, the archbishop suggested that they summon one of the Greek-speaking Italian merchants so they could find out what had caused this ugly scene. Nilus shrugged, shaking his head in bemusement. \"Does it truly matter? If I were the Sultan of Egypt, I'd be sleeping soundly at night, knowing that the Christians will never be able to retake Jerusalem, for they would rather fight one another than the Turks.\"\n\nBarnabas sadly concurred. \"Well, at least some good has come out of this. Whatever happens in Outremer, Cyprus has been freed of a tyrant, and for that we must thank the God of our Fathers, His only-begotten Son, and the holy Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary.\"\n\nAbbot Nilus murmured his agreement. But as grateful as he was to be rid of Isaac Comnenus, he would reserve judgment as to the future of Cyprus under the Latins. His was a sorrowfully cynical view of his fellow men and he knew sometimes the cure could be as bad as the disease.\n\nThey'd been told the flat, bleak plain was called the Mesaoria, a Greek term meaning \"between the mountains.\" Warned that it would be desolate, Richard had ordered his men to carry enough rations for several days, and they were glad of it, for it was soon apparent that no army could live off this land. They passed an occasional deserted hamlet, its inhabitants gone into hiding. Even before they'd left Famagusta, they'd gotten reports from locals that Isaac had gathered a force of seven hundred lightly armed horsemen called turcopoles, and so Richard insisted that they maintain a tight formation as they marched, entrusting the vanguard to the de Lusignans and taking the rear guard himself, for he thought that would be the likely target of an ambush.\n\nIt was hot and dusty, the road little more than a narrow mule track, and the few streams they found were dried up; it was hard for Richard and his knights to believe this arid area would be transformed into vast, marshy quagmires by heavy winter rains. There were no trees in sight, and the only signs of life were several hawks lazily circling in a sky as empty as the plain below them. The men were uniformly glad when they reached the abandoned village of Kalopsyda, for there the road veered toward the northwest, and the tedious monotony of the landscape gave way to an occasional gully carved out by winter floods. If Isaac meant an ambush, it would be in one of these deep, dry riverbeds, and they found themselves almost looking forward to the prospect, for at least some action would ease the boredom of the march.\n\nOff to the east, they could see mud-brick buildings far in the distance. Shading his eyes against the sun's merciless glare, Richard decided this must be Tremetousha. He'd met its bishop in Famagusta, and he marveled now that this isolated village could be the seat of a prelate of the Greek Orthodox Church. \"There is a monastery there,\" he told Jaufre, \"and we can halt to rest awhile.\" He eased his Spanish stallion so he could unhook his wineskin from the saddle pommel, grimacing at the taste of the warm liquid as it trickled down his throat.\n\n\"Your cool head was useful last night, Jaufre. Whilst I cannot imagine anyone mourning that misbegotten hellspawn, I suspect the new pontiff would not have been happy if I'd sent one of his bishops to eternal damnation. For certes, my mother would not have been pleased with me. After all, I'd asked her to get to Rome with all haste so she could gain the new Pope's favor.\"\n\n\"Well, my 'cool head' did not avail me much later, Uncle. When Beauvais berated me for sailing with you instead of Philippe, I was sorely tempted to push him over the side of his galley.\" Jaufre glanced at Richard with a grin. \"A dislike of the good bishop seems to run in our family. Druon de Mello told me that my father and Beauvais almost came to blows at Acre when the bishop told him he ought to be ashamed to have a son like me!\"\n\nBut he no longer had Richard's attention. The other man was gazing toward the gully looming ahead of them. \"If I were planning to entrap Isaac, that is where I'd do it, for yonder hollow offers the best cover we've so far seen. You think Isaac is clever enough to figure that out?\"\n\nThe words were no sooner out of his mouth than they heard the sound so familiar to them all, the battle cries of men on the attack. Richard began to curse. \"Bleeding Christ! I was so sure that craven swine would hit us from the rear! Take over, Jaufre!\" And with that, he was off in a cloud of dust as Jaufre began to shout commands to the men left in his charge.\n\nBy the time Richard caught up with his vanguard, the attack had been repulsed. A seasoned soldier like Joffroi de Lusignan had no difficulty in keeping his troops in formation, and once they'd broken out of the ravine, he turned them upon Isaac's turcopoles. When Richard came upon the scene, some individual clashes were still taking place, but the thrust of Isaac's assault had been blunted, and his lightly armed horsemen were retreating before the charging knights.\n\nMidst the confusion on the field, Richard detected a flash of purple, the color worn only by Greek royalty. Isaac had donned a silk surcote over his hauberk to proclaim his imperial rank, and it drew the English king now like a beacon in the dark. The emperor was armed with a Damascus bow, and if Richard had not been so set upon running him through, he might have admired the other man's dexterity with the weapon, for shooting from horseback was a skill few Latins had mastered. Isaac was shouting in rage, obviously urging his troops to regroup, when he suddenly sensed danger and turned in the saddle to see Richard bearing down upon him.\n\nAs soon as he was within range to strike, Richard rose in the stirrups, leveling his lance at the emperor's chest. He was too close to miss and so he was stunned when he did. But Isaac jerked on the reins and Fauvel responded like a great, graceful cat, swerving out of harm's way just in the nick of time. When Richard swung his horse about for another run, Isaac was almost a bowshot length away. So sure was he of Fauvel's superior speed that he dared to slow down and shoot two arrows in quick succession. The first one bounced off Richard's shield; the second sailed over his head. As he spurred his steed forward, Isaac gave Fauvel his head and the dun stallion once again showed that he was as fast as he was agile, pulling away from Richard's horse with infuriating ease.\n\nThe Spanish destrier was as frustrated as his rider, eager to close with the other stallion, and it took Richard several moments to bring the lathered animal to a full stop. By then, Isaac was disappearing into the distance and, as at Kolossi, all Richard could do was watch and indulge in some creative cursing.\n\n\"Richard!\" Andr\u00e9 reined in beside him. \"You were not hit by those arrows?\"\n\n\"No... why? Even if his aim had been better, I doubt the arrows would have penetrated my hauberk.\" Richard shifted in the saddle to look at his friend. \"Why the sudden concern for what would have been a minor wound at most, Andr\u00e9?\"\n\n\"Because one of the captured turcopoles told de Lusignan that Isaac is known to use arrows tipped in poison.\"\n\n\"Isaac is beginning to annoy me exceedingly.\" Richard was still staring after the dust trail churned up by the fleeing emperor as Joffroi and Guy de Lusignan rode over to him. When they asked if he wanted to continue pursuit, he shook his head. \"What would be the point? He's astride Fauvel.\"\n\nIt had not been an easy time for Berengaria and Joanna, left behind in Limassol waiting for word. They'd learned that there had been no fighting at Famagusta, but after that, there was only silence. Joanna now understood that this was a foretaste of their life in the Holy Land; she was not sure if Berengaria had realized it yet, too. So Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux's arrival was eagerly welcomed by both women, for he bore a message from Richard.\n\nHe told them about Isaac's thwarted ambush outside Tremetousha. Editing his account to be suitable for a female audience, he neglected to mention that the emperor had shot poisoned arrows at Richard, instead stressing the low casualties and the ease of their victory. \"Nicosia surrendered at once,\" he reported exuberantly. \"The king received them in peace, but ordered the men to shave their beards as a symbol of their change of lordship. People continue to seek out the king and disavow their allegiance to Isaac, much to his distress and fury. So it will be over soon. The king has sent Guy de Lusignan to besiege the castle at Kyrenia, which holds the emperor's treasure and his family, and he has set Stephen de Turnham's brother Robert to patrolling the coast in case Isaac tries to flee to the mainland\u2014\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"My lady?\" Guilhem regarded Joanna so innocently that he confirmed all of her suspicions.\n\n\"Why has Richard entrusted Guy with the assault upon Kyrenia? Why is he not leading it himself?\"\n\nGuilhem had hoped the women would not pick up on that. \"The king has been unwell, so he remained at Nicosia whilst he recovers.\" He tried then to divert the conversation into more innocuous channels, but they were having none of it, and he reluctantly admitted that upon his arrival in Nicosia, Richard had come down with a sudden fever. Despite his best efforts to make it sound like a minor matter, Joanna and Berengaria knew that Richard must have been afire with fever for him to have taken to a sickbed instead of pursuing Isaac, and they immediately began to lay plans to hasten to Nicosia.\n\n\"You cannot do that!\" Guilhem cried, shaking his head vehemently. \"The king forbids you to leave Limassol.\" They did not look at all pleased and Joanna seemed on the verge of mutiny, so he hastily explained that Richard felt it would be too dangerous to undertake an inland journey as long as Isaac remained on the loose. \"The king is not seriously ill, my lady queens, and it is better that he recovers on his own. Men are notoriously poor patients,\" he joked, \"and the king is not taking this disruption of his plans with good grace. Indeed, he has been so bad-tempered that you'd surely want to smother him with a pillow, and think what a scandal that would cause!\"\n\nHis attempt at humor fell flat. \"Do you swear he is not gravely ill?\" Berengaria demanded, and when he offered an eloquent avowal upon his very soul, she and Joanna conceded defeat. Guilhem had no time to savor his victory, though, for after thanking him for being honest with them, Berengaria then asked, \"Did my lord husband give you a letter for me?\"\n\nGuilhem opened his mouth, shut it again. He knew it was safest for him if he simply told the truth, but he could not bring himself to do it, for he thought her brown eyes were as soft and trusting as a fawn's. \"Of course he did, Madame. A long one it was, too, and he wrote it in his own hand instead of dictating it to a scribe, since it was meant for your eyes only. But... and I hope you can forgive me... I no longer have it. We had a mishap fording a river. The water was much deeper than we'd expected and I was drenched to the skin. To my dismay, I later discovered that the king's letter had gotten soaked, too, and the ink had run so badly that it was totally unreadable. I am indeed sorry for my clumsiness.\"\n\nBerengaria's good manners prevailed over her disappointment and she assured him that he had no cause for reproach. She soon excused herself, saying that she wanted to offer up prayers for Richard's quick recovery and victory over the Cypriot emperor. Guilhem escorted her to the door and then returned to bow over Joanna's hand in his most courtly fashion. But as their eyes met, she said, too softly for her ladies across the chamber to hear, \"You are a gallant liar.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Madame?\"\n\n\"I've been here long enough now to learn something about Cyprus. Did you know it has no navigable rivers? And whilst they are prone to flooding during the rainy season, they dry up into mudholes during the summer months. So any rivers you encountered between Nicosia and Limassol would have been too shallow to drown a snake.\"\n\nGuilhem was stricken into silence, not knowing what to say. His relief was considerable, therefore, when she smiled. \"Moreover, I know my brother, know how single-minded he is when he is in the midst of a campaign. I wish he'd spared a thought for his new bride, but in fairness to Richard, he is a battle commander, not a court poet.\"\n\nGuilhem returned her smile, pleased that she understood. \"I am grateful that you are not angry with me for lying, my lady.\" He hesitated a moment. \"Do you think she believed me?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" Joanna confessed. \"I hope so.\"\n\nUpon his return to Nicosia, Guilhem was delighted to find his king much improved and very flattered when Richard interrupted a strategy session to question him about his trip to Limassol. \"Thank God,\" he said candidly, after Guilhem explained that he'd been able to persuade the women that they could not come to nurse him back to health. He took the letters from his wife and sister and tucked them into his belt to be read when he had the time. He was turning away when Guilhem asked for a moment more. He dreaded telling Richard about that river-soaked letter, but he figured it would go worse for him if the king was ambushed and caught unaware by his queen, so he began to stammer out the story, watching nervously for any signs of Angevin anger. To his surprise, he caught an expression upon Richard's face that he'd never seen before\u2014guilt.\n\n\"God's Blood,\" Richard muttered. \"I did not even think.... Were you able to make her understand?\"\n\n\"Well... I did not try, my lord. I... I lied.\" He saw Richard's eyebrows shoot upward and said a silent prayer that he'd not done something his king would not forgive. But by the time he was done with his awkward confession, Richard was looking amused and\u2014much to his relief\u2014approving.\n\n\"That was quick thinking, Guilhem. Sometimes a kind falsehood is better than a hurtful truth. My queen does not yet know much about war or its demands. She'll have to learn, of course....\" Just when Guilhem thought he'd been forgotten, the king smiled and said, \"Come in. We are going over the latest reports by my scouts.\"\n\nFollowing Richard into his chamber, Guilhem felt a flush of excitement at the sight of the men gathered around a table littered with maps, for these were lords of rank and privilege: Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny, the Earl of Leicester, Joffroi de Lusignan, Baldwin de Bethune, William de Forz, and Richard's nephew, Jaufre of Perche. Thinking these were high-flying hawks for a Norman knight, Guilhem eagerly approached the table when Richard beckoned. \"This is Deudamour,\" he said, \"which overlooks the road between Kyrenia and Nicosia. But now that we've taken Kyrenia, it cannot hold out for long.\"\n\n\"Kyrenia has fallen?\" Guilhem was pleasantly shocked, for the local people had been insisting it was impregnable.\n\nRichard nodded. \"Two days after you left for Limassol, the castle yielded to Guy de Lusignan.\"\n\nGuilhem whistled softly, rapidly reassessing his opinion of Guy. If the man could have captured a stronghold like Kyrenia with such ease, he was a better soldier than people thought. \"I kept hearing that it could withstand a siege from now till Judgment Day!\"\n\n\"Well, mayhap it could\u2014if the garrison had offered any real resistance. I'd wager it fell into Guy's lap like a ripe pear. How else explain his quick success?\"\n\nGuilhem was startled, not so much by that caustic appraisal of Guy's military skills, as by the source\u2014it had come from his own brother, Joffroi. He was not surprised that Richard seemed untroubled by Joffroi's sarcasm, for he knew there had been no love lost between the king and his brothers. But Guilhem and his brothers had always been as close as peas in a pod, and he found himself feeling an unexpected flicker of sympathy for Guy de Lusignan. \"So we have captured Isaac's treasury?\"\n\nRichard confirmed it with a coolly complacent smile. \"And whilst that loss probably pains Isaac the most, we now have his wife and daughter, too. The way his luck is going, Isaac may well end up with just enough Cypriot land for a burial plot.\"\n\nAfter Kyrenia had surrendered, Guy laid siege to the nearby castle at Deudamour, but so far he'd made no progress. Richard was not surprised, for this was one of the most formidable mountain citadels he'd ever seen; its north, west, and south sides were made inaccessible by sheer cliffs, and its eastern approach was protected by three walled baileys, with two towers perched even higher up. After consulting with Guy's captains, Richard left some of his men to assist in the siege and rode the few miles to Kyrenia.\n\nRichard's first sight of Isaac's seacoast stronghold convinced him that Guy could never have taken it so rapidly had its garrison not been too disheartened to offer resistance. Situated between two small bays, the castle reminded him of English shell keeps: high walls enclosed a large inner bailey, with sturdy corner towers, a barbican, and two-story gatehouse. He was pleased to see his royal lion flying from the highest tower rather than the golden crosses of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, a diplomatic gesture he'd not have expected from Guy.\n\nGuy was waiting to welcome them as soon as they emerged from the barbican, and as he escorted them toward the great hall nestled along the west wall, he boasted of his triumph with an almost boyish glee. But Richard was willing to indulge him, for however he'd done it, the capture of Kyrenia had dealt Isaac Comnenus a mortal blow: How could he hope to continue the fight now that his treasury was in his enemy's hands?\n\nGuy wasted no time giving a report on the riches stored in Kyrenia's coffers. Almost as an afterthought, he revealed that Isaac's wife and daughter and their women were being held in the southwest tower, where they could be comfortably but securely guarded. Isaac had intended for them to flee to the mainland of Cilicia if it looked as if the castle might fall but, like so many of Isaac's plans this May, that one had been thwarted by the arrival of Richard's galleys, which had easily bottled up the harbor, making a sea escape impossible. Richard was not looking forward to his audience with them for, like most men, he was not comfortable dealing with hysterical women. A pity, he thought, that Joanna and Berenguela were not here to assure them that they were in no danger.\n\nWine was served in Isaac's goblets of silver studded with gems, and the wine itself was excellent, more than justifying the reputation of Cypriot vineyards. After savoring the taste, Richard asked if Sophia knew anything useful about her husband's whereabouts. Guy seemed surprised by the question, reminding the English king that he'd had no Greek translators with his army. Now it was Richard's turn to be surprised. \"Why did you not try French?\"\n\nAmong the disadvantages Guy labored under, he'd been cursed with a transparent face, his thoughts easily read by friends and foes alike. It was obvious now that he was perplexed by this question. \"Why would she speak French? She is an Armenian princess.\"\n\nRichard was beginning to understand why Joffroi de Lusignan held his youngest brother in so little regard. \"No, Guy, she is not. Isaac's first wife was the Armenian princess. His current wife is a bastard daughter of the Sicilian king William I, so we can safely assume that she speaks French as well as we do.\"\n\nGuy did not seem convinced, and was arguing that she'd spoken only Greek at Kyrenia's surrender when the women were ushered into the hall. Rising to his feet, Richard started toward them, wondering how Guy could ever have imagined they were blood-kin. Sophia was short and dark and plump, whereas her stepdaughter, although only about thirteen, was already the taller of the two, slender and willowy, with white-blond braids that reached to her hips. They embarrassed him by sinking down in deep, submissive curtsys, and he hastily took Sophia's hand to raise her up; he did not offer assistance to the girl, thinking she might shun the touch of her father's conqueror.\n\nWhen Richard politely addressed Sophia by her title, she inclined her head and then gestured toward her stepdaughter. \"This is Anna,\" she said, and Guy scowled, demanding to know why she'd not told him she spoke French. He was not pleased when she said dryly, \"You did not ask me.\"\n\n\"I imagine the empress preferred to assess the terrain before committing her troops,\" Richard said, and she gave him a sidelong, amused glance that told him this woman was not to be underestimated, not if she could face calamity with such aplomb. Seating them in high-backed chairs, he looked from her to the girl. Upon reflection, Sophia's poise was not so surprising, for she'd known of Joanna's presence and could assume she'd have a protector in her brother's widow. But while he was grateful for Anna's almost eerie composure, he was puzzled by it, too; he'd not have thought one so young would display such self-control. \"Does your stepdaughter speak French, Madame?\"\n\n\"Well, I taught her to swear in French. So, yes, she speaks a little, but not enough to follow our conversation.\"\n\n\"Does she have any questions for me?\" After a quick exchange in Greek, Sophia shook her head, and he marveled anew at the enigma that was Anna Comnena. \"She is showing remarkable courage for one so young.\"\n\nSophia gave Anna a fond look that told him much about their relationship. \"She has been compelled, of necessity, to learn how to deal with adversity, for she has not had an easy life. Isaac was a prisoner of the Armenians during her first years, and her mother died when she was just six. Isaac was then turned over to the Prince of Antioch and managed to convince the Emperor of the Greeks to pay part of his ransom. When he did not pay the remainder, Anna and her brother were held as hostages in Antioch for two years. When they were finally permitted to join Isaac in Cyprus, her brother took ill and died soon afterward. So Anna learned at an early age how fickle fortune can be.\"\n\nSophia took a sip of wine. \"I daresay you've heard the grisly stories about Isaac's crimes. Most of them are true, but not all. He did not poison his first wife, as his enemies in Armenia allege, and he most certainly did not kill his own son in a fit of fury, as others have claimed.\"\n\n\"I was told that when one of his nobles advised him to make peace with me, he had the man's nose cut off,\" Richard said, curious to see if she'd defend Isaac from this charge, too.\n\nSophia did not even blink. \"Now that does sound like Isaac.\" A castle servant was approaching with a tray of sugared comfits, and she helped herself to several, as if there was nothing strange about her circumstances, to have gone from mistress of Kyrenia to a prisoner in her own chambers in the span of days. \"May I ask what you intend for Anna once Isaac is defeated?\"\n\n\"Well, I do not think it would be safe to leave her in Cyprus, where her father is so hated. So I am going to entrust her to my wife and sister. They will care for her and instruct her in our customs, and I can assure you that they will welcome her most lovingly. What of you, Lady Sophia? Do you wish to accompany Anna to Outremer? Or would you rather return to your homeland? If so, I can arrange for your safe journey to Sicily.\"\n\n\"Thank you for giving me a choice. I prefer to remain with Anna.\" Sophia drank more wine, as if this was a social occasion, and when Richard asked if she had any knowledge of Isaac's whereabouts, she answered readily, saying that he had only one lair left, his castle at Kantara. As she leaned over to tell Anna that they would be sailing with the queens of England and Sicily to Outremer, Guy gave voice to his growing disapproval.\n\n\"How do we know we can trust what she says?\" he asked in a low voice. \"She does not seem very loyal to Isaac, after all.\" He was vexed when they did not appear to take his concern seriously; Richard and Andr\u00e9 were looking at him as if he'd suddenly started to speak a foreign tongue and Joffroi heaved an exaggerated sigh.\n\nTurning back to them, Sophia looked quizzically from one man to the other. \"What is it? Do you have other questions for me?\" Richard shook his head, impressed by how observant she was; he supposed that was how she'd survived six years of marriage to a man like Isaac Comnenus. \"There is something else you need to know,\" she said. \"As soon as Kyrenia surrendered, you won your war. You see, Isaac is a man with many sins on his soul and much blood on his hands. But he has one redeeming quality. He truly loves his daughter.\"\n\nHad anyone else said that, Richard would have laughed aloud. He felt that Sophia deserved courtesy, though, after all she'd been through. He was framing a politely skeptical response when he had an ugly thought. Among the many accusations made against Isaac was that he was a despoiler of virgins. Richard's gaze shifted to Anna, who was very young and very pretty. Glancing around, he saw that Andr\u00e9 and Joffroi and even Guy shared this sudden suspicion.\n\nSophia saw it, too, and her black eyes blazed. \"No,\" she said sharply, \"whatever his sins, Isaac is not guilty of that one. Anna is his blood, the one pure corner of his soul. He would never abuse her like that. Nor would I ever have allowed it.\"\n\n\"And how would you have stopped him?\" Guy challenged.\n\n\"I would have cut his throat whilst he slept,\" Sophia snapped, and Guy laughed in disbelief.\n\nNot Richard, though. He did not doubt that she meant exactly what she said, and he decided he could learn to like this shrewd, forthright woman who'd sensibly given her loyalty to the stepdaughter who needed it rather than to the husband who did not deserve it. \"Even if you are right, Madame, that only means that Isaac is grieving for his daughter's capture. Why is that something we need to know?\"\n\n\"Because Isaac expects other men to act as he does. He will be terrified, sure that you will maltreat Anna the way he would have maltreated an enemy's daughter. You might want to consider making use of that fear.\"\n\nThis time none of the men were able to disguise their disbelief. They carefully avoided one another's eyes, lest they laugh at Sophia's ludicrous suggestion\u2014that a man like Isaac would ever sacrifice his own selfish skin for anyone else's welfare. Richard changed the subject then by telling Sophia that her half-sister Mariam was with Joanna in Limassol. She seemed pleased, saying she ought to have known Mariam would never have been able to resist such an adventure. From time to time, she glanced over at Anna, smiling reassuringly. Anna always smiled back. But none of the men knew what she was truly thinking.\n\nDeudamour soon yielded, its garrison unwilling to die for a lost cause. Richard was laying siege to Buffavento, the most inaccessible of Isaac's mountaintop strongholds, when a messenger rode in under a flag of truce. To the utter astonishment of everyone except Sophia, Isaac offered to surrender unconditionally to the English king in return for a guarantee of his daughter's safety. He asked only that his imperial rank be respected and he not be placed in irons like a common felon.\n\nA huge crowd had assembled to watch Isaac's surrender at his former castle of Deudamour. The contrast with his earlier appearance could not have been more dramatic. Accompanied by a small band of his dwindling supporters, he was clad in mourning garb, his hair and beard unkempt, his fingers stripped of his jeweled rings, his head bare. Dismounting, he knelt at Richard's feet and spoke in a hoarse voice, keeping his eyes downcast as an interpreter conveyed his plea for mercy.\n\nThe Cypriots began to jeer and curse, enraged when Richard allowed Isaac to rise instead of making him grovel in the dust as he deserved. Their threats echoed after Isaac as he was escorted by Richard's soldiers into the safety of the castle, their fury the final verdict upon his wretched reign, and Richard wondered if he'd really surrendered because he knew what would have befallen him if he'd been captured by his own subjects.\n\nBut that cynical suspicion was soon dispelled. Once they'd entered the hall, Richard gestured for Isaac to sit beside him upon the dais and then had Anna brought out to show that she'd not been harmed. At the sight of his daughter, Isaac amazed his audience by bursting into tears. He leaped to his feet and hastened to her side, embracing her with such obvious joy and relief that those watching no longer doubted the sincerity of the tyrant's affection for his child.\n\nExchanging bemused looks with Andr\u00e9, Richard shrugged. \"I suppose,\" he said, \"even a wolf can care for his cubs.\" And Andr\u00e9 nodded, for that seemed as good an explanation as any for this unexpected and unlikely end to their Cyprus campaign.\n\nSince girlhood, joanna had sought to vanquish fear or worries by shaming herself into letting them go. Upon their arrival in Famagusta, she was trying it again, mentally enumerating all that she had to be thankful for. Glancing about the sunlit courtyard of the Archbishop of Cyprus's residence, she added a sisterly reunion to the list, for Mariam and Sophia seemed genuinely delighted to see each other. Anna was seated beside them on a marble bench, and the sight of the girl stirred Joanna's maternal instincts anew. Anna's rescue was surely cause for gratitude, too. Joanna had no doubts whatsoever that Isaac's daughter would be better off away from his baneful influence, and she meant to do all in her power to make sure Anna thrived in her new world.\n\nRichard was the center of attention, as usual. But Joanna was pleased to see that he'd drawn Berengaria into the circle, an arm draped possessively around her shoulders as he bantered with Andr\u00e9 and Jaufre. Richard was being properly attentive to his new wife and her dark eyes never left his face. Joanna had overheard him murmuring to her about a Michaelmas goose, and while that meant nothing to her, it obviously did to Berengaria, who'd blushed and then laughed. Joanna thought it was a very encouraging sign that they already shared private jokes, for she took it as an indication that their marriage was getting off to a good start.\n\nContinuing to tally up her reasons for gratitude, she added the capture of Cyprus, for Outremer would benefit greatly, now and in years to come; some of their ships were already loaded with wheat, sheep, chickens, and wine. Richard's soldiers were also contented with their Cypriot campaign, for Richard was always generous about sharing booty with his men. And she thought the Cypriots had reason for rejoicing, too, freed from Isaac's yoke. Richard had chosen two trusted castellans to govern the island until he could make long-term provisions for its future, and he'd agreed to issue a charter confirming the laws and rights as they'd been in the days before Isaac's seizure of power, although he'd exacted a steep price for this privilege; he'd imposed a levy of half of the possessions of the Cypriots to help finance the crusade. Joanna had enough experience with governing to know this would be highly unpopular with the local people, but she still felt that her brother was leaving Cyprus better off than he'd found it.\n\nSo she had much to be thankful for and she ought to be counting her blessings. But the lecture did nothing to ease the hollow, icy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The voyage from Limassol to Famagusta had been tolerable, for they'd hugged the shore. But on the morrow their fleet would head out into the open sea. Berengaria and Mariam kept reassuring her that this would be a much quicker passage, for ships could sail from Cyprus to the Syrian coast in just a day. But Joanna knew better. Storms could strike at any time, blowing them far off course, and she knew that she would suffer grievously again in heavy seas; her memories were still so graphically vivid that she found herself shivering under a hot Cypriot sun.\n\n\"Whatever you are thinking about, stop.\" Richard was standing over her. \"You look positively greensick, Little Sister.\" Holding out his hand, he said, \"I've something to show you and Berenguela.\"\n\nBerengaria shrugged her shoulders, indicating she did not know what he had in mind, and Joanna let Richard steer them across the courtyard, several of their knights protectively trailing at a discreet distance. He led them into the archbishop's gardens, a shaded refuge from the summer heat, and then out a postern gate, refusing to reveal where they were going. When Berengaria congratulated him upon winning his wager with Andr\u00e9, he made a mock grimace and said he'd lost, for the campaign had actually taken fifteen days. He'd already alerted them that he would be remaining in Cyprus for a few days after the fleet sailed, as he had arrangements still to work out with Stephen de Turnham's brother Robert, one of the men he'd entrusted with the governance of Cyprus. He explained now that he also wanted to oversee Isaac's departure for the Syrian castle at Margat, where he'd be turned over to the Knights Hospitaller for safe-keeping.\n\nAs they walked, Richard told them about Isaac's surprisingly touching reunion with Anna and that the erstwhile emperor had not even raised the question of ransom, asking only that he not be placed in iron chains or fetters. This caused protests from the local people, Richard said, for they'd wanted him to suffer the punishment that would have been meted out in Constantinople\u2014blinding or maiming. \"So I ordered chains to be made for Isaac of solid silver.\"\n\n\"You are jesting... no?\" Berengaria asked uncertainly. But Joanna laughed, assuring her new sister-in-law that he was quite serious, saying the men in her family could teach the Devil a trick or two about slyness. Berengaria was not sure she approved of this; it seemed somewhat guileful to her. She kept her opinion to herself, though, for she did not think it was a wife's place to meddle in such matters.\n\n\"Ah, here we are,\" Richard said, and they saw he'd led them to an enclosure next to the archbishop's stables. As they approached, the stallion came over to the fence, curious but wary. Both women exclaimed admiringly, for he was a beautiful animal, high-shouldered, with a long neck and broad chest, a coat that gleamed like pale gold.\n\nRichard was beaming. \"This is Fauvel,\" he said proudly.\n\nJoanna had tried to hide her anxiety with jests, joking that Richard had not come to see them off, that he really wanted to make sure Fauvel had enough esparto grass for bedding and secure ringbolts for his underbelly sling. But as soon as their buss hoisted its sails and left the harbor behind, she'd gone ashen and hastily retreated to their tent, followed by most of the other women.\n\nBerengaria remained on deck, committing to memory her last view of Richard, waving from the dock. She told herself she was being foolish, that they'd soon be reunited at Acre. But she was beginning to realize that her husband was as elusive as quicksilver, his eyes always on the horizon, inhabiting a world she would find difficult to share. None of the usual rules of marriage seemed to apply to Richard. How many royal wives had to live like camp followers? What sort of home life could they establish for themselves in the midst of a holy war?\n\n\"Ah, Papa,\" she whispered, \"did you truly think this through?\" But watching the sea change color as they headed into deep water, she knew she had no regrets. At least not yet. Becoming aware then that she was no longer alone, she turned and was surprised to find her companion was the girl they were calling the Damsel of Cyprus, Anna Comnena. She smiled to let Anna know her company was welcome, for she had enormous sympathy for the girl. How could a flower uprooted so rudely flourish in foreign soil?\n\nAnna seemed to want to ask a question. Her French was very tentative, strongly accented, and Berengaria was not sure she understood. \"My... my husband?\" she asked, and Anna smiled and nodded. She soon frowned, though, fumbling in vain for the phrase she wanted. She repeated \"mari,\" pointing toward Berengaria, back toward Famagusta, and then placed her hand upon her own heart. Her frustration was obvious when Berengaria still did not understand. She did the pantomime again, and then gave a lilting, triumphant laugh, saying \"aimer,\" so pleased she'd remembered the right word that she did not even notice the older woman's recoil.\n\nBerengaria was so nonplused because she'd never expected to be asked this question. A marriage was a legal union, recognized by the Church and the Crown as a means of begetting children and transferring property in an orderly fashion from one generation to the next. Love was not a component of marriage, especially royal marriages. It was true there had been love in her parents' marriage, but that had been an unexpected blessing, a mutual devotion that had developed over time. She had harbored no such expectations once she'd agreed to wed Richard, would have been content if they could forge a bond of respect and consideration and possibly affection. But with this innocent question, Anna had forced her to look into her heart.\n\n\"So you, too, are bedazzled by Richard, child,\" she said, with a rueful smile. \"He does seem to have that effect upon people....\" Anna was looking puzzled, for she'd spoken in her native Romance, and she reached over, patted the girl's arm. \"You do not understand what I am saying, do you?\" She hesitated, feeling as if she'd reached another crossroads and, as she'd done then, she embraced the truth. \"Oui,\" she said, nodding and mimicking Anna's gesture by placing her hand over her heart. Anna smiled, obviously approving, and they remained together on deck, watching until the island of Cyprus had vanished into the lowlying clouds cloaking the horizon."
            },
            {
                "title": "JUNE 1191",
                "text": "[ Tyre, Outremer ]\n\nThe men fell silent as Tyre came into view, impressed by its formidable defenses and moved by their first glimpse of a city where the Lord Christ had once walked. Tyre was virtually an island, connected to the mainland by a short and narrow causeway. A protective breakwater or mole extended out into the sea, a heavy chain stretching from a high tower on its eastern edge to a second tower on land, barring entry to the harbor. Richard was surprised to find his eyes misting as he gazed upon the ancient stone walls of this legendary biblical city. It had been more than three years since he'd taken the cross upon hearing of Jerusalem's fall, years in which his holy quest had often seemed like a tantalizing dream, glimmering on the horizon just out of reach. At long last, it was about to take tangible form.\n\nAndr\u00e9 joined him in the prow of their galley, frowning at the sight of that taut chain, for they'd sent Baldwin de Bethune and Pierre and Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux ahead in a small sagitta to announce Richard's arrival. \"Why have they not lowered the barrier so we can enter the harbor?\"\n\nThat pragmatic query brought Richard back to reality and he frowned, too. He signaled to Alan Trenchmer, his galley's master, and as soon as they were within hailing distance, Trenchmer demanded entry for the English king's fleet. But there was no response from either guard tower, although they were close enough now to see men upon the battlements. Trenchmer was about to shout again when they saw their sagitta coming back.\n\nThe smaller ship's oarsmen skillfully angled it alongside the royal galley. Even before Baldwin and the Pr\u00e9aux brothers scrambled onto the deck, the men knew that something was greatly amiss. Richard could not recall ever seeing the phlegmatic Fleming so agitated. Baldwin's fair skin was mottled with hot color, his blue eyes narrowed to slits, and he was cursing under his breath as he swung himself over the gunwale. Richard did not speak a word of Flemish, but there was no need of translation.\n\n\"The whoresons refuse to let us into the harbor!\"\n\nThere was a moment of shocked silence and then exclamations of outrage. Richard was incredulous. \"Conrad dared to say that I am not welcome in Tyre?\"\n\n\"He was not there. He is at Acre, taking part in the siege. But his men said that he'd given them explicit orders that the English king was not to be admitted to his city. To their credit, they looked ashamed at turning away men who'd taken the cross.\" Baldwin grimaced, as if tasting something sour. \"Apparently Conrad's father is now dead, for his men were referring to him as 'the marquis.' And it seems he has laid formal claim to the crown, for they also called him 'the Kingelect of Jerusalem.'\" He punctuated that sentence by turning and spitting over the side of the gunwale.\n\nAndr\u00e9 glanced toward a nearby galley, flying the yellow crosses of Outremer. \"That will not please Guy,\" he said, in a masterful understatement.\n\nIt did not please Richard, either. Raising a hand to silence the indignant protests of his men, he gave Alan Trenchmer a terse command to anchor the fleet in the lee of the breakwater. Glancing back at Tyre, looking deceptively tranquil in the golden dusk, he shook his head in disgust. \"What does it say,\" he said caustically, \"when our enemy, an infidel Saracen, is a man of greater honor than our Christian ally?\"\n\nThe following morning their fleet cruised south, the twenty-five galleys staying within sight of the coast. Richard had invited Guy and Joffroi de Lusignan to join him on the Sea-Cleaver, for he wanted to discuss the siege with men who'd been there since the beginning. Ironically, the attack upon Acre was the result of a rebuff like the one Richard had just experienced. After the defeat at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u012bn, Guy had been held prisoner by Salah al-D\u012bn for more than a year. Freed after swearing not to bear arms against the sultan, Guy had found a bishop willing to absolve him of his oath and then headed to the only city still under Christian control\u2014Tyre. Its savior, though, was not about to turn it over to the man he blamed for the catastrophe at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn, and Conrad refused to allow Guy into the city. In desperation, Guy had gone off with a small force to besiege Acre, and it slowly became the focal point of resistance to Salah al-D\u012bn; even Conrad had been compelled by public opinion to join in. Nearly two years later, the Saracen garrison was in dire straits, and Richard's greatest fear was that Acre might fall before he got there.\n\nRichard, the de Lusignans, and several of their knights had retreated to his tent to escape the sun's burning heat and were studying a map of Acre. Like Tyre, it was a coastal city, protected to the west and south by the sea, and to the north and east by a strong wall, numerous towers, and a deep ditch. Using his dagger to point, Joffroi scratched marks in the parchment to show the alignment of the besiegers.\n\n\"Walking through the camp, you'll hear almost every language spoken in Christendom, for there are Genoese, Pisans, English, French, Flemings, Danes, Frisians, Armenians, Germans, and Hungarians. Your nephew Henri of Champagne took command upon his arrival last summer.\" Joffroi's face was impassive, as if unaware of what a telling commentary that was upon the scant confidence men had in his brother, a crowned king supplanted by a young count of twenty-four. \"Here is where Saladin's army is camped, in the hills behind us.\" He gestured again with the dagger. \"Whenever we launch an attack upon the city, Saladin's men try to draw us off by raiding our camp. They've never been able to break through our ditches and fortifications. But we had a rough time of it this winter when bad weather kept ships in port and food well nigh ran out; I daresay you heard about that.\"\n\nRichard nodded and Joffroi turned his attention back to the map. \"Since the French king arrived, he's been concentrating his siege engines upon the Accursed Tower in the northeast corner of the city.\" Anticipating the question, he said with a slight smile, \"Supposedly it is where Judas's thirty pieces of silver were minted. With all the trebuchets that you've brought, my lord king, we ought to be able to batter their walls into dust by Midsummer Eve.\"\n\n\"God willing,\" Richard agreed, and when he revealed that some of his trebuchets were operated by counterweights rather than ropes and were therefore more powerful than traction trebuchets, he and Joffroi were soon deep in a technical discussion of siege engines that Guy found quite boring. He welcomed, therefore, an interruption by one of Richard's knights.\n\n\"What is it, Morgan?\"\n\n\"My liege, there is a ship ahead, the likes of which we've never seen!\" Richard, the de Lusignans, and the knights hastened onto the deck, only to halt in amazement, for none of them had ever seen such a ship, either. It was huge, more than twice the size of their largest buss, with no less than three tall masts. Its sides were draped in green and yellow tarpaulins, giving it an odd, exotic look, and to Richard, a suspicious one, for it flew no banners. Calling to the master of a nearby galley, he instructed them to find out the mystery ship's identity. It was soon back, the master reporting that it claimed to be French, on its way from Antioch to Acre.\n\nRichard was quick to shake his head. \"I do not believe Philippe has any ships like that.\"\n\nThe others were dubious, too. It was then that one of the sailors pushed his way over to the English king. \"My lord, that is a Turkish ship.\"\n\nRichard glanced from the man's tanned, weathered face to the enormous buss. \"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Aye, I am. It looks verily like one I once saw in Beirut harbor. And I can prove it. Send another galley after them. Only do not hail them or offer a greeting. See what they do then.\"\n\nThat made sense to Richard and he gave the order. They crowded to the gunwales, watching tensely as the galley caught up again with the towering buss. This time its sailors did not salute the other ship and they were immediately fired upon.\n\n\"Prepare to attack,\" Richard commanded and hurried back to his tent to arm himself. The others were quick to do the same as trumpets blared from galley to galley, signaling that battle was about to be joined with the massive Saracen ship.\n\nIt ought to have been able to outrun the English galleys. But the wind had dropped suddenly and its sails hung limply, slowing it enough so that they could keep pace. As soon as they overtook it, they swarmed the great ship like dogs set loose at a bearbaiting. Their oarsmen laboring at their posts, the galleys circled the buss. Each time they tried to get close enough to force a boarding, though, the Saracen sailors and soldiers drove them off with an unrelenting hail of arrows and bolts. Even when the more daring sailors braved the fire and reached the buss, they were thwarted by its steep, high sides, their low-riding galleys dwarfed by the sheer size of the Saracen ship, their grappling hooks and ropes falling short.\n\nMost of Richard's knights were facing their first sea battle, and were willing to defer to the sailors, who were as comfortable on a pitching deck as the knights were on horseback. Morgan had never doubted his own courage, but he was awed now by the bravery of the crewmen, willing to scale those cliffsides while coming under heavy fire. He was worried, too, about Richard's safety, fearful the king would join in that hazardous assault, clad in full armor that could drag him down like an anchor. It would have been sheer madness for Richard to try it\u2014and unforgivably irresponsible, for his death could well doom the crusade. And yet Morgan knew Richard well enough by now to be sure he would seek to board the buss if given half a chance. He was greatly relieved, therefore, when he realized that others shared his concern. Richard was so busy shouting encouragement and firing a crossbow whenever a Saracen came into sight that he didn't notice how adroitly the helmsman steered their galley, keeping it in the midst of the action but never quite close enough to attempt a boarding.\n\nExhausted and disheartened, the crews of the galleys finally drew back out of bowshot, at a loss what to do next, for the Saracen ship was proving to be as impregnable as a heavily fortified castle. Several of the galleys rowed over to the Sea-Cleaver to consult with the king, their masters asking Richard if they should continue with the attack.\n\nRichard was astonished that the question would even be raised. \"Are you serious? This is a Turkish ship, loaded with soldiers, weapons, and supplies. If it reaches Acre, God alone knows how much longer the garrison can hold out. Are the lot of you turning into cowards? If you let them escape, you all deserve to be hanged!\"\n\nMorgan gaped at the king, then sidled over to Andr\u00e9, who was reloading a crossbow. \"He would not really do that, would he?\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 seemed grimly amused. \"Richard is given to bloodcurdling threats whenever defeat looms. He has never carried any of them out, though, and his men know that. But they'd best find a way to board that ship, for we cannot let it get away, not with so much at stake.\"\n\nThe sailors had reached the same conclusion, and despair now gave way to inspiration, for they came up with a scheme that was as daring as it was imaginative. Returning to the attack, they distracted the crew of the Saracen ship while several men stripped to their braies and plunged into the sea, clutching coils of rope. Diving under the buss, they came up sputtering and swam back to their galleys. Richard leaned over the gunwale, never taking his eyes from the swimmers, and then burst out laughing. \"Clever lads, they tied up the rudder!\"\n\nHis guess proved to be correct, and the knights began to cheer as the buss listed suddenly to starboard. No longer responding to the tiller, the ship wallowed in the waves, turning in a circle as the helmsman sought desperately to regain control. Taking advantage of the confusion onboard, some of the oarsmen rowed toward the stern, flung their grappling hooks into the tarpaulin hanging over the sides, and managed to scramble up onto the deck.\n\nWhat followed was the most vicious hand-to-hand fighting that Morgan had ever seen. The Saracen crew might be infidels doomed to eternal damnation, but he thought that none could fault their courage. The deck was soon slick with blood and men fell overboard or were pushed, some splashing to the surface midst spreading pools of crimson, others sinking like stones. The galleys hovered as close to the buss as they could get, the crews leaning over the gunwales to rescue their own men while their crossbowmen aimed at the Turks floundering in the water. More sailors had managed to climb over the bulwarks, and for a time it seemed as if they would prevail. But then other Saracens burst out of the ship's hold, charging at the invaders with the reckless boldness of men who had nothing left to lose. Swords flashed, cutting off arms, hands, even heads, and eventually Richard's men were forced to retreat toward the stern, jumping into nearby galleys or diving into the sea and grabbing at oars to keep themselves afloat. Shouting defiance and curses, the Saracens reached for their bows again and began to heave bodies over the side. But their victory was ephemeral and they knew it, for they were trapped on a crippled ship, surrounded by sea wolves.\n\nKnights were accustomed to fighting with swords or lances, and few of them were able to follow Richard's example. But he could handle a crossbow as skillfully as he did other weapons, and even when some of the crossbowmen stopped firing, afraid of hitting their own during the assault, he'd continued to shoot, confident of his aim. He did not put his crossbow down until all of his galleys were out of Saracen arrow range. His knights kept their distance, for they could feel the fury radiating from him, the black-bile rage that was the accursed legacy of the Angevins, giving rise to those legends that the counts of Anjou traced their descent from Lucifer himself.\n\nHe surprised them, though, when some of the galleys made ready to return to the attack, for he called them back. \"I'd hoped to capture it,\" he said angrily, \"for its hold is likely to be filled with weapons and food, mayhap even Greek fire. But there are too many of them and they are not going to surrender. Enough good Christians have died this day already. No more.\" He paused to cough, for his throat was sore from shouting orders and curses, and then he said hoarsely, \"Sink it.\"\n\nThough they'd never have admitted it, most of his men were relieved to be spared another assault upon the Saracen ship. But they also wanted revenge for the deaths of their comrades, and they responded eagerly to this new command. The galleys once more encircled the buss, waiting for the signal. A trumpet blasted, and when the drums began to sound, the sailors strained at their oars, seeking to gain as much speed as possible before their iron spurs slammed into the hull. The impact flung men to their knees, even those who'd been braced for the collision, and they shouted in triumph when the vessel was gashed open in several places. They were preparing to ram the wounded ship again when it seemed to shudder and then began to sink.\n\nThe death throes of the huge Saracen ship were astonishingly swift, baffling the watching sailors. They'd barely gotten safely away from the undertow when the buss tilted and slid, prow first, under the waves. Most of its crew drowned; others died at the hands of their Christian enemies. The knights unsheathed their swords to strike at any Saracens within reach and the crossbowmen found such easy targets for their bolts that the sea was soon streaked with blood. Richard decided to save some, wanting to interrogate them about the siege weapons they'd carried, and the thirty-five men pulled into the galleys would be the only survivors.\n\nEmotions were raw and overlapping for most of the men; relief that they were alive mingled with grief for dead friends and a surging sense of triumph. Morgan was still shaken several hours after the battle, unable to join the other knights on the Sea-Cleaver in celebration of their victory. He was not sure why he felt so unsettled, finally deciding that there was something particularly frightening about death by drowning. He'd asked one of the sailors why the Saracens had died in silence, not even crying out to their God as they disappeared beneath the waves. He was soon sorry he did, for the sailor related his own near-drowning experience in gruesome detail, explaining that a drowning man rarely called for help, too caught up in a panicked struggle to get air into his lungs. He also volunteered that a drowning victim sank at once, unlike a man who was already dead when he hit the water, although he admitted he did not know why this was so. Having been told more than he'd wanted to know, Morgan consoled himself with the wry reminder that he need not fear such a fate in the desert sands of Outremer.\n\nTwo of the rescued Saracens had been taken aboard the Sea-Cleaver for questioning. Richard was already short-tempered, bitterly disappointed that he'd not been able to capture the cargo, and his mood was not improved by the delay in finding a translator. Finally Guy remembered that his former brother-in-law, Humphrey de Toron, was fluent in Arabic, and he was hastily summoned to the king's galley.\n\nOne of the captives was a man in his middle years, and he remained stubbornly silent, his dark eyes filled with defiance and hate. The other prisoner was younger, about Morgan's age. He seemed in shock, not so much fearful as stunned, as Morgan imagined he'd feel if he'd just witnessed the deaths of so many of his own companions. He could not suppress an unexpected twinge of pity for the youth, even if he was an infidel pagan, and when Humphrey squatted down beside the prisoner, he remained to hear what this Saracen survivor would say.\n\nHumphrey had a low, pleasant voice and his interrogation sounded almost lyrical as he put questions to the prisoner in a language few of them had heard before. The answers were given readily, but indifferently, as if nothing mattered anymore. Getting to his feet, Humphrey raised some eyebrows by giving the Saracen a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before turning toward Richard.\n\n\"He says they were to reinforce the garrison at Acre, that their ship held six hundred and fifty soldiers, and had been fitted out at Beirut with one hundred camel-loads of weapons: siege engines, spears, swords, frame-mounted crossbows, flasks of Greek fire, and two hundred deadly snakes. They'd made one attempt to run our blockade and planned to try again at dark. He also says that when they realized they were facing defeat, their captain gave the command to scuttle the ship, determined to deny us their cargo. When we rammed it, they were already chopping holes in the hull so it would quickly sink.\"\n\n\"What was their captain's name?\" Richard asked, and when told it was Ya'q\u016bb al-Halab\u012b of Aleppo, he repeated it, saying that such a brave man deserved to be remembered. He looked then toward the buss's watery graveyard. The blood had been washed away and the bodies were gone, too, claimed by the sea. The only evidence of carnage was a broken timber from the mizzenmast, a few floating barrels, and the fins of several sharks, drawn by the scent of death. But Richard was not thinking of all the men who'd died, Christian and Muslim. He was thinking of six hundred and fifty soldiers and a cargo hold filled with weapons. His lips moving silently, he made the sign of the cross, and then said huskily, \"What if we'd not encountered them? God truly was on our side this day.\"\n\nThere were murmurings of heartfelt agreement from those listening. Humphrey nodded, but then he smiled sadly. \"Men always think God favors their cause. I am sure Ya'q\u016bb of Aleppo never doubted it, either.\"\n\nThat did not go down well with some of the knights, who thought such a remark bordered upon blasphemy. Richard gave the younger man an appraising look before saying dryly, \"But Ya'q\u016bb of Aleppo is dead, is he not?\"\n\nIt had beenseven weeks since Philippe's arrival at Acre, seven of the most wretched weeks of his life. He'd hated the Holy Land from the first day, hated the oppressive heat, the noxious climate that was so dangerous to newcomers, the stark, treeless landscape so different from France, the poisonous snakes and scorpions that slithered into tents as soon as the sun went down. He worried about his health, a king with only a sickly three-year-old child as his heir, trapped in a land of miasmas and plague where a fit, robust man could be stricken one morn and dead ere the week was out. More men had been killed by illness than by the Turks, men of high birth and rank, some of them his own kin. It was just seven days since Philip, the Count of Flanders, had died of Arnaldia, a painful malady that was very contagious and often lethal. Philippe kept his doctor, Master John of St Albans, close by, but his nerves had become so ragged that he found himself wondering if the man was truly trustworthy, for he was an Englishman, after all. If Richard had poisoning in mind, who better to do it than the king's own physician?\n\nPhilippe would normally have welcomed the death of Philip d'Alsace, seeing it as divine retribution for his treacherous alliance with Richard at Messina. But in his current doom-ridden frame of mind, he could focus only upon the political hornet's nest stirred up by Philip's demise. He'd had no son, bequeathing Flanders to his sister Margaret and her husband, Baudouin, Count of Hainaut, the parents of Philippe's late queen, Isabelle. Philippe feared that Baudouin would contest his claim to the rich province of Artois, which had been Isabelle's marriage portion, and Baudouin was in an ideal position to stake his own claims, for he'd been one of the few lords not to have taken the cross. Philippe had no intention of losing Artois, and he even had hopes of annexing all of Flanders to the French Crown. But he was at a great disadvantage as long as he was anchored here in Acre, nigh on two thousand miles from Paris.\n\nHe'd spent huge sums so far on siege engines and sapping equipment; he had teams working diligently to undermine the walls of Acre. But as he lay awake at night, for he'd been sleeping poorly since his arrival in the camp, he found himself doubting that they could succeed. Acre had held out for nigh on two years, after all. What if the siege dragged on for months? And even if they managed to take Acre, what then? Was he the only one to harbor such misgivings? Many of the men had convinced themselves that victory would be assured once the English king reached Acre. But to Philippe, that meant only that if Acre was captured, Richard would hog all the credit for its fall. He well knew that the Angevin was not one for sharing glory, and he could foresee a future in which he would be utterly overshadowed by the other man, the King of France diminished by one of his own vassals, a prospect he found intolerable.\n\nHe'd been troubled all afternoon by a throbbing headache, and even though darkness was still hours away, he decided to lie down. It had not been a good day. One of their siege engines had been bombarded with Greek fire and destroyed; fortunately, it had not been his. His miners had encountered another setback, a cave-in that slowed their progress toward the walls. And he was still brooding over his failure to recover his favorite falcon. While he did not enjoy hunting, he did find hawking relaxing and had been exercising a large white gyrfalcon when it had suddenly taken flight toward the city. Determined to recover it, he had offered a huge reward of one thousand dinars. But the gyrfalcon had been captured and smuggled out of the city, judged to be a worthy gift for Saladin himself. Philippe's household knights were surprised by the depths of his disappointment. They did not realize that he saw the falcon's loss as one more evil omen, yet another portent of ill fortune in this unhappy, accursed land.\n\nIt was too hot to draw the bed hangings, and Philippe could hear his squires moving around the tent. Knights came and went, trying to keep their voices low when they were warned the king was resting. He tossed and turned and finally fell into a fretful sleep. He awoke to find one of his squires leaning over the bed, looking apologetic. \"I am sorry to disturb you, sire, but the Marquis of Montferrat is here and he says it cannot wait.\"\n\nPhilippe scowled, although his annoyance was directed at Conrad, not the youth. He'd supported the marquis because they were cousins, because he believed Conrad would make a more competent king than Guy, a proven failure, and because he'd known Richard would back Guy's claim. But the more time he spent with the marquis, the less he liked him, concluding that Conrad and Richard were two sides of the same coin, both of them arrogant and hot-tempered and hungry for public acclaim.\n\nSwinging his legs over the side of the bed, he was not surprised to find Conrad standing there, for the man had no sense of boundaries. \"Are you ailing, Cousin?\" Conrad's query could have indicated concern; Philippe took it to convey surprise that he'd be abed at such an hour, an implied rebuke.\n\n\"What is it, Conrad?\" he said, gesturing to his squire to pull on his boots, watching to make sure the boy shook them first to dislodge any spiders, scorpions, or other desert vermin.\n\n\"Sorry to awaken you, but I thought you'd want to know that Hannibal is at the gates.\"\n\nPhilippe assumed that was some sort of classical allusion since he vaguely recalled Hannibal had been an enemy of Rome. While Conrad had earned fame for his military exploits, he'd won admiration for his eloquence, too. He was fluent in several languages, often flavored his speech with Latin epigrams, and liked to quote from ancient Roman and Greek poets. In that, he reminded Philippe of Richard, another one who prided himself on being well read and knowledgeable about bygone civilizations. Philippe suspected that both men deliberately flaunted their superior education as a subtle means of demeaning him. Yes, his book-learning had been cut short, but a king of fifteen had little time for tutors or the study of Latin, not when statecraft and survival occupied all of his waking hours. He never doubted that he was as capable and quick-witted as Conrad or Richard, and was convinced that he was more formidable than either, for he had a quality they both lacked\u2014patience.\n\nStanding up, he regarded the marquis with cold eyes. He was sure that the Almighty intended great things for him, sure that he was destined to restore France to its former glory. So why had God not bestowed upon him the sort of grace that Conrad and Richard had in abundance? The marquis was no longer young, in his mid-forties, but he was still a handsome man; his fair hair camouflaged any traces of grey and he moved with the lithe step of a man half his age. Philippe was honest enough with himself to admit he'd have attracted no attention had he not been born the son of Louis Capet. But Conrad, like Richard, would never have gone unnoticed. Philippe had wondered occasionally if Conrad's cockiness had come from his physical blessings, but that seemed unlikely. Guy de Lusignan had been equally blessed, after all, yet his center was hollow and that had doomed his kingship. Power was in its own way as mysterious as alchemy, a conclusion Philippe had reached years ago, comparing his good-hearted, weak-willed father with the whirlwind that was Henry Fitz Empress and vowing never to follow in Louis's faltering footsteps. Henry had not seen him as a serious threat, not until it was too late. God willing, that would also hold true for his boastful, reckless son.\n\n\"Cousin?\"\n\nConrad was looking at him quizzically, and Philippe brought his thoughts back to the here and now. He knew he was expected to respond to Conrad's cryptic comment about Hannibal, but he was unwilling to admit its meaning had escaped him. Taking his scabbard from his squire, he buckled it and was settling his sword on his hip when Guillaume des Barres spoke up, confessing that he hadn't understood the \"Hannibal at the gates\" remark. Conrad was happy to enlighten him, explaining that it had been a popular Roman proverb, warning of danger by referring to the man who'd once been Rome's greatest enemy, and Guillaume thanked him politely.\n\nPhilippe felt a flicker of affection for the knight, appreciating his adroit intercession. But the sight of Guillaume reminded him of all the just grievances he had against that accursed Angevin, one of which was the shameful way Richard had treated the knight in Messina. Guillaume had not been allowed to rejoin Philippe's household until they'd been ready to sail for Acre, and although he appeared to have forgiven Richard for that petty fit of temper, Philippe had not. \"You mean Richard has finally deigned to put in an appearance?\"\n\n\"His fleet has been sighted approaching the harbor.\" Conrad grinned then, looking rather pleased with himself. \"And I'd wager he is not in the best of humors, for I gave orders to turn him away from Tyre.\"\n\nBy now the tent was crowded with French lords and knights, including the young Mathieu de Montmorency, Philippe's cousin, the Bishop of Beauvais, and his marshal, Aubrey Clement. Beauvais laughed loudly, but the other men looked shocked at Conrad's l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9.\n\nPhilippe did not approve of Conrad's action, either. Unlike Guy, Richard was not a counterfeit king, and kings were entitled to the respect due them as God's Anointed. Moreover, it seemed needlessly provocative, guaranteeing Richard's enmity ere he even laid eyes upon Conrad. Until now, Richard's opposition to the marquis had been political. After this, it would be personal, very personal. Marveling that men of obvious intelligence could be so foolhardy, Philippe said brusquely, \"Let's get this over with.\"\n\nAs they emerged from Philippe's pavilion, they paused in surprise, for the entire camp seemed to be in motion. Men were hurrying toward the beach, jostling one another in their haste to secure a good vantage point. There were a number of noncombatants at the siege\u2014wives of soldiers and their children, the prostitutes drawn to an army encampment like bears to honey, servants, pilgrims, local vendors and peddlers. They were all running, too, eager to witness the English king's arrival.\n\nWatching in bemusement as this throng surged toward the sea, Conrad said scornfully, \"Will you look at those fools? You'd think they hope to witness the Second Coming of the Lord Christ! What is there to see, for God's Sake? Just some ships dropping anchor offshore.\"\n\nPhilippe gave the older man a tight, mirthless smile, thinking that Conrad was about to get his first lesson in Ricardian drama. As some of their knights cleared a path through the crowd for them, he continued on at a measured pace, taking care to detour around occasional piles of horse manure. \"Do you have troupes of traveling players in Montferrat, Conrad?\"\n\nThe marquis was obviously puzzled by this non sequitur. \"Of course we do. Why?\"\n\nPhilippe ignored the question. \"I imagine they are the same everywhere. As they approach a town, they do what they can to attract as much attention as possible. If there are tumblers or jugglers in their company, they'll lead the way, turning cartwheels and juggling balls or even knives. They'll blow their trumpets to draw a crowd, bang on drums, sing and banter with spectators, trot out dancing dogs or trained monkeys. Once I even saw a dancing bear. The bigger the spectacle they can make, the larger the audience for their performance.\"\n\nConrad was making no attempt to hide his bafflement. \"Cousin, whatever are you going on about?\" But he got no answer, merely that odd, enigmatic smile again. Shaking his head, he followed after Philippe.\n\nBy the time they reached the beach, it looked as if every man, woman, and child in camp had gathered at the shoreline. To the west, the sun was setting in a blaze of fiery color, the sky and sea taking on vivid shades of gold and red, drifting purple clouds haloed in shimmering lilac light. The ships entering the bay were backlit by this spectacular sunset, and Philippe wondered if Richard had timed his landing for maximum impact. The sleek war galleys were slicing through the waves like the deadly weapons they were, the royal banners of England and Outremer catching each gust of wind, the oarsmen rowing in time to the thudding drumbeats, the air vibrating with the cacophony of trumpets, pipes, and horns. And just as he'd done at Messina, Richard was standing on a raised platform in the prow of his galley, a magnet for all eyes. When the crowds erupted in wild cheering, he acknowledged their tribute by raising a lance over his head and the noise level reached painful proportions, loud enough to reach the Saracen soldiers lining the walls of the city as they, too, watched, spellbound, the arrival of the legendary Lionheart.\n\nConrad was staring at the spectacle in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth open. When he finally tore his gaze away from the scene playing out in the harbor, he saw that the French king was watching him with a mordant, cynical smile, one that he now understood. \"All that is lacking,\" Philippe said, \"is the dancing bear.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "JUNE 1191",
                "text": "[ Siege of Acre, Outremer ]\n\nMorgan had taken part in sieges before, but he'd never seen anything like the encampment at Acre. Two years had transformed it into a good-sized city, with tents and pavilions as far as the eye could see. It had an odd air of permanence, for cook-shops and baking ovens had been set up, as had public baths; bathing was an important aspect of daily life in the sultry climate of Outremer. There were even several hospitals, operated by the Knights Hospitaller. Like all the towns Morgan had known, this one was crowded and chaotic, its makeshift streets thronged with off-duty soldiers and their women. Morgan was accustomed to seeing females in an army camp, but they were always whores. Here there were wives, too, and even children, darting between tents as they played or ran errands, their youthful laughter somehow jarring in this place where men lived so intimately with Death.\n\nVendors wandered about, hawking their wares. Pigs rooted in the piles of garbage and chickens fluttered underfoot, for the winter's famine was long past. Dogs once more roamed the camp. Men were lining up before the laundresses' tents to be deloused, having their wounds treated by physicians and surgeons, heading for the latrine trenches, being waylaid by prostitutes, and scolded by priests fighting a losing battle to keep sin at bay. The siege had its own markets, stables for horses, pens for livestock, a large cemetery where so many crusading hopes had ended. But something was missing, something integral to city life and, after a moment, Morgan realized what it was. Bells normally chimed the canonical hours, pealing to call Christ's Faithful to Mass and to elicit prayers for the dying, to celebrate births and marriages and festivals, the days echoing with shimmering, melodic sound from dawn till dark. Here at the siege of Acre, Mass was held in tents or in the open air, and with no churches, there were no bells.\n\nThe camp was far from quiet, though. Each time the siege engines sent rocks thudding toward Acre, men cheered. There were exchanges of insults and catcalls between the besiegers and the Saracen garrison up on the city walls. Raucous songs drifted from open tents, where some were still celebrating Richard's arrival the night before. Voices carried on the wind, laughter and curses and the shrill cries of hawks; Morgan would later learn that the Turks used pigeons to convey messages to Saladin, and the crusaders unleashed hawks to try to bring them down.\n\nTo Morgan, the strangest aspect of Acre's siege was that the enemy was only three miles away, camped in the nearby hills at Tell al-'Ayy\u0101\u1e0diyya. Whenever the crusaders launched an assault upon the city, the garrison beat drums to alert Saladin, who would then attack the camp to draw them off. But the besiegers were well protected by fortifications and double ditches, and so far the Saracens had been unable to break through their defenses. Men were sure, though, that the stalemate would end now that Richard was here, and his welcome had been a jubilant one, lasting well into the early hours of dawn.\n\nMorgan bought a handful of dates from a vendor and was heading for Richard's royal pavilion when he heard his name called. Smiling, he reversed course. He'd met the Count of Champagne during his service with Richard's brother Geoffrey, and a mutual liking had developed. Henri of Champagne was standing with a tall man in his middle years, whom he introduced now as Hubert Walter, the Bishop of Salisbury. Morgan was pleased to meet the prelate, for he'd emerged as one of the heroes of the siege, and he was flattered, too, to be addressed as \"Cousin\" by Henri; they were not really kinsmen, being linked to Richard on his father's and mother's side, respectively. As they exchanged banter now, Morgan found himself studying the other man in puzzlement; something seemed unfamiliar about Henri, but he was not sure what it was.\n\nThe young count caught his scrutiny and grinned. \"I look different, I know. Whilst I am still a handsome devil, I did not have these ringlets when you last saw me. I lost my hair after a bout with Arnaldia last winter, and when it grew back, it was as curly as a lamb's fleece!\"\n\nMorgan resisted the impulse to tease Henri about his \"lamb's fleece\" and asked instead about Arnaldia, for he'd never heard of this ailment. Henri's smile faded. \"I was stricken with a high fever, every bone in my body wracked with pain. I recovered, by God's Grace, but many others were not as fortunate. It struck down the Count of Flanders just a week ago, and it looks likely now to claim my uncle, the Count of Perche.\"\n\n\"I am indeed sorry to hear that,\" Morgan said, for he'd become friendly with the count's son Jaufre during their time in Sicily. As he fell in step beside Henri and the bishop, he hoped the Count of Perche was still lucid, able to be told that Jaufre's wife Richenza had made him a grandfather. Henri was telling him of others who'd died during the siege, a bleak litany, and he dutifully made the sign of the cross. By now they were approaching Richard's pavilion, and he came to a sudden stop, staring at the huge crowd milling about the tent. \"What in the world...?\"\n\n\"They are waiting to pay their respects to the king,\" Henri explained, \"and to offer their services. They'll have a long wait, though, for Richard is not within. When he finally went off to bed, he quite sensibly chose his queen's bed and is still in her tent.\"\n\n\"Some of the men have already approached the king,\" Bishop Hubert added. \"Last night both the Genoese and the Pisans sought him out. He accepted the Pisans, but not the Genoese, as they'd pledged themselves to the French king.\"\n\n\"The French king will not be happy to hear that the Genoese tried to defect,\" Morgan said cheerfully, remembering Philippe's grimacing smile as he'd bade Richard welcome.\n\n\"No, indeed he was not,\" Henri confirmed. \"But he is far more wroth with me for my defection.\"\n\n\"You will be fighting under King Richard's banner?\" When Henri nodded, Morgan grinned, delighted to have the count and his men in their ranks. \"It could not have been easy for you, though, being Philippe's blood-kin and his vassal.\"\n\n\"Actually, I rather enjoyed telling him,\" Henri said, with a cool smile. \"You see, I was in danger of running out of money, for my expenses have been considerable since my arrival at the siege. I paid fifteen hundred bezants alone for a trebuchet, only to have it burned by the Saracens within days.\"\n\n\"You were very generous, too, in helping me to feed the common soldiers, those most in danger of starving during the famine,\" the bishop interjected, and Henri shrugged, accepting the praise with his usual nonchalance.\n\n\"I went to Philippe last month, asking him for a loan so I could pay my men. My loving uncle agreed to lend me one hundred marks, provided that I pledge Champagne as collateral for the debt.\" Henri's mouth twisted. \"I daresay I could have gotten better terms if I'd approached Saladin. Last night I asked my other uncle for aid. Richard at once promised me four thousand pounds of silver, four thousand bushels of wheat, and four thousand salted pigs for my men. In truth, I would have gone over to Richard even had he not been so generous, for no man knows war better than he does. But Philippe made it very easy for me.\"\n\nGlancing over at the throng of men gathered before Richard's tent, Henri smiled slyly. \"That's a sight sure to spoil Philippe's day. And wait till word gets out how much Richard is paying. Even the Saracens will be clamoring to enter his service.\" Seeing that neither Bishop Hubert nor Morgan understood, he grinned broadly. \"Last night Richard asked me what Philippe was paying his knights. When I said three bezants a week, he decided to offer four.\"\n\nMorgan laughed, but the bishop shook his head. \"Mayhap I can get him to change his mind, for that would be provoking Philippe needlessly.\"\n\nHenri's eyes held a mischievous blue-green glint. \"Actually, my uncle Richard is doing him a favor. Now when knights begin to desert Philippe in droves, he can save face by claiming it is merely a matter of money and not because men would rather fight under Richard's command.\"\n\n\"I rather doubt,\" the bishop said dryly, \"that Philippe will see it that way.\"\n\nAs Henri made his way toward Richard's pavilion, he gazed up gratefully at the starlit sky, as the day had been one of searing summer heat. Although darkness had fallen, the siege engines were still being manned by torchlight, for Richard had his men working shifts of eight hours, enabling the trebuchets to be operated around the clock and giving the beleaguered enemy garrison no respite. His uncle had been at Acre only five days, yet Henri could feel a new energy in the camp, a rejuvenated sense of confidence. He'd watched with amusement as Richard easily assumed command of the siege; even Conrad of Montferrat had felt compelled to offer a perfunctory apology for turning the English king away from Tyre, blaming it on a miscommunication, an excuse that no one believed, least of all Richard. Henri regretted the hostility between the two men, for he thought that Conrad would make a much more effective king than Guy de Lusignan, even if he had acquired his claim by that highly dubious marriage. He wondered now if he might be able to bring his uncle around to his way of thinking, then smiled at the very notion, knowing how unlikely that was.\n\nWhen he was ushered into Richard's tent, he saw that they were just finishing their evening meal. Richard had quickly adopted the local custom of dining at low tables while seated upon cushions. His wife did not look as comfortable as he did, sitting upright, her skirts carefully tucked around her ankles. She smiled at the sight of Henri, for he was a favorite with all of the women. Joanna smiled, too, and Richard beckoned him over, signaling for Henri to be served wine and a dish of syrup mixed with snow. Henri was happy to lounge on the cushions and display his greater familiarity with the Holy Land, explaining that this was a delicacy of Saracen origin; the snow was brought down from the mountains in carts covered with straw.\n\nThe final course was a platter heaped with figs, carobs, and clusters of a local fruit that few of them had ever seen before\u2014its soft flesh encased in a greenishyellow skin. They were known as \"apples of paradise,\" Henri said, gallantly peeling one for Joanna and then for Berengaria. Because of its suggestive shape and size, it had another name among the soldiers, \"Saracen's cock,\" but he refrained from sharing that bit of bawdy army humor, sensing that Richard's queen would not find it amusing. Instead, he leaned over and asked, low-voiced, if the rumors were true.\n\n\"You mean about my squabble with Philippe this afternoon? So word is already out?\"\n\n\"Well, apparently you were shouting at each other loudly enough to be heard back in Cyprus.\"\n\n\"I suppose we were,\" Richard conceded, with a tight smile. \"Philippe wants us to launch a full attack on the morrow. I reminded him that some of my ships are still at Tyre, waiting for favorable winds, and they are carrying most of my siege engines. It makes sense to wait until they reach Acre. Why risk men's lives today when victory seems more assured on the morrow? But of course he would not heed me, for if I say 'saint,' he has to say 'sinner.' So he's going ahead with his plan, the damned fool. I'll set my soldiers to guarding the camp, but I am not letting them fight under his command. Not that they'd want to\u2014most men would not follow Philippe out of a burning building.\"\n\nThat evoked a burst of laughter from his audience, save only the Bishop of Salisbury, who suppressed a sigh, knowing it was inevitable that Richard's quip would reach Philippe's ears. Richard noticed Hubert's disapproval and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. \"I know, my lord bishop, I know. You're thinking I ought to be more circumspect. You may be right, but what fun would that be?\" Midst another wave of laughter, he rose to his feet, remembering in time to kiss Berengaria's hand before inviting Henri along on his final circuit of the camp that night.\n\nThey were accompanied by Andr\u00e9 and a number of the knights; others soon tagged along, so that their walk began to resemble a procession. Richard kept up a rapid fire of questions aimed at Henri. Had he heard that Jaufre's father had been given the Sacrament of the Faithful? Had he been told that Baldwin de Bethune's father was also grievously ill? Did Henri know that he'd been bequeathed Philip of Flanders's trebuchet, much to Philippe's vexation? Henri soon stopped trying to answer, for they were constantly being interrupted by men eager to greet the king, seek a favor, report a breach of discipline, or bring an act of bravery to Richard's notice.\n\nThey spent over an hour observing the trebuchets in action. This was a new weapon in siege warfare, in which a long beam pivoted on an axle, the shorter arm holding a heavy counterweight, the longer arm, or verge, attached to a sling. Richard watched with a critical eye as the verge was winched down and huge rocks were loaded into the sling, telling Henri that he'd brought stones from Sicily which were much harder than the softer limestone found in the Holy Land. He was hands-on in all that he did, and he could not resist the temptation to release the hook himself. As the counterweight plunged downward, the verge shot up and the sling cracked like a whip, emitting a high-pitched humming sound. All the men followed its trajectory intently as the rocks hurtled toward the city, cheering when they slammed into the walls in a cloud of dust and rubble. Told that Philippe had named his primary trebuchet \"Bad Neighbor,\" Richard joked that they ought to call his \"Worse Neighbor,\" laughing when his soldiers suggested other, more obscene names.\n\nNext they went to inspect the huge belfry that was being constructed for an assault upon the walls. Richard had spared no expense and it would be over one hundred feet high when completed, with three stories, inner stairs, and wheels, covered in ox hides soaked in vinegar as protection against fire arrows. Eventually, Richard drew Henri aside for a private word, as private as any exchange could be in the midst of thousands.\n\n\"Tell me about Saladin,\" he said, and Henri obliged, confirming the general view that the sultan was a man of honor even if he was an infidel. To prove it, he recounted one of the best-known stories of Saladin's gallantry. The Lord of Nablus, Balian d'Ibelin, had been one of the few to escape capture at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn, having fought his way free. His wife and children had taken refuge in Jerusalem, and when Saladin lay siege to the Holy City, Balian asked him for a safe conduct so he could rescue his family. Saladin agreed, upon condition that he passed but one night in the city. Upon Balian's arrival, though, he was entreated by the desperate townspeople to take command, for there were no lords of rank left. Balian felt honor bound to stay and help defend Jerusalem, but he was ashamed of breaking his oath and wrote to Saladin, explaining the circumstances. Saladin not only forgave Balian, he dispatched men to escort Balian's wife, children, and household to safety at Tyre.\n\nHenri liked Balian very much and was tempted to praise his friend's success in saving the citizens, for he'd been able to convince Saladin to spare them from the sort of bloody massacre that had occurred when the crusaders had first taken Jerusalem in 1099. But Balian was an ally of Conrad of Montferrat, and thus already suspect in Richard's eyes. Henri chose, instead, to relate a more recent occurrence.\n\n\"Our defensive ditches have so far kept Saladin's army out, but not thieves, I am sorry to say. An unguarded tent is an irresistible target, and about a fortnight ago, a woman's infant was stolen. She was distraught, and came to us, weeping. We could do little, of course, so I told her that Saladin had a merciful heart and she had our permission to seek his help. I had a dragoman escort her to the Saracen lines, where he translated her plea. Mayhap moved by her tears, they took her to see Saladin. After hearing her story, he sent men to search for the baby. Upon learning that it had been sold in a local market, he ordered the purchase price to be paid to the buyer and he himself handed the child over to its mother, then saw that she was safely returned to our camp.\"\n\n\"He is indeed a worthy foe,\" Richard said approvingly. They'd paused near the belfry, their companions following at a discreet distance at the king's orders. Raising his hand to keep them out of hearing range, Richard reached over and grasped his nephew's arm. \"I want to get a message to Saladin, Henri. Can you arrange that?\"\n\nHe was pleased when Henri merely nodded, showing no surprise, for Philippe had reacted as if he'd proposed a colloquy with the Devil himself. \"Good. Now can you recommend an interpreter? Someone I can wholeheartedly trust?\"\n\n\"Well, Balian speaks some Arabic, but I suppose his friendship with Conrad disqualifies him,\" Henri said wryly. \"I would suggest that you use Humphrey de Toron, for his Arabic is excellent, and you need have no fears about his loyalties. I daresay he loathes Conrad even more than Guy does.\"\n\n\"He seemed rather soft-hearted to me and weak-willed, too, for what man would let his wife be stolen away with such ease? But if you trust him, Henri, then that is enough for me. Send him to Saladin on the morrow with this message\u2014that I seek a face-to-face meeting with him.\"\n\n\"I will make the arrangements as soon as possible. I assume you want to take the measure of the sultan for yourself?\"\n\n\"Of course. To judge a man's true nature, you need to look him in the eye. I admit I am curious, too, for there are almost as many legends circulating about Saladin as there are about me,\" Richard said with a grin. \"And who knows? Mayhap we could reach an understanding. If he is willing to compromise, we could get what we seek without a war.\"\n\nHenri was startled. \"You'd bargain with Saladin?\"\n\n\"Why not? You yourself said he is a man of honor, so we ought to be able to trust him to hold to the terms of a peace treaty.\"\n\n\"I am sure he would. But many men in this camp would think the mere suggestion of negotiations with the Saracens is rank heresy.\"\n\n\"But not you,\" Richard murmured, and when Henri echoed, \"No, not me,\" he surprised the younger man by saying, \"A pity you are my nephew and not my brother, lad. I'd worry far less about England if you and not Johnny or Arthur were my heir.\"\n\n\"Well, mayhap you could adopt me,\" Henri jested, using humor to conceal his pride at being paid such a great compliment. \"Uncle... I maybe borrowing trouble, and God knows we have more than enough of that already. But whenever I've spoken with Philippe in the past week, he seems more concerned about the future of Flanders than he does about the recovery of Jerusalem. Do you think that he would dare to abandon the siege and return to France so he could claim Philip's domains?\"\n\nNow it was Richard's turn to be startled. \"No,\" he said, after a long pause. \"Philippe took the cross, swore a solemn oath to reclaim the Holy City. Not even he would betray such a sacred vow.\"\n\nWhile Henri was relieved by Richard's certainty, he realized that he was not utterly convinced. \"I am sure you are right,\" he said, solemnly and not entirely truthfully, adding a \"God willing\" under his breath, for the French king's defection could deal a death blow to their chances of regaining control of the Holy Land.\n\nPhilippe insisted upon launching an attack upon Acre on June 14. Not only were his men repulsed, Salah al-D\u012bn's brother Malik al-'A-dil, called Saphadin by the crusaders, almost succeeded in breaking through their defensive fortifications. They were driven back with heavy losses on both sides. Guy de Lusignan's brother Joffroi enhanced his reputation as a \"man of prowess\" by leading a counterattack upon the Saracens, killing ten men with his own hand. Three days later, Philippe's siege engines were destroyed by the Acre garrison's Greek fire. The trebuchets had been poorly guarded, many of the crew having defected to Richard, and Philippe blamed Richard for the loss. He was so enraged that he made another attack the next day, but this one, too, ended in failure. Camp morale was boosted, however, by the arrival of the rest of Richard's ships, bringing reinforcements and siege engines, and a grudging peace was patched up between the French and English kings.\n\nPhilippe was not the only one unhappy to be at the siege. Berengaria was utterly miserable. At first it had been a great relief to escape the close confines of their ship, to be back on firm ground again. Separate tents were set up for Joanna and her women, for Berengaria and her household, for Sophia, Anna, and their attendants, and they settled in to await Richard's arrival. These round pavilions were very spacious compared to the canvas tent that had sheltered them on their buss; they were decorated in bright stripes of red and gold, with costly carpets, cushions, and screens that gave an illusion of privacy. After their accommodations on the buss, they were a vast improvement, but a tent was still a comedown for a young woman who'd grown up in palaces. And beyond the fragile boundaries of her pavilion, reality had never been so raw, so immediate.\n\nAs soon as she stepped outside, she was assailed by noise, by dust, stifling heat, swarming insects, and the fetid odors wafting from the latrine pits. She knew, of course, of those women who bartered their bodies for coins or bread, but she'd never expected to see their sinning at such close range. It seemed to her that the camp was filled with whores, some of them surprisingly pretty. Drunkards, beggars, men loud and quarrelsome\u2014they'd all been part of life in Navarre, but she'd been insulated by stone walls, by her father's knights, by her privileged status. There were no such protective barriers at the siege of Acre.\n\nShe had only to emerge from her tent to become the cynosure of all eyes. And while she was accustomed to the attention guaranteed by her high birth, this was somehow different. All were avidly curious about the Lionheart's Spanish bride, and if not for the efforts of her household knights, she'd have been in danger of being mobbed, for people were eager to see her close at hand, to admire her fine silk gowns and soft skin untouched by the hot Outremer sun, to ask for alms. While they seemed friendly enough, she still felt as if she were on constant display, like the royal cheetahs paraded on jeweled leashes in Joanna's stories about life in the palaces of Palermo.\n\nHer ladies were even more discontented, complaining constantly that the soldiers were too familiar, that they could not sleep at night because of the bombardment of the trebuchets, that the camp was infested with lice and fleas and terrifying, huge, hairy spiders. While Berengaria soon grew tired of their whining, she could not blame them for their misery. They'd never expected to hear the screams of wounded or dying men, the wailing of their grieving wives and bedmates. Not a day passed without sad processions to the cemetery. Soldiers were struck by rocks launched from Saracen trebuchets and pierced by the arrows of Saracen bowmen. They died in vain assaults upon the city walls, coughed up blood in the hospital tents, burned with fever that blistered their skin and lips, crying out to God or absent loved ones as their lives ebbed away, far from the hallowed walls of Jerusalem. Nor were women and children spared when Death stalked the siege. They, too, died of the bloody flux and tertian fevers and Arnaldia, and Berengaria had seen the bodies of a woman and infant unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, crushed under plummeting stones hurled by the enemy's trebuchets. While she knew that her life was in God's Hands, she was beginning to realize how much Richard had put her safety at risk by taking her with him to the Holy Land.\n\nShe'd hoped that his presence would banish some of her qualms, for his supreme self-confidence was contagious. But that had not proved to be the case, mainly because she'd seen so little of him. She'd known that they'd not be lodged in the same tent; even in palaces, kings and queens had their own quarters. She'd expected, though, that he'd want to share her bed as often as possible; they were newlyweds, after all. And she'd hoped that they could have evening meals together, establishing a small island of calm midst the turmoil of this alien sea. Yet in the sixteen days since Richard's arrival at Acre, she'd found herself relegated to the perimeters of his world, treated as an afterthought. He'd come occasionally to her bed, but rarely met her for meals, and usually seemed distracted, focused upon the siege to the exclusion of all else, including his lonely young bride.\n\nShe'd tried to be understanding, telling herself that her needs were unimportant when compared to the fate of Acre and Jerusalem. Then he'd stopped coming to her tent at all; it had been four days now without even a message from him. She'd have suffered in silence. That was not her sister-in-law's way, though, and Joanna had insisted that they go to him if he would not come to her, pointing out that she was his wife and queen, not a concubine to be ignored with impunity. Berengaria had allowed herself to be persuaded, for Joanna could be as forceful as her brother, albeit with more finesse.\n\nA glorious sunset was flaming into the sea, and the sky seemed streaked with fire as they made their way toward Richard's pavilion. They were welcomed enthusiastically by his household knights, who were happy to put aside their worries and flirt with Joanna and Berengaria's ladies; despite her youth, Anna had quickly become a camp favorite. But Richard was obviously not pleased to see them, his greeting so terse that Morgan took it upon himself to confide quietly to Berengaria that the king had gotten bad news that day. There had been a rebellion in Cyprus, led by a monk claiming to be kin to Isaac Comnenus. It had been quickly put down, the would-be emperor summarily hanged, but that it had happened at all was troubling, evidence that their occupation of the island would not be as easy as first thought. And this afternoon a message had arrived from Saladin, refusing Richard's request for a personal meeting.\n\n\"Saladin replied that kings do not meet unless an agreement has been reached, saying it is not good for them to fight after meeting and eating together. He said an agreement must be made first, and of course that is impossible. King Richard was sorely disappointed, for he very much wanted to judge the sultan for himself.\"\n\nBerengaria glanced over at her husband, who was sprawled on cushions, studying a map of Outremer. Feeling guilty for imposing her petty concerns upon a man who bore the burdens of a holy war upon his shoulders, she stopped in front of him, saying with a smile, \"I can see this is not a good time for a visit, my lord husband, so we'll not tarry.\" She hesitated, then, for such boldness did not come easily to her. But according to what Joanna had told her, she was at her most fertile now that her flux was past, and she was sure Richard was as eager as she to beget a child. \"Will you... will you be coming to me tonight?\"\n\nHe glanced up, his grey eyes appearing so dark and opaque that she felt as if she were gazing upon a stranger. \"No,\" he said, \"I think not,\" and turned back to the map.\n\nBerengaria felt as if she'd been slapped. Mortified, she called to her attendants, not daring to look around for fear that she'd see pity on the faces of those close enough to have heard his rebuff. Actually, few had heard their low-voiced exchange. But one who did was enraged. \"You go on, dearest,\" Joanna said. \"I'll follow shortly.\"\n\nBerengaria's ladies complied at once. Joanna's women were reluctant to leave, enjoying their verbal sparring with Richard's knights. But after looking at their mistress's glittering green eyes, they hastened to obey, too. Only Anna balked and she was quickly nudged toward the tent's entrance by her stepmother and Mariam. Joanna waited until they'd departed, pondering her next move. She could ask to speak to Richard in private, behind one of the screens. But what if he refused?\n\n\"Get the men's attention for me, Morgan,\" she said. Giving her a curious look, he did so, very effectively, by banging upon a drum. Once she was sure all eyes were upon her, Joanna gave them her most engaging smile. \"I am sorry to evict you, gentlemen. But I need to speak alone with my lord brother, the king.\"\n\nThere were at least fifty knights and lords present, and few of them looked happy at being so abruptly dismissed. Richard's head had come up sharply; for a moment, Joanna feared that he'd countermand her. Whatever he saw in her face changed his mind, though. Getting to his feet as the men exited, he strode toward Joanna, towering over her and obviously angry.\n\nShe was not in the least intimidated. \"How dare you treat that sweet girl like one of your camp whores?\" she spat, even in her fury remembering to keep her voice pitched for his ears alone.\n\nHe seemed taken aback by her vehemence. His own temper still smoldered, though, and he said testily, \"I do not know what you are talking about, Joanna. Nor do I have time for this.\"\n\n\"You need not have time for me, Richard. But you owe it to your wife to make time for her. She's not seen you in days! Do you know what it cost her to come to you like this? And then you dismissed her as if she\u2014\"\n\n\"If I wanted a woman tonight, I'd only have to snap my fingers. But I have more important matters on my mind.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, that is what men always say. Your 'matters' are so much more consequential than any womanly concerns. I know what you are about to tell me, that you cannot be expected to pay heed to a wife in the midst of a war. But why is she in the midst of it, Richard? Because you put her there!\"\n\nRichard was unaccustomed to being called to account and he did not like it in the least. \"I had no choice, given the circumstances!\"\n\n\"You most certainly did! We left Messina on Wednesday in Holy Week. Are you telling me you could not have waited four more days to sail? You could have married Berengaria on Easter, then sent her back to your domains under a safe escort, as you did for Maman. Instead, you chose to take her with you. There are only two explanations for doing so\u2014that you were too besotted with your betrothed to want to be separated from her or that you were keen to get her with child as soon as possible. I think we can safely say that you are not madly in love. So that means you want an heir straightaway. That is certainly reasonable, for Johnny's past record does not inspire great confidence. But Berengaria cannot conceive unless you do your part, Richard.\"\n\n\"What happens between my wife and me does not concern you, Joanna.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, it does! You were the one who asked me to accompany her, Richard, remember? I did as you bade, have gotten to know her well in these past weeks. She has shown courage in the face of very real dangers and great hardships, and never once has she complained. Even now I daresay she is taking upon herself the blame for your bad manners\u2014\"\n\n\"That is enough.\" Even though he kept his voice low, his words resonated with fury. \"I've heard you out, but I have no more time for nonsense like this. Stop meddling, Joanna. Do you understand?\"\n\nThey glared at each other and then she dropped down in a deep, mocking curtsy. \"Yes, my lord king, I understand. Have I your leave to withdraw?\" He gestured impatiently; waving her away, she thought, as he would brush aside a pesky fly. Raising her chin, she stalked out of the tent without a backward glance.\n\nHer women were gone, but some of her household knights had remained to escort her safely back to her own pavilion. Morgan had stayed behind, too, although after a quick glance at her face, he made no attempt at conversation and they walked on in silence.\n\nJoanna was still furious. It was so unfair. Why did men have so much control and women so little when it came to carnal matters? For all the Church's preaching about the marriage debt, it was a joke, not a claim wives could make, as Berengaria had learned tonight. With each passing month, people would measure her waist with their eyes, and they'd soon be bandying around the one word that every queen dreaded to hear\u2014barren. Joanna knew her mother had been slurred by that accusation for most of her marriage to the French king, even though Eleanor herself had pointed out that she could hardly cultivate soil without seed. Joanna knew, too, that many of her Sicilian subjects had blamed her for failing to give William another son and heir. She'd sometimes wondered what she was supposed to do\u2014hire men to waylay him as he headed for his harim? At least Berengaria was spared that humiliation. She was being neglected for a war, not for seductive Saracen slave girls.\n\nJoanna stopped so abruptly that Morgan bumped into her, causing her to stumble. He quickly apologized, but she never heard him. Dear God. Was this about William, not Richard? Yes, he'd been churlish to Berengaria, had hurt her, unwittingly or not. But did his rudeness justify such rage? As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. She had overreacted, her anger fueled by memories of a young girl's humiliation years ago, bewildered and resentful and compelled to bury that anger so deep that it only surfaced after William's death.\n\nMorgan was puzzled by her immobility, the distant, inward look in her eyes. Wisely he said nothing, waiting to see what she would do. So did the other knights. Joanna had forgotten their presence entirely. Turning on her heel, she headed back toward her brother's pavilion. She was relieved to find Richard was still alone, although surprised that he'd not summoned his men back after her departure. He was leaning against the cushions, his eyes closed, and for the first time she realized how exhausted he looked, which exacerbated her sense of remorse. With all he had to deal with, he'd not needed to deal with her ghosts, too.\n\n\"Richard,\" she said, and his eyes snapped open, his mouth drawn into a taut line at the sight of her. Before he could order her away, she said quickly, \"I come in peace. I still think you were in the wrong. But the greater wrong was mine. I was indeed meddling, just as you charged, and I am very sorry.\"\n\nShe was half expecting him to resume berating her, for she'd given him good reason to be vexed with her. Or else he would react with feigned disbelief, joking that this humble, meek female could not possibly be his willful, sharp-tongued sister. To her dismay, he merely nodded, accepting her apology with an indifferent twitch of his shoulders. She did not want to have to confide in him, to tell him about William's Saracen slave girls. But if she must, she would, and she sat down beside him. \"Richard, I truly am sorry. Are you that wroth with me?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said at last. \"You are your mother's daughter, after all.\"\n\nRelieved to catch a glimmer of a smile, she smiled, too. \"I am willing to grovel a bit if that will amuse you,\" she offered, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. She drew back at once, her eyes wide. \"Richard, you are burning up!\" Ignoring his attempt to pull away, she put her hand upon his forehead; his skin was hot and dry and she was close enough now to see that his eyes had a glazed sheen. \"How long have you been ailing? Are you thirsty? Able to eat?\"\n\n\"I've had no appetite for a few days,\" he admitted, \"and I've not been sleeping well. But it is only a fever, Joanna. Men get them all the time.\"\n\nShe was already on her feet, though. He grabbed for her ankle, missed, and scowled. \"I do not need to see a doctor!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"you do!\" Pulling the tent flap back, she spoke to someone beyond his range of vision, summoning his chief physician, Master Ralph Besace. He slumped against the cushions in frustration, knowing what he now faced: being poked and prodded and bled and hovered over by his doctors, his wife, his sister, and his friends, all of whom would be underfoot day and night, making bloody nuisances of themselves and flinching if he so much as sneezed.\n\n\"Damnation, woman\u2014\" He cut himself off, though, when she turned back and he saw the fear on her face. \"You need not fret so,\" he said, more gently. \"God did not lead me to Acre only to die of a fever.\"\n\nShe quickly agreed, saying that he was surely right, that such fevers were common. But this is Outremer, Outremer where fevers are often mortal, where men die with terrifying ease, even kings."
            },
            {
                "title": "JUNE 1191",
                "text": "[ Siege of Acre ]\n\nThe French king was sheltering from the sun under a cercleia, a framework used to protect crossbowmen as they shot at the men up on the walls. Until his arrival at Acre, Philippe had never used a crossbow, for it was not a weapon of the highborn. Much to his surprise, he'd discovered that was not the case in Outremer, and since it could be mastered fairly easily, he'd let himself be tutored by Jacques d'Avesnes, a Flemish lord who'd won considerable renown during the siege. When a Saracen leaned over the battlements to shout taunts, Philippe and Guillaume des Barres both raised their crossbows and fired. The man disappeared from view and Guillaume deferred to his king with a smile, saying, \"Your hit, sire.\"\n\n\"For all we know, he merely ducked,\" Philippe pointed out with a rare flash of humor. He'd been in good spirits since learning that Richard was bedridden with a fever, and that morning the other burr under his saddle had been removed when Conrad had returned to Tyre in high dudgeon after a heated confrontation with Guy de Lusignan's brother Joffroi. Glancing toward Mathieu de Montmorency, he said generously, \"You get the next shot, Mathieu.\"\n\nJacques had begun teaching the youth and he nodded encouragingly as Mathieu nervously fiddled with the weapon, using a hinged lever to pull the hemp string back to the latch and, once it was cocked, aligning the bolt. But when he pulled the trigger, his aim was off and the bolt soared up harmlessly into the sky. The Duke of Burgundy and the Count of Dreux laughed at the crestfallen boy, joking that the Saracens were their enemy, not any passing birds. Mathieu cheered up, though, when Jacques patted him on the back, saying that he just needed a bit more practice.\n\nPhilippe had not noticed this byplay, for he was frowning at the sight of the approaching Count of St Pol. He had no reason to mistrust the man himself, but the count's marital ties were suddenly suspect, for his wife was the sister of Baudouin of Hainaut. Philippe spent more time worrying about Baudouin these days than he did Saladin, for if Baudouin staked a claim to Artois whilst he was trapped here in Outremer, it would be very difficult to make good his own claim upon his return.\n\nThe Count of St Pol was accompanied by Philippe's marshal, Aubrey Clement, and Leopold von Babenberg, the Duke of Austria. There was little space in the cercleia, but Leopold still acknowledged the French king with a formal obeisance, for he was punctilious about matters of rank and protocol. There had been a three-hour eclipse of the sun on the Vigil of the Nativity of St John the Baptist, and Leopold asked Philippe now if he believed it was an omen of good or ill fortune. Philippe neither knew nor cared, but he was pleased that the duke did not want to discuss Richard's illness, which was the talk of the camp, and so he politely parried the question, asking Leopold what he thought. The latter at once launched into an enthusiastic discussion about astronomy and divine portents. Only half listening, Philippe kept his gaze upon the battlements in case a Saracen soldier should offer himself as a target.\n\n\"My liege!\" This stentorian bellow came from Philippe's cousin, the Bishop of Beauvais. He was striding toward them, so quickly that they knew he bore news of importance. But he was smiling broadly, so Philippe felt confident the news would not be unwelcome. Ducking under the cercleia, Beauvais sank down on his haunches next to the French king. \"Have you heard? Richard's doctors are now saying that his malady is Arnaldia!\"\n\nThere were muffled exclamations of dismay from most of his audience. Jacques d'Avesnes, the Count of St Pol, the Duke of Austria, Aubrey Clement, and Mathieu jumped to their feet and hurried off to find out more, leaving the French king alone with Beauvais and his brother, the Count of Dreux, Hugh of Burgundy, and Guillaume des Barres. Reaching for a wineskin hooked at his belt, Beauvais took a swig and grimaced, for the liquid tasted as if it had been heated over a fire. \"I suppose it is too much to hope,\" he drawled, \"that Richard's bout with Arnaldia proves fatal.\"\n\nHis brother and Hugh laughed and Philippe permitted himself a small smile\u2014until he saw the shocked expression on Guillaume des Barres's face. Philippe was torn between bafflement and irritation; why would Guillaume of all men care about Richard's plight? Later, on his way back to his tent, he summoned Guillaume to walk at his side and sought an answer to that minor mystery. \"You did not approve of the Bishop of Beauvais's jest. I would think you'd be the last one to defend Richard after the shabby way he treated you back in Messina.\"\n\nGuillaume seemed surprised by the question. \"I would be greatly grieved if the English king were to die, my liege, for I see him as our best hope of defeating Saladin. The recovery of the Holy Land is far more important than any rancor between Richard and me.\"\n\n\"Well, you are more magnanimous than Richard would be if your positions were reversed,\" Philippe said, after some moments of silence. He genuinely liked Guillaume des Barres, but he did not understand the knight's willingness to forgive after such an unfair and public humiliation. Shading his eyes against the dazzling blaze of the noonday sun, he stared up at a sky that was a bleached bone-white, a sky in which there was not even a wisp of cloud, for this was the dry season and there would be no rain for months. Standing there in the midst of the chaotic siege encampment, he finally admitted to himself that his own realm mattered far more to him than the Holy Land ever could, and why not? Outremer had the Almighty to protect it but France only had Philippe Capet, a king far from home with a frail, small son as his heir. There was a certain relief in facing that fact at last. But it was a lonely moment, too, for he knew that none would understand, not even his brash cousin Beauvais. The one man who might have agreed was moldering in a tomb at Fontevrault Abbey.\n\nAs Henri made his way toward Richard's pavilion, he was stopped repeatedly by men anxious to hear how the king was faring. To each query, Henri had the same response, one that made it seem as if Richard's illness was of minor concern. Approaching the tent, he was not surprised to find soldiers and knights keeping watch. Before entering, he paused to greet two of the Pr\u00e9aux brothers, Guilhem and Pierre, and when he was asked the inevitable question, he gave them his most reassuring smile.\n\n\"Well, it will not surprise you to learn that he is surely the world's worst patient. He has been fuming and fretting at being bedridden, and he's learning to swear in Arabic, so his curses are even more colorful than usual.\" They grinned and he added lightly, \"But he was cheered up to hear that the French king has now been stricken with Arnaldia, too.\"\n\nAs he expected, that evoked laughter, and he moved past them into the tent, thinking bleakly that if lies were sins, his confessor would be laying out penances from now till Michaelmas. Actually, he had indeed hoped Richard would be amused that Philippe was also ailing, surely God's Chastisement for welcoming his rival's ordeal. But Richard had merely grunted, then looked away. Henri had been troubled by that apathetic response, just as he was troubled by Richard's growing lethargy. The temper tantrums that Henri had described for the Pr\u00e9aux brothers had occurred at the onset of his uncle's illness. He'd not pitched a fit for more than a day now, and Henri was not the only one yearning for the return of the Richard they knew best\u2014sardonic, playful, quick to anger, and utterly without self-doubts. It was as if a stranger had suddenly taken over Richard's body, listless and silent and\u2014a word Henri would never have thought to apply to his uncle\u2014vulnerable.\n\nAs soon as he entered the pavilion, he was pulled aside by Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny. \"We had a message from Saladin's brother. He said he'd heard the Franks were not happy about their proposed meeting, saying it endangered the Christian religion, and he asked if Richard had changed his mind because of the protests.\"\n\nHenri nodded; although Saladin had refused to meet Richard, he'd been willing to have his brother act on his behalf. \"That could not have made Richard happy. As if he'd ever be swayed by what other men think!\"\n\n\"He dictated a response to be sent on the morrow, saying the delay was due to his illness and no other reason. But he took it much too calmly, Henri. He ought to have been outraged by the mere suggestion that he could be overruled by the French king.\"\n\n\"Arnaldia saps a man, Andr\u00e9. I remember feeling as weak as a newborn babe. Yet once my fever broke, I was quick to regain my strength, and I am sure Richard will, too. Has he eaten anything since I saw him this morning?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" Andr\u00e9 admitted. \"His queen tried to coax him into taking some chicken cooked in white wine, for it's said to be good for the ailing. But he has no appetite. He's about to be bled now. His fool doctors have been arguing all day about the best time to do it. Apparently it depends upon a man's nature, and they could not decide if the king is sanguine or choleric. If he's the former, he ought to be bled at sunrise, at noon if he's the latter. Richard finally just told them to get it done straightaway, which probably proves he's choleric,\" Andr\u00e9 said with a faint, sad smile.\n\nThe pavilion was a very large one, said to be big enough to hold well over a hundred men, but there was little room, for it was crowded with Richard's household knights, some of his queen and sister's ladies, several bishops, and lords like Jacques d'Avesnes, the Earl of Leicester, and the newly bereaved Jaufre of Perche. Because Andr\u00e9 and Henri were known to be members of Richard's inner circle, a path slowly opened, enabling them to reach the screen set up around the king's bed.\n\nRichard was propped up on pillows, his wife and sister watching intently as a physician opened a vein near his elbow. Nervous under their scrutiny, the doctor was talking too much, explaining that this was the basilica vein and lancing here would purge noxious humors from the king's liver, telling them what all already knew, that good health depended upon the proper balance of the four humors\u2014blood, phlegm, white and black bile\u2014and too much blood in the body was one cause of disease. Richard's eyes were closed, but his lashes fluttered when Berengaria leaned over and murmured that his nephew was here.\n\n\"Henri,\" he said, his voice so low that the younger man had to bend down to catch his words. \"Take Joanna and Berenguela to dine with you. They've not eaten all day....\"\n\nBoth women at once protested. Henri was not to be denied, though. \"This may not be gallant of me, but the two of you look worse than the king and he's the one who is sick. You need a good night's sleep for certes, but a few hours in my charming company will have to do,\" he declared, persisting until they grudgingly yielded.\n\nMaster Ralph Besace, Richard's chief physician, had been holding his wrist during the bloodletting, and he signaled now for it to cease, saying the king's pulse was dropping too fast. Henri took advantage of the moment to usher the women away and out into the cooling night air. He knew they'd moved into the pavilion, setting up trundle beds behind a screen and taking turns sitting with Richard, but he doubted that either of them had slept more than a few hours in days. He chided them gently as they headed for his tent, pointing out that it would do Richard no good if they fell ill, too. But he did not expect them to heed him, nor did they.\n\nHenri set a better table than most of his fellow crusaders, thanks to his friend Balian, who'd provided him with a cook familiar with Saracen cuisine and spices. Joanna and Berengaria were served a lamb dish called sikb\u0101j, roasted scallops, and stuffed dates, but they merely picked at their food, quizzing Henri, instead, about his own experience with Arnaldia. To bring down his fever, Richard had been given ficaria and basil in wine, and when that did not help, the doctors had tried galingale and then black hellebore. Did Henri remember his treatment?\n\nSearching his memory, he recalled taking columbine, pounded and then strained into juice through a thin cloth, and myrrh drunk in warm wine; the women made mental notes to mention this to Richard's doctors. Richard was being given sponge baths with cool water, they related, and bled, of course, although one of the doctors insisted it was dangerous to bleed a man after the twenty-fifth of the month. How, they asked in despair, were they to know which advice to follow?\n\nHenri did his best to console them, talking of the many men, like himself, who'd made a full recovery from Arnaldia, and suggesting prayers to Blasius, the patron saint for diseases of the throat and lungs, as Richard's throat was very sore and he was troubled by painful sores in his mouth. When they were ready to depart, he rummaged around in his coffers until he found a favorite amber ring, for it was said to ward off fevers, and then walked them back to the royal pavilion.\n\nUpon their return, they were initially alarmed to be told the Bishop of Salisbury had shriven Richard of his sins, but Andr\u00e9 was able to reassure them that this was merely a sensible precaution, not a sign that Richard had taken a turn for the worse. After all, he pointed out, men always confessed their sins ere going into battle. Once Joanna retired behind the women's screen to get a few hours sleep, Berengaria pulled a chair up to the bed. The nights since Richard was stricken had been unusually quiet. She could still hear the thudding of stones as they crashed into the city walls, but otherwise a pall seemed to have settled over the camp. Richard showed no curiosity when she slipped Henri's amber ring onto his finger, and when she brought him a hot beverage brewed from sage leaves, telling him it was said to heal mouth ulcers, he sipped obediently as she held the cup to his blistered lips.\n\nIt frightened her that he was suddenly so passive; she much preferred his earlier bad-tempered outbursts, even when they'd been directed at her. As the hours passed, she replaced the wet compresses upon his forehead, gave him wine mixed with the doctors' latest concoction, smoothed ointment upon his blisters, and blinked back tears after he acknowledged her ministrations with the flicker of a smile. She was so exhausted that when Joanna appeared to relieve her vigil, she fell onto her bed fully dressed and was asleep almost at once.\n\nHer transition from uneasy dreams to wretched reality was so abrupt that she awoke with a start, momentarily confused to find Joanna bending over her. \"Is it my turn?\" she asked, stifling a yawn. But then she saw the tears welling in the other woman's eyes.\n\nFrom the chronicle of Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn Ibn Shadd\u0101d, a trusted adviser of Salah al-D\u012bn and an eyewitness to the events at the siege of Acre: \"The Franks were at this time so much concerned at the increasing gravity of the King of England's illness that they even discontinued for a while their attack on the city.\"\n\nRichard was very ill. But he was aware only of intolerable, searing heat, his body afire with fever that burned ever higher with each passing day, his dreams dragging him into a terrifying world of hallucinatory, demonic visions, shot through with swirling, hot colors of blood and flames. In his delirium, he was haunted by his dead, by his father and brothers, only time seemed oddly fragmented. He was a man grown, then a young boy, calling out for the mother who'd always been his mainstay, but now locked away in a far-distant dungeon, unable to hear his cries for help. Spiraling down into the dark, he was so tired, so very tired that it seemed easier to stop fighting, to let go. He did not, though, instinctively struggling toward a distant, dim light, one that flickered and wavered but promised to lead him home.\n\nWhen he opened his eyes, he winced, nearly blinded by the sudden brightness. Filtering the light through his lashes, he saw a woman's face, streaked with tears. He wondered why his brain was so muddled. While she looked familiar, it took a heartbeat or two before he recognized his wife. Saying her name, he was shocked by how weak his voice sounded. Holy God, how long had he been ill?\n\n\"You're awake!\" Berengaria's smile was like a sunrise. She slid her fingers across his forehead, then touched his cheek, above his beard. \"Blessed Lady, your fever has broken! Richard, you are going to recover.\"\n\n\"Of course I am....\" He wanted to ask who had doubted it, but his throat was too raw and he was grateful when she understood his need and reached for a cup. The wine was warm and soured by medicinal herbs; Richard thought it tasted delicious. Handing it back, he studied her face. \"Were you here all the time, Berenguela?\" When she nodded, he smiled. \"I thought so. I felt your presence....\"\n\nBerengaria closed her eyes, feeling truly blessed, so happy was she at that moment. \"Richard, we must make a generous offering to the Almighty, for God has been so good to us. Mayhap we could even found a chapel once Acre is yours?\"\n\n\"I doubt that Philippe is willing to cede all of Acre to me, little dove. How is he? I did not imagine it, that he was stricken, too?\"\n\n\"No, he was indeed afflicted with Arnaldia. But his was a much milder case, and he is well on the road to recovery. He\u2014Richard, no!\"\n\nRichard had already discovered that he was not able to get out of bed; his head was spinning. Shaken by his body's betrayal, he let Berengaria settle him back against the pillows. He was drifting toward sleep again when the screen was jerked aside and then Andr\u00e9 and Henri were there, looking down at him and laughing.\n\n\"We thought we heard your voice!\"\n\nBerengaria felt a remorseful pang, starting to explain her own joy had been so intense she'd not thought of anyone else. But the men were not listening to her. They'd pulled up stools beside the bed, wanting to know if Richard was done lolling about and taking his ease, if he was ready to hear what had been happening in the past week. Richard was stunned to learn that he'd lost a week of his life, but he was eager to hear what he'd missed and they were eager to tell him.\n\nTheir sappers had been able to undermine a section of the Accursed Tower and French crews had brought down part of the adjoining wall, although they'd not been able to force their way into the city. The garrison commander had ventured out under a flag of truce to discuss terms, but Philippe had received him so disdainfully that he'd returned to Acre in a rage, vowing to fight to the death. Yesterday Philippe had ordered his men to launch another attack, which had ended in failure like the other French attempts. Conrad was back from Tyre, doubtless because he'd heard both Richard and Philippe were ailing. Some of Philippe's sappers had broken into a countertunnel being dug by the Saracens. Both sides pulled back by mutual consent, no rational man wanting to fight underground like weasels trapped in a burrow, but they did manage to rescue some Christian prisoners who were being forced to help dig the tunnel.\n\nRichard was delighted with that story and burst out laughing. Berengaria felt tears burn behind her eyelids, for she'd not been sure she'd ever hear that sound again. The doctors were there now, too, beaming at their patient as if they and not God had brought Richard back from the brink of death. Horrified to realize that Joanna did not yet know, Berengaria hastily sent a man to fetch her; one of Joanna's ladies, her beloved Dame Beatrix, was grievously ill, too, now, and Joanna had begun dividing her time between Beatrix's sickbed and her brother's. After dispatching the knight to Joanna's tent, Berengaria hurried back to her husband. She saw, though, that Richard had not noticed her absence. He was sitting up in bed, looking gaunt and pale, but his eyes were shining, and he was peppering Henri and Andr\u00e9 with questions about the siege, wanting to know if they thought the Accursed Tower could soon be brought down, if there'd been any messages from Saladin's brother, if the French had suffered many casualties when their assault was repulsed.\n\nBerengaria watched him for a while and then backed away from the bed. Catching the eye of one of the doctors as she moved around the screen, she beckoned him over. \"If the king asks for me,\" she said quietly, \"tell him I have gone to ask the Bishop of Salisbury to say a special Mass tonight in celebration of this miracle.\"\n\nWhen berengaria entered joanna's tent, she was met with so many smiles that she knew Beatrix's crisis must have passed. This was confirmed by her first glimpse of the older woman, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time in almost a week. Joanna looked exhausted but happy, rising to greet her sister-in-law with a quick hug. \"God has indeed been kind to us,\" she murmured, \"sparing Richard and now Beatrix.\"\n\nAs they crossed the camp toward Richard's pavilion, Joanna confided that the best proof of Beatrix's improvement was that she was now fretting about losing her hair and nails. \"I told her she need not worry about hair loss yet, for Henri said it did not occur till weeks after he'd been stricken with Arnaldia. Has Richard been fretting about that, too? He is very vain, you know,\" she said with a fond smile, \"for he well knows how much he has benefited from looking like a king out of some minstrel's tale.\"\n\n\"I do not think he has room in his head for nary a thought but the siege,\" Berengaria said honestly. \"He is remarkably single-minded, and now that he is on the mend, he wants only to take part in the fighting. I am hoping that you'll be able to help me keep him occupied this afternoon.\"\n\n\"That is why I brought this along,\" Joanna said, brandishing a book richly bound in red leather. \"Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes's Yvain, the Knight of the Lion. When Richard starts to get restless, I'll insist upon reading it to him.\" Glancing at Berengaria's serene profile, she sighed softly, for a newlywed wife ought to be able to hold her husband's attention without aid from his sister. They were mismatched, her brother and his Spanish bride, a falcon mated to a dove. But that would not matter as long as she could give him fledglings. Most wives found their joy in their children, not their husbands. She bit her lip, thinking of a small tomb in Monreale Cathedral, and then, shaking off her sadness with a determined effort, she began to tell Berengaria that two of her Sicilian male servants, missing for more than a fortnight, had apparently surfaced in Saladin's camp. \"At least that is what Henri heard. So I suppose their conversion to Christianity was not as sincere as I was led to believe,\" she said ruefully.\n\nBy now they'd reached Richard's tent. Their knights were delighted when the women said their services would not be required for the rest of the afternoon, for the Accursed Tower was said to be close to collapse. As they hurried off, Berengaria and Joanna entered the pavilion, only to halt in surprise, for it was deserted except for several men dozing in the July heat. Since solitude was not an attribute of kingship, they exchanged puzzled looks; why would Richard have been left alone like this? Struck by the same premonition, they hastened around the screen, where they found a rumpled, empty bed.\n\n\"My ladies?\" Spinning around, they saw one of the soldiers, rubbing his eyes sleepily. \"May I be of assistance?\"\n\n\"Where is my lord husband, the king?\"\n\n\"Last night more of the wall adjoining the Accursed Tower was brought down by our sappers, and the king wanted to be there today when it is breached,\" he said, so calmly that they both wanted to shake him. \"His doctors advised against it, but the king insisted and had himself carried out on a silken quilt so he could take command.\"\n\nRichard had his cercleia set up near the city's defensive ditch. The crusaders had labored for weeks to fill it, and the camp was still talking about the heroic sacrifice by the wife of a sergeant. She'd been helping to lug rocks to the ditch when she'd been struck by a Saracen arrow. Dying in her husband's arms, she'd begged him to throw her body into the ditch, so that even in death she could contribute to their holy cause. Today, the objective was to clear away some of the rubble from the collapsed section of wall. This was a highly dangerous task, for it exposed men to the fire of the enemy archers above them, yet there was no shortage of soldiers willing to accept this perilous undertaking. As they zigged and zagged toward the breach, they held shields aloft to deflect the arrows and spears raining down upon them.\n\nRichard's arbalesters were providing as much cover as they could, each one flanked by a second man holding a cocked crossbow. As soon as a man shot, he was handed the second crossbow, and by rotating like this, they were able to keep up a steady fire. Richard was doing the same, and when one of his bolts found its target, a Saracen leaning precariously over the wall to shoot down at the men below him, he gave a triumphant laugh, relieved that his lingering illness had not affected his aim. His men glanced over and grinned, for his presence on the front line had greatly boosted morale; they loved it that he was always ready to risk his life with theirs, that he'd been carried out here on a litter since he was not yet strong enough to walk.\n\nHenri handed him a loaded crossbow. \"This time aim for that tall one in the green turban.\"\n\n\"What... you do not like his taste in clothes?\" Richard asked, giving his nephew a curious look as he reached for the weapon.\n\n\"The hellspawn is wearing Aubrey Clement's armor.\"\n\nRichard's eyes flicked from his nephew's grim face to the man up on the battlements. He'd been told of Aubrey's death three days ago during the French assault. The marshal had been the first to reach the walls, but when other knights sought to follow, their ladder broke, flinging them into the ditch. Trapped alone on the battlements, Aubrey had fought fiercely until overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and his friends could only watch helplessly as he was stabbed multiple times.\n\n\"Are you sure, Henri?\"\n\n\"Very sure. He is even wearing Aubrey's surcote. Those dark splotches are his blood. The swine has been taunting us like this for the past two days, daring us to avenge Aubrey. But the man has the Devil's own luck, for none of our bolts have even scratched him.\"\n\nRichard turned back to the wall and then swore, for the Saracen in the slain marshal's armor was no longer there. \"I see what you mean,\" he said, and gestured toward a nearby flask.\n\nAndr\u00e9 picked it up and flipped it over to Richard. His royal cousin's pallor was so pronounced that he knew Richard ought to be back in bed. But he knew, too, that there was no point in suggesting it. Instead he reached for his own crossbow and resumed shooting up at the walls.\n\nThey were all soaked in sweat by now for the heat had become sweltering as the sun rose higher in the sky. Still, men continued to make that dangerous dash toward the walls, even as others ventured out to drag the wounded back to safety; the dead would have to wait till darkness for their recovery. Just before noon, they were taken by surprise by the arrival upon the scene of Conrad of Montferrat.\n\n\"My liege,\" he said, in casual acknowledgment of Richard's rank. \"I'd heard you were out here, had to see for myself.\" Making himself comfortable next to Richard, he murmured, \"Trying to make Philippe look bad for staying in bed?\"\n\nRichard gave him a sharp look, but Conrad had already turned toward the Accursed Tower, staring in astonishment at the frantic activity around the breach. \"Jesu, look at those crazy fools! In the past, we could not get men to volunteer for death-duty like that. How'd you do it?\" His eyes searched Richard's face, half admiring, half envious. \"Even when we ordered them, they still balked.\"\n\n\"I did not order them. I offered two gold bezants for every rock they bring back from the breach.\"\n\nConrad's jaw dropped and then he gave a shout of laughter. \"Now why did we not think of that? Why waste time appealing to men's faith when bribery works so much better?\"\n\n\"Not bribery. A reward for risking their lives. Do not tell me they do not deserve it, my lord marquis. Not unless you intend to get out there and start clearing away that rubble yourself.\"\n\nConrad's eyes glittered even in that subdued light. But Richard was no longer paying him any mind. Snatching up his crossbow, he aimed and fired in one smooth motion. The bolt struck his target in the chest. The Saracen staggered, blood gushing from his mouth, and all around Richard, men began to yell and cheer, pumping their fists and slapping one another on the back, while Conrad looked on in bafflement.\n\n\"It was a good shot,\" he said dryly, \"I'll grant you that. But surely all this joy is somewhat excessive? Unless that was Saladin himself you just dispatched to the Devil.\"\n\nHis sarcasm did not go over well with Richard's men, who were beginning to bristle. Richard showed white teeth in what was almost a smile. \"You can tell Philippe,\" he said, \"that I just avenged his marshal.\"\n\nThe following day, the French assaulted the city again, taking heavy losses. The Saracen garrison sent a swimmer across the harbor to warn Salah al-D\u012bn that they must surrender if he could not come to their aid. They then proposed to yield Acre in return for their lives. When this offer was turned down, they offered to free one Christian prisoner for every member of the garrison and to return the fragment of the Holy Cross, captured by Salah al-D\u012bn after his victory at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. The Franks, the name used by the Saracens for their foes, insisted upon the return of \"all their lands and the release of all their prisoners.\" This was refused. The crusaders' trebuchets continued to pound away at the walls, and on July 11, Richard's men and the Pisans combined for another attack on the breached wall by the crumbling Accursed Tower. They were eventually beaten back, but they'd come so close to forcing their way into the city that the garrison realized defeat was inevitable.\n\nFriday, July 12, dawned hot and humid. Joanna, Berengaria, and their women passed the hours restlessly, unable to concentrate upon anything but the meeting taking place in the pavilion of the Templars, where Acre's commanders, Sayf al-D\u012bn al-Masht\u016bb and Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn Qar\u0101q\u016bsh, were conferring with Richard, Philippe, Henri, Guy de Lusignan, Conrad of Montferrat, and the other leaders of the crusading army. Berengaria kept picking up her psalter, putting it down again, while Joanna tried to continue Alicia's chess lessons, but her gaze was roaming so often toward the tent entrance that the young girl managed to checkmate her, much to her glee.\n\n\"They will yield, yes?\" Anna asked at last, giving voice to the question uppermost in all their minds. Her grasp of their language had improved in the six weeks since her world had turned upside down, and she continued in charmingly accented French. \"Or they will all die, no?\"\n\n\"Most likely,\" Joanna confirmed, too nervous to put a gloss upon the brutal reality of warfare in their world\u2014that a castle or town taken by storm could expect no mercy. Whether there would be survivors depended upon the whims of the victors or upon the ability of the defeated to raise ransom money. There had been a bloodbath after the Christians had seized Jerusalem in 1099, almost all of the Muslims and Jews in the city put to the sword. But Saladin had spared the Christians of Jerusalem four years ago after Balian d'Ibelin persuaded him to let them buy their lives; Joanna was proud that the money her father had sent to the Holy City over the years had kept thousands of men and women from being sold in Saracen slave markets.\n\nGlancing over at Anna, she amended her answer, saying, \"That is why they will accept our terms. They know their fate will be a bloody one if our men seize the city. By yielding, they can save themselves and those still living in Acre.\"\n\nAnna looked from Joanna to Berengaria, back to Joanna. \"Why you fret, then, if outcome is certain?\" Before either woman could respond, she smiled, dimples deepening in sudden comprehension. \"Ah... I see. You fear for Malik Ric.\" This was how the Saracens referred to Richard, and Anna had begun to use the name, too, much to Richard's amusement. \"He would be healed for another...\" She paused, frowning as she sought the right word. \"Another attack... that is it, no?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is it,\" Joanna confirmed, exchanging silent sympathy with Berengaria. While Richard was regaining strength with each passing day, he was by no means physically up to taking part in a battle, and yet they feared he would want to do just that; he'd been very frustrated at not being able to join his men in yesterday's assault. Although they felt confident that Henri and the Bishop of Salisbury and Richard's friends would not permit him to risk his life so foolishly, they well knew how stubborn he could be, and so both women were praying that today would end the siege.\n\nThey were about to send one of Joanna's household knights back to the Templars' tent to learn how the negotiations were proceeding when they heard it\u2014a sudden roar, as if coming from thousands of throats, even louder than the sound Greek fire made when it streaked toward its target, trailing a flaming tail. Mariam darted toward the entrance and was back in moments, smiling. \"Either they've come to terms or the whole camp has gone stark mad, for men are shouting and cheering and all the whores are hurrying out to help them celebrate!\"\n\nJoanna and Berengaria were on their feet now, embracing joyfully, determined to ignore the fact that this was but a respite, that Acre's fall was only the first in a series of bloody battles on the road leading to the Holy City.\n\nWithin the hour, the noise level suddenly increased, alerting them that Richard must be approaching. He was flanked by Henri and the Earl of Leicester, with friends and lords following jubilantly in his wake. He still looked like what he was, a man recently risen from his sickbed, his cheekbones thrown into prominence by his weight loss, his complexion unnaturally pale for one with such high coloring. But his smile was dazzling and he appeared as happy as either woman had ever seen him.\n\n\"It is done,\" he said huskily. \"Acre is ours.\"\n\nThe Acre garrison agreed to surrender the city and all of their weapons and siege engines, including the seventy galleys of Salah al-D\u012bn's fleet, anchored out in the harbor. They promised on the sultan's behalf to pay two hundred thousand dinars, and to return the Holy Cross. Fifteen hundred Christian prisoners were to be freed, as were one hundred men specifically named. Conrad of Montferrat was to receive ten thousand dinars for his help in negotiating the settlement. The garrison was to be held as hostages until the terms were met, and then they and their families would be freed. When the news reached Salah al-D\u012bn, he was horrified, and after consulting with his council, he determined to send a swimmer back after dark to the beleaguered city, telling the garrison that he could not accept such terms. But he soon learned it was too late, for at noon his men saw the \"banners of unbelief \" raised over the walls of Acre."
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1191",
                "text": "[ Acre, Outremer ]\n\nAcre was divided between Richard and Philippe, as were the garrison hostages. This did not please those crusaders who'd been at the siege since the beginning and had expected to benefit when it finally fell. After they'd complained vociferously, the two kings agreed to give them a share of the spoils, but not all trusted in royal promises and some ill will lingered. Nor was Philippe happy with the division, for Richard had insisted upon taking the half of the city that contained the citadel, wanting to lodge his wife and sister there, and Philippe had to make do with the Templars' house. Remembering how he'd been the one to occupy the royal palace in Messina, this seemed like further proof that his status was being deliberately diminished, and he began to nurse yet another grievance against Richard.\n\nRichard paid no heed to these grumblings of discontent and forged ahead, concerned only with making Acre secure as soon as possible, for once the Saracen garrison was ransomed by Salah al-D\u012bn, he meant to lead his army south. But first the Archbishop of Verona and the other bishops had to reconsecrate the churches, many of which had been used as mosques. Then the streets had to be cleared of the rubble, debris, and garbage that had accumulated during the siege, and habitable houses assigned to crusaders. He'd begun rebuilding the walls at once, but it was nine days before he judged it safe enough to bring Berengaria and Joanna into the city.\n\nAcre had been a notorious seaport prior to its seizure by Salah al-D\u012bn, known for its diverse population, its raucous vitality, and its multitude of opportunities for bad behavior. As soon as they passed through the gate by the ruins of the Accursed Tower, the women could see that the Acre of old was rapidly reviving, the streets thronged, the markets up and running, taverns, cook-shops, and brothels already open for business. It was bustling and bawdy and they were both fascinated and repelled, but with Richard acting as their escort and guide, they were able to relax and enjoy their tour of this exotic, vibrant, sinful city.\n\nThe old boundaries had been restored, the Templars, Hospitallers, and Italian merchants all allotted their own neighborhoods. They barely glanced at the French fleur de lys flying over the Temple to the west, where Philippe was now lodged. But they were intrigued by the Genoese quarter, for they'd never seen a covered street before. It was vaulted, with shaft openings to let in light and air, lined with stalls and stone benches, the air so fragrant with the scents wafting from the soapmakers and perfume shops that they decided they would later return to make purchases, for that simple pleasure had been denied them since they'd sailed from Messina.\n\nThey were accustomed to the odd, flat roofs by now, having seen them in Cyprus. But it was surprising to see no buildings of wood, to see so many houses of stone, a luxury back in Europe, and to see canvas awnings stretched across the narrow streets to shelter people from the hot Syrian sun. They were saddened to discover how the Cathedral of the Holy Cross had suffered during the Saracen occupation, and interested to learn that the Templars and Hospitallers had subterranean stables for their horses. Joanna determined to check out the bathhouses for herself after Richard reported that they had rooms with hot and cold pools, with separate accommodations for men and women. And they were delighted by their first sight of a remarkable creature with a humped back and silky, long eyelashes, astonished when it knelt so that its rider could mount. Richard said these beasts were called \"camels,\" able to go long distances without water. He was more interested in the stories he'd heard of lions in the north, declaring that he'd love to hunt a lion ere they returned home. Joanna and Berengaria exchanged glances at that, the same thought in both their minds, that \"home\" had never seemed so far away.\n\nAfter exploring the Genoese and Venetian quarters, Richard took them back to the royal citadel, situated along the north wall. The women were eager to see it, for they knew this would be their residence for months to come. It was built like many of the houses in Outremer, around a central courtyard, with corner towers and a great hall; while it could not compare to the luxury of her Palermo palaces, Joanna was so pleased to have a roof over her head after weeks in tents that she was not about to complain. They exclaimed over the courtyard, for it was paved in marble and bordered by fruit trees, with benches, a sundial, and a large fountain, where water was flowing from the mouth of a sculpted stone dragon.\n\n\"Wait till you see the great hall,\" Richard said. \"The ceiling is painted to look like a starlit sky.\" But as they started toward the outside stairway, he was approached by one of his men, and after a brief exchange, he turned back to the women, his smile gone. \"The Duke of Austria is here and insisting to speak with me,\" he said, not sounding happy about it. \"Henri will show you the palace and I'll join you as soon as I can.\"\n\nThe women were relieved that the citadel seemed so comfortable. They were impressed, too, by how thoroughly all traces of the former occupants had been erased in such a brief time span, realizing that men must have been laboring day and night to make it ready for them. They admired the painted ceiling in the great hall and its mosaic tile floor, and were delighted by the bedchambers, which were spacious and golden with sunlight, for they had walk-in bay windows that could be opened like doors. One of the chambers had a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and Berengaria and Joanna immediately began to argue over which one should occupy it; much to Henri's amusement, each woman insisted the other ought to have it.\n\nStepping out onto the balcony, Berengaria at once beckoned to Henri. \"Is that the Duke of Austria below with Richard?\"\n\nHenri and Joanna joined her, gazing down at the scene below them in the courtyard. The duke was a compact man in his early thirties, dressed more appropriately for his court in Vienna than the dusty streets of Acre, his tunic of scarlet silk, his cap studded with gemstones, his fingers adorned with gold rings. Both men were keeping their voices low, but it was obvious to their audience that Leopold was very agitated; he was gesturing emphatically, at one point slamming his fist into the palm of his hand, his face so red that he looked sunburned. Richard seemed more impatient than angry, shaking his head and shrugging and then turning away. Leopold's mouth contorted and he lunged forward, grabbing for the other man's arm. The women and Henri winced at that, knowing what was coming. Richard whirled, eyes blazing. Whatever he said was enough to silence Leopold, who was ashen by the time the English king was done berating him. He did not protest this time when Richard stalked off, but the expression on his face was troubling to Berengaria, and as soon as they withdrew from the balcony, she asked Henri why the duke was so wroth with Richard.\n\n\"I have no idea,\" he admitted. \"I've had no problems dealing with him. We dined together upon his arrival at Acre this spring, and he was pleasant company, liking troubadour music as much as I do. He is very prideful and concerned about his honor, but what man isn't?\"\n\nHenri's favorable impression of Leopold only deepened the mystery for the women. They were still inspecting the chamber, admiring the glazed green and yellow oil lamps and ivory chess figures when Richard strode in. He was still flushed with anger, but he made an effort to conceal it, asking Berengaria what she thought of the room. \"I was told the Saracen commander al-Masht\u016bb occupied this chamber. The carpet is his, and that chess set. You can decorate however you want, of course.\"\n\nBerengaria assured him that she was very pleased with the chamber. She was quite curious about his quarrel with Leopold, but she did not want him to think she was prying into matters best left to men.\n\nJoanna had no such compunctions. \"What was that dispute with the Austrian duke all about?\"\n\nRichard grimaced. \"He was enraged because some of my men took his banner down from the city walls.\"\n\nJoanna blinked in surprise. \"I assume you assured him that the offenders would be punished. Was that not enough for him?\"\n\n\"I have no intention of punishing my men. I told them to remove his banner.\"\n\nSeeing that Berengaria and the other women shared Joanna's puzzlement, Henri took it upon himself to explain, knowing Richard was in no mood to do so. \"By flying his banner over Acre, he was claiming a share of the spoils. It is understandable, though, Uncle, that Leopold would be aggrieved about it. He's sensitive to slights, real or imagined. Do you want me to talk to him, see if I can smooth his ruffled feathers?\"\n\n\"No need to bother.\" Richard bent over to stroke Joanna's ever-present Sicilian hounds. \"Let him stew in his own juices. You'll not believe what he dared to say to me. After I pointed out that he was in the wrong, not my men, he accused me of being high-handed and unfair, as when I 'maltreated' Isaac Comnenus! It seems his mother is Isaac's cousin. I told him... well, I'll leave that to your imaginations,\" he said, with a glimmer of his first smile since entering the chamber.\n\nA silence fell, somewhat awkwardly, for both Joanna and Henri felt that Richard ought to have been more diplomatic with the duke; why make enemies needlessly? Berengaria's natural instincts were for conciliation, too, but she was indignant that Leopold would dare to blame Richard for deposing Isaac Comnenus, who still flitted through her dreams on bad nights. Going to her husband's side, she said tartly, \"He ought to be ashamed to admit kinship to such a wicked man!\"\n\nRichard liked her display of loyalty, and when he slid his arm around her waist, he liked the feel of her soft female curves. His body was still surging with the energy unleashed by his confrontation with Leopold, and he drew her closer, his anger forgotten. \"Henri, why don't you show Joanna and Berenguela's duennas the rest of the palace?\"\n\nThere were gasps from his wife's ladies, scandalized that he meant to claim his marital rights in the middle of the afternoon. Berengaria blushed, a bit flustered that he'd made his intention so plain in front of others. But when he leaned over to whisper in her ear, she laughed softly. Joanna and Henri ushered the women out, both grinning.\n\nSeated by richard's side at the high table, Berengaria felt a sense of satisfaction as she looked around the great hall. It hadn't been easy to prepare a dinner like this on just one day's notice, but she and Joanna had managed it. The linen tablecloths were snowy white, the platters and bowls were brightly glazed, and the rare red glassware she'd found among the Saracen commander's possessions shimmered like rubies whenever the sun struck them. The menu was not as elaborate as she would have wished, but their guests were eating with gusto, the wine was flowing freely, and once the dinner was done, they would be serenaded by minstrels and harpists. This was the first time in her two-month marriage that Berengaria had been able to play her proper role as Richard's queen, entertaining his friends, vassals, and political allies, and she was enjoying this long-overdue taste of normalcy.\n\nThe guest list was a distinguished one: the archbishops of Pisa and Verona; the Bishop of Salisbury; the beleaguered King of Jerusalem and his two brothers, Joffroi and Amaury de Lusignan; the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitallers; the Earl of Leicester; Henri of Champagne and Jaufre of Perche; Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny; the Flemings, Jacques d'Avesnes and Baldwin de Bethune; Humphrey de Toron; even the master of the Templars, for although Philippe was now residing at their Temple, the new master, Robert de Sabl\u00e9, was an Angevin baron and one of Richard's most trusted vassals. The women\u2014Joanna, Berengaria, Sophia, Anna, and their ladies-in-waiting\u2014were in the minority and the conversation so far was distinctly male in its tenor.\n\nThey discussed the deadly and mysterious weapon, Greek fire, which was so combustible that it could not be extinguished by water, only vinegar. They took turns guessing the identity of an unknown Christian spy, who'd sent them valuable, secret messages from Acre during the course of the siege. Richard revealed that he was negotiating with the Templars, who were eager to buy Cyprus from him. And they drank toasts to the memories of those who'd given their lives that Acre could be taken\u2014the Count of Flanders, Philippe's marshal, Aubrey Clement, the counts of Blois and Sancerre, Guy de Lusignan's queen, and a nameless woman in a long green cloak who'd shot a bow with astonishing accuracy, killing several Saracens before she'd been overwhelmed and slain. They'd begun to talk about Saracen battle tactics when the convivial dinner was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais.\n\nRichard scowled, for the mere mention of the bishop's name was enough to ignite his temper. Beauvais had earned the undying enmity of the de Lusignans for wedding Conrad to his stolen bride, and he and the duke ran a gauntlet of hostile stares as they were escorted into the hall, followed by Druon de Mello, lagging behind as if he wanted to disassociate himself from their mission. After greeting Richard with very formal courtesy, Hugh apologized for disrupting their dinner and asked if they might speak briefly with him in private, saying that it was a matter of some urgency.\n\nRichard had no intention of accommodating either man, and after a deliberate pause to finish his wine, he said coolly, \"I think not. I am amongst friends here, men whom I trust. I assume the French king has a message for me, no? So let them hear it, too.\"\n\nThe duke and the bishop exchanged guarded glances, while Druon de Mello actually took a few steps backward, like a man getting out of the line of fire. It was becoming obvious that neither Hugh nor Beauvais wanted to be the one to speak first, and Richard suddenly realized what they'd come to tell him. He swung around, his eyes seeking his nephew, and he saw his own suspicions confirmed in Henri's grim expression. No one else knew what was coming, though, and they began to mutter among themselves as the silence dragged out.\n\nHugh outlasted Beauvais, for the bishop had no more patience than Richard did. \"Our king has sent us to tell you that he has fulfilled his vow by taking Acre, and so he intends to return to his own lands straightaway.\"\n\nThere was a moment of eerie, utter silence. Then disbelief gave way to outrage and the hall exploded. Men were on their feet, shouting, cushions trampled underfoot and red stains spreading over the tablecloths from spilled wine cups, amid cries of dismay from some of the women as their peaceful dinner turned into chaos. Richard was on his feet, too, raising his hand for quiet. \"Shall I send your king a map? He seems to have confused Acre with Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"We've delivered the message,\" Beauvais said tersely. \"Make of it what you will.\"\n\n\"There is but one way to take it, and it does your king no credit. He swore a holy oath to free Jerusalem, and now he just... goes home? What do his lords say to that? What do you say? Do you mean to disavow your own oaths, too?\"\n\nBoth men glared at him. \"Indeed not!\" Hugh snapped, at the same time that Beauvais pledged to remain in Outremer until it was a Christian kingdom again. They were so clearly insulted by the very question that their indignation gave Richard an idea.\n\n\"I have to hear this from your king's own lips,\" he declared. \"Is he at the Temple?\"\n\n\"When we left, he was about to sit down to dinner.\" Hugh paused. \"He'll take it amiss if you burst in upon his meal without warning.\" But he did not sound much troubled by that prospect, and Richard was sure now that Philippe had alienated his own men by renouncing his vow.\n\n\"I am willing to risk that,\" he said, very dryly. Glancing around, he saw that there was no need to ask if others wanted to accompany him; most of the guests had risen, too. Reaching down, he squeezed his wife's hand. \"I am sorry, Berenguela, but it cannot wait.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" she said. Settling back upon her cushion, she watched as the hall emptied within moments, even the prelates hastening to catch up with Richard and the de Lusignans. She hadn't lied; she did understand. It was still disappointing to have their first dinner end so abruptly, and she could not help wondering if this would be the pattern for their marriage in years to come, brief moments of domesticity midst the unending demands of war.\n\nJoanna came over and sat down beside her sister-in-law. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. \"Why must women miss all the fun? What I would not have given,\" she confessed, \"to witness their confrontation!\"\n\nConrad leaned toward his friend Balian d'Ibelin, Lord of Nablus, speaking in the Piedmontese dialect that was the native tongue of the marquis and Balian's Italian father to deter eavesdroppers. \"The last time I enjoyed myself so much,\" he murmured, \"a funeral Mass was being said.\"\n\nBalian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wishing that the French king had adopted the Frankish fashion of dining on cushions. \"So you noticed it, too\u2014that cloud of gloom and doom hovering over the Temple. Any idea what is going on?\"\n\nConrad shrugged. \"God knows Philippe is never the most cheerful of men. But I've not seen his nerves as raw as this. When Leopold dropped his wine cup, I swear Philippe jumped like a scalded cat.\" Glancing down the table at the Austrian duke, he said softly, \"There's another one not exactly bubbling over with joy. I heard he'd had a row of some sort with Richard, but when I asked, he well nigh bit my head off.\" Poking at the meat on his trencher with his knife, he sighed. \"And the food is as dismal as the company. Well, if I am already doing penance for my sins, I might as well add some new ones. You want to check out that bordel in the Venetian quarter tonight? I'm told they have a Greek whore as limber as an eel.\"\n\nBalian regarded the other man in bemusement. \"You do remember that your wife is my stepdaughter?\"\n\nConrad was utterly unperturbed by the implied rebuke. \"And I cherish Isabella,\" he said urbanely. \"No man could ask for a better wife. But I'm talking of whores, not wives.\"\n\nBefore Balian could respond, there was a commotion at the end of the table; a nervous servant had dropped a tureen of soup. Philippe's mouth thinned, but he kept his temper under a tight rein, for a boy's clumsiness was a small sin when he was facing such monumental challenges. Absently crumbling a piece of bread into small pellets, he studied his dinner guests. Aside from Conrad of Montferrat, Balian d'Ibelin, and Leopold von Babenberg, they were French lords and bishops, men who'd done homage to him, men he ought to be able to trust. But could he?\n\nHis cousin Robert de Dreux had been monopolizing the conversation, but Philippe permitted it because Robert was being highly critical of the English king, implying that there was something very suspicious about Richard's ongoing communications with their Saracen foes. \"Look at the way they've been exchanging gifts! Since when does a Christian king court the favor of a Saracen infidel?\"\n\nRichard had no friends at that table, but this was too much for Balian to resist, for he had a highly developed sense of mischief. \"I heard that Richard sent Saladin a captured Turkish slave,\" he said in conspiratorial tones. \"But is it true that Saladin sent Richard snow and fruit when he was ailing? Snow and fruit\u2014no wonder you are so mistrustful, my lord count.\"\n\nRobert de Dreux regarded him warily, not sure if he was being mocked or not. Balian seemed to be supporting him, his expression open and earnest. But he was a poulain, the vaguely disparaging term used for those Franks born in Outremer, and that was enough to raise doubts in Robert's mind about Balian's sincerity.\n\nPhilippe set down his wine cup with a thud, sorely tempted to tell his dolt of a cousin that he was being ridiculed. He did not, though, for he would need Robert's support once word broke of his intent to leave Outremer. But would he get it? Robert's brother Beauvais had reacted much more negatively than he'd expected, for the bishop was the most cynical soul he'd ever met. So had Hugh of Burgundy. He was studying the other men at the table, trying to determine which ones were likely to balk, like Beauvais and Hugh, when there was a stir by the door. A moment later, Philippe was bitterly regretting having agreed to cede security to the Templars, for their white-clad knights were making no attempt whatsoever to stop the English king from barging into the hall, as arrogantly as if he thought all of Acre was his.\n\nConrad and Balian stiffened at the sight of the de Lusignans, and Leopold shoved back his chair, regarding the English king with frozen fury. The other guests were bewildered by this intrusion, looking to their king for guidance. Philippe half rose, then sank back in his seat, struggling to get his emotions under control, for he knew he must be icy-calm to deal with this crisis. It would not be easy, though; his hands involuntarily clenched into fists as Richard strode toward the high table. He was expecting an immediate verbal onslaught, but Richard had another strategy in mind.\n\n\"My lord king.\" Richard's greeting was gravely courteous, even deferential, as befitting a vassal to his liege lord, a tone he'd rarely if ever adopted in the past with Philippe. After politely acknowledging Conrad, Balian, and the French barons, but not Leopold, he offered an apology for interrupting their dinner. \"Alas, this could not wait. We needed to speak with you as soon as possible,\" he said, gesturing toward the men who'd followed him into the hall. \"We've come to ask you to reconsider your decision to return to France, for if you leave, our chances of recovering Jerusalem will be grievously damaged.\"\n\nThe last part of his sentence went unheard, drowned out in the ensuing uproar. All eyes fastened upon Philippe, midst exclamations of shock and anger. Conrad rose so quickly that his chair overturned. \"What nonsense is this?\" he snarled at Richard. \"The French king would never abandon us!\" Not all of the French barons were as sure of that as he was, though, unnerved by Philippe's white-lipped silence and the fact that so many highborn lords and prelates had accompanied the English king, backing up his contention by their very presence.\n\n\"I would that were true,\" Richard assured Conrad, managing to sound both sincere and sorrowful. \"But the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais say otherwise. Nothing would give me greater joy than to be told they are mistaken. Are they, my lord king?\" He turned his gaze back to Philippe, his expression hopeful, his eyes gleaming.\n\nPhilippe reached for his wine cup and drank, not for courage, but to help him swallow the bile rising in his throat. \"I have no choice,\" he said, very evenly, determined not to let Richard bait him into losing his temper. \"My health has been dangerously impaired by my recent illness and my doctors tell me that if I do not return to my own realm for treatment, it might well cost my life.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" Richard's eyebrows rose in surprise. \"I was told that your illness was not as serious as my own bout with Arnaldia.\" He left it for their audience to draw the obvious conclusion\u2014that he'd nearly died and all knew it, yet he was not renouncing their holy cause.\n\nPhilippe realized how lame his health excuse would sound. But what else could he offer? He could not very well admit that his concern over securing possession of Artois mattered more than the liberation of Jerusalem or that he'd loathed every moment of every day since his arrival in Outremer and could not abide the prospect of months, even years, in the English king's company. \"My doctors insist that I have no choice but to return to France. Lest you forget, my lord Richard, my heir is a young child, often ailing. If I die in the Holy Land, my realm would be thrown into turmoil.\"\n\nRichard was thoroughly enjoying himself by now. \"Your worries about your heir are understandable,\" he said sympathetically, one king to another. \"I have concerns about mine, too.\" Looking around the hall, he saw that Philippe was utterly isolated; even his own men were staring at him in stunned disbelief. Dropping the pretense of commiseration, then, he went in for the kill, his tone challenging, blade-sharp. \"It is no easy thing to take the cross, nor is it meant to be. It is a burden that all true Christians willingly accept, even if they must make the ultimate sacrifice for Our Lord Christ. You took a holy vow to recover Jerusalem from Saladin, not to assist in Acre's fall and then go home once you lost interest. How will you explain your failure to your subjects? To God?\"\n\nPhilippe's eyes had narrowed to slits, hot color staining his face and throat. \"You are not the one to lecture others about holy oaths!\" he spat, unable to contain himself any longer. \"Time and time again you swore to wed my sister, lying to my face whilst you were conniving behind my back to marry Sancho of Navarre's daughter!\"\n\nFor the moment, all the others were forgotten, and it was as if they were the only two men in the hall, in the world, so intense was the hostility that scorched between them. \"If you want to discuss the reason why I refused to marry your sister, I am quite willing to do so,\" Richard warned. \"But do you truly want to go down that road, Philippe?\"\n\nThe French king did not, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. But memories of the bitter confrontation in Messina had come flooding back, memories of that humiliating defeat at this man's hands. He felt like that now, well aware that Richard had their audience on his side, just as he had in that wretched Sicilian chapel. \"You want me to stay in Outremer?\" he said, his voice thickening, throbbing with fury. \"I will disregard my doctors' advice and do so\u2014provided that you honor the agreement we made in Messina. We swore that we would divide equally all that we won, did we not? Yet you have not done so.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? I even gave you a share of my sister's dower and you had no right whatsoever to that!\"\n\n\"But not Cyprus!\" Philippe was on his feet now, sure that he'd found a way to put Richard in the wrong. \"I am entitled to half of Cyprus by the terms of our Messina pact. Dare you deny it?\"\n\n\"Damned right I do! I took Cyprus only because I was forced to it, because Isaac Comnenus\u2014the Duke of Austria's illustrious kinsman\u2014threatened my sister, my betrothed, and my men. It was never part of our pact, which was to share what we conquered in the Holy Land.\" Richard paused for breath, and then smiled, the way he did on the battlefield when he saw a foe's vulnerability. \"If you want to expand the terms of our agreement, though, so be it. If it will keep you in Outremer, I will give you half of Cyprus.\" He paused again, this time to savor the expression of shock on Philippe's face. \"But that means you must share the lands you inherited from the Count of Flanders. It is only fair\u2014one-half of Cyprus for one-half of Artois.\"\n\n\"Never!\"\n\n\"Now why does that not surprise me?\" Richard jeered. \"You care nothing for our holy quest, care for nothing but profit. You may have the blood of kings in your veins, but you have the soul of a merchant, Philippe Capet, and now all know it.\"\n\n\"And what do you care about, my lord Lionheart? Your 'holy quest' is not for God, it is for your own glory and fame! Nothing matters to you but winning renown for yourself on the battlefield. For that you'd sacrifice anything or anyone, as the men foolish enough to follow you will soon find out.\"\n\n\"Shall we put that to the test?\" Richard spun around, pointing toward the Bishop of Beauvais and the Duke of Burgundy. \"Let's begin with your messengers. It is no secret that there is no love lost between us, and I daresay they also believe that I hunger only for personal glory. But you both told me that you mean to honor your vows. Is that not so?\"\n\nNeither man looked pleased to be singled out like this. They did not hesitate, though, each one confirming that he did indeed intend to remain in Outremer. Although inwardly he was seething, Philippe showed no reaction, for he'd been braced for their defection. Yet what happened next caught him off balance. Richard turned to Philippe's guests, the barons, knights, and bishops who owed fealty to the French king.\n\n\"What about the rest of you? Are you going to follow your king back to Paris? Or will you follow me to Jerusalem?\"\n\nSome glanced toward Philippe, despairing. Some averted their eyes. But when Mathieu de Montmorency shouted out \"Jerusalem,\" the cry burst from other throats, too, sweeping the table and then the hall. One by one, they rose to their feet, as much a public repudiation of Philippe as it was an affirmation of their faith, all orchestrated by the English king. At least that was how Philippe would remember it, till the day he drew his last mortal breath.\n\nBerengaria propped herself up on her elbow, regarding her husband quizzically, for he usually fell asleep soon after their love-making. Tonight, though, he was not only wakeful, but talkative, too, and for more than an hour he'd been giving her a dramatic account of his confrontation with the French king, interspersing the narrative with acerbic comments about Philippe's manifold failings, both as a man and monarch. Berengaria was very pleased that he was willing to discuss the day's astounding developments with her, and greatly shocked by Philippe's decision to abandon the crusade, so she was an ideal audience for Richard's tirade, convinced that he was utterly in the right, even if he had not been completely candid about his intentions in Cyprus.\n\nAfter a while, though, she began to realize that there was more than anger fueling his harangue. Putting her hand on his arm, she could feel the coiled tension in his muscles. \"Richard... I understand why you are wroth with Philippe. But surely it must be a relief, too, to know that you'll not have to put up with his slyness and ill will, especially since the rest of the French are staying on. So why are you not better pleased that you are now in sole command of the Christian forces?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will be glad to be rid of Philippe,\" he admitted. \"Having him for an ally made me feel like a cat with a hammer tied to its tail. The problem, Berenguela, is that he is utterly untrustworthy. He is not returning because he is ailing. He is going back to try to wrest Flanders from Baudouin of Hainaut. And then he will start casting covetous eyes toward my domains, toward the Vexin and Normandy.\"\n\n\"But the lands of a man who's taken the cross are inviolable. Surely the Pope would excommunicate him for so great a sin?\"\n\n\"In a perfect world, yes. In ours, I'm not so sure.\"\n\n\"How could the Holy Father not act, Richard? The Papal See has always given its full protection to men who go on pilgrimage. How shameful it would be if the Church let harm come to their lands or families whilst they are fighting for the Lord Christ in the Holy Land!\"\n\nHe smiled at her vehemence. \"You'll get no argument from me, little dove. I hope the new Pope feels as strongly as you do about the Church's duty to defend those who've taken the cross. All I can do from Acre, though, is send word to my mother and Bishop Longchamp, warning them there'll soon be a French wolf on the prowl.\"\n\nShe looked at him unhappily. It was so unfair that he must worry about Philippe's treachery whilst all of Christendom expected him to be the savior of the Holy City. He seemed to sense her distress, for he reached over and took her hand. But that reassuring gesture brought tears to her eyes. He'd lost his fingernails during his illness, and while he'd acted as if it were a minor matter, the sight of his injured fingers reminded her how very close he'd come to death.\n\nShe did her best now to hide her concern, for even her brief experience as a wife had taught her that men did not want to be fussed over. There were several copper-colored hairs on the pillow and she tried to brush them away before he noticed, remembering what Joanna had said about his vanity. She only succeeded in calling his attention to them. \"That's odd,\" he mused. \"Henri said he did not begin to lose his hair for nigh on two months after his illness. I wonder if I'm starting early.\"\n\nShe was surprised that he sounded so matter-of-fact. \"It does not trouble you, Richard... losing your hair?\"\n\n\"Well, it will if it does not grow back,\" he said with a smile. \"And in all honesty, I'd not have been happy if this happened ere an important event like my coronation or our wedding. I doubt that my crown would have looked quite as impressive if I'd been bald as an egg. But if I have to lose my hair, there is not a better time for it than now. I'm not likely to be looking into any mirrors whilst campaigning.\"\n\nHe laughed then, as if at some private memory. \"Soldiers have many vices, but vanity is not amongst them. How could it be? What man is going to worry about his hair when he might lose his head?\" Too late, he caught her look of alarm, and to divert her thoughts from the dangers he'd be facing, he said quickly, \"It is hard for a woman to understand what campaigning is like, Berenguela. It is a much simpler life we lead. We have to make do without luxuries like this....\" He patted their feather mattress. \"Or this...\" he added, cupping her breast. \"We eat what can be cooked over campfires. We usually have to bathe in cold water, so it does not take long until we're all stinking like polecats. We'll bring along some laundresses, so at least our clothes will get washed occasionally, and they'll do their best to keep us from getting too lice-ridden. But you can be sure I'll not be looking like that splendid peacock who bedazzled Isaac Comnenus and the Cypriots!\"\n\nHe laughed again, but Berengaria was dismayed by the image now taking root in her mind. Was it not enough that men must put their lives at risk? Must they endure so much discomfort, too? \"Richard, that sounds dreadful!\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"it is not. It is a soldier's life, no more, no less. Do you want the truth, little dove? I love it. It is the world I've known since I was fifteen, the only world I've wanted to know.\"\n\nShe sat up, forgetting to tuck the sheet around her, so intent was she upon what he'd just said. \"Why do you love it, Richard?\"\n\n\"The challenge. I love that, being able to test myself, to prove that I'm the best. Not because I am Henry Fitz Empress's son or because I wear a crown. Because I can wield a sword with greater skill than other men. Because I have worked to perfect those skills for nigh on twenty years. Because when I'm astride Fauvel, I feel as if we're one and he does, too. Because I can see things on the field that other men do not. Sometimes it seems as if I know what a man is going to do ere he does himself. And when the fighting is done, I know that I'm the best because I've earned it.\"\n\n\"Are you never afraid?\"\n\nHe didn't answer her at once, considering the question. \"I suppose so, though it is hard to tell fear from excitement. But I've known for a long time that I do not feel the sort of fear that most do, the sort that can cripple a man. Why, I do not know. I just know that I never feel more alive than I do on the battlefield.\"\n\nHe'd surprised himself by his candor, for this was something he'd rarely talked about, even with other soldiers. \"Mind you, it is not just blood and gore,\" he said, striving for a lighter tone. \"It is the companionship, too, the unique bond you forge with men when you fight together, when you know that they'd risk their lives for you and you for them. Jesu, it is so different from the royal court! And since I am being so honest about it, yes, it is for the glory, too. What Philippe cannot understand is that the glory is only part of it.\"\n\nBerengaria did not know if she'd ever understand fully, either. But she was enthralled by this intimate glimpse into his very soul, for it confirmed what she'd begun to believe, that God had chosen him for this sacred purpose, blessing him with the exceptional abilities he'd need to recover Jerusalem from the infidels. \"I would have been ashamed today had I been Philippe's queen,\" she said at last. \"But I am proud to be your wife, Richard, very proud.\"\n\nHe reached out, pulled her down into his arms. \"Joanna says I do not deserve you, and she's probably right. I know I'm not the easiest of men to live with. I can promise you this much, little dove. I'll always try to do right by you.\" He kissed her then, his mouth hot and demanding, and when he rolled on top of her, she wrapped her arms around his back, hoping that the Almighty would smile upon them, that on this special night Richard's seed would take root in her womb. For how fitting that their son should be conceived in Acre, the first of his father's conquests in the Holy Land."
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1191",
                "text": "[ Acre, Outremer ]\n\nConrad deliberately kept his distance, for he was sorely tempted C to lay rough hands upon the other man. \"And that is it? You leave me clinging to the cliff's edge and just walk away?\" Philippe regarded him coldly. \"You have not been turned out to beg your bread by the side of the road, Conrad. A sizable French contingent is remaining in Outremer.\" His jaw clenched at that, for he'd not expected such mass defections. Only his cousins, the Bishop of Chartres and the Count of Nevers, had agreed to return with him to France; the rest were so determined to honor their oaths that they were even willing to fight under Richard's command. \"The war goes on,\" he said tersely, \"so I do not see why you have cause for complaint.\"\n\n\"Do you not? With Richard as my sworn enemy, what chance do I have of gaining the crown now?\"\n\n\"And why is he your 'sworn enemy'? Because you were foolish enough to deny him entry into Tyre. Are you so surprised that you reap what you sow?\"\n\n\"I would never have done that had I thought you were going to creep away like a thief in the night!\"\n\nPhilippe's fury was all the greater because he knew this was what others were thinking; Conrad was just the only one who dared to say it to his face. But he had no intention of letting himself be swayed by their condemnation; the sooner he was out of this hellhole and on his way home, the better. \"You are right about Richard,\" he said, with grim satisfaction. \"He is not a man to forget a wrong done him. So I would suggest that you waste no time seeking him out. If you humbly beg his pardon for having offended him, he may forgive you\u2014or not. In either case, it is no longer my concern.\"\n\nConrad yearned to wrap his hands around the French king's throat and squeeze. He managed to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control as Philippe brushed past him and walked to the door, not once looking back\u2014as if he were already forgotten, of no consequence. After the door closed, he erupted and cleared the table with a wild sweep of his arm, sending goblets, flagon, and tray flying. He could take no pleasure, though, in the damage done, for the costly glassware belonged to the Templars, not Philippe.\n\nThe citadel's great hall was crowded with men. Conrad's face was stony, his body rigid with rage, but he showed no hesitation, striding toward the dais with a firm step, his head high. As he knelt before Richard, a murmur swept the hall, for few had ever expected to see the proud Marquis of Montferrat abase himself in public. Henri watched with a frown, wishing it had not come to this. He knew Richard was taking satisfaction from Conrad's submission, but as badly as he took losing, he was usually a gracious winner, and his demeanor was regal this day, his expression impossible to read. The de Lusignans were not as diplomatic; Guy and his brothers and his nephew Hugh had gathered by the dais, openly exulting in their enemy's humiliation. Henri found their gloating distasteful. He respected Joffroi and Amaury de Lusignan, even if he did not like them, for they were good soldiers and not as lacking in common sense as Guy. He did not fault Guy's courage, but courage alone did not make a man fit to rule, and in his opinion, Guy could not be forgiven for the debacle at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn.\n\n\"I want to talk to you.\" Balian d'Ibelin materialized at his side and jerked his head toward a side door. Following after him, Henri emerged into a courtyard aglow with sunlight, the morning already promising blazing heat. He perched on the edge of the fountain, but Balian was pacing, unable to keep still. Henri had known few men as easygoing as Balian; he could not remember ever seeing his friend truly angry. He was certainly angry now, though, all but giving off sparks, a banked fire suddenly roaring into full blaze.\n\n\"I want you to tell me why,\" he said, and even his usual lazy drawl was gone, his words sharp enough to cut.\n\n\"The de Lusignans are Richard's vassals back in Poitou. He felt obligated to\u2014\"\n\n\"Ballocks! We both know he supported Guy because the French king supported Conrad. Just as we know Philippe backed Conrad because he was sure Richard would back Guy. No wonder it took them so long to reach Outremer, given how many old grievances they were dragging along. My question was for you, Henri. Why did you switch sides? When you arrived last year, you allied yourself with Conrad, not Guy. What changed your mind?\"\n\n\"Richard.\"\n\nBalian studied him. \"The money he gave you?\"\n\nThat brought Henri to his feet; Balian might be a friend but that did not mean he could offer insults with impunity. \"You know me better than that, or at least I thought you did. My honor is not for sale. Richard wants Guy as king, not Conrad, and I want what Richard does. It is as simple as that. Nor am I the only one to have a change of heart. The Knights Hospitaller did, too, and for the same reason. Richard is the man with the best chance of defeating Saladin and recapturing the Holy City. Can you deny it?\"\n\n\"No. He may well retake Jerusalem. But what happens then? He goes home. So do you, Henri. So do all of you, leaving us to hold on to what you've won. Now you tell me this. Who has the best chance of that? Conrad? Or the hero of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn?\"\n\nHenri's defensiveness ebbed away. \"We forget sometimes,\" he conceded, \"that Outremer is more than the Holy Land. For you, it is home. I'll admit Conrad would make a better king than Guy. But I've already tried to persuade Richard of that, tried and failed. What more would you have me do?\"\n\n\"On the morrow, Conrad and Guy are to argue their claims before the two kings and the high court of Outremer. Conrad fears that he will not get a fair hearing and Richard may even seek to take Tyre away from him. Men respect you, Henri. God knows why, but they do,\" Balian added, with a glimmer of his usual humor. \"Conrad needs someone to speak up for him. I am asking you to be that man.\"\n\nHenri started to say that Philippe would surely do so, if only to thwart Richard. Yet who'd listen to him now that he'd besmirched his honor? \"I doubt that they'll heed me,\" he said at last. \"But I will do what I can.\" And Balian had to be content with that, a reluctant promise from a man young enough to have been his son.\n\nGuy had argued that a crowned and anointed king could not be deposed without offending the Almighty, and Conrad had countered that Guy's claim died with Sybilla, and the rightful Queen of Jerusalem was now his wife, Isabella. They'd then withdrawn reluctantly while their fate was decided by the English and French kings and the lords and prelates of Outremer.\n\nIt was now late afternoon and it was obvious to all that they'd reached an impasse, for Richard wanted Guy, and Philippe wanted Conrad, and neither one was willing to compromise. Frustrated and angry, their throats sore from shouting, their tempers just as raw, the men finally agreed to pause in their deliberations, sending out for food and wine. The fruit, bread, and cheese went largely untouched, but the wine was disappearing at an alarming rate. Just what they needed, Henri brooded, for if the debate had been so rancorous whilst they were sober, it might even turn violent once they were in their cups.\n\nBalian had made a passionate speech on Conrad's behalf, but he'd been shouted down by Guy's partisans, as had Renaud, the Lord of Sidon. And when Garnier de Nablus, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller, had spoken up for Guy, Conrad's supporters responded just as rudely. The men had paid the two kings the respect due their rank by hearing their arguments without such heckling, but it was obvious to Henri that neither Richard nor Philippe had changed any minds. And although he'd deliberately not glanced in Balian's direction, he could feel the older man's dark eyes upon him, silently reminding him of his promise.\n\nSetting down his wine cup, he sought out the most respected of the prelates, the Archbishop of Tyre. Joscius was acclaimed for his powers of persuasion, having managed the miracle of getting both Philippe and Richard's father, Henry, to take the cross; Henri wanted to draw upon his eloquence in support of a compromise, assuming he could manage a miracle of his own and turn two balky royal mules into docile beasts of burden. Joscius was one of Conrad's adherents, but he was a realist, too. After getting his assent, Henri squared his shoulders, then crossed the hall and asked for a private word with Richard.\n\nAs soon as they'd settled into a window alcove, Henri said bluntly, \"Uncle, I suspect that you'll eventually prevail, but it is likely to be a Pyrrhic victory. Conrad is not one to slink away with his tail between his legs. Whatever we agree here, he is not going to put aside his claim to the crown\u2014\"\n\n\"What claim?\" Richard said scornfully. \"He abducted Isabella, plain and simple, then forced her to wed him even though he had left a wife behind in Constantinople. But in the eyes of God, she is still wed to Humphrey de Toron. Moreover, the marriage is invalid because it is incestuous as well as adulterous\u2014Conrad's brother was once wed to Isabella's sister Sybilla, and that relationship alone would damn their union under canon law.\"\n\nHenri waited patiently until Richard paused for breath. \"I agree the marriage is dubious at best. But it is a done deed and none of your fuming is going to change that. Have you asked yourself why so many highborn lords and churchmen were willing to swallow such a bitter brew? I know\u2014you'll say some were bribed. Mayhap that is true, but it is also true that they were desperate to pry the crown away from Guy, and who can blame them? Would you want to follow the man who'd led them to the Horns of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn?\"\n\nRichard's silence told Henri that he would not. Before he could shift the strategic ground from a defense of Guy to an attack on Conrad, Henri said quickly, \"Conrad's friends do not believe your concern for Isabella is genuine. I know it is. They forget that you have more reason than any man in this hall to be protective of Isabella, for she and your father had the same grandfather, Count Fulk of Anjou. But it is too late to save your cousin from a marriage she did not want, Uncle. By seeking to punish Conrad after the fact, you'll only be depriving her of her birthright\u2014the crown of Jerusalem.\"\n\nRichard frowned, for he'd never considered it in that light. \"I cannot just abandon Guy,\" he said, \"for whether I like him or not, I am his liege lord and owe him my protection.\"\n\n\"I know. I also know that the de Lusignans are no more likely than Conrad to accept defeat with goodwill, and nothing could be more disastrous for Outremer than a civil war. We have to find a way to accommodate them both.\"\n\nRichard grinned. \"Good luck with that! Even if I agree\u2014and you've got the Devil's own tongue, lad\u2014what about Philippe? Since when has he ever listened to common sense or reason?\"\n\n\"He has his moments,\" Henri said, which evoked a hoot of skeptical laughter from Richard. Then he squared his shoulders again and strode over to beard the other lion in his den.\n\nPhilippe's greeting was decidedly cool. \"If you are bearing a message from Richard, I have no interest in hearing it.\"\n\nHenri ignored the suggestion that he was acting as the English king's lackey. \"The message is mine, Uncle. I told him what I am now telling you\u2014that we need to find a compromise, a way to accommodate the claims of both Conrad and Guy. Richard is willing to consider that. It is my hope that you will, too.\"\n\n\"No,\" Philippe said, and would have turned away had Henri not stood his ground.\n\n\"I ask you to hear me out, Uncle, if not for my sake, for my lady mother, your sister.\"\n\nPhilippe was not moved by this appeal to their shared blood; he'd never liked his sister Marie, who'd supported the Count of Flanders in one of his rebellions. \"It would be a waste of my time and your breath, Henri. I'll never agree to crown Richard's puppet prince. Go back and tell him that.\"\n\n\"As I said, Uncle, I am not doing Richard's bidding in this. I seek only to patch together a peace between Conrad and Guy, for we have no hope of defeating Saladin unless we do. So I am indeed sorry that you remain so adamant\u2014and somewhat surprised, too, that you'd put Conrad's interests ahead of the needs of France.\"\n\nPhilippe's eyes glittered suspiciously. \"And just how am I doing that?\"\n\n\"I should think it would be obvious,\" Henri said innocently. \"Your doctors insist that you return to your own lands straightaway, for they fear it would be the death of you if you do not, no? But you'll be unable to leave Outremer until this is settled. And you know how stubborn Richard is. He'll never agree to crown Conrad, so this dispute may well drag on for weeks, even months.\" He was about to remind Philippe that if he could not sail before the autumn, he'd be forced to remain in the Holy Land until the following spring. He saw, though, that there was no need. His uncle's expression was inscrutable, for like Richard, he could wield his court mask as a shield if the need arose. But Henri had caught it, that brief, betraying flicker of alarm, and he hid a triumphant smile, sure now that Philippe would rather spend a year in Purgatory than another month in Acre.\n\nWhen the rival claimants and their supporters were ushered into the hall, there was a marked difference in their demeanors. Conrad and his men looked tense, the de Lusignans smug. Joanna had seized the opportunity to slip in with them and immediately headed for Henri. Linking her arm in his, she teased, \"I do not see any blood on the floor. Does this mean you actually reached a decision acceptable to all?\"\n\n\"To the contrary,\" he confided. \"We reached one sure to infuriate both sides equally, but that was the best we could do.\"\n\nBefore she could interrogate him further, the Archbishop of Tyre rose from his seat upon the dais and signaled for quiet. \"I must insist that you remain silent until I am done. It is the decision of the kings of the English and the French and the high court that Guy de Lusignan shall remain king for the remainder of his life. Upon his death, the crown will pass to the Lady Isabella and her husband, the Marquis of Montferrat. Royal revenues are to be shared equally between King Guy and the marquis. Because the marquis kept Tyre from falling to Saladin, he is to be given hereditary possession of Tyre, Sidon, and Beirut. In recognition of his prowess during the siege, Joffroi de Lusignan is to have Jaffa and Ascalon once they, like Sidon and Beirut, are reclaimed from the Saracens. Should it be God's Will that King Guy, the marquis, and his wife all die whilst King Richard is still in Outremer, he shall have the right to dispose of the kingdom as he sees fit, by virtue of his blood-kinship to the Lady Isabella.\"\n\nA faint, sardonic smile tugged at the corner of the archbishop's mouth. \"Now,\" he said dryly, \"you may express your admiration at the Solomon-like wisdom of our decision.\"\n\nConrad's first reaction was relief that he'd not been cut out entirely as he'd feared, followed by frustration, for how likely was it that he'd outlive his younger rival? Guy looked pleased and then puzzled. \"But what if I remarry and have children? Surely they'd take precedence over the marquis's questionable claim.\"\n\n\"No,\" the archbishop said, allowing himself a hint of satisfaction, \"they would not.\"\n\nGuy gasped. \"Are you saying I'll have only a life interest in the crown?\"\n\n\"That's more than you deserve,\" Renaud of Sidon said with a sneer, and that was all it took. Both sides began to rail at the unfairness of the terms, exchanging insults and threats with a bitterness that did not bode well for acceptance of the decision. Only Joffroi de Lusignan seemed content with the outcome, watching his brother rave and rant with the detached amusement of a future Count of Jaffa.\n\nRichard finally had to intervene and shout the protests down, with some help from Archbishop Joscius. Philippe paid no heed to the turmoil. Instead he beckoned to Conrad, who obeyed, but took his time in doing so. They conferred for a few moments, and then Philippe rose, getting ready to depart.\n\nBalian at once made his way over to Conrad's side. At his low-voiced query, Conrad leaned closer, saying in the Piedmontese dialect, \"Philippe is giving me his half of Acre and his share of the ransom for the Saracen hostages.\"\n\nBalian was surprised, not having expected such a generous gesture from the French king. \"You think Philippe is feeling a pang or two of guilt?\"\n\nConrad gave a snort of disbelief. \"Since when are you such an innocent? He did it for one reason and one reason only\u2014in hopes that I will make life as difficult as possible for the English king after he's left Outremer.\" He looked past Balian then, watching Richard with the single-minded intensity of an archer tracking his target. \"And by God, I will do my best to oblige him.\"\n\nPhilippe's knights had reached him by now. But as they turned to go, Richard called out in a loud, commanding tone, \"My lord king!\" When Philippe halted, he said, \"We are not yet done. I assume you remain set upon leaving Acre.\" He got an almost imperceptible nod in grudging response, and then signaled to Andr\u00e9, who came forward with an ivory reliquary. \"I must ask then that you swear upon these holy relics that you will honor the protection the Church gives men who've taken the cross, and wage no war against my lands whilst I am doing God's Work in Outremer.\"\n\nPhilippe's eyes, always pale, took on the colorless glaze of winter ice. \"Indeed I will not! You insult me by even asking for such an oath.\"\n\n\"I am sorry you take it that way. But I must insist.\" Richard's face was impassive, but his body language conveyed another message altogether, his legs spread apart, his arms folded across his chest, his very posture a challenge in itself. \"If you refuse, you raise some very ugly suspicions. Why would you balk if you do not have evil intent?\"\n\n\"I 'balk' because I find it offensive that you think there is a need for such an oath!\" Glancing around the hall, Philippe saw that once again Richard had managed to get public opinion on his side. Well, so be it! He swung around, intending to stalk out, only to find his path blocked by his own lords.\n\n\"You'll shame us all if you refuse,\" Hugh of Burgundy hissed. \"For the love of Christ, take the damned oath!\"\n\n\"The duke is right, my liege,\" Jaufre said, with an impressive display of quiet courage. \"I am sure you'd never invade the English king's domains whilst he is fighting for the Holy City. But it will look bad if you refuse.\"\n\n\"Take the oath, Uncle,\" Henri urged, as softly as Jaufre but with less deference. \"Not for Richard's sake, for your own. Why plant needless seeds of doubt in other men's minds?\"\n\nPhilippe looked from one man to another, saw the same grim resolve and defiant disapproval on all their faces. \"Very well,\" he snapped. \"I'll take his bloody oath. And you, my lord duke, and you, my lord count, may stand surety for my good faith.\" Neither Hugh nor Henri appeared happy about that, and he took a small measure of satisfaction in their discomfort. But not enough to compensate for yet one more humiliation inflicted upon him by the accursed English king.\n\nStriding over to Andr\u00e9, he made no effort to hide his fury as he placed his hand upon the holy reliquary and swore a solemn oath that he'd do no harm to Richard's lands as long as the other monarch remained in Outremer. After announcing that the Duke of Burgundy and Count of Champagne would act as guarantors, he departed immediately thereafter, as did Conrad and his partisans, followed by the French lords, further evidence of the deep divisions still rending the crusading army.\n\nHenri had remained behind. Seeing that Richard had been cornered by the aggrieved Guy de Lusignan, he came to his uncle's rescue with a fabricated message from Guy's brother Amaury. Richard had been listening to Guy's complaints with rapidly dwindling patience, and sighed with relief as the latter reluctantly went off in search of his kinsman. \"The more time I spend with Guy,\" he muttered, \"the more I marvel that my cousin Sybilla stayed loyal to him until the day she died. Neither sister had the best of luck with their husbands, did they?\"\n\nAccepting a silver-gilt goblet from a wine bearer, he sprawled in the nearest chair. \"Jesu, but I am bone-weary of dealing with all these petty squabbles and rivalries. I have no doubts that Conrad and Guy would rather fight each other than the Saracens.\" Slanting a fond, playful look toward his nephew, he said, \"You need not worry, lad, about standing surety for Philippe. I'll not blame you when he breaks his oath. Hellfire, I'll not even blame Hugh of Burgundy, and blaming Hugh is one of my minor pleasures in life!\"\n\n\"I assumed you'd not hold me to account,\" Henri said with a smile, \"but I am sure Hugh will be relieved to hear that.\" Taking a swallow from his own wine cup, he regarded the other man pensively. \"Are you so sure, Uncle, that Philippe will wage war upon you? He did swear upon holy relics, albeit after some coaxing.\"\n\n\"He vowed, too, to take the cross and what oath could be more sacred than that?\" Richard drained his goblet with a grimace that had nothing to do with the taste of the wine. \"If he could not keep faith with God, why would he keep faith with me?\"\n\nThe last day of July was not as oppressively hot, for the Arsuf winds had sprung up, blowing from the south. As Henri and Balian and their men rode through the thronged streets, Henri marveled at the resiliency of this coastal city, already rebounding from nearly two years under siege; signs of economic activity were everywhere, and carpenters and masons had more work than they could handle. As he passed the thriving markets, the crowded bathhouses and brothels, Henri thought it was easy to forget that a bloody war was waiting to resume beyond Acre's newly repaired walls. The same illusory sense of peace prevailed at the citadel. As they entered the great hall, they encountered a scene of domestic tranquility, which Henri had rarely, if ever, associated with his uncle.\n\nRichard and a number of lords were gathered around a table covered with maps, but the presence of women kept the hall from resembling a battle council. Anna was holding court in a window-seat, surrounded by young knights eager to improve her French, under her stepmother's vigilant eye. Mariam was playing chess with Morgan, but the looks they were exchanging indicated another game was under way. Joanna and Berengaria were chatting with the Bishop of Salisbury, while the palace cooks hovered nearby, waiting to discuss the week's menu. There were even dogs underfoot, Joanna's Sicilian cirnecos mingling warily with Jacques d'Avesnes's huge Flemish hounds. All that was lacking were a few wailing babes or shrieking children, Henri thought, feeling an unexpected yearning for the cool greenwoods and lush vineyards of his native Champagne.\n\nTo Balian, there was no incongruity between this serene family tableau and the coming brutal campaign, for the poulains knew no other way of life; they never forgot the precarious nature of their hold upon this ancient land as sacred to Islam as it was to Christianity. He was more concerned with the unwelcoming expression on the English king's face. \"I knew this was a mistake, Henri. I ought not to have let you talk me into it.\"\n\n\"It was not a mistake,\" Henri insisted. \"Give me a moment and I'll prove it.\" Taking Balian over to introduce him to Joanna and Berengaria, he left his friend exchanging pleasantries with the women and hastened toward Richard, who was moving to intercept him, scowling. Before his uncle could challenge Balian's presence, he took the offensive. \"Yes, Balian d'Ibelin is Conrad's adviser and friend. In fact, they are kin by marriage since Isabella is Balian's stepdaughter. But I invited him here because you said you wanted to learn more of Saracen battle tactics and he is the ideal teacher. Not only did he grow to manhood fighting the Turks and often distinguished himself in combat, he was at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn.\"\n\n\"So were Guy and Humphrey de Toron.\"\n\n\"Despite his training as a knight, Humphrey is no soldier. As for Guy, I suppose his experience could be useful\u2014note whatever he advises and then do the opposite.\"\n\nRichard could not dispute Henri's barbed assessment of Guy and Humphrey. Nor were there that many \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn veterans available for questioning, for hundreds had been slain on the field and the best fighters, the Templars and Hospitallers, had all died after the battle, executed by Saladin. \"Well, as long as he's here...\" he said ungraciously and Henri went off, grinning, to fetch Balian.\n\nSeveral hours later, Richard was glad he'd heeded his nephew. He was still mistrustful of Balian, who was too close to Conrad for his comfort and who was wed to a woman who could teach Cleopatra about conniving, Maria Comnena, a daughter of the Greek Royal House and former Queen of Jerusalem. But he'd forgotten about Balian's dangerous Greek wife once the poulain began to talk about war in Outremer.\n\nBalian confirmed all that Richard had been told about Turkish battle tactics. \"The Saracens do not fight like the Franks,\" he said, speaking to Richard as one soldier to another while ignoring the hostile glares he was getting from Guy. \"They know they cannot withstand a charge by armed knights, and so they do their best to avoid it. They remain at a distance, for they have mastered a skill unknown to Franks\u2014they can shoot a bow from horseback, on the run. When our knights attack, they retreat and regroup. When Franks are on the march, they swarm us like black flies, bite, and flit out of reach, again and again until our knights are so maddened they can endure it no longer. They break formation and charge, which is what the Saracens have been waiting for. Indeed, they are most dangerous when they appear to be in retreat, for too often our men lose all caution in the excitement of the chase, and by the time they realize they have been lured into an ambush, it is too late.\"\n\n\"I've been told they ride as if they've been born in the saddle.\"\n\n\"You've been told true, my lord king. They are fine horsemen and the horses they breed are as good as any to be found in Christendom. Their steeds are as agile as cats, as swift as greyhounds, and because their armor is lighter than ours, they can outrun us with infuriating ease.\"\n\nRichard nodded, remembering how Isaac Comnenus had outdistanced them again and again, invincible as long as he was mounted on Fauvel. \"If they are not as well armored as our knights, then we'd have the advantage in hand-to-hand combat. So the key to victory would be to hold back until we are sure we can fully engage them.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" Balian agreed. \"But few commanders can exert that sort of control over their men. Even such disciplined warriors as the Templars have been known to break ranks under constant attack by mocking foes who hover just out of range, such tempting targets that they can no longer resist hitting back.\"\n\n\"Tell us more about their armor,\" Richard directed, and Balian did, thinking that at least this arrogant English king was willing to learn about his foes; all too often, newcomers to Outremer assumed that, just as theirs was the one true religion, so, too, were they inherently superior to infidel Turks on the battlefield.\n\nThey stopped to eat when Garnier de Nablus arrived, and then began to study a map of the route Richard intended to take once they rode out of Acre, along the coast south toward Jaffa. Jacques d'Avesnes had been in Outremer long enough to have heard a number of legends and folklore, and when Baldwin de Bethune asked about a river marked on the map, Jacques was only too happy to share one of the more lurid stories. It was called \"Crocodile River,\" he declared, in memory of two knights attacked and eaten by crocodiles when they'd been foolhardy enough to go swimming. The joke was on Jacques, though, for what he'd assumed to be a myth turned out to be true; Balian and Guy confirmed the origin of the name and that there were indeed such creatures lurking in that river. None of Richard's men had ever seen a crocodile, and after hearing a description of these fearsome beasts, they were quite content to keep it that way. Only Richard was intrigued, wondering how one could be killed, and his friends exchanged glances, hoping they'd not be asked to accompany him on his crocodile hunt.\n\nThey moved on to a discussion of the man who stood between them and the recovery of Jerusalem. Balian knew the sultan far better than anyone Richard had met until now, and he pelted the poulain lord with questions. Was it true Saladin was a Kurd? That he had more than a dozen sons? That Saladin was not really his name? Balian was quite willing to satisfy his curiosity, for he was always pleased when European Franks showed themselves open to learning about his homeland. Saladin was indeed a Kurd, not a Turk or Arab, he confirmed, and Kurdish was his native tongue, although he was also fluent in Arabic. He might well have that many sons, for Muslims had multiple wives and harims as well. And Saladin was a misnomer, referring to one of his laqabs, or titles, Salah al-D\u012bn, which translated as \"Righteousness of the Faith.\" In the same way, the Franks called his brother \"Saphadin,\" a contraction of one of his titles. Saif al-D\u012bn or \"The Sword of Religion.\" But the Saracens knew him as al-Malik al-'A-dil. \"Their isms or given names, what we'd call their 'Christian names,'\" he said with a grin, \"are Yusef and Ahmad. So the greatest of all Muslim rulers bears the biblical name of Joseph!\"\n\nRichard and his friends were astonished that Saladin shared the name of a revered Christian saint. But when Balian began to explain that Muslims did not consider Christians to be outright pagans, calling them and Jews \"People of the Book,\" Guy could keep quiet no longer. He'd been fuming in silence, deeply offended by Balian's presence in their midst, and now he gave an exclamation of mock surprise, marveling that Balian seemed so knowledgeable about such an accursed religion. \"Your good friend Renaud of Sidon speaks Arabic well enough to read that blasphemous book of theirs and men have long suspected him of secretly converting to their vile faith. I wonder now if you, too, were tempted to apostasy during your many visits to Saladin's court.\"\n\nThe other men tensed, for such an insult could well have led to killing back in their homelands. Balian merely smiled. \"How kind of you to worry about the state of my soul, my lord Guy. No, I have not embraced Islam. And whilst I have indeed often visited the sultan's court, it was always as an emissary, as when I was seeking to save Jerusalem after your defeat at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. I must admit that Saladin has never failed to show me great hospitality, as he does to all his foes. He told me that when you were brought to his tent after the battle, he offered you a cool drink and felt the need to reassure you that you would not be harmed, saying that 'Kings do not kill other kings' since you were so obviously distraught and in fear of your life.\"\n\nThat was a memory still haunting Guy's sleep. He jumped to his feet, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. But Richard had anticipated that, for Guy's was an easy face to read, and he clamped his hand down on the other man's wrist before he could unsheathe his blade. \"I would take it greatly amiss if you were to shed blood in front of my wife and sister,\" he said, sounding like a host rebuking a guest for a lapse of manners; his fingers, though, were digging into Guy's flesh with enough force to leave bruises.\n\nBalian was on his feet now, too. \"I think it is time I departed, my lord,\" he was saying calmly, when a knight burst into the hall, calling out for the king.\n\nRecognizing one of the Pr\u00e9aux brothers, Richard gestured for him to approach. \"What have you come to tell me, Guilhem?\"\n\nGuilhem knelt, struggling to catch his breath. \"My liege, the French king is gone! He and the marquis sailed for Tyre within the hour.\"\n\nGood riddance, Richard thought, but he contented himself with saying only that the French king's departure was hardly a surprise. \"I did not know he'd planned to leave today, but I suppose he decided to take advantage of the Arsuf winds.\"\n\n\"Sire, you do not understand,\" Guilhem burst out, his the unhappiness of a man forced to bring his king very unwelcome tidings. \"He took with him the most important of his Saracen hostages!\"\n\n\"He did what?\" Richard drew an audible breath, then whirled to face Balian. \"Did you know about this treachery?\" Balian swore he had not and Richard grudgingly gave him the benefit of the doubt. If the man had known about this latest double-dealing by Philippe and Conrad, he'd hardly have come willingly to the citadel, after all. By now others were clustering around them, all talking at once, but the men parted to allow Richard's queen to pass through.\n\n\"My lord husband, what is wrong?\"\n\n\"Philippe has stolen some of the hostages.\" Seeing, then, that she did not understand the significance of the French king's action, he added, \"I have to be able to turn over all of the hostages to Saladin upon payment of the ransom. I cannot very well do that if they are thirty miles up the coast at Tyre.\"\n\nBerengaria was loath to believe that a Christian king would deliberately sabotage their pact with Saladin, even one as untrustworthy as Philippe. \"Why would he do that, Richard?\" she asked softly. Few people had ever awakened his protective instincts, but in the face of such innocence, he found himself wanting to shield her from the wickedness of the world and he made an effort to master his fury, saying that it was doubtless a misunderstanding of some sort.\n\nIt was obvious to Berengaria that this was far more serious than a mere \"misunderstanding,\" but she realized that Richard was trying to spare her worry and so she acted as though she believed him. By now Joanna had joined them, and as soon as she was alone with her sister-in-law, she said quietly, \"This was done with malice and evil intent, was it not?\"\n\nJoanna nodded grimly. \"Philippe's parting gift to Richard\u2014a well-placed dagger in the back.\"\n\nPhilippe stayed in tyre only two days and then sailed for home, leaving the hostages in Conrad's custody. Midst all the turmoil over the French king's repudiation of his crusader's vows, few noticed when the Duke of Austria also sailed for Tyre. Unlike Philippe, Leopold had been a fervent crusader; this was his second visit to the Holy Land. But now he turned his back upon Outremer and returned to his own lands, bearing a very bitter grievance."
            },
            {
                "title": "AUGUST 1191",
                "text": "[ The Citadel, Acre ]\n\nRichard ran his hand lightly over the stallion's withers and back, smiling when Fauvel snorted. \"You want to run, I know. Mayhap later,\" he promised, reaching for a curry comb. The horse's coat shone even in the subdued lighting of the stable, shot through with chestnut highlights. It was an outrage to think of Isaac Comnenus astride this magnificent animal. \"Of course it could have been worse,\" he assured the destrier, \"for at least Isaac could ride. What if you'd belonged to the French king? Not that he'd have ever had the ballocks to mount you.\"\n\n\"Malik Ric?\"\n\nHe swung around, startled, for he'd not heard those soft footsteps in the straw. He liked Anna, admiring the girl's spirit, and he gave her a smile over his shoulder as he began to comb out Fauvel's mane. She overturned an empty water bucket, perching on it as if it were a throne. \"Why not let a groom do that?\"\n\n\"When I was not much younger than you, lass, I asked a knight named William Marshal that very question, and he told me a man ought to know how to take care of what was his. I suppose it stuck with me.\" After a comfortable silence, he confided, \"Also, it helps to get him familiar with my scent, and takes my mind off my troubles.\"\n\n\"What troubles?\"\n\n\"The missing hostages, for one. I sent the Bishop of Salisbury and the Count of Dreux to Tyre to bring them back to Acre, but they've not returned yet. Negotiations with Saladin, for another. He has been harder to pin down than a river eel,\" he added darkly, for the delay in satisfying the terms of the surrender was sowing more and more suspicions in his mind. Setting the comb aside, he looked around for his hoof pick. Finding it on a nearby bench, he turned back toward Fauvel, only to halt in horror, for Anna was no longer sitting at a safe distance; she was in the stall now with the stallion, a battlefield destrier bred for his fiery temperament.\n\n\"Anna, do not make any sudden moves. Slowly back out of the stall.\"\n\nShe looked astonished, and then amused. \"No danger! Fauvel... he knows me,\" she insisted, and held out her hand. The horse's nostrils quivered and then he plucked the lump of crystallized sugar from her palm, as delicately as a pet dog accepting a treat from a doting mistress.\n\nRichard exhaled a deep breath, for he of all men knew the damage a destrier could inflict upon human flesh and bones. \"Do not push your luck, lass,\" he warned, torn between anger and relief. \"Stallions are as unpredictable as women. I'd rather not have to tell my wife and sister that you were trampled into the dust because of my carelessness.\"\n\nThe expression on her face indicated she was clearly humoring him. But after giving Fauvel one last pat, she slipped out of the stall. Taking her place, Richard saw that she'd untied the stallion's halter and he resecured it, swearing under his breath. It was only when she giggled that he realized she'd understood his cursing. \"Your French seems to have improved dramatically since we left Cyprus, Anna.\"\n\nShe smiled impishly. \"I learn French long ago, when my brother and I are hostages for my papa in Antioch. But after we are set free, he wants us to speak only Greek, so I forget a lot.... It comes back now I hear it all the time.\"\n\nRichard busied himself inspecting Fauvel's legs. When the stallion raised his hoof upon command, he pried manure from the frog with his pick, looking for any cracks or signs of injury. Joanna had told him that Anna occasionally talked about her mother, who'd died when she was six, and her brother, who'd not long survived their arrival on Cyprus, but she never spoke of her father. Richard had no desire whatsoever to discuss Isaac with her. Yet the image of her sneaking into the stables to give treats to her father's stallion was undeniably a poignant one. He supposed he could let her visit Isaac at Margat Castle if it meant so much to her. It would be safe enough to sail up the coast now that Saladin's fleet had been captured at Acre. \"Do you miss your father, Anna?\" he asked at last, hoping this was not a kindness he'd regret.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe finality of that answer took him by surprise. He made no comment and, after some moments, she said, \"My papa... he is good to me. But he is not good to my mama, to Sophia, to others. His anger... it scare me sometimes....\"\n\nRichard could well imagine it did. What was it Sophia had said at Kyrenia... that Anna had not had \"an easy life\"? His silence was a sympathetic one, but she misread it. \"Malik Ric... you think I am not a... a dutiful daughter?\"\n\nThe incongruity of this conversation was beginning to amuse him. \"I'd be the last man in Christendom to lecture you about filial duty, Anna. Ask Joanna sometime about my father and me. As far back as I can remember, we were like flint and tinder.\"\n\nPleased that he was not disapproving, she eagerly obeyed when he asked her to hand him a sponge, and watched in fascination as he cleaned around Fauvel's ears and muzzle, for she could not imagine Isaac ever grooming his own horse. \"May I ask you, Malik Ric? They say you lead your men south. Why not toward Jerusalem?\"\n\n\"It is too dangerous to head inland from Acre, lass, and too long, more than one hundred fifty miles through the hills of Ephraim. If we march along the coast toward Jaffa, my fleet can sail with us, carrying all the provisions we'll need. Best of all, Saladin cannot be sure what target I am aiming for, Ascalon or Jerusalem.\"\n\nWhen one of his knights entered the stables soon afterward, he found Richard kneeling in the dirt outside Fauvel's stall, drawing a map for Anna with his dagger as he explained that Ascalon controlled the road to Egypt. The man didn't even blink, though, for Richard's men were used to his free and easy ways. \"The Duke of Burgundy has arrived, my liege, says he needs to see you straightaway.\"\n\nGrimacing, Richard got to his feet and started toward the door. When Anna didn't move, he stopped and beckoned. \"I'm not about to leave you alone with Fauvel, lass. You might get it into your head to take him for a ride.\" She widened her eyes innocently, and he smiled. But he made sure she followed after him.\n\nThe duke of Burgundy was looking without favor at one of Joanna's cirnecos. When a servant brought in wine and fruit, he grabbed a goblet, draining it in several swallows. Richard leaned back in his seat, watching the older man with speculative eyes. He'd known Hugh for years, but this was the first time he'd ever seen the duke fidgeting like this, obviously ill at ease.\n\nPutting his cup down, Hugh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. \"Will we be ready to head south as soon as Saladin honors the surrender terms?\"\n\n\"Yes. The ships are loaded already.\"\n\n\"We'll have trouble dragging the men out of the bawdy houses and taverns,\" Hugh prophesied gloomily. \"Half of our men have not drawn a sober breath in weeks, and the other half would be drunken sots, too, if they were not so busy whoring the night away.\"\n\nRichard was not happy, either, with the drunkenness and debauchery that had ensnared his army after the fall of Acre. He'd never worried about the morals of his men, leaving that to the priests to sort out. But this was no ordinary war and it was unseemly for soldiers of Christ to be sinning so blatantly, for surely such brazen behavior was displeasing to the Almighty. Moreover, it would be no easy task to get their minds focused upon the hard campaign ahead, not after weeks of carousing and self-indulgence. Perversely, though, he refused to admit that he shared Hugh's concern, instead saying flippantly, \"Soldiers whoring and drinking? Who'd ever have expected that?\"\n\nHugh scowled, first at Richard and then at the hound sniffing his leg. \"Do you think it was wise to accede to Saladin's demand, agreeing to let him pay the money due in three installments? He might well take that as a sign of weakness.\"\n\nRichard set his own cup down with a thud. \"If he does,\" he said coldly, \"he'll soon learn how badly he's misread me. If we'd insisted that all two hundred thousand dinars be paid when the True Cross and the Christian prisoners are handed over to us, we would have to release the garrison to Saladin then and there. And how am I to do that when so many of them are still in Tyre? By agreeing to this compromise, I gained us the time we need to pry them away from that whoreson Montferrat, and you well know this, Hugh. You raised no objections at the time. So why are you blathering on about it now? Why are you here? Whatever you've come to say, for Christ's sake, spit it out, man!\"\n\nHugh half rose, then sank back in the chair. \"I need money to pay my men. Can I get a loan from you to do that? I'll be able to repay it with our share of the two hundred thousand dinars.\"\n\n\"You're saying Philippe sailed off without leaving you the funds to provide for your army?\" Richard shook his head in disgust. \"Why should that surprise me? But I'd not count upon getting much of that ransom if I were you. Philippe gave his half of Acre and the hostages to Conrad, remember?\"\n\nHugh jumped to his feet. \"Are you saying you will not lend me the money?\" Richard did not like it much, but he had no choice under the circumstances. \"Will five thousand silver marks be enough?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Looking everywhere but at Richard's face, Hugh mumbled a \"Thank you\" that sounded as if it were torn from his throat.\n\n\"My lord king?\" Richard and Hugh had been so intent upon each other that they'd not heard the soft knock upon the door. \"The Bishop of Salisbury has just returned from Tyre. Will you see him now?\"\n\n\"Send him in at once. That is the best news I've heard in weeks.\"\n\nBut Richard's pleasure did not survive his first glimpse of Hubert Walter's face. \"I am deeply sorry, my liege,\" the bishop said somberly, \"but we failed. The French king had already sailed, and Conrad was determined to thwart us at every turn. He said he will not return to Acre because he does not trust you. Far worse, he refused to turn the hostages over to us. He said he would agree only if he would get half of the True Cross when we recovered it.\"\n\nFor a rare moment, Richard and Hugh were in total accord, both men infuriated by Conrad's effrontery. \"And how are we supposed to recover the True Cross without his accursed hostages?\" Richard raged. \"But if that is how he wants it, so be it. I will go to Tyre myself, see if he is quite so brave face-to-face.\"\n\n\"My lord, I would advise against that,\" the bishop said hastily. \"Saladin would be only too happy to see us fighting amongst ourselves. The French king led us into this labyrinth, so let the French lead us out. I think the Duke of Burgundy ought to be the one to go to Tyre and confront Conrad. You are the commander of the French forces now,\" he said, turning his steady gaze upon Hugh. \"Are you going to allow the marquis to put the war at risk?\"\n\nHugh's jaw jutted out. \"I'll go,\" he said, and then looked toward Richard, in grudging acknowledgment of the English king's authority now that Philippe had left Outremer.\n\n\"Very well. See if you can talk some sense into him. But if he still balks, give him this message from me,\" Richard said, spacing his words out like gravestones. \"Tell him that if I have to come to Tyre to collect the hostages, he'll regret it till the end of his earthly days.\"\n\nAugust 11 was the day when Salah al-D\u012bn was to turn over the True Cross, the 1,600 Christian prisoners, and the first installment of the two hundred thousand dinars. Joanna and Berengaria had ambivalent feelings about this momentous occasion. They rejoiced, of course, in the return of the Cross, in infidel hands since the Battle of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn, and they were glad that so many men would regain their freedom. But the day's events would also bring them one step closer to the resumption of the war, and the women were dreading what was to come\u2014being left isolated at Acre, not knowing from one day to the next if Richard still lived.\n\nThere was to be a celebratory feast after the exchange had been made, and they'd borrowed Henri's cook to handle the elaborate menu. But as the hours passed without word, both women began to feel uneasy, sensing that something had gone wrong. Their premonitions were soon confirmed. Richard returned to the citadel in a fury, the men with him just as angry. He was in no mood for a meal or for explanations, saying tersely that Saladin had refused to honor the agreed-upon terms before disappearing into the solar for what was obviously a council of war. Berengaria and Joanna hastily looked around the hall for someone who could tell them what had happened and would also be willing to discuss military matters with women. They finally decided upon Humphrey de Toron, and he soon found himself out in the courtyard as the sun blazed its farewell arc toward the western horizon.\n\nBerengaria let him escort her to a marble bench, but Joanna couldn't wait. \"Richard said you were to interpret for the Saracen envoys, Lord Humphrey, so you must have been in the midst of it all. Was Saladin there? What went amiss?\"\n\n\"We knew Saladin would not attend, but we'd expected his brother, al-'A-dil, to speak for him. He did not come either, though, which was a pity, for we might have been able to reason with him. As it was, the message Saladin sent was an uncompromising one. He sought to impose new conditions ere he'd fulfill his part of the bargain. He wanted us to free the Acre garrison now instead of waiting until the final two payments were made. King Richard refused.\"\n\n\"What else could he do? The Duke of Burgundy has not returned from Tyre with the hostages yet. Do you think Saladin knew this?\"\n\n\"I am sure he did, Lady Joanna. Both sides have more spies than a dog has fleas. He offered to provide more hostages if the garrison were freed now, but wanted hostages from us if we insisted upon holding on to the garrison, saying he needed proof that we would indeed free them once all the ransom was paid. Your brother refused this, too. He reminded the sultan that Acre had surrendered to the Christian forces and the loser does not get to dictate terms to the winner. When he demanded that Saladin honor the pact as agreed upon, the Saracens went off to consult with their lord. He sent word back that he was not willing to turn over the Cross, the prisoners, or the money unless we either freed the garrison now or handed over hostages of our own. After that, the meeting ended in acrimony and mutual accusations of bad faith.\"\n\n\"But we already have Saracen hostages\u2014the Acre garrison,\" Berengaria pointed out. \"It does not make sense to release them and then replace them with other hostages. I do not see how that benefits Saladin. Do you, Joanna?\"\n\n\"No, I do not.\" Joanna had begun to pace. \"But a delay would be very much to his benefit. The longer he can keep Richard and our army at Acre, trying to resolve these issues, the more time he has to refortify the coastal cities and castles. Richard thinks that is his real objective. You know the man, Lord Humphrey. Do you agree?\"\n\nAs she looked intently into his face, Joanna was struck anew by how very handsome this man was; his dark eyes were wide-set, his skin smooth and clean-shaven, his full mouth shaped for smiles and songs. But he would not make a good husband for a queen; his beauty could not compensate for the lack of steel in his spine. He was a poulain, though, born and bred in the harsh splendor of the Holy Land, and she thought that made his opinion worth hearing.\n\nHumphrey seemed to be weighing his words, like a man striving to be fair. \"Yes, it is indeed in the sultan's interest to delay as long as possible. He knows how desperately we want the True Cross, and he may well think that we will let him drag the negotiations out because there is so much at stake for us.\"\n\nJoanna's eyes searched his. \"Yet you still say he is a man of honor?\"\n\n\"I do, my lady,\" he said firmly, but then he gave her a charming, rueful smile.\n\n\"But it has been my experience that honor is often the first casualty in war. Saladin deserves our respect, is a finer man in some ways than many of my Christian brethren. He is still our enemy, though, and he is pledged to what they call the 'lesser jihad,' war against the infidel. I've always found it interesting that their holy men preach that Muslims who fight in the jihad will be granted admission to Paradise, just as the Holy Father promises that those who take the cross will be absolved of their sins.\"\n\nThey both were staring at him. \"Surely you are not equating Christianity with beliefs offensive to God?\" Berengaria said, with unwonted sharpness in her voice.\n\n\"No, of course not, Madame.\" Humphrey was accustomed to having to offer such reassurances, for his was a world in which intellectual curiosity was not viewed as a virtue, not when both Christians and Muslims were convinced that theirs was the only true faith. \"I am simply trying to understand Saracen thinking. We are sure we are doing God's bidding, yet Saladin is sure of that, too. He is not by nature a cruel or heartless man. But he will do what he thinks necessary to expel us from the Holy Land.\"\n\n\"Just as my brother will do what he must to recover Jerusalem,\" Joanna said proudly. \"And he will prevail, for God truly is on our side.\"\n\nThe women withdrew soon afterward, leaving Humphrey alone in the courtyard. He wished he could share their certainty. But he did not think Joanna and Berengaria understood how cleverly the sultan was boxing the Christians in. How could the English king give up an opportunity to recover the True Cross? Saladin could have found no better bait than the holiest relic in Christendom. Yet they could not remain in Acre much longer without jeopardizing the entire campaign. Moreover, if the Saracen garrison were not ransomed, what was to be done with them? He sat down on the rim of the fountain, watching as the sky began to redden. He would normally have taken pleasure in such a splendid sunset, for he had an artist's eye as well as a poet's soul. But tonight he could think only of the day's troubling impasse and the danger it posed to his homeland.\n\nThe next day, the Duke of Burgundy returned from Tyre with the rest of the Saracen hostages, Conrad having grudgingly yielded to Hugh's angry denunciations and Richard's ominous threats. Two days later, Richard set up camp outside the city walls. Messages continued to go back and forth between the two sides, but their mutual mistrust prevented them from reaching an accommodation, and the stalemate dragged on.\n\nTuesday, August 20, dawned with brilliant blue skies and sweltering summer heat. The men gathered in Richard's pavilion were already sweating despite the early hour. The waiting had begun to wear upon their nerves, and there were several testy exchanges before Richard took command of the council, demanding silence so he could speak.\n\n\"We can wait no longer,\" he said, pitching his voice so all could hear. \"Saladin is playing us for fools. He will continue to delay and equivocate and do all in his power to put off a reckoning, because every day we remain at Acre is a day we've lost and he's won. He is using this stolen time to strengthen Jaffa and Arsuf and Caesarea, and could be expecting reinforcements from Egypt for all we know. In two months the rainy season begins, and I've been told campaigning is well nigh impossible then because the roads turn into quagmires. So if we do not move soon, we risk being anchored at Acre until the spring. You know what a setback like that would do to our army. If we let Saladin outwit us like this, they'll say all those deaths in the past two years had been in vain. They'll be loath to trust us again, and who could blame them?\" He did not bother to elaborate, sure that his audience already knew what a detrimental effect a winter at Acre would have upon camp morale. How many would have any stomach for fighting after months of gambling, quarreling, whoring, and drinking?\n\nHe paused then, waiting for a response. No one disputed him, though, not even the French lords, who'd usually argue with him over the most insignificant trifles. None wanted to lose this God-given opportunity to regain the Holy Cross and free so many Christian prisoners. Nor were they happy to forfeit so much money, for Richard's generosity was almost as legendary as his bravado and they'd been sure the ransom would be shared, enabling them to pay their men and cover their expenses. This was no small consideration, for many a crusader had bankrupted himself by taking the cross. But they were soldiers, too, and like Richard, they could see that remaining at Acre was not an option. Nothing mattered more than the success of the crusade, not even the sacred fragment of the Holy Cross or those unhappy men languishing in Damascus dungeons.\n\nRichard let his gaze move challengingly from Hugh to the Bishop of Beauvais. Beauvais looked as if he were biting his tongue, wanting to protest from sheer force of habit. Hugh's shoulders were slumped, his chin tucked into his chest, his slouching body proclaiming his bitter disappointment over the loss of the ransom. Feeling Richard's eyes upon him, Hugh glanced up and said sarcastically, \"Are you asking our opinions? That is a first. Naturally you'd choose the one time when only a half-wit could disagree with you. The fact is that we have no choice, and every man in this tent knows it.\"\n\nThe Germans had either died in the siege or gone home with Duke Leopold. There were numerous Flemings still with the army, though, and Jacques d'Avesnes spoke for them now, agreeing that they could not afford to wait any longer. Guy de Lusignan, his brothers, the Grand Masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, a Hungarian count, and several bishops had their say then, echoing what had already been said, and Richard thought that this was likely the first and last time that they'd all be in such unanimity. He'd not really expected arguments, but was relieved, nonetheless, to be spared the usual rivalries and prideful posturing.\n\nIt was Henri who asked the obvious question. \"What do we do, then, with the Acre garrison?\"\n\n\"What can we do?\" Richard said grimly. \"There are only four choices, none of them good ones. We cannot spare enough men to guard nearly three thousand prisoners, and I am not about to leave them in the same city with my wife and sister unless I could be sure they had no chance of breaking free. Nor can we take them with us on our march south. We do not even have the food to feed several thousand extra mouths, for Saladin has deliberately devastated the countryside to keep us from living off the land. We cannot just turn them loose, not without risking a riot from our own men. Many of them were not happy with the surrender, feeling they'd earned the right to storm the city and take vengeance for the deaths of their friends and fellow soldiers. If we free so many Saracens to fight again without getting so much as a denier, they'll be outraged and, once again, who could blame them? That leaves us but one choice as I see it\u2014we execute them.\"\n\nNone could fault his logic, but not all of them were comfortable with the decision, for the Saracens had fought bravely and surrendered in the belief that their lives would be spared. Henri was the only one to express these regrets aloud, though. \"A pity, for they showed great courage during the siege. Had they not been infidels, I'd have been proud to fight alongside any of them.\"\n\nSome of the other men nodded in agreement, but Guy de Lusignan, the Templars, and the Hospitallers were enraged. Several of them began speaking at once, drowning one another out, until Garnier de Nablus prevailed by sheer lung power. Glaring at Henri, he said wrathfully, \"Courage, you say? I'll tell you about courage, about the two hundred and thirty-four Templars and Hospitallers who were butchered by Saladin two days after the battle at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. Not only did he put these brave Christian knights to death, he set their accursed holy men and Sufis to do it, men who'd never even wielded a sword before. Save your pity for them, my lord count, not for pagans whose hands are wet with the blood of our brethren!\"\n\nThe vehemence of the Hospitaller Grand Master's attack took Henri by surprise, but he didn't back down. \"I mourn those good men, too, my lord Garnier. But courage is worthy of admiration, and I think the Saracens who held Acre for two years deserve to have their bravery acknowledged, especially if they are facing death and eternal damnation.\"\n\n\"I agree with my nephew,\" Richard interjected before any of the other Templar and Hospitaller knights could chime in. \"They are indeed brave men. But they are also our enemies and their lives were forfeit as soon as Saladin refused to honor the terms of the surrender.\" He glanced then toward Hugh. \"Half of these men were claimed by your king, my lord duke. Do you agree that they must be put to death?\"\n\nHugh nodded. \"I do not see that we have any other choice. But what of the commanders and the emirs taken when the city fell? Surely we are not going to kill them, too? Some of them might well be rich enough to pay their own ransoms.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Richard said. \"We will keep those men at Acre, for they can be used, too, to barter for some of our prisoners at a later date.\"\n\nThere was one man present who'd been shocked by the decision to slay the garrison. Humphrey de Toron did not approve of killing men who'd surrendered in good faith, even if it was their own sultan's actions that doomed them. He'd long known he was not suited for warfare, even before he'd taken part in the disaster at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. It was not that he did not understand the reasons for reaching this decision. But he knew he could never have summoned the ruthlessness to put so many men to death in cold blood.\n\n\"We are in agreement, then?\" Richard glanced around the tent. \"Does anyone have something else to say? If there is another way, speak up now.\"\n\nHumphrey kept his eyes averted, shamed by his silence even as he told himself none would have heeded him. No one else spoke, either, agreeing it was a military necessity. Some were glad, though, that they did not have to be the ones to make the decision, and were glad, too, that Richard was willing to take that final responsibility and do what must be done. Scriptures might hold that \"Blessed are the merciful,\" but mercy could be a dangerous indulgence in a war against the enemies of God.\n\nSoon after midday, richard led his troops out onto the open plain southeast of Acre. Saladin's advance guard had been watching from the hill at Tell al-'Ayy\u0101\u1e0d iyya, but they now retreated a safer distance to Tell Kays\u0101n, disturbed and puzzled by this sudden maneuver. Once Richard's knights had lined up in battle formation facing their Saracen foes, the city gates were swung open and the hostages were marched out, bound to one another by ropes. The sight of the garrison caused confusion and alarm in the Saracen ranks, and riders were dispatched to Saladin's camp at Saffaram, for they did not know what the Franks meant to do.\n\nNeither did the captive men of the Acre garrison. That was painfully obvious to Morgan, for he was close enough to see their faces as they were herded out onto the plain. Their emotions ran the gamut from rage to fear to hope, with some bracing for the worst and others believing that a deal had finally been struck for their release. No matter how many times Morgan reminded himself that these were infidels, his sworn enemies, he could not suppress a surge of pity as they passed by; most Welshmen had an instinctive sympathy for the underdog, being such underdogs themselves. Thankful that the killing would be done by the men-at-arms, he rode over to where Richard, Hugh of Burgundy, and Guy de Lusignan had reined in. \"My liege,\" he said when his cousin glanced his way, \"are you sure the Saracens will attack?\"\n\nRichard looked from the prisoners to the men watching from the heights of Tell Kays\u0101n. \"We would if it were Christians being killed,\" he said, \"and they will, too. But it will be too late.\"\n\nMorgan marveled that he sounded so dispassionate, so matter-of-fact about the deaths of so many men, but he remembered then that Richard had shown no pity to routiers captured when his brothers Hal and Geoffrey had led an army into Poitou. No one mourned the deaths of mercenaries who sold their swords to the highest bidder. Many had been scandalized, though, when he'd also executed some of Geoffrey's Breton knights. Richard had been indifferent to the criticism and protests, for when he fought, he fought to win. Morgan looked back at the Saracen prisoners, wishing that Saladin had been better informed about the mettle of the man he was now facing.\n\nMorgan tensed then, for Richard had drawn his sword from its scabbard, holding it aloft so that the sun silvered its blade. It was a dramatic scene\u2014the mounted knights with couched lances, the garrison encircled now by shouting and cursing men-at-arms, eager to begin, for there'd been no trouble finding volunteers for this task\u2014and Morgan realized it had been deliberately staged out in the open like this, sending a message to Saladin that his bluff had been called, but not in the way he'd expected. When Richard's sword swept downward, a trumpet blared, and then their soldiers rushed forward, weapons raised. Within moments, the plain resembled a killing field: blood soaking the ground, bodies sprawled in the sun, screams of pain mingling with despairing pleas to Allah. Mariam had taught Morgan a few Arabic phrases, so he knew the Saracens were dying with the name of their God on their lips, and he was surprised by the sadness he now felt, sorry these doomed men would be denied salvation and the redeeming love of the Holy Saviour.\n\nTurning in the saddle, he saw that Richard was paying no heed to the slaughter going on behind him, keeping his eyes upon the distant figures of his Saracen foes. They were reacting as expected, with horror, shock, and rage, screaming threats none could hear, brandishing swords and bows, their stallions rearing up as they caught the scent of blood. \"Here they come,\" Richard said suddenly, and Morgan wheeled his horse around to see the Saracen advance guard racing toward them in a desperate rescue mission that would be, as Richard had predicted, too late.\n\nAgain and again Saladin's outnumbered men tried to break through the ranks of armor-clad knights. Again and again they were repulsed. The battle raged throughout the afternoon as more Saracens arrived, dispatched from Saladin's camp at Saffaram once he'd learned what was happening. Men died on both sides, and as usual, Richard was in the very thick of the fight. Morgan and his other household knights did their best to stay at his side, often horrified to find him surrounded by the enemy. He always cut his way free, dealing death with each thrust of his sword, now bloody up to the hilt. At last the Saracens abandoned their futile attempts to save men already dead. By then the sun was low in the sky and the plain was strewn with bodies. Richard's men took their own dead and wounded back to Acre, leaving behind the human cost of the miscalculation and mistrust between enemies, twenty-six hundred men bound in ropes and drenched in their own blood.\n\nRichard and his knights stopped at the city's public baths to wash off the blood and soak their aching bodies in hot water before continuing on to the citadel. Richard was in no hurry to reach the palace, for he did not know what sort of reception he'd get from Berengaria. He thought Joanna would understand why the killings were necessary, as he was sure their mother would have understood. But he knew many women were skittish about bloodshed, and his sheltered wife was more tenderhearted than most. In the aftermath of battle, his blood was usually still racing, for the intoxication of danger was often more potent than the strongest of wines. Tonight, though, he felt only exhaustion and a dulled, dispirited anger that it should have come to this. He was in no mood to justify his actions, and by the time he strode into the great hall, he was already on the defensive.\n\nNothing went as he'd expected, though. Berengaria was not even there, having gone to attend Vespers at Holy Cross Cathedral. Joanna had not accompanied her sister-in-law, but she seemed oddly subdued, a reticent, silent stranger instead of the supportive sister he'd hoped to find. One of her ladies-in-waiting, the Sicilian Saracen whose name he could never recall, fled the hall as soon as he entered, casting him a burning glance over her shoulder. And the newly elected Bishop of Acre, whom he'd invited to stay at the palace, offered to absolve him of his sins, which he took as an implied criticism of the day's executions. Instead of having a meal in the great hall, he headed for his bedchamber, his squires in tow.\n\nOnce Jehan and Saer had removed his hauberk, he finally felt able to draw an unconstricted breath. He was too tired to wonder why the weight of his armor, practically a second skin, should have seemed so heavy tonight. He was usually too impatient to wait while they disarmed him, but now he let them do all the work, remaining immobile as they took off the padded gambeson he'd worn under his hauberk; his legs were already bare for he'd not replaced his mail chausses at the baths. Handing his scabbard and sword to the boys, he was giving them unnecessary instructions about cleaning the blood from the blade when the door burst open and his wife rushed in. Flushed and out of breath, she started to apologize for not having been there when he arrived, but stopped when she realized that he was not really listening to her.\n\nHis squires read his moods better than Berengaria, and departed in such haste that they forgot to take his hauberk for cleaning. Finding a towel, Richard sat on the bed and began to rub his thinning hair, still damp from the baths. She hovered beside him uncertainly, at last asking if he was hungry. She was stunned when he lashed out without warning, saying he was surprised she did not want him to fast as penance for his many sins.\n\n\"Why would I want that?\"\n\n\"Why do you think?\" he snapped, discovering that there was a relief in finding a target for his unfocused rage. \"I know you think what I did today was monstrous. At least have the courage to admit it!\"\n\n\"Are you a soothsayer now, able to read minds?\" she snapped back, and he looked up in surprise, for he'd never seen her lose her temper before. \"I do not know why you are seeking to quarrel with me, Richard, but it is manifestly unfair to blame me for something I neither thought nor said!\"\n\n\"So what are you saying, then?\" he said skeptically. \"That you are proud of me for this day's work?\"\n\n\"No, I can take no pride or pleasure in what you call 'this day's work.' Any more than you can. But it would never occur to me to find fault with you over it, for why would I presume to contradict you about a military matter? You know war as I do not, Richard. If you say this had to be done, that is enough for me.\"\n\n\"It did have to be done. Nor do I regret it, for I could see no other way.\"\n\n\"Then you have no reason for regret,\" she said quietly, and he reached out, catching her wrist and drawing her toward him. Taking that gesture as the closest he'd come to an apology, she sat beside him on the bed. He was clad only in his shirt and braies, and as he pulled the shirt over his head, she caught her breath at the sight of the darkening contusions on his ribs and thighs. In battle, he acted as if he were immortal, but here was proof that his body was as vulnerable as any other man's to a sword thrust or crossbow bolt. Noticing how heavy-lidded his eyes looked, she got to her feet.\n\n\"I have some ointment in one of my coffers. I am going to put it on your bruises and then I'll have food sent up.\" Not waiting for his response, she hastened across the chamber to look for the salve. By the time she found it, he'd lain back on the bed and the slow rise and fall of his chest told her he slept. Sitting beside him, she began to apply the ointment with gentle fingers.\n\nSlipping out a side door into the courtyard, Joanna headed toward a bench under a flowering orange tree. Even in the shade, the heat was searing, but she'd become accustomed to hot weather during her years in Sicily. She wanted time alone to sort out the confused welter of feelings unleashed by the massacre of the Acre garrison, and she assumed few others would be willing to venture outside when the noonday sun was at its zenith.\n\nShe needed to figure out why she was disturbed by the deaths. They were soldiers, after all, enemies of the True Faith. She'd heard Richard and his men talking about the dangers of delaying their march south, and so she understood why he'd done it. Why, then, was she so uncomfortable with it? It would have helped if she could have discussed her feelings openly, but that was not possible. Mariam would have been her usual confidante. Mariam was too distraught, though, to be objective. Joanna knew that they'd only end up quarreling, for she'd feel compelled to defend Richard from Mariam's outrage. The practical Beatrix saw it in starkly simple terms\u2014the garrison's lives were forfeit because Saladin failed to ransom them, so what more was there to say? And Berengaria's loyalties as a devoted wife and devout Christian were so actively engaged that she was unwilling to discuss the deaths at all.\n\nJoanna's expectations of solitude proved to be illusory. No sooner had she settled herself on the bench than Jacques d'Avesnes arrived to see Richard. Detouring across the courtyard, he asked her to look after his Flemish hounds while he was away with the army. Then Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux came out to offer her a cup of iced fruit juice and syrup, shyly expressing his concern that she risked sunstroke in such heat. Morgan was the next to appear. Looking pleased to find her alone, he hastened over to ask how Mariam was faring.\n\n\"She is... unwell,\" Joanna said carefully, for Mariam's position could become precarious if she seemed too sympathetic to the Saracens.\n\nMorgan understood what she was really saying. \"Do you think she will see me, Madame? As a Welshman, I also hear the whispers of the blood.\"\n\nJoanna nodded. \"Go to her, Cousin Morgan. It will do her good to unburden her heart to one whom she can trust.\"\n\nAs Morgan went to find Mariam, Joanna heard footsteps and turned to see Henri approaching with Balian d'Ibelin. \"Aunt Joanna, you'll be fried to a crisp out here,\" Henri chided, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She greeted him warmly, Balian coolly, and expressed concern when she saw Henri was limping. He assured her it was a minor matter, confessing sheepishly that a horse had stepped on his foot after the battle. \"And the worst of it is that it was my own horse!\" Joanna laughed dutifully while Henri and Balian bantered about his injury, relieved when they continued on toward the great hall. Alone at last, she leaned back, closing her eyes.\n\nShe had little time for reflection, though. Soon afterward, a shadow fell across her face and she looked up to see Balian standing there. \"Are you leaving already?\" she asked, summoning up a few shreds of courtesy even though she had no desire to entertain a man so closely allied to Conrad of Montferrat.\n\n\"It did not take long to relay my message to the English king\u2014that I am returning to Tyre.\"\n\nJoanna stiffened, regarding him with sudden suspicion. \"You are not going south with the army? Why?\"\n\n\"Because I am not welcome here, Madame,\" he said forthrightly. \"I've grown weary of fending off the de Lusignans' insults and malice. And your lord brother made his own feelings clear by not inviting me to that council yesterday. I doubt that I could have changed their minds, but I would have liked the opportunity to try.\"\n\n\"You do not approve of the killing of the garrison?\"\n\nShe bristled, so obviously ready to charge into battle on her brother's behalf that he fought back a smile. \"I think it was a mistake, my lady.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she asked warily. \"My brother felt that it was necessary and I trust his judgment, am sure he was right.\"\n\n\"Yes... but you are still not happy about it, are you?\"\n\nHer mouth dropped open. How could this man, a stranger, know what she'd confided to no one? \"Why do you say that?\" she demanded. \"You do not know me, after all!\"\n\n\"I know you came to womanhood in Sicily.\"\n\nJoanna stared at him. \"Why does that matter?\"\n\n\"It means you grew up with Saracens. You got to know them as people, not just as infidels or enemies. You are not like so many who come here after taking the cross, horrified to find that we have adopted some Saracen customs, that we cooperate with them at times. From what I've heard of Sicily, it is more like Outremer than France or England. So your background practically makes you an honorary poulaine, my lady,\" he said with a smile.\n\n\"I'd never thought of it in that light,\" she admitted. \"We had palace servants who were supposedly Christian, though all knew their hearts and souls were still Muslim. My husband looked the other way, saying a good man was a good man, whatever his faith. But few at Acre could understand such a view; they'd have seen his tolerance as the rankest heresy.\"\n\n\"May I?\" he asked, gesturing toward the bench. She nodded, for he was very tall and she was getting a crick in her neck, having to look up at him. Sitting down beside her, he said, \"We've often encountered this problem with men arriving from the western kingdoms, as eager to kill infidels as they were to visit the holy sites. They took as gospel the words of St Bernard of Clairvaux, who preached that Christians should glory in the death of a pagan, for it glorifies Christ himself. When they discovered that we sometimes lived in peace with Saracens, that friendships were not unknown, that one of our kings consulted physicians in Damascus for his ailing son, they were convinced that we were false Christians, even apostates.\"\n\n\"What you said about St Bernard... Richard does not believe that,\" she insisted and was pleased when he did not dispute her.\n\n\"I know, and I confess I was surprised. I'd heard he was the first Christian prince to take the cross, so I'd assumed he was afire with holy zeal. I'd not expected him to be so interested in the Saracens, so genuinely curious. No, I do not doubt that his decision yesterday was a military one. I still regret it.\"\n\n\"What else could Richard have done?\" she asked, but without her earlier hostility; she truly wanted to know what he thought.\n\n\"He could not stay much longer at Acre; I agree with that. And he was justified to act when Saladin did not pay the ransom. But I think he ought to have sold the men as slaves instead of putting them to death.\"\n\nJoanna was startled. \"That would not have occurred to Richard, for slavery is no longer known in western kingdoms. I remember being shocked by the slave markets in Palermo, for I'd never encountered anything like that before.\"\n\n\"But it is known in the east. The Saracens sell captives into slavery all the time, and that is what they expected Richard to do if it came to that. I am not saying they'd have been happy about it. They'd have understood, though.\"\n\nJoanna felt a fleeting regret, wondering if things might have been different had Balian taken part in yesterday's council. The sun had shifted and they were losing the shade, but she was not ready to go, for this poulain lord was a very interesting man, not at all what she'd expected. What a pity he was so closely allied to Conrad of Montferrat, for he'd have made a much more valuable ally for Richard than those infernal de Lusignans. At least now she understood why she'd been so uncomfortable about the killings of the garrison. Without even realizing it, she'd been seeing these Saracen soldiers as men, too, men who'd surrendered in good faith, men with mothers, wives, children.\n\n\"I heard some of Richard's knights saying that Saladin deliberately sacrificed the garrison, that the two hundred thousand dinars were worth more to him than the lives of those soldiers, who were not men of rank, after all. Do you believe that?\"\n\n\"Only Saladin could answer that with certainty, my lady. But based upon my experience with him, I'd say no. Yes, he probably needed the money more than the men to continue the war, and may have had trouble raising so much in such a short time, too. I do not think, though, that he expected your brother to do what he did. You must remember that he does not know Richard yet, is accustomed to facing foes like that dolt de Lusignan. So it is only natural that he'd test this unknown English king, and I daresay he got more than he'd bargained for.\"\n\nRising then, he kissed her hand. \"It has been a pleasure, my lady Joanna. God keep you safe.\"\n\nHe'd taken only a few steps before she rose, too. \"My lord, wait!\" As he turned back toward her, she said, \"I have one last question for you. I gather your objections to the killing of the garrison are political, not personal, no?\"\n\nHe looked surprised and then faintly amused. \"That is so, Madame. They were brave men, yes. But in my years on God's Earth, I've seen many brave men die, some of them by my sword. Blood does not trouble me. What does is the future of our kingdom. Your brother will be going home eventually. For me, this is home, and so it matters more to me if the wells are poisoned.\"\n\n\"Is that what you think Richard did\u2014poisoned the wells?\"\n\n\"Only time will tell. I fear that in the long run, the killing of the Acre garrison will be one more grudge borne against the Christians. It is over ninety years since Jerusalem was taken and the Muslims and Jews in the city massacred, yet to hear Saracens speak of it, you'd think it happened yesterday. But in the short run, it might well work to your brother's benefit. After yesterday, how many Saracen garrisons will be willing to hold firm when they hear Malik Ric is marching on their castles or towns?\" He suspected this had occurred to Richard, too, but kept that suspicion to himself. \"If you truly want to aid Outremer, my lady, persuade your brother that Guy de Lusignan could not be trusted to govern a bawdy house or bordel.\" And having coaxed an answering smile from the English king's sister, he left her alone in the sun-drenched courtyard, marveling that she'd found a kindred spirit in one of Richard's enemies.\n\nFrom the chronicle of Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn, discussing the slaughter of the Acre garrison : \"Various motives have been assigned for this massacre. According to some, the prisoners were killed to avenge the deaths of those slain previously by the Muslims. Others say that the King of England, having made up his mind to try and take Ascalon, did not think it prudent to leave so many prisoners behind in Acre. God knows what his reason really was.\"\n\nFrom a letter written by King Richard to the Abbot of Clairvaux: \"However, the time having expired, and the stipulation which he had agreed to being utterly disregarded, we put to death about two thousand six hundred of the Saracens whom we held in our hands, as we were bound to do, retaining a few of the more noble ones, in return for whom we trusted to recover the Holy Cross and certain of the Christian captives.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "AUGUST 1191",
                "text": "[ Acre, Outremer ]\n\nRichard had set up camp outside the city walls and for two R days he'd labored to round up reluctant crusaders, men loath to leave the sinful comforts of Acre. Now on this fourth Thursday in August, the army was finally moving out and the women had gathered on the flat roof of the royal citadel so they could watch. It was a stirring sight\u2014the sun slanting off mail hauberks and shields, pennons and Richard's great dragon banner billowing with each gust of the southerly Arsuf winds, dust already rising in clouds as the dry summer soil was dislodged by thousands of marching feet and plodding hooves. All the roofs near the palace were crowded with spectators, too, and people cheered and waved as the columns of cavalry, infantrymen, and supply carts slowly disappeared into the distance.\n\nSome of the rooftop onlookers were soldiers, and Sophia scowled, heaping a few Greek curses upon the heads of these men who'd chosen whores and wine over their vows to liberate the Holy City. Did they suffer no conscience pangs, knowing what their friends and comrades would be facing? Almost eighty miles lay between Acre and Richard's objective\u2014the port city of Jaffa\u2014eighty miles, eight rivers, and the army of the Sultan of Egypt, Salah al-D\u012bn. A few feet away, Bertrand de Verdun, the new governor of Acre, was doing his best to assuage Berengaria and Anna's fears, and Sophia edged closer to hear.\n\nBerengaria was shading her eyes against the sun, straining to keep the rear guard in view, for Richard was among their ranks. \"I am not as ignorant of war as I once was,\" she said, objecting with quiet dignity to Bertrand's attempts to downplay the dangers. \"I've heard my lord husband's men talking, Sir Bertrand, so I know an army is at its most vulnerable when it is on the march in enemy territory.\"\n\n\"That is true, Madame. But King Richard has gone to great lengths to minimize the risks for his men. They will be marching along the coast, so their right flank will be protected by the sea. That is where they will place the baggage carts and wagons. The knights will ride next to them, their left flank shielded by the men-at-arms, who will keep the Saracens at a distance with their crossbow fire. And the king has designated several rendezvous points, where the fleet will be awaiting them to replenish supplies. This is truly a blessing, for it means each man must carry only enough food and firewood for ten days. Moreover, smaller ships will be keeping pace with the army offshore, ready to evacuate the wounded or send messages back to the fleet. Not only is this the largest army ever mustered in the Holy Land, it is the best equipped for victory, led by the greatest battle commander in Christendom.\"\n\nRichard's queen and Anna murmured their assent to that, but Sophia noticed that Joanna was standing apart from the other women, her expression guarded, and she sidled over. \"Bertrand's reassurances seem to be ringing hollow for you,\" she said, keeping her voice low. \"Is he lying to us?\"\n\n\"No,\" Joanna said softly, \"Richard has indeed done all he could to minimize the risks for 'his men.' But when it comes to his own safety, he can be quite mad at times. You did not hear about the raid on their camp yesterday?\" When Sophia shook her head, Joanna drew her aside, out of hearing range of the other women. \"Saracen horsemen raced into the camp, shooting and yelling and creating havoc. Richard says they are amazing bowmen, able to fire from a gallop. Some of the knights took off in pursuit, and naturally Richard was in the forefront. It turned out to be a trap, meant to lure them away from the safety of the camp. One of Richard's marshals and a Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas of Szatmar, were both captured and borne away. Richard chased after them in a vain rescue attempt. He was very upset afterward that he'd not been able to free them and did not want Berengaria to know, so say nothing to her, Sophia.\"\n\nSophia was horrified that Richard had come so close to disaster. \"What if he'd been captured instead of Count Nicholas?\"\n\nJoanna smiled, though without much humor. \"To hear his friends tell it, Richard is all but invincible in close combat, so they sought easier prey. But even Richard's vaunted prowess cannot protect him from a crossbow bolt or a javelin. He well knows that if evil befalls him, the war would be lost. Yet he will continue to gamble his life with reckless abandon... until the day his luck runs out.\"\n\nSophia glanced over at her stepdaughter, flirting now with several of Joanna's household knights, and felt a protective pang. If the English king was slain or captured, what would happen to the women he'd left behind in Acre?\n\nIn three days, the army traveled only four miles, camping near the River Acre as they waited for more men to straggle out of the city and join them. Finally on Sunday, the twenty-fifth, they began their march along the sea, hoping to cover the eleven miles to Haifa. Richard led the vanguard, and the rear guard was entrusted to the Duke of Burgundy and the French. They were shadowed by the sultan's advance guard, for he had instructed his brother al-Malik al-'\u0100dil to watch for a gap in their ranks. At first they maintained the tight formation ordered by Richard, but as the day wore on, the road narrowed and the rear guard began to lag behind. Late in the afternoon, the sky turned overcast, the first time they'd seen a cloud in three months. They plodded on, casting glances at those ghostly riders occasionally visible in the sand dunes to their left. When fog began to drift in from the sea, it created confusion in the rear guard and they slowed down, losing even more ground. It was then that al-'\u0100dil struck.\n\nThis eerie haze was making the men uneasy, for such sudden mists were much more common in early morning. Richard refused to let them slow their pace, though, keeping a sharp eye out for laggards. When Andr\u00e9 joked that he was like a shepherd with a flock of errant sheep, he summoned up a smile, but he thought there was too much truth in that jest for humor. As accustomed as he was to command, never had he faced such a daunting challenge, for it would not be easy to keep an army like this under control, men of different nationalities and alien tongues, with nothing in common but their Christian faith. He would have to find a way to hold their rivalries in check, to stifle their natural instincts to hit back when they were attacked, for if he did not, they'd not reach Jaffa, much less Ascalon or the holy grail of Jerusalem.\n\nHe dropped back to ride beside the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, meaning to share the latest scouting report. But he never got the chance. It was then that the shouting began. Catching the words \"the king,\" he wheeled Fauvel and rode to intercept the rider galloping past the infantrymen on their left flank. The man was close enough now for recognition\u2014an English knight named John Fitz Luke. \"Sire, the rear is under attack! They fell behind and the Saracens swept down and cut them off!\" He started to tell the king more, but Richard was already gone, his household knights strung out behind him, outrun by the Cypriot stallion.\n\nFauvel seemed to sense his rider's urgency and pricked his ears as he lengthened stride. Several miles separated the vanguard from the beleaguered rear guard, and Richard and his knights plunged in and out of the swirling sea mist as they rode, loosening swords in scabbards and making sure their aventails were tightly drawn across their throats, for some had unfastened the mail flaps as they marched. Emerging from one last patch of fog, they came upon a scene of utter pandemonium. Several carts had been overturned and looted, others bogged down in the sand, for the Saracens had ridden down the men-at-arms and scattered the knights in their push toward the vulnerable baggage train. It had been a well-coordinated attack, and had come perilously close to surrounding the rear guard and cutting off escape. Some of the French knights had managed to rally in time to prevent their encirclement, and there was fierce fighting on the beach, some of the horses actually knee-deep in water by now.\n\nRichard was not sure his command could be heard above the din of battle, but his household mesnie was composed of knights who'd been with him for years, men who would know what to do without need of words. Just as some of the Saracen soldiers turned and saw them materializing from the mist, they couched their lances and charged. As Richard closed in on a horseman with his bow slung over his shoulder, the startled Saracen tried to raise his shield. But by then Fauvel was upon him, and the lance, with the full weight of Richard's body behind it, drove through the man's lamellar armor with such force that the weapon lodged between his ribs. He reeled back in the saddle and then began to vomit blood. As he slid to the ground, still impaled on the lance, Richard unsheathed his sword.\n\nThe combat that followed was bloody but brief, for the Saracens were soon in retreat. To Richard, it was not so much a victory as a reprieve, and as he looked around at the crumpled bodies, the plundered wagons, and broken lances, he was infuriated when some of the French knights raised a cheer. \"Keep vigilant,\" he instructed his own knights, \"for they may well hit us again if they see us letting down our guard.\" Spotting a familiar face, he rode over to the Count of St Pol, who had dismounted and was examining his stallion's foreleg.\n\n\"I feared he might be lamed,\" he said as Richard drew rein, \"but it seems he just took a misstep\u2014\"\n\n\"What in Christ's Name happened here, St Pol?\"\n\nBridling at the English king's tone, the count straightened up. \"Ask Burgundy. He has the command, not me!\"\n\nAnother French lord was more forthcoming. Drogo d'Amiens overheard this testy exchange and came over to tell Richard that the Saracens had attacked once they saw the rear guard had fallen behind the rest of the army. \"It looked like it would turn into an utter rout,\" he said soberly. \"But thank God for Guillaume des Barres, for he managed to rally his knights and they staved off disaster until your arrival, my liege. It was too close for comfort, though.\"\n\nRichard was in complete accord with that; had things gone differently, their entire rear guard could have been destroyed on the first day of the march. When he rejoined some of his friends and knights, he was still seething. \"One of the Templars told me that the Saracen strategy for victory can be summed up in three words: harass, encircle, annihilate. They might want to add a fourth maxim: Fight the French. Where is Burgundy?\" He began to snap out orders then, and his men hastened to obey. But Andr\u00e9, Baldwin, and Morgan shared grins, thinking that Hugh of Burgundy's encounter with the Saracens was going to seem downright benign after his confrontation with the English king.\n\nGuillaume des Barres was so exhausted that it took an effort just to stay upright. He was returning from the surgeon's tent, for toward the end of the fighting, he'd taken a blow to his forearm by a Saracen mace. It throbbed with the slightest movement, but he was greatly relieved that he'd broken no bones. Seeing that his squires were still setting up his tent, he sank down next to one of the supply wagons and braced his aching body against its wheel. He knew he should seek out the duke to learn how many casualties they'd suffered, but he could not muster up the energy to move. From time to time, other men came over and lauded him for his prowess that day. Ordinarily, such acclaim would have been very pleasing; now he was too tired to appreciate it. Despite his uncomfortable position, he was falling asleep when Mathieu de Montmorency squatted beside him.\n\n\"You're the talk of the camp,\" he exclaimed, looking at the older man with bright, admiring eyes. \"Men are saying that you saved the day for us, that there'll likely be songs written about your deeds.\"\n\n\"I doubt that Richard will be writing any of them,\" Guillaume said dryly, smothering a yawn. \"Anyway, it was his arrival that tipped the scales in our favor.\"\n\n\"Yes, but it was your action that enabled us to hold on until he got here. Mind you, he did make quite an entrance,\" Mathieu said, grinning. \"He struck the Saracen line like a thunderbolt! Then he...\" He stopped then, realizing it might not be tactful to be praising the man who'd treated Guillaume so unfairly at Messina.\n\n\"I do not mind, lad,\" Guillaume assured him, for Mathieu's was an easy face to read. \"He is indeed a superb fighter\u2014as he'd be the first to tell you.\"\n\nMathieu grinned again. \"He is over in the duke's tent now, berating Hugh for letting the rear guard lag behind like that. Hugh looked like he'd swallowed a whole lemon!\"\n\n\"Good,\" Guillaume muttered, for he'd warned the duke repeatedly that they were courting disaster. Mathieu was still chattering on about the battle, relating a story he'd heard about a sergeant of the Bishop of Salisbury: Supposedly, he'd had his hand cut off by a Turkish blade, but had coolly snatched up his sword in his left hand and continued fighting. Guillaume had often seen limbs severed on the battlefield, had severed a few of them himself, and he very much doubted that a man so maimed would be able to carry on with such sangfroid. He saw no reason to inject reality into Mathieu's account, though. Looking at the teenager through drooping eyelids, he found himself thinking it was miraculous that the lad still retained so much boyish enthusiasm after four months in the killing fields of the Holy Land.\n\nHe must have dozed then, for the next thing he knew, Mathieu was jabbing him in the ribs, saying that the English king was leaving. It was that muted twilight hour between day and night and Guillaume was glad the light was fading, glad he'd not chosen to sit by one of the campfires. During their stay in Acre, he'd done his best to keep out of Richard's way, and on the few occasions when their paths had crossed, the other man had stared right through him as if he did not exist. The last thing he wanted tonight was to be called to Richard's attention. But Richard had stopped to speak to one of the crossbowmen and, to Guillaume's dismay, the man nodded and then pointed toward the wagon. Seeing that the English king was heading now in his direction, he struggled to his feet, his heart thudding faster than it had at any time during the battle. He'd taken the cross and that mattered far more than any petty grudge. There was no way he'd disavow such a sacred oath. But what would he do if this accursed, arrogant king banished him from the march?\n\nMathieu had scrambled to his feet, too, and watched in alarm as the English king bore down upon them. Coming to a halt a sword's length away, Richard regarded the other man, his face inscrutable. Just when the suspense had become intolerable, he said, \"You fought very well today.\"\n\nGuillaume had not realized he'd been holding his breath. \"So did you,\" he said laconically, and thought he saw the corner of Richard's mouth twitch.\n\n\"It is passing strange, but the climate of Outremer seems to be affecting my memory. For the life of me, I cannot recall anything that happened between us in bygone days.\"\n\n\"It is indeed odd,\" Guillaume agreed gravely, \"for I am suffering from the same malady.\"\n\n\"Well, then, we'll just have to start anew from this day. Come on back to my tent and we'll eat and refight the battle,\" Richard said, and this time Guillaume was sure he caught the hint of a smile. He accepted the invitation as casually as it was offered, revealing his relief only in the smile he sent winging Mathieu's way. The youth was beaming, thrilled to see his two heroes reconciling their differences. And when Richard then glanced over his shoulder and said, \"You, too, Mathieu,\" he looked positively beatific as he hurried to catch up with them.\n\nBy now they'd drawn a crowd, for Guillaume was well liked by his fellow Frenchmen, and they were smiling, too, gladdened that the English king had acted to make peace with the man he'd wronged. The only two men not caught up in this surge of goodwill were the two standing in the entrance of the duke's command tent. The Bishop of Beauvais shook his head and then spat into the dirt at his feet. \"Whatever that whoreson said to des Barres, you can be sure it was no apology. He'd sooner have his tongue cut out with a spoon than admit regret or remorse or, God forbid, a mistake.\"\n\n\"Apologies are for lesser men,\" Hugh said bitterly. \"Not for the likes of Lionheart.\"\n\nThe army remained at Haifa the next day, where they left piles of belongings behind on the beach, the soldiers jettisoning those possessions that weren't essential. When they resumed the march on Tuesday, the twenty-seventh, they maintained the tight formation that Richard demanded. He would not trust the French again with the rear guard, and from then on, the Templars and Hospitallers rotated that command. He sought, too, to keep morale up by alternating duties for the infantrymen. On one day they guarded the exposed left flank, theirs the daunting and dangerous task of protecting the knights' vulnerable horses from Saracen arrows; on the next, they were allowed to travel with the baggage carts, protected by the sea. The men were finding that the scorching summer heat was as much their enemy as Salah al-D\u012bn. Richard did what he could to mitigate their misery. They marched only in the mornings, set up camp at noon, and rested every other day, but toiling under that burning sun was taking its toll. Men became ill, and some died from sunstroke. The sick were transported to the small ships, the dead buried where they fell.\n\nIt was slow going, for they were following an old Roman road, badly overgrown by scrub, thorns, and myrtle, and the infantry sometimes found themselves wading through chest-high brush. For the four days following the attack on the rear guard, they were spared any skirmishing with the Saracens, for Salah al-D\u012bn had been forced to lead his army inland as the crusaders made their way around Mount Carmel. But when they reached the deserted town called Merle by the Franks and al-Mall\u0101ha by the Saracens, they came under attack again, and Richard was nearly captured when he led a charge to drive the invaders off.\n\nThe last day of August found them making a short march from Merle to another town razed by Salah al-D\u012bn, Caesarea. This was the worst day so far, for the temperatures soared, and the sun claimed as many victims as the Saracens. When they were finally able to pitch their tents on the bank of the River of Crocodiles, they were exhausted, both physically and mentally. But their spirits were bolstered by the arrival of the fleet, which had been delayed by contrary winds, for it brought provisions and fresh troops, men coaxed or coerced from the taverns and brothels of Acre.\n\nThe next morning they covered only three miles, camping by a stream so choked with reeds that they called it the Dead River, but they'd had to fight off Saracen attacks for much of the march. They rested there the next day, treating the wounded and sunsick, and wondering how many of them would live to see the Holy City of Jerusalem. Most of them were battle-seasoned soldiers, but they were uneasily aware that they were aliens in an unforgiving land, one that they'd never call home.\n\nThey hated the enemy, who'd not fight fairly, swooping in to strike like hawks and then flying out of reach. They loathed the day's heat and dust and bleachedbone skies, and they feared the poisonous snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas that crept out at dark. They tried to chase the latter away with noise, banging on shields and pots and pans, but the racket only kept sleep at bay. Lying wakeful and restive, they found themselves listening for the priest to cry out his nightly blessing, \"Sanctum Sepulcrum Adjuva!\" The comforting chant reverberated throughout the camp, coming from thousands of throats in unison, surely loud enough to reach the Gates of Heaven itself: \"Holy Sepulchre, help us!\" It would be repeated three times, reminding them that they were in this hellish place to do God's Bidding and if they died on crusade, they'd be shriven of their mortal sins and promised entry into Paradise. As the last echoes of the prayer faded away, they stretched out and tried to sleep, tried not to think about what the morrow could bring.\n\nSalah al-d\u012bn had hoped to goad the Franks into breaking ranks, for then they were at their most vulnerable. But so far he'd been thwarted by their discipline, and by now they were only thirty-four miles from Jaffa. The daily skirmishing continued, with casualties on both sides. Whenever a crusader was captured, he was brought before Salah al-D\u012bn, interrogated, and then executed; in the past, the sultan had usually shown mercy toward prisoners, but the massacre of the Acre garrison cried out for blood. Entrusting command to his brother, he personally rode out to search for suitable battle sites, for he was determined to force a fight before they could reach the safety of Jaffa. Tuesday, September 3, exposed the crusaders to their greatest danger since departing Acre, for they discovered that the old Roman coastal road had become impassible, an overgrown track that would never support an army of fifteen thousand men, six thousand horses, and heavy baggage carts. For the first time, they were compelled to leave the sea, following the Dead River until they reached an inland road that ran parallel to the coast. They soon found themselves under heavy attack by three divisions of the sultan's army, led by Salah al-D\u012bn himself.\n\nThe sun was not yet high in the sky, but Richard was already fatigued, for he'd been pushing himself without surcease, trying to be everywhere at once. He and his knights galloped up and down their lines, making sure that the army continued on the move, in such a tight formation that it was impossible to throw a stone into their ranks without hitting a man or horse. His crossbowmen did their best to keep the deadly Saracen horse archers at a distance, and when they swooped in for hit-and-run attacks, Richard and his household mesnie raced to the rescue, scattering their foes\u2014until the next time.\n\nRiding back to his standard, Richard swung from the saddle and told his squires to fetch Fauvel, for his Spanish stallion was lathered with sweat. When his cousin Morgan appeared at his side, holding out a flask, he took it gratefully and drank as if it were ambrosia, not warm, stale water. He wished he could pour it over his head, but he dared not remove his helmet with Saracen bowmen within range. He'd entrusted the rear guard to the Hospitallers this day, and he told Morgan now that they'd already lost a score of horses. \"It is a strange sight to see knights walking with the men-at-arms, carrying their lances. I've seen men weep over a slain stallion whilst remaining dry-eyed over the deaths of their fellow knights.\"\n\n\"The Count of St Pol has lost a goodly number of horses, too, and has been complaining loudly about it,\" Morgan said, coughing as he inhaled dust kicked up by so many tramping feet. Unlike their armor-clad riders, the horses had no protection from Turkish arrows. By placing the knights behind a bristling wall of crossbow-and spearmen, they'd hoped to shelter the animals, for they were naturally the first target of every Saracen assault. \"This is no fit land for either man or beast,\" Morgan muttered, suddenly homesick for the green valleys and cooling mists of Wales. But when Richard mounted Fauvel and made ready to resume his patrolling, Morgan still asked to go with him.\n\nThey were only about two miles from the Salt River, where they planned to make camp. The vanguard had already begun to pitch its tents when the Saracens launched one last attack upon the rear guard, a desperate attempt to provoke the Hospitallers into a reckless charge. But when Richard and his knights reached the rear, they found the men marching on in close order, even though many of them had so many arrows caught in their armor that they resembled hedgehogs. Richard paused only long enough to shout a \"Well done!\" to Garnier de Nablus, and then he and his knights set about chasing off their attackers.\n\nWhen they charged, the Saracens fled, as they'd done before. Only this time they surged back as soon as the knights wheeled their mounts to return to the march. Morgan's lance struck a Saracen shield a glancing blow, but then another Turk was suddenly there, wielding a flanged mace. There was no time to react, not even time for fear. The weapon never completed its downward swing, though. Instead the man's face contorted and he cried out in a foreign tongue, the mace slipping from his fingers. It was only when he toppled from the saddle that Morgan saw the lance that had buried itself between his shoulder blades. \"Diolch yn fawr,\" he whispered, thanking both the Almighty and Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny for his reprieve. Andr\u00e9 had already turned away to find another foe. Spurring his stallion, Morgan followed after him.\n\nAhead, Richard was pursuing an enemy bowman. Glancing over his shoulder, the man looked shocked to see the king closing fast, and Morgan gave a triumphant shout, as if he were the one riding Fauvel, who could likely outrun the wind. He was startled, then, when the Saracen began to pull away again. Looking over to see what had happened, he saw Fauvel come to an abrupt, shuddering stop, sending sand and dust flying in all directions. He heard Andr\u00e9 cry out, \"Christ Jesus!\" But it was only when he reined in his mount next to Richard that he saw the shaft protruding from the king's side.\n\nAndr\u00e9, who never showed any fear for himself in battle, was now ashen. \"How bad is it?\"\n\nRichard shook his head, saying it was nothing. But neither man believed him, knowing he'd not have halted the pursuit for an arrow merely embedded in his hauberk. Morgan was close enough now to see it was a crossbow bolt and his breath caught in his throat, for he knew the fate of the Holy Land and Richard's fate were one and the same, inextricably entwined for better or worse. After a moment of panic, common sense reasserted itself and he realized that the injury could not be lethal, for Richard had managed to stay in the saddle. Unless the wound festered, of course\u2014a thought so unwelcome that he hastily sought to banish it by making the sign of the cross.\n\nAndr\u00e9 had drawn the same conclusion and expressed his relief in anger, scowling and demanding to know why Richard was fighting without a shield. Richard looked at him as if he'd suddenly gone stark mad. \"When I unhorsed a Saracen with my lance, the guige strap broke. What was I supposed to do, Andr\u00e9\u2014call a halt to the battle whilst I sent a squire to fetch a new one?\"\n\nAndr\u00e9's emotions were still roiling, and he was not about to admit he was being unfair or illogical. Richard had diced with Death so often that even if he did not deserve a reprimand this time, he'd earned it for his past recklessness. \"The Turks say a cat has seven lives. How many do you think you have, Richard?\"\n\n\"As many as it takes to free the Holy City,\" Richard said, managing to sound both flippant and utterly serious, and as usual, he got the last word.\n\n\"For God's sake, man, take care with my hauberk!\"\n\nMaster Ralph Besace was accustomed to dealing with a truculent royal patient; he'd been the king's physician since Richard's coronation. \"If you will hold still, sire, you'll make my task much easier.\" Removing a hauberk was never easy in such circumstances, though. Ignoring Richard's protest, he widened the torn links enough to slide the mail up and over the shaft. Richard would have pulled the hauberk over his head then, but his friends were waiting for just such a move and insisted that they be the ones to remove it. They could see now that the bolt had pierced the padded gambeson, too. Asking for a sharp knife, Master Ralph cut it away around the wound and then stood back while Andr\u00e9 and Henri helped Richard peel off the garment. It was soaked with sweat, but no blood; puncture wounds rarely bled much. Holding up an oil lamp, the doctor leaned in to examine the injury.\n\nHe was admittedly uneasy about what he might find. Arrow wounds were among those most commonly treated by battlefield surgeons, but they were still among the most challenging, for if the arrow could not easily be extracted, the remaining choices were not good ones. The doctor would have to try to push it through the man's body or else wait a few days until the tissue around the arrow began to putrefy. The first option was not feasible, for he'd risk damaging the king's internal organs, and the second was not doable either, not for a man who'd insist upon fighting on the morrow. But as he studied the wound, he felt a great rush of relief, thinking that Richard's fabled luck had held up once again.\n\n\"You were fortunate, my liege. The bolt does not seem to have penetrated too deeply. Your hauberk and gambeson absorbed most of the impact.\"\n\n\"Good. Get it out, then.\"\n\nMaster Ralph signaled for a tenaille and clamped the forceps around the shaft. A moment later, he was basking in the grateful approval of the king's friends. The king himself was much more stoic, but then the physician expected just such a reaction, for he knew Richard was determined to make his injury seem as trivial as possible. He was cleansing the wound with vinegar when there was a sudden uproar outside. Richard was all for going to investigate himself, but Andr\u00e9 was too quick for him. \"I'll go, you sit,\" he insisted and ducked under the tent flap.\n\nRichard was in a foul temper, vexed with his friends for making much ado about nothing and with himself for being so careless. He ungraciously accepted a cup of wine from his nephew, unamused when Henri joked that they'd had to post guards to keep all the well-wishers away. \"Guy de Lusignan wanted to see for himself that you're not at Death's door and half the bishops are offering up prayers on your behalf. Even Hugh of Burgundy bestirred himself, sending a man to ask if the rumors were true. I really ought to have a public crier assure the camp that you're not seriously wounded.\"\n\n\"Of course I am not! I suffered worse hurts learning to use the quintain as a lad.\" Richard finished his wine in several gulps, an indication he did not feel as fine as he claimed, but Henri was not foolish enough to comment on it, merely refilling the cup. And by then Andr\u00e9 was back.\n\n\"Another brawl over dead horses,\" he said glumly, for this was becoming more and more of a problem. Soldiers quite understandably preferred meat over their daily rations of hard biscuit and a soup of beans and salt pork, so competition was keen to buy the horses slain by the Saracens. But the knights were pricing them beyond the reach of most men, and this was generating resentment and ill will. When Andr\u00e9 told him how much horsemeat was now selling for, Richard shook his head impatiently.\n\n\"I am putting a stop to this now. Get the word out that I will replace any knight's horse slain in combat\u2014provided that he then donates the dead animal to the men-at-arms.\"\n\n\"Even French knights?\" Henri asked mischievously. \"That is an excellent idea, Uncle, and the soldiers will love you for it. I'll see to it straightaway.\"\n\nThey were interrupted then by the arrival of Guy de Lusignan, followed by the Bishop of Salisbury, Jacques d'Avesnes, the Earl of Leicester, and other visitors too highborn to be turned away. Hours passed before Richard was finally able to get to bed. And there he found himself unable to sleep, for although his body was utterly exhausted, his brain continued to race. After passing through sand dunes and hill country, the terrain was changing. Ahead lay more than twelve miles of oak woods, known as the Forest of Arsuf, and to get back to the coast, they would have to pass through it. It would be an ideal opportunity for an ambush and he thought Saladin would likely take advantage of it. They were locked into a war of wills as well as weapons, the sultan set upon battle and he just as determined to avoid one. So far his men had shown remarkable discipline under constant provocation. But how much longer could their restraint last? He tossed and turned for hours, wincing every time he forgot and rolled onto his side. Did Saladin lie awake, too, this night? Did he also feel overwhelmed at times, knowing how much was at stake?\n\nThe next morning richard was much more stiff and sore than he was willing to admit, and he was glad Wednesday was to be a day of rest. He made a point, though, to be a very visible presence in the camp, reassuring his men that his injury had been a minor one. He soon discovered that they were uneasy about the Forest of Arsuf, too, and when he learned rumors were rampant that the Saracens would set fire to the woods once they'd entered it, he knew he had to act. That afternoon he summoned Humphrey de Toron and instructed him to ride out to the enemy under a flag of truce, telling them that the English king wanted to discuss peace terms with the sultan's brother.\n\nHumphrey was astounded, but he did as he was bidden and carried the message to Salah al-D\u012bn's advance guard. Their commander, Alam al-D\u012bn Sulaym\u0101n ibn Jandar, wasted no time relaying word to the sultan. Salah al-D\u012bn was no less startled than Humphrey had been, but he was quite willing to accede to the request, telling his brother, \"Try to protract the negotiations with the Franks and keep them where they are until we receive the Turcoman reinforcements we are expecting.\" It was agreed therefore that Richard and al-\u1fb9dil would meet the following day at dawn.\n\nThe sky was the shade of misty pearl as Richard and Humphrey rode out of camp with only a handful of knights, heading for the designated meeting place with al Malik al-'\u0100dil. When they saw Saracen riders approaching, Richard told his men to wait, and he and Humphrey slowed their mounts to a walk. \"I was surprised that Saladin did not insist upon an interpreter of his own,\" Richard said, after some moments of silence. \"He must consider you very trustworthy, lad.\"\n\nHumphrey was sorry the English king had brought the subject up, but it never occurred to him to lie. \"I was captured at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn my liege,\" he said quietly. \"My lady mother offered to yield her castles at Kerak and Montreal if Saladin would set me free. He agreed, but the castle garrisons would not obey her command. Since we'd not fulfilled our part of the bargain, I returned and surrendered to the sultan. He said I'd acted honorably and freed me without a ransom a few months later.\" He looked over at the other man then, bracing for mockery, but Richard was smiling.\n\n\"Well done,\" he said, and Humphrey flushed, so unaccustomed was he to praise.\n\n\"Some... others insisted that an oath given to an infidel counted for naught,\" he confided, \"and they called me a fool for honoring my pledge.\"\n\n\"They are the fools. Ah, here he comes.\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil was mounted on a chestnut as mettlesome as Fauvel and clad in an elegant tunic of scarlet silk brocade; Richard had been told it was called a kazaghand and was lined with mail. He looked to be close in years to Conrad of Montferrat, in his mid-forties. His hair was covered by a mail coif, his skin bronzed by the sun, his dark eyes glittering with intelligence, caution, and curiosity. He was obviously a skilled rider, for he easily handled his spirited stallion, who pinned his ears back at the sight of the other horses. When Humphrey offered a formal greeting, he answered at some length, watching Richard all the while.\n\n\"We observed the usual courtesies,\" Humphrey explained, \"but then he said that you and he almost met ten days ago, on the first of Sha'ban. The Muslim calendar is different from ours; that would be...\"\n\nHe paused to calculate the date but Richard had already guessed it. \"Sunday, August twenty-fifth. So the command was his, then. Tell him he could have made my acquaintance had he only lingered awhile longer.\"\n\nAlthough Humphrey spoke fluent French and Arabic, this sort of barbed banter had always eluded him; he'd never learned how to communicate in the sardonic, sometimes cryptic language of men like this. For reasons only the Almighty knew, he'd been born utterly without the swagger, the bravado that seemed essential for survival in their world. Glancing from one man to the other, he felt certain that the English king and the sultan's brother were enjoying this verbal jousting, and that, too, he did not understand. He obediently continued to translate, but he was genuinely puzzled by al-'\u0100dil's next comment.\n\n\"He asks if your stallion is the famous Fauvel, my lord.\"\n\nRichard's expression remained unrevealing, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. \"He is letting me know how much they know about us. Tell him I am flattered that they find my activities so interesting, but I think it is time we speak of peace. Brave men have died on both sides. If we can come to terms, no more need die.\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil's response was brief and to the point. \"He wants to know what your terms are.\"\n\n\"Tell him they are simple\u2014that his brother the sultan withdraw from Outremer and return to his own lands in Egypt and Syria.\"\n\nHumphrey swung around in the saddle to stare at Richard. His obvious astonishment alerted al-'\u0100dil, but he was still caught off balance when Humphrey slowly translated Richard's demands. He stared at the English king incredulously and then his brown eyes blazed with anger. \"He says that if this is Frankish humor, he does not find it amusing.\"\n\n\"Well, mayhap he'll see the humor in it once he has gone home to Cairo or Damascus.\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil wheeled his stallion, flung a terse retort over his shoulder, and galloped off to his waiting men. \"Do I want you to translate that?\" Richard asked and grinned when Humphrey shook his head. He then turned Fauvel, and Humphrey hastily followed. Catching up to the English king, he did something he'd never done before. He demanded an answer.\n\n\"I think I have earned the right to ask, my lord. What was the purpose of that meeting? For certes, it was not to talk peace!\"\n\n\"I suppose you'd not believe me if I said I was simply curious to meet the man?\" Richard gave him a sly smile before saying, \"What is the Arabic word for 'diversion,' Humphrey? As soon as we get back to camp, we move out. We're all packed and ready to go. Whilst Saladin's brother goes to report the results of our meeting, we head into the Forest of Arsuf.\"\n\nSalah Al-d\u012bn had not expected the crusaders to set such a slow, deliberate pace, and provisions had become a problem, for he'd not anticipated having to keep an army in the field so long. Continuing to scout for a suitable battle site, he'd gone back and forth with such speed that some of his men became stranded in the Forest of Arsuf and he was forced to wait for them to catch up the next day. He'd ordered his baggage train to head south while he waited to hear about al-'\u0100dil's meeting with the English king, then changed his mind and called them back, not sure whether his enemy would remain in camp or continue the march south, and Bah\u0101 ' al-D\u012bn reported that there was much confusion in their camp all that night.\n\nRichard's ploy worked, the crusaders safely passing through the Forest of Arsuf and halting by the River Rochetaille, where their flank was protected by an impassable swamp. They were now less than twenty miles from Jaffa. They knew, though, that ahead of them lay an open plain, an ideal site for battle. They remained by the river the next day, and when dusk fell, they could see the enemy campfires in the distance. Few men in either army would sleep well that night."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEPTEMBER 1191",
                "text": "[ Camp on River Rochetaille ]\n\nRichard strode to the center of his tent, where his battle commanders had assembled: the Grand Masters and marshals of the Templars and Hospitallers, the de Lusignans and those poulain lords who'd not defected to Conrad, his cousins Henri and Andr\u00e9, the Pr\u00e9aux brothers, who'd been entrusted with the royal standard, and barons and bishops of England, Normandy, Anjou, Brittany, Flanders, and France. He imagined Saladin and his brother were having a war council this night, too.\n\n\"We'll be setting out at dawn,\" he said, wasting no time upon preliminaries. \"It is six miles to Arsuf and we ought to reach it by midday. From Arsuf, it will be just eleven miles or so to Jaffa, so this may well be Saladin's last chance to force a battle. If our roles were reversed, this is where I'd choose to fight\u2014the lay of the land favors an attacking army. There are cliffs between the road and the sea which will keep us from hugging the coast, so there is a danger of being outflanked. And there is a broad plain running parallel to the road and forest, an ideal open space for Saracen horsemen. So we can expect a hellish day on the morrow and courage alone will not get us through safely to Arsuf. Our only chance will be to maintain a tight formation and to keep moving, no matter the provocation.\"\n\nRichard paused then, but no one spoke. \"This will be the order of march. Our army will be organized into twelve squadrons and divided into five battalions. The Templars will have the vanguard. The second battalion will consist of Bretons and Angevins. King Guy and his brothers will lead my Poitevins. The Normans and English will guard the cart with my standard, followed by the French. The Hospitallers will command the rear guard.\"\n\nHe paused again. \"The Count of Champagne will guard our left flank.\" This was a great responsibility for one who'd only recently turned twenty-five, and Henri flushed with pleasure, taking it for the honor it was. Richard's gaze shifted from Henri to the others, to the young Earl of Leicester, his nephew Jaufre, the Fleming Jacques d'Avesnes, and his new ally, Guillaume des Barres, men he liked or respected. His eyes flicked then to those he loathed or mistrusted\u2014the Duke of Burgundy, the Bishop of Beauvais and his brother, the Count of Dreux. A pity they had not skulked back to Paris with Philippe. Given a choice, he'd rather have fought beside al-'\u0100dil than Beauvais or Robert de Dreux. \"You will, of course, lead your own squadrons of knights,\" he said, \"riding with the center and the rear guard. The Duke of Burgundy and I will each take a squadron and ride up and down the line, as I've been doing in past days.\"\n\nSome of the men began to murmur among themselves once Richard was done. But they fell silent when Jacques d'Avesnes got to his feet, for he'd been at the siege since its start and was that rarity in this maelstrom of fierce national rivalries, a man universally respected and liked by his fellow crusaders. \"You say we must 'keep moving, no matter the provocation.' But what if their attacks become too much to bear?\"\n\n\"I am placing six trumpeters in the vanguard, the center, and the rear guard. If they sound, that will be the signal to charge. But no knight or lord is to do so until I give that signal. The decision will be mine and mine alone.\"\n\nThat answer satisfied Jacques and most of the men. It grated on the nerves of some of the French lords, though, that they should have to take orders from an English king, particularly this one. The Bishop of Beauvais did not even bother to mask his resentment. \"Naturally the decision will be yours,\" he said sarcastically. \"If you had your way, all decisions throughout Christendom would be yours. And it will indeed be a 'hellish day.' But our suffering will be much worse if we march on like sheep to the slaughter. Why not hit back? If Saladin wants a battle, why not give him one?\"\n\nRichard stared at Beauvais in disgusted disbelief. \"Because our scouts and spies say we're outnumbered by nigh on two to one. We may be God's army, but we are also Outremer's only army, and another Hatt\u012bn would doom the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Are those enough reasons for you?\"\n\nHenri glanced from his uncle to the bishop, half expecting to see the air itself begin to smolder, so searing was the hatred that flared between the two men. Before Beauvais could retort, Henri said quickly, \"They are enough reasons for me. But I see no harm in discussing this further if the bishop feels the need.\" The look he got from Richard would have prickled the hairs on the backs of most men's necks. He ignored it and forged ahead with a quizzical smile. \"I was always taught that a battle should be the last resort\u2014unless we had numerical superiority and could choose the site ourselves. Am I wrong?\" Sounding as if he were genuinely seeking enlightenment, Henri looked about at the other men crowded into the tent.\n\nAs Henri had expected, none of them were willing to embrace the bishop's rash insistence upon combat. Some were shaking their heads; a few seemed vexed that they were wasting time discussing one of the basic tenets of warfare\u2014that pitched battles were too great a risk under most circumstances. Not even Robert de Dreux offered support, and finding himself abandoned by his brother, too, Beauvais lapsed into a sullen silence. Nor was his temper improved when Jacques sought to disperse any lingering tension with a joke. \"Well, I'm for fighting on the morrow. After all, we have a two-to-one advantage.... Ah, wait, that is Saladin!\"\n\nOnce the other men had departed and Richard was left alone with his nephew and a handful of friends, he confessed, \"For a moment or two, Henri, I was intending to disown you.\"\n\nHenri grinned. \"I could feel your fiery gaze burning into my back, Uncle, but I thought it would be better if I were the one to expose the good bishop for the malcontent we know him to be. If you and Beauvais had gotten into a serious altercation, the other French lords might have felt honor bound to support him. None of them were likely to agree that we ought to seek out a battle on the morrow, though. They know better than that.\"\n\n\"So does that hellspawn,\" Richard said bitterly. \"Our bishop is no battle virgin. No virgin at all, I'd wager,\" he added, unable to resist a swipe at Beauvais's priestly vows. \"The man may be a misbegotten, cankerous viper, but he's spilled his share of blood. So he knows we'd be fools to fight unless forced to it. Nothing matters more to him, though, than making life as difficult for me as he can. And in that, he does not lack for allies\u2014all of them French.\"\n\n\"I am French!\" Henri protested, with such mock outrage that the other men laughed and even Richard couldn't help smiling.\n\n\"You show so much common sense that we tend to forget your unfortunate origins, Henri. And not all of your countrymen are malicious malcontents. My niece's husband Jaufre is a man of honor.\" Richard hesitated almost imperceptibly before admitting, \"And I never thought to hear myself saying it, but so is Guillaume des Barres.\"\n\nRichard lay wakeful that night, for he knew how much he was asking of his men. Knights were trained to strike back when hit; to do otherwise was to court shame and dishonor. But a mounted charge was a double-edged sword. If launched at the right time, it guaranteed victory. If it was made too soon, they'd be vulnerable to a Saracen counterattack and the victory would be Saladin's. Propping himself up on his elbow, he listened to the comforting nocturnal chant of their priests, invoking the aid of the Holy Sepulchre. Earlier, he'd heard the muezzins summoning Saladin's soldiers to evening prayer, so close were the two army camps. Reminding himself that they were in God's Hands, he finally slept.\n\nThey moved out at dawn, but it was already uncomfortably warm for men weighed down by armor, helmets, and padded gambesons. The sky was a pallid blue, as if faded by the sun, and the air was very still. Men tasting the salt of sweat on their lips were soon wishing for a breeze, even a hot one. They drank from wineskins hooked onto their belts, made rude jests as empty of humor as the sky was of clouds, and their breakfast biscuits lay in their bellies like lead, for off to their left, they could see the vast Saracen army arrayed along the plain overlooking the road.\n\nSalah al-D\u012bn sent his skirmishers in first\u2014the hit-and-run tactics that the crusaders found so frustrating. They kept marching, though, and the sultan committed more of his troops to the attack. The air was soon thick with the dust kicked up by the agile Saracen horses and the sky seemed to be raining Saracen arrows, for their skilled bowmen employed a tactic called \"shower shooting.\" Most of the arrows were deflected by shields or snagged in the links of mail hauberks. But their stallions had no such protection and before long, they began to die.\n\nStill the Franks continued on, transferring their wounded to the baggage carts, marching so closely that men rubbed shoulders and knights rode stirrup to stirrup, only their crossbowmen's lethal fire keeping them from being overrun. But the Saracen attacks grew bolder and more urgent, striking hardest at the beleaguered rear guard.\n\nBy nine o'clock, richard's vanguard was approaching the orchards on the outskirts of Arsuf. They were so close, he thought, so damnably close! But he was no longer sure they would make it, for the Saracen onslaught was relentless now, fueled by desperation. They'd made several attempts to outflank the rear guard, and only the marshy ground between the road and the sea cliffs kept the Hospitallers from being assaulted on three sides. Garnier de Nablus had sent one of his knights to Richard, warning him that they were taking too much punishment. Richard refused to permit them to launch a charge, telling them they must endure it. As the man took that unwelcome message back to the Grand Master, Andr\u00e9 maneuvered his stallion alongside Fauvel. \"Can we reach Arsuf?\"\n\nBecause Andr\u00e9 was closer to him than any of his brothers had ever been, Richard gave him an unsparingly honest answer. \"In truth, I do not know.\"\n\nSurvivors of the Arsuf march would long remember the heat, the dust, the fear. But above all, they would remember the noise. The Saracen drums kept up an ominous, throbbing beat, and the emirs had in their ranks men whose only duties were to raise a fearsome din with trumpets, clarions, flutes, and cymbals. Assailed by the incessant blaring of horns, the banging of tambours, the screaming of the stallions, and the battle cries of the archers and Salah al-D\u012bn's elite Mamluks, many of the crusaders found the deafening clamor to be almost as demoralizing as the storm of arrows, crossbow bolts, and javelins. Yet they marched on, clinging to their faith that God and the English king would get them to safety at Arsuf.\n\nRichard had returned to the cart that held his standard, for he'd shattered his lance on a Saracen shield. Waiting for his squire to fetch another one, he found his gaze drawn to the great dragon above his head, said to be the banner of the legendary Arthur. It had been hanging limply from its mast, but as he watched, it caught a vagrant breeze and unfurled in a swirl of red and gold. Taking that as a good omen, he reached for the new lance. It was then that he saw the rider galloping toward him. He recognized the arms on the shield, a silver cross on a black background, and assumed the Grand Master of the Hospitallers was sending him another messenger. But as the man reined in beside him, he was surprised to see a familiar face half shadowed by the wide nasal bar. Garnier de Nablus had come in person to plead his case.\n\n\"My lord king, hear me. We're losing so many horses that half my knights will soon be on foot. It has gotten so bad that the crossbowmen have to march backward to protect themselves. We cannot hold on much longer.\"\n\n\"You must.\"\n\n\"My knights are distraught, saying they'll bring eternal dishonor upon themselves if they do not fight back!\"\n\n\"Tell them I understand. But they must be patient. It is not yet time.\"\n\nThe Grand Master seemed about to argue further. Instead, he agreed tersely and turned his mount. Richard watched him ride off, his expression so grim that Andr\u00e9 and Baldwin nudged their horses closer. \"Will you order a charge, then?\"\n\n\"I must, Andr\u00e9. But not until all of Saladin's army is engaged against us. We have to be sure that they'll bear the full brunt of our charge. If not...\" Richard didn't bother to finish the sentence, for there was no need. They all knew what would happen to them if their charge failed to sweep the Saracens from the field. They'd be cut off, surrounded, and overwhelmed by sheer numbers.\n\nHenri was proud of the fortitude shown by the infantry under his command. They had performed heroically for hours, the crossbowmen doing their best to keep their Saracen foes at a distance, the spearmen defending them while they reloaded their weapons. He and his knights rode between the men-at-arms and the baggage wagons, occasionally making brief forays to chase the enemy away when they got too close. Henri wasn't sure if he ought to admire the valor of infidels, but he did, nonetheless. They may be risking their lives and souls for a false god, yet they did so with courage and conviction. Would that offer any consolation\u2014knowing that he'd die at the hands of brave men? This was such an incongruous thought that he laughed softly, earning himself a sharp glance from Jaufre.\n\n\"If you can find any humor in our plight, Henri, tell me\u2014please.\"\n\n\"A private jest, a very perverse one, too. Jaufre, do you think\u2014Jesu!\"\n\nJaufre swung around in the saddle at Henri's exclamation, and his jaw dropped at the sight meeting his eyes. Two knights had leveled their lances and were spurring their stallions toward the Saracens, screaming a defiant battle cry, \"Saint George, aid us!\" As Henri and Jaufre watched, the Hospitallers wheeled their mounts and followed, nearly trampling their own infantrymen, who had to scramble to get out of the way. The French knights saw the Hospitallers go on the attack and after some confusion, they also joined in.\n\nHenri turned toward Jaufre, his shock evident. \"Did you hear the trumpets?\" Jaufre shook his head, equally shocked. But Henri was already yelling and their men-at-arms hastily scattered, opening gaps in their ranks for the knights as they, too, charged the Saracens.\n\nRichard and his mesnie had just driven off an attack by Salah al-D\u012bn's Bedouins when they were alerted by the clouds of dust and screaming. Richard gasped, quick to comprehend what was happening, and shouted for the trumpets to sound. As the knights of the center and vanguard responded to the signal and charged, he raced for the rear guard, his knights spurring their stallions in a vain attempt to keep up with Fauvel.\n\nThe sudden charge by the Hospitallers had caught the Saracens by surprise and they took heavy casualties, particularly since some of their bowmen had dismounted to take better aim. By the time Richard got there, Salah al-D\u012bn's right wing was either dead or in flight. He at once sought to halt the pursuit into the woods, for the Saracens excelled at ambush tactics; he himself had almost fallen into such a trap barely a fortnight ago. It was not easy to rein in soldiers still half drunk on that most potent of brews\u2014an uneasy blend of rage, fear, and excitement\u2014but he managed it, mainly by sheer force of will. The field was strewn with weapons and the bodies of men and horses, but he knew it was not over yet.\n\nRecognizing the rider on a blood-splattered roan stallion, Richard called out and then waited for Henri to reach him. \"Who led the charge?\"\n\n\"Two knights broke ranks, shouting for St George, and then the rest followed after them. I assumed I'd not heard the trumpets midst all the noise, think the others did, too. You did not order the attack, Uncle?\"\n\n\"I was waiting till Saladin had thrown his reserves into the battle. But when the charge began, of course I committed the rest of our army.\" Even as he spoke to Henri, Richard's eyes were sweeping the battlefield. \"Do you hear that?\" When the younger man looked puzzled, Richard pointed behind him, toward the Forest of Arsuf. \"The drums. Saladin's drums are still beating. He is trying to rally his men.\"\n\n\"Sire!\" Garnier de Nablus drew rein beside them. \"Thank the Lord Christ that you changed your mind\u2014\" The Grand Master stopped, for he was adept at reading other men's faces; his office required political as well as military skills. \"You did not order the attack? But one of the men was William Borrel, our marshal! He would never have done that on his own, for discipline is one of the cornerstones of our order. He must have thought he heard the trumpets.\"\n\nRichard did not dispute that, for he thought it was possible. But when Garnier continued to defend his marshal, declaring that it did not matter if the charge had been premature since they'd had the victory, Richard felt a flicker of weary anger. \"No,\" he said, \"it did matter. Had we waited as I wanted, we could have won our own \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. Instead we had half a victory, for much of Saladin's army is still intact.\"\n\nThe Grand Master was quite willing to settle for half a victory after all they'd endured that morning. He thought it prudent to keep that to himself, however, and was glad when Henri tactfully interceded at that point, gesturing off to the south where their cart with Richard's dragon was coming into view. The standard-bearers had obeyed orders not to join in the battle, for Richard had wanted to hold his Normans in reserve. They'd followed slowly so they could serve as a rallying point; as long as the king's banner flew, his men would keep fighting. Some of the wounded now headed toward it and other knights began to withdraw from the field and rode in that direction, too.\n\nBut Salah al-D\u012bn had accomplished a miracle of sorts. His army was in a rout, his right wing almost destroyed and his left wing broken. As they fled into the forest, though, they encountered their sultan and his brother. Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn, who fought that day, would later write, \"All those who saw that the sultan's squadron was still at its post, and who heard the drum beating, were ashamed to go on, and, dreading the consequences if they continued their flight, they came up and joined that body of troops.\" When they saw the crusaders appearing to retreat toward the king's standard, they seized their chance and surged from the woods, led by al-'\u0100dil.\n\nThe knights who'd been savoring their victory suddenly found themselves embroiled in savage combat. Henri struck down a Turk with long, black braids, but then took a numbing blow on his leg from a man wielding a mace. They were in too close quarters for his lance to be of any use, so he swung his stallion away to give himself time to draw his sword. There was so much dust that it was not easy to tell friend from foe. A horse reared up ahead, screaming as an arrow pierced his throat, and Henri's destrier almost fell when the other animal went down, swerving away in the nick of time. He turned back to help the unhorsed knight, but he was too late; the man had been crushed when his mount fell on him. From the corner of his eye, Henri could see their dragon banner was still aloft, being desperately defended by the Norman standard-bearers. He could not find the king, though. When he finally did locate Richard, he was appalled to see his uncle utterly encircled by Saracens in what looked like a sea of saffron, for he knew those were the colors of Saladin's elite guard. But even as he spurred his horse toward them, he saw Richard break free, decapitating a burly Mamluk and then maiming another one half blinded by the spray of blood.\n\n\"Fall back!\" Richard's voice was hoarse from shouting, but urgency gave it enough resonance to be heard above the din of battle. \"Fall back! To me!\"\n\nThe men within hearing distance obeyed, fighting their way toward the standard's cart. By now their infantry had reached the cart, too, and as the knights gathered around Richard, the crossbowmen unleashed a devastating fire to keep the Saracens at bay. Richard had broken his lance, but a soldier found one on the field and offered it to him, grinning when Richard tapped him on the shoulder with it as if dubbing a knight. By now the knights had lined up, lances leveled or swords drawn. Off to his left, Richard saw a group of French knights had taken shelter behind their men-at-arms and were also assembling for a countercharge, led by Guillaume des Barres. The battle was still continuing, for not all of the crusaders had been able to join in the retreat. Bodies lay crumpled as far as the eye could see, the dead and the wounded of both sides, and the Saracen drums continued to pound, summoning the sultan's fugitive troops back into the fray. Richard glanced from side to side, making sure that they were ready, and then couched his lance.\n\n\"Now!\" As their infantry sprang aside with practiced coordination, Richard cried, \"Holy Sepulchre, aid us!\" and they charged. The Saracens unable to get out of the way were slain when the knights slammed into their ranks, for an armed knight on a galloping destrier had such momentum that a lance could run a man through like a pig on a spit, piercing armor, flesh, and bone with lethal ease. Overwhelmed by this iron onslaught, Salah al-D\u012bn's soldiers fled back toward the safety of the forest, with the crusaders in close pursuit. Richard halted the chase before they could advance too far into the woods, for a Saracen army was never more dangerous than in retreat.\n\nLeading his men back onto the bloodied battlefield, he gave orders to collect their wounded\u2014the dead would have to wait. Once he was satisfied that his soldiers were on the alert for another Saracen attack, he rode toward the squadron of French knights who'd fought under Guillaume des Barres, and these two former enemies shared a moment that mattered more than grudges or grievances or royal rivalries, for there was a brotherhood of the battlefield that men like Richard and Guillaume honored above all else.\n\nThe battered crusader army resumed its march toward Arsuf. But as they approached the camp already set up by their vanguard, there was another attack upon their rear. Richard, with just fifteen of his own knights, led a third charge that drove them back toward a ridge of hills, and the battle of Arsuf was finally over.\n\nArsuf was situated on a steep sandstone ridge overlooking the sea, but the abandoned town was in ruins, razed by the Saracens, and the crusaders had to camp in the surrounding orchards. They were exhausted but triumphant, all the more thankful when they discovered that their casualties had been only one-tenth that of the Saracen losses. There were many wounded, though, and the surgeons' tents were soon crowded. Before darkness fell, men began to slip away to exercise a soldier's prerogative\u2014plundering the dead.\n\nRichard was in some discomfort, for his exertions on the battlefield had done his wound no good. He still insisted upon making the rounds of the camp himself, confirming that sentinels were on the alert, checking upon the injured, and offering praise to his soldiers, knowing they valued that almost as much as the booty they'd collected from their slain foes. The camp was abuzz with the exploits of Guillaume des Barres, Richard himself, and the young Earl of Leicester, who'd led a charge that had cut off some of Salah al-D\u012bn's right wing.\n\n\"Is it true that Saracens were leaping off the cliffs into the sea to escape Leicester's knights?\" the Grand Master of the Templars asked Richard. \"I have to admit that I'd not expected Leicester to show such prowess on the field, for he is on the puny side, after all.\"\n\nRichard shrugged. \"Sometimes a man's heart is big enough to overcome his body's shortcomings,\" he said, thinking of another undersized warrior, Tancred of Sicily. \"I've been told that Saladin is only of middling height and slight build, and for certes, he has never lacked for courage.\" He stopped to banter for a moment with several Angevin crossbowmen and then rejoined Robert de Sabl\u00e9. \"What Saladin did today was remarkable. Once an army breaks and runs, it is well nigh impossible to halt the rout, much less rally them to fight again, and yet he managed it.\"\n\nThe Templar was more interested in discussing the Hospitaller breach of discipline. \"Will you punish their marshal for charging on his own?\"\n\nRichard found the sharp rivalry between the Templars and the Hospitallers to be yet one more needless complication in his quest to retake Jerusalem. \"I talked to William Borrel and the other knight, Baldwin de Carew. They both swear they thought they'd heard the trumpets.\" Robert de Sabl\u00e9 looked skeptical of that. Richard was skeptical, too, but since there was no way to prove they lied, he had to give them the benefit of the doubt. Despite his frustration that the charge had been launched too soon, he couldn't help admiring their mad courage in making such an assault\u2014two knights against the might of Saladin's army.\n\nHe saw his nephew approaching with Guy and Joffroi de Lusignan and he moved to meet them, wanting publicly to commend them for fighting so bravely that day. But then he saw their faces. Henri and Guy looked distraught and even the phlegmatic Joffroi appeared troubled.\n\n\"Uncle!\" Henri was so close now that Richard could see he was fighting back tears. \"Jacques d'Avesnes is missing. No one has seen him since the battle.\"\n\nThe man on the blankets was young, blessed with a handsome face and robust body. But he was dying, for his injuries were beyond the healing skills of the Hospitallers' surgeons. Two kings were keeping watch at his deathbed, and so many barons and bishops that there was barely room for them all in the tent, for he'd been recognized as one of Jacques d'Avesnes's household knights, and they hoped that he'd be able to tell them what had befallen his lord.\n\nAs they waited, they spoke quietly among themselves. The soldiers who'd gone back to the battlefield in search of booty had reported that they'd encountered some of Saladin's men, come to collect their wounded. Both sides had ignored one another, by common consent, and there'd been no more blood spilled. They'd reported, too, that at least thirty-two emirs had been slain and there were more than seven hundred Saracen bodies. But they'd found no survivors, and Jacques d'Avesnes's fate remained a mystery\u2014unless this mortally wounded Flemish youth could speak in the little time left to him.\n\nRichard and Guy had been summoned when the knight had shown signs of regaining consciousness, and as they watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Guy confided how much he owed to Jacques, who'd arrived at Acre soon after the start of the siege. \"Not only did he bring desperately needed men and supplies, he did much to raise our spirits. He never doubted that we would prevail and his faith was contagious.\"\n\n\"Do you know if Jacques has a son?\" Richard asked, gazing down at the Fleming and finding himself overwhelmed with sadness, even though he knew that a man who died fighting for God would have all his sins remitted as a martyr to the True Faith.\n\n\"Yes, four sons,\" Guy said, \"and four daughters, too. He often joked about the difficulty of finding husbands for them\u2014\" He stopped abruptly and Richard saw why; the young knight's lashes were fluttering again.\n\nSupported by one of the surgeons, he managed to swallow some wine. His eyes were dulled with pain, but he was lucid, and he wanted to bear witness. He was too weak to summon up his French, gasping in his native Flemish as Baldwin de Bethune leaned over to translate those labored, whispered words.\n\n\"He says it happened when the Saracens made that second attack. They were cut off and surrounded. They still hoped to break free, but then his lord's stallion stumbled and threw him. He says Lord Jacques fought with great courage, even though he knew he was doomed. His knights were struck down as they sought to reach him....\"\n\nJacques's friends and fellow crusaders had known the news would be bad and thought they were braced for it. They were discovering now that they were not, and there were tears, a few muffled sobs, and the anguished cursing of men struggling to accept God's Will. The Bishop of Salisbury was about to offer the comfort of prayer when Baldwin leaned over the dying man again. Straightening up, he raised a hand for quiet.\n\n\"There is more. He says a lord was nearby, a man Jacques knew well. When he was unhorsed, he cried out to his friend for aid. Instead this man rode away with his own knights, leaving them to be slain by the infidel Turks.\"\n\nThis was a serious accusation, and there was an immediate outcry, demands to know the name of the craven cur who'd abandoned another Christian lord to save his own skin. \"He says...\" Baldwin paused, his eyes searching the tent until he found the one he sought, standing in the rear. \"He says it was the Count of Dreux who refused to help his lord.\"\n\nRobert of Dreux's face flooded with color. \"That... that is not true! He lies!\" His gaze shifted frantically from one man to another, seeking allies, seeking champions. He found none. They all were regarding him with shock and disgust, even Hugh of Burgundy and his own brother, Beauvais. No one spoke as he continued to protest his innocence, swearing that this Flemish whoreson was lying. Seeing their disbelief, he switched tactics, insisting that the man was out of his wits with fever and pain. But their continued, stony silence told him that his frenzied denials were a waste of breath. They believed this dying knight, and they would not forgive such a blatant breach of the code by which they lived. His honor would be tattered and tarnished until the day he drew his last breath.\n\nAt dawn, the Templars and Hospitallers went out and conducted a thorough search of the battlefield, at last finding the bodies of Jacques d'Avesnes and three of his kinsmen, who'd died with him. His mutilated corpse was washed and prayed over and then buried with great honor in the Minster of Our Holy Lady in Arsuf. Their army remained in camp on that Sunday, which was one of the most sacred holy days in the Christian calendar, the Feast of the Blessed Lady Mary, Mother of God. It was also Richard's thirty-fourth birthday.\n\nFrom the history of Bah\u0101'al-D\u012bn. \"God alone knows the depth of grief which filled the sultan's heart after this battle; our men were all wounded, some in their bodies, some in their spirits.\"\n\nThe crusaders broke camp on Monday, and though they were harried again by Salah al-D\u012bn's men, Richard kept them in formation and they marched on. The following day they at last reached Jaffa, almost three weeks after leaving Acre."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEPTEMBER 1191",
                "text": "[ Jaffa, Outremer ]\n\nThey huddled together, the flaring torches revealing both their poverty and their fear. Richard assumed that they were a family\u2014an older couple, a young wife or widow, and two small children peering out from behind her skirts. The Templar turcopole interpreter beside him looked aggrieved, but the story he'd related was so improbable that Richard wanted confirmation from Humphrey de Toron; he'd come to trust the young poulain even though they were as unlike as wine and buttermilk. When Humphrey finally arrived, obviously roused from bed, Richard drew him aside.\n\n\"They told one of the turcopoles that they've come from Ascalon, that Saladin forced all the townspeople from their homes and set about destroying the city and castle. But I find that hard to believe, for Ascalon is one of the great jewels in the sultan's crown. So I want you to question them for me.\"\n\nHe watched intently as Humphrey interrogated the family, his Arabic so fluent and his manner so courteous that some of their fright appeared to lessen. Even though he didn't speak the language, Richard did read faces well\u2014a king's survival skill\u2014and he soon concluded that they were either speaking the truth or were remarkably skilled liars. But how could it be true?\n\nWhen Humphrey was done, he shook his head, saddened but not surprised by yet more evidence of the suffering that war inflicted, usually upon the innocent and the helpless. \"They say that Saladin arrived at Ascalon six days after the battle of Arsuf and personally supervised the destruction of their city. This created a panic, of course, as the townspeople sought desperately to sell what belongings they could not take with them. Their family was lucky enough to have a donkey cart, but many did not and the prices of horses soared, while the prices of household goods and livestock plummeted so low that a man could buy twelve chickens for only one dirham. Whilst some sought passage on ships to Egypt, most of the citizens did not know where to go, and there was much weeping and fear. The sultan opened the royal granary to the people, but most lost everything they owned. They had a candlemaking shop which is gone now, burned like much of the city. They say they are Christians, not Muslims, and so they hoped we would take pity on them.\"\n\nSeeing a question forming on Richard's lips, Humphrey said swiftly, wanting to protect these poor wretches if he could, \"I suppose they may be lying, but it could well be true, for it is not unusual to find native-born Christians living in Saracen towns. In fact, Saladin encouraged the Syrian Christians and Jews to remain in Ascalon after he captured it four years ago.\" Adding reluctantly, \"I can find out for certes if you wish, see if they know the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria, and the Credo\u2014\"\n\nRichard cut him off impatiently, for he had more pressing concerns than the religious faith of these bedraggled refugees. \"What would compel him to sacrifice such an important stronghold?\"\n\n\"They say Saladin was sorely grieved, so much so that he took sick when he saw the misery of the townspeople, and they heard he'd even said he would rather have lost all of his sons than demolish a single stone of their city. But his soldiers told them that he'd been advised he could not defend both Ascalon and Jerusalem, and he feared that no garrison could be trusted to hold firm after the killing of the men at Acre. So rather than have it fall intact into your hands, he chose to destroy it.\"\n\nIt was obvious to Richard that Humphrey believed them, but he was still not convinced that Saladin had truly taken a measure so desperate. \"See that they are fed, Humphrey,\" he said, and then looked around at the other crusaders, all of them dumbfounded, too, by what they'd just heard. \"Take a galley at first light,\" he told Joffroi de Lusignan, \"and see if Ascalon is truly in flames.\"\n\nAs soon as Joffroi de Lusignan had finished speaking, Richard moved to the center of his tent. \"Well, we know it is indeed true. But the city is not fully razed to the ground yet, so there is still time. I will take part of the fleet on the morrow whilst the Duke of Burgundy follows along the coast road. It is only thirty miles from Jaffa, so we ought to be able to seize the city ere Saladin can complete its destruction.\"\n\n\"Attack Ascalon?\" Hugh of Burgundy was staring at Richard in disbelief. \"Why would we want to do that? Now that we hold Jaffa, we can march upon Jerusalem.\"\n\nRichard was taken by surprise, for the advantages of taking Ascalon seemed so obvious to him that he hadn't expected to have to argue about it. \"Ascalon controls the road to Egypt,\" he said, striving to hide his vexation beneath a matter-of-fact demeanor, \"and Egypt is the base of Saladin's power. If we hold Ascalon, we can cut off his communications and supplies from Alexandria. Moreover, Saladin will fear that we mean to strike into Egypt itself, and so we could\u2014\"\n\n\"Have you lost your mind?\" Hugh was on his feet now, but the Bishop of Beauvais was even quicker.\n\n\"I cannot speak for the rest of you,\" he said angrily, \"but I did not take the cross to help Lord Lionheart add Egypt to his Angevin empire! Was Cyprus not enough for you, Richard? Are you lusting after the riches of the Nile now, too?\"\n\n\"I am not seeking to conquer it, you fool! It is enough if Saladin thinks we are, for if he believes his Egyptian domains are threatened, he'll be all the more likely to agree to favorable peace terms\u2014\"\n\n\"Now we come down to it,\" Hugh interrupted. \"I've been suspicious of your intentions from the first, for you opened talks with Saladin as soon as you arrived at Acre, treating this infidel as respectfully as if he were another Christian prince. But I can assure you that the rest of us did not come to the Holy Land to make peace with the enemies of God. We came to recover the city of Jerusalem!\"\n\n\"And how do you plan to do that, Hugh? We were able to reach Jaffa because we had the support of my fleet; they kept us supplied. When we head inland toward Jerusalem, we have to bring all our provisions with us. Have you even spared a thought to what a march like that would be like? We cannot put an army in the field to match Saladin's; we cannot even replace the horses we lose!\"\n\n\"What are you saying, my lord king?\" Even though he was from one of the noblest families of France, Mathieu de Montmorency usually kept quiet in such councils, acutely aware that he was only seventeen years old and a battle novice. But he was too distraught now to remain silent. \"You mean we have no chance of retaking the Holy City?\"\n\n\"I am not saying that, Mathieu,\" Richard assured the boy. \"But we must first make sure we can protect our supply lines. If we had marched toward Jerusalem from Acre as some of you wanted, we would likely all be dead by now. We reached Jaffa because you listened to me, not the Bishop of Beauvais and his ilk. So heed me now. Ascalon is the key to Jerusalem, and if you doubt that, why would Saladin destroy it rather than risk its capture? It is not enough to take the Holy City. Then we must hold it. And if we have Ascalon, we just might be able to do that.\"\n\nRichard had been focusing his attention upon Hugh and Beauvais. Turning toward the others, he was dismayed by what he saw\u2014or did not see. They looked troubled, uncertain, ambivalent, not like men who understood the truth, his truth. Even some of his own lords seemed conflicted. \"Listen to me,\" he urged, in what was as close as he could come to an entreaty. \"I cannot stay in Outremer indefinitely. None of us can. You think Saladin does not know that? All he has to do is to outlast us, wait for us to go back to our own lands. This is why we must come to terms with him. And to get him to agree to a peace that both sides can live with, we need leverage. We need Ascalon.\"\n\n\"You are giving the Saracens too much credit and our army too little.\" Hugh had gotten his temper under control, and his calm certitude was more convincing than his earlier antagonism; even Richard could see that. \"This is not just another squabble between the kings of England and France. This is a holy war, sanctioned by Almighty God. Can you not see what a difference that makes? Our Lord Christ died on this hallowed soil. Do you think He has led us this far to fail? You talk of strategy and supplies. But what of God's Will? I say we continue refortifying Jaffa and then use it as a base to recapture Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"The Almighty still expects us to do our part! By your logic, Hugh, \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn ought to have been a Christian victory since they had God on their side. Yet even God's Army can be defeated if outmaneuvered and outnumbered.\"\n\n\"I am glad that you recognize it is God's Army, not your own,\" Beauvais jeered. \"If you want to chase off to Ascalon, do so. But the rest of us are going to honor our vows to recover the Holy City.\"\n\nRichard's eyes glittered, his color rising. Before he could respond, Hugh seized the opportunity the bishop had given him. \"Do you remember the question you posed to the French lords at Acre? You asked them whether they were going back to Paris with our king or going on to Jerusalem with you. I say we ask again. How many of you want to follow the English king to Ascalon? And how many of you would rather we lay siege to Jerusalem?\"\n\nIt was soon apparent that Hugh and Beauvais would win the vote count. Richard was backed up by the Templars, the Hospitallers, Guy de Lusignan and his brothers, the other poulain lords, and most of his barons and bishops. But the crusaders from Europe saw Ascalon as a needless detour on the road to Jerusalem. Virtually all of the French, Flemings, Bretons, and some of Richard's own vassals wanted to recover the Holy City as soon as possible, eager to see the sacred Holy Sepulchre for themselves and to walk in the Lord Christ's blessed footsteps, but eager, too, to fulfill their vows so they could return to their homes and families and the lives they'd left behind.\n\nRichard was shocked, for he'd honestly believed that his argument would carry the day. How could seasoned soldiers like Guillaume des Barres and the counts of St Pol, Chalons, and Clermont fail to see that he was in the right? Yet of the French lords, only Henri had loyally declared in favor of Ascalon; even Jaufre, looking stricken, had mumbled \"Jerusalem.\" For several moments, Richard considered going his own way, leading his men and Outremer's lords south to seize Ascalon whilst letting the others fend for themselves. But that was the Devil whispering in his ear, for what could gladden Saladin more than such a schism in the Christian ranks?\n\n\"So be it,\" he said curtly, for he was damned if he'd be a good sport about it, not when so much was at stake. \"But it is a mistake, one we are all going to regret.\"\n\nHenri and Andr\u00e9 had been searching for Richard in growing concern, unable to understand how a king could suddenly disappear. They finally found him on the beach. The wine-dark sky was spangled with an infinity of shimmering stars, the moon silvering the whitecaps as they churned shoreward, a light, variable wind chasing away the last of the day's heat. But the serenity of the night was at odds with the emotions unleashed by the scene in Richard's command tent. He turned in the saddle as they rode toward him, and for a time they watched without speaking as the waves splashed onto the sand, receded, and surged back.\n\n\"How can they be so blind?\" Richard asked after a long silence. His mood had swung from fury to frustration to bafflement; now he just sounded tired. \"They are not fools, not even those whoresons Burgundy and Beauvais. So why would they not heed me?\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 had no answer for him, but Henri did. Reining in his horse beside Richard's Spanish stallion, he said, \"Because Hugh was right. A holy war is different. They are listening to their hearts, Uncle, and the heart is not always rational.\"\n\n\"Are you saying that Jerusalem matters more to them than it does to me? God's Bones, Henri, I was one of the first to take the cross!\"\n\n\"No one doubts your devotion to our quest, Uncle. But you are a soldier, first and foremost, and most of them are now pilgrims, albeit armed ones. You want to win the war and secure a peace that Saladin will honor. They just want to recapture Jerusalem, whatever the cost. Try not to blame them for that.\"\n\n\"I do not,\" Richard insisted, not altogether truthfully. \"But as I told them tonight, this was a mistake, a great mistake.\"\n\nThey agreed, so emphatically that Richard took a small measure of comfort in their loyalty. But he remained convinced that they'd let a rare opportunity slip away, one that might not come again.\n\nThey continued with the refortification of Jaffa, Richard occasionally taking a hand himself in the repair work, which astonished his barons and endeared him to his soldiers. By Michaelmas, they'd made so much progress that Richard felt he could spare a few hours to go hawking in the low hills south of Jaffa. He'd brought his own gyrfalcons on the crusade; they were used mainly against cranes, though, and required greyhounds for the kill once the falcon had brought down its much larger prey. But Saladin had sent him a saker during his illness at Acre, and he was curious to try it out, having been told it was the main hunting bird of the Saracen falconers. They had a successful hunt, catching partridges and even a red hare. Richard was still restless, and after sending the falcons and their game back to Jaffa, he headed out to do reconnaissance.\n\nThis hunt was not as successful; they encountered no Saracen scouts or patrols. By now the enervating heat of midday was upon them, and when they found a small stream by a wild olive grove, they dismounted to water their horses and rest awhile. Bracing his back against a tree, Morgan was grateful to escape the Syrian sun, for he did not think he'd ever adjust to Outremer's torrid climate. Off to his left, he could hear Richard talking with Renier de Maron, telling the poulain lord that they'd heard Conrad had been making overtures to Saladin and asking Renier if he thought Conrad was capable of such treachery. Under another tree, Warin Fitz Gerald had produced some dice and was playing a game of raffle with Alan and Lucas L'Etable. Morgan was half tempted to join in, but that would require moving. He was dozing when Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux plopped down beside him, saying he'd like to learn some more Welsh curses.\n\nMorgan was happy to oblige, for he shared Guilhem's interest in foreign languages; they'd both picked up a few useful Greek phrases in Sicily and Cyprus and were now doing their best to master a bit of the equally challenging Arabic. He taught the other knight a handful of Welsh obscenities, translating twll din as arsehole, and coc oen as lamb's cock, assuring Guilhem that the latter was highly offensive in Wales. Guilhem repeated the words dutifully, committing them to memory, and then asked for the worst insult a Welshman could utter.\n\n\"Well, it is a grievous affront to say that a man is incapable of protecting his wife, for that is a serious slur upon his manhood. But I think the greatest insult by far would be to call a Welshman a Sais,\" Morgan said, straight-faced. He began to laugh, though, when Guilhem wanted a translation, admitting that Sais meant \"Englishman.\"\n\n\"That does not offend me,\" Guilhem said with a grin, \"for I'm Norman. I have some new Arabic curses for you, if you're interested?\" Morgan was, and so was Renier de Maron's nephew, Walter, who moved closer to hear better; it puzzled both Morgan and Guilhem that so few of the poulains bothered to learn any Arabic. Unhooking a wineskin from his belt, Guilhem shared it along with his newfound store of profanities. \"Ya ibn el kalb means 'You son of a dog,' which is a serious insult since the Saracens think dogs are unclean. To say In'al yomak is to curse the day you were born; I like that one myself. And In'a'al mayteen means 'Damn your dead.' But my turcopole friend Adam says the deadliest insult in Arabic is to call a man a fatah, even worse than calling someone a Sais.\"\n\n\"Are you going to keep us in suspense? What does it mean?\"\n\nGuilhem's grin had now spread from ear to ear. \"It means 'foreskin'!\" he declared, roaring with laughter at the baffled expressions on their faces. When he got his breath back, he explained that the Saracens practiced circumcision as the Jews did, and the foreskin was the fold of skin cut off and cast aside.\n\nMorgan and Walter recoiled in mock horror, bringing their knees up to protect their family jewels, and soon all three were laughing so loudly that they attracted annoyed glances from others trying to nap. Reaching for Guilhem's wineskin, Morgan pretended to ponder this new curse and then shook his head. \"I cannot see that being a useful insult once we go back to our own lands. Now 'Damn your dead,' mayhap. But if I were to call a man a 'foreskin' in a tavern brawl, he'd just stare at me in bewilderment.\"\n\n\"But whilst he puzzled over it, you could hit him!\" Guilhem insisted, and that set them off again. This time they made enough noise to vex all of the men who'd wanted to sleep, and Richard ordered the culprits to take turns standing guard. Walter volunteered to take the first watch, and Morgan and Guilhem drew further back into the shade. Soon they, too, were dozing.\n\nMorgan's languid dream-state was broken by a sudden shout. He jerked upright just as an arrow thudded into the tree trunk, so close he actually felt the rush of air on his skin. He instinctively ducked, hearing the high-pitched thrumming as another arrow sped over his head and, then, a muffled cry as it struck its target. All around him was chaos. Richard was yelling for them to mount up, the enemy bowmen screaming \"Allahu Akbar!\" as the men scrambled to their feet. But as the knights hastened to follow Richard's example\u2014he was already astride Fauvel, his sword drawn\u2014the Saracens broke off the attack. As Richard charged after them, Morgan ran toward his stallion. As he swung up into the saddle, he heard his name called out, and he glanced back to see Guilhem stooping over a man who'd taken an arrow in his shoulder.\n\n\"Fulk? How bad is it?\" He'd directed the question at Guilhem, but it was the wounded knight who answered, saying he thought he could ride if they'd help him up onto his horse. Morgan quickly dismounted and between the two of them, he and Guilhem managed to boost Fulk into his saddle. His face had contorted and he was sweating profusely, obviously in considerable pain. He assured them, though, that he could make it back to Jaffa on his own, and they had to take him at his word, for they thought Richard's need was more urgent since they were all lightly armed, not having taken shields, lances, or helmets to go hawking. \"Have them send a patrol out,\" Morgan flung over his shoulder to Fulk as he and Guilhem spurred their mounts to catch up with the other knights.\n\nTheir companions were already out of sight, having disappeared into a copse of trees up ahead. Morgan made sure his sword would be easy to slide from its scabbard, for they could hear sounds of combat by now. But nothing had prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when they rounded a bend in the road. A savage battle was in progress. Bodies lay on the ground, a horse was down and screaming, another galloping in circles, his rider slumped over the saddle, and Richard and his knights were surrounded, fighting desperately against overwhelming odds.\n\n\"Mother of God,\" Morgan whispered, horrorstruck, for it was obvious to him that they'd not be able to escape this trap; there were too many Saracens. But he could not ride away and leave his cousin the king and the others to die. As he unsheathed his sword, he saw Guilhem had made the same choice, for his sword was out now, too. Their arrival had been noticed and some of the Turks were turning their way. Morgan cried out, \"Holy Sepulchre, aid us!\" and charged toward them.\n\nGuilhem did the same. But it was no battle cry he was screaming. As he closed with two of the Saracens, he shouted, \"Anaa Malik Ric! Anaa Malik Ric!\"\n\nThe reaction of the Saracens was immediate and dramatic. Heads whipped around in his direction and he was encircled within moments, men snatching at his reins, others leveling swords threateningly at his chest. He did not struggle, dropping his sword to the ground and raising his right hand in the Syrian gesture of surrender. Having taken him prisoner, his guards yelled to their comrades as they bore him away. And as suddenly as that, the battle was over, Richard and the other crusaders watching in stunned disbelief as their foes shied off and raced away, leaving them alone on a field with their dead and wounded.\n\nMorgan was the only one who understood what had just happened and he was still in shock. There was no time for fear when men were fighting for their lives, but now they could acknowledge it, could admit they'd been doomed and then given an inexplicable reprieve. Once they were sure the Saracens had truly gone, they turned their attention to the men on the ground. Richard swung from the saddle, dropping to his knees beside Renier de Maron. The poulain lord's eyes were open, but they did not see him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his breath came in rasping gulps as the king grasped his hand. After a moment, Richard made the sign of the cross, closed those staring eyes, and rose to his feet. \"How many?\" he asked huskily, and winced when a shaken Warin Fitz Gerald told him they had four dead and several more were wounded.\n\nGazing down at the bodies of the L'Etable brothers, who'd been throwing dice with him and joking less than an hour ago, Warin found himself shivering despite the stifling heat. \"Renier de Maron's nephew is dead, too. His head was bashed in. Gilbert Talbot's wound seems the worst.... And one of the horses broke his leg. God and His good angels looked after us this day, sire. But why? Why did they stop the fight?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" Richard admitted, sounding just as mystified, \"I do not know....\"\n\n\"I do.\" As they all turned toward him, Morgan slid from his horse and leaned for a moment against the stallion's heaving side, for he knew the blow he was about to inflict upon Richard. \"It was Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux who saved us, my liege. He shouted out that he was Malik Ric. The Saracens rode off because they thought they'd captured our king.\"\n\nThere were exclamations from the men, cries of admiration for Guilhem's courage mixed with fear for his likely fate. Richard said nothing, but all the color had drained from his face. It was only when he realized that they were looking to him for guidance that he pulled himself together and began to issue orders. They had to make the difficult decision to leave their dead for later retrieval; the slain knights' horses had been seized and led off by the Saracen soldiers. After putting the thrashing stallion out of his misery, they assisted their wounded to mount and rode toward Jaffa at as fast a pace as the injured could endure.\n\nThey'd only covered a mile or so before they saw plumes of dust along the horizon. As the riders came into view, Morgan gave thanks again to the Almighty, for not only had Fulk gotten to their camp, he'd sent out a rescue party. Andr\u00e9 and Henri were in the lead, with the Earl of Leicester and Guillaume des Barres close behind. They were greatly relieved to see Richard was unhurt, but he cut off their rejoicing with a terse account of Guilhem's capture, and as soon as the wounded were sent on to Jaffa, the others followed Richard as he wheeled Fauvel and led a pursuit of the Saracens that all knew was futile. But after glancing at Richard's bone-white face, none of them argued with him and they continued on until he was ready to admit defeat.\n\nBy the time they got back to Jaffa, the camp was in an uproar, and they were mobbed by men wanting to see for themselves that the king was unharmed. The wounded knights had told of Guilhem's heroic sacrifice and there was much talk of his bravery, but it was sorrowful praise, for all knew what had happened to Christian prisoners in the aftermath of the massacre of the Acre garrison. As soon as Richard dismounted, he ordered Guilhem's brothers to be found and brought to his tent. He'd only taken a few steps, though, before the Duke of Burgundy blocked his path.\n\n\"Beauvais was wrong when he said you were lusting after the gold of Egypt. It is martyrdom you are lusting after, for there is no other explanation for the way you keep courting your own death!\"\n\nRichard's eyes blazed with such fury that some of the other men instinctively drew back. \"Christ, what a hypocrite you are, Burgundy! You expect me to believe your sudden concern for my well-being? We both know you'd like nothing better than to spit on my grave.\"\n\n\"Not so. I'd much rather piss in your open coffin. But you cannot keep up this mad behavior, not when your death would likely end our hopes of recovering Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"Get out of my way,\" Richard snarled, and when Hugh held his ground, several of the bystanders hastily stepped between the two men, Guillaume des Barres pulling his duke away while the Bishop of Salisbury sought to calm his king's rage. Henri was pushing through the crowd to reach his uncle's side. He paused, though, as he heard Guillaume's low-voiced urgings, telling Hugh that Richard was indeed too careless with his own safety but this was neither the time nor the place to argue that point. Agreeing wholeheartedly with the French knight, Henri sighed and hastened after Richard as he stormed off toward his tent.\n\nRichard had allowed his squires to remove his mail shirt, then slumped down on a coffer. He'd not worn his gambeson under his hauberk and he'd been badly bruised by blows that had gotten past his sword's defenses, but he ignored Henri's plea that he be checked out by his doctor. He looked up only when Pierre and Jean de Pr\u00e9aux were ushered into the tent. It was obvious that they had already been told of their brother's capture, for they had the dazed look of men torn between pride and grief.\n\n\"I want you to know,\" Richard said, \"that I will do all in my power to gain Guilhem's freedom. I swear this upon the very surety of my soul and all my hopes of salvation.\"\n\nJean murmured an almost inaudible \"Thank you, my liege.\" Pierre swallowed with an obvious effort and then managed a sad smile.\n\n\"You must not blame yourself, sire. My brother sacrificed himself for his king and for the Holy City, and there can be no greater honor than that. But we know there is no hope. We've heard what those Bedouin spies have reported, that Saladin has put to death all Christians unlucky enough to fall into his hands. At least we have the comfort of knowing Guilhem will soon be blessed with Life Everlasting, able to look upon the Face of Almighty God.\"\n\n\"No,\" Richard said, so urgently that they exchanged confused glances. \"Saladin will not execute Guilhem, for he understands how much Guilhem's life matters to me. He knows I will pay any ransom he demands. Your brother is too valuable a hostage to be beheaded, worth far more alive than dead.\"\n\nThey were hesitant at first to believe him, afraid to embrace false hope. But Richard's certainty was so compelling and their need so great that by the time they departed the tent, they were no longer convinced that their brother was doomed. Once they'd gone, Henri filled two wine cups until they were in danger of overflowing. Sloshing one into Richard's hand, he said, \"Do you truly believe that, Uncle?\"\n\n\"I have to, Henri,\" Richard said, \"I have to....\" As he turned away, Henri thought he caught a suspicious glimmer in the other man's eyes and he hastily drained his wine cup, while he, too, blinked back tears.\n\nRichard's friends waited five days before bearding the lion in his den. Henri and Andr\u00e9 were the ringleaders and they'd carefully selected crusaders the king was most likely to heed\u2014Baldwin de Bethune, the Earl of Leicester, the Bishop of Salisbury, Morgan ap Ranulf, Jaufre of Perche, Guillaume des Barres, and the Grand Masters of the Templars and Hospitallers. And so on a Friday evening at twilight not long after Richard had returned from a scouting mission, he found himself confronted by men whose opinions he could not dismiss as easily as he had Hugh of Burgundy's.\n\n\"As much as it pains me to say it,\" Henri began, for he'd been given the dubious honor of being their spokesman, \"there were a few grains of sense midst Hugh's ranting.\" Seeking to head off the gathering storm clouds, he said hastily, \"Uncle, even a blind pig can find an acorn occasionally. And whilst none of us believe his charge\u2014that you are courting your own death\u2014we do fear for your safety. The line between courage and recklessness is not as blurred as you seem to think.\"\n\n\"I lead by example,\" Richard said flatly. \"Our men are so willing to risk their lives on a daily basis because they see that I am risking mine, too.\"\n\nNone could argue with that, for Richard had just uttered a basic truth of war, one noncombatants did not always understand\u2014that men fought for one another as well as for causes or profit, theirs a solidarity that only the battlefield could forge. Henri did not think this was going as they'd hoped and he glanced toward the others for support.\n\n\"Yes, our soldiers greatly admire your courage, Cousin. But they also fear for your safety as we do,\" Andr\u00e9 said bluntly. \"Last Sunday was the third time you've nearly been killed or captured in a Saracen ambush, the very same ambushes you warn us to avoid. It was foolhardy to chase after those Turkish archers, especially since you all were so lightly armed. You would have been wroth with any of our men for taking such needless chances. Can you deny it?\"\n\nFew would have dared to speak so candidly with a king, especially this one. But Andr\u00e9 knew that Richard had inherited more than his father's notorious Angevin temper; he had Henry's innate sense of fairness, too. Neither man had always heeded it, of course, not a welcome thought as he waited tensely now for Richard's response.\n\nRichard started to speak, stopped himself, and scowled, for he could not deny it. He would indeed have berated others for ignoring the dangers of an ambush. \"One of the benefits of kingship,\" he said at last, \"is that we get to break the rules from time to time.\" Even to him, that was a lame defense, but he really didn't have one. He did not fully understand himself why he felt this compulsion to be the first into the breach, the last to retreat. What of it, though? It was part and parcel of what made him the man he was, after all.\n\n\"I do not doubt that is true, sire,\" the Bishop of Salisbury said, with his usual aplomb. \"Kings do indeed get to break the rules. And we have not dared to reproach you for your boldness until now. But we can keep silent no longer, not when the fate of the Holy Land balances so precariously upon the blade of your sword.\"\n\n\"None would argue that all men's lives are of equal value,\" Guillaume des Barres said quietly. \"Your life, my liege, is precious in God's Eyes, and not just because you are a king. You are the man chosen to defeat the infidels and restore Jerusalem to its former glory. You cannot risk such a destiny in needless skirmishes with Saracen bowmen.\"\n\nAs he glanced around the tent, Richard saw that same belief on the other faces, too, a conviction strong enough to risk his anger, even though theirs was a world in which the king's favor counted for all. \"It is not fair to make God your ally,\" he said, half seriously, \"for how am I supposed to dispute His Will? I understand your concern, I do. I can promise you this much, that I will try to be more careful in the future. But in all honesty, I cannot promise more than that, for you may drive nature out with a pitchfork, but it will still return.\"\n\nMost of the men hadn't expected much more from Richard and they reasoned that a qualified promise was better than no promise at all. They hoped to continue the conversation, though, wanting to make sure that he fully understood the depths of their anxiety. But it was then that Warin Fitz Gerald hastened into the tent with news that couldn't wait.\n\n\"My lord, King Guy is back! His ship has just dropped anchor in the harbor.\" Warin paused then, realizing that a council was in progress. \"Forgive me for interrupting, sire. I thought you would want to know straightaway....\"\n\nRichard had dispatched Guy to Acre with instructions to bring back the truants still enjoying themselves in the city's taverns and whorehouses. He did indeed want to know that Guy had returned, but he was also glad of an excuse to end this uncomfortable lecture. \"No, we are done here, Warin. How many ships are with him?\"\n\n\"Only the one galley, my liege.\"\n\n\"What? You mean he failed to bring any of those laggards back with him?\" Richard was incredulous; how could Guy fail at such a simple task? He was halfway across the tent before he remembered the other men. \"This cannot wait,\" he explained. \"I have to find out what happened.\"\n\nThey agreed politely that this took precedence, and as soon as Richard had gone, they, too, began to disperse, relieved that at least they'd gotten him to listen. Only Henri and Andr\u00e9 lingered, helping themselves to some of Richard's wine, for they thought they'd earned it.\n\n\"That comment about a pitchfork...\" Andr\u00e9 paused to take a deep swallow. \"Does it mean what I think it does?\"\n\nHenri's mother had made sure he'd received an excellent education, no less thorough than Richard's, and he'd recognized the quote. \"It was from Horace,\" he said, adding when he saw Andr\u00e9's blank look, \"a Roman poet. Yes, it does mean what you think\u2014that a leopard cannot change his spots, and God help us all, but neither can a lion.\"\n\nJoanna and Berengaria had spent the afternoon with Prior William, an English cleric who'd come to Outremer to establish a church and hospital in honor of the martyr St Thomas of Canterbury. He'd arrived during the siege and set up his chapel outside the walls, but now that Acre was in Christian hands again, he hoped to move into the city. Since Richard had promised to endow the hospital, he'd taken the women to see a suitable property near the gate of St Nicholas. Their lives were so different from what they'd experienced back in Sicily and Navarre, when royal duties had kept them busy from dawn to dusk, that they were pleased to be able to function again as queens and they gave the prior permission to purchase the building. They then visited the covered market street, where they bought perfumed soap to assuage Anna and Alicia's disappointment; the girls had wanted to accompany them, for an excursion into the city was much more appealing than their daily lessons. So it was dusk before Joanna and Berengaria returned to the palace, their household knights good-naturedly complaining about being loaded down with their purchases like pack mules.\n\nAs soon as they entered the courtyard, Anna and Alicia flew out the door to meet them. \"Where have you been?\" Anna scolded. \"We did not think you were ever coming home!\"\n\n\"We told you we'd not be back until Vespers,\" Berengaria said, puzzled, while Joanna studied the girls with sudden suspicion. They were flushed with excitement, had clearly been up to something, and she hoped they hadn't been playing pranks again. The timid Alicia had blossomed under the bolder Anna's tutelage and they'd been chastised in the past week alone for smuggling a mouse into the bed of the Lady Uracca, giggling uncontrollably during the morning Mass, and sneaking a roast from the kitchen to feed to Joanna's dogs.\n\n\"We have a gift for you. But it is a surprise, so you must first cover your eyes,\" Anna insisted, producing two silk scarves for that purpose. Joanna was game, but Berengaria balked.\n\n\"I am not going to put on a blindfold,\" she protested, and was holding firm despite the girls' entreaties when she glanced across the courtyard and saw the man watching in amusement from the door of the great hall. \"Richard!\" Her dignity forgotten, at least for the moment, she gathered up her skirts and ran into his arms, followed by a delighted Joanna and the disappointed Anna and Alicia.\n\n\"You were supposed to wait, Malik Ric,\" Anna pouted, but Richard was too occupied with kissing his wife and then hugging his sister to pay her much mind.\n\nDinner was the main meal of the day and so supper was usually a more modest affair. But Richard, Baldwin, Morgan, and the other knights he'd brought with him proclaimed the lamb stew to be utterly delicious, regaling the women with stories of the dubious victuals cooked over their campfires. Richard did not find the conversation as appealing as the food, though. Guy de Lusignan had often boasted that he'd kept no secrets from his queen, and Richard discovered now that Guy had been as forthright with Berengaria and Joanna as he'd been with Sybilla. He'd told them all about the deprivations and dangers of the march, including Richard's narrow escapes and his crossbow wound. Richard did his best to gloss over the perils they'd faced, and then turned the talk to lighter fare, telling the women about their comic encounters with jerboa, strange rodent-like creatures that hopped like rabbits, and relating the story of Baldwin's disastrous attempt to ride a camel, thankful that at least Guy had not mentioned the Michaelmas ambush.\n\nHe was soon to learn otherwise. After they'd consumed the final dish of dates, almonds, and honey, his wife and sister steered him toward the relative privacy of a window-seat. \"We were deeply sorry to hear of Jacques d'Avesnes's death,\" Joanna said somberly. \"It is almost as if his Flemish hounds know that he is not coming back, for they have been very subdued and eating poorly.\" She hesitated, exchanged glances with Berengaria, and then plunged ahead. \"Had you been slain at Arsuf, too, Richard, it would have been a grief almost beyond bearing for us. But how much worse it would have been if you'd died in that Michaelmas battle; then we'd have been tormented with 'what if ' and 'if only,' even the guilt of blaming the dead, for how could we not be angry with you for taking such needless risks?\"\n\nRichard was at a rare loss for words. \"Anyone who thinks women do not speak their minds has never met you, Joanna,\" he said ruefully. \"I am sorry Guy told you about that, for I know you both worry enough about my safety as it is. What Guy did not know is that Henri and Andr\u00e9 and others have already taken me to task for it. They reminded me that my death could guarantee victory for Saladin, and I promised them that I would try to remember that in the future.\"\n\n\"Will you promise us, too, Richard?\"\n\n\"I will, Berenguela,\" he said, and she took comfort from the fact that he sounded utterly serious for once.\n\n\"Just remember,\" Joanna warned, \"that if you do not mend your ways, Richard, I will have no choice but to write to Maman about your rash behavior.\"\n\n\"Jesu forfend!\" he exclaimed, and when they grinned at each other, Berengaria felt a pang, for their easy camaraderie stirred memories of her brother Sancho, so far away in Navarre.\n\nJoanna's expression soon sobered, for they'd not yet spoken of Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux. Her gratitude to the Norman knight was magnified by grief; she'd liked Guilhem, remembering how kind he'd been in Cyprus, quickly concocting a lie to shield Berengaria from Richard's neglect. \"Guy did not think there was much hope of ransoming Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux. Is Guy right about that, Richard?\"\n\n\"I am beginning to wonder if Guy de Lusignan has been right about anything in his life,\" he said, with an exasperated grimace. \"He is most definitely wrong about Guilhem. He has not been executed, nor harmed in any way. But Saladin is refusing to ransom him because he knows how much I want his freedom. That makes him a very valuable bargaining counter, so Saladin means to hold on to him for now.\"\n\n\"But the Saracens must have been sorely disappointed to find out that they did not capture you, after all. Would they make Guilhem suffer for his deception?\"\n\n\"No, al-'\u0100dil assured me that he is being treated with respect, Berenguela. The Saracens value courage and loyalty as much as we do.\"\n\nJoanna's relief was so great that she leaned back in the window-seat, closing her eyes. Berengaria smiled and squeezed Richard's arm. \"Al-'\u0100dil is Saladin's brother, no? But are you sure you can trust him?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I am. I resumed talks with him not long after Arsuf, and I think he is a man of honor. Of course, Burgundy and that bastard Beauvais would swallow their tongues if they ever heard me say that! To hear them tell it, I came to Outremer for the sole purpose of betraying the kingdom to the Saracens. Meanwhile, their ally, Conrad of Montferrat, is said to be trying to strike a deal with Saladin that would enable him to hold on to Tyre and Sidon.\"\n\nBoth women were so indignant that it was a while before Joanna remembered she had a surprise for Richard. \"I almost forgot! A troubadour from Aquitaine arrived in Acre last month. Whilst he may not be as celebrated as Gaucelm Faidit, he is very good, and I arranged for him to entertain us tonight.\"\n\n\"Mayhap tomorrow, irlanda. Tonight I think I'll let Berenguela entertain me,\" Richard said, giving his wife a sidelong smile. As he expected, her creamy skin took on a deep-rose tint and her lashes fluttered downward. But the corners of her mouth were curving as she murmured demurely that it would be her pleasure. \"I hope it will not entirely be yours, little dove,\" he said and pulled her to her feet.\n\nJoanna stayed in the window-seat. Across the hall, Morgan and Mariam were playing chess, but there was an intimacy in their laughter that told Joanna their ongoing flirtation was becoming something more. Her gaze shifted to her brother and his bride, who were exiting the hall with unseemly haste, and she leaned back against the cushions again with a soft sigh. She was happy whenever Richard paid Berengaria the attention she deserved, and she was pleased, too, that Mariam seemed to have found a man she could care for, but she could not suppress a twinge or two of envy. She would soon be twenty-six, too young to be sleeping alone.\n\n\"Is this the crossbow wound?\" Getting a drowsy confirmation from Richard, Berengaria asked then about a scar on his hip and traced its path with her fingers when he said it was an injury from his early years as Count of Poitou. \"What of this scar on your wrist?\"\n\n\"I do not even remember how I got that one,\" he yawned. \"What are you doing, taking inventory of all my wounds?\"\n\n\"Not all of them,\" she said softly, for she'd kept her eyes averted from the ugly yellowing bruises on his shoulder and chest, still very visible eight days after the Michaelmas ambush. Seeking a safer topic of conversation, she said, \"You seem so different with such short hair, Richard!\" She thought his scalp looked like a hedgehog's bristle, assuming there were red-gold hedgehogs, but she wasn't sure he'd take that as a compliment and kept it to herself.\n\n\"It just seemed easier to cut it off and let it all grow back at the same time.\" He yawned again, but she refused to take the hint, determined to make the most of this unexpected reunion, for she had no way of knowing how long it would be until she'd see him again.\n\n\"I was so glad to hear that Guilhem is safe. I owe him a debt that can never be repaid.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" he said, so low that she barely heard him. \"I'd give half of all I own if only I could relive that day....\"\n\nShe was deeply touched that he trusted her enough to make such an admission. \"I do not know war as you do, Richard, but I am sure Henri and Andr\u00e9 and your friends would tell you what I am about to say now, that those deaths were not your fault. If you had not followed the Saracens, they would likely have still attacked since you were so outnumbered.\"\n\n\"But I ought not to have gone out with such a small escort. I knew better, Berenguela. It is just that scouting is so important....\"\n\nShe did not dispute that, but she suspected that he went out scouting himself because he enjoyed it, too. \"I shall hold you to your promise,\" she said, and offered up a silent, fervent prayer that these Michaelmas memories would curb some of his recklessness in the future. \"How long can you stay, Richard? Joanna would be greatly pleased if you could remain for her birthday.\"\n\n\"I cannot spare that much time, little dove. I will have to go back to Jaffa as soon as I drag those sluggards out of Acre's bordels and hellholes. Guy's leadership leaves much to be desired if he cannot even get a bunch of lazy drunkards to obey him. At least he is not secretly conspiring with the Saracens like that Judas in Tyre. It is pitiful, though, that the best to be said of Guy is that he is not a traitor.\"\n\nShe was only half listening to his complaints, so great was her disappointment that he'd be returning to Jaffa so soon, for she didn't doubt that he'd round up all of his fugitive soldiers in a matter of days. \"I will miss you,\" she said, and he propped himself up on his elbow to look down into her face.\n\n\"Well... I was thinking of taking you and Joanna back to Jaffa with me. I will understand, though, if you'd rather remain in Acre, for Jaffa would not be as comfortable as the palace here\u2014\"\n\n\"Richard, of course I want to come with you! How could you ever doubt it?\"\n\nHe hadn't, for by now he knew the mettle of the woman he'd married. \"Actually, I was just being polite and giving you a choice,\" he said with a grin. \"I took it for granted that you'd want to come, one of the many reasons why I consider myself a lucky man.\"\n\nBerengaria blushed again, this time with pure pleasure, and was emboldened to flirt a little. \"May I hear these reasons, my lord husband?\"\n\n\"The first one is that you are not Alys Capet,\" he said, so promptly that she realized he'd given this some thought. \"Alys could never have coped with the storms at sea and Isaac Comnenus as you did. I doubt that she could even have adapted to life in an army camp, much less in the midst of a siege.\" He shifted so she could cradle her head in the crook of his shoulder. \"You want more reasons? Women are never satisfied, are they?\" He gave a loud put-upon sigh, but she knew he was teasing, and after a moment, he said, \"Well, I am grateful that you are so sweet-natured. And undemanding; men like that. You have never complained about my snoring, you smile whenever you see me, and you let me have that last helping of dates and almonds tonight.\"\n\nThis playful litany of her virtues was hardly a passionate declaration of love, but she'd not expected one. It was enough for her that he seemed so content with their marriage, that he could offer affection and respect, for she knew not all wives were so fortunate. And when he continued, saying that she had more courage than the vast majority of her sex, with an admirable measure of steel in her spine, she felt such a surge of happiness that she could not speak, knowing that, for Richard, this was the ultimate accolade.\n\nShe'd not dared to hope that Richard would bring her to Jaffa, and she felt like a child again, given a wonderful gift when she'd least expected it. In four days, they'd have been wed for five months, and every time her flux came, it was a wound to her heart. Joanna had reminded her that a crop could not be harvested unless seed was planted first. But she could take no solace from her sister-in-law's commonsense admonition, so eager was she to give Richard the son and heir a king so needed. Now, though, she'd be able to share his bed again. The Almighty had often shown His Favor to Richard, sparing his life time after time. Why should He not show His Favor, too, by letting her conceive and bear his child here in the Holy Land? Richard was already sleeping. That was such a comforting thought that she soon slept, too.\n\nJoanna was elated when Richard and Berengaria broke the news the next morning. Anna and Alicia were so excited that they forgot they were supposed to act like well-behaved, modest maidens of thirteen and fourteen, shrieking with glee instead, and while Mariam said nothing, she glanced toward Morgan with a secret smile. But most of the women reacted with dismay or horror, for none wanted to trade the luxuries of the royal palace for a tent in another army encampment. Richard had said they were rebuilding Jaffa's walls; it would be months, though, before the city would revive, and it was unlikely ever to offer the markets, diversions, and security of life in Acre.\n\nSophia and Beatrix were too resilient and too realistic to share the consternation of the younger ladies-in-waiting, and they merely exchanged looks of resignation. Taking their breakfast wine, fruit, and bread to a corner table, they watched with detachment as the other royal attendants struggled to hide their unhappiness. \"Only two kinds of women would want to follow men off to war,\" Beatrix grumbled, \"one too adventuresome for her own good or one determined to be a dutiful wife come what may. It is just our bad luck that Joanna is the first kind and Berengaria the second, so we can expect no voice of reason from either of them.\"\n\nSophia was wryly amused and chuckled between bites of melon. \"That is certainly true for your lady and for my Anna, too, but it is not duty that is drawing Berengaria to Jaffa. Heaven help the lass, she practically glows whenever she looks at him. I suppose it is only to be expected; a man acclaimed as the savior of Christendom is bound to turn female heads. It would be better for her, though, if she were not so smitten. The happiest marriages are those uncomplicated by passion or, God forbid, love.\"\n\nBeatrix had been a widow for many years, but most of her memories of that long-ago marriage were pleasant ones. \"You do not think that is a harsh assessment? Of course, your husband...\" She stopped, for there was no tactful way to suggest that Isaac Comnenus was one of Satan's minions.\n\n\"Oh, my husband was a monster,\" Sophia said, so blithely that Beatrix blinked.\n\n\"But I've seen enough of other marriages to realize that men, even the good ones, cannot be trusted with something as fragile as a woman's heart. They are much too careless.\" Glancing across the hall, she said dryly, \"Lionheart is probably lucky, though, that his bride is still bedazzled. How many other queens would be so willing to become camp followers?\" Beatrix joined in her laughter, and then they rose and made ready to play their parts, to act as if they shared Joanna, Berengaria, Alicia, and Anna's eagerness to accompany Richard back to Jaffa."
            },
            {
                "title": "OCTOBER 1191",
                "text": "[ Camp of Al-\u0100dil, Near Lydda, Outremer ]\n\nBah\u0101' al-D\u012bn had been with his sultan at Latrun. When he received the summons from Salah al-D\u012bn's brother, he presumed it meant there'd been new developments in the ongoing talks with the English king. Once he was escorted into al-' \u1fb9dil's tent, his surmise was confirmed, for it was to be a rare private audience; the only other person present was Sani'at al-D\u012bn ibn al-Nahhal. The latter was al-'\u0100dil's scribe, and so trusted despite his unusual background\u2014he'd converted to Islam from Christianity\u2014that he'd been the one conducting the negotiations on his lord's behalf.\n\nOrdinarily, Bah\u0101 ' al-D\u012bn would have been offered a cooling drink, an iced julab. But this was the twenty-ninth day of Ramadan, their month of fasting, and Muslims were expected to refrain from eating or drinking from sunrise to sunset. So after greetings were exchanged, Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn sat cross-legged on cushions and politely waited to learn the reason for his presence. They spoke casually for a time about various subjects: the welfare of their respective families, the escape from Acre of one of their emirs, who'd climbed down a rope from a privy window, and the troubling news that the local peasants were providing the Franks with large quantities of food. But al-'\u0100dil soon got to the point of the visit.\n\n\"You are familiar with the first offer made by the English king?\"\n\n\"I am, my lord,\" Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn assured him. Richard had sent a remarkably candid letter to Salah al-D\u012bn, saying that both sides were suffering great losses and they needed to find a way to end the war. He'd asked for the lands west of the River Jordan and the city of Jerusalem. He'd further argued that the True Cross ought to be returned, as \"to you it is nothing but a piece of wood, but it is very precious in our eyes.\" Salah al-D\u012bn had rejected all three demands, insisting that the Holy City was more sacred to Muslims, \"for it was the place of our Prophet's journey and the place where the angels gathered.\" The lands in question belonged originally to them, and the possession of the cross \"is a great advantage to us and we cannot give it up except we could thereby gain some advantage to Islam.\" The talks had stalled after that and Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn was quite curious to find out what the infidels were offering now.\n\n\"We've often agreed that the Franks are a predictable people,\" al-'\u0100dil said with a faint smile. \"But that cannot be said of the English king, for he has come up with a truly surprising proposal. He suggests that we resort to a tried-and-true method of making peace\u2014a marriage.\"\n\nBah\u0101' al-D\u012bn was astonished. It was true that in the Christian and Muslim worlds, wars were often settled by marital alliances. But this was a holy war, both to the Franks and the Saracens. \"Whose marriage, my lord?\" he asked warily.\n\nAl-'\u0100dil's dark eyes shone with amusement. \"Mine. The English king has offered me his sister, the widow of the King of Sicily.\"\n\nBah\u0101 ' al-D\u012bn prided himself on his inscrutability; that was an essential skill for a diplomatic envoy and a useful one for any man who must deal with princes. But his discipline failed him now. He gasped audibly, his mouth ajar, so obviously flabbergasted that the other men burst out laughing. \"Surely he was joking!\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil glanced toward his scribe, indicating that he should be the one to answer. \"It is not always easy to tell with him, my lord, for he has a bantering manner, often speaking half seriously, half in jest. But I do not think this was a joke.\"\n\n\"If so, it is a remarkably detailed joke,\" al-'\u0100dil commented. \"The Lady Joanna would be crowned Queen of Jerusalem, which would become the capital of our realm. My brother would give me the lands between the River Jordan and the sea, making me its king, and Richard would give his sister the coastal cities of Acre, Jaffa, and Ascalon as her dowry. Jerusalem would have no Christian garrison, just priests and monks, but Christians would be free to visit or dwell there. The villages would be given to the Templars and the Hospitallers, and my wife and I would hold all the castles. Our new kingdom would still remain part of the sultan's dominions. Their holy cross would be returned to them, and there would be an exchange of prisoners on both sides. And after the peace treaty was signed, Richard and the Franks from beyond the sea would return to their own lands. Presumably, then, we would all live in peace.\"\n\nBah\u0101' al-D\u012bn found himself agreeing with al-\u1fb9dil; this was exceptionally explicit for a joke. Surely it was not a serious offer, though. So what did the English king hope to gain by it? Was this a test of their will to continue the war? Or something more sinister? Were the Franks seeking to drive a wedge between the sultan and his brother? Seeing that al-'\u0100dil was waiting for his response, he equivocated, saying with a smile, \"But would you be willing to wed an infidel, my lord?\"\n\n\"Well, this infidel is said to be quite beautiful,\" al-'\u0100dil said with a smile of his own. \"And the Qur'an does allow a man to wed a chaste woman amongst the People of the Book, though a Muslim woman cannot marry out of her faith, of course. I do not know if the Christians' holy book permits such marriages. I would be surprised if so. But all of this comes as a surprise, no? Say what you will of the English king, he is far more interesting than most of the infidels. Can you imagine Guy de Lusignan or Conrad of Montferrat making such an outrageous proposal?\"\n\n\"They may not have available sisters conveniently at hand,\" Bah\u0101 ' al-D\u012bn pointed out, and they all laughed. He was not misled, though, by al-'\u0100dil's wry, mocking tone. The sultan's brother was a shrewd player in that most dangerous of games, the pursuit and acquisition of power, deftly balancing his own ambitions against his loyalty to Salah al-D\u012bn. He was not a man to be easily outwitted or beguiled, and was naturally suspicious of this extraordinary offer. But Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn could see that he was intrigued, too, possibly even tempted by it, and why not? What man would not want a crown of his own?\n\n\"What is your wish, my lord?\" he asked cautiously. \"Should this be passed on to the sultan?\"\n\n\"We have no choice. Even if we could be sure it was a ruse, we'd still have to inform my brother, for if nothing else, it is a revealing glimpse into the English king's mind. I have summoned Alam al-D\u012bn Sulaym\u0101n ibn Jandar, S\u0101biq al-D\u012bn, and several other emirs to join us after the noon prayers so we may discuss it. Then I want you to go to the sultan and tell him this\u2014that if he approves of the proposal, I will agree to it. But if he rejects it, say that the peace talks have reached this final point and he is the one who thinks they should not be pursued further.\"\n\n\"I understand, my lord,\" Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn said, for indeed he did. Al-'\u0100dil was treading with care, as well he should. He was the sultan's most trusted adviser. But he was also a potential threat, for he was far more capable than any of Salah al-D\u012bn's sons, and despite the deep abiding affection between them, the sultan must occasionally wonder if his brother's loyalties would be as steadfast after his death. \"I understand,\" he repeated, thinking that this infidel English king was more subtle than they'd realized and, therefore, more dangerous.\n\n\"You did what???\"\n\n\"Joanna, will you let me explain? And for God's sake, lower your voice.\" It was not easy to find privacy in an army camp; Richard had done the best he could, seeking out his sister in her own tent and dismissing her ladies and servants. But his precautions would be for naught if she continued shrieking at him like a wrathful fishwife.\n\n\"Explain?\" she echoed incredulously. \"What possible explanation could you offer that I'd accept?\"\n\nBefore he could respond, the tent flap was drawn aside. \"Richard? Joanna? Whatever is wrong? I could hear the shouting all the way outside!\"\n\nRichard was not pleased by Berengaria's intrusion, preferring to discuss this alone with his sister. But he could hardly dismiss her as he had Joanna's attendants, and even if he'd tried to do so, he suspected that Joanna would, in her present contrary mood, insist that her sister-in-law remain.\n\n\"Do you want to tell her, Richard, or shall I?\" Joanna glared at her brother, looking eerily like their mother in one of her imperial rages. \"Your husband has bartered me to Saladin's brother! He has proposed peace terms based upon my marriage to al-'\u0100dil.\"\n\n\"Richard!\" Berengaria was staring at him, horrorstruck. \"How could you?\"\n\n\"You make it sound as if I offered to trade you for a couple of camels! All I did was to suggest that a marital alliance might be one way of ending the war. I did not\u2014\"\n\n\"You were outraged when Philippe flirted with me at Messina, would never have even considered a marital alliance with France. But now you are content to marry me off to an infidel, an enemy of our faith? I think you have well and truly lost your mind!\"\n\n\"I never said I intended to marry you off to al-'\u0100dil! I simply said I'd suggested it to him. And as I tried to tell you, I have three very compelling reasons for making such a proposal.\" Seeing that she finally seemed willing to hear him out, he said hastily, before she changed her mind, \"First of all, Saladin is about eight years older than his brother and not in the best of health, so he likely expects to die first. Secondly, al-'\u0100dil has proved himself to be a man of great abilities, as skilled at statecraft as he is at winning battles. He is highly regarded by Saladin's emirs and the sultan well knows it. Finally, Saladin's first-born son is just one and twenty, his other sons much younger, and none of them have so far shown al-'\u0100dil's gift for command. From all I've heard, there is a close bond between the brothers. But Saladin would have to be a saint, assuming Muslims have them, for him not to worry about what happens to his empire after his death.\"\n\nPausing, he saw that his wife still looked aghast. Joanna, though, was listening. \"Go on,\" she said. \"So you are seeking to stir up discord between Saladin and his brother. How does this marriage proposal do that?\"\n\n\"Because it is not one al-'\u0100dil can dismiss out of hand, for it would make him a king. And you a queen, in case you're interested.\" Seeing that she was not amused by his attempt at humor, he continued, telling her of the peace terms he'd proposed to al-'\u0100dil. \"So you see,\" he concluded, \"this marriage proposal is actually a trap of sorts.\"\n\n\"With me as bait,\" she said tartly. \"You expect Saladin to accept this offer?\"\n\n\"No, I expect him to refuse.\"\n\n\"You'd best hope that he does, Richard,\" she warned, \"for I would never consent to it.\"\n\n\"Not even to become Queen of Jerusalem, irlanda?\" he teased, and she frowned.\n\n\"Not even to become Queen of Heaven. I am not about to join a harim. Yes, I know that Muslims can have four wives, Richard. I grew up in Sicily, remember?\"\n\n\"But you'd be a queen, which would surely give you greater status than his other wives,\" he said and ducked, laughing, when she snatched up a cushion and threw it at him.\n\nWhile Berengaria was greatly relieved that Richard had not truly intended to marry Joanna to an infidel Saracen, she was troubled that he was treating it so blithely instead of with the seriousness it deserved. \"I do not understand. Why would Saladin's brother believe you could dispose of the Jerusalem crown as you pleased? And why would he believe that the other Christian lords would accept this?\"\n\nRichard patiently explained that no one but Guy wanted him to remain as king and Isabella could be said to have forfeited her right to the crown because of her bigamous marriage to Conrad. \"And whilst some of the poulains might balk, most of the men who'd taken the cross would not, for they could then visit the Holy City and its shrines, fulfill their vows, and go home.\"\n\nJoanna had listened intently, her eyes narrowing. \"So,\" she said, \"you offer al-'\u0100dil a crown, Saladin refuses it, al-'\u0100dil feels cheated, and they begin to regard each other with suspicion. Is that how it is supposed to go, Richard?\"\n\n\"More or less,\" he agreed. \"Needless to say, this cannot become common knowledge. By the time Burgundy and Beauvais got through with it, they'd have me converting to Islam and launching a jihad to set all of Christendom ablaze.\"\n\nJoanna waited until he'd kissed them both and made ready to depart. \"Just out of idle curiosity, Richard, what happens if Saladin and al-'\u0100dil accept your proposal? What will you do then?\"\n\nHe paused, his hand on the tent flap. \"I'll think of something,\" he said with a grin and disappeared out into the night.\n\nOnce he was gone, Berengaria sat down wearily on Joanna's bed. \"Sometimes I fear Richard can be too clever for his own good,\" she confessed. \"I see the value in sowing suspicions between Saladin and his brother, but if word of this got out...\" The mere thought of that was enough to make her flinch. \"I expected the war against the Saracens to be so much more... straightforward. Instead it is like a quagmire, poisoned with petty rivalries, personal ambitions, and shameful betrayals. The French hate Richard. The poulains are at one another's throats. Guy is not fit to rule, but Richard supports him anyway because of his feuding with the French king. Philippe not only abandoned a holy war, he is likely to launch attacks on Richard's lands in Normandy in utter defiance of the Church. And Conrad is the worst of the lot, for he is actually willing to side with the infidels against his fellow Christians. It is all so ugly, Joanna.\"\n\nJoanna wondered if she'd ever been as innocent as Berengaria, as trusting of men and their motives. Most likely not, she decided, but then it would have been difficult to cling to innocence in a family known as the Devil's Brood. She sat beside her sister-in-law on the bed, thinking about her father and brothers. It was not just Richard; they'd all been too clever by half, so sure they could outwit their enemies and get their own way by sheer force of will. And where had it gotten them? Papa died alone and abandoned, cursing the day he was born. Hal had been no better than a bandit in his last weeks, raiding churches to pay his routiers. Geoffrey's plotting with the French king had brought suffering upon his wife and children, for his untimely death had made them pawns in the struggle between Brittany and its more powerful neighbors. Johnny had already proven that he could not be trusted, betraying the father who'd sacrificed so much for him. As for Richard, not only did he have his full share of the Angevin arrogance, he had a reckless streak that she found deeply disturbing, for what could be more reckless than contemplating a marital alliance with an infidel prince? Why was it that Maman seemed to be the only one to learn from past mistakes?\n\n\"Joanna... you look so troubled.\" Berengaria reached over and squeezed her sister-in-law's hand. \"Not that I blame you for being distraught about this scheme of Richard's. He ought to have found another way, ought not to have entangled you in it. Even knowing that he never intended for you to wed Saladin's brother, it still had to be disturbing...\" She did not finish the thought, faltering at the skeptical expression on Joanna's face. \"Surely you do not think he was lying? I cannot believe he'd ever coerce you into a godless marriage. He loves you dearly, Joanna.\"\n\n\"I know he does. I never feared that he'd try to wed me to al-'\u0100dil against my wishes. Mind you, most men are all too willing to accept female sacrifice for the greater good, but my happiness does matter to Richard. Yet you are deluding yourself, Berengaria, if you think this is merely a sleight-of-hand to deceive Saladin and al-'\u0100dil. Had I reacted differently, had I been excited at the prospect of becoming Queen of Jerusalem\u2014and there are women who'd wed the Antichrist if there was a crown in the offing\u2014I'd wager Richard would have begun to take the marriage proposal somewhat more seriously. If he thought I was willing to make the match, he'd have been willing to see it done.\"\n\n\"I do not believe that,\" Berengaria said stoutly, doing her best to ignore the insidious inner voice whispering that Joanna knew Richard better than she ever would. \"He said it was just a stratagem. What would make you think otherwise?\"\n\n\"Because it is so well thought out, so thorough. Because he believes that if the Kingdom of Jerusalem is to survive, it is necessary to come to terms with Saladin. Because those terms are fair enough that both sides could live with them. Because he sees the Saracens as his enemies, but not as evil incarnate the way most of his army does. Because he truly seems to respect al-'\u0100dil and probably thinks he'd be a good husband to me, aside from the small matter of his infidel faith and other wives, of course.\"\n\nJoanna's smile was sardonic, but a smile nonetheless, for she was beginning to see the perverse humor in it all. It was obvious that her sister-in-law did not, though; Berengaria looked so dismayed that she regretted having been so candid. But was it so bad if Richard's halo tarnished a bit? If Berengaria was to find contentment as an Angevin queen, she needed to become more of a realist, both about their world and the man she'd married.\n\nPatting the younger woman reassuringly on the shoulder, she said, \"It does not matter what Richard might or might not have done had I shown myself willing to consider the match. I am not, so that puts an end to it.\"\n\nIt was not that easy for Berengaria, and she later found herself lying awake until dawn, watching the man asleep beside her. How could it even have occurred to Richard to suggest such an unholy alliance? Why was he so willing to treat with these pagans as if they were Christian princes? How could he not see that he was making needless trouble for himself? She never doubted that he was a devout son of the Church, but he had enemies beyond counting who were eager to believe the worst of him. There was so much about these Angevins that she would never understand, and that included Joanna, who, like Richard, could find unseemly amusement in matters of the utmost gravity. Her husband stirred in his sleep, and she carefully tugged at the long strand of hair trapped under his shoulder; she did not braid it on the nights he shared her bed, knowing he preferred it loose. Reminding herself sternly that she was far more fortunate than most wives, she stretched out and closed her eyes. But she still felt unsettled, perplexed, and suddenly very lonely, for she could hear the echoes of her beloved brother Sancho's voice, giving her that gentle warning back in Pamplona. They are not like us, little one. Indeed they were not.\n\nWhen bah\u0101' al-d\u012bn carried Richard's proposal to Salah al-D\u012bn, the sultan at once accepted it, for he was convinced the English king would never carry it out, that his latest gambit was either a joke or a deceitful trick. Richard responded with a regretful message that Joanna was resisting the marriage, but he hoped to persuade her there was no other way to end the war. Although the Saracens remained highly skeptical, the secret negotiations resumed.\n\nRichard continued to give his family, friends, and army reasons to fear for his safety; encountering some Saracen scouts near Jaffa, he forced a battle, killing an emir, taking prisoners, and shrugging off criticism afterward. The following day, All Hallow's Eve, he entrusted Jaffa and his women to the Bishop of Evreaux and the Count of Chalons, and moved the army four miles to Y\u0101z\u016br, where he camped midway between the Casal of the Plains and Casal Maen, two Templar fortresses that had been razed by Salah al-D\u012bn. He instructed the Templars to repair the first castle while he set about rebuilding the second one, and despite daily harassment by the Saracens, they made enough progress to excite his men, who were impatient to begin the march upon Jerusalem and saw this as a first step.\n\nSix days later, a small group of squires ventured out to forage, guarded by Templar knights. They had filled bags with fodder and were collecting firewood when a troop of Bedouin horsemen came swooping down upon them. The Templars came to their aid, but they were outnumbered and soon found themselves surrounded. The knights then resorted to a desperate maneuver, dismounting and standing back to back as they prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible; their order prided itself upon never surrendering or paying ransom. It was then that Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny and fifteen of his household knights arrived upon the scene, drawn by the commotion. Their charge temporarily scattered the Saracens, but they surged back in greater numbers, and the Franks realized this was a battle they were not going to win.\n\nTwo miles away, richard was supervising the rebuilding of the stronghold at Casal Maen, pleased by his men's enthusiasm for their task. It helped that the days were cooler now, although still much warmer than November temperatures back in their homelands. They were lugging bags of sand and lime and barrels of water toward a trough, making ready to mix a new batch of mortar when the sentries began to yell for the king.\n\nThe boy seemed unhurt, but he was reeling from fatigue and had collapsed upon the ground as soon as he'd blurted out his news. He was too weak to rise as Richard broke through the throng of men encircling him, panting so heavily that his narrow chest heaved as if he were having convulsions. Richard could barely hear his gasping words, and one of the first sentries to reach the squire stepped forward. \"An attack by the Turks, sire, near Ibn Ibrak. He said there were too many of them for the Templars. Then other knights rode up, but they are outnumbered, too. It sounds as if they need help straightaway.\"\n\n\"Get him water,\" Richard ordered, his eyes searching the crowd of bystanders for knights who were already armed. He directed the Earl of Leicester and the Count of St Pol to lead a rescue mission, and then ran toward his tent, calling for his squires. They armed him with record speed. It still took awhile, though, for him to summon his own knights and fetch their horses, so by the time they rode out of camp, they dreaded what they might find.\n\nIt was to be even worse than they'd feared. They could already hear the familiar clash of weapons, the screams that indicated men and horses were dying up ahead. As they galloped toward the clamor, they were hailed by several Flemish squires from the foraging party, who'd been hiding in the underbrush by a dry riverbed. The youths were almost incoherent and none of them spoke fluent French, but they managed to communicate the one word that mattered, \"Ambush.\" The attack upon the Templars had been bait for a trap, and Leicester and St Pol had ridden right into it.\n\nRichard spurred Fauvel toward the sounds of combat, the others strung out behind him. Ahead of him was a surging mass of men and horses, a wild m\u00eal\u00e9e in which it was obvious that the Franks were greatly outnumbered. As Richard drew rein, his knights caught up with him, crying out in horror at the sight meeting their eyes. One glance was enough to tell them that the embattled knights were doomed, but they could not dwell upon that now, for they owed a greater duty to their king than to their cornered comrades. Gathering around Richard, they began to urge him to retreat, arguing that they did not have enough men to rescue the others and if Richard died in a futile attempt to save them, their hope of defeating Saladin would die with him.\n\nRichard angrily cut off their entreaties. \"I sent those men out there, promising that I would follow with aid. If they die without me, may I never again be called a king.\" And with that, he couched his lance and charged the Saracens, shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House, \"Dex aie!\"\n\nHe impaled the first man to challenge him, flinging him from the saddle with such force that he was dead before he hit the ground. Dropping his broken lance, Richard then unsheathed his sword and urged Fauvel into the fray again, attacking so furiously that the enemy soldiers shied away, seeking easier prey. By now his men knew he was there, fighting with them, and not for the first time the presence of a king turned the tide of battle. They rallied, seizing the momentum Richard had given them, and drove the Saracens back, long enough for them to manage a retreat from the field.\n\nIt was not a victory, but for the men sure they were facing death or capture, it was even sweeter\u2014a reprieve, a rescue against overwhelming odds. When word spread of Richard's defiant vow that he'd never let them die alone, even those who usually disapproved of his bravura exploits were impressed, and to the disgust of Richard's most implacable foes, the November 6 battle burnished the growing legend of the Lionheart even more brightly.\n\nRichard had so exhausted himself with his exertions, though, that he had to be bled by his physicians the next day, and so it was not until the following day that he was able to meet with al-'\u0100dil at the latter's camp.\n\nAndr\u00e9 and Henri were among the very few whom Richard had taken into his confidence about the proposed marital alliance, and they accompanied him to the meeting. Andr\u00e9 was not completely comfortable to be drinking and eating with men who may have been among those seeking to kill him two days ago at Ibn Ibrak, but the bizarre aspects of the event appealed to Henri's quirky sense of humor and he enjoyed himself thoroughly.\n\nAl-'\u0100dil welcomed the English king and his companions as graciously as if they were esteemed allies and not men who'd shed so much Saracen blood. Richard had earlier sent al-'\u0100dil a magnificent stallion, and the sultan's brother now reciprocated with seven camels and a splendid, spacious tent. The Saracens took the obligations of hospitality seriously and Henri would later tease Joanna that she'd be well fed if she married al-'\u0100dil, for he set a sumptuous table. He explained that he could not offer them wine, as it was haraam, forbidden by the Qur'an, but they were served delicious fruit drinks cooled with snow and rosewater julabs. His guests politely hid any disappointment over the lack of wine and complimented the variety of dishes put before them, grateful that al-'\u0100dil had remembered they could eat no meat, it being a Friday, and savoring cuisine they'd never tasted before: yogurt, couscous, a fried pistachio crepe called qatayif. Richard had brought samples of the food found on Frankish tables, assuring his host that he'd included no meat dishes since he knew their dietary laws held that animals had to be ritually slaughtered. Henri thought there was always some rivalry in any encounter involving royalty, and it amused him that his uncle and al-'\u0100dil seemed to be vying with each other to show how well they'd prepared for this occasion.\n\nHumphrey de Toron was again acting as interpreter, seated between Richard and al-'\u0100dil so they could converse easily. He had one awkward moment early on, when Richard protested about his men being ambushed at a time when the two sides were conducting peace talks and al-'\u0100dil responded with a matter-of-fact reminder that they were at war, mentioning that they'd lost three Mamluks dear to Salah al-D\u012bn at Ibn Ibrak. Humphrey knew Richard had himself killed one of them during the battle, but he thought it wise to keep that to himself; nor did he translate al-'\u0100dil's comment about the slain men.\n\nOtherwise, he thought the discussions were conducted with remarkable cordiality. He'd not expected the two men to have such a rapport, but for this one day at least, what they shared\u2014a love of horses and hawking, a mutual respect for each other's courage and battle skills, a similar ironic sense of humor\u2014was enough to bridge the great gap that separated Christians and Muslims, men sworn to holy war and jihad.\n\nThey had a lively conversation about horse breeding and the different riding styles of the Franks and the Saracens, followed by a discussion of hunting; Richard was fascinated to learn al-'\u0100dil used trained cheetahs. Eventually, of course, the talk turned to a more controversial topic\u2014the marriage proposal.\n\n\"I was desolate,\" al-'\u0100dil said blandly, \"to hear that your lovely sister is loath to become my wife.\"\n\n\"All is not lost,\" Richard assured him. \"But she does have qualms about wedding a man not of her faith. Mayhap there is a way to resolve this, though. Would you consider becoming a Christian?\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil nearly choked on his julab, but recovered quickly. \"Mayhap the lady would consider becoming a Muslim,\" he parried, and when his gaze met Richard's, they shared a smile of perfect understanding.\n\n\"Alas, there have been further complications,\" Richard confided. \"Our bishops and priests are adamantly against the match, so it will be necessary to secure the approval of the Pope in Rome. It will take about three months to get his response, but if he consents and my sister is happy about it, then well and good.\"\n\n\"And if he refuses?\"\n\n\"We can still get it done. My sister, as you know, is a widow, and so we need papal consent for her marriage. That is not true, however, for a virgin maid. So I could offer you my niece as a bride. She is very young still, but of high birth, the child of my brother and the Duchess of Brittany.\"\n\n\"I will pass your message on to my brother,\" al-'\u0100dil promised, and Humphrey sighed with relief, hoping this would be the end of the marriage talk, for he'd been hard put to remain impassive as Richard lied about the supposed outrage of their clerics, none of whom knew anything about the marriage proposal, and then proceeded to rewrite Church canon law to suit his own purposes. Despite his fluency in Arabic, Humphrey had not often been called upon as a translator in such highlevel conferences, and he feared he might inadvertently give something away by his reaction to what was said. It was fortunate, he thought, that al-'\u0100dil and Richard were having too much fun with their verbal swordplay to pay him any mind.\n\nAl-'\u0100dil finished his drink. \"I hope we can come to terms, Malik Ric. For if we do not, the sultan may have to listen to other offers.\"\n\nRichard wished he knew precisely what that Judas in Tyre was offering. \"Tell me this, my lord. Would you ever disavow your God?\"\n\nAl-'\u0100dil was no longer smiling. \"No, I would not.\"\n\n\"Nor would I. But a man who'd turn upon those of his own faith is doing just that. So why would you or your brother trust such a man?\"\n\n\"An interesting question,\" al-'\u0100dil said noncommittally. \"I will pass that on to the sultan, too.\"\n\n\"If we could meet as I've requested, I could ask him that myself,\" Richard suggested.\n\n\"Ah, but as my lord brother has told you, kings ought not to meet with other kings until peace has been made between them.\"\n\n\"Yet you and I are meeting.\"\n\n\"I am not a king,\" al-'\u0100dil pointed out amicably.\n\n\"You could be, if you accept my peace terms.\"\n\nThe other man merely laughed, and clapped his hands, for Richard had earlier expressed an interest in hearing Saracen music. Much to the surprise of the Franks, their entertainment proved to be a young woman, carrying a harp. Richard had been told the Saracens were very protective of their women, shielding them from the eyes of other men, and he was curious about her appearance, unveiled, in their midst. He leaned over to ask Humphrey if there was a tactful way to find out, but the poulain had no need to put such a question to al-'\u0100dil, for he already knew the answer. \"She is a slave, my liege,\" he explained, so nonchalantly that Richard and his companions exchanged glances, reminded again that the Christians of Outremer were closer in some ways to the Saracens than to their European brethren.\n\nRichard was delighted with the girl's songs, and the visit ended on a high note, with an exchange of compliments and a promise to meet again. On the ride back to their camp, Henri speculated aloud about the lovely slave's fate, suggesting that one of them ought to buy her and grinning when Richard asked if he'd have been so sympathetic had she not been so fair. He retaliated by teasing his uncle about his offer of a substitute bride, wondering aloud whom Constance of Brittany would find more objectionable as a husband for her young daughter\u2014a Saracen or an Englishman.\n\n\"We are talking of a crown, Henri. What woman would not want to be Queen of Jerusalem?\"\n\n\"Aunt Joanna,\" Henri retorted, and they both laughed.\n\nHumphrey was close enough to hear their conversation, but he found no humor in it. He'd been stunned when Richard had first confided in him, and then euphoric, for this was the first glimmer of hope he'd been given in two years. If Joanna were to wed al-'\u0100dil and become queen, then Isabella's claim would be superseded. Since Conrad had twice discarded wives when they no longer were of use to him, surely it was possible that he might repudiate Isabella, too, if she could not secure him the crown. For a fortnight, Humphrey had allowed himself to believe in miracles\u2014the restoration of his wife and his stolen life. But he'd slowly come to doubt the sincerity of Richard's offer, and he'd found the sudden mention of the king's niece to be troubling. It was true that Saracen girls could be wed at very young ages, with consummation usually postponed until she'd begun her flux, just as in Christian realms, so a marriage between al-'A-dil and the little Breton princess could still quash Conrad's claim to the throne. He had not been reassured, though, by the tone of the colloquy between Richard and al-'\u0100dil, for it had not seemed to him that either man was taking the marriage proposal seriously.\n\nHumphrey did not dare to question Richard directly about his intentions, but he'd always found the Count of Champagne to be very affable, and upon their return to Y\u0101z\u016br, he sought Henri out. \"May I ask you something, my lord count? Do you think the Lady Joanna's marriage to al-'\u0100dil will ever come to pass?\"\n\nHenri had an unease of conscience where Humphrey was concerned. He'd supported Conrad's marriage to Isabella because he'd been convinced by the poulains that the kingdom was doomed as long as Guy de Lusignan ruled over them. He could not help pitying Humphrey, though, for it had been obvious to anyone with eyes to see that he'd been in love with his beautiful young wife. It was obvious, too, what had motivated Humphrey's question, and he hesitated, finally deciding that honesty was the greater kindness now.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I do not.\" He turned away, then, giving Humphrey the only solace he could\u2014privacy to grieve for a shattered dream.\n\nThe French were not the only ones displeased by Richard's cordial dealings with the sultan and his brother; many of his soldiers were also unhappy about it, and after his day-long visit with al-'\u0100dil, some were emboldened to speak out, saying it was not proper for a Christian king to exchange gifts and courtesies with the enemies of God. When he became aware of the growing criticism, even from men who'd always admired his prowess on the battlefield, Richard was both frustrated and angry, but he realized the danger in letting this sore go untreated. If it was allowed to fester, it could undermine his command. He chose to reassure his army with his sword, by adopting a bloody custom that had long been followed by both sides in the Holy Land. The chronicler of the Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi would report approvingly that \"To remove the stain of disgrace which he had incurred, he brought back countless enemy heads to display that he had been falsely accused and that the gifts had not encouraged him to be slow in attacking the enemy.\" But although he'd calmed the furor for now, the backlash had brought home to Richard a disturbing truth\u2014that a holy war was indeed unlike other wars and he could not rely upon this motley mix of crusaders to give him the unquestioning loyalty he'd come to expect from his own vassals and lords.\n\nThree days after richard's meeting with al-'\u0100dil, Salah al-D\u012bn summoned his brother and his emirs to a council of war at Latrun. He told them that Conrad had offered to take Acre from the Franks in return for Sidon and Beirut and a guarantee of his possession of Tyre. He then informed them of Richard's latest peace proposal. When he asked for their views, they concluded that if peace were to be made, it was better to make it with Malik Ric, for they were more likely to be betrayed by Conrad and the Syrian Franks. It was agreed to send word to the English king that they were not willing, though, to accept his niece in lieu of his sister as a bride for the sultan's brother. The peace talks continued then, but so did the killing."
            },
            {
                "title": "DECEMBER 1191",
                "text": "[ Ramla, Outremer ]\n\nWhen Richard moved the army to Ramla, Salah al-D\u012bn withdrew to Latrun and then, on December 12, to Jerusalem, leaving behind his advance guard to harass the Franks. The winter weather had set in by then, and the crusaders suffered greatly, forced to endure torrential icy rains, hailstorms, high winds, and the constant threat of flooding. The damp rusted their armor and their clothes rotted. Food went bad; biscuits crumbled, flour mildewed, and salted pork spoiled. Their pack animals sickened and died and soldiers came down with fevers, catarrh, and colic. But morale remained surprisingly high, for they were now less than twenty-five miles from Jerusalem.\n\nFriday, December 20, dawned with an overcast, ashen sky. But it was the first day in over a week that they'd not awakened to heavy rain, and Richard seized the opportunity. South of Ramla were the ruins of Blanchegarde, a castle razed by Salah al-D\u012bn after the fall of Acre, and he thought it would be a good site to lay an ambush. His nephew Henri and some of his household knights rode off with him, but most of the men were content to remain in camp, repairing their rusted hauberks, getting deloused by the laundresses, and playing games of chance.\n\nMorgan had recently adopted the poulain clean-shaven fashion, for it reminded him of home; the Welsh were beardless, confining their facial hair to mustaches. After shaving, he played chess with Warin Fitz Gerald, half listening as the men nearby discussed the women they'd encountered since leaving Marseille a year and a half ago. The consensus was that the whores of Outremer were younger and prettier than their wanton sisters in Naples, Sicily, and Cyprus, and they agreed it was a pity the king had made them stay in Jaffa. Morgan's thoughts were turning toward Jaffa, too. Richard had decided his wife and sister were safer behind its newly rebuilt walls, but Morgan had heard he might fetch them for his Christmas court, and if so, Mariam would accompany them. He was eager for their reunion, though it would have to remain circumspect; there was no privacy in an army camp, not the sort a highborn lady like Mariam would expect.\n\nWarin had just put the chess set away when the raid was launched. The Saracen bowmen did not actually invade the camp, but they fired off a shower of arrows, accompanied by taunts and catcalls. The Earl of Leicester and some of his knights had been about to go on patrol. Now they hastily mounted their horses and rode out to chase the intruders off. Warin and Morgan were members of Richard's household, not Leicester's, but they were bored and so they hurried to arm themselves, as did other men eager for adventure.\n\nThe Saracens retreated before Leicester's charge, withdrawing across the River Ayalon and heading back toward the Judean hills. This had become a ritual by now, with both sides knowing their roles, and the young earl prudently halted pursuit as they approached the west bank of the stream. But three of his men had forged ahead, caught up in the exhilaration of the chase, and they suddenly found themselves surrounded by the enemy. When another knight alerted the earl that they'd been captured, Leicester let out a scalding burst of profanity that even Richard might have envied, calling the knights bloody fools, misbegotten dolts, and accursed half-wits. He still felt honor bound to rescue them and gave the command to advance. By now Warin and Morgan had caught up, and they exchanged troubled glances, the same thought in both their minds, their Michaelmas skirmish that had actually been bait for an ambush.\n\nThe crusaders overtook their foes on the other side of the river and for a brief time, it looked as if they'd be able to free their men and retreat to safety. But then the trap was sprung. More Saracens swept in behind them, cutting off escape. Almost at once, a well-aimed arrow brought down Leicester's stallion and as he scrambled to his feet, he stumbled and slid down the bank into the water. It was not deep, but as he splashed to the surface, he was struck by a Saracen wielding a mace and went under. He came up sputtering, only to be hit again. By then, several of his men had reached him, and as they held off his attackers, another knight performed an act of loyalty that none would ever forget. Robert de Newburgh dismounted and offered the earl his own horse.\n\nLeicester had already won himself a reputation for courage; indeed, he'd surprised some by his prowess, for he'd not been blessed with the physical advantages that men like Richard and Guillaume des Barres enjoyed. Never had he fought as fiercely as he did now, wielding his sword so savagely that he managed to keep his enemies at bay. But they were greatly outnumbered, and all around the earl, his men were being struck down. Warin Fitz Gerald had been unhorsed at the same time as Leicester, and he'd slumped to the ground after taking several blows by Saracens brandishing flanged maces. Fighting his way toward Warin, Morgan leaned from the saddle and held out his hand. \"Swing up behind me,\" he urged, for a man on foot was surely doomed.\n\nBefore Warin could reach him, a Saracen was there, thrusting at Morgan's stallion with his spear. The horse reared up, hooves slipping on the muddy bank, and he and Morgan went over backward. Morgan managed to fling himself from the saddle, but his helmet's chin strap snapped and it flew off as he fell. While his mail coif absorbed some of the impact, his temple struck the edge of a dropped Saracen shield. When he recovered his senses, Warin was pulling him to his feet, the battle was lost, and he was bleeding profusely from a deep gash above his eye.\n\nThey'd been disarmed, their reins cut, and their horses were being led on ropes by their captors. The Earl of Leicester had no fears for his own life, for he'd make a valuable hostage. His household knights did not doubt that he'd do his best to ransom them, too, just as Warin and Morgan knew Richard would pay whatever was demanded for their freedom. There were several Flemish knights among them, though, and their lord lay dead in an Arsuf church. Without Jacques d'Avesnes to pay for their release, they might end up in the slave markets of Damascus or Cairo, and their dazed expressions showed that they understood how precarious their future was. Yet all of them were concentrating upon staying in the saddle, for any man who could not keep up was a liability.\n\nThis was Morgan's greatest concern. Despite applying pressure to his wound with the palm of his hand, he'd been unable to staunch the bleeding and he was feeling very lightheaded. If he lost consciousness, he could expect no mercy, and he clung to his saddlebow so tightly that his fingers grew numb. He was seeing the world through a red haze when he attracted the attention of one of their guards. He signaled a halt and reined in beside Morgan's horse, drawing a dagger from his boot. The closest knights began to shout and Morgan froze, trying to brace himself for the coming blow. The Saracen ignored the protests of the other prisoners. Reaching out, he grabbed the edge of Morgan's surcote. With one deft slash of his blade, he cut off a wide swatch of cloth and handed it to the stunned Welshman. Morgan folded it and clasped it to his wound, huskily giving thanks, first to his God and then to his captor, surprising the latter by expressing his gratitude in halting Arabic.\n\nWhile it was difficult to gauge direction without the sun, Morgan guessed they were heading south toward Latrun, for that was where the Saracen advance guard was camped. The makeshift bandage had finally stopped the bleeding, but his head was still spinning and he found himself fighting off nausea. Although he was beginning to doubt that he'd be able to hang on until they reached Latrun, he refused to despair. He was not going to die on this desolate, muddy plain so far from home. Surely God had not brought him all the way to Outremer only to deny him even a glimpse of the Holy City.\n\nDuring the summer, dust clouds would have warned of approaching riders before they could actually be seen. Now both captors and captives were taken by surprise. The Saracens tightened their grips on their spears and the hilts of their swords. The earl's men no longer slouched in their saddles. All eyes were upon those distant horsemen. Were they Turkish reinforcements? Or a Frank rescue party? They were almost within recognition range now, moving fast. A sudden glimmer of sun broke through the cloud cover, illuminating the scarlet and silver colors of a streaming banner, and a knight with keener eyesight than the others let out a joyful shout. \"It's de Chauvigny!\"\n\nThe Saracens did not recognize Andr\u00e9's cognizance, but their captives' excitement told them all they needed to know. A tense, terse discussion followed, the prisoners assuming they were arguing whether to fight or flee. When they unsheathed their swords, it was obvious the decision had been made.\n\n\"St George!\" The battle cry was still echoing on the chill December air when the knights couched their lances and charged. Men were yelling in Arabic and French, but the noise seemed oddly muffled to Morgan, for there was a strange ringing in his ears. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leicester try to grab a Saracen spear. When one of the knights' horses bolted, Morgan's mount shied sideways, almost unseating him. He felt a jolt of fear, for he knew if he fell under those plunging hooves, he'd likely be trampled to death; as weak as he was, he'd never be able to regain his feet. His head was throbbing and the dull morning light was suddenly so bright that he had to squint. Someone was beside him. He felt a hand clamp down on his arm, and after that, nothing.\n\nMorgan had been lost in a shadow world of strange, fragmented dreams, none of which made any sense to him. Waking up was not much of an improvement, for he felt wretched. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and his stomach was heaving as if he were back on a galley in the middle of the Greek Sea. Most troubling was his confusion; he wasn't sure at first where he was or how he'd gotten there. As he studied his surroundings, he realized he was in a hospital tent. All around him, injured men were lying on blankets, some of them moaning. Others were sitting on stools or walking around. He could hear a familiar voice close at hand; after a moment or so, he recognized it as Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny's. Andr\u00e9 was seated on a coffer, arguing with the surgeons. But as Morgan watched, his shoulders slumped and he nodded. He went white as they manipulated his right arm, biting his lip until it bled while they realigned the bones and then applied pulped comfrey root to the fracture. One of the surgeons was bending over Morgan now. He started to speak, but instead slid back into sleep.\n\nWhen he awoke again, the scene was calmer, quieter, lit by flickering oil lamps. As soon as he stirred, a voice said, \"About time! I thought you were going to sleep all day.\"\n\nThis voice seemed familiar, too; after a pause, he said tentatively, \"Warin?\"\n\n\"Who else?\" The other knight was stretched out on a pallet beside him. He shifted toward Morgan and then winced. \"Holy Mother! They say I cracked a couple of ribs. But the way it hurts, I think every blasted one of them could be broken. How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"I've... been better....\"\n\n\"We can all say that. At least your skull was not fractured. When the doctor examined you, he said there were no indentations, no protruding bone. So he just applied an ointment of feverwort ere he bandaged...\" Seeing the blank look on Morgan's face, he stopped. \"You do not remember any of that?\"\n\nMorgan started to shake his head, discovered that was a bad idea. His memories were hazy, as elusive as drifting smoke. \"I remember the battle... at least, most of it....\"\n\n\"The doctors said you might be forgetful, that it ofttimes happens with head injuries. I assume you remember Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny's rescue? You looked like you were about to pass out, so I grabbed you and got us both clear of the fighting. Some of our men were eager to join in and indeed did so as soon as weapons began to litter the field. But I figured you and I would be more of a hindrance than a help. It was a fierce struggle. Say what you will of the infidels, they do not lack for courage.\"\n\nMorgan slowly propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze searching the tent until he found the man he sought. \"Andr\u00e9 was hurt, then? I thought I may have dreamed it....\"\n\n\"He blames himself, has been fuming about it for hours.\" Warin glanced admiringly toward Andr\u00e9, who was seated on a narrow bed, scowling at his splinted forearm. \"He killed the emir leading the Saracens, but the man was still able to stab him with his spear.\" He anticipated Morgan's next query. \"Leicester is battered and bruised, but he has no serious hurts.\" He gestured across the tent, where the earl was having his numerous cuts and contusions tended to. \"God was indeed smiling upon him this day, for he charged back into the fray and had a second horse killed under him.\"\n\nA memory floated toward the surface and Morgan frowned, troubled that he could not remember the name of a man he knew well. \"The knight who gave the earl his mount... he survived?\"\n\n\"He is in better shape than either of us,\" Warin said with a smile. \"As for you, they think you'll soon be on the mend since you showed none of the signs of a fatal injury; no seizures or fever and you can obviously talk, though you insisted upon doing it in Welsh and none of us could understand a word you said!\"\n\n\"Were there prisoners taken?\" When Warin nodded, Morgan resolved to see if the Saracen Good Samaritan was amongst them once he was able to do so, for he owed the man a few comforts. He still had questions, but sleep was beckoning again. Before he could answer the call, a sudden din erupted outside, and Warin grinned. \"Either we're under attack or the king has just ridden in and been told of the ambush!\"\n\nIt was not easy to make a dramatic entrance into a tent, but Richard did it. He headed straight for Andr\u00e9, stood gazing down at his cousin and shaking his head. \"How in the world did you manage to get injured by a man you'd unhorsed and mortally wounded?\"\n\nAndr\u00e9's smile was sour. \"How in the world did you manage to miss a battle? But I suppose you can ask Saladin to refight it for your benefit.\"\n\nRichard gave a shout of laughter. \"What an excellent idea!\" Sitting down on the corner of the bed, he lowered his voice for Andr\u00e9's ears alone. After exchanging a few words, he clasped the injured man on the shoulder and then made the rounds of the tent, pausing before each wounded knight to ask a question or offer a joke. He congratulated Morgan upon having such a hard head, teased Leicester for losing two horses in a single day, and spent so much time with Robert de Newburgh that it was obvious he'd been told of the knight's heroic sacrifice.\n\nHenri had entered almost unnoticed in Richard's wake, and after brief visits with Andr\u00e9 and Leicester, he paused by Morgan's cot. From him, Morgan and Warin learned that they'd abandoned their mission because Richard had an odd premonition of danger. \"It is like another sense, one given to soldiers, at least the good ones. As it turned out, it is fortunate that my uncle heeded it, for on our way back to camp, we encountered two of our Saracen spies and they said Saladin had sent three hundred of his elite troops to Blanchegarde. We'd have run right into them.\"\n\nHenri stayed for a while, asking Morgan and Warin questions about the battle and rescue, for he knew men often needed to talk afterward, and then telling some comic stories to cheer them up, for he thought life would not be much fun for them as they healed. Their brief weather respite had already ended and they could hear the renewed drumming of rain on the roof of the tent.\n\nHenri did succeed in cheering Morgan up, for he'd confided that Richard planned to return to Jaffa on the morrow and bring the women back with him. The young count was usually a reliable source and that proved to be the case again. Morgan awoke from a nap on Sunday evening to find himself the envy of the hospital tent, for two queens and the Damsel of Cyprus were at his bedside. Berengaria expressed flattering concern for his injury, Anna gave him a Cypriot good luck charm, and Joanna contributed an amusing account of their ride over the very muddy Jaffa road, making it sound as if their fifteen-mile trip had been an epic trek for the ages. But her real gift to Morgan was the screen that now enclosed his bed. Rising to leave, she explained that she thought he'd sleep better if he had a bit of privacy, and winked.\n\nWith a rustle of skirts and a fragrance that evoked memories of moonlit, summer gardens, Mariam slipped around the screen, leaned over the bed, and gave Morgan a kiss that was very different from those they'd shared in the past.\n\n\"That,\" he said, \"was worth\u2014\"\n\n\"Do not dare tell me it was worth getting your head bashed in!\"\n\n\"Of course it was not worth that much,\" he said with a grin. \"But it was worth waiting for, cariad.\"\n\nHis blanket had slid down to his waist, and her eyes were drawn to the ripple of muscles, a triangle of golden chest hair, and the skin that she knew would be warm and firm to the touch, unlike the soft, flabby body of her late husband, a good man but one well past his prime by the time they'd wed. \"I think,\" she murmured, \"that we have been waiting too long, Morgan ap Ranulf, far too long.\"\n\nHe reached for her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. \"My sentiments exactly, my heart. Alas, our timing could not be worse, could it?\"\n\n\"I know,\" she agreed and sighed. \"I know....\"\n\n\"I am about to blaspheme,\" he admitted, \"for as much as I yearn to see the Holy Sepulchre, I am even more eager now to visit Jerusalem's fine inns.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" she breathed, \"one with a spacious, soft featherbed, clean sheets, a flagon of spiced wine, and a sturdy latch to bar the door.\"\n\nBut they were miles and months away from that enticing vision and they both knew it. Kissing the face upturned to his, he brushed his lips against the lashes that shadowed her skin like silky fans, tasted the sweetness of her mouth, and found he could pretend no longer, even to himself. \"Mariam... I have to warn you, cariad. I am falling in love with you.\"\n\nShe slanted a mischievous glance through those long, fringed lashes, her eyes shimmering with golden glints. \"It certainly took you long enough,\" she complained, but when she added, \"Ana behibak,\" he needed no translation for that alluring Arabic whisper.\n\n\"Rwy'n dy garu di,\" he said softly, and she needed no translation, either.\n\nOn December 23, richard moved his command headquarters eight miles south to the ruins of the Templar castle called Toron des Chevaliers by the crusaders and Latrun by the Saracens, and there he celebrated Christmas in royal style, or as regal as festivities could be when conducted in tents during relentless rainstorms.\n\nTwo days later, richard observed the holy day of St John the Apostle by holding a dinner for the poulain lords who'd not thrown in their lot with Conrad of Montferrat. He did not remember that it was also the twenty-fifth birthday of his youngest brother, John, not until reminded of it by Joanna, and he was sorry she had. Philippe was surely back in his own domains by now and the French king would inevitably reach out to John, try to coax or bribe him into a seditious alliance. Richard had been very generous with his brother and he ought to be able to rely upon the younger man's loyalty. But John was something of an enigma to his family, and Richard would have felt much more confident of his fealty had he not been more than two thousand miles away. No ships had arrived from Europe for months and for all he knew, Philippe was ravaging Normandy with John's heartfelt help. But he resolutely pushed these concerns aside, for \"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.\" It would be foolish to borrow fresh troubles when he was already fighting a war on three fronts\u2014with his French allies and Saracen foes and the vile winter weather.\n\nThe dinner was a success, even if it was a Friday fast day, with lively entertainment provided by troubadours and musicians, and even livelier conversation. The guest of honor was Raymond, eldest son of the Prince of Antioch. Although Raymond had been an enthusiastic supporter of the crusade, his father had so far remained aloof and Richard thought it politic to make sure the son knew he was a valued ally. But the guest who shone the brightest during dinner was Hugues, Lord of Tiberias and Prince of Galilee.\n\nHugues was in his early forties, his shrewd, hooded eyes a startling blue against skin weathered by years of exposure to the Outremer sun, a man as resilient and enduring as the land of his birth. He'd fought at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn; in his youth, he'd survived four years in a Saracen prison; he knew Salah al-D\u012bn personally; he was one of the few barons of the kingdom who'd not defected to Conrad. These were all reasons why Richard considered him to be a man worth listening to; it was an added bonus that Hugues now revealed himself to be knowledgeable about one of the great mysteries of the Holy Land, the secret killing sect known as the Assassins.\n\nRichard had heard of them before his arrival at Acre, for their notoriety had spread even as far as Europe. They were led by a chieftain known as \"the Old Man of the Mountain,\" and it was said he promised his young followers an afterlife of eternal pleasure in return for a martyr's death. The Franks had told Richard their name was derived from the Arabic word for \"hashish,\" for they were believed to imbibe it before their missions. They'd been in existence only a hundred years or so, yet there were already so many legends and lurid tales circulating about these shadowy, sinister figures that it was almost impossible to separate truth from myth.\n\nRichard was very pleased, therefore, to discover Hugues was such a treasure trove of information about the Assassins. He'd even met the Old Man of the Mountain himself, Rash\u012bd al-D\u012bn Sin\u0101n. Upon learning that Richard already knew Islam was split into two warring camps, Sunnis and Shi'ites, Hugues then explained that the Assassins were a separate Shia sect that originally took root in Persia, and were viewed by other Muslims as heretics. They used murder as a political weapon\u2014and to great effect. They were willing to wait months, even years, for an opportunity to get close to their quarry, and excelled at deception and subterfuge. The Assassins used daggers and always committed their killings in public so that as many people as possible would learn of the deaths. But their victims were almost always their fellow Muslims. Amongst them, Hugues enumerated, were two grand viziers in Persia and the caliphs of Cairo and Baghdad. The only Frank they'd slain, he said, was a Count of Tripoli about forty years ago.\n\nHis audience had hung on his every word, fascinated and horrified in equal measure. Richard was the first to inject a note of skepticism. \"It does not seem likely to me that these Assassins could be regular users of hashish. How could they manage to deceive their prey, to blend in so well that none suspected them if their wits were addled with this potion?\"\n\nHugues gave the king an approving smile. \"Very true, my lord. Frankly, I never believed that myself. I think it is just one of the many rumors that swirl around them. They attract such stories the way Acre attracts sinners. I am not even sure their name is derived from the word 'hashish.' I was once told that it comes from 'Hassassin,' which means 'a follower of Hassan,' who was the founder of their sect. So who's to say? The only certainty is that the mere mention of that name causes even brave men to glance uneasily over their shoulders.\"\n\nJoanna had leaned forward, so intent upon the conversation that she was unaware she'd propped her elbows on the table. \"What I do not understand, my lord Hugues, is why they so rarely attack Christians. Do they not see us as the enemy?\"\n\n\"They view us as foxes, my lady, more of a nuisance than a real threat. They reserve their greatest hatred for the Sunni wolves, who return it wholeheartedly.\"\n\n\"I've heard that they've tried to murder Saladin numerous times,\" Richard commented. \"Is that true?\"\n\n\"In part, my lord king. I know of at least two attempts upon his life. Both times they penetrated his camp, and once he was saved only by his armor. He began to take great precautions for his safety and eventually he decided to strike at Rash\u012bd al-D\u012bn Sin\u0101n himself, laying siege to his castle at Masy\u0101f. But he called off the siege after just a week. I've heard various reasons offered for that, including a story that the Old Man of the Mountain threatened to murder Saladin's family if he did not withdraw. It would be hard not to take such a threat seriously after what happened with the sultan's bodyguards....\"\n\nHugues had an innate sense of drama. He paused now to sip his wine, building suspense as his audience eagerly urged him to continue. \"Well,\" he said, \"as I heard it, the Assassin chieftain sent one of his men to Saladin with a message, insisting it must be delivered in private. Saladin finally agreed to see him, but would not dismiss two of his most trusted bodyguards. Sin\u0101n's man looked at them and asked what they would do if he bade them in the name of his master to kill the sultan. They at once drew their swords and declared, 'Command us as you wish.' He then rode out of Saladin's camp with the two bodyguards, the message having been delivered.\"\n\nThere were gasps of delighted horror. This time it was Andr\u00e9 who took on the role of resident cynic. He was in a surly mood, in pain and frustrated by his clumsy attempts to cut his fish with his left hand, and so he eschewed tact in favor of brusque candor. \"That is rubbish. If the Assassins could place their own men so close to Saladin, why did they not strike when they had the chance? Why settle for scaring him when they could so easily have killed him?\"\n\nHugues was annoyed by Andr\u00e9's derisive interjection. But as he glanced toward Richard, he saw the king looked amused, and so he merely shrugged. \"Make of it what you will, my lord de Chauvigny. I can only tell you that Saladin and the Old Man of the Mountain obviously reached some sort of understanding, a truce if you will, for the attempts upon the sultan's life ceased.\"\n\nHenri, ever the diplomat, took it upon himself to steer the conversation into more placid waters and the awkward moment passed. He personally thought Andr\u00e9 was right, but logic rarely could compete with legend and he saw that many of the guests preferred to believe Hugues's chilling tale of Assassins with diabolical powers beyond the ken of mortal men.\n\nAfter the meal was done, Richard beckoned to the Grand Masters of the Templars and Hospitallers; he greatly admired the courage, stoicism, and discipline of both military orders and did what he could to show others that they stood high in royal favor. He was soon approached, though, by the Lady Uracca, the youngest\u2014and to his mind, the most foolish\u2014of his wife's attendants. The queen was departing for her own tent, the girl reported, a message that was puzzling on several levels. Why had Berenguela not come over herself? And why was she leaving so soon?\n\nWhile Richard tended to take the behind-the-scenes activities of the women for granted, rarely stopping to consider how much preparation went into festivities like this, he did know his wife had a strong sense of duty, and it wasn't like her to abandon her obligations as his hostess. Uracca, of course, was unable to provide any answers, but as he searched the crowded tent, he caught a glimpse of Berengaria's new fur-trimmed mantle.\n\nMoving swiftly to intercept her, he was thinking back to her behavior during the meal. The other women had actively engaged in the conversation about the Assassins, but Berengaria had remained silent. Now that he thought about it, he realized she had been subdued even before the dinner began, uncommonly quiet and withdrawn for a queen on public display. And she did look pale, he thought, with a stirring of unease, for disease was always hovering over an army encampment and it was so cold the guests had been forced to remain bundled in their cloaks even while they ate. With so many of his soldiers laid low by sickness, how much more susceptible must a delicately reared lass like Berenguela be to the alien, noxious maladies of Outremer?\n\nDrawing her aside, he looked intently into her face. \"Uracca told me you were leaving. Are you ailing, little dove?\"\n\n\"No, I am quite well. I am just... just tired. But I will stay if that is your wish.\" Relieved, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. \"No, there is no need for that; Joanna can act in your stead. I was merely concerned that you might be ill. Go and rest. In fact, that is a good idea,\" he said with a smile, \"for you are not likely to get that much sleep tonight.\"\n\nHe'd expected her to blush and laugh, as she always did. He did not expect the reaction he got. \"No, not tonight!\" she cried, and then clapped her hand to her mouth as if she could call her words back.\n\nRichard blinked in astonishment. While he might have agreed in theory that a wife ought to have the right of refusal, it had not occurred to him that his own wife would ever invoke it. \"Are you sure you are not sick, Berenguela?\"\n\n\"I... no, I am not ill,\" she assured him, although she no longer met his gaze, her lashes coming down like shutters to shield her thoughts.\n\nHe was momentarily at a loss, but then he understood. \"Oh, of course! Your flux has come,\" he said, pleased with himself for solving this minor mystery so easily, and reached for her hand. Again, he got more than he'd bargained for. She gasped and tears suddenly welled in her eyes. Jerking free of his grasp, she whirled and fled\u2014there was no other way to describe her precipitate exit. Heads turned in her direction and her startled ladies and knights hurried to catch up, while Richard stared after her in consternation.\n\n\"Richard?\" Joanna materialized at his side as if by magic. \"Whatever did you say to her?\"\n\nHe was usually amused by her protectiveness, even if it did mean she invariably took Berengaria's side whenever they had a difference of opinion. Today he was not amused. \"I said nothing,\" he protested. \"We were talking and suddenly she ran off. Go after her, Joanna, and find out what's wrong.\"\n\n\"Richard, she's your wife! You're the one to go after her.\"\n\n\"You'd be better at it than me,\" he insisted. \"I am not good at dealing with female vapors or tears\u2014\" Warned by the look on her face, he stopped himself, but not in time.\n\n\"'Female vapors'?\" she echoed incredulously. \"When have you ever seen Maman or me succumb to 'female vapors'? When have you ever seen Berengaria give way to an emotional outburst of any kind? Has she even shed a tear in your presence? If she is distraught, she has a damned good reason for it\u2014and it is your responsibility to find out what it is!\"\n\nWhen Richard didn't reply, she read surrender in his silence. She stayed where she was, though, watching him with an implacable expression until he turned and started for the tent entrance. Only then did she clap her hands, signaling for the musicians to resume playing and for the guests politely to pretend that the queen's flight had been nothing out of the ordinary.\n\nRichard was not happy with his sister. But a sense of fairness that he thought often surfaced at inopportune times compelled him to admit that he'd wronged his wife. Berenguela had none of the vices he attributed to many of her sex; she was not flighty or overly sensitive or sentimental. He still thought Joanna would have been better at offering comfort or ferreting out womanly secrets. Since she'd balked, he had no choice, though, and he entered Berengaria's tent with the reluctant resolve of a man venturing into unknown terrain. His appearance created a predictable stir among her attendants. Thinking they were fluttering about like hens that had just spotted a hawk, he started to dismiss them; remembering in time that it was pouring rain, he settled for waving them away from the screen that afforded Berengaria her only privacy.\n\nShe was lying on the bed, but she rolled over when he said her name, looking so surprised to see him that he felt a twinge of guilt. She'd obviously been weeping, for her eyes were red and swollen. \"I am sorry,\" she said, \"for making a scene.\"\n\n\"Have you forgotten my family history, Berenguela? By our standards, you'd have to fling a glass of wine into my face to make a scene.\" Sitting beside her, he reached over and wiped her wet cheeks with a corner of the sheet. \"Tell me what is wrong.\"\n\n\"You were right,\" she confessed; her voice was muffled, as if she were swallowing tears, but she met his gaze steadily. \"My flux did come today... almost three weeks late.\"\n\n\"Ah... I see. You'd thought you might be with child.\"\n\n\"I'd never been late before, Richard, never.\" A solitary tear trickled from the corner of her eye, slowly flowed down her cheek, and splashed onto his wrist. \"I was so sure, so happy....\"\n\n\"Berenguela... I have no doubts that you'll give me a son. But it must happen in God's time.\"\n\n\"That is what my confessor keeps telling me, too,\" she said, and it was obvious to him that she took no comfort in this truism. He was quiet for a few moments, trying to decide what to say.\n\n\"I think it might be for the best if you do not conceive whilst we are in Outremer,\" he said at last, and saw her brown eyes widen. \"Think about it, little dove. You have already experienced more discomfort and danger than most queens could even imagine. Think how much worse it would be if you had to endure all this whilst you were great with child. Then what of the delivery itself? Do you truly want to give birth in a tent? And afterward... you'd be fearful every time the baby sneezed or coughed. This is not a kind country for infants, for women and children. Hellfire, lass, it is no country for any man not born and bred here; we all sicken and die much easier than we would back in our own lands.\"\n\nHer eyes searched his. \"You truly would not be disappointed if I do not conceive until we go home?\"\n\n\"I'd be relieved,\" he admitted. \"Had I known what it would be like here, I doubt that I'd have taken you and Joanna with me. You could have waited for me at Tancred's court in safety and comfort. Now... now I must worry about you both whilst I also worry about my men and our chances of defeating Saladin.\" He smiled, but it held little humor. \"There are good reasons, little dove, why men do not usually bring their women with them to war.\"\n\n\"I cannot deny that those are thoughts I've had, too,\" she confided. \"I would not add to your burdens if I could help it, Richard. But... but I am still glad that you brought me with you.\"\n\nLeaning over, he kissed her. When he started to rise, though, she caught his hand. \"Will you still come to me tonight? Even though we cannot...?\"\n\n\"I will,\" he promised, and kissed her again. She sat up once he'd departed, but she was not yet ready to face the world and she decided to indulge herself for a while longer, safe from the stares and speculations. It was not long, though, before her sister-in-law arrived, and none of Berengaria's ladies dared to deny her entry.\n\n\"I know Richard was here,\" Joanna said forthrightly, \"but I was not sure how helpful he'd be. Even the bravest of men seem to become unnerved by a woman's tears.\"\n\nBerengaria looked fondly at the other woman, thinking how lucky she was to have Joanna as her friend. \"My flux came today,\" she said. \"It was so late that I'd dared to hope... but it was not to be.\"\n\n\"Berengaria, I am so sorry.\" Joanna climbed onto the bed and enfolded her in a hug. \"You'd been so happy the past few weeks that I'd suspected as much. You told Richard?\" She hoped her brother had been sympathetic to his wife's needs, but she did have a few misgivings, for she thought men were the unpredictable and impulsive sex, not women, and they could be insensitive at the worst possible times.\n\n\"Yes... he was very sweet about it.\"\n\nJoanna hid a smile, thinking that this was surely the first and only time that anyone had used that word to describe Richard. \"I am glad to hear that, dearest.\"\n\n\"He said he'd rather it does not happen until we are safely back in his domains, that it would be too dangerous. He is right, of course, and it is a great relief to know he does not blame me. It is just that... that it means so much, Joanna. Every woman surely wants children, but it is so much more urgent for a queen. What could be worse than to fail to give Richard the heir he needs?\"\n\nJoanna said nothing, but Berengaria had become adept by now at reading her sister-in-law's face. \"Oh, Joanna, I am sorry! Can you forgive me?\"\n\n\"There is nothing to forgive. I know you did not mean to diminish my loss. My son died, and yes, that is a hurt that will never fully heal. But I've had years to come to terms with it, Berengaria. That is part of my past. I am sure that in time Richard will find me a suitable husband\u2014preferably Christian,\" she added with a faint smile. \"And when that happens, I will have other sons. As will you, my dearest sister. I truly believe that, want you to believe that, too.\"\n\nShe half expected her sister-in-law to soften the presumption of that prediction with a cautious \"God willing.\" Berengaria surprised her, though. \"I want to believe it, too, Joanna, and I will endeavor to do so. Why should it not happen, after all? How could the Almighty deny a son and heir to the man who will free Jerusalem from the infidels?\"\n\nJoanna opened her mouth, shut it again. During one of his last visits to Jaffa, Richard had confided in her about his constant struggles with Hugh of Burgundy and the French, admitting how exhausted and disheartened he was at times, even confessing that he doubted Jerusalem could ever be taken by force, that their only chance of regaining access to the Holy City was by a negotiated settlement with Saladin. He'd told her that he knew that would not go down well with his army, that his men would be bitterly disappointed if they failed to recapture Jerusalem. She wondered now if he realized his own wife would share that bitter disappointment. She briefly considered alerting him, but decided against it, for why add one more worry to the many burdens he already labored under?\n\nRichard moved his army headquarters after Christmas to Bait N\u016bb\u0101, just twelve miles from Jerusalem. The winter weather remained wretched, yet skirmishing continued. Richard interrupted a Saracen ambush on the third day of the new year, but they fled upon recognizing his banner. Not long afterward, he escorted his wife and sister back to the greater safety of Jaffa. By now he was convinced that it would be madness to advance upon Jerusalem under the circumstances and, upon his return to Bait N\u016bb\u0101, he confronted the issue head-on.\n\nThey met in Richard's command tent during yet another pelting hailstorm, the wind keening in an eerie accompaniment to the rising voices. As soon as Richard broached the subject of turning back, he was assailed by his French allies, accused of betraying their holy quest. Determined to hold on to his temper, he sought to counter their passion with what he saw as irrefutable facts.\n\n\"Look at this,\" he demanded, pointing toward the map he'd laid out upon a trestle table. \"I asked men personally familiar with the city's defenses to draw it for us. Jerusalem's walls are more than two miles in circumference and enclose an area of over two hundred acres. We do not have enough men to securely encircle the city. We'd be stretched so thin that they'd be able to send out sorties and break through our lines whenever they wanted. Saladin has been preparing for a siege for months, so I daresay they have food stockpiled. Nor are they going to run out of water; their cisterns must be overflowing by now!\" he said, with an angry, ironic gesture toward the rippling walls of the tent, billowing with each powerful gust of the storm battering Bait N\u016bb\u0101. \"Even if we had an army twice as large, it would be sheer folly to begin a siege in weather like this!\"\n\n\"I cannot believe that you are balking again!\" Hugh of Burgundy glanced disdainfully at the map, shaking his head. \"We are twelve miles from the Holy City\u2014only twelve miles!\"\n\n\"Our men did not come so far to turn tail and run.\" The Bishop of Beauvais had not even bothered to look at the map, keeping his eyes accusingly upon Richard. \"Why did you take the cross if you were not willing to fight God's enemies?\" Henri and Andr\u00e9 both jumped to their feet. But for once the Angevin temper did not catch fire. Richard did not even bother to defend himself, overwhelmed by the futility of it. Christ's Blood, he was so bone-weary of all this. No matter what he said, they'd not heed him. It was as if the past four months had never been and they were back at Jaffa, making the same arguments and aspersions that they'd made then.\n\nHe was wrong, though; this was not to be another repeat of their Jaffa confrontation. Hugues de Tiberias had been standing in the rear, but now he pushed his way to the front of the tent. \"It is ridiculous to accuse the English king of lacking the heart to wage war against the Saracens,\" he said scornfully. \"If I thought you truly meant that, my lord bishop, I'd wonder if you'd been afflicted by some malady that scrambles a man's wits. Who got us safely to Jaffa? Who won the battle of Arsuf? Not you, my lord bishop or you, my lord duke. Why must we constantly waste time with these petty squabbles instead of talking about what truly matters? Can we take Jerusalem?\"\n\nWhen they would have interrupted, he flung up a hand for silence. \"No, by God, you'll hear me out! Some of you use the term 'poulain' as an insult, at least behind our backs. Well, I am proud to call myself poulain. I know far more about fighting in the Holy Land than men who've lived all their lives in the fat, green fields of France, and I say the answer is no. We cannot take Jerusalem. Now are you going to accuse me, too, of not wanting to win this war? This is my home, not yours, and after you've all gone back to your own lands, I'll still be here, struggling to survive against a foe who is not going anywhere, either.\"\n\n\"We do not doubt your good faith or your courage,\" Hugh insisted. \"But we cannot give up now. Jerusalem is within our grasp!\"\n\n\"No, my lord duke, it is not.\" Garnier de Nablus remained seated on a coffer, arms folded across his chest, but his voice carried; the Grand Master of the Hospitallers was accustomed to dominating gatherings of other men. \"The problems we faced in September are still unresolved. We still risk having our supply lines to the coast cut by Saladin, finding ourselves stranded in enemy territory, caught between Saladin's army and the garrison in Jerusalem. Nothing has changed since we last discussed this, except to get worse. Now we have an army weakened by sickness and desertions and we are in the midst of one of the most severe winters in memory. There is a reason why fighting in the Holy Land is seasonal, and you need only stick your heads out of this tent to understand why that is so.\"\n\nBefore he could be refuted, the Grand Master of the Templars added his voice in support of Garnier. Robert de Sabl\u00e9 argued that even if they somehow managed to capture Jerusalem, they could not hope to hold it, for all the men who'd taken the cross would then depart, their vows fulfilled. \"We'd be gambling more than the lives of our men. We'd be risking the very survival of the kingdom, for if our army suffers another defeat like \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn. Outremer is doomed. I say we withdraw to the coast and rebuild Ascalon, as the English king wanted us to do last September.\"\n\nThe French were not convinced. They infuriated all the Templars by implying that Robert de Sabl\u00e9 was Richard's puppet because he was a vassal of the English king. They dismissed the concerns of the Hospitallers and poulains by arguing that a holy war was not like ordinary warfare, insisting it was God's Will that they besiege Jerusalem and He would reward them with victory. This was the reasoning that had carried the day at Jaffa. But on this cold January night at Bait N\u016bb\u0101, it did not. Much to the dismay of the French, their fellow crusaders were no longer willing to disregard their military training and experience in favor of such a great leap of faith. It was agreed that the army would not attempt to capture Jerusalem now and instead would seize the ruins of Ascalon, rebuilding it to threaten Saladin's power base in Egypt.\n\nThe French departed with dire predictions of disaster and veiled and notso-veiled threats to abandon the crusade. Hugh of Burgundy paused in the entrance of the tent to glare at Richard, whom he saw as the architect of this shameful surrender. \"Our men will never forgive you for this,\" he warned, \"for they will never understand why we did not even try to seize the Holy City.\"\n\nRichard said nothing, for although he truly believed they'd just averted a calamity that would have reverberated throughout Christendom, he knew that Hugh was right. Their men would not understand and he would be the one they blamed."
            },
            {
                "title": "JANUARY 1192",
                "text": "[ Ascalon, Outremer ]\n\nWhen they were told there would be no attack upon Jerusalem, the army's morale plummeted. Men had been willing to endure severe hardships if their sacrifice would mean the recapture of the Holy City. Now they were shocked, bewildered, and angry to be told they were returning to the coast, for their suffering suddenly seemed pointless. Richard was no less troubled, feeling that he'd let them down even as he'd saved their lives. He did what he could for them, providing carts to transport all the sick and wounded back to Jaffa, and the eyewitness chroniclers took note of it. Ambroise reported that many of \"the lesser folk\" would have been left behind if not for the English king, and the author of the Itinerarium acknowledged that the ailing would otherwise have died since they were unable to care for themselves. But they also reported that each man \"cursed the day he was born,\" that the heartbroken soldiers could not be comforted.\n\nWhen the dispirited, bedraggled army reached Ramla, it fell apart. Most of the French refused to serve under Richard's command any longer and scattered, some heading to Jaffa, others to Acre, some even vowing to join Conrad at Tyre. Henri and his men remained loyal, though, and they accompanied Richard on a grim march to Ascalon along roads so mired in mud that they'd become death traps. Battered by the worst weather of the winter\u2014snow, hail, and icy, torrential rains\u2014they finally reached Ascalon on January 20. There the exhausted men sought shelter midst the wreckage of this once thriving city, the storms so intense that Richard's galleys dared not enter the dangerous harbor for more than a week. Just as their food was running out, the raging sea calmed enough for a few ships to land and unload provisions. The weather soon turned foul again, and when supply galleys attempted another landing, they were dashed upon the rocks, most of their crews drowning.\n\nRichard somehow managed to keep the crusaders from utter despair, and put them to work clearing away the stones and rubble. They all shared the labor, the king, his lords, bishops, and knights joining the men-at-arms in carrying away rocks and debris and slabs of sandstone. After hiring local masons out of his own dwindling funds, Richard then sent word to Hugh of Burgundy, urging the French not to abandon the crusade. Hugh was also pressured by some of his own men, those who'd not decamped for Acre or Tyre, and reluctantly agreed to come to Ascalon, although he refused to commit his troops beyond Easter. Richard was infuriated with Hugh's intransigence, but he took what he could get.\n\nHenri had taken some of his disheartened knights to Jaffa for a few days of rest and recreation with the whores who'd relocated from Acre. While there, he visited with Joanna and Berengaria, assuring them that Richard would fetch them as soon as they'd made more progress in the rebuilding. He made it sound as if all was going well at long last, in part because he did not want them to worry and in part because he was an optimist by nature. But when he returned to Ascalon, he discovered that Richard and Hugh's fragile d\u00e9tente had already ruptured. The French duke had asked Richard for another loan, and when the English king refused, Hugh had gone back to Jaffa in high dudgeon, heading along the coast road just as Henri's galley had cruised south.\n\nThe day after henri's return to Ascalon, Richard decided to reconnoiter D\u0101r\u016bm, a Saracen castle twenty miles to the south; if the crusaders could control both Ascalon and D\u0101r\u016bm, they'd be able to clamp a stranglehold upon Salah al-D\u012bn's supply lines to Egypt. Henri volunteered to come along, and seized his first opportunity to learn the gory details of Hugh and Richard's latest quarrel.\n\n\"So... what happened? Say what you will of Hugh, he has brass ballocks. I can scarcely believe he dared to ask you for more money. The man has done his utmost to thwart you at every turn!\"\n\n\"He claimed his men were insisting upon being paid and he did not have the money. I told him I could not afford to give him any more. He's not repaid a denier of the five thousand silver marks I lent him at Acre, and I'm already covering three-quarters of the cost of rebuilding Ascalon. He did not want to hear that, said he was going to Acre and we could go to Hell.\"\n\nHenri said nothing and they rode in silence for a time. He did not like Richard's uncharacteristically calm recital of yet another desertion; his uncle should be raving about Burgundy's sheer gall, drawing upon his considerable command of invective and obscenities to curse the duke till the end of his wretched days. To Henri, Richard had always been a force of nature, immune to the fears and misgivings that preyed upon lesser men. But it seemed to him now that the English king was being worn down by the constant strife with his own allies, losing heart and hope, and that alarmed Henri exceedingly. What would befall them if Richard gave up the fight and went home as Philippe had done?\n\nHe was racking his brain for a conversational gambit that might dispel his uncle's morose mood, and when his gaze fell upon Richard's sleek dun stallion, he had it. \"I hear you were busy adding to your legend whilst I was in Jaffa,\" he said breezily. \"I was in camp less than an hour ere I was told about your latest adventure. But surely the part about jumping over that boar cannot be true!\"\n\nAs he'd hoped, Richard took the bait, for he was never averse to boasting about his exploits. \"Well, actually it is,\" he said with a smile. \"I rode out with some of my knights to scout around Blanchegarde. On our way back, we encountered a very large wild boar. It stood its ground, making ready to attack. I used my lance as if it were a hunting spear and embedded it in the beast's chest. But it broke in half and the boar charged right at me. So I did the only thing I could\u2014I spurred Fauvel and he soared over it as if he had wings. The only damage done was a rip to his rear trappings where the tusks caught the material. That gave me time to draw my sword and when it charged again, I struck it in the neck, which stunned it enough for me to complete the kill.\"\n\nHenri burst out laughing. \"You make it sound like just another hunt. But I can tell you for certes that not one man in a hundred would have dared to jump over an enraged boar! That is quite a feat of horsemanship, Uncle, even for you.\"\n\n\"Let's give credit where due, Henri... to Fauvel.\" Richard leaned over to pat the stallion fondly, and Henri laughed again, pleased that he'd been so successful in raising his uncle's spirits. But it was then that one of their scouts came into view, with several Saracens in close pursuit.\n\nThey reined in at sight of the crusaders, wheeled their mounts, and made a hasty retreat. The scout, one of the Templar turcopoles, headed toward Richard. \"There is a large infantry force camped outside the walls, my lord king, between the castle and the village. There seemed something odd about them, though, so I came closer to see\u2014too close, obviously,\" he said with a wry smile. \"I cannot be sure, for I was still some distance away when I was spotted. But I think they are Christian prisoners.\"\n\n\"Let's go find out, then,\" Richard said, and signaled to his knights to array in battle formation. Riding stirrup to stirrup, lances couched, they soon saw D\u0101r\u016bm Castle looming against the horizon. There were a number of white tents and smoldering campfires, some Saracen horsemen milling about in obvious agitation, but no sign of any Christian captives. \"God curse them, we're too late,\" Richard swore. \"They were taken into the castle.\" For an angry moment, he considered an assault upon it, but they had no siege engines with them. At least they could exact vengeance on behalf of the prisoners, and they charged their foes, shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House.\n\nThe Saracens rode out to meet them, an act of undeniable courage, yet a foolhardy one, too, for they were badly outnumbered. When the fighting was done, several Muslims were dead and twenty of them had been compelled to surrender. While all were disappointed that they'd missed a chance to rescue some of their Christian brethren, the knights were pleased that they'd profit so handsomely from this scouting mission, already counting the horses seized and speculating about the ransom demands. Richard was puzzled, though, that the castle garrison had not sallied forth to join in the fray. He was searching the battlements for signs of activity when one of his men let out a shout, pointing toward the village.\n\nIt had appeared deserted, for its inhabitants, both Muslims and Christians, had either fled at their approach or barricaded themselves in their houses. But now the door of the church opened and men burst out, laughing and weeping. Some of them had managed to cut their bindings; others were still roped together. They were ragged and dirty and gaunt, but they were also euphoric, all talking at once, thanking God and Richard for their deliverance. When he dismounted, he was mobbed, and it took a while before he could make himself heard above the din.\n\n\"Choose one to speak for you,\" he ordered. \"Are any of my soldiers amongst you?\"\n\nA few men shouldered their way toward him, identifying themselves as sergeants captured during a foraging expedition near Ramla in December. Gesturing at the others, they said these were men taken during the siege of Acre, unlucky pilgrims, and local Syrians.\n\n\"All Christians, though, my lord, even the ones who follow the Greek Church,\" one of the sergeants assured him. \"We've been held in Jerusalem, forced to labor for the infidels, digging ditches and strengthening the city walls. They no longer needed us for that and we were being taken to Egypt to be sold in the slave markets there....\" His voice thickened. \"I admit I'd given up hope. But God had not forsaken us....\" He choked up then, unable to continue, and Richard raised a hand for silence.\n\n\"I do not understand why you were not taken into the castle. How did you get away from your guards?\"\n\n\"It was because of you, sire.\" Richard knew this new speaker was a soldier, too, just by the look of him; he bore too many visible scars to be a civilian. He'd obviously been a prisoner for some time, for he was noticeably thinner than the sergeants captured near Ramla. But his smile was bright enough to rival the sun. \"They recognized your banner, came racing back into camp screaming, 'Malik Ric! Malik Ric!' The next thing we knew, most of our guards bolted. They mounted their horses and fled into the castle, leaving us to fend for ourselves. You ought to have heard what the other Saracens called them, the ones who had the guts to stay and fight you!\" He laughed hoarsely, and gratefully accepted a wineskin from one of the knights. \"So we ran\u2014stumbled is more like it\u2014and took shelter in the church, where some of us were able to cut our bonds.\"\n\nOthers were pressing forward, eager to tell their stories, too, to bear witness. Many of them were weeping joyfully and it proved contagious; some of the knights had begun to tear up, too. Henri shoved his way to Richard's side, unashamedly swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was not surprised to see that his uncle was one of the few not overcome with emotion. He'd beckoned to several of the turcopoles, was instructing them to take word back to Ascalon that they'd be returning with twenty Saracen captives, some wounded knights, and at least a thousand freed prisoners, so they'd need horses and carts sent out to meet them. Turning toward Henri, he said, \"I want to get us away from the castle ere some of those fugitive guards have second thoughts and decide they'd rather face me than explain their flight to Saladin.\"\n\n\"What an amazing day, Uncle.\" Henri was so exhilarated that he embraced the older man exuberantly, undeterred by the fact that they both were splattered with blood and mud. \"I was so happy when Acre fell, but I think this is an even more glorious victory. When I'm an old man, I'll be bouncing my grandsons on my knee and boring them to tears as I relate yet again the story of the great D\u0101r\u016bm rescue!\"\n\nRichard glanced at Henri, then at the jubilant men still clustered around them. \"It was a good day's work,\" he acknowledged. \"But do you know why we were successful?\"\n\nTo the freed prisoners, it was a puzzling question, for they thought the answer was obvious\u2014God had wrought a miracle on their behalf. Richard's knights agreed with them, although they felt they'd also benefited from the growing legend of Malik Ric. But when they said as much, Richard shook his head.\n\n\"We prevailed,\" he said bitterly, \"because there were no French here to hinder us.\"\n\nRichard's next move was an attempt to reach an understanding with Conrad of Montferrat, again asking the marquis to join the army. Conrad flatly refused to come to Ascalon. He did consent, though, to talk with Richard, and it was agreed that the two men would meet at Casal Imbert, halfway between Tyre and Acre.\n\nAndr\u00e9 was not there to insist that Richard take a safe escort with him on his way to the rendezvous with Conrad. He'd been gone for more than a fortnight, having volunteered to make a risky January sailing to Italy. Since he could not fight whilst his blasted arm healed, he'd grumbled, he might as well do something useful and see what he could learn at the papal court. Richard was reluctant to let him go; in the parlance of soldiers everywhere, he and Andr\u00e9 had always had each other's backs. But his need for information was urgent, especially now that Philippe was back in France, and he could not very well object to the dangers of the sea voyage when Andr\u00e9 faced equal dangers on a daily basis in Outremer. So he'd agreed, but his cousin's absence was one more discontent in this winter of so many.\n\nAfter passing a few days in Jaffa with his wife and sister, he headed north, accompanied by a large contingent of knights and a sizable force of Templars, for he'd learned that his nephew could be as blunt-spoken as Andr\u00e9 when it came to berating him for taking needless risks. Their coastal journey stirred memories of their march to Arsuf nigh on six months ago; to all of them, it seemed much longer.\n\nBy February 19, they'd reached Caesarea. Back in September, it had been deserted, its mainly Muslim population fleeing before the approaching crusader army. Salah al-D\u012bn had not ordered it razed, though, as he had with Ascalon and other castles and towns in Richard's path, and they found that it was partially occupied again, some of those abandoned houses and shops claimed by the native-born Christians. It had once been home to five thousand people; it was only a ghost now of its former self, but the town was slowly coming to life and Richard's men were delighted with its rebirth. For one night at least, some of them could sleep under roofs in real beds, even visit the baths and wash off the grime and muck of a very muddy road.\n\nHenri was one of the first to enjoy the baths, luxuriating in the sweating room that was heated by a furnace, the hot air coming in through earthenware pipes. He'd quickly embraced the Frankish custom of frequent bathing, but he'd discovered he was more prudish than he'd realized and he'd never been willing to have a bath attendant shave his pubic hair as some of the poulains did; now he instructed the man only to remove his beard. Afterward, he wandered about the streets, for this ancient city had been founded before the birth of the Lord Christ. He went into the church of St Peter, and struck up a conversation with one of the canons, who told him the pagan temple of Jupiter had once stood on this site, and then a mosque that had been the scene of a bloodbath when the city had been captured by the Christians over ninety years ago; it was now the cathedral of the Archbishop of Caesarea. As he left the church, a light rain began to fall, and that dampened his interest in further sightseeing.\n\nDespite the rain, Henri was in good spirits when he reached the castle, looking forward to food cooked in a kitchen instead of over a campfire. Unfortunately, Lent had begun, but he was assured they'd have fresh fish, not the salted herring that dulled so many Lenten appetites. They had just been served an eel pie, with oysters and scallops also on the menu, when the meal was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Stephen Longchamp, brother of Richard's chancellor and one of Acre's co-governors.\n\nHe did not wait to be formally announced, hastened toward the dais and knelt. \"Thank God I found you, my liege! We knew you were on the way to meet Conrad, but we did not know how far you'd gotten and I feared having to sail as far as Jaffa.\"\n\nRichard gestured for him to rise. He'd already pushed his trencher aside, for Longchamp's news was obviously urgent. Knowing the other man's weakness for verbosity, he said, \"Never mind that. Tell me what is wrong, Sir Stephen.\"\n\n\"You must get to Acre straightaway, my lord, for the city is under attack!\" Richard's gasp was echoed down the length of the table. He'd been braced for bad tidings, but nothing as bad as that. \"How can that be? Saladin has dispersed the bulk of his army till the spring campaign!\"\n\n\"Not Saladin, my liege. Acre is under siege by that whoreson Conrad of Montferrat and his lackey, Burgundy.\"\n\nBy now the hall was in an uproar and Richard had to shout them down. Like his father, he could bellow with the best when the need arose, and a tense silence ensued as Longchamp began to speak again.\n\n\"You know how much animosity there is between the Genoese and the Pisans, my liege. They're always at one another's throats, eager to take offense at the slightest excuse. I think their feuding goes back to\u2014\"\n\n\"No history lessons, Sir Stephen,\" Richard interrupted impatiently. \"Just tell us what happened.\"\n\n\"Well, their latest street brawl got out of hand, and suddenly they were fighting in earnest. Bertrand de Verdun and I did what we could to restore order, of course. But\u2014\" Catching Richard's warning eye, Longchamp hastily condensed his narrative. \"The Genoese got the worst of it and barricaded themselves in their quarter of the city. What we did not know was that they'd sent one of their galleys up the coast to Tyre, seeking assistance from Conrad. And then Hugh of Burgundy arrived. The Genoese decided not to wait for Conrad and hurried out to the camp he'd set up outside the walls.\"\n\nHe paused, rather enjoying being the center of such undivided attention. \"Burgundy was only too willing to assault the city. The Pisans were too quick for him, though. As he was arraying his troops, they attacked him first. His horse was slain in the skirmish and he was thrown head over heels into a mud hole.\" A reminiscent smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. \"The Pisans then retreated back into the city and slammed the gates shut. But the next morning Conrad's fleet sailed into the outer harbor. We've held out for three days so far, and the Pisans entreated us to send word to you that we need help. So... I set out to find you,\" he concluded. \"The Caesarea harbor is so dangerous that I almost continued on, for I was not sure that you'd gotten this far yet. Thank God I did not pass on by!\"\n\nBy now no one was paying any attention to him. Richard was already on his feet. At first incredulous, he was now so outraged that some of the men had begun to give him space, almost as if he were radiating heat. \"Saladin will laugh himself sick when he hears this,\" he said, practically spitting the words. His eyes raking the hall, he beckoned to Robert de Sabl\u00e9, the Templar grand master, and to Henri, then glanced back at Longchamp. \"I want you to return to Acre tonight, tell them that I will be there on the morrow.\"\n\nLongchamp's face fell at the prospect of more hours onboard ship, but he dutifully agreed. After a moment to reflect, though, he frowned in perplexity and said to the closest man, who happened to be Henri, \"How can he get there so quickly? It is nigh on forty miles between Caesarea and Acre.\"\n\nHenri looked wistfully at the tables holding the first course of their meal. \"We'll be riding all night,\" he said with a sigh, and then hurried to catch up with his uncle.\n\nAs he promised, richard reached Acre the next day. But by then word had spread that he was on the way, and he discovered that the siege was over. Conrad and Hugh had decided discretion was the better part of valor and hastily retreated to Tyre. Richard set about patching up a peace between the Pisans and Genoese, and managed it by a combination of eloquence, logic, and threats. He then insisted that Conrad meet him at Casal Imbert as originally planned. Conrad had never lacked for temerity and agreed.\n\nRichard's success with the Pisans and Genoese was not repeated at Casal Imbert. Conrad again refused to join the army at Ascalon, and in Richard's view, he added insult to injury by citing the defection of the French as one reason for his lack of cooperation. Richard returned to Acre in a rage and called a council, which deprived Conrad of his half of the kingdom's revenues. This was an empty gesture, though, for it could not be enforced as long as Conrad retained the support of the French and most of the poulain lords. In fact, it would later backfire upon Richard, for Conrad would retaliate in a way that was far more effective.\n\nRichard ended up remaining at Acre through March, wanting to make sure that the port city would not be vulnerable to another surprise attack. He also renewed negotiations with Salah al-D\u012bn, requesting that al-'dil be sent to engage in peace talks, offering terms based upon a partition of the kingdom and the Holy City which were very similar to those he'd posed back in November; no mention was made this time of a marriage between Joanna and al-'\u0100dil. The talks were so amicable that just before Palm Sunday Richard knighted one of al-'\u0100dil's sons, and Salah al-D\u012bn and his council were inclined to accept these terms.\n\nBut the talks were abruptly broken off when Richard left Acre unexpectedly in late March. His spies had alerted him that he was not the only one struggling with internal dissension. Salah al-D\u012bn's troops were even more war-weary and disgruntled than Richard's soldiers, for they'd been fighting much longer. More significantly, Richard had learned that Salah al-D\u012bn's great-nephew was threatening rebellion, apparently on the verge of joining forces with one of the sultan's enemies, the Lord of Khil\u0101t.\n\nRichard decided, therefore, to bide his time and see what developed, hoping that Salah al-D\u012bn's increasing vulnerability would compel him to accept peace terms more favorable to the Franks, for he knew Ascalon was a huge boulder on the road to peace, with neither man willing to surrender claims to it. Stopping off at Jaffa, Richard collected his wife and sister and returned with them to Ascalon. Easter was the most important festival on the Christian calendar and he meant to celebrate it in grand style, setting up special tents to provide food and entertainment for his soldiers. But three days before Easter, Conrad exacted payment for that council condemnation, sending an envoy to Ascalon to demand that the remaining French troops join him and the Duke of Burgundy at Tyre.\n\nRichard was hoarse, for he'd been pleading with the departing knights for over an hour, to no avail. Some looked shamefaced, others obviously miserable, but they felt they had no choice. Conrad had reminded them that their king had appointed Hugh of Burgundy as commander of the French forces and this was a direct order, one given in Philippe's name. Even Richard's offer to pay for their expenses did not sway them, and he withdrew to his tent, discouraged by this latest setback. Henri found him alone soon afterward, a rare state for a king, slumped on a coffer, his head in his hands.\n\n\"Uncle...\" Not wanting to intrude, the younger man hesitated. \"You sent for me? I can come back later....\"\n\n\"No, come in. I promised the French knights that I'd provide them with an escort to Acre, and I want you and the Templars to see them safely there.\" Richard straightened up and accepted the wine cup Henri was holding out. \"Over seven hundred knights lost, plus their squires, their men-at-arms, crossbowmen, their horses and weapons... Christ Jesus, Henri, the timing could not be worse. I truly thought we had a chance to put enough pressure upon Saladin to exact better terms. But now this.... Even men like Guillaume des Barres and the Montmorency lad feel obligated to return to Tyre rather than disobey a direct order from their king and liege lord. They apologized profusely, promising to return if they can persuade Hugh to release them. That is about as likely as my taking holy vows.\"\n\nRichard paused to drink, but even the wine tasted sour. He was putting the cup aside when an awful thought struck him and his hand jerked, spilling liquid as red as blood. \"What of your knights, Henri? I know you'll stay with me, but will your men?\"\n\n\"They will, Uncle,\" Henri assured him, \"they will. I've never been so proud of them, for they laughed at Conrad's command. 'Yes, Philippe is our king,' they said, 'but our liege lord is Count Henri and we take our orders only from him, not the damned Duke of Burgundy.' Bless them all, for nary a one was willing to heed Hugh or Conrad. Of course, they know I'll protect them from the French king's wrath.\" Assuming we ever get back to France. Henri left that thought unsaid. There were times when his beloved Champagne seemed as far away as the moon in the heavens, but he did not think his uncle needed to hear that now. If he felt so discouraged at times, how much worse it must be for the man who bore the burden of command upon his shoulders.\n\n\"Thank God,\" Richard said. That was all, but to Henri those two words spoke volumes about his uncle's state of mind. Wishing Andr\u00e9 was here, for he always seemed to know what Richard needed to hear, he sat down on the carpet at Richard's feet, his eyes searching the older man's face. Henri had suspected for some time that the hellish Outremer climate and the constant stress were having a detrimental impact upon his uncle's health, sapping some of his energy and stamina. He could see now that Richard's color was too high, a flush burning across hollowed cheekbones, and his eyes were very bright, obvious evidence that he was running a fever. But he was not likely to admit it, and so Henri bit back the words hovering on his lips. As hard as it was to keep silent, he could only hope that Richard did confide in Master Ralph Besace, his chief physician.\n\n\"What I cannot understand,\" Richard said after a brooding silence, \"is why so many of the local lords can stand aloof from this war. How can men like Balian d'Ibelin and Renaud of Sidon refuse to fight with us when their very world is at stake?\"\n\n\"Uncle...\" Henri paused, marshaling his thoughts. He'd not been able to help Richard bridge that great gap separating him from so many in his army. Men inflamed with holy zeal were bound to mistrust their commander's pragmatism, and too often Richard had failed to take that into account. Would he have any more luck now in addressing what he saw as his uncle's one major mistake since arriving in the Holy Land?\n\n\"Whilst it is true that to the French, this war is about you more than Saladin, that is not true when it comes to the poulains. To them, it is all about two men and only two men\u2014Conrad of Montferrat and Guy de Lusignan. I think you erred in backing Guy, Uncle.\" Seeing Richard's head come up sharply, he said quickly, \"I know you do not like to hear that. And I am not defending Conrad. He'll never be a candidate for sainthood. But it is a crown he seeks, not a halo, and the very qualities that may damn him to Hell\u2014his ruthlessness, his lack of scruples, his ambition\u2014make him a good choice to rule over a troubled land like Outremer. The poulains see his flaws as well as you do. But they need a strong king, a man who will be able to defend his kingdom to the death if need be, and they trust Conrad as they cannot trust Guy. They know that Guy is a puppet king, your puppet, and he can be propped up only as long as you are here to support him. Once you leave, he'll collapse like a punctured pig's bladder, and that is why they have held 'aloof ' as you put it. Guy will never be forgiven for \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn, Uncle. It is as simple as that.\"\n\n\"There is nothing 'simple' about life in Outremer,\" Richard scoffed. But Henri was heartened by that relatively mild response, and he dared to hope he'd planted a seed that might eventually take root, for he was convinced that peace with the Saracens would not ensure the survival of Outremer\u2014not if Guy de Lusignan was still its king on the day they departed its shores for their own homelands.\n\nOn April 15, richard finally got a message from his chancellor, carried by the prior of Hereford. Soon thereafter, he met with Henri, the Earl of Leicester, and the Bishop of Salisbury, men who stood high in his confidence, and they remained secluded for much of the afternoon. By now Joanna and Berengaria had learned of the prior's arrival, and they grew more and more uneasy as the hours passed. Richard had already gotten unwelcome news earlier in the week\u2014word of a rebellion in Cyprus against the heavy-handed rule of the Templars. They had put down the revolt, but the situation on the island remained volatile; the Templars had made themselves quite unpopular, so this was just one more worry for Richard to deal with. The women fervently hoped that the news from England would not be troubling, too. They took turns reassuring each other that Eleanor was quite capable of maintaining peace in her son's kingdom, but they both knew that Philippe's return was akin to setting a wolf loose in a flock of defenseless sheep.\n\nThey'd been discussing whether to wait further or to seek Richard out; Berengaria did not want to risk interrupting his council and Joanna wanted to head straight for his tent. The debate was ended by Richard's sudden arrival. One glance at his face and they both tensed, for it was as if they were looking at an engraved stone effigy, utterly devoid of expression.\n\n\"Good\u2014you're both here,\" he said, and his voice, too, was without intonation.\n\n\"I'd not want to have to tell this twice. Send your ladies away.\"\n\nOnce they were alone, Richard seemed in no hurry to unburden himself. He sat down on the edge of Berengaria's bed, only to rise restlessly a moment later. By unspoken consent, both women remained quiet, waiting for him to begin. At last he said, \"Prior Robert brought a rather remarkable letter from my chancellor... my former chancellor, I should say, since Longchamp was deposed and sent into exile last October. I'll spare you the depressing details, for they do none of the participants much credit. My brother Geoff crossed over to Dover in mid-September and Longchamp saw that as a breach of his oath to remain out of England whilst I was gone, claiming not to believe that I had absolved Geoff of that oath. The chancellor was not in Dover at the time, but his sister is wed to the constable of Dover Castle and they took it upon themselves to order Geoff's arrest. He of course refused to submit and instead took refuge in St Martin's Priory, which they encircled with armed men. He then proceeded to excommunicate the Lady Richeut and all others who were participating in this siege of the priory. This impasse lasted for several days, ending when Richeut and that idiot she'd married sent armed men into the priory to take Geoff out by force. He resisted and they dragged him, bleeding, through the town to the castle, with him hurling excommunications left and right like celestial thunderbolts.\"\n\nThey'd listened, openmouthed, to this incredible story. Berengaria was appalled that they'd dared to lay hands upon a prince of the Church. It sounded almost farcical to Joanna, but she saw the serious implications, too, and marveled that a man as clever as Longchamp could have made such a monumental miscalculation. \"What happened, then, Richard?\"\n\n\"What you'd expect. When word got out of Geoff's arrest, people were horrified, all the more so because it stirred up memories of Thomas Becket's murder in Canterbury Cathedral. With that one foolish act, Longchamp united all of the other English bishops against him. And Johnny was suddenly aflame with brotherly love for Geoff, whom he'd detested up until then, sending knights to Dover to demand Geoff's release. With the entire country in an uproar, Longchamp finally realized how badly he'd erred and he ordered Geoff freed on September 26. By then it was too late. He'd managed to transform Geoff into a holy martyr for Mother Church, giving Johnny all the weapons he needed to bring Longchamp down. The final outcome was inevitable. Urged on by Will Marshal and the other justiciars, the Archbishop of Rouen produced the letters I'd given him in Sicily, which authorized him to depose the chancellor if Longchamp ignored their advice\u2014as indeed he had. It got so ugly that Longchamp took refuge in the Tower of London and seems to have lost his head altogether for a time. He tried to flee England disguised as a woman, only to be caught, shamed, and maltreated. He eventually was allowed to sail for Flanders, where he wasted no time in appealing to the Pope. The Pope reacted with predictable outrage, for Longchamp is a papal legate, after all, and at Longchamp's urging, he proceeded to excommunicate the Archbishop of Rouen, the bishops of Winchester and Coventry, and four of the other justiciars, amongst others.\"\n\n\"Dear God!\" This exclamation was Joanna's; Berengaria was speechless.\n\n\"You've not heard the half of it yet,\" Richard said, and for the first time they could see the fury pulsing just beneath his surface composure. \"I think the lot of them have gone stark, raving mad. Let's start with our new archbishop. Once Longchamp had gone into exile, Geoff went to his see in York, where he resumed his feuding with the Bishop of Durham, Hugh de Puiset. When Durham refused to come to York to make a profession of obedience, Geoff publicly excommunicated him. Durham ignored the anathema and so did Johnny, who chose to celebrate Christmas with Durham. So Geoff then excommunicated Johnny for having eaten and drunk with one who must be shunned by other Christians.\"\n\n\"Richard... can you trust what the prior says, though? If he was sent by Longchamp, naturally he'd try to cast Geoff and Johnny and his enemies in the worst possible light.\"\n\nRichard had been pacing back and forth. At that, he turned toward his sister with a smile that held not even a hint of humor. \"Prior Robert is adept at swimming in political waters. He did indeed carry Longchamp's letter. But he also brought one from our mother, having alerted her that he would be making that dangerous journey from France to Outremer on Longchamp's behalf. I do not ordinarily approve of such blatant self-seeking, but in this case, I am glad the prior was so eager to curry favor with both sides. I might otherwise have doubted Longchamp's vitriolic account of Johnny's double-dealing with Philippe.\"\n\nJoanna winced, for she'd truly hoped that her younger brother would not fall prey to the French king's blandishments. \"What did Johnny do?\"\n\n\"Philippe offered Johnny his unfortunate sister Alys and all of my lands in France in return for his allegiance. Johnny was untroubled by the inconvenient fact that he already had a wife, and was planning to sail for France when Maman arrived in the nick of time. She kept him in England by threatening to seize all of his English castles and estates as soon as he set foot on a French-bound ship.\"\n\nBerengaria was shocked by John's disloyalty, for she could not imagine either of her brothers ever committing such a shameful act of betrayal against one of their own blood, much less a king who'd taken the cross. But as she struggled to think of a way to offer Richard comfort, she could not help remembering Sancho's warning. They are not like us, little one.\n\nJoanna was not shocked, merely saddened. \"When did Prior Robert leave France?\" she asked, and Richard gave her a grimly approving look, for she'd gone unerringly to the heart of the matter.\n\n\"In February,\" he said, \"so God alone knows what has happened since then. Maman made it quite clear that Johnny cannot be trusted now that Philippe has begun to whisper treasonous inducements in his ear. She says others have been loath to oppose Johnny, for they fear I will not be coming back; it seems half of England is convinced I'm sure to die in the Holy Land. And Longchamp has made a bloody botch of things. I ought to have listened to her about him. But I valued his loyalty so much that I overlooked his arrogance and unpopularity. To her credit, Joanna, she refrained from saying 'I told you so.' She did say that I need to come home\u2014and soon. She fears that if I do not, I may not have a kingdom to come back to.\"\n\nBerengaria could not suppress a gasp, stunned that Richard's mother would urge him to abandon the crusade. \"But if you leave, Richard, there is no chance of recovering Jerusalem!\"\n\nJoanna was more concerned with the loss of the Angevin empire. She started to speak, stopping herself before the words could escape, for this was a decision only Richard could make. \"What will you do?\" she asked quietly, and he glanced toward her, for a brief moment dropping his defenses and letting her see his anguish.\n\n\"I do not know,\" he admitted. \"God help me, I do not know.\"\n\nAfter a sleepless night, richard called a council meeting the next day. As the men crowded into his tent, he could see from their faces that they'd heard the rumors sweeping the camp; they looked apprehensive. \"Most of you have heard that I've had word from England,\" he said. \"The news was very troubling. My kingdom is in turmoil, threatened by the French king and my own brother. I do not know how much longer I can remain in the Holy Land. But I will not compel any man to act against his conscience. Each one of you can decide for yourself whether you wish to return home with me or stay in Outremer.\"\n\nEven though some of them must have been anticipating an announcement like this, they all reacted with dismay, insisting that the war could not be won without him and entreating him to stay. Richard let them have their say before responding. \"I will not just walk away. I promise you that. If I do have to return to my own domains, I will pay for three hundred elite knights and two thousand men-at-arms to stay in Outremer. I do not want to depart whilst the war continues. But I may have no choice, not if my kingdom is at stake.\"\n\nEventually the protests died down, but he could still see reproach and recrimination in the faces surrounding him. He'd wondered which of the poulains would be the first to raise the issue of kingship. As it turned out, it was the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, Garnier de Nablus. \"We do understand, my liege,\" he said, \"that you find yourself torn between your obligations. One of my Spanish knights ofttimes quotes an old proverb: 'Entre la espada y la pared.' That is where you find yourself now, between the sword and the wall. You must do as God directs. But ere you go, we must know who will lead us once you're gone.\"\n\nThere was a sputtered objection from Guy de Lusignan, who hastily reminded them of the Acre agreement that had recognized him as king for life, with Conrad and Isabella as his heirs. No one paid him any mind.\n\n\"I know,\" Richard said. \"I think you ought to discuss it amongst yourselves, for it should be a decision made by the men who'll have to live with it, not those who'll soon be on their way home. So that my presence will not inhibit a candid exchange of opinions, I will leave whilst you deliberate.\"\n\nRichard had headed in the direction of Berengaria's pavilion, but at the last moment he veered off. He knew his wife would not berate him or even implore him to remain, but her brown eyes would reveal her bewilderment and her deep disappointment. His sister offered a safer harbor and he made for her tent, instead.\n\n\"I told them,\" he said tersely, \"and now they are deciding their future once I'm gone.\"\n\nHe was obviously in no mood for conversation, so Joanna did not press him further. Beckoning to one of her knights, she gave him low-voiced instructions, all the while watching as her brother slouched on her bed, absently petting the Sicilian hound who'd hopped up beside him. The knight was soon back, having retrieved a musical instrument from Richard's tent. \"Here,\" Joanna said, \"occupy yourself with this.\"\n\nRichard was strumming a melancholy little melody when Henri entered and pulled up a stool. \"What is that... not a lute?\"\n\n\"It is called an oud. Al-'\u0100dil gave it to me after I expressed interest in Saracen music.\"\n\nHenri leaned closer to see. \"You do not pluck the strings with your fingers like a harp?\" Richard explained that a quill was used for the oud. His face was hidden, his head bent over the oud, and Henri watched him for a while, not sure what would better serve his uncle\u2014silence, sympathy, or candor. Finally deciding upon the latter, he said, \"You know they will choose Conrad?\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"And... and you are all right with that?\"\n\nRichard's shoulders twitched in a half-shrug. \"You recently reminded me that Guy is a puppet king at best, and could not hope to survive without my support. Since I do not know how much longer I dare remain in Outremer, that can no longer be ignored.\"\n\n\"It is the right decision, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Only time will tell. But compared to the other choice I'm facing, this was a relatively easy one.\"\n\n\"Of course the de Lusignans will not take it well.\"\n\n\"No,\" Richard agreed, \"I do not suppose they will.\" He said no more, and Henri decided not to probe any further. He yearned to know what Richard would decide to do, for it would affect them all, but he was not sure his uncle even knew, not yet.\n\nThe poulain lords determined the fate of their kingdom with surprising speed; within an hour, the two Grand Masters, Hugues de Tiberias, and his younger brother were being ushered into Joanna's pavilion. \"We have discussed it, my lord Richard, and we are all of one mind, save only Humphrey de Toron and the de Lusignans. We want Conrad of Montferrat as our king.\"\n\nRichard nodded. \"I expected as much.\"\n\n\"And you accept our decision?\"\n\n\"I said I would, did I not?\"\n\n\"Yes, my liege, you did.\" Hugues de Tiberias hesitated. \"As you know, I am no friend to Conrad. But under the circumstances, it was the only choice we could make.\"\n\nRichard nodded again and they soon withdrew, so obviously relieved that Henri thought Conrad would begin his reign with one great advantage always denied Guy\u2014a united kingdom. Richard had picked up the oud again, signaling that he had no interest in discussing it further, and Henri took the hint. But almost as soon as the men had departed, Guy de Lusignan burst into the tent, trailed by his brothers, Joffroi and Amaury.\n\n\"How could you let this happen? How could you abandon me like this?\"\n\n\"I did all I could for you, Guy. But I could not change the fact that none of them wanted you as king. I am not going to 'abandon' you, though.\"\n\n\"What... you mean to give me a stipend? I am not one of your knights to be paid wages or a pension now that I'm no longer of any use. I am an anointed king!\"\n\n\"No,\" Richard said, \"you were a king. But I have more in mind than a stipend. I cannot give you the kingdom of Jerusalem. I can give you Cyprus.\"\n\nGuy's mouth dropped open. \"Cyprus? But you sold it to the Templars.\"\n\n\"You've heard of the rebellion in Nicosia on Easter Eve? Well, Robert de Sabl\u00e9 told me that they have decided the island is more trouble than it's worth to them. They'd agreed to pay me one hundred thousand bezants and so far have paid forty thousand of that sum. If you reimburse them the forty thousand, Cyprus is yours.\"\n\nGuy's brothers were listening avidly, eyes gleaming, the sort of predatory glint that Henri had seen in the eyes of falcons when they first sighted their quarry. But Guy seemed more ambivalent, his face displaying both interest and uncertainty. \"I cannot afford one hundred thousand bezants,\" he objected, earning himself scowls from both Joffroi and Amaury.\n\n\"If you can come up with the forty thousand for the Templars, that will be enough.\"\n\nThis was such a generous offer that Guy's brothers began to lavish praise upon Richard, thanking him profusely. Guy's gratitude was more restrained. \"Thank you, my liege,\" he said. \"But it is just that\u2014\" He gave an odd \"oof \" sound then, and Henri realized he'd been elbowed sharply in the ribs by Amaury. He refused to be silenced, though, glared at his brother, and then looked earnestly at Richard. \"I appreciate your kindness, I do. I just find it hard to accept\u2014knowing that Conrad has won. He is the least worthy man in Christendom to wear a crown, sire, for he is deceitful, selfish, puffed up with pride, and ungrateful\u2014yes, ungrateful! Did you know I saved his life once? During the siege of Acre, he was unhorsed and I came to his rescue\u2014me, the man he betrayed!\"\n\nThis time both of his brothers stepped in, interrupting his harangue with more expressions of appreciation, and then practically dragging Guy away, as if they feared Richard might change his mind at any moment. Once they were gone, Henri smiled at his uncle. \"That was adroitly done. Not only do you placate Guy, you give his quarrelsome brothers a reason to stay away from Poitou!\"\n\n\"Not Joffroi; from what I've heard, he is thinking of renouncing his lordship of Jaffa and going home once the war is over. But with a little luck, Amaury will put down roots in Cyprus with Guy... provided that they do not make the same mistakes the Templars did.\"\n\nJoanna had been a very interested witness to the scene with the de Lusignans. Leaning over, she gave Richard's shoulder a gentle squeeze. \"You ought to be proud of what you did today. Now you can go home with a clear conscience, sure that Outremer is in the hands of a capable king.\" Wrinkling her nose, she added, \"Not a likable one, but he is what they need.\"\n\nRichard inclined his head. Reaching again for the oud, he glanced over at his nephew. \"You can be the one to let Conrad know he's gotten his accursed crown.\"\n\n\"I'll leave on the morrow.\" Henri thought this would be an enjoyable mission, for it was always pleasant to be the bearer of glad tidings, and Tyre would erupt in joyful celebrations, revelries that would put both Christmas and Easter in the shade. \"Now that Conrad is to be king, the rest of the poulains will join us, Uncle. He might even be able to bestir the French into fighting again.\"\n\n\"That is what I am counting upon,\" Richard said. \"This is Conrad's kingdom now. So it is time he defended it. And then, God willing, I can go home.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "APRIL 1192",
                "text": "[ Acre, Outremer ]\n\nAfter lingering a few days at Tyre to enjoy the revelries, Henri and his delegation had sailed to Acre to lay the groundwork for Conrad and Isabella's coming coronation. Here, too, they'd been welcomed as heroes, so great was the universal relief that their kingdom would have a strong hand on the helm once Richard returned to his own lands. Henri and the knights accompanying him planned to depart for Ascalon by week's end, for they were eager to bring Richard good news for a change, a promise that Outremer's new king would soon be leading an army south to join him. But on this Wednesday afternoon, a lavish feast had been given in their honor and they were more than willing to embrace all the pleasures, comforts, and sins that Acre had to offer before returning to the harsh realities of holy war.\n\nHenri had not enjoyed such a delicious repast in months. After the last course had been served, he rose to salute his hosts. He had a felicitous way with words and offered a graceful tribute to the governors Stephen Longchamp and Bertrand de Verdun, to Bishop Theobald, Acre's elderly prelate, and to the other churchmen beaming at him down the length of the linen-clad tables. He singled out the leaders of the Pisan colony for special praise, much to Morgan's amused approval; he thought Henri had a surprisingly deft political touch for one so highborn. Every now and then, Henri reminded him of his dead lord, Geoffrey, for Morgan had first pledged his loyalties to Richard's brother, the most complex and subtle of the Devil's Brood.\n\nHaving expressed his appreciation for their hospitality, Henri raised high one of the ruby-red glass goblets that had once adorned the table of the Saracen commander al-Masht\u016bb. \"Fortune's Wheel can spin with a vengeance. But some men seem blessed, destined to soar whilst others fall. Let us drink to the Marquis of Montferrat and his lovely consort, the Lady Isabella. May they rule well and long over your kingdom and may their child be a son.\"\n\nNot all of the guests had heard that Isabella was pregnant and Henri's toast created quite a stir. He was kept busy for some moments answering the excited questions coming his way, confirming that the marquise was indeed with child, and confirming, too, a rumor heard by the Bishop of Bethlehem, who wanted to know if it was true that Conrad had asked God to approve his elevation to the throne.\n\n\"Yes, my lord bishop, he did. Upon being told that he was to be king, he first gave thanks to the Almighty. He then raised his hands toward Heaven and declared, 'I beg You, Lord, that You allow me to be crowned only if You judge me worthy to govern Your kingdom.' It made a profound impression upon his audience, who were deeply moved by his piety,\" Henri said blandly. But once the trestle tables had been taken apart and the guests began to mingle, he offered a more worldly critique for Morgan and Otto de Trazegnies. \"Conrad has a natural flair for high drama, one that even Richard might envy. Little wonder my uncle Philippe was so discontented at Acre, a waning moon trying to compete with two blazing suns.\"\n\nThey both joined in his laughter, but then glanced around to make sure they'd not been overheard, for some of the guests might have felt Henri's comments were indiscreet. While most would have agreed that Conrad and Richard were adroit scene-stealers who thrived on center stage, it was not something to be said aloud. Henri was in high spirits, though, and in no mood to be circumspect. \"Do you know how I see Conrad's coronation? As a golden key, opening a door that has been bolted and locked for months. Now that he and my uncle will finally be working together, they'll soon compel Saladin to accept peace terms. We may well be able to sail for home ere the first frost!\" He started to add the formulaic \"God willing,\" but moved by mischief, he went with a murmured \"Inshallah\" instead.\n\nOtto was accustomed to Henri's insouciance and merely rolled his eyes. Morgan was no longer paying attention, looking toward the far end of the hall. \"I wonder what is going on,\" he said. \"Stephen Longchamp and Bertrand de Verdun just dashed for the door as if they'd been told the palace is afire.\"\n\nHenri shrugged. \"As long as the city is not under assault again, I refuse to worry. And since it is now Conrad's by right, we need not fear him swooping down in another stealth attack. Did I tell you that the Saracen commander has finally been freed? Bertrand said he managed to pay his ransom.\"\n\n\"That is passing strange.\" Morgan was still gazing over Henri's shoulder. \"Why would Balian d'Ibelin follow us to Acre? He knows you brought Conrad's instructions for the coronation, does he not?\"\n\n\"Balian is here?\" Henri turned toward the door, no less puzzled than Morgan. But as he got his first glimpse of Balian's face, his mouth suddenly went dry. He'd seen such a benumbed, dazed expression before. His mother had looked like that when she'd come to tell him that his father was dead and their world forever changed.\n\nBalian was trailed by the two governors, whose stricken faces were attracting as much attention as the poulain lord's unexpected appearance. Ignoring the questions and comments that churned in his wake, Balian headed straight for Henri. Already sure that he did not want to hear whatever the older man had come to tell him, Henri forced himself to step forward.\n\nBalian seemed to have aged decades in the few days since Henri had last seen him. \"There is no easy way to bring news like this, so I'll just say it straight out. Conrad is dead. He was murdered yesterday afternoon by two Assassins.\"\n\nBalian's shocking revelation had unleashed turmoil that bordered on hysteria, for many believed that the Kingdom of Jerusalem had died when Conrad drew his last breath. Leaving Bishop Theobald and the other prelates to try to calm the crowd, the governors escorted Balian from the hall as soon as he'd given a terse account of Conrad's murder. Followed by Henri and the knights who'd accompanied him to Tyre, they retreated to the greater privacy of the solar. Once wine had been fetched by frightened servants, they staggered toward the closest seats like men whose legs could no longer sustain the weight of their bodies. Otto de Trazegnies and William de Caieux slumped onto a nearby bench and Morgan withdrew into a window alcove, almost as if he hoped he could somehow distance himself from the looming disaster. Bertrand de Verdun was no longer a young man and he collapsed into a high-backed chair that he ought to have offered to Balian or Henri, but protocol was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Stephen Longchamp appropriated one of the wine flagons, apparently intending to drink himself into blessed oblivion. Balian sank down on a wooden coffer, staring into the depths of a gilt cup as if it held answers instead of spiced red wine. Henri hovered beside him, too restive to sit still, wanting to demand answers and yet dreading to hear them. He managed to wait until Balian had drained his cup, for it was obvious that the other man was utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally, and then he said, \"Tell us the rest, Balian, what you did not tell the men in the hall. Give us as much detail as you can. Mayhap then we can begin to believe it.\"\n\nBalian set his cup down upon the carpet. \"Isabella had gone to the baths,\" he said dully, as if struggling to comprehend how such a mundane matter could have such monumental consequences, \"and when she did not return by midday, Conrad decided he could wait no longer. He said to tell her he'd gone to dine with the Bishop of Beauvais. He had only two knights with him, none of them wearing their hauberks. He... he never worried about his physical safety, no more than your English king does. When he got to Beauvais's house, he found that the bishop had already eaten. Beauvais offered to have a meal prepared, but Conrad refused, saying Isabella ought to be back by then and he'd go home to eat with her.\"\n\nWhile Balian was looking directly at Henri, his eyes seemed focused upon a scene far from the solar at Acre's royal palace. \"It happened after he'd passed the archbishop's dwelling. As he turned into a narrow street near the Exchange, he saw two men waiting for him. They would have looked familiar, Christian monks who'd attached themselves to our householdsmine and Renaud de Sidon's\u2014and when one of them approached with a letter, he likely assumed it was from me or Renaud.\"\n\nBalian paused to press his fingers against his throbbing temples. \"When he reached down for the letter, the killer stabbed him. At the same time, the second Assassin leapt onto his horse and plunged a dagger into his back. I was told it happened so fast that no one could have saved him. He was carried back to the citadel, still breathing, but it was obvious his wounds were mortal....\"\n\n\"Was there time to give him the Sacrament of the Faithful?\" When Balian nodded, Henri exhaled a ragged breath, grateful that at least Conrad had been shriven of his sins. \"What happened to his attackers? And how can you be sure they were Assassins?\"\n\n\"One of them was slain on the spot. The other fled into a nearby church, where he was seized and turned over to the Bishop of Beauvais. Under torture, he admitted he'd been sent by the Old Man of the Mountain. He was then dragged through the streets to his death.\" Balian picked up his wine cup again, seemed surprised to find it empty.\n\nHenri refilled it for him. \"I do not understand. Why did the Assassins seek Conrad's death? Had they a grievance against him?\"\n\n\"Yes... last year he'd seized a merchant ship belonging to Rash\u012bd al-D\u012bn Sin\u0101n and then refused to return the cargo and crew. Conrad could be stubborn, and threats made him balk all the more. I'd warned him that one day his pride would play him false, but of course he just laughed....\" Balian's voice trailed off, and the other men remembered that his was a double loss, as much personal as political, for Conrad had been wed to his stepdaughter.\n\nBalian took several deep swallows before continuing. \"You'd best brace yourselves, for you are not going to like what comes next. Beauvais and Hugh of Burgundy are claiming that ere he died, the second Assassin confessed that Conrad's murder had been done at the behest of the English king.\"\n\nAs Balian expected, that got an explosive reaction. They were all on their feet within seconds, bombarding him with infuriated denials, raging against the French accusations so loudly that he thought the men below in the hall could hear. He said nothing, for it seemed easier to let their fury burn itself out; he was too tired to engage in a shouting match. When they at last paused for breath, he said, \"I did not say I believed it, Henri. As it happens, I do not. I cannot say I share your conviction that Richard would not be capable of such a crime. I grant you he's much more likely to commit his own killings, but men do sometimes act in ways that we'd not expect. What they never do, however, is act against their own interest. Your English king is desperate to get back to his realm ere he loses it, desperate enough to embrace Conrad's kingship. Not only does he not benefit by Conrad's death, it is a disaster for him.\"\n\nThey subsided, somewhat mollified, and Bertrand de Verdun then suggested Saladin as a far more likely candidate than Richard. Balian started to remind them that Saladin had no motive, either, for he had accepted Conrad's peace terms just days ago, but he remembered in time that they were unaware of this. As soon as he'd learned that he was to be king, Conrad had sent an urgent message to Saladin, saying that he and Richard were no longer enemies and a full-scale war was inevitable now unless the sultan made peace, a threat Saladin had taken seriously. Balian had assumed Conrad meant to break the news upon his arrival at Ascalon. It would be greeted with great relief by the poulains and most likely by Richard, too, for the terms were similar to those he himself had offered Saladin, and a peace settlement would free him to return to defend his own kingdom. The common soldiers, those still burning with holy zeal to retake Jerusalem, would have felt betrayed, of course, but Conrad would not have lost any sleep over their anguish. This was the most bitter of Balian's regrets, that they'd come so close to ending this accursed war on terms both sides could live with, only to see those hopes bleed to death along with Conrad.\n\nHe would have to tell Henri about Conrad's secret dealings with Saladin of course, but not now. \"Saladin had no reason to arrange Conrad's murder,\" he said, \"for he knew Conrad preferred to settle the war over the bargaining table, not the battlefield.\" When Otto de Trazegnies then offered up Guy de Lusignan as a plausible suspect, Balian could only marvel at how little these newcomers knew of his world. \"Can you truly imagine Guy as the mastermind behind a conspiracy like this? He has not the brains, no more than Humphrey de Toron has the ballocks. Besides, your king has cleverly defanged the de Lusignan snakes by giving them Cyprus. Moreover, the Assassins are not routiers; their daggers are not for hire to the highest bidder.\"\n\nBalian hesitated and then decided it was best not to hold back, for they would have to know. \"That is what the French are saying, though,\" he admitted. \"Not only are they blaming Richard for Conrad's death, they are also alleging that he sent four Assassins to France to murder Philippe.\" This set off another infuriated outburst, and again he waited until their indignation had run its course. \"You've not heard all of it,\" he warned. \"Conrad's body was not yet cold ere Beauvais and Burgundy demanded that Isabella yield Tyre to them, claiming it in the name of the French king.\"\n\n\"Christ Almighty!\" Henri stared at the other man in horror. \"Are you saying that the French now control Tyre?\"\n\n\"No, rest easy, they do not. Isabella told them that she was willing to turn Tyre over to Philippe\u2014as soon as he returned from France to claim it.\"\n\nThey stared at him in astonishment and Henri gave a shaken laugh. \"Good for her!\" After a moment to reflect, he said, \"I suppose I ought to be thanking you.\"\n\nBalian shook his head. \"No, it was none of my doing, for I was not there. They took care to seek her out whilst neither I nor my wife nor Renaud of Sidon were with her, doubtless expecting to easily intimidate her into submission. But much to their surprise, they discovered that even kittens have claws. Having reminded them that Philippe had deserted Conrad and turned his back on God's kingdom, Isabella declared that she meant to obey her husband's dying wish\u2014that she surrender Tyre only to Richard or the rightful lord of the land.\"\n\nThe other men exchanged startled looks. Was Conrad capable of such deathbed generosity, putting the welfare of the kingdom before the sea of bad blood that lay between him and the English king? Had he even been capable of expressing such sentiments? \"I'll not deny that comes as a surprise,\" Henri conceded. \"You made it sound as if Conrad was well nigh dead by the time he was taken back to the castle, beyond all mortal concerns.\"\n\nA smile flickered across Balian's lips, one of paternal pride. \"I daresay Beauvais and Burgundy have their doubts, too. But who is to call the bereaved widow a liar? She said Conrad gave her these secret instructions ere he died, and how are they to prove otherwise? Isabella then shut herself up in the castle and put the garrison on alert.\"\n\nHenri suddenly remembered that it was the Bishop of Beauvais who'd wed Isabella to Conrad. Beauvais ought to have remembered that, too, he thought, and felt a surge of sympathy for this beleaguered girl. He'd always been impressed by her beauty, but until now he'd not realized that she had such courage. God knows she'd need it in the dark days to come. She'd already been forced into one unwanted marriage, and it was all too likely to happen again. A young, pregnant woman could not rule a war-torn land on her own. She'd need another husband as soon as possible, need to be wed again with indecent haste, for political necessity always triumphed over propriety. He hoped she'd be given some small say in the matter, although he thought it unlikely. But whom could they choose? Who would be acceptable to all warring factions and yet also be capable of defending the kingdom as stoutly as Conrad would have done?\n\n\"What now, Balian?\"\n\nThe older man shook his head wearily. \"We can only deal with one crisis at a time. Right now the greatest danger lies in Tyre, for the people are on the verge of panic and the French will grasp any opportunity to seize control of the city. I want you to come back with me to Tyre, Henri. Mayhap your presence will reassure the citizenry and remind Beauvais and Burgundy that Conrad may be dead but Richard of England is still a force to be reckoned with.\"\n\n\"When do you want to leave?\"\n\n\"Now,\" Balian said, and that succinct reply, so fraught with urgency, told them more about the poulain baron's state of mind than a torrent of words could have done. They were teetering upon the edge of the abyss and who would know it better than a man born and bred in Outremer?\n\nTo Balian and Henri's mutual frustration, the winds had died down, delaying their voyage for hours. They considered riding the thirty miles to Tyre but by then twilight was approaching and it made more sense to keep waiting for favorable winds, as a ship under sail could cover three times that distance in a single day. They were eventually able to raise anchor that night. The winds continued to be contrary, however, becalming them at the midway point, and so it was almost sunrise before their galley was within sight of Tyre's formidable walls and soaring towers. The massive iron chain was lowered to allow them entry into the harbor, and they were soon at the wharf by the Sea Gate. The castle was situated on the eastern harbor mole, and Henri's gaze kept coming back to it; he wondered if Isabella was still abed, if she dreaded each dawning day now as one sure to bring more trouble and grief.\n\nHenri politely declined Balian's offer of hospitality, not wanting to intrude into a house of mourning, and instead chose to return to the archbishop's palace, where he'd lodged on his earlier visit. Rather than wait while a servant was sent to Balian's stable to fetch horses, they decided to walk, glad to be on firm ground after so many hours aboard ship. The city was beginning to stir, people opening their shops, street vendors preparing to start their rounds, windows being flung open and voices echoing on the early-morning air. But there was none of the usual bustle and cheer, and the subdued atmosphere reminded Henri of a town under siege.\n\nThe archbishop's palace was unusual in that it was not situated near the Cathedral of the Holy Cross; instead it was next to the hall of the Genoese commune, so after passing the church of St Mark, they turned west. By now the streets were not as deserted and they soon attracted attention. Suddenly people were flocking around them, bursting out of their shops and houses, cheering and laughing. Henri was not surprised that the despairing citizens of Tyre would embrace Balian as their savior. All knew he'd saved the inhabitants of Jerusalem from Saladin's wrath after the battle of \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn, so it made sense that they'd feel more secure if he was in the city. Their emotional welcome showed Henri just how raw their nerves were, how badly they'd been shaken by Conrad's murder.\n\nThere were so many in the street now that they were unable to make much progress. Glancing at the other man, Henri essayed a small joke. \"Since you're Tyre's new patron saint, you might try parting the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea.\"\n\nBalian turned to stare at him. \"They are not cheering for me, Henri. If Tyre has a new patron saint, it is obviously you.\"\n\nHenri started to scoff, but then he listened more closely and, to his astonishment, they were indeed shouting his name. Before he could ponder this unexpected development, a priest broke through the throng, seized his hand, and kissed it fervently. \"You are our salvation, my lord count, the answer to our prayers! Tell us you'll save our city and our kingdom!\"\n\nHenri was rarely flustered, but he was now, and he extricated his hand with difficulty from the priest's frantic grip. As he studied the eager faces of the men and women surrounding them, a memory stirred\u2014D\u0101r\u016bm and the freed prisoners mobbing Richard, acclaiming him as their savior. An alarming suspicion was taking form in the back of his brain even before he heard a man cry out in a loud, booming voice, \"Promise us, my lord, promise you'll wed our queen and be our next king!\"\n\nIt took them almost an hour to reach the archbishop's dwelling, fighting their way through crowds every step of the way. Archbishop Joscius hastened out into the courtyard to bid them welcome, and it was only when they'd been ushered inside that Henri could draw an unconstricted breath. His heart twisted with pity for these poor, despairing souls, but he was aware, too, of an instinctive unease, and he told the archbishop that he needed to rest for a few hours ere he went to make his condolence call upon the Lady Isabella. The archbishop was a gracious host even in the face of calamity, and Henri and his squire were soon escorted to one of the best bedchambers in the palace. His need had been for solitude, not sleep, but he'd been awake for fully a day and night, and once Lucas had helped him remove his boots, he stretched out on the bed.\n\nWhile he hadn't meant to sleep, he soon slipped into that shadow state between the borders of slumber and wakefulness, and although he would remember none of his dreams, he knew they'd not been pleasant. He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to find Lucas bending over him, reporting that the archbishop needed to speak with him as soon as possible.\n\nHenri was still groggy and stumbled to the table, where a basin and towel had been laid out for his use. Splashing his face with cold water, he shrugged when Lucas announced dolefully that he could not find a brush. Henri prided himself upon lacking vanity, although Joanna had once pointed out that only the good-looking could afford to be indifferent to appearance. Remembering his aunt's astute observation now, he smiled, for she'd been right, of course; he'd been blessed with his share of his grandmother Eleanor's beauty, and since childhood, he'd known there were almost as many advantages in being pleasing to the eye as there were in being highborn. But he did want to look presentable when he called upon the Lady Isabella and he was attempting to smooth his curly, fair hair with the palm of his hand when another knock sounded on the door.\n\n\"Tell them I'll be down straightaway, Lucas.\" A soft cry of surprise from his squire spun him around, his scabbard not yet buckled. The boy stepped aside, hastily making an obeisance as the Archbishop of Tyre moved into the chamber, followed by Balian and at least a dozen others. Henri instantly recognized the undeniably ugly visage and intelligent dark eyes of Renaud Garnier, Lord of Sidon, one of the kingdom's most powerful barons. Beside him stood two men Henri had met on his prior visit, Aymar de Lairon, whose recent marriage had made him Lord of Caesarea, and Rohard, son of the newly deceased Pagan, Lord of Haifa. Behind them were Ansaldo Bonvicino, Conrad's chancellor; Atho de Valentia, the citadel's castellan; and Guglielmo Burone and Bonifacio de Flessio, the most influential members of the local Genoese commune, as well as several bishops and a few men unfamiliar to Henri.\n\nAfter greeting them, Henri asked warily, \"What is so urgent that it could not wait until I came down to the great hall?\"\n\n\"Our need is more than urgent, my lord count.\" Archbishop Joscius had apparently been chosen as their spokesman. Coming forward, he put a hand on Henri's arm and then said, in the grave, sonorous tones reserved for the pulpit, \"We have come to offer you a crown, a bride, and a kingdom.\"\n\nHenri took a quick backward step, his eyes narrowing. But it was Balian he addressed. \"Is this why you wanted me to come to Tyre? Did you know this would happen?\"\n\nBalian was neither disturbed nor defensive. \"I did not lie to you, Henri, when I told you why you were needed here. But yes, I did hope you would be acclaimed by the people, and I make no apologies for that. We do not have the luxury of mourning Conrad and I make no apologies for that, either, not when the very survival of our kingdom is at stake.\"\n\n\"And Isabella does not get to mourn, either? Does she know that you are planning to marry her off within days of her husband's funeral?\"\n\nBalian gave Henri an odd smile, one that managed to convey sadness, sympathy, and an implacable resolve. \"She knows,\" he said, and Henri shook his head angrily, for anger was the safest of the emotions he was struggling with.\n\n\"Why could you not be honest with me, Balian? Why could you not tell me that the lot of you had decided I'd make a satisfactory suitor for Isabella's hand?\"\n\n\"Would you have come back if he had?\" the archbishop asked. \"We needed a chance to talk with you, to make you see that you are not just a 'satisfactory suitor.' You are the only one whom we can rally around, the only one deemed worthy by us all. You are a man of courage and common sense, a man of good birth and\u2014\"\n\nThe archbishop was not often interrupted, but Conrad's chancellor was growing impatient that they'd not yet gotten to the heart of the matter. \"That is all well and good,\" Ansaldo Bonvicino said brusquely. \"Yes, men respect you, Count Henri, and you've proven yourself in battle, so you can be trusted to lead an army. But none of that makes you indispensable. What does is the blood flowing in your veins. You are the nephew of two kings, the one man able to command the support of both the English and the French. You are known to stand high in Richard's favor, but you'd also be acceptable to the Duke of Burgundy, for you are the son of Philippe's sister. Even after peace is made with Saladin, we will need the continued support of the other Christian kingdoms, need money and men. And we are much more likely to get it if you are the one ruling over us.\"\n\nNot all of them were pleased with Ansaldo's interference. They would have preferred that the case be made by their urbane, eloquent archbishop. They looked to him now to repair any damage done by the other man's brash candor, and Joscius was quick to step into the breach.\n\n\"I'll not deny that your kinship to the kings of France and England is important to us. But we'd not seek you out if we did not think you'd make a good king, for we cannot afford another Guy de Lusignan. In you, my lord count, we are confident we will have a ruler able to meet the great challenges that lie ahead. I understand that you did not expect this. None of us did. But God's Will is not always comprehensible to mortal men. 'For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face.' We can only do our best, and for now that means arranging a marriage between you and the Lady Isabella, our queen.\" He smiled then, giving Henri a look that was both avuncular and earnest. \"In truth, you are being offered a remarkable gift\u2014the Kingdom of Jerusalem and a wife who is highborn, beautiful, and biddable.\"\n\nHenry could not deny there was truth in what the archbishop had just said. But at the moment he felt more like a fox run to earth by baying hounds than a man who'd had a \"remarkable gift\" bestowed upon him. \"I will need time to think upon it,\" he said, and then he saw a glimmer of light in this dark tunnel. \"I could not accept the crown without my uncle's consent, so I must talk to Richard ere I can give you an answer.\"\n\nThere was murmuring from some of the men, but the archbishop was wise enough to know Henri could not be coerced or pressured into cooperating. \"We can send a message to the English king within the hour.\"\n\n\"No, I must tell him myself,\" Henri insisted, \"and I ought to leave straightaway so no time will be lost.\"\n\nThis was not well received. The jut of Henri's chin and the taut line of his mouth did not encourage argument, though, and they reluctantly acquiesced, even more reluctantly departed the chamber. Joscius, Balian, and Ansaldo lingered after the others had gone so that each man could deliver one last appeal. The chancellor reminded Henri that most men would thank God fasting for such an opportunity. Balian sought to assure Henri that Isabella was indeed willing to wed him. But it was Joscius's final comment that would stay with Henri, haunting his peace in the days to come.\n\n\"What you decide, my lord count, will matter far beyond the borders of our kingdom. It will affect all of Christendom, for the loss of the Holy Land would inflict a grievous wound upon Christians everywhere. I know you feel overwhelmed at the moment. But if you entreat the Almighty, I am sure He will give you the answers you seek and make His Will known to you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1192",
                "text": "[ Plains of Ramla, Outremer ]\n\nOn May 2, Richard had another of his celebrated narrow escapes. He'd been camped with a small force at La Forbie south of Ascalon and they awoke to find themselves under a surprise dawn assault. Snatching up his sword and shield, Richard charged out of his tent, and he and his knights were able to beat back the attack. Later that day, he sent the Templars to reconnoiter around D\u0101r\u016bm, where they came upon a number of Saracens reaping barley. They took over twenty prisoners and escorted them to Ascalon to assist in the repair of the city walls; both the Templars and Hospitallers relied upon slave labor for building projects. Meanwhile, Richard rode north into the plains of Ramla, where he spent the day chasing off Saracens and fretting why he'd not heard anything yet from Tyre. Common sense told him that Conrad would cooperate now that the kingdom was his. He could not utterly banish a few lingering qualms, though, fearing that the French would try to persuade the marquis to hold aloof, for he was convinced that Burgundy and Beauvais would rather sabotage him than defeat Saladin. He had no doubts whatsoever that Philippe, taking his ease back in Paris, was praying fervently that the war would end in a spectacular failure.\n\nThey were only about ten miles from Jaffa, but he decided to pass the night on the plains, and they were setting up camp when telltale puffs of dust were sighted on the horizon. Shading his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, Richard watched as the riders came into view, hoping that this might be the word he'd been awaiting. But the new arrival was even more welcome than a messenger from Tyre. As Andr\u00e9 dismounted, Richard smiled, more relieved than he'd ever admit that his cousin had safely completed that long and arduous journey to Rome.\n\nA few of his knights had brought down a gazelle, and as the men gathered around their campfires to eat, Andr\u00e9 shared with Richard what he'd learned at the papal court. The news was not good. On his way back to France, the French king had been spreading stories that Richard was hand in glove with Saladin. In January, he'd met with the Holy Roman Emperor, and from what Andr\u00e9 had heard, they'd passed much of that meeting maligning Richard. Philippe had also attempted to get the Pope to absolve him of the oath he'd sworn not to attack Richard's domains while he was in the Holy Land.\n\n\"The Pope refused,\" Andr\u00e9 said, \"for that was a bit too blatant even for him.\"\n\n\"'Even for him'? You think he favors the French?\"\n\n\"It is not that. He is very elderly, almost as old as God, and has neither the backbone nor the desire to offend powerful rulers like Philippe or Heinrich. But some of his cardinals were outraged that Philippe would even contemplate warring upon a man who'd taken the cross, so Celestine was emboldened to deny Philippe's petition.\" Andr\u00e9 paused to stab a piece of meat with his knife. \"We made for Jaffa since I did not want to chance the harbor at Ascalon, and that's where I was told you were roaming around out here, adding to your collection of Saracen heads. I also heard that Guy is out and Conrad is in.\" Dropping his facetious tone then, he gave Richard a searching look. \"The word from England must be truly terrible if you've embraced that whoreson in Tyre.\"\n\n\"It was and is,\" Richard admitted. \"They probably told you in Jaffa about the prior of Hereford's news. And two more letters came last week, this time from Will Marshal and the Archbishop of Rouen, both warning me that it may cost me dearly if I tarry in Outremer....\" Richard paused, having heard a guard's shout that riders were coming in. Handing Andr\u00e9 his plate, he got to his feet. \"Mayhap this is Henri's messenger. If Conrad still balks at joining the army, so help me Christ\u2014\" He got no further, having recognized the man on a lathered bay stallion.\n\nWell aware that he was bringing Richard shocking news, Henri had not wanted to hit him with it all at once, and had been mentally rehearsing his account all the way from Tyre. But at sight of his uncle, it was forgotten. Sliding from the saddle, he ran toward Richard, breathlessly blurting out, \"Conrad is dead, they are blaming you, and they want me to marry his widow!\"\n\nThe tents used on scouting missions were much smaller and Spartan than the spacious pavilions set up back at Ascalon. Richard and Henri sat cross-legged on the blankets that served as the king's bed, shadows encroaching upon the feeble light cast by a single oil lamp. Richard had been stunned to hear of Conrad's murder, although at first he'd seen it only in terms of his own need to depart Outremer as soon as possible. He'd taken the news that the French were blaming him much better than Henri had expected, saying dismissively that no one who knew him would believe so outrageous a falsehood. Henri was not as sanguine, for he feared those who did not know Richard could be susceptible to lurid tales of this sort, and his uncle had as many enemies as the Caliph of Baghdad had concubines. But that was a worry for another time; now he could only focus upon his own crisis of conscience, for that was how he saw the Draconian choice being forced upon him.\n\nThey'd brought wine and plates of roast venison into the tent; the food remained untouched but they'd not been neglecting the wine. Reaching for his cup, Richard said, \"That would be a sight to behold, though\u2014Philippe skulking around Paris, as jumpy as a stray cat, sure Assassins were lurking around every corner. He is just fool enough to believe it.\" He regretted indulging in that bit of black humor, though, when he glanced over at Henri's unhappy face. He'd never seen his nephew, usually so high-spirited and carefree, as distraught as this.\n\n\"Well, that is neither here nor there. Obviously we need to talk about this offer of a crown. Do you want to tell me what you think of it, Henri?\"\n\n\"I'd rather hear what you think first, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Fair enough. You'd be a good king, Henri, most likely a better one than Conrad. So yes, I would like to see you accept it. But I'd advise against the marriage. Unfortunately, that is not an option open to you, is it? The lady comes with the crown. Even if the poulain lords were desperate enough to agree, any man she later married would be eager to advance a claim to your throne, following in Conrad's footsteps.\" Richard shook his head before saying dryly, \"A pity she could not be reconciled with Humphrey de Toron, surely the only soul in all of Outremer who has no interest whatsoever in becoming king.\"\n\nHenri knew why he had such misgivings about wedding Isabella. Curious to learn why his uncle harbored misgivings, too, he said, \"I confess it surprises me to hear you say this, for Isabella is your cousin.\"\n\n\"I do not blame the girl for her predicament; none of it is her doing. And how can I not admire her for standing up to Burgundy and Beauvais like that? But my greater loyalty is to you, lad, and I fear such a marriage would be invalid under canon law. The aforementioned Humphrey is alive and well and still her husband in God's eyes, for that so-called annulment was a farce from first to last. If you wed her, Henri, you risk having your children declared illegitimate, for your marriage to Isabella would be no more valid than Conrad's.\"\n\n\"Truthfully, that is not a worry of mine, Uncle, for who would challenge the marriage? The bishops of Outremer supported the annulment and are the ones urging me now to wed Isabella. They are a pragmatic lot, the poulains. But it is more complicated than even you know. Isabella is pregnant.\"\n\n\"Ah... I see. No wonder you are so uncertain. If she gives birth to a son, he'll inherit the throne. Of course she may have a daughter, in which case any son of yours would take precedence.\"\n\n\"Are you suggesting I go ahead and roll the dice?\" Henri asked, with such a sad smile that Richard felt a stab of pity.\n\n\"It is understandable that you might be reluctant to marry the girl under the circumstances. But leave that for now. Let's talk about the crown. I do not sense any great enthusiasm for that, either. Why not?\"\n\n\"It would mean lifelong exile, Uncle. Most likely I'd never see my mother again, or my brother and sisters.\" Henri gnawed on his lower lip, not sure how candid he could be. But his uncle ought to understand if any man could, for all knew the close bond he had with Eleanor. \"I was not yet fifteen when my father died. I assume you know the story? He was seized by the Turks on his way back from the Holy Land, held for ransom, and finally freed after my mother persuaded the emperor of the Greeks to pay it. We were so overjoyed when he finally came home.... But his health had been ravaged by his stay in prison and he died soon afterward. My mother took it very hard, and she said she'd have to rely upon me to be the man in the family, to help her protect my little brother and sisters. If I were not to come back to Champagne, I think it would break her heart....\"\n\nRichard was not at his best in discussions like this; he preferred to deal with emotions by ignoring them. He was very fond of his sister, though, and he suspected Henri was right, for Marie was fiercely devoted to the welfare of her children. A thought occurring to him then, he brightened. \"Might it not console her to know you now ruled a kingdom?\"\n\nHenri gave him another sad smile. \"The Counts of Champagne consider themselves the equal of kings, so she'd not see that as much of an elevation.\"\n\nNo son of the Duchess of Aquitaine could argue with that, but Richard tried. \"You may just need some time. My sisters were all sent away when they were very young to wed foreign princes, but they'd been taught that would be their fate and so did not think to question it. For you, it is different, of course. You expected to rule Champagne till the end of your earthly days. But once you've come to terms with it, it might be easier...?\"\n\nHenri took no comfort in that possibility. Never see his beloved Champagne again? Trade its lush greenwoods and river valleys for this arid, inhospitable land with its searing summers and noxious maladies? Trade the family he loved for a life with an unwilling wife and another man's child? \"I must sound like such a fool,\" he mumbled, \"whining about having a crown and a beautiful woman forced upon me. Thank you, Uncle, for hearing me out without laughing in my face.\"\n\nWith that, he started to rise. Richard waved him down again. \"We are not done yet, lad. I understand now why the prospect of a kingship brings you so little joy. So let's talk about Isabella. Why are you so loath to wed her? Is it because of the baby? Do you fear you might not be able to care for another man's son?\"\n\nHenri was grateful for Richard's blunt speaking. \"That is part of it, yes. But it is not just that. Conrad did not care that he had an unhappy, unwilling wife. I do. Mayhap it would not matter so much if we were back in Champagne, but here...\"\n\n\"I thought you said you'd been assured she was willing to wed you?\"\n\n\"What else are they going to say, Uncle? Tell me she has taken to her bed, weeping, cursing her lot in life? How can she be willing? Christ, this is the second time she'd be wed against her will! For all I know, she still loves Humphrey de Toron.\"\n\n\"I find that highly unlikely,\" Richard said, with unkind candor. \"I take it, then, that you have not talked to Isabella yet?\"\n\nHenri looked somewhat embarrassed. \"No, I insisted upon leaving straightaway, saying I could make no decision until I'd consulted with you. I suppose I should have gone to see her ere I left, but in truth, I did not want to face her. I did not know what to say....\"\n\nNeither did Richard. \"It seems to me,\" he said after a long pause, \"that she might well see you as a considerable improvement over Conrad. So... you've told me why you are reluctant. Tell me now why you would consent.\"\n\n\"For the same reason you are still here in Outremer, Uncle, even though you now know your own kingdom is at great risk.\"\n\nAfter that, they lapsed into silence, each man preoccupied with thoughts that were none too pleasant. \"I have not been much help, have I?\" Richard said at last, and Henri gave him his first real smile.\n\n\"No, not much,\" he agreed. \"I do not suppose you'd be willing to forbid me...?\" It was a joke, but not entirely. \"I am sorry, Henri,\" Richard said, with a rueful smile of his own. \"No one can make that decision for you.\"\n\n\"I know....\" Henri leaned back so that he was cloaked in shadows. \"But you do think I ought to accept it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Richard said, \"I do.\"\n\nTwilight in the holy land never lingered, offering a brief interlude between the dramatic acts put on by daylight and darkness. On this Monday in early May, it unobtrusively slipped onstage after a sunset that had been magnificent even by Outremer standards, spangling the cresting waves in crimson and gilding the occasional cloud in a crown of gold. Dusk soon muted those garish, resplendent colors, a soft lilac haze blurring the outlines of the shore. But by the time Henri's galley was within sight of Tyre, the sky was shading from dark blue to ebony and he could hear the city's churches ringing in Compline.\n\nThe iron chain had already been stretched across the harbor, but it was lowered with record haste as soon as the ship's master identified his passengers. Some of Henri's knights nudged one another and grinned, already anticipating the royal privileges that their lord would soon be enjoying. Others were subdued and silent, those already in mourning for their lost homeland. Henri meant to offer them all a choice, just as Richard had done, but he knew a strong sense of duty would compel many of them to stay with him. It was a two-edged sword, able to cut both ways\u2014duty.\n\nMorgan had joined him in the bow, and they watched together as a star streaked toward the distant horizon. \"If you died tomorrow,\" Morgan said in a low voice, \"they would still find a husband for the Lady Isabella.\"\n\n\"And I should be happy about that because...?\"\n\n\"I was just reminding you that being the 'ideal choice' and being the 'only choice' are not one and the same.\"\n\n\"I know... but I cannot disappoint Richard and God, too. Mayhap one of them, but both?\" Henri glanced at the Welshman, a smile coming and going as fast as that shooting star, and his wan attempt at humor brought an unexpected lump to Morgan's throat.\n\nHenri sent a messenger to the archbishop to request horses, for he hoped to avoid a repetition of that earlier mob scene. Curfew had not yet rung and as word spread of his arrival, crowds began to gather. But he was not kept waiting long. Many torchbearing riders soon came into view, and Henri resigned himself to a royal procession through streets thronged with cheering citizens. As they approached the archbishop's palace, Henri could not help looking toward a nearby narrow lane, deep in shadows now, for it was there that Conrad had met the untimely death that would change the lives of so many.\n\nArchbishop Joscius was waiting to welcome him, as were Balian, Renaud of Sidon, and the chancellor, Ansaldo. Henri had expected as much, sure the archbishop would send word to them even before he dispatched an escort to the harbor. At first Joscius was preoccupied with playing the host, offering to have a meal prepared for Henri and his men. Henri politely declined for himself, but accepted on behalf of his travel companions. When Joscius began to make the usual courteous queries about Henri's voyage, Ansaldo could contain himself no longer and demanded eagerly, \"Well? Did you see the English king?\"\n\nHenri hadn't the heart to drag out the suspense and told them then what they were so desperate to hear, that Richard had given his consent. They were too seasoned as diplomats to show the intensity of their relief. It was more subtle, an easing of a rigid posture, a soft expulsion of a held-in breath\u2014except for Ansaldo, who said fervently and forthrightly, \"Thank Almighty God!\" That broke the tension and Henri soon found himself surrounded, knights, canons, priests, and servants all jockeying to get closer, wanting to share in so significant a moment in the history of their kingdom.\n\nHenri had to acknowledge their congratulations, well wishes, and expressions of gratitude, and it was a while before he could request that the archbishop send a messenger to the castle. \"Please convey my respects to the marquise and ask if I may call upon her on the morrow.\" Feeling then that he'd done his duty, he confessed to fatigue from his journey and was escorted up to his bedchamber by the archbishop himself.\n\nPrivacy was always at a premium in their world and he realized that it was an even rarer luxury for a king. This night might be the last time he would be free of constant scrutiny, able to be alone with his thoughts. After sending his squire down to the hall to eat, he sat on the edge of the bed. It was too early to sleep and he could not very well ask the archbishop to lend him a book when he'd just pleaded exhaustion. Finally, inspiration struck and he opened the door quietly, following the stairwell up to the roof.\n\nAs he expected, it was laid out like a sky-top garden, with benches, large flowering planters, and even a trellised arbor to provide shade from the sun. Sitting on a bench, he gazed up at the sky. The moon was in its last quarter and the roof was bathed in a silvery glow. The Holy Land seemed to have more than its share of stars, those remote, pale lights \"offering mankind our only earthly glimpse of infinity.\" The thought wasn't Henri's, but the musings of a childhood tutor. He hadn't thought of Master Roland in years, but his memories of Champagne were close to the surface tonight.\n\nHe soon rose and began to pace. His eye was caught by a flash of color, and when he squinted, he could make out the triangular shape of a yellow sail. For a time he watched that distant vessel, speculating upon its destination. Was it heading for Cyprus and Guy de Lusignan's new kingdom? Or the fabled city of Constantinople? Mayhap even France? Two months from now, God willing, it could be dropping anchor in the harbor at Marseille. He was trying to remember how many miles lay between Marseille and his capital city of Troyes when the door banged behind him.\n\n\"My lord count, we were so worried! We could not imagine where you'd gone.\" The man hastening toward him was vaguely familiar and, after a moment, Henri recognized Archbishop Joscius's steward. Henri's normally equable temper had begun to fray around the edges in the past week and he opened his mouth to send the steward away. He wasn't given the chance, though. \"I am so sorry to disturb you, my lord, but you have a visitor!\"\n\nHenri's brows rose. \"At this hour? Say that I've retired for the night and suggest he come back on the morrow.\"\n\n\"But... but my lord, it is the queen!\"\n\nHenri said a very rude word under his breath, for the last person he wanted to see tonight was Balian's strong-willed wife. It was nigh on twenty years since King Almaric's death had left Maria Comnena a young widow, but Henri thought she remained convinced her handsome dark head was still graced with a crown. His mouth tightened and he started to say that his instructions stood. He remembered just in time that Maria would soon be his mother-in-law. \"I will, of course, see Queen Maria,\" he said with a resigned sigh. \"Tell her that\u2014\"\n\n\"No, my lord, it is the Lady Isabella!\"\n\nThe steward's consternation would have been comical under other circumstances; it was obvious he thought Isabella had committed a serious breach of etiquette. Henri had hoped to put off this meeting until the morning, but he was not truly surprised that his plans had gone awry; that seemed to be the developing pattern of his new life in Outremer. \"Tell the marquise that I will be down to the hall straightaway.\"\n\n\"There is no need for that.\" This voice came from the stairwell, and as both men spun around, Isabella stepped from the shadows onto the roof. Henri was the first to recover and came forward swiftly, kissing her hand with his most courtly flourish. She murmured, \"My lord count,\" and then dismissed the steward with a smile. He made a sound like a strangled squawk and Henri realized he was appalled that they'd be alone and unchaperoned. Just then, another form emerged from the stairwell, and the steward's shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Isabella's lady-in-waiting. Reassured that the proprieties would be observed, he bowed and hastily withdrew. Isabella introduced her companion as the Lady Emma, saying fondly that Emma had been with her since her childhood. Emma reminded Henri of Dame Beatrix, his aunt Joanna's mainstay, ever poised to guard her lamb from prowling wolves, and when he smiled at her, he was faintly amused by her cool response. She would not easily be won over; sheepdogs never were. He was expecting her to hover protectively by Isabella's side, but when Isabella suggested they sit upon a marble bench, Emma took a seat some distance away.\n\nIsabella seemed to sense his surprise. \"I trust Emma with all my secrets, with my very life,\" she said matter-of-factly, and he realized she was reassuring him that Emma would be telling no tales or relating choice gossip about anything she saw or heard on the roof this night.\n\n\"You are fortunate to have such a faithful confidante,\" he said, thinking that at least she'd had one ally in Conrad's household. He'd occasionally felt a few conscience pangs for the part he'd played in bringing that marriage about. He'd been convinced by Balian and Conrad that it was a matter of Outremer's very survival, but he was still chivalrous enough to feel sympathy for that eighteen-year-old girl, tearfully insisting that she loved her husband, did not want to be separated from him. He'd been pleased, then, by what he'd seen when he'd dined with Conrad and Isabella before his departure for Acre. They'd appeared comfortable together, and he'd noticed no overt signs of stress in Isabella's behavior toward her husband. Even though it had gotten off to the worst possible start, he thought their marriage seemed no worse than many and probably better than some; at least he'd hoped so. In their world, women were always the ones to make the concessions, and he supposed that was true even for queens.\n\n\"I owe you an apology,\" he said. \"I ought to have seen you ere I left to consult my uncle. That was not only bad manners, it was cowardice.\"\n\n\"I was not offended,\" she assured him, \"truly I was not. Like me, you'd been tossed without warning into deep water and you were struggling to stay afloat.\" She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and then said, \"Mayhap I ought to be apologizing to you? For coming to you like this, I mean. No one wanted me to do it. Not my mother, nor Balian, for certes not the archbishop. When I was announced, he looked dumbstruck, and even tried to convince me to return to the castle, saying it was not proper for me to seek you out like this. I think it makes them nervous when I show that I have a mind of my own,\" she said with a smile, and Henri caught his breath.\n\nWhen she'd emerged from the stairwell, his first impression was one of fragility and loss. She was clad in a plain, dark-blue gown with a high neckline, wearing no jewelry but her wedding band, her hair covered by a simple linen wimple. Her skirts hid any evidence of pregnancy, for she was still in the early stages; Henri was intensely aware that she was with child, though, and that made her seem even more vulnerable in his eyes. But then she'd smiled, a bewitching, luminous smile that gave him a glimpse of the young woman beneath the somber widow's garb, and suddenly he saw her not as a tragic figure, not as his fellow victim in a bizarre twist of fate, but as a very desirable bedmate.\n\n\"I am glad you came,\" he said, with enough sincerity to bring a faint flush to her cheeks.\n\n\"I had to... Henri. I know you do not want to stay in Outremer.\" When he started to speak, she stopped him with a light touch of her hand. \"I understand, for this is my home, not yours. And I also understand your reluctance to wed me. How could you not have misgivings about such a marriage\u2014a reluctant wife carrying another man's child, not the best of beginnings.\"\n\nHer lashes swept down for a moment, and then she raised her head and met his eyes without artifice or coquetry. \"I cannot ease your yearning for Champagne. But at least I can ease your mind about me. I am not being compelled to marry you, Henri. I will not deny that I am being urged to it on all sides. But I am in a stronger position than I was when they insisted I wed Conrad. The laws of our realm offer me protection against an unwanted marriage, for the Assizes provide that a widow may not be forced to wed for a year after her husband's death. So at the risk of being shamelessly bold, you need not fear that I'll be an unwilling wife.\"\n\nHenri very much wanted to believe her. \"I know you have a strong sense of duty. You proved that when you agreed to marry Conrad.\"\n\n\"I am so glad you understand that!\" She leaned toward him, that enchanting smile flashing again. For all that she'd been twice wed, she still seemed like an innocent, and he felt sure she did not realize the impact her physical proximity was having upon him. \"Not everyone does,\" she confided. \"I loved Humphrey, did not want to leave him. But I was not browbeaten into agreeing to marry Conrad as so many think. Yes, I was greatly pressured by Conrad, by my mother, my stepfather, Archbishop Joscius, almost all of our lords and bishops, even the papal legate. I did not yield, though, until I realized that this was the only way to strip Guy de Lusignan of his kingship.\"\n\n\"I think you showed commendable courage... Isabella.\"\n\n\"I never expected to be queen. Why would I, for my sister had two children already and was still young enough to have many more. I was content with Humphrey and the life we had together. But the deaths of Sybilla and her daughters changed everything.\"\n\n\"Just as Conrad's death has.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"At least he died happy. He so desperately wanted to be king. I'm glad he had those few days....\"\n\nHenri was surprised both by the sentiment and by the ironic undertones, coming from a girl with the face of an angel. \"Conrad... you and he were able to...\" He did not know how to ask so probing and personal a question, but he needed to know. If she'd been maltreated, it might well affect their own marriage.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said simply. \"When I agreed to marry him, I realized that I could not do so with hatred in my heart. It was not always easy, not at first. But I did my best to be a dutiful wife and if I could not give him more, I do not think he missed it. He had what he wanted most, a claim to the crown. It may be that our child might have brought us closer together. He very much wanted a son.\"\n\nNow that they'd come to it\u2014the baby in her womb that was both a blessing and a curse\u2014he did not know what to say, not sure how honest he dared to be. How much easier it would have been if only she'd not been pregnant!\n\nIsabella proved to be the braver of the two. \"We need to talk about it, Henri, about the fact that I am with child, Conrad's child.\" Instinctively her hand moved to her abdomen, a protective gesture that caught at his heart. \"The welfare of my baby matters even more to me than the welfare of my kingdom. Not many men would be willing or able to accept another man's child. I know it can be done, though, for Balian did it. I was just five when he married my mother and he always treated me as if I were his flesh-and-blood, even after they had their own children. Conrad could never have done that, not when a crown was at stake. But I think... I hope you can, Henri. The others chose you for your courage and royal blood, your kinship to the kings of England and France. What matters more to me is that you are honorable and have a good heart.\"\n\nThey were very close now on the bench. Her eyes looked almost black against the whiteness of her face, and he found himself thinking that a man could drown in their dark depths. \"Isabella...\"\n\n\"I know you think we are both trapped,\" she said softly, \"and I suppose we are. But if you wed me, I promise you this\u2014that I'll do all in my power to make sure you never regret it.\"\n\nHe reached for her hand, entwining their fingers together. How fearful she must have been and how brave she was now, putting her pride aside to offer herself to him like this. He could see the pulse throbbing in her slender throat, and suddenly knew he could not bear to think of her wedding another man, one who might not treat her and her baby with the kindness, tenderness, and respect they deserved.\n\n\"I will be honored to wed you, Isabella,\" he said, and when she lifted her face, heartbreakingly lovely in the moonlight, he kissed her soft cheek, her closed eyelids, and then those full red lips. He'd meant it to be a pledge, a reassurance, but her mouth was so sweet and her body flowed into his arms so naturally that he forgot she was so newly widowed, forgot she was pregnant, forgot all but the passion that blazed up between them with an intensity, a hunger he'd not experienced before. When he finally ended the embrace, he saw that she was as shaken as he was. Her dark eyes were starlit, her breathing uneven. \"This is not the destiny either of us expected,\" he said. \"But it is one we can forge together.\"\n\nOn Tuesday, May 5, 1192, Henri and Isabella were wed in Tyre by a French bishop, a week to the day after Conrad of Montferrat's assassination. Henri at once set about mustering an armed force to assist Richard in an assault upon D\u0101r\u016bm Castle. When he and the Duke of Burgundy moved the army to Acre, the chronicler of the Itinerarium reported that \"The count took his wife with him, as he could not yet bear to be parted from her.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MAY 1192",
                "text": "[ Ascalon\u2013D\u00e1r\u00fam Road ]\n\nUpon his arrival at Ascalon, Henri learned that Richard had grown impatient with waiting and had ridden south to begin the siege of D\u0101r\u016bm Castle on his own. Henri set out at daybreak the next day, his men soon complaining of the oppressive heat. It was Pentecost Eve, the weather already much hotter than it would have been back in Champagne. Henri wondered if he'd ever get accustomed to the sultry Syrian climate, and he was relieved when the seventeen stone towers of D\u0101r\u016bm eventually came into view. Raising his hand, he signaled for a halt so they could assess the situation. By now he could see Richard's tents in the distance, and the siege engines he'd brought by ship from Ascalon, but they were strangely silent. A swirl of dust heralded the approach of the Duke of Burgundy, and Henri coughed when he inhaled a lungful, hoping the other man did not plan to ride beside him for the rest of the way. That was apparently Hugh's intention, though.\n\n\"What did he think he could accomplish with only his household knights? Sometimes that man has not a grain of sense, just an insatiable hunger for fame.\"\n\nHenri had never liked the duke, feeling he'd done nothing but obstruct their progress, and he was still angry at the way Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais had attempted to browbeat Isabella when they thought she'd be most vulnerable. Yet he knew Outremer needed French support and so he contented himself with saying mildly, \"You do remember, Hugh, that Richard is my uncle?\"\n\n\"A man cannot pick his kinsmen,\" Hugh said, generously absolving Henri of that tainted family bond. \"But you cannot deny that Richard is a lunatic on the battlefield.\"\n\n\"I'll not deny he is reckless about his own safety.\" Henri ignored Hugh's snort. \"But he is never reckless when it comes to the lives of his men.\"\n\n\"And I am? Why\u2014because I am urging an assault upon the Holy City? That is why we are here, Henri, why so many good men took the cross. We swore to retake Jerusalem. If we do not even try, we dishonor the memories of all those who died for their faith.\"\n\nIt was obvious to Henri that Conrad had not confided in his French allies, for Hugh did not appear to know of the marquis's secret talks with Saladin. \"Do you truly believe it is worth putting the very survival of the kingdom in jeopardy, Hugh? I've yet to talk to a single poulain who thinks we ought to take so great a risk. To a man, they say another loss like \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn would doom Outremer.\"\n\n\"You know what I think? That the disaster at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn has sapped them of their will to fight for the True Faith. They no longer have the stomach for battle, even if it means humbling themselves before the enemies of God.\"\n\nHenri turned in the saddle to stare at the other man, incredulous. \"The Templars have no stomach for battle? I'd not say that in their hearing if I were you.\"\n\n\"I am not saying they lack courage. But living in the midst of pagans and infidels and unbelievers corrupts the soul, and not even the Templars are immune to it. Nor am I surprised that the poulains are so willing to yield Jerusalem to Saladin. They still attend Mass, but they live like Saracens, luxury-loving, decadent, and effeminate\u2014\"\n\n\"And we take frequent baths, too. What greater proof of depravity can there be?\" Neither Henri nor Hugh had noticed as Balian d'Ibelin had reined in his stallion within earshot. Balian was accustomed to hearing criticism like this from suspicious newcomers, those who thought the Syrian Franks were too much at home in this alien environment, and he no longer reacted with youthful anger or indignation, for it served no purpose. He'd long ago acknowledged the irony of it, that the survival of Outremer depended upon men who judged its inhabitants to be unworthy to dwell in God's Kingdom.\n\nBalian's sly raillery was not lost upon Hugh, who gave him a suspicious scowl, but the poulain lord was pleased to see that Henri looked amused. He wanted Isabella to be happy with her new husband, wanted the young count to be content with his new life. \"As interesting as this discussion is,\" he said, with just a hint of sarcasm, \"you might want to direct your attention to the castle battlements.\"\n\nIt took a moment or so for them to see it, and when they did, they could only stare in disbelief at the red and gold banner flying from the keep\u2014the royal lion of England.\n\nRichard sauntered forward to greet them, looking justifiably proud to Henri and insufferably smug to Hugh. He was quite willing to regale them with the details of his capture of D\u0101r\u016bm, and most of the men were eager to hear, for it was a remarkable feat to seize a castle in just four days, especially with such a small force. Those like Hugh, who took no pleasure in hearing of Richard's exploits, prudently kept silent, aware that a lack of enthusiasm would seem like the worst sort of sour grapes, and Richard soon found himself surrounded by admiring knights; to Hugh's annoyance, many of them were French.\n\nThey could see the evidence of the brief siege all around them. The gate was smashed, the broken wood blackened by fire. The walls had been seriously damaged by the trebuchets Richard had brought from Ascalon. Hugh was not surprised when some of Richard's knights boasted that their king had pitched in when they carried the dismantled siege engines over a mile from the beach, and when they said that he'd taken personal command of one of the trebuchets, Hugh muttered, \"He would.\"\n\nNo one paid him any heed, for Richard was explaining that he'd noticed a weakness during an earlier scouting mission. The deep ditch before the great tower was cut out of natural rock on one side, but on the other, it was reinforced with a layer of paving. Richard put his sappers to work, renegade Saracens from Aleppo whom he'd hired at Acre, and they soon broke through the paving, then stuffed the tunnel with combustible matter and set it afire, causing part of the tower wall to collapse. After they'd destroyed a Saracen mangonel mounted on top of the keep, the garrison sent three men out to seek terms. First they'd asked if they could have a truce while they consulted with Saladin, and then they offered to surrender the castle if they and their families could depart in freedom. \"I told them,\" Richard said coolly, \"to defend themselves as best they could,\" making clear his disdain for foes who'd yield so easily.\n\nHenri blinked. While commanders often insisted upon an unconditional surrender, especially if they'd been put to the time and trouble of storming a castle or town, he would have accepted the qualified surrender offer had he been in Richard's place. He forgot sometimes how ruthless his uncle could be when it came to waging war. Thinking unwillingly of the Acre garrison, he said, \"What happened when you took the castle?\"\n\n\"They did not offer much of a fight.\" Richard sounded both disapproving and disappointed. \"When we broke through yesterday, they fled into the keep, and soon offered to surrender unconditionally. We took about three hundred prisoners.\" Richard gestured toward the castle, and Henri saw a group of men lined up in the bailey, hands bound behind their backs, surrounded by guards.\n\nThe others had begun to exclaim indignantly, for Richard had just revealed that the garrison had hamstrung all of their horses when defeat seemed inevitable; to knights, deliberately crippling a horse was a far worse sin than slaying a man. But Henri continued to study the prisoners. A much smaller group huddled nearby, looking forlorn and frightened, the wives and children of the garrison. Henri knew he was not supposed to feel pity for them; they were the enemy, after all. But he did. As hard as war could be for soldiers, it was always harder for the noncombatants, for the women, the young, the elderly. At least back home, there were periods of peace when people could go about their daily lives, not fearing that men would swoop down upon their villages and towns, burning and looting and killing. He wondered if there would ever be peace in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Somehow he doubted it.\n\nWith an effort, Henri shook off these dismal thoughts; it was both dangerous and hurtful to keep making comparisons between Champagne and Outremer, the world he'd lost and the one thrust upon him. His uncle was still accepting congratulations from the other men, who were delighted to learn that they'd found and freed forty Christian prisoners in the castle dungeon. After some of the French lords began to praise Richard, too, Hugh forced himself to mumble a grudging \"Well done.\" He was unable to resist adding, \"You always did have the Devil's own luck.\"\n\n\"A man does not need luck when he knows what he is doing,\" Richard shot back, and then glanced toward Henri. \"We'd planned to celebrate Pentecost on the morrow and send the prisoners and wounded on ahead to Ascalon. Does that meet with your approval?\"\n\nHenri was startled to be treated as an equal; he'd have to get used to that, too. \"And D\u0101r\u016bm?\"\n\n\"That is up to you. D\u0101r\u016bm is yours now.\"\n\nHenri was taken aback. \"Mine? That is most generous of you, Uncle!\"\n\nEven the French were impressed by such a magnanimous gesture, except for Hugh, who looked as if he wanted to spit into the dust at Richard's feet. Richard was obviously taking a grim pleasure in the other man's vexation. But when he turned again to Henri, grey eyes searching blue ones, he was conveying a message that went beyond mere words. \"After all,\" he said, \"this is your kingdom now, is it not?\"\n\nHenri held his gaze. \"Yes,\" he said, \"it is.\"\n\nIn late may, one of Richard's spies warned him that the Saracens were fortifying a stronghold with the euphonious name Castle of the Figs. The garrison fled at his approach, though, and by May 29, he was camped near a reed-choked river about twelve miles south of Ascalon. It was here that another messenger from England found him. John d'Alen\u00e7on was the Archdeacon of Lisieux, a former vice chancellor of England, a man Richard trusted, and the news he brought was deeply disturbing.\n\nThe archdeacon's report made it sound as if England was descending into chaos. Richard's half-brother Geoff was still feuding bitterly with the Bishop of Durham, rejecting the efforts of Eleanor and the council to make peace between them. Richard's exiled chancellor, Longchamp, had laid an interdict upon his own diocese after the Archbishop of Rouen had confiscated the revenues of his bishopric of Ely, and the people were suffering greatly, for no Masses could be said, no confessions heard, no weddings performed, and bodies were left unburied in the fields. Eleanor had intervened, persuading the archbishop to restore Ely's revenues to Longchamp and insisting that Longchamp revoke the interdict and lift the excommunication he'd placed upon the archbishop. But the situation remained volatile, made worse by the arrival of two papal legates who laid the duchy of Normandy under interdict after being refused entry by Richard's seneschal, and then took refuge at the French court.\n\nEven more alarming was the archdeacon's account of the ongoing conspiracy between the French king and Richard's own brother. Philippe had attempted to launch an invasion of Normandy, thwarted only by the reluctance of his French barons to attack the lands of a crusader. After Eleanor had prevented John from joining the French king in Paris, John then seized two royal castles, Windsor and Wallingford, and continued to circulate rumors that Richard was dead, which made men loath to antagonize the man likely to be their next king. The archdeacon had also brought letters from Eleanor, the Archbishop of Rouen, and the council, conveying the same urgent plea\u2014that Richard return home as soon as possible, for he was in danger of losing his throne if he did not.\n\nRichard was badly shaken by these latest warnings. It seemed as if all was slipping away, both in Outremer and his distant, beleaguered domains. He was convinced the French were determined to sabotage any chances of a military victory against the Saracens, and now his own kingdom was in grave peril. For a man accustomed to being in command, it was intolerable to feel so helpless, to be at the mercy of forces beyond his control. He responded by withdrawing into a dark, brooding silence, saying nothing about his intentions, and that silence only fed his army's unease. Many soldiers blamed Richard for his unwillingness to lay siege to Jerusalem, but only the French commanders wanted him to depart, for few believed victory was possible without him. When rumors spread throughout the camp that he planned to go home, morale plummeted.\n\nRichard had been secluded in his tent for several days, wrestling with the competing demands of king and crusader, fearing they might be irreconcilable. If he remained in the Holy Land, he could lose his crown. But how could he violate the sacred oath he'd sworn to Almighty God? He'd always been very decisive, both on and off the battlefield, quick to assess risks and reach conclusions, never one for second-guessing himself. But now he was faced with an impossible choice and, for the first time in his life, he did not know what to do.\n\nHe'd prayed for guidance, to no avail. God had given him no answers. Instead he was confronted with more bad news, delivered by Henri, Andr\u00e9, and the Bishop of Salisbury.\n\nRichard had never seen his nephew so angry. \"Last night the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais held a secret council with the other lords, including some of your vassals from Poitou, Anjou, England, and Normandy. None of us were invited, for obvious reasons, nor were the Templars, the Hospitallers, or any of the poulain barons. They decided that they will march upon Jerusalem whether you stay or not, Uncle. They then leaked word of their decision to the army, and men reacted as you'd expect\u2014with great joy.\" Shaking his head, Henri said bitterly, \"They are going to lay siege to the Holy City even if it means they all die in the attempt and, unforgivably, even if Outremer dies, too. They may well have doomed every man, woman, and child in the kingdom and we did not even have a say in it.\"\n\nRichard's own temper had caught fire as he'd listened. \"So be it, then. If that is their decision, I now know what mine will be. They can neither take nor hold Jerusalem, the fools! Why should I sacrifice my own kingdom for nothing?\"\n\nNone of them argued with him. As much as Henri wanted to, he could not. He was convinced that Hugh of Burgundy could no more defeat Saladin than he could fly to the moon. Whatever hopes they had of success would end when Richard sailed for home. Yet how could he ask his uncle to remain when none would heed his voice? Even if victory was impossible in Outremer, the Angevin empire could still be saved. But not if Richard remained in the Holy Land.\n\nThe army moved north to Bethgibelin, camping by the stark ruins of a Hospitaller castle. Here the men encountered swarms of the tiny flies they called \"cincelles\" and \"flying sparks.\" The insects swarmed incessantly, stinging every inch of exposed flesh and raising such lumps that their victims resembled lepers; despite the searing heat, the soldiers wrapped themselves in cloths and masked their faces to fend off these winged assaults. Yet the men remained determined to reclaim Jerusalem from the infidels, while Richard remained tormented by doubts, for he'd soon begun to question a decision made in anger. Could he truly turn his back upon the Holy Land? Could he sail away as Philippe had done, abandoning Henri and his Christian brethren to a war they could not win? Was that what God would want him to do?\n\nA solitary figure had been keeping vigil for hours outside Richard's tent, swatting ineffectively at the flies, refusing to leave his post even for meals or to answer nature's call. Father William had entered the English king's service when he was Count of Poitou, and when Richard had taken the cross, William had done so, too, for the army would need chaplains, and what better death could a man have than to die in the Holy Land, doing God's Work? He had been devastated by Richard's refusal to besiege Jerusalem. It was far worse, though, to think Richard would abandon them, abandon their sacred quest, abandon the Almighty and the Lord Christ, and as he watched over the king's tent, he wept.\n\nWhen Richard finally emerged, his attention was drawn to the chaplain, just as William had hoped. But he lost his nerve then, and agreed to speak candidly only if the king promised him that he'd not be angry. Having extracted an impatient reassurance from Richard, the chaplain still hesitated, searching for the right words. \"My lord king, it is the talk of the camp that you intend to leave us. May that day never come. God forbid that mere rumors keep you from conquering the Holy Land, for we fear that would bring you eternal disgrace.\"\n\nHe saw Richard stiffen and momentarily faltered. Emboldened when the king did not rebuke him, he pressed on. \"Lord king, I entreat you to remember all that God has done for you. Never did a king of your age accomplish such glorious deeds.\" The words were coming quickly now, slurring in his haste to get them said. He reminded Richard of his past victories as Count of Poitou, spoke of how Richard had taken Messina and seized the island of Cyprus and sank that great Saracen ship. Such triumphs were proof of divine favor, as was his miraculous recovery from the scourge of Arnaldia, which had killed so many others. \"God has committed the Holy Land to your protection. It is your responsibility alone, now that the French king has cravenly run away. You are the sole defender of Christendom. If you desert us, you will have abandoned it to be destroyed by our enemies.\"\n\nHe fell silent then, tears continuing to streak his face, swollen from multiple cincelle bites, his eyes fastened imploringly upon his king. His disappointment was almost too much to bear when Richard turned away without answering.\n\nOn the following afternoon the army reached Ascalon and made camp in the orchards outside the city walls. Henri then met privately in Balian's tent with some of the other poulain lords and the Templar and Hospitaller Grand Masters, holding a strategy session in which they all urged Henri to try to convince Richard to stay. When he balked, they politely but firmly reminded him that his first loyalties now must be given to Outremer. He returned to his own pavilion at sunset in a grim frame of mind, only to find Joanna and Berengaria anxiously waiting for him. Richard was always closemouthed, Joanna conceded; she'd never seen him like this, though. He was obviously greatly troubled, but he'd brushed aside all their questions and concerns, pulling back like a turtle retreating into its shell. \"What has happened, Henri? What do we need to know?\"\n\nHenri told them about the dire news from England and then about the decision to march on Jerusalem. He had just finished when a summons came from Richard. Joanna and Berengaria accompanied him; he wasn't about to rebuff his aunt and decided it was up to Richard to dismiss the women if he did not want them present. Richard did not seem disturbed to see them; he did not even seem surprised. Seeing his uncle through Joanna and Berengaria's eyes, Henri could understand why they were so worried. Richard looked haggard, even haunted, like a man who'd become a stranger to sleep. His gaze flicked from face to face, his own face inscrutable, his thoughts shielded. When he did not speak, Henri prompted, \"You wanted to see me, Uncle?\"\n\nRichard nodded then, almost imperceptibly. \"I have decided not to return to England. Whatever messages come, whatever happens, I pledge to remain in the Holy Land until next Easter.\"\n\nHenri felt a great surge of relief, followed by guilt. Joanna's emotions were less ambivalent; she did not think it was fair that Richard should be asked to sacrifice so much more than the other crusaders. Berengaria crossed to her husband's side, looking up at him with a smile so joyful that she seemed to be glowing; at that moment, Henri thought she was beautiful. \"Does this mean you will be laying siege to Jerusalem, Richard?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, sounding very weary. \"I will tell the others tonight and then have my herald proclaim it to the rest of the camp on the morrow.\"\n\nHenri kept silent, not sure what to say. Nor did he meet his uncle's eyes, for he knew what he'd see in them. It would have been like looking into his own soul on the night he'd returned to Tyre, knowing his choices were illusory, knowing he was trapped.\n\nRichard dispatched Henri to Acre to corral the last of the deserters and to find reinforcements in Tyre and even Tripoli, for if they were going to march on Jerusalem, they would need every single soldier they could round up. Because Richard did not think it was safe for the women to remain at Ascalon without him, he asked Henri to escort them back to Acre. He then led the army to Bait N\u016bb\u0101, the village that was just twelve tantalizing miles from the Holy City. There they set up camp to await Henri's return and to fend off Saracen raids and hit-and-run attacks.\n\nThey'd been at bait n\u016bb\u0101 two days when one of Richard's spies reported that Saracens were lying in ambush at the spring of Emmaus. Richard set out at dawn with some of his knights, took their foes by surprise, and in the fight that followed, twenty Turks were slain and Salah al-D\u012bn's own herald captured. When the surviving Saracens retreated, Richard set off in pursuit. He was mounted on Fauvel and soon overtook a man on a rangy bay stallion. Fauvel screamed a challenge, lengthening stride, and the Saracen swung his horse around to meet the attack. He charged, wielding a spear that was deflected by Richard's shield, and took the full thrust of the king's lance. Reining Fauvel in, Richard leaned from the saddle to make sure the other man was dead. When he looked up, his eyes widened. \"Jesu!\"\n\nIt was then that Andr\u00e9 caught up with him. He'd seen Richard go chasing off after the Saracens and followed, for even Richard's lethal skills could be overcome by sheer numbers. Pulling up alongside his cousin, he barely spared a glance for the body sprawled nearby; in the fifteen years he'd fought at Richard's side, Death had ridden with them so often that they'd come to take its presence for granted. He was more concerned with Richard's odd immobility; he seemed frozen, scarcely breathing.\n\n\"Richard? Are you hurt? I do not see any blood....\"\n\n\"Look,\" Richard said huskily, never taking his eyes from the dream-like vision that seemed to be floating on the horizon, shimmering in a golden haze of heat.\n\nAndr\u00e9 raised his hand to shield the glare. \"Is that...?\"\n\n\"Yes... it is Jerusalem.\" Richard had not expected to be so moved, yet as he gazed at those distant limestone walls and towers, it struck him with utter and awful certainty that this was as close as he'd ever get to that most holy and hallowed of cities, the cradle of Christendom. His eyes filled with tears, which Andr\u00e9 tactfully pretended not to see.\n\nMorgan, Warin Fitz Gerald, Pierre de Pr\u00e9aux, and a few other knights and Templars had been out scouting and decided to detour to Ramla before heading back to Bait N\u016bb\u0101, for the former site had a cluster of barrel-vaulted cisterns. As they approached, they were startled to see dozens of white tents set up near the castle ruins. Advancing warily, they were delighted to discover that this was Henri's camp; he was on his way to Bait N\u016bb\u0101 with fresh troops from Tyre and truants from Acre. Morgan was not surprised that Henri had been more successful than Guy in conscripting the sluggards; the count's easy affability concealed a strong will. They were happy to accept Henri's invitation to stay the night, and they repaid Henri's hospitality by catching him up on all that had occurred since his departure for Acre.\n\nThey gave him the most momentous news first\u2014that it had been decided not to besiege Jerusalem. During a heated council the week before, Richard had argued passionately against it, as he'd done in the past, citing the threat to their supply lines, the scale of the city's defenses, and the danger that they'd be trapped between the Jerusalem garrison and Saladin's army. The French had responded as they'd done in the past, too, and accused Richard of caring only for his own honor and glory. He'd been honest about that, Morgan told Henri, candidly admitting he did not want to be blamed for another \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn and the loss of the kingdom. He accused the French in turn of seeking his disgrace and insisted he would not sacrifice his army in a rash enterprise that had no hope of success. They countered that it was not his army. He again urged an attack upon Egypt or Damascus, insisting that was the strategy best calculated to bring Saladin back to the bargaining table. And the French rejoinder was that Jerusalem was not negotiable.\n\n\"It was,\" Morgan said, \"basically the same argument we've been having since last September at Jaffa. This one did have a different ending, though. It was agreed upon to choose a jury of twenty men, whose decision would be binding upon all. They selected five Templars, five Hospitallers, five poulains, and five French lords. Richard insisted that the men who actually lived in Outremer ought to have the greater say. Of course he knew what the verdict would be\u2014fifteen to five in favor of launching an attack upon Egypt. And of course the Duke of Burgundy was furious that he'd been outmaneuvered and repudiated the agreement, saying it was Jerusalem or nothing.\"\n\n\"The king did his best to win them over,\" Warin chimed in, \"offering his fleet for the expedition, pledging to pay for seven hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms out of his own coffers, even promising to assume the expenses of French knights. All to no avail. And when word got out, the common soldiers were distraught, outraged that Jerusalem would be denied them yet again.\"\n\nHenri could not help sympathizing with them even though he was sure Richard was in the right. It would have been better never to have raised their hopes, and he could not help wondering if his uncle had ever really intended to assault Jerusalem. But he felt a touch of shame upon hearing what Morgan said next, that Richard had declared before the vote that he'd not desert the army even if they insisted upon the siege. He would not take command, though, saying he refused to lead men to their deaths when it served for naught. No, Henri decided, it was unfair to accuse Richard of bad faith. Their quest had been doomed before Richard and Philippe even reached Outremer, poisoned by the embittered rivalry between the two kings, the two countries. But as tragic as this outcome was for the soldiers who'd been willing to offer up their lives for the Holy City, it was a blessing for the kingdom. Their army would not be sacrificed in vain, and even if the French deserted them, there was still hope of reaching a settlement with Saladin, who had his own troubles.\n\n\"I suppose Burgundy is now threatening to pull out and go back to France,\" Henri said, making a face. No, they told him, the army had been temporarily distracted from their feuding by the arrival of one of Richard's spies, a native Syrian who went by the name \"Bernard.\" He brought news that set the entire camp into an uproar. A supply caravan was on its way from Egypt to Jerusalem, laden with treasure, weapons, and thousands of horses and camels. It would be an incredibly rich prize if they could take it, and its loss would deliver a great blow to Saladin. Richard had ridden out that very night to intercept it, taking five hundred knights and a thousand men-at-arms, as well as the French. They laughed at Henri's startled expression, explaining that Hugh of Burgundy had actually agreed to take part in the raid, but only if the French were allotted fully a third of the booty.\n\n\"If that man had not been so highly born, he'd have made a good outlaw,\" Morgan said with a grin. \"But at least for now, the excitement over the caravan has united us, for Richard promised that the spoils would be shared with all, whether they took part in the raid or stayed behind to guard the camp.\"\n\n\"So now we're waiting with bated breath to hear if it was successful. The timing has to be perfect. Fortunately, our king is good at this sort of thing.\" Warin laughed and began to tell Henri the rest of their news, what he blithely described as \"the usual bloodshed.\"\n\n\"We had two fierce skirmishes with the Saracens,\" Warin reported between bites of bread. \"The first one occurred on June twelfth when the Saracens lured some French troops away from camp. Things were going badly for them until the Bishop of Salisbury and the Count of Perche rode to their rescue. The second one began when the Turks ambushed one of our supply caravans from Jaffa.\" He paused to finish his food before relating a sad story about Baldwin de Carew, who'd been unhorsed in the battle and commandeered his squire's mount, only to see the squire struck down and beheaded soon thereafter.\n\nHenri had no liking for Baldwin, who'd been one of the two knights who'd broken formation at Arsuf, forcing Richard to commit to a premature charge. Henri would have offered his own horse to his uncle in a heartbeat; he'd even do it for Philippe, who was his liege lord. But he hoped he'd not accept another man's horse, knowing it could mean the other man's death. Because he considered Morgan, Warin, and Pierre to be friends, he felt comfortable enough to say as much. They looked at him in surprise before Morgan reminded him, as gently as possible, that he'd be shirking his royal duty to refuse such an offer, for a slain king was the worst of calamities. Henri frowned into his wine cup, wondering how long it would take for him to feel at ease with his new rank.\n\nBy now the meal was done, but they lingered by the fire, savoring the simple pleasures of wine and conversation. They commiserated with Pierre de Pr\u00e9aux, whose heroic brother Guilhem remained in captivity, for Saladin still refused to ransom him, and Henri good-naturedly endured the usual bridegroom jests. They were lamenting the recent deaths of two knights from snakebites when the sentries warned that riders were approaching.\n\nThey got quickly to their feet, reaching for weapons in case it was a Saracen raid. But they soon heard cries of \"The king!\" and so were ready to welcome Richard and his men when they rode into the camp. There was no need to ask if the ambush had been successful, for it looked as if thousands of beasts\u2014camels, horses, mules, asses, and donkeys\u2014were being herded by downcast Saracen drovers. The pack animals were heavily laden, and Richard's elated knights were eager to boast of their plunder. They told Henri that they'd seized gold, silver, brocaded silks, spices, sugar, purple dye, wheat, barley, flour, Saracen mail shirts, weapons, and large tents, all intended for Saladin's army at Jerusalem. They'd captured almost four thousand camels, they bragged, and as many mules and donkeys, also taking five hundred prisoners and killing many, men now lost to the sultan. It was, they proclaimed to Henri with what he thought was pardonable pride, a great victory for the Franks, a great defeat for the Saracens.\n\nHenri soon realized that Richard was not joining in the jubilation. He answered questions readily enough, accepted their compliments with a smile, and agreed that it had been an outstanding success. But he seemed to be doing what was expected of him, not really sharing in the rejoicing. His behavior was so out of character to Henri that he seized the first opportunity to draw Richard aside for a private word.\n\n\"The celebrating is likely to go on far into the night. Even the French are well satisfied; it is the first time I've seen Burgundy smile in months. So why are you not better pleased about it, Uncle?\"\n\n\"I am pleased,\" Richard insisted, and Henri shook his head.\n\n\"You ought to be triumphant. You dealt Saladin a grievous wound, gained enough pack animals for a campaign in Egypt, and gave the Saracens another story to tell around their campfires about Malik Ric.\"\n\n\"But it has changed nothing, Henri. I could have captured every blessed beast from D\u0101r\u016bm to Damascus and it would not matter, for the French will never agree to a campaign in Egypt and I cannot convince them of their folly.\"\n\nHenri could not dispute that. \"At least you've kept them from besieging Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"And half the army will never forgive me for it.\"\n\nHenri started to speak, then stopped himself, for he could not dispute that either.\n\nRichard distributed the camels to his knights and the donkeys to the men-at-arms, and the chroniclers reported that all rejoiced. The euphoria did not last long, though, and soon some were complaining because such a large number of pack animals had sent the price of grain soaring. But the underlying cause of their discontent was the decision not to besiege Jerusalem, and the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais seized the opportunity to argue again for an assault upon the Holy City. The debate ended when Richard's Syrian spies reported that Salah al-D\u012bn had poisoned the wells and destroyed all the cisterns within two leagues of Jerusalem in anticipation of a siege, for no army could hope to prevail without water. The French then set up their own camp apart from the others, and Hugh wrote a satiric song about Richard, annoying the latter so much that he retaliated in kind and composed a mocking song of his own. By now it was obvious to all that such deep divisions could not be healed, and the decision was made to withdraw from Bait N\u016bb\u0101 and head back to Jaffa. It was July 4, the fifth anniversary of the calamitous Christian defeat at \u1e24a\u1e6d\u1e6d\u012bn.\n\nHenri spurred his stallion to catch up to Richard. The day was utterly still, with not even a vagrant breeze, the sky devoid of clouds or birds and leached of color; it seemed almost white to Henri every time he squinted up at the blinding blaze of the sun. The heat was brutal, but they no longer needed to fear burns and peeling; by now even men as fair-skinned as Richard and Henri were deeply tanned. He could hear the drone of insects, the plodding of hooves, but no other sounds, for the army was marching in eerie silence. He found himself thinking that it was as if these thousands of unhappy men had become ghosts, trapped in a waking dream. He knew it was not a good sign when he was getting so morbidly fanciful and he glanced over at his uncle. \"What now?\" he asked, his mouth and throat so dry that the words emerged as a croak.\n\nRichard kept his eyes on the road ahead. \"We reopen talks with Saladin,\" he said, \"and hope that he is as war-weary and discouraged as we are.\"\n\nHumphrey de Toron was very busy for a fortnight, going back and forth between Jaffa and Jerusalem. Richard and Salah al-D\u012bn had been able to agree upon the basic terms fairly quickly, for they were not that different from those Richard had originally proposed to al-'\u0100dil. The land was to be divided, with the Saracens retaining the \"mountain castles\" and the Franks holding on to Richard's coastal conquests, with the area in between to be shared by both. Salah al-D\u012bn and his council were willing to give Richard the Holy Sepulchre and to allow Christian pilgrims free access to Jerusalem, the sultan promising \"to treat your sister's son like one of my own sons.\" But Ascalon was to be the rock upon which the peace negotiations foundered, for Salah al-D\u012bn insisted that Ascalon be destroyed, and Richard was not willing to agree to this.\n\nRichard had dispatched Humphrey back to Jerusalem in one last attempt to reach an accord. Learning that Richard had returned to Jaffa that afternoon, Henri was heading for the castle. It heartened him to see how much progress the city had made in the nine months since they'd ridden into desolate ruins. Once they'd rebuilt the walls, many of the former residents came back; at least the Christians did. It was Henri's hope that the day would come when Saracens and Franks could once more dwell in the towns and countryside in relative harmony, for the kingdom could not survive without cooperation between the various peoples who laid claim to its hallowed, blood-soaked soil. It had happened before, so why not again? Henri tried to convince himself that eventually they'd have to end the war, if only because both sides were too exhausted to keep fighting. But by then, what would be left of Outremer?\n\nThere was a reassuring air of normalcy about the recovering city: women marketing, children playing in the streets, vendors hawking their wares on spread-out rugs. There was also a thriving traffic in sin. The contingent of prostitutes who'd followed the crusaders from Acre to Jaffa had stayed even after the army left, for there were always plenty of soldiers there\u2014men convalescing from wounds and sickness, deserters, those in need of a brief respite from the war. Leaning out of upper-story windows, some of these ladies of ill repute called out to Henri and his escort as they rode by, promising all sorts of carnal delights for the right price. Henri just laughed and called back, \"Sorry, sweethearts, I'm a married man now,\" but a few of his knights cast wistful looks over their shoulders as they passed.\n\nWhen they reached the castle, Henri was told Richard was abovestairs in the solar, and he headed in that direction. But as he opened the door to the stairwell, he found himself face-to-face with Humphrey de Toron. They both came to an abrupt halt. Henri had done his best to avoid just such an encounter, and he'd been so successful that he suspected Humphrey had been dodging him, too.\n\nDeciding the least awkward approach would be to ignore the obvious, Henri said, as nonchalantly as he could, \"I'd heard you were back from Jerusalem. Is Saladin still demanding that we raze Ascalon to the ground?\"\n\n\"I regret so. With neither of them willing to compromise on this, the chances for peace do not look good. I did what I could to persuade the sultan, explaining the vast sums King Richard had spent on Ascalon, but to no avail....\"\n\nHumphrey sounded as if he were blaming himself for the failure of the negotiations, and Henri wished he could assure him that he'd done the best he could under difficult circumstances, but he feared that Humphrey would take it as condescension. \"My uncle has complete faith in you,\" he said at last. He would have continued up the stairs then, but Humphrey was still blocking his way.\n\n\"Is she... well?\" he asked, no longer meeting Henri's gaze.\n\n\"Yes, she is.\" Henri would have preferred to leave it at that, but he understood Humphrey's concern. Deciding he owed it to the other man to ease his mind if he could, he said, \"She is no longer troubled by early-morning sickness and her midwives have assured her that she is young and healthy and the pregnancy and birth ought to go as expected.\"\n\nHumphrey had lashes a woman might have envied, long and thick, veiling his eyes. But he could not control his face. Henri thought, Hellfire and damnation, and suppressed a sigh. \"Humphrey...\"\n\nHumphrey's head came up. \"No,\" he said, \"I do not blame you. The man I blame is dead and deservedly so.\" He started to squeeze past Henri, but then stopped, the words coming out low and fast, as if escaping of their own will. \"I will pray the child is a girl. I would not want to see a son of Conrad of Montferrat rule over Outremer.\"\n\nHe didn't wait for Henri's response, was already gone before Henri said, very softly, \"Neither would I.\" He stood there for a time, thinking upon the odd turns and twists of fate that had brought him and Humphrey de Toron to this moment, and then took the stairs two at a time, his spurs striking sparks upon the stone grooves of the steps.\n\nRichard and Andr\u00e9 were alone in the solar. \"I was about to send word to you,\" Richard said. \"It will not be to your liking, though.\"\n\n\"I know. I just met Humphrey de Toron downstairs. He said Saladin would not budge about Ascalon.\"\n\n\"Neither will I,\" Richard said, his voice flat and hard, \"so the talks are done. On the morrow I want to send three hundred knights to Ascalon to strengthen its defenses and to destroy D\u0101r\u016bm. Is that acceptable to you, Henri?\"\n\n\"Of course.\" Henri looked around for a wine flagon, didn't see one. \"What is your plan?\"\n\n\"Are you so sure I have one?\"\n\n\"You always do.\"\n\nThat earned him a fleeting smile from his uncle. \"As it happens, I do. There is only one coastal port still under Saladin's control. So let's take it away from him.\"\n\n\"Beirut?\" Henri considered for a heartbeat or two and then smiled. \"Beirut it is.\"\n\n\"I thought you'd like that idea,\" Richard said dryly. Glancing over at Andr\u00e9, he explained, \"I daresay my nephew would agree to lay siege to Constantinople as long as it meant we'd be heading to Acre first.\"\n\nUnderstanding then, Andr\u00e9 grinned. \"Of course, his bride is waiting for him at Acre!\" Shaking his head in mock regret, he said, \"Ah, youth... when a man is utterly in thrall to his cock.\"\n\nThey both laughed, but Henri did not mind their teasing. He knew there was no malice in it. And because he was a secret romantic at heart, he even felt a twinge of sympathy for his uncle, sorry that Richard would never be as eager to be reunited with Berengaria as he was to see Isabella again."
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1192",
                "text": "[ Acre, Outremer ]\n\nThe last Sunday in July was unusually hot even for an Outremer summer, but in late afternoon a westerly wind began to stir the fronds of palms and to rustle the silvery-green leaves of the ubiquitous olive trees. To take full advantage of it, Isabella, Berengaria, Joanna, and their ladies retreated to the palace roof, sheltering from the sun under a canvas canopy as they enjoyed the feel of a cooling sea breeze on flushed, sweltering skin.\n\nIsabella had made herself as comfortable as her pregnancy would allow, resting her feet upon a footstool, easing her aching back with several small pillows. She'd been stitching a chrysom robe for her baby while Mariam read aloud to them from Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes's Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart. She put her sewing aside when Mariam excused herself to go belowstairs, and Anna at once hastened over. She was always eager to engage Isabella in conversation, and Joanna and Berengaria suspected it was because a faint scent of scandal trailed in Isabella's wake. So far Isabella had good-naturedly indulged the girl's curiosity, but the older women kept a watch on her, knowing Anna's exuberance could be misread as impudence.\n\n\"I only had one brother,\" Anna said sadly, \"and he died. I still miss him. Do you have brothers or sisters?\"\n\n\"Yes... I had an older half-brother and sister from my father's first marriage, who are both dead.\"\n\nAnna mulled this over, for she found the genealogy of the kingdom's Royal House to be rather confusing. \"Oh, of course! Your brother was the Leper King!\"\n\nJoanna winced, and Berengaria and Sophia frowned. But Isabella did not lose her composure. \"Yes, Baldwin was sometimes called that. There are people who believe leprosy is divine punishment for sin. The Pope even declared that Baldwin's leprosy was the judgment of God. In Outremer, we know better. My brother was well loved by his subjects and greatly admired for his courage and gallantry.\"\n\nSeeing then that Anna was distressed by her faux pas, Isabella deftly changed the subject, saying, \"And I have four younger siblings, two brothers and two sisters born to my mother and Balian. They've lived in Tyre since Balian's lands were captured by Saladin\u2014\" She stopped so abruptly that she drew all eyes. Letting out an audible breath, she summoned up a smile when she saw that she was the center of attention. \"My baby is active today. If I did not know better, I'd think there was a game of camp-ball going on in my womb.\"\n\nThose who'd borne children shared knowing smiles, remembering their own pregnancies. Berengaria had avoided this subject whenever possible and she felt a twinge of remorse; it was rude, after all, to ignore Isabella's coming motherhood. \"When is the baby due?\" she asked, as warmly as she could.\n\n\"My midwife says early November, most likely around All Saints' Day, but definitely ere Martinmas.\"\n\nAnna had thrown a cushion on the ground and settled herself comfortably at Isabella's feet. \"Have you selected any names for the baby?\"\n\n\"No, I've not had a chance to discuss it with Henri yet. We'll probably name a daughter Maria, for that would honor both our mothers. If it is a son, I think I'd like to call him Henri.\" Isabella raised her chin, meeting the eyes of the other women with a trace of defiance. If any of them thought that unseemly, they were wise enough to hide it. Seeing no disapproval on their faces, she leaned back against the pillows and addressed the issue head-on. \"Balian told me the Saracens are scandalized that I would wed Henri whilst carrying Conrad's baby. One of them asked him, 'But whose child will it be?' And my stepfather, bless him, said, 'It will be the Queen's child.' They found that impossible to understand.\"\n\nJoanna had come to admire Isabella's courage and she proved that now by saying emphatically, \"Well, we understand and that is all that matters. You did what a queen must always do\u2014put the needs of your kingdom first.\" She paused to make sure the other women got the message\u2014that gossip would not be tolerated\u2014for she'd heard several of Berengaria's handmaidens and even her own Lady H\u00e9l\u00e8ne doing just that.\n\n\"I agree,\" Berengaria said, just as staunchly, her gaze singling out the worst offender, who blushed and averted her eyes.\n\nIsabella was pleased that both queens had spoken out so forcefully, for she'd noticed some tension lately between her own attendants and a few of their ladies-in-waiting, and she suspected careless or malicious chatter was at the heart of it. Her sense of mischief soon asserted itself, though, and she could not resist pointing out the obvious with an impish smile. \"I did indeed do what I believed to be my duty. Of course few women would see it as a great hardship to wed the Count of Champagne.\"\n\nMidst the laughter that followed, Anna took advantage of the mellow mood. \"May I ask a question, Lady Isabella?\"\n\nThe fact that she'd felt the need to ask warned Isabella that it was likely to be intrusive. \"You may ask, Anna. I cannot promise that I will answer.\"\n\n\"I was wondering... Did you ever think of reuniting with your first husband after Conrad was slain?\"\n\nShe was at once rebuked by Sophia for asking something so personal, but Isabella decided it was best to have it out in the open. \"The past is like an impregnable castle perched on a sheer cliff, visible to all for miles around, but impossible to enter. There is no going back, Anna. Nigh on two years ago, the barons and bishops of Outremer made it quite clear that they would never accept Humphrey as king, and nothing has changed since then.\"\n\nAnna nodded, satisfied. \"Humphrey is good-looking,\" she acknowledged, damning him with faint praise. \"But Henri is handsome, too, and he is very dashing, as well, almost as brave as Malik Ric. I hope I can find a husband like him.\" This last comment was delivered with artless abandon, as if the thought just happened to pop into her head. It was actually calculated to nudge the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. \"I have another question,\" she confided, meeting their eyes innocently, \"this one for those who've been married. Can you tell me what it is like to lie with a man?\" Before she could be reprimanded again, she said quickly, \"I have the right to know, for I will be wed myself one day, and surely you'd not have me learn from the prattle of servants. I've heard the first time is supposed to hurt, but after that? Is it pleasant?\"\n\nJoanna was wryly amused when all eyes naturally turned toward her. She did indeed think Anna had a right to know; ignorance posed its own dangers. \"Yes, it is pleasant,\" she said, adding prudently that it must be enjoyed within the sacrament of marriage.\n\nAnna leaned forward, blue eyes shifting from Joanna to Berengaria to Isabella, then back to Joanna again. \"But what does it feel like?\"\n\nJoanna found that was not easy to explain. \"It is... pleasurable,\" she said, giving the other women a \"help me\" look.\n\nSophia remained conspicuously silent, confirming their suspicions about her years as Isaac's wife, but Berengaria did her best. \"It is an act of great intimacy, Anna. Most women find it very comforting to share such closeness with their husbands.\"\n\nIsabella had listened in growing surprise, not expecting them to use such bland, benign phrases for an experience so awesome. She opened her mouth to offer a far more vivid and compelling description of love-making, but caught herself in the nick of time, suddenly comprehending the reason for their caution.\n\nAnna was disappointed, hoping for more specific answers, but she saw this was all she was going to get and, after a few moments, she wandered off with Alicia, who was obviously impressed by her friend's boldness, for they were soon giggling together. Once the girls were out of hearing, Isabella leaned closer and lowered her voice. \"At first I could not understand why you both were being so reticent, so reluctant to tell her the truth, but then I\u2014\"\n\n\"Reticent?\" Joanna echoed, genuinely puzzled. \"I was truthful with her, Isabella. It is important that young girls know it is not a sin to find pleasure in the marriage bed. If they are not told that by other women, they may pay heed to the wrong voices, to those who would have them believe that the loss of their virginity is to be mourned even within the sacrament of marriage. From childhood, they hear our priests preach that not even God can raise up a virgin once she has 'fallen.' Little wonder so many girls go to their marriage beds in such dread. Far better that Anna or Alicia should listen to us than to\u2014\"\n\n\"A Padre Domingo,\" Berengaria interjected, and she and Joanna exchanged smiles, as if sharing a private joke.\n\nIsabella was embarrassed now that she understood the magnitude of her mistake, and she was not sure what she was going to say if they questioned her about her \"reticent\" comment. Fortunately at that moment, Joanna cried out, \"Anna! You and Alicia are too close to the roof's edge.\"\n\n\"There are men coming up the Jaffa Road, lots of them!\" Anna shaded her eyes, balancing on tiptoe as she strained to see the distant banners, and then she turned back toward the women with a radiant smile. \"It is Malik Ric!\" Adding for Isabella's benefit, \"And your husband, too!\"\n\nIsabella was somewhat self-conscious about disrobing before Henri, for in the six weeks they had been apart, her body had changed dramatically, at least in her eyes. Her face seemed fuller, her slender ankles no longer so slender, her breasts larger than they'd ever been, blue veins vivid against the fairness of her skin. She supposed that many women felt like this as their pregnancies advanced, wondering if their husbands would continue to find them desirable. But few of them went to their marital bed carrying another man's child. Would Henri still be able to see the woman behind that distended belly?\n\nHer ladies had undressed her and she was already in bed when Henri entered. He was obviously eager to be alone with her, but he still took the time to greet her women courteously before he ushered them out; she'd been struck by his good manners from the time of their first meeting, when she was still Humphrey's wife. Watching as he stripped with flattering speed, she felt desire stirring at the sight of his naked body. She'd been more fortunate than most women, for she'd been wed to three uncommonly handsome men, but she'd never wanted Humphrey or Conrad the way that she wanted Henri, and had since their first kiss upon the roof of the archbishop's palace. She'd gloried in their love-making during their brief time together, experiencing sensations that were new and overwhelming, and she caught her breath when he turned, for he was offering indisputable physical proof of his need for her.\n\n\"You are so beautiful,\" he said, his voice husky. \"No troubadour or trouv\u00e8re would ever praise flaxen locks again after seeing you with your hair loose, flowing down your back like a midnight river.\"\n\nAs he slid into bed beside her, she put her hand upon his chest, over his heart. \"Thank you for that, Henri, for making me still feel desirable. I'm as swollen as a ripe melon, and I was not sure you would\u2014\"\n\nShe got no further, for he stopped her words with a kiss. \"Melons,\" he said, \"are my favorite fruit.\" He was nuzzling her throat, his breath warm on her skin. \"But is it safe for the baby...?\"\n\n\"I asked the midwife,\" she assured him, \"and she said it was quite safe until the last month.\"\n\nThe bed curtains were open and she could see the candle's golden light dancing in his eyes; they were the blue of a harvest sky, she thought, for she was still in that sweet, bewitched state where everything about her lover was a source of pleasure and fascination. \"So you asked the midwife,\" he murmured, tightening his arms around her. \"Dare I hope that means you missed me as much as I missed you?\"\n\n\"I missed you very much, my darling.\" She wasn't sure she'd have confided so readily in Humphrey or Conrad, for she'd played a more passive role with them, as an innocent and then a dutiful wife. With Henri, honesty came easily, for with him, she felt free to be herself, free to admit that she'd been eager to have him back in her bed. \"I was so glad when Dame Helvis told me our love-making would not endanger the baby. But...\" She paused and then sighed when he kissed her breast; they were so close now that she could feel his arousal, hot against her thigh.\n\n\"But what, my love?\"\n\n\"Well... look at my belly, Henri. How are we to...?\"\n\n\"Is that what is worrying you, Bella?\" He laughed softly. \"That is easy enough to remedy.\" And he proceeded to prove it.\n\nIsabella had reached her climax first, and so she was able to watch as Henri enjoyed his. Now she lay in the circle of his arms, marveling that the simple act of love-making could be so different. Their first couplings had been urgent and impassioned; they'd usually left a trail of discarded clothing scattered about their bedchamber and remained abed so late each morning that they were greeted with sly smiles when they eventually appeared in the great hall. Tonight, though, it had been less intense, slower and more deliberate. She knew he'd held back, and was touched that he was so protective of the baby, so protective of her. Surely a man capable of being both lustful and tender would be a good father.\n\n\"So...\" he said, giving her a drowsy smile, \"did you like being the one in the saddle?\"\n\nShe had; this new position had given her greater freedom to move, and knowing it was prohibited by the Church was somehow exciting in and of itself. \"Will I have to do penance for it?\"\n\n\"Only if you tell your confessor. Have you never wondered, Bella, at the oddity of it\u2014that the men who decide what comprises sins of the flesh are the same ones who shun such sins themselves? My uncle once said it was like asking a holy anchorite to lead an army into battle.\"\n\n\"Which uncle\u2014Richard?\"\n\n\"No, Geoffrey, the one who was killed in a tournament outside Paris. Although I'm sure Richard would agree\u2014as most men would. Few would argue that adultery is not a serious sin. But why is it sinful for you to mount me or for us to lie together during your pregnancy or even when you will have your flux? Granted, that might be untidy, but why sinful? Above all, I do not understand why the Church cautions men against loving their own wives too well, insisting that they sin if their lust burns too hot. If that be true, I am doomed,\" he said cheerfully, \"truly doomed!\"\n\n\"I am, too, then,\" she confessed, propping herself up on her elbow so she could watch the amusement playing across his face. She loved the intimacy of conversations like this, loved the way they could shut their bedchamber door and shut out the rest of the world, at least for a while. \"That reminds me,\" she said. \"I had a very interesting and surprising discussion about carnal matters with your two aunts this afternoon.\"\n\nHe cocked a brow in feigned shock. \"Women talk about carnal matters?\"\n\n\"As if you men do not!\"\n\n\"Well, yes, we do that,\" he conceded, grinning. \"But men tend to boast about the vast number of their bedmates, and I would hope that is not true for royal wives like Joanna and Berengaria!\"\n\n\"Speaking of that, you've said very little about your past. I know nothing of the women you've bedded.\"\n\n\"And I intend to keep it that way,\" he said firmly, although the corner of his mouth was twitching with suppressed laughter. Sitting up, he swung his legs onto the floor and returned a moment later with a cup of spiced wine. Offering her the first sip, he took several swallows before setting the cup down on the carpet. \"So what do women say, then, when they talk of the marriage bed?\"\n\n\"Well, it began with Anna asking us what it felt like to lie with a man. She wanted to know if it was 'pleasant.'\"\n\n\"It is only natural that she'd wonder about it,\" Henri said with a chuckle.\n\n\"What did you tell her?\"\n\n\"Joanna assured her that it was indeed 'pleasant,' and Berengaria agreed, saying the intimacy was very comforting. I could scarcely believe my own ears, for they made it sound so... so tame, so downright dull! I started to speak up, but then it occurred to me that they were deliberately understating it, lest Anna be too intrigued.\"\n\n\"That makes sense. Anna is a handful, and if they'd dwelled too much upon the delights of the flesh, she might be tempted to try them for herself.\"\n\n\"So I thought. But when I said as much once Anna was out of earshot, they looked at me in perplexity. Joanna said Anna deserved an honest answer and they'd given her one. It was only then that I understood, Henri. To them, love-making is indeed pleasant, enjoyable, intimate. But they know nothing of what else it can be, what you taught me it can be!\"\n\n\"I am not sure I want to hear about my uncle's bedsport, and for certes I do not want to envision my aunt Joanna in the throes of passion. They are my family, after all, and I still remember how discomfited I was as a lad when I realized that my own parents did the deed, too!\"\n\nThey both laughed and she wished she'd known him then; she did not doubt he'd been a happy child and she thought that she must do all in her power to make sure that he would be no less happy in Outremer than he'd been in Champagne. Henri leaned over and gave her a soft, seeking kiss. \"Well? Are you not going to tell me 'what else it can be,' Bella?\"\n\n\"I do not know if that would be wise. I'd not want to puff up your male pride too much....\" She let him persuade her, though, with a few caresses. \"It is not easy to find the words. When you make love to me, I stop thinking. I just... feel. It is as if my very bones are melting, as if every nerve in my body is afire. It is a little scary to be so out of control, but it is very exciting, too, the way it must feel to be drunk. Only I'm not drunk on wine, Henri, I'm drunk on you.\"\n\nHenri kissed the hollow of her throat, brushing back a strand of her long black hair. \"How did I ever get so lucky?\"\n\n\"By letting my stepfather lure you back to Tyre,\" she said with a smile. \"Your turn now. When you make love to me, how does it make you feel?\"\n\n\"Blessed,\" he said, with a smile of his own, \"truly blessed.\"\n\n\"Silver-tongued devil,\" she said lightly, but the candlelight caught a suspicious sheen in those wide-set dark eyes. \"All those troubadours and trouv\u00e8res at your mother's court taught you well\u2014Oh!\"\n\n\"What?\" His immediate alarm revealed the intensity of his protective instincts.\n\n\"Are you hurting?\"\n\n\"No, the baby just kicked, and quite a kick it was, too.\" Remembering that her womb had not quickened until he'd gone to join Richard at Bait N\u016bb\u0101, she said, suddenly shy, \"Would you... like to feel it?\" When he nodded, she placed his hand on her abdomen, with a stab of regret that her pregnancy must be so complicated, not the source of pure joy it ought to be.\n\nHenri's eyes widened. \"I felt it move!\" He laughed, fascinated, for the first time seeing the baby as an individual in its own right, not just part of Isabella's body. \"Do you think it swims around in your womb like a tadpole? I wonder what it thought was happening whilst we were making love?\"\n\n\"I daresay the rocking motion put it to sleep. At least I hope so, for it is well past its bedtime.\" She managed to keep her tone playful, no easy task, for her throat had closed up.\n\n\"Speaking of sleep... Richard is likely to roust me out of bed at dawn to plan our assault upon Beirut. Once he makes up his mind to do something, he wants it done yesterday.\" Deciding to let the candles burn themselves out, he kissed her again, saying, \"Good night, my love.\" Lifting the sheet, then, he leaned over to drop a kiss on her swollen belly. \"Good night, little one.\"\n\nThe first time he'd done that, he'd acted on impulse, but she'd been so moved by the gesture that he'd incorporated it into their bedtime ritual. She gave him a dazzling smile now, then nestled against his body, her head cradled on his shoulder. To his amusement, she was soon snoring; she'd never done that before and he assumed it was yet another symptom of pregnancy. He shifted his position with care, not wanting to disturb her sleep, and let his hand rest lightly upon her rounded abdomen. Whenever he entreated the Almighty to keep Isabella safe and well, he always included the baby in his prayers. But he also prayed that the child she carried would be a girl.\n\nMorgan was watching from the shadows as Mariam and two men-at-arms approached the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. He could not hear what she said, but it was obviously welcome to the men, who beamed and bowed respectfully before leaving her alone on the steps. She waited until they were on their way before entering the church. When Morgan materialized silently beside her, she did not speak, either, following as he opened a side door that led out into the cloisters. None of the secular canons were about, for they were getting ready for the None Mass; Morgan and Mariam had chosen their time with care. Morgan had already scouted out the cathedral precincts and when he said, \"This way,\" she nodded and slipped her arm through his, pausing first to draw her veil across her face, leaving only her eyes visible. He knew it was a trick of the light, but they looked golden, as lustrous and gleaming as a cat's eyes in the dark, and he was glad he'd found an inn so close to the cathedral.\n\n\"How much time do we have?\" he asked once they'd safely merged into the usual street traffic of pedestrians, carts, vendors, beggars, and an occasional horseman.\n\n\"I told them to meet me back at the cathedral when the bells sounded for Vespers. They were delighted to have the rest of the afternoon to themselves, are likely headed for the nearest tavern or bawdy house.\"\n\n\"Vespers... then we have three hours.\"\n\nShe nodded and her eyes crinkled at the corners, as if she were smiling. \"I am supposed to be meeting Bishop Theobald and Prior William of the Hospital of St Thomas the Martyr to discuss donations for the poor, and I told them to take me to the cathedral first so I could offer up prayers for those who died during the siege of Acre. It would have seemed strange if I'd made it later than Vespers, for they know I'll be expected back for the evening meal. I could not leave the castle without an escort, though. A king's daughter\u2014even one born to a harim concubine\u2014cannot go wandering about the streets by herself, after all. Sinning would be so much easier if only I were not so highborn!\"\n\nMorgan halted so he could look directly into those glorious golden eyes. \"Do you think that we are sinning, cariad?\"\n\n\"No, I do not,\" she said, without hesitation. \"Fornication is surely a venial sin at worst. So unless you have a wife hidden away in Wales that you've failed to mention, I do not think we are putting our souls in peril.\" They resumed walking and she rested her hand again in the crook of his elbow. \"If I'd said yes, that I did think we were about to commit a mortal sin, would you have taken me back to the castle?\"\n\nHe considered the question. \"No, I'd have tried to convince you it was not a sin,\" he said honestly, and when she gave a low, throaty laugh, he wanted to stop and kiss her then and there. Fortunately, they did not have far to go, for the inn was already in sight. He'd planned it as thoroughly as a military campaign, arranging access to a back entrance so she'd not have to pass through the common chamber. Even though she was veiled, he did not want to subject her to the stares of other men. She teased him that a man did not get to be so adept at trysts without having had a lot of practice, but her footsteps were as quick as his as they mounted the stairs.\n\nHe'd deliberately rented a chamber on the top floor so they could leave the windows unshuttered, and the room was aglow with late-afternoon sun. Mariam had worried that there might be some initial awkwardness once they were alone, but as soon as he slid the door's bar into place, Morgan unpinned her veil and kissed her the way he'd wanted to kiss her out in the street. \"Let's do this right,\" he murmured and swept her up into his arms. But as he headed for the bed, his boot slipped on the floor rushes and her weight kept him from regaining his balance. With a startled oath, he pitched forward, tumbling them both onto the thin straw mattress, and only his agility in twisting aside at the last moment kept him from landing on top of her.\n\nBefore Mariam could say a word, he burst out laughing, \"Good, Morgan, very good! What better way to impress a woman than to drop her onto the floor? What else can I do to bedazzle you, my lady? Step on your skirt, kick over a chamber pot?\"\n\nBy now she was laughing, too, for if he'd truly been trying to impress her, his mirthful reaction to his mishap could not have been better calculated to do just that. From their very first meeting, she'd been charmed by his inability to take himself too seriously, a trait she found to be as appealing as it was rare. \"It was not as bad as that,\" she protested. \"You did not really drop me onto the floor. And at least you did not blame me for the fall, claiming I was too heavy to lift.\"\n\n\"Good God, woman, I am clumsy, not stupid!\" he said with a grin, and she realized how much she'd missed in her marriage to a decent, dependable man who'd known nothing of the joys of laughing together in bed. She traced the shape of his mouth with her finger and he caught her hand, pressing a hot kiss into her palm. After that, they could not get their clothes off fast enough.\n\nMorgan genuinely liked women, in and out of bed, and because many of them found him very attractive, he'd had more than his share of liaisons in his twenty-seven years on God's Earth. He knew that initial couplings were not always all they were hoped to be; sometimes a man and woman needed time to learn each other's rhythms, to listen to what their bodies were telling them. He was aware, too, that disappointment was more likely because he'd been waiting so long for this, having had months to imagine what it would be like to make love to Mariam. He'd actually sought to lower his expectations for their first time, and he would soon recall that with amusement, for he'd had no reason to worry. Delay had honed their desire to a feverish pitch, generating so much heat that he'd later joke it was a miracle the bed had not caught fire. They trusted each other enough by now to abandon any inhibitions and what followed was a sexual experience so powerful that it left them both exhausted, astonished, and awed.\n\n\"Will it be like this every time, Morgan?\" Mariam asked once she'd gotten her breath back. She started to sit up, decided her bones were not strong enough to support her yet, and sank back on the pillow, regarding him in wonderment.\n\nHe jerked the sheet off, for he was soaked in sweat. \"I wish I could say yes, cariad, but this was... it was as close to perfect as we can hope to get.\"\n\n\"You mean we peaked already and it is all downhill from now on?\" That struck them both as wildly funny and they laughed until tears came to their eyes. \"What is the name of your famous Welsh sorcerer... Merlin? I think I'll start calling you that,\" she said, giving him a cat-like smile of utter contentment, \"for you cast a potent spell indeed.\"\n\n\"Merlin? I cannot argue with that,\" he said, so complacently that she poked him in the ribs. He defended himself with the pillow and they enjoyed an erotic wrestling match that ended abruptly when they rolled dangerously close to the edge of the bed.\n\nThey were still euphoric, still riding the crest of the wave, and neither was ready to return to the reality waiting beyond that barred door. But Mariam had a sudden unwelcome thought. \"How will we know when Vespers is nigh? If I am late, the men may seek me out at the bishop's palace.\"\n\n\"I bought one of those candles marked with the hours,\" he said, and forced himself to rise from the bed, crossing the chamber and fumbling with flint and tinder until the wick caught fire. She'd never been in an inn before, but as she looked around, she realized how much he'd done to make their tryst as comfortable as possible, for it was much cleaner than such a rented room ought to be, with fresh, fragrant rushes scattered about on the floor and no trace of the usual dust and cobwebs. In addition to the candle, there was a washbasin, towels and sheets too costly to be found in any inn, a pillow, wine cups, a flagon, and a bowl of fruit; he'd even thought to provide a brass chamber pot.\n\nHolding out her hand, she beckoned him back to the bed, saying in a soft, purring voice, \"It is lonely over here without you, beloved.\" He brought the wine and fruit with him. He was practical enough to bring the towels, too, and took his time blotting the damp sheen from her body, marveling that her skin was as tawny as her eyes. As he began to rub himself down, she watched with pleasure, sipping her wine. \"I wish it were not so complicated to arrange a tryst, Morgan. We cannot keep using Bishop Theobald as my excuse or people might start to suspect me of having a liaison with him!\"\n\n\"He should be so lucky,\" he said, feeding her a slice of mango and licking the juice as it trickled down her throat. She was wearing her hair in two long braids, a style no longer popular in the western kingdoms but still fashionable in Outremer, and he tickled her cheek with one of the plaits, wishing he could see her hair loose, as a husband would. But how could they manage an entire night together when it was so difficult to find even a few stolen hours?\n\n\"Joanna once told me that her mother's enemies claimed Eleanor had been unfaithful to the French king,\" she said, returning the favor by popping an orange section into his mouth. \"As if a queen could ever vanish from sight long enough to commit adultery! Her disappearance would cause a panic in the palace. Servants are always underfoot, eyes are always watching, and not all of them friendly, for spies are everywhere. At least a widow has a bit more freedom, for her chastity is no longer as important as a wife's fidelity or as valuable as a virgin's maidenhead. Since I am a widow and not under such constant scrutiny, we ought to be able to find some way to take advantage of that.\"\n\n\"Well, we're likely to have time to think about it. From what I've heard, Richard plans to set out for Beirut in the next day or two.\"\n\n\"So soon? You've only been here two days!\" She sounded so disappointed that he leaned over and kissed her; she tasted of wine and mango and smelled of perspiration and an exotic sandalwood perfume. \"I hope it will not be tomorrow,\" she said, \"for Isabella's sake as well as mine. It is Henri's twenty-sixth birthday and she is planning to celebrate it in grand style. Who would have imagined such an ill-omened marriage would bring them both so much joy? But it is obvious to anyone with eyes to see that they are utterly besotted with each other.\"\n\n\"And I'm utterly besotted with you, cariad,\" he assured her, and she laughed, Henri and Isabella forgotten, content to have her world shrink to an inn chamber, a bed, and the man in it. They shared secrets and memories as the afternoon passed. He told her more about his parents and their remarkable love story, a king's bastard son and his blind Welsh cousin who'd defied the odds and carved out a life together in the mountains of Eryri. He told her, too, of his service with Geoffrey of Brittany and the old king, and the conflict between his love of Wales and his love of adventure. She spoke of her husband, whom she'd respected but never loved, and of the Saracen mother she barely remembered, talking of her life in Sicily, growing up with Joanna, her brother's child-bride. She confided that she'd let go of her anger over the massacre of the Acre garrison, for she'd not wanted to poison her friendship with Joanna, and she admitted that she'd come to see it truly had been a military decision, albeit a brutally cold-blooded one.\n\n\"I'd assumed that Richard saw Saracens as so many of our Christian brethren do,\" she explained, \"as godless infidels better off dead. But I no longer believe that.\" When he asked what changed her mind, she swore him to secrecy and then told him about Richard's plan to marry Joanna to al-'\u0100dil. He was not as surprised as she'd expected, reminding her that Richard had knighted al-'\u0100dil's son and several Mamluks and emirs he'd become friendly with during his negotiations with Saladin.\n\n\"That drove the French well nigh crazy,\" he laughed. \"But Richard never cares what others think of him, which is both his strength and his weakness. He respects the courage of his Saracen foes and so it seems natural to him to honor it, even if others see it as heresy or treason.\"\n\nThey finished the wine and fruit and talked of their siblings. He told her of Bleddyn back in Wales, who'd repudiated his Norman-French blood, and his sister Mallt, named after the Empress Maude, happily wed to a Welsh lord. In turn, she talked of her half-sister Sophia, the ultimate survivor, and William, who'd been a better brother than a king. But they never spoke of the future, for no man in Richard's army had any tomorrows promised to him, and so it was wiser to live just for today, especially for secret lovers unlikely to have more than what they had found on this hot July afternoon in an Acre inn.\n\nMorgan and Mariam had fallen asleep, were awakened by the bells chiming for Vespers, and dressed almost as hastily as they'd undressed earlier. They got to the cathedral just before Mariam's escort arrived. Out of breath and very apologetic for being late, they were greatly relieved when she magnanimously forgave them. Morgan planned to return to the inn later to retrieve his sheets, towels, and pillow, for he hoped to be able to use them again. But now he trailed inconspicuously after Mariam and the men-at-arms, wanting to be sure they got safely back to the castle.\n\nHe'd always had an observant eye and he was not long in realizing that something was amiss. The outdoor markets were deserted, the vendors doing no business. The normal noise of the city was hushed and there was fear on the faces of the men and women he passed in the streets. As the palace came into view, he could see a crowd had gathered before the gatehouse, and it was then that Acre's church bells began to peal\u2014not to summon laggards to Vespers, but to sound the alarm.\n\nMorgan grabbed the first man he saw, an elderly greybeard who must have seen decades of bloodshed in the course of his long life. \"What is wrong? What has happened?\"\n\n\"Jaffa\u2014it has been taken by Saladin!\"\n\nThe castle gate was closed, unusual during daylight hours, but Morgan was known by the guards and had no trouble gaining admittance. He found the great hall was packed with agitated men and shocked women. Isabella was seated upon the dais, flanked by Joanna and Berengaria, as if they were offering moral support in her kingdom's moment of crisis. It was so crowded that Morgan did not even try to reach the women and searched instead for a familiar face. Finding one, he shoved his way toward Warin Fitz Gerald.\n\nWarin wasted no time giving him the bad news. A ship had arrived a few hours ago from Jaffa, its passengers dispatched for help when they saw Saladin's army descending upon them.\n\nTo Morgan, that was better news than he'd expected to hear, though. \"Then the city has not yet fallen to them?\"\n\nWarin looked at him bleakly and then gave a half-shrug. \"That was three days ago,\" he said. \"The king and Count Henri rode off to the French camp to tell Burgundy and Beauvais. King Richard will want to leave as soon as possible. Every hour that we delay...\" He did not bother to finish the sentence, did not need to do so.\n\nBy now Mariam was beside Joanna on the dais. As her eyes met Morgan's, the same silent thought passed between them, gratitude that they'd had a few private, precious hours before the storm broke. Whatever happened, at least they'd had that much.\n\nIsabella had been joined by Bishop Theobald of Acre and Joscius, the Archbishop of Tyre; both men were worried about the Bishop of Bethlehem, newly elected as the Patriarch of Jerusalem, for he'd recently ridden down to Jaffa, which came under his ecclesiastical control. But his fate was only one fear midst so many. If Jaffa was retaken by Saladin, any chance for a negotiated peace would be gone, and the fighting and dying of the past year would have been in vain.\n\nSoon after dark, Henri returned with the Grand Masters of the Hospitallers and the Templars. Ignoring her aching back and fatigue, Isabella rose to her feet and waited as he strode toward her. By now she knew him well enough to see the signs\u2014the taut line of his mouth, the clenched muscles along his jaw, the set of his shoulders\u2014and she braced herself for more bad news, even though she could not imagine what could be worse than the loss of Jaffa.\n\n\"They refused,\" Henri said in lieu of any greetings, his voice still throbbing with remembered rage. \"Burgundy and Beauvais, they will not ride with us to rescue Jaffa. Their hatred of Richard matters more to them than the fate of their own countrymen. There are French soldiers at Jaffa, but they'll let them die, they'll let them all die ere they lift a finger to help us!\"\n\nIsabella was stunned, as were all within earshot. Beauvais's fellow prelates were incensed that he'd turn his back upon his Christian brethren, and they at once declared their intention to go to the French camp and confront him. Henri knew there was no point in it and he took Isabella's elbow, drawing her aside. \"I think Richard wanted to kill them,\" he said. \"I know I did.\"\n\n\"What now?\" she asked quietly, for she was determined not to give in to any emotional outbursts which would benefit neither Henri nor her baby nor their kingdom.\n\n\"Richard has gone to the harbor. He plans to sail tonight for Jaffa. He wants me to lead a land force on the morrow, the Templars, Hospitallers, poulains, and as many others as we can get. I'd better tell Berengaria and Joanna,\" he said, steering her back to her dais seat before he headed toward Richard's wife and sister, who were standing a few feet away, not wanting to intrude upon his time with Isabella.\n\nIsabella could not remember when she'd felt so bone-weary. She watched as Henri spoke with the other women, and although it did not seem right to worry about personal cares in the midst of such a calamity, she could not help being grateful that she'd have one more night with her husband. She felt a touch of pity for Berengaria, who could not even be sure if Richard would return to bid her farewell, but she felt admiration, too, for the other woman's courage. How did she face each day, knowing she could go from wife to widow in the thrust of one well-aimed sword? Isabella, who'd gone from widow to wife in the span of a week, hoped that she'd be able to endure the waiting with Berengaria's stoicism and grace. But with so much at stake, she could only pray that the Almighty would give her the strength she would need, as queen, wife, and mother-to-be.\n\nWhen Henri came back to her, she reached out and entwined her fingers in his. \"Without the French, you will be greatly outnumbered,\" she said, as steadily as she could. \"Can Jaffa be saved?\"\n\nHe'd just been asked that very question by Berengaria and Joanna, had responded with a confident smile, reminding them that Richard thrived on such challenges. But as much as he wanted to reassure Isabella, too, he could not bring himself to lie to her. \"I do not know, Bella,\" he said at last. \"God help us all, I do not know.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "JULY 1192",
                "text": "[ Off the Coast of Haifa ]\n\nRichard had sailed from Acre Tuesday night, hoping to reach Jaffa the next day. Butas their ships rounded Mount Carmel, the winds shifted suddenly and began to blow from the south. They were forced to furl their sails, dropping anchor in the shelter of Haifa's bay to await a favorable wind. What followed were three of the worst days of Richard's life. He was accustomed to facing death with utter sangfroid, was famed for his cool head in a crisis. By Friday, though, his nerves were fraying like well-worn hemp, for each passing hour made Jaffa's downfall all the more likely.\n\nAs he strode the deck, he was being watched with sympathetic eyes. Yet few of the men dared to approach him, for he put them in mind of a smoldering fire, one that could flare up at any moment. But the Pr\u00e9aux brothers were deeply grateful that Richard had taken such pains to bolster their spirits in the months since Guilhem's capture, periodically summoning them to offer reassurances that he still lived and promising to find a way to secure his freedom. They felt they owed it to Richard to try to ease his troubled mind, and when he finally halted his pacing, they moved to his side.\n\n\"Jaffa still holds out, sire. Their faith in you will give them the courage to resist, for they know nothing short of death could keep you from coming to their rescue.\"\n\nThey'd meant well, but their comfort only salted Richard's wounds. Jaffa's fall would be a devastating blow to Outremer's survival. Its loss would cut the kingdom in half, shattering crusader morale and causing Saracen spirits to soar, resulting in the swelling of Saladin's army just as the French were defecting. Richard was well aware of that, for he'd always been one for strategic planning. For now, though, what he found hardest to bear was that he'd failed the men who'd trusted him. Would they pass up chances to make a peaceful surrender, sure that he was on the way as Jean de Pr\u00e9aux insisted? God help them if so, for if the town and castle were then taken by storm, they could expect no mercy. Their faith in him could doom them all.\n\nIt was then that Andr\u00e9 lurched into Pierre de Pr\u00e9aux; he rode like a centaur, but he was always clumsy on the deck of a pitching ship. \"May I have a private word with you, my liege?\" He didn't wait for a response, turning toward their tent, and Richard had no choice but to follow. As soon as they were inside, Andr\u00e9 said, \"I have a favor to ask of you, Cousin. For the love of God, lie down and try to get some rest. Since we left Acre, you've slept less than a cat treed by a pack of dogs, and not only are you wearing yourself out with all this pacing and fuming, you are wearing us out just watching you!\"\n\nRichard objected, more from contrariness than anything else. But Andr\u00e9 was right; he was tired. Sitting down on the bed, he rubbed his eyes and then his temples, hoping to head off a dull, throbbing headache. When he looked up again, Andr\u00e9 was gone. After a time, he dropped to his knees by the bed. \"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.\" The Latin phrases came unthinkingly to his lips, but what followed was not so much a prayer as a desperate cry from the heart.\n\n\"Lord God, why dost Thou keep me here when I am going in Thy Service?\" There was no answer, of course. He knew what the priests said, that the Ways of the Almighty were beyond the understanding of mortal men. But why would God not send the winds to bring him to Jaffa? How could He want Jaffa to fall to the Saracens? And why had He ever allowed Jerusalem to be lost? Getting to his feet, Richard lay down on the bed, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes from the sun streaming through the open tent flap. Not my will, but Thine, be done. Easy enough to say, but so hard to accept. And yet such acceptance was the cornerstone of their Christian faith. Thy Will be done.\n\nHe hadn't expected to sleep, but after a while, he dozed, lulled by the rocking movement of the ship and the rhythmic splashing of waves against its hull. When he awoke, Andr\u00e9 and the Earl of Leicester were bending over the bed, their faces so joyful that he knew at once what they'd come to tell him. Sitting up, he heard what was surely the sweetest of all sounds\u2014the flapping of canvas as the sails were unfurled. \"The winds have changed!\"\n\n\"Yes, they are blowing now from the north!\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" Richard closed his eyes for a moment. \"Thank God and all His good angels!\"\n\nBy sea, it was only forty-six miles from Haifa to Jaffa, and the ship's master assured Richard that they'd be there sometime that night. The wind continued to pick up, though, and within hours, their small fleet was scattered. Richard refused to despair; at least they were being swept in the right direction. After midnight, the moon rose. It had been full upon their arrival at Acre and half of it was still visible, casting a soft glow upon the cresting waves as they rolled shoreward. The harbor of Jaffa was an anchorage on the northwestern side of the castle, sheltered by reefs, and it was not yet dawn when they saw the silhouette of the most famous one, Andromeda's Rock. It was Saturday, the first of August, four days since the Saracens had launched their surprise attack upon the city.\n\nThey anchored just north of the harbor and began the tense vigil until sunrise. Jaffa was divided into a lower town, the faubourg, and the citadel, located on higher ground to the southwest. From their galleys, they could not see the landward side, which would have borne the brunt of the Saracen assault, and so they could not tell if the walls were still intact. The city remained shrouded in shadows, giving up none of its secrets.\n\nThey had only three galleys at first, but by the time the horizon finally began to lighten off to the east, four more had straggled in. Dawn in the Holy Land was usually resplendent, the sky splashed with molten gold as the sun began its celestial arc. This morning the men had eyes only for the looming walls of Jaffa. As the dark retreated, they squinted until the banners flying above the city slowly came into focus\u2014streaming in the wind, the bright saffron colors of Salah al-D\u012bn.\n\nA muffled sound swept the decks of the galleys, a groan torn from multiple throats as they understood what they were seeing. Some cursed, most stared in stricken silence. Richard had been standing motionless in the prow of his galley, scarcely breathing as he awaited the moment of truth. When it came, he let out a hoarse cry. \"We're too late!\" He slammed his fist down upon the gunwale, again and again. \"Too late!\"\n\nHis men had never seen him so anguished and did not know what to do. Only Andr\u00e9 moved, stepping forward to catch his wrist before he could strike again. \"Not your sword hand,\" he said, his voice oddly gentle. \"You did all you could, Richard, all any man could do.\"\n\nRichard saw nothing but those swirling golden banners. \"Tell that to the dead of Jaffa.\"\n\nAs the sun rose in the sky, they could see the tents of the Saracen army. Their little fleet was soon noticed and men on the beach began to jeer and shout, waving weapons, a few aiming arrows although they could penetrate armor only at close range. But most of them seemed unconcerned by the appearance of the enemy ships. Jubilant cries of \"Allahu Akbar!\" wafted across the water to the miserable men in the galleys. Even if Richard had not seen the sultan's banners, he'd have known the town had fallen, for theirs was the swagger of the victorious.\n\nSome of his knights felt a shamed sense of relief that they'd arrived too late, for few operations were as dangerous as a sea landing in enemy territory. It was true Richard had managed it in Cyprus, but then they'd been confronted by the incompetent, hated Isaac Comnenus and his poorly trained routiers. Here at Jaffa, they faced the tough, battle-proven troops of Saladin, the victor of H\u0323at\u0323t\u0323\u012bn. So there were men in the galleys who felt they'd been reprieved, even as they grieved for their slain brethren. By nine, the third hour of the day, their ships numbered fifteen, yet it was obvious to them all that they were still greatly outnumbered. They did not fear for their safety as long as they stayed offshore; Richard had controlled the sea since his seizure of Saladin's fleet at Acre. It was not easy, though, to look upon their triumphant enemy, strutting along the beach, their laughter echoing on the wind, all the while knowing what horrors were hidden by the town walls, and many of them wished that Richard would give the order to depart.\n\nRichard had not moved for hours, unable to tear his gaze from the crowded beach and those banners flying proudly over the captured city. He seemed to see everything on a battlefield and had soon noticed that no flags flew over the castle itself. That wan hope quickly ebbed, for there was no sign of life, no indication that the citadel still resisted. Jaffa had held about four thousand souls, many of them convalescing soldiers, as well as the inevitable noncombatants caught up in siege warfare\u2014merchants, priests, women, and children. How many of them had died when the town had fallen? Would any of them be able to avoid the slave markets in Cairo and Damascus by offering ransoms? Saladin had been vengeful on occasion, as when he executed the Templars and Hospitallers after H\u0323at\u0323t\u0323\u012bn. But he was also known to be merciful, and Richard kept reminding himself of that as he watched the sultan's soldiers celebrating a well-earned victory, one that would have reverberations throughout Christendom for years to come.\n\nWhen the Earl of Leicester and Andr\u00e9 finally joined him in the prow and asked what he wanted to do, he could not bring himself to give the order to raise their anchors, not yet. Andr\u00e9, who knew him better than he knew himself, thought that by remaining on the scene, he was doing penance for failing to get there in time. He did not try to persuade Richard to go, though; that would be for naught.\n\n\"Look!\" Richard said suddenly, pointing toward the castle. Turning, they saw the figure of a man balancing upon the wall, waving his arms frantically; he was shouting, but his words were drowned out by the pounding of the surf and the cries of the Saracens on the beach. He appeared to be wearing a priest's habit. As they watched, he made the sign of the cross and then leaped from the wall. Fortunately, his fall was cushioned by the sand and he scrambled to his feet, apparently unhurt. Pulling his ankle-length garment over his head, he sprinted toward the water. By now he'd been noticed by some of the Saracens. They seemed amused by the sight of this paunchy, pallid enemy clad only in braies and a shirt, and just one made an attempt to stop him, sending a poorly aimed arrow his way as he plunged into the sea and began to swim toward the ships.\n\nRichard whirled, but there was no need to give the command; they were already hauling on the anchor chains. His galley shot forward, the sailors straining at the oars. The priest's flailing arms showed that he was not a strong swimmer and he had begun to tread water as the galley drew up alongside, grabbing gratefully at an outstretched oar. Once he'd been hauled aboard, he collapsed onto the deck, shivering so violently that one of the knights hastily fetched a blanket and draped it around his trembling shoulders.\n\n\"My lord king, save us!\" he gasped. \"You are our only hope!\"\n\nRichard's hand closed on the priest's arm in a grip that would leave bruises. \"Some are still alive? Tell me\u2014and quickly!\"\n\n\"You'd have been proud of them, sire, for they fought valiantly. For three days, we held them off. Even when part of the wall fell by the Jerusalem Gate, we built a bonfire in the gap to keep them out. But yesterday their sappers and trebuchets brought down a large section of the wall. We retreated into the castle and agreed to surrender today if no help had come by then. After your galleys were spotted this morning, Saladin said we must leave the citadel straightaway and some of the men agreed, for they did not think there were enough ships to make a landing. When you stayed offshore, the patriarch and castellan went to see Saladin, thinking all hope was lost. But then I realized why you'd not tried to land\u2014you did not know the castle was still held by the garrison! So I... I committed myself to the Almighty's Keeping and jumped from the wall,\" he concluded, sounding astonished by his own courage.\n\n\"You are a brave man. God will reward you for what you did today and so will I.\" Richard had knelt to hear the priest's story. As he rose to his feet, his eyes swept the deck, moving from one face to another. \"I cannot promise victory,\" he said. \"But I will either prevail or die in the attempt. Eternal shame to any man who balks, for glory or martyrdom awaits us. God's Will be done.\" He gestured then to his trumpeter. The man at once blew the signal to advance, and as it echoed out across the water, the decks of the galleys erupted into frantic activity. Forgotten now, the priest huddled in his blanket and began to pray.\n\nRichard's royal galley was as conspicuous as he could make it, painted a red hue brighter than blood; the canopy tent was crimson, too. Even the surcote Richard wore over his hauberk was a deep scarlet. Just as no one could ever overlook his presence on the battlefield, the Sea-Cleaver would draw all eyes, proclaiming that the English king was aboard. It led the way toward the shore and soon had the attention of the men on the beach. They did not seem alarmed; their faces reflected amazement and disbelief that the Franks would dare attempt a landing. There was something oddly lethargic about their reaction, but Richard did not have the time to puzzle over it, for the ship had reached the shallows.\n\nWhen he judged it safe, he leaped over the side into the sea. Water rose to his hips. Paying his knights the ultimate compliment\u2014never once glancing back to be sure they were following\u2014he began to wade toward the shore, a crossbow in one hand, his drawn sword in the other. As he emerged from the water, a man ran forward, shouting in a language he did not know; he thought it might be Kurdish. Richard was not fully armed, for there'd been no time to put on his mail chausses; this made his bare legs vulnerable to attack. He had been taught to watch his adversary's eyes and he caught that quick downward glance as the Saracen soldier came within striking range. He was ready, therefore, when the man lunged, pivoting and then slashing at that outstretched arm. There was a scream, blood spurted over them both, and he turned to face his next foe. There was none. Men were standing as if rooted, staring at him, but none moved to the attack.\n\nFor the first time, he looked back, saw his knights and crossbowmen struggling ashore. Pierre de Pr\u00e9aux was just a few feet away. Panting heavily, he had no breath for speaking and gestured with his sword. Richard spun around to see a horse and rider bearing down upon him. He'd dropped the crossbow when he'd confronted the Kurdish soldier and he quickly snatched it up. It was already loaded; he had only to aim and fire. The bolt hit the other man in the throat and he tumbled from the saddle. Richard made a grab for the reins, but the rider's foot had caught in the stirrup, and as his body slammed into the horse's legs, the animal panicked and bolted.\n\nRichard swore, for they had no horses with them. By now several knights had reached his side, offering lavish praise for that remarkable shot, laughing when Richard admitted he'd been aiming for the man's chest. They were all a bit giddy, most not having expected to get this far, thinking they'd be cut down while they were still in the water. Some of the Saracens had begun to shoot at them, but their arrows were embedding themselves in the armor of the knights, doing no real damage. Richard's Genoese and Pisan arbalesters, just now coming ashore, were much more effective. Taking turns, one man shooting while another loaded, they unleashed a barrage of bolts that soon had their foes in retreat. Richard still marveled at the half-hearted resistance they'd encountered so far, but he wasted no time taking advantage of it. Now that they'd established a beachhead, they needed to hold it, and he gave orders to scavenge driftwood, planks, barrels, wood from the half-buried hulks of wrecked galleys, whatever they could use to erect a barricade.\n\nLeaving his crossbowmen and men-at-arms to put up a makeshift shelter, Richard then led some of his knights toward the northeast wall, saying he knew a way into the town. None thought to question him; after their amazing success so far, they'd have believed him had he said they were going to fly over the walls. He had something more prosaic in mind\u2014a stairway cut into the rocks that led up to a postern gate. The steps were so narrow that only one man at a time could climb them, making him so vulnerable to defenders up on the wall that it was easy to see why no Saracen had attempted it. Not having to fear an aerial assault, Richard and his men quickly reached the postern gate. A few blows with a battle-axe shattered the wood and they found it gave entry into a house built against the town wall. It belonged to the Templars, Richard said, his statement soon confirmed by the discovery of a body propped up in bed, still clutching a sword, his brown mantle with the red cross signifying him to have been a brother of the order, not a knight. His splinted leg explained why he'd died in bed, and the bloodstains on the bedding and floor gave evidence of the fight he'd put up, for they were obviously not all his. The men paused, honoring his sacrifice with an instinctive moment of silence, and then followed Richard as he headed for the outer door.\n\nWhat struck them first was the stench of death. It was an odor they were all familiar with, but it seemed particularly foul in such sweltering summer heat. The street ahead of them was littered with the bodies of men and animals. By the Templars' door, a large dog was sprawled, lips still frozen in a snarl. A man was floating in a nearby horse trough; another lay curled up beside an overturned cart, his entrails spilling into a puddle of clotted dark blood. The air hummed with the droning of feasting insects, while two vultures circled overhead, waiting to resume their interrupted meal. And everywhere were the rotting carcasses of pigs. But there were no Saracens in sight, raising immediate suspicions in Richard's mind of ambush.\n\nThey advanced cautiously. All around them were the signs of a violent assault. Many of the houses had damaged roofs and a few of the trebuchet rocks had dug craters in the street. Doors had been smashed in by men in search of plunder, and arrows carpeted the ground. There were incongruous sights, too. A basket of eggs left on a bench. A woman's red hair ribbon snagged on a broken wheel. A costly mantle discarded, soaked in blood. A child's toy dropped in the dirt. Someone's pet parrot, shrieking from the wreckage of its owner's home. Evidence of disrupted lives, ill fortune, the human suffering foretold in Scriptures\u2014Man born of woman is of few days and full of trouble.\n\nAfter glancing around, Richard summoned Henry le Tyois, his standard-bearer, and told him to unfurl his banner where it would be visible to those in the castle. Henry scrambled up onto the wall, tossed down the sultan's eagle, and replaced it with the golden lion of the English king. One of the knights hastened over to snatch up the Saracen banner, thinking it would make a fine keepsake. Just then a young man emerged from a mercer's shop, heavily laden with bolts of expensive silks and linens. It was hard to say who was the more surprised, the knight or the looter. For a moment, they gaped at each other, and then the Saracen sensibly dropped his booty and fled.\n\n\"Christ Jesus,\" Richard said softly, suddenly understanding. No commander as astute as Saladin would have allowed his soldiers to continue looting the town in the midst of an enemy rescue mission. That plundering was still going on could have only one meaning\u2014the sultan had lost control of his men. \"Close ranks,\" he ordered, and they continued on.\n\nAs they turned into Jaffa's main street, they halted abruptly, staring at the red liquid filling the center gutter. There were gasps, for many of them knew the story of the capture of Jerusalem in God's Year 1099; the Christian army had slaughtered most of the Muslim and Jewish inhabitants of the Holy City, killing men, women, and children alike, boasting that their men had waded in blood up to their ankles. But after a closer look, Richard was able to reassure them. \"Not blood, wine,\" he said, pointing toward the pyramid of smashed kegs.\n\nThere were murmurings of relief, and one of Richard's Poitevin knights, Raoul de Maul\u00e9on, evoked edgy laughter by saying loudly, \"I can forgive a lot, but not the waste of so much good wine!\" The laughter stopped, though, when they saw what lay ahead. A group of Saracens waited for them, swords unsheathed, arrows nocked and bows drawn.\n\nRichard's men already had their own swords out. After a quick look to make sure they were ready, he gave the command and they charged forward. Most of them shouted \"Holy Sepulchre, aid us!\" though a few invoked \"St George!\" or the \"Dex aie!\" of the English Royal House. But it was Andr\u00e9's battle cry that swiveled Richard's head in his direction, for he was bellowing \"Malik Ric!\" at the top of his lungs. As their eyes met, he grinned. \"I thought it only fair to warn the Saracens that they're facing Lionheart,\" he explained, and Richard felt a surge of affection for this man who'd fought beside him for so many years, who was able to jest as they were about to engage the enemy.\n\nThey could hear the words \"Malik Ric\" rippling through the Saracen ranks. But they held fast and a furious m\u00eal\u00e9e ensued, the street seething with thrashing bodies and flashing blades. It was then that what Richard had hoped would happen, did. The castle gate opened and men raced out, attacking from the rear. Caught between the garrison and Richard's knights, those Saracens who could not flee were slain or surrendered, and it was soon over.\n\nOnce they realized they'd retaken the town, Richard's knights erupted in wild cheering, and Richard himself was mobbed by the grateful garrison. They were all flying high, drunk on the sweet nectar of salvation, having expected to die in defense of the castle or as they staggered out of the surf. Richard shared the euphoria. He did not have the luxury of giving in to it, though, and once some of the jubilation began to ebb, he drew Andr\u00e9 and the Earl of Leicester aside.\n\n\"This is all well and good,\" he said, \"but it is no victory to celebrate. We're trapped by Saladin's army in a town that is in ruins, with not enough men to hold off another assault.\"\n\n\"That is still better than bleeding to death on the beach,\" Andr\u00e9 pointed out, \"which seemed all too likely to me. If I may say so, my lord king, that was not one of your more rousing speeches to the troops. Follow me if you lust after martyrdom?\"\n\nLeicester's eyes widened. Despite his own impressive exploits in the Holy Land, he still felt like a green stripling when measured against the battlefield fame of the older men, and he was too much in awe of Richard to treat him with Andr\u00e9's easy familiarity.\n\n\"I'll try to do better next time,\" Richard said dryly. He smiled, yet he was not altogether joking when he added, \"Let's hope that Henri does not loiter along the way, for if he does not arrive with the rest of our army soon, I'll have no choice but to make that martyrdom speech again.\"\n\nAs his galley headed south, its sails billowing in the wind, Henri stared at the passing shoreline, but he was not really seeing the rocky sea cliffs or the distant hills. He was so tense that he felt as if even his eyelashes were clenched, and he'd not eaten for hours, not trusting his stomach. Their march had gone well\u2014until they'd reached Caesarea on Saturday. There they'd learned that a large Saracen force blocked the road ahead, commanded by Salah al-D\u012bn's new ally, the son of the Assassin chieftain, Rash\u012bd al-D\u012bn Sin\u0101n. After much heated discussion, it was decided that they dared not advance farther, for the loss of their army would be more calamitous to the kingdom than the loss of Jaffa. It was a painful lesson for Henri in the harsh realities of life in Outremer and the need to defer to the opinions of more experienced men, in this case the poulain lords and the Grand Masters of the Hospitallers and Templars. He understood their caution; the disaster at H\u0323at\u0323t\u0323\u012bn had left them all with scars. But he could never have waited at Caesarea, not without losing his mind, and after he discovered a galley in the harbor, he filled it with knights and sailed on Sunday morning for Jaffa.\n\nHe was dreading what they would find, and by the time they passed the ruins of Arsuf, he was pacing the deck like a man possessed, for they were less than ten miles now from Jaffa. Did the town still hold out? Had his uncle launched an assault, thinking he had reinforcements on the way? His mental musings were so dark that he felt a rush of gratitude when Morgan joined him, hoping the Welshman's voice could drown out his own thoughts. But Morgan's mood was none too sanguine, either, and he said morosely, \"Forget the threat of Hell's infernal flames. The true torture would condemn a man to wait and wait and wait\u2014for an eternity.\"\n\n\"You'll get no argument from me on that.\" The hollow sensation in Henri's stomach got worse, for the church of St Nicholas had come into view. Jaffa lay just ahead. Closing his eyes, Henri said a silent prayer\u2014for his uncle, for those trapped in the besieged city, for his new homeland.\n\nOne of the sailors had gone up into the rigging to keep watch and he suddenly let out a yell, standing precariously upon the mizzenmast. His words were incomprehensible to most of those on the deck below; only his fellow Genoese crewmen could comprehend the Ligurian dialect. But his excitement was so obvious that the knights crowded to the gunwale to join Henri's vigil. And then they all were laughing and hugging and shouting, for the red and gold banner flying over Jaffa was Richard's.\n\nMidst the clamor, Morgan had to shout, too, in order for Henri to hear him. \"I confess that I've always been somewhat skeptical of miracle claims. But by God, no more!\"\n\nHenri's smile was incandescent, brighter than all the gold in Montpelier. \"You do not have to believe in miracles, Morgan. Just believe in my uncle.\"\n\nAs soon as they beached their galley and waded ashore, Henri was surrounded by soldiers, eager to know when they could expect the rest of the army. He gave them a smile and a noncommittal \"soon\" and then asked for Richard. None seemed to know where he was, so when they said Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny was in the town, Henri headed for the shattered Jerusalem Gate, trailed by his knights.\n\nHe'd never seen a city that had come so close to dying and he was shaken by the extent of the destruction. Even worse than the sights were the smells; it was like stumbling into a charnel house. He was not surprised that the men loading bodies into carts had their noses and mouths muffled by scarves. He found Andr\u00e9 by the east wall, climbing over the rubble to inspect the damage done by Saracen sappers and trebuchets. At the sight of Henri, he scrambled down so hastily that he turned his ankle and treated nearby bystanders to a burst of colorful cursing. Grabbing the younger man by the arm, he pulled Henri into the closest structure, a ruined, ransacked shop that had once been an apothecary. Standing in the wreckage of mortars, pestles, and smashed bottles and jars, Henri gave him the bad news, not even trying to soften his words for there was no way to make it palatable. The light was not good, but Andr\u00e9 seemed to lose color.\n\n\"Well, at least Richard will have his speech ready,\" he muttered, kicking the broken glass and crockery aside to clear a path to a wooden bench. Sinking down upon it, he saw Henri's puzzled look and forced a smile. \"A private joke, lad.\" Unhooking a wineskin from his belt, he drank deeply. \"I suppose it is too much to hope that you brought wine with you? God curse them, the Saracens poured out every drop in the town.\" He drank again before tossing the wineskin to Henri, and then got reluctantly to his feet. \"We'd best get this over with. Let's go find Richard.\"\n\nHenri was not looking forward to that conversation and took a long swallow before handing the wineskin back. \"I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw Richard's banner. How in God's Name did he do it, Andr\u00e9?\"\n\n\"Damned if I know,\" Andr\u00e9 said with a crooked smile, \"and I was there. I used to joke that men would follow him into the depths of Hell. Yesterday they did.\"\n\nAs they stepped outside, the stench caused Henri to gag. He soon saw why; another cart was lumbering by, loaded with bodies. But as he glanced into the cart, he frowned. \"What in the world...?\"\n\n\"Oh, that.\" Andr\u00e9 brought up his aventail flap to cover his lower face until the cart had passed. \"The Saracens killed every single pig in the town, for their holy book says swine are unclean. They dragged most of them into a churchyard and then the whoresons threw the bodies of slain Franks in with them. It was meant to be a mortal insult, so our lads are returning the favor. We're burying our own, but we're dumping the pigs outside the walls with the corpses of any Saracens we can find.\"\n\nHenri watched the cart rumble down the street toward the Ascalon Gate. His father had liked to quote from Ecclesiastes, that there was a time for every purpose under the sun. A time for war and a time for peace. The Holy Land had seen more than its share of war. When would the time for peace come? \"How many died, Andr\u00e9?\"\n\n\"We do not know yet. There is always much bloodshed when a town is taken by storm. Those who were able to get into the castle, survived. Those who could not, died. Saladin did not seek a bloodbath, for he wanted the castle garrison to surrender ere Richard could come to their rescue, and he tried to rein his men in, without much success. But I'll let Richard tell you about that.\"\n\nHe was clambering over the rocks toward a gaping hole in the wall and Henri followed. \"Where is he?\" When Andr\u00e9 said he was in his command tent, Henri felt a chill of alarm. \"Is he ailing?\" he exclaimed, for it was very unlike Richard to be in his tent in the middle of the afternoon. He was greatly relieved when Andr\u00e9 shook his head, for he thought a man could sicken merely from breathing the fetid air that overhung Jaffa. It was, he thought with a shudder, like a plague town.\n\n\"He's well enough,\" Andr\u00e9 said and then glanced over his shoulder with a grin. \"He has guests.\" And he laughed outright at the baffled expression on Henri's face, refusing to explain as they made their way toward the camp set up outside the walls.\n\nAs they approached Richard's tent, Henri could hear animated voices coming from within. When they entered, he was confronted by a scene that was surreal, for his uncle was entertaining some of Saladin's emirs and Mamluks, seated cross-legged on cushions as they laughed and shared platters of figs, dates, pine nuts, and cheese. Richard sprang to his feet with a delighted cry. Welcoming Henri with an affectionate embrace, he took advantage of the hug to murmur a question pitched for his nephew's ear alone, and flinched at the whispered answer. But when he turned back to his Saracen guests, his smile was steady, utterly unrevealing.\n\n\"You know my sister's son, the Count of Champagne,\" he said genially, \"now the Lord of Jerusalem.\"\n\nHenri had met them all before, for these were men who'd remained on amicable terms with the English king even in the darkest days of the holy war between their two peoples. Ab\u016b-Bakr was the chamberlain of Saladin's brother al-'A\u0304dil; he and Richard had become quite friendly during the off-and-on peace talks. Aybak al-'Az\u012bz\u012b was a Mamluk who'd been escorting the caravan Richard had raided, but he apparently held no grudges. Sani'at al-D\u012bn was al-'A\u0304dil's scribe and Badr al-D\u012bn Dildirim al-Y\u0101r\u016bq\u012b was the lord of Tell B\u0101shir, an influential emir who stood high in the sultan's favor. They greeted Henri affably and, not for the first time, it struck him that his uncle got on better with his Saracen enemies than he did with his French allies.\n\n\"I was just telling them that Islam has no greater prince than their sultan,\" Richard explained to Henri, \"so I did not understand why he'd departed as soon as I arrived. I said that I'd not even been fully armed, that I was still wearing my sea boots.\"\n\n\"And how did they respond to that?\" Henri asked, for he knew not all appreciated the Angevin sense of humor. For certes, Philippe had not.\n\n\"Oh, they laughed,\" Richard said, and Henri marveled that they could be trading jests when yesterday they might have been trading sword thrusts. He found it heartening, for surely mutual respect was a good foundation for building a peace, and he very much wanted peace for Outremer, convinced that it was the only way to ensure the survival of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.\n\nThe conversation continued in this vein, half joking, half serious, Geoffrey, the Templar turcopole whom Richard used when Humphrey de Toron was unavailable, translating for both sides. Richard expressed concern when told that al-'A\u0304dil had been taken ill and wished Ab\u016b-Bakr a speedy recovery when he revealed that his limp was due to an injury he'd suffered during the siege. They in turn complimented Richard upon the prowess he'd displayed in retaking Jaffa and joked that they'd have spared a few kegs of wine for him had they only known he'd be arriving so soon. The mood in the tent was polite and playful and held so many undercurrents that Henri thought a man might drown in them if he made a misstep.\n\nBut when his Saracen guests made ready to depart, Richard became serious. Turning to Ab\u016b-Bakr, he said, \"Greet the sultan for me and tell him we must make peace. My lands over the sea are in peril and I know his people are suffering, too. This war is harming us both and it is up to us to put an end to it.\"\n\nAb\u016b-Bakr responded with equal gravity, promising that he would convey Richard's message to his sultan, his courtesy as polished as any courtier's, his dark eyes giving away nothing of his inner thoughts, and it occurred to Henri that this was like watching a chess game come to life, one played for the highest of stakes.\n\nAs soon as they had gone, Richard exhaled a deep breath, then seated himself on a coffer. Now that he was no longer playing the role of gracious host, Henri could see how weary he looked. \"So,\" he said, \"tell me what happened to your army.\" He listened without interrupting, and after Henri was done, he ducked his head for a moment, his face hidden. When he finally glanced up, it was with a faint smile. \"So you left them at Caesarea and hastened to Jaffa to die with us?\"\n\n\"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds quite mad,\" Henri acknowledged wryly. \"But I do not know how much longer I can endure the suspense. What happened here, Uncle?\"\n\nOver a light meal of bread, cheese, and fruit, Richard told him. \"They fought fiercely, like men with nothing left to lose. But after the wall collapsed on Friday, they sought to save themselves and their families. Saladin agreed to let them surrender the next day and set terms for their ransom. Soldiers were to be freed for an imprisoned Saracen soldier of equal rank. For the townspeople, he demanded the same sums that he'd negotiated with Balian d'Ibelin when Jerusalem yielded: ten gold bezants for a man, five for a woman, and three for a child. But by then his men were running wild in the town, and he told them to remain in the citadel for their own safety.\"\n\n\"Was the death toll very high?\"\n\nRichard nodded bleakly. Many of the dead were wounded or ailing knights and men-at-arms who'd remained behind in Jaffa to regain their health. Yet he knew his army would have done the same had their positions been reversed. War was war and soldiers were the same the world over, although killing came easier to some than others.\n\nHenri decided that he and Isabella would found a chantry to pray for the souls of those who'd died in the Jaffa siege. \"I cannot even imagine their joy when your sails appeared on the horizon,\" he said, reaching for a chunk of cheese, his first food of the day.\n\n\"I wish it had been that simple. Saladin got word Friday eve that I was on the way and, according to several prisoners, he tried to get his men to take the castle ere I arrived. They balked, though, some exhausted by the fighting and their wounds, others more interested in plundering the town, especially once they discovered that many of the caravan's goods had been brought there. When Saladin heard that my ships were approaching the next morning, he sent Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn\u2014you remember him from our first meeting with al-'A\u0304dil\u2014to coax the garrison out. By now they'd seen the ships, too. There were only three galleys at first, so forty-seven men and their families agreed to come out. The rest of the garrison decided to resist now that rescue might be nigh. But as the morning wore on and we stayed offshore, they despaired, and the patriarch and castellan went to entreat Saladin to restore the original terms of surrender.\"\n\nAnticipating Henri's question, Richard explained that they'd thought they were too late. \"But then a brave priest swam out to my ship. We landed on the beach, cleared it, and I led men up a Templar stairway into the lower town. Once the garrison saw my banner, they sallied forth and we soon had them on the run. With his army in such disarray, Saladin had no choice but to withdraw to Y\u0101z\u016br, taking the patriarch and castellan with him as prisoners. A pity about Bishop Ralph. But I was told the castellan had tried to flee at the start of the siege, had to be shamed into coming back and doing his duty, so he well deserves to end up in a Damascus dungeon.\"\n\nHenri started to ask how Richard had known about the stairs, but then remembered something Morgan had told him\u2014that when they took Messina, Richard had led them to a hidden postern gate he'd discovered during an earlier reconnaissance of the city. Much of his uncle's success as a battle commander was due to his meticulous preparations, his eye for the smallest detail. But that still did not explain how a small force of knights had been able to prevail against such overwhelming odds. \"You make it sound like just another day's work, Uncle. I wonder if Caesar or Roland or Alexander the Great were equally casual about their conquests.\"\n\nRichard laughed, always pleased to have his military skills lauded. \"I will gladly take full credit for our victory at Jaffa, especially if there are any French within earshot. But we benefited greatly from the low morale of Saladin's army. His men have been campaigning for years, are tired, homesick, and frustrated, for they've had few opportunities for booty since my arrival at Acre, and even soldiers fighting a holy war still expect to profit from it.\"\n\nLeaning over, Richard helped himself to a handful of pine nuts. \"The men we faced had no interest in fighting, Henri, were so busy ransacking the town that they did not even realize we'd gotten ashore. We were lucky in so many ways yesterday, but I do not know how long it will hold. Jaffa's defenses could now be overrun by a band of determined monks!\"\n\n\"Not if Malik Ric stands astride the battlements,\" Andr\u00e9 joked. Getting a skeptical look from Richard, he insisted, \"No false modesty, Cousin. You've earned such a reputation for lunatic courage and battlefield mayhem that no sensible man wants to take you on. Even I would not!\"\n\n\"I'd rather not wager our survival on that, Andr\u00e9. The truth is that we're in a deep hole and we can only pray Saladin's own woes will keep him busy as we try to dig ourselves out.\" Richard shifted uncomfortably; like all of his men, he was stiff and sore, his body bruised and battered from yesterday's struggles. Catching the troubled expression on his nephew's face, he acted quickly to reassure him. \"I'm nothing if not stubborn, Henri. I'll find a way to make this right\u2014for you, for me, for my men. I have no intention of failing or of dying in the Holy Land. I'd never give those French malcontents that satisfaction!\"\n\nAb\u016b-Bakr brought Richard's message back to Salah al-D\u012bn and the bargaining began. The sultan argued that since Jaffa was now laid waste, Richard should have the lands only from Caesarea to Tyre. Richard countered with an imaginative proposal, explaining that the Frankish custom was for a lord to give land to a vassal, who then agreed to serve him in time of need; if he held Ascalon and Jaffa from the sultan, he would promise to return if requested and offer his military services, \"of which you know the value.\" Salah al-D\u012bn then offered to share the two towns, Jaffa for Richard and Ascalon for himself. Richard thanked him for agreeing to cede Jaffa, but insisted he must hold Ascalon, too, for he'd spent a king's ransom to rebuild it. Moreover, if the sultan would agree to this, he promised that peace could be made in just six days and he would leave then for his own lands. But if not, he would have to remain through the winter and the war would go on. Salah al-D\u012bn responded that he could not agree to yield Ascalon. And if Richard was willing to be far from his family and homeland when he was a young man in the flower of his youth, at a time when he sought his pleasures, \"how much easier is it for me to spend a winter, a summer, then another winter in the midst of my own lands, surrounded by my sons and my family.\" He was an old man, he said, and he'd had his fill of worldly pleasures. He could outwait the English king, for he was serving God and what could be more important than that?\n\nWith Ascalon still blocking the road to peace, the talks sputtered to a halt. By now the sultan had learned that the Frank reinforcements were at Caesarea, with no plans to advance farther. When he was told that Richard was camped outside Jaffa with a small force of knights, he realized that he was being presented with a rare opportunity. If the English king were to be captured or killed, their war would be won."
            },
            {
                "title": "AUGUST 1192",
                "text": "[ Jaffa, Outremer ]\n\nHenri was normally a light sleeper. But for the past two days, they'd been trying to repair the town walls. Every physically fit man from Richard on down had taken part in the labor, and Henri had gone to his bed Tuesday night feeling as if every muscle in his weary body ached. So when the shouting began, he at first merged it into his dream and did not come fully awake until one of his knights rushed into his tent, crying out that they were under attack.\n\nHenri had never armed himself so quickly, not bothering with his mail chausses in his rush to put on his gambeson, hauberk, and helmet. Hastening outside, he came upon a chaotic scene. Men were dashing about, some halfdressed, a few not even wearing their braies, clad only in their padded aketons, all clutching their weapons and looking about frantically for the enemy. Catching sight of Morgan and Raoul de Maul\u00e9on, Henri ran toward them. As they fumbled to fasten their aventails and buckle their scabbards, they told him what little they knew. Morgan had heard that a Genoese crossbowman had ventured from camp to take a piss and saw the dawning sun reflecting off the helmets and shields of an approaching army. Raoul reported rumors that the Saracens had split into two bands, one intent upon capturing the king, the other meaning to retake Jaffa and deny them that refuge. They were joined now by the Pr\u00e9aux brothers, who said Saladin himself was leading his troops, so many thousands that they were surely doomed. Henri did not know whom to believe and he began to search for his uncle.\n\nHe finally found Richard surrounded by crossbowmen and men-at-arms. Like Henri, he was bare-legged, but that was the only evidence that he'd been torn rudely from sleep. He seemed to be an island of calm in the midst of a storming sea, and his composure alone drew men to him, straining to hear what he was saying.\n\n\"This is what I want each one of you to do. Brace yourself with your right knee on the ground, your left leg bent. Hold your shield in your left hand, your spear in your right hand. Drive the butt of the shaft into the ground so it is anchored at an angle with the spearhead aimed at the height of a horse's chest.\" Richard directed his attention then to his arbalesters, addressing himself to the Genoese and Pisan sergeants who could translate for their men. \"I want a crossbowman standing behind each two spearmen so he can be sheltered by their shields, and another of your men right behind him, both of them with their bows spanned. As soon as the first man shoots, he'll switch bows so he can keep shooting.\"\n\nRichard would not normally have spelled out his orders in such detail, but he knew men's wits could be clouded by fear, and their only hope of survival depended upon them understanding exactly what was expected of them. That seemed to be the case; they were exchanging glances and nodding, some even smiling as they grasped what he had in mind. He was turning to summon his knights when a quavering voice from the ranks of the spearmen cried out, \"Will... will this truly work, my lord?\"\n\nGlancing back impatiently, Richard saw that the speaker was very young, so pale that his freckles stood out like scars, round blue eyes filled with entreaty and barely controlled panic. \"Of course it will work, lad,\" he said heartily, as if surprised the question could even be raised. \"Horses have eyes and brains, do they not? You think they'll want to impale themselves on your spear? If you were a horse, would you?\" Clapping the youngster on the back with a wink and a grin, he was relieved when the boy mustered up a weak smile of his own, for nothing was as contagious as fear.\n\nAs he swung away from the arbalesters and spearmen, he was thankful to see Andr\u00e9, Leicester, and Henri standing a few feet away, for there was no time to search for them; every passing moment brought Saladin's army closer to their camp. \"You heard, then? I want the knights to array themselves like the spearmen and those who are mounted to anchor our line near St Nicholas Church\u2014\" They were staring at him so oddly that he paused. \"What?\"\n\n\"A barricade of bodies, bristling with spears. That is bloody brilliant.\" Andr\u00e9 was looking at Richard as if seeing a stranger. \"How did you ever come up with it?\"\n\n\"I did not. It is a Saracen defense tactic.\" Richard smiled grimly. \"I am not too proud to learn from an enemy.\" Beckoning them to step in, he lowered his voice. \"We have fifty-four knights, but only eleven horses. The ones taken from Saracens are battle-worthy, but the others are palfreys, cart horses, and nags. Still, better than nothing. I want them to go to the best riders. You three, of course, then Hugh de Neville, Guillaume d'Etang, Raoul de Maul\u00e9on, Gerard de Furnival, Roger de Sathy...\"\n\nHe reeled off the names without hesitation and Henri marveled at his powers of concentration; his own thoughts were darting hither and yon like swallows at dusk. Richard was mounted now, gesturing and shouting as he sought to rally his troops, and Henri hastened to mount his own horse, adding his voice to his uncle's even as his eyes kept straying toward the horizon. The dawn sky was scattered with clouds; they'd absorbed the vibrant hues of sunrise, several as red as Richard's galley, Sea-Cleaver, a few reflecting the deep lilac that was Isabella's favorite color, and he could not help wondering if he'd be alive to see the sunset.\n\nTheir shields and spears firmly rooted in the dry Outremer dirt, their backs protected by the sand cliffs leading down to the sea, the men turned toward their king, astride a restive black stallion. With all eyes upon him, Richard tore his own gaze from the dust clouds being kicked up to the east; time was running out. Raising his hand for quiet, he began to speak. \"I know you are fearful. But we are not defeated. If we hold fast, we can prevail over our foes. Yet to do that, every man must do his part. If even one of you gives in to your fear and tries to flee, you doom us all. Rather than let that happen, I will personally kill anyone who seeks to run.\"\n\nHe paused to let his warning sink in. \"We are all going to die, but in God's Time, not Saladin's. For most people, their deaths have no meaning. If we die this day, we die for the Lord Christ and the Holy Sepulchre. Can there be a greater glory than that?\" Again he paused, his gaze moving intently from man to man. \"When we took the cross, we pledged our lives. In return, we were promised remission of our earthly transgressions. It does not matter how dark your sins are\u2014and I'd wager some of them are very dark indeed.\" As he'd hoped, that bit of gallows humor elicited some tight smiles. \"So our salvation is assured. But our defeat is not. If we hold firm, they will not be able to penetrate our defenses. You are brave men and I am proud to fight alongside you. I know you can do this. You need only have faith\u2014in God, in your own courage, and in me.\"\n\nIn the past, when he'd sought to embolden his men before combat, they'd often responded with raucous cheers, their blood already surging with the apprehensive excitement of battle-seasoned soldiers. This exhortation was met with a subdued silence, but he was encouraged by what he saw on their faces\u2014they looked resolute. Still fearful, yet eager to clutch at hope, and desperate. That was good, for he knew desperate men would fight like fiends. \"Holy Sepulchre, aid us!\" he shouted and they began to shout it, too, the war cry of the third crusade echoing on the humid August air like a defiant, despairing prayer.\n\nRichard had warned the men to take their waterskins, saying they'd have need of them as the day wore on. Morgan unhooked his and took a sip, just enough to wet his dry mouth. They could see the enemy in the distance, their approach heralded by so much dust that it seemed as if a vast army was swooping down upon them. An unnatural silence had settled over their ranks, each man alone with his own thoughts. All around Morgan, knights were getting into position, securing their shields and lances. He was sure that they felt as he did, wishing they were on horseback. He glanced toward the mounted knights, his gaze lingering upon Henri as he silently repeated the latter's words. You do not have to believe in miracles, Morgan. Just believe in my uncle. God knows, he wanted to. But Henri had told him they only had fifty-four knights, four hundred crossbowmen, and two thousand men-at-arms. By any calculation, they were greatly outnumbered. How could they hope to hold out against such odds?\n\nAs he looked around, he wondered how many of these men were doomed. He very much doubted that Richard would be taken alive; the only way to overcome him would be to kill him. But Henri was likely to be captured, for he was too valuable a hostage to be slain. On impulse, Morgan called out \"My lord count!\" and moved toward the other man. \"I've a favor to ask,\" he said as Henri turned in the saddle. \"If I die today, will you tell the Lady Mariam that my last thoughts were of her?\" He'd had enough combat experience to know that would not be true; a man would be thinking only of how to save himself. And Mariam was shrewd enough to know that. But the message might still be of some comfort to her. \"You know how women are,\" he said with a self-conscious smile. \"They are sentimental creatures and set a store by such things.\"\n\n\"They do, indeed.\" Henri nodded in agreement, striving to match Morgan's light tone. \"I will convey the message should it come to that. And I'd have you convey the same message to my wife should the need arise.\" They chuckled, affectionately indulgent of the foibles of their ladies, but neither man met the other's eyes, shuttering the windows to the soul. And then Morgan hastened back to his fellow knights.\n\nThe waiting was over. They could see the golden banners of Saladin, could hear the ominous drumbeats that reminded them of their wretched march to Arsuf nigh on a year ago. The Saracens halted as they realized they'd lost the element of surprise, but they wasted no time in getting into battle formation. The crusaders blinked back the sweat trickling down into their eyes, took whiteknuckled grips upon their weapons, and sought reassurance in their king's undaunted demeanor. \"Hold fast!\" he urged, sounding coolly confident. \"We can do this!\"\n\nThe Saracen drums had picked up their tempo, and then, with wild yells and the blare of trumpets, they charged. Morgan was accustomed to fighting on horseback; he discovered now that the ground beneath his feet actually vibrated with the thudding of thousands of hooves. The enemy bowmen were shooting arrows, displaying their remarkable proficiency at a skill the Franks had never mastered. But most of the arrows bounced off their shields. Richard waited until his arbalesters were squirming with impatience, their fingers twitching toward the triggers. When he gave the command, the air hummed as the bolts were loosed. Horses shrieked and stumbled; men were slammed back against their saddle cantles, crying out in pain. Still they came on and the crusaders braced for the impact, continuing to kneel behind their shields as horses and riders thundered down upon them, even though their every instinct was to run.\n\nBut at the very last moment, the Saracens veered off. Not a single man tried to breach that barbed wall. They swerved aside, racing their horses down the line of spears and shields, seeking in vain for a weak link in the defensive chain, and then they were in retreat, with the crossbowmen's bolts continuing to find targets until they were out of range.\n\nThere was a stunned silence, broken by a burst of triumphant laughter. \"Did I not tell you how it would be?\" Richard exclaimed. \"We need only hold fast, lads, and victory will be ours!\"\n\nMen began to breathe again, to measure their lives in more than minutes. They thanked God and laughed and looked at Richard with awestruck eyes. He let them savor the moment and then reminded them that it was not over yet. \"We must not let down our guard. They'll be back.\"\n\nRichard was right; a second charge soon followed. It was no more successful than the first, the men and horses either unable or unwilling to brave that menacing barricade. A third try to dislodge the crusaders failed, too, and even at a distance they could see the mounting frustration and fury of the Saracen commanders. The marksmanship of their arbalesters was taking a high toll; the field was strewn with the bodies of wounded or dying men and stricken horses. Their crossbowmen had none of the knights' affection for horses and gleefully targeted them, for a dead one meant an injured or stranded rider.\n\nTheir own losses so far had been very light, men hit by the enemy's showershooting tactics, which rained arrows down upon them but did not do serious damage because of their shields and armor. The temperature had soared as the sun climbed in the sky and their hair became matted and sodden underneath their helmets, their bodies drenched in sweat, their voices hoarse from breathing in so much dust. Steaming piles of manure from the knights' mounts fouled the air, mingling with the smell of urine, for men had to relieve themselves where they were. They were all thirsty, rationing their water at Richard's insistence, constantly slapping away buzzing insects and shifting to ease their cramped muscles. But none complained, for they were still alive.\n\nAround noon, the Saracens tried another stratagem. During a lull in the fighting, Richard got an urgent message from the castle garrison. The enemy had gotten into the town, they reported, and people had panicked and were fleeing to the ships. Leaving Henri and Leicester in command, Richard took Andr\u00e9, a few knights, and some crossbowmen, and hurried off to deal with this new crisis. With him gone, his men suddenly felt vulnerable again, but no attacks were launched; as far as they could tell, the Saracen forces seemed to be in disarray.\n\nTo no one's surprise, Richard was soon back, with three captured horses, a fresh supply of bolts for his arbalesters, and bloodstains on his surcote that were not his. The crossbowmen who'd accompanied him were happy to boast about it to their comrades, saying the Turks had fled as soon as they saw him take on and defeat three Mamluks; he'd then hastened to the shore, where he convinced the fugitives to return to the town and dispatched most of the galley crews to help defend Jaffa, leaving only five men to watch over each ship. And on the seventh day, he rested, they chortled, for their brief respite from the claustrophobic confines of their cordon had greatly improved their morale.\n\nThe Saracens were taking longer and longer to muster their men for another assault, and when it did come, it lacked the energy or intensity of the first charges. It was becoming apparent to the crusaders that the enemy was growing discouraged, upset by their lack of success against a much smaller force, and fatigued by their exertions under a hot sun. This was what Richard had been waiting for, and he called his mounted knights to him.\n\n\"They've worn themselves out,\" he said. \"Look how lathered their horses are. They are being prodded on by their commanders, but they have no more heart for it. It takes a lot out of a man to watch his friends die, and all for naught. So... now it is our turn.\"\n\nDespite the audacity of what he was proposing\u2014their small band of knights against Saladin's army\u2014his men did not even blink, for they'd known that sooner or later, their king would take the offensive. And any doubts were easy to drown in the rising tide of enthusiasm; after having to remain passive for nigh on nine hours, they were eager to hit back. Once they were lined up, stirrup to stirrup, lances couched, Richard signaled to his spearmen, who hastily cleared an open space, and under cover of heavy crossbow fire, the knights charged.\n\nThey caught their foes by surprise, never expecting that they'd dare to go on the attack. They hit the Saracen lines with such force that they broke through, scattering men like leaves on the wind, and actually penetrating as far as the Turkish rear guard. To those left behind, it was an odd experience, war transformed into a spectator sport. Accustomed to being in the midst of the fighting, they'd been relegated to the status of bystanders and that did not come easily to them. But they were under orders to hold the line, and so they could only watch from a distance and pray that their king had not overreached himself.\n\nRichard was easy to pick out, identified by his crimson surcote, his loyal standard-bearer, and the way so many of his adversaries would sheer off rather than cross swords with him. At one point, he disappeared from view and his soldiers were faced with an impossible choice: rushing to his aid or obeying his command to maintain their formation. His discipline held and they waited anxiously until he eventually fought his way free. By now, they were cheering like men watching a tournament m\u00eal\u00e9e, and when they saw the Earl of Leicester's horse stumble and throw him, they began to shout warnings as if they could be heard. Richard noticed Leicester's plight, though, and rode to his rescue, holding their foes off long enough for the earl to remount. Again and again he recklessly charged into the Turkish lines, yet somehow he always emerged unscathed. When Raoul de Maul\u00e9on was surrounded and captured, Richard was the one who saved him. When the Saracens sought to rally around one of their emirs, it was Richard who spurred to meet him. And after Richard struck with such ferocity that his sword decapitated the other man, he soon found himself alone on the field with his knights and the dead.\n\nOnce they realized the battle was over and they'd actually won, Richard's men went wild. Their jubilant celebration stopped abruptly, though, when they saw Richard galloping his stallion toward the enemy. As they watched, first in alarm and then in delighted disbelief, he rode the entire length of the Saracen line and none dared to accept his challenge.\n\nAll around Henri, men had slumped to the ground. Soon they would tend to the wounded, put any suffering horses out of their misery, search the bodies of the slain Saracens for valuables, and eat and drink their fill while cursing their enemy anew for smashing all of those wine kegs. But for now, they wanted only to rest their weary bodies and to give thanks to their God and their king, for this was a victory even more miraculous than their successful landing upon Jaffa's beach four days ago.\n\nHenri was willing to defer the duties of command, too, and just exult in their deliverance. He and Morgan and several other knights were seated on the trampled grass, sharing waterskins and trying to motivate themselves to move. Every now and then someone would mention the battle, marveling at Richard's bravura performance and their own survival. They laughed loudly when Henri speculated how the French would react once they heard that the English king had saved Jaffa without their help. They did not stir, though, until Richard and Andr\u00e9 rode up.\n\nSliding from the saddle, Richard took a step, staggered, and sank to the ground. When Henri offered him a waterskin, he drank as if he could never quench his thirst, then unfastened his helmet and poured the rest of the water over his head. His face was etched with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot, and his hauberk was bristling with arrows, so many that Andr\u00e9 joked he looked like a human hedgehog. He grimaced, for he'd not be able to remove his armor until they'd been extracted. \"They are going to have to bring my tent to me,\" he confessed, \"for I could not stir from this spot even if a dagger were put to my throat.\"\n\n\"I'm glad to hear that, Uncle,\" Henri said with a grin, \"for some of your feats today had us doubting that you are mere flesh-and-blood like the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am flesh-and-blood, Henri,\" Richard said with a tired smile, and then showed them the evidence. Knights sought to protect their hands by wearing mail mittens called \"mufflers,\" usually attached to their hauberks, with split leather palms so a man could slide his hand out when not fighting. As Richard did that now, they saw that the muffler had been of little use, for he'd wielded his sword so constantly that his hand was swollen, the skin cracked and blistered and bleeding from the force of his blows.\n\nHenri occasionally felt as if he'd inherited another man's life, for he had claimed Conrad's wife, Conrad's crown, even Conrad's child. He'd also acquired Conrad's espionage system and was delighted to discover that his spies were even better informed about Saladin's court than those who served his uncle. On this Wednesday, a week after their narrow escape, he'd learned some fascinating details about that thwarted attack and was looking forward to sharing them with Richard.\n\nAs he walked through their camp, he could not stifle memories of that day; they came upon him unexpectedly, like sudden flashes of lightning in a clear sky. He found himself remembering his fear, a visceral dread of death that he'd not experienced before, despite facing constant danger since his arrival in the Holy Land. It had taken him a while to understand that it was because of Isabella, that she was his hostage to fortune now and he would always fear for her future and that of their children as much as he feared for his own safety. He would never be able to emulate Richard's last gesture of defiance\u2014gallant, glorious, and quite mad.\n\nAfter a moment to reflect upon that, he began to laugh, realizing that he'd never have done it before his marriage, either. What man would? Only the Lionheart, whose Angevin empire now encompassed the realm of legend, too. Like all of the soldiers who'd watched Richard's prowess that afternoon, Henri had been bedazzled. Nothing was more admired, more valued in their world than bravery on the battlefield. War was a king's vocation, and at that his uncle excelled. But as he went in search of Richard on this August afternoon, Henri could not help thinking that even if a man did not fear Death, he still ought to accord it some small measure of respect.\n\nJust then he heard his name called and paused for Andr\u00e9 to catch up with him. \"Wait until you hear what I've learned, Cousin! We truly were in God's Keeping last week. Saladin meant to strike whilst we were still sleeping. But his Kurds began to quarrel with some of his Mamluks over who should go in on foot to seize the king and who should remain on horseback to make sure none of us could escape into Jaffa's castle. By the time they came to an agreement, dawn was nigh and that sharp-eyed Genoese with a full bladder caught sight of them.\" His amusement ebbing, Henri said somberly, \"Think how it would have turned out had they attacked in the middle of the night.\"\n\nAndr\u00e9, ever the pragmatist, merely shrugged. \"You might as well ask why Richard did not die when he was afflicted with Arnaldia back at Acre. Or what would have happened if Guilhem de Pr\u00e9aux had not learned a bit of Arabic. Just be glad, Henri, that Richard's luck has so far kept pace with his boldness.\"\n\nHenri thought that race was often too close for comfort. \"I have more to tell you,\" he said. \"As we suspected, Saladin himself was in command last week. He was outraged when his men were unable to break through our lines and kept urging them on, promising that they'd be well rewarded for their efforts. But when they were thwarted time after time, they began to balk. Finally, when he demanded that they charge again, only one of his sons was willing to obey. The others refused, and my spy says that the brother of al-Masht\u016bb even dared to remind Saladin that he'd sent in his Mamluks to try to stop the looting in Jaffa, saying he should send those Mamluks against us.\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 was laughing. \"You deny soldiers their booty and they get testy! We were lucky we took that caravan or our lads might have been ripe for mutiny, too.\"\n\n\"That is what my spy said,\" Henri agreed. \"Saladin's men were angry that he'd offered terms for the surrender of Jaffa, feeling cheated of their just due, for they'd not had an opportunity for plunder in many months. He said Saladin was so wroth that some feared he might order the crucifixions of those who'd dared to disobey him. But he realized that he'd lose face if his men continued to be repelled by'a handful of Franks,' and so he ordered a retreat.\" Pleased by Andr\u00e9's response to his revelation, he said eagerly, \"Let's go tell Richard. With luck, he'll not have heard it from his own spies yet!\"\n\nAs they approached Richard's tent, they stopped to admire two finely boned horses cropping grass nearby. After winning his improbable victory on August 5, Richard had opened peace talks again, and three days later Ab\u016b-Bakr had ridden into their camp with a letter from the ailing al-'A\u0304dil and these magnificent Arab stallions. They were a gift from the sultan's brother, Ab\u016b-Bakr explained, in recognition of the English king's great courage. Richard had been delighted and his knights envious, for Arabs were superior steeds. Henri had taken one out for a gallop and had been very impressed by the horse's smooth gait and cat-like agility. \"I tried to coax my uncle into sharing,\" he told Andr\u00e9, \"pointing out that he has Fauvel, after all, but he just laughed at me.\"\n\n\"That's like asking a man to give you his concubine because he has a beautiful wife.\" Andr\u00e9's grin faded as he caught sight of Jehan, one of Richard's squires. The youth was hovering by the entrance of the tent, so obviously worried that Andr\u00e9 quickened his pace.\n\nAs soon as he saw them, Jehan heaved a sigh of relief. \"The king is still abed. I know he slept poorly last night, for I heard him tossing and turning for hours. But this is so unlike him, as the sun has been up for hours\u2014\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 parted the tent flap and darted inside, with Henri right behind him. The same disquieting thought was in both their minds; a number of their men had sickened in the past week and they were convinced Jaffa had become as unhealthy as a cesspit because of all the noxious odors. One glance at the man in the bed confirmed that Richard had been stricken, too. His sheet was soaked in sweat, his chest glistening with a sheen of perspiration, and his face was deeply flushed. He struggled to sit up as they approached the bed, and they could see that his eyes were glazed, unnaturally bright. \"Jesu,\" he mumbled, his voice very husky, \"I've never felt so wretched....\"\n\n\"You're giving off enough heat to set the tent afire.\" Andr\u00e9 looked around for a washing basin, dipped a towel in the water, and put it on Richard's forehead. \"Is it the quartan fever again?\"\n\nRichard swallowed with an effort. \"Yes. The chills came in the night, then the fever....\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 explained tersely for Henri's benefit that Richard had been laid low by quartan fevers in the past, the last attack happening during their stopover at Rhodes. \"I'm not surprised you've taken ill. It is a wonder you're still amongst the living, given the way you push yourself. This is what we are going to do. We're sending a galley to Caesarea to fetch Master Besace. In the meantime, I'll find a Jaffa doctor to tend to you, and yes, you'll have to stay in bed\u2014even if I have to tie you to it, Cousin.\"\n\nHe braced himself then for the inevitable argument. When it did not come, when Richard merely nodded, Andr\u00e9 and Henri exchanged troubled looks. If Richard, a notoriously difficult patient, was suddenly cooperative and reasonable, that meant he was much sicker than they'd realized."
            },
            {
                "title": "AUGUST 1192",
                "text": "[ Jaffa, Outremer ]\n\nAs the distant walls of Jaffa came into view, Henri found himself tensing, just as he had three weeks ago, not knowing what he'd find. Then, he'd feared that the city had fallen; now he feared that his uncle had died during his brief trip to Caesarea, for it had soon become obvious that Richard was gravely ill, so ill that he'd dispatched Henri to convince the French to join them at Jaffa. Henri had done his best, employing all of his eloquence and powers of persuasion; he'd thought it was a hopeful sign that they'd ventured as far as Caesarea, and he could see that some of the French knights wanted to answer the summons. But the Bishop of Beauvais was now in command, Hugh of Burgundy having returned to Acre after falling ill, and Beauvais forbade them to join Richard at Jaffa. Few dared to defy him, for he wielded the French king's name like a club and they all knew he'd pour poison into Philippe's ear upon their return to France. So Henri was sailing back to Jaffa with just a handful of men, those who had the courage to value their crusading vows more than their king's favor. While he was not surprised that Guillaume des Barres was one of them, he was surprised that Jaufre of Perche was one, too, and as he glanced at the young count standing beside him at the gunwale, he wondered if Jaufre realized he'd made a dangerous enemy in the bishop.\n\n\"How bad is it?\" Jaufre asked, his eyes tracking the sleek forms of several dolphins keeping pace with their galley; every now and then there'd be a silvery splash as they leaped clear of the water. \"I'm guessing things must be dire indeed if the king was willing to swallow his pride and seek French aid again.\"\n\n\"We cannot lose Jaffa,\" Henri said resolutely. \"Some of the poulain lords arrived by galley in the past fortnight, but we are still greatly outmanned. We have less than three hundred knights, and Saladin's army is growing by the day. He has gotten reinforcements from Mosul and our spies say more are expected from Egypt. We've been trying to repair the town walls, but so many are sick. And they've all been shaken by the king's illness....\"\n\n\"Does Saladin know the king is ailing?\"\n\nJaufre's na\u00efve question earned him a wry smile from Henri. \"He probably knew it ere Richard did. The man has more spies than there are priests in Rome. Richard has been yearning for pears and plums, all he seems able to eat, so Saladin has been sending baskets of fruit and snow from Mount Hermon to ease his fever. If Beauvais and Burgundy knew that, they'd see it as proof that my uncle and the sultan are partners in a vast conspiracy to conquer Christendom for Islam.\"\n\n\"They do not care about proof,\" Jaufre said, with enough bitterness to show Henri that some of the French crusaders were very unhappy with their commanders. By now they were approaching the harbor and Henri felt a vast relief when he saw men waving and smiling at the sight of his blue, white, and gold banner, for there was none of the panic that he'd have seen on their faces if his uncle had died while he was at Caesarea.\n\nSome of the soldiers still camped in tents, convinced that the air of Jaffa was unhealthy. But Richard had been moved into the castle for greater safety; they feared the ailing king might have proven to be an irresistible target for his Saracen foes. As Henri was escorted into his uncle's chamber, he came to an abrupt halt, for the atmosphere was stifling. Despite the summer's heat, several coal braziers were smoldering, and one glance at the blanketed figure in the bed was enough to explain it. The cycle had begun again\u2014severe chills, to be followed by a high fever and sweating. Richard was shaking so badly that his teeth were chattering, but he put out a trembling hand to beckon Henri forward.\n\n\"No... luck?\" The voice did not sound like Richard's at all, slurred and indistinct.\n\n\"I'm so sorry, Uncle. I truly tried. But Beauvais ordered them in Philippe's name to remain in Caesarea. Whilst I doubt Hugh of Burgundy would have been any more reasonable, he'd gone back to Acre after taking sick.\" Hoping it might cheer Richard up, Henri embellished the truth, saying that he'd heard Burgundy had been \"puking his guts out\" and had made the trip to Acre \"clutching a chamber pot as if it were the Holy Grail.\"\n\nThe corner of Richard's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but he closed his eyes then and Henri took the hint. He knew his uncle did not like others to see him so sick, so helpless, and he thought that was one reason why Richard had forbidden him to let Berengaria and Joanna know of his illness. He'd said Jaffa was much too dangerous for them, and Henri could not dispute that. But as Richard's condition worsened, Henri feared that his uncle's wife and sister might be denied the chance to bid him a final farewell. After exchanging glances with Master Besace, who merely shrugged his shoulders, indicating Richard was in God's Hands, Henri made a quiet departure.\n\nThey'd gathered in a tent close to the Jerusalem Gate to hear Henri's report: the poulain lords Balian d'Ibelin, Hugues de Tiberias and his brother William; the Grand Masters Robert de Sabl\u00e9 and Garnier de Nablus; and the men closest to Richard\u2014Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny, the Earl of Leicester, and Hubert Walter, the Bishop of Salisbury. While they'd been expecting bad news, a gloomy silence still fell once Henri was done speaking.\n\n\"There are rumors that Saladin means to make another assault on Jaffa now that the English king is incapacitated,\" Garnier de Nablus said bleakly. \"Under the circumstances, it would be astonishing if he did not, yet if he does, God help us all.\"\n\n\"His men showed they had no stomach for fighting,\" Leicester pointed out, but without much conviction.\n\n\"They had no stomach for fighting Richard,\" Balian corrected. \"Since he's bedridden, they might recover some of their lost courage. Moreover, Saladin has fresh troops now, the reinforcements from Egypt.\" Balian paused, looking around at the circle of grim faces. \"We need to make peace\u2014for all our sakes. And there is only one way to do it. I'm guessing most of you are chess players, no? Well, any chess piece except the king can be sacrificed, and I think it is time to sacrifice one. We must give up Ascalon if we have any hope of winning this game.\"\n\nThe other poulains were nodding in vigorous agreement, but Richard's men looked dubious. Henri was the one to give voice to their misgivings, admitting that he was not sure Richard would ever agree.\n\n\"We cannot hold it without Richard,\" Balian said bluntly. \"So unless he plans to renounce his own domains and remain here to defend it, it makes no sense to let Ascalon wreck this last chance of peace.\" He paused again, this time looking directly at Henri and Andr\u00e9. \"You must convince your king. If he will not consent, the best we can hope for is that the war goes on. But I think it is much more likely that we'll all die in the ruins of Jaffa, unable to fend off another Saracen assault.\"\n\nRichard's chills had given way to the expected fever, and his doctors were doing all they could to bring his temperature down, coaxing him to sip wine laced with betony, bathing his burning skin with water cooled by the snow from Mount Hermon. Henri, Andr\u00e9, and Hubert Walter had gathered in a far corner of the chamber, watching the doctors' efforts as they continued a low-voiced debate about what to do. Andr\u00e9 thought it best to wait until Richard's fever broke, for he'd become delirious as it peaked earlier in the week. But Henri and the bishop feared that time was running out even as they argued, and they eventually prevailed.\n\nApproaching the bed once the doctors were done, they were relieved that Richard still seemed lucid, and they took turns trying to persuade him that Ascalon must be sacrificed. It was far more important to Saladin than it was to them; he'd never make peace as long as Franks controlled the route to Egypt. Without Richard, it could not be defended. If peace were not made soon, they risked another attack on Jaffa, risked being stranded in Outremer till the following spring, risked the survival of both kingdoms\u2014Jerusalem and England. Richard listened in silence and at last turned his head aside on the pillow, whispering, \"Do as you think best....\" Overjoyed, they thanked him profusely and hastened off to send word to the Saracens that Ascalon's fate was now open to negotiation.\n\nRichard was not left in peace for long; the doctors returned, insisting he must be bled, and he did not have the strength to object, wanting only for them all to go away and let him be. He dozed for a time, awoke with another throbbing headache. Feeling as if his body were on fire, he sought to throw off the sheet and discovered he had more visitors. The French king and his brother Johnny were standing by the bed, regarding him with smug smiles.\n\nWe thought you'd want to know what has been happening back home, Big Brother, although you'll not like it much. I am going to wed Alys, keeping her in the family, Johnny said with a grin. And I am thinking of taking Joanna as my queen now that you'll not be around to object, Philippe confided. But the weddings will have to wait until after we lay claim to Normandy, of course. And England will soon be mine, too, Johnny boasted, for none will dare to defy me once they hear you died in the Holy Land. Richard told them to go away; they just laughed at him. And then Johnny did go, but Philippe still leaned over the bed, whispering in his ear. Your little brother will be a lamb to the slaughter, Lionheart. How long do you think it will take me to strip Johnny of every last acre? I'll have Normandy, Anjou, Brittany, even your beloved Aquitaine in the time it takes for your body to rot in an Outremer grave. Your Angevin empire will soon be a French one and there is naught you can do to prevent it.\n\nRichard cried out and his doctors were there at once, stopping him as he attempted to get up, telling him he must stay in bed. Did they not see Philippe and Johnny? Did they not hear the laughter? He tried to tell them, but talking was too much of an effort, and he let them lay him back against the pillows. His head was pounding; so was his heart, sounding as loud in his ears as the Saracen war drums. Had they launched another attack? When he closed his eyes, he could see that dead Templar, propped up in bed, sword in hand. Where was his sword? He struggled to sit up, looking around wildly for it. But the chamber was filling with shadows and he could see nothing beyond the bed.\n\nIs this what you want, Richard? A familiar figure emerged from the darkness, holding out Joyeuse, the sword Maman had given him on his fifteenth birthday, when he'd been invested as Duke of Aquitaine; he'd named it after Charlemagne's fabled weapon, said to have flashed lightning in the heat of battle. He reached for it, but his brother pulled it away before his fingers could touch the enameled pommel. What good will a sword do you when you are as weak as a mewling kitten? Geoffrey sat on a nearby coffer, tossing the sword aside. You were so pleased when you heard I'd been trampled in that tournament. Very shortsighted of you, Richard. You'd have been better off with me as your heir, much better off.\n\nAs if you'd not have connived for my crown, too! You'd never have been satisfied with a duchy if a kingdom was in the offing.\n\nHe had no energy for speech, but he did not need it, for Geoffrey seemed to pluck his words from the air, saying with a sardonic smile, Yes, but I would have been willing to wait. Face it, Richard, you'll never make old bones. Other men lust after women. You lust after Death, always have. You've been chasing after her like a lovesick lad, and sooner or later she'll take pity and let you catch her. So I could afford to wait. But Johnny had to entangle himself in Philippe's web, the damned fool.\n\nYou entangled yourself in Philippe's web, too, Richard reminded him. If you had not been plotting with the French, you'd not have been at Lagny when that tournament was held.\n\nYou know why I turned to Philippe. I got tired of Papa treating us like his puppet princes, tired of him dangling that accursed crown before us like a hunter's lure. So did you, remember? You did me one better, too, doing public homage to Philippe for all your fiefs \"on this side of the sea\" whilst Papa looked on, dumbfounded. But you could safely make use of Philippe, for you knew you could outwit him and outfight him. So could I. Johnny cannot, as he'll soon learn to his cost. Ah well, you'll be dead by then, so mayhap it will not matter so much.\n\nChrist Jesus, Geoffrey, of course it matters! Furious, Richard thrashed about, trying to free himself from his sheets. If you've come only to mock me, go back to Hell where you belong!\n\nPurgatory, not Hell, Geoffrey said and laughed before fading back into the blackness. Richard called out to him, but he got no answer. He was alone.\n\nAfter confirming that there were only three hundred knights with Richard, Salah al-D\u012bn met with his council and it was agreed to attack Jaffa or, failing that, Ascalon. By August 27, he was at Ramla, making ready for the assault. But it was then that he got two messages that changed his plans. Ab\u016b-Bakr reported that Richard had asked al-'A\u0304dil to broker a peace, requesting to be indemnified for his expenses if he had to surrender Ascalon. Salah al-D\u012bn halted their march and instructed his brother, \"If they will give up Ascalon, conclude a treaty of peace.\" The next day the emir Badr al-D\u012bn Dildirim al-Y\u0101r\u016bq\u012b brought word that he'd been approached by the Bishop of Salisbury, who told him that Richard would be willing to yield Ascalon without compensation. Salah al-D\u012bn was uneasy about making peace, confiding in Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn that he feared their enemy would grow strong again now that they had a secure foothold along the coast. But he had no choice, he said, for his men were war-weary, homesick, and had shown at Jaffa that they were no longer dependable. After meeting again with his council on Sunday morning, August 30, the sultan sent an envoy to the English king with a draft of the peace treaty.\n\n\"No,\" Richard said, shaking his head stubbornly. \"I did not agree to yield Ascalon without compensation. I would never do that!\"\n\nThere was a shocked silence, the other men looking at one another in dismay. \"You did, Uncle.\" Henri approached the bed, picking up the document that Richard had crumpled and flung to the floor. \"Andr\u00e9 and the bishop and I... we came to you and explained why Ascalon had to be sacrificed\u2014\"\n\n\"No! I would not do that.\"\n\n\"Richard... it happened as Henri says. You do not remember... not any of it?\"\n\nRichard's eyes searched Andr\u00e9's face, then shifted to Hubert Walter. \"No... I agreed to this? You swear it is so?\" When all three of them assured him it was, he sank back against the pillows. It was very disturbing, even frightening, to think he'd made such an important decision and had no memory of it. When he glanced up again, he saw that the sultan's envoy was becoming agitated, asking Humphrey de Toron what had gone wrong. \"Humphrey... tell him that if I said it, I will honor my word. And tell him to say this to Saladin\u2014that I accept the terms and understand that if I receive any compensation for Ascalon, it will be because of his generosity and bounty.\"\n\nThe envoy was ushered out, obviously greatly relieved that there was to be no eleventh-hour surprise. By unspoken assent, the other men left, too; only Henri and Andr\u00e9 remained. \"This is my fault, Uncle,\" Henri said unhappily. \"Andr\u00e9 insisted that we ought not to ask you until your fever broke. But I feared to wait\u2014\"\n\n\"It is your kingdom, Henri. It was your decision to make as much as mine.\" Richard could not remember ever feeling so exhausted or so disheartened. \"I need to sleep now....\" He hoped it would come soon, stilling the questions he could not answer, the insidious voice asking what he'd truly accomplished here. So many deaths, and all for what?\n\nWhen Richard awoke, it was still light, so he could only have slept for an hour or so. One of his doctors was quickly hovering over the bed, asking if he would like some soup or fruit. He made himself say yes, for he knew he had to eat to regain his strength. He was frightened by his weakness; it was as if he'd become trapped in a stranger's body, not the one that had served him so well for nigh on thirty-five years. A quartan fever recurred every third day, so he ought to be feverfree today, but he was not. If he died here at Jaffa, what would become of his kingdom? What of Berenguela, left a young widow in a foreign land so far from home? Or Joanna? Had he lost the Almighty's Favor by failing to take Jerusalem? Ought he to have tried, even knowing how many men would die in the attempt? \"Give me a sign, O Lord,\" he whispered. \"Let me know that I was not wrong....\"\n\nHe tried to eat the food the doctors brought to him, but his stomach rebelled and he could swallow only a mouthful or two before he was fighting back nausea. He asked for music, for that had always been a source of comfort, but the harpist's melodies sounded melancholy and mournful, even though he'd requested something lively. He finally slept again, a shallow, uneasy sleep that gave him little rest, and awoke to find his nephew standing by the bed.\n\n\"I've been waiting for you to wake up,\" Henri said. \"I have news you'll want to hear.\"\n\nRichard doubted that, almost told Henri to come back on the morrow. But the younger man's eyes were shining; he did not look like the bearer of yet more bad tidings. \"What?\"\n\n\"I had a message tonight from Isabella. She says that Hugh of Burgundy died at Acre five days ago.\"\n\nRichard stared at him. \"I think,\" he said, \"that I've just gotten my sign.\" Henri did not know what that meant, but it did not matter; his uncle was smiling, the first real smile he'd seen on Richard's face since he'd been stricken with the quartan fever.\n\nOn September 1, salah al-D\u012bn's envoy, al-Zabad\u0101n\u012b, came to Jaffa with the final draft of the treaty, waiting in a tent outside the town until Richard was carried out to meet him on a litter. He was too ill to read it, but said, \"I have made peace. Here is my hand.\" A truce was to begin on the following day, to last three years and eight months. The terms were very similar to those discussed in the past, with the crusaders to hold the coastal areas from Jaffa to Tyre. The peace was to include the Prince of Antioch, the Count of Tripoli, and Rash\u012bd al-D\u012bn Sin\u0101n, leader of the Assassin sect. Ascalon was to be razed to the ground and to remain so for the duration of the truce. Richard's reliance upon the sultan's generosity was not misplaced; Salah al-D\u012bn compensated him for the money he'd expended at Ascalon by agreeing that the Franks and Saracens would share the revenues of Ramla and Lydda. Both sides would be able to move freely, to resume trade, and Christian pilgrims would be given access to Jerusalem. The two armies mingled and Bah\u0101' al-D\u012bn reported that \"It was a day of rejoicing. God alone knows the boundless joy of both peoples.\"\n\nRichard remained seriously ill, Bah\u0101'al-D\u012bn repeating a rumor that he'd died. On September 9, he sailed to Haifa and then on to Acre to convalesce. He sought to pay the French back by asking Salah al-D\u012bn to allow only those Christian knights who bore letters from him or Henri to visit Jerusalem. But the sultan wanted as many crusaders as possible to fulfill their holy vows, knowing they'd be less likely to return then, and he ignored Richard's request. Three pilgrimages were organized, one led by Andr\u00e9 de Chauvigny and another by the Bishop of Salisbury. The latter was accorded the honor of a personal audience with Salah al-D\u012bn, who told him that Richard had great courage but he was too reckless with his own life. While many of his soldiers and knights took advantage of the peace to worship at the Holy Sepulchre, Richard did not.\n\nAndr\u00e9 was holding court, regaling a large audience with his account of his pilgrimage to Jerusalem. \"It almost ended ere it began,\" he said, \"for the men we'd sent on ahead to get safe conducts from Saladin stopped at Toron des Chevaliers and fell asleep. The rest of our party assumed they'd reached Jerusalem and we passed them by as they slept. When we realized we were arriving without advance warning, we sent word hastily to al-'A\u0304dil and he dispatched an escort to protect us, rebuking us for our rashness.\" He'd charitably not mentioned the names of the errant envoys, but Pierre de Pr\u00e9aux, William des Roches, and Gerard de Furnival flushed uncomfortably, knowing many were aware they were the culprits. They were grateful when Berengaria distracted attention from them by asking Andr\u00e9 why they'd needed safe conducts, for she thought the Holy City would be open to all pilgrims.\n\n\"Well, we are more than pilgrims, my lady. We're the men who defeated Saladin's army at Acre, Arsuf, and Jaffa, and many of them still bear grudges. We were told some of them entreated the sultan to let them take vengeance for the deaths of their fathers, brothers, and sons. But he refused to allow it, giving al-'A\u0304dil the responsibility of making sure that Christians would be safe during their stay in the Holy City.\"\n\nAndr\u00e9 then told them of his visit to the most sacred site in Christendom, the Holy Sepulchre; and as he described the two-story chapel with Mount Calvary above and Golgotha below, Berengaria had to fight back tears. When Andr\u00e9 said that Saladin had allowed the Bishop of Salisbury to see the True Cross, she bit her lip, thinking that the sultan would surely have done as much for Richard and his queen. Andr\u00e9 and the other men had seen all the places so familiar to her from her readings of Scriptures: the rock upon which the body of the Lord Christ had lain, the Mount of Olives, the Church of Mount Sion where the Blessed Mary had died and was assumed into Heaven, the room where the Last Supper had taken place, the Valley of Jehosaphat, the Pool of Siloam, where the Saviour had restored a man's sight. Places she would never get to visit.\n\nShe bowed her head so none would notice her distress, but it was then that Andr\u00e9 leaned over and urged her husband to make the pilgrimage, too. \"There is still time, Cousin,\" he said, \"to change your mind.\" Richard merely smiled and shook his head, but for just a heartbeat, his defenses were down and his naked yearning showed so plainly on his face that Berengaria caught her breath. So he did want to see the Holy City! Why, then, would he not go?\n\nLying in bed beside Richard, Berengaria was still thinking of his earlier unguarded moment in the great hall. There were two explanations circulating about Richard's refusal to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem\u2014that he was still too sick to make the trip or that it was too dangerous. It was true that he was not fully recovered, although he tried to hide it as best he could. She saw how exhausted he was when he went to bed at night, how little he ate, how easily he tired during the day. They'd only begun sharing a bed again in the past few days and he'd not yet made love to her; she was content to cuddle, but his forbearance was further proof that he was still convalescing. She knew, though, that he'd never have let ill health keep him from traveling to the Holy City; like most soldiers, he was accustomed to fighting through pain. And the other rationale was no more plausible. It was ludicrous to think that the man who'd ridden out alone to challenge the entire Saracen line to combat would of a sudden be so concerned for his own safety. She'd reluctantly concluded that a pilgrimage to Jerusalem was simply not that important to him, and her resentment began to fester, for in denying himself that privilege, he was denying her, too. She was Richard's queen; how could she go without him?\n\nBut she had been given a glimpse into his heart earlier that evening, and she was now sure it was not lack of interest. \"Richard?\" When he turned toward her, she shifted so she could look into his eyes. \"I need to talk with you. It is important.\"\n\nHe propped himself up on his elbow. \"Why do women always want to have these talks when a man is half asleep?\" he grumbled, but she saw the smile hovering in the corner of his mouth. \"All right, little dove. You have my full attention.\"\n\n\"Why did you not go to Jerusalem?\"\n\nHe was quiet for so long that she was not sure he was going to answer. \"I did not deserve to go, Berenguela. I had not earned that right. When I took the cross, I pledged to free the Holy City from the Saracens, and in that, I failed.\"\n\nHer throat tightened, for beneath her tranquil surface, her emotions were surging at flood tide. Guilt that she'd so misjudged him. Pride that he would not accept from the infidels what he could not get through God's Grace. Frustration that he confided so little in her, that after sixteen months of wedlock, they were still strangers sharing a bed, that the only intimacy he seemed able to offer was carnal. Unspoken anger that he'd kept her away from Jaffa when he could have been dying. Fear that was with her every moment of every day, the dread that she would become a widow ere she could truly become a wife. She'd been telling herself for months that their life would be different once they returned to his domains, that their real marriage would begin then. But she'd been badly shaken to learn he'd been so desperately ill and had chosen to keep her in ignorance. It had raised doubts she was unwilling to confront, even to acknowledge.\n\n\"I think the Almighty will honor your sacrifice,\" she said softly, and he leaned over, brushing his lips against her cheek. But she lay awake long after he fell asleep, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes as she wept silently for Richard, for herself, and for the Holy City that neither of them would get to see.\n\nSeptember 29 was the day chosen for the departure of Richard's wife, sister, and most of the fleet, which Richard had placed under Andr\u00e9's command. Once they reached Sicily, the women would continue their journey overland to avoid the winter storms. Andr\u00e9 and Leicester would then sail on to Marseille, the same route Richard planned to take once he was able to leave Acre. Berengaria and Joanna had bidden farewell to Isabella at the palace, for her pregnancy was so far advanced that even the short trip to the harbor was beyond her. Escorted by Richard and Henri, they arrived at the wharfs to find a large crowd had assembled to see them off. The women were glad to be going home, although they were uneasy about the long sea voyage ahead of them, none more so than Joanna. She was putting up a brave front, but it was belied by her pallor and the brittle edge to her laughter. Richard was watching his sister with troubled eyes, and as soon as she moved away, he leaned over to murmur in Berengaria's ear. \"Irlanda is no sailor, suffers more grievously from seasickness than anyone I've ever known. I'm relying upon you to take care of her, little dove.\"\n\n\"I will do my best,\" she promised, tilting her head so she could look up into his face. She knew why he was not sailing with them; he'd explained that he had important debts still to settle. But she wished so very much that he was not remaining behind. Like his soldiers, she felt safer in his company, and she knew Joanna did, too. And it would be months before they'd be reunited, months in which she could do naught but worry about him. Their departure was dangerously close to the end of the sailing season; it would be even more dangerous for him if he delayed by another week or two.\n\nAnd he had more to fear than storms at sea. As a man who'd taken the cross and fought for Christ in the Holy Land, he was under the protection of the Church, but she feared that would matter little to his enemies... and he had so many. The French king. The Holy Roman Emperor. The Duke of Austria, said to still be nursing a grudge over his dishonored banner at Acre. The brother of Conrad of Montferrat, who'd been told that Richard was responsible for Conrad's death. The Count of Toulouse, an old foe who was conspiring with the French to do Richard harm. And the Bishop of Beauvais, who'd already sailed and would be slandering Richard with every breath he drew. Like the trail of slime that marked a snail's passing, Beauvais would be leaving venom in his wake as he moved from court to court, and she was not sure the truth could ever catch up to all those lies.\n\n\"I wish you were coming with us, Richard.\"\n\n\"I would if I could, Berenguela. But you'll be safe with Andr\u00e9 and Leicester, and Tancred will provide you with a large escort on your way to Rome.\" Richard knew she was shy of public displays of affection, but when he kissed her, she returned the embrace with unexpected ardor, hoping that last night God had finally heeded her prayers and let her conceive. If she could depart the Holy Land with his child in her womb, it would be proof of divine favor, proof that the Almighty was not wroth with Richard for his failure to take Jerusalem.\n\nBerengaria and Joanna were not the only ones to be worried that Richard was delaying his departure. Mariam was very unhappy about it, too, for Henri and Joanna had asked Morgan to wait and sail with Richard, both of them concerned that he was still suffering from the aftereffects of that near-fatal bout of quartan fever. Morgan was trying to coax her into a better humor, joking that it was for the best. \"If we sailed together, think how difficult it would be for me, cariad, having you close at hand and yet out of reach. I'd be like a man parched and half mad with thirst, chained to a keg of Saint Pour\u00e7ain wine and not being able to drink a drop of it.\"\n\nMariam was not mollified, but they'd already had this argument and she did not want their last words to be quarrelsome. Morgan squeezed her hand, and then turned as Joanna approached. \"Keep my brother out of trouble, Cousin Morgan,\" she said, with strained playfulness. He promised that he would, even though he thought that was a task beyond his capabilities. But he knew she was nervous that Richard would be traveling without Andr\u00e9, who was probably the only man able to rein in the king's more reckless impulses.\n\nThe lighters were waiting to ferry them out to their ships. But Joanna had been entrusted with a private message for Humphrey de Toron and she drew him aside to say that Isabella had heard he'd accepted Guy de Lusignan's invitation to settle in Cyprus and she wished him happiness in his new life. \"Thank you, Lady Joanna,\" he said, and she found herself thinking again that he was a remarkably handsome man, with one of the saddest smiles she'd ever seen.\n\nMost of the farewells had already been said. Andr\u00e9 and Richard joked as if they were not facing dangers as daunting as any they'd confronted in the Holy Land, and no one listening to their banter would ever have suspected that Richard might be sailing home to a lost kingdom, a realm in ruins. Henri kissed all the women with great gallantry and Joanna nearly wept, for it was unlikely she'd ever see him again. Richard hugged his sister so tightly that she thought he might have cracked a rib, kissed his wife, and promised they'd all be together to celebrate Christmas or, at the latest, Epiphany. \"If Philippe took four months to get home, I can damned well do it in three,\" he said with a smile, and lifted Berengaria into the lighter before she could ask if he truly meant that.\n\nThe barge rocked as it rode the waves out to their waiting ship, and Joanna started to look greensick. Berengaria reached over and squeezed her hand, all the while gazing back toward shore. The sky was free of clouds and the wind blew steadily from the southeast, a Jerusalem wind, surely a good omen. But she'd begun to tremble, chilled by a sudden sense of foreboding, the fear that this would be her last memory of Richard: standing on the Acre wharf next to Henri, smiling and waving farewell.\n\nAfter stopping at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross to offer prayers to St Michael, whose day it was, invoking his protection for their fleet, Richard and Henri returned to the palace in a somber mood. As soon as they dismounted in the courtyard, Balian d'Ibelin appeared in the doorway of the great hall. \"I was just about to send for you, Henri. Isabella's birth pangs have begun.\"\n\nHenri gasped and dashed up the steps, darting past Balian into the hall. Following more slowly, Richard stopped beside the poulain lord. \"I thought she was not due for another month?\"\n\nBalian shrugged. \"The midwives may have miscalculated. Or the baby may have decided to come early.\"\n\nRichard knew little of the birthing chamber, but Henri had told him that Balian had four children with his Greek wife. \"Are Isabella and the baby in danger?\"\n\n\"Early births pose more of a risk to the baby, but it is always dangerous,\" Balian said quietly, \"always. Maria had planned to be at Acre with Isabella when her confinement began, and I'd feel much better if she were here,\" he confessed. \"But wishing will not make it so. We'd best go inside, for Henri will have need of us. It is likely to be a very long day.\"\n\nMen were not permitted in the birthing chamber, but that did not keep Henri from making numerous trips abovestairs to plead for news from the midwives. Emma would come out, tell him cryptically that all was proceeding as it ought, disappear back inside, and Henri would return to the hall to pace and fret. Richard tried to occupy him with a chess game, but he was too distracted to concentrate for long. After he pushed away from the table and headed yet again for the stairs, Balian came over.\n\n\"The lad has the attention span of a sand flea right now. I was the same way when Maria was giving birth to our first. Fortunately, it does get easier. May I sit, my lord? I've something to say to you.\"\n\nRichard gestured to a chair, somewhat warily. Balian had given Henri his full support as soon as he and Isabella were wed, but he'd stayed aloof from the crusade while Conrad lived, and Richard remembered that all too well. \"I am listening.\"\n\n\"I thought you ought to know what the Bishop of Beauvais is saying about you.\" Richard's mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. \"I'm well aware of the lies he's been spreading\u2014that I am responsible for Conrad's death, that I sent Assassins to France to murder Philippe, that I am in league with Saladin and the Devil to betray Christendom to the Saracens. I'd not be surprised if he is claiming that I'm a secret Muslim, too.\"\n\n\"But do you know he is also accusing you of poisoning Hugh of Burgundy?\"\n\n\"Good God Almighty!\" Richard shook his head incredulously. \"It is a wonder they are not blaming me for the murder of Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral!\"\n\n\"Or the Great Flood or the expulsion from Eden,\" Balian suggested dryly, and they found that sharing a laugh dispelled some of the lingering tension between them. \"Above all, they are saying that you accomplished nothing, that your campaign was a failure because you did not recapture the Holy City. I daresay they'll find men to believe that. But not in Outremer. Ere your arrival, the Kingdom of Jerusalem consisted only of the city of Tyre and a siege camp at Acre. Because of your efforts, our kingdom now stretches along the coast from Tyre to Jaffa, we will have an opportunity to strengthen our defenses, Saladin no longer controls Ascalon, and Christian pilgrims can worship again at the Holy Sepulchre. That may not sound like much to lazy French burghers back in Paris, but it means a great deal to those who call Outremer home.\"\n\nHenri and Andr\u00e9 had been telling Richard this, too, but he discovered now that it meant more coming from a man who was not his friend.\n\nAs word spread that Isabella was in labor, poulain lords began to arrive at the palace and a palpable air of tension overhung the great hall. Henri was too focused upon his own unease to notice, but Richard did. He knew what they feared and were murmuring among themselves: What would happen to their kingdom if Isabella's child was stillborn and she did not survive? It was a realistic fear, for the birthing chamber could be as dangerous for a woman as the battlefield was for a man. And although Henri had wed their queen, he was not an anointed king, for he'd not yet been crowned. Isabella had not, either, but she had a bloodright to the throne; Henri did not.\n\nRichard found that their anxiety was contagious, and after a cursory supper that went largely uneaten, he slipped out of the hall. Twilight had yielded to night and the air was cool against his skin. The waning moon had not yet risen but the courtyard was bathed in starlight. He sat down upon a marble bench, frustrated by his lingering fatigue; when would he feel like himself again? Not wanting to think of Isabella's ongoing ordeal, nor of his fleet, now at the mercy of the unforgiving Greek Sea, he welcomed a diversion, the appearance of one of Jacques d'Avesnes's Flemish hounds. Joanna had taken her cirnecos with her; Jacques's big dogs had been spared the sea voyage when Isabella and Henri offered to adopt them. Richard fondled the hound's drooping ears, but the dog's presence was stirring hurtful memories of Jacques and all the men who'd died in Christ's Name, gallant ghosts hovering in the shadows, reminding him how many would not be coming home.\n\nHe raised his head at the sound of footsteps. Henri was coming toward him, holding a lantern. He did not need it, though, for his smile alone could have illuminated the entire courtyard. \"Isabella is resting,\" he said, \"after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl.\"\n\nRichard's relief momentarily rendered him speechless. \"I am so glad, Henri, so glad for you both!\"\n\n\"I wanted you to be the first to know, but as soon as the others in the hall saw my face, there was no need of words.\" Henri set the lantern down on the bench, but he was too wrought up to sit. \"We're going to name her Maria after both our mothers. I always thought newborn babies were red and wrinkled and bald. Yet Maria looks like a little flower, with a feathery cap of dark hair like Isabella's.\"\n\n\"Our time in the Holy Land has been very different from what we expected it to be. But surely the greatest surprise is that you've become a father,\" Richard said, smiling, and Henri laughed aloud.\n\n\"If any soothsayer had predicted that in Outremer, I'd wed a widowed, pregnant queen, I'd have thought him madder than a woodhound!\" Henri laughed again, before saying, \"I have a confession, Uncle. I'd been praying that Isabella would give birth to a daughter, not a son.\"\n\n\"You ought not to feel guilty about that, Henri, for it is only natural that you'd want to see a son of your own as king one day.\"\n\n\"I think I could have loved Conrad's son, for I'd be the only father he'd ever know. But what if I were wrong, if I came to resent him for taking precedence over my blood sons? It just seemed so much easier\u2014and safer\u2014if only she'd have a girl. Of course I did not let Isabella know I had these doubts.\" Henri perched on the end of the bench, still so energized that he seemed like a golden hawk about to take flight at any moment. \"But when the midwives finally let me in to see her, she confided that she'd been praying for a daughter, too!\"\n\nRichard decided that his cousin Isabella was either deeply in love with his nephew or a very clever young woman; either way, he thought their chances for a good marriage were excellent. \"As you say, lad, easier and safer. And I'll wager that by the time I come back to Outremer, you'll have a son of your own to show me.\"\n\n\"'Come back'? You mean that, Uncle?\"\n\n\"Of course I do.\" Richard was surprised by Henri's surprise. \"I did not fulfill my vow to retake Jerusalem. Nor did we make peace. We agreed to a truce that will last for only three years and eight months. Did you truly think I'd leave you on your own to fend off the Saracens when war resumes?\"\n\nHenri was overwhelmed. \"You have no idea how much that means to me! I thought that when you sailed for home, our farewell would be final. You believe Jerusalem could be taken?\" He tried to dampen down his excitement, then, for he owed his uncle honesty. \"But could you come back without putting your own realm in jeopardy?\"\n\n\"We could not take Jerusalem because the Saracens were united, as they had not been when it first fell to the Christians. Had we not faced Saladin, had we not been subverted at every turn by Burgundy and Beauvais, our chances for success would have improved dramatically. Saladin is a great prince, but as he himself pointed out to me, he is not a young one, and his brother is far more capable than any of his sons. By the time I return, his empire might well be torn asunder. As for my own empire, it will not be easy, but it can be safeguarded. I'll start by putting the fear of God into Johnny. Then I'll teach Philippe that there is a high price to be paid for treachery.\" Richard's face had hardened as he thought of his disloyal brother and the unscrupulous French king. But after a moment, he smiled at his nephew. \"With you as my ally instead of Conrad and without the French to hinder us, think what we can accomplish!\"\n\nPierre and Jean de Pr\u00e9aux had delayed their departure as long as they could, anguished by the prospect of having to leave Outremer with their brother still a Saracen prisoner. They'd even discussed remaining until the following spring, but they both had families of their own back in Normandy. They'd reluctantly decided to sail with Richard when he left, and that day was fast approaching. Richard had been busy settling all of his outstanding debts and arranging for a horse transport for Fauvel and his Arab stallions. He'd had a public crier proclaim that his creditors should present themselves at the palace and he'd made sure that payments were made to the garrison at Ascalon, to masons for work done on Jaffa's walls, to merchants for supplies provided to his army. After being told by Baldwin de Bethune that Richard expected to leave by week's end, the Pr\u00e9aux brothers paid their own debts and informed the innkeeper that they'd be vacating their chamber in two days. They were heading for the market to buy St Denys medallions, for they'd be sailing on his name day, when the summons came from the king.\n\nThey hastened to the palace, hope flickering. In the past Richard had twice managed to relay to them messages from their brother, and at Jaffa, he'd promised to ask al-'A\u0304dil to pass on a message to Guilhem. As painful as it was to leave without knowing his fate, it would be even worse if they had to depart without bidding him a word of farewell. Upon entering the great hall, they were told Richard was awaiting them in the solar and they hurried into the stairwell. To their surprise, Richard himself opened the door. Jean's view was partially blocked by his brother's shoulder. He thought he saw Henri standing behind Richard and he wondered why they had not thought to ask the count to get a message to Guilhem; he was known to have a good heart, after all, and he'd have the time that Richard did not. But it was then that his brother shocked him by pushing past Richard into the solar. Mortified by such a breach of protocol, Jean started to stammer an apology on Pierre's behalf. Richard just laughed and swung the door open wide, enabling Jean to see the man caught up in Pierre's bear hug. With a hoarse cry of disbelief, Jean lunged forward so he, too, could embrace Guilhem.\n\nWhat followed was bedlam, with all three brothers talking at once, laughing and weeping and pounding one another exuberantly on the back, while Richard and Henri watched, smiling. Guilhem was noticeably thinner; his once-round face now had angles and hollows. He looked older, too, to their searching eyes. But his humor had not changed, nor had his hearty, loud laugh. \"Who'd ever have thought,\" he joked, \"that your little brother would turn out to be worth a king's ransom!\"\n\n\"Actually an emir's ransom,\" Henri corrected with a grin, \"or ten emirs, to be precise. My uncle freed ten highborn Saracens to gain Guilhem's release.\"\n\nGuilhem's grateful brothers began to acclaim Richard for his generosity, marveling that he'd have given up such a vast sum for a Norman knight, one who'd merely been doing his duty to protect his king. For Richard, this had been a debt of honor, one that had to be repaid, no matter the cost, and he brushed aside their emotional praise, explaining that he'd said nothing in case the negotiations failed at the eleventh hour. He'd also wanted to surprise them, looking forward to their joy when Guilhem was restored to them. Their reunion was all he could have hoped for; never had he seen three men as happy as the Pr\u00e9aux brothers were on this October afternoon in the royal palace at Acre. But as he looked at their tearstained, blissful faces, he was taken aback by what he felt\u2014a sharp prick of envy.\n\nAfter they eventually left, so euphoric they practically seemed to float down the stairs, Richard and Henri shared gratified smiles. Richard then surprised his nephew by asking him if he was close to his younger brother. \"I'd say so,\" Henri confirmed. \"I am much older than Thibault, of course; he was born when I was thirteen. So that gave me the opportunity to play the wise elder brother, which I enjoyed enormously,\" he said, with a reminiscent chuckle. \"And when our father died two years later, I suppose I became even more protective of Thibault. He's a good lad, wanted so badly to come with me to the Holy Land....\" A shadow crossed his face, but his homesickness was forgotten when Richard began to speak of his own brothers, for he'd never heard his uncle mention them before.\n\n\"Hal was no 'wise elder brother,' for certes. He could not find water if he fell into a river. Even worse, he was as malleable as wax, swayed by the slightest breeze. Had he ever become king, it would have been catastrophic for all but the French king. Now my brother, Geoffrey... he was too clever by half and, as far back as I can remember, we were at odds. Mayhap it was because we were so close in age\u2014just a year between us\u2014but we were always rivals, never friends.\"\n\nRichard moved to the trestle table, reached for a wine flagon, and then changed his mind. \"With Johnny, it was different. He was nine years younger, and I did not see him much as we grew up, for he spent several years being schooled at Fontevrault Abbey. My parents may have been considering a career in the Church for him; if so, he'd have been spectacularly ill-suited for it. The one time our father entrusted him with any authority\u2014sending him to govern Ireland when he was eighteen\u2014he made an utter botch of it. And when he was seventeen, he joined Geoffrey in invading Aquitaine. I blamed our father for that, though. He'd told Johnny that Aquitaine was his if he could take it away from me. When Geoffrey and Johnny then tried, he hastily recalled them, insisting he'd never meant to be taken seriously. I've sometimes wondered if he said that, too, to the knights who murdered Thomas Becket after he'd raged about being shamefully mocked by'a lowborn clerk.'\"\n\nHenri was fascinated, for his uncle's turbulent family feuding had always been off-limits, and since he was kin to Richard on his mother's side, he didn't have personal knowledge of the Angevins' internecine warfare. \"But you were very generous to Johnny once you became king,\" he interjected, unable to resist adding, \"more than he deserved,\" for he'd always viewed John with a jaundiced eye. \"You gave him a great heiress and lands worth four thousand pounds a year!\"\n\n\"And my mother had misgivings about that,\" Richard admitted. \"But our father had played the same damnable games with Johnny that he had with the rest of us, so I felt he deserved a chance to show he could be trusted.\"\n\n\"And he showed you.\" Henri was not usually so harshly judgmental, but he thought John's sin\u2014betraying the man who was his brother, his king, and a crusader in God's Army\u2014was beyond forgiving.\n\nRichard nodded grimly. \"Yes, that he did.\"\n\nOn Friday, October 9, richard was ready to go home. The vast army that he'd led to Sicily, Cyprus, and the Holy Land had been decimated by illness and war. Galleys would have been swamped in heavy winter seas, so he'd given the ones that were still seaworthy to Henri, and planned to sail in a large buss. It could hold hundreds of men, but as Henri looked at that lone ship, it seemed like a great comedown from Richard's spectacular arrival at Acre sixteen months ago, and he thought his uncle would be dangerously vulnerable to the violent storms that roiled the Greek Sea at this time of year\u2014and to a host of enemies, some earned, some not, all eager to see him brought low.\n\nHe sought to hide his concern, forcing himself to smile as Richard kissed Isabella and then gave him a quick, casual embrace, as if he were merely sailing down the coast to Jaffa. Henri's studied nonchalance did not deceive his wife. Isabella had been dreading this day, knowing how hard it would be for him, knowing how deep-rooted was his ambivalence about his new life in Outremer. He gamely sought to make her believe that he was content, but the fact that in five months he'd done nothing to arrange a coronation spoke volumes to her. It had not escaped her, either, that Henri continued to call himself the Count of Champagne, and she spent a great amount of time trying to find ways to make him feel less of an exile in a foreign land. She'd blessed Richard for promising to return, and it had occurred to her that once Thibault came of age, there was no reason why Henri's mother should not come to visit. She was known to be devout, and for Christians, a pilgrimage to the Holy Land was what the hajj to Mecca was to Muslims. Giving Henri a searching look as he watched Richard's lighter row out toward the waiting ship, she vowed that she'd make him happy in this new life that had been forced upon him.\n\n\"Henri... I want us to be honest with each other, to share the deepest secrets of our hearts. You can tell me anything, can tell me when you yearn for home\u2014\"\n\nHe tightened his arm around her, stopping her words with a gentle finger against her lips. \"I am home, my love.\"\n\nThey'd chosen to depart at dusk so they could sail by the stars. Earlier that day, it had been overcast, but brisk winds had scattered the clouds. As the buss raised anchor and headed out of the harbor, most of the men on deck were looking toward the horizon, where the sky was streaking with the dying rays of the setting sun. But Richard kept his eyes upon Acre, slowly disappearing into the distance. \"Outremer,\" he said softly, \"I commend you to God. May He grant me the time I need to come back to your aid.\" He stayed where he was, not moving until darkness swallowed up the shore and all he could see was the endless, rolling sea and the glittering stars, brilliant and cold and eternal."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Pillars of the Earth",
        "author": "Ken Follett",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Kingsbridge"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "1123",
                "text": "The small boys came early to the hanging.\n\nIt was still dark when the first three or four of them sidled out of the hovels, quiet as cats in their felt boots. A thin layer of fresh snow covered the little town like a new coat of paint, and theirs were the first footprints to blemish its perfect surface. They picked their way through the huddled wooden huts and along the streets of frozen mud to the silent marketplace, where the gallows stood waiting.\n\nThe boys despised everything their elders valued. They scorned beauty and mocked goodness. They would hoot with laughter at the sight of a cripple, and if they saw a wounded animal they would stone it to death. They boasted of injuries and wore their scars with pride, and they reserved their special admiration for mutilation: a boy with a finger missing could be their king. They loved violence; they would run miles to see bloodshed; and they never missed a hanging.\n\nOne of the boys piddled on the base of the scaffold. Another mounted the steps, put his thumbs to his throat and slumped, twisting his face into a grisly parody of strangulation: the others whooped in admiration, and two dogs came running into the marketplace, barking. A very young boy recklessly began to eat an apple, and one of the older ones punched his nose and took his apple. The young boy relieved his feelings by throwing a sharp stone at a dog, sending the animal howling home. Then there was nothing else to do, so they all squatted on the dry pavement in the porch of the big church, waiting for something to happen.\n\nCandlelight flickered behind the shutters of the substantial wood and stone houses around the square, the homes of prosperous craftsmen and traders, as scullery maids and apprentice boys lit fires and heated water and made porridge. The color of the sky turned from black to gray. The townspeople came ducking out of their low doorways, swathed in heavy cloaks of coarse wool, and went shivering down to the river to fetch water.\n\nSoon a group of young men, grooms and laborers and apprentices, swaggered into the marketplace. They turned the small boys out of the church porch with cuffs and kicks, then leaned against the carved stone arches, scratching themselves and spitting on the ground and talking with studied confidence about death by hanging. If he's lucky, said one, his neck breaks as soon as he falls, a quick death, and painless; but if not he hangs there turning red, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water, until he chokes to death; and another said that dying like that can take the time a man takes to walk a mile; and a third said it could be worse than that, he had seen one where by the time the man died his neck was a foot long.\n\nThe old women formed a group on the opposite side of the marketplace, as far as possible from the young men, who were liable to shout vulgar remarks at their grandmothers. They always woke up early, the old women, even though they no longer had babies and children to worry over; and they were the first to get their fires lit and their hearths swept. Their acknowledged leader, the muscular Widow Brewster, joined them, rolling a barrel of beer as easily as a child rolls a hoop. Before she could get the lid off there was a small crowd of customers waiting with jugs and buckets.\n\nThe sheriffs bailiff opened the main gate, admitting the peasants who lived in the suburb, in the lean-to houses against the town wall. Some brought eggs and milk and fresh butter to sell, some came to buy beer or bread, and some stood in the marketplace and waited for the hanging.\n\nEvery now and again people would cock their heads, like wary sparrows, and glance up at the castle on the hilltop above the town. They saw smoke rising steadily from the kitchen, and the occasional flare of a torch behind the arrow-slit windows of the stone keep. Then, at about the time the sun must have started to rise behind the thick gray cloud, the mighty wooden doors opened in the gatehouse and a small group came out. The sheriff was first, riding a fine black courser, followed by an ox cart carrying the bound prisoner. Behind the cart rode three men, and although their faces could not be seen at that distance, their clothes revealed that they were a knight, a priest and a monk. Two men-at-arms brought up the rear of the procession.\n\nThey had all been at the shire court, held in the nave of the church, the day before. The priest had caught the thief red-handed; the monk had identified the silver chalice as belonging to the monastery; the knight was the thief's lord, and had identified him as a runaway; and the sheriff had condemned him to death.\n\nWhile they came slowly down the hill, the rest of the town gathered around the gallows. Among the last to arrive were the leading citizens: the butcher, the baker, two leather tanners, two smiths, the cutler and the fletcher, all with their wives.\n\nThe mood of the crowd was odd. Normally they enjoyed a hanging. The prisoner was usually a thief, and they hated thieves with the passion of people whose possessions are hard-earned. But this thief was different. Nobody knew who he was or where he came from. He had not stolen from them, but from a monastery twenty miles away. And he had stolen a jeweled chalice, something whose value was so great that it would be virtually impossible to sell\u2014which was not like stealing a ham or a new knife or a good belt, the loss of which would hurt someone. They could not hate a man for a crime so pointless. There were a few jeers and catcalls as the prisoner entered the marketplace, but the abuse was halfhearted, and only the small boys mocked him with any enthusiasm.\n\nMost of the townspeople had not been in court, for court days were not holidays and they all had to make a living, so this was the first time they had seen the thief. He was quite young, somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age, and of normal height and build, but otherwise his appearance was strange. His skin was as white as the snow on the roofs, he had protuberant eyes of startling bright green, and his hair was the color of a peeled carrot. The maids thought he was ugly; the old women felt sorry for him; and the small boys laughed until they fell down.\n\nThe sheriff was a familiar figure, but the other three men who had sealed the thief's doom were strangers. The knight, a fleshy man with yellow hair, was clearly a person of some importance, for he rode a war-horse, a huge beast that cost as much as a carpenter earned in ten years. The monk was much older, perhaps fifty or more, a tall, thin man who sat slumped in his saddle as if life were a wearisome burden to him. Most striking was the priest, a young man with a sharp nose and lank black hair, wearing black robes and riding a chestnut stallion. He had an alert, dangerous look, like a black cat that could smell a nest of baby mice.\n\nA small boy took careful aim and spat at the prisoner. It was a good shot and caught him between the eyes. He snarled a curse and lunged at the spitter, but he was restrained by the ropes attaching him to the sides of the cart. The incident was not remarkable except that the words he spoke were Norman French, the language of the lords. Was he highborn, then? Or just a long way from home? Nobody knew.\n\nThe ox cart stopped beneath the gallows. The sheriff's bailiff climbed onto the flatbed of the cart with the noose in his hand. The prisoner started to struggle. The boys cheered\u2014they would have been disappointed if the prisoner had remained calm. The man's movements were restricted by the ropes tied to his wrists and ankles, but he jerked his head from side to side, evading the noose. After a moment the bailiff, a huge man, stepped back and punched the prisoner in the stomach. The man doubled over, winded, and the bailiff slipped the rope over his head and tightened the knot. Then he jumped down to the ground and pulled the rope taut, securing its other end to a hook in the base of the gallows.\n\nThis was the turning point. If the prisoner struggled now, he would only die sooner.\n\nThe men-at-arms untied the prisoner's legs and left him standing alone on the bed of the cart, his hands bound behind his back. A hush fell on the crowd.\n\nThere was often a disturbance at this point: the prisoner's mother would have a screaming fit, or his wife would pull out a knife and rush the platform in a last-minute attempt to rescue him. Sometimes the prisoner called upon God for forgiveness or pronounced bloodcurdling curses on his executioners. The men-at-arms now stationed themselves on either side of the scaffold, ready to deal with any incident.\n\nThat was when the prisoner began to sing.\n\nHe had a high tenor voice, very pure. The words were French, but even those who could not understand the language could tell by its plaintive melody that it was a song of sadness and loss.\n\n\u2003A lark, caught in a hunter's net\n\n\u2003Sang sweeter then than ever,\n\n\u2003As if the falling melody\n\n\u2003Might wing and net dissever.\n\nAs he sang he looked directly at someone in the crowd. Gradually a space formed around the person, and everyone could see her.\n\nShe was a girl of about fifteen. When people looked at her they wondered why they had not noticed her before. She had long dark-brown hair, thick and rich, which came to a point on her wide forehead in what people called a devil's peak. She had regular features and a sensual, full-lipped mouth. The old women noticed her thick waist and heavy breasts, concluded that she was pregnant, and guessed that the prisoner was the father of her unborn child. But everyone else noticed nothing except her eyes. She might have been pretty, but she had deep-set, intense eyes of a startling golden color, so luminous and penetrating that when she looked at you, you felt she could see right into your heart, and you averted your eyes, scared that she would discover your secrets. She was dressed in rags, and tears streamed down her soft cheeks.\n\nThe driver of the cart looked expectantly at the bailiff. The bailiff looked at the sheriff, waiting for the nod. The young priest with the sinister air nudged the sheriff impatiently, but the sheriff took no notice. He let the thief carry on singing. There was a dreadful pause while the ugly man's lovely voice held death at bay.\n\n\u2003At dusk the hunter took his prey,\n\n\u2003The lark his freedom never.\n\n\u2003All birds and men are sure to die\n\n\u2003But songs may live forever.\n\nWhen the song ended the sheriff looked at the bailiff and nodded. The bailiff shouted \"Hup!\" and lashed the ox's flank with a length of rope. The carter cracked his whip at the same time. The ox stepped forward, the prisoner standing in the cart staggered, the ox pulled the cart away, and the prisoner dropped into midair. The rope straightened and the thief's neck broke with a snap.\n\nThere was a scream, and everyone looked at the girl.\n\nIt was not she who had screamed, but the cutler's wife beside her. But the girl was the cause of the scream. She had sunk to her knees in front of the gallows, with her arm! stretched out in front of her, the position adopted to utter a curse. The people shrank from her in fear: everyone knew that the curses of those who had suffered injustice were particularly effective, and they had all suspected that some thing was not quite right about this hanging. The small boys were terrified.\n\nThe girl turned her hypnotic golden eyes on the three strangers, the knight, the monk and the priest; and then she pronounced her curse, calling out the terrible words in ringing tones: \"I curse you with sickness and sorrow, with hunger and pain; your house shall be consumed by fire, and your children shall die on the gallows; your enemies shall prosper, and you shall grow old in sadness and regret, and die in foulness and agony....\" As she spoke the last words the girl reached into a sack on the ground beside her and pulled out a live cockerel. A knife appeared in her hand from nowhere, and with one slice she cut off the head of the cock.\n\nWhile the blood was still spurting from the severed neck she threw the beheaded cock at the priest with the black hair. It fell short, but the blood sprayed over him, and over the monk and the knight on either side of him. The three men twisted away in loathing, but blood landed on each of them, spattering their faces and staining their garments.\n\nThe girl turned and ran.\n\nThe crowd opened in front of her and closed behind her. For a few moments there was pandemonium. At last the sheriff caught the attention of his men-at-arms and angrily told them to chase her. They began to struggle through the crowd, roughly pushing men and women and children out of the way, but the girl was out of sight in a twinkling, and though the sheriff would search for her, he knew he would not find her.\n\nHe turned away in disgust. The knight, the monk and the priest had not watched the flight of the girl. They were still staring at the gallows. The sheriff followed their gaze. The dead thief hung at the end of the rope, his pale young face already turning bluish, while beneath his gently swinging corpse the cock, headless but not quite dead, ran around in a ragged circle on the bloodstained snow."
            },
            {
                "title": "1135-1136",
                "text": "In a broad valley, at the foot of a sloping hillside, beside a clear bubbling stream, Tom was building a house.\n\nThe walls were already three feet high and rising fast. The two masons Tom had engaged were working steadily in the sunshine, their trowels going scrape, slap and then tap, tap while their laborer sweated under the weight of the big stone blocks. Tom's son Alfred was mixing mortar, counting aloud as he scooped sand onto a board. There was also a carpenter, working at the bench beside Tom, carefully shaping a length of beech wood with an adz.\n\nAlfred was fourteen years old, and tall like Tom. Tom was a head higher than most men, and Alfred was only a couple of inches less, and still growing. They looked alike, too: both had light-brown hair and greenish eyes with brown flecks. People said they were a handsome pair. The main difference between them was that Tom had a curly brown beard, whereas Alfred had only a fine blond fluff. The hair on Alfred's head had been that color once, Tom remembered fondly. Now that Alfred was becoming a man, Tom wished he would take a more intelligent interest in his work, for he had a lot to learn if he was to be a mason like his father; but so far Alfred remained bored and baffled by the principles of building.\n\nWhen the house was finished it would be the most luxurious home for miles around. The ground floor would be a spacious undercroft, for storage, with a curved vault for a ceiling, so that it would not catch fire. The hall, where people actually lived, would be above, reached by an outside staircase, its height making it hard to attack and easy to defend. Against the hall wall there would be a chimney, to take away the smoke of the fire. This was a radical innovation: Tom had only ever seen one house with a chimney, but it had struck him as such a good idea that he was determined to copy it. At one end of the house, over the hall, there would be a small bedroom, for that was what earls' daughters demanded nowadays\u2014they were too fine to sleep in the hall with the men and the serving wenches and the hunting dogs. The kitchen would be a separate building, for every kitchen caught fire sooner or later, and there was nothing for it but to build them far away from everything else and put up with lukewarm food.\n\nTom was making the doorway of the house. The doorposts would be rounded to look like columns\u2014a touch of distinction for the noble newly weds who were to live here. With his eye on the shaped wooden template he was using as a guide, Tom set his iron chisel obliquely against the stone and tapped it gently with the big wooden hammer. A small shower of fragments fell away from the surface, leaving the shape a little rounder. He did it again. Smooth enough for a cathedral.\n\nHe had worked on a cathedral once\u2014Exeter. At first he had treated it like any other job. He had been angry and resentful when the master builder had warned him that his work was not quite up to standard: he knew himself to be rather more careful than the average mason. But then he realized that the walls of a cathedral had to be not just good, but perfect. This was because the cathedral was for God, and also because the building was so big that the slightest lean in the walls, the merest variation from the absolutely true and level, could weaken the structure fatally. Tom's resentment turned to fascination. The combination of a hugely ambitious building with merciless attention to the smallest detail opened Tom's eyes to the wonder of his craft. He learned from the Exeter master about the importance of proportion, the symbolism of various numbers, and the almost magical formulas for working out the correct width of a wall or the angle of a step in a spiral staircase. Such things captivated him. He was surprised to learn that many masons found them incomprehensible.\n\nAfter a while Tom had become the master builder's right-hand man, and that was when he began to see the master's shortcomings. The man was a great craftsman and an incompetent organizer. He was completely baffled by the problems of obtaining the right quantity of stone to keep pace with the masons, making sure that the blacksmith made enough of the right tools, burning lime and carting sand for the mortar makers, felling trees for the carpenters, and getting enough money from the cathedral chapter to pay for everything.\n\nIf Tom had stayed at Exeter until the master builder died, he might have become master himself; but the chapter ran out of money\u2014partly because of the master's mismanagement\u2014and the craftsmen had to move on, looking for work elsewhere. Tom had been offered the post of builder to the Exeter castellan, repairing and improving the city's fortifications. It would have been a lifetime job, barring accidents. But Tom had turned it down, for he wanted to build another cathedral.\n\nHis wife, Agnes, had never understood that decision. They might have had a good stone house, and servants, and their own stables, and meat on the table every dinnertime; and she had never forgiven Tom for turning down the opportunity. She could not comprehend the irresistible attraction of building a cathedral: the absorbing complexity of organization, the intellectual challenge of the calculations, the sheer size of the walls, and the breathtaking beauty and grandeur of the finished building. Once he had tasted that wine, Tom was never satisfied with anything less.\n\nThat had been ten years ago. Since then they had never stayed anywhere for very long. He would design a new chapter house for a monastery, work for a year or two on a castle, or build a town house for a rich merchant; but as soon as he had some money saved he would leave, with his wife and children, and take to the road, looking for another cathedral.\n\nHe glanced up from his bench and saw Agnes standing at the edge of the building site, holding a basket of food in one hand and resting a big jug of beer on the opposite hip. It was midday. He looked at her fondly. No one would ever call her pretty, but her face was full of strength: a broad forehead, large brown eyes, a straight nose, a strong jaw. Her dark, wiry hair was parted in the middle and tied behind. She was Tom's soul mate.\n\nShe poured beer for Tom and Alfred. They stood there for a moment, the two big men and the strong woman, drinking beer from wooden cups; and then the fourth member of the family came skipping out of the wheat field: Martha, seven years old and as pretty as a daffodil, but a daffodil with a petal missing, for she had a gap where two milk teeth had fallen out and the new ones had not yet grown. She ran to Tom, kissed his dusty beard, and begged a sip of his beer. He hugged her bony body. \"Don't drink too much, or you'll fall into a ditch,\" he said. She staggered around in a circle, pretending to be drunk.\n\nThey all sat down on the woodpile. Agnes handed Tom a hunk of wheat bread, a thick slice of boiled bacon and a small onion. He took a bite of the meat and started to peel the onion. Agnes gave the children food and began to eat her own. Perhaps it was irresponsible, Tom thought, to turn down that dull job in Exeter and go looking for a cathedral to build; but I've always been able to feed them all, despite my recklessness.\n\nHe took his eating knife from the front pocket of his leather apron, cut a slice off the onion, and ate it with a bite of bread. The onion was sweet and stinging in his mouth. Agnes said: \"I'm with child again.\"\n\nTom stopped chewing and stared at her. A thrill of delight took hold of him. Not knowing what to say, he just smiled foolishly at her. After a few moments she blushed, and said: \"It isn't that surprising.\"\n\nTom hugged her. \"Well, well,\" he said, still grinning with pleasure. \"A babe to pull my beard. And I thought the next would be Alfred's.\"\n\n\"Don't get too happy yet,\" Agnes cautioned. \"It's bad luck to name the child before it's born.\"\n\nTom nodded assent. Agnes had had several miscarriages and one stillborn baby, and there had been another little girl, Matilda, who had lived only two years. \"I'd like a boy, though,\" he said. \"Now that Alfred's so big. When is it due?\"\n\n\"After Christmas.\"\n\nTom began to calculate. The shell of the house would be finished by first frost, then the stonework would have to be covered with straw to protect it through the winter. The masons would spend the cold months cutting stones for windows, vaults, doorcases and the fireplace, while the carpenter made floorboards and doors and shutters and Tom built the scaffolding for the upstairs work. Then in spring they would vault the undercroft, floor the hall above it, and put on the roof. The job would feed the family until Whitsun, by which time the baby would be half a year old. Then they would move on. \"Good,\" he said contentedly. \"This is good.\" He ate another slice of onion.\n\n\"I'm too old to bear children,\" Agnes said. \"This must be my last.\"\n\nTom thought about that. He was not sure how old she was, in numbers, but plenty of women bore children at her time of life. However, it was true they suffered more as they grew older, and the babies were not so strong. No doubt she was right. But how would she make certain that she would not conceive again? he wondered. Then he realized how, and a cloud shadowed his sunny mood.\n\n\"I may get a good job, in a town,\" he said, trying to mollify her. \"A cathedral, or a palace. Then we might have a big house with wood floors, and a maid to help you with the baby.\"\n\nHer face hardened, and she said skeptically: \"It may be.\" She did not like to hear talk of cathedrals. If Tom had never worked on a cathedral, her face said, she might be living in a town house now, with money saved up and buried under the fireplace, and nothing to worry about.\n\nTom looked away and took another bite of bacon. They had something to celebrate, but they were in disharmony. He felt let down. He chewed the tough meat for a while, then he heard a horse. He cocked his head to listen. The rider was coming through the trees from the direction of the road, taking a short cut and avoiding the village.\n\nA moment later, a young man on a pony trotted up and dismounted. He looked like a squire, a kind of apprentice knight. \"Your lord is coming,\" he said.\n\nTom stood up. \"You mean Lord Percy?\" Percy Hamleigh was one of the most important men in the country. He owned this valley, and many others, and he was paying for the house.\n\n\"His son,\" said the squire.\n\n\"Young William.\" Percy's son, William, was to occupy this house after his marriage. He was engaged to Lady Aliena, the daughter of the earl of Shiring.\n\n\"The same,\" said the squire. \"And in a rage.\"\n\nTom's heart sank. At the best of times it could be difficult to deal with the owner of a house under construction. An owner in a rage was impossible. \"What's he angry about?\"\n\n\"His bride rejected him.\"\n\n\"The earl's daughter?\" said Tom in surprise. He felt a pang of fear: he had just been thinking how secure his future was. \"I thought that was settled.\"\n\n\"So did we all\u2014except the Lady Aliena, it seems,\" the squire said. \"The moment she met him, she announced that she wouldn't marry him for all the world and a woodcock.\"\n\nTom frowned worriedly. He did not want this to be true. \"But the boy's not bad-looking, as I recall.\"\n\nAgnes said: \"As if that made any difference, in her position. If earls' daughters were allowed to marry whom they please, we'd all be ruled by strolling minstrels and dark-eyed outlaws.\"\n\n\"The girl may yet change her mind,\" Tom said hopefully.\n\n\"She will if her mother takes a birch rod to her,\" Agnes said.\n\nThe squire said: \"Her mother's dead.\"\n\nAgnes nodded. \"That explains why she doesn't know the facts of life. But I don't see why her father can't compel her.\"\n\nThe squire said: \"It seems he once promised he would never marry her to someone she hated.\"\n\n\"A foolish pledge!\" Tom said angrily. How could a powerful man tie himself to the whim of a girl in that way? Her marriage could affect military alliances, baronial finances... even the building of this house.\n\nThe squire said: \"She has a brother, so it's not so important whom she marries.\"\n\n\"Even so...\"\n\n\"And the earl is an unbending man,\" the squire went on. \"He won't go back on a promise, even one made to a child.\" He shrugged. \"So they say.\"\n\nTom looked at the low stone walls of the house-to-be. He had not yet saved enough money to keep the family through the winter, he realized with a chill. \"Perhaps the lad will find another bride to share this place with him. He's got the whole county to choose from.\"\n\nAlfred spoke in a cracked adolescent voice. \"By Christ, I think this is him.\" Following his gaze, they all looked across the field. A horse was coming from the village at a gallop, kicking up a cloud of dust and earth from the pathway. Alfred's oath was prompted by the size as well as the speed of the horse: it was huge. Tom had seen beasts like it before, but perhaps Alfred had not. It was a war-horse, as high at the wither as a man's chin, and broad in proportion. Such war-horses were not bred in England, but came from overseas, and were enormously costly.\n\nTom dropped the remains of his bread in the pocket of his apron, then narrowed his eyes against the sun and gazed across the field. The horse had its ears back and nostrils flared, but it seemed to Tom that its head was well up, a sign that it was not completely out of control. Sure enough, as it came closer the rider leaned back, hauling on the reins, and the huge animal seemed to slow a little. Now Tom could feel the drumming of its hooves in the ground beneath his feet. He looked around for Martha, thinking to pick her up and put her out of harm's way. Agnes had the same thought. But Martha was nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"In the wheat,\" Agnes said, but Tom had already figured that out and was striding across the site to the edge of the field. He scanned the waving wheat with fear in his heart but he could not see the child.\n\nThe only thing he could think of was to try to slow the horse. He stepped into the path and began to walk toward the charging beast, holding his arms wide. The horse saw him, raised its head for a better look, and slowed perceptibly. Then, to Tom's horror, the rider spurred it on.\n\n\"You damned fool!\" Tom roared, although the rider could not hear.\n\nThat was when Martha stepped out of the field and into the pathway a few yards in front of Tom.\n\nFor an instant Tom stood still in a sick panic. Then he leaped forward, shouting and waving his arms; but this was a war-horse, trained to charge at yelling hordes, and it did not flinch. Martha stood in the middle of the narrow path, staring as if transfixed by the huge beast bearing down on her. There was a moment when Tom realized desperately that he could not get to her before the horse did. He swerved to one side, his arm touching the standing wheat; and at the last instant the horse swerved to the other side. The rider's stirrup brushed Martha's fine hair; a hoof stamped a round hole in the ground beside her bare foot; then the horse had gone by, spraying them both with dirt, and Tom snatched her up in his arms and held her tight to his pounding heart.\n\nHe stood still for a moment, awash with relief, his limbs weak, his insides watery. Then he felt a surge of fury at the recklessness of the stupid youth on his massive war-horse. He looked up angrily. Lord William was slowing the horse now, sitting back in the saddle, with his feet pushed forward in the stirrups, sawing on the reins. The horse swerved to avoid the building site. It tossed its head and then bucked, but William stayed on. He slowed it to a canter and then a trot as he guided it around in a wide circle.\n\nMartha was crying. Tom handed her to Agnes and waited for William. The young lord was a tall, well-built fellow of about twenty years, with yellow hair and narrow eyes which made him look as if he were always peering into the sun. He wore a short black tunic with black hose, and leather shoes with straps crisscrossed up to his knees. He sat well on the horse and did not seem shaken by what had happened. The foolish boy doesn't even know what he's done, Tom thought bitterly. I'd like to wring his neck.\n\nWilliam halted the horse in front of the woodpile and looked down at the builders. \"Who's in charge here?\" he said.\n\nTom wanted to say If you had hurt my little girl, I would have killed you, but he suppressed his rage. It was like swallowing a bitter mouthful. He approached the horse and held its bridle. \"I'm the master builder,\" he said tightly. \"My name is Tom.\"\n\n\"This house is no longer needed,\" said William. \"Dismiss your men.\"\n\nIt was what Tom had been dreading. But he held on to the hope that William was being impetuous in his anger, and might be persuaded to change his mind. With an effort, he made his voice friendly and reasonable. \"But so much work has been done,\" he said. \"Why waste what you've spent? You'll need the house one day.\"\n\n\"Don't tell me how to manage my affairs, Tom Builder,\" said William. \"You're all dismissed.\" He twitched a rein, but Tom had hold of the bridle. \"Let go of my horse,\" William said dangerously.\n\nTom swallowed. In a moment William would try to get the horse's head up. Tom felt in his apron pocket and brought out the crust of bread he had been eating. He showed it to the horse, which dipped its head and took a bite. \"There's more to be said, before you leave, my lord,\" he said mildly.\n\nWilliam said: \"Let my horse go, or I'll take your head off.\" Tom looked directly at him, trying not to show his fear. He was bigger than William, but that would make no difference if the young lord drew his sword.\n\nAgnes muttered fearfully: \"Do as the lord says, husband.\"\n\nThere was dead silence. The other workmen stood as still as statues, watching. Tom knew that the prudent thing would be to give in. But William had nearly trampled Tom's little girl, and that made Tom mad, so with a racing heart he said: \"You have to pay us.\"\n\nWilliam pulled on the reins, but Tom held the bridle tight, and the horse was distracted, nuzzling in Tom's apron pocket for more food. \"Apply to my father for your wages!\" William said angrily.\n\nTom heard the carpenter say in a terrified voice: \"We'll do that, my lord, thanking you very much.\"\n\nWretched coward, Tom thought, but he was trembling himself. Nevertheless he forced himself to say: \"If you want to dismiss us, you must pay us, according to the custom. Your father's house is two days' walk from here, and when we arrive he may not be there.\"\n\n\"Men have died for less than this,\" William said. His cheeks reddened with anger.\n\nOut of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the squire drop his hand to the hilt of his sword. He knew he should give up now, and humble himself, but there was an obstinate knot of anger in his belly, and as scared as he was he could not bring himself to release the bridle. \"Pay us first, then kill me,\" he said recklessly. \"You may hang for it, or you may not; but you'll die sooner or later, and then I will be in heaven and you will be in hell.\"\n\nThe sneer froze on William's face and he paled. Tom was surprised: what had frightened the boy? Not the mention of hanging, surely: it was not really likely that a lord would be hanged for the murder of a craftsman. Was he terrified of hell?\n\nThey stared at one another for a few moments. Tom watched with amazement and relief as William's set expression of anger and contempt melted away, to be replaced by a panicky anxiety. At last William took a leather purse from his belt and tossed it to his squire, saying: \"Pay them.\"\n\nAt that point Tom pushed his luck. When William pulled on the reins again, and the horse lifted its strong head and stepped sideways, Tom moved with the horse and held on to the bridle, and said: \"A full week's wages on dismissal, that is the custom.\" He heard a sharp intake of breath from Agnes, just behind him, and he knew she thought he was crazy to prolong the confrontation. But he plowed on. \"That's sixpence for the laborer, twelve for the carpenter and each of the masons, and twenty-four pence for me. Sixty-six pence in all.\" He could add pennies faster than anyone he knew.\n\nThe squire was looking inquiringly at his master. William said angrily: \"Very well.\"\n\nTom released the bridle and stepped back.\n\nWilliam turned the horse and kicked it hard, and it bounded forward onto the path through the wheat field.\n\nTom sat down suddenly on the woodpile. He wondered what had got into him. It had been mad to defy Lord William like that. He felt lucky to be alive.\n\nThe hoofbeats of William's war-horse faded to a distant thunder, and his squire emptied the purse onto a board. Tom felt a surge of triumph as the silver pennies tumbled out into the sunshine. It had been mad, but it had worked: he had secured just payment for himself and the men working under him. \"Even lords ought to follow the customs,\" he said, half to himself.\n\nAgnes heard him. \"Just hope you're never in want of work from Lord William,\" she said sourly.\n\nTom smiled at her. He understood that she was churlish because she had been frightened. \"Don't frown too much, or you'll have nothing but curdled milk in your breasts when that baby is born.\"\n\n\"I won't be able to feed any of us unless you find work for the winter.\"\n\n\"The winter's a long way off,\" said Tom."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "They stayed at the village through the summer. Later, they came to regard this decision as a terrible mistake, but at the time it seemed sensible enough, for Tom and Agnes and Alfred could each earn a penny a day working in the fields during the harvest. When autumn came, and they had to move on, they had a heavy bag of silver pennies and a fat pig.\n\nThey spent the first night in the porch of a village church, but on the second they found a country priory and took advantage of monastic hospitality. On the third day they found themselves in the heart of the Chute Forest, a vast expanse of scrub and rough woodland, on a road not much broader than the width of an ox cart, with the luxuriant growth of summer dying between the oaks on either side.\n\nTom carried his smaller tools in a satchel and slung his hammers from his belt. He had his cloak in a bundle under his left arm and he carried his iron spike in his right hand, using it as a walking stick. He was happy to be on the road again. His next job might be working on a cathedral. He might become master mason and stay there the rest of his life, and build a church so wonderful it would guarantee that he went to heaven.\n\nAgnes had their few household possessions inside the cooking pot which she carried strapped to her back. Alfred carried the tools they would use to make a new home somewhere: an ax, an adz, a saw, a small hammer, a bradawl for making holes in leather and wood, and a spade. Martha was too small to carry anything but her own bowl and eating knife tied to her belt and her winter cloak strapped to her back. However, she had the duty of driving the pig until they could sell it at a market.\n\nTom kept a close eye on Agnes as they walked through the endless woods. She was more than halfway through her term now, and carrying a considerable weight in her belly as well as the burden on her back. But she seemed tireless. Alfred, too, was all right: he was at the age when boys have more energy than they know what to do with. Only Martha was tiring. Her thin legs were made for the playful scamper, not the long march, and she dropped behind constantly, so that the others had to stop and wait for her and the pig to catch up.\n\nAs he walked Tom thought about the cathedral he would build one day. He began, as always, by picturing an archway. It was very simple: two uprights supporting a semicircle. Then he imagined a second, just the same as the first. He pushed the two together, in his mind, to form one deep archway. Then he added another, and another, then a lot more, until he had a whole row of them, all stuck together, forming a tunnel. This was the essence of a building, for it had a roof to keep the rain off and two walls to hold up the roof. A church was just a tunnel, with refinements.\n\nA tunnel was dark, so the first refinements were windows. If the wall was strong enough, it could have holes in it. The holes would be round at the top, with straight sides and a flat sill\u2014the same shape as the original archway. Using similar shapes for arches and windows and doors was one of the things that made a building beautiful. Regularity was another, and Tom visualized twelve identical windows, evenly spaced, along each wall of the tunnel.\n\nTom tried to visualize the moldings over the windows, but his concentration kept slipping because he had the feeling that he was being watched. It was a foolish notion, he thought, if only because of course he was being observed by the birds, foxes, cats, squirrels, rats, mice, weasels, stoats and voles which thronged the forest.\n\nThey sat down by a stream at midday. They drank the pure water and ate cold bacon and crab apples which they picked up from the forest floor.\n\nIn the afternoon Martha was tired. At one point she was a hundred yards behind them. Standing waiting for her to catch up, Tom remembered Alfred at that age. He had been a beautiful, golden-haired boy, sturdy and bold. Fondness mingled with irritation in Tom as he watched Martha scolding the pig for being so slow. Then a figure stepped out of the undergrowth just ahead of her. What happened next was so quick that Tom could hardly believe it. The man who had appeared so suddenly on the road raised a club over his shoulder. A horrified shout rose in Tom's throat, but before he could utter it the man swung the club at Martha. It struck her full on the side of the head, and Tom heard the sickening sound of the blow connecting. She fell to the ground like a dropped doll.\n\nTom found himself running back along the road toward them, his feet pounding the hard earth like the hooves of William's war-horse, willing his legs to carry him faster. As he ran, he watched what was happening, and it was like looking at a picture painted high on a church wall, for he could see it but there was nothing he could do to change it. The attacker was undoubtedly an outlaw. He was a short, thickset man in a brown tunic, with bare feet. For an instant he looked straight at Tom, and Tom could see that the man's face was hideously mutilated: his lips had been cut off, presumably as a punishment for a crime involving lying, and his mouth was now a repulsive permanent grin surrounded by twisted scar tissue. The horrid sight would have stopped Tom in his tracks, had it not been for the prone body of Martha lying on the ground.\n\nThe outlaw looked away from Tom and fixed his gaze on the pig. In a flash he bent down, picked it up, tucked the squirming animal under his arm and darted back into the tangled undergrowth, taking with him Tom's family's only valuable possession.\n\nThen Tom was on his knees beside Martha. He put his broad hand on her tiny chest and felt her heartbeat, steady and strong, and his worst fear subsided; but her eyes were closed and there was bright red blood in her blond hair.\n\nAgnes knelt beside him a moment later. She touched Martha's chest, wrist and forehead, then she gave Tom a hard, level look. \"She will live,\" she said in a tight voice. \"Fetch back that pig.\"\n\nTom quickly unslung his satchel of tools and dropped it on the ground. With his left hand he took his big ironheaded hammer from his belt. He still had his spike in his right. He could see the trampled bushes where the thief had come and gone, and he could hear the pig squealing in the woods. He plunged into the undergrowth.\n\nThe trail was easy to follow. The outlaw was a heavily built man, running with a wriggling pig under his arm, and he cut a wide path through the vegetation, flattening flowers and bushes and young trees alike. Tom charged after him, full of a savage desire to get his hands on the man and beat him senseless. He crashed through a thicket of birch saplings, hurtled down a slope, and splashed across a patch of bog to a narrow pathway. There he stopped. The thief might have gone left or right, and now there was no crushed vegetation to show the way; but Tom listened, and heard the pig squealing somewhere to his left. He could also hear someone rushing through the forest behind him\u2014Alfred, presumably. He went after the pig.\n\nThe path led him down into a dip, then turned sharply and began to rise. He could hear the pig clearly now. He ran uphill, breathing hard\u2014the years of inhaling stone dust had weakened his lungs. Suddenly the path leveled and he saw the thief, only twenty or thirty yards away, running as if the devil were behind him. Tom put on a spurt and started to gain. He was bound to catch up, if only he could keep going, for a man with a pig cannot run as fast as a man without one. But now his chest hurt. The thief was fifteen yards away, then twelve. Tom raised the spike above his head like a spear. Just a little closer and he would throw it. Eleven yards, ten\u2014\n\nBefore the spike left his hand he glimpsed, out of the corner of his eye, a thin face in a green cap emerging from the bushes beside the path. It was too late to swerve. A heavy stick was thrust out in front of him, he stumbled on it as was intended, and he fell to the ground.\n\nHe had dropped his spike but he still had hold of the hammer. He rolled over and raised himself on one knee. There were two of them, he saw: the one in the green hat and a bald man with a matted white beard. They ran at Tom.\n\nHe stepped to one side and swung his hammer at the green hat. The man dodged, but the big iron hammerhead came down hard on his shoulder and he gave a screech of agony and sank to the ground, holding his arm as if it were broken. Tom did not have time to raise the hammer for another crushing blow before the bald man closed with him, so he thrust the iron head at the man's face and split his cheek.\n\nBoth men backed off clutching their wounds. Tom could see that there was no fight left in either one. He turned around. The thief was still running away along the path. Tom went after him again, ignoring the pain in his chest. But he had covered only a few yards when he heard a shout from behind in a familiar voice.\n\nAlfred.\n\nHe stopped and looked back.\n\nAlfred was fighting them both, using his fists and his feet. He punched the one in the green hat about the head three or four times, then kicked the bald man's shins. But the two men swarmed him, getting inside his reach so that he could no longer punch or kick hard enough to hurt. Tom hesitated, torn between chasing the pig and rescuing his son. Then the bald one got his foot behind Alfred's leg and tripped him, and as the boy hit the ground the two men fell on him, raining blows on his face and body.\n\nTom ran back. He charged the bald one bodily, sending the man flying into the bushes, then turned and swung his hammer at the green hat. This man had felt the weight of the hammer once before and was still using only one arm. He dodged the first swing, then turned and dived into the undergrowth before Tom could swing again.\n\nTom turned and saw the bald man running away down the path. He looked in the opposite direction: the thief with the pig was nowhere in sight. He breathed a bitter, blasphemous curse: that pig represented half of what he had saved this summer. He sank to the ground, breathing hard.\n\n\"We beat three of them!\" Alfred said excitedly.\n\nTom looked at him. \"But they got our pig,\" he said. Anger burned his stomach like sour cider. They had bought the pig in the spring, as soon as they had saved enough pennies, and they had been fattening it all summer. A fat pig could be sold for sixty pence. With a few cabbages and a sack of grain it could feed a family all winter and make a pair of leather shoes and a purse or two. Its loss was a catastrophe.\n\nTom looked enviously at Alfred, who had already recovered from the chase and the fight, and was waiting impatiently. How long ago was it, Tom thought, when I could run like the wind and hardly feel my heart race? Since I was that age... twenty years. Twenty years. It seemed like yesterday.\n\nHe got to his feet.\n\nHe put his arm around Alfred's broad shoulders as they walked back along the path. The boy was still shorter than his father by the span of a man's hand, but soon he would catch up, and he might grow even bigger. I hope his wit grows too, Tom thought. He said: \"Any fool can get into a fight, but a wise man knows how to stay out of them.\" Alfred gave him a blank look.\n\nThey turned off the path, crossed the boggy patch, and began to climb the slope, following in reverse the trail the thief had made. As they pushed through the birch thicket, Tom thought of Martha, and once again rage curdled in his belly. The outlaw had lashed out at her senselessly, for she had been no threat to him.\n\nTom quickened his pace, and a moment later he and Alfred emerged onto the road. Martha lay there in the same place, not having moved. Her eyes were closed and the blood was drying in her hair. Agnes knelt beside her\u2014and with them, to Tom's surprise, were another woman and a boy. The thought struck him that it was no wonder he had felt watched, earlier in the day, for the forest seemed to be teeming with people. He bent down and rested his hand on Martha's chest again. She was breathing normally.\n\n\"She will wake up soon,\" said the strange woman in an authoritative voice. \"Then she will puke. After that she'll be all right.\"\n\nTom looked at her curiously. She was kneeling over Martha. She was quite young, perhaps a dozen years younger than Tom. Her short leather tunic revealed lithe brown limbs. She had a pretty face, with dark brown hair that came to a devil's peak on her forehead. Tom felt a pang of desire. Then she raised her glance to look at him, and he gave a start: she had intense, deep-set eyes of an unusual honey-gold color that gave her whole face a magical look, and he felt sure that she knew what he had been thinking.\n\nHe looked away from her to cover his embarrassment, and he caught Agnes's eye. She was looking resentful. She said: \"Where's the pig?\"\n\n\"There were two more outlaws,\" Tom said.\n\nAlfred said: \"We beat them, but the one with the pig got away.\"\n\nAgnes looked grim, but said nothing more.\n\nThe strange woman said: \"We could move the girl into the shade, if we're gentle.\" She stood up, and Tom realized that she was quite small, at least a foot shorter than he. He bent down and picked Martha up carefully. Her childish body was almost weightless in his arms. He carried her a few yards along the road and put her down on a patch of grass in the shadow of an old oak. She was still quite limp.\n\nAlfred was picking up the tools that had been scattered on the road during the fracas. The strange woman's boy was watching, his eyes wide and his mouth open, not speaking. He was about three years younger than Alfred, and a peculiar-looking child, Tom observed, with none of his mother's sensual beauty. He had very pale skin, orange-red hair, and blue eyes that bulged slightly. He had the alertly stupid look of a dullard, Tom thought; the kind of child that either dies young or grows up to be the village idiot. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable under his stare.\n\nAs Tom watched, the child snatched the saw from Alfred's hand, without saying anything, and examined it as if it were something amazing. Alfred, offended by the discourtesy, snatched it back, and the child let it go with indifference. The mother said: \"Jack! Behave yourself.\" She seemed embarrassed.\n\nTom looked at her. The boy did not resemble her at all. \"Are you his mother?\" Tom asked.\n\n\"Yes. My name is Ellen.\"\n\n\"Where's your husband?\"\n\n\"Dead.\"\n\nTom was surprised. \"You're traveling alone?\" he said incredulously. The forest was dangerous enough for a man such as he: a woman alone could hardly hope to survive.\n\n\"We're not traveling,\" said Ellen. \"We live in the forest.\"\n\nTom was shocked. \"You mean you're\u2014\" He stopped, not wanting to offend her.\n\n\"Outlaws,\" she said. \"Yes. Did you think that all outlaws were like Faramond Openmouth, who stole your pig?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tom, although what he wanted to say was I never thought an outlaw might be a beautiful woman. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked: \"What was your crime?\"\n\n\"I cursed a priest,\" she said, and looked away.\n\nIt did not sound like much of a crime to Tom, but perhaps the priest had been very powerful, or very touchy; or perhaps Ellen just did not want to tell the truth.\n\nHe looked at Martha. A moment later she opened her eyes. She was confused and a little frightened. Agnes knelt beside her. \"You're safe,\" she said. \"Everything's all right.\"\n\nMartha sat upright and vomited. Agnes hugged her until the spasms passed. Tom was impressed: Ellen's prediction had come true. She had also said that Martha would be all right, and presumably that was reliable too. Relief washed over him, and he was a little surprised at the strength of his own emotion. I couldn't bear to lose my little girl, he thought; and he had to fight back tears. He caught a look of sympathy from Ellen, and once again he felt that her pale gold eyes could see into his heart.\n\nHe broke off an oak twig, stripped its leaves, and used them to wipe Martha's face. She still looked pale.\n\n\"She needs to rest,\" said Ellen. \"Let her lie down for as long as it takes a man to walk three miles.\"\n\nTom glanced at the sun. There was plenty of daylight left. He settled down to wait. Agnes rocked Martha gently in her arms. The boy Jack now switched his attention to Martha, and stared at her with the same idiot intensity. Tom wanted to know more about Ellen. He wondered whether she might be persuaded to tell her story. He did not want her to go away. \"How did it all come about?\" he asked her vaguely.\n\nShe looked into his eyes again, and then she began to talk.\n\nHer father had been a knight, she told them; a big, strong, violent man who wanted sons with whom he could ride and hunt and wrestle, companions to drink and carouse into the night with him. In these matters he was as unlucky as a man could be, for he got Ellen, and then his wife died; and he married again, but his second wife was barren. He came to despise Ellen's stepmother, and eventually sent her away. He must have been a cruel man, but he never seemed so to Ellen, who adored him and shared his scorn for his second wife. When the stepmother left, Ellen stayed, and grew up in what was almost an all-male household. She cut her hair short and carried a dagger, and learned not to play with kittens or care for blind old dogs. By the time she was Martha's age she could spit on the ground and eat apple cores and kick a horse in the belly so hard that it would draw in its breath, allowing her to tighten its girth one more notch. She knew that all men who were not part of her father's band were called cocksuckers and all women who would not go with them were called pigfuckers, although she was not quite sure\u2014and did not much care\u2014what these insults really meant.\n\nListening to her voice in the mild air of an autumn afternoon, Tom closed his eyes and pictured her as a flat-chested girl with a dirty face, sitting at the long table with her father's thuggish comrades, drinking strong ale and belching and singing songs about battle and looting and rape, horses and castles and virgins, until she fell asleep with her little cropped head on the rough board.\n\nIf only she could have stayed flat-chested forever she would have lived a happy life. But the time came when the men looked at her differently. They no longer laughed uproariously when she said: \"Get out of my way or I'll cut off your balls and feed them to the pigs.\" Some of them stared at her when she took off her wool tunic and lay down to sleep in her long linen undershirt. When relieving themselves in the woods, they would turn their backs to her, which they never had before.\n\nOne day she saw her father deep in conversation with the parish priest\u2014a rare event\u2014and the two of them kept looking at her, as if they were talking about her. On the following morning her father said to her: \"Go with Henry and Everard and do as they tell you.\" Then he kissed her forehead. She wondered what on earth had come over him\u2014was he going soft in his old age? She saddled her gray courser\u2014she refused to ride the ladylike palfrey or a child's pony\u2014and set off with the two men-at-arms.\n\nThey took her to a nunnery and left her there.\n\nThe whole place rang with her obscene curses as the two men rode away. She knifed the abbess and walked all the way back to her father's house. He sent her back, bound hand and foot and tied to the saddle of a donkey. They put her in the punishment cell until the abbess's wound healed. It was cold and damp and as black as the night, and there was water to drink but nothing to eat. When they let her out she walked home again. Her father sent her back again, and this time she was flogged before being put in the cell.\n\nThey broke her eventually, of course, and she donned the novice's habit, obeyed the rules and learned the prayers, even if in her heart she hated the nuns and despised the saints and disbelieved everything anyone told her about God on principle. But she learned to read and write, she mastered music and numbers and drawing, and she added Latin to the French and English she had spoken in her father's household.\n\nLife in the convent was not so bad, in the end. It was a single-sex community with its own peculiar rules and rituals, and that was exactly what she was used to. All the nuns had to do some physical labor, and Ellen soon got assigned to work with the horses. Before long she was in charge of the stables.\n\nPoverty never worried her. Obedience did not come easily, but it did come, eventually. The third rule, chastity, never troubled her much, although now and again, just to spite the abbess, she would introduce one of the other novice nuns to the pleasures of\u2014\n\nAgnes interrupted Ellen's tale at this point and, taking Martha with her, went off to find a stream in which to wash the child's face and clean up her tunic. She took Alfred too, for protection, although she said she would not go out of earshot. Jack got up to follow them, but Agnes told him firmly to stay behind, and he appeared to understand, for he sat down again. Tom noted that Agnes had succeeded in taking her children where they could not hear any more of this impious and indecent story, while leaving Tom chaperoned.\n\nOne day, Ellen went on, the abbess's palfrey went lame when she was several days away from the convent. Kingsbridge Priory happened to be nearby, so the abbess borrowed another horse from the prior there. After she got home, she told Ellen to return the borrowed horse to the priory and bring the lame palfrey back.\n\nThere, in the monastery stable within sight of the crumbling old cathedral of Kingsbridge, Ellen met a young man who looked like a whipped puppy. He had the loose-limbed grace of a pup, and the twitching-nosed alertness, but he was cowed and frightened, as if all the playfulness had been beaten out of him. When she spoke to him he did not understand. She tried Latin, but he was not a monk. Finally she said something in French, and his face was suffused with joy and he replied in the same language.\n\nEllen never went back to the convent.\n\nFrom that day on she lived in the forest, first in a rough shelter of branches and leaves, later in a dry cave. She had not forgotten the masculine skills she had learned in her father's house: she could still hunt deer, trap rabbits and shoot swans with a bow; she could gut and clean and cook the meat; and she even knew how to scrape and cure the hides and furs for her clothes. As well as game, she ate wild fruits, nuts and vegetables. Anything else she needed\u2014salt, woolen clothing, an ax or a new knife\u2014she had to steal.\n\nThe worst time was when Jack was born....\n\nBut what about the Frenchman? Tom wanted to ask. Was he Jack's father? And if so, when did he die? And how? But he could tell, from her face, that she was not going to talk about that part of the story, and she seemed the type of person who would not be persuaded against her will, so he kept his questions to himself.\n\nBy this time her father had died and his band of men had dispersed, so she had no relatives or friends in the world. When Jack was about to be born she built an all-night fire at the mouth of her cave. She had food and water on hand, and her bow and arrows and knives to ward off the wolves and wild dogs; and she even had a heavy red cloak, stolen from a bishop, to wrap the baby in. But she had not been prepared for the pain and fear of childbirth, and for a long time she thought she was going to die. Nevertheless the baby was born healthy and strong, and she survived.\n\nEllen and Jack lived a simple, frugal life for the next eleven years. The forest gave them all they needed, as long as they were careful to store enough apples and nuts and salted or smoked venison for the winter months. Ellen often thought that if there were no kings and lords and bishops and sheriffs, then everyone could live like this and be perfectly happy.\n\nTom asked her how she dealt with the other outlaws, men such as Faramond Openmouth. What would happen if they crept up on her at night and tried to rape her? he wondered, and his loins stirred at the thought, although he had never taken a woman against her will, not even his wife.\n\nThe other outlaws were afraid of Ellen, she told Tom, looking at him with her luminous pale eyes, and he knew why: they thought she was a witch. As for law-abiding people traveling through the forest, people who knew they could rob and rape and murder an outlaw without fear of punishment\u2014Ellen just hid from them. Why then had she not hidden from Tom? Because she had seen a wounded child, and wanted to help. She had a child herself.\n\nShe had taught Jack everything she had learned in her father's household about weapons and hunting. Then she had taught him all she had learned from the nuns: reading and writing, music and numbers, French and Latin, how to draw, even the Bible stories. Finally, in the long winter evenings, she had passed on the legacy of the Frenchman, who knew more stories and poems and songs than anyone else in the world\u2014\n\nTom did not believe that the boy Jack could read and write. Tom could write his name, and a handful of words such as pence and yards and bushels; and Agnes, being the daughter of a priest, could do more, although she wrote slowly and laboriously with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth; but Alfred could not write a word, and could barely recognize his own name; and Martha could not even do that. Was it possible that this half-witted child was more literate than Tom's whole family?\n\nEllen told Jack to write something, and he smoothed a patch of earth and scratched letters in it. Tom recognized the first word, Alfred, but not the others, and he felt a fool; then Ellen saved his embarrassment by reading the whole thing aloud: \"Alfred is bigger than Jack.\" The boy quickly drew two figures, one bigger than the other, and although they were crude, one had broad shoulders and a rather bovine expression and the other was small and grinning. Tom, who himself had a talent for sketching, was astonished at the simplicity and strength of the picture scratched in the dust.\n\nBut the child seemed an idiot.\n\nEllen had lately begun to realize this, she confessed, guessing Tom's thoughts. Jack had never had the company of other children, or indeed of other human beings except for his mother, and the result was that he was growing up like a wild animal. For all his learning he did not know how to behave with people. That was why he was silent, and stared, and snatched.\n\nAs she said this she looked vulnerable for the first time. Her air of impregnable self-sufficiency vanished, and Tom saw her as troubled and rather desperate. For Jack's sake, she needed to rejoin society; but how? If she had been a man, she might conceivably have persuaded some lord to give her a farm, especially if she had lied convincingly and said she was back from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or Santiago de Compostela. There were some women farmers, but they were invariably widows with grown sons. No lord would give a farm to a woman with one small child. Nobody would hire her as a laborer, either in town or country; besides, she had no place to live, and unskilled work rarely came with accommodation provided. She had no identity.\n\nTom felt for her. She had given her child everything she could, and it was not enough. But he could see no way out of her dilemma. Beautiful, resourceful, and formidable though she was, she was doomed to spend the rest of her days hiding in the forest with her weird son.\n\nAgnes, Martha and Alfred came back. Tom gazed anxiously at Martha, but she looked as if the worst thing that had ever happened to her was having her face scrubbed. For a while Tom had been absorbed in Ellen's problems, but now he remembered his own plight: he was out of work and his pig had been stolen. The afternoon was wearing on. He began to pick up their remaining possessions.\n\nEllen said: \"Where are you headed?\"\n\n\"Winchester,\" Tom told her. Winchester had a castle, a palace, several monasteries, and\u2014most important of all\u2014a cathedral.\n\n\"Salisbury is closer,\" Ellen said. \"And last time I was there, they were rebuilding the cathedral\u2014making it bigger.\"\n\nTom's heart leaped. This was what he was looking for. If only he could get a job on a cathedral building project he believed he had the ability to become master builder eventually. \"Which way is Salisbury?\" he said eagerly.\n\n\"Back the way you came, for three or four miles. Do you remember a fork in the road, where you went left?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014by a pond of foul water.\"\n\n\"That's it. The right fork leads to Salisbury.\"\n\nThey took their leave. Agnes had not liked Ellen, but managed nevertheless to say graciously: \"Thank you for helping me take care of Martha.\"\n\nEllen smiled and looked wistful as they left.\n\nWhen they had walked along the road for a few minutes Tom looked back. Ellen was still watching them, standing in the road with her legs apart, shading her eyes with her hand, the peculiar boy standing beside her. Tom waved, and she waved back.\n\n\"An interesting woman,\" he said to Agnes.\n\nAgnes said nothing.\n\nAlfred said: \"That boy was strange.\"\n\nThey walked into the low autumn sun. Tom wondered what Salisbury was like: he had never been there. He felt excited. Of course, his dream was to build a new cathedral from the ground up, but that almost never happened: it was much more common to find an old building being improved or extended, or partly rebuilt. But that would be good enough for him, as long as it offered the prospect of building to his own designs eventually.\n\nMartha said: \"Why did the man hit me?\"\n\n\"Because he wanted to steal our pig,\" Agnes told her.\n\n\"He should get his own pig,\" Martha said indignantly, as if she had only just realized that the outlaw had done something wrong.\n\nEllen's problem would have been solved if she had had a craft, Tom reflected. A mason, a carpenter, a weaver or a tanner would not have found himself in her position. He could always go to a town and look for work. There were a few craftswomen, but they were generally the wives or widows of craftsmen. \"What she needs,\" Tom said aloud, \"is a husband.\"\n\nAgnes said crisply: \"Well, she can't have mine.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "The day they lost the pig was also the last day of mild weather. They spent that night in a barn, and when they came out in the morning the sky was the color of a lead roof, and there was a cold wind with gusts of driving rain. They unbundled their cloaks of thick, felted cloth and put them on, fastening them tight under their chins and pulling the hoods well forward to keep the rain off their faces. They set off in a grim mood, four gloomy ghosts in a rainstorm, their wooden clogs splashing along the puddled, muddy road.\n\nTom wondered what Salisbury cathedral would be like. A cathedral was a church like any other, in principle: it was simply the church where the bishop had his throne. But in practice cathedral churches were the biggest, richest, grandest and most elaborate. A cathedral was rarely a tunnel with windows. Most were three tunnels, a tall one flanked by two smaller ones in a head-and-shoulders shape, forming a nave with side aisles. The side walls of the central tunnel were reduced to two lines of pillars linked by arches, forming an arcade. The aisles were used for processions\u2014which could be spectacular in cathedral churches\u2014and might also provide space for small side chapels dedicated to particular saints, which attracted important extra donations. Cathedrals were the most costly buildings in the world, far more so than palaces or castles, and they had to earn their keep.\n\nSalisbury was closer than Tom had thought. Around midmorning they crested a rise, and found the road falling away gently before them in a long curve; and across the rainswept fields, rising out of the flat plain like a boat on a lake, they saw the fortified hill town of Salisbury. Its details were veiled by the rain, but Tom could make out several towers, four or five, soaring high above the city walls. His spirits lifted at the sight of so much stonework.\n\nA cold wind whipped across the plain, freezing their faces and hands as they followed the road toward the east gate. Four roads met at the foot of the hill, amid a scatter of houses spilled over from the town, and there they were joined by other travelers, walking with hunched shoulders and lowered heads, butting through the weather to the shelter of the walls.\n\nOn the slope leading to the gate they came up with an ox cart bearing a load of stone\u2014a very hopeful sign for Tom. The carter was bent down behind the crude wooden vehicle, pushing with his shoulder, adding his strength to that of the two oxen as they inched uphill. Tom saw a chance to make a friend. He beckoned to Alfred, and they both put their shoulders to the back of the cart and helped push.\n\nThe huge wooden wheels rumbled onto a timber bridge that spanned an enormous dry moat. The earthworks were formidable: digging that moat, and throwing up the soil to form the town wall, must have taken hundreds of men, Tom thought; a much bigger job even than digging the foundations for a cathedral. The bridge that crossed the moat rattled and creaked under the weight of the cart and the two mighty beasts that were pulling it.\n\nThe slope leveled and the cart moved more easily as they approached the gateway. The carter straightened up, and Tom and Alfred did likewise. \"I thank you kindly,\" the carter said.\n\nTom asked: \"What's the stone for?\"\n\n\"The new cathedral.\"\n\n\"New? I heard they were just enlarging the old one.\"\n\nThe carter nodded. \"That's what they said, ten years ago. But there's more new than old, now.\"\n\nThis was further good news. \"Who's the master builder?\"\n\n\"John of Shaftesbury, though Bishop Roger has a lot to do with the designs.\"\n\nThat was normal. Bishops rarely left builders alone to do the job. One of the master builder's problems was often to calm the fevered imaginations of the clerics and set practical limits to their soaring fantasies. But it would be John of Shaftesbury who hired men.\n\nThe carter nodded at Tom's satchel of tools. \"Mason?\"\n\n\"Yes. Looking for work.\"\n\n\"You may find it,\" the carter said neutrally. \"If not on the cathedral, perhaps on the castle.\"\n\n\"And who governs the castle?\"\n\n\"The same Roger is both bishop and castellan.\"\n\nOf course, Tom thought. He had heard of the powerful Roger of Salisbury, who had been close to the king for as long as anyone could remember.\n\nThey passed through the gateway into the town. The place was crammed so full of buildings, people and animals that it seemed in danger of bursting its circular ramparts and spilling out into the moat. The wooden houses were jammed together shoulder to shoulder, jostling for space like spectators at a hanging. Every tiny piece of land was used for something. Where two houses had been built with an alleyway between them, someone had put up a half-size dwelling in the alley, with no windows because its door took up almost all the frontage. Wherever a site was too small even for the narrowest of houses, there was a stall on it selling ale or bread or apples; and if there was not even room for that, then there would be a stable, a pigsty, a dunghill or a water barrel.\n\nIt was noisy, too. The rain did little to deaden the clamor of craftsmen's workshops, hawkers calling their wares, people greeting one another and bargaining and quarreling, animals neighing and barking and fighting.\n\nRaising her voice above the noise, Martha said: \"What's that stink?\"\n\nTom smiled. She had not been in a town for a couple of years. \"That's the smell of people,\" he told her.\n\nThe street was only a little wider than the ox cart, but the carter would not let his beasts stop, for fear they might not start again; so he whipped them on, ignoring all obstacles, and they shouldered their dumb way through the multitude, indiscriminately shoving aside a knight on a war-horse, a forester with a bow, a fat monk on a pony, men-at-arms and beggars and housewives and whores.\n\nThe cart came up behind an old shepherd struggling to keep a small flock together. It must be market day, Tom realized. As the cart went by, one of the sheep plunged through the open door of an alehouse, and in a moment the whole flock was in the house, bleating and panicking and upsetting tables and stools and alepots.\n\nThe ground underfoot was a sea of mud and rubbish. Tom had an eye for the fall of rain on a roof, and the width of gutter required to take the rain away; and he could see that all the rain falling on all the roofs of this half of the town was draining away through this street. In a bad storm, he thought, you would need a boat to cross the street.\n\nAs they approached the castle at the summit of the hill, the street widened. Here there were stone houses, one or two of them in need of a little repair. They belonged to craftsmen and traders, who had their shops and stores on the ground floor and living quarters above. Looking with a practiced eye at what was on sale, Tom could tell that this was a prosperous town. Everyone had to have knives and pots, but only prosperous people bought embroidered shawls, decorated belts and silver clasps.\n\nIn front of the castle the carter turned his ox team to the right, and Tom and his family followed. The street led around a quarter-circle, skirting the castle ramparts. Passing through another gate they left the hurly-burly of the town as quickly as they had entered it, and walked into a different kind of maelstrom: the hectic but ordered diversity of a major building site.\n\nThey were inside the walled cathedral close, which occupied the entire northwest quarter of the circular town. Tom stood for a moment taking it in. Just seeing and hearing and smelling it gave him a thrill like a sunny day. As they arrived behind the cartload of stone, two more carts were leaving empty. In lean-to sheds all along the side walls of the church, masons could be seen sculpting the stone blocks, with iron chisels and big wooden hammers, into the shapes that would be put together to form plinths, columns, capitals, shafts, buttresses, arches, windows, sills, pinnacles and parapets. In the middle of the close, well away from other buildings, stood the smithy, the glow of its fire visible through the open doorway; and the clang of hammer on anvil carried across the close as the smith made new tools to replace the ones the masons were wearing down. To most people it was a scene of chaos, but Tom saw a large and complex mechanism which he itched to control. He knew what each man was doing and he could see instantly how far the work had progressed. They were building the east facade.\n\nThere was a run of scaffolding across the east end at a height of twenty-five or thirty feet. The masons were in the porch, waiting for the rain to ease up, but their laborers were running up and down the ladders with stones on their shoulders. Higher up, on the timber framework of the roof, were the plumbers, like spiders creeping across a giant wooden web, nailing sheets of lead to the struts and installing the drainpipes and gutters.\n\nTom realized regretfully that the building was almost finished. If he did get hired here the work would not last more than a couple of years\u2014hardly enough time for him to rise to the position of master mason, let alone master builder. Nevertheless he would take the job, if he were offered it, for winter was coming. He and his family could have survived a winter without work if they had still had the pig, but without it Tom had to get a job.\n\nThey followed the cart across the close to where the stones were stacked. The oxen gratefully dipped their heads to the water trough. The carter called to a passing mason: \"Where's the master builder?\"\n\n\"In the castle,\" the mason replied.\n\nThe carter nodded and turned to Tom. \"You'll find him in the bishop's palace, I expect.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\n\"Mine to you.\"\n\nTom left the close with Agnes and the children following. They retraced their steps through the thronged, narrow streets to the front of the castle. Here was another dry moat and a second huge earthen rampart surrounding the central stronghold. They walked across the drawbridge. In a guardhouse to one side of the gateway, a thickset man in a leather tunic sat on a stool, looking out at the rain. He was wearing a sword. Tom addressed him. \"Good day. I'm called Tom Builder. I want to see the master builder, John of Shaftesbury.\"\n\n\"With the bishop,\" the guard said indifferently.\n\nThey went inside. Like most castles, this was a collection of miscellaneous buildings inside a wall of earth. The courtyard was about a hundred yards across. Opposite the gateway, on the far side, was the massive keep, the last stronghold in time of attack, rising high above the ramparts to provide a lookout. On their left was a clutter of low buildings, mostly wooden: a long stable, a kitchen, a bakery and several storehouses. There was a well in the middle. On the right, taking up most of the northern half of the compound, was a large stone house that was obviously the palace. It was built in the same style as the new cathedral, with small roundheaded doorways and windows, and it had two stories. It was new\u2014indeed, masons were still working on one corner of it, apparently building a tower. Despite the rain there were plenty of people in the courtyard, coming in and going out or hurrying through the rain from one building to another: men-at-arms, priests, tradesmen, construction workers and palace servants.\n\nTom could see several doorways in the palace, all open despite the rain. He was not quite sure what to do next. If the master builder was with the bishop, perhaps he ought not to interrupt. On the other hand, a bishop was not a king; and Tom was a free man and a mason on legitimate business, not some groveling serf with a complaint. He decided to be bold. Leaving Agnes and Martha, he walked with Alfred across the muddy courtyard to the palace and went through the nearest door.\n\nThey found themselves in a small chapel with a vaulted ceiling and a window in the far end over the altar. Near the doorway a priest sat at a high desk, writing rapidly on vellum. He looked up.\n\nTom said briskly: \"Where's Master John?\"\n\n\"In the vestry,\" said the priest, jerking his head toward a door in the side wall.\n\nTom did not ask to see the master. He found that if he acted as if he were expected he was less likely to waste time waiting around. He crossed the little chapel in a couple of strides and entered the vestry.\n\nIt was a small, square chamber lit by many candles. Most of the floor space was taken up by a shallow sandpit. The fine sand had been smoothed perfectly level with a rule. There were two men in the room. Both glanced briefly at Tom, then returned their attention to the sand. The bishop, a wrinkled old man with flashing black eyes, was drawing in the sand with a pointed stick. The master builder, wearing a leather apron, watched him with a patient air and a skeptical expression.\n\nTom waited in anxious silence. He must make a good impression: be courteous but not groveling and show his knowledge without being cocky. A master craftsman wanted his subordinates to be obedient as well as skillful, Tom knew from his own experience of being the hirer.\n\nBishop Roger was sketching a two-story building with large windows in three sides. He was a good draftsman, making straight lines and true right angles. He drew a plan and a side view of the building. Tom could see that it would never be built.\n\nThe bishop finished it and said: \"There.\"\n\nJohn turned to Tom and said: \"What is it?\"\n\nTom pretended to think he was being asked for his opinion of the drawing. He said: \"You can't have windows that big in an undercroft.\"\n\nThe bishop looked at him with irritation. \"It's a writing room, not an undercroft.\"\n\n\"It will fall down just the same.\"\n\nJohn said: \"He's right.\"\n\n\"But they must have light to write by.\"\n\nJohn shrugged and turned to Tom. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"My name is Tom and I'm a mason.\"\n\n\"I guessed that. What brings you here?\"\n\n\"I'm looking for work.\" Tom held his breath.\n\nJohn shook his head immediately. \"I can't hire you.\"\n\nTom's heart sank. He felt like turning on his heel, but he waited politely to hear the reasons.\n\n\"We've been building for ten years here,\" John went on. \"Most of the masons have houses in the town. We're coming to the end, and now I have more masons on the site than I really need.\"\n\nTom knew it was hopeless, but he said: \"And the palace?\"\n\n\"Same thing,\" said John. \"This is where I'm using my surplus men. If it weren't for this, and Bishop Roger's other castles, I'd be laying masons off already.\"\n\nTom nodded. In a neutral voice, trying not to sound desperate, he said: \"Do you hear of work anywhere?\"\n\n\"They were building at the monastery in Shaftesbury earlier in the year. Perhaps they still are. It's a day's journey away.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\" Tom turned to go.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" John called after him. \"You seem like a good man.\"\n\nTom went out without replying. He felt let down. He had allowed his hopes to rise too early: there was nothing unusual about being turned down. But he had been excited at the prospect of working on a cathedral again. Now he might have to work on a monotonous town wall or an ugly house for a silversmith.\n\nHe squared his shoulders as he walked back across the castle courtyard to where Agnes waited with Martha. He never showed his disappointment to her. He always tried to give the impression that all was well, he was in control of the situation, and it was of no great consequence if there was no work here because there was sure to be something in the next town, or the one after that. He knew that if he showed any sign of distress Agnes would urge him to find a place to settle down, and he did not want to do that, not unless he could settle in a town where there was a cathedral to be built.\n\n\"There's nothing for me here,\" he said to Agnes. \"Let's move on.\"\n\nShe looked crestfallen. \"You'd think, with a cathedral and a palace under construction, there would be room for one more mason.\"\n\n\"Both buildings are almost finished,\" Tom explained. \"They've got more men than they want.\"\n\nThe family crossed the drawbridge and plunged back into the crowded streets of the town. They had entered Salisbury by the east gate, and they would leave by the west, for that way led to Shaftesbury. Tom turned right, leading them through the part of the town they had not so far seen.\n\nHe stopped outside a stone house that looked in dire need of repair. The mortar used in building it had been too weak, and was now crumbling and falling out. Frost had got into the holes, cracking some of the stones. If it were left for another winter the damage would be worse. Tom decided to point this out to the owner.\n\nThe ground-floor entrance was a wide arch. The wooden door was open, and in the doorway a craftsman sat with a hammer in his right hand and a bradawl, a small metal tool with a sharp point, in his left. He was carving a complex design on a wooden saddle which sat on the bench before him. In the background Tom could see stores of wood and leather, and a boy with a broom sweeping shavings.\n\nTom said: \"Good day, Master Saddler.\"\n\nThe saddler looked up, classified Tom as the kind of man who would make his own saddle if he needed one, and gave a curt nod.\n\n\"I'm a builder,\" Tom went on. \"I see you're in need of my services.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Your mortar is crumbling, your stones are cracking and your house may not last another winter.\"\n\nThe saddler shook his head. \"This town is full of masons. Why would I employ a stranger?\"\n\n\"Very well.\" Tom turned away. \"God be with you.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said the saddler.\n\n\"An ill-mannered fellow,\" Agnes muttered to Tom as they walked away.\n\nThe street led them to a marketplace. Here in a half-acre sea of mud, peasants from the surrounding countryside exchanged what little surplus they might have of meat or grain, milk or eggs, for the things they needed and could not make themselves\u2014pots, plowshares, ropes and salt. Markets were usually colorful and rather boisterous. There was a lot of good-natured haggling, mock rivalry between adjacent stall holders, cheap cakes for the children, sometimes a minstrel or a group of tumblers, lots of painted whores, and perhaps a crippled soldier with tales of eastern deserts and berserk Saracen hordes. Those who made a good bargain often succumbed to the temptation to celebrate, and spent their profit on strong ale, so that there was always a rowdy atmosphere by midday. Others would lose their pennies at dice, and that led to fighting. But now, on a wet day in the morning, with the year's harvest sold or stored, the market was subdued. Rain-soaked peasants made taciturn bargains with shivering stall holders, and everyone looked forward to going home to a blazing fireplace.\n\nTom's family pushed through the disconsolate crowd, ignoring the halfhearted blandishments of the sausage seller and the knife sharpener. They had almost reached the far side of the marketplace when Tom saw his pig.\n\nHe was so surprised that at first he could not believe his eyes. Then Agnes hissed: \"Tom! Look!\" and he knew she had seen it too.\n\nThere was no doubt about it: he knew that pig as well as he knew Alfred or Martha. It was being held, in an expert grip, by a man who had the florid complexion and broad girth of one who eats as much meat as he needs and then some more: a butcher, without doubt. Both Tom and Agnes stood and stared at him, and since they blocked his path he could not help but notice them.\n\n\"Well?\" he said, puzzled by their stares and impatient to get by.\n\nIt was Martha who broke the silence. \"That's our pig!\" she said excitedly.\n\n\"So it is,\" said Tom, looking levelly at the butcher.\n\nFor an instant a furtive look crossed the man's face, and Tom realized he knew the pig was stolen. But he said: \"I've just paid fifty pence for it, and that makes it my pig.\"\n\n\"Whoever you gave your money to, the pig was not his to sell. No doubt that was why you got it so cheaply. Who did you buy it from?\"\n\n\"A peasant.\"\n\n\"One you know?\"\n\n\"No. Listen, I'm butcher to the garrison. I can't ask every farmer who sells me a pig or a cow to produce twelve men to swear the animal is his to sell.\"\n\nThe man turned aside as if to go away, but Tom caught him by the arm and stopped him. For a moment the man looked angry, but then he realized that if he got into a scuffle he would have to drop the pig, and that if one of Tom's family managed to pick it up, the balance of power would change and it would be the butcher who had to prove ownership. So he restrained himself and said: \"If you want to make an accusation, go to the sheriff.\"\n\nTom considered that briefly and dismissed it. He had no proof. Instead he said: \"What did he look like\u2014the man who sold you my pig?\"\n\nThe butcher looked shifty and said: \"Like anyone else.\"\n\n\"Did he keep his mouth covered?\"\n\n\"Now that I think of it, he did.\"\n\n\"He was an outlaw, concealing a mutilation,\" Tom said bitterly. \"I suppose you didn't think of that.\"\n\n\"It's pissing with rain!\" the butcher protested. \"Everyone's muffled up.\"\n\n\"Just tell me how long ago he left you.\"\n\n\"Just now.\"\n\n\"And where was he headed?\"\n\n\"To an alehouse, I'd guess.\"\n\n\"To spend my money,\" Tom said disgustedly. \"Go on, clear off. You may be robbed yourself, one day, and then you'll wish there were not so many people eager to buy a bargain without asking questions.\"\n\nThe butcher looked angry, and hesitated as if he wanted to make some rejoinder; then he thought better of it and disappeared.\n\nAgnes said: \"Why did you let him go?\"\n\n\"Because he's known here and I'm not,\" Tom said. \"If I fight with him I'll be blamed. And because the pig doesn't have my name written on its arse, so who is to say whether it is mine or not?\"\n\n\"But all our savings\u2014\"\n\n\"We may get the money for the pig, yet,\" said Tom. \"Shut up and let me think.\" The altercation with the butcher had angered him, and it relieved his frustration to speak harshly to Agnes. \"Somewhere in this town there is a man with no lips and fifty silver pennies in his pocket. All we have to do is find him and take the money from him.\"\n\n\"Right,\" said Agnes determinedly.\n\n\"You walk back the way we've come. Go as far as the cathedral close. I'll walk on, and come to the cathedral from the other direction. Then we'll return by the next street, and so on. If he's not on the streets he's in an alehouse. When you see him, stay by him and send Martha to find me. I'll take Alfred. Try not to let the outlaw see you.\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" Agnes said grimly. \"I want that money, to feed my children.\"\n\nTom touched her arm and smiled. \"You're a lion, Agnes.\"\n\nShe looked into his eyes for a moment, then suddenly stood on her toes and kissed his mouth, briefly but hard. Then she turned and went back across the marketplace with Martha in tow. Tom watched her out of sight, feeling anxious for her despite her courage; then he went in the opposite direction with Alfred.\n\nThe thief seemed to think he was perfectly safe. Of course, when he stole the pig, Tom had been heading for Winchester. The thief had gone in the opposite direction, to sell the pig in Salisbury. But the outlaw woman, Ellen, had told Tom that Salisbury cathedral was being rebuilt, and he had changed his plans, and inadvertently caught up with the thief. However, the man thought he would' never see Tom again, which gave Tom a chance to catch him unawares.\n\nTom walked slowly along the muddy street, trying to seem casual as he glanced in at open doorways. He wanted to remain unobtrusive, for this episode could end in violence, and he did not want people to remember a tall mason searching the town. Most of the houses were ordinary hovels of wood, mud and thatch, with straw on the floor, a fireplace in the middle, and a few bits of homemade furniture. A barrel and some benches made an alehouse; a bed in the corner with a curtain to screen it meant a whore; a noisy crowd around a single table signified a game of dice.\n\nA woman with red-stained lips bared her breasts to him, and he shook his head and hurried past. He was secretly intrigued by the idea of doing it with a total stranger, in daylight, and paying for it, but in all his life he had never tried it.\n\nHe thought again of Ellen, the outlaw woman. There was something intriguing about her, too. She was powerfully attractive, but those deep-set, intense eyes were intimidating. An invitation from a whore made Tom feel discontented for a few moments, but the spell cast by Ellen had not yet worn off, and he had a sudden foolish desire to run back into the forest and find her and fall on her.\n\nHe arrived at the cathedral close without seeing the outlaw. He looked at the plumbers nailing the lead to the triangular timber roof over the nave. They had not yet begun to cover the lean-to roofs on the side aisles of the church, and it was still possible to see the supporting half-arches which connected the outside edge of the aisle with the main nave wall, propping up the top half of the church. He pointed them out to Alfred. \"Without those supports, the nave wall would bow outward and buckle, because of the weight of the stone vaults inside,\" he explained. \"See how the half-arches line up with the buttresses in the aisle wall? They also line up with the pillars of the nave arcade inside. And the aisle windows line up with the arches of the arcade. Strong lines up with strong, and weak with weak.\" Alfred looked baffled and resentful. Tom sighed.\n\nHe saw Agnes coming from the opposite side, and his mind returned to his immediate problem. Agnes's hood concealed her face, but he recognized her chin-forward, surefooted walk. Broad-shouldered laborers stepped aside to let her pass. If she were to run into the outlaw, and there was a fight, he thought grimly, it would be a fairly even match.\n\n\"Did you see him?\" she said.\n\n\"No. Obviously you didn't either.\" Tom hoped the thief had not left the town already. Surely he would not go without spending some of his pennies? Money was no use in the forest.\n\nAgnes was thinking the same. \"He's here somewhere. Let's keep looking.\"\n\n\"We'll go back by different streets and meet again in the marketplace.\"\n\nTom and Alfred retraced their steps across the close and went out through the gateway. The rain was soaking through their cloaks now, and Tom thought fleetingly of a pot of beer and a bowl of beef broth beside an alehouse fire. Then he thought how hard he had worked to buy the pig, and he saw again the man with no lips swinging his club at Martha's innocent head, and his anger warmed him.\n\nIt was difficult to search systematically because there was no order to the streets. They wandered here and there, according to where people had built houses, and there were many sharp turns and blind alleys. The only straight street was the one that led from the east gate to the castle drawbridge. On his first sweep Tom had stayed close to the ramparts of the castle. Now he searched the outskirts, zigzagging to the town wall and back into the interior. These were the poorer quarters, with the most ramshackle buildings, the noisiest alehouses and the oldest whores. The edge of the town was downhill from the center, so the refuse from the wealthier neighborhood was washed down the streets to lodge beneath the walls. Something similar seemed to happen to the people, for this district had more than its share of cripples and beggars, hungry children and bruised women and helpless drunks.\n\nBut the man with no lips was nowhere to be seen.\n\nTwice Tom spotted a man of about the right build and general appearance, and took a closer look, only to see that the man's face was normal.\n\nHe ended his search at the marketplace, and there was Agnes waiting for him impatiently, her body tense and her eyes gleaming. \"I've found him!\" she hissed.\n\nTom felt a surge of excitement mingled with apprehension. \"Where?\"\n\n\"He went into a cookshop down by the east gate.\"\n\n\"Lead me there.\"\n\nThey circled the castle to the drawbridge, went down the straight street to the east gate, then turned into a maze of alleys beneath the walls. Tom saw the cookshop a moment later. It was not even a house, just a sloping roof on four posts, up against the town wall, with a huge fire at the back over which a sheep turned on a spit and a cauldron bubbled. It was now about noon and the little place was full of people, mostly men. The smell of the meat made Tom's stomach rumble. He raked the little crowd with his eyes, fearful that the outlaw might have left in the short time it had taken them to get here. He spotted the man immediately, sitting on a stool a little apart from the crowd, eating a bowl of stew with a spoon, holding his scarf in front of his face to hide his mouth.\n\nTom turned away quickly so that the man should not see him. Now he had to decide how to handle this. He was angry enough to knock the outlaw down and take his purse. But the crowd would not let him walk away. He would have to explain himself, not just to bystanders but to the sheriff. Tom was within his rights, and the fact that the thief was an outlaw meant that he would not have anyone to vouch for his honesty; whereas Tom was evidently a respectable man and a mason. But establishing all that would take time, possibly weeks if the sheriff happened to be away in another part of the county; and there might still be an accusation of breaking the king's peace, if a brawl should result.\n\nNo. It would be wiser to get the thief alone.\n\nThe man could not stay in the town overnight, for he had no home here, and he could not get lodgings without establishing himself as a respectable man somehow. Therefore he had to leave before the gates closed at nightfall.\n\nAnd there were only two gates.\n\n\"He'll probably go back the way he came,\" Tom said to Agnes. \"I'll wait outside the east gate. Let Alfred watch the west gate. You stay in the town and see what the thief does. Keep Martha with you, but don't let him see her. If you need to send a message to me or Alfred, use Martha.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Agnes said tersely.\n\nAlfred said: \"What should I do if he comes out my way?\" He sounded excited.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Tom said firmly. \"Watch which road he takes, then wait. Martha will fetch me, and we'll overtake him together.\" Alfred looked disappointed, and Tom said: \"You do as I say. I don't want to lose my son as well as my pig.\"\n\nAlfred nodded reluctant assent.\n\n\"Let's break up, before he notices us huddling together and plotting. Go.\"\n\nTom left them immediately, not looking back. He could rely on Agnes to carry out the plan. He hurried to the east gate and left the town, crossing the rickety wooden bridge over which he had pushed the ox cart that morning. Directly ahead of him was the Winchester road, going east, dead straight, like a long carpet unrolled over the hills and valleys. To his left, the road by which Tom\u2014and presumably the thief\u2014had come to Salisbury, the Portway, curled up over a hill and disappeared. The thief would almost certainly take the Portway.\n\nTom went down the hill and through the cluster of houses at the crossroads, then turned onto the Portway. He needed to hide himself. He walked along the road looking for a suitable spot. He went two hundred yards without finding anything. Looking back, he realized that this was too far: he could no longer see the faces of people at the crossroads, so that he would not know if the man with no lips came along and took the Winchester road. He scanned the landscape again. The road was bordered on either side by ditches, which might have offered concealment in dry weather, but today were running with water. Beyond each ditch the land rose in a hump. In the field on the south side of the road a few cows were grazing the stubble. Tom noticed that one of the cows was lying down at the raised edge of the field, overlooking the road, partly concealed by the hump. With a sigh, he retraced his steps. He jumped the ditch and kicked the cow. It got up and went away. Tom lay down in the warm, dry patch it had left. He pulled his hood over his face and settled to wait, wishing he had had the foresight to buy some bread before leaving the town.\n\nHe was anxious and a little scared. The outlaw was a smaller man, but he was fast-moving and vicious, as he had shown when he clubbed Martha and stole the pig. Tom was a little afraid of being hurt but much more worried that he might not get his money.\n\nHe hoped Agnes and Martha were all right. Agnes could look after herself, he knew; and even if the outlaw spotted her, what could the man do? He would just be on his guard, that was all.\n\nFrom where he lay Tom could see the towers of the cathedral. He wished he had had a moment to look inside. He was curious about the treatment of the piers of the arcade. These were usually fat pillars, each with arches sprouting from its top: two arches going north and south, to connect with the neighboring pillars in the arcade; and one going east or west, across the side aisle. It was an ugly effect, for there was something not quite right about an arch that sprang from the top of a round column. When Tom built his cathedral each pier would be a cluster of shafts, with an arch springing from the top of each shaft\u2014an elegantly logical arrangement.\n\nHe began to visualize the decoration of the arches. Geometric shapes were the commonest forms\u2014it did not take much skill to carve zigzags and lozenges\u2014but Tom liked foliage, which lent softness and a touch of nature to the hard regularity of the stones.\n\nThe imaginary cathedral occupied his mind until midafternoon, when he saw the slight figure and blond head of Martha come skipping across the bridge and through the houses. She hesitated at the crossing, then picked the right road. Tom watched her walk toward him, seeing her frown as she began to wonder where he could be. As she drew level with him he called her softly. \"Martha.\"\n\nShe gave a little squeal, then saw him and ran to him, jumping over the ditch. \"Mummy sent you this,\" she said, and took something from inside her cloak.\n\nIt was a hot meat pie. \"By the cross, your mother's a good woman!\" said Tom, and took a mammoth bite. It was made with beef and onions, and it tasted heavenly.\n\nMartha squatted beside Tom on the grass. \"This is what happened to the man who stole our pig,\" she said. She screwed up her nose and concentrated on remembering what she had been told to say. She was so sweet that she took Tom's breath away. \"He came out of the cookshop and met a lady with a painted face, and went to her house. We waited outside.\"\n\nWhile the outlaw spent our money on a whore, Tom thought bitterly. \"Go on.\"\n\n\"He was not long in the lady's house, and when he came out he went to an alehouse. He's there now. He doesn't drink much but he plays at dice.\"\n\n\"I hope he wins,\" Tom said grimly. \"Is that it?\"\n\n\"That's all.\"\n\n\"Are you hungry?\"\n\n\"I had a bun.\"\n\n\"Have you told Alfred all this?\"\n\n\"Not yet. I'm to go to him next.\"\n\n\"Tell him he must try to stay dry.\"\n\n\"Try to stay dry,\" she repeated. \"Shall I say that before or after telling him about the man who stole our pig?\"\n\nIt did not matter, of course. \"After,\" Tom said, as she wanted a definite answer. He smiled at her. \"You're a clever girl. Off you go.\"\n\n\"I like this game,\" she said. She waved and left, her girlish legs twinkling as she jumped the ditch daintily and ran back toward the town. Tom watched her with love and anger in his heart. He and Agnes had worked hard to get money to feed their children, and he was ready to kill to get back what had been stolen from them.\n\nPerhaps the outlaw would be ready to kill, too. Outlaws were outside the law, as the name implied: they lived in unconstrained violence. This might not be the first time Faramond Openmouth had come up against one of his victims. He was nothing if not dangerous.\n\nThe daylight began to fade surprisingly early, as it sometimes did on wet autumn afternoons. Tom started to worry whether he would recognize the thief in the rain. As evening closed in, the traffic to and from the town thinned out, for most visitors had left in time to reach their home villages by nightfall. The lights of candles and lanterns began to flicker in the higher houses of the town and in the suburban hovels. Tom wondered pessimistically if the thief might stay overnight after all. Perhaps he had dishonest friends in the town who would put him up even though they knew he was an outlaw. Perhaps\u2014\n\nThen Tom saw a man with a scarf across his mouth.\n\nHe was walking across the wooden bridge close to two other men. It suddenly occurred to Tom that the thief's two accomplices, the bald one and the man in the green hat, might have come to Salisbury with him. Tom had not seen either of them in the town but the three might have separated for a while and then joined up again for the return journey. Tom cursed under his breath: he did not think he could fight three men. But as they came closer the group separated, and Tom realized with relief that they were not together after all.\n\nThe first two were father and son, two peasants with dark, close-set eyes and hooked noses. They took the Portway, and the man with the scarf followed.\n\nHe studied the thief's gait as he came closer. He appeared sober. That was a pity.\n\nGlancing back to the town he saw a woman and a girl emerge onto the bridge: Agnes and Martha. He was dismayed. He had not envisaged their being present when he confronted the thief. However, he realized that he had given no instructions to the contrary.\n\nHe tensed as they all came up the road toward him. Tom was so big that most people gave in to him in a confrontation; but outlaws were desperate, and there was no telling what might happen in a fight.\n\nThe two peasants went by, mildly merry, talking about horses. Tom took his ironheaded hammer from his belt and hefted it in his right hand. He hated thieves, who did no work but took the bread from good people. He would have no qualms about hitting this one with a hammer.\n\nThe thief seemed to slow down as he came near, almost as if he sensed danger. Tom waited until he was four or five yards away\u2014too near to run back, too far to run past. Then Tom rolled over the bank, sprang across the ditch, and stood in his way.\n\nThe man stopped dead and stared at him. \"What's this?\" he said nervously.\n\nHe doesn't recognize me, Tom thought. He said: \"You stole my pig yesterday and sold it to a butcher today.\"\n\n\"I never\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't deny it,\" Tom said. \"Just give me the money you got for it, and I won't hurt you.\"\n\nFor a moment he thought the thief was going to do just that. He felt a sense of anticlimax as the man hesitated. Then the thief turned on his heel and ran\u2014straight into Agnes.\n\nHe was not traveling fast enough to knock her over\u2014and she was a woman who took a lot of knocking over\u2014and the two of them staggered from side to side for a moment in a clumsy dance. Then he realized she was deliberately obstructing him, and he pushed her aside. She stuck out her leg as he went past her. Her foot got between his knees and both of them fell down.\n\nTom's heart was in his mouth as he raced to her side. The thief was getting up with one knee on her back. Tom grabbed his collar and yanked him off her. He hauled him to the side of the road before he could regain his balance, then threw him into the ditch.\n\nAgnes stood up. Martha ran to her. Tom said rapidly: \"All right?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Agnes answered.\n\nThe two peasants had stopped and turned around, and they were staring at the scene, wondering what was going on. The thief was on his knees in the ditch. \"He's an outlaw,\" Agnes called out to them, to discourage them from interfering. \"He stole our pig.\" The peasants made no reply, but waited to see what would happen next.\n\nTom spoke to the thief again. \"Give me my money and I'll let you go.\"\n\nThe man came up out of the ditch with a knife in his hand, fast as a rat, and went for Tom's throat. Agnes screamed. Tom dodged. The knife flashed across his face and he felt a burning pain along his jaw.\n\nHe stepped back and swung his hammer as the knife flashed again. The thief jumped back, and both knife and hammer swished through the damp evening air without connecting.\n\nFor an instant the two men stood still, facing one another, breathing hard. Tom's cheek hurt. He realized they were evenly matched, for although Tom was bigger, the thief had a knife, which was a deadlier weapon than a mason's hammer. He felt the cold grasp of fear as he realized he might be about to die. He suddenly felt he could not breathe.\n\nFrom the corner of his eye he saw a sudden movement. The thief saw it too, and darted a glance at Agnes, then ducked his head as a stone came flying at him from her hand.\n\nTom reacted with the speed of a man in fear of his life, and swung his hammer at the thief's bent head.\n\nIt connected just as the man was looking up again. The iron hammer struck his forehead at the hairline. It was a hasty blow, and did not have all of Tom's considerable strength behind it. The thief staggered but did not fall.\n\nTom hit him again.\n\nThis blow was harder. He had time to lift the hammer above his head and aim it, as the dazed thief tried to focus his eyes. Tom thought of Martha as he swung the hammer down. It struck with all his force, and the thief fell to the ground like a dropped doll.\n\nTom was wound up too tightly to feel any relief. He knelt beside the thief, searching him. \"Where's his purse? Where's his purse, damnation!\" The limp body was difficult to move. Finally Tom laid him flat on his back and opened his cloak. There was a big leather purse hanging from his belt. Tom undid its clasp. Inside was a soft wool bag with a drawstring. Tom pulled it out. It was light. \"Empty!\" Tom said. \"He must have another.\"\n\nHe pulled the cloak from under the man and carefully felt it all over. There were no concealed pockets, no hard parts. He pulled off the boots. There was nothing inside them. He drew his eating knife from his belt and slit the soles: nothing.\n\nImpatiently, he slipped his knife inside the neck of the thief's woolen tunic and ripped it to the hem. There was no hidden money belt.\n\nThe thief lay in the middle of the mud road, naked but for his stockings. The two peasants were staring at Tom as if he were mad. Furiously, Tom said to Agnes: \"He hasn't any money!\"\n\n\"He must have lost it all at dice,\" she said bitterly.\n\n\"I hope he burns in the fires of hell,\" Tom said.\n\nAgnes knelt down and felt the thief's chest. \"That's where he is now,\" she said. \"You've killed him.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "By Christmas they were starving.\n\nThe winter came early, and it was as cold and hard and unyielding as a stonemason's iron chisel. There were still apples on the trees when the first frost dusted the fields. People called it a cold snap, thinking it would be brief, but it was not. Villages that left the autumn plowing a little late broke their plowshares on the rock-hard earth. The peasants hastened to kill their pigs and salt them for the winter, and the lords slaughtered their cattle, because winter grazing would not support the same number of livestock as summer. But the endless freeze withered the grass, and some of the remaining animals died anyway. Wolves became desperate, and came into villages at dusk to snatch away scraggy chickens and listless children.\n\nOn building sites all over the country, as soon as the first frost struck, the walls that had been built that summer were hastily covered with straw and dung to insulate them from the worst cold, because the mortar in them was not yet completely dry, and if it were to freeze it would crack. No further mortar work would be done until spring. Some of the masons had been hired for the summer only, and they went back to their home villages, where they were known as wrights rather than masons, and they would spend the winter making plows, saddles, harness, carts, shovels, doors, and anything else that required a skilled hand with hammer and chisel and saw. The other masons moved into the lean-to lodges on the site and cut stones in intricate shapes all the hours of daylight. But because the frost was early, the work progressed too fast; and because the peasants were starving, the bishops and castellans and lords had less money to spend on building than they had hoped; and so as the winter wore on some of the masons were dismissed.\n\nTom and his family walked from Salisbury to Shaftesbury, and from there to Sherborne, Wells, Bath, Bristol, Gloucester, Oxford, Wallingford and Windsor. Everywhere the fires inside the lodges burned, and the churchyards and castle walls rang with the song of iron on stone, and the master builders made small precise models of arches and vaults with their clever hands encased in fingerless gloves. Some masters were impatient, abrupt or discourteous; others looked sadly at Tom's thin children and pregnant wife and spoke kindly and regretfully; but they all said the same thing: No, there's no work for you here.\n\nWhenever they could, they imposed upon the hospitality of monasteries, where travelers could always get a meal of some kind and a place to sleep\u2014strictly for one night only. When the blackberries ripened in the bramble thickets, they lived on those for days on end, like the birds. In the forest, Agnes would light a fire under the iron cooking pot and boil porridge. But still, much of the time, they were obliged to buy bread from bakers and pickled herrings from fishmongers, or to eat in alehouses and cookshops, which was more expensive than preparing their own food; and so their money inexorably drained away.\n\nMartha was naturally skinny but she became even thinner. Alfred was still getting taller, like a weed growing in shallow soil, and he became lanky. Agnes ate sparingly, but the baby growing inside her was greedy, and Tom could see that she was tormented by hunger. Sometimes he ordered her to eat more, and then even her iron will yielded to the combined authority of her husband and her unborn child. Still she did not grow plump and rosy, as she had during other pregnancies. Instead she looked gaunt despite her swollen belly, like a starving child in a famine.\n\nSince leaving Salisbury they had walked around three quarters of a big circle, and by the end of the year they were back in the vast forest that stretched from Windsor to Southampton. They were heading for Winchester. Tom had sold his mason's tools, and all but a few pennies of that money had been spent: he would have to borrow tools, or the money to buy them, as soon as he found employment. If he did not get work in Winchester he did not know what he would do. He had brothers, back in his hometown; but that was in the north, a journey of several weeks, and the family would starve before they got there. Agnes was an only child and her parents were dead. There was no agricultural work in midwinter. Perhaps Agnes could scrape a few pennies as a scullery maid in a rich house in Winchester. She certainly could not tramp the roads much longer, for her time was near.\n\nBut Winchester was three days away and they were hungry now. The blackberries were gone, there was no monastery in prospect, and Agnes had no oats left in the cooking pot which she carried on her back. The previous night they had traded a knife for a loaf of rye bread, four bowls of broth with no meat in it, and a place to sleep by the fire in a peasant's hovel. They had not seen a village since. But toward the end of the afternoon Tom saw smoke rising above the trees, and they found the home of a solitary verderer, one of the king's forest police. He gave them a sack of turnips in exchange for Tom's small ax.\n\nThey had walked only three miles farther when Agnes said she was too tired to go on. Tom was surprised. In all their years together he had never known her to say she was too tired for anything.\n\nShe sat down in the shelter of a big horse-chestnut tree beside the road. Tom dug a shallow pit for a fire, using a worn wooden shovel\u2014one of the few tools they had left, for nobody would want to buy it. The children gathered twigs and Tom started the fire, then he took the cooking pot and went to find a stream. He returned with the pot full of icy water and set it at the edge of the fire, Agnes sliced some turnips. Martha collected the conkers that had dropped from the tree, and Agnes showed her how to peel them and grind the soft insides into a coarse flour to thicken the turnip soup. Tom sent Alfred to find more firewood, while he himself took a stick and went poking around in the dead leaves on the forest floor, hoping to find a hibernating hedgehog or squirrel to put in the broth. He was unlucky.\n\nHe sat down beside Agnes while darkness fell and the soup cooked. \"Have we any salt left?\" he asked her.\n\nShe shook her head. \"You've been eating porridge without salt for weeks,\" she said. \"Haven't you noticed?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Hunger is the best seasoning.\"\n\n\"Well, we've plenty of that.\" Tom was suddenly terribly tired. He felt the crushing burden of the piled-up disappointments of the last four months and he could not be brave any longer. In a defeated voice he said: \"What went wrong, Agnes?\"\n\n\"Everything,\" she said. \"You had no work last winter. You got a job in the spring; then the earl's daughter canceled the wedding and Lord William canceled the house. Then we decided to stay and work in the harvest\u2014that was a mistake.\"\n\n\"For sure it would have been easier for me to find a building job in the summer than it was in the autumn.\"\n\n\"And the winter came early. And for all that, we would still have been all right, but then our pig was stolen.\"\n\nTom nodded wearily. \"My only consolation is knowing that the thief is even now suffering all the torments of hell.\"\n\n\"I hope so.\"\n\n\"Do you doubt it?\"\n\n\"Priests don't know as much as they pretend to. My father was one, remember.\"\n\nTom remembered very well. One wall of her father's parish church had crumbled beyond repair, and Tom had been hired to rebuild it. Priests were not allowed to marry, but this priest had a housekeeper, and the housekeeper had a daughter, and it was an open secret in the village that the priest was the father of the girl. Agnes had not been beautiful, even then, but her skin had had a glow of youth, and she had seemed to be bursting with energy. She would talk to Tom while he was working, and sometimes the wind would flatten her dress against her so that Tom could see the curves of her body, even her navel, almost as clearly as if she had been naked. One night she came to the little hut where he slept, and put a hand over his mouth to tell him not to speak, and pulled off her dress so that he could see her nude in the moonlight, and then he took her strong young body in his arms and they made love.\n\n\"We were both virgins,\" he said aloud.\n\nShe knew what he was thinking about. She smiled, then her face saddened again, and she said: \"It seems so long ago.\"\n\nMartha said: \"Can we eat now?\"\n\nThe smell of the soup was making Tom's stomach rumble. He dipped his bowl into the bubbling cauldron and brought out a few slices of turnip in a thin gruel. He used the blunt edge of his knife to test the turnip. It was not cooked all the way through, but he decided not to make them wait. He gave a bowlful to each child, then took one to Agnes.\n\nShe looked drawn and thoughtful. She blew on her soup to cool it, then raised the bowl to her lips.\n\nThe children quickly drained theirs and wanted more. Tom took the pot out of the fire, using the hem of his cloak to avoid burning his hands, and emptied the remaining soup into the children's bowls.\n\nWhen he returned to Agnes's side she said: \"What about you?\"\n\n\"I'll eat tomorrow,\" he said.\n\nShe seemed too tired to argue.\n\nTom and Alfred built the fire high and gathered enough wood to last the night. Then they all rolled up in their cloaks and lay down on the leaves to sleep.\n\nTom slept lightly, and when Agnes groaned he woke up instantly. \"What is it?\" he whispered.\n\nShe groaned again. Her face was pale and her eyes were closed. After a moment she said: \"The baby is coming.\"\n\nTom's heart missed a beat. Not here, he thought; not here on the frozen ground in the depths of a forest. \"But it's not due,\" he said.\n\n\"It's early.\"\n\nTom made his voice calm. \"Have the waters broken?\"\n\n\"Soon after we left the verderer's hut,\" Agnes panted, not opening her eyes.\n\nTom remembered her suddenly diving into the bushes as if to answer an urgent call of nature. \"And the pains?\"\n\n\"Ever since.\"\n\nIt was like her to keep quiet about it.\n\nAlfred and Martha were awake. Alfred said: \"What's happening?\"\n\n\"The baby is coming,\" Tom said.\n\nMartha burst into tears.\n\nTom frowned. \"Could you make it back to the verderer's hut?\" he asked Agnes. There they would at least have a roof, and straw to lie on, and someone to help.\n\nAgnes shook her head. \"The baby has dropped already.\"\n\n\"It won't be long, then!\" They were in the most deserted part of the forest. They had not seen a village since morning, and the verderer had said they would not see one all day tomorrow. That meant there was no possibility of finding a woman to act as midwife. Tom would have to deliver the baby himself, in the cold, with only the children to help, and if anything should go wrong he had no medicines, no knowledge....\n\nThis is my fault, Tom thought; I got her with child, and I brought her into destitution. She trusted me to provide for her, and now she is giving birth in the open air in the middle of winter. He had always despised men who fathered children and then left them to starve; and now he was no better than they. He felt ashamed.\n\n\"I'm so tired,\" Agnes said. \"I don't believe I can bring this baby into the world. I want to rest.\" Her face glistened, in the firelight, with a thin film of sweat.\n\nTom realized he must pull himself together. He was going to have to give Agnes strength. \"I'll help you,\" he said. There was nothing mysterious or complicated about what was going to happen. He had watched the births of several children. The work was normally done by women, for they knew how the mother felt, and that enabled them to be more helpful; but there was no reason why a man should not do it if necessary. He must first make her comfortable; then find out how far advanced the birth was; then make sensible preparations; then calm her and reassure her while they waited.\n\n\"How do you feel?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Cold,\" she replied.\n\n\"Come closer to the fire,\" he said. He took off his cloak and spread it on the ground a yard from the blaze. Agnes tried to struggle to her feet. Tom lifted her easily, and set her down gently on his cloak.\n\nHe knelt beside her. The wool tunic she was wearing underneath her own cloak had buttons all the way down the front. He undid two of them and put his hands inside. Agnes gasped.\n\n\"Does it hurt?\" he said, surprised and worried.\n\n\"No,\" she said with a brief smile. \"Your hands are cold.\"\n\nHe felt the outline of her belly. The swelling was higher and more pointed than it had been last night, when the two of them had slept together in the straw on the floor of a peasant's hovel. Tom pressed a little harder, feeling the shape of the unborn baby. He found one end of the body, just beneath Agnes's navel; but he could not locate the other end. He said: \"I can feel its bottom, but not its head.\"\n\n\"That's because it's on the way out,\" she said.\n\nHe covered her and tucked her cloak around her. He would need to make his preparations quickly. He looked at the children. Martha was snuffling. Alfred just looked scared. It would be good to give them something to do.\n\n\"Alfred, take that cooking pot to the stream. Wash it clean and bring it back full of fresh water. Martha, collect some reeds and make me two lengths of string, each big enough for a necklace. Quick, now. You're going to have another brother or sister by daybreak.\"\n\nThey went off. Tom took out his eating knife and a small hard stone and began to sharpen the blade. Agnes groaned again. Tom put down his knife and held her hand.\n\nHe had sat with her like this when the others were born: Alfred; then Matilda, who had died after two years; and Martha; and the child who had been born dead, a boy whom Tom had secretly planned to name Harold. But each time there had been someone else to give help and reassurance\u2014Agnes's mother for Alfred, a village midwife for Matilda and Harold, and the lady of the manor, no less, for Martha. This time he would have to do it alone. But he must not show his anxiety: he must make her feel happy and confident.\n\nShe relaxed as the spasm passed. Tom said: \"Remember when Martha was born, and the Lady Isabella acted as midwife?\"\n\nAgnes smiled. \"You were building a chapel for the lord, and you asked her to send her maid to fetch the midwife from the village....\"\n\n\"And she said: 'That drunken old witch? I wouldn't let her deliver a litter of wolfhound pups!' And she took us to her own chamber, and Lord Robert could not go to bed until Martha was born.\"\n\n\"She was a good woman.\"\n\n\"There aren't many ladies like her.\"\n\nAlfred returned with the pot full of cold water. Tom set it down near the fire, not close enough to boil, so there would be warm water. Agnes reached inside her cloak and took out a small linen bag containing clean rags which she had ready.\n\nMartha came back with her hands full of reeds and sat down to plait them. \"What do you need strings for?\" she asked.\n\n\"Something very important, you'll see,\" Tom said. \"Make them well.\"\n\nAlfred looked restless and embarrassed. \"Go and collect more wood,\" Tom told him. \"Let's have a bigger fire.\" The boy went off, glad to have something to do.\n\nAgnes's face tautened with strain as she began to bear down again, pushing the baby out of her womb, making a low noise like a tree creaking in a gale. Tom could see that the effort was costing her dear, using up her last reserves of strength; and he wished with all his heart that he could bear down for her, and take the strain himself, to give her some relief. At last the pain seemed to ease, and Tom breathed again. Agnes seemed to drift off into a doze.\n\nAlfred returned with his arms full of sticks.\n\nAgnes became alert again and said: \"I'm so cold.\"\n\nTom said: \"Alfred, build up the fire. Martha, lie down beside your mother and keep her warm.\" They both obeyed with worried looks. Agnes put her arms around Martha and held her close, shivering.\n\nTom was sick with worry. The fire was roaring, but the air was getting colder. It might be so cold that it would kill the baby with its first breath. It was not unknown for children to be born out-of-doors; in fact it happened often at harvesttime, when everyone was so busy and the women worked up until the last minute; but at harvest the ground was dry and the grass was soft and the air was balmy. He had never heard of a woman giving birth outside in winter.\n\nAgnes raised herself on her elbows and spread her legs wider.\n\n\"What is it?\" Tom said in a frightened voice.\n\nShe was straining too hard to reply.\n\nTom said: \"Alfred, kneel down behind your mother and let her lean on you.\"\n\nWhen Alfred was in position, Tom opened Agnes's cloak and unbuttoned the skirt of her dress. Kneeling between her legs, he could see that the birth opening was beginning to dilate a little already. \"Not long now, my darling,\" he murmured, struggling to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice.\n\nShe relaxed again, closing her eyes and resting her weight on Alfred. The opening seemed to shrink a little. The forest was silent but for the crackling of the big fire. Suddenly Tom thought of how the outlaw woman, Ellen, had given birth in the forest alone. It must have been terrifying. She had feared that a wolf would come upon her while she was helpless and steal the newborn baby away, she had said. This year the wolves were bolder than usual, people said, but surely they would not attack a group of four people.\n\nAgnes tensed again, and fresh beads of sweat appeared on her contorted face. This is it, thought Tom. He was frightened. He watched the opening widen again, and this time he could see, by the light of the fire, the damp black hair of the baby's head pushing through. He thought of praying but there was no time now. Agnes began to breathe in short, fast gasps. The opening stretched wider\u2014impossibly wide\u2014and then the head began to come through, facedown. A moment later Tom saw the wrinkled ears flat against the side of the baby's head; then he saw the folded skin of the neck. He could not yet see whether the baby was normal.\n\n\"The head is out,\" he said, but Agnes knew that already, of course, for she could feel it; and she had relaxed again. Slowly the baby turned, so that Tom could see the closed eyes and mouth, wet with blood and the slippery fluids of the womb.\n\nMartha cried: \"Oh! Look at its little face!\"\n\nAgnes heard her and smiled briefly, then began to strain again. Tom leaned forward between her thighs and supported the tiny head with his left hand as the shoulders came out, first one then the other. Then the rest of the body emerged in a rush, and Tom put his right hand under the baby's hips and held it as the tiny legs slithered into the cold world.\n\nAgnes's opening immediately started to close around the pulsing blue cord that came from the baby's navel.\n\nTom lifted the baby and scrutinized it anxiously. There was a lot of blood, and at first he feared something was terribly wrong; but on closer examination he could see no injury. He looked between its legs. It was a boy.\n\n\"It looks horrible!\" said Martha.\n\n\"He's perfect,\" Tom said, and he felt weak with relief. \"A perfect boy.\"\n\nThe baby opened its mouth and cried.\n\nTom looked at Agnes. Their eyes met, and they both smiled.\n\nTom held the tiny baby close to his chest. \"Martha, fetch me a bowl of water out of that pot.\" She jumped up to do his bidding. \"Where are those rags, Agnes?\" Agnes pointed to the linen bag lying on the ground beside her shoulder. Alfred passed it to Tom. The boy's face was running with tears. It was the first time he had seen a child born.\n\nTom dipped a rag into a bowl of warm water and gently washed the blood and mucus off the baby's face. Agnes unbuttoned the front of her tunic and Tom put the baby in her arms. He was still squalling. As Tom watched, the blue cord that went from the baby's belly to Agnes's groin stopped pulsing and shriveled, turning white.\n\nTom said to Martha: \"Give me those strings you made. Now you'll see what they're for.\"\n\nShe passed him the two lengths of plaited reeds. He tied them around the birth cord in two places, pulling the knots tight. Then he used his knife to cut the cord between the knots.\n\nHe sat back on his haunches. They had done it. The worst was over and the baby was well. He felt proud.\n\nAgnes moved the baby so that his face was at her breast. His tiny mouth found her enlarged nipple, and he stopped crying and started to suck.\n\nMartha said in an amazed voice: \"How does he know he should do that?\"\n\n\"It's a mystery,\" said Tom. He handed the bowl to her and said: \"Get your mother some fresh water to drink.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Agnes gratefully, as if she had just realized she was desperately thirsty. Martha brought the water and Agnes drank the bowl dry. \"That was wonderful,\" she said. \"Thank you.\"\n\nShe looked down at the suckling baby, then up at Tom. \"You're a good man,\" she said quietly. \"I love you.\"\n\nTom felt tears come to his eyes. He smiled at her, then dropped his gaze. He saw that she was still bleeding a lot. The shriveled birth cord, which was still slowly coming out, lay curled in a pool of blood on Tom's cloak between Agnes's legs.\n\nHe looked up again. The baby had stopped sucking and fallen asleep. Agnes pulled her cloak over him, then her own eyes closed.\n\nAfter a moment, Martha said to Tom: \"Are you waiting for something?\"\n\n\"The afterbirth,\" Tom told her.\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"You'll see.\"\n\nMother and baby dozed for a while, then Agnes opened her eyes again. Her muscles tensed, her opening dilated a little, and the placenta emerged. Tom picked it up in his hands and looked at it. It was like something on a butcher's slab. Looking more closely, he saw that it seemed to be torn, as if there were a piece missing. But he had never looked this closely at an afterbirth, and he supposed they were always like this, for they must always have broken away from the womb. He put the thing on the fire. It made an unpleasant smell as it burned, but if he had thrown it away it might have attracted foxes, or even a wolf.\n\nAgnes was still bleeding. Tom remembered that there was always a rush of blood with the afterbirth, but he did not recall so much. He realized that the crisis was not yet over. He felt faint for a moment, from strain and lack of food; but the spell passed and he pulled himself together.\n\n\"You're still bleeding, a little,\" he said to Agnes, trying not to sound as worried as he was.\n\n\"It will stop soon,\" she said. \"Cover me.\"\n\nTom buttoned the skirt of her dress, then wrapped her cloak around her legs.\n\nAlfred said: \"Can I have a rest now?\"\n\nHe was still kneeling behind Agnes, supporting her. He must be numb, Tom thought, from staying so long in the same position. \"I'll take your place,\" Tom said. Agnes would be more comfortable with the baby if she could stay half-upright, he thought; and also a body behind her would keep her back warm and shield her from the wind. He changed places with Alfred. Alfred grunted with pain as he stretched his young legs. Tom wrapped his arms around Agnes and the baby. \"How do you feel?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Just tired.\"\n\nThe baby cried. Agnes moved him so that he could find her nipple. As he suckled, she seemed to sleep.\n\nTom was uneasy. It was normal to be tired, but there was a lethargy about Agnes that bothered him. She was too weak.\n\nThe baby slept, and after a while the other two children fell asleep, Martha curled up beside Agnes, and Alfred stretched out on the far side of the fire. Tom held Agnes in his arms, stroking her gently. Every now and again he would kiss the top of her head. He felt her body relax as she fell into a deeper and deeper sleep. It was probably the best thing for her, he decided. He touched her cheek. Her skin was clammy, despite all his efforts to keep her warm. He reached inside her cloak and touched the baby's chest. The child was warm and his heart was beating strongly. Tom smiled. A tough baby, he thought; a survivor.\n\nAgnes stirred. \"Tom?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Do you remember the night I came to you, in your lodge, when you were working on my father's church?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" he said, patting her. \"How could I ever forget?\"\n\n\"I never regretted giving myself to you. Never, for one moment. Every time I think of that night, I feel so glad.\"\n\nHe smiled. That was good to know. \"Me, too,\" he said. \"I'm glad you did.\"\n\nShe dozed for a while, then spoke again. \"I hope you build your cathedral,\" she said.\n\nHe was surprised. \"I thought you were against it.\"\n\n\"I was, but I was wrong. You deserve something beautiful.\"\n\nHe did not know what she meant.\n\n\"Build a beautiful cathedral for me,\" she said.\n\nShe was not making sense. He was glad when she fell asleep again. This time her body went quite limp, and her head leaned sideways. Tom had to support the baby to prevent him falling off her chest.\n\nThey lay like that for a long time. Eventually the baby woke again and cried. Agnes did not respond. The crying woke Alfred, and he rolled over and looked at his baby brother.\n\nTom shook Agnes gently. \"Wake up,\" he said. \"The baby wants to feed.\"\n\n\"Father!\" said Alfred in a scared voice. \"Look at her face!\"\n\nTom was filled with foreboding. She had bled too much. \"Agnes!\" he said. \"Wake up!\" There was no response. She was unconscious. He got up, easing her back until she lay flat on the ground. Her face was ghastly white.\n\nDreading what he would see, he unwrapped the folds of the cloak from around her thighs.\n\nThere was blood everywhere.\n\nAlfred gasped and turned away.\n\nTom whispered: \"Christ Jesus save us.\"\n\nThe baby's crying woke Martha. She saw the blood and began to scream. Tom picked her up and smacked her face. She became silent. \"Don't scream,\" he said calmly, and put her down again.\n\nAlfred said: \"Is Mother dying?\"\n\nTom put his hand on Agnes's chest, just underneath her left breast. There was no heartbeat.\n\nNo heartbeat.\n\nHe pressed harder. Her flesh was warm, and the underside of her heavy breast touched his hand, but she was not breathing, and there was no heartbeat.\n\nA numb coldness settled over Tom like a fog. She was gone. He stared at her face. How could she not be there? He willed her to move, to open her eyes, to draw breath. He kept his hand on her chest. Sometimes a heart might start again, people said\u2014but she had lost so much blood....\n\nHe looked at Alfred. \"Mother is dead,\" he whispered.\n\nAlfred stared at him dumbly. Martha began to cry. The new baby was crying too. I must take care of them, Tom thought. I must be strong for them.\n\nBut he wanted to weep, to put his arms around her and hold her body while it cooled, and remember her as a girl, and laughing, and making love. He wanted to sob with rage and shake his fist at the merciless heavens. He hardened his heart. He had to stay controlled, he had to be strong for the children.\n\nNo tears came to his eyes.\n\nHe thought: What do I do first?\n\nDig a grave.\n\nI must dig a deep hole, and lay her in it, to keep the wolves off, and preserve her bones until the Day of Judgment; and then say a prayer for her soul. Oh, Agnes, why have you left me alone?\n\nThe new baby was still crying. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and his mouth opened and closed rhythmically, as if he could get sustenance from the air. He needed feeding. Agnes's breasts were full of warm milk. Why not? thought Tom. He shifted the baby toward her breast. The child found a nipple and sucked. Tom pulled Agnes's cloak tighter around the baby.\n\nMartha was watching, wide-eyed, sucking her thumb. Tom said to her: \"Could you hold the baby there, so he doesn't fall?\"\n\nShe nodded and knelt beside the dead woman and the baby.\n\nTom picked up the spade. She had chosen this spot to rest, and she had sat under the branches of the chestnut tree. Let this be her last resting-place, then. He swallowed hard, fighting an urge to sit on the ground and weep. He marked a rectangle on the ground some yards from the trunk of the tree, where there would be no roots near the surface; then he began to dig.\n\nHe found it helped. When he concentrated on driving his shovel into the hard ground and lifting the earth, the rest of his mind went blank and he was able to retain his composure. He took turns with Alfred, for he too could take comfort in repetitious physical labor. They dug fast, driving themselves hard, and despite the bitter cold air they both sweated as if it were noon.\n\nA time came when Alfred said: \"Isn't this enough?\"\n\nTom realized that he was standing in a hole almost as deep as he was tall. He did not want the job to be finished. He nodded reluctantly. \"It will do,\" he said. He clambered out.\n\nDawn had broken while he was digging. Martha had picked up the baby and was sitting by the fire, rocking it. Tom went to Agnes and knelt down. He wrapped her cloak tightly around her, leaving her face visible, then picked her up. He walked over to the grave and put her down beside it. Then he climbed into the hole.\n\nHe lifted her down and laid her gently on the earth. He looked at her for a long moment, kneeling there beside her in her cold grave. He kissed her lips once, softly. Then he closed her eyes.\n\nHe climbed out of the grave. \"Come here, children,\" he said. Alfred and Martha came and stood either side of him, Martha holding the baby. Tom put an arm around each of them. They looked into the grave. Tom said: \"Say: 'God bless Mother.'\"\n\nThey both said: \"God bless Mother.\"\n\nMartha was sobbing, and there were tears in Alfred's eyes. Tom hugged them both and swallowed his tears.\n\nHe released them and picked up the shovel. Martha screamed when he threw the first shovelful of earth into the grave. Alfred put his arms around his sister. Tom kept on shoveling. He could not bear to throw earth on her face, so he covered her feet, then her legs and body, and piled the earth high so that it formed a mound, and every shovelful slid downward, until at last there was earth on her neck, then over the mouth he had kissed, and finally her face disappeared, never to be seen again.\n\nHe filled the grave up quickly.\n\nWhen it was done he stood looking at the mound. \"Goodbye, dear,\" he whispered. \"You were a good wife, and I love you.\"\n\nWith an effort he turned away.\n\nHis cloak was still on the ground where Agnes had lain on it to give birth. The lower half of it was sodden with congealed and drying blood. He took his knife and roughly cut the cloak in half. He threw the bloodied portion on the fire.\n\nMartha was still holding the baby. \"Give him to me,\" Tom said. She gazed at him with fear in her eyes. He wrapped the naked baby in the clean half of the cloak and laid it on the grave. The baby cried.\n\nHe turned to the children. They were staring at him dumbly. He said: \"We have no milk, to keep the baby alive, so he must lie here with his mother.\"\n\nMartha said: \"But he'll die!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Tom said, controlling his voice tightly. \"Whatever we do, he will die.\" He wished the baby would stop crying.\n\nHe collected their possessions and put them in the cooking pot, then strapped the pot to his back the way Agnes always did.\n\n\"Let's go,\" he said.\n\nMartha began to sob. Alfred was white-faced. They set off down the road in the gray light of a cold morning. Eventually the sound of the baby crying faded to nothing.\n\nIt was no good to stay by the grave, for the children would be unable to sleep there and no purpose would be served by an all-night vigil. Besides, it would do them all good to keep moving.\n\nTom set a fast pace, but his thoughts were now free, and he could no longer control them. There was nothing to do but walk: no arrangements to make, no jobs to do, nothing to be organized, nothing to look at but the gloomy forest and the shadows fidgeting in the light of the torches. He would think of Agnes, and follow the trail of some memory, and smile to himself, then turn to tell her what he had remembered; then the shock of realizing that she was dead would strike like a physical pain. He felt bewildered, as if something totally incomprehensible had happened, although of course it was the most ordinary thing in the world for a woman of her age to die in childbirth, and for a man of his age to be left a widower. But the sense of loss was like a wound. He had heard that people who had the toes chopped off one foot could not stand up, but fell over constantly until they learned to walk again. He felt like that, as if part of him had been amputated, and he could not get used to the idea that it was gone forever.\n\nHe tried not to think about her, but he kept remembering how she had looked before she died. It seemed incredible that she had been alive just a few hours ago, and now she was gone. He pictured her face as she strained to give birth, and then her proud smile as she looked at the baby boy. He recalled what she had said to him afterward: I hope you build your cathedral; and then, Build a beautiful cathedral for me. She had spoken as if she knew she was dying.\n\nAs he walked on, he thought more and more about the baby he had left, wrapped in half a cloak, lying on top of a new grave. He was probably still alive, unless a fox had smelled him already. He would die before morning, however. He would cry for a while, then close his eyes, and his life would slip away as he grew cold in his sleep.\n\nUnless a fox smelled him.\n\nThere was nothing Tom could do for the baby. He needed milk to survive, and there was none: no villages where Tom could seek a wet-nurse, no sheep or goat or cow that could provide the nearest equivalent. All Tom had to give him were turnips, and they would kill him as surely as the fox.\n\nAs the night wore on, it seemed to him more and more dreadful that he had abandoned the baby. It was a common enough thing, he knew: peasants with large families and small farms often exposed babies to die, and sometimes the priest turned a blind eye; but Tom did not belong to that kind of people. He should have carried it in his arms until it died, and then buried it. There was no purpose to that, of course, but all the same it would have been the right thing to do.\n\nHe realized that it was daylight.\n\nHe stopped suddenly.\n\nThe children stood still and stared at him, waiting. They were ready for anything; nothing was normal anymore.\n\n\"I shouldn't have left the baby,\" Tom said.\n\nAlfred said: \"But we can't feed him. He's bound to die.\"\n\n\"Still I shouldn't have left him,\" Tom said.\n\nMartha said: \"Let's go back.\"\n\nStill Tom hesitated. To go back now would be to admit he had done wrong to abandon the baby.\n\nBut it was true. He had done wrong.\n\nHe turned around. \"All right,\" he said. \"We'll go back.\"\n\nNow all the dangers which he had earlier tried to discount suddenly seemed more probable. For sure a fox had smelled the baby by now, and dragged him off to its lair. Or even a wolf. The wild boars were dangerous, even though they did not eat meat. And what about owls? An owl could not carry off a baby, but it might peck out its eyes\u2014\n\nHe walked faster, feeling light-headed with exhaustion and starvation. Martha had to run to keep up with him, but she did not complain.\n\nHe dreaded what he might see when he returned to the grave. Predators were merciless, and they could tell when a living creature was helpless.\n\nHe was not sure how far they had walked: he had lost his sense of time. The forest on either side looked unfamiliar, even though he had just passed through it. He looked anxiously for the place where the grave was. Surely the fire could not have gone out yet\u2014they had built it so high.... He scrutinized the trees, looking for the distinctive leaves of the horse chestnut. They passed a side turning which he did not remember, and he began to wonder crazily whether he could possibly have passed the grave already and not seen it; then he thought he saw a faint orange glow ahead.\n\nHis heart seemed to falter. He quickened his step and narrowed his eyes. Yes, it was a fire. He broke into a run. He heard Martha cry out, as if she thought he was leaving her, and he called over his shoulder: \"We're there!\" and heard the two children running after him.\n\nHe drew level with the horse-chestnut tree, his heart pounding in his chest. The fire was burning merrily. There was the pile of firewood. There was the bloodstained patch of ground where Agnes had bled to death. There was the grave, a mound of freshly dug earth, under which she now lay. And on the grave was\u2014nothing.\n\nTom looked around frantically, his mind in a turmoil. There was no sign of the baby. Tears of frustration came to Tom's eyes. Even the half a cloak the baby had been wrapped in had disappeared. Yet the grave was undisturbed\u2014there were no animal tracks in the soft, earth, no blood, no marks to indicate that the baby had been dragged away....\n\nTom began to feel as if he could not see very clearly. It became difficult to think straight. He knew now that he had done a dreadful thing in leaving the baby while it was still alive. When he knew it was dead he would be able to rest. But it might still be alive somewhere\u2014somewhere nearby. He decided to circle around and look.\n\nAlfred said: \"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"We must search for the baby,\" he said, without looking back. He walked around the edge of the little clearing, looking under the bushes, still feeling slightly dizzy and faint. He saw nothing, not even a clue to the direction in which the wolf might have taken the baby. He was now sure it was a wolf. The creature's lair might be nearby.\n\n\"We must circle wider,\" he said to the children.\n\nHe led them around again, moving farther from the fire, pushing through bushes and undergrowth. He was beginning to feel confused, but he managed to keep his mind focused on one thing, the imperative need to find the baby. He felt no grief now, just a fierce, raging determination, and in the back of his mind the appalling knowledge that all of this was his fault. He blundered through the forest, raking the ground with his eyes, stopping every few paces to listen for the unmistakable wailing monotone of a newborn baby; but when he and the children were quiet, the forest was silent.\n\nHe lost track of time. His ever-increasing circles brought him back to the road at intervals for a while, but later he realized that it seemed a long time since they crossed it. At one point he wondered why he had not come across the verderer's cottage. It occurred to him vaguely that he had lost his way, and might no longer be circling around the grave, but instead wandering through the forest more or less at random; but it did not really matter, so long as he kept searching.\n\n\"Father,\" Alfred said.\n\nTom looked at him, irritated by the interruption of his concentration. Alfred was carrying Martha, who appeared to be fast asleep on his back. Tom said: \"What?\"\n\n\"Can we rest?\" Alfred said.\n\nTom hesitated. He did not want to stop, but Alfred looked about to collapse. \"All right,\" he said reluctantly. \"But not for long.\"\n\nThey were on a slope. There might be a stream at its foot. He was thirsty. He took Martha from Alfred and picked his way down the slope, cradling her in his arms. As he expected, he found a small clear stream, with ice at its edges. He put Martha down on the bank. She did not wake. He and Alfred knelt and scooped up the cold water in their hands.\n\nAlfred lay down next to Martha and closed his eyes. Tom looked around him. He was in a clearing carpeted with fallen leaves. The trees all around were low, stout oaks, their bare branches intertwining overhead. Tom crossed the clearing, thinking of looking for the baby behind the trees, but when he reached the other side his legs went weak and he was obliged to sit down abruptly.\n\nIt was full daylight now, but misty, and it seemed no warmer than midnight. He was shivering uncontrollably. He realized he had been walking around wearing only his undertunic. He wondered what had happened to his cloak, but he could not remember. Either the mist thickened, or something strange happened to his vision, for he could not see the children on the far side of the clearing any longer. He wanted to get up and go to them but there was something wrong with his legs.\n\nAfter a while a weak sun broke through the cloud, and soon after that the angel came.\n\nShe walked across the clearing from the east, dressed in a long winter cloak of blanched wool, almost white. He watched her approach without surprise or curiosity. He was beyond wonder or fear. He looked at her with the dull, vacant, emotionless gaze he had bestowed upon the massive trunks of the surrounding oaks. Her oval face was framed with rich dark hair, and her cloak hid her feet, so that she might have been gliding over the dead leaves. She stopped right in front of him, and her pale gold eyes seemed to see into his soul and understand his pain. She looked familiar, as if he might have seen a picture of this very angel in some church he had attended recently. Then she opened her cloak. Underneath it she was naked. She had the body of an earthly woman in her middle twenties, with pale skin and pink nipples. Tom had always assumed angels' bodies to be immaculately hairless, but this one was not.\n\nShe went down on one knee in front of him where he sat cross-legged by the oak tree. Leaning toward him, she kissed his mouth. He was too stunned by previous shocks to feel surprise even at this. She pushed him back gently until he was lying flat, then she opened her cloak and lay on top of him with her naked body pressed against him. He felt the heat of her body through his undertunic. After a few moments he stopped shivering.\n\nShe took his bearded face in her hands and kissed him again, thirstily, like someone drinking cool water after a long, dry day. After a moment she ran her hands down his arms to his wrists, then lifted his hands to her breasts. He grasped them reflexively. They were soft and yielding, and her nipples swelled under his fingertips.\n\nIn the back of his mind he conceived the idea that he was dead. Heaven was not supposed to be like this, he knew, but he hardly cared. His critical faculties had been disengaged for hours. What little capacity he had left for rational thought vanished, and he let his body take charge. He strained upward, pressing his body against hers, drawing strength from her heat and her nakedness. She opened her mouth and thrust her tongue inside his mouth, seeking his tongue, and he responded eagerly.\n\nShe pulled away from him briefly, raising her body off his. He watched, dazed, as she pushed up the skirt of his undertunic until it was around his waist, then she straddled his hips. She looked into his eyes, with her all-seeing gaze, as she lowered herself. There was a tantalizing moment when their bodies touched, and she hesitated; then he felt himself enter her. The sensation was so thrilling he felt he might burst with pleasure. She moved her hips, smiling at him and kissing his face.\n\nAfter a while she closed her eyes and started to pant, and he understood that she was losing control. He watched in delighted fascination. She uttered small rhythmic cries, moving faster and faster, and her ecstasy moved Tom to the depths of his wounded soul, so that he did not know whether he wanted to weep with despair or shout for joy or laugh hysterically; and then an explosion of delight shook them both like trees in a gale, again and again; until at last their passion subsided, and she slumped on his chest.\n\nThey lay like that for a long time. The heat of her body warmed him right through. He drifted into a kind of light sleep. It seemed short, and more like daydreaming than real sleep; but when he opened his eyes his mind was clear.\n\nHe looked at the beautiful young woman lying on top of him, and he knew immediately that she was not an angel, but the outlaw woman Ellen, whom he had met in this part of the forest on the day the pig was stolen. She felt him stir and opened her eyes, regarding him with an expression of mingled affection and anxiety. He suddenly thought of his children. He rolled Ellen off him gently and sat up. Alfred and Martha lay on the leaves, wrapped in their cloaks, with the sun shining on their sleeping faces. Then the events of the night came back to him in a rush of horror, and he remembered that Agnes was dead, and the baby\u2014his son!\u2014was gone; and he buried his face in his hands.\n\nHe heard Ellen give a strange two-tone whistle. He looked up. A figure emerged from the forest, and Tom recognized her peculiar-looking son, Jack, with his dead-white skin and orange hair and bright bird-like blue eyes. Tom got up, rearranging his clothing, and Ellen stood and closed up her cloak.\n\nThe boy was carrying something, and he brought it across and showed it to Tom. Tom recognized it. It was the half of his cloak in which he had wrapped the baby before placing it on Agnes's grave.\n\nUncomprehending, Tom stared at the boy and then at Ellen. She took his hands in hers, looked into his eyes, and said: \"Your baby is alive.\"\n\nTom did not dare to believe her. It would be too wonderful, too happy for this world. \"He can't be,\" he said.\n\n\"He is.\"\n\nTom began to hope. \"Truly?\" he said. \"Truly?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Truly. I will take you to him.\"\n\nTom realized she meant it. A flood of relief and happiness washed over him. He fell to his knees on the ground; and then, at last, like the opening of a floodgate, he wept."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "\"Jack heard the baby cry,\" Ellen explained. \"He was on his way to the river, to a place north of here where you can kill ducks with stones, if you're a good shot. He didn't know what to do, so he ran home to fetch me. But while we were on our way back to the spot, we saw a priest, riding a palfrey, carrying the baby.\"\n\nTom said: \"I must find him\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't panic,\" Ellen said. \"I know where he is. He took a side turning, quite near the grave; a path that leads to a little monastery hidden in the forest.\"\n\n\"The baby needs milk.\"\n\n\"The monks have goats.\"\n\n\"Thank God,\" Tom said fervently.\n\n\"I'll take you there, after you've had something to eat,\" she said. \"But...\" She frowned. \"Don't tell your children about the monastery just yet.\"\n\nTom glanced across the clearing. Alfred and Martha slept on. Jack had drifted across to where they lay, and was staring at them in his vacant way. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure... I just think it might be wiser to wait.\"\n\n\"But your son will tell them.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"He saw the priest, but I don't think he's worked out the rest of it.\"\n\n\"All right.\" Tom felt solemn. \"If I'd known you were nearby, you might have saved my Agnes.\"\n\nEllen shook her head, and her dark hair danced around her face. \"There's nothing to be done, except keep the woman warm, and you did that. When a woman is bleeding inside, either it stops, and she gets better, or it doesn't, and she dies.\" Tears came to Tom's eyes, and Ellen said: \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nTom nodded dumbly.\n\nShe said: \"But the living must take care of the living, and you need hot food and a new coat.\" She stood up.\n\nThey woke the children. Tom told them that the baby was all right, that Ellen and Jack had seen a priest carrying him; and that Tom and Ellen were going to go looking for the priest later, but first Ellen was going to give them food. They accepted the startling news calmly: nothing could shock them now. Tom was no less bemused. Life was moving too fast for him to take in all the changes. It was like being on the back of a runaway horse: everything happened so quickly that there was no time to react to events, and all he could do was hold on tightly and try to stay sane. Agnes had given birth in the cold night air; the baby had been born miraculously healthy; everything had seemed all right and then Agnes, Tom's soul mate, had bled to death in his arms, and he had lost his mind; the baby had been doomed, and left for dead; then they had tried to find it, and failed; then Ellen had appeared, and Tom had taken her for an angel, and they had made love as if in a dream; and she had said the baby was alive and well. Would life ever slow down enough to let Tom think about these awful events?\n\nThey set off. Tom had always assumed that outlaws lived in squalor, but there was nothing squalid about Ellen, and Tom wondered what her home would be like. She led them on a zigzag course through the forest. There was no path, but she never hesitated as she stepped over streams, ducked low branches, and negotiated a frozen swamp, a mass of shrubbery, and the enormous trunk of a fallen oak. Finally she walked toward a bramble thicket and seemed to vanish into it. Following her, Tom saw that, contrary to his first impression, there was a narrow passageway winding through the thicket. He followed her. The brambles closed over his head and he found himself in semi-darkness. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Gradually he realized he was in a cave.\n\nThe air was warm. Ahead of him a fire glowed on a hearth of flat stones. The smoke was going straight upward: there was a natural chimney somewhere. On either side of him were animal skins, a wolf and a deer, fixed to the walls of the cave with wooden pegs. A haunch of smoked venison hung from the roof above him. He saw a homemade box full of crab apples, rushlights on ledges, and dry reeds on the floor. At the edge of the fire was a cooking pot, just as there would be in any ordinary household; and, judging by the smell, it contained the same kind of pottage as everyone else ate\u2014vegetables boiled with meat bones and herbs. Tom was astonished. This was a home more comfortable than those of many serfs.\n\nBeyond the fire were two mattresses made of deerskin and stuffed, presumably, with reeds; and neatly rolled on top of each was a wolf fur. Ellen and Jack would sleep there, with the fire between them and the mouth of the cave. At the back of the cave was a formidable collection of weapons and hunting gear: a bow, some arrows, nets, rabbit traps, several wicked daggers, a carefully made wooden lance with its tip sharpened and fire-hardened; and, among all those primitive implements, three books. Tom was flabbergasted: he had never seen books in a house, let alone a cave; books belonged in church.\n\nThe boy Jack picked up a wooden bowl, dipped it into the pot, and began to drink. Alfred and Martha watched him hungrily. Ellen gave Tom an apologetic look and said: \"Jack, when there are strangers, we give them food first, before we eat.\"\n\nThe boy stared at her, mystified. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because it's a gentle thing to do. Give the children some pottage.\"\n\nJack was not convinced, but he obeyed his mother. Ellen gave some soup to Tom. He sat down on the floor and drank. It tasted meaty, and warmed him from the inside. Ellen put a fur around his shoulders. When he had drunk the juice he fished out the vegetables and meat with his fingers. It was weeks since he had tasted meat. This seemed to be duck\u2014shot by Jack with stones and a sling, presumably.\n\nThey ate until the pot was empty; then Alfred and Martha lay down on the rushes. Before they fell asleep, Tom told them that he and Ellen were going to look for the priest, and Ellen said Jack would stay here and take care of them until the parents returned. The two exhausted children nodded assent and closed their eyes.\n\nTom and Ellen went out, Tom wearing the fur Ellen had given him draped over his shoulders to keep him warm. As soon as they were out of the bramble thicket, Ellen stopped, turned to Tom, pulled his head down to hers, and kissed his mouth.\n\n\"I love you,\" she said fiercely. \"I loved you from the moment I saw you. I always wanted a man who would be strong and gentle, and I thought there was no such thing. Then I saw you. I wanted you. But I could see you loved your wife. My God, how I envied her. I'm sorry she died, truly sorry, because I can see the grief in your eyes, and all the tears waiting to be shed, and it breaks my heart to see you so sad. But now that she's gone, I want you for myself.\"\n\nTom did not know what to say. It was hard to believe that a woman so beautiful and resourceful and self-sufficient should have fallen in love with him at first sight; harder still to know how he felt. He was devastated by the loss of Agnes\u2014Ellen was right to say that he had unshed tears, he could feel their weight behind his eyes. But he was also consumed by desire for Ellen, with her wonderful hot body and her golden eyes and her shameless lust. He felt dreadfully guilty about wanting Ellen so badly when Agnes was only hours in her grave.\n\nHe stared back at her, and once again her eyes saw into his heart, and she said: \"Don't say anything. You don't have to feel ashamed. I know you loved her. She knew it too, I could tell. You still love her\u2014of course you do. You always will.\"\n\nShe had told him not to say anything, and in any case he had nothing to say. He was struck dumb by this extraordinary woman. She seemed to make everything all right. Somehow, the fact that she appeared to know everything that was in his heart made him feel better, as if now he had nothing more to be ashamed of. He sighed.\n\n\"That's better,\" she said. She took him by the hand, and they walked away from the cave together.\n\nThey pushed through the virgin forest for almost a mile, then came to the road. As they walked along, Tom kept looking at Ellen's face beside him. He recalled that when he first met her he had thought she fell short of being beautiful, because of her strange eyes. Now he could not understand how he had ever felt that. He now saw those astonishing eyes as the perfect expression of her unique self. Now she seemed absolutely perfect, and the only puzzle was why she was with him.\n\nThey walked for three or four miles. Tom was still tired but the pottage had given him strength; and although he trusted Ellen completely he was still anxious to see the baby with his own eyes.\n\nWhen they could see the monastery through the trees, Ellen said: \"Let's not reveal ourselves to the monks at first.\"\n\nTom was mystified. \"Why?\"\n\n\"You abandoned a baby. It counts as murder. Let's spy on the place from the woods and see what kind of people they are.\"\n\nTom did not think he was going to be in trouble, given the circumstances, but there was no harm in being cautious, so he nodded assent and followed Ellen into the undergrowth. A few moments later they were lying at the edge of the clearing.\n\nIt was a very small monastery. Tom had built monasteries, and he guessed this one must be what they called a cell, a branch or outpost of a large priory or abbey. There were only two stone buildings, the chapel and the dormitory. The rest were made of wood and wattle-and-daub: a kitchen, stables, a barn, and a range of smaller agricultural buildings. The place had a clean, well-kept look, and gave the impression that the monks did as much farming as praying.\n\nThere were not many people about. \"Most of the monks have gone to work,\" Ellen said. \"They're building a barn at the top of the hill.\" She glanced up at the sky. \"They'll be back around noon for their dinner.\"\n\nTom scanned the clearing. Over to their right, partly concealed by a small herd of tethered goats, he saw two figures. \"Look,\" he said, pointing. As they studied the two figures he saw something else. \"The man sitting down is a priest, and...\"\n\n\"And he's holding something in his lap.\"\n\n\"Let's go closer.\"\n\nThey moved through the woods, skirting the clearing, and emerged at a point close to the goats. Tom's heart was in his mouth as he looked at the priest sitting on a stool. He had a baby in his lap, and the baby was Tom's. There was a lump in Tom's throat. It was true, it really was; the baby had lived. He felt like throwing his arms around the priest and hugging him.\n\nThere was a young monk with the priest. Looking closely, Tom saw that the youngster was dipping a rag into a pail of milk\u2014goat's milk, presumably\u2014and then putting the sodden corner of the rag into the baby's mouth. That was ingenious.\n\n\"Well,\" Tom said apprehensively, \"I'd better go and own up to what I've done, and take my son back.\"\n\nEllen looked at him levelly. \"Think for a moment, Tom,\" she said. \"What are you going to do then?\"\n\nHe was not sure what she was getting at. \"Ask the monks for milk,\" he said. \"They can see I'm poor. They give alms.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Well, I hope they'll give me enough milk to keep him alive for three days, until I get to Winchester.\"\n\n\"And after that?\" she persisted. \"How will you feed the baby then?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll look for work\u2014\"\n\n\"You've been looking for work since last time I met you, at the end of the summer,\" she said. She seemed to be a little angry with Tom, he could not see why. \"You've no money and no tools,\" she went on. \"What will happen to the baby if there's no work in Winchester?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Tom said. He felt hurt that she should speak so harshly to him. \"What am I to do\u2014live like you? I can't shoot ducks with a stone\u2014I'm a mason.\"\n\n\"You could leave the baby here,\" she said.\n\nTom was thunderstruck. \"Leave him?\" he said. \"When I've only just found him?\"\n\n\"You'd be sure he'd be warm and fed. You wouldn't have to carry him while you look for work. And when you do find something, you can come back here and fetch the child.\"\n\nTom's instinct rebelled against the whole idea. \"I don't know,\" he said. \"What would the monks think of my abandoning the baby?\"\n\n\"They already know you did that,\" she said impatiently. \"It's just a question of whether you confess now or later.\"\n\n\"Do monks know how to take care of babies?\"\n\n\"They know as much about it as you do.\"\n\n\"I doubt it.\"\n\n\"Well, they've worked out how to feed a newborn who can only suck.\"\n\nTom began to see that she was right. Much as he longed to hold the tiny bundle in his arms, he could not deny that the monks were better able to care for the baby than he was. He had no food and no money and no sure prospect of getting work. \"Leave him again,\" he said sadly. \"I suppose I must.\" He stayed where he was, gazing across the clearing at the small figure in the priest's lap. It had dark hair, like Agnes's hair. Tom had made up his mind, but now he could not tear himself away.\n\nThen a large group of monks appeared on the far side of the clearing, fifteen or twenty of them, carrying axes and saws, and suddenly there was a danger that Tom and Ellen would be seen. They ducked back into the undergrowth. Now Tom could no longer see the baby.\n\nThey crept away through the bushes. When they came to the road they broke into a run. They ran for three or four hundred yards, holding hands; then Tom was exhausted. They were at a safe distance, however. They stepped off the road and found a place to rest out of sight.\n\nThey sat down on a grassy bank lit by dappled sunlight. Tom looked at Ellen, lying on her back, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her lips smiling up at him. Her robe had fallen open at the neck, revealing her throat and the swell of one breast. Suddenly he felt a compulsion to look at her nakedness again, and the desire was much stronger than the guilt he felt. He leaned over to kiss her, then hesitated, because she was so lovely to look at. When he spoke, it was unpremeditated, and his own words took him by surprise. \"Ellen,\" he said, \"will you be my wife?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Peter of Wareham was a born troublemaker.\n\nHe had been transferred to the little cell in the forest from the mother house at Kingsbridge, and it was easy to see why the prior of Kingsbridge had been anxious to get rid of him. A tall, rangy man in his late twenties, he had a powerful intellect and a scornful manner, and he lived in a permanent state of righteous indignation. When he first arrived and started working in the fields he had set a furious pace and then accused others of laziness. However, to his surprise most of the monks had been able to keep up with him, and eventually the younger ones had tired him out. He had then looked for a vice other than idleness, and his second choice had been gluttony.\n\nHe began by eating only half his bread and none of his meat. He drank water from streams during the day, diluted his beer, and refused wine. He reprimanded a healthy young monk who asked for more porridge, and reduced to tears a boy who playfully drank another's wine.\n\nThe monks showed little evidence of gluttony, Prior Philip thought as they walked back from the hilltop to the monastery at dinnertime. The youngsters were lean and muscular, and the older men were sunburned and wiry. Not one of them had the pale, soft roundness that came from having plenty to eat and nothing to do. Philip thought all monks should be thin. Fat monks provoked poor men to envy and hatred of God's servants.\n\nCharacteristically, Peter had disguised his accusation as a confession. \"I have been guilty of the sin of gluttony,\" he had said this morning, when they were taking a break, sitting on the trees they had felled, eating rye bread and drinking beer. \"I have disobeyed the Rule of Saint Benedict, which says that monks must not eat meat nor drink wine.\" He looked around at the others, his head high and his dark eyes blazing with pride, and he let his gaze rest finally on Philip. \"And every one here is guilty of the same sin,\" he finished.\n\nIt was very sad that Peter should be like this, Philip thought. The man was dedicated to God's work, and he had a fine mind and great strength of purpose. But he seemed to have a compelling need to feel special and be noticed by others all the time; and this drove him to create scenes. He was a real nuisance, but Philip loved him as much as any of them, for Philip could see, behind the arrogance and the scorn, a troubled soul who did not really believe that anyone could possibly care for him.\n\nPhilip had said: \"This gives us an opportunity to recall what Saint Benedict said on this topic. Do you remember his exact words, Peter?\"\n\n\"He says: 'All but the sick should abstain from meat,' and then: 'Wine is not the drink of monks at all,'\" Peter replied.\n\nPhilip nodded. As he had suspected, Peter did not know the rule as well as Philip. \"Almost correct, Peter,\" he said. \"The saint did not refer to meat, but to 'the flesh of four-footed animals,' and even so he made exceptions, not just for the sick, but also for the weak. What did he mean by 'the weak'? Here in our little community, we take the view that men who have been weakened by strenuous work in the fields may need to eat beef now and then to keep up their strength.\"\n\nPeter had listened to this in sullen silence, his brow creased with disapproval, his heavy black eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his large curved nose, his face a mask of suppressed defiance.\n\nPhilip had gone on: \"On the subject of wine, the saint says: 'We read that wine is not the drink of monks at all.' The use of the words we read implies that he does not wholly endorse the proscription. He also says that a pint of wine a day should be sufficient for anyone. And he warns us not to drink to satiety. It is clear, is it not, that he does not expect monks to abstain totally?\"\n\n\"But he says that frugality should be maintained in everything,\" Peter said.\n\n\"And you say we are not frugal here?\" Philip asked him.\n\n\"I do,\" he said in a ringing voice.\n\n\"'Let those to whom God gives the gift of abstinence know that they shall receive their proper reward,'\" Philip quoted. \"If you feel that the food here is too generous, you may eat less. But remember what else the saint says. He quotes the first epistle to the Corinthians, in which Saint Paul says: 'Every one has his proper gift from God, one thus, another thus.' And then the saint tells us: 'For this reason, the amount of other people's food cannot be determined without some misgiving.' Please remember that, Peter, as you fast and meditate upon the sin of gluttony.\"\n\nThey had gone back to work then, Peter wearing a martyred air. He was not going to be silenced so easily, Philip realized. Of the monks' three vows, of poverty, chastity and obedience, the one that gave Peter trouble was obedience.\n\nThere were ways of dealing with disobedient monks, of course: solitary confinement, bread and water, flogging, and ultimately excommunication and expulsion from the house. Philip did not normally hesitate to use such punishments, especially when a monk seemed to be testing Philip's authority. Consequently he was thought of as a tough disciplinarian. But in fact he hated meting out punishment\u2014it brought disharmony into the monastic brotherhood and made everyone unhappy. Anyway, in the case of Peter, punishment would do no good at all\u2014indeed, it would serve to make the man more prideful and unforgiving. Philip had to find a way to control Peter and soften him at the same time. It would not be easy. But then, he thought, if everything were easy, men would not need God's guidance.\n\nThey reached the clearing in the forest where the monastery was. As they walked across the open space, Philip saw Brother John waving energetically at them from the goat pen. He was called Johnny Eightpence, and he was a little soft in the head. Philip wondered what he was excited about now. With Johnny was a man in priest's robes. He looked vaguely familiar, and Philip hurried toward him.\n\nThe priest was a short, compact man in his middle twenties, with close-cropped black hair and bright blue eyes that twinkled with alert intelligence. Looking at him was for Philip like looking in a mirror. The priest, he realized with a shock, was his younger brother Francis.\n\nAnd Francis was holding a newborn baby.\n\nPhilip did not know which was more surprising, Francis or the baby. The monks all crowded around. Francis stood up and handed the baby to Johnny; then Philip embraced him. \"What are you doing here?\" Philip said delightedly. \"And why have you got a baby?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you later why I'm here,\" Francis said. \"As for the baby, I found him in the woods, all alone, lying near a blazing fire.\" Francis stopped.\n\n\"And...\" Philip prompted him.\n\nFrancis shrugged. \"I can't tell you any more than that, because that's all I know. I was hoping to get here last night, but I didn't quite make it, so I spent the night in a verderer's hut. I left at dawn this morning, and I was riding along the road when I heard a baby cry. A moment later I saw it. I picked it up and brought it here. That's the whole tale.\"\n\nPhilip looked incredulously at the tiny bundle in Johnny's arms. He reached out a hand tentatively, and lifted a corner of the blanket. He saw a wrinkled pink face, an open toothless mouth and a little bald head\u2014a miniature of an aging monk. He unwrapped the bundle a little more and saw tiny fragile shoulders, waving arms, and tight-clenched fists. He looked closely at the stump of the umbilical cord which hung from the baby's navel. It was faintly disgusting. Was this natural? Philip wondered. It looked like a wound that was healing well, and would be best left alone. He pulled the blanket down farther still. \"A boy,\" he said with an embarrassed cough, and covered it up again. One of the novices giggled.\n\nPhilip suddenly felt helpless. What on earth am I to do with it? he thought. Feed it?\n\nThe baby cried, and the sound tugged at his heartstrings like a well-loved hymn. \"It's hungry,\" he said, and he thought in the back of his mind: How did I know that?\n\nOne of the monks said: \"We can't feed it.\"\n\nPhilip was about to say: Why not? Then he realized why not: there were no women for miles.\n\nHowever, Johnny had already solved that problem, Philip now saw. Johnny sat down on the stool with the baby in his lap. He had in his hand a towel with one corner twisted into a spiral. He dipped the corner into a pail of milk, let the towel soak up some of the liquid, then put the cloth to the baby's mouth. The baby opened its mouth, sucked on the towel, and swallowed.\n\nPhilip felt like cheering. \"That was clever, Johnny,\" he said in surprise.\n\nJohnny grinned. \"I've done it before, when a nanny goat died before her kid was weaned,\" he said proudly.\n\nAll the monks watched intently as Johnny repeated the simple action of dipping the towel and letting the baby suck. As he touched the towel to the baby's lips, some of the monks would open their own mouths, Philip saw with amusement. It was a slow way of feeding the baby, but no doubt feeding babies was a slow business anyway.\n\nPeter of Wareham, who had succumbed to the general fascination with the baby and consequently had forgotten to be critical of anything for some time, now recovered himself and said: \"It would be less trouble to find the child's mother.\"\n\nFrancis said: \"I doubt it. The mother is probably unmarried, and was overtaken in moral transgression. I imagine she is young. Perhaps she managed to keep her pregnancy secret; then, when her time was near, she came out into the forest, and built a fire; gave birth alone, then abandoned the child to the wolves and went back to wherever she came from. She will make sure she can't be found.\"\n\nThe baby had fallen asleep. On impulse, Philip took it from Johnny. He held it to his chest, supporting it with his hand, and rocked it. \"The poor thing,\" he said. \"The poor, poor thing.\" The urge to protect and care for the baby suffused him like a flush. He noticed that the monks were staring at him, astonished at his sudden display of tenderness. They had never seen him caress anyone, of course, for physical affection was strictly prohibited in the monastery. Obviously they had thought him incapable of it. Well, he thought, they know the truth now.\n\nPeter of Wareham spoke again. \"We'll have to take the child to Winchester, then, and try to find a foster mother.\"\n\nIf this had been said by anyone else, Philip might not have been so quick to contradict it; but Peter said it, and Philip spoke hastily, and his life was never quite the same afterward. \"We're not going to give him to a foster mother,\" he said decisively. \"This child is a gift from God.\" He looked around at them all. The monks gazed back at him wide-eyed, hanging on his words. \"We'll take care of him ourselves,\" he went on. \"We'll feed him, and teach him, and bring him up in the ways of God. Then, when he is a man, he will become a monk himself, and that way we will give him back to God.\"\n\nThere was a stunned silence.\n\nThen Peter said angrily: \"It's impossible! A baby cannot be brought up by monks!\"\n\nPhilip caught his brother's eye, and they both smiled, sharing memories. When Philip spoke again, his voice was heavy with the weight of the past. \"Impossible? No, Peter. On the contrary, I'm quite sure it can be done, and so is my brother. We know from experience. Don't we, Francis?\"\n\nOn the day Philip now thought of as the last day, his father had come home wounded.\n\nPhilip had been the first to see him, riding up the twisting hillside path to the little hamlet in mountainous North Wales. Six-year-old Philip ran out to meet him, as usual; but this time Da did not swing his little boy up onto the horse in front of him. He was riding slowly, slumped in the saddle, holding the reins in his right hand, his left arm hanging limp. His face was pale and his clothes were splashed with blood. Philip was at once intrigued and scared, for he had never seen his father appear weak.\n\nDa said: \"Fetch your mother.\"\n\nWhen they got him into the house, Mam cut off his shirt. Philip was horrified: the sight of his thrifty mother willfully ruining good clothes was more shocking than the blood. \"Don't worry about me now,\" Da had said, but his normal bark had weakened to a murmur and nobody took any notice\u2014another shocking event, for normally his word was law. \"Leave me, and get everyone up to the monastery,\" he said. \"The damned English will be here soon.\" There was a monastery with a church at the top of the hill, but Philip could not understand why they should go there when it was not even Sunday. Mam said: \"If you lose any more blood you won't be able to go anywhere, ever.\" But Auntie Gwen said she would raise the alarm, and went out.\n\nYears later, when he thought about the events that followed, Philip realized that at this moment everyone had forgotten about him and his four-year-old brother, Francis, and nobody thought to take them to the safety of the monastery. People were thinking of their own children, and assumed that Philip and Francis were all right because they were with their parents; but Da was bleeding to death and Mam was trying to save him, and so it happened that the English caught all four of them.\n\nNothing in Philip's short experience of life had prepared him for the appearance of the two men-at-arms as they kicked the door open and burst into the one-room house. In other circumstances they would not have been frightening, for they were the kind of big, clumsy adolescents who mocked old women and abused Jews and got into fistfights outside alehouses at midnight. But now (Philip understood years later, when at last he was able to think objectively about that day) the two young men were possessed by bloodlust. They had been in a battle, they had heard men scream in agony and seen friends fall down dead, and they had been scared, literally, out of their wits. But they had won the battle and survived, and now they were in hot pursuit of their enemies, and nothing could satisfy them but more blood, more screaming, more wounds and more death; and all this was written on their twisted faces as they came into the room like foxes into a henhouse.\n\nThey moved very fast, but Philip could remember each step forever afterward, as if it had all taken a very long time. Both men wore light armor, just a short vest of chain mail and a leather helmet with iron bands. Both had their swords drawn. One was ugly, with a big bent nose and a squint, and his teeth were bared in a dreadful ape-like grin. The other had a luxuriant beard that was matted with blood\u2014someone else's, presumably, for he did not seem to be wounded. Both men scanned the room without breaking stride. Their merciless, calculating eyes dismissed Philip and Francis, noted Mam, and focused on Da. They were almost upon him before anyone else could move.\n\nMam had been bending over him, tying a bandage to his left arm. She straightened up and turned on the intruders, her eyes blazing with hopeless courage. Da sprang to his feet and got his good hand to the hilt of his sword. Philip let out a cry of terror.\n\nThe ugly man raised his sword above his head and brought it down hilt-first on Mam's head, then pushed her aside without stabbing her, probably because he did not want to risk getting his blade stuck in a body while Da was still alive. Philip figured that out years later: at the time he just ran to his mother, not understanding that she could no longer protect him. Mam stumbled, stunned, and the ugly man went by her, raising his sword again. Philip clung to his mother's skirts as she staggered, dazed; but he could not help looking at his father.\n\nDa got his weapon clear of its scabbard and raised it defensively. The ugly man struck downward and the two blades clashed, ringing like a bell. Like all small boys, Philip thought his father was invincible; and this was the moment when he learned the truth. Da was weak from loss of blood. When the two swords met, his dropped; and the attacker lifted his blade just a little and struck again quickly. The blow landed where the big muscles of Da's neck grew out of his broad shoulders. Philip began to scream when he saw the sharp blade slice into his father's body. The ugly man drew his arm back for a stab, and thrust the point of the sword into Da's belly.\n\nParalyzed with terror, Philip looked up at his mother. His eyes met hers just as the other man, the bearded one, struck her down. She fell to the floor beside Philip with blood streaming from a head wound. The bearded man changed his grip on his sword, reversing it so that it pointed downward and holding it in both hands; then he raised it high, almost like a man about to stab himself, and brought it down hard. There was a sickening crack of breaking bone as the point entered Mam's chest. The blade went in deep; so deep (Philip noted, even then when he was consumed by blind hysterical fear) that it must have come through her back and stuck in the ground, fixing her to the floor like a nail.\n\nPhilip looked wildly for his father again. He saw him slump forward over the ugly man's sword and spew out a huge gout of blood. His assailant stepped back and jerked at the sword, trying to disengage it. Da stumbled another step and stayed with him. The ugly man gave a cry of rage and twisted his sword in Da's belly. This time it came out, Da fell to the floor and his hands went to his open abdomen, as if to cover the gaping wound. Philip had always imagined people's insides to be more or less solid, and he was mystified and nauseated by the ugly tubes and organs that were falling out of his father. The attacker lifted his sword high, point downward, over Da's body, as the bearded man had over Mam, and delivered the final blow in the same way.\n\nThe two Englishmen looked at one another, and quite unexpectedly Philip read relief on their faces. Together, they turned and looked at him and Francis. One nodded and the other shrugged, and Philip realized they were going to kill him and his brother by cutting them open with those sharp swords, and when he realized how much it was going to hurt, the terror boiled up inside him until he felt as if his head would burst.\n\nThe man with blood in his beard stooped swiftly and picked Francis up by one ankle. He held him upside-down in the air while the little boy screamed for his mother, not understanding that she was dead. The ugly man pulled his sword out of Da's body and brought his arm back ready to stab Francis through the heart.\n\nThe blow was never struck. A commanding voice rang out, and the two men froze. The screaming stopped, and Philip realized it was he who had been doing it. He looked at the door and saw Abbot Peter, standing there in his homespun robe, with the wrath of God in his eyes, holding a wooden cross in his hand like a sword.\n\nWhen Philip relived that day in his nightmares, and woke up sweating and screaming in the dark, he would always be able to calm himself, and eventually relax into sleep again, by bringing to mind that final tableau, and the way the screaming and the wounds had been swept aside by the unarmed man with the cross.\n\nAbbot Peter spoke again. Philip did not understand the language he used\u2014it was English, of course\u2014but the meaning was clear, for the two men looked ashamed, and the bearded one put Francis down quite gently. Still talking, the monk strode confidently into the room. The men-at-arms backed off a step, almost as if they were afraid of him\u2014they with their swords and armor, and him with a wool robe and a cross! He turned his back on them, a gesture of contempt, and crouched to speak to Philip. His voice was matter-of-fact. \"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Philip.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I remember. And your brother's?\"\n\n\"Francis.\"\n\n\"That's right.\" The abbot looked at the bleeding bodies on the earth floor. \"That's your Mam, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Philip, and he felt panic come over him as he pointed to the mutilated body of his father and said: \"And that's my Da!\"\n\n\"I know,\" the monk said soothingly. \"You mustn't scream anymore, you must answer my questions. Do you understand that they're dead?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Philip said miserably. He knew what it meant when animals died, but how could that happen to Mam and Da?\n\nAbbot Peter said: \"It's like going to sleep.\"\n\n\"But their eyes are open!\" Philip yelled.\n\n\"Hush. We'd better close them, then.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Philip said. He felt as if that would resolve something.\n\nAbbot Peter stood up, took Philip and Francis by the hand, and led them across the floor to their father's body. He knelt down and took Philip's right hand in his. \"I'll show you how,\" he said. He moved Philip's hand over his father's face, but suddenly Philip was afraid to touch his father, because the body looked so strange, pale and slack and hideously wounded, and he snatched his hand away. Then he looked anxiously at Abbot Peter\u2014a man no one disobeyed\u2014but the abbot was not angry with him. \"Come,\" he said gently, and took Philip's hand again. This time Philip did not resist. Holding Philip's forefinger between his own thumb and finger, the monk made the boy touch his father's eyelid and bring it down until it covered the dreadfully staring eyeball. Then the abbot released Philip's hand and said: \"Close his other eye.\" Unaided now, Philip reached out, touched his father's eyelid, and closed it. Then he felt better.\n\nAbbot Peter said: \"Shall we close your Mam's eyes, too?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThey knelt beside her body. The abbot wiped blood off her face with his sleeve. Philip said: \"What about Francis?\"\n\n\"Perhaps he should help, too,\" said the abbot.\n\n\"Do what I did, Francis,\" Philip said to his brother. \"Close Mam's eyes, like I closed Da's, so she can sleep.\"\n\n\"Are they asleep?\" said Francis.\n\n\"No, but it's like sleeping,\" Philip said authoritatively, \"so she should have her eyes shut.\"\n\n\"All right, then,\" said Francis, and without hesitation he reached out a chubby hand and carefully closed his mother's eyes.\n\nThen the abbot picked them both up, one in each arm, and without another glance at the men-at-arms he carried them out of the house and all the way up the steep hillside path to the sanctuary of the monastery.\n\nHe fed them in the monastery kitchen; then, so that they should not be left idle with their thoughts, he told them to help the cook prepare the monks' supper. On the following day he took them to see their parents' bodies, washed and dressed and with the wounds cleaned and repaired and partly concealed, lying in coffins side by side in the nave of the church. There too were several of their relatives, for not all the villagers had made it to the monastery in time to escape the invading army. Abbot Peter took them to the funeral, and made sure they watched the two coffins being lowered into the single grave. When Philip cried, Francis cried too. Someone hushed them, but Abbot Peter said: \"Let them weep.\" Only after that, when they had taken to their hearts the knowledge that their parents had really gone and were never coming back, did he at last talk about the future.\n\nAmong their relatives there was not a single family left entire: in every case, either the father or the mother had been killed. There were no relations to look after the boys. That left two options. They could be given, or even sold, to a farmer who would use them as slave labor until they grew old enough and big enough to run away. Or they could be given to God.\n\nIt was not unknown for small boys to enter a monastery. The usual age was about eleven, and the lower limit around five, for the monks were not set up to cope with babies. Sometimes the boys were orphans, sometimes they had lost just one parent, and sometimes their parents had too many sons. Normally the family would give the monastery a substantial gift along with the child\u2014a farm, a church or even a whole village. In cases of direst poverty the gift might be waived. However, Philip's father had left a modest hill farm, so the boys were not a charity case. Abbot Peter proposed that the monastery should take over the boys and the farm; the surviving relatives agreed; and the deal was sanctioned by the Prince of Gwynedd, Gruffyd ap Cynan, who was temporarily humbled but not permanently deposed by the invading army of King Henry, which had killed Philip's father.\n\nThe abbot knew a lot about grief, but for all his wisdom he was not prepared for what happened to Philip. After a year or so, when grief had seemed to pass, and the two boys had settled into the life of the monastery, Philip became possessed by a kind of implacable rage. Conditions in the hilltop community were not bad enough to justify his anger: there was food, and clothing, and a fire in the dormitory in winter, and even a little love and affection; and the strict discipline and tedious rituals at least made for order and stability; but Philip began to act as if he had been unjustly imprisoned. He disobeyed orders, subverted the authority of monastic officers at every opportunity, stole food, broke eggs, loosed horses, mocked the infirm and insulted his elders. The one offense he stopped short of was sacrilege, and because of that the abbot forgave him everything else. And in the end he simply grew out of it. One Christmas he looked back over the past twelve months and realized that he had not spent a single night in the punishment cell all year.\n\nThere was no single reason for his return to normality. The fact that he got interested in his lessons probably helped. The mathematical theory of music fascinated him, and even the way Latin verbs were conjugated had a certain satisfying logic. He had been put to work helping the cellarer, the monk who had to provide all the supplies the monastery needed, from sandals to seed; and that, too, compelled his interest. He developed a hero-worshiping attachment for Brother John, a handsome, muscular young monk who seemed the epitome of learning, holiness, wisdom and kindness. Either in imitation of John, or from his own inclination, or both, he began to find some kind of solace in the daily round of prayers and services. And so he slipped into adolescence with the organization of the monastery on his mind and the holy harmonies in his ears.\n\nIn their studies both Philip and Francis were far ahead of any boys of their own age that they knew, but they assumed this was because they lived in the monastery and had been educated more intensively. At this stage they did not realize they were exceptional. Even when they began to do much of the teaching in the little school, and take their own lessons from the abbot himself instead of the pedantic old novice master, they thought they were ahead only because they had got such an early start.\n\nWhen he looked back on his youth, it seemed to Philip that there had been a brief Golden Age, a year or perhaps less, between the end of his rebellion and the onslaught of fleshly lust. Then came the agonizing era of impure thoughts, nocturnal emissions, dreadfully embarrassing sessions with his confessor (who was the abbot), endless penances and mortification of the flesh with scourges.\n\nLust never completely ceased to afflict him, but it did eventually become less important, so that it bothered him only now and again, on the rare occasions when his mind and body were idle; like an old injury that still hurts in wet weather.\n\nFrancis had fought this battle a little later, and although he had not confided to Philip on the subject, Philip had the impression that Francis had struggled less bravely against evil desires, and had taken his defeats rather too cheerfully. However, the main thing was that they had both made their peace with the passions that were the greatest enemy of the monastic life.\n\nAs Philip worked with the cellarer, so Francis worked for the prior, Abbot Peter's deputy. When the cellarer died, Philip was twenty-one, and despite his youth he took over the job. And when Francis reached the age of twenty-one the abbot proposed to create a new post for him, that of sub-prior. But this proposal precipitated a crisis. Francis begged to be excused the responsibility, and while he was at it he asked to be released from the monastery. He wanted to be ordained as a priest and serve God in the world outside.\n\nPhilip was astonished and horrified. The idea that one of them might leave the monastery had never occurred to him, and now it was as disconcerting as if he had learned that he was the heir to the throne. But, after much hand-wringing and heart-searching, it happened, and Francis went off into the world, before long to become chaplain to the earl of Gloucester.\n\nBefore this happened Philip had seen his future very simply, when he had thought of it at all: he would be a monk, live a humble and obedient life, and in his old age, perhaps, become abbot, and strive to live up to the example set by Peter. Now he wondered whether God intended some other destiny for him. He remembered the parable of the talents: God expected his servants to increase his kingdom, not merely to conserve it. With some trepidation he shared these thoughts with Abbot Peter, fully aware that he risked a reprimand for being puffed up with pride.\n\nTo his surprise, the abbot said: \"I've been wondering how long it would take you to realize this. Of course you're destined for something else. Born within sight of a monastery, orphaned at six, raised by monks, made cellarer at twenty-one\u2014God does not take that much trouble over the formation of a man who is going to spend his life in a small monastery on a bleak hilltop in a remote mountain principality. There isn't enough scope for you here. You must leave this place.\"\n\nPhilip was stunned by this, but before leaving the abbot a question occurred to him, and he blurted it out. \"If this monastery is so unimportant, why did God put you here?\"\n\nAbbot Peter smiled. \"Perhaps to take care of you.\"\n\nLater that year the abbot went to Canterbury to pay his respects to the archbishop, and when he came back he said to Philip: \"I have given you to the prior of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nPhilip was daunted. Kingsbridge Priory was one of the biggest and most important monasteries in the land. It was a cathedral priory: its church was a cathedral church, the seat of a bishop, and the bishop was technically the abbot of the monastery, although in practice it was ruled by its prior.\n\n\"Prior James is an old friend,\" Abbot Peter told Philip. \"In the last few years he has become rather dispirited, I don't know why. Anyway, Kingsbridge needs young blood. In particular, James is having trouble with one of his cells, a little place in the forest, and he desperately needs a completely reliable man to take over the cell and set it back on the path of godliness.\"\n\n\"So I'm to be prior of the cell?\" Philip said in surprise.\n\nThe abbot nodded. \"And if we're right in thinking that God has much work for you to do, we can expect that he will help you to resolve whatever problems this cell has.\"\n\n\"And if we're wrong?\"\n\n\"You can always come back here and be my cellarer. But we're not wrong, my son; you'll see.\"\n\nHis farewells were tearful. He had spent seventeen years here, and the monks were his family, more real to him now than the parents who had been savagely taken from him. He would probably never see these monks again, and he was sad.\n\nKingsbridge overawed him at first. The walled monastery was bigger than many villages; the cathedral church was a vast, gloomy cavern; the prior's house a small palace. But once he got used to its sheer size he saw the signs of that dispiritedness that Abbot Peter had noted in his old friend the prior. The church was visibly in need of major repairs; the prayers were gabbled hastily; the rules of silence were breached constantly; and there were too many servants, more servants than monks. Philip quickly got over being awed and became angry. He wanted to take Prior James by the throat and shake him and say: \"How dare you do this? How dare you give hasty prayers to God? How dare you allow novices to play at dice and monks to keep pet dogs? How dare you live in a palace, surrounded by servants, while God's church is falling into ruin?\" He said nothing of the kind, of course. He had a brief, formal interview with Prior James, a tall, thin, stooped man who seemed to have the weight of the world's troubles on his rounded shoulders. Then he talked to the sub-prior, Remigius. At the start of the conversation Philip hinted that he thought the priory might be overdue for some changes, expecting that its deputy leader would agree wholeheartedly; but Remigius looked down his nose at Philip, as if to say Who do you think you are?, and changed the subject.\n\nRemigius said that the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest had been established three years earlier with some land and property, and it should have been self-supporting by now, but in fact it was still dependent on supplies from the mother house. There were other problems: a deacon who happened to spend the night there had criticized the conduct of services; travelers alleged they had been robbed by monks in that area; there were rumors of impurity.... The fact that Remigius was unable or unwilling to give exact details was just another sign of the indolent way the whole organization was being run. Philip left trembling with rage. A monastery was supposed to glorify God. If it failed to do that, it was nothing. Kingsbridge Priory was worse than nothing. It shamed God by its slothfulness. But Philip could do nothing about it. The best he could hope for was to reform one of Kingsbridge's cells.\n\nOn the two-day ride to the cell in the forest he mulled over the scanty information he had been given and prayerfully considered his approach. He would do well to tread softly at first, he decided. Normally a prior was elected by the monks; but in the case of a cell, which was just an outpost of the main monastery, the prior of the mother house might simply choose. So Philip had not been asked to submit himself for election, and that meant he could not count on the goodwill of the monks. He would have to feel his way cautiously. He needed to learn more about the problems afflicting the place before he could decide how best to solve them. He had to win the respect and trust of the monks, especially those who were older than he and who might resent his position. Then, when his information was complete and his leadership secure, he would take firm action.\n\nIt did not work out that way.\n\nThe light was fading on the second day when he reined in his pony on the edge of a clearing and inspected his new home. There was only one stone building, the chapel, in those days. (Philip had built the new stone dormitory the following year.) The other, wooden buildings looked ramshackle. Philip disapproved: everything made by monks was supposed to last, and that meant pigsties as well as cathedrals. As he looked around he noted further evidence of the kind of laxity that had shocked him at Kingsbridge: there were no fences, the hay was spilling out of the barn door, and there was a dunghill next to the fishpond. He felt his face go tense with suppressed reproof, and he said to himself: Softly, softly.\n\nAt first he saw no one. This was as it should be, for it was time for vespers and most of the monks would be in the chapel. He touched the pony's flank with his whip and crossed the clearing to a hut that looked like a stable. A youth with straw in his hair and a vacant look on his face popped his head over the door and stared at Philip in surprise.\n\n\"What's your name?\" Philip said, and then, after a moment's shyness, he added: \"My son.\"\n\n\"They call me Johnny Eightpence,\" the youngster said.\n\nPhilip dismounted and handed him the reins. \"Well, Johnny Eightpence, you can unsaddle my horse.\"\n\n\"Yes, Father.\" He looped the reins over a rail and moved away.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Philip said sharply.\n\n\"To tell the brothers that a stranger is here.\"\n\n\"You must practice obedience, Johnny. Unsaddle my horse. I will tell the brothers that I'm here.\"\n\n\"Yes, Father.\" Looking frightened, Johnny bent to his task.\n\nPhilip looked around. In the middle of the clearing was a long building like a great hall. Near it was a small round building with smoke rising from a hole in its roof. That would be the kitchen. He decided to see what was for supper. In strict monasteries only one meal was served each day, dinner at noon; but this was evidently not a strict establishment, and there would be a light supper after vespers, some bread with cheese or salt fish, or perhaps a bowl of barley broth made with herbs. However, as he approached the kitchen he smelled the unmistakable, mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat. He stopped, frowning, then went in.\n\nTwo monks and a boy were sitting around the central hearth. As Philip watched, one of the monks passed a jug to the other, who drank from it. The boy was turning a spit, and on the spit was a small pig.\n\nThey looked up in surprise as Philip stepped into the light. Without speaking, he took the jug from the monk and sniffed it. Then he said: \"Why are you drinking wine?\"\n\n\"Because it makes my heart glad, stranger,\" said the monk. \"Have some\u2014drink deep.\"\n\nClearly they had not been warned to expect their new prior. Equally clearly they had no fear of the consequences if a passing monk should report their behavior to Kingsbridge. Philip had an urge to break the wine jug over the man's head, but he took a deep breath and spoke mildly. \"Poor men's children go hungry to provide meat and drink for us,\" he said. \"This is done for the glory of God, not to make our hearts glad. No more wine for you tonight.\" He turned away, carrying the jug.\n\nAs he walked out he heard the monk say: \"Who do you think you are?\" He made no reply. They would find out soon enough.\n\nHe left the jug on the ground outside the kitchen and walked across the clearing toward the chapel, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to control his anger. Don't be precipitate, he told himself. Be cautious. Take your time.\n\nHe paused for a moment in the little porch of the chapel, calming himself, then softly pushed the big oak door and went silently in.\n\nA dozen or so monks and a few novices stood with their backs to him in ragged rows. Facing them was the sacrist, reading from an open book. He spoke the service rapidly and the monks muttered the responses perfunctorily. Three candles of uneven length sputtered on a dirty altarcloth.\n\nAt the back, two young monks were holding a conversation, ignoring the service and discussing something in an animated fashion. As Philip drew level, one said something funny, and the other laughed aloud, drowning the gabbled words of the sacrist. This was the last straw for Philip, and all thought of treading softly disappeared from his mind. He opened his mouth and shouted at the top of his voice: \"BE SILENT!\"\n\nThe laughter was cut off. The sacrist stopped reading. The chapel fell silent, and the monks turned around and stared at Philip.\n\nHe reached out to the monk who had laughed and grabbed him by the ear. He was about Philip's age, and taller, but he was too surprised to resist as Philip pulled his head down. \"On your knees!\" Philip yelled. For a moment it looked as if the monk might try to struggle free; but he knew he was in the wrong, and, as Philip had anticipated, his resistance was sapped by his guilty conscience; and when Philip tugged harder on his ear the young man knelt.\n\n\"All of you,\" Philip commanded. \"On your knees!\"\n\nThey had all taken vows of obedience, and the scandalous indiscipline under which they had evidently been living recently was not enough to erase the habit of years. Half the monks and all the novices knelt.\n\n\"You've all broken your vows,\" Philip said, letting his contempt show. \"You're blasphemers, every one.\" He looked around, meeting their eyes. \"Your repentance begins now,\" he said finally.\n\nSlowly they knelt, one by one, until only the sacrist was left standing. He was a fleshy, sleepy-eyed man about twenty years older than Philip. Philip approached him, stepping around the kneeling monks. \"Give me the book,\" he said.\n\nThe sacrist stared defiantly back and said nothing.\n\nPhilip reached out and lightly grasped the big volume. The sacrist tightened his grip. Philip hesitated. He had spent two days deciding to be cautious and move slowly, yet here he was, with the dust of the road still on his feet, risking everything in a stand-up confrontation with a man he knew nothing about. \"Give me the book, and get down on your knees,\" he repeated.\n\nThere was the hint of a sneer on the sacrist's face. \"Who are you?\" he said.\n\nPhilip hesitated again. It was obvious that he was a monk, from his robes and his haircut; and they all must have guessed, from his behavior, that he was in a position of authority; but it was not yet clear whether his rank placed him over the sacrist. All he had to say was I am your new prior, but he did not want to. Suddenly it seemed very important that he should prevail by sheer weight of moral authority.\n\nThe sacrist sensed his uncertainty and took advantage of it. \"Tell us all, please,\" he said with mock courtesy. \"Who is it that commands us to kneel in his presence?\"\n\nAll hesitation left Philip in a rush, and he thought: God is with me, so what am I afraid of? He took a deep breath, and his words came out in a roar that echoed from the paved floor to the stone-vaulted ceiling. \"It is God who commands you to kneel in his presence!\" he thundered.\n\nThe sacrist looked a fraction less confident. Philip seized his chance and snatched the book. The sacrist had lost all authority now, and at last, reluctantly, he knelt.\n\nHiding his relief, Philip looked around at them all and said: \"I am your new prior.\"\n\nHe made them remain kneeling while he read the service. It took a long time, because he made them repeat the responses again and again until they could speak them in perfect unison. Then he led them in silence out of the chapel and across the clearing to the refectory. He sent the roast pork back to the kitchen and ordered bread and weak beer, and he nominated a monk to read aloud while they ate. As soon as they had finished he led them, still in silence, to the dormitory.\n\nHe ordered the prior's bedding brought in from the separate prior's house: he would sleep in the same room as the monks. It was the simplest and most effective way to prevent sins of impurity.\n\nHe did not sleep at all the first night, but sat up with a candle, praying silently, until it was midnight and time to wake the monks for matins. He went through that service quickly, to let them know he was not completely merciless. They went back to bed, but Philip did not sleep.\n\nHe went out at dawn, before they woke, and looked around, thinking about the day ahead. One of the fields had recently been reclaimed from the forest, and right in the middle of it was the huge stump of what must have been a massive oak tree. That gave him an idea.\n\nAfter the service of prime, and breakfast, he took them all out into the field with ropes and axes, and they spent the morning uprooting the enormous stump, half of them heaving on the ropes while the other half attacked the roots with axes, all saying \"He-eeeave\" together. When the stump finally came up, Philip gave them all beer, bread, and a slice of the pork he had denied them at supper.\n\nThat was not the end of the problems, but it was the beginning of solutions. From the start he refused to ask the mother house for anything but grain for bread and candles for the chapel. The knowledge that they would get no meat other than what they raised or trapped themselves turned the monks into meticulous livestock husbandmen and bird-snarers; and whereas they had previously looked upon the services as a way of escaping work, they now were glad when Philip cut down the hours spent in chapel so that they could have more time in the fields.\n\nAfter two years they were self-sufficient, and after another two they were supplying Kingsbridge Priory with meat, game, and a cheese made from goat's milk which became a coveted delicacy. The cell prospered, the services were irreproachable, and the brothers were healthy and happy.\n\nPhilip would have been content\u2014but the mother house, Kingsbridge Priory, was going from bad to worse.\n\nIt should have been one of the leading religious centers in the kingdom, bustling with activity, its library visited by foreign scholars, its prior consulted by barons, its shrines attracting pilgrims from all over the country, its hospitality renowned by the nobility, its charity famous among the poor. But the church was crumbling, half the monastic buildings were empty, and the priory was in debt to moneylenders. Philip went to Kingsbridge at least once a year, and each time he came back seething with anger at the way in which wealth, which had been given by devout worshipers and increased by dedicated monks, was being dissipated carelessly like the inheritance of the prodigal son.\n\nPart of the problem was the location of the priory. Kingsbridge was a small village on a back road that led nowhere. Since the time of the first King William\u2014who had been called the Conqueror, or the Bastard, depending on who was speaking\u2014most cathedrals had been transferred to large towns; but Kingsbridge had escaped this shake-up. However, that was not an insuperable problem, in Philip's view: a busy monastery with a cathedral church should be a town in itself.\n\nThe real trouble was the lethargy of old Prior James. With a limp hand on the tiller, the ship was blown about at hazard and went nowhere.\n\nAnd, to Philip's bitter regret, Kingsbridge Priory would continue to decline while Prior James was still alive.\n\nThey wrapped the baby in clean linen and laid him in a large breadbasket for a cradle. With his tiny belly full of goat's milk he fell asleep. Philip put Johnny Eightpence in charge of him, for despite being somewhat half-witted, Johnny had a gentle touch with creatures that were small and frail.\n\nPhilip was agog to know what had brought Francis to the monastery. He dropped hints during dinner, but Francis did not respond, and Philip had to suppress his curiosity.\n\nAfter dinner it was study hour. They had no proper cloisters here, but the monks could sit in the porch of the chapel and read, or walk up and down the clearing. They were allowed to go into the kitchen from time to time to warm themselves by the fire, as was the custom. Philip and Francis walked around the edge of the clearing, side by side, as they had often walked in the cloisters at the monastery in Wales; and Francis began to speak.\n\n\"King Henry has always treated the Church as if it were a subordinate part of his kingdom,\" he began. \"He has issued orders to bishops, imposed taxes, and prevented the direct exercise of papal authority.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Philip said. \"So what?\"\n\n\"King Henry is dead.\"\n\nPhilip stopped in his tracks. He had not expected that.\n\nFrancis went on: \"He died at his hunting lodge at Lyons-la-For\u00eat, in Normandy, after a meal of lampreys, which he loved, although they always disagreed with him.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Today is the first day of the year, so it was a month ago exactly.\"\n\nPhilip was quite shocked. Henry had been king since before Philip was born. He had never lived through the death of a king, but he knew it meant trouble, and possibly war. \"What happens now?\" he said anxiously.\n\nThey resumed walking. Francis said: \"The problem is that the king's heir was killed at sea, many years ago\u2014you may remember it.\"\n\n\"I do.\" Philip had been twelve years old. It was the first event of national importance to penetrate his boyish consciousness, and it had made him aware of the world outside the monastery. The king's son had died in the wreck of a vessel called the White Ship, just off Cherbourg. Abbot Peter, who told young Philip all this, had been worried that war and anarchy would follow the death of the heir; but in the event, King Henry kept control, and life went on undisturbed for Philip and Francis.\n\n\"The king had many other children, of course,\" Francis went on. \"At least twenty of them, including my own lord, Earl Robert of Gloucester; but as you know, they are all bastards. Despite his rampant fecundity he managed to father only one other legitimate child\u2014and that was a girl, Maud. A bastard can't inherit the throne, but a woman is almost as bad.\"\n\n\"Didn't King Henry nominate an heir?\" Philip said.\n\n\"Yes, he chose Maud. She has a son, also called Henry. It was the old king's dearest wish that his grandson should inherit the throne. But the boy is not yet three years old. So the king made the barons swear fealty to Maud.\"\n\nPhilip was puzzled. \"If the king made Maud his heir, and the barons have already sworn loyalty to her... what's the problem?\"\n\n\"Court life is never that simple,\" Francis said. \"Maud is married to Geoffrey of Anjou. Anjou and Normandy have been rivals for generations. Our Norman overlords hate the Angevins. Frankly, it was very optimistic of the old king to expect that a crowd of Anglo-Norman barons would hand over England and Normandy to an Angevin, oath or no oath.\"\n\nPhilip was somewhat bemused by his younger brother's knowing and disrespectful attitude to the most important men in the land. \"How do you know all this?\"\n\n\"The barons gathered at Le Neubourg to decide what to do. Needless to say, my own lord, Earl Robert, was there; and I went with him to write his letters.\"\n\nPhilip looked quizzically at his brother, thinking how different Francis's life must be from his own. Then he remembered something. \"Earl Robert is the eldest son of the old king, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, and he is very ambitious; but he accepts the general view, that bastards have to conquer their kingdoms, not inherit them.\"\n\n\"Who else is there?\"\n\n\"King Henry had three nephews, the sons of his sister. The eldest is Theobald of Blois; then there is Stephen, much loved by the dead king and endowed by him with vast estates here in England; and the baby of the family, Henry, whom you know as the bishop of Winchester. The barons favored the eldest, Theobald, according to a tradition which you probably think perfectly reasonable.\" Francis looked at Philip and grinned.\n\n\"Perfectly reasonable,\" Philip said with a smile. \"So Theobald is our new king?\"\n\nFrancis shook his head. \"He thought he was, but we younger sons have a way of pushing ourselves to the fore.\" They reached the farthest corner of the clearing and turned. \"While Theobald was graciously accepting the homage of the barons, Stephen crossed the Channel to England and dashed to Winchester, and with the help of baby brother Henry, the bishop, he seized the castle there and\u2014most important of all\u2014the royal treasury.\"\n\nPhilip was about to say: So Stephen is our new ruler. But he bit his tongue: he had said that about Maud and Theobald and had been wrong both times.\n\nFrancis went on: \"Stephen needed only one more thing to make his victory secure: the support of the Church. For until he could be crowned at Westminster by the archbishop he would not really be king.\"\n\n\"But surely that was easy,\" Philip said. \"His brother Henry is one of the most important priests in the land\u2014bishop of Winchester, abbot of Glastonbury, as rich as Solomon and almost as powerful as the archbishop of Canterbury. And if Bishop Henry wasn't intending to support him, why had he helped him take Winchester?\"\n\nFrancis nodded. \"I must say that Bishop Henry's operations throughout this crisis have been brilliant. You see, he wasn't helping Stephen out of brotherly love.\"\n\n\"Then what was his motivation?\"\n\n\"A few minutes ago I reminded you of how the late King Henry had treated the Church as if it were just another part of his kingdom. Bishop Henry wants to ensure that our new king, whoever he may be, will treat the Church better. So before he would guarantee support, Henry made Stephen swear a solemn oath to preserve the rights and privileges of the Church.\"\n\nPhilip was impressed. Stephen's relationship with the Church had been defined, right at the start of his reign, on the Church's terms. But perhaps even more important was the precedent. The Church had to crown kings but until now it had not had the right to lay down conditions. The time might come when no king could come to power without first striking a deal with the Church. \"This could mean a lot to us,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Stephen may break his promises, of course,\" Francis said. \"But all the same you're right. He will never be able to be quite as ruthless with the Church as Henry was. But there's another danger. Two of the barons were bitterly aggrieved by what Stephen did. One was Bartholomew, the earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"I know of him. Shiring is only a day's journey from here. Bartholomew is said to be a devout man.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he is. All I know is that he is a self-righteous and stiff-necked baron who will not renege on his loyalty oath to Maud, despite the promise of a pardon.\"\n\n\"And the other discontented baron?\"\n\n\"My own Robert of Gloucester. I told you he was ambitious. His soul is tormented by the thought that if only he were legitimate, he would be king. He wants to put his half sister on the throne, believing that she will rely so heavily on her brother for guidance and advice that he will be king in everything but name.\"\n\n\"Is he going to do anything about it?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so.\" Francis lowered his voice, although there was no one near. \"Robert and Bartholomew, together with Maud and her husband, are going to foment a rebellion. They plan to unseat Stephen and put Maud on the throne.\"\n\nPhilip stopped walking. \"Which would undo everything the bishop of Winchester has achieved!\" He grasped his brother's arm. \"But, Francis...\"\n\n\"I know what you're thinking.\" Suddenly all Francis's cockiness left him, and he looked anxious and frightened. \"If Earl Robert knew I'd even told you, he would hang me. He trusts me completely. But my ultimate loyalty is to the Church\u2014it has to be.\"\n\n\"But what can you do?\"\n\n\"I thought of seeking an audience with the new king, and telling him everything. Of course, the two rebel earls would deny it all, and I would be hanged for treachery; but the rebellion would be frustrated and I would go to heaven.\"\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"We're taught that it's vain to seek martyrdom.\"\n\n\"And I think God has more work for me to do here on earth. I'm in a position of trust in the household of a great baron, and if I stay there and advance myself by hard work, there's a lot I could do to promote the rights of the Church and the rule of law.\"\n\n\"Is there any other way...?\"\n\nFrancis looked Philip in the eye. \"That's why I'm here.\"\n\nPhilip felt a shiver of fear. Francis was going to ask him to get involved, of course; there was no other reason for him to reveal this dreadful secret.\n\nFrancis went on: \"I can't betray the rebellion, but you can.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Jesus Christ and all the saints, preserve me.\"\n\n\"If the plot is uncovered here, in the south, no suspicion will fall on the Gloucester household. Nobody knows I'm here; nobody even knows you're my brother. You could think of some plausible explanation of how you came by the information: you might have seen men-at-arms assembling, or it might be that someone in Earl Bartholomew's household revealed the plot while confessing his sins to a priest you know.\"\n\nPhilip pulled his cloak closer around him, shivering. It seemed to have turned colder suddenly. This was dangerous, very dangerous. They were talking about meddling in royal politics, which regularly killed experienced practitioners. Outsiders such as Philip were foolish to get involved.\n\nBut there was so much at stake. Philip could not stand by and see a rebellion against a king chosen by the Church, not when he had a chance to prevent it. And dangerous though it would be for Philip, it would be suicidal for Francis to expose the plot.\n\nPhilip said: \"What's the rebels' plan?\"\n\n\"Earl Bartholomew is on his way back to Shiring right now. From there he will send out messages to his followers all over the south of England. Earl Robert will arrive in Gloucester a day or two later and muster his forces in the West Country. Finally Brian Fitzcount, who holds Wallingford Castle, will close its gates; and the whole of southwest England will belong to the rebels without a fight.\"\n\n\"Then it's almost too late!\" Philip said.\n\n\"Not really. We've got about a week. But you'll have to act quickly.\"\n\nPhilip realized with a sinking feeling that he had more or less made up his mind to do it. \"I don't know whom to tell,\" he said. \"One would normally go to the earl, but in this case he's the culprit. The sheriff is probably on his side. We have to think of someone who is certain to be on our side.\"\n\n\"The prior of Kingsbridge?\"\n\n\"My prior is old and tired. The likelihood is that he would do nothing.\"\n\n\"There must be someone.\"\n\n\"There's the bishop.\" Philip had never actually spoken to the bishop of Kingsbridge, but he would be sure to receive Philip and listen to him; he would automatically side with Stephen because Stephen was the Church's choice; and he was powerful enough to do something about it.\n\nFrancis said: \"Where does the bishop live?\"\n\n\"It's a day and a half from here.\"\n\n\"You'd better leave today.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Philip said with a heavy heart.\n\nFrancis looked remorseful. \"I wish it were someone else.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" Philip said feelingly. \"So do I.\"\n\nPhilip called the monks into the little chapel and told them that the king had died. \"We must pray for a peaceful succession and a new king who will love the Church more than the late Henry,\" he said. But he did not tell them that the key to a peaceful succession had somehow fallen into his own hands. Instead he said: \"There is other news that obliges me to visit our mother house at Kingsbridge. I must leave right away.\"\n\nThe sub-prior would read the services and the cellarer would run the farm, but neither of them was a match for Peter of Wareham, and Philip was afraid that if he stayed away long Peter might make so much trouble that there would be no monastery left when he returned. He had not been able to think up a way of controlling Peter without bruising his self-esteem, and now there was no time left, so he had to do the best he could.\n\n\"Earlier today we talked about gluttony,\" he said after a pause. \"Brother Peter deserves our thanks for reminding us that when God blesses our farm and gives us wealth, it is not so that we should become fat and comfortable, but for his greater glory. It is part of our holy duty to share our riches with the poor. Until now we have neglected this duty, mainly because here in the forest we don't have anybody to share with. Brother Peter has reminded us that it's our duty to go out and seek the poor, so that we may bring them relief.\"\n\nThe monks were surprised: they had imagined that the subject of gluttony had been closed. Peter himself was looking uncertain. He was pleased to be the center of attention again, but he was wary of what Philip might have up his sleeve\u2014quite rightly.\n\n\"I have decided,\" Philip went on, \"that each week we will give to the poor one penny for every monk in our community. If this means we all have to eat a little less, we will rejoice in the prospect of our heavenly reward. More important, we must make sure that our pennies are well spent. When you give a poor man a penny to buy bread for his family, he may go straight to the alehouse and get drunk, then go home and beat his wife, who would therefore have been better off without your charity. Better to give him the bread; better still to give the bread to his children. Giving alms is a holy task that must be done with as much diligence as healing the sick or educating the young. For this reason, many monastic houses appoint an almoner, to be responsible for almsgiving. We will do the same.\"\n\nPhilip looked around. They were all alert and interested. Peter wore a gratified look, evidently having decided that this was a victory for him. No one had guessed what was coming.\n\n\"The almoner's job is hard work. He will have to walk to the nearest towns and villages, frequently to Winchester. There he will go among the meanest, dirtiest, ugliest and most vicious classes of people, for such are the poor. He must pray for them when they blaspheme, visit them when they're sick, and forgive them when they try to cheat and rob him. He will need strength, humility and endless patience. He will miss the comfort of this community, for he will be away more than he is with us.\"\n\nHe looked around once again. Now they were all wary, for none of them wanted this job. He let his gaze rest on Peter of Wareham. Peter realized what was coming, and his face fell.\n\n\"It was Peter who drew our attention to our shortcomings in this area,\" Philip said slowly, \"so I have decided that it shall be Peter who has the honor of being our almoner.\" He smiled. \"You can begin today.\"\n\nPeter's face was as black as thunder.\n\nYou'll be away too much to cause trouble, Philip thought; and close contact with the vile, verminous poor of Winchester's stinking alleyways will temper your scorn of soft living.\n\nHowever, Peter evidently saw this as a punishment, pure and simple, and he looked at Philip with an expression of such hatred that for a moment Philip quailed.\n\nHe tore his gaze away and looked at the others. \"After the death of a king there is always danger and uncertainty,\" he said. \"Pray for me while I'm away.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "At noon on the second day of his journey, Prior Philip was within a few miles of the bishop's palace. His bowels felt watery as he got nearer. He had thought of a story to explain how he came to know of the planned rebellion. But the bishop might not believe his story; or, believing it, he might demand proof. Worse still\u2014and this possibility had not occurred to Philip until after he parted company with Francis\u2014it was conceivable, albeit unlikely, that the bishop was one of the conspirators, and supported the rebellion. He might be a crony of the earl of Shiring. It was not unknown for bishops to put their own interests before those of the Church.\n\nThe bishop could torture Philip to make him reveal his source of information. Of course he had no right to, but then he had no right to plot against the king, either. Philip recalled the instruments of torture depicted in paintings of hell. Such paintings were inspired by what went on in the dungeons of barons and bishops. Philip did not feel he had the strength for a martyr's death.\n\nWhen he saw a group of travelers on foot in the road ahead of him his first instinct was to rein in to avoid passing them, for he was alone, and there were plenty of footpads who would not scruple to rob a monk. Then he saw that two of the figures were children, and another was a woman. A family group was usually safe. He trotted to catch them.\n\nAs he drew nearer he could see them more clearly. They were a tall man, a small woman, a youth almost as big as the man, and two children. They were visibly poor: they carried no little bundles of precious possessions and they were dressed in rags. The man was big-boned, but emaciated, as if he were dying of a wasting disease\u2014or just starving. He looked warily at Philip, and drew the children closer to him with a touch and a murmured word. Philip had at first guessed his age at fifty, but now he saw that the man was in his thirties, although his face was lined with care.\n\nThe woman said: \"What ho, monk.\"\n\nPhilip looked sharply at her. It was unusual for a woman to speak before her husband did, and while monk was not exactly impolite, it would have been more respectful to say brother or father. The woman was younger than the man by about ten years, and she had deep-set eyes of an unusual pale gold color that gave her a rather arresting appearance. Philip felt she was dangerous.\n\n\"Good day, Father,\" the man said, as if to apologize for his wife's brusqueness.\n\n\"God bless you,\" said Philip, slowing his mare. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Tom, a master builder, seeking work.\"\n\n\"And not finding any, I'd guess.\"\n\n\"That's the truth.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. It was a common story. Building craftsmen normally wandered in search of work, and sometimes they did not find it, either through bad luck or because not many people were building. Such men often took advantage of the hospitality of monasteries. If they had recently been in work they gave generous donations when they left, although after they had been on the road a while they might have nothing to offer. Giving an equally warm welcome to both kinds was sometimes a trial of monastic charity.\n\nThis builder was definitely the penniless kind, although his wife looked well enough. Philip said: \"Well, I have food in my saddlebag, and it is dinnertime, and charity is a holy duty; so if you and your family will eat with me, I shall get a reward in heaven, as well as some company while I dine.\"\n\n\"That's good of you,\" said Tom. He looked at the woman. She gave the slightest of shrugs, then a little nod. Almost without pause the man said: \"We'll accept your charity, and thank you.\"\n\n\"Thank God, not me,\" Philip said automatically.\n\nThe woman said: \"Thank the peasants whose tithes provided the food.\"\n\nHere's a sharp one, Philip thought; but he said nothing.\n\nThey stopped at a small clearing where Philip's pony could graze the tired winter grass. Philip was secretly glad of the excuse to postpone his arrival at the palace and delay the dreaded interview with the bishop. The builder said that he too was heading for the bishop's palace, hoping that the bishop might want to make repairs or even build an extension. While they were talking, Philip surreptitiously studied the family. The woman seemed too young to be the mother of the older boy. He was like a calf, strong and awkward and stupid-looking. The other boy was small and odd, with carrot-colored hair, snow-white skin and protuberant bright-blue eyes; and he had a way of staring intently at things, with an absent expression that reminded Philip of poor Johnny Eightpence, except that unlike Johnny this boy would give you a very adult, knowing look when you caught his eye. In his way he was as disturbing as his mother, Philip found. The third child was a girl of about six years. She was crying intermittently, and her father watched her constantly with affectionate concern, and gave her a comforting pat from time to time, although he said nothing to her. He was evidently very fond of her. He also touched his wife, once, and Philip saw a look of lust flash between them when their eyes met.\n\nThe woman sent the children to find broad leaves to use as platters. Philip opened his saddlebags. Tom said: \"Where is your monastery, Father?\"\n\n\"In the forest, a day's journey from here, to the west.\" The woman looked up sharply, and Tom raised his eyebrows. \"Do you know it?\" Philip asked.\n\nFor some reason Tom looked awkward. \"We must have passed near it on the way from Salisbury,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, yes, you would have, but it's a long way off the main road, so you wouldn't have seen it, unless you knew where it was and went to find it.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see,\" said Tom, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.\n\nPhilip was struck by a thought. \"Tell me something\u2014did you come across a woman on the road? Probably very young, alone, and, ah, with child?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tom. His tone was casual but Philip had the feeling he was intensely interested. \"Why do you ask?\"\n\nPhilip smiled. \"I'll tell you. Early yesterday a baby was found in the forest and brought to my monastery. It's a boy, and I don't think he was even as much as a day old. He must have been born that night. So the mother must have been in the area at the same time as you.\"\n\n\"We didn't see anyone,\" Tom repeated. \"What did you do with the baby?\"\n\n\"Fed him goat's milk. He seems to be thriving on it.\"\n\nThey were both looking at Philip intently. It was, he thought, a story to touch anyone's heart. After a moment Tom said: \"And you're searching for the mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. My question was casual. If I came across her, of course, I would give the baby back to her; but it's clear she doesn't want it, and she'll make sure she can't be found.\"\n\n\"Then what will happen to the boy?\"\n\n\"We'll raise him at the monastery. He'll be a child of God. That's how I myself was brought up, and my brother too. Our parents were taken from us when we were young, and after that the abbot was our father, and the monks were our family. We were fed, we were warm, and we learned our letters.\"\n\nThe woman said: \"And you both became monks.\" She said it with a touch of irony, as if it proved that the monastery's charity was ultimately self-interested.\n\nPhilip was glad to be able to contradict her. \"No, my brother left the order.\"\n\nThe children came back. They had not found any broad leaves\u2014it was not easy in winter\u2014so they would eat without platters. Philip gave them all bread and cheese. They tore into the food like starving animals. \"We make this cheese at my monastery,\" he said. \"Most people like it when it's new, like this, but it's even better if you leave it to ripen.\" They were too hungry to care. They finished the bread and cheese in no time. Philip had three pears. He fished them out of his bag and gave them to Tom. Tom gave one to each of the children.\n\nPhilip got to his feet. \"I'll pray that you find work.\"\n\nTom said: \"If you think of it, Father, mention me to the bishop. You know our need, and you've found us honest.\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\nTom held the horse while Philip mounted. \"You're a good man, father,\" he said, and Philip saw to his surprise that there were tears in Tom's eyes.\n\n\"God be with you,\" Philip said.\n\nTom held the horse's head a moment longer. \"The baby you told us about\u2014the foundling.\" He spoke softly, as if he did not want the children to hear. \"Did you... have you named him yet?\"\n\n\"Yes. We call him Jonathan, which means a gift from God.\"\n\n\"Jonathan. I like that.\" Tom released the horse.\n\nPhilip looked at him curiously for a moment, then kicked his horse and trotted away.\n\nThe bishop of Kingsbridge did not live at Kingsbridge. His palace stood on a south-facing hillside in a lush valley a full day's journey from the cold stone cathedral and its mournful monks. He preferred it this way, for too much churchgoing would get in the way of his other duties of collecting rents, dispensing justice and maneuvering at the royal court. It suited the monks, too, for the farther away the bishop was, the less he interfered with them.\n\nIt was cold enough for snow on the afternoon that Philip arrived there. A bitter wind whipped across the bishop's valley, and low gray clouds frowned on his hillside manor house. It was not a castle, but it was nonetheless well defended. The woodland had been cleared for a hundred yards all around. The house was enclosed by a stout wooden fence the height of a man, with a rainwater ditch outside it. The guard at the gate had a slovenly manner but his sword was heavy.\n\nThe palace was a fine stone house built in the shape of the letter E. The ground floor was an undercroft, its stout walls pierced by several heavy doors but no windows. One door was open, and through it Philip could see barrels and sacks in the gloom. The other doors were closed and chained. Philip wondered what was behind them: when the bishop had prisoners, that was where they would languish.\n\nThe short stroke of the E was an exterior staircase leading to the living quarters above the undercroft. The main room, the upright stroke of the E, would be the hall. The two rooms forming the head and foot of the E would be a chapel and a bedroom, Philip guessed. There were small shuttered windows like beady eyes looking suspiciously out at the world.\n\nWithin the compound were a kitchen and a bakehouse of stone as well as wooden stables and a barn. All the buildings were in good repair\u2014which was unfortunate for Tom Builder, Philip thought.\n\nThere were several good horses in the stable, including a couple of chargers, and a handful of men-at-arms were scattered around, killing time. Perhaps the bishop had visitors.\n\nPhilip left his horse with a stableboy and climbed the steps with a sense of foreboding. The whole place had a distressingly military feel. Where were the queues of petitioners with grievances, the mothers with babies to be blessed? He was entering an unfamiliar world, and he was in possession of a dangerous secret. It might be a long time before I leave here, he thought fearfully. I wish Francis had not come to me.\n\nHe reached the top of the stairs. Such unworthy thoughts, he told himself. Here I have a chance to serve God and the Church, and I react by worrying about my own safety. Some men face danger every day, in battle, at sea, and on hazardous pilgrimages or crusades. Even a monk must suffer a little fear and trembling sometimes.\n\nHe took a deep breath and went in.\n\nThe hall was dim and smoky. Philip closed the door quickly to keep out the cold air, then peered into the gloom. A big fire blazed on the opposite side of the room. That and the small windows provided the only light. Around the fireplace was a group of men, some in clerical clothes and others in the expensive but well-worn garments of minor gentry. They were involved in a serious discussion, their voices low and businesslike. Their seats were scattered randomly, but they all looked at and spoke to a priest who sat in the middle of the group like a spider at the center of a web. He was a thin man, and the way his long legs were splayed apart and his long arms draped over the arms of the chair made him look as if he were about to spring. He had lank, jet-black hair and a pale face with a sharp nose, and his black clothes made him at once handsome and menacing.\n\nHe was not the bishop.\n\nA steward got up from a seat beside the door and said to Philip: \"Good day, Father. Who do you want to see?\" At the same time a hound lying by the fire raised its head and growled. The man in black looked up quickly, saw Philip, and stopped the conversation instantly with a raised hand. \"What is it?\" he said brusquely.\n\n\"Good day,\" Philip said politely. \"I've come to see the bishop.\"\n\n\"He's not here,\" the priest said dismissively.\n\nPhilip's heart sank. He had been dreading the interview and its dangers, but now he felt let down. What was he going to do with his awful secret? He said to the priest: \"When do you expect him back?\"\n\n\"We don't know. What's your business with him?\"\n\nThe priest's tone was a little abrupt, and Philip was stung. \"God's business,\" he said sharply. \"Who are you?\"\n\nThe priest raised his eyebrows, as if surprised to be challenged, and the other men became suddenly quiet, like people expecting an explosion; but after a pause he replied mildly enough. \"I'm his archdeacon. My name is Waleran Bigod.\"\n\nA good name for a priest, Philip thought. He said: \"My name is Philip. I'm the prior of the monastery of St-John-in-the-Forest. It's a cell of Kingsbridge Priory.\"\n\n\"I've heard of you,\" said Waleran. \"You're Philip of Gwynedd.\"\n\nPhilip was surprised. He could not imagine why an actual archdeacon should know the name of someone as lowly as himself. But his rank, modest though it was, was enough to change Waleran's attitude. The irritated look went from the archdeacon's face. \"Come to the fire,\" he said. \"You'll take a draft of hot wine to warm your blood?\" He gestured to someone sitting on a bench against the wall, and a ragged figure sprang up to do his bidding.\n\nPhilip approached the fire. Waleran said something in a low voice and the other men got to their feet and began to take their leave. Philip sat down and warmed his hands while Waleran went to the door with his guests. Philip wondered what they had been discussing, and why the archdeacon had not closed the meeting with a prayer.\n\nThe ragged servant handed him a wooden cup. He sipped hot, spiced wine and considered his next move. If the bishop was not available, whom could Philip turn to? He thought of going to Earl Bartholomew and simply begging him to reconsider his rebellion. The idea was ludicrous: the earl would put him in a dungeon and throw away the key. That left the sheriff, who was in theory the king's representative in the county. But there was no telling which side the sheriff might take while there was still some doubt about who was going to be king. Still, Philip thought, I might just have to take that risk, in the end. He longed to return to the simple life of the monastery, where his most dangerous enemy was Peter of Wareham.\n\nWaleran's guests departed, and the door closed on the noise of horses in the yard. Waleran returned to the fireside and pulled up a big chair.\n\nPhilip was preoccupied with his problem and did not really want to talk to the archdeacon, but he felt obliged to be civil. \"I hope I didn't break up your meeting,\" he said.\n\nWaleran made a deprecatory gesture. \"It was due to end,\" he said. \"These things always go on longer than they need to. We were discussing the renewal of leases of diocesan land\u2014the kind of thing that could be settled in a few moments if only people would be decisive.\" He fluttered a bony hand as if to dismiss all diocesan leases and their holders. \"Now, I hear you've done good work at that little cell in the forest.\"\n\n\"I'm surprised you know about it,\" Philip replied.\n\n\"The bishop is ex officio abbot of Kingsbridge, so he's bound to take an interest.\"\n\nOr he has a well-informed archdeacon, Philip thought. He said: \"Well, God has blessed us.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\"\n\nThey were speaking Norman French, the language Waleran and his guests had been using, the language of government; but something about Waleran's accent was a little strange, and after a few moments Philip realized that Waleran had the inflections of one who had been brought up to speak English. That meant he was not a Norman aristocrat, but a native who had risen by his own efforts\u2014like Philip.\n\nA moment later this was confirmed when Waleran switched to English to say: \"I wish God would confer similar blessings on Kingsbridge Priory.\"\n\nPhilip was not the only one to be troubled by the state of affairs at Kingsbridge, then. Waleran probably knew more about events there than Philip did. Philip said: \"How is Prior James?\"\n\n\"Sick,\" Waleran replied succinctly.\n\nThen he definitely would not be able to do anything about Earl Bartholomew's insurrection, Philip thought gloomily. He was going to have to go to Shiring and take his chance with the sheriff.\n\nIt occurred to him that Waleran was the kind of man who would know everyone of importance in the county. \"What is the sheriff of Shiring like?\" he asked.\n\nWaleran shrugged. \"Ungodly, arrogant, grasping and corrupt. So are all sheriffs. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"If I can't talk to the bishop I probably should go and see the sheriff.\"\n\n\"I am in the bishop's confidence, you know,\" said Waleran with a little smile. \"If I can help...\" He made an open-handed gesture, like a man who is being generous but knows he may be refused.\n\nPhilip had relaxed a little, thinking that the moment of crisis had been postponed for a day or two, but now he was filled with trepidation again. Could he trust Archdeacon Waleran? Waleran's nonchalance was studied, he thought: the archdeacon appeared diffident, but in truth he was probably bursting to know what Philip had to say that was so important. However, that was no reason to mistrust him. He seemed a judicious fellow. Was he powerful enough to do anything about the rebellion? If he could not do it himself, he might be able to locate the bishop. It struck Philip that in fact there was a major advantage to the idea of confiding in Waleran; for whereas the bishop might insist on knowing the real source of Philip's information, the archdeacon did not have the authority to do that, and would have to be content with the story Philip told him, whether he believed it or not.\n\nWaleran gave his little smile again. \"If you think about it any longer, I shall begin to believe that you mistrust me!\"\n\nPhilip felt he understood Waleran. Waleran was a man something like himself: young, well-educated, low-born, and intelligent. He was a little too worldly for Philip's taste, perhaps, but this was pardonable in a priest who was obliged to spend so much of his time with lords and ladies, and did not have the benefit of a monk's protected life. Waleran was a devout man at heart, Philip thought. He would do the right thing for the Church.\n\nPhilip hesitated on the edge of decision. Until now only he and Francis had known the secret. Once he told a third person, anything could happen. He took a deep breath.\n\n\"Three days ago, an injured man came to my monastery in the forest,\" he began, silently praying forgiveness for lying. \"He was an armed man on a fine, fast horse, and he had taken a fall a mile or two away. He must have been riding hard when he fell, for his arm was broken and his ribs were crushed. We set his arm, but there was nothing we could do about his ribs, and he was coughing blood, a sign of internal damage.\" As he spoke, Philip was watching Waleran's face. So far it showed nothing more than polite interest. \"I advised him to confess his sins, for he was in danger of death. He told me a secret.\"\n\nHe hesitated, not sure how much Waleran might have heard of the political news. \"I expect you know that Stephen of Blois has claimed the throne of England with the blessing of the Church.\"\n\nWaleran knew more than Philip. \"And he was crowned at Westminster three days before Christmas,\" he said.\n\n\"Already!\" Francis had not known that.\n\n\"What was the secret?\" Waleran said with a touch of impatience.\n\nPhilip took the plunge. \"Before he died, the horseman told me that his master Bartholomew, earl of Shiring, had conspired with Robert of Gloucester to raise a rebellion against Stephen.\" He studied Waleran's face, holding his breath.\n\nWaleran's pale cheeks went a shade whiter. He leaned forward in his chair. \"Do you think he was telling the truth?\" he said urgently.\n\n\"A dying man usually tells the truth to his confessor.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he was repeating a rumor that was current in the earl's household.\"\n\nPhilip had not expected Waleran to be skeptical. He improvised hastily. \"Oh, no,\" he said. \"He was a messenger sent by Earl Bartholomew to muster the earl's forces in Hampshire.\"\n\nWaleran's intelligent eyes raked Philip's expression. \"Did he have the message in writing?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any seal, or token of the earl's authority?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\" Philip began to perspire slightly. \"I gathered he was well known, by the people he was going to see, as an authorized representative of the earl.\"\n\n\"What was his name?\"\n\n\"Francis,\" Philip said stupidly, and wanted to bite his tongue.\n\n\"Just that?\"\n\n\"He didn't tell me what else he was called.\" Philip had the feeling that his story was coming unraveled under Waleran's interrogation.\n\n\"His weapons and his armor may identify him.\"\n\n\"He had no armor,\" Philip said desperately. \"We buried his weapons with him\u2014monks have no use for swords. We could dig them up, but I can tell you that they were plain and undistinguished\u2014I don't think you would find clues there....\" He had to divert Waleran from this line of inquiry. \"What do you think can be done?\"\n\nWaleran frowned. \"It's hard to know what to do without proof. The conspirators can simply deny the charge, and then the accuser stands condemned.\" He did not say especially if the story turns out to be false, but Philip guessed that was what he was thinking. Waleran went on: \"Have you told anyone else?\"\n\nPhilip shook his head.\n\n\"Where are you going when you leave here?\"\n\n\"Kingsbridge. I had to invent a reason for leaving the cell, so I said I would visit the priory; and now I must do so, to make the lie true.\"\n\n\"Don't speak of this to anyone there.\"\n\n\"I shan't.\" Philip had not intended to, but he wondered why Waleran was insisting on the point. Perhaps it was self-interest: if he was going to take the risk of exposing the conspiracy, he wanted to be sure to get the credit. He was ambitious. So much the better, for Philip's purpose.\n\n\"Leave this with me.\" Waleran was suddenly brusque again, and the contrast with his previous manner made Philip realize that his amiability could be put on and taken off like a coat. Waleran went on: \"You'll go to Kingsbridge Priory now, and forget about the sheriff, won't you.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Philip realized it was going to be all right, at least for a while, and a weight rolled off his back. He was not going to be thrown into a dungeon, interrogated by a torturer, or accused of sedition. He had also handed the responsibility to someone else\u2014someone who appeared quite happy to take it on.\n\nHe got up and went to the nearest window. It was midafternoon, and there was plenty of daylight left. He had an urge to get away from here and leave the secret behind him. \"If I go now I can cover eight or ten miles before nightfall,\" he said.\n\nWaleran did not press him to stay. \"That will take you to the village of Bassingbourn. You'll find a bed there. If you set out early in the morning you can be at Kingsbridge by midday.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Philip turned from the window and looked at Waleran. The archdeacon was frowning into the fire, deep in thought. Philip watched him for a moment. Waleran did not share his thoughts. Philip wished he knew what was going on in that clever head. \"I'll go right away,\" he said.\n\nWaleran came out of his reverie and grew charming again. He smiled and stood up. \"All right,\" he said. He walked with Philip to the door and then followed him down the stairs to the yard.\n\nA stableboy brought Philip's horse and saddled it. Waleran might have said goodbye then and returned to his fire, but he waited. Philip guessed that he wanted to make sure Philip took the road to Kingsbridge, not the road to Shiring.\n\nPhilip mounted, feeling happier than he had when he had arrived. He was about to take his leave when he saw Tom Builder come through the gate with his family in tow. Philip said to Waleran: \"This man is a builder I met on the road. He seems like an honest fellow fallen on hard times. If you need any repairs you'll be glad of him.\"\n\nWaleran made no reply. He was staring at the family as they walked across the compound. All his poise and composure had deserted him. His mouth was open and his eyes were staring. He looked like a man suffering a shock.\n\n\"What is it?\" Philip said anxiously.\n\n\"That woman!\" Waleran's voice was just above a whisper.\n\nPhilip looked at her. \"She's rather beautiful,\" he said, realizing it for the first time. \"But we're taught that it is better for a priest to be chaste. Turn your eyes away, Archdeacon.\"\n\nWaleran was not listening. \"I thought she was dead,\" he muttered. He seemed to remember Philip suddenly. He tore his gaze from the woman and looked up at Philip, collecting his wits. \"Give my regards to the prior of Kingsbridge,\" he said. Then he slapped Philip's horse's rump, and the animal sprang forward and trotted out through the gate; and by the time Philip had shortened his reins and got the horse under control he was too far away to say goodbye."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Philip came within sight of Kingsbridge at about noon on the following day, as Archdeacon Waleran had forecast. He emerged from a wooded hillside and looked out across a landscape of lifeless, frozen fields relieved only by the occasional bare skeleton of a tree. There were no people to be seen, for in the dead of winter there was no work to do on the land. A couple of miles away across the cold countryside, Kingsbridge Cathedral stood on a rise; a huge, squat building like a tomb on a burial mound.\n\nPhilip followed the road into a dip and Kingsbridge disappeared from view. His placid pony picked her way carefully along the frosted ruts. Philip was thinking about Archdeacon Waleran. Waleran was so poised and confident and capable that he made Philip feel young and naive, although there was not much difference in age between them. Waleran had effortlessly controlled the whole meeting: he had got rid of his guests graciously, listened attentively to Philip's tale, homed in immediately on the crucial problem of lack of evidence, swiftly realized that that line of inquiry was fruitless, and then promptly sent Philip on his way\u2014without, Philip now realized, any guarantee that action would be taken.\n\nPhilip grinned ruefully as he saw how well he had been manipulated. Waleran had not even promised to tell the bishop what Philip had reported. But Philip felt confident that the large vein of ambition he detected in Waleran would ensure that the information was used somehow. He even had a notion that Waleran might feel a little indebted to him.\n\nBecause he was impressed by Waleran, he was all the more intrigued by the archdeacon's single sign of weakness\u2014his reaction to the wife of Tom Builder. To Philip she had seemed obscurely dangerous. Apparently Waleran found her desirable\u2014which might amount to the same thing, of course. However, there was more to it than that. Waleran must have met her before, for he had said I thought she was dead. It sounded as if he had sinned with her in the distant past. He certainly had something to feel guilty about, judging by the way he had made sure Philip did not stay around to learn more.\n\nEven this guilty secret did not much reduce Philip's opinion of Waleran. Waleran was a priest, not a monk. Chastity had always been an essential part of the monastic way of life, but it had never been enforced for priests. Bishops had mistresses and parish priests had housekeepers. Like the prohibition against evil thoughts, clerical celibacy was a law too harsh to be obeyed. If God could not forgive lascivious priests, there would be very few clergy in heaven.\n\nKingsbridge reappeared as Philip crested the next rise. The landscape was dominated by the massive church, with its roundheaded arches and small, deep windows, just as the village was dominated by the monastery. The west end of the church, which faced Philip, had stubby twin towers, one of which had fallen in a thunderstorm four years ago. It still had not been rebuilt, and the facade had a reproachful look. This view never failed to anger Philip, for the pile of rubble at the entrance of the church was a shameful reminder of the collapse of monastic rectitude at the priory. The monastery buildings, made of the same pale limestone, stood near the church in groups, like conspirators around a throne. Outside the low wall that enclosed the priory was a scatter of ordinary hovels made of timber and mud with thatched roofs, occupied by the peasants who tilled the fields round about and the servants who worked for the monks. A narrow, impatient river hurried across the southwest corner of the village, bringing fresh water to the monastery.\n\nPhilip was already feeling bilious as he crossed the river by an old wooden bridge. Kingsbridge Priory brought shame on God's church and the monastic movement, but there was nothing Philip could do about it; and anger and impotence together turned sour in his stomach.\n\nThe priory owned the bridge and charged a toll, and as the woodwork creaked with the weight of Philip and his horse, an elderly monk emerged from a shelter on the opposite bank and came forward to move the willow branch that served as a barrier. He recognized Philip and waved. Philip noticed that he was limping, and said: \"What's wrong with your foot, Brother Paul?\"\n\n\"Just a chilblain. It will ease when the spring comes.\"\n\nHe had nothing on his feet but sandals, Philip saw. Paul was a tough old bird but he was too far gone in years to be spending the whole day out-of-doors in this weather. \"You should have a fire,\" Philip said.\n\n\"It would be a mercy,\" said Paul. \"But Brother Remigius says the fire would cost more money than the toll brings.\"\n\n\"How much do we charge?\"\n\n\"A penny for a horse, and a farthing for a man.\"\n\n\"Do many people use the bridge?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, plenty.\"\n\n\"Then how is it that we can't afford a fire?\"\n\n\"Well, the monks don't pay, of course, nor do the priory servants, nor the villagers. So it's just a traveling knight or a tinker every day or two. Then on holy days, when people come from all over the country to hear the services in the cathedral, we gather farthings galore.\"\n\n\"It seems to me we might man the bridge on holy days only, and give you a fire out of the proceeds,\" said Philip.\n\nPaul looked anxious. \"Don't say anything to Remigius, will you? If he thinks I've been complaining he'll be displeased.\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" said Philip. He kicked his horse on so that Paul should not see the expression on his face. This kind of foolishness infuriated him. Paul had given his life to the service of God and the monastery, and now in his declining years he was made to suffer pain and cold for the sake of a farthing or two a day. It was not just cruel, it was wasteful, for a patient old man such as Paul could be set to work at some productive task\u2014raising chickens, perhaps\u2014and the priory would benefit by much more than a few farthings. But the prior of Kingsbridge was too old and lethargic to see that, and it seemed that the same must be true of Remigius, the sub-prior. It was a grave sin, Philip thought bitterly, to waste so carelessly the human and material assets that had been given to God in loving piety.\n\nHe was in an unforgiving mood as he guided his pony through the spaces between the hovels to the priory gate. The priory was a rectangular enclosure with the church in the middle. The buildings were laid out so that everything to the north and west of the church was public, worldly, secular and practical, whereas what was to the south and east was private, spiritual and holy.\n\nThe entrance to the close was therefore at the northwest corner of the rectangle. The gate stood open, and the young monk in the gatehouse waved as Philip trotted through. Just inside the gate, up against the west wall of the enclosure, was the stable, a stout wooden structure rather better built than some of the dwellings for people on the other side of the wall. Two stable hands sat inside on bales of straw. They were not monks, but employees of the priory. They got reluctantly to their feet as if they resented a visitor coming to cause them extra work. The acrid air stung Philip's nostrils, and he could see that the stalls had not been mucked out for three or four weeks. He was not disposed to overlook the negligence of stable lads today. As he handed over the reins he said: \"Before you stable my pony you can clean out one of the stalls and put down fresh straw. Then do the same for the other horses. If their litter becomes permanently wet, they get hoof rot. You don't have so much to do that you can't keep this stable clean.\" They both looked sullen, so he added: \"Do as I say, or I'll make sure you both lose a day's pay for idleness.\" He was about to leave when he remembered something. \"There's a cheese in my saddlebag. Take it to the kitchen and give it to Brother Milius.\"\n\nHe went out without waiting for a reply. The priory had sixty employees to look after its forty-five monks, a shameful excess of servants in Philip's opinion. People who did not have enough to do could easily become so lazy that they skimped what little work they did have, as had clearly happened to the two stable hands. It was just another example of Prior James's slackness.\n\nPhilip walked along the west wall of the priory close, past the guesthouse, curious to see whether the priory had any visitors. But the big one-room building was cold and disused, with a windblown drift of last year's dead leaves covering its threshold. He turned left and started across the broad expanse of sparse grass that separated the guesthouse\u2014which sometimes lodged ungodly people and even women\u2014from the church. He approached the west end of the church, the public entrance. The broken stones of the collapsed tower lay where they had fallen, in a big heap twice the height of a man.\n\nLike most churches, Kingsbridge Cathedral was built in the shape of a cross. The west end opened into the nave, which formed the long stem of the cross. The crosspiece consisted of the two transepts which stuck out to the north and south either side of the altar. Beyond the crossing, the east end of the church was called the chancel, and was mainly reserved for the monks. At the farthest extremity of the east end was the tomb of Saint Adolphus, which still attracted occasional pilgrims.\n\nPhilip stepped into the nave and looked down the avenue of round arches and mighty columns. The sight further depressed his mood. It was a dank, gloomy building, and it had deteriorated since he last saw it. The windows in the low aisles either side of the nave were like narrow tunnels in the immensely thick walls. Up in the roof, the larger windows of the clerestory illuminated the painted timber ceiling only to show how badly it was fading, the apostles and saints and prophets growing dim and blending inexorably with their background. Despite the cold air blowing in\u2014for there was no glass in the windows\u2014a faint smell of rotting vestments tainted the atmosphere. From the other end of the church came the sound of the service of high mass, the Latin phrases spoken in a singsong voice, and the chanted responses. Philip walked down the nave. The floor had never been paved, so moss grew on the bare earth in the corners where peasant clogs and monkish sandals rarely trod. The carved spirals and flutes of the massive columns, and the incised chevrons that decorated the arches between them, had once been painted and gilded; but now all that remained were a few flakes of papery gold leaf and a patchwork of stains where the paint had been. The mortar between the stones was crumbling and falling out, and gathering in little heaps by the walls. Philip felt the familiar anger rise in him again. When people came here they were supposed to be awestruck by the majesty of Almighty God. But peasants were simple people who judged by appearances, and coming here they would think that God was a careless, indifferent deity unlikely to appreciate their worship or take note of their sins. In the end the peasants paid for the church with the sweat of their brows, and it was outrageous that they were rewarded with this crumbling mausoleum.\n\nPhilip knelt before the altar and stayed there a moment, conscious that righteous indignation was not the appropriate state of mind for a worshiper. When he had cooled down a little he rose and passed on.\n\nThe eastern arm of the church, the chancel, was divided into two. Nearest the crossing was the quire, with wooden stalls where the monks sat and stood during the services. Beyond the quire was the sanctuary that housed the tomb of the saint. Philip moved behind the altar, intending to take a place in the quire; then he was brought up short by a coffin.\n\nHe stopped, surprised. Nobody had told him that a monk was dead. But, of course, he had spoken to only three people: Paul, who was old and a little absentminded; and the two stable hands, to whom he had given no chance to make conversation. He approached the coffin to see who it was. He looked inside, and his heart missed a beat.\n\nIt was Prior James.\n\nPhilip stared openmouthed. Now everything was changed. There would be a new prior, new hope\u2014\n\nThis jubilation was not the right response to the death of a venerable brother, no matter what his faults had been. Philip composed his face and his mind in an attitude of mourning. He studied the dead man. The prior had been white-haired and thin-faced, and he had had a stoop. Now his perpetually weary expression had gone, and instead of looking troubled and disconsolate, he seemed at peace. As Philip knelt beside the bier and murmured a prayer, he wondered if some great trouble had weighed on the old man's heart in the latter years of his life: a sin unconfessed, a woman regretted, or a wrong done to an innocent man. Whatever it was, he would not speak of it now until the Day of Judgment.\n\nDespite his resolution Philip could not prevent his mind from turning to the future. Prior James, indecisive, anxious and spineless, had touched the monastery with a dead hand. Now there would be someone new, someone who would discipline the lazy servants, repair the tumbledown church, and harness the great wealth of property, making the priory a powerful force for good. Philip was too excited to stay still. He got up from the coffin and walked, with a new lightness in his step, to the quire and took an empty place at the back of the stalls.\n\nThe service was being conducted by the sacrist, Andrew of York, an irascible, red-faced man who seemed permanently on the verge of apoplexy. He was one of the obedientaries, the senior officers of the monastery. His area of responsibility was everything holy: the services, the books, the sacred relics, the vestments and the ornaments, and most of all the fabric of the church building. Working under his orders were a cantor to supervise the music and a treasurer to take care of the jeweled gold and silver candlesticks, chalices and other sacred vessels. There was no one in authority over the sacrist except the prior and the sub-prior, Remigius, who was a great crony of Andrew's.\n\nAndrew was reading the service in his usual tone of barely controlled ire. Philip's mind was in a turmoil, and it was some time before he noticed that the service was not proceeding in a seemly way. A group of younger monks were making a noise, talking and laughing. Philip saw that they were making fun of the old novice-master, who had fallen asleep in his place. The young monks\u2014most of whom had been novices under the old master until quite recently, and probably still smarted from the sting of his switch\u2014were flicking pellets of dirt at him. Each time one hit his face he would jerk and move, but would not wake up. Andrew seemed oblivious to what was going on. Philip looked around for the circuitor, the monk responsible for discipline. He was on the far side of the quire, deep in conversation with another monk, taking no notice of the service or the behavior of the youngsters.\n\nPhilip watched a moment longer. He had no patience for this kind of thing at the best of times. One of the monks seemed to be a ringleader, a good-looking lad of about twenty-one years with an impish grin. Philip saw him dip the end of his eating knife into the top of a burning candle and flick melted grease at the novice-master's bald pate. As the hot fat landed on his scalp the old monk woke up with a yelp, and the youngsters dissolved in laughter.\n\nWith a sigh, Philip left his place. He approached the lad from behind, took him by the ear and ungently hauled him out of the quire and into the south transept. Andrew looked up from the service book and frowned at Philip as they went: he had not seen any of the commotion.\n\nWhen they were out of earshot of the other monks, Philip stopped, released the lad's ear, and said: \"Name?\"\n\n\"William Beauvis.\"\n\n\"And what devil possessed you during high mass?\"\n\nWilliam looked sulky. \"I was weary of the service,\" he said.\n\nMonks who complained of their lot never got any sympathy from Philip. \"Weary?\" he said, raising his voice a little. \"What have you done today?\"\n\n\"William said defiantly. \"Matins and lauds in the middle of the night, prime before breakfast, then terce, chapter mass, study, and now high mass.\"\n\n\"And have you eaten?\"\n\n\"I had breakfast.\"\n\n\"And you expect to have dinner.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Most people your age do backbreaking work in the fields from sunrise to sunset in order to get their breakfast and their dinner\u2014and still they give some of their bread to you! Do you know why they do this?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said William, shuffling his feet and looking at the ground.\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"They do it because they want the monks to sing the services for them.\"\n\n\"Correct. Hardworking peasants give you bread and meat and a stone-built dormitory with a fire in winter\u2014and you are so weary that you will not sit still through high mass for them!\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Brother.\"\n\nPhilip looked at William a moment longer. There was no great harm in him. The real fault lay with his superiors, who were lax enough to permit horseplay in the church. Philip said gently: \"If services weary you, why did you become a monk?\"\n\n\"I'm my father's fifth son.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"And no doubt he gave the priory some land on condition we took you?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014a farm.\"\n\nIt was a common story: a man who had a superfluity of sons gave one to God, ensuring that God would not reject the gift by also giving a piece of property sufficient to support the son in monastic poverty. In that way many men who did not have a vocation became disobedient monks.\n\nPhilip said: \"If you were moved\u2014to a grange, say, or to my little cell of St-John-in-the-Forest, where there is a good deal of work to be done out-of-doors, and rather less time is spent at worship\u2014do you think that might help you to take part in the services in a proper pious manner?\"\n\nWilliam's face lit up. \"Yes, Brother, I think it would!\"\n\n\"I thought so. I'll see what can be done. But don't become too excited\u2014you may have to wait until we have a new prior, and ask him to transfer you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, anyhow!\"\n\nThe service ended, and the monks began to leave the church in procession. Philip put a finger to his lips to end the conversation. As the monks filed through the south transept, Philip and William joined the line, and went out into the cloisters, the arcaded quadrangle adjacent to the south side of the nave. There the procession broke up. Philip turned toward the kitchen, but his way was barred by the sacrist, who struck an aggressive pose in front of him, with his feet apart and his hands on his hips. \"Brother Philip,\" he said.\n\n\"Brother Andrew,\" Philip said, thinking: What's got into him?\n\n\"What do you mean by disrupting the service of high mass?\"\n\nPhilip was flabbergasted. \"Disrupting the service?\" he said incredulously. \"The lad was misbehaving. He\u2014\"\n\n\"I am quite capable of dealing with misbehavior in my own services!\" said Andrew in a raised voice. The movement of dispersal among the monks was arrested, and they all stayed near to hear what was said.\n\nPhilip could not understand the fuss. Young monks and novices occasionally had to be disciplined by their more senior brothers during the services, and there was no rule to say that only the sacrist could do this. Philip said: \"But you didn't see what was happening\u2014\"\n\n\"Or perhaps I did see, but decided to deal with it later.\"\n\nPhilip was quite sure he had not seen anything. \"What did you see, then?\" he challenged.\n\n\"Don't you presume to question me!\" Andrew shouted. His red face became purplish. \"You may be prior of a little cell in the forest, but I have been sacrist here for twelve years, and I will conduct the cathedral services as I think fit\u2014without assistance from outsiders half my age!\"\n\nPhilip began to think that perhaps he really had done wrong\u2014otherwise why was Andrew so furious? But more important, a quarrel in the cloisters was not an edifying spectacle for the other monks, and it must be brought to an end. Philip swallowed his pride, gritted his teeth, and bowed his head submissively. \"I stand corrected, brother, and I humbly beg your pardon,\" he said.\n\nAndrew was wound up for a shouting match, and this early withdrawal by his opponent was not satisfying. \"Don't let it happen again, then,\" he said ungraciously.\n\nPhilip made no reply. Andrew would have to have the last word, so any further remark by Philip would only draw another rejoinder. He stood looking at the floor and biting his tongue, while Andrew glared at him for several moments. At last the sacrist turned on his heel and walked away with his head held high.\n\nThe other monks were staring at Philip. It irked him to be humiliated by Andrew, but he had to take it, for a proud monk was a bad monk. Without speaking to anyone else he left the cloisters.\n\nThe monks' domestic quarters were to the south of the cloister square, the dormitory on the southeast corner and the refectory on the southwest. Philip went out to the west, passing through the refectory and emerging once more at the public end of the priory close, within view of the guesthouse and the stables. Here in the southwest corner of the close was the kitchen courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the refectory, the kitchen itself, and the bakehouse and brewery. A cart piled high with turnips stood in the yard waiting to be unloaded. Philip climbed the steps to the kitchen door and went in.\n\nThe atmosphere struck him like a blow. The air was hot and heavy with the smell of cooking fish, and there was a raucous din of clattering pans and shouted orders. Three cooks, all red with heat and hurry, were preparing the dinner with the aid of six or seven young kitchen hands. There were two vast fireplaces, one at either end of the room, both blazing fiercely, and at each fireplace twenty or more fish were cooking on a spit turned by a perspiring boy. The smell of the fish made Philip's mouth water. Whole carrots were being boiled in great iron pots of water which hung over the flames. Two young men stood at a chopping block, cutting yard-long loaves of white bread into thick slices to be used as trenchers\u2014edible plates. Overseeing the apparent chaos was one monk: Brother Milius, the kitchener, a man of about Philip's age. He sat on a high stool, watching the frenetic activity all about him with an unperturbed smile, as if everything were orderly and perfectly organized\u2014which it probably was to his experienced eye. He smiled at Philip and said: \"Thank you for the cheese.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes.\" Philip had forgotten about that, so much had happened since he arrived. \"It's made of milk from the morning milking only\u2014you'll find it tastes subtly different.\"\n\n\"My mouth is watering already. But you look glum. Is something wrong?\"\n\n\"It's nothing. I had harsh words with Andrew.\" Philip made a deprecatory gesture, as if to wave Andrew away. \"May I take a hot stone from your fire?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nThere were always several stones in the kitchen fires, ready to be taken out and used for rapid heating of small amounts of water or soup. Philip explained: \"Brother Paul, on the bridge, has a chilblain, and Remigius won't give him a fire.\" He picked up a pair of longhandled tongs and removed a hot stone from the hearth.\n\nMilius opened a cupboard and took out a piece of old leather that had once been some kind of apron. \"Here\u2014wrap it in this.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\" Philip put the hot stone in the middle of the leather and picked up the corners gingerly.\n\n\"Be quick,\" Milius said. \"Dinner's ready.\"\n\nPhilip left the kitchen with a wave. He crossed the kitchen courtyard and headed for the gate. To his left, just inside the west wall, was the mill. A channel had been dug, upstream of the priory, many years ago, to bring water from the river to the millpond. After driving the mill wheel the water ran by an underground channel to the brewery, the kitchen, the fountain in the cloisters where the monks washed their hands before meals, and finally the latrine next to the dormitory, after which it turned south and rejoined the river. One of the early priors had been an intelligent planner.\n\nThere was a pile of dirty straw outside the stable, Philip noted: the hands were following his orders and mucking out the stalls. He went out through the gate and walked through the village toward the bridge.\n\nWas it presumptuous of me to reprove young William Beauvis? he asked himself as he passed among the shacks. He thought not, on reflection. In fact it would have been wrong to ignore such a disruption during the service.\n\nHe reached the bridge and put his head inside Paul's little shelter. \"Warm your feet on this,\" he said, handing over the hot stone wrapped in leather. \"When it cools a bit, take the leather off and put your feet directly on the stone. It should last until nightfall.\"\n\nBrother Paul was pathetically grateful. He slipped off his sandals and put his feet on the bundle immediately. \"I can feel the pain easing already,\" he said.\n\n\"If you put the stone back in the kitchen fire tonight it will be hot again by morning,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Brother Milius won't mind?\" Paul said nervously.\n\n\"I guarantee it.\"\n\n\"You're very good to me, Brother Philip.\"\n\n\"It's nothing.\" Philip left before Paul's thanks became embarrassing. It was only a hot stone.\n\nHe returned to the priory. He went into the cloisters and washed his hands in the stone basin in the south walk, then entered the refectory. One of the monks was reading aloud at a lectern. Dinner was supposed to be taken in silence, apart from the reading, but the noise of forty-odd monks eating amounted to a constant undertone, and there was also a good deal of whispering despite the rule. Philip slipped into an empty place at one of the long tables. The monk next to him was eating with enormous relish. He caught Philip's eye and murmured: \"Fresh fish today.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. He had seen it in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled.\n\nThe monk said: \"We hear you have fresh fish every day at your cell in the forest.\" There was envy in his voice.\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"Every other day we have poultry,\" he whispered.\n\nThe monk looked even more envious. \"Salt fish here, six times a week.\"\n\nA servant placed a thick bread trencher in front of Philip, then put on it a fish fragrant with Brother Milius's herbs. Philip's mouth watered. He was about to attack the fish with his eating knife when a monk at the far end of the table stood up and pointed at him. It was the circuitor, the monk responsible for discipline. Philip thought: What now?\n\nThe circuitor broke the rule of silence, as was his right. \"Brother Philip!\"\n\nThe other monks stopped eating and the room went quiet.\n\nPhilip paused with his knife over the fish and looked up expectantly.\n\nThe circuitor said: \"The rule is, no dinner for latecomers.\"\n\nPhilip sighed. It seemed he could do nothing right today. He put away his knife, handed the trencher and the fish back to the servant, and bowed his head to listen to the reading.\n\nDuring the rest period after dinner Philip went to the storeroom beneath the kitchen to talk to Cuthbert Whitehead, the cellarer. The storeroom was a big, dark cavern with short thick pillars and tiny windows. The air was dry and full of the scents of the stores: hops and honey, old apples and dried herbs, cheese and vinegar. Brother Cuthbert was usually to be found here, for his job did not leave him much time for services, which suited his inclination: he was a clever, down-to-earth fellow with little interest in the spiritual life. The cellarer was the material counterpart of the sacrist: Cuthbert had to provide for all the monks' practical needs, gathering in the produce of the monastery's farms and granges and going to market to buy what the monks and their employees could not provide themselves. The job required careful forethought and calculation. Cuthbert did not do it alone: Milius the kitchener was responsible for the preparation of the meals, and there was a chamberlain who took care of the monks' clothing. These two worked under Cuthbert's orders, and there were three more officials who were nominally under his control but had a degree of independence: the guest-master; the infirmarer, who looked after old and sick monks in a separate building; and the almoner. Even with people working under him, Cuthbert had a formidable task; yet he kept it all in his head, saying it was a shame to waste parchment and ink. Philip suspected that Cuthbert had never learned to read and write very well. Cuthbert's hair had been white since he was young, hence the surname Whitehead, but he was now past sixty, and the only hair he had left grew in thick white tufts from his ears and nostrils, as if to compensate for his baldness. As Philip had been a cellarer himself at his first monastery, he understood Cuthbert's problems and sympathized with his grouches. Consequently Cuthbert was fond of Philip. Now, knowing that Philip had missed his dinner, Cuthbert picked out half a dozen pears from a barrel. They were somewhat shriveled, but tasty, and Philip ate them gratefully while Cuthbert grumbled about the monastery's finances.\n\n\"I can't understand how the priory can be in debt,\" Philip said through a mouthful of fruit.\n\n\"It shouldn't be,\" Cuthbert said. \"It owns more land, and collects tithes from more parish churches, than ever before.\"\n\n\"So why aren't we rich?\"\n\n\"You know the system we have here\u2014the monastery's property is mostly divided up among the obedientaries. The sacrist has his lands, I have mine, and there are smaller endowments for the novice-master, the guest-master, the infirmarer and the almoner. The rest belongs to the prior. Each uses the income from his property to fulfill his obligations.\"\n\n\"What's wrong with that?\"\n\n\"Well, all this property should be taken care of. For example, suppose we have some land, and we let it for a cash rent. We shouldn't just give it to the highest bidder and collect the money. We ought to take care to find a good tenant, and supervise him to make sure he farms well; otherwise the pastures become waterlogged, the soil is exhausted, and the tenant is unable to pay the rent so he gives the land back to us in poor condition. Or take a grange, farmed by our employees and managed by monks: if nobody visits the grange except to take away its produce, the monks become slothful and depraved, the employees steal the crops, and the grange produces less and less as the years go by. Even a church needs to be looked after. We shouldn't just take the tithes. We should put in a good priest who knows the Latin and leads a holy life. Otherwise the people descend into ungodliness, marrying and giving birth and dying without the blessing of the Church, and cheating on their tithes.\"\n\n\"The obedientaries should manage their property carefully,\" Philip said as he finished the last pear.\n\nCuthbert drew a cup of wine from a barrel. \"They should, but they have other things on their minds. Anyway, what does the novice-master know about farming? Why should the infirmarer be a capable estate manager? Of course, a strong prior will force them to husband their resources, to some extent. But we've had a weak prior for thirteen years, and now we have no money to repair the cathedral church, and we eat salt fish six days a week, and the school is almost empty of novices, and no one comes to the guesthouse.\"\n\nPhilip sipped his wine in gloomy silence. He found it difficult to think coolly about such appalling dissipation of God's assets. He wanted to get hold of whoever was responsible and shake him until he saw sense. But in this case the person responsible was lying in a coffin behind the altar. There, at least, was a glimmer of hope. \"Soon we'll have a new prior,\" Philip said. \"He ought to put things right.\"\n\nCuthbert shot him a peculiar look. \"Remigius? Put things right?\"\n\nPhilip was not sure what Cuthbert meant. \"Remigius isn't going to be the new prior, is he?\"\n\n\"It's likely.\"\n\nPhilip was dismayed. \"But he's no better than Prior James! Why would the brothers vote for him?\"\n\n\"Well, they're suspicious of strangers, so they won't vote for anyone they don't know. That means it has to be one of us. And Remigius is the sub-prior, the most senior monk here.\"\n\n\"But there's no rule that says we have to choose the most senior monk,\" Philip protested. \"It could be another one of the obedientaries. It could be you.\"\n\nCuthbert nodded. \"I've already been asked. I refused.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"I'm getting old, Philip. The job I have now would defeat me, except that I'm so used to it I can do it automatically. Any more responsibility would be too much. I certainly haven't got the energy to take a slack monastery and reform it. In the end I'd be no better than Remigius.\"\n\nPhilip still could not believe it. \"There are others\u2014the sacrist, the circuitor, the novice-master...\"\n\n\"The novice-master is old and more tired than I am. The guest-master is a glutton and a drunkard. And the sacrist and the circuitor are pledged to vote for Remigius. Why? I don't know, but I'll guess. I'd say Remigius has promised to promote the sacrist to sub-prior and make the circuitor the sacrist, as a reward for their support.\"\n\nPhilip slumped back on the sacks of flour that formed his seat. \"You're telling me that Remigius already has the election sewn up.\"\n\nCuthbert did not reply immediately. He stood up and went to the other side of the storeroom, where he had arranged in line a wooden bath full of live eels, a bucket of clean water, and a barrel one-third full of brine. \"Help me with this,\" he said. He took out a knife. He selected an eel from the bath, banged its head on the stone floor, then gutted it with the knife. He handed the fish, still feebly wriggling, to Philip. \"Wash it in the bucket, then drop it in the barrel,\" he said. \"These will deaden our appetites during Lent.\"\n\nPhilip rinsed the half-dead eel as carefully as he could in the bucket, then tossed it into the salt water.\n\nCuthbert gutted another eel and said: \"There is one other possibility, a candidate who would be a good reforming prior and whose rank, although below that of the sub-prior, is the same as that of the sacrist or the cellarer.\"\n\nPhilip plunged the eel into the bucket. \"Who?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Me!\" Philip was so surprised he dropped the eel on the floor. He did, technically, rank as an obedientary of the priory, but he never thought of himself as being equal to the sacrist and the others because they were all so much older than he. \"I'm too young\u2014\"\n\n\"Think about it,\" Cuthbert said. \"You've spent your whole life in monasteries. You were a cellarer at the age of twenty-one. You've been prior of a small place for four or five years\u2014and you've reformed it. It's clear to everyone that the hand of God is on you.\"\n\nPhilip retrieved the escaped eel and dropped it into the barrel of brine. \"The hand of God is on us all,\" he said noncommittally. He was somewhat stunned by Cuthbert's suggestion. He wanted an energetic new prior for Kingsbridge but he had not thought of himself for the job. \"It's true that I'd make a better prior than Remigius,\" he said thoughtfully.\n\nCuthbert looked satisfied. \"If you have a fault, Philip, it's your innocence.\"\n\nPhilip did not think of himself as innocent. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You don't look for base motives in people. Most of us do. For example, the whole monastery already assumes that you're a candidate and that you've come here to solicit their votes.\"\n\nPhilip was indignant. \"On what grounds do they say that?\"\n\n\"Try to look at your own behavior the way a low suspicious mind would see it. You've arrived within days of the death of Prior James, as if you had someone here primed to send you a secret message.\"\n\n\"But how do they imagine I organized that?\"\n\n\"They don't know\u2014but they believe you're cleverer than they are.\" Cuthbert resumed disemboweling eels. \"And look how you've behaved today. You walked in and ordered the stables mucked out. Then you dealt with that horseplay during high mass. You talked of transferring young William Beauvis to another house, when everyone knows that transferring monks from one place to another is a prior's privilege. You implicitly criticized Remigius by taking a hot stone out to Brother Paul on the bridge. And finally you brought a delicious cheese to the kitchen, and we all had a morsel after dinner\u2014and although nobody said where it came from, not one of us could mistake the flavor of a cheese from St-John-in-the-Forest.\"\n\nPhilip was embarrassed to think that his actions had been so misinterpreted. \"Anybody might have done those things.\"\n\n\"Any senior monk might have done one of them. Nobody else would have done them all. You walked in and took charge! You've already started reforming the place. And, of course, Remigius's cronies are already fighting back. That's why Andrew Sacrist berated you in the cloisters.\"\n\n\"So that's the explanation! I wondered what had got into him.\" Philip rinsed an eel thoughtfully. \"And I suppose that when the circuitor made me forgo my dinner, that was for the same reason.\"\n\n\"Exactly. A way to humiliate you in front of the monks. I suspect that both moves backfired, by the way: neither reproof was justified, yet you accepted both gracefully. In fact you managed to look quite saintly.\"\n\n\"I didn't do it for effect.\"\n\n\"Nor did the saints. There goes the bell for nones. You'd better leave the rest of the eels to me. After the service it's study hour, and discussion is permitted in the cloisters. A lot of brothers will want to talk to you.\"\n\n\"Not so fast!\" Philip said anxiously. \"Just because people assume I want to be prior doesn't mean I'm going to stand for election.\" He was daunted by the prospect of an electoral contest and not at all sure that he wanted to abandon his well-organized forest cell and take on the formidable problems of Kingsbridge Priory. \"I need time to think,\" he pleaded.\n\n\"I know.\" Cuthbert drew himself upright and looked Philip in the eye. \"When you're thinking, please remember this: excessive pride is a familiar sin, but a man may just as easily frustrate the will of God through excessive humility.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"I'll remember. Thank you.\"\n\nHe left the storeroom and hurried to the cloisters. His mind was in a turmoil as he joined the other monks and filed into the church. He was violently excited at the prospect of becoming prior of Kingsbridge, he realized. He had been angry for years about the disgraceful way the priory was run, and now he had a chance to set all those things right himself. Suddenly he was not sure he could. It was not just a question of seeing what ought to be done and ordering that it should be so. People had to be persuaded, property had to be managed, money had to be found. It was a job for a wise head. The responsibility would be heavy.\n\nThe church calmed him, as it always did. After this morning's misbehavior the monks were quiet and solemn. As he listened to the familiar phrases of the service, and murmured the responses as he had for so many years, he felt able to think clearly once again.\n\nDo I want to be prior of Kingsbridge? he asked himself, and the answer came back immediately: Yes! To take charge of this crumbling church, to repair it and repaint it and fill it with the song of a hundred monks and the voices of a thousand worshipers saying the Our Father\u2014for that alone he wanted the job. Then there was the monastery's property, to be reorganized and revitalized and made healthy and productive again. He wanted to see a crowd of small boys learning to read and write in a corner of the cloisters. He wanted the guesthouse full of light and warmth, so that barons and bishops would come to visit, and endow the priory with precious gifts before leaving. He wanted to have a special room set aside as a library, and fill it with books of wisdom and beauty. Yes, he wanted to be prior of Kingsbridge.\n\nAre there any other reasons? he asked. When I picture myself as prior, making these improvements for the glory of God, is there any pride in my heart?\n\nOh, yes.\n\nHe could not deceive himself in the cold and holy atmosphere of the church. His aim was the glory of God, but the glory of Philip pleased him too. He liked the idea of giving orders which no one could countermand. He saw himself making decisions, dispensing justice, giving out advice and encouragement, issuing penances and pardons, just as he saw fit. He imagined people saying: \"Philip of Gwynedd reformed that place. It was a disgrace until he took over, and just look at it now!\"\n\nBut I would be good, he thought. God gave me the brains to manage property and the ability to lead groups of men. I've proved that, as cellarer in Gwynedd and as prior of St-John-in-the-Forest. And when I run a place the monks are happy. In my priory the old men don't get chilblains and the young men don't get frustrated for lack of work. I take care of people.\n\nOn the other hand, both Gwynedd and St-John-in-the-Forest were easy by comparison with Kingsbridge Priory. The Gwynedd place was always well run. The forest cell had been in trouble when he took it over, but it was tiny, and easy to control. The reform of Kingsbridge was the challenge of a lifetime. It could take weeks just to find out what its resources were\u2014how much land, and where, and what was on the land, whether forests or pastures or wheat fields. To take control of the scattered properties, to find out what was wrong and put it right, and to knit the parts into a thriving whole would be the work of years. All Philip had done at the forest cell was to make a dozen or so young men work hard in the fields and pray solemnly in church.\n\nAll right, he admitted, my motives are tainted and my ability is in doubt. Perhaps I should refuse to stand. At least could be sure to avoid the sin of pride. But what was it that Cuthbert had said? \"A man may just as easily frustrate the will of God through excessive humility.\"\n\nWhat does God want? he asked himself finally. Does he want Remigius? Remigius's abilities are less than mine and his motives are probably no more pure. Is there another candidate? Not at present. Until God reveals a third possibility we must assume that the choice is between me and Remigius. It's clear that Remigius would run the monastery the way he ran it while Prior James was ill, which is to say that he would be idle and negligent and he would permit its decline to continue. And me? I'm full of pride and my talents are unproved\u2014but I will try to reform the monastery, and if God gives me strength I shall succeed.\n\nAll right, then, he said to God as the service came to an end; all right. I'm going to accept nomination, and I'm going to fight with all the strength I have to win the election; and if you don't want me, for some reason that you've chosen not to reveal to me, well, then, you'll just have to stop me any way you can.\n\nAlthough Philip had spent twenty-two years in monasteries, he had served under long-lived priors, so he had never known an election. It was a unique event in monastic life, for in casting their votes the brothers were not obliged to be obedient\u2014suddenly they were all equal.\n\nOnce upon a time, if the legends were true, the monks had been equal in everything. A group of men would decide to turn their backs on the world of fleshly lust and build a sanctuary in the wilderness where they could live lives of worship and self-denial; and they would take over a patch of barren land, clearing the forest and draining the swamp, and they would till the soil and build their church together. In those days they really had been like brothers. The prior was, as his title implied, only the first among equals, and they swore obedience to the Rule of Saint Benedict, not to monastic officials. But all that was now left of that primitive democracy was the election of the prior and the abbot.\n\nSome of the monks were uncomfortable with their power. They wanted to be told how to vote, or they suggested that the decision be referred to a committee of senior monks. Others abused the privilege and became insolent, or demanded favors in return for their support. Most were simply anxious to make the right decision.\n\nIn the cloisters that afternoon, Philip spoke to most of them, singly or in little groups, and told them all candidly that he wanted the job and he felt he could do it better than Remigius despite his youth. He answered their questions, most of which were about rations of food and drink. He ended each conversation by saying: \"If each of us makes the decision thoughtfully and prayerfully, God will surely bless the outcome.\" It was the prudent thing to say and he also believed it.\n\n\"We're winning,\" said Milius the kitchener next morning, as Philip and he took their breakfast of horsebread and small beer while the kitchen hands were stoking the fires.\n\nPhilip bit off a hunk of the coarse dark bread and took a mouthful of beer to soften it. Milius was a sharp-witted, ebullient young man, a prot\u00e9g\u00e9 of Cuthbert's and an admirer of Philip. He had dark straight hair and a small face with neat, regular features. Like Cuthbert, he was happy to serve God in practical ways and miss most of the services. Philip was suspicious of his optimism. \"How do you come to that conclusion?\" he asked skeptically.\n\n\"All of Cuthbert's side of the monastery support you\u2014the chamberlain, the infirmarer, the novice-master, myself\u2014because we know you're a good provider, and provisions are the big problem under the present regime. Many of the ordinary monks will vote for you for a similar reason: they think you will manage the priory's wealth better, and that will result in more comfort and better food.\"\n\nPhilip frowned. \"I wouldn't like to mislead anyone. My first priority would be to repair the church and smarten up the services. That comes before food.\"\n\n\"Quite so, and they know that,\" Milius said a little hastily. \"That's why the guest-master and one or two others will still vote for Remigius\u2014they prefer a slack regime and a quiet life. The others who support him are all cronies of his who anticipate special privileges when he's in charge\u2014the sacrist, the circuitor, the treasurer and so on. The cantor is a friend of the sacrist, but I think he could be won over to our side, especially if you promise to appoint a librarian.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. The cantor was in charge of the music, and felt he should not have to take care of the books on top of his other duties. \"It's a good idea anyway,\" Philip said. \"We need a librarian to build up our collection of books.\"\n\nMilius got off his stool and began to sharpen a kitchen knife. He had too much energy and had to be doing something with his hands, Philip decided. \"There are forty-four monks entitled to vote,\" Milius said. There had been forty-five, of course, but one was dead. \"My best estimate is that eighteen are with us and ten are with Remigius, leaving sixteen undecided. We need twenty-three for a majority. That means you have to win over five waverers.\"\n\n\"When you put it that way, it seems easy,\" Philip said. \"How long have we got?\"\n\n\"Can't tell. The brothers call the election, but if we do it too early the bishop may refuse to confirm our choice. And if we delay too long he can order us to call it. He also has the right to nominate a candidate. Right now he probably hasn't even heard that the old prior is dead.\"\n\n\"It could be a long time, then.\"\n\n\"Yes. And as soon as we're confident of a majority, you must go back to your cell, and stay away from here until it's all over.\"\n\nPhilip was puzzled by this proposal. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Familiarity breeds contempt.\" Milius waved the sharpened knife enthusiastically. \"Forgive me if I sound disrespectful, but you did ask. At the moment you've got an aura. You're a remote, sanctified figure, especially to us younger monks. You worked a miracle at that little cell, reforming it and making it self-sufficient. You're a tough disciplinarian but you feed your monks well. You're a born leader but you can bow your head and accept rebuke like the youngest novice. You know the Scriptures and you make the best cheese in the country.\"\n\n\"And you exaggerate.\"\n\n\"Not much.\"\n\n\"I can't believe people think of me like that\u2014it's not natural.\"\n\n\"Indeed it's not,\" Milius acknowledged with another little shrug. \"And it won't last once they get to know you. If you stayed here you'd lose that aura. They'd see you pick your teeth and scratch your arse, they'd hear you snore and fart, they'd find out what you're like when you're bad-tempered or your pride is hurt or your head aches. We don't want them to do that. Let them watch Remigius blunder and bungle from day to day while your image remains shining and perfect in their minds.\"\n\n\"I don't like this,\" Philip said in a troubled voice. \"It has a deceitful feeling to it.\"\n\n\"There's nothing dishonest about it,\" Milius protested. \"It's a true reflection of how well you would serve God and the monastery if you were prior\u2014and how badly Remigius would rule.\"\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"I refuse to pretend to be an angel. All right, I won't stay here\u2014I have to go back to the forest anyway. But we must be straightforward with the brothers. We're asking them to elect a fallible, imperfect man, who will need their help and their prayers.\"\n\n\"Tell them that!\" said Milius enthusiastically. \"That's perfect\u2014they'll love it.\"\n\nHe was incorrigible, Philip thought. He changed the subject. \"What's your impression of the waverers\u2014the brothers who haven't yet made up their minds?\"\n\n\"They're conservative,\" Milius said without hesitation. \"They see Remigius as the older man, the one who will make fewer changes, the predictable one, the man who is effectively in charge at the moment.\"\n\nPhilip nodded agreement. \"And they look at me warily, like a strange dog that may bite.\"\n\nThe bell rang for chapter. Milius swallowed the last of his beer. \"There'll be some kind of attack on you now, Philip. I can't forecast what form it will take, but they will be trying to portray you as youthful, inexperienced, headstrong and unreliable. You must appear calm, cautious and judicious, but leave it to me and Cuthbert to defend you.\"\n\nPhilip began to feel apprehensive. This was a new way of thinking\u2014to weigh his every move and calculate how others would interpret and judge it. A slightly disapproving tone crept into his voice as he said: \"Normally, I only think about how God would view my behavior.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" Milius said impatiently. \"But it's not a sin to help simpler folk see your actions in the right light.\"\n\nPhilip frowned. Milius was distressingly plausible.\n\nThey left the kitchen and walked through the refectory to the cloisters. Philip was highly anxious. Attack? What did that mean, an attack? Would they tell lies about him? How should he react? If people told lies about him he would be angry. Should he suppress his anger, in order to appear calm and conservative and all the rest? But if he did that, wouldn't the brothers think the lies were true? He was going to be his normal self, he decided; perhaps just a little more grave and dignified.\n\nThe chapter house was a small round building attached to the east walk of the cloisters. It was furnished with benches arranged in concentric rings. There was no fire, and it was cold after the kitchen. The light came from tall windows set above eye level, so there was nothing to look at but the other monks around the room.\n\nPhilip did just that. Almost the whole monastery was present. They were all ages from seventeen to seventy; tall and short, dark and fair; all dressed in the coarse homespun robe of unbleached wool and shod in leather sandals. The guest-master was there, his round belly and red nose revealing his vices\u2014vices that might be pardonable, Philip thought, if he ever had any guests. There was the chamberlain, who forced the monks to change their robes and shave at Christmas and Whitsun (a bath at the same time was recommended but not compulsory). Leaning against the far wall was the oldest brother, a slight, thoughtful, unflappable old man whose hair was still gray rather than white; a man who spoke rarely but effectively; a man who probably should have been prior if he had not been so self-effacing. There was Brother Simon, with his furtive look and restless hands, a man who confessed to sins of impurity so often that (as Milius whispered to Philip) it seemed likely that he enjoyed the confession, not the sin. There was William Beauvis, behaving himself; Brother Paul, hardly limping at all; Cuthbert Whitehead looking self-possessed; John Small, the diminutive treasurer; and Pierre, the circuitor, the mean-mouthed man who had denied Philip his dinner yesterday. As Philip looked around he realized they were all looking at him, and he dropped his eyes, embarrassed.\n\nRemigius came in with Andrew, the sacrist, and they sat by John Small and Pierre. So, Philip thought, they're not going to pretend to be anything other than a faction.\n\nChapter began with a reading about Simeon Stylites, the saint whose feast day it was. He was a hermit who had spent most of his life on top of a pillar, and while there could be no doubt about his capacity for self-denial, Philip had always harbored a secret doubt about the real value of his testimony. Crowds had flocked to see him, but had they come to be spiritually uplifted, or to look at a freak?\n\nAfter the prayers came the reading of a chapter of Saint Benedict's book. It was from this reading of a daily chapter that the meeting, and the little building in which it took place, got their names. Remigius stood up to read, and as he paused with the book in front of him, Philip looked intently at his profile, seeing him for the first time through the eyes of a rival. Remigius had a brisk, efficient manner of moving and speaking which gave him an air of competence entirely at variance with his true character. Closer observation revealed clues to what was beneath the facade: his rather prominent blue eyes shifted about rapidly in an anxious way, his weak-looking mouth worked hesitantly two or three times before he spoke, and his hands clenched and opened repeatedly even though he was otherwise still. What authority he had came from arrogance, petulance and a dismissive way with subordinates.\n\nPhilip wondered why he had chosen to read the chapter himself. A moment later he understood. \"'The first degree of humility is prompt obedience,'\" Remigius read. He had chosen Chapter Five, which was about obedience, to remind everyone of his seniority and their subordination. It was a tactic of intimidation. Remigius was nothing if not sly. \"'They live not as they themselves will, neither do they obey their own desires and pleasures; but following the command and direction of another and abiding in their monasteries, their desire is to be ruled by an abbot,'\" he read. \"'Without doubt such as these carry out the saying of our Lord, I came not to do my own will, but the will of Him Who sent me.' \" Remigius was drawing the battle lines in the expected way: in this contest he was to represent established authority.\n\nThe chapter was followed by the necrology, and today of course all prayers were for the soul of Prior James. The liveliest part of chapter was kept to the end: discussion of business, confession of faults and accusations of misconduct.\n\nRemigius began by saying: \"There was a disturbance during high mass yesterday.\"\n\nPhilip felt almost relieved. Now he knew how he was going to be attacked. He was not sure that his action yesterday had been right, but he knew why he had done it and he was ready to defend himself.\n\nRemigius went on: \"I myself was not present\u2014I was detained in the prior's house, dealing with urgent business\u2014but the sacrist has told me what occurred.\"\n\nHe was interrupted by Cuthbert Whitehead. \"Don't reproach yourself on that account, Brother Remigius,\" he said in a soothing voice. \"We know that, in principle, monastery business should never take precedence over high mass, but we understand that the death of our beloved prior has meant that you have to deal with many matters which are outside your normal competence. I feel sure we all agree that no penance is necessary.\"\n\nThe wily old fox, Philip thought. Of course, Remigius had had no intention of confessing a fault. Nevertheless, Cuthbert had pardoned him, hereby making everyone feel that a fault had indeed been admitted. Now, even if Philip were to be convicted of an error, it would do no more than put him on the same level as Remigius. In addition, Cuthbert had planted the suggestion that Remigius was having difficulty coping with the prior's duties. Cuthbert had completely undermined Remigius's authority with a few kindly-sounding words. Remigius looked furious. Philip felt the thrill of triumph tighten his throat.\n\nAndrew Sacrist glared accusingly at Cuthbert. \"I'm sure none of us would wish to criticize our revered sub-prior,\" he said. \"The disturbance referred to was caused by Brother Philip, who is visiting us from the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest. Philip took young William Beauvis out of his place in the quire, hauled him over to the south transept, and there reprimanded him while I was conducting the service.\"\n\nRemigius composed his face in a mask of sorrowful reproof. \"We may all agree that Philip should have waited until the end of the service.\"\n\nPhilip examined the expressions of the other monks. They seemed neither to agree nor disagree with what was being said. They were following the proceedings with the air of spectators at a tournament, in which there is no right or wrong and the only interest is in who will triumph.\n\nPhilip wanted to protest If I had waited, the misbehavior would have gone on all through the service, but he remembered Milius's advice, and remained silent; and Milius spoke up for him. \"I too missed high mass, as is frequently my misfortune, for high mass comes just before dinner; so perhaps you could tell me, Brother Andrew, what was happening in the quire before Brother Philip took this action. Was everything orderly and becoming?\"\n\n\"There was some fidgeting among the youngsters,\" the sacrist replied sulkily. \"I intended to speak to them about it later.\"\n\n\"It's understandable that you should be vague about the details\u2014your mind was on the service,\" Milius said charitably. \"Fortunately, we have a circuitor whose particular duty it is to attend to misbehavior among us. Tell us, Brother Pierre, what you observed.\"\n\nThe circuitor looked hostile. \"Just what the sacrist has already told you.\"\n\nMilius said: \"It seems we'll have to ask Brother Philip himself for the details.\"\n\nMilius had been very clever, Philip thought. He had established that neither the sacrist nor the circuitor had seen what the young monks were doing during the service. But although Philip admired Milius's dialectical skill, he was reluctant to play the game. Choosing a prior was not a contest of wits, it was a matter of seeking to know the will of God. He hesitated. Milius was giving him a look that said Now's your chance! But there was a stubborn streak in Philip, and it showed most clearly when someone tried to push him into a morally dubious position. He looked Milius in the eye and said: \"It was as my brothers have described.\"\n\nMilius's face fell. He stared incredulously at Philip. He opened his mouth, but visibly did not know what to say. Philip felt guilty about letting him down. I'll explain myself to him afterward, he thought, unless he's too angry.\n\nRemigius was about to press on with the indictment when another voice said: \"I would like to confess.\"\n\nEveryone looked. It was William Beauvis, the original offender, standing up and looking shamefaced. \"I was flicking pellets of mud at the novice-master and laughing,\" he said in a low, clear voice. \"Brother Philip made me ashamed. I beg God's forgiveness and ask the brothers to give me a penance.\" He sat down abruptly.\n\nBefore Remigius could react, another youngster stood up and said: \"I have a confession. I did the same. I ask for a penance.\" He sat down again. This sudden access of guilty conscience was infectious: a third monk confessed, then a fourth, then a fifth.\n\nThe truth was out, despite Philip's scruples, and he could not help feeling pleased. He saw that Milius was struggling to suppress a triumphant smile. The confession left no doubt that there had been a minor riot going on under the noses of the sacrist and the circuitor.\n\nThe culprits were sentenced, by a highly displeased Remigius, to a week of total silence: they were not to speak and no one was to speak to them. It was a harsher punishment than it sounded. Philip had suffered it when he was young. Even for one day the isolation was oppressive, and a whole week of it was utterly miserable.\n\nBut Remigius was merely giving vent to his anger at having been outmaneuvered. Once they had confessed he had no option but to punish them, although in punishing them he was conceding that Philip had been right in the first place. His attack on Philip had gone badly wrong, and Philip was triumphant. Despite a guilty pang, he relished the moment.\n\nBut Remigius's humiliation was not yet complete.\n\nCuthbert spoke again. \"There was another disturbance that we ought to discuss. It took place in the cloisters just after high mass.\" Philip wondered what on earth was coming next. \"Brother Andrew confronted Brother Philip and accused him of misconduct.\" Of course he did, Philip was thinking; everyone knows that. Cuthbert went on: \"Now, we all know that the time and place for such accusations is here and now, in chapter. And there are good reasons why our forebears ordained it so. Tempers cool overnight, and grievances can be discussed the next morning in an atmosphere of calm and moderation; and the whole community can bring its collective wisdom to bear on the problem. But, I regret to say, Andrew flouted this sensible rule, and made a scene in the cloisters, disturbing everyone and speaking intemperately. To let such misbehavior pass would be unfair on the younger brothers who have been punished for what they have done.\"\n\nIt was merciless, and it was brilliant, Philip thought happily. The question of whether Philip had been right to take William out of the quire during the service had never actually been discussed. Every attempt to raise it had been turned into an inquiry into the behavior of the accuser. And that was as it should be, for Andrew's complaint against Philip had been insincere. Between them Cuthbert and Milius had now discredited Remigius and his two main allies, Andrew and Pierre.\n\nAndrew's normally red face was purple with fury, and Remigius looked almost frightened. Philip was pleased\u2014they deserved it\u2014but now he worried that their humiliation was in danger of going too far. \"It's unseemly for junior brothers to discuss the punishment of their seniors,\" he said. \"Let the sub-prior deal with this matter privately.\" Looking around, he saw that the monks approved of his magnanimity, and he realized that unintentionally he had scored yet another point.\n\nIt seemed to be all over. The mood of the meeting was with Philip, and he felt sure he had won over most of the waverers. Then Remigius said: \"There is another matter I have to raise.\"\n\nPhilip studied the sub-prior's face. He looked desperate. Philip glanced at Andrew Sacrist and Pierre Circuitor and saw that they both looked surprised. This was something unplanned, then. Was Remigius going to plead for the job, perhaps?\n\n\"Most of you know that the bishop has a right to nominate candidates for our consideration,\" Remigius began. \"He may also refuse to confirm our choice. This division of powers can lead to quarreling between bishop and monastery, as some older brothers know from experience. In the end, the bishop cannot force us to accept his candidate, nor can we insist on ours; and where there is conflict, it has to be resolved by negotiation. In that case, the outcome depends a good deal on the determination and unity of the brothers\u2014especially their unity.\"\n\nPhilip had a bad feeling about this. Remigius had suppressed his rage and was once again calm and haughty. Philip still did not know what was coming, but his triumphant feeling evaporated.\n\n\"The reason I mention all this today is that two important items of information have come to my notice,\" Remigius went on. \"The first is that there may be more than one candidate nominated from among us here in this room.\" That didn't surprise anyone, Philip thought. \"The second is that the bishop will also nominate a candidate.\"\n\nThere was a pregnant pause. This was bad news for both parties. Someone said: \"Do you know whom the bishop wants?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Remigius said, and in that instant Philip felt sure the man was lying. \"The bishop's choice is Brother Osbert of Newbury.\"\n\nOne or two of the monks gasped. They were all horrified. They knew Osbert, for he had been circuitor at Kingsbridge for a while. He was the bishop's illegitimate son, and he regarded the Church purely as a means whereby he could live a life of idleness and plenty. He had never made any serious attempt to abide by his vows, but kept up a semi-transparent sham and relied upon his paternity to keep him out of trouble. The prospect of having him as prior was appalling, even to Remigius's friends. Only the guest-master and one or two of his irredeemably depraved cronies might favor Osbert in anticipation of a regime of slack discipline and slovenly indulgence.\n\nRemigius plowed on. \"If we nominate two candidates, brothers, the bishop may say that we are divided and cannot make up our collective mind, so therefore he must decide for us, and we should accept his choice. If we want to resist Osbert, we would do well to put forward one candidate only; and, perhaps I should add, we should make sure that our candidate cannot easily be faulted, for example on grounds of youth or inexperience.\"\n\nThere was a murmur of assent. Philip was devastated. A moment ago he had been sure of victory, but it had been snatched from his grasp. Now all the monks were with Remigius, seeing him as the safe candidate, the unity candidate, the man to beat Osbert. Philip felt sure Remigius was lying about Osbert, but it would make no difference. The monks were scared now, and they would back Remigius; and that meant more years of decline for Kingsbridge Priory.\n\nBefore anyone could comment, Remigius said: \"Let us now dismiss, and think and pray about this problem as we do God's work today.\" He stood up and went out, followed by Andrew, Pierre and John Small, these three looking dazed but triumphant.\n\nAs soon as they had gone, a buzz of conversation broke out among the others. Milius said to Philip: \"I never thought Remigius had it in him to pull a trick like that.\"\n\n\"He's lying,\" Philip said bitterly. \"I'm sure of it.\"\n\nCuthbert joined them and heard Philip's remark. \"It doesn't really matter if he's lying, does it?\" he said. \"The threat is enough.\"\n\n\"The truth will come out eventually,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Not necessarily,\" Milius replied. \"Suppose the bishop doesn't nominate Osbert. Remigius will just say the bishop yielded before the prospect of a battle with a united priory.\"\n\n\"I'm not ready to give in,\" Philip said stubbornly.\n\nMilius said: \"What else will we do?\"\n\n\"We must find out the truth,\" Philip said.\n\n\"We can't,\" said Milius.\n\nPhilip racked his brains. The frustration was agony. \"Why can't we just ask?\" he said.\n\n\"Ask? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Ask the bishop what his intentions are.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"We could send a message to the bishop's palace, couldn't we?\" Philip said, thinking aloud. He looked at Cuthbert.\n\nCuthbert was thoughtful. \"Yes. I send messengers out all the time. I can send one to the palace.\"\n\nMilius said skeptically: \"And ask the bishop what his intentions are?\"\n\nPhilip frowned. That was the problem.\n\nCuthbert agreed with Milius. \"The bishop won't tell us,\" he said.\n\nPhilip was struck by an inspiration. His brow cleared, and he punched his palm excitedly as he saw the solution. \"No,\" he said. \"The bishop won't tell us. But his archdeacon will.\"\n\nThat night Philip dreamed about Jonathan, the abandoned baby. In his dream the child was in the porch of the chapel at St-John-in-the-Forest and Philip was inside, reading the service of prime, when a wolf came slinking out of the woods and crossed the field, smooth as a snake, heading for the baby. Philip was afraid to move for fear of causing a disturbance during the service and being reprimanded by Remigius and Andrew, both of whom were there (although in reality neither of them had ever been to the cell). He decided to shout, but although he tried, no sound would come, as often happened in dreams. At last he made such an effort to call out that he woke himself up, and lay in the dark trembling while he listened to the breathing of the sleeping monks all around him and slowly convinced himself that the wolf was not real.\n\nHe had hardly thought of the baby since arriving at Kingsbridge. He wondered what he would do with the child if he were to become prior. Everything would be different then. A baby in a little monastery hidden in the forest was of no consequence, however unusual. The same baby at Kingsbridge Priory would cause a stir. On the other hand, what was wrong with that? It was not a sin to give people something to talk about. He would be prior, so he could do as he pleased. He could bring Johnny Eightpence to Kingsbridge to take care of the baby. The idea pleased him inordinately. That's just what I'll do, he thought. Then he remembered that in all probability he would not become prior.\n\nHe lay awake until dawn, in a fever of impatience. There was nothing he could do now to press his case. It was useless to talk to the monks, for their thinking was dominated by the threat of Osbert. A few of them had even approached Philip and told him they were sorry he had lost, as if the election had already been held. He had resisted the temptation to call them faithless cowards. He just smiled and told them they might yet be surprised. But his own faith was not strong. Archdeacon Waleran might not be at the bishop's palace; or he might be there but have some reason for not wanting to tell Philip the bishop's plans; or\u2014most likely of all, given the archdeacon's character\u2014he might have plans of his own.\n\nPhilip got up at dawn with the other monks and went into the church for prime, the first service of the day. Afterward he headed for the refectory, intending to take his breakfast with the others, but Milius intercepted him and beckoned him, with a furtive gesture, to the kitchen. Philip followed him, his nerves wound taut. The messenger must be back: that was quick. He must have got his reply immediately and started back yesterday afternoon. Even so he had been fast. Philip did not know a horse in the priory stable that was capable of doing the journey so rapidly. But what would the answer be?\n\nIt was not the messenger who was waiting in the kitchen\u2014it was the archdeacon himself, Waleran Bigod.\n\nPhilip stared at him in surprise. The thin, black-draped form of the archdeacon was perched on a stool like a crow on a tree stump. The end of his beaky nose was red with cold. He was warming his bony white hands around a cup of hot spiced wine.\n\n\"It's good of you to come!\" Philip blurted out.\n\n\"I'm glad you wrote to me,\" Waleran said coolly.\n\n\"Is it true?\" Philip asked impatiently. \"Will the bishop nominate Osbert?\"\n\nWaleran held up a hand to stop him. \"I'll get to that. Cuthbert here is just telling me of yesterday's events.\"\n\nPhilip concealed his disappointment. This was not a straightforward answer. He studied Waleran's face, trying to read his mind. Waleran did indeed have plans of his own, but Philip could not guess what they were.\n\nCuthbert\u2014whom Philip had not at first noticed, sitting by the fire dipping his horsebread into his beer to soften it for his elderly teeth\u2014resumed an account of yesterday's chapter. Philip fidgeted restlessly, trying to guess what Waleran might be up to. He tried a morsel of bread but found he was too tense to swallow. He drank some of the watery beer, just to have something to do with his hands.\n\n\"And so,\" Cuthbert said at last, \"it seemed that our only chance was to try to verify the bishop's intentions; and fortunately Philip \"felt able to presume upon his acquaintanceship with yourself; so we sent you the message.\"\n\nPhilip said impatiently: \"And now will you tell us what we want to know?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'll tell you.\" Waleran put down his wine untasted. \"The bishop would like his son to be prior of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nPhilip's heart sank. \"So Remigius told the truth.\"\n\nWaleran went on: \"However, the bishop is not willing to risk a quarrel with the monks.\"\n\nPhilip frowned. This was more or less what Remigius had forecast\u2014but something was not quite right. Philip said to Waleran: \"You didn't come all this way just to tell us that.\"\n\nWaleran shot a look of respect at Philip, and Philip knew he had guessed right. \"No,\" Waleran said. \"The bishop has asked me to test the mood of the monastery. And he has empowered me to make a nomination on his behalf. Indeed, I have with me the bishop's seal, so that I can write a letter of nomination, to make the matter formal and binding. I have his full authority, you see.\"\n\nPhilip took a moment to digest that. Waleran was empowered to make a nomination and seal it with the bishop's seal. That meant the bishop had put the whole matter in Waleran's hands. He now spoke with the bishop's authority.\n\nPhilip took a deep breath and said: \"Do you accept what Cuthbert has told you\u2014that if Osbert were to be nominated, it would cause the quarrel the bishop wants to avoid?\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand that,\" said Waleran.\n\n\"Then you won't nominate Osbert.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nPhilip felt wound up tight enough to snap. The monks would be so glad to escape the threat of Osbert that they would gratefully vote for whoever Waleran might nominate.\n\nWaleran now had the power to choose the new prior.\n\nPhilip said: \"Then whom will you nominate?\"\n\nWaleran said: \"You... or Remigius.\"\n\n\"Remigius's ability to run the priory\u2014\"\n\n\"I know his abilities, and yours,\" Waleran interrupted, once again holding up a thin white hand to stop Philip. \"I know which of you would make the best prior.\" He paused. \"But there is another matter.\"\n\nWhat now? wondered Philip. What else was there to consider, other than who would make the best prior? He looked at the others. Milius was also mystified, but old Cuthbert had a slight smile, as if he knew what was coming.\n\nWaleran said: \"Like you, I'm anxious that important posts in the Church should go to energetic and capable men, regardless of age, rather than being handed out as rewards for long service to senior men whose holiness may be greater than their administrative ability.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Philip said impatiently. He did not see the relevance of this lecture.\n\n\"We should work together to this end\u2014you three, and me.\"\n\nMilius said: \"I don't know what you're getting at.\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Cuthbert.\n\nWaleran gave Cuthbert a thin smile, then returned his attention to Philip. \"Let me be plain,\" he said. \"The bishop himself is old. One day he will die, and then we will need a new bishop, just as today we need a new prior. The monks of Kingsbridge have the right to elect the new bishop, for the bishop of Kingsbridge is also the abbot of the priory.\"\n\nPhilip frowned. All this was irrelevant. They were electing a prior, not a bishop.\n\nBut Waleran went on. \"Of course, the monks will not be completely free to choose whom they like to be bishop, for the archbishop and the king will have their views; but in the end it is the monks who legitimize the appointment. And when that time comes, you three will have a powerful influence on the decision.\"\n\nCuthbert was nodding as if his guess had turned out to be right, and now Philip, too, had an inkling of what was coming.\n\nWaleran finished: \"You want me to make you prior of Kingsbridge. I want you to make me bishop.\"\n\nSo that was it!\n\nPhilip stared in silence at Waleran. It was very simple. The archdeacon wanted to make a deal.\n\nPhilip was shocked. It was not quite the same as buying and selling a clerical office, which was known as the sin of simony; but it had an unpleasantly commercial feeling about it.\n\nHe tried to think objectively about the proposal. It would mean that Philip would become prior. His heart beat faster at the thought. He was reluctant to quibble with anything that would give him the priory.\n\nIt would mean that Waleran would probably become bishop at some point. Would he be a good bishop? He would certainly be competent. He appeared to have no serious vices. He had a rather worldly, practical approach to the service of God, but then so did Philip. Philip sensed that Waleran had a ruthless edge that he himself lacked, but he also sensed that it was based on a genuine determination to protect and nurture the interests of the Church.\n\nWho else might be a candidate, when the bishop eventually died? Probably Osbert. It was not unknown for religious offices to be passed from father to son, despite the official requirement of clerical celibacy. Osbert, of course, would be even more of a liability to the Church as bishop than he would be as prior. It would be worth supporting a much worse candidate than Waleran just to keep Osbert out.\n\nWould anyone else be in the running? It was impossible to guess. It might be years yet before the bishop died.\n\nCuthbert said to Waleran: \"We couldn't guarantee to get you elected.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Waleran. \"I'm asking only for your nomination. Appropriately, that's exactly what I have to offer you in return\u2014a nomination.\"\n\nCuthbert nodded. \"I'll agree to that,\" he said solemnly.\n\n\"So will I,\" said Milius.\n\nThe archdeacon and the two monks looked at Philip. He hesitated, torn. This was not the way to choose a bishop, he knew; but the priory was within his grasp. It could not be right to barter one holy office for another, like horse traders\u2014but if he refused, the result might be that Remigius became prior and Osbert became bishop!\n\nHowever, the rational arguments now seemed academic. The desire to be prior was like an irresistible force within him, and he could not refuse, regardless of the pros and cons. He recalled the prayer he had sent up yesterday, telling God that he intended to fight for the job. He raised his eyes now, and sent up another: If you don't want this to happen, then still my tongue, and paralyze my mouth, and stop my breath in my throat, and prevent me from speaking.\n\nThen he looked at Waleran and said: \"I accept.\"\n\nThe prior's bed was huge, three times the width of any bed Philip had ever slept in. The wooden base stood half the height of a man, and there was a feather mattress on top of that. It had curtains all around to keep out drafts, and on the curtains biblical scenes had been embroidered by the patient hands of a pious woman. Philip examined it with some misgivings. It seemed to him enough of an extravagance that the prior should have a bedroom all to himself\u2014Philip had never in his life had his own bedroom, and tonight would be the first time he had ever slept alone. The bed was too much. He considered having a straw mattress brought over from the dormitory, and moving the bed into the infirmary, where it would ease an ailing monk's old bones. But of course the bed was not just for Philip. When the priory had an especially distinguished guest, a bishop or a great lord or even a king, then the guest would have this bedroom and the prior would shift as best he could somewhere else. So Philip could not really get rid of it.\n\n\"You'll sleep soundly tonight,\" said Waleran Bigod, not without a hint of envy.\n\n\"I suppose I shall,\" Philip said dubiously.\n\nEverything had happened very quickly. Waleran had written a letter to the priory, right there in the kitchen, ordering the monks to hold an immediate election and nominating Philip. He had signed the letter with the bishop's name and sealed it with the bishop's seal. Then the four of them had gone into chapter.\n\nAs soon as Remigius saw them enter he knew the battle was over. Waleran read the letter, and the monks cheered when he got to Philip's name. Remigius had the wit to dispense with the formality of the vote and concede defeat.\n\nAnd Philip was prior.\n\nHe had conducted the rest of chapter in something of a daze, and then had walked across the lawns to the prior's house, in the southeast corner of the priory close, to take up residence.\n\nWhen he saw the bed he realized that his life had changed utterly and irrevocably. He was different, special, set apart from other monks. He had power and privilege. And he had responsibility. He alone had to make sure that this little community of forty-five men survived and prospered. If they starved, it would be his fault; if they became depraved, he would be to blame; if they disgraced God's Church, God would hold Philip responsible. He had sought this burden, he reminded himself; now he must bear it.\n\nHis first duty as prior would be to lead the monks into church for high mass. Today was Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas, and a holiday. All the villagers would be at the service, and more people would come from the surrounding district. A good cathedral with a strong body of monks and a reputation for spectacular services could attract a thousand people or more. Even dreary Kingsbridge would draw most of the local gentry, for the service was a social occasion too, when they could meet their neighbors and talk business.\n\nBut before the service Philip had something else to discuss with Waleran, now that they were alone at last. \"That information I passed you,\" he began. \"About the earl of Shiring...\"\n\nWaleran nodded. \"I haven't forgotten\u2014indeed, that could be more important than the question of who is prior or bishop. Earl Bartholomew has arrived in England already. They expect him at Shiring tomorrow.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" Philip said anxiously.\n\n\"I'm going to make use of Sir Percy Hamleigh. In fact, I'm hoping he'll be in the congregation today.\"\n\n\"I've heard of him, but I've never seen him,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Look for a fat lord with a hideous wife and a handsome son. You can't miss the wife\u2014she's an eyesore.\"\n\n\"What makes you think they will take King Stephen's side against Earl Bartholomew?\"\n\n\"They hate the earl passionately.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"The son, William, was engaged to marry the earl's daughter, but she took against him, and the marriage was called off, much to the humiliation of the Hamleighs. They're still smarting from the insult, and they'll jump at any chance to strike back at Bartholomew.\"\n\nPhilip nodded, satisfied. He was glad to have shed that responsibility: he had a full quota. Kingsbridge Priory was a big enough problem for him to manage. Waleran could take care of the world outside.\n\nThey left the prior's house and walked back to the cloisters. The monks were waiting. Philip took his place at the head of the line and the procession moved off.\n\nIt was a good moment when he walked into the church with the monks singing behind him. He liked it more than he had anticipated. He told himself that his new eminence symbolized the power he now had to do good, and that was why he was so profoundly thrilled. He wished Abbot Peter from Gwynedd could see him\u2014the old man would be so proud.\n\nHe led the monks into the quire stalls. A major service such as this one was often taken by the bishop. Today it would be led by the bishop's deputy, Archdeacon Waleran. As Waleran began, Philip scanned the congregation, looking for the family Waleran had described. There were about a hundred and fifty people standing in the nave, the wealthy in their heavy winter cloaks and leather shoes, the peasants in their rough jackets and felt boots or wooden clogs. Philip had no trouble picking out the Hamleighs. They were near the front, close to the altar. He saw the woman first. Waleran had not exaggerated\u2014she was repulsive. She wore a hood, but most of her face was visible, and he could see that her skin was covered with unsightly boils which she touched nervously all the time. Beside her was a heavy man of about forty years: that would be Percy. His clothes showed him to be a man of considerable wealth and power, but not in the top rank of barons and earls. The son was leaning against one of the massive columns of the nave. He was a fine figure of a man, with very yellow hair and narrow, haughty eyes. A marriage with an earl's family would have enabled the Hamleighs to cross the line that divided county gentry from the nobility of the kingdom. It was no wonder they were angry about the cancellation of the wedding.\n\nPhilip returned his mind to the service. Waleran was going through it a little too fast for Philip's taste. He wondered again whether he had been right to agree to nominate Waleran as bishop when the present bishop should die. Waleran was a dedicated man, but he appeared to undervalue the importance of worship. The prosperity and power of the Church were only means to an end, after all: the ultimate object was the salvation of souls. Philip decided that he must not worry about Waleran too much. The thing was done, now; and anyway, the bishop would probably frustrate Waleran's ambition by living another twenty years.\n\nThe congregation was noisy. None of them knew the responses, of course; only priests and monks were expected to take part, except in the most familiar prayers and the amens. Some of the congregation watched in reverent silence, but others wandered around, greeting one another and chatting. They're simple people, Philip thought; you have to do something to keep their attention.\n\nThe service drew to a close, and Archdeacon Waleran addressed them. \"Most of you know that the beloved prior of Kingsbridge has died. His body, which lies here with us in church, will be laid to rest in the priory graveyard today after dinner. The bishop and the monks have chosen as his successor Brother Philip of Gwynedd, who led us into church this morning.\"\n\nHe stopped, and Philip stood up to lead the procession out. Then Waleran said: \"I have another sad announcement.\"\n\nPhilip was taken by surprise. He sat down promptly.\n\n\"I have just received a message,\" Waleran said.\n\nHe had received no messages, Philip knew. They had been together all morning. What was the sly archdeacon up to now?\n\n\"The message tells me of a loss which will grieve us all deeply.\" He paused again.\n\nSomeone was dead\u2014but who? Waleran had known about it before he arrived, but he had kept it a secret, and he was going to pretend that he had only just heard the news. Why?\n\nPhilip could think of only one possibility\u2014and if Philip's suspicion were right, Waleran was much more ambitious and unscrupulous than Philip had imagined. Had he really deceived and manipulated them all? Had Philip been a mere pawn in Waleran's game?\n\nWaleran's final words confirmed that he had. \"Dearly beloved,\" he said solemnly, \"the bishop of Kingsbridge is dead.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "\"That bitch will be there,\" said William's mother, \"I'm sure she will.\"\n\nWilliam looked at the looming facade of Kingsbridge Cathedral with mingled dread and longing. If the Lady Aliena were to be at the Epiphany service it would be painfully embarrassing for them all, but nevertheless his heart quickened at the thought of seeing her again.\n\nThey were trotting along the road to Kingsbridge, William and his father on war-horses and his mother on a fine courser, with three knights and three grooms following. They made an impressive and even fearsome party, which pleased William; and the peasants walking on the road scattered before their powerful horses; but Mother was seething.\n\n\"They all know, even these wretched serfs,\" she said through her teeth. \"They even tell jokes about us. 'When is a bride not a bride? When the groom is Will Hamleigh!' I had a man flogged for that but it did no good. I'd like to get hold of that bitch, I'd flay her alive, and hang her skin on a nail, and let the birds peck her flesh.\"\n\nWilliam wished she would not go on about it. The family had been humiliated, and it had been William's fault\u2014or so Mother said\u2014and he did not want to be reminded of it.\n\nThey clattered over the rickety wooden bridge that led to Kingsbridge village and urged their horses up the sloping main street to the priory. There were already twenty or thirty horses cropping the sparse grass of the graveyard on the north side of the church, but none as fine as those of the Hamleighs. They rode up to the stable and left their mounts with the priory grooms.\n\nThey crossed the green in formation, William and his father on either side of Mother, then the knights behind them, and the grooms bringing up the rear. People stood aside for them, but William could see them nudging one another and pointing, and he felt sure they were whispering about the canceled wedding. He risked a glance at Mother, and he could tell by the thunderous look on her face that she thought the same.\n\nThey went into the church.\n\nWilliam hated churches. They were cold and dim even in fine weather, and there was always that faintly corrupt smell lingering in the dark corners and the low tunnels of the aisles. Worst of all, churches made him think of the torments of hell, and he was frightened of hell.\n\nHe raked the congregation with his eyes. At first he could hardly distinguish people's faces because of the gloom. After a few moments his eyes adjusted. He could not see Aliena. They progressed up the aisle. She did not seem to be here. He felt both relieved and let down. Then he saw her, and his heart missed a beat.\n\nShe was on the south side of the nave near the front, escorted by a knight William did not know, surrounded by men-at-arms and ladies-in-waiting. She had her back to him, but her mass of dark curly hair was unmistakable. As he spotted her she turned, showing a soft curved cheek and a straight, imperious nose. Her eyes, so dark they were almost black, met William's. He stopped breathing. Those dark eyes, already large, widened when she saw him. He wanted to look past her carelessly, as if he had not seen her, but he could not tear his gaze away. He wanted her to smile at him, even if it was only the merest curving of her full lips, no more than a polite acknowledgment. He inclined his head to her, only slightly\u2014it was more of a nod than a bow. Her face set in stiff lines, and she turned away to face the front.\n\nWilliam winced as if he was in pain. He felt like a dog that had been kicked out of the way, and he wanted to curl up in a corner where no one would notice him. He glanced to either side, wondering whether anyone had seen the exchange of looks. As he walked farther up the aisle with his parents, he realized that people were looking from him to Aliena and back again, nudging one another and whispering. He stared straight ahead to avoid meeting anybody's eyes. He had to force himself to hold his head high. How has she done this to us? he thought. We're one of the proudest families in southern England, and she's made us feel small. The thought infuriated him, and he longed to draw his sword and attack someone, anyone.\n\nThe sheriff of Shiring greeted William's father and they shook hands. People looked away, searching for something new to murmur about. William was still seething. Young noblemen approached Aliena and bowed to her in a constant stream. She was willing to smile at them.\n\nThe service began. William wondered how everything had gone so badly wrong. Earl Bartholomew had a son to inherit his title and his fortune, so the only use he had for a daughter was to form an alliance. Aliena was sixteen years old and a virgin, and showed no inclination to become a nun, so it was assumed she would be delighted to marry a healthy nineteen-year-old nobleman. After all, political considerations might just as easily have led her father to marry her to a fat gouty forty-year-old earl or even a balding baron of sixty.\n\nOnce the deal had been agreed, William and his parents had not been reticent about it. They had proudly broadcast the news all over the surrounding counties. The meeting between William and Aliena had been considered a formality by everyone\u2014except Aliena, as it turned out.\n\nThey were not strangers, of course. He remembered her as a little girl. She had had an impish face with a snub nose then, and her unruly hair had been kept short. She had been bossy, headstrong, pugnacious, and daring. She always organized the children's games, deciding what they should play, and who should be on which team, adjudicating disputes and keeping score. He had been fascinated by her while at the same time resenting the way she dominated the children's play. It had always been possible to spoil her games, and make himself the center of attention for a while, simply by starting a fight; but that did not last long, and in the end she would resume control, leaving him feeling baffled, defeated, spurned, angry, and yet enchanted\u2014just as he felt now.\n\nAfter her mother died she had traveled with her father a lot and William had seen less of her. However, he met her often enough to know that she was growing into a ravishingly beautiful young woman, and he had been delighted when he was told she was to be his bride. He assumed she had to marry him whether she liked him or not, but he went along to meet her intending to do all he could to smooth the path to the altar.\n\nShe might be a virgin but he was not. Some of the girls he had charmed were almost as pretty as Aliena, almost, although none of them was as highborn. In his experience a lot of girls were impressed by his fine clothes, his spirited horses, and the casual way he had of spending money on sweet wine and ribbons; and if he could get them alone in a barn they generally submitted to him, more or less willingly, in the end.\n\nHis usual approach to girls was a little offhand. At first he would let them think he was not particularly interested in them. But when he found himself alone with Aliena his diffidence deserted him. She was wearing a bright blue silk gown, loose and flowing, but all he could think about was the body underneath it, which he would soon be able to see naked whenever he liked. He had found her reading a book, which was a peculiar occupation for a woman who was not a nun. He had asked her what it was, in an attempt to take his mind off the way her breasts moved under the blue silk.\n\n\"It's called 'The Romance of Alexander.' It's the story of a king called Alexander the Great, and how he conquered wonderful lands in the east where precious stones grow on grapevines and plants can talk.\"\n\nWilliam could not imagine why a person would want to waste time on such foolishness, but he had not said so. He had told her about his horses, his dogs, and his achievements in hunting, wrestling and jousting. She had not been as impressed as he had hoped. He had told her about the house his father was building for them, and, to help her prepare for the time when she would be running his household, he gave her an outline of the way he wanted things done. He had felt he was losing her attention, though he could not say why. He sat as close to her as possible, for he wanted to get her in a clinch, and feel her up, and find out whether those tits were as big as he fancied they were; but she leaned away from him, folding her arms and crossing her legs, looking so forbidding that he was reluctantly forced to abandon the idea, and console himself with the thought that soon he would be able to do anything he liked to her.\n\nHowever, while he was with her she gave no indication of the fuss she was going to make later. She had said, rather quietly, \"I don't think we're well suited,\" but he had taken this for a piece of charming modesty on her part, and had assured her that she would suit him very well. He had no idea that as soon as he was off the premises she would storm in to her father and announce that she would not marry him, nothing would persuade her, she would rather go into a convent, and they could drag her to the altar in chains but she would not speak the vows. The bitch, William thought; the bitch. But he could not summon the kind of venom that Mother spat when she spoke of Aliena. He did not want to flay Aliena alive. He wanted to lie on top of her hot body and kiss her mouth.\n\nThe Epiphany service ended with the announcement of the death of the bishop. William hoped this news would at last overshadow the sensation of the canceled marriage. The monks left in procession, and there was a buzz of excited conversation as the congregation headed for the exits. Many of them had material as well as spiritual ties to the bishop\u2014as his tenants, or subtenants, or as employees on his lands\u2014and everyone was interested in the question of who would succeed him, and whether the successor would make any changes. The death of a great lord was always perilous for those ruled by him.\n\nAs William followed his parents down the nave he was surprised to see Archdeacon Waleran coming toward them. He moved briskly through the congregation, like a big black dog in a field of cows; and like cows the people looked nervously over their shoulders at him and moved a step or two out of his way. He ignored the peasants, but spoke a few words to each of the gentry. When he reached the Hamleighs he greeted William's father, ignored William, and turned his attention on Mother. \"Such a shame about the marriage,\" he said.\n\nWilliam flushed. Did the fool think he was being polite with his commiserations?\n\nMother was no more keen to talk about it than William was. \"I'm not one to bear a grudge,\" she lied.\n\nWaleran ignored that. \"I've heard something about Earl Bartholomew that may interest you,\" he said. His voice went quieter, so that he could not be overheard, and William had to strain to catch his words. \"It seems the earl will not renege on his vows to the dead king.\"\n\nFather said: \"Bartholomew always was a stiff-necked hypocrite.\"\n\nWaleran looked pained. He wanted them to listen, not comment. \"Bartholomew and Earl Robert of Gloucester will not accept King Stephen, who is the choice of the Church and the barons, as you know.\"\n\nWilliam wondered why an archdeacon was telling a lord about this routine baronial squabble. Father was thinking the same thought, for he said: \"But there's nothing the earls can do about it.\"\n\nMother shared Waleran's impatience with Father's interjected comments. \"Listen,\" she hissed at him.\n\nWaleran said: \"What I hear is that they're planning to mount a rebellion and make Maud queen.\"\n\nWilliam could not believe his ears. Had the archdeacon really made that foolhardy statement, in his quiet, matter-of-fact murmur, right here in the nave of Kingsbridge Cathedral? A man could be hanged for it, true or false.\n\nFather was startled, too, but Mother said thoughtfully: \"Robert of Gloucester is the half brother of Maud.... It makes sense.\"\n\nWilliam wondered how she could be so down-to-earth about such a scandalous piece of news. But she was very clever, and she was almost always right about everything.\n\nWaleran said: \"Anyone who could get rid of Earl Bartholomew, and stop the rebellion before it gets started, would earn the eternal gratitude of King Stephen and the Holy Mother Church.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said Father in a dazed tone, but Mother was nodding wisely.\n\n\"Bartholomew is expected back at home tomorrow.\" Waleran looked up as he said this, and caught someone's eye. He looked back at Mother and said: \"I thought you, of all people, would be interested.\" Then he moved away and greeted someone else.\n\nWilliam stared after him. Was that really all he was going to say?\n\nWilliam's parents moved on, and he followed them through the great arched doorway into the open air. All three of them were silent. William had heard a good deal of talk, over the past five weeks, about who would be king, but the matter had seemed to be settled when Stephen was crowned at Westminster Abbey three days before Christmas. Now, if Waleran was right, the matter was an open question once again. But why had Waleran made a point of telling the Hamleighs?\n\nThey started across the green to the stables. As soon as they got clear of the crowd outside the church porch, and could no longer be overheard, Father said excitedly: \"What a piece of good fortune\u2014the very man who insulted the family, caught out in high treason!\"\n\nWilliam did not see why that was such good fortune, but Mother obviously did, for she nodded agreement.\n\nFather went on: \"We can arrest him at the point of a sword, and hang him from the nearest tree.\"\n\nWilliam had not thought of that, but now he saw it in a flash. If Bartholomew was a traitor, it was all right to kill him. \"We can take our revenge,\" William burst out. \"And instead of being punished for it we'll get a reward from the king!\" They would be able to hold their heads high again, and\u2014\n\n\"You stupid fools,\" Mother said with sudden viciousness. \"You blind, brainless idiots. So you would hang Bartholomew from the nearest tree. Shall I tell you what would happen then?\"\n\nNeither of them said anything. It was wiser not to respond to her questions when she was in this frame of mind.\n\nShe said: \"Robert of Gloucester would deny there had been any plot, and he would embrace King Stephen and swear loyalty; and there would be the end of it, except that you two would be hanged as murderers.\"\n\nWilliam shuddered. The idea of being hanged terrified him. He had nightmares about it. However, he could see that Mother was right: the king might believe, or pretend to believe, that no one could have the temerity to rebel against him; and he would think nothing of sacrificing a couple of lives for credibility.\n\nFather said: \"You're right. We'll truss him up like a pig for the slaughter, and carry him alive to the king at Winchester, and denounce him there, and claim our reward.\"\n\n\"Why don't you think?\" said Mother contemptuously. She was very tense, and William could see that she was as excited about all this as Father was, but in a different way. \"Wouldn't Archdeacon Waleran like to take a traitor trussed to the king?\" she said. \"Doesn't he want a reward for himself\u2014don't you know that he lusts with all his heart to be bishop of Kingsbridge? Why has he given you the privilege of making the arrest? Why did he contrive to meet us in church, as if by accident, instead of coming to see us at Hamleigh? Why was our conversation so short and indirect?\"\n\nShe paused rhetorically, as if for an answer, but both William and Father knew that she did not really want one. William recalled that priests were not supposed to see bloodshed, and considered the possibility that perhaps that might be why Waleran did not want to be involved in arresting Bartholomew; but on further reflection he realized that Waleran had no such scruples.\n\n\"I'll tell you why,\" Mother went on. \"Because he's not sure that Bartholomew is a traitor. His information is unreliable. I can't guess where he got it\u2014perhaps he overheard a drunken conversation, or intercepted an ambiguous message, or spoke with an untrustworthy spy. In any case he's not willing to stick his neck out. He won't accuse Earl Bartholomew of treason openly, in case the charge should turn out to be false, and Waleran himself be branded a slanderer. He wants someone else to take the risk, and do the dirty work for him; and then when it is over, if treason should be proved, he will step forward and take his share of the credit; but if Bartholomew should turn out to be innocent, Waleran will simply never admit that he said what he said to us today.\"\n\nIt seemed obvious when she put it like that. But without her, William and his father would have fallen right into Waleran's trap. They would have willingly acted as Waleran's agents and taken the risks for him. Mother's political judgment was acute.\n\nFather said: \"Do you mean we must just forget about this?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\" Her eyes glittered. \"It's still a chance to destroy the people who have humiliated us.\" A groom held her horse ready. She took the reins and waved him away, but she did not mount immediately. She stood beside the horse, patting its neck reflectively, and spoke in a low voice. \"We need evidence of the conspiracy, so that no one will be able to deny it after we've made our accusation. We'll have to get that evidence by stealth, without revealing what we're looking for. Then, when we have it, we can arrest Earl Bartholomew and take him to the king. Confronted with proof, Bartholomew will confess, and beg for mercy. Then we ask for our reward.\"\n\n\"And deny that Waleran helped us,\" added Father.\n\nMother shook her head. \"Let him have his share of the glory, and his reward. Then he will be indebted to us. That can't do us anything but good.\"\n\n\"But how shall we go about finding evidence of the plot?\" said Father anxiously.\n\n\"We'll have to find a way to look around Bartholomew's castle,\" Mother said with a frown. \"It won't be easy. Nobody would credit us making a social call\u2014everyone knows we hate Bartholomew.\"\n\nWilliam was struck by a thought. \"I could go,\" he said.\n\nHis parents were both a little startled. Mother said: \"You'd arouse less suspicion than your father, I suppose. But what pretext would you have?\"\n\nWilliam had thought of that. \"I could go to see Aliena,\" he said, and his pulse raced at the idea. \"I could beg her to reconsider her decision. After all, she doesn't really know me. She misjudged me when we met. I could make her a good husband. Perhaps she just needs to be wooed a little harder.\" He gave what he hoped was a cynical smile, so that they would not know that he meant every word.\n\n\"A perfectly credible excuse,\" said Mother. She looked hard at William. \"By Christ, I wonder whether the boy might have some of his mother's brains after all.\"\n\nWilliam felt optimistic, for the first time in months, when he set out for Earlscastle on the day after Epiphany. It was a clear, cold morning. The north wind stung his ears and the frosted grass crunched under the hooves of his war-horse. He wore a gray cloak of fine Flanders cloth trimmed with rabbit fur over a scarlet tunic.\n\nHe was accompanied by Walter, his groom. When William was twelve years old Walter had become his tutor in arms, and had taught him to ride, hunt, fence and wrestle. Now Walter was his groom, companion and bodyguard. He was as tall as William but broader, a formidable barrel of a man. Nine or ten years older than William, he was young enough to go drinking and chasing girls but old enough to keep the boy out of trouble when necessary. He was William's closest friend.\n\nWilliam was strangely excited by the prospect of seeing Aliena again, even though he knew he faced rejection and humiliation once more. That glimpse of her in Kingsbridge Cathedral, when for an instant he had looked into her dark, dark eyes, had rekindled his desire for her. He looked forward eagerly to talking to her, getting close to her, seeing her mass of curls tumble and shake as she talked, watching her body move under her dress.\n\nAt the same time, the opportunity for revenge had sharpened William's hatred. He was tense with excitement at the thought that now he might wipe out the humiliation he and his family had suffered.\n\nHe wished he had a clearer idea of what he was looking for. He was fairly confident he would find out whether Waleran's story was true, for there would surely be signs of preparation for war at the castle\u2014horses being mustered, weapons being cleaned, food being stockpiled\u2014even though the activity would naturally be masked as something else, preparations for an expedition perhaps, to deceive the casual observer. However, convincing himself of the existence of a plot was not the same as finding proof. William could not think of anything that would count as proof. He planned to keep his eyes open and hope that something would suggest itself. This was not much of a plan, however, and he suffered a nagging worry that the opportunity for revenge might yet slip through his fingers.\n\nAs he came nearer he began to feel tense. He wondered whether he might be refused admittance to the castle, and he suffered a moment of panic, until he realized how unlikely it was: the castle was a public place, and for the earl to close it to the local gentry would be as good as an announcement that treachery was afoot.\n\nEarl Bartholomew lived a few miles from the town of Shiring. The castle of Shiring itself was occupied by the sheriff of the county, so the earl had a castle of his own outside the town. The small village that had grown up around the castle walls was known as Earlscastle. William had been there before, but now he looked at it through the eyes of an attacker.\n\nThere was a wide, deep moat in the shape of the number eight, with the upper circle smaller than the lower. The earth that had been dug out to form the moat was piled up inside the twin circles, forming ramparts.\n\nAt the foot of the eight was a bridge across the moat and a gap in the earth wall, giving admittance to the lower circle. This was the only entrance. There was no way into the upper circle except by going through the lower circle and crossing another bridge over the moat that divided the two circles. The upper circle was the inner sanctum.\n\nAs William and Walter trotted across the open fields that surrounded the castle they could see a lot of coming and going. Two men-at-arms crossed the bridge on fast horses and rode off in different directions, and a group of four horsemen preceded William across the bridge as he and Walter entered.\n\nWilliam noted that the last section of the bridge could be drawn up into the massive stone gatehouse that formed the entrance to the castle. There were stone towers at intervals all around the earth wall, so that every part of the perimeter could be covered by defending archers. To take this castle by frontal assault would be a long and bloody business, and the Hamleighs could not muster enough men to be sure of success, William concluded gloomily.\n\nToday, of course, the castle was open for business. William gave his name to the sentry in the gatehouse and was admitted without further ado. Within the lower circle, shielded from the outside world by the earth walls, was the usual range of domestic buildings: stables, kitchens, workshops, a privy tower and a chapel.\n\nA sense of excitement was in the air. The grooms, squires, servants and maids all walked briskly and talked loudly, calling greetings to one another and making jokes. To an unsuspecting mind the excitement and the coming and going might be no more than a normal reaction to the return of the master, but to William it seemed more than that.\n\nHe left Walter at the stable with the horses and crossed to the far side of the compound where, exactly opposite the gatehouse, there was a bridge across the moat to the upper circle. When he had crossed the bridge he was challenged by another guard in another gatehouse. This time he was asked his business, and he said: \"I've come to see the Lady Aliena.\"\n\nThe guard did not know him, but he looked him up and down, noting his fine cloak and red tunic, and took him at face value, as a hopeful suitor. \"You may find the young lady in the great hall,\" he said with a smirk.\n\nIn the center of the upper circle was a square stone building, three stories high, with thick walls. This was the keep. As usual the ground floor was a store. The great hall was above the store, reached by a wooden exterior staircase which could be drawn up into the building. On the top floor would be the earl's bedroom, and that was where he would make his last stand when the Hamleighs came to get him.\n\nThe whole layout presented a formidable series of obstacles to the attacker. That was the point, of course, but now that William was trying to work out how to get past the obstacles he saw the function of the different elements of the design very clearly. Even if the attackers gained the lower circle, they still had to pass another bridge and another gatehouse, and then assault the sturdy keep. They would have to get to the upper floor somehow\u2014presumably by building their own staircase\u2014and even then there would be yet another fight, in all probability, to get from the hall up the stairs to the earl's bedroom. The only way to take this castle was by stealth, William realized, and he began to toy with ideas of sneaking in somehow.\n\nHe mounted the stairs and entered the hall. It was full of people, but the earl was not among them. In the far left-hand corner was the staircase leading to his bedroom, and fifteen or twenty knights and men-at-arms sat around the foot of the stairs, talking together in low tones. This was unusual. Knights and men-at-arms formed separate social classes. The knights were landowners who supported themselves by rents, whereas the men-at-arms were paid by the day. The two groups became comradely only when the smell of war was in the wind.\n\nWilliam recognized some of them: there was Gilbert Catface, a bad-tempered old fighter with an unfashionable beard and long whiskers, past forty years but still tough; Ralph of Lyme, who spent more on clothes than on a bride, today wearing a blue cloak with a red silk lining; Jack fitz Guillaume, already a knight although hardly older than William; and several others whose faces were vaguely familiar. He nodded in their general direction, but they took little notice of him\u2014he was well known, but he was too young to be important.\n\nHe turned and looked around the other side of the hall, and saw Aliena immediately.\n\nShe looked quite different today. Yesterday she had been dressed up for the cathedral, in silk and fine wool and linen, with rings and ribbons and pointed boots. Today she wore the short tunic of a peasant woman or a child, and her feet were bare. She was sitting on a bench, studying a game board on which were counters of different colors. As William watched, she hitched up her tunic and crossed her legs, revealing her knees, and then wrinkled her nose in a frown. Yesterday she had been formidably sophisticated; today she was a vulnerable child, and William found her even more desirable. He suddenly felt ashamed that this child had been able to cause him so much distress, and he yearned for some way of showing her that he could master her. It was a feeling almost like lust.\n\nShe was playing with a boy three years or so younger than she. He had a restless, impatient look: he did not like the game. William could see a family resemblance between the two players. Indeed, the boy looked like Aliena as William remembered her from childhood, with a snub nose and short hair. This must be her younger brother Richard, the heir to the earldom.\n\nWilliam went closer. Richard glanced up at him, then returned his attention to the board. Aliena was concentrating. Their painted wooden board was shaped like a cross and divided into squares of different colors. The counters appeared to be made of ivory, white and black. The game was obviously a variant of merels, or ninemen's morris, and probably a gift brought back from Normandy by Aliena's father. William was more interested in Aliena. When she leaned forward over the board, the neck of her tunic bowed out, and he could see the tops of her breasts. They were as large as he had imagined. His mouth went dry.\n\nRichard moved a counter on the board, and Aliena said: \"No, you can't do that.\"\n\nThe boy was put out. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because it's against the rules, stupid.\"\n\n\"I don't like the rules,\" Richard said petulantly.\n\nAliena flared up. \"You have to obey the rules!\"\n\n\"Why do I?\"\n\n\"You just do, that's why!\"\n\n\"Well, I don't,\" he said, and he tipped the board off the bench onto the floor, sending the counters flying.\n\nQuick as a flash, Aliena slapped his face.\n\nHe cried out, his pride as well as his face stung. \"You\u2014\" He hesitated. \"You devil-fucker,\" he shouted. He turned and ran away\u2014but after three steps he cannoned into William.\n\nWilliam picked him up by one arm and held him in midair. \"Don't let the priest hear you call your sister such names,\" he said.\n\nRichard wriggled and squealed. \"You're hurting me\u2014let me go!\"\n\nWilliam held him a little longer. Richard stopped struggling and began to cry. William put him down, and he ran off in tears.\n\nAliena was staring at William, her game forgotten, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. \"Why are you here?\" she said. Her voice was low and calm, the voice of an older person.\n\nWilliam sat on the bench, feeling rather pleased about the masterful way he had dealt with Richard. \"I've come to see you,\" he said.\n\nA wary look came over her face. \"Why?\"\n\nWilliam positioned himself so that he could watch the staircase. He saw, coming down into the hall, a man in his forties dressed like a high-ranking servant, in a round cap and a short tunic of fine cloth. The servant gestured to someone, and a knight and a man-at-arms went up the stairs together. William looked at Aliena again. \"I want to talk to you.\"\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"About you and me.\" Over her shoulder he saw the servant approaching them. There was something a little effeminate about the man's walk. In one hand he carried a loaf of sugar, dirty-brown in color and cone-shaped. In his other hand was a twisted root that looked like ginger. The man was obviously the household steward, and he had been to the spice safe, a locked cupboard in the earl's bedroom, for the day's supplies of precious ingredients, which he was now taking to the cook: sugar to sweeten a crab-apple tart, perhaps, and ginger to flavor lampreys.\n\nAliena followed William's gaze. \"Oh, hello, Matthew.\"\n\nThe steward smiled and broke off a piece of sugar for her. William had a feeling that Matthew was very fond of Aliena. Something in her demeanor must have told him that she was uncomfortable, for his smile turned to a concerned frown and he said: \"Is everything all right?\" His voice was soft.\n\n\"Yes, thank you.\"\n\nMatthew looked at William and his face registered surprise. \"Young William Hamleigh, isn't it?\"\n\nWilliam was embarrassed to be recognized, even though it was inevitable. \"Keep your sugar for the children,\" he said, although he had not been offered any. \"I don't care for it.\"\n\n\"Very well, lord.\" Matthew's look said that he had not got where he was today by making trouble for the sons of the gentry. He turned back to Aliena. \"Your father brought back some wonderful soft silk\u2014I'll show you later.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said.\n\nMatthew went away.\n\nWilliam said: \"Effeminate fool.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Why were you so rude to him?\"\n\n\"I don't let servants call me 'Young William.' \" This was not a good way to begin wooing a lady. William realized with a sinking feeling that he had got off to a bad start. He had to be charming. He smiled and said: \"If you were my wife, my servants would call you lady.\"\n\n\"Did you come here to talk about marriage?\" she said, and William thought he detected a note of incredulity in her voice.\n\n\"You don't know me,\" William said in a tone of protest. He was failing to keep this conversation under control, he realized miserably. He had planned a little small talk before getting down to business, but she was so direct and candid that he was forced to blurt out his message. \"You misjudged me. I don't know what I did, last time we met, to make you dislike me; but whatever your reason, you were too hasty.\"\n\nShe looked away, considering her reply. Behind her, William saw the knight and the man-at-arms come down the stairs and go out through the door, looking purposeful. A moment later a man in clerical robes\u2014presumably the earl's secretary\u2014appeared from above and beckoned. Two knights got up and went upstairs: Ralph of Lyme, flashing the red lining of his cloak, and an older man with a bald head. Clearly the men waiting in the hall were seeing the earl, in ones and twos, in his chamber. But why?\n\n\"After all this time?\" Aliena was saying. She was suppressing some emotion. It might have been anger, but William had a sneaking feeling it was laughter. \"After all the trouble, and anger, and scandal; just when it's dying down at last, now you tell me I made a mistake?\"\n\nWhen she put it that way it did seem a bit implausible, William realized. \"It hasn't died down at all\u2014people are still talking about it, my mother is still furious and my father can't hold his head up in public,\" he said wildly. \"It's not over for us.\"\n\n\"This is all about family honor for you, isn't it?\"\n\nThere was a dangerous note in her voice, but William ignored it. He had just realized what the earl must be doing with all these knights and men-at-arms: he was sending messages. \"Family honor?\" he said distractedly. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"I know I ought to think about honor, and alliances between families, and all that,\" Aliena said. \"But that's not all there is to marriage.\" She seemed to ponder for a moment, then reach a decision. \"Perhaps I should tell you about my mother. She hated my father. My father isn't a bad man, in fact he's a great man, and I love him, but he's dreadfully solemn and strict, and he never understood Mother. She was a happy, lighthearted person who loved to laugh and tell stories and have music, and Father made her miserable.\" There were tears in Aliena's eyes, William noted vaguely, but he was thinking about messages. \"That's why she died\u2014because he wouldn't let her be happy. I know it. And he knows it too, you see. That's why he promised he would never make me marry someone I don't like. Do you understand, now?\"\n\nThose messages are orders, William was thinking; orders to Earl Bartholomew's friends and allies, warning them to get ready to fight. And the messengers are evidence.\n\nHe realized Aliena was staring at him. \"Marry someone you don't like?\" he said, echoing her final words. \"Don't you like me?\"\n\nHer eyes flashed anger. \"You haven't been listening,\" she said. \"You're so self-centered that you can't think about anyone else's feelings for a moment. Last time you came here, what did you do? You talked and talked about yourself and never asked me one question!\"\n\nHer voice had risen to a shout, and when she stopped, William noticed that the men on the other side of the room had fallen silent, listening. He felt embarrassed. \"Not so loud,\" he said to her.\n\nShe took no notice. \"You want to know why I don't like you? All right, I'll tell you. I don't like you because you have no refinement. I don't like you because you can hardly read. I don't like you because you're only interested in your dogs and your horses and your self.\"\n\nGilbert Catface and Jack fitz Guillaume were laughing aloud now. William felt his face reddening. Those men were nobodies, they were knights, and they were laughing at him, the son of Lord Percy Hamleigh. He stood up. \"All right,\" he said urgently, trying to stop Aliena.\n\nIt was no good. \"I don't like you because you're selfish, dull and stupid,\" she yelled. All the knights were laughing now. \"I dislike you, I despise you, I hate you and I loathe you. And that's why I won't marry you!\"\n\nThe knights cheered and applauded. William cringed inside. Their laughter made him feel small, weak and helpless, like a little boy, and when he was a little boy he had been frightened all the time. He turned away from Aliena, fighting to control his facial expression and hide his feelings. He crossed the room as fast as he could without running, while the laughter grew louder. At last he reached the door, flung it open, and stumbled out. He slammed it behind him and ran down the stairs, choking with shame; and the fading sound of their derisive laughter rang in his ears all the way across the muddy courtyard to the gate.\n\nThe path from Earlscastle to Shiring crossed a main road after about a mile. At the crossroads a traveler could turn north, for Gloucester and the Welsh border, or south, for Winchester and the coast. William and Walter turned south.\n\nWilliam's anguish had turned to rage. He was too furious to speak. He wanted to hurt Aliena and kill all those knights. He would have liked to thrust his sword into each laughing mouth and drive it down each throat. And he had thought of a way to avenge himself on at least one of them. If it worked, he would get the proof he needed at the same time. The prospect gave him savage consolation.\n\nFirst he had to catch one of them. As soon as the road ran into woodland, William dismounted and began to walk, leading his horse. Walter followed in silence, respecting his mood. William came to a narrower stretch of track and stopped. He turned to Walter and said: \"Who's better with a knife, you or me?\"\n\n\"Fighting at close quarters, I'm better,\" Walter said guardedly. \"But you throw more accurately, lord.\" They all called him lord when he was angry.\n\n\"I suppose you can trip a bolting horse, and make him fall?\" William said.\n\n\"Yes, with a good stout pole.\"\n\n\"Go and find a small tree, then, and pull it up and trim it; then you'll have a good stout pole.\"\n\nWalter went off.\n\nWilliam led the two horses through the woods and tied them up in a clearing a good way from the road. He took off their saddles and removed some of the cords and straps from the tack\u2014enough to bind a man hand and foot, with a little over. His plan was crude, but there was no time to devise something more elaborate, so he would have to hope for the best.\n\nOn his way back to the road he found a stout piece of oak deadfall, dry and hard, to use as a club.\n\nWalter was waiting with his pole. William selected the place where the groom would lie in wait, behind the broad trunk of a beech tree that grew close to the path. \"Don't shove the pole out too soon, or the horse will jump over it,\" he cautioned. \"But don't leave it too late, because you can't trip him by his back legs. The ideal is to push it between his forelegs. And try to stick the end into the ground so he doesn't kick it aside.\"\n\nWalter nodded. \"I've seen this done before.\"\n\nWilliam walked about thirty yards back toward Earlscastle. His role would be to make sure the horse bolted, so that it would be going too fast to avoid Walter's pole. He hid himself as close to the road as he could. Sooner or later one of Earl Bartholomew's messengers would come along. William hoped it would be soon. He was anxious about whether this was going to work, and he was impatient to get it over with.\n\nThose knights had no idea, while they were laughing at me, that I was spying on them, he thought, and it soothed him a little. But one of them is about to find out. And then he'll be sorry he laughed. Then he'll wish he had gone down on his knees and kissed my boots, instead of laughing. He's going to weep and beg and plead with me to forgive him, and I'm just going to hurt him all the more.\n\nHe had other consolations. If his plan worked out, it might ultimately bring about the downfall of Earl Bartholomew and the resurrection of the Hamleighs. Then all those who had snickered at the canceled wedding would tremble in fear, and some of them would suffer more than fear.\n\nThe downfall of Bartholomew would also be the downfall of Aliena, and that was the best part. Her swollen pride and her superior manner would have to change after her father had been hanged as a traitor. If she wanted soft silk and sugar cones then, she would have to marry William to get them. He imagined her, humble and contrite, bringing him a hot pastry from the kitchen, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, eager to please him, hoping for a caress, her soft mouth slightly open, begging to be kissed.\n\nHis fantasy was disturbed by hoofbeats on the winter-hard mud of the road. He drew his knife and hefted it, reminding himself of its weight and balance. At the point, it was sharpened on both sides, for better penetration. He stood upright, flattened his back against the tree that concealed him, held the knife by the blade, and waited, hardly breathing. He was nervous. He was afraid he might miss with the knife, or the horse might not fall, or the rider might kill Walter with a lucky stroke, so that William would have to fight him alone.... Something bothered him about the hoofbeats as they came closer. He saw Walter peering at him through the vegetation with a worried frown: he had heard it too. Then William realized what it was. There was more than one horse. He had to make a quick decision. Would they attack two people? That might be too much like a fair fight. He decided to let them go, and wait for a lone rider. It was disappointing, but this was the wisest course. He waved a hand at Walter in a wiping-out gesture. Walter nodded understanding and sank back under cover.\n\nA moment later two horses came into view. William saw a flash of red silk: Ralph of Lyme. Then he saw the bald head of Ralph's companion. The two men trotted past and disappeared from view.\n\nDespite the sense of anticlimax, William was gratified to have confirmation of his theory that the earl was sending these men out on errands. However, he wondered anxiously whether Bartholomew might have a policy of sending them in pairs. It would be a natural precaution. Everyone traveled in groups when possible, for safety. On the other hand, Bartholomew had a lot of messages and a limited number of men, and he might see it as an extravagance to use two knights to take one message. Furthermore, the knights were violent men who could be relied upon to give the average outlaw a hard fight\u2014a fight from which the outlaw would gain little, because a knight did not have much worth stealing, other than his sword, which was hard to sell without answering awkward questions, and his horse, which was liable to be crippled in the ambush. A knight was safer than most people in the forest.\n\nWilliam scratched his head with the hilt of his knife. It could go either way.\n\nHe settled down to wait. The forest was quiet. A feeble winter sun came out, shone fitfully through the dense greenery for a while, and then disappeared. William's belly reminded him that it was past dinnertime. A deer crossed the path a few yards away, unaware that she was watched by a hungry man. William became impatient.\n\nIf another pair of riders came along, he decided, he would have to attack. It was risky, but he had the advantage of surprise, and he had Walter, who was a formidable fighter. Besides, it might be his last chance. He knew he could get killed, and he was afraid, but that might be better than living on in constant humiliation. At least it was an honorable end to die in a fight.\n\nWhat would be best of all, he thought, would be for Aliena to appear, all alone, cantering on a white pony. She would come crashing off the horse, bruising her arms and legs, and tumble into a bramble thicket. The thorns would scratch her soft skin, drawing blood. William would jump on top of her and pin her to the ground. She would be mortified.\n\nHe played with that idea, elaborating her injuries, relishing the way her chest heaved up and down as he sat astride her, and imagining the expression of abject terror on her face when she realized she was completely in his power; and then he heard hoofbeats again.\n\nThis time there was only one horse.\n\nHe straightened up, took out his knife, pressed his back against the tree, and listened again.\n\nIt was a good, fast horse, not a war-horse but probably a solid courser. It was carrying a moderate weight, such as a man with no armor, and coming at a steady all-day trot, not even breathing hard. William caught Walter's eye and nodded: this was the one, here was the evidence. He raised his right arm, holding the knife by the tip of the blade.\n\nIn the distance, William's own horse whinnied.\n\nThe sound carried clearly through the still forest and was perfectly audible over the light tattoo of the approaching horse. The horse heard it, and broke its stride. Its rider said \"Whoa,\" and slowed it to a walk. William cursed under his breath. The rider would be wary now, and that would make everything more difficult. Too late, William wished he had taken his own horse farther away.\n\nHe could not tell how far away the approaching horse was now that it was walking. Everything was going wrong. He resisted the temptation to look out from behind his tree. He listened hard, taut with strain. Suddenly he heard the horse snort, shockingly close, and then it appeared a yard from where he stood. It saw him a moment after he saw it. It shied, and the rider let out a grunt of surprise.\n\nWilliam cursed. He realized instantly that the horse might turn and bolt the wrong way. He ducked back behind the tree and came out on the other side, behind the horse, with his throwing arm raised. He caught a glimpse of the rider, bearded and frowning as he tugged at the reins: it was tough old Gilbert Catface. William threw the knife.\n\nIt was a perfect throw. The knife struck the horse's rump pointfirst and sank an inch or more into its flesh.\n\nThe horse seemed to start, as a man does when shocked; then, before Gilbert could react, it broke into a panic-stricken gallop and took off at top speed\u2014heading straight for Walter's ambush.\n\nWilliam ran after it. The horse covered the distance to where Walter was in a few moments. Gilbert was making no effort to control his mount\u2014he was too busy trying to stay in the saddle. They drew level with Walter's position, and William thought: Now, Walter, now!\n\nWalter timed his move so finely that William never actually saw the pole shoot out from behind the tree. He just saw the horse's forelegs crumple, as if all the strength had left them suddenly. Then its hind legs seemed to catch up with its forelegs, so that they all became entangled. Finally its head went down, its hindquarters went up, and it fell heavily.\n\nGilbert flew through the air. Going after him, William was brought up short by the fallen horse.\n\nGilbert landed well, rolled over and got to his knees, For a moment William was afraid he might run off and escape. Then Walter came out of the undergrowth, launched himself through the air, and cannoned into Gilbert's back, knocking him flat.\n\nBoth men hit the ground hard. They recovered their balance at the same time, and William saw to his horror that the wily Gilbert had come up with a knife in his hand. William leaped over the fallen horse and swung the oak club at Gilbert just as Gilbert raised his knife. The club hit the side of Gilbert's head.\n\nGilbert staggered but got to his feet. William damned him for being so tough. William drew back the club for another swing but Gilbert was faster, and lunged at William with the knife. William was dressed for courting, not fighting, and the sharp blade sliced through his fine wool cloak; but he jumped back quickly enough to save his skin. Gilbert continued coming at him, keeping him off balance so that he could not wield the club. Each time Gilbert lunged, William jumped back; but William never had quite enough time to recover, and Gilbert rapidly closed on him. Suddenly William was afraid for his life. Then Walter came up behind Gilbert and kicked his legs from under him.\n\nWilliam sagged with relief. For a moment there he had thought he was going to die. He thanked God for Walter.\n\nGilbert tried to get up but Walter kicked him in the face. William hit him with the club twice for good measure, and after that Gilbert lay still.\n\nThey rolled him onto his front, and Walter sat on his head while William tied his hands behind his back. Then William took off Gilbert's long black boots and bound his bare ankles together with a strong piece of leather harness.\n\nHe stood up. He grinned at Walter, and Walter smiled. It was a relief to have this slippery old fighter securely tied up.\n\nThe next step was to make Gilbert confess.\n\nHe was coming round. Walter turned him over. When Gilbert saw William he registered recognition, then surprise, then fear. William was gratified. Gilbert was already regretting his laughter, William thought. In a while he was going to regret it even more.\n\nGilbert's horse was on its feet, remarkably. It had run a few yards off, but had stopped and was now looking back, breathing hard and starting every time the wind rustled in the trees. William's knife had fallen out of its rump. William picked up his knife and Walter went to catch the horse.\n\nWilliam was listening for the sound of riders. Another messenger might come along at any moment. If that happened Gilbert would have to be dragged out of sight and kept quiet. But no riders came, and Walter was able to catch Gilbert's horse without too much difficulty.\n\nThey slung Gilbert across the back of his horse, then led it through the forest to where William had left their own mounts. The other horses became agitated when they smelled the blood seeping from the wound in Gilbert's horse's rump, so William tethered it a little way off.\n\nHe looked around for a tree suitable to his purpose. He located an elm with a stout branch protruding at a height of eight or nine feet off the ground. He pointed it out to Walter. \"I want to suspend Gilbert from this bough,\" he said.\n\nWalter grinned sadistically. \"What are you going to do to him, lord?\"\n\n\"You'll see.\"\n\nGilbert's leathery face was white with fear. William passed a rope under the man's armpits, tied it behind his back, and looped it over the branch.\n\n\"Lift him,\" he said to Walter.\n\nWalter hoisted Gilbert. Gilbert wriggled and got free of Walter's grasp, falling on the ground. Walter picked up William's club and beat Gilbert about the head until he was groggy, then picked him up again. William threw the loose end of the rope over the branch several times and pulled it tight. Walter released Gilbert and he swung gently from the branch with his feet a yard off the ground.\n\n\"Collect some firewood,\" William said.\n\nThey built a fire under Gilbert, and William lit it with a spark from a flint. After a few moments the flames began to rise. The heat brought Gilbert out of his daze.\n\nWhen he realized what was happening to him he began to moan in terror. \"Please,\" he said. \"Please let me down. I'm sorry I laughed at you, please have mercy.\"\n\nWilliam was silent. Gilbert's groveling was very satisfying, but it was not what William was after.\n\nWhen the heat began to hurt Gilbert's bare toes, he bent his legs at the knee to take his feet out of the fire. His face was running with sweat, and there was a faint smell of scorching as his clothes got hot. William judged it was time to start the interrogation. He said: \"Why did you go to the castle today?\"\n\nGilbert stared wide-eyed at him. \"To pay my respects,\" he said. \"Does it matter?\"\n\n\"Why did you go to pay your respects?\"\n\n\"The earl has just returned from Normandy.\"\n\n\"You weren't summoned especially?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIt might be true, William reflected. Interrogating a prisoner was not as straightforward as he had imagined. He thought again. \"What did the earl say to you when you went up to his chamber?\"\n\n\"He greeted me, and thanked me for coming to welcome him home.\"\n\nWas there a look of wary comprehension in Gilbert's eyes? William was not sure. He said: \"What else?\"\n\n\"He asked after my family and my village.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Why do you care what he said?\"\n\n\"What did he say to you about King Stephen and the Empress Maud?\"\n\n\"Nothing, I tell you!\"\n\nGilbert could not keep his knees bent any longer, and his feet fell back into the growing flames. After a second, a yell of agony burst from him, and his body convulsed. The spasm took his feet out of the flames momentarily. He realized then that he could ease the pain by swinging to and fro. With each swing, however, he passed through the flames and cried out again.\n\nOnce more William wondered whether Gilbert might be telling the truth. There was no way of knowing. At some point, presumably, he would be in so much agony that he would say whatever he thought William wanted him to say, in a desperate attempt to get some relief; so it was important not to give him too clear an idea of what was wanted, William thought worriedly. Who would have thought that torturing people could be so difficult?\n\nHe made his voice calm and almost conversational. \"Where are you going now?\"\n\nGilbert screamed in pain and frustration: \"What does it matter?\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Home!\"\n\nThe man was losing his grip. William knew where he lived, and it was north of here. He had been heading in the wrong direction.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" William said again.\n\n\"What do you want from me?\"\n\n\"I know when you're lying,\" William said. \"Just tell me the truth.\" He heard Walter give a low grunt of approval, and he thought: I'm getting better at this. \"Where are you going?\" he said for the fourth time.\n\nGilbert became too exhausted to swing himself anymore. Groaning in pain, he came to a stop over the fire, and once more bent his legs to take his feet out of the flames. But now the fire was burning high enough to singe his knees. William noticed a smell, vaguely familiar but also slightly sickening; and after a moment he realized it was the smell of burning flesh, and it was familiar because it was like the smell of dinner. The skin of Gilbert's legs and feet was turning brown and cracking, the hairs on his shins going black; and fat from his flesh dripped into the fire and sizzled. Watching his agony mesmerized William. Every time Gilbert cried out, William felt a profound thrill. He had the power of pain over a man, and it made him feel good. It was a bit like the way he felt when he got a girl alone, in a place where nobody could hear her protest, and pinned her to the ground, pulling her skirts up around her waist, and knew that nothing could now stop him from having her.\n\nAlmost reluctantly, he said again: \"Where are you going?\"\n\nIn a voice that was a suppressed scream, Gilbert said: \"To Sherborne.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Cut me down, for the love of Christ Jesus, and I'll tell you everything.\"\n\nWilliam sensed victory within his grasp. It was deeply satisfying. But he was not quite there yet. He said to Walter: \"Just pull his feet out of the fire.\"\n\nWalter grabbed Gilbert's tunic and pulled on it so that his legs were clear of the flames.\n\n\"Now,\" William said.\n\n\"Earl Bartholomew has fifty knights in and around Sherborne,\" Gilbert said in a strangled cry. \"I am to muster them and bring them to Earlscastle.\"\n\nWilliam smiled. All his guesses were proving gratifyingly accurate. \"And what is the earl planning to do with these knights?\"\n\n\"He didn't say.\"\n\nWilliam said to Walter: \"Let him burn a little more.\"\n\n\"No!\" Gilbert screamed. \"I'll tell you!\"\n\nWalter hesitated.\n\n\"Quickly,\" William warned.\n\n\"They are to fight for the Empress Maud, against Stephen,\" Gilbert said at last.\n\nThat was it: that was the proof. William savored his success. \"And when I ask you this in front of my father, will you answer the same?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, yes.\"\n\n\"And when my father asks you in front of the king, will you still tell the truth?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Swear by the cross.\"\n\n\"I swear by the cross, I'll tell the truth!\"\n\n\"Amen,\" William said contentedly, and he began to stamp out the fire.\n\nThey tied Gilbert to his saddle and put his horse on a leading rein, then rode on at a walk. The knight was barely able to stay upright, and William did not want him to die, for he was no use dead, so he tried not to treat him too roughly. Next time they passed a stream he threw cold water over the knight's burned feet. Gilbert screamed in pain, but it probably did him good.\n\nWilliam felt a wonderful sense of triumph mingled with an odd kind of frustration. He had never killed a man, and he wished he could kill Gilbert. Torturing a man without killing him was like stripping a girl naked without raping her. The more he thought about that, the more he felt the need of a woman.\n\nPerhaps when he got home... no, there would be no time. He would have to tell his parents what had happened, and they would want Gilbert to repeat his confession in front of a priest and perhaps some other witnesses; and then they would have to plan the capture of Earl Bartholomew, which would surely have to take place tomorrow, before Bartholomew mustered too many fighting men. And still William had not thought of a way to take that castle by stealth, without a prolonged siege....\n\nHe was thinking with frustration that it might be a long time before he even saw an attractive woman when one appeared on the road ahead.\n\nThere were five people in a group, walking toward William. One of them was a dark-haired woman of about twenty-five years, not exactly a girl, but young enough. As she came closer William became more interested: she was quite beautiful, with dark brown hair that came to a devil's peak on her brow, and deep-set eyes of an intense golden color. She had a trim, lithe figure and smooth tanned skin.\n\n\"Stay back,\" William said to Walter. \"Keep the knight behind you while I talk to them.\"\n\nThe group stopped and looked warily at him. They were a family, obviously: there was a tall man who was presumably the husband, a lad who was full-grown but not yet bearded, and a couple of sprats. The man looked familiar, William realized with a start. \"Do I know you?\" he said.\n\n\"I know you,\" the man said. \"And I know your horse, for together you almost killed my daughter.\"\n\nIt began to come back to William. His horse had not touched the child, but it had been close. \"You were building my house,\" he said. \"And when I dismissed you, you demanded payment, and almost threatened me.\"\n\nThe man looked defiant, and did not deny it.\n\n\"You're not so cocky now,\" William said with a sneer. The whole family appeared to be starving. It was turning out to be a good day for settling accounts with people who had offended William Hamleigh. \"Are you hungry?\"\n\n\"Yes, we're hungry,\" said the builder in a tone of sullen anger.\n\nWilliam looked again at the woman. She stood with her feet a little apart and her chin up, staring at him fearlessly. He had been inflamed by Aliena and now he wanted to slake his lust with this one. She would be lively, he felt sure: she would wriggle and scratch. All the better.\n\n\"You're not married to this girl, are you, builder?\" he said. \"I remember your wife\u2014an ugly cow.\"\n\nThe shadow of pain crossed the builder's face, and he said: \"My wife died.\"\n\n\"And you haven't taken this one to church, have you? You haven't got a penny to pay the priest.\" Behind William, Walter coughed and the horses moved impatiently. \"Suppose I give you money for food,\" William said to the builder, to tantalize him.\n\n\"I'll accept it gratefully,\" the man said, although William could tell it hurt him to be subservient.\n\n\"I'm not talking about a gift. I'll buy your woman.\"\n\nThe woman herself spoke. \"I'm not for sale, boy.\"\n\nHer scorn was well directed, and William was angered. I'll show you whether I'm a man or a boy, he thought, when I get you alone. He spoke to the builder. \"I'll give you a pound of silver for her.\"\n\n\"She's not for sale.\"\n\nWilliam's anger grew. It was infuriating to offer a fortune to a starving man and be turned down. He said: \"You fool, if you don't take the money I'll run you through with my sword and fuck her in front of the children!\"\n\nThe builder's arm moved under his cloak. He must have some kind of weapon, William thought. He was also very big, and although he was as thin as a knife he might put up a mean fight to save his woman. The woman moved her cloak aside and rested her hand on the hilt of a surprisingly long dagger at her belt. The older boy was big enough to cause trouble, too.\n\nWalter spoke in a low but carrying voice. \"Lord, there's no time for this.\"\n\nWilliam nodded reluctantly. He had to get Gilbert back to the Hamleigh manor house. It was too important to delay with a brawl over a woman. He would just have to suffer.\n\nHe looked at the little family of five ragged, hungry people, ready to fight to the finish against two beefy men with horses and swords. He could not understand them. \"All right, then, starve to death,\" he said. He kicked his horse and trotted on, and a few moments later they were out of sight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "When they were a mile or so from the place where they had encountered William Hamleigh, Ellen said: \"Can we slow down now?\"\n\nTom realized he had been setting a fierce pace. He had been frightened: for a moment, back there, it had looked as if he and Alfred would have to fight two armed men on horseback. Tom did not even have a weapon. He had reached under his cloak for his mason's hammer and then remembered, painfully, that he had sold it weeks ago for a sack of oats. He was not sure why William had backed off in the end, but he wanted to put as much distance as possible between them in case the young lord changed his evil little mind.\n\nTom had failed to find work at the palace of the bishop of Kingsbridge and at every other place he had tried. However, there was a quarry in the vicinity of Shiring, and a quarry\u2014unlike a building site\u2014employed as many men in winter as it did in summer. Of course, Tom's usual work was more skilled and better paid than quarrying, but he was a long way past caring about that. He just wanted to feed his family. The quarry at Shiring was owned by Earl Bartholomew, and Tom had been told that the earl could be found at his castle a few miles to the west of the town.\n\nNow that he had Ellen he was even more desperate than before. He knew that she had thrown her lot in with him for love, and had not weighed the consequences carefully. In particular, she did not have a clear idea of how difficult it might be for Tom to get work. She had not really confronted the possibility that they might not survive the winter, and Tom had held back from disillusioning her, for he wanted her to stay with him. But a woman was liable to put her child before everything else, in the end, and Tom was afraid Ellen would leave him.\n\nThey had been together a week: seven days of despair and seven nights of joy. Every morning Tom woke up feeling happy and optimistic. As the day wore on he would get hungry, the children would tire and Ellen would become morose. Some days they got fed\u2014like the time they met the monk with the cheese\u2014and some days they chewed on strips of sun-dried venison from Ellen's reserve. It was like eating deer hide but it was better than nothing, just. But when it got dark they would lie down, cold and miserable, and hold one another close for warmth; then after a while they would start stroking and kissing. At first Tom had always wanted to enter her immediately, but she refused him gently: she wanted to play and kiss much longer. He did it her way and was enchanted. He explored her body boldly, caressing her in places where he had never touched Agnes, her armpits and her ears and the cleft of her buttocks. Some nights they giggled together with their heads beneath their cloaks. At other times they felt very tender. One night when they were alone in the guesthouse of a monastery, and the children were in an exhausted sleep, she was dominant and insistent, commanding him to do things to her, showing him how to excite her with his fingers, and he complied, feeling bemused and inflamed by her shamelessness. When it was all over they would fall into a deep, restful sleep, with the day's fear and anger washed away by love.\n\nIt was now midday. Tom judged that William Hamleigh was far away, so he decided to stop for a rest. They had no food other than the dried venison. However, this morning they had begged some bread at a lonely farmhouse, and the woman had given them some ale in a big wooden bottle with no stopper, and told them to keep the bottle. Ellen had saved half the ale for dinner.\n\nTom sat on the edge of a broad old tree stump and Ellen sat beside him. She took a long draft of the ale and passed it to him. \"Do you want some meat as well?\" she asked.\n\nHe shook his head and drank some ale. He could easily have swallowed it all, but he left some for the children. \"Save the meat,\" he said to Ellen. \"We may get supper at the castle.\"\n\nAlfred put the bottle to his mouth and drained it.\n\nJack looked crestfallen and Martha burst into tears. Alfred gave an odd little grin.\n\nEllen looked at Tom. After a few moments she said: \"You shouldn't let Alfred get away with that.\"\n\nTom shrugged. \"He's bigger than they are\u2014he needs it more.\"\n\n\"He always gets a large share anyway. The little ones must have something.\"\n\n\"It's a waste of time to interfere in children's quarrels,\" Tom said.\n\nEllen's voice became harsh. \"You're saying that Alfred can bully the younger children as much as he likes and you will do nothing about it.\"\n\n\"He doesn't bully them,\" Tom said. \"Children always fight.\"\n\nShe shook her head, seeming bewildered. \"I don't understand you. In every other way you're a kind man. But where Alfred is concerned, you're just blind.\"\n\nShe was exaggerating, Tom felt, but he did not want to displease her, so he said: \"Give the little ones some meat, then.\"\n\nEllen opened her bag. She still looked cross. She cut off a strip of dried venison for Martha and another for Jack. Alfred held out his hand for some, but Ellen ignored him. Tom thought she should have given him some. There was nothing wrong with Alfred. Ellen just did not understand him. He was a big boy, Tom thought proudly, and he had a big appetite and a quick temper, and if that was a sin, then half the adolescent boys in the world were damned.\n\nThey rested for a while and then walked on. Jack and Martha went ahead, still chewing the leathery meat. The two young ones got on well, despite the difference in their ages\u2014Martha was six and Jack was probably eleven or twelve. But Martha thought Jack was utterly fascinating, and Jack seemed to be enjoying the novel experience of having another child to play with. It was a pity that Alfred did not like Jack. This surprised Tom: he would have expected that Jack, who was not yet becoming a man, would be beneath Alfred's contempt; but it was not so. Alfred was the stronger, of course, but little Jack was clever.\n\nTom refused to worry about it. They were just boys. He had too much on his mind to waste time fretting over children's squabbles. Sometimes he wondered secretly whether he would ever get work again. He might go on tramping the roads day after day until one by one they died off: a child found cold and lifeless one frosty morning, another too weak to fight off a fever, Ellen ravished and killed by a passing thug like William Hamleigh, and Tom himself becoming thinner and thinner until one day he was too weak to stand up in the morning, and lay on the forest floor until he slipped into unconsciousness.\n\nEllen would leave him before that happened, of course. She would return to her cave, where there was still a barrel of apples and a sack of nuts, enough to keep two people alive until the spring, but not enough for five. Tom would be heartbroken if she did that.\n\nHe wondered how the baby was. The monks had called him Jonathan. Tom liked the name. It meant a gift from God, according to the monk with the cheese. Tom pictured little Jonathan, red and wrinkled and bald, the way he was born. He would be different now: a week was a long time for a newborn baby. He would be bigger already, and his eyes would open wider. Now he would no longer be oblivious to the world around him: a loud noise would make him jump and a lullaby would soothe him. When he needed to burp, his mouth would curl up at the corners. The monks probably would not know that it was wind, and would take it for a real smile.\n\nTom hoped they were caring for him well. The monk with the cheese had given the impression that they were kindly and capable men. Anyway, they were certainly better able to look after the baby than Tom, who was homeless and penniless. If I ever become master of a really big construction project, and earn forty-eight pence a week plus allowances, I'll give money to that monastery, he thought.\n\nThey emerged from the forest and soon afterward they came within sight of the castle.\n\nTom's spirits lifted, but he repressed his enthusiasm fiercely: he had suffered months of disappointment, and he had learned that the more hopeful he was at the start, the more painful was the rejection at the end.\n\nThey approached the castle on a path through bare fields. Martha and Jack came upon an injured bird, and they all stopped to look. It was a wren, so small that they might easily have missed it. Martha stooped over it, and it hopped away, apparently unable to fly. She caught it and picked it up, cradling the tiny creature in her cupped hands.\n\n\"It's trembling!\" she said. \"I can feel it. It must be frightened.\"\n\nThe bird made no further attempt to escape, but sat still in Martha's hands, its bright eyes gazing at the people all around. Jack said: \"I think it's got a broken wing.\"\n\nAlfred said: \"Let me see.\" He took the bird from her.\n\n\"We could take care of it,\" Martha said. \"Perhaps it will get better.\"\n\n\"No, it won't,\" Alfred said. With a quick motion of his big hands he wrung the bird's neck.\n\nEllen said: \"Oh, for God's sake.\"\n\nMartha burst into tears for the second time that day.\n\nAlfred laughed and dropped the bird on the ground.\n\nJack picked it up. \"Dead,\" he said.\n\nEllen said: \"What is wrong with you, Alfred?\"\n\nTorn said: \"Nothing's wrong with him. The bird was going to die.\"\n\nHe walked on, and the others followed. Ellen was angry with Alfred again, and it made Tom cross. Why make a fuss about a damned wren? Tom remembered what it was like to be fourteen years old, a boy with the body of a man: life was frustrating. Ellen had said Where Alfred is concerned, you're just blind, but she did not understand.\n\nThe wooden bridge that led over the moat to the gatehouse was flimsy and ramshackle, but that was probably how the earl liked it: a bridge was a means of access for attackers, and the more readily it fell down, the safer the castle was. The perimeter walls were of earth with stone towers at intervals. Ahead of them as they crossed the bridge was a stone gatehouse, like two towers with a connecting walkway. Plenty of stonework here, Torn thought; not one of these castles that are all mud and wood. Tomorrow I could be working. He remembered the feel of good tools in his hands, the scrape of the chisel across a block of stone as he squared its sides and smoothed its face, the dry feel of the dust in his nostrils. Tomorrow night my belly may be full\u2014with food I've earned, not begged.\n\nComing closer, he noticed with his mason's eye that the battlements on top of the gatehouse were in bad condition. Some of the big stones had fallen, leaving the parapet quite level in parts. There were also loose stones in the arch of the gateway.\n\nThere were two sentries at the gate, and both looked alert. Perhaps they were expecting trouble. One of them asked Tom his business.\n\n\"Stonemason, hoping to be hired to work in the earl's quarry,\" he replied.\n\n\"Look for the earl's steward,\" the sentry said helpfully. \"His name is Matthew. You'll probably find him in the great hall.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" Tom said. \"What kind of a man is he?\"\n\nThe guard grinned at his colleague and said: \"Not much of a man at all,\" and they both laughed.\n\nTom supposed he would soon find out what that meant. He went in, and Ellen and the children followed. The buildings within the walls were mostly wooden, though some were raised on stone skirtings, and there was one built all of stone that was probably the chapel. As they crossed the compound Tom noticed that the towers around the perimeter all had loose stones and damaged battlements. They crossed the second moat to the upper circle, and stopped at the second gatehouse. Tom told the guard he was looking for Matthew Steward. They all went on into the upper compound and approached the square stone keep. The wooden door at ground level clearly opened into the undercroft. They went up the wooden steps to the hall.\n\nTom saw both the steward and the earl as soon as he went in. He knew who they were by their clothes. Earl Bartholomew wore a long tunic with flared cuffs on the sleeves and embroidery on the hem. Matthew Steward wore a short tunic, in the same style as the one Tom was wearing, but made of a softer cloth, and he had a little round cap. They were near the fireplace, the earl sitting and the steward standing. Tom approached the two men and stood just out of earshot, waiting for them to notice him. Earl Bartholomew was a tall man of over fifty, with white hair and a pale, thin, haughty face. He did not look like a man of generous spirit. The steward was younger. He stood in a way that reminded Tom of the guard's remark: it looked feminine. Tom was not sure what to make of him.\n\nThere were several other people in the hall, but none of them took any notice of Tom. He waited, feeling hopeful and fearful by turns. The earl's conversation with his steward seemed to take forever. At last it ended, and the steward bowed and turned aside. Tom stepped forward with his heart in his mouth. \"Are you Matthew?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"My name is Tom. Master mason. I'm a good craftsman, and my children are starving. I hear you have a quarry.\" He held his breath.\n\n\"We have a quarry, but I don't think we need any more quarrymen,\" Matthew said. He glanced back at the earl, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. \"No,\" Matthew said. \"We can't hire you.\"\n\nIt was the speed of the decision that broke Tom's heart. If people were solemn, and thought hard about it, and rejected him regretfully, he could bear it more easily. Matthew was not a cruel man, Tom could tell, but he was busy, and Tom and his starving family were just another item to be disposed of as quickly as possible.\n\nTom said desperately: \"I could do some repairs here at the castle.\"\n\n\"We have a wright who does all that kind of work for us,\" Matthew said.\n\nA wright was a jack-of-all-trades, usually trained as a carpenter. \"I'm a mason,\" Tom said. \"My walls are strong.\"\n\nMatthew was annoyed with him for arguing, and seemed about to say something angry; then he looked at the children and his face softened again. \"I'd like to give you work, but we don't need you.\"\n\nTom nodded. He should now humbly accept what the steward had said, put on a pitiful look, and beg for a meal and a place to sleep for one night. But Ellen was with him, and he was afraid she would leave, so he gave it one more try. He said in a voice loud enough for the earl to hear: \"I just hope you're not expecting to do battle soon.\"\n\nThe effect was much more dramatic than he had expected. Matthew gave a start, and the earl got to his feet and said sharply: \"Why do you say that?\"\n\nTom perceived he had touched a nerve. \"Because your defenses are in bad repair,\" he said.\n\n\"In what way?\" the earl said. \"Be specific, man!\"\n\nTom took a deep breath. The earl was irritated but attentive. Tom would not get another chance after this. \"The mortar in the gatehouse walls has come away in places. This leaves an opening for a crowbar. An enemy could easily pry out a stone or two; and once there's a hole it's easy to pull the wall down. Also\"\u2014he hurried on breathlessly, before anyone could comment or argue\u2014\"also, all your battlements are damaged. They're level in places. This leaves your archers and knights unprotected from\u2014\"\n\n\"I know what battlements are for,\" the earl interrupted tetchily. \"Anything else?\"\n\n\"Yes. The keep has an undercroft with a wooden door. If I were attacking the keep I'd go through that door and start a fire in the stores.\"\n\n\"And if you were the earl, how would you prevent that?\"\n\n\"I'd have a pile of stones, ready shaped, and a supply of sand and lime for mortar, and a mason standing by ready to block up that doorway in times of danger.\"\n\nEarl Bartholomew stared at Tom. His pale blue eyes were narrowed and there was a frown on his white forehead. Tom could not read his expression. Was he angry with Tom for being so critical of the castle defenses? You could never tell how a lord would react to criticism. By and large it was best to let them make their own mistakes. But Tom was a desperate man.\n\nAt last the earl seemed to reach a conclusion. He turned to Matthew and said: \"Hire this man.\"\n\nA whoop of jubilation rose in Tom's throat and he had to choke it back. He could hardly believe it. He looked at Ellen and they both smiled happily. Martha, who did not suffer from adult inhibitions, shouted: \"Horray!\"\n\nEarl Bartholomew turned away and spoke to a knight standing nearby. Matthew smiled at Tom. \"Have you had dinner today?\" he said.\n\nTom swallowed. He was so happy he felt close to tears. \"No, we haven't.\"\n\n\"I'll take you to the kitchen.\"\n\nEagerly, they followed the steward out of the hall and across the bridge to the lower compound. The kitchen was a large wood building with a stone skirting. Matthew told them to wait outside. There was a sweet smell in the air: they were baking pastries in there. Tom's belly rumbled and his mouth watered so much it hurt. After a moment Matthew emerged with a big pot of ale and handed it to Tom. \"They'll bring out some bread and cold bacon in a moment,\" he said. He left them.\n\nTom took a swallow of the ale and passed the pot to Ellen. She gave some to Martha, then took a drink herself and passed it to Jack. Alfred made a grab for it before Jack could drink. Jack turned away, keeping the pot out of Alfred's reach. Tom did not want another quarrel between the children, not now when everything had turned out all right at last. He was about to intervene\u2014thereby breaking his own rule about interference in children's squabbles\u2014when Jack turned around again and meekly handed the pot to Alfred.\n\nAlfred put the pot to his mouth and began to drink. Tom had only taken a swallow, and he thought the pot would come around to him again; but Alfred looked set to drain it. Then a strange thing happened. As Alfred upended the pot to drink the last of the ale, something like a small animal fell out onto his face.\n\nAlfred gave a frightened yell and dropped the pot. He brushed the furry thing off his face, jumping back. \"What is it?\" he screeched. The thing fell to the floor. He stared down at it, white-faced and trembling with disgust.\n\nThey all looked. It was the dead wren.\n\nTom caught Ellen's eye, and they both looked at Jack. Jack had taken the pot from Ellen, then turned his back for a moment, as if trying to evade Alfred, then handed the pot to Alfred with surprising willingness....\n\nNow he stood quietly, looking at the horrified Alfred with a faint smile of satisfaction on his clever young-old face.\n\nJack knew he would suffer for that.\n\nAlfred would take his revenge somehow. When the others were not looking, Alfred would punch him in the stomach, perhaps. This was a favorite blow, for it was very painful but left no marks. Jack had seen him do it to Martha several times.\n\nBut it had been worth a punch in the stomach just to see the shock and fear on Alfred's face when the dead bird fell out of his beer.\n\nAlfred hated Jack. This was a new experience for Jack. His mother had always loved him and no one else had had any feelings for him. There was no apparent reason for Alfred's hostility. He seemed to feel much the same about Martha. He was always pinching her, pulling her hair and tripping her, and he relished any opportunity to spoil something she valued. Jack's mother saw what was going on, and hated it, but Alfred's father seemed to think it was all perfectly normal, even though he himself was a kind and gentle man who obviously loved Martha. The whole thing was baffling, but nonetheless fascinating.\n\nEverything was fascinating. Jack had never had such an exciting time in the whole of his life. Despite Alfred, despite feeling hungry most of the time, despite being hurt by the way his mother constantly paid attention to Tom instead of to him, Jack was spellbound by a constant stream of strange phenomena and new experiences.\n\nThe castle was the latest in a series of wonders. He had heard about castles: in the long winter evenings in the forest, his mother had taught him to recite chansons, narrative poems in French about knights and magicians, most of them thousands of lines long; and castles featured in those stories as places of refuge and romance. Never having seen a castle, he imagined it would be a slightly larger version of the cave in which he lived. The real thing was amazing: it was so big, with so many buildings and such a host of people, all of them so busy\u2014shoeing horses, drawing water, feeding chickens, baking bread, and carrying things, always carrying things, straw for the floors, wood for the fires, sacks of flour, bales of cloth, swords and saddles and suits of mail. Tom told him that the moat and the wall were not natural parts of the landscape, but had actually been dug and built by dozens of men all working together. Jack did not disbelieve Tom, but he found it impossible to imagine how it had been done.\n\nAt the end of the afternoon, when it became too dark to work, all the busy people gravitated to the great hall of the keep. Rushlights were lit and the fire was built higher, and all the dogs came in from the cold. Some of the men and women took boards and trestles from a stack at the side of the room and set up tables in the shape of the letter T, then ranged chairs along the top of the T and benches down the sides. Jack had never seen people working together in large numbers, and he was struck by how much they enjoyed it. They smiled and laughed as they lifted the heavy boards, calling \"Hup!\" and \"To me, to me,\" and \"Down easy, now.\" Jack envied their camaraderie, and wondered whether he might share it one day.\n\nAfter a while everyone sat on the benches. One of the castle servants distributed big wooden bowls and wooden spoons, counting aloud as he gave them out; then he went around again and put a thick slice of stale brown bread in the bottom of each bowl. Another servant brought wooden cups and filled them with ale from a series of big jugs. Jack and Martha and Alfred, all sitting together at the bottom end of the T, got a cup of ale each, so there was nothing to fight over. Jack picked up his cup, but his mother told him to wait for a moment.\n\nWhen the ale had been poured the hall went quiet. Jack waited, fascinated as always, to see what would happen next. After a moment Earl Bartholomew appeared on the staircase that led down from his bedroom. He came down into the hall, followed by Matthew Steward, three or four other well-dressed men, a boy, and the most beautiful creature Jack had ever set eyes upon.\n\nIt was a girl or a woman, he was not sure which. She was dressed in white, and her tunic had amazing flared sleeves which trailed on the ground behind her as she glided down the stairs. Her hair was a mass of dark curls tumbling around her face, and she had dark, dark eyes. Jack realized that this was what the chansons meant when they referred to a beautiful princess in a castle. No wonder the knights all wept when the princess died.\n\nWhen she reached the foot of the stairs Jack saw that she was quite young, just a few years older than himself; but she held her head high and walked to the head of the table like a queen. She sat down beside Earl Bartholomew.\n\n\"Who is she?\" Jack whispered.\n\nMartha replied: \"She must be the earl's daughter.\"\n\n\"What's her name?\"\n\nMartha shrugged, but a dirty-faced girl sitting next to Jack said: \"She's called Aliena. She's wonderful.\"\n\nThe earl raised his cup to Aliena, then looked slowly all around the table, and drank. That was the signal everyone had been waiting for. They all followed suit, raising their cups before drinking.\n\nThe supper was brought in in huge steaming cauldrons. The earl was served first; then his daughter, the boy, and the men with them at the head of the table; then everyone else helped themselves. It was salt fish in a spicy stew. Jack filled his bowl and ate it all, then ate the bread trencher at the bottom of the bowl, soaked with oily soup. In between mouthfuls he watched Aliena, riveted by everything she did, from the dainty way she speared bits of fish on the end of her knife and delicately put them between her white teeth, to the commanding voice in which she called servants and gave them orders. They all seemed to like her. They came quickly when she called, smiled when she spoke, and hurried to do her bidding. The young men around the table looked at her a lot, Jack observed, and some of them showed off when they thought she was looking their way. But she was concerned mainly with the older men with her father, making sure they had enough bread and wine, asking them questions and listening attentively to their answers. Jack wondered what it would be like to have a beautiful princess speak to you, then look at you with big dark eyes while you replied.\n\nAfter supper there was music. Two men and a woman played tunes with sheep bells, a drum, and pipes made from the bones of animals and birds. The earl closed his eyes and seemed to become lost in the music, but Jack did not like the haunting, melancholy tunes they played. He preferred the cheerful songs his mother sang. The other people in the hall seemed to feel the same way, for they fidgeted and shuffled, and there was a general sense of relief when the music ended.\n\nJack was hoping to get a closer look at Aliena, but to his disappointment she left the room after the music, and went up the stairs. She must have her own bedroom on the top floor, he realized.\n\nThe children and some of the adults played chess and ninemen's morris to while away the evening, and the more industrious people made belts, caps, socks, gloves, bowls, whistles, dice, shovels and horsewhips. Jack played several games of chess, winning them all; but a man-at-arms was angry at being defeated by a child and after that Jack's mother made him stop playing. He moved around the hall, listening to the different conversations. Some people talked sensibly, he found, about the fields and the animals, or about bishops and kings, while others only teased one another, and boasted, and told funny stories. He found them all equally intriguing.\n\nEventually the rushlights burned down, the earl retired, and the other sixty or seventy people wrapped their cloaks around them and lay down on the straw-covered floor to sleep.\n\nAs usual, his mother and Tom lay down together, under Tom's big cloak, and she hugged him the way she used to hug Jack when he was small. He watched enviously. He could hear them talking quietly, and his mother gave a low, intimate laugh. After a while their bodies began to move rhythmically under the cloak. The first time he had seen them do this, Jack had been terribly worried, thinking that whatever it was, it must hurt; but they kissed one another while they were doing it, and although sometimes his mother moaned, he could tell it was a moan of pleasure. He was reluctant to ask her about it, he was not sure why. Now, however, as the fire burned lower, he saw another couple doing the same sort of thing, and he was forced to conclude that it must be normal. It was just another mystery, he thought, and soon after that he fell asleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "The children were awake early in the morning, but breakfast could not be served until mass had been said, and mass could not be said until the earl got up, so they had to wait. An early-rising servant conscripted them to bring in firewood for the day. The adults started to wake as the cold morning air came in through the door. When the children had finished bringing in the wood, they met Aliena.\n\nShe came down the stairs, as she had last night, but now she looked different. She wore a short tunic and felt boots. Her massed curls were tied back with a ribbon, showing the graceful line of her jaw, her small ears and her white neck. Her big dark eyes, which had seemed grave and adult last night, now sparkled with fun, and she was smiling. She was followed by the boy who had sat at the head of the table with her and the earl last night. He looked a year or two older than Jack, but he was not full-grown like Alfred. He looked curiously at Jack, Martha and Alfred, but it was the girl who spoke. \"Who are you?\" she said.\n\nAlfred replied. \"My father is the stonemason who's going to repair this castle. I'm Alfred. My sister's name is Martha. That's Jack.\"\n\nWhen she came close Jack could smell lavender, and he was awestruck. How could a person smell of flowers? \"How old are you?\" she said to Alfred.\n\n\"Fourteen.\" Alfred was also overawed by her, Jack could tell. After a moment Alfred blurted: \"How old are you?\"\n\n\"Fifteen. Do you want something to eat?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Come with me.\"\n\nThey all followed her out of the hall and down the steps. Alfred said: \"But they don't serve breakfast before mass.\"\n\n\"They do what I tell them,\" Aliena said with a toss of her head.\n\nShe led them across the bridge to the lower compound and told them to wait outside the kitchen while she went in. Martha whispered to Jack: \"Isn't she pretty?\" He nodded dumbly. A few moments later Aliena came out with a pot of beer and a loaf of wheat bread. She broke the bread into hunks and handed it out, then she passed the pot around.\n\nAfter a while Martha said shyly: \"Where's your mother?\"\n\n\"My mother died,\" Aliena said briskly.\n\n\"Aren't you sad?\" Martha said.\n\n\"I was, but it was a long time ago.\" She indicated the boy beside her with a jerk of her head. \"Richard can't even remember it.\"\n\nRichard must be her brother, Jack concluded.\n\n\"My mother's dead, too,\" Martha said, and tears came to her eyes.\n\n\"When did she die?\" Aliena asked.\n\n\"Last week.\"\n\nAliena did not seem much moved by Martha's tears, Jack observed; unless she was being matter-of-fact to hide her own grief. She said abruptly: \"Well, who's that woman with you then?\"\n\nJack said eagerly. \"That's my mother.\" He was thrilled to have something to say to her.\n\nShe turned to him as if seeing him for the first time. \"Well, where's your father?\"\n\n\"I haven't got one,\" he said. He felt excited just to have her looking at him.\n\n\"Did he die, too?\"\n\n\"No,\" Jack said. \"I never had a father.\"\n\nThere was a moment of silence, then Aliena, Richard and Alfred all burst out laughing. Jack was puzzled, and looked blankly at them; and their laughter increased, until he began to feel mortified. What was so funny about never having had a father? Even Martha was smiling, her tears forgotten.\n\nAlfred said in a jeering tone: \"Where did you come from, then, if you didn't have a father?\"\n\n\"From my mother\u2014all young things come from their mothers,\" Jack said, mystified. \"What have fathers got to do with it?\"\n\nThey all laughed even more. Richard jumped up and down with glee, pointing a mocking finger at Jack. Alfred said to Aliena: \"He doesn't know anything\u2014we found him in the forest.\"\n\nJack's cheeks burned with shame. He had been so happy to be talking to Aliena, and now she thought he was a complete fool, a forest ignoramus; and the worst of it was he still did not know what he had said wrong. He wanted to cry, and that made it worse. The bread stuck in his throat and he could not swallow. He looked at Aliena, her lovely face alive with amusement, and he could not stand it, so he threw his bread on the ground and walked away.\n\nNot caring where he went, he walked until he came to the bank of the castle wall, and scrambled up the steep slope to the top. There he sat down on the cold earth, looking outward, feeling sorry for himself, hating Alfred and Richard and even Martha and Aliena. Princesses were heartless, he decided.\n\nThe bell rang for mass. Religious services were yet another mystery to him. Speaking a language that was neither English nor French, the priests sang and talked to statues, to pictures, and even to beings that were completely invisible. Jack's mother avoided going to services whenever she could. As the inhabitants of the castle made their way to the chapel, Jack scooted over the top of the wall and sat out of sight on the far side.\n\nThe castle was surrounded by flat, bare fields, with woodland in the distance. Two early visitors were walking across the level ground toward the castle. The sky was full of low gray cloud. Jack wondered if it might snow.\n\nTwo more early visitors appeared within Jack's view. These two were on horseback. They rode rapidly to the castle, overtaking the first pair. They walked their horses across the wooden bridge to the gatehouse. All four visitors would have to wait until after mass before they could get on with whatever business brought them here, for everyone attended the service except for the sentries on duty.\n\nA sudden voice close by made Jack jump. \"So there you are.\" It was his mother. He turned to her, and she saw immediately that he was upset. \"What's the matter?\"\n\nHe wanted to take comfort from her, but he hardened his heart and said: \"Did I have a father?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"Everyone has a father.\" She knelt beside him.\n\nHe turned his face away. His humiliation had been her fault, for not telling him about his father. \"What happened to him?\"\n\n\"He died.\"\n\n\"When I was small?\"\n\n\"Before you were born.\"\n\n\"How could he be my father, if he died before I was born?\"\n\n\"Babies grow from a seed. The seed comes out of a man's prick and is planted in a woman's cunny. Then the seed grows into a baby in her belly, and when it's ready it comes out.\"\n\nJack was silent for a moment, digesting this information. He had a suspicion that it was connected with what they did in the night. \"Is Tom going to plant a seed in you?\" he said.\n\n\"Maybe.\"\n\n\"Then you'll have a new baby.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"A brother for you. Would you like that?\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" he said. \"Tom has taken you away from me already. A brother wouldn't make any difference.\"\n\nShe put her arm around him and hugged him. \"Nobody will ever take me away from you,\" she said.\n\nThat made him feel a bit better.\n\nThey sat together for a while, then she said: \"It's cold here. Let's go and sit by the fire until breakfast.\"\n\nHe nodded. They got up and went back over the castle wall, running down the bank into the compound. There was no sign of the four visitors. Perhaps they had gone into the chapel.\n\nAs Jack and his mother walked over the bridge to the upper compound, Jack said: \"What was my father's name?\"\n\n\"Jack, the same as you,\" she said. \"They called him Jack Shareburg.\"\n\nThat pleased him. He had the same name as his father. \"So, if there's another Jack, I can tell people that I'm Jack Jackson.\"\n\n\"You can. People don't always call you what you want them to, but you can try.\"\n\nJack nodded. He felt better. He would think of himself as Jack Jackson. He was not so ashamed now. At least he knew about fathers, and he knew the name of his own. Jack Shareburg.\n\nThey reached the gatehouse of the upper compound. There were no sentries there. Jack's mother stopped, frowning. \"I've got the oddest feeling that something strange is going on,\" she said. Her voice was calm and even, but there was a note of fear that chilled Jack, and he had a premonition of disaster.\n\nHis mother stepped into the small guardroom in the base of the guardhouse. A moment later Jack heard her gasp. He went in behind her. She was standing in an attitude of shock, her hand up to her mouth, staring down at the floor.\n\nThe sentry was lying flat on his back, his arms limp at his sides. His throat was cut, there was a pool of fresh blood on the ground beside him, and he was unquestionably dead."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "William Hamleigh and his father had set off in the middle of the night, with almost a hundred knights and men-at-arms on horseback, and Mother in the rearguard. The torchlit army, their faces muffled against the cold night air, must have terrified the inhabitants of the villages through which they thundered on their way to Earlscastle. They had reached the crossroads while it was still pitch-dark. From there they had walked their horses, to give them a rest and to minimize the noise. As dawn cracked the sky they concealed themselves in the woods across the fields from the castle of Earl Bartholomew.\n\nWilliam had not actually counted the number of fighting men he had seen in the castle\u2014an omission for which Mother had berated him mercilessly, even though, as he had tried to point out, many of the men he saw there were waiting to be sent on errands, and others might have arrived after William left, so a count would not be reliable. But it would have been better than nothing, as Father had said. However, he estimated he had seen about forty men; so if there had been no great change in the few hours since, the Hamleighs would have an advantage of better than two to one.\n\nIt was nowhere near enough to besiege the castle, of course. However, they had devised a plan for taking the castle without a siege. The problem was that the attacking army would be seen by lookouts, and the castle would be closed up long before they arrived. The answer was to find some way to keep the castle open for the time it took the army to get there from its place of concealment in the woods.\n\nIt had been Mother who solved the problem, of course.\n\n\"We need a diversion,\" she had said, scratching a boil on her chin. \"Something to panic them, so that they don't notice the army until it's too late. Like a fire.\"\n\nFather said: \"If a stranger walks in and starts a fire, that will alert them anyway.\"\n\n\"It would have to be done on the sly,\" William said.\n\n\"Of course it would,\" said Mother impatiently. \"You'll have to do it while they're at mass.\"\n\n\"Me?\" William had said.\n\nHe had been put in charge of the advance party.\n\nThe morning sky lightened with painful slowness. William was nervously impatient. During the night, he and Mother and Father had added refinements to the basic idea, but still there was a great deal that could go wrong: the advance party might not get into the castle for some reason, or they might be viewed with suspicion and be unable to act surreptitiously, or they might be caught before they could achieve anything. Even if the plan worked, there would be a battle, William's first real fight. Men would be wounded and killed, and William might be one of the unlucky ones. His bowels tightened with fear. Aliena would be there, and she would know if he were vanquished. On the other hand, she would be there to see it if he triumphed. He pictured himself bursting into her bedroom with a bloody sword in his hand. Then she would wish she had not laughed at him.\n\nFrom the castle came the sound of the bell for morning mass.\n\nWilliam nodded, and two men detached themselves from the group and began to walk across the fields toward the castle. They were Raymond and Ranulf, two hard-faced, hard-muscled men some years older than William. William had picked them himself: his father had given him complete control. Father himself would lead the main assault.\n\nWilliam watched Raymond and Ranulf walk briskly across the frozen fields. Before they reached the castle, he looked at Walter, then kicked his horse, and he and Walter set off across the fields at a trot. The sentries on the battlements would see two separate pairs of people, one on foot and one on horseback, approaching the castle first thing in the morning: it looked perfectly innocent.\n\nWilliam's timing was good. He and Walter passed Raymond and Ranulf about a hundred yards from the castle. At the bridge they dismounted. William's heart was in his mouth. If he messed up this part, the whole attack would be ruined.\n\nThere were two sentries at the gate. William had a nightmarish suspicion that there would be an ambush, and a dozen men-at-arms would spring out of concealment and hack him to pieces. The sentries looked alert but not anxious. They were not wearing armor. William and Walter had chain mail under their cloaks.\n\nWilliam's guts seemed to have turned to water. He could not swallow. One of the sentries recognized him. \"Hello, Lord William,\" he said jovially. \"Come courting again, have you?\"\n\nWilliam said \"Oh, my God,\" in a weak voice, then plunged a dagger into the sentry's belly, jabbing it up under the rib cage to the heart.\n\nThe man gasped, sagged, and opened his mouth as if to scream. A noise could spoil everything. Panicking, not knowing what to do, William pulled out the dagger and stuck it into the man's open mouth, shoving the blade into his throat to shut him up. Instead of a scream, blood flowed out of his mouth. The man's eyes closed. William pulled the dagger out as the man fell to the ground.\n\nWilliam's horse had sidestepped away, frightened by the sudden movements. William caught its bridle, then looked at Walter, who had taken the other sentry. Walter had knifed his man more efficiently, slitting his throat, so that he died in silence. I must remember that, William thought, next time I have to silence a man. Then he thought: I've done it! I've killed a man!\n\nHe realized he was no longer scared.\n\nHe handed his reins to Walter and ran up the spiral staircase to the gatehouse tower. On the upper level was a winding room for pulling up the drawbridge. With his sword, William hacked at the thick hawser. Two blows were sufficient to sever it. He dropped the loose end out of the window. It fell on the bank and slid softly into the moat, hardly making a splash. Now the drawbridge could not be raised against Father's attacking force. This was one of the refinements they had thought of last night.\n\nRaymond and Ranulf arrived at the gatehouse just as William reached the foot of the stairs. Their first job was to wreck the huge ironbound oak gates which closed the arch leading from the bridge into the compound. They each took out a wooden hammer and a chisel and began to chip out the mortar surrounding the mighty iron hinges. The striking of hammer on chisel made a dull thud which sounded terribly loud to William.\n\nWilliam dragged the two dead sentries into the guardroom quickly. With everyone at mass, there was a strong chance the bodies would not be seen until it was too late.\n\nHe took his reins from Walter and the two of them walked out from under the arch and headed across the compound toward the stable. William forced his legs to move at a normal, unhurried pace, and glanced surreptitiously up at the sentries on the watchtowers. Had one of them seen the drawbridge rope fall into the moat? Were they wondering about the sound of hammering? Some of them were looking at William and Walter, but they did not seem agitated, and the hammering, which was already fading in William's ears, must have been inaudible from the tops of the towers. William felt relieved. The plan was working.\n\nThey reached the stables and went inside. They both draped their horses' reins loosely over a bar, so the beasts could escape. Then William took out his flint and scraped a spark, setting fire to the straw on the floor. It was soiled and damp in patches, but nevertheless it began to smolder. He lit three more small fires, and Walter did the same. They stood watching for a moment. The horses caught a whiff of smoke, and moved nervously in the stalls. William stayed a moment longer. The fire was under way, and so was the plan.\n\nHe and Walter left the stable and went out into the open compound. At the gateway, hidden under the arch, Raymond and Ranulf were still chipping away at the mortar around the hinges. William and Walter turned toward the kitchen, to give the impression that they might be going to get something to eat, which would be natural. There was no one else in the compound: everyone was at mass. Casually looking up at the battlements, William observed that the sentries were not looking into the castle, but out across the fields, as of course they were supposed to. Nevertheless William expected someone to emerge from one of the buildings at any moment and challenge them; and then they would have to kill him right here in the open, and if that were seen the game would be up.\n\nThey skirted the kitchen and headed for the bridge leading to the upper compound. They heard the muted sounds of the service as they passed the chapel. Earl Bartholomew was in there, all unsuspecting, William thought with a thrill; he had no idea that there was an army a mile away, four of the enemy were already inside his stronghold, and his stables were on fire. Aliena was in the chapel too, praying on her knees. Soon she'll be on her knees to me, William thought, and the blood pounded in his head giddily.\n\nThey reached the bridge and started across. They had ensured that the first bridge remained passable, by cutting the drawbridge rope and disabling the gate, so that their army could get in. But the earl could still flee across the bridge and take refuge in the upper compound. William's next task was to prevent this by raising the drawbridge to make the second bridge impassable. The earl would then be isolated and vulnerable in the lower compound.\n\nThey reached the second gatehouse and a sentry stepped out of the guardroom. \"You're early,\" he said.\n\nWilliam said: \"We've been summoned to see the earl.\" He approached the sentry, but the man stepped back a pace. William did not want him to back away too far, for if he stepped out from under the arch he would be visible to the sentries on the ramparts of the upper circle.\n\n\"The earl's in chapel,\" the sentry said.\n\n\"We'll have to wait.\" This guard had to be killed quickly and quietly, but William did not know how to get close enough. He glanced at Walter for guidance, but Walter was just waiting patiently, looking imperturbable.\n\n\"There's a fire in the keep,\" the guard said. \"Go and warm yourselves.\" William hesitated, and the guard began to look wary. \"What are you waiting for?\" he said with a trace of irritation.\n\nWilliam cast around desperately for something to say. \"Can we get something to eat?\" he said at last.\n\n\"Not until after mass,\" the sentry said. \"Then they'll serve breakfast in the keep.\"\n\nNow William saw that Walter had been edging imperceptibly to one side. If the guard would only turn a little, Walter could get behind him. William took a few casual steps in the opposite direction, going past the sentry, saying, \"I'm not impressed by your earl's hospitality.\" The sentry was turning. William said: \"We've come a long way\u2014\"\n\nThen Walter pounced.\n\nHe stepped behind the sentry and put his arms over the man's shoulders. With his left hand he jerked the sentry's chin back, and with the knife in his right hand he slit the man's throat. William breathed a sigh of relief. It was done in a moment.\n\nBetween them, William and Walter had killed three men before breakfast. William felt a thrilling sense of power. Nobody will laugh at me after today! he thought.\n\nWalter dragged the body into the guardroom. The plan of this gatehouse was exactly the same as that of the first one, with a spiral staircase up to the winding room. William went up the stairs and Walter followed.\n\nWilliam had not reconnoitered this room when he was at the castle yesterday. He had not thought to, but in any case it would have been hard to think of a plausible pretext. He had assumed that there would be a winding wheel, or at least a reel with a handle, for lifting the drawbridge; but now he saw that there was no winding gear at all, just a rope and a capstan. The only way to lift the drawbridge was to heave on the rope. William and Walter grasped it and pulled together, but the bridge did not even creak. It was a task for ten men.\n\nWilliam was puzzled for a moment. The other drawbridge, the one leading to the castle entrance, had a big wheel. He and Walter could have lifted that one. Then he realized that the outer drawbridge would be raised every night, whereas this one was only lifted in an emergency.\n\nThere was nothing to be gained by pondering over it, anyway. The question was what to do next. If he could not raise the drawbridge, he could at least close the gates, which would certainly delay the earl.\n\nHe ran back down the staircase with Walter close behind. As he reached the foot of the stairs he had a shock. Not everyone was at mass, it seemed. He saw a woman and a child come out of the guardroom.\n\nWilliam's step faltered. He recognized the woman immediately. She was the builder's wife, the one he had tried to buy yesterday for a pound. She saw him, and her penetrating honey-colored eyes looked straight through him. William did not even consider pretending to be an innocent visitor waiting for the earl: he knew she would not be deceived. He had to prevent her from giving the alarm. And the way to do that was to kill her, quickly and silently, as they had killed the sentries.\n\nHer all-seeing eyes read his intentions in his face. She grabbed her child's hand and turned away. William made a grab for her but she was too quick for him. She ran into the compound, heading for the keep. William and Walter ran after her.\n\nShe was very light on her feet, and they were wearing chain mail and carrying heavy weapons. She reached the staircase that led up to the great hall. As she ran up the steps, she screamed. William looked up at the ramparts all around. The scream had alerted at least two sentries. The game was up. William stopped running and stood at the foot of the steps, breathing hard. Walter did the same. Two sentries, then three, then four were running down the ramparts into the compound. The woman disappeared into the keep, still hand in hand with the boy. She was no longer important: now that the sentries had been alerted there was no point in killing her.\n\nHe and Walter drew their swords and stood side by side, ready to fight for their lives.\n\nThe priest was elevating the Host over the altar when Tom realized there was something wrong with the horses. He could hear a lot of neighing and stamping, much more than was normal. A moment later someone interrupted the priest's quiet Latin chant by saying loudly: \"I smell smoke!\"\n\nTom smelled it too, then, and so did everyone else. Tom was taller than the rest and could see out of the chapel windows if he stood on tiptoe. He stepped to the side and looked out. The stables were blazing fiercely.\n\n\"Fire!\" he said, and before he could say any more his voice was drowned by the shouts of the others. There was a rush for the door. The service was forgotten. Tom held Martha back, for fear she would be hurt in the crush, and told Alfred to stay with them. He wondered where Ellen and Jack were.\n\nA moment later there was no one in the chapel but the three of them and an annoyed priest.\n\nTom took the children outside. Some people were releasing the horses to save them from harm, and others were drawing water from the well to throw on the flames. Tom could not see Ellen. The freed horses charged around the compound, terrified by the fire and the running, shouting people. The drumming of hooves was tremendous. Tom listened hard for a moment, and frowned: it was really too tremendous\u2014it sounded more like a hundred horses than twenty or thirty. Suddenly he was struck by a frightening apprehension. \"Stay right here for a moment, Martha,\" he said. \"Alfred, you look after her.\" He ran up the embankment to the top of the ramparts. It was a steep slope, and he had to slow down before he reached the top. At the summit, breathing hard, he looked out.\n\nHis apprehension had been right, and now his heart was seized in the cold grip of fear. An army of horsemen, eighty to a hundred strong, was charging across the brown fields toward the castle. It was a fearsome sight. Tom could see the metallic glint of their chain mail and their drawn swords. The horses were galloping flat out, and a fog of warm breath rose from their nostrils. The riders were hunched in their saddles, grimly purposeful. There was no yelling and screaming, just the deafening thunder of hundreds of pounding hooves.\n\nTom looked back into the castle compound. Why could nobody else hear the army? Because the sound of the hooves was muffled by the castle walls and merged with the noise of panic in the compound. Why had the sentries seen nothing? Because they had all left their posts to fight the fire. This attack had been masterminded by someone clever. Now it was up to Tom to give the alarm.\n\nAnd where was Ellen?\n\nHis eyes raked the compound as the attackers pounded nearer. Much of it was obscured by thick white smoke from the burning stables. He could not see Ellen.\n\nHe spotted Earl Bartholomew, beside the well, trying to organize the carrying of water to the fire. Tom ran down the embankment and rushed across the compound to the well. He grabbed the earl's shoulder, none too gently, and yelled in his ear to make himself heard above the din. \"It's an attack!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We're being attacked!\"\n\nThe earl was thinking about the fire. \"Attacked? Who by?\"\n\n\"Listen!\" Tom yelled. \"A hundred horses!\"\n\nThe earl cocked his head. Tom watched as realization dawned on the pale, aristocratic face. \"You're right\u2014by the cross!\" He suddenly looked afraid. \"Have you seen them?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who\u2014Never mind who! A hundred horses?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014\"\n\n\"Peter! Ralph!\" The earl turned from Tom and summoned his lieutenants. \"It's a raid\u2014this fire is a diversion\u2014we're under attack!\" Like the earl, they were at first uncomprehending, then they listened, and finally they showed fear. The earl yelled: \"Tell the men to get their swords\u2014hurry, hurry!\" He turned back to Tom. \"Come with me, stonemason\u2014you're strong, we can close the gates.\" He ran off across the compound and Tom followed him. If they could close the gates and raise the drawbridge in time, they could hold off a hundred men.\n\nThey reached the gatehouse. They could see the army through the arch. It was less than a mile away now, and spreading out, Tom observed, the faster horses in front and the stragglers behind. \"Look at the gates!\" the earl yelled.\n\nTom looked. The two great iron-banded oak gates lay flat on the ground. Their hinges had been chiseled out of the wall, he could see. Some of the enemy had been here earlier, he thought. His stomach churned with fear.\n\nHe looked back into the compound, still searching for Ellen. He could not see her. What had become of her? Anything could happen now. He needed to be with her and protect her.\n\n\"The drawbridge!\" said the earl.\n\nThe best way to protect Ellen was to keep the attackers out, Tom realized. The earl ran up the spiral staircase that led to the winding room, and with an effort Tom made himself follow. If they could lift the drawbridge, a few men could hold the gatehouse. But when he reached the winding room his heart sank. The rope had been cut. There was no way to lift the drawbridge.\n\nEarl Bartholomew cursed bitterly. \"Whoever planned this is as cunning as Lucifer,\" he said.\n\nIt struck Tom that whoever had wrecked the gates, cut the drawbridge rope and started the fire must still be inside the castle somewhere, and he looked around fearfully, wondering where the intruders might be.\n\nThe earl glanced out of an arrow-slit window. \"Dear God, they're almost here.\" He ran down the stairs.\n\nTom was close on his heels. In the gateway, several knights were hastily buckling their sword belts and putting on helmets. Earl Bartholomew started to give orders. \"Ralph and John\u2014drive some loose horses across the bridge to get in the enemy's way. Richard\u2014Peter\u2014Robin\u2014get some others and make a stand here.\" The gateway was narrow, and a few men could hold off the attackers for a little while at least. \"You\u2014stonemason\u2014get the servants and children across the bridge to the upper compound.\"\n\nTom was glad to have an excuse to look for Ellen. He ran to the chapel first. Alfred and Martha were where he had left them a few moments earlier, looking scared. \"Go to the keep,\" he shouted to them. \"Any other children or women you pass, tell them to go with you\u2014orders of the earl. Run!\" They ran off immediately.\n\nTom looked around. He would follow them soon: he was determined not to get caught in the lower compound. But he had a few moments to spare in which he could carry out the earl's order. He ran to the stable, where people were still throwing buckets of water over the flames. \"Forget the fire, the castle is being attacked,\" he yelled. \"Take your children to the keep.\"\n\nSmoke got in his eyes and his vision blurred with tears. He rubbed his eyes and ran to a small crowd who were standing watching the fire consume the stables. He repeated his message to them, and to a group of stable hands who had rounded up some of the loose horses. Ellen was nowhere to be seen.\n\nThe smoke made him cough. Choking, he ran back across the compound to the bridge that led to the upper circle. He paused there, gasping for air, and looked back. People were streaming across the bridge. He was almost sure that Ellen and Jack must have gone to the keep already, but he was terrified that he might have missed them. He could see a tightly packed knot of knights engaged in fierce hand-to-hand fighting at the lower gatehouse. Otherwise there was nothing to see but smoke. Suddenly Earl Bartholomew appeared at his side, with blood on his sword and tears on his face from the smoke. \"Save yourself!\" the earl shouted at Tom. At that moment the attackers burst through the arch of the lower gatehouse, scattering the defending knights. Tom turned and ran across the bridge.\n\nFifteen or twenty of the earl's men stood at the second gatehouse, ready to defend the upper compound. They parted to let Tom and the earl through. As their ranks closed again, Tom heard hooves hammering on the wooden bridge behind him. The defenders had no chance now. At the back of his mind Tom realized that this had been a cleverly planned and perfectly executed raid. But his main thought was fear for Ellen and the children. A hundred bloodthirsty armed men were about to burst in on them. He ran across the upper compound to the keep.\n\nHalfway up the wooden steps leading to the great hall he glanced back. The defenders of the second gatehouse were overcome almost immediately by the charging horsemen. Earl Bartholomew was on the steps behind Tom. There was just time for them both to get into the keep and lift the staircase inside. Tom ran the rest of the way up the steps and leaped into the hall\u2014and then he saw that the attackers had been cleverer yet.\n\nThe attackers' advance party, who had wrecked the gates, and cut the rope of the drawbridge, and set fire to the stables, had performed one more task: they had come to the keep and ambushed all who took refuge there.\n\nThey were now standing just inside the great hall, four grimfaced men in chain mail. All around them were the bleeding bodies of dead and wounded knights of the earl's, who had been slaughtered as they stepped inside. And the leader of the advance party, Tom saw with a shock, was William Hamleigh.\n\nTom stared, stunned by surprise. William's eyes were wide with bloodlust. Tom thought William was going to kill him, but before he had time to be scared, one of William's henchmen seized Tom's arm, pulled him inside and shoved him out of the way.\n\nSo it was the Hamleighs who were attacking Earl Bartholomew's castle. But why?\n\nAll the servants and children were in a frightened huddle on the far side of the hall. Only the armed men were being killed, then. Tom scanned the faces in the hall, and, to his overwhelming relief and gratitude, he saw Alfred, Martha, Ellen and Jack, all in a group, looking terrified but alive and apparently unhurt.\n\nBefore he could go to them a fight started in the doorway. Earl Bartholomew and two knights charged in and were ambushed by the waiting Hamleigh knights. One of the earl's men was struck down immediately, but the other protected the earl with his raised sword. Several more of Bartholomew's knights came in behind the earl, and suddenly there was a tremendous skirmish at close quarters, with knives and fists being used because there was no room to deploy a long sword. For a moment it looked as if the earl's men would overcome William's; then some of Bartholomew's men turned and began to defend themselves from behind: clearly the attacking army had penetrated the upper compound and was now mounting the steps and attacking the keep.\n\nA powerful voice bellowed: \"HOLD!\"\n\nThe men on both sides took defensive positions, and the fighting stopped.\n\nThe same voice called: \"Bartholomew of Shiring, will you surrender?\"\n\nTom saw the earl turn and look out through the door. Knights stepped aside to get out of his line of vision. \"Hamleigh,\" the earl murmured in a quietly incredulous tone. Then he raised his voice and said: \"Will you leave my family and servants unharmed?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Will you swear it?\"\n\n\"I swear it, by the cross, if you surrender.\"\n\n\"I surrender,\" said Earl Bartholomew.\n\nThere was a great cheer from outside.\n\nTom turned away. Martha ran across the room to him. He picked her up, then embraced Ellen.\n\n\"We're safe,\" Ellen said with tears in her eyes. \"All of us\u2014all safe.\"\n\n\"Safe,\" said Tom bitterly, \"but destitute again.\"\n\nWilliam stopped cheering suddenly. He was the son of Lord Percy, and it was undignified for him to yell and whoop like the men-at-arms. He composed his face in an expression of lordly satisfaction.\n\nThey had won. He had carried out the plan, not without some setbacks, but it had worked, and the attack had succeeded largely because of his advance work. He had lost count of the men he had killed and maimed, yet he was unharmed. He was struck by a thought: there was a lot of blood on his face for one who was uninjured. When he wiped it away, more came. It must be his own. He put his hand to his face, then to his head. Some of his hair had gone, and when he touched his scalp it hurt like fire. He had not been wearing a helmet, for that would have looked suspicious. Now that he was aware of the wound it started to hurt. He did not mind. An injury was a badge of courage.\n\nHis father came up the steps and confronted Earl Bartholomew in the doorway. Bartholomew held out his sword, hilt first, in a gesture of surrender. Percy took it, and his men cheered again.\n\nAs the noise died down William heard Bartholomew say: \"Why have you done this?\"\n\nFather replied: \"You plotted against the king.\"\n\nBartholomew was astonished that Father knew this, and the shock showed on his face. William held his breath, wondering whether Bartholomew, in the despair of defeat, would admit the conspiracy in front of all these people. But he recovered his composure, drew himself upright, and said: \"I'll defend my honor in front of the king, not here.\"\n\nFather nodded. \"As you wish. Tell your men to lay down their arms and leave the castle.\"\n\nThe earl murmured a command to his knights, and one by one they approached Father and dropped their swords on the floor in front of him. William enjoyed watching that. Look at them all, humbled before my father, he thought proudly. Father was talking to one of his knights. \"Round up the loose horses and put them in the stable. Have some men go around and disarm the dead and wounded.\" The weapons and horses of the defeated belonged to the victors, of course: Bartholomew's knights would disperse unarmed and on foot. The Hamleighs' men would also empty the castle's stores. The confiscated horses would be loaded with goods and driven back to Hamleigh, the village from which the family took its name. Father beckoned another knight and said: \"Sort out the kitchen staff and have them make dinner. Send the rest of the servants away.\" Men were hungry after a battle: now there would be a feast. Earl Bartholomew's best food and wine would be eaten and drunk here before the army rode home.\n\nA moment later, the knights around Father and Bartholomew divided, making a passage, and Mother swept in.\n\nShe looked very small among all the hefty fighting men, but when she unwound the scarf that had covered her face, those who had not seen her before started back, shocked, as people always were, by her disfigurement. She looked at Father. \"A great triumph,\" she said in a satisfied tone.\n\nWilliam wanted to say: That was because of good advance work, wasn't it, Mother?\n\nHe bit his tongue, but his father spoke for him. \"It was William who got us in.\"\n\nMother turned to him, and he waited eagerly for her to congratulate him. \"Did he?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Father said. \"The boy did a good job.\"\n\nMother nodded. \"Perhaps he did,\" she said.\n\nWilliam's heart was warmed by her praise, and he grinned foolishly.\n\nShe looked at Earl Bartholomew. \"The earl should bow to me,\" she said.\n\nThe earl said: \"No.\"\n\nMother said: \"Fetch the daughter.\"\n\nWilliam looked around. For a moment he had forgotten about Aliena. He scanned the faces of the servants and children, and spotted her right away, standing with Matthew, the effeminate household steward. William went to her, took her arm, and brought her to his mother. Matthew followed them.\n\nMother said: \"Cut off her ears.\"\n\nAliena screamed.\n\nWilliam felt a strange stirring in his loins.\n\nBartholomew's face turned gray. \"You promised you wouldn't harm her if I surrendered,\" he said. \"You swore it.\"\n\nMother said: \"And our protection will be as complete as your surrender.\"\n\nThat was clever, William thought.\n\nStill Bartholomew looked defiant.\n\nWilliam wondered who would be chosen to cut off Aliena's ears. Perhaps Mother would give him the task. The idea was peculiarly exciting.\n\nMother said to Bartholomew: \"Kneel.\"\n\nSlowly, Bartholomew went down on one knee and bowed his head.\n\nWilliam felt faintly disappointed.\n\nMother raised her voice. \"Look at this!\" she shouted to the assembled company. \"Never forget the fate of a man who insults the Hamleighs!\" She looked around defiantly, and William's heart swelled with pride. The family honor was restored.\n\nMother turned away, and Father took over. \"Take him to his bedroom,\" he said. \"Guard him well.\"\n\nBartholomew got to his feet.\n\nFather said to William: \"Take the girl as well.\"\n\nWilliam took Aliena's arm in a hard grip. He liked touching her. He was going to take her up to the bedroom. There was no telling what might happen. If he were left alone with her, he would be able to do anything he wanted to her. He could rip her clothes off and look at her nakedness. He could\u2014\n\nThe earl said: \"Let Matthew Steward come with us, to take care of my daughter.\"\n\nFather glanced at Matthew. \"He looks safe enough,\" he said with a grin. \"All right.\"\n\nWilliam looked at Aliena's face. She was still white, but she was even more beautiful when she was frightened. It was so exciting to see her in this vulnerable state. He wanted to crush her ripe body beneath his, and see the fear in her face as he forced her thighs apart. On impulse, he put his face close to hers and said in a low voice: \"I still want to marry you.\"\n\nShe drew away from him. \"Marry?\" she said in a loud voice full of scorn. \"I'd rather die than marry you, you loathsome puffed-up toad!\"\n\nAll the knights smiled broadly, and a few of the servants sniggered. William felt his face flush bright red.\n\nMother took a sudden step forward and slapped Aliena's face. Bartholomew moved to defend her but the knights restrained him. \"Shut up,\" Mother said to Aliena. \"You're not a fine lady anymore\u2014you're the daughter of a traitor, and soon you'll be destitute and starving. You're not good enough for my son now. Get out of my sight, and don't speak another word.\"\n\nAliena turned away. William released her arm, and she followed her father. As he watched her go, William realized that the sweet taste of revenge had turned bitter in his mouth.\n\nShe was a real heroine, just like a princess in a poem, Jack thought. He watched, awestruck, as she climbed the stairs with her head held high. The whole room was silent until she disappeared from sight. When she went it was like a lamp going out. Jack stared at the place where she had been.\n\nOne of the knights came over and said: \"Who's the cook?\"\n\nThe cook himself was too wary to volunteer, but someone else pointed him out.\n\n\"You're going to make dinner,\" the knight told him. \"Take your helpers and go to the kitchen.\" The cook picked half a dozen people out of the crowd. The knight raised his voice. \"The rest of you\u2014clear off. Get out of the castle. Go quickly and don't try to take anything that's not yours, if you value your lives. We've all got blood on our swords and a little more won't show. Get moving!\"\n\nThey all shuffled through the door. Jack's mother took his hand and Tom held Martha's. Alfred stayed close. They were all wearing their cloaks, and they had no possessions other than their clothes and their eating knives. With the crowd they went down the steps, over the bridge, across the lower compound, and through the gatehouse, stepping over the useless gates, leaving the castle without a pause. When they stepped off the bridge onto the field on the far side of the moat, the tension snapped like a cut bowstring, and they all began to talk about their ordeal in loud, excited voices. Jack listened idly as he walked along. Everybody was recalling how brave they had been. He had not been brave\u2014he had simply run away.\n\nAliena was the only one who had been brave. When she came into the keep and found that instead of being a place of safety it was a trap, she had taken charge of the servants and children, telling them to sit down and keep quiet and stay out of the way of the fighting men, screaming at the Hamleighs' knights when they were rough with their prisoners or raised their swords against unarmed men and women, acting as if she were completely invulnerable.\n\nHis mother ruffled his hair. \"What are you thinking about?\"\n\n\"I was wondering what will happen to the princess.\"\n\nShe knew what he meant. \"The Lady Aliena.\"\n\n\"She's like a princess in a poem, living in a castle. But knights aren't as virtuous as the poems say.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" Mother said grimly.\n\n\"What will become of her?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I really don't know.\"\n\n\"Her mother's dead.\"\n\n\"Then she'll have a hard time.\"\n\n\"I thought so.\" Jack paused. \"She laughed at me because I didn't know about fathers. But I liked her all the same.\"\n\nMother put her arm around him. \"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about fathers.\"\n\nHe touched her hand, accepting her apology. They walked on in silence. From time to time a family would leave the road and head across the fields, making for the home of relatives or friends where they might beg some breakfast and think about what to do next. Most of the crowd stayed together as far as the crossroads, then they split up, some going north or south, some continuing straight on toward the market town of Shiring. Mother detached herself from Jack and put a hand on Tom's arm, making him stop. \"Where shall we go?\" she said.\n\nHe looked faintly surprised to be asked, as if he expected them all to follow wherever he led without asking questions. Jack had noticed that Mother often brought that surprised look to Tom's face. Perhaps his previous wife had been a different sort of person.\n\n\"We're going to Kingsbridge Priory,\" Tom said.\n\n\"Kingsbridge!\" Mother seemed shaken. Jack wondered why.\n\nTom did not notice. \"Last night I heard there's a new prior,\" he went on. \"Usually a new man wants to make some repairs or alterations to the church.\"\n\n\"The old prior is dead?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nFor some reason Mother was soothed by that news. She must have known the old prior, Jack thought, and disliked him.\n\nTom heard the troubled note in her voice at last. \"Is there something wrong with Kingsbridge?\" he asked her.\n\n\"I've been there. It's more than a day's journey.\"\n\nJack knew that it was not the length of the journey that bothered Mother, but Tom did not. \"A little more,\" he said. \"We can get there by midday tomorrow.\"\n\n\"All right,\"\n\nThey walked on.\n\nA little later Jack began to feel a pain in his belly. For a while he wondered what it was. He had not been hurt at the castle and Alfred had not punched him for two days. But eventually he realized what it was.\n\nHe was hungry again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Kingsbridge cathedral was not a welcoming sight. It was a low, squat, massive structure with thick walls and tiny windows. It had been built long before Tom's time, in the days when builders had not realized the importance of proportion. Tom's generation knew that a straight, true wall was stronger than a thick one, and that walls could be pierced with large windows so long as the arch of the window was a perfect half-circle. From a distance the church looked lopsided, and when Tom got closer he saw why: one of the twin towers at the west end had fallen down. He was delighted. The new prior was likely to want it rebuilt. Hope quickened his pace. To have been hired, as he had been at Earlscastle, and then to see his new employer defeated in battle and captured was heartbreaking. He felt he could not take another disappointment like that.\n\nHe glanced at Ellen. He was afraid that any day now she would decide that he was not going to find work before they all starved to death, and then she would leave him. She smiled at him, then she frowned again as she looked at the looming hulk of the cathedral. She was always uncomfortable with priests and monks, he had observed. He wondered if she felt guilty because the two of them were not actually married in the eyes of the Church.\n\nThe priory close was full of bustle and industry. Tom had seen sleepy monasteries and busy ones, but Kingsbridge was exceptional. It looked as if it were being spring-cleaned three months early. Outside the stable, two monks were grooming horses and a third was cleaning harness while novices mucked out the stalls. More monks were sweeping and scrubbing the guesthouse, which was next to the stable, and a cartload of straw stood outside ready to be strewn on the clean floor.\n\nHowever, no one was working on the fallen tower. Tom studied the pile of stones that was all that remained of it. The collapse had to have occurred some years ago, for the broken edges of the stones had been blunted by frost and rain, the crushed mortar had been washed away, and the pile of masonry had sunk an inch or two into the soft earth. It was remarkable that the repair had been left undone for so long, for cathedral churches were supposed to be prestigious. The old prior must have been idle or incompetent, or both. Tom had probably arrived just when the monks were planning the rebuilding. He was overdue for some luck.\n\n\"No one recognizes me,\" Ellen said.\n\n\"When were you here?\" Tom asked her.\n\n\"Thirteen years ago.\"\n\n\"No wonder they've forgotten you.\"\n\nAs they passed the west front of the church Tom opened one of the big wooden doors and looked inside. The nave was dark and gloomy, with thick columns and an ancient wooden ceiling. However, several monks were whitewashing the walls with longhandled brushes, and others were sweeping the beaten-earth floor. The new prior was evidently getting the whole place smartened up. That was a hopeful sign. Tom closed the door.\n\nBeyond the church, in the kitchen courtyard, a team of novices stood around a trough of filthy water, scraping the accumulated soot and grease off cooking pots and kitchen utensils with sharp stones. Their knuckles were raw and red from constant immersion in the icy water. When they saw Ellen they giggled and looked away.\n\nTom asked a blushing novice where the cellarer was to be found. Strictly speaking, it was the sacrist he should have asked for, because the fabric of the church was the sacrist's responsibility; but cellarers as a class were more approachable. In the end the prior would make the decision, anyway. The novice directed him to the undercroft of one of the buildings around the courtyard. Tom went in through an open doorway, and Ellen and the children followed. They all paused inside the door to peer into the gloom.\n\nThis building was newer and more soundly constructed than the church, Tom could tell at once. The air was dry and there was no smell of rot. Indeed, the mixed aromas of the stored food gave him painful stomach pangs, for he had not eaten in two days. As his eyes adjusted he saw that the undercroft had a good flagstone floor, short thick pillars, and a tunnel-vaulted ceiling. A moment later he noticed a tall, bald man spooning salt from a barrel into a pot. \"Are you the cellarer?\" said Tom, but the man held up a hand for silence, and Tom saw that he was counting. They all waited in silence for him to finish. At last he said: \"Two score and nineteen, three score,\" and put the spoon down.\n\nTom said: \"I'm Tom, master builder, and I'd like to rebuild your northwest tower.\"\n\n\"I'm Cuthbert, called Whitehead, the cellarer, and I'd like to see it done,\" the man replied. \"But we'll have to ask Prior Philip. You'll have heard that we have a new prior?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Cuthbert was the friendly sort of monk, Tom decided; worldly and easygoing. He would be happy to chat. \"And the new man seems intent on improving the appearance of the monastery.\"\n\nCuthbert nodded. \"But he's not so keen on paying for it. Did you notice that all the work is being done by monks? He won't hire any workmen\u2014says the priory already has too many servants.\"\n\nThat was bad news. \"How do the monks feel about that?\" Tom asked delicately.\n\nCuthbert laughed, and his wrinkled face creased up even more. \"You're a tactful man, Tom Builder. You're thinking that you don't often see monks working so hard. Well, the new prior's not forcing anyone. But he interprets the Rule of Saint Benedict in such a way that those who do physical labor may eat red meat and drink wine, whereas those who merely study and pray must live on salt fish and weak beer. He can show you an elaborate theoretical justification for it, too, but the upshot is that he has plenty of volunteers for the hard work, especially among the youngsters.\" Cuthbert did not seem disapproving, just bemused.\n\nTom said: \"But monks can't build stone walls, no matter how well they eat.\" As he spoke, he heard a baby cry. The sound tugged at his heartstrings. It took him a moment to realize how odd it was that there should be a baby in a monastery.\n\n\"We'll ask the prior,\" Cuthbert was saying, but Tom hardly heard. It sounded like the cry of a very small baby, just a week or two old, and it was coming nearer. Tom caught Ellen's eye. She looked startled too. Then there was a shadow in the door. Tom had a lump in his throat. A monk walked in carrying the baby. Tom looked at its face. It was his child.\n\nTom swallowed hard. The baby's face was red, its fists were clenched, and its mouth was open, showing toothless gums. Its cry was not the cry of pain or sickness, just a simple demand for food. It was the healthy, lusty yell of a normal baby, and Tom felt weak with relief to see his son looking so well.\n\nThe monk carrying him was a cheerful-looking boy of about twenty years, with unruly hair and a big, rather stupid grin. Unlike most of the monks, he did not react to the presence of a woman. He smiled at everyone and then spoke to Cuthbert. \"Jonathan needs more milk.\"\n\nTom wanted to take the child in his arms. He tried to freeze his face so that his expression would not betray his emotions. He threw a furtive glance at the children. All they knew was that the abandoned baby had been found by a traveling priest. They did not even know that the priest had taken him to the little monastery in the forest. Now their faces showed nothing but mild curiosity. They had not connected this baby with the one they had left behind.\n\nCuthbert picked up a ladle and a small jug, and filled the jug from a bucket of milk. Ellen said to the young monk: \"May I hold the baby?\" She held out her arms and the monk handed the child to her. Tom envied her. He longed to hold that tiny hot bundle close to his heart. Ellen rocked the baby, and he was quiet for a moment.\n\nCuthbert looked up and said: \"Ah. Johnny Eightpence is a fair nursemaid, but he doesn't have the woman's touch.\"\n\nEllen smiled at the boy. \"Why do they call you Johnny Eightpence?\"\n\nCuthbert answered for him. \"Because he's only eight pence to the shilling,\" he said, tapping the side of his head to indicate that Johnny was half-witted. \"But he seems to understand the needs of poor dumb creatures better than us wise folk. All part of God's wider purpose, I'm sure,\" he finished vaguely.\n\nEllen had edged over to Tom, and now she held the baby out to him. She had read his thoughts. He gave her a look of profound gratitude, and took the tiny child in his big hands. He could feel the baby's heartbeat through the blanket in which it was wrapped. The material was fine: he wondered briefly where the monks had got such soft wool. He held the baby to his chest and rocked. His technique was not as good as Ellen's, and the child started to cry again, but Tom did not mind: that loud, insistent yell was music to his ears, for it meant that the child he had abandoned was fit and strong. Hard though it was, he felt he had made the right decision in leaving the baby at the monastery.\n\nEllen asked Johnny: \"Where does he sleep?\"\n\nJohnny answered for himself this time. \"He has a crib in the dormitory with the rest of us.\"\n\n\"He must wake you all in the night.\"\n\n\"We get up at midnight anyway, for matins,\" Johnny said.\n\n\"Of course! I was forgetting that monks' nights are as sleepless as mothers'.\"\n\nCuthbert handed Johnny the jug of milk. Johnny took the baby from Tom with a practiced one-arm movement. Tom was not ready to give the baby up, but in the monks' eyes he had no rights at all, so he had to let him go. A moment later Johnny and the baby were gone, and Tom had to resist the impulse to go after them and say Wait, stop, that's my son, give him back to me. Ellen stood beside him and squeezed his arm in a discreet gesture of sympathy.\n\nTom realized he had new reason to hope. If he could get work here, he could see baby Jonathan all the time, and it would be almost as if he had never abandoned him. It seemed almost too good to be true, and he did not dare to wish for it.\n\nCuthbert was looking shrewdly at Martha and Jack, who had both gone big-eyed at the sight of the jug full of creamy milk that Johnny had taken away. \"Would the children like some milk?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, please, Father, they would,\" Tom said. He would have liked some himself.\n\nCuthbert ladled milk into two wooden bowls and gave them to Martha and Jack. They both drank quickly, leaving big white rings around their mouths. \"Some more?\" Cuthbert offered.\n\n\"Yes, please,\" they replied in unison. Tom looked at Ellen, knowing that she must feel as he did, deeply thankful to see the little ones fed at last.\n\nAs Cuthbert refilled the bowls he said casually: \"Where have you folks come from?\"\n\n\"Earlscastle, near Shiring,\" said Tom. \"We left there yesterday morning.\"\n\n\"Have you eaten since?\"\n\n\"No,\" Tom said flatly. He knew that Cuthbert's inquiry was kindly, but he hated to admit that he had been unable to feed his children himself.\n\n\"Have some apples to keep you going until suppertime, then,\" Cuthbert said, pointing to the barrel near the door.\n\nAlfred, Ellen and Tom went to the barrel while Martha and Jack were drinking their second bowl of milk. Alfred tried to fill his arms with apples. Tom smacked them out of his hands and said in a low voice: \"Just take two or three.\" He took three.\n\nTom ate his apples gratefully, and his belly felt a little better, but he could not help wondering how soon supper would be served. Monks generally ate before dark, to save candles, he recalled happily.\n\nCuthbert was looking hard at Ellen. \"Do I know you?\" he said eventually.\n\nShe looked uneasy. \"I don't think so.\"\n\n\"You seem familiar,\" he said uncertainly.\n\n\"I used to live near here as a child,\" she said.\n\n\"That would be it,\" he said. \"That's why I have this feeling that you look older than you should.\"\n\n\"You must have a very good memory.\"\n\nHe frowned at her. \"Not quite good enough,\" he said. \"I'm sure there's something else.... No matter. Why did you leave Earlscastle?\"\n\n\"It was attacked, yesterday at dawn, and taken,\" Tom replied. \"Earl Bartholomew is accused of treason.\"\n\nCuthbert was shocked. \"Saints preserve us!\" he exclaimed, and suddenly he looked like an old maid frightened by a bull. \"Treason!\"\n\nThere was a footstep outside. Tom turned and saw another monk walk in. Cuthbert said: \"This is our new prior.\"\n\nTom recognized the prior. It was Philip, the monk they had met on their way to the bishop's palace, the one who had given them the delicious cheese. Now everything fell into place: the new prior of Kingsbridge was the old prior of the little cell in the forest, and he had brought Jonathan with him when he came here. Tom's heart leaped with optimism. Philip was a kindly man, and he had seemed to like and trust Tom. Surely he would give him a job.\n\nPhilip recognized him. \"Hello, Master Builder,\" he said. \"You didn't get much work at the bishop's palace, then?\"\n\n\"No, Father. The archdeacon wouldn't hire me, and the bishop wasn't there.\"\n\n\"Indeed he wasn't\u2014he was in heaven, though we didn't know it at the time.\"\n\n\"The bishop is dead?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's old news,\" Cuthbert butted in impatiently. \"Tom and his family have just come from Earlscastle. Earl Bartholomew has been captured and his castle overrun!\"\n\nPhilip was very still. \"Already!\" he murmured.\n\n\"Already?\" Cuthbert repeated. \"Why do you say 'already'?\" He seemed fond of Philip but wary of him, like a father whose son has been away to war and has come home with a sword in his belt and a slightly dangerous look in his eye. \"Did you know this was going to happen?\"\n\nPhilip was slightly flustered. \"No, not exactly,\" he said uncertainly. \"I had heard a rumor that Earl Bartholomew was opposed to King Stephen.\" He recovered his composure. \"We can all be thankful for this,\" he announced. \"Stephen has promised to protect the Church, whereas Maud might have oppressed us as much as her late father did. Yes, indeed. This is good news.\" He looked as pleased as if he had done it himself.\n\nTom did not want to talk about Earl Bartholomew. \"It isn't good news for me,\" he said. \"The earl had hired me, the day before, to strengthen the castle's defenses. I didn't even get a single day's pay.\"\n\n\"What a shame,\" said Philip. \"Who was it that attacked the castle?\"\n\n\"Lord Percy Hamleigh.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" Philip nodded, and once again Tom felt his news was only confirming Philip's expectations.\n\n\"You're making some improvements here, then,\" Tom said, trying to bring the subject around to his own interest.\n\n\"I'm trying,\" Philip said.\n\n\"You'll want to rebuild the tower, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Rebuild the tower, repair the roof, pave the floor\u2014yes, I want to do all of that. And you want the job, of course,\" he added, apparently having just realized why Tom was here. \"I wasn't thinking. I wish I could hire you. But I couldn't pay you, I'm afraid. This monastery is penniless.\"\n\nTom felt as if he had been struck by a fist. He had been confident of getting work here\u2014everything had pointed to it. He could hardly believe his ears. He stared at Philip. It really was not credible that the priory had no money. The cellarer had said it was monks doing all the extra work, but even so, a monastery could always borrow money from the Jews. Tom felt as if this were the end of the road for him. Whatever it was that had kept him going all winter now seemed to drain out of him, and he felt weak and spineless. I can't go on, he thought; I'm finished.\n\nPhilip saw his distress. \"I can offer you supper, and a place to sleep, and some breakfast in the morning,\" he said.\n\nTom felt bitterly angry. \"I'll accept it,\" he said, \"but I'd rather earn it.\"\n\nPhilip raised his eyebrows at the note of anger, but he spoke mildly. \"Ask God\u2014that's not begging, it's prayer.\" Then he went out.\n\nThe others looked a little scared, and Tom realized that his anger must be showing. Their staring at him annoyed him. He went out of the storeroom a few steps behind Philip, and stood in the courtyard, looking at the big old church, trying to control his feelings.\n\nAfter a moment Ellen and the children followed him out. Ellen put her arm around his waist in a comforting gesture, which made the novices whisper and nudge one another. Tom ignored them. \"I'll pray,\" he said sourly. \"I'll pray for a thunderbolt to strike the church and level it to the ground.\"\n\nIn the last two days Jack had learned to fear the future.\n\nDuring his short life he had never had to think farther ahead than tomorrow; but if he had, he would have known what to expect. One day was much like another in the forest, and the seasons changed slowly. Now he did not know, from day to day, where he would be, what he would do or whether he would eat.\n\nThe worst part of it was feeling hungry. Jack had been secretly eating grass and leaves, to try to ease the pangs, but they gave him a different kind of stomachache and made him feel peculiar. Martha often cried because she was so hungry. Jack and Martha always walked together. She looked up to him, and nobody had ever done that before. Being helpless to relieve her suffering was worse than his own hunger.\n\nIf they had still been living in the cave he would have known where to go to kill ducks, or find nuts, or steal eggs; but in towns and villages, and on the unfamiliar roads between them, he was at a loss. All he knew was that Tom had to find work.\n\nThey spent the afternoon in the guesthouse. It was a simple one-room building with a dirt floor and a fireplace in the middle, exactly like the houses peasants lived in, but Jack, who had always lived in a cave, thought it was marvelous. He was curious about how the house was made, and Tom told him. Two young trees had been chopped down, trimmed, and leaned against one another at an angle; then two more had been placed in the same way at four yards distance; and the two triangles thus formed were linked, at their tops, by a ridgepole. Parallel with the ridgepole, light slats were fixed, joining the trees, forming a sloping roof that reached to the ground. Rectangular frames of woven reeds, called hurdles, were laid over the slats, and made waterproof with mud. The gable ends were made of stakes driven into the ground, the chinks between them filled with mud. There was a door in one gable end. There were no windows.\n\nJack's mother spread fresh straw on the floor and Jack lit a fire with the flint he always carried. When the others were out of earshot he asked Mother why the prior would not hire Tom, when there was obviously work to be done. \"It seems he would rather save his money, so long as the church is still usable,\" she said. \"If the whole church had fallen down, they would be forced to rebuild it, but as it's just the tower, they can live with the damage.\"\n\nWhen the daylight began to soften into dusk, a kitchen hand came to the guesthouse with a cauldron of pottage and a loaf as long as a man is tall, all just for them. The pottage was made with vegetables and herbs and meat bones, and its surface glistened with fat. The loaf was horsebread, made with all kinds of grain, rye and barley and oats, plus dried peas and beans; it was the cheapest bread, Alfred said, but to Jack, who had never eaten bread until a few days ago, it was delicious. Jack ate until his belly ached. Alfred ate until there was nothing left.\n\nAs they sat by the fire trying to digest their feast, Jack said to Alfred: \"Why did the tower fall down, anyway?\"\n\n\"Probably it was struck by lightning,\" said Alfred. \"Or there might have been a fire.\"\n\n\"But there's nothing to burn,\" Jack said. \"It's all made of stone.\"\n\n\"The roof isn't stone, stupid,\" Alfred said scornfully. \"The roof is made of wood.\"\n\nJack thought about that for a moment. \"And if the roof burns, does the building always fall down?\"\n\nAlfred shrugged. \"Sometimes.\"\n\nThey sat in silence for a while. Tom and Jack's mother were talking in low voices on the other side of the fireplace. Jack said: \"It's funny about that baby.\"\n\n\"What's funny?\" Alfred said after a moment.\n\n\"Well, your baby was lost in the forest, miles away, and now here's a baby at the priory.\"\n\nNeither Alfred nor Martha seemed to think the coincidence very remarkable, and Jack promptly forgot about it.\n\nThe monks all went to bed immediately after supper, and they did not provide candles for the humbler sort of guest, so Tom's family sat and looked at the fire until it went out, then lay down on the straw.\n\nJack stayed awake, thinking. It had occurred to him that if the cathedral were to burn down tonight, all their problems would be solved. The prior would hire Tom to rebuild the church, they would all live here in this fine house, and they would have meat-bone pottage and horsebread for ever and ever.\n\nIf I were Tom, he thought, I'd set fire to the church myself. I'd get up quietly while everyone else was sleeping, and sneak into the church, and start a fire with my flint, then creep back here while it was spreading, and pretend to be asleep when the alarm was raised. And when the people started throwing buckets of water on the flames, as they did when the stables burned at Earl Bartholomew's castle, I'd join in with them, as if I wanted to put out the fire just as much as they did.\n\nAlfred and Martha were asleep\u2014Jack could tell by their breathing. Tom and Ellen did what they usually did under Tom's cloak (Alfred said it was called \"fucking\") then they, too, fell asleep. It seemed that Tom was not going to get up and set fire to the cathedral.\n\nBut what was he going to do? Would the family walk the roads until they starved to death?\n\nWhen they were all asleep, and he could hear the four of them breathing in the slow, regular rhythm that indicated deep slumber, it occurred to Jack that he could set the cathedral on fire.\n\nThe thought made his heart race with fear.\n\nHe would have to get up very quietly. He could probably unbar the door and slip out without waking anyone. The church doors might be locked, but there would surely be a way to get in, especially for someone small.\n\nOnce inside, he knew how he would reach the roof. He had learned a lot in two weeks with Tom. Tom talked about buildings all the time, mostly addressing his remarks to Alfred; and although Alfred was not interested, Jack was. He had found out, among other things, that all large churches had staircases built into the walls to give access to the higher parts for repair work. He would find a staircase and climb up to the roof.\n\nHe sat up in the dark, listening to the breathing of the others. He could distinguish Tom's by its slightly chesty wheeze, caused (Mother said) by years of inhaling stone dust. Alfred snored once, loudly, then turned over and was silent again.\n\nOnce he had set the fire, he would have to get back to the guesthouse quickly. What would the monks do if they caught him? In Shiring Jack had seen a boy of his own age tied up and flogged for stealing a cone of sugar from a spice shop. The boy had screamed and the springy switch had made his bottom bleed. It had seemed much worse than men killing one another in a battle as they had at Earlscastle, and the vision of the bleeding boy had haunted Jack. He was terrified of the same happening to him.\n\nIf I do this, he thought, I'll never tell a soul.\n\nHe lay down again, pulled his cloak around him, and closed his eyes.\n\nHe wondered if the church door was locked. If it was, he could get in through the windows. Nobody would see him if he stayed on the north side of the close. The monks' dormitory was south of the church, masked by the cloisters, and there was nothing on this side except the graveyard.\n\nHe decided just to go and have a look, to see if it was possible.\n\nHe hesitated a moment longer, then he stood up.\n\nThe new straw crunched under his feet. He listened again to the breathing of the four sleeping people. It was very silent: the mice had stopped moving in the straw. He took a step, and listened again. The others slept on. He lost patience and took three rapid steps to the door. When he stopped, the mice had decided they had nothing to fear, and started scrabbling again, but the people slept on.\n\nHe touched the door with his fingertips, then ran his hands down to the bar. It was an oak beam resting in paired brackets. He got his hands under it, gripped, and lifted. It was heavier than he had expected, and after lifting it less than an inch he had to drop it. The thud it made when it hit the brackets sounded very loud. He froze, listening. Tom's wheezy breathing faltered. What will I say if I'm caught? thought Jack desperately. I'll say I was going outside... going outside... I know, I'll say I was going to relieve myself. He relaxed now that he had an excuse. He heard Tom turn over, and waited for the deep, dusty voice, but it did not come, and Tom began to breathe evenly again.\n\nThe edges of the door were outlined with ghostly silver. There must be a moon, Jack thought. He gripped the bar again, took a deep breath, and strained to lift it. This time he was ready for its weight. He raised it and pulled it toward himself, but he had not lifted it high enough, and it failed to clear the brackets. He raised it an inch more, and it came free. He held it against his chest, relieving the strain on his arms a little; then he slowly went down on one knee, then on both, and lowered the bar to the floor. He stayed in that position for a few moments, trying to quiet his breathing, while the ache in his arms eased. There was no sound from the others except the noises of sleep.\n\nGingerly, Jack opened the door a crack. Its iron hinge squeaked, and a cold draft came through the opening. He shivered. He wrapped his cloak closer around him and opened the door a little more. He slipped out and closed it behind him.\n\nThe cloud was breaking up, and the moon came and went in the restless sky. There was a cold wind. Jack was momentarily tempted to return to the stuffy warmth of the house. The enormous church with its fallen tower loomed over the rest of the priory, silver and black in the moonlight, its mighty walls and tiny windows making it look more like a castle. It was ugly.\n\nAll was quiet. Outside the priory walls, in the village, there might be a few people sitting up late, drinking ale by the glow of the fireside or sewing by rushlights, but here nothing moved. Still Jack hesitated, looking at the church. It looked back at him accusingly, as if it knew what was on his mind. He shook off the spooky feeling with a shrug, and walked across the broad green to the west end.\n\nThe door was locked.\n\nHe walked around to the north side and looked at the cathedral windows. Some church windows had lengths of translucent linen stretched across them, to keep out the cold, but these seemed to have nothing. They were big enough for him to crawl through, but they were too high to reach. He explored the stonework with his fingers, feeling the cracks in the wall where the mortar had worn away, but they were not big enough to give him toeholds. He needed something to use as a ladder.\n\nHe considered fetching stones from the fallen tower and constructing an improvised staircase, but the unbroken stones were too heavy, and the broken ones were too uneven. He had a feeling that he had seen something, during the course of the day, that would serve his purpose exactly, and he racked his brains to remember it. It was like trying to see something out of the corner of his eye: it always remained just out of sight. Then he glanced across the moonlit graveyard to the stable, and it came back to him: a little wooden mounting block, with two or three steps, to help short people climb on large horses. One of the monks had been standing on it to comb a horse's mane.\n\nHe made his way across to the stable. It was the kind of thing that might not get put away at night, since it was hardly worth stealing. He walked quietly, but the horses heard him all the same, and one or two of them snorted and coughed. He stopped, frightened. There might be grooms sleeping in the stable. He stood still for a moment, listening for the sound of human movement, but none came, and the horses went quiet.\n\nHe could not see the mounting block. Perhaps it was up against the wall. Jack peered into the moon-shadows. It was hard to see anything. Cautiously, he went right up to the stable and walked along its length. The horses heard him again, and now his closeness made them nervous: one of them whinnied. Jack froze. A man's voice called out: \"Quiet, quiet.\" As he stood there like a scared statue, he saw the mounting block right under his nose, so close that he would have fallen over it with one more step. He waited a few moments. There was no more noise from the stable. He bent down, picked it up, and hefted it on his shoulder. He turned around and padded back across the grass to the church. The stable was quiet.\n\nWhen he climbed to the top step of the block he was still not high enough to reach the windows. It was irritating: he could not even look in. He had not finally made up his mind to do the deed, but he did not want to be prevented by practical considerations: he wanted to decide for himself. He wished he were as tall as Alfred.\n\nThere was one more thing to try. He stood back, took a short run, jumped one-footed onto the block, then sprang up. He reached the windowsill easily, and got a grip on the stone frame. With a jerk he pulled himself up until he could half-sit on the sill. But when he tried to crawl through the opening he had a surprise. The window was blocked by iron latticework which he had not seen from outside, presumably because it was black. Jack examined it with both hands, kneeling on the sill. There was no way through: it was probably there specifically to prevent people from getting in when the church was shut.\n\nDisappointed, he jumped down to the ground. He picked up the mounting block and carried it back to where he had found it. This time the horses made no noise.\n\nHe looked at the fallen northwest tower, on the left-hand side of the main door. He climbed carefully over the stones at the edge of the heap, peering toward the interior of the church, looking for a way through the rubble. When the moon went behind a cloud he waited, shivering, for it to come out again. He was worried that his weight, small though it was, might shift the balance of the stones and cause a landslide, which would wake everyone even if it did not kill him. As the moon reappeared he scanned the pile and decided to risk it. He began to ascend with his heart in his mouth. Most of the stones were firm but one or two wobbled precariously under his weight. It was the kind of climb he would have enjoyed in daylight, with help near at hand and nothing on his conscience; but now he was too anxious, and his normal surefootedness left him. He slipped on a smooth surface and almost fell down; and there he decided to stop.\n\nHe was high enough to look down on the roof of the aisle that ran along the north side of the nave. He was hoping that there might be a hole in the roof, or perhaps a gap between the roof and the pile of rubble, but it was not so: the roof continued unbroken into the ruins of the tower, and there appeared to be nowhere to slip through. Jack was half disappointed and half relieved.\n\nHe climbed down again, backward, looking over his shoulder to find a foothold. The closer he got to the ground, the better he felt. He jumped the last few feet and landed gratefully on the grass.\n\nHe returned to the north side of the church and walked on around. He had seen several churches in the last two weeks and all of them were roughly the same shape. The largest part was the nave, which was always to the west. Then there were two arms, which Tom called transepts, sticking out to the north and south. The east end was called the chancel and it was shorter than the nave. Kingsbridge was individual only in that its west end had two towers, one on each side of the entrance, as it were to match the transepts.\n\nThere was a door in the north transept. Jack tried it and found it locked. He walked on, around the east end: no door there at all. He paused to look across the grassed courtyard. In the far southeast corner of the priory close there were two houses, the infirmary and the prior's house. Both were dark and silent. He went on, around the east end and along the south side of the chancel until he came to the out-jutting south transept. At the end of the transept, like a hand on an arm, was the round building they called the chapter house. Between the transept and the chapter house was a narrow alley leading into the cloisters. Jack went through the alley.\n\nHe found himself in a square quadrangle, with a lawn in the middle and a covered walkway all around. The pale stone of the arches was ghostly white in the moonlight, and the shadowed walkway was impenetrably dark. Jack waited a moment to let his eyes adjust.\n\nHe had emerged onto the east side of the square. To his left he could make out the door to the chapter house. Farther to his left, at the southern end of the east walk, he could see, facing him, another door, which he thought probably led to the monks' dormitory. To his right, another door led into the south transept of the church. He tried it. It was locked.\n\nHe went along the north walk. There he found a door leading into the nave of the church. It, too, was locked.\n\nOn the west walk there was nothing until he came to the southwest corner, where he found the door to the refectory. What a lot of food had to be found, he thought, to feed all those monks every day. Nearby was a fountain with a basin: the monks washed their hands before meals.\n\nHe continued along the south walk. Halfway along there was an arch. Jack turned through it and found himself in a little passage, with the refectory on his right and the dormitory on his left. He imagined all the monks fast asleep on the floor just the other side of the stone wall. At the end of the passage there was nothing but a muddy slope leading down to the river. Jack stood there for a moment, looking at the water a hundred yards away. For no particular reason, he remembered a story about a knight who had his head cut off but lived on; and involuntarily he imagined the headless knight coming out of the river and walking up the slope toward him. There was nothing there, but still he was scared. He turned around and hurried back to the cloisters. He felt safer there.\n\nHe hesitated under the arch, looking into the moonlit quadrangle. There must be a way to sneak into such a big building, he felt, but he could not think where else to look. In a way he was glad. He had been contemplating doing something appallingly dangerous, and if it turned out to be impossible, so much the better. On the other hand, he dreaded the thought of leaving this priory and taking to the road again in the morning: the endless walking, the hunger, Tom's disappointment and anger, Martha's tears. It could all be avoided, just by one little spark from the flint he carried in the little pouch hanging from his belt!\n\nSomething moved at the corner of his vision. He started, and his heart beat faster. He turned his head and saw, to his horror, a ghostly figure, carrying a candle, gliding silently along the east walk toward the church. A scream rose in his throat and he fought it down. Another figure followed the first. Jack stepped back into the archway, out of sight, and put his fist in his mouth, biting his skin to stop himself from crying aloud. He heard an eerie moaning sound. He stared in sheer terror. Then realization dawned: what he was seeing was a procession of monks going from the dormitory to the church for the midnight service, singing a hymn as they went. The panicky feeling persisted for a moment, even when he had understood what he was looking at; then relief washed over him, and he began to shake uncontrollably.\n\nThe monk at the head of the procession unlocked the door to the church with a huge iron key. The monks filed in. No one turned around to look in Jack's direction. Most of them appeared to be half asleep. They did not close the church door behind them.\n\nWhen he had recovered his composure Jack realized that now he could get into the church.\n\nHis legs felt too weak to walk.\n\nI could just go in, he thought. I don't have to do anything when I'm inside. I'll look and see whether it is possible to get up to the roof. I might not set fire to it. I'll just take a look.\n\nHe took a deep breath, then stepped out of the archway and padded across the quadrangle. He hesitated at the open door and peeped in. There were candles on the altar, and in the quire where the monks stood in their stalls, but the light merely made small pools in the middle of the big empty space, leaving the walls and the aisles in deep gloom. One of the monks was doing something incomprehensible at the altar, and the others would occasionally chant a few phrases of mumbo jumbo. It seemed incredible to Jack that people should get up out of warm beds in the middle of the night to do something like this.\n\nHe slipped through the door and stood close to the wall.\n\nHe was inside. The darkness concealed him. However, he could not stay right there, for they would see him on their way out. He sidled farther in. The flickering candles threw restless shadows. The monk at the altar might have seen Jack, if he had looked up, but he seemed completely absorbed in what he was doing. Jack moved quickly from the cover of one mighty pillar to the next, pausing in between so that his movements would be irregular, like the shifting of the shadows. The light became brighter as he neared the crossing. He was afraid the monk at the altar would look up suddenly, see him, bound across to the transept, pick him up by the scruff of the neck\u2014\n\nHe reached the corner and turned gratefully into the deeper shadows of the nave.\n\nHe paused for a moment, feeling relieved. Then he retreated along the aisle toward the west end of the church, still pausing irregularly, as he would if he were stalking a deer. When he was in the farthest, darkest part of the church, he sat down on the plinth of a column to wait for the service to end.\n\nHe put his chin down inside his cloak and breathed on his chest to warm himself. His life had changed so much in the last two weeks that it seemed years ago that he had lived contentedly in the forest with his mother. He knew he would never feel as safe again. Now that he knew about hunger, and cold, and danger, and desperation, he would always be afraid of them.\n\nHe peeped around the pillar. Above the altar, where the candles were brightest, he could just make out the high wooden ceiling. Newer churches had stone vaults, he knew, but Kingsbridge was old. That wooden ceiling would burn well.\n\nI'm not going to do it, he thought.\n\nTom would be so happy if the cathedral burned down. Jack was not sure he liked Tom\u2014he was too forceful, commanding and harsh. Jack was used to his mother's milder ways. But Jack was impressed by Tom, even awestruck. The only other men Jack had come across were outlaws; dangerous, brutish men who respected only violence and cunning, men for whom the ultimate achievement was to knife someone in the back. Tom was a new type of being, proud and fearless even without a weapon. Jack would never forget the way Tom had faced up to William Hamleigh, the time when Lord William had offered to buy Mother for a pound. What struck Jack so vividly was that Lord William had been scared. Jack told his mother that he had never imagined a man could be as brave as Tom was, and she said: \"That was why we had to leave the forest. You need a man to look up to.\"\n\nJack was puzzled by that remark, but it was true that he would like to do something to impress Tom. Setting fire to the cathedral was not the thing, though. It would be better if nobody knew about that, at least not for many years. But perhaps a day would come when Jack would say to Tom: \"You remember the night Kingsbridge Cathedral burned down, and the prior hired you to rebuild it, and we all had food and shelter and security at last? Well, I've got something to tell you about how that fire started....\" What a great moment that would be.\n\nBut I don't dare do it, he thought.\n\nThe singing stopped, and there was a scuffling sound as the monks left their places. The service was over. Jack shifted his position to stay out of sight while they filed out.\n\nThey snuffed the candles in the quire stalls as they went, but they left one burning on the altar. The door banged shut. Jack waited a little longer, in case there was still someone inside. There was no sound for a long time. At last he came out from behind his pillar.\n\nHe walked up the nave. It was an odd feeling, to be alone in this big, cold, empty building. This is what it must be like to be a mouse, he thought, hiding in corners when the big people are around and then coming out when they have gone. He reached the altar and took the fat, bright candle, and that made him feel better.\n\nCarrying the candle, he began to inspect the inside of the church. At the corner where the nave met the south transept, the place where he had most feared being spotted by the monk at the altar, there was a door in the wall with a simple latch. He tried the latch. The door opened.\n\nHis candle revealed a spiral staircase, so narrow that a fat man could not have passed through it, so low that Tom would have had to bend double. He went up the steps.\n\nHe emerged in a narrow gallery. On one side, a row of small arches looked out into the nave. The ceiling sloped from the tops of the arches down to the floor on the other side. The floor itself was not flat, but curved down at either side. It took Jack a moment to realize where he was. He was above the aisle on the south side of the nave. The tunnel-vaulted ceiling of the aisle was the curved floor on which Jack was standing. From the outside of the church the aisle could be seen to have a lean-to roof, and that was the sloping ceiling under which Jack was standing. The aisle was much lower than the nave, so he was still a long way from the main roof of the building.\n\nHe walked west along the gallery, exploring. It was quite thrilling, now that the monks had gone and he was no longer in fear of being spotted. It was as if he had climbed a tree and found that at the very top, hidden from view by the lower branches, all the trees were connected, and you could walk around in a secret world a few feet above the earth.\n\nAt the end of the gallery was another small door. He went through it and found himself on the inside of the southwest tower, the one that had not fallen down. The space he was in was obviously not meant to be seen, for it was rough and unfinished, and instead of a floor there were rafters with wide gaps between them. However, around the inside of the wall ran a flight of wooden steps, a staircase without a handrail. Jack went up.\n\nHalfway up one wall was a small arched opening. The staircase passed right by it. Jack put his head inside and held up his candle. He was in the roof space, above the timber ceiling and below the lead roof.\n\nAt first he could see no pattern in the tangle of wooden beams, but after a moment he perceived the structure. Huge oak timbers, each of them a foot wide and two feet deep, spanned the width of the nave from north to south. Above each beam were two mighty rafters, forming a triangle. The regular row of triangles stretched away beyond the light of the candle. Looking down, between the beams, he could see the back of the painted wooden ceiling of the nave, which was fixed to the lower edges of the crossbeams.\n\nAt the edge of the roof space, in the corner at the base of the triangle, was a catwalk. Jack crawled through the little opening and onto the catwalk. There was just enough headroom for him to stand up: a man would have had to stoop. He walked along it a little way. There was enough timber here for a conflagration. He sniffed, trying to identify the odd smell in the air. He decided it was pitch. The roof timbers were tarred. They would burn like straw.\n\nA sudden movement on the floor startled him and made his heart race. He thought of the headless knight in the river and the ghostly monks in the cloisters. Then he thought of mice, and felt better. But when he looked carefully he saw that it was birds: there were nests under the eaves.\n\nThe roof space followed the pattern of the church below, branching out over the transepts. Jack went as far as the crossing and stood at the corner. He realized he must be directly above the little spiral staircase that had brought him from ground level up to the gallery. If he had been planning to start a fire, this was where he would do it. From here it could spread four ways: west along the nave, south along the south transept, and through the crossing to the chancel and the north transept.\n\nThe main timbers of the roof were made of heart-of-oak, and although they were tarred they might not catch fire from a candle flame. However, under the eaves was a litter of ancient wood chips and shavings, discarded bits of rope and sacking, and abandoned birds' nests, which would make perfect kindling. All he would have to do would be to collect it and pile it up.\n\nHis candle was burning low.\n\nIt seemed so easy. Collect up the litter, touch the candle flame to it, and leave. Cross the close like a ghost, slip into the guesthouse, bar the door, curl up in the straw and wait for the alarm.\n\nBut if he were seen...\n\nIf he should be caught now, he could say he was harmlessly exploring the cathedral, and he would suffer no worse than a spanking. But if they caught him setting fire to the church they would do more than spank him. He remembered the sugar thief in Shiring, and the way his bottom bled. He recalled some of the punishments the outlaws had suffered: Faramond Openmouth had had his lips cut off, Jack Flathat had lost his hand, and Alan Catface had been put in the stocks and stoned and had never been able to talk properly since. Even worse were the stories of those who had not survived their punishments: a murderer who had been tied to a barrel studded with spikes and then rolled downhill so that all the spikes went through his body; a horse thief who had been burned alive; a thieving whore who had been impaled on a pointed stake. What would they do to a boy who set fire to a church?\n\nThoughtfully, he began to collect the inflammable rubbish from under the eaves and pile it up on the catwalk exactly below one of the mighty rafters.\n\nWhen he had a pile a foot high he sat down and looked at it.\n\nHis candle guttered. In a few moments he would have lost his chance.\n\nWith a quick motion he touched the candle flame to a piece of sacking. It caught fire. The flame spread immediately to some wood shavings, then a dried, crumbling bird's nest; and then the little fire was blazing cheerfully.\n\nI could still put it out, Jack thought.\n\nThe kindling was burning a little too quickly: at this rate it would be used up before the roof timber began to smolder. Jack hurriedly collected more rubbish and piled it on. The flames rose higher. I could still put it out, he thought. The pitch with which the beam was coated began to blacken and smoke. The rubbish burned up. I could just let the fire go out, now, he thought. Then he saw that the catwalk itself was burning. I could probably smother the fire with my cloak, still, he thought. Instead he threw more litter onto the fire and watched it burn higher.\n\nThe atmosphere became hot and smoky in the little angle of the eaves, even though the freezing night air was only an inch away on the other side of the roof. Some of the smaller timbers, to which the lead sheets of the roof were nailed, began to burn. Then, at last, a small flame flickered up from the massive main beam.\n\nThe cathedral was on fire.\n\nIt was done now. There was no turning back.\n\nJack felt scared. Suddenly he wanted to get out fast, and return to the guesthouse. He wanted to be rolled up in his cloak, nestling in a little hollow in the straw, with his eyes shut tight, and the others breathing evenly all around him.\n\nHe retreated along the catwalk.\n\nWhen he reached the end he looked back. The fire was spreading surprisingly quickly, perhaps because of the pitch with which the wood was coated. All the small timbers were ablaze, the main beams were beginning to burn, and the fire was spreading along the catwalk. Jack turned his back on it.\n\nHe ducked into the tower and went down the stairs, then ran along the gallery over the aisle and hurried down the spiral staircase to the floor of the nave. He ran to the door by which he had come in.\n\nIt was locked.\n\nHe realized he had been stupid. The monks had unlocked the door when they came in, so of course they had locked it again as they left.\n\nFear rose in his throat like bile. He had set the church on fire and now he was locked inside.\n\nHe fought down panic and tried to think. He had tried every door from the outside, and found them all locked; but perhaps some of them were fastened with bars, rather than locks, so that they could be opened from the inside.\n\nHe hurried across the crossing to the north transept and examined the door in the north porch. It had a lock.\n\nHe ran down the dark nave to the west end and tried each of the great public entrances. All three doors were locked with keys. Finally he tried the little door that led into the south aisle from the north walk of the cloister square. That, too, was locked.\n\nJack wanted to cry, but that would do no good. He looked up at the wooden ceiling. Was it his imagination, or could he see, by the faint moonlight, a little smoke drifting out from the ceiling near the corner of the south transept?\n\nHe thought: What am I going to do?\n\nWould the monks wake up, and come rushing in to put out the fire, in such a panic that they hardly noticed one small boy slipping out through the door? Or would they see him immediately, and grab him, screaming accusations? Or would they stay asleep, all unconscious, until the whole building had collapsed, and Jack lay crushed under a huge pile of stones?\n\nTears came to his eyes, and he wished he had never touched the candle flame to that pile of litter.\n\nHe looked around wildly. If he went to a window and screamed, would anybody hear?\n\nThere was a crash from above. He looked up and saw that a hole had appeared in the wooden ceiling, where a beam had fallen and poked through. The hole appeared as a patch of red on a black background. A moment later there was another crash, and a huge timber smashed right through the ceiling and fell, turning over once in the air, to hit the ground with a thump that shook the mighty columns of the nave. A shower of sparks and burning embers drifted down after it. Jack listened, waiting for shouts, cries for help, or the ringing of a bell; but nothing happened. The crash had not been heard. And if that had not awakened them, they certainly would not hear him screaming.\n\nI'm going to die here, he thought hysterically; I'm going to burn or be crushed, unless I can think of a way out!\n\nHe thought of the fallen tower. He had examined it from the outside, and he had not seen a way in, but then he had been timid, for fear of falling and causing a landslide. Perhaps if he looked again, from the inside this time, he would see something he had missed; and perhaps desperation would help him squeeze through where before he had seen no gap.\n\nHe ran to the west end. The glow of the fire coming through the hole in the ceiling, combined with the flames licking up from the beam that had fallen to the floor of the nave, now gave a stronger light than the moon, and the arcade of the nave was edged with gold instead of silver. Jack examined the pile of stones that had once been the northwest tower. They appeared to form a solid wall. There was no way through. Foolishly, he opened his mouth and yelled \"Mother!\" at the top of his voice, even though he knew she could not hear.\n\nHe fought down his panic once again. There was something in the back of his mind about this collapsed tower. He had been able to get inside the other tower, the one that was still standing, by going along the gallery over the south aisle. If he now went along the gallery over the north aisle, he might see a gap in this pile of rubble, a gap that was not visible from ground level.\n\nHe ran back to the crossing, staying under the shelter of the north aisle in case more burning beams should come crashing through the ceiling. There should be a little door and a spiral staircase on this side, just as there was on the other. He came to the corner of the nave and the north transept. He could not see the door. He looked around the corner: it was not on the other side either. He could not believe his bad luck. It was crazy: there had to be a way into the gallery!\n\nHe thought hard, fighting to stay calm. There was a way into the fallen tower, he just had to find it. I could get back into the roof space, via the good, southwest tower, he thought. I could cross to the other side of the roof space. There should be a little opening on that side, giving access to the collapsed northwest tower. That may provide me with a way out.\n\nHe looked up at the ceiling fearfully. The fire would now be an inferno. But he could not think of any alternative.\n\nFirst he had to cross the nave. He looked up again. As far as he could tell, there was nothing about to come down immediately. He took a deep breath and dashed across to the other side. Nothing fell on him.\n\nIn the south aisle, he pulled open the little door and ran up the spiral staircase. When he reached the top and stepped into the gallery he could feel the warmth of the fire above. He ran along the gallery, went through the door into the good tower, and raced up the stairs.\n\nHe ducked his head and crawled through the little arch into the roof space. It was full of smoke and heat. All the uppermost timbers were ablaze, and at the far end the biggest beams were burning strongly. The tarry smell made Jack cough. He hesitated only a moment, then stepped onto one of the big beams that spanned the nave and began to walk across. In moments he was wet with perspiration because of the heat, and his eyes began to water so that he could hardly see where he was going. He coughed, and then his foot slipped off the beam and he stumbled sideways. He fell with one foot on the beam and one foot off. His right foot landed on the ceiling, and to his horror it went straight through the rotten wood. A picture flashed into his mind of the height of the nave, and how far he would drop if he fell right through the ceiling; and he screamed as he tumbled forward, putting his arms out in front of him, imagining himself turning over and over in the air as the falling beam had done. But the wood held his weight.\n\nHe remained frozen still, shocked, resting on his hands and one knee, with the other leg sticking through the ceiling. Then the fierce heat of the fire brought him out of his shock. Gently he extracted his foot from the hole. He got on his hands and knees and crawled forward.\n\nAs he neared the other side, several large beams fell into the nave. The whole building seemed to shake, and the beam under Jack quivered like a bowstring. He stopped and held on tight. The tremor passed. He crawled on, and a moment later he reached the catwalk on the north side.\n\nIf his guess turned out to be wrong, and there was no opening from here into the ruins of the northwest tower, he would have to go back.\n\nAs he stood upright, he got a breath of cold night air. There must be some kind of gap. But would it be big enough for a small boy?\n\nHe took three paces to the west and stopped an instant before he would have stepped out into nothingness.\n\nHe found himself looking through a large hole out onto the moonlit ruins of the fallen tower. His knees went weak with relief. He was out of the inferno.\n\nBut he was high up, at roof level, and the top of the rubble pile was a long way below him, too far to jump. He could escape the flames now, but could he reach the ground without breaking his neck? Behind him, the flames were rapidly coming closer, and smoke was billowing out of the opening in which he stood.\n\nThis tower had once had a staircase around its inner wall, just as the other one still did, but most of this staircase had been destroyed in the collapse. However, where the wooden treads had been set into the wall with mortar, there were stumps of wood sticking out, sometimes just an inch or two long, sometimes more. Jack wondered whether he could climb down the stumps. It would be a precarious descent. He noticed a smell of scorching: his cloak was getting hot. In a moment it would catch fire. He had no choice.\n\nHe sat down, reached out for the nearest stump, held on with both hands, then eased one leg down until he found a foothold. Then he put the other foot down. Feeling his way with his feet, he eased himself down one step. The stumps held. He reached down once again, testing the strength of the next stump before putting his weight on it. This one felt a little loose. He trod gingerly, holding on tightly in case he should find himself swinging by his hands. Each perilous step down brought him nearer to the top of the rubble pile. As he descended, the stumps seemed to get smaller, as if the lower ones had suffered more severe damage. He put one foot, in its felt boot, on a stump no wider than his toe; and when he rested his weight on it his foot slipped. His other foot was on a larger stump, but when suddenly he put his full weight on it the other stump broke. He tried to hold on with his hands, but the stumps were so small that he could not grip hard, and he slipped, terrified, from his precarious perch and fell through the air.\n\nHe landed hard on his hands and knees on the top of the pile of rubble. For an instant he was so shocked and frightened he thought he must be dead; then he realized that he had been lucky enough to fall well. His hands stung and his knees would be massively bruised, but he was all right.\n\nAfter a moment he climbed down the pile of rubble and jumped the last few feet to the ground.\n\nHe was safe. He felt weak with relief. He wanted to cry again. He had escaped. He felt proud: what an adventure he had had!\n\nBut it was not yet over. Out here there was only a whiff of smoke, and the noise of the fire, so deafening inside the roof space, now sounded like a distant wind. Only the reddish glow behind the windows proved that the church was on fire. Nevertheless, those last tremors must have disturbed someone's sleep, and any moment now a bleary-eyed monk would come stumbling out of the dormitory, wondering whether the earthquake he had felt had been real or only a dream. Jack had set fire to the church\u2014a heinous crime in the eyes of a monk. He had to get away quickly.\n\nHe ran across the grass to the guesthouse. All was quiet and still. He stopped outside, panting. If he went in breathing like this he would wake them all. He tried to control his breathing but that seemed to make it worse. He would just have to stay here until it became normal again.\n\nA bell rang, piercing the quiet, and went on, pealing urgently, an unmistakable alarm. Jack froze. If he went inside now they would know. But if he did not\u2014\n\nThe door of the guesthouse opened, and Martha came out. Jack just stared at her, terrified.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" she said softly. \"You smell of smoke.\"\n\nA plausible lie came into Jack's head. \"I've only just stepped out,\" he said desperately. \"I heard that bell.\"\n\n\"Liar,\" Martha said. \"You've been gone for ages. I know, I was awake.\"\n\nHe realized there was no fooling her. \"Was anyone else awake?\" he said fearfully.\n\n\"No, only me.\"\n\n\"Don't tell them I was gone. Please?\"\n\nShe heard the fear in his voice and spoke soothingly. \"All right, I'll keep it a secret. Don't worry.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\"\n\nAt that moment Tom stepped out, scratching his head.\n\nJack was frightened. What would Tom think?\n\n\"What's going on?\" Tom said sleepily. He sniffed. \"I smell smoke.\"\n\nJack pointed at the cathedral with a trembling arm. \"I think...\" he said, and then swallowed. It was going to be all right, he realized, with a grateful sense of relief. Tom would just assume that Jack had got up a moment earlier, as Martha had. Jack spoke again, more confidently this time. \"Look at the church,\" he said to Tom. \"I think it's on fire,\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Philip had not yet got used to sleeping alone. He missed the stuffy air of the dormitory, the sound of other people shifting and snoring, the disturbance when one of the older monks got up to go to the latrine (followed, usually, by the other older ones, a regular procession which always amused the youngsters). Being alone did not bother Philip at nightfall, when he was always dead tired; but in the middle of the night, when he had been thoroughly roused by the service, he now found it difficult to go back to sleep. Instead of getting back into the big soft bed (it was a little embarrassing how quickly he had got used to that), he would build up the fire and read by candlelight, or kneel down and pray, or just sit thinking.\n\nHe had plenty to think about. The priory's finances were worse than he had anticipated. The main reason probably was that the whole organization generated very little cash. It owned vast acreages, but many farms were let at low rents on long leases, and some of them paid rent in kind\u2014so many sacks of flour, so many barrels of apples, so many cartloads of turnips. Those farms that were not rented out were run by monks, but they never seemed to be able to produce a surplus of food for sale. The priory's other main asset was the churches it owned, and from which it received the tithes. Unfortunately, most of these were under the control of the sacrist, and Philip was having trouble finding out exactly how much he received and how he spent it. There were no written accounts. However, it was clear that the sacrist's income was too small, or his management of it too bad, to maintain the cathedral church in good repair; although over the years the sacrist had built up an impressive collection of jeweled vessels and ornaments.\n\nPhilip could not get all the details until he had time to tour the monastery's far-flung properties, but the outline was already clear; and the old prior had for some years been borrowing from moneylenders in Winchester and London just to meet everyday expenses. Philip had become quite depressed when he realized how bad it was.\n\nHowever, as he thought and prayed about it, the solution became clear. Philip had a three-stage plan. He would begin by taking control of the priory's finances personally. At present, each of the monastic officials controlled parts of the property, and fulfilled his responsibility with the income from that property: the cellarer, the sacrist, the guest-master, the novice-master and the infirmarer all had \"their\" farms and churches. Naturally, none of them would ever confess to having too much money, and if they had any surplus they took care to spend it, for fear that something would be taken away from them. Philip had decided to appoint a new official, called the purser, whose job it would be to receive all monies due to the priory, with no exceptions, and then give out to each official just what he needed.\n\nThe purser would naturally be someone Philip trusted. His first inclination had been to give the job to Cuthbert Whitehead, the cellarer; but then he had recalled Cuthbert's aversion to writing things down. That was no good. From now on all income and outgoings were to be written in a great book. Philip had decided to appoint the young kitchener, Brother Milius, as purser. The other monastic officials would not like the idea no matter who got the job, but Philip was the boss, and anyway the majority of monks, who knew or suspected that the priory was in trouble, would support reforms.\n\nWhen he had control of the money, Philip would implement stage two of his plan.\n\nAll the distant farms would be leased for cash rents. This would put an end to expensive transportation of goods across long distances. There was a property of the priory's in Yorkshire that paid a \"rent\" of twelve lambs, and faithfully sent them all the way to Kingsbridge each year, even though the cost of transport was more than the value of the lambs, and anyway half of them always died en route. In future, only the nearest farms would produce food for the priory.\n\nHe also planned to change the present system under which each farm produced a little of everything\u2014some grain, some meat, some milk and so on. Philip had thought for years that this was wasteful. Every farm managed to produce only enough of each item for its own needs\u2014or perhaps it would be truer to say that every farm always managed to consume just about everything it produced. Philip wanted each farm to concentrate on one thing. All the grain would be grown in a group of villages in Somerset, where the priory also owned several mills. The lush hillsides of Wiltshire would graze cattle for butter and beef. The little cell of St-John-in-the-Forest would breed goats and make cheese.\n\nBut Philip's most important scheme was to convert all the middle-ranking farms\u2014those with poor or indifferent soil, especially the hill properties\u2014to sheep farming.\n\nHe had spent his boyhood in a monastery that farmed sheep (everyone farmed sheep in that part of Wales), and he had seen the price of wool rise slowly but steadily, year by year, ever since he could remember, right up to the present. Sheep would solve the priory's cash problem permanently, in time.\n\nThat was stage two of the plan. Stage three was to demolish the cathedral church and build a new one.\n\nThe present church was old, ugly and impractical; and the fact that the northwest tower had fallen down was a sign that the whole structure might be weak. Modern churches were taller, longer, and\u2014most important\u2014lighter. They were also designed to display the important tombs and saintly relics that pilgrims came to see. These days, more and more, cathedrals had additional small altars and special chapels dedicated to particular saints. A well-designed church that catered to the multiplying demands of today's congregations would draw many more worshipers and pilgrims than Kingsbridge could attract at the moment; and by doing so it could pay for itself, in the long run. When Philip had put the priory's finances on a sound footing, he would build a new church which would symbolize the regeneration of Kingsbridge.\n\nIt would be his crowning achievement.\n\nHe thought he would have enough money to begin rebuilding in about ten years' time. It was a rather daunting thought\u2014he would be almost forty! However, within a year or so he hoped to be able to afford a program of repairs which would make the present building respectable, if not impressive, by the Whitsun after next.\n\nNow that he had a plan he felt cheerful and optimistic again. Mulling over the details, he dimly heard a distant bang, like the slamming of a big door. He wondered vaguely whether someone was up and about in the dormitory or the cloisters. He supposed that if there were trouble he would find out about it soon enough, and his thoughts drifted back to rents and tithes. Another important source of wealth for monasteries was gifts from the parents of boys who became novices, but to attract the right sort of novices the monastery needed a flourishing school\u2014\n\nHis reflections were interrupted again, this time by a louder bang that actually made his house shake slightly. That was definitely not a door slamming, he thought. Whatever is going on over there? He went to the window and opened the shutter. The cold night blew in, making him shiver. He looked out over the church, the chapter house, the cloisters, the dormitory and the kitchen buildings beyond. They all appeared peaceful in the moonlight. The air was so frosty that his teeth hurt when he breathed. But there was something else about the air. He sniffed. He could smell smoke.\n\nHe frowned anxiously, but he could see no fire.\n\nHe drew his head into the room and sniffed again, thinking that he might be smelling smoke from his own fireplace, but it was not so.\n\nMystified and alarmed, he pulled on his boots rapidly, picked up his cloak, and ran out of the house.\n\nThe smell of smoke became stronger as he hurried across the green toward the cloisters. There was no doubt that some part of the priory was on fire. His first thought was that it must be the kitchen\u2014nearly all fires started in kitchens. He ran through the passage between the south transept and the chapter house and across the cloister square. In daytime he would have gone through the refectory to the kitchen courtyard, but at night it was locked, so he went out through the arch in the south walk and turned right to the back of the kitchen. There was no sign of fire here, nor in the brewery or the bakehouse, and the smell of smoke now seemed a little less. He ran a little farther, and looked past the corner of the brewery, across the green to the guesthouse and the stables. All seemed quiet over there.\n\nCould the fire be in the dormitory? The dormitory was the only other building with a fireplace. The thought was horrifying. As he ran back into the cloisters he had a grisly vision of all the monks in their beds, overcome by smoke, unconscious as the dormitory blazed. He ran to the dormitory door. As he reached it, it opened, and Cuthbert Whitehead stepped out, carrying a rushlight.\n\nCuthbert said immediately: \"Can you smell it?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014are the monks all right?\"\n\n\"There's no fire here.\"\n\nPhilip was relieved. At least his flock was safe. \"Where, then?\"\n\n\"What about the kitchen?\" Cuthbert said.\n\n\"No\u2014I've checked.\" Now that he knew nobody was in danger, he began to worry about his property. He had just been thinking about finances, and he knew he could not afford repairs to buildings right now. He looked at the church. Was there a faint red glow behind the windows?\n\nPhilip said: \"Cuthbert, get the church key from the sacrist.\"\n\nCuthbert was ahead of him. \"I have it here.\"\n\n\"Good man!\"\n\nThey hurried along the east walk to the door in the south transept. Cuthbert unlocked it hastily. As soon as the door swung open, smoke billowed out.\n\nPhilip's heart missed a beat. How could his church be on fire?\n\nHe stepped inside. At first the scene was confusing. On the floor of the church, around the altar and here in the south transept, several huge pieces of wood were burning. Where had they come from? How had they produced so much smoke? And what was the roaring noise that sounded like a much bigger fire?\n\nCuthbert shouted: \"Look up!\"\n\nPhilip looked up, and his questions were answered. The ceiling was blazing furiously. He stared at it, horrified: it looked like the underside of hell. Most of the painted ceiling had already gone, revealing the timber triangles of the roof, blackened and blazing, the flames and smoke leaping and swirling in a fiendish dance. Philip stood still, shocked into immobility, until his neck started to hurt from looking up; then he gathered his wits.\n\nHe ran to the middle of the crossing, stood in front of the altar, and looked around the whole church. The entire roof was ablaze, from the west door to the east end and all across both transepts. For a panicky moment he thought How are we going to get water up there? He imagined a line of monks running along the gallery with buckets, and he realized immediately that it was impossible: even if he had a hundred people for the job, they could not carry up to the roof a quantity of water sufficient to put out this roaring inferno. The whole roof was going to be destroyed, he realized with a sinking heart; and the rain and snow would fall into the church until he could find the money for a new roof.\n\nA crashing sound made him look up. Immediately above him, an enormous timber was moving slowly sideways. It was going to fall on top of him. He dashed back into the south transept, where Cuthbert stood looking scared.\n\nA whole section of the roof, three triangles of beam-and-rafter plus the lead sheets nailed to them, was falling in. Philip and Cuthbert watched, transfixed, quite forgetting their own safety. The roof fell on one of the big round arches of the crossing. The enormous weight of the falling wood and lead cracked the stonework of the arch with a prolonged explosive sound like thunder. Everything happened slowly: the beams fell slowly, the arch broke up slowly, and the smashed masonry fell slowly through the air. More roof beams came free, and then, with a noise like a long slow peal of thunder, a whole section of the north wall of the chancel shuddered and slid sideways into the north transept.\n\nPhilip was appalled. The sight of such a mighty building being destroyed was strangely shocking. It was like watching a mountain fall down or a river run dry: he had never really thought it could happen. He could hardly believe his eyes. It made him feel disoriented, and he did not know what to do.\n\nCuthbert was tugging at his sleeve. \"Come out!\" he yelled.\n\nPhilip could not tear himself away. He remembered that he had been anticipating ten years of austerity and hard work to put the monastery back on a sound financial footing. Now, suddenly, he had to build a new roof and a new north wall, and perhaps more if the destruction went on.... This is the devil's work, he thought. How else could the roof have caught fire on a freezing night in January?\n\n\"We'll be killed!\" Cuthbert shouted, and the note of human fear in his voice touched Philip's heart. He turned away from the blaze, and they both ran out of the church into the cloisters.\n\nThe monks had been alerted and were filing out of the dormitory. As they came out they naturally wanted to stop and look at the church. Milius Kitchener was standing at the door hurrying them along to avoid a logjam, directing them away from the church and along the south walk of the cloisters. Halfway along the walk Tom Builder stood, telling them to turn under the arch and escape that way. Philip heard Tom saying: \"Go to the guesthouse\u2014stay well clear of the church!\"\n\nHe was overreacting, Philip thought: surely they would have been safe enough here in the cloisters? But there was no harm done, and perhaps it was a sensible precaution. In fact, he reflected, I probably should have thought of it myself.\n\nBut Tom's caution made him wonder how far the destruction might spread. If the cloisters were not absolutely safe, what about the chapter house? There, in a little side room with thick stone walls and no windows, they kept the ironbound oak chest containing what little money they had, plus the sacrist's jeweled vessels and all the priory's precious charters and deeds of ownership. A moment later he saw Alan the treasurer, a young monk who worked with the sacrist and took care of the ornaments. Philip called him. \"The treasure must be taken from the chapter house\u2014where's the sacrist?\"\n\n\"He's gone, Father.\"\n\n\"Go and find him and get the keys, then take the treasure out of the chapter house and carry it to the guesthouse. Run!\"\n\nAlan ran off. Philip turned to Cuthbert. \"You'd better make sure he does it.\" Cuthbert nodded and followed Alan.\n\nPhilip looked back at the church. In the few moments his attention had been elsewhere, the fire had become fiercer, and now the light of the flames shone brightly in all the windows. The sacrist should have thought of the treasure, instead of saving his own skin so hastily. Was there anything else that had been overlooked? Philip found it hard to think systematically when everything was happening so quickly. The monks were moving to safety, the treasury was being taken care of\u2014\n\nHe had forgotten the saint.\n\nAt the far east end of the church, beyond the bishop's throne, was the stone tomb of Saint Adolphus, an early English martyr. Inside the tomb was a wooden coffin containing the skeleton of the saint. Periodically the lid of the tomb was lifted to display the coffin. Adolphus was not as popular now as he had once been, but in the old days sick people had been miraculously cured by touching the tomb. A saint's remains could be a big attraction in a church, promoting worship and pilgrimages. They brought in so much money that, shamefully, it was not unknown for monks actually to steal holy relics from other churches. Philip had planned to revive interest in Adolphus. He had to save the skeleton.\n\nHe would need help to lift the lid of the tomb and carry the coffin. The sacrist should have thought about this, too. But he was nowhere to be seen. The next monk to emerge from the dormitory was Remigius, the haughty sub-prior. He would have to do. Philip called him over and said: \"Help me rescue the bones of the saint.\"\n\nRemigius's pale green eyes looked fearfully at the burning church, but after a moment's hesitation he followed Philip along the east walk and through the door.\n\nPhilip paused inside. It was only a few moments since he had run out, but the fire had progressed very fast. There was a sting in his nostrils that reminded him of burning tar, and he realized that the roof timbers must have been coated with pitch to prevent their rotting. Despite the flames there seemed to be a cold wind: the smoke was escaping through gaping holes in the roof, and the fire was drawing cold air into the church through the windows. The updraft fanned the blaze. Glowing embers rained down on the church floor, and several larger timbers, burning up in the roof, looked as if they could fall at any time. Until this moment Philip had been worried first about the monks and second about priory property, but now for the first time he was afraid for himself, and he hesitated to go farther into the inferno.\n\nThe longer he waited, the greater the risk; and if he thought about it too much he would lose his nerve entirely. He hitched up the skirts of his robe, shouted \"Follow me!\" and ran into the transept. He dodged around the small bonfires on the floor, expecting at any moment to be flattened by a falling roof beam. He ran with his heart in his mouth, feeling as if he wanted to scream with tension. Then, suddenly, he reached the safety of the aisle on the other side.\n\nHe paused there for a moment. The aisles were stone-vaulted and there was no fire here. Remigius was right beside him. Philip panted and coughed as smoke caught in his throat. Crossing the transept had taken only a few moments but it had seemed longer than a midnight mass.\n\n\"We shall be killed!\" Remigius said.\n\n\"God will preserve us,\" Philip said. Then he thought: So why am I frightened?\n\nThis was no time for theology.\n\nHe went along the transept and turned the corner into the chancel, still keeping to the side aisle. He could feel the heat from the wooden stalls, which were burning merrily in the middle of the quire, and he suffered a pang of loss: the stalls had been expensively made and covered with beautiful carvings. He put them out of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. He ran on up the chancel to the east end.\n\nThe tomb of the saint was halfway across the church. It was a big stone box standing on a low plinth. Philip and Remigius would have to raise the stone lid, put it to one side, lift the coffin out of the tomb, and carry it to the aisle, while the roof above them disintegrated. Philip looked at Remigius. The sub-prior's prominent green eyes were wide with fear. Philip concealed his own dread for Remigius's sake. \"You take that end, I'll take this,\" he said, pointing, and without waiting for agreement he ran to the tomb.\n\nRemigius followed.\n\nThey stood at opposite ends and grasped the stone lid. They both heaved.\n\nThe lid did not move.\n\nPhilip realized he should have brought more monks. He had not paused to think. But it was too late now: if he went out and summoned more help, the transept might be impassable when he tried to return. But he could not leave the saint's remains here. A beam would fall and smash the tomb; then the wooden coffin would catch fire, and the ashes would be scattered in the wind, a dreadful sacrilege and a terrible loss to the cathedral.\n\nHe had an idea. He moved around to the side of the tomb and beckoned Remigius to stand beside him. He knelt down, put both hands to the overhanging edge of the lid, and pushed up with all his might. When Remigius copied him, the lid lifted. Slowly they raised it higher. Philip had to go up on one knee, and Remigius followed suit; then they both stood. When the lid was vertical they gave it one more shove and it toppled over, fell on the floor on the other side of the tomb, and cracked in two.\n\nPhilip looked inside the tomb. The coffin was in good condition, its wood still apparently sound and its iron handles only superficially tarnished. Philip stood at one end, leaned in, and grasped two handles. Remigius did the same at the other end. They lifted the coffin a few inches, but it was much heavier than Philip had expected, and after a moment Remigius let his end fall, saying: \"I can't do it\u2014I'm older than you.\"\n\nPhilip suppressed an angry retort. The coffin was probably lined with lead. But now that they had broken the lid of the tomb, the coffin was even more vulnerable than before. \"Come here,\" Philip shouted to Remigius. \"We'll try to stand it on end.\"\n\nRemigius came around the tomb and stood beside Philip. They each took one protruding iron handle and heaved. The end came up relatively easily. They got it above the level of the top of the tomb, then they both walked forward, one on either side, raising the coffin as they went, until it stood on end. They paused for a moment. Philip realized they had lifted the foot of the coffin, so the saint was now standing on his head. Philip sent him a silent apology. Small pieces of burning wood fell around them constantly. Every time a few sparks landed on Remigius's robe he would slap at them frantically until they disappeared, and whenever he got the chance he would steal a frightened look at the burning roof. Philip could see that the man's courage was rapidly running out.\n\nThey tipped the coffin so that it was leaning against the inside of the tomb, then pushed a little more. The other end came up off the ground and the coffin seesawed on the edge of the tomb; then they eased it down until the other end hit the ground. They tipped it end-over-end once more, so that it lay on the ground the right way up. The holy bones must be rattling around in there like dice in a cup, Philip thought; this is the closest thing to sacrilege that I've ever done, but there's nothing else for it.\n\nStanding at one end of the coffin, they each took a handle, lifted, and began to drag it across the church toward the relative safety of the aisle. Its iron corners plowed small furrows in the beaten earth. They had almost reached the aisle when a section of the roof, blazing timbers and hot lead, came crashing down right on the saint's now-empty tomb. The bang was deafening, the floor trembled with the impact, and the stone tomb was smashed to smithereens. A big beam bounced onto the coffin, missing Philip and Remigius by inches and knocking the coffin out of their grasp. It was too much for Remigius. \"This is the devil's work!\" he shouted hysterically, and he ran away.\n\nPhilip almost followed him. If the devil really were at work in here tonight, there was no telling what might happen. Philip had never seen a fiend but he had heard plenty of tales of people who had. But monks are made to oppose Satan, not flee from him, Philip told himself sternly. He glanced longingly at the shelter of the aisle, then steeled himself, grabbed the coffin handles, and heaved.\n\nHe managed to drag it out from under the fallen beam. The wood of the coffin was dented and splintered but not actually broken, remarkably. He dragged it a little farther. A shower of small glowing embers fell around him. He glanced up at the roof. Was that a two-legged figure, dancing a mocking jig up there in the flames, or was it just a wisp of smoke? He looked down again, and saw that the skirt of his robe had caught fire. He knelt down and smacked at the flames with his hands, flattening the burning fabric against the floor, and the flames died instantly; then he heard a noise that was either the screech of tortured wood or the mad mocking laugh of an imp. \"Saint Adolphus preserve me,\" he gasped, and he took hold of the coffin handles again.\n\nInch by inch he dragged the coffin across the ground. The devil left him alone for a moment. He did not look up\u2014better not to gaze upon the fiend. At last he reached the shelter of the aisle, and felt a little safer. His aching back forced him to stop and straighten up for a moment.\n\nIt was a long way to the nearest door, which was in the south transept. He was not sure he could drag the coffin all that way before the whole roof fell in. Perhaps that was what the devil was counting on. Philip could not stop himself from looking up into the flames again. The smoky two-legged figure darted behind a blackened beam just as Philip caught sight of it. He knows I can't make it, Philip thought. He looked along the aisle, tempted to abandon the saint and run for his life\u2014and there he saw, coming toward him, Brother Milius, Cuthbert Whitehead, and Tom Builder, three very corporeal forms rushing to his aid. His heart leaped for joy, and suddenly he was not sure there was a fiend in the roof at all.\n\n\"Thank God!\" he said. \"Help me with this,\" he added unnecessarily.\n\nTom Builder took one swift appraising look at the burning roof. He did not appear to see any fiends, but he said: \"Let's make it quick.\"\n\nThey each took a corner and lifted the coffin onto their shoulders. It was a strain even with four of them. Philip called: \"Forward!\" They walked along the aisle as fast as they could, bowed down by the heavy burden.\n\nWhen they reached the south transept, Tom called: \"Wait.\" The floor was an obstacle course of small fires, and more fragments of burning wood fell continuously. Philip peered across the gap, trying to map a route through the flames. During the few moments that they paused, a rumble began at the west end of the church. Philip looked up, full of dread. The rumble grew to a thunder.\n\nTom Builder said enigmatically: \"It's weak, like the other one.\"\n\n\"What is?\" Philip shouted.\n\n\"The southwest tower.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\"\n\nThe thunder became even louder. Philip looked, horrified, as the entire west end of the church seemed to move forward a yard, as if the hand of God had struck it. Ten or more yards of roof fell down into the nave with the impact of an earthquake. Then the whole of the southwest tower seemed to crumble and fall, like a landslide, into the church.\n\nPhilip was paralyzed with shock. His church was disintegrating in front of his eyes. The damage would take years to repair even if he could find the money. What would he do? How would the monastery continue? Was this the end of Kingsbridge Priory?\n\nHe was jerked out of his paralysis by the movement of the coffin on his shoulder when the other three men pressed forward. Philip followed where it took him. Tom negotiated a way through the maze of fires. A burning brand fell on top of the coffin but fortunately it slipped to the floor without touching any of them. A moment later they reached the opposite side and passed through the door, out of the church into the cool night air.\n\nPhilip was so devastated by the destruction of the church that he felt no relief at his own escape. They hurried around the cloisters to the south arch and passed through. When they were well clear of the buildings Tom said: \"This will do.\" Thankfully, they lowered the coffin to the frosty ground.\n\nPhilip took a few moments to catch his breath. In that pause he realized that this was no time to act stunned. He was the prior, he was in charge here. What should he do next? It might be wise to make sure all the monks had escaped safely. He took one more deep breath, then straightened his shoulders and looked at the other men. \"Cuthbert, you stay here and guard the saint's coffin,\" he said. \"The rest of you, follow me.\"\n\nHe led them around the back of the kitchen buildings, passed between the brewery and the mill, and crossed the green to the guesthouse. The monks, Tom's family, and most of the villagers were standing around in groups, talking in subdued tones and staring wide-eyed at the blazing church. Philip turned to look at it before speaking to them. The sight was painful. The entire west end was a pile of rubble, and huge flames were shooting up from what remained of the roof.\n\nHe tore his gaze away. \"Is everyone here?\" he called out. \"If you can think of anyone who's missing, call out his name.\"\n\nSomeone said: \"Cuthbert Whitehead.\"\n\n\"He's guarding the bones of the saint. Anyone else?\"\n\nThere was no one else.\n\nPhilip said to Milius: \"Count the monks, to make sure. There should be forty-five including you and me.\" Knowing he could trust Milius, he put that out of his mind and turned to Tom Builder. \"Is all your family here?\"\n\nTom nodded and pointed. They were standing by the guesthouse wall; the woman, the grown son and the two little ones. The small boy gave Philip a frightened look. This must be a terrifying experience for them, Philip thought.\n\nThe sacrist was sitting on the ironbound box that contained the treasure. Philip had forgotten about that: he was relieved to see it safe. He addressed the sacrist. \"Brother Andrew, the coffin of Saint Adolphus is behind the refectory. Take some brothers to help you, and carry it...\" He thought for a moment. The safest place was probably the prior's residence. \"Take it to my house.\"\n\n\"To your house?\" Andrew said argumentatively. \"The relics should be in my care, not yours.\"\n\n\"Then you should have rescued them from the church!\" Philip flared. \"Do as I say, without another word!\"\n\nThe sacrist got up reluctantly, looking furious.\n\nPhilip said: \"Make haste, man, or I'll strip you of your office here and now!\" He turned his back on Andrew and spoke to Milius. \"How many?\"\n\n\"Forty-four, plus Cuthbert. Eleven novices. Five guests. Everyone is accounted for.\"\n\n\"That's a mercy.\" Philip looked at the raging fire. It seemed almost miraculous that they were all alive and no one had even been hurt. He realized he was exhausted, but he was too worried to sit down and rest. \"Is there anything else of value that we should rescue?\" he said. \"We have the treasure and the relics....\"\n\nAlan, the young treasurer, spoke up. \"What about the books?\"\n\nPhilip groaned. Of course\u2014the books. They were kept in a locked cupboard in the east cloister, next to the door of the chapter house, where the monks could get them during study periods. It would take a dangerously long time to empty the cupboard book by book. Perhaps a few strong youngsters could pick up the whole cupboard and carry it to safety. Philip looked around. The sacrist had chosen half a dozen monks to deal with the coffin, and they were already making their way across the green. Now Philip selected three young monks and three of the older novices, and told them to follow him.\n\nHe retraced his steps across the open space in front of the burning church. He was too tired to run. They passed between the mill and the brewery, and went around the back of the kitchen and refectory. Cuthbert Whitehead and the sacrist were organizing the removal of the coffin. Philip led his group along the passage that ran between the refectory and the dormitory and under the south archway into the cloisters.\n\nHe could feel the heat of the fire. The big book cupboard had carvings on its doors depicting Moses and the tablets of stone. Philip directed the young men to tip the cupboard forward and hoist it on their shoulders. They carried it around the cloisters to the south archway. There Philip paused and looked back while they went on. His heart filled with grief at the sight of the ruined church. There was less smoke and more flame now. Whole stretches of the roof had disappeared. As he watched, the roof over the crossing seemed to sag, and he realized it was going to go next. There was a thunderous crash, louder than anything that had gone before, and the roof of the south transept fell in. Philip felt a pain that was almost physical, as if his own body were burning. A moment later the wall of the transept seemed to bulge out over the cloisters. God help us, it's going to fall down, Philip thought. As the stonework began to crumble and scatter he realized it was falling toward him, and he turned to flee; but before he had taken three steps something hit the back of his head and he lost consciousness.\n\nFor Tom, the raging fire that was destroying Kingsbridge Cathedral was a beacon of hope.\n\nHe looked across the green at the huge flames that leaped high in the air from the ruins of the church, and all he could think was: This means work!\n\nThe thought had been hiding in the back of his mind, ever since he had emerged, bleary-eyed, from the guesthouse, and seen the faint red glow in the church windows. All the time he had been hurrying the monks out of danger, and rushing into the burning church to find Prior Philip, and carrying the saint's coffin out, his heart had been bursting with shameless, happy optimism.\n\nNow that he had a moment to reflect, it occurred to him that he ought not to be happy about the burning of a church; but then, he thought, no one had been hurt, and the priory's treasure had been saved, and the church was old and crumbling anyway; so why not rejoice?\n\nThe young monks came back across the green, carrying the heavy book cupboard. All I have to do now, Tom thought, is make sure that I get the job of rebuilding this church. And the time to speak to Prior Philip about it is now.\n\nHowever, Philip was not with the monks carrying the book cupboard. They reached the guesthouse and lowered the cupboard to the ground. \"Where's your prior?\" Tom said to them.\n\nThe eldest of them looked back in surprise. \"I don't know,\" he said. \"I thought he was behind us.\"\n\nPerhaps he had stayed back to watch the blaze, Tom thought; but perhaps he was in trouble.\n\nWithout further ado Tom ran across the green and around the back of the kitchen. He hoped Philip was all right, not just because Philip seemed such a good man, but because he was Jonathan's protector. Without Philip there was no knowing what might happen to the baby.\n\nTom found Philip in the passage between the refectory and the dormitory. To his relief, the prior was sitting upright, looking dazed but unhurt. Tom helped him to his feet.\n\n\"Something hit my head,\" Philip said groggily.\n\nTom looked past him. The south transept had fallen into the cloisters. \"You're fortunate to be alive,\" Tom said. \"God must have a purpose for you.\"\n\nPhilip shook his head to clear it. \"I passed out for a moment. I'm all right now. Where are the books?\"\n\n\"They took them to the guesthouse.\"\n\n\"Let's go back there.\"\n\nTom took Philip's arm as they walked. The prior was not badly hurt but he was upset, Tom could see.\n\nBy the time they got back to the guesthouse, the fire in the church was past its peak, and the flames were dying down a little; but nevertheless Tom could see people's faces quite clearly, and -he realized with a little shock that it was daybreak.\n\nPhilip started organizing things again. He told Milius Kitchener to make porridge for everyone and authorized Cuthbert Whitehead to open a barrel of strong wine to warm them up in the meantime. He ordered the fire lit in the guesthouse, and the older monks went in out of the cold. It started to rain, wind-driven sheets of water, freezing cold, and the flames in the ruined church faded fast.\n\nWhen everyone was busy again, Prior Philip walked away from the guesthouse, on his own, and headed for the church. Tom saw him and followed. This was his chance. If he could handle this right he could work here for years.\n\nPhilip stood staring at what had been the west end of the church, shaking his head sadly at the wreckage, looking as if it were his life that was in ruins. Tom stood beside him in silence. After a while Philip moved on, walking along the north side of the nave, through the graveyard. Tom walked with him, surveying the damage.\n\nThe north wall of the nave was still standing, but the north transept and part of the north wall of the chancel had fallen. The church still had an east end. They turned around the end and looked at the south side. Most of the south wall had come down and the south transept had collapsed into the cloisters. The chapter house was still standing.\n\nThey walked to the archway that led into the east walk of the cloisters. There they were halted by the pile of rubble. It looked a mess, but Tom's trained eye could see that the cloister walks themselves were not badly damaged, just buried under the fallen ruins. He climbed over the broken stones until he could see into the church. Just behind the altar there was a semi-concealed staircase that led down into the crypt. The crypt itself was beneath the quire. Tom peered in, studying the stone floor over the crypt for signs of cracking. He could see none. There was a good chance the crypt had survived intact. He would not tell Philip yet: he would save the news for a crucial moment.\n\nPhilip had walked on, around the back of the dormitory. Tom hurried to catch him. They found the dormitory unmarked; Going on, they found the other monastic buildings more or less unharmed: the refectory, the kitchen, the bakehouse and the brewery. Philip might have taken some consolation in that, but his expression remained glum.\n\nThey ended up where they had started, in front of the ruined west end, having completed a full circuit of the priory close without speaking a word. Philip sighed heavily and broke the silence. \"The devil did this,\" he said.\n\nTom thought: This is my moment. He took a deep breath and said: \"It might be God's work.\"\n\nPhilip looked up at him in surprise. \"How so?\"\n\nTom said carefully: \"No one has been hurt. The books, the treasure and the bones of the saint were saved. Only the church has been destroyed. Perhaps God wanted a new church.\"\n\nPhilip smiled skeptically. \"And I suppose God wanted you to build it.\" He was not too stunned to see that Tom's line of thought might be self-interested.\n\nTom stood his ground. \"It may be so,\" he said stubbornly. \"It was not the devil who sent a master builder here on the night the church burned down.\"\n\nPhilip looked away. \"Well, there will be a new church, but I don't know when. And what am I to do meanwhile? How can the life of the monastery go on? All we're here for is worship and study.\"\n\nPhilip was deep in despair. This was the moment for Tom to offer him new hope. \"My boy and I could have the cloisters cleared and ready for use in a week,\" he said, making his voice sound more confident than he felt.\n\nPhilip was surprised. \"Could you?\" Then his expression changed once more, and he looked defeated again. \"But what will we use for a church?\"\n\n\"What about the crypt? You can hold services there, couldn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014it would do very well.\"\n\n\"I'm sure the crypt is not badly damaged,\" Tom said. It was almost true: he was almost sure.\n\nPhilip was looking at him as if he were the angel of mercy.\n\n\"It won't take long to clear a path through the debris from the cloisters to the crypt stairs,\" Tom went on. \"Most of the church on that side has been completely destroyed, which is fortunate, oddly enough, because it means there's no further danger from falling masonry. I'd have to survey the walls that are still standing, and it might be necessary to shore some of them up. Then they should be checked every day for cracks, and even so you ought not to enter the church in a gale.\" All of this was important, but Tom could see that Philip was not taking it in. What Philip wanted from Torn now was positive news, something to lift his spirits. And the way to get hired was to give him what he wanted. Tom changed his tone. \"With some of your younger monks laboring for me, I could fix things up so that you're able to resume normal monastic life, after a fashion, within two weeks.\"\n\nPhilip was staring at him. \"Two weeks?\"\n\n\"Give me food and lodging for my family, and you can pay my wages when you have the money.\"\n\n\"You could give me back my priory in two weeks?\" Philip repeated incredulously.\n\nTom was not sure he could, but if it took three no one would die of it. \"Two weeks,\" he said firmly. \"After that, we can knock down the remaining walls\u2014that's a skilled job, mind you, if it's to be done safely\u2014then clear the rubble, stacking the stones for reuse. Meanwhile we can plan the new cathedral.\" Tom held his breath. He had done his best. Surely Philip would hire him now!\n\nPhilip nodded, smiling for the first time. \"I think God did send you,\" he said. \"Let's have some breakfast, then we can start work.\"\n\nTom breathed a shaky sigh of relief. \"Thank you,\" he said. There was a quaver in his voice that he could not quite control, but suddenly he did not care, and with a barely suppressed sob, he said: \"I can't tell you how much it means to me.\"\n\nAfter breakfast Philip held an impromptu chapter in Cuthbert's storeroom beneath the kitchen.. The monks were nervously excited. They were men who had chosen, or had reconciled themselves to, a life of security, predictability and tedium, and most of them were badly disoriented. Their bewilderment touched Philip's heart. He felt more than ever like a shepherd, whose job it is to care for foolish and helpless creatures; except that these were not dumb animals, they were his brothers, and he loved them. The way to comfort them, he had decided, was to tell them what was going to happen, use up their nervous energy in hard work, and return to a semblance of normal routine as soon as possible.\n\nDespite the unusual surroundings, Philip did not abbreviate the ritual of chapter. He ordered the reading of the martyrology for the day, followed by the memorial prayers. This was what monasteries were for: prayer was the justification of their existence. Nevertheless, some of the monks were restive, so he chose Chapter Twenty of Saint Benedict's Rule, the section called \"On Reverence at Prayer.\" The necrology followed. The familiar ritual calmed their nerves, and he noticed that the scared look was slowly leaving the faces around him as the monks realized that their world was not coming to an end after all.\n\nAt the end Philip rose to address them. \"The catastrophe that struck us last night is, after all, only physical,\" he began, putting into his voice as much warmth and reassurance as he could. \"Our life is spiritual; our work is prayer, worship and contemplation.\" He looked all around the room for a moment, catching as many eyes as he could, making sure he had their concentrated attention; then he said: \"We will resume that work within a few days, that I promise you.\"\n\nHe paused to let those words sink in, and the easing of tension in the room was almost tangible. He gave them a moment, then went on. \"God in his wisdom sent us a master builder yesterday to help us through this crisis. He has assured me that if we work under his direction we can have the cloisters ready for normal use within a week.\"\n\nThere was a subdued murmur of pleased surprise.\n\n\"I'm afraid our church will never be used for services again\u2014it will have to be built anew, and that will take many years, of course. However, Tom Builder believes the crypt to be undamaged. The crypt is consecrated, so we can hold services there. Tom says he can make it safe within a week after finishing the cloisters. So, you see, we can resume normal worship in time for Quinquagesima Sunday.\"\n\nOnce again their relief was audible. Philip saw that he had succeeded in soothing and reassuring them. At the beginning of this chapter they had been frightened and confused; now they were calm and hopeful. Philip added: \"Brothers who feel themselves too frail to undertake physical labor will be excused. Brothers who work all day with Tom Builder will be allowed red meat and wine.\"\n\nPhilip sat down. Remigius was the first to speak. \"How much will we have to pay this builder?\" he asked suspiciously.\n\nYou could trust Remigius to try to find fault. \"Nothing, yet,\" Philip replied. \"Tom knows our poverty. He will work for food and lodging for himself and his family, until we can afford his wages.\" That was ambiguous, Philip realized: it might mean that Tom would not be entitled to wages until the priory could afford it, whereas the reality was that the priory would owe him wages for every day he worked, starting today. But before Philip could clarify the agreement, Remigius spoke again.\n\n\"And where will they lodge?\"\n\n\"I have given them the guesthouse.\"\n\n\"They could lodge with one of the village families.\"\n\n\"Tom has made us a generous offer,\" Philip said impatiently. \"We're fortunate to have him. I don't want to make him sleep crowded in with someone's goats and pigs when we have a decent house standing empty.\"\n\n\"There are two women in that family\u2014\"\n\n\"A woman and a girl,\" Philip corrected him.\n\n\"One woman, then. We don't want a woman living in the priory!\"\n\nThe monks muttered restively: they did not like Remigius's quibbling. Philip said: \"It's perfectly normal for women to stay in the guesthouse.\"\n\n\"Not that woman!\" Remigius blurted, then he immediately looked as if he regretted it.\n\nPhilip frowned. \"Do you know the woman, Brother?\"\n\n\"She once inhabited these parts,\" Remigius said reluctantly.\n\nPhilip was intrigued. It was the second time something of this sort had happened in connection with the builder's wife: Waleran Bigod had also been disturbed by the sight of her. Philip said: \"What's wrong with her?\"\n\nBefore Remigius could answer, Brother Paul, the old monk who kept the bridge, spoke up. \"I remember,\" he said rather dreamily. \"There was a wild forest girl used to live around here\u2014oh, it must be fifteen year ago. That's who she reminds me of\u2014probably it's the same girl, grown up.\"\n\n\"People said she was a witch,\" Remigius said. \"We can't have a witch living in the priory!\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" said Brother Paul in the same slow, meditative voice. \"Any woman who lives wild gets called a witch sooner or later. People saying a thing doesn't make it so. I'm content to leave it to Prior Philip to judge, in his wisdom, whether she's a danger.\"\n\n\"Wisdom doesn't come immediately with the assumption of monastic office,\" Remigius snapped.\n\n\"Indeed not,\" said Brother Paul slowly. He looked directly at Remigius and said: \"Sometimes it doesn't come at all.\"\n\nThe monks laughed at that riposte, which was all the funnier for coming from an unexpected source. Philip had to pretend to be displeased. He clapped his hands for silence. \"Enough!\" he said. \"These matters are solemn. I will question the woman. Now let us go about our duties. Those who wish to be excused from labor may retire to the infirmary for prayer and meditation. The rest, follow me.\"\n\nHe left the storeroom and walked around the back of the kitchen buildings to the south archway which led into the cloisters. A few monks left the group and headed for the infirmary, among them Remigius and Andrew Sacrist. There was nothing frail about either of them, Philip thought, but they would probably cause trouble if they joined the labor force, so he was happy to see them go. Most of the monks followed Philip.\n\nTom had already marshaled the priory servants and started work. He stood on the pile of rubble in the cloister square with a large piece of chalk in his hand, marking stones with the letter T, his initial.\n\nFor the first time ever, it occurred to Philip to wonder how such large stones could be moved. They were certainly too big for a man to lift. He saw the answer immediately. A pair of poles were laid side by side on the ground, and a stone was rolled along until it rested across the poles. Then two people would take the ends of the poles and lift. Tom Builder must have shown them how to do that.\n\nThe work was proceeding rapidly, with most of the priory's sixty servants helping, making a stream of people carrying stones away and coming back for more. The sight lifted Philip's spirits, and he gave up a silent prayer of thanks for Tom Builder.\n\nTom saw him and came down off the pile. Before speaking to Philip he addressed one of the servants, the tailor who sewed the monks' clothes. \"Start the monks carrying stones,\" he instructed the man. \"Make sure they take only the stones I've marked, otherwise the pile may slip and kill someone.\" He turned to Philip. \"I've marked enough to keep them going for a while.\"\n\n\"Where are they taking the stones?\" Philip asked.\n\n\"Come and I'll show you. I want to check that they're stacking them properly.\"\n\nPhilip went with Tom. The stones were being taken to the east side of the priory close. \"Some of the servants will still have to do their normal duties,\" Philip said as they walked. \"The stable hands must still care for the horses, the cooks have to prepare meals, someone must fetch firewood and feed the chickens and go to market. But they're none of them overworked, and I can spare half of them. In addition, you'll have about thirty monks.\"\n\nTom nodded. \"That'll do.\"\n\nThey passed the east end of the church. The laborers were stacking the still-warm stones up against the east wall of the priory close, a few yards from the infirmary and the prior's house. Tom said: \"The old stones must be saved for the new church. They won't be used for walls, because secondhand stones don't weather well; but they'll do for foundations. All the broken stones must be kept, too. They'll be mixed with mortar and poured into the cavity between the inner and outer skins of the new walls, forming the rubble core.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Philip watched while Tom instructed the workers how to stack stones in an interlocking pattern so that the pile would not topple. It was already clear that Tom's expertise was indispensable.\n\nWhen Tom was satisfied, Philip took his arm and led him on around the church, to the graveyard on the north side. The rain had stopped, but the gravestones were still wet. Monks were buried at the east end of the graveyard, villagers at the west end. The dividing line was the out-jutting north transept of the church, now in ruins. Philip and Tom stopped in front of it. A weak sun broke through the clouds. There was nothing sinister about the blackened timbers in daylight, and Philip felt almost ashamed that he had thought he had seen a devil last night.\n\nHe said: \"Some of the monks are uneasy about having a woman live within the precincts of the priory.\" The look that came over Tom's face was more intense than anxiety: he seemed scared, even panicked. He really loves her, Philip thought. He went on hastily: \"But I don't want you to have to live in the village and share a hovel with another family. To avoid trouble, it would be wise for your wife to be circumspect. Tell her to stay away from the monks as much as possible, especially the young ones. She should keep her face covered if she has to walk about the priory. Most of all, she mustn't do anything which could incur the suspicion of witchcraft.\"\n\n\"It shall be done,\" said Tom. There was a note of determination in his voice, and he looked a little daunted. Philip recalled that the wife was a sharp-witted woman with a mind of her own. She might not take kindly to being told to make herself inconspicuous. However, her family had been destitute yesterday, so she was likely to see these restraints as a small price to pay for shelter and security.\n\nThey walked on. Last night Philip had seen all this destruction as a supernatural tragedy, a terrible defeat for the forces of civilization and true religion, a body blow to his life's work. Now it just seemed like a problem he had to solve\u2014formidable, yes; even daunting; but not superhuman. The change was mainly due to Tom. Philip felt very grateful to him.\n\nThey reached the west end. Philip saw a fast horse being saddled at the stable, and wondered who was going on a journey today, of all days. He left Tom to return to the cloisters while he himself went over to the stable to investigate.\n\nOne of the sacrist's helpers had ordered the horse: young Alan, who had rescued the treasure chest from the chapter house. \"And where are you off to, my son?\" said Philip.\n\n\"To the bishop's palace,\" Alan replied. \"Brother Andrew has sent me to fetch candles, holy water and the Host, as we lost all those things in the fire and we are to have services again as soon as possible.\"\n\nThat made sense. All such supplies had been kept in a locked box in the quire, and the box was sure to have been burned. Philip was glad the sacrist was well organized for a change. \"That's good,\" he said. \"But wait a while. If you're going to the palace, you can take a letter from me to Bishop Waleran.\" Sly Waleran Bigod was now bishop-elect, thanks to some rather disreputable maneuvering; but Philip could not now withdraw his support, and was obliged to treat Waleran as his bishop. \"I ought to give him a report on the fire.\"\n\n\"Yes, Father,\" Alan replied, \"but I already have a letter to the bishop from Remigius.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Philip was surprised. That was very enterprising of Remigius, he thought. \"All right,\" he said to Alan. \"Travel cautiously, and may God go with you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Father.\"\n\nPhilip walked back toward the church. Remigius had been very quick off the mark. Why had he and the sacrist been in such a hurry? It was enough to make Philip a little uneasy. Was the letter just about the burning of the church? Or was there something else in it?\n\nPhilip stopped halfway across the green and turned to look back. He would be perfectly within his rights to take the letter from Alan and read it. But he was too late: Alan was trotting through the gate. Philip stared after him, feeling mildly frustrated. At that moment, Tom's wife stepped out of the guesthouse, carrying a scuttle which presumably contained ashes from the fireplace. She turned toward the dunghill near the stable. Philip watched her. The way she walked was pleasing, like the gait of a good horse.\n\nHe thought again about Remigius's letter to Waleran. Somehow he could not shake off an intuitive, but nonetheless worrying, suspicion that the main burden of the message was not, in fact, the fire.\n\nFor no very good reason he felt sure the letter was about the stonemason's wife."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Jack woke up at first cockcrow. He opened his eyes and saw Tom getting up. He lay still and listened to Tom pissing on the ground outside the door. He longed to move to the warm place Tom had vacated and cuddle up to his mother, but he knew Alfred would mock him mercilessly if he did, so he stayed where he was. Tom came back in and shook Alfred awake.\n\nTom and Alfred drank the ale remaining from last night's dinner and ate some stale horsebread, then they went out. There was some bread left over, and Jack hoped that today they would leave it behind, but he was disappointed: Alfred took it with him, as usual.\n\nAlfred worked all day on the site with Tom. Jack and his mother sometimes went into the forest for the day. Mother would set traps while Jack went after duck with his slingshot. Whatever they caught they would sell to villagers or to the cellarer, Cuthbert. This was their only source of cash, since Tom was not being paid. With the money, they bought cloth or leather or tallow, and on the days when they did not go into the forest Mother would make shoes, undershirts, candles or a cap while Jack and Martha played with the village children. On Sundays, after the service, Tom and Mother liked to sit by the fire, talking. Sometimes they would start kissing, and Tom would put his hand inside Mother's robe, and then they would send the children out for a while and bar the door. This was the worst time of the entire week, for Alfred would be bad-tempered and would persecute the younger ones.\n\nToday was an ordinary day, however, and Alfred would be busy from dawn to dusk. Jack got up and went outside. It was cold but dry. Martha came out a few moments later. The cathedral ruins were already aswarm with workers carrying stones, shoveling rubble, building wooden supports for unsteady walls and demolishing those which were too far gone to save.\n\nThere was general agreement, among the villagers and monks, that the fire had been started by the devil, and for long periods Jack actually forgot that he had started it himself. When he remembered, he would be brought up with a start, and then he would feel extraordinarily pleased with himself. He had taken a terrible risk, but he had got away with it, and he had saved the family from starvation.\n\nThe monks had their breakfast first, and the lay workers got nothing until the monks went into chapter. It was an awfully long wait for Martha and Jack. Jack always woke up hungry, and the cold morning air increased his appetite.\n\n\"Let's go to the kitchen courtyard,\" Jack said. The kitchen hands might give them some scraps. Martha agreed readily: she thought Jack was wonderful, and would go along with anything he suggested.\n\nWhen they got to the kitchen area they found that Brother Bernard, who was in charge of the bakehouse, was making bread today. Because his helpers were all working on the site, he was carrying firewood for himself. He was a young man, but rather fat, and he was puffing and sweating under a load of logs. \"We'll fetch your wood, Brother,\" Jack offered.\n\nBernard dumped the load beside his oven and handed Jack the broad, flat basket. \"There's good children,\" he panted. \"God will bless you.\"\n\nJack took the basket and the two of them ran to the firewood pile behind the kitchen. They loaded the basket with logs, then carried the heavy load between them.\n\nWhen they got back the oven was already hot, and Bernard emptied their basket directly onto the fire and sent them back for more. Jack's arms ached but his stomach hurt more, and he hurried to load the basket again.\n\nThe second time they returned Bernard was putting tiny loaves of dough on a tray. \"Fetch me one more basket, and you shall have hot buns,\" he said. Jack's mouth watered.\n\nThey filled the basket extra high the third time, and staggered back, each holding one handle. As they approached the courtyard they met Alfred, walking with a bucket, presumably on his way to fetch water from the channel that ran from the millpond across the green before disappearing underground by the brewery. Alfred hated Jack even more since Jack had put the dead bird in Alfred's beer. Normally Jack would casually turn and walk the other way when he saw Alfred. Now he wondered whether to drop the basket and run, but that would look cowardly, and besides, he could smell the fragrance of new bread from the bakehouse, and he was ravenous; so he pressed on, with his heart in his mouth.\n\nAlfred laughed at them struggling under a weight he could easily have carried alone. They gave him a wide berth, but he took a couple of steps toward them and gave Jack a shove, knocking him off his feet. Jack fell hard on his bottom, jarring his spine painfully. He dropped his side of the basket and all the firewood tipped out onto the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes, caused by rage rather than pain. It was so unfair that Alfred should be able to do that, without provocation, and get away with it. Jack got up and patiently put the wood back into the basket, pretending for Martha's benefit not to care. They picked up the basket again and continued on to the bakehouse.\n\nThere they had their reward. The tray of buns was cooling on a stone shelf. When they came in Bernard took one, stuffed it in his mouth, and said: \"They're all right. Help yourselves. But careful\u2014they're hot.\"\n\nJack and Martha each took a bun. Jack bit into his tentatively, afraid of burning his mouth, but it was so delicious that he ate it all in a moment. He looked at the remaining buns. There were nine left. He glanced up at Brother Bernard, who was grinning at him. \"I know what you want,\" the monk said. \"Go on, take the lot.\"\n\nJack lifted the skirt of his cloak and wrapped the rest of the buns in it. \"We'll take them to Mother,\" he said to Martha.\n\n\"There's a good boy you are,\" Bernard said. \"Off you go, then.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Brother,\" Jack said.\n\nThey left the bakery and headed for the guesthouse. Jack was thrilled. Mother would be pleased with him for providing such a treat. He was tempted to eat another bun before he handed them over, but he resisted the temptation: it would be so nice to give her such a lot.\n\nAs they were crossing the green, they met Alfred again.\n\nHe had evidently filled his bucket, returned to the site, and emptied it, and he was now coming back for a refill. Jack decided to look nonchalant and hope that Alfred would ignore him. But the way he was carrying the buns, wrapped in the skirt of his cloak, was too obvious to conceal; and once again Alfred turned toward them.\n\nJack would have given him a bun willingly, but he knew Alfred would take them all if he got the chance. Jack broke into a run.\n\nAlfred gave chase and soon caught up with him. Alfred stuck out one long leg and tripped Jack, and Jack went flying. The hot buns scattered all over the ground.\n\nAlfred picked one up, wiped a smear of mud off it, and popped it into his mouth. His eyes widened with surprise. \"New bread!\" he said. He began to pick up the others.\n\nJack scrambled to his feet and tried to grab one of the fallen buns, but Alfred hit him a hefty swipe with the flat of his hand, knocking him down again. Alfred quickly scooped up the rest of the buns and walked off, munching. Jack burst into tears.\n\nMartha looked sympathetic, but Jack did not want sympathy: he was suffering from humiliation as much as anything else. He walked off, and when Martha followed he turned on her and said: \"Go away!\" She looked hurt, but she stopped and let him go.\n\nHe walked toward the ruins, drying his tears on his sleeve. There was murder in his heart. I destroyed the cathedral, he thought; I could kill Alfred.\n\nAround the ruins there was a good deal of sweeping and tidying this morning. Some ecclesiastical dignitary was coming to inspect the damage, Jack recalled.\n\nIt was Alfred's physical superiority that was so maddening: he could do anything he liked just because he was so big. Jack walked around for a while, seething, wishing Alfred had been in the church when all these stones fell.\n\nEventually he saw Alfred again. He was in the north transept, shoveling stone chips into a cart, and he was gray with dust. Near the cart was a roof timber that had survived almost undamaged, merely singed and blackened with soot. Jack rubbed the surface of the beam with a finger: it left a whitish line. Inspired, Jack wrote in the soot: \"Alfred is a pig.\"\n\nSome of the laborers noticed. They were surprised Jack could write. One young man said: \"What does it say?\"\n\n\"Ask Alfred,\" Jack replied.\n\nAlfred peered at the writing and frowned in annoyance. He could read his own name, Jack knew, but not the rest. He was riled. He knew he was being insulted but he did not know what had been said, and that was humiliating in itself. He looked rather foolish. Jack's anger was a little soothed. Alfred might be bigger, but Jack was smarter.\n\nStill nobody knew what the words said. Then a novice monk walked past, read the writing, and smiled. \"Who's Alfred?\" he said.\n\n\"Him,\" said Jack with a jerk of the thumb. Alfred looked angrier, but he still did not know what to do, so he leaned on his shovel, looking stupid.\n\nThe novice laughed. \"A pig, eh? What's he digging for\u2014acorns?\" he said.\n\n\"Must be!\" said Jack, delighted to have an ally.\n\nAlfred dropped his shovel and made a grab for Jack.\n\nJack was ready for him, and went off like an arrow from a bow. The novice stuck out a foot to trip Jack\u2014as if to be evenhandedly nasty to both sides\u2014but Jack nimbly leaped over it. He raced along what had been the chancel, dodging around piles of rubble and jumping over fallen roof timbers. He could hear the heavy steps and grunting breath of Alfred right behind him, and fear lent him speed.\n\nA moment later he realized he had run the wrong way. There was no way out of that end of the cathedral. He had made a mistake. He realized, with a sinking heart, that he was going to get hurt.\n\nThe upper half of the east end had fallen in, and the stones were piled up against what remained of the wall. Having nowhere else to go, Jack scrambled up the pile with Alfred hot on his heels. He reached the top and saw in front of him a sheer drop of about fifteen feet. He teetered fearfully on the edge. It was too far to jump without hurting himself. Alfred made a grab for his ankle. Jack lost his balance. For a moment he stood with one foot on the wall and the other in the air, windmilling his arms in an attempt to regain his footing. Alfred kept hold of his ankle. Jack felt himself falling inexorably the wrong way. Alfred held on a moment longer, unbalancing Jack further, then let go. Jack fell through the air, unable to right himself, and he heard himself scream. He landed on his left side. The impact was terrific. By an unlucky chance his face hit a stone.\n\nEverything went black for a moment.\n\nWhen he opened his eyes Alfred was standing over him\u2014he must have clambered down the wall somehow\u2014and beside him was one of the older monks. Jack recognized the monk: it was Remigius, the sub-prior. Remigius caught his eye and said: \"Get up, lad.\"\n\nJack was not sure he could. He could not move his left arm. The left side of his face was numb. He sat upright. He had thought he was going to die, and it surprised him to be able to move at all. Using his right arm to push himself up, he struggled painfully to his feet, putting most of his weight on his right leg. As the numbness went he began to hurt.\n\nRemigius took him by the left arm. Jack cried out in pain. Remigius ignored him and grabbed Alfred's ear. He would probably issue some dire punishment to both of them, Jack thought. Jack hurt too much to care.\n\nRemigius spoke to Alfred. \"Now, my lad, why are you trying to kill your brother?\"\n\n\"He's not my brother,\" Alfred said.\n\nRemigius's expression changed. \"Not your brother?\" he said. \"Don't you have the same mother and father?\"\n\n\"She's not my mother,\" Alfred said. \"My mother's dead.\"\n\nA crafty look came over Remigius's face. \"When did your mother die?\"\n\n\"At Christmas.\"\n\n\"Last Christmas?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nDespite his pain, Jack could see that Remigius was intensely interested in this, for some reason. The monk's voice quivered with suppressed excitement as he said: \"So your father has only lately met this boy's mother?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And since they have been... together, have they been to see a priest, to have their union solemnized?\"\n\n\"Uh... I don't know.\" Alfred did not understand the words being used, Jack could tell. For that matter neither did Jack.\n\nRemigius said impatiently: \"Well, have they had a wedding?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Remigius looked pleased about this, although Jack would have thought he would be cross. There was a rather satisfied look on the monk's face. He was silent and thoughtful for a moment, then he seemed to remember the two boys. \"Well, if you want to stay in the priory and eat the monks' bread, don't fight, even if you aren't brothers. We men of God must not see bloodshed\u2014that is one of the reasons we live a life of withdrawal from the world.\" With that little speech Remigius released them both and turned away, and at last Jack could run to his mother."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "It had taken three weeks, not two, but Tom had got the crypt ready for use as a makeshift church, and today the bishop-elect was coming to hold the first service in it. The cloisters had been cleared of rubble, and Tom had repaired the damaged parts: cloisters were simple structures, just covered walkways, and the work had been easy. Most of the rest of the church was just heaps of ruins, and some of the walls that were still standing were in danger of falling, but Tom had cleared a passage from the cloisters, through what had been the south transept, to the crypt stairs.\n\nTom looked around him. The crypt was a good size, about fifty feet square, plenty big enough for the monks' services. It was a rather dark room, with heavy pillars and a low vaulted ceiling, but it was stoutly constructed, which was why it had survived the fire. They had brought in a trestle table to be used as an altar, and the benches from the refectory would serve as stalls for the monks. When the sacrist brought in his embroidered altar cloths and jeweled candlesticks, it would look just fine.\n\nWith the resumption of services Tom's work force would shrink. Most of the monks would return to their lives of worship, and many of those who did labor would resume their agricultural or administrative tasks. Tom would still have about half the priory servants as laborers, however. Prior Philip had taken a tough line with them, He felt there had been too many of them, and if any were unwilling to transfer from their duties as grooms or kitchen hands he was quite ready to dismiss them. A few had gone, but most remained.\n\nThe priory already owed Tom three weeks' wages. At the full master builder's rate of fourpence a day, that came to seventy-two pence. As each day went by the debt mounted, and it would become more and more difficult for Prior Philip to pay Tom off. After about half a year Tom would ask the prior to start paying him. By then he would be owed two and a half pounds of silver, which Philip would have to find before he could dismiss Tom. The debt made Tom feel secure.\n\nThere was even a chance\u2014he hardly dared to think it\u2014that this job would last him the rest of his life. It was, after all, a cathedral church; and if the powers-that-be were to decide to commission a prestigious new building, and if they could find the money to pay for it, it could be the largest construction project in the kingdom, employing dozens of masons for several decades.\n\nThis was too much to hope for, really. Talking to the monks and the villagers, Tom had learned that Kingsbridge had never been an important cathedral. Tucked away in a quiet village, it had had a series of unambitious bishops and was clearly undergoing a slow decline. The priory was undistinguished and penniless. Some monasteries attracted the attention of kings and archbishops by their lavish hospitality, their excellent schools, their great libraries, the researches of their philosopher-monks or the erudition of their priors and abbots; but Kingsbridge had none of those marks. The likelihood was that Prior Philip would build a small church, constructed simply and fitted out modestly; and that might take no more than ten years.\n\nHowever, that suited Tom perfectly.\n\nHe had realized, even before the fire-blackened ruins were cold, that this was his chance to build his own cathedral.\n\nPrior Philip was already convinced that God had sent Tom to Kingsbridge. Tom knew he had won Philip's trust by the efficient way he had begun the process of clearing up and made the priory viable again. When the moment was right he would begin talking to Philip about designs for the new building. If he handled the situation carefully, there was every chance that Philip would ask him to draw the designs. The fact that the new church was likely to be fairly modest made it more probable that the planning might be entrusted to Tom, rather than to a master with more experience of cathedral building. Tom's hopes were high.\n\nThe bell rang for chapter. This was also the sign that the lay workers should go in for breakfast. Tom left the crypt and headed for the refectory. On his way he was confronted by Ellen.\n\nShe stood aggressively in front of him, as if to bar his way, and there was an odd look in her eye. Martha and Jack were with her. Jack looked terrible: one eye was closed, the left side of his face was bruised and swollen, and he leaned on his right leg, as if his left could not take any weight. Tom felt sorry for the little chap. \"What happened to you?\" he said.\n\nEllen said: \"Alfred did this.\"\n\nTom groaned inwardly. For a moment he felt ashamed of Alfred, who was so much bigger than Jack. But Jack was no angel. Perhaps Alfred had been provoked. Tom looked around for his son, and caught sight of him walking toward the refectory, covered with dust. \"Alfred!\" he bellowed. \"Come here.\"\n\nAlfred turned around, saw the family group, and approached slowly, looking guilty.\n\nTom said to him: \"Did you do this?\"\n\n\"He fell off a wall,\" Alfred said sullenly.\n\n\"Did you push him?\"\n\n\"I was chasing him.\"\n\n\"Who started it?\"\n\n\"Jack called me a name.\"\n\nJack, speaking through swollen lips, said: \"I called him a pig because he took our bread.\"\n\n\"Bread?\" said Tom. \"Where did you get bread before breakfast?\"\n\n\"Bernard Baker gave it to us. We fetched firewood for him.\"\n\n\"You should have shared it with Alfred,\" Tom said.\n\n\"I would have.\"\n\nAlfred said: \"Then why did you run away?\"\n\n\"I was taking it home to Mother,\" Jack protested. \"Then Alfred ate it all!\"\n\nFourteen years of raising children had taught Tom that there was no prospect of discovering the rights and wrongs of a childish quarrel. \"Go to breakfast, all three of you, and if there's any more fighting today, you, Alfred, will end up with a face like Jack's, and I'll be the one who does it to you. Now clear off.\"\n\nThe children went away.\n\nTom and Ellen followed at a slower pace. After a moment Ellen said: \"Is that all you're going to say?\"\n\nTom glanced at her. She was still angry, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shrugged. \"As usual, both parties are guilty.\"\n\n\"Tom! How can you say that?\"\n\n\"One's as bad as the other.\"\n\n\"Alfred took their bread. Jack called him a pig. That doesn't draw blood!\"\n\nTom shook his head. \"Boys always fight. You could spend your whole life adjudicating their quarrels. Best to leave them to it.\"\n\n\"That won't do, Tom,\" she said in a dangerous tone. \"Look at Jack's face, then look at Alfred's. That's not the result of a childish fight. That's a vicious attack by a grown man on a small boy.\"\n\nTom resented her attitude. Alfred was not perfect, he knew, but neither was Jack. Tom did not want Jack to become the pampered favorite in this family. \"Alfred's not a grown man, he's fourteen years old. But he is working. He's making a contribution to the support of the family, and Jack isn't. Jack plays all day, like a child. In my book that means Jack ought to show Alfred respect. He does no such thing, as you will have noticed.\"\n\n\"I don't care!\" Ellen flared. \"You can say what you like, but my son is badly bruised, and might have been seriously injured, and I will not allow it!\" She began to cry. In a quieter voice, but still angry, she said: \"He's my child and I can't bear to see him like that.\"\n\nTom sympathized with her, and he was tempted to comfort her, but he was afraid to give in. He had a feeling that this conversation might be a turning point. Living with his mother and no one else, Jack had always been overprotected. Tom did not want to concede that Jack ought to be cushioned against the normal knocks of everyday life. That would set a precedent that could cause endless trouble in years to come. Tom knew, in truth, that Alfred had gone too far this time, and he was secretly resolved to make the boy leave Jack alone; but it would be a bad thing to say so. \"Beatings are a part of life,\" he said to Ellen. \"Jack must learn to take them or avoid them. I can't spend my life protecting him.\"\n\n\"You could protect him from that bullying son of yours!\"\n\nTom winced. He hated to hear her call Alfred a bully. \"I might, but I shan't,\" he said angrily. \"Jack must learn to protect himself.\"\n\n\"Oh, go to hell!\" Ellen said, and she turned and walked away.\n\nTom entered the refectory. The wooden hut where the lay workers normally ate had been damaged by the fall of the southwest tower, so they took their meals in the refectory after the monks had finished and gone. Tom sat apart from everyone else, feeling unsociable. A kitchen hand brought him a jug of ale and some slices of bread in a basket. He dipped a piece of bread in the ale to soften it and began to eat.\n\nAlfred was a big lad with too much energy, Tom thought fondly. He sighed into his beer. The boy was something of a bully, Tom knew in his heart; but he would calm down in time. Meanwhile, Tom was not going to make his own children give special treatment to a newcomer. They had had too much to put up with already. They had lost their mother, they had been forced to tramp the roads, they had come near to starving to death. He was not going to impose any more burdens on them if he could help it. They were due for a little indulgence. Jack would just have to keep out of Alfred's way. It would not kill him.\n\nA disagreement with Ellen always left Tom heavyhearted. They had quarreled several times, usually about the children, although this was their worst dispute so far. When she was hard-faced and hostile he could not remember what it had been like, just a little while earlier, to feel passionately in love with her: she seemed like an angry stranger who had intruded into his peaceful life.\n\nHe had never had such furious, bitter quarrels with his first wife. Looking back, it seemed to him that he and Agnes had agreed about everything important, and that when they disagreed it had not made them angry. That was how it should be between man and wife, and Ellen would have to realize that she could not be part of a family and yet have all her own way.\n\nEven when Ellen was at her most infuriating he never quite wished that she would go away, but all the same he often thought of Agnes with regret. Agnes had been with him for most of his adult life, and now he had a constant sense of there being something missing. While she was alive he had never thought that he was particularly fortunate to have her, nor had he felt thankful for her; but now that she was dead he missed her, and he felt ashamed that he had taken her for granted.\n\nAt quiet moments in the day, when all his laborers had their instructions and were busy about the site, and Tom was able to get down to a skilled task, rebuilding a bit of wall in the cloisters or repairing a pillar in the crypt, he sometimes held imaginary conversations with Agnes. Mostly he told her about Jonathan, their baby son. Tom saw the child most days, being fed in the kitchen or walked in the cloisters or put to bed in the monks' dormitory. He seemed perfectly healthy and happy, and no one but Ellen knew or even suspected that Tom had a special interest in him. Tom also talked to Agnes about Alfred and Prior Philip and even Ellen, explaining his feelings about them, just as he would have done (except in the case of Ellen) if Agnes had been alive. He told her of his practical plans for the future, too: his hope that he would be employed here for years to come, and his dream of designing and building the new cathedral himself. In his head he heard her replies and questions. She was at different times pleased, encouraging, fascinated, suspicious, or disapproving. Sometimes he felt she was right, sometimes wrong. If he had told anyone of these conversations, they would have said he was communing with a ghost, and there would have been a flurry of priests and holy water and exorcism; but he knew there was nothing supernatural about what was happening. It was just that he knew her so well that he could imagine how she would feel and what she would say in just about any situation.\n\nShe came into his mind unbidden at odd times. When he peeled a pear with his eating knife for little Martha, he remembered how Agnes had always laughed at him because he would take pains to remove the peel in one continuous strip. Whenever he had to write something he would think of her, for she had taught him everything she had learned from her father, the priest; and he would remember her teaching him how to trim a quill or how to spell caementarius, the Latin word for \"mason.\" As he washed his face on Sundays he would rub soap into his beard and recall how, when they were young, she had taught him that washing his beard would keep his face free from lice and boils. Never a day went by without some such little incident bringing her vividly to mind.\n\nHe knew he was lucky to have Ellen. There was no danger of his taking her for granted. She was unique: there was something abnormal about her, and it was that abnormal something that made her magnetic. He was grateful to her for consoling him in his grief, the morning after Agnes died; but sometimes he wished he had met her a few days\u2014instead of a few hours\u2014after he had buried his wife, just so that he would have had time to be heartbroken alone. He would not have observed a period of mourning\u2014that was for lords and monks, not ordinary folk\u2014but he would have had time to become accustomed to the absence of Agnes before he started to get used to living with Ellen. Such thoughts had not occurred to him during the early days, when the threat of starvation had combined with the sexual excitement of Ellen to produce a kind of hysterical end-of-the-world elation. But since he had found work and security, he had begun to feel pangs of regret. And sometimes it seemed that when he thought like this about Agnes, he was not only missing her, but mourning the passing of his own youth. Never again would he be as naive, as aggressive, as hungry or as strong as he had been when he had first fallen in love with Agnes.\n\nHe finished his bread and left the refectory ahead of the others. He went into the cloisters. He was pleased with his work here: it was now hard to imagine that the quadrangle had been buried under a mass of rubble three weeks earlier. The only remaining signs of the catastrophe were some cracked paving stones for which he had been unable to find replacements.\n\nThere was a lot of dust about, though. He would have the cloisters swept again and then sprinkled with water. He walked through the ruined church. In the north transept he saw a blackened beam with words written in the soot. Tom read it slowly. It said: \"Alfred is a pig.\" So that was what had infuriated Alfred. Quite a lot of the wood from the roof had not burned to ashes, and there were blackened beams like this lying all around. Tom decided he would detail a group of workers to collect all the timber and take it to the firewood store. \"Make the site look tidy,\" Agnes would say when someone important was coming to visit. \"You want them to feel glad that Tom's in charge.\" Yes, dear, Tom thought, and he smiled to himself as he went about his work.\n\nWaleran Bigod's party was sighted a mile or so away across the fields. There were three of them, riding quite hard. Waleran himself was in the lead, on a black horse, his black cloak flying behind. Philip and the senior monastic officials waited by the stable to welcome them.\n\nPhilip was not sure how to treat Waleran. Waleran had deceived him, indisputably, by not telling him that the bishop was dead; but when the truth came out Waleran had not appeared in the least ashamed; and Philip had not known what to say to him. He still did not know, but he suspected that there was nothing to be gained by complaining. Anyway, that whole episode had been overshadowed by the catastrophe of the fire. Philip would just be extremely wary of Waleran in future.\n\nWaleran's horse was a stallion, skittish and excitable despite having been ridden several miles. He held its head down hard as he walked it to the stable. Philip disapproved: there was no need for a clergyman to cut a dash on horseback, and most men of God chose quieter mounts.\n\nWaleran swung off the horse with a fluid motion and gave the reins to a stable hand. Philip greeted him formally. Waleran turned and surveyed the ruins. A bleak look came into his eyes, and he said: \"This was an expensive fire, Philip.\" He seemed genuinely distressed, somewhat to Philip's surprise.\n\nBefore Philip could reply, Remigius spoke up. \"The devil's work, my lord bishop,\" he said.\n\n\"Was it, now?\" said Waleran. \"In my experience, the devil is usually assisted in such work by monks who light fires in church to take the chill off matins, or carelessly leave burning candles in the bell tower.\"\n\nPhilip was amused to see Remigius crushed, but he could not let Waleran's insinuations pass. \"I've held an investigation into possible causes of the conflagration,\" he said. \"No one lit a fire in the church that night\u2014I can be sure because I was present at matins myself. And no one had been up in the roof for months beforehand.\"\n\n\"So what is your explanation\u2014lightning?\" Waleran said skeptically.\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"There was no storm. The fire seems to have started in the vicinity of the crossing. We did leave a candle burning on the altar after the service, as usual. It's possible that the altar cloth caught fire, and a spark was taken by an updraft to the wooden ceiling, which was very old and dry.\" Philip shrugged. \"It's not a very satisfactory explanation, but it's the best we have.\"\n\nWaleran nodded. \"Let's have a closer look at the damage.\"\n\nThey moved off toward the church. Waleran's two companions were a man-at-arms and a young priest. The man-at-arms stayed behind to see to the horse. The priest accompanied Waleran, and was introduced to Philip as Dean Baldwin. As they all crossed the green to the church, Remigius put a hand on Waleran's arm, stopping him, and said: \"The guesthouse is undamaged, as you can see.\"\n\nEveryone stopped and turned around. Philip wondered irritably what Remigius was thinking of. If the guesthouse was undamaged, why make everyone stop and look at it? The builder's wife was walking up from the kitchens, and they all watched her enter the house. Philip glanced at Waleran. He was looking slightly shocked. Philip remembered the moment, back at the bishop's palace, when Waleran had seen the builder's wife, and had looked almost frightened. What was it about that woman?\n\nWaleran gave Remigius a swift look and an almost imperceptible nod, then he turned to Philip and said: \"Who is living there?\"\n\nPhilip was quite sure Waleran had recognized her, but he said: \"A master builder and his family.\"\n\nWaleran nodded and they all moved on. Philip knew now why Remigius had called attention to the guesthouse: he had wanted to make sure Waleran saw the woman. Philip made up his mind to question her at the earliest opportunity.\n\nThey went into the ruins. A group of seven or eight men, made up of monks and priory servants in about equal numbers, was lifting a half-burned roof beam under the supervision of Tom. The whole site looked busy but tidy. Philip felt that the air of bustling efficiency did him credit, although Tom was responsible.\n\nTom came to meet them. He towered over everyone else. Philip said to Waleran: \"This is our master builder, Tom. He's managed to make the cloisters and the crypt usable again already. We're very grateful to him.\"\n\n\"I remember you,\" Waleran said to Tom. \"You came to me just after Christmas. I didn't have any work for you.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" Tom said in his deep, dusty voice. \"Perhaps God was saving me to help Prior Philip in his time of trouble.\"\n\n\"A theological builder,\" Waleran mocked.\n\nTom reddened faintly under his dusty skin. Philip thought that Waleran must have a strong nerve, to make fun of such a big man, even though Waleran was a bishop and Tom only a mason.\n\n\"What is your next step here?\" Waleran asked.\n\n\"We must make the place safe by knocking down the remaining walls, before they fall on someone,\" Tom replied, meekly enough. \"Then we should clear the site ready for the building of the new church. As soon as possible we should find tall trees for the timbers of the new roof\u2014the longer the wood is seasoned, the better the roof will be.\"\n\nPhilip said hastily: \"Before we start felling trees we must find the money to pay for them.\"\n\n\"We'll speak about that later,\" Waleran said enigmatically.\n\nThat remark intrigued Philip. He hoped Waleran had a scheme for raising the money to build the new church. If the priory had to rely on its own resources it would not be able to begin for many years. Philip had been agonizing over this for the past three weeks, and he still had not come up with a solution.\n\nHe led the group along the path that had been cleared through the rubble to the cloisters. One glance was sufficient for Waleran to see that this area had been set to rights. They moved on from there and crossed the green to the prior's house in the southeast corner of the close.\n\nOnce inside, Waleran took off his cloak and sat down, holding his pale hands out to the fire. Brother Milius, the kitchener, served hot spiced wine in small wooden bowls. Waleran sipped his and said to Philip:. \"Has it occurred to you that Tom Builder might have started the fire to provide himself with work?\"\n\n\"Yes, it has,\" Philip said. \"But I don't think he did. He would have had to get inside the church, which was securely locked up.\"\n\n\"He might have gone in during the day and hidden himself away.\"\n\n\"Then he would have been unable to get out after he started the fire.\" He shook his head. This was not the real reason he was sure Tom was innocent. \"Anyway, I don't believe him capable of such a thing. He's an intelligent man\u2014much more so than you might think at first\u2014but he's not sly. If he were guilty, I think I would have seen it in his face, when I looked him in the eye and asked him how he thought the fire might have started.\"\n\nSomewhat to Philip's surprise, Waleran agreed immediately. \"I believe you're right,\" he said. \"I can't see him setting fire to a church, somehow. He's just not the type.\"\n\n\"We may never know for sure how the fire started,\" Philip said. \"But we must face the problem of raising the money to build a new church. I don't know\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Waleran interrupted, and held up a hand to stop Philip. He turned to the others in the room. \"I must speak to Prior Philip alone,\" he said. \"The rest of you may leave us.\"\n\nPhilip was intrigued. He could not imagine why Waleran had to speak to him alone about this.\n\nRemigius said: \"Before we go, lord bishop, there is something the brothers have asked me to say to you.\"\n\nPhilip thought: What now?\n\nWaleran raised a skeptical eyebrow. \"And why should they ask you, rather than your prior, to raise a matter with me?\"\n\n\"Because Prior Philip is deaf to their complaint.\"\n\nPhilip was angry and mystified. There had been no complaint. Remigius was just trying to embarrass Philip by creating a scene in front of the bishop-elect. Philip caught an inquiring glance from Waleran. He shrugged and tried to look unconcerned. \"I can't wait to hear what the complaint is,\" he said. \"Please go ahead, Brother Remigius\u2014if you're quite sure the matter is important enough to require the attention of the bishop.\"\n\nRemigius said: \"There is a woman living in the priory.\"\n\n\"Not that again,\" Philip said with exasperation. \"She's the builder's wife, and she lives in the guesthouse.\"\n\n\"She's a witch,\" said Remigius.\n\nPhilip wondered why Remigius was doing this. Remigius had mounted this particular horse once already, and it would not run. The point was moot, but the prior was the authority, and Waleran was bound to support Philip, unless he wanted to be called in every time Remigius disagreed with his superior. Wearily, Philip said: \"She's not a witch.\"\n\n\"Have you interrogated the woman?\" Remigius demanded.\n\nPhilip recalled that he had promised to question her. He had never done so: he had seen the husband, and told him to tell her to be circumspect, but he had not actually spoken to the woman himself. That was a pity, for it permitted Remigius to score a point; but it was not much of a point, and Philip felt sure it would not cause Waleran to take Remigius's side. \"I haven't interrogated her,\" Philip admitted. \"But there is no evidence of witchcraft, and the whole family is perfectly honest and Christian.\"\n\n\"She's a witch and a fornicator,\" Remigius said, flushing with righteous indignation.\n\n\"What?\" Philip exploded. \"With whom does she fornicate?\"\n\n\"With the builder.\"\n\n\"He's her husband, you fool!\"\n\n\"No, he's not,\" Remigius said triumphantly. \"They're not married, and they've only known one another a month.\"\n\nPhilip was bowled over. He had never suspected this. Remigius had taken him completely by surprise.\n\nIf Remigius was telling the truth, the woman was a fornicator, technically. It was a type of fornication that was normally overlooked, for many couples did not get around to having their union blessed by a priest until they had been together for a while, often until the first child was conceived. Indeed, in very poor or remote parts of the country, couples often lived as man and wife for decades, and brought up children, and then startled a visiting priest by asking him to solemnize their marriage around the time their grandchildren were being born. However, it was one thing for a parish priest to be indulgent among poor peasants on the outskirts of Christendom, and quite another when an important employee of a priory was committing the same act within the precincts of the monastery.\n\n\"What makes you think they aren't married?\" Philip said skeptically, although he felt sure Remigius would have checked the facts before speaking up in front of Waleran.\n\n\"I found the sons fighting, and they told me they aren't brothers. Then the whole story came out.\"\n\nPhilip was disappointed with Tom. Fornication was a common enough sin, but it was particularly abhorrent to monks, who forsook all carnality. How could Tom do this? He should have known it was hateful to Philip. Philip felt angrier with Tom than he did with Remigius. But Remigius had been sneaky. Philip asked him: \"Why did you not tell me, your prior, about this?\"\n\n\"It was only this morning that I heard it.\"\n\nPhilip sat back in his seat, defeated. Remigius had caught him out. Philip looked foolish. This was Remigius's revenge for his defeat in the election. Philip looked at Waleran. The complaint had been made to Waleran: now Waleran could pronounce judgment.\n\nWaleran did not hesitate. \"The case is clear enough,\" he said. \"The woman must confess her sin, and do public penance for it. She must leave the priory, and live in chastity, apart from the builder, for a year. Then they may be married.\"\n\nA year apart was a harsh sentence. Philip felt she deserved it, for defiling the monastery. But he was anxious about how she would receive it. \"She may not submit to your judgment,\" he said.\n\nWaleran shrugged. \"Then she will burn in hell.\"\n\n\"If she leaves Kingsbridge, I'm afraid Tom may go with her.\"\n\n\"There are other builders.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" Philip would be sorry to lose Tom. But he could tell, from Waleran's expression, that Waleran would not mind if Tom and his woman were to leave Kingsbridge and never come back; and he wondered again why she was so important.\n\nWaleran said: \"Now clear out, all of you, and let me speak to your prior.\"\n\n\"Just a minute,\" Philip said sharply. It was his house, and they were his monks, after all; he would summon and dismiss them, not Waleran. \"I will speak to the builder myself about this matter. None of you is to mention it to anyone, do you hear? There'll be a harsh punishment for you if you disobey me over this. Is that clear, Remigius?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Remigius.\n\nPhilip looked inquiringly at Remigius and said nothing. There was a pregnant silence.\n\n\"Yes, Father,\" Remigius said at last.\n\n\"All right, off you go.\"\n\nRemigius, Andrew, Milius, Cuthbert and Dean Baldwin all trooped out. Waleran helped himself to a little more hot wine and stretched his feet out to the fire. \"Women always cause trouble,\" he said. \"When there's a mare in heat in the stables, all the stallions start nipping the grooms, kicking their stalls and generally causing trouble. Even the geldings start to misbehave. Monks are like geldings: physical passion is denied them, but they can still smell cunt.\"\n\nPhilip was embarrassed. There was no need for such explicit talk, he felt. He looked at his hands. \"What about rebuilding the church?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes. You must have heard that that business you came to see me about\u2014Earl Bartholomew and the conspiracy against King Stephen\u2014turned out well for us.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" It seemed a long time ago that Philip had gone to the bishop's palace, in fear and trembling, to tell of the plot against the king whom the Church had chosen. \"I heard that Percy Hamleigh attacked the earl's castle and took him prisoner.\"\n\n\"That's right\u2014Bartholomew is now in a dungeon at Winchester, waiting to hear his fate,\" Waleran said with satisfaction.\n\n\"And Earl Robert of Gloucester? He was the more powerful conspirator.\"\n\n\"And therefore gets the lighter punishment. In fact no punishment at all. He has pledged allegiance to King Stephen, and his part in the plot has been... overlooked.\"\n\n\"But what has this got to do with our cathedral?\"\n\nWaleran stood up and went to the window. When he looked out at the ruined church, there was real sadness in his eyes, and Philip realized that there was a core of genuine piety in Waleran, for all his worldly ways. \"Our part in the defeat of Bartholomew puts King Stephen in our debt. Before too long, you and I will go and see him.\"\n\n\"See the king!\" Philip said. He was a little intimidated by the prospect.\n\n\"He will ask us what we want as our reward.\"\n\nPhilip saw what Waleran was getting at, and he was thrilled to the core. \"And we'll tell him...\"\n\nWaleran turned back from the window and looked at Philip, and his eyes looked like black jewels, glittering with ambition. \"We'll tell him we want a new cathedral for Kingsbridge,\" he said.\n\nTom knew Ellen was going to hit the roof.\n\nShe was already angry about what had happened to Jack. Tom needed to soothe her. But the news of her \"penance\" was going to inflame her. He wished he could postpone telling her for a day or two, to give her time to cool off; but he could not, for Prior Philip had said she must be off the premises by nightfall. He had to tell her immediately, and since it was midday when Philip told Tom, Tom told Ellen at dinner.\n\nThey went into the refectory with the other priory employees when the monks had finished their dinner and gone. The tables were crowded, but Tom thought that might not be a bad thing: the presence of other people might restrain her a little, he thought.\n\nHe was wrong about that, he soon learned.\n\nHe tried to break the news gradually. First he said: \"They know we're not married.\"\n\n\"Who told them?\" she said angrily. \"Some troublemaker?\"\n\n\"Alfred. Don't blame him\u2014that sly monk Remigius got it out of him. Anyway, we never told the children to keep it secret.\"\n\n\"I don't blame the boy,\" she said more calmly. \"So what do they say?\"\n\nHe leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice. \"They say you're a fornicator,\" he said, hoping no one else would hear.\n\n\"A fornicator?\" she said loudly. \"What about you? Don't these monks know that it takes two to fornicate?\"\n\nThe people sitting nearby started to laugh.\n\n\"Hush,\" Tom said. \"They say we have to get married.\"\n\nShe looked at him hard. \"If that was all, you wouldn't be looking so hangdog, Tom Builder. Tell me the rest.\"\n\n\"They want you to confess your sin.\"\n\n\"Hypocritical perverts,\" she said disgustedly. \"They spend all night up one another's arseholes and then they have the nerve to call what we're doing a sin.\"\n\nThere was more laughter at that. People stopped their own conversations to listen to Ellen.\n\n\"Just talk quietly,\" Tom pleaded.\n\n\"I suppose they want me to do penance, too. Humiliation is all part of it. What do they want me to do? Come on, tell the truth, you can't lie to a witch.\"\n\n\"Don't say that!\" Tom hissed. \"It makes things worse.\"\n\n\"Then tell me.\"\n\n\"We have to live apart for a year, and you have to remain chaste\u2014\"\n\n\"Piss on that!\" Ellen shouted.\n\nNow everyone was looking.\n\n\"Piss on you, Tom Builder!\" she said. She realized she had an audience. \"Piss on all of you, too,\" she said. Most people grinned. It was hard to take offense, perhaps because she looked so lovely with her face flushed red and her golden eyes wide. She stood up. \"Piss on Kingsbridge Priory!\" She jumped up on to the table, and there was a burst of applause. She walked along the board. The diners snatched their bowls of soup and mugs of ale out of her way and sat back, laughing. \"Piss on the prior!\" she said. \"Piss on the sub-prior, and the sacrist, and the cantor and the treasurer, and all their deeds and charters, and their chests full of silver pennies!\" She reached the end of the table. Beyond it was another, smaller table where someone would sit and read aloud during the monks' dinner. There was an open book on the table. Ellen jumped from the dining table to the reading table.\n\nSuddenly Tom knew what she was going to do. \"Ellen!\" he called. \"Don't, please\u2014\"\n\n\"Piss on the Rule of Saint Benedict!\" she yelled at the top of her voice. Then she hitched up her skirt, bent her knees, and urinated on the open book.\n\nThe men roared with laughter, banged on the tables, hooted and whistled and cheered. Tom was not sure whether they shared Ellen's contempt for the Rule or they just enjoyed seeing a beautiful woman expose herself. There was something erotic about her shameless vulgarity, but it was also exciting to see someone openly abuse the book that the monks were so tediously solemn about. Whatever the reason, they loved it.\n\nShe jumped off the table and, amid a thunder of applause, ran out of the door.\n\nEveryone began to talk at the same time. No one had ever seen anything quite like that before. Tom was horrified and embarrassed: the consequences would be dire, he knew. Yet a part of him was thinking: What a woman!\n\nJack got up after a moment and followed his mother out, with the trace of a grin on his swollen face.\n\nTom looked at Alfred and Martha. Alfred had a bewildered air but Martha was giggling. \"Come on, you two,\" Tom said, and the three of them left the refectory.\n\nWhen they got outside Ellen was nowhere to be seen. They went across the green to the guesthouse and found her there. She was sitting in the chair waiting for him. She was wearing her cloak, and holding her big leather satchel. She looked cool, calm and collected. Tom's heart went cold when he saw the bag, but he pretended not to have noticed it. \"There's going to be hell to pay,\" he said.\n\n\"I don't believe in hell,\" she said.\n\n\"I hope they'll let you confess, and do penance.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to confess.\"\n\nHis self-control broke. \"Ellen, don't leave!\"\n\nShe looked sad. \"Listen, Tom. Before I met you I had food to eat and a place to live. I was safe and secure and self-sufficient: I needed nobody. Since I've been with you I've come closer to starvation than at any time in my life. You've got work now, but there's no security in it: the priory has no money to build a new church, and you could be on the road again next winter.\"\n\n\"Philip will raise the money somehow,\" Tom said. \"I'm sure he will.\"\n\n\"You can't be sure,\" she said.\n\n\"You don't believe,\" Tom said bitterly. Then, before he could stop himself, he added: \"You're just like Agnes, you don't believe in my cathedral.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, if it was just me, I'd stay,\" she said sadly. \"But look at my son.\"\n\nTom looked at Jack. His face was purple with bruising, his ear was swollen to twice its normal size, his nostrils were full of dried blood and he had a broken front tooth.\n\nEllen said: \"I was afraid he would grow up like an animal if we stayed in the forest. But if this is the price of teaching him to live with other people, it's too much to pay. So I'm going back to the forest.\"\n\n\"Don't say that,\" Tom said desperately. \"Let's talk about it. Don't make a rash decision\u2014\"\n\n\"It's not rash, it's not rash, Tom,\" she said sorrowfully. \"I'm so sad that I can't even be angry anymore. I really wanted to be your wife. But not at any cost.\"\n\nIf Alfred had not chased Jack, none of this would have happened, Tom thought. But it was only a boyish scrap, wasn't it? Or was Ellen right when she said Tom had a blind spot about Alfred? Tom began to feel he had been wrong. Perhaps he should have taken a firmer line with Alfred. Boys fighting was one thing, but Jack and Martha were smaller than Alfred. Perhaps he was a bully.\n\nBut it was too late to change that now. \"Stay in the village,\" Tom said desperately. \"Wait a while and see what happens.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose the monks will let me, now.\"\n\nHe realized she was right. The village was owned by the priory and all the householders paid rent to the monks\u2014usually in the form of days of work'\u2014and the monks could refuse to house anyone they did not like. They could hardly be blamed if they rejected Ellen. She had made her decision and she had literally pissed on her chances of retracting it.\n\n\"I'll go with you, then,\" he said. \"The monastery owes me seventy-two pennies already. We'll go on the road again. We survived before....\"\n\n\"What about your children?\" she said gently.\n\nTom remembered how Martha had cried from hunger. He knew he could not make her go through that again. And there was his baby son, Jonathan, living here with the monks. I don't want to leave him again, Tom thought; I did it once, and hated myself for it.\n\nBut he could not bear the thought of losing Ellen.\n\n\"Don't tear yourself apart,\" she said. \"I won't tramp the roads with you again. That's no solution\u2014we'd be worse off than we are now, in every way. I'm going back to the forest, and you're not coming with me.\"\n\nHe stared at her. He wanted to believe that she did not mean it, but the look on her face told him she did. He could not think of anything more to say to stop her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He felt helpless. She was breathing hard, her bosom rising and falling with emotion. He wanted to touch her, but he felt she did not want him to. I may never embrace her again, he thought. It was hard to believe. For weeks he had lain with her every night, and touched her as familiarly as he would touch himself; and now suddenly it was forbidden, and she was like a stranger.\n\n\"Don't look so sad,\" she said. Her eyes were full of tears.\n\n\"I can't help it,\" he said. \"I am sad.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I've made you so unhappy.\"\n\n\"Don't be sorry for that. Be sorry that you made me so happy. That's what hurts, woman. That you made me so happy.\"\n\nA sob escaped from her lips. She turned away and left without another word.\n\nJack and Martha went out after her. Alfred hesitated, looking awkward, then followed them.\n\nTom stood staring at the chair she had left. No, he thought, it can't be true, she isn't leaving me.\n\nHe sat down in the chair. It was still warm from her body, the body he loved so much. He stiffened his face to stop the tears.\n\nHe knew she would not change her mind now. She never vacillated: she was a person who made a decision and then carried it through.\n\nShe might regret it eventually, though.\n\nHe seized on that shred of hope. He knew she loved him. That had not changed. Only last night she had made love frantically, like someone slaking a terrible thirst; and after he was satisfied she had rolled on top of him and carried on, kissing him hungrily, gasping into his beard as she came time and time again, until she was too exhausted with pleasure to go on. And it was not just the fucking that she liked. They enjoyed being together all the time. They talked constantly, much more than he and Agnes had talked even in the early days. She's going to miss me as much as I'll miss her, he thought. After a while, when her anger has died down, and she has settled into a new routine, she'll hanker for someone to talk to, a hard body to touch, a bearded face to kiss. Then she'll think of me.\n\nBut she was proud. She might be too proud to come back even if she wanted to.\n\nHe sprang out of his chair. He had to tell her what was on his mind. He left the house. She was at the priory gate, saying goodbye to Martha. Tom ran past the stable and caught up with her.\n\nShe gave him a sad smile. \"Goodbye, Tom.\"\n\nHe took her hands. \"Will you come back, one day? Just to see us? If I know you're not going away forever, that I will see you again sometime, if only for a little while\u2014if I know that I can bear it.\"\n\nShe hesitated.\n\n\"Please?\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said.\n\n\"Swear it.\"\n\n\"I don't believe in oaths.\"\n\n\"But I do.\"\n\n\"All right. I swear it.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" He pulled her gently to him. She did not resist him. He hugged her, and his control broke. Tears poured down his face. At last she drew away. Reluctantly he let her go. She turned toward the gate.\n\nAt that moment there was a noise from the stable, the sound of a spirited horse being disobedient, stamping and snorting. Automatically, they all looked round. The horse was Waleran Bigod's black stallion, and the bishop was about to mount. His eyes met Ellen's, and he froze.\n\nAt that moment she started to sing.\n\nTom did hot know the song, although he had heard her sing often. The melody was terribly sad. The words were French, but he could understand them well enough.\n\n\u2003A lark, caught in a hunter's net\n\n\u2003Sang sweeter then than ever,\n\n\u2003As if the falling melody\n\n\u2003Might wing and net dissever.\n\nTom looked from her to the bishop. Waleran was terrified: his mouth was open, his eyes wide, his face as white as death. Tom was astonished: why did a simple song have the power to scare such a man?\n\n\u2003At dusk the hunter took his prey,\n\n\u2003The lark his freedom never.\n\n\u2003All birds and men are sure to die\n\n\u2003But songs may live forever.\n\nEllen called out: \"Goodbye, Waleran Bigod. I'm leaving Kingsbridge, but I'm not leaving you. I'll be with you in your dreams.\"\n\n\u2003And mine, Tom thought.\n\n\u2003For a moment no one moved.\n\nEllen turned away, holding Jack's hand; and they all watched in silence as she marched out through the priory gates and disappeared into the gathering dusk."
            },
            {
                "title": "1136-1137",
                "text": "After Ellen had gone, Sundays were very quiet at the guesthouse. Alfred played football with the village boys in the meadow on the other side of the river. Martha, who missed Jack, played pretend games, gathering vegetables and making pottage and dressing a doll. Tom worked on his cathedral design.\n\nHe had hinted to Philip, once or twice, that he should think about what kind of church he wanted to build, but Philip had not noticed, or had chosen to ignore the implication. He had a lot on his mind. But Tom thought about little else, especially on Sundays.\n\nHe liked to sit just inside the door of the guesthouse and look across the green at the cathedral ruins. He made sketches on a piece of slate sometimes, but most of the work was in his head. He knew that it was hard for most people to visualize solid objects and complex spaces, but he had always found it easy.\n\nHe had won Philip's trust and gratitude for the way he had dealt with the ruins; but Philip still saw him as a jobbing mason. He had to convince Philip that he was capable of designing and building a cathedral.\n\nOne Sunday about two months after Ellen left, he felt ready to begin drawing.\n\nHe made a mat of woven reeds and pliable twigs, about three feet by two. He made neat wooden sides to the mat so that it had raised edges, like a tray. Then he burned some chalk for lime, mixed up a small quantity of strong plaster, and filled the tray with the mixture. As the mortar began to harden, he drew lines in it with a needle. He used his iron foot rule for straight lines, his set square for right angles and his compasses for curves.\n\nHe would do three drawings: a section, to explain how the church was constructed; an elevation, to illustrate its beautiful proportions; and a floor plan to show the accommodation. He began with the section.\n\nHe imagined that the cathedral was like a long loaf of bread, then he cut off the crust at the west end, to see inside, and he began to draw.\n\nIt was very simple. He drew a tall flat-topped archway. That was the nave, seen from the end. It would have a flat wooden ceiling, like the old church. Tom would have greatly preferred to build a curved stone vault, but he knew Philip could not afford it.\n\nOn top of the nave he drew a triangular roof. The width of the building was determined by the width of the roof, and that in turn was limited by the timber available. It was difficult to get hold of beams longer than about thirty-five feet\u2014and they were fiercely expensive. (Good timber was so valuable that a fine tree was liable to be chopped down and sold by its owner long before it was that high.) The nave of Tom's cathedral would probably be thirty-two feet wide, or twice the length of Tom's iron pole.\n\nThe nave he had drawn was high, impossibly high. But a cathedral had to be a dramatic building, awe-inspiring in its size, pulling the eye heavenward with its loftiness. One reason people came to them was that cathedrals were the largest buildings in the world: a man who never went to a cathedral could go through life without seeing a building much bigger than the hovel he lived in.\n\nUnfortunately, the building Tom had drawn would fall down. The weight of lead and timber in the roof would be too much for the walls, which would buckle outward and collapse. They had to be propped up.\n\nFor that purpose Tom drew two roundtopped archways, half the height of the nave, one on either side. These were the aisles. They would have curved stone ceilings: since the aisles were lower and narrower, the expense of stone vaults was not so great. Each aisle would have a sloping lean-to roof.\n\nThe side aisles, joined to the nave by their stone vaults, provided some support, but they did not reach quite high enough. Tom would build extra supports, at intervals, in the roof space of the side aisles, above the vaulted ceiling and below the lean-to roof. He drew one of them, a stone arch rising from the top of the aisle wall across to the nave wall. Where the support rested on the aisle wall, Tom braced it further with a massive buttress jutting out from the side of the church. He put a turret on top of the buttress, to add weight and make it look nicer.\n\nYou could not have an awesomely tall church without the strengthening elements of aisles, supports and buttresses; but this might be difficult to explain to a monk, and Tom had drawn the sketch to help make it clear.\n\nHe also drew the foundations, going far underground beneath the walls. Laymen were always surprised at how deep foundations were.\n\nIt was a simple drawing, too simple to be of much use to builders; but it should be right for showing to Prior Philip. Tom wanted him to understand what was being proposed, visualize the building, and get excited about it. It was hard to imagine a big, solid church when what was in front of you was a few lines scratched in plaster. Philip would need all the help Tom could give him.\n\nThe walls he had drawn looked solid, seen end on, but they would not be. Tom now began to draw the side view of the nave wall, as seen from inside the church. It was pierced at three levels. The bottom half was hardly a wall at all: it was just a row of columns, their tops joined by semicircular arches. It was called the arcade. Through the archways of the arcade could be seen the roundheaded windows of the aisles. The windows would be neatly lined up with the archways, so that light from outside could fall, unobstructed, into the nave. The columns in between would be lined up with the buttresses on the outside walls.\n\nAbove each arch of the arcade was a row of three small arches, forming the tribune gallery. No light would come through these, for behind them was the lean-to roof of the side aisle.\n\nAbove the gallery was the clerestory, so called because it was pierced with windows which lit the upper half of the nave.\n\nIn the days when the old Kingsbridge Cathedral had been built, masons had relied on thick walls for strength, and had nervously inserted mean little windows that let in hardly any light. Modern builders understood that a building would be strong enough if its walls were straight and true. Tom designed the three levels of the nave wall\u2014arcade, gallery and clerestory\u2014strictly in the proportions 3:1:2. The arcade was half the height of the wall, and the gallery was one third of the rest. Proportion was everything in a church: it gave a subliminal feeling of lightness to the whole building. Studying the finished drawing, Tom thought it looked perfectly graceful. But would Philip think so? Tom could see the tiers of arches marching down the length of the church, with their moldings and carvings picked out by an afternoon sun... but would Philip see the same?\n\nHe began his third drawing. This was a floor plan of the church. In his imagination he saw twelve arches in the arcade. The church was therefore divided into twelve sections, called bays. The nave would be six bays long, the chancel four. In between, taking up the space of the seventh and eighth bays, would be the crossing, with the transepts sticking out either side and the tower rising above.\n\nAll cathedrals and nearly all churches were cross-shaped. The cross was the single most important symbol of Christianity, of course, but there was a practical reason too: the transepts provided useful space for extra chapels and offices such as the sacristry and the vestry.\n\nWhen he had drawn a simple floor plan Tom returned to the central drawing, which showed the interior of the church viewed from the west end. Now he drew the tower rising above and behind the nave.\n\nThe tower should be either one and a half times the height of the nave, or double it. The lower alternative gave the building an attractively regular profile, with the aisles, the nave and the tower rising in equal steps, 1:2:3. The higher tower would be more dramatic, for then the nave would be double the size of the aisles, and the tower double the nave, the proportions being 1:2:4. Tom had chosen the dramatic: this was the only cathedral he would ever build, and he wanted it to reach for the sky. He hoped Philip would feel the same.\n\nIf Philip accepted the design, Tom would have to draw it again, of course, more carefully and exactly to scale. And there would be many more drawings, hundreds of them: plinths, columns, capitals, corbels, doorcases, turrets, stairs, gargoyles, and countless other details\u2014Tom would be drawing for years. But what he had in front of him was the essence of the building, and it was good: simple, inexpensive, graceful and perfectly proportioned.\n\nHe could not wait to show it to someone.\n\nHe had planned to find a suitable moment to take it to Prior Philip; but now that it was done he wanted Philip to see it right away.\n\nWould Philip think him presumptuous? The prior had not asked him to prepare a design. He might have another master builder in mind, someone he had heard of who had worked for another monastery and had done a good job. He might scorn Tom's aspirations.\n\nOn the other hand, if Tom did not show him something, Philip might assume Tom was not capable of designing, and might hire someone else without even considering Tom. Tom was not prepared to risk that: he would rather be thought presumptuous.\n\nThe afternoon was still light. It would be study time in the cloisters. Philip would be at the prior's house, reading his Bible, Tom decided to go and knock at his door.\n\nCarrying his board carefully, he left the house.\n\nAs he walked past the ruins, the prospect of building a new cathedral suddenly seemed daunting: all that stone, all that timber, all those craftsmen, all those years. He would have to control it all, make sure there was a steady supply of materials, monitor the quality of timber and stone, hire and fire men, tirelessly check their work with his plumb line and level, make templates for the moldings, design and build lifting machines... He wondered if he really was capable of it.\n\nThen he thought what a thrill it would be to create something from nothing; to see, one day in the future, a new church here where now there was nothing but rubble, and to say: I made this.\n\nThere was another thought in his mind, hidden away in a dusty corner; something he was hardly willing to admit to himself. Agnes had died without a priest, and she was buried in unconsecrated ground. He would have liked to go back to her grave, and get a priest to say prayers over it, and perhaps put up a small headstone; but he was afraid that if he called attention to her burying place in any way, somehow the whole story of abandoning the baby would come out. Leaving a baby to die still counted as murder. As the weeks went by he had worried more and more about Agnes's soul, and whether it was in a good place or not. He was afraid to ask a priest about it because he did not want to give details. But he had consoled himself with the thought that if he built a cathedral, God would surely favor him; and he wondered whether he could ask that Agnes receive the benefit of that favor instead of himself. If he could dedicate his work on the cathedral to Agnes, he would feel that her soul was safe, and he could rest easy.\n\nHe reached the prior's house. It was a small stone building on one level. The door stood open, although it was a cold day. He hesitated for a moment. Calm, competent, knowledgeable, expert, he said to himself. A master of every aspect of modern building. Just the man you'd cheerfully trust.\n\nHe stepped inside. There was only one room. At one end was a big bed with luxurious hangings; at the other a small altar with a crucifix and a candlestick. Prior Philip stood by a window, reading from a vellum sheet with a worried frown. He looked up and smiled at Tom. \"What's that you've got?\"\n\n\"Drawings, Father,\" Tom said, making his voice deep and reassuring. \"For a new cathedral. May I show you?\"\n\nPhilip looked surprised but intrigued. \"By all means.\"\n\nThere was a large lectern in a corner. Tom brought it into the light by the window and put his plaster frame on its angled rest. Philip looked at the drawing. Tom watched Philip's face. He could tell that Philip had never seen an elevation drawing, a floor plan or a section through a building. The prior's face wore a puzzled frown.\n\nTom began to explain. He pointed to the elevation. \"You're standing in the center of the nave, looking at the wall,\" he said. \"Here are the pillars of the arcade. They're joined by arches. Through the archways you can see the windows in the aisle. Above the arcade is the tribune gallery, and above that, the clerestory windows.\"\n\nPhilip's expression cleared as he understood. He was a quick learner. He looked at the floor plan, and Tom could see he was equally puzzled by that.\n\nTom said: \"When we walk around the site, and mark where the walls will be built, and where the pillars meet the ground, and the positions of the doors and buttresses, we will have a plan like this, and it will tell us where to place our pegs and strings.\"\n\nEnlightenment dawned on Philip's face again. It was no bad thing, Tom thought, that Philip had trouble understanding the drawings: it gave Tom a chance to be confident and expert. Finally Philip looked at the section. Tom explained: \"Here is the nave, in the middle, with a timber ceiling. Behind the nave is the tower. Here are the aisles, on either side of the nave. At the outer edges of the aisles are the buttresses.\"\n\n\"It looks splendid,\" Philip said. Tom could tell that the section drawing particularly impressed him, with the inside of the church open to view, as if the west end had been swung aside like a cupboard door to reveal the interior.\n\nPhilip looked at the floor plan again. \"Are there only six bays to the nave?\"\n\n\"Yes, and four to the chancel.\"\n\n\"Isn't that rather small?\"\n\n\"Can you afford to build it bigger?\"\n\n\"I can't afford to build it at all,\" Philip said. \"I don't suppose you have any idea how much this would cost.\"\n\n\"I know exactly how much it would cost,\" Tom said. He saw surprise on Philip's face: Philip had not realized Tom could do figure work. He had spent many hours calculating the cost of his design to the last penny. However, he gave Philip a round figure. \"It would be no more than three thousand pounds.\"\n\nPhilip laughed hollowly. \"I've spent the last few weeks working out the annual income of the priory.\" He waved the sheet of vellum that he had been reading so anxiously when Tom walked in. \"Here's the answer. Three hundred pounds a year. And we spend every penny.\"\n\nTom was not surprised. It was obvious that the priory had been badly managed in the past. He had faith that Philip would reform its finances. \"You'll find the money, Father,\" he said. \"With God's help,\" he added piously.\n\nPhilip returned his attention to the drawings, looking unconvinced. \"How long would this take to build?\"\n\n\"That depends on how many people you employ,\" Tom said. \"If you hire thirty masons, with enough laborers, apprentices, carpenters and smiths to service them, it might take fifteen years: one year for the foundations, four years for the chancel, four years for the transepts, and six years for the nave.\"\n\nOnce again Philip looked impressed. \"I wish my monastic officials had your ability to think ahead and calculate,\" he said. He studied the drawings wistfully. \"So I need to find two hundred pounds a year. It doesn't sound so bad when you put it that way.\" He looked thoughtful. Tom felt excited: Philip was beginning to think of this as a workable project, not just an abstract design. \"Suppose I could afford more\u2014could we build faster?\"\n\n\"Up to a point,\" Tom replied guardedly. He did not want Philip to become overoptimistic: that might lead to disillusionment. \"You could employ sixty masons, and build the whole church at once, instead of working from east to west; and that might take eight or ten years. Any more than sixty, on a building this size, and they would start getting in one another's way, and slow the work down.\"\n\nPhilip nodded: he appeared to understand that without difficulty. \"Still, even with just thirty masons, I could have the east end completed after five years.\"\n\n\"Yes, and you could use it for services, and set up a new shrine for the bones of Saint Adolphus.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\" Philip was really excited now. \"I had been thinking it would be decades before we could have a new church.\" He looked shrewdly at Tom. \"Have you ever built a cathedral before?\"\n\n\"No, though I've designed and built smaller churches. But I worked on Exeter Cathedral, for several years, finishing up as deputy master builder.\"\n\n\"You want to build this cathedral yourself, don't you?\"\n\nTom hesitated. It was as well to be candid with Philip: the man had no patience for prevarication. \"Yes, Father. I want you to appoint me master builder,\" he said as calmly as he could.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nTom had not expected that question. There were so many reasons. Because I've seen it done badly, and I know I could do it well, he thought. Because there is nothing more satisfying, to a master craftsman, than to exercise his skill, except perhaps to make love to a beautiful woman. Because something like this gives meaning to a man's life. Which answer did Philip want? The prior would probably like him to say something pious. Recklessly, he decided to tell the real truth. \"Because it will be beautiful,\" he said.\n\nPhilip looked at him strangely. Tom could not tell whether he was angry, or something else. \"Because it will be beautiful,\" Philip repeated. Tom began to feel that was a silly reason, and decided to say something more, but he could not decide what. Then he realized that Philip was not skeptical at all\u2014he was moved. Tom's words had touched his heart. Finally Philip nodded, as if agreeing after some reflection. \"Yes. And what could be better than to make something beautiful for God?\" he said.\n\nTom remained silent. Philip had not said Yes, you shall be master builder. Tom waited.\n\nPhilip seemed to reach a decision. \"I'm going with Bishop Waleran to see the king in Winchester in three days' time,\" he said. \"I don't know exactly what the bishop plans, but I'm sure we will be asking King Stephen to help us pay for a new cathedral church for Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Let's hope he grants your wish,\" Tom said.\n\n\"He owes us a favor,\" Philip said with an enigmatic smile. \"He ought to help us.\"\n\n\"And if he does?\" Tom said.\n\n\"I think God sent you to me with a purpose, Tom Builder,\" said Philip. \"If King Stephen gives us the money, you can build the church.\"\n\nIt was Tom's turn to be moved. He hardly knew what to say. He had been granted his life's wish\u2014but conditionally. Everything depended on Philip's getting help from the king. He nodded, accepting the promise and the risk. \"Thank you, Father,\" he said.\n\nThe bell rang for vespers. Tom picked up his board.\n\n\"Do you need that?\" Philip said.\n\nTom realized it would be a good idea to leave it here. It would be a constant reminder to Philip. \"No, I don't need it,\" he said. \"I have it all in my head.\"\n\n\"Good. I'd like to keep it here.\"\n\nTom nodded and went to the door.\n\nIt occurred to him that if he did not ask about Agnes now he probably never would. He turned back. \"Father?\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"My first wife... Agnes, her name was... she died without a priest, and she's buried in unconsecrated ground. She hadn't sinned, it was just... the circumstances. I wondered... Sometimes a man builds a chapel, or founds a monastery, in the hope that in the afterlife, God will remember his piety. Do you think my design might serve to protect Agnes's soul?\"\n\nPhilip frowned. \"Abraham was asked to sacrifice his only son. God no longer asks for blood sacrifices, for the ultimate sacrifice has been made. But the lesson of Abraham's story is that God demands the best we have to offer, that which is most precious to us. Is this design the best thing you could offer God?\"\n\n\"Except for my children, yes.\"\n\n\"Then rest easy, Tom Builder. God will accept it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Philip had no idea why Waleran Bigod wanted to meet him in the ruins of Earl Bartholomew's castle.\n\nHe had been obliged to travel to the town of Shiring and spend the night there, then set off this morning for Earlscastle. Now, as the horse jogged toward the castle looming up out of the morning mist ahead of him, he decided it was probably a matter of convenience: Waleran was on his way from one place to another, passing no nearer to Kingsbridge than here, and the castle was a handy landmark.\n\nPhilip wished he knew more about what Waleran was planning. He had not seen the bishop-elect since the day he had inspected the cathedral ruins. Waleran did not know how much money Philip needed to build the church, and Philip did not know what Waleran was planning to ask from the king. Waleran liked to keep his plans to himself. It made Philip highly nervous.\n\nHe was glad to have learned, from Tom Builder, exactly what it would take to build the new cathedral, depressing though the news was. Once again he was glad Tom was around. Tom was a man of surprising depths. He could hardly read or write, but he could design a cathedral, draw plans, calculate the numbers of men and the time it would take to build, and figure out how much all that would cost. He was a quiet man, but despite that he was a formidable presence: he was very tall, with a bearded, weatherbeaten face, keen eyes and a high forehead. Philip sometimes felt slightly intimidated by him, and tried to conceal it by adopting a hearty tone. But Tom was very earnest, and anyway he had no idea that Philip found him daunting. The conversation about his wife had been touching, and had revealed a piety that had not previously been apparent. Tom was one of those people who kept his religion deep in his heart. Sometimes they were the best kind.\n\nAs Philip approached Earlscastle he felt increasingly uncomfortable. This had once been a thriving castle, defending the countryside all around, employing and feeding large numbers of people. Now it was ruined, and the hovels clustered about it were deserted, like empty nests in the bare branches of a tree in winter. And Philip was responsible for this. He had revealed the conspiracy being hatched here, and had brought down the wrath of God, in the shape of Percy Hamleigh, upon the castle and its inhabitants.\n\nThe walls and the gatehouse had not been badly damaged in the fighting, he noted. That meant the attackers had probably got inside before the gates could be shut. He walked his horse across the wooden bridge and entered the first of two compounds. Here the evidence of battle was clearer: apart from the stone chapel, all that remained of the castle buildings was a few charred stumps of wood sticking up out of the ground, and a small whirlwind of ashes blowing along the base of the castle wall.\n\nThere was no sign of the bishop. Philip rode through the compound, crossed the bridge at the far side, and entered the upper compound. Here there was a massive stone keep, with an unsteady-looking wooden staircase leading up to its second-floor entrance. Philip gazed up at the forbidding stonework with its mean arrow-slit windows: mighty though it was, it had not protected Earl Bartholomew.\n\nFrom those windows he would be able to look over the castle walls and watch for the bishop. He tied his horse to the handrail of the staircase and went up.\n\nThe door opened to his touch. He stepped inside. The great hall was dark and dusty, and the rushes on the floor were dry as bones. There was a cold fireplace and a spiral stair leading up. Philip went to a window. The dust made him sneeze. He could not see much from the window so he decided to go up to the next floor.\n\nAt the top of the spiral stairs he faced two doors. He guessed that the smaller one led to the latrine, the larger one to the earl's bedroom. He went through the larger door.\n\nThe room was not empty.\n\nPhilip stopped dead, shocked rigid. There in the middle of the room, facing him, was a young woman of extraordinary beauty. For a moment he thought he was seeing a vision, and his heart raced. She had a cloud of dark curls around a bewitching face. She stared back at him out of large dark eyes, and he realized she was as startled as he. He relaxed, and was about to take another step into the room, when he was seized from behind and felt the cold blade of a long knife at his throat; and a male voice said: \"And who the devil are you?\"\n\nThe girl moved toward him. \"Say your name, or Matthew will kill you,\" she said regally.\n\nHer manner showed her to be of noble birth, but even nobles were not allowed to threaten monks. \"Tell Matthew to take his hands off the prior of Kingsbridge, or it may be the worse for him,\" Philip said calmly.\n\nHe was released. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw a slight man of about his own age. This Matthew had presumably come out of the latrine.\n\nHe turned back to the girl. She appeared to be about seventeen years old. Despite her haughty manner she was shabbily dressed. As he studied her, a chest against the wall behind her opened up, and a teenaged boy got out, looking sheepish. He held a sword. He had been lying in wait, or hiding, Philip could not tell which.\n\n\"And who are you?\" Philip said.\n\n\"I am the daughter of the earl of Shiring, and my name is Aliena.\"\n\nThe daughter! thought Philip. I didn't know she was still living here. He looked at the boy. He was about fifteen, and resembled the girl except for a snub nose and short hair. Philip raised an inquiring eyebrow at him.\n\n\"I am Richard, the heir to the earldom,\" the boy said in a cracked adolescent voice.\n\nBehind Philip, the man said: \"And I am Matthew, the steward of the castle.\"\n\nThe three of them had been hiding here since Earl Bartholomew was captured, Philip realized. The steward was taking care of the children: he must have a store of food or money hidden away. Philip addressed the girl. \"I know where your father is, but what about your mother?\"\n\n\"She died many years ago.\"\n\nPhilip felt a stab of guilt. The children were virtually orphans, and it was partly his doing. \"But haven't you got relatives to look after you?\"\n\n\"I'm looking after the castle until my father returns,\" she said.\n\nThey were living in a dream world, Philip realized. She was trying to live as if she still belonged to a rich and powerful family. With her father imprisoned and in disgrace, she was just another girl. The boy was heir to nothing at all. Earl Bartholomew was never coming back to this castle, unless the king decided to hang him here. He pitied the girl, but in a way he also admired the strength of will that sustained the fantasy and made two other people share it. She might have been a queen, he thought.\n\nFrom outside came a clatter of hooves on wood: several horses were crossing the bridge. Aliena said to Philip: \"Why have you come here?\"\n\n\"It's just a rendezvous,\" Philip said. He turned around and took a step toward the door. Matthew was in his way. For a moment they stood still, facing one another. The four people in the room made a frozen tableau. Philip wondered if they were going to try to stop him from leaving. Then the steward stood aside.\n\nPhilip went out. He held up the skirt of his robe and hurried down the spiral stairs. When he reached the bottom he heard footsteps behind him. Matthew caught him up.\n\n\"Don't tell anyone we're here,\" he said.\n\nPhilip saw that Matthew understood the unreality of their position. \"How long will you stay here?\" he asked.\n\n\"As long as we can,\" the steward replied.\n\n\"And when you have to leave? What will you do then?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"I'll keep your secret,\" he said.\n\n\"Thank you, Father.\"\n\nPhilip crossed the dusty hall and stepped outside. Looking down, he saw Bishop Waleran and two others reining in their horses near his own. Waleran wore a heavy cloak trimmed with black fur, and a black fur cap. He looked up, and Philip met his pale eyes. \"My lord bishop,\" said Philip respectfully. He went down the wooden steps. The image of the virginal girl upstairs was still vivid in his mind, and he felt like shaking his head to get rid of her.\n\nWaleran dismounted. He had the same two companions, Philip saw: Dean Baldwin and the man-at-arms. He nodded to them, then knelt and kissed Waleran's hand.\n\nWaleran accepted his homage but did not wallow in it: he withdrew his hand after a moment. It was power itself, not its trappings, that Waleran loved.\n\n\"On your own, Philip?\" Waleran said.\n\n\"Yes. The priory is poor, and an escort for me is an unnecessary expense. When I was prior of St-John-in-the-Forest I never had an escort, and I'm still alive.\"\n\nWaleran shrugged. \"Come with me,\" he said. \"I want to show you something.\" He marched off across the courtyard to the nearest tower. Philip followed. Waleran entered the low doorway at the foot of the tower and climbed the staircase inside. There were bats clustered under the low ceiling, and Philip ducked his head to avoid brushing against them.\n\nThey emerged at the top of the tower and stood at the battlements, looking out over the land all around. \"This is one of the smaller earldoms in the land,\" Waleran said.\n\n\"Indeed.\" Philip shivered. There was a cold, damp wind up here, and his cloak was not as thick as Waleran's. He wondered what the bishop was leading up to.\n\n\"Some of this land is good, but much is forest and stony hillsides.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" On a clear day they might have seen many acres of forest and farmland, but now, although the early mist had gone, they could barely make out the near edge of the forest to the south, and the flat fields around the castle.\n\n\"This earldom also has a huge quarry which produces first-class limestone,\" Waleran went on. \"Its forests contain many acres of good timber. And its farms generate considerable wealth. If we had this earldom, Philip, we could build our cathedral.\"\n\n\"If pigs had wings they could fly,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Oh, thou of little faith!\"\n\nPhilip stared at Waleran. \"Are you serious?\"\n\n\"Very.\"\n\nPhilip was skeptical, but despite himself he felt a tiny spurt of hope. If only this could come true! But he said: \"The king needs military support. He'll give the earldom to someone who can lead knights into battle.\"\n\n\"The king owes his crown to the Church, and his victory over Bartholomew to you and me. Knights aren't all he needs.\"\n\nWaleran was serious, Philip saw. Was it possible? Would the king hand over the earldom of Shiring to the Church, to finance the rebuilding of Kingsbridge Cathedral? It was hardly believable, despite Waleran's arguments. But Philip could not help thinking how marvelous it would be to have the stone, the timber and the money to pay the craftsmen, all handed to him on a plate; and he remembered that Tom Builder had said he could hire sixty masons, and finish the church in eight to ten years. The mere thought was enthralling.\n\n\"But what about the former earl?\" he said.\n\n\"Bartholomew has confessed his treason. He has never denied the plot, but for some time he maintained that what he did was not treason, on the grounds that Stephen was a usurper. However, the king's torturer has finally broken him.\"\n\nPhilip shuddered and tried not to think about what they had done to Bartholomew to make that rigid man yield.\n\nHe put the thought out of his mind. \"The earldom of Shiring,\" he murmured to himself. It was an incredibly ambitious demand. But the idea was thrilling. He felt full of irrational optimism.\n\nWaleran glanced up at the sky. \"Let's get moving,\" he said. \"The king expects us the day after tomorrow.\"\n\nWilliam Hamleigh studied the two men of God from his hiding place behind the battlements of the next tower. He knew them both. The tall one, who looked like a blackbird with his pointed nose and his black cloak, was the new bishop of Kingsbridge. The small, energetic one with the shaved head and the bright blue eyes was Prior Philip. William wondered what they were doing here.\n\nHe had watched the monk arrive, look around as though he expected to see people here, and then go into the keep. William could not guess whether Philip had met the three people who lived in the keep\u2014he had been inside only a few moments, and they might have hidden from him. As soon as the bishop arrived, Prior Philip had come out of the keep and the two of them had climbed the tower. Now the bishop was gesturing at the land all around the castle with a somewhat proprietorial air. William Could tell by the way they were standing and their gestures that the bishop was being ebullient and the prior skeptical. They were hatching a plot, he felt sure.\n\nHowever, he had not come here to spy on them. He had come to spy on Aliena.\n\nHe did this more and more often. She preyed on his mind all the time, and he suffered involuntary daydreams in which he came across her tied up and naked in a wheat field, or cowering like a frightened puppy in a corner of his bedroom, or lost in the forest late in the evening. It got so that he had to see her in the flesh. He would ride to Earlscastle early in the morning. He left Walter, his groom, looking after the horses in the forest, and he walked across the fields to the castle. He sneaked inside and found a hiding place from which he could observe the keep and the upper compound. Sometimes he had to wait a long time to see her. His patience would be sorely tried, but the thought of going away again without even a glimpse of her was insupportable, so he always stayed. Then, when at last she did appear, his throat dried, and his heart beat faster, and the palms of his hands became damp. Often she was with her brother or the effeminate steward, but sometimes she was alone. One afternoon, in the summer, when he had waited for her since early morning, she had gone to the well, drawn some water, and taken off her clothes to wash. Just the memory of that sight inflamed him all over again. She had deep, proud breasts that moved in a teasing way when she lifted her arms to rub soap into her hair. Her nipples had puckered delightfully when she splashed cold water over herself. There was a surprisingly big bush of dark curly hair between her legs, and when she washed herself there, rubbing vigorously with a soapy hand, William had lost control and ejaculated in his clothes.\n\nNothing so nice had happened since, and she certainly would not wash herself in winter, but there had been lesser delights. When she was alone she would sing, or even talk to herself. William had seen her braid her hair, and dance, and chase pigeons off the ramparts like a small child. Clandestinely watching her do these little private things, William felt a sense of power over her that was quite delicious.\n\nShe would not come out while the bishop and the monk were here, of course. Fortunately they did not stay long. They left the battlements quite quickly, and a few moments later they and their attendants rode out of the castle. Had they come here just to see the view from the battlements? If so, they had been somewhat frustrated by the weather.\n\nThe steward had come out for firewood earlier, before the visitors arrived. He did the cooking in the keep. Soon he would come out again and fetch water from the well. William guessed they ate porridge, for they had no oven to bake bread. Later in the day the steward would leave the castle, sometimes taking the boy with him. Once they had gone it was only a matter of time before Aliena emerged.\n\nWhen he got bored with waiting, William would conjure up the vision of her washing herself. The memory was almost as good as the real thing. But today he was unsettled. The visit of the bishop and the prior seemed to have tainted the atmosphere. Until today there had been an enchanted air about the castle and its three inhabitants, but the arrival of those thoroughly unmagical men on their muddy horses had broken the spell. It was like being disturbed by a noise when in the middle of a wonderful dream: try as he might, he could not stay asleep.\n\nFor a while he tried guessing what the visitors had been up to, but he could not fathom it. Nevertheless he felt sure they were scheming something. There was one person who probably could work it out: his mother. He decided to abandon Aliena for today, and ride home to report what he had seen.\n\nThey arrived in Winchester at nightfall on the second day. They entered by the King's Gate, in the south wall of the city, and went directly into the cathedral close. There they parted company. Waleran went to the residence of the bishop of Winchester, a palace in its own grounds adjacent to the cathedral close. Philip went to pay his respects to the prior and beg for a mattress in the monks' dormitory.\n\nAfter three days on the road, Philip found the calm and quiet of the monastery as refreshing as a fountain on a hot day. The Winchester prior was a plump, easygoing man with pink skin and white hair. He invited Philip to have supper with him in his house. While they ate they talked about their respective bishops. The Winchester prior was clearly in awe of Bishop Henry and completely subservient to him. Philip surmised that when your bishop was as wealthy and powerful as Henry, there was nothing to be gained by quarreling with him. All the same, Philip did not intend to be so much under the thumb of his bishop.\n\nHe slept like a top and got up at midnight for matins.\n\nWhen he went into Winchester Cathedral for the first time he began to feel intimidated.\n\nThe prior had told him that it was the biggest church in the world, and when he saw it he believed it was. It was an eighth of a mile long: Philip had seen villages that could fit inside it. It had two great towers, one over the crossing and the other at the west end. The central tower had collapsed, thirty years earlier, onto the tomb of William Rufus, an ungodly king who probably should not have been buried in a church in the first place; but it had since been rebuilt. Standing directly beneath the new tower, singing matins, Philip felt the whole building had an air of immense dignity and strength. The cathedral Tom had designed would be modest by comparison\u2014if it got built at all. He now realized that he was moving in the very highest of circles, and he felt nervous. He was only a boy from a Welsh hill village who had had the good fortune to become a monk. Today he would speak to the king. What gave him the right?\n\nHe went back to bed with the other monks, but he lay awake worrying. He was afraid he might say or do something that would offend King Stephen or Bishop Henry and turn them against Kingsbridge. French-born people often mocked the way the English spoke their language: what would they think of a Welsh accent? In the monastic world, Philip had always been judged by his piety, obedience, and devotion to God's work. Those things counted for nothing here, in the capital city of one of the greatest kingdoms in the world. Philip was out of his depth. He became oppressed by the feeling that he was some kind of impostor, a nobody pretending to be a somebody, and that he was sure to be found out in no time and sent home in disgrace.\n\nHe got up at dawn, went to prime, then took breakfast in the refectory. The monks had strong beer and white bread: this was a wealthy monastery. After breakfast, when the monks went in to chapter, Philip walked over to the bishop's palace, a fine stone building with large windows, surrounded by several acres of walled garden.\n\nWaleran was confident of getting Bishop Henry's support in his outrageous scheme. Henry was so powerful that his help might even make the whole thing possible. He was Henry of Blois, the king's younger brother. As well as being the most well-connected clergyman in England, he was the richest, for he was also abbot of the wealthy monastery of Glastonbury. He was expected to be the next archbishop of Canterbury. Kingsbridge could not have a more powerful ally. Perhaps it really will happen, Philip thought; perhaps the king will enable us to build a new cathedral. When he thought about that he felt as if his heart would burst with hope.\n\nA household steward told Philip that Bishop Henry was not likely to appear before midmorning. Philip was much too wound up to return to the monastery. Feeling impatient, he set out to look at the biggest town he had ever seen.\n\nThe bishop's palace was in the southeast corner of the city. Philip walked along the east wall, through the grounds of yet another monastery, St. Mary's Abbey, and emerged in a neighborhood that appeared to be devoted to leather and wool. The area was crisscrossed with little streams. Looking closely, Philip realized they were not natural, but man-made channels, diverting part of the River Itchen to flow through the streets and supply the great quantities of water needed for tanning hides and washing fleeces. Such industries were normally established beside a river, and Philip marveled at the audacity of men who could bring the river to their workshops instead of the other way around.\n\nDespite the industry, the town was quieter and less crowded than any other Philip had seen. A place such as Salisbury, or Hereford, seemed constricted by its walls, like a fat man in a tight tunic: the houses were too close together, the backyards too small, the marketplace too crowded, the streets too narrow; and as people and animals jostled for space, there was a feeling that fights could break out at any moment. But Winchester was so big that there seemed to be room for everyone. As he walked around, Philip gradually realized that part of the reason for the spacious feel was that the streets were laid out on a square grid pattern. They were mostly straight and intersected at right angles. He had never seen that before. The town must have been built according to a plan.\n\nThere were dozens of churches. They were all shapes and sizes, some of wood and others of stone, each serving its own small neighborhood. The city had to be very rich to support so many priests.\n\nWalking along Fleshmonger Street made him feel faintly ill. He had never seen so much raw meat all in one place. Blood flowed out of the butchers' shops into the street, and fat rats dodged between the feet of the people who came to buy.\n\nThe south end of Fleshmonger Street opened out on to the middle of the High Street, opposite the old royal palace. The palace had not been used by kings since the new keep had been built in the castle, Philip had been told, but the royal moneyers still minted silver pennies in the undercroft of the building, protected by thick walls and iron-barred gates. Philip stood at the bars for a while, watching the sparks fly as the hammers pounded the dies, awestruck by the sheer wealth in front of his eyes.\n\nThere was a handful of other people watching the same sight. No doubt it was something all visitors to Winchester looked at. A young woman standing nearby smiled at Philip, and he smiled back. She said: \"You can do anything you like for a penny.\"\n\nHe wondered what she meant, and smiled vaguely again. Then she opened her cloak, and he saw to his horror that underneath it she was completely naked. \"Anything you like, for a silver penny,\" she said.\n\nHe felt a faint stirring of desire, like the ghost of a memory long submerged; then he realized that she was a whore. He felt his face go bright red with embarrassment. He turned quickly and hurried away. \"Don't be afraid,\" she called. \"I like a nice round head.\" Her mocking laughter followed him.\n\nFeeling hot and bothered, he turned down an alley off the High Street and found himself in the marketplace. He could see the towers of the cathedral rising above the market stalls. He hurried through the crowds, oblivious to the blandishments of the vendors, and found his way back into the close.\n\nHe felt the ordered calm of the church precincts like a cool breeze. He paused in the graveyard to collect his thoughts. He felt ashamed and outraged. How dare she tempt a man in monk's robes? She had obviously identified him as a visitor.... Was it possible that monks who were away from their home monastery could be customers of hers? Of course it was, he realized. Monks committed all the same sins that ordinary people did. He had just been shocked by the woman's shamelessness. The sight of her nakedness remained with him, the way the hot heart of a candle flame, stared at for a few moments, would burn on behind closed eyelids.\n\nHe sighed. It had been a morning of vivid images: the man-made streams, the rats in the butchers' shops, the stacks of new-minted silver pennies, and then the woman's private parts. For a while, he knew, those pictures would come back to him to unsettle his meditations.\n\nHe went into the cathedral. He felt too grubby to kneel and pray, but just walking down the nave and out through the south door purified him somewhat. He passed through the priory and went to the bishop's palace.\n\nThe ground floor was a chapel. Philip went up the stairs to the hall and stepped inside. There was a small group of servants and young clergymen near the door, standing around or sitting on the bench up against the wall. At the far end of the room Waleran and Bishop Henry were sitting at a table. Philip was stopped by a steward who said: \"The bishops are at breakfast,\" as if that meant Philip could not see them.\n\n\"I'll join them at table,\" Philip said.\n\n\"You'd better wait,\" the steward said.\n\nPhilip decided that the steward had taken him for an ordinary monk. \"I'm the prior of Kingsbridge,\" he said.\n\nThe steward shrugged and stood aside.\n\nPhilip approached the table. Bishop Henry was at the head, with Waleran on his right. Henry was a short, broad-shouldered man with a pugnacious face. He was about the same age as Waleran, a year or two older than Philip; no more than thirty. However, by contrast with Waleran's dead-white skin and Philip's own bony frame, Henry had the florid complexion and rounded limbs of a hearty eater. His eyes were alert and intelligent, and his face seemed set in a determined expression. As the youngest of four brothers, he had probably had to fight for everything all his life. Philip was surprised to see that Henry's head was shaved, a sign that he had at one time taken monastic vows and still considered himself a monk. However, he was not wearing homespun; in fact, he was dressed in the most gorgeous tunic made of purple silk. Waleran was wearing a spotless white linen shirt under his usual black tunic, and Philip realized that both men were dressed up for their audience with the king. They were eating cold beef and drinking red wine. Philip was hungry after his walk, and his mouth watered.\n\nWaleran looked up and saw him, and a look of faint irritation crossed his face.\n\n\"Good morning,\" Philip said.\n\nWaleran said to Henry: \"This is my prior.\"\n\nPhilip did not much like being described as Waleran's prior. He said: \"Philip of Gwynedd, prior of Kingsbridge, my lord bishop.\"\n\nHe anticipated kissing the bishop's beringed hand, but Henry merely said, \"Splendid,\" and ate another mouthful of beef. Philip stood there rather awkwardly. Were they not going to ask him to sit down?\n\nWaleran said: \"We'll join you shortly, Philip.\"\n\nPhilip realized he was being dismissed. He turned away, feeling humiliated. He returned to the group around the door. The steward who had tried to turn him back now smirked at him with a look that said I told you so. Philip stood apart from the others. He suddenly felt ashamed of the stained brown robe he had been wearing day and night for half a year. Benedictine monks often dyed their habits black, but Kingsbridge had given that up, years ago, to save money. Philip had always believed that dressing up in fine clothes was sheer vanity, entirely inappropriate for any man of God, no matter how high his rank; but now he saw the point of it. He might not have been treated so dismissively if he had come dressed in silk and furs.\n\nAh, well, he thought, a monk should be humble, so this must be good for my soul.\n\nThe two bishops rose from the table and came to the door. An attendant produced a scarlet robe edged with fine embroidery and silk fringes for Henry. As he was putting it on, Henry said: \"You won't have to say much today, Philip.\"\n\nWaleran added: \"Leave the talking to us.\"\n\nHenry said: \"Leave the talking to me,\" with the faintest emphasis on the me. \"If the king asks you a question or two, answer plainly, and don't try to dress up the facts too much. He'll understand your need for a new church without any weeping and wailing on your part.\"\n\nPhilip did not need to be told that. Henry was being unpleasantly condescending. However, Philip nodded assent and concealed his resentment.\n\n\"We'd better go,\" Henry said. \"My brother is an early riser, and he's liable to conclude the day's business rapidly, then go hunting in the New Forest.\"\n\nThey went out. A man-at-arms, wearing a sword and carrying a staff, went in front of Henry as they walked to the High Street and then up the hill toward the West Gate. People stood aside for the two bishops, but not for Philip, so he ended up walking behind. Now and again someone would call out for a blessing, and Henry would make the sign of the cross in the air without pausing in his stride. Just before the gatehouse they turned aside and walked over a wooden bridge that spanned the castle moat. Despite being assured that he would not have to say much, Philip had a fluttery fear in his belly: he was about to see the king.\n\nThe castle occupied the southwest corner of the city. Its western and southern walls were part of the city wall. But the walls that separated the back of the castle from the city were no less high and strong than its outer defenses, as if the king needed protection against the citizens just as much as against the outside world.\n\nThey entered by a low gateway in the wall and immediately came upon the massive keep which dominated this end of the Compound. It was a formidable square tower. Counting the arrow-slit windows, Philip reckoned it must have four floors. As usual, the ground floor consisted of storerooms, and an outside staircase led to an upstairs entrance. A pair of sentries at the foot of the stairs bowed as Henry passed.\n\nThey went into the hall. There were rushes on the floor, a few seats recessed into the stone walls, some wooden benches and a fireplace. In a corner two men-at-arms guarded a staircase, set into the wall, leading up. One of the men met Bishop Henry's eye immediately. He nodded and went up the stairs, presumably to tell the king that his brother was waiting.\n\nPhilip felt nauseated with anxiety. In the next few minutes his whole future might be decided. He wished he felt better about his allies. He wished he had spent the early morning hours praying for success instead of wandering around Winchester. He wished he had worn a clean robe.\n\nThere were twenty or thirty other people in the room, nearly all of them men. They seemed to be a mixture of knights, priests and prosperous townspeople. Suddenly Philip started, surprised: over by the fire, talking to a woman and a young man, was Percy Hamleigh. What was he doing here? The two people with him were his ugly wife and his brutish son. They had been Waleran's collaborators, as it were, in the downfall of Bartholomew: it could hardly be a coincidence that they were here today. Philip wondered whether Waleran had expected them.\n\nPhilip said to Waleran: \"Do you see\u2014\"\n\n\"I see them,\" Waleran snapped, visibly displeased.\n\nPhilip felt their presence here was ominous, though he could not have said just why. He studied them. The father and son were alike: big, beefy men with yellow hair and sullen faces. The wife looked like the kind of demon that tortured sinners in paintings of hell. She touched the sores on her face constantly, her skeletal hands moving restlessly. She wore a yellow gown that made her look even uglier. She shifted from one foot to another, darting glances around the room all the time. She met Philip's eyes, and he looked away quickly.\n\nBishop Henry was moving around, greeting the people he knew and blessing those he did not, but he must have been keeping an eye on the stairs, for as soon as the sentry came down again, Henry looked across at him, saw the man nod, and abandoned his conversation in midsentence.\n\nWaleran followed Henry up the stairs and Philip brought up the rear with his heart in his mouth.\n\nThe upstairs room was the same size and shape as the entrance hall, but it felt completely different. There were tapestries on the walls and sheepskin rugs on the scrubbed floorboards. The fire blazed strongly and the room was brightly lit by dozens of candles. Near the door was an oak table with pens, ink and a stack of vellum sheets for letters, and a cleric sat waiting to take the king's dictation. Near the fireplace, in a big wooden chair covered with fur, sat the king.\n\nThe first thing Philip noticed was that he was not wearing a crown. He had on a purple tunic over leather leggings, as if he were about to go out on horseback. Two big hunting dogs lay at his feet like favored courtiers. He resembled his brother Bishop Henry, but Stephen's features were a little finer, making him more handsome, and he had a lot of tawny hair. However, there was the same look of intelligence about the eyes. He sat back in his big chair\u2014Philip supposed it was a throne\u2014looking relaxed, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his elbows on the arms of the seat, but despite his posture there was an air of tension in the room. The king was the only one at ease.\n\nAs the bishops and Philip entered, a big man in expensive clothes was leaving. He nodded in a familiar way to Bishop Henry and ignored Waleran. He was probably a powerful baron, Philip thought.\n\nBishop Henry approached the king, bowed, and said: \"Good morning, Stephen.\"\n\n\"I still haven't seen that bastard Ranulf,\" said King Stephen. \"If he doesn't show up soon I'm going to cut his fingers off.\"\n\nHenry said: \"He'll be here any day, I promise you, but perhaps you should cut his fingers off anyway.\"\n\nPhilip had no idea who Ranulf was or why the king wanted to see him, but he got the impression that although Stephen was displeased, he was not serious about mutilating the man.\n\nBefore Philip could give it any further thought, Waleran stepped forward and bowed, and Henry said: \"You remember Waleran Bigod, the new bishop of Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Stephen said, \"but who's this?\" He looked at Philip.\n\nWaleran said: \"This is my prior.\"\n\nWaleran did not say his name, so Philip supplied it. \"Philip of Gwynedd, prior of Kingsbridge.\" His voice sounded louder than he had intended. He bowed.\n\n\"Come forward, father prior,\" Stephen said. \"You seem afraid. What are you worried about?\"\n\nPhilip could not think how to answer that. He was worried about so many things. In desperation he said: \"I'm worried because I don't have a clean robe to wear.\"\n\nStephen laughed, but not unkindly. \"Then stop worrying,\" he said. With a glance at his well-dressed brother he added: \"I like a monk to look like a monk, not like a king.\"\n\nPhilip felt a little better.\n\nStephen said: \"I heard about the fire. How are you managing?\"\n\nPhilip said: \"On the day of the fire, God sent us a builder. He repaired the cloisters very quickly, and we use the crypt for services. With his help, we're clearing the ruins ready for rebuilding; and he has drawn plans for a new church.\"\n\nWaleran raised his eyebrows at that: he did not know about the plans. Philip would have told him, if he had asked; but he had not. The king said: \"Commendably prompt. When will you begin to build?\"\n\n\"As soon as I can find the money.\"\n\nBishop Henry cut in: \"That's why I've brought Prior Philip and Bishop Waleran to see you. Neither the priory nor the diocese has the resources to finance a project this big.\"\n\n\"Nor does the Crown, my dear brother,\" said Stephen.\n\nPhilip was discouraged: that was not a promising beginning.\n\nHenry said: \"I know. That's why I've looked for a way in which you could make it possible for them to rebuild Kingsbridge, but at no cost to yourself.\"\n\nStephen looked skeptical. \"And did you succeed in devising such an ingenious, not to say magical, scheme?\"\n\n\"Yes. My suggestion is that you should give the earl of Storing's lands to the diocese to finance the building program.\"\n\nPhilip held his breath.\n\nThe king looked thoughtful.\n\nWaleran opened his mouth to speak, but Henry silenced him with a gesture.\n\nThe king said: \"It's a clever idea. I'd like to do it.\"\n\nPhilip's heart leaped.\n\nThe king said: \"Unfortunately, I've just virtually promised the earldom to Percy Hamleigh.\"\n\nA groan escaped Philip's lips. He had thought the king was going to say yes. The disappointment was like a knife wound.\n\nHenry and Waleran were dumbstruck. No one had anticipated this.\n\nHenry was the first to speak. He said: \"Virtually?\"\n\nThe king shrugged. \"I might wriggle out of it, although not without considerable embarrassment. But after all, it was Percy who brought the traitor Bartholomew to justice.\"\n\nWaleran burst out: \"Not without help, my lord!\"\n\n\"I knew you had played some part in it....\"\n\n\"It was I who told Percy Hamleigh of the plot against you.\"\n\n\"Yes. By the way, how did you learn of it?\"\n\nPhilip shuffled his feet. They were on dangerous ground. No one must know that the information had come originally from his brother, Francis, for Francis was still working for Robert of Gloucester, who had been forgiven for his part in the plot.\n\nWaleran said: \"The information came from a deathbed confession.\"\n\nPhilip was relieved. Waleran was repeating the lie Philip had told him, but speaking as if the \"confession\" had been made to him rather than to Philip. Philip was more than content to have attention drawn away from his own role in this.\n\nThe king said: \"Still, it was Percy, not you, who attacked Bartholomew's castle, risking life and limb, and arrested the traitor.\"\n\n\"You could reward Percy some other way,\" Henry put in.\n\n\"Shiring is what Percy wants,\" the king said. \"He knows the area. And he'll rule effectively there. I could give him Cambridgeshire, but would the fenmen follow him?\"\n\nHenry said: \"You ought to give thanks to God first, men second. It was God who made you king.\"\n\n\"But it was Percy who arrested Bartholomew.\"\n\nHenry bridled at this irreverence. \"God controls all things\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't press me on this,\" Stephen said, holding up his right hand.\n\n\"Of course,\" Henry said submissively.\n\nIt was a vivid demonstration of royal power. For a moment there they had been arguing almost like equals, but Stephen had been able to regain the upper hand with a word.\n\nPhilip was bitterly disappointed. At the start he had thought this an impossible demand, but he had gradually come to hope it would be granted, even to fantasize about how he would use the wealth. Now he had been brought back to reality with a hard bump.\n\nWaleran said: \"My lord king, I thank you for being willing to reconsider the future of the Shiring earldom, and I will await your decision anxiously and prayerfully.\"\n\nThat was neat, Philip thought. It sounded as if Waleran was giving in gracefully. In fact he was summing up by saying that the question was still open. The king had not said that. If anything, his response had been negative. But there was nothing offensive about insisting that the king could still decide one way or the other. I must remember that, Philip thought: when you're about to be turned down, go for a postponement.\n\nStephen hesitated a moment, as if entertaining a faint suspicion that he was being manipulated; then he seemed to dismiss any doubts. \"Thank you all for coming to see me,\" he said.\n\nPhilip and Waleran turned to leave, but Henry stood his ground and said: \"When shall we hear your decision?\"\n\nStephen once again looked somewhat cornered. \"The day after tomorrow,\" he said.\n\nHenry bowed, and the three of them went out.\n\nThe uncertainty was almost as bad as a negative decision. Philip found the waiting unbearable. He spent the afternoon with the Winchester priory's marvelous collection of books, but they could not distract him from wondering what was going on in the king's mind. Could the king renege on his promise to Percy Hamleigh? How important was Percy? He was a member of the gentry who aspired to an earldom\u2014surely Stephen had no reason to fear offending him. But how badly did Stephen want to help Kingsbridge? Notoriously, kings became pious as they aged. Stephen was young.\n\nPhilip was turning the possibilities over and over in his mind, and looking at but not reading Boethius's The Consolation of Philosophy, when a novice came tiptoeing along the cloister walk and approached him shyly. \"There's someone asking for you in the outer court, Father,\" the lad whispered.\n\nIf the visitor had been made to wait outside, that meant he was not a monk. \"Who is it?\" Philip said.\n\n\"It's a woman.\"\n\nPhilip's first, horrified thought was that it was the whore who had accosted him outside the mint; but something in the novice's expression told him otherwise. There was another woman whose eyes had met his today. \"What does she look like?\"\n\nThe boy made a disgusted face.\n\nPhilip nodded, understanding. \"Regan Hamleigh.\" What mischief was she up to now? \"I'll come at once.\"\n\nHe walked slowly and thoughtfully around the cloisters and out to the courtyard. He would need his wits about him to deal with this woman.\n\nShe was standing outside the cellarer's parlor, wrapped in a heavy cloak, hiding her face in a hood. She gave Philip a look of such naked malevolence that he had half a mind to turn around and go back in immediately; but he was ashamed to run from a woman, so he stood his ground and said: \"What do you want with me?\"\n\n\"You foolish monk,\" she spat. \"How can you be so stupid?\"\n\nHe felt his face redden. \"I'm the prior of Kingsbridge, and you'd better call me Father,\" he said; but to his chagrin he sounded petulant rather than authoritative.\n\n\"All right, Father\u2014how can you just let yourself be used by those two greedy bishops?\"\n\nPhilip took a deep breath. \"Speak plainly,\" he said angrily.\n\n\"It's hard to find words plain enough for someone as witless as you, but I'll try. Waleran is using the burned-down church as a pretext for getting the lands of the Shiring earldom for himself. Is that plain speaking? Have you grasped that concept?\"\n\nHer contemptuous tone continued to rile Philip, but he could not resist the temptation to defend himself. \"There's nothing underhand about it,\" he said. \"The income from the lands is to be used to rebuild the cathedral.\"\n\n\"What makes you think so?\"\n\n\"That's the whole idea!\" Philip protested; but at the back of his mind he already felt the first stirrings of doubt.\n\nRegan's scornful tone changed and she became sly. \"Will the new lands belong to the priory?\" she said. \"Or to the diocese?\"\n\nPhilip stared at her for a moment, then turned away: her face was too revolting to look at. He had been working on the assumption that the lands would belong to the priory, and be under his control, rather than to the diocese, where they would be under Waleran's control. But he now recalled that when they had been with the king. Bishop Henry had specifically asked for the lands to be given to the diocese. Philip had assumed that was a slip of the tongue. But it had not been corrected, then or later.\n\nHe eyed Regan suspiciously. She could not possibly have known what Henry was going to say to the king. She might be right about this. On the other hand, she could simply be trying to make trouble. She had everything to gain from a quarrel between Philip and Waleran at this point, Philip said: \"Waleran is the bishop\u2014he has to have a cathedral.\"\n\n\"He has to have a lot of things,\" she rejoined. She became less malevolent and more human as she began to reason, but Philip still could not bear to look at her for long. \"For some bishops, a fine cathedral would be the first priority. For Waleran there are other necessities. Anyway, as long as he controls the purse strings, he will be able to dole out as much or as little as he likes to you and your builders.\"\n\nPhilip realized she was right about that, at least. If Waleran was collecting the rents, he would naturally retain a portion for his expenses. He alone would be able to say what that portion should be. There would be nothing to stop him from diverting the funds to purposes having nothing to do with the cathedral, if he so chose. And Philip would never know, from one month to the next, whether he was going to be able to pay the builders.\n\nThere was no doubt it would be better if the priory owned the land. But Philip was sure Waleran would resist that idea, and Bishop Henry would back Waleran. Then Philip's only hope would be to appeal to the king. And King Stephen, seeing the churchmen divided, might solve the problem by giving the earldom to Percy Hamleigh.\n\nWhich was what Regan wanted, of course.\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"If Waleran is trying to deceive me, why did he bring me here at all? He could have come on his own, and made the same plea.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"He could have. But the king might have asked himself how sincere Waleran was, saying that he only wanted the earldom in order to build a cathedral. You've lulled any suspicions Stephen might have had, by appearing here in support of Waleran's claim.\" Her tone became contemptuous again. \"And you look so pathetic, in your dirty robe, that the king pities you. No, Waleran was clever to bring you.\"\n\nPhilip had a horrible feeling she might be right, but he was not willing to admit it. \"You just want the earldom for your husband,\" he said.\n\n\"If I could show you proof, would you ride half a day to see it?\"\n\nThe last thing Philip wanted was to be sucked into Regan Hamleigh's scheming. But he had to find out whether her allegation was true. Reluctantly, he said: \"Yes, I'll ride half a day.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Be ready at dawn.\"\n\nIt was William Hamleigh, the son of Percy and Regan, who was waiting for Philip in the outer courtyard the following morning as the monks began to sing prime. Philip and William left Winchester by the West Gate, then immediately turned north on Athelynge Street. Bishop Waleran's palace was in this direction, Philip realized; and it was about half a day's ride. So that was where they were going. But why? He was deeply suspicious. He decided to be alert for trickery. The Hamleighs might well be trying to use him. He speculated about how. There might be a document in Waleran's possession that the Hamleighs wanted to see or even steal\u2014some kind of deed or charter. Young Lord William could tell the bishop's staff that the two of them had been sent to fetch the document: they might believe him because Philip was with him. William could easily have some such little scheme up his sleeve. Philip would have to be on his guard.\n\nIt was a gloomy, gray morning with drizzling rain. William set a brisk pace for the first few miles, then slowed to a walk to rest the horses. After a while he said: \"So, monk, you want to take the earldom away from me.\"\n\nPhilip was taken aback by his hostile tone: he had done nothing to deserve it, and he resented it. Consequently his reply was sharp. \"From you?\" he said. \"You aren't going to get it, boy. I might get it, or your father might, or Bishop Waleran might. But nobody has asked the king to give it to you. The very idea is a joke.\"\n\n\"I shall inherit it.\"\n\n\"We'll see.\" Philip decided there was no point in quarreling with William. \"I don't mean you any harm,\" he said in a conciliatory tone. \"I just want to build a new cathedral.\"\n\n\"Then take someone else's earldom,\" William said. \"Why do people always pick on us?\"\n\nThere was a lot of bitterness in the boy's voice, Philip noted. He said: \"Do people always pick on you?\"\n\n\"You'd think they'd learn a lesson from what happened to Bartholomew. He insulted our family, and look where he is now.\"\n\n\"I thought it was his daughter who was responsible for the insult.\"\n\n\"The bitch is as proud and arrogant as her father. But she'll suffer, too. They'll all kneel to us in the end, you'll see.\"\n\nThese were not the usual emotions of a twenty-year-old, Philip thought. William sounded more like an envious and venomous middle-aged woman. Philip was not enjoying the conversation. Most people would dress up their naked hatred in reasonable clothes, but William was too naive to do that. Philip said: \"Revenge is best left until the Day of Judgment.\"\n\n\"Why don't you wait until the Day of Judgment to build your church?\"\n\n\"Because by then it will be too late to save the souls of sinners from the torments of hell.\"\n\n\"Don't start on about that!\" William said, and there was a note of hysteria in his voice. \"Save it for your sermons.\"\n\nPhilip was tempted to make another sharp retort, but he bit it back. There was something very odd about this boy. Philip had the feeling that William could fly into an uncontrollable rage at any moment, and that when enraged he would be lethally violent. Philip was not afraid of him. He had no fear of violent men, perhaps because as a child he had seen the worst they could do and survived it. But there was nothing to be gained by infuriating William with reprimands, so he said gently: \"Heaven and hell is what I deal in. Virtue and sin, forgiveness and punishment, good and evil. I'm afraid I can't shut up about them.\"\n\n\"Then talk to yourself,\" William said, and he spurred his horse into a trot and pulled ahead.\n\nWhen he was forty or fifty yards in front he slowed down again. Philip wondered whether the boy would relent and return to ride side by side, but he did not, and for the rest of the morning they traveled apart.\n\nPhilip felt anxious and somewhat depressed. He had lost control of his destiny. He had let Waleran Bigod take charge in Winchester, and now he was letting William Hamleigh take him on a mystery journey. They're all trying to manipulate me, he thought; why am I letting them? It's time I started to take the initiative. But there was nothing he could do, right away, except turn around and go back to Winchester, and that seemed like a futile gesture, so he continued to follow William, staring gloomily at William's horse's rear end as they jogged along.\n\nA little before noon they reached the valley where the bishop's palace was. Philip recalled coming here at the beginning of the year, full of trepidation, bringing with him a deadly secret. An awful lot had changed since then.\n\nTo his surprise, William rode past the palace and on up the hill. The road narrowed to a simple path between fields: it led nowhere important, Philip knew. As they approached the top of the hill, Philip saw that some kind of building work was going on. A little below the summit they were stopped by a bank of earth that looked as if it had been dug up recently. Philip was struck by an awful suspicion.\n\nThey turned aside and rode alongside the bank until they found a gap. They went through. Inside the bank was a dry moat, filled in at this point to allow people to cross.\n\nPhilip said: \"Is this what we came to see?\"\n\nWilliam just nodded.\n\nPhilip's suspicion was confirmed. Waleran was building a castle. He was devastated.\n\nHe kicked his horse forward and crossed the ditch, with William following. The ditch and the bank encircled the top of the hill. On the inside rim of the ditch a thick stone wall had been built to a height of two or three feet. The wall was clearly unfinished, and judging by its thickness it was intended to be very high.\n\nWaleran was building a castle, but there were no workmen on the site, no tools to be seen, and no stacks of stone or timber. A great deal had been done in a short time; then work had stopped suddenly. Obviously Waleran had run out of money.\n\nPhilip said to William: \"I suppose there's no doubt that it is the bishop who is building this castle.\"\n\nWilliam said: \"Would Waleran Bigod allow anyone else to build a castle next to his palace?\"\n\nPhilip felt hurt and humiliated. The picture was crystal clear: Bishop Waleran wanted the Shiring earldom, with its quarry and its timber, to build his own castle, not the cathedral. Philip was merely a tool, the burning of Kingsbridge Cathedral just a convenient excuse. Their role was to enliven the king's piety so that he would grant Waleran the earldom.\n\nPhilip saw himself as Waleran and Henry must see him: naive, compliant, smiling and nodding as he was led to the slaughter. They had judged him so well! He had trusted them and deferred to them, he had even borne their slights with a brave smile, because he thought they were helping him, when all the time they were double-crossing him.\n\nHe was shocked by Waleran's unscrupulousness. He recalled the look of sadness in Waleran's eyes as he looked at the ruined cathedral. Philip had glimpsed the deep-rooted piety in Waleran at that moment. Waleran must think that pious ends justified dishonest means in the service of the Church. Philip had never believed that. I would never do to Waleran what Waleran is trying to do to me, he thought.\n\nHe had never before thought of himself as gullible. He wondered where he had gone wrong. It occurred to him that he had let himself be overawed\u2014by Bishop Henry and his silk robes, by the magnificence of Winchester and its cathedral, by the piles of silver in the mint and the heaps of meat in the butchers' shops, and by the thought of seeing the king. He had forgotten that God saw through the silk robes to the sinful heart, that the only wealth worth having was treasure in heaven, and that even the king had to kneel down in church. Feeling that everyone else was so much more powerful and sophisticated than he was, he had lost sight of his true values, suspended his critical faculties, and placed his trust in his superiors. His reward had been treachery.\n\nHe took one more look around the rainswept building site, then turned his horse and rode away, feeling wounded. William followed. \"What about that, then, monk?\" William jeered. Philip did not reply.\n\nHe recalled that he had helped Waleran become bishop. Waleran had said: \"You want me to make you prior of Kingsbridge. I want you to make me bishop.\" Of course, Waleran had not revealed that the bishop was already dead, so the promise had seemed somewhat insubstantial. And it had seemed that Philip was obliged to give the promise in order to secure his election as prior. But these were just excuses. The truth was that he should have left the choice of prior and bishop in the hands of God.\n\nHe had not made that pious decision, and his punishment was that he had to contend with Bishop Waleran.\n\nWhen he thought about how he had been slighted, condescended to, manipulated and deceived, he became angry. Obedience was a monastic virtue, but outside the cloisters it had its drawbacks, he thought bitterly. The world of power and property required that a man be suspicious, demanding, and insistent.\n\n\"Those lying bishops made a fool of you, didn't they?\" William said.\n\nPhilip reined in his horse. Shaking with rage, he pointed a ringer at William. \"Shut your mouth, boy. You're speaking of God's holy priests. If you say another word you'll burn for it, I promise you.\"\n\nWilliam went white with fear.\n\nPhilip kicked his horse on. William's sneer reminded him that the Hamleighs had an ulterior motive in taking him to see Waleran's castle. They wanted to cause a quarrel between Philip and Waleran to ensure that the disputed earldom would go to neither the prior nor the bishop, but to Percy. Well, Philip was not going to be manipulated by them, either. He had finished being manipulated. From now on he would do the manipulating.\n\nThat was all very well, but what could be done? If Philip quarreled with Waleran, Percy would get the lands; and if Philip did nothing, Waleran would get them.\n\nWhat did the king want? He wanted to help build the new cathedral: that kind of thing was appropriately kingly, and would benefit his soul in the afterlife. But he needed to reward Percy's loyalty, too. Oddly enough, there was no particular pressure on him to please the more powerful men, the two bishops. It occurred to Philip that there might be a solution to the dilemma that would solve the king's problem by satisfying both himself and Percy Hamleigh.\n\nNow there was a thought.\n\nThe idea pleased him. An alliance between himself and the Hamleighs was the last thing anyone expected\u2014and for that reason it just might work. The bishops would be completely unprepared for it. They would be caught wrong-footed.\n\nThat would be a delightful reversal.\n\nBut could he negotiate a deal with the grasping Hamleighs? Percy wanted the rich farmland of Shiring, the title of earl, and the power and prestige of a force of knights under his command. Philip, too, wanted the rich farmland, but he did not want the title or the knights: he was more interested in the quarry and the forest.\n\nThe form of a compromise began to take shape in Philip's mind. He began to think that all was not yet lost.\n\nHow sweet it would be to win now, after all that had happened.\n\nWith mounting excitement, he considered his approach to the Hamleighs. He was determined he would not play the role of supplicant. He would have to make his proposal seem irresistible.\n\nBy the time they reached Winchester, Philip's cloak was soaked through, and his horse was bad-tempered, but he thought he had the answer.\n\nAs they passed under the arch of the West Gate he said to William: \"Let's go and see your mother.\"\n\nWilliam was surprised. \"I thought you would want to see Bishop Waleran right away.\"\n\nNo doubt that was what Regan had told William to expect. \"Don't bother to tell me what you thought, lad,\" Philip snapped. \"Just take me to your mother.\" He felt very ready for a confrontation with Lady Regan. He had been passive too long.\n\nWilliam turned south and led Philip to a house in Gold Street, between the castle and the cathedral. It was a large dwelling with stone walls to waist level and a timber frame above. Inside was an entrance hall with several apartments off it. The Hamleighs were probably lodging here: many Winchester citizens rented rooms to people who were attending the royal court. If Percy became earl he would have his own town house.\n\nWilliam showed Philip into a front room with a big bed in it and a fireplace. Regan was sitting by the fire and Percy was standing near her. Regan looked up at Philip with an expression of surprise, but she recovered quickly enough, and said: \"Well, monk\u2014was I right?\"\n\n\"You were as wrong as you could be, you foolish woman,\" Philip said harshly.\n\nShe was shocked into silence by his angry tone.\n\nHe was gratified by the effect of giving her a taste of her own medicine. He went on in the same tone. \"You thought you could cause a quarrel between me and Waleran. Did you imagine I wouldn't see what you were up to? You're a sly vixen but you're not the only person in the world who can think.\"\n\nHe could see by her face that she realized her plan had not worked, and she was thinking furiously what to do next. He pressed on while she was disconcerted.\n\n\"You've failed, Regan. You've got two options now. One is to sit tight and hope for the best. Wait for the king's decision. Take your chances on his mood tomorrow morning.\" He paused.\n\nShe spoke reluctantly. \"And the alternative?\"\n\n\"The alternative is that we make a deal, you and I. We divide the earldom between us, leaving nothing for Waleran. We go to the king privately and tell him we've reached a compromise, and get his blessing for it before the bishops can object.\" Philip sat down on a bench and pretended a casual air. \"It's your best chance. You've got no real choice.\" He looked into the fire, not wanting her to see how tense he was. The idea had to appeal to them, he thought. It was the certainty of getting something weighed against the possibility of getting nothing. But they were greedy\u2014they might prefer an all-or-nothing gamble.\n\nIt was Percy who spoke first. \"Divide the earldom? How?\"\n\nThey were interested, at least, Philip thought with relief. \"I'm going to propose a division so generous that you would be mad to turn it down,\" Philip said to him. He turned back to Regan. \"I'm offering you the best half.\"\n\nThey looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he said no more. Regan said: \"What do you mean, the best half?\"\n\n\"What is more valuable\u2014arable land or forest?\"\n\n\"Arable land, certainly.\"\n\n\"Then you shall have the arable and I'll have the forest.\"\n\nRegan narrowed her eyes. \"That will give you timber for your cathedral.\"\n\n\"Correct.\"\n\n\"What about pasture?\"\n\n\"Which do you want\u2014the cattle pastures or the sheep grazing?\"\n\n\"The pasture.\"\n\n\"Then I'll have the hill farms with their sheep. Would you like the income from markets, or the quarry?\"\n\nPercy said: \"The market inc\u2014\"\n\nRegan interrupted him. \"Suppose we said the quarry?\"\n\nPhilip knew she had understood what was on his mind. He wanted the stone from the quarry for his cathedral. He knew she did not want the quarry. The markets made more money for less effort. He said confidently: \"You won't, though, will you?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. We'll take the markets.\"\n\nPercy tried to look as if he were being fleeced. \"I need the forest to hunt,\" he said. \"An earl must have some hunting.\"\n\n\"You can hunt there,\" Philip said quickly. \"I just want the timber.\"\n\n\"That's agreeable,\" Regan said. Her agreement came a little too quickly for Philip's comfort. He felt a pang of anxiety. Had he given something important away without knowing it? Or was she simply impatient to dispose of a trifling detail? Before he could give it much thought she went on: \"Suppose we go through the deeds and charters in Earl Bartholomew's old treasury and find there are some lands that we think should be ours and you think should be yours?\"\n\nThe fact that she was getting down to such details encouraged Philip to think she was going to accept his proposal. He concealed his excitement and spoke coolly. \"We'll have to agree on an arbitrator. How about Bishop Henry?\"\n\n\"A priest?\" she said with a touch of her habitual scorn. \"Would he be objective? No. How about the sheriff of Shiring?\"\n\nHe would be no more objective than the bishop, Philip thought; but he could not think of anyone who would satisfy both sides, so he said: \"Agreed\u2014on condition that if we dispute his decision we have the right to appeal to the king.\" That ought to be a sufficient safeguard.\n\n\"Agreed,\" Regan said; then she glanced at Percy and added: \"If my husband pleases.\"\n\nPercy said: \"Yes, yes.\"\n\nPhilip knew he was close to success. He took a deep breath and said: \"If the overall proposal is agreed, then\u2014\"\n\n\"Wait a moment.\" Regan stopped him. \"It's not agreed.\"\n\n\"But I've given you everything you want.\"\n\n\"We might yet get the whole earldom, no division.\"\n\n\"And you might get nothing at all.\"\n\nRegan hesitated. \"How do you propose to handle this, if we do agree?\"\n\nPhilip had thought of that. He looked at Percy. \"Could you get to see the king tonight?\"\n\nPercy looked anxious, but he said: \"If I had a good reason\u2014yes.\"\n\n\"Go to him and tell him we've reached an agreement. Ask him to announce it as his decision tomorrow morning. Assure him that you and I will declare ourselves satisfied with it.\"\n\n\"What if he asks whether the bishops have agreed to it?\"\n\n\"Say there hasn't been time to put it to them. Remind him that it is the prior, not the bishop, who has to build the cathedral. Imply that if I am satisfied the bishops must be too.\"\n\n\"But what if the bishops complain when the deal is announced?\"\n\n\"How can they?\" Philip said. \"They're pretending to ask for the earldom solely in order to finance the cathedral. Waleran can hardly protest on the grounds that he will now be unable to divert funds to other purposes.\"\n\nRegan gave a short cackle. Philip's cunning appealed to her. \"It's a good plan,\" she said.\n\n\"There's an important condition,\" Philip said, and he looked her in the eye. \"The king must announce that my share goes to the priory. If he doesn't make that clear, I'll ask him to. If he says anything else\u2014the diocese, the sacrist, the archbishop, anything\u2014I'll repudiate the whole deal. I don't want you to be in any doubt about that.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Regan, a little tetchily.\n\nHer irritation made Philip suspect that she had been toying with the idea of presenting to the king a slightly different version of the agreement. He was glad he had made the point firmly.\n\nHe got up to leave, but he wanted to set the seal on their pact somehow. \"We are agreed, then,\" he said, with just the hint of a question in his voice. \"We have a solemn pact.\" He looked at them both.\n\nRegan gave a slight nod, and Percy said: \"We have a pact.\"\n\nPhilip's heart beat faster. \"Good,\" he said tightly. \"I'll see you tomorrow morning at the castle.\" He kept his face expressionless as he left the room, but when he reached the dark street he relaxed his control and permitted himself a broad, triumphant grin.\n\nPhilip fell into a troubled, anxious sleep after supper. He got up at midnight for matins, then lay awake on his straw mattress, wondering what would happen tomorrow. He felt King Stephen ought to consent to the proposal. It solved the king's problem: it gave him an earl and a cathedral. He was not so sure that Waleran would take it lying down, despite what he had said to Lady Regan. Waleran might find an excuse to object to the arrangement. He might, if he thought fast enough, protest that the deal did not provide the money to build the impressive, prestigious, richly decorated cathedral he wanted. The king might be persuaded to think again.\n\nA different hazard occurred to Philip shortly before dawn: Regan might double-cross him. She could do a deal with Waleran. Suppose she offered the bishop the same compromise? Waleran would have the stone and timber he needed for his castle. This possibility agitated Philip and he turned restlessly in his bed. He wished he could have gone to the king himself, but the king probably would not have received him\u2014and anyway, Waleran might have learned of it and become suspicious. No, there was no action he could have taken to guard against the risk of a double-cross. All he could do now was pray.\n\nHe did that until dawn.\n\nHe took breakfast with the monks. He found that their white bread did not keep the stomach full as long as horsebread; but even so he could not eat much of it today. He went early to the castle, although he knew the king would not be receiving people at that hour. He entered the hall and sat on one of the stone wall-seats to wait.\n\nThe room slowly filled up with petitioners and courtiers. Some of them were very brightly dressed, with yellow and blue and pink tunics and lush fur trimmings on their cloaks. The famous Domesday Book was kept somewhere in this castle, Philip recalled. It was probably in the hall above, where the king had received Philip and the two bishops: Philip had not noticed it, but he had been too tense to notice much. The royal treasury was here, too, but that was presumably on the top floor, in a vault off the king's bedroom. Once again Philip found himself somewhat awestruck by his surroundings, but he had resolved not to be intimidated any longer. These people in their fine robes, knights and lords and merchants and bishops, were just men. Most of them could not write much more than their own names. Furthermore, they were all here to get something for themselves, but he, Philip, was here on behalf of God. His mission, and his dirty brown robe, put him above the other petitioners, not below them.\n\nThat thought gave him courage.\n\nA ripple of tension ran through the room as a priest appeared on the stairs leading to the upper hall. Everyone hoped that meant the king was receiving. The priest exchanged a few murmured words with one of the armed guards, then disappeared back up the stairs. The guard picked out a knight from the crowd. The knight left his sword with the guards and went up the stairs.\n\nPhilip thought what an odd life the king's clergymen must lead. The king had to have clergy, of course, not just to say mass, but to do the vast amount of reading and writing involved in governing the kingdom. There was nobody else to do it, other than clergy: those few laymen who were literate could not read or write fast enough. But there was nothing very holy about the life of the king's clergy. Philip's own brother, Francis, had chosen that life, and worked for Robert of Gloucester. I must ask him what it's like, Philip thought, if I ever see him again.\n\nSoon after the first petitioner went up the stairs, the Hamleighs came in.\n\nPhilip resisted the impulse to go to them straightaway: he did not want the world to know they were in collusion, not yet. He stared at them intently, studying their expressions, trying to read their thoughts. He decided that William looked hopeful, Percy seemed anxious, and Regan was as taut as a bowstring. After a few moments, Philip stood up and crossed the room, as casually as he could manage. He greeted them politely, then said to Percy: \"Did you see him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"He said he would think about it overnight.\"\n\n\"But why?\" Philip said. He was disappointed and cross. \"What is there to think about?\"\n\nPercy shrugged. \"Ask him.\"\n\nPhilip was exasperated. \"Well, how did he seem\u2014pleased, or what?\"\n\nRegan answered. \"My guess is that he liked the idea of being released from his dilemma but felt suspicious that it all sounded too easy.\"\n\nThat made sense, but Philip was still annoyed that King Stephen had not seized the opportunity with both hands. \"We'd better not talk any longer,\" he said after a moment. \"We don't want the bishops to guess that we're colluding against them\u2014not before the king makes his announcement.\" He nodded politely and moved away.\n\nHe returned to his stone seat. He tried to pass the time by thinking about what he would do if his plan worked. How soon could work start on the new cathedral? It depended on how quickly he could get some cash out of his new property. There would be quite a lot of sheep: he would have fleeces to sell in the summer. Some of the hill farms would be rented, and most rents fell due soon after harvesttime. By the autumn there might be enough money to hire a forester and a master quarryman and begin stockpiling timber and stone. At the same time, laborers could start to dig the foundations, under the supervision of Tom Builder. They might be ready to start stonework sometime next year.\n\nIt was a fine dream.\n\nCourtiers went up and down the stairs with alarming rapidity: King Stephen was working fast today. Philip began to worry that the king might finish his day's work and go hunting before the bishops arrived.\n\nAt last they came. Philip got to his feet slowly as they walked in. Waleran looked tense, but Henry just looked bored. To Henry this was a minor matter: he owed support to his fellow bishop, but the outcome would make little difference to him. For Waleran, however, the outcome was crucial to his plan to build a castle\u2014and a castle was only a step in Waleran's upward progress on the ladder of power.\n\nPhilip was not sure how to treat them. They had tried to trick him, and he wanted to rail at them, to tell them that he had discovered their treachery; but that would alert them that something was up, and he wanted them all unsuspecting, so that the compromise would be endorsed by the king before they could gather their wits. So he concealed his feelings and smiled politely. He need not have bothered: they ignored him completely.\n\nIt was not long before the guards called them. Henry and Waleran went up the stairs first, followed by Philip. The Hamleighs brought up the rear. Philip's heart was in his mouth.\n\nKing Stephen was standing in front of the fire. Today he seemed to have a more brisk and businesslike air. That was good: he would be impatient of any quibbling by the bishops. Bishop Henry went and stood beside his brother at the fire, and the others all stood in a line in the middle of the room. Philip felt a pain in his hands, and realized he was pressing his fingernails into his palms. He forced his fingers to relax.\n\nThe king spoke to Bishop Henry in a low voice that no one else could hear. Henry frowned and said something equally inaudible. They talked for a few moments, then Stephen held up a hand to silence his brother. He looked at Philip.\n\nPhilip reminded himself that the king had spoken kindly to him last time, joshing him about being nervous and saying he liked a monk to dress like a monk.\n\nThere were no pleasantries today, however. The king coughed and began. \"My loyal subject, Percy Hamleigh, today becomes the earl of Shiring.\"\n\nFrom the corner of his eye, Philip saw Waleran start forward, as if to protest; but Bishop Henry stopped him with a quick, forbidding gesture.\n\nThe king went on: \"Of the former earl's possessions, Percy shall have the castle, all the land that is tenanted to knights, plus all other arable land and lowlying pasture.\"\n\nPhilip could hardly contain his excitement. It looked as if the king had accepted the deal! He stole another look at Waleran, whose face was a picture of frustration.\n\nPercy knelt in front of the king and held his hands together in an attitude of prayer. The king placed his hands over Percy's. \"I make you, Percy, earl of Shiring, to have and enjoy the lands and revenues aforesaid.\"\n\nPercy said: \"I swear by all that is holy to be your liege man and to fight for you against any other.\"\n\nStephen released Percy's hands, and Percy stood up.\n\nStephen turned to the rest of them. \"All other farmlands belonging to the former earl, I give\"\u2014he paused for a moment, looking from Philip to Waleran and back again\u2014\"I give to the priory of Kingsbridge, for the building of the new cathedral.\"\n\nPhilip suppressed a whoop of joy\u2014he had won! He could not stop himself from beaming with pleasure at the king. He looked at Waleran. Waleran was shocked to the core. He was making no pretense of equanimity: his mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and he was staring at the king with frank incredulity. His gaze swiveled to Philip. Waleran knew he had failed, somehow, and that Philip was the beneficiary of his failure; but he could not imagine how it had happened.\n\nKing Stephen said: \"Kingsbridge Priory shall also have the right to take stone from the earl's quarry and timber from his forest, without limit, for the building of the new cathedral.\"\n\nPhilip's throat went dry. That was not the deal! The quarry and the forest were supposed to belong to the priory, and Percy was only to have hunting rights. Regan had altered the terms after all. Now Percy was to own the property and the priory merely had the right to take timber and stone. Philip had only a few seconds to decide whether to repudiate the whole deal. The king was saying: \"In the event of a disagreement, the sheriff of Shiring shall adjudicate, but the parties have the right to appeal to me as a last resort.\" Philip was thinking: Regan has behaved outrageously, but what difference does it make? The deal still gives me most of what I wanted. Then the king said: \"I believe this arrangement had already been approved by both sides here.\" And there was no time left.\n\nPercy said: \"Yes, lord king.\"\n\nWaleran opened his mouth to deny that he had approved the compromise, but Philip got in first. \"Yes, lord king,\" he said.\n\nBishop Henry and Bishop Waleran both turned their heads to Philip and stared at him. Their expressions showed utter astonishment as they realized that Philip, the youthful prior who did not even know enough to wear a clean habit to the king's court, had negotiated a deal with the king behind their backs. After a moment, Henry's face relaxed into amusement, like one who is beaten at ninemen's morris by a nimble-wilted child; but Waleran's gaze became malevolent. Philip felt he could read Waleran's mind. Waleran was realizing that he had made the cardinal error of underestimating his opponent, and he was humiliated. For Philip, this moment made up for everything: the treachery, the humiliation, the slights. Philip lifted his chin, risking committing the sin of pride, and gave Waleran a look that said: You'll have to try harder than that to outwit Philip of Gwynedd.\n\nThe king said: \"Let the former earl, Bartholomew, be told of my decision.\"\n\nBartholomew was in a dungeon somewhere nearby, Philip presumed. He remembered those children, living with their servant in the ruined castle, and he felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what would happen to them now.\n\nThe king dismissed everyone except Bishop Henry. Philip crossed the room floating on air. He reached the top of the staircase at the same time as Waleran, and stopped to let Waleran go first. Waleran shot him a look of poisonous fury. When he spoke his voice was like bile, and despite Philip's elation, Waleran's words chilled him to the bone. The mask of hatred opened its mouth, and Waleran hissed: \"I swear by all that's holy, you'll never build your church.\" Then he pulled his black robes around his shoulders and went down the stairs.\n\nPhilip realized he had made an enemy for life."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "William Hamleigh could hardly contain his excitement when Earlscastle came into sight.\n\nIt was the afternoon of the day after the king had made his decision. William and Walter had ridden for most of two days but William did not feel tired. He felt as if his heart was swelling up in his chest and blocking his throat. He was about to see Aliena again.\n\nHe had once hoped to marry her because she was the daughter of an earl, and she had rejected him, three times. He winced as he remembered her scorn. She had made him feel like a nobody, a peasant; she had acted as if the Hamleighs were a family of no account. But the tables had turned. It was her family that was of no account, now. He was the son of an earl, and she was nothing. She had no title, no position, no land, no wealth. He was going to take possession of the castle, and he was going to throw her out, and then she would have no home either. It was almost too good to be true.\n\nHe slowed his horse as they approached the castle. He did not want Aliena to have any warning of his arrival: he wanted her to have a sudden, horrible, devastating shock.\n\nEarl Percy and Countess Regan had returned to their old manor house at Hamleigh, to arrange for the treasure, the best horses, and the household servants to be moved to the castle. William's job was to hire some local people to clean up the castle, light fires, and make the place habitable.\n\nLow iron-gray clouds boiled across the sky, so close they seemed almost to touch the battlements. There would be rain tonight. That made it even better. He would be throwing Aliena out into a storm.\n\nHe and Walter dismounted and walked their horses over the wooden drawbridge. Last time I was here I captured the place, William thought proudly. The grass was already growing in the lower compound. They tied up their horses and left them to graze. William gave his war-horse a handful of grain. They stowed their saddles in the stone chapel, as there was no stable. The horses snorted and stamped, but a wind was blowing up, and the sounds were lost. William and Walter crossed the second bridge to the upper compound.\n\nThere was no sign of life. William suddenly thought that Aliena might have gone. What a disappointment that would be! He and Walter would have to spend a dreary, hungry night in a cold and dirty castle. They went up the outside steps to the hall door. \"Quietly,\" William said to Walter. \"If they're here, I want to give them a shock.\"\n\nHe pushed open the door. The great hall was empty and dark, and smelled as if it had not been used for months: as he had expected, they had been living on the top floor. William trod softly as he walked across the hall to the stairs. Dry reeds rustled under his feet. Walter followed dose behind.\n\nThey climbed the stairs. They could hear nothing: the thick stone walls of the keep muffled all sound. Halfway up, William stopped, turned to Walter, put his finger to his lips, and pointed. There was a light shining under the door at the top of the stairs. Someone was here.\n\nThey went on up the stairs and paused outside the door. From inside came the sound of a girlish laugh. William smiled happily. He found the handle, turned it gently, then kicked the door open. The laugh turned into a scream of fright.\n\nThe scene in the room made a pretty picture. Aliena and her younger brother, Richard, were sitting at a small table, close to the fire, playing a board game of some kind, and Matthew the steward was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. Aliena's face was rose-colored in the glow of the fire, and her dark curls glinted with auburn lights. She wore a pale linen tunic. She was looking up at William with her red lips in a big O of surprise. William watched her, enjoying her fright, saying nothing. After a moment she recovered, stood up, and said: \"What do you want?\"\n\nWilliam had rehearsed this scene many times in his imagination. He walked slowly into the room and stood by the fire, warming his hands; then he said: \"I live here. What do you want?\"\n\nAliena looked from him to Walter. She was scared and confused, but nevertheless her tone was challenging. \"This castle belongs to the earl of Shiring. State your business and then clear out.\"\n\nWilliam smiled triumphantly. \"The earl of Shiring is my father,\" he said. The steward grunted, as if he had been afraid of this. Aliena looked bewildered. William went on: \"The king made my father earl yesterday, at Winchester. The castle now belongs to us. I'm the master here until my father arrives.\" He snapped his fingers at the steward. \"And I'm hungry, so bring me bread and meat and wine.\"\n\nThe steward hesitated. He threw a worried look at Aliena. He was afraid to leave her. But he had no choice. He went to the door.\n\nAliena took a step toward the door, as if to follow him.\n\n\"Stay here,\" William ordered her.\n\nWalter stood between her and the door, barring her way.\n\n\"You have no right to command me!\" Aliena said, with a touch of her old imperiousness.\n\nMatthew spoke in a scared tone. \"Stay, my lady. Don't anger them. I'll be quick.\"\n\nAliena frowned at him, but she stayed where she was. Matthew went out.\n\nWilliam sat in Aliena's chair. She moved to her brother's side. William studied them. There was a similarity between them, but all the strength was in the girl's face. Richard was a tall, awkward adolescent, with no beard yet. William liked the sensation of having them in his power. He said: \"How old are you, Richard?\"\n\n\"Fourteen years,\" the boy said sullenly.\n\n\"Ever killed a man?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered, then with a little attempt at bravado he added: \"Not yet.\"\n\nYou'll suffer too, you pompous little prick, William thought. He turned his attention to Aliena. \"How old are you?\"\n\nAt first she looked as if she would not speak to him, but then she appeared to change her mind, perhaps remembering that Matthew had said Don't anger them. \"Seventeen,\" she said.\n\n\"My, my, the whole family can count,\" William said. \"Are you a virgin, Aliena?\"\n\n\"Of course!\" she blazed.\n\nSuddenly William reached forward and grabbed her breast. It filled his big hand. He squeezed: it felt firm but yielding. She jerked back, and it slipped from his grasp.\n\nRichard stepped forward, too late, and knocked William's arm aside. Nothing could have pleased William more. He came out of his chair fast and hit Richard in the face with a swinging punch. As he had suspected, Richard was soft: he cried out and his hands flew to his face.\n\n\"Leave him alone!\" Aliena cried.\n\nWilliam looked at her with surprise. She seemed more concerned about her brother than about herself. That might be worth remembering.\n\nMatthew came back in carrying a wooden platter with a loaf of bread, a side of ham and a jug of wine on it. He paled when he saw Richard holding his hands to his face. He put the platter down on the table and went to the boy. Taking Richard's hands away gently, he looked at the boy's face. It was already red and puffy around the eye. \"I told you not to anger them,\" he muttered, but he seemed relieved that it was no worse. William was disappointed: he had hoped Matthew would fly into a rage. The steward threatened to be a killjoy.\n\nThe sight of the food made William's mouth water. He pulled his chair up to the table, took out his eating knife, and cut a thick slice, of ham. Walter sat opposite him. Through a mouthful of bread and ham, William said to Aliena: \"Bring some cups and pour the wine.\" Matthew moved to do it. William said: \"Not you\u2014her.\" Aliena hesitated. Matthew looked at her anxiously and nodded. She came across to the table and picked up the jug.\n\nAs she leaned over, William reached down, slipped his hand under the hem of her tunic, and rapidly ran his fingers up her leg. His fingertips felt slender calves with soft hair, then the muscles behind her knee, and then the soft skin of the inside of her thigh; then she jerked away, spun around, and swung the heavy wine jug at his head.\n\nWilliam warded off the blow with his left hand and slapped her face with his right. He put all his force into the slap. His hand stung in a very satisfying way. Aliena screamed. Out of the corner of his eye William saw Richard move. He had been hoping for that. He pushed Aliena aside forcefully, and she fell to the floor with a thud. Richard came at William like a deer charging the hunter. William dodged Richard's first wild blow, then punched him in the stomach. As the boy doubled over, William hit him several times in rapid succession about the eyes and nose. It was not as exciting as hitting Aliena, but it was gratifying enough, and within moments Richard's face was covered with blood.\n\nSuddenly Walter gave a warning cry and sprang to his feet, looking past William's shoulder. William spun round to see Matthew coming at him with a knife held high ready to stab. William was taken by surprise\u2014he had not expected bravery from the effeminate steward. Walter could not reach him in time to prevent the stroke. All William could do was to hold up both arms to protect himself, and for a terrible moment he thought he was going to be killed in his moment of triumph. A stronger attacker would have knocked William's arms aside, but Matthew was a slight figure softened by indoor living, and the knife did not quite reach William's neck. He felt a sudden surge of relief, but he was not yet safe. Matthew lifted his arm for another blow. William took a step back and reached for his sword. Then Walter came around the table with a long pointed dagger in his hand and stabbed Matthew in the back.\n\nAn expression of terror came over Matthew's face. William saw the point of Walter's dagger emerge from Matthew's chest, tearing a slit in his tunic. Matthew's own knife fell from his hand and bounced on the floorboards. He tried to draw breath in a gasp, but a gurgling noise came from his throat and he seemed unable to breathe. He sagged; blood came from his mouth; his eyes closed; and he fell. Walter withdrew the long dagger as the body sank to the floor. For a moment blood spurted from the wound, but almost immediately the flow slowed to a trickle.\n\nThey all looked at the corpse on the floor: Walter, William, Aliena and Richard. William was light-headed after his close brush with death. He felt as if he could do anything. He reached out and grabbed the neck of Aliena's tunic. The linen was soft and fine, very expensive. He gave a sharp jerk. The tunic ripped. He kept on pulling, so that it tore all the way down the front. A strip a foot wide came away in his hand. Aliena screamed, then tried to pull the remnants of the garment together over her front. The torn edges would not meet. William's throat went dry. Her sudden vulnerability was thrilling. It was much more exciting than when he had watched her washing, for now she knew he was looking, and she felt ashamed, and her shame inflamed him all the more. She covered her breasts with one arm and her triangle with the other hand. William dropped the strip of linen and grabbed her by the hair. He jerked her toward him, spun her around, and ripped the rest of the tunic from her back.\n\nShe had delicate white shoulders, a small waist, and surprisingly full hips. He pulled her to him, pressing himself against her back, grinding his hips against her buttocks. He bent his head and bit her soft neck hard, until he tasted blood and she screamed again. He saw Richard move.\n\n\"Hold the boy,\" he said to Walter.\n\nWalter grabbed Richard and put him in an armlock.\n\nHolding Aliena hard against him with one arm, William explored her body with the other hand. He felt her breasts, weighing and then squeezing them, and he pinched her small nipples; then he ran his hand over her stomach and into the triangle of hair between her legs, bushy and curly like the hair on her head: He prodded her roughly with his fingers. She began to cry. His prick was so stiff he felt it would burst.\n\nHe stepped away from her and jerked her backward over his outstretched leg. She fell on her back with a crash. The fall winded her and she gasped for breath.\n\nWilliam had not planned this, and he was not quite sure how it had happened, but nothing in the world could stop him now.\n\nHe lifted his tunic and showed her his prick. She looked horrified: she had probably never seen a stiff one. She was a real virgin. All the better.\n\n\"Bring the boy here,\" William said to Walter.\"! want him to see it all.\" For some reason, the thought of doing it in front of Richard's eyes was intensely piquant.\n\nWalter pushed Richard forward and forced him to his knees.\n\nWilliam knelt on the floor and prised Aliena's legs apart. She began to struggle. He fell on top of her, trying to crush her into submission, but still she resisted, and he could not get inside her. He was irritated: this was spoiling everything. He raised himself on one elbow and hit her across the face with his fist. She cried out and her cheek turned an angry red, but as soon as he tried to enter her, she began to resist him again.\n\nWalter could have held her still, but he had the boy.\n\nSuddenly William was inspired. \"Cut the boy's ear off, Walter,\" he said.\n\nAliena went still. \"No!\" she said hoarsely. \"Leave him alone\u2014don't hurt him anymore.\"\n\n\"Open your legs, then,\" William said.\n\nShe stared at him, wide-eyed with horror at the dreadful choice forced upon her. William enjoyed her anguish. Walter, playing the game perfectly, drew his knife and put it to Richard's right ear. He hesitated, then with a movement that was almost tender, he sliced off the boy's earlobe.\n\nRichard screamed. Blood spurted from the small wound. The piece of flesh fell on Aliena's heaving chest.\n\n\"Stop!\" she screamed. \"All right. I'll do it.\" She opened her legs.\n\nWilliam spat on his hand, then rubbed the moisture between her legs. He pushed his fingers inside her. She cried out with pain. That excited him more. He lowered himself on top of her. She lay still, tense. Her eyes were closed. Her body was slick with sweat from the struggle, but she shivered. William adjusted his position, then hesitated, enjoying the anticipation and her dread. He looked at the others. Richard was looking on with horror. Walter was watching greedily.\n\nWilliam said: \"Your turn next, Walter.\"\n\nAliena groaned in despair.\n\nSuddenly he shoved inside her roughly, pushing as hard and far as he could. He felt the resistance of her maidenhead\u2014a real virgin!\u2014and he shoved again, brutally. It hurt him but it hurt her more. She screamed. He shoved once more, harder still, and he felt it break. Aliena's face turned white, her head slumped to one side, and she fell into a faint; then at last William spurted his seed inside her, laughing and laughing with triumph and pleasure until he was drained dry.\n\nThe storm raged for most of the night, then toward dawn it stopped. The sudden quiet woke Tom Builder. As he lay in the dark, listening to the heavy breathing of Alfred beside him and the quieter sound of Martha on his other side, he calculated that it might be a clear morning, which would mean he could see the sun rise for the first time in two or three cloudy weeks. He had been waiting for this.\n\nHe got up and opened the door. It was still dark: there was plenty of time. He prodded his son with a foot. \"Alfred! Wake up! There's going to be a sunrise.\"\n\nAlfred groaned and sat upright. Martha turned over without waking. Tom went to the table and took the lid off a pottery crock. He removed a half-eaten loaf and cut off two thick slices, one for himself and one for Alfred. They sat down on the bench and ate breakfast.\n\nThere was ale in the jug. Tom took a long swallow and passed it to Alfred. Agnes would have made them use cups, and so would Ellen, but there was no woman in the house now. When Alfred had drunk his fill from the jug they left the house.\n\nThe sky was turning from black to gray as they crossed the priory close. Tom had intended to go to the prior's house and wake Philip. However, Philip's thoughts had followed the same lines as Tom's, and he was already there in the ruins of the cathedral, wearing a heavy cloak, kneeling on the wet ground, saying prayers.\n\nTheir task was to establish an accurate east-west line, which would form the axis around which the new cathedral would be built.\n\nTom had prepared everything some time ago. In the ground at the east end he had planted an iron spike with a small loop in its top like the eye of a needle. The spike was almost as tall as Tom, so that its \"eye\" was at the level of Tom's eyes. He had fixed it in place with a mixture of rubble and mortar, so that it could not be shifted accidentally. This morning he would plant another such spike, dead west of the first one, at the opposite end of the site.\n\n\"Mix up some mortar, Alfred,\" he said.\n\nAlfred went to fetch sand and lime. Tom went to his tool shed near the cloisters and got a small mallet and the second spike. Then he went to the west end of the site and stood waiting for the sun to rise. Philip finished his prayers and joined him, while Alfred mixed sand and lime with water on a mortarboard.\n\nThe sky grew brighter. The three men became tense. They were all watching the east wall of the priory close. At last the red disk of the sun showed over the top of the wall.\n\nTom shifted his position until he could see the edge of the sun through the small loop in the spike at the far end. Then, as Philip began to pray aloud in Latin, Tom held the second spike in front of him so that it blocked his view of the sun. Steadily, he lowered it to the ground and pressed its pointed end into the damp earth, always keeping it precisely between his eye and the sun. He drew the mallet from his belt and carefully tapped the spike into the ground until its \"eye\" was level with his eyes. Now, if he had done the job properly, and if his hands had not trembled, the sun should shine through the eyes of both spikes.\n\nHe closed one eye and looked through the near spike at the far one. The sun still shone into his eye through the two loops. The two spikes lay on a perfect east-west line. That line would provide the orientation of the new cathedral.\n\nHe had explained this to Philip, and he now stood aside and let the prior look through the loops himself, to check.\n\n\"Perfect,\" Philip said.\n\nTom nodded. \"It is.\"\n\n\"Do you know what day it is?\" Philip said.\n\n\"Friday.\"\n\n\"It's also the day of the martyrdom of Saint Adolphus. God sent us a sunrise so that we could orient the church on our patron's day. Isn't that a good sign?\"\n\nTom smiled. In his experience good workmanship was more important than good omens in the building industry. But he was happy for Philip. \"Yes, indeed,\" he said. \"It's a very good sign.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Aliena was determined not to think about it.\n\nShe sat all night on the cold stone floor of the chapel, with her back to the wall, staring into the darkness. At first she could think of nothing but the hellish scene she had been through, but gradually the pain eased a little, and she was able to concentrate her mind on the sounds of the storm, the rain falling on the roof of the chapel and the wind howling around the ramparts of the deserted castle.\n\nShe had been naked at first. After the two men had... When they had finished, they had gone back to the table, leaving her lying on the floor, and Richard bleeding beside her. The men had begun eating and drinking as if they had forgotten about her, and then she and Richard had taken their chance and fled from the room. The storm had started by then, and they had run across the bridge in torrential rain and taken refuge in the chapel. But Richard had gone back to the keep almost immediately. He must have gone into the room where the men were, and snatched his cloak and Aliena's from the hook by the door, and run away again before William and his groom had time to react.\n\nBut still he would not speak to her. He gave her her cloak, and wrapped his own around him; then he sat on the floor a yard away from her, with his back to the same wall. She longed for someone who loved her to put his arms around her and comfort her, but Richard acted as if she had done something terribly shameful; and the worst of it was that she felt the same way. She felt as guilty as if she had committed a sin. She quite understood his not comforting her, his not wanting to touch her.\n\nShe was glad it was cold. It helped her to feel withdrawn from the world, isolated; and it seemed to dull the pain. She did not sleep, but at some point in the night they both went into a kind of trance, and sat as still as death for a long time.\n\nThe sudden ending of the storm broke the spell. Aliena realized she could see the chapel windows, small gray patches in what had previously been unrelieved blankness. Richard stood up and went to the door. She watched him, feeling annoyed by the disturbance: she wanted to sit there against the wall until she froze to death or starved, for she could think of nothing more appealing than to slip peacefully into permanent unconsciousness. Then he opened the door, and the faint light of dawn illuminated his face.\n\nAliena was shocked out of her trance. Richard was barely recognizable. His face was swollen out of shape and covered with dried blood and bruises. It made Aliena want to cry. Richard had always been full of empty bravado. As a small boy he had dashed around the castle on an imaginary horse, pretending to stab people with an imaginary lance. Father's knights would always encourage him by pretending to be frightened of his wooden sword. In reality Richard could be scared off by a hissing cat. But he had done his best, last night, and he had been badly beaten for it. Now she would have to take care of him.\n\nSlowly she got to her feet. Her body ached, but the pain was not as bad as it had been last night. She considered what might be happening in the keep. William and his groom would have finished the jug of wine at some point during the night and then they would have fallen asleep. They would probably wake at sunrise.\n\nBy then she and Richard must be gone.\n\nShe went to the other end of the chapel, to the altar. It was a simple wooden box, painted white, bare of ornament. She leaned against it and then, with a sudden shove, pushed it over.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" said Richard in a frightened voice.\n\n\"This was Father's secret hiding place,\" she said. \"He told me about it before he went away.\" On the floor where the altar had been was a cloth bundle. Aliena unwrapped it to reveal a full-size sword, complete with scabbard and belt, and a vicious-looking dagger a foot long.\n\nRichard came over to look. He had little skill with a sword. He had been taking lessons for a year but he was still clumsy. However, Aliena certainly could not wield it, so she handed it to him. He buckled the belt around his waist.\n\nAliena looked at the dagger. She had never carried a weapon. All her life she had had someone to protect her. Realizing that she needed the deadly knife for her own protection, she felt utterly abandoned. She was not sure she could ever use it. I've stuck a wooden lance into a wild pig, she thought; why couldn't I stick this into a man\u2014someone like William Hamleigh? She recoiled from the thought.\n\nThe dagger had a leather sheath with a loop for attaching it to a belt. The loop was big enough to go around Aliena's slim wrist like a bracelet. She eased it over her left hand and pushed the knife up her sleeve. It was long\u2014it reached past her elbow. Even if she could not stab someone, perhaps she could use it to frighten people.\n\nRichard said: \"Let's get away, quickly.\"\n\nAliena nodded, but as she was making for the door, she stopped. The day was rapidly becoming lighter, and she could see on the chapel floor two shadowy objects she had not noticed before. Looking closely, she saw that they were saddles, one of average size and one truly enormous. She visualized William and his groom, arriving here last night, flushed with their triumph at Winchester and wearied by their journey, carelessly lifting the saddles from their horses and dumping them in here before hurrying to the keep. They would not imagine that anyone would dare steal from them. But desperate people find courage.\n\nAliena went to the door and looked out. The light was clear but weak, and there were no colors. The wind had dropped and the sky was cloudless. Several wooden shingles had fallen from the roof of the chapel in the night. The compound was empty except for the two horses grazing the wet grass. They both looked up at Aliena, then put their heads down again. One of them was a huge war-horse: that explained the oversized saddle. The other was a dappled stallion, not good-looking but compact and solid. Aliena stared at them, then at the saddles, then back at the horses.\n\n\"What are we waiting for?\" Richard said anxiously.\n\nAliena made up her mind. \"Let's take their horses,\" she said decisively.\n\nRichard looked scared. \"They'll kill us.\"\n\n\"They won't be able to catch us. If we don't take their horses they might come after us and kill us.\"\n\n\"What if they catch us before we get away?\"\n\n\"We'll just have to be quick.\" She was not as confident as she pretended, but she had to encourage Richard. \"Let's saddle the courser first\u2014he looks more friendly. Bring the regular saddle.\"\n\nShe hurried across the compound. Both horses were tied by long ropes to the stumps of burned buildings. Aliena picked up the courser's rope and pulled gently. This would be the groom's horse, of course. Aliena would have preferred something smaller and more timid, but she thought she could handle this one. Richard would have to take the war-horse.\n\nThe courser looked suspiciously at Aliena and laid back its ears. She was desperately impatient, but she forced herself to talk softly and pull gently on the rope, and the horse calmed down. She held its head and stroked its nose; then Richard slipped the bridle on and pushed the bit into its mouth. Aliena was relieved. Richard lifted the smaller of the two saddles onto its back and secured it with rapid, sure movements. Both of them had been used to horses from an early age.\n\nThere were bags attached to both sides of the groom's saddle. Aliena hoped they might contain something useful\u2014a flint, some food, or a little horse grain\u2014but there was no time to investigate now. She glanced nervously across the compound toward the bridge that led to the keep. There was nobody there.\n\nThe war-horse had watched the courser being saddled, and knew what was coming, but it was not keen to cooperate with total strangers. It snorted and resisted the pull of the rope. \"Hush!\" Aliena said. She held the rope tightly, pulling steadily, and the horse came to her reluctantly. But it was very strong, and if it made a determined effort to resist, there would be trouble. Aliena wondered whether the courser could carry her and Richard. But then William would be able to come after them on the war-horse.\n\nWhen she had the horse close, she looped the rope around the stump so that it could not move away. But when Richard tried to put the bridle on, the horse tossed its head and evaded it.\n\n\"Try putting the saddle on first,\" Aliena said. She talked to the beast and patted its mighty neck while Richard hefted the massive saddle and tied it on. The horse began to look somewhat defeated. \"Now, you be good,\" Aliena said in a firm voice, but the horse was not fooled: it sensed the panic just beneath the surface. Richard approached with the bridle and the horse snorted and tried to move away. \"I've got something for you,\" Aliena said, and reached into the empty pocket of her cloak. The horse was deceived. She brought out a handful of nothing, but the horse dipped his head and nuzzled her hand, looking for food. She felt the rough skin of its tongue on her palm. While its head was down and its mouth was open, Richard slipped the bridle on.\n\nAliena shot another fearful glance toward the keep. All was quiet.\n\n\"Get on,\" she said to Richard.\n\nHe put one foot in a high stirrup\u2014not without difficulty\u2014and swung himself up onto the huge horse. Aliena untied the rope from the stump.\n\nThe horse neighed loudly.\n\nAliena's heart raced. That sound might have carried to the keep. A man such as William would know the voice of his own horse, especially a horse as expensive as this one. He might have woken up.\n\nShe hurried to untie the other horse. Her cold fingers fumbled with the knot. The thought of William waking up had made her lose her nerve. He would open his eyes, sit up, look around him, remember where he was, and wonder why his horse had called. He was sure to come. She felt she could not face him again. The shameful, brutal, agonizing thing he had done to her came back in all its horror.\n\nRichard said urgently: \"Come on, Allie!\" His horse was jittery and impatient now. He was working hard to make it stay still. He needed to gallop it for a mile or two, to tire it; then it would be more tractable. It neighed again, and started moving sideways.\n\nAt last Aliena got the knot undone. She was tempted to drop the rope, but then she would have had no way to tie the horse up again, so she coiled it hastily and messily and tied it to a saddle strap. She needed to adjust the stirrups: they were the right length for William's groom, who was several inches taller than she was, so they would be too low for her to reach when she was in the saddle. But she could picture William coming down the stairs, crossing the hall, coming out into the air\u2014\n\n\"I can't hold this horse much longer,\" Richard said in a strained voice.\n\nAliena was as jittery as the war-horse. She swung herself up on the stallion. Sitting on the saddle hurt her, inside, and it was all she could do to stay on. Richard moved his horse toward the gate, and Aliena's horse followed without any prompting from her. The stirrups were out of reach, as she had expected, and she had to grip with her knees. As they moved off she heard a shout from somewhere behind her, and she groaned aloud: \"Oh, no.\" She saw Richard kick his horse. The huge beast lumbered into a trot. Her own followed suit. She was grateful that it always did what the war-horse did, for she was in no state to control it herself. Richard kicked the war-horse again and it picked up speed as they passed under the arch of the gatehouse. Aliena heard another shout, much closer. She looked over her shoulder to see William and his groom pounding across the compound after her.\n\nRichard's horse was nervous, and as soon as it saw open fields in front of it, it put its head down and broke into a gallop. They thundered across the wooden drawbridge. Aliena felt something tug at her thigh, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, a man's hand reaching for her saddle straps; but an instant later it was gone, and she knew they had escaped. Relief flooded her; but then she felt the pain again. As the horse galloped across the field she felt stabbed inside, as she had when the foul William had penetrated her; and there was a warm trickle on her thigh. She gave the horse its head and shut her eyes tight against the pain. But the horror of the night before came back to her, and she saw it all behind her closed eyelids. As they raced across the field she chanted in time with the horse's hoofbeats: \"I can't remember I can't remember I can't I can't I can't.\"\n\nHer horse angled to the right and she sensed that it was going up a slight slope. She opened her eyes and saw that Richard had turned off the mud path and was taking a long route to the woods. She thought he probably wanted to make sure the war-horse was good and tired before letting it slow down. Both beasts would be easier to manage after being ridden hard. Soon she felt her own mount starting to flag. She sat back in the saddle. The horse slowed to a canter, then a trot, then a walk. Richard's horse still had energy to burn, and it pulled away.\n\nAliena looked back across the fields. The castle was a mile away, and she was not sure whether or not she could see two figures standing on the drawbridge looking toward her. They would have to walk a long way to find replacement horses, she thought. She felt safe for a while.\n\nHer hands and feet tingled as they warmed up. Heat rose from the horse as from a fire, and wrapped her in a hot-air cocoon. Richard let his horse slow down at last, and turned back toward her, his horse walking and blowing hard. They turned into the trees. They both knew these woods well, for they had lived here most of their lives.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" asked Richard.\n\nAliena frowned. Where were they going? What were they going to do? They had no food, nothing to drink, and no money. She had no clothes except for the cloak she was wearing\u2014no tunic, no undershirt, no hat, no shoes. She intended to take care of her brother\u2014but how?\n\nShe could see now that for the past three months she had been living in a dream. She had known, in the back of her mind, that the old life was over, but she had refused to face it. William Hamleigh had woken her up. She had no doubt that his story was true, and King Stephen had made Percy Hamleigh the earl of Shiring; but perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps the king had made some provision for her and Richard. If not, he should have, and they could certainly petition him. Either way, they had to go to Winchester. There they could at least find out what had happened to their father.\n\nShe suddenly thought: Oh, Father, where did it all go wrong?\n\nEver since her mother had died, her father had taken special care of her. She knew he paid more attention to her than other fathers did to their daughters. He felt bad that he had not married again, to give her a new mother; and he had explained that he was happier with the memory of his wife than he ever could be with a substitute. Aliena had never wanted another mother anyway. Her father had looked after her, and she had looked after Richard, and that way no harm could ever come to any of them.\n\nThose days were gone forever.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" Richard said again.\n\n\"To Winchester,\" she said. \"We'll go and see the king.\"\n\nRichard was enthusiastic. \"Yes! And when we report what William and his groom did last night, the king will surely\u2014\"\n\nIn a flash, Aliena was possessed by uncontrollable rage. \"Shut your mouth!\" she screamed. The horses started nervously. She pulled viciously on her reins. \"Don't ever say that!\" She was choking with fury and could hardly spit out the words. \"We're not going to tell anyone what they did\u2014not anyone! Never! Never! Never!\"\n\nThe groom's saddlebags contained a large lump of hard cheese, some dregs of wine in a leather bottle, a flint and some kindling, and a pound or two of mixed grains which Aliena imagined were for the horses. She and Richard ate the cheese and drank the wine at noon, while the horses grazed the sparse grass and evergreen shrubs and drank from a clear stream. She had stopped bleeding and the lower half of her torso felt numb.\n\nThey had seen some other travelers, but Aliena had told Richard to speak to no one. To the casual observer they appeared a formidable couple, Richard in particular, on his huge horse, with his sword; but a few moments' conversation would reveal them to be a pair of kids with no one to take care of them, and then they might be vulnerable. So they steered clear of other people.\n\nAs the day began to fade they looked for somewhere to spend the night. They found a clearing near a stream a hundred yards or so from the road. Aliena gave the horses some grain while Richard made a fire. If they had had a cooking pot they could have made porridge with the horse grain. As it was, they would just have to chew the grains raw, unless they could find some sweet chestnuts and roast them.\n\nWhile she was pondering that, and Richard was out of sight gathering firewood, she was scared by a deep voice close to her. \"And who would you be, my lass?\"\n\nShe screamed. The horse backed away, frightened. Aliena turned and saw a dirty, bearded man all dressed in brown leather. He took a step toward her. \"Keep away from me!\" she shrieked.\n\n\"No need to be afraid,\" he said.\n\nOut of the corner of her eye she saw Richard step into the clearing behind the stranger, his arms full of wood. He stood looking at the two of them. Draw your sword! thought Aliena, but he looked too scared and uncertain to do anything. She stepped back, trying to get the horse between herself and the stranger. \"We've got no money,\" she said. \"We've got nothing.\"\n\n\"I'm the king's verderer,\" he said.\n\nAliena almost collapsed with relief. A verderer was a royal servant paid to enforce the forest laws. \"Why didn't you say so, you foolish man?\" she said, angry at having been scared. \"I took you for an outlaw!\"\n\nHe looked startled, and rather offended, as if she had said something impolite; but all he said was: \"You'll be a highborn lady, then.\"\n\n\"I am the daughter of the earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"And the boy will be his son,\" said the verderer, although he had not seemed to see Richard.\n\nRichard now stepped forward and dropped his firewood. \"That's right,\" he said. \"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Brian. Are you planning to spend the night here?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"All alone?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Aliena knew he was wondering why they had no escort, but she was not going to tell him.\n\n\"And you've no money, you say.\"\n\nAliena frowned at him. \"Do you doubt me?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. I can tell you're nobility, by your manners.\" Was there a hint of irony in his voice? \"If you're alone and penniless, perhaps you'd prefer to spend the night at my house. It's not far.\"\n\nAliena had no intention of putting herself at the mercy of this rough character. She was about to refuse when he spoke again.\n\n\"My wife would be glad to give you supper. And I've a warm outhouse where you could sleep, if you prefer to sleep alone.\"\n\nThe wife made a difference. Accepting the hospitality of a respectable family should be safe enough. Still Aliena hesitated. Then she thought of a fireplace, a bowl of hot pottage, a cup of wine, and a bed of straw with a roof over it. \"We'd be grateful,\" she said. \"We've nothing to give you\u2014I told the truth about having no money\u2014but we'll come back and reward you one day.\"\n\n\"Good enough,\" said the verderer. He went over to the fire and kicked it out.\n\nAliena and Richard mounted\u2014they had not yet unsaddled the horses. The verderer came over and said: \"Give me the reins.\" Not sure what he wanted to do, Aliena gave him the reins, and Richard did likewise. The man set off through the forest, leading the horses. Aliena would have preferred to hold the reins herself, but she decided to let him have his way.\n\nIt was farther than he had indicated. They had traveled three or four miles, and it was dark, by the time they reached a small wood house with a thatched roof on the edge of a field. But there was light shining through the shutters and a smell of cooking, and Aliena dismounted gratefully.\n\nThe verderer's wife heard the horses and came to the door. The man said to her: \"A young lord and lady, alone in the forest. Give them something to drink.\" He turned to Aliena. \"In you go. I'll see to the horses.\"\n\nAliena did not like his peremptory tone\u2014she would have preferred it if she were the one giving instructions\u2014but she had no wish to unsaddle her own horse, so she went inside. Richard followed. The house was smoky and smelly, but warm. There was a cow tethered in one corner. Aliena was glad the man had mentioned an outhouse: she had never slept with cattle. A pot bubbled on the fire. They sat on a bench, and the wife gave them each a bowl of soup from the pot. It tasted gamey. When she saw Richard's face in the light she was shocked. \"What happened to you?\" she said.\n\nRichard opened his mouth to reply but Aliena forestalled him. \"We've had a series of misfortunes,\" she said. \"We're on our way to see the king.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the wife. She was a small, brown-skinned woman with a guarded look. She did not persist in her questioning.\n\nAliena ate her soup quickly and wanted more. She held out her bowl. The woman looked away. Aliena was puzzled. Did she not know what Aliena wanted? Or did she not have any more? Aliena was about to speak to her sharply when the verderer came in. \"I'll show you the barn, where you can sleep,\" he said. He took a lamp from a hook by the door. \"Come with me.\"\n\nAliena and Richard stood up. Aliena said to the wife: \"There is one thing more I need. Can you give me an old dress? I've got nothing on under this cloak.\"\n\nThe woman looked annoyed for some reason. \"I'll see what I can find,\" she muttered.\n\nAliena went to the door. The verderer was giving her a strange look, staring at her cloak as if he might be able to see through it if he looked hard enough. \"Lead the way!\" she said sharply. He turned and went through the door.\n\nHe led them around to the back of the house and through a vegetable patch. The shifting light of the lamp revealed a small wooden building, more of a shed than a barn. He opened the door. It banged against a water butt that collected the rain from the roof. \"Take a look,\" he said. \"See if it suits you.\"\n\nRichard went in first. \"Bring the light, Allie,\" he said. Aliena turned to take the lamp from the verderer. As she did so, he gave her a powerful shove. She fell sideways, through the doorway and into the barn, cannoning off her brother. They both ended up in a tangle on the floor. It went dark and the door banged shut. There was a peculiar noise outside, as of something heavy being moved in front of the door.\n\nAliena could not believe this was happening.\n\n\"What's going on, Allie?\" Richard cried.\n\nShe sat up. Was the man really a verderer, or was he an outlaw? He could not be an outlaw\u2014his house was too substantial. But if he really was a verderer, why had he locked them up? Had they broken a law? Did he guess that the horses were not theirs? Or did he have some dishonest motive?\n\n\"Allie, why did he do that?\" Richard said.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said wearily. She had no energy left to be upset or angry. She got up and pushed at the door. It would not move. She guessed that the verderer had put the water butt up against it. In the dark, she felt the walls of the barn. She could reach the lower slopes of the roof, too. The building was made of close-set timbers. It had been carefully constructed. It was the verderer's jail, where he kept offenders before taking them to the sheriff. \"We can't get out,\" she said.\n\nShe sat down. The floor was dry and covered with straw. \"We're stuck here until he lets us out,\" she said resignedly. Richard sat beside her. After a while they lay down back to back. Aliena felt she was too battered and frightened and tense to go to sleep, but she was also exhausted, and within a few moments she fell into a healing slumber.\n\nShe woke up when the door opened and daylight fell on her face. She sat up immediately, feeling frightened, not knowing where she was or why she was sleeping on the hard ground. Then she remembered, and was still more frightened: what was the verderer going to do to them? However, it was not the verderer who came in but his small brown wife; and although her face was as set and closed as it had been last night, she was carrying a hunk of bread and two cups.\n\nRichard sat up too. They both eyed the woman warily. She said nothing, but handed them each a cup, then broke the bread in two and gave half to each of them. Aliena suddenly realized she was starving. She dipped her bread in her beer and began to eat.\n\nThe woman stood in the doorway, watching them, while they finished off the bread and beer. Then she handed Aliena what looked like a length of worn, yellowing linen, folded up. Aliena unfolded it. It was an old dress.\n\nThe woman said: \"Put that on and get out of here.\"\n\nAliena was mystified by the combination of kindness and hard words, but she did not hesitate to take the dress. She turned her back, dropped her cloak, pulled the dress over her head quickly, and put the cloak back on.\n\nShe felt better.\n\nThe woman handed her a pair of worn wooden clogs, too big.\n\nAliena said: \"I can't ride with clogs on.\"\n\nThe woman laughed harshly. \"You won't be riding.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"He's taken your horses.\"\n\nAliena's heart sank. It was too unfair that they should suffer more bad luck. \"Where's he taken them?\"\n\n\"He doesn't tell me these things, but I'd guess he's gone to Shiring. He'll sell the beasts, then find out who you are, and whether there's anything more to be made out of you than the price of your horseflesh.\"\n\n\"So why are you letting us go?\"\n\nThe woman looked Aliena up and down. \"Because I didn't like the way he looked at you when you told him you were naked under your cloak. You may not understand that now, but you will when you're a wife.\"\n\nAliena understood it already, but she did not say so.\n\nRichard said: \"Won't he kill you when he finds you've let us go?\"\n\nShe gave a cynical smile. \"He doesn't scare me as much as he scares others. Now be off.\"\n\nThey went out. Aliena understood that this woman had learned how to live with a brutal and heartless man, and had even managed to preserve a minimum of decency and compassion. \"Thank you for the dress,\" she said awkwardly.\n\nThe woman did not want her thanks. She pointed down the path and said: \"Winchester is that way.\"\n\nThey walked away and did not look back.\n\nAliena had never worn clogs\u2014people of her class always had leather boots or sandals\u2014and she found them clumsy and uncomfortable. However, they were better than nothing when the ground was cold.\n\nWhen they were out of sight of the verderer's house, Richard said: \"Allie, why are these things happening to us?\"\n\nThe question demoralized Aliena. Everyone was cruel to them. People were allowed to beat them and rob them as if they were horses or dogs. There was nobody to protect them. We've been too trusting, she thought. They had lived for three months in the castle without ever barring the doors. She resolved to trust nobody in the future. Never again would she let someone else take the reins of her horse, even if she had to be rude to prevent it. Never again would she let someone get behind her the way the verderer had last night, when he pushed her into the shed. She would never accept the hospitality of a stranger, never leave her door unlocked at night, never take kindness at face value.\n\n\"Let's walk faster,\" she said to Richard. \"Perhaps we can reach Winchester by nightfall.\"\n\nThey followed the path to the clearing where they had met the verderer. The remains of their fire were still there. From there they easily found the road to Winchester. They had been to Winchester before, many times, and they knew the way. Once they were on the road they could move faster. Frost had hardened the mud since the storm two nights ago.\n\nRichard's face was returning to normal. He had washed it yesterday, in a cold brook in the woods, and most of the dried blood had gone. There was an ugly scab where his right earlobe had been. His lips were still swollen but the puffiness had gone from the rest of his face. However, he was still badly bruised, and the angry color of the bruises gave him a rather frightening appearance. Still, that would do no harm.\n\nAliena missed the heat of the horse beneath her. Her hands and feet were painfully cold, even though her body was warm from the exertion of walking. The weather remained cold all morning, then at midday the temperature rose a little. By then she was hungry. She remembered that only yesterday she had felt as if she did not care whether she ever got warm or ate food again. But she did not want to think about that.\n\nWhenever they heard horses or saw people in the distance they darted into the woods and hid until the other travelers had passed by. They hurried through villages, speaking to no one. Richard wanted to beg for food but Aliena would not let him.\n\nBy the middle of the afternoon they were within a few miles of their destination and no one had bothered them. Aliena was thinking that it was not so difficult to avoid trouble, after all. Then, on a particularly desolate stretch of the road, a man suddenly stepped out of the bushes and stood in front of them.\n\nThey had no time to hide. \"Keep walking,\" Aliena said to Richard, but the man moved to block their way, and they had to stop. Aliena looked behind, thinking of running that way; but another fellow had materialized out of the forest and was standing ten or fifteen yards away, blocking their escape.\n\n\"What have we here?\" said the man in front, in a loud voice. He was a fat, red-faced man with a big swollen belly and a filthy matted beard, and he carried a heavy club. He was almost certainly an outlaw. Aliena could tell from his face that he was the kind of man who would commit violence readily, and her heart filled with dread.\n\n\"Leave us alone,\" she said in a pleading tone. \"We've got nothing for you to steal.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure,\" said the man. He took a step toward Richard. \"This looks like a fine sword, worth several shillings.\"\n\n\"It's mine!\" Richard protested, but he just sounded like a scared child.\n\nIt's no use, Aliena thought. We're powerless. I'm a woman and he's a boy, and people can do anything they like with us.\n\nWith a surprisingly agile movement the fat man suddenly raised his club and struck at Richard. Richard tried to dodge. The blow was aimed at his head but it hit his shoulder. The fat man was strong, and the blow knocked Richard down.\n\nSuddenly Aliena lost her temper. She had been treated unjustly, vilely abused, and robbed, and she was cold and hungry and hardly in control of herself. Her little brother had been beaten half to death less than two days ago and now the sight of someone clubbing him maddened her. She lost all sense of reason or caution. Without even thinking, she pulled the dagger from her sleeve, flew at the fat outlaw, and jabbed the knife at his great belly, screaming: \"Leave him alone, you dog!\"\n\nShe took him completely by surprise. His cloak had come open when he hit Richard, and his hands were still occupied with the club. He was completely off guard: no doubt he had thought himself safe from attack by a young girl who appeared unarmed. The point of the knife went through the wool of his tunic and the linen of his undershirt and was stopped by the taut skin of his belly. Aliena experienced a flash of revulsion, a moment of sheer horror at the thought of breaking human skin and penetrating the flesh of a real person; but fear stiffened her resolve, and she shoved the knife through his skin and into the soft organs of his abdomen; and then she became terrified that she might not kill him, that he might stay alive to take his revenge, and so she kept on pushing until the long knife was inside him up to the hilt and would not go in any farther.\n\nSuddenly the fearsome, arrogant, cruel man was a frightened wounded animal. He cried out in pain, dropped his club, and stared down at the knife sticking into him. Aliena understood in a flash that he knew it was a mortal wound. She snatched her hand away in horror. The outlaw staggered back. Aliena remembered that there was another thief behind her, and panic seized her: he would surely take a terrible revenge for the death of his accomplice. She grabbed the hilt of the knife again and jerked. The wounded man had turned slightly away from her, and she had to pull the knife sideways. She felt it slice through his soft insides as it came out of his fat belly. Blood spurted on her hand and the man screamed like an animal and fell to the ground. She spun round, knife in bloody hand, and faced the other man. As she did so, Richard struggled to his feet and drew his sword.\n\nThe second thief looked from one of them to the other, then at his dying friend, and without further ado he turned and ran into the woods.\n\nAliena watched, incredulous. They had scared him off. It was hard to take in.\n\nShe looked at the man on the ground. He lay flat on his back with his guts falling out of the great tear in his belly. His eyes were wide open and his face was twisted with pain and fear.\n\nAliena felt no relief, no pride in having defended herself and her brother from ruthless men: she was too disgusted and repelled by the hideous sight.\n\nRichard felt no such qualms. \"You stabbed him, Allie!\" he said in a voice between excitement and hysteria. \"You did for them!\"\n\nAliena looked at him. He had to be taught a lesson. \"Kill this one,\" she said.\n\nRichard stared at her. \"What?\"\n\n\"Kill him,\" she repeated. \"Put him out of his misery. Finish him off!\"\n\n\"Why me?\"\n\nShe deliberately made her voice harsh. \"Because you act like a boy and I need a man. Because you've never done anything with a sword except play at war, and you have to start somewhere. What's the matter with you? What are you afraid of? He's dying anyway. He can't hurt you. Use your sword. Get some practice. Kill him!\"\n\nRichard held his sword in both hands and looked uncertain. \"How?\"\n\nThe man screamed again.\n\nAliena yelled at Richard: \"I don't know how! Cut off his head, or stab him in the heart! Anything! Just shut him up!\"\n\nRichard looked cornered. He lifted his sword and lowered it again.\n\nAliena said: \"If you don't do this I'll leave you alone, I swear by all the saints. I'll get up one night and go away and when you wake up in the morning I won't be there and you'll be all on your own. Now kill him!\"\n\nRichard raised his sword again. Then, incredibly, the dying man stopped screaming and tried to get up. He rolled to one side and raised himself on one elbow. Richard gave a shout that was half a yell of fear and half a battle cry, and brought his sword down hard on the man's exposed neck. The weapon was heavy and the blade was sharp, and the blow sliced more than halfway through the fat neck. Blood spurted like a fountain and the head leaned grotesquely to one side. The body slumped to the earth.\n\nAliena and Richard stared at it. Steam rose from the hot blood in the winter air. They were both stunned by what they had done. Suddenly Aliena wanted to get away from there. She started to run. Richard followed.\n\nShe stopped when she could run no more, and that was when she realized she was sobbing. She walked on slowly, no longer caring if Richard saw her in tears. He seemed unaffected anyway.\n\nGradually she calmed down. The wooden clogs were hurting her. She stopped and took them off. She walked on in her bare feet, carrying the clogs. Soon they would reach Winchester.\n\nAfter a while Richard said: \"We're fools.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"That man. We just left him there. We should have taken his boots.\"\n\nAliena stopped and stared, horrified, at her brother.\n\nHe looked back at her and gave a little laugh. \"There's nothing wrong with that, is there?\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "Aliena began to feel hopeful again as she walked through the West Gate to Winchester High Street at nightfall. In the forest she had felt that she might be murdered and no one would ever know what had happened, but now she was back in civilization. Of course, the city was full of thieves and cutthroats, but they could not commit their crimes in broad daylight with impunity. In the city there were laws, and lawbreakers were banished, mutilated or hanged.\n\n[ She remembered going down this street with her father only a year or so ago. They had been on horseback, naturally; he on a highly strung chestnut courser and she on a beautiful gray palfrey. People made way for them as they rode through the broad streets. They owned a house in the south of the city, and when they arrived they were welcomed by eight or ten servants. The house had been cleaned, there was fresh straw on the floor, and all the fires were lit. During their stay Aliena had worn beautiful clothes every day: fine linen, silk, and soft wool, all dyed gorgeous colors; boots and belts of calf leather; and jeweled brooches and bracelets. It had been her job to make sure there was always a welcome for anyone who came to see the earl: meat and wine for the wealthy, bread and ale for the poorer sort, a smile and a place by the fire for either. Her father was punctilious about hospitality, but he was not good at doing it personally\u2014people found him cool, remote, and even highhanded. Aliena supplied the lack ]\n\nEveryone respected her father, and the very highest had called on him: the bishop, the prior, the sheriff, the royal chancellor, and the barons at the court. She wondered how many of those people would recognize her now, walking barefoot through the mud and filth of that same High Street. The thought did not dampen her optimism. The important thing was that she no longer felt like a victim. She was back in a world where there were rules and laws, and she had a chance to regain control of her life.\n\nThey walked past their house. It was empty and locked up: the Hamleighs had not yet taken it over. For a moment Aliena was tempted to try to get in. It's my house! she thought. But it was not, of course, and the idea of spending the night there reminded her of the way she had lived in the castle, closing her eyes to reality. She walked on determinedly.\n\nThe other good thing about being in the city was that there was a monastery here. The monks would always provide a bed for anyone who begged it. She and Richard would sleep under a roof tonight, safe and dry.\n\nShe found the cathedral and went into the priory courtyard. Two monks stood at a trestle table doling out horsebread and beer to a hundred or more people. It had not occurred to Aliena that there would be so many others begging the monks' hospitality. She and Richard joined the queue. It was amazing, she thought, how people who would normally jostle and shove one another to get at free food could be made to stand quietly in an orderly line just because a monk told them to.\n\nThey got their supper and took it into the guesthouse. This was a big wooden building like a barn, bare of furniture, dimly lit by rushlights, smelling strongly of many people crowded closely together. They sat on the ground to eat. The floor was covered with rushes that were none too fresh. Aliena wondered whether she should tell the monks who she was. The prior might remember her. In such a large priory there would naturally be a superior guesthouse for highborn visitors. But she found herself reluctant to do that. Perhaps it was that she was afraid of being spurned; but she also felt she would be putting herself in someone else's power again, and although she had nothing to fear from a prior, nevertheless she felt more comfortable remaining anonymous and unnoticed.\n\nThe other guests were mostly pilgrims, with a sprinkling of traveling craftsmen\u2014identifiable by the tools they carried\u2014and some hawkers, men who went from village to village selling things that peasants could not make for themselves, pins and knives and cooking pots and spices. Some of them had their wives and children with them. The children were noisy and excited, rushing around and fighting and falling over. Every now and again one would cannon into an adult, get a smack on the head, and burst into tears. Some of them were not perfectly house-trained, and Aliena saw several children urinating into the rushes on the floor. Such things were probably of no consequence in a house where the livestock slept in the same room as the people, but in a crowded hall it was rather disgusting, Aliena thought: they all had to sleep on those rushes later.\n\nShe began to get the feeling that people were looking at her as if they knew she had been deflowered. It was ridiculous, of course, but the feeling would not go away. She kept checking to see whether she was bleeding. She was not. But every time she turned around she caught someone giving her a hard, penetrating stare. As soon as she met their eyes they would look away, but a little while later she would catch someone else doing it. She kept telling herself that this was foolish, they weren't staring at her, they were just looking curiously around a crowded room. There was nothing to look at, anyway: she was no different from them in appearance\u2014she was as dirty, badly dressed and tired as they were. But the feeling persisted, and against her will she got angry. There was one man who kept catching her eye, a middle-aged pilgrim with a large family. Eventually she lost her temper and yelled at him: \"What are you looking at? Stop staring at me!\" He seemed embarrassed and averted his eyes without replying.\n\nRichard said quietly: \"Why did you do that, Allie?\"\n\nShe told him to shut up and he did.\n\nThe monks came around and took away the lights soon after supper. They liked people to go to sleep early: it kept them out of the alehouses and brothels of the city at night, and in the morning it made it easier for the monks to get the visitors off the premises early. Several of the single men left the hall when the lights went out, headed no doubt for the fleshpots, but most people curled up in their cloaks on the floor.\n\nIt was many years since Aliena had slept in a hall like this. As a child she had always envied the people downstairs, lying side by side in front of the dying fire, in a room full of smoke and the smell of dinner, with the dogs to guard them: there had been a sense of togetherness in the hall which was absent from the spacious, empty chambers of the lord's family. In those days she had sometimes left her own bed and tiptoed down the stairs to sleep alongside one of her favorite servants, Madge Laundry or Old Joan.\n\nDrifting off to sleep with the smell of her childhood in her nostrils, she dreamed about her mother. Normally she had trouble remembering what her mother had looked like, but now, to her surprise, she could see Mama's face clearly, in every detail: the small features, the timid smile, the slight frame, the look of anxiety in the eyes. She saw her mother's walk, leaning slightly to one side as if she were always trying to get close to the wall, with the opposite arm extended a little for balance. She could hear her mother's laugh, that unexpectedly rich contralto, always ready to break into song or laughter but usually afraid to do so. She knew, in the dream, something that had never been clear to her awake: that her father had so frightened her mother and suppressed her sense of the joy of life that she had shriveled up and died like a flower in a drought. All this came into Aliena's mind like something very familiar, something she had always known. However, what was shocking was that Aliena was pregnant. Mother seemed pleased. They sat together in a bedroom, and Aliena's belly was so distended that she had to sit with her legs slightly apart and her hands crossed over her bump, in the age-old pose of the mother-to-be. Then William Hamleigh burst into the room, carrying in his hand the dagger with the long blade, and Aliena knew he was going to stab her belly the way she had stabbed the fat outlaw in the forest, and she screamed so loud she woke up sitting upright; and then she realized that William was not here and she had not even screamed, the noise had only been in her head.\n\nAfter that she lay awake wondering if she really was pregnant.\n\nThe thought had not occurred to her before, and now it terrified her. How disgusting it would be to have William Hamleigh's baby. It might not be his\u2014it might be the groom's. She might never know. How could she love the baby? Every time she looked at it, it would remind her of that dreadful night. She would have the baby in secret, she vowed, and leave it out in the cold to die as soon as it was born, the way the peasants did when they had too many children. With that resolve she drifted off to sleep again.\n\nIt was barely light when the monks brought breakfast. The noise woke Aliena. Most of the other guests were awake already, because they had gone to sleep so early, but Aliena had slept on: she had been very tired.\n\nBreakfast was hot gruel with salt. Aliena and Richard ate hungrily and wished there were bread to go with it. Aliena thought over what she would say to King Stephen. She felt sure that he had simply forgotten that the earl of Storing had two children. As soon as they appeared and reminded him, he would willingly make provision for them, she thought. However, in case he needed persuading she ought to have a few words ready. She would not insist that her father was innocent, she decided, for that would imply that the king's judgment had been at fault, and he would be offended. Nor would she protest about Percy Hamleigh being made earl. Men of affairs hated to have past decisions disputed. \"For better or worse, that's been settled,\" her father would say. No, she would simply point out that she and her brother were innocent, and ask the king to give them a knight's estate, so that they could support themselves modestly, and Richard could prepare to become one of the king's fighting men in a few years' time. A small estate would enable her to take care of her father, when the king pleased to release him from jail. He was no longer a threat: he had no title, no followers and no money. She would remind the king that her father had faithfully served the old king, Henry, who had been Stephen's uncle. She would not be forceful, just humbly firm, clear and simple.\n\nAfter breakfast she asked a monk where she could wash her face. He looked startled: evidently it was an unusual request. However, monks were in favor of cleanliness, and he showed her an open conduit where clean cold water ran into the priory grounds, and warned her not to wash \"indecently,\" as he put it, in case one of the brothers should accidentally see her and thereby soil his soul. Monks did a lot of good but their attitudes could be irritating.\n\nWhen she and Richard had washed the dirt of the road off their faces they left the priory and walked uphill along the High Street to the castle, which stood to one side of the West Gate. By coming early Aliena hoped to befriend or charm whoever was in charge of admitting petitioners, and ensure that she was not forgotten in the crowd of important people who would arrive later. However, the atmosphere within the castle walls was even quieter than she had hoped. Had King Stephen been here so long that few people needed to see him? She was not sure when he might have come. The king was normally at Winchester throughout Lent, she thought, but she was not sure when Lent had begun, for she had lost track of dates, living in the castle with Richard and Matthew and no priest.\n\nThere was a burly guard with a gray beard standing at the foot of the keep steps. Aliena made to walk past him, as she had when she came here with her father, but the guard lowered his spear across her path. She looked at him imperiously and said: \"Yes?\"\n\n\"And where do you think you're going, my girl?\" said the guard.\n\nAliena saw, with a sinking feeling, that he was the type of person who liked being a guard because it gave him the chance to stop people from going where they wanted to go. \"We're here to petition the king,\" she said frostily. \"Now let us pass.\"\n\n\"You?\" the guard said with a sneer. \"Wearing a pair of clogs that my wife would be ashamed of? Clear off.\"\n\n\"Get out of my way, guard,\" said Aliena. \"Every citizen has the right to petition the king.\"\n\n\"But the poorer sort generally are not foolish enough to try to exercise that right\u2014\"\n\n\"We are not the poorer sort!\" Aliena blazed. \"I am the daughter of the earl of Shiring, and my brother is his son, so let us pass, or you'll end up rotting in a dungeon.\"\n\nThe guard looked a little less bumptious, but he said smugly: \"You can't petition the king, because he's not here. He's at Westminster, as you ought to know if you are who you say you are.\"\n\nAliena was thunderstruck. \"But why has he gone to Westminster? He should be here for Easter!\"\n\nThe guard realized she was not a street urchin. \"Easter court is at Westminster. It seems he's not going to do everything exactly the same as the old king did, and why should he?\"\n\nHe was right, of course, but the idea that a new king would follow a different timetable had never occurred to Aliena, who was too young to remember when Henry had been the new king. Despair washed over her. She had thought she knew what to do, and she had been so wrong. She felt like giving up.\n\nShe shook her head to dispel the sense of doom. This was a setback, not a defeat. Appealing to the king was not the only way to take care of her brother and herself. She had come to Winchester with two purposes, and the second was to find out what had happened to her father. He would know what she should do next.\n\n\"Who is here, then?\" she said to the guard. \"There must be some royal officials. I just want to see my father.\"\n\n\"There's a clerk and a steward up there,\" the guard replied. \"Did you say the earl of Shiring was your father?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Her heart missed a beat. \"Do you know anything about him?\"\n\n\"I know where he is.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In the jail right here at the castle.\"\n\nSo close! \"Where's the jail?\"\n\nThe guard jerked a thumb over his shoulder. \"Down the hill, past the chapel, opposite the main gate.\" Excluding them from the keep had gratified his mean streak and now he was willing to be informative. \"You'd better see the jailer. His name is Odo, and he's got deep pockets.\"\n\nAliena did not understand the remark about deep pockets but she was too agitated to clarify it. Until this moment her father had been in a vague, distant place called \"prison,\" but now, suddenly, he was right here in this very castle. She forgot all about appealing to the king. All she wanted to do was see Father. The thought that he was close by, ready to help her, made her feel the danger and uncertainty of the last few months more acutely. She wanted to run into his arms and hear him say: \"It's all right, now. Everything's going to be all right.\"\n\nThe keep stood on a rise in one corner of the compound. Aliena turned and looked down at the rest of the castle. It was a motley collection of stone and wood buildings enclosed by high walls. Down the hill, the guard had said; past the chapel\u2014she spotted a neat stone building that looked like a chapel\u2014and opposite the main gate. The main entrance was a gate in the outer wall, permitting the king to come into his castle without first having to enter the city. Opposite that entrance, close to the back wall that separated the castle from the city, was a small stone building that could be the jail.\n\nAliena and Richard hurried down the slope. Aliena wondered how he would be. Did they give people proper food in jail? Her father's own prisoners had always got horsebread and pottage at Earlscastle, but she had heard that prisoners were sometimes ill-treated elsewhere. She hoped Father was all right.\n\nHer heart was in her mouth as she crossed the compound. It was a big castle but it was crowded with buildings: kitchens, stables, and barracks. There were two chapels. Now that she knew the king was away, Aliena could see the signs of his absence, and she noted them distractedly as she wove her way toward the jail: stray pigs and sheep had wandered in from the suburbs just outside the gate and were rooting around in the rubbish tips, men-at-arms were lolling about with nothing to do but call out insolent remarks to passing women, and there was some kind of betting game going on in the porch of one of the chapels. The atmosphere of laxity bothered Aliena. She was afraid it might mean her father was not looked after properly. She began to dread what she might find.\n\nThe jail was a semi-derelict stone building that looked as if it might once have been a house for a royal official, a chancellor or bailiff of some kind, before it fell into disrepair. The upper story, which had once been the hall, was completely ruined, having lost most of its roof. Only the undercroft remained whole. Here there were no windows, just a big wooden door with iron studs. The door stood slightly ajar. As Aliena hesitated outside, a handsome middle-aged woman in a good-quality cloak passed her, opened the door and went in. Aliena and Richard followed her.\n\nThe gloomy interior smelled of old dirt and corruption. The undercroft had once been an open storeroom, but it had later been divided into small compartments by hastily built rubble walls. Somewhere in the depths of the building a man was moaning monotonously, like a monk chanting services alone in a church. The area just inside the door formed a small lobby, with a chair, a table and a fire in the middle of the floor. A big, stupid-looking man with a sword at his belt was lackadaisically sweeping the floor. He looked up and greeted the handsome woman. \"Good morning, Meg.\" She gave him a penny and disappeared into the gloom. He looked at Aliena and Richard. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"I'm here to see my father,\" Aliena said. \"He is the earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"No, he's not,\" said the jailer. \"He's just plain Bartholomew now.\"\n\n\"To hell with your distinctions, jailer. Where is he?\"\n\n\"How much have you got?\"\n\n\"I've no money, so don't bother asking for a bribe.\"\n\n\"If you've no money, you can't see your father.\" He resumed sweeping.\n\nAliena wanted to scream. She was within a few yards of her father and she was being kept from him. The jailer was big and he was armed: there was no chance of defying him. But she did not have any money. She had been afraid of this when she saw the woman Meg give him a penny, but that might have been for some special privilege. Obviously not: a penny must be the price of admission.\n\nShe said: \"I'll get a penny, and bring it to you as soon as I can. But won't you let us see him now, just for a few moments?\"\n\n\"Get the penny first,\" the jailer said. He turned his back and went on sweeping.\n\nAliena was fighting back tears. She was tempted to yell out a message in the hope that her father would hear her; but she realized that a garbled message might frighten and demoralize him: it would make him anxious without giving him any information. She went to the door, feeling maddeningly impotent.\n\nShe turned around on the threshold. \"How is he? Just tell me that\u2014please? Is he all right?\"\n\n\"No, he's not,\" the jailer said. \"He's dying. Now get out of here.\"\n\nAliena's vision blurred with tears and she stumbled through the door. She walked away, not seeing where she was going, and bumped into something\u2014a sheep or a pig\u2014and almost fell. She began to sob. Richard took her arm, and she let him guide her. They went out of the castle by the main gate, into the scattered hovels and small fields of the suburbs, and eventually came to a meadow and sat on a tree stump.\n\n\"I hate it when you cry, Allie,\" said Richard pathetically.\n\nShe tried to pull herself together. She had located her father\u2014that was something. She had learned that he was sick: the jailer was a cruel man who was probably exaggerating the seriousness of the illness. All she had to do was find a penny, and she would be able to talk to him, and see for herself, and ask him what she should do\u2014for Richard and for Father.\n\n\"How are we going to get a penny, Richard?\" she said.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"We've nothing to sell. No one would lend to us. You're not tough enough to steal....\"\n\n\"We could beg,\" he said.\n\nThat was an idea. There was a prosperous-looking peasant coming down the hill toward the castle on a sturdy black cob. Aliena sprang to her feet and ran to the road. As he drew near she said: \"Sir, will you give me a penny?\"\n\n\"Piss off,\" the man snarled, and kicked his horse into a trot.\n\nShe walked back to the tree stump. \"Beggars usually ask for food or old clothes,\" she said dejectedly. \"I never heard of anyone giving them money.\"\n\n\"Well, how do people get money?\" Richard said. The question had obviously never occurred to him before.\n\nAliena said: \"The king gets money from taxes. Lords have rents. Priests have tithes. Shopkeepers have something to sell. Craftsmen get wages. Peasants don't need money because they have fields.\"\n\n\"Apprentices get wages.\"\n\n\"So do laborers. We could work.\"\n\n\"Who for?\"\n\n\"Winchester is full of little manufactories where they make leather and cloth,\" Aliena said. She began to feel optimistic again. \"A city is a good place to find work.\" She sprang to her feet. \"Come on, let's get started!\"\n\nRichard still hesitated. \"I can't work like a common man,\" he said. \"I'm the son of an earl.\"\n\n\"Not anymore,\" Aliena said harshly. \"You heard what the jailer said. You'd better realize that you're no better than anyone else, now.\"\n\nHe looked sulky and said nothing.\n\n\"Well, I'm going,\" she said. \"Stay here if you like.\" She walked away from him, toward the West Gate. She knew his sulks: they never lasted.\n\nSure enough, he caught her up before she reached the city. \"Don't be cross, Allie,\" he said. \"I'll work. I'm pretty strong, actually\u2014I'll make a very good laborer.\"\n\nShe smiled at him. \"I'm sure you will.\" It was not true, but there was no point in discouraging him.\n\nThey walked down the High Street. Aliena recalled that Winchester was laid out and divided up in a very logical way. The southern half, on their right as they walked, was divided into three parts: first there was the castle, then a district of wealthy homes, then the cathedral close and the bishop's palace in the southeast corner. The northern half, on their left, was also divided into three: the Jews' neighborhood, the middle part where the shops were, and the manufactories in the northeast corner.\n\nAliena led the way down the High Street to the eastern end of the city, then they turned left, into a street that had a brook running along it. On one side were normal houses, mostly wooden, a few partly of stone. On the other side was a jumble of improvised buildings, many of them no more than a roof supported by poles, most of them looking as if they might fall down at any minute. In some cases a little bridge, or a few planks, led across the brook to the building, but some of the buildings actually straddled the brook. In every building or yard, men and women were doing something that required large quantities of water: washing wool, tanning leather, fulling and dyeing cloth, brewing ale, and other operations that Aliena did not recognize. A variety of unfamiliar smells pricked her nostrils, acrid and yeasty, sulfurous and smoky, woody and rotten. The people all looked terribly busy. Of course, peasants also had a great deal to do, and they worked very hard, but they went about their tasks at a measured pace, and they always had time to stop and examine some curiosity or talk to passersby. The people in the manufactories never looked up. Their work seemed to take all their concentration and energy. They moved quickly, whether they were carrying sacks or pouring great buckets of water or pounding leather or cloth. As they went about their mysterious tasks in the gloom of their ramshackle huts, they made Aliena think of the demons stirring their cauldrons in pictures of hell.\n\nShe stopped outside a place where they were doing something she understood: fulling cloth. A muscular-looking woman was drawing water from the brook and pouring it into a huge stone trough lined with lead, stopping every now and again to add a measure of fuller's earth from a sack. Lying in the bottom of the trough, completely submerged, was a length of cloth. Two men with large wooden clubs\u2014called fuller's bats, Aliena recollected\u2014were pounding the cloth in the trough. The process caused the cloth to shrink and thicken, making it more waterproof; and the fuller's earth leached out the oils from the wool. At the back of the premises were stacked bales of untreated cloth, new and loosely woven, and sacks of fuller's earth.\n\nAliena crossed the brook and approached the people working at the trough. They glanced at her and continued working. The ground was wet all around them, and they worked with their feet bare, she noticed. When she realized they were not going to stop and ask her what she wanted, she said loudly: \"Is your master here?\"\n\nThe woman replied by jerking her head toward the back of the premises.\n\nAliena beckoned Richard to follow and went through a gate to a yard where lengths of cloth were drying on wooden frames. She saw the figure of a man bent over one of the frames, arranging the cloth. \"I'm looking for the master,\" she said.\n\nHe straightened up and looked at her. He was an ugly man with one eye and a slightly hunched back, as if he had been bending over drying frames for so many years that he could no longer stand quite upright. \"What is it?\" he said.\n\n\"Are you the master fuller?\"\n\n\"I've been working at it nigh on forty year, man and boy, so I hope I'm master,\" he said. \"What do you want?\"\n\nAliena realized she was dealing with the type of man who always had to prove how smart he was. She adopted a humble tone and said: \"My brother and I want to work. Will you employ us?\"\n\nThere was a pause while he looked her up and down. \"Christ Jesus and all the saints, what would I do with you?\"\n\n\"We'll do anything,\" Aliena said resolutely. \"We need some money.\"\n\n\"You're no good to me,\" the man said contemptuously, and he turned away to resume his work.\n\nAliena was not going to content herself with that. \"Why not?\" she said angrily. \"We're not scrounging, we want to earn something.\"\n\nHe turned to her again.\n\n\"Please?\" she said, although she hated to beg.\n\nHe regarded her impatiently, as he might have looked at a dog, wondering whether to make the effort of kicking it; but she could tell that he was tempted to show her how stupid she was being and how clever he was by contrast. \"All right,\" he said with a sigh. \"I'll explain it to you. Come with me.\"\n\nHe led them to the trough. The men and the woman were pulling the length of cloth out of the water, rolling it as it emerged. The master spoke to the woman. \"Come here, Lizzie. Show us your hands.\"\n\nThe woman obediently came over and held out her hands. They were rough and red, with open sores where they had got chapped and the skin had broken.\n\n\"Feel those,\" the master said to Aliena.\n\nAliena touched the woman's hands. They were as cold as snow, and very rough, but what was most striking was how hard they were. She looked at her own hands, holding the woman's: they suddenly looked soft and white and very small.\n\nThe master said: \"She's had her hands in water since she was a little 'un, so she's used to it. You're different. You wouldn't last the morning at this work.\"\n\nAliena wanted to argue with him, and say that she would get used to it, but she was not sure it was true. Before she could say anything, Richard spoke up. \"What about me?\" he said. \"I'm bigger than both those men\u2014I could do that work.\"\n\nIt was true that Richard was actually taller and broader than the men who had been wielding the fuller's bats. And he could handle a war-horse, Aliena recalled, so he should be able to pound cloth.\n\nThe two men finished rolling up the wet cloth, and one of them hoisted the roll onto his shoulder, ready to take it to the yard for drying. The master stopped him. \"Let the young lord feel the weight of the cloth, Harry.\"\n\nThe man called Harry lifted the cloth off his shoulder and put it on Richard's. Richard sagged under the weight, straightened up with a mighty effort, paled, and then sank to his knees so that the ends of the roll rested on the ground. \"I can't carry it,\" he said breathlessly.\n\nThe men laughed, the master looked triumphant, and the one called Harry took the cloth back, hoisted it onto his own shoulder with a practiced movement, and carried it away. The master said: \"It's a different kind of strength, one that comes from having to work.\"\n\nAliena was angry. They were mocking her when all she wanted was to find an honest way to earn a penny. The master was thoroughly enjoying making a fool of her, she knew. He would probably keep it up as long as she let him. But he would never employ her or Richard. \"Thank you for your courtesy,\" she said with heavy sarcasm, and she turned and walked away.\n\nRichard was upset. \"It was heavy because it was so wet!\" he said. \"I wasn't expecting that.\"\n\nAliena realized she had to stay cheerful, to keep Richard's morale up. \"That's not the only kind of work there is,\" she said as she strode along the muddy street. \"What else could we do?\"\n\nAliena did not answer immediately. They reached the north wall of the city and turned left, heading west. The poorest houses were here, built up against the wall, often no more than lean-to shacks; and because they had no backyards the street was filthy. Eventually Aliena said: \"Remember how girls used to come to the castle, sometimes, when there was no room for them at home anymore and they had no husband yet? Father would always take them in. They worked in the kitchens or the laundry or the stables, and Father used to give them a penny on saint's days.\"\n\n\"Do you think we could live at Winchester Castle?\" Richard said dubiously.\n\n\"No. They won't take people in while the king's away\u2014they must have more people than they need. But there are lots of rich folk in the city. Some of them must want servants.\"\n\n\"It's not man's work.\"\n\nAliena wanted to say Why don't you come up with some ideas yourself, instead of just finding fault with everything I say? But she bit her tongue and said: \"It only wants one of us to work long enough to get a penny, then we can see Father and ask him what we should do next.\"\n\n\"All right.\" Richard was not averse to the idea of only one of them working, especially if the one was likely to be Aliena.\n\nThey turned left again and entered the section of the city called the Jewry. Aliena stopped outside a big house. \"They must have servants in there,\" she said.\n\nRichard was shocked. \"You wouldn't work for Jews, would you.\"\n\n\"Why not? You don't catch people's heresy the way you catch their fleas, you know.\"\n\nRichard shrugged and followed her inside.\n\nIt was a stone house. Like most city homes, it had a narrow frontage but reached back a long way. They were in an entrance hall that was the full width of the house. There was a fire and some benches. The smell from the kitchen made Aliena's mouth water, although it was different from regular cooking, with a hint of alien spices. A young girl came from the back of the house and greeted them. She had dark skin and brown eyes, and she spoke respectfully. \"Do you want to see the goldsmith?\"\n\nSo that was what he was. \"Yes, please,\" said Aliena. The girl disappeared again and Aliena looked around. A goldsmith would need a stone house, of course, to protect his gold. The door between this room and the back of the house was made of heavy oak planks banded with iron. The windows were narrow, too small for anyone to climb through, even a child. Aliena thought how nerve-racking it must be to have all your wealth in gold or silver, which could be stolen in an instant, leaving you destitute. Then she reflected that Father had been rich with a more normal kind of wealth\u2014land and a title\u2014and yet he had lost everything in a day.\n\nThe goldsmith came out. He was a small, dark man, and he peered at them, frowning, as if he were examining a small piece of jewelry and assessing its worth. After a moment he seemed to sum them up, and he said: \"You have something you would like to sell?\"\n\n\"You've judged us well, goldsmith,\" Aliena said. \"You've guessed we're highborn people who now find themselves destitute. But we have nothing to sell.\"\n\nThe man looked worried. \"If you're looking for a loan, I fear\u2014\"\n\n\"We don't expect anyone to lend us money,\" Aliena broke in. \"Just as we have nothing to sell, so we have nothing to pawn.\"\n\nHe looked relieved. \"Then how can I help you?\"\n\n\"Would you take me on as a servant?\"\n\nHe was shocked. \"A Christian? Certainly not!\" He actually shrank back at the thought.\n\nAliena was disappointed. \"Why not?\" she said plaintively.\n\n\"It would never do.\"\n\nShe felt rather offended. The idea that someone should find her religion distasteful was demeaning. She remembered the clever phrase she had used to Richard. \"You don't catch people's religions the way you catch their fleas,\" she said.\n\n\"The people of the town would object.\"\n\nAliena felt sure he was using public opinion as an excuse, but it was probably true all the same. \"I suppose we'd better seek out a rich Christian, then,\" she said.\n\n\"It's worth a try,\" the goldsmith said doubtfully. \"Let me tell you something candidly. A wise man would not employ you as a servant. You're used to giving orders, and you would find it very hard to be on the receiving end.\" Aliena opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop her. \"Oh, I know you're willing. But all your life others have served you, and even now you feel in your heart of hearts that things should be arranged to please you. Highborn people make poor servants. They are disobedient, resentful, thoughtless, touchy, and they think they're working hard even though they do less than everyone else\u2014so they cause trouble among the rest of the staff.\" He shrugged. \"This is my experience.\"\n\nAliena forgot that she had been offended by his distaste for her religion. He was the first kindly person she had met since she left the castle. She said: \"But what can we do?\"\n\n\"I can only tell you what a Jew would do. He would find something to sell. When I came to this city I began by buying jewelry from people who needed cash, then melting the silver and selling it to the coiners.\"\n\n\"But where did you get the money to buy the jewelry?\"\n\n\"I borrowed from my uncle\u2014and paid him interest, by the way.\"\n\n\"But nobody will lend to us!\"\n\nHe looked thoughtful. \"What would I have done if I had no uncle? I think I would have gone into the forest and collected nuts, then brought them into the town and sold them to the housewives who do not have the time to go to the forest and cannot grow trees in their backyards because the yards are so full of refuse and filth.\"\n\n\"It's the wrong time of year,\" Aliena said. \"There's nothing growing now.\"\n\nThe goldsmith smiled. \"The impatience of youth,\" he said. \"Wait a while.\"\n\n\"All right.\" There was no point in explaining about Father. The goldsmith had done his best to be helpful. \"Thank you for your advice.\"\n\n\"Farewell.\" The goldsmith returned to the back of the house and closed the massive ironbound door.\n\nAliena and Richard went out. The goldsmith had been kind but nevertheless they had spent half a day being turned away from places, and Aliena could not help feeling dejected. Not knowing where to go next, they wandered through the Jewry and emerged in the High Street again. Aliena was beginning to feel hungry\u2014it was dinnertime\u2014and she knew that if she was hungry, Richard would be ravenous. They walked aimlessly along the High Street, envying the well-fed rats that swarmed in the refuse, until they came to the old royal palace. There they stopped, as all out-of-towners did, to look through the bars at the coiners manufacturing money. Aliena stared at the stacks of silver pennies, thinking that she wanted only one of those, and she could not get it.\n\nAfter a while she noticed a girl of about her own age standing nearby, smiling at Richard. The girl looked friendly. Aliena hesitated, saw her smile again, and spoke to her. \"Do you live here?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the girl said. It was Richard she was interested in, not Aliena.\n\nAliena blurted out: \"Our father's in the jailhouse, and we're trying to find some way to make a living and get some money to bribe the jailer. Do you know what we might do?\"\n\nThe girl turned her attention from Richard back to Aliena. \"You're penniless, and you want to know how to make some money?\"\n\n\"That's right. We're willing to work hard. We'll do anything. Can you think of something?\"\n\nThe girl gave Aliena a long, assessing look. \"Yes, I can,\" she said at last. \"I know someone who might help you.\"\n\nAliena was thrilled: this was the first person to say Yes to her all day. \"When can we see him?\" she said eagerly.\n\n\"Her.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"It's a woman. And you can probably see her right away, if you come with me.\"\n\nAliena and Richard exchanged a delighted look. Aliena could hardly believe the change in their luck.\n\nThe girl turned away, and they followed. She led them to a large wooden house on the south side of the High Street. Most of the house was at ground level but it had a small upper story. The girl went up an outside staircase and beckoned them to follow her.\n\nThe upstairs was a bedchamber. Aliena looked around her with wide eyes: it was more richly decorated and furnished than any of the rooms at the castle had been, even when Mother was alive. The walls were hung with tapestries, the floor was covered with fur rugs, and the bed was surrounded by embroidered curtains. On a chair like a throne sat a middle-aged woman in a gorgeous gown. She had been beautiful when she was young, Aliena guessed, although now her face was lined and her hair thin.\n\n\"This is Mistress Kate,\" said the girl. \"Kate, this girl is penniless and her father's in the jailhouse.\"\n\nKate smiled. Aliena smiled back, but she had to force herself: there was something about Kate that she disliked. Kate said: \"Take the boy to the kitchen and give him a cup of beer while we talk.\"\n\nThe girl took Richard out. Aliena was glad he would get some beer\u2014perhaps they would give him something to eat as well.\n\nKate said: \"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Aliena.\"\n\n\"That's unusual. But I like it.\" She stood up and came close, a little too close. She took Aliena's chin in her hand. \"You've got a very pretty face.\" Her breath smelled of wine. \"Takeoff your cloak.\"\n\nAliena was puzzled by this inspection, but she submitted to it: it seemed harmless, and after this morning's rejections she did not want to throw away her first decent chance by seeming uncooperative. She shrugged off her cloak, dropped it on a bench, and stood there in the old linen dress the verderer's wife had given her.\n\nKate walked around her. For some reason she seemed impressed. \"My dear girl, you need never want for money, or anything else. If you work for me we'll both be rich.\"\n\nAliena frowned. This sounded crazy. All she wanted to do was help with laundry, or cooking, or sewing: she did not see how she could make anybody rich. \"What sort of work are you talking about?\" she said.\n\nKate was behind her. She ran her hands down Aliena's sides, feeling her hips, and stood close so that Aliena could feel Kate's breasts pressing against her back. \"You've got a beautiful figure,\" Kate said. \"And your skin is lovely. You're highborn, aren't you?\"\n\n\"My father was the earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"Bartholomew! Well, well. I remember him\u2014not that he was ever a customer of mine. A very virtuous man, your father. Well, I understand why you're destitute.\"\n\nSo Kate had customers. \"What do you sell?\" Aliena asked.\n\nKate did not answer directly. She came around in front of Aliena again, looking at her face. \"Are you a virgin, dear?\"\n\nAliena flushed with shame.\n\n\"Don't be shy,\" said Kate. \"I see you're not. Well, no matter. Virgins are worth a lot but they don't last, of course.\" She put her hands on Aliena's hips, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. \"You're so voluptuous, although you don't know it. By the saints, you're irresistible.\" She slid her hand up from Aliena's hip to her bosom, and gently took one breast in her hand, weighing it and squeezing it slightly, then she leaned forward and kissed Aliena's lips.\n\nAliena understood everything in a flash: why the girl had smiled at Richard outside the mint, where Kate got her money, what Aliena would have to do if she worked for Kate, and what kind of woman Kate was. She felt foolish for not having understood earlier. For a moment she let Kate kiss her\u2014it was so different from what William Hamleigh had done that she was not in the least repelled\u2014but this was not it, this was not what she would have to do to earn money. She pulled away from Kate's embrace. \"You want me to become a whore,\" she said.\n\n\"A lady of pleasure, my dear,\" said Kate. \"Get up late, wear beautiful clothes every day, make men happy, and become rich. You'd be one of the best. There's a look about you.... You could charge anything, anything. Believe me, I know.\"\n\nAliena shuddered. There had always been a whore or two at the castle\u2014it was necessary in a place where there were so many men without their wives\u2014and they had been regarded as the lowest of the low, the humblest of the womenfolk, below even the sweepers. But it was not the low status that made Aliena tremble with disgust. It was the idea of men such as William Hamleigh walking in and fucking her for a penny. The thought brought back the memory of his big body poised over her, as she lay on the floor with her legs apart, shaking with terror and loathing, waiting for him to penetrate her. The scene came back to her with renewed horror and took away all her poise and confidence. She felt that if she stayed in this house a moment longer it would all happen to her again. She was overcome by a panicky urge to get outside. She backed toward the door. She was frightened of offending Kate, frightened that anyone should be angry with her. \"I'm sorry,\" she mumbled. \"Please forgive me, but I couldn't do that, really....\"\n\n\"Think about it!\" Kate said cheerfully. \"Come back if you change your mind. I'll still be here.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Aliena said unsteadily. She found the door at last. She opened it and scuttled out. Still upset, she ran down the stairs into the street and went to the front door of the house. She pushed it open but she was frightened to go in. \"Richard!\" she called. \"Richard, come out!\" There was no reply. The interior was dimly lit, and she could see nothing but a few vague female figures inside. \"Richard, where are you?\" she screamed hysterically.\n\nShe realized that passersby were staring at her, and that made her more anxious. Suddenly Richard appeared, with a cup of ale in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. \"What's the matter?\" he said through a mouthful of meat. His tone indicated that he was annoyed at having been disturbed.\n\nShe grabbed his arm and pulled. \"Come out of there,\" she said. \"It's a whorehouse!\"\n\nSeveral bystanders laughed loudly at this, and one or two called out jeering remarks.\n\n\"They might give you some meat,\" Richard said.\n\n\"They want me to be a whore!\" she blazed.\n\n\"All right, all right,\" Richard said. He downed his beer, put the cup on the floor inside the door, and stuffed the remains of the chicken leg inside his shirt.\n\n\"Come on,\" Aliena said impatiently, though once again the need to deal with her younger brother had the effect of calming her. He did not seem angered by the idea that someone wanted his sister to become a whore, but he did look regretful at having to leave a place where there was chicken and beer to be had for the asking.\n\nMost of the bystanders walked on, seeing that the fun was over, but one remained. It was the well-dressed woman they had seen in the jailhouse. She had given the jailer a penny, and he had called her Meg. She was looking at Aliena with an expression of curiosity mingled with compassion. Aliena had developed an aversion to being stared at, and she looked away angrily; then the woman spoke to her. \"You're in trouble, aren't you?\" she said.\n\nA note of kindness in Meg's voice made Aliena turn back. \"Yes,\" she said after a pause. \"We're in trouble.\"\n\n\"I saw you at the jailhouse. My husband is in prison\u2014I visit him every day. Why were you there?\"\n\n\"Our father is there.\"\n\n\"But you didn't go inside.\"\n\n\"We haven't any money to pay the jailer.\"\n\nMeg looked over Aliena's shoulder at the whorehouse door. \"Is that what you're doing here\u2014trying to get money?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I didn't know what it was until...\"\n\n\"You poor thing,\" Meg said. \"My Annie would have been your age, if she'd lived.... Why don't, you come to the jailhouse with me tomorrow morning, and between us we'll see if we can persuade Odo to act like a Christian and take pity on two destitute children.\"\n\n\"Oh, that would be wonderful,\" Aliena said. She was touched. There was no guarantee of success, but the fact that someone was willing to help brought tears to her eyes.\n\nMeg was still looking hard at her. \"Have you had any dinner?\"\n\n\"No. Richard got something in... that place.\"\n\n\"You'd better come to my house. I'll give you some bread and meat.\" She noticed Aliena's wary look, and added: \"And you don't have to do anything for it.\"\n\nAliena believed her. \"Thank you,\" she said. \"You're very kind. Not many people have been kind to us. I don't know how to thank you.\n\n\"No need,\" she said. \"Come with me.\"\n\nMeg's husband was a wool merchant. At his house in the south of town, at his stall in the market on market days, and at the great annual fair held on St. Giles's Hill, he bought fleeces brought to him by peasants from the surrounding countryside. He crammed them into great woolsacks, each holding the fleece of two hundred and forty sheep, and stored them in the barn at the back of his house. Once a year, when the Flemish weavers sent their agents to buy the soft, strong English wool, Meg's husband would sell it all and arrange for the sacks to be shipped via Dover and Boulogne to Bruges and Ghent, where the fleece would be turned into top-quality cloth and sold all over the world at prices far too nigh for the peasants who kept the sheep. So Meg told Aliena and Richard over dinner, with that warm smile which said that whatever happens, there's no need for people to be unkind to one another.\n\nHer husband had been accused of selling short weight, a crime the city took very seriously, for its prosperity was based on a reputation for honest dealing. Judging by the way Meg spoke of it, Aliena thought he was probably guilty. His absence had made little different to the business, though. Meg had simply taken his place. In winter there was not much to do anyway: she had made a trip to Flanders; assured all her husband's agents that the enterprise was functioning normally; and carried out repairs to the barn, enlarging it a little at the same time. When shearing began she would buy wool just as he had done. She knew how to judge its quality and set a price. She had already been admitted into the merchant's guild of the city, despite the stain on her husband's reputation, for there was a tradition of merchants helping each other's families in times of trouble, and anyway he had not yet been proved guilty.\n\nRichard and Aliena ate her food and drank her wine and sat by her fire talking until it began to get dark outside; then they went back to the priory to sleep. Aliena had nightmares again. This time she dreamed about her father. In the dream he was sitting on a throne in the prison, as tall and pale and authoritative as ever, and when she went to see him she had to bow as if he were the king. Then he spoke to her accusingly, saying she had abandoned him here in prison and gone to live in a whorehouse. She was outraged by the injustice of the charge, and said angrily that he had abandoned her. She was going to add that he had left her to the mercy of William Hamleigh, but she was reluctant to tell her father what William had done to her; then she saw that William was also in the room, sitting on a bed and eating cherries from a bowl. He spat a cherry pip at her and it hit her cheek, stinging her. Her father smiled and then William started throwing soft cherries at her. They splattered her face and dress, and she began to cry, because although the dress was old it was the only one she had, and now it was blotched all over with cherry juice like bloodstains.\n\nShe felt so unbearably sad in the dream that when she woke up and discovered it was not real she felt an enormous sense of relief, even though the reality\u2014that she was homeless and penniless\u2014was much worse than being pelted with soft cherries.\n\nThe light of dawn was seeping through the cracks in the walls of the guesthouse. All around her people were waking up and beginning to move around. Soon the monks came in, opened the doors and the shutters, and called everyone to breakfast.\n\nAliena and Richard ate hurriedly, then went to Meg's house. She was ready to leave. She had made a spicy beef stew to warm up for her husband's dinner, and Aliena told Richard to carry the heavy pot for her. Aliena wished they had something to give Father. She had not thought of it, but even if she had, she could not have bought anything. It was awful to think they could do nothing for him.\n\nThey walked up the High Street, entered the castle by the back gate, and then walked past the keep and down the hill to the jail. Aliena recalled what Odo had told her yesterday, when she had asked whether Father was all right. \"No, he's not,\" the jailer had said. \"He's dying.\" She had thought he was exaggerating to be cruel, but now she began to worry. She said to Meg: \"Is there anything wrong with my father?\"\n\n\"I don't know, dear,\" Meg said. \"I've never seen him.\"\n\n\"The jailer said he was dying.\"\n\n\"That man is as mean as a cat. He probably said it just to make you miserable. Anyway, you'll know in a moment.\"\n\nAliena was not comforted, despite Meg's good intentions, and she was full of dread as she walked through the doorway into the evil-smelling gloom of the jail.\n\nOdo was warming his hands at the fire in the middle of the lobby. He nodded at Meg and looked at Aliena. \"Have you got the money?\" he said.\n\n\"I'll pay for them,\" Meg said. \"Here's two pennies, one for me and one for them.\"\n\nA crafty look came over Odo's stupid face, and he said: \"It's twopence for them\u2014a penny for each.\"\n\n\"Don't be such a dog,\" Meg said. \"You let them both in, or I'll make trouble for you with the merchant guild, and you'll lose the job.\"\n\n\"All right, all right, no need for threats,\" he said grumpily. He pointed to an archway in the stone wall to their right. \"Bartholomew is that way.\"\n\nMeg said: \"You'll need a light.\" She drew two candles from the pocket of her cloak and lit them at the fire, then gave one to Aliena. Her face looked troubled. \"I hope all will be well,\" she said, and she kissed Aliena. Then she went quickly through the opposite arch.\n\n\"Thank you for the penny,\" Aliena called after her, but Meg had disappeared into the gloom.\n\nAliena peered apprehensively in the direction Odo had indicated. Holding the candle up high, she went through the archway, and found herself in a tiny square vestibule. The light of the candle showed three heavy doors, each barred on the outside. Odo called out: \"Straight in front of you.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Lift the bar, Richard.\"\n\nRichard took the heavy wooden bar out of its brackets and stood it up against the wall. Aliena pushed the door open and sent up a quick silent prayer.\n\nThe cell was dark but for the light of her candle. She hesitated in the doorway, peering into the moving shadows. The place smelled like a privy. A voice said: \"Who is it?\"\n\nAliena said: \"Father?\" She made out a dark figure, sitting on the straw-covered floor.\n\n\"Aliena?\" There was incredulity in the voice. \"Is that Aliena?\" It sounded like Father's voice, but older.\n\nAliena went closer, holding the candle up. He looked up at her, the candlelight caught his face, and she gasped in horror.\n\nHe was hardly recognizable.\n\nHe had always been a thin man, but now he looked like a skeleton. He was filthy dirty and dressed in rags. \"Aliena!\" he said. \"It is you!\" His face twisted into a smile, and it was like the grin of a skull.\n\nAliena burst into tears. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock of seeing him so transformed. It was the most dreadful thing imaginable. She knew instantly that he was dying: the vile Odo had told the truth. But he was still alive, still suffering, and painfully pleased to see her. She had been determined to stay calm, but now she lost control completely, and fell to her knees in front of him, weeping with great racking sobs that came from deep inside her.\n\nHe leaned forward and put his arms around her, patting her back as if he were comforting a child over a grazed knee or a broken toy. \"Don't cry,\" he said gently. \"Not when you've made your father so happy.\"\n\nAliena felt the candle taken from her hand. Father said: \"And is that tall young man my Richard?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father,\" Richard said stiffly.\n\nAliena put her arms around Father, and felt his bones like sticks in a sack. He was wasting away: there was no flesh beneath his skin. She wanted to say something to him, some words of love or comfort, but she could not speak for sobbing.\n\n\"Richard,\" he was saying, \"you've grown! Have you got a beard yet?\"\n\n\"It's just started, Father, but it's very fair.\"\n\nAliena realized that Richard was on the edge of tears and struggling to maintain his composure. He would feel humiliated if he broke down in front of Father, and Father would probably tell him to snap out of it and be a man, which would make it worse. Worrying about Richard, she stopped crying. With an effort she pulled herself together. She hugged Father's appallingly thin body once more; then she withdrew from his embrace, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose on her sleeve.\n\n\"Are you both all right?\" Father said. His voice was slower than it used to be, and it quavered occasionally. \"How have you managed? Where have you been living? They wouldn't tell me anything about you\u2014it was the worst torture they could have devised. But you seem fine\u2014fit and healthy! This is wonderful!\"\n\nMention of torture made Aliena wonder whether he had suffered physical torments, but she did not ask him: she was afraid of what he might tell her. Instead she answered his question with a lie. \"We're fine, Father.\" She knew that the truth would be devastating to him. It would destroy this moment of happiness and fill the last days of his life with an agony of self-reproach. \"We've been living at the castle and Matthew has been taking care of us.\"\n\n\"But you can't live there anymore,\" he said. \"The king has made that fat oaf Percy Hamleigh the earl now\u2014he'll have the castle.\"\n\nSo he knew about that. \"It's all right,\" she said. \"We've moved out.\"\n\nHe touched her dress, the old linen shift that the verderer's wife had given her. \"What's this?\" he said sharply. \"Have you sold your clothes?\"\n\nHe was still perceptive, Aliena noted. It would not be easy to deceive him. She decided to tell him part of the truth. \"We left the castle in a hurry, and we haven't any clothes.\"\n\n\"Where's Matthew now? Why isn't he with you?\"\n\nShe had been afraid of this question. She hesitated.\n\nIt was only a momentary pause, but he noticed it. \"Come! Don't try to hide anything from me!\" he said with something of his old authority. \"Where's Matthew?\"\n\n\"He was killed by the Hamleighs,\" she said. \"But they did us no harm.\" She held her breath. Would he believe her?\n\n\"Poor Matthew,\" he said sorrowfully. \"He was never a fighting man. I hope he went straight to heaven.\"\n\nHe had accepted her story. She was relieved. She moved the conversation off this dangerous ground. \"We decided to come to Winchester to ask the king to make some provision for us, but he\u2014\"\n\n\"No use,\" Father interrupted briskly, before she could explain why they had failed to see the king. \"He wouldn't do anything for you.\"\n\nAliena was hurt by his dismissive tone. She had done her best, against the odds, and she wanted him to say Well done, not That was a waste of time. He had always been quick to correct and slow to praise. I ought to be used to it, she thought. Submissively she said: \"What should we do now, Father?\"\n\nHe shifted his sitting position, and there was a clanking noise. Aliena realized with a shock that he was in chains. He said: \"I had one chance to hide some money away. It wasn't much of a chance, but I had to take it. I had fifty bezants in a belt under my shirt. I gave the belt to a priest.\"\n\n\"Fifty!\" Aliena was surprised. A bezant was a gold coin. They were not minted in England, but came from Byzantium. She had never seen more than one at a time. A bezant was worth twenty-four silver pennies. Fifty were worth... she could not figure it out.\n\n\"Which priest?\" said Richard practically.\n\n\"Father Ralph, of the church of St. Michael near the North Gate.\"\n\n\"Is he a good man?\" Aliena asked.\n\n\"I hope so. I really don't know. On the day the Hamleighs brought me to Winchester, before they locked me up in here, I found myself alone with him, just for a few moments, and I knew it would be my only chance. I gave him the belt, and begged him to keep it for you. Fifty bezants is worth five pounds of silver.\"\n\nFive pounds. As this news sank in Aliena realized that the money would transform their existence. They would not be destitute; they would no longer have to live from hand to mouth. They could buy bread, and a pair of boots to replace those painful clogs, and even a couple of cheap ponies if they needed to travel. It did not solve all their problems, but it took away that frightening feeling of living constantly on the edge of a life-or-death crisis. She would not have to be thinking all the time of how they were going to survive. Instead she could turn her attention to something constructive\u2014like getting Father out of this awful place. She said: \"When we've got the money, what shall we do? We must get you freed.\"\n\n\"I'm not coming out,\" he said harshly. \"Forget about that. If I weren't dying already they'd have hanged me.\"\n\nAliena gasped. How could he talk that way?\n\n\"Why are you shocked?\" he said. \"The king has to get rid of me, but this way I won't be on his conscience.\"\n\nRichard said: \"Father, this place is not well guarded while the king is away. With a few men I believe I could break you out.\"\n\nAliena knew that was not going to happen. Richard did not have the ability or the experience to organize a rescue, and he was too young to persuade men to follow him. She was afraid Father would wound Richard by pouring scorn on the proposal, but all he said was: \"Don't even think about it. If you break in here I'll refuse to go out with you.\"\n\nAliena knew there was no point in arguing with him once he had made up his mind. But it broke her heart to think of him ending his days in this stinking jail. However, it occurred to her that there was a lot she could do to make him more comfortable here. She said: \"Well, if you're going to stay here, we can clean the place up and get fresh rushes. We'll bring hot food in for you every day. We'll get some candles, and perhaps we could borrow a Bible for you to read. You can have a fire\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop!\" he said. \"You're not going to do any of that. I will not have my children wasting their lives hanging around a jailhouse waiting for an old man to die.\"\n\nTears came to Aliena's eyes again. \"But we can't leave you like this!\"\n\nHe ignored her, which was his normal response to people who foolishly contradicted him. \"Your dear mother had a sister, your Aunt Edith. She lives in the village of Huntleigh, on the road to Gloucester, with her husband, who is a knight. You are to go there.\"\n\nIt occurred to Aliena that they could still see Father at intervals. And perhaps he would permit his in-laws to make him more comfortable. She tried to remember Aunt Edith and Uncle Simon. She had not seen them since Mama died. She had a vague recollection of a thin, nervous woman like her mother and a big, hearty man who ate and drank a lot. \"Will they look after us?\" she said uncertainly.\n\n\"Of course. They're your kin.\"\n\nAliena wondered whether that was sufficient reason for a modest knightly family to welcome two large and hungry youngsters into their home; but Father said it would be all right, and she trusted him. \"What will we do?\" she said.\n\n\"Richard will be a squire to his uncle and learn the arts of knighthood. You will be lady-in-waiting to Aunt Edith until you marry.\"\n\nAs they talked, Aliena felt as if she had been carrying a heavy weight for miles, and had not noticed the pain in her back until she put the burden down. Now that Father was taking charge, it seemed to her that the responsibility of the last few days had been far too much for her to bear. And his authority and ability to control the situation, even when he was sick in jail, gave her comfort and took the edge off her sorrow, for it seemed unnecessary to worry about the person who was in charge.\n\nNow he became even more magisterial. \"Before you leave me, I want you both to swear an oath.\"\n\nAliena was shocked. He had always counseled against oath-taking. To swear an oath is to put your soul at risk, he would say. Never take an oath unless you're sure you would rather die than break it. And he was here because of an oath: the other barons had broken their word and accepted Stephen as king, but Papa had refused. He would rather die than break his oath, and here he was dying.\n\n\"Give me your sword,\" he said to Richard.\n\nRichard drew his sword and handed it over.\n\nFather took it and reversed it, holding out the hilt. \"Kneel down.\"\n\nRichard knelt in front of Father.\n\n\"Put your hand on the hilt.\" Father paused, as if gathering his strength; then his voice rang out like a peal of bells. \"Swear by Almighty God, and Jesus Christ, and all the saints, that you will not rest until you are earl of Shiring and lord of all the lands I ruled.\"\n\nAliena was surprised and somewhat awestruck. She had expected Father to demand some general promise, such as to tell the truth always and fear God; but no, he was giving Richard a very specific task, one that might take a lifetime.\n\nRichard took a deep breath and spoke with a shake in his voice. \"I swear by Almighty God, and Jesus Christ, and all the saints, that I will not rest until I am earl of Shiring, and lord of all the lands you ruled.\"\n\nPapa sighed, as if he had completed an onerous task. Then he surprised Aliena again. He turned and proffered the hilt of the sword to her. \"Swear by Almighty God, and Jesus Christ, and all the saints, that you will take care of your brother Richard until he has fulfilled his vow.\"\n\nA sense of doom swamped Aliena. This was to be their fate, then: Richard would avenge Father, and she would take care of Richard. For her it would be a mission of revenge, for if Richard became earl, William Hamleigh would lose his inheritance. It flashed across her mind that no one had asked her how she wanted to spend her life; but the foolish thought was gone as fast as it came. This was her destiny, and it was a fit and proper one. She was not unwilling, but she knew this was a fateful moment, and she had a sense of doors closing behind her and the path of her life being fixed irrevocably. She put her hand on the hilt of the sword and took the oath. Her voice surprised her by its strength and resolution. \"I swear by Almighty God, and Jesus Christ, and all the saints, that I will take care of my brother Richard until he has fulfilled his vow.\" She crossed herself. It was done. I've sworn an oath, she thought, and I must die rather than break my word. The thought gave her a kind of angry satisfaction.\n\n\"There,\" Father said, and his voice sounded weak again. \"Now you need never come to this place again.\"\n\nAliena could not believe he meant it. \"Uncle Simon can bring us to see you now and again, and we can make sure you're warm and fed\u2014\"\n\n\"No,\" he said sternly. \"You have a task to fulfill. You're not going to waste your energies visiting a jail.\"\n\nShe heard that don't-argue note in his voice again, but she could not help protesting against the harshness of his decision. \"Then let us come again just once, to bring you a few comforts!\"\n\n\"I want no comforts.\"\n\n\"Please...\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nShe gave up. He was always at least as hard on himself as he was on everyone else. \"Very well,\" she said, and it came out in a sob.\n\n\"Now you'd better go,\" he said.\n\n\"Already?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is a place of despair and corruption and death. Now that I've seen you, and I know you're well, and you've promised to rebuild what we have lost, I'm content. The only thing that could destroy my happiness would be to see you wasting your time visiting a jailhouse. Now go.\"\n\n\"Papa, no!\" she protested, although she knew it was no use.\n\n\"Listen,\" he said, and his voice softened at last. \"I've lived an honorable life, and now I'm going to die. I've confessed my sins. I'm ready for eternity. Pray for my soul. Go.\"\n\nAliena leaned forward and kissed his brow. Her tears fell freely on his face. \"Goodbye, Father dear,\" she whispered. She got to her feet.\n\nRichard bent down and kissed him. \"Goodbye, Father,\" he said unsteadily.\n\n\"May God bless you both, and help you keep your vows,\" Father said.\n\nRichard left him the candle. They went to the door. At the threshold Aliena turned and looked back at him in the unsteady light. His fleshless face was set in an expression of calm determination that was very familiar. She looked at him until tears obscured her vision. Then she turned away, went through the lobby of the jailhouse, and stumbled out into the open air."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "Richard led the way. Aliena was stunned with grief. It was as if Father had already died; but it was worse, for he was still suffering. She heard Richard asking for directions but she paid no attention. She gave no thought to where they were going until he stopped outside a small wooden church with a lean-to hovel beside it. Looking around, Aliena saw that they were in a poor district of small tumbledown houses and filthy streets in which fierce dogs chased rats through the refuse and barefoot children played in the mud. \"This must be St. Michael's,\" Richard said.\n\nThe lean-to at the side of the church had to be the priest's house. It had one shuttered window. The door stood open. They went in.\n\nThere was a fire in the middle of the single room. The place was furnished with a roughhewn table, a few stools, and a beer barrel in the corner. The floor was strewn with rushes. Near the fire a man sat on a chair drinking from a large cup. He was a small, thin man of about fifty years, with a red nose and wispy gray hair. He wore ordinary everyday clothes, a dirty undershirt with a brown tunic, and clogs.\n\n\"Father Ralph?\" said Richard dubiously.\n\n\"What if I am?\" he replied.\n\nAliena sighed. Why did people manufacture trouble when there was already so much of it in the world? But she had no energy left for dealing with bad temper, so she left it to Richard, who said: \"Does that mean yes?\"\n\nThe question was answered for them. A voice from outside called: \"Ralph? Are you in?\" A moment later a middle-aged woman came in and gave the priest a hunk of bread and a large bowl of something that smelled like meat stew. For once the smell of meat did not make Aliena's mouth water: she was too numb even to be hungry. The woman was probably one of Ralph's parishioners, for her clothes were of the same poor quality as his own. He took the food from her without a word and began to eat. She glanced incuriously at Aliena and Richard and went out again.\n\nRichard said: \"Well, Father Ralph, I am the son of Bartholomew, the former earl of Shiring.\"\n\nThe man paused in his eating and looked up at them. There was hostility in his face, and something else Aliena could not read\u2014fear? Guilt? He returned his attention to his dinner, but mumbled: \"What do you want with me?\"\n\nAliena felt a tug of fear.\n\n\"You know what I want,\" Richard said. \"My money. Fifty bezants.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" Ralph said.\n\nAliena stared at him incredulously. This could not be happening. Father had left money for them with this priest\u2014he had said so! Father did not make mistakes about such things.\n\nRichard had gone white. He said: \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. Now piss off.\" He took another spoonful of stew.\n\nThe man was lying, of course; but what could they do about it? Richard pressed on stubbornly. \"My father left money with you\u2014fifty bezants. He told you to give it to me. Where is it?\"\n\n\"Your father gave me nothing.\"\n\n\"He said he did\u2014\"\n\n\"He lied, then.\"\n\nThat was one thing you could be sure Father had not done. Aliena spoke for the first time. \"You're the liar, and we know it.\"\n\nRalph shrugged. \"Complain to the sheriff.\"\n\n\"You'll be in trouble if we do. They cut off the hands of thieves in this city.\"\n\nThe shadow of fear briefly crossed the priest's face, but it was gone in a moment, and his reply was defiant. \"It will be my word against the word of a jailed traitor\u2014if your father lives long enough to give evidence.\"\n\nAliena realized he was right. There would be no independent witnesses to say that Father had given him the money, for the whole idea was that it was a secret, money that could not be taken away by the king or Percy Hamleigh or any of the other carrion crows who flocked around the possessions of a ruined man. Things were just as they had been in the forest, Aliena realized bitterly. People could rob her and Richard with impunity, because they were the children of a fallen noble. Why am I frightened of these men? she asked herself angrily. Why aren't they frightened of me?\n\nRichard looked at her and said in a low voice: \"He's right, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said venomously. \"There's no point in our complaining to the sheriff.\" She was thinking of the one time men had been afraid of her: in the forest, when she had stabbed the fat outlaw, and the other one had run away in fear. This priest was no better than the outlaw. But he was old and quite feeble, and he had probably counted on never having to face his victims. Perhaps he could be frightened.\n\nRichard said: \"What shall we do, then?\"\n\nAliena gave in to a sudden furious impulse. \"Burn down his house,\" she said. She stepped to the middle of the room and kicked the fire with her wooden clogs, scattering burning logs. The rushes around the fireplace caught immediately.\n\n\"Hey!\" Ralph yelled. He half rose from his seat, dropping his bread and spilling the stew in his lap; but before he could get to his feet Aliena was on him. She felt completely out of control; she acted without thinking. She pushed him, and he slipped off the chair and tumbled to the floor. She was astonished at how easy it was to knock him down. She fell on him, landing with her knees on his chest and winding him. Mad with rage, she thrust her face close to his and screamed: \"You lying thieving godless heathen, I'm going to burn you to death!\"\n\nHis eyes flicked to one side and he looked even more terrified. Following his glance, Aliena saw that Richard had drawn his sword and was holding it ready to strike. The priest's dirty face went pale, and he whispered: \"You're a devil....\"\n\n\"You're the one who steals money from poor children!\" Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stick with one end burning brightly. She picked it up and held the hot end close to his face. \"Now I'm going to burn out your eyes, one by one. First the left eye\u2014\"\n\n\"No, please,\" he whispered. \"Please don't hurt me.\"\n\nAliena was thrown by the rapidity with which he crumbled. She realized that the rushes were burning all around her. \"Where's the money, then?\" she said in a voice which suddenly sounded normal.\n\nThe priest was still terrified. \"In the church.\"\n\n\"Where exactly?\"\n\n\"Under the stone behind the altar.\"\n\nAliena looked up at Richard. \"Guard him while I go and look,\" she said. \"If he moves, kill him.\"\n\nRichard said: \"Allie, the house will burn down.\"\n\nAliena went to the corner and lifted the lid of the barrel. It was half full of beer. She grasped the rim and pulled it over. Beer flowed all over the floor, soaking the rushes and putting out the flames.\n\nAliena walked out of the house. She knew she really had been ready to put out the priest's eyes, but instead of feeling ashamed she was overwhelmed by a sense of her own power. She had resolved not to let people make her a victim, and she had proved she could keep her resolution. She strode up to the front of the church and tried the door. It was fastened with a small lock. She could have gone back to the priest for the key, but instead she drew the dagger from her sleeve, inserted the blade in the crack of the door, and broke the lock. The door swung open and she marched inside.\n\nIt was the poorest kind of church. There was no furniture other than the altar and no decoration except for some crude paintings on the limewashed wood of the walls. In one corner, a single candle flickered beneath a small wooden effigy which presumably represented Saint Michael. Aliena's triumph was disturbed for a moment by the realization that five pounds presented a terrible temptation to a man as poor as Father Ralph. Then she put sympathy out of her mind.\n\nThe floor was earth but there was a single large stone slab behind the altar. It made a rather obvious hiding place, but of course no one would bother to rob a church as visibly poor as this. Aliena went down on one knee and pushed the stone. It was very heavy and did not move. She began to feel anxious. Richard could not be relied upon to keep Ralph quiet indefinitely. The priest might get away and call for help, and then Aliena would have to prove that the money was hers. Indeed, that might be the least of her worries now that she had attacked a priest and broken into a church. She felt a chill of anxiety as she realized that she was on the wrong side of the law now.\n\nThat frisson of fear gave her extra strength. With a mighty heave she moved the stone an inch or two. It covered a hole about a foot deep. She managed to move the stone a little farther. Inside the hole was a wide leather belt. She put her hand in and drew the belt out.\n\n\"There!\" she said aloud. \"I've got it.\" It gave her great satisfaction to think that she had defeated the dishonest priest and retrieved her father's money. Then, as she stood up, she realized that her victory was qualified: the belt felt suspiciously light. She unfastened the end and tipped out the coins. There were only ten of them. Ten bezants were worth a pound of silver.\n\nWhat had happened to the rest? Father Ralph had spent it! She became enraged again. Her father's money was all she had in the world and a thieving priest had taken four fifths of it. She marched out of the church, swinging the belt. On the street, a passerby looked startled when he caught her eye, as if there was something odd about her expression. She took no notice and went into the priest's house.\n\nRichard was standing over Father Ralph, with his sword at the priest's throat. As Aliena came through the door she screamed: \"Where's the rest of my father's money?\"\n\n\"Gone,\" the priest whispered.\n\nShe knelt by his head and put her knife to his face. \"Gone where?\"\n\n\"I spent it,\" he confessed in a voice hoarse with fear.\n\nAliena wanted to stab him, or beat him, or throw him into a river; but none of it would do any good. He was telling the truth. She looked at the overturned barrel: a drinking man could get through a great deal of beer. She felt as if she might explode with frustration. \"I'd cut off your ear if I could sell it for a penny,\" she hissed at him. He looked as if he thought she might cut it off anyway.\n\nRichard said anxiously: \"He's spent the money. Let's take what we've got and go.\"\n\nHe was right, Aliena realized reluctantly. Her anger began to evaporate, leaving behind a residue of bitterness. There was nothing to be gained by frightening the priest any more, and the longer they stayed, the more chance there was that someone would come in and cause trouble. She stood up. \"All right,\" she said. She put the gold coins back in the belt and buckled it around her waist beneath her cloak. She pointed a finger at the priest. \"I may come back one day and kill you,\" she spat.\n\nShe went out.\n\nShe strode away along the narrow street. Richard caught up with her hurrying. \"You were wonderful, Allie!\" he said excitedly. \"You scared him half to death\u2014and you got the money!\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Yes, I did,\" she said sourly. She was still tense, but now that her fury had abated she felt deflated and unhappy.\n\n\"What shall we buy?\" he said eagerly.\n\n\"Just a little food for our journey.\"\n\n\"Shan't we buy horses?\"\n\n\"Not with a pound.\"\n\n\"Still, we could get you some boots.\"\n\nShe considered that. The clogs tortured her but the ground was too cold for bare feet. However, boots were expensive and she was reluctant to spend the money so quickly. \"No,\" she decided. \"I'll live a few more days without boots. We'll keep the money for now.\"\n\nHe was disappointed, but he did not dispute her authority. \"What food shall we get?\"\n\n\"Horsebread, hard cheese and wine.\"\n\n\"Let's get some pies.\"\n\n\"They cost too much.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" He was silent for a moment, then he said: \"You're awfully grumpy, Allie.\"\n\nAliena sighed. \"I know.\" She thought: Why do I feel this way? I should be proud. I brought us here from the castle, I defended my brother, I found my father, I got our money.\n\nYes, and I stuck a knife into a fat man's belly, and made my brother kill him, and I held a burning stick to a priest's face, and I was ready to put his eyes out.\n\n\"Is it because of Father?\" said Richard sympathetically.\n\n\"No, it's not,\" Aliena replied. \"It's because of me.\"\n\nAliena regretted not buying the boots.\n\nOn the road to Gloucester she wore the clogs until they made her feet bleed, then she walked barefoot until she could no longer stand the cold, whereupon she put the clogs on again. She found it helped not to look at her feet: they hurt more when she could see the sores and the blood.\n\nIn the hill country there were a lot of poor smallholdings where peasants grew an acre or so of oats or rye and kept a few scrawny animals. Aliena stopped on the outskirts of a village, when she thought they must be near Huntleigh, to speak to a peasant who was shearing a sheep in a fenced yard next to a low, wattle-and-daub farmhouse. He had the sheep's head trapped in a wooden fixture like a stocks, and was cutting its wool with a long-bladed knife. Two more sheep waited uneasily nearby, and one that was already shorn was grazing in the field, looking naked in the cold air.\n\n\"It's early for shearing,\" Aliena said.\n\nThe peasant looked up at her and grinned good-humoredly. He was a young man with red hair and freckles, and his sleeves were rolled up, showing hairy arms. \"Ah, but I need the money. Better the sheep go cold than I go hungry.\"\n\n\"How much do you get?\"\n\n\"Penny a fleece. But I have to go to Gloucester to get it, so I lose a day in the field, just when it's spring and there's a lot to do.\" He was cheerful enough, despite his grumbling.\n\n\"What's this village?\" Aliena asked him.\n\n\"Strangers call it Huntleigh,\" he said. Peasants never used the name of their village\u2014to them it was just the village. Names were for outsiders. \"Who are you?\" he asked with frank curiosity. \"What brings you here?\"\n\n\"I'm the niece of Simon of Huntleigh,\" Aliena said.\n\n\"Indeed. Well, you'll find him in the big house. Go back along this road a few yards, then take the path through the fields.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nThe village sat in the middle of its plowed fields like a pig in a wallow. There were twenty or so small dwellings clustered around the manor house, which was not much bigger than the home of a prosperous peasant. Aunt Edith and Uncle Simon were not very wealthy, it seemed. A group of men stood outside the manor house with a couple of horses. One of them appeared to be the lord: he wore a scarlet coat. Aliena looked at him more closely. It was twelve or thirteen years since she had seen her Uncle Simon, but she thought this was he. She remembered him as a big man, and now he looked smaller, but no doubt that was because Aliena had grown. His hair was thinning and he had a double chin which she did not recall. Then she heard him say: \"He's very high in the wither, this beast,\" and she recognized the rasping, slightly breathy voice.\n\nShe began to relax. From now on they would be fed and clothed and cared for and protected: no more horsebread and hard cheese, no more sleeping in barns, no more walking the roads with one hand on her knife. She would have a soft bed and a new dress and a dinner of roast beef.\n\nUncle Simon caught her eye. At first he did not know who she was. \"Look at this,\" he said to his men. \"A handsome wench and a boy soldier to visit us.\" Then something else came into his eyes, and Aliena knew he had realized they were not total strangers. \"I know you, don't I?\" he said.\n\nAliena said: \"Yes, Uncle Simon, you do.\"\n\nHe jumped, as if scared by something. \"By the saints! The voice of a ghost!\"\n\nAliena did not understand that, but a moment later he explained. He came over to her, peering hard at her, as if he were about to look at her teeth like a horse; and he said: \"Your mother had the same voice, like honey pouring out of a jar. You're as beautiful as she was too, by Christ.\" He put out his hand to touch her face, and she quickly stepped back out of reach. \"But you're as stiff-necked as your damned father, I can see that. I suppose he sent you here, did he?\"\n\nAliena bristled. She did not like to hear Father referred to as \"your damned father.\" But if she protested, he would take it as further proof that she was stiff-necked; so she bit her tongue and answered him submissively. \"Yes. He said Aunt Edith would take care of us.\"\n\n\"Well, he was wrong,\" Uncle Simon said. \"Aunt Edith is dead. What's more, since your father's disgrace, I've lost half of my lands to that fat rogue Percy Hamleigh. It's hard times here. So you can turn right around and go back to Winchester. I'm not taking you in.\"\n\nAliena was shaken. He seemed so hard. \"But we're your kin!\" she said.\n\nHe had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but his reply was harsh. \"You're not my kin. You used to be my first wife's niece. Even when Edith was alive she never saw her sister, because of that pompous ass your mother married.\"\n\n\"We'll work,\" Aliena pleaded. \"We're both willing\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't waste your breath,\" he said. \"I'm not having you.\"\n\nAliena was shocked. He was so definite. It was clear there was no point in arguing with him or begging. But she had suffered so many disappointments and reverses of this kind that she felt bitter rather than sad. A week ago something like this would have made her burst into tears. Now she felt like spitting at him. She said: \"I'll remember this when Richard is the earl and we take the castle back.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Shall I live so long?\"\n\nAliena decided not to stay and be humiliated any longer. \"Let's go,\" she said to Richard. \"We'll look after ourselves.\" Uncle Simon had already turned away and was looking at the horse with the high wither. The men with him were a little embarrassed. Aliena and Richard walked away.\n\nWhen they were out of earshot, Richard said plaintively: \"What are we going to do, Allie?\"\n\n\"We're going to show these heartless people that we're better than they are,\" she said grimly, but she did not feel brave, she was just full of hatred, for Uncle Simon, for Father Ralph, for Odo Jailer, for the outlaws, for the verderer, and most of all for William Hamleigh.\n\n\"It's a good thing we've got some money,\" Richard said.\n\nIt was. But the money would not last forever. \"We can't just spend it,\" she said as they walked along the path that led back to the main road. \"If we use it all up on food and things like that, we'll just be destitute again when it's all gone. We've got to do something with it.\"\n\n\"I don't see why,\" Richard said. \"I think we should buy a pony.\"\n\nShe stared at him. Was he joking? There was no smile on his face. He simply did not understand. \"We've got no position, no title, and no land,\" she said patiently. \"The king won't help us. We can't get ourselves hired as laborers\u2014we tried, in Winchester, and no one would take us on. But somehow we have to make a living and turn you into a knight.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said. \"I see.\"\n\nShe could tell that he did not really see. \"We need to establish ourselves in some occupation that will feed us and give us at least a chance of making enough money to buy you a good horse.\"\n\n\"You mean I should become an apprentice to a craftsman?\"\n\nAliena shook her head. \"You have to become a knight, not a carpenter. Have we ever met anyone who had an independent livelihood but no skills?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Richard said unexpectedly. \"Meg in Winchester.\"\n\nHe was right. Meg was a wool merchant although she had never been an apprentice. \"But Meg has a market stall.\" They passed the redhaired peasant who had given them directions. His four shorn sheep were grazing in the field, and he was tying their fleeces into bundles with cord made of reeds. He looked up from his work and waved. It was people such as he who took their wool into the towns and sold it to wool merchants. But the merchant had to have a place of business....\n\nOr did he?\n\nAn idea was forming in Aliena's mind.\n\nShe turned back abruptly.\n\nRichard said: \"Where are you going?\"\n\nShe was too excited to answer him. She leaned on the peasant's fence. \"How much did you say you could get for your wool?\"\n\n\"Penny a fleece,\" he said.\n\n\"But you have to spend all day going to Gloucester and back.\"\n\n\"That's the trouble.\"\n\n\"Suppose I buy your wool? That would save you the journey.\"\n\nRichard said: \"Allie! We don't need wool!\"\n\n\"Shut up, Richard.\" She did not want to explain her idea to him now\u2014she was impatient to try it out on the peasant.\n\nThe peasant said: \"That would be a kindness.\" But he looked dubious, as if he suspected trickery.\n\n\"I couldn't offer you a penny a fleece, though.\"\n\n\"Aha! I thought there'd be a snag.\"\n\n\"I could give you twopence for four fleeces.\"\n\n\"But they're worth a penny each!\" he protested.\n\n\"In Gloucester. This is Huntleigh.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I'd rather have fourpence and lose a day in the field than have twopence and gain a day.\"\n\n\"Suppose I offer you threepence for four fleeces.\"\n\n\"I lose a penny.\"\n\n\"And save a day's journey.\"\n\nHe looked bewildered. \"I never heard of nothing like this before.\"\n\n\"It's as if I were a carter, and you paid me a penny to take your wool to market.\" She found his slowness exasperating. \"The question is, is an extra day in the fields worth a penny to you, or not?\"\n\n\"It depends what I do with the day,\" he said thoughtfully.\n\nRichard said: \"Allie, what are we going to do with four fleeces?\"\n\n\"Sell them to Meg,\" she said impatiently. \"For a penny each. That way we're a penny better off.\"\n\n\"But we have to go all the way to Winchester for a penny!\"\n\n\"No, stupid. We buy wool from fifty peasants and take the whole lot to Winchester. Don't you see? We could make fifty pennies! We could feed ourselves and save up for a good horse for you!\"\n\nShe turned back to the peasant. His cheerful grin had gone, and he was scratching his ginger-colored head. Aliena was sorry she had perplexed him, but she wanted him to accept her offer. If he did, she would know it was possible for her to fulfill her vow to her father. But peasants were stubborn. She felt like taking him by the collar and shaking him. Instead, she reached inside her cloak and fumbled in her purse. They had changed the gold bezants for silver pennies at the goldsmith's house in Winchester, and now she took out three pennies and showed them to the peasant. \"Here,\" she said. \"Take it or leave it.\"\n\nThe sight of the silver helped the peasant make up his mind. \"Done,\" he said, and took the money.\n\nAliena smiled. It looked as if she might have found the answer.\n\nThat night she used a bundled fleece for a pillow. The smell of sheep reminded her of Meg's house.\n\nWhen she woke up in the morning she discovered that she was not pregnant.\n\nThings were looking up.\n\nFour weeks after Easter, Aliena and Richard entered Winchester with an old horse pulling a homemade cart bearing a huge sack which contained two hundred and forty fleeces\u2014the precise number which made up a standard woolsack.\n\nAt that point they discovered taxes.\n\nPreviously they had always entered the city without attracting any attention, but now they learned why city gates were narrow and constantly manned by customs officers. There was a toll of one penny for every cartload of goods taken into Winchester. Fortunately, they still had a few pennies left, and they were able to pay; otherwise they would have been turned away.\n\nMost of the fleeces had cost them between one half and three quarters of a penny each. They had paid seventy-two pence for the old horse, and the rickety cart had been thrown in. Most of the rest of the money had been spent on food. But tonight they would have a pound of silver and a horse and cart.\n\nAliena's plan was then to go out again and buy another sackful of fleeces, and to do the same again and again until all the sheep were shorn. By the end of the summer she wanted to have the money to buy a strong horse and a new cart.\n\nShe felt very excited as she led their old nag through the streets toward Meg's house. By the end of the day she would have proved that she could take care of herself and her brother without any help from anyone. It made her feel very mature and independent. She was in charge of her own destiny. She had had nothing from the king, she did not need relatives, and she had no use for a husband.\n\nShe was looking forward to seeing Meg, who had been her inspiration. Meg was one of the few people who had helped Aliena without trying to rob, rape or exploit her. Aliena had a lot of questions to ask her about business in general and the wool trade in particular.\n\nIt was market day, so it took them some time to drive their cart through the crowded city to Meg's street. At last they arrived at her house. Aliena stepped into the hall. A woman she had never seen before was standing there. \"Oh!\" said Aliena, and she stopped short.\n\n\"What is it?\" said the woman.\n\n\"I'm a friend of Meg's.\"\n\n\"She doesn't live here anymore,\" the woman said curtly.\n\n\"Oh, dear.\" Aliena saw no need for her to be so brusque. \"Where has she moved to?\"\n\n\"She's gone with her husband, who left this city in disgrace,\" the woman said.\n\nAliena was disappointed and afraid. She had been counting on Meg to make the sale of the wool easy. \"That's terrible news!\"\n\n\"He was a dishonest tradesman, and if I were you I wouldn't boast about being a friend of hers. Now clear off.\"\n\nAliena was outraged that someone should speak ill of Meg. \"I don't care what her husband may have done, Meg was a fine woman and greatly superior to the thieves and whores that inhabit this stinking city,\" she said, and she went out before the woman could think of a rejoinder.\n\nHer verbal victory gave her only momentary consolation. \"Bad news,\" she said to Richard. \"Meg has left Winchester.\"\n\n\"Is the person who lives there now a wool merchant?\" he said.\n\n\"I didn't ask. I was too busy telling her off.\" Now she felt foolish.\n\n\"What shall we do, Allie?\"\n\n\"We've got to sell these fleeces,\" she said anxiously. \"We'd better go to the marketplace.\"\n\nThey turned the horse around and retraced their steps to the High Street, then threaded their way through the crowds to the market, which was between the High Street and the cathedral. Aliena led the horse and Richard walked behind the cart, pushing it when the horse needed help, which was most of the time. The marketplace was a seething mass of people squeezing along the narrow aisles between the stalls, their progress constantly delayed by carts such as Aliena's. She stopped and stood on top of her sack of wool and looked for wool merchants. She could see only one. She got down and headed the horse in that direction.\n\nThe man was doing good business. He had a large space roped off with a shed behind it. The shed was made of hurdles, light timber frames filled in with woven twigs and reeds, and it was obviously a temporary structure erected each market day. The merchant was a swarthy man whose left arm ended at the elbow. Attached to his stump he had a wooden comb, and whenever a fleece was offered to him he would put his arm into the wool, tease out a portion with the comb, and feel it with his right hand before giving a price. Then he would use the comb and his right hand together to count out the number of pennies he had agreed to pay. For large purchases he weighed the pennies in a balance.\n\nAliena pushed her way through the crowd to the bench. A peasant offered the merchant three rather thin fleeces tied together with a leather belt. \"A bit sparse,\" said the merchant. \"Three farthings each.\" A farthing was a quarter of a penny. He counted out two pennies, then took a small hatchet and with a quick, practiced stroke cut a third penny into quarters. He gave the peasant the two pennies and one of the quarters. \"Three times three farthings is twopence and a farthing.\" The peasant took the belt off the fleeces and handed them over.\n\nNext, two young men dragged a whole sack of wool up to the counter. The merchant examined it carefully. \"It's a full sack, but the quality's poor,\" he said. \"I'll give you a pound.\"\n\nAliena wondered how he could be so sure the sack was full. Perhaps you could tell with practice. She watched him weigh out a pound of silver pennies.\n\nSome monks were approaching with a huge cart piled high with sacks of wool. Aliena decided to get her business done before the monks. She beckoned to Richard, and he dragged their sack of wool off the cart and brought it up to the counter.\n\nThe merchant examined the wool. \"Mixed quality,\" he said. \"Half a pound.\"\n\n\"What?\" Aliena said incredulously.\n\n\"A hundred and twenty pennies,\" he said.\n\nAliena was horrified. \"But you just paid a pound for a sack!\"\n\n\"It's because of the quality.\"\n\n\"You paid a pound for poor quality!\"\n\n\"Half a pound,\" he repeated stubbornly.\n\nThe monks arrived and crowded the stall, but Aliena was not going to move: her livelihood was at stake, and she was more frightened of destitution than she was of the merchant. \"Tell me why,\" she insisted. \"There's nothing wrong with the wool, is there?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then give me what you paid those two men.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" she almost screamed.\n\n\"Because nobody pays a girl what they would pay a man.\"\n\nShe wanted to strangle him. He was offering her less than she had paid. It was outrageous. If she accepted his price, all her work would have been for nothing. Worse than that, her scheme for providing a livelihood for herself and her brother would have failed, and her brief period of independence and self-sufficiency would be over. And why? Because he would not pay a girl the same as he paid a man!\n\nThe leader of the monks was looking at her. She hated people to stare at her. \"Stop staring!\" she said rudely. \"Just do your business with this godless peasant.\"\n\n\"All right,\" the monk said mildly. He beckoned to his colleagues and they dragged up a sack.\n\nRichard said: \"Take the ten shillings, Allie. Otherwise we'll have nothing but a sack of wool!\"\n\nAliena stared angrily at the merchant as he examined the monks' wool. \"Mixed quality,\" he said. She wondered if he ever pronounced wool good quality. \"A pound and twelvepence a sack.\"\n\nWhy did it have to happen that Meg went away? thought Aliena bitterly. Everything would have been all right if she had stayed.\n\n\"How many sacks have you got?\" said the merchant.\n\nA young monk in novice's robes said: \"Ten,\" but the leader said: \"No, eleven.\" The novice looked as if he was inclined to argue, but he said nothing.\n\n\"That's eleven and a half pounds of silver, plus twelvepence.\" The merchant began to weigh out the money.\n\n\"I won't give in,\" Aliena said to Richard. \"We'll take the wool somewhere else\u2014Shiring, perhaps, or Gloucester.\"\n\n\"All that way! And what if we can't sell it there?\"\n\nHe was right\u2014they might have the same trouble elsewhere. The real difficulty was that they had no status, no support, no protection. The merchant would not dare to insult the monks, and even the poor peasants could probably cause trouble for him if he dealt unfairly with them, but there was no risk to a man who tried to cheat two children with nobody in the world to help them.\n\nThe monks were dragging their sacks into the merchant's shed. As each one was stashed, the merchant handed to the chief monk a weighed pound of silver and twelve pennies. When all the sacks were in, there was a bag of silver still on the counter.\n\n\"That's only ten sacks,\" said the merchant.\n\n\"I told you there was only ten,\" the novice said to the chief monk.\n\n\"This is the eleventh,\" said the chief monk, and he put his hand on Aliena's sack.\n\nShe stared at him in astonishment.\n\nThe merchant was equally surprised. \"I've offered her half a pound,\" he said.\n\n\"I've bought it from her,\" the monk said. \"And I've sold it to you.\" He nodded to the other monks and they dragged Aliena's sack into the shed.\n\nThe merchant looked disgruntled, but he handed over the last pound bag and twelve more pennies. The monk gave the money to Aliena.\n\nShe was dumbstruck. Everything had been going wrong and now this complete stranger had rescued her\u2014after she had been rude to him, too!\n\nRichard said: \"Thank you for helping us, Father.\"\n\n\"Give thanks to God,\" said the monk.\n\nAliena did not know what to say. She was thrilled. She hugged the money to her chest. How could she thank him? She stared at her savior. He was a small, slight, intense-looking man. His movements were quick and he looked alert, like a small bird with dull plumage but bright eyes. His eyes were blue, in fact. The fringe of hair around his shaved pate was black streaked with gray, but his face was young. Aliena began to realize that he was vaguely familiar. Where had she seen him before?\n\nThe monk's mind was going along the same path. \"You don't remember me, but I know you,\" he said. \"You're the children of Bartholomew, the former earl of Shiring. I know you've suffered great misfortunes, and I'm glad to have a chance to help you. I'll buy your wool anytime.\"\n\nAliena wanted to kiss him. Not only had he saved her today, he was prepared to guarantee her future! She found her tongue at last. \"I don't know how to thank you,\" she said. \"God knows, we need a protector.\"\n\n\"Well, now you have two,\" he said. \"God, and me.\"\n\nAliena was profoundly moved. \"You've saved my life, and I don't even know who you are,\" she said.\n\n\"My name is Philip,\" he said. \"I'm the prior of Kingsbridge.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "It was a great day when Tom Builder took the stonecutters to the quarry.\n\nThey went a few days before Easter, fifteen months after the old cathedral burned down. It had taken this long for Prior Philip to amass enough cash to hire craftsmen.\n\nTom had found a forester and a master quarryman in Salisbury, where the Bishop Roger's palace was almost complete. The forester and his men had now been at work for two weeks, finding and felling tall pine trees and mature oaks. They were concentrating their efforts on the woods near the river, upstream from Kingsbridge, for it was very costly to transport materials on the winding mud roads, and a lot of money could be saved by simply floating the wood downstream to the building site. The timber would be roughly lopped for scaffolding poles, carefully shaped into templates to guide the masons and stonecarvers, or\u2014in the case of the tallest trees\u2014set aside for future use as roof beams. Good wood was now arriving in Kingsbridge at a steady rate and all Tom had to do was pay the foresters every Saturday evening.\n\nThe quarrymen had arrived over the last few days. The master quarryman, Otto Blackface, had brought with him his two sons, both of whom were stonecutters; four grandsons, all apprentices; and two laborers, one his cousin and the other his brother-in-law. Such nepotism was normal, and Tom had no objection to it: a family group usually made a good team.\n\nAs yet there were no craftsmen working in Kingsbridge, on the site itself, other than Tom and the priory's carpenter. It was a good idea to stockpile some materials. But soon Tom would hire the people who formed the backbone of the building team, the masons. They were the men who put one stone on another and made the walls rise. Then the great enterprise would begin. Tom walked with a spring in his step: this was what he had hoped for and worked toward for ten years.\n\nThe first mason to be hired, he had decided, would be his own son Alfred. Alfred was sixteen years old, approximately, and had acquired the basic skills of a mason: he could cut stones square and build a true wall. As soon as hiring began, Alfred would get full wages.\n\nTom's other son, Jonathan, was fifteen months old and growing fast. A sturdy child, he was the pampered pet of the whole monastery. Tom had worried a little, at first, about the baby being looked after by the half-witted Johnny Eightpence, but Johnny was as attentive as any mother and had more time than most mothers to devote to his charge. The monks still did not suspect that Tom was Jonathan's father, and now they probably never would.\n\nSeven-year-old Martha had a gap in her front teeth and she missed Jack. She was the one who worried Tom most, for she needed a mother.\n\nThere was no shortage of women who would like to marry Tom and take care of his little daughter. He was not an unattractive man, he knew, and his livelihood looked secure now that Prior Philip was starting to build in earnest. Tom had moved out of the guesthouse and had built himself a fine two-room house, with a chimney, in the village. Eventually, as master builder in charge of the whole project, he could expect a salary and benefits that would be the envy of many minor gentry. But he could not conceive of marrying anyone but Ellen. He was like a man who has got used to drinking the finest wine, and now finds that everyday wine tastes like vinegar. There was a widow in the village, a plump, pretty woman with a smiling face and a generous bosom and two well-behaved children, who had baked several pies for him and kissed him longingly at the Christmas feast, and would marry him as quick as he liked. But he knew that he would be unhappy with her, for he would always hanker after the excitement of being married to the unpredictable, infuriating, bewitching, passionate Ellen.\n\nEllen had promised to come back, one day, to visit. Tom felt fiercely certain that she would keep that promise, and he clung to it stubbornly, even though it was more than a year since she had walked out. And when she did come back he was going to ask her to marry him.\n\nHe thought she might accept him now. He was no longer destitute: he could feed his own family and hers too. He felt that Alfred and Jack could be prevented from fighting, if they were handled right. If Jack were made to work, Alfred would not resent him so badly, Tom thought. He was going to offer to take Jack as an apprentice. The lad had shown an interest in building, he was as bright as a button, and in a year or so he would be big enough for the heavy work. Then Alfred would not be able to say that Jack was idle. The other problem was that Jack could read and Alfred could not. Tom was going to ask Ellen to teach Alfred to read and write. She could give him lessons every Sunday. Then Alfred would be able to feel every bit as good as Jack. The boys would be equal, both educated, both working, and before long much the same size.\n\nHe knew Ellen had really liked living with him, despite all their trials. She liked his body and she liked his mind. She would want to come back to him.\n\nWhether he would be able to square things with Prior Philip was another matter. Ellen had insulted Philip's religion rather decisively. It was hard to imagine anything more offensive to a prior than what she had done. Tom had not yet solved that problem.\n\nMeanwhile, all his intellectual energy was employed in planning the cathedral. Otto and his team of stonecutters would build a rough lodge for themselves at the quarry, where they could sleep at night. When they were settled in, they would build real houses, and those who were married would bring their families to live with them.\n\nOf all the building crafts, quarrying required the least skill and the most muscle. The master quarryman did the brainwork: he decided which zones would be mined and in what order; he arranged for ladders and lifting gear; if a sheer face was to be worked he would design scaffolding; he made sure there was a constant supply of tools coming from the smithy. Actually digging out the stones was relatively simple. The quarryman would use an ironheaded pickax to make an initial groove in the rock, then deepen it with a hammer and chisel. When the groove was big enough to weaken the rock, he would drive a wooden wedge into it. If he had judged his rock rightly, it would split exactly where he wanted.\n\nLaborers removed the stones from the quarry, either carrying them on stretchers or lifting them with a rope attached to a huge winding wheel. In the lodge, stonecutters with axes would hack the stones roughly into the shape specified by the master builder. Accurate carving and shaping would be done at Kingsbridge, of course.\n\nThe biggest problem would be transport. The quarry was a day's journey from the building site, and a carter would probably charge fourpence a trip\u2014and he could not carry more than eight or nine of the big stones without breaking his cart or killing his horse. As soon as the quarrymen were settled in, Tom had to explore the area and see whether there were any waterways that could be used to shorten the journey.\n\nThey had set off from Kingsbridge at daybreak. As they walked through the forest, the trees arching over the road made Tom think of the piers of the cathedral he would build. The new leaves were just coming out. Tom had always been taught to decorate the cushion capitals on top of the piers with scrolls or zigzags, but now it occurred to him that decorations in the shape of leaves would look rather striking.\n\nThey made good time, so that by midafternoon they were in the vicinity of the quarry. To his surprise, Tom heard in the distance the sound of metal clanging on rock, as if someone was working there. Technically the quarry belonged to the earl of Storing, Percy Hamleigh, but the king had given Kingsbridge Priory the right to mine it for the cathedral. Perhaps, Tom speculated, Earl Percy intended to work the quarry for his own benefit at the same time as the priory worked it. The king probably had not specifically prohibited that, but it would cause a lot of inconvenience.\n\nAs they drew nearer, Otto, a dark-skinned man with a rough manner, frowned at the sound, but he said nothing. The other men muttered to one another uneasily. Tom ignored them but he walked faster, impatient to find out what was going on.\n\nThe road curved through a patch of woodland and ended at the base of a hill. The hill itself was the quarry, and a huge bite had been taken out of its side by past quarry men. Tom's initial impression was that it would be easy to work: a hill was bound to be better than a pit, for it was always less trouble to lower stones from a height than to lift them out of a hole.\n\nThe quarry was being worked, no question of that. There was a lodge at the foot of the hill, a sturdy scaffold reaching twenty feet or more up the scarred hillside, and a stack of stones waiting to be collected. Tom could see at least ten quarrymen. Ominously, there were a couple of hard-faced men-at-arms lounging outside the lodge, throwing stones at a barrel.\n\n\"I don't like the look of this,\" said Otto.\n\nTom did not like it either, but he pretended to be unperturbed. He marched into the quarry as if he owned it, and walked swiftly toward the two men-at-arms. They scrambled to their feet with the startled, faintly guilty air of sentries who have been on guard for too many uneventful days. Tom quickly looked over their weapons: each had a sword and a dagger, and they wore heavy leather jerkins, but they had no armor. Tom himself had a mason's hammer hanging from his belt. He was in no position to get into a fight. He walked straight at the two men without speaking, then at the last minute turned aside and walked around them, and continued on to the lodge. They looked at one another, unsure what to do: if Tom had been smaller, or had not had a hammer, they might have been quicker to stop him, but now it was too late.\n\nTom went into the lodge. It was a spacious wood building with a fireplace. Clean tools hung around the walls and there was a big stone in the corner for sharpening them. Two stonecutters stood at a massive wooden bench called a banker, trimming stones with axes. \"Greetings, brothers,\" Tom said, using the form of address of one craftsman to another. \"Who's the master here?\"\n\n\"I'm the master quarryman,\" said one of them. \"I'm Harold of Shiring.\"\n\n\"I'm the master builder at Kingsbridge Cathedral. My name is Tom.\"\n\n\"Greetings, Tom Builder. What are you here for?\"\n\nTom studied Harold for a moment before answering. He was a pale, dusty man with small dusty-green eyes, which he narrowed when he spoke, as if he were always blinking away stone dust. He leaned casually on the banker, but he was not as relaxed as he pretended. He was nervous, wary and apprehensive. He knows exactly why I'm here, Tom thought. \"I've brought my master quarryman to work here, of course.\"\n\nThe two men-at-arms had followed Tom in, and Otto and his team had come in behind them. Now one or two of Harold's men also crowded in, curious to see what the fuss was about.\n\nHarold said: \"The quarry is owned by the earl. If you want to take stone you'll have to see him.\"\n\n\"No, I won't,\" Tom said. \"When the king gave the quarry to Earl Percy, he also gave Kingsbridge Priory the right to take stone. We don't need any further permission.\"\n\n\"Well, we can't all work it, can we?\"\n\n\"Perhaps we can,\" said Tom. \"I wouldn't want to deprive your men of employment. There's a whole hill of rock\u2014enough for two cathedrals and more. We should be able to find a way to manage the quarry so that we can all cut stone here.\"\n\n\"I can't agree to that,\" said Harold. \"I'm employed by the earl.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm employed by the prior of Kingsbridge, and my men start work here tomorrow morning, whether you like it or not.\"\n\nOne of the men-at-arms spoke up then. \"You won't be working here tomorrow or any other day.\"\n\nUntil this moment Tom had been clinging to the idea that although Percy was violating the spirit of the royal edict by mining the quarry himself, if he was pushed he would adhere to the letter of the agreement, and permit the priory to take stone. But this man-at-arms had obviously been instructed to turn the priory's quarrymen away. That was a different matter. Tom realized, with sinking spirits, that he was not going to get any stone without a fight.\n\nThe man-at-arms who had spoken was a short, stocky fellow of about twenty-five years, with a pugnacious expression. He looked stupid but stubborn\u2014the hardest type to reason with. Tom gave him a challenging look and said: \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I'm a bailiff for the earl of Shiring. He's told me to guard this quarry, and that's what I'm going to do.\"\n\n\"And how do you propose to do it?\"\n\n\"With this sword.\" He touched the hilt of the weapon at his belt.\n\n\"And what do you think the king will do to you when you're brought before him for breaking his peace?\"\n\n\"I'll take my chances.\"\n\n\"But there are only two of you,\" Tom said in a reasonable tone of voice. \"We're seven men and four boys, and we have the king's permission to work here. If we kill you, we won't hang.\"\n\nBoth men-at-arms looked thoughtful, but before Tom could press his advantage, Otto spoke. \"Just a minute,\" he said to Tom. \"I brought my people here to cut stones, not fight.\"\n\nTom's heart sank. If the quarrymen were not prepared to make a stand, there was no hope. \"Don't be so timid!\" he said. \"Are you going to let yourselves be deprived of work by a couple of bully-boys?\"\n\nOtto looked surly. \"I'm not going to fight armed men,\" he replied. \"I've been earning steadily for ten years and I'm not that desperate for work. Besides, I don't know the rights and wrongs of this\u2014as far as I'm concerned it's your word against theirs.\"\n\nTom looked at the rest of Otto's team. Both the stonecutters wore the same obstinate look as Otto. Of course, they would follow his lead: he was their father as well as their master. And Tom could see Otto's point. Indeed, if he were in Otto's position he would probably take the same line. He would not get into a brawl with armed men unless he was desperate.\n\nBut knowing that Otto was being reasonable gave Tom no comfort; in fact it made him even more frustrated. He decided to give it one more try. \"There won't be any fighting,\" he said. \"They know the king will hang them if they hurt us. Let's just make our fire, and settle down for the night, and start work in the morning.\"\n\nMentioning the night was a mistake. One of Otto's sons said: \"How could we sleep, with these murdering villains nearby?\"\n\nThe others murmured agreement.\n\n\"We'll set watches,\" Tom said desperately.\n\nOtto shook his head decisively. \"We're leaving tonight. Now.\"\n\nTom looked around at the men and saw that he was defeated. He had set out this morning with such high hopes, and he could hardly believe that his plans had been frustrated by these petty thugs. It was too galling for words. He could not resist a bitter parting shot. \"You're going against the king, and that's a dangerous business,\" he said to Harold. \"You tell the earl of Shiring that. And tell him that I'm Tom Builder of Kingsbridge, and if I ever get my hands around his fat neck I might just squeeze it until he chokes.\"\n\nJohnny Eightpence made a miniature monk's robe for little Jonathan, complete with wide sleeves and a hood. The tiny figure looked so fetching in it that he melted everyone's heart, but it was not very practical: the hood kept falling forward, obscuring his vision, and when he crawled the robe got in the way of his knees.\n\nIn the middle of the afternoon, when Jonathan had had his nap (and the monks had had theirs), Prior Philip came across the baby, with Johnny Eightpence, in what had been the nave of the church, and was now the novices' playground. This was the time of day when the novices were allowed to let off steam, and Johnny was watching them play tag while Jonathan investigated the network of pegs and cord with which Tom Builder had laid out the ground plan of the east end of the new cathedral.\n\nPhilip stood beside Johnny for a few moments in companionable silence, watching the youngsters race around. Philip was very fond of Johnny, who made up for his lack of brains by having an extraordinarily good heart.\n\nJonathan was on his feet now, leaning against a stake Tom had driven into the ground where the north porch would be. He held on to the cord attached to the stake, and with that unsteady support took a couple of awkward, deliberate steps. \"He'll be walking soon,\" Philip said to Johnny.\n\n\"He keeps trying, Father, but he generally falls on his bottom.\"\n\nPhilip crouched down and reached out his hands to Jonathan. \"Walk to me,\" he said. \"Come on.\"\n\nJonathan grinned, showing miscellaneous teeth. He took another step holding on to Tom's cord. Then he pointed at Philip, as if that would help, and with a sudden access of boldness, he crossed the intervening space with three rapid, decisive steps.\n\nPhilip caught him in his arms and said: \"Well done!\" He hugged him, feeling as proud as if the achievement were his, not the baby's.\n\nJohnny was equally excited. \"He walked! He walked!\"\n\nJonathan struggled to be put down. Philip set him on his feet, to see if he would walk again; but he had had enough for one day, and he immediately dropped to his knees and crawled to Johnny.\n\nSome of the monks had been scandalized, Philip recalled, when he had brought Johnny and baby Jonathan to Kingsbridge; but Johnny was easy to deal with so long as you did not forget that he was essentially a child in a man's body; and Jonathan had overcome all opposition by sheer force of personal charm.\n\nJonathan had not been the only cause of unrest during that first year. Having voted for a good provider, the monks felt cheated when Philip introduced an austerity drive to reduce the priory's day-to-day expenses. Philip had been a little hurt: he felt he had made it clear that his top priority would be the new cathedral. The monastic officers had also resisted his plan to take away their financial independence, even though they knew perfectly well that without reforms the priory was headed for ruin. And when he had spent money on enlarging the monastery's flocks of sheep there had almost been a mutiny. But monks were essentially people who wanted to be told what to do; and Bishop Waleran, who might have encouraged the rebels, had spent most of the year going to Rome and coming back; so in the end muttering was as far as the monks had got.\n\nPhilip had suffered some lonely moments, but he was sure results would vindicate him. His policies were already bearing fruit in a very satisfying way. The price of wool had risen again, and Philip had already started shearing: that was why he could afford to hire foresters and quarrymen. As the financial position improved and cathedral building progressed, his position as prior would become unassailable.\n\nHe gave Johnny Eightpence an affectionate pat on the head and walked through the building site. With some help from priory servants and younger monks, Tom and Alfred had made a start on digging the foundations. However, they were only five or six feet deep as yet. Tom had told Philip that the foundation holes would have to be twenty-five feet deep in places. He would need a large force of laborers, plus some lifting gear, to dig so far down.\n\nThe new church would be bigger than the old one, but it would still be small for a cathedral. A part of Philip wanted it to be the longest, highest, richest and most beautiful cathedral in the kingdom, but he suppressed the wish, and told himself to be grateful for any kind of church.\n\nHe went into Tom's shed and looked at the woodwork on the bench. The builder had spent most of the winter in here, working with an iron measuring stick and a set of fine chisels, making what he called templates\u2014wooden models for the masons to use as guides when they were cutting stones into shape. Philip had watched with admiration while Tom, a big man with big hands, precisely and painstakingly carved the wood into perfect curves and square corners and exact angles. Now Philip picked up one of the templates and examined it. It was shaped like the edge of a daisy, a quarter-circle with several round projections like petals. What sort of stone needed to be that shape? He found that these things were hard to visualize, and he was constantly impressed by the power of Tom's imagination. He looked at Tom's drawings, engraved on plaster in wooden frames, and eventually he decided that he was holding a template for the piers of the arcade, which would look like clusters of shafts. Philip had thought they would actually be clusters of shafts, but now he realized that would be an illusion: the piers would be solid stone columns with shaft-like decorations.\n\nFive years, Tom had said, and the east end would be finished. Five years, and Philip would be able to hold services in a cathedral again. All he had to do was find the money. This year it had been hard to scrape together enough cash to make a modest start, because his reforms were slow to take effect; but next year, after he had sold the new spring's wool, he would be able to hire more craftsmen and begin to build in earnest.\n\nThe bell rang for vespers. Philip left the little shed and walked to the crypt entrance. Glancing over at the priory gate, he was astonished to see Tom Builder coming in with all the quarrymen. Why were they back? Tom had said he would be away for a week and the quarrymen were to have stayed there indefinitely. Philip hurried to meet them.\n\nAs he came close he saw that they looked tired and dispirited, as if something terribly discouraging had happened. \"What is it?\" he said. \"Why are you here?\"\n\n\"Bad news,\" said Tom Builder.\n\nPhilip simmered with fury all through vespers. What Earl Percy had done was outrageous. There was no doubt about the rights and wrongs of the case, no ambiguity about the king's instructions: the earl had been there himself when the announcement was made, and the priory's right to mine the quarry was enshrined in a charter. Philip's right foot tapped the stone floor of the crypt in an urgent, angry rhythm. He was being robbed. Percy might as well steal pennies from a church treasury. There was no shred of an excuse for it. Percy was flagrantly defying both God and the king. But the worst of it was that Philip could not build the new cathedral unless he got the stone for nothing from that quarry. He was already working with a bare-minimum budget, and if he had to pay the market price for his stone, and transport it from even farther away, he could not build at all. He would have to wait another year or more, and then it would be six or seven years before he could hold services in a cathedral again. The thought was too much to bear.\n\nHe held an emergency chapter immediately after vespers and told the monks the news.\n\nHe had developed a technique for handling chapter meetings. Remigius, the sub-prior, still bore a grudge against Philip for defeating him in the election, and he often let his resentment show when monastery business was discussed. He was a conservative, unimaginative, pedantic man, and his whole approach to the running of the priory conflicted with Philip's. The brothers who had supported Remigius in the election tended to back him in chapter: Andrew, the apoplectic sacrist; Pierre, the circuitor, who was responsible for discipline and had the narrow-minded attitudes that seemed to go with the job; and John Small, the lazy treasurer. Similarly, Philip's closest colleagues were the men who had campaigned for him: Cuthbert Whitehead, the old cellarer; and young Milius, to whom Philip had given the newly created post of bursar, controller of the priory's finances. Philip always let Milius argue with Remigius. Philip had normally discussed anything important with Milius before the meeting, and when he had not, Milius could be relied on to present a point of view close to Philip's own. Then Philip could sum up like an impartial arbiter, and although Remigius rarely got his way, Philip would often accept some of his arguments, or adopt part of his proposal, to maintain the feeling of consensus government.\n\nThe monks were enraged by what Earl Percy had done. They had all rejoiced when King Stephen had given the priory unlimited free timber and stone, and now they were scandalized that Percy should defy the king's order.\n\nWhen the protests died down, however, Remigius had another point to make. \"I remember saying this a year ago,\" he began. \"The pact according to which the quarry is owned by the earl but we have quarrying rights was always unsatisfactory. We should have held out for total ownership.\"\n\nThe fact that there was some justice in this remark did not make it any easier for Philip to swallow. Total ownership was what he had agreed with Lady Regan, but she had cheated him out of it at the last minute. He was tempted to say that he had got the best deal he could, and he would like to see Remigius do any better in the treacherous maze of the royal court; but he bit his tongue, for he was, after all, the prior, and he had to take responsibility when things went wrong.\n\nMilius came to his rescue. \"It's all very well to wish the king had given us outright ownership of the quarry, but he didn't, and the main question is, what do we do now?\"\n\n\"I should think that's fairly obvious,\" Remigius said immediately. \"We can't expel the earl's men ourselves, so we'll have to get the king to do it. We must send a deputation to him and ask him to enforce his charter.\"\n\nThere was a murmur of agreement. Andrew, the sacrist, said: \"We should send our wisest and most fluent speakers.\"\n\nPhilip realized that Remigius and Andrew saw themselves as leading the delegation.\n\nRemigius said: \"After the king hears what has happened, I don't think Percy Hamleigh will be earl of Shiring much longer.\"\n\nPhilip was not so sure of that.\n\n\"Where is the king?\" Andrew said as an afterthought. \"Does anybody know?\"\n\nPhilip had recently been to Winchester, and had heard there of the king's movements. \"He's gone to Normandy,\" he said.\n\nMilius quickly said: \"It will take a long time to catch up with him.\"\n\n\"The pursuit of justice always requires patience,\" Remigius intoned pompously.\n\n\"But every day we spend pursuing justice, we're not building our new cathedral,\" Milius replied. His tone of voice showed that he was exasperated by Remigius's ready acceptance of a delay to the building program. Philip shared that feeling. Milius went on: \"And that's not our only problem. Once we've found the king, we have to persuade him to hear us. That can take weeks. Then he may give Percy the chance to defend himself\u2014more delay....\"\n\n\"How could Percy possibly defend himself?\" Remigius said testily.\n\nMilius replied: \"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll think of something.\"\n\n\"But in the end the king is bound to stand by his word.\"\n\nA new voice was heard, saying: \"Don't be so sure.\" Everyone turned to look. The speaker was Brother Timothy, the oldest monk in the priory. A small, modest man, he spoke rarely, but when he did he was worth listening to. Philip occasionally thought Timothy should have been prior. He normally sat through chapter looking half asleep, but now he was leaning forward, his eyes bright with conviction. \"A king is a creature of the moment,\" he went on. \"He's constantly under threat, from rebels within his own kingdom and from neighboring monarchs. He needs allies. Earl Percy is a powerful man with a lot of knights. If the king needs Percy at the moment when we present our petition, we will be refused, quite regardless of the justice of our case. The king is not perfect. There is only one true judge, and that is God.\" He sat back, leaning against the wall and half closing his eyes, as if he were not in the least interested in how his speech was received. Philip concealed a smile: Timothy had precisely formulated Philip's own misgivings about going to the king for justice.\n\nRemigius was reluctant to give up the prospect of a long, exciting trip to France and a sojourn at the royal court; but at the same time he could not contradict Timothy's logic. \"What else can we do, then?\" he said.\n\nPhilip was not sure. The sheriff would not be able to intervene in this case: Percy was too powerful to be controlled by a mere sheriff. And the bishop could not be relied upon either. It was frustrating. But Philip was not willing to sit back and accept defeat. He would take over that quarry if he had to do it himself....\n\nNow there was an idea.\n\n\"Just a minute,\" he said.\n\nIt would involve all the able-bodied brothers in the monastery... it would have to be carefully organized, like a military operation without weapons... they would need food for two days....\n\n\"I don't know if this will work, but it's worth a try,\" he said. \"Listen.\"\n\nHe told them his plan.\n\nThey set out almost immediately: thirty monks, ten novices, Otto Blackface and his team of quarrymen, Tom Builder and Alfred, two horses and a cart. When darkness fell they lit lanterns to show them the road. At midnight they stopped to rest and eat the picnic the kitchen had hastily prepared: chicken, white bread and red wine. Philip had always believed that hard work should be rewarded by good food. When they marched on, they sang the service they should have been performing back at the priory.\n\nAt some point during the darkest hour, Tom Builder, who was leading the way, held up a hand to stop them. He said to Philip: \"Only a mile more to the quarry.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Philip. He turned to the monks. \"Take off your clogs and sandals, and put on the felt boots.\" He took off his own sandals and pulled on a pair of the soft felt boots that peasants wore in winter.\n\nHe singled out two novices. \"Edward and Philemon, stay here with the horses and the cart. Keep quiet, and wait until full daylight; then join us. Is that clear?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father,\" they said together.\n\n\"All right, the rest of you,\" Philip said. \"Follow Tom Builder, now, in complete silence, please.\"\n\nThey all walked on.\n\nThere was a light west wind blowing, and the rustling of the trees covered the sound of fifty men breathing and fifty pairs of felt boots shuffling. Philip began to feel tense. His plan seemed a little crazy now that he was about to put it into operation. He said a silent prayer for success.\n\nThe road curved to the left, and then the flickering lanterns dimly showed a wooden lodge, a stack of part-finished stone blocks, some ladders and scaffolding, and in the background a dark hillside disfigured by the white scars of quarrying. Philip suddenly wondered whether the men asleep in the lodge had dogs. If they did, Philip would lose the element of surprise, and the whole scheme would be jeopardized. But it was too late to back out now.\n\nThe whole crowd shuffled past the lodge. Philip held his breath, expecting at any moment to hear a cacophony of barking. But there were no dogs.\n\nHe brought his people to a halt around the base of the scaffolding. He was proud of them for being so quiet. It was difficult for people to stay silent even in church. Perhaps they were too frightened to make a noise.\n\nTom Builder and Otto Blackface began silently to place the quarrymen around the site. They divided them into two groups. One group gathered near the rock face at ground level. The others mounted the scaffolding. When they were all in position, Philip directed the monks, with gestures, to stand or sit around the workmen. He himself stayed apart from the rest, at a point halfway between the lodge and the rock face.\n\nTheir timing was perfect. Dawn came a few moments after Philip made his final dispositions. He took a candle from inside his cloak and lit it from a lantern, then he faced the monks and lifted the candle. It was a prearranged signal. Each of the forty monks and novices took out a candle and lit it from one of the three lanterns. The effect was dramatic. Day broke over a quarry occupied by silent, ghostly figures each holding a small, flickering light.\n\nPhilip turned again to face the lodge. As yet there was no sign of life. He settled down to wait. Monks were good at that. Standing still for hours was part of their everyday life. The workmen were not so used to it, however, and they began to get impatient after a while, shuffling their feet and murmuring to one another in low voices; but it did not matter now.\n\nEither the muttering or the strengthening daylight woke the inhabitants of the lodge. Philip heard someone cough and spit, then there was a scraping noise as of a bar being lifted from behind a door. He held up his hand for dead silence.\n\nThe door of the lodge swung open. Philip kept his hand in the air. A man came out rubbing his eyes. Philip knew him, from Tom's description, to be Harold of Shiring, the master quarryman. Harold did not see anything unusual at first. He leaned against the doorpost and coughed again, the deep, bubbling cough of a man who has too much stone dust in his lungs. Philip dropped his hand. Somewhere behind him, the cantor hit a note, and immediately all the monks began to sing. The quarry was flooded with eerie harmonies.\n\nThe effect on Harold was devastating. His head jerked up as if it had been pulled by a string. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw the spectral choir that had appeared, as if by magic, in his quarry. A cry of fear escaped from his open mouth, He staggered back through the door of the lodge.\n\nPhilip permitted himself a satisfied smile. It was a good start.\n\nHowever, the supernatural dread would not last very long. He lifted his hand again and waved it without turning around. In response to his signal the quarrymen started to work and the clang of iron on rock punctuated the music of the choir.\n\nTwo or three faces peeped fearfully from the doorway. The men soon realized they were looking at ordinary, corporeal monks and workmen, not visions or spirits, and they stepped out of the lodge for a better view. Two men-at-arms came out, buckling their sword belts, and stood staring. This was the crucial moment for Philip: what would the men-at-arms do?\n\nThe sight of them, big and bearded and dirty, with their chainlink belts, their swords and daggers, and their heavy leather jerkins, brought back to Philip a vivid, crystal-clear memory of the two soldiers who had burst into his home when he was six years old and killed his mother and father. He was stabbed, suddenly and unexpectedly, by grief for the parents he hardly remembered. He stared with loathing at Earl Percy's men, not seeing them but seeing instead an ugly man with a bent nose and a dark man with blood in his beard; and he was filled with rage and disgust and a fierce determination that such mindless, godless ruffians should be defeated.\n\nFor a while they did nothing. Gradually all the earl's quarrymen came out of the lodge. Philip counted them: there were twelve workmen plus the men-at-arms.\n\nThe sun peeped over the horizon.\n\nThe Kingsbridge quarrymen were already digging out stones. If the men-at-arms wanted to stop them, they would have to lay hands on the monks who surrounded and protected the workers. Philip had gambled that the men-at-arms would hesitate to do violence to praying monks.\n\nSo far he was right: they were hesitating.\n\nThe two novices who had been left behind now arrived, leading the horses and the cart. They looked around fearfully. Philip indicated with a gesture where they should pull up. Then he turned, met Tom Builder's eye, and nodded.\n\nSeveral stones had been cut by this time, and now Tom directed some of the younger monks to pick up the stones and carry them to the cart. The earl's men watched this new development with interest. The stones were too heavy to be lifted by one man, so they had to be lowered from the scaffolding by ropes, then carried across the ground on stretchers. As the first stone was manhandled into the cart, the men-at-arms went into a huddle with Harold. Another stone was put into the cart. The two men-at-arms separated from the crowd around the lodge and walked over to the cart. One of the novices, Philemon, climbed into the cart and sat on the stones, looking defiant. Brave lad! thought Philip, but he was afraid.\n\nThe men approached the cart. The four monks who had carried the two stones stood in front of it, forming a barrier. Philip tensed. The men stopped and stood face to face with the monks. They both put their hands to the hilts of their swords. The singing stopped as everyone watched with bated breath.\n\nSurely, Philip thought, they won't be able to bring themselves to put defenseless monks to the sword. Then he thought how easy it would be for them, big strong men who were accustomed to the slaughter of the battlefield, to run their sharp swords through these people from whom they had nothing to fear, not even retaliation. Then again, they must consider the divine punishment they would risk by murdering men of God. Even thugs such as these must know that eventually they would stand at the Day of Judgment. Were they afraid of the eternal fire? Perhaps; but they were also afraid of their employer, Earl Percy. Philip guessed that the thought uppermost in their minds must be whether he would consider they had an adequate excuse for their failure to keep the Kingsbridge men out of the quarry. He watched them, hesitating in front of a handful of young monks, hands on their swords, and imagined them weighing the danger of failing Percy against the wrath of God.\n\nThe two men looked at one another. One shook his head. The other shrugged. Together, they walked out of the quarry.\n\nThe cantor hit a new note and the monks burst into a triumphant hymn. A shout of victory went up from the quarrymen. Philip sagged with relief. For a moment it had looked dreadfully dangerous. He could not help beaming with pleasure. The quarry was his.\n\nHe blew out his candle and went over to the cart. He embraced each of the four monks who had faced the men-at-arms, and the two novices who had brought the cart. \"I'm proud of you,\" he said warmly. \"And I believe God is too.\"\n\nThe monks and the quarrymen were all shaking hands and congratulating one another. Otto Blackface came over to Philip and said: \"That was well done, Father Philip. You're a brave man, if I may say so.\"\n\n\"God protected us,\" Philip said. His eye fell on the earl's quarry men, standing in a disconsolate group around the door of their lodge. He did not want to make enemies of them, for while they were at a loose end there would always be a danger that Percy would use them to make further trouble. Philip decided to speak to them.\n\nHe took Otto's arm and led him over to the lodge. \"God's will has been done here today,\" he said to Harold. \"I hope there are no hard feelings.\"\n\n\"We're out of work,\" Harold said. \"That's a hard feeling.\"\n\nPhilip suddenly saw a way to get Harold's men on his side. Impulsively he said: \"You can be back in work today, if you want. Work for me. I'll hire your whole team. You won't even have to move out of your lodge.\"\n\nHarold was surprised at this turn of events. He looked startled, then recovered his composure and said: \"At what wages?\"\n\n\"Standard rates,\" Philip replied promptly. \"Twopence a day for craftsmen, a penny a day for laborers, fourpence for yourself, and you pay your own apprentices.\"\n\nHarold turned away and looked at his colleagues. Philip drew Otto away to let them discuss the proposal in private. Philip could not really afford twelve more men, and if they accepted his offer he would have to postpone further the day when he could hire masons. That meant he would be cutting stone faster than he could use it. He would build up a stockpile, but it would be bad for his flow of cash. However, having all Percy's quarrymen on the priory payroll would be a good defensive move. If Percy wanted to try again to work the quarry himself, he would first have to hire a team of quarrymen; which might be difficult, once the news of today's events got around. And if at some future date Percy should try another stratagem to close the quarry, Philip would have a stockpile of stone.\n\nHarold appeared to be arguing with his men. After a few moments he left them and approached Philip again. \"Who's to be in charge, if we work for you?\" he said. \"Me, or your own master quarry man?\"\n\n\"Otto here is in charge,\" Philip said without hesitation. Harold certainly could not be in charge, in case his loyalty should be won back by Percy. And there could not be two masters, for that would lead to disputes. \"You can still run your own team,\" Philip said to Harold. \"But Otto will be over you.\"\n\nHarold looked disappointed and returned to his men. The discussion continued. Tom Builder joined Philip and Otto. \"Your plan worked, Father,\" he said with a broad grin. \"We repossessed the quarry without shedding a drop of blood. You're amazing.\"\n\nPhilip was inclined to agree, and realized he was guilty of the sin of pride. \"It was God who worked the miracle,\" he said, reminding himself as well as Tom.\n\nOtto said: \"Father Philip has offered to hire Harold and his men to work with me.\"\n\n\"Really!\" Tom looked displeased. It was the master builder who was supposed to recruit craftsmen, not the prior. \"I shouldn't have thought he could afford it.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" Philip admitted. \"But I don't want these men hanging around with nothing to do, waiting for Percy to think of another way to get the quarry back.\"\n\nTom looked thoughtful, then he nodded. \"And it will do no harm to have a reserve of stone in case Percy succeeds.\"\n\nPhilip was glad Tom saw the sense of what he had done.\n\nHarold seemed to be reaching agreement with his men. He came back to Philip and said: \"Will you pay the wages to me, and leave me to distribute the money as I think fit?\"\n\nPhilip was dubious. That meant the master could take more than his share. But he said: \"It's up to the master builder.\"\n\n\"It's common enough,\" Tom said. \"If that's what your team wants, I'm willing.\"\n\n\"In that case, we accept,\" Harold said.\n\nHarold and Tom shook hands. Philip said: \"So everyone gets what they want. Good!\"\n\n\"There's one who hasn't got what they want,\" Harold said.\n\n\"Who's that?\" said Philip.\n\n\"Earl Percy's wife, Regan,\" Harold said lugubriously. \"When she finds out what's happened here there's going to be blood all over the floor.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "There was no hunting today, so the young men at Earlscastle played one of William Hamleigh's favorite games, stoning the cat.\n\nThere were always plenty of cats in the castle, and one more or less made no difference. The men closed the doors and shuttered the windows of the hall of the keep, and pushed the furniture up against the wall so that the cat could not hide behind anything; then they made a pile of stones in the middle of the room. The cat, an aging mouser with gray in its fur, sensed the bloodlust in the air and sat near the door, hoping to get out.\n\nEach man had to put a penny into the pot for each stone he threw, and the man who threw the fatal stone took the pot.\n\nAs they drew lots to determine the order of throwing, the cat became agitated, pacing up and down in front of the door.\n\nWalter threw first. This was lucky, for although the cat was wary it did not know the nature of the game, and might be taken by surprise. With his back to the animal, Walter picked a stone from the pile and concealed it in his hand; then he turned around slowly and threw suddenly.\n\nHe missed. The stone thudded into the door and the cat jumped and ran. The others jeered.\n\nIt was unlucky to throw second, for the cat was fresh and light on its feet, whereas later it would be tired and possibly injured. A young squire was next. He watched the cat run around the room, looking for a way out, and waited until it slowed down; then he threw. It was a good shot but the cat saw it coming and dodged it. The men groaned.\n\nIt ran around the room again, faster now, getting panicky, jumping up onto the trestles and boards that were stacked against the wall, jumping back down to the floor. An older knight threw next. He feinted a throw, to see which way the cat would jump, then threw for real when it was running, aiming a little ahead of it. The others applauded his cunning, but the cat saw the stone coming and stopped suddenly, avoiding it.\n\nIn desperation the cat tried to squeeze behind an oak chest in a corner. The next thrower saw an opportunity and seized it: he threw quickly, while the cat was stationary, and struck its rump. A great cheer went up. The cat gave up trying to squeeze behind the chest and ran on around the room, but now it was limping and it moved more slowly.\n\nIt was William's turn next.\n\nHe thought he could probably kill the cat if he was careful. In order to tire it a little more he yelled at it, making it run faster for a moment; then he feinted a throw, with the same effect. If one of the others had delayed like this he would have been booed, but William was the earl's son, so they waited patiently. The cat slowed down, obviously in pain. It approached the door hopefully. William drew back his arm. Unexpectedly the cat stopped against the wall beside the door. William began to throw. Before the stone left his hand the door was flung open, and a priest in black stood there. William threw, but the cat sprang like an arrow from a bow, howling triumphantly. The priest in the doorway gave a frightened, high-pitched shriek, and clutched at the skirts of his robes. The young men burst out laughing. The cat cannoned into the priest's legs, then landed on its feet and shot out through the door. The priest stood frozen in an attitude of fright, like an old woman scared by a mouse, and the young men roared with laughter.\n\nWilliam recognized the priest. It was Bishop Waleran.\n\nHe laughed all the more. The fact that the womanish priest who had been frightened by a cat was also a rival of the family made it even better.\n\nThe bishop recovered his composure very quickly. He flushed red, pointed an accusing finger at William, and said in a grating voice: \"You'll suffer eternal torment in the lowest depths of hell.\"\n\nWilliam's laughter turned to terror in a flash. His mother had given him nightmares, when he was small, by telling him what the devils did to people in hell, burning them in the flames and poking their eyes out and cutting off their private parts with sharp knives, and ever since then he hated to hear talk of it, \"Shut up!\" he screamed at the bishop. The room fell silent. William drew his knife and walked toward Waleran. \"Don't you come here preaching, you snake!\" Waleran did not look frightened at all, just intrigued, as if he was interested to have discovered William's weakness; and that made William angrier still. \"I'll swing for you, so help me\u2014\"\n\nHe was mad enough to knife the bishop, but he was stopped by a voice from the staircase behind him. \"William! Enough!\"\n\nIt was his father.\n\nWilliam stopped and, after a moment, sheathed his knife.\n\nWaleran came into the hall. Another priest followed him and shut the door behind him: Dean Baldwin.\n\nFather said: \"I'm surprised to see you, Bishop.\"\n\n\"Because last time we met, you induced the prior of Kingsbridge to double-cross me? Yes, I suppose you would be surprised. I'm not normally a forgiving man.\" He turned his icy gaze on William again for a moment, then looked back at Father. \"But I don't bear a grudge when it's against my interest. We need to talk.\"\n\nFather nodded thoughtfully. \"You'd better come upstairs. You too, William.\"\n\nBishop Waleran and Dean Baldwin climbed the stairs to the earl's quarters, and William followed. He felt let down because the cat had escaped. On the other hand, he realized that he too had had a lucky escape: if he had touched the bishop he probably would have been hanged for it. But there was something about Waleran's delicacy, his preciousness, that William hated.\n\nThey went into Father's chamber, the room where William had raped Aliena. He remembered that scene every time he was here: her lush white body, the fear on her face, the way she had screamed, the twisted expression on her little brother's face as he had been forced to look on, and then\u2014William's masterstroke\u2014the way he had let Walter enjoy her afterward. He wished he had kept her here, a prisoner, so that he could have her anytime he wanted.\n\nHe had thought about her obsessively ever since. He had even tried to track her down. A verderer had been caught trying to sell William's war-horse in Shiring, and had confessed, under torture, that he had stolen it from a girl answering to the description of Aliena. William had learned from the Winchester jailer that she had visited her father before he died. And his friend Mistress Kate, the owner of a brothel he frequented, had told him she had offered Aliena a place in her house. But the trail had petered out. \"Don't let her prey on your mind, Willy-boy,\" Kate had said sympathetically. \"You want big tits and long hair? We've got it. Take Betty and Millie together, tonight, four big breasts all to yourself, why don't you?\" But Betty and Millie had not been innocent, and white-skinned, and frightened half to death; and they had not pleased him. In fact, he had not achieved real satisfaction with a woman since that night with Aliena here in the earl's chamber.\n\nHe put the thought of her out of his mind. Bishop Waleran was speaking to Mother. \"I suppose you know that the prior of Kingsbridge has taken possession of your quarry?\"\n\nThey did not know. William was astonished, and Mother was furious. \"What?\" she said. \"How?\"\n\n\"Apparently your men-at-arms succeeded in turning away the quarry men, but the next day when they woke up they found the quarry overrun with monks singing hymns, and they were afraid to lay hands on men of God. Prior Philip then hired your quarrymen, and now they're all working together in perfect harmony. I'm surprised the men-at-arms didn't come back to you to report.\"\n\n\"Where are they, the cowards?\" Mother screeched. She was red in the face. \"I'll see to them\u2014I'll make them cut off their own balls\u2014\"\n\n\"I see why they didn't come back,\" Waleran said.\n\n\"Never mind the men-at-arms,\" Father said. \"They're just soldiers. That sly prior is the one responsible. I never imagined he could pull a trick like this. He's outwitted us, that's all.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Waleran. \"For all his air of saintly innocence, he's got the cunning of a house rat.\"\n\nWilliam thought that Waleran, too, was like a rat, a black one with a pointed snout and sleek black hair, sitting in a corner with a crust in its paws, darting wary glances around the room as it nibbled its dinner. Why was he interested in who occupied the quarry? He was as cunning as Prior Philip: he, too, was plotting something.\n\nMother said: \"We can't let him get away with this. The Hamleighs must not be seen to be defeated. That prior must be humiliated.\"\n\nFather was not so sure. \"It's only a quarry,\" he said. \"And the king did\u2014\"\n\n\"It's not just the quarry, it's the family's honor,\" Mother interrupted. \"Never mind what the king said.\"\n\nWilliam agreed with Mother. Philip of Kingsbridge had defied the Hamleighs, and he had to be crushed. If people were not afraid of you, you had nothing. But he did not see what the problem was. \"Why don't we go in with some men and just throw the prior's quarrymen out?\"\n\nFather shook his head. \"It's one thing to obstruct the king's wishes passively, as we did by working the quarry ourselves; but quite another to send armed men to expel workmen who are there by express permission of the king. I could lose the earldom for that.\"\n\nWilliam reluctantly saw his point of view. Father was always cautious, but he was usually justified.\n\nBishop Waleran said: \"I have a suggestion.\" William had felt sure he had something up his embroidered black sleeve. \"I believe this cathedral should not be built at Kingsbridge.\"\n\nWilliam was mystified by this remark. He did not see its relevance. Nor did Father. But Mother's eyes widened, she stopped scratching her face for a moment, and she said thoughtfully: \"That's an interesting idea.\"\n\n\"In the old days most cathedrals were in villages such as Kingsbridge,\" Waleran went on. \"Many of them were moved to towns sixty or seventy years ago, during the time of the first King William. Kingsbridge is a small village in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing there but a rundown monastery that isn't rich enough to maintain a cathedral, let alone build one.\"\n\nMother said: \"And where would you wish it built?\"\n\n\"Shiring,\" said Waleran. \"It's a big town\u2014the population must be a thousand or more\u2014and it has a market and an annual fleece fair. And it's on a main road. Shiring makes sense. And if we both campaign for it\u2014the bishop and the earl united\u2014we could push it through.\"\n\nFather said: \"But if the cathedral were at Shiring, the Kingsbridge monks would not be able to look after it.\"\n\n\"That's the point,\" Mother said impatiently. \"Without the cathedral, Kingsbridge would be nothing, the priory would sink back into obscurity, and Philip would once again be a nonentity, which is what he deserves.\"\n\n\"So who would look after the new cathedral?\" Father persisted.\n\n\"A new chapter of canons,\" Waleran said. \"Appointed by me.\"\n\nWilliam had been as puzzled as his father, but now he began to see Waleran's thinking: in moving the cathedral to Shiring, Waleran would also take personal control of it.\n\n\"What about the money?\" said Father. \"Who would pay for the new cathedral, if not Kingsbridge Priory?\"\n\n\"I think we'd find that most of the priory's property is dedicated to the cathedral,\" Waleran said. \"If the cathedral moves, the property goes with it. For example, when King Stephen divided up the old earldom of Shiring, he gave the hill farms to Kingsbridge Priory, as we know only too well; but he did that in order to help finance the new cathedral. If we told him that someone else was building the new cathedral, he would expect the priory to release those lands to the new builders. The monks would put up a fight, of course; but examination of their charters would settle the matter.\"\n\nThe picture was becoming clearer to William. Not only would Waleran get control of the cathedral by this stratagem; he would also get his hands on most of the priory's wealth.\n\nFather was thinking the same thing. \"It's a grand scheme for you, Bishop, but what's in it for me?\"\n\nIt was Mother who answered him. \"Can't you see?\" she said tetchily. \"You own Shiring. Think how much prosperity would come to the town along with the cathedral. There would be hundreds of craftsmen and laborers building the church for years: they all have to live somewhere and pay you rent, and buy food and clothing at your market. Then there will be the canons who run the cathedral; and the worshipers who will come to Shiring instead of Kingsbridge at Easter and Whitsun for the big services; and the pilgrims who come to visit the shrines.... They all spend money.\" Her eyes were bright with greed. William could not remember seeing her so enthusiastic for a long time. \"If we handle this right, we could turn Shiring into one of the most important cities in the kingdom!\"\n\nAnd it will be mine, William thought. When Father dies I will be the earl.\n\n\"All right,\" said Father. \"It will ruin Philip, it will bring power to you, Bishop, and it will make me rich. How could it be done?\"\n\n\"The decision to move the location of the cathedral must be made by the archbishop of Canterbury, theoretically.\"\n\nMother looked at him sharply. \"Why 'theoretically'?\"\n\n\"Because there is no archbishop just now. William of Corbeil died at Christmas and King Stephen has not yet nominated his successor. However, we know who is likely to get the job: our old friend Henry of Winchester. He wants the job; the pope has already given him interim control; and his brother is the king.\"\n\n\"How much of a friend is he?\" said Father. \"He didn't do much for you when you were trying to get this earldom.\"\n\nWaleran shrugged. \"He'll help me if he can. We'll have to make a convincing case.\"\n\nMother said: \"He won't want to make powerful enemies, just now, if he's hoping to be made archbishop.\"\n\n\"Correct. But Philip isn't powerful enough to matter. He's not likely to be consulted about the choice of archbishop.\"\n\n\"So why shouldn't Henry just give us what we want?\" William asked.\n\n\"Because he's not the archbishop, not yet; and he knows that people are watching him to see how he behaves during his caretakership. He wants to be seen making judicious decisions, not just handing out favors to his friends. Plenty of time for that after the election.\"\n\nMother said reflectively: \"So the best that can be said is that he will listen sympathetically to our case. What is our case?\"\n\n\"That Philip can't build a cathedral, and we can.\"\n\n\"And how shall we persuade him of that?\"\n\n\"Have you been to Kingsbridge lately?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I was there at Easter.\" Waleran smiled. \"They haven't started building yet. All they've got is a flat piece of ground with a few stakes banged into the soil and some ropes marking where they hope to build. They've started digging foundations, but they've only gone down a few feet. There's a mason working there with his apprentice, and the priory carpenter, and occasionally a monk or two doing some laboring. It's a very unimpressive sight, especially in the rain. I'd like Bishop Henry to see it.\"\n\nMother nodded sagely. William could see that the plan was good, even though he hated the thought of collaborating with the loathsome Waleran Bigod.\n\nWaleran went on: \"We'll brief Henry beforehand on what a small and insignificant place Kingsbridge is, and how poor the monastery is; then we'll show him the site where it has taken them more than a year to dig a few shallow holes; then we'll take him to Shiring and impress him with how fast we could build a cathedral there, with the bishop and the earl and the townspeople all putting their maximum energies into the project.\"\n\n\"Will Henry come?\" Mother said anxiously.\n\n\"All we can do is ask,\" Waleran replied. \"I'll invite him to visit on WhitSunday in his archiepiscopal role. That will flatter him by implying that we already consider him to be the archbishop.\"\n\nFather said: \"We must keep this secret from Prior Philip.\"\n\n\"I don't think that will be possible,\" Waleran said. \"The bishop can't make a surprise visit to Kingsbridge\u2014it would look very odd.\"\n\n\"But if Philip knows in advance that Bishop Henry is coming, he might make a big effort to advance the building program.\"\n\n\"What with? He hasn't any money, especially now that he's hired all your quarrymen. Quarrymen can't build walls.\" Waleran shook his head from side to side with a satisfied smile. \"In fact, there isn't a thing he can do except hope the sun shines on WhitSunday.\"\n\nAt first Philip was pleased that the bishop of Winchester was to come to Kingsbridge. It would mean an open-air service, of course, but that was all right. They would hold it where the old cathedral used to be. In case of rain, the priory carpenter would build a temporary shelter over the altar and the area immediately around it, to keep the bishop dry; and the congregation could just get wet. The visit seemed like an act of faith on Bishop Henry's part, as if he were saying that he still considered Kingsbridge to be a cathedral, and the lack of a real church was just a temporary problem.\n\nHowever, it occurred to him to wonder what Henry's motive was. The usual reason for a bishop to visit a monastery was to get free food, drink and lodging for himself and his entourage; but Kingsbridge was famous\u2014not to say notorious\u2014for the plainness of its food and the austerity of its accommodation, and Philip's reforms had merely raised its standard from dreadful to barely adequate. Henry was also the richest clergyman in the kingdom, so he certainly was not coming to Kingsbridge for its food and drink. But he had struck Philip as a man who did nothing without a reason.\n\nThe more Philip thought about it, the more he suspected that Bishop Waleran had something to do with it. He had expected Waleran to arrive at Kingsbridge within a day or two of the letter, to discuss arrangements for the service and hospitality for Henry, and to make sure Henry would be pleased and impressed with Kingsbridge; and as the days went by and Waleran did not show up, Philip's misgivings deepened.\n\nHowever, even in his most mistrustful moments he had not dreamed of the treachery that was revealed, ten days before Whitsun, by a letter from the prior of Canterbury Cathedral. Like Kingsbridge, Canterbury was a cathedral run by Benedictine monks, and monks always helped one another if they could. The prior of Canterbury, who naturally worked closely with the acting archbishop, had learned that Waleran had invited Henry to Kingsbridge for the express purpose of persuading him to move the diocese, and the new cathedral, to Shiring.\n\nPhilip was shocked. His heart beat faster and the hand holding the letter trembled. It was a fiendishly clever move by Waleran, and Philip had not anticipated it, had not imagined anything like it.\n\nIt was his own lack of foresight that shook him. He knew how treacherous Waleran was. The bishop had tried to double-cross him, a year ago, over the Shiring earldom. And he would never forget how angry Waleran had been when Philip had outwitted him. He could picture Waleran's face, suffused with rage, as he said I swear by all that's holy, you'll never build your church. But as time went by the menace of that oath had faded, and Philip's guard had slipped. Now here was a brutal reminder that Waleran had a long memory.\n\n\"Bishop Waleran says you have no money, and in fifteen months you have built nothing,\" the prior of Canterbury wrote. \"He says that Bishop Henry will see for himself that the cathedral will never get built if it is left to Kingsbridge Priory to build it. He argues that the time to make the move is now, before any real progress is made.\"\n\nWaleran was too cunning to get caught in an outright lie, so he was purveying a gross exaggeration. Philip had in fact achieved a great deal. He had cleared the ruins, approved the plans, laid out the new east end, made a start on the foundations, and begun felling trees and quarrying stone. But he did not have much to show a visitor. And he had overcome terrific obstacles to achieve this much\u2014reforming the priory's finances, winning a major grant of lands from the king, and defeating Earl Percy over the quarry. It was not fair!\n\nWith the letter from Canterbury in his hand, he went to his window and looked out over the building site. Spring rains had turned it into a sea of mud. Two young monks with their hoods pulled over their heads were carrying timber up from the riverside. Tom Builder had made a contraption with a rope and a pulley for lifting barrels of earth out of the foundation hole, and he was operating the winding wheel while his son Alfred, down in the hole, filled the barrels with wet mud. They looked as though they could work at that pace forever and never make any difference. Anyone but a professional would see this scene and conclude that no cathedral would be built here this side of the Day of Judgment.\n\nPhilip left the window and returned to his writing desk. What could be done? For a moment he was tempted to do nothing. Let Bishop Henry come and look, and make his own decision, he thought. If the cathedral is to be built at Shiring, so be it. Let Bishop Waleran take control of it and use it for his own ends; let it bring prosperity to the town of Shiring and the evil Hamleigh dynasty. God's will be done.\n\nHe knew that would not do, of course. Having faith in God did not mean sitting back and doing nothing. It meant believing that you would find success if you did your best honestly and energetically. Philip's holy duty was to do all he could to prevent the cathedral from falling into the hands of cynical and immoral people who would exploit it for their own aggrandizement. That meant showing Bishop Henry that his building program was well under way and Kingsbridge had the energy and determination to finish it.\n\nWas it true? The fact was that Philip was going to find it mortally difficult to build a cathedral here. Already he had almost been forced to abandon the project just because the earl refused him access to the quarry. But he knew he would succeed, in the end, because God would help him. However, his own conviction would not be enough to persuade Bishop Henry.\n\nHe decided he would do his best to make the site look more impressive, for what it was worth. He would set all the monks to work for the ten days remaining before Whitsun. Perhaps they could get part of the foundation hole dug to its full depth, so that Tom and Alfred could begin laying the foundation stones. Perhaps a part of the foundation could be completed up to ground level, so that Tom could start building a wall. That would be a little better than the present scene, but not much. What Philip really needed was a hundred laborers, but he did not have the money even for ten.\n\nBishop Henry would arrive on a Sunday, of course, so nobody would be working, unless Philip were to co-opt the congregation. That would provide a hundred laborers. He imagined himself standing up in front of them and announcing a new kind of Whitsun service: instead of singing hymns and saying prayers, we're going to dig holes and carry stones. They would be astonished. They would...\n\nWhat would they do, actually?\n\nThey would probably cooperate wholeheartedly.\n\nHe frowned. Either I'm crazy, he thought, or this idea could actually work.\n\nHe thought about it some more. I get up at the end of the service, and I say that today's penance for forgiveness of all sins is half a day's labor on the cathedral building site. Bread and ale will be provided at dinnertime.\n\nThey would do it. Of course they would.\n\nHe felt the need to try the idea out on someone else. He considered Milius, but rejected him: Milius's thought processes were too similar to his own. He needed someone with a slightly different outlook. He decided to talk to Cuthbert Whitehead, the cellarer. He pulled on his cloak, drew the hood forward to keep the rain off his face, and went out.\n\nHe hurried across the muddy building site, passing Tom with a perfunctory wave, and made for the kitchen courtyard. This range of buildings now included a hen house, a cow shed and a dairy, for Philip did not like to spend scarce cash on simple commodities that the monks could provide for themselves, such as eggs and butter.\n\nHe entered the cellarer's storeroom in the undercroft below the kitchen. He inhaled the dry, fragrant air, full of the herbs and spices Cuthbert had stored. Cuthbert was counting garlic, peering at the strings of bulbs and muttering numbers in an undertone. Philip saw with a small shock that Cuthbert was getting old: his flesh seemed to be wasting away beneath his skin.\n\n\"Thirty-seven,\" Cuthbert said aloud. \"Would you like a cup of wine?\"\n\n\"No, thank you.\" Philip found that wine in the daytime made him lazy and short-tempered. No doubt that was why Saint Benedict counseled monks to drink in moderation. \"I want your advice, not your victuals. Come and sit down.\"\n\nNegotiating a path through the boxes and barrels, Cuthbert stumbled over a sack and almost fell before sitting on a three-legged stool in front of Philip. The storeroom was not as tidy as it had once been, Philip noted. He was struck by a thought. \"Are you having trouble with your eyesight, Cuthbert?\"\n\n\"It's not what it was, but it will do,\" Cuthbert said shortly.\n\nHis eyes had probably been poor for years\u2014that might even be why he had never learned to read very well. However, he was obviously touchy about it, so Philip said no more, but made a mental note to begin grooming a replacement cellarer. \"I've had a very disturbing letter from the prior of Canterbury,\" he said, and he told Cuthbert about Bishop Waleran's scheming. He concluded by saying: \"The only way to make the site look like a hive of activity is to get the congregation to work on it. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't do that?\"\n\nCuthbert did not even think about it. \"On the contrary, it's a good idea,\" he said immediately.\n\n\"It's a little unorthodox, isn't it?\" Philip said.\n\n\"It's been done before.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Philip was surprised and pleased. \"Where?\"\n\n\"I've heard of it in several places.\"\n\nPhilip was excited. \"Does it work?\"\n\n\"Sometimes. It probably depends on the weather.\"\n\n\"How is it managed? Does the priest make an announcement at the end of the service, or what?\"\n\n\"It's more organized than that. The bishop, or prior, sends out messengers to the parish churches, announcing that forgiveness for sins may be had in return for work on the building site.\"\n\n\"That's a grand idea,\" Philip said enthusiastically. \"We might get a bigger congregation than usual, attracted by the novelty.\"\n\n\"Or a smaller one,\" Cuthbert said. \"Some people would rather give money to the priest, or light a candle to a saint, than spend all day wading in mud and carrying heavy stones.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that,\" Philip said, suddenly deflated. \"Perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all.\"\n\n\"What other ideas have you got?\"\n\n\"Not one.\"\n\n\"Then you'll have to try this, and hope for the best, won't you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Philip. \"Hope for the best.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "Philip did not sleep at all during the night before WhitSunday.\n\nThere had been a week of sunshine, perfect for his plan\u2014more people would volunteer in fine weather\u2014but as darkness fell on the Saturday, it began to rain. He lay awake listening disconsolately to the raindrops on the roof and the wind in the trees. He felt he had prayed enough. God must be fully aware of the circumstances now.\n\nOn the previous Sunday, every monk in the priory had visited one or more churches to speak to the congregations and tell them they could obtain forgiveness for their sins by working on the cathedral building site on Sundays. On WhitSunday they would get forgiveness for the past year, and thereafter a day of labor was worth a week of routine sins, excluding murder and sacrilege. Philip himself had gone to the town of Shiring, and had spoken at each of its four parish churches. He had sent two monks to Winchester to visit as many as possible of the multitude of small churches in that city. Winchester was two days' journey away, but Whitsun was a six-day holiday, and people would make such a trip for a big fair or a spectacular service. In total, many thousands of people had heard the message. There was no knowing how many might respond.\n\nFor the rest of the time they had all been working on the site. The good weather and the long days of early summer had helped, and they had achieved most of what Philip had hoped for. The foundation had been laid for the wall at the easternmost end of the chancel. Some of the foundation for the north wall had been dug to its full depth, ready for foundation stones to be laid; and Tom had built enough lifting mechanisms to keep scores of people busy digging the rest of the vast hole, if scores of people should turn up. In addition, the riverbank was crowded with timber sent downstream by the foresters and with stones from the quarry, all of which had to be carried up the slope to the cathedral site. There was work here for hundreds.\n\nBut would anyone come?\n\nAt midnight Philip got up and walked through the rain to the crypt for matins. When he returned after the service, the rain had stopped. He did not go back to bed, but sat up reading. Nowadays this period between midnight and dawn was the only time he had for study and meditation, for the whole of the day was always taken up with the administration of the monastery.\n\nTonight, however, he had trouble concentrating, and his mind kept returning to the prospect of the day ahead, and the chances of success or failure. Tomorrow he could lose everything he had worked for over the past year and more. It occurred to him, perhaps because he was feeling fatalistic, that he ought not to want success for its own sake. Was it his pride that was at stake here? Pride was the sin he was most vulnerable to. Then he thought of all the people who depended on him for support, protection and employment: the monks, the priory servants, the quarrymen, Tom and Alfred, the villagers of Kingsbridge and the worshipers of the whole county. Bishop Waleran would not care for them the way Philip did. Waleran seemed to think he was entitled to use people any way he chose in the service of God. Philip believed that caring for people was the service of God. That was what salvation was about. No, it could not be God's will that Bishop Waleran should win this contest. Perhaps my pride is at stake, a little bit, Philip admitted to himself; but there are men's souls in the balance too.\n\nAt last dawn cracked the night, and once again he walked to the crypt, this time for the service of prime. The monks were restless and excited: they knew that today was crucial to their future. The sacrist hurried through the service, and for once Philip forgave him.\n\nWhen they left the crypt and headed toward the refectory for breakfast it was fully light, and there was a clear blue sky. God had sent the weather they had prayed for, at least. It was a good start.\n\nTom Builder knew that his future was at stake today.\n\nPhilip had shown him the letter from the prior of Canterbury. Tom was sure that if the cathedral was built at Shiring, Waleran would hire his own master builder. He would not want to use a design Philip had approved, nor would he risk employing someone who might be loyal to Philip. For Tom, it was Kingsbridge or nothing. This was the only opportunity he would ever get to build a cathedral, and it was in jeopardy today.\n\nHe was invited to attend chapter with the monks in the morning. This happened occasionally. Usually it was because they were going to discuss the building program and might need his expert opinion on questions of design, cost or timetabling. Today he was going to make arrangements for employing the volunteer workers, if any came. He wanted the site to be a hive of busy, efficient activity when Bishop Henry arrived.\n\nHe sat patiently through the readings and the prayers, not understanding the Latin words, thinking about his plans for the day; then Philip switched to English and called on him to outline the organization of the work.\n\n\"I shall be building the east wall of the cathedral and Alfred will be laying stone in the foundations,\" Tom began. \"The aim, in both cases, is to show Bishop Henry how far advanced the building is.\"\n\n\"How many men will the two of you need to help you?\" Philip asked.\n\n\"Alfred will need two laborers to bring the stones to him. He'll be using material from the ruins of the old church. He'll also need someone to make mortar. I'll also need a mortar maker and two laborers. Alfred can use misshapen stones in the foundations, as long as they're flat top and bottom; but my stones will have to be properly dressed, since they will be visible aboveground, so I've brought two stonecutters back from the quarry to help me.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"All that is very important for impressing Bishop Henry, but most of the volunteers will be digging the foundations.\"\n\n\"That's right. The foundations are marked out for the whole of the chancel of the cathedral, and most of them are still only a few feet deep. Monks must man the winding gear\u2014I've instructed several of you how to do it\u2014and the volunteers can fill the barrels.\"\n\nRemigius said: \"What if we get more volunteers than we can use?\"\n\n\"We can employ just about any number,\" Tom said. \"If we haven't enough lifting devices, people can carry earth out of the holes in buckets and baskets. The carpenter will have to stand by to make extra ladders\u2014we've got the timber.\"\n\n\"But there's a limit to the number of people who can get down in that foundation hole,\" Remigius persisted.\n\nTom had the feeling that Remigius was just argumentative. \"It will take several hundred,\" he said testily. \"It's a big hole.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"And there's other work to be done, besides digging.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" Tom said. \"The other main area of work is carrying timber and stone up to the site from the riverside. You monks must make sure the materials are stacked in the right places on the site. The stones should go beside the foundation holes, but on the outside of the church, where they won't get in the way. The carpenter will tell you where to put the timber.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Will all the volunteers be unskilled?\"\n\n\"Not necessarily. If we get people from the towns, there may be some craftsmen among them\u2014I hope so. We must find out who they are and use them. Carpenters can build lodges for winter work. Any masons can cut stones and lay foundations. If there's a blacksmith, we'll put him to work in the village forge, making tools. All that sort of thing will be tremendously useful.\"\n\nMilius the bursar said: \"That's all quite clear. I'd like to get started. Some of the villagers are here already, waiting to be told what to do.\"\n\nThere was something else Tom needed to tell them, something important but subtle, and he was searching for the right words. Monks could be arrogant, and might alienate the volunteers. Tom wanted today's operation to be easygoing and cheerful. \"I've worked with volunteers before,\" he began. \"It's important not to... not to treat them like servants. We may feel that they are laboring to obtain a heavenly reward, and should therefore work harder than they would for money; but they don't necessarily take that attitude. They feel they're working for nothing, and doing a great kindness to us thereby; and if we seem ungrateful they will work slowly and make mistakes. It will be best to rule them with a light touch.\"\n\nHe caught Philip's eye and saw that the prior was suppressing a smile, as if he knew what misgivings underlay Tom's honeyed words. \"A good point,\" Philip said. \"If we handle them right, these people will feel happy and uplifted, and that will create a good atmosphere, which will make a positive impression on Bishop Henry.\" He looked around at the assembled monks. \"If there are no more questions, let's begin.\"\n\nAliena had enjoyed a year of security and prosperity under the wing of Prior Philip.\n\nAll her plans had worked. She and Richard had toured the countryside buying fleeces from peasants all last spring and summer, selling to Philip every time they had a standard woolsack. They had ended the season with five pounds of silver.\n\nFather had died just a few days after they saw him, although Aliena did not find out until Christmas. She had located his grave, after spending much hard-earned silver on bribes, in a pauper's cemetery in Winchester. She cried hard, not just for him but for the life they had lived together, secure and carefree, the life that would never come back. In a way she had said goodbye to him before he died: when she left the jail she knew she would never see him again. In another way he was still with her, for she was bound by the oath he had made her swear, and she was resigned to spending her life doing his will.\n\nDuring the winter she and Richard lived in a small house up against the wall of Kingsbridge Priory. They had built a cart, buying the wheels from the Kingsbridge cartwright, and in the spring they had bought a young ox to pull it. The shearing season was now in full swing and already they had made more than the cost of the ox and the new cart. Next year, perhaps she would employ a man to help her, and find Richard a place as a page in the household of a minor noble, so that he could begin his knightly training.\n\nBut it was all dependent on Prior Philip.\n\nAs an eighteen-year-old girl on her own, she was still considered fair game by every thief and many legitimate traders. She had tried to sell a sack of wool to merchants in Shiring and Gloucester, just to see what would happen, and both times she had been offered half price. There was never more than one merchant in a town so they knew she had no alternative. Eventually she would have her own storehouse, and sell her entire stock to the Flemish buyers; but that time was a long way off. Meanwhile she was dependent on Philip.\n\nAnd Philip's position had suddenly become precarious.\n\nShe was constantly alert to danger from outlaws and thieves, but it had come as a great shock to her, when everything was going smoothly, to have her whole livelihood threatened in such an unexpected way.\n\nRichard had not wanted to work on the cathedral building site on WhitSunday\u2014he was nothing if not ungrateful\u2014but Aliena had bullied him into agreeing, and the two of them walked the few yards to the priory close soon after sunrise. Almost the whole village had turned out: thirty or forty men, some of them with their wives and children. Aliena was surprised, until she reflected that Prior Philip was their lord, and when your lord asked for volunteers it was probably unwise to refuse. In the past year she had gained a startling new perspective on the lives of ordinary people.\n\nTom Builder was giving the villagers their assignments. Richard immediately went to speak to Tom's son Alfred. They were almost the same age\u2014Richard was fifteen and Alfred about a year older\u2014and they played football with the other boys in the village every Sunday. The little girl, Martha, was here too, but the woman, Ellen, and the funny-looking boy with red hair had disappeared, no one knew where. Aliena remembered when Tom's family had come to Earlscastle. They had been destitute then. Like Aliena, they had been saved by Prior Philip.\n\nAliena and Richard were given a shovel each and told to dig foundations. The ground was damp but the sun was out and it would soon dry the surface. Aliena began to dig energetically. Even with fifty people working, it took a long time to make the holes noticeably deeper. Richard rested on his shovel rather frequently. One time Aliena said: \"If you ever want to be a knight, dig!\" But it made no difference.\n\nShe was thinner and stronger than she had been a year ago, thanks to tramping the roads and lifting heavy loads of raw wool, but now she found that digging could still make her back ache. She was grateful when Prior Philip rang a bell and declared a break. Monks brought hot bread from the kitchen and served weak beer. The sun was growing stronger, and some of the men stripped to the waist.\n\nWhile they were resting, a group of strangers came through the gate. Aliena looked at them hopefully. There were just a handful of them, but perhaps they were the forerunners of a large crowd. They came over to the table where the bread and beer was being handed out, and Prior Philip welcomed them.\n\n\"Where are you from?\" he asked as they gulped gratefully at their pots of beer.\n\n\"From Horsted,\" one of them replied, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. That was promising: Horsted was a village of two or three hundred people a few miles west of Kingsbridge. They might hope for another hundred volunteers from there, with luck.\n\n\"And how many of you are coming, in all?\" Philip asked.\n\nThe man looked surprised at the question. \"Just us four,\" he replied.\n\nDuring the next hour people trickled through the priory gate until, by midmorning, there were seventy or eighty volunteers at work, including the villagers. Then the flow stopped altogether.\n\nIt was not enough.\n\nPhilip stood at the east end, watching Tom build a wall. He had already constructed the bases of two buttresses up to the level of the third course of stones, and now he was building the wall between. It would probably never be finished, Philip thought despondently.\n\nThe first thing Tom did, when the laborers brought him a stone, was to take out an iron instrument shaped like the letter L and use it to check that the edges of the stone were square. Then he would shovel a layer of mortar on to the wall, furrow the mortar with the point of his trowel, put the new stone on, and scrape off the surplus mortar. In placing the stone he was guided by a taut string which was stretched between the two buttresses.\n\nPhilip noticed that the stone was almost as smooth on the top and bottom, where the mortar was, as on the side that would show. This surprised him, and he asked Tom the reason. \"A stone must never touch the ones above or below,\" Tom replied. \"That's what the mortar's for.\"\n\n\"Why must they not touch?\"\n\n\"It causes cracks.\" Tom stood upright to explain. \"If you tread on a slate roof, your foot will go through it; but if you put a plank across the roof, you can walk on it without damaging the slates. The plank spreads the weight, and that's what mortar does.\"\n\nPhilip had never thought of that. Building was an intriguing business, especially with someone like Tom, who was able to explain what he was doing.\n\nThe roughest face of the stone was the back. Surely, Philip thought, that face would be visible from inside the church? Then he recalled that Tom was in fact building a double-skinned wall with a cavity between, so that the back of each stone would be hidden.\n\nWhen Tom had laid the stone on the bed of mortar, he picked up his level. This was an iron triangle with a leather thong attached to its apex and some markings on its base. The thong had a lead weight attached to it so that it always hung straight down. He put the base of the instrument on the stone and watched how the leather thong fell. If it hung to one side or the other of the center line, he would tap the stone with his hammer until it was exactly level. Then he would move the instrument until it straddled the join between the two adjacent stones, to check that the tops of the stones were exactly in line. Finally he turned the instrument sideways on the stone to make sure it was not leaning one way or the other. Before picking up a new stone he would snap the taut string to satisfy himself that the faces of the stones were in a straight line. Philip had not realized it was so important that stone walls should be precisely straight and true.\n\nHe lifted his gaze to the rest of the building site. It was so big that eighty men and women and a few children were lost in it. They were working away cheerfully in the sunshine, but they were so few that it seemed to him there was an air of futility about their efforts. He had originally hoped for a hundred people, but now he saw that even that would not have been enough.\n\nAnother little group came through the gateway, and Philip forced himself to go to greet them with a smile. There was no need for them to know that their efforts would be wasted. They would gain forgiveness for their sins, anyway.\n\nIt was a large group, he saw as he approached them. He counted twelve, and then two more came in. Perhaps after all he would have a hundred people by midday, when the bishop was expected. \"God bless you all,\" he said to them. He was about to tell them where to start digging when he was interrupted by a loud shout. \"Philip!\"\n\nHe frowned disapprovingly. The voice belonged to Brother Milius. Even Milius was supposed to call Philip \"Father\" in public. Philip looked in the direction from which the voice came. Milius was balancing on the priory wall in a somewhat undignified stance. In a calm but carrying voice, Philip said: \"Brother Milius, get off the wall.\"\n\nTo his astonishment Milius stayed there and shouted: \"Come and look at this!\"\n\nThe new arrivals were getting a poor impression of monastic obedience, Philip thought, but he could not help wondering what it was that had got Milius so excited that he had forgotten all his manners. \"Come here and tell me about it, Milius,\" he said in a voice he normally reserved for noisy novices.\n\n\"You must look!\" Milius yelled.\n\nHe'd better have a very good reason for this, Philip thought crossly; but since he did not want to give his closest colleague a telling-off in front of all these strangers, he was obliged to smile and do as Milius asked. Feeling irritated to the point of anger, he walked across the muddy ground in front of the stable and jumped up onto the low wall. \"What is the meaning of this behavior?\" he hissed.\n\n\"Just look!\" Milius said, pointing.\n\nFollowing his gesture, Philip looked out, over the roofs of the village, past the river, to the road that followed the rise and fall of the land to the west. At first he could not believe his eyes. Between the fields of green crops, the undulating road was a solid mass of people, hundreds of them, all walking toward Kingsbridge. \"What is it?\" he said uncomprehendingly. \"An army?\" And then he realized that, of course, they were his volunteers. His heart leaped for joy. \"Look at them!\" he shouted. \"There must be five hundred\u2014a thousand\u2014more!\"\n\n\"That's right!\" Milius said happily. \"They came, after all!\"\n\n\"We're saved.\" Philip was too thrilled to remember why he was supposed to be angry with Milius. The mass of people filled the road all the way to the bridge, and the line wound through the village all the way to the priory gate. The people he had greeted were the head of a phalanx. They were pouring through the gate now, and milling about at the western end of the building site, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. \"Hallelujah!\" he yelled recklessly.\n\nIt was not enough to rejoice\u2014he had to use these people. He jumped down off the wall. \"Come on!\" he shouted to Milius. \"Call all the monks off laboring\u2014we're going to need them as marshals. Tell the kitchener to bake all the bread he can and roll out some more barrels of beer. We'll need more buckets and shovels. We must get all these people working before Bishop Henry arrives!\"\n\nFor the next hour Philip was frantically busy. At first, just to get people out of the way, he assigned a hundred or more to the task of bringing materials up from the riverbank. As soon as Milius had assembled a supervisory group of monks, he began sending the volunteers down into the foundations. They soon ran out of shovels, barrels and buckets. Philip ordered all the cooking pots brought from the kitchen, and set some of the volunteers to making rough timber boxes and basketwork platters for carrying earth. There were not enough ladders or lifting devices, so they made a long slope at one end of the largest foundation hole so that people could walk into and out of it. He realized he had not given sufficient thought to the question of where he was going to put the vast quantity of earth that was coming out of the foundations. Now it was too late to mull it over: he made a snap decision, and ordered the earth dumped on a patch of rocky ground near the river. Perhaps it might become cultivable. While he was giving that order, Bernard Kitchener came to him in a panic, saying he had only catered for two hundred people at most, and there seemed to be at least a thousand here. \"Build a fire in the kitchen courtyard and make soup in an iron bath,\" Philip said. \"Water the beer. Use all the stores. Get some of the villagers to prepare food on their own hearths. Improvise!\" He turned away from the kitchener and resumed organizing laborers.\n\nHe was still giving orders when someone tapped him on the shoulder and said in French: \"Prior Philip, may I have your attention for a moment?\" It was Dean Baldwin, Waleran Bigod's associate.\n\nPhilip turned around and saw the entire visiting party, all on horseback and gorgeously dressed, gazing in astonishment at the scene around them. There was Bishop Henry, a short, thickset man with a pugnacious look about him, his monkish haircut contrasting strangely with his embroidered scarlet coat. Beside him was Bishop Waleran, dressed in black as always, his dismay not quite concealed by his habitual look of frozen disdain. There was fat Percy Hamleigh, his strapping son, William, and his hideous wife, Regan: Percy and William were looking bemused, but Regan understood exactly what Philip had done and she was furious.\n\nPhilip returned his attention to Bishop Henry, and found to his surprise that the bishop was favoring him with a look of intense interest. Philip returned his gaze frankly. Bishop Henry's expression showed surprise, curiosity and a kind of amused respect. After a moment Philip approached the bishop, held his horse's head, and kissed the beringed hand that Henry proffered.\n\nHenry dismounted with a smooth, agile movement, and the rest of his party followed suit. Philip called a couple of monks to stable the horses. Henry was the same age as Philip, approximately, but his florid complexion and well-covered frame made him look older. \"Well, Father Philip,\" he said. \"I came to verify reports that you were not capable of getting a new cathedral built here at Kingsbridge.\" He paused, looked around at the hundreds of workers, then returned his gaze to Philip. \"It seems I was misinformed.\"\n\nPhilip's heart missed a beat. Henry could hardly make it plainer: Philip had won.\n\nPhilip turned to Bishop Waleran. Waleran's face was a mask of suppressed fury. He knew he had been defeated again. Philip knelt, bowing his head to hide the look of triumphant delight on his face, and kissed Waleran's hand.\n\nTom was enjoying building the wall. It was so long since he had done this that he had forgotten the deep tranquillity that came from laying one stone upon another in perfect straight lines and watching the structure grow.\n\nWhen the volunteers started to arrive by the hundred, and he realized that Philip's scheme was going to work, he enjoyed it all the more. These stones would be part of Tom's cathedral; and this wall that was now only a foot high would eventually reach for the sky. Tom felt he was at the beginning of the rest of his life.\n\nHe knew when Bishop Henry arrived. Like a stone dropped into a pond, the bishop sent a ripple through the mass of laborers, as people stopped work for a moment to look up at the richly dressed figures picking their dainty way through the mud. Tom continued to lay stones. The bishop must be bowled over by the sight of a thousand volunteers cheerfully and enthusiastically laboring to build their new cathedral. Now Tom needed to make an equally good impression. He was never at ease with well-dressed people, but he needed to appear competent and wise, calm and self-assured, the kind of man to whom you would gratefully entrust the worrisome complexities of a vast and costly building project.\n\nHe kept a lookout for the visitors and put down his trowel as the party approached him. Prior Philip led Bishop Henry up to Tom, and Tom knelt and kissed the bishop's hand. Philip said: \"Tom is our builder, sent to us by God on the day the old church burned down.\"\n\nTom knelt again to Bishop Waleran, then looked at the rest of the party. He reminded himself that he was the master builder, and should not be overly subservient. He recognized Percy Hamleigh, for whom he had once built half a house. \"My Lord Percy,\" he said with a small bow. He spotted Percy's hideous wife. \"My Lady Regan.\" Then his eye fell on the son. He remembered how William had almost run Martha down on his great war-horse; and how William had tried to buy Ellen in the forest. That young man was a nasty piece of work. But Tom made his face a polite mask. \"And young Lord William. Greetings.\"\n\nBishop Henry was looking keenly at Tom. \"Have you drawn your plans, Tom Builder?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord bishop. Would you like to see them?\"\n\n\"Most certainly.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you will step this way.\"\n\nHenry nodded, and Tom led the way to his shed, a few yards away. He stepped inside the little wooden building and brought out the ground plan, drawn in plaster on a large wooden frame four feet long. He leaned it against the wall of the shed and stepped back.\n\nThis was a delicate moment. Most people could not read a plan, but bishops and lords hated to admit it, so it was necessary to explain the concept to them in a way that did not reveal their ignorance to the rest of the world. Some bishops did understand it, of course, and then they were insulted when a mere builder presumed to instruct them.\n\nNervously, Tom pointed at the plan and said: \"This is the wall I'm building.\"\n\n\"Yes, the eastern facade, obviously,\" said Henry. That answered the question: he could read a plan perfectly well. \"Why aren't the transepts aisled?\"\n\n\"For economy,\" Tom answered promptly. \"However, we won't start building them for another five years, and if the monastery continues to prosper as it has done in the first year under Prior Philip, it may well be that by then we will be able to afford aisled transepts.\" He had praised Philip and answered the question at the same time, and he felt rather clever.\n\nHenry nodded approval. \"Sensible to plan modestly and leave room for expansion. Show me the elevation.\"\n\nTom got out the elevation. He made no comment on it, now that he knew Henry was able to understand what he was looking at. This was confirmed when Henry said: \"The proportions are pleasing.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Tom said. The bishop seemed pleased with everything. Tom added: \"It's a modest cathedral, but it will be lighter and more beautiful than the old one.\"\n\n\"And how long will it take to complete?\"\n\n\"Fifteen years, if the work is uninterrupted.\"\n\n\"Which it never is. However. Can you show us what it will look like\u2014I mean, to someone standing outside?\"\n\nTom understood him. \"You want to see a sketch.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\" Tom returned to his wall, with the bishop's party in tow. He knelt over his mortarboard and spread the mortar in a uniform layer, smoothing the surface. Then, with the point of his trowel, he drew a sketch of the west end of the church in the mortar. He knew he was good at this. The bishop, his party, and all the monks and volunteer workers nearby watched in fascination. Drawing always seemed a miracle to people who could not do it. In a few moments Tom had created a line drawing of the west facade, with its three arched doorways, its big window, and its flanking turrets. It was a simple trick, but it never failed to impress.\n\n\"Remarkable,\" said Bishop Henry when the drawing was done. \"May God's blessing be added to your skill.\"\n\nTom smiled. That amounted to a powerful endorsement of his appointment.\n\nPrior Philip said: \"My lord bishop, will you take some refreshment before you conduct the service?\"\n\n\"Gladly.\"\n\nTom was relieved. His test was over and he had passed it.\n\n\"Perhaps you would step into the prior's house, just across here,\" Philip said to the bishop. The party began to move off. Philip squeezed Tom's arm and said in a murmur of restrained jubilation: \"We've done it!\"\n\nTom breathed a sigh of relief as the dignitaries left him. He felt pleased and proud. Yes, he thought, we've done it. Bishop Henry was more than impressed: he was flabbergasted, despite his composure. Obviously Waleran had primed him to expect a scene of lethargy and inactivity, so the reality had been even more striking. In the end Waleran's malice had worked against him and heightened the triumph of Philip and Tom.\n\nJust as he was basking in the glow of an honest victory, he heard a familiar voice. \"Hello, Tom Builder.\"\n\nHe turned around and saw Ellen.\n\nIt was Tom's turn to be flabbergasted. The cathedral crisis had so filled his mind that he had not thought about her all day. He gazed at her happily. She looked just the same as the day she had walked away: slender, brown-skinned, with dark hair that moved like waves on a beach, and those deep-set luminous golden eyes. She smiled at him with that full-lipped mouth that always made him think of kissing.\n\nHe was seized by an urge to take her in his arms but he fought it down. With some difficulty he managed to say: \"Hello, Ellen.\"\n\nA young man beside her said: \"Hello, Tom.\"\n\nTom looked at him curiously.\n\nEllen said: \"Don't you remember Jack?\"\n\n\"Jack!\" he said, startled. The lad had changed. He was a little taller than his mother now, and he had the bony physique that made grandmothers say that a boy had outgrown his strength. He still had bright red hair, white skin and blue eyes, but his features had resolved into more attractive proportions, and one day he might even be handsome.\n\nTom looked back at Ellen. For a moment he just enjoyed staring at her. He wanted to say I've missed you, I can't tell you how much I've missed you, and he almost did, but then he lost his nerve, and instead he said: \"Well, where have you been?\"\n\n\"We've been living where we always lived, in the forest,\" she said.\n\n\"And what made you come back today, of all days?\"\n\n\"We heard about the appeal for volunteers, and we were curious to know how you were getting along. And I haven't forgotten that I promised to come back one day.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad you did,\" Tom said. \"I've been longing to see you.\"\n\nShe looked guarded. \"Oh?\"\n\nThis was the moment for which he had been waiting and planning for a year, and now that it had come he was scared. Until now he had been able to live in hope, but if she turned him down today he would know he had lost her forever. He was frightened to begin. The silence dragged out. He took a deep breath. \"Listen,\" he said. \"I want you to come back to me. Now, please don't say anything until you've heard what I have to say\u2014please?\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said neutrally.\n\n\"Philip is a very good prior. The monastery is getting wealthier all the time, thanks to his good management. My job here is secure. We won't have to tramp the roads again, ever, I promise.\"\n\n\"It wasn't that\u2014\"\n\n\"I know, but I want to tell you everything.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"I've built a house in the village, with two rooms and a chimney, and I can make it bigger. We wouldn't have to live in the priory.\"\n\n\"But Philip owns the village.\"\n\n\"Philip is indebted to me right now.\" Tom waved an arm to indicate the scene all around. \"He knows he couldn't have done this without me. If I ask him to forgive you for what you did, and to regard your year of exile as penance enough, he'll agree. He couldn't deny me that, today of all days.\"\n\n\"What about the boys?\" she said. \"Am I supposed to watch Alfred spill Jack's blood every time he feels irritable?\"\n\n\"I think I've got the answer to that, really,\" Tom said. \"Alfred is a mason now. I'll take Jack as my apprentice. That way, Alfred won't be resentful of Jack's idleness. And you can teach Alfred to read and write, so that the two boys will be equal\u2014both workingmen, both literate.\"\n\n\"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe waited for her reaction. He was no good at being persuasive. All he could do was set out the situation. If only he could have drawn her a sketch! He felt he had dealt with every possible objection. She must agree now! But still she hesitated. \"I'm not sure,\" she said.\n\nHis self-control broke. \"Oh, Ellen, don't say that.\" He was afraid of crying in front of all these people, and he was so choked up that he could hardly speak. \"I love you so much, please don't go away again,\" he begged. \"The only thing that's kept me going is the hope that you'd come back. I just can't bear to live without you. Don't close the gates of paradise. Can't you see that I love you with all my heart?\"\n\nHer manner changed instantly. \"Why didn't you say so, then?\" she whispered, and she came to him. He wrapped his arms around her. \"I love you, too, you silly fool,\" she said.\n\nHe felt weak with joy. She does love me, she does, he thought. He hugged her hard, then he looked at her face. \"Will you marry me, Ellen?\"\n\nThere were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling too. \"Yes, Tom, I'll marry you,\" she said. She lifted her face.\n\nHe pulled her to him and kissed her mouth. He had dreamed of this for a year. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the delightful touch of her full lips on his. Her mouth was slightly open and her lips were moist. The kiss was so delicious that for a moment he forgot himself. Then someone nearby said: \"Don't swallow her, man!\"\n\nHe pulled away from her and said: \"We're in a church!\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" she said merrily, and she kissed him again.\n\nPrior Philip had outwitted them again, William thought bitterly as he sat in the prior's house, drinking Philip's watery wine and eating sweetmeats from the priory kitchen. It had taken William a while to appreciate the brilliance and completeness of Philip's victory. There had been nothing wrong with Bishop Waleran's original assessment of the situation: it was true that Philip was short of money and would have great difficulty building a cathedral at Kingsbridge. But despite that, the wily monk had made dogged progress, hired a master builder, started the building and then, out of nothing, conjured a vast work force to bamboozle Bishop Henry. And Henry had been duly impressed, all the more so because Waleran had painted such a bleak picture in advance.\n\nThat damned monk knew he had won, too. He could not keep the triumphant smile off his face. Now he was deep in conversation with Bishop Henry, talking animatedly about breeds of sheep and the price of wool, and Henry was listening carefully, almost respectfully, meanwhile rudely ignoring William's mother and father, who were far more important than a mere prior.\n\nPhilip was going to regret this day. Nobody was allowed to best the Hamleighs and get away with it. They had not reached the position they enjoyed today by allowing monks to get the better of them. Bartholomew of Shiring had insulted them and had died in a traitor's jail. Philip would fare no better.\n\nTom Builder was another man who was going to regret crossing the Hamleighs. William had not forgotten how Tom had defied him at Durstead, holding his horse's head and forcing him to pay the workmen. Today Tom had disrespectfully called him \"young Lord William.\" He was obviously hand in glove with Philip now, building cathedrals, not manor houses. He would learn that it was better to take your chances with the Hamleighs than to join forces with their enemies.\n\nWilliam sat quietly fuming until Bishop Henry got to his feet and said he was ready to hold the service. Prior Philip gestured to a novice, who went running from the room, and a few moments later a bell began to ring.\n\nThey all left the house, Bishop Henry first, Bishop Waleran second, then Prior Philip, then the lay people. All the monks were waiting outside, and they fell into line behind Philip, forming a procession. The Hamleighs had to bring up the rear.\n\nThe volunteers filled the entire western half of the priory close, sitting on walls and roofs. Henry mounted a platform in the middle of the building site. The monks formed up in rows behind him, where the quire of the new cathedral would be. The Hamleighs and the other lay members of the bishop's entourage made their way to what would become the nave.\n\nAs they took their places, William saw Aliena.\n\nShe looked very different. She wore rough, cheap clothing and wooden clogs, and the mass of curls that framed her head was damp with sweat. But it was definitely Aliena, and she was still so beautiful that his throat went dry and he stared at her, unable to tear his gaze away, while the service began and the priory close filled with the sound of a thousand voices saying the Our Father.\n\nShe seemed to feel his intense look, for she appeared troubled, shifting from foot to foot and then glancing around as if searching. Finally she met his eyes. An expression of horror and fear came over her face, and she shrank back, although she was already ten yards or more away and separated from him by dozens of people. Her fear made her all the more desirable to him, and he felt his body respond in a way it had not done for a year. His lust for her was mingled with resentment because of the spell she had cast over him. She flushed and dropped her gaze, as if she were ashamed. She spoke briefly to a boy next to her\u2014that was the brother, of course, William thought, recalling the face in a flash of erotic memory\u2014and then she turned away and disappeared into the crowd.\n\nWilliam felt let down. He was tempted to follow her, but of course he could not, not in the middle of a service, in front of his parents, two bishops, forty monks and a thousand worshipers. So he turned back to face the front, disappointed. He had lost his chance to find out where she lived.\n\nAlthough she had gone, she still filled his mind. He wondered if it was a sin to have an erection in church.\n\nHe noticed that Father was looking agitated. \"Look!\" he was saying to Mother. \"Look at that woman!\"\n\nAt first William thought Father must be talking about Aliena. But she was nowhere in sight, and when he followed his father's stare, he saw a woman nearer to thirty years of age, not as voluptuous as Aliena but with an agile, untamed look that made her interesting. She was standing some distance away with Tom, the master builder, and William thought it was probably the builder's wife, the woman he had tried to buy in the forest one day a year or so ago. But why would his father know her?\n\n\"Is it her?\" Father said.\n\nThe woman turned her head, almost as if she had heard them, and looked straight at them, and William saw again her pale, penetrating golden eyes.\n\n\"It is her, by God,\" Mother hissed.\n\nThe woman's stare shook Father. His red face paled and his hands trembled. \"Jesus Christ preserve us,\" he said. \"I thought she was dead.\"\n\nAnd William thought: Now what the devil is that all about?\n\nJack had been dreading this.\n\nFor a whole year he had known that his mother missed Tom Builder. She was less even-tempered than she used to be; she often had a dreamy, faraway look; and in the night she sometimes made the panting noises, as if she were dreaming or imagining that she was making love to Tom. Jack had known, all along, that she would come back. And now she had agreed to stay.\n\nHe hated the idea.\n\nThe two of them had always been happy together. He loved his mother and his mother loved him, and there was no one else to interfere.\n\nLife in the forest was somewhat uninteresting, it was true. He had missed the fascination of the crowds and the cities he had seen in his brief sojourn with Tom's family. He missed Martha. Oddly enough, he had relieved the boredom of the forest by daydreaming about the girl he thought of as the Princess, although he knew her name was Aliena. And he would be interested to work with Tom, and find out how buildings were constructed. But he would no longer be free. People would tell him what to do. He would have to work whether he wanted to or not. And he would have to share his mother with the rest of the world.\n\nAs he sat on the wall near the priory gate, ruminating disconsolately, he was astonished to see the Princess.\n\nHe blinked. She was pushing her way through the crowd, heading for the gate, looking distressed. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. In those days she had had a rounded, voluptuous, girlish body dressed in costly clothes. Now she looked thinner and more like a woman than a girl. The sweat-soaked linen shift she wore clung to her body, showing her full breasts and the ribs beneath, a flat belly, narrow hips and long legs. Her face was smeared with mud and her massed curls were untidy. She was upset about something, frightened and distressed, but the emotion only made her face more radiant. Jack was captivated by the sight of her. He felt a peculiar stirring in his loins that he had never experienced before.\n\nHe followed her. There was no conscious decision. One moment he was sitting on the wall gaping at her and the next he was hurrying through the gate behind her. He caught up with her on the street outside. She had a musky scent, as though she had been working hard. He remembered that she used to smell of flowers. \"Is anything wrong?\" he said.\n\n\"No, nothing's wrong,\" she said curtly, and she quickened her step.\n\nJack kept pace with her. \"You don't remember me. Last time we met, you explained to me how babies were conceived.\"\n\n\"Oh, shut up and go away!\" she shouted.\n\nHe stopped and let her walk on. He felt disappointed. Obviously he had said the wrong thing.\n\nShe had treated him like an irritating child. He was thirteen years old, but that probably seemed like childhood to her, from the lofty height of eighteen or so years.\n\nHe saw her go up to a house, take out a key that hung from a thong around her neck, and unlock the door.\n\nShe lived right here!\n\nThat made everything different.\n\nSuddenly the prospect of leaving the forest and living in Kingsbridge did not seem so bad. He would see the Princess every day. That would compensate for a lot.\n\nHe stayed where he was, watching the door, but she did not reemerge. It was an odd thing to do, to stand in a street in the hope of seeing someone who hardly knew him; but he did not want to move. He was seething inside with a new emotion. Nothing seemed very important anymore except the Princess. He was singleminded about her. He was enchanted. He was possessed.\n\nHe was in love."
            },
            {
                "title": "1140-1142",
                "text": "The whore William picked was not very pretty but she had big breasts and her mass of curly hair appealed to him. She sauntered over to him, swaying her hips, and he saw that she was a little older than he had thought, maybe twenty-five or thirty, and while her mouth smiled innocently her eyes were hard and calculating. Walter chose next. He selected a small, vulnerable-looking girl with a boyish, flat-chested figure. When William and Walter had made their selection the other four knights moved in.\n\nWilliam had brought them to the whorehouse because they needed some kind of release. They had not had a battle for months and they were becoming discontented and quarrelsome.\n\nThe civil war that had broken out a year ago, between King Stephen and his rival, Maud, the so-called Empress, was now in a lull. William and his men had followed Stephen all over southwest England. His strategy was energetic but erratic. He would attack one of Maud's strongholds with tremendous enthusiasm; but if he did not win an early victory, he swiftly tired of the siege, and would move on. The military leader of the rebels was not Maud herself, but her half brother Robert, earl of Gloucester; and so far Stephen had failed to force him into a confrontation. It was an indecisive war, with much movement and little actual fighting; and so the men were restless.\n\nThe whorehouse was divided by screens into small rooms, each with a straw mattress. William and his knights took their chosen women behind the screens. William's whore adjusted the screen for privacy, then pulled down the top of her shift, exposing her breasts. They were big, as William had seen, but they had the large nipples and visible veins of a woman who has suckled children, and William was a little disappointed. Nevertheless, he pulled her to him and took her breasts in his hands, squeezing them and pinching the nipples. \"Gently,\" she said in a tone of mild protest. She put her arms around him and pulled his hips forward, rubbing herself against him. After a few moments she pushed her hand between their bodies and felt for his groin.\n\nHe muttered a curse. His body was not responding.\n\n\"Don't worry,\" she murmured. Her condescending tone angered him, but he said nothing as she disengaged herself from his embrace, knelt down, lifted the front of his tunic and went to work with her mouth.\n\nAt first the sensation pleased him, and he thought everything was going to be all right, but after the initial surge he lost interest again. He watched her face, as that sometimes inflamed him, but now he was only reminded of how unimpressive he appeared. He began to feel angry, and that made him shrivel even more.\n\nShe stopped and said: \"Try to relax.\" When she started again she sucked so hard that she hurt him. He pulled away, and her teeth scraped his sensitive skin, making him cry out. He struck her backhanded across the face. She gasped and fell sideways.\n\n\"Clumsy bitch,\" he snarled. She lay on the mattress at his feet, looking up at him fearfully. He threw a random kick at her, more in irritation than malice. It caught her in the belly. It was harder than he had really intended, and she doubled up in pain.\n\nHe realized that his body was responding at last.\n\nHe knelt down, rolled her on to her back, and straddled her. She stared up at him with pain and fear in her eyes. He pulled up the skirt of her dress until it was around her waist. The hair between her legs was thick and curly. He liked that. He fondled himself as he looked at her body. He was not quite stiff enough. The fear was going from her eyes. It occurred to him that she could be deliberately putting him off, trying to deflate his desire so that she would not have to service him. The thought infuriated him. He made a fist and punched her face hard.\n\nShe screamed and tried to get out from under him. He rested his weight on her, pinning her down, but she continued to struggle and yell. Now he was fully erect. He tried to force her thighs apart, but she resisted him.\n\nThe screen was jerked aside and Walter came in, wearing only his boots and undershirt, with his prick sticking out in front of him like a flagpole. Two more knights came in behind him: Ugly Gervase and Hugh Axe.\n\n\"Hold her down for me, lads,\" William said to them.\n\nThe three knights knelt down around the whore and held her still.\n\nWilliam positioned himself to enter her, then paused, enjoying the anticipation.\n\nWalter said: \"What happened, lord?\"\n\n\"Changed her mind when she saw the size of it,\" William said with a grin.\n\nThey all roared with laughter. William penetrated her. He liked it when there were people watching. He started to move in and out.\n\nWalter said: \"You interrupted me just as I was getting mine in.\"\n\nWilliam could see that Walter had not yet been satisfied. \"Stick it in this one's mouth,\" he said. \"She likes that.\"\n\n\"I'll give it a try.\" Walter changed his position and grabbed the woman by the hair, lifting her head. By now she was frightened enough to do anything, and she cooperated readily. Gervase and Hugh were no longer needed to hold her down, but they stayed and watched. They looked fascinated: they had probably never seen a woman done by two men at the same time. William had never seen it either. There was something curiously exciting about it. Walter seemed to feel the same, for after just a few moments he began to breathe heavily and move convulsively, and then he came. Watching him, William did the same a second or two later.\n\nAfter a moment, they got to their feet. William still felt excited. \"Why don't you two do her?\" he said to Gervase and Hugh. He liked the idea of watching a repeat performance.\n\nHowever, they were not keen. \"I've got a little darling waiting,\" said Hugh, and Gervase said: \"Me, too.\"\n\nThe whore stood up and rearranged her dress. Her face was unreadable. William said to her: \"That wasn't so bad, was it?\"\n\nShe stood in front of him and stared at him for a moment, then she pursed her lips and spat. He felt his face covered with a warm, sticky fluid: she had retained Walter's semen in her mouth. The stuff blurred his vision. Angry, he raised a hand to strike her, but she ducked out between the screens. Walter and the other knights burst out laughing. William did not think it was funny, but he could not chase after the girl with semen all over his face, and he realized that the only way to retain his dignity was to pretend not to care, so he laughed too.\n\nUgly Gervase said: \"Well, lord, I hope you don't have Walter's baby, now!\" and they roared. Even William thought that was funny. They all walked out of the little booth together, leaning on one another and wiping their eyes. The other girls were staring at them, looking anxious: they had heard William's whore scream and were afraid of trouble. One or two customers peeped out curiously from the other booths. Walter said: \"First time I ever saw that stuff spurt out of a girl!\" and they started laughing again.\n\nOne of William's squires was standing by the door, looking anxious. He was only a lad and he had probably never been inside a brothel before. He smiled nervously, not sure whether he was entitled to join in the hilarity. William said to him: \"What are you doing here, you po-faced idiot?\"\n\n\"There's a message come for you, lord,\" the squire said.\n\n\"Well, don't waste time, tell me what it is!\"\n\n\"I'm very sorry, lord,\" said the boy. He looked so frightened that William thought he was going to turn around and run out of the house.\n\n\"What are you sorry for, you turd?\" William roared. \"Give me the message!\"\n\n\"Your father's dead, lord,\" the boy blurted out, and he burst into tears.\n\nWilliam stared, dumbstruck. Dead? he thought. Dead? \"But he's in perfectly good health!\" he shouted stupidly. It was true that Father was not able to fight on the battlefield anymore, but that was not surprising in a man almost fifty years old. The squire continued to cry. William recalled the way Father had looked last time he saw him: stout, red-faced, hearty and choleric, as full of life as a man could be, and that was only... He realized, with a small shock, that it was nearly a year since he had seen his father. \"What happened?\" he said to the squire. \"What happened to him?\"\n\n\"He had a seizure, lord,\" the squire sobbed.\n\nA seizure. The news began to sink in. Father was dead. That big, strong, blustering, irascible man was lying helpless and cold on a stone slab somewhere\u2014\n\n\"I'll have to go home,\" William said suddenly.\n\nWalter said gently: \"You must first ask the king to release you.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's right,\" William said vaguely. \"I must ask permission.\" His mind was in a turmoil.\n\n\"Shall I tip the brothel keeper?\" said Walter.\n\n\"Yes.\" William handed Walter his purse. Someone put William's cloak over his shoulders. Walter murmured something to the woman who ran the whorehouse and gave her some money. Hugh Axe opened the door for William. They all went out.\n\nThey walked through the streets of the small town in silence. William felt peculiarly detached, as if he were watching everything from above. He could not take in the fact that his father no longer existed. As they approached headquarters he tried to pull himself together.\n\nKing Stephen was holding court in the church, for there was no castle or guildhall here. It was a small, simple stone church with its inside walls painted bright red, blue and orange\". A fire had been lit in the middle of the floor, and the handsome, tawny-haired king sat near it on a wooden throne, with his legs stretched out before him in his usual relaxed position. He wore soldier's clothes, high boots and a leather tunic, but he had a crown instead of a helmet. William and Walter pushed through the crowd of petitioners near the church door, nodded at the guards who were keeping the general public back, and strode into the inner circle. Stephen was talking to a newly arrived earl, but he noticed William and broke off immediately. \"William, my friend. You've heard.\"\n\nWilliam bowed. \"My lord king.\"\n\nStephen stood up. \"I mourn with you,\" he said. He put his arms around William and held him for a moment before releasing him.\n\nHis sympathy brought the first tears to William's eyes. \"I must ask you for leave to go home,\" he said.\n\n\"Granted willingly, though not gladly,\" said the king. \"We'll miss your strong right arm.\"\n\n\"Thank you, lord.\"\n\n\"I also grant you custody of the earldom of Shiring, and all the revenues from it, until the question of the succession is decided. Go home, and bury your father, and come back to us as soon as you can.\"\n\nWilliam bowed again and withdrew. The king resumed his conversation. Courtiers gathered around William to commiserate. As he accepted their condolences, the significance of what the king had said hit him. He had given William custody of the earldom until the question of the succession is decided. What question? William was the only child of his father. How could there be a question? He looked at the faces around him and his eye lit upon a young priest who was one of the more knowledgeable of the king's clerics. He drew the priest to him and said quietly: \"What the devil did he mean about the 'question' of the succession, Joseph?\"\n\n\"There's another claimant to the earldom,\" Joseph replied.\n\n\"Another claimant?\" William repeated in astonishment. He had no half brothers, illegitimate brothers, cousins.... \"Who is it?\"\n\nJoseph pointed to a figure standing with his back to them. He was with the new arrivals. He was wearing the clothing of a squire.\n\n\"But he's not even a knight!\" William said loudly. \"My father was the earl of Shiring!\"\n\nThe squire heard him, and turned around. \"My father was also the earl of Shiring.\"\n\nAt first William did not recognize him. He saw a handsome, broad-shouldered young man of about eighteen years, well-dressed for a squire, and carrying a fine sword. There was confidence and even arrogance in the way he stood. Most striking of all, he gazed at William with a look of such pure hatred that William shrank back.\n\nThe face was very familiar, but changed. Still William could not place it. Then his saw that there was an angry scar on the squire's right ear, where the earlobe had been cut off. In a vivid flash of memory he saw a small piece of white flesh fall onto the heaving chest of a terrified virgin, and heard a boy scream in pain. This was Richard, the son of the traitor Bartholomew, the brother of Aliena. The little boy who had been forced to watch while two men raped his sister had grown into a formidable man with the light of vengeance in his light blue eyes. William was suddenly terribly afraid.\n\n\"You remember, don't you?\" Richard said, in a light drawl that did not quite mask the cold fury underneath.\n\nWilliam nodded. \"I remember.\"\n\n\"So do I, William Hamleigh,\" said Richard. \"So do I.\"\n\nWilliam sat in the big chair at the head of the table, where his father used to sit. He had always known he would occupy this seat one day. He had imagined he would feel immensely powerful when he did so, but in reality he was a little frightened. He was afraid that people would say he was not the man his father had been, and that they would disrespect him.\n\nHis mother sat on his right. He had often watched her, when his father was in this chair, and observed the way she played on Father's fears and weaknesses to get her own way. He was determined not to let her do the same to him.\n\nOn his left sat Arthur, a mild-mannered, gray-headed man who had been Earl Bartholomew's reeve. After becoming earl, Father had hired Arthur, because Arthur had a good knowledge of the estate. William had always been dubious about that reasoning. Other people's servants sometimes clung to the ways of their former employer.\n\n\"King Stephen can't possibly make Richard the earl,\" Mother was saying angrily. \"He's just a squire!\"\n\n\"I don't understand how he even managed that,\" William said irritably. \"I thought they had been left penniless. But he had fine clothes and a good sword. Where did he get the money?\"\n\n\"He set himself up as a wool merchant,\" Mother said. \"He's got all the money he needs. Or rather, his sister has\u2014I hear Aliena runs the business.\"\n\nAliena. So she was behind this. William had never quite forgotten her, but she had not preyed on his mind so much, after the war broke out, until he had met Richard. Since then she had been in his thoughts continually, as fresh and beautiful, as vulnerable and desirable as ever. He hated her for the hold she had over him.\n\n\"So Aliena is rich now?\" he said with an affectation of detachment.\n\n\"Yes. But you've been fighting for the king for a year. He cannot refuse you your inheritance.\"\n\n\"Richard has fought bravely too, apparently,\" William said. \"I made some inquiries. Worse still, his courage has come to the notice of the king.\"\n\nMother's expression changed from angry scorn to thoughtfulness. \"So he really has a chance.\"\n\n\"I fear so.\"\n\n\"Right. We must fight him off.\"\n\nAutomatically, William said: \"How?\" He had resolved not to let his mother take charge but now he had done it.\n\n\"You must go back to the king with a bigger force of knights, new weapons and better horses, and plenty of squires and men-at-arms.\"\n\nWilliam would have liked to disagree with her but he knew she was right. In the end the king would probably give the earldom to the man who promised to be the most effective supporter, regardless of the rights and wrongs of the case.\n\n\"That's not all,\" Mother went on. \"You must take care to look and act like an earl. That way the king will start to think of the appointment as a foregone conclusion.\"\n\nDespite himself William was intrigued. \"How should an earl look and act?\"\n\n\"Speak your mind more. Have an opinion about everything: how the king should prosecute the war, the best tactics for each battle, the political situation in the north, and\u2014especially this\u2014the abilities and loyalty of other earls. Talk to one man about another. Tell the earl of Huntingdon that the count of Warenne is a great fighter; tell the bishop of Ely that you don't trust the sheriff of Lincoln. People will say to the king: 'William of Shiring is in the count of Warenne's faction,' or 'William of Shiring and his followers are against the sheriff of Lincoln.' If you appear powerful, the king will feel comfortable about giving you more power.\"\n\nWilliam had little faith in such subtlety. \"I think the size of my army will count for more,\" he said. He turned to the reeve. \"How much is there in my treasury, Arthur?\"\n\n\"Nothing, lord,\" said Arthur.\n\n\"What the devil are you talking about?\" said William harshly. \"There must be something. How much is it?\"\n\nArthur had a slightly superior air, as if he had nothing to fear from William. \"Lord, there's no money at all in the treasury.\"\n\nWilliam wanted to strangle him. \"This is the earldom of Shiring!\" he said, loud enough to make the knights and castle officials farther down the table look up. \"There must be money!\"\n\n\"Money comes in all the time, lord, of course,\" Arthur said smoothly. \"But it goes out again, especially in wartime.\"\n\nWilliam studied the pale, clean-shaven face. Arthur was far too complacent. Was he honest? There was no way of telling. William wished for eyes that could see into a man's heart.\n\nMother knew what William was thinking. \"Arthur is honest,\" she said, not caring that the man was right there. \"He's old, and lazy and set in his ways, but he's honest.\"\n\nWilliam was stricken. He had only just sat in the chair and already his power was shriveling, as if by magic. He felt cursed. There seemed to be a law that William would always be a boy among men, no matter how old he grew. Weakly, he said: \"How has this happened?\"\n\nMother said: \"Your father was ill for the best part of a year before he died. I could see he was letting things slip, but I couldn't get him to do anything about it.\"\n\nIt was news to William that his mother was not omnipotent. He had never before known her unable to get her way. He turned to Arthur. \"We have some of the best farmland in the kingdom here. How can we be penniless?\"\n\n\"Some of the farms are in trouble, and several tenants are in arrears with their rents.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"One reason I hear frequently is that the young men won't work on the land, but leave for the towns.\"\n\n\"Then we must stop them!\"\n\nArthur shrugged. \"Once a serf has lived in a town for a year, he becomes a freeman. It's the law.\"\n\n\"And what about the tenants who haven't paid? What have you done to them?\"\n\n\"What can one do?\" said Arthur. \"If we take away their livelihood, they'll never be able to pay. So we must be patient, and hope for a good harvest which will enable them to catch up.\"\n\nArthur was altogether too cheerful about his inability to solve any of these problems, William thought angrily; but he reined in his temper for the moment. \"Well, if all the young men are going to the towns, what about our rents from house property in Shiring? That should have brought in some cash.\"\n\n\"Oddly enough, it hasn't,\" said Arthur. \"There are a lot of empty houses in Shiring. The young men must be going elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Or people are lying to you,\" William said. \"I suppose you're going to say that the income from the Shiring market and the fleece fair is down too?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014\"\n\n\"Then why don't you increase the rents and taxes?\"\n\n\"We have, lord, on the orders of your late father, but the income has gone down nonetheless.\"\n\n\"With such an unproductive estate, how did Bartholomew keep body and soul together?\" William said in exasperation.\n\nArthur even had an answer for that. \"He had the quarry, also. That brought in a great deal of money, in the old days.\"\n\n\"And now it's in the hands of that damned monk.\" William was shaken. Just when he needed to make an ostentatious display he was being told that he was penniless. The situation was very dangerous for him. The king had just granted him custody of an earldom. It was a kind of probation. If he returned to court with a diminutive army it would seem ungrateful, even disloyal.\n\nBesides, the picture Arthur had painted could not be entirely true. William felt sure people were cheating him\u2014and they were probably laughing about it behind his back, too. The thought made him angry. He was not going to tolerate it. He would show them. There would be bloodshed before he accepted defeat.\n\n\"You've got an excuse for everything,\" he said to Arthur. \"The fact is, you've let this estate run to seed during my father's illness, which is when you ought to have been most vigilant.\"\n\n\"But, lord\u2014\"\n\nWilliam raised his voice. \"Shut your mouth or I'll have you flogged.\"\n\nArthur paled and went silent.\n\nWilliam said: \"Starting tomorrow, we're going on a tour of the earldom. We're going to visit every village I own, and shake them all up. You may not know how to deal with whining, lying peasants, but I do. We'll soon find out how impoverished my earldom is. And if you've lied to me, I swear to God you'll be the first of many hangings.\"\n\nAs well as Arthur, he took his groom, Walter, and the other four knights who had fought beside him for the past year: Ugly Gervase, Hugh Axe, Gilbert de Rennes and Miles Dice. They were all big, violent men, quick to anger and always ready to fight. They rode their best horses and went armed to the teeth, to scare the peasantry. William believed that a man was helpless unless people were afraid of him.\n\nIt was a hot day in late summer, and the wheat stood in fat sheaves in the fields. The abundance of visible wealth made William all the more angry that he had no money. Someone must be robbing him. They ought to be too frightened to dare. His family had won the earldom when Bartholomew was disgraced, and yet he was penniless while Bartholomew's son had plenty! The idea that people were stealing from him, and laughing at his unsuspecting ignorance, gnawed at him like a stomachache, and he got angrier as he rode along.\n\nHe had decided to begin at Northbrook, a small village somewhat remote from the castle. The villagers were a mixture of serfs and freemen. The serfs were William's property, and could not do anything without his permission. They owed him so many days' work at certain times of year, plus a share of their own crops. The freemen just paid him rent, in cash or in kind. Five of them were in arrears. William had a notion they thought they could get away with it because they were far from the castle. It might be a good place to begin the shake-up.\n\nIt was a long ride, and the sun was high when they approached the village. There were twenty or thirty houses surrounded by three big fields, all of them now stubble. Near the houses, at the edge of one of the fields, were three large oak trees in a group. As William and his men drew near, he saw that most of the villagers appeared to be sitting in the shade of the oaks, eating their dinner. He spurred his horse into a canter for the last few hundred yards, and the others followed suit. They halted in front of the villagers in a cloud of dust.\n\nAs the villagers were scrambling to their feet, swallowing their horsebread and trying to keep the dust out of their eyes, William's mistrustful gaze observed a curious little drama. A middle-aged man with a black beard spoke quietly but urgently to a plump red-cheeked girl with a plump, red-cheeked baby. A young man joined them and was hastily shooed away by the older man. Then the girl walked off toward the houses, apparently under protest, and disappeared in the dust. William was intrigued. There was something furtive about the whole scene, and he wished Mother were here to interpret it.\n\nHe decided to do nothing about it for the moment. He addressed Arthur in a voice loud enough for them all to hear. \"Five of my free tenants here are in arrears, is that right?\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\n\"Who is the worst?\"\n\n\"Athelstan hasn't paid for two years, but he was very unlucky with his pigs\u2014\"\n\nWilliam spoke over Arthur, cutting him off. \"Which one of you is Athelstan?\"\n\nA tall, stoop-shouldered man of about forty-five years stepped forward. He had thinning hair and watery eyes.\n\nWilliam said: \"Why don't you pay me rent?\"\n\n\"Lord, it's a small holding, and I've no one to help me, now that my boys have gone to work in the town, and then there was the swine fever\u2014\"\n\n\"Just a moment,\" William said. \"Where did your sons go?\"\n\n\"To Kingsbridge, lord, to work on the new cathedral there, for they want to marry, as young men must, and my land won't support three families.\"\n\nWilliam tucked away in his memory, for future reflection, the information that the young men had gone to work on Kingsbridge Cathedral. \"Your holding is big enough to support one family, at any rate, but still you don't pay your rent.\"\n\nAthelstan began to talk about his pigs again. William stared malevolently at him without listening. I know why you haven't paid, he thought; you knew your lord was ill and you decided to cheat him while he was incapable of enforcing his rights. The other four delinquents thought the same. You rob us when we're weak!\n\nFor a moment he was full of self-pity. The five of them had been chuckling over their cleverness, he felt sure. Well, now they would learn their lesson. \"Gilbert and Hugh, take this peasant and hold him still,\" he said quietly.\n\nAthelstan was still talking. The two knights dismounted and approached him. His tale of swine fever tailed off into nothing. The knights took him by the arms. He turned pale with fear.\n\nWilliam spoke to Walter in the same quiet voice. \"Have you got your chain-mail gloves?\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\n\"Put them on. Teach Athelstan a lesson. But make sure he lives to spread the word.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" Walter took from his saddlebag a pair of leather gauntlets with fine chain mail sewn to the knuckles and the backs of the fingers. He pulled them on slowly. All the villagers watched in dread, and Athelstan began to moan with terror.\n\nWalter got off his horse, walked over to Athelstan and punched him in the stomach with one mailed fist. The thud as the blow landed was sickeningly loud. Athelstan doubled over, too winded to cry out. Gilbert and Hugh pulled him upright, and Walter punched his face. Blood spurted from his mouth and nose. One of the onlookers, a woman who was presumably his wife, screamed out and jumped on Walter, yelling: \"Stop! Leave him! Don't kill him!\"\n\nWalter brushed her off, and two other women grabbed her and pulled her back. She continued to scream and struggle. The other peasants watched in mutinous silence as Walter beat Athelstan systematically until his body was limp, his face covered with blood and his eyes closed in unconsciousness.\n\n\"Let him go,\" William said at last.\n\nGilbert and Hugh released Athelstan. He slumped to the ground and lay still. The women released the wife and she ran to him, sobbing, and knelt beside him. Walter took off the gauntlets and wiped the blood and pieces of flesh off the chain mail.\n\nWilliam had already lost interest in Athelstan. Looking around the village, he saw a new-looking two-story wooden structure built on the edge of the brook. He pointed to it and said to Arthur: \"What's that?\"\n\n\"I haven't seen it before, lord,\" Arthur said nervously.\n\nWilliam thought he was lying. \"It's a water mill, isn't it?\"\n\nArthur shrugged, but his indifference was unconvincing. \"I can't imagine what else it would be, right there by the stream.\"\n\nHow could he be so insolent, when he had just seen a peasant beaten half to death on William's orders? Almost desperately, William said: \"Are my serfs allowed to build mills without my permission?\"\n\n\"No, lord.\"\n\n\"Do you know why this is prohibited?\"\n\n\"So that they will bring their grain to the lord's mills and pay him to grind it for them.\"\n\n\"And the lord will profit.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" Arthur spoke in the condescending tone of one who explains something elementary to a child. \"But if they pay a fine for building a mill, the lord will profit just the same.\"\n\nWilliam found his tone maddening. \"No, he won't profit just the same. The fine is never as much as the peasants would otherwise have to pay. That's why they love to build mills. And that's why my father would never let them.\" Without giving Arthur the chance to reply, he kicked his horse and rode over to the mill. His knights followed, and the villagers tailed along behind them in a ragged crowd.\n\nWilliam dismounted. There was no doubt about what the building was. A large waterwheel was turning under the pressure of the fast-flowing stream. The wheel turned a shaft which went through the side wall of the mill. It was a solid wooden construction, made to last. Whoever built it had clearly expected to be free to use it for years.\n\nThe miller stood outside the open door, wearing a prepared expression of injured innocence. In the room behind him were sacks of grain in neat stacks. William dismounted. The miller bowed to him politely, but was there not a hint of scorn in his look? Once again William had the painful sense that these people thought he was a nobody, and his inability to impose his will on them made him feel impotent. Indignation and frustration welled up in him, and he yelled at the miller furiously. \"Whatever made you think you could get away with this? Do you imagine that I'm stupid? Is that it? Is that what you think?\" Then he punched the man in the face.\n\nThe miller gave an exaggerated cry of pain and fell to the ground quite unnecessarily.\n\nWilliam stepped over him and went inside. The shaft of the waterwheel was connected, by a set of wooden gears, to the shaft of the grindstone on the upper floor. The milled grain fell through a chute to the threshing floor at ground level. The second floor, which had to bear the weight of the grindstone, was supported by four stout timbers (taken from William's forest without permission, undoubtedly). If the timbers were cut the whole building would fall.\n\nWilliam went outside. Hugh Axe carried the weapon from which he got his name strapped to his saddle. William said: \"Give me your battle-ax.\" Hugh obliged. William went back inside and began to attack the timber supports of the upper floor.\n\nIt gave him great satisfaction to feel the blade of the ax thud into the building that the peasants had so carefully constructed in their attempt to cheat him of his milling fees. They aren't laughing at me now, he thought savagely.\n\nWalter came in and stood watching. William hacked a deep notch in one of the supports and then cut halfway through a second. The platform above, which carried the enormous weight of the millstone, began to tremble. William said: \"Get a rope.\" Walter went out.\n\nWilliam cut into the other two timbers as deeply as he dared. The building was ready to collapse. Walter came back with some rope. William tied the rope to one of the timbers, then carried the other end outside and tied it around the neck of his war-horse.\n\nThe peasants watched in sullen silence.\n\nWhen the rope was fixed, William said: \"Where's the miller?\"\n\nThe miller approached, still trying to look like one who is being unjustly dealt with.\n\nWilliam said: \"Gervase, tie him up and put him inside.\"\n\nThe miller made a break for it, but Gilbert tripped him and sat on him, and Gervase tied his hands and feet with leather thongs. The two knights picked him up. He began to struggle and plead for mercy.\n\nOne of the villagers stepped out of the crowd and said: \"You can't do this. It's murder. Even a lord can't murder people.\"\n\nWilliam pointed a trembling finger at him. \"If you open your mouth again I'll put you inside with him.\"\n\nFor a moment the man looked defiant; then he thought better of it and turned away.\n\nThe knights came out of the mill. William walked his horse forward until it had taken up the slack in the rope. He slapped its rump, and it took the strain.\n\nInside the building, the miller began to scream. The noise was bloodcurdling. It was the sound of a man in mortal terror, a man who knew that within the next few moments he was going to be crushed to death.\n\nThe horse tossed its head, trying to slacken the rope around its neck. William yelled at it and kicked its rump to make it pull, then shouted at his knights: \"Heave on the rope, you men!\" The four knights grabbed the taut rope and pulled with the horse. The villagers' voices were raised in protest, but they were all too frightened to interfere. Arthur was standing to one side, looking sick.\n\nThe miller's screams became more shrill. William imagined the blind terror that must be possessing the man as he waited for his dreadful death. None of these peasants will ever forget the revenge of the Hamleighs, he thought.\n\nThe timber creaked loudly; then there was a loud crack as it broke. The horse bounded forward and the knights let go of the rope. A corner of the roof sagged. The women began to wail. The wooden walls of the mill seemed to shudder; the miller's screams rose higher; there was a mighty crash as the upper floor gave way; the screaming was cut off abruptly; and the ground shook as the grindstone landed on the threshing floor. The walls splintered, the roof caved in, and in a moment the mill was nothing but a pile of firewood with a dead man inside it.\n\nWilliam began to feel better.\n\nSome of the villagers ran forward and began to dig into the debris frantically. If they were hoping to find the miller alive they would be disappointed. His body would be a grisly sight. That was all to the good.\n\nLooking around, William spotted the red-cheeked girl with the red-cheeked baby, standing at the back of the crowd, as if she were trying to be inconspicuous. He remembered how the man with the black beard\u2014presumably her father\u2014had been keen to keep her out of sight. He decided to solve that mystery before leaving the village. He caught her eye and beckoned her. She looked behind her, hoping he was pointing at someone else. \"You,\" William said. \"Come here.\"\n\nThe man with the black beard saw her and gave a grunt of exasperation.\n\nWilliam said: \"Who's your husband, wench?\"\n\nThe father said: \"She has no\u2014\"\n\nHe was too late, however, for the girl said: \"Edmund.\"\n\n\"So you are married. But who's your father?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said the man with the black beard. \"Theobald.\"\n\nWilliam turned to Arthur. \"Is Theobald a freeman?\"\n\n\"He's a serf, lord.\"\n\n\"And when a serfs daughter marries, is it not the lord's right, as her owner, to enjoy her on the wedding night?\"\n\nArthur was shocked. \"Lord! That primitive custom has not been enforced in this part of the world in living memory!\"\n\n\"True,\" said William. \"The father pays a fine, instead. How much did Theobald pay?\"\n\n\"He hasn't paid yet, lord, but\u2014\"\n\n\"Not paid! And she with a fat red-cheeked child!\"\n\nTheobald said: \"We never had the money, lord, and she was with child by Edmund, and wanted to be wed, but we can pay now, for we've got the crop in.\"\n\nWilliam smiled at the girl. \"Let me see the baby.\"\n\nShe stared at him fearfully.\n\n\"Come. Give it to me.\n\nShe was afraid but she could not bring herself to hand over her baby. William stepped closer and gently took the child from her. Her eyes filled with terror but she did not resist him.\n\nThe baby began to squall. William held it for a moment, then grasped both its ankles in one hand and with a swift motion threw it into the air as high as he could.\n\nThe girl screamed like a banshee and gazed into the air as the baby flew upward.\n\nThe father ran forward with his arms outstretched to catch it as it fell.\n\nWhile the girl was looking up and screaming, William took a handful of her dress and ripped it. She had a pink, rounded young body.\n\nThe father caught the baby safely.\n\nThe girl turned to run, but William caught her and threw her to the ground.\n\nThe father handed the baby to a woman and turned to look at William.\n\nWilliam said: \"As I wasn't given my due on the wedding night, and the fine hasn't been paid, I'll take what's owed me now.\"\n\nThe father rushed at him.\n\nWilliam drew his sword.\n\nThe father stopped.\n\nWilliam looked at the girl, lying on the ground, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Her fear aroused him. \"And when I've done, my knights will have her too,\" he said with a contented smile."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "In three years Kingsbridge had changed beyond recognition.\n\nWilliam had not been here since the WhitSunday when Philip and his army of volunteers had frustrated Waleran Bigod's scheme. Then it had been forty or fifty wooden houses clustered around the priory gate and scattered along the muddy footpath that led to the bridge. Now, he saw as he approached the village across the undulating fields, there were three times as many houses, at least. They formed a brown fringe all around the gray stone wall of the priory and completely filled the space between the priory and the river. Several of the houses looked large. Within the priory close there were new stone buildings, and the walls of the church seemed to be going up fast. There were two new quays beside the river. Kingsbridge had become a town.\n\nThe appearance of the place confirmed a suspicion that had been growing in his mind since he had come home from the war. As he had toured around, collecting arrears of rent and terrorizing disobedient serfs, he had continually heard talk of Kingsbridge. Landless young men were going there to work; prosperous families were sending their sons to school at the priory; smallholders would sell their eggs and cheese to the men working on the building site; and everyone who could went there on holy days, even though there was no cathedral. Today was a holy day\u2014Michaelmas Day, which fell on a Sunday this year. It was a mild early-autumn morning, nice weather for traveling, so there should be a good crowd. William expected to find out what drew them to Kingsbridge.\n\nHis five henchmen rode with him. They had done sterling work in the villages. The news of William's tour had spread with uncanny speed, and after the first few days people knew what to expect. At William's approach they would send the children and young women to hide in the woods. It pleased William to strike fear into people's hearts: it kept them in their place. They certainly knew he was in command now!\n\nAs his group came closer to Kingsbridge, he kicked his horse into a trot, and the others followed suit. Arriving at speed was always more impressive. Other people shrank back to the sides of the road, or jumped into the fields, to get out of the way of the big horses.\n\nThey clattered over the wooden bridge, making a loud noise and ignoring the tollhouse keeper, but the narrow street ahead of them was blocked by a cart loaded with barrels of lime and pulled by two huge, slow-moving oxen; and the knights' horses were forced to slow abruptly.\n\nWilliam looked around as they followed the cart up the hill. New houses, hastily built, filled the spaces between the old ones. He noticed a cookshop, an alehouse, a smithy and a shoemaker's. The air of prosperity was unmistakable. William was envious.\n\nThere were not many people in the streets, however. Perhaps they were all up at the priory.\n\nWith his knights behind him he followed the ox cart through the priory gates. It was not the kind of entrance he liked to make, and he had a pang of anxiety that people would notice and laugh at him, but happily nobody even looked.\n\nBy contrast with the deserted town outside the walls, the priory close was humming with activity.\n\nWilliam reined in and looked around, trying to take it all in. There were so many people, and there was so much going on, that at first he found it somewhat bewildering. Then the scene resolved into three sections.\n\nNearest him, at the western end of the priory close, there was a market. The stalls were set up in neat north-south rows, and several hundred people were milling about in the aisles, buying food and drink, hats and shoes, knives, belts, ducklings, puppies, pots, earrings, wool, thread, rope, and dozens of other necessities and luxuries. The market was clearly thriving, and all the pennies, half-pennies and farthings that were changing hands must add up to a great deal of money.\n\nIt was no wonder, William thought bitterly, that the market at Shiring was in decline, when there was a flourishing alternative here at Kingsbridge. The rents from stall holders, tolls on suppliers, and taxes on sales that should have been going into the earl of Shiring's treasury were instead filling the coffers of Kingsbridge Priory.\n\nBut a market needed a license from the king, and William was sure Prior Philip did not have one. He was probably planning to apply as soon as he was caught, like the Northbrook miller. Unfortunately it would not be so easy for William to teach Philip a lesson.\n\nBeyond the market was a zone of tranquility. Adjacent to the cloisters, where the crossing of the old church used to be, there was an altar under a canopy, with a white-haired monk standing in front of it reading from a book. On the far side of the altar, monks in neat rows were singing hymns, although at this distance their music was drowned by the noise of the marketplace. There was a small congregation. This was probably nones, a service conducted for the benefit of the monks, William thought: all work and marketing would stop for the main Michaelmas service, of course.\n\nAt the far side of the priory close, the east end of the cathedral was being built. This was where Prior Philip was spending his rake-off from the market, William thought sourly. The walls were thirty or forty feet high, and it was already possible to see the outlines of the windows and the arches of the arcade. Workers swarmed all over the site. William thought there was something odd about the way they looked, and realized after a moment that it was their colorful dress. They were not regular laborers, of course\u2014the paid work force would be on holiday today. These people were volunteers.\n\nHe had not expected that there would be so many of them. Hundreds of men and women were carrying stones and splitting timber and rolling barrels and heaving cartloads of sand up from the river, all working for nothing but forgiveness of their sins.\n\nThe sly prior had a crafty setup, William observed enviously. The people who came to work on the cathedral would spend money at the market. People who came to the market would give a few hours to the cathedral, for their sins. Each hand washed the other.\n\nHe kicked his horse forward and rode across the graveyard to the building site, curious to see it more closely.\n\nThe eight massive piers of the arcade marched down either side of the site in four opposed pairs. From a distance, William had thought he could see the round arches joining one pier with the next, but now he realized the arches were not built yet\u2014what he had seen was the wooden falsework, made in the same shape, upon which the stones would rest while the arches were being constructed and the mortar was drying. The falsework did not rest on the ground, but was supported on the out-jutting moldings of the capitals on top of the piers.\n\nParallel with the arcade, the outer walls of the aisles were going up, with regular spaces for the windows. Midway between each window opening, a buttress jutted out from the line of the wall. Looking at the open ends of the unfinished walls, William could see that they were not solid stone: they were in fact double walls with a space in between. The cavity appeared to be filled with rubble and mortar.\n\nThe scaffolding was made of stout poles roped together, with trestles of flexible saplings and woven reeds laid across the poles.\n\nA lot of money had been spent here, William noted.\n\nHe rode on around the outside of the chancel, followed by his knights. Against the walls were wooden lean-to huts, workshops and lodges for the craftsmen. Most of them were locked shut now, for there were no masons laying stones or carpenters making falsework today. However, the supervising craftsmen\u2014the master masons and the master carpenter\u2014were directing the volunteer laborers, telling them where to stack the stones, timber, sand and lime they were carrying up from the riverside.\n\nWilliam rode around the east end of the church to the south side, where his way was blocked by the monastic buildings. Then he turned back, marveling at the cunning of Prior Philip, who had his master craftsmen busy on a Sunday and his laborers working for no pay.\n\nAs he reflected on what he was seeing, it seemed devastatingly clear that Prior Philip was largely responsible for the decline in the fortunes of the Shiring earldom. The farms were losing their young men to the building site, and Shiring\u2014jewel of the earldom\u2014was being eclipsed by the growing new town of Kingsbridge. Residents here paid rent to Philip, not William, and people who bought and sold goods at this market generated income for the priory, not the earldom. And Philip had the timber, the sheep farms and the quarry that had once enriched the earl.\n\nWilliam and his men rode back across the close to the market. He decided to take a closer look. He urged his horse into the crowd. It inched forward. The people did not scatter fearfully out of his path. When the horse nudged them, they looked up at William with irritation or annoyance rather than dread, and moved out of the way in their own good time, with a somewhat condescending air. Nobody here was frightened of him. It made him nervous. If people were not scared there was no telling what they might do.\n\nHe went down one row and back up the next, with his knights trailing behind him. He became frustrated with the slow movement of the crowd. It would have been quicker to walk; but then, he felt sure, these insubordinate Kingsbridge people would probably have been cocky enough to jostle him.\n\nHe was halfway along the return aisle when he saw Aliena.\n\nHe reined in abruptly and stared at her, transfixed.\n\nShe was no longer the thin, strained, frightened girl in clogs that he had seen here on WhitSunday three years ago. Her face, then drawn with tension, had filled out again, and she had a happy, healthy look. Her dark eyes flashed with humor and her curls tumbled about her face when she shook her head.\n\nShe was so beautiful that she made William's head swim with desire.\n\nShe was wearing a scarlet robe, richly embroidered, and her expressive hands glinted with rings. There was an older woman with her, standing a little to one side, like a servant. Plenty of money, Mother had said; that was how Richard had been able to become a squire and join King Stephen's army equipped with fine weapons. Damn her. She had been destitute, a penniless, powerless girl\u2014how had she done it?\n\nShe was at a stall that carried bone needles, silk thread, wooden thimbles and other sewing necessities, discussing the goods animatedly with the short, dark-haired Jew who was selling them. Her stance was assertive, and she was relaxed and self-confident. She had recovered the poise she had possessed as daughter of the earl.\n\nShe looked much older. She was older, of course: William was twenty-four, so she must be twenty-one now. But she looked more than that. There was nothing of the child in her now. She was mature.\n\nShe looked up and met his eye.\n\nLast time he had locked glances with her, she had blushed for shame, and run away. This time she stood her ground and stared back at him.\n\nHe tried a knowing smile.\n\nAn expression of scathing contempt came over her face.\n\nWilliam felt himself flush red. She was as haughty as ever, and she scorned him now as she had five years ago. He had humiliated and ravished her, but she was no longer terrified of him. He wanted to speak to her, and tell her that he could do again what he had done to her before; but he was not willing to shout it over the heads of the crowd. Her unflinching gaze made him feel small. He tried to sneer at her, but he could not, and he knew he was making a foolish grimace. In an agony of embarrassment he turned away and kicked his horse on; but even then the crowd slowed him down, and her withering look burned into the back of his neck as he moved away from her by painful inches.\n\nWhen at last he emerged from the marketplace he was confronted by Prior Philip.\n\nThe short Welshman stood with his hands on his hips and his chin thrust aggressively forward. He was not quite as thin as he used to be, and what little hair he had was turning prematurely from black to gray, William saw. He no longer looked too young for his job. Now his blue eyes were bright with anger. \"Lord William!\" he called in a challenging tone.\n\nWilliam tore his mind away from the thought of Aliena and remembered that he had a charge to make against Philip. \"I'm glad to come across you, Prior.\"\n\n\"And I you,\" Philip said angrily, but the shadow of a doubtful frown crossed his brow.\n\n\"You're holding a market here,\" William said accusingly.\n\n\"So what?\"\n\n\"I don't believe King Stephen ever licensed a market in Kingsbridge. Nor did any other king, to my knowledge.\"\n\n\"How dare you?\" said Philip.\n\n\"I or anybody\u2014\"\n\n\"You!\" Philip shouted, overriding him. \"How dare you come in here and talk about a license\u2014you, who in the past month have gone through this county committing arson, theft, rape, and at least one murder!\"\n\n\"That's nothing to do\u2014\"\n\n\"How dare you come into a monastery and talk about a license!\" Philip yelled. He stepped forward, wagging his finger at William, and William's horse sidestepped nervously. Somehow Philip's voice was more penetrating than William's and William could not get a word in. A crowd of monks, volunteer workers and market customers was gathering around, watching the row. Philip was unstoppable. \"After what you've done, there is only one thing you should say: 'Father, I have sinned!' You should get down on your knees in this priory! You should beg for forgiveness, if you want to escape the fires of hell.\"\n\nWilliam blanched. Talk of hell filled him with uncontrollable terror. He tried desperately to interrupt Philip's flow, saying: \"What about your market? What about your market?\"\n\nPhilip hardly heard. He was in a fury of indignation. \"Beg forgiveness for the awful things you have done!\" he shouted. \"On your knees! On your knees, or you'll burn in hell!\"\n\nWilliam was almost frightened enough to believe that he would suffer hellfire unless he knelt and prayed in front of Philip right now. He knew he was overdue for confession, for he had killed many men in the war, on top of the sins he had committed during his tour of the earldom. What if he were to die before he confessed? He began to feel shaky at the thought of the eternal flames and the devils with their sharp knives.\n\nPhilip advanced on him, pointing his finger and shouting: \"On your knees!\"\n\nWilliam backed his horse. He looked around desperately. The crowd hemmed him in. His knights were behind him, looking bemused: they could not decide how to cope with a spiritual threat from an unarmed monk. William could not take any more humiliation. After Aliena, this was too much. He pulled on the reins, making his massive war-horse rear dangerously. The crowd parted in front of its mighty hooves. When its forefeet hit the ground again he kicked it hard, and it lunged forward. The onlookers scattered. He kicked it again, and it broke into a canter. Burning with shame, he fled out through the priory gate, with his knights following, like a pack of snarling dogs chased off by an old woman with a broom.\n\nWilliam confessed his sins, in fear and trembling, on the cold stone floor of the little chapel at the bishop's palace. Bishop Waleran listened in silence, his face a mask of distaste, as William catalogued the killings, the beatings and the rapes he was guilty of. Even while he confessed, William was filled with loathing for the supercilious bishop, with his clean white hands folded over his heart, and his translucent white nostrils slightly flared, as if there were a bad smell in the dusty air. It tormented William to beg Waleran for absolution, but his sins were so heavy that no ordinary priest could forgive them. So he knelt, possessed by fear, while Waleran commanded him to light a candle in perpetuity in the chapel at Earlscastle, and then told him his sins were absolved.\n\nThe fear lifted slowly, like a fog.\n\nThey came out of the chapel into the smoky atmosphere of the great hall and sat by the fire. Autumn was turning to winter and it was cold in the big stone house. A kitchen hand brought hot spiced bread made with honey and ginger. William began to feel all right at last.\n\nThen he remembered his other problems. Bartholomew's son Richard was making a bid for the earldom, and William was too poor to raise an army big enough to impress the king. He had raked in considerable cash in the past month, but it was still not sufficient. He sighed, and said: \"That damned monk is drinking the blood of the Shiring earldom.\"\n\nWaleran took some bread with a pale, long-fingered hand like a claw. \"I've been wondering how long it would take you to reach that conclusion.\"\n\nOf course, Waleran would have worked it all out long before William. He was so superior. William would rather not talk to him. But he wanted the bishop's opinion on a legal point. \"The king has never licensed a market in Kingsbridge, has he?\"\n\n\"To my certain knowledge, no.\"\n\n\"Then Philip is breaking the law.\"\n\nWaleran shrugged his bony, black-draped shoulders. \"For what it's worth, yes.\"\n\nWaleran seemed uninterested but William plowed on. \"He ought to be stopped.\"\n\nWaleran gave a fastidious smile. \"You can't deal with him the way you deal with a serf who's married off his daughter without permission.\"\n\nWilliam reddened: Waleran was referring to one of the sins he had just confessed. \"How can you deal with him, then?\"\n\nWaleran considered. \"Markets are the king's prerogative. In more peaceful times he would probably handle this himself.\"\n\nWilliam gave a scornful laugh. For all his cleverness, Waleran did not know the king as well as William did. \"Even in peacetime he wouldn't thank me for complaining to him about an unlicensed market.\"\n\n\"Well, then, his deputy, to deal with local matters, is the sheriff of Storing.\"\n\n\"What can he do?\"\n\n\"He could bring a writ against the priory in the county court.\"\n\nWilliam shook his head. \"That's the last thing I want. The court would impose a fine, the priory would pay it, and the market would continue. It's almost like giving a license.\"\n\n\"The trouble is, there are really no grounds for refusing to let Kingsbridge have a market.\"\n\n\"Yes, there are!\" said William indignantly. \"It takes trade away from the market at Shiring.\"\n\n\"Shiring is a full day's journey from Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"People will walk a long way.\"\n\nWaleran shrugged again. William realized he shrugged when he disagreed. Waleran said: \"Tradition says a man will spend a third of a day walking to the market, a third of a day at the market, and a third of a day walking home. Therefore, a market serves the people within a third of a day's journey, which is reckoned to be seven miles. If two markets are more than fourteen miles apart, their catchment areas do not overlap. Shiring is twenty miles from Kingsbridge. According to the rule, Kingsbridge is entitled to a market, and the king should grant it.\"\n\n\"The king does what he likes,\" William blustered, but he was bothered. He had not known about this rule. It put Prior Philip in a stronger position.\n\nWaleran said: \"Anyway, we won't be dealing with the king, we'll be dealing with the sheriff.\" He frowned. \"The sheriff could just order the priory to desist from holding an unlicensed market.\"\n\n\"That's a waste of time,\" William said contemptuously. \"Who takes any notice of an order that isn't backed up by a threat?\"\n\n\"Philip might.\"\n\nWilliam did not believe that. \"Why would he?\"\n\nA mocking smile played around Waleran's bloodless lips. \"I'm not sure I can explain it to you,\" he said. \"Philip believes that the law should be king.\"\n\n\"Stupid idea,\" said William impatiently. \"The king is king.\"\n\n\"I said you wouldn't understand.\"\n\nWaleran's knowing air infuriated William. He got up and went to the window. Looking out, he could see, at the top of the nearby hill, the earthworks where Waleran had started to build a castle four years ago. Waleran had hoped to pay for it out of the income from the Shiring earldom. Philip had frustrated his plans, and now the grass had grown back over the mounds of earth, and brambles filled the dry ditch. William recalled that Waleran had hoped to build with stone from the earl of Shiring's quarry. Now Philip had the quarry. William mused: \"If I had my quarry back, I could use it as a surety, and borrow money to raise an army.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you take it back?\" said Waleran.\n\nWilliam shook his head. \"I tried, once.\"\n\n\"And Philip outmaneuvered you. But there are no monks there now. You could send a squad of men to evict the stonecutters.\"\n\n\"And how would I stop Philip from moving back in, the way he did last time?\"\n\n\"Build a high fence around the quarry and leave a permanent guard.\"\n\nIt was possible, William thought eagerly. And it would solve his problem at a stroke. But what was Waleran's motive in suggesting it? Mother had warned him to beware of the unscrupulous bishop. \"The only thing you need to know about Waleran Bigod,\" she had said, \"is that everything he does is carefully calculated. Nothing spontaneous, nothing careless, nothing casual, nothing superfluous. Above all, nothing generous.\" But Waleran hated Philip, and had sworn to prevent him from building his cathedral. That was motive enough.\n\nWilliam looked thoughtfully at Waleran. His career was in a stall. He had become bishop very young, but Kingsbridge was an insignificant and impoverished diocese and Waleran had surely intended it to be a stepping-stone to higher things. However, it was the prior, not the bishop, who was winning wealth and fame. Waleran was withering in Philip's shadow much as William was. They both had reason to want to destroy him.\n\nWilliam decided, yet again, to overcome his loathing of Waleran for the sake of his own long-term interests.\n\n\"All right,\" he said. \"This could work. But suppose Philip then complains to the king?\"\n\nWaleran said: \"You'll say you did it as a reprisal for Philip's unlicensed market.\"\n\nWilliam nodded. \"Any excuse will do, so long as I go back to the war with a big enough army.\"\n\nWaleran's eyes glinted with malice. \"I have a feeling Philip can't build that cathedral if he has to buy stone at a market price. And if he stops building, Kingsbridge could go into decline. This could solve all your problems, William.\"\n\nWilliam was not going to show gratitude. \"You really hate Philip, don't you?\"\n\n\"He's in my way,\" Waleran said, but for a moment William had glimpsed the naked savagery beneath the bishop's cool, calculating manner.\n\nWilliam returned to practical matters. \"There must be thirty quarrymen there, some with their wives and children,\" he said.\n\n\"So what?\"\n\n\"There may be bloodshed.\"\n\nWaleran raised his black eyebrows. \"Indeed?\" he said. \"Then I shall give you absolution.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "They set out while it was still dark, in order to arrive at dawn. They carried flaming torches, which made the horses jumpy. As well as Walter and the other four knights, William took six men-at-arms. Trailing behind them were a dozen peasants who would dig the ditch and put up the fence.\n\nWilliam believed firmly in careful military planning\u2014which was why he and his men were so useful to King Stephen\u2014but on this occasion he had no battle plan. It was such an easy operation that it would have been demeaning to make preparations as if it were a real fight. A few stonecutters and their families could not put up much opposition; and anyway, William remembered being told how the stonecutters' leader\u2014was his name Otto? Yes, Otto Blackface\u2014had refused to fight, on the first day Tom Builder had taken his men to the quarry.\n\nA chill December morning dawned, with rags and tatters of mist hanging on the trees like poor people's washing. William disliked this time of year. It was cold in the morning and dark in the evening, and the castle was always damp. Too much salt meat and salt fish was served. His mother was bad-tempered and the servants were surly. His knights became quarrelsome. This little fight would be good for them. It would also be good for him: he had already arranged to borrow two hundred pounds from the Jews of London against the surety of the quarry. By the end of today his future would be secure.\n\nWhen they were about a mile from the quarry William stopped, picked out two men, and sent them ahead, on foot. \"There may be a sentry, or some dogs,\" he warned. \"Have a bow out ready with an arrow at the string.\"\n\nA little later the road curved to the left, then ended suddenly at the sheer side of a mutilated hill. This was the quarry. All was quiet. Beside the road, William's men were holding a scared boy\u2014presumably an apprentice who had been on sentry duty\u2014and at his feet was a dog bleeding to death with an arrow through its neck.\n\nThe raiding party drew up, making no particular effort to be silent. William reined in and studied the scene. Much of the hill had disappeared since last he saw it. The scaffolding ran up the hillside to inaccessible areas and down into a deep pit which had been opened up at the foot of the hill. Stone blocks of different shapes and sizes were stacked near the road, and two massive wooden carts with huge wheels were loaded with stone ready to go. Everything was covered with gray dust, even the bushes and trees. A large area of woodland had been cleared\u2014my woodland, William thought angrily\u2014and there were ten or twelve wooden buildings, some with small vegetable gardens, one with a pigsty. It was a little village.\n\nThe sentry had probably been asleep\u2014and his dog, too. William spoke to him. \"How many men are here, lad?\"\n\nThe boy looked scared but brave. \"You're Lord William, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Answer the question, boy, or I'll take off your head with this sword.\"\n\nHe went white with fear, but replied in a voice of quavering defiance. \"Are you trying to steal this quarry away from Prior Philip?\"\n\nWhat's the matter with me, William thought? I can't even frighten a skinny child with no beard! Why do people think they can defy me? \"This quarry is mine!\" he hissed. \"Forget about Prior Philip\u2014he can't do anything for you now. How many men?\"\n\nInstead of replying the boy threw back his head and began to yell. \"Help! Look out! Attack! Attack!\"\n\nWilliam's hand went to his sword. He hesitated, looking across at the houses. A scared face peered out from a doorway. He decided to forget about the apprentice. He snatched a blazing torch from one of his men and kicked his horse.\n\nHe rode at the houses, carrying the torch high, and heard his men behind him. The door of the nearest hut opened and a bleary-eyed man in an undershirt looked out. William threw the burning torch over the man's head. It landed on the floor behind him in the straw, which caught fire immediately. William gave a whoop of triumph and rode past.\n\nHe went on through the little cluster of houses. Behind him, his men charged, yelling and throwing their torches at the thatched roofs. All the doors opened, and terrified men, women and children began to pour out, screaming and trying to dodge the hammering hooves. They milled about in a panic while the flames took hold. William reined in at the edge of the melee and watched for a moment. The domestic animals got loose, and a frantic pig charged around blindly while a cow stood still in the middle of it all, its stupid head weaving from side to side in bewilderment. Even the young men, normally the most belligerent group, were confused and scared. Dawn was definitely the best time for this sort of thing: there was something about being half naked that took away people's aggression.\n\nA dark-skinned man with a thatch of black hair came out of one of the huts with his boots on and started giving orders. This must be Otto Blackface. William could not hear what he was saying. He could guess from the gestures that Otto was telling the women to pick up the children and hide in the woods, but what was he saying to the men? A moment later William found out. Two young men ran to a hut set apart from the others and opened its door, which was locked from the outside. They stepped in and reemerged with heavy stonecutters' hammers. Otto directed other men to the same hut, which was obviously a tool shed. They were going to make a fight of it.\n\nThree years ago Otto had refused to fight for Philip. What had changed his mind?\n\nWhatever it was, it was going to kill him. William smiled grimly and drew his sword.\n\nThere were now six or eight men armed with sledgehammers and longhandled axes. William spurred his horse and charged at the group around the door of the tool shed. They scattered out of his way, but he swung his sword and managed to catch one of them with a deep cut to the upper arm. The man dropped his ax.\n\nWilliam galloped away, then turned his horse. He was breathing hard and feeling good: in the heat of a battle there was no fear, only excitement. Some of his men had seen what was happening and looked to William for guidance. He beckoned them to follow him, then charged the stonecutters again. They could not dodge six knights as easily as they could dodge one. William struck down two of them, and several more fell to the swords of his men, although he was moving too fast to count how many or see whether they were dead or just wounded.\n\nWhen he turned again, Otto was rallying his forces. As the knights charged, the stonecutters dispersed into the cluster of burning houses. It was a clever tactic, William realized regretfully. The knights followed, but it was easier for the stonecutters to dodge when they were split up, and the horses shied away from the blazing buildings. William chased a gray-haired man with a hammer, and just missed him several times before the man evaded him by running through a house with a burning hoof.\n\nWilliam realized that Otto was the problem. He was giving the stonecutters courage as well as organizing them. As soon as he fell, the others would give up. William reined in his horse and looked for the dark-skinned man. Most of the women and children had disappeared, except for two five-year-olds standing in the middle of the battlefield, holding hands and crying. William's knights were charging between the houses, chasing the stonecutters. To his surprise, William saw that one of his men-at-arms had fallen to a hammer, and lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding. William was dismayed: he had not anticipated any casualties on his own side.\n\nA distraught woman was running in and out of burning houses, calling out something William could not hear. She was searching for someone. Finally she saw the two five-year-olds, and picked them up one in each arm. As she ran away she almost collided with one of William's knights, Gilbert de Rennes. Gilbert raised his sword to strike her. Suddenly Otto sprang out from behind a hut and swung a longhandled ax. His handling of the weapon was skillful and its blade sliced right through Gilbert's thigh and bit into the wood of the saddle. The severed leg dropped to the ground, and Gilbert screamed and fell off his horse.\n\nHe would never fight again.\n\nGilbert was a valuable knight. Angry, William spurred his horse forward. The woman with the children vanished. Otto was struggling to pull the blade of his ax from Gilbert's saddle. He looked up and saw William coming. If he had run at that moment he might have escaped, but he stayed and tugged at his ax. It came free when William was almost on him. William raised his sword. Otto stood his ground and lifted the ax. At the last moment William realized the ax was going to be used on the horse, and the stonecutter could cripple the animal before William was close enough to strike him down. William hauled on the reins desperately, and the horse skidded to a halt and reared up, turning its head away from Otto. The blow fell on the horse's neck, and the edge of the ax bit deeply into the powerful muscles. Blood spurted like a fountain, and the horse fell. William was off its back before the huge body hit the ground.\n\nHe was enraged. The war-horse had cost a fortune and had survived with him through a year of civil war, and it was maddening to lose it to a quarryman's ax. He jumped over its body and lunged furiously at Otto with the sword.\n\nOtto was no easy victim. He held his ax in both hands and used its heart-of-oak handle to parry William's sword. William struck harder and harder, driving him back. Despite his age Otto was powerfully muscled, and William's blows hardly jarred him. William took his sword in both hands and struck harder. Once again the handle of the ax intervened, but this time William's blade stuck in the wood. Then Otto was advancing and William was retreating. William tugged hard at his sword and his blade came unstuck, but now Otto was almost on him.\n\nSuddenly William was afraid for his life.\n\nOtto raised the ax. William dodged back. His heel connected with something and he stumbled and fell backward over the body of his horse. He landed in a puddle of warm blood but managed to keep hold of his sword. Otto stood over him with his ax raised. As the weapon came down, William rolled frantically sideways. He felt the wind as the blade sliced the air next to his face; then he sprang to his feet and thrust at the stonecutter with his sword.\n\nA soldier would have moved sideways before pulling his weapon out of the ground, knowing that a man is at his most vulnerable when he has just struck a blow and missed; but Otto was no soldier, just a brave fool, and he was standing with one hand on the haft of the ax and the other arm stretched out for balance, leaving the whole of his body an easy target. William's hasty thrust was almost blind, but nevertheless it connected. The point of the sword pierced Otto's chest. William pushed harder and the blade slid between the man's ribs. Otto released his hold on the ax, and over his face came an expression William knew well. His eyes showed surprise, his mouth opened as if to scream, although no sound came, and his skin suddenly looked gray. It was the look of a man who has received a mortal wound. William thrust the blade home harder, just to make sure, then pulled it out. Otto's eyes rolled up in his head, a bright red stain appeared on his shirt front and instantly grew large, and he fell.\n\nWilliam spun round, scanning the whole scene. He saw two stonecutters running away, presumably having seen their leader killed. As they ran they shouted to the others. The fight turned into a retreat. The knights chased the runaways.\n\nWilliam stood still, breathing hard. The damned quarrymen had fought back! He looked at Gilbert. He lay still, in a pool of blood, with his eyes closed. William put a hand on his chest: there was no heartbeat. Gilbert was dead.\n\nWilliam walked around the still-burning houses, counting bodies. Three stonecutters lay dead, plus a woman and a child who both looked as if they had been trampled by horses. Three of William's men-at-arms were wounded, and four horses were dead or crippled.\n\nWhen he had completed his count he stood by the corpse of his war-horse. He had liked that horse better than he liked most people. After a battle he usually felt exhilarated, but now he was depressed. It was a shambles. This should have been a simple operation to chase off a group of helpless workmen, and it had turned into a pitched battle with high casualties.\n\nThe knights chased the stonecutters as far as the woods, but there the horses could not catch the men, so they turned back. Walter rode up to where William stood and saw Gilbert dead on the ground. He crossed himself and said: \"Gilbert has killed more men than I have.\"\n\n\"There aren't so many like him, that I can afford to lose one in a squabble with a damned monk,\" William said bitterly. \"To say nothing of the horses.\"\n\n\"What a turnup,\" Walter said. \"These people put up more of a fight than Robert of Gloucester's rebels!\"\n\nWilliam shook his head in disgust. \"I don't know,\" he said, looking around at the bodies. \"What the devil did they think they were fighting for?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Just after dawn, when most of the brothers were in the crypt for the service of prime, there were only two people in the dormitory: Johnny Eightpence, sweeping the floor at one end of the long room, and Jonathan, playing school at the other.\n\nPrior Philip paused in the doorway and watched Jonathan. He was. almost five years old, an alert, confident boy with a childish gravity that charmed everyone. Johnny still dressed him in a miniature monk's habit. Today Jonathan was pretending to be the novice-master, giving lessons to an imaginary row of pupils. \"That's wrong, Godfrey!\" he said sternly to the empty bench. \"No dinner for you if you don't learn your berves!\" He meant verbs. Philip smiled fondly. He could not have loved a son more deeply. Jonathan was the one thing in life that gave him sheer unadulterated joy.\n\nThe child ran around the priory like a puppy, petted and spoiled by all the monks. To most of them he was just like a pet, an amusing plaything; but to Philip and Johnny he was something more. Johnny loved him like a mother; and Philip, though he tried to conceal it, felt like the boy's father. Philip himself had been raised, from a young age, by a kindly abbot, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to play the same role with Jonathan. He did not tickle or chase him the way the monks did, but he told him Bible stories, and played counting games with him, and kept an eye on Johnny.\n\nHe went into the room, smiled at Johnny, and sat on the bench with the imaginary schoolboys.\n\n\"Good morning, Father,\" Jonathan said solemnly. Johnny had taught him to be scrupulously polite.\n\nPhilip said: \"How would you like to go to school?\"\n\n\"I know Latin already,\" Jonathan boasted.\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Yes. Listen. Omnius pluvius buvius tuvius nomine patri amen.\"\n\nPhilip tried not to laugh. \"That sounds like Latin, but it's not quite right. Brother Osmund, the novice-master, will teach you to speak it properly.\"\n\nJonathan was a little cast down to discover that he did not know Latin after all. He said: \"Anyway, I can run fast and fast, look!\" He ran at top speed from one side of the room to the other.\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said Philip. \"That really is fast.\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014and I can go even faster\u2014\"\n\n\"Not just now,\" Philip said. \"Listen to me for a moment. I'm going away for a while.\"\n\n\"Will you be back tomorrow?\"\n\n\"No, not that soon.\"\n\n\"Next week?\"\n\n\"Not even then.\"\n\nJonathan looked blank. He could not conceive of a time farther ahead than next week. Another mystery occurred to him. \"But why?\"\n\n\"I have to see the king.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" That did not mean much to Jonathan either.\n\n\"And I'd like you to go to school while I'm away. Would you like that?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"You're almost five years old. Your birthday is next week. You came to us on the first day of the year.\"\n\n\"Where did I come from?\"\n\n\"From God. All things come from God.\"\n\nJonathan knew that was no answer. \"But where was I before?\" he persisted.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nJonathan frowned. A frown looked funny on such a carefree young face. \"I must have been somewhere.\"\n\nOne day, Philip realized, someone would have to tell Jonathan how babies were born. He grimaced at the thought. Well, this was not the time, happily. He changed the subject. \"While I'm away, I want you to learn to count up to a hundred.\"\n\n\"I can count,\" Jonathan said. \"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen porteen scorteen horteen\u2014\"\n\n\"Not bad,\" said Philip, \"but Brother Osmund will teach you more. You must sit still in the schoolroom and do everything he tells you to.\"\n\n\"I'm going to be the best in the school!\" said Jonathan.\n\n\"We'll see.\" Philip studied him for a moment longer. Philip was fascinated by the child's development, the way he learned things and the phases through which he passed. This current insistence on being able to speak Latin, or count, or run fast, was curious: was it a necessary prelude to real learning? It must serve some purpose in God's plan. And one day Jonathan would be a man. What would he be like then? The thought made Philip impatient for Jonathan to grow up. But that would take as long as the building of the cathedral.\n\n\"Give me a kiss, then, and say goodbye,\" Philip said.\n\nJonathan lifted his face and Philip kissed the soft cheek. \"Goodbye, Father,\" said Jonathan.\n\n\"Goodbye, my son,\" Philip said.\n\nHe gave Johnny Eightpence's arm an affectionate squeeze and went out.\n\nThe monks were coming out of the crypt and heading for the refectory. Philip went the opposite way, and entered the crypt to pray for success on his mission.\n\nHe had been heartbroken when they told him what had happened at the quarry. Five people killed, one of them a little girl! He had hidden himself in his house and cried like a child. Five of his flock, struck down by William Hamleigh and his pack of brutes. Philip had known them all: Harry of Shiring, who had once been Lord Percy's quarryman; Otto Blackface, the dark-skinned man who had been in charge of the quarry since the very beginning; Otto's handsome son Mark; Mark's wife, Alwen, who played tunes on sheep bells in the evenings; and little Norma, Otto's seven-year-old granddaughter, his favorite. Good-hearted, God-fearing, hardworking people, who had a right to expect peace and justice from their lords. William had slaughtered them like a fox killing chickens. It was enough to make the angels weep.\n\nPhilip had grieved for them, and then he had gone to Shiring to demand justice. The sheriff had refused point-blank to take any action. \"Lord William has a small army\u2014how should I arrest him?\" Sheriff Eustace had said. \"The king needs knights to fight against Maud\u2014what will he say if I incarcerate one of his best men? If I brought a charge of murder against William, I'd either be killed immediately by his knights or hanged for a traitor later by King Stephen.\"\n\nThe first casualty of a civil war was justice, Philip had realized.\n\nThen the sheriff had told him that William had made a formal complaint about the Kingsbridge market.\n\nIt was ludicrous, of course, that William could get away with murder and at the same time charge Philip on a technicality; but Philip felt helpless. It was true that he did not have permission to hold a market, and he was in the wrong, strictly speaking. But he could not remain in the wrong. He was the prior of Kingsbridge. All he had was his moral authority. William could call up an army of knights; Bishop Waleran could use his contacts in high places; the sheriff could claim royal authority; but all Philip could do was to say this is right and that is wrong; and if he were to forfeit that position he really would be helpless. So he had ordered the market to cease.\n\nThat left him in a truly desperate position.\n\nThe priory's finances had improved dramatically, thanks to stricter controls on the one hand, and on the other, ever-rising earnings from the market and from sheep farming; but Philip always spent every penny on the building, and he had borrowed heavily from the Jews of Winchester, a loan he had yet to repay. Now, at a stroke, he had lost his supply of cost-free stone, his income from the market had dried up, and his volunteer laborers\u2014many of whom came mainly for the market\u2014were likely to dwindle. He would have to lay off half the builders, and abandon hope of finishing the cathedral in his own lifetime. He was not prepared to do that.\n\nHe wondered if the crisis was his own fault. Had he been too confident, too ambitious? Sheriff Eustace had said as much. \"You're too big for your boots, Philip,\" he had said angrily. \"You run a little monastery, and you're a little prior, but you want to rule the bishop and the earl and the sheriff. Well, you can't. We're too powerful for you. All you do is cause trouble.\" Eustace was an ugly man with uneven teeth and a cast in one eye, and he was wearing a dirty yellow robe; but unimpressive though he was, his words had stabbed Philip's heart. He was painfully aware that the quarrymen would not have died if he had not made an enemy of William Hamleigh. But he could not do other than be William's enemy. If he gave up, even more people would suffer, people such as the miller William had killed and the serfs daughter he and his knights had raped. Philip had to fight on.\n\nAnd that meant he had to go to see the king.\n\nHe hated the idea. He had approached the king once before, at Winchester four years ago, and although he had got what he wanted, he had been dreadfully ill-at-ease at the royal court. The king was surrounded by wily and unscrupulous people jostling for his attention and squabbling over his favors, and Philip found such people contemptible. They were trying to acquire wealth and position they did not merit. He did not really understand the game they were playing: in his world, the best way to get something was to deserve it, not to toady to the giver. But now he had no alternative but to enter their world and play their game. Only the king could grant Philip permission to hold a market. Only the king could now save the cathedral.\n\nHe finished his prayers and left the crypt. The sun was coming up, and there was a pink flush on the gray stone walls of the rising cathedral. The builders, who worked from sunrise to sunset, were just beginning, opening their lodges and sharpening their tools and mixing up the first batch of mortar. The loss of the quarry had not yet affected the building: they had always quarried stone faster than they could use it, from the beginning, and now they had a stockpile that would last many months.\n\nIt was time for Philip to leave. All the arrangements were made. The king was at Lincoln. Philip would have a traveling companion: Richard, the brother of Aliena. After fighting for a year as a squire, Richard had been knighted by the king. He had come home to re-equip himself and was now going to rejoin the royal army.\n\nAliena had done astonishingly well as a wool merchant. She no longer sold her wool to Philip, but dealt directly with the Flemish buyers herself. Indeed, this year she had wanted to buy the entire fleece production of the priory. She would have paid less than the Flemish, but Philip would have got the money earlier. He had turned her down. However, it was a measure of her success that she could even make the offer.\n\nShe was at the stable with her brother now, Philip saw as he walked across. A crowd had gathered to say goodbye to the travelers. Richard was sitting on a chestnut war-horse that must have cost Aliena twenty pounds. He had grown into a handsome, broad-shouldered young man, his regular features marred only by an angry scar on his right ear: the earlobe had been cut off, no doubt in some fencing accident. He was splendidly dressed in red and green and outfitted with a new sword, lance, battle-ax and dagger. His baggage was carried by a second horse which he had on a leading-rein. With him were two men-at-arms on coursers and a squire on a cob.\n\nAliena was in tears, although Philip could not tell whether she was sorry to see her brother go, proud that he looked so fine, or frightened that he might never come back. All three, perhaps. Some of the villagers had come to say goodbye, including most of the young men and boys. No doubt Richard was their hero. All the monks were here, too, to wish their prior a safe journey.\n\nThe stable hands brought out two horses, a palfrey saddled ready for Philip and a cob loaded with his modest baggage\u2014mainly food for the journey. The builders put down their tools and came over, led by bearded Tom and his redheaded stepson, Jack.\n\nPhilip formally embraced Remigius, his sub-prior, and took a warmer farewell of Milius and Cuthbert, then mounted the palfrey. He would be sitting in this hard saddle a long time, he realized grimly. From his raised position he blessed them all. The monks, builders and villagers waved and called out their goodbyes as he and Richard rode side by side through the priory gates.\n\nThey went down the narrow street through the village, waving to people who looked out of their doorways, then clattered across the wooden bridge and onto the road through the fields. A little later, Philip glanced back over his shoulder, and saw the rising sun shining through the window space in the half-built east end of the new cathedral. If he failed in his mission, it might never be finished. After all he had been through to get this far, he could not bear to contemplate the idea of defeat now. He turned back and concentrated on the road ahead.\n\nLincoln was a city on a hill. Philip and Richard approached it from the south, on an ancient and busy road called Ermine Street. Even from a distance they could see, at the top of the hill, the towers of the cathedral and the battlements of the castle. But they were still three or four miles away when, to Philip's astonishment, they came to a city gate. The suburbs must be vast, he thought; the population must run to thousands.\n\nAt Christmas the city had been seized by Ranulf of Chester, the most powerful man in the north of England and a relative of the Empress Maud. King Stephen had since retaken the city, but Ranulf's forces still held the castle. Now, Philip and Richard had learned as they drew nearer, Lincoln was in the peculiar position of having two rival armies camped within its walls.\n\nPhilip had not warmed to Richard in their four weeks together. Aliena's brother was an angry youth, who hated the Hamleighs and was set on revenge; and he talked as if Philip felt the same. But there was a difference. Philip hated the Hamleighs for what they did to their subjects: getting rid of them would make the world a better place. Richard could not feel good about himself until he had defeated the Hamleighs: his motive was entirely selfish.\n\nRichard was physically brave, always ready for a fight; but in other ways he was weak. He confused his men-at-arms by sometimes treating them as equals and sometimes ordering them around like servants. In taverns he would try to make an impression by buying beer for strangers. He pretended to know the way when he was not really sure, and sometimes led the party far astray because he could not admit that he had made a mistake. By the time they reached Lincoln, Philip knew that Aliena was worth ten of Richard.\n\nThey passed a large lake teeming with ships; then at the foot of the hill they crossed the river that formed the southern boundary of the city proper. Lincoln obviously lived by shipping. Beside the bridge there was a fish market. They went through another guarded gate. Now they left behind the sprawl of the suburbs and entered the teeming city. A narrow, impossibly crowded street ran steeply up the hill directly in front of them. The houses that jostled shoulder to shoulder on either side were made partly or wholly of stone, a sign of considerable wealth. The hill was so steep that most houses had their main floor several feet above ground level at one end and below the surface at the other. The area underneath the downhill end was invariably a craftsman's workplace or a shop. The only open spaces were the graveyards next to the churches, and on each of these there was a market: grain, poultry, wool, leather and others. Philip and Richard, with Richard's small entourage, fought their way through the dense crowd of townspeople, men-at-arms, animals and carts. Philip realized with astonishment that there were stones beneath his feet. The whole street was paved! What wealth there must be here, he thought, for stones to be laid in the street as if it were a palace or a cathedral. The way was still slippery with refuse and animal dung, but it was much better than the river of mud that constituted most city streets in winter.\n\nThey reached the crest of the hill and passed through yet another gate. Now they entered the inner city, and the atmosphere was suddenly different: quieter, but very tense. Immediately to their left was the entrance to the castle. The great ironbound door in the archway was shut tight. Dim figures moved behind the arrow-slit windows in the gatehouse, and sentries in armor patrolled the castellated ramparts, the feeble sunshine glinting off their burnished helmets. Philip watched them pacing to and fro. There was no conversation between them, no joshing and laughter, no leaning on the balustrade to whistle at passing girls: they were upright, eagle-eyed, and fearful.\n\nTo Philip's right, no more than a quarter of a mile from the castle gate, was the west front of the cathedral, and Philip saw instantly that despite its proximity to the castle it had been taken over as the king's military headquarters. A line of sentries barred the narrow road that led between the canons' houses to the church. Beyond the sentries, knights and men-at-arms were passing in and out through the three doorways to the cathedral. The graveyard was an army camp, with tents and cooking fires and horses grazing the turf. There were no monastic buildings: Lincoln Cathedral was not run by monks, but by priests called canons, who lived in ordinary town houses near the church.\n\nThe space between the cathedral and the castle was empty except for Philip and his companions. Philip suddenly realized that they had the full attention of the guards on the king's side and the sentries on the opposing ramparts. He was in the no-man's-land between the two armed camps, probably the most dangerous spot in Lincoln. Looking around, he saw that Richard and the others had already moved on, and he followed them hastily.\n\nThe king's sentries let them through immediately: Richard was well known. Philip admired the west facade of the cathedral. It had an enormously tall entrance arch, and subsidiary arches on either side, half the size of the central one but still awesome. It looked like the gateway to heaven\u2014which it was, of course, in a way. Philip immediately decided he wanted tall arches in the west front of Kingsbridge Cathedral.\n\nLeaving the horses with the squire, Philip and Richard made their way through the encampment and entered the cathedral. It was even more crowded inside than out. The aisles had been turned into stables, and hundreds of horses were tied to the columns of the arcade. Armed men thronged the nave, and here too there were cooking fires and bedding. Some spoke English, some French, and a few spoke Flemish, the guttural tongue of the wool merchants of Flanders. By and large the knights were in here and the men-at-arms were outside. Philip was sorry to see several men playing at ninemen's morris for money, and he was even more disturbed by the appearance of some of the women, who were dressed very skimpily for winter and appeared to be flirting with the men\u2014almost, he thought, as if they were sinful women, or even, God forbid, whores.\n\nTo avoid looking at them he raised his eyes to the ceiling. It was of wood, and beautifully painted in glowing colors, but it was a terrible fire risk with all those people cooking in the nave. He followed Richard through the crowd. Richard seemed at ease here, assured and confident, calling out greetings to barons and lords, and slapping knights on the back.\n\nThe crossing and the east end of the cathedral had been roped off. The east end appeared to have been reserved for the priests\u2014I should think so, too, Philip thought\u2014and the crossing had become the king's quarters.\n\nThere was another line of guards behind the rope, then a crowd of courtiers, then an inner circle of earls, with King Stephen at the center on a wooden throne. The king had aged since the last time Philip saw, him, five years ago in Winchester. There were lines of anxiety on his handsome face and a little gray in his tawny hair, and a year of fighting had made him thinner. He seemed to be having an amiable argument with his earls, disagreeing without anger. Richard went to the edge of the inner circle and made a deep ceremonial bow. The king glanced over, recognized him, and said in a booming voice: \"Richard of Kingsbridge! Glad to have you back!\"\n\n\"Thank you, my lord king,\" said Richard.\n\nPhilip stepped up beside him and bowed in the same way.\n\nStephen said: \"Have you brought a monk as your squire?\" All the courtiers laughed.\n\n\"This is the prior of Kingsbridge, lord,\" said Richard.\n\nStephen looked again, and Philip saw the light of recognition in his eye. \"Of course, I know Prior... Philip,\" he said, but his tone was not as warm as when he greeted Richard. \"Have you come to fight for me?\" The courtiers laughed again.\n\nPhilip was pleased the King had remembered his name. \"I'm here because God's work of rebuilding Kingsbridge Cathedral needs urgent help from my lord king.\"\n\n\"I must hear all about it,\" Stephen interrupted hastily. \"Come and see me tomorrow, when I'll have more time.\" He turned back to the earls, and resumed his conversation in a lower voice.\n\nRichard bowed and withdrew, and Philip did the same.\n\nPhilip did not speak to King Stephen on the following day, nor the day after, nor the day after that.\n\nOn the first night he stayed at an alehouse, but he felt oppressed by the constant smell of roasting meat and the laughter of loose women. Unfortunately, there was no monastery in the town. Normally the bishop would have offered him accommodation, but the king was living in the bishop's palace and all the houses around the cathedral were crammed full with members of Stephen's entourage. On the second night Philip went right outside the town, beyond the suburb of Wigford, where there was a monastery that ran a home for lepers. There he got horsebread and weak beer for supper, a hard mattress on the floor, silence from sundown to midnight, services in the small hours of the morning, and a breakfast of thin porridge without salt; and he was happy.\n\nHe went to the cathedral early every morning, carrying the precious charter that gave the priory the right to take stone from the quarry. Day after day the king failed to notice him. When the other petitioners talked among themselves, discussing who was in favor and who was out, Philip remained aloof.\n\nHe knew why he was being kept waiting. The entire Church was at odds with the king. Stephen had not kept the generous promises that had been extracted from him at the start of his reign. He had made an enemy of his brother, the wily Bishop Henry of Winchester, by supporting someone else for the job of archbishop of Canterbury; a move which had also disappointed Waleran Bigod, who wanted to rise on Henry's coattails. But Stephen's greatest sin, in the eyes of the Church, had been to arrest Bishop Roger of Salisbury and Roger's two nephews, who were bishops of Lincoln and Ely, all on one day, on charges of unlicensed castle building. A chorus of outrage had gone up from cathedrals and monasteries all over the country at this act of sacrilege. Stephen was hurt. As men of God the bishops had no need of castles, he said; and if they built castles they could not expect to be treated purely as men of God. He was sincere, but naive.\n\nThe split had been patched up, but King Stephen was no longer eager to hear the petitions of holy men, so Philip had to wait. He used the opportunity to meditate. It was something he had little time for as prior, and he missed it. Now, suddenly, he had nothing to do for hours on end, and he spent the time lost in thought.\n\nEventually the other courtiers left a space around him, making him quite conspicuous, and it must have been increasingly difficult for Stephen to ignore him. He was deep in contemplation of the sublime mystery of the Trinity on the morning of his seventh day in Lincoln when he realized that someone was standing right in front of him, looking at him and speaking to him, and that person was the king.\n\n\"Are you asleep with your eyes open, man?\" Stephen was saying in a tone halfway between amusement and irritation.\n\n\"I'm sorry, lord, I was thinking,\" Philip said, and bowed belatedly.\n\n\"Never mind. I want to borrow your clothes.\"\n\n\"What?\" Philip was too surprised to mind his manners.\n\n\"I want to take a look around the castle, and if I'm dressed as a monk they won't shoot arrows at me. Come on\u2014go into one of the chapels and take off your robe.\"\n\nPhilip had only an undershirt on beneath his robe. \"But, lord, what shall I wear?\"\n\n\"I forget how modest you monks are.\" Stephen clicked his fingers at a young knight. \"Robert\u2014lend me your tunic, quick.\"\n\nThe knight, who was talking to a girl, took off his tunic with a swift motion, gave it to the king with a bow, then made a vulgar gesture to the girl. His friends laughed and cheered.\n\nKing Stephen gave the tunic to Philip.\n\nPhilip slipped into the tiny chapel of St. Dunstan, asked the saint's pardon with a hasty prayer, then took off his habit and put on the knight's short-skirted scarlet tunic. It seemed very strange indeed: he had been wearing monastic clothing since the age of six, and he could not have felt more odd if he had been dressed as a woman. He emerged and handed his monkish robe to Stephen, who pulled it over his head swiftly.\n\nThen the king astonished him by saying: \"Come with me, if you like. You can tell me about Kingsbridge Cathedral.\"\n\nPhilip was taken aback. His first instinct was to refuse. A sentry on the castle ramparts might be tempted to take a shot at him, and he would not be protected by religious garments. But he was being offered an opportunity to be totally alone with the king, with plenty of time to explain about the quarry and the market. He might never get another chance like this.\n\nStephen picked up his own cloak, which was purple with white fur at the collar and hem. \"Wear this,\" he said to Philip. \"You'll draw their fire away from me.\"\n\nThe other courtiers had gone quiet, watching, wondering what would happen.\n\nThe king was making a point, Philip realized. He was saying that Philip had no business here in an armed camp, and could not expect to be granted privileges at the expense of men who risked their lives for the king. This was not unfair. But Philip knew that if he accepted this point of view he might as well go home and give up all hope of repossessing the quarry or reopening the market. He had to accept the challenge. He drew a deep breath and said: \"Perhaps it is God's will that I should die to save the king.\" Then he took the purple cloak and put it on.\n\nThere was a murmur of surprise from the crowd; and King Stephen himself looked quite startled. Everyone had expected Philip to back down. Almost immediately he wished he had. But he had committed himself now.\n\nStephen turned and walked toward the north door. Philip followed him. Several courtiers made to go with them, but Stephen waved them back, saying: \"Even a monk might attract suspicion if he is attended by the entire royal court.\" He pulled the cowl of Philip's robe over his head and they passed out into the graveyard.\n\nPhilip's costly cloak drew curious glances as they picked their way across the campsite: men assumed he was a baron and were puzzled not to recognize him. The glances made him feel guilty, as if he were some kind of impostor. Nobody looked at Stephen.\n\nThey did not go directly to the main gate of the castle, but made their way through a maze of narrow lanes and came out by the church of St.-Paul-in-the-Bail, across from the northeast corner of the castle. The castle walls were built on top of massive earth ramparts and surrounded by a dry moat. There was a swath of open space fifty yards wide between the edge of the moat and the nearest buildings. Stephen stepped onto the grass and began to walk west, studying the north wall of the castle, staying close to the backs of the houses on the outer rim of the cleared area. Philip went with him. Stephen made Philip walk on his left, between him and the castle. The open space was there to give bowmen a clear shot at anyone who approached the walls, of course. Philip was not afraid to die but he was afraid of pain, and the thought uppermost in his mind was how much an arrow would hurt.\n\n\"Scared, Philip?\" said Stephen.\n\n\"Terrified,\" Philip replied candidly; and then, made reckless by fear, he added cheekily: \"How about you?\"\n\nThe king laughed at his nerve. \"A little,\" he admitted.\n\nPhilip remembered that this was his chance to talk about the cathedral. But he could not concentrate while his life was in such peril. His eyes went constantly to the castle, and he raked the ramparts, watching for a man drawing a bow.\n\nThe castle occupied the entire southwest corner of the inner city, its west wall being part of the city wall, so to walk all the way around it one had to go out of the city. Stephen led Philip through the west gate, and they passed out into the suburb called Newland. Here the houses were like peasant hovels, made of wattle-and-daub, with large gardens such as village houses had. A bitter cold wind whipped across the open fields beyond the houses. Stephen turned south, still skirting the castle. He pointed to a little door in the castle wall. \"That's where Ranulf of Chester sneaked out to make his escape when I took the city, I suspect,\" he said.\n\nPhilip was less frightened here. There were other people on the pathway, and the ramparts on this side were less heavily guarded, for the occupants of the castle were afraid of an attack from the city, not from the countryside. Philip took a deep breath and then blurted out: \"If I am killed, will you give Kingsbridge a market and make William Hamleigh give back the quarry?\"\n\nStephen did not answer immediately. They walked downhill to the southwest corner of the castle and looked up at the keep. From their position it appeared loftily impregnable. Just below that corner they turned into another gateway and entered the lower city to walk along the castle's south side. Philip felt in danger again. It would not be too difficult for someone inside the castle to deduce that the two men who were making a circuit of the walls must be on a scouting expedition, and therefore they were fair game, especially the one in the purple cloak. To distract himself from his fear he studied the keep. There were small holes in the wall which served as outlets for the latrines, and the refuse and filth which was washed out simply fell on the walls and the mound below and stayed there until it rotted away. No wonder there was a stink. Philip tried not to breathe too deeply, and they hurried past.\n\nThere was another, smaller tower at the southeast corner. Now Philip and Stephen had walked around three sides of the square. Philip wondered if Stephen had forgotten his question. He was apprehensive about asking it again. The king might feel he was being pushed, and take offense.\n\nThey reached the main street that went through the middle of the town and turned again, but before Philip had time to feel relieved they passed through another gate into the inner city, and a few moments later they were in the no-man's-land between cathedral and castle. To Philip's horror the king stopped there.\n\nHe turned to talk to Philip, positioning himself in such a way that he could scrutinize the castle over Philip's shoulder. Philip's vulnerable back, clad in ermine and purple, was exposed to the gatehouse which was bristling with sentries and archers. He went as stiff as a statue, expecting an arrow or a spear in his back at any moment. He began to perspire despite the freezing cold wind.\n\n\"I gave you that quarry years ago, didn't I?\" said King Stephen.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" Philip replied through gritted teeth. \"You gave us the right to take stone for the cathedral. But you gave the quarry to Percy Hamleigh. Now Percy's son, William, has thrown out my stonecutters, killing five people\u2014including a woman and a child\u2014and he refuses us access.\"\n\n\"He shouldn't do things like that, especially if he wants me to make him earl of Shiring,\" Stephen said thoughtfully. Philip was encouraged. But a moment later the king said: \"I'm damned if I can see a way to get into this castle.\"\n\n\"Please make William reopen the quarry,\" Philip said. \"He is defying you and stealing from God.\"\n\nStephen seemed not to hear. \"I don't think they've got many men in there,\" he said in the same musing tone. \"I suspect nearly all of them are on the ramparts, to make a show of strength. What was that about a market?\"\n\nThis was all part of the test, Philip decided; making him stand out in the open with his back to a host of archers. He wiped his brow with the fur cuff of the king's cloak. \"My lord king, every Sunday people come from all over the county to worship at Kingsbridge and labor, for no wages, on the cathedral building site. When we first began, a few enterprising men and women would come to the site and sell meat pies, and wine, and hats, and knives, to the volunteer workers. So, gradually, a market grew up. And now I am asking you to license it.\"\n\n\"Will you pay for your license?\"\n\nA payment was normal, Philip knew, but he also knew that it might be waived for a religious body. \"Yes, lord, I will pay\u2014unless you would wish to give us the license without payment, for the greater glory of God.\"\n\nStephen looked directly into Philip's eyes for the first time. \"You're a brave man, to stand there, with the enemy behind you, and bargain with me.\"\n\nPhilip gave back an equally frank stare. \"If God decides my life is over, nothing can save me,\" he said, sounding braver than he felt. \"But if God wants me to live on and build Kingsbridge Cathedral, ten thousand archers cannot strike me down.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" Stephen remarked, and, clapping a hand on Philip's shoulder, he turned toward the cathedral. Weak with relief, Philip walked beside him, feeling better for every step away from the castle. He seemed to have passed the test. But it was important to get an unambiguous commitment from the king. Any moment now he would be engulfed by courtiers again. As they passed through the line of sentries, Philip took his courage in both hands and said: \"My lord king, if you would write a letter to the sheriff of Shiring\u2014\"\n\nHe was interrupted. One of the earls rushed up, looking flustered, and said: \"Robert of Gloucester is on his way here, my lord king.\"\n\n\"What? How far away?\"\n\n\"Close. A day at most\u2014\"\n\n\"Why haven't I been warned? I posted men all around!\"\n\n\"They came by the Fosse Way, then turned off the road to approach across open country.\"\n\n\"Who is with him?\"\n\n\"All the earls and knights on his side who have lost their lands in the last two years. Ranulf of Chester is also with him\u2014\"\n\n\"Of course. Treacherous dog.\"\n\n\"He has brought all his knights from Chester, plus a horde of wild rapacious Welshmen.\"\n\n\"How many men altogether?\"\n\n\"About a thousand.\"\n\n\"Damn\u2014that's a hundred more than we have.\"\n\nBy this time several barons had gathered around, and now another one spoke. \"Lord, if he's coming across open country, he'll have to cross the river at the ford\u2014\"\n\n\"Good thinking, Edward!\" Stephen said. \"Take your men down to that ford and see if you can hold it. You'll need archers, too.\"\n\n\"How far are they now, does anybody know?\" asked Edward.\n\nThe first earl said: \"Very close, the scout said. They could reach the ford before you.\"\n\n\"I'll go right away,\" Edward said.\n\n\"Good man!\" said King Stephen. He made a fist with his right hand and punched his left palm. \"I shall meet Robert of Gloucester on the battlefield at last. I wish I had more men. Still\u2014an advantage of a hundred men isn't much.\"\n\nPhilip listened to it all in grim silence. He was sure he had been on the point of getting Stephen's agreement. Now the king's mind was elsewhere. But Philip was not ready to give up. He was still wearing the king's purple robe. He slipped it off his shoulders and held it out, saying: \"Perhaps we should both revert to type, my lord king.\"\n\nStephen nodded absently. A courtier stepped behind the king and helped him take off the monkish habit. Philip handed over the royal robe and said: \"Lord, you seemed well disposed to my request.\"\n\nStephen looked irritated to be reminded. He shrugged on his robe and was about to speak when a new voice was heard.\n\n\"My lord king!\"\n\nPhilip recognized the voice. His heart sank. He turned and saw William Hamleigh.\n\n\"William, my boy!\" said the king, in the hearty voice he used with fighting men. \"You've arrived just in time!\"\n\nWilliam bowed and said: \"My lord, I've brought fifty knights and two hundred men from my earldom.\"\n\nPhilip's hopes turned to dust.\n\nStephen was visibly delighted. \"What a good man you are!\" he said warmly. \"That gives us the advantage over the enemy!\" He put his arm around William's shoulders and walked with him into the cathedral.\n\nPhilip stood where he was and watched them go. He had been agonizingly close to success, but in the end William's army had counted for more than justice, he thought bitterly. The courtier who had helped the king take off the monk's habit now held the robe out to Philip. Philip took it. The courtier followed the king and his entourage into the cathedral. Philip put on his monastic robe. He was deeply disappointed. He looked at the three huge arched doorways of the cathedral. He had hoped to build archways like that at Kingsbridge. But King Stephen had taken the side of William Hamleigh. The king had been faced with a straight choice: the justice of Philip's case against the advantage of William's army. He had failed his test.\n\nPhilip was left with only one hope: that King Stephen would be defeated in the forthcoming battle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "The bishop said mass in the cathedral when the sky was beginning to change from black to gray. By then the horses were saddled, the knights were wearing their chain mail, the men-at-arms had been fed, and a measure of strong wine had been served to give them all heart.\n\nWilliam Hamleigh knelt in the nave with the other knights and earls, while the war-horses stamped and snorted in the aisles, and was forgiven in advance for the killing he would do that day.\n\nFear and excitement made William light-headed. If the king won a victory today, William's name would forever be associated with it, for men would say that he had brought the reinforcements that tipped the balance. If the king should lose... anything could happen. He shivered on the cold stone floor.\n\nThe king was at the front, in a fresh white robe, with a candle in his hand. As the Host was elevated, the candle broke, and the flame went out. William trembled with dread: it was a bad omen. A priest brought a new candle and took away the broken one, and Stephen smiled nonchalantly, but the feeling of supernatural horror stayed with William, and when he looked around he could tell that others felt the same.\n\nAfter the service the king put on his armor, helped by a valet. He had a knee-length mail coat made of leather with iron rings sewn to it. The coat was slit up to the waist in front and behind so that he could ride in it. The valet laced it tightly at the throat. He then put on a close-fitting cap with a long mail hood attached, covering his tawny hair and protecting his neck. Over the cap he wore an iron helmet with a nosepiece. His leather boots had mail trimmings and pointed spurs.\n\nAs he put on his armor, the earls gathered around him. William followed his mother's advice and acted as if he were already one of them, pushing through the crowd to join the group around the king. After listening for a moment he realized they were trying to persuade Stephen to withdraw and leave Lincoln to the rebels.\n\n\"You hold more territory than Maud\u2014you can raise a larger army,\" said an older man whom William recognized as Lord Hugh. \"Go south, get reinforcements, come back and outnumber them.\"\n\nAfter the portent of the broken candle, William almost wished for withdrawal himself; but the king had no time for such talk. \"We're strong enough to defeat them now,\" he said cheerfully. \"Where's your spirit?\" He strapped on a belt with a sword on one side and a dagger on the other, both of them in wood-and-leather scabbards.\n\n\"The armies are too evenly matched,\" said a tall man with short, grizzled hair and a close-trimmed beard: the earl of Surrey. \"It's too risky.\"\n\nThis was a poor argument to use with Stephen, William knew: the king was nothing if not chivalrous. \"Too evenly matched?\" he repeated scornfully. \"I prefer a fair fight.\" He pulled on the leather gauntlets with mail on the backs of the fingers. The valet handed him a long wooden shield covered with leather. He hooked its strap around his neck and held it in his left hand.\n\n\"We've little to lose by withdrawing at this point,\" Hugh persisted. \"We aren't even in possession of the castle.\"\n\n\"I would lose my chance of meeting Robert of Gloucester on the battlefield,\" Stephen said. \"For two years he's been avoiding me. Now that I have an opportunity to deal with the traitor once and for all, I'm not going to pull out just because we're evenly matched!\"\n\nA groom brought his horse, saddled ready. As Stephen was about to mount, there was a flurry of activity around the door at the west end of the cathedral, and a knight came running up the nave, muddy and bleeding. William had a doomy premonition that this would be bad news. As the man bowed to the king, William recognized him as one of Edward's men who had been sent to guard the ford. \"We were too late, lord,\" the man said hoarsely, breathing hard. \"The enemy has crossed the river.\"\n\nIt was another bad sign. William suddenly felt colder. Now there was nothing but open fields between the enemy and Lincoln.\n\nStephen too looked struck down for an instant, but he recovered his composure swiftly. \"No matter!\" he said. \"We will meet them, all the sooner!\" He mounted his war-horse.\n\nHe had a battle-ax strapped to his saddle. The valet handed him a wooden lance with a bright iron point, completing his weaponry. Stephen clicked his tongue, and the horse obediently moved forward.\n\nAs he rode down the nave of the cathedral, the earls, barons and knights mounted and fell in behind him, and they left the cathedral in procession. In the grounds the men-at-arms joined them. This was when men began to feel scared and look for a chance to slip away; but their dignified pace, and the almost ceremonial atmosphere, with the townspeople looking on, meant it would be very difficult for the fainthearted to escape.\n\nTheir numbers were augmented by a hundred or more townsmen, fat bakers and shortsighted weavers and red-faced brewers, poorly armored and riding their cobs and palfreys. Their presence was a sign of the unpopularity of Ranulf.\n\nThe army could not pass the castle, for they would have been exposed to archery fire from its battlements, so they left the town by the north gate, which was called Newport Arch, and turned west. This was where the battle would be fought.\n\nWilliam studied the terrain with a keen eye. Although the hill on the south side of the town sloped steeply to the river, here on the west there was a long ridge which fell gently to the plain. William saw immediately that Stephen had chosen the right spot from which to defend the town, for no matter how the enemy approached they would always be downhill from the king's army.\n\nWhen Stephen was a quarter of a mile or so out of the city two scouts came up the slope, riding fast. They spotted the king and went straight to him. William crowded closer to hear their report.\n\n\"The enemy is approaching fast, lord,\" said one of the scouts.\n\nWilliam looked across the plain. Sure enough, he could see a black mass in the distance, moving slowly toward him: the enemy. He felt a shiver of fear. He shook himself, but the fear persisted. It would go when the fighting started.\n\nKing Stephen said: \"What are their dispositions?\"\n\n\"Ranulf and the knights of Chester form the middle, lord,\" the scout began. \"They are on foot.\"\n\nWilliam wondered how the scout knew this. He must have gone right into the enemy camp and listened while marching orders were given. That took a cool nerve.\n\n\"Ranulf in the center?\" said Stephen. \"As if he were the leader, rather than Robert!\"\n\n\"Robert of Gloucester is on his left flank, with an army of men who call themselves The Disinherited,\" the scout went on. William knew why they used that name\u2014they had all lost lands since the civil war began.\n\n\"Robert has given Ranulf command of the operation, then,\" Stephen said thoughtfully. \"A pity. I know Robert well\u2014I practically grew up with him\u2014and I could guess his tactics. But Ranulf is a stranger to me. No matter. Who's on their right?\"\n\n\"The Welsh, lord.\"\n\n\"Archers, I suppose.\" The men of South Wales had a reputation for bowmanship.\n\n\"Not these,\" the scout said. \"They are a raving mob, with their faces painted, singing barbaric songs, and armed with hammers and clubs. Very few have horses.\"\n\n\"They must be from North Wales,\" Stephen mused. \"Ranulf has promised them pillage, I expect. God help Lincoln if they get inside the walls. But they won't! What's your name, scout?\"\n\n\"Roger, called Lackland,\" the man said.\n\n\"Lackland? You shall have ten acres for this work.\"\n\nThe man was thrilled. \"Thank you, lord!\"\n\n\"Now.\" Stephen turned and looked at his earls. He was about to make his dispositions. William tensed, wondering what role the king would assign to him. \"Where is my lord Alan of Brittany?\"\n\nAlan edged his horse forward. He was the leader of a force of Breton mercenaries, rootless men who fought for pay and whose only loyalty was to themselves.\n\nStephen said to Alan: \"I'll have you and your brave Bretons in the front line on my left.\"\n\nWilliam saw the wisdom of that: Breton mercenaries against Welsh adventurers, the untrustworthy versus the undisciplined.\n\n\"William of Ypres!\" Stephen called.\n\n\"My lord king.\" A dark man on a black war-horse raised his lance. This William was the leader of another force of mercenaries, Flemish men, a shade more reliable than the Bretons, it was said.\n\nStephen said: \"You on my left also, but behind Alan's Bretons.\"\n\nThe two mercenary leaders wheeled about and rode back into the army to organize their men. William wondered where he would be placed. He had no wish to be in the front line. He had already done enough to distinguish himself, by bringing his army. A safe, uneventful rearguard position would suit him today.\n\nKing Stephen said: \"My lords of Worcester, Surrey, Northampton, York and Hertford, with your knights, form my right flank.\"\n\nOnce again William saw the sense of Stephen's dispositions. The earls and their knights, mostly mounted, would face Robert of Gloucester and the \"disinherited\" nobles who supported him, most of whom would also be on horseback. But William was disappointed not to have been included with the earls. Surely the king could not have forgotten about him?\n\n\"I will hold the middle ground, dismounted, with foot soldiers,\" Stephen said.\n\nFor the first time William disapproved of a decision. It was always better to stay on horseback as long as you could. But Ranulf, at the head of the opposing army, was said to be on foot, and Stephen's overwrought sense of fair play compelled him to meet his enemy on equal terms.\n\n\"With me in the center I will have William of Shiring and his men,\" the king said.\n\nWilliam did not know whether to be thrilled or terrified. It was a great honor to be chosen to stand with the king\u2014Mother would be gratified\u2014but it put him in the most dangerous position. Worse still, he would be on foot. It also meant the king would be able to see him and judge his performance. He would have to appear fearless and take the fight to the enemy, as opposed to keeping out of trouble and fighting only when forced to, which was the tactic he preferred.\n\n\"The loyal citizens of Lincoln will bring up the rear,\" Stephen said. This was a mixture of compassion and military good sense. The citizens would not be much use anywhere, but in the rear they could do little damage and would suffer fewer casualties.\n\nWilliam raised the banner of the earl of Shiring. This was another idea of Mother's. He was not entitled to the banner, strictly speaking, because he was not the earl; but the men with him were used to following the Shiring banner\u2014or so he would argue if challenged. And by the end of the day, if the battle went well, he might be earl.\n\nHis men gathered around him. Walter was by his side, as always, a solid, reassuring presence. So were Ugly Gervase, Hugh Axe and Miles Dice. Gilbert, who had died at the quarry, had been replaced by Guillaume de St. Clair, a fresh-faced young man with a vicious streak.\n\nLooking around, William was infuriated to see Richard of Kingsbridge, wearing bright new armor and riding a splendid war-horse. He was with the earl of Surrey. He had not brought an army for the king, as William had, but he looked impressive\u2014fresh-faced, vigorous, and brave\u2014and if he did great things today he might win royal favor. Battles were unpredictable, and so were kings.\n\nOn the other hand, perhaps Richard would be killed today. What a stroke of luck that would be. William lusted for it more than he had ever lusted for a woman.\n\nHe looked to the west. The enemy was closer.\n\nPhilip was on the roof of the cathedral, and he could see Lincoln laid out like a map. The old city surrounded the cathedral on the hilltop. It had straight streets and neat gardens and the castle in the southwest corner. The newer part, noisy and overcrowded, occupied the steep hillside to the south, between the old city and the River Witham. This district was normally bustling with commercial activity, but today it was covered with a fearful silence like a pall, and the people were standing on their rooftops to watch the battle. The river came in from the east, ran along the foot of the hill, then widened into a big natural harbor called Brayfield Pool, which was surrounded by quays and full of ships and boats. A canal called the Fosdyke ran west from Brayfield Pool\u2014all the way to the River Trent, Philip had been told. Seeing it from a height, Philip marveled at how it ran straight for miles. People said it had been built in ancient times.\n\nThe canal formed the edge of the battlefield. Philip watched King Stephen's army march out of the city in a ragged crowd and slowly form up in three orderly columns on the ridge. Philip knew that Stephen had placed the earls on his right for they were the most colorful, with their tunics of red and yellow and their bright banners. They were also the most active, riding up and down, giving orders and holding consultations and making plans. The group to the king's left, on the slope of the ridge that went down to the canal, were dressed in dull gray and brown, had fewer horses, and were less busy, conserving their energies: they would be the mercenaries.\n\nBeyond Stephen's army, where the line of the canal became indistinct and merged with the hedgerows, the rebel army covered the fields like a swarm of bees. At first they had appeared to be stationary; then, when he looked again after a while, they were closer; and now, if he concentrated, he could just discern their motion. He wondered how strong they were. All indications were that the two sides were evenly matched.\n\nThere was nothing Philip could do to influence the outcome\u2014a situation he hated. He tried to quiet his spirit and be fatalistic. If God wanted a new cathedral at Kingsbridge, he would cause Robert of Gloucester to defeat King Stephen today, so that Philip could ask the victorious Empress Maud to let him repossess the quarry and reopen the market. And if Stephen should defeat Robert, Philip would have to accept God's will, give up his ambitious plans, and let Kingsbridge once more decline into sleepy obscurity.\n\nTry as he might, Philip could not think that way. He wanted Robert to win.\n\nA strong wind buffeted the towers of the cathedral and threatened to blow the more frail spectators off the leads and hurl them to the graveyard below. The wind was bitterly cold. Philip shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him.\n\nThe two armies were now about a mile apart.\n\nThe rebel army halted when it was about a mile from the king's front line. It was tantalizing to be able to see their mass but not make out any details. William wanted to know how well armed they were, whether they were cheerful and aggressive or tired and reluctant, even how tall they were. They continued to advance at a slow creep, as those in the rear, motivated by the same anxiety that William was suffering, pressed forward to get a look at the enemy.\n\nIn Stephen's army the earls and their knights lined up on their horses, with their lances at the ready, as if they were at a tournament and about to begin the jousting. William reluctantly sent all the horses in his contingent to the rear. He told the squires not to go back to the city but to hold the horses there in case they were needed\u2014for flight, he meant, although he did not say so. If a battle was lost it was better to run than die.\n\nThere was a lull, when it seemed as if the fighting would never begin. The wind dropped and the horses calmed down, although the men did not. King Stephen took off his helmet and scratched his head. William became fretful. Fighting was all right but thinking about it made him feel nauseated.\n\nThen, for no apparent reason, the atmosphere became tense again. A battle cry went up from somewhere. All the horses suddenly turned skittish. A cheer began, and was drowned, almost instantly, by the thunder of hooves. The battle was on. William smelled the sour, sweaty odor of fear.\n\nHe looked around, trying desperately to figure out what was happening, but all was confusion, and being on foot he could see only his immediate surroundings. The earls on the right seemed to have started the battle by charging the enemy. Presumably the forces opposite them, Earl Robert's army of disinherited nobles, were responding in like manner, charging in formation. Almost immediately, a cry went up from the left, and William turned to see that the mounted men among the Breton mercenaries were spurring their horses forward. At that, a bloodcurdling cacophony arose from the corresponding section of the enemy army\u2014the Welsh mob, presumably. He could not see who had the advantage.\n\nHe had lost sight of Richard.\n\nDozens of arrows rose like a flock of birds from behind the enemy lines and began to fall all around. William held his shield over his head. He loathed arrows\u2014they killed at random.\n\nKing Stephen roared a war cry and charged. William drew his sword and ran forward, calling his men to follow. But the horsemen on his left and right had fanned out as they charged forward, and they came between him and the enemy.\n\nOn his right, there was a deafening clash of iron on iron, and the air filled with a metallic smell he knew well. The earls and the disinherited had joined battle. All he could see was men and horses colliding, wheeling, charging and falling. The neighing of the beasts was indistinguishable from the men's battle cries, and somewhere in that noise William could already hear the bone-chilling, dreadful screams of wounded men in agony. He hoped Richard was one of those screaming.\n\nWilliam looked left and was horrified to see that the Bretons were falling back before the clubs and axes of the wild Welsh tribesmen. The Welsh were berserk, yelling and screaming and trampling one another in their eagerness to get at the enemy. Perhaps they were greedy to loot the rich city. The Bretons, with nothing more than the prospect of another week's pay to spur them on, were fighting defensively and giving ground. William was disgusted.\n\nHe was frustrated that he had not yet struck a single blow. He was surrounded by his knights, and ahead of him were the horses of the earls and the Bretons. He pushed forward, slightly ahead and to one side of the king. There was combat all around: fallen horses, men fighting hand to hand with the ferocity of cats, the deafening ring of swords, and the sickly smell of blood; but William and King Stephen were, for the moment, stuck in a dead zone.\n\nPhilip could see everything, but he understood nothing. He had no idea what was going on. All was confusion: flashing blades, charging horses, banners flying and falling, and the sounds of battle, carried on the wind, muted by distance. It was maddeningly frustrating. Some men fell and died, others overcame and fought on, but he could not tell who was winning and who losing.\n\nA cathedral priest standing nearby in a fur coat looked at Philip and said: \"What's going on?\"\n\nPhilip shook his head and said: \"I can't tell.\"\n\nBut even as he spoke he discerned a movement. To the left of the battlefield, some men were running away down the hill toward the canal. They were drab-dressed mercenaries, and as far as Philip could tell, it was the king's men who were fleeing and the painted tribesmen of the attacking army who were in pursuit. The victorious whooping of the Welsh could be heard from here. Philip's hopes lifted: the rebels were winning already!\n\nThen there was a sea change on the other side. To the right, where the mounted men were engaged, the king's army seemed to be falling back. The movement was at first slight, then steady, then rapid; and even as Philip watched, the retreat turned into a rout, and scores of the king's men turned their horses and began to flee from the battlefield.\n\nPhilip was elated: this must be God's will!\n\nCould it really be over so quickly? The rebels were advancing on both flanks, but the center was still holding steady. The men around King Stephen were fighting more fiercely than those to either side. Would they be able to stem the flow? Perhaps Stephen and Robert of Gloucester would fight it out personally: single combat between two leaders could sometimes settle the issue regardless of what was happening elsewhere on the field. It was not yet over.\n\nThe tide turned with horrifying speed. At one moment the two armies were even, both sides fighting fiercely; and at the next, the king's men were falling back fast. William was deeply disheartened. On his left, the Breton mercenaries were running away down the hill and being chased into the canal by the Welsh; and on his right, the earls with their war-horses and banners were turning from the fight and trying to escape back toward Lincoln. Only the middle was holding: King Stephen was in the thick of it, laying about him with his massive sword, and the Shiring men were fighting like pack-wolves all around him. But the situation was unstable. If the flanks continued to retreat the king would end up surrounded. William wanted Stephen to fall back. But the king was more brave than wise, and he fought on.\n\nWilliam felt the entire battle take a lurch to the left. Looking around, he saw the Flemish mercenaries coming from behind and falling on the Welsh, who were forced to stop chasing the Bretons down the hill and turn to defend themselves. For a moment there was a melee. Then Ranulf of Chester's men, in the middle of the enemy front line, attacked the Flemish, who now found themselves squeezed between the men from Chester and the Welsh.\n\nSeeing the rally, King Stephen urged his men to press forward. William thought Ranulf might have made a mistake. If the king's forces could close with Ranulf's men now, Ranulf would be the one who was squeezed on two sides.\n\nOne of William's knights fell in front of him and suddenly he was in the midst of the fighting.\n\nA beefy northerner with blood on his sword lunged at him. William parried the thrust easily: he was fresh and his antagonist was already tired. William thrust at the man's face, missed, and parried another jab. He raised his sword high, deliberately opening himself to a stab; then, when the other man predictably stepped forward with another thrust, William dodged it and brought his sword down, two-handed, on the other man's shoulder. The blow split the man's armor and broke his collarbone, and he fell.\n\nWilliam enjoyed a moment of elation. His fear had gone. He roared: \"Come on, you dogs!\"\n\nTwo more men took the place of the fallen knight and attacked William simultaneously. He held them off but he was forced to give ground.\n\nThere was a surge on his right, and one of his opponents had to turn aside to defend himself against a red-faced man armed with a cleaver, who looked like a crazed butcher. That left only one for William to deal with. He grinned savagely and pressed forward. His opponent panicked and slashed wildly at William's head. William ducked and stabbed the man in the thigh, just below the fringe of his short mail jacket. The leg buckled and the man fell.\n\nOnce again William had no one to fight. He stood still, breathing hard. For a moment he had thought the king's army was going to be routed, but they had rallied, and now neither side appeared to have the advantage. He looked to his right, wondering what had caused the surge that had distracted one of his antagonists. To his astonishment he saw that the citizens of Lincoln were giving the enemy a hard fight. Perhaps it was because they were defending their own homes. But who had rallied them, after the earls on that flank had fled? His question was answered: to his dismay he saw Richard of Kingsbridge on his war-horse, urging the townsmen on. William's heart sank. If the king saw Richard being brave it could undo all William's work. William looked over at Stephen. At that moment the king caught Richard's eye and waved encouragement. William let out a resentful curse.\n\nThe townsmen's rally relieved the pressure on the king, but only for a moment. To the left, Ranulf's men had routed the Flemish mercenaries, and now Ranulf turned toward the center of the defending forces. At the same time the so-called Disinherited rallied against Richard and the townsmen, and the fighting became furious.\n\nWilliam was attacked by a huge man with a battle-ax. He dodged desperately, suddenly afraid for his life. With each swing of the ax he leaped back, and he realized fearfully that the whole of the king's army was falling back at much the same pace. To his left, the Welsh came back up the hill and, incredibly, started throwing stones. It was ridiculous but effective, for now William had to keep an eye out for flying rocks as well as defend himself against the giant with the battle-ax. There seemed to be a lot more of the enemy than before, and William felt, with a sense of despair, that the king's men were outnumbered. Hysterical fear rose in his throat as he realized that the battle was very nearly lost and he was in mortal danger. The king should flee now. Why was he fighting on? It was insane\u2014he would be killed\u2014they would all be killed! William's antagonist raised his ax high. William's fighting instincts took over for an instant, and instead of falling back as he had before, he leaped forward and lunged at the big man's face. His sword point went into the man's neck just under the chin. William thrust it home hard. The man's eyes closed. William felt a moment of grateful relief. He pulled the sword out and darted back to dodge the ax that now fell from the man's dead hands.\n\nHe snatched a look at the king, just a few yards to his left. As he looked, the king brought his sword down hard on a man's helmet, and the sword snapped in two like a twig. That was it, William thought with relief; the battle was over. The king would flee and save himself to fight another day. But the hope was premature. William had half turned, ready to run, when a townsman offered the king a longhandled woodsman's ax. To William's dismay, Stephen grabbed the weapon and fought on.\n\nWilliam was tempted to run anyway. Looking to his right, he saw Richard on foot, fighting like a madman, pressing forward, laying about him with his sword, striking men down left, right and center. William could not flee when his rival was still fighting.\n\nWilliam was attacked again, this time by a short man with light armor who moved very quickly, his sword flashing in the sunlight. As their weapons clashed William realized he was up against a formidable fighter. Once again he found himself on the defensive and afraid for his life, and his knowledge that the battle was lost sapped his will to fight. He parried the rapid thrusts and slashes that were aimed at him, wishing he could get in the one strong blow that would smash through the man's armor. He saw a chance and swung his sword. The other man dodged and thrust, and William felt his left arm go numb. He was wounded. He felt sick with fear. He continued to fall back under the assault, feeling oddly unbalanced, as if the ground was shifting beneath him. His shield hung loose from his neck: he was unable to hold it steady with his useless left arm. The small man sensed victory and pressed his attack. William saw death and was filled with mortal dread.\n\nSuddenly Walter appeared at his side.\n\nWilliam stepped back. Walter swung his sword two-handed. Catching the small man by surprise, he cut him down like a sapling. William suddenly felt dizzy with relief. He put a hand on Walter's shoulder.\n\n\"We've lost it!\" Walter shouted at him. \"Let's get out!\"\n\nWilliam pulled himself together. The king was still fighting, even though the battle was lost. If only he would give up now, and try to get away, he could return to the south and muster another army. But the longer he fought on, the greater the probability that he could be captured or killed, and that could mean only one thing: Maud would be queen.\n\nWilliam and Walter edged back together. Why was the king so foolish? He had to prove his courage. Gallantry would be the death of him. Once again William was tempted to abandon the king. But Richard of Kingsbridge was still there, holding the right flank like a rock, swinging his sword and mowing men down like a reaper. \"Not yet!\" William said to Walter. \"Watch the king!\"\n\nThey retreated step by step. The fighting became less fierce as men realized that the issue had been decided and there was no point in taking risks. William and Walter crossed swords with two knights, but the knights were content to drive them back, and William and Walter fought defensively. Hard blows were struck but no one exposed himself to danger.\n\nWilliam stepped back two paces and chanced a look at the king. At that moment a huge rock came flying across the field and struck Stephen's helmet. The king staggered and fell to his knees. William's antagonist paused and turned his head to see what William was looking at. The battle-ax dropped from King Stephen's hands. An enemy knight ran to him and pulled off the helmet. \"The king!\" he shouted triumphantly. \"I have the king!\"\n\nWilliam, Walter and the entire royal army turned and ran.\n\nPhilip was jubilant. The retreat started in the middle of the king's army and spread like a ripple to the flanks. Within a few heartbeats the entire royal army was on the run. This was King Stephen's reward for injustice.\n\nThe attackers gave chase. There were forty or fifty riderless horses in the rear of the king's army, being held by squires, and some of the fleeing men leaped on them and made their escape, heading not for the city of Lincoln but for the open country.\n\nPhilip wondered what had happened to the king.\n\nThe citizens of Lincoln were hurriedly leaving their rooftops. Children and animals were rounded up. Some families disappeared into their houses, closing the shutters and barring the doors. There was a flurry of movement among the boats on the lake: some citizens were trying to get away by river. People began to arrive at the cathedral, to take refuge there.\n\nAt each entrance to the city, people rushed to close the huge ironbound doors. Suddenly Ranulf of Chester's men burst out of the castle. They divided into groups, evidently following a prearranged plan, and one group went to each city gate. They waded in among the citizens, striking them down to left and right, and reopened the doors to admit the conquering rebels.\n\nPhilip decided to get off the cathedral roof. The others with him, mostly cathedral canons, had the same thought. They all ducked through the low doorway that led into the turret. There they met the bishop and the archdeacons, who had been higher up in the tower. Philip thought Bishop Alexander looked frightened. That was a pity: the bishop would need courage to share today.\n\nThey all went carefully down the long, narrow spiral staircase and emerged in the nave of the church at the west end. There were already a hundred or so citizens in the church, and more pouring through the three great doorways. As Philip looked out, two knights came into the cathedral courtyard, bloodstained and muddy, riding hard, obviously having come from the battle. They rode straight into the church without dismounting. When they saw the bishop one of them shouted: \"The king is captured!\"\n\nPhilip's heart leaped. King Stephen was not just beaten, he was taken prisoner! The royalist forces throughout the kingdom would surely collapse now. The implications tumbled over one another in Philip's imagination, but before he could sort them out he heard Bishop Alexander shout: \"Close the doors!\"\n\nPhilip could hardly believe his ears. \"No!\" he shouted. \"You can't do that!\"\n\nThe bishop stared at him, white with fear and panic. He was not sure who Philip was. Philip had made a formal call on him, out of courtesy, but they had not spoken since. Now, with a visible effort, Alexander remembered him. \"This is not your cathedral, Prior Philip, it's mine. Close the doors!\" Several priests went to do his bidding.\n\nPhilip was horrified at this display of naked self-interest by a clergyman. \"You can't lock people out,\" he shouted angrily. \"They might be killed!\"\n\n\"If we don't lock the doors we'll all be killed!\" Alexander screeched hysterically.\n\nPhilip grabbed him by the front of the robe. \"Remember who you are,\" he hissed. \"We're not supposed to be afraid\u2014especially of death. Pull yourself together.\"\n\n\"Get him off me!\" Alexander screamed.\n\nSeveral canons pulled Philip away.\n\nPhilip shouted at them: \"Don't you see what he's doing?\"\n\nA canon said: \"If you're so brave, why don't you go out there and protect them yourself?\"\n\nPhilip tore himself free. \"That's exactly what I'm going to do,\" he said.\n\nHe turned around. The big central door was just closing. He dashed across the nave. Three priests were pushing it shut as more people fought to get through the narrowing gap. Philip squeezed out just before the door closed.\n\nIn the next few moments a small crowd gathered in the porch. Men and women banged on the door and screamed to be let in, but there was no response from inside the church.\n\nSuddenly Philip was afraid. The panic on the faces of the people locked out scared him. He felt himself trembling. He had encountered a victorious army once before, at the age of six, and the horror he had felt then returned to him now. The moment when the men-at-arms had burst into his parents' house came back as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. He stood rooted to the spot, and tried to stop shaking, while the crowd boiled around him. It was a long time since he had been tormented by this nightmare. He saw the bloodlust on the men's faces, and the way the sword had transfixed his mother, and the awful sight of his father's guts spilling out of his belly; and he felt again that uncomprehending, overwhelming, insane hysterical terror. Then he saw a monk come through the door with a cross in his hand, and the screaming stopped. The monk showed him and his brother how to close the eyes of his mother and father, so that they could sleep the long sleep. He remembered, as if he had just awakened from a dream, that he was not a frightened child anymore, he was a grown man and a monk; and just as Abbot Peter had rescued him and his brother on that dreadful day twenty-seven years ago, so today the grown-up Philip, strengthened by faith and protected by God, would come to the help of those in fear of their lives.\n\nHe forced himself to take a single step forward; and once he had done that the second was a little less difficult, and the third was almost easy.\n\nWhen he reached the street that led to the west gate he was almost knocked over by a mob of fleeing townspeople: men and boys running with bundles of precious possessions, old people gasping for breath, screaming girls, women carrying squalling children in their arms. The rush carried him back several yards, then he fought against the flow. They were heading for the cathedral. He wanted to tell them it was closed, and they should stay quietly in their own homes and bar the doors; but everyone was shouting and no one was listening.\n\nHe progressed slowly along the street, moving against the flood of people. He had gained only a few yards when a group of four horsemen came charging along the street. They were the cause of the stampede. Some people flattened themselves against house walls, but others could not get out of the way in time, and many fell beneath the flailing hooves. Philip was horrified but there was nothing he could do, and he dodged into an alleyway to avoid becoming a victim himself. A moment later the horsemen had passed by and the street was deserted.\n\nSeveral bodies were left lying on the ground. As Philip stepped out of his alley he saw one of them move: a middle-aged man in a scarlet cloak was trying to crawl along the ground despite an injured leg. Philip crossed the street, intending to try to carry the man; but before he got there, two men with iron helmets and wooden shields appeared. One of them said: \"This one's alive, Jake.\"\n\nPhilip shuddered. It seemed to him that their demeanor, their voices, their clothes and even their faces were the same as those of the two men who had killed his parents.\n\nThe one called Jake said: \"He'll fetch a ransom\u2014look at that red cloak.\" He turned, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled. A third man came running up. \"Take Redcoat here into the castle and tie him up.\"\n\nThe third man put his arms around the wounded citizen's chest and dragged him off. The injured man screamed in pain as his legs bumped over the stones. Philip shouted: \"Stop!\" They all stopped for a moment, looked at him, and laughed; then they carried on with what they were doing.\n\nPhilip shouted again but they ignored him. He watched helplessly as the wounded man was dragged off. Another man-at-arms came out of a house, wearing a long fur coat and carrying six silver plates under his arm. Jake saw him and took note of the booty. \"These are rich houses,\" he said to his comrade. \"We ought to get into one of them. See what we can find.\" They went up to the locked door of a stone house and attacked it with a battle-ax.\n\nPhilip felt useless but he was not willing to give up. However, God had not put him in this position to defend rich men's property, so he left Jake and his companions and hurried toward the west gate. More men-at-arms came running along the street. Mingled with them were several short, dark men with painted faces, dressed in sheepskin coats and armed with clubs. They were the Welsh tribesmen, Philip realized, and he felt ashamed that he came from the same country as these savages. He clung to the wall of a house and tried to look inconspicuous.\n\nTwo men emerged from a stone house dragging by the legs a white-bearded man in a skullcap. One of them held a knife to the man's throat and said: \"Where's your money, Jew?\"\n\n\"I have no money,\" the man said plaintively.\n\nNobody would believe that, Philip thought. The wealth of the Jews of Lincoln was famous; and anyway, the man had been living in a stone house.\n\nAnother man-at-arms came out dragging a woman by the hair. The woman was middle-aged and presumably the Jew's wife. The first man shouted: \"Tell us where the money is, or she'll have my sword up her cunt.\" He lifted the woman's skirt, exposing her graying pubic hair, and held a long dagger pointing at her groin.\n\nPhilip was about to intervene, but the old man gave in immediately. \"Don't hurt her, the money's in the back,\" he said urgently. \"It's buried in the garden, by the woodpile\u2014please, let her go.\"\n\nThe three men ran back into the house. The woman helped the man to his feet. Another group of horsemen thundered down the narrow street, and Philip flung himself out of the way. When he got up again, the two Jews had disappeared.\n\nA young man in armor came down the street, running for his life, with three or four Welshmen in pursuit. They caught him just as he drew level with Philip. The foremost pursuer swung with his sword and touched the fugitive's calf. It did not seem to Philip like a deep wound but it was enough to make the young man stumble and fall to the ground. Another pursuer reached the fallen man and hefted a battle-ax.\n\nWith his heart in his mouth, Philip stepped forward and shouted: \"Stop!\"\n\nThe man raised his ax.\n\nPhilip rushed at him.\n\nThe man swung the ax, but Philip pushed him at the last minute. The blade of the ax clanged on the stone pavement a foot from the victim's head. The attacker recovered his balance and stared at Philip in amazement. Philip stared back at him, trying not to tremble, wishing he could remember a word or two of Welsh. Before either of them moved, the other two pursuers caught up, and one of them cannoned into Philip, sending him sprawling. That probably saved his life, he realized a moment later. When he recovered, everyone had forgotten him. They were butchering the poor young man on the ground with unbelievable savagery. Philip scrambled to his feet, but he was already too late: their hammers and axes were thudding into a corpse. He looked up at the sky and shouted angrily: \"If I can't save anyone, why did you send me here?\"\n\nAs if in reply, he heard a scream from a nearby house. It was a one-story building of stone and wood, not as costly as those around it. The door stood open. Philip ran inside. There were two rooms with an arch between, and straw on the floor. A woman with two small children huddled in a corner, terrified. Three men-at-arms were in the middle of the house, confronting one small, bald man. A young woman of about eighteen years was on the floor. Her dress was ripped and one of the three men-at-arms was kneeling on her chest, holding her thighs apart. The bald man was clearly trying to stop them from raping his daughter. As Philip came in, the father flung himself at one of the men-at-arms. The soldier threw him off. The father staggered back. The soldier plunged his sword into the father's abdomen. The woman in the corner screamed like a lost soul.\n\nPhilip yelled: \"Stop!\"\n\nThey all looked at him as if he were mad.\n\nIn his most authoritative voice he said: \"You'll all go to hell if you do this!\"\n\nThe one who had killed the father raised his sword to strike Philip.\n\n\"Just a minute,\" said the man on the ground, still holding the girl's legs. \"Who are you, monk?\"\n\n\"I am Philip of Gwynedd, prior of Kingsbridge, and I command you in God's name to leave that girl alone, if you care for your immortal souls.\"\n\n\"A prior\u2014I thought so,\" said the man on the ground. \"He's worth a ransom.\"\n\nThe first man sheathed his sword and said: \"Get over in the corner with the woman, where you belong.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Don't lay hands on a monk's robes.\" He was trying to sound dangerous but he could hear the note of desperation in his voice.\n\n\"Take him to the castle, John,\" said the man on the ground, who was still sitting on the girl. He seemed to be the leader.\n\n\"Go to hell,\" said John. \"I want to fuck her first.\" He grabbed Philip's arms and, before Philip could resist, flung him into the corner. Philip tumbled onto the floor beside the mother.\n\nThe man called John lifted the front of his tunic and fell on the girl.\n\nThe mother turned her head aside and began to sob.\n\nPhilip said: \"I will not watch this!\" He stood up and grabbed the rapist by the hair, pulling him off the girl. The rapist roared with pain.\n\nThe third man raised a club. Philip saw the blow coming, but he was too late. The club landed on his head. He felt a moment of agonizing pain, then everything went black and he lost consciousness before he hit the ground.\n\nThe prisoners were taken to the castle and locked in cages. These were stout wooden structures like miniature houses, six feet long and three feet wide, and only a little higher than a man's head. Instead of solid walls they had close-spaced vertical posts, which enabled the jailer to see inside. In normal times, when they were used to confine thieves and murderers and heretics, there would be only one or two people to a cage. Today the rebels put eight or ten in each, and still there were more prisoners. The surplus captives were tied together with ropes and herded into a corner of the compound. They could have escaped fairly easily, but they did not, probably because they were safer here than outside in the town.\n\nPhilip sat in one corner of a cage, nursing a splitting headache, feeling a fool and a failure. In the end he had been as useless as the cowardly Bishop Alexander. He had not saved a single life; he had not even prevented one blow. The citizens of Lincoln would have been no worse off without him. Unlike Abbot Peter, he had been powerless to stop the violence. I'm just not the man Father Peter was, he thought.\n\nWorse still, in his vain attempt to help the townspeople he had probably thrown away his chance of winning concessions from the Empress Maud when she became queen. He was now a prisoner of her army. It would be assumed, therefore, that he had been with King Stephen's forces. Kingsbridge Priory would have to pay a ransom for Philip's release. It was quite likely that the whole thing would come to Maud's notice; and then she would be prejudiced against Philip. He felt sick, disappointed, and full of remorse.\n\nMore prisoners were brought in through the day. The influx ended around nightfall, but the sacking of the city went on outside the castle walls: Philip could hear the shouts and screams and sounds of destruction. Toward midnight the noise died down, presumably as the soldiers became so drunk on stolen wine and sated with rape and violence that they could do no more damage. A few of them staggered into the castle, boasting of their triumphs, quarreling among themselves and vomiting on the grass; and eventually fell down insensible and slept.\n\nPhilip slept, too, although he did not have enough room to lie down, and had to slump in the corner with his back against the wooden bars of his cage. He woke at dawn, shivering with cold, but the pain in his head had softened, mercifully, to a dull ache. He stood up to stretch his legs, and slapped his arms against his sides to warm himself. All the castle buildings were overflowing with people. The open-fronted stables revealed men sleeping in the stalls, while the horses were tied up outside. Pairs of legs stuck out of the bakehouse door and the kitchen undercroft. The small minority of sober soldiers had pitched tents. There were horses everywhere. In the southeast corner of the castle compound was the keep, a castle within a castle, built on a high mound, its mighty stone walls encircling half a dozen or more wooden buildings. The earls and knights of the winning side would be in there, sleeping off their own celebration.\n\nPhilip's mind turned to the implications of yesterday's battle. Did it mean the war was over? Probably. Stephen had a wife, Queen Matilda, who might fight on: she was countess of Boulogne, and with her French knights she had taken Dover Castle early in the war and now controlled much of Kent on her husband's behalf. However, she would find it difficult to gather support from the barons while Stephen was in prison. She might hold on to Kent for a while but she was unlikely to make any gains.\n\nNevertheless, Maud's problems were not yet over. She had to consolidate her military victory, gain the approval of the Church and be crowned at Westminster. However, given determination and a little wisdom she would probably succeed.\n\nAnd that was good news for Kingsbridge; or it would be, if Philip could get out of here without being branded a supporter of Stephen.\n\nThere was no sun, but the air warmed a little as the day got brighter. Philip's fellow-prisoners awoke gradually, groaning with aches and pains: most of them had been at least bruised, and they felt worse after a cold night, with only the minimal shelter of the roof and bars of the cage. Some were wealthy citizens and others were knights who had been captured in battle. When most of them were awake Philip asked: \"Did anyone see what happened to Richard of Kingsbridge?\" He was hoping Richard had survived, for Aliena's sake.\n\nA man with a bloodstained bandage around his head said: \"He fought like a lion\u2014he rallied the townsmen when things got bad.\"\n\n\"Did he live or die?\"\n\nThe man shook his wounded head slowly. \"I didn't see him at the end.\"\n\n\"What about William Hamleigh?\" It would be a blessed relief if William had fallen.\n\n\"He was with the king for most of the battle. But he got away at the end\u2014I saw him on a horse, flying across the field, well ahead of the pack.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" The faint hope faded. Philip's problems were not to be solved that easily.\n\nThe conversation lapsed and the cage fell silent. Outside, the soldiers were on the move, nursing their hangovers, checking their booty, making sure their hostages were still in captivity, and getting breakfast from the kitchen. Philip wondered whether prisoners got fed. They must, he thought, for otherwise they would die and there would be no ransoms; but who would take the responsibility for feeding all these people? That started him wondering how long he would be here. His captors would have to send a message to Kingsbridge, demanding a ransom. The brothers would send one of their number to negotiate his release. Who would it be? Milius would be the best, but Remigius, who as sub-prior was in charge in Philip's absence, might send one of his cronies, or even come himself. Remigius would do everything slowly: he was incapable of prompt and decisive action even in his own interest. It could take months. Philip became gloomier.\n\nOther prisoners were luckier. Soon after sunrise, wives and children and relatives of the captives began to trickle into the castle, fearfully and hesitantly at first, then with more confidence, to negotiate the ransom of their loved ones. They would bargain with the captors for a while, protesting their lack of money, offering cheap jewelry or other valuables; then they would reach an agreement, depart, and return a little later with whatever ransom had been agreed, usually cash. The piles of booty grew higher and the cages emptied out.\n\nBy midday half the prisoners had gone. They were the local people, Philip assumed. Those remaining must be from distant towns, and were probably all knights who had been taken during the battle. This impression was confirmed when the constable of the castle came around the cages and asked the names of everyone remaining: most of them were knights from the south. Philip noticed that in one of the cages there was only one man, and he was confined in stocks, as if someone wanted to be doubly sure he could not escape. After staring at the special prisoner for a few minutes Philip realized who it was.\n\n\"Look!\" he said to the three men in his own cage. \"That man on his own. Is it who I think it is?\"\n\nThe others looked. \"By Christ, it's the king,\" said one, and the others agreed.\n\nPhilip stared at the muddy, tawny-haired man with his hands and feet confined uncomfortably in the wooden vise of the stocks. He looked just like all the rest of them. Yesterday he had been king of England. Yesterday he had refused Kingsbridge a market license. Today he could not stand up without someone else's leave. The king had got his just deserts, but all the same Philip felt sorry for him.\n\nEarly in the afternoon the prisoners were given food. It was lukewarm leftovers from the dinner provided for the fighting men, but they fell on it ravenously. Philip hung back and let the others have most of it, for he regarded hunger as a base weakness that ought to be resisted from time to time, and considered any enforced fast to be an opportunity to mortify the flesh.\n\nWhile they were scraping the bowl there was a flurry of activity over at the keep, and a group of earls came out. As they walked down the steps of the keep and across the castle compound, Philip observed that two of them went a little in front of the others, and were treated with deference. They had to be Ranulf of Chester and Robert of Gloucester, but Philip did not know which was which. They approached Stephen's cage.\n\n\"Good day, Cousin Robert,\" Stephen said, heavily emphasizing the word cousin.\n\nThe taller of the two men replied. \"I didn't intend for you to spend the night in the stocks. I ordered that you be moved, but the order wasn't obeyed. However, you seem to have survived.\"\n\nA man in priest's clothing detached himself from the group and came toward Philip's cage. At first Philip paid him no attention, for Stephen was asking what was to be done with him, and Philip wanted to hear the answer; but the priest said: \"Which one of you is the prior of Kingsbridge?\"\n\n\"I am,\" Philip said.\n\nThe priest spoke to one of the men-at-arms who had brought Philip here. \"Release that man.\"\n\nPhilip was mystified. He had never seen the priest in his life. Clearly his name had been picked out of the list compiled earlier by the castle constable. But why? He would be glad to get out of the cage, but he was not ready to rejoice\u2014he did not know what was in store for him.\n\nThe man-at-arms protested: \"He's my prisoner!\"\n\n\"Not anymore,\" said the priest. \"Let him go.\"\n\n\"Why should I release him without a ransom?\" the man said belligerently.\n\nThe priest replied equally forcefully. \"First, because he's neither a fighting man in the king's army nor a citizen of this town, so you have committed a crime by imprisoning him. Second, because he's a monk, and you are guilty of sacrilege by laying hands on a man of God. Third, because Queen Maud's secretary says you have to release him, and if you refuse you'll end up inside that cage yourself, faster than you can blink, so jump to it.\"\n\n\"All right,\" the man grumbled.\n\nPhilip was dismayed. He had been nursing a faint hope that Maud would never get to know of his imprisonment here. If Maud's secretary had asked to see him, that hope was now dashed. Feeling as if he had hit rock bottom, he stepped out of the cage.\n\n\"Come with me,\" said the priest.\n\nPhilip followed him. \"Am I to be set free?\" he said.\n\n\"I imagine so.\" The priest looked surprised by the question. \"Don't you know whom you're going to see?\"\n\n\"I haven't an inkling.\"\n\nThe priest smiled. \"I'll let him surprise you.\"\n\nThey crossed the compound to the keep and climbed the long flight of steps that led up the mound to the gate. Philip racked his brains but could not guess why a secretary of Maud's should have an interest in him.\n\nHe followed the priest through the gate. The circular stone keep was lined with two-story houses built against the wall. In the middle was a tiny courtyard with a well. The priest led Philip into one of the houses.\n\nInside the house was another priest, standing in front of the fire with his back to the door. He had the same build as Philip, short and slight, and the same black hair, but his head was not shaved and his hair was not graying. It was a very familiar back. Philip could hardly believe his luck. A broad grin spread across his face.\n\nThe priest turned. He had bright blue eyes just like Philip's and he, too, was grinning. He held out his arms. \"Philip,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, God be praised!\" Philip said in astonishment. \"Francis!\"\n\nThe two brothers embraced, and Philip's eyes filled with tears."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "The royal reception hall at Winchester Castle looked very different. The dogs had gone, and so had King Stephen's plain wooden throne, the benches, and the animal skins from the walls. Instead there were embroidered hangings, richly colored carpets, bowls of sweetmeats, and painted chairs. The room smelled of flowers.\n\nPhilip was never at ease at the royal court, and a feminine royal court was enough to put him in a state of quivering anxiety. The Empress Maud was his only hope of getting the quarry back and reopening the market, but he had no confidence that this haughty, willful woman would make a just decision.\n\nThe Empress sat on a delicately carved gilded throne, wearing a dress the color of bluebells. She was tall and thin, with proud dark eyes and straight, glossy black hair. Over her gown she wore a pelisse, a knee-length silk coat with a tight waist and flared skirt; a style that had not been seen in England until she arrived, but was now much imitated. She had been married to her first husband for eleven years and her second for fourteen, but she still looked less than forty years old. People raved about her beauty. To Philip she looked rather angular and unfriendly; but he was a poor judge of feminine attraction, being more or less immune to it.\n\nPhilip, Francis, William Hamleigh and Bishop Waleran bowed to her and stood waiting. She ignored them for a while and continued talking to a lady-in-waiting. The conversation seemed to be rather trifling, for they both laughed prettily; but Maud did not interrupt it to greet her visitors.\n\nFrancis worked closely with her, and saw her almost every day, but they were not great friends. Her brother Robert, Francis's former employer, had given him to her when she arrived in England, because she needed a first-class secretary. However, this was not the only motive. Francis acted as link man between brother and sister, and kept an eye on the impetuous Maud. It was nothing for brothers and sisters to betray one another, in the treacherous life of the royal court, and Francis's real role was to make it difficult for Maud to do anything underhand. Maud knew this and accepted it, but her relationship with Francis was nevertheless an uneasy one.\n\nIt was two months since the battle of Lincoln, and in that time all had gone well for Maud. Bishop Henry had welcomed her to Winchester (thereby betraying his brother King Stephen) and had convened a great council of bishops and abbots which had elected her queen; and she was now negotiating with the commune of London to arrange her coronation at Westminster. King David of Scotland, who happened to be her uncle, was on his way to pay her a formal royal visit, one sovereign to another.\n\nBishop Henry was strongly supported by Bishop Waleran of Kingsbridge; and, according to Francis, Waleran had persuaded William Hamleigh to switch sides, and pledge allegiance to Maud. Now William had come for his reward.\n\nThe four men stood waiting: William with his backer, Bishop Waleran, and Prior Philip with his sponsor, Francis. This was the first time Philip had set eyes on Maud. Her appearance did not reassure him: despite her regal air he thought she looked flighty.\n\nWhen Maud finished chatting she turned to them with a triumphant look, as if to say: See how unimportant you are, even my lady-in-waiting had priority over you. She looked at Philip steadily for a few moments, until he became embarrassed, then she said: \"Well, Francis. Have you brought me your twin?\"\n\nFrancis said: \"My brother, Philip, lady, the prior of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nPhilip bowed again and said: \"Somewhat too old and gray to be a twin, lady.\" It was the kind of trivial, self-deprecating remark that courtiers seemed to find amusing, but she gave him a frozen look and ignored it. He decided to abandon any attempt to be charming.\n\nShe turned to William. \"And Sir William Hamleigh, who fought bravely against my army at the battle of Lincoln, but has now seen the error of his ways.\"\n\nWilliam bowed and wisely kept his mouth shut.\n\nShe turned back to Philip. \"You ask me to grant you a license to hold a market.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady.\"\n\nFrancis said: \"The income from the market will all be spent on building the cathedral, lady.\"\n\n\"On what day of the week do you want to hold your market?\" she asked.\n\n\"Sunday.\"\n\nShe raised her plucked eyebrows. \"You holy men are generally opposed to Sunday markets. Don't they keep people from church?\"\n\n\"Not in our case,\" Philip said. \"People come to labor on the building and attend a service, and they do their buying and selling as well.\"\n\n\"So you're already holding this market?\" she said sharply.\n\nPhilip realized he had blundered. He felt like kicking himself.\n\nFrancis rescued him. \"No, lady, they are not holding the market at present,\" he said. \"It began informally, but Prior Philip ordered it to cease until he was granted a license.\"\n\nThat was the truth, but not the whole truth. However, Maud seemed to accept it. Philip silently prayed for forgiveness for Francis.\n\nMaud said: \"Is there no other market in the area?\"\n\nWilliam spoke up. \"Yes, there is, at Shiring; and the Kingsbridge market has been taking business away.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"But Shiring is twenty miles from Kingsbridge!\"\n\nFrancis said: \"My lady, the rule is that markets must be at least fourteen miles apart. By that criterion Kingsbridge and Shiring do not compete.\"\n\nShe nodded, apparently willing to accept Francis's ruling on a point of law. So far, thought Philip, it's going our way.\n\nMaud said: \"You also ask for the right to take stone from the earl of Shiring's quarry.\"\n\n\"We have had that right for many years, but William lately threw out our quarrymen, killing five\u2014\"\n\n\"Who gave you the right to take stone?\" she interrupted.\n\n\"King Stephen\u2014\"\n\n\"The usurper!\"\n\nFrancis hastily said: \"My lady, Prior Philip naturally accepts that all edicts of the pretender Stephen are invalid unless ratified by you.\"\n\nPhilip accepted no such thing but he saw that it would be unwise to say so.\n\nWilliam blurted out: \"I closed the quarry in retaliation for his illegal market!\"\n\nIt was amazing, Philip thought, how a clear case of injustice could come to seem evenly balanced when argued at the court.\n\nMaud said: \"This entire squabble came about because Stephen's original ruling was foolish.\"\n\nBishop Waleran spoke for the first time. \"There, lady, I heartily agree with you,\" he said oilily.\n\n\"It was asking for trouble, to give the quarry to one person but let another mine it,\" she said. \"The quarry must belong to one or the other.\"\n\nThat was true, Philip thought. And if she were to follow the spirit of Stephen's original ruling, it would belong to Kingsbridge.\n\nShe went on: \"My decision is that it shall belong to my noble ally, Sir William.\"\n\nPhilip's heart sank. The cathedral building could not have come on so well without free access to that quarry. It would have to slow right down while Philip tried to find the money to buy stone. And all because of the whim of this capricious woman! It made him fume.\n\nWilliam said: \"Thank you, lady.\"\n\nMaud said: \"However, Kingsbridge shall have market rights as at Shiring.\"\n\nPhilip's spirits rose again. The market would not quite pay for the stone but it was a big help. It meant he would be scraping around for money again, just as he had at the beginning, but he could carry on.\n\nMaud had given each one a part of what he wanted. Perhaps she was not so empty-headed after all.\n\nFrancis said: \"Market rights as at Shiring, lady?\"\n\n\"That's what I said.\"\n\nPhilip was not sure why Francis had repeated it. It was common for licenses to refer to the rights enjoyed by another town: it was evenhanded and saved writing. Philip would have to check exactly what Shiring's charter said. There might be restrictions, or extra privileges.\n\nMaud said: \"So you have both got something. William gets the quarry and Prior Philip gets the market. And in return, each of you will pay me one hundred pounds. That is all.\" She turned away.\n\nPhilip was flabbergasted. A hundred pounds! The priory did not have a hundred pennies at the moment. How was he to raise this money? The market would take years to earn a hundred pounds. It was a devastating blow that would set the building program back permanently. He stood staring at Maud, but she was apparently deep in conversation with her lady-in-waiting again. Francis nudged him. Philip opened his mouth to speak. Francis held a finger to his lips. Philip said: \"But...\" Francis shook his head urgently.\n\nPhilip knew Francis was right. He let his shoulders slump in defeat. Helplessly, he turned away and walked out of the royal presence.\n\nFrancis was impressed when Philip showed him around Kingsbridge Priory. \"I was here ten years ago, and it was a dump,\" he said irreverently. \"You've really brought it to life.\"\n\nHe was very taken with the writing room, which Tom had finished while Philip was in Lincoln. A small building next to the chapter house, it had large windows, a fireplace with a chimney, a row of writing desks, and a big oak cupboard for the books. Four of the brothers were at work there already, standing at the high desks, writing on parchment sheets with quill pens. Three were copying: one the Psalms of David, one Saint Matthew's Gospel, and one the Rule of Saint Benedict. In addition, Brother Timothy was writing a history of England, although as he had begun with the creation of the world Philip was afraid the old boy might never finish it. The writing room was small\u2014Philip had not wanted to divert much stone from the cathedral\u2014but it was a warm, dry, well-lit place, just what was needed. \"The priory has disgracefully few books, and as they're iniquitously expensive to buy, this is the only way to build our collection,\" Philip explained.\n\nIn the undercroft was a workshop where an old monk was teaching two youngsters how to stretch the skin of a sheep for parchment, how to make ink, and how to bind the sheets into a book. Francis said: \"You'll be able to sell books, too.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes\u2014the writing room will pay for itself many times over.\"\n\nThey left the building and walked through the cloisters. It was the study hour. Most of the monks were reading. A few were meditating, an activity that was suspiciously similar to dozing, as Francis remarked skeptically. In the northwest corner were twenty schoolboys reciting Latin verbs. Philip stopped and pointed. \"See the little boy at the end of the bench?\"\n\nFrancis said: \"Writing on a slate, with his tongue sticking out?\"\n\n\"That's the baby you found in the forest.\"\n\n\"But he's so big!\"\n\n\"Five and a half years old, and precocious.'\n\nFrancis shook his head in wonderment. \"Time goes by so fast. How is he?\"\n\n\"He's spoiled by the monks, but he'll survive. You and I did.\"\n\n\"Who are the other pupils?\"\n\n\"Either novice monks, or the sons of merchants and local gentry learning to write and figure.\"\n\nThey left the cloisters and passed on to the building site. The eastern limb of the new cathedral was now more than half built. The great double row of mighty columns was forty feet high, and all the arches in between had been completed. Above the arcade, the tribune gallery was taking shape. Either side of the arcade, the lower walls of the aisle had been built, with their out-jutting buttresses. As they walked around, Philip saw that the masons were constructing the half-arches that would connect the tops of those buttresses with the top of the tribune gallery, allowing the buttresses to take the weight of the roof.\n\nFrancis was almost awestruck. \"You've done all this, Philip,\" he said. \"The writing room, the school, the new church, even all these new houses in the town\u2014it's all come about because you made it happen.\"\n\nPhilip was touched. No one had ever said that to him. If asked, he would say that God had blessed his efforts. But in his heart of hearts he knew that what Francis said was true: this thriving, busy town was his creation. Recognition gave him a warm glow, especially coming as it did from his sophisticated, cynical younger brother.\n\nTom Builder saw them and came over. \"You've made marvelous progress,\" Philip said to him.\n\n\"Yes, but look at that.\" Tom pointed to the northeast corner of the priory close, where stone from the quarry was stockpiled. There were normally hundreds of stones stacked in rows, but now there were only about twenty-five scattered on the ground. \"Unfortunately, our marvelous progress means we've used up our stock of stone.\"\n\nPhilip's elation evaporated. Everything he had achieved here was at risk, because of Maud's harsh ruling.\n\nThey walked along the north side of the site, where the most skilled masons were working at their benches, carving the stones into shape with hammers and chisels. Philip stopped behind one craftsman and studied his work. It was a capital, the large, jutting-out stone that always stood on top of a column. Using a light hammer and a small chisel, the mason was carving a pattern of leaves on the capital. The leaves were deeply undercut and the work was delicate. To Philip's surprise, he saw that the craftsman was young Jack, Tom's stepson. \"I thought Jack was still a learner,\" he said.\n\n\"He is.\" Tom moved on, and when they were out of earshot he said: \"The boy is remarkable. There are men here who have been carving stone since before he was born, and none of them can match his work.\" He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. \"And he isn't even my own son!\"\n\nTom's real son, Alfred, was a master mason and had his own gang of apprentices and laborers, but Philip knew that Alfred and his gang did not do the delicate work. Philip wondered how Tom felt about that in his heart.\n\nTom's mind had returned to the problem of paying for the market license. \"Surely the market will bring in a lot of money,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, but not enough. It should raise about fifty pounds a year at the start.\"\n\nTom nodded gloomily. \"That will just about pay for the stone.\"\n\n\"We could manage if I didn't have to pay Maud a hundred pounds.\"\n\n\"What about the wool?\"\n\nThe wool that was piling up in Philip's barns would be sold at the Shiring Fleece Fair in a few weeks' time, and would fetch about a hundred pounds. \"That's what I'm going to use to pay Maud. But then I'll have nothing left for the craftsmen's wages for the next twelve months.\"\n\n\"Can't you borrow?\"\n\n\"I already have. The Jews won't lend me any more. I asked, while I was in Winchester. They won't lend you money if they don't think you can pay it back.\"\n\n\"What about Aliena?\"\n\nPhilip was startled. He had never thought of borrowing from her. She had even more wool in her barns. After the fleece fair she might have two hundred pounds. \"But she needs the money to make her living. And Christians can't charge interest. If she lent her money to me she would have nothing to trade with. Although...\" Even as he spoke, he was turning over a new idea. He remembered that Aliena had wanted to buy his entire wool production for the year. Perhaps they could work something out.... \"I think I'll talk to her anyway,\" he said. \"Is she at home at the moment?\"\n\n\"I think so\u2014I saw her this morning.\"\n\n\"Come, Francis\u2014you're about to meet a remarkable young woman.\" They left Tom and hurried out of the close into the town. Aliena had two houses side by side up against the west wall of the priory. She lived in one and used the other as a barn. She was very wealthy. There had to be a way she could help the priory pay Maud's extortionate fee for the market license. A vague idea was taking shape in Philip's mind.\n\nAliena was in the barn, supervising the unloading of an ox cart stacked high with sacks of wool. She wore a brocade pelisse, like the one the Empress Maud had worn, and her hair was done up in a white linen coif. She looked authoritative, as always, and the two men unloading the cart obeyed her instructions without question. Everyone respected her, although\u2014strangely\u2014she had no close friends. She greeted Philip warmly. \"When we heard about the battle of Lincoln we were afraid you might have been killed!\" she said. There was real concern in her eyes, and Philip was moved to think that people had been worried about him. He introduced her to Francis.\n\n\"Did you get justice at Winchester?\" Aliena asked.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" Philip replied. \"The Empress Maud granted us a market but denied us the quarry. The one more or less compensates for the other. But she charged me a hundred pounds for the market license.\"\n\nAliena was shocked. \"That's terrible! Did you tell her the income from the market goes to the cathedral building?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\n\"But where will you find a hundred pounds?\"\n\n\"I thought you might be able to help.\"\n\n\"Me?\" Aliena was taken aback.\n\n\"In a few weeks' time, after you've sold your wool to the Flemish, you'll have two hundred pounds or more.\"\n\nAliena looked troubled. \"And I'd give it to you, gladly, but I need it to buy more wool next year.\"\n\n\"Remember you wanted to buy my wool?\"\n\n\"Yes, but it's too late now. I wanted to buy it early in the season. Besides, you can sell it yourself soon.\"\n\n\"I was thinking,\" Philip said. \"Could I sell you next year's wool?\"\n\nShe frowned. \"But you haven't got it.\"\n\n\"Could I sell it to you before I've got it?\"\n\n\"I don't see how.\"\n\n\"Simple. You give me the money now. I give you the wool next year.\"\n\nAliena clearly did not know how to take this proposal: it was unlike any known way of doing business. It was new to Philip, too: he had just made it up.\n\nAliena spoke slowly and thoughtfully. \"I would have to offer you a slightly lower price than you could get by waiting. Moreover, the price of wool might go up between now and next summer\u2014it has every year I've been in the business.\"\n\n\"So I lose a little and you gain a little,\" Philip said. \"But I'll be able to carry on building for another year.\"\n\n\"And what will you do next year?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Perhaps I'll sell you the following year's wool.\"\n\nAliena nodded. \"It makes sense.\"\n\nPhilip took her hands and looked into her eyes. \"If you do this, Aliena, you'll save the cathedral,\" he said fervently.\n\nAliena looked very solemn. \"You saved me, once, didn't you?\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"Then I'll do the same for you.\"\n\n\"God bless you!\" In an excess of gratitude he hugged her; then he remembered she was a woman and detached himself hastily. \"I don't know how to thank you,\" he said. \"I was at my wits' end.\"\n\nAliena laughed. \"I'm not sure I deserve this much gratitude. I'll probably do very well out of the arrangement.\"\n\n\"I hope so.\"\n\n\"Let's drink a cup of wine together to seal the bargain,\" she said. \"I'll just pay the carter.\"\n\nThe ox cart was empty and the wool stacked neatly. Philip and Francis stepped outside while Aliena settled up with the carter. The sun was going down and the building workers were walking back to their homes. Philip's elation returned. He had found a way to carry on, despite all the setbacks. \"Thank God for Aliena!\" he said.\n\n\"You didn't tell me she was so beautiful,\" Francis said.\n\n\"Beautiful? I suppose she is.\"\n\nFrancis laughed. \"Philip, you're blind! She's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She's enough to make a man give up the priesthood.\"\n\nPhilip looked sharply at Francis. \"You ought not to talk like that.\"\n\n\"Sorry.\"\n\nAliena came out and locked the barn; then they went into her home. It was a large house with a main room and a separate bedroom. There was a beer barrel in the corner, a whole ham hanging from the ceiling, and a white linen cloth on the table. A middle-aged woman servant poured wine from a flask into silver goblets for the guests. Aliena lived comfortably. If she's so beautiful, Philip wondered, why hasn't she got a husband? There was no shortage of aspirants: she had been courted by every eligible young man in the county, but she had turned them all down. He felt so grateful to her that he wanted her to be happy.\n\nHer mind was still on practicalities. \"I won't have the money until after the Shiring Fleece Fair,\" she said when they had toasted their agreement.\n\nPhilip turned to Francis. \"Will Maud wait?\"\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"The fair is three weeks from Thursday.\"\n\nFrancis nodded. \"I'll tell her. She'll wait.\"\n\nAliena untied her headdress and shook out her curly dark hair. She gave a tired sigh. \"The days are too short,\" she said. \"I can't get everything done. I want to buy more wool but I've got to find enough carters to take it all to Shiring.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"And next year you'll have even more.\"\n\n\"I wish we could make the Flemish come here to buy. It would be so much easier for us than taking all our wool to Shiring.\"\n\nFrancis interjected: \"But you can.\"\n\nThey both looked at him. Philip said: \"How?\"\n\n\"Hold your own fleece fair.\"\n\nPhilip began to see what he was driving at. \"Can we?\"\n\n\"Maud gave you exactly the same rights as Shiring. I wrote your charter myself. If Shiring can hold a fleece fair, so can you.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Why, that would be wonderful\u2014we wouldn't have to cart all these sacks to Shiring. We could do the business here, and ship the wool directly to Flanders.\"\n\n\"That's the least of it,\" Philip said excitedly. \"A fleece fair makes as much in a week as a Sunday market makes in a whole year. We can't do it this year, of course\u2014nobody will know about it. But we can spread the news, at this year's Shiring Fleece Fair, that we're going to hold our own next year, and make sure all the buyers know the date....\"\n\nAliena said: \"It will make a big difference to Shiring. You and I are the biggest sellers of wool in the county, and if we both withdraw, the Shiring fair will be less than half its usual size.\"\n\nFrancis said: \"William Hamleigh will lose money. He'll be as mad as a bull.\"\n\nPhilip could not help a shudder of revulsion. A mad bull was just what William was like.\n\n\"So what?\" said Aliena. \"If Maud has given us permission, we can go ahead. There's nothing William can do about it, is there?\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" Philip said fervently. \"I certainly hope not.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Work stopped at noon on Saint Augustine's Day. Most of the builders greeted the midday bell with a sigh of relief. They normally worked from sunrise to sunset, six days a week, so they needed the rest they got on holy days. However, Jack was too absorbed in his work to hear the bell.\n\nHe was mesmerized by the challenge of making soft, round shapes out of hard rock. The stone had a will of its own, and if he tried to make it do something it did not want to do, it would fight him, and his chisel would slip, or dig in too deeply, spoiling the shapes. But once he had got to know the lump of rock in front of him he could transform it. The more difficult the task, the more fascinated he was. He was beginning to feel that the decorative carving demanded by Tom was too easy. Zigzags, lozenges, dogtooth, spirals and plain roll moldings bored him, and even these leaves were rather stiff and repetitive. He wanted to carve natural-looking foliage, pliable and irregular, and copy the different shapes of real leaves, oak and ash and birch, but Tom would not let him. Most of all he wanted to carve scenes from stories, Adam and Eve, David and Goliath, and the Day of Judgment, with monsters and devils and naked people, but he did not dare to ask.\n\nEventually Tom made him stop work. \"It's a holiday, lad,\" he said. \"Besides, you're still my apprentice, and I want you to help me clear up. All tools must be locked away before dinner.\"\n\nJack put away his hammer and chisels, and carefully deposited the stone on which he had been working in Tom's shed; then he went around the site with Tom. The other apprentices were tidying up and sweeping away the stone chips, sand, lumps of dried mortar and wood shavings that littered the site. Tom picked up his compasses and level while Jack collected his yardsticks and plumb lines, and they took everything to the shed.\n\nIn the shed Tom kept his poles. These were long iron rods, square in cross-section and dead straight, all exactly the same length. They were kept in a special wooden rack which was locked. They were measuring sticks.\n\nAs they continued around the site, picking up mortarboards and shovels, Jack was thinking about the poles. \"How long is a pole?\" he asked.\n\nSome of the masons heard him and laughed. They often found his questions amusing. Edward Short, a diminutive old mason with leathery skin and a twisted nose, said: \"A pole is a pole,\" and they laughed again.\n\nThey enjoyed teasing the apprentices, especially if it gave them a chance to show off their superior knowledge. Jack hated to be laughed at for his ignorance but he put up with it because he was so curious. \"I don't understand,\" he said patiently.\n\n\"An inch is an inch, a foot is a foot, and a pole is a pole,\" said Edward.\n\nA pole was a unit of measurement, then. \"So how many feet are there in a pole?\"\n\n\"Aha! That depends. Eighteen, in Lincoln. Sixteen in East Anglia.\"\n\nTom interrupted to give a sensible answer. \"On this site there are fifteen feet to a pole.\"\n\nA middle-aged woman mason said: \"In Paris they don't use the pole at all\u2014just the yardstick.\"\n\nTom said to Jack: \"The whole plan of the church is based on poles. Fetch me one and I'll show you. It's time you understood these things.\" He gave Jack a key.\n\nJack went to the shed and took a pole from the rack. It was quite heavy. Tom liked to explain things, and Jack loved to listen. The organization of the building site made an intriguing pattern, like the weaving on a brocade coat, and the more he understood, the more fascinated he became.\n\nTom was standing in the aisle at the open end of the half-built chancel, where the crossing would be. He took the pole and laid it on the ground so that it spanned the aisle. \"From the outside wall to the middle of the pier of the arcade is a pole.\" He turned the pole end over end. \"From there to the middle of the nave is a pole.\" He turned it over again, and it reached the middle of the opposite pier. \"The nave is two poles wide.\" He turned it over again, and it reached to the wall of the far aisle. \"The whole church is four poles wide.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jack. \"And each bay must be a pole long.\"\n\nTom looked faintly annoyed. \"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Nobody. The bays of the aisles are square, so if they're a pole wide they must be a pole long. And the bays of the nave are the same length as the bays of the aisles, obviously.\"\n\n\"Obviously,\" said Tom. \"You should be a philosopher.\" In his voice was a mixture of pride and irritation. He was pleased that Jack was quick to understand, irritated that the mysteries of masonry should be so easily grasped by a mere boy.\n\nJack was too caught up in the splendid logic of it all to pay attention to Tom's sensitivities. \"The chancel is four poles long, then,\" he said. \"And the whole church will be twelve poles when it's finished.\" He was struck by another thought. \"How high will it be?\"\n\n\"Six poles high. Three for the arcade, one for the gallery, and two for the clerestory.\"\n\n\"But what's the point of having everything measured by poles? Why not build it all higgledy-piggledy, like a house?\"\n\n\"First, because it's cheaper this way. All the arches of the arcade are identical, so we can reuse the falsework arches. The fewer different sizes and shapes of stone we need, the fewer templates I have to make. And so on. Second, it simplifies every aspect of what we're doing, from the original laying-out\u2014everything is based on a pole square\u2014to painting the walls\u2014it's easier to estimate how much whitewash we'll need. And when things are simple, fewer mistakes are made. The most expensive part of a building is the mistakes. Third, when everything is based on a pole measure, the church just looks right. Proportion is the heart of beauty.\"\n\nJack nodded, enchanted. The struggle to control an operation as ambitious and intricate as building a cathedral was endlessly fascinating. The notion that the principles of regularity and repetition could both simplify the construction and result in a harmonious building was a seductive idea. But he was not sure whether proportion was the heart of beauty. He had a taste for wild, spreading, disorderly things: high mountains, aged oaks, and Aliena's hair.\n\nHe ate his dinner ravenously but quickly, then he left the village, heading north. It was a warm early-summer day, and he was barefoot. Ever since he and his mother had come to live in Kingsbridge for good, and he had become a worker, he had enjoyed returning to the forest periodically. At first he had spent the time getting rid of surplus energy, running and jumping, climbing trees and shooting ducks with his sling. That was when he was getting used to the new, taller, stronger body he now had. The novelty of that had worn off. Now when he walked in the forest he thought about things: why proportion should be beautiful, how buildings stayed standing, and what it would be like to stroke Aliena's breasts.\n\nHe had worshiped her from a distance for years. His abiding picture of her was from the first time he had seen her, as she came down the stairs to the hall at Earlscastle, and he had thought she must be a princess in a story. She had continued to be a remote figure. She talked to Prior Philip, and Tom Builder, and Malachi the Jew, and the other wealthy and powerful people of Kingsbridge; and Jack never had a reason to address her. He just looked at her, praying in church or riding her palfrey across the bridge, or sitting in the sun outside her house; wearing costly furs in winter and the finest linen in summer, her wild hair framing her beautiful face. Before he went to sleep he would think about what it would be like to take those clothes off her, and see her naked, and kiss her soft mouth gently.\n\nIn the last few weeks he had become dissatisfied and depressed with this hopeless daydreaming. Seeing her from a distance and overhearing her conversations with other people and imagining making love to her were no longer enough. He needed the real thing.\n\nThere were several girls his own age who might have given him the real thing. Among the apprentices there was much talk about which of the young women in Kingsbridge were randy and exactly what each of them would let a young man do. Most of them were determined to remain virgins until they were married, according to the teachings of the Church, but there were certain things you could do and still remain a virgin, or so the apprentices said. The girls all thought Jack was a little strange\u2014they were probably right, he felt\u2014but one or two of them found his strangeness appealing. One Sunday after church he had struck up a conversation with Edith, the sister of a fellow apprentice; but when he had talked about how he loved to carve stone, she had started to giggle. The following Sunday he had gone walking in the fields with Ann, the blond daughter of the tailor. He had not said much to her, but he had kissed her, and then suggested they lie down in a field of green barley. He had kissed her again and touched her breasts, and she had kissed him back, enthusiastically; but after a while she had pulled away from him and said: \"Who is she?\" Jack had been thinking about Aliena at that very moment and he was thunderstruck. He had tried to brush it aside, and kiss her again, but she turned her face away, and said: \"Whoever she is, she's a lucky girl.\" They had walked back to Kingsbridge together, and when they separated Ann had said: \"Don't waste time trying to forget her. It's a lost cause. She's the one you want, so you'd better try and get her.\" She had smiled at him fondly and added: \"You've got a nice face. It might not be as difficult as you think.\"\n\nHer kindness made him feel bad, the more so because she was one of the girls the apprentices said were randy, and he had told everyone that he was going to try to feel her up. Now such talk seemed so juvenile that it made him squirm. But if he had told her the name of the woman who was on his mind, Ann might not have been so encouraging. Jack and Aliena were about the most unlikely match conceivable. Aliena was twenty-two years old and he was seventeen; she was the daughter of an earl and he was a bastard; she was a wealthy wool merchant and he was a penniless apprentice. Worse still, she was famous for the number of suitors she had rejected. Every presentable young lord in the county, and every prosperous merchant's eldest son, had come to Kingsbridge to pay court to her, and all had gone away disappointed. What chance was there for Jack, who had nothing to offer, unless it was \"a nice face\"?\n\nHe and Aliena had one thing in common: they liked the forest. They were peculiar in this: most people preferred the safety of the fields and villages, and stayed away from the forest. But Aliena often walked in the woodlands near Kingsbridge, and there was a particular secluded spot where she liked to stop and sit down. He had seen her there once or twice. She had not seen him: he walked silently, as he had learned to in childhood, when he had had to find his dinner in the forest.\n\nHe was heading for her clearing without any idea of what he would do if he found her there. He knew what he would like to do: lie down beside her and stroke her body. He could talk to her, but what would he say? It was easy to talk to girls of his own age. He had teased Edith, saying: \"I don't believe any of the terrible things your brother says about you,\" and of course she had wanted to know what the terrible things were. With Ann he had been direct: \"Would you like to walk in the fields with me this afternoon?\" But when he tried to come up with an opening line for Aliena his mind went blank. He could not help thinking of her as belonging to the older generation. She was so grave and responsible. She had not always been like that, he knew: at seventeen she had been quite playful. She had suffered terrible troubles since then, but the playful girl must still be there somewhere inside the solemn woman. For Jack that made her even more fascinating.\n\nHe was getting near her spot. The forest was quiet in the heat of the day. He moved silently through the undergrowth. He wanted to see her before she saw him. He was still not sure he had the nerve to approach her. Most of all he was afraid of putting her off. He had spoken to her on the very first day he returned to Kingsbridge, the WhitSunday that all the volunteers had come to work on the cathedral, and he had said the wrong thing then, with the result that he had hardly talked to her for four years. He did not want to make a similar blunder now.\n\nA few moments later he peeped around the trunk of a beech tree and saw her.\n\nShe had picked an extraordinarily pretty place. There was a little waterfall trickling into a deep pool surrounded by mossy stones. The sun shone on the banks of the pool, but a yard or two back there was shade beneath the beech trees. Aliena sat in the dappled sunlight reading a book.\n\nJack was astonished. A woman? Reading a book? In the open air? The only people who read books were monks, and not many of them read anything except the services. It was an unusual book, too\u2014much smaller than the tomes in the priory library, as if it had been made specially for a woman, or for someone who wanted to carry it around. He was so surprised that he forgot to be shy. He pushed his way through the bushes and came out into her clearing, saying: \"What are you reading?\"\n\nShe jumped, and looked up at him with terror in her eyes. He realized he had frightened her. He felt very clumsy, and was afraid he had once again started off on the wrong foot. Her right hand flew to her left sleeve. He recalled that she had once carried a knife in her sleeve\u2014perhaps she did still. A moment later she recognized him, and her fear went as quickly as it had come. She looked relieved, and then\u2014to his chagrin\u2014faintly irritated. He felt unwelcome, and he would have liked to turn right around and disappear back into the forest. But that would have made it difficult to speak to her another time, so he stayed, and faced her rather unfriendly look, and said: \"Sorry I frightened you.\"\n\n\"You didn't frighten me,\" she said quickly.\n\nHe knew that was not true, but he was not going to argue with her. He repeated his initial question. \"What are you reading?\"\n\nShe glanced down at the bound volume on her knee, and her expression changed again: now she looked wistful. \"My father got this book on his last trip to Normandy. He brought it home for me. A few days later he was put in jail.\"\n\nJack edged closer and looked at the open page. \"It's in French!\" he said.\n\n\"How do you know?\" she said in astonishment. \"Can you read?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014but I thought all books were in Latin.\"\n\n\"Nearly all. But this is different. It's a poem called 'The Romance of Alexander.'\"\n\nJack was thinking: I'm really doing it\u2014I'm talking to her! This is wonderful! But what am I going to say next? How can I keep this going? He said: \"Um... well, what's it about?\"\n\n\"It's the story of a king called Alexander the Great, and how he conquered wonderful lands in the east where precious stones grow on grapevines and plants can talk.\"\n\nJack was sufficiently intrigued to forget his anxiety. \"How do the plants talk? Do they have mouths?\"\n\n\"It doesn't say.\"\n\n\"Do you think the story is true?\"\n\nShe looked at him with interest, and he stared into her beautiful dark eyes. \"I don't know,\" she said. \"I always wonder whether stories are true. Most people don't care\u2014they just like the stories.\"\n\n\"Except for the priests. They always think the sacred stories are true.\"\n\n\"Well of course they are true.\"\n\nJack was as skeptical of the sacred stories as he was of all the others; but his mother, who had taught him skepticism, had also taught him to be discreet, so he did not argue. He was trying not to look at Aliena's bosom, which was just at the edge of his vision: he knew that if he dropped his eyes she would know what he was looking at. He tried to think of something else to say. \"I know a lot of stories,\" he said. \"I know 'The Song of Roland,' and 'The Pilgrimage of William of Orange'\u2014\"\n\n\"What do you mean, you know them?\"\n\n\"I can recite them.\"\n\n\"Like a jongleur?\"\n\n\"What's a jongleur?\"\n\n\"A man who goes around telling stories.\"\n\nThat was a new concept to Jack. \"I never heard of such a man.\"\n\n\"There are lots in France. I used to go overseas with my father when I was a child. I loved the jongleurs.\"\n\n\"But what do they do? Just stand on the street and speak?\"\n\n\"It depends. They come into the lord's hall on feast days. They perform at markets and fairs. They entertain pilgrims outside churches. Great barons sometimes have their own jongleur.\"\n\nIt occurred to Jack that not only was he talking to her, but he was having a conversation he could not have had with any other girl in Kingsbridge. He and Aliena were the only people in the town, apart from his mother, who knew about French romance poems, he was sure. They had an interest in common, and they were discussing it. The thought was so exciting that he lost track of what they were saying and he felt confused and stupid.\n\nFortunately she carried on. \"Usually the jongleur plays the fiddle while he recites the story. He plays fast and high when there's a battle, slow and sweet when two people are in love, jerky for a funny part.\"\n\nJack liked that idea: background music to enhance the high points of the story. \"I wish I could play the fiddle,\" he said.\n\n\"Can you really recite stories?\" she said.\n\nHe could hardly believe she was really interested in him, asking him questions about himself! And her face was even lovelier when it was animated by curiosity. \"My mother taught me,\" he said. \"We used to live in the forest, just the two of us. She told me the stories again and again.\"\n\n\"But how can you remember them? Some of them take days to tell.\"\n\n\"I don't know. It's like knowing your way through the forest. You don't keep the whole forest in your mind, but wherever you are, you know where to go next.\" Glancing at the text of her book again, he was struck by something. He sat on the grass next to her to look more closely. \"The rhymes are different,\" he said.\n\nShe was not sure what he meant. \"In what way?\"\n\n\"They're better. In 'The Song of Roland,' the word sword rhymes with horse, or lost, or with ball. In your book, sword rhymes with horde but not with horse; lord but not loss; board but not ball. It's a completely different way of rhyming. But it's better, much better. I like these rhymes.\"\n\n\"Would you...\" She looked diffident. \"Would you tell me some of 'The Song of Roland'?\"\n\nJack shifted his position a little so that he could look at her. The intensity of her look, the sparkle of eagerness in her bewitching eyes, gave him a choking feeling. He swallowed hard, then began.\n\n\u2003The lord and king of all France, Charles the Great\n\n\u2003Has spent seven long years fighting in Spain.\n\n\u2003He has conquered the highlands and the plain.\n\n\u2003Before him not a single fort remains,\n\n\u2003No town or city wall for him to break,\n\n\u2003But Saragossa, on a high mountain\n\n\u2003Ruled by King Marsilly the Saracen.\n\n\u2003He serves Mahomed, to Apollo prays,\n\n\u2003But even there he never will be safe.\n\nJack paused, and Aliena said: \"You know it! You really do! Just like a jongleur!\"\n\n\"You see what I mean about the rhymes, though.\"\n\n\"Yes, but it's the stories I like, anyway,\" she said. Her eyes twinkled with delight. \"Tell me some more.\"\n\nJack felt as if he would faint with happiness. \"If you like,\" he said weakly. He looked into her eyes and began the second verse."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "The first game of Midsummer Eve was eating the how-many bread. Like many of the games, it had a hint of superstition about it that made Philip uneasy. However, if he tried to ban every rite that smacked of the old religions, half the people's traditions would be prohibited, and they would probably defy him anyway; so he exercised a discreet tolerance of most things, and took a firm line on one or two excesses.\n\nThe monks had set up tables on the grass at the western end of the priory close. Kitchen hands were already carrying steaming cauldrons across the courtyard. The prior was lord of the manor, so it was his responsibility to provide a feast for his tenants on important holidays. Philip's policy was to be generous with food and mean with drink, so he served weak beer and no wine. Nevertheless there were five or six incorrigibles who managed to drink themselves insensible every feast day.\n\nThe leading citizens of Kingsbridge sat at Philip's table: Tom Builder and his family; the senior master craftsmen, including Tom's elder son, Alfred; and the merchants, including Aliena but not Malachi the Jew, who would join in the festivities later, after the service.\n\nPhilip called for silence and said grace; then he handed the how-many loaf to Tom. As the years went by, Philip valued Tom more and more. There were not many people who said what they meant and did what they said. Tom reacted to surprises, crises and disasters by calmly weighing up the consequences, assessing the damage and planning the best response. Philip looked at him fondly. Tom was very different today from the man who had walked into the priory five years ago begging for work. Then he had been exhausted, haggard, and so thin that his bones seemed to be on the point of poking through his weatherbeaten skin. In the intervening years he had filled out, especially since his woman came back. He was not fat, but there was flesh on his big frame, and the desperate look had long gone from his eyes. He was expensively dressed, in a tunic of Lincoln green, and soft leather shoes, and a belt with a silver buckle.\n\nPhilip had to ask the question that would be answered by the how-many bread. He said: \"How many years will it take to finish the cathedral?\"\n\nTom took a bite of the bread. It was baked with small, hard seeds, and as Tom spat the seeds into his hand, everyone counted aloud. Sometimes when this game was played, and someone got a big mouthful of seeds, it was found that nobody around the table could count high enough; but there was no danger of that today, with all the merchants and craftsmen present. The answer came to thirty. Philip pretended to be dismayed. Tom said: \"I should live so long!\" and everyone laughed.\n\nTom passed the bread to his wife, Ellen. Philip was very wary of this woman. Like the Empress Maud, she had power over men, a kind of power Philip could not compete with. The day Ellen was thrown out of the priory, she had done an appalling thing, a thing Philip could still hardly bring himself to think about. He had assumed she would never be seen again, but to his horror she had returned, and Tom had begged Philip to forgive her. Cleverly, Tom had argued that if God could forgive her sin, then Philip had no right to refuse. Philip suspected the woman was not very repentant. But Tom had asked on the day the volunteers had come and saved the cathedral, and Philip had found himself granting Tom's wish against all his instincts. They had been married in the parish church, a small wooden building in the village that had been there longer than the priory. Since then Ellen had behaved herself, and had not given Philip reason to regret his decision. Nevertheless she made him uneasy.\n\nTom asked her: \"How many men love you?\"\n\nShe took a tiny bite of the bread, which made everyone laugh again. In this game the questions tended to be mildly suggestive. Philip knew that if he had not been present they would have been downright ribald.\n\nEllen counted three seeds. Tom pretended to be outraged. \"I shall tell you who my three lovers are,\" said Ellen. Philip hoped she was not going to say anything offensive. \"The first is Tom. The second is Jack. And the third is Alfred.\"\n\nThere was a round of applause for her wit, and the bread went on around the table. Next it was the turn of Tom's daughter, Martha. She was about twelve years old, and shy. The bread predicted that she would have three husbands, which seemed most unlikely.\n\nMartha passed the bread to Jack, and as she did so Philip saw a light of adoration in her eyes, and realized that she hero-worshiped her stepbrother.\n\nJack intrigued Philip. He had been an ugly child, with his carrot-colored hair and pale skin and bulging blue eyes, but now that he was a young man his features had composed themselves, as it were, and his face was so strikingly attractive that strangers would turn and stare. But in temperament he was as wild as his mother. He had very little discipline and he had no concept of obedience. As a stonemason's laborer he had been almost useless, for instead of providing a steady stream of mortar and stones he would try to pile up a whole day's supply, then go off and do something else. He was always disappearing. One day he had decided that none of the stones on the site suited the particular carving he had to do, so without telling anyone he had gone all the way to the quarry and picked out a stone he liked. He had brought it back on a borrowed pony two days later. But people forgave him his transgressions, partly because he was a truly exceptional stone carver, and partly because he was so likable\u2014a trait he definitely had not inherited from his mother, in Philip's opinion. Philip had given some thought to what Jack would do with his life. If he went into the Church he could easily end up a bishop.\n\nMartha asked Jack: \"How many years before you marry?\"\n\nJack took a small bite: apparently he was keen to wed. Philip wondered if he had anyone in mind. To Jack's evident dismay he got a mouthful of seeds, and as they were counted his face was a picture of indignation. The total came to thirty-one. \"I'll be forty-eight years old!\" he protested. They all thought that was hilarious, except for Philip, who worked out the calculation, found it correct, and marveled that Jack had been able to figure it out so fast. Even Milius the bursar could not do that.\n\nJack was sitting next to Aliena. Philip realized he had seen those two together several times this summer. It was probably because they were both so bright. There were not many people in Kingsbridge who could talk to Aliena on her own level; and Jack, for all his ungovernable ways, was more mature than the other apprentices. Still Philip was intrigued by their friendship, for at their age five years was a big difference.\n\nJack passed the bread to Aliena and asked her the question he had been asked: \"How many years until you marry?\"\n\nEveryone groaned, for it was too easy to ask the same question again. The game was supposed to be an exercise in wit and raillery. But Aliena, who was famous for the number of suitors she had turned down, made them laugh by taking a huge bite of bread, indicating that she did not want to marry. But her ploy was unsuccessful: she spat out only one seed.\n\nIf she was going to marry next year, Philip thought, the groom had not appeared on the scene yet. Of course he did not believe in the predictive power of the bread. The probability was that she would die an old maid\u2014except that she was not a maiden, according to rumor, for she had been seduced, or raped, by William Hamleigh, people said.\n\nAliena passed the bread to her brother, Richard, but Philip did not hear what she asked him. He was still thinking about Aliena. Unexpectedly, both Aliena and Philip had failed to sell all their wool this year. The surplus was not great\u2014less than a tenth of Philip's stock, and an even smaller proportion for Aliena\u2014but it was somewhat discouraging. After that, Philip had worried that Aliena would back out of the deal for next year's wool, but she had stuck by her bargain, and paid him a hundred and seven pounds.\n\nThe big news of the Shiring Fleece Fair had been Philip's announcement that next year Kingsbridge would be holding its own fair. Most people had welcomed the idea, for the rents and tolls charged by William Hamleigh at the Shiring fair were extortionate, and Philip was planning to set much lower rates. So far, Earl William had not made his reaction known.\n\nBy and large, Philip felt that the priory's prospects were much brighter than they had seemed six months ago. He had overcome the problem caused by the closing of the quarry and defeated William's attempt to shut down his market. Now his Sunday market was thriving again and paying for expensive stone from a quarry near Marlborough. Throughout the crisis, cathedral building had continued uninterrupted, although it had been a close thing. Philip's only remaining anxiety was that Maud had not yet been crowned. Although she was indisputably in command, and she had been approved by the bishops, her authority rested only on her military might until there was a proper coronation. Stephen's wife still held Kent, and the commune of London was ambivalent. A single stroke of misfortune, or one bad decision, could topple her, as the battle of Lincoln had destroyed Stephen, and then there would be anarchy again.\n\nPhilip told himself not to be pessimistic. He looked at the people around the table. The game had ended and they were tucking in to their dinner. They were honest, good-hearted men and women who worked hard and went to church. God would take care of them.\n\nThey ate vegetable pottage, baked fish flavored with pepper and ginger, a variety of ducks, and a custard cleverly colored with red and green stripes. After dinner they all carried their benches into the unfinished church for the play.\n\nThe carpenters had made two screens, which were placed in the side aisles, at the east end, closing the space between the aisle wall and the first pier of the arcade, so that they effectively hid the last bay of each aisle. The monks who would play the parts were already behind those screens, waiting to walk into the middle of the nave to act out the story. The one who would be Saint Adolphus, a beardless novice with an angelic face, was lying on a table at the far end of the nave, draped in a shroud, pretending to be dead and trying not to giggle.\n\nPhilip had mixed feelings about the play, as he did about the how-many bread. It could so easily slip into irreverence and vulgarity. But people loved it so much that if he had not permitted it they would have made their own play, outside the church, and free from his supervision it would have become thoroughly bawdy. Besides, the ones who loved it most were the monks who performed it. Dressing up and pretending to be someone else, and acting outrageously\u2014even sacrilegiously\u2014seemed to give them some kind of release, probably because they spent the rest of their lives being so solemn.\n\nBefore the play there was a regular service, which the sacrist kept brief. Philip then gave a short account of the spotless life and miraculous works of Saint Adolphus. Then he took his seat in the audience and settled down to watch the performance.\n\nFrom behind the left-hand screen came a large figure dressed in what at first looked like shapeless, colorful garments, and on closer examination turned out to be pieces of brightly colored cloth wrapped around him and pinned. His face was painted and he carried a bulging moneybag. This was the rich barbarian. There was a murmur of admiration for his getup, followed by a ripple of laughter as people recognized the actor beneath the costume: it was fat Brother Bernard, the kitchener, whom they all knew and liked.\n\nHe paraded up and down several times, to let everyone admire him, and rushed at the little children in the front row, causing squeals of fright; then he crept up to the altar, looking around as if to make sure he was alone, and placed the moneybag behind it. He turned to the audience, leered, and said in a loud voice: \"These foolish Christians will fear to steal my silver, for they imagine it is protected by Saint Adolphus. Ha!\" He then retired behind the screen.\n\nFrom the opposite side entered a group of outlaws, dressed in rags, carrying wooden swords and hatchets, their faces smeared with soot and chalk. They stalked around the nave, looking fearsome, until one of them saw the moneybag behind the altar. There followed an argument: should they steal it or not? The Good Outlaw argued that it would surely bring them bad luck; the Bad Outlaw said that a dead saint could do them no harm. In the end they took the money and retired into the corner to count it.\n\nThe barbarian reentered, looked everywhere for his money, and flew into a rage. He approached the tomb of Saint Adolphus and cursed the saint for failing to protect his treasure.\n\nAt that, the saint rose up from his grave.\n\nThe barbarian shuddered violently with terror. The saint ignored him and approached the outlaws. Dramatically, he struck them down one by one just by pointing at them. They simulated agonized death throes, rolling around on the ground, twisting their bodies into grotesque shapes and making hideous faces.\n\nThe saint spared only the Good Outlaw, who now put the money back behind the altar. With that the saint turned to the audience and said: \"Beware, all you who may doubt the power of Saint Adolphus!\"\n\nThe audience cheered and clapped. The actors stood in the nave grinning sheepishly for a while. The purpose of the drama was its moral, of course, but Philip knew that the parts people enjoyed most were the grotesqueries, the rage of the barbarian and the death throes of the outlaws.\n\nWhen the applause died down Philip stood up, thanked the actors, and announced that the races would begin shortly in the pasture by the riverside.\n\nThis was the day that five-year-old Jonathan discovered he was not, after all, the fastest runner in Kingsbridge. He entered the children's race, wearing his specially made monkish robe, and caused howls of laughter when he hitched it up around his waist and ran with his tiny bottom exposed to the world. However, he was competing with older children, and he finished among the last. His expression when he realized he had lost was so shocked and disappointed that Tom felt heartbroken for him, and picked him up to console him.\n\nThe special relationship between Tom and the priory orphan had grown gradually, and no one in the village had thought to wonder if there was a secret reason for it. Tom spent all day within the priory close, where Jonathan ran free, so it was inevitable that they saw a lot of one another; and Tom was at the age when a man's children are too old to be cute but have not yet given him grandchildren, and he sometimes takes a fond interest in other people's babies. As far as Tom knew, it had never crossed anyone's mind to suspect that he was Jonathan's father. If anything, people suspected that Philip was the boy's real father. That was a much more natural supposition\u2014though Philip would no doubt be horrified to hear it.\n\nJonathan spotted Aaron, the eldest son of Malachi, and wriggled out of Tom's arms to go and play with his friend, the disappointment forgotten.\n\nWhile the apprentices' races were on, Philip came and sat on the grass beside Tom. It was a hot, sunny day, and there was perspiration on Philip's shaved head. Tom's admiration for Philip grew year by year. Looking all around, at the young men running their race, the old people dozing in the shade, and the children splashing in the river, he reflected that it was Philip who kept all this together. He ruled the village, administering justice, deciding where new houses should be built, and settling quarrels; he employed most of the men and many of the women too, either as building workers or priory servants; and he managed the priory, which was the beating heart of the organism. He fought off predatory barons, negotiated with the monarch, and kept the bishop at bay. All these well-fed people sporting in the sunshine owed their prosperity in some measure to Philip. Tom himself was the prime example.\n\nTom was very conscious of the depth of Philip's clemency in pardoning Ellen. It was quite something for a monk to forgive what she had done. And it meant so much to Tom. When she went away, his joy at building the cathedral had been shadowed by loneliness. Now that she was back, he felt complete. She was still willful, maddening, quarrelsome and intolerant, but somehow these things were trifling: there was a passion inside her that burned like a candle in a lantern, and it lit up his life.\n\nTom and Philip watched a race in which the boys had to walk on their hands: Jack won it. \"That boy is exceptional,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Not many people can walk that fast on their hands,\" Tom said.\n\nPhilip laughed. \"Indeed\u2014but I wasn't thinking about his acrobatic skill.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Jack's cleverness had long been a source of both pleasure and pain to Tom. Jack had a lively curiosity about building\u2014something Alfred had always lacked\u2014and Tom enjoyed teaching Jack the tricks of the trade. But Jack had no sense of tact, and would argue with his elders. It was often better to conceal one's superiority, but Jack had not learned that yet, not even after years of persecution by Alfred.\n\n\"The boy should be educated,\" Philip went on.\n\nTom frowned. Jack was being educated. He was an apprentice. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"He should learn to write a good hand, and study Latin grammar, and read the ancient philosophers.\"\n\nTom was even more puzzled. \"To what end? He's going to be a mason.\"\n\nPhilip looked him in the eye. \"Are you sure?\" he said. \"He's a boy who doesn't do what he's expected to.\"\n\nTom had never considered this. There were youngsters who defied expectations: earls' sons who refused to fight, royal children who entered monasteries, peasants' bastards who became bishops. It was true, Jack was the type. \"Well, what do you think he will do?\" he said.\n\n\"It depends on what he learns,\" Philip said. \"But I want him for the Church.\"\n\nTorn was surprised: Jack seemed such an unlikely clergyman. Tom was also a little wounded, in a strange way. He was looking forward to Jack's becoming a master mason, and he would be terribly disappointed if the boy chose another course in life.\n\nPhilip did not notice Tom's unhappiness. He went on: \"God needs the best and the brightest young men to work for him. Look at those apprentices, competing to see who can jump the highest. All of them are capable of being carpenters, or masons, or stone cutters. But how many of them could be a bishop? Only one\u2014Jack.\"\n\nThat was true, Tom thought. If Jack had the chance of a career in the Church, with a powerful patron in Philip, he should probably take it, for it would lead to much greater wealth and power than he could hope for as a mason. Reluctantly Tom said: \"What have you got in mind, exactly?\"\n\n\"I want Jack to become a novice monk.\"\n\n\"A monk!\" It seemed an even more unlikely calling than the priesthood for Jack. The boy chafed at the discipline of a building site\u2014how would he cope with the monastic rule?\n\n\"He would spend most of his time studying,\" Philip said. \"He would learn everything our novice-master can teach him, and I would give him lessons myself as well.\"\n\nWhen a boy became a monk, it was normal for the parents to make a generous donation to the monastery. Tom wondered what this proposal would cost.\n\nPhilip guessed his thoughts. \"I wouldn't expect you to present a gift to the priory,\" he said. \"It will be enough that you give a son to God.\"\n\nWhat Philip did not know was that Tom had already given one son to the priory: little Jonathan, who was now paddling at the edge of the river with his robe once again hoisted up around his waist. However, Tom knew he should suppress his own feelings in this. Philip's proposal was generous: he obviously wanted Jack badly. The offer was a tremendous opportunity for Jack. A father would give his right arm to be able to set a son on such a career. Tom suffered a twinge of resentment that it was his stepson, rather than Alfred, who was being given this marvelous chance. The feeling was unworthy and he suppressed it. He should be glad, and encourage Jack, and hope the lad would learn to reconcile himself to the monastic regime.\n\n\"It should be done soon,\" Philip added. \"Before he falls in love with some girl.\"\n\nTom nodded. Across the meadow, the women's race was reaching its climax. Tom watched, thinking. After a moment he realized that Ellen was in the lead. Aliena was hard on her heels, but when they got to the finish line Ellen was still a little ahead. She raised her hands in a victory gesture.\n\nTom pointed at her. \"It's not me who needs to be persuaded,\" he said to Philip. \"It's her.\"\n\nAliena was surprised to have been beaten by Ellen. Ellen was very young to be the mother of a seventeen-year-old, but still she had to be at least ten years older than Aliena. They smiled at one another now, as they stood panting and sweating at the finish line. Aliena observed that Ellen had lean, muscular brown legs and a compact figure. All those years of living in the forest had made her tough.\n\nJack came up to congratulate his mother on winning. They were very fond of one another, Aliena could tell. They looked completely different: Ellen was a tanned brunette, with deep-set golden-brown eyes, and Jack was a redhead with blue eyes. He must be like his father, Aliena thought. Nothing was ever said about Jack's father, Ellen's first husband. Perhaps they were ashamed of him.\n\nAs she looked at the two of them together, it occurred to Aliena that Jack must remind Ellen of the husband she had lost. That might be why she was so fond of him. Perhaps the son was, as it were, all she had left of a man she had adored. A physical resemblance could be inordinately powerful in that way. Aliena's brother, Richard, sometimes reminded her of their father, with a look or a gesture, and that was when she felt a surge of affection; although it did not prevent her from wishing that Richard was more like his father in character.\n\nShe knew she ought not to be dissatisfied with Richard. He went to war and fought bravely, and that was all that was required of him. But she was dissatisfied a lot these days. She had wealth and security, a home and servants, fine clothes, pretty jewels, and a position of respect in the town. If anyone had asked her she would have said she was happy. But beneath the surface there was an undercurrent of restlessness. She never lost her enthusiasm for her work, but some mornings she wondered if it mattered what gown she put on and whether she wore jewelry. Nobody cared how she looked, so why should she? Paradoxically, she had become more conscious of her body. As she walked around, she could feel her breasts move. When she went down to the women's beach at the riverside to bathe, she felt embarrassed about how hairy she was. Sitting on her horse she was aware of the parts of her body that were touching the saddle. It was quite peculiar. It was as if there were a snooper peeking at her all the time, trying to look through her clothes and see her naked, and the snooper was herself. She was invading her own privacy.\n\nShe lay down on the grass, puffed out. Perspiration ran between her breasts and down the insides of her thighs. Impatiently she turned her mind to a more immediate problem. She had not sold all her wool this year. It was not her fault: most of the merchants had been left with unsold fleece, and so had Prior Philip. Philip was very calm about the whole thing but Aliena was anxious. What was she to do with all this wool? She could keep it until next year, of course. But what if she failed to sell it again? She did not know how long it took raw wool to deteriorate. She had a feeling it might dry out, becoming brittle and difficult to work.\n\nIf things went badly wrong she would be unable to support Richard. Being a knight was a very expensive business. The war-horse, which had cost twenty pounds, had lost its nerve after the battle of Lincoln and was now next to useless; soon he would want another one. Aliena could afford it, but it made a big dent in her resources. He was embarrassed about being dependent upon her\u2014it was not the usual situation for a knight\u2014and he had hoped to make enough in plunder to support himself, but lately he had been on the losing side. If he was to regain the earldom, Aliena had to continue to prosper.\n\nIn her worst nightmare she lost all her money, and the two of them were destitute again, prey to dishonest priests, lecherous noblemen and bloodthirsty outlaws; and they ended up in the stinking dungeon where she had last seen her father, chained to the wall and dying.\n\nTo contrast with her nightmare, she had a dream of happiness. In it, she and Richard lived together in the castle, their old home. Richard ruled as wisely as their father had, and Aliena helped him as she had helped Father, welcoming important guests and dispensing hospitality and sitting on his left at the high table for dinner. But lately even that dream had left her discontented.\n\nShe shook her head, to dispel this melancholy mood, and thought about wool again. The simplest way to handle the problem was to do nothing. She could store the surplus wool until next year, and then, if she was unable to sell it, she would take the loss. She could bear it. However, that left the remote danger that the same thing would happen again next year, and this might be the beginning of a downward trend; so she cast about for some other solution. She had already tried to sell the wool to a weaver in Kingsbridge, but he had all he needed.\n\nIt occurred to her now, looking at the women of Kingsbridge as they recovered from their race, that most of them knew how to make cloth from raw wool. It was a tedious business, but simple: peasants had been doing it since Adam and Eve. The fleece had to be washed, then combed to take out the tangles, then spun into yarn. The yarn was woven into cloth; then the loosely woven fabric was felted, or fulled, to shrink and thicken it into something that could be used to make clothes. The townswomen would probably be willing to do that for a penny a day. But how long would it take? And what price would the finished cloth fetch?\n\nShe would have to try the scheme out with a small quantity. Then, if it worked, she could get several people doing the job during the long winter evenings.\n\nShe sat up, quite excited by her new idea. Ellen was lying right next to her. Jack was sitting on the other side of Ellen. He caught Aliena's eye, smiled faintly, and looked away, as if he was a little embarrassed at having been caught looking at her. He was a funny boy, with a head full of ideas. Aliena could remember him as a small, peculiar-looking child who did not know how babies were conceived. But she had hardly noticed him when he came to live in Kingsbridge. And now he seemed so different, so completely a new person, that it was as if he had sprung up from nowhere, a flower that appears one morning where the previous day there was nothing but bare earth. For a start he was no longer peculiar-looking. In fact, she thought, regarding him with a faint smile of amusement, the girls probably thought he was terribly handsome. He certainly had a nice smile. She herself paid no attention to his looks, but she was a little intrigued by his astonishing imagination. She had discovered that not only did he know several verse narratives in full\u2014some of them thousands and thousands of lines long\u2014but he could also make them up as he went along, so that she was never sure whether he was remembering or extemporizing. And the stories were not the only surprising thing about him. He was curious about everything and puzzled by things that everyone else took for granted. One day he had asked where all the water in the river came from. \"Every hour, thousands and thousands of gallons of water flow past Kingsbridge, night and day, all the year round. It's been going on since before we were born, since before our parents were born, since before their parents were born. Where does it all come from? Is there a huge lake somewhere that feeds it? That lake must be as big as all England! What if one day it dries up?\" He was always saying things like that, some of them less fanciful, and it made Aliena realize that she was starved of intelligent conversation. Most people in Kingsbridge could talk only about agriculture and adultery, neither of which interested her. Prior Philip was different, of course, but he did not often allow himself to indulge in idle talk: he was always busy, dealing with the building site, the monks, or the town. Aliena suspected that Tom Builder was also highly intelligent, but he was a thinker rather than a talker. Jack was the first real friend she had made. He was a marvelous discovery, despite his youth. Indeed, when she was away from Kingsbridge she had found herself looking forward to returning so that she could talk to him.\n\nShe wondered where he got his ideas from. That thought had made her notice Ellen. What a strange woman she must be, to raise a child in the forest! Aliena had talked to Ellen and found in her a kindred spirit, an independent and self-sufficient woman somewhat angry at the way life had treated her. Now, on impulse, Aliena said: \"Ellen, where did you learn the stories?\"\n\n\"From Jack's father,\" Ellen said without thinking, and then a guarded look came over her face, and Aliena knew she should not ask any more questions.\n\nAnother thought occurred to her. \"Do you know how to weave?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Ellen said. \"Doesn't everyone?\"\n\n\"Would you like to do some weaving for money?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. What have you got in mind?\"\n\nAliena explained. Ellen was not short of money, of course, but it was Tom who earned it, and Aliena had a suspicion that Ellen might like to make some for herself.\n\nThe suspicion turned out to be right. \"Yes, I'll give that a try,\" Ellen said.\n\nAt that moment Ellen's stepson, Alfred, came along. Like his father, Alfred was something of a giant. Most of his face was concealed behind a bushy beard, but the eyes above it were narrow-set, giving him a cunning look. He could read and write and add up, but despite that he was rather stupid. Nevertheless he had prospered, and he had his own gang of masons, apprentices and laborers. Aliena had observed that big men often gained positions of power regardless of their intelligence. As a ganger Alfred had another advantage, of course: he could always be sure of getting work for his men because his father was the master builder of Kingsbridge Cathedral.\n\nHe sat on the grass beside her. He had enormous feet shod in heavy leather boots that were gray with stone dust. She rarely spoke to him. They should have had a lot in common, for they were the only young people among the wealthier class of Kingsbridge, the class that lived in the houses nearest to the priory wall; but Alfred always seemed so dull. After a moment he spoke. \"There ought to be a stone church,\" he said abruptly.\n\nClearly the rest of them were supposed to figure out the context of this remark for themselves. Aliena thought for a moment then said: \"Are you talking about the parish church?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said as if it was obvious.\n\nThe parish church was now used a good deal, for the cathedral crypt, which the monks were using, was cramped and airless, and the population of Kingsbridge had grown. Yet the parish church was an old wooden building with a thatched roof and a dirt floor.\n\n\"You're right,\" Aliena said. \"We should have a stone church.\"\n\nAlfred was looking at her expectantly. She wondered what he wanted her to say.\n\nEllen, who was probably used to coaxing sense out of him, said: \"What's on your mind, Alfred?\"\n\n\"How do churches get started, anyway?\" he asked. \"I mean, if we want a stone church, what do we do?\"\n\nEllen shrugged. \"No idea.\"\n\nAliena frowned. \"You could form a parish guild,\" she suggested. A parish guild was an association of people who held a banquet every now and again and collected money among themselves, usually to buy candles for their local church, or to help widows and orphans in the neighborhood. Small villages never had guilds, but Kingsbridge was no longer a village.\n\n\"How would that do it?\" Alfred said.\n\n\"The members of the guild would pay for the new church,\" Aliena said.\n\n\"Then we should start a guild,\" Alfred said.\n\nAliena wondered if she had misjudged him. He had never struck her as the pious type, but here he was trying to raise money to build a new church. Perhaps he had hidden depths. Then she realized that Alfred was the only building contractor in Kingsbridge, so he was sure to get the job of building the church. He might not be intelligent, but he was shrewd enough.\n\nNevertheless she still liked his idea. Kingsbridge was becoming a town, and towns always had more than one church. With an alternative to the cathedral, the town would not be so completely dominated by the monastery. At the moment Philip was the undisputed lord and master here. He was a benevolent tyrant, but she could foresee a time when it might suit the merchants of the town to have an alternative church.\n\nAlfred said: \"Would you explain about the guild to some of the others?\"\n\nAliena had recovered her breath after the race. She was reluctant to exchange the company of Ellen and Jack for that of Alfred, but she was quite enthusiastic about his idea, and anyway it would have been a little churlish to refuse. \"I'd be glad to,\" she said, and she got up and went with him.\n\nThe sun was going down. The monks had lit the bonfire and were serving the traditional ale spiced with ginger. Jack wanted to ask his mother a question, now that they were alone, but he was nervous. Then someone started to sing, and he knew she would join in at any moment, so he blurted it out. \"Was my father a jongleur?\"\n\nShe looked at him. She was surprised but not cross. \"Who taught you that word?\" she said. \"You've never seen a jongleur.\"\n\n\"Aliena. She used to go to France with her father.\"\n\nMother gazed across the darkling meadow toward the bonfire. \"Yes, he was a jongleur. He told me all those poems, just the way I told them to you. And are you now telling them to Aliena?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Jack felt a little bashful.\n\n\"You really love her, don't you?\"\n\n\"Is it so obvious?\"\n\nShe smiled fondly. \"Only to me, I think. She's a lot older than you.\"\n\n\"Five years.\"\n\n\"You'll get her, though. You're like your father. He could have any woman he wanted.\"\n\nJack was embarrassed to talk about Aliena but thrilled to hear about his father, and he was eager for more; but to his intense annoyance Tom came up at that moment and sat down with them. He began to speak immediately. \"I've been talking to Prior Philip about Jack,\" he said. His tone was light, but Jack sensed tension underneath, and saw trouble coming. \"Philip says the boy should be educated.\"\n\nMother's response was predictably indignant. \"He is educated,\" she said. \"He can read and write English and French, he knows his numbers, he can recite whole bookfuls of poetry\u2014\"\n\n\"Now, don't misunderstand me willfully,\" Tom said firmly. \"Philip didn't say that Jack is ignorant. Quite the opposite. He's saying that Jack is so clever he should have more education.\"\n\nJack was not pleased by these compliments. He shared his mother's suspicion of churchmen. There was sure to be a catch in this somewhere.\n\n\"More?\" Ellen said scornfully. \"What more does that monk want him to learn? I'll tell you. Theology. Latin. Rhetoric. Metaphysics. Cow shit.\"\n\n\"Don't dismiss it so quickly,\" Tom said mildly. \"If Jack takes up Philip's offer, and goes to school, and learns to write at speed in a good secretary's hand, and studies Latin and theology and all the other subjects you call cow shit, he could become a clerk to an earl or a bishop, and eventually he could be a wealthy and powerful man. Not all barons are the sons of barons, as the saying goes.\"\n\nEllen's eyes narrowed dangerously. \"If he takes up Philip's offer, you said. What is Philip's offer, exactly?\"\n\n\"That Jack becomes a novice monk\u2014\"\n\n\"Over my dead body!\" Ellen shouted, leaping to her feet. \"The damned Church is not having my son! Those treacherous lying priests took his father but they're not taking him, I'll put a knife in Philip's belly first, so help me, I swear by all the gods.\"\n\nTom had seen Mother in a tantrum before and he was not as impressed as he might have been. He said calmly: \"What the devil is the matter with you, woman? The boy has been offered a magnificent opportunity.\"\n\nJack was intrigued most of all by the words Those treacherous lying priests took his father. What did she mean by that? He wanted to ask her but he did not get the chance.\n\n\"He's not going to be a monk!\" she yelled.\n\n\"If he doesn't want to be a monk, he doesn't have to.\"\n\nMother looked sulky. \"That sly prior has a knack of getting his own way in the end,\" she said.\n\nTom turned to Jack. \"It's about time you said something, lad. What do you want to do with your life?\"\n\nJack had never thought about that particular question, but the answer came out with no hesitation, as if he had made up his mind long ago. \"I'm going to be a master builder, like you,\" he said. \"I'm going to build the most beautiful cathedral the world has ever seen.\"\n\nThe red edge of the sun dropped below the horizon and night fell. It was time for the last ritual of Midsummer Eve: floating wishes. Jack had a candle end and a piece of wood ready. He looked at Ellen and Tom. They were both gazing at him, somewhat nonplussed: his certainty about his future had surprised them. Well, no wonder: it had surprised him too.\n\nSeeing that they had no more to say, he jumped to his feet and ran across the meadow to the bonfire. He lit a dry twig at the fire, melted the base of his candle a little, and stuck it to the piece of wood; then he lit the wick. Most of the villagers were doing the same. Those who could not afford a candle made a sort of boat with dried grass and rushes, and twisted the grasses together in the middle to make a wick.\n\nJack saw Aliena standing quite near him. Her face was outlined by the red glow of the bonfire, and she looked deep in thought. On impulse he said: \"What will you wish for, Aliena?\"\n\nShe answered him without pausing for thought. \"Peace,\" she said. Then, looking somewhat startled, she turned away.\n\nJack wondered if he were crazy to love her. She liked him well enough\u2014they had become friends\u2014but the idea of lying naked together and kissing one another's hot skin was as far from her heart as it was close to his own.\n\nWhen everyone was ready, they knelt down beside the river, or waded into the shallows. Holding their flickering lights, they all made a wish. Jack closed his eyes tight and visualized Aliena, lying in a bed with her breasts peeping over the coverlet, holding her arms out to him and saying: \"Make love to me, husband.\" Then they all carefully floated their lights on the water. If the float sank or the flame blew out, it meant you would never get your wish. As soon as Jack let go, and the little craft moved away, the wooden base became invisible, and only the flame could be seen. He watched it intently for a while, then he lost track of it among the hundreds of dancing lights, bobbing on the surface of the water, flickering wishes floating downstream until they disappeared around the bend of the river and were lost from view."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "All that summer, Jack told Aliena stories.\n\nThey met on Sundays, occasionally at first and then regularly, in the glade by the little waterfall. He told her about Charlemagne and his knights, and William of Orange and the Saracens. He became completely absorbed in the stories while he was telling them. Aliena liked to watch the expressions change on his young face. He was indignant about injustice, appalled by treachery, thrilled by the bravery of a knight and moved to tears by a heroic death; and his emotions were catching, so that she too was moved. Some of the poems were too long to recite in one afternoon, and when he had to tell a story in installments he always broke off at a moment of tension, so that Aliena spent all week wondering what would happen next.\n\nShe never told anyone about these meetings. She was not sure why. Perhaps it was that they would not understand the fascination of stories. Whatever the reason, she just let people believe that she was going on her usual Sunday afternoon ramble; and without consulting her Jack did the same; then it got to the point where they could not tell anyone without appearing to confess to something they felt guilty about; and so, rather by accident, the meetings became secret.\n\nOne Sunday Aliena read \"The Romance of Alexander\" to him, just for a change. Unlike Jack's poems of courtly intrigue, international politics and sudden death in battle, Aliena's romance featured love affairs and magic. Jack was very taken with these new storytelling elements, and the following Sunday he embarked upon a new romance of his own invention.\n\nIt was a hot day in late August. Aliena was wearing sandals and a light linen dress. The forest was still and silent but for the tinkling of the waterfall and the rise and fall of Jack's voice. The story began in a conventional way, with a description of a brave knight, big and strong, mighty in battle, and armed with a magic sword, who was assigned a difficult task: to travel to a far eastern land and bring back a grapevine that grew rubies. But it rapidly deviated from the usual pattern. The knight was killed and the story focused on his squire, a brave but penniless young man of seventeen who was hopelessly in love with the king's daughter, a beautiful princess. The squire vowed to fulfill the task given to his master, even though he was young and inexperienced and had only a piebald pony and a bow.\n\nInstead of vanquishing an enemy with one tremendous blow of a magic sword, as the hero generally did in these stories, the squire fought desperate losing battles and won only by luck or ingenuity, generally escaping death by a hair. He was often scared by the enemies that he faced\u2014unlike Charlemagne's fearless knights\u2014but he never turned back from his mission. All the same, his task, like his love, seemed hopeless.\n\nAliena found herself more captivated by the pluck of the squire than she had been by the might of his master. She chewed her knuckles in anxiety when he rode into enemy territory, gasped when a giant's sword barely missed him, and sighed when he lay down his lonely head to sleep and dream of the faraway princess. His love for her seemed of a piece with his general indomitability.\n\nIn the end, he brought home the grapevine that grew rubies, astonishing the entire court. \"But the squire did not care that much,\" Jack said with a contemptuous snap of his fingers, \"for all those barons and earls. He was interested in one person only. That night, he stole into her room, evading the guards with a cunning ruse he had learned on his journey east. At last he stood beside her bed and gazed upon her face.\" Jack looked into Aliena's eyes as he said this. \"She woke at once, but she was not afraid. The squire reached out and gently took her hand.\" Jack mimed the story, reaching for Aliena's hand and holding it in both of his. She was mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the power of the young squire's love, and she hardly noticed that Jack was holding her hand. \"He said to her, 'I love you dearly,' and kissed her on the lips.\" Jack leaned over and kissed Aliena. His lips touched hers so gently that she hardly felt it. It happened very quickly, and he resumed the story instantly. \"The princess fell asleep,\" he continued. Aliena thought: Did that really happen? Did Jack kiss me? She could hardly believe it, but she could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers. \"The next day, the squire asked the king if he could marry the princess, as his reward for bringing home the jeweled vine.\" Jack kissed me without thinking, Aliena decided. It was just part of the story. He doesn't even realize what he did. I'll just forget about it. \"The king refused him. The squire was heartbroken. All the courtiers laughed. That very day the squire left that land, riding on his piebald pony; but he vowed that one day he would return, and on that day he would marry the beautiful princess.\" Jack stopped, and let go of Aliena's hand.\n\n\"And then what happened?\" she said.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Jack replied. \"I haven't thought of it yet.\"\n\nAll the important people in Kingsbridge joined the parish guild. It was a new idea to most of them, but they liked the thought that Kingsbridge was now a town, not a village, and their vanity was touched by the appeal to them, as leading citizens, to provide a stone church.\n\nAliena and Alfred recruited the members and organized the first guild dinner, in mid-September. The major absentees were Prior Philip, who was somewhat hostile to the enterprise, although not enough to prohibit it; Tom Builder, who declined because of Philip's feeling; and Malachi, who was excluded by his religion.\n\nMeanwhile, Ellen had woven a bale of cloth from Aliena's surplus wool. It was coarse and colorless, but it was good enough for monks' robes, and the priory cellarer, Cuthbert Whitehead, had bought it. The price was cheap, but it was still double the cost of the original wool, and even after paying Ellen a penny a day Aliena was better off by half a pound. Cuthbert was keen to buy more cloth at that price, so Aliena bought Philip's surplus wool to add to her own stock, and found a dozen more people, mostly women, to weave it. Ellen agreed to make another bale, but she would not felt it, for she said the work was too hard; and most of the others said the same.\n\nAliena sympathized. Felting, or fulling, was heavy work. She remembered how she and Richard had gone to a master fuller in Winchester and asked him to employ them. The fuller had had two men pounding cloth with bats in a trough while a woman poured water in. The woman had shown Aliena her raw, red hands, and when the men had put a bale of wet cloth on Richard's shoulder it had brought him to his knees. Most people could manage to felt a small amount, enough to make clothes for themselves and their families, but only strong men could do it all day. Aliena told her weavers to go ahead and make loose-woven cloth, and she would hire men to felt it, or sell it to a master fuller in Winchester.\n\nThe guild dinner was held in the wooden church. Aliena organized the food. She parceled out the cooking among the members, most of whom had at least one domestic servant. Alfred and his men constructed a long table made of trestles and boards. They bought strong ale and a barrel of wine.\n\nThey sat at either side of the table, with nobody at the head or foot, for all were to be equal within the guild. Aliena wore a deep-red silk dress ornamented by a gold brooch with rubies in it, and a dark gray pelisse with fashionably wide sleeves. The parish priest said grace: he of course was delighted by the idea of the guild, for a new church would increase his prestige and multiply his income.\n\nAlfred presented a budget and timetable for the building of the new church. He spoke as if this were all his own work, but Aliena knew that Tom had done most of it. The building would take two years and cost ninety pounds, and Alfred proposed that the guild's forty members should each pay sixpence a week. It was a little more than some of them had reckoned on, Aliena could tell by their faces. They all agreed to pay it, but Aliena thought the guild could expect one or two to default.\n\nShe herself could pay it easily. Looking around the table, she realized she was probably the richest person there. She was in a small minority of women: the only others were a brewster with a reputation for good strong ale, a tailor who employed two seamstresses and some apprentices, and the widow of a shoemaker, who managed the business her husband had left. Aliena was the youngest woman there, and younger than any of the men except Alfred, who was a year or two younger than she.\n\nAliena missed Jack. She had not yet heard the second installment of the story of the young squire. Today was a holiday, and she would have liked to meet him in the glade. Perhaps she still could, later on.\n\nThe talk around the table was of the civil war. Stephen's wife, Queen Matilda, had put up more of a fight than anyone expected: she had recently taken the city of Winchester and captured Robert of Gloucester. Robert was the brother of the Empress Maud and the commander in chief of her military forces. Some people said Maud was only a figurehead, and Robert was the true leader of the rebellion. In any event, the capture of Robert was almost as bad for Maud as the capture of Stephen had been for the loyalists, and everyone had an opinion on what direction the war would take next.\n\nThe drink at this feast was stronger than that provided by Prior Philip, and as the meal progressed, the revelers became quite raucous. The parish priest failed to act as a restraining influence, probably because he was drinking as much as anyone else. Alfred, who was sitting next to Aliena, seemed preoccupied, but even he became flushed. Aliena herself was not fond of strong drink, and she took a cup of apple cider with her dinner.\n\nWhen most of the food was finished, someone proposed a toast to Alfred and Aliena. Alfred beamed with pleasure as he acknowledged it. After that the singing began, and Aliena started to wonder how soon she could slip away.\n\nAlfred said to her: \"We did well, together.\"\n\nAliena smiled. \"Let's see how many of them are still paying sixpence a week this time next year.\"\n\nAlfred did not want to hear about misgivings or qualifications today. \"We did well,\" he repeated. \"We're a good team.\" He raised his cup to her and drank. \"Don't you think we're a good team?\"\n\n\"We certainly are,\" she said, to humor him.\n\n\"I've enjoyed it,\" he went on. \"Doing this with you\u2014the guild, I mean.\"\n\n\"I've enjoyed it, too,\" she said politely.\n\n\"Have you? That makes me very happy.\"\n\nShe looked at him more carefully. Why was he laboring the point? His speech was clear and precise, and he showed no signs of real drunkenness. \"It's been fine,\" she said neutrally.\n\nHe put a hand on her shoulder. She hated to be touched, but she had trained herself not to flinch, because men became so offended. \"Tell me something,\" he said, lowering his voice to an intimate level. \"What are you looking for in a husband?\"\n\nSurely he's not going to ask me to marry him, she thought dismally. She gave her standard answer. \"I don't need a husband\u2014my brother is trouble enough.\"\n\n\"But you need love,\" he said.\n\nShe groaned inwardly.\n\nShe was about to reply when he held up a hand to stop her\u2014a masculine habit she found particularly maddening. \"Don't tell me you don't need love,\" he said. \"Everybody needs love.\"\n\nShe gazed at him steadily. She knew there was something peculiar about her: most women were keen to get married; and if they were still single, as she was, at the age of twenty-two, they were more than keen, they were desperate. What's wrong with me? she thought. Alfred was young, fit and prosperous: half the girls in Kingsbridge would like to marry him. For a moment she toyed with the idea of saying yes. But the thought of actually living with Alfred, eating supper with him every night and going to church with him and giving birth to his children, was appalling. She would rather be lonely. She shook her head. \"Forget it, Alfred,\" she said firmly. \"I don't need a husband, for love or anything else.\"\n\nHe was not to be discouraged. \"I love you, Aliena,\" he said. \"Working with you, I've been truly happy. I need you. Will you be my wife?\"\n\nHe had said it now. She was sorry, for it meant she had to reject him formally. She had learned that there was no point in trying to do this gently, either: they took a kindly refusal as a sign of indecision, and pressed her all the more. \"No, I won't,\" she said. \"I don't love you and I haven't much enjoyed working with you, and I wouldn't marry you if you were the only man on earth.\"\n\nHe was hurt. He must have thought his chances were strong. Aliena was sure she had done nothing to encourage him. She had treated him as an equal partner, listened to him when he spoke, talked to him frankly and directly, fulfilled her responsibilities and expected him to fulfill his. But some men took that for encouragement. \"How can you say that?\" he spluttered.\n\nShe sighed. He was wounded, and she felt sorry for him; but in a moment he would be indignant, and act as if she had made an unfair accusation against him; then finally he would convince himself that she had gratuitously insulted him, and he would become offensive. Not all rejected suitors behaved like that, but a certain type did, and Alfred was that type. She was going to have to leave.\n\nShe stood up. \"I respect your proposal, and I thank you for the honor you do me,\" she said. \"Please respect my refusal, and don't ask me again.\"\n\n\"I suppose you're running off to see my snotnosed little stepbrother,\" he said nastily. \"I can't imagine he gives you much of a ride.\"\n\nAliena flushed with embarrassment. So people were beginning to notice her friendship with Jack. Trust Alfred to put a smutty interpretation on it. Well she was running off to see Jack, and she was not going to let Alfred stop her. She bent down and thrust her face into his. He was startled. Quietly and deliberately she said: \"Go. To. Hell.\" Then she turned and went out.\n\nPrior Philip held court in the crypt once a month. In the old days it had been once a year, and even then the business rarely took all day. But when the population trebled, lawbreaking had increased tenfold.\n\nThe nature of crime had changed, too. Formerly, most offenses had to do with land, crops or livestock. A greedy peasant would try surreptitiously to move the boundary of a field so as to extend his land at the expense of a neighbor; a laborer would steal a sack of corn from the widow he worked for; a poor woman with too many children would milk a cow that was not hers. Nowadays most of the cases involved money, Philip thought, as he sat through his court on the first day of December. Apprentices stole money from their masters, a husband took his wife's mother's savings, merchants passed dud coinage, and wealthy women underpaid simpleminded servants who could hardly count their weekly wages. There had been no such crimes in Kingsbridge five years ago, because then nobody had much cash.\n\nPhilip dealt with nearly all offenses by a fine. He could also have people flogged, or put in the stocks, or imprisoned in the cell beneath the monks' dormitory, but these punishments were rarer, and reserved mainly for crimes of violence. He had the right to hang thieves, and the priory owned a stout wooden gallows; but he had never used it, not yet, and he cherished a secret hope that he never would. The most serious crimes\u2014murder, killing the king's deer, and highway robbery\u2014were dealt with by the king's court at Shiring, presided over by the sheriff, and Sheriff Eustace did more than enough hanging.\n\nToday Philip had seven cases of unauthorized grain grinding. He left them until the end and dealt with them all together. The priory had just built a new water mill to run alongside the old one\u2014Kingsbridge needed two mills now. But the new building had to be paid for, which meant that everyone had to bring their grain to be ground at the priory. Strictly speaking, that had always been the law, as it was in every manor in the country: peasants were not allowed to grind grain at home; they had to pay the lord to do it for them. In recent years, as the town grew and the old mill began to break down frequently, Philip had overlooked a growing amount of illicit grinding; but now he had to clamp down.\n\nHe had the names of the offenders scratched on a slate, and he read them out, one by one, beginning with the wealthiest. \"Richard Longacre, you had a large grindstone turned by two men, Brother Franciscus says.\" Franciscus was the priory's miller.\n\nA prosperous-looking yeoman stepped forward. \"Yes, my lord prior, but I've broken it now.\"\n\n\"Pay sixty pence. Enid Brewster, you had a handmill in your brewery. Eric Enidson was seen using it, and he is charged too.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord,\" said Enid, a red-faced woman with powerful shoulders.\n\n\"And where is the handmill now?\" Philip asked her.\n\n\"I threw it in the river, Lord.\"\n\nPhilip did not believe her, but there was not much he could do about it. \"Fined twenty-four pence, and twelve for your son. Walter Tanner?\"\n\nPhilip went on down the list, fining people according to the scale of their illegitimate operations, until he came to the last and poorest. \"Widow Goda?\"\n\nA pinch-faced old woman in faded black clothes stepped forward.\n\n\"Brother Franciscus saw you grinding grain with a stone.\"\n\n\"I didn't have a penny for the mill, lord,\" she said resentfully.\n\n\"You had a penny to buy grain, though,\" Philip said. \"You shall be punished like everyone else.\"\n\n\"Would you have me starve?\" she said defiantly.\n\nPhilip sighed. He wished Brother Franciscus had pretended not to notice Goda breaking the law. \"When was the last time someone starved to death in Kingsbridge?\" he said. He looked around at the assembled citizens. \"Anybody remember the last time someone starved to death in our town?\" He paused for a moment, as if waiting for a reply, then said: \"I think you'll find it was before my time.\"\n\nGoda said: \"Dick Shorthouse died last winter.\"\n\nPhilip remembered the man, a beggar who slept in pigsties and stables. \"Dick fell down drunk in the street at midnight and froze to death when it snowed,\" he said. \"He didn't starve, and if he'd been sober enough to walk to the priory, he wouldn't have been cold either. If you're hungry, don't try to cheat me\u2014come to me for charity. And if you're too proud to do that, and you would rather break the law instead, you must take your punishment like everyone else. Do you hear me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Lord,\" the old woman said sulkily.\n\n\"Fined a farthing,\" Philip said. \"Court is over.\"\n\nHe stood up and went out, climbing the stairs that led up to ground level from the crypt.\n\nWork on the new cathedral had slowed dramatically, as it always did a month or so before Christmas. The exposed edges and tops of the unfinished stonework were covered with straw and dung\u2014the litter from the priory stables\u2014to keep the frost off the new masonry. The masons could not build in the winter, because of the frost, they said. Philip had asked why they could not uncover the walls every morning and cover them again at night: it was not often frosty in the daytime. Tom said that walls built in winter fell down. Philip believed that, but he did not think it was because of the frost. He thought the real reason might be that the mortar took several months to set properly. The winter break allowed it to get really hard before the new year's masonry was built on top. That would also explain the masons' superstition that it was bad luck to build more than twenty feet high in a single year: more than that, and the lower courses might become deformed by the weight on them before the mortar could harden.\n\nPhilip was surprised to see all the masons out in the open, in what would be the chancel of the church. He went to see what they were doing.\n\nThey had made a semicircular wooden arch and stood it upright, propped up with poles on both sides. Philip knew that the wooden arch was a piece of what they called falsework: its purpose was to support the stone arch while it was being built. Now, however, the masons were assembling the stone arch at ground level, without mortar, to make sure the stones fit together perfectly. Apprentices and laborers were lifting the stones onto the falsework while the masons looked on critically.\n\nPhilip caught Tom's eye and said: \"What's this for?\"\n\n\"It's an arch for the tribune gallery.\"\n\nPhilip looked up reflexively. The arcade had been finished last year and the gallery above it would be completed next year. Then only the top level, the clerestory, would remain to be built before the roof went on. Now that the walls had been covered up for the winter, the masons were cutting the stones ready for next year's work. If this arch was right, the stones for all the others would be cut to the same patterns.\n\nThe apprentices, among whom was Tom's stepson, Jack, built the arch up from either side, with the wedge-shaped stones called voussoirs. Although the arch would eventually be built high up in the church, it would have elaborate decorative moldings; so each stone bore, on the surface that would be visible, a line of large dogtooth carving, another line of small medallions, and a bottom line of simple roll molding. When the stones were put together, the carvings lined up exactly, forming three continuous arcs, one of dogtooth, one of medallions and one of roll molding. This gave the impression that the arch was constructed of several semicircular hoops of stone one on top of another, whereas, in fact, it was made of wedges placed side by side. However, the stones had to fit together precisely, otherwise the carvings would not line up and the illusion would be spoiled.\n\nPhilip watched while Jack lowered the central keystone into place. Now the arch was complete. Four masons picked up sledgehammers and knocked out the wedges that supported the wooden falsework a few inches above the ground. Dramatically, the wooden support fell. Although there was no mortar between the stones, the arch remained standing. Tom Builder gave a grunt of satisfaction.\n\nSomeone pulled at Philip's sleeve. He turned to see a young monk. \"You've got a visitor, Father. He's waiting in your house.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my son.\" Philip left the builders. If the monks had put the visitor in the prior's house to wait, that meant it was someone important. He crossed the close and went into his house.\n\nThe visitor was his brother, Francis. Philip embraced him warmly. Francis looked careworn. \"Have you been offered something to eat?\" Philip said. \"You seem weary.\"\n\n\"They gave me some bread and meat, thanks. I've spent the autumn riding between Bristol, where King Stephen was imprisoned, and Rochester, where Earl Robert was held.\"\n\n\"You said was.\"\n\nFrancis nodded. \"I've been negotiating a swap: Stephen for Robert. It was done on All Saints' Day. King Stephen is now back in Winchester.\"\n\nPhilip was surprised. \"It seems to me that the Empress Maud got the worst of the bargain\u2014she gave a king to get an earl.\"\n\nFrancis shook his head. \"She was helpless without Robert. Nobody likes her, nobody trusts her. Her support was collapsing. She had to have him back. Queen Matilda was clever. She wouldn't take anything less than King Stephen in exchange. She held out for that and in the end she got it.\"\n\nPhilip went to the window and looked out. It had started to rain, a cold slantwise rain blowing across the building site, darkening the high walls of the cathedral and dripping off the low thatched roofs of the craftsmen's lodges. \"What does it mean?\" he said.\n\n\"It means that Maud is once again just an aspirant to the throne. After all, Stephen has actually been crowned, whereas Maud never was, not quite.\"\n\n\"But it was Maud who licensed my market.\"\n\n\"Yes. That could be a problem.\"\n\n\"Is my license invalid?\"\n\n\"No. It was properly granted by a legitimate ruler who had been approved by the Church. The fact that she wasn't crowned doesn't make any difference. But Stephen could withdraw it.\"\n\n\"The market is paying for the stone,\" Philip said anxiously. \"I can't build without it. This is bad news indeed.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"What about my hundred pounds?\"\n\nFrancis shrugged. \"Stephen will tell you to get it back from Maud.\"\n\nPhilip felt sick. \"All that money,\" he said. \"It was God's money, and I lost it.\"\n\n\"You haven't lost it yet,\" Francis said. \"Stephen may not revoke your license. He's never shown much interest in markets one way or the other.\"\n\n\"Earl William may pressure him.\"\n\n\"William changed allegiance, remember? He threw his lot in with Maud. He won't have much influence with Stephen anymore.\"\n\n\"I hope you're right,\" Philip said fervently. \"I hope to God you're right.\"\n\nWhen it got too cold to sit in the glade, Aliena took to visiting Tom Builder's house in the evenings. Alfred was normally at the alehouse, so the family group consisted of Tom, Ellen, Jack and Martha. Now that Tom was doing so well, they had comfortable seats, and a roaring fire, and plenty of candles. Ellen and Aliena would work at the weaving. Tom would draw plans and diagrams, scratching his drawings with a sharp stone onto polished pieces of slate. Jack would pretend to be making a belt, or sharpening knives, or weaving a basket, although he would spend most of the time furtively staring at Aliena's face in the candlelight, watching her lips move as she talked or studying her white throat as she drank a glass of ale. They laughed a lot that winter. Jack loved to make Aliena laugh. She was so controlled and reserved, in general, that it was a joy to see her let herself go, almost like catching a glimpse of her naked. He was constantly thinking of things to say to amuse her. He would do impressions of the craftsmen on the building site, imitating the accent of a Parisian mason or the bowlegged walk of a blacksmith. Once he invented a comical account of life with the monks, giving each of them plausible sins\u2014pride for Remigius, gluttony for Bernard Kitchener, drunkenness for the guest-master, and lust for Pierre Circuitor. Martha was often helpless with laughter and even the taciturn Tom cracked a smile.\n\nIt was on one such evening that Aliena said: \"I don't know if I'm going to be able to sell all this cloth.\"\n\nThey were somewhat taken aback. Ellen said: \"Then why are we weaving it?\"\n\n\"I haven't given up hope,\" Aliena said. \"I've just got a problem.\"\n\nTom looked up from his slate. \"I thought the priory was eager to buy it all.\"\n\n\"That's not the problem. I can't find people to do the felting, and the priory doesn't want loose-woven cloth\u2014nor does anyone else.\"\n\nEllen said: \"Felting is backbreaking work. I'm not surprised no one will do it.\"\n\n\"Can't you get men to do it?\" Tom suggested.\n\n\"Not in prosperous Kingsbridge. All the men have work enough. In the big towns there are professional fullers, but most of them work for weavers, and they're prohibited from felting for their employer's rivals. Anyway, it would cost too much to cart the cloth to Winchester and back.\"\n\n\"It's a real problem,\" Tom acknowledged, and went back to his drawing.\n\nJack was struck by a thought. \"It's a pity we can't get oxen to do it.\"\n\nThe others laughed. Tom said: \"You might as try to teach an ox to build churches.\"\n\n\"Or a mill,\" Jack persisted. \"There are usually easy ways to do the hardest work.\"\n\n\"She wants to felt the cloth, not grind it,\" Tom said.\n\nJack was not listening. \"We use lifting gear, and winding wheels, to raise stones up to the high scaffolding.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Oh, if there was some ingenious mechanism to get this cloth felted, it would be wonderful.\"\n\nJack thought how pleased she would be if he could solve this problem for her. He determined to find a way.\n\nTom said thoughtfully: \"I've heard of a water mill being used to work the bellows in a forge\u2014but I've never seen it.\"\n\n\"Really!\" Jack said. \"That proves it!\"\n\nTom said: \"A mill wheel goes round and round, and a grindstone goes round and round, so the one can drive the other; but a fuller's bat goes up and down. You can't make a round waterwheel drive an up-and-down bat.\"\n\n\"But a bellows goes up and down.\"\n\n\"True, true; but I never saw that forge, I only heard tell of it.\"\n\nJack tried to picture the machinery of a mill. The force of the water drove the mill wheel around. The shaft of the mill wheel was connected to another wheel inside the mill. The inside wheel, which was upright, had teeth that interlocked with the teeth of another wheel which lay flat. The flat wheel turned the millstone. \"An upright wheel can drive a flat wheel,\" Jack muttered, thinking aloud.\n\nMartha laughed. \"Jack, stop! If mills could felt cloth, clever people would have thought of it already.\"\n\nJack ignored her. \"The fuller's bats could be fixed to the shaft of the mill wheel,\" he said. \"The cloth could be laid flat where the bats fall.\"\n\nTom said: \"But the bats would strike once, then get stuck; and the wheel would stop. I told you\u2014wheels go round and round, but bats have to go up and down.\"\n\n\"There must be a way,\" Jack said stubbornly.\n\n\"There's no way,\" Tom said decisively, in the tone of voice he used to close a conversational subject.\n\n\"I bet there is, though,\" Jack muttered rebelliously; and Tom pretended not to hear.\n\nOn the following Sunday, Jack disappeared.\n\nHe went to church in the morning, and ate his dinner at home, as usual; but he did not appear at suppertime. Aliena, was in her own kitchen, making a thick broth of ham and cabbage with pepper in it, when Ellen came looking for Jack.\n\n\"I haven't seen him since mass,\" Aliena said.\n\n\"He vanished after dinner,\" Ellen said. \"I assumed he was with you.\"\n\nAliena felt a little embarrassed that Ellen should have made that assumption so readily. \"Are you worried?\"\n\nEllen shrugged. \"A mother is always worried.\"\n\n\"Has he quarreled with Alfred?\" Aliena said nervously.\n\n\"I asked the same question. Alfred says not.\" Ellen sighed. \"I don't suppose he's come to any harm. He's done this before and I daresay he'll do it again. I never taught him to keep regular hours.\"\n\nLater in the evening, just before bedtime, Aliena called at Tom's house to see whether Jack had reappeared. He had not. She went to bed worried. Richard was away in Winchester, so she was alone. She kept thinking Jack might have fallen into the river and drowned, or something. How terrible that would be for Ellen: Jack was her only son. Tears came to Aliena's eyes when she imagined Ellen's grief at losing Jack. This is stupid, she thought: I'm crying over someone else's sorrow about something that hasn't happened. She pulled herself together and tried to think of another subject. The surplus cloth was her big problem. Normally she could worry about business half the night, but tonight her mind kept returning to Jack. Suppose he had broken his leg, and was lying in the forest, unable to move?\n\nEventually she drifted into a restless sleep. She woke at first light, still feeling tired. She threw on her heavy cloak over her nightshirt, and pulled on her fur-lined boots, then went outside to look for him.\n\nHe was not in the garden behind the alehouse, where men commonly fell asleep, and were saved from freezing by the heat of the fetid dunghill. She went down to the bridge and walked fearfully along the bank to a bend in the river where debris was washed up. A family of ducks was scavenging among the bits of wood, wornout shoes, rusty discarded knives and rotting meat bones on the beach. Jack was not there, thank God.\n\nShe went back up the hill and into the priory close, where the cathedral builders were beginning their day's work. She found Tom in his shed. \"Has Jack come back?\" she said hopefully.\n\nTom shook his head. \"Not yet.\"\n\nAs she was going out, the master carpenter came up, looking worried. \"All our hammers have gone,\" he said to Tom.\n\n\"That's funny,\" Tom said. \"I've been looking for a hammer and can't find one.\"\n\nThen Alfred put his head around the door and said: \"Where are all the masons' bolsters?\"\n\nTom scratched his head. \"It seems as if every hammer on the site has disappeared,\" he said in a baffled voice. Then his expression changed, and he said: \"That boy Jack is behind this, I'll bet.\"\n\nOf course, Aliena thought. Hammers. Felting. The mill.\n\nWithout saying what she was thinking, she left Tom's shed and hurried across the priory close, going past the kitchen, to the southwest corner, where a channel diverted from the river drove two mills, one old and the other brand-new. As she had suspected, the wheel of the old mill was turning. She went inside.\n\nWhat she saw confused and frightened her at first. There was a row of hammers fixed to a horizontal pole. Apparently of their own volition the hammers lifted their heads, like horses looking up from the manger. Then they went down again, all together, and struck simultaneously with a mighty bang that made her heart stop. She gave a cry of shock. The hammers lifted their heads, as if they had heard her cry, then they struck again. They were pounding a length of her loose-woven cloth that lay in an inch or two of water in a shallow wooden trough of the type used by mortar makers on the building site. The hammers were felting the cloth, she realized, and she stopped being frightened, although they still looked disturbingly alive. But how was it done? She saw that the pole on which the hammers were fixed ran parallel with the shaft of the mill wheel. A plank fixed to the shaft went round and round as the shaft turned. When the plank came around, it connected with the handles of the hammers, pushing the handles down so that the heads came up. As the plank continued to turn the handles were released. Then the hammers fell and pounded the cloth in the trough. It was exactly what Jack had talked about that evening: a mill that could felt cloth.\n\nShe heard his voice. \"The hammers should be weighted so that they fall harder.\" She turned around and saw him, looking tired but triumphant. \"I think I've solved your problem,\" he said, and grinned sheepishly.\n\n\"I'm so glad you're all right\u2014we were worried about you!\" she said. Without thinking, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. It was a very brief kiss, not much more than a peck; but then, when their lips separated, his arms went around her waist, holding her body gently but firmly against his own, and she found herself looking into his eyes. All she could think of was how happy she was that he was alive and unhurt. She gave him an affectionate squeeze. She was suddenly aware of her own skin: she could feel the roughness of her linen undershirt and the soft fur of her boots, and her nipples tingled as they pressed against his chest.\n\n\"You were worried about me?\" he said wonderingly.\n\n\"Of course! I hardly slept!\"\n\nShe was smiling happily, but he looked terribly solemn, and after a moment his mood overcame hers, and she felt strangely moved. She could hear her heart beating, and her breath came faster. Behind her, the hammers thudded in unison, shaking the wooden structure of the mill with each concerted blow, and she seemed to feel the vibration deep inside her.\n\n\"I'm all right,\" he said. \"Everything's all right.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad,\" she repeated, and it came out in a whisper.\n\nShe saw him close his eyes and bend his face to hers, and then she felt his mouth on her own. His kiss was gentle. He had full lips and a soft adolescent beard. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation. His mouth moved against hers, and it seemed natural to part her lips. Her mouth had suddenly become ultra-sensitive, so that she could feel the lightest touch, the tiniest movement. The tip of his tongue caressed the inside of her upper lip. She felt so overwhelmed with happiness that she wanted to cry. She pressed her body against his, crushing her soft breasts against his hard chest, feeling the bones of his hips dig into her belly. She was no longer merely relieved that he was safe, and glad to have him here. Now there was a new emotion. His physical presence filled her with an ecstatic sensation that made her slightly dizzy. Holding his body in her arms, she wanted to touch him more, to feel more of him, to get even closer. She rubbed his back with her hands. She wanted to feel his skin, but his clothes frustrated her. Without thinking, she opened her mouth and pushed her tongue between his lips. He made a small animal sound in the back of his throat, like a muffled moan of delight.\n\nThe door of the mill banged open. Aliena pulled away from Jack. Suddenly she felt shocked, as if she had been fast asleep and someone had slapped her to wake her up. She was horrified by what they had been doing\u2014kissing and rubbing one another like a whore and a drunk in an alehouse! She stepped back and turned around, mortified with embarrassment. The intruder was Alfred, of all people. That made her feel worse. Alfred had proposed marriage to her, three months ago, and she had refused him haughtily. Now he had seen her acting like a bitch in heat. It seemed somehow hypocritical. She flushed with shame. Alfred was staring at her, his expression a mixture of lust and contempt that reminded her vividly of William Hamleigh. She was disgusted with herself for giving Alfred a reason to look down on her, and furious at Jack for his part in it.\n\nShe turned away from Alfred and looked at Jack. When his eyes met hers he registered shock. She realized that her anger was showing in her face but she could not help it. Jack's expression of dazed happiness turned into confusion and hurt. Normally that would have melted her, but now she was too upset. She hated him for what he had made her do. Quick as a flash, she slapped his face. He did not move, but there was agony in his look. His cheek reddened where she had hit him. She could not bear to see the pain in his eyes. She tore her gaze away.\n\nShe could not stay there. She ran to the door with the incessant thud of the hammers pounding in her ears. Alfred stepped aside quickly, looking almost frightened. She dashed past him and went through the door. Tom Builder was just outside, with a small crowd of building workers. Everyone was heading for the mill to find out what was going on. Aliena hurried past them without speaking. One or two of them glanced curiously at her, making her burn with shame; but they were more interested in the hammering sound coming from the mill. The coldly logical part of Aliena's mind recalled that Jack had solved the problem of felting her cloth; but the thought that he had been up all night doing something for her only made her feel worse. She ran past the stable, through the priory gate, and along the street, her boots slipping and sliding in the mud, until she reached her house.\n\nWhen she got inside she found Richard there. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a loaf of bread and a bowl of ale. \"King Stephen is on the march,\" he said. \"The war has started again. I need a new horse.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "For the next three months Aliena hardly spoke two words in a row to Jack.\n\nHe was heartbroken. She had kissed him as if she loved him, there was no mistaking that. When she left the mill he felt sure they would kiss like that again, soon. He walked around in an erotic haze, thinking: Aliena loves me! Aliena loves me! She had stroked his back and put her tongue into his mouth and pressed her breasts against him. When she avoided him he thought at first that she was just embarrassed. She could not possibly pretend not to love him, after that kiss. He waited for her to get over her shyness. With the help of the priory carpenter he made a stronger, more permanent fulling mechanism for the old mill, and Aliena got her cloth felted. She thanked him sincerely, but her voice was cold and her eyes evaded his.\n\nWhen it had gone on not just for a few days, but for several weeks, he was forced to admit that there was something seriously wrong. A tidal wave of disillusionment engulfed him, and he felt as if he would drown in regret. He was baffled. He wished miserably that he was older, and had more experience with women, so that he could tell whether she was normal or peculiar, whether this was temporary or permanent, and whether he should ignore it or confront her. Being uncertain, and also being terrified of saying the wrong thing and making matters worse, he did nothing; and then the constant feeling of rejection began to get to him, and he felt worthless, stupid, and impotent. He thought how foolish he was, to have imagined that the most desirable and unattainable woman in the county might fall for him, a mere boy. He had amused her for a while, with his stories and his jokes, but as soon as he had kissed her like a man, she had run away. What a fool he was to have hoped for anything else!\n\nAfter a week or two of telling himself how stupid he was he began to get angry. He was irritable at work, and people started to treat him warily. He was mean to his stepsister, Martha, who was almost as hurt by him as he was by Aliena. On Sunday afternoons he wasted his wages gambling on cockfights. All his passion came out in his work. He was carving corbels, the jutting-out stones that appeared to support arches or shafts that did not reach all the way to the ground. Corbels were often decorated with leaves, but a traditional alternative was to carve a man who appeared to be holding up the arch with his hands or supporting it on his back. Jack altered the customary pattern just a little, but the effect was to show a disturbingly twisted human figure with an expression of pain, condemned, as it were, to an eternity of agony as he held up the vast weight of stone. Jack knew it was brilliant: nobody else could carve a figure that looked as if it were in pain. When Tom saw it he shook his head, unsure whether to marvel at its expressiveness or disapprove of its unorthodoxy. Philip was very taken with it. Jack did not care what they thought: he felt that anyone who disliked it was blind.\n\nOne Monday in Lent, when everyone was short-tempered because they had not eaten meat for three weeks, Alfred came to work with a triumphant look on his face. He had been to Shiring the day before. Jack did not know what he had done there but he was clearly pleased about it.\n\nDuring the midmorning break, when Enid Brewster tapped a barrel of ale in the middle of the chancel and sold it to the builders, Alfred held out a penny and called: \"Hey, Jack Tomson, fetch me some ale.\"\n\nThis is going to be about my father, Jack thought. He ignored Alfred.\n\nOne of the carpenters, an older man called Peter, said: \"You'd better do what you're told, prentice boy.\" An apprentice was always supposed to obey a master craftsman.\n\n\"I'm not Tom's son,\" Jack said. \"Tom is my stepfather, and Alfred knows it.\"\n\n\"Do what he says, all the same,\" Peter said in a reasonable tone.\n\nReluctantly, Jack took Alfred's money and joined the line. \"My father's name was Jack Shareburg,\" he said in a loud voice. \"You can all call me Jack Jackson, if you want to make a difference between me and Jack Blacksmith.\"\n\nAlfred said: \"Jack Bastard is more like it.\"\n\nJack said to the world at large: \"Have you ever wondered why Alfred never laces up his boots?\" They all looked at Alfred's feet. Sure enough, his heavy, muddy boots, which were designed to be tied at the top with cords, were loosely open. \"It's so that he can get at his toes quickly\u2014in case he needs to count above ten.\" The craftsmen smiled and the apprentices chortled. Jack handed Alfred's penny to Enid and got a jug of ale. He took it to Alfred and handed it to him with a small satirical bow. Alfred was annoyed, but not very; he still had something up his sleeve. Jack moved away and drank his ale with the apprentices, hoping Alfred would lay off.\n\nIt was not to be. A few moments later Alfred followed him, and said: \"If Jack Shareburg was my father I wouldn't be so quick to claim him. Don't you realize what he was?\"\n\n\"He was a jongleur,\" Jack said. He made himself sound confident, but he was afraid of what Alfred was going to say. \"I don't suppose you know what a jongleur is.\"\n\n\"He was a thief,\" said Alfred.\n\n\"Oh, shut up, shithead.\" Jack turned away and sipped his beer, but he could hardly swallow. Alfred had a reason for saying this.\n\n\"Don't you know how he died?\" Alfred persisted.\n\nThis is it, Jack thought; this is what he learned yesterday in Shiring; this is why he's wearing that stupid grin. He turned around reluctantly and faced Alfred. \"No, I don't know how my father died, Alfred, but I think you're going to tell me.\"\n\n\"He was hanged by the neck, like the lousy thief he was.\"\n\nJack gave an involuntary cry of anguish. He knew intuitively that this was true. Alfred was so completely sure of himself that he could not be making it up. And Jack saw in a flash that this explained his mother's reticence. For years he had secretly dreaded something like this. All the time he had pretended there was nothing wrong, he was not a bastard, he had a real father with a real name. In fact he had always feared that there was a disgrace about his father, that the taunts were valid, that he really did have something to be ashamed of. He was already low: Aliena's rejection had left him feeling worthless and small. Now the truth about his father hit him like a blow.\n\nAlfred stood there smiling, inordinately pleased with himself: the effect of his revelation had delighted him. His expression maddened Jack. It was bad enough, for Jack, that his father had been hanged. That Alfred was happy about it was too much to bear. Without thinking, Jack threw his beer in Alfred's grinning face.\n\nThe other apprentices, who had been watching the two stepbrothers and enjoying the altercation, hastily moved a step or two back. Alfred dashed the beer from his eyes, roared with anger, and lashed out with one huge fist, a surprisingly quick movement for such a big man. The blow connected with Jack's cheek, so hard that instead of hurting, it just went numb. Before he had time to react, Alfred's other fist sank into his middle. This punch hurt terribly. Jack felt as if he would never breathe again. He crumpled and fell to the ground. As he landed, Alfred kicked him in the head with one heavy boot, and for a moment he saw nothing but white light.\n\nHe rolled over blindly and struggled to his feet. But Alfred was not yet satisfied. As Jack came upright he felt himself grabbed. He began to wriggle. He was frightened now. Alfred would have no mercy. Jack would be beaten to a pulp if he could not escape. For a moment Alfred's grip was too strong and Jack could not get free, but then Alfred drew back one massive fist for a blow, and in that instant Jack slipped out of his grasp.\n\nHe darted away and Alfred lunged after him. Jack dodged around a lime barrel, pulling it over so that it fell in Alfred's path, spilling lime on the ground. Alfred jumped over the barrel but cannoned into a water butt and that, too, was upset. When the water came into contact with the lime it boiled and hissed fiercely. Some of the builders, seeing the waste of costly material, shouted protests, but Alfred was deaf to them, and Jack could think of nothing but trying to get away from Alfred. He ran, still doubled up with pain and half blind from the kick in the head.\n\nHard on his heels, Alfred stuck out a foot and tripped him. Jack fell headlong. I'm going to die, he thought as he rolled over; Alfred will kill me now. He fetched up under a ladder that was leaning against the scaffolding high up on the building. Alfred bore down on him. Jack felt like a cornered rabbit. The ladder saved him. As Alfred ducked behind it, Jack dodged around to the front and catapulted himself up the rungs. He went up the ladder like a rat up a gutter.\n\nHe felt the ladder shake as Alfred came up behind him. Normally he could outrun Alfred, but he was still dazed and winded. He reached the top and lurched onto the scaffolding. He stumbled and fell against the wall. The stonework had been laid that morning and the mortar was still wet. As Jack careered into it, a whole section of the wall shifted, and three or four stones slipped sideways and fell over the side. Jack thought he was going with them. He teetered at the edge, and as he looked down he saw the big stones tumbling over and over as they fell eighty feet and landed on the roofs of the lean-to lodges at the foot of the wall. He righted himself and hoped no one was in the lodges. Alfred came up over the top of the ladder and advanced toward him on the flimsy scaffolding.\n\nAlfred was red and panting, and his eyes were full of hate. Jack had no doubt that in this state Alfred could kill. If he gets hold of me, Jack thought, he'll throw me over the side. As Alfred advanced, Jack retreated. He trod in something soft and realized it was a pile of mortar. Inspired, he stooped quickly, picked up a handful, and threw it accurately into Alfred's eyes.\n\nBlinded, Alfred stopped advancing and shook his head, trying to get rid of the mortar. At last Jack had a chance to escape. He ran to the far end of the scaffolding platform, intending to descend, run out of the priory close, and spend the rest of the day hiding in the forest. But to his horror there was no ladder at the other end of the platform. He could not climb down the scaffolding, for it did not reach to the ground\u2014it was built on joists stuck into putlog holes in the wall. He was trapped.\n\nHe looked back. Alfred had got his eyesight back and was coming toward him.\n\nThere was one other way down.\n\nAt the unfinished end of the wall, where the chancel would join on to the transept, each course of masonry was half a stone's length shorter than the one below, creating a steep flight of narrow steps, which was sometimes used by the more daring laborers as an alternative way up to the platform. With his heart in his mouth Jack got on top of the wall and walked along, carefully but quickly, trying not to see how far he would fall if he slipped. He reached the top of the stepped section, paused at the edge, and looked down. He felt faintly sick. He glanced back over his shoulder: Alfred was on the wall behind him. He went down.\n\nJack could not understand why Alfred was so unafraid: he had never been brave. It was as if hatred had dulled his sense of danger. As they ran down the dizzily steep steps, Alfred was gaining on Jack. They were still more than twelve feet off the ground when Jack realized Alfred was very nearly on him. In desperation he jumped off the side of the wall onto the thatched roof of the carpenters' lodge. He bounced off the roof onto the ground, but he landed badly, twisting his ankle, and he fell to the ground.\n\nHe staggered upright. The seconds he lost by falling had enabled Alfred to reach the ground and run to the lodge. For a split second Jack stood with his back to the wall, and Alfred paused, waiting to see which way he would jump. Jack suffered a moment of terrified indecision; then, inspired, he stepped to one side and backed into the lodge.\n\nIt was empty of craftsmen, for they were all standing around Enid's barrel. On the benches were the hammers and saws and chisels of the carpenters, and the pieces of wood they had been working on. In the middle of the floor was a large piece of new falsework, to be used in building an arch; and at the back, up against the church wall, was a blazing fire, fed by shavings and off-cuts from the carpenters' raw material.\n\nThere was no way out.\n\nJack turned to face Alfred. He was cornered. For a moment he was paralyzed with fright. Then his fear gave way to anger. I don't care if I get killed, he thought, so long as I make Alfred bleed before I die. He did not wait for Alfred to hit him. He lowered his head and charged. He was too maddened even to use his fists. He simply ran into Alfred full tilt.\n\nIt was the last thing Alfred expected. Jack's forehead smashed into his mouth. Jack was two or three inches shorter and a lot lighter, but all the same his charge threw Alfred back. As Jack recovered his balance he saw blood on Alfred's lips, and he was satisfied.\n\nFor a moment Alfred was too surprised to react. In that instant, Jack's eye lit on a big wooden sledgehammer leaning against a bench. As Alfred recovered his wits and came at Jack, Jack lifted the hammer and swung it wildly. Alfred dodged back and the hammer missed him. Suddenly Jack had the upper hand. Encouraged, he went after Alfred, already relishing the sensation of solid wood crunching Alfred's bones. This time he put all his strength into the blow. Once again it missed Alfred; but it connected with the pole supporting the roof of the lodge.\n\nThe lodge was not solidly constructed. Nobody lived in it. Its only function was to enable the carpenters to work in the rain. When Jack hit the pole with the hammer, the pole moved. The walls were flimsy hurdles of interwoven twigs, and gave no support at all. The thatched roof sagged. Alfred looked up fearfully. Jack hefted the hammer. Alfred backed through the door. Jack swung at him again. Alfred dodged back, tripped over a low stack of timber, and sat down heavily. Jack raised the hammer high for the coup de gr\u00e2ce. His arms were seized in a strong grasp. He looked around and saw Prior Philip, with a face like thunder. Philip wrenched the hammer from Jack's grip.\n\nBehind the prior, the roof of the lodge fell in. Jack and Philip looked. As it fell into the fire, the dry thatch caught alight instantly, and a moment later there was a fierce blaze.\n\nTom appeared and pointed at the three workmen nearest to him. \"You, you and you\u2014bring that water butt from outside the smithy.\" He turned to three others. \"Peter, Rolf, Daniel, fetch buckets. You apprentices, shovel earth over the flames\u2014all of you, and quick about it!\"\n\nFor the next few minutes everyone concentrated on the fire, and Alfred and Jack were forgotten. Jack got out of the way and stood watching, feeling stunned and helpless. Alfred stood some distance away. Was I really about to smash Alfred's head with a hammer? Jack thought incredulously. The whole thing seemed unreal. He was still in a state of dazed shock when the combination of water and earth put out the flames.\n\nPrior Philip stood looking at the mess, breathing hard after his exertions. \"Look at that,\" he said to Tom. He was furious. \"A lodge wrecked. Carpenters' work ruined. A barrel of lime wasted and a whole section of new masonry destroyed.\"\n\nJack realized that Tom was in trouble: it was his job to keep order on the site and Philip blamed him for the damage. The fact that the culprits were Tom's sons made it even worse.\n\nTom put his hand on Philip's arm and spoke softly. \"The lodge will deal with it,\" he said.\n\nPhilip was not to be mollified. \"I will deal with it,\" he snapped. \"I'm the prior and you all work for me.\"\n\n\"Then allow the masons to deliberate before you make any decisions,\" Tom said in a quiet and reasonable voice. \"We may come up with a proposal that will recommend itself to you. If not, you're still free to do what you will.\"\n\nPhilip was visibly reluctant to let the initiative pass from his hands, but tradition was on Tom's side: the masons disciplined themselves. After a pause Philip said: \"Very well. But whatever you decide, I will not have both your sons working on this site. One of them must go.\" Still fuming, he strode away.\n\nWith a black look at Jack and Alfred, Tom turned away and went into the largest of the masons' lodges.\n\nJack realized he was in serious trouble as he followed Tom into the lodge. When the masons disciplined one of their number it was usually for offenses such as drunkenness at work and theft of building materials, and the commonest punishment was a fine. Fighting between apprentices generally resulted in both combatants being put in the stocks for a day, but of course Alfred was not an apprentice, and anyway, fights did not normally do so much damage. The lodge could expel a member who worked for less than the agreed minimum wage. It could also punish a member who committed adultery with another mason's wife, although Jack had never known this. Theoretically, apprentices could be flogged, but although this punishment was sometimes threatened he had never seen it carried out.\n\nThe master masons crowded into the wooden lodge, sitting on the benches and leaning against the back wall, which was in fact the side of the cathedral. When they were all inside, Tom said: \"Our employer is angry, and with justification. This incident has done a lot of costly damage. Worse, it has brought disgrace on us masons. We must deal firmly with those who are to blame. This is the only way to regain our good reputation as proud and disciplined builders, men who are masters of ourselves as well as masters of our craft.\"\n\n\"Well said,\" Jack Blacksmith called out, and there was a murmur of agreement.\n\n\"I only saw the end of this fight,\" Tom went on. \"Did anyone see it start?\"\n\n\"Alfred went for the lad,\" said Peter Carpenter, the one who had advised Jack to be obedient and fetch Alfred's ale.\n\nA young mason called Dan, who worked for Alfred, said: \"Jack threw beer in Alfred's face.\"\n\n\"The lad was provoked, though,\" said Peter. \"Alfred insulted Jack's natural father.\"\n\nTom looked at Alfred. \"Did you?\"\n\n\"I said his father was a thief,\" Alfred replied. \"It's true. He was hanged for it at Shiring. Sheriff Eustace told me yesterday.\"\n\nJack Blacksmith said: \"It's a poor thing if a master craftsman has to hold his tongue in case an apprentice doesn't like what he says.\"\n\nThere was a murmur of approval. Jack realized despondently that, whatever happened, he was not going to get off lightly. Perhaps I'm doomed to be a criminal, like my father, he thought; perhaps I'll end up on the gallows too.\n\nPeter Carpenter, who was emerging as Jack's defender, said: \"I still say it makes a difference if the craftsman went out of his way to anger the apprentice.\"\n\n\"The apprentice still has to be punished,\" said Jack Blacksmith.\n\n\"I don't deny that,\" said Peter, \"I just think the craftsman ought to be disciplined too. Master craftsmen should use the wisdom of their years to bring about peace and harmony on a building site. If they provoke fights they fail in their duty.\"\n\nThere appeared to be some agreement with that, but Dan, Alfred's supporter, said: \"It's a dangerous principle, to forgive the apprentice because the craftsman was unkind. Apprentices always think masters are unkind. If you start arguing that way you'll end up with masters never speaking to their apprentices for fear the apprentices will strike them for discourtesy.\"\n\nThat speech drew warm support, to Jack's disgust. It just showed that the masters' authority had to be bolstered, regardless of the rights and wrongs of the case. He wondered what his punishment would be. He had no money to pay a fine. He hated the thought of being put in the stocks: what would Aliena think of him? But it would be worse to be flogged. He thought he would knife anyone who tried to flog him.\n\nTom said: \"We mustn't forget that our employer also has a strong view about this. He says he will not have both Alfred and Jack working on the site. One of them must go.\"\n\n\"Might he be talked out of that?\" said Peter.\n\nTom looked thoughtful, but after a pause he said: \"No.\"\n\nJack was shocked. He had not taken Prior Philip's ultimatum seriously. But Tom had.\n\nDan said: \"If one of them has to go, I trust there's no argument about which it will be.\" Dan was one of the masons working for Alfred, rather than directly for the priory, and if Alfred went Dan would probably have to go too.\n\nOnce again Tom looked thoughtful, and once again he said: \"No, no argument.\" He looked at Jack. \"Jack must be the one to go.\"\n\nJack realized he had fatally underestimated the consequences of the fight. But he could hardly believe they were going to throw him out. What would life be like if he did not work on Kingsbridge Cathedral? Since Aliena had withdrawn into her shell, the cathedral was all he cared about. How could he leave?\n\nPeter Carpenter said: \"The priory might accept a compromise. Jack could be suspended for a month.\"\n\nYes, please, thought Jack.\n\n\"Too weak,\" said Tom. \"We must be seen to act decisively. Prior Philip will not accept anything less.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" Peter said, giving in. \"This cathedral loses the most talented young stone carver most of us have ever seen, all because Alfred can't keep his damn mouth shut.\" Several masons voiced their approval of that sentiment. Encouraged, Peter went on: \"I respect you, Tom Builder, more than I've ever respected any master builder I've worked for, but it must be said that you've got a blind spot about your pigheaded son Alfred.\"\n\n\"No abuse, please,\" Tom said. \"Let's stick to the facts of the case.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Peter said. \"I say Alfred must be punished.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Tom said, to everyone's surprise. Jack thought the remark about his blind spot had got to him. \"Alfred should be disciplined.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Alfred said indignantly. \"For beating an apprentice?\"\n\n\"He's not your apprentice, he's mine,\" Tom said. \"And you did more than beat him. You chased him all over the site. If you had let him run away the lime wouldn't have spilled, the masonry wouldn't have been damaged and the carpenters' lodge wouldn't have burned down; and you could have dealt with him as soon as he came back. There was no need for what you did.\"\n\nThe masons agreed.\n\nDan, who seemed to have become the spokesman for Alfred's masons, said: \"I hope you're not proposing we expel Alfred from the lodge. I for one will fight against that.\"\n\n\"No,\" Tom said. \"It's bad enough to lose a talented apprentice. I don't also want to lose a sound mason who runs a reliable gang. Alfred must stay\u2014but I think he should be fined.\"\n\nAlfred's men looked relieved.\n\n\"A heavy fine,\" said Peter.\n\n\"A week's wages,\" Dan proposed.\n\n\"A month's,\" said Tom. \"I doubt whether Prior Philip will be satisfied with less.\"\n\nSeveral men said: \"Aye.\"\n\n\"Are we of one mind on this, brother masons?\" Tom said, using a customary form of words.\n\n\"Aye,\" they all said.\n\n\"Then I will tell the prior our decision. The rest of you had better go back to work.\"\n\nJack watched miserably as they all filed out. Alfred shot him a look of smug triumph. Tom waited until they had all gone, then said to Jack: \"I did my best for you\u2014I hope your mother will see that.\"\n\n\"You've never done anything for me!\" Jack burst out.\n\n\"You couldn't feed me or clothe me or house me. We were happy until you came along, and then we starved!\"\n\n\"But in the end\u2014\"\n\n\"You won't even protect me from that mindless brute you call your son!\"\n\n\"I tried\u2014\"\n\n\"You wouldn't even have this job if I hadn't burned the old cathedral down!\"\n\n\"What did you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, I burned the old cathedral.\"\n\nTom went pale. \"That was lightning\u2014\"\n\n\"There was no lightning. It was a fine night. And no one had made a fire in the church, either. I set light to the roof.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"So that you would have work. Otherwise my mother would have died in the forest.\"\n\n\"She wouldn't\u2014\"\n\n\"Your first wife did, though, didn't she?\"\n\nTom turned white. Suddenly he looked older. Jack realized that he had wounded Tom profoundly. He had won the argument, but he had probably lost a friend. He felt sour and sad.\n\nTom whispered: \"Get out of here.\"\n\nJack left.\n\nHe walked away from the towering walls of the cathedral, close to tears. His life had been devastated in a few moments. It was incredible that he was going away from this church forever. He turned at the priory gate and looked back. There were so many things he had been planning. He wanted to carve a whole doorway all by himself; he wanted to persuade Tom to have stone angels in the clerestory; he had an innovative design for blind arcading in the transepts which he had not even shown to anyone yet. Now he would never do any of these things. It was so unfair. His eyes filled with tears.\n\nHe made his way home, seeing through a blur. Mother and Martha were sitting at the kitchen table. Mother was teaching Martha to write with a sharp stone and a slate. They were surprised to see him. Martha said: \"It can't be dinnertime already.\"\n\nMother read Jack's face. \"What is it?\" she said anxiously.\n\n\"I had a fight with Alfred and got expelled from the site,\" he said grimly.\n\n\"Wasn't Alfred expelled?\" said Martha.\n\nJack shook his head.\n\n\"That's not fair!\" Martha said.\n\nMother said wearily: \"What did you fight about this time?\"\n\nJack said: \"Was my father hanged at Shiring for thieving?\"\n\nMartha gasped.\n\nMother looked sad. \"He wasn't a thief,\" she said. \"But yes, he was hanged at Shiring.\"\n\nJack was fed up with enigmatic statements about his father. He said brutally: \"Why will you never tell me the truth?\"\n\n\"Because it makes me so sad!\" Mother burst out, and to Jack's horror she began to cry.\n\nHe had never seen her cry. She was always so strong. He was close to breaking down himself. He swallowed hard and persisted. \"If he wasn't a thief, why was he hanged?\"\n\n\"I don't know!\" Mother cried. \"I never knew. He never knew either. They said he stole a jeweled cup.\"\n\n\"From whom?\"\n\n\"From here\u2014from Kingsbridge Priory.\"\n\n\"Kingsbridge! Did Prior Philip accuse him?\"\n\n\"No, no, it was long before the time of Philip.\" She looked at Jack through her tears. \"Don't start asking me who accused him and why. Don't get caught in that trap. You could spend the rest of your life trying to put right a wrong done before you were born. I didn't raise you so that you could take revenge. Don't make that your life.\"\n\nJack vowed he would learn more sometime, despite what she said; but right now he wanted her to stop crying. He sat beside her on the bench and put his arm around her. \"Well, it looks as if the cathedral won't be my life, now.\"\n\nMartha said: \"What will you do, Jack?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I can't live in Kingsbridge, can I?\"\n\nMartha was distraught. \"But why not?\"\n\n\"Alfred tried to kill me and Tom expelled me from the site. I'm not going to live with them. Anyway, I'm a man. I should leave my mother.\"\n\n\"But what will you do?\"\n\nJack shrugged. \"The only thing I know about is building.\"\n\n\"You could work on another church.\"\n\n\"I might come to love another cathedral as much as I love this one, I suppose,\" he said despondently. He was thinking: But I'll never love another woman the way I love Aliena.\n\nMother said: \"How could Tom do this to you?\"\n\nJack sighed. \"I don't think he really wanted to. Prior Philip said he wouldn't have me and Alfred both working on the site.\"\n\n\"So that damned monk is at the bottom of this!\" Mother said angrily. \"I swear\u2014\"\n\n\"He was very upset about the damage we did.\"\n\n\"I wonder if he could be made to see reason.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"God is supposed to be merciful\u2014perhaps monks should be too.\"\n\n\"You think I should plead with Philip?\" Jack asked, somewhat surprised at the direction of Mother's thinking.\n\n\"I was thinking I might talk to him,\" she said.\n\n\"You!\" That was even more uncharacteristic. Jack was quite shocked. For Mother to be willing to ask Philip for mercy, she must be badly upset.\n\n\"What do you think?\" she asked him.\n\nTom had seemed to think Philip would not be merciful, Jack recalled. But then, Tom's overriding concern had been that the lodge should take decisive action. Having promised Philip that they would be firm, Tom could not then plead for mercy. Mother was not in the same position. Jack began to feel a little more hopeful. Perhaps he would not have to leave after all. Perhaps he could stay in Kingsbridge, close to the cathedral and to Aliena. He no longer hoped that she would love him, but nevertheless he hated the thought of going away and never seeing her again.\n\n\"All right,\" he said. \"Let's go and plead with Prior Philip. We've got nothing to lose but our pride.\"\n\nMother put on her cloak and they went out together, leaving Martha sitting alone at the table, looking anxious.\n\nJack and his mother did not often walk side by side, and now he was struck by how short she was: he towered over her. He felt suddenly fond of her. She was always ready to fight like a cat for his sake. He put his arm around her and hugged her. She smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking.\n\nThey entered the priory close and went to the prior's house. Mother banged on the door and walked in. Tom was there with Prior Philip. Jack knew immediately, by their faces, that Tom had not told Philip about Jack setting fire to the old cathedral. That was a relief. Now he probably never would. That secret was safe.\n\nTom looked anxious, if not a little scared, when he saw Mother. Jack recalled that he had said I did my best for you, I hope your mother will see that. Tom was remembering the last time Jack and Alfred had a fight: Mother had left Tom in consequence. Tom was afraid she would leave now.\n\nPhilip was no longer looking angry, Jack thought. Perhaps the lodge's decision had mollified him. He might even be feeling a trifle guilty about his harshness.\n\nMother said: \"I've come here to ask you to be merciful, Prior Philip.\"\n\nTom immediately looked relieved.\n\nPhilip said: \"I'm listening.\"\n\nMother said: \"You're proposing to send my son away from everything he loves\u2014his home, his family and his work.\"\n\nAnd the woman he adores, Jack thought.\n\nPhilip said: \"Am I? I thought he had simply been dismissed from his work.\"\n\n\"He's never learned any kind of work but building, and there's no other building work in Kingsbridge for him. And the challenge of that vast church has got into his blood. He'll go wherever someone is building a cathedral. He'll go to Jerusalem if there's stone there to be carved into angels and devils.\" How does she know all this? Jack wondered. He had hardly thought it himself\u2014but it was true. She added: \"I might never see him again.\" Her voice shook a little at the end, and he thought wonderingly how much she must love him. She would never plead like this for herself, he knew.\n\nPhilip looked sympathetic, but it was Tom who replied. \"We can't have Jack and Alfred working on the same site,\" he said doggedly. \"They'll fight again. You know that.\"\n\n\"Alfred could go,\" Mother said.\n\nTom looked sad. \"Alfred is my son.\"\n\n\"But he's twenty years old, and he's as mean as a bear!\" Although Mother's voice was assertive, her cheeks were wet with tears. \"He doesn't care for this cathedral any more than I do\u2014he'd be perfectly happy building houses for butchers and bakers in Winchester or Shiring.\"\n\n\"The lodge can't expel Alfred and keep Jack,\" Tom said. \"Besides, the decision is already made.\"\n\n\"But it's the wrong decision!\"\n\nPhilip spoke. \"There might be another answer.\"\n\nEveryone looked at him.\n\n\"There might be a way for Jack to stay in Kingsbridge, and even devote himself to the cathedral, without falling foul of Alfred.\"\n\nJack wondered what was coming. This sounded too good to be true.\n\n\"I need someone to work with me,\" Philip went on. \"I spend too much time making detail decisions on the building. I need a kind of assistant, who would fulfill the role of clerk of works. He would deal with most of the queries himself, referring only the most important questions to me. He would also keep track of the money and the raw materials, handling payments to suppliers and carters, and wages too. Jack can read and write, and he can add numbers faster than anyone I've ever met\u2014\"\n\n\"And he understands every aspect of building,\" Tom put in. \"I've seen to that.\"\n\nJack's mind was spinning. He could stay after all! He would be clerk of works. He would not be carving stone, but he would be supervising the entire design on Philip's behalf. It was an astonishing proposal. He would have to deal with Tom as an equal. But he knew he was capable of it. And Tom did too.\n\nThere was one snag. Jack voiced it. \"I can't live with Alfred any longer.\"\n\nEllen said: \"It's time Alfred had a home of his own, anyway. Perhaps if he left us he'd be more serious about finding a wife.\"\n\nTom said angrily: \"You keep thinking of reasons for getting rid of Alfred. I'm not going to throw my own son out of my house!\"\n\n\"You don't understand me, either of you,\" Philip said. \"You haven't completely comprehended my proposal. Jack would not be living with you.\"\n\nHe paused. Jack guessed what was coming next, and it was the last, and biggest, shock of the day.\n\nPhilip said: \"Jack would have to live here, in the priory.\" He looked at them with a little frown, as if he could not see why they still had not grasped his meaning.\n\nJack had understood him. He recalled Mother saying, on Midsummer Eve last year, That sly prior has a knack of getting his own way in the end. She had been right. Philip was renewing the offer he had made then. But this time it was different. The choice Jack now faced was stark. He could leave Kingsbridge, and abandon everything he loved. Or he could stay, and lose his freedom.\n\n\"My clerk of works can't be a layman, of course,\" Philip finished, in the tone of one who states the obvious. \"Jack will have to become a monk.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "On the night before the Kingsbridge Fleece Fair, Prior Philip stayed up after the midnight services, as usual; but instead of reading and meditating in his house, he made a tour of the priory close. It was a warm summer night, with a clear sky and a moon, and he could see without the aid of a lantern.\n\nThe entire close had been taken over by the fair, with the exception of the monastic buildings and the cloisters, which were sacred. In each of the four corners a huge latrine pit had been dug, so that the rest of the close would not become completely foul, and the latrines had been screened off to safeguard the sensibilities of the monks. Literally hundreds of market stalls had been erected. The simplest were nothing more than crude wooden counters on trestles. Most were a little more elaborate: they had a signboard with the name of the stall holder and a picture of his wares, a separate table for weighing, and a locked cupboard or shed to keep the goods in. Some stalls incorporated tents, either to keep the rain off or so that business could be done in private. The most elaborate stalls were small houses, with large storage areas, several counters, and tables and chairs where the merchant could offer hospitality to his important customers. Philip had been surprised when the first of the merchants' carpenters had arrived a full week before the fair and demanded to be shown where to erect his stall, but the structure that went up had taken four days to build and two to stock.\n\nPhilip had originally planned the layout of the stalls in two wide avenues on the west side of the close, in much the same configuration as the stalls of the weekly market; but he had soon realized that that would not be enough. The two avenues of stalls now ran all along the north side of the church as well, and then turned down the east end of the close as far as Philip's house; and there were more stalls actually inside the unfinished church, in the aisles between the piers. The stall holders were not all wool merchants by any means: everything was sold at a fair, from horsebread to rubies.\n\nPhilip walked along the moonlit rows. They were all ready now, of course: no stall building would be allowed today. Most of them were also stocked with goods. The priory had already collected more than ten pounds in fees and duties. The only goods that could be brought in on the day of the fair were freshly cooked foods, bread and hot pies and baked apples. Even the barrels of beer had been brought in yesterday.\n\nAs Philip walked around, he was watched by dozens of half-open eyes, and greeted by several sleepy grunts. The stall holders would not leave their precious goods unguarded: most of them were sleeping at their stalls, and the wealthier merchants had left servants on guard.\n\nHe was not yet certain exactly how much money he would make from the fair, but it was virtually guaranteed to be a success, and he was confident of reaching his original estimate of fifty pounds. There had been moments, in the past few months, when he had feared that the fair would not take place at all. The civil war dragged on, with neither Stephen nor Maud gaining the upper hand, but his license had not been revoked. William Hamleigh had tried to sabotage the fair in various ways. He had told the sheriff to ban it, but the sheriff had asked for authority from one of the two rival monarchs, and it had not been forthcoming. William had forbidden his tenants to sell wool at Kingsbridge; but most of them were anyway in the habit of selling to merchants such as Aliena, rather than marketing the fleeces themselves, so the main effect of the ban was to create more business for her. Finally, he had announced that he was reducing the rents and duties at the Shiring Fleece Fair to the levels Philip was charging; but his announcement came too late to make much difference, for the big buyers and sellers had already made their plans.\n\nNow, with the sky growing perceptibly lighter in the east on the morning of the big day, William could do no more. The sellers were here with their wares, and in a little while the buyers would begin to arrive. Philip thought William would find that in the end the Kingsbridge Fleece Fair damaged the Shiring fair less than he reared. Sales of wool seemed to go up every year without fail: there was enough business for two fairs anyway.\n\nHe had walked all the way around the close to the southwest corner, where the mills and the fishpond were. He stood there for a while, watching the water flow past the two silent mills. One was now used exclusively for felting cloth, and it made a lot of money. Young Jack was responsible for that. He had an ingenious mind. He was going to be a tremendous asset to the priory. He seemed to have settled quite well as a novice, although he tended to regard the services as a distraction from cathedral building, rather than the other way around. However, he would learn. The monastic life was a sanctifying influence. Philip thought God had a purpose for Jack. In the very back of Philip's mind was a secret long-term hope: that one day Jack would take his place as prior of Kingsbridge.\n\nJack got up at dawn and slipped out of the dormitory before the service of prime to make one last inspection tour of the building site. The morning air was cool and clear, like pure water from a spring. It would be a warm, sunny day, good for business, good for the priory.\n\nHe walked around the cathedral walls, making sure that all the tools and work-in-progress were safely locked inside the lodges. Tom had built light wooden fences around the stockpiles of timber and stone, to guard the raw materials against accidental damage by careless or drunken visitors. They did not want any daredevils climbing the structure, so all the ladders were safely hidden away, the spiral staircases in the thickness of the walls were closed off with temporary doors, and the stepped ends of the part-built walls were obstructed by wooden blocks. Some of the master craftsmen would be patrolling the site throughout the day to make sure there was no damage.\n\nJack managed to skip quite a lot of the services, one way or another. There was always something to be done on site. He did not have his mother's hatred of the Christian religion, but he was more or less indifferent to it. He had no enthusiasm for it, but he was willing to go through the motions if it suited his purpose. He made sure to go to one service every day, usually one that was attended either by Prior Philip or the novice-master, who were the two senior monks most likely to notice his presence or absence. He could not have borne it if he had to attend them all. Being a monk was the strangest and most perverted way of life imaginable. Monks spent half their lives putting themselves through pain and discomfort that they could easily avoid, and the other half muttering meaningless mumbo jumbo in empty churches at all hours of the day and night. They deliberately shunned anything good\u2014girls, sports, feasting and family life. However, Jack had noted, the happiest among them had usually found some pursuit that gave deep satisfaction: illustrating manuscripts, writing history, cooking, studying philosophy, or\u2014like Philip\u2014changing Kingsbridge from a sleepy village into a thriving cathedral city.\n\nJack did not like Philip but he liked working with him. Jack did not warm to professional men of God any more than his mother did. He was embarrassed by Philip's piety; he disliked his singleminded sinlessness; and he mistrusted his tendency to believe that God would take care of anything that he, Philip, could not cope with. Nevertheless, Philip was good to work for. His orders were clear, he left Jack room to make decisions for himself, and he never blamed his servants for his own mistakes.\n\nJack had been a novice only three months, so he would not be asked to take vows for another nine months. The three vows were poverty, celibacy and obedience. The vow of poverty was not all it seemed. Monks had no personal possessions and no money of their own, but they lived more like lords than like peasants\u2014they had good food, warm clothes and fine stone buildings to live in. Celibacy was no problem, Jack thought bitterly. He had gained a certain cold satisfaction from telling Aliena personally that he was entering the monastery. She had looked shocked and guilty. Now, whenever he felt the restless irritability that came from the lack of female companionship, he would think of how Aliena had treated him\u2014their secret assignations in the forest, their winter evenings, the two times he had kissed her\u2014and then he would recall how she had suddenly turned as cold and hard as a rock; and thinking of that made him feel that he never wanted to have anything more to do with women. However, the vow of obedience would be difficult to keep, he could tell already. He was happy to take orders from Philip, who was intelligent and organized; but it was hard to obey the foolish sub-prior, Remigius, or the drunken guest-master, or the pompous sacrist.\n\nNevertheless, he was contemplating taking the vows. He did not have to keep them. All he cared about was building the cathedral. The problems of supply, construction and management were endlessly absorbing. One day he might have to help Tom devise a method of checking that the number of stones arriving at the site was the same as the number leaving the quarry\u2014a complex problem, for the journey time varied between two days and four, so it was not possible to have a simple daily tally. Another day the masons might complain that the carpenters were not making the falsework properly. Most challenging of all were the engineering problems, such as how to lift tons of stone to the top of the walls using makeshift machinery fixed to flimsy scaffolding. Tom Builder discussed these problems with Jack as with an equal. He seemed to have forgiven Jack for that angry speech, in which Jack said that Tom had never done anything for him. And Tom acted as if he had forgotten the revelation that Jack had set fire to the old cathedral. They worked together cheerfully, and the days flew by. Even during the tedious services Jack's mind was occupied by some knotty question of construction or planning. His knowledge was increasing fast. Instead of spending years carving stones, he was learning cathedral design. There could hardly have been a better training for someone who wanted to be a master builder. For that, Jack was prepared to yawn through any number of midnight matins.\n\nThe sun was edging over the east wall of the priory close. Everything was in order on the site. The stall holders who had spent the night with their goods were beginning to fold away their bedding and put out their wares. The first customers would be here soon. A baker walked past Jack carrying a tray of new loaves on her head. The smell of hot fresh bread made Jack's mouth water. He turned and went back to the monastery, heading for the refectory, where they would soon be serving breakfast.\n\nThe first customers were the families of the stall holders and the townspeople, all curious to look at the first Kingsbridge Fleece Fair, none very interested in buying. Thrifty people had filled their bellies with horsebread and porridge before leaving home, so that they would not be tempted by the highly spiced and garishly colored confections on the food stalls. The children wandered around wide-eyed, dazzled by the display of desirable things. An optimistic early-rising whore with red lips and red boots sauntered along, smiling hopefully at middle-aged men, but there were no takers at this hour.\n\nAliena watched it all from her stall, which was one of the biggest. In the last few weeks she had taken delivery of Kingsbridge Priory's entire output of fleece for the year; the wool for which she had paid a hundred and seven pounds last summer. She had also been buying from farmers, as she always did; and this year there had been more sellers than usual, because William Hamleigh had forbidden his tenants to sell at the Kingsbridge fair, so they had all sold to merchants. And of all the merchants, Aliena had got the most business, because she was based at Kingsbridge where the fair was to be held. She had done so well that she had run out of money for buying, and had borrowed forty pounds from Malachi to keep her going. Now, in the warehouse that formed the rear half of her stall, she had a hundred and sixty sacks of raw wool, the product of forty thousand sheep, and it had cost her more than two hundred pounds, but she would sell it for three hundred, which was enough money to pay the wages of a skilled mason for over a century. The sheer scale of her own business amazed her whenever she thought of the numbers.\n\nShe did not expect to see her buyers until midday. There would be only five or six of them. They would all know each other, and she would know most of them from previous years. She would give each one a cup of wine, and sit and talk for a while. Then she would show him her wool. He would ask her to open a sack or two\u2014never the top one on the pile, of course. He would plunge his hand deep into the sack and bring out a handful of wool. He would tease out the strands to determine their length, rub them between finger and thumb to test their softness, and sniff them. Finally he would offer to buy her entire stock at a ridiculously low price, and Aliena would refuse him. She would tell him her asking price, and he would shake his head. They would take another glass of wine.\n\nAliena would go through the same ritual with another buyer. She would give dinner to as many of them as were there at midday. Someone would offer to take a large quantity of wool at a price not much above what Aliena had paid for it. She would counter by dropping her asking price a shade. In the early afternoon she would begin closing deals. Her first deal would be at a lowish price. The other merchants would demand that she deal with them at the same price, but she would refuse. Her price would go up during the course of the afternoon. If it went up too fast, business would be slow, while the merchants calculated how soon they could fill their quotas elsewhere. If she was asking less than they were willing to pay, she would know by the relative haste with which they reached agreement. She would close deals one by one, and their servants would begin loading the huge sacks of wool onto the ox wagons with their enormous wooden wheels, while Aliena weighed the pound bags of silver pennies and guilders.\n\nThere was no doubt that today she would rake in more money than ever before. She had twice as much to sell, and wool prices were up. She planned to buy Philip's output a year in advance again, and she had a secret scheme to build herself a stone house, with spacious cellars for storage of wool, an elegant and comfortable hall, and a pretty upstairs bedroom just for herself. Her future was secure, and she was confident of being able to support Richard as long as he needed her. Everything was perfect.\n\nThat was why it was so strange that she was completely and utterly miserable.\n\nIt was four years, almost to the day, since Ellen had returned to Kingsbridge, and they had been the best four years of Tom's life.\n\nThe pain of Agnes's death had dulled to an ache. It was still with him, but he no longer got that embarrassing feeling that he was about to burst into tears every now and again for no apparent reason. He still held imaginary conversations with her, in which he told her about the children, and Prior Philip, and the cathedral; but the conversations were less frequent. The bittersweet memory of her had not blighted his love for Ellen. He was able to live in the present. Seeing Ellen and touching her, talking to her and sleeping with her were daily joys.\n\nHe had been deeply wounded, on the day of the fight between Jack and Alfred, by Jack's saying that Tom had never looked after him; and that accusation had overshadowed even the appalling revelation that Jack had set fire to the old cathedral. He had agonized over it for several weeks, but in the end he had decided that Jack was wrong. Tom had done his best, and no man could do any more. Having reached that conclusion he had stopped worrying.\n\nBuilding Kingsbridge Cathedral was the most profoundly satisfying work he had ever done. He was responsible for the design and the execution. No one interfered with him, and there was no one else to blame if things went wrong. As the mighty walls rose, with their rhythmic arches, their graceful moldings, and their individual carvings, he could look around and think: I did all this, and I did it well.\n\nHis nightmare, that one day he would again find himself on the road with no work, no money and no way of feeding his children, seemed very far away, now that there was a stout money chest full to bursting with silver pennies buried under the straw in his kitchen. He still shuddered when he remembered that cold, cold night when Agnes had given birth to Jonathan and died; but he felt sure nothing that bad would ever happen again.\n\nHe sometimes wondered why Ellen and he had not had children. They had both been proved fertile in the past, and there was no shortage of opportunities for her to get pregnant\u2014they still made love almost every night, even after four years. However, it was not a cause of deep regret to him. Little Jonathan was the apple of his eye.\n\nHe knew, from past experience, that the best way to enjoy a fair was with a small child, so he sought Jonathan out around midmorning, when the crowds began to arrive. Jonathan was almost an attraction in his own right, dressed as he was in his miniature habit. He had lately conceived a desire to have his head shaved, and Philip had indulged him\u2014Philip was as fond of the child as Tom was\u2014with the result that he looked more than ever like a tiny little monk. There were several real midgets in the crowd, performing tricks and begging, and they fascinated Jonathan. Tom had to hurry him away from one who drew a crowd by exposing his full-size penis. There were jugglers, acrobats and musicians performing and passing a hat round; soothsayers and surgeons and whores touting for business; trials of strength, wrestling contests and games of chance. People were wearing their most colorful clothes, and those who could afford it had doused themselves with scent and oiled their hair. Everyone seemed to have money to spend, and the air was full of the jingle of silver.\n\nThe bearbaiting was about to begin. Jonathan had never seen a bear, and he was fascinated. The animal's grayish-brown coat was scarred in several places, indicating that it had survived at least one previous contest. A heavy chain around its waist was fixed to a stake driven deep into the ground, and it was padding around on all fours at the limit of the chain, glaring angrily at the waiting crowd. Tom fancied he saw a cunning light in the beast's eye. Had he been a gambling man, he might have bet on the bear.\n\nThe sound of frantic barking came from a locked chest to one side. The dogs were in there, and they could smell their enemy. Every now and again the bear would stop his pacing, look at the box, and growl; and the barking would rise to hysteria pitch.\n\nThe owner of the animals, the bearward, was taking bets. Jonathan became impatient, and Tom was about to move on when at last the bearward unlocked the box. The bear stood upright at the limit of its chain and snarled. The bearward shouted something and threw the chest open.\n\nFive greyhounds sprang out. They were light and fast-moving, and their gaping mouths showed sharp little teeth. They all went straight for the bear. The bear lashed out at them with its massive paws. It struck one dog and sent it flying; then the others backed off.\n\nThe crowd pushed closer. Tom checked on Jonathan: he was at the front, but still well out of the bear's reach. The bear was clever enough to draw back to the stake, letting its chain go loose, so that when it lunged it would not be brought up short. But the dogs were smart, too. After their initial scattered attack they regrouped and then spread out in a circle. The bear swung around in an agitated fashion, trying to see all ways at once.\n\nOne of the dogs rushed at it, yapping fiercely. The bear came to meet it and lashed out. The dog quickly retreated, staying out of reach; and the other four rushed in from all sides. The bear swung around, swiping at them. The crowd cheered as three of them sank their teeth into the flesh of its haunches. It rose on its hind legs with a roar of pain, shaking them off, and they scrambled out of reach.\n\nThe dogs tried the same tactic once more. Tom thought the bear was going to fall for it again. The first dog darted within its reach, the bear went for it, and the dog backed off; but when the other dogs rushed the bear it was ready for them, and it turned quickly, lunged at the nearest, and swiped the dog's side with its paw. The crowd cheered as much for the bear as they had for the dogs. The bear's sharp claws ripped the dog's silky skin and left three deep bloody tracks. The dog yelped pitifully and retired from the fight to lick its wounds. The crowd jeered and booed.\n\nThe remaining four dogs circled the bear warily, making the occasional rush but turning back well before the danger point. Someone started a slow handclap. Then a dog made a frontal attack. It rushed in like a streak of lightning, slipped under the bear's swipe, and leaped for its throat. The crowd went wild. The dog sank its pointed white teeth into the bear's massive neck. The other dogs attacked. The bear reared up, pawing at the dog at its throat, then went down and rolled. For a moment Tom could not tell what was happening: there was just a flurry of fur. Then three dogs jumped clear, and the bear righted itself and stood on all fours, leaving one dog on the ground, crushed to death.\n\nThe crowd became tense. The bear had eliminated two dogs, leaving three; but it was bleeding from its back, neck and hind legs, and it looked frightened. The air was full of the smell of blood and the sweat of the crowd. The dogs had stopped yapping, and were circling the bear silently. They too looked scared, but they had the taste of blood in their mouths and they wanted a kill.\n\nTheir attack began the same way: one of them rushed in and rushed out again. The bear swiped at it halfheartedly and swung around to meet the second dog. But now this one, too, cut short its rush and retreated out of reach; and then the third dog did the same. The dogs darted in and out, one at a time, keeping the bear constantly shifting and turning. With each rush they got a little closer, and the bear's claws came a little nearer to catching them. The spectators could see what was happening, and the excitement in the crowd grew. Jonathan was still at the front, just a few steps from Tom, looking awestruck and a little frightened. Tom looked back at the fight just in time to see the bear's claws brush one dog while another dashed between the great beast's hind legs and savaged its soft belly. The bear made a sound like a scream. The dog dashed out from under it and escaped. Another dog rushed the bear. The bear slashed at it, missing by inches; and then the same dog went for its underbelly again. This time when the dog escaped it left the bear with a huge bleeding gash in its abdomen. The bear reared up and went down on all fours again. For a moment Tom thought it was finished, but he was wrong: the bear still had some fight left in it. When the next dog rushed in, the bear made a token swipe at it, turned its head, saw the second dog coming, turned surprisingly fast and hit it with a mighty blow that sent it flying through the air. The crowd roared with delight. The dog landed like a bag of meat. Tom watched it for a moment. It was alive, but it seemed unable to move. Perhaps its back was broken. The bear ignored it, for it was out of reach and out of action.\n\nNow there were only two dogs left. They both darted in and out of the bear's reach several times, until its lunges at them became perfunctory; then they began to circle it, moving faster and faster. The bear turned this way and that, trying to keep them both in sight. Exhausted and bleeding copiously, it could hardly stay upright. The dogs went around in ever-decreasing circles. The earth beneath the bear's mighty paws had been turned to mud by all the blood. One way or another, the end was in sight. Finally the two dogs attacked at once. One went for the throat and the other for the belly. With a last desperate swipe, the bear slashed the dog at its throat. There was a grisly fountain of blood. The crowd yelled their approval. At first Tom thought the dog had killed the bear, but it was the other way around: the blood came from the dog, which now fell to the ground with its throat slashed open. Its blood pumped out for a moment longer, then stopped. It was dead. But in the meantime the last dog had ripped open the bear's belly, and now its guts were falling out. The bear swiped feebly at the dog. The dog easily evaded the blow and struck again, savaging the bear's intestines. The bear swayed and seemed about to fall. The roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo. The bear's ripped guts gave out a revolting stench. It gathered its strength and struck at the dog again. The blow connected, and the dog jumped sideways, with blood oozing from a slash along its back; but the wound was superficial and the dog knew the bear was finished, so it went right back on the attack, biting at the bear's guts until, at last, the great animal closed its eyes and slumped to the ground, dead.\n\nThe bearward came forward and took the victorious dog by the collar. The Kingsbridge butcher and his apprentice stepped out of the crowd and began to cut the bear up for its meat: Tom supposed they had agreed on a price with the bearward in advance. Those who had won their bets demanded to be paid. Everyone wanted to pat the surviving dog. Tom looked for Jonathan. He could not see him.\n\nThe child had been just a couple of yards away throughout the bearbaiting. How had he managed to disappear? It must have happened while the sport was at its height, and Tom was concentrating on the spectacle. Now he was cross with himself. He searched the crowd. Tom was a head taller than everyone else, and Jonathan was easy to spot with his monk's habit and shaved head; but he was nowhere to be seen.\n\nThe child could not come to much harm in the priory close, but he might come across things that Prior Philip would prefer him not to see: whores servicing their clients up against the priory wall, for example. Looking around, Tom glanced up at the scaffolding high on the cathedral building, and there, to his horror, he saw a small figure in a monastic robe.\n\nHe felt a moment of panic. He wanted to yell Don't move, you'll fall! but his words would have been lost in the noise of the fair. He pushed through the crowd toward the cathedral. Jonathan was running along the scaffolding, absorbed in some imaginary game, heedless of the danger that he might slip and fall over the edge and tumble eighty feet to his death\u2014\n\nTom quenched the terror rising like bile in his throat.\n\nThe scaffolding did not rest on the ground, but on heavy timbers inserted into purpose-built holes high up in the walls. These timbers jutted out six feet or so. Stout poles were laid across them and roped to them, and then trestles made of flexible saplings and woven reeds were laid on the poles. The scaffolding was normally reached via the spiral stone staircases built into the thickness of the walls. But those staircases had been closed off today. So how had Jonathan climbed up? There were no ladders\u2014Tom had seen to that, and Jack had double-checked. The child must have climbed up the stepped end of the unfinished wall. The ends had been built up with wood, so that they no longer provided easy access; but Jonathan could have clambered over the blocks. The child was full of self-confidence\u2014but all the same he fell over at least once a day.\n\nTom reached the foot of the wall and looked up fearfully. Jonathan was playing happily eighty feet above. Fear gripped Tom's heart with a cold hand. He shouted at the top of his voice: \"Jonathan!\"\n\nThe people around him were startled, and looked up to see what he was shouting at. As they spotted the child on the scaffolding they pointed him out to their friends. A small crowd gathered.\n\nJonathan had not heard. Tom cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. \"Jonathan! Jonathan!\"\n\nThis time the boy heard. He looked down, saw Tom, and waved.\n\nTom shouted: \"Come down!\"\n\nJonathan seemed about to obey, then he looked at the wall along which he would have to walk, and the steep flight of steps he would have to descend, and he changed his mind. \"I can't!\" he called back, and his high voice floated down to the people on the ground.\n\nTom realized he was going to have to go up and get him. \"Just stay where you are until I reach you!\" he shouted. He pushed the blocks of wood off the lower steps and mounted the wall.\n\nIt was four feet wide at the foot, but it narrowed as it went up. Tom climbed steadily. He was tempted to rush, but he forced himself to be calm. When he glanced up he saw Jonathan sitting on the edge of the scaffolding, dangling his short legs over the sheer drop.\n\nAt the very top the wall was only two feet thick. Even so, it was plenty wide enough to walk on, provided you had strong nerves, and Tom did. He made his way along the wall, jumped down onto the scaffolding, and took Jonathan in his arms. He was swamped with relief. \"You foolish boy,\" he said, but his voice was full of love, and Jonathan hugged him.\n\nAfter a moment Tom looked down again. He saw a sea of upturned faces: a hundred or more people were watching. They probably thought it was another show, like the bearbaiting. Tom said to Jonathan: \"All right, let's go down now.\" He set the boy on the wall, and said: \"I'll be right behind you, so don't worry.\"\n\nJonathan was not convinced. \"I'm scared,\" he said. He held out his arms to be picked up, and when Tom hesitated he burst into tears.\n\n\"Never mind, I'll carry you,\" Tom said. He was not very happy about it, but Jonathan was now too upset to be trusted at this height. Tom clambered onto the wall, knelt beside Jonathan, picked him up, and stood upright.\n\nJonathan held on tight.\n\nTom stepped forward. Because he had the child in his arms he could not see the stones immediately beneath his feet. That could not be helped. With his heart in his mouth, he walked gingerly along the wall, placing his feet cautiously. He had no fear for himself, but with the child in his arms he was terrified. At last he came to the beginning of the steps. It was no wider here at first, but somehow it seemed less precipitous, with the steps in front of him. He started down gratefully. With each step he felt calmer. When he reached the level of the gallery, and the wall widened to three feet, he paused to let his heartbeat slow down.\n\nHe looked out, past the priory close, over Kingsbridge, to the fields beyond, and there he saw something that puzzled him. There was a cloud of dust on the road leading to Kingsbridge, about half a mile away. After a moment he realized that he was looking at a large troop of men on horseback, approaching the town at a smart trot. He peered into the distance, trying to figure out who they were. At first he thought it must be a very wealthy merchant, or a group of merchants, with a large entourage, but there were too many of them, and somehow they did not look like commercial people. He tried to put his finger on what it was about them that made him think they were something other than merchants. As they came closer he saw that some of them were riding war-horses, most had helmets, and they were armed to the teeth.\n\nSuddenly he felt scared.\n\n\"Jesus Christ, who are those people?\" he said aloud.\n\n\"Don't say 'Christ,'\" Jonathan reprimanded him.\n\nWhoever they were, they meant trouble.\n\nTom hurried down the steps. The crowd cheered as he jumped down to the ground. He ignored them. Where were Ellen and the children? He looked all around, but he could not see them.\n\nJonathan tried to wriggle out of his arms. Tom held him tight. As he had his youngest child right here, the first thing to do was to put him somewhere safe. Then he could find the others. He pushed through the crowd to the door that led into the cloisters. It was locked from the inside, to preserve the privacy of the monastery during the fair. Tom banged on it and yelled: \"Open up! Open up!\"\n\nNothing happened.\n\nTom was not even sure there was anyone in the cloisters. There was no time to speculate. He stepped back, put Jonathan down, lifted his large booted right foot and kicked at the door. The wood around the lock splintered. He kicked it again, harder. The door flew open. Just the other side of it was an elderly monk, looking astonished. Tom lifted Jonathan and put him inside. \"Keep him in there,\" he said to the old monk. \"There's going to be trouble.\"\n\nThe monk nodded dumbly and took Jonathan's hand.\n\nTom closed the door.\n\nNow he had to find the rest of his family in a crowd of a thousand or more.\n\nThe near impossibility of the task scared him. He could not see a single familiar face. He climbed onto an empty beer barrel to get a better view. It was midday, and the fair was at its height. The crowd moved like a slow river along the aisles between the stalls, and there were eddies around the vendors of food and drink as people queued to buy dinner. Tom raked the crowds but he could not see any of his family. He despaired. He looked over the roofs of the houses. The riders were almost at the bridge, and had increased their pace to a gallop. They were men-at-arms, all of them, and they carried firebrands. Tom was horrified. There would be mayhem.\n\nSuddenly he saw Jack right beside him, looking up at him with an expression of amusement. \"Why are you standing on a barrel?\" he said.\n\n\"There's going to be trouble!\" Tom said urgently. \"Where's your mother?\"\n\n\"At Aliena's stall. What sort of trouble?\"\n\n\"Bad. Where are Alfred and Martha?\"\n\n\"Martha's with Mother. Alfred's watching the cockfighting. What is it?\"\n\n\"See for yourself.\" Tom gave Jack a hand up. Jack stood precariously on the rim of the barrel in front of Tom. The riders were pounding across the bridge into the village. Jack said: \"Christ Jesus, who are they?\"\n\nTom peered at the leader, a big man on a war-horse. He recognized the yellow hair and heavy build. \"It's William Hamleigh,\" he said.\n\nAs the riders reached the houses they touched their torches to the roofs, setting fire to the thatch. \"They're burning the town!\" Jack exploded.\n\n\"It's going to be even worse than I thought,\" Tom said. \"Get down.\"\n\nThey both jumped to the ground.\n\n\"I'll get Mother and Martha,\" Jack said.\n\n\"Take them to the cloisters,\" Tom said urgently. \"It will be the only safe place. If the monks object, tell them to go shit.\"\n\n\"What if they lock the door?\"\n\n\"I just broke the lock. Go quickly! I'll fetch Alfred. Go!\"\n\nJack hurried away. Tom headed for the cockpit, roughly pushing people aside. Several men objected to his shoving but he ignored them and they shut up when they saw his size and the look of stony determination on his face. It was not long before the smoke of the burning houses blew into the priory close. Tom smelled it, and he noticed one or two other people sniffing the air curiously. He had only a few moments left before panic broke out.\n\nThe cockpit was near the priory gate. There was a large, noisy crowd around it. Tom shoved through, looking for Alfred. In the middle of the crowd was a shallow hole in the ground a few feet across. In the center of the hole, two cocks were tearing each other to pieces with beaks and spurred claws. There were feathers and blood everywhere. Alfred was near the front, watching intently, yelling at the top of his voice, encouraging one or other of the wretched birds. Tom forced his way between the packed people and grabbed Alfred's shoulder. \"Come!\" he shouted.\n\n\"I've got sixpence on the black one!\" Alfred shouted back.\n\n\"We've got to get out of here!\" Tom yelled. At that moment a drift of smoke blew over the cockpit. \"Can't you smell the fire?\"\n\nOne or two of the spectators heard the word fire and looked at Tom curiously. The smell came again, and they picked it up. Alfred smelled it too. \"What is it?\" he said.\n\n\"The town is on fire!\" Tom said.\n\nSuddenly everyone wanted to leave. The men dispersed in all directions, pushing and shoving. In the pit, the black cock killed the brown, but nobody cared anymore. Alfred started to go the wrong way. Tom grabbed him. \"We'll go to the cloisters,\" he said. \"It's the only safe place.\"\n\nThe smoke began to come over in billows, and fear spread through the crowd. Everyone was agitated but no one knew what to do. Looking over the heads, Tom could see that people were pouring out through the priory gate; but the gate was narrow, and anyway they were no safer out there than in here. Nevertheless, more people got the idea, and he and Alfred found themselves struggling against a tide of people frantically going in the opposite direction. Then, quite suddenly, the tide turned, and everyone was going their way. Tom looked around to discover the reason for the change, and saw the first of the horsemen ride into the close.\n\nAt that point the crowd became a mob.\n\nThe riders were a terrifying sight. Their huge horses, just as frightened as the crowd, plunged and reared and charged, trampling people left, right and center. The armed and helmeted riders laid about them with clubs and torches, felling men, women and children, and setting fire to stalls, clothes, and people's hair. Everyone was screaming. More riders came through the gate, and more people disappeared beneath the massive hooves. Tom shouted in Alfred's ear: \"You go on to the cloisters\u2014I want to make sure the others have got clear. Run!\" He gave him a shove. Alfred took off. Tom headed for Aliena's stall. Almost immediately he tripped over someone and fell to the ground. Cursing, he got to his knees; but before he could stand upright he saw a war-horse bearing down on him. The beast's ears were back and its nostrils were flared, and Tom could see the whites of its terrified eyes. Above the horse's head, Tom saw the beefy face of William Hamleigh, distorted into a grimace of hatred and triumph. The thought flashed through his mind that it would be nice to hold Ellen in his arms once again. Then a massive hoof kicked him in the exact center of his forehead, he felt a dreadful, frightening pain as his skull seemed to burst open, and the whole world went black.\n\nThe first time Aliena smelled smoke, she thought it was coming from the dinner she was serving.\n\nThree Flemish buyers were sitting at the table in the open air in front of her storehouse. They were corpulent, black-bearded men who spoke English with a heavy Germanic accent and wore clothes of exquisitely fine cloth. Everything was going well. She was close to starting the selling, and had decided to serve lunch first in order to give the buyers time to get anxious. Nevertheless, she would be glad when this vast fortune in wool became someone else's. She put the platter of honey-roast pork chops in front of them and looked critically at it. The meat was done to a turn, with the border of fat just crisp and brown. She poured more wine. One of the buyers sniffed the air, then they all looked around anxiously. Aliena was suddenly fearful. Fire was the wool merchant's nightmare. She looked at Ellen and Martha, who were helping her serve dinner. \"Can you smell smoke?\" she said.\n\nBefore they could reply Jack appeared. Aliena had not got used to seeing him in a monk's habit, with his carrot-colored hair shaved from the top of his head. There was an agitated look on his sweet face. She felt a sudden urge to take him in her arms and kiss away the frown on his forehead. But she turned away quickly, remembering how she had let herself down with him in the old mill six months ago. She still flushed for shame every time she recalled that incident.\n\n\"There's trouble,\" he shouted urgently. \"We must all take refuge in the cloisters.\"\n\nShe looked at him. \"What's happening\u2014is there a fire?\"\n\n\"It's Earl William and his men-at-arms,\" he said.\n\nAliena suddenly felt as cold as the grave. William. Again.\n\nJack said: \"They've set fire to the town. Tom and Alfred are going to the cloisters. Come with me, please.\"\n\nEllen unceremoniously dropped the bowl of greens she was carrying onto the table in front of a startled Flemish buyer. \"Right,\" she said. She grabbed Martha by the arm. \"Let's go.\"\n\nAliena shot a panicky look at her storehouse. She had hundreds of pounds' worth of raw wool in there that she had to protect from fire\u2014but how? She caught Jack's eye. He was looking at her expectantly. The buyers left the table hurriedly. Aliena said to Jack: \"Go. I have to look after my stall.\"\n\nEllen said: \"Jack\u2014come on!\"\n\n\"In a moment,\" he said, and turned back to Aliena.\n\nAliena saw Ellen hesitate. She was clearly torn between saving Martha and waiting for Jack. Again she said: \"Jack! Jack!\"\n\nHe turned to her. \"Mother! Take Martha!\"\n\n\"All right!\" she said. \"But please hurry!\" She and Martha left.\n\nJack said: \"The town is on fire. The cloisters will be the safest place\u2014they're made of stone. Come with me, quickly.\"\n\nAliena could hear screams from the direction of the priory gate. The smoke was suddenly everywhere. She looked all around, trying to make out what was happening. Her insides were knotted with fear. Everything she had worked for for over six years was stacked up in the storehouse.\n\nJack said: \"Aliena! Come to the cloisters\u2014we'll be safe there!\"\n\n\"I can't!\" she shouted. \"My wool!\"\n\n\"To hell with your wool!\"\n\n\"It's all I've got!\"\n\n\"It's no good to you if you're dead!\"\n\n\"It's easy for you to say that\u2014but I've spent all these years getting to this position\u2014\"\n\n\"Aliena! Please!\"\n\nSuddenly the people right outside the stall were screaming in mortal terror. The riders had entered the priory close and were charging through the crowds, regardless of whom they trampled, setting fire to the stalls. Terror-stricken people were crushing one another in their desperate attempts to get out of the way of the flying hooves and the firebrands. The crowd pressed against the flimsy wooden hurdle that formed the front of Aliena's stall, and it immediately collapsed. People spilled onto the open space in front of the storehouse and upset the table with its plates of food and cups of wine. Jack and Aliena were forced back. Two riders charged into the stall, one swinging a club at random, the other brandishing a flaming torch. Jack pushed himself in front of Aliena, shielding her. The club came down at Aliena's head, but Jack threw a protective arm over her, and the club smashed down on his wrist. She felt the blow but he took the impact. When she looked up she saw the face of the second rider.\n\nIt was William Hamleigh.\n\nAliena screamed.\n\nHe looked at her for a moment, with the torch blazing in his hand and the light of triumph glittering in his eyes. Then he kicked his horse and forced it into her storehouse.\n\n\"No!\" Aliena screamed.\n\nShe struggled to escape from the crush, shoving and punching those around her, including Jack. At last she got free and dashed into the storehouse. William was leaning out from the saddle, putting his torch to the piled sacks of wool. \"No!\" she screamed again. She threw herself at him and tried to pull him off the horse. He brushed her aside and she fell to the ground. He held his torch to the woolsacks again. The wool caught fire with a mighty roar. The horse reared and screamed in terror at the flames. Suddenly Jack was there, pulling Aliena out of the way. William wheeled the horse and went out of the storehouse fast. Aliena got to her feet. She picked up an empty sack and tried to beat the flames out. Jack said: \"Aliena, you'll be killed!\" The heat became agonizing. She grabbed at a woolsack that was not yet on fire, and tried to pull it free. Suddenly she heard a roaring in her ears and felt intense heat on her face, and she realized in terror that her hair was on fire. An instant later Jack threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her head and pulling her tightly against his body. They both fell to the ground. He held her hard for a moment, then loosed his hold. She smelled singed hair but it was no longer burning. She could see that Jack's face was burned and his eyebrows had gone. He grabbed her by one ankle and dragged her out through the door. He kept on pulling her, despite her struggles, until they were well clear.\n\nThe area of her stall had emptied. Jack released his hold on her. She tried to get up, but he grabbed her and held her down. She continued to struggle, staring madly at the fire that was consuming all her years of work and worry, all her wealth and security, until she had no energy left to fight him. Then she just lay there and screamed.\n\nPhilip was in the undercroft beneath the priory kitchen, counting money with Cuthbert Whitehead, when he heard the noise. He and Cuthbert looked at one another, frowning, then got up to see what was going on.\n\nThey stepped through the door into a riot.\n\nPhilip was horrified. People were running in every direction, pushing and shoving, falling over and treading on one another. Men and women were shouting and children were crying. The air was full of smoke. Everyone seemed to be trying to get out of the priory close. Apart from the main gate, the only exit was through the gap between the kitchen buildings and the mill. There was no wall there, but there was a deep ditch that carried water from the millpond to the brewery. Philip wanted to warn people to be careful of the ditch, but nobody was listening to anyone.\n\nThe cause of the rush was obviously a fire, and a very big one. The air was thick with the smoke of it. Philip was full of fear. With this many people all crowded together, the slaughter could be appalling. What could be done?\n\nFirst he had to find out exactly what was going on. He ran up the steps to the kitchen door, to get a better view. What he saw filled him with dread.\n\nThe entire town of Kingsbridge was alight.\n\nA cry of horror and despair escaped his throat.\n\nHow could this be happening?\n\nThen he saw the horsemen, charging through the crowd with their burning firebrands, and he realized that it was not an accident. His first thought was that there was a battle going on between the two sides in the civil war, and somehow it had engulfed Kingsbridge. But the men-at-arms were attacking the citizens, not one another. This was no battle: it was a massacre.\n\nHe saw a large blond man on a massive war-horse crashing through the crowds of people. It was William Hamleigh.\n\nHatred rose in Philip's gorge. To think that the slaughter and destruction going on all around had been caused deliberately, for reasons of greed and pride, drove him half mad. He shouted at the top of his voice: \"I see you, William Hamleigh!\"\n\nWilliam heard his name called over the screams of the crowd. He reined in his horse and met Philip's eye.\n\nPhilip yelled: \"You'll go to hell for this!\"\n\nWilliam's face was suffused with bloodlust. Even the threat of what he feared most had no effect on him today. He was like a madman. He waved his firebrand in the air like a banner. \"This is hell, monk!\" he shouted back; and he wheeled his horse and rode on.\n\nSuddenly everyone had disappeared, the riders and the crowds. Jack released his hold on Aliena and stood up. His right hand felt numb. He remembered that he had taken the blow aimed at Aliena's head. He was glad his hand hurt. He hoped it would hurt for a long time, to remind him.\n\nThe storehouse was an inferno, and smaller fires burned all around. The ground was littered with bodies, some moving, some bleeding, some limp and still. Apart from the crackle of the flames it was quiet. The mob had got out, one way or another, leaving their dead and wounded behind. Jack felt dazed. He had never seen a battlefield but he imagined it must look like this.\n\nAliena started to cry. Jack put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She pushed it off. He had saved her life, but she did not care for that: she cared only for her damned wool, which was now irretrievably lost in smoke. He looked at her for a moment, feeling sad. Most of her hair had burned away, and she no longer looked beautiful, but he loved her all the same. It hurt him to see her so distraught, and not to be able to comfort her.\n\nHe felt sure she would not try to go into the storehouse now. He was worried about the rest of his family, so he left Aliena and went looking for them.\n\nHis face hurt. He put a hand to his cheek, and his own touch stung him. He must have got burned too. He looked at the bodies on the ground. He wanted to do something for the wounded, but he did not know where to begin. He searched for familiar faces among the strangers, hoping not to see any. Mother and Martha had gone to the cloisters\u2014they had been well ahead of the mob, he thought. Had Tom found Alfred? He turned toward the cloisters. Then he saw Tom.\n\nHis stepfather's tall body was stretched out full length on the muddy ground. It was perfectly still. His face was recognizable, even peaceful-looking, up to the eyebrows; but his forehead was open and his skull was completely smashed. Jack was appalled. He could not take it in. Tom could not be dead. But this thing could not be alive. He looked away, then looked back. It was Tom, and he was dead.\n\nJack knelt beside the body. He felt the urge to do something, or say something, and for the first time he understood why people liked to pray for the dead. \"Mother is going to miss you terribly,\" he said. He remembered the angry speech he had made to Tom on the day of his fight with Alfred. \"Most of that wasn't true,\" he said, and the tears started to flow. \"You didn't fail me. You fed me and took care of me, and you made my mother happy, truly happy.\" But there was something more important than all that, he thought. What Tom had given him was nothing so commonplace as food and shelter. Tom had given him something unique, something no other man had to give, something even his own father could not have given him; something that was a passion, a skill, an art, and a way of life. \"You gave me the cathedral,\" Jack whispered to the dead man. \"Thank you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "1142-1145",
                "text": "William's triumph was ruined by Philip's prophecy: instead of feeling satisfied and jubilant, he was terrified that he would go to hell for what he had done.\n\nHe had answered Philip bravely enough, jeering \"This is hell, monk!\" but that had been in the excitement of the attack. When it was over, and he had led his men away from the blazing town; when their horses and their heartbeats had slowed down; when he had time to look back over the raid, and think of how many people he had wounded and burned and killed; then he recalled Philip's angry face, and his finger pointing straight down into the bowels of the earth, and the doom-laden words: \"You'll go to hell for this!\"\n\nBy the time darkness fell he was completely depressed. His men-at-arms wanted to talk over the operation, reliving the high spots and relishing the slaughter, but they soon caught his mood and relapsed into gloomy silence. They spent that night at the manor house of one of William's larger tenants. At supper the men grimly drank themselves senseless. The tenant, knowing how men normally felt after a battle, had brought in some whores from Shiring; but they did poor business. William lay awake all night, terrified that he might die in his sleep and go straight to hell.\n\nThe following morning, instead of returning to Earlscastle, he went to see Bishop Waleran. He was not at his palace when they arrived, but Dean Baldwin told William that he was expected that afternoon. William waited in the chapel, staring at the cross on the altar and shivering despite the summer heat.\n\nWhen Waleran arrived at last, William felt like kissing his feet.\n\nThe bishop swept into the chapel in his black robes and said coldly: \"What are you doing here?\"\n\nWilliam got to his feet, trying to hide his abject terror behind a facade of self-possession. \"I've just burned the town of Kingsbridge\u2014\"\n\n\"I know,\" Waleran interrupted. \"I've been hearing about nothing else all day. What possessed you? Are you mad?\"\n\nThis reaction took William completely by surprise. He had not discussed the raid with Waleran in advance because he had been so sure Waleran would approve: Waleran hated everything to do with Kingsbridge, especially Prior Philip. William had expected him to be pleased, if not gleeful. William said: \"I've just ruined your greatest enemy. Now I need to confess my sins.\"\n\n\"I'm not surprised,\" Waleran said. \"They say more than a hundred people burned to death.\" He shuddered. \"A horrible way to die.\"\n\n\"I'm ready to confess,\" William said.\n\nWaleran shook his head. \"I don't know that I can give you absolution.\"\n\nA cry of fear escaped William's lips. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"You know that Bishop Henry of Winchester and I have taken the side of King Stephen again. I don't think the king would approve of my giving absolution to a supporter of Queen Maud.\"\n\n\"Damn you, Waleran, it was you who persuaded me to change sides!\"\n\nWaleran shrugged. \"Change back.\"\n\nWilliam realized that this was Waleran's objective. He wanted William to switch his allegiance to Stephen. Waleran's horror at the burning of Kingsbridge had been faked: he had simply been establishing a bargaining position. This realization brought enormous relief to William, for it meant that Waleran was not implacably opposed to giving him absolution. But did he want to switch again? For a moment he said nothing as he tried to think about it calmly.\n\n\"Stephen has been winning victories all summer,\" Waleran went on. \"Maud is begging her husband to come over from Normandy to help her, but he won't. The tide is flowing our way.\"\n\nAn awful prospect opened up before William: the Church refused to absolve him from his crimes; the sheriff accused him of murder; a victorious King Stephen backed the sheriff and the Church; and William himself was tried and hanged....\n\n\"Be like me, and follow Bishop Henry\u2014he knows which way the wind blows,\" Waleran urged. \"If everything works out right, Winchester will be made an archdiocese, and Henry will be the archbishop of Winchester\u2014on a par with the archbishop of Canterbury. And when Henry dies, who knows? I could be the next archbishop. After that... well, there are English cardinals already\u2014one day there may be an English pope....\"\n\nWilliam stared at Waleran, mesmerized, despite his own fear, by the naked ambition revealed on the bishop's normally stony face. Waleran as pope? Anything was possible. But the immediate consequences of Waleran's aspirations were more important. William could see that he was a pawn in Waleran's game. Waleran had gained in prestige, with Bishop Henry, by his ability to deliver William and the knights of Shiring to one side or the other in the civil war. That was the price William had to pay for having the Church turn a blind eye to his crimes. \"Do you mean...\" His voice was hoarse. He coughed and tried again. \"Do you mean that you will hear my confession if I swear allegiance to Stephen and come over to his side again?\"\n\nThe glitter went from Waleran's eyes and his face became expressionless again. \"That's exactly what I mean,\" he said.\n\nWilliam had no choice, but in any event he could see no reason to refuse. He had switched to Maud when she appeared to be winning, and he was quite ready to switch back now that Stephen seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Anyway, he would have consented to anything to be free of that awful terror of hell. \"Agreed, then,\" he said without further hesitation. \"Only hear my confession, quickly.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Waleran. \"Let us pray.\"\n\nAs they went briskly through the service, William felt the load of guilt fall from his back, and he gradually began to be pleased about his triumph. When he emerged from the chapel his men could see that his spirits had lifted, and they cheered up immediately. William told them that they would once again be fighting for King Stephen, in accordance with the will of God as expressed by Bishop Waleran, and they made that the excuse for a celebration. Waleran called for wine.\n\nWhile they were waiting for dinner, William said: \"Stephen ought to confirm me in my earldom now.\"\n\n\"He ought to,\" Waleran agreed. \"But that doesn't mean he will.\"\n\n\"But I've come over to his side!\"\n\n\"Richard of Kingsbridge never left it.\"\n\nWilliam permitted himself a smug smile. \"I think I've disposed of the threat from Richard.\"\n\n\"Oh? How?\"\n\n\"Richard has never had any land. The only way he's been able to keep up a knightly entourage is by using his sister's money.\"\n\n\"It's unorthodox, but it's worked so far.\"\n\n\"But now his sister no longer has any money. I set fire to her barn yesterday. She's destitute. And so is Richard.\"\n\nWaleran nodded acknowledgment. \"In that case it's only a matter of time before he disappears from sight. And then, I should think, the earldom is yours.\"\n\nDinner was ready. William's men-at-arms sat below the salt and flirted with the palace laundresses. William was at the head of the table with Waleran and his archdeacons. Now that he had relaxed, William rather envied the men with the laundresses: archdeacons made dull company.\n\nDean Baldwin offered William a dish of peas and said: \"Lord William, how will you prevent someone else from doing what Prior Philip tried to do, and starting his own fleece fair?\"\n\nWilliam was surprised by this question. \"They wouldn't dare!\"\n\n\"Another monk wouldn't dare, perhaps; but an earl might.\"\n\n\"He'd need a license.\"\n\n\"He might get one, if he fought for Stephen.\"\n\n\"Not in this county.\"\n\n\"Baldwin is right, William,\" said Bishop Waleran. \"All around the borders of your earldom there are towns that could hold a fleece fair: Wilton, Devizes, Wells, Marlborough, Wallingford....\"\n\n\"I burned Kingsbridge, I can burn any place,\" William said irritably. He took a swallow of wine. It angered him to have his victory deprecated.\n\nWaleran took a roll of new bread and broke it without eating any. \"Kingsbridge is an easy target,\" he argued. \"It has no town wall, no castle, not even a big church for people to take refuge in. And it's run by a monk who has no knights or men-at-arms. Kingsbridge is defenseless. Most towns aren't.\"\n\nDean Baldwin added: \"And when the civil war is over, whoever wins, you won't even be able to burn a town like Kingsbridge and get away with it. That's breaking the king's peace. No king could overlook it in normal times.\"\n\nWilliam saw their point and it made him angry. \"Then the whole thing might have been for nothing,\" he said. He put down his knife. His stomach was cramped with tension and he could no longer eat.\n\nWaleran said: \"Of course, if Aliena is ruined, that leaves a kind of vacancy.\"\n\nWilliam did not follow him. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Most of the wool in the county was sold to her this year. What will happen next year?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nWaleran continued in the same thoughtful manner. \"Apart from Prior Philip, all the wool producers for miles around are either tenants of the earl or tenants of the bishop. You're the earl, in everything but name, and I'm the bishop. If we forced all our tenants to sell their fleeces to us, we would control two thirds of the wool trade in the county. We would sell at the Shiring Fleece Fair. There wouldn't be enough business left to justify another fair, even if someone got a license.\"\n\nIt was a brilliant idea, William saw immediately. \"And we'd make as much money as Aliena did,\" he pointed out.\n\n\"Indeed.\" Waleran took a delicate bite of the meat in front of him and chewed reflectively. \"So you've burned Kingsbridge, ruined your worst enemy, and established a new source of income for yourself. Not a bad day's work.\"\n\nWilliam took a deep draft of wine, and felt a glow in his belly. He looked down the table, and his eye lit on a plump dark-haired girl who was smiling coquettishly at two of his men. Perhaps he would have her tonight. He knew how it would be. When he got her in a corner, and threw her on the floor, and lifted her skirt, he would remember Aliena's face, and the expression of terror and despair as she saw her wool going up in flames; and then he would be able to do it. He smiled at the prospect, and took another slice off the haunch of venison.\n\nPrior Philip was shaken to the core by the burning of Kingsbridge. The unexpectedness of William's move, the brutality of the attack, the dreadful scenes as the crowd panicked, the awful slaughter, and his own utter impotence, all combined to leave him stunned.\n\nWorst of all was the death of Tom Builder. A man at the height of his skill, and a master of every aspect of his craft, Tom had been expected to continue to manage the building of the cathedral until it was finished. He was also Philip's closest friend outside the cloisters. They had talked at least once a day, and struggled together to find solutions to the endless variety of problems that confronted them in their vast project. Tom had had a rare combination of wisdom and humility that made him a joy to work with. It seemed impossible that he was gone.\n\nPhilip felt that he did not understand anything anymore, he had no real power, and he was not competent to be in charge of a cow shed, much less a town the size of Kingsbridge. He had always believed that if he did his honest best and trusted in God, everything would turn out well in the end. The burning of Kingsbridge seemed to have proved him wrong. He lost all motivation, and sat in his house at the priory all day long, watching the candle burn down on the little altar, thinking disconnected, desolate thoughts, doing nothing.\n\nIt was young Jack who saw what had to be done. He got the dead bodies taken to the crypt, put the wounded in the monks' dormitory, and organized emergency feeding for the living in the meadow on the other side of the river. The weather was warm, and everyone slept in the open air. The day after the massacre, Jack organized the dazed townspeople into teams of laborers and got them to clear the ashes and debris from the priory close, while Cuthbert Whitehead and Milius Bursar ordered supplies of food from surrounding farms. On the second day they buried their dead in one hundred and ninety-three new graves on the north side of the priory close.\n\nPhilip simply issued the orders that Jack proposed. Jack pointed out that most of the citizens who had survived the fire had lost very little of material value\u2014just a hovel and a few sticks of furniture, in most cases. The crops were still in the fields, the livestock were in the pastures, and people's savings were still where they had been buried, usually beneath the hearth of their homes, untouched by the aboveground blaze that had swept the town. The merchants whose stocks had burned were the greatest sufferers: some were ruined, as Aliena was; others had some of their wealth in buried silver, and would be able to start again. Jack proposed rebuilding the town immediately.\n\nAt Jack's suggestion, Philip gave extraordinary permission for timber to be cut freely in the priory's forests for the purpose of rebuilding houses, but only for one week. In consequence Kingsbridge was deserted for seven days while every family selected and felled the trees they would use for their new homes. During that week, Jack asked Philip to draw a plan of the new town. The idea caught Philip's imagination and he came out of his depression.\n\nHe worked on his plan nonstop for four days. There would be large houses all around the priory walls, for the wealthy craftsmen and shopkeepers. He recalled the grid pattern of Winchester's streets, and planned the new Kingsbridge on the same convenient basis. Straight streets, broad enough for two carts to pass, would run down to the river, with narrower cross streets. He made the standard building plot twenty-four feet wide, which was an ample frontage for a town house. Each plot would be a hundred and twenty feet deep, to make room for a decent backyard with a privy, a vegetable garden, and a stable, cow shed or pigsty. The bridge had burned down and the new one would be built in a more convenient position, at the bottom end of the new main street. The main road through the town would now go from the bridge straight up the hill, past the cathedral and out the far side, as in Lincoln. Another wide street would run from the priory gate to a new quay at the riverside, downstream from the bridge and around the bend in the river. That way, bulk supplies could reach the priory without using the main shopping street. There would be a completely new district of small houses around the new quay: the poor would be downstream of the priory, and their dirty habits would not foul the supply of fresh water to the monastery.\n\nPlanning the rebuilding brought Philip out of his helpless trance, but every time he looked up from his drawings he was swept by rage and grief for the people who had been lost. He wondered whether William Hamleigh was in fact the devil incarnate: he caused more misery than seemed humanly possible. Philip saw the same alternation of hope and bereavement on the faces of the townspeople as they arrived back from the forest with their loads of timber. Jack and the other monks had laid out the plan of the new town on the ground with stakes and string, and as the people chose their plots, every now and again someone would say gloomily: \"But what's the point? It might be burned again next year.\" If there had been some hope of justice, some expectation that the evildoers might be punished, perhaps the people would not have been so inconsolable; but although Philip had written to Stephen, Maud, Bishop Henry, the archbishop of Canterbury, and the pope, he knew that in wartime there was little chance that a man as powerful and important as William would be brought to trial.\n\nThe larger building plots in Philip's scheme were much in demand, despite higher rents, so he altered his plan to allow for more of them. Almost nobody wanted to build in the poorer quarter, but Philip decided to leave the layout as it was, for future use. Ten days after the fire, new wooden houses were going up on most plots, and another week later most of them were finished. Once the people had built their houses, work started again on the cathedral. The builders got paid and wanted to spend their money; so the shops reopened, and the smallholders brought their eggs and onions into town; and the scullery maids and laundresses recommenced work for the shopkeepers and craftsmen; and so, day by day, material life in Kingsbridge returned to normal.\n\nBut there were so many dead that it seemed like a town of ghosts. Every family had lost at least one member: a child, a mother, a husband, a sister. The people wore no badges of mourning but the lines of their faces showed grief as starkly as bare trees show winter. One of the worst hit was six-year-old Jonathan. He moped about the priory close like a lost soul, and eventually Philip realized he was missing Tom, who had, it seemed, spent more time with the boy than anyone had noticed. Once Philip understood this, he took care to set aside an hour each day for Jonathan, to tell him stories, play counting games, and listen to his voluble chatter.\n\nPhilip wrote to the abbots of all the major Benedictine monasteries in England and France, asking them if they could recommend a master builder to replace Tom. A prior in Philip's position would normally consult his bishop about this, for bishops traveled widely and were likely to hear of good builders, but Bishop Waleran would not help Philip. The fact that the two of them were permanently at odds made Philip's job lonelier than it should have been.\n\nWhile Philip waited for replies from the abbots, the craftsmen looked instinctively to Alfred for leadership. Alfred was Tom's son, he was a master mason, and he had for some time been operating his own semi-autonomous team on the site. He did not have Tom's brain, unfortunately, but he was literate and authoritative, and he slipped gradually into the gap left by the death of his father.\n\nThere seemed to be a lot more problems and queries about the building than there had been in Tom's time, and Alfred always seemed to come up with a question when Jack was nowhere to be found. No doubt that was natural: everyone in Kingsbridge knew the stepbrothers hated one another. However, the upshot was that Philip found himself once again bothered by endless questions of detail.\n\nBut as the weeks went by Alfred gained in confidence, until one day he came to Philip and said: \"Wouldn't you rather have the cathedral vaulted?\"\n\nTom's design called for a wooden ceiling over the center of the church, and vaulted stone ceilings over the narrower side aisles. \"Yes, I would,\" Philip said. \"But we decided on a wooden ceiling to save money.\"\n\nAlfred nodded. \"The trouble is, a wooden ceiling can burn. A stone vault is fireproof.\"\n\nPhilip studied him for a moment, wondering whether he had underestimated Alfred. Philip would not have expected Alfred to propose a variation on his father's design: that was more the kind of thing Jack would do. But the idea of a fireproof church was very striking, especially since the whole town had burned down.\n\nThinking along the same lines, Alfred said: \"The only building left standing in the town after the fire was the new parish church.\"\n\nAnd the new parish church\u2014built by Alfred\u2014had a stone vault, Philip thought. But a snag occurred to him. \"Would the existing walls take the extra weight of a stone roof?\"\n\n\"We'd have to reinforce the buttresses. They'd stick out a bit more, that's all.\"\n\nHe had really thought this out, Philip realized. \"What about the cost?\"\n\n\"It will cost more in the long run, of course, and the whole church will take three or four extra years to complete. But it won't make any difference to your annual outlay.\"\n\nPhilip liked the idea more and more. \"But will it mean we have to wait another year before we can use the chancel for services?\"\n\n\"No. Stone or wood, we can't start on the ceiling until next spring, because the clerestory must harden before we put any weight on it. The wood ceiling is quicker to build, by a few months; but either way, the chancel will be roofed by the end of next year.\"\n\nPhilip considered. It was a matter of balancing the advantage of a fireproof roof against the disadvantage of another four years of building\u2014and another four years of cost. The extra cost seemed a long way in the future, and the gain in safety was immediate. \"I think I'll discuss it with the brothers in chapter,\" he said. \"But it sounds like a good idea to me.\"\n\nAlfred thanked him and went out, and after he had gone Philip sat staring at the door, wondering whether he really needed to search for a new master builder after all.\n\nKingsbridge made a brave show on Lammas Day. In the morning, every household in the town made a loaf\u2014the harvest was just in, so flour was cheap and plentiful. Those who did not have an oven of their own baked their loaf at a neighbor's house, or in the vast ovens belonging to the priory and the town's two bakers, Peggy Baxter and Jack-atte-Noven. By midday the air was full of the smell of new bread, making everyone hungry. The loaves were displayed on tables set up in the meadow across the river, and everyone walked around admiring them. No two were alike. Many had fruit or spices inside: there was plum bread, raisin bread, ginger bread, sugar bread, onion bread, garlic bread, and many more. Others were colored green with parsley, yellow with egg yolk, red with sandalwood or purple with turnsole. There were lots of odd shapes: triangles, cones, balls, stars, ovals, pyramids, flutes, rolls, and even figures of eight. Others were even more ambitious: there were loaves in the shapes of rabbits, bears, monkeys and dragons. There were houses and castles of bread. But the most magnificent, by general agreement, was the loaf made by Ellen and Martha, which was a representation of the cathedral as it would look when finished, based on the design by her late husband, Tom.\n\nEllen's grief had been terrible to see. She had wailed like a soul in torment, night after night, and no one had been able to comfort her. Even now, two months later, she was haggard and hollow-eyed; but she and Martha seemed able to help one another, and making the bread cathedral had given them some kind of consolation.\n\nAliena spent a long time staring at Ellen's construction. She wished there was something she could do to find comfort. She had no enthusiasm for anything. When the tasting began, she went from table to table listlessly, not eating. She had not even wanted to build a house for herself, until Prior Philip told her to snap out of it, and Alfred brought her the wood and assigned some of his men to help her. She was still eating at the monastery every day, when she remembered to eat at all. She had no energy. If it occurred to her to do something for herself\u2014make a kitchen bench from leftover timber, or finish the walls of her house by filling in the chinks with mud from the river, or make a snare to catch birds so that she could feed herself\u2014she would remember how hard she had worked to build up her trade as a wool merchant, and how quickly it had all gone to ruin, and she would lose her enthusiasm. So she went on from day to day, getting up late, going to the monastery for dinner if she felt hungry, spending the day watching the river flow by, and going to sleep in the straw on the floor of her new house when darkness fell.\n\nDespite her lassitude, she knew that this Lammas Day festival was no more than a pretense. The town had been rebuilt, and people were going about their business as before, but the massacre threw a long shadow, and she could sense, beneath the facade of well-being, a deep undercurrent of fear. Most people were better than Aliena at acting as if all was well, but in truth they all felt as she did, that this could not last, and whatever they built now would be destroyed again.\n\nWhile she stood looking vacantly at the piles of bread, her brother, Richard, arrived. He came across the bridge from the deserted town, leading his horse. He had been away, fighting for Stephen, since before the massacre, and he was astonished by what he found. \"What the devil happened here?\" he said to her. \"I can't find our house\u2014the whole town has changed!\"\n\n\"William Hamleigh came on the day of the fleece fair, with a troop of men-at-arms, and burned the town,\" Aliena said.\n\nRichard paled with shock, and the scar on his right ear showed livid. \"William!\" he breathed. \"That devil.\"\n\n\"We've got a new house, though,\" Aliena said expressionlessly. \"Alfred's men built it for me. But it's much smaller, and it's down by the new quay.\"\n\n\"What happened to you?\" he said, staring at her. \"You're practically bald, and you've got no eyebrows.\"\n\n\"My hair caught fire.\"\n\n\"He didn't...\"\n\nAliena shook her head. \"Not this time.\"\n\nOne of the girls brought Richard some salt bread to taste. He took some but did not eat it. He looked stunned.\n\n\"I'm glad you're safe, anyway,\" Aliena said.\n\nHe nodded. \"Stephen is marching on Oxford, where Maud is holed up. The war could be over soon. But I need a new sword\u2014I came to get some money.\" He ate some bread. The color came back to his face. \"By God, this tastes good. You can cook me some meat later.\"\n\nSuddenly she was afraid of him. She knew he was going to be furious with her and she had no strength to stand up to him. \"I haven't any meat,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, get some from the butcher, then!\"\n\n\"Don't be angry, Richard,\" she said. She began to tremble.\n\n\"I'm not angry,\" he said irritably. \"What's the matter with you?\"\n\n\"All my wool was burned in the fire,\" she said, and stared at him in fear, waiting for him to explode.\n\nHe frowned, looked at her, swallowed, and threw away the crust of his bread. \"All of it?\"\n\n\"All of it.\"\n\n\"But you must have some money still.\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Why not? You always had a great chest full of pennies buried under the floor\u2014\"\n\n\"Not in May. I had spent it all on wool\u2014every penny. And I borrowed forty pounds from poor Malachi, which I can't repay. I certainly can't buy you a new sword. I can't even buy a piece of meat for your supper. We're completely penniless.\"\n\n\"Then how am I supposed to carry on?\" he shouted angrily. His horse pricked up its ears and fidgeted uneasily.\n\n\"I don't know!\" Aliena said tearfully. \"Don't shout, you're frightening the horse.\" She began to cry.\n\n\"William Hamleigh did this,\" Richard said through his teeth. \"One of these days I'm going to butcher him like a fat pig, I swear by all the saints.\"\n\nAlfred came up to them, his bushy beard full of crumbs of bread, with a corner of a plum loaf in his hand. \"Try this,\" he said to Richard.\n\n\"I'm not hungry,\" Richard said ungraciously.\n\nAlfred looked at Aliena and said: \"What's the matter?\"\n\nRichard answered the question. \"She's just told me we're penniless.\"\n\nAlfred nodded. \"Everyone lost something, but Aliena lost everything.\"\n\n\"You realize what this means to me,\" Richard said, speaking to Alfred but looking accusingly at Aliena. \"I'm finished. If I can't replace weapons, and can't pay my men, and can't buy horses, then I can't fight for King Stephen. My career as a knight is over\u2014and I'll never be the earl of Shiring.\"\n\nAlfred said: \"Aliena might marry a wealthy man.\"\n\nRichard laughed scornfully. \"She's turned them all down.\"\n\n\"One of them might ask her again.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Richard's face twisted in a cruel smile. \"We could send letters to all her rejected suitors, telling them she has lost all her money and is now willing to reconsider\u2014\"\n\n\"Enough,\" Alfred said, putting a hand on Richard's arm. Richard shut up. Alfred turned to Aliena. \"Do you remember what I said to you, a year ago, at the first dinner of the parish guild?\"\n\nAliena's heart sank. She could hardly believe that Alfred was going to start that again. She had no strength to deal with this. \"I remember,\" she said. \"And I hope you remember my reply.\"\n\n\"I still love you,\" Alfred said.\n\nRichard looked startled.\n\nAlfred went on: \"I still want to marry you. Aliena, will you be my wife?\"\n\n\"No!\" Aliena said. She wanted to say more, to add something that would make it final and irreversible, but she felt too tired. She looked from Alfred to Richard and back again, and suddenly she could not take any more. She turned away from them and walked quickly out of the meadow and crossed the bridge to the town.\n\nShe was wearily angry with Alfred for repeating his proposal in front of Richard. She would have preferred her brother not to know about it. It was three months since the fire\u2014why had Alfred left it until now? It was as if he had been waiting for Richard, and had made his move the moment Richard arrived.\n\nShe walked through the deserted new streets. Everyone was at the priory tasting the bread. Aliena's house was in the new poor quarter, down by the quay. The rents were low there but even so she had no idea how she would pay.\n\nRichard caught her up on horseback, then dismounted and walked beside her. \"The whole town smells of new wood,\" he said conversationally. \"And everything is so clean!\"\n\nAliena had got used to the new appearance of the town but he was seeing it for the first time. It was unnaturally clean. The fire had swept away the damp, rotten wood of the older buildings, the thatched roofs thick with grime from years of cooking fires, the foul ancient stables and the fetid old dunghills. There was a smell of newness: new wood, new thatch, new rushes on the floors, even new whitewash on the walls of the wealthier dwellings. The fire seemed to have enriched the soil, so that wild flowers grew in odd corners. Someone had remarked how few people had fallen ill since the fire, and this was thought to confirm a theory, held by many philosophers, that disease was spread by evil-smelling vapors.\n\nHer mind was wandering. Richard had said something. \"What?\" she said.\n\n\"I said, I didn't know Alfred proposed marriage to you last year.\"\n\n\"You had more important things on your mind. That was about the time Robert of Gloucester was taken captive.\"\n\n\"Alfred was kind, to build you a house.\"\n\n\"Yes, he was. And here it is.\" She looked at him while he looked at the house. He was crestfallen. She felt sorry for him: he had come from an earl's castle, and even the large town house they had had before the fire had been a comedown for him. Now he had to get used to the kind of dwelling occupied by laborers and widows.\n\nShe took his horse's bridle. \"Come. There's room for the horse at the back.\" She led the huge beast through the one-room house and out through the back door. There were rough low fences separating the yards. She tied the horse to a fence post and began to take off the heavy wooden saddle. From nowhere, grass and weeds had seeded the burned earth. Most people had dug a privy, planted vegetables and built a pigsty or a hen house in their yard, but Aliena's was still untouched.\n\nRichard lingered in the house, but there was not much to look at, and after a moment he followed Aliena into the yard, \"The house is a bit bare\u2014no furniture, no pots, no bowls...\"\n\n\"I haven't any money,\" Aliena said apathetically.\n\n\"You haven't done anything to the garden, either,\" he said, looking around distastefully.\n\n\"I haven't got the energy,\" she said crossly, and she handed him the big saddle and went into the house.\n\nShe sat on the floor with her back to the wall. It was cool in here. She could hear Richard dealing with his horse in the yard. After she had been sitting still for a few moments she saw a rat poke its snout up out of the straw. Thousands of rats and mice must have perished in the fire, but now they were beginning to be seen again. She looked around for something to kill it with, but there was nothing to hand, and anyway the creature disappeared again.\n\nWhat am I going to do? she thought. I can't live like this for the rest of my life. But the mere idea of beginning a new enterprise exhausted her. She had rescued herself and her brother from penury once, but the effort had used up all her reserves, and she could not do it again. She would have to find some passive way of life, controlled by someone else, so that she could live without making decisions or taking initiatives. She thought of Mistress Kate, in Winchester, who had kissed her lips, and squeezed her breast, and said: \"My dear girl, you need never want for money, or anything else. If you work for me we'll both be rich.\" No, she thought, not that; not ever.\n\nRichard came in carrying his saddlebags. \"If you can't look after yourself, you'd better find someone else to look after you,\" he said.\n\n\"I've always got you.\"\n\n\"I can't take care of you!\" he protested.\n\n\"Why not?\" A small spark of anger flared in her. \"I've looked after you for six long years!\"\n\n\"I've been fighting a war\u2014all you've done is sell wool.\"\n\nAnd knife an outlaw, she thought; and throw a dishonest priest to the floor, and feed and clothe and protect you when you could do nothing but bite your knuckles and look terrified. But the spark had died and the anger had gone, and she merely said: \"I was joking, of course.\"\n\nHe grunted, not sure whether to be offended by that remark; then he shook his head irritably and said: \"Anyway, you shouldn't be so quick to reject Alfred.\"\n\n\"Oh, for God's sake, shut up,\" she said.\n\n\"What's wrong with him?\"\n\n\"Nothing's wrong with Alfred. Don't you understand? Something's wrong with me.\"\n\nHe put down the saddle and pointed his finger at her. \"That's right, and I know what it is. You're completely selfish. You think only of yourself.\"\n\nIt was so monstrously unjust that she was unable to feel angry. Tears came to her eyes. \"How can you say that?\" she protested miserably.\n\n\"Because everything would be all right if only you would marry Alfred, but still you refuse.\"\n\n\"For me to marry Alfred wouldn't help you.\"\n\n\"Yes, it would.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Alfred said he would help me fight on, if I was his brother-in-law. I'd have to cut down a bit\u2014he can't afford all my men-at-arms\u2014but he promised me enough for a war-horse and new weapons, and my own squire.\"\n\n\"When?\" Aliena said in astonishment. \"When did he say this?\"\n\n\"Just now. At the priory.\"\n\nAliena felt humiliated, and Richard had the grace to look a little shamefaced. The two men had been negotiating over her like horse dealers. She got to her feet, and without another word she left the house.\n\nShe walked back up to the priory and entered the close from the south side, jumping across the ditch by the old water mill. The mill was quiet today since it was a holiday. She would not have walked that way if the mill had been working, for the pounding of the hammers as they felted the cloth always gave her a headache.\n\nThe priory close was deserted, as she had expected. The building site was quiet. This was the hour when the monks studied or rested; and everyone else was in the meadow today. She wandered across to the cemetery on the north side of the building site. The carefully tended graves, with their neat wooden crosses and bunches of fresh flowers, told the truth: the town had not yet got over the massacre. She stopped beside Tom's stone tomb, adorned with a simple marble angel carved by Jack. Seven years ago, she thought, my father arranged a perfectly reasonable marriage for me. William Hamleigh wasn't old, he wasn't ugly, and he wasn't poor. He would have been accepted with a sigh of relief by any other girl in my position. But I refused him, and look at the trouble that has followed: our castle attacked, my father jailed, my brother and me destitute\u2014even the burning of Kingsbridge and the killing of Tom are consequences of my obstinacy.\n\nSomehow the death of Tom seemed worse than all the other sorrows, perhaps because he had been loved by so many people, perhaps because he was the second father Jack had lost.\n\nAnd now I'm refusing another perfectly reasonable proposal, she thought. What gives me the right to be so particular? My fastidiousness has caused enough trouble. I should accept Alfred, and be thankful that I don't have to work for Mistress Kate.\n\nShe turned away from the grave and walked over to the building site. She stood in what would be the crossing and looked at the chancel. It was finished but for the roof, and the builders were getting ready for the next phase, the transepts: already the plan had been laid out on the ground on either side of her with stakes and string, and the men had started digging the foundations. The towering walls in front of her cast long shadows in the late-afternoon sun. It was a mild day, but the cathedral felt cold. Aliena looked for a long time at the rows of round arches, large at ground level, small above, and mid-sized on top. There was something deeply satisfying about the regular rhythm of arch, pier, arch, pier.\n\nIf Alfred really was willing to finance Richard, Aliena still had a chance to fulfill her vow to her father, that she would take care of Richard until he won back the earldom. In her heart she knew she had to marry Alfred. She just could not face it.\n\nShe walked along the southern side aisle, dragging her hand along the wall, feeling the rough texture of the stones, running her fingernails over the shallow grooves made by the stonemason's toothed chisel. Here in the aisles, under the windows, the wall was decorated with blind arcading, like a row of filled-in arches. The arcading served no purpose but it added to the sense of harmony Aliena felt when she looked at the building. Everything in Tom's cathedral looked as if it was meant to be. Perhaps her life was like that, everything foreordained in a grand design, and she was like a foolish builder who wanted a waterfall in the chancel.\n\nIn the southeast corner of the church, a low doorway led to a narrow spiral staircase. On impulse Aliena went through the doorway and climbed the stairs. When she lost sight of the doorway, and could not yet see the top of the stairs, she began to feel peculiar, for the passage looked as if it might wind upward forever. Then she saw daylight: there was a small slit window in the turret wall, put there to light the steps. Eventually she emerged onto the wide gallery over the aisle. It had no windows to the outside, but on the inside it looked into the roofless church. She sat on the sill of one of the inner arches, leaning against the pillar. The cold stone caressed her cheek. She wondered whether Jack had carved this one. It occurred to her that if she fell from here she might die. But it was not really high enough: she might just break her legs, and lie in agony until the monks came and found her.\n\nShe decided to climb to the clerestory. She returned to the turret staircase and went on up. The next stage was shorter, but still she found it frightening, and her heart was beating loudly by the time she reached the top. She stepped into the clerestory passage, a narrow tunnel in the wall. She edged along the passage until it came out onto the inner sill of a clerestory window. She held on to the pillar that divided the window. When she looked down at the seventy-five-foot drop, she started to shake.\n\nShe heard footsteps on the turret stairs. She found herself breathing hard, as if she had been running. There had been no one else in sight. Had someone crept up behind her, trying to sneak up on her? The steps came along the clerestory passage. She let go of the pillar and stood teetering on the edge. A figure appeared on the sill. It was Jack. Her heart beat so loudly she could hear it.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" he said warily.\n\n\"I... I was seeing how your cathedral is coming along.\"\n\nHe pointed to the capital above her head. \"I did that.\"\n\nShe looked up. The stone was carved with the figure of a man who appeared to be holding the weight of the arch on his back. His body was twisted as if in pain. Aliena stared at it. She had never seen anything quite like it. Without thinking, she said: \"That's how I feel.\"\n\nWhen she looked back at him he was beside her, holding her arm gently but firmly. \"I know,\" he said.\n\nShe looked at the drop. The thought of falling all that way made her sick with fear. He tugged at her arm. She allowed herself to be led into the clerestory passage.\n\nThey went all the way down the turret stairs and came out on the ground. Aliena felt weak. Jack turned to her and said in a conversational tone: \"I was reading in the cloisters, and looked up and saw you in the clerestory.\"\n\nShe looked at his young face, so full of concern and tenderness; and she remembered why she had run away from everyone else and sought solitude here. She yearned to kiss him, and she saw the answering longing in his eyes. Every fiber of her body told her to throw herself into his arms, but she knew what she had to do. She wanted to say I love you like a thunderstorm, like a lion, like a helpless rage; but instead she said: \"I think I'm going to marry Alfred.\"\n\nHe stared at her. He looked stunned. Then his face became sad, with an old, wise sadness that was beyond his years. She thought he was going to cry, but he did not. Instead there was anger in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, hesitated, then spoke at last.\n\nIn a voice like the cold north wind he Said: \"You would have done better to jump off the clerestory.\"\n\nHe turned from her and walked back into the monastery.\n\nI've lost him forever, Aliena thought; and she felt as if her heart would break."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Jack was seen sneaking out of the monastery on Lammas Day. It was not a serious offense in itself, but he had been caught several times before, and the fact that this time he had gone out to speak to an unmarried woman made the whole thing more grave. His transgression was discussed in chapter the following day, and he was ordered to be kept in close confinement. That meant he was restricted to the monastic buildings, the cloisters and the crypt, and any time he went from one building to another he had to be accompanied.\n\nHe hardly noticed. He was so devastated by Aliena's announcement that nothing else made much difference. If he had been flogged instead of just confined, he felt, he would have been equally oblivious.\n\nThere was now no question of his working on the cathedral, of course; but much of the pleasure had gone out of that since Alfred had taken charge. Now he spent the free afternoons reading. His Latin had improved by leaps and bounds and he could read anything, albeit slowly; and as he was supposed to be reading to improve his Latin, rather than for any other purpose, he was allowed to use any book that took his fancy. Small though the library was, it had several works of philosophy and mathematics, and Jack had plunged into them with enthusiasm.\n\nMuch of what he read was disappointing. There were pages of genealogies, repetitive accounts of miracles performed by long-dead saints, and endless theological speculation. The first book that really appealed to Jack told the whole history of the world from the Creation to the founding of Kingsbridge Priory, and when he finished it he felt he knew everything that had ever happened. He realized after a while that the book's claim to tell all events was implausible, for after all, things were going on everywhere all the time, not just in Kingsbridge and England, but in Normandy, Anjou, Paris, Rome, Ethiopia, and Jerusalem, so the author must have left a lot out. Nevertheless, the book gave Jack a feeling he had never had before, that the past was like a story, in which one thing led to another, and the world was not a boundless mystery, but a finite thing that could be comprehended.\n\nEven more intriguing were the puzzles. One philosopher asked why a weak man can move a heavy stone with a lever. This had never seemed strange to Jack before, but now the question tormented him. He had spent several weeks at the quarry at one time, and he recalled that when a stone could not be moved with a crowbar a foot long, the solution was generally to use a crowbar two feet long. Why should the same man be unable to move the stone with a short lever yet able to move it with a long one? That question led to others. The cathedral builders used a huge winding wheel to lift large stones and timbers up to the roof. The load at the end of the rope was much too heavy for a man to lift with his hands, but the same man could turn the wheel that wound the rope, and the load would rise. How was that possible?\n\nSuch speculations distracted him for a while, but his thoughts returned again and again to Aliena. He would stand in the cloisters, with a heavy book on a lectern in front of him, and recall that morning in the old mill when he had kissed her. He could remember every instant of that kiss, from the first soft touch of lips to the thrilling sensation of her tongue in his mouth. His body had pressed hers from thighs to shoulders, so that he could feel the contours of her breasts and her hips. The memory was so intense that it was like experiencing it all over again.\n\nWhy had she changed? He still believed that the kiss was real and her subsequent coldness was false. He felt he knew her. She was loving, sensual, romantic, imaginative, and warm. She was also thoughtless and imperious, and she had learned to be tough; but she was not cold, not cruel, not heartless. It was not in character for her to marry for money a man she did not love. She would be unhappy, she would regret it, she would be sick with misery; he knew it and in her heart she must know it too.\n\nOne day when he was in the writing room, a priory servant who was sweeping the floor stopped for a rest, leaned on his broom, and said: \"Big celebration coming up in your family, then.\"\n\nJack was studying a map of the world drawn on a big sheet of vellum. He looked up. The speaker was a gnarled old man too feeble now for heavy work. He probably had Jack confused with someone else. \"Why's that, Joseph?\"\n\n\"Didn't you know? Your brother's getting married.\"\n\n\"I have no brothers,\" Jack said automatically, but his heart had gone cold.\n\n\"Stepbrother, then,\" said Joseph.\n\n\"No, I didn't know.\" Jack had to ask the question. He gritted his teeth. \"Who is he marrying?\"\n\n\"That Aliena.\"\n\nSo she was determined to go through with it. Jack had been harboring a secret hope that she would change her mind. He looked away so that Joseph should not see the despair on his face. \"Well, well,\" he said, trying to make his voice sound unemotional.\n\n\"Yes\u2014her that used to be so high-and-mighty, until she lost everything in the fire.\"\n\n\"Did\u2014did you say when?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow. They're going to get wed in the new parish church Alfred built.\"\n\nTomorrow!\n\nAliena was going to marry Alfred tomorrow. Until now Jack had never really believed it would happen. Now the reality burst on him like a thunderclap. Aliena was going to get married tomorrow. Jack's life would end tomorrow.\n\nHe looked down at the map on the lectern in front of him. What did it matter whether the center of the world was Jerusalem or Wallingford? Would he be happier if he knew how levers worked? He had told Aliena that she should jump from the clerestory rather than marry Alfred. What he should have said was that he, Jack, might as well jump from the clerestory.\n\nHe despised the priory. Being a monk was a stupid way of life. If he could not work on the cathedral and Aliena married someone else, he had nothing to live for.\n\nWhat made it worse was that he knew how thoroughly miserable she would be living with Alfred. This was not just because he hated Alfred. There were some girls who might be more or less contented married to Alfred: for example, Edith, the one who had giggled when Jack talked to her about how he loved to carve stone. Edith would not expect much of Alfred, and she would be glad to flatter him and obey him as long as he continued prosperous and loved their children. But Aliena would hate every minute. She would loathe Alfred's physical coarseness, she would despise him for his bullying ways, she would be disgusted by his meanness, and she would find his slow-wittedness maddening. Marriage to Alfred would be hell for her.\n\nWhy could she not see that? Jack was mystified. What was going on in her mind? Surely anything would be better than marriage to a man she did not love. She had caused a sensation by refusing to marry William Hamleigh seven years ago, yet now she had passively accepted a proposal from someone equally unsuitable. What was she thinking of?\n\nJack had to know.\n\nHe had to talk to her, and to hell with the monastery.\n\nHe rolled up the map, replaced it in the cupboard, and went to the door. Joseph was still leaning on his broomstick. \"Are you leaving?\" he said to Jack. \"I thought you were supposed to stay here until the circuitor comes for you.\"\n\n\"The circuitor can go shit,\" said Jack, and he stepped out.\n\nAs he emerged into the east walk of the cloisters, he caught the eye of Prior Philip, who was coming in from the building site to the north. Jack turned away quickly, but Philip called out: \"Jack! What are you doing? You're supposed to be confined.\"\n\nJack had no patience for monastic discipline now. He ignored Philip and walked the other way, heading for the passage that led from the south walk down to the small houses around the new quay. But his luck was out. At that moment Brother Pierre, the circuitor, came out of the passage, followed by his two deputies. They saw Jack and stopped dead. A look of astonished indignation spread over Pierre's moon-shaped face.\n\nPhilip called out: \"Stop that novice, Brother Circuitor!\"\n\nPierre held out a hand to stop Jack. Jack pushed him aside. Pierre reddened and grabbed at Jack's arm. Jack wrenched his arm free and punched Pierre on the nose. Pierre gave a shout, more of outrage than pain. Then his two deputies jumped on Jack.\n\nJack struggled like a maniac, and almost got free, but when Pierre recovered from the blow to his nose and joined in, the three of them were able to wrestle Jack to the ground and hold him there. He continued to wriggle, furious that this monastic horseshit was now keeping him from something really important, speaking to Aliena. He kept saying: \"Let me go, you stupid fools!\" The two deputies sat on him. Pierre stood upright, wiping his bleeding nose on the sleeve of his habit. Philip appeared beside him.\n\nDespite his own rage, Jack could see that Philip too was angry, angrier than Jack had ever seen him. \"I will not tolerate this behavior from anyone,\" he said in a voice like iron. \"You're a novice monk, and you will obey me.\" He turned to Pierre. \"Put him in the obedience room.\"\n\n\"No!\" Jack shouted. \"You can't!\"\n\n\"I most certainly can,\" Philip said wrathfully.\n\nThe obedience room was a small, windowless cell in the undercroft beneath the dormitory, at the south end, next to the latrines. It was mainly used to imprison lawbreakers who were waiting to be dealt with at the prior's court, or to be transferred to the sheriffs jail at Shiring; but it did occasional service as a punishment cell for monks who committed serious disciplinary offenses, such as acts of impurity with priory servants.\n\nIt was not the solitary confinement that scared Jack\u2014it was the fact that he would not be able to get out to see Aliena. \"You don't understand!\" he yelled at Philip. \"I have to speak to Aliena!\"\n\nIt was the worst thing he could have said. Philip got angrier. \"It was for speaking to her that you were originally punished,\" he said furiously.\n\n\"But I must!\"\n\n\"The only thing you must do is learn to fear God and obey your superiors.\"\n\n\"You're not my superior, you silly ass! You're nothing to me. Let me go, damn you all!\"\n\n\"Take him away,\" Philip said grimly.\n\nA little crowd had gathered by now, and several monks lifted Jack by his arms and legs. He wriggled like a fish on a hook but there were too many of them. He could not believe that this was happening. They carried him, kicking and struggling, along the passage to the door of the obedience room. Someone opened it. Brother Pierre's voice said vengefully: \"Throw him in!\" They swung him back, then he was hurled through the air. He landed in a heap on the stone floor. He scrambled to his feet, numb to his bruises, and rushed at the door, but it slammed shut just as he crashed into it, and a moment later the heavy iron bar thudded down outside and the key turned in the lock.\n\nJack hammered on the door with all his might. \"Let me out!\" he yelled hysterically. \"I have to stop her from marrying him! Let me out!\" There was no sound from outside. He kept on calling, but his demands turned into pleas, and his voice dropped to a whine, then eventually to a whisper, and he wept tears of frustrated rage.\n\nAt last his eyes dried up and he could cry no more.\n\nHe turned from the door. The cell was not quite pitch-Mack: a little light came under the door and he could make out his surroundings vaguely. He went around the walls, feeling with his hands. He could tell by the pattern of chisel marks on the stones that the cell had been built a long time ago. The room was almost featureless. It was about six feet square, with a column in one corner and an upward-arching ceiling: clearly it had once been part of a larger room and had been walled off for use as a prison. In one wall there was a space like an opening for a slit window, but it was tightly shuttered, and would have been too small for anyone to crawl through even if it had been open. The stone floor felt damp. Jack became aware of a constant rushing noise, and realized that the water channel, which ran through the priory from the millpond to the latrines, must pass beneath the cell. That would explain why the floor was of stone instead of beaten earth.\n\nHe felt drained. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and stared at the crack of light under the door, the tantalizing reminder of where he wanted to be. How had he got into this fix? He had never believed in the monastery, never intended to dedicate his life to God\u2014he did not really believe in God. He had become a novice as a \"solution to an immediate problem, a way of staying in Kingsbridge, close to what he loved. He had thought: I can always leave if I want to. But now he did want to leave, wanted to more than he had ever imagined, and he could not: he was a prisoner. I'll strangle Prior Philip as soon as I get out of here, he thought, even if I have to hang for it afterward.\n\nThat started him wondering when he would be released. He heard the bell ring for supper. They certainly intended to leave him here all night. They were probably discussing him right now. The worst of the monks would argue that he should be shut up for a week\u2014he could just see Pierre and Remigius calling for firm discipline. Others, who liked him, might say one night was sufficient punishment. What would Philip say? He liked Jack, but he would be terribly angry now, especially after Jack had said You're not my superior, you silly ass, you're nothing to me. Philip would be tempted to let the hard-liners have their own way. The only hope was that they might want Jack thrown out of the monastery immediately, which in their view would be a harsher sentence. That way he might be able to speak to her before the wedding. But Philip would be against that, Jack was sure. Philip would see expelling Jack as an admission of defeat.\n\nThe light under the door was growing fainter. It was getting dark outside. Jack wondered how prisoners were supposed to relieve themselves. There was no pot in the cell. It would not be characteristic of the monks to overlook that particular detail: they believed in cleanliness, even for sinners. He inspected the floor again, inch by inch, and found a small hole close to one corner. The noise of water was louder there, and he guessed it led to the underground channel. This was presumably his latrine.\n\nShortly after he made this discovery the small shutter opened. Jack sprang to his feet. A bowl and a crust of bread were placed on the sill. Jack could not see the face of the man who put them there. \"Who's that?\" he said.\n\n\"I am not permitted to converse with you,\" the man said in a monotone. However, Jack recognized the voice: it was an old monk called Luke.\n\n\"Luke, have they said how long I have to stay in here?\" Jack cried.\n\nHe repeated the formula: \"I am not permitted to converse with you.\"\n\n\"Please, Luke, tell me if you know!\" Jack pleaded, not caring how pathetic he might sound.\n\nLuke replied in a whisper. \"Pierre said a week, but Philip made it two days.\" The shutter slammed.\n\n\"Two days!\" Jack said desperately. \"But she'll be married by then!\"\n\nThere was no reply.\n\nJack stood still, staring at nothing. The light coming through the slit had been strong by comparison with the near-dark inside, and he could not see for a few moments, until his sight readjusted to the gloom; then his eyes filled with new tears, and he was blind again.\n\nHe lay down on the floor. There was nothing more to be done. He was locked in here until Monday, and by Monday Aliena would be Alfred's wife, waking up in Alfred's bed, with Alfred's seed inside her. The thought nauseated him.\n\nSoon it was pitch-black. He fumbled his way to the sill and drank from the bowl. It contained plain water. He took a small piece of bread and put it in his mouth, but he was not hungry and he could hardly swallow it. He drank the rest of the water and lay down again.\n\nHe did not sleep, but he went into a kind of doze, almost like a trance, in which he relived, as in a dream or a vision, the Sunday afternoons he had spent with Aliena last summer, when he had told her the story of the squire who loved the princess, and went in search of the vine that bore jewels.\n\nThe midnight bell brought him out of the doze. He was used to the monastic timetable now, and he felt wide awake at midnight, though he often needed to sleep in the afternoons, especially if there had been meat for dinner. The monks would be getting out of their beds and forming up in lines for the procession from dormitory to church. They were immediately above Jack, but he could hear nothing: the cell was soundproof. It seemed very soon afterward that the bell rang again for lauds, which took place an hour after midnight. Time was passing quickly, too quickly, for tomorrow Aliena would be married.\n\nIn the small hours, despite his misery, he fell asleep.\n\nHe came awake with a start. There was someone in the cell with him.\n\nHe was terrified.\n\nThe cell was pitch-black. The sound of water seemed louder. \"Who is it?\" he said in a trembling voice.\n\n\"It's me\u2014don't be afraid.\"\n\n\"Mother!\" He almost fainted with relief. \"How did you know I was in here?\"\n\n\"Old Joseph came to tell me what had happened,\" she replied in a normal voice.\n\n\"Quiet! The monks will hear you.\"\n\n\"No, they won't. You can sing and shout in here without being heard above. I know\u2014I've done it.\"\n\nHis head was so full of questions that he did not know which to ask first. \"How did you get in here? Is the door open?\" He moved toward her, holding his hands out in front of him. \"Oh\u2014you're wet!\"\n\n\"The water channel runs right under here. There's a loose stone in the floor.\"\n\n\"How did you know that?\"\n\n\"Your father spent ten months in this cell,\" she said, and in her voice there was the bitterness of years.\n\n\"My father? This cell? Ten months?\"\n\n\"That's when he taught me all those stories.\"\n\n\"But why was he in here?\"\n\n\"We never found out,\" she said resentfully. \"He was kidnapped, or arrested\u2014he never knew which\u2014in Normandy, and he was brought here. He didn't speak English or Latin and he had no idea where he was. He worked in the stables for a year or so\u2014that's how I met him.\" Her voice softened with nostalgia. \"I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. He was so gentle, and he looked so frightened and unhappy, yet he sang like a bird. Nobody had spoken to him for months. He was so pleased when I said a few words in French, I think he fell in love with me just for that.\" Anger made her voice hard again. \"After a while they put him in this cell. That's when I discovered how to get in here.\"\n\nIt occurred to Jack that he must have been conceived right here on the cold stone floor. The thought embarrassed him and he was glad it was too dark for him and his mother to see each other. He said: \"But my father must have done something to be arrested like that.\"\n\n\"He couldn't think of anything. And in the end they invented a crime. Someone gave him a jeweled cup and told him he could go. A mile or two away he was arrested, and accused of stealing the cup. They hanged him for it.\" She was crying.\n\n\"Who did all this?\"\n\n\"The sheriff of Shiring, the prior of Kingsbridge... it doesn't matter who.\"\n\n\"What about my father's family? He must have had parents, brothers and sisters....\"\n\n\"Yes, he had a big family, back in France.\"\n\n\"Why didn't he escape, and go back there?\"\n\n\"He tried, once; and they caught him and brought him back. That was when they put him in the cell. He could have tried again, of course, once we had found out how to get out of here. But he didn't know the way home, he couldn't speak a word of English, and he was penniless. His chances were slim. He should have done it anyway, we know now; but at the time we never thought they'd hang him.\"\n\nJack put his arms around her, to comfort her. She was soaking wet and shivering. She needed to get out of here and get dry. He realized, with a shock, that if she could get out, so could he. For a few moments he had almost forgotten about Aliena, as his mother talked about his father; but now he realized that his wish had been granted\u2014he could speak to Aliena before her wedding. \"Show me the way out,\" he said abruptly.\n\nShe sniffed and swallowed her tears. \"Hold my arm and I'll lead you.\"\n\nThey moved across the cell and then he felt her go down. \"Just lower yourself into the channel,\" she said. \"Take a deep breath and put your head under. Then crawl against the flow. Don't go with the flow, or you'll end up in the monks' latrine. You'll get short of breath when you're almost there, but just keep calm and crawl on, and you'll make it.\" She went lower still, and he lost contact.\n\nHe found the hole and eased himself down. His feet touched the water almost immediately. When he stood on the bottom of the channel his shoulders were still in the cell. Before lowering himself farther, he found the stone and replaced it in position, thinking mischievously that the monks would be mystified when they found the cell empty.\n\nThe water was cold. He took a deep breath, went down on his hands and knees, and crawled against the flow. He went as fast as he could. As he crawled, he pictured the buildings above him. He was going beneath the passageway, then the refectory, the kitchen and the bakehouse. It was not far, but it seemed to take forever. He tried to surface but banged his head on the roof of the tunnel. He felt panicky, and remembered what his mother had said. He was almost there. A few moments later he saw light ahead of him. Dawn must have broken while they were talking in the cell. He crawled until the light was above him, then he stood upright and gasped the fresh air gratefully. When he had got his breath back he climbed out of the ditch.\n\nHis mother had changed her clothes. She was wearing a clean, dry dress, and wringing out the wet one. She had brought dry clothes for him too. There in a neat pile on the bank were the garments he had not worn for half a year: a linen shirt, a green wool tunic, gray hose and leather boots. Mother turned her back and Jack threw off the heavy monastic robe, stepped out of the sandals, and quickly dressed in his own clothes.\n\nHe threw the monk's habit into the ditch. He was never going to wear it again.\n\n\"What will you do now?\" Mother asked.\n\n\"Go to Aliena.\"\n\n\"Right away? It's early.\"\n\n\"I can't wait.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Be gentle. She's bruised.\"\n\nJack stooped to kiss her, then impulsively threw his arms around her and hugged her. \"You got me out of a prison,\" he said, and he laughed. \"What a mother!\"\n\nShe smiled, but her eyes were moist.\n\nHe gave her a farewell squeeze and walked away.\n\nEven though it was now full light, there was nobody about because it was Sunday, and people did not have to work, so they took the opportunity to sleep past sunrise. Jack was not sure whether he should be afraid of being seen. Did Prior Philip have the right to come after a runaway novice and force him to return? Even if he had that right, would he want to? Jack did not know. However, Philip was the law in Kingsbridge, and Jack had defied him, so there was bound to be trouble of some kind. However, Jack was looking no farther ahead than the next few moments.\n\nHe reached Aliena's little house. It occurred to him that. Richard might be there. He hoped not. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He went up to the door and tapped on it gently.\n\nHe cocked his head and listened. Nothing moved inside. He tapped again, harder, and this time he was rewarded by the sound of rustling straw as someone moved. \"Aliena!\" he said in a loud whisper.\n\nHe heard her come to the door. A frightened voice said: \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Open the door!\"\n\n\"Who is it?\"\n\n\"It's Jack.\"\n\n\"Jack!\"\n\nThere was a pause. Jack waited.\n\nAliena closed her eyes in despair and slumped forward, leaning against the door with her cheek on the rough woodwork. Not Jack, she thought; not today, not now.\n\nHis voice came again, a low, urgent whisper. \"Aliena, please, open the door, quickly! If they catch me they'll put me back in the cell!\"\n\nShe had heard that he had been locked up\u2014it was all over town. Obviously he had escaped. And he had come straight to her. Her heart quickened. She could not turn him away.\n\nShe lifted the bar and opened the door.\n\nHis red hair was plastered wetly to his head, as if he had bathed. He was wearing ordinary clothes, not his monk's habit. He smiled at her, as if seeing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then he frowned, and said: \"You've been crying.\"\n\n\"Why have you come here?\" she said.\n\n\"I had to see you.\"\n\n\"I'm getting married today.\"\n\n\"I know. Can I come in?\"\n\nIt would be wrong to let him in, she knew; but then it occurred to her that tomorrow she would be Alfred's wife, so this might be the last time she would ever talk to Jack alone. She thought: I don't care if it is wrong. She opened the door wider. Jack stepped in, and she closed it again and replaced the bar.\n\nThey stood facing one another. Now she felt embarrassed. He stared at her with desperate longing, as a man dying of thirst might gaze at a waterfall. \"Don't look at me like that,\" she said, and she turned away.\n\n\"Don't marry him,\" Jack said.\n\n\"I must.\"\n\n\"You'll be miserable.\"\n\n\"I'm miserable now.\"\n\n\"Look at me, please?\"\n\nShe turned to face him and raised her eyes.\n\n\"Please tell me why you're doing this,\" he said.\n\n\"Why should I?\"\n\n\"Because of the way you kissed me in the old mill.\"\n\nShe dropped her gaze and felt herself blush hotly. She had let herself down that day and had been ashamed of herself ever since. Now he was using it against her. She said nothing. She had no defense.\n\nHe said: \"After that, you turned cold.\"\n\nShe kept her gaze lowered.\n\n\"We were such friends,\" he went on remorselessly. \"All that summer, in your glade, by the waterfall... my stories... we were so happy. I kissed you there, once. Do you remember?\"\n\nShe did remember, of course, although she had been pretending to herself that it never happened. Now the memory melted her heart, and she looked at him with tearful eyes.\n\n\"Then I made the mill do your felting,\" he said. \"I was so pleased that I could help you in your business. You were thrilled when you saw it. Then we kissed again, but that wasn't a little kiss, like the first one. This time it was... passionate.\" Oh, God, yes, it was, she thought, and she blushed again, and began to breathe fast; and wished he would stop, but he would not. \"We held each other very tight. We kissed for a long time. You opened your mouth\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop!\" she cried.\n\n\"Why?\" he said brutally. \"What's wrong with it? Why did you turn cold?\"\n\n\"Because I'm frightened!\" she said without thinking, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. A moment later she felt his hands on her heaving shoulders. She did nothing, and after a while he gently enfolded her in his arms. She took her hands from her face and cried on his green tunic.\n\nAfter a while she put her arms around his waist.\n\nHe laid his cheek on her hair\u2014her ugly, short, shapeless hair, not yet grown back after the fire\u2014and stroked her back as if she were a baby. She wanted to stay like that forever. But he pulled away from her so that he could look at her, and he said: \"Why does it make you frightened?\"\n\nShe knew, but she could not tell him. She shook her head and took a step back; but he held her wrists, keeping her near.\n\n\"Listen, Aliena,\" he said. \"I want you to know how terrible this has been for me. You seemed to love me, then you seemed to hate me, and now you're going to marry my stepbrother. I don't understand. I don't know anything about these things, I've never been in love before. It's all so hurtful. I can't find words for how bad it is. Don't you think you should at least try to explain to me why I have to go through this?\"\n\nShe felt full of remorse. To think that she had hurt him so badly when she loved him so much. She was ashamed of the way she had treated him. He had done nothing but kind things to her and she had ruined his life. He was entitled to an explanation. She steeled herself. \"Jack, something happened to me a long time ago, something truly awful, something I've made myself forget for years. I wanted never to think of it again, but when you kissed me like that it all came back to me, and I couldn't stand it.\"\n\n\"What was it? What was the thing that happened?\"\n\n\"After my father was imprisoned, we lived in the castle, Richard and I and a servant called Matthew; and one night William Hamleigh came and threw us out.\"\n\nHe narrowed his eyes. \"And?\"\n\n\"They killed poor Matthew.\"\n\nHe knew she was not telling him the whole truth. \"Why?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why did they kill your servant?\"\n\n\"Because he was trying to stop them.\" Tears were streaming down her face now, and her throat felt constricted every time she tried to speak, as if the words were choking her. She shook her head helplessly, and tried to turn away, but Jack would not let her go.\n\nIn a voice as gentle as a kiss he said: \"Stop them from doing what?\"\n\nSuddenly she knew she could tell him, and it all came out in a rush. \"They forced me,\" she said. \"The groom held me down, and William got on top of me, but still I wouldn't let him, and then they cut off a piece of Richard's ear, and they said they would cut him more.\" She was sobbing with relief now, grateful beyond expression that at last she could say it. She looked into Jack's eyes and said: \"So I opened my legs, and William did it to me, while the groom forced Richard to watch.\"\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" Jack whispered. \"I heard rumors, but I never thought... Dear Aliena, how could they?\"\n\nShe had to tell him everything. \"Then, when William had done it to me, the groom did it too.\"\n\nJack closed his eyes. His face was white and taut.\n\nAliena said: \"And then, you see, when you and I kissed, I wanted you to do it, and that made me think of William and his groom; and I felt so horrible, and frightened, and I ran away. That's why I was so mean to you, and made you miserable. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"I forgive you,\" he whispered. He drew her to him, and she let him put his arms around her again. It was so comforting.\n\nShe felt him shudder. Anxiously she said: \"Do I disgust you?\"\n\nHe looked at her. \"I adore you,\" he said. He bent his head and kissed her mouth.\n\nShe froze. This was not what she wanted. He pulled away a little, then kissed her again. The touch of his lips on hers was very soft. Feeling grateful, and friendly toward him, she pursed her lips, just a little, then relaxed them again, in a faint echo of his kiss. Encouraged, he moved his lips against hers again. She could feel his breath warm on her face. He opened his mouth a fraction. She pulled away quickly.\n\nHe looked hurt. \"Is it that bad?\"\n\nIn truth, she was no longer as frightened as she had been. She had told him the horrible truth about herself and he had not recoiled in disgust; in fact, he was as tender and kind as ever. She tilted her head and he kissed her again. This was not scary. There was nothing threatening, nothing violently uncontrollable, no force or hatred or dominance; just the reverse. This kiss was a shared pleasure.\n\nHis lips parted and she felt the tip of his tongue. She went taut. He teased her lips apart. She relaxed again. He sucked gently at her lower lip. She felt a little dizzy.\n\nHe said: \"Would you do what you did last time?\"\n\n\"What did I do?\"\n\n\"I'll show you. Open your mouth, just a little.\"\n\nShe did as he said, and she felt his tongue again, touching her lips, passing between her parted teeth, and probing into her mouth until he found her own tongue. She pulled away.\n\n\"There,\" he said. \"That's what you did.\"\n\n\"Did I?\" She was shocked.\n\n\"Yes.\" He smiled, then suddenly he looked solemn. \"If you would only do it again, that would make up for all the sorrow of the last nine months.\"\n\nShe tilted her face again and closed her eyes. After a moment she felt his mouth on hers. She opened her lips, hesitated, then nervously pushed her tongue into his mouth. As she did so she remembered how she had felt the last time she did it, in the old mill, and that ecstatic sensation came back. She was filled with the need to hold him, to touch his skin and his hair, to feel his muscles and his bones, to be inside him and have him inside her. Her tongue met his, and instead of feeling embarrassed and faintly repelled, she was thrilled to be doing something so intimate as touching his tongue with her own.\n\nThey were both breathing hard now. Jack held her head in his hands. She stroked his arms, his back, and then his hips, feeling the taut, bunched muscles. Her heart pounded in her chest. At last she broke the kiss, breathless.\n\nShe looked at him. He was flushed and panting, and his face shone with desire. After a moment he bent forward again, but instead of kissing her mouth, he lifted her chin and kissed the delicate skin of her throat. She heard herself moan with pleasure. He moved his head lower, and brushed his lips over the swell of her breast. Her nipples were swollen under the coarse fabric of the linen nightshirt, and they felt unbearably tender. His lips closed over one nipple. She felt the heat of his breath on her skin. \"Gently,\" she whispered fearfully. He kissed her nipple through the linen, and although he was as gentle as could be, she felt a sensation of pleasure as sharp as if he had bitten her, and she gasped.\n\nThen he went down on his knees in front of her.\n\nHe pressed his face into her lap. Until this moment all the sensation had been in her breasts, but now, suddenly, she felt the tingling move to her groin. He found the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it to her waist. She watched him, afraid of his reaction: she had always felt ashamed of being so hairy down there. But he was not repelled; in fact he leaned forward and kissed her gently, right there, as if it was the nicest thing in the world.\n\nShe sank down on her knees in front of him. Her breath came in gasps now, as if she had run a mile. She wanted him badly. Her throat was dry with desire. She put her hands on his knees, then slid one hand under his tunic. She had never touched a man's cock. It was hot and dry and hard as a board. Jack closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat as she explored its length with her fingertips. She lifted his tunic, bent down, and kissed it, just as he had kissed her, a gentle brush of the lips. Its end was swollen tight as a drum and wet with some kind of moisture.\n\nShe was suddenly possessed by a desire to show him her breasts. She came upright again. He opened his eyes. Watching him, she quickly pulled her nightshirt over her head and discarded it. Now she was completely naked. She felt sharply self-conscious, but it was a good feeling, delightfully indecent. Jack stared, mesmerized, at her breasts. \"They're so beautiful,\" he said.\n\n\"Do you really think so?\" she said. \"I always thought they were too big.\"\n\n\"Too big!\" he said as if the suggestion were outrageous. He reached out and touched her left breast with his right hand. He stroked her skin gently with his fingertips. She looked down, watching what he was doing. After a while she wanted him to be firmer. She took both his hands in hers and pressed them to her breasts. \"Do it harder,\" she said hoarsely. \"I want to feel you more.\"\n\nHer words inflamed him. He squeezed her breasts, then took her nipples in his fingers and pinched them, just hard enough to hurt a little. The sensation drove her wild. All thought went out of her mind and she was completely possessed by the feel of his body and her own. \"Take off your clothes,\" she said. \"I want to look at you.\"\n\nHe pulled off his tunic and his undershirt, his boots and his hose, and knelt in front of her again. His red hair was drying into undisciplined curls. His body was thin and white, with bony shoulders and hips. He looked wiry and agile, young and fresh. His cock stuck up like a tree out of the auburn hair of his groin. Suddenly she wanted to kiss his chest. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his flat male nipples. They puckered, just as hers had. She sucked at them gently, wanting him to have the same pleasure he had given her. He stroked her hair.\n\nShe wanted him inside her, quickly.\n\nShe could see that he was not sure what to do next. \"Jack,\" she said. \"Are you a virgin?\"\n\nHe nodded, looking a little foolish.\n\n\"I'm glad,\" she said fervently. \"I'm so glad.\"\n\nShe took his hand and put it between her legs. She was swollen and sensitive there, and his touch was like a shock. \"Feel me,\" she said. He moved his fingers, exploring. \"Feel inside,\" she said. Hesitantly, he pushed a finger inside her. She was slippery with desire. \"There,\" she said with a sigh of satisfaction. \"That's where it has to go.\" She detached his hand and lay back in the straw.\n\nHe lay over her, supporting himself on one elbow, and kissed her mouth. She felt him enter her a little way, then stop. \"What is it?\" she said.\n\n\"It feels too small,\" he said. \"I'm afraid of hurting you.\"\n\n\"Push harder,\" she said. \"I want you so much I don't care if it hurts.\"\n\nShe felt him push. It did hurt, more than she had expected, but only for a moment, and then she felt wonderfully filled. She looked at him. He withdrew a little and pushed again, and she pushed back. She smiled at him. \"I never knew it was so nice,\" she said wonderingly. He closed his eyes, as if the happiness was too much to bear.\n\nHe began to move rhythmically. The constant strokes set up a pulse of pleasure somewhere in her groin. She heard herself give little gasps of excitement every time their bodies came together. He lowered himself so that his chest was touching her nipples and she could feel his hot breath. She dug her fingers into his hard back. Her regular gasps turned into cries. Suddenly she needed to kiss him. She buried her hands in his curls and pulled his head to hers. She kissed his lips hard, then thrust her tongue into his mouth and moved faster and faster. Having his cock in her cunt and her tongue in his mouth drove her out of her mind with pleasure. She felt a great spasm of joy shake her, so violent that it was like falling off a horse and hitting the ground. It made her cry out loud. She opened her eyes and looked into his eyes and said his name, and then another wave took her, and another; and then she felt his body convulse, and he cried out too, and she felt a hot jet spurt inside her, and that inflamed her even more, so that she shook with pleasure again and again, so many times that she lost count, until at last the feeling began to fade, and gradually she went limp and still.\n\nShe was too exhausted to speak or move, but she could feel Jack's weight slumped on top of her, his bony hips on hers, his flat chest squashing her soft breasts, his mouth close to her ear, his fingers entwined in her hair. A part of her mind thought vaguely: That's what it's supposed to be like, between men and women; that's why everyone makes so much fuss about it; that's why husbands and wives love one another so much.\n\nJack's breathing became light and regular, and his body relaxed until it was completely limp. He was asleep.\n\nShe turned her head and kissed his face. He was not too heavy. She wanted him to stay there, asleep on top of her, forever.\n\nThat thought made her remember.\n\nToday was her wedding day.\n\nDear God, she thought, what have I done?\n\nShe began to cry.\n\nAfter a moment, Jack woke up.\n\nHe kissed the tears on her cheeks with unbearable tenderness.\n\nShe said: \"Oh, Jack, I want to marry you.\"\n\n\"Then that's what we'll do,\" he said in a voice of profound satisfaction.\n\nHe had misunderstood her, and that made it even worse. \"But we can't,\" she said, and her tears flowed faster.\n\n\"But after this\u2014\"\n\n\"I know\u2014\"\n\n\"After this, you must marry me!\"\n\n\"We can't marry,\" she said. \"I've lost all my money, and you've got nothing.\"\n\nHe raised himself on his elbows. \"I've got my hands,\" he said fiercely. \"I'm the best stone carver for miles around.\"\n\n\"You were dismissed\u2014\"\n\n\"It makes no difference. I could get work on any building site in the world.\"\n\nShe shook her head miserably. \"It's not enough. I have to think about Richard.\"\n\n\"Why?\" he said indignantly. \"What has all this got to do with Richard? He can take care of himself.\"\n\nSuddenly Jack looked boyish, and Aliena felt the difference in their ages: he was five years younger than she, and he still thought he had a right to be happy. She said: \"I swore an oath to my father, when he was dying, that I would look after Richard until he becomes earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"But that could be never!\"\n\n\"But an oath is an oath.\"\n\nJack looked nonplussed. He rolled off her. His soft penis slipped out of her and she experienced a sense of loss like a pain. I will never feel him inside me again, she thought sorrowfully.\n\nHe said: \"You can't mean this. An oath is just words! It's nothing by comparison with this. This is real, this is you and me.\" He looked at her breasts, then he reached out and stroked the curly hair between her legs. It was so poignant that she felt his touch like a whiplash. He saw her wince, and stopped.\n\nFor a moment she was on the edge of saying Yes, all right, let's run away together now, and perhaps if he had carried on stroking her like that she would have; but reason returned, and she said: \"I'm going to marry Alfred.\"\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous.\"\n\n\"It's the only way.\"\n\nHe stared at her. \"I just don't believe you,\" he said.\n\n\"It's true.\"\n\n\"I can't give you up. I can't, I can't.\" His voice cracked, and he stifled a sob.\n\nShe tried reason, arguing with herself as much as with him. \"What's the point of breaking my vow to my father, in order to make a marriage vow to you? If I break the first vow, the second is worthless.\"\n\n\"I don't care. I don't want your vows. I just want us to be together all the time and make love whenever we feel like it.\"\n\nIt was an eighteen-year-old view of marriage, she thought, but she did not say so. She would have accepted it gladly if she had been free. \"I can't do what I want,\" she said sadly. \"It's not my destiny.\"\n\n\"What you're doing is wrong,\" he said. \"I mean evil. To give up happiness like this is like throwing jewels into the ocean. It's far worse than any sin.\"\n\nShe was unexpectedly struck by the thought that her mother would have agreed with that. She was not sure how she knew. She dismissed the idea. \"I could never be happy, even with you, if I had to live with the knowledge that I had broken my promise to my father.\"\n\n\"You care more for your father and your brother than you do for me,\" he said, sounding faintly petulant for the first time.\n\n\"No...\"\n\n\"What, then?\"\n\nHe was just being argumentative, but she considered the question seriously. \"I suppose it means that my oath to my father is more important to me than my love for you.\"\n\n\"Is it?\" he said incredulously. \"Is it really?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" she said with a heavy heart, and her words sounded to her like a funeral bell.\n\n\"Then there's nothing more to be said.\"\n\n\"Only... that I'm sorry.\"\n\nHe got to his feet. He turned his back to her and picked up his undershirt. She looked at his long, slender body. There was a lot of curly red-gold hair on his legs. He put on his shirt and tunic quickly, then pulled up his socks and stepped into his boots. It all happened much too quickly.\n\n\"You're going to be fearfully unhappy,\" he said.\n\nHe was trying to be nasty to her, but the attempt was a failure, for she could hear compassion in his voice.\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" she said. \"Would you at least... at least say you respect me for my decision?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said without hesitation. \"I don't. I despise you for it.\"\n\nShe sat there naked, looking at him, and she began to weep.\n\n\"I might as well go,\" he said, and his voice cracked on the last word.\n\n\"Yes, go,\" she sobbed.\n\nHe went to the door.\n\n\"Jack!\"\n\nHe turned at the door.\n\nShe said: \"Wish me luck, Jack?\"\n\nHe lifted the bar. \"Good\u2014\" He stopped, unable to speak. He looked down at the floor, then up at her again. This time his voice came out in a whisper. \"Good luck,\" he said.\n\nThen he went out.\n\nThe house that had been Tom's house was now Ellen's, but it was also Alfred's home, so this morning it was full of people preparing a wedding feast, organized by Martha, Alfred's thirteen-year-old sister, with Jack's mother looking on disconsolately. Alfred was there with a towel in his hand, about to go down to the river\u2014women bathed once a month, and men at Easter and Michaelmas, but it was traditional to bathe on your wedding morning. The place went quiet when Jack walked in.\n\nAlfred said: \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"I want you to call off the wedding,\" Jack replied.\n\n\"Piss off,\" Alfred said.\n\nJack realized he had started badly. He should try not to make a confrontation out of this. What he was proposing was in Alfred's interest, too, if only he could be made to see it. \"Alfred, she doesn't love you,\" he said as gently as he could.\n\n\"You don't know anything about it, laddie.\"\n\n\"I do,\" Jack persisted. \"She doesn't love you. She's marrying you for Richard's sake. He's the only one who will be made happy by this marriage.\"\n\n\"Go back to the monastery,\" Alfred said contemptuously. \"Where's your habit, anyway?\"\n\nJack took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it but to tell him the real truth. \"Alfred. She loves me.\"\n\nHe expected Alfred to be enraged, but instead the shadow of a sly grin appeared on Alfred's face. Jack was nonplussed. What did it mean? Gradually the explanation dawned on him. \"You know that already,\" he said unbelievingly. \"You know she loves me, and you don't care! You want her anyway, whether she loves you or not. You just want to have her.\"\n\nAlfred's furtive smile became more visible and more malicious, and Jack knew that everything he was saying was true; but there was something else, something more to be read in Alfred's face. An incredible suspicion arose in Jack's mind.\n\n\"Why do you want her?\" he said. \"Is it... Could it be that you only want to marry her to take her away from me?\" His voice rose in anger. \"That you're marrying her out of spite?\" A look of cunning triumph spread across Alfred's stupid face, and Jack knew that he was right again. He was devastated. The idea that Alfred was doing all this not out of an understandable lust for Aliena but out of pure malice was too much to bear. \"Damn you, you'd better treat her right!\" he yelled.\n\nAlfred laughed.\n\nThe ultimate malignity of Alfred's purpose struck Jack like a blow. Alfred was not going to treat her well. That would be his final revenge on Jack. Alfred was going to marry Aliena and make her miserable. \"You filth,\" Jack said bitterly. \"You slime. You shit. You ugly, stupid, evil, loathsome slug.\"\n\nHis contempt finally got to Alfred, who dropped his towel and came at Jack with his hand balled into a fist. Jack was ready for him, and stepped forward to hit him first. Then Jack's mother was between them, and despite being smaller than either of them she stopped them with a word.\n\n\"Alfred. Go and bathe.\"\n\nAlfred calmed down quickly. He realized he had won the day without needing to fight Jack, and his thoughts revealed themselves in a smug look. He left the house.\n\nMother said: \"What are you going to do, Jack?\"\n\nJack found that he was shaking with rage. He breathed in and out several times before he could speak. He could not stop the wedding, he realized. But he could not watch it either. \"I have to leave Kingsbridge.\"\n\nHe saw sorrow cross her face, but she nodded. \"I was afraid you'd say that. But I think you're right.\"\n\nA bell began to ring in the priory. Jack said: \"Any moment now they'll discover that I've escaped.\"\n\nShe lowered her voice. \"Go quickly, but hide down by the river, within sight of the bridge. I'll bring you some things.\"\n\n\"All right.\" He turned away.\n\nMartha stood between him and the door with tears pouring down her face. He hugged her. She squeezed him hard. Her girlish body was flat and bony, like a boy's. \"Come back one day,\" she said fiercely.\n\nHe kissed her once, quickly, and went out.\n\nThere were plenty of people about now, fetching water and enjoying the mild autumn morning. Most people knew he had become a novice monk\u2014the town was still small enough for everyone to know everyone else's business\u2014and his layman's clothing drew surprised looks, although nobody actually questioned him. He went quickly down the hill, crossed the bridge, and walked along the bank of the river until he came to a clump of reeds. He crouched down beside the reeds and watched the bridge, waiting for his mother.\n\nHe had no idea where he was going to go. Perhaps he would walk in a straight line until he came to a town where they were building a cathedral, and stop there. He had meant what he said to Aliena about finding work: he knew he was good enough to be employed anywhere. Even if the site had a full complement, he would only have to show the master builder how he could carve, and he would get taken on. But there seemed no point to it anymore. He would never love another woman after Aliena, and he felt much the same about Kingsbridge Cathedral. He wanted to build here, not just anywhere.\n\nPerhaps he would just walk into the forest and lie down and die. That seemed to him a nice idea. It was mild weather, the trees were green-and-gold; he could make a peaceful end. His only regret would be that he had not found out more about his father before he died.\n\nHe was picturing himself lying on a bed of autumn leaves and passing gently into death, when he saw Mother cross the bridge. She was leading a horse.\n\nHe got to his feet and ran to her. The horse was the chestnut mare she always rode. \"I want you to take my mare,\" she said.\n\nHe took her hand and squeezed it by way of thanks.\n\nTears came to her eyes. \"I never did look after you very well,\" she said. \"First I brought you up wild, in the forest. Then I let you nearly starve with Tom. Then I made you live with Alfred.\"\n\n\"You looked after me fine, Mother,\" he said. \"I made love to Aliena this morning. Now I can die happy.\"\n\n\"You foolish boy,\" she said. \"You're just like me. If you can't have the lover you want, you won't have anyone else.\"\n\n\"Is that how you are?\" he said.\n\nShe nodded. \"After your father died, I lived alone rather than take second best. I never wanted another man until I saw Tom. That was eleven years later.\" She detached her hand from his. \"I'm telling you this for a reason. It may take eleven years, but you will love someone else one day; I promise you.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"It doesn't seem possible.\"\n\n\"I know.\" She looked nervously back over her shoulder at the town. \"You'd better go.\"\n\nHe walked over to the horse. It was loaded with two bulging saddlebags. \"What's in the bags?\" he asked.\n\n\"Some food and money, and a full wineskin, in this one,\" she replied. \"The other contains Tom's tools.\"\n\nJack was moved. Mother had insisted on keeping Tom's tools after he died, as a memento. Now she was passing them on to him. He hugged her. \"Thank you,\" he said.\n\n\"Where will you go?\" she asked him.\n\nHe thought again of his father. \"Where do jongleurs tell their tales?\" he asked.\n\n\"On the pilgrim road to Santiago de Compostela.\"\n\n\"Do you think the jongleurs might remember Jack Shareburg?\"\n\n\"They might. Tell them he looked like you.\"\n\n\"Where's Compostela?\"\n\n\"In Spain.\"\n\n\"Then I'm going to Spain.\"\n\n\"It's a long way, Jack.\"\n\n\"I've got time.\"\n\nShe put her arms around him and hugged him tight. He wondered how many times she had done that in the last eighteen years, comforting him over a grazed knee, a lost toy, a boyish disappointment\u2014and now a grief that was all too grown-up. He thought of the things she had done, from raising him in the forest to getting him out of the punishment cell. She had always been willing to fight like a cat for her son. It hurt to leave her.\n\nShe let him go, and he swung up onto the horse.\n\nHe looked back at Kingsbridge. It had been a sleepy village with an old, tumbledown cathedral when he first came here. He had set fire to that old cathedral, although not a soul knew it but him. Now Kingsbridge was a busy, self-important little town. Well, there were other towns. It was a wrench to go, but he was on the edge of the unknown, about to embark on an adventure, and that eased the pain of leaving everything he loved.\n\nMother said: \"Come back, one day, please, Jack.\"\n\n\"I'll come back.\"\n\n\"Promise?\"\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\n\"If you run out of money before you find work, sell the horse, not the tools,\" she said.\n\n\"I love you, Mother,\" he said.\n\nHer eyes overflowed. \"Take care of yourself, my son.\"\n\nHe kicked the horse, and it walked away. He turned and waved. She waved back. Then he kicked it into a trot, and after that he did not look back.\n\nRichard came home just in time for the wedding.\n\nKing Stephen had generously given him two days' leave, he explained. The king's army was at Oxford, laying siege to the castle, where they had Maud trapped, so there was nothing much for the knights to do. \"I couldn't miss my sister's wedding day,\" Richard said, and Aliena sourly thought: You just want to make dead sure the deed is done, so that you get what Alfred has promised you.\n\nStill, she was glad he was there to walk her to the church and give her away. Otherwise she would have had nobody.\n\nShe put on a new linen undershirt and a white dress in the latest style. There was not much she could do with her mutilated hair, but she twisted the longest parts into plaits and bound them in fashionable white silk sheaths. A neighbor loaned her a looking-glass. She was pale, and her eyes showed that she had spent a sleepless night. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. Richard watched her. He wore a faintly sheepish look, as if he felt guilty, and he fidgeted restlessly. Perhaps he was afraid she would call the whole thing off at the last minute.\n\nThere were moments when she was sorely tempted to do just that. She imagined herself and Jack walking away from Kingsbridge hand in hand, to start a new life somewhere else, a simple life of straightforward honest work, free from the chains of old vows and dead parents. But it was a foolish dream. She could never be happy if she abandoned her brother.\n\nWhen she reached that conclusion, she imagined going down to the river and throwing herself in, and she saw her limp body, in a waterlogged wedding dress, drifting downstream, face up, with her hair floating around her head; and then she realized that marriage to Alfred was better than that, and she came back to where she started, regarding the marriage as the best available solution to most of her troubles.\n\nHow Jack would pour scorn on that kind of thinking.\n\nThe church bell tolled.\n\nAliena stood up.\n\nShe had never visualized her wedding day this way. When she had thought about it, as a girl, she had imagined herself on her father's arm, walking from the castle keep across the drawbridge to the chapel in the lower courtyard, with Papa's knights and men-at-arms, servants and tenants packed into the castle precincts to cheer and wish her well. The young man waiting in the chapel had always been rather indistinct in this daydream, but she knew that he adored her and made her laugh and she thought he was wonderful. Well. Nothing in her life had turned out the way she expected. Richard held the door of the little one-room house and she went out into the street.\n\nTo her surprise, some of the neighbors were waiting outside their doors to see her go by. Several people called out \"God bless you\" and \"Good luck!\" as she emerged. She felt terribly grateful to them. She was showered with corn as she walked up the street. Corn was for fertility. She would have babies, and they would love her.\n\nThe parish church was on the far side of town, in the wealthy quarter, where she would be living from tonight. They walked past the monastery. The monks would be holding their service in the crypt right now, but Prior Philip had promised to put in an appearance at the wedding feast and bless the happy couple. Aliena hoped he would make it. He had been an important force in her life, ever since the day, six years ago, when he had bought her wool at Winchester.\n\nThey arrived at the new church, built by Alfred with help from Tom. There was a crowd outside. The wedding would take place in the porch, in English; then there would be a Latin mass afterward inside the church. Everyone who worked for Alfred was there, and so were most of the people who had done weaving for Aliena in the old days. They all cheered when Aliena arrived.\n\nAlfred was waiting with his sister, Martha, and one of his masons, Dan. Alfred was wearing a new scarlet tunic and clean boots. He had long, gleaming dark hair like Ellen's. Aliena realized that Ellen was not here. She was disappointed. She was about to ask Martha where her stepmother was, when the priest came out and the service began.\n\nAliena reflected that her life had been set on a new course six years ago when she had made a vow to her father, and now a fresh era was beginning with another vow to a man. She rarely did anything for herself. She had made a shocking exception this morning, with Jack. When she recalled what she had done she could hardly believe it. It seemed like a dream, or one of Jack's fanciful tales, something that had no connection with real life. She would never tell a soul. It would be a lovely secret she would hug to herself, and remember once in a while, like a miser counting a hidden hoard in the dead of night.\n\nThey were coming to the vows. On the priest's cue, Aliena said: \"Alfred the son of Tom Builder, I take you as my husband, and swear to be faithful always.\" When she had said that she wanted to cry.\n\nAlfred made his vow next. There was a ripple of noise on the outskirts of the crowd as he spoke, and one or two people looked behind. Aliena caught Martha's eye, and Martha whispered: \"It's Ellen.\"\n\nThe priest frowned crossly and said: \"Alfred and Aliena are now married in the eyes of God, and may the blessing\u2014\"\n\nHe never finished the sentence. A loud voice rang out from behind Aliena: \"I curse this wedding!\"\n\nIt was Ellen.\n\nA gasp of horror went up from the congregation.\n\nThe priest tried to continue. \"And may the blessing\u2014\" Then he stopped, paled, and made the sign of the cross.\n\nAliena turned around. Ellen was standing behind her. The crowd had shrunk back from her. She was holding a live cockerel in one hand and a long knife in the other. There was blood on the knife, and blood spurting from the severed neck of the bird. \"I curse this marriage with sorrow,\" she said, and her words chilled Aliena's heart. \"I curse this marriage with barrenness,\" she said. \"I curse it with bitterness, and hatred, and bereavement, and regret. I curse it with impotence.\" As she said the word impotence she threw the bloody cockerel up into the air. Several people screamed and cowered back. Aliena stood rooted to the spot. The cock flew through the air, spraying blood, and landed on Alfred. He jumped back, terrified. The grisly object flopped on the ground, still bleeding.\n\nWhen everyone looked up, Ellen was gone.\n\nMartha had put clean linen sheets and a new wool blanket on the bed, the great feather bed that had belonged to Ellen and Tom and was now to be Alfred's and Aliena's. Ellen had not been seen since the wedding. The feast had been a subdued affair, like a picnic on a cold day, with everyone grimly going through the motions of eating and drinking because there was nothing else to do. The guests had all left at sundown, without any of the usual coarse jokes about the newlyweds' first night. Martha was now in her own little bed in the other room. Richard had returned to Aliena's little house, which would now be his.\n\nAlfred was talking of building a stone house for them next summer. He had been boasting about it to Richard during the feast. \"It will have a bedchamber, and a hall, and an undercroft,\" he had said. \"When John Silversmith's wife sees it she'll want one just like it. Pretty soon all the prosperous men in town will want a stone house.\"\n\n\"Have you done a design?\" Richard had asked, and Aliena had heard a hint of skepticism, although nobody else seemed to notice.\n\n\"I've got some old drawings of my father's, done in ink on vellum. One of them is the house we were building for Aliena and William Hamleigh, all those years ago. I'll base it on that.\"\n\nAliena had turned away from them in disgust. How could anyone be so crass as to mention that on her wedding day? Alfred had been full of bluster all afternoon, pouring wine and telling jokes and exchanging sly winks with his workmates. He seemed happy.\n\nNow he was sitting on the edge of the bed taking off his boots. Aliena took the ribbons out of her hair. She did not know what to think about Ellen's curse. It had shocked her, and she had no idea what was going on in Ellen's mind, but somehow she was not frightened by it the way most people were.\n\nThis could not be said of Alfred. When the slaughtered cock landed on him he had practically gibbered. Richard had shaken him out of it, literally, holding him by the front of his tunic and jerking him back and forth. He had recovered his wits quickly enough, however, and since then the only sign of his fright had been the relentlessness of his backslapping, beer-swilling good cheer.\n\nAliena felt oddly calm. She did not relish what she was about to do, but at least she was not being forced to it, and while it might be a little distasteful, it would not be humiliating. There was only one man, and no one else would be watching.\n\nShe took off her dress.\n\nAlfred said: \"By Christ, that's a long knife.\"\n\nShe undid the strap that held the knife to her left forearm, then got into bed in her undershirt.\n\nAlfred finally got his boots off. He pulled off his hose and stood up. He threw a lewd look at her. \"Take off your underclothes,\" he said. \"I'm entitled to see my wife's tits.\"\n\nAliena hesitated. She was reluctant to be naked, somehow, but it would be foolish to deny him the first thing he asked. Obediently, she sat up and pulled her undershirt off over her head, fiercely suppressing the memory of how differently she had felt when she did the same thing, this morning, for Jack.\n\n\"What a pair of beauties,\" Alfred said. He came and stood beside the bed and took hold of her right breast. His huge hands were rough-skinned, with dirt under the fingernails. He squeezed too hard, and she winced. He laughed and released her. Stepping back, he took off his tunic and hung it on a hook. Then he returned to the bed and pulled the sheet off her.\n\nAliena swallowed hard. She felt vulnerable like this, naked under his gaze. He said: \"By God, that's a hairy one.\" He reached down and felt between her legs. She stiffened, and then made herself relax and part her thighs. \"Good girl,\" he said, and thrust a finger inside her. It hurt: she was dry. She could not understand it\u2014this morning, with Jack, she had been wet and slippery. Alfred grunted and forced his finger in farther.\n\nShe felt like crying. She had known she would not much enjoy it, but she had not expected him to be so unfeeling. He had not even kissed her yet. He doesn't love me, she thought; he doesn't even like me. I'm a fine young horse that he's about to ride. In fact he would treat a horse better than this\u2014he would pat it and stroke it so that it could get used to him, and he'd talk softly to calm it down. She fought back the tears. I chose this, she thought; nobody made me marry him, so I'll just put up with it now.\n\n\"Dry as a sawpit,\" Alfred muttered.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she whispered.\n\nHe removed his hand, spat on it twice, and rubbed the spittle between her legs. It seemed a dreadfully contemptuous act. She bit her lip and looked away.\n\nHe spread her thighs. She closed her eyes, then opened them and forced herself to look at him, thinking: Get used to this, you're going to be doing it for the rest of your life. He got on the bed and knelt between her legs. The shadow of a frown crossed his face. He put one hand between her thighs, opening her up, and the other hand went beneath his undershirt. She could see the hand moving under the linen. His frown deepened. \"Christ Jesus,\" he muttered. \"You're so lifeless, it puts me off, it's like feeling up a corpse.\"\n\nIt seemed so unfair of him to blame her. \"I don't know what I'm supposed to do!\" she said tearfully.\n\n\"Some girls enjoy it,\" he said.\n\nEnjoy it! she thought. Impossible! Then she remembered how, that very morning, she had groaned and cried with delight. But it was as if there was no connection between what she had done then and what she was doing now.\n\nThat was foolish. She sat upright. Alfred was rubbing himself beneath his shirt. \"Let me,\" she said, and she slipped her hand between his legs. It felt limp and lifeless. She was not sure what to do with it. She squeezed it gently, then stroked it with her fingertips. She searched his face for a reaction. He just seemed angry. She carried on, but it made no difference.\n\n\"Do it harder,\" he said.\n\nShe began to rub it vigorously. It stayed soft, but he moved his hips, as if he was enjoying it. Encouraged, she rubbed harder. Suddenly he gave a cry of pain and pulled away. She had rubbed too hard. \"Stupid cow!\" he said, and he slapped her face, backhanded, with a swipe that knocked her sideways.\n\nShe lay on the bed, whimpering in pain and fear.\n\n\"You're no good, you're cursed!\" he said furiously.\n\n\"I did my best!\"\n\n\"You're a dead cunt,\" he spat. He took her by the arms, lifted her upright, and pushed her off the bed. She fell into the straw on the floor. \"That witch Ellen meant this to happen,\" he said. \"She's always hated me.\"\n\nAliena rolled over and knelt upright on the floor, staring at him. He did not look as if he would hit her again. He was no longer enraged, just bitter. \"You can stay there,\" he said. \"You're no good to me as a wife, so you can keep out of my bed. You can be a dog, and sleep on the floor.\" He paused. \"I can't stand you looking at me!\" he said with a note of panic in his voice. He looked around for the candle, spotted it, and put it out with a blow, knocking it to the ground.\n\nAliena stayed motionless in the darkness. She heard Alfred moving on the feather bed, lying down and pulling up the blanket and shifting the pillows. She was almost afraid to breathe. He was restless for a long time, tossing and turning in the bed, but he did not get up again, nor did he speak to her. Eventually he was still, and his breathing became even. When she was sure he was asleep, she crawled across the room, trying not to make the straw rustle, and found her way into the corner. She curled up and lay there, wide awake. Eventually she began to cry. She tried not to, for fear of waking him, but she could not hold the tears in, so she sobbed quietly. If the noise woke him, he gave no sign of it. She stayed like that, lying on the straw in the corner, crying softly, until eventually she cried herself to sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "Aliena was sick all that winter.\n\nShe slept badly every night, wrapped in her cloak on the floor at the foot of Alfred's bed, and during the day she was possessed by a hopeless lassitude. She often felt nauseated, so she ate very little, but despite that she seemed to put on weight: she was sure her breasts and hips were larger, and her waist thickened.\n\nShe was supposed to be running Alfred's house, although Martha actually did most of the work. The three of them lived together in a sorry m\u00e9nage. Martha had never liked her brother, and Aliena now loathed him with a passion, so it was not surprising that he spent as much time as possible away from the house, at work during the day and in the alehouse every evening. Martha and Aliena bought food and cooked it unenthusiastically, and made clothes in the evenings. Aliena looked forward to the spring, when it would once again be warm enough for her to visit her secret glade on Sunday afternoons. There she could lie in peace and daydream of Jack.\n\nMeanwhile, her consolation was Richard. He had a spirited black courser, a new sword, and a squire with a pony, and he was once again fighting for King Stephen, albeit with a reduced entourage. The war dragged on into the new year: Maud had escaped from Oxford Castle and slipped through Stephen's hands once again, and her brother Robert of Gloucester had retaken Wareham, so the old seesaw continued, with each side gaining a little and then losing it. But Aliena was fulfilling her vow, and she could take satisfaction in that, if in nothing else.\n\nIn the first week of the year Martha began to bleed for the first time. Aliena made her a hot drink with herbs and honey to ease the cramps, and answered her questions about the woman's curse, and went to find the box of rags that she kept for her own periods. However, the box was not in the house, and she eventually realized she had not brought it here from her old house when she got married.\n\nBut that had been three months ago.\n\nWhich meant she had not bled for three months.\n\nNot since her wedding day.\n\nNot since she had made love with Jack.\n\nShe left Martha sitting by the kitchen fire, sipping her honey drink and toasting her toes, and went across town to her old house. Richard was not there but she had a key. She found the box without any trouble, but she did not go back right away. Instead she sat by the cold fireplace, wrapped in her cloak, deep in thought.\n\nShe had married Alfred at Michaelmas. It was now past Christmas. That was a quarter of a year. There had been three new moons. She should have bled three times. Yet her box of rags had been on the high shelf, alongside the small grindstone Richard used for sharpening kitchen knives. Now she held it in her lap. She ran a finger over the rough wood. Her finger came up dirty. The box was covered with dust.\n\nThe worst of it was, she had never made love with Alfred.\n\nAfter that awful first night, he had tried again three times: once the following night, then a week later, and again a month after that when he had come home particularly drunk. But he was always completely incapable. At first Aliena had encouraged him, out of a sense of duty; but each failure made him angrier than the last, and she became tightened. It seemed safer to stay out of his way, and wear unappealing clothes, and make sure he never saw her undressing, and let him forget about it. Now she wondered if she should have tried more. But in truth she knew it would have made no difference. It was hopeless. She was not sure why\u2014perhaps it was Ellen's curse, perhaps Alfred was just impotent, or perhaps it was because of the memory of Jack\u2014but she felt certain Alfred never would make love to her now.\n\nSo he was bound to know that the baby was not his.\n\nShe stared miserably at the old, cold ashes in Richard's fireplace, wondering why she always had such bad luck. Here she was trying to make the best of a bad marriage and she had the misfortune to be pregnant by another man, after one single act of intercourse.\n\nThere was no point in self-pity. She had to decide what to do.\n\nShe rested her hand on her stomach. Now she knew why she had been putting on weight, why she kept feeling nauseated, why she was always so tired. There was a little person in there. She smiled to herself. How nice it would be to have a baby.\n\nShe shook her head. It would not be nice at all. Alfred would be as mad as a bull. There was no knowing what he would do\u2014kill her, throw her out, kill the baby.... She had a sudden, terrible foreboding that he would try to do harm to the unborn baby by kicking her in the stomach. She wiped her brow: she had broken out in a cold sweat.\n\nI won't tell him, she thought.\n\nCould she keep her pregnancy secret? Perhaps. She had already taken to wearing shapeless, baggy clothes. She might not get very big\u2014some women didn't. Alfred was the least observant of men. No doubt the wiser women in the town would guess, but she could probably rely on them to keep it to themselves, or at any rate not to talk to the menfolk about it. Yes, she decided, it might just be possible to keep it from him until after the baby was born.\n\nThen what? Well, at least the little mite would have been brought safely into the world. Alfred would not be able to kill it by kicking Aliena. But he would still know that it was not his. He was sure to hate the poor thing: it would be a permanent slur on his manhood. There would be hell to pay.\n\nAliena could not think that far ahead. She had decided on the safest course for the next six months. She would try in the meantime to figure out what to do after the baby was born.\n\nI wonder whether it's a boy or a girl, she thought.\n\nShe stood up with her box of clean rags for Martha's first monthly period. I pity you, Martha, she thought wearily; you've got all this in front of you.\n\nPhilip spent that winter brooding over his troubles.\n\nHe had been horrified by Ellen's heathen curse, uttered in the porch of a church during a service. There was no doubt in his mind now that she was a witch. He only regretted his foolishness in ever forgiving her for her insult to the Rule of Saint Benedict, all those years ago. He should have known that a woman who could do that would never really repent. However, one happy consequence of the whole horrifying business was that Ellen had once again left Kingsbridge and had not been seen since. Philip hoped fervently that she would never return.\n\nAliena was visibly unhappy as Alfred's wife, although Philip did not believe that the curse was the cause of that. Philip knew almost nothing about married life but he could guess that a bright, knowledgeable, lively person such as Aliena would be unhappy living with someone as slow-thinking and narrow-minded as Alfred, whether they were man and wife or anything else.\n\nAliena should have married Jack, of course. Philip could see that now, and he felt guilty that he had been so committed to his own plans for Jack that he had failed to realize what the boy really needed. Jack was never meant for the cloistered life and Philip had done wrong in pressuring him into it. Now Jack's brilliance and energy had been lost to Kingsbridge.\n\nIt seemed that everything had gone wrong since the disaster of the fleece fair. The priory was more in debt than ever. Philip had dismissed half the building work force because he no longer had the money to pay them. In consequence, the population of the town had shrunk, which meant that the Sunday market became smaller and Philip's income from rents fell. Kingsbridge was in a downward spiral.\n\nThe heart of the problem was the townspeople's morale. Although they had rebuilt their houses and restarted their small businesses, they had no confidence in the future. Whatever they planned, whatever they might build, could be wiped out in a day by William Hamleigh, if he should choose to attack again. This undercurrent of insecurity ran in everyone's thinking and paralyzed all enterprise.\n\nEventually Philip realized he had to do something to stop the slide. He needed to make a dramatic gesture to tell the world in general, and the townspeople in particular, that Kingsbridge was fighting back. He spent many hours of prayer and meditation trying to decide just what that gesture should be.\n\nWhat he really needed was a miracle. If the bones of Saint Adolphus would cure a princess of the plague, or cause a brackish well to give sweet water, people would flood into Kingsbridge on pilgrimage. But the saint had performed no miracles for years. Philip sometimes wondered whether his steady, practical methods of ruling the priory displeased the saint, for miracles seemed to happen more frequently in places where the rule was less sensible and the atmosphere was charged with religious fervor, if not out-and-out hysteria. But Philip had been taught in a more down-to-earth school. Father Peter, the abbot of his first monastery, used to say: \"Pray for miracles, but plant cabbages.\"\n\nThe symbol of Kingsbridge's life and vigor was the cathedral. If only it could be finished by a miracle! One time he prayed for such a miracle all night, but in the morning the chancel was still unroofed and open to the weather, and its high walls were ragged-ended where they would meet the transept walls.\n\nPhilip had not yet hired a new master builder. He had been shocked to learn how much they demanded in wages: he had never realized how cheap Tom was. Anyway, Alfred was running the reduced work force without much difficulty. Alfred had become rather morose since his marriage, like a man who defeats many rivals to become king and then finds that kingship is a wearisome burden. However, he was authoritative and decisive, and the other men respected him.\n\nBut Tom had left a gap that could not be filled. Philip missed him personally, not just as master builder. Tom had been interested in why churches had to be built one way rather than another, and Philip had enjoyed sharing speculations with him about what made some buildings stand up while others fell down. Tom had not been an exceptionally devout man, but he had occasionally asked Philip questions about theology which showed that he applied as much intelligence to his religion as he did to his building. Tom's brain had more or less matched Philip's own. Philip had been able to converse with him without talking down. There were too few such people in Philip's life. Jack had been one, despite his youth; Aliena another, but she had disappeared into her sorry marriage. Cuthbert Whitehead was getting old, now, and Milius Bursar was almost always away from the priory, touring the sheep farms, counting acres and ewes and woolsacks. In time, a lively and busy priory in a prosperous cathedral city would draw scholars the way a conquering army attracted fighting men. Philip looked forward to that time. But it would never come unless he could find a way to re-energize Kingsbridge.\n\n\"It's been a mild winter,\" Alfred said one morning soon after Christmas. \"We can begin earlier than usual.\"\n\nThat started Philip thinking. The vault would be built that summer. When it was finished, the chancel would be usable, and Kingsbridge would no longer be a cathedral town without a cathedral. The chancel was the most important part of a church: the high altar and the holy relics were kept at the far east end, called the presbytery, and most of the services took place in the quire, where the monks sat. Only on Sundays and holy days was the rest of a church used. Once the chancel had been dedicated, what had been a building site would become a church, albeit an incomplete one.\n\nIt was a pity they would have to wait almost a year before that happened. Alfred had promised to finish the vault by the end of this year's building season, and the season generally finished in November, depending on the weather. But when Alfred said he would be able to start early, Philip began to wonder whether he might finish early too. Everyone would be stunned if the church could be opened this summer. It was the kind of gesture he had been searching for: something that would surprise the whole county, and give out the message that Kingsbridge could not be put down for long.\n\n\"Can you finish by Whitsun?\" Philip said impulsively.\n\nAlfred sucked his breath in through his teeth and looked doubtful. \"Vaulting is the most skilled work of all,\" he said. \"It mustn't be hurried, and you can't let apprentices do it.\"\n\nHis father would have answered yes or no, Philip thought irritably. He said: \"Suppose I could give you extra laborers\u2014monks. How much would that help?\"\n\n\"A little. It's more masons we need, really.\"\n\n\"I might be able to give you one or two more,\" Philip said rashly. A mild winter meant early shearing, so he could hope to begin selling wool sooner than usual.\n\n\"I don't know.\" Alfred was still looking pessimistic.\n\n\"Suppose I offered the masons a bonus?\" Philip said. \"An extra week's wages if the vault is ready for WhitSunday.\"\n\n\"I've never heard of that before,\" Alfred said. He looked as if an improper suggestion had been made.\n\n\"Well, there's a first time for everything,\" Philip said testily. Alfred's caution was getting on his nerves. \"What do you say?\"\n\n\"I can't say yes or no to that,\" Alfred said stolidly. \"I'll put it to the men.\"\n\n\"Today?\" Philip said impatiently.\n\n\"Today.\"\n\nPhilip had to be satisfied with that.\n\nWilliam Hamleigh and his knights arrived at Bishop Waleran's palace just behind an ox cart loaded high with sacks of wool. The new season's shearing had begun. Like William, Waleran was buying wool from farmers at last year's prices and expecting to sell it again for considerably more. Neither of them had had much trouble forcing their tenants to sell to them: a few peasants who defied the rule were evicted and their farmhouses were burned, and after that there were no more rebels.\n\nAs William went through the gate he glanced up the hill. The stunted ramparts of the castle the bishop had never built had stood on that hill for seven years, a permanent reminder of how Waleran had been outwitted by Prior Philip. As soon as Waleran began to reap the rewards of the wool business, he would probably recommence building. In the days of old King Henry, a bishop had not needed any more defenses than the flimsy fence of wooden stakes behind a little ditch that surrounded this palace. Now, after five years of civil war, men who were not even earls or bishops were building formidable castles.\n\nThings were going well for Waleran, William thought sourly as he dismounted at the stable. Waleran had remained loyal to Bishop Henry of Winchester through all Henry's switches of allegiance, and as a result had become one of Henry's closest allies. Over the years Waleran had been enriched by a steady stream of properties and privileges, and had visited Rome twice.\n\nWilliam had not been so lucky\u2014hence his sourness. Despite having gone along with each of Waleran's changes of allegiance, and despite having supplied large armies to both sides in the civil war, he still had not been confirmed as earl of Shiring. He had been brooding on this during a lull in the fighting, and had become so angry about it that he had made up his mind to have a confrontation with Waleran.\n\nHe went up the steps to the hall entrance, with Walter and the other knights following. The steward on guard inside the door was armed, another sign of the times. Bishop Waleran sat in a big chair in the middle of the room, as always, with his bony arms and legs at all angles as if he had been untidily dropped there. Baldwin, now an archdeacon, was standing beside him, his stance suggesting he might be waiting for instructions. Waleran was staring into the fire, deep in thought, but he looked up sharply when William approached.\n\nWilliam felt the familiar loathing as he greeted Waleran and sat down. Waleran's soft thin hands, his lank black hair, his dead-white skin and his pale malignant eyes made William's skin crawl. He was everything William hated: devious, physically weak, arrogant and clever.\n\nWilliam could tell that Waleran felt much the same about him. Waleran could never quite conceal the distaste he felt when William walked in. He sat upright and folded his arms, his lip curled a little, and he frowned faintly, altogether as if he was suffering from a twinge of indigestion.\n\nThey talked of the war for a while. It was a stiff, awkward conversation, and William was relieved when it was broken by a messenger with a letter written on a roll of parchment and sealed with wax. Waleran sent the messenger off to the kitchen to get something to eat. He did not open the letter.\n\nWilliam took the opportunity to change the subject. \"I didn't come here to exchange news of battles. I came to tell you that I've run out of patience.\"\n\nWaleran raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Silence was his response to unpleasant topics.\n\nWilliam plowed on: \"It's almost three years since my father died, but King Stephen still hasn't confirmed me as earl. This is outrageous.\"\n\n\"I couldn't agree more,\" Waleran said languidly. He toyed with his letter, examining the seal and playing with the ribbon.\n\n\"That's good,\" William said, \"because you're going to have to do something about it.\"\n\n\"My dear William, I can't make you earl.\"\n\nWilliam had known that Waleran would take this attitude, and he was determined not to accept it. \"You have the ear of the king's brother.\"\n\n\"But what am I to say to him? That William Hamleigh has served the king well? If it is true, the king knows it, and if not, he knows that also.\"\n\nWilliam was no match for Waleran in logic so he simply ignored the arguments. \"You owe it to me, Waleran Bigod.\"\n\nWaleran looked faintly angered. He pointed at William with the letter. \"I owe you nothing. You have always served your own ends even when you did what I wanted. There are no debts of gratitude between us.\"\n\n\"I tell you, I won't wait any longer.\"\n\n\"What will you do?\" Waleran said with the hint of a sneer.\n\n\"Well, first I'll see Bishop Henry myself.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"I'll tell him that you have been deaf to my pleas, and in consequence I'm changing my allegiance to the Empress Maud.\" William was gratified to see Waleran's expression change: he went a shade paler and looked just a little bit surprised.\n\n\"Change again?\" Waleran said skeptically.\n\n\"Just one more time than you,\" William responded stoutly.\n\nWaleran's supercilious indifference was shaken, but not much. Waleran's career had benefited greatly from his ability to deliver William and his knights to whichever side Bishop Henry favored at the moment: it would be a blow to him if William suddenly turned independent\u2014but not a fatal blow. William studied Waleran's face as he mulled over this threat. William could read the other man's mind: he was thinking that he wanted to keep William loyal, but wondering how much he should put into the effort.\n\nTo gain time Waleran broke the seal on his letter and unrolled it. As he read, a faint flush of anger appeared on his fish-white cheeks. \"Damn the man,\" he hissed.\n\n\"What is it?\" William asked.\n\nWaleran held it out.\n\nWilliam took it from him and peered at the letters. \"To\u2014the\u2014most\u2014holy\u2014gracious\u2014bishop)\u2014\"\n\nWaleran snatched it back, impatient of William's slow reading. \"It's from Prior Philip,\" he said. \"He informs me that the chancel of the new cathedral will be finished by WhitSunday, and he has the nerve to beg me to officiate at the service.\"\n\nWilliam was surprised. \"How has he managed it? I thought he had sacked half his builders!\"\n\nWaleran shook his head. \"No matter what happens he seems to bounce back.\" He gave William a speculative look. \"He hates you, of course. Thinks you're the devil incarnate.\"\n\nWilliam wondered what was going on now in Waleran's devious mind. \"So what?\" he said.\n\n\"It would be quite a blow to Philip if you were confirmed as earl on WhitSunday.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't do it for me, but you'd do it to spite Philip,\" William said grouchily, but in reality he was feeling hopeful.\n\n\"I can't do it at all,\" Waleran said. \"But I will speak to Bishop Henry.\" He looked up at William expectantly.\n\nWilliam hesitated. At last, reluctantly, he muttered: \"Thank you.\"\n\nSpring was cold and dismal that year, and on the morning of WhitSunday it was raining. Aliena had woken up in the night with a backache, and it was still troubling her with a stabbing pain every now and again. She sat in the cold kitchen, plaiting Martha's hair before going to church, while Alfred ate a large breakfast of white bread, soft cheese and strong beer. A particularly sharp twinge in her back made her stop and stand upright for a moment, wincing. Martha noticed and said: \"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Backache,\" Aliena said shortly. She did not want to discuss it, for the cause was surely sleeping on the floor in the drafty back room, and nobody knew about that, not even Martha.\n\nMartha stood up and took a hot stone from the fire. Aliena sat down. Martha wrapped the stone in an old scorched piece of leather, and held it against Aliena's back. It gave her immediate relief. Martha started to plait Aliena's hair, which had grown again after being burned away and was once again an undisciplined mass of dark curls. Aliena felt soothed.\n\nShe and Martha had become quite close since Ellen left. Poor Martha: she had lost her mother and then her stepmother. Aliena felt herself to be a poor substitute for a mother. Besides, she was only ten years older than Martha. She played the role of older sister, really. Oddly enough, the person Martha missed most was her stepbrother, Jack.\n\nBut then, everyone missed Jack.\n\nAliena wondered where he was. He might be quite close, working on a cathedral in Gloucester or Salisbury. More likely he had gone to Normandy. But he could be much farther afield: Paris, Rome, Jerusalem, or Egypt. Recalling the stories that pilgrims told about such faraway places, she visualized Jack in a sandy desert, carving stones for a Saracen fortress in the blinding sunlight. Was he thinking of her now?\n\nHer thoughts were interrupted by a noise of hooves outside, and a moment later her brother, Richard, walked in, leading his horse. He and the horse were soaking wet and covered with mud. Aliena took some hot water from the fire for him to wash his hands and face, and Martha led the horse out to the backyard. Aliena put bread and cold beef on the kitchen table and poured him a cup of beer.\n\nAlfred said: \"What's the news of the war?\"\n\nRichard dried his face on a rag and sat down to his breakfast. \"We were defeated at Wilton,\" he said.\n\n\"Was Stephen taken?\"\n\n\"No, he escaped, just as Maud escaped from Oxford. Now Stephen is at Winchester and Maud is at Bristol, and they're both licking their wounds and consolidating their hold on the areas they control.\"\n\nThe news always seemed to be the same, Aliena thought. One side or both had won some small victory or suffered some small loss, but there was never any prospect of the end of the war.\n\nRichard looked at her and said: \"You're getting fat.\"\n\nShe nodded and said nothing. She was eight months pregnant, but nobody knew. It was lucky that the weather had been cold, so that she had been able to continue to wear layers of loose winter clothing which concealed her shape. In a few weeks' time the baby would be born, and the truth would come out. She still had no idea what she was going to do then.\n\nThe bell rang to summon the townspeople to mass. Alfred pulled on his boots and looked expectantly at Aliena.\n\n\"I don't think I can go,\" she said. \"I feel terrible.\"\n\nHe shrugged indifferently and turned to her brother. \"You should come, Richard. Everyone will be there today\u2014it's the first service in the new church.\"\n\nRichard was surprised. \"You've got the ceiling up already? I thought that was going to take the rest of the year.\"\n\n\"We rushed it. Prior Philip offered the men an extra week's wages if they could finish by today. It's amazing how much faster they worked. Even so, we only just made it\u2014we took the falsework down this morning.\"\n\n\"I must see this,\" Richard said. He stuffed the last of the bread and beef into his mouth and stood up.\n\nMartha said to Aliena: \"Do you want me to stay with you?\"\n\n\"No, thanks. I'm fine. You go. I'll just lie down.\"\n\nThe three of them put on their cloaks and went out. Aliena went into the back room, taking with her the hot stone in its leather wrapping. She lay down on Alfred's bed with the stone under her back. She had become terribly lethargic since her marriage. Previously, she had run a household and been the busiest wool merchant in the county; now, she had trouble keeping house for Alfred even though she had nothing else to do.\n\nShe lay there feeling sorry for herself for a while, wishing she could fall asleep. Suddenly she felt a trickle of warm water on her inner thigh. She was shocked. It was almost as if she was urinating, but she wasn't, and a moment later the trickle turned into a flood. She sat bolt upright. She knew what it meant. Her waters had broken. The baby was coming.\n\nShe felt scared. She needed help. She called to her neighbor at the top of her voice: \"Mildred! Mildred, come here!\" Then she remembered that nobody was at home\u2014they had all gone to church.\n\nThe flow of water slowed, but Alfred's bed was soaked. He was going to be furious, she thought fearfully; and then she remembered that he was going to be furious anyway, for he would know that the baby was not his child, and she thought: Oh, God, what am I going to do?\n\nThe back pain came again, and she realized that this must be what they called labor pains. She forgot about Alfred. She was about to give birth. She was too frightened to go through with it alone. She wanted someone to help her. She decided to go to the church.\n\nShe swung her legs off the bed. Another spasm took her, and she paused, her face screwed up in pain, until it went away. Then she got off the bed and left the house.\n\nHer mind was in a whirl as she staggered along the muddy street. When she was at the priory gate the pain came again, and she had to lean against the wall and grit her teeth until it passed. Then she went into the priory close.\n\nMost of the population of the town was crowded into the high tunnel of the chancel and the lower tunnels of the two side aisles. The altar was at the far end. The new church was peculiar in appearance: the rounded stone ceiling would eventually have a triangular wooden roof over it, but now it looked unprotected, like a bald man without a hat. The congregation stood with their backs to Aliena.\n\nAs she lurched toward the cathedral, the bishop, Waleran Bigod, got up to speak. She saw, as if in a nightmare, that William Hamleigh was standing beside him. Bishop Waleran's words penetrated her distress. \"...with great pride and pleasure that I have to tell you that the Lord King, Stephen, has confirmed Lord William as the earl of Shiring.\"\n\nDespite her pain and fear Aliena was horrified to hear this. For six years, ever since the awful day when they had seen their father in the Winchester jailhouse, she had dedicated her life to winning back the family property. She and Richard had survived robbers and rapists, conflagration and civil war. Several times the prize had seemed to be within their grasp. But now they had lost it.\n\nThe congregation murmured angrily. They had all suffered at William's hands and they still lived in fear of him. They were not happy to see him honored by the king who was supposed to protect them. Aliena looked around for Richard, to see how he was taking this terminal blow; but she could not locate him.\n\nPrior Philip stood up with a face like thunder and started the hymn. The congregation began halfheartedly to sing. Aliena leaned against a column as another contraction seized her. She was at the back of the crowd and nobody noticed her. Somehow the bad news had calmed her. I'm only having a baby, she thought; it happens every day. I just need to find Martha or Richard, and they will take care of everything.\n\nWhen the pain passed she pushed her way into the congregation, looking for Martha. There was a group of women in the low tunnel of the north aisle, and she made for them. People looked curiously at her, but their attention was distracted by something else: a strange noise like rumbling. At first it was hardly distinguishable from the singing, but the singing quickly died away as the rumbling got louder.\n\nAliena reached the group of women. They were looking around anxiously for the source of the noise. Aliena touched one of them on the shoulder and said: \"Have you seen Martha, my sister-in-law?\"\n\nThe woman looked at her, and Aliena recognized the tanner's wife, Hilda. \"Martha's on the other side, I think,\" Hilda said; then the rumbling became deafening and she looked away.\n\nAliena followed her gaze. In the middle of the church everyone was looking up, toward the top of the walls. The people in the side aisles craned their necks to peer through the arches of the arcade. Someone screamed. Aliena saw a crack appear in the far wall, running between two neighboring windows in the clerestory. As she looked, several huge pieces of masonry dropped from above into the crowd in the middle of the church. There was a cacophony of screaming and shouting, and everyone turned to flee.\n\nThe ground beneath her feet shook. Even as she tried to push her way out of the church she was aware that the high walls were spreading apart at the top, and the round barrel of the vault was cracking up. Hilda the tanner's wife fell in front of her, and Aliena tripped over the prone figure and went down herself. A shower of small stones spattered her as she tried to get up. Then the low roof of the aisle cracked and fell in, something hit her head, and everything went black.\n\nPhilip had begun the service feeling proud and grateful. It had been a close thing, but the vault was finished in time. In fact, only three of the four bays of the chancel had been vaulted, for the fourth could not be done until the crossing was built and the ragged-ended chancel walls were joined to the transepts. However, three bays were enough. All the builders' equipment had been ruthlessly cleared out: the tools, the piles of stone and timber, the scaffolding poles and hurdles, the heaps of rubble and the rubbish. The chancel had been swept clean. The monks had whitewashed the stonework and painted straight red lines on the mortar, making the pointing look neater than it really was, in accordance with custom. The altar and the bishop's throne had been moved up from the crypt. However, the bones of the saint, in their stone casket, were still down there: moving them was a solemn ceremony, called translation, which was to be the climax of today's service. As the service had begun, with the bishop on his throne, the monks in new robes lined up behind the altar, and the people of the town massed in the body of the church and crowded into the aisles, Philip had felt fulfilled, and he had thanked God for bringing him successfully to the end of the first, crucial stage in the rebuilding of the cathedral.\n\nWhen Waleran had made his announcement about William, Philip had been furious. It was so obviously timed to mar the triumph of the occasion and remind the townspeople that they were still at the mercy of their savage overlord. Philip had been casting about wildly for some adequate response when the rumbling started.\n\nIt was like a nightmare that Philip sometimes had, in which he was walking on the scaffolding, very high up, perfectly confident of his safety, when he noticed a loose knot in the ropes binding the scaffolding poles together\u2014nothing very serious\u2014but when he bent to tighten the knot, the hurdle beneath him tilted a little, not much at first but enough to make him stumble, and then, in a flash, he was falling through the vast space of the chancel of the cathedral, falling sickeningly fast, and he knew he was about to die.\n\nThe rumbling was at first mystifying. For a moment or two he thought it was thunder; then it grew too loud, and the people stopped singing. Still Philip thought it was only some strange phenomenon, shortly to be explained, whose worst effect would be to interrupt the service. Then he looked up.\n\nIn the third bay, where the falsework had come down only this morning, cracks were appearing in the masonry, high on the walls, at the clerestory level. They appeared suddenly and flashed across the wall from one clerestory window to the next like striking snakes. Philip's first reaction was disappointment: he had been happy that the chancel was finished, but now he would have to undertake repairs, and all the people who had been so impressed with the builders' work would say: \"More haste, less speed.\" Then the tops of the walls seemed to lean outward, and he realized with an awful sense of horror that this was not merely going to interrupt the service, this was going to be a catastrophe.\n\nCracks appeared in the curved vault. A big stone became detached from the web of masonry and tumbled slowly through the air. People started screaming and trying to get out of its way. Before Philip could see whether anyone was badly hurt, more stones began to fall. The congregation panicked, pushing and shoving and trampling on one another as they tried to dodge the falling stones. Philip had the wild thought that this was another attack of some kind by William Hamleigh; then he saw William, at the front of the congregation, battering people around him in a terrified bid to escape, and realized that William would not have done this to himself.\n\nMost people were trying to move away from the altar, to get out of the cathedral through the open west end. But it was the westernmost part of the building, the open end, that was collapsing. The problem was in the third bay. In the second bay, where Philip was, the vault seemed to be holding; and behind him, in the first bay where the monks were lined up, it looked solid. At that end the opposite walls were held together by the east facade.\n\nHe saw little Jonathan, with Johnny Eightpence, both huddled at the far end of the north aisle. They were safer there than anywhere, Philip decided; and then he realized that he should try to get the rest of his flock to safety. \"Come this way!\" he shouted. \"Everybody! Move this way!\" Whether they heard him or not, they took no notice.\n\nIn the third bay, the tops of the walls crumbled, falling outward, and the entire vault collapsed, large and small stones falling through the air like a lethal hailstorm to land on the hysterical congregation. Philip darted forward and grabbed a citizen. \"Go back!\" he yelled, and shoved the man toward the east end. The startled man saw the monks huddled against the far wall and dashed to join them. Philip did the same to two women. The people with them realized what he was doing and moved east without being pushed. Other people began to get the idea, and a general move east began among those who had been at the front of the congregation. Looking up for an instant, Philip was appalled to see that the second bay was going to go: the same cracks were snaking across the clerestory and frosting the vault directly over his head. He continued to herd people to the safety of the east end, knowing that every person he moved might be a life saved. A rain of crumbled mortar fell on his shaved head, and then the stones started to come down. The people were scattering. Some had taken refuge in the shelter of the side aisles; some were crowded up against the east wall, among them Bishop Waleran; others were still trying to crowd out of the west end, crawling over the fallen rubble and bodies in the third bay. A stone hit Philip's shoulder. It was a glancing blow but it hurt. He put his hands over his head and looked around wildly. He was alone in the middle of the second bay: everyone else was around the edges of the danger zone. He had done all he could. He ran to the east end.\n\nThere he turned again and looked up. The clerestory of the second bay was collapsing now, and the vault was falling into the chancel, in exact replication of what had happened in the third bay; but there were fewer victims, because the people had had a chance to get out of the way, and because the roofs of the side aisles appeared to be holding there, whereas in the third bay they had given way. Everyone in the crowd at the east end moved back, pressing up against the wall, and all faces were turned up, watching the vault, to see whether the collapse would spread to the first bay. The crash of falling masonry seemed to become less loud, but a fog of dust and small stones filled the air and for a few moments no one could see anything. Philip held his breath. The dust cleared and he could see the vault again. It had collapsed right up to the edge of the first bay; but now it seemed to be holding.\n\nThe dust settled. Everything went quiet. Philip stared aghast at the ruins of his church. Only the first bay remained intact. The walls of the second bay were standing up to the level of the gallery, but in the third and fourth bays only the side aisles were left, and they were badly damaged. The floor of the church was a pile of rubble littered with the still or feebly moving bodies of the dead and injured. Seven years of work and hundreds of pounds in money had been destroyed, and dozens of people had been killed, maybe hundreds, all in a few terrible moments. Philip's heart ached for the wasted work and the lost people, and for the widows and orphans left behind; and his eyes filled with bitter tears.\n\nA harsh voice spoke in his ear. \"This is what comes of your damned arrogance, Philip!\"\n\nHe turned around to see Bishop Waleran, his black clothes coated with dust, glaring at him triumphantly. Philip felt as if he had been stabbed. To see a tragedy such as this was heartbreaking, but to be blamed for it was unbearable. He wanted to say I only tried to do my best! but the words would not come: his throat seemed constricted and he could not speak.\n\nHis eye lit on Johnny Eightpence and little Jonathan, emerging from the shelter of the aisle, and he suddenly remembered his responsibilities. There would be plenty of time later to agonize over who was to blame. Right now there were scores of people injured and many more trapped in the rubble. He had to organize the rescue operation. He glared at Bishop Waleran and said fiercely: \"Get out of my way.\" The startled bishop stepped aside, and Philip leaped up on the altar.\n\n\"Listen to me!\" he called out at the top of his voice. \"We have to take care of the wounded, rescue people who are trapped, and then bury the dead and pray for their souls. I'm going to appoint three leaders to organize this.\" He looked at the faces all around him, checking to see who was still alive and well. He spotted Alfred. \"Alfred Builder is in charge of moving rubble and rescuing trapped people, and I want all the masons and wrights to work with him.\" Looking at the monks, he was relieved to see his trusted confidant, Milius, unhurt. \"Milius Bursar is responsible for moving the dead and injured out of the church, and he will need strong young helpers. Randolph Infirmarer will take care of the wounded once they're out of this mess, and the older ones can help him, especially the older women. Right\u2014let's begin.\" He jumped down from the altar. There was a hubbub of speech as people started to give orders and ask questions.\n\nPhilip went over to Alfred, who was looking shaken and scared. If anyone was to blame for this it was he, as master builder, but this was no time for recriminations. Philip said: \"Divide your people into teams and give them separate areas to work.\"\n\nAlfred looked blank for a moment; then his face cleared. \"Yes. Right. We'll start at the west end and clear rubble out into the open space.\"\n\n\"Good.\" Philip left him and pushed through the crowd to Milius. He heard Milius say: \"Carry the wounded well clear of the church and put them on the grass. Take the dead bodies out to the north side.\" He moved away, content as always to trust Milius to do the right thing. He saw Randolph Infirmarer clambering over the rubble and hurried after him. They both picked their way across the piles of ruined stonework. Outside the church at the west end was a crowd of people who had managed to get out before the worst of the collapse and so escaped injury. \"Use those people,\" Philip said to Randolph. \"Send someone to the infirmary to fetch your equipment and supplies. Have a few of them go to the kitchen for hot water. Ask the cellarer for strong wine for those who need reviving. Make sure you lay the dead and injured out in neat lines with spaces between them, so that your helpers don't fall over the bodies.\"\n\nHe looked around. The survivors were going to work. Many of those who had been sheltered by the intact east end had followed Philip across the rubble and had already started to remove the bodies. One or two of the injured who had only been dazed or stunned were getting to their feet unaided. Philip saw an old woman sitting on the floor looking bewildered. He recognized her as Maud Silver, the widow of a silversmith. He helped her up and led her away from the wreckage. \"What happened?\" she said, not looking at him. \"I don't know what happened.\"\n\n\"Nor do I, Maud,\" he said.\n\nAs he returned to help someone else, Bishop Waleran's words sounded again in his mind: This is what comes of your damned arrogance, Philip. The accusation cut him to the quick because he thought it might be true. He was always pushing for more, better, faster. He had pushed Alfred to finish the vault just as he had pushed for a fleece fair and pushed to get the earl of Shiring's quarry. In each case the result had been tragedy: the slaughter of the quarrymen, the burning of Kingsbridge, and now this. Clearly ambition was to blame. Monks did better to live a life of resignation, accepting the tribulations and setbacks of this world as lessons in patience, taught by the Almighty.\n\nAs Philip helped to carry the groaning wounded and the unresisting dead out of the ruins of his cathedral, he resolved that in the future he would leave it to God to be ambitious and pushing: he, Philip, would passively accept whatever happened. If God wanted a cathedral, God would provide a quarry; if the town was burned, it should be taken as a sign that God did not want a fleece fair; and now that the church had fallen down, Philip would not rebuild it.\n\nAs he reached that decision, he saw William Hamleigh.\n\nThe new earl of Shiring was sitting on the floor in the third bay, near the north aisle, ashen-faced and trembling with pain, with his foot trapped under a big stone. Philip wondered, as he helped roll the stone away, why God had chosen to let so many good people die but had spared an animal such as William.\n\nWilliam was making a great fuss about the pain in his foot but was otherwise all right. They helped him to his feet. He leaned on the shoulder of a big man about his own size and began to hop away. Then a baby cried.\n\nEveryone heard it. There were no babies in sight. They all looked around, mystified. The crying came again, and Philip realized it was coming from beneath a massive pile of stones in the aisle. \"Over here!\" he called. He caught Alfred's eye and beckoned him. \"There's a baby alive under all that,\" he said.\n\nThey all listened to the crying. It sounded like a very small baby, not yet a month old. \"You're right,\" Alfred said. \"Let's shift some of those big stones.\" He and his helpers began to move rubble from a pile that completely blocked the arch of the third bay. Philip joined in. He could not think which of the townswomen had given birth in the last few weeks. Of course, a birth might not have come to his attention: although the town had got smaller in the past year, it was still big enough for him to miss such a commonplace event.\n\nThe crying stopped suddenly. Everyone stood still and listened, but it did not begin again. Grimly, they recommenced moving the stones. It was a perilous business, for removing one stone might cause others to fall. This was why Philip had put Alfred in charge. However, Alfred was not as cautious as Philip would have wished, and he seemed to be letting everyone do as they pleased, pulling stones away without any overall plan. At one point the whole pile shifted dangerously, and Philip called out: \"Wait!\"\n\nThey all stopped. Alfred was too shocked to organize people properly, Philip realized. He would have to do it himself. He said: \"If there is someone alive under there, something must have protected them; and if we let the pile shift, they could lose their protection, and be killed by our efforts. Let's do this carefully.\" He pointed to a group of stonemasons standing together. \"You three, climb the heap and take stones from the top. Instead of carrying them away yourselves, just pass each stone to one of us and we'll take them away.\"\n\nThey restarted work according to Philip's plan. It seemed quicker as well as safer.\n\nNow that the baby had stopped crying they were not sure exactly where they were heading, so they cleared across a broad area, most of the width of the bay. Some of the rubble was what had fallen from the vault, but the roof of the aisle had partly collapsed, so there were timber and roof slates as well as stones and mortar.\n\nPhilip worked tirelessly. He wanted that baby to survive. Even though he knew there were dozens of people dead, somehow the baby seemed more important. If it could be rescued, he felt, there was still hope for the future. As he hefted the stones, coughing and half blind from the dust, he prayed fervently that the baby would be found alive.\n\nEventually he could see, above the heaped rubble, the outer wall of the aisle and part of one deep-set window. There seemed to be a space behind the pile. Perhaps someone was alive in there. A mason climbed gingerly up the pile and looked down into the space. \"Jesus!\" he exclaimed.\n\nFor once Philip ignored the blasphemy. \"Is the babe all right?\" he said.\n\n\"I can't tell,\" said the mason.\n\nPhilip wanted to ask what the mason had seen, or, better still, take a look for himself, but the man recommenced clearing stones with renewed vigor, and there was nothing for it but to continue to help, in a fever of curiosity.\n\nThe level of the pile came down rapidly. There was a large stone near ground level that required three men to move it. As it was rolled aside, Philip saw the baby.\n\nIt was naked, and newborn. Its white skin was smeared with blood and building dust, but he could see that it had a head of startling carrot-colored hair. Looking more closely, Philip saw that it was a boy. It was lying on a woman's bosom and sucking at her breast. The child was alive, he saw, and his heart leaped for joy. He looked at the woman. She was alive, too. She caught his eye and gave him a weary, happy smile.\n\nIt was Aliena.\n\nAliena never went back to Alfred's house.\n\nHe told everyone that the baby was not his, and as proof pointed to the child's red hair, exactly the same color as Jack's; but he did not try to do any harm either to the baby or Aliena, apart from saying he would not have them in his house.\n\nAliena moved back into the one-room house in the poor quarter with her brother, Richard. She was relieved that Alfred's revenge was so mild. She was glad that she would no longer have to sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed like a dog. But mainly she was thrilled and proud about her lovely baby. He had red hair and blue eyes and perfect white skin, and he reminded her vividly of Jack.\n\nNo one knew why the church had fallen down. There were plenty of theories, however. Some said Alfred was not capable of being master builder. Others blamed Philip, for rushing to get the vault finished by Whitsun. Some of the masons said the falsework had been taken down before the mortar was properly dry. One old mason said the walls had never been intended to bear the weight of a stone vault.\n\nSeventy-nine people had been killed, including those who died of their injuries later. Everyone said it would have been more if Prior Philip had not herded so many people to the east end. The priory graveyard was already full because of the fire at the fleece fair the previous year, and most of the dead were buried at the parish church. A lot of people said the cathedral was under a curse.\n\nAlfred took all his masons off to Shiring, where he was building stone houses for the wealthy townspeople. The other craftsmen drifted away from Kingsbridge. No one was actually dismissed, and Philip continued to pay wages, but there was nothing for the men to do but tidy up the rubble, and after a few weeks they had all gone. No volunteers came to work on Sundays, the market was reduced to a few dispirited stalls, and Malachi packed his family and his possessions onto a huge cart pulled by four oxen and left town, searching for greener pastures.\n\nRichard rented his fine black stallion to a farmer and he and Aliena lived on the proceeds. Without Alfred's support he could not go on as a knight, and in any case there was no point now that William had been made earl. Aliena still felt bound by her vow to her father, but just now there seemed nothing she could do to fulfill it. Richard sank into lethargy. He got up late, sat in the sun most of the day, and spent his evenings in the alehouse.\n\nMartha still lived in the big house, alone except for an elderly woman servant. However, she spent most of her time with Aliena: she loved to help with the baby, especially as he looked so much like her adored Jack. She wanted Aliena to call him Jack, but Aliena was reluctant to name him, for reasons she herself did not quite understand.\n\nFor Aliena the summer went by in a maternal glow. But when the harvest was in, and the weather cooled a little, and the evenings became shorter, she grew discontented.\n\nWhenever she thought about her future, Jack came into her mind. He had gone, she had no idea where, and he would probably never come back, but he was still with her, dominating her thoughts, full of life and energy, as clear and vivid to her as if she had seen him only yesterday. She considered moving to another town and pretending she was a widow; she thought of trying to persuade Richard to earn a living somehow; she contemplated doing some weaving, or taking in washing, or becoming a servant to one of the few townspeople who were still wealthy enough to hire help; and each new scheme was greeted with scornful laughter by the imaginary Jack in her head, who said: \"Nothing will be any good without me.\" Making love to Jack on the morning of her marriage to Alfred had been the greatest sin she had ever committed, and she had no doubt that now she was being punished for it; but still there were times when she felt it was the only good thing she had done in her entire life; and when she looked at her baby, she could not bring herself to regret it. Nevertheless she was restless. A baby was not enough. She felt incomplete, unfulfilled. Her house seemed too small, Kingsbridge seemed half dead, life was too uneventful. She became impatient with the baby and snappish with Martha.\n\nAt the end of the summer, the farmer brought the horse back: it was no longer needed, and suddenly Richard and Aliena had no income. One day in early autumn Richard went to Shiring to sell his armor. While he was away, and Aliena was eating apples for dinner to save money, Jack's mother walked into the house.\n\n\"Ellen!\" Aliena said. She was more than startled. There was consternation in her voice, for Ellen had cursed a church wedding, and Prior Philip might yet have her punished for it.\n\n\"I came to see my grandson,\" Ellen said calmly.\n\n\"But how did you know...?\"\n\n\"You hear things, even in the forest.\" She went over to the cradle in the corner and looked at the sleeping child. Her face softened. \"Well, well. There's no doubt about whose son he is. Does he keep well?\"\n\n\"Never had anything wrong with him\u2014he's small but tough,\" Aliena said proudly. She added: \"Like his grandmother.\" She studied Ellen. She was leaner than when she had left, and brown-skinned, and she wore a short leather tunic that revealed her tanned calves. Her feet were bare. She looked young and fit: forest life seemed to suit her. Aliena calculated that she must be thirty-five years old. \"You seem very well,\" she said.\n\n\"I miss you all,\" Ellen said. \"I miss you, and Martha, and even your brother Richard. I miss my Jack. And I miss Tom.\" She looked sad.\n\nAliena was still worried for her safety. \"Did anyone see you coming here? The monks might still want to punish you.\"\n\n\"There isn't a monk in Kingsbridge who's got the guts to arrest me,\" she said with a grin. \"But I was careful anyway\u2014no one saw me.\" There was a pause. Ellen looked hard at Aliena. Aliena became slightly uncomfortable under the penetrating stare of Ellen's curious honey-colored eyes. At last Ellen said: \"You're wasting your life.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Aliena said, though Ellen's words had struck a chord instantly.\n\n\"You should go and find Jack.\"\n\nAliena felt a pang of delicious hope. \"But I can't,\" she said.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I don't know where he is, for one thing.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nAliena's heart beat faster. She had thought nobody knew where Jack had gone. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. But now she would be able to imagine him in a specific, real place. It changed everything. He might be somewhere nearby. She could show him his baby.\n\nEllen said: \"At least, I know where he was headed.\"\n\n\"Where?\" Aliena said urgently.\n\n\"Santiago de Compostela.\"\n\n\"Oh, God.\" Her heart sank. She was desperately disappointed. Compostela was the town in Spain where the Apostle James was buried. It was a journey of several months. Jack might as well have been on the far side of the world.\n\nEllen said: \"He was hoping to speak to the jongleurs on the road and find out something about his father.\"\n\nAliena nodded disconsolately. That made sense. Jack had always resented knowing so little about his father. But he might well never return. On such a long journey he was almost certain to find a cathedral he wanted to work on, and then he might settle down. In going to seek his father he had probably lost his son.\n\n\"It's so far away,\" Aliena said. \"I wish I could go after him.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Ellen said. \"Thousands of people go there on pilgrimage. Why shouldn't you?\"\n\n\"I made a vow to my father to take care of Richard until he becomes the earl,\" she told Ellen. \"I couldn't leave him.\"\n\nEllen looked skeptical. \"Just how do you imagine you're helping him at the moment?\" she said. \"You're penniless and William is the new earl. Richard has lost any chance he might have had of regaining the earldom. You're no more use to him here in Kingsbridge than you would be in Compostela. You dedicated your life to that wretched vow. But now there's nothing more you can do. I don't see how your father could reproach you. If you ask me, the greatest favor you could do Richard would be to abandon him for a while, and give him a chance to learn independence.\"\n\nIt was true, Aliena thought, that she was no use to Richard at the moment, whether she stayed in Kingsbridge or not. Could it be possible that she was now free\u2014free to go and find Jack? The mere idea made her heart race. \"But I haven't any money to go on pilgrimage,\" she said.\n\n\"What happened to that great big horse?\"\n\n\"We still have it\u2014\"\n\n\"Sell it.\"\n\n\"How can I? It's Richard's.\"\n\n\"For God's sake, who the hell bought it?\" Ellen said angrily. \"Did Richard work hard for years building up a wool business? Did Richard negotiate with greedy peasants and hard-nosed Flemish buyers? Did Richard collect the wool and store it and set up a market stall and sell it? Don't tell me it's Richard's horse!\"\n\n\"He would be so angry\u2014\"\n\n\"Good. Let's hope he gets angry enough to do some work for the first time in his life.\"\n\nAliena opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Ellen was right. Richard had always relied on her for everything. While he had been fighting for his patrimony she had been obliged to support him. But now he was not fighting for anything. He had no further claim on her.\n\nShe imagined meeting Jack again. She visualized his face, smiling at her. They would kiss. She felt a stir of pleasure in her loins. She realized she was getting damp down there at the mere thought of him. She felt embarrassed.\n\nEllen said: \"Traveling is hazardous, of course.\"\n\nAliena smiled. \"That's one thing I'm not worried about. I've been traveling since I was seventeen years old. I can take care of myself.\"\n\n\"Anyway, there will be hundreds of people on the road to Compostela. You can join with a large pilgrim band. You won't have to travel alone.\"\n\nAliena sighed. \"You know, if I didn't have Baby I think I'd do it.\"\n\n\"It's because of Baby that you must,\" Ellen said. \"He needs a father.\"\n\nAliena had not looked at it that way: she had been thinking of the journey as purely selfish. Now she saw that the baby needed Jack as much as she did. In her obsession with the day-to-day care of the baby she had not thought about his future. Suddenly it seemed terribly unfair that he should grow up not knowing the brilliant, unique, adorable genius who was his father.\n\nShe realized she was talking herself into going, and she felt a thrill of apprehension.\n\nA snag occurred to her. \"I couldn't take the baby to Compostela.\"\n\nEllen shrugged. \"He won't know the difference between Spain and England. But you don't have to take him.\"\n\n\"What else could I do?\"\n\n\"Leave him with me. I'll feed him on goat's milk and wild honey.\"\n\nAliena shook her head. \"I couldn't bear to be parted from him. I love him too much.\"\n\n\"If you love him,\" Ellen said, \"go and find his father.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Aliena found a ship at Wareham. When she had crossed to France as a girl, with her father, they had gone in one of the Norman warships. These were long, narrow vessels whose sides curved up to a high, sharp point at front and back. They had rows of oars along each side and a square leather sail. The ship that was to take her to Normandy now was similar to those warships, but wider at the waist, and deeper, to take cargo. It had come from Bordeaux, and she had watched the barefoot sailors unload great casks of wine destined for the cellars of the wealthy.\n\nAliena knew she should leave her baby but she was heartbroken about it. Every time she looked at him she rehearsed all the arguments and decided again that she ought to go; and it made no difference: she did not want to part from him.\n\nEllen had come to Wareham with her. Here Aliena had joined up with two monks from Glastonbury Abbey who were going to visit their property in Normandy. Three other people would be passengers on the ship: a young squire who had spent four years with an English relative and was returning to his parents in Toulouse, and two young masons who had heard that wages were higher and girls were prettier on the other side of the water. On the morning they were to sail, they all waited in the alehouse while the crew loaded the ship with heavy ingots of Cornish tin. The masons drank several pots of ale but did not appear to get drunk. Aliena hugged the baby and cried silently.\n\nAt last the ship was ready to leave. The sturdy gray mare Aliena had bought in Shiring had never seen the sea, and refused to go up the gangplank. However, the squire and the masons collaborated enthusiastically and eventually got the horse on board.\n\nAliena was blinded by tears as she gave her baby to Ellen. Ellen took the baby, but she said: \"You can't do this. I was wrong to suggest it.\"\n\nAliena cried even more. \"But there's Jack,\" she sobbed. \"I can't live without Jack, I know I can't. I must look for him.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Ellen said. \"I'm not suggesting you abandon the trip. But you can't leave your baby behind. Take him with you.\"\n\nAliena was flooded with gratitude and cried all the more. \"Do you really think it will be all right?\"\n\n\"He's been as happy as could be, all the way here, riding with you. The rest of the trip will only be more of the same. And he doesn't much like goat's milk.\"\n\nThe captain of the vessel said: \"Come on, ladies, the tide's on the turn.\"\n\nAliena took the baby back and kissed Ellen. \"Thank you. I'm so happy.\"\n\n\"Good luck,\" Ellen said.\n\nAliena turned and ran up the gangplank onto the ship.\n\nThey left immediately. Aliena waved until Ellen was a dot on the quay. As they rowed out of Poole Harbour it began to rain. There was no shelter up above, so Aliena sat in the bottom, with the horses and the cargo. The partial decking on which the oarsmen sat above her head did not completely protect her from the weather, but she was able to keep the baby dry inside her cloak. The motion of the ship seemed to agree with him, and he went to sleep. When darkness fell, and the ship anchored, Aliena joined the monks in their prayers. Afterward she dozed fitfully, sitting upright with the baby in her arms.\n\nThey landed at Barfleur the next day and Aliena found lodgings in the nearest town, Cherbourg. She spent another day going around the town, speaking to innkeepers and builders, asking if they recalled a young English mason with flaming red hair. Nobody did. There were lots of redheaded Normans, so they might not have noticed him. Or he might have crossed to a different port.\n\nAliena had not realistically expected to find traces of Jack so soon, but nevertheless she was disheartened. On the following day she set off, heading south. She traveled with a seller of knives and his cheerful fat wife and four children. They moved quite slowly, and Aliena was happy to keep to their pace and conserve her horse's strength, for it had to carry her a long way. Despite the protection of traveling with a family she kept her sharp, long-bladed knife strapped up her left sleeve. She did not look rich: her clothes were warm but not fancy, and her horse was sturdy rather than spirited. She was careful to keep a few coins handy in a purse, and never show anyone the heavy money belt strapped around her waist underneath her tunic. She fed the baby discreetly, not letting strange men see her breasts.\n\nThat night she was immensely cheered by a splendid stroke of luck. They stopped at a tiny village called Lessay, and there Aliena met a monk who vividly remembered a young English mason who had been fascinated by the revolutionary new rib-vaulting in the abbey church. Aliena was exultant. The monk even remembered Jack saying he had landed at Honfleur, which explained why there was no trace of him at Cherbourg. Although it was a year ago, the man talked volubly about Jack, and had obviously been charmed by him. Aliena was thrilled to be talking to someone who had seen him. It was confirmation that she was on the right trail. Eventually she left the monk and lay down to sleep on the floor of the abbey guesthouse. As she drifted off she hugged the baby tight and whispered into his tiny pink ear: \"We're going to find your Daddy.\"\n\nThe baby fell ill at Tours.\n\nThe city was wealthy and dirty and crowded. Rats ran in packs around the huge grain stores beside the river Loire. It was full of pilgrims. Tours was a traditional starting point for the pilgrimage to Compostela. In addition, the feast day of Saint Martin, the first bishop of Tours, was imminent, and many had come to the abbey church to visit his tomb. Martin was famous for having cut his cloak in two and given half to a naked beggar. Because of the feast, the inns and lodging houses of Tours were packed. Aliena was obliged to take what she could, and she stayed in a ramshackle dock-side tavern run by two elderly sisters who were too old and frail to keep the place clean.\n\nAt first she did not spend much time at her lodgings. With her baby in her arms she explored the streets, asking after Jack. She soon realized the city was so constantly full of visitors that the innkeepers could not even remember their guests of the week before last, so there was no point in asking them about someone who might have been here a year ago. However, she stopped at every building site to ask if they had employed a young English mason with red hair called Jack. Nobody had.\n\nShe was disappointed. She had not heard anything of him since Lessay. If he had stuck to his plan of going to Compostela he would almost certainly have come to Tours. She began to fear that he might have changed his mind.\n\nShe went to the church of Saint Martin, as everyone did; and there she saw a team of builders engaged on extensive repair work. She sought out the master builder, a small, bad-tempered man with thinning hair, and asked if he had employed an English mason.\n\n\"I never employ the English,\" he said abruptly, before she had finished her sentence. \"English masons are no good.\"\n\n\"This one is very good,\" she said. \"And he speaks good French, so you might not have known he's English. He has red hair\u2014\"\n\n\"No, never seen him,\" the master said rudely, and turned away.\n\nAliena went back to her lodgings somewhat depressed. To be treated nastily for no reason at all was very dispiriting.\n\nThat night she suffered a stomach upset and got no sleep at all. The next day she felt too ill to go out, and spent all day lying in bed in the tavern, with the stink of the river coming in at the window and the smells of spilled wine and cooking oil seeping up the stairs. On the following morning the baby was ill.\n\nHe woke her with his crying. It was not his usual lusty, demanding squall, but a thin, weak, sorry complaint. He had the same upset stomach Aliena had, but he was also feverish. His normally alert blue eyes were shut tight in distress, and his tiny hands were clenched into fists. His skin was flushed and blotchy.\n\nHe had never been ill before, and Aliena did not know what to do.\n\nShe gave him her breast. He sucked thirstily for a while, then cried again, then sucked again. The milk went straight through him, and seemed to give him no comfort.\n\nThere was a pleasant young chambermaid working at the tavern, and Aliena asked her to go to the abbey and buy holy water. She considered sending for a doctor, but they always wanted to bleed people, and she could not believe that it would help Baby to be bled.\n\nThe maid returned with her mother, who burned a bunch of dried herbs in an iron bowl. They gave off an acrid smoke that seemed to absorb the bad smells of the place. \"The baby will be thirsty\u2014give him the breast as often as he wants it,\" she said. \"Have plenty to drink yourself, so that you have enough milk. That's all you can do.\"\n\n\"Will he be all right?\" Aliena said anxiously.\n\nThe woman looked sympathetic. \"I don't know, dear. When they're so small you can't tell. Usually they survive things like this. Sometimes they don't. Is he your first?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Just remember that you can always have more.\"\n\nAliena thought: But this is Jack's baby, and I've lost Jack. She kept her thoughts to herself, thanked the woman, and paid her for the herbs.\n\nWhen they had gone she diluted the holy water with ordinary water, dipped a rag in it, and cooled the baby's head.\n\nHe seemed to get worse as the day wore on. Aliena gave him her breast when he cried, sang to him when he lay awake, and cooled him with holy water when he slept. He suckled continually but fitfully. Fortunately she had plenty of milk\u2014she always had. She herself was still ill and kept going with dry bread and watered wine. As the hours went by she came to hate the room she was in, with its bare flyblown walls, rough plank floor, ill-fitting door and mean little window. It had precisely four items of furniture: the rickety bed, a three-legged stool, a clothes pole, and a floor-standing candlestick with three prongs but only one candle.\n\nWhen darkness fell the maid came and lit the candle. She looked at the baby, who was lying on the bed, waving his arms and legs and grizzling plaintively. \"Poor little thing,\" she said. \"He doesn't understand why he feels so bad.\"\n\nAliena moved from the stool to the bed, but she kept the candle burning, so that she could see the baby. Through the night they both dozed fitfully. Toward dawn the baby's breathing became shallow, and he stopped crying and moving.\n\nAliena began to cry silently. She had lost Jack's trail, and her baby was going to die here, at a house full of strangers in a city far from home. There would never be another Jack and she would never have another baby. Perhaps she would die too. That might be for the best.\n\nAt daybreak she blew out the candle and fell into an exhausted sleep.\n\nA loud noise from downstairs woke her abruptly. The sun was up and the riverside below the window was loudly busy. The baby was dead still, his face peaceful at last. Cold fear gripped her heart. She touched his chest: he was neither hot nor cold. She gasped with fright. Then he gave a deep, shuddering sigh and opened his eyes. Aliena almost fainted with relief.\n\nShe snatched him up and hugged him, and he began to cry lustily. He was well again, she realized: his temperature was normal and he was in no distress. She put him to her breast and he sucked hungrily. Instead of turning away after a few mouthfuls he carried on, and when one breast was dry he drained the other. Then he fell into a deep, contented sleep.\n\nAliena realized that her symptoms had gone, too, although she felt wrung out. She slept beside the baby until midday, then fed him again; then she went down to the public room of the tavern and ate a dinner of goat's cheese and fresh bread with a little bacon.\n\nPerhaps it was the holy water of Saint Martin that had made the baby well. That afternoon she went back to Saint Martin's tomb to give thanks to the saint.\n\nWhile she was in the great abbey church, she watched the builders at work, thinking about Jack, who might yet see his baby after all. She wondered whether he had got diverted from his intended route. Perhaps he was working in Paris, carving stones for a new cathedral there. While she was thinking about him, her eye lit on a new corbel being installed by the builders. It was carved with a figure of a man who appeared to be holding the weight of the pillar above on his back. She gasped aloud. She knew instantly, without a shadow of doubt, that the twisted, agonized figure had been carved by Jack. So he had been here!\n\nWith her heart beating excitedly, she approached the men who were doing the work. \"That corbel,\" she said breathlessly. \"The man who carved it was English, wasn't he?\"\n\nAn old laborer with a broken nose answered her. \"That's right\u2014Jack Fitzjack did it. Never seen anything like it in my life.\"\n\n\"When was he here?\" Aliena said. She held her breath while the old man scratched his graying head through a greasy cap.\n\n\"Must be nearly a year ago, now. He didn't stay long, mind. Master didn't like him.\" He lowered his voice. \"Jack was too good, if you want to know the truth. He showed the master up. So he had to go.\" He laid a finger alongside his nose in a gesture of confidentiality.\n\nAliena said excitedly: \"Did he say where he was going?\"\n\nThe old man looked at the baby, \"That child is his, if the hair is anything to go by.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is.\"\n\n\"Will Jack be pleased to see you, do you think?\"\n\nAliena realized the laborer thought Jack might have been running away from her. She laughed. \"Oh, yes!\" she said. \"He'll be pleased to see me.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"He said he was going to Compostela, for what it's worth.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" Aliena said happily, and to the old man's astonishment and delight she kissed him.\n\nThe pilgrim trails across France converged at Ostabat, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. There the group of twenty or so pilgrims with whom Aliena was traveling swelled to about seventy. They were a footsore but merry bunch: some prosperous citizens, some probably on the run from justice, a few drunks, and several monks and clergymen. The men of God were there for reasons of piety but most of the others seemed bent on having a good time. Several languages were spoken, including Flemish, a German tongue, and a southern French language called Oc. Nevertheless there was no lack of communication among them, and as they crossed the Pyrenees together they sang, played games, told stories, and\u2014in several cases\u2014had love affairs.\n\nAfter Tours, unfortunately, Aliena did not find any more people who remembered Jack. However, there were not as many jongleurs along her route through France as she had imagined. One of the Flemish pilgrims, a man who had made the journey before, said there would be more of them on the Spanish side of the mountains.\n\nHe was right. At Pamplona, Aliena was thrilled to find a jongleur who recalled speaking to a young Englishman with red hair who had been asking about his father.\n\nAs the weary pilgrims moved slowly through northern Spain toward the coast, she met several more jongleurs, and most of them remembered Jack. She realized, with mounting excitement, that all of them said he had been going to Compostela: no one had encountered him coming back.\n\nWhich meant he was still there.\n\nAs her body became more sore her spirits lifted higher. She could hardly contain her optimism during the last few days of the journey. It was midwinter, but the weather was mild and sunny. The baby, now six months old, was fit and happy. She felt sure of finding Jack at Compostela.\n\nThey arrived there on Christmas Day.\n\nThey went straight to the cathedral and attended mass. The church was packed, naturally. Aliena walked round and round the congregation, staring at faces, but Jack was not there. Of course, he was not very devout; in fact he never went to churches except to work. By the time she had found accommodation it was dark. She went to bed, but she could hardly sleep for excitement, knowing that Jack was probably within a few steps of where she lay, and tomorrow she would see him, and kiss him, and show him his baby.\n\nShe was up at first light. The baby sensed her impatience and nursed irritably, biting her nipples with his gums. She washed him hastily, then went out, carrying him in her arms.\n\nAs she walked the dusty streets she expected to see Jack around every corner. How astonished he would be when he caught sight of her! And how pleased! However, she did not see him on the streets, so she began calling at lodging houses. As soon as people started work she went to building sites and spoke to masons. She knew the words for mason and redhead in the Castilian dialect, and the inhabitants of Compostela were used to foreigners, so she succeeded in communicating; but she found no trace of Jack. She began to be worried. Surely people should know him. He was not the kind of person you could easily overlook, and he must have been living here for several months. She also kept an eye open for his characteristic carvings, but she saw none.\n\nAround midmorning she met a blowsy, middle-aged woman tavern-keeper who spoke French and remembered Jack.\n\n\"A handsome lad\u2014is he yours? None of the local girls made any progress with him, anyway. He was here at midsummer, but he didn't stay long, more's the pity. He wouldn't say where he was going, either. I liked him. If you find him, give him a big kiss from me.\"\n\nAliena went back to her lodgings and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The baby grizzled but for once she ignored him. She was exhausted, disappointed, and homesick. It was not fair: she had trailed him all the way to Compostela, but he had gone somewhere else!\n\nSince he had not gone back to the Pyrenees, and as there was nothing to the west of Compostela but a strip of coastline and an ocean that reached to the end of the world, Jack must have gone farther south. She would have to set off again, on her gray mare, with her baby in her arms, into the heart of Spain.\n\nShe wondered how far from home she would have to go before her pilgrimage came to an end.\n\nJack spent Christmas Day with his friend Raschid Alharoun in Toledo. Raschid was a baptized Saracen who had made a fortune importing spices from the East, especially pepper. They met at midday mass in the great cathedral and then strolled back, in the warm winter sunshine, through the narrow streets and the fragrant bazaar to the wealthy quarter.\n\nRaschid's house was made of dazzling white stone and built around a courtyard with a fountain. The shady arcades of the courtyard reminded Jack of the cloisters at Kingsbridge Priory. In England they gave protection from wind and rain, but here their purpose was to deflect the heat of the sun.\n\nRaschid and his guests sat on floor cushions and dined off a low table. The men were waited on by the wives and daughters, and various servant girls whose place in the household was somewhat dubious: as a Christian, Raschid could have only one wife, but Jack suspected that he had quietly overlooked the Church's disapproval of concubines.\n\nThe women were the greatest attraction of Raschid's hospitable house. They were all beautiful. His wife was a statuesque, graceful woman with smooth dark-brown skin, lustrous black hair, and liquid brown eyes, and his daughters were slimmer versions of the same type. There were three of them. The eldest was engaged to be married to another dinner guest, the son of a silk merchant in the city. \"My Raya is the perfect daughter,\" Raschid said as she went around the table with a bowl of scented water for the guests to dip their hands in. \"She is attentive, obedient and beautiful. Josef is a lucky man.\" The fianc\u00e9 bowed his head in acknowledgment of his good fortune.\n\nThe second daughter was proud, even haughty. She appeared to resent the praise lavished on her sister. She looked down at Jack while she poured some kind of drink into his goblet from a copper jug. \"What is it?\" he said.\n\n\"Peppermint cordial,\" she said disdainfully. She disliked waiting on him, for she was the daughter of a great man, and he was a penniless vagabond.\n\nIt was the third daughter, Aysha, whom Jack liked most. In the three months he had been here he had got to know her quite well. She was fifteen or sixteen years old, small and lively, always grinning. Although she was three or four years younger than he, she did not seem juvenile. She had a lively, questioning intelligence. She asked him endless questions about England and the different way of life there. She often made fun of Toledo society manners\u2014the snobbery of the Arabs, the fastidiousness of the Jews, and the bad taste of the newly rich Christians\u2014and she sometimes had Jack in fits of laughter. Although she was the youngest, she seemed the least innocent of the three: something about the way she looked at Jack, as she leaned over him to place a dish of spicy prawns on the table, unmistakably revealed a licentious streak. She caught his eye and said \"Peppermint cordial\" in a perfect imitation of her sister's snooty manner, and Jack giggled. When he was with Aysha he could often forget Aliena for hours at a time.\n\nBut when he was away from this house, Aliena was on his mind as much as if he had left her only yesterday. His memories of her were painfully vivid, although he had not seen her for more than a year. He could recall any of her expressions at will: laughing, thoughtful, suspicious, anxious, pleased, astonished, and\u2014clearest of all\u2014passionate. He had forgotten nothing about her body, and he could still see the curve of her breast, feel the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, taste her kiss, and smell the scent of her arousal. He often longed for her.\n\nTo cure himself of his fruitless desire he sometimes imagined what Aliena must be doing. In his mind's eye he would see her pulling Alfred's boots off at the end of the day, sitting down to eat with him, kissing him, making love to him, and giving her breast to a baby boy who looked just like Alfred. These visions tortured him but did not stop him from longing for her.\n\nToday, Christmas Day, Aliena would roast a swan and re-dress it with its feathers for the table, and there would be posset to drink, made of ale, eggs, milk, and nutmeg. The food in front of Jack could not have been more different. There were mouth-watering dishes of strangely spiced lamb, rice mixed with nuts, and salads dressed with lemon juice and olive oil. It had taken Jack awhile to get used to Spanish cooking. They never served the great joints of beef, legs of pork and haunches of venison without which no feast was complete in England; nor did they consume thick slabs of bread. They did not have the lush pastures for grazing vast herds of cattle or the rich soil on which to grow fields of waving wheat. They made up for the relatively small quantities of meat by imaginative ways of cooking it with all kinds of spices, and in place of the ubiquitous bread of the English they had a wide variety of vegetables and fruits.\n\nJack was living with a small group of English clerics in Toledo. They were part of an international community of scholars that included Jews, Muslims and Arab Christians. The Englishmen were occupied translating works of mathematics from Arabic into Latin, so they could be read by Christians. There was an atmosphere of feverish excitement among them as they discovered and explored the treasure-house of Arab learning, and they had casually welcomed Jack as a student: they admitted into their circle anyone who understood what they were doing and shared their enthusiasm for it. They were like peasants who have labored for years to scratch a crop out of poor soil and then suddenly move to a rich alluvial valley. Jack had abandoned building to study mathematics. He had not yet needed to work for money: the clerics casually gave him a bed and any meals he wanted, and they would have provided him with a new robe and sandals if he had needed them.\n\nRaschid was one of their sponsors. As an international trader he was multilingual and cosmopolitan in his attitudes. At home he spoke Castilian, the language of Christian Spain, rather than Mozarabic. His family also all spoke French, the language of the Normans, who were important traders. Although he was a man of commerce, he had a powerful intellect and a wide-ranging curiosity. He loved to talk to scholars about their theories. He had taken a liking to Jack immediately, and Jack dined at his house several times a week.\n\nNow, as they began to eat, Raschid asked Jack: \"What have the philosophers taught us this week?\"\n\n\"I've been reading Euclid.\" Euclid's Elements of Geometry had been one of the first books translated.\n\n\"Euclid is a funny name for an Arab,\" said Ismail, Raschid's brother.\n\n\"He was Greek,\" Jack explained. \"He lived before the birth of Christ. His work was lost by the Romans but preserved by the Egyptians\u2014so it comes to us in Arabic.\"\n\n\"And now Englishmen are translating it into Latin!\" Raschid said. \"This amuses me.\"\n\n\"But what have you learned?\" said Josef, the fianc\u00e9 of Raya.\n\nJack hesitated. It was hard to explain. He tried to make it practical. \"My stepfather, the builder, taught me how to perform certain operations in geometry: how to divide a line exactly in half, how to draw a right angle, and how to draw one square inside another so that the smaller is half the area of the larger.\"\n\n\"What is the purpose of such skills?\" Josef interrupted. There was a note of scorn in his voice. He saw Jack as something of an upstart, and was jealous of the attention Raschid paid to Jack's conversation.\n\n\"Those operations are essential in planning buildings,\" Jack replied pleasantly, pretending not to notice Josef's tone. \"Take a look at this courtyard. The area of the covered arcades around the edges is exactly the same as the open area in the middle. Most small courtyards are built like that, including the cloisters of monasteries. It's because these proportions are most pleasing. If the middle is bigger, it looks like a marketplace, and if it's smaller, it just looks as if there's a hole in the roof. But to get it exactly right, the builder has to be able to draw the open part in the middle so that it's precisely half the area of the whole thing.\"\n\n\"I never knew that!\" Raschid said triumphantly. He liked nothing better than to learn something new.\n\n\"Euclid explains why these techniques work,\" Jack went on. \"For example, the two parts of the divided line are equal because they form corresponding sides of congruent triangles.\"\n\n\"Congruent?\" Raschid queried.\n\n\"It means exactly alike.\"\n\n\"Ah\u2014now I see.\"\n\nHowever, no one else did, Jack could tell.\n\nJosef said: \"But you could perform all these geometric operations before you read Euclid\u2014so I don't see that you're any better off now.\"\n\nRaschid protested: \"A man is always better off for understanding something!\"\n\nJack said: \"Besides, now that I understand the principles of geometry I may be able to devise solutions to new problems that baffled my stepfather.\" He felt rather frustrated by the conversation: Euclid had come to him like the blinding flash of a revelation, but he was failing to communicate the thrilling importance of these new discoveries. He changed tack somewhat. \"It's Euclid's method that is the most interesting,\" he said. \"He takes five axioms\u2014self-evident truths\u2014and deduces everything else logically from them.\"\n\n\"Give me an example of an axiom,\" Raschid said.\n\n\"A line can be prolonged indefinitely.\"\n\n\"No it can't,\" said Aysha, who was handing round a bowl of figs.\n\nThe guests were somewhat startled to hear a girl joining in the argument, but Raschid laughed indulgently: Aysha was his favorite. \"And why not?\" he said.\n\n\"It has to come to an end sometime,\" she said.\n\nJack said: \"But in your imagination, it could go on indefinitely.\"\n\n\"In my imagination, water could flow uphill and dogs speak Latin,\" she retorted.\n\nHer mother came into the room and heard that rejoinder. \"Aysha!\" she said in a steely voice. \"Out!\"\n\nAll the men laughed. Aysha made a face and went out. Josef's father said: \"Whoever marries her will have his hands full!\" They laughed again. Jack laughed too; then he noticed they were all looking at him, as if the joke was on him.\n\nAfter dinner, Raschid showed off his collection of mechanical toys. He had a tank in which you could mix water and wine and they would come out separately; a marvelous water-driven clock, which kept track of the hours in the day with phenomenal accuracy; a jug that would refill itself but never overflow; and a small wooden statue of a woman with eyes made of some kind of crystal that absorbed water in the warmth of the day and then shed it in the cool of the evening, so that she appeared to be weeping. Jack shared Raschid's fascination with these toys, but he was most intrigued by the weeping statue, for whereas the mechanisms of the others were simple once they had been explained, no one really understood how the statue worked.\n\nThey sat in the arcades around the courtyard in the afternoon, playing games, dozing, or talking idly. Jack wished he belonged to a big family like this one, with sisters and uncles and in-laws, and a family home they could all visit, and a position of respect in a small town. Suddenly he recalled the conversation he had had with his mother the night she rescued him from the priory punishment cell. He had asked her about his father's relations, and she had said Yes, he had a big family, back in France. I have got a family like this one, somewhere, Jack realized. My father's brothers and sisters are my uncles and aunts. I might have cousins of my own I wonder if I will ever find them?\n\nHe felt adrift. He could survive anywhere but he belonged nowhere. He had been a carver, a builder, a monk and a mathematician, and he did not know which was the real Jack, if any. He sometimes wondered if he should be a jongleur like his father, or an outlaw like his mother. He was nineteen years old, homeless and rootless, with no family and no purpose in life.\n\nHe played chess with Josef and won; then Raschid came up and said: \"Give me your chair, Josef\u2014I want to hear more about Euclid.\"\n\nJosef obediently gave up his chair to his prospective father-in-law, then moved away\u2014he had already heard everything he ever wanted to know about Euclid. Raschid sat down and said to Jack: \"You're enjoying yourself?\"\n\n\"Your hospitality is matchless,\" Jack said smoothly. He had learned courtly manners in Toledo.\n\n\"Thank you; but I meant with Euclid.\"\n\n\"Yes. I don't think I succeeded in explaining the importance of this book. You see\u2014\"\n\n\"I think I understand,\" Raschid said. \"Like you, I love knowledge for its own sake.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Even so, every man has to make a living.\"\n\nJack did not see the relevance of that remark, so he waited for Raschid to say more. However, Raschid sat back with his eyes half closed, apparently content to enjoy a companionable silence. Jack began to wonder whether Raschid was reproaching him for not working at a trade. Eventually Jack said: \"I expect I shall go back to building, one day.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nJack smiled. \"When I left Kingsbridge, riding my mother's horse, with my stepfather's tools in a satchel slung across my shoulder, I thought there was only one way to build a church: thick walls with round arches and small windows topped by a wooden ceiling or a barrel-shaped stone vault. The cathedrals I saw on my way from Kingsbridge to Southampton taught me no different. But Normandy changed my life.\"\n\n\"I can imagine,\" Raschid said sleepily. He was not very interested, so Jack recalled those days in silence. Within hours of landing at Honfleur he was looking at the abbey church of Jumi\u00e8ges. It was the highest church he had ever seen, but otherwise it had the usual round arches and wooden ceiling\u2014except in the chapter house, where Abbot Urso had built a revolutionary stone ceiling. Instead of a smooth, continuous barrel, or a creased groin vault, this ceiling had ribs which sprang up from the tops of the columns and met at the apex of the roof. The ribs were thick and strong, and the triangular sections of ceiling between the ribs were thin and light. The monk who was keeper of the fabric explained to Jack that it was easier to build that way: the ribs were put up first, and the sections between were then simpler to make. This type of vault was also lighter. The monk was hoping to hear news from Jack of technical innovations in England, and Jack had to disappoint him. However, Jack's evident appreciation of rib-vaulting pleased the monk, and he told Jack that there was a church at Lessay, not far away, that had rib-vaulting throughout.\n\nJack went to Lessay the next day, and spent all afternoon in the church, staring in wonder at the vault. What was so striking about it, he finally decided, was the way the ribs, coming down from the apex of the vault to the capitals on top of the columns, seemed to dramatize the way the weight of the roof was being carried by the strongest members. The ribs made the logic of the building visible.\n\nJack traveled south, to the county of Anjou, and got a job doing repair work at the abbey church in Tours. He had no trouble persuading the master builder to give him a trial. The tools he had in his possession showed that he was a mason, and after a day at work the master knew he was a good one. His boast to Aliena, that he could get work anywhere in the world, was not entirely vain.\n\nAmong the tools he had inherited was Tom's foot rule. Only master builders owned these, and when the others discovered Jack had one, they asked him how he had become a master at such a young age. His first inclination was to explain that he was not really a master builder; but then he decided to say he was. After all, he had effectively run the Kingsbridge site while he was a monk, and he could draw plans just as well as Tom. But the master he was working for was annoyed to discover that he had hired a possible rival. One day Jack suggested a modification to the monk in charge of the building, and drew what he meant on the tracing floor. That was the beginning of his troubles. The master builder became convinced that Jack was after his job. He began to find fault with Jack's work, and put him on the monotonous task of cutting plain blocks.\n\nSoon Jack set off again. He went to the abbey of Cluny, the headquarters of a monastic empire that spread all across Christendom. It was the Cluniac order that had initiated and fostered the now-famous pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint James at Compostela. All along the Compostela road there were churches dedicated to Saint James and Cluniac monasteries to take care of pilgrims. As Jack's father had been a jongleur on the pilgrim road, it seemed likely he had visited Cluny.\n\nHowever, he had not. There were no jongleurs at Cluny. Jack learned nothing about his father there.\n\nNevertheless, the journey was by no means wasted. Every arch Jack had ever seen, until the moment he entered the abbey church of Cluny, had been semicircular; and every vault had been either tunnel-shaped, like a long line of round arches all stuck together, or groined, like the crossing where two tunnels met. The arches at Cluny were not semicircular.\n\nThey rose to a point.\n\nThere were pointed arches in the main arcades; the groined vaults of the side aisles had pointed arches; and\u2014most startling of all\u2014above the nave there was a stone ceiling that could only be described as a pointed barrel vault. Jack had always been taught that a circle was strong because it was perfect, and a round arch was strong because it was part of a circle. He would have thought that pointed arches were weak. In fact, the monks told him, the pointed arches were considerably stronger than the old round ones. The church at Cluny seemed to prove it, for despite the great weight of stonework in its peaked vault, it was very high.\n\nJack did not stay long at Cluny. He continued south, following the pilgrim road, diverging whenever the whim took him. In the early summer there were jongleurs all along the route, in the larger towns or near the Cluniac monasteries. They recited their verse narratives to crowds of pilgrims in front of churches and shrines, sometimes accompanying themselves on the viol, just the way Aliena had told him. Jack approached every one and asked if he had known Jack Shareburg. They all said no.\n\nThe churches he saw on his way through southwest France and northern Spain continued to astonish him. They were all much higher than the English cathedrals. Some of them had banded barrel vaults. The bands, reaching from pier to pier across the vault of the church, made it possible to build in stages, bay by bay, instead of all at once. They also changed the look of a church. By emphasizing the divisions between bays, they revealed that the building was a series of identical units, like a sliced loaf; and this imposed order and logic on the huge interior space.\n\nHe was in Compostela at midsummer. He had not known there were places in the world that were so hot. Santiago was another breathtakingly tall church, and the nave, still under construction, also had a banded barrel vault. From there he went farther south.\n\nThe kingdoms of Spain had been under Saracen rule until recently; indeed, most of the country south of Toledo was still Muslim-dominated. The appearance of Saracen buildings fascinated Jack: their high, cool interiors, their arcades of arches, their stonework blinding white in the sun. But most interesting of all was the discovery that both rib-vaulting and pointed arches featured in Muslim architecture. Perhaps this was where the French had got their new ideas.\n\nHe could never work on another church like Kingsbridge Cathedral, he thought as he sat in the warm Spanish afternoon, listening vaguely to the laughter of the women somewhere deep in the big cool house. He still wanted to build the most beautiful cathedral in the world, but it would not be a massive, solid, fortress-like structure. He wanted to use the new techniques, the rib-vaults and the pointed arches. However, he thought he would not use them in quite the way they had been used so far. None of the churches he had seen had made the most of the possibilities. A picture of a church was forming in his mind. The details were hazy but the overall feeling was very strong: it was a spacious, airy building, with sunlight pouring through its huge windows, and an arched vault so high it seemed to reach heaven.\n\n\"Josef and Raya will need a house,\" Raschid said suddenly. \"If you were to build it, other work would follow.\"\n\nJack was startled. One thing he had not thought of building was houses. \"Do you think they want me to build their house?\" he said.\n\n\"They might.\"\n\nThere was another long silence, during which Jack contemplated life as a housebuilder for wealthy merchants in Toledo.\n\nEventually Raschid seemed to come awake. He sat upright and opened his eyes wide. \"I like you, Jack,\" he said. \"You're an honest man, and you're worth talking to, which is more than can be said for most people I've met. I hope we will always be friends.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said Jack, somewhat surprised by this unprompted tribute.\n\n\"I'm a Christian, so I don't keep my women locked away, as some of my Muslim brothers do. On the other hand, I'm Arab; which means I don't give them quite the... forgive me, the license, that other women are used to. I allow them to meet and talk with male guests at the house. I even allow friendships to develop. But at the point where friendship begins to ripen into something more\u2014as happens so naturally among young people\u2014then I expect the man to make a formal move. Anything else would be an insult.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Jack said.\n\n\"I knew you'd understand.\" Raschid stood up and put an affectionate hand on Jack's shoulder. \"I've never been blessed with a son; but if I had, I think he would have been like you.\"\n\nOn impulse, Jack said: \"But darker, I hope.\"\n\nRaschid looked blank for a moment, then he roared with laughter, startling the other guests around the courtyard. \"Yes!\" he said merrily. \"Darker!\" And he went into the house, still guffawing.\n\nThe older guests began to take their leave. Jack sat by himself, thinking over what had been said to him, as the afternoon cooled. He was being offered a deal, there was no question of that. If he married Aysha, Raschid would launch him as housebuilder to the wealthy of Toledo. There was also a warning: if he did not intend to marry her, he should stay away. The people of Spain had more elaborate manners than the English, but they could make their meaning plain when necessary.\n\nWhen Jack reflected on his situation he sometimes found it incredible. Is this me? he thought. Is this Jack Jackson, bastard son of a man who was hanged, brought up in the forest, apprentice mason, escaped monk? Am I really being offered the beautiful daughter of a wealthy Arab merchant, plus a guaranteed living as a builder, in this balmy city? It sounds too good to be true. I even like the girl!\n\nThe sun was going down, and the courtyard was in shadow. There were only two people left in the arcade\u2014himself and Josef. He was just wondering whether this situation could have been contrived when Raya and Aysha appeared, proving that it had. Despite the theoretical strictness about physical contact between girls and young men, their mother knew exactly what was happening, and Raschid probably did too. They would give the sweethearts a few moments of solitude; then, before they had time to do anything serious, the mother would come out into the courtyard, pretending to be outraged, and order the girls back inside.\n\nOn the other side of the courtyard Raya and Josef immediately started kissing. Jack stood up as Aysha approached him. She was wearing a floor-length white dress of Egyptian cotton, a fabric Jack had never seen before he came to Spain. Softer than wool and finer than linen, it clung to Aysha's limbs as she moved, and its white color seemed to glow in the twilight. It made her brown eyes look almost black. She stood close to him, grinning impishly. \"What did he say to you?\" she said.\n\nJack guessed she meant her father. \"He offered to set me up as a housebuilder.\"\n\n\"What a dowry!\" she said scornfully. \"I can't believe it! At least he might have offered you money.\"\n\nShe had no patience with traditional Saracen indirection, Jack observed wryly. He found her frankness refreshing. \"I don't think I want to build houses,\" he said.\n\nShe suddenly became solemn. \"Do you like me?\"\n\n\"You know I do.\"\n\nShe took a step forward, lifted her face, closed her eyes, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. She smelled of musk and ambergris. She opened her mouth, and her tongue darted between his lips playfully. His arms went around her almost involuntarily. He rested his hands on her waist. The cotton was very light: it was almost like touching her bare skin. She took his hand and raised it to her breast. Her body was lean and taut, and her breast was shallow, like a small, firm mound, with a tiny hard nipple at its tip. Her chest moved up and down as she became aroused. Jack was shocked to feel her hand moving between his legs. He squeezed her nipple between his fingertips. She gasped, and broke away from him, panting. He dropped his hands.\n\n\"Did I hurt you?\" he whispered.\n\n\"No!\" she said.\n\nHe thought of Aliena, and felt guilty; then he realized how foolish that was. Why should he feel that he was betraying a woman who had married another man?\n\nAysha looked at him for a moment. It was almost dark, but he could see that her face was suffused with desire. She lifted his hand and put it back on her breast. \"Do it again, but harder,\" she said urgently.\n\nHe found her nipple and leaned forward to kiss her, but she pulled her head back and watched his face while he caressed her. He squeezed her nipple gently, then, obediently, pinched it hard. She arched her back so that her flat breasts protruded and her nipples made small hard puckers in the fabric of her dress. Jack bent his head to her breast. His lips closed around her nipple through the cotton. Then, on impulse, he took it between his teeth and bit down. He heard her sharp intake of breath.\n\nHe felt a shudder pass through her. She lifted his head from her breast and pressed herself against him. He bent his face to hers. She kissed him frantically, as if she wanted to cover his face with her mouth, and pulled his body to hers, making small panicky sounds in the back of her throat. Jack was aroused, bewildered and even a little scared: he had never known anything like this. He thought she was about to reach a climax. Then they were interrupted.\n\nHer mother's voice came from the doorway. \"Raya! Aysha! Come inside at once!\"\n\nAysha looked up at him, panting. After a moment she kissed him again, hard, pressing her lips against his until she bruised him. She broke away. \"I love you,\" she hissed. Then she ran into the house.\n\nJack watched her go. Raya followed her at a more sedate pace. Their mother flashed a disapproving look at him and Josef and then went in after the girls, shutting the door decisively behind her. Jack stood staring at the closed door, wondering what to make of it all.\n\nJosef crossed the courtyard and interrupted his reverie. \"Such beautiful girls\u2014both of them!\" he said with a conspiratorial wink.\n\nJack nodded absently and moved toward the gate. Josef went with him. As they passed under the arch, a servant materialized out of the shadows and closed the gate behind them.\n\nJosef said: \"The trouble with being engaged is that it leaves you with an ache between the legs.\" Jack made no reply. Josef said: \"I might go down to Fatima's to get it eased.\" Fatima's was the whorehouse. Despite its Saracen name, nearly all the girls were light-skinned, and the few Arab whores were very high-priced. \"Do you want to come?\" Josef said.\n\n\"No,\" Jack replied. \"I've got a different kind of ache. Good night.\" He walked quickly away. Josef was not his favorite companion at the best of times and tonight Jack found himself in an unforgiving mood.\n\nThe night air cooled as he headed back toward the college where he had a hard bed in the dormitory. He felt he was at a turning point. He was being offered a life of ease and prosperity, and all he had to do was forget Aliena and abandon his aspiration to build the most beautiful cathedral in the world.\n\nThat night he dreamed that Aysha came to him, her naked body slippery with scented oil, and she rubbed herself against him but would not let him make love to her.\n\nWhen he woke up in the morning he had made his decision.\n\nThe servants would not let Aliena into the house of Raschid Alharoun. She probably looked like a beggar, she thought as she stood outside the gate, in her dusty tunic and worn boots, with her baby in her arms. \"Tell Raschid Alharoun that I am seeking his friend Jack Fitzjack from England,\" she said in French, wondering if the dark-skinned servants could understand a single word. After a muttered consultation in some Saracen tongue, one of the servants, a tall man with coaly skin and hair like the fleece of a black sheep, went into the house.\n\nAliena fidgeted restlessly while the other servants stared at her openly. She had not learned patience, even on this interminable pilgrimage. After her disappointment at Compostela she had followed the road into the interior of Spain, to Salamanca. No one there remembered a redhaired young man interested in cathedrals and jongleurs, but a kindly monk told her that there was a community of English scholars at Toledo. It seemed a faint hope, but Toledo was not much farther down the dusty road, so she pressed on.\n\nAnother tantalizing disappointment had been waiting for her here. Yes, Jack had been here\u2014what a stroke of luck!\u2014but alas, he had already left. She was catching up with him: she was now only a month behind him. But, once again, nobody knew where he had gone.\n\nIn Compostela she had been able to guess that he must have gone south, because she had come from the east, and there was sea to the north and west. Here, unfortunately, there were more possibilities. He might have gone northeast, back toward France; west to Portugal; or south to Granada; and from the Spanish coast he might have taken ship for Rome, Tunis, Alexandria or Beirut.\n\nAliena had decided to give up the search if she did not get a strong indication of which way he had gone when he left here. She was bone-weary and a long way from home. She had very little energy or determination left, and she could not face going farther with no more than a faint hope of success. She was ready to turn around and go back to England, and try to forget about Jack forever.\n\nAnother servant came out of the white house. This one was dressed in more costly clothes and spoke French. He looked at Aliena warily but addressed her politely. \"You are a friend of Mr. Jack?\"\n\n\"Yes, an old friend from England. I would like to speak with Raschid Alharoun.\"\n\nThe servant glanced at the baby.\n\nAliena said: \"I'm a relative of Jack's.\" It was not untrue: she was the estranged wife of Jack's stepbrother, and that was a relationship.\n\nThe servant opened the gate wider and said: \"Please come with me.\"\n\nAliena stepped inside gratefully. If she had been turned away here it would have been the end of the road.\n\nShe followed the servant across a pleasant courtyard, past a splashing fountain. She wondered what had drawn Jack to the home of this wealthy merchant. It seemed an unlikely friendship. Had Jack recited verse narratives in these shady arcades?\n\nThey went into the house. It was a palatial home, with high, cool rooms, floors of stone and marble, and elaborately carved furniture with rich upholstery. They went through two archways and a wooden door, and then Aliena had the feeling they might have entered the women's quarters. The servant held up his hand for her to wait, then coughed gently.\n\nA moment later a tall Saracen woman in a black robe glided into the room, holding a corner of her garment up in front of her mouth in a pose that was insulting in any language. She looked at Aliena and said in French: \"Who are you?\"\n\nAliena drew herself up to her full height. \"I am the Lady Aliena, daughter of the late earl of Shiring,\" she said as haughtily as she could. \"I take it I have the pleasure of addressing the wife of Raschid the pepper seller.\" She could play this game as well as anyone.\n\n\"What do you want here?\"\n\n\"I came to see Raschid.\"\n\n\"He doesn't receive women.\"\n\nAliena realized she had no hope of gaining this woman's cooperation. However, she had nowhere else to go, so she kept trying. \"He may receive a friend of Jack's,\" she persisted.\n\n\"Is Jack your husband?\"\n\n\"No.\" Aliena hesitated. \"He's my brother-in-law.\"\n\nThe woman looked skeptical. Like most people, she probably assumed that Jack had impregnated Aliena, then abandoned her, and Aliena was pursuing him with the object of forcing him to marry her and support the child.\n\nThe woman half turned and called out something in a language Aliena did not understand. A moment later three young women came into the room. It was obvious from their looks that they were her daughters. She spoke to them in the same language, and they all stared at Aliena. There followed a rapid conversation in which the syllable Jack recurred often.\n\nAliena felt humiliated. She was tempted to turn on her heel and walk out; but that would mean giving up her search altogether. These awful people were her last hope. She raised her voice, interrupting their conversation, and said: \"Where is Jack?\" She intended to be forceful but to her dismay her voice just sounded plaintive.\n\nThe daughters fell silent.\n\nThe mother said: \"We don't know where he is.\"\n\n\"When did you see him last?\"\n\nShe hesitated. She did not want to answer, but she could hardly pretend not to know when she had seen him last. \"He left Toledo the day after Christmas,\" she said reluctantly.\n\nAliena forced a friendly smile. \"Do you recall his saying anything about where he might be going?\"\n\n\"I told you, we don't know where he is.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he said something to your husband.\"\n\n\"No, he did not.\"\n\nAliena despaired. She had an intuitive feeling that the woman did know something. However, it was clear that she was not going to reveal it. Aliena felt suddenly weak and weary. With tears in her eyes she said: \"Jack is the father of my child. Don't you think he would like to see his son?\"\n\nThe youngest of the three daughters started to say something, but the mother interrupted her. There was a short, fierce exchange: mother and daughter had the same fiery temperament. But in the end the daughter shut up.\n\nAliena waited, but no more was said. The four of them just stared at her. They were unquestionably hostile, but they were so curious that they were in no hurry to see her go. However, there was no point in staying. She might as well get out, go back to her lodgings, and make preparations for the long journey back to Kingsbridge. She took a deep breath and made her voice cool and steady. \"I thank you for your hospitality,\" she said.\n\nThe mother had the grace to look slightly ashamed.\n\nAliena left the room.\n\nThe servant was hovering outside. He fell into step beside her and escorted her through the house. She blinked back tears. It was unbearably frustrating to know that her whole journey had failed because of the malice of one woman.\n\nThe servant led her across the courtyard. As they reached the gate, Aliena heard running footsteps. She looked back to see the youngest daughter coming after her. She stopped and waited. The servant looked uneasy.\n\nThe girl was short and slender, and very pretty, with golden skin and eyes so dark they were nearly black. She wore a white dress and made Aliena feel dusty and unwashed. She spoke broken French. \"Do you love him?\" she blurted.\n\nAliena hesitated. She realized she had no more dignity left to lose. \"Yes, I love him,\" she confessed.\n\n\"Does he love you?\"\n\nAliena was about to say yes; then she realized she had not seen him for more than a year. \"He used to,\" she said.\n\n\"I think he loves you,\" the girl said.\n\n\"What makes you say that?\"\n\nThe girl's eyes filled with tears. \"I wanted him for myself. And I nearly got him.\" She looked at the baby. \"Red hair and blue eyes.\" The tears ran down her smooth brown cheeks.\n\nAliena stared at her. This explained her hostile reception. The mother had wanted Jack to marry this girl. She could not have been more than sixteen, but she had a sensual look that made her seem older. Aliena wondered exactly what had happened between them. She said: \"You 'nearly' got him?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the girl said defiantly. \"I knew he liked me. It broke my heart when he went away. But now I understand.\" She lost her composure, and her face crumpled in grief.\n\nAliena could feel for a woman who had loved Jack and lost him. She touched the girl's shoulder in a comforting gesture. But there was something more important than compassion. \"Listen,\" she said urgently. \"Do you know where he went?\"\n\nThe girl looked up and nodded, sobbing.\n\n\"Tell me!\"\n\n\"Paris,\" she said.\n\nParis!\n\nAliena was jubilant. She was back on the trail. Paris was a long way, but the journey would be mostly over familiar ground. And Jack was only a month ahead of her. She felt rejuvenated. I'll find him, in the end, she thought; I know I will!\n\n\"Are you going to Paris now?\" the girl said.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Aliena said. \"I've come this far\u2014I won't stop now. Thank you for telling me\u2014thank you.\"\n\n\"I want him to be happy,\" she said simply.\n\nThe servant fidgeted discontentedly. He looked as if he thought he might get into trouble over this. Aliena said to the girl: \"Did he say anything else? Which road he would take, or anything that might help me?\"\n\n\"He wants to go to Paris because someone told him they are building beautiful churches there.\"\n\nAliena nodded. She could have guessed that.\n\n\"And he took the weeping lady.\"\n\nAliena did not know what she meant. \"The weeping lady?\"\n\n\"My father gave him the weeping lady.\"\n\n\"A lady?\"\n\nThe girl shook her head. \"I don't know the right words. A lady. She weeps. From the eyes.\"\n\n\"You mean a picture? A painted lady?\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" the girl said. She looked over her shoulder anxiously. \"I have to go.\"\n\nWhatever the weeping lady was, it did not sound very important. \"Thank you for helping me,\" Aliena said.\n\nThe girl bent down and kissed the baby's forehead. Her tears fell on his plump cheeks. She looked up at Aliena. \"I wish I were you,\" she said. Then she turned away and ran back into the house.\n\nJack's lodgings were in the rue de la Boucherie; in a suburb of Paris on the left bank of the Seine. He saddled his horse at daybreak. At the end of the street he turned right and passed through the tower gate that guarded the Petit Pont, the bridge that led to the island city in the middle of the river.\n\nThe wooden houses on either side projected over the edges of the bridge. In the gaps between the houses were stone benches where, later in the morning, famous teachers would hold open-air classes. The bridge took Jack into the Juiverie, the island's main street. The bakeries along the street were packed with students buying their breakfast. Jack got a pastry filled with cooked eel.\n\nHe turned left opposite the synagogue, then right at the king's palace, and crossed the Grand Pont, the bridge that led to the right bank. The small, well-built shops of the moneychangers and goldsmiths on either side were beginning to open for business. At the end of the bridge he passed through another gatehouse and entered the fish market, where business was already brisk. He pushed through the crowds and started along the muddy road that led to the town of Saint-Denis.\n\nWhen he was still in Spain he had heard, from a traveling mason, about Abbot Suger and the new church he was building at Saint-Denis. As he made his way northward through France that spring, working for a few days whenever he needed money, he heard Saint-Denis mentioned often. It seemed the builders were using both of the new techniques, rib-vaulting and pointed arches, and the combination was rather striking.\n\nHe rode for more than an hour through fields and vineyards. The road was not paved but it had milestones. It passed the hill of Montmartre, with a ruined Roman temple at its summit, and went through the village of Clignancourt. Three miles after Clignancourt he reached the small walled town of Saint-Denis.\n\nDenis had been the first bishop of Paris. He had been decapitated at Montmartre and then had walked, carrying his severed head in his hands, out into the countryside to this spot, where at last he fell. A pious woman had buried him and a monastery had been erected over his grave. The church had become the burying place for the kings of France. The current abbot, Suger, was a powerful and ambitious man who had reformed the monastery and was now modernizing the church.\n\nJack entered the town and reined in his horse in the middle of the marketplace to look up at the west front of the church. There was nothing revolutionary here. It was a straightforward old-fashioned facade with twin towers and three round-arched doorways. He rather liked the aggressive way the piers thrust out from the wall, but he would not have ridden five miles to see that.\n\nHe tied his horse to a rail in front of the church and went closer. The sculpture around the three portals was quite good: lively subjects, precisely chiseled. Jack went in.\n\nInside there was an immediate change. Before the nave proper, there was a low entryway, or narthex. As Jack looked up at the ceiling he experienced a surge of excitement. The builders had used rib-vaulting and pointed arches in combination here, and Jack saw in a flash that the two techniques went together perfectly: the grace of the pointed arch was accentuated by the ribs that followed its line.\n\nThere was more to it. In between the ribs, instead of the usual web of mortar-and-rubble, this builder had put cut stones, as in a wall. Being stronger, the layer of stones could probably be thinner, and therefore lighter, Jack realized.\n\nAs he stared up, craning his neck until it ached, he understood a further remarkable feature of this combination. Two pointed arches of different widths could be made to reach the same height, merely by adjusting the curve of the arch. This gave the bay a more regular look. It could not be done with round arches, of course: the height of a semicircular arch was always half its width, so a wide one had to be higher than a narrow one. That meant that in a rectangular bay, the narrow arches had to spring from a point higher up the wall than the springing of the wide ones, so that their tops would be at the same level and the ceiling would be even. The result was always lopsided. This problem had now vanished.\n\nJack lowered his head and gave his neck a rest. He felt as jubilant as if he had just been crowned king. This, he thought, was how he would build his cathedral.\n\nHe looked into the main body of the church. The nave itself was clearly quite old, although relatively long and wide: it had been built many years ago, by someone other than the current master, and it was quite conventional. But then, at the crossing, there seemed to be steps down\u2014no doubt leading to the crypt and the royal tombs\u2014and steps up to the chancel. It looked as if the chancel were floating a little way above the ground. The structure was obscured, from this angle, by dazzling sunlight coming through the east windows, so much that Jack supposed the walls must be unfinished, and the sun shining through the gaps.\n\nHe walked along the south aisle to the crossing. As he got nearer to the chancel he sensed that something quite remarkable was ahead of him. There was, indeed, sunlight pouring in, but the vault appeared to be complete and there were no gaps in the walls. When Jack stepped out of the aisle into the crossing he saw that the sun was streaming in through rows of tall windows, some of them made of colored glass, and all this sunshine seemed to fill the vast empty vessel of the church with warmth and light. Jack could not understand how they had got so much window area: there seemed to be more window than wall. He was awestruck. How had this been done, if not by magic?\n\nHe felt a frisson of superstitious dread as he mounted the steps that led up to the chancel. He stopped at the top of the stair and peered into the confusion of shafts of colored light and stone that was ahead of him. Slowly the realization came over him that he had seen something like this before, but in his imagination. This was the church he had dreamed of building, with its vast windows and surging vaults, a structure of light and air that seemed held up by enchantment.\n\nA moment later he saw it differently. Everything fell into place quite suddenly, and in a lightning flash of revelation, Jack saw what Abbot Suger and his builder had done.\n\nThe principle of rib-vaulting was that a ceiling was made of a few strong ribs, with the gaps between the ribs filled in with light material. They had applied that principle to the whole building. The wall of the chancel consisted of a few strong piers joined by windows. The arcade separating the chancel from its side aisles was not a wall but a row of piers joined by pointed arches, leaving wide spaces through which the light from the windows could fall into the middle of the church. The aisle itself was divided in two by a row of thin columns.\n\nPointed arches and rib-vaulting had been combined here, as they had in the narthex, but it was now clear that the narthex had been a cautious trial for the new technology. By comparison with this, the narthex was musclebound, its ribs and moldings too heavy, its arches too small. Here everything was thin, light; delicate and airy. The simple roll moldings were all narrow and the colonettes were long and thin.\n\nIt would have looked too fragile to stay upright, except that the ribs showed so clearly how the weight of the building was being carried by the piers and columns. Here was a visible demonstration that a big building did not need thick walls with tiny windows and massive piers. Provided the weight was distributed precisely on a load-bearing skeleton, the rest of the building could be light stonework, glass, or empty space. Jack was spellbound. It was almost like falling in love. Euclid had been a revelation, but this was more than a revelation, for it was beautiful too. He had had visions of a church like this, and now he was actually looking at it, touching it, standing under its sky-high vault.\n\nHe walked around the curved east end in a daze, staring at the vaulting of the double aisle. The ribs arched over his head like branches in a forest of perfect stone trees. Here, as in the narthex, the filling between the ceiling ribs was cut stone jointed with mortar, instead of the easier, but heavier, rubble-and-mortar. The outer wall of the aisle had pairs of big windows with pointed tops to match the pointed arches. The revolutionary architecture was perfectly complemented by the colored windows. Jack had never seen colored glass in England, but he had come across several examples in France: however, in the small windows of an old-style church it could not achieve its full potential. Here, the effect of the morning sun pouring through the rich many-colored windows was more than beautiful, it was spellbinding.\n\nBecause the church was round-ended, the side aisles curved around to meet at the east end, forming a semicircular ambulatory or walkway. Jack walked all the way around the half circle, then turned and came back, still marveling. He returned to his starting point.\n\nThere he saw a woman.\n\nHe recognized her.\n\nShe smiled.\n\nHis heart stood still.\n\nAliena shaded her eyes. The sunlight coming through the windows at the east end of the church dazzled her. Like a vision, a figure walked toward her out of the blaze of colored sunshine. He looked as if his hair was on fire. He came closer. It was Jack.\n\nAliena felt faint.\n\nHe came to her and stood in front of her. He was thin, terribly thin, but his eyes shone with an intensity of emotion. They stared at one another in silence for a moment.\n\nWhen he spoke, his voice was hoarse. \"Is it really you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. Her voice came out in a whisper. \"Yes, Jack. It's really me.\"\n\nThe tension was too much, and she began to cry. He put his arms around her and hugged her, with the baby in her arms between them, and patted her back, saying \"There, there,\" as if she were a child. She leaned against him, breathing his familiar dusty smell, hearing his dear voice as he soothed her, letting her tears fall on his bony shoulder.\n\nEventually he looked at her face and said: \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"Looking for you,\" she said.\n\n\"Looking for me?\" he said incredulously. \"Then... how did you find me?\"\n\nShe wiped her eyes and sniffed. \"I followed you.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"I asked people if they had seen you. Masons, mostly, but some monks and lodging-house keepers.\"\n\nHis eyes widened. \"You mean\u2014you've been to Spain?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Compostela, then Salamanca, then Toledo.\"\n\n\"How long have you been traveling?\"\n\n\"Three fourths of a year.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"Because I love you.\"\n\nHe seemed overwhelmed. His eyes filled with tears. He whispered: \"I love you, too.\"\n\n\"Do you? Do you, still?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\nShe could tell he meant it. She tilted her face up. He leaned forward, over the baby, and kissed her softly. The touch of his mouth on hers made her feel dizzy.\n\nThe baby cried.\n\nShe broke the kiss and rocked him a little, and he quieted.\n\nJack said: \"What's the baby called?\"\n\n\"I haven't named him yet.\"\n\n\"Why not? He must be a year old!\"\n\n\"I wanted to consult you.\"\n\n\"Me?\" Jack frowned. \"What about Alfred? It's up to the father....\" He tailed off. \"Why... is he... is he mine?\"\n\n\"Look at him,\" she said.\n\nJack looked. \"Red hair... It must be a year and three quarters since...\"\n\nAliena nodded.\n\n\"Good God,\" Jack said. He seemed awestruck. \"My son.\" He swallowed hard.\n\nShe watched his face anxiously as he tried to take in the news. Would he see this as the termination of his youth and freedom? His expression became solemn. Normally a man had nine months to get used to the idea of being a father. Jack had to do it all at once. He looked again at the baby, and at last he smiled. \"Our son,\" he said. \"I'm so glad.\"\n\nAliena sighed happily. Everything was all right at last.\n\nAnother thought struck Jack. \"What about Alfred? Does he know...?\"\n\n\"Of course. He only had to look at the child. Besides...\" She felt embarrassed. \"Besides, your mother cursed the marriage, and Alfred was never able to, you know, do anything.\"\n\nJack laughed harshly. \"There's true justice,\" he said.\n\nAliena did not like the relish with which he said it. \"It was very hard for me,\" she said, in a tone of mild reproof.\n\nHis face changed quickly. \"I'm sorry,\" he said. \"What did Alfred do?\"\n\n\"When he saw the baby, he threw me out.\"\n\nJack looked angry. \"Did he hurt you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"He's a pig, all the same.\"\n\n\"I'm glad he threw us out. It was because of that that I came looking for you. And now I've found you. I'm so happy I don't know what to do.\"\n\n\"You were very brave,\" Jack said. \"I still can't take it in. You followed me all that way!\"\n\n\"I'd do it all again,\" she said fervently.\n\nHe kissed her again. A voice said in French: \"If you insist on behaving lewdly in church, please remain in the nave.\"\n\nIt was a young monk. Jack said: \"I'm sorry, Father.\" He took Aliena's arm. They went down the steps and across the south transept. Jack said: \"I was a monk for a while\u2014I know how hard it is for them to look at happy lovers kissing.\"\n\nHappy lovers, Aliena thought. That's what we are.\n\nThey walked the length of the church and stepped out into the busy market square. Aliena could hardly believe that she was standing in the sunshine with Jack by her side. It was almost too much happiness to bear.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"what shall we do?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, smiling.\n\n\"Let's get a loaf of bread and a flask of wine, and ride out into the fields to eat our dinner.\"\n\n\"It sounds like paradise.\"\n\nThey went to the baker and the vintner, and then they got a wedge of cheese from a dairywoman in the marketplace. In no time at all they were riding out of the village into the fields. Aliena had to keep looking at Jack to make sure he really was there, riding along beside her, breathing and smiling.\n\nHe said: \"How is Alfred managing the building site?\"\n\n\"Oh! I haven't told you!\" Aliena had forgotten how long he had been away. \"There was a terrible disaster. The roof fell in.\"\n\n\"What!\" Jack's loud exclamation startled his horse, and it did a skittish little dance. He calmed it. \"How did that happen?\"\n\n\"Nobody knows. They had three bays vaulted in time for WhitSunday, and then it all fell down during the service. It was dreadful\u2014seventy-nine people were killed.\"\n\n\"That's terrible.\" Jack was shaken. \"How did Prior Philip take it?\"\n\n\"Badly. He's given up building altogether. He seems to have lost all his energy. He does nothing nowadays.\"\n\nJack found it hard to imagine Philip in that state\u2014he had always seemed so full of enthusiasm and determination. \"So what happened to the craftsmen?\"\n\n\"They all drifted away. Alfred lives in Shiring now, and builds houses.\"\n\n\"Kingsbridge must be half empty.\"\n\n\"It's turning back into a village, like it used to be.\"\n\n\"I wonder what Alfred did wrong?\" Jack said half to himself. \"That stone vault was never in Tom's original plans; but Alfred made the buttresses bigger to take the weight, so it should have been all right.\"\n\nHe was sobered by the news, and they rode on in silence. A mile or so out of Saint-Denis they tied up the horses in the shade of an elm tree and sat down in a corner of a field of green wheat, beside a little brook, to eat their dinner. Jack took a draft of the wine and smacked his lips. \"England has nothing to compare with French wine,\" he said. He broke the loaf and gave Aliena some.\n\nAliena shyly undid the laced front of her dress and gave her nipple to the baby. She caught Jack looking at her and flushed. She cleared her throat and spoke to cover her embarrassment. \"Do you know what you'd like to call him?\" she said awkwardly. \"Jack, perhaps?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" He looked thoughtful. \"Jack was the father I never knew. It might be bad luck to give our son the same name. The nearest I ever had to a real father was Tom Builder.\"\n\n\"Would you like to call him Tom?\"\n\n\"I think I would.\"\n\n\"Tom was such a big man. How about Tommy?\"\n\nJack nodded. \"Tommy it is.\"\n\nOblivious of the significance of the moment, Tommy had fallen asleep, having sucked his fill. Aliena put him down on the ground with a kerchief folded under his head for a pillow. Then she looked at Jack. She felt awkward. She wanted him to make love to her, right here on the grass, but she felt sure he would be shocked if she asked him, so she just looked at him and hoped.\n\nHe said: \"If I tell you something, will you promise not to think badly of me?\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nHe looked embarrassed, and said: \"Ever since I saw you, I can hardly think of anything but the naked body under your dress.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"I don't think badly of you,\" she said. \"I'm glad.\"\n\nHe stared at her hungrily.\n\nShe said: \"I love it when you look at me like that.\"\n\nHe swallowed drily.\n\nShe held out her arms, and he came to her and embraced her.\n\nIt was almost two years since the one and only time they had made love. That morning they had both been swept away by desire and regret. Now they were just two lovers in a field. Aliena suddenly felt anxious. Would it be all right? How terrible if something went wrong, after all this time.\n\nThey lay down on the grass side by side and kissed. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. She felt his eager hand on her body, exploring urgently. There was a quickening in her loins. He kissed her eyelids and the end of her nose, and said: \"All this time, I ached for you, every day.\"\n\nShe hugged him hard. \"I'm so glad I found you,\" she said.\n\nThey made gentle, happy love in the open air, with the sun beating down on them and the stream burbling beside them; and Tommy slept through it all, and woke up when it was over.\n\nThe wooden statue of the lady had not wept since it left Spain. Jack did not understand how it worked, so he could not be sure why it would not weep outside its own country. However, he had an idea that the. tears that came at nightfall were caused by the sudden cooling of the air, and he had noticed that sunsets were more gradual in northern territories, so he suspected that the problem had to do with the slower nightfall. He still kept the statue, however. It was rather bulky to carry around, but it was a souvenir of Toledo, and it reminded him of Raschid, and (although he did not tell Aliena this) of Aysha as well. But when a stonemason at Saint-Denis wanted a model for a statue of the Virgin, Jack brought the wooden lady to the masons' lodge, and left it there.\n\nHe had been hired by the abbey to work on the rebuilding of the church. The new chancel, which had so devastated him, was not quite complete, and had to be finished in time for the dedication ceremony at midsummer; but the energetic abbot was already preparing to rebuild the nave in the same revolutionary style, and Jack was hired to carve stones in advance for that.\n\nThe abbey rented him a house in the village, and he moved in, along with Aliena and Tommy. During the first night they spent in the house they made love five times. Living together as man and wife seemed the most natural thing in the world. After a few days Jack felt as if they had always lived together. Nobody asked whether their union had been blessed by the church.\n\nThe master builder at Saint-Denis was the greatest mason Jack had ever met, easily. As they finished the new chancel and prepared to rebuild the nave, Jack watched the master and absorbed everything he did. The technical advances here were his, not the abbot's. Suger was in favor of new ideas, in a general way, but he was more interested in ornament than structure. His pet project was the new tomb for the remains of Saint Denis and his two companions, Rusticus and Eleutherius. The relics were kept in the crypt, but Suger planned to bring them up into the new chancel, so the whole world could see them. The three caskets would rest in a stone tomb veneered with black-marble. The top of the tomb was a miniature church made of gilded wood; and in the nave and side aisles of the miniature were three empty coffins, one for each of the martyrs. The tomb would stand in the middle of the new chancel, attached to the back of the new high altar. Both the altar and the base of the tomb were already in place, and the miniature church was in the carpenters' lodge, where a painstaking craftsman was carefully gilding the wood with priceless gold paint. Suger was not a man to do things by halves.\n\nThe abbot was a formidable organizer, Jack observed as preparations for the dedication ceremony accelerated. Suger invited everybody who was anybody, and most of them accepted, notably the king and queen of France, and nineteen archbishops and bishops including the archbishop of Canterbury. Such morsels of news were picked up by the craftsmen as they worked in and on the church. Jack often saw Suger himself, in his homespun habit, striding around the monastery giving instructions to a flock of monks who followed him like ducklings. He reminded Jack of Philip of Kingsbridge. Like Philip, Suger came from a poor background and had been brought up in the monastery. Like Philip, he had reorganized the finances and tightened up the management of the monastery's property so that it produced much more income; and like Philip he was spending the extra money on building. Like Philip, he was busy, energetic and decisive.\n\nExcept that Philip was none of these things anymore, according to Aliena.\n\nJack found that hard to imagine. A quiescent Philip seemed as unlikely as a kindly Waleran Bigod. However, Philip had suffered a series of terrible disappointments. First there had been the burning of the town. Jack shuddered when he recalled that awful day: the smoke, the fear, the dreadful horsemen with their flaming torches, and the blind panic of the hysterical mob. Perhaps the heart had gone out of Philip then. Certainly the town had lost its nerve afterward. Jack remembered it well: the atmosphere of fear and uncertainty had pervaded the place like a faint but unmistakable odor of decay. No doubt Philip had wanted the opening ceremony for the new chancel to be a symbol of new hope. Then, when it turned into another disaster, he must have given up.\n\nNow the builders had gone away, the market had declined, and the population was shrinking. Young people were beginning to move to Shiring, Aliena said. It was only a problem of morale, of course: the priory still had all its property, including the vast flocks of sheep which brought in hundreds of pounds every year. If it were only a question of money, Philip could surely afford to recommence building, on some scale. It would not be easy, certainly: masons would be superstitious about working on a church that had already fallen down once; and it would be difficult to whip up the enthusiasm of the local people yet again. But the main problem, judging by what Aliena said, was that Philip had lost the will. Jack wished he could do something to help bring it back.\n\nMeanwhile, the bishops, archbishops, dukes and counts began arriving at Saint-Denis two or three days before the ceremony. All the notables were taken on a conducted tour of the building. Suger himself escorted the most distinguished visitors, and lesser dignitaries were taken around by monks or craftsmen. They were all awestruck by the lightness of the new construction and the sunny effect of the huge windows of colored glass. As just about every important church leader in France was seeing this, it struck Jack that the new style was likely to be widely imitated; indeed, masons who could say they had actually worked on Saint-Denis would be in great demand. Coming here had been a clever move, cleverer than he had imagined: it had greatly improved his chances of designing and building a cathedral himself.\n\nKing Louis arrived on the Saturday, with his wife and his mother, and they moved into the abbot's house. That night matins were sung from dusk to dawn. By sunrise there was a crowd of peasants and Parisian citizens outside the church, waiting for what promised to be the greatest assemblage of holy and powerful men that most of them would ever see. Jack and Aliena joined the crowd as soon as Tommy had been fed. One day, Jack thought, I'll say to Tommy: \"You don't remember it, but when you were just a year old you saw the king of France.\"\n\nThey bought bread and cider for their breakfast and ate while they were waiting for the show to begin. The public was not allowed into the church, of course, and the king's men-at-arms kept them at a distance; but all the doors were open, and people clustered in knots where they could see in. The nave was packed with the lords and ladies of the nobility. Fortunately the chancel was raised several feet, because of the large crypt under it, so Jack could still see the ceremony.\n\nThere was a flurry of activity at the far end of the nave, and suddenly all the nobles bowed. Over their lowered heads, Jack saw the king enter the church from the south. He could not see the king's face to make out his features, but his purple tunic made a vivid splash of color as he moved into the center of the crossing and knelt before the main altar.\n\nThe bishops and archbishops came in immediately afterward. They were all dressed in dazzling white robes with gold embroidery, and each bishop carried his ceremonial crozier. The crozier was supposed to be a simple shepherd's crook, but so many of them were ornamented with fabulous jewels that the whole procession glittered like a mountain stream in the sunlight.\n\nThey all walked slowly across the church and up the steps into the chancel, then took prearranged places around the font in which\u2014Jack knew because he had observed the preparations\u2014there were several gallons of holy water. There followed a lull during which prayers were said and hymns were sung. The crowd became restless, and Tommy got bored. Then the bishops moved off in procession again.\n\nThey left the church by the south door and disappeared into the cloisters, much to the disappointment of the spectators; but then they emerged from the monastic buildings and filed across the front of the church. Each bishop carried a small brush called an aspergillum and a vessel of holy water, and as they marched, singing, they dipped the brushes in the water and sprinkled the walls of the church. The crowd surged forward, people begging for a blessing and trying to touch the snow-white robes of the holy men. The king's men-at-arms beat the people back with sticks. Jack stayed well back in the crowd. He did not want a blessing and he preferred to stay away from those sticks.\n\nThe procession made its stately way along the north side of the church, and the crowd followed, trampling over the graves in the cemetery. Some spectators had taken up positions here in anticipation, and they resisted the pressure from the newcomers. One or two fights broke out.\n\nThe bishops passed the north porch and continued around the half circle of the east end, the new part. This was where the craftsmen's workshops had been built, and now the crowd surged around the huts, threatening to flatten the light wooden buildings. As the leaders of the procession began to disappear back into the abbey, the more hysterical members of the crowd became desperate, and pushed forward more determinedly. The king's men responded with increased violence.\n\nJack began to feel anxious. \"I don't like the look of this,\" he said to Aliena.\n\n\"I was about to say the same,\" she replied. \"Let's get out of this crowd.\"\n\nBefore they could move, a scuffle broke out between the king's men and a group of youths at the front. The men-at-arms laid about them fiercely with their clubs, but the youths, instead of cowering away, fought back. The last of the bishops hurried into the cloisters with a distinctly perfunctory sprinkling of the last part of the chancel. When the holy men were out of sight, the crowd turned its attention on the men-at-arms. Someone threw a stone and hit one of the men square on the forehead. A cheer went up as he fell. The hand-to-hand fighting spread quickly. Men-at-arms came running from the west front of the church to defend their comrades.\n\nIt was turning into a riot.\n\nThere was no hope of the ceremony providing a distraction in the next few moments. Jack knew that the bishops and the king were now descending into the crypt to fetch the remains of Saint Denis. They would carry them all around the cloisters but would not bring them out of doors. The dignitaries were not due to show themselves again until the service was over. Abbot Suger had not anticipated the size of the crowd of spectators, nor had he made arrangements to keep them happy. Now they were dissatisfied, they were hot\u2014the sun was high by this time\u2014and they wanted to vent their emotions.\n\nThe king's men were armed but the spectators were not, and at first the armed men got the better of it; then someone had the bright idea of breaking into the craftsmen's huts for weapons. A pair of youths kicked down the door of the masons' lodge and came out a moment later with bolster hammers in their hands. There were masons in the crowd, and some of them pushed through the throng to the lodge and tried to stop people from going in; but they were unable to stand their ground, and got shoved aside.\n\nJack and Aliena were trying to retreat out of the crowd, but the people behind them were pressing forward urgently, and they found themselves trapped. Jack kept Tommy hard up against his chest, protecting the baby's back with his arms and covering the little head with his hands, at the same time struggling to stay close to Aliena. He saw a small, furtive-looking man with a black beard emerge from the masons' lodge carrying the wooden statue of the weeping lady. I'll never see that again, he thought with a pang of regret; but he was too busy trying to escape from the crush to worry about being robbed.\n\nThe carpenters' lodge was broken open next. The craftsmen had given up hope of protecting their lodges, and they made no attempt to restrain the crowd. The smithy proved too strong, but the crowd burst through the flimsy wall of the roofers' lodge and took the heavy, wickedly sharp tools used for trimming and nailing lead sheets, and Jack thought: Someone is going to be killed before this is over.\n\nDespite all his efforts he was pushed forward, toward the north porch where the fighting was fiercest. The same thing was happening to the black-bearded thief, he noticed: the man was trying to get away with his loot, hugging the wooden statue to his chest the way Jack was hugging Tommy, but he, too, was being forced farther into the melee by the press of the crowd.\n\nSuddenly Jack had a brainwave. He gave Tommy to Aliena, saying: \"Stay close to me.\" Then he grabbed the little thief and wrested the statue away from him. The man resisted for a moment, but Jack was bigger, and anyway the thief was now more worried about saving his skin than stealing the statue, and after a moment he relinquished his hold.\n\nJack lifted the statue above his head and started to shout: \"Revere the Madonna!\" At first nobody took any notice. Then one or two people looked at him. \"Touch not the Holy Mother!\" he shouted at the top of his voice. The people near him backed off superstitiously, making a space around him. He began to warm to his theme. \"It is a sin to desecrate the image of the Virgin!\" He held the statue high above his head and walked forward, toward the church. This just might work, he thought with a surge of hope. More people stopped fighting to see what was going on.\n\nHe glanced behind him. Aliena was following, unable to do anything else because of the press of the crowd. However, the riot was rapidly simmering down. The crowd moved forward with Jack, and people began to repeat his words in an awestruck murmur: \"It is the Mother of God.... Hail, Mary.... Make way for the effigy of the Blessed Maiden....\" All they wanted was a show, and now that Jack was giving them one the fighting stopped almost completely, with only two or three continuing scuffles on the fringes. Jack marched forward solemnly. He was rather startled at the ease with which he had stopped a riot. The crowd fell away before him, and he reached the north porch of the church. There he set the statue down, with great reverence, in the cool shade of the doorway. It was a little over two feet high, and seemed less impressive standing on the ground.\n\nThe mob gathered around the doorway expectantly. Jack was at a loss to know what to do. They probably wanted a sermon. He had acted like a clergyman, bearing the statue on high and calling out sonorous warnings, but that was the limit of his priestly skills. He felt fearful: what might the crowd do to him if he disappointed them now?\n\nSuddenly they gave a collective gasp.\n\nJack looked behind him. Some of the nobles from the congregation had gathered in the north transept, looking out, but he could see nothing to justify the crowd's apparent amazement.\n\n\"A miracle!\" someone said, and others took up the cry: \"A miracle! A miracle!\"\n\nJack looked at the statue, and then he understood. Water was dripping from its eyes. At first he was as awestruck as the crowd, but a moment later he recalled his theory that the lady wept when there was a sudden change from warm to cold, as happened at nightfall in southern regions. The statue had just been moved from the heat of the day into the cool of the north porch. That would explain the tears. But the crowd did not know that, of course. All they saw was a statue weeping, and they marveled.\n\nA woman at the front tossed a denier, the French silver penny, at the feet of the statue. Jack felt like laughing aloud. What was the point of giving money to a piece of wood? But the people had been so indoctrinated by the Church that their automatic response to something holy was to give money, and several others in the crowd followed the woman's example.\n\nJack had never thought that Raschid's toy might make money. Indeed, it could not make money for Jack\u2014the people would not give if they thought the money was going into Jack's pocket. But it would be worth a fortune to any church.\n\nAnd when Jack realized that, he suddenly saw what he had to do.\n\nIt came to him in a flash, and he began speaking even before he had seen all the implications himself: the words came at the same time as the thoughts. \"The Weeping Madonna belongs not to me, but to God,\" he began. The crowd fell silent. This was the sermon they had been waiting for. Behind Jack, the bishops were singing in the church, but no one was interested in them now. \"For hundreds of years, she languished in the land of the Saracens,\" Jack went on. He had no idea what the history of the statue was, but it did not seem to matter: the priests themselves never inquired too closely into the truth of stories of miracles and holy relics. \"She has traveled many miles, but her journey is not yet ended. Her destination is the cathedral church of Kingsbridge, in England.\"\n\nHe caught Aliena's eye. She was staring at him in amazement. He had to resist the temptation to wink at her to let her know he was making it up as he went along.\n\n\"It is my holy mission to take her to Kingsbridge. There, she will find her resting place. There, she will be at peace.\" As he looked at Aliena the final, most brilliant inspiration came to him and he said: \"I have been appointed master builder of the new church at Kingsbridge.\"\n\nAliena's mouth fell open. Jack looked away from her. \"The Weeping Madonna has commanded that a new, more glorious church be built for her at Kingsbridge, and with her help I shall create a shrine for her as beautiful as the new chancel which has been erected here for the sacred remains of Saint Denis.\"\n\nHe glanced down, and the money on the ground gave him the idea for his finishing touch. \"Your pennies will be used for the new church,\" he said. \"The Madonna confers a blessing on every man, woman and child who offers a gift to help her build her new home.\"\n\nThere was a moment of silence; then his listeners started to throw pennies on the ground around the base of the statue. Each person called out something as he or she made the offering. Some said \"Alleluia\" or \"Praise God\" and others asked for a blessing, or some more specific favor: \"Make Robert well,\" or \"Let Anne conceive,\" or \"Give us a good harvest.\" Jack studied their faces: they were excited, elevated, happy. They pushed forward, jostling one another in their eagerness to give their pennies to the Weeping Madonna. Jack looked down and watched, marveling, as the money piled up like a snowdrift around his feet.\n\nThe Weeping Madonna had the same effect in every town and village on the road to Cherbourg. As they walked in procession along the main street a crowd would gather; and then, after they had paused in front of the church to give time for the entire population to assemble, they would take the statue into the cool of the building, and it would weep, whereupon the people would fall over one another in their eagerness to give money for the building of Kingsbridge Cathedral.\n\nThey had almost lost it, right at the start. The bishops and archbishops examined the statue and pronounced it genuinely miraculous, and Abbot Suger wanted to keep it for Saint-Denis. He had offered Jack a pound, then ten pounds, and finally fifty pounds. When he realized Jack was not interested in money he threatened to take the statue away forcibly; but Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury prevented him. Theobald also saw the moneymaking potential of the statue and he wanted it to go to Kingsbridge, which was in his archdiocese. Suger had given in with bad grace, churlishly expressing reservations about the genuineness of the miracle.\n\nJack had told the craftsmen at Saint-Denis that he would hire any of them who cared to follow him to Kingsbridge. Suger was not pleased about that, either. Most of them would stay where they were, in fact, on the principle that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; but there were a few who were from England originally and might be tempted to move back; and the others would spread the word, for it was every mason's duty to tell his brothers about new building sites. Within a few weeks, craftsmen from all over Christendom would begin drifting into Kingsbridge, the way Jack had drifted into six or seven different sites over the past two years. Aliena asked Jack what he would do if Kingsbridge Priory did not make him master builder. Jack had no idea. He had made his announcement on the spur of the moment and he had no contingency plans in case things went wrong.\n\nArchbishop Theobald, having claimed the Weeping Madonna for England, was not willing to let Jack simply walk away with it. He had sent two priests from his entourage, Reynold and Edward, to accompany Jack and Aliena on their journey. Jack had been displeased about this at first, but he quickly got to like them. Reynold was a fresh-faced, argumentative young man with an incisive mind, and he was very interested in the mathematics Jack had learned in Toledo. Edward was a mild-mannered older man who was something of a glutton. Their principal function was to make sure none of the donations went into Jack's purse, of course. In fact, the priests spent freely out of the donations to pay their traveling expenses, whereas Jack and Aliena paid their own, so the archbishop would have done better to trust Jack.\n\nThey went to Cherbourg on their way to Barfleur, where they would take a ship for Wareham. Jack knew something was wrong long before they reached the heart of the little seaside town. People were not staring at the Madonna.\n\nThey were staring at Jack.\n\nThe priests noticed it after a while. They were carrying the statue on a wooden trestle, as they always did when entering a town. As the crowd began to follow them, Reynold hissed at Jack: \"What's going on?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"They're more interested in you than the statue! Have you been here before?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nAliena said: \"It's the older ones who look at Jack. The youngsters look at the statue.\"\n\nShe was right. The children and young people were reacting to the statue with normal curiosity. It was the middle-aged who stared at him. He tried staring back, and found that they got scared. One made the Sign of the Cross at him. \"What have they got against me?\" he wondered aloud.\n\nTheir procession attracted followers just as rapidly as always, however, and they reached the marketplace with a large crowd in tow. They put the Madonna down in front of the church. The air smelled of salt water and fresh fish. Several townspeople went into the church. What normally happened next was that the local clergy would come out and talk to Reynold and Edward. There would be a discussion and explanations, and then the statue would be carried inside, where it would weep. The Madonna had only failed once: on a cold day, when Reynold insisted on going through with the procedure despite Jack's warning that it might not work. Now they respected his advice.\n\nThe weather was right today, but something else was wrong. There was superstitious fear on the wind-whipped faces of the sailors and fishermen all around. The young sensed the disquiet of their elders, and the whole crowd was suspicious and vaguely hostile. No one approached the little group to ask questions about the statue. They stood at a distance, talking in low voices, waiting for something to happen.\n\nAt last the priest emerged. In other towns the priest had approached in a mood of wary curiosity, but this one came out like an exorcist, holding a cross in front of him like a shield and carrying a chalice of holy water in his other hand. Reynold said: \"What does he think he's going to do\u2014cast out demons?\" The priest walked over, chanting something in Latin, and approached Jack. He said in French: \"I command, thee, evil spirit, to return to the Place of Ghosts! In the name\u2014\"\n\n\"I'm not a ghost, you damn fool!\" Jack burst out. He felt unnerved.\n\nThe priest went on: \"Father, Son and Holy Spirit\u2014\"\n\n\"We're on a mission for the archbishop of Canterbury,\" Reynold protested. \"We've been blessed by him.\"\n\nAliena said: \"He's not a ghost; I've known him since he was twelve years old!\"\n\nThe priest began to look uncertain. \"You are the ghost of a man of this town who died twenty-four years ago,\" he said. Several people in the crowd voiced their agreement, and the priest recommenced his incantation.\n\n\"I'm only twenty years old,\" Jack said. \"Perhaps I just resemble the man who died.\"\n\nSomeone stepped out from the crowd. \"You don't just resemble him,\" he said. \"You are him\u2014no different from the day you died.\"\n\nThe crowd murmured with superstitious dread. Jack, feeling unnerved, looked at the speaker. He was a gray-bearded man of forty or so years, wearing the clothes of a successful craftsman or small merchant. He was not the hysterical type. Jack addressed him with a voice that faltered somewhat. \"My companions know me,\" he said. \"Two of them are priests. The woman is my wife. The baby is my son. Are they ghosts, too?\"\n\nThe man looked uncertain.\n\nA white-haired woman standing beside him spoke up. \"Don't you know me, Jack?\"\n\nJack jumped as if he had been stung. Now he was scared. \"How did you know my name?\" he said.\n\n\"Because I'm your mother,\" she said.\n\n\"You're not!\" Aliena said, and Jack heard a note of panic in her voice. \"I know his mother, and she's not you! What's happening here?\"\n\n\"Evil magic!\" said the priest.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" said Reynold. \"Jack may be related to the man who died. Did he have any children?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the gray-bearded man.\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"He never married.\"\n\n\"That's not the same thing.\"\n\nOne or two people snickered. The priest glared at them.\n\nThe gray-bearded man said: \"But he died twenty-four years ago, and this Jack says he's only twenty.\"\n\n\"How did he die?\" Reynold asked.\n\n\"Drowned.\"\n\n\"Did you see the body?\"\n\nThere was a silence. Finally the gray-bearded man said: \"No, I never saw his body.\"\n\n\"Did anyone see it?\" Reynold said, his voice rising as he scented victory.\n\nNobody spoke.\n\nReynold turned to Jack. \"Is your father alive?\"\n\n\"He died before I was born.\"\n\n\"What was he?\"\n\n\"A jongleur.\"\n\nA gasp went up from the crowd, and the white-haired woman said: \"My Jack was a jongleur.\"\n\n\"But this Jack is a stonemason,\" Reynold said. \"I've seen his work. However, he could be the son of Jack the jongleur.\" He turned to Jack. \"What was your father called? Jack Jongleur, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No. They called him Jack Shareburg.\"\n\nThe priest repeated the name, pronouncing it slightly differently. \"Jacques Cherbourg?\"\n\nJack was stunned. He had never understood his father's name, but now it was clear. Like many traveling men, he was called by the name of the town he came from. \"Yes,\" Jack said wonderingly. \"Of course. Jacques Cherbourg.\" He had found traces of his father at last, long after he had given up looking. He had gone all the way to Spain, but what he wanted had been here, on the coast of Normandy. He had fulfilled his quest. He felt wearily satisfied, as if he had put down a heavy burden after carrying it a long way.\n\n\"Then everything is clear,\" Reynold said, looking around triumphantly at the crowd. \"Jacques Cherbourg did not drown, he survived. He went to England, lived there a while, made a girl pregnant, and died. The girl gave birth to a boy and named him after the father. Jack here is now twenty, and looks exactly like his father did twenty-four years ago.\" Reynold looked at the priest. \"No need for exorcism here, father. It's just a family reunion.\"\n\nAliena put her arm through Jack's and squeezed his hand. He felt stupefied. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask and he did not know where to start. He blurted one out at random. \"Why were you so sure he died?\"\n\n\"Everyone on the White Ship died,\" said the gray-bearded man.\n\n\"The White Ship?\"\n\n\"I remember the White Ship,\" said Edward. \"That was a famous disaster. The heir to the throne was drowned. Then Maud became the heir, and that's why we've got Stephen.\"\n\nJack said: \"But why was he on such a ship?\"\n\nThe old woman who had spoken earlier answered. \"He was to entertain the nobles on the voyage.\" She looked at Jack. \"You must be his boy, then. My grandson. I'm sorry I thought you were a ghost. You look so like him.\"\n\n\"Your father was my brother,\" said the gray-bearded man. \"I'm your Uncle Guillaume.\"\n\nJack realized with a glow of pleasure that this was the family he had longed for, his father's relations. He was no longer alone in the world. He had found his roots at last.\n\n\"Well, this is my son, Tommy,\" he said. \"Look at his red hair.\"\n\nThe white-haired woman looked fondly at the baby, then said in a shocked voice: \"Oh, my soul, I'm a great-grandmother!\"\n\nEveryone laughed.\n\nJack said: \"I wonder how my father got to England?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "\"So God said to Satan, 'look at my man Job. Look at him. There's a good man, if ever I saw one.' \" Philip paused for effect. This was not a translation, of course: this was a freestyle retelling of the story. \" Tell me if that isn't a perfect and upright man, who fears God and does no evil.' So Satan said: 'Of course he worships you. You've given him everything. Just look at him. Seven sons and three daughters. Seven thousand sheep, and three thousand camels, and five hundred pairs of oxen, and five hundred asses. That's why he's a good man.' So God said: 'All right. Take it all away from him, and see what happens.' And that's what Satan did.\"\n\nWhile Philip was preaching, his mind kept wandering to a mystifying letter he had received that morning from the archbishop of Canterbury. It began by congratulating him on obtaining the miraculous Weeping Madonna. Philip did not know what a weeping madonna was but he was quite sure he did not have one. The archbishop was glad to hear that Philip was recommencing the building of the new cathedral. Philip was doing no such thing. He was waiting for a sign from God before doing anything, and while he waited he was holding Sunday services in the small new parish church. Finally Archbishop Theobald commended his shrewdness in appointing a master builder who had worked on the new chancel at Saint-Denis. Philip had heard of the abbey of Saint-Denis, of course, and the famous Abbot Suger, the most powerful churchman in the kingdom of France; but he knew nothing of the new chancel there and he had not appointed a master builder from anywhere. Philip thought the letter had probably been intended for someone else and sent to him in error.\n\n\"Now, what did Job say, when he lost all his wealth, and his children died? Did he curse God? Did he worship Satan? No! He said: 'I was born naked, and I'll die naked. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away\u2014blessed be the name of the Lord.' That's what Job said. And then God said to Satan: 'What did I tell you?' And Satan said: 'All right, but he's still got his health, hasn't he? A man can put up with anything while he's in good health.' And God saw that he had to let Job suffer some more in order to prove his point, so he said: 'Take away his health, then, and see what happens.' So Satan made Job ill, and he had boils from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.\"\n\nSermons were becoming more common in churches. They had been rare when Philip was a boy. Abbot Peter had been against them, saying they tempted the priest to indulge himself. The old-fashioned view was that the congregation should be mere spectators, silently witnessing the mysterious holy rites, hearing the Latin words without understanding them, blindly trusting in the efficacy of the priest's intercession. But ideas had changed. Progressive thinkers nowadays no longer saw the congregation as mute observers of a mystical ceremony. The Church was supposed to be an integral part of their everyday existence. It marked the milestones in their lives, from christening, through marriage and the birth of children, to extreme unction and burial in consecrated ground. It might be their landlord, judge, employer or customer. Increasingly, people were expected to be Christians every day, not just on Sundays. They needed more than just rituals, according to the modern view: they wanted explanations, rulings, encouragement, exhortation.\n\n\"Now, I believe that Satan had a conversation with God about Kingsbridge,\" Philip said. \"I believe that God said to Satan: 'Look at my people in Kingsbridge. Aren't they good Christians? See how they work hard all week in their fields and workshops, and then spend all day Sunday building me a new cathedral. Tell me they're not good people, if you can!' And Satan said: 'They're good because they're doing well. You've given them good harvests, and fine weather, and customers for their shops, and protection from evil earls. But take all that away from them, and they'll come over to my side.' So God said: 'What do you want to do?' And Satan said: 'Burn the town.' So God said: 'All right, burn it, and see what happens.' So Satan sent William Hamleigh to set fire to our fleece fair.\"\n\nPhilip took great consolation from the story of Job. Like Job, Philip had worked hard all his life to do God's will to the best of his ability; and, like Job, he had been rewarded with bad luck, failure and ignominy. But the purpose of the sermon was to lift the spirits of the townspeople, and Philip could see that it was not working. However, the story was not yet over.\n\n\"And then God said to Satan: 'Look now! You've burned that whole town to the ground, and they're still building me a new cathedral. Now tell me they're not good people!' But Satan said: 'I was too easy on them. Most of them escaped that fire. And they soon rebuilt their little wooden houses. Let me send a real disaster, then see what happens.' And God sighed, and said: 'What do you want to do now, then?' And Satan said: 'I'm going to bring the roof of that new church down on their heads.' And he did\u2014as we all know.\"\n\nLooking around the congregation, Philip saw very few people who had not lost a relative in that awful collapse. There was Widow Meg, who had had a good husband and three strapping sons, all of whom had died; she had not spoken a word since, and her hair was white. Others had been mutilated. Peter Pony's right leg had been crushed, and he walked with a limp: he had been a horse catcher before, but now he worked for his brother, making saddles. There was hardly a family in town that had escaped. Sitting on the floor down at the front was a man who had lost the use of his legs. Philip frowned: who was he? He had not been injured in the roof collapse\u2014Philip had never seen him before. Then he recalled being told that there was a cripple begging in the town and sleeping in the ruins of the cathedral. Philip had ordered that he be given a bed in the guesthouse.\n\nHis mind was wandering again. He returned to his sermon. \"Now, what did Job do? His wife said to him: 'Curse God, and die.' But did he? He did not. Did he lose his faith? He did not. Satan was disappointed in Job. And I tell you\"\u2014Philip raised his hand dramatically, to emphasize the point\u2014\"I tell you, Satan is going to be disappointed in the people of Kingsbridge! For we continue to worship the true God, just as Job did in all his tribulations.\"\n\nHe paused again, to let them digest that, but he could tell he had failed to move them. The faces that looked up at him were interested, but not inspired. In truth he was not an inspirational preacher. He was a down-to-earth man. He could not captivate a congregation by the force of his personality. People did become intensely loyal to him, it was true, but not instantly: it happened slowly, over time, as they came to understand how he lived and what he achieved. His work sometimes inspired people\u2014or it had, in the old days\u2014but never his words.\n\nHowever, the best part of the story was to come. \"What happened to Job, after Satan had done his worst? Well, God gave him more than he had in the first place\u2014twice as much! Where he had grazed seven thousand sheep, he now had fourteen thousand. The three thousand camels he had lost were replaced by six thousand. And he fathered seven more sons and three more daughters.\"\n\nThey looked indifferent. Philip plowed on. \"And Kingsbridge will prosper again, one day. The widows shall marry again, and the widowers find wives; and those whose children died shall conceive again; and our streets will be full of people, and our shops stocked with bread and wine, leather and brass, buckles and shoes; and one day we will rebuild our cathedral.\"\n\nThe trouble was, he was not sure he believed it himself; and so he could not say it with conviction. No wonder the congregation was unmoved.\n\nHe looked down at the heavy book in front of him, and translated the Latin into English. \"And Job lived a hundred and forty years more, and saw his sons, and his grandsons, and his great-grandsons. And then he died, being old and full of days.\" He closed the book.\n\nThere was a disturbance at the back of the little church. Philip looked up irritably. He was aware that his sermon had not had the effect he hoped for, but nevertheless he wanted a few moments of silence at the end of it. The church door was open, and all those at the back were looking out. Philip could see quite a crowd outside\u2014it must contain everyone in Kingsbridge who was not in the church, he thought. What was going on?\n\nSeveral possibilities went through his mind\u2014there had been a fight, a fire, someone was dying, a large troop of horsemen was approaching\u2014but he was completely unprepared for what actually happened. First, two priests came in carrying a statue of a woman on a board draped with an embroidered altar cloth. The solemnity of their demeanor suggested that the statue represented a saint, presumably the Virgin. Behind the priests walked two more people, and they provided the bigger surprise: one was Aliena, and the other was Jack.\n\nPhilip regarded Jack with affection mingled with exasperation. That boy, he thought: on the day he first came here the old cathedral burned down, and since then nothing connected with him has been normal. But Philip was more pleased than annoyed by Jack's entrance. Despite all the trouble the boy caused, he made life interesting. Boy? Philip looked at him again. Jack was no longer a boy. He had been away two years but he had aged ten, and his eyes were weary and knowing. Where had he been? And how had Aliena found him?\n\nThe procession moved up the middle of the church. Philip decided to do nothing and see what happened. A buzz of excitement went around as people recognized Jack and Aliena. Then there was a new sound, rather like a murmur of awe, and someone said: \"She weeps!\"\n\nOthers repeated it like a litany: \"She weeps! She weeps!\" Philip peered at the statue. Sure enough, there was water coming from the eyes. He suddenly remembered the archbishop's mysterious letter about the miraculous Weeping Madonna. So this was it. As to whether the weeping was a miracle, Philip would suspend judgment. He could see that the eyes appeared to be made of stone, or perhaps some kind of crystal, whereas the rest of the statue was wooden: that might have something to do with it.\n\nThe priests turned around and put the board down on the floor so that the Madonna was facing the congregation. Then Jack began to speak.\n\n\"The Weeping Madonna came to me in a far, far country,\" he began. Philip resented his taking over the service but he decided not to act precipitately: he would let Jack have his say. Anyway, he was intrigued. \"A baptized Saracen gave her to me,\" Jack went on. The congregation murmured in surprise: Saracens were usually the barbaric black-faced enemy in such stories, and few people knew that some of them were actually Christians. \"At first I wondered why she had been given to me. Nevertheless, I carried her for many miles.\" Jack had the congregation spellbound. He's a better preacher of sermons than I am, Philip thought ruefully; I can feel the tension building already. \"At last I began to realize that she wanted to go home. But where was her home? Finally it came to me: she wanted to go to Kingsbridge.\"\n\nThe congregation broke into a hubbub of amazement. Philip was skeptical. There was a difference between the way God worked and the way Jack worked, and this had the hallmark of Jack. But Philip remained silent.\n\n\"But then I thought: What am I taking her to? What shrine will she have at Kingsbridge? In what church will she find her rest?\" He looked around at the plain whitewashed interior of the parish church, as if to say: This obviously will not do. \"And it was as if she spoke aloud, and said to me: 'You, Jack Jackson, shall make me a shrine, and build me a church.'\"\n\nPhilip began to see what Jack was up to. The Madonna was to be the spark that reignited the people's enthusiasm for building a new cathedral. It would do what Philip's sermon about Job had failed to do. But still Philip had to ask himself: Is this God's will, or just Jack's?\n\n\"So I asked her: 'With what? I have no money.' And she said: 'I will provide the money.' Well, we set off, with the blessing of Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury.\" Jack glanced up at Philip as he named the archbishop. He's telling me something, Philip thought: he's saying that he's got powerful backing for this.\n\nJack swung his gaze back to the congregation. \"And along the road, from Paris, across Normandy, over the sea, and all the way to Kingsbridge, devout Christians have given money for the building of the shrine of the Weeping Madonna.\" With that, Jack beckoned to someone outside.\n\nA moment later two beturbaned Saracens marched solemnly into the church, carrying on their shoulders an ironbound chest.\n\nThe villagers cowered back from them in fear. Even Philip was astonished. He knew, in theory, that Saracens had brown skin, but he had never seen one, and the reality was amazing. Their swirling, brightly colored robes were equally striking. They strode through the awestruck congregation and knelt before the Madonna, placing the chest reverently on the floor.\n\nThere was a breathless silence as Jack unlocked the chest with a huge key and lifted the lid. People craned their necks to look. Suddenly Jack tipped the chest over.\n\nThere was a noise like a waterfall, and a stream of silver pennies poured out of the chest, hundreds of them, thousands. People crowded around to stare: none of them had ever seen so much money.\n\nJack raised his voice to be heard over their exclamations. \"I have brought her home, and now I give her to the building of the new cathedral.\" Then he turned, looked Philip in the eye, and inclined his head in a little bow, as if to say: Over to you.\n\nPhilip hated to be manipulated like this but at the same time he was bound to acknowledge that the way it had been done was masterly. However, that did not mean he was going to give in to it. The people might acclaim the Weeping Madonna but only Philip could decide whether she would be allowed to rest in Kingsbridge Cathedral alongside the bones of Saint Adolphus. And he was not yet convinced.\n\nSome of the villagers began questioning the Saracens. Philip stepped down from his pulpit and went closer to listen. \"I come from a far, far country,\" one of them was saying. Philip was surprised to hear that he spoke English just like a Dorset fisherman, but most of the villagers did not even know that Saracens had a language of their own.\n\n\"What is your country called?\" someone asked.\n\n\"My country is called Africa,\" the Saracen replied. There was more than one country in Africa, of course, as Philip knew\u2014although most of the villagers did not\u2014and Philip wondered which one this Saracen came from. How exciting it would be if it were a place mentioned in the Bible, such as Egypt or Ethiopia.\n\nA little girl reached out a tentative finger and touched his dark-brown hand. The Saracen smiled at her. Apart from his color, Philip thought, he looked no different from anyone else. Encouraged, the girl said: \"What's it like in Africa?\"\n\n\"There are great deserts, and fig trees.\"\n\n\"What's a fig?\"\n\n\"It's... it's a fruit, that looks like a strawberry and tastes like a pear.\"\n\nPhilip was suddenly struck by a horrible suspicion. He said: \"Tell me, Saracen, what city were you born in?\"\n\n\"Damascus,\" the man said.\n\nPhilip's suspicion was confirmed. He was angered. He touched Jack's arm and drew him aside. In a quietly furious voice he said: \"What are you playing at?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Jack said, trying to play innocent.\n\n\"Those two aren't Saracens. They're fishermen from Wareham with brown dye on their faces and hands.\"\n\nJack did not seem bothered about having his deception discovered. He grinned and said: \"How did you guess?\"\n\n\"I don't think that man has ever seen a fig, and Damascus is not in Africa. What is the meaning of this dishonesty?\"\n\n\"It's a harmless deception,\" Jack said, and flashed his engaging smile.\n\n\"There is no such thing as a harmless deception,\" Philip said coldly.\n\n\"All right.\" Jack saw that Philip was angry. He became serious. \"It serves the same purpose as an illuminated drawing on a page of the Bible. It's not the truth, it's an illustration. My brown-dyed Dorsetshire men dramatize the true fact that the Weeping Madonna comes from a Saracen land.\"\n\nThe two priests and Aliena had detached themselves from the crowd around the Madonna and joined Philip and Jack. Philip ignored them and said to Jack: \"You aren't frightened of a drawing of a snake. An illustration isn't a lie. Your Saracens aren't illustrations, they're impostors.\"\n\n\"We collected much more money after we got the Saracens,\" Jack said.\n\nPhilip looked at the pennies heaped on the floor. \"The townspeople probably think that's enough to build a whole cathedral,\" he said. \"It looks to me like about a hundred pounds. You know that won't even pay for a year's work.\"\n\n\"The money is like the Saracens,\" Jack said. \"It's symbolic. You know you've got the money to start building.\"\n\nThat was true. There was nothing stopping Philip from building. The Madonna was just the sort of thing needed to bring Kingsbridge back to life. It would attract people to the town\u2014pilgrims and scholars as well as the idly curious. It would put new heart into the townspeople. It would be seen as a good omen. Philip had been waiting for a sign from God, and he wanted very badly to believe that this was it. But this did not have the feel of a sign from God. It had the feel of a stunt by Jack.\n\nThe younger of the two priests said: \"I'm Reynold and this is Edward\u2014we work for the archbishop of Canterbury. He sent us to accompany the Weeping Madonna.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"If you have the archbishop's blessing, why did you need a couple of fairground Saracens to legitimize the Madonna?\"\n\nEdward looked a little shamefaced. Reynold said: \"It was Jack's idea, but I confess I saw no harm in it. Surely you're not dubious about the Madonna, Philip?\"\n\n\"You can call me Father,\" Philip snapped. \"Working for the archbishop doesn't give you the right to condescend to your superiors. The answer to your question is yes. I am dubious about the Madonna. I am not going to install this statue in the precincts of Kingsbridge Cathedral until I'm convinced that it is a holy artifact.\"\n\n\"A wooden statue weeps,\" Reynold said. \"How much of a miracle do you want?\"\n\n\"The weeping is unexplained. That doesn't make it a miracle. The changing of liquid water into solid ice is also inexplicable, but it isn't miraculous.\"\n\n\"The archbishop would be most disappointed if you refused the Madonna. He had a battle to prevent Abbot Suger from commandeering her for Saint-Denis.\"\n\nPhilip knew he was being threatened. Young Reynold will have to work a lot harder than this to intimidate me, he thought. He said smoothly: \"I'm quite sure the archbishop would not want me to accept the Madonna without making some routine inquiries about her legitimacy.\"\n\nThere was a movement at their feet. Philip looked down and saw the cripple he had noticed earlier. The unfortunate man was dragging himself across the floor, his paralyzed legs trailing behind him, trying to get close to the statue. Whichever way he turned he was blocked by the crowd. Automatically, Philip stood aside to let him through. The Saracens were preventing people from actually touching the statue, but the cripple escaped their notice. Philip saw the man's hand reach out. Philip would normally have prevented someone from touching a holy relic, but he had not yet accepted that this statue was holy, so he did nothing. The cripple touched the hem of the wooden dress. Suddenly he let out a shout of triumph. \"I feel it!\" he yelled. \"I feel it!\"\n\nEveryone looked at him.\n\n\"I feel the strength coming back!\" he shouted.\n\nPhilip stared at the man incredulously, knowing what would happen next. The man bent one leg, then the other. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers. He reached out a hand and someone took it. With an effort, the man pulled himself upright.\n\nThe crowd made a noise like a groan of passion.\n\nSomeone called out: \"Try to walk!\"\n\nStill holding the hand of his helper, the man took one tentative step, then another. The people watched in dead silence. On his third step he stumbled, and they sighed. But the man regained his balance and walked on.\n\nThey cheered.\n\nHe went down the nave with the people following him. After a few more steps he broke into a run. The cheering rose to a crescendo as he went out through the church door into the sunshine, followed by most of the congregation.\n\nPhilip looked at the two priests. Reynold was awestruck, and Edward had tears pouring down his face. Obviously they were not in on it. Philip turned to Jack and said furiously: \"How dare you pull a trick like that?\"\n\n\"Trick?\" said Jack. \"What trick?\"\n\n\"That man had never been seen in this district until a few days ago. In another day or two he'll disappear, never to be seen again, with his pockets full of your money. I know how these things are done, Jack. You're not the first person to fake a miracle, regrettably. There was never anything wrong with his legs, was there? He's another Wareham fisherman.\"\n\nThe accusation was confirmed by Jack's guilty look.\n\nAliena said: \"Jack, I told you you shouldn't try that.\"\n\nThe two priests were thunderstruck. They had been completely taken in. Reynold was furious. He rounded on Jack. \"You had no right!\" he spluttered.\n\nPhilip felt sad as well as angry. In his heart he had hoped the Madonna would prove legitimate, for he could see just how he would use her to revitalize the priory and the town. But it was not to be. He looked around the little parish church. Only a handful of worshipers remained, still staring at the statue. He said to Jack: \"You've gone too far this time.\"\n\n\"The tears are real\u2014there's no trick involved there,\" Jack said. \"But the cripple was a mistake, I admit.\"\n\n\"It was worse than a mistake,\" Philip said angrily. \"When people learn the truth it will shake their faith in all miracles.\"\n\n\"Why do they need to learn the truth?\"\n\n\"Because I'll have to explain to them why the Madonna is not going to be installed in the cathedral. There's no question of my accepting the statue now, of course.\"\n\nReynold said: \"I think that's a little hasty\u2014\"\n\n\"When I want your opinion, young man, I'll ask for it,\" Philip snapped.\n\nReynold shut up but Jack persisted. \"Are you sure you've got the right to deprive your people of the Madonna? Look at them.\" He indicated the handful of worshipers who had remained behind. Among them was Meg Widow. She was kneeling in front of the statue with tears streaming down her face. Jack did not know, Philip realized, that Meg had lost her entire family in the collapse of Alfred's roof. Her emotion touched Philip's heart, and he wondered if Jack might be right after all. Why take this away from people? Because it's dishonest, he reminded himself sternly. They believed in the statue because they saw a faked miracle. He hardened his heart.\n\nJack knelt down beside Meg and spoke to her. \"Why are you weeping?\"\n\n\"She's dumb,\" Philip told him.\n\nThen Meg said: \"The Madonna has suffered as I have. She understands.\"\n\nPhilip was thunderstruck.\n\nJack said: \"You see? The statue eases her suffering\u2014What are you staring at?\"\n\n\"She's dumb,\" Philip said again. \"She hasn't uttered a word for more than a year.\"\n\n\"That's right!\" Aliena said. \"Meg was struck dumb after her husband and boys died when the roof fell.\"\n\n\"This woman?\" Jack said. \"But she just...\"\n\nReynold looked bewildered. \"You mean this is a miracle?\" he said. \"A real one?\"\n\nPhilip looked at Jack's face. Jack was more shocked than anyone. There was no trickery here.\n\nPhilip was profoundly moved. He had seen the hand of God move and work a miracle. He was shaking a little. \"Well, Jack,\" he said in an unsteady voice. \"Despite all you have done to discredit the Weeping Madonna, it seems that God intends to work wonders with it anyway.\"\n\nFor once Jack was lost for words.\n\nPhilip turned away from him and went to Meg. He took her hands and gently pulled her upright. \"God has made you well again, Meg,\" he said, his voice trembling with emotion. \"Now you can start a new life.\" He recalled that he had preached a sermon on the story of Job. The words came back to him: \"So the Lord blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning....\" He had told the people of Kingsbridge that the same would be true of them. I wonder, he thought, looking at the rapture on Meg's tear-stained face, I wonder whether this could be the start of it.\n\nThere was an uproar in chapter when Jack presented his design for the new cathedral.\n\nPhilip had warned Jack to expect trouble. Philip had seen the drawings previously, of course. Jack had carried them to the prior's house early one morning, a plan and an elevation, drawn on plaster in wooden frames. They had looked at them together in the clear early light, and Philip had said: \"Jack, this will be the most beautiful church in England\u2014but we're going to have trouble with the monks.\"\n\nJack knew from his time as a novice that Remigius and his cronies still routinely opposed any plan that was dear to Philip's heart, even though it was eight years since Philip had defeated Remigius in the election. They rarely got much support from the broad mass of the brothers, but in this case Philip was uncertain: they were such a conservative lot that they could be scared by the revolutionary design. However, there was nothing for it but to show them the drawings and try to convince them. Philip certainly could not go ahead and build the cathedral without the wholehearted support of the majority of his monks.\n\nOn the following day Jack attended chapter and presented his plans. The drawings were propped up on a bench against the wall, and the monks crowded around to look at them. As they took in the details, there was a murmur of discussion which rose rapidly to a hubbub. Jack was discouraged: the tone was disapproving, bordering on outrage. The noise grew louder as they began to argue among themselves, some attacking the design and others defending it.\n\nAfter a while Philip called for order and they calmed down. Milius Bursar asked a prearranged question. \"Why are the arches pointed?\"\n\n\"It's a new technique they're using in France,\" Jack replied. \"I've seen it in several churches. The pointed arch is stronger. That is what will enable me to build the church so high. It will probably be the tallest nave in England.\"\n\nThey liked that idea, Jack could tell.\n\nSomeone else said: \"The windows are so big.\"\n\n\"Thick walls are unnecessary,\" Jack said. \"They've proved that in France. It's the piers that hold the building up, especially with rib-vaulting. And the effect of the big windows is breathtaking. At Saint-Denis the abbot has put in colored glass with pictures on it. The church becomes a place of sunshine and air, instead of gloom and darkness.\"\n\nSeveral of the monks were nodding approval. Perhaps they were not as conservative as he had thought.\n\nBut Andrew Sacrist spoke next. \"Two years ago you were a novice among us. You were disciplined for striking the prior, and you evaded that discipline and ran away. Now you come back wanting to tell us how to build our church.\"\n\nBefore Jack could speak, one of the younger monks protested: \"That's nothing to do with it! We're discussing the design, not Jack's past!\"\n\nSeveral monks tried to speak at the same time, some of them shouting. Philip made them all shut up and asked Jack to answer the question.\n\nJack had been expecting something like this and he was ready. \"I made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela as penance for that sin, Father Andrew, and I hope my bringing the Weeping Madonna to you may count as recompense for my wrongdoing,\" he said meekly. \"I'm not destined to be a monk, but I hope I can serve God in a different way\u2014as his builder.\"\n\nThey seemed to accept that.\n\nHowever, Andrew had not finished. \"How old are you?\" he said, although he surely knew the answer.\n\n\"Twenty years.\"\n\n\"That's very young to be a master builder.\"\n\n\"Everyone here knows me. I've lived here since I was a boy.\" Since I burned down your old church, he thought guiltily. \"I served my apprenticeship under the original master builder. You've seen my stonework. When I was a novice I worked with Prior Philip and Tom Builder as clerk of the works. I humbly ask the brothers to judge me by my work, not by my age.\"\n\nIt was another prepared speech. He saw one of the monks grin at the word humbly, and realized it might have been a small error: they all knew that whatever other qualities he had he was not humble.\n\nAndrew was quick to take advantage of his slip. \"Humbly?\" he said, and his face began to turn red as he feigned outrage. \"It wasn't very humble of you to announce to the masons of Paris three months ago that you had already been appointed master builder here.\"\n\nOnce again there was a hubbub of indignant reactions from the monks. Jack groaned inwardly. How the devil had Andrew got hold of that little tidbit? Reynold or Edward must have been indiscreet. He tried to shrug it off. \"I was hoping to attract some of those craftsmen to Kingsbridge,\" he said as the noise died down. \"They will be useful, no matter who is appointed master here. I don't think my presumption did any harm.\" He tried an engaging grin. \"But I'm sorry I'm not humbler.\" This did not go down very well.\n\nMilius Bursar got him out of trouble by asking another prearranged question. \"What do you propose to do about the existing chancel, which has partly collapsed?\"\n\n\"I've examined it very carefully,\" Jack said. \"It can be repaired. If you appoint me master builder today I will have it usable again within a year. Furthermore, you can continue to use it while I'm building the transepts and the nave to the new design. Finally, when the nave is finished, I propose demolishing the chancel and building a new one to match the rest of the new church.\"\n\nAndrew said: \"But how do we know the old chancel won't fall down again?\"\n\n\"The collapse was caused by Alfred's stone vault, which was not in the original plans. The walls weren't strong enough to hold it up. I propose to revert to Tom's design and build a timber ceiling.\"\n\nThere was a murmur of surprise. The question of why the roof had fallen in had been a matter of controversy. Andrew said: \"But Alfred increased the size of the buttresses to support the extra weight.\"\n\nThis had puzzled Jack, too, but he thought he had found the answer. \"They still weren't strong enough, particularly at the top. If you study the ruins you can see that the part of the structure that gave way was the clerestory. There was very little reinforcement at that level.\"\n\nThey seemed satisfied with that. Jack felt that his ability to give a confident answer had enhanced his status as a master builder.\n\nRemigius stood up. Jack had been wondering when he would make his contribution. \"I should like to read a verse of the Holy Scriptures to the brethren in chapter,\" he said, rather theatrically. He looked at Philip, who nodded consent.\n\nRemigius walked to the lectern and opened the huge Bible. Jack studied the man. His thin mouth was nervously mobile, and his watery blue eyes bulged a little, giving him a permanent expression of indignation. He was a picture of resentment. Years ago he had come to believe that he was destined to be a leader of men, but in truth he was too weak a character, and now he was doomed to live out his life in disappointment, making trouble for better men. \"The Book of Exodus,\" he intoned as he turned the parchment pages. \"Chapter Twenty. Verse Fourteen.\" Jack wondered what on earth was coming. Remigius read: \"Thou shalt not commit adultery.\" He closed the book with a bang and returned to his seat.\n\nIn a tone of mild exasperation, Philip said: \"Perhaps you would tell us, Brother Remigius, why you chose to read that short verse in the middle of our discussion of building plans?\"\n\nRemigius pointed an accusing finger at Jack. \"Because the man who wants to be our master builder is living in a state of sin!\" he thundered.\n\nJack could hardly believe he was serious. He said indignantly: \"It's true that our union has not been blessed by the Church, because of special circumstances, but we'll get married as soon as you like.\"\n\n\"You can't,\" Remigius said triumphantly. \"Aliena is already married.\"\n\n\"But that union was never consummated.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, the couple were wed in church.\"\n\n\"But if you won't let me marry her, how can I avoid committing adultery?\" Jack said angrily.\n\n\"That's enough!\" The voice was Philip's. Jack looked at him. He seemed furious. He said: \"Jack, are you living in sin with your brother's wife?\"\n\nJack was flabbergasted. \"Didn't you know?\"\n\n\"Of course I didn't!\" Philip roared. \"Do you think I could have remained silent about it if I had?\"\n\nThere was a silence. It was unusual for Philip to shout. Jack saw that he was in real trouble. His offense was a technicality, of course, but monks were supposed to be strict about such things. Unfortunately, the fact that Philip had not known that he was living with Aliena made matters much worse. It had enabled Remigius to take Philip by surprise and make a fool of him. Now Philip would have to be firm, to prove that he was strict.\n\nJack said miserably: \"But you can't build the wrong sort of church just to punish me.\"\n\nRemigius said with relish: \"You'll have to leave the woman.\"\n\n\"Piss off, Remigius,\" Jack said. \"She has my child\u2014he's a year old!\"\n\nRemigius sat back with a look of satisfaction.\n\nPhilip said: \"Jack, if you speak like that in chapter you'll have to leave.\"\n\nJack knew he should calm down but he could not. \"But it's ludicrous!\" he said. \"You're telling me to abandon my woman and our child! This isn't morality, it's hairsplitting.\"\n\nPhilip's anger abated somewhat, and Jack saw the more familiar light of sympathy in his clear blue eyes. He said: \"Jack, you may take a pragmatic approach to God's laws but we prefer to be rigid\u2014that's why we're monks. And we cannot have you as builder while you're living in a state of adultery.\"\n\nJack remembered a line of Scripture. \"Jesus said: 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.'\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Yes, but Jesus said to the adulteress: 'Go, and sin no more.' \" He turned to Remigius. \"I take it you would withdraw your opposition if the adultery ceased.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" said Remigius.\n\nDespite his anger and misery, Jack noticed that Philip had outmaneuvered Remigius neatly. He had made the adultery the decisive question, thereby sidestepping the whole issue of the new design. But Jack was not ready to go along with that. He said: \"I'm not going to leave her!\"\n\nPhilip said: \"It might not be for long.\"\n\nJack paused. That had taken him by surprise. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You could marry Aliena if her first marriage was annulled.\"\n\n\"Can that be done?\"\n\n\"It should be automatic, if, as you say, the marriage was never consummated.\"\n\n\"What do I have to do?\"\n\n\"Apply to an ecclesiastical court. Normally it would be Bishop Waleran's court, but in this case you probably should go straight to the archbishop of Canterbury.\"\n\n\"And is the archbishop bound to agree?\"\n\n\"In justice, yes.\"\n\nThat was not a totally unequivocal answer, Jack noted. \"But we would have to live apart meanwhile?\"\n\n\"If you want to be appointed master builder of Kingsbridge Cathedral\u2014yes.\"\n\nJack said: \"You're asking me to choose between the two things I love most in all the world.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Not for long.\"\n\nHis voice made Jack look up sharply: there was real compassion in it. Jack realized Philip was genuinely sorry to have to do this. That made him less angry and more sad. He said: \"How long?\"\n\n\"It could be as much as a year.\"\n\n\"A year!\"\n\n\"You don't have to live in different towns,\" Philip said. \"You can still see Aliena and the child.\"\n\n\"Do you know she went to Spain to look for me?\" Jack said. \"Can you imagine that?\" But the monks had no conception of what love was about. He said bitterly: \"Now I must tell her we've got to live apart.\"\n\nPhilip stood up and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. \"The time will go by faster than you think, I promise you,\" he said. \"And you'll be busy\u2014building the new cathedral.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "The forest had grown and changed in eight years. Jack had thought he could never get lost in territory he had once known like the back of his hand, but he had been wrong. Old trails were overgrown, new ones had been trodden in the undergrowth by the deer and the boar and the wild ponies, streamlets had altered course, old trees had fallen and young ones were taller. Everything was diminished: distances seemed less and hills not so steep. Most striking of all, he felt a stranger here. When a young deer gazed at him, startled, across a glade, Jack could not guess which family the deer belonged to or where its dam was. When a flight of ducks took off, he did not instantly know what stretch of water they had risen from and why. And he was nervous, for he had no idea where the outlaws were.\n\nHe had ridden most of the way here from Kingsbridge, but he had to dismount as soon as he left the main road, for the trees grew too low over the trail to permit him to ride. Returning to the haunts of his boyhood made him feel irrationally sad. He had never appreciated, because he had never realized, how simple life had been then. His greatest passion had been for strawberries, and he had known that every summer, for a few days, there would be as many as he could eat, growing on the forest floor. Nowadays everything was problematical: his combative friendship with Prior Philip; his frustrated love for Aliena; his towering ambition to build the most beautiful cathedral in the world; his burning need to find out the truth about his father.\n\nHe wondered how much his mother had changed in the two years he had been away. He was looking forward eagerly to seeing her again. He had coped perfectly well on his own, of course, but it was very reassuring to have someone in your life who was always ready to fight for you, and he had missed that comforting feeling.\n\nIt had taken him all day to reach the part of the forest where he and she used to live. Now the short winter afternoon was darkening rapidly. Soon he would have to give up the search for their old cave, and concentrate on finding a sheltered place in which to spend the night. It would be cold. Why am I worried? he thought. I used to spend every night in the forest.\n\nIn the end she found him.\n\nHe was on the point of giving up. A narrow, almost invisible track through the vegetation, probably used only by badgers and foxes, petered out in a thicket. There was nothing to do but retrace his steps. He turned his horse around and almost walked into her.\n\n\"You've forgotten how to move quietly in the forest,\" she said. \"I could hear you crashing around a mile away.\"\n\nJack smiled. She had not changed. \"Hello, Mother,\" he said. He kissed her cheek, then, in a rush of affection, he hugged her.\n\nShe touched his face. \"You're thinner than ever.\"\n\nHe looked at her. She was brown and healthy, her hair still thick and dark, without any gray. Her eyes were the same golden color, and they still seemed to see right through Jack. He said: \"You're just the same.\"\n\n\"Where did you go?\" she said.\n\n\"All the way to Compostela, and even farther, to Toledo.\"\n\n\"Aliena went after you\u2014\"\n\n\"She found me. Thanks to you.\"\n\n\"I'm glad.\" She closed her eyes as if sending up a prayer of thanks. \"I'm so glad.\"\n\nShe led him through the forest to the cave, which was less than a mile away: his memory had not been so bad after all. She had a blazing log fire and three sputtering rushlights. She gave him a mug of the cider she made with crab apples and wild honey, and they roasted some chestnuts. Jack could remember the items that a forest dweller could not make for herself, and he had brought his mother knives, cord, soap and salt. She began to skin a coney for the cooking pot. He said: \"How are you, Mother?\"\n\n\"Fine,\" she said; then she looked at him and realized the question was serious. \"I grieve for Tom Builder,\" she said. \"But he's dead and I don't care to take another husband.\"\n\n\"And are you happy here, otherwise?\"\n\n\"Yes and no. I'm used to living in the forest. I like being alone. I never did get used to busybody priests telling me how to behave. But I miss you, and Martha, and Aliena; and I wish I could see more of my grandson.\" She smiled. \"But I can never go back to live in Kingsbridge, not after cursing a Christian wedding. Prior Philip will never forgive me for that. However, it's all worth it if I've brought you and Aliena together at last.\" She looked up from her work with a pleased smile. \"So how do you like married life?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said hesitantly, \"we're not married. In the eyes of the Church, Aliena is still married to Alfred.\"\n\n\"Don't be stupid. What does the Church know about it?\"\n\n\"Well, they know who they've married, and they wouldn't let me build the new cathedral while I was living with another man's wife.\"\n\nHer eyes flashed anger. \"So you've left her?\"\n\n\"Yes. Until she can get an annulment.\"\n\nMother put the rabbit's skin to one side. With a sharp knife in her bloody hands she began to joint the carcass, dropping the pieces into the cooking pot bubbling on the fire. \"Prior Philip did that to me, once, when I was with Tom,\" she said, slicing the raw meat with swift strokes. \"I know why he gets so frantic about people making love. It's because he's not allowed to do it himself, and he resents other people's freedom to enjoy what is forbidden to him. Of course, there's nothing he can do about it when they're married by the Church. But if they're not, he gets the chance to spoil things for them, and that makes him feel better.\" She cut off the rabbit's feet and threw them into a wooden bucket full of rubbish.\n\nJack nodded. He had accepted the inevitable, but every time he said good night to Aliena and walked away from her door he felt angry with Philip, and he understood his mother's persistent resentment. \"It's not forever, though,\" he said.\n\n\"How does Aliena feel about it?\"\n\nJack grimaced. \"Not good. But she thinks it's her fault, for marrying Alfred in the first place.\"\n\n\"So it is. And it's your fault for being determined to build churches.\"\n\nHe was sorry that she could not share his vision. \"Mother, it's not worth building anything else. Churches are bigger and higher and more beautiful and more difficult to build, and they have more decoration and sculpture than any other kind of building.\"\n\n\"And you won't be satisfied with anything less.\"\n\n\"Right.\"\n\nShe shook her head in perplexity. \"I'll never know where you got the idea that you were destined for greatness.\" She dropped the rest of the rabbit in the pot and began to clean the underside of its skin. She would use the fur. \"You certainly didn't inherit it from your forebears.\"\n\nThat was the cue he had been waiting for. \"Mother, when I was overseas I learned some more about my forebears.\"\n\nShe stopped scraping and looked at him. \"What on earth do you mean?\"\n\n\"I found my father's family.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" She dropped the rabbit skin. \"How did you do that? Where are they? What are they like?\"\n\n\"There's a town in Normandy called Cherbourg. That's where he came from.\"\n\n\"How can you be sure?\"\n\n\"I look so much like him, they thought I was a ghost.\"\n\nMother sat down heavily on a stool. Jack felt guilty about having shocked her so badly, but he had not expected her to be so shaken by the news. She said: \"What... what are his people like?\"\n\n\"His father's dead, but his mother's still alive. She was kind, once she was convinced I wasn't the ghost of my father. His older brother is a carpenter with a wife and three children. My cousins.\" He smiled. \"Isn't that nice? We've got relations.\"\n\nThe thought seemed to upset her, and she looked distressed. \"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry I didn't give you a normal upbringing.\"\n\n\"I'm not,\" he said lightly. He was embarrassed when his mother showed remorse: it was so out of character for her. \"But I'm glad I met my cousins. Even if I never see them again, it's good to know they're there.\"\n\nShe nodded sadly. \"I understand.\"\n\nJack took a deep breath. \"They thought my father had drowned in a shipwreck twenty-four years ago. He was aboard a vessel called the White Ship which went down just out of Barfleur. Everyone was thought to have drowned. Obviously my father survived. But somehow they never knew that, because he never went back to Cherbourg.\"\n\n\"He went to Kingsbridge,\" she said.\n\n\"But why?\"\n\nShe sighed. \"He clung to a barrel and was washed ashore near a castle,\" she said. \"He went to the castle to report the shipwreck. There were several powerful barons at the castle, and they showed great consternation when he turned up. They took him prisoner and brought him to England. After some weeks or months\u2014he got rather confused\u2014he ended up in Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything else about the wreck?\"\n\n\"Only that the ship went down very fast, as if it had been holed.\"\n\n\"It sounds as if they needed to keep him out of the way.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"And then, when they realized they couldn't hold him prisoner forever, they killed him.\"\n\nJack knelt in front of her and forced her to look at him. In a voice shaking with emotion he said: \"But who were they, Mother?\"\n\n\"You've asked me that before.\"\n\n\"And you've never told me.\"\n\n\"Because I don't want you to spend your life trying to avenge the death of your father!\"\n\nShe was still treating him like a child, withholding information that might not be good for him, he felt. He tried to be calm and adult. \"I'm going to spend my life building Kingsbridge Cathedral and making babies with Aliena. But I want to know why they hanged my father. And the only people who have the answer are the men who gave false testimony against him. So I have to know who they were.\"\n\n\"At the time I didn't know their names.\"\n\nHe knew she was being evasive and it made him angry. \"But you know now!\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" she said tearfully, and he realized that this was as painful for her as it was for him. \"And I'll tell you, because I can see you'll never stop asking.\" She sniffed and wiped her eyes.\n\nHe waited in suspense.\n\n\"There were three of them: a monk, a priest and a knight.\"\n\nJack looked at her hard. \"Their names.\"\n\n\"You're going to ask them why they lied under oath?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you expect them to tell you?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not. I'll look into their eyes when I ask them, and that may tell me all I need to know.\"\n\n\"Even that may not be possible.\"\n\n\"I want to try, Mother!\"\n\nShe sighed. \"The monk was the prior of Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Philip!\"\n\n\"No, not Philip. This was before Philip's time. It was his predecessor, James.\"\n\n\"But he's dead.\"\n\n\"I told you it might not be possible to question them.\"\n\nJack narrowed his eyes. \"Who were the others?\"\n\n\"The knight was Percy Hamleigh, the earl of Shiring.\"\n\n\"William's father!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He's dead, too!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nJack had a terrible feeling that all three would turn out to be dead men, and the secret buried with their bones. \"Who was the priest?\" he said urgently.\n\n\"His name was Waleran Bigod. He's now the bishop of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nJack gave a sigh of profound satisfaction. \"And he's still alive,\" he said.\n\nBishop Waleran's castle was finished at Christmas. William Hamleigh and his mother rode to it on a fine morning early in the new year. They saw it from a distance, across the valley. It was at the highest point of the opposite ridge, overlooking the surrounding countryside with a forbidding regard.\n\nAs they crossed the valley they passed the old palace. It was now used as a storehouse for fleeces. Income from wool was paying for much of the new castle.\n\nThey trotted up the gentle slope on the far side of the valley and followed the road through a gap in the earth ramparts and across a deep dry moat to a gateway in a stone wall. With ramparts, a moat and a stone wall, this was a highly secure castle, superior to William's own and to many of the king's.\n\nThe inner courtyard was dominated by a massive square keep three stories high which dwarfed the stone church that stood alongside it. William helped his mother dismount. They left their knights to stable the horses and mounted the steps that led to the hall.\n\nIt was midday, and in the hall Waleran's servants were preparing the table. Some of his archdeacons, deans, employees and hangers-on were standing around waiting for dinner. William and Regan waited while a steward went up to the bishop's private quarters to announce their arrival.\n\nWilliam was burning inside with a fierce, agonizing jealousy. Aliena was in love, and the whole county knew it. She had given birth to a love child, and her husband had thrown her out of his house. With her baby in her arms, she had gone off to look for the man she loved, and had found him after searching half of Christendom. The story was being told and retold all over southern England. It made William sick with hatred every time he heard it. But he had thought of a way to get revenge.\n\nThey were taken up the stairs and shown into Waleran's chamber. They found him sitting at a table with Baldwin, who was now an archdeacon. The two clerics were counting money on a checkered cloth, building the silver pennies into piles of twelve and moving them from black squares to white. Baldwin stood up and bowed to Lady Regan, then quickly put away the cloth and the coins.\n\nWaleran got up from the table and went to the chair by the fire. He moved quickly, like a spider, and William felt the old familiar loathing. Nevertheless he resolved to be unctuous. He had heard recently of the dreadful death of the earl of Hereford, who had quarreled with the bishop of Hereford and died in a state of excommunication. His body had been buried in unconsecrated ground. When William imagined his own body lying in undefended earth, vulnerable to all the imps and monsters that inhabited the underworld, he shook with fright. He would never quarrel with his bishop.\n\nWaleran was as pale and thin as ever, and his black robes hung on him like laundry drying on a tree. He never seemed to change. William knew that he himself had changed. Food and wine were his principal pleasures, and each year he grew a little stouter, despite the active life he led, so that the expensive chain mail that had been made for him when he turned twenty-one had been replaced twice over in the succeeding seven years.\n\nWaleran was just back from York. He had been away for almost half a year, and William politely asked him: \"Did you have a successful trip?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied. \"Bishop Henry sent me there to attempt to resolve a four-year-old dispute over who is to be archbishop of York. I failed. The row goes on.\"\n\nThe less said about that the better, William thought. He said: \"While you've been away, there have been a lot of changes here. Especially at Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"At Kingsbridge?\" Waleran was surprised. \"I thought that problem had been solved once and for all.\"\n\nWilliam shook his head. \"They've got the Weeping Madonna.\"\n\nWaleran looked irritated. \"What the devil are you talking about?\"\n\nWilliam's mother answered. \"It's a wooden statue of the Virgin that they use in processions. At certain times, water comes from its eyes. The people think it's miraculous.\"\n\n\"It is miraculous!\" William said. \"A statue that weeps!\"\n\nWaleran gave him a scornful look.\n\nRegan said: \"Miraculous or not, thousands of people have been to see it in the last few months. Meanwhile, Prior Philip has recommenced building. They're repairing the chancel and putting a new timber ceiling on it, and they've started on the rest of the church. The foundations for the crossing have been dug, and some new stonemasons have arrived from Paris.\"\n\n\"Paris?\" Waleran said.\n\nRegan said: \"The church is now going to be built in the style of Saint-Denis, whatever that is.\"\n\nWaleran nodded. \"Pointed arches. I heard talk of it at York.\"\n\nWilliam did not care what style Kingsbridge Cathedral would be. He said: \"The point is, young men off my farms are moving to Kingsbridge to work as laborers, the Kingsbridge market is open again every Sunday, taking business away from Shiring.... It's the same old story!\" He glanced uneasily at the other two, wondering whether either of them suspected that he had an ulterior motive; but neither looked suspicious.\n\nWaleran said: \"The worst mistake I ever made was to help Philip become prior.\"\n\n\"They're going to have to learn that they just can't do this,\" William said.\n\nWaleran looked at him thoughtfully. \"What do you want to do?\"\n\n\"I'm going to sack the town again.\" And when I do, I'll kill Aliena and her lover, he thought; and he looked into the fire, so that his mother should not meet his eyes and read his thoughts.\n\n\"I'm not sure you can,\" Waleran said.\n\n\"I've done it before\u2014why shouldn't I do it again?\"\n\n\"Last time you had a good reason: the fleece fair.\"\n\n\"This time it's the market. They've never had King Stephen's permission for that either.\"\n\n\"It's not quite the same. Philip was pushing his luck by holding a fleece fair, and you attacked it immediately. The Sunday market has been going on at Kingsbridge for six years now, and anyway, it's twenty miles from Shiring so it ought to be licensed.\"\n\nWilliam suppressed his anger. He wanted to tell Waleran to stop being such a feeble old woman; but that would never do.\n\nWhile he was swallowing his protest a steward came into the room and stood silently by the door. Waleran said: \"What is it?\"\n\n\"There's a man here who insists on seeing you, my lord bishop. Name of Jack Jackson. A builder, from Kingsbridge. Shall I send him away?\"\n\nWilliam's heart raced. It was Aliena's lover. How had the man happened to come here just when William was plotting his death? Perhaps he had supernatural powers. William was possessed by dread.\n\n\"From Kingsbridge?\" Waleran said with interest.\n\nRegan said: \"He's the new master builder there, the one who brought the Weeping Madonna from Spain.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" said Waleran. \"Let's have a look at him.\" He said to the steward: \"Send him in.\"\n\nWilliam stared at the door with superstitious terror. He expected a tall, fearsome man in a black cloak to stride in and point directly at him with an accusing finger. But when Jack came through the door, William was shocked by his youth. Jack could not have been much past twenty. He had red hair and alert blue eyes which flickered over William, paused on Regan\u2014whose frightful facial sores arrested the glance of anyone who was not used to them\u2014and came to rest on Waleran. The builder was not much intimidated by finding himself in the presence of the two most powerful men in the county, but apart from that surprising nonchalance he did not seem very fearsome.\n\nLike William, Waleran sensed the young builder's insubordinate attitude, and reacted with a coldly haughty voice. \"Well, lad, what's your business with me?\"\n\n\"The truth,\" Jack said. \"How many men have you seen hang?\"\n\nWilliam caught his breath. It was a shocking and insolent question. He looked at the others. His mother was leaning forward, frowning intently at Jack, as if she might have seen him before and was trying to place him. Waleran was looking coldly amused.\n\nWaleran said: \"Is this a riddle? I've seen more men hang than I care to count, and there will be another if you don't speak respectfully.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, my lord bishop,\" Jack said, but he still did not sound frightened. \"Do you remember all of them?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" Waleran said, and he sounded intrigued despite himself. \"I suppose there is a particular one that you're interested in.\"\n\n\"Twenty-two years ago, at Shiring, you watched the hanging of a man called Jack Shareburg.\"\n\nWilliam heard his mother give a muffled gasp.\n\n\"He was a jongleur,\" Jack continued. \"Do you recall him?\"\n\nWilliam felt the atmosphere in the room become tense all of a sudden. There was something unnaturally frightful about Jack Jackson; there had to be, for him to have this effect on Waleran and Mother. \"I think perhaps I do remember,\" Waleran said, and William heard in his voice the strain of self-control. What was going on here?\n\n\"I imagine you do,\" Jack said, and now he was sounding insolent again. \"The man was convicted on the testimony of three people. Two of them are now dead. You were the third.\"\n\nWaleran nodded. \"He had stolen something from Kingsbridge Priory\u2014a jeweled chalice.\"\n\nA flinty look came into Jack's blue eyes. \"He had done nothing of the kind.\"\n\n\"I caught him myself, with the chalice on him.\"\n\n\"You lied.\"\n\nThere was a pause. When Waleran spoke again his tone was mild but his face was as hard as iron. \"I may have your tongue ripped out for that,\" he said.\n\n\"I just want to know why you did it,\" Jack said as if he had not heard the grisly threat. \"You can be candid here. William is no threat to you, and his mother seems to know all about it already.\"\n\nWilliam looked at his mother. It was true, she did have a knowing air. William himself was now completely mystified. It seemed\u2014he hardly dared to hope\u2014that Jack's visit actually had nothing to do with William and his secret plans to kill Aliena's lover.\n\nRegan said to Jack: \"You're accusing the bishop of perjury!\"\n\n\"I shan't repeat the charge in public,\" Jack said coolly. \"I've got no proof, and anyway I'm not interested in revenge. I would just like to understand why you hanged an innocent man.\"\n\n\"Get out of here,\" Waleran said icily.\n\nJack nodded as if he had expected no more. Although he had not got answers to his questions, there was a look of satisfaction on his face, as if his suspicions had somehow been confirmed.\n\nWilliam was still baffled by the whole exchange. On impulse, he said: \"Wait a moment.\"\n\nJack turned at the door and looked at him with those mocking blue eyes.\n\n\"What...\" William swallowed and got his voice under control. \"What's your interest in this? Why did you come here and ask these questions?\"\n\n\"Because the man they hanged was my father,\" Jack said, and he went out.\n\nThere was a silence in the room. So Aliena's lover, the master builder at Kingsbridge, was the son of a thief who had been hanged at Shiring, William thought: so what? But Mother seemed anxious, and Waleran actually looked shaken.\n\nEventually Waleran said bitterly: \"That woman has dogged me for twenty years.\" He was normally so guarded that William was shocked to see him letting his feelings show.\n\n\"She disappeared after the cathedral fell down,\" Regan said. \"I thought we'd seen the last of her.\"\n\n\"Now her son has come to haunt us.\" There was something like real fear in Waleran's voice.\n\nWilliam said: \"Why don't you slap him in irons for accusing you of perjury?\"\n\nWaleran threw him a look of scorn, then said: \"Your boy's a damn fool, Regan.\"\n\nWilliam realized the charge of perjury must be true. And if he was able to figure that out, so could Jack. \"Does anyone else know?\"\n\nRegan said: \"Prior James confessed his perjury, before he died, to the sub-prior, Remigius. But Remigius has always been on our side against Philip, so he's no danger. Jack's mother knows some of it, but not all; otherwise she would have used the information by now. But Jack has traveled around\u2014he may have picked up something his mother didn't know.\"\n\nWilliam saw that this strange story from the past could be used to his advantage. As if it had just occurred to him, he said: \"Then let's kill Jack Jackson.\"\n\nWaleran just shook his head contemptuously.\n\nRegan said: \"That would serve to draw attention to him and his charges.\"\n\nWilliam was disappointed. It had seemed almost providential. He thought about it, while the silence in the room dragged out. Then a new thought came to him, and he said: \"Not necessarily.\"\n\nThey both looked at him skeptically.\n\n\"Jack might be killed without drawing attention to him,\" William said doggedly.\n\n\"All right, tell us how,\" Waleran said.\n\n\"He could be killed in an attack on Kingsbridge,\" William said, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the same look of startled respect on both their faces."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Jack walked around the building site with Prior Philip late in the afternoon. The ruins of the chancel had been cleared, and the rubble formed two huge heaps on the north side of the priory close. New scaffolding was up, and the masons were rebuilding the fallen walls. Alongside the infirmary was a large stockpile of timber.\n\n\"You're moving along quickly,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Not as fast as I'd like,\" Jack replied.\n\nThey inspected the foundations of the transepts. Forty or fifty laborers were down in the deep holes, shoveling mud into buckets, while others at ground level operated the winches that lifted the buckets out of the holes. Huge rough-cut stone blocks for the foundations were stacked nearby.\n\nJack took Philip into his own workshop. It was much bigger than Tom's shed had been. One side was completely open, for better light. Half the ground area was occupied by his tracing floor. He had laid planks over the earth, put a wooden border a couple of inches high around the planks, then poured plaster onto the wood until it filled the frame and threatened to overflow the border. When the plaster set, it was hard enough to walk on, but drawings could be scratched on it with a short length of iron wire sharpened to a point. This was where Jack designed the details. He used compasses, a straightedge and a set square. The scratch marks were white and clear when first made, but they faded to gray quite quickly, which meant that new drawings could be made on top of old ones without confusion. It was an idea he had picked up in France.\n\nMost of the rest of the hut was taken up by the bench on which Jack was working in wood, making the templates that would show the masons how to carve the stones. The light was fading: he would do no more woodwork today. He began to put his tools away.\n\nPhilip picked up a template. \"What's this for?\"\n\n\"The plinth at the base of a pier.\"\n\n\"You prepare things well in advance.\"\n\n\"I just can't wait to start building properly.\"\n\nThese days all their conversations were terse and factual.\n\nPhilip put down the template. \"I must go in to compline.\" He turned away.\n\n\"And I shall go and visit my family,\" Jack said acidly.\n\nPhilip paused, turned as if he was going to speak, looked sad, and left.\n\nJack locked his toolbox. That had been a foolish remark. He had accepted the job on Philip's terms and it was pointless to complain about it now. But he felt constantly angry with Philip, and he could not always keep it in.\n\nHe left the priory close in twilight and went to the little house in the poor quarter where Aliena lived with her brother, Richard. She smiled happily when Jack walked in, but they did not kiss: they never touched one another nowadays, for fear they would become aroused, and then they would either have to part frustrated or give in to their lust and risk being caught breaking their promise to Prior Philip.\n\nTommy was playing on the floor. He was now a year and half old, and his current obsession was putting things into other things. He had four or five kitchen bowls in front of him, and he tirelessly put the smaller ones inside the larger and tried to put the larger inside the smaller. Jack was very struck by the idea that Tommy did not know instinctively that a large bowl would not fit inside a small one; that this was something human beings had to learn. Tommy was struggling with spatial relationships just as Jack did when he tried to visualize something like the shape of a stone in a curved vault.\n\nTommy fascinated Jack and made him feel anxious too. Until now Jack had never worried about his ability to find work, hold down a job, and support himself. He had set out to cross France without giving a moment's thought to the possibility that he might become destitute and starve. But now he wanted security. The need to take care of Tommy was much more compelling than the need to take care of himself. For the first time in his life he had responsibilities.\n\nAliena put a jug of wine and a spiced cake on the table and sat down opposite Jack. He poured a cup of wine and sipped it gratefully. Aliena put some cake in front of Tommy, but he was not hungry, and he scattered it in the rushes on the floor.\n\nAliena said: \"Jack, I need more money.\"\n\nJack was surprised. \"I give you twelve pennies a week. I only make twenty-four.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said. \"You live alone\u2014you don't need as much.\"\n\nJack thought this was rather unreasonable. \"But a laborer only gets sixpence a week\u2014and some of them have five or six children!\"\n\nAliena looked cross. \"Jack, I don't know how laborers' wives keep house\u2014I never learned. And I don't spend anything on myself. But you have dinner here every day. And there's Richard\u2014\"\n\n\"Well, what about Richard?\" Jack said angrily. \"Why doesn't he support himself?\"\n\n\"He never has done.\"\n\nJack felt that Aliena and Tommy were enough of a burden for him. \"I don't know that Richard is my responsibility!\"\n\n\"Well, he's mine,\" she said quietly. \"When you took me on you took him too.\"\n\n\"I don't remember agreeing to that!\" he said angrily.\n\n\"Don't be cross.\"\n\nIt was too late: Jack was already cross. \"Richard is twenty-three years old\u2014two years older than I am. How come I'm keeping him? Why should I eat dry bread for breakfast and pay for Richard's bacon?\"\n\n\"Anyway, I'm pregnant again.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I'm having another baby.\"\n\nJack's anger evaporated. He seized her hand. \"That's wonderful!\"\n\n\"Are you glad?\" she said. \"I was afraid you'd be angry.\"\n\n\"Angry! I'm thrilled! I never knew Tommy when he was tiny\u2014now I'll find out what I missed.\"\n\n\"But what about the extra responsibility, and the money?\"\n\n\"Oh, to hell with the money. I'm just bad-tempered because we have to live apart. We've got plenty of money. But another baby! I hope it's a girl.\" He thought of something, and frowned. \"But when...?\"\n\n\"It must have been just before Prior Philip made us live apart.\"\n\n\"Maybe on Halloween.\" He grinned. \"Do you remember that night? You rode me like a horse\u2014\"\n\n\"I remember,\" she said with a blush.\n\nHe gazed at her fondly. \"I'd like to do you now.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"Me too.\"\n\nThey held hands across the table.\n\nRichard came in.\n\nHe threw the door open and walked inside, hot and dusty, leading a sweating horse. \"I've got bad news,\" he said, panting.\n\nAliena picked Tommy up off the floor to get him out of the way of the hooves. Jack said: \"What's happened?\"\n\n\"We must all get out of Kingsbridge tomorrow,\" he said.\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"William Hamleigh is going to burn the town again on Sunday.\"\n\n\"No!\" Aliena cried.\n\nJack went cold. He saw again the scene three years ago, when William's horsemen had invaded the fleece fair, with their blazing torches and brutal clubs. He recalled the panic, the screaming, and the smell of burning flesh. He saw again the corpse of his stepfather, with his forehead smashed. He felt sick at heart.\n\n\"How do you know?\" he asked Richard.\n\n\"I was in Shiring, and I saw some of William's men buying weapons at the armorer's shop.\"\n\n\"That doesn't mean\u2014\"\n\n\"There's more. I followed them into an alehouse and listened to their talk. One of them asked what defenses Kingsbridge had, and another said none.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Oh, God, it's true.\" She looked at Tommy, and her hand went to her stomach, where the new baby was growing. She looked up, and Jack met her eye. They were both thinking the same.\n\nRichard went on: \"Later I got talking to some of the younger ones, who don't know me. I told them about the battle of Lincoln, and so on, and said I was looking for a fight. They told me to go to Earlscastle, but it would have to be today, for they were to leave tomorrow, and the fight would be on Sunday.\"\n\n\"Sunday,\" Jack whispered fearfully.\n\n\"I rode out to Earlscastle, to double-check.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Richard, that was dangerous.\"\n\n\"All the signs are there: messengers coming and going, weapons being sharpened, horses exercised, tack cleaned.... There's no doubt of it.\" In a voice full of hatred, Richard finished: \"No amount of evildoing will satisfy that devil William\u2014he always wants more.\" His hand went to his right ear, and he touched the angry scar there with an unconscious nervous gesture.\n\nJack studied Richard for a moment. He was an idler and a wastrel, but in one area his judgment was trustworthy: the military. If he said William was planning a raid he was probably right. \"This is a catastrophe,\" Jack said, half to himself. Kingsbridge was just beginning to recover from the slump. Three years ago the fleece fair had burned, two years ago the cathedral had fallen on the congregation, and now this. People would say the bad luck of Kingsbridge had come back. Even if they managed to avoid bloodshed by fleeing, Kingsbridge would be ruined. No one would want to live here, come to the market or work here. It could even stop the building of the cathedral.\n\nAliena said: \"We must tell Prior Philip\u2014right away.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"The monks will be at supper. Let's go.\"\n\nAliena picked up Tommy and they all hurried up the hill toward the monastery in the dusk.\n\nRichard said: \"When the cathedral is finished, they can hold the market inside it. That will protect it from raids.\"\n\nJack said: \"But meanwhile we need the income from the market to pay for the cathedral.\"\n\nRichard, Aliena and Tommy waited outside while Jack went into the monks' refectory. A young monk was reading aloud in Latin while the others ate in silence. Jack recognized an apocalyptic passage from the Book of Revelation. He stood in the doorway and caught Philip's eye. Philip was surprised to see him, but got up from the table and came out straightaway.\n\n\"Bad news,\" Jack said grimly. \"I'll let Richard tell you.\"\n\nThey talked in the cavernous gloom of the repaired chancel. Richard gave Philip the details in a few sentences. When he had finished, Philip said: \"But we aren't holding a fleece fair\u2014just a little market!\"\n\nAliena said: \"At least we've got the chance to evacuate the town tomorrow. Nobody need get hurt. And we can rebuild our houses, as we did last time.\"\n\n\"Unless William decides to hunt down the evacuees,\" Richard said grimly. \"I wouldn't put it past him.\"\n\n\"Even if we all escape, I think it means the end of the market,\" Philip said gloomily. \"People will be afraid to set up stalls in Kingsbridge after this.\"\n\nJack said: \"It may mean the end of the cathedral. In the last ten years the church has burned down once and fallen down once, and a lot of masons were killed when the town burned. Another disaster would be the last, I think. People would say it's bad luck.\"\n\nPhilip looked stricken. He was not yet forty years old, Jack reckoned, but his face was becoming lined, and his fringe of hair was now more gray than black. Nevertheless, there was a dangerous light in his clear blue eyes as he said: \"I'm not going to accept this. I don't think it's the will of God.\"\n\nJack wondered what on earth he was talking about. How could he \"not accept\" it? The chickens might as well say they refused to accept the fox, for all the difference it would make to their fate. \"So what are you going to do?\" Jack said skeptically. \"Pray that William will fall out of bed tonight and break his neck?\"\n\nRichard was excited by the idea of resistance. \"Let's fight,\" he said. \"Why not? There are hundreds of us. William will bring fifty men, a hundred at most\u2014we could win by sheer weight of numbers.\"\n\nAliena protested: \"And how many of our people will be killed?\"\n\nPhilip was shaking his head. \"Monks don't fight,\" he said regretfully. \"And I can't ask townspeople to give their lives when I'm not prepared to risk my own.\"\n\nJack said: \"Don't count on my masons fighting, either. It's not part of their job.\"\n\nPhilip looked at Richard, who was the nearest they had to a military expert. \"Is there any way we can defend the town without a pitched battle?\"\n\n\"Not without town walls,\" Richard said. \"We've got nothing to put in front of the enemy but bodies.\"\n\n\"Town walls,\" Jack said thoughtfully.\n\nRichard said: \"We could challenge William to settle the issue by single combat\u2014a fight between champions. But I don't suppose he would agree to it.\"\n\n\"Town walls would do it?\" Jack said.\n\nRichard said impatiently: \"They might save us another time, but not now. We can't build town walls overnight.\"\n\n\"Can't we?\"\n\n\"Of course not, don't be\u2014\"\n\n\"Shut up, Richard,\" Philip said forcefully. He looked expectantly at Jack. \"What's on your mind?\"\n\n\"A wall is not that hard to build,\" Jack said.\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\nJack's mind was spinning. The others were listening with bated breath. He said: \"There are no arches, no vaults, no windows, no roof,... A wall can be built overnight, if you've got the men and materials.\"\n\n\"What would we build it of?\" Philip said.\n\n\"Look around you,\" Jack said. \"Here are ready-cut stone blocks intended for the foundations. There is a stack of timber bigger than a house. In the graveyard is a heap of rubble from the collapse. Down at the riverside there's another huge stack of stone from the quarry. There's no shortage of materials.\"\n\n\"And the town is full of builders,\" Philip said.\n\nJack nodded. \"The monks can do the organizing. The builders can do the skilled work. And for laborers we'll have the entire population of the town.\" He was thinking rapidly. \"The wall would have to run all along the nearside bank of the river. We'd dismantle the bridge. Then we'd have to take the wall up the hill alongside the poor quarter to join up with the east wall of the priory... out to the north... and down the hill to the riverbank again. I don't know whether there's enough stone for that....\"\n\nRichard said: \"It doesn't have to be stone to be effective. A simple ditch, with an earth rampart made of the mud dug out of the ditch, will serve the purpose, especially in a place where the enemy is attacking uphill.\"\n\n\"Surely stone is better,\" Jack said.\n\n\"Better, but not essential. The purpose of a wall is to force a delay on the enemy while he's in an exposed position, and enable the defender to bombard him from a sheltered position.\"\n\n\"Bombard him?\" Aliena said. \"With what?\"\n\n\"Stones, boiling oil, arrows\u2014there's a bow in most households in the town\u2014\"\n\nAliena shuddered and said: \"So we still end up fighting, after all.\"\n\n\"But not hand to hand, not quite.\"\n\nJack felt torn. The safest course, in all probability, was for everyone to take refuge in the forest, in the hope that William would be satisfied with burning the houses. But even then there was a risk that he and his men would hunt the townspeople down. Would the danger be greater if they all stayed here, behind a town wall? If something went wrong, and William and his men found a way to breach the wall, the carnage would be appalling. Jack looked at Aliena and Tommy, and thought of the new child growing inside Aliena. \"Is there a middle course?\" he said. \"We could evacuate the women and children, and the men could stay and defend the walls.\"\n\n\"No, thank you,\" Aliena said firmly. \"That's the worst of both worlds. We would have no town walls and no menfolk to fight for us either.\"\n\nShe was right, Jack realized. Town walls were no good without people to defend them, and the women and children could not be left unguarded in the forest: William might leave the town alone and kill the women.\n\nPhilip said: \"Jack, you're the builder. Can we put up a town wall in one day?\"\n\n\"I've never built a town wall,\" Jack said. \"There's no question of drawing plans, of course. We'd have to assign a craftsman to each section and let him use his judgment. The mortar will hardly be set by Sunday morning. It will be the worst-built wall in England. But yes, we can do it.\"\n\nPhilip turned to Richard. \"You've seen battles. If we build a wall, can we hold William off?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" Richard said. \"He will come prepared for a lightning raid, not a siege. If he finds a fortified town here there will be nothing he can do.\"\n\nFinally Philip looked at Aliena. \"You're one of the vulnerable people, with a child to protect. What do you think?\n\nShould we run to the forest, and hope William doesn't come after us, or stay here and build a wall to keep him out?\"\n\nJack held his breath.\n\n\"It's not just a question of safety,\" Aliena said after a pause. \"Philip, you've dedicated your life to this priory. Jack, the cathedral is your dream. If we run away, you'll lose everything you've lived for. And as for me... Well, I have a special reason for wanting to see William Hamleigh's power curbed. I say we stay.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Philip said. \"We build a wall.\"\n\nAs night fell, Jack, Richard and Philip walked the boundaries of the town with lanterns, deciding where the wall should go. The town was built on a low hill, and the river wound around two sides of it. The riverbanks were too soft to hold a stone wall without good foundations, so Jack proposed a wooden fence there. Richard was quite satisfied with that. The enemy could not attack the fence except from the river, which was almost impossible.\n\nOn the other two sides, some stretches of wall would be simple earth ramparts with a ditch. Richard declared that this would be effective where the ground was sloping and the enemy was forced to attack uphill. However, where the ground was level a stone wall would be needed.\n\nJack then went around the village gathering his builders together, getting them out of their homes\u2014out of their beds, in some cases\u2014and out of the alehouse. He explained the emergency and how the town was going to deal with it; then he walked around the boundaries with them and assigned a section of wall to each man: wooden fencing to carpenters, stone wall to masons, and ramparts to apprentices and laborers. He asked each man to mark out his own section with stakes and string before going to bed, and to give some thought, as he went to sleep, to how he would build it. Soon the perimeter of the town was marked by a dotted line of twinkling lights as the craftsmen did their laying out by lanternshine. The blacksmith lit his fire and settled down to spend the rest of the night making spades. The unusual after-dark activity disturbed the bedtime rituals of most of the townspeople, and the craftsmen spent a good deal of time explaining what they were doing to drowsy inquirers. Only the monks, who had gone to bed at nightfall, slept on in blissful ignorance.\n\nBut at midnight, when the craftsmen were finishing their preparations and most of the townspeople had retired\u2014if only to discuss the news in hushed excitement under the blankets\u2014the monks were awakened. Their services were cut short, and they were given bread and ale in the refectory while Philip briefed them. They were to be tomorrow's organizers. They were divided into teams, each team working for one builder. They would take orders from him and supervise the digging, lifting, fetching and carrying. Their first priority, Philip emphasized in his talk, was to make sure that the builder had a never-failing supply of the raw materials he needed: stones and mortar, timber and tools.\n\nAs Philip talked, Jack wondered what William Hamleigh was doing. Earlscastle was a day's hard ride from Kingsbridge, but William would not try to do it in a day, for then his army would arrive exhausted. They would set out this morning at sunrise. They would not ride all together, but would separate, and cover their weapons and armor as they traveled, to avoid raising the alarm. They would rendezvous discreetly in the afternoon, somewhere just an hour or two from Kingsbridge, probably at the manor house of one of William's larger tenants. In the evening they would drink beer and sharpen their blades and tell one another grisly stories about previous triumphs, young men mutilated, old men trampled beneath the hooves of war-horses, girls raped and women sodomized, children beheaded and babies spitted on the points of swords while their mothers screamed in anguish. Then they would attack tomorrow morning. Jack shuddered with fear. But this time we're going to stop them, he thought. All the same he was scared.\n\nEach team of monks located its own stretch of wall and its source of raw materials. Then, as the first hint of dawn paled the eastern horizon, they went around their assigned neighborhood, knocking on doors, waking the inhabitants while the monastery bell rang urgently.\n\nBy sunrise the operation was in full swing. The younger men and women did the laboring while the older ones supplied food and drink and the children ran errands and carried messages. Jack toured the site constantly, monitoring progress anxiously. He told a mortar maker to use less lime, so that the mortar would set faster. He saw a carpenter making a fence with scaffolding poles, and told his laborers to use cut timber from a different stockpile. He made sure that the different sections of the wall would meet in a clean join. And he joked, smiled, and encouraged people constantly.\n\nThe sun came up into a clear blue sky. It was going to be a hot day. The priory kitchen supplied barrels of beer, but Philip ordered it to be watered, and Jack approved, for people who were working hard would drink a lot in this weather, and he did not want them falling asleep.\n\nDespite the awful danger there was an incongruous air of jollity. It was like a holiday, when the whole town did something together, like making bread on Lammas Day or floating candles downstream on Midsummer Eve, People seemed to forget the peril which was the reason for their activity. However, Philip did see a few people discreetly leaving town. Either they were going to take their chances in the forest, or more likely they had relations in outlying villages who would take them in. Nevertheless, nearly everyone stayed.\n\nAt noon Philip rang the bell again, and work stopped for dinner. Philip made a tour of the wall with Jack while the workers were eating. Despite all the activity they did not seem to have achieved much. The stone walls had only reached ground level, the earth ramparts were still low mounds, and there were vast gaps in the wooden fence.\n\nAt the end of their tour Philip said: \"Are we going to finish in time?\"\n\nJack had been purposely cheerful and optimistic all morning, but now he forced himself to make a realistic assessment. \"At this rate, no,\" he said despondently.\n\n\"What can we do to speed things up?\"\n\n\"The only way to build faster is to build worse, normally.\"\n\n\"Then let's build worse\u2014but how?\"\n\nJack considered. \"At the moment we've got masons building walls, carpenters building fences, laborers making earthworks, and townspeople fetching and carrying. But most carpenters can build a straightforward wall, and most laborers can put up a wooden fence. So let's get the carpenters to help the masons with the stonework, have the laborers build the fences, and let the townspeople dig the ditch and throw up the ramparts. And as soon as the operation is running smoothly, the younger monks can forget about organization and help with the laboring.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nThey gave the new orders as people were finishing dinner. Not only would this be the worst-built wall in England, Jack thought; it would probably be the shortest-lived. If all of it was still standing in a week's time, it would be a miracle.\n\nDuring the afternoon, people began to get tired, especially those who had been up in the night. The holiday atmosphere evaporated and the workers became grimly determined. The stone walls rose, the ditch got deeper, and the gaps in the fence began to close. They stopped work for supper, as the sun dipped toward the western skyline, then began again.\n\nAt nightfall the wall was not complete.\n\nPhilip set a watch, ordered everyone except the guards to get a few hours of sleep, and said he would ring the bell at midnight. The exhausted townspeople went to their beds.\n\nJack went to Aliena's house. She and Richard were still awake.\n\nJack said to Aliena: \"I want you to take Tommy and go and hide in the woods.\"\n\nThe thought had been in the back of his mind all day. At first he had rejected the idea; but as time went on he kept returning to the dreadful memory of the day William burned the fleece fair; and in the end he decided to send her away.\n\n\"I'd rather stay,\" she said firmly.\n\nJack said: \"Aliena, I don't know if this is going to work, and I don't want you to be here if William Hamleigh gets past this wall.\"\n\n\"But I can't leave while you're organizing everyone else to stay and fight,\" she said reasonably.\n\nHe was long past worrying about what was reasonable. \"If you go now they won't know.\"\n\n\"They'll realize eventually.\"\n\n\"By then it will be over.\"\n\n\"But think about the disgrace.\"\n\n\"To hell with the disgrace!\" he shouted. He was mad with frustration at not being able to find the words to persuade her. \"I want you to be safe!\"\n\nHis angry voice woke Tommy, who started to cry. Aliena picked him up and rocked him. She said: \"I'm not even sure I'd be safer in the forest.\"\n\n\"William won't be searching the forest. It's the town he's interested in.\"\n\n\"He might be interested in me.\"\n\n\"You could hide in your glade. Nobody ever goes there.\"\n\n\"William might find it by accident.\"\n\n\"Listen to me. You'll be safer there than here. I know it.\"\n\n\"All the same I want to stay here.\"\n\n\"I don't want you here,\" he said harshly.\n\n\"Well, I'm staying anyway,\" she replied with a smile, ignoring his deliberate rudeness.\n\nJack suppressed a curse. There was no arguing with her once she had made up her mind: she was as stubborn as a mule. He pleaded with her instead. \"Aliena, I'm scared of what's going to happen tomorrow.\"\n\n\"I'm scared, too,\" she said. \"And I think we should be scared together.\"\n\nHe knew he should give in gracefully, but he was too worried. \"Damn you, then,\" he said angrily, and he stormed out.\n\nHe stood outside, breathing the night air. After a few moments he cooled down. He was still terribly worried, but it was foolish to be angry with her: they might both die in the morning.\n\nHe went back inside. She was standing where he had left her, looking sad. \"I love you,\" he said. They embraced, and stood like that for a long while.\n\nWhen he went out again the moon was up. He calmed himself with the thought that Aliena might even be right: she could be safer here than in the woods. At least this way he would know if she was in trouble, and could do his best to protect her.\n\nHe knew he would not sleep, even if he went to bed. He had a foolish fear that everyone might sleep past midnight, and nobody would wake until dawn when William's men rode in slashing and burning. He walked restlessly around the edge of the town. It was odd: Kingsbridge had never had a perimeter until today. The stone walls were waist-high, which was not enough. The fences were high but there were still enough gaps for a hundred men to ride through in a few moments. The earth ramparts were not too high for a good horse to surmount. There was a lot to do.\n\nHe stopped at the place where the bridge used to be. It had been taken to pieces, and the parts had been stored in the priory. He looked over the moonlit water. He saw a shadowy figure approach along the line of the wooden fence, and felt a shiver of superstitious apprehension, but it was only Prior Philip, as sleepless as Jack.\n\nFor the moment Jack's grudge against Philip had been overshadowed by the threat from William, and Jack did not feel unfriendly toward Philip. He said: \"If we survive this, we should rebuild the wall, bit by bit.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Philip said fervently. \"We should aim to have a stone wall right around the town within a year.\"\n\n\"Just here, where the bridge crosses the river, I would put a gate and a barbican, so that we could keep people out without dismantling the bridge.\"\n\n\"It's not the kind of thing we monks are good at\u2014organizing town defenses.\"\n\nJack nodded. They were not supposed to be involved in any kind of violence. \"But if you don't organize it, who will?\"\n\n\"How about Aliena's brother, Richard?\"\n\nJack was startled by that idea, but a moment's reflection led him to realize that it was brilliant. \"He'd do it well, it would keep him from idleness, and I wouldn't have to support him any longer,\" he said enthusiastically. He looked at Philip with reluctant admiration. \"You never stop, do you?\"\n\nPhilip shrugged. \"I wish all our problems could be solved so simply.\"\n\nJack's mind returned to the wall. \"I suppose Kingsbridge will now be a fortified town forevermore.\"\n\n\"Not forever, but certainly until Jesus comes again.\"\n\n\"You never know,\" Jack said speculatively. \"There may come a time when savages like William Hamleigh aren't in power; when the laws protect the ordinary people instead of enslaving them; when the king makes peace instead of war. Think of that\u2014a time when towns in England don't need walls!\"\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"What an imagination,\" he said. \"It won't happen before Judgment Day.\"\n\n\"I suppose not.\"\n\n\"It must be almost midnight. Time to start again.\"\n\n\"Philip. Before you go.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nJack took a deep breath. \"There's still time to change our plan. We could evacuate the town now.\"\n\n\"Are you afraid, Jack?\" Philip said, not unkindly.\n\n\"Yes. But not for myself. For my family.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"Look at it this way. If you leave now, you will probably be safe\u2014tomorrow. But William may come another day. If we let him have his way tomorrow, we will always live in fear. You, me, Aliena, and little Tommy, too: he'll grow up in fear of William, or someone like William.\"\n\nHe was right, Jack thought. If children such as Tommy were to grow up free, their parents had to stop running away from William.\n\nJack sighed. \"All right.\"\n\nPhilip went off to ring the bell. He was a ruler who kept the peace, dispensed justice, and did not oppress the poor people under him, Jack thought. But did you really have to be celibate to do that?\n\nThe bell began to toll. Lamps were lit in the shuttered houses, and the craftsmen stumbled out, rubbing their eyes and yawning. They started work slowly, and there were some bad-tempered exchanges with laborers; but Philip had the priory bakehouse going, and soon there was hot bread and fresh butter, and everyone cheered up.\n\nAt dawn Jack made another tour with Philip, both of them anxiously scanning the dark horizon for signs of horsemen. The riverside fence was almost complete, with all the carpenters working together to fill in the last few yards. On the other two sides, the earth ramparts were now as high as a man, and the depth of the ditch on the outside gave it an extra three or four feet: a man might scramble up, with difficulty, but he would have to get off his horse. The wall was also man-height, but the last three or four courses of stone were completely weak, because the mortar had not set. However, the enemy would not learn that until they tried to scale the wall, and at that point it might even serve to distract them.\n\nApart from those gaps in the wooden fence, the work was done, and Philip issued fresh orders. The older citizens and the children were to go to the monastery and take refuge in the dormitory. Jack was pleased: Aliena would have to stay with Tommy, and the two of them would be well behind the front line. The craftsmen were to continue building, but some of their laborers now became military squadrons, under Richard's leadership. Each group was responsible for defending the section of wall it had built. Those of the townsmen and women who had bows would be ready at the walls to shoot arrows down on the enemy. Those who had no weapons would throw stones, and they were to make stockpiles ready. Boiling water was another useful weapon, and cauldrons were heated ready to be poured down on attackers at strategic points. Several of the townsmen had swords, but they were the least useful of weapons: if it came to hand-to-hand combat, the enemy would have got in, and the building of the wall would have been in vain.\n\nJack had been awake for forty-eight hours straight. He had a headache and his eyes felt gritty. He sat on the thatched roof of a house near the river and looked out across the fields, while the carpenters rushed to finish the fence. Suddenly he realized that William's men might shoot burning arrows over the wall in an attempt to set fire to the town without having to breach the wall. Wearily he got off the roof and trotted up the hill to the priory close. There he found that Richard had had the same thought, and had already got some of the monks to organize barrels of water and buckets at strategic locations around the outer edges of the town.\n\nHe was just leaving the priory when he heard what sounded like warning shouts.\n\nHis heart racing, he scrambled up onto the roof of the stable and looked out over the fields to the west. On the road that led to the bridge, a mile or so away, a cloud of dust betrayed the approach of a large group of horsemen.\n\nUntil this moment there had been an element of unreality about the whole thing; but now the men who wanted to burn Kingsbridge were right there, riding along the road, and suddenly the danger was hideously real.\n\nJack felt a sudden urge to find Aliena, but there was no time. He jumped off the roof and ran down the hill to the riverbank. A crowd of men was gathered around the last gap. As he watched, they drove stakes into the ground, filling the space, and hastily nailed the last two bracing members to the back, finishing the job. Most of the townspeople were here, apart from those who had taken refuge in the refectory. A few moments after Jack arrived, Richard came running down, shouting: \"There's nobody on the other side of town! There could be another group sneaking up behind us! Go back to your posts, quickly!\" As they started to move off, he muttered to Jack: \"There's no discipline\u2014no discipline at all!\"\n\nJack stared out across the fields as the dust cloud got closer and the figures of the individual horsemen became visible. They were like fiends from hell, he thought, insanely intent on death and destruction. They existed because earls and kings felt the need of them. Philip may be a damned fool on matters of love and marriage, Jack thought, but at least he's found a way to rule a community without the help of savages like these.\n\nIt was an odd moment for such reflections. Was this the kind of thing men thought about when they were about to die?\n\nThe horsemen came closer. There were more than the fifty Richard had forecast. Jack reckoned the number was nearer to a hundred. They headed for the place where the bridge had been; then they began to slow down. Jack's spirits rose as they came to a ragged halt and reined in their horses in the meadow on the other side of the river. As they stared across the water at the brand-new town wall, somebody near Jack started to laugh. Someone else joined in, and then the laughter spread like wildfire, so that soon there were fifty, a hundred, two hundred men and women roaring with laughter at the embarrassed men-at-arms stuck on the wrong side of the river with no one to fight.\n\nSeveral of the horsemen dismounted and went into a huddle. Peering through the faint morning haze, Jack thought he could see the yellow hair and red face of William Hamleigh at the center of the group, but he could not be sure.\n\nAfter a while they got back on their horses, regrouped, and rode off. The people of Kingsbridge raised a mighty cheer. But Jack did not think William had given up yet. They were not going back the way they had come. Instead they were heading upstream alongside the river. Richard came to Jack's side and said: \"They're looking for a ford. They'll cross the river and sweep through the woods to come at us from the other side. Spread the word.\"\n\nJack went swiftly around the wall, relaying Richard's forecast. To the north and east, the wall was of earth or stone, but there was no river in the way. On that side the wall incorporated the east wall of the priory close, only a few steps from the refectory where Aliena and Tommy had taken refuge. Richard had stationed Oswald, the horse dealer, and Dick Richards, the son of the tanner, on the roof of the infirmary with their bows and arrows: they were the best shots in town. Jack went to the northeast corner and stood on the earth rampart, looking across the field to the woods from which William's men would emerge.\n\nThe sun climbed in the sky. It was another hot, cloudless day. The monks came around the walls with bread and beer. Jack wondered how far upstream William would go. There was a place a mile away where a good horse could swim across, but it would look risky to a stranger, and William would probably go a couple of miles farther, when he would come to a shallow ford.\n\nJack wondered how Aliena was feeling. He wanted to go to the refectory and see her, but he was reluctant to leave the wall; for if he did it, others would want to, and the wall would be left undefended.\n\nWhile he was resisting the temptation there was a shout, and the horsemen reappeared.\n\nThey came out of the woods to the east, so that Jack had the sun in his eyes when he looked at them: no doubt that was intentional. After a moment he realized they were not just approaching, they were charging. They must have reined in in the woods, out of sight, and spied out the ground, then planned this charge. Jack went taut with fear. They were not going to look at the wall and go away: they were going to try to breach it.\n\nThe horses galloped across the field. One or two townspeople shot arrows. Richard, standing near Jack, yelled angrily: \"Too early! Too early! Wait until they're in the ditch\u2014then you can't miss!\" Few people heard him, and a light shower of wasted arrows fell on the green barley shoots in the field. As a military force we're hopeless, Jack thought; only the wall can save us.\n\nHe had a stone in one hand and in the other he held a sling just like the one he had used as a boy to shoot ducks for his dinner. He wondered whether his aim was still good. He realized he was gripping his weapons as hard as he could, and he forced himself to relax his hold. Stones were effective against ducks, but they seemed appallingly feeble against the armored men on big horses who were thundering closer every second. He swallowed drily. Some of the enemy had bows and burning arrows, he saw; and a moment later he realized that the men with bows were heading for the stone walls, and the others for the earth ramparts. That meant William had decided he could not storm the stone wall: he did not realize the mortar was so new that the wall could be pulled down by hand. He had been fooled. Jack enjoyed a small moment of triumph.\n\nThen the attackers were at the walls.\n\nThe townspeople shot wildly, and a hail of hasty arrows raked the horsemen. Despite their poor aim they could not fail to claim some victims. The horses reached the ditch. Some balked, and some charged down into the dip and up the other side. Immediately opposite Jack's position, a huge man in battered chain mail jumped his horse across the ditch so that it landed on the lower slope of the rampart and kept coming up. Jack loaded his sling and let fly. His aim was as good as ever: the stone hit the horse full on the end of its nose. Already floundering in the loose earth, it whinnied in pain, reared up, and turned around. It cantered away, but its rider slid off and drew his sword.\n\nMost of the horses had turned back, either of their own volition or because their riders had turned them; but several men were attacking on foot, and the others were turning again ready to make another charge. Glancing back over his shoulder, Jack saw that several thatched roofs were burning, despite the efforts of the firefighters\u2014the younger women of the town\u2014to put out the flames. The dreadful thought flashed through Jack's mind that this was not going to work. Despite the heroic effort of the last thirty-six hours, these savage men would cross the wall, burn the town, and ravage the people.\n\nThe prospect of hand-to-hand fighting terrified him. He had never been taught to fight, never used a sword\u2014not that he had one\u2014and his only experience of fighting was when Alfred had beaten him up. He felt helpless.\n\nThe horsemen charged again and those of the attackers who had lost their mounts came up the ramparts on foot. Rocks and arrows rained on them. Jack worked his sling systematically, loading and firing, loading and firing like a machine. Several of the attackers fell under the rain of missiles. Right in front of Jack a rider took a fall and lost his helmet, revealing a head of yellow hair: it was William himself.\n\nNone of the horses made it to the top of the earth rampart, but some of the men on foot did, and, to Jack's horror, the townsmen were forced to join combat with them, fighting off the swords and lances of the attackers with poles and axes. Some of the enemy made it over the top, and Jack saw three or four townsmen near him fall. His heart was full of horror: the townspeople were losing.\n\nBut eight or ten townsmen surrounded every attacker who got across the wall, pounding them with sticks and hacking mercilessly with axes, and although several townsmen were wounded all the attackers were killed rapidly. Then the townsmen began to drive the others back down the slope of the ramparts. The charge petered out. Those attackers still on horseback milled around uncertainly while a few loose skirmishes continued on the. ramparts. Jack rested for a moment, breathing hard, grateful for the reprieve, waiting with dread for the enemy's next move.\n\nWilliam raised his sword in the air and yelled to attract the attention of his men. He waved his sword in a circle, to rally them, then pointed it at the walls. They regrouped and prepared to charge the walls once again.\n\nJack saw an opportunity.\n\nHe picked up a stone, loaded his sling, and took careful aim at William.\n\nThe stone flew through the air as straight as a mason's line and hit William in the middle of the forehead, so hard that Jack heard the thud of rock on bone.\n\nWilliam fell to the ground.\n\nHis men hesitated uncertainly and the charge faltered.\n\nA big dark man jumped from his horse and ran to William's side. Jack thought he recognized William's groom, Walter, who always rode with him. Still holding on to his reins, Walter knelt down by William's prone body. For a moment Jack hoped William might be dead. Then William moved, and Walter helped him to his feet. William was looking dazed. Everyone on both sides of the battle was watching the two of them. For a moment the hail of stones and arrows stopped.\n\nStill looking unsteady, William mounted Walter's horse, assisted by Walter, who then climbed on behind him. There was a moment of hesitation as everyone wondered whether William would be able to carry on. Walter waved his sword in a circle in the rallying gesture; then, to Jack's unspeakable relief, he pointed to the woods.\n\nWalter kicked the horse and they charged off.\n\nThe other horsemen followed. Those who were still fighting on the ramparts gave up, backed off, and ran across the field after their leader. A few stones and arrows chased them over the barley.\n\nThe townspeople cheered.\n\nJack looked around him, feeling dazed. Was it all over? He could hardly believe it. The fires were going out\u2014the women had succeeded in keeping them under control. Men were dancing on the ramparts, hugging one another. Richard came up to him and clapped him on the back. \"It was the wall that did it, Jack,\" he said. \"Your wall.\"\n\nTownspeople and monks crowded around the two of them, all wanting to congratulate Jack and each other.\n\n\"Have they gone for good?\" Jack said.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Richard replied. \"They won't come back, now that they've discovered we're determined to defend the walls. William knows that you can't take a walled town if the people are resolved to resist you; not without a vast army and a six-month siege.\"\n\n\"So it's over,\" Jack said stupidly.\n\nAliena came pushing through the crowd with Tommy in her arms. Jack embraced her gratefully. They were alive and they were together, and he was thankful.\n\nHe suddenly felt the effect of his two days without sleep, and he wanted to lie down. But it was not to be. Two young masons grabbed him and lifted him on to their shoulders. A cheer went up. They moved off, taking the crowd with them. Jack wanted to tell them that it was not he who had saved them, they had done it themselves; but he knew they would not listen, for they wanted a hero. As the news spread, and the whole town realized they had won, the cheering became thunderous. They've been living in fear of William for years, Jack thought, but today they've won their freedom. He was carried around the town in a triumphal procession, waving and smiling, and longing for the moment when he could lay his head down and close his eyes in blissful sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "The Shiring Fleece Fair was bigger and better than ever. The square in front of the parish church, where they held markets and executions as well as the annual fair, was crammed with stalls and people. Wool was the main commodity, but there were also displays of everything else that could be bought and sold in England: gleaming new swords, decoratively carved saddles, fat piglets, red boots, ginger cakes and straw hats. As William strolled around the square with Bishop Waleran, he calculated that the market was going to make more money for him than ever before. Yet it gave him no pleasure.\n\nHe was still sick with humiliation after his defeat at Kingsbridge. He had expected to charge in unopposed and burn the town, but in the event he had lost men and horses and had been turned back without achieving anything. Worst of all, he knew that the building of the wall had been organized by Jack Jackson, the lover of Aliena, the very man he had wanted to kill.\n\nHe had failed to kill Jack, but was still determined to take his revenge.\n\nWaleran was also thinking about Kingsbridge, and he said: \"I still don't know how they built the wall so quickly.\"\n\n\"It probably wasn't much of a wall,\" William said.\n\nWaleran nodded. \"But I'm sure Prior Philip is already busy improving it. If I were he, I'd make the wall stronger and higher, build a barbican, and appoint a night watchman. Your days of raiding Kingsbridge are over.\"\n\nWilliam agreed, but he pretended not to. \"I can still besiege the town.\"\n\n\"That's a different affair. A quick raid may be overlooked by the king. A prolonged siege, during which the townspeople can send a message to the king begging him to protect them... It can be awkward.\"\n\n\"Stephen won't move against me,\" William said. \"He needs me.\" He was not arguing out of conviction, however. In the end he planned to concede the bishop's point. But he wanted to make Waleran work hard for it, so that he would feel under a small obligation to William, Then William would make the request that was so heavily on his mind.\n\nA thin, ugly woman stepped out, pushing in front of her a pretty girl of about thirteen years, presumably her daughter. The mother pulled aside the top of the girl's flimsy dress to show her small, immature breasts. \"Sixty pence,\" the mother hissed. William felt a stirring in his loins, but he shook his head in refusal and brushed past.\n\nThe child-whore made him think of Aliena. She had been little more than a child when he had ravished her. That was almost a decade ago, but he could not forget her. Perhaps he would never have her for himself now; but he could still stop anyone else from having her.\n\nWaleran was thoughtful. He hardly seemed to look where he was going, but people shrank back out of his way, as if they were afraid even to be touched by the skirts of his black robe. After a moment he said: \"Did you hear that the king took Faringdon?\"\n\n\"I was there.\" It had been the most decisive victory of the entire long civil war. Stephen had captured hundreds of knights and a great armory, and driven Robert of Gloucester all the way back to the west country. So crucial was the victory that Ranulf of Chester, Stephen's old enemy in the north, had laid down his arms and sworn allegiance to the king.\n\nWaleran said: \"Now that Stephen is more secure, he won't be so tolerant of his barons waging their own private wars.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" William said. He wondered if this was the moment to agree with Waleran and make his request. He hesitated: he was embarrassed. In making the request he was going to reveal something of his soul, and he hated to do that to a man as ruthless as Bishop Waleran.\n\n\"You should leave Kingsbridge alone, at least for a while,\" Waleran went on. \"You've got the fleece fair. You still have a weekly market, albeit smaller than it once was. You have the wool business. And you've got all the most fertile land in the county, either directly under your control or farmed by your tenants. My situation is also better than it used to be. I've improved my property and rationalized my holdings. I've built my castle. It's becoming less necessary to fight with Prior Philip\u2014at the very moment when it's becoming politically dangerous.\"\n\nAll over the market square people were making and selling food, and the air was full of smells: spicy soup, new bread, sugar confections, boiled ham, frying bacon, apple pie. William felt nauseated. \"Let's go to the castle,\" he said.\n\nThe two men left the market square and walked up the hill. The sheriff was going to give them dinner. At the castle gate William stopped.\n\n\"Perhaps you're right about Kingsbridge,\" he said.\n\n\"I'm glad you see it.\"\n\n\"But I still want my revenge on Jack Jackson, and you can give it to me, if you will.\"\n\nWaleran raised an eloquent eyebrow. His expression said he was fascinated to listen but did not consider himself under any obligation.\n\nWilliam plowed on: \"Aliena has applied to have her marriage annulled.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know.\"\n\n\"What do you think will be the outcome?\"\n\n\"Apparently the marriage was never consummated.\"\n\n\"Is that all there is to it?\"\n\n\"Probably. According to Gratian\u2014a learned man whom I have met myself, actually\u2014what constitutes a marriage is the mutual consent of the two parties; but he also maintains that the act of physical union 'completes' or 'perfects' the marriage. He specifically says that if a man marries a woman but does not copulate with her, then marries a second woman with whom he does copulate, then it is the second of the two marriages that is valid, that is to say, the consummated one. The fascinating Aliena will no doubt have mentioned this in her application, if she had sound advice, which I imagine she got from Prior Philip.\"\n\nWilliam was impatient of all this theory. \"So they will get the annulment.\"\n\n\"Unless someone brings up the argument against Gratian. In fact there are two: one theological and one practical. The theological argument is that Gratian's definition denigrates the marriage of Joseph and Mary, since it was unconsummated. The practical argument is that for political reasons, or to amalgamate two properties, marriages are quite commonly arranged between two children who are physically incapable of consummation. If either bride or groom should die before puberty, the marriage would be invalidated, under Gratian's definition, and that could have very awkward consequences.\"\n\nWilliam could never follow these convoluted clerical wrangles, but he had a pretty good idea of how they were settled. \"What you mean is, it could go either way.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And which way it goes depends upon who is putting pressure on.\"\n\n\"Yes. In this case, there's nothing hanging on the outcome\u2014no property, no question of allegiance, no military alliance. But if there were more at stake, and someone\u2014an archdeacon, for example\u2014were to put the argument against Gratian forcefully, they would probably refuse the annulment.\" Waleran gave William a knowing look that made William want to squirm. \"I think I can guess what you're going to ask me next.\"\n\n\"I want you to oppose the annulment.\"\n\nWaleran narrowed his eyes. \"I can't make out whether you love that wretched woman or hate her.\"\n\n\"No,\" William said. \"Nor can I.\"\n\nAliena sat on the grass, in the green gloom beneath the mighty beech tree. The waterfall cast droplets like tears onto the rocks at her feet. This was the glade where Jack had told her all those stories. This was where he had given her that first kiss, so casually and quickly that she had pretended that it had never happened. This was where she had fallen in love with him, and refused to admit it, even to herself. Now she wished with all her heart that she had given herself to him then, and married him and had his babies, so that now, whatever else intervened, she would be his wife.\n\nShe lay down to rest her aching back. It was the height of summer, and the air was hot and still. This pregnancy was so heavy, and she still had at least six weeks to go. She thought she might be carrying twins, except that she felt kicking in only one place, and when Martha, Jack's stepsister, had listened with her ear right up against Aliena's belly she had heard only one heartbeat.\n\nMartha was looking after Tommy this Sunday afternoon, so that Aliena and Jack could meet in the woods and be alone for a while to talk about their future. The archbishop had refused the annulment, apparently because Bishop Waleran had objected. Philip said they could apply again, but they must live apart meanwhile. Philip agreed that it was unjust, but he said it must be God's will. It seemed more like ill will to Aliena.\n\nThe bitterness of regret was a weight she carried around with her, like the pregnancy. Sometimes she was more aware of it, sometimes she almost forgot about it, but it was always there. Often it hurt, but it was a familiar pain. She regretted hurting Jack, she regretted what she had done to herself, she even regretted the sufferings of the contemptible Alfred, who now lived in Shiring and never showed his face in Kingsbridge. She had married Alfred for one reason only, to support Richard in his attempt to win the earldom. She had failed to achieve her purpose and her true love for Jack had been blighted. She was twenty-six years old, her life was ruined, and it was her own fault.\n\nShe thought nostalgically of those early days with Jack. When she first met him he had been just a little boy, albeit an unusual one. After he grew up she had continued to think of him as a boy. That was why he had got under her guard. She had turned away every suitor, but she had not thought of Jack as a suitor, and so she had let him get to know her. She wondered why she had been so resistant to love. She adored Jack and there was no pleasure in life like the joy of lying with him; yet once upon a time she had deliberately closed her eyes to such happiness.\n\nWhen she looked back, her life before Jack seemed empty. She had been frantically busy, building up her wool business, but now those busy days appeared joyless, like an empty palace, or a table laden with silver plates and gold cups but no food.\n\nShe heard footsteps and sat up quickly. It was Jack. He was thin and graceful, like a scrawny cat. He sat beside her and kissed her mouth softly. He smelled of perspiration and stone dust. \"It's so hot,\" he said. \"Let's bathe in the stream.\"\n\nThe temptation was irresistible.\n\nJack pulled off his clothes. She watched, staring at him hungrily. She had not seen his naked body for months. He had a lot of red hair on his legs but none on his chest. He looked at her, waiting for her to strip. She felt shy: he had never seen her body when she was pregnant. She unlaced the neck of her linen dress slowly, then pulled it off over her head. She watched his expression anxiously, afraid he would hate her swollen body, but he showed no revulsion: on the contrary, the look that came over his face was one of fondness. I should have known better, she thought; I should have known he would love me just as much.\n\nWith a swift movement he knelt on the ground in front of her and kissed the taut skin of her distended belly. She gave an embarrassed laugh. He touched her navel. \"Your belly button sticks out,\" he said.\n\n\"I knew you were going to say that!\"\n\n\"It used to be like a dimple\u2014now it's like a nipple.\"\n\nShe felt shy. \"Let's bathe,\" she said. She would feel less self-conscious in the water.\n\nThe pool by the waterfall was about three feet deep. Aliena slid into the water. It was deliciously cool on her hot skin, and she shivered with delight. Jack got in beside her. There was no room to swim\u2014the pool was only a few feet across. He put his head under the waterfall and washed the stone dust out of his hair. Aliena felt good in the water: it relieved the weight of her pregnancy. She ducked her head under the surface to wash her hair.\n\nWhen she came up for air, Jack kissed her.\n\nShe spluttered and laughed, breathless, rubbing the water out of her eyes. He kissed her again. She put out her arms to hold herself steady, and her hand closed on the hard rod standing upright between Jack's loins like a flagpole. She gasped with pleasure.\n\n\"I've missed this,\" Jack said in her ear, and his voice was hoarse with lust and some other emotion, sadness perhaps.\n\nAliena's throat was dry with desire. She said: \"Are we going to break our promise?\"\n\n\"Now, and forevermore.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"We're not going to live apart. We're leaving Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"But what will you do?\"\n\n\"Go to a different town and build another cathedral.\"\n\n\"But you won't be master. It won't be your design.\"\n\n\"One day I may get another chance. I'm young.\"\n\nIt was possible, but the odds were against it, Aliena knew; and Jack knew it too. The sacrifice he was making for her moved her to tears. Nobody had ever loved her like this; nobody else ever would. But she was not willing to let him give up everything. \"I won't do it,\" she said.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I'm not going to leave Kingsbridge.\"\n\nHe was angry. \"Why not? Anywhere else, we can live as man and wife, and nobody will care. We could even get married in a church.\"\n\nShe touched his face. \"I love you too much to take you away from Kingsbridge Cathedral.\"\n\n\"That's for me to decide.\"\n\n\"Jack, I love you for offering. The fact that you're ready to give up your life's work to live with me is... it almost breaks my heart that you should love me so much. But I don't want to be the woman who took you away from the work you loved. I'm not willing to go with you that way. It will cast a shadow over our entire lives. You may forgive me for it, but I never will.\"\n\nJack looked sad. \"I know better than to fight you once you've decided. But what will we do?\"\n\n\"We'll try again for the annulment. We'll live apart.\"\n\nHe looked miserable.\n\nShe finished: \"And we'll come here every Sunday and break our promise.\"\n\nHe pressed up against her, and she could feel him becoming aroused again. \"Every Sunday?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You might get pregnant again.\"\n\n\"We'll take that chance. And I'm going to start manufacturing cloth, as I used to. I've bought Philip's unsold wool again, and I'm going to organize the townspeople to spin and weave it. Then I'll felt it in the fulling mill.\"\n\n\"How did you pay Philip?\" Jack said in surprise.\n\n\"I haven't, yet. I'm going to pay him in bales of cloth, when it's made.\"\n\nJack nodded. He said bitterly: \"He agreed to that because he wants you to stay here so that I'll stay.\"\n\nAliena nodded. \"But he'll still get cheap cloth out of it.\"\n\n\"Damn Philip. He always gets what he wants.\"\n\nAliena saw that she had won. She kissed him and said: \"I love you.\"\n\nHe kissed her back, running his hands all over her body, greedily feeling her secret places. Then he stopped and said: \"But I want to be with you every night, not just on Sundays.\"\n\nShe kissed his ear. \"One day we will,\" she breathed. \"I promise you.\"\n\nHe moved behind her, drifting in the water, and pulled her to him, so that his legs were underneath her. She parted her thighs and floated down gently into his lap. He stroked her full breasts with his hands and played with her swollen nipples. Finally he penetrated her, and she shuddered with pleasure.\n\nThey made love slowly and gently in the cool pond, with the rush of the waterfall in their ears. Jack put his arms around her bump, and his knowing hands touched her between her legs, pressing and stroking as he went in and out. They had never done this before, made love this way, so that he could caress her most sensitive places at the same time, and it was sharply different, a more intense pleasure, different the way a stabbing pain is different from a dull ache; but perhaps that was because she felt so sad. After a while she abandoned herself to the sensation. Its intensity built up so quickly that the climax took her by surprise, almost frightening her, and she was racked by spasms of pleasure so convulsive that she screamed.\n\nHe stayed inside her, hard, unsatisfied, while she caught her breath. He was still, no longer thrusting, but she realized he had not reached a climax. After a while she began to move again, encouragingly, but he did not respond. She turned her head and kissed him over her shoulder. The water on his face was warm. He was weeping."
            },
            {
                "title": "1152-1155",
                "text": "After seven years Jack had finished the transepts\u2014the two arms of the cross-shaped church\u2014and they were everything he had hoped for. He had improved on the ideas of Saint-Denis, making everything taller and narrower\u2014windows, arches, and the vault itself. The clustered shafts of the piers rose gracefully through the gallery and became the ribs of the vault, curving over to meet in the middle of the ceiling, and the tall pointed windows flooded the interior with light. The moldings were fine and delicate, and the carved decoration was a riot of stone foliage.\n\nAnd there were cracks in the clerestory.\n\nHe stood in the high clerestory passage, staring out across the chasm of the north transept, brooding on a bright spring morning. He was shocked and baffled. By all the wisdom of the masons the structure was strong; but a crack showed a weakness. His vault was higher than any other he had ever seen, but not by that much. He had not made the mistake of Alfred, and put a stone vault on a structure that was not built to take the weight: his walls had been designed for a stone vault. Yet cracks had appeared in his clerestory in roughly the same place where Alfred's had failed. Alfred had miscalculated but Jack was sure he had not done the same thing. Some new factor was operating in Jack's building and he did not know what it was.\n\nIt was not dangerous, not in the short term. The cracks had been filled with mortar and they had not yet reappeared. The building was safe. But it was weak; and for Jack the weakness spoiled it. He wanted his church to last until the Day of Judgment.\n\nHe left the clerestory and went down the turret staircase to the gallery, where he had made his tracing floor, in the corner where there was a good light from one of the windows in the north porch. He began to draw the plinth of a nave pier. He drew a diamond, then a square inside the diamond, then a circle inside the square. The main shafts of the pier would spring from the four points of the diamond and rise up the column, eventually branching off north, south, east and west to become arches or ribs. Subsidiary shafts, springing from the corners of the square, would rise to become vaulting ribs, going diagonally across the nave vault on one side and the aisle vault on the other. The circle in the middle represented the core of the pier.\n\nAll Jack's designs were based on simple geometrical shapes and some not-so-simple proportions, such as the ratio of the square root of two to the square root of three. Jack had learned how to figure square roots in Toledo, but most masons could not calculate them, and instead used simple geometric constructions. They knew that if a circle was drawn around the four corners of a square, the diameter of the circle was bigger than the side of the square in the ratio of the square root of two to one. That ratio, root-two to one, was the most ancient of the masons' formulas, for in a simple building it was the ratio of the outside width to the inside width, and therefore gave the thickness of the wall.\n\nJack's task was much complicated by the religious significance of various numbers. Prior Philip was planning to re-dedicate the church to the Virgin Mary, because the Weeping Madonna worked more miracles than the tomb of Saint Adophus; and in consequence they wanted Jack to use the numbers nine and seven, which were Mary's numbers. He had designed the nave with nine bays and the new chancel, to be built when all else was finished, with seven. The interlocked blind arcading in the side aisles would have seven arches per bay, and the west facade would have nine lancet windows. Jack had no opinion about the theological significance of numbers but he felt instinctively that if the same numbers were used fairly consistently it was bound to add to the harmony of the finished building.\n\nBefore he could finish his drawing of the plinth he was interrupted by the master roofer, who had hit a problem and wanted Jack to solve it.\n\nJack followed the man up the turret staircase, past the clerestory, and into the roof space. They walked across the rounded domes that were the top side of the ribbed vault. Above them, the roofers were unrolling great sheets of lead and nailing them to the rafters, starting at the bottom and working up so that the upper sheets would overlap the lower and keep the rain out.\n\nJack saw the problem immediately. He had put a decorative pinnacle at the end of a valley between two sloping roofs, but he had left the design to a master mason, and the mason had not made provision for rainwater from the roof to pass through or under the pinnacle. The mason would have to alter it. He told the master roofer to pass this instruction on to the mason, then he returned to his tracing floor.\n\nHe was astonished to find Alfred waiting for him there.\n\nHe had not spoken to Alfred for ten years. He had seen him at a distance, now and again, in Shiring or Winchester. Aliena had not so much as caught sight of him for nine years, even though they were still married, according to the Church. Martha went to visit him at his house in Shiring about once a year. She always brought back the same report: he was prospering, building houses for the burgers of Shiring; he lived alone; he was the same as ever.\n\nBut Alfred did not appear prosperous now. Jack thought he looked tired and defeated. Alfred had always been big and strong, but now he had a lean look: his face was thinner, and the hand with which he pushed the hair out of his eyes was bony where it had once been beefy.\n\nHe said: \"Hello, Jack.\"\n\nHis expression was aggressive but his tone of voice was ingratiating\u2014an unattractive mixture.\n\n\"Hello, Alfred,\" Jack said warily. \"Last time I saw you, you were wearing a silk tunic and running to fat.\"\n\n\"That was three years ago\u2014before the first of the bad harvests.\"\n\n\"So it was.\" Three bad harvests in a row had caused a famine. Serfs had starved, many tenant farmers were destitute, and presumably the burghers of Shiring could no longer afford splendid new stone houses. Alfred was feeling the pinch. Jack said: \"What brings you to Kingsbridge after all this time?\"\n\n\"I heard about your transepts and came to look.\" His tone was one of grudging admiration. \"Where did you learn to build like this?\"\n\n\"Paris,\" Jack said shortly. He did not want to discuss that period of his life with Alfred, who had been the cause of his exile.\n\n\"Well.\" Alfred looked awkward, then said with elaborate indifference: \"I'd be willing to work here, just to pick up some of these new tricks.\"\n\nJack was flabbergasted. Did Alfred really have the nerve to ask him for a job? Playing for time, he said: \"What about your gang?\"\n\n\"I'm on my own now,\" Alfred said, still trying to be casual. \"There wasn't enough work for a gang.\"\n\n\"We're not hiring, anyway,\" Jack said, equally casually. \"We've got a full complement.\"\n\n\"But you can always use a good mason, can't you?\"\n\nJack heard a faint pleading note and realized that Alfred was desperate. He decided to be honest. \"After the life we've had, Alfred, I'm the last person you should come to for help.\"\n\n\"You are the last,\" Alfred said candidly. \"I've tried everywhere. Nobody's hiring. It's the famine.\"\n\nJack thought of all the times Alfred had mistreated him, tormented him, and beaten him. Alfred had driven him into the monastery and then had driven him away, from his home and family. He had no reason to help Alfred: indeed, he had cause to gloat over Alfred's misfortune. He said: \"I wouldn't take you on even if I was needing men.\"\n\n\"I thought you might,\" Alfred said with bullheaded persistence. \"After all, my father taught you everything you know. It's because of him that you're a master builder. Won't you help me for his sake?\"\n\nFor Tom. Suddenly Jack felt a twinge of conscience. In his own way, Tom had tried to be a good stepfather. He had not been gentle or understanding, but he had treated his own children much the same as Jack, and he had been patient and generous in passing on his knowledge and skills. He had also made Jack's mother happy, most of the time. And after all, Jack thought, here I am, a successful and prosperous master builder, well on the way to achieving my ambition of building the most beautiful cathedral in the world, and there's Alfred, poor and hungry and out of work. Isn't that revenge enough?\n\nNo, it's not, he thought.\n\nThen he relented.\n\n\"All right,\" he said. \"For Tom's sake, you're hired.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Alfred said. His expression was unreadable. \"Shall I start right away?\"\n\nJack nodded. \"We're laying foundations in the nave. Just join in.\"\n\nAlfred held out his hand. Jack hesitated momentarily, then shook it. Alfred's grip was as strong as ever.\n\nAlfred disappeared. Jack stood staring down at his drawing of a nave plinth. It was life-size, so that when it was finished a master carpenter could make a wooden template directly from the drawing. The template would then be used by the masons to mark the stones for carving.\n\nHad he made the right decision? He recalled that Alfred's vault had collapsed. However, he would not use Alfred on difficult work such as vaulting or arches: straightforward walls and floors were his m\u00e9tier.\n\nWhile Jack was still pondering, the noon bell rang for dinner. He put down his sharpened-wire drawing instrument and went down the turret staircase to ground level.\"\n\nThe married masons went home to dinner and the single ones ate in the lodge. On some building sites dinner was provided, as a way of preventing afternoon lateness, absenteeism and drunkenness; but monks' fare was often Spartan and most building workers preferred to provide their own. Jack was living in Tom Builder's old house with Martha, his stepsister, who acted as his housekeeper. Martha also minded Tommy and Jack's second child, a girl whom they had named Sally, while Aliena was busy. Martha usually made dinner for Jack and the children, and Aliena sometimes joined them.\n\nHe left the priory close and walked briskly home. On the way a thought struck him. Would Alfred expect to move back into the house with Martha? She was his natural sister, after all. Jack had not thought of that when he gave Alfred the job.\n\nIt was a foolish fear, he decided a moment later. The days when Alfred could bully him were long past. He was the master builder of Kingsbridge, and if he said Alfred could not move into the house, then Alfred would not move into the house.\n\nHe half expected to find Alfred at the kitchen table, and was relieved to find he was not. Aliena was watching the children eat, while Martha stirred a pot on the fire. The smell of lamb stew was mouth-watering.\n\nHe kissed Aliena's forehead briefly. She was thirty-three years old now, but she looked as she had ten years ago: her hair was still a rich dark-brown mass of curls, and she had the same generous mouth and fine, dark eyes. Only when she was naked did she show the physical effects of time and childbirth: her marvelous deep breasts were lower, her hips were broader, and her belly had never reverted to its original taut flatness.\n\nJack looked affectionately at the two offspring of Aliena's body: nine-year-old Tommy, a healthy redhaired boy, big for his age, shoveling lamb stew into his mouth as if he had not eaten for a week; and Sally, age seven, with dark curls like her mother's, smiling happily and showing a gap between her front teeth just like the one Martha had had when Jack first saw her seventeen years ago. Tommy went to the school in the priory every morning to learn to read and write, but the monks would not take girls, so Aliena was teaching Sally.\n\nJack sat down, and Martha took the pot off the fire and set it on the table. Martha was a strange girl. She was past twenty years old, but she showed no interest in getting married. She had always been attached to Jack, and now she seemed perfectly content to be his housekeeper.\n\nJack presided over the oddest household in the county, without a doubt. He and Aliena were two of the leading citizens of the town: he the master builder at the cathedral and she the largest manufacturer of cloth outside Winchester. Everyone treated them as man and wife, yet they were forbidden to spend nights together, and they lived in separate houses, Aliena with her brother and Jack with his stepsister. Every Sunday afternoon, and on every holiday, they would disappear, and everyone knew what they were doing except, of course, Prior Philip. Meanwhile, Jack's mother lived in a cave in the forest because she was supposed to be a witch.\n\nEvery now and again Jack got angry about not being allowed to marry Aliena. He would lie awake, listening to Martha snoring in the next room, and think: I'm twenty-eight years old\u2014why am I sleeping alone? The next day he would be bad-tempered with Prior Philip, rejecting all the chapter's suggestions and requests as impracticable or overexpensive, refusing to discuss alternatives or compromises, as if there were only one way to build a cathedral and that was Jack's way. Then Philip would steer clear of him for a few days and let the storm blow over.\n\nAliena, too, was unhappy, and she took it out on Jack. She would become impatient and intolerant, criticizing everything he did, putting the children to bed as soon as he came in, saying she was not hungry when he ate. After a day or two of this mood she would burst into tears and say she was sorry, and they would be happy again, until the next time the strain became too much for her.\n\nJack ladled some stew into a bowl and began to eat. \"Guess who came to the site this morning,\" he said. \"Alfred.\"\n\nMartha dropped an iron pot lid on the hearthstone with a loud clang. Jack looked at her and saw fear on her face. He turned to Aliena and saw that she had turned white.\n\nAliena said: \"What's he doing in Kingsbridge?\"\n\n\"Looking for work. The famine has impoverished the merchants of Shiring, I guess, and they aren't building stone houses like they used to. He's dismissed his gang and he can't find work.\"\n\n\"I hope you threw him out on his tail,\" Aliena said.\n\n\"He said I should give him a job for Tom's sake,\" Jack said nervously. He had not anticipated such a strong reaction from the two women. \"After all, I owe everything to Tom.\"\n\n\"Cow shit,\" Aliena said, and Jack thought: she got that expression from my mother.\n\n\"Well, I hired him anyway,\" he said.\n\n\"Jack!\" Aliena screamed. \"How could you? You can't let him come back to Kingsbridge\u2014that devil!\"\n\nSally began to cry. Tommy stared wide-eyed at his mother. Jack said: \"Alfred isn't a devil. He's hungry and penniless. I saved him, for the sake of his father's memory.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't feel sorry for him if he'd forced you to sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed like a dog for nine months.\"\n\n\"He's done worse things to me\u2014ask Martha.\"\n\nMartha said: \"And to me.\"\n\nJack said: \"I just decided that seeing him like that was enough revenge for me.\"\n\n\"Well it's not enough for me!\" Aliena stormed. \"By Christ, you're a damned fool, Jack Jackson. Sometimes I thank God I'm not married to you.\"\n\nThat hurt. Jack looked away. He knew she did not mean it, but it was bad enough that she should say it, even in anger. He picked up his spoon and started to eat. It was hard to swallow.\n\nAliena patted Sally's head and put a piece of carrot into her mouth. Sally stopped crying.\n\nJack looked at Tommy, who was still staring at Aliena with a frightened face. \"Eat, Tommy,\" said Jack. \"It's good.\"\n\nThey finished their dinner in silence.\n\nIn the spring of the year that the transepts were finished, Prior Philip made a tour of the monastery's property in the south. After three bad years he needed a good harvest, and he wanted to check what state the farms were in.\n\nHe took Jonathan with him. The priory orphan was now a tall, awkward, intelligent sixteen-year-old. Like Philip at that age, he did not seem to suffer a moment's doubt about what he wanted to do with his life: he had completed his novitiate and taken his vows, and he was now Brother Jonathan. Also like Philip, he was interested in the material side of God's service, and he worked as deputy to Cuthbert Whitehead, the aging cellarer. Philip was proud of the boy: he was devout, hardworking, and well liked.\n\nTheir escort was Richard, the brother of Aliena. Richard had at last found his niche in Kingsbridge. After they built the town wall, Philip had suggested to the parish guild that they appoint Richard as Head of the Watch, responsible for the town's security. He organized the night watchmen and arranged for the maintenance and improvement of the town walls, and on market days and holy days he was empowered to arrest troublemakers and drunks. These tasks, which had become essential as the village had grown into a town, were all things a monk was not supposed to do; so the parish guild, which Philip had at first seen as a threat to his authority, had turned out to be useful after all. And Richard was happy. He was about thirty years old now, but the active life he led kept him looking young.\n\nPhilip wished Richard's sister could be as settled. If ever a person had been failed by the Church it was Aliena. Jack was the man she loved and the father of her children, but the Church insisted that she was married to Alfred, even though she had never had carnal knowledge of him; and she was unable to get an annulment because of the ill will of the bishop. It was shameful, and Philip felt guilty, even though he was not responsible.\n\nToward the end of the trip, when they were riding home through the forest on a bright spring morning, young Jonathan said: \"I wonder why God makes people starve.\"\n\nIt was a question every young monk asked sooner or later, and there were lots of answers to it. Philip said: \"Don't blame this famine on God.\"\n\n\"But God made the weather that caused the bad harvests.\"\n\n\"The famine is not just due to bad harvests,\" Philip said. \"There are always bad harvests, every few years, but people don't starve. What's special about this crisis is that it comes after so many years of civil war.\"\n\n\"Why does that make a difference?\" Jonathan asked.\n\nRichard, the soldier, answered him. \"War is bad for farming,\" he said. \"Livestock get slaughtered to feed the armies, crops are burned to deny them to the enemy, and farms are neglected while knights go to war.\"\n\nPhilip added: \"And when the future is uncertain, people are not willing to invest time and energy clearing new ground, increasing herds, digging ditches and building barns.\"\n\n\"We haven't stopped doing that sort of work,\" Jonathan said.\n\n\"Monasteries are different. But most ordinary farmers let their farms run down during the fighting, so that when the bad weather came they were not in good shape to ride it out. Monks take a longer view. But we have another problem. The price of wool has slumped because of the famine.\"\n\n\"I don't see the connection,\" Jonathan said.\n\n\"I suppose it's because starving people don't buy clothes.\" It was the first time in Philip's memory that the price of wool had failed to go up annually. He had been forced to slow the pace of cathedral building, stop taking new novices, and eliminate wine and meat from the monks' diet. \"Unfortunately, it means that we're economizing just when more and more destitute people are coming to Kingsbridge looking for work.\"\n\nJonathan said: \"And so they end up queuing at the priory gate for free horsebread and pottage.\"\n\nPhilip nodded grimly. It broke his heart to see strong men reduced to begging for bread because they could find no work. \"But remember, it's caused by war, not bad weather,\" he said.\n\nWith youthful passion Jonathan said: \"I hope there's a special place in hell for the earls and kings who cause such misery.\"\n\n\"I hope so\u2014Saints preserve us, what's that?\"\n\nA strange figure had burst from the undergrowth and was running full-tilt at Philip. His clothes were ragged, his hair was wild, and his face was black with dirt. Philip thought the poor man must be running away from an enraged boar, or even an escaped bear.\n\nThen the man ran up and threw himself on Philip.\n\nPhilip was so surprised that he fell off his horse.\n\nHis attacker fell on top of him. The man smelled like an animal, and sounded like one too: he made a constant inarticulate grunting noise. Philip wriggled and kicked. The man seemed to be trying to get hold of the leather satchel that Philip had slung over his shoulder. Philip realized the man was trying to rob him. There was nothing in the satchel but a book, The Song of Solomon. Philip struggled desperately to get free, not because he was specially attached to the book, but because the robber was so disgustingly dirty.\n\nBut Philip was tangled up in the strap of the satchel and the robber would not let go. They rolled over on the hard ground, Philip trying to get away and the robber trying to keep hold of the satchel. Philip was vaguely aware that his horse had bolted.\n\nSuddenly the robber was jerked away by Richard. Philip rolled over and sat upright, but he did not get to his feet for a moment. He was dazed and winded. He breathed the clean air, relieved to be free of the robber's noxious embrace. He felt his bruises. Nothing was broken. He turned his attention to the others.\n\nRichard had the robber flat on the ground and was standing over him, with one foot between the man's shoulder blades and the point of his sword touching the back of the man's neck. Jonathan was holding the two remaining horses and looking bewildered.\n\nPhilip got gingerly to his feet, feeling weak. When I was Jonathan's age, he thought, I could fall off a horse and jump right back on again.\n\nRichard said: \"If you keep an eye on this cockroach, I'll catch your horse.\" He offered Philip his sword.\n\n\"All right,\" Philip said. He waved the sword away. \"I shan't need that.\"\n\nRichard hesitated, then sheathed his sword. The robber lay still. The legs sticking out from under his tunic were as thin as twigs, and the same color; and he was barefoot. Philip had never been in any serious danger: this poor man was too weak to strangle a chicken. Richard walked off after Philip's horse.\n\nThe robber saw Richard go, and tensed. Philip knew the man was about to make a break for it. He stopped him by saying: \"Would you like something to eat?\"\n\nThe robber raised his head and looked at Philip as if he thought Philip was mad.\n\nPhilip went to Jonathan's horse and opened a saddlebag. He took out a loaf, broke it, and offered half to the robber. The man grabbed it unbelievingly and immediately stuffed most of it into his mouth.\n\nPhilip sat on the ground and watched him. The man ate like an animal, trying to swallow as much as possible before the meal could be snatched from him. At first Philip had thought he was an old man, but now that he could see him better he realized that the thief was quite young, perhaps twenty-five.\n\nRichard came back, leading Philip's horse. He was indignant when he saw the robber sitting eating. \"Why have you given him our food?\" he said to Philip.\n\n\"Because he's starving,\" Philip said.\n\nRichard did not reply, but his expression said that monks were mad.\n\nWhen the robber had eaten the bread, Philip said: \"What's your name?\"\n\nThe man looked wary. He hesitated. Philip somehow got the idea that the man had not spoken to another human being for a while. At last he said: \"David.\"\n\nHe still had his sanity, anyway, Philip thought. He said: \"What happened to you, David?\"\n\n\"I lost my farm after the last harvest.\"\n\n\"Who was your landlord?\"\n\n\"The earl of Shiring.\"\n\nWilliam Hamleigh. Philip was not surprised.\n\nThousands of tenant farmers had been unable to pay their rents after three bad harvests. When Philip's tenants defaulted he simply forgave the rent, since if he made people destitute they would just come to the priory for charity anyway. Other landlords, notably Earl William, took advantage of the crisis to evict tenants and repossess their farms. The result was a huge increase in the number of outlaws living in the forest and preying on travelers. That was why Philip had to take Richard everywhere with him as bodyguard.\n\n\"What about your family?\" Philip asked the robber.\n\n\"My wife took the baby and went back to her mother. But there was no room for me.\"\n\nIt was a familiar story. Philip said: \"It's a sin to lay hands on a monk, David, and it's wrong to live by theft.\"\n\n\"But how shall I live?\" the man cried.\n\n\"If you're going to stay in the forest you'd better catch birds and fish.\"\n\n\"I don't know how!\"\n\n\"You're a failure as a robber,\" Philip said. \"What chance of success did you have, with no weapon, up against three of us, and Richard here armed to the teeth?\"\n\n\"I was desperate.\"\n\n\"Well, next time you're desperate, go to a monastery. There's always something for a poor man to eat.\" Philip got to his feet. The sour taste of hypocrisy was in his mouth. He knew the monasteries could not possibly feed all the outlaws. For most of them there really was no alternative but theft. But his role in life was to counsel virtuous living, not to make excuses for sin.\n\nThere was no more he could do for this wretched man. He took the reins of his horse from Richard and climbed into the saddle. He could tell that the bruises from his fall were going to hurt him for days. \"Go thy way, and sin no more,\" he said, quoting Jesus; then he kicked his horse forward.\n\n\"You're too good, you are,\" said Richard as they rode off.\n\nPhilip shook his head sadly. \"The real trouble is, I'm not good enough.\"\n\nOn the Sunday before Whitsun, William Hamleigh got married. It was his mother's idea.\n\nMother had been nagging him for years to find a wife and father an heir, but he had always put it off. Women bored him and, in a way that he did not understand and really did not want to think about, they made him anxious. He kept telling Mother he would marry soon but he never did anything about it.\n\nIn the end she found him a bride.\n\nHer name was Elizabeth. She was the daughter of Harold of Weymouth, a wealthy knight and a strong supporter of Stephen. As Mother explained to William, with a little effort he could have made a better match\u2014could have married the daughter of an earl\u2014but as he was not willing to put his mind to it, Elizabeth would do.\n\nWilliam had seen her at the king's court in Winchester, and Mother had noticed him staring at her. She had a pretty face, a mass of light brown curls, a big bust and narrow hips\u2014just William's type.\n\nShe was fourteen years old.\n\nWhen William stared at her, he had been imagining meeting her on a dark night and taking her by force in the back alleys of Winchester: marriage had not crossed his mind. However, Mother swiftly established that the father was agreeable, and the girl herself was an obedient child who would do what she was told. Having reassured William that there would be no repetition of the humiliation Aliena had inflicted on the family, Mother arranged a meeting.\n\nWilliam had been nervous. Last time he had done this, he had been an inexperienced youth of twenty, the son of a knight, meeting an arrogant young lady of the nobility. But now he was a battle-hardened man, thirty-seven years old, and he had been the earl of Shiring for ten years. He was foolish to be nervous about a meeting with a fourteen-year-old girl.\n\nHowever, she was even more nervous. She was also desperate to please him. She talked excitably about her home and family, her horses and dogs, and her relations and friends. He sat silently, watching her face, imagining what she would look like naked.\n\nBishop Waleran married them in the chapel at Earlscastle, and there was a big feast that went on for the rest of the day. By custom, everyone of importance in the county had to be invited, and William would have lost face badly if he had not provided a lavish banquet. They roasted three whole oxen and dozens of sheep and pigs in the castle compound, and the guests drank the castle cellars dry of beer, cider and wine. William's mother presided over the festivities with a look of triumph on her disfigured face. Bishop Waleran found vulgar celebrations somewhat distasteful, and he left when the bride's uncle began to tell funny stories about newlyweds.\n\nThe bride and groom retired to their chamber at nightfall, leaving the guests to continue reveling. William had been at enough weddings to know the ideas that were passing through the minds of the younger guests, so he stationed Walter outside the room and barred the door to prevent interruption.\n\nElizabeth took off her tunic and her shoes and stood there in her linen shirt. \"I don't know what to do,\" she said simply. \"You'll have to show me.\"\n\nThis was not quite how William had imagined it. He went over to her. She lifted her face, and he kissed her soft lips. Somehow the kiss failed to generate any heat. He said: \"Take off your shirt and lie on the bed.\"\n\nShe pulled the undershirt over her head. She was quite plump. Her large breasts had tiny indented nipples. A light brown fuzz of hair covered the triangle between her legs. Obediently she walked to the bed and lay down on her back.\n\nWilliam kicked off his boots. He sat on the bed beside her and squeezed her breasts. Her skin was soft. This sweet, obliging, smiling girl was nothing like the image that had made his throat go dry, of a woman in the grip of passion, moaning and sweating beneath him, and he felt cheated.\n\nHe put his hand between her thighs and she parted her legs immediately. He pushed his finger inside her. She gasped, hurt; then quickly said: \"It's all right, I don't mind.\"\n\nHe wondered briefly whether he was going about this in completely the wrong way. He had a momentary vision of a different scene in which the two of them lay side by side, touching and talking and getting to know one another gradually. However, desire had at last stirred inside him when she gasped in pain, and he brushed his doubts aside and fingered her more roughly. He watched her face as she struggled to bear the pain silently.\n\nHe got on the bed and knelt between her legs. He was not fully aroused. He rubbed himself to make his organ stiffer, but it had little effect. It was her damned smile that was making him impotent, he was sure. He pushed two fingers inside her, and she gave a little cry of pain. That was better. Then the silly bitch started smiling again. He realized he would have to wipe the smile off her face. He slapped her hard. She cried out, and her lip bled. This was more like it.\n\nHe hit her again.\n\nShe started to cry.\n\nAfter that it was all right.\n\nThe following Sunday happened to be WhitSunday, when a huge crowd would attend the cathedral. Bishop Waleran would take the service. There would be even more people than usual, because everyone was keen to look at the new transepts, which had recently been finished. Rumor said they were amazing. William would show his bride to the ordinary folk of the county at that service. He had not been to Kingsbridge since they built the wall, but Philip could not stop him from going to church.\n\nTwo days before WhitSunday, his mother died.\n\nShe was about sixty years old. It was quite sudden. She felt breathless after dinner on Friday and went to bed early. Her maid woke William a little before dawn to tell him that his mother was in distress. He got up from his bed and went stumbling into her room, rubbing his face. He found her gasping horribly for breath, unable to speak, a look of terror in her eyes.\n\nWilliam was frightened by her great shuddering gasps and her staring eyes. She kept looking at him, as if she expected him to do something. He was so scared he decided to leave the room, and he turned away; then he saw the maid standing at the door, and he felt ashamed of his fear. He forced himself to look at Mother again. Her face seemed to change shape continually in the inconstant light of the one candle. Her hoarse, ragged breathing got louder and louder until it seemed to fill his head. He could not understand why it had not woken the whole castle. He put his hands over his ears to shut out the noise but he could still hear it. It was as if she was shouting at him, the way she had when he was a boy, a mad furious scolding tirade, and her face looked angry too, the mouth wide, the eyes staring, the hair disarrayed. The conviction that she was demanding something grew, and he felt himself becoming younger and smaller, until he was possessed by a blind terror he had not felt since childhood, a terror that came from knowing that the only person he loved was a raging monster. It had always been like this: she would tell him to come to her, or go away, or get on his pony, or get off; and he would be slow to respond, so she would yell; and then he would be so frightened that he could not understand what she was asking him to do; and there would be a hysterical deadlock, with her screaming louder and louder and him becoming blind, deaf and dumb with terror.\n\nBut this time it was different.\n\nThis time, she died.\n\nFirst her eyes closed. William began to feel calmer then. Gradually her breathing became shallower. Her face went grayish despite the boils. Even the candle seemed to burn more weakly, and the moving shadows no longer frightened William. At last her breathing just stopped.\n\n\"There,\" William said, \"she's all right, now, isn't she?\"\n\nThe maid burst into tears.\n\nHe sat beside the bed looking at her still face. The maid fetched the priest, who said angrily: \"Why didn't you call me earlier?\" William hardly heard him. He stayed with her until sunrise; then the women servants asked him to leave so they could \"lay her out.\" William went down to the hall where the inhabitants of the castle\u2014knights, men-at-arms, clergymen and servants\u2014were eating a subdued breakfast. He sat at the table beside his young wife and drank some wine. One or two of the knights and the household steward spoke to him, but he did not reply. Eventually Walter came in and sat beside him. Walter had been with him for many years and he knew when to be silent.\n\nAfter a while William said: \"Are the horses ready?\"\n\nWalter looked surprised. \"For what?\"\n\n\"For the journey to Kingsbridge. It takes two days\u2014we have to leave this morning.\"\n\n\"I didn't think we would go\u2014under the circumstances....\"\n\nFor some reason this made William angry. \"Did I say we wouldn't go?\"\n\n\"No, lord.\"\n\n\"Then we're going!\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" Walter stood up. \"I'll see to it at once.\"\n\nThey set off at midmorning, William and Elizabeth and the usual entourage of knights and grooms. William felt as if he was in a dream. The landscape seemed to move past him, instead of the other way around. Elizabeth rode beside him, bruised and silent. When they stopped Walter took care of everything. At each meal William ate a little bread and drank several cups of wine. In the night he dozed fitfully.\n\nThey could see the cathedral from a distance, across the green fields, as they approached Kingsbridge. The old cathedral had been a squat, broad-shouldered building with small windows like beady eyes under round-arched eyebrows. The new church looked radically different, even though it was not finished yet. It was tall and slender, and the windows seemed impossibly big. As they came closer, William saw that it dwarfed the priory buildings around it in a way that the old cathedral never had.\n\nThe road was busy with riders and pedestrians all heading for Kingsbridge: the WhitSunday service was popular, for it took place in early summer when the weather was good and the roads were dry. This year more people than usual had come, attracted by the novelty of the new building.\n\nWilliam and his party cantered the last mile, scattering unwary pedestrians, and clattered onto the wooden drawbridge that crossed the river. Kingsbridge was now one of the most heavily fortified towns in England. It had a stout stone wall with a castellated parapet, and here, where previously the bridge had led straight into the main street, the way was barred by a stone-built barbican with enormously heavy ironbound doors that now stood open but were undoubtedly shut tight at night. I don't suppose I'll ever be able to burn this town again, William thought vaguely.\n\nPeople stared as he rode up the main street toward the priory. People always stared at William, of course: he was the earl. Today they were also interested in the young bride who rode at his left. On his right was Walter, as always.\n\nThey rode into the priory close and dismounted at the stables. William left his horse to Walter and turned to look at the church. The eastern end, the top of the cross, was at the far side of the close and hidden from view. The western end, the tail of the cross, was not yet built, but its shape was marked out on the ground with stakes and string, and some of the foundations had already been laid. Between the two was the new part, the arms of the cross, consisting of the north and south transepts, with the space between them which was called the crossing. The windows were as big as they had seemed. William had never seen a building like this in his life.\n\n\"It's fantastic,\" Elizabeth said, breaking her submissive silence.\n\nWilliam wished he had left her behind.\n\nSomewhat awestruck, he walked slowly up the nave, between the lines of stakes and string, with Elizabeth following. The first bay of the nave had been partly built, and looked as if it was supporting the huge pointed arch which formed the western entrance to the crossing. William passed under that incredible arch and found himself in the crowded crossing.\n\nThe new building looked unreal: it was too tall, too slender, too graceful and fragile to stand up. It seemed to have no walls, nothing to hold up the roof but a row of willowy piers reaching eloquently upward. Like everyone around him, William craned his neck to look up, and saw that the piers continued into the curved ceiling to meet at the crown of the vault, like the overarching branches of a stand of mature elms in the forest.\n\nThe service began. The altar had been set up at the near end of the chancel, with the monks behind it, so that the crossing and both transepts were free for the congregation, but even so the crowd overflowed into the unbuilt nave. William pushed his way to the front, as was his prerogative, and stood near the altar, with the other nobles of the county, who nodded to him and whispered among themselves.\n\nThe painted timber ceiling of the old chancel was awkwardly juxtaposed with the tall eastern arch of the crossing, and it was clear that the builder intended eventually to demolish the chancel and rebuild it to match the new work.\n\nA moment after that thought had crossed William's mind his eye fell on the builder in question, Jack Jackson. He was a handsome devil, with his mane of red hair, and he wore a dark red tunic, embroidered at the hem and neckline, just like a nobleman. He looked rather pleased with himself, no doubt because he had built the transepts so fast and everyone was so astonished by his design. He was holding the hand of a boy of about nine years who looked just like him. William realized with a shock that that must be Aliena's child, and he felt a sharp pang of envy. A moment later he caught sight of Aliena herself. She was standing a little behind Jack and to one side, with a faint smile of pride on her face. William's heart leaped: she was as lovely as ever. Elizabeth was a poor substitute, a pallid imitation of the real, red-blooded Aliena. In her arms Aliena held a little girl about seven years old, and William recalled that she had had a second child by Jack even though they were not married.\n\nWilliam looked more closely at Aliena. She was not quite as lovely as ever, after all: there were lines of strain around her eyes, and behind the proud smile was a hint of sadness. After all these years she still could not marry Jack, of course, William thought with satisfaction: Bishop Waleran had kept his promise and had repeatedly blocked the annulment. That thought often gave William consolation.\n\nIt was Waleran, William now realized, who was standing at the altar, lifting the Host above his head so that the entire congregation could see it. Hundreds of people went down on their knees. The bread became Christ at that moment, a transformation that struck awe into William even though he had no idea what was involved.\n\nHe concentrated on the service for a while, watching the mystical actions of the priests, listening to the meaningless Latin phrases and muttering familiar fragments of the responses. The dazed feeling that had been with him for the last day or so persisted, and the magical new church, with sunlight playing on its impossible columns, served to intensify the sense that he was in a dream.\n\nThe service was coming to an end. Bishop Waleran turned to address the congregation, \"We will now pray for the soul of Countess Regan Hamleigh, the mother of Earl William of Shiring, who died on Friday night.\"\n\nThere was a buzz of comment as people heard the news, but William was staring at the bishop in horror. He had realized at last what she had been trying to say while she died. She had been asking for the priest\u2014but William had not sent for him. He had watched her weaken, he had seen her eyes close, he had heard her breathing stop, and he had let her die unshriven. How could he have done something like that? Ever since Friday night her soul had been in Hell, suffering the torments that she had described to him so graphically many times, with no prayers to relieve her! His heart was so laden with guilt that he seemed to feel it slow its pace and for a moment he felt that he, too, would die. How could he have let her languish in that dread place, her soul disfigured by sins as her face was with boils, while she longed for the peace of Heaven? \"What am I going to do?\" he said aloud, and the people around him looked at him in surprise.\n\nWhen the prayer ended and the monks filed out in procession, William remained on his knees in front of the altar. The rest of the congregation drifted out into the sunshine, ignoring him; all except Walter, who stayed nearby, watching and waiting. William was praying with all his might, keeping a picture of his mother in his head while he repeated the Paternoster and all the other bits of prayers and services he could remember. After a while he realized there were other things he could do. He could light candles; he could pay priests and monks to say masses for her regularly; he could even have a special chapel built for the benefit of her soul. But everything he thought of seemed insufficient. It was as if he could see her, shaking her head, looking hurt and disappointed in him, saying: \"How long will you let your mother suffer?\"\n\nHe felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Bishop Waleran stood in front of him, still wearing the gorgeous red robe he used for Whitsun. His black eyes looked deep into William's, and William felt as if he had no secrets from that penetrating gaze. Waleran said: \"Why do you weep?\"\n\nWilliam realized his face was wet with tears. He said: \"Where is she?\"\n\n\"She has gone to be purified by fire.\"\n\n\"Is she in pain?\"\n\n\"Terrible pain. But we can speed the souls of our loved ones as they pass through that dread place.\"\n\n\"I'll do anything!\" William sobbed. \"Just tell me what!\"\n\nWaleran's eyes glittered with greed. \"Build a church,\" he said. \"Just like this one. But in Shiring.\"\n\nA cold fury possessed Aliena whenever she traveled around the estates that had been part of her father's earldom. All the blocked ditches and broken fences and empty, tumbledown cow sheds angered her; the meadows running to seed made her sad; and the deserted villages broke her heart. It was not just the bad harvests. The earldom could have fed its people, even this year, if it had been properly run. But William Hamleigh had no notion of husbanding his land. For him, the earldom was a private treasure chest, not an estate that fed thousands of people. When his serfs had no food, they starved. When his tenants could not pay their rents, he threw them out. Since William became earl the acreage under cultivation had shrunk, because the lands of some dispossessed tenants had returned to their natural state. And he did not have the brains to see that this was not even in his own interest in the long term.\n\nThe worst of it was, Aliena felt partly responsible. It was her father's estate, and she and Richard had failed to win it back for the family. They had given up, when William became earl and Aliena lost all her money; but the failure still rankled, and she had not forgotten her vow to her father.\n\nOn the road from Winchester to Shiring, with a wagon-load of yarn and a brawny carter with a sword at his belt, she remembered riding along the very same road with her father. He had constantly brought new land into cultivation, by clearing areas of forest, draining marshland, or plowing hillsides. In bad years he always put aside enough seed to supply the needs of those who were too improvident, or just too hungry, to save their own. He never forced tenants to sell their beasts or their plows to pay rent, for he knew that if they did that, they would be unable to farm the following year. He had treated the land well, maintaining its capacity to produce, the way a good farmer would take care of a dairy cow.\n\nWhenever she thought of those old days, with her clever, proud, rigid father beside her, she felt the pain of loss like a wound. Life had started to go wrong when he had been taken away. Everything she had done since then seemed, in retrospect, to have been hollow: living at the castle with Matthew, in a dreamworld; going to Winchester in the vain hope of seeing the king; even struggling to support Richard while he fought in the civil war. She had achieved what other people saw as success: she had become a prosperous wool merchant. But that had brought her only a semblance of happiness. She had found a way of life and a place in society that gave her security and stability, but in her heart she had still been hurt and lost\u2014until Jack came into her life.\n\nHer inability to marry Jack had blighted everything since. She had come to hate Prior Philip, whom she had once looked up to as her savior and mentor. She had not had a happy, amiable conversation with Philip for years. Of course, it was not his fault that they could not get an annulment; but it was he who had insisted they live apart, and Aliena could not help resenting him for that.\n\nShe loved her children, but she worried about them, being brought up in such an unnatural household, with a father who went away at bedtime. So far, happily, they showed no ill effects: Tommy was a strapping, good-looking boy who liked football, races and playing soldiers; and Sally was a sweet, thoughtful girl who told stories to her dolls and loved to watch Jack at his tracing floor. Their constant needs and their simple love were the one solidly normal element in Aliena's eccentric life.\n\nShe still had her work, of course. She had been a merchant of some kind for most of her adult life. At present she had dozens of men and women in scattered villages spinning and weaving for her in their homes. A few years ago there had been hundreds, but she was feeling the effects of the famine like everyone else, and there was no point in making more cloth than she could sell. Even if she were married to Jack she would still want to have her own independent work.\n\nPrior Philip kept saying the annulment could be granted any day, but Aliena and Jack had now been living this infuriating life for seven long years, eating together and bringing up their children and sleeping apart.\n\nShe felt Jack's unhappiness more painfully than her own. She adored him. Nobody knew how much she loved him, except perhaps his mother, Ellen, who saw everything. She loved him because he had brought her back to life. She had been like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and he had drawn her out and shown her that she was a butterfly. She would have spent her entire life numb to the joys and pains of love, if he had not walked into her secret glade, and shared his story-poems with her, and kissed her so lightly, and then slowly, gently, awakened the love that lay dormant in her heart. He had been so patient, so tolerant, despite his youth. For that she would always love him.\n\nAs she passed through the forest she wondered whether she would run into Jack's mother, Ellen. They saw her occasionally, at a fair in one of the towns; and about once a year she would sneak into Kingsbridge at dusk and spend the night with her grandchildren. Aliena felt an affinity for Ellen: they were both oddities, women who did not fit into the mold. However, she emerged from the forest without seeing Ellen.\n\nAs she traveled through farmland she checked the crops ripening in the fields. It would be a fair harvest, she estimated. They had not had a good summer, for there had been some rain and it had been cold. But they had not had the floods and crop diseases which had blighted the last three harvests. Aliena was thankful. There were thousands of people living right on the edge of starvation, and another bad winter would kill most of them.\n\nShe stopped to water her oxen at the pond in the middle of a village called Monksfield, which was part of the earl's estate. It was a fairly large place, surrounded by some of the best land in the county, and it had its own priest and a stone church. However, only about half the fields round about had been sown this year. Those that had been were now covered with yellow wheat, and the rest were sprouting weeds.\n\nTwo other travelers had stopped at the pond in the middle of the village to water their horses. Aliena looked at them warily. Sometimes it was good to team up with other people, for mutual protection; but it could be risky, too, for a woman. Aliena found that a man such as her carter was perfectly willing to do what she told him when they were alone, but if other men were present he was liable to become insubordinate.\n\nHowever, one of the two travelers at Monksfield pond was a woman. Aliena looked more closely and revised woman to girl. Aliena recognized her. She had last seen this girl in Kingsbridge Cathedral on WhitSunday. It was Countess Elizabeth, the wife of William Hamleigh.\n\nShe looked miserable and cowed. With her was a surly man-at-arms, obviously her bodyguard. That could have been my fate, Aliena thought, if I had married William. Thank God I rebelled.\n\nThe man-at-arms nodded curtly to the carter and ignored Aliena. She decided not to suggest teaming up.\n\nWhile they were resting, the skies turned black and a sharp wind whipped up. \"Summer storm,\" said Aliena's carter succinctly.\n\nAliena looked anxiously at the sky. She did not mind getting wet, but the storm would slow their progress, and they might find themselves out in the open at nightfall. A few drops of rain fell. They would have to take shelter, she decided reluctantly.\n\nThe young countess said to her guard: \"We'd better stay here for a bit.\"\n\n\"Can't do that,\" the guard said brusquely. \"Master's orders.\"\n\nAliena was outraged to hear the man speak to the girl that way. \"Don't be such a fool!\" she said. \"You're supposed to look after your mistress!\"\n\nThe guard looked at her in surprise. \"What's it to you?\" he said rudely.\n\n\"There's going to be a cloudburst, idiot,\" Aliena said in her most aristocratic voice. \"You can't ask a lady to travel in such weather. Your master will flog you for your stupidity.\" Aliena turned to Countess Elizabeth. The girl was looking eagerly at Aliena, visibly pleased to see someone standing up to the bullying bodyguard. It started to rain in earnest. Aliena made a snap decision. \"Come with me,\" she said to Elizabeth.\n\nBefore the guard could do anything she had taken the girl by the hand and walked away. Countess Elizabeth went willingly, grinning like a child let out of school. Aliena had an inkling that the guard might come after them and snatch her away, but at that moment there was a lightning flash and the shower became a storm. Aliena broke into a run, pulling Elizabeth with her, and they raced through the graveyard to a wooden house that stood beside the church.\n\nThe door stood open. They ran inside. Aliena had assumed this was the priest's house, and she was right. A grumpy-looking man in a black tunic, wearing a small cross on a chain around his neck, stood up as they entered. Aliena knew that the duty of hospitality was a burden to many parish priests, especially at present. Anticipating resistance, she said firmly: \"My companions and I need shelter.\"\n\n\"You're welcome,\" the priest said through gritted teeth.\n\nIt was a two-room house with a lean-to shed at the side for animals. It was not very clean, even though the animals were kept outside. There was a wine barrel on the table. A small dog yapped at them aggressively as they sat down.\n\nElizabeth pressed Aliena's arm. \"Thank you very much,\" she said. There were tears of gratitude in her eyes. \"Ranulf would have made me go on\u2014he never listens to me.\"\n\n\"It was nothing,\" Aliena said. \"These big strong men are all cowards at heart.\" She studied Elizabeth, and realized with a sense of horror that the poor girl looked rather like her. It would be bad enough to be William's wife; but to be his second choice must be hell on earth.\n\nElizabeth said: \"I'm Elizabeth of Shiring. Who are you?\"\n\n\"My name is Aliena. I'm from Kingsbridge.\" Aliena held her breath, wondering whether Elizabeth would recognize the name and realize that Aliena was the woman who had rejected William Hamleigh.\n\nBut Elizabeth was too young to remember that scandal, and all she said was: \"What an unusual name.\"\n\nA slovenly woman with a plain face and meaty bare arms came in from the back room, looking defiant, and offered them a cup of wine. Aliena guessed she was the priest's wife. He would probably call her his housekeeper, since clerical marriage was banned, in theory. Priests' wives caused no end of trouble. To force the man to put her away was cruel, and generally brought shame on the Church. And although most people would say in general that priests ought to be chaste, they usually took a permissive line in particular cases, because they knew the woman. So the Church still turned a blind eye to liaisons such as this. Aliena thought: Be grateful, woman\u2014at least you're living with your man.\n\nThe man-at-arms and the carter came in with their hair wet. The guard, Ranulf, stood in front of Elizabeth and said: \"We can't stop here.\"\n\nTo Aliena's surprise, Elizabeth crumbled immediately. \"All right,\" she said, and stood up.\n\n\"Sit down,\" Aliena said, pulling her back. She stood in front of the guard and wagged her finger in his face. \"If I hear another word from you I'll call the villagers to come to the rescue of the countess of Shiring. They know how to treat their mistress even if you don't.\"\n\nShe saw Ranulf weighing the odds. If it came to the crunch, he could deal with Elizabeth and Aliena, and the carter and the priest too; but he would be in trouble if any of the villagers joined in.\n\nEventually he said: \"Perhaps the countess would prefer to move on.\" He looked at Elizabeth aggressively.\n\nThe girl looked terrified.\n\nAliena said: \"Well, your ladyship\u2014Ranulf humbly begs to know your will.\"\n\nElizabeth looked at her.\n\n\"Just tell him what you want,\" Aliena said encouragingly. \"His duty is to do your bidding.\"\n\nAliena's attitude gave Elizabeth courage. She took a deep breath and said: \"We'll rest here. Go and see to the horses, Ranulf.\"\n\nHe grunted acquiescence and went out.\n\nElizabeth watched him go with an expression of amazement.\n\nThe carter said: \"It's going to piss down.\"\n\nThe priest frowned at his vulgarity. \"I'm sure it will just be the usual rain,\" he said in a prissy voice. Aliena could not help laughing, and Elizabeth joined in. Aliena had the feeling the girl did not laugh often.\n\nThe sound of the rain became a loud drumming. Aliena looked through the open door. The church was only a few yards away but already the rain had obscured it. This was going to be a real squall.\n\nAliena said to her carter: \"Did you put the cart under cover?\"\n\nThe man nodded. \"With the beasts.\"\n\n\"Good. I don't want my yarn felted.\"\n\nRanulf came back in, soaking wet.\n\nThere was a flash of lightning followed by a long rumble of thunder. \"This will do the crops no good,\" the priest said lugubriously.\n\nHe was right, Aliena thought. What they needed was three weeks of hot sunshine.\n\nThere was another flash and a longer crash of thunder, and a gust of wind shook the wooden house. Cold water dropped on Aliena's head, and she looked up to see a drip coming from the thatched roof. She shifted her seat to get out of its way. The rain was blowing in at the door, too, but nobody seemed to want to close it: Aliena preferred to look at the storm, and it seemed the others felt the same.\n\nShe looked at Elizabeth. The girl was white-faced. Aliena put an arm around her. She was shivering, although it was not cold. Aliena hugged her.\n\n\"I'm frightened,\" Elizabeth whispered.\n\n\"It's only a storm,\" Aliena said.\n\nIt became very dark outside. Aliena thought it must be getting near suppertime; then she realized she had not had dinner yet: it was only noon. She got up and went to the door. The sky was iron gray. She had never known such peculiar weather in summer. The wind was gusting strongly. A lightning flash illuminated numerous loose objects blowing past the doorway: a blanket, a small bush, a wooden bowl, an empty barrel.\n\nShe turned back inside, frowning, and sat down. She was getting mildly worried. The house shook again. The central pole that held up the ridge of the roof was vibrating. This was one of the better-built houses in the village, she reflected: if this was unsteady, some of the poorer places must be in danger of collapse. She looked at the priest. \"If it gets any worse we may have to round up the villagers and all take shelter in the church,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not going out in that,\" the priest said with a short laugh.\n\nAliena stared at him incredulously. \"They're your flock,\" she said. \"You're their shepherd.\"\n\nThe priest looked back at her insolently. \"I answer to the bishop of Kingsbridge, not you, and I'm not going to play the fool just because you tell me to.\"\n\nAliena said: \"At least bring the plow team into shelter.\" The most precious possession of a village such as this was the team of eight oxen that pulled the plow. Without those beasts the peasants could not cultivate their land. No individual peasant could afford to own a plow team\u2014it was communal property. The priest would surely value the team, for his prosperity depended on it too.\n\nThe priest said: \"We've no plow team.\"\n\nAliena was mystified. \"Why?\"\n\n\"We had to sell four of them to pay rent; then we killed the others for meat in the winter.\"\n\nThat explained the half-sown fields, Aliena thought. They had only been able to cultivate the lighter soils, using horses or manpower to pull the plow. The story angered her. It was foolish as well as hardhearted of William to make these people sell their plow team, for that meant they would have trouble paying their rent this year too, even though the weather had been fair. It made her want to take William by the neck and strangle him.\n\nAnother powerful gust shook the wood-framed house. Suddenly one side of the roof seemed to shift; then it lifted several inches, becoming detached from the wall, and through the gap Aliena saw black sky and forked lightning. She leaped to her feet as the gust subsided and the thatched roof crashed back down on its supports. This was now becoming dangerous. She stood up and yelled at the priest over the noise of the weather: \"At least go and open the church door!\"\n\nHe looked resentful but he complied. He took a key from a chest, put on a cloak, and went outside and disappeared into the rain. Aliena began to organize the others. \"Carter, take my wagon and oxen into the church. Ranulf, you get the horses. Elizabeth, come with me.\"\n\nThey put on their cloaks and went out. It was hard to walk in a straight line because of the wind, and they held hands for stability. They fought their way across the graveyard. The rain had turned to hail, and big pebbles of ice bounced off the tombstones. In a corner of the cemetery Aliena saw an apple tree as bare as in wintertime: its leaves and fruit had been ripped off the branches by the gale. There won't be many apples in the county this autumn, she thought.\n\nA moment later they reached the church and went inside. The sudden hush was like going deaf. The wind still howled and the rain drummed on the roof, and thunder crashed every few moments, but it was all at one remove. Some of the villagers were here already, their cloaks sodden. They had brought their valuables with them, their chickens in sacks, their pigs trussed, their cows on leads. It was dark in the church, but the scene was illuminated fitfully by lightning. After a few moments the carter drove Aliena's wagon inside, and Ranulf followed with the horses.\n\nAliena said to the priest: \"Let's get the beasts to the west end and the people to the east, before the church starts to look like a stable.\" Everyone now seemed to have accepted that Aliena was in charge, and he concurred with a nod. The two of them moved off, the priest talking to the men and Aliena to the women. Gradually the people separated from the animals. The women took the children to the little chancel and the men tied the animals to the columns of the nave. The horses were frightened, rolling their eyes and prancing. The cows all lay down. The villagers got into family groups and began to pass food and drink around. They had come prepared for a long stay.\n\nThe storm was so violent that Aliena thought it must pass soon, but instead it got worse. She went to a window. The windows were not made of glass, of course, but of fine translucent linen, which now hung in shreds from the window frames. Aliena pulled herself up to the windowsill to look out, but all she could see was rain.\n\nThe wind grew stronger, shrieking around the walls of the church, and she began to wonder whether even this was safe. She made a discreet tour of the building. She had spent enough time with Jack to know the difference between good masonry and bad, and she was relieved to see that the stonework here was neat and careful. There were no cracks. The building was made of cut stone blocks, not rubble, and it seemed as solid as a mountain.\n\nThe priest's housekeeper lit a candle, and that was when Aliena realized night was falling outside. The day had been so dark that the difference was small. The children tired of running up and down the aisles, and curled up in their cloaks to go to sleep. The chickens put their heads under their wings. Elizabeth and Aliena sat side by side on the floor with their backs to the wall.\n\nAliena was consumed with curiosity about this poor girl who had taken on the role of William's wife, the role Aliena herself had refused seventeen years ago. Unable to restrain herself, she said: \"I used to know William when I was a girl. What's he like now?\"\n\n\"I loathe him,\" Elizabeth said with passion.\n\nAliena felt deeply sorry for her.\n\nElizabeth said: \"How did you know him?\"\n\nAliena realized she had let herself in for this. \"To tell you the truth, when I was more or less your age, I was supposed to marry him.\"\n\n\"No! And how come you didn't?\"\n\n\"I refused, and my father backed me. But there was a dreadful fuss.... I caused a lot of bloodshed. However, it's all in the past.\"\n\n\"You refused him!\" Elizabeth was thrilled. \"You're so courageous. I wish I was like you.\" Suddenly she looked downcast again. \"But I can't even stand up to the servants.\"\n\n\"You could, you know,\" Aliena said.\n\n\"But how? They just don't take any notice of me, because I'm only fourteen.\"\n\nAliena considered the question carefully, then answered comprehensively. \"To begin with, you must become the carrier of your husband's wishes. In the morning, ask him what he would like to eat today, whom he wants to see, which horse he would like to ride, anything you can think of. Then go to the kitchener, the steward of the hall, and the stableman, and give them the earl's orders. Your husband will be grateful to you, and angry with anyone who ignores you. So people will get used to doing what you say. Then take note of who helps you eagerly and who reluctantly. Make sure that helpful people are favored\u2014give them the jobs they like to do, and make sure the unhelpful ones get all the dirty work. Then people will start to realize that it pays to oblige the countess. They will also love you much more than William, who isn't very lovable anyway. Eventually you will become a power in your own right. Most countesses are.\"\n\n\"You make it sound easy,\" Elizabeth said wistfully.\n\n\"No, it's not easy, but if you're patient, and don't get discouraged too easily, you can do it.\"\n\n\"I think I can,\" she said determinedly. \"I really think I can.\"\n\nEventually they began to doze. Every now and again the wind would howl and wake Aliena. Looking around in the fitful candlelight she saw that most of the adults were doing the same, sitting upright, nodding off for a while, then waking up suddenly.\n\nIt must have been around midnight that she woke with a start and realized that she had slept for an hour or more this time. Almost everyone around her was fast asleep. She shifted her position, lying flat on the floor, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her. The storm was not letting up, but people's need for sleep had overcome their anxiety. The sound of the rain blowing against the walls of the church was like waves crashing on a beach, and instead of keeping her awake it now lulled her to sleep.\n\nOnce again she woke with a start. She wondered what had disturbed her. She listened: silence. The storm had ended. A faint gray light seeped in through the windows. All the villagers were fast asleep.\n\nAliena got up. Her movement disturbed Elizabeth, who came awake instantly.\n\nThey both had the same thought. They went to the church door, opened it, and stepped outside.\n\nThe rain had stopped and the wind was no more than a breeze. The sun had not yet risen, but the dawn sky was pearl-gray. Aliena and Elizabeth looked around them in the clear, watery light.\n\nThe village was gone.\n\nOther than the church there was not a single building left standing. The entire area had been flattened. A few heavy timbers had come to rest up against the side of the church, but otherwise only the hearthstones dotted around in the sea of mud showed where there had been houses. At the edges of what had been the village, there were five or six mature trees, oaks and chestnuts, still standing, although each of them appeared to have lost several boughs. There were no young trees left at all.\n\nStunned by the completeness of the devastation, Aliena and Elizabeth walked along what had been the street. The ground was littered with splintered wood and dead birds. They came to the first of the wheat fields. It looked as if a large herd of cattle had been penned there for the night. The ripening stalks of wheat had been flattened, broken, uprooted and washed away. The earth was churned up and waterlogged.\n\nAliena was horrified. \"Oh, God,\" she muttered. \"What will the people eat?\"\n\nThey struck out across the field. The damage was the same everywhere. They climbed a low hill and surveyed the surrounding countryside from the top. Every way they looked, they saw ruined crops, dead sheep, blasted trees, flooded meadows and flattened houses. The destruction was appalling, and it filled Aliena with a dreadful sense of tragedy. It looked, she thought, as if the hand of God had come down over England and struck the earth, destroying everything men had made except churches.\n\nThe devastation had shocked Elizabeth too. \"It's terrible,\" she said. \"I can't believe it. There's nothing left.\"\n\nAliena nodded grimly. \"Nothing,\" she echoed. \"There'll be no harvest this year.\"\n\n\"What will the people do?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Feeling a mixture of compassion and fear, Aliena said: \"It's going to be a bloody winter.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "One morning four weeks after the great storm, Martha asked Jack for more money. Jack was surprised. He already gave her sixpence a week for housekeeping, and he knew that Aliena gave her the same. On that she had to feed four adults and two children, and supply two houses with firewood and rushes; but there were plenty of big families in Kingsbridge who only had sixpence a week for everything, food and clothing and rent too. He asked her why she needed more.\n\nShe looked embarrassed. \"All the prices have gone up. The baker wants a penny for a four-pound loaf, and\u2014\"\n\n\"A penny! For a four-pounder?\" Jack was outraged. \"We should make an oven and bake our own.\"\n\n\"Well, sometimes I do pan bread.\"\n\n\"That's right.\" Jack realized they had had pan-baked bread two or three times during the last week or so.\n\nMartha said: \"But the price of flour has gone up too, so we don't save much.\"\n\n\"We should buy wheat and grind it ourselves.\"\n\n\"It's not allowed. We're supposed to use the priory mill. Anyway, wheat is expensive also.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" Jack realized he was being silly. Bread was dear because flour was dear, and flour was dear because wheat was dear, and wheat was dear because the storm had wiped out the harvest, and there was no getting away from it. He saw that Martha looked troubled. She always got very upset if she thought he was displeased. He smiled to show her it was all right, and patted her shoulder. \"It's not your fault,\" he said.\n\n\"You sound so cross.\"\n\n\"Not with you.\" He felt guilty. Martha would rather cut off her hand than cheat him, he knew. He did not really understand why she was so devoted to him. If it was love, he thought, surely she would have got fed up by now, for she and the whole world knew that Aliena was the love of his life. He had once contemplated sending her away, to force her out of her rut: that way perhaps she would fall for a suitable man. But he knew in his heart that it would not work and would only make her desperately unhappy. So he let it be.\n\nHe reached inside his tunic for his purse, and took out three silver pennies. \"You'd better have twelvepence a week, and see if you can manage on that,\" he said. It seemed a lot. His pay was only twenty-four pennies a week, although he got perquisites as well, candles and robes and boots.\n\nHe swallowed the rest of a mug of beer and went out. It was unusually cold for early autumn. The weather was still strange. He walked briskly along the street and entered the priory close. It was still a little before sunrise and only a handful of craftsmen were here. He walked up the nave, looking at the foundations. They were almost complete, which was fortunate, as the mortar work would probably have to stop early this year because of the cold weather.\n\nHe looked up at the new transepts. His pleasure in his own creation was blighted by the cracks. They had reappeared on the day after the great storm. He was terribly disappointed. It had been a phenomenal tempest, of course, but his church was designed to survive a hundred such storms. He shook his head in perplexity, and climbed the turret stairs to the gallery. He wished he could talk to someone who had built a similar church, but nobody in England had, and even in France they had not yet gone this high.\n\nOn impulse, he did not go to his tracing floor, but continued up the staircase to the roof. The lead had all been laid, and he saw that the pinnacle that had been blocking the flow of rainwater now had a generous gutter running through its base. It was windy up on the roof, and he tried to keep hold of something whenever he was near the edge: he would not be the first builder to be blown off a roof to his death by a gust of wind. The wind always seemed stronger up here than it did on the ground. In fact, the wind seemed to increase disproportionately as you climbed....\n\nHe stood still, staring into space. That was the answer to his puzzle. It was not the weight of his vault that was causing the cracks\u2014it was the height. He had built the church strong enough to bear the weight, he was sure; but he had not thought about the wind. These towering walls were constantly buffeted, and because they were so high, the wind was enough to crack them. Standing on the roof, feeling its force, he could just imagine the effect it was having on the tautly balanced structure below him. He knew the building so well that he could almost feel the strain, as if the walls were part of his body. The wind pushed sideways against the church, just as it was pushing against him; and because the church could not bend, it cracked.\n\nHe was quite sure he had found the explanation; but what was he going to do about it? He needed to strengthen the clerestory so that it could withstand the wind. But how? To build massive buttresses up against the walls would destroy the stunning effect of lightness and grace that he had achieved so successfully.\n\nBut if that was what it took to make the building stand up, he would have to do it.\n\nHe went down the stairs again. He felt no more cheerful, even though he had finally understood the problem; for it looked as if the solution would destroy his dream. Perhaps I was arrogant, he thought. I was so sure I could build the most beautiful cathedral in the world. Why did I imagine I could do better than anyone else? What made me think I was special? I should have copied another master's design exactly, and been content.\n\nPhilip was waiting for him at the tracing floor. There was a worried frown on the prior's brow, and the fringe of graying hair around his shaved head was untidy. He looked as if he had been up all night.\n\n\"We've got to reduce our expenditure,\" he said without preamble. \"We just haven't got the money to carry on building at our present rate.\" Jack had been afraid of this. The hurricane had destroyed the harvest throughout most of southern England: it was sure to have an effect on the priory's finances. Talk of cutbacks always made him anxious. In his heart he was afraid that if building slowed down too much he might not live to see his cathedral completed. But he did not let his fear show. \"Winter's coming,\" he said casually. \"Work always slows down then anyway. And winter will be early this year.\"\n\n\"Not early enough,\" Philip said grimly. \"I want to cut our outgoings in half, immediately.\"\n\n\"In half!\" It sounded impossible.\n\n\"The winter layoff begins today.\"\n\nThis was worse than Jack had anticipated. The summer workers normally left around the beginning of December. They spent the winter months building wooden houses or making plows and carts, either for their families or to earn money. This year their families would not be pleased to see them. Jack said: \"Do you know you're sending them to homes where people are already starving?\"\n\nPhilip just stared back at him angrily.\n\n\"Of course you know it,\" Jack said. \"Sorry I asked.\"\n\nPhilip said forcefully: \"If I don't do this now, then one Saturday in midwinter the entire work force will stand in line for their pay and I will show them an empty chest.\"\n\nJack shrugged helplessly. \"There's no arguing with that.\"\n\n\"It's not all,\" Philip warned. \"From now on there's to be no hiring, even to replace people who leave.\"\n\n\"We haven't been hiring for months.\"\n\n\"You hired Alfred.\"\n\n\"That was different.\" Jack was embarrassed. \"Anyway, no hiring.\"\n\n\"And no upgrading.\"\n\nJack nodded. Every now and again an apprentice or a laborer asked to be upgraded to mason or stonecutter. If the other craftsmen judged that his skills were adequate, the request would be granted, and the priory would have to pay him higher wages. Jack said: \"Upgrading is the prerogative of the masons' lodge.\"\n\n\"I'm not trying to alter that,\" Philip said. \"I'm asking the masons to postpone all promotions until the famine is over.\"\n\n\"I'll put it to them,\" Jack said noncommittally. He had a feeling there could be trouble over that.\n\nPhilip pressed on. \"From now on there'll be no work on saint's days.\"\n\nThere were too many saint's days. In principle, they were holidays, but whether workers were paid for the holiday was a matter for negotiation. At Kingsbridge the rule was that when two or more saint's days fell in the same week, the first was a paid holiday and the second was an unpaid optional day off. Most people chose to work the second. Now, however, they would not have that option. The second saint's day would be an obligatory unpaid holiday.\n\nJack was feeling uncomfortable about the prospect of explaining these changes to the lodge. He said: \"All this would go down a lot better if I could present it to them as a matter for discussion, rather than as something already settled.\"\n\nPhilip shook his head. \"Then they'd think it was open to negotiation, and some of the proposals might be softened. They'd suggest working half the saint's days, and allowing a limited number of upgrades.\"\n\nHe was right, of course. \"But isn't that reasonable?\" Jack said.\n\n\"Of course it's reasonable,\" Philip said irritably. \"It's just that there's no room for adjustment. I'm already worried that these measures won't be sufficient\u2014I can't make any concessions.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Jack said. Philip was clearly in no mood to compromise right now. \"Is there anything else?\" he said warily.\n\n\"Yes. Stop buying supplies. Run down your stocks of stone, iron and timber.\"\n\n\"We get the timber free!\" Jack protested.\n\n\"But we have to pay for it to be carted here.\"\n\n\"True. All right.\" Jack went to the window and looked down at the stones and tree trunks stacked in the priory close. It was a reflex action: he already knew how much he had in stock. \"That's not a problem,\" he said after a moment. \"With the reduced work force, we've got enough materials to last us until next summer.\"\n\nPhilip sighed wearily. \"There's no guarantee we'll be taking on summer workers next year,\" he said. \"It depends on the price of wool. You'd better warn them.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"It's as bad as that, is it?\"\n\n\"It's worse than I've ever known it,\" Philip said. \"What this country needs is three years of good weather. And a new king.\"\n\n\"Amen to that,\" said Jack.\n\nPhilip returned to his house. Jack spent the morning wondering how to handle the changes. There were two ways to build a nave: bay by bay, beginning at the crossing and working west; or course by course, laying the base of the entire nave first and then working up. The second way was faster but required more masons. It was the method Jack had intended to use. Now he reconsidered. Building bay by bay was more suited to a reduced work force. It had another advantage, too: any modifications he introduced into his design to take account of wind resistance could be tested in one or two bays before being used throughout the building.\n\nHe also brooded over the long-term effect of the financial crisis. Work might slow down more and more, over the years. Gloomily he saw himself growing old and gray and feeble without achieving his life's ambition, and eventually being buried in the priory graveyard in the shadow of a still unfinished cathedral.\n\nWhen the noon bell rang he went to the masons' lodge. The men were sitting down to their ale and cheese, and he noticed for the first time that many of them had no bread. He asked the masons who normally went home to dinner if they would stay for a moment. \"The priory is running short of money,\" he said.\n\n\"I've never known a monastery that didn't, sooner or later,\" said one of the older men.\n\nJack looked at him. He was called Edward Twonose because he had a wart on his face almost as big as his nose. He was a good stone carver, with a sharp eye for exact curves, and Jack always used him for shafts and drums. Jack said: \"You'd have to admit that this place manages its money better than most. But Prior Philip can't avert storms and bad harvests, and now he needs to reduce his expenditure. I'll tell you about it before you have your dinners. First of all, we're not taking in any more supplies of stone or timber.\"\n\nThe craftsmen from the other lodges were drifting in to listen. One of the old carpenters, Peter, said: \"The wood we've got won't last the winter.\"\n\n\"Yes, it will,\" Jack said. \"We'll be building more slowly, because we'll have fewer craftsmen. The winter layoff starts today.\"\n\nHe knew immediately that he had handled the announcement wrongly. There were protests from all sides, several men speaking at once. I should have broken it to them gently, he thought. But he had no experience of this kind of thing. He had been master for seven years, but in that time there had been no financial crises.\n\nThe voice that emerged from the hubbub was that of Pierre Paris, one of the masons who had come from Saint-Denis. After six years in Kingsbridge his English was still imperfect, and his anger made his accent thicker, but he was not discouraged. \"You cannot dismiss men on a Tuesday,\" he said.\n\n\"That's right,\" said Jack Blacksmith. \"You have to give them until the end of the week, at least.\"\n\nJack's stepbrother Alfred chimed in. \"I remember when my father was building a house for the earl of Shiring, and Will Hamleigh came and dismissed the whole crew. My father told him he had to give everyone a week's wages, and held his horse's head until he handed over the money.\"\n\nThank you for nothing, Alfred, thought Jack. He said doggedly: \"You might as well hear the rest. From now on, there's no work on saint's days, and no promotions.\"\n\nThat made them angrier. \"Unacceptable,\" someone said, and several of the others repeated it: \"Unacceptable, unacceptable.\"\n\nJack found that infuriating. \"What are you talking about? If the priory hasn't got the money, you're not going to get paid. What's the point of chanting 'Unacceptable, unacceptable,' like a class of schoolboys learning Latin?\"\n\nEdward Twonose spoke up again. \"We're not a class of schoolboys, we're a lodge of masons,\" he said. \"The lodge has the right of promotion, and nobody can take it away.\"\n\n\"And if there's no money for the extra pay?\" Jack said hotly.\n\nOne of the younger masons said: \"I don't believe that.\"\n\nIt was Dan Bristol, one of the summer workers. He was not a skillful cutter but he could lay stones very accurately and fast. Jack said to him: \"How can you say you don't believe it? What do you know about the priory's finances?\"\n\n\"I know what I see,\" Dan said. \"Are the monks starving? No. Are there candles in the church? Yes. Is there wine in the stores? Yes. Does the prior go barefoot? No. There's money. He just doesn't want to give it to us.\"\n\nSeveral people agreed loudly. In fact, he was wrong about at least one item, and that was the wine; but no one would believe Jack now\u2014he had become the representative of the priory. That was not fair: he was not responsible for Philip's decisions. He said: \"Look, I'm only telling you what the prior said to me. I don't guarantee that it's true. But if he tells us there's not enough money, and we don't believe him, what can we do?\"\n\n\"We can all stop work,\" said Dan. \"Immediately.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said another voice.\n\nThis was getting out of control, Jack realized with a sense of panic. \"Wait a moment,\" he said. Desperately he searched for something to say that would bring down the temperature. \"Let's go back to work now, and this afternoon I'll try to persuade Prior Philip to moderate his plans.\"\n\n\"I don't think we should work,\" Dan said.\n\nJack could not believe this was happening. He had anticipated many threats to the building of his dream church, but he had not foreseen that the craftsmen would sabotage it. \"Why shouldn't we work?\" he said incredulously. \"What's the point?\"\n\nDan said: \"As things stand, half of us aren't even sure we're going to get paid for the rest of the week.\"\n\n\"Which is against all custom and practice,\" said Pierre Paris. The phrase custom and practice was much used in court.\n\nJack said desperately: \"At least work while I'm trying to talk Philip around.\"\n\nEdward Twonose said: \"If we work, can you guarantee that everyone will be paid for the whole week?\"\n\nJack knew he could offer no such guarantee, with Philip in his present mood. It crossed his mind to say yes anyway, and pay the money himself, if necessary; but he realized immediately that his entire savings would not be enough to cover a week's wages here. So he said: \"I'll do my level best to persuade him, and I think he'll agree.\"\n\n\"Not good enough for me,\" said Dan.\n\n\"Nor me,\" said Pierre.\n\nDan said: \"No guarantee, no work.\"\n\nTo Jack's dismay, there was general agreement.\n\nHe saw that if he continued to oppose them he would lose what little authority he had left. \"The lodge must act as one man,\" he said, quoting a much-used form of words. \"Are we all in favor of a stoppage?\"\n\nThere was a chorus of assent.\n\n\"So be it,\" said Jack dismally. \"I'll tell the prior.\"\n\nBishop Waleran rode into Shiring followed by a small army of attendants. Earl William was waiting for him in the porch of the church on the market square. William frowned in puzzlement: he had been expecting a site meeting, not a state visit. What was the devious bishop up to now?\n\nWith Waleran was a stranger on a chestnut gelding. The man was tall and rangy, with heavy black eyebrows and a large curved nose. He wore a scornful expression that seemed permanent. He rode beside Waleran, as if they were equals, but he was not wearing the clothes of a bishop.\n\nWhen they dismounted, Waleran introduced the stranger. \"Earl William, this is Peter of Wareham, who is an archdeacon in the service of the archbishop of Canterbury.\"\n\nNo explanation of what Peter is doing here, William thought. Waleran is definitely up to something.\n\nThe archdeacon bowed and said: \"Your bishop has told me of your generosity to Holy Mother Church, Lord William.\"\n\nBefore William could reply, Waleran pointed to the parish church. \"This building will be pulled down to make room for the new church, Archdeacon,\" he said.\n\n\"Have you appointed a master mason yet?\" Peter asked.\n\nWilliam wondered why an archdeacon from Canterbury was so interested in the parish church of Shiring. But perhaps he was just being polite.\n\n\"No, I haven't found a master yet,\" Waleran said. \"There are plenty of builders looking for work, but I can't get anyone from Paris. It seems the whole world wants to build churches like Saint-Denis, and the masons who know the style are in heavy demand.\"\n\n\"It could be important,\" said Peter.\n\n\"There's a builder who may be able to help waiting to see us later.\"\n\nOnce again William was a little puzzled. Why did Peter think it was important to build in the style of Saint-Denis?\n\nWaleran said: \"The new church will be much bigger, of course. It will protrude a good deal farther into the square here.\"\n\nWilliam did not like the proprietorial air Waleran was assuming. Now he interjected: \"I can't have the church encroaching on the market square.\"\n\nWaleran looked irritated, as if William had spoken out of turn. \"Whyever not?\" he said.\n\n\"Every inch of the square makes money on market days.\"\n\nWaleran looked as if he was disposed to argue, but Peter said with a smile: \"We mustn't block the silver fountain!\"\n\n\"That's right,\" William said. He was paying for this church. Happily, the fourth bad harvest had made little difference to his income. Smaller peasants paid rent in kind, and many of them had given William his sack of grain and brace of geese even though they were living on acorn soup. Furthermore, that sack of grain was worth ten times what it had fetched five years ago, and the increase in the price more than compensated for the tenants who had defaulted and the serfs who had starved to death. He still had the resources to finance the new building.\n\nThey walked around to the back of the church. Here was an area of housing that generated minimal income. William said: \"We can build out at this end, and knock down all these houses.\"\n\n\"But most of them are clerical residences,\" Waleran objected.\n\n\"We'll find other houses for the clergymen.\"\n\nWaleran looked dissatisfied, but said no more on that subject.\n\nOn the north side of the church a broad-shouldered man of about thirty years bowed to them. By his dress William judged him to be a craftsman. Archdeacon Baldwin, the bishop's close colleague, said: \"This is the man I told you about, my lord bishop. His name is Alfred of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nAt first glance the man was not very prepossessing: he was rather ox-like, big and strong and dumb. But on closer examination there was a cunning look about his face, rather like a fox or a sly dog.\n\nArchdeacon Baldwin said: \"Alfred is the son of Tom Builder, the first master at Kingsbridge; and was himself master for a while, until he was usurped by his stepbrother.\"\n\nThe son of Tom Builder. This was the man who had married Aliena, William realized. But he had never consummated the marriage. William looked at him with keen interest. He would never have guessed this man to be impotent. He appeared healthy and normal. But Aliena could have a strange effect on a man.\n\nArchdeacon Peter was saying: \"Have you worked in Paris, and learned the style of Saint-Denis?\"\n\n\"No\u2014\"\n\n\"But we must have a church built in the new style.\"\n\n\"At present I'm working at Kingsbridge, where my brother is master. He brought the new style back from Paris and I've learned it from him.\"\n\nWilliam wondered how Bishop Waleran had managed to suborn Alfred without arousing suspicion; then he remembered that the Kingsbridge sub-prior, Remigius, was a tool of Waleran. Remigius must have made the initial approach.\n\nHe remembered something else about Kingsbridge. He said to Alfred: \"But your roof fell down.\"\n\n\"That wasn't my fault,\" Alfred said. \"Prior Philip insisted on a change of design.\"\n\n\"I know Philip,\" said Peter, and there was venom in his voice. \"A stubborn, arrogant man.\"\n\n\"How do you know him?\" William asked.\n\n\"Many years ago I was a monk at the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest when Philip was in charge there,\" Peter said bitterly. \"I criticized his slack regime, and he made me almoner to get me out of the way.\" Peter's resentment still burned hot, it was clear. No doubt that was a factor in whatever Waleran was scheming.\n\nWilliam said: \"Be that as it may, I don't think I want to hire a builder whose roofs fall down, no matter what excuses there might be.\"\n\nAlfred said: \"I'm the only master builder in England who has worked on a new-style church, apart from Jack Jackson.\"\n\nWilliam said: \"I don't care about Saint-Denis. I believe my poor mother's soul will be served just as well by a traditional design.\"\n\nBishop Waleran and Archdeacon Peter exchanged a look. After a moment, Waleran spoke to William in a lowered voice. \"One day this church could be Shiring Cathedral,\" he said.\n\nEverything became clear to William. Many years ago Waleran had schemed to have the seat of the diocese moved from Kingsbridge to Shiring, but Prior Philip had outmaneuvered him. Now Waleran had revived the plan. This time, it seemed, he would go about it more deviously. Last time he had simply asked the archbishop of Canterbury to grant his request. This time he was going to start building a new church, one large and prestigious enough to be a cathedral, and at the same time develop allies such as Peter within the archbishop's circle, before making his application. That was all very well, but William just wanted to build a church in memory of his mother, to ease her soul's passage through the eternal fires; and he resented Waleran's attempt to take over the scheme for his own purposes. On the other hand, it would be a tremendous boost to Shiring to have the cathedral here, and William would profit from that.\n\nAlfred was saying: \"There's something else.\"\n\nWaleran said: \"Yes?\"\n\nWilliam looked at the two men. Alfred was bigger, stronger and younger than Waleran, and he could have knocked Waleran to the ground with one of his big hands tied behind his back; yet he was acting like the weak man in a confrontation. Years ago it would have made William angry to see a prissy white-skinned priest dominate a strong man, but he no longer got upset about such things: that was the way of the world.\n\nAlfred lowered his voice and said: \"I can bring the entire Kingsbridge work force with me.\"\n\nSuddenly his three listeners were riveted.\n\n\"Say that again,\" said Waleran.\n\n\"If you hire me as master builder, I'll bring all the craftsmen from Kingsbridge with me.\"\n\nWaleran said warily: \"How do we know you're telling the truth?\"\n\n\"I don't ask you to trust me,\" Alfred said. \"Give me the job conditionally. If I don't do what I promise, I'll leave without pay.\"\n\nFor different reasons all three of his listeners hated Prior Philip, and they were immediately gripped by the prospect of striking such a blow at him.\n\nAlfred added: \"Several of the masons worked on Saint-Denis.\"\n\nWaleran said: \"But how can you bring them with you?\"\n\n\"Does it matter? Let's just say they prefer me to Jack.\"\n\nWilliam thought Alfred was lying about this, and Waleran appeared to think the same, for he tilted back his head and gave Alfred a long look down his pointed nose. However, Alfred had seemed to be telling the truth earlier. Whatever the true reason might be, he seemed convinced that he could bring the Kingsbridge craftsmen with him.\n\nWilliam said: \"If they all follow you here, work will come to a complete standstill at Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Alfred said. \"It will.\"\n\nWilliam looked at Waleran and Peter. \"We need to talk further about this. He'd better dine with us.\"\n\nWaleran nodded agreement and said to Alfred: \"Follow us to my house. It's at the other end of the market square.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Alfred. \"I built it.\"\n\nFor two days Prior Philip refused to discuss the strike. He was speechless with rage, and whenever he saw Jack he just turned around and walked the other way.\n\nOn the second day three cartloads of flour arrived from one of the priory's outlying mills. The carts were escorted by men-at-arms: flour was as precious as gold nowadays. It was checked in by Brother Jonathan, who was deputy cellarer under old Cuthbert Whitehead. Jack watched Jonathan count the sacks. To Jack there was something oddly familiar about Jonathan's face, as if he resembled someone Jack knew well. Jonathan was tall and gangling, with light brown hair\u2014nothing like Philip, who was short and slight and black-haired; but in every way other than physically Jonathan took after the man who was his surrogate father: the boy was intense, high-principled, determined and ambitious. People liked him despite his rather rigid attitude to morality\u2014which was very much how they felt about Philip.\n\nWhile Philip was refusing to talk, a word with Jonathan would be the next best thing.\n\nJack watched while Jonathan paid the men-at-arms and the carters. He was quietly efficient, and when the carters asked for more than they were entitled to, as they always did, he refused them calmly but firmly. It occurred to Jack that a monastic education was a good preparation for leadership.\n\nLeadership. Jack's shortcomings in that area had been revealed rather starkly. He had let a problem become a crisis by maladroit handling of his men. Every time he thought of that meeting he cursed his ineptitude. He was determined to find a way to put matters right.\n\nAs the carters left, grumbling, Jack walked casually by and said to Jonathan: \"Philip is terribly angry about the strike.\"\n\nFor a moment Jonathan looked as if he was about to say something unpleasant\u2014he was clearly fairly angry himself\u2014but finally his face relaxed and he said: \"He seems angry, but underneath he's wounded.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"He takes it personally.\"\n\n\"Yes. He feels the craftsmen have turned on him in his hour of need.\"\n\n\"I suppose they have, in a way,\" Jack said. \"But Philip made a major error of judgment in trying to alter working practices by fiat.\"\n\n\"What else could he do?\" Jonathan retorted.\n\n\"He could have discussed the crisis with them first. They might even have been able to suggest some economies themselves. But I'm in no position to blame Philip, because I made the same mistake myself.\"\n\nThat pricked Jonathan's curiosity. \"How?\"\n\n\"I reported the schedule of cuts to the men as bluntly and tactlessly as Philip announced it to me.\"\n\nJonathan wanted to be outraged, like Philip, and blame the strike on the perfidy of the men; but he was reluctantly seeing the other side of the coin. Jack decided to say no more. He had planted a seed.\n\nHe left Jonathan and returned to his tracing floor. The trouble, he reflected as he picked up his drawing implements, was that the town's peacemaker was Philip. Normally, he was the judge of wrongdoers and the arbiter in disputes. It was disconcerting to find Philip a party in a quarrel, angry and bitter and unrelenting. Someone else was going to have to make peace this time. And the only person Jack could think of to do it was himself. As master builder he was the go-between who could talk to both parties, and his motivation was indisputable\u2014he wanted to continue building.\n\nHe spent the rest of the day thinking about how to handle this task, and the question he asked himself again and again was: What would Philip do?\n\nOn the following day he felt ready to confront Philip.\n\nIt was a cold, wet day. Jack lurked around the deserted building site in the early afternoon, with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head to keep him dry, pretending to study the cracks in the clerestory (a problem that was still unsolved), and waited until he saw Philip hurry across to his own house from the cloisters. When Philip was inside, Jack followed.\n\nPhilip's door was always open. Jack tapped on it and went in. Philip was on his knees in front of the small altar in the corner. You'd think he'd get enough praying done, in church most of the day and half the night, without doing it at home too, Jack thought. There was no fire: Philip was economizing. Jack waited silently until Philip rose and turned around. Then Jack said: \"This has got to come to an end.\"\n\nPhilip's normally amiable face was set in hard lines. \"I see no difficulty about that,\" he said coldly. \"They can come back to work as soon as they like.\"\n\n\"On your terms.\"\n\nPhilip just looked at him.\n\nJack said: \"They won't come back on your terms, and they won't wait forever for you to see reason.\" He added hastily: \"Or what they think is reason.\"\n\n\"Won't wait forever?\" Philip said. \"Where will they go when they get tired of waiting? They won't find work elsewhere. Do they think this is the only place that is suffering from the famine? It's all over England. Every building site is having to cut back.\"\n\n\"So you're going to wait for them to come crawling back to you, begging forgiveness,\" Jack said.\n\nPhilip looked away. \"I won't make anyone crawl,\" he said. \"I don't believe I've ever given you reason to expect such behavior from me.\"\n\n\"No, and that's why I've come to see you,\" Jack said. \"I know you don't really want to humiliate these men\u2014it's not in your nature. And besides, if they returned feeling beaten and resentful, they'd work badly for years to come. So from my point of view as well as yours, we must let them save face. And that means making concessions.\"\n\nJack held his breath. That had been his big speech, and this was his make-or-break moment. If Philip remained unmoved now, the future looked bleak.\n\nPhilip looked hard at Jack for a long moment. Jack could see reason struggling with emotion in the prior's face. Then at last his expression softened and he said: \"We'd better sit down.\"\n\nJack suppressed a sigh of relief as he took a seat. He had planned what he was going to say next: he was not going to repeat the spontaneous tactlessness he had shown with the builders. \"There's no need to modify your freeze on purchase of supplies,\" he began. \"Similarly, the moratorium on new hiring can stand\u2014no one objects to that. I also think they can be persuaded to accept that there will be no work on saint's days, if they gain concessions in other areas.\" He paused to let that sink in. So far he was giving everything and asking for nothing.\n\nPhilip nodded. \"All right. What concessions?\"\n\nJack took a deep breath. \"They were highly offended by the proposal to ban promotions. They think you're trying to usurp the ancient prerogative of the lodge.\"\n\n\"I explained to you that that was not my intention,\" Philip said in an exasperated tone.\n\n\"I know, I know,\" Jack said hastily. \"Of course you did. And I believed you, but they didn't.\" An injured look came over Philip's face. How could anyone disbelieve him? Hastily, Jack said: \"But that's in the past. I'm going to propose a compromise that won't cost you anything.\"\n\nPhilip looked interested.\n\nJack went on: \"Let them continue to approve applications for promotion, but postpone the associated pay raise for a year.\" And he thought: Find something to object to in that, if you can.\n\n\"Will they accept that?\" Philip said skeptically.\n\n\"It's worth a try.\"\n\n\"What if I still can't afford the pay raises a year from now?\"\n\n\"Cross that bridge when you get to it.\"\n\n\"You mean, renegotiate in a year's time.\"\n\nJack shrugged. \"If necessary.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Philip said noncommittally. \"Anything else?\"\n\n\"The biggest stumbling block is the instant dismissal of the summer-workers.\" Jack was being completely candid now. This issue could not be honeyed. \"Instant dismissal has never been allowed on any building site in Christendom. The end of the week is the earliest.\" To help Philip feel less foolish, Jack added: \"I ought to have warned you of that.\"\n\n\"So all I have to do is employ them for two more days?\"\n\n\"I don't think that will be enough, now,\" Jack said. \"If we'd handled it differently from the start we might have got away with that, but now they'll want more of a compromise.\"\n\n\"No doubt you've got something specific in mind.\"\n\nJack had, and it was the only real concession he had to ask for. \"It's now the beginning of October. We normally dismiss the summer workers at the beginning of December. Let's meet the men halfway, and do it at the beginning of November.\"\n\n\"That only gives me half of what I need.\"\n\n\"It gives you more than half. You still benefit from the rundown of stocks, the postponement of pay raises for promotion, and the saint's days.\"\n\n\"Those things are trimmings.\"\n\nJack sat back, feeling gloomy. He had done his best. He had no more arguments to put to Philip, no more resources of persuasion to deploy, nothing left to say. He had shot his arrow. And Philip was still resistant. Jack was ready to concede defeat. He looked at Philip's stony face and waited.\n\nPhilip looked over at the altar in the corner for a long, silent moment. Finally he looked back to Jack and said: \"I'll have to put this to the chapter.\"\n\nJack went limp with relief. It was not a victory, but it was close. Philip would not ask the monks to consider anything he did not himself approve, and more often than not they did what Philip wanted. \"I hope they accept,\" Jack said weakly.\n\nPhilip stood up and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He smiled for the first time. \"If I put the case as persuasively as you, they will,\" he said.\n\nJack was surprised by this sudden change of mood. He said: \"The sooner this is over, the less long-term effect it will have.\"\n\n\"I know. It's made me very angry, but I don't want to quarrel with you.\" Unexpectedly, he put out his hand.\n\nJack shook it, and felt good.\n\nJack said: \"Shall I tell the builders to come to the lodge in the morning to hear the chapter's verdict?\"\n\n\"Yes, please.\"\n\n\"I'll do that now.\" He turned to go.\n\nPhilip said: \"Jack.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nJack nodded acknowledgment and went out. He walked through the rain without raising his hood. He felt happy.\n\nThat afternoon he went to the homes of all the craftsmen and told them there would be a meeting in the morning. Those who were not at home\u2014the unmarried men and the summer workers, mostly\u2014he found in the alehouse. However, they were sober, for the price of ale had gone up along with everything else, and no one could afford to get drunk. The only craftsman he could not find was Alfred, who had not been seen for a couple of days. Eventually he turned up at dusk. He came to the alehouse with an oddly triumphant look on his bovine face. He did not say where he had been, and Jack did not ask him. Jack left him drinking with the other men, and went to have supper with Aliena and the children.\n\nNext morning he started the meeting before Prior Philip came to the lodge. He wanted to lay the groundwork. Once again he had prepared what he had to say very carefully, to be sure he did not damage his case by tactlessness. Once again he tried to handle things as Philip might have.\n\nAll he craftsmen were there early. Their livelihoods were at stake. One or two of the younger ones looked red-eyed: Jack guessed the alehouse had stayed open late last night, and some of them had forgotten their poverty for a while. The youngsters and the summer workers were most likely to prove difficult. The older craftsmen took a more long-term view. The small minority of women craftsmen were always cautious and conservative, and would back any kind of settlement.\n\n\"Prior Philip is going to ask us to go back to work, and offer us some kind of compromise,\" Jack began. \"Before he comes, we ought to discuss what we might be prepared to accept, what we will definitely reject, and where we might be willing to negotiate. We must show Philip a united front. I hope you all agree.\"\n\nThere were a few nods.\n\nHe made himself sound slightly angry, and said: \"In my view we should absolutely refuse to accept instant dismissal.\" He banged his fist on the workbench to emphasize his inflexibility on this point. Several people voiced their agreement loudly. Jack knew this was one demand Philip was certainly not going to make. He wanted the hotheads to get themselves worked up to defend ancient custom and practice on this point, so that when Philip conceded it, the wind would be taken out of their sails.\n\n\"Also, we must guard the lodge's right to make promotions, for only craftsmen can judge whether a man is skilled or not.\" Once again he was being disingenuous. He was focusing their attention on the nonfinancial aspect of promotions, in the hope that when they won that point they would be ready to compromise on payments.\n\n\"As for working on saint's days, I'm in two minds. Holidays are normally a matter for negotiation\u2014there's no standard custom and practice, as far as I know.\" He turned to Edward Twonose and said: \"What's your view on that, Edward?\"\n\n\"Practice varies from site to site,\" Edward said. He was pleased to be consulted. Jack nodded, encouraging him to go on. Edward began to recall variant methods of dealing with saint's days. The meeting was going just the way Jack wanted. An extended discussion of a point that was not very controversial would bore the men and sap their energy for confrontation.\n\nHowever, Edward's monologue was interrupted by a voice from the back which said: \"This is all irrelevant.\"\n\nJack looked over and saw that the speaker was Dan Bristol, a summer worker. Jack said: \"One at a time, please. Let Edward have his say.\"\n\nDan was not so easily deflected. \"Never mind about all that,\" he said. \"What we want is a raise.\"\n\n\"A raise?\" Jack was irritated by this ludicrous remark.\n\nTo his surprise, however, Dan was supported. Pierre said: \"That's right, a raise. Look\u2014a four-pound loaf costs a penny. A hen, which used to be eightpence, is now twenty-four! None of us here has had strong beer for weeks, I bet. Everything is going up, but most of us are still getting the wage we were hired at, which is a twelvepence a week. We've got families to feed on that.\"\n\nJack's heart was sinking. He had had everything moving along nicely, but this interruption had ruined his strategy. He restrained himself from opposing Dan and Pierre, however, for he knew he would have more influence if he appeared open-minded. \"I agree with you both,\" he said, to their evident surprise. \"The question is, what chance have we got of persuading Philip to give us a raise at a time when the priory is running out of money?\"\n\nNobody responded to that. Instead, Dan said: \"We need twenty-four pence a week to stay alive, and even then we'll be worse off than we used to be.\"\n\nJack felt dismayed and bewildered: why was the meeting slipping out of his hands? Pierre said: \"Twenty-four pence a week,\" and several others nodded their heads.\n\nIt occurred to Jack that he might not be the only person who had come to the meeting with a prepared strategy. Giving Dan a hard look, he said: \"Have you discussed this previously?\"\n\n\"Yes, last night, in the alehouse,\" Dan said defiantly. \"Is there anything wrong with that?\"\n\n\"Certainly not. But for the benefit of those of us who were not privileged to attend that meeting, would you like to summarize its conclusions?\"\n\n\"All right.\" The men who had not been at the alehouse were looking resentful, but Dan was unrepentant. Just as he opened his mouth, Prior Philip walked in. Jack threw a quick, searching look at Philip. The prior looked happy. He caught Jack's eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jack felt jubilant: the monks had accepted the compromise. He opened his mouth to prevent Dan from speaking, but he was an instant too late. \"We want twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen,\" Dan said loudly. \"Twelvepence for laborers and forty-eight pence for master craftsmen.\"\n\nJack looked again at Philip. The pleased look had gone, and his face had once again set in the hard, angry lines of confrontation. \"Just a moment,\" Jack said. \"This is not the view of the lodge. It's a foolish demand cooked up by a drunken faction in the alehouse.\"\n\n\"No, it's not,\" said a new voice. It was Alfred. \"I think you'll find most of the craftsmen support the demand for double pay.\"\n\nJack stared at him in fury. \"A few months ago you begged me to give you a job,\" he said. \"Now you're demanding double pay. I should have let you starve!\"\n\nPrior Philip said: \"And that's what will happen to all of you if you don't see sense!\"\n\nJack had wanted desperately to avoid such challenging remarks, but now he saw no alternative: his own strategy had collapsed.\n\nDan said: \"We won't go back to work for less than twenty-four pence, and that's that.\"\n\nPrior Philip said angrily: \"It's out of the question. It's a foolish dream. I'm not even going to discuss it.\"\n\n\"We aren't going to discuss anything else,\" said Dan. \"We won't work for less, under any circumstances.\"\n\nJack said: \"This is stupid! How can you sit there and say you won't work for less? You won't work at all, you fool. You've got nowhere else to go!\"\n\n\"Haven't we?\" said Dan.\n\nThe lodge went quiet.\n\nOh, God, Jack thought in despair; this is it\u2014they've got an alternative.\n\n\"We have got somewhere else to go,\" Dan said. He stood up. \"And as for me, I'm going there now.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\" Jack said.\n\nDan looked triumphant. \"I've been offered work on a new site, in Shiring. Building the new church. At twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen.\"\n\nJack looked around. \"Has anyone else been offered the same?\"\n\nThe whole lodge looked shamefaced.\n\nDan said: \"We all have.\"\n\nJack was devastated. This whole thing had been organized. He had been betrayed. He felt foolish as well as wronged. He had completely misread the situation. Hurt turned to anger, and he cast about for someone to blame. \"Which of you?\" he yelled. \"Which of you is the traitor?\" He looked around at all of them. Few were able to meet his eye. Their shame gave him no consolation. He felt like a spurned lover. \"Who brought you this offer from Shiring?\" he shouted. \"Who is to be the master builder at Shiring?\" His eye raked the assembled company and came to rest on Alfred. Of course. He felt sick with disgust. \"Alfred?\" he said scornfully. \"You're leaving me to work for Alfred?\"\n\nThere was silence. Finally Dan said: \"Yes, we are.\"\n\nJack saw that he had been defeated. \"So be it,\" he said bitterly. \"You know me, and you know my brother; and you've chosen Alfred. You know Prior Philip, and you know Earl William; and you've chosen William. All I have left to say to you is that you deserve everything you're going to get.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "\"Tell me a story,\" Aliena said. You never tell me stories anymore. Remember how you used to?\"\n\n\"I remember,\" Jack said.\n\nThey were in their secret glade in the forest. It was late autumn, so instead of sitting in the shade by the stream they had built a fire in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. It was a gray, cold, dark afternoon, but lovemaking had warmed them and the fire crackled cheerfully. They were both naked under their cloaks.\n\nJack opened Aliena's cloak and touched her breast. She thought her breasts were too big, and she was sad that they were not as high and firm as they had been before she had the children, but he seemed to love them just as much, which was a great relief. He said: \"A story about a princess who lived at the top of a high castle.\" He touched her nipple gently. \"And a prince, who lived at the top of another high castle.\" He touched her other breast. \"Every day they gazed at one another from the windows of their prisons, and yearned to cross the valley between.\" His hand rested in the cleft between her breasts, then suddenly moved down. \"But every Sunday afternoon they met in the forest!\" She squealed, startled, then laughed at herself.\n\nThese Sunday afternoons were the golden moments in a life that was rapidly falling apart.\n\nThe bad harvest and the slump in the wool price had brought economic devastation. Merchants were ruined, townspeople were unemployed and peasants were starving. Jack was still earning a wage, fortunately: with a handful of craftsmen he was slowly erecting the first bay of the nave. But Aliena had almost completely closed down her cloth manufacturing enterprise. And things were worse here than in the rest of southern England because of the way William was responding to the famine.\n\nFor Aliena this was the most painful aspect of the situation. William was greedy for cash to build his new church in Shiring, the church dedicated to the memory of his vicious, half-mad mother. He had evicted so many of his tenants for rent arrears that some of the best land in the county was now uncultivated, which made the shortage of grain worse. However, he had been stockpiling grain to drive the price up even farther. He had few employees and nobody to feed, so he actually profited from the famine in the short term. But in the long run he was doing irreparable damage to the estate and its ability to feed its people. Aliena remembered the earldom under her father's rule, a rich county of fertile fields and prosperous towns, and it broke her heart.\n\nFor a few years she had almost forgotten about the vows she and her brother had made to their dying father. Since William Hamleigh had been made earl, and she had started a family, the idea of Richard winning back the earldom had come to seem a remote fantasy. Richard himself had settled down as Head of the Watch. He had even married a local girl, the daughter of a carpenter; although sadly the poor girl had turned out to have bad health, and had died last year without giving him any children.\n\nSince the famine had started, Aliena had begun to think again about the earldom. She knew that if Richard was earl, with her help he could do a lot to alleviate the suffering caused by the famine. But it was all a dream: William was well favored by King Stephen, who had gained the upper hand in the civil war, and there was no prospect of a change.\n\nHowever, all these sorry wishes faded away in the secret glade, when Aliena and Jack lay down on the turf to make love. Right from the start they had been greedy for one another's bodies\u2014Aliena would never forget how shocked She had been at her own lust, in the beginning\u2014and even now, when she was thirty-three years old, and childbirth had broadened her rear and made her formerly flat belly sag, still Jack was so consumed with desire for her that they would make love three or four times over every Sunday.\n\nNow his joke about the forest began to turn into a delicious caress, and Aliena pulled his face to hers to kiss him; then she heard a voice.\n\nThey both froze. Their glade was some distance from the road, and concealed in a thicket: they were never interrupted except by the occasional unwary deer or bold fox. They held their breaths and listened. The voice came again, and was followed by a different one. As they strained their hearing they picked up an undertone of rustling, as if a large group of men was moving through the forest.\n\nJack found his boots, which were lying on the ground. Moving silently, he stepped smartly to the stream a few paces away, filled a boot with water, and emptied it on the fire. The flames went out with a hiss and a wisp of smoke. Jack moved noiselessly into the undergrowth, crouching low, and disappeared.\n\nAliena put on her undershirt, tunic and boots, then wrapped her cloak around her again.\n\nJack returned as silently as he had left. \"Outlaws,\" he said.\n\n\"How many?\" she whispered.\n\n\"A lot. I couldn't see them all.\"\n\n\"Where are they going?\"\n\n\"Kingsbridge.\" He held up a hand. \"Listen.\"\n\nAliena cocked her head. In the far distance she could hear the bell of Kingsbridge Priory tolling fast and incessantly, warning of danger. Her heart missed a beat. \"Oh, Jack\u2014the children!\"\n\n\"We can get back ahead of the outlaws if we cross Muddy Bottom and wade the river by the chestnut wood.\"\n\n\"Let's go quickly, then!\"\n\nJack put a restraining hand on her arm and listened for a moment. He could always hear things she could not, in the forest. It came of having been brought up in the wild. She waited. At last he said: \"I think they've all gone by.\"\n\nThey left the glade. After a few moments they came to the road. There was no one in sight. They crossed the road and cut through the woods, following a barely perceptible track. Aliena had left Tommy and Sally with Martha, playing ninemen's morris in front of a cheerful fire. She was not quite sure what the danger was but she was terrified that something might happen before she reached her children. They ran when they could, but to Aliena's frustration the ground was too rough for most of the way, and the best she could do was jog-trot, while Jack walked with a long-legged stride. This route was harder going than the road, which was why they did not normally use it, but it was much quicker.\n\nThey slithered down the steep slope that led to Muddy Bottom. Unwary strangers were occasionally killed in this bog, but there was no danger to those who knew their way across. Nevertheless the waterlogged mud seemed to grasp Aliena's feet, slowing her down, keeping her from Tommy and Sally. At the far side of Muddy Bottom was a ford across the river. The cold water came up to Aliena's knees and washed the mud from her feet.\n\nFrom there the route was straightforward. The alarm bell sounded louder as they approached the town. Whatever danger the town faced from the outlaws, at least they had somehow been forewarned, Aliena thought, trying to keep her spirits up. As she and Jack emerged from the forest into the meadow across the river from Kingsbridge, twenty or thirty youngsters who had been playing football in a nearby village arrived at the same time, shouting raucously and perspiring despite the cold.\n\nThey hurried across the bridge. The gate was already closed, but the people on the battlements had seen and recognized them, and as they approached, a small sally port was opened. Jack pulled rank and made the boys let him and Aliena in first. They ducked their heads and went through the small doorway. Aliena was deeply relieved to have got back to the town before the outlaws.\n\nPanting with their exertions, they hurried up the main street. The townspeople were taking to the walls with spears, bows, and piles of stones to throw. The children were being rounded up and taken to the priory. Martha would have gone there already with Tommy and Sally, Aliena decided. She and Jack went straight to the priory close.\n\nIn the kitchen courtyard Aliena saw\u2014to her astonishment\u2014Jack's mother, Ellen, as lean and brown as ever, but with gray in her long hair and wrinkles around her forty-four-year-old eyes. She was talking animatedly to Richard. Prior Philip was some distance away, directing children into the chapter house. He did not seem to have seen Ellen.\n\nStanding nearby was Martha with Tommy and Sally. Aliena gasped with relief and hugged the two children.\n\nJack said: \"Mother! Why are you here?\"\n\n\"I came to warn you that a gang of outlaws is on the way. They're going to raid the town.\"\n\n\"We saw them in the forest,\" Jack said.\n\nRichard's ears pricked up. \"You saw them? How many men?\"\n\n\"I can't be sure, but it sounded like a lot, at least a hundred, maybe more.\"\n\n\"What sort of weapons?\"\n\n\"Clubs. Knives. A hatchet or two. Mostly clubs.\"\n\n\"What direction?\"\n\n\"North of here.\"\n\n\"Thanks! I'm going to take a look from the walls.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Martha, take the children into the chapter house.\" She followed Richard, as did Jack and Ellen.\n\nAs they hurried through the streets, people kept saying to Richard: \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Outlaws,\" he would say succinctly, without breaking his stride.\n\nRichard was at his best like this, Aliena thought. Ask him to go out and earn his daily bread and he was helpless; but in a military emergency he was cool, level-headed and competent.\n\nThey reached the north wall of the city and climbed the ladder to the parapet. There were heaps of stones, for throwing down on attackers, placed at regular intervals. Townsmen with bows and arrows were already taking up positions on the battlements. Some time ago, Richard had persuaded the town guild to hold emergency drills once a year. There had been a lot of resistance to the idea at first, but it had become a ritual, like the midsummer play, and everyone enjoyed it. Now its real benefits were showing as the townspeople reacted quickly and confidently to the sound of the alarm.\n\nAliena looked fearfully across the fields to the forest. She could see nothing.\n\nRichard said: \"You must have got here well ahead of them.\"\n\nAliena said: \"Why are they coming here?\"\n\nEllen said: \"The priory storehouses. This is the only place for miles around where there's any food.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" The outlaws were hungry people, dispossessed of their land by William, with no way to live but theft. In the undefended villages there was little or nothing to steal: the peasants were not much better off than the outlaws. Only in the barns of landowners was there food in quantity.\n\nAs she was thinking this, she saw them.\n\nThey emerged from the edge of the forest like rats from a burning hayrick. They swarmed across the field toward the town, twenty, thirty, fifty, a hundred of them, a small army. They had probably hoped to catch the town unawares and get in through the gates, but when they heard the bell ringing the alarm they realized they had been forestalled. Nevertheless they came on, with the desperation of the starving. One or two bowmen loosed off premature arrows, and Richard yelled: \"Wait! Don't waste your shafts!\"\n\nLast time Kingsbridge was attacked, Tommy had been eighteen months old and Aliena was pregnant with Sally. She had taken refuge in the priory then, with the elderly and the children. This time she would stay on the battlements and help to fight off the danger. Most of the other women felt the same way: there were almost as many women as men on the walls.\n\nAll the same, Aliena felt torn as the outlaws came closer. She was near the priory, but it was possible that the attackers could break through at some other point and reach the priory before she could get there. Or she might be injured in the fighting and unable to help the children. Jack was here, and so was Ellen: if they should be killed, only Martha would be left to take care of Tommy and Sally. Aliena hesitated, undecided.\n\nThe outlaws were almost at the walls. A shower of arrows fell on them, and this time Richard did not tell the archers to wait. The outlaws were decimated. They had no armor to protect them. There was also no organization. No one had planned the attack. They were like stampeding animals, rushing headlong at a blank wall. When they got there they did not know what to do. The townspeople bombarded them with stones from the battlements. Several outlaws attacked the north gate with clubs. Aliena knew the thickness of that ironbound oak door: it would take all night to break through. Meanwhile, Alf Butcher and Arthur Saddler were maneuvering a cauldron of boiling water from someone's kitchen up onto the wall over the gate.\n\nDirectly below Aliena, a group of outlaws started to form a human pyramid. Jack and Richard immediately started to throw stones at them. Thinking of her children, Aliena did the same, and Ellen joined in too. The desperate outlaws withstood the hail of rocks for a while, then someone was hit on the head, the pyramid collapsed, and they gave up.\n\nThere were screams of pain from the north gate a moment later, as the boiling water poured on the heads of the men attacking the door.\n\nThen some of the outlaws realized that their dead and wounded comrades were easy prey, and they started to strip the bodies. Fights broke out with those who were not so badly wounded, and rival looters quarreled over the possessions of the dead. It was a shambles, Aliena thought; a disgusting, degrading shambles. The townspeople stopped throwing stones as the attack petered out and the attackers fought among themselves like dogs over a bone.\n\nAliena turned to Richard. \"They're too disorganized to be a real threat,\" she said.\n\nHe nodded. \"With a little help they could be quite dangerous, because they're desperate. But as it is they've no leadership.\"\n\nAliena was struck by a thought. \"An army waiting for a leader,\" she said. Richard did not react, but she was excited by the idea. Richard was a good leader who had no army. The outlaws were an army without a leader. And the earldom was falling apart....\n\nSome of the townspeople continued to throw stones and shoot arrows at the outlaws, and more of the scavengers fell. This was the final discouragement, and they began to retreat, like a pack of dogs with their tails between their legs, looking back over their shoulders regretfully. Then someone opened the north gate, and a crowd of young men charged out, brandishing swords and axes, and went after the stragglers. The outlaws fled, but some were caught and butchered.\n\nEllen turned away in disgust and said to Richard: \"You should have stopped those boys from giving chase.\"\n\n\"Young men need to see some blood, after a set-to such as this,\" he said. \"Besides, the more we kill this time, the fewer we'll have to fight next time.\"\n\nIt was a soldier's philosophy, Aliena thought. In the time when she had felt her life threatened every day she would probably have been like the young men, and chased after outlaws to slaughter them. Now she wanted to wipe out the causes of outlawry, not the outlaws themselves. Besides, she had thought of a way to use those outlaws.\n\nRichard told someone to sound the all-clear on the priory bell and gave instructions for a double watch for the night, with patrolling guards as well as sentries. Aliena went to the priory and collected Martha and the children. They all met again at Jack's house.\n\nIt pleased Aliena that they were all together: she and Jack and their children, and Jack's mother, and Aliena's brother, and Martha. It was quite like an ordinary family, and Aliena could almost forget that her father had died in a dungeon, and she was legally married to Jack's stepbrother, and Ellen was an outlaw, and\u2014\n\nShe shook her head. It was no use pretending this was a normal family.\n\nJack drew a jug of ale from the barrel and poured it into large cups. Everyone felt tense and excited after the danger. Ellen built up the fire and Martha sliced turnips into a pot, beginning to make a broth for supper. Once upon a time they would have put half a pig on the fire on a day such as this.\n\nRichard drank his ale in one long swallow, wiped his mouth, and said: \"We're going to see more of this kind of thing before the winter's out.\"\n\nJack said: \"They should attack Earl William's storehouses, not Prior Philip's. It's William who has made most of these people destitute.\"\n\n\"They won't have any more success against William than they did against us, unless they improve their tactics. They're like a pack of dogs.\"\n\nAliena said: \"They need a leader.\"\n\nJack said: \"Pray they never get one! They would really be dangerous then.\"\n\nAliena said: \"A leader might direct them to attack William's property instead of ours.\"\n\n\"I don't follow you,\" Jack said. \"Would a leader do that?\"\n\n\"He would if he was Richard.\"\n\nThey all went quiet.\n\nThe idea had grown in Aliena's mind, and she was now convinced it could work. They could fulfill their vows, Richard could destroy William and become the earl, and the county could be restored to peace and prosperity.... The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She said: \"There were more than a hundred men in that rabble today.\" She turned to Ellen. \"How many more are there in the forest?\"\n\n\"Countless,\" Ellen said. \"Hundreds. Thousands.\"\n\nAliena leaned across the kitchen table and locked eyes with Richard. \"Be their leader,\" she said forcefully. \"Organize them. Teach them how to fight. Devise plans of attack. Then send them into action\u2014against William.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she realized that she was telling him to put his life in danger, and she was filled with trepidation. Instead of winning back the earldom he could be killed.\n\nBut he had no such qualms. \"By God, Allie, you could be right,\" he said. \"I could have an army of my own, and lead it against William.\"\n\nAliena saw in his face the flush of a hatred long nurtured, and she noticed again the scar on his left ear, where the lobe had been sliced off. She pushed down the vile memory that threatened to surface.\n\nRichard was warming to his theme. \"I could raid William's herds,\" he said with relish. \"Steal his sheep, poach his deer, break open his barns, rob his mills. My God, I could make that vermin suffer, if I had an army.\"\n\nHe had always been a soldier, Aliena thought; it was his fate. Despite her fear for his safety, she was thrilled by the prospect that he might have another chance to fulfill his destiny.\n\nHe thought of a snag. \"But how can I find the outlaws?\" he said. \"They always hide\"\n\n\"I can answer that,\" said Ellen. \"Branching off the Winchester road is an overgrown track that leads to a disused quarry. That's their hideout. It used to be known as Sally's Quarry.\"\n\nSeven-year-old Sally said: \"But I haven't got a quarry!\"\n\nEveryone laughed.\n\nThen they went quiet again.\n\nRichard looked exuberant and determined. \"Very well,\" he said tightly. \"Sally's Quarry.\"\n\n\"We'd been working hard all morning, uprooting a massive tree stump up the hill,\" said Philip. \"When we came back, my brother, Francis, was standing right there, in the goat pen, holding you in his arms. You were a day old.\"\n\nJonathan looked grave. This was a solemn moment for him.\n\nPhilip surveyed the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest. There was not much forest in sight now: over the years the monks had cleared many acres, and the monastery was surrounded by fields. There were more stone buildings\u2014a chapter house, a refectory and a dormitory\u2014plus a host of smaller wooden barns and dairies. It hardly looked like the place he had left seventeen years ago. The people were different, too. Several of those young monks now occupied positions of responsibility at Kingsbridge. William Beauvis, who had caused trouble by flicking hot candle wax at the novice-master's bald head all those years ago, was now prior here. Some had gone: that troublemaker Peter of Wareham was in Canterbury, working for an ambitious young archdeacon called Thomas Becket.\n\n\"I wonder what they were like,\" said Jonathan. \"I mean my parents.\"\n\nPhilip felt a twinge of pain for him. Philip himself had lost his parents, but not until he was six years old, and he could remember them both quite well: his mother calm and loving, his father tall and black-bearded and\u2014to Philip, anyway\u2014brave and strong. Jonathan did not even have that. All he knew about his parents was that they had not wanted him.\n\n\"We can guess a lot about them,\" Philip said.\n\n\"Really?\" Jonathan said eagerly. \"What?\"\n\n\"They were poor,\" Philip said. \"Wealthy people have no reason to abandon their children. They were friendless: friends know when you're expecting a baby, and ask questions if a child disappears. They were desperate. Only desperate people can bear to lose a child.\"\n\nJonathan's face was taut with unshed tears. Philip wanted to weep for him, this boy who\u2014everyone said\u2014was so much like Philip himself. Philip wished he could give him some consolation, tell him something warm and heartening about his parents; but how could he pretend that they had loved the boy, when they had left him to die?\n\nJonathan said: \"But why does God do such things?\"\n\nPhilip saw his opportunity. \"Once you start asking that question, you can end up in confusion. But in this case I think the answer is clear. God wanted you for himself.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\"\n\n\"Have I never told you that before? I've always believed it. I said so to the monks here, on the day you were found. I told them that God had sent you here for a purpose of his own, and it was our duty to raise you in God's service so that you would be fit to perform the task he has assigned you.\"\n\n\"I wonder if my mother knows that.\"\n\n\"If she's with the angels, she does.\"\n\n\"What do you think my task might be?\"\n\n\"God needs monks to be writers, illuminators, musicians, and farmers. He needs men to take on the demanding jobs, such as cellarer, prior and bishop. He needs men who can trade in wool, heal the sick, educate the schoolboys and build churches.\"\n\n\"It's hard to imagine that he has a role cut out for me.\"\n\n\"I can't think he would have gone to this much trouble with you if he didn't,\" Philip said with a smile. \"However, it might not be a grand or prominent role in worldly terms. He might want you to become one of the quiet monks, a humble man who devotes his life to prayer and contemplation.\"\n\nJonathan's face fell. \"I suppose he might.\"\n\nPhilip laughed. \"But I don't think so. God wouldn't make a knife out of wood, or a lady's chemise of shoe leather. You aren't the right material for a life of quietude, and God knows it. My guess is that he wants you to fight for him, not sing to him.\"\n\n\"I certainly hope so.\"\n\n\"But right now I think he wants you to go and see Brother Leo and find out how many cheeses he has for the cellar at Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Right.\"\n\n\"I'm going to talk to my brother in the chapter house. And remember\u2014if any of the monks speak to you about Francis, say as little as you can.\"\n\n\"I shall say nothing.\"\n\n\"Off you go.\"\n\nJonathan walked quickly across the yard. His solemn mood had left him already, and his natural exuberance had returned before he reached the dairy. Philip watched him until he disappeared into the building. I was just like that, except perhaps not so clever, he thought.\n\nHe went the opposite way, to the chapter house. Francis had sent a message asking Philip to meet him here discreetly. As far as the Kingsbridge monks were concerned, Philip was making a routine visit to a cell. The meeting could not be kept from the monks here, of course, but they were so isolated they had nobody to tell. Only the prior of the cell ever came to Kingsbridge, and Philip had sworn him to secrecy.\n\nHe and Francis had arrived this morning, and although they could not plausibly claim that the meeting was an accident, they were maintaining a pretense that they had organized it only for the pleasure of seeing one another. They had both attended high mass, then taken dinner with the monks. Now was their first chance to talk alone.\n\nFrancis was waiting in the chapter house, sitting on a stone bench against the wall. Philip almost never saw his own reflection\u2014there were no looking-glasses in a monastery\u2014so he measured his own aging by the changes in his brother, who was only two years younger. Francis at forty-two had a few threads of silver in his black hair, and a crop of stress lines around his bright blue eyes. He was much heavier around the neck and waist than last time Philip had seen him. I've probably got more gray hair and less surplus fat, Philip thought; but I wonder which of us has more worry lines?\n\nHe sat down beside Francis and looked across the empty octagonal room. Francis said: \"How are things?\"\n\n\"The savages are in control again,\" Philip said. \"The priory is running out of money, we've almost stopped building the cathedral, Kingsbridge is on the decline, half the county is starving and it's not safe to travel.\"\n\nFrancis nodded. \"It's the same story all over England.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the savages will always be in control,\" Philip said gloomily. \"Perhaps greed will always outweigh wisdom in the councils of the mighty; perhaps fear will always overcome compassion in the mind of a man with a sword in his hand.\"\n\n\"You're not usually so pessimistic.\"\n\n\"We were attacked by outlaws a few weeks ago. It was a pitiable effort: no sooner had the townsmen killed a few than the outlaws started fighting among themselves. But when they retreated, the young men of our town chased after the poor wretches and slaughtered all they could catch. It was sickening.\"\n\nFrancis shook his head. \"It's hard to understand.\"\n\n\"I think I do understand it. They'd been frightened, and could only exorcise their fear by shedding the blood of the people who had scared them. I saw that in the eyes of the men who killed our mother and father. They killed because they were scared. But what can take away their fear?\"\n\nFrancis sighed. \"Peace, justice, prosperity... Hard things to achieve.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"Well. What are you up to?\"\n\n\"I'm working for the son of the Empress Maud. His name is Henry.\"\n\nPhilip had heard talk of this Henry. \"What's he like?\"\n\n\"He's a very clever and determined young man. His father is dead, so he's count of Anjou. He's also duke of Normandy, because he's the eldest grandson of old Henry, who used to be king of England and duke of Normandy. And he's married Eleanor of Aquitaine, so now he's duke of Aquitaine as well.\"\n\n\"He rules over more territory than the king of France.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"But what's he like?\"\n\n\"Educated, hardworking, fast-moving, restless, strong-willed. He has a fearsome temper.\"\n\n\"I sometimes wish I had a fearsome temper,\" Philip said. \"It keeps people on their toes. But everyone knows I'm always reasonable, so I'm never obeyed with quite the same alacrity as a prior who might explode at any minute.\"\n\nFrancis laughed. \"Stay just the way you are,\" he said. He became serious again. \"Henry has made me realize the importance of the king's personality. Look at Stephen: his judgment is poor; he's determined in short bursts, then he gives up; he's courageous to the point of foolishness and he pardons his enemies all the time. People who betray him risk very little: they know they can count on his mercy. Consequently, he's struggled unsuccessfully for eighteen years to rule a land that was a united kingdom when he took it over. Henry already has more control over his collection of previously independent duchies and counties than Stephen has ever had here.\"\n\nPhilip was struck by an idea. \"Why did Henry send you to England?\" he said.\n\n\"To survey the kingdom.\"\n\n\"What have you found?\"\n\n\"That it is lawless and starving, battered by storms and ravaged by war.\"\n\nPhilip nodded thoughtfully. Young Henry was duke of Normandy because he was the eldest son of Maud, who was the only legitimate child of old King Henry, who had been duke of Normandy and king of England.\n\nBy that line of descent young Henry could also claim to be king of England.\n\nHis mother had made the same claim, and had been opposed because she was a woman and because her husband was an Angevin. But young Henry was not only male but had the additional merit of being both Norman (on his mother's side) and Angevin (on his father's).\n\nPhilip said: \"Is Henry going to try for the crown of England?\"\n\n\"It depends on my report,\" said Francis.\n\n\"And what will you tell him?\"\n\n\"That there will never be a better time than now.\"\n\n\"Praise God,\" said Philip."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "On his way to Bishop Waleran's castle, Earl William stopped at Cowford Mill, which he owned. The miller, a dour middle-aged man called Wulfric, had the right to grind all the grain grown in eleven nearby villages. As his fee he kept two sacks in every twenty: one for himself and one for William.\n\nWilliam went there to collect his dues. He did not normally do this personally, but these were not normal times. Nowadays he had to provide an armed escort for every cart carrying flour or anything else edible. In order to use his people in the most economical way he was in the habit of taking a wagon or two with him, whenever he moved around with his entourage of knights, and collecting whatever he could.\n\nThe surge in outlaw crime was an unfortunate side effect of his firm policy on bad tenants. Landless people often turned to theft. Generally, they were no more efficient as thieves than they had been as farmers, and William had expected most of them to die off during the winter. At first his expectations had been borne out: the outlaws either went for lone travelers who had little to be stolen, or they carried out ill-organized raids on well-defended targets. Lately, however, the outlaws' tactics had improved. Now they always attacked with at least double the numbers of the defending force. They came when barns were full, a sign that they were reconnoitering carefully. Their attacks were sudden and swift, and they had the courage of desperation. However, they did not stay to fight, but each man fled as soon as he had got his hands on a sheep, a ham, a cheese, a sack of flour or a bag of silver. There was no point in pursuing them, for they melted into the forest, dividing up and running all ways. Someone was commanding them, and he was doing it just the way William would have.\n\nThe outlaws' success humiliated William. It made him look like a buffoon who could not police his own earldom. To make matters worse, the outlaws rarely stole from anyone else. It looked as if they were deliberately defying him. William hated nothing more than the feeling that people were laughing at him behind their hands. He had spent his life forcing people to respect him and his family, and this band of outlaws was undoing all his work.\n\nEspecially galling for William was what people were saying behind his back: that it served him right, he had treated his tenants harshly and now they were taking their revenge, he had brought this on himself. Such talk made him apoplectic with rage.\n\nThe villagers of Cowford looked startled and fearful as William and his knights rode in. William scowled at the thin, apprehensive faces that looked out from the doorways and quickly disappeared again. These people had sent their priest to plead for them to be allowed to grind their own grain this year, saying that they could not afford to give the miller a tenth. William had been tempted to pull out the priest's tongue for insolence.\n\nThe weather was cold, and there was ice around the rim of the millpond. The waterwheel was still and the grindstone silent. A woman came out of the house beside the mill. William felt a spasm of desire when he looked at her. She was about twenty years old, with a pretty face and a cloud of dark curls. Despite the famine she had big breasts and strong thighs. She had a saucy look when she first appeared, but the sight of William's knights wiped it off her face, and she ducked back inside.\n\n\"She didn't fancy us,\" Walter said. \"She must have seen Gervase.\" It was an old joke, but they laughed anyway.\n\nThey tied up their horses. It was not exactly the same group that William had gathered around him when the civil war began. Walter was still with him, of course, and Ugly Gervase, and Hugh Axe; but Gilbert had died in the unexpectedly bloody battle with the quarrymen, and had been replaced by Guillaume; and Miles had lost an arm in a sword fight over dice at an alehouse in Norwich, and Louis had joined the group. They were not boys anymore, but they talked and acted just the same, laughing and drinking, gambling and whoring. William had lost count of the alehouses they had wrecked, the Jews they had tormented and the virgins they had deflowered.\n\nThe miller came out. No doubt his sour expression was due to the perennial unpopularity of millers. His grouchy look was overlaid by anxiety. That was all right: William liked people to be anxious when he turned up.\n\n\"I didn't know you had a daughter, Wulfric,\" William said, leering. \"You've been hiding her from me.\"\n\n\"That's Maggie, my wife,\" he said.\n\n\"Cow shit. Your wife's a raddled old crone, I remember her.\"\n\n\"My May died last year, lord. I've married again.\"\n\n\"You dirty old dog!\" William said, grinning. \"This one must be thirty years younger than you!\"\n\n\"Twenty-five\u2014\"\n\n\"Enough of that. Where's my flour? One sack in twenty!\"\n\n\"All here, lord. If you please to come in.\"\n\nThe way into the mill was through the house. William and the knights followed Wulfric into the single room. The miller's new young wife was kneeling in front of the fire, putting logs on. As she bent down, her tunic stretched tight across her rear. She had meaty haunches, William observed. A miller's wife was one of the last to go hungry in a famine, of course.\n\nWilliam stopped, looking at her bottom. The knights grinned and the miller fidgeted. The girl looked around, realized they were staring at her, and stood up, covered in confusion.\n\nWilliam winked at her and said: \"Bring us some ale, Maggie\u2014we're thirsty men.\"\n\nThey went through a doorway to the mill. The flour was in sacks piled around the outside of the circular threshing floor. There was not much of it. Normally the stacks were higher than a man. \"Is this all?\" William said.\n\n\"It was such a poor harvest, lord,\" Wulfric said nervously.\n\n\"Where's mine?\"\n\n\"Here, lord.\" He pointed to a pile of eight or nine sacks.\n\n\"What?\" William felt his face flush. \"That's mine? I've got two wagons outside, and you offer me that?\"\n\nWulfric's face became even more doleful. \"I'm sorry, lord.\"\n\nWilliam counted them. \"It's only nine sacks!\"\n\n\"That's all there is,\" Wulfric said. He was almost in tears. \"You see mine next to yours, and it's the same\u2014\"\n\n\"You lying dog,\" William said angrily. \"You've sold it\u2014\"\n\n\"No, lord,\" Wulfric insisted. \"That's all there ever was.\"\n\nMaggie came to the doorway with six pottery tumblers of ale on a tray. She offered the tray to each of the knights. They took a mug each and drank thirstily. William ignored her. He was too wound up to drink. She stood waiting with the one remaining tumbler on the tray.\n\n\"What's all this?\" William said to Wulfric, pointing to the rest of the sacks, another twenty-five or thirty piled around the walls.\n\n\"Awaiting collection, lord\u2014you see the owner's mark on the sacks....\"\n\nIt was true: each sack was marked with a letter or symbol. That might be a trick, of course, but there was no way William could establish the truth. He found it maddening. But it was not his way to accept this kind of situation. \"I don't believe you,\" he said. \"You've been robbing me.\"\n\nWulfric was respectfully insistent, even though his voice was shaking. \"I'm honest, lord.\"\n\n\"There's never been an honest miller yet.\"\n\n\"Lord\u2014\" Wulfric swallowed hard. \"Lord, I've never cheated you by so much as a grain of wheat\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll bet you've been robbing me blind.\"\n\nSweat ran down Wulfric's face despite the cold weather. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. \"I'm ready to swear by Jesus and the saints\u2014\"\n\n\"Shut your mouth.\"\n\nWulfric was silent.\n\nWilliam was letting himself get madder and madder but he still had not decided what to do. He wanted to give Wulfric a bad scare, perhaps let Walter beat him up with the chain-mail gloves, possibly take some or all of Wulfric's own flour.... Then his eye fell on Maggie, holding the tray with one cup of ale on it, her pretty face rigid with fear, her big young breasts swelling under the floury tunic; and he thought of the perfect punishment for Wulfric. \"Grab the wife,\" he said to Walter out of the corner of his mouth. To Wulfric he said: \"I'm going to teach you a lesson.\"\n\nMaggie saw Walter moving toward her but she was too late to escape. As she turned away, Walter grabbed her arm and pulled. The tray fell with a crash and beer spilled on the floor as Maggie was jerked back. Walter twisted her arm behind her back and held her. She was shaking with fear.\n\nWulfric said: \"No, leave her, please!\" in a panicky voice.\n\nWilliam gave a satisfied nod. Wulfric was going to see his young wife raped by several men and he would be powerless to save her. Another time he would make sure to have enough grain to satisfy his lord.\n\nWilliam said: \"Your wife's getting plump on bread made from stolen flour, Wulfric, while the rest of us are tightening our belts. Let's see just how fat she is, shall we?\" He nodded to Walter.\n\nWalter grasped the neck of Maggie's tunic and pulled sharply down. The garment ripped and fell away. Underneath she wore a linen shirt that reached her knees. Her ample breasts rose and fell as she panted with fear. William stood in front of her. Walter twisted her arm harder, so that she arched her back in pain, and her breasts stuck out even more. William looked at Wulfric, then put his hands on her breasts and kneaded them. They were soft and heavy in his hands.\n\nWulfric took a step forward and said: \"You devil\u2014\"\n\n\"Hold him,\" William snapped, and Louis grabbed the miller by both arms and held him still.\n\nWilliam ripped off the girl's undershirt.\n\nHis throat went dry as he stared at her voluptuous white body.\n\nWulfric said: \"No, please\u2014\"\n\nWilliam felt his desire rising. \"Hold her down,\" he said.\n\nMaggie began to scream.\n\nWilliam unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it on the floor as the knights took Maggie by the arms and legs. She had no hope of resisting four strong men, but all the same she kept writhing and screaming. William liked that. Her breasts jiggled as she moved, and her thighs opened and closed, alternately hiding and revealing her sex. The four knights pinned her down on the threshing floor.\n\nWilliam knelt between her legs and lifted the skirt of his tunic. He looked up at her husband. Wulfric was distraught. He was staring in horror and mumbling pleas for mercy which could not be heard over the screaming. William savored the moment: the terrified woman, the knights holding her down, the husband looking on.\n\nThen Wulfric's eyes flickered away.\n\nWilliam sensed danger. Everyone in the room was staring at him and the girl. The only thing that could conceivably divert Wulfric's attention was the possibility of rescue. William turned his head and looked toward the doorway.\n\nAt that moment something heavy and hard hit him on the head.\n\nHe roared with pain and collapsed on top of the girl. His face banged against hers. Suddenly he could hear men shouting, lots of them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Walter fall as if he, too, had been clubbed. The knights released their hold on Maggie. William looked at her face and read shock and relief there. She started to wriggle out from under him. He let her go and rolled away fast.\n\nThe first thing he saw above him was a wild-looking man with a woodsman's ax, and he thought: For God's sake, who is it? The father of the girl? He saw Guillaume rise and turn, and in the next instant the ax came down hard on Guillaume's unprotected neck, its sharp blade cutting deep into his flesh. Guillaume fell on William, dead. His blood spurted all over William's tunic.\n\nWilliam pushed the corpse off him. When he was able to look up again he saw that the mill had been invaded by a crowd of ragged, wild-haired, unwashed men armed with clubs and axes. There were a lot of them. He realized he was in trouble. Had the villagers come to the rescue of Maggie? How dare they! There would be some hangings in this village before the end of the day. Enraged, he scrambled to his feet and reached for his sword.\n\nHe did not have it. He had dropped his belt in order to rape the girl.\n\nHugh Axe, Ugly Gervase and Louis were fighting fiercely against what looked like a huge mob of beggars. There were several dead peasants on the ground, but nevertheless the three knights were slowly being driven back across the threshing floor. William saw the naked Maggie, still screaming, forcing her way frantically through the melee toward the door, and even in his confusion and fear he felt a spasm of regretful desire for that round white backside. Then he saw that Wulfric was fighting hand to hand with some of the attackers. Why was the miller fighting the men who had rescued his wife? What the devil was going on?\n\nBewildered, William looked around for his sword belt. It was lying on the floor almost at his feet. He picked it up and drew the sword, then took three steps back to stay clear of the fighting a moment longer. Looking past the fracas, he saw that most of the attackers were not fighting at all\u2014they were picking up sacks of flour and running out with them. William began to understand. This was not a rescue operation by outraged villagers. This was a raiding party from outside. They were not interested in Maggie, and they had not known that William and his knights were inside the mill. All they wanted to do was rob the mill and steal William's flour.\n\nIt was obvious who the raiders must be: outlaws.\n\nHe felt a surge of heat. This was his chance to strike back at the rabid pack who had been terrorizing the county and emptying his barns.\n\nHis knights were overwhelmingly outnumbered. There were at least twenty attackers. William was astonished at the courage of the outlaws. Peasants would normally scatter like chickens before a band of knights, whether they outnumbered the knights by two to one or ten to one. But these people fought hard, and were not discouraged when one of their number fell. They seemed ready to die if necessary. Perhaps that was because they were going to die anyway, of starvation, unless they could steal this flour.\n\nLouis was fighting two men at the same time when a third came up behind him and clubbed him with an ironheaded carpenter's hammer. Louis fell down and stayed down. The man dropped the hammer and picked up Louis's sword. Now there were two knights against twenty outlaws. But Walter was recovering from the blow to his head, and he now drew his sword and entered the melee. William raised his weapon and joined in.\n\nThe four of them made a formidable fighting team. The outlaws were driven back, desperately parrying the flashing swords with their clubs and axes. William began to think their morale might crack and they might flee in disorder. Then one of them shouted: \"The rightful earl!\"\n\nIt was some kind of rallying cry. Others took it up, and the outlaws fought more fiercely. The repeated cry, \"The rightful earl\u2014the rightful earl!,\" struck a chill into William's heart even as he was fighting for his life. It meant that whoever was commanding this army of outlaws had set his sights on William's title. William fought harder, as if this skirmish might determine the future of the earldom.\n\nOnly half the outlaws were actually fighting the knights, William realized. The rest were moving the flour. The combat settled into a steady exchange of thrust and parry, swipe and dodge. Like soldiers who know that the retreat must be sounded soon, the outlaws had begun to fight in a cautious, defensive style.\n\nBehind the fighting outlaws, the others were carrying the last of the flour sacks out of the mill. The outlaws began to retreat, backing through the doorway that led from the threshing floor into the house. William realized that whatever happened now, the outlaws had got away with most of the flour. In no time at all the whole county would know that they had stolen it from under his nose. He was going to be a laughingstock. The thought enraged him so much that he pressed a fierce attack on his opponent and stabbed the man through the heart with a classic thrust.\n\nThen an outlaw caught Hugh with a lucky jab and stabbed his right shoulder, putting him out of action. Now there were two outlaws in the doorway holding off the three surviving knights. That in itself was humiliating enough; but then, with monumental arrogance, one of the outlaws waved the other away. The man disappeared, and the last outlaw stepped back a pace, into the single room of the miller's house.\n\nOnly one of the knights could stand in the doorway and fight the outlaw. William pushed forward, shouldering Walter and Gervase aside: he wanted this man for himself. As their swords clashed, William realized immediately that this man was no dispossessed peasant: he was a hardened fighting man like William himself. For the first time he looked into the outlaw's face; and the shock was so great he almost dropped his sword.\n\nHis opponent was Richard of Kingsbridge.\n\nRichard's face blazed with hatred. William could see the scar on his mutilated ear. The force of Richard's rancor frightened William more than his flashing sword. William had thought he had crushed Richard finally, but now Richard was back, at the head of a ragamuffin army that had made a fool of William.\n\nRichard came at William hard, taking advantage of his momentary shock. William sidestepped a thrust, raised his sword, parried a slash and stepped back. Richard pressed forward, but now William was partly shielded by the doorway, which restricted Richard's attack to stabbing strokes. Nevertheless Richard drove William farther back, until William was on the threshing floor of the mill and Richard was in the doorway. Now, however, Walter and Gervase went at Richard. Under pressure from the three of them he retreated again. As soon as he backed through the doorway, Walter and Gervase were squeezed out, and it was William against Richard.\n\nWilliam realized that Richard was in a nasty position. As soon as he gained ground he found himself fighting three men. When William tired he could give place to Walter. It was almost impossible for Richard to hold all three of them off indefinitely. He was fighting a losing battle. Perhaps today would not end in humiliation for William after all. Perhaps he would kill his oldest enemy.\n\nRichard must have been thinking along the same lines and presumably he had come to the same conclusion. However, there was no apparent loss of energy or determination. He looked at William with a savage grin that William found unnerving, and leaped forward with a long thrust. William dodged it and stumbled. Walter lunged forward to defend William from the coup de gr\u00e2ce\u2014but instead of coming on, Richard turned on his heel and fled.\n\nWilliam stood up and Walter bumped into him, while Gervase tried to squeeze past them. It took a moment for the three to disentangle themselves, but in that moment Richard crossed the little room, slipped out and banged the door shut. William went after him and threw the door open. The outlaws were making their escape\u2014and, in a final humiliating stroke, they were riding off on the horses of William's knights. As William burst out of the house he saw his own mount, a superb war-horse that had cost him a king's ransom, with Richard in the saddle. The horse had obviously been untied and held ready. William was struck by the mortifying thought that this was the second time Richard had stolen his war-horse. Richard kicked its sides, and it reared up\u2014it was not kind to strangers\u2014but Richard was a good horseman and he stayed on. He sawed on the reins and got the horse's head down. In that moment William darted forward and lunged at Richard with his sword; but the horse was bucking, and William missed, sticking the point of his blade into the wood of the saddle. Then the horse took off, bolting down the village street after the other fleeing outlaws.\n\nWilliam watched them go with murder in his heart.\n\nThe rightful earl, he thought. The rightful earl.\n\nHe turned around. Walter and Gervase stood behind him. Hugh and Louis were wounded, he did not know how badly, and Guillaume was dead, his blood all over the front of William's tunic. William was completely humiliated. He could hardly hold up his head.\n\nFortunately the village was deserted: the peasants had fled, not waiting to see William's wrath. The miller and his wife had also vanished, of course. The outlaws had taken all the knights' horses, leaving only the two carts and their oxen.\n\nWilliam looked at Walter. \"Did you see who that was, that last one?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWalter was in the habit of using as few words as possible when his master was in a rage.\n\nWilliam said: \"It was Richard of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nWalter nodded.\n\n\"And they called him the rightful earl,\" William finished.\n\nWalter said nothing.\n\nWilliam went back through the house and into the mill.\n\nHugh was sitting up, his left hand pressed to his right shoulder. He looked pale.\n\nWilliam said: \"How does it feel?\"\n\n\"This is nothing,\" Hugh said. \"Who were those people?\"\n\n\"Outlaws,\" William said shortly. He looked around. There were seven or eight outlaws lying dead or wounded on the floor. He spotted Louis flat on his back with his eyes open. At first he thought the man was dead; then Louis blinked.\n\nWilliam said: \"Louis.\"\n\nLouis raised his head, but he looked confused. He had not yet recovered.\n\nWilliam said: \"Hugh, help Louis into one of the carts. Walter, put Guillaume's body into the other.\" He left them to it and went outside.\n\nNone of the villagers would have horses, but the miller did, a dappled cob grazing the sparse grass on the riverbank. William found the miller's saddle and put it on the cob.\n\nA little while later he rode away from Cowford with Walter and Gervase driving the ox carts.\n\nHis fury did not abate on the journey to Bishop Waleran's castle. In fact, as he brooded over what he had learned he got angrier. It was bad enough that the outlaws had been able to defy him; it was worse that they were led by his old enemy Richard; and it was intolerable that they should call Richard the rightful earl. If they were not put down decisively, very soon Richard would use them to launch a direct attack on William. It would be totally illegal for Richard to take over the earldom that way, of course; but William had a feeling that complaints of illegal attack, coming from him, might not get a sympathetic hearing. The fact that William had been ambushed, overcome by outlaws, and robbed, and that the whole county would shortly be laughing at his humiliation, was not the worst of his problems. Suddenly his hold over his earldom was seriously threatened.\n\nHe had to kill Richard, of course. The question was how to find him. He brooded over the problem all the way to the castle; and by the time he arrived he had figured out that Bishop Waleran probably held the key.\n\nThey rode into Waleran's castle like a comic procession at a fair, the earl on a dappled cob and his knights driving ox carts. William roared peremptory orders at the bishop's men, sending one to fetch an infirmarer for Hugh and Louis and another to get a priest to pray for the soul of Guillaume. Gervase and Walter went to the kitchen for beer, and William entered the keep and was admitted to Waleran's private quarters. William hated to have to ask Waleran for anything, but he needed Waleran's help in locating Richard.\n\nThe bishop was reading an accounts roll, an endless list of numbers. He looked up and saw the rage on William's face. \"What happened?\" he said, in a tone of mild amusement that always infuriated William.\n\nWilliam gritted his teeth. \"I've discovered who is organizing and leading these damned outlaws.\"\n\nWaleran raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"It's Richard of Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" Waleran nodded understanding. \"Of course. It makes sense.\"\n\n\"It makes danger,\" William said angrily. He hated it when Waleran was cool and reflective about things. \"They call him 'the rightful earl.' \" He pointed a finger at Waleran. \"You certainly don't want that family back in charge of this earldom\u2014they hate you, and they're friends with Prior Philip, your old enemy.\"\n\n\"All right, calm down,\" Waleran said condescendingly. \"You're quite right, I can't have Richard of Kingsbridge taking over the earldom.\"\n\nWilliam sat down. His body was beginning to ache. These days he felt the aftereffects of a fight in a way he never used to. He had strained muscles, sore hands, and bruises where he had been struck or had fallen. I'm only thirty-seven, he thought; is this when old age begins? He said: \"I have to kill Richard. Once he's gone, the outlaws will degenerate into a helpless rabble.\"\n\n\"I agree.\"\n\n\"Killing him will be easy. The problem is finding him. But you can help me with that.\"\n\nWaleran rubbed his sharp nose with his thumb. \"I don't see how.\"\n\n\"Listen. If they're organized, they must be somewhere.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you mean. They're in the forest.\"\n\n\"You can't find outlaws in the forest, normally, because they're scattered all over the place. Most of them don't spend two nights running in the same spot. They make a fire anywhere, and sleep in trees. But if you want to organize such people, you have to gather them all together in one place. You have to have a permanent hideout.\"\n\n\"So we have to discover the location of Richard's hideout.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"How do you propose to do that?\"\n\n\"That's where you come in.\"\n\nWaleran looked skeptical.\n\nWilliam said: \"I bet half the people in Kingsbridge know where it is.\"\n\n\"But they won't tell us. Everyone in Kingsbridge hates you and me.\"\n\n\"Not everyone,\" said William. \"Not quite.\"\n\nSally thought Christmas was wonderful.\n\nThe special Christmas food was mostly sweet: gingerbread dolls; frumenty, made with wheat and eggs and honey; perry, the sweet pear wine that made her giggly; and Christmas umbles, tripes boiled for hours, then baked in a sweet pie. There was less of it this year, because of the famine, but Sally enjoyed it just as much.\n\nShe liked decorating the house with holly and hanging up the kissing-bush, although the kissing made her giggle even more than the pear wine. The first man across the threshold brought luck, as long as he was black-haired: Sally's father had to stay indoors all Christmas morning, for his red hair would bring people bad luck. She loved the Nativity play in the church. She liked to see the monks dressed up as Eastern kings and angels and shepherds, and she laughed fit to bust when all the false idols fell down as the Holy Family arrived in Egypt.\n\nBut best of all was the boy bishop. On the third day of Christmas, the monks dressed the youngest novice in bishop's robes, and everyone had to obey him.\n\nMost of the townspeople waited in the priory close for the boy bishop to come out. Inevitably he would order the older and more dignified citizens to do menial tasks such as fetching firewood and mucking out pigsties. He also put on exaggerated airs and graces and insulted those in authority. Last year he had made the sacrist pluck a chicken: the result was hilarious, for the sacrist had no idea what to do and there were feathers everywhere.\n\nHe emerged in great solemnity, a boy of about twelve years with a mischievous grin, dressed in a purple silk robe and carrying a wooden crozier, and riding on the shoulders of two monks, with the rest of the monastery following. Everyone clapped and cheered. The first thing he did was to point to Prior Philip and say: \"You, lad! Get over to the stable and groom the donkey!\"\n\nEveryone roared with laughter. The old donkey was notoriously bad-tempered and was never brushed. Prior Philip said: \"Yes, my lord bishop,\" with a good-natured grin, and went off to do his task.\n\n\"Forward!\" the boy bishop commanded. The procession moved out of the priory close, with the townspeople following. Some people hid away and locked their doors, for fear that they would be picked on to perform some unpleasant task; but then they missed the fun. All Sally's family had come: her mother and father, her brother, Tommy, Aunt Martha, and even Uncle Richard, who had returned home unexpectedly last night.\n\nThe boy bishop led them first to the alehouse, as was traditional. There he demanded free beer for himself and all the novices. The brewer handed it over with good grace.\n\nSally found herself sitting on a bench next to Brother Remigius, one of the older monks. He was a tall, unfriendly man and she had never spoken to him before, but now he smiled at her and said: \"It's nice that your Uncle Richard came home at Christmas.\"\n\nSally said: \"He gave me a wooden pussycat that he carved himself with his knife.\"\n\n\"That's nice. Will he stay long, do you think?\"\n\nSally frowned. \"I don't know.\"\n\n\"I expect he has to go back soon.\"\n\n\"Yes. He lives in the forest now.\"\n\n\"Do you know where?\"\n\n\"Yes. It's called Sally's Quarry. That's my name!\" She laughed.\n\n\"So it is,\" said Brother Remigius. \"How interesting.\"\n\nWhen they had drunk, the boy bishop said: \"And now\u2014Andrew Sacrist and Brother Remigius will do the Widow Poll's washing.\"\n\nSally squealed with laughter and clapped her hands. Widow Poll was a rotund, red-faced woman who took in laundry. The fastidious monks would hate the job of washing the smelly undershirts and stockings that people changed every six months.\n\nThe crowd left the alehouse and carried the boy bishop in procession to Poll's one-room house down by the quay. Poll had a laughing fit and turned even redder when they told her who was going to do her laundry.\n\nAndrew and Remigius carried a heavy basket of dirty clothing from the house to the riverbank. Andrew opened the basket and Remigius, with an expression of utter distaste on his face, pulled out the first garment. A young woman called out saucily: \"Careful with that one, Brother Remigius, it's my chemise!\" Remigius flushed and everyone laughed. The two middle-aged monks put a brave face on it and began to wash the clothes in the river water, with the townspeople calling advice and encouragement. Andrew was thoroughly fed up, Sally could see, but Remigius had a strangely contented look on his face."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "A huge iron ball hung by a chain from a wooden scaffold, like a hangman's noose dangling from a gallows. There was also a rope tied to the ball. This rope ran over a pulley on the upright post of the scaffold and hung down to the ground, where two laborers held it. When the laborers hauled on the rope, the ball was pulled up and back until it touched the pulley, and the chain lay horizontally along the arm of the scaffold.\n\nMost of the population of Shiring was watching.\n\nThe men let go of the rope. The iron ball dropped and swung, smashing into the wall of the church. There was a terrific thud, the wall shuddered, and William felt the impact in the ground beneath his feet. He thought how he would like to have Richard clamped to the wall in just the place where the ball would hit. He would be squashed like a fly.\n\nThe laborers hauled on the rope again. William realized he was holding his breath as the iron ball stopped at the top of its travel. The men let go; the ball swung; and this time it tore a hole in the stone wall. The crowd applauded.\n\nIt was an ingenious mechanism.\n\nWilliam was happy to see work progressing on the site where he would build the new church, but he had more urgent matters on his mind today. He looked around for Bishop Waleran, and spotted him standing with Alfred Builder. William approached them and drew the bishop aside. \"Is the man here yet?\"\n\n\"He may be,\" said Waleran. \"Come to my house.\"\n\nThey crossed the market square. Waleran said: \"Have you brought your troops?\"\n\n\"Of course. Two hundred of them. They're waiting in the woods just outside town.\"\n\nThey went into the house. William smelled boiled ham and his mouth watered, despite his urgent haste. Most people were being sparing with food at the moment, but with Waleran it seemed to be a matter of principle not to let the famine change his way of life. The bishop never ate much, but he liked everyone to know that he was far too rich and powerful to be affected by mere harvests.\n\nWaleran's place was a typical narrow-fronted town house, with a hall at the front and a kitchen behind, and a yard at the back with a cesspit, a beehive and a pigsty. William was relieved to see a monk waiting in the hall.\n\nWaleran said: \"Good day, Brother Remigius.\"\n\nRemigius said: \"Good day, my lord bishop. Good day, Lord William.\"\n\nWilliam looked eagerly at the monk. He was a nervous man with an arrogant face and prominent blue eyes. His face was vaguely familiar, as one among many tonsured heads at services in Kingsbridge. William had been hearing about him for years, as Waleran's spy in Prior Philip's camp, but this was the first time he had spoken to the man. \"Have you got some information for me?\" he said.\n\n\"Possibly,\" Remigius replied.\n\nWaleran threw off his fur-trimmed cloak and went to the fire to warm his hands. A servant brought hot elderberry wine in silver goblets. William took some and drank it, waiting impatiently for the servant to leave.\n\nWaleran sipped his wine and gave Remigius a hard look. As the servant went out Waleran said to the monk: \"What excuse did you give for leaving the priory?\"\n\n\"None,\" Remigius replied.\n\nWaleran raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"I'm not going back,\" Remigius said defiantly.\n\n\"How so?\"\n\nRemigius took a deep breath. \"You're building a cathedral here.\"\n\n\"It's just a church.\"\n\n\"It's going to be very big. You're planning to make this the cathedral church, eventually.\"\n\nWaleran hesitated, then said: \"Suppose, for the sake of argument, that you're right.\"\n\n\"The cathedral will have to be run by a chapter, either of monks or of canons.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\n\"I want to be prior.\"\n\nThat made sense, William thought.\n\nWaleran said tartly: \"And you're so confident of getting the job that you've left Kingsbridge without Philip's permission and with no excuse.\"\n\nRemigius looked uncomfortable. William sympathized with him: Waleran in a scornful mood was enough to make anyone fidget. \"I hope I'm not overconfident,\" Remigius said.\n\n\"Presumably you can lead us to Richard.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWilliam interrupted excitedly: \"Good man! Where is he?\"\n\nRemigius remained silent and looked at Waleran.\n\nWilliam said: \"Come on, Waleran, give him the job, for God's sake!\"\n\nStill Waleran hesitated. William knew he hated to feel coerced. At last Waleran said: \"All right. You shall be prior.\"\n\nWilliam said: \"Now, where's Richard?\"\n\nRemigius continued to look at Waleran. \"From today?\"\n\n\"From today.\"\n\nRemigius now turned to William. \"A monastery isn't just a church and a dormitory. It needs lands, farms, churches paying tithes,\"\n\n\"Tell me where Richard is, and I'll give you five villages with their parish churches, just to start you off,\" William said.\n\n\"The foundation will need a proper charter.\"\n\nWaleran said: \"You shall have it, never fear.\"\n\nWilliam said: \"Come on, man, I've got an army waiting outside town. Where's Richard's hideout?\"\n\n\"It's a place called Sally's Quarry, just off the Winchester road.\"\n\n\"I know it!\" William had to restrain himself from giving a whoop of triumph. \"It's a disused quarry. Nobody goes there anymore.\"\n\n\"I remember,\" said Waleran. \"It hasn't been worked for years. It's a good hideout\u2014you wouldn't know it was there unless you actually walked into it.\"\n\n\"But it's also a trap,\" William said with savage glee. \"The worked-out walls are sheer on three sides. Nobody will escape. I won't be taking any prisoners, either.\" His excitement rose as he pictured the scene. \"I'll slaughter them all. It will be like killing chickens in a hen house.\"\n\nThe two men of God were looking at him oddly. \"Feeling a little squeamish, Brother Remigius?\" William said scornfully. \"Does the thought of a massacre turn the stomach of my lord bishop?\" He was right both times, he could tell by their faces. They were great schemers, these religious men, but when it came to bloodshed they still had to rely on men of action. \"I know you'll be praying for me,\" he said sarcastically; and he left.\n\nHis horse was tied up outside, a black stallion that had replaced\u2014but did not equal\u2014the war-horse Richard had stolen. He mounted and rode out of town. He suppressed his excitement and tried to think coolly about tactics.\n\nHe wondered how many outlaws would be at Sally's Quarry. They had mounted raids with more than a hundred men at a time. There would be at least two hundred of them, perhaps as many as five hundred. William's force could be outnumbered, so he would need to make the most of his advantages. One was surprise. Another was weaponry: most of the outlaws had clubs, hammers or at best axes, and none had armor. But the most important advantage was that William's men were on horseback. The outlaws had few horses and it was not likely that many of them would be saddled ready just at the moment William attacked. To give himself a further edge he decided to send a few bowmen up the sides of the hill to shoot down into the quarry for a few moments before the main assault.\n\nThe most important thing was to prevent any of the outlaws from escaping, at least until he was sure that Richard was captured or dead. He decided to assign a handful of trustworthy men to hang back behind the main assault and sweep up any wily ones who tried to slip out.\n\nWalter was waiting with the knights and men-at-arms where William had left them a couple of hours earlier. They were eager and morale was high: they anticipated an easy victory. A short while later they were trotting along the Winchester road.\n\nWalter rode alongside William, not speaking. One of Walter's greatest assets was his ability to remain silent. William found that most people talked to him constantly, even when there was nothing to say, probably out of nervousness. Walter respected William, but was not nervous of him: they had been together too long.\n\nWilliam felt a familiar mixture of eager anticipation and mortal fear. This was the one thing in the world he did well, and every time he did it he risked his life. But this raid was special. Today he had a chance to destroy the man who had been a thorn in his flesh for fifteen years.\n\nToward noon they stopped in a village large enough to have an alehouse. William bought the men bread and beer and they watered the horses. Before moving on he briefed the men.\n\nA few miles farther on they turned off the Winchester road. The path they took was barely visible, and William would not have noticed it had he not been looking for it. Once on it, he could follow it by observing the vegetation: there was a strip four or five yards wide with no mature trees.\n\nHe sent the archers on ahead and, to give them a start, he slowed the rest of the men for a few moments. It was a clear January day, and the leafless trees hardly dimmed the cold sunlight. William had not been to the quarry for many years and he was now not sure how far away it might be. However, once they were a mile or so from the road he began to see signs that the track was in use: trampled vegetation, broken saplings and churned mud. He was glad to have confirmation of Remigius's report.\n\nHe felt as taut as a bowstring. The signs became much more obvious: heavily trampled grass, horse droppings, human refuse. This far into the forest the outlaws had made no attempt to conceal their presence. There was no longer any doubt. The outlaws were here. The battle was about to begin.\n\nThe hideout must be very close. William strained his hearing. At any moment his bowmen would begin the attack, and there would be shouts and curses, screams of agony, and the neighing of terrified horses.\n\nThe track led into a wide clearing, and William saw, a couple of hundred yards ahead, the entrance to Sally's Quarry. There was no noise. Something was wrong. His bowmen were not shooting. William felt a shiver of apprehension. What had happened? Could his bowmen have been ambushed and silently dispatched by sentries? Not all of them, surely.\n\nBut there was no time to ponder: he was almost on top of the outlaws. He spurred his horse into a gallop. His men followed suit, and they thundered toward the hideout. William's fear evaporated in the exhilaration of the charge.\n\nThe way into the quarry was like a small twisted ravine, and William could not see inside as he approached. Glancing up, he saw some of his archers standing on top of the bluff, looking in. Why were they not shooting? He had a premonition of disaster, and he would have stopped and turned around, except that the charging horses could not now be stopped. With his sword in his right hand, holding the reins with his left, his shield hanging from his neck, he galloped into the disused quarry.\n\nThere was nobody there.\n\nThe anticlimax hit him like a blow. He was almost ready to burst into tears. All the signs had been there: he had felt so sure. Now frustration gripped his guts like a pain.\n\nAs the horses slowed, he saw that this had been the outlaws' hideout not long ago. There were makeshift shelters of branches and reeds, the remains of cooking fires, and a dunghill. A corner of the area had been fenced with a few sticks and used to corral the horses. Here and there William saw the litter of human occupation: chicken bones, empty sacks, a wornout shoe, a broken pot. One of the fires appeared to be smoking. He had a sudden surge of hope: perhaps they had only just left, and could still be caught! Then he saw a single figure squatting on the ground by the fire. He approached it. The figure stood up. It was a woman.\n\n\"Well, well, William Hamleigh,\" she said. \"Too late, as usual.\"\n\n\"Insolent cow, I'll tear out your tongue for that,\" he said.\n\n\"You won't touch me,\" she replied calmly. \"I've cursed better men than you.\" She put her hand to her face in a three-fingered gesture, like a witch. The knights shrank back, and William crossed himself protectively. The woman looked at him fearlessly with a pair of startling golden eyes. \"Don't you know me, William?\" she said. \"You once tried to buy me for a pound.\" She laughed. \"Lucky for you that you didn't succeed.\"\n\nWilliam remembered those eyes. This was the widow of Tom Builder, the mother of Jack Jackson, the witch who lived in the forest. He was indeed glad he had not succeeded in buying her. He wanted to get away from her as fast as he could, but he had to question her first. \"All right, witch,\" he said. \"Was Richard of Kingsbridge here?\"\n\n\"Until two days ago.\"\n\n\"And where did he go, can you tell me that?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I can,\" she said. \"He and his outlaws have gone to fight for Henry.\"\n\n\"Henry?\" William said. He had a dreadful feeling that he knew which Henry she meant. \"The son of Maud?\"\n\n\"That's right,\" she said.\n\nWilliam went cold. The energetic young duke of Normandy might succeed where his mother had failed\u2014and if Stephen was defeated now, William might fall with him. \"What's happened?\" he said urgently. \"What has Henry done?\"\n\n\"He's crossed the water with thirty-six ships and landed at Wareham,\" the witch replied. \"He's brought an army of three thousand men, they say. We've been invaded.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "Winchester was crowded, tense and dangerous. Both armies were here: King Stephen's royal forces were garrisoned in the castle, and Duke Henry's rebels\u2014including Richard and his outlaws\u2014were camped outside the city walls, on Saint Giles's Hill where the annual fair was held. The soldiers of both sides were banned from the town itself, but many of them defied the ban, and spent their evenings in the alehouses, cockpits and brothels, where they got drunk and abused women and fought and killed one another over games of dice and ninemen's morris.\n\nAll the fight had gone out of Stephen in the summer when his elder son died. Now Stephen was in the royal castle and Duke Henry was staying at the bishop's palace, and peace talks were being conducted by their representatives, Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury speaking for the king, and the old power-broker Bishop Henry of Winchester for Duke Henry. Every morning, Archbishop Theobald and Bishop Henry would confer at the bishop's palace. At noon Duke Henry would walk through the streets of Winchester, with his lieutenants\u2014including Richard\u2014in train, and go to the castle for dinner.\n\nThe first time Aliena saw Duke Henry she could not believe that this was the man who ruled an empire the size of England. He was only about twenty years old, with the tanned, freckled complexion of a peasant. He was dressed in a plain dark tunic with no embroidery, and his reddish hair was cut short. He looked like the hardworking son of a prosperous yeoman. However, after a while she realized that he had some kind of aura of power. He was stocky and muscular, with broad shoulders and a large head; but the impression of crude physical strength was modified by keen, watchful gray eyes; and the people around him never got too close to him, but treated him with wary familiarity, as if they were afraid he might lash out at any moment.\n\nAliena thought the dinners at the castle must have been unpleasantly tense, with the leaders of opposing armies around the same table. She wondered how Richard could bear to sit down with Earl William. She would have taken the carving knife to William instead of to the venison. She herself saw William only from a distance, and briefly. He looked anxious and bad-tempered, which was a good sign.\n\nWhile the earls and bishops and abbots met in the keep, the lesser nobility gathered in the castle courtyard: the knights and sheriffs, minor barons, justiciars and castellans; people who could not stay away from the capital city while their future and the future of the kingdom were being decided. Aliena met Prior Philip there most mornings. Every day there were a dozen different rumors. One day all the earls who supported Stephen were to be degraded (which would mean the end of William); next day, all of them were to retain their positions, which would dash Richard's hopes. All Stephen's castles were to be pulled down, then all the rebels' castles, then everyone's castles, then none. One rumor said that every one of Henry's supporters would get a knighthood and a hundred acres. Richard did not want that, he wanted the earldom.\n\nRichard had no idea which rumors were true, if any. Although he was one of Henry's trusted battlefield lieutenants, he was not consulted about the details of political negotiations. Philip, however, seemed to know what was going on. He would not say where he was getting his information, but Aliena recalled that he had a brother, who had visited Kingsbridge now and again, and who had worked for Robert of Gloucester and the Empress Maud: now perhaps he worked for Duke Henry.\n\nPhilip reported that the negotiators were close to agreement. The deal was that Stephen would continue as king until he died, but Henry would be his successor. This made Aliena anxious. Stephen could live for another ten years. What would happen in the interim? Stephen's earls would surely not be deposed while he continued to rule. So how would Henry's supporters\u2014such as Richard\u2014gain their rewards? Would they be expected to wait?\n\nPhilip learned the answer late one afternoon, when they had all been in Winchester a week. He sent a novice messenger to bring Aliena and Richard to him. As they walked through the busy streets to the cathedral close, Richard was full of savage eagerness, but Aliena was possessed by trepidation.\n\nPhilip was waiting for them in the graveyard, and they talked among the tombstones as the sun went down. \"They've reached agreement,\" Philip said without preamble. \"But it's a bit of a muddle.\"\n\nAliena could not bear the tension. \"Will Richard be earl?\" she said urgently.\n\nPhilip rocked his hand from side to side in the gesture that meant maybe yes, maybe no. \"It's complicated. They've made a compromise. Lands that have been taken away by usurpers shall be restored to the people who owned them in the time of old King Henry.\"\n\n\"That's all I need!\" Richard said immediately. \"My father was earl in King Henry's time.\"\n\n\"Shut up, Richard,\" Aliena snapped. She turned to Philip. \"So what's the complication?\"\n\nPhilip said: \"There's nothing in the agreement that says Stephen has to enforce it. There probably won't be any changes until he dies and Henry becomes king.\"\n\nRichard was crestfallen. \"But that cancels it out!\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" Philip said. \"It means that you are the rightful earl.\"\n\n\"But I have to live as an outlaw until Stephen dies\u2014while that animal William occupies my castle,\" Richard said angrily.\n\n\"Not so loud,\" Philip protested as a priest walked by. \"All this is still secret.\"\n\nAliena was seething. \"I don't accept this,\" she said. \"I'm not prepared to wait for Stephen to die. I've been waiting seventeen years and I've had enough.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"But what can you do?\"\n\nAliena addressed Richard. \"Most of the country acclaims you as the rightful earl. Stephen and Henry have now acknowledged that you are the rightful earl. You should seize the castle and rule as the rightful earl.\"\n\n\"I can't seize the castle. William is sure to have left it guarded.\"\n\n\"You've got an army, haven't you?\" she said, becoming carried away by the force of her own anger and frustration. \"You've got the right to the castle and you've got the power to take it.\"\n\nRichard shook his head. \"In fifteen years of civil war, do you know how many times I've seen a castle taken by frontal attack? None.\" As always, he seemed to gain authority and maturity as soon as he began to talk about military matters. \"It almost never happens. A town, sometimes, but not a castle. They may surrender after a siege, or be relieved by reinforcements; and I've seen them taken through cowardice or trickery or treachery; but not by main force.\"\n\nAliena was still not ready to accept this. It seemed to her a counsel of despair. She could not resign herself to more years of waiting and hoping. She said: \"So what would happen if you took your army to William's castle?\"\n\n\"They would raise the drawbridge and close the gates before we could get inside. We would camp outside. Then William would come to the rescue with his army and attack our camp. But even if we beat him off, we still wouldn't have the castle. Castles are hard to attack and easy to defend\u2014that's the point of them.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the seed of an idea was germinating in Aliena's agitated mind. \"Cowardice, trickery or treachery,\" she said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You've seen castles taken by cowardice, trickery or treachery.\"\n\n\"Oh. Yes.\"\n\n\"Which did William use, when he took the castle from us, all those years ago?\"\n\nPhilip interrupted: \"Times were different. The country had had peace, under the old King Henry, for thirty-five years. William took your father by surprise.\"\n\nRichard said: \"He used trickery. He got inside the castle surreptitiously, with a few men, before the alarm was raised. But Prior Philip is right: you couldn't get away with that nowadays. People are much more wary.\"\n\n\"I could get in,\" Aliena said confidently, although as she spoke the words her heart raced with fear.\n\n\"Of course you could\u2014you're a woman,\" Richard said. \"But you couldn't do anything once you were inside. That's how come they'd let you in. You're harmless.\"\n\n\"Don't be so damned arrogant,\" she flared. \"I've killed to protect you, and that's more than you've ever done for me, you ungrateful pig, so don't you dare call me harmless.\"\n\n\"All right, you're not harmless,\" he said angrily. \"What would you do, once inside the castle?\"\n\nAliena's anger evaporated. What would I do? she thought fearfully. To hell with it, I've got at least as much courage and resourcefulness as that pig William. \"What did William do?\"\n\n\"Kept the drawbridge down and the gate open long enough for the main attacking force to get inside.\"\n\n\"Then that's what I'll do,\" Aliena said with her heart in her mouth.\n\n\"But how?\" Richard said skeptically.\n\nAliena remembered giving comfort to a fourteen-year-old girl who was frightened of a storm. \"The countess owes me a favor,\" she said. \"And she hates her husband.\"\n\nThey rode through the night, Aliena and Richard and fifty of his best men, and reached the vicinity of Earlscastle at dawn. They halted in the forest across the fields from the castle. Aliena dismounted, took off her cloak of Flanders wool and her soft leather boots, and put on a coarse peasant blanket and a pair of clogs. One of the men handed her a basket of fresh eggs packed in straw, which she slung over her arm.\n\nRichard looked her up and down and said: \"Perfect. A peasant girl bringing produce for the castle kitchen.\"\n\nAliena swallowed hard. Yesterday she had been full of fire and boldness, but now that she was about to carry out her plan she was scared.\n\nRichard kissed her cheek. He said: \"When I hear the bell, I'll say the Paternoster slowly once, then the advance party will start out. All you have to do is lull the guards into a false sense of security, so that ten of my men can get across the fields and into the castle without causing alarm.\"\n\nAliena nodded. \"Just make sure the main group doesn't break cover until the advance party-is across the drawbridge.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"I'll be leading the main group. Don't worry. Good luck.\"\n\n\"You too.\"\n\nShe walked away.\n\nShe emerged from the woodland and set out across the open fields toward the castle she had left on that awful day sixteen years ago. Seeing the place again, she had a vivid, terrifying memory of that other morning, the air damp after the storm, and the two horses charging out of the gate across the rain-sodden fields; Richard on the war-horse and she on the smaller mount, both mortally afraid. She had been denying what had happened, deliberately forgetting, chanting to herself in time with the horse's hoofbeats: \"I can't remember I can't remember I can't I can't I can't.\" It had worked: for a long time afterward she had been unable to recall the rape, remembering that something terrible had happened but never recollecting the details. Not until she fell in love with Jack had it come back to her; and then the memory had so terrified her that she had been unable to respond to his love. Thank God he had been so patient. That was how she knew his love was strong; because he had put up with so much and still loved her.\n\nAs she came closer to the castle she conjured up some good memories, to calm her nerves. She had lived here as a child, with her father and Richard. They had been wealthy and secure. She had played on the castle ramparts with Richard, hung around in the kitchen and scrounged bits of sweet pastry, and sat beside her father at dinner in the great hall. I didn't know I was happy, she thought. I had no idea how fortunate I was to have nothing to be afraid of.\n\nThose good times will begin again today, she said to herself, if only I can do this right.\n\nShe had confidently said The countess owes me a favor, and she hates her husband, but as they rode through the night she had thought of all the things that could go wrong. First, she might not get into the castle at all: something might have happened to put the garrison on the alert, the guards might be suspicious, or she might just be unlucky enough to come across an obstructive sentry. Second, when she was inside she might not be able to persuade Elizabeth to betray her husband. It was a year and a half since Aliena had met Elizabeth in the storm: women could get used to the most vicious men, in time, and Elizabeth might be reconciled to her fate by now. Third, even if Elizabeth was willing, she might not have the authority or the nerve to do what Aliena wanted. She had been a frightened little girl last time they met, and it could be that the castle guard would refuse to obey her.\n\nAliena felt unnaturally alert as she crossed the drawbridge: she could see and hear everything with abnormal clarity. The garrison was just waking up. A few bleary-eyed guards were lounging on the ramparts, yawning and coughing, and an old dog sat in the gateway scratching itself. She pulled her hood forward to hide her face, in case anyone should recognize her, and passed under the arch.\n\nThere was a slovenly sentry on duty at the gatehouse, sitting on a bench eating a huge hunk of bread. His clothing was disarrayed and his sword belt was hanging from a hook at the back of the room. With her heart in her mouth, and a smile that belied her fear, Aliena showed him her basket of eggs.\n\nHe waved her in with an impatient gesture.\n\nShe had passed the first obstacle.\n\nDiscipline was slack. It was understandable: this was a token force, left behind while the best men went to war. All the excitement was elsewhere.\n\nUntil today.\n\nSo far, so good. Aliena crossed the lower courtyard with her nerves on edge. It was very odd to be a stranger walking into the place that had been her home, to be an infiltrator where once she had had the right to go anywhere she pleased. She looked around, careful not to be too blatantly curious. Most of the wooden buildings had changed: the stables were bigger, the kitchen had been moved and there was a new stone-built armory. The place seemed dirtier than it used to be. But the chapel was still there, the chapel where she and Richard had sat out that awful storm, shocked and numb and freezing cold. A handful of castle servants were beginning their morning chores. One or two men-at-arms moved about the compound. They looked menacing, but perhaps that was because she was aware that they would have killed her if they had known what she was going to do.\n\nIf her plan worked, by tonight she would once again be mistress of this castle. The thought was thrilling but unreal, like a marvelous, impossible dream.\n\nShe went into the kitchen. A boy was stoking the fire and a young girl was slicing carrots. Aliena smiled brightly at them and said: \"Twenty-four fresh eggs.\" She put her basket on the table.\n\nThe boy said: \"Cook's not up yet. You'll have to wait for your money.\"\n\n\"Can I get a bite of bread for my breakfast?\"\n\n\"In the great hall.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" She left her basket and went out again.\n\nShe crossed the second drawbridge to the upper compound. She smiled at the guard in the second gateway. He had uncombed hair and bloodshot eyes. He looked her up and down and said: \"And where are you going?\" His voice was playfully challenging.\n\n\"To get some breakfast,\" she said without stopping.\n\nHe leered. \"I've got something for you to eat,\" he called after her.\n\n\"I might bite it off, though,\" she said over her shoulder.\n\nThey did not suspect her for a moment. It did not occur to them that a woman could be dangerous. How foolish they were. Women could do most of the things men did. Who was left in charge when the men were fighting wars, or going on crusades? There were women carpenters, dyers, tanners, bakers and brewers. Aliena herself was one of the most important merchants in the county. The duties of an abbess, running a nunnery, were exactly the same as those of an abbot. Why, it had been a woman, the Empress Maud, who caused the civil war that had gone on for fifteen years! Yet these wooden-headed men-at-arms did not expect a woman to be an enemy agent because it was not the normal thing.\n\nShe ran up the steps of the keep and entered the hall. There was no steward at the door. That was presumably because the master was away. In future I will make sure there is always a steward at the door, Aliena thought, whether the master is at home or not.\n\nFifteen or twenty people were eating breakfast around a small table. One or two of them glanced up at her, but nobody took any notice. The hall was quite clean, she observed, and there were one or two feminine touches: freshly whitewashed walls, and sweet-smelling herbs mixed with the rushes on the floor. Elizabeth had made her mark in a small way. That was a hopeful sign.\n\nWithout speaking to the people around the table, Aliena walked across the hall to the staircase in the corner, trying to look as if she had every right to be there, but expecting at any moment to be stopped. She got to the foot of the stairs without attracting attention. Then, as she ran up toward the private apartments on the top floor, she heard someone say: \"You can't go up there\u2014hey, you!\" She ignored the voice. She heard someone come after her.\n\nShe reached the top, panting. Would Elizabeth sleep in the main bedroom, the one Aliena's father had occupied? Or would she have a bed of her own in the room that had been Aliena's? She hesitated for an instant, her heart pounding. She guessed that by now William had tired of having Elizabeth sleep with him every night, and probably allowed her a room of her own. Aliena knocked at the smaller room and opened the door.\n\nShe had been right. Elizabeth was sitting by the fire, wearing a nightshirt, brushing her hair. She looked up, frowned, and then recognized Aliena. \"It's you!\" she said. \"What a surprise!\" She seemed pleased.\n\nAliena heard heavy footsteps on the stairs behind her. \"May I come in?\" she said.\n\n\"Of course\u2014and welcome!\"\n\nAliena stepped inside and closed the door quickly. She crossed the room to where Elizabeth sat. A man burst in, saying, \"Hey, you, who do you think you are?\" and came after Aliena as if to seize her.\n\n\"Stay where you are!\" she said in her most commanding voice. He hesitated. She said: \"I come to see the countess, with a message from Earl William, and you would have learned that earlier if you had been guarding the door instead of stuffing your face with horsebread.\"\n\nHe looked guilty.\n\nElizabeth said: \"It's all right, Edgar, I know this lady.\"\n\n\"Very well, countess,\" he said. He went out and closed the door.\n\nI made it, Aliena thought. I got in.\n\nShe looked around while her heartbeat returned to normal. The room was not very different from when it had been hers. There were dried petals in a bowl, a pretty tapestry on the wall, some books, and a trunk for clothes. The bed was in the same place\u2014in fact it was the same bed\u2014and on the pillow was a rag doll just like the one Aliena had had. It made her feel old.\n\n\"This used to be my room,\" she said.\n\n\"I know,\" said Elizabeth.\n\nAliena was surprised. She had not told Elizabeth about her past.\n\n\"I've found out all about you since that terrible storm,\" Elizabeth explained. She added: \"I admire you so much.\" She had the gleam of hero-worship in her eyes.\n\nThat was a good sign.\n\n\"And William?\" Aliena said. \"Are you any happier, living with him?\"\n\nElizabeth looked away. \"Well,\" she said, \"I have my own room now, and he's been away a lot. In fact everything's much better.\" Then she began to cry.\n\nAliena sat on the bed and put her arms around the girl. Elizabeth cried with deep, wrenching sobs, and tears flooded down her cheeks. In between sobs she gasped: \"I\u2014hate\u2014him! I\u2014wish\u2014I\u2014could\u2014die!\"\n\nHer anguish was so pitiful, and she was so young, that Aliena was close to tears herself. She was painfully aware that Elizabeth's fate could easily have been her own. She patted Elizabeth's back as she would have done with Sally.\n\nEventually Elizabeth became calmer. She wiped her wet face with the sleeve of her nightshirt. \"I'm so afraid of having a baby,\" she said miserably. \"I'm terrified because I know how he would mistreat the child.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" Aliena said. She had once been terrified by the thought that she might be pregnant with William's child.\n\nElizabeth looked at her wide-eyed. \"Is it true what they say, about... what he did to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, it's true. I was your age when it happened.\"\n\nFor a moment they looked into one another's eyes, brought close by a shared loathing. Suddenly Elizabeth did not look like a child anymore.\n\nAliena said: \"You could get free of him, if you want. Today.\"\n\nElizabeth stared at her. \"Is it true?\" she said with pitiable eagerness. \"Is it true?\"\n\nAliena nodded. \"That's why I'm here.\"\n\n\"I could go home?\" Elizabeth said, her eyes filling with fresh tears. \"I could go home to Weymouth, to my mother? Today?\"\n\n\"Yes. But you'll have to be brave.\"\n\n\"I'll do anything,\" she said. \"Anything! Just tell me.\"\n\nAliena remembered explaining how she could acquire authority with her husband's employees, and she wondered whether Elizabeth had been able to put the principles into practice. \"Do the servants still push you around?\" she asked candidly.\n\n\"They try.\"\n\n\"But you don't let them.\"\n\nShe looked embarrassed. \"Well, sometimes I do. But I'm sixteen now, and I've been countess for nearly two years... and I've been trying to follow your advice, and it really works!\"\n\n\"Let me explain,\" Aliena began. \"King Stephen has made a pact with Duke Henry. All lands are to be returned to the people who held them in the time of the old King Henry. That means my brother Richard will become earl of Shiring\u2014sometime. But he wants it now.\"\n\nElizabeth was wide-eyed. \"Is Richard going to make war on William?\"\n\n\"Richard is very close right now, with a small company of men. If he can take over the castle today, he will be recognized as earl, and William will be finished.\"\n\n\"I can't believe it,\" Elizabeth said. \"I can't believe it's really true.\" Her sudden optimism was even more heartrending than her abject misery had been.\n\n\"All you have to do is let Richard in peacefully,\" Aliena said. \"Then, when it's all over, we'll take you home.\"\n\nElizabeth looked fearful again. \"I'm not sure the men will do what I say.\"\n\nThat was Aliena's worry. \"Who is the captain of the guard?\"\n\n\"Michael Armstrong. I don't like him.\"\n\n\"Send for him.\"\n\n\"Right.\" Elizabeth wiped her nose, stood up, and went to the door. \"Madge!\" she called out in a piercing voice. Aliena heard a distant reply. \"Go and fetch Michael. Tell him to come here right away\u2014I want to see him urgently. Hurry, please.\"\n\nShe came back in and began to dress quickly, throwing a tunic over her nightdress and lacing up her boots. Aliena briefed her rapidly. \"Tell Michael to ring the big bell to summon everyone to the courtyard. Say you've received a message from Earl William and you want to speak to the entire garrison, men-at-arms and servants and everyone. You want three or four men to stand guard while everyone else gathers in the lower courtyard. Also tell him you're expecting a group of ten or twelve horsemen to arrive at any moment with a further message, and they must be brought to you as soon as they arrive.\"\n\n\"I hope I can remember it all,\" Elizabeth said nervously.\n\n\"Don't worry\u2014if you forget, I'll prompt you.\"\n\n\"That makes me feel better.\"\n\n\"What's Michael Armstrong like?\"\n\n\"Smelly and surly and built like an ox.\"\n\n\"Intelligent?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"So much the better.\"\n\nA moment later the man came in. He had a grumpy expression, a short neck and massive shoulders, and he brought with him the odor of the pigsty. He looked inquiringly at Elizabeth, giving the impression that he resented being disturbed.\n\n\"I've received a message from the earl,\" Elizabeth began.\n\nMichael held out his hand.\n\nAliena was horrified to realize that she had not taken the precaution of providing Elizabeth with a letter. The whole deception could collapse right at the outset because of a silly mistake. Elizabeth threw her a despairing look. Aliena cast about frantically for something to say. Finally she was inspired. \"Can you read, Michael?\"\n\nHe looked resentful. \"The priest will read it to me.\"\n\n\"Your lady can read.\"\n\nElizabeth looked scared, but she said: \"I shall give the message to the whole garrison myself, Michael. Ring the bell and get everyone assembled in the courtyard. But make sure to leave three or four men on guard on the ramparts.\"\n\nAs Aliena had feared, Michael did not like Elizabeth taking command like this. He looked rebellious. \"Why not let me address them?\"\n\nAliena realized anxiously that she might not be able to persuade this man: he could be too stupid to listen to reason. She said: \"I have brought the countess momentous news from Winchester. She wants to tell her people herself.\"\n\n\"Well, what is the news?\" he said.\n\nAliena said nothing and looked at Elizabeth. Once again Elizabeth looked scared. However, Aliena had not told her what was supposed to be in the fictitious message, so Elizabeth could not possibly accede to Michael's request. In the end she simply went on as if Michael had not spoken. \"Tell the guards to look out for a group of ten or twelve horsemen. Their leader will have fresh news from Earl William, and he must be brought to me immediately. Now ring the bell.\"\n\nMichael was clearly disposed to argue. He stood still, frowning, while Aliena held her breath. \"More messengers,\" he said, as if it were something very difficult to understand. \"This lady with one message, and twelve horsemen with another.\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014now would you please go and ring the bell?\" Elizabeth said. Aliena could hear the quaver in her voice.\n\nMichael looked defeated. He could not understand what was happening, but he saw nothing to object to either. Finally he said a grudging \"Very well, lady,\" and went out.\n\nAliena breathed again.\n\nElizabeth said: \"What's going to happen?\"\n\n\"When they're gathered in the courtyard, you'll tell them about the peace between King Stephen and Duke Henry,\" Aliena said. \"That will distract everyone. While you're speaking, Richard will send out an advance party of ten men. However, the guards will think they are the messengers we are expecting from Earl William, so they won't immediately panic and raise the drawbridge. You have to try to keep everyone interested in what you're saying while the advance party approaches the castle. All right?\"\n\nElizabeth looked nervous. She said: \"And then what?\"\n\n\"When I give you the word, say you have surrendered the castle to the rightful earl, Richard. Then Richard's army will break cover and charge the castle. At that point Michael will realize what's happening. But his men will be in doubt about their loyalty\u2014because you have told them to surrender, and called Richard the rightful earl\u2014and the advance party will be inside to prevent anyone from closing the gates.\" The bell began to ring. Aliena's stomach knotted in fear. \"We've run out of time. How do you feel?\"\n\n\"Scared.\"\n\n\"Me too. Let's go.\"\n\nThey went down the stairs. The bell on the gatehouse tower was ringing as it had when Aliena was a carefree girl. Same bell, same sound, different Aliena, she thought. She knew it could be heard all across the fields, as far away as the edge of the forest. Richard would by now be saying the Paternoster slowly under his breath, to measure the time he had to wait before sending his advance party.\n\nAliena and Elizabeth walked from the keep across the internal drawbridge to the lower courtyard. Elizabeth was pale with fear, but her mouth was set in a determined line. Aliena smiled at her to give her courage, then pulled up her hood again. So far she had not seen anyone familiar, but she was a well-known face all over the county, and someone was sure to recognize her sooner or later. If Michael Armstrong were to find out who she was he might smell a rat, dimwitted though he undoubtedly was. Several people gave her curious glances, but no one spoke to her.\n\nShe and Elizabeth went to the middle of the lower courtyard. Because the ground sloped somewhat, Aliena could see over the heads of the crowd and through the main gate to the fields outside. The advance party should be breaking cover about now, but she could see no sign of them. Oh, God, I hope there's no snag, she thought fearfully.\n\nElizabeth would need something to stand on while she addressed the people. Aliena told a manservant to fetch a mounting block from the stable. While they were waiting, an elderly woman looked at Aliena and said: \"Why, it's the Lady Aliena! How nice to see you!\"\n\nAliena's heart sank. She recognized the woman as a cook who had worked at the castle before the coming of the Hamleighs. She forced a smile and said: \"Hello, Tilly, how are you?\"\n\nTilly nudged her neighbor. \"Hey, it's the Lady Aliena come back after all these years. Are you going to be mistress again, lady?\"\n\nAliena did not want that thought to occur to Michael Armstrong. She looked around anxiously. Happily, Michael was not within earshot. However, one of his men-at-arms had heard the exchange and was staring at Aliena with a furrowed brow. Aliena looked back at him with a simulated expression of unconcern. The man only had one eye\u2014which no doubt was why he had been left behind here instead of going off to war with William\u2014and it suddenly seemed funny to Aliena to be stared at by a man with one eye, and she had to choke back a laugh. She realized she was slightly hysterical.\n\nThe manservant came back with the mounting block. The bell ceased to toll. Aliena made herself calm as Elizabeth stood on the block and the crowd went quiet.\n\nElizabeth said: \"King Stephen and Duke Henry have made peace.\"\n\nShe paused, and a cheer went up. Aliena was looking through the gateway. Now, Richard, she thought; now is the time, don't leave it too late!\n\nElizabeth smiled and let the people cheer for a while, then she went on: \"Stephen is to remain king until he dies, then Henry will succeed him.\"\n\nAliena scrutinized the guards on the towers and over the gatehouse. They looked relaxed. Where was Richard?\n\nElizabeth said: \"The peace treaty will bring many changes in our lives.\"\n\nAliena saw the guards stiffen. One of them raised his hand to shade his eyes and peered out over the fields, while another turned and looked down into the courtyard as if hoping to catch the eye of the captain. But Michael Armstrong was listening intently to Elizabeth.\n\n\"The present and future kings have agreed that all lands shall be returned to those who possessed them in the time of the old King Henry.\"\n\nThat caused a buzz of comment in the crowd, as people speculated whether this change would affect the earldom of Shiring. Aliena noticed Michael Armstrong looking thoughtful. Through the gateway she at last saw the horses of Richard's advance party. Hurry, she thought, hurry! But they were coming at a steady trot, so as not to alarm the guards.\n\nElizabeth was saying: \"We must all give thanks to God for this peace treaty. We should pray that King Stephen will rule wisely in his declining years, and that the young duke will keep his peace until God takes Stephen away....\" She was doing magnificently, but she was beginning to look troubled, as if she might be about to run out of things to say.\n\nAll the guards were looking outward, examining the approaching party. They had been told to expect such a group, and instructed to bring the leader to the countess immediately, so no action was required of them, but they were curious.\n\nThe one-eyed man turned around and looked through the gate, then turned back and stared at Aliena again, and she guessed he was frowning over the significance of her presence here and the approach of a troop of horsemen.\n\nOne of the guards on the battlements appeared to make a decision, and disappeared down a staircase.\n\nThe crowd was getting a little restless. Elizabeth was meandering magnificently, but they were impatient for hard news. She said: \"This war started within a year of my birth, and like many young people up and down the kingdom I am looking forward to finding out what peace is like.\"\n\nThe guard from the battlements emerged from the base of a tower, walked briskly across the compound, and spoke to Michael Armstrong.\n\nThrough the gateway, Aliena could see that the horsemen were still a couple of hundred yards away. It was not close enough. She could have screamed in frustration. She would not be able to contain this situation much longer.\n\nMichael Armstrong turned and looked through the gate, frowning. Then the one-eyed man pulled Michael's sleeve and said something, pointing at Aliena.\n\nAliena was afraid Michael would close the gates and raise the drawbridge before Richard could get in, but she did not know what she could do to prevent him. She wondered whether she had the nerve to throw herself at him before he could give the order. She still wore her dagger strapped to her left arm: she could even kill him. He turned away decisively. Aliena reached up and touched Elizabeth's elbow. \"Stop Michael!\" she hissed.\n\nElizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She looked petrified by fear. Then her expression changed. She took a deep breath, tilted her head up, and spoke in a voice ringing with authority. \"Michael Armstrong!\"\n\nMichael turned back.\n\nThis was the point of no return, Aliena realized. Richard was not quite close enough but she had run out of time. She said to Elizabeth: \"Now! Tell them now!\"\n\nElizabeth said: \"I have surrendered this castle to the rightful earl of Shiring, Richard of Kingsbridge.\"\n\nMichael stared unbelievingly at Elizabeth. \"You can't do that!\" he shouted.\n\nElizabeth said: \"I command you all to lay down your weapons. There is to be no bloodshed.\"\n\nMichael turned around and yelled: \"Raise the drawbridge! Shut the gates!\"\n\nThe men-at-arms rushed to do his bidding, but he had hesitated a moment too long. As the men reached the massive ironbound doors that would close the entrance arch, Richard's advance party clattered over the drawbridge and entered the compound. Most of Michael's men were not wearing armor and some of them did not even have their swords, and they scattered in front of the horsemen.\n\nElizabeth shouted: \"Everyone keep calm. These messengers will confirm my orders.\"\n\nThere was a shout from the battlements: one of the guards cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled down: \"Michael! Attack! We're being attacked! Scores of them!\"\n\n\"Treachery!\" Michael roared, and drew his sword. But two of Richard's men were on him instantly, their blades flashing. Blood gushed and he went down. Aliena looked away.\n\nSome of Richard's men had taken possession of the gatehouse and the winding room. Two of them made it to the battlements, and Michael's guards surrendered to them.\n\nThrough the gateway Aliena saw the main force galloping across the fields toward the castle, and her spirits rose like the sun.\n\nElizabeth shouted at the top of her voice: \"This is a peaceful surrender. No one is going to be hurt, I promise you. Just stay where you are.\"\n\nEveryone stood stock-still, listening to the thunder as Richard's army pounded closer. Michael's men-at-arms looked confused and uncertain, but none of them did anything: their leader had fallen, and their countess had told them to surrender. The castle servants were paralyzed by the rapidity of events.\n\nThen Richard came through the gateway on his war-horse.\n\nIt was a great moment, and Aliena's heart swelled with pride. Richard was handsome, smiling, and triumphant. Aliena shouted: \"The rightful earl!\" The men entering the castle behind Richard took up the cry, and it was repeated by some of the crowd in the courtyard\u2014most of them had no love for William. Richard rode around the compound at a slow walk, waving and acknowledging the cheers.\n\nAliena thought about all she had gone through for the sake of this moment. She was thirty-four years old and she had spent half of those years fighting for this. The whole of my adult life, she thought; that's what I gave. She remembered stuffing wool into sacks until her hands were red and swollen and bleeding. She recalled the faces she had seen on the road, greedy and cruel and lascivious faces of men who would have killed her if she had given the least sign of weakness. She thought of how she had hardened her heart against dear Jack, and married Alfred instead; and she thought of the months during which she had slept on the floor at the foot of his bed like a dog; and all because he had promised to pay for weapons and armor so that Richard could fight to win back this castle. \"There it is, Father,\" she said aloud. Nobody heard her: they were cheering too loud. \"This is what you wanted,\" she said to her dead father, and there was bitterness as well as triumph in her heart. \"I promised you this, and I kept my promise. I took care of Richard, and he fought all these years, and now we're home again at last, and Richard is the earl. Now...\" Her voice rose to a shout, but everyone was shouting, and no one noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. \"Now, Father, I've done with you, so go to your grave, and let me live in peace!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "Remigius was arrogant, even in penury. He entered the wooden manor house at Hamleigh village with his head held high, and looked down his long nose at the huge, roughhewn wooden crucks supporting the roof, the wattle-and-daub walls, and the chimneyless open fire in the middle of the beaten-earth floor.\n\nWilliam watched him walk in. I may be down on my luck, but I'm not as far down as you, he thought, noting the monk's much-repaired sandals, the grubby robe, the unshaven chin and the unkempt hair. Remigius had never been a fat man but now he was thinner than ever. The haughty expression fixed on his face failed to conceal the lines of exhaustion or the purplish folds of defeat under his eyes. Remigius was not yet bowed, but he was very badly beaten.\n\n\"Bless you, my son,\" he said to William.\n\nWilliam was not having any of that. \"What do you want, Remigius?\" he said, deliberately insulting the monk by not calling him \"Father\" or \"Brother.\"\n\nRemigius flinched as if he had been struck. William guessed he had received a few taunts of that kind since he came down in the world. Remigius said: \"The lands you gave to me as dean of the chapter at Shiring have been repossessed by Earl Richard.\"\n\n\"I'm not surprised,\" William replied. \"Everything is to be returned to those who possessed it in the time of the old King Henry.\"\n\n\"But that leaves me with no means of support.\"\n\n\"You and a lot of other people,\" William said carelessly. \"You'll have to go back to Kingsbridge.\"\n\nRemigius's face paled with anger. \"I can't do that,\" he said in a low voice.\n\n\"Why not?\" said William, tormenting him.\n\n\"You know why not.\"\n\n\"Would Philip say you shouldn't prise secrets out of little girls? Does he think you betrayed him, by telling me where the outlaws' hideout was? Would he be angry with you for becoming the dean of a church that was to take the place of his own cathedral? Well, then I suppose you can't go back.\"\n\n\"Give me something,\" Remigius pleaded. \"One village. A farm. A little church!\"\n\n\"There are no rewards for losing, monk,\" William said harshly. He was enjoying this. \"In the world outside the monastery, nobody looks after you. The ducks swallow the worms, and the foxes kill the ducks, and the men shoot the foxes, and the devil hunts the men.\"\n\nRemigius's voice sank to a whisper. \"What am I to do?\"\n\nWilliam smiled and said: \"Beg.\"\n\nRemigius turned on his heel and left the house.\n\nStill proud, William thought, but not for long. You'll beg.\n\nIt pleased him to see someone who had fallen harder than he himself. He would never forget the excruciating agony of standing outside the gate of his own castle and being refused admittance. He had been suspicious when he heard that Richard and some of his men had left Winchester; then when the peace pact was announced his unease had turned to alarm, and he had taken his knights and men and ridden hard to Earlscastle. There was a skeleton force guarding the castle, so he expected to find Richard camped in the fields, laying siege. When all appeared peaceful he had been relieved, and berated himself for overreacting to Richard's sudden disappearance.\n\nWhen he got closer he saw that the drawbridge was up. He had reined in at the edge of the moat and shouted: \"Open up for the earl!\"\n\nThat was when Richard had appeared on the battlements and said: \"The earl is inside.\"\n\nIt was like the ground falling away from under William's feet. He had always been afraid of Richard, always aware of him as a dangerous rival, but he had not felt himself especially vulnerable at this moment in time. He had thought the real danger would come when Stephen died and Henry came to the throne, which might be ten years away. Now, as he sat in a mean manor house brooding over his mistakes, he realized bitterly that Richard had in fact been very clever. He had slipped through a narrow gap. He could not be accused of breaching the king's peace, as the war was still on. His claim to the earldom had been legitimized by the terms of the peace treaty. And Stephen, aging and tired and defeated, had no energy left for further battles.\n\nRichard had magnanimously released those of William's men-at-arms who wanted to continue in William's service. Waldo One-eye had told William how the castle had been taken. The treachery of Elizabeth was maddening, but for William it was the part played by Aliena that was most humiliating. The helpless little girl he had raped and tormented and thrown out of her home all those years ago had come back and taken her revenge. Every time he thought of that his stomach burned with bitterness as if he had drunk vinegar.\n\nHis first inclination had been to fight Richard. William could have kept his army, lived off the country side, and extorted taxes and supplies from the peasants, fighting a running battle with his rival. But Richard held the castle, and he had time on his side, for William's supporter Stephen was old and beaten, and Richard was backed by the young Duke Henry, who would eventually become the second King Henry.\n\nSo William had decided to cut his losses. He had retired to the village of Hamleigh and moved back into the manor house where he had been brought up. Hamleigh, and the villages surrounding it, had been granted to his father thirty years ago. It was a holding that had never been part of the earldom, so Richard had no claim to it.\n\nWilliam hoped that if he kept his head down Richard would be satisfied with the revenge he had already taken, and would leave him alone. So far it had worked. However, William hated the village of Hamleigh. He hated the small neat houses, the excitable ducks on the pond, the pale gray stone church, the apple-cheeked children, the broad-hipped women and the strong, resentful men. He hated it for being humble, plain and poor, and he hated it because it symbolized his family's fall from power. He watched the plodding peasants begin the spring plowing, and estimated what his share of their crop would be that summer, and he found it meager. He went hunting in his few acres of forest and failed to start a single deer, and the forester said to him: \"The boar is all you can hunt now, lord\u2014the outlaws had the deer in the famine.\" He held court in the great hall of the manor house, with the wind whistling through the holes in its wattle-and-daub walls; and he gave harsh judgments and imposed large fines and ruled according to his whim; but it brought him little satisfaction.\n\nHe had abandoned the building of the grand new church at Shiring, of course. He could not afford to build a stone house for himself, let alone a church. The builders had stopped work when he had stopped paying them, and what had happened to them he did not know: perhaps they had all gone back to Kingsbridge to work for Prior Philip.\n\nBut now he was having nightmares.\n\nThey were all the same. He saw his mother in the place of the dead. She was bleeding from her ears and eyes, and when she opened her mouth to speak, more blood came out. The sight filled him with mortal terror. In broad daylight he could not say what it was about the dream that he feared, for she did not threaten him in any way. But at night, when she came to him, the fear possessed him totally, an irrational, hysterical, blind panic. Once as a boy he had waded into a pond that suddenly got deeper, and he had found himself below the surface and unable to breathe; and the overpowering need for air that had possessed him then was one of the indelible memories of his childhood; but this was ten times as bad. Trying to get away from his mother's bloody face was like trying to sprint in quicksand. He would come awake as if he had been thrown across the room, violently shocked, sweating and moaning, his body taut with agony from the racked-up tension. Walter would be at his bedside with a candle\u2014William slept in the hall, separated from the men by a screen, for there was no bedroom here. \"You cried out, lord,\" Walter would murmur. William would breathe hard, staring at the real bed and the real wall and the real Walter, while the power of the nightmare slowly faded to the point where he was no longer afraid; and then he would say: \"It was nothing, a dream, go away.\" But he would be frightened to go back to sleep. And the next day the men would look at him as if he were bewitched.\n\nA few days after his conversation with Remigius, he was sitting in the same hard chair, by the same smoky fire, when Bishop Waleran walked in.\n\nWilliam was startled. He had heard horses, but he had assumed it was Walter, coming back from the mill. He did not know what to do when he saw the bishop. Waleran had always been arrogant and superior, and time and time again he had made William feel foolish, clumsy and coarse. It was humiliating that Waleran should see the humble surroundings in which he now lived.\n\nWilliam did not get up to greet his visitor. \"What do you want?\" he said curtly. He had no reason to be polite: he wanted Waleran to get out as soon as possible.\n\nThe bishop ignored his rudeness. \"The sheriff is dead,\" he said.\n\nAt first William did not see what he was getting at. \"What's that to me?\"\n\n\"There will be a new sheriff.\"\n\nWilliam was about to say So what? but he stopped himself. Waleran was concerned about who would be the new sheriff. And he had come to talk to William about it. That could only mean one thing, couldn't it? Hope rose in his breast, but he suppressed it fiercely: where Waleran was involved, high hopes often ended in frustration and disappointment. He said: \"Who have you got in mind?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\nIt was the answer William had not dared to hope for. He wished he could believe in it. A clever and ruthless sheriff could be almost as important and influential as an earl or a bishop. This could be his way back to wealth and power. He forced himself to consider the snags. \"Why would King Stephen appoint me?\"\n\n\"You supported him against Duke Henry, and as a result you lost your earldom. I imagine he would like to recompense you.\"\n\n\"Nobody ever does anything out of gratitude,\" William said, repeating a saying of his mother's.\n\nWaleran said: \"Stephen can't be happy that the earl of Shiring is a man who fought against him. He might want his sheriff to be a countervailing force against Richard.\"\n\nNow that made more sense. William felt excited against his will. He began to believe that he might actually get out of this hole in the ground called Hamleigh village. He would have a respectable force of knights and men-at-arms again, instead of the pitiful handful he now supported. He would preside over the county court at Shiring, and frustrate Richard's will. \"The sheriff lives at Shiring Castle,\" he said longingly.\n\n\"You'd be rich again,\" Waleran added.\n\n\"Yes.\" Properly exploited, the sheriffs post could be hugely profitable. William would make almost as much money as he had when he was earl. But he wondered why Waleran had mentioned it.\n\nA moment later Waleran answered the question. \"You would be able to finance the new church, after all.\"\n\nSo that was it. Waleran never did anything without an ulterior motive. He wanted William to be sheriff so that William could build him a church. But William was willing to go along with the plan. If he could finish the church in memory of his mother, perhaps the nightmares would stop. \"Do you really think it can be done?\" he said eagerly.\n\nWaleran nodded. \"It will cost money, of course, but I think it can be done.\"\n\n\"Money?\" William said with sudden anxiety. \"How much?\"\n\n\"It's hard to say. In somewhere like Lincoln or Bristol, the shrievalty would cost you five or six hundred pounds; but the sheriffs of those towns are richer than cardinals. For a little place such as Shiring, if you're the candidate the king wants\u2014which I can take care of\u2014you can probably get it for a hundred pounds.\"\n\n\"A hundred pounds!\" William's hopes collapsed. He had been afraid of disappointment, right from the start. \"If I had a hundred pounds I wouldn't be living like this!\" he said bitterly.\n\n\"You can get it,\" Waleran said lightly.\n\n\"Who from?\" William was struck by a thought. \"Will you give it to me?\"\n\n\"Don't be stupid,\" Waleran said with infuriating condescension. \"That's what Jews are for.\"\n\nWilliam realized, with a familiar mixture of hope and resentment, that once again the bishop was right.\n\nIt was two years since the first cracks had appeared, and Jack had not found a solution to the problem. Worse still, identical cracks had appeared in the first bay of the nave. There was something crucially wrong with his design. The structure was strong enough to support the weight of the vault, but not to resist the winds that blew so hard against the high walls.\n\nHe stood on the scaffolding far above the ground, staring close-range at the new cracks, brooding. He needed to think of a way of bracing the upper part of the wall so that it would not move with the wind.\n\nHe reflected on the way the lower part of the wall was strengthened. In the outer wall of the aisle were strong, thick piers which were connected to the nave wall by half-arches hidden in the aisle roof. The half-arches and the piers propped up the wall at a distance, like remote buttresses. Because the props were hidden, the nave looked light and graceful.\n\nHe needed to devise a similar system for the upper part of the wall. He could make a two-story side aisle, and simply repeat the remote buttressing; but that would block the light coming in through the clerestory\u2014and the whole idea of the new style of building was to bring more light into the church.\n\nOf course, it was not the aisle as such that did the work: the support came from the heavy piers in the side wall and the connecting half-arches. The aisle concealed these structural elements. If only he could build piers and half-arches to support the clerestory without incorporating them into an aisle, he could solve the problem at a stroke.\n\nA voice called him from the ground.\n\nHe frowned. He had been on to something before he was interrupted, he felt, but now it had gone. He looked down. Prior Philip was calling him.\n\nHe went into the turret and descended the spiral staircase. Philip was waiting for him at the bottom. The prior was so angry he was steaming. \"Richard has betrayed me!\" he said without preamble.\n\nJack was surprised. \"How?\"\n\nPhilip did not answer the question at first. \"After all I've done for him,\" he raged. \"I bought Aliena's wool when everyone else was bent on cheating her\u2014if it hadn't been for me she might never have got started. Then when that fell apart I got him a job as Head of the Watch. And last November I tipped him off about the peace treaty, and that enabled him to seize Earlscastle. And now that he's won back the earldom, and he's ruling in splendor, he has turned his back on me.\"\n\nJack had never seen Philip quite so livid. The prior's shaved head was red with indignation and he was spluttering as he spoke. \"In what way has Richard betrayed you?\" Jack said.\n\nOnce again Philip ignored the question. \"I always knew Richard was a weak character. He gave Aliena very little support, over the years\u2014just took from her what he wanted and never considered her needs. But I didn't think he was an out-and-out villain.\"\n\n\"What exactly has he done?\"\n\nAt last Philip told him. \"He has refused to give us access to the quarry.\"\n\nJack was shocked. That was an act of astonishing ingratitude. \"But how does he justify himself?\"\n\n\"Everything is supposed to revert to those who possessed it in the time of the first King Henry. And the quarry was granted to us by King Stephen.\"\n\nRichard's greed was remarkable, but Jack could not get as angry as Philip. They had built half the cathedral now, mostly with stone they had had to pay for, and they would continue to get by somehow. \"Well, I suppose Richard is in the right, strictly speaking,\" he said argumentatively.\n\nPhilip was outraged. \"How can you say such a thing?\"\n\n\"It's a bit like what you did to me,\" Jack said. \"After I brought you the Weeping Madonna, and produced a wonderful design for your new cathedral, and built a town wall to protect you from William, you announced that I couldn't live with the woman who is the mother of my children. There's ingratitude.\"\n\nPhilip was shocked by this parallel. \"That's completely different!\" he protested. \"I don't want you to live apart. It's Waleran who has blocked the annulment. But God's law says you must not commit adultery.\"\n\n\"I'm sure Richard would say something similar,\" Jack persisted. \"It's not Richard who has ordered the reversion of property. He is just enforcing the law.\"\n\nThe noon bell rang.\n\n\"There's a difference between God's laws and men's laws,\" Philip said.\n\n\"But we must live by both,\" Jack countered. \"And now I'm going to have dinner with the mother of my children.\"\n\nHe walked away and left Philip standing there looking upset. He did not really think Philip was as ungrateful as Richard, but it had relieved his feelings to pretend that he did. He decided he would ask Aliena about the quarry. It might be that Richard could be persuaded to hand it over after all. She would know.\n\nHe left the priory close and walked through the streets to the house where he lived with Martha. Aliena and the children were in the kitchen, as usual. The famine had ended with a good harvest last year, and food was no longer desperately scarce: there was wheat bread and roast mutton on the table.\n\nJack kissed the children. Sally gave him a soft childish kiss, but Tommy, now eleven years old and impatient to grow up, offered his cheek and looked embarrassed. Jack smiled but said nothing: he remembered when he had thought kissing was silly.\n\nAliena looked troubled. Jack sat on the bench beside her and said: \"Philip's in a rage because Richard won't give him the quarry.\"\n\n\"That's terrible,\" Aliena said mildly. \"How ungrateful of Richard.\"\n\n\"Do you think he might be persuaded to change his mind?\"\n\n\"I really don't know,\" she said. She had a distracted air.\n\nJack said: \"You don't seem very interested in the problem.\"\n\nShe looked at him challengingly. \"No, I'm not.\"\n\nHe knew this mood. \"You'd better tell me what's on your mind.\"\n\nShe stood up. \"Let's go into the back room.\"\n\nWith a regretful look at the leg of mutton, Jack left the table and followed her into the bedroom. They left the door open, as usual, to avoid suspicion if someone should come into the house. Aliena sat on the bed and folded her arms across her chest. \"I've made an important decision,\" she began.\n\nShe looked so grave that Jack wondered what on earth it could be.\n\n\"I've lived most of my adult life under two shadows,\" she began. \"One was the vow I made to my father when he was dying. The other is my relationship with you.\"\n\nJack said: \"But now you've fulfilled your vow to your father.\"\n\n\"Yes. And I want to be free of the other burden, too. I've decided to leave you.\"\n\nJack's heart seemed to stop. He knew she did not say such things lightly: she was serious. He stared at her, speechless. He was disoriented by the announcement: he had never dreamed she could leave him. How had this dreadful thing crept up on him? He said the first thing that came into his head: \"Is there someone else?\"\n\n\"Don't be daft.\"\n\n\"Then why?\"\n\n\"Because I can't take it anymore,\" she said, and her eyes brimmed with tears. \"We've been waiting ten years for this annulment. It's never going to come, Jack. We're doomed to live this way forever\u2014unless we part.\"\n\n\"But...\" He cast around for something to say. Her announcement was so devastating that arguing with it seemed hopeless, like trying to walk away from a hurricane. Nevertheless he tried. \"Isn't this better than nothing, better than separation?\"\n\n\"In the end, no.\"\n\n\"But how will it change anything if you move away?\"\n\n\"I might meet someone else, and fall in love again, and live a normal life,\" she said, but she was crying.\n\n\"You'll still be married to Alfred.\"\n\n\"But nobody will know or care. I could be married by a parish priest who has never heard of Alfred Builder and who wouldn't consider the marriage valid if he knew of it.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you're saying this. I can't take it in.\"\n\n\"Ten years, Jack. I've been waiting ten years to have a normal life with you. I won't wait any longer.\"\n\nThe words fell on him like blows. She carried on talking, but he no longer understood her. All he could think about was life without her. He interrupted her: \"I've never loved anyone else, you see.\"\n\nShe winced, as if she was in pain, but she went on with what she was saying. \"I need a few weeks to arrange everything. I'll get a house in Winchester. I want the children to get used to the idea before their new life begins\u2014\"\n\n\"You're going to take my children,\" he said stupidly.\n\nShe nodded. \"I'm sorry,\" she said. For the first time her resolve seemed to waver. \"I know they'll miss you. But they need a normal life too.\"\n\nJack could not take any more. He turned away.\n\nAliena said: \"Don't walk out on me. We ought to talk some more. Jack\u2014\"\n\nHe went out without replying.\n\nHe heard her cry out after him: \"Jack!\"\n\nHe walked through the living room, not looking at the children, and left the house. In a daze he walked back to the cathedral, not knowing where else to go. The builders were still at lunch. He was unable to weep: this was too bad for mere tears. Without thinking, he climbed the staircase in the north transept, all the way up to the top, and stepped out onto the roof.\n\nThere was a stiff breeze up here, although at ground level it had hardly been noticeable. Jack looked down. If he fell from here he would land on the lean-to roof of the aisle alongside the transept. He would probably die, but it was not certain. He walked to the crossing and stood where the roof suddenly ended in a sheer drop. If the new-style cathedral was not structurally sound, and Aliena was leaving him, he had nothing left to live for.\n\nHer decision was not as sudden as it seemed, of course. She had been discontented for years\u2014they both had. But they had got accustomed to unhappiness. Winning back Earlscastle had shaken Aliena's torpor, and reminded her that she was in charge of her own life. It had destabilized a situation that was already unsteady; rather in the way that the storm had caused cracks in the cathedral walls.\n\nHe looked at the wall of the transept and the roof of the side aisle. He could see the heavy buttresses jutting out from the wall of the side aisle, and he could visualize the half-arch, under the roof of the aisle, connecting the buttress to the foot of the clerestory. What would solve the problem, he had thought just before Philip had distracted him this morning, was a taller buttress, perhaps another twenty feet high, with a second half-arch leaping across the gap to the point on the wall where the cracks were appearing. The arch and the tall buttress would brace the top half of the church and keep the wall rigid when the wind blew.\n\nThat would probably solve the problem The trouble was, if he built a two-story aisle to hide the extended buttress and the secondary half-arch, he would lose light; and if he did not...\n\nIf I don't, he thought, so what?\n\nHe was possessed by a feeling that nothing mattered very much, since his life was falling apart; and in that mood he could not see anything wrong with the idea of naked buttressing. Standing up here on the roof, he could easily picture what it would look like. A line of sturdy stone columns would rise up from the side wall of the aisle. From the top of each column, a half-arch would spring across empty space to the clerestory. Perhaps he would put a decorative pinnacle on top of each column, above the springing of the arch. Yes, that would look better.\n\nIt was a revolutionary idea, to build big strengthening members in a position where they would be starkly visible. But it was part of the new style to show how the building was being held up.\n\nAnyway, his instinct said this was right.\n\nThe more he thought about it, the better he liked it. He visualized the church from the west. The half-arches would look like the wings of a flight of birds, all in a line, just about to take off. They need not be massive. As long as they were well made they could be slender and elegant, light yet strong, just like a bird's wing. Winged buttresses, he thought, for a church so light it could fly.\n\nI wonder, he thought. I wonder if it would work.\n\nA gust of wind suddenly unbalanced him. He teetered on the edge of the roof. For a moment he thought he was going to fall to his death. Then he regained his balance and stepped back from the edge, his heart pounding.\n\nSlowly and carefully, he made his way back along the roof to the turret door, and went down."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "Work had stopped completely on the church at Shiring. Prior Philip caught himself gloating a little over that. After all the times he had looked out disconsolately onto a deserted building site, he could not help feeling pleased that the same thing had now happened to his enemies. Alfred Builder had only had time to demolish the old church and lay the foundations for the new chancel before William had been deposed and the money had dried up. Philip told himself that it was sinful to be glad about the ruin of a church. However, it was obviously God's will that the cathedral should be built in Kingsbridge, not Shiring\u2014the bad fortune that had dogged Waleran's project seemed a very clear sign of divine intentions.\n\nNow that the town's biggest church had been knocked down, the county court was held in the great hall at the castle. Philip rode up the hill with Jonathan by his side. He had made Jonathan his personal assistant, in the shake-up that had followed the defection of Remigius. Philip had been shocked by Remigius's perfidy, but he had been glad to see the back of him. Ever since Philip had beaten Remigius in the election, Remigius had been a thorn in his flesh. The priory was a nicer place to live now that he had gone.\n\nMilius was the new sub-prior. However, he continued to fulfill the role of treasurer, and had a staff of three under him in the treasury. Since Remigius had gone, nobody could figure out what he used to do all day.\n\nPhilip got deep satisfaction out of working with Jonathan. He enjoyed explaining to him how the monastery was run, educating him in the ways of the world, and showing him how best to deal with people. The lad was generally well liked, but he could sometimes be abrasive, and he could easily raise the hackles of unself-confident people. He had to learn that those who treated him in a hostile way did so out of weakness. He saw the hostility and reacted angrily, instead of seeing the weakness and giving reassurance.\n\nJonathan had a quick brain, and often surprised Philip by the rapidity with which he picked things up. Philip sometimes caught himself in the sin of pride, thinking how like himself Jonathan was.\n\nHe had brought Jonathan with him today to learn how the county court operated. Philip was going to ask the sheriff to order Richard to open the quarry to the priory. He was quite sure Richard was in the wrong legally. The new law about the restoration of property to those who had possessed it in the time of the old King Henry did not affect the priory's rights. Its object was to allow Duke Henry to replace Stephen's earls with his own, and thus reward people who had supported him. It was obviously not meant to apply to monasteries. Philip was confident of winning the case, but there was an unknown factor: the old sheriff had died and his replacement would be announced today. No one knew who it would be, but everyone assumed the job would go to one of the three or four leading citizens of Shiring: David Merchant the silk seller; Rees Welsh, a priest who had worked at the king's court; Giles Lionheart, a knight with landholdings just outside the town; or Hugh the Bastard, the illegitimate son of the bishop of Salisbury. Philip hoped it would be Rees, not because the man was a countryman of his, but because he was likely to favor the church. But Philip was not overly worried: any of the four would rule in his favor, he thought.\n\nThey rode into the castle. It was not very heavily fortified. Because the earl of Shiring had a separate castle outside town, Shiring had escaped battle for several generations. The castle was more of an administrative center, with offices and quarters for the sheriff and his men, and dungeons for offenders. Philip and Jonathan stabled their horses and went into the largest building, the great hall.\n\nThe trestle tables that normally formed a T-shape had been rearranged. The top of the T remained, raised above the level of the rest of the hall by a dais; and the other tables were ranged down the sides of the hall, so that opposing plaintiffs could sit well apart and avoid the temptation to physical violence.\n\nThe hall was already full. Bishop Waleran was there, up on the dais, looking malevolent. To Philip's surprise, William Hamleigh was sitting with him, talking to the bishop out of the corner of his mouth as they watched people coming in. What was William doing here? For nine months he had been lying low, hardly moving from his village, and Philip\u2014together with many other people in the county\u2014had entertained the hope that he might stay there forever. But here he was, sitting on the bench as if he were still the earl. Philip wondered what mean-minded, ruthless, greedy little scheme had brought him to the county court today.\n\nPhilip and Jonathan sat down at the side of the room and waited for the proceedings to begin. There was a busy, optimistic air to the court. Now that the war had come to an end, the elite of the country had turned their attention back to the business of creating wealth. It was a fertile land and it quickly repaid their efforts: a bumper harvest was expected this year. The price of wool was up. Philip had reemployed almost all the builders who had left at the height of the famine. Everywhere the people who had survived were the younger, stronger, healthier individuals, and now they were full of hope, and here in the great hall of Shiring Castle it showed in the tilt of their heads, the pitch of their voices, the men's new boots and the women's fancy headgear, and the fact that they were prosperous enough to own something worth arguing in court about.\n\nThey stood up as the sheriffs deputy walked in with Earl Richard. The two men mounted the dais and then, still standing, the deputy began to read the royal writ appointing the new sheriff. As he went through the initial verbiage, Philip looked around at the four presumed candidates. He hoped the winner had courage: he would need it, to stand up for the law in the presence of such powerful local barons as Bishop Waleran, Earl Richard and Lord William. The successful candidate presumably knew he had been appointed\u2014there was no reason to keep it secret\u2014but none of the four looked very animated. Normally the appointee would stand beside the deputy as the proclamation was read, but the only people up there with him were Richard, Waleran and William. The appalling thought crossed Philip's mind that Waleran might have been made sheriff. Then he was even more horrified as he heard: \"...appoint as sheriff of Shiring my servant William of Hamleigh, and I order all men to assist him...\"\n\nPhilip looked at Jonathan and said: \"William!\"\n\nThere were sounds of surprise and disapproval from the townspeople.\n\nJonathan said: \"How did he do it?\"\n\n\"He must have paid for it.\"\n\n\"Where did he get the money?\"\n\n\"Borrowed it, I suppose.\"\n\nWilliam moved to the wooden throne in the middle of the top table, smiling. He had once been a handsome young man, Philip remembered. He was still under forty, just, but he looked older. His body was too heavy, and his complexion was flushed with wine; and the lively strength and optimism that makes young faces attractive had gone, to be replaced by a look of dissipation.\n\nAs William sat down, Philip stood up.\n\nJonathan got up too and whispered: \"Are we leaving?\"\n\n\"Follow me,\" Philip hissed.\n\nThe room fell silent. All eyes were on them as they walked across the courtroom. The public crowd parted for them to pass through. They reached the door and went out. A buzz of comment broke out as the door closed behind them.\n\nJonathan said: \"We had no chance of success with William in the chair.\"\n\n\"Worse than that,\" Philip said. \"If we had pressed our case we might have lost other rights.\"\n\n\"My soul, I never thought of that.\"\n\nPhilip nodded grimly. \"With William as sheriff, Waleran as bishop, and the faithless Richard as earl, it is now completely impossible for Kingsbridge Priory to get justice in this county. They can do anything they like to us.\"\n\nWhile a stableboy saddled their mounts, Philip said: \"I'm going to petition the king to make Kingsbridge a borough. That way we'd have our own court, and we'd pay our taxes directly to the king. In effect, we would be out of the jurisdiction of the sheriff.\"\n\n\"You've always been against that, in the past,\" Jonathan said.\n\n\"I've been against it because it makes the town as powerful as the priory. But now I think we may have to accept that as the price of independence. The alternative is William.\"\n\n\"Will King Stephen give us borough status?\"\n\n\"He might, at a price. But if he doesn't, perhaps Henry will when he becomes king.\"\n\nThey mounted their horses and rode dejectedly through the town.\n\nThey went out through the gate and passed the rubbish dump on the waste ground just outside. A few decrepit people were picking over the refuse, looking for anything they could eat, wear or burn for fuel. Philip glanced at them without interest, but one of them caught his eye. A familiar tall figure was stooping over a heap of rags, sorting through them. Philip reined in his horse. Jonathan pulled up beside him.\n\n\"Look,\" Philip said.\n\nJonathan followed his gaze. After a moment he said quietly: \"Remigius.\"\n\nPhilip watched. Waleran and William had obviously thrown Remigius out some time ago, when funds for the new church dried up. They had no further need of him. Remigius had betrayed Philip, betrayed the priory, and betrayed Kingsbridge, all in the hope of becoming dean of Shiring; but his prize had turned to ashes.\n\nPhilip turned his horse off the road and crossed the waste ground to where Remigius stood. Jonathan followed. There was a bad smell that seemed to rise from the ground like fog. As he approached, he saw that Remigius was skeletally thin. His habit was filthy and he was barefoot. He was sixty years old, and he had been at Kingsbridge Priory all his adult life: no one had ever taught him how to live rough. Philip saw him pull a pair of leather shoes out of the trash. There were huge holes in the soles, but Remigius looked at them with the expression of a man who has found buried treasure. As he was about to try them on, he saw Philip.\n\nHe straightened up. His face evidenced the struggle between shame and defiance in his heart. After a moment he said: \"Well, have you come to gloat?\"\n\n\"No,\" Philip said softly. His old enemy was such a pitiful sight that Philip felt nothing but compassion for him. He got off his horse and took a flask out of his saddlebag. \"I've come to offer you a drink of wine.\"\n\nRemigius did not want to accept it but he was too starved to resist. He hesitated only for a moment, then snatched the flask. He sniffed the wine suspiciously, then put the flask to his mouth. Once he had begun drinking, he could not stop. There was only half a pint left and he drained it in a few moments. He lowered the flask and staggered a little.\n\nPhilip took it from him and put it back into his saddlebag. \"You'd better have something to eat, as well,\" he said. He brought out a small loaf.\n\nRemigius took the proffered bread and began to stuff it into his mouth. He obviously had not eaten for days, and he probably had not had a decent meal for weeks. He could die soon, Philip thought sadly; if not of starvation, then of shame.\n\nThe bread went down fast. Philip said: \"Do you want to come back?\"\n\nHe heard a sharp intake of breath from Jonathan. Like a good many of the monks, Jonathan had hoped never to see Remigius again. He probably thought Philip was mad to offer to take him back.\n\nA hint of the old Remigius showed for a moment, and he said: \"Come back? In what position?\"\n\nPhilip shook his head sorrowfully. \"You'll never hold a position of any kind in my priory, Remigius. Come back as a plain, humble monk. Ask God to forgive your sins, and live the rest of your days in prayer and contemplation, preparing your soul for heaven.\"\n\nRemigius tilted his head back, and Philip expected a scornful refusal; but it never came. Remigius opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again and looked down. Philip stood still and quiet, watching, wondering what would happen. There was a long moment of silence. Philip was holding his breath. When Remigius looked up again, his face was wet with tears. \"Yes, please, Father,\" he said. \"I want to come home.\"\n\nPhilip felt a glow of joy. \"Come on, then,\" he said. \"Get on my horse.\"\n\nRemigius looked flabbergasted.\n\nJonathan said: \"Father! What are you doing?\"\n\nPhilip said to Remigius: \"Go on, do as I say.\"\n\nJonathan was horrified. \"But, Father, how will you travel?\"\n\n\"I'll walk,\" Philip said happily. \"One of us must.\"\n\n\"Let Remigius walk!\" Jonathan said in a tone of outrage.\n\n\"Let him ride,\" Philip said. \"He's pleased God today.\"\n\n\"What about you? Haven't you pleased God more than Remigius?\"\n\n\"Jesus said there's more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people,\" Philip countered. \"Don't you remember the parable of the prodigal son? When he came home, his father killed the fatted calf. The angels are rejoicing over Remigius's tears. The least I can do is give him my horse.\"\n\nHe took the bridle and led the way over the waste ground to the road. Jonathan followed. When they reached the road, Jonathan dismounted and said: \"Please, Father, take my horse, then, and let me walk!\"\n\nPhilip turned to him and spoke a little sternly. \"Now get back on your horse, stop arguing with me, and just think about what is being done and why.\"\n\nJonathan looked puzzled, but he mounted again, and said no more.\n\nThey turned toward Kingsbridge. It was twenty miles away. Philip began to walk. He felt wonderful. The return of Remigius more than compensated for the quarry. I lost in court, he thought, but that was only about stones. What I gained was something infinitely more valuable.\n\nToday I won a man's soul."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "New ripe apples floated in the barrel, shining red and yellow while the sun glinted off the water. Sally, nine years old and excitable, leaned over the rim of the barrel with her hands clasped behind her back and tried to pick up an apple in her teeth. The apple bobbed away, her face plunged into the water, and she came away spluttering and squealing with laughter. Aliena smiled thinly and wiped her little girl's face.\n\nIt was a warm afternoon in late summer, a saint's day and a holiday, and most of the town had gathered in the meadow across the river for the apple bobbing. This was the kind of occasion that Aliena had always enjoyed, but the fact that it would be her last saint's day in Kingsbridge was constantly on her mind, weighing down her spirits. She was still determined to leave Jack, but since she had made the decision she had begun to feel, in advance, the pain of loss.\n\nTommy was hovering near the barrel, and Jack called out: \"Go on, Tommy\u2014have a go!\"\n\n\"Not just yet,\" he replied.\n\nAt the age of eleven Tommy knew he was smarter than his sister and he thought he was ahead of most other people too. He watched for a while, studying the technique of those who were successful at apple bobbing. Aliena watched him watching. She loved him specially. Jack had been about this age when she had first met him, and Tommy was so like Jack as a boy. Looking at him made her nostalgic for childhood. Jack wanted Tommy to be a builder, but Tommy had not yet shown any interest in construction. However, there was plenty of time.\n\nEventually he stepped up to the barrel. He bent over it and put his head down slowly, mouth wide open. He pushed his chosen apple under the surface, submerging his whole face, and then came up triumphantly with the apple between his teeth.\n\nTommy would be successful at whatever he put his mind to. There was a little of his grandfather, Earl Bartholomew, in his makeup. He had a very strong will and a somewhat inflexible sense of right and wrong.\n\nIt was Sally who had inherited Jack's easygoing nature and contempt for man-made rules. When Jack told the children stories, Sally always sympathized with the underdog, whereas Tommy was more likely to pronounce judgment on him. Each child had the personality of one parent and the appearance of the other: happy-go-lucky Sally had Aliena's regular features and dark tangled curls, and determined Tommy had Jack's carrot-colored hair, white skin and blue eyes.\n\nNow Tommy cried: \"Here comes Uncle Richard!\"\n\nAliena spun around and followed his gaze. Sure enough, her brother the earl was riding into the meadow with a handful of knights and squires. Aliena was horrified. How did he have the nerve to show his face here after what he had done to Philip over the quarry?\n\nHe came over to the barrel, smiling at everyone and shaking hands. \"Try to bob an apple, Uncle Richard,\" said Tommy. \"You could do it!\"\n\nRichard dipped his head into the barrel and came up with an apple in his strong white teeth and his blond beard soaking wet. He had always been better at games than at real life, Aliena thought.\n\nShe was not going to let him carry on as if he had done nothing wrong. Others might be afraid to say anything because he was the earl, but to her he was just her foolish little brother. He came over to kiss her, but she pushed him away and said: \"How could you steal the quarry from the priory?\"\n\nJack, seeing a quarrel coming, took the children's hands and moved away.\n\nRichard looked stung. \"All property has reverted to those who possessed it\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't give me that, Aliena interrupted. \"After all Philip has done for you!\"\n\n\"The quarry is part of my birthright,\" he said. He took her aside and began to speak in low tones so that no one else could hear. \"Besides, I need the money I get by selling the stones, Allie.\"\n\n\"That's because you go hunting and hawking all the time!\"\n\n\"But what should I do?\"\n\n\"You should make the land produce wealth! There's so much to be done\u2014repairing the damage caused by the war and the famine, bringing in new farming methods, clearing woodland and draining swamps\u2014that's how to increase your wealth! Not by stealing the quarry that King Stephen gave to Kingsbridge Priory.\"\n\n\"I've never taken anything that wasn't mine.\"\n\n\"You've never done anything else!\" Aliena flared. She was angry enough now to say things that were better left unsaid. \"You've never worked for anything. You took my money for your stupid weapons, you took the job Philip gave you, you took the earldom when it was handed to you on a plate by me. Now you can't even run it without taking things that don't belong to you!\" She turned away and stormed off.\n\nRichard came after her, but someone waylaid him, bowing and asking him how he was. Aliena heard him make a polite reply, then get embroiled in a conversation. So much the better: she had said her piece and did not want to argue with him any further. She reached the bridge and looked back. Someone else was talking to him now. He waved at her, indicating that he still wanted to speak to her, but he was stuck. She saw Jack, Tommy and Sally beginning a game with a stick and a ball. She stared at them, playing together in the sunshine, and she felt she could not bear to separate them. But how else, she thought, can I lead a normal life?\n\nShe crossed the bridge and entered the town. She wanted to be alone for a while.\n\nShe had taken a house in Winchester, a big place with a shop on the ground floor, a living room upstairs, a separate bedchamber, and a large storeroom at the end of the yard for her cloth. But the closer she got to moving, the less she wanted to do it.\n\nThe streets of Kingsbridge were hot and dusty, and the air was full of the flies that bred on the innumerable dunghills. All the shops were closed and the houses were locked up. The town was deserted. Everyone was in the meadow.\n\nShe went to Jack's house. That was where the others would come when the apple bobbing was over. The door of the house stood open. She frowned in annoyance. Who had left it like that? Too many people had keys: herself, Jack, Richard and Martha. There was nothing much to steal. Aliena certainly did not have her money there: for years now Philip had let her keep it in the priory treasury. But the place would be full of flies.\n\nShe stepped inside. It was dark and cool. Flies danced in the air in the middle of the room, bluebottles crawled over the linen and a pair of wasps disputed angrily around the stopper of the honeypot.\n\nAnd Alfred was sitting at the table.\n\nAliena gave a small scream of fright, then recovered herself and said: \"How did you get in?\"\n\n\"I've got a key.\"\n\nHe had kept it a long time, Aliena thought. She looked at him. His broad shoulders were bony and his face had a shrunken look. She said: \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I came to see you.\"\n\nShe found she was trembling, not from fear but from anger. \"I don't want to see you, now or ever again,\" she spat. \"You treated me like a dog, and then when Jack took pity on you and hired you, you betrayed his trust and took all his craftsmen to Shiring.\"\n\n\"I need money,\" he said, with a mixture of pleading and defiance in his voice.\n\n\"Then work.\"\n\n\"Building has stopped at Shiring. I can't get a job here at Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Then go to London\u2014go to Paris!\"\n\nHe persisted with ox-like stubbornness. \"I thought you would help me out.\"\n\n\"There's nothing for you here. You'd better go away.\"\n\n\"Have you no pity?\" he said, and now the defiance was gone and the tone was all pleading.\n\nShe leaned on the table to steady herself. \"Alfred, don't you understand that I hate you?\"\n\n\"Why?\" he said. He looked injured, as if it came as a surprise to him.\n\nDear God, he's stupid, she thought; it's the nearest he's got to an excuse. \"Go to the monastery if you want charity,\" she said wearily. \"Prior Philip's capacity for forgiveness is superhuman. Mine isn't.\"\n\n\"But you're my wife,\" Alfred said.\n\nThat was rich. \"I'm not your wife,\" she hissed. \"You're not my husband. You never were. Now get out of this house.\"\n\nTo her surprise he grabbed her by the hair. \"You are my wife,\" he said. He pulled her to him over the table, and with his free hand he grasped her breast and squeezed hard.\n\nAliena was taken completely by surprise. This was the last thing she had expected from a man who had slept in the same room as her for nine months without ever managing to perform the sexual act. Automatically she screamed and pulled away from him, but he had a firm grip on her hair and he jerked her back. \"There's nobody to hear you scream,\" he said. \"They're all across the river.\"\n\nShe was suddenly terribly afraid. They were alone, and he was very strong. After all the miles she had covered on the roads, all the years she had risked her neck traveling, she was being attacked at home by the man she had married!\n\nHe saw the fear in her eyes and said: \"Scared, are you? Perhaps you'd better be nice.\" Then he kissed her mouth. She bit his lip as hard as she could. He gave a roar of pain.\n\nShe did not see the punch coming. It exploded on her cheek with such force that she had the terrified thought that he must have smashed her bones. For a moment she lost her vision and her balance. She reeled away from the table and' felt herself falling. The rushes on the floor softened the impact as she hit the ground. She shook her head to clear it and reached for the knife strapped to her left arm. Before she could draw it, both her wrists were seized, and she heard Alfred say: \"I know about that little dagger. I've seen you undress, remember?\" He released her hands, punched her face again, and grabbed the dagger himself.\n\nAliena tried to wriggle away. He sat on her legs and put his left hand to her throat. She thrashed her arms. Suddenly the point of the dagger was an inch from her eyeball. \"Be still, or I'll put out your eyes,\" he said.\n\nShe froze. The idea of being blind terrified her. She had seen men who had been blinded as a punishment. They walked the streets begging, their empty sockets staring horribly at passersby. Small boys tormented them, pinching them and tripping them until they gave in to rage and tried in vain to catch hold of their tormentors, which made the game even better. They generally died within a year or two.\n\n\"I thought that would calm you down,\" Alfred said.\n\nWhy was he doing this? He had never had any lust for her. Was it just that he was defeated and angry, and she was vulnerable? Did she stand for the world that had rejected him?\n\nHe leaned forward, straddling her, with his knees either side of her hips, keeping the knife at her eye. Once again he put his face close to hers. \"Now,\" he said. \"Be nice.\" He kissed her again.\n\nHis unshaven face scratched her skin. His breath smelled of beer and onions. She kept her mouth closed tight.\n\n\"That's not nice,\" he said. \"Kiss me back.\"\n\nHe kissed her again, and brought the knife point even closer. When it touched her eyelid she moved her lips. The taste of his mouth sickened her. He thrust his rough tongue between her lips. She felt as if she might throw up, and tried desperately to suppress the feeling, for fear he would kill her.\n\nHe pulled away from her again, but kept the knife at her face. \"Now,\" he said. \"Feel this.\" He took her hand and pulled it under the skirt of his tunic. She touched his organ. \"Hold it,\" he said. She grasped it. \"Now rub it gently.\"\n\nShe obeyed him. It occurred to her that if she could pleasure him this way she might avoid being penetrated. She looked fearfully at his face. He was flushed and his eyes were hooded. She stroked him all the way down to the root, remembering that Jack was driven wild by that.\n\nShe was afraid she would never be able to enjoy this again, and tears came to her eyes.\n\nHe jerked the knife dangerously. \"Not so hard!\" he said.\n\nShe concentrated.\n\nThen the door opened.\n\nHer heart leaped with hope. A wedge of bright sunlight fell across the room and shone dazzlingly through her tears. Alfred froze. She pulled her hand away.\n\nThey both looked toward the door. Who was it? Aliena could not see. Not one of the children, please, God, she prayed; I would feel so ashamed. She heard a roar of rage. It was a man's voice. She blinked away her tears and recognized her brother Richard.\n\nPoor Richard: it was almost worse than if it had been Tommy. Richard, who had a scar instead of a lobe on his left ear to remind him of the terrible scene he had witnessed when he was fourteen years old. Now he was witnessing another. How would he ever bear it?\n\nAlfred started to get to his feet, but Richard was too quick for him. Aliena saw Richard cross the little room in a blur and lash out with his booted foot, catching Alfred full on the jaw. Alfred crashed back against the table. Richard went after him, trampling on Aliena without noticing, lashing out at Alfred with his feet and fists. Aliena scrambled out of the way. Richard's face was a mask of ungovernable fury. He did not look at Aliena. He did not care about her, she understood. He was enraged, not about what Alfred had done to Aliena today, but because of what William and Walter had done to him, Richard, eighteen years ago. He had been young and weak and helpless then, but now he was a big strong man and a seasoned fighter, and he had at last found a target for the mad rage he had nursed inside for all those years. He hit Alfred again and again, with both fists. Alfred staggered back around the table, trying feebly to defend himself with his raised arms. Richard caught him on the chin with a powerful swing, and Alfred fell backward.\n\nHe lay on the rushes, looking up, terrified. Aliena was frightened by her brother's violence, and said: \"That's enough, Richard!\" Richard ignored her and stepped forward to kick Alfred. Then Alfred suddenly realized that he still had Aliena's knife in his hand. He dodged, came swiftly to his feet and lashed out with the knife. Taken by surprise, Richard jumped back. Alfred lunged at him again, driving him back across the room. The two men were the same height and build, Aliena saw. Richard was a fighting man but Alfred was armed: they were now unnervingly well matched. Aliena was suddenly afraid for her brother. What would happen if Alfred overcame him? She would have to fight Alfred herself, then.\n\nShe looked around for a weapon. Her eyes lit on the pile of firewood beside the hearth. She snatched up a heavy log.\n\nAlfred lunged at Richard again. Richard dodged; then, when Alfred's arm was at full stretch, Richard grabbed his wrist and pulled. Alfred staggered forward, off balance. Richard hit him several times, very fast, with both fists, punching his face and body. There was a savage grin on Richard's face, the smile of a man who is taking revenge. Alfred began to whimper, and raised his arms to protect himself again.\n\nRichard hesitated, breathing hard. Aliena thought it would end then. But suddenly Alfred struck again, with surprising speed, and this time the point of the knife grazed Richard's cheek. Richard jumped back, stung. Alfred moved in with the knife raised high. Aliena saw that Alfred would kill Richard. She ran at Alfred, swinging the log with all her might. She missed his head but struck his right elbow. She heard the crack as wood connected with bone. The blow numbed Alfred's hand and the knife fell from his fingers.\n\nThe way it ended was dreadfully quick.\n\nRichard bent, swept up Aliena's knife, and with the same motion brought it up under Alfred's guard and stabbed him in the chest with terrific force.\n\nThe dagger sank in up to the hilt.\n\nAliena stared, horrified. It was a terrible blow. Alfred screamed like a stuck pig. Richard pulled the knife out, and Alfred's blood squirted out of the hole in his chest. Alfred opened his mouth to scream again, but no sound came. His face turned white and then gray, his eyes closed, and he fell to the ground. Blood soaked into the rushes.\n\nAliena knelt beside him. His eyelids fluttered. He was still breathing, but his life was draining from him. She looked up at Richard, standing over them both, breathing hard. \"He's dying,\" she said.\n\nRichard nodded. He was not much moved. \"I've seen better men die,\" he said. \"I've killed men who deserved it less.\"\n\nAliena was shocked at his harshness, but she did not say anything. She had just remembered the first time Richard killed a man. It was after William had taken over the castle, and she and Richard had been on the road to Winchester, and two thieves had attacked them. Aliena had stabbed one of the thieves, but she had forced Richard, who was only fifteen, to deliver the coup de gr\u00e2ce. If he's heartless, she thought guiltily, who made him so?\n\nShe looked at Alfred again. He opened his eyes and looked back at her. She almost felt ashamed of how little compassion she had for this dying man. She thought, as she looked into his eyes, that he had never been compassionate himself, nor forgiving, nor generous. He had nursed his resentments and hatreds all his life, and had taken his pleasure from acts of malice and revenge. Your life could have been different, Alfred, she thought. You could have been kind to your sister, and forgiven your stepbrother for being cleverer than you. You could have married for love instead of for revenge. You could have been loyal to Prior Philip. You could have been happy.\n\nHis eyes widened suddenly and he said: \"God, it hurts.\"\n\nShe wished he would just hurry up and die.\n\nHis eyes closed.\n\n\"That's it,\" Richard said.\n\nAlfred stopped breathing.\n\nAliena stood up. \"I'm a widow,\" she said.\n\nAlfred was buried in the graveyard at Kingsbridge Priory. It was his sister Martha's wish, and she was the only surviving blood relative. She was also the only person who was sad. Alfred had never been good to her, and she had always turned to Jack, her stepbrother, for love and protection; but nevertheless she wanted him buried somewhere close so that she could visit the grave. When they lowered the coffin into the ground, only Martha cried.\n\nJack looked grimly relieved that Alfred was no more. Tommy, standing with Aliena, was keenly interested in everything\u2014this was his first family funeral and the rituals of death were all new to him. Sally was white-faced and frightened, holding Martha's hand.\n\nRichard was there. He told Aliena, during the service, that he had come to ask God's forgiveness for killing his brother-in-law. Not that he felt he had done wrong, he hastened to add: he just wanted to be safe.\n\nAliena, whose face was still bruised and swollen from Alfred's last punch, recalled the dead man as he had been when she first met him. He had come to Earlscastle with his father, Tom Builder, and Martha and Ellen and Jack. Already Alfred had been the bully of the family, big and strong and bovine, with a sly cunning and a streak of nastiness. If Aliena had thought then that she would end up married to him she would have been tempted to throw herself off the battlements. She had not imagined she would ever see the family again after they left the castle; but both she and they had ended up living in Kingsbridge. She and Alfred had started the parish guild which was now such an important institution in the life of the town. That was when Alfred had proposed to her. She had not dreamed that he might be motivated more by rivalry with his stepbrother than by desire for her. She had refused him then, but later he had discovered how to manipulate her, and had persuaded her to marry him by promising support for her brother. Looking back on that, she felt that Alfred had deserved the frustration and humiliation of their marriage. His motives had been heartless and his reward had been lovelessness.\n\nAliena could not help feeling happy. There was no question of her leaving and going to live in Winchester now, of course: she and Jack would be married immediately. She was putting on a solemn face for the funeral, and even thinking some solemn thoughts, but her heart was bursting for joy.\n\nPhilip, with his apparently limitless capacity for pardoning people who had betrayed him, consented to bury Alfred.\n\nAs the five adults and two children were standing around the open grave, Ellen arrived.\n\nPhilip was cross. Ellen had cursed a Christian wedding, and she was not welcome in the priory close; but he could hardly turn her away from her stepson's funeral. The rites were over, anyway, so Philip just walked away.\n\nAliena was sorry. Philip and Ellen were both good people, and it was a shame they were enemies. But they were good in different ways, and they were both intolerant of rival ethics.\n\nEllen was looking older, with extra lines on her face and more gray in her hair, but her golden eyes were still beautiful. She was wearing a rough-sewn leather tunic and nothing else, not even shoes. Her arms and legs were tanned and muscular. Tommy and Sally ran to kiss her. Jack followed and embraced her, hugging her hard.\n\nEllen lifted her cheek for Richard to kiss her, and said: \"You did the right thing. Don't feel guilty.\"\n\nShe stood at the edge of the grave, looking in, and said: \"I was his stepmother. I wish I had known how to make him happy.\"\n\nWhen she turned from the grave, Aliena hugged her.\n\nThey all walked slowly away. Aliena said to Ellen: \"Will you stay a while, and have dinner?\"\n\n\"Gladly.\" She ruffled Tommy's red hair. \"I'd like to talk to my grandchildren. They grow so fast. When I first met Tom Builder, Jack was the age Tommy is now.\" They were approaching the priory gate. \"As you get older the years seem to go faster. I believe\u2014\" She broke off in midsentence and stopped walking.\n\n\"What is it?\" said Aliena.\n\nEllen was staring at the priory gateway. The wooden gates were open. The street outside was empty but for a handful of small children on the far side, standing in a knot, staring at something out of sight.\n\n\"Richard!\" Ellen said sharply. \"Don't go out!\"\n\nEveryone stopped. Aliena could see what had alarmed Ellen. The children looked as if they might be watching something or someone who was waiting just outside the gate, concealed by the wall.\n\nRichard reacted fast. \"It's a trap!\" he said, and without further ado he turned around and ran.\n\nA moment later a helmeted head looked around the gatepost. It belonged to a large man-at-arms. The man saw Richard running toward the church, shouted in alarm, and dashed into the close. He was followed by three, four, five more men.\n\nThe funeral party scattered. The men-at-arms ignored them and went after Richard. Aliena was scared and mystified: who would dare to attack the earl of Shiring openly and in a priory? She held her breath as she watched them chase Richard across the close. He leaped over the low wall that the masons were building. His pursuers jumped over it behind him, unmindful that they were entering a church. The craftsmen froze in position, trowels and hammers raised, as first Richard, then his pursuers, charged by. One of the younger and more quick-thinking apprentices stuck out a shovel and tripped a man-at-arms, who went flying; but no one else intervened. Richard reached the door that led to the cloisters. The man closest behind him raised his sword above his head. For a terrible moment Aliena thought the door was locked and Richard could not get in. The man-at-arms struck at Richard with his sword. Richard got the door open and slipped inside, and the sword bit into the wood as the door slammed.\n\nAliena breathed again.\n\nThe men-at-arms gathered around the cloister door, then began to look about uncertainly. They seemed to realize, all of a sudden, where they were. The craftsmen gave them hostile stares and hefted their hammers and axes. There were close to a hundred builders and only five men-at-arms.\n\nJack said angrily: \"Who the hell are those people?\"\n\nHe was answered by a voice from behind. \"They are the sheriffs men.\"\n\nAliena turned around, aghast. She knew that voice horribly well. There at the gate, on a nervous black stallion, armed and wearing chain mail, was William Hamleigh. The sight of him sent a chill through her.\n\nJack said: \"Get out of here, you loathsome insect.\"\n\nWilliam flushed at the insult, but he did not move. \"I've come to make an arrest.\"\n\n\"Go ahead. Richard's men will tear you apart.\"\n\n\"He won't have any men when he's in jail.\"\n\n\"Who do you think you are? A sheriff can't put an earl in jail!\"\n\n\"He can for murder.\"\n\nAliena gasped. She saw immediately how William's devious mind was working. \"There was no murder!\" she burst out.\n\n\"There was,\" William said. \"Earl Richard murdered Alfred Builder. And now I must explain to Prior Philip that he is harboring a killer.\"\n\nWilliam kicked his horse and rode past them, across the west end of the unbuilt nave, to the kitchen courtyard which was where laymen were received. Aliena watched him with incredulity. He was so evil it was hard to believe. Poor Alfred, whom they had just buried, had done much wrong through small-mindedness and weakness of character: his badness was more tragic than anything else. But William was a real servant of the devil. Aliena thought: When will we be rid of this monster?\n\nThe men-at-arms joined William in the kitchen courtyard and one of them hammered on the kitchen door with the hilt of his sword. The builders left the site and stood in a crowd, glaring at the intruders, looking dangerous with their heavy hammers and sharp chisels. Aliena told Martha to take the children home; then she and Jack stood with the builders.\n\nPrior Philip came to the kitchen door. He was shorter than William, and in his light summer habit he appeared very small by comparison with the beefy man on horseback in chain mail; but there was a look of righteous anger on Philip's face that made him seem more formidable than William.\n\nWilliam said: \"You are harboring a fugitive\u2014\"\n\nPhilip interrupted him with a roar. \"Leave this place!\"\n\nWilliam tried again. \"There has been a murder\u2014\"\n\n\"Get out of my priory!\" Philip yelled.\n\n\"I am the sheriff\u2014\"\n\n\"Not even the king may bring men of violence into the precincts of a monastery! Get out! Get out!\"\n\nThe builders began to murmur angrily among themselves. The men-at-arms looked at them nervously. William said: \"Even the prior of Kingsbridge must answer to the sheriff.\"\n\n\"Not on these terms! Get your men off the premises. Leave your weapons in the stable. When you're ready to act like a humble sinner in the house of God, you may enter the priory; and then the prior will answer your questions.\"\n\nPhilip stepped back inside and slammed the door.\n\nThe builders cheered.\n\nAliena found herself cheering too. William had been a figure of power and dread all her life, and it lifted her heart to see him defied by Prior Philip.\n\nBut William was not yet ready to concede defeat. He got off his horse. Slowly he unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to one of his men. He said a few quiet words to the men, and they retreated across the priory close, taking his sword. William watched them until they reached the gate; then he turned back and faced the kitchen door once again.\n\nHe shouted: \"Open up to the sheriff!\"\n\nAfter a pause the kitchen door opened, and Philip came out again. He looked down at William, now standing unarmed in the courtyard; then he looked at the men-at-arms clustered around the gateway on the far side of the close; and finally he looked back at William and said: \"Well?\"\n\n\"You are harboring a murderer in the priory. Release him to me.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"There has been no murder in Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"The earl of Shiring murdered Alfred Builder four days ago.\"\n\n\"Wrong,\" Philip said. \"Richard killed Alfred, but it wasn't murder. Alfred was caught in the act of attempted rape.\"\n\nAliena shuddered.\n\n\"Rape?\" William said. \"Who was he attempting to rape?\"\n\n\"Aliena.\"\n\n\"But she is his wife!\" William said triumphantly. \"How can a man rape his wife?\"\n\nAliena saw the direction of William's argument, and fury bubbled up inside her.\n\nPhilip said: \"That marriage has never been consummated, and she has applied for an annulment.\"\n\n\"Which has never been granted. They were married in church. They are still married, according to the law. There was no rape. On the contrary.\" William turned suddenly and pointed a finger at Aliena. \"She has been wanting to get rid of her husband for years, and she finally persuaded her brother to help her get him out of the way\u2014by stabbing him to death with her dagger!\"\n\nThe cold hand of fear gripped Aliena's heart. The tale he told was an outrageous lie, but for someone who had not actually seen what happened it fitted the facts as plausibly as the real story. Richard was in trouble.\n\nPhilip said: \"The sheriff cannot arrest the earl.\"\n\nThat was true, Aliena realized. She had been forgetting.\n\nWilliam pulled out a scroll. \"I have a royal writ. I am arresting him on behalf of the king.\"\n\nAliena was devastated. William had thought of everything. \"How did William manage that?\" she muttered.\n\n\"He was very quick,\" Jack replied. \"He must have ridden to Winchester and seen the king as soon as he heard the news.\"\n\nPhilip held out his hand. \"Show me the writ.\"\n\nWilliam held it out. They were several yards apart. There was a momentary standoff, when neither of them would move; then William gave in and walked up the steps to hand the writ to Philip.\n\nPhilip read it and gave it back. \"This doesn't give you the right to attack a monastery.\"\n\n\"It gives me the right to arrest Richard.\"\n\n\"He has asked for sanctuary.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" William did not look surprised. He nodded as if he had heard confirmation of something inevitable, and took two or three steps back. When he spoke again his voice was raised so that everyone could hear clearly. \"Let him know that he will be arrested the moment he leaves the priory. My deputies will be stationed in the town and outside his castle. Remember\u2014\" He looked around at the assembled crowd. \"Remember that anyone who harms a sheriffs deputy harms a servant of the king.\" He turned back to Philip. \"Tell him that he may stay within the sanctuary as long as he likes, but if he wants to leave, he will have to face justice.\"\n\nThere was silence. William walked slowly down the steps and across the kitchen courtyard. His words had sounded to Aliena like a sentence of imprisonment. The crowd parted for him. He threw a smug look at Aliena as he passed her. They all watched him walk to the gate and mount his horse. He gave an order and trotted away, leaving two of his men standing at the gate, looking in.\n\nWhen Aliena turned around, Philip was standing beside her and Jack. \"Go to my house,\" he said quietly. \"We must discuss this.\" He went back into the kitchen.\n\nAliena had the impression that he was secretly pleased about something.\n\nThe excitement was over. The builders returned to work, talking animatedly. Ellen went to the house to be with the grandchildren. Aliena and Jack walked through the graveyard, skirting the building site, and went into Philip's house. He was not yet there. They sat on a bench to wait. Jack sensed Aliena's anxiety for her brother, and gave her a comforting hug.\n\nLooking around, Aliena realized that year by year Philip's house was slowly becoming more comfortable. It was still bare by the standards of an earl's private quarters in a castle, say, but it was not as austere as it had once been. In front of the little altar in the corner there was now a small rug, to save the prior's knees during the long nights of prayer; and on the wall behind the altar hung a jeweled silver crucifix that must have been a costly gift. It would do Philip no harm to be easier on himself as he got older, Aliena thought. Perhaps he would be a little easier on others too.\n\nA few moments later Philip came in, with a flustered-looking Richard in tow. Richard began speaking immediately. \"William can't do this, it's mad! I found Alfred trying to rape my sister\u2014he had a knife in his hand\u2014he almost killed me!\"\n\n\"Calm down,\" Philip said. \"Let's talk about this quietly, and try calmly to determine what the dangers are, if any. Why don't we all take a seat?\"\n\nRichard sat down, but he went on talking. \"Dangers? There are no dangers. A sheriff can't imprison an earl for anything, even murder.\"\n\n\"He's going to try,\" Philip said. \"He'll have men waiting outside the priory.\"\n\nRichard made a dismissive gesture. \"I can get past William's men blindfold. They're no problem. Jack can be waiting for me outside the town wall with a horse.\"\n\n\"And when you reach Earlscastle?\" said Philip.\n\n\"Same thing. I can sneak past William's men. Or have my own men come out to meet me.\"\n\n\"That sounds satisfactory,\" said Philip. \"And what then?\"\n\n\"Then nothing,\" said Richard. \"What can William do?\"\n\n\"Well, he still has a royal writ that summons you to answer a charge of murder. He'll try to arrest you anytime you leave the castle.\"\n\n\"I'll go everywhere escorted.\"\n\n\"And when you hold court, in Shiring and other places?\"\n\n\"Same thing.\"\n\n\"But will anyone abide by your decisions, knowing that you yourself are a fugitive from the law?\"\n\n\"They'd better,\" Richard said darkly. \"They should remember how William enforced his decisions when he was the earl.\"\n\n\"They may not be as frightened of you as they were of William. They may think you're not as bloodthirsty and evil. I hope they would be right.\"\n\n\"Don't count on it.\"\n\nAliena frowned. It was not like Philip to be so pessimistic\u2014unless he had an ulterior motive. She suspected that he was laying the groundwork for some scheme he had up his sleeve. I'd bet money, she thought, that the quarry will come into this somehow.\n\n\"My main worry is the king,\" Philip was saying. \"In refusing to answer the charge, you're defying the crown. A year ago I would have said go ahead and defy it. But now that the war is over, it won't be so easy for earls to do as they please.\"\n\nJack said: \"It looks as if you'll have to answer the charge, Richard.\"\n\n\"He can't do that,\" Aliena said. \"He's got no hope of justice.\"\n\n\"She's right,\" Philip said. \"The case would be heard in the royal court. The facts are already known: Alfred tried to force himself upon Aliena, Richard came in, they fought, and Richard killed Alfred. Everything depends on the interpretation. And with William, a loyal supporter of King Stephen, making the complaint, and Richard being one of Duke Henry's greatest allies, the verdict will probably be guilty. Why did King Stephen sign the writ? Presumably because he's decided to take revenge on Richard for fighting against him. The death of Alfred provides him with a perfect excuse.\"\n\nAliena said: \"We must appeal to Duke Henry to intervene.\"\n\nIt was Richard who looked dubious now. \"I wouldn't like to rely on him. He's in Normandy. He might write a letter of protest, but what else could he do? Conceivably he could cross the channel with an army, but then he would be in breach of the peace pact, and I don't think he'd risk that for me.\"\n\nAliena felt miserable and frightened. \"Oh, Richard, you're caught in a terrible web, and it's all because you saved me.\"\n\nHe gave her his most charming grin. \"I'd do it again, too, Allie.\"\n\n\"I know.\" He meant it. For all his faults, he was brave. It seemed unfair that he should be confronted with such an intractable problem so soon after he succeeded to the earldom. As earl he was a disappointment to Aliena\u2014a terrible disappointment\u2014but he did not deserve this.\n\n\"Well, what a choice,\" he said. \"I can stay here in the priory until Duke Henry becomes king, or hang for murder. I'd become a monk if you monks didn't eat so much fish.\"\n\n\"There might be another way out,\" said Philip.\n\nAliena looked at him eagerly. She had suspected that he was hatching a plot, and she would be grateful to him if he could resolve Richard's dilemma.\n\n\"You could do penance for the killing,\" Philip went on.\n\n\"Would it involve eating fish?\" Richard said flippantly.\n\n\"I'm thinking about the Holy Land,\" Philip said.\n\nThey all went quiet. Palestine was ruled by the king of Jerusalem, Baldwin III, a Christian of French origin. It was constantly under attack by neighboring Muslim countries, especially Egypt to the south and Damascus to the east. To go there, a journey of six months or a year, and join the armies fighting to defend the Christian kingdom, was indeed the kind of penance a man might do to purge his soul of a killing. Aliena felt a qualm of anxiety: not everybody came back from the Holy Land. But she had been worrying about Richard in wars for years, and the Holy Land was probably no more dangerous than England. She would just have to fret. She was used to it.\n\n\"The king of Jerusalem always needs men,\" Richard said. Every few years emissaries from the pope would tour the country, telling tales of battle and glory in the defense of Christendom, trying to inspire young men to go and fight in the Holy Land. \"But I've only just come into my earldom,\" he said. \"And who would be in charge of my lands while I was away?\"\n\n\"Aliena,\" said Philip.\n\nAliena suddenly felt breathless. Philip was proposing that she should take the place of the earl, and rule as her father had done.... The proposal stunned her for a moment, but as soon as she recovered her senses she knew it was right. When a man went to the Holy Land his domains were normally looked after by his wife. There was no reason why a sister should not fulfill the same role for an unmarried earl. And she would run the earldom the way she had always known it ought to be run, with justice and vision and imagination. She would do all the things Richard had so dismally failed to do. Her heart raced as she thought the idea through. She would try out new ideas, plowing with horses instead of oxen, and planting spring crops of oats and peas on fallow land. She would clear new lands for planting, establish new markets, and open the quarry to Philip after all this time\u2014\n\nHe had thought of that, of course. Of all the clever schemes Philip had dreamed up over the years, this was probably the most ingenious. At one stroke he solved three problems: he got Richard off the hook, he put a competent ruler in charge of the earldom, and he got his quarry at last.\n\nPhilip said: \"I've no doubt that King Baldwin would welcome you\u2014especially if you went with such of your knights and men who feel inspired to join you. It would be your own small crusade.\" He paused a moment to let that thought sink in. \"William couldn't touch you over there, of course,\" he went on. \"And you would return a hero. Nobody would dare try to hang you then.\"\n\n\"The Holy Land,\" Richard said, and there was a death-or-glory light in his eyes. It was the right thing for him, Aliena thought. He was no good at governing the earldom. He was a soldier, and he wanted to fight. She saw the faraway look on his face. In his mind he was there already, defending a sandy redoubt, sword in hand, a red cross on his shield, fighting off a heathen horde under the baking sun.\n\nHe was happy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "The whole town came to the wedding.\n\nAliena was surprised. Most people treated her and Jack as more or less married already, and she had thought they would consider the wedding a mere formality. She had expected a small group of friends, mostly people of her own age and Jack's fellow master craftsmen. But every man, woman and child in Kingsbridge turned out. She was touched by their presence. And they all looked so happy for her. She realized that they had sympathized with her predicament all these years, even though they had tactfully refrained from mentioning it to her; and now they shared her joy in finally marrying the man she had loved for so long. She walked through the streets on her brother Richard's arm, dazzled by the smiles that followed her, drunk with happiness.\n\nRichard was leaving for the Holy Land tomorrow. King Stephen had accepted this solution\u2014indeed, he seemed relieved to be rid of Richard so easily. Sheriff William was furious, of course, for his aim had been to dispossess Richard of the earldom, and now he had lost all chance of doing that. Richard himself still had that faraway look in his eyes: he could hardly wait to be gone.\n\nThis was not the way her father had intended things to turn out, she thought as she entered the priory close: Richard fighting in a distant land and Aliena herself playing the role of earl. However, she no longer felt obliged to run her life according to her father's wishes. He had been dead for seventeen years, and anyway, she knew something that he had not understood: that she would be a far better earl than Richard.\n\nShe had already taken the reins of power. The castle servants were lazy after years of slack management and she had smartened them up. She had reorganized the stores, had the great hall painted, and cleaned out the bakehouse and the brewery. The kitchen had been so filthy that she had burned it down and built a new one. She had started to pay out the weekly wages herself, as a sign that she was in charge; and she had dismissed three men-at-arms for persistent drunkenness.\n\nShe had also ordered a new castle to be built an hour's ride from Kingsbridge. Earlscastle was too far from the cathedral. Jack had drawn a design for the new place. They would move in as soon as the keep was built. Meanwhile, they would split their time between Earlscastle and Kingsbridge.\n\nThey had already spent several nights together in Aliena's old room at Earlscastle, far from Philip's disapproving gaze. They had been like honeymooners, swamped by insatiable physical passion. Perhaps it was because for the first time ever they had a bedroom with a door they could lock. Privacy was an extravagance of lords: everyone else slept and made love downstairs in the communal hall. Even couples who lived in a house were always liable to be seen by their children, or relatives, or neighbors dropping by: people locked their doors when they were out, not when they were in. Aliena had never been dissatisfied with that, but now she had discovered the special thrill of knowing you could do anything you liked without the risk of being seen. She thought of some of the things she and Jack had done in the past two weeks, and she blushed.\n\nJack was waiting for her in the partly built nave of the cathedral, with Martha and Tommy and Sally. At weddings, the couple normally exchanged vows in the church porch, then went inside for the mass. Today the first bay of the nave would serve as porch. Aliena was glad they were getting married in the church Jack was building. It was as much a part of Jack as the clothes he wore or the way he made love. His cathedral was going to be like him: graceful, inventive, cheerful, and totally unlike anything that had gone before.\n\nShe looked lovingly at him. He was thirty years old. He was such a handsome man, with his mane of red hair and his sparkling blue eyes. He had been a very ugly boy, she remembered: she had thought him somewhat beneath her notice. But he had fallen in love with her at the very start, he said; and he still winced when he remembered how they had all laughed at him because he said he had never had a father. It was nearly twenty years ago. Twenty years...\n\nShe might never have seen Jack again had it not been for Prior Philip, who now entered the church from the cloisters and came smiling into the nave. He looked genuinely thrilled to be marrying them at last. She thought of her first meeting with him. She recalled vividly the despair she had felt when the wool merchant tried to cheat her, after all the effort and heartbreak that had gone into amassing that sack of fleeces; and her overwhelming gratitude to the young black-haired monk who had saved her and said: \"I'll buy your wool any time....\" His hair was gray now.\n\nHe had saved her, then he had almost destroyed her, by forcing Jack to choose between her and the cathedral. He was a hard man on questions of right and wrong; a bit like her father. However, he had wanted to perform the marriage service.\n\nEllen had cursed Aliena's first wedding, and the curse had worked. Aliena was glad. If her marriage to Alfred had not been completely insupportable she might be living with him still. It was odd to reflect on what might have been: it gave her chills, like bad dreams and dreadful imaginings. She recalled the pretty, sexy Arab girl in Toledo who had fallen in love with Jack: what if he had married her? Aliena would have arrived in Toledo, with her baby in her arms, to find Jack in the lap of domesticity, sharing his body and his mind with someone else. The thought was horrifying.\n\nShe listened to him mumbling the Paternoster. It seemed amazing, now, to think that when she came to live in Kingsbridge she had paid no more attention to him than to the grain merchant's cat. But he had noticed her: he had loved her secretly all those years. How patient he had been! He had watched as the younger sons of the county gentry came to court her, one by one, and went away again disappointed or offended or defiant. He had seen\u2014clever, clever boy that he was\u2014that she could not be won by wooing; and he had approached her sidelong, as a friend rather than a lover, meeting her in the woods and telling her stories and making her love him without her noticing. She remembered that first kiss, so light and casual, except that it had burned her lips for weeks afterward. She remembered the second kiss even more vividly. Every time she heard the rumble of the fulling mill she remembered the dark, unfamiliar, unwelcome surge of lust that she had felt.\n\nOne of the abiding regrets of her life was the way she had turned cold after that. Jack had loved her totally and honestly, and she had been so frightened that she had turned away, pretending she did not care for him. It had hurt him deeply; and although he had continued to love her, and the wound had healed, it left a scar, as deep wounds do; and sometimes she saw that scar, in the way he looked at her when they quarreled and she spoke coldly to him, and his eyes seemed to say: Yes, I know you, you can be cold, you can hurt me, I must be on my guard.\n\nWas there a wary look in his eyes now, as he vowed to be loving and faithful to her all the rest of his life? He's got reason enough to doubt me, she thought. I married Alfred, and what greater betrayal could there be than that? But then I made up for it, by searching half of Christendom to find Jack.\n\nSuch disappointments, betrayals and reconciliations were the stuff of married life, but she and Jack had gone through them before the wedding. Now, at least, she felt confident that she knew him. Nothing was likely to surprise her. It was a funny way to do things, but it might be better than making your vows first and getting to know your spouse afterward. The priests would not agree, of course; indeed, Philip would be apoplectic if he knew what was going through her mind; but then again, priests knew less about love than anyone.\n\nShe made her vows, repeating the words after Philip, thinking to herself how beautiful was the promise With my body I worship you. Philip would never understand that.\n\nJack put a ring on her finger. I've been waiting for this all my life, she thought. They looked into one another's eyes. Something had changed in him, she could tell. She realized that until this moment he had never really been sure of her. Now he looked deeply content.\n\n\"I love you,\" he said. \"I always will.\"\n\nThat was his vow. The rest was religion, but now he had made his own promise; and Aliena realized that she, too, had been unsure of him until now. In a moment they would walk forward into the crossing for the mass; and after that they would accept the congratulations and good wishes of the townspeople, and take them home and give them food and ale and make merry; but this small instant was just for them. Jack's look said You and me, together, always; and Aliena thought At last.\n\nIt felt very peaceful."
            },
            {
                "title": "1170-1174",
                "text": "Kingsbridge was still growing. It had long ago overflowed its original walls, which now enclosed fewer than half the houses. About five years ago the guild had built a new wall, taking in the suburbs that had grown up outside the old town; and now there were more suburbs outside the new wall. The meadow on the other side of the river, where the townspeople had traditionally held Lammas Day and Midsummer Eve festivities, was now a small village, called Newport.\n\nOn a cold Easter Sunday, Sheriff William Hamleigh rode through Newport and crossed the stone bridge that led into what was now called the old town of Kingsbridge. Today the newly completed Kingsbridge Cathedral would be consecrated. He passed through the formidable city gate and went up the main street, which had recently been paved. The dwellings on either side were all stone houses with shops in the undercrofts and living quarters above. Kingsbridge was bigger, busier and wealthier than Shiring had ever been, William thought bitterly.\n\nHe reached the top of the street and turned into the priory close; and there, before his eyes, was the reason for the rise of Kingsbridge and the decline of Shiring: the cathedral.\n\nIt was breathtaking.\n\nThe immensely tall nave was supported by a row of graceful flying buttresses. The west end had three huge porticos, like giants' doorways, and rows of tall, slender, pointed windows above, flanked by slim towers. The concept had been heralded in the transepts, finished eighteen years ago, but this was the astonishing consummation of the idea. There had never been a building like this anywhere in England.\n\nThe market still took place here every Sunday, and the green in front of the church door was packed with stalls. William dismounted and left Walter to take care of the horses. He limped across the green to the church: he was fifty-four years old, and heavy, and he suffered constant pain from gout in his legs and feet. Because of the pain he was more or less permanently angry.\n\nThe church was even more impressive inside. The nave followed the style of the transepts, but the master builder had refined his design, making the columns even more slender and the windows larger. But there was yet another innovation. William had heard people talk of the colored glass made by craftsmen Jack Jackson had brought over from Paris. He had wondered why there was such a fuss about it, for he imagined that a colored window would be just like a tapestry or a painting. Now he saw what they meant. The light from outside shone through the colored glass, making it glow, and the effect was quite magical. The church was full of people craning their necks to stare up at the windows. The pictures showed Bible stories, Heaven and Hell, saints and prophets, disciples, and some of the Kingsbridge citizens who had presumably paid for the windows in which they appeared\u2014a baker carrying his tray of loaves, a tanner and his hides, a mason with his compasses and level. I bet Philip made a fat profit out of those windows, William thought sourly.\n\nThe church was packed for the Easter service. The market was spreading into the interior of the building, as always happened, and walking up the nave William was offered cold beer, hot gingerbread and a quick fuck up against the wall for threepence. The clergy were forever trying to ban peddlers from churches but it was an impossible task. William exchanged greetings with the more important citizens of the county. But despite the social and commercial distractions William found his eye and his thoughts constantly drawn upward by the sweeping lines of the arcade. The arches and the windows, the piers with their clustered shafts, and the ribs and segments of the vaulted ceiling all seemed to point toward heaven in an inescapable reminder of what the building was for.\n\nThe floor was paved, the pillars were painted, and every window was glazed: Kingsbridge and its priory were rich, and the cathedral proclaimed their prosperity. In the small chapels of the transepts were gold candlesticks and jeweled crosses. The citizens also displayed their wealth, with richly colored tunics, silver brooches and buckles, and gold rings.\n\nHis eye fell on Aliena.\n\nAs always, his heart missed a beat. She was as beautiful as ever, although she had to be over fifty years old now. She still had a mass of curly hair, but it was cut shorter, and seemed to be a lighter shade of brown, as if it had faded a little. She had attractive crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She was a little wider than she used to be, but she was no less desirable. She wore a blue cloak with a red silk lining, and red leather shoes. There was a deferential crowd around her. Although she was not even a countess, merely the sister of an earl, her brother had settled in the Holy Land, and everyone treated her as the earl. She carried herself like a queen.\n\nThe sight of her brewed hatred like bile in William's belly. He had ruined her father, raped her, taken her castle, burned her wool and exiled her brother, but every time he thought he had crushed her she came back again, rising from defeat to new heights of power and wealth. Now William was aging and gouty and fat and he realized that he had spent his life in the power of a terrible enchantment.\n\nBeside her was a tall redhaired man whom William at first took for Jack. However, on closer examination the man was obviously too young, and William realized it must be the son of Jack. The boy was dressed as a knight, and carried a sword. Jack himself stood next to his son, an inch or two shorter, his red hair receding at the temples. He was younger than Aliena, of course, by about five years, if William's memory was right, but he, too, had lines around his eyes. He was talking animatedly to a young woman who was surely his daughter. She resembled Aliena, and was just as pretty, but her abundant hair was pulled severely back and plaited, and she was quite plainly dressed. If there was a voluptuous body under that earth-brown tunic she did not want anyone to know it.\n\nResentment burned in his stomach as he regarded Aliena's prosperous, dignified, happy family. Everything they had should have been his. But he had not given up the hope of revenge.\n\nThe voices of several hundred monks were raised in song, drowning the conversations and the cries of the hawkers, and Prior Philip entered the church at the head of a procession. There never used to be this many monks, William thought. The priory had grown along with the town. Philip, now over sixty years old, was almost completely bald, and rather stout, so that his formerly thin face had become quite round. Not surprisingly, he looked pleased with himself: the dedication of this cathedral was the aim he had conceived when he first came to Kingsbridge, thirty-four years ago.\n\nThere was a murmur of comment when Bishop Waleran came in, clad in his most gorgeous robes. His pale, angular face was frozen in a stiffly neutral expression, but William knew he was seething inside. This cathedral was the triumphant symbol of Philip's victory over Waleran. William hated Philip too, but all the same he secretly enjoyed seeing the supercilious Bishop Waleran humbled for a change.\n\nWaleran was rarely seen here. A new church had finally been built in Shiring\u2014with a special chapel dedicated to the memory of William's mother\u2014and although it was nowhere near as large or impressive as this cathedral, nevertheless Waleran had made the Shiring church his headquarters.\n\nHowever, Kingsbridge was still the cathedral church, despite all Waleran's efforts. In a war that had raged over three decades, Waleran had done everything he could to destroy Philip, but in the end Philip had triumphed. They were a bit like William and Aliena. In both cases, weakness and scruples had defeated strength and ruthlessness. William felt he would never understand it.\n\nThe bishop had been obliged to come here today, for the dedication ceremony: it would have looked very peculiar if he had not been here to welcome all the celebrity guests. Several bishops from neighboring dioceses were here, as well as a number of distinguished abbots and priors.\n\nThe archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, would not be here. He was in the throes of a quarrel with his old friend, King Henry; a quarrel so bitter and fierce that the archbishop had been forced to flee the country, and had taken refuge in France. They were in conflict over a whole list of legal issues, but the heart of the dispute was simple: Could the king do as he pleased, or was he constrained? It was the dispute William himself had had with Prior Philip. William took the view that the earl could do anything\u2014that was what it meant to be earl. Henry felt the same about kingship. Prior Philip and Thomas Becket were both bent on restricting the power of rulers.\n\nBishop Waleran was a clergyman who sided with the rulers. For him, power was meant to be used. The defeats of three decades had not shaken his belief that he was the instrument of God's will, nor his ruthless determination to do his holy duty. William felt sure that even while he conducted the consecration service for Kingsbridge Cathedral, he was casting about for some way to spoil Philip's moment of glory.\n\nWilliam moved about throughout the service. Standing was worse for his legs than walking. When he went to Shiring church, Walter carried a chair for him. Then he could doze off for a while. Here, though, there were people to talk to, and much of the congregation used the time to conduct business. William went around ingratiating himself with the powerful, intimidating the weak, and gathering information on all and sundry. He no longer struck terror into the hearts of the population, as he had in the good old days, but as sheriff he was still feared and deferred to.\n\nThe service went on interminably. There was a long interval during which the monks went around the outside of the church sprinkling the walls with holy water. Near the end, Prior Philip announced the appointment of a new sub-prior: it was to be Brother Jonathan, the priory orphan. Jonathan, now in his middle thirties and unusually tall, reminded William of old Tom Builder: he too had been something of a giant.\n\nWhen the service finally ended, the distinguished guests lingered in the south transept, and the minor gentry of the county crowded around to meet them. William limped over to join them. Once upon a time he had treated bishops as his equals, but now he had to bow and scrape with the knights and small landowners. Bishop Waleran drew William aside and said: \"Who is that new sub-prior?\"\n\n\"The priory orphan,\" William replied. \"He's always been a favorite of Philip's.\"\n\n\"He seems young to be made sub-prior.\"\n\n\"He's older than Philip was when Philip became prior.\"\n\nWaleran looked thoughtful. \"The priory orphan. Remind me of the details.\"\n\n\"When Philip came here he brought a baby with him.\"\n\nWaleran's face cleared as he remembered. \"By the cross, yes! I'd forgotten Philip's baby. How could I have let something like that slip my mind?\"\n\n\"It is thirty years. And who cares?\"\n\nWaleran gave William the scornful look that William hated so much, the look that said You dumb ox, can't you figure out something that simple? Pain stabbed his foot, and he shifted his weight in a vain attempt to ease it. Waleran said: \"Well, where did the baby come from?\"\n\nWilliam swallowed his resentment. \"It was found abandoned near his old cell in the forest, if I remember rightly.\"\n\n\"Better and better,\" Waleran said eagerly.\n\nWilliam still did not see what he was getting at. \"So what?\" he said sullenly.\n\n\"Would you say that Philip has brought the child up as if it was his own son?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And now he's made him sub-prior.\"\n\n\"He was elected by the monks, presumably. I believe he's very popular.\"\n\n\"Anyone who is sub-prior at thirty-five must be in line for the post of prior eventually.\"\n\nWilliam was not going to say So what? again so he just waited, feeling like a stupid schoolboy, for Waleran to explain.\n\nAt last Waleran said: \"Jonathan is obviously Philip's own child.\"\n\nWilliam burst out laughing. He had been expecting a profound thought, and Waleran had come up with a notion that was totally ludicrous. To William's satisfaction, his scorn brought a slight flush to Waleran's waxy complexion. William said: \"No one who knows Philip would believe such a thing. He was born a dried-up old stick. The idea!\" He laughed again. Waleran might think he was ever so clever, but this time he had lost his sense of reality.\n\nWaleran's hauteur was icy. \"I say Philip used to have a mistress, when he ran that little priory out in the forest. Then he became prior of Kingsbridge and had to leave the woman behind. She didn't want the baby if she couldn't have the father, so she dumped the child on him. Philip, being a sentimental soul, felt obliged to take care of it, so he passed it off as a foundling.\"\n\nWilliam shook his head. \"Unbelievable. Anyone else, yes. Philip, no.\"\n\nWaleran persisted: \"If the baby was abandoned, how can he prove where it came from?\"\n\n\"He can't,\" William acknowledged. He looked across the south transept to where Philip and Jonathan stood together, talking to the bishop of Hereford. \"But they don't even look alike.\"\n\n\"You don't look like your mother,\" Waleran said. \"Thank God.\"\n\n\"What good is all this?\" William said. \"What are you going to do about it?\"\n\n\"Accuse him before an ecclesiastical court,\" Waleran replied.\n\nThat made a difference. No one who knew Philip would credit Waleran's accusation for a moment, but a judge who was a stranger to Kingsbridge might find it more plausible. William saw reluctantly that Waleran's idea was not so stupid after all. As usual, Waleran was shrewder than William. Waleran was looking irritatingly smug, of course. But William was enthused by the prospect of bringing Philip down. \"By God,\" he said eagerly. \"Do you think it could be done?\"\n\n\"It depends who the judge is. But I may be able to arrange something there. I wonder...\"\n\nWilliam looked across the transept at Philip, triumphant and smiling, with his tall prot\u00e9g\u00e9 beside him. The vast stained-glass windows threw an enchanted light over them, and they were like figures in a dream. \"Fornication and nepotism,\" William said gleefully. \"My God.\"\n\n\"If we can make it stick,\" Waleran said with relish, \"it will be the finish of that damned prior.\"\n\nNo reasonable judge could possibly find Philip guilty.\n\nThe truth was that he had never had to try very hard to resist the temptation of fornication. He knew, from hearing confession, that some monks struggled desperately with fleshly lust, but he was not like that. There had been a time, at the age of about eighteen, when he had suffered impure dreams, but that phase had not lasted long. For most of his life chastity had come easily to him. He had never performed the sexual act and he was now probably too old for it.\n\nHowever, the Church was taking the accusation very seriously. Philip was to be tried by an ecclesiastical court. An archdeacon from Canterbury would be present. Waleran had wanted the trial to be held at Shiring, but Philip had fought against that, successfully, and it would now be held at Kingsbridge, which was, after all, the cathedral city. Now Philip was clearing his personal possessions out of the prior's house to make way for the archdeacon, who would be staying here.\n\nPhilip knew he was innocent of fornication, and it followed logically that he could not be guilty of nepotism, for a man cannot favor his sons if he has none. Nevertheless he searched his heart to see whether he had done wrong in promoting Jonathan. Just as impure thoughts were a kind of shadow of a graver sin, perhaps favoritism toward a loved orphan was the shadow of nepotism. Monks were supposed to forgo the consolations of family life, yet Jonathan had been like a son to Philip. Philip had made Jonathan cellarer at a young age, and had now promoted him to sub-prior. Did I do that for my own pride and pleasure? he asked himself.\n\nWell, yes, he thought.\n\nHe had taken enormous satisfaction from teaching Jonathan, watching him grow, and seeing him learn how to manage priory affairs. But even if these things had not given Philip such intense pleasure, Jonathan would still have been the ablest young administrator in the priory. He was intelligent, devout, imaginative and conscientious. Brought up in the monastery, he knew no other life, and he never hankered after freedom. Philip himself had been raised in an abbey. We monastery orphans make the best monks, he thought.\n\nHe put a book into a satchel: Luke's Gospel, so wise. He had treated Jonathan like a son, but he had not committed any sins worth taking before an ecclesiastical court. The charge was absurd.\n\nUnfortunately, the mere accusation would be damaging. It diminished his moral authority. There would be people who would remember the charge and forget the verdict. Next time Philip stood up and said: \"The commandment forbids a man to covet his neighbor's wife,\" some of the congregation would be thinking But you had your fun when you were young.\n\nJonathan burst in, breathing hard. Philip frowned. The sub-prior ought not to burst into rooms panting. Philip was about to launch into a homily on the dignity of monastic officers, when Jonathan said: \"Archdeacon Peter is here already!\"\n\n\"All right, all right,\" Philip soothed. \"I've just about finished, anyway.\" He handed Jonathan the satchel. \"Take this to the dormitory, and don't rush everywhere: a monastery is a place of peace and quiet.\"\n\nJonathan accepted the satchel and the rebuke, but he said: \"I don't like the look of the archdeacon.\"\n\n\"I'm sure he'll be a just judge, and that's all we want,\" Philip said.\n\nThe door opened again, and the archdeacon came in. He was a tall, rangy man of about Philip's age, with thinning gray hair and a rather superior look on his face. He seemed vaguely familiar.\n\nPhilip offered a handshake, saying: \"I'm Prior Philip.\"\n\n\"I know you,\" the archdeacon said sourly. \"Don't you remember me?\"\n\nThe gravelly voice did it. Philip's heart sank. This was his oldest enemy. \"Archdeacon Peter,\" he said grimly. \"Peter of Wareham.\"\n\n\"He was a troublemaker,\" Philip explained to Jonathan a few minutes later, when they had left the archdeacon to make himself comfortable in the prior's house. \"He would complain that we didn't work hard enough, or we ate too well, or the services were too short. He said I was indulgent. He wanted to be prior himself, I'm sure. He would have been a disaster, of course. I made him almoner, so that he had to spend half his time away. I did it just to get rid of him. It was best for the priory and best for him, but I'm sure he still hates me for it, even after thirty-five years.\" He sighed. \"I heard, when you and I visited St-John-in-the-Forest after the great famine, that Peter had gone to Canterbury. And now he's going to sit in judgment on me.\"\n\nThey were in the cloisters. The weather was mild and the sun was warm. Fifty boys in three different classes were learning to read and write in the north walk, and the subdued murmur of their lessons floated across the quadrangle. Philip remembered when the school had consisted of five boys and a senile novice-master. He thought of all he had done here: the building of the cathedral; the transformation of the impoverished, rundown priory into a wealthy, busy, influential institution; the enlargement of the town of Kingsbridge. In the church, more than a hundred monks were singing mass. From where he sat he could see the astonishingly beautiful stained-glass windows in the clerestory. At his back, off the east walk, was a stone-built library containing hundreds of books on theology, astronomy, ethics, mathematics, indeed, every branch of knowledge. In the outside world the priory's lands, managed with enlightened self-interest by monastic officers, fed not just the monks but hundreds of farm workers. Was all that to be taken from him by a lie? Would the prosperous and God-fearing priory be handed over to someone else, a pawn of Bishop Waleran's such as the slimy Archdeacon Baldwin, or a self-righteous fool such as Peter of Wareham, to be run down to penury and depravity as quickly as Philip had built it up? Would the vast flocks of sheep shrink to a handful of scrawny ewes, the farms return to weed-grown inefficiency, the library become dusty with disuse, the beautiful cathedral sink into damp and disrepair? God helped me to achieve so much, he thought; I can't believe he intended it to come to nothing.\n\nJonathan said: \"All the same, Archdeacon Peter can't possibly find you guilty.\"\n\n\"I think he will,\" Philip said heavily.\n\n\"In all conscience, how can he?\"\n\n\"I think he's been nursing a grievance against me all his life, and this is his chance to prove that I was the sinner and he was the righteous man all along. Somehow Waleran found out about that and made sure Peter was appointed to judge this case.\"\n\n\"But there's no proof!\"\n\n\"He doesn't need proof. He'll hear the accusation, and the defense; then he'll pray for guidance, and he'll announce his verdict.\"\n\n\"God may guide him aright.\"\n\n\"Peter won't listen to God. He's never been a listener.\"\n\n\"What will happen?\"\n\n\"I'll be deposed,\" Philip said grimly. \"They may let me continue here as an ordinary monk, to do penance for my sin, but it's not likely. More probably they will expel me from the order, to prevent my having any further influence here.\"\n\n\"What would happen then?\"\n\n\"There would have to be an election, of course. Unfortunately, royal politics enter into the picture now. King Henry is in dispute with the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, and Archbishop Thomas is in exile in France. Half his archdeacons are with him. The other half, the ones who stayed behind, have sided with the king against their archbishop. Peter obviously belongs to that crowd. Bishop Waleran has also taken the king's side. Waleran will recommend his choice of prior, backed by the Canterbury archdeacons and the king. It will be hard for the monks here to oppose him.\"\n\n\"Who do you think it might be?\"\n\n\"Waleran has someone in mind, rest assured. It could be Archdeacon Baldwin. It might even be Peter of Wareham.\"\n\n\"We must do something to prevent this!\" Jonathan said.\n\nPhilip nodded. \"But everything is against us. There's nothing we can do to alter the political situation. The only possibility...\"\n\n\"What?\" Jonathan said impatiently.\n\nThe case seemed so hopeless that Philip felt there was no point in toying with desperate ideas: it would excite Jonathan's optimism only to disappoint him. \"Nothing,\" Philip said.\n\n\"What were you going to say?\"\n\nPhilip was still working it out. \"If there was a way to prove my innocence beyond doubt, it would be impossible for Peter to find me guilty.\"\n\n\"But what would count as proof?\"\n\n\"Exactly. You can't prove a negative. We would have to find your real father.\"\n\nJonathan was instantly enthusiastic. \"Yes! That's it! That's what we'll do!\"\n\n\"Slow down,\" Philip said. \"I tried at the time. It's not likely to be any easier so many years later.\"\n\nJonathan was not to be discouraged. \"Were there no clues at all to where I might have come from?\"\n\n\"Nothing, I'm afraid.\" Philip was now worried that he had raised hopes in Jonathan which could not be fulfilled. Although the boy had no memories of his parents, the fact that they had abandoned him had always troubled him. Now he thought he might solve the mystery and find some explanation which proved they had loved him really. Philip felt sure this could only lead to frustration.\n\n\"Did you question people living nearby?\" Jonathan said.\n\n\"There was nobody living nearby. That cell is deep in the forest. Your parents probably came from miles away, Winchester perhaps. I've been over all this ground already.\"\n\nJonathan persisted. \"You didn't see any travelers in the forest around that time?\"\n\n\"No.\" Philip frowned. Was that true? A stray thought tugged at his memory. The day the baby was found, Philip had left the priory to go to the bishop's palace, and on his way he had spoken to some people. Suddenly it came back to him. \"Well, yes, as a matter of fact, Tom Builder and his family were passing through.\"\n\nJonathan was astonished. \"You never told me that!\"\n\n\"It never seemed important. It still doesn't. I met them a day or two later. I questioned them, and they said they hadn't seen anyone who might have been the mother or father of an abandoned baby.\"\n\nJonathan was crestfallen. Philip was afraid this whole line of inquiry was going to prove doubly disappointing to him: he would not find out about his parents and he would fail to prove Philip's innocence. But there was no stopping him now. \"What were they doing in the forest, anyway?\" he persisted.\n\n\"Tom was on his way to the bishop's palace. He was looking for work. That's how they ended up here.\"\n\n\"I want to question them again.\"\n\n\"Well, Tom and Alfred are dead. Ellen is living in the forest, and only God knows when she will reappear. But you could talk to Jack or Martha.\"\n\n\"It's worth a try.\"\n\nPerhaps Jonathan was right. He had the energy of youth. Philip had been pessimistic and discouraging. \"Go ahead,\" he said to Jonathan. \"I'm getting old and tired; otherwise I would have thought of it myself. Talk to Jack. It's a slender thread to hang on to. But it's our only hope.\"\n\nThe design of the window had been drawn, full size, and painted, on a huge wooden table which had been washed with ale to prevent the colors from running. The drawing showed the Tree of Jesse, a genealogy of Christ in picture form. Sally picked up a small piece of thick ruby-colored glass and placed it on the design over the body of one of the kings of Israel\u2014Jack was not sure which king: he had never been able to remember the convoluted symbolism of theological pictures. Sally dipped a fine brush in a bowl of chalk ground up in water, and painted the shape of the body onto the glass: shoulders, arms, and the skirt of the robe.\n\nIn the fire on the ground beside her table was an iron rod with a wooden handle. She took the rod out of the fire and then, quickly but carefully, she ran the red-hot end of the rod around the outline she had painted. The grass cracked neatly along the line. Her apprentice picked up the piece of glass and began to smooth its edges with a grozing iron.\n\nJack loved to watch his daughter work. She was quick and precise, her movements economical. As a little girl she had been fascinated by the work of the glaziers Jack had brought over from Paris, and she always said that was what she wanted to do when she grew up. She had stuck by that choice. When people came to Kingsbridge Cathedral for the first time, they were more struck by Sally's glass than her father's architecture, Jack thought ruefully.\n\nThe apprentice handed the smoothed glass to her, and she began to paint the folds of the robe onto the surface, using a paint made of iron ore, urine, and gum arabic for adhesion. The flat glass suddenly began to look like soft, carelessly draped cloth. She was very skillful. She finished it quickly, then put the painted glass alongside several others in an iron pan, the bottom of which was covered with lime. When the pan was full it would go into an oven. The heat would fuse the paint to the glass.\n\nShe looked up at Jack, gave him a brief, dazzling smile, then picked up another piece of glass.\n\nHe moved away. He could watch her all day, but he had work to do. He was, as Aliena would say, daft about his daughter. When he looked at her it was often with a kind of amazement that he was responsible for the existence of this clever, independent, mature young woman. He was thrilled that she was such a good craftswoman.\n\nIronically, he had always pressured Tommy to be a builder. He had actually forced the boy to work on the site for a couple of years. But Tommy was interested in farming, horsemanship, hunting and swordplay, all the things that left Jack cold. In the end Jack had conceded defeat. Tommy had served as a squire to one of the local lords and had eventually been knighted. Aliena had granted him a small estate of five villages. And Sally had turned out to be the talented one. Tommy was married now, to a younger daughter of the earl of Bedford, and they had three children. Jack was a grandfather. But Sally was still single at the age of twenty-five. There was a lot of her grandmother Ellen in her. She was aggressively self-reliant.\n\nJack walked around to the west end of the cathedral and looked up at the twin towers. They were almost complete, and a huge bronze bell was on its way here from the foundry in London. There was not much for Jack to do nowadays. Where he had once controlled an army of muscular stonecutters and carpenters, laying rows of square stones and building scaffolding, he now had a handful of carvers and painters doing precise and painstaking work on a small scale, making statues for niches, building ornamental pinnacles, and gilding the wings of stone angels. There was not much to design, apart from the occasional new building for the priory\u2014a library, a chapter house, more accommodation for pilgrims, new laundry and dairy buildings. In between petty jobs Jack was doing some stone carving himself, for the first time in many years. He was impatient to pull down Tom Builder's old chancel and put up a new east end to his own design, but Prior Philip wanted to enjoy the finished church for a year before beginning another building campaign. Philip was feeling his age. Jack was afraid the old boy might not live to see the chancel rebuilt.\n\nHowever, the work would be continued after Philip's death, Jack thought as he saw the enormously tall figure of Brother Jonathan striding toward him from the direction of the kitchen courtyard. Jonathan would make a good prior, perhaps even as good as Philip himself. Jack was glad the succession was assured: it enabled him to plan for the future.\n\n\"I'm worried about this ecclesiastical court, Jack,\" said Jonathan without preamble.\n\nJack said: \"I thought that was all a big fuss about nothing.\"\n\n\"So did I\u2014but the archdeacon turns out to be an old enemy of Prior Philip's.\"\n\n\"Hell. But even so, surely he can't find him guilty.\"\n\n\"He can do anything he wants.\"\n\nJack shook his head in disgust. He sometimes wondered how men such as Jonathan could continue to believe in the Church when it was so shamelessly corrupt. \"What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"The only way we can prove his innocence is to find out who my parents were.\"\n\n\"It's a bit late for that!\"\n\n\"It's our only hope.\"\n\nJack was somewhat shaken. They were quite desperate. \"Where are you going to start?\"\n\n\"With you. You were in the area of St-John-in-the-Forest at the time I was born.\"\n\n\"Was I?\" Jack did not see what Jonathan was getting at. \"I lived there until I was eleven, and I must be about eleven years older than you....\"\n\n\"Father Philip says he met you, with your mother and Tom Builder and Tom's children, the day after I was found.\"\n\n\"I remember that. We ate all Philip's food. We were starving.\"\n\n\"Think hard. Did you see anyone with a baby, or a young woman who might have been pregnant, anywhere near that area?\"\n\n\"Wait a minute.\" Jack was puzzled. \"Are you telling me that you were found near St-John-in-the-Forest?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014didn't you know that?\"\n\nJack could hardly believe his ears. \"No, I didn't know that,\" he said slowly. His mind was reeling with the implications of the revelation. \"When we arrived in Kingsbridge, you were already here, and I naturally assumed you had been found in the forest near here.\" He suddenly felt the need to sit down. There was a pile of building rubble nearby, and he lowered himself onto it.\n\nJonathan said impatiently: \"Well, anyway, did you see anyone in the forest?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Jack said. \"I don't know how to tell you this, Jonathan.\"\n\nJonathan paled. \"You know something about this, don't you? What did you see?\"\n\n\"I saw you, Jonathan; that's what I saw.\"\n\nJonathan's mouth dropped open. \"What... How?\"\n\n\"It was dawn. I was on a duck-hunting expedition. I heard a cry. I found a newborn baby, wrapped in a cut-up old cloak, lying beside the embers of a dying fire.\"\n\nJonathan stared at him. \"Anything else?\"\n\nJack nodded slowly. \"The baby was lying on a new grave.\"\n\nJonathan swallowed. \"My mother?\"\n\nJack nodded.\n\nJonathan began to weep, but he kept asking questions. \"What did you do?\"\n\n\"I fetched my mother. But while we were returning to the spot, we saw a priest, riding a palfrey, carrying the baby.\"\n\n\"Francis,\" Jonathan said in a choked voice.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nHe swallowed hard. \"I was found by Father Philip's brother, Francis, the priest.\"\n\n\"What was he doing there?\"\n\n\"He was on his way to see Philip at St-John-in-the-Forest. That's where he took me.\"\n\n\"My God.\" Jack stared at the tall monk with tears streaming down his cheeks. You haven't heard it all yet, Jonathan, he thought.\n\nJonathan said: \"Did you see anyone who might have been my father?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Jack said solemnly. \"I know who he was.\"\n\n\"Tell me!\" Jonathan whispered.\n\n\"Tom Builder.\"\n\n\"Tom Builder?\" Jonathan sat down heavily on the ground. \"Tom Builder was my father?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Jack shook his head in wonderment. \"Now I know who you remind me of. You and he are the tallest people I ever met.\"\n\n\"He was always good to me when I was a child,\" Jonathan said in a dazed tone. \"He used to play with me. He was fond of me. I saw as much of him as I did of Prior Philip.\" His tears flowed freely. \"That was my father. My father.\" He looked up at Jack. \"Why did he abandon me?\"\n\n\"They thought you were going to die anyway. They had no milk to give you. They were starving themselves, I know. They were miles from anywhere. They didn't know the priory was nearby. They had no food except turnips, and turnips would have killed you.\"\n\n\"They did love me, after all.\"\n\nJack saw the scene as if it were yesterday: the dying fire, the freshly turned earth of the new grave, and the tiny pink baby kicking its arms and legs inside the old gray cloak. That little scrap of humanity had grown into the tall man who sat weeping on the ground in front of him. \"Oh, yes, they loved you.\"\n\n\"How come nobody ever spoke of it?\"\n\n\"Tom was ashamed, of course,\" Jack said. \"My mother must have known that, and we children sensed it, I suppose. Anyway, it was an unmentionable topic. And we never connected that baby with you, of course.\"\n\n\"Tom must have made the connection,\" Jonathan said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I wonder why he never took me back?\"\n\n\"My mother left him quite soon after we came here,\" Jack said. He smiled ruefully. \"She was hard to please, like Sally. Anyway, that meant Tom would have had to hire a nursemaid to look after you. So I suppose he thought: Why not leave the baby at the monastery? You were well cared for there.\"\n\nJonathan nodded. \"By dear old Johnny Eightpence, God rest his soul.\"\n\n\"Tom probably spent more time with you that way. You were running around the priory close all day and every day, and he was working there. If he'd taken you away from the priory and left you at home with a nursemaid, he'd actually have seen less of you. And I imagine as the years went by, and you grew up as the priory orphan, and seemed happy that way, it felt more and more natural to leave you there. People often give a child to God, anyway.\"\n\n\"All these years I've wondered about my parents,\" Jonathan said. Jack's heart ached for him. \"I've tried to imagine what they were like, asked God to let me meet them, wondered whether they loved me, questioned why they left me. Now I know that my mother died giving birth to me and my father was close to me all the rest of his life.\" He smiled through his tears. \"I can't tell you how happy I am.\"\n\nJack felt close to tears himself. To cover his embarrassment he said: \"You look like Tom.\"\n\n\"Do I?\" Jonathan was pleased.\n\n\"Don't you remember how tall he was?\"\n\n\"All adults were tall then.\"\n\n\"He had good features, like you. Well-carved. If ever you'd grown a beard, people would have guessed.\"\n\n\"I remember the day he died,\" Jonathan said. \"He took me around the fair. We watched the bearbaiting. Then I climbed the wall of the chancel. I was too frightened to come down, so he had to come up and carry me down. Then he saw William's men coming. He put me in the cloisters. That was the last time I saw him alive.\"\n\n\"I remember that,\" Jack said. \"I watched him climb down with you in his arms.\"\n\n\"He made sure I was safe,\" Jonathan said wonderingly.\n\n\"Then he took care of the others,\" Jack said.\n\n\"He really loved me.\"\n\nJack was struck by a thought. \"This will make a difference to Philip's trial, won't it?\"\n\n\"I'd forgotten that,\" Jonathan said. \"Yes, it will. My goodness.\"\n\n\"Have we got irrefutable proof?\" Jack wondered. \"I saw the baby, and the priest, but I never actually saw the baby delivered to the little priory.\"\n\n\"Francis did. But Francis is Philip's brother, so his evidence is tainted.\"\n\n\"My mother and Tom went off together that morning,\" Jack said, straining his memory. \"They said they were going to look for the priest. I bet they went to the priory to make sure the baby was all right.\"\n\n\"If she would say so in court, that would really sew it up,\" Jonathan said eagerly.\n\n\"Philip thinks she's a witch,\" Jack pointed out. \"Would he let her testify?\"\n\n\"We could spring it on him. But she hates him, too. Will she testify?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Jack. \"Let's ask her.\"\n\n\"Fornication and nepotism?\" Jack's mother cried. \"Philip?\" She started to laugh. \"It's too absurd!\"\n\n\"Mother, this is serious,\" Jack said.\n\n\"Philip couldn't fornicate if you put him in a barrel with three whores,\" she said. \"He wouldn't know what to do!\"\n\nJonathan was looking embarrassed. \"Prior Philip is in real trouble, even if the charge is absurd,\" he said.\n\n\"And why would I help Philip?\" she said. \"He's caused me nothing but heartache.\"\n\nJack had been afraid of this. His mother had never forgiven Philip for splitting her and Tom. \"Philip did the same to me as he did to you\u2014if I can forgive him, you can.\"\n\n\"I'm not the forgiving type,\" she said.\n\n\"Don't do it for Philip, then\u2014do it for me. I want to continue building at Kingsbridge.\"\n\n\"Why? The church is finished.\"\n\n\"I'd like to pull down Tom's chancel and rebuild it in the new style.\"\n\n\"Oh, for God's sake\u2014\"\n\n\"Mother. Philip is a good prior, and when he goes Jonathan will take over\u2014if you come to Kingsbridge and tell the truth at the trial.\"\n\n\"I hate courts,\" she said. \"No good ever comes out of them.\"\n\nIt was maddening. She held the key to Philip's trial: she could ensure that he was cleared. But she was a stubborn old woman. Jack was seriously afraid he would not be able to talk her into it.\n\nHe decided to try stinging her into consenting. \"I suppose it's a long way to travel, for someone of your age,\" he said slyly. \"How old are you now\u2014sixty-eight?\"\n\n\"Sixty-two, and don't try to provoke me,\" she snapped. \"I'm fitter than you, my boy.\"\n\nIt could be true, Jack thought. Her hair was white as snow, and her face was deeply lined, but her startling golden eyes saw just as much as ever they had: as soon as she looked at Jonathan she had known who he was, and she had said: \"Well, I've no need to ask why you're here. You've found out where you come from, have you? By God, you're as tall as your father and nearly as broad.\" She was also as independent and self-willed as ever.\n\n\"Sally is like you,\" Jack said.\n\nShe was pleased. \"Is she?\" She smiled. \"In what way?\"\n\n\"In her mulish obstinacy.\"\n\n\"Huh.\" Mother looked cross. \"She'll be all right then.\"\n\nJack decided he might as well beg. \"Mother, please\u2014come to Kingsbridge with us and tell the truth.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said.\n\nJonathan said: \"I have something else to ask you.\"\n\nJack wondered what was coming. He was afraid Jonathan might say something to antagonize his mother: it was easily done, especially by clergymen. He held his breath.\n\nJonathan said: \"Could you show me where my mother is buried?\"\n\nJack let his breath out silently. There was nothing wrong with that. Indeed, Jonathan could hardly have thought of anything more likely to soften her.\n\nShe dropped her scornful manner immediately. \"Of course I'll show you,\" she said. \"I'm pretty sure I could find it.\"\n\nJack was reluctant to spend the time. The trial would start in the morning and they had a long way to go. But he sensed that he should let fate take its course.\n\nMother said to Jonathan: \"Do you want to go there now?\"\n\n\"Yes, please, if it's possible.\"\n\n\"All right.\" She stood up. She picked up a short cape of rabbit fur and slung it across her shoulders. Jack was about to tell her she would be too warm in that, but he held back: old people always felt colder.\n\nThey left the cave, with its smell of stored apples and wood smoke, and pushed through the concealing vegetation around its mouth to emerge into the spring sunshine. Mother set off without hesitation. Jack and Jonathan untied their horses and followed. They had to lead their mounts, for the terrain was too overgrown for riding. Jack noticed that his mother walked more slowly than she used to. She was not as fit as she pretended.\n\nJack could not have found the site on his own. There had been a time when he could find his way around this forest as easily as he could now move around Kingsbridge. But one clearing looked very much like another to him these days, just as the houses of Kingsbridge would all look the same to a stranger. Mother followed a chain of animal trails through the dense woodland. Now and again Jack would recognize a landmark associated with some childhood memory: an enormous old oak where he had once taken refuge from a wild boar; a rabbit warren that had provided many a dinner; a trout stream where, it seemed in retrospect, he had been able to catch fat fish in no time. For a while he would know where he was, then he would be lost again. It was amazing to think he had once felt totally at home in what was now an alien place, its brooks and thickets as meaningless to him as his voussoirs and templates were to peasants. If he had ever wondered, in those days, how his life would turn out, his best guess would have been nowhere near the truth.\n\nThey walked several miles. It was a warm spring day, and Jack found himself sweating, but Mother kept the rabbit fur on. Toward midafternoon she came to a halt in a shady clearing. Jack noticed she was breathing hard and looking a little gray. It was definitely time she left the forest, and came to live with him and Aliena. He resolved that he would make a big effort to persuade her.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" he said.\n\n\"Of course I'm all right,\" she snapped. \"We're there.\"\n\nJack looked around. He did not recognize it.\n\nJonathan said: \"Is this it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Mother said.\n\nJack said: \"Where's the road?\"\n\n\"Over there.\"\n\nWhen Jack had oriented himself with the road, the clearing began to look familiar, and he was flooded with a powerful sense of the past. There was the big horse-chestnut tree: it had been bare of leaves, then, and there had been conkers all over the forest floor, but now the tree was in blossom, with big white flowers like candles all over it. The blossom had started to fall already, and every few moments a cloud of petals drifted down.\n\n\"Martha told me what had happened,\" Jack said. \"They stopped here because your mother could go no farther. Tom made a fire and boiled some turnips for supper: there was no meat. Your mother gave birth to you right here, on the ground. You were perfectly healthy, but something went wrong, and she died.\" There was a slight rise in the ground a few feet from the base of the tree. \"Look,\" Jack said. \"See the mound?\"\n\nJonathan nodded, his face taut with suppressed emotion.\n\n\"That's the grave.\" As Jack spoke, a drift of blossom fell from the tree and settled over the mound like a carpet of petals.\n\nJonathan knelt beside the grave and began to pray.\n\nJack stood silent. He remembered when he had discovered his relatives in Cherbourg: it had been a devastating experience. What Jonathan was going through must be even more intense.\n\nEventually Jonathan stood up. \"When I'm prior,\" he said solemnly, \"I'm going to build a little monastery just here, with a chapel and a hostel, so that in future no traveler on this stretch of road will ever have to spend a cold winter's night sleeping in the open air. I'll dedicate the hostel to the memory of my mother.\" He looked at Jack. \"I don't suppose you ever knew her name, did you?\"\n\n\"It was Agnes,\" Ellen said softly. \"Your mother's name was Agnes.\"\n\nBishop Waleran made a persuasive case.\n\nHe began by telling the court about Philip's precocious development: cellarer of his monastery when he was only twenty-one, prior of the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest at twenty-three; prior of Kingsbridge at the remarkably young age of twenty-eight. He constantly emphasized Philip's youth and managed to suggest there was something arrogant about anyone who accepted responsibility early. Then he described St-John-in-the-Forest, its remoteness and isolation, and spoke of the freedom and independence of whoever was its prior. \"Who can be surprised,\" he said, \"that after five years as virtually his own master, with only the lightest and most distant kind of supervision, this inexperienced, warm-blooded young man had a child?\" It sounded almost inevitable. Waleran was infuriatingly credible. Philip wanted to strangle him.\n\nWaleran went on to say how Philip had brought Jonathan and Johnny Eightpence with him when he came to Kingsbridge. The monks had been startled, Waleran said, when their new prior arrived with a baby and a nurse. That was true. For a moment Philip forgot his tension, and had to suppress a nostalgic smile.\n\nPhilip had played with Jonathan as a youngster, taught him lessons, and later made the lad his personal assistant, Waleran went on, just as any man would do with his own son, except that monks were not supposed to have sons. \"Jonathan was precocious, just like Philip,\" Waleran said. \"When Cuthbert Whitehead died, Philip made Jonathan cellarer, even though Jonathan was only twenty-one. Was there really no one else who could be cellarer, in this monastery of more than a hundred monks; no one but a boy of twenty-one? Or was Philip giving preference to his own flesh and blood? When Milius went off to be prior at Glastonbury, Philip made Jonathan treasurer. He is thirty-four years old. Is he the wisest and most devout of all the monks here? Or is he simply Philip's favorite?\"\n\nPhilip looked around at the court. It was being held in the south transept of Kingsbridge Cathedral. Archdeacon Peter sat on a large, ornately carved chair like a throne. All of Waleran's staff were present, as were most of the monks of Kingsbridge. There would be little work done in the monastery while the prior was on trial. Every important churchman in the county was here, even some of the humble parish priests. There were also representatives from neighboring dioceses. The entire ecclesiastical community of southern England was waiting for the verdict of this court. They were not very interested in Philip's virtue, or lack of it, of course: they were following the final trial of strength between Prior Philip and Bishop Waleran.\n\nWhen Waleran sat down Philip took the oath, then began to tell the story of that winter morning so long ago. He started with the upset caused by Peter of Wareham: he wanted everyone to know that Peter was prejudiced against him. Then he called Francis to tell how the baby was found.\n\nJonathan had gone off, leaving a message to say that he was on the track of new information about his parentage. Jack had disappeared too, from which Philip had concluded that the trip had something to do with Jack's mother, the witch Ellen, and that Jonathan had been afraid that if he stayed to explain, Philip would have forbidden the journey. They had been due back this morning, but had not yet arrived. Philip did not think Ellen would have anything to add to the story Francis was telling.\n\nWhen Francis had done, Philip began to speak. \"That baby was not mine,\" he said simply. \"I swear it was not mine, in peril of my immortal soul I swear it. I have never had carnal knowledge of a woman, and I remain to this day in that state of chastity commended to us by the Apostle Paul. So why, the lord bishop asks, did I treat the babe as if it were my own?\"\n\nHe looked around at the listeners. He had decided that his only chance was to tell the truth and hope that God would speak loud enough to overcome Peter's spiritual deafness. \"When I was six years old, my father and mother died. They were killed by soldiers of the old King Henry, in Wales. My brother and I were saved by the abbot of a nearby monastery, and from that day onward we were cared for by monks. I was a monastery orphan. I know what it's like. I understand how the orphan yearns for a mother's touch, even though he loves the brothers who care for him. I knew that Jonathan would feel abnormal, peculiar, illegitimate. I have felt that feeling of isolation, the sense that I am different from everyone else because they all have a father and a mother and I do not. Like him, I have felt ashamed of myself for being a burden on the charity of others; have wondered what was wrong with me, that I should have been deprived of what others took for granted. I knew that he would dream, in the night, of the warm, fragrant bosom and soft voice of a mother he never knew, someone who loved him utterly and completely.\"\n\nArchdeacon Peter's face was like stone. He was the worst kind of Christian, Philip realized: he embraced all of the negatives, enforced every proscription, insisted on all forms of denial, and demanded strict punishment for every offense; yet he ignored all the compassion of Christianity, denied its mercy, flagrantly disobeyed its ethic of love, and openly flouted the gentle laws of Jesus. That's what the Pharisees were like, Philip thought; no wonder the Lord preferred to eat with publicans and sinners.\n\nHe went on, although he understood, with a sinking heart, that nothing he could say would penetrate the armor of Peter's righteousness. \"Nobody could care for that boy as I could, unless it were his own parents; and those we never could find. What clearer indication of God's will....\" He tailed off. Jonathan had just come into the church, with Jack; and between them was the witch, Jack's mother.\n\nShe had aged: her hair was snow-white, and her face was deeply lined. But she walked in like a queen, her head held high, her strange golden eyes blazing with defiance. Philip was too surprised to protest.\n\nThe court was silent as she entered the transept and stood facing Archdeacon Peter. She spoke in a voice that rang like a trumpet, and echoed from the clerestory of her son's church. \"I swear by all that is holy that Jonathan is the son of Tom Builder, my dead husband, and his first wife.\"\n\nThere was an astonished clamor from the crowd of clergy. For a while nobody could be heard. Philip was completely bowled over. He stared openmouthed at Ellen. Tom Builder? Jonathan was the son of Tom Builder? When he looked at Jonathan he knew immediately that it was true: they were alike, not just in their height, but facially. If Jonathan had had a beard it would have been obvious.\n\nHis first reaction was a sense of loss. Until now, he had been the nearest Jonathan had to a father. But Tom was Jonathan's real father, and although Tom was dead, the discovery changed everything. Philip could no longer secretly think of himself as a father; Jonathan would no longer feel like his son. Jonathan was Tom's son now. Philip had lost him.\n\nPhilip sat down heavily. When the crowd began to quiet down, Ellen told the story of Jack hearing a cry and finding a newborn baby. Philip listened, dazed, as she told how she and Tom had hidden in the bushes, watching, as Philip and the monks came back from their morning's work to find Francis waiting for them with a newborn baby, and Johnny Eightpence trying to feed it with a rag dipped into a bucket of goat's milk.\n\nPhilip remembered very clearly how interested the young Tom had been, a day or so later, when they had met by accident and Philip had told him about the abandoned baby. Philip had assumed his interest was that of any compassionate man in a touching story, but in fact Tom had been learning the fate of his own child.\n\nThen Philip recalled how fond Tom had been of Jonathan in later years, as the baby turned into a toddler and then a mischievous boy. Nobody had remarked on it: the whole monastery had treated Jonathan as a pet in those days and Tom spent all his time in the priory close, so his behavior was completely unremarkable; but now, in retrospect, Philip could see that the attention Tom paid to Jonathan was special.\n\nAs Ellen sat down, Philip realized that he had been proved innocent. Ellen's revelations had been so devastating that he had almost forgotten he was on trial. Her story of childbirth and death, desperation and hope, ancient secrets and enduring love, made the question of Philip's chastity seem trivial. It was not trivial, of course; the future of the priory hung on it; and Ellen had now answered the question so dramatically that it seemed impossible the trial should continue. Even Peter of Wareham can't find me guilty after evidence like this, Philip thought. Waleran had lost again.\n\nWaleran was not quite ready to concede defeat, however. He pointed an accusing finger at Ellen. \"You say Tom Builder told you that the baby brought to the cell was his.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Ellen said warily.\n\n\"But the other two people who might have been able to confirm this\u2014the children Alfred and Martha\u2014did not accompany you to the monastery.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And Tom is dead, So we only have your word for it that Tom said this to you. Your story cannot be verified.\"\n\n\"How much verification do you want?\" she said spiritedly. \"Jack saw the abandoned baby. Francis picked it up. Jack and I met Tom and Alfred and Martha. Francis took the baby to the priory. Tom and I spied on the priory. How many witnesses would satisfy you?\"\n\n\"I don't believe you,\" Waleran said.\n\n\"You don't believe me?\" Ellen said, and suddenly Philip could see she was angry, deeply and passionately angry. \"You don't believe me? You, Waleran Bigod, whom I know to be a perjurer?\"\n\nWhat on earth was coming now? Philip had a premonition of cataclysm. Waleran had blanched. There's something more here, Philip thought; something Waleran is afraid of. He felt an excited fluttering in his belly. Waleran had a vulnerable look all of a sudden.\n\nPhilip said to Ellen: \"How do you know the bishop to be a perjurer?\"\n\n\"Forty-seven years ago, in this very priory, there was a prisoner called Jack Shareburg,\" Ellen said.\n\nWaleran interrupted her. \"This court isn't interested in events that took place so long ago.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Yes it is. The accusation against me refers to an alleged act of fornication thirty-five years ago, my lord bishop. You have demanded that I prove my innocence. The court will now expect no less of you.\" He turned to Ellen. \"Continue.\"\n\n\"No one knew why he was a prisoner, least of all himself; but the time came when he was set free, and given a jeweled cup, perhaps as recompense for the years he had been unjustly confined. He didn't want a jeweled cup, of course: he had no use for it, and it was too precious to be sold at a market. He left it behind, in the old cathedral here at Kingsbridge. Soon afterward he was arrested\u2014by Waleran Bigod, who was then a plain country priest, humble but ambitious\u2014and the cup mysteriously reappeared in Jack's bag. Jack Shareburg was falsely accused of stealing the cup. He was convicted on the oaths of three people: Waleran Bigod, Percy Hamleigh, and Prior James of Kingsbridge. And he was hanged.\"\n\nThere was a moment's stunned silence, then Philip said: \"How do you know all this?\"\n\n\"I was Jack Shareburg's only friend, and he was the father of my son, Jack Jackson, the master builder of this cathedral.\"\n\nThere was uproar. Waleran and Peter were both trying to speak at the same time but neither could be heard over the astonished hubbub of the assembled clergymen. They came to see a showdown, Philip thought, but they never expected this.\n\nEventually Peter made himself heard. \"Why would three law-abiding citizens conspire to falsely accuse an innocent stranger?\" he said skeptically.\n\n\"For gain,\" Ellen said. \"Waleran Bigod was made an archdeacon. Percy was given the manor of Hamleigh and several other villages, and became a man of property. I don't know what reward was received by Prior James.\"\n\n\"I can answer that,\" said a new voice.\n\nPhilip looked around, startled: the speaker was Remigius. He was well past his seventieth year, white-haired and inclined to ramble when he talked; but now, as he stood up with the help of a walking stick, his eyes were bright and his expression alert. It was rare to hear him speak publicly: since his downfall and return to the monastery he had lived a quiet and humble life. Philip wondered what was coming. Whose side was Remigius going to take? Would he seize a last opportunity to stab his old enemy Philip in the back?\n\n\"I can tell you what reward Prior James received,\" Remigius said. \"The priory was given the villages of Northwold, Southwold and Hundredacre, plus the forest of Oldean.\"\n\nPhilip was aghast. Could it be true that the old prior had given false testimony, under oath, for the sake of a few villages?\n\n\"Prior James was never a good manager,\" Remigius went on. \"The priory was in difficulty, and he thought the extra income would help us out.\" Remigius paused, then said incisively: \"It did little good and much harm. The income was useful for a while, but Prior James never recovered his self-respect.\"\n\nListening to Remigius, Philip recalled the stooped, defeated air of the old prior, and at last understood it.\n\nRemigius said: \"James had not actually perjured himself, for he swore only that the cup belonged to the priory; but he knew Jack Shareburg was innocent, yet he remained silent. He regretted that silence for the rest of his life.\"\n\nHe would, Philip thought; it was such a venal sin for a monk. Remigius's testimony confirmed Ellen's story\u2014and condemned Waleran.\n\nRemigius was still speaking. \"A few of the older ones here today will remember what the priory was like forty years ago: rundown, penniless, decrepit, demoralized. That was because of the weight of guilt hanging over the prior. When he was dying, he finally confessed his sin to me. I wanted\u2014\" Remigius broke off. The church was silent, waiting. The old man sighed and resumed. \"I wanted to take over his position and repair the damage. But God chose another man for that task.\" He paused again, and his old face worked painfully as he struggled to finish. \"I should say: God chose a better man.\" He sat down abruptly.\n\nPhilip was shocked, bemused and grateful. Two old enemies, Ellen and Remigius, had rescued him. The revelation of these ancient secrets made him feel as if he had been living with one eye closed. Bishop Waleran was livid with rage. He must have felt sure he was safe after all these years. He was leaning over Peter, speaking into the archdeacon's ear, while a buzz of comment rose from the audience.\n\nPeter stood up and shouted: \"Silence!\" The church went quiet. \"This court is closed!\" he said.\n\n\"Wait a minute!\" It was Jack Jackson. \"That's not good enough!\" he said passionately. \"I want to know why.\"\n\nIgnoring Jack, Peter walked toward the door that led into the cloisters, and Waleran followed him.\n\nJack went after them. \"Why did you do it?\" he shouted at Waleran. \"You lied on oath, and a man died\u2014are you going to walk out of here without another word?\"\n\nWaleran looked straight ahead, white-faced, tight-lipped, his expression a mask of suppressed rage. As he went through the door Jack yelled: \"Answer me, you lying corrupt worthless coward! Why did you kill my father?\"\n\nWaleran walked out of the church and the door slammed behind him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "The letter from King Henry arrived while the monks were in chapter.\n\nJack had built a big new chapter house to accommodate the one hundred and fifty monks\u2014the largest number in a single monastery in all England. The round building had a stone vaulted ceiling and tiers of steps for the monks to sit on. Monastic officers sat on stone benches around the walls, a little above the level of the rest; and Philip and Jonathan had carved stone thrones against the wall opposite the door.\n\nA young monk was reading the seventh chapter of the Rule of Saint Benedict. \"The sixth step of humility is reached when a monk is content with all that is mean and vile....\" Philip realized he did not know the name of the monk who was reading. Was that because he was getting old, or because the monastery was so big? \"The seventh step of humility is reached when a man not only confesses with his tongue that he is most lowly and inferior to others, but in his inmost heart believes so.\" Philip knew he had not yet reached that stage of humility. He had achieved a great deal in his sixty-two years, and he had achieved it through courage and determination and the use of his brain; and he needed to remind himself constantly that the real reason for his success was that he had enjoyed the help of God, without which all his efforts would have come to nothing.\n\nBeside him, Jonathan shifted restlessly. Jonathan had even more trouble with the virtue of humility than Philip did. Arrogance was the vice of good leaders. Jonathan was ready to take over the priory now, and he was impatient. He had been talking to Aliena, and he was eager to try out her farming techniques, such as plowing with horses, and planting spring crops of peas and oats on part of the fallow land. I was just the same about raising sheep for wool, thirty-five years ago, Philip thought.\n\nHe knew he should step down and let Jonathan take over as prior. He himself should spend his declining years in prayer and meditation. It was a course he had often prescribed for others. But now that he was old enough to retire, the prospect appalled him. His constitution was as sound as a bell and his mind was as lively as ever. A life of prayer and meditation would drive him mad.\n\nHowever, Jonathan would not wait forever. God had given him the skills to run a major monastery, and he was not planning to waste his talents. He had visited numerous abbeys over the years, and made a good impression wherever he went. One of these days, when an abbot died, the monks would ask Jonathan to stand for election, and it would be hard for Philip to refuse permission.\n\nThe young monk whose name Philip could not remember was just finishing the chapter when there was a knock on the door and the gatekeeper came in. Brother Steven, the circuitor, frowned at him: he was not supposed to disturb the monks in chapter. The circuitor was responsible for discipline, and like all such men Steven was a stickler for the rules.\n\nThe gatekeeper said in a loud whisper: \"There's a messenger from the king!\"\n\nPhilip said to Jonathan: \"See to it, would you?\" The messenger would insist on handing his letter to a senior monastic officer. Jonathan went out. The monks were all whispering to one another. Philip said firmly: \"We will continue with the necrology.\"\n\nAs the prayers for the dead began, he wondered what the second King Henry had to say to Kingsbridge Priory. It was not likely to be good news. Henry had been at loggerheads with the Church for six long years. The quarrel had started over the jurisdiction of ecclesiastical courts, but the willfulness of the king and the zeal of the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, had prevented compromise, and a dispute had grown into a crisis. Becket had been forced into exile.\n\nSadly, the English Church was not unanimous in supporting him. Bishops such as Waleran Bigod took the king's side in order to gain royal favor. However, the pope was putting pressure on Henry to make peace with Becket. Perhaps the worst consequence of the whole dispute was that Henry's need for support within the English Church gave power-hungry bishops such as Waleran greater influence at court. That was why a letter from the king was even more ominous than usual to Philip.\n\nJonathan returned and handed Philip a roll of vellum fastened with wax, the wax impressed with the mark of an enormous royal seal. All the monks were looking. Philip decided it was too much to ask them to concentrate on praying for dead people when he had such a letter in his hand. \"All right,\" he said. \"We'll continue the prayers later.\" He broke the seal and opened the letter. He glanced at the salutation, then handed the letter to Jonathan, whose young eyes were better. \"Read it to us, please.\"\n\nAfter the usual greetings, the king wrote: \"As the new Bishop of Lincoln, I have nominated Waleran Bigod, currently Bishop of Kingsbridge....\" Jonathan's voice was drowned by the buzz of comment. Philip shook his head disgustedly. Waleran had lost all credibility locally since the revelations at the trial of Philip: there was no way he could continue as bishop. So he had persuaded the king to nominate him bishop of Lincoln\u2014one of the richest bishoprics in the world. Lincoln was the third most important diocese in the kingdom, after Canterbury and York. From there it was only a short step to an archbishopric. Henry might even be grooming Waleran to take over from Thomas Becket. The thought of Waleran as archbishop of Canterbury, leader of the English Church, was so appalling that Philip felt sick with fear.\n\nWhen the monks calmed down Jonathan resumed: \"...and I have recommended the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln to elect him.\" Well, that was easier said than done, Philip thought. A royal recommendation was almost an order, but not quite: if the chapter at Lincoln took against Waleran, or if they had a candidate of their own, they would give the king trouble. The king would probably get his way in the end but it was not a foregone conclusion.\n\nJonathan went on: \"I order you, the Chapter of the Priory of Kingsbridge, to hold an election for the new Bishop of Kingsbridge; and I recommend you to elect as Bishop my servant Peter of Wareham, Archdeacon of Canterbury.\"\n\nA collective shout of protest went up from the assembled monks. Philip went cold with horror. The arrogant, resentful, self-righteous Archdeacon Peter was the king's choice as the new bishop of Kingsbridge! Peter was exactly the same type as Waleran. Both men were genuinely pious and God-fearing, but had no sense of their own fallibility, so they saw their own wishes as God's will, and pursued their aims with utter ruthlessness in consequence. With Peter as bishop, Jonathan would spend his life as prior battling for justice and decency in a county ruled with an iron fist by a man with no heart. And if Waleran became archbishop there would be no prospect of relief.\n\nPhilip saw a long dark age ahead, like the worst period of the civil war, when earls of William's type did as they pleased while arrogant priests neglected their people and the priory shrank once again to an impoverished and enfeebled shadow of its former self. The thought angered him.\n\nHe was not the only angry one. Steven Circuitor stood up, red-faced, and shouted, \"It shall not be!,\" at the top of his voice, despite Philip's rule that in chapter everyone must speak calmly and quietly.\n\nThe monks cheered, but Jonathan proved his wisdom by asking the crucial question: \"What can we do?\"\n\nBernard Kitchener, fat as ever, said: \"We must refuse the king's request!\"\n\nSeveral monks voiced their agreement.\n\nSteven said: \"We should write to the king saying we will elect whom we please!\" After a moment he added sheepishly: \"With God's guidance, of course.\"\n\nJonathan said: \"I don't agree that we should refuse point-blank. The quicker we are to defy the king, the sooner we will bring his wrath down on our heads.\"\n\nPhilip said: \"Jonathan is right. A man who loses a battle with his king may be forgiven, but a man who wins such a battle is doomed.\"\n\nSteven burst out: \"But you're just giving in!\"\n\nPhilip was as worried and fearful as all the others, but he had to appear calm. \"Steven, be temperate, please,\" he said. \"We must fight against this awful appointment, of course. But we will do it carefully and cleverly, always avoiding open confrontation.\"\n\nSteven said: \"But what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" Philip said. He had been despondent at first, but now he was beginning to feel aggressive. He had fought this battle over and over again, all his life. He had fought it here in the priory, when he defeated Remigius and became prior; he had fought it in the county, against William Hamleigh and Waleran Bigod; and now he was going to fight it nationally. He was going to take on the king.\n\n\"I think I'll have to go to France,\" he said. \"To see Archbishop Thomas Becket.\"\n\nIn every other crisis, throughout his life, Philip had been able to come up with a plan. Whenever he or his priory or his town had been threatened by the forces of lawlessness and savagery, he had thought of some form of defense or counterattack. He had not always been sure of success but he had never been at a loss to know what to do\u2014until now.\n\nHe was still baffled when he arrived at the city of Sens, southeast of Paris in the Kingdom of France.\n\nThe cathedral at Sens was the widest building he had ever seen. The nave had to be fifty feet across. By comparison with Kingsbridge Cathedral, Sens gave an impression of space rather than light.\n\nTraveling through France, for the first time in his life he had realized there were more varieties of church in the world than he had previously imagined, and he understood the revolutionary effect travel had had on Jack Jackson's thinking. Philip made sure to visit the abbey church of Saint-Denis when he passed through Paris, and he had seen where Jack got some of his ideas. He had also seen two churches with flying buttresses like those at Kingsbridge: obviously other master masons had been confronted with the problem Jack had faced, and had come up with the same solution.\n\nPhilip went to pay his respects to the archbishop of Sens, William Whitehands, a brilliant young clergyman who was the nephew of the late King Stephen. Archbishop William invited Philip to dinner. Philip was flattered, but he declined the invitation: he had come a long way to see Thomas Becket and now that he was so close he was impatient. After attending mass in the cathedral he followed the River Yonne northward out of the town.\n\nHe was traveling light, for the prior of one of the wealthiest monasteries in England: he had with him only two men-at-arms for protection, a young monk called Michael of Bristol as his aide, and a packhorse loaded with holy books, copied and beautifully illustrated in the scriptorium at Kingsbridge, to use as gifts for the abbots and bishops he called on during the journey. The costly books made impressive presents and contrasted sharply with the modesty of Philip's entourage. This was deliberate: he wanted people to respect the priory, not the prior.\n\nJust outside the north gate of Sens, in a sunny meadow by the river, he found the venerable abbey of Sainte-Colombe, where Archbishop Thomas had been living for the past three years. One of Thomas's priests greeted him warmly, called servants to take care of his horses and baggage, and ushered him into the guesthouse where the archbishop was staying. It occurred to Philip that the exiles must be glad to receive visitors from home, not just for sentimental reasons, but because it was a sign of support.\n\nPhilip and his aide were given food and wine and introduced to Thomas's household. His men were all priests, mostly young and\u2014Philip thought\u2014rather clever. Within a short while Michael was arguing with one of them about transubstantiation. Philip sipped a cup of wine and listened without taking part. Eventually one of the priests said to him: \"What's your view, Father Philip? You haven't said anything yet.\"\n\nPhilip smiled. \"Knotty theological questions are the least worrying of problems, to me.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because they will all be resolved in the hereafter, and meanwhile they can safely be shelved.\"\n\n\"Well spoken!\" said a new voice, and Philip looked up to see Archbishop Thomas of Canterbury.\n\nHe was immediately aware of being in the presence of a remarkable man. Thomas was tall, slender and exceptionally handsome, with a wide forehead, bright eyes, fair skin and dark hair. He was about ten years younger than Philip, around fifty or fifty-one. Despite his misfortunes he had a lively, cheerful expression. He was, Philip saw instantly, a very attractive man; and this partly explained his remarkable rise from humble beginnings.\n\nPhilip knelt and kissed his hand.\n\nThomas said: \"I'm so glad to make your acquaintance! I've always wanted to visit Kingsbridge\u2014I've heard so much about your priory and the marvelous new cathedral.\"\n\nPhilip was charmed and flattered. He said: \"I've come to see you because everything we've achieved has been put in peril by the king.\"\n\n\"I want to hear all about it, right away,\" Thomas said. \"Come into my chamber.\" He turned around and swept out.\n\nPhilip followed, feeling at once pleased and apprehensive.\n\nThomas led him into a smaller room. There was a costly leather-and-wood bed covered with fine linen sheets and an embroidered quilt, but Philip also saw a thin mattress rolled up in a corner, and he recalled stories that Thomas never used the luxurious furniture provided by his hosts. Remembering his own comfortable bed in Kingsbridge, Philip suffered a pang of guilt to think that he snored in comfort while the primate of all England slept on the floor.\n\n\"Speaking of cathedrals,\" said Thomas, \"what did you think of Sens?\"\n\n\"Amazing,\" Philip said. \"Who's the master builder?\"\n\n\"William of Sens. I'm hoping to lure him to Canterbury one day. Sit down. Tell me what's happening in Kingsbridge.\"\n\nPhilip told Thomas about Bishop Waleran and Archdeacon Peter. Thomas appeared deeply interested in everything Philip said, and asked several perceptive questions. As well as charm, he had brains. He had needed both, to rise to a position from which he could frustrate the will of one of the strongest kings England had ever had. Underneath his archbishop's robes, it was rumored, Thomas wore a hair shirt; and beneath that charming exterior, Philip reminded himself, there was a will of iron.\n\nWhen Philip had finished his story, Thomas looked grave. \"This must not be allowed to happen,\" he said.\n\n\"Indeed,\" Philip said. Thomas's firm tone was encouraging. \"Can you stop it?\"\n\n\"Only if I'm restored to Canterbury.\"\n\nThat was not the answer Philip had been hoping for. \"But can't you write to the pope, even now?\"\n\n\"I will,\" Thomas said. \"Today. The pope will not recognize Peter as bishop of Kingsbridge, I promise you. But we can't stop him from sitting in the bishop's palace. And we can't appoint another man.\"\n\nPhilip was shocked and demoralized by the decisiveness of Thomas's negative. All the way here he had nursed the hope that Thomas would do what he had failed to do, and come up with a way to frustrate Waleran's scheme. But the brilliant Thomas was also stumped. All he could offer was the hope that he would be reinstated at Canterbury. Then, of course, he would have the power to veto episcopal appointments. Philip said dejectedly: \"Is there any hope you'll come back soon?\"\n\n\"Some hope, if you're an optimist,\" Thomas replied. \"The pope has devised a peace treaty which he urges me and Henry to agree to. The terms are acceptable to me: the treaty gives me what I've been campaigning for. Henry says it is acceptable to him. I have insisted that he demonstrate his sincerity by giving me the kiss of peace. He refuses.\" As he spoke, Thomas's voice changed. The natural rise and fall of conversation flattened out and became an insistent monotone. All the vivacity went out of his face, and he took on the look of a priest delivering a sermon on self-denial to a heedless congregation. Philip saw in his expression the stubbornness and pride that had kept him fighting all these years. \"The refusal of the kiss is a sign that he plans to lure me back to England and then renege on the terms of the agreement.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. The kiss of peace, which was part of the ritual of the mass, was the symbol of trust, and no contract, from a wedding to a truce, was complete without it. \"What can I do?\" he said, as much to himself as to Thomas.\n\n\"Go back to England and campaign for me,\" Thomas said. \"Write letters to your fellow priors and abbots. Send a delegation from Kingsbridge to the pope. Petition the king. Preach sermons in your famous cathedral, telling the people of the county that their most senior priest has been spurned by their king.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. He was going to do nothing of the kind. Thomas was telling him to line up with the opposition to the king. That might do Thomas's morale some good but it would achieve nothing for Kingsbridge.\n\nPhilip had a better idea. If Henry and Thomas were this close it might not take much to push them together. Perhaps, Philip thought hopefully, there was something he could do. The idea excited his optimism. It was a long shot, but he had nothing to lose.\n\nAfter all, they were only arguing about a kiss.\n\nPhilip was shocked to see how his brother had aged.\n\nFrancis's hair was gray, there were leathery bags under his eyes, and the skin of his face looked desiccated. However, he was sixty years old, so perhaps it was not surprising. And he was bright-eyed and sprightly.\n\nPhilip realized that what was bothering him was his own age. As always, seeing his brother made him aware of how he himself must have aged. He had not looked in a mirror for years. He wondered if he had bags under his eyes. He touched his face. It was hard to tell.\n\n\"What's Henry like to work for?\" Philip asked, curious, as everyone was, to know what kings were like in private.\n\n\"Better than Maud,\" Francis said. \"She was cleverer, but too devious. Henry is very open. You always know what he's thinking.\"\n\nThey were sitting in the cloisters of a monastery at Bayeux, where Philip was staying. King Henry's court was billeted nearby. Francis was still working for Henry, as he had for the last twenty years. He was now head of the chancery, the office that wrote out all the royal letters and charters. It was an important and powerful post.\n\nPhilip said: \"Open? Henry? Archbishop Thomas doesn't think so.\"\n\n\"Yet another major error of judgment on Thomas's part,\" Francis said scornfully.\n\nPhilip thought Francis ought not to be so contemptuous of the archbishop. \"Thomas is a great man,\" he said.\n\n\"Thomas wants to be king,\" Francis snapped.\n\n\"And Henry seems to want to be archbishop,\" Philip rejoined.\n\nThey glared at one another for a moment. If we're having a row already, Philip thought, it's no surprise that Henry and Thomas are fighting so fiercely. He smiled and said: \"Well, you and I shouldn't quarrel about it, anyway.\"\n\nFrancis's face softened. \"No, of course not. Remember, this dispute has been the plague of my life for six years now. I can't be as detached about it as you.\"\n\nPhilip nodded. \"But why won't Henry accept the pope's peace plan?\"\n\n\"He will,\" Francis said. \"We're a whisker away from reconciliation. But Thomas wants more. He's insisting on the kiss of peace.\"\n\n\"But if the king is sincere, surely he should give the kiss of peace as a surety?\"\n\nFrancis raised his voice. \"It's not in the plan!\" he said in an exasperated tone.\n\n\"But why not give it anyway?\" Philip argued.\n\nFrancis sighed. \"He would gladly. But he once swore an oath, in public, never to give Thomas the kiss of peace.\"\n\n\"Plenty of kings have broken oaths,\" Philip argued.\n\n\"Weak kings. Henry won't go back on a public oath. That's the kind of thing that makes him different from the wretched King Stephen.\"\n\n\"Then the Church probably shouldn't try to persuade him otherwise,\" Philip conceded reluctantly.\n\n\"So why is Thomas so insistent on the kiss?\" Francis said in an exasperated tone.\n\n\"Because he doesn't trust Henry. What is to stop Henry from reneging on the deal? What could Thomas do about it? Go into exile again? His supporters have been staunch, but they're weary. Thomas can't go through all this again. So, before he yields, he must have iron guarantees.\"\n\nFrancis shook his head sadly. \"It's become a question of pride, now, though,\" he said. \"I know Henry has no intention of double-crossing Thomas. But he won't be compelled. He hates to feel coerced.\"\n\n\"It's the same with Thomas, I think,\" Philip said. \"He's asked for this token, and he can't back down.\" He shook his head wearily. He had thought that Francis might be able to suggest a way to bring the two men together, but the task looked impossible.\n\n\"The irony of the whole thing is that Henry would gladly kiss Thomas after they're reconciled,\" Francis said. \"He just won't accept it as a precondition.\"\n\n\"Did he say that?\" said Philip.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But that changes everything!\" Philip said excitedly. \"What did he say, exactly?\"\n\n\"He said: 'I'll kiss his mouth, I'll kiss his feet, and I'll hear him say mass\u2014after he comes back.' I heard him myself.\"\n\n\"I'm going to tell Thomas this.\"\n\n\"Do you think he might accept that?\" Francis said eagerly.\n\n\"I don't know.\" Philip hardly dared to hope. \"It seems such a small climb-down. He gets the kiss\u2014it's just a little later than he wanted it.\"\n\n\"And for Henry, a similar small climb-down,\" Francis said with rising excitement. \"He gives the kiss, but voluntarily, rather than under compulsion. By God, it might work.\"\n\n\"They could have a reconciliation at Canterbury. The whole agreement could be announced in advance, so that neither of them could change things at the last minute. Thomas could say mass and Henry could give him the kiss, there in the cathedral.\" And then, he thought, Thomas could block Waleran's evil plans.\n\n\"I'm going to propose this to the king,\" Francis said.\n\n\"And I to Thomas.\"\n\nThe monastery bell rang. The two brothers stood up.\n\n\"Be persuasive,\" Philip said. \"If this works, Thomas can return to Canterbury\u2014and if Thomas comes back, Waleran Bigod is finished.\"\n\nThey met in a pretty meadow on the bank of a river at the frontier between Normandy and the Kingdom of France, near the towns of Fr\u00e9teval and Vievy-le-Raye. King Henry was already there, with his entourage, when Thomas arrived with Archbishop William of Sens. Philip, in Thomas's party, spotted his brother, Francis, with the king, on the far side of the field.\n\nHenry and Thomas had reached agreement\u2014in theory.\n\nBoth had accepted the compromise, whereby the kiss of peace would be given at a reconciliation mass after Becket returned to England. However, the deal was not done until the two of them had met.\n\nThomas rode out to the middle of the field, leaving his people behind, and Henry did the same, while everyone looked on with bated breath.\n\nThey talked for hours.\n\nNobody else could hear what was being said, but everyone could guess. They were talking about Henry's offenses against the Church, the way the English bishops had disobeyed Thomas, the controversial Constitutions of Clarendon, Thomas's exile, the role of the pope.... Initially Philip was afraid they would quarrel bitterly and part worse enemies. They had been close to agreement before, and had met like this, and then something had come up, some point that touched the pride of one or both, so that they had exchanged harsh words and then stormed off, each blaming the intransigence of the other. But the longer they talked, the more optimistic Philip became. If one of them had been ready to storm off, it would surely have happened early on, he felt.\n\nThe hot summer afternoon began to cool, and the shadows of the elms lengthened across the river. The tension was unbearable.\n\nThen at last something happened. Thomas moved.\n\nWas he going to ride away? No. He was dismounting. What did it mean? Philip watched breathlessly. Thomas got off his horse, approached Henry, and knelt at the king's feet.\n\nThe king dismounted and embraced Thomas.\n\nThe courtiers on both sides cheered and threw their hats into the air.\n\nPhilip felt tears come to his eyes. The conflict had been resolved\u2014by reason and goodwill. This was how things ought to be.\n\nPerhaps it was an omen for the future."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "It was Christmas Day, and the king was in a rage.\n\nWilliam Hamleigh was frightened. He had known only one person with a temper like King Henry's, and that was his mother. Henry was almost as terrifying as she. He was an intimidating man anyway, with his broad shoulders and deep chest and huge head; but when he was angry his blue-gray eyes became bloodshot, his freckled face went red, and his customary restlessness turned into the furious pacing of a captive bear.\n\nThey were at Bur-le-Roi, a hunting lodge of Henry's, in a park near the Normandy coast. Henry should have been happy. He liked to hunt better than anything else in the world, and this was one of his favorite places. But he was furious, And the reason was Archbishop Thomas of Canterbury.\n\n\"Thomas, Thomas, Thomas! That's all I hear from you pestilential prelates! Thomas is doing this\u2014Thomas is doing that\u2014Thomas insulted you\u2014Thomas was unjust to you. I'm sick of Thomas!\"\n\nWilliam furtively scrutinized the faces of the earls, bishops and other dignitaries around the Christmas dinner table in the great hall. Most of them looked nervous. Only one had a look of contentment: Waleran Bigod.\n\nWaleran had predicted that Henry would soon quarrel with Thomas again. Thomas had won too decisively, he said; the pope's peace plan forced the king to yield too much, and there would be further rows as Thomas tried to collect on the royal promises. But Waleran had not simply sat back to wait and see what would happen: he had worked hard to make his prediction come true. With William's help, Waleran constantly brought Henry complaints about what Thomas had been doing since he returned to England: riding around the countryside with an army of knights, visiting his cronies and cooking up any number of treacherous schemes, and punishing clergymen who had supported the king during the exile. Waleran embroidered these reports before passing them on to the king, but there was some truth in everything he said. However, he was fanning the flames of a fire that was already burning well. All those who had deserted Thomas during the six years of the quarrel, and were now living in fear of retribution, were keen to vilify him to the king.\n\nSo Waleran looked happy while Henry raged. And well he might. He stood to suffer more than most from the return of Thomas. The archbishop had refused to endorse the nomination of Waleran as bishop of Lincoln. Nevertheless, Thomas had come up with his own nominee as bishop of Kingsbridge: Prior Philip. If Thomas had his way, Waleran would lose Kingsbridge but would not gain Lincoln. He would be ruined.\n\nWilliam's own position would suffer too. With Aliena acting as earl, Waleran gone, Philip as bishop, and no doubt Jonathan as prior of Kingsbridge, William would be isolated, without a single ally in the county. That was why he had joined Waleran at the royal court, to collaborate in the undermining of the shaky concord between King Henry and Archbishop Thomas.\n\nNobody had eaten much of the swans, geese, peacocks and ducks on the table. William, who normally ate and drank heartily, was nibbling bread and sipping posset, a drink made with milk, beer, eggs and nutmeg, to calm his bilious stomach.\n\nHenry had been driven into his current fury by the news that Thomas had sent a delegation to Tours\u2014where Pope Alexander was\u2014to complain that Henry had not kept his part of the peace treaty. One of the king's older counselors, Enjuger de Bohun, said: \"There will be no peace until you have Thomas executed.\"\n\nWilliam was shocked.\n\nHenry roared: \"That's right!\"\n\nIt was clear to William that Henry had taken the remark as an expression of pessimism, rather than as a serious proposal. However, William had a feeling that Enjuger had not said it lightly.\n\nWilliam Malvoisin said idly: \"When I was in Rome, on my way back from Jerusalem, I heard tell of a pope that had been executed, for insupportable insolence. Damned if I can think of his name, now.\"\n\nThe archbishop of York said: \"It looks as if there's nothing else to be done with Thomas. While he's alive he will foment sedition, at home and abroad.\"\n\nTo William those three statements sounded orchestrated. He looked at Waleran. At that moment Waleran spoke. \"There is certainly no point in appealing to Thomas's sense of decency\u2014\"\n\n\"Be quiet, the lot of you!\" the king roared. \"I've heard enough! All you do is complain\u2014when will you get off your backsides and do something about it?\" He took a gulp of ale from his goblet. \"This beer tastes like piss!\" he shouted furiously. He pushed back his chair and, as everyone hastened to stand, he got up and stormed out of the room.\n\nIn the anxious silence that followed, Waleran said: \"The message could hardly be clearer, my lords. We are to get up off our seats and do something about Thomas.\"\n\nWilliam Mandeville, the earl of Essex, said: \"I think a delegation of us should go to see Thomas and set him straight.\"\n\n\"And what will you do if he refuses to listen to reason?\" said Waleran.\n\n\"I think we should then arrest him in the name of the king.\"\n\nSeveral people started to speak at once. The assembly broke up into smaller groups. Those around the earl of Essex began to plan their deputation to Canterbury. William saw Waleran talking to two or three younger knights. Waleran caught his eye and beckoned him over.\n\nWaleran said: \"William Mandeville's delegation will do no good. Thomas can handle them with one hand tied behind his back.\"\n\nReginald Fitzurse gave William a hard look and said: \"Some of us think the time has come for sterner measures.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" William said.\n\n\"You heard what Enjuger said.\"\n\nRichard le Bret, a boy of about eighteen, blurted out: \"Execution.\"\n\nThe word chilled William's heart. It was serious, then. He stared at Waleran. \"Will you ask for the king's blessing?\"\n\nReginald answered. \"Impossible. He can't sanction something like this in advance.\" He grinned evilly. \"But he can reward his faithful servants afterward.\"\n\nYoung Richard said: \"Well, William\u2014are you with us?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" William said. He felt both excited and scared. \"I'll have to think about it.\"\n\nReginald said: \"There's no time to think. We'll have to go now. We must get to Canterbury before William Mandeville, otherwise his lot will get in the way.\"\n\nWaleran addressed William. \"They need an older man with them, to guide them and plan the operation.\"\n\nWilliam was desperately keen to agree. Not only would this solve all his problems: the king would probably give him an earldom for it. \"But to kill an archbishop must be a terrible sin!\" he said.\n\n\"Don't worry about that,\" Waleran said. \"I'll give you absolution.\"\n\nThe enormity of what they were going to do hung over William like a thundercloud as the group of assassins traveled to England. He could think of nothing else; he could neither eat nor sleep; he acted confused and spoke distractedly. By the time the ship reached Dover he was ready to abandon the project.\n\nThey reached Saltwood Castle, in Kent, three days after Christmas, on a Monday evening. The castle belonged to the archbishop of Canterbury, but during the exile it had been occupied by Ranulf de Broc, who had refused to give it back. Indeed, one of Thomas's complaints to the pope was that King Henry had failed to restore the castle to him.\n\nRanulf put new heart into William.\n\nRanulf had ravaged Kent in the absence of the archbishop, relishing the lack of authority rather in the way William had in years gone by, and he was willing to do anything to retain the freedom to do as he pleased. He was enthusiastic about the assassination plan and welcomed the chance of taking part, and he immediately began to discuss the details with gusto. His matter-of-fact approach dispelled the fog of superstitious dread that had clouded William's vision. William began once again to imagine how it would be if he were an earl again, with no one to tell him what to do.\n\nThey stayed up most of the night planning the operation. Ranulf drew a plan of the cathedral close and the archbishop's palace, scratching it on the table with a knife. The monastic buildings were on the north side of the church, which was unusual\u2014they were normally to the south, as at Kingsbridge. The archbishop's palace was attached to the northwest corner of the church. It was entered from the kitchen courtyard. While they worked on the plan, Ranulf sent riders to his garrisons at Dover, Rochester and Bletchingley, ordering his knights to meet him on the road to Canterbury in the morning. Toward dawn the conspirators went to bed to catch an hour or two of sleep.\n\nWilliam's legs hurt like fire after the long journey. He hoped this was the last military operation he would ever do. He would be fifty-five soon, if his calculations were right, and he was getting too old for it.\n\nDespite his weariness, and the heartening influence of Ranulf, he still could not sleep. The idea of killing an archbishop was too terrifying, even though he had already been absolved of his sin. He was afraid that if he went to sleep he would have nightmares.\n\nThey had figured out a good plan of attack. It would go wrong, of course: there was always something that went wrong. The important thing was to be flexible enough to cope with the unexpected. But whatever happened, it would not be very difficult for a group of professional fighting men to overpower a handful of effeminate monks.\n\nThe dim light of a gray winter morning leaked into the room through the arrow-slit windows. After a while William got up. He tried to say his prayers, but he could not.\n\nThe others were up early too. They had breakfast together in the hall. As well as William and Ranulf, there were Reginald Fitzurse, whom William had made leader of the attack group; Richard le Bret, the youngster of the group; William Tracy, the oldest; and Hugh Morville, the highest-ranking.\n\nThey put on their armor and-set out on Ranulf's horses. It was a bitterly cold day, and the sky was dark with low gray clouds, as if it might snow. They followed the old road called Stone Street. On the two-and-a-half-hour journey they picked up several more knights.\n\nTheir main rendezvous was at Saint Augustine's Abbey, outside the city. The abbot was an old enemy of Thomas's, Ranulf had assured William, but nevertheless William decided to tell him that they had come to arrest Thomas, not to kill him. That was a pretense they would keep up until the last moment: no one was to know the true aim of the operation except for William himself, Ranulf, and the four knights who had crossed from France.\n\nThey reached the abbey at noon. The men Ranulf had summoned were waiting. The abbot gave them dinner. His wine was very good and they all drank plenty. Ranulf briefed the men-at-arms who would surround the cathedral close and prevent anyone from escaping.\n\nWilliam kept shivering, even when he stood beside the fire in the guesthouse. It should be a simple operation, but the penalty for failure would probably be death. The king would find a way to justify the murder of Thomas, but he could never support the attempted murder: he would have to deny all knowledge of it and hang the perpetrators. William had hanged many people, as sheriff of Shiring, but the thought of his own body dangling at the end of a rope still made him shake.\n\nHe turned his mind to the thought of the earldom he could expect as a reward for success. It would be nice to be an earl again in his old age, respected and deferred to and obeyed without question. Perhaps Aliena's brother, Richard, would die in the Holy Land and King Henry would give William his old estates again. The thought warmed him more than the fire.\n\nWhen they left the abbey they were a small army. Nevertheless they had no trouble getting into Canterbury. Ranulf had controlled this part of the country for six years and he had not yet relinquished his authority. He held more sway than Thomas, which was no doubt why Thomas had complained so bitterly to the pope. As soon as they were inside, the men-at-arms spread out around the cathedral close and blocked all the exits.\n\nThe operation had begun. Until this moment it had been theoretically possible to call the whole thing off, with no harm done; but now, William thought with a shiver of dread, the die was cast.\n\nHe left Ranulf in charge of the blockade, keeping a small group of knights and men for himself. He installed most of the knights in a house opposite the main gateway to the cathedral close. Then he went through the gate with the remainder. Reginald Fitzurse and the other three conspirators rode into the kitchen courtyard as if they were official visitors, rather than armed intruders. But William ran into the gatehouse and held the terrified porter at sword point.\n\nThe attack was under way.\n\nWith his heart in his mouth, William ordered a man-at-arms to tie up the porter, then summoned the rest of his men into the gatehouse and closed the gate. Now no one could enter or leave. He had taken armed control of a monastery.\n\nHe followed the four conspirators into the kitchen courtyard. There were stables to the north of the yard, but the four had tied their horses to a mulberry tree in the middle. They took off their sword belts and helmets: they would keep up the facade of a peaceful visit a little longer.\n\nWilliam caught up with them and dropped his weapons under the tree. Reginald looked inquiringly at him. \"All's well,\" William said. \"The place is isolated.\"\n\nThey crossed the courtyard to the palace and went into the porch. William assigned a local knight called Richard to stay in the porch on guard. The others entered the great hall.\n\nThe palace servants were sitting down to dinner. That meant they had already served Thomas and the priests and monks who were with him. One of the servants stood up. Reginald said: \"We are the king's men.\"\n\nThe room went quiet, but the servant who had stood up said: \"Welcome, my lords. I'm the steward of the hall, William Fitzneal. Please come in. Would you like some dinner?\"\n\nHe was remarkably friendly, William thought, considering that his master was at loggerheads with the king. He could probably be suborned.\n\n\"No dinner, thank you,\" said Reginald.\n\n\"A cup of wine, after your journey?\"\n\n\"We have a message for your master from the king,\" Reginald said impatiently. \"Please announce us right away.\"\n\n\"Very good.\" The steward bowed. They were unarmed, so he had no reason to refuse them. He left the table and walked to the far end of the hall.\n\nWilliam and the four knights followed. The eyes of the silent servants went with them. William was trembling the way he used to before a battle, and he wished the fighting would start, for he knew he would be all right then.\n\nThey all went up a staircase to the upper floor.\n\nThey emerged in a roomy attendance chamber with benches around the sides. There was a large throne in the middle of one wall. Several black-robed priests and monks were sitting on the benches, but the throne was empty.\n\nThe steward crossed the room to an open door. \"Messengers from the king, my lord archbishop,\" he said in a loud voice.\n\nThere was no audible reply, but the archbishop must have nodded, for the steward waved them in.\n\nThe monks and priests stared wide-eyed as the knights marched across the room and went into the inner chamber.\n\nThomas Becket was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his archbishop's robes. There was only one other person in the room: a monk, sitting at Thomas's feet, listening. William caught the monk's eye, and was jolted to recognize Prior Philip of Kingsbridge. What was he doing here? Currying favor, no doubt. Philip had been elected bishop of Kingsbridge, but had not yet been confirmed. Now, William thought with savage glee, he never would be.\n\nPhilip was equally startled to see William. However, Thomas carried on speaking, pretending not to notice the knights. This was a piece of calculated discourtesy, William thought. The knights sat down on the low stools and benches around the bed. William wished they had not: it made the visit seem social, and he felt they had lost impetus somehow. Perhaps that was what Thomas had intended.\n\nFinally Thomas looked at them. He did not rise to greet them. He knew them all, except William, and his eye came to rest on Hugh Morville, the highest-ranking. \"Ah, Hugh,\" he said.\n\nWilliam had put Reginald in charge of this part of the operation, and so it was Reginald, not Hugh, who spoke to the archbishop. \"We come from the king in Normandy. Do you want to hear his message in public or in private?\"\n\nThomas looked irritably from Reginald to Hugh and back again, as if he resented dealing with a junior member of the delegation. He sighed, then said: \"Leave me, Philip.\"\n\nPhilip stood up and walked past the knights, looking worried.\n\n\"But don't close the door,\" Thomas called after him.\n\nWhen Philip had gone out, Reginald said: \"I require you in the name of the king to go to Winchester to answer charges against you.\"\n\nWilliam had the satisfaction of seeing Thomas go pale. \"So that's how it is,\" the archbishop said quietly. He looked up. The steward was hovering at the door. \"Send everyone in,\" Thomas said to him. \"I want them all to hear this.\"\n\nThe monks and priests filed in, Prior Philip among them. Some sat down and others stood around the walls. William had no objection: on the contrary, the more people who were present, the better; for the object of this unarmed encounter was to establish before witnesses that Thomas refused to comply with a royal command.\n\nWhen they were all settled, Thomas looked at Reginald. \"Again?\" he said.\n\n\"I require you in the name of the king to go to Winchester to answer charges against you,\" Reginald repeated.\n\n\"What charges?\" Thomas said quietly.\n\n\"Treason!\"\n\nThomas shook his head. \"I will not be put on trial by Henry,\" he said calmly. \"I've committed no crime, God knows.\"\n\n\"You've excommunicated royal servants.\"\n\n\"It was not I, but the pope, who did that.\"\n\n\"You've suspended other bishops.\"\n\n\"I've offered to reinstate them on merciful terms. They have refused. My offer remains open.\"\n\n\"You've threatened the succession to the throne by disparaging the coronation of the king's son.\"\n\n\"I did no such thing. The archbishop of York has no right to crown anyone, and the pope has reprimanded him for his effrontery. But no one has suggested that the coronation is invalid.\"\n\nReginald said exasperatedly: \"The one thing follows from the other, you damn fool.\"\n\n\"I've had enough!\" Thomas said.\n\n\"And we've had enough of you, Thomas Becket,\" Reginald shouted. \"By God's wounds, we've had enough of you, and your arrogance and troublemaking and treason!\"\n\nThomas stood up. \"The archbishop's castles are occupied by the king's men,\" he shouted. \"The archbishop's rents have been collected by the king. The archbishop has been ordered not to leave the city of Canterbury. And you tell me that you have had enough?\"\n\nOne of the priests tried to intervene, saying to Thomas: \"My lord, let's discuss the matter in private\u2014\"\n\n\"To what end?\" Thomas snapped. \"They demand something I must not do and will not do.\"\n\nThe shouting had attracted everyone in the palace, and the doorway to the chamber was crowded with wide-eyed listeners, William saw. The argument had gone on long enough: nobody could now deny that Thomas had refused a royal command. William made a signal to Reginald. It was a discreet gesture, but Prior Philip noticed it and raised his eyebrows in surprise, realizing that the leader of the group was not Reginald but William.\n\nReginald said formally: \"Archbishop Thomas, you are no longer under the king's peace and protection.\" He turned around and addressed the onlookers. \"Clear this room,\" he ordered.\n\nNobody moved.\n\nReginald said: \"You monks, I order you in the name of the king to guard the archbishop and prevent his escape.\"\n\nThey would do no such thing, of course. Nor did William want them to: on the contrary, he wanted Thomas to attempt an escape, for that would make it easier to kill him.\n\nReginald turned to the steward, William Fitzneal, who was technically the archbishop's bodyguard. \"I arrest you,\" he said. He grabbed the steward's arm and marched him out of the room. The man did not resist. William and the other knights followed them out.\n\nThey ran down the stairs and through the hall. The local knight, Richard, was still on guard in the porch. William wondered what to do with the steward. He asked him: \"Are you with us?\"\n\nThe man was terrified. He said: \"Yes, if you're with the king!\"\n\nHe was too frightened to be any danger, whatever side he was on, William decided. He said to Richard: \"Keep an eye on him. Let no one leave the building. Keep the porch door closed.\"\n\nWith the others he ran across the courtyard to the mulberry tree. Hastily they began to put on their helmets and swords. We're going to do it now, William thought fearfully; we're going to go back in there and kill the archbishop of Canterbury, oh my God. It was a long time since William had worn a helmet, and the fringe of chain mail that protected the neck and shoulders kept getting in the way. He cursed his clumsy fingers. He did not have time to fumble anything just now. He spotted a boy watching him openmouthed and shouted to him: \"Hey! You! What's your name?\"\n\nThe boy looked back toward the kitchen, unsure whether to answer William or flee. \"Robert, lord,\" he said after a moment. \"They call me Robert Pipe.\"\n\n\"Come here, Robert Pipe, and help me with this.\"\n\nThe boy hesitated again.\n\nWilliam's patience ran out. \"Come here, or I swear by the blood of Jesus I'll chop off your hand with this sword!\"\n\nReluctantly the boy came forward. William showed him how to hold up the chain mail while he put on the helmet. He got it on at last, and Robert Pipe fled. He'll tell his grandchildren about this, William thought fleetingly.\n\nThe helmet had a ventail, a mouth flap that could be pulled across and fastened with a strap. The others had closed theirs, so that their faces were hidden and they could no longer be recognized. William left his open a moment longer. Each of them had a sword in one hand and an ax in the other.\n\n\"Ready?\" William said.\n\nThey all nodded.\n\nThere would be little talk from now on. No more orders were necessary, no further decisions had to be made. They were simply going to go back in there and kill Thomas.\n\nWilliam put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.\n\nThen he fastened his ventail.\n\nA man-at-arms came running out of the gatehouse and threw open the main gate.\n\nThe knights William had stationed in the house across the road came out and poured into the courtyard, shouting, as they had been instructed, \"King's men! King's men!\"\n\nWilliam ran back to the palace.\n\nThe knight Richard and the steward William Fitzneal threw open the porch door for him.\n\nAs he entered, two of the archbishop's servants took advantage of the fact that Richard and William Fitzneal were distracted, and slammed the door between the porch and the hall.\n\nWilliam threw his weight against the door but he was too late: they had secured it with a bar. He cursed. A setback, and so soon! The knights began to hack at the door with their axes, but they made little headway: it had been made to withstand attack. William felt control slipping away from him. Fighting back the beginnings of a panic, he ran out of the porch and looked around for another door. Reginald went with him.\n\nThere was nothing on this side of the building. They ran around the west end of the palace, past the detached kitchen, into the orchard on the south side. William grunted with satisfaction: there on the south wall of the palace was a staircase leading to the upper floor. It looked like a private entrance to the archbishop's chambers. The feeling of panic went away.\n\nWilliam and Reginald ran to the foot of the staircase. It was damaged halfway up, and there were a few workmen's tools and a ladder nearby, as if the stairs were being repaired. Reginald leaned the ladder against the side of the staircase and climbed up, bypassing the broken steps. He reached the top. There was a door leading to an oriel, a little enclosed balcony. William watched him try the door. It was locked. Beside it was a shuttered window. Reginald smashed the shutter with one blow of his ax. He reached inside, fumbled, then opened the door and went in. William started to climb the ladder.\n\nPhilip was scared from the moment he saw William Hamleigh, but the priests and monks in Thomas's entourage were at first complacent. Then, when they heard the hammering on the hall door, they became frightened, and several of them proposed taking refuge in the cathedral.\n\nThomas was scornful. \"Take refuge?\" he said. \"From what? Those knights? An archbishop can't run from a few hotheads.\"\n\nPhilip thought he was right, up to a point: the title of archbishop was meaningless if you could be frightened by knights. The man of God, secure in the knowledge that his sins are forgiven, regards death as a happy transfer to a better place, and has no fear of swords. However, even an archbishop ought not to be so careless of his safety as to invite attack. Furthermore, Philip had firsthand knowledge of the viciousness and brutality of William Hamleigh. So when they heard the smashing of the oriel shutter, Philip decided to take a lead.\n\nHe could see, through the windows, that the palace was surrounded by knights. The sight of them scared him more. This was clearly a carefully planned attack, and the perpetrators were prepared to commit violence. He hastily closed the bedroom door and pulled the bar across. The others watched him, content to let someone decisive take charge. Archbishop Thomas continued to look scornful but he did not try to stop Philip.\n\nPhilip stood by the door and listened. He heard a man come through the oriel and enter the audience chamber. He wondered how strong the bedroom door was. However, the man did not attack the door, but crossed the audience chamber and started down the stairs. Philip guessed he was going to open the hall door from the inside and let the rest of the knights in that way.\n\nThat gave Thomas a few moments' reprieve.\n\nThere was another door in the opposite corner of the bedroom, partly concealed by the bed. Philip pointed at it and said urgently: \"Where does that lead?\"\n\n\"To the cloisters,\" someone said. \"But it's locked shut.\"\n\nPhilip crossed the room and tried the door. It was locked. \"Have you got a key?\" he said to Thomas, adding as an afterthought, \"My lord archbishop.\"\n\nThomas shook his head. \"That passage has never been used in my memory,\" he said with infuriating calm.\n\nThe door did not look very stout, but Philip was sixty-three years old and brute force had never been his m\u00e9tier. He stood back and gave the door a kick. It hurt his foot. The door rattled flimsily. Philip gritted his teeth and kicked it harder. It flew open.\n\nPhilip looked at Thomas. Thomas still seemed reluctant to flee. Perhaps it had not dawned on him, as it had on Philip, that the number of knights and the well-organized nature of their operation indicated a deadly serious intention to do him harm. But Philip knew instinctively that it would be fruitless to try to scare Thomas into fleeing. Instead he said: \"It's time for vespers. We ought not to let a few hotheads disrupt the routine of worship.\"\n\nThomas smiled, seeing that his own argument had been used against him. \"Very well,\" he said, and he got to his feet.\n\nPhilip led the way, feeling relief that he had got Thomas moving and fear that the archbishop still might not move fast enough. The passage led down a long flight of steps. There was no light except what came through the archbishop's bedroom. At the end of the passage was another door. Philip gave it the same treatment as he had given the first door, but this one was stronger and it did not open. He began to hammer on it, shouting: \"Help! Open the door! Hurry, hurry!\" He heard the note of panic in his own voice, and made an effort to stay calm, but his heart was racing and he knew that William's knights must be close behind.\n\nThe others caught up with him. He continued to bang the door and shout. He heard Thomas say: \"Dignity, Philip, please,\" but he took no notice. He wanted to preserve the archbishop's dignity\u2014his own was of no account.\n\nBefore Thomas could protest again, there was the sound of a bar being drawn and a key turning in the lock, and the door was opened. Philip grunted with relief. Two startled cellarers stood there. One said: \"I didn't know this door led anywhere.\"\n\nPhilip pushed past them impatiently. He found himself in the cellarer's stores. He negotiated the barrels and sacks to reach another door, and passed through that into the open air.\n\nIt was getting dark. He was in the south walk of the cloisters. At the far end of the walk he saw, to his immense relief, the door that led into the north transept of Canterbury Cathedral.\n\nThey were almost safe.\n\nHe had to get Thomas into the cathedral before William and his knights could catch up. The rest of the party emerged from the stores. Philip said: \"Into the church, quickly!\"\n\nThomas said: \"No, Philip; not quickly. We will enter my cathedral with dignity.\"\n\nPhilip wanted to scream, but he said: \"Of course, my lord.\" He could hear the ominous sound of heavy feet in the disused passage: the knights had broken into the bedroom and had found the bolthole. He knew the archbishop's best protection was his dignity, but there was no harm in getting out of the way of trouble.\n\n\"Where is the archbishop's cross?\" Thomas said. \"I can't enter the church without my cross.\"\n\nPhilip groaned in despair.\n\nThen one of the priests said: \"I brought the cross. Here it is.\"\n\nThomas said: \"Carry it before me in the usual way, please.\"\n\nThe priest held it up and walked with restrained haste toward the church door.\n\nThomas followed him.\n\nThe archbishop's entourage preceded him into the cathedral, as etiquette demanded. Philip went last and held the door for him. Just as Thomas entered, two knights burst out of the cellarer's stores and sprinted down the south walk.\n\nPhilip closed the transept door. There was a bar located in a hole in the wall beside the doorpost. Philip grabbed the bar and pulled it across the door.\n\nHe turned around, sagging with relief, and leaned back against the door.\n\nThomas was crossing the narrow transept toward the steps that led up to the north aisle of the chancel, but when he heard the bar slam into place he stopped suddenly and turned around.\n\n\"No, Philip,\" he said.\n\nPhilip's heart sank. \"My lord archbishop\u2014\"\n\n\"This is a church, not a castle. Unbar the door.\"\n\nThe door shook violently as the knights tried to open it. Philip said: \"I'm afraid they want to kill you!\"\n\n\"Then they will probably succeed, whether you bar the door or not. Do you know how many other doors there are to this church? Open it.\"\n\nThere was a series of loud bangs, as if the knights were attacking the door with axes. \"You could hide,\" Philip said desperately. \"There are dozens of places\u2014the entrance to the crypt is just there\u2014it's getting dark\u2014\"\n\n\"Hide, Philip? In my own church? Would you?\"\n\nPhilip stared at Thomas for a long moment. At last he said: \"No, I wouldn't.\"\n\n\"Open the door.\"\n\nWith a heavy heart, Philip slid back the bar.\n\nThe knights burst in. There were five of them. Their faces were hidden behind helmets. They carried swords and axes. They looked like emissaries from hell.\n\nPhilip knew he should not be afraid, but the sharp edges of their weapons made him shiver with fear.\n\nOne of them shouted: \"Where is Thomas Becket, a traitor to the king and to the kingdom?\"\n\nThe others shouted: \"Where is the traitor? Where is the archbishop?\"\n\nIt was quite dark now, and the big church was only dimly lit by candles. All the monks were in black, and the knights' vision was somewhat limited by their faceplates. Philip had a sudden surge of hope: perhaps they would miss Thomas in the darkness. But Thomas immediately dashed that hope by walking down the steps toward the knights, saying: \"Here I am\u2014no traitor to the king, but a priest of God. What do you want?\"\n\nAs the archbishop stood confronting the five men with their drawn swords, Philip suddenly knew with certainty that Thomas was going to die here today.\n\nThe people in the archbishop's entourage must have had the same feeling, for suddenly most of them fled. Some disappeared into the gloom of the chancel, a few scattered into the nave among the townspeople waiting for the service, and one opened a small door and ran up a spiral staircase. Philip was disgusted. \"You should pray, not run!\" he shouted after them.\n\nIt occurred to Philip that he, too, might be killed if he did not run. But he could not tear himself away from the side of the archbishop.\n\nOne of the knights said to Thomas: \"Renounce your treachery!\" Philip recognized the voice of Reginald Fitzurse, who had done the talking earlier.\n\n\"I have nothing to renounce,\" Thomas replied. \"I have committed no treachery.\" He was deadly calm, but his face was white, and Philip realized that Thomas, like everyone else, had realized that he was going to die.\n\nReginald shouted at Thomas: \"Run away, you're a dead man!\"\n\nThomas stood still.\n\nThey want him to run, Philip thought; they can't bring themselves to kill him in cold blood.\n\nPerhaps Thomas had understood that too, for he stood unflinching in front of them, defying them to touch him. For a long moment they were all frozen in a murderous tableau, the knights unwilling to make the first move, the priest too proud to run.\n\nIt was Thomas who fatally broke the spell. He said: \"I am ready to die, but you are not to touch any of my men, priests or monks or laymen.\"\n\nReginald moved first. He waved his sword at Thomas, pushing its point closer and closer to his face, as if daring himself to let the blade touch the priest. Thomas stood like stone, his eyes focused on the knight, not the sword. Suddenly, with a quick twist of the wrist, Reginald knocked Thomas's cap off.\n\nPhilip was suddenly filled with hope again. They can't bring themselves to do it, he thought; they're afraid to touch him.\n\nBut he was wrong. The knights' resolution seemed to be strengthened by the silly gesture of knocking off the archbishop's cap; as if, perhaps, they had half expected to be struck down by the hand of God, and the fact that they had got away with it gave them courage to do worse. Reginald said: \"Carry him out of here.\"\n\nThe other knights sheathed their swords and approached the archbishop.\n\nOne of them grasped Thomas about the waist and tried to lift him.\n\nPhilip despaired. They had touched him at last. They were, after all, willing to lay hands on a man of God. Philip had a stomach-lurching sense of the depths of their evil, like looking over the edge of a bottomless pit. They must know, in their hearts, that they would go to hell for this; yet still they did it.\n\nThomas lost his balance, flailed his arms, and began to struggle. The other knights joined in trying to lift him up and carry him. The only people left from Thomas's entourage were Philip and a priest called Edward Grim. They both rushed forward to help Thomas. Edward grabbed Thomas's mantle and clung on tight. One of the knights turned and lashed out at Philip with a mailed fist. The blow struck the side of Philip's head, and he went down, dazed.\n\nWhen he recovered, the knights had released Thomas, who was standing with his head bowed and his hands together in an attitude of prayer. One of the knights raised his sword.\n\nPhilip, still on the floor, gave a long, helpless yell of protest: \"Noooo!\"\n\nEdward Grim held out his arm to ward off the blow.\n\nThomas said: \"I commend myself to Go\u2014\"\n\nThe sword fell.\n\nIt struck both Thomas and Edward. Philip heard himself scream. The sword cut into the archbishop's skull and sliced the priest's arm. As blood spurted from Edward's arm, Thomas fell to his knees.\n\nPhilip stared aghast at the appalling wound to Thomas's head.\n\nThe archbishop fell slowly forward onto his hands, supported himself only for an instant, then crashed onto his face on the stone floor.\n\nAnother knight lifted his sword and struck. Philip gave an involuntary howl of grief. The second blow landed in the same place as the first, and sliced off the top of Thomas's skull. It was such a forceful swing that the sword struck the pavement and snapped in two. The knight dropped the stump.\n\nA third knight committed an act which would burn in Philip's memory for the rest of his life; he stuck the point of his sword into the opened head of the archbishop and spilled the brains out onto the floor.\n\nPhilip's legs felt weak and he sank to his knees, overcome with horror.\n\nThe knight said: \"He won't get up again\u2014let's be off!\"\n\nThey all turned and ran.\n\nPhilip watched them go down the nave, laying about them with their swords to scatter the townspeople.\n\nWhen the killers had gone there was a moment of frozen silence. The corpse of the archbishop lay facedown on the floor, and the severed skull, with its hair, lay beside the head like the lid of a pot. Philip buried his face in his hands. This was the end of all hope. The savages have won, he kept thinking; the savages have won. He had a giddy, weightless sensation, as if he were sinking slowly in a deep lake, drowning in despair. There was nothing to hold on to anymore; everything that had seemed fixed was suddenly unstable.\n\nHe had spent his life fighting the arbitrary power of wicked men, and now, in the ultimate contest, he had been defeated. He remembered when William Hamleigh had come to set fire to Kingsbridge the second time, and the townspeople had built a wall in a day. What a victory that had been! The peaceful strength of hundreds of ordinary people had defeated the naked cruelty of Earl William. He recalled the time Waleran Bigod had tried to have the cathedral built at Shiring so that he could control it for his own ends. Philip had mobilized the people of the whole county. Hundreds of them, more than a thousand, had flocked to Kingsbridge on that marvelous WhitSunday thirty-three years ago, and the sheer force of their zeal had defeated Waleran. But there was no hope now. All the ordinary folk in Canterbury, even the entire population of Christendom, would not be enough to bring Thomas back to life.\n\nKneeling on the flagstones in the north transept of Canterbury Cathedral, he saw again the men who had burst into his home and slaughtered his mother and father before his eyes, fifty-six years ago. The emotion that came to him now, from that six-year-old child, was not fear, not even grief. It was rage. Powerless to stop those huge, red-faced, bloodthirsty men, he had conceived a blazing ambition to shackle all such swordsmen, to blunt their swords and hobble their war-horses and force them to submit to another authority, one higher than the monarchy of violence. And moments later, as his parents lay dead on the floor, Abbot Peter had come in to show him the way. Unarmed and defenseless, the abbot had instantly stopped the bloodshed, with nothing but the authority of his Church and the force of his goodness. That scene had inspired Philip all his life.\n\nUntil this moment he had believed that he and people like him were winning. They had achieved some notable victories in the past half century. But now, at the end of his life, his enemies had proved that nothing had changed. His triumphs had been temporary, his progress illusory. He had won some battles, but the cause was ultimately hopeless. Men just like the ones who killed his mother and father had now murdered an archbishop in a cathedral, as if to prove, beyond all possibility of doubt, that there was no authority that could prevail against the tyranny of a man with a sword.\n\nHe had never thought they would dare to kill Archbishop Thomas, especially in a church. But he had never thought anyone could kill his father, and the same bloodthirsty men with swords and helmets had shown him the grisly truth in both cases. And now, at the age of sixty-two, as he looked at the grisly corpse of Thomas Becket, he was possessed by the childish, unreasoning, all-encompassing fury of a six-year-old boy whose father is dead.\n\nHe stood up. The atmosphere in the church was thick with emotion as the people gathered around the corpse of the archbishop. Priests, monks and townspeople came slowly nearer, stunned and full of dread. Philip sensed that behind their shocked expressions there was a rage like his own. One or two of them were muttering prayers, or just moaning half audibly. A woman bent down swiftly and touched the dead body, as if for luck. Several other people followed suit. Then Philip saw the first woman furtively collecting some of the blood in a tiny flask, as if Thomas were a martyr.\n\nThe clergy began to come to their senses. The archbishop's chamberlain, Osbert, with tears streaming down his face, took out a knife and cut a strip from his own shirt, then bent down by the body and clumsily, gruesomely tied Thomas's skull back on to his head, in a pathetic attempt to restore a modicum of dignity to the horribly violated person of the archbishop. As he did so, a low collective groan went up from the crowd all around.\n\nSome monks brought a stretcher. They lifted Thomas onto it gently. Many hands reached out to help them. Philip saw that the archbishop's handsome face was peaceful, the only sign of violence being a thin line of blood running from the right temple, across the nose, to the left cheek.\n\nAs they lifted the stretcher, Philip picked up the broken stump of the sword that had killed Thomas. He kept thinking of the woman who had collected the archbishop's blood in a bottle, as if he were a saint. There was a massive significance to that small act of hers, but Philip was not yet sure exactly what it was.\n\nThe people followed the stretcher, drawn by an invisible force. Philip went with the crowd, feeling the weird compulsion that gripped them all. The monks carried the body through the chancel and lowered it gently to the ground in front of the high altar. The crowd, many of them praying aloud, watched as a priest brought a clean cloth and bandaged the head neatly, then covered most of the bandage with a new cap.\n\nA monk cut through the black archbishop's mantle, which was soiled with blood, and removed it. The man seemed unsure what to do with the bloody garment, and turned as if to throw it to one side. A citizen stepped forward quickly and took it from him as if it were a precious object.\n\nThe thought that had been hovering uncertainly in the back of Philip's mind now came to the foreground in an inspirational flash. The citizens were treating Thomas like a martyr, eagerly collecting his blood and his clothes as if they had the supernatural powers of saints' relics. Philip had been regarding the murder as a political defeat for the Church, but the people here did not see it that way: they saw a martyrdom. And the death of a martyr, while it might look like a defeat, never failed to provide inspiration and strength to the Church in the end.\n\nPhilip thought again of the hundreds of people who had flocked to Kingsbridge to build the cathedral, and of the men, women and children who had worked together half the night to put up the town wall. If such people could be mobilized now, he thought with a mounting sense of excitement, they might raise a cry of outrage so loud it would be heard all over the world.\n\nLooking at the men and women gathered around the body, their faces suffused with grief and horror, Philip realized that they only wanted a leader.\n\nWas it possible?\n\nThere was something familiar about this situation, he realized. A mutilated corpse, a crowd of onlookers, and some soldiers in the distance: where had he seen this before? What should happen next, he felt, was that a small group of followers of the dead man would range themselves against all the power and authority of a mighty empire.\n\nOf course. That was how Christianity started.\n\nAnd when he understood that, he knew what he had to do next.\n\nHe moved in front of the altar and turned to face the crowd. He still had the broken sword in his hand. Everyone stared at him. He suffered a moment of self-doubt. Can I do it? he thought. Can I start a movement, here and now, that will shake the throne of England? He looked at their faces. As well as grief and rage, he saw, in one or two expressions, a hint of hope.\n\nHe lifted the sword on high.\n\n\"This sword killed a saint,\" he began.\n\nThere was a murmur of agreement.\n\nEncouraged, Philip said: \"Here tonight we have witnessed a martyrdom.\"\n\nThe priests and monks looked surprised. Like Philip, they had not immediately seen the real significance of the murder they had witnessed. But the townspeople had, and they voiced their approval.\n\n\"Each one of us must go from this place and tell what he has seen.\" Several people nodded vigorously. They were listening\u2014but Philip wanted more. He wanted to inspire them. Preaching had never been his forte. He was not one of those men who could hold a crowd rapt, make them laugh and cry, and persuade them to follow him anywhere. He did not know how to put a tremor in his voice and make the light of glory shine from his eyes. He was a practical, earth-bound man; and right now he needed to speak like an angel.\n\n\"Soon every man, woman and child in Canterbury will know that the king's men murdered Archbishop Thomas in the cathedral. But that's just the start. The news will spread all over England, and then all over Christendom.\"\n\nHe was losing them, he could tell. There was dissatisfaction and disappointment on some of the faces. A man called out: \"But what shall we do?\"\n\nPhilip realized they needed to take some kind of concrete action immediately. It was not possible to call for a crusade and then send people to bed.\n\nA crusade, he thought. That was an idea.\n\nHe said: \"Tomorrow, I will take this sword to Rochester. The day after tomorrow, London. Will you come with me?\"\n\nMost of them looked blank, but someone at the back called out: \"Yes!\" Then one or two others voiced their agreement.\n\nPhilip raised his voice a little. \"We'll tell our story in every town and village in England. We'll show people the sword that killed Saint Thomas. We'll let them see the bloodstains on his priestly garments.\" He warmed to his theme, and let his anger show a little. \"We'll raise an outcry that will spread throughout Christendom, yes, even as far as Rome. We'll turn the whole of the civilized world against the savages who perpetrated this horrible, blasphemous crime!\"\n\nThis time most of them called out their assent. They had been waiting for some way of expressing their emotions, and now he was giving it to them.\n\n\"This crime,\" he said slowly, his voice rising to a shout, \"will never\u2014never\u2014be\u2014forgotten!\"\n\nThey roared their approval.\n\nSuddenly he knew where to go from here. \"Let us begin our crusade now!\" he said.\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"We'll carry this sword along every street in Canterbury!\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"And we'll tell every citizen within the walls what we have witnessed here tonight!\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Bring candles, and follow me!\"\n\nHolding the sword high, he marched straight down the middle of the cathedral.\n\nThey followed him.\n\nFeeling exultant, he went through the chancel, over the crossing, and down the nave. Some of the monks and priests walked beside him. He did not need to look back: he could hear the footsteps of a hundred people marching behind him. He went out of the main door.\n\nThere he had a moment of anxiety. Across the dark orchard he could see men-at-arms ransacking the archbishop's palace. If his followers confronted them, the crusade might turn into a brawl when it had hardly got started. Suddenly afraid, he turned sharply away and led the crowd through the nearest gate into the street.\n\nOne of the monks started a hymn. There were lamps and firelight behind the shutters of the houses, but as the procession passed by, people opened their doors to see what was going on. Some of them questioned the marchers. Some joined in.\n\nPhilip turned a corner and saw William Hamleigh.\n\nWilliam was standing outside a stable, and looked as if he had just taken off his chain mail prior to mounting a horse and leaving the city. He had a handful of men with him. They were all looking up expectantly, presumably having heard the singing and wondered what was going on.\n\nAs the candlelit procession approached, William at first looked mystified. Then he saw the broken sword in Philip's hand, and comprehension dawned. He stared in awestruck silence for a moment more, then he spoke. \"Stop this!\" he shouted. \"I command you to disperse!\"\n\nNobody took any notice. The men with William looked anxious: even with their swords they were vulnerable to a mob of more than a hundred fervent mourners.\n\nWilliam addressed Philip directly. \"In the name of the king, I order you to stop this!\"\n\nPhilip swept past him, borne forward by the press of the crowd. \"Too late, William!\" he cried over his shoulder. \"Too late!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "The small boys came early to the hanging.\n\nThey were already there, in the market square at Shiring, throwing stones at cats and abusing beggars and fighting one another, when Aliena arrived, alone and on foot, wearing a cheap cloak with a hood to hide her identity.\n\nShe stood at a distance, looking at the scaffold. She had not intended to come. She had witnessed too many hangings during the years when she had played the role of earl. Now that she no longer had that responsibility, she had thought she would be happy if she never saw another man hanged for the rest of her life. But this one was different.\n\nShe was no longer acting as earl because her brother, Richard, had been killed in Syria\u2014not in battle, ironically, but in an earthquake. The news had taken six months to reach her. She had not seen him for fifteen years, and now she would never see him again.\n\nUp the hill, the castle gates opened, and the prisoner came out with his escort, followed by the new earl of Shiring, Aliena's son, Tommy.\n\nRichard had never had children, so his heir was his nephew. The king, stunned and enfeebled by the Becket scandal, had taken the line of least resistance and rapidly confirmed Tommy as earl. Aliena had handed over to the younger generation readily. She had achieved what she wanted to with the earldom. It was once again a rich, thriving county, a land of fat sheep and green fields and sturdy mills. Some of the larger and more progressive landowners had followed her lead in switching to horse plowing, feeding the horses on oats grown under the three-field system of crop rotation. In consequence the land could feed even more people than it had under her father's enlightened rule.\n\nTommy would be a good earl. It was what he was born to do. Jack had refused to see it for a long time, wanting his son to be a builder; but eventually he had been forced to admit the truth. Tommy had never been able to cut a stone in a straight line, but he was a natural leader, and at twenty-eight years of age he was decisive, determined, intelligent and fair-minded. He was usually called Thomas now.\n\nWhen he took over, people expected Aliena to stay at the castle, nag her daughter-in-law and play with her grandchildren. She had laughed at them. She liked Tommy's wife\u2014a pretty girl, one of the younger daughters of the earl of Bedford\u2014and she adored her three grandchildren, but at the age of fifty-two she was not ready to retire. She and Jack had taken a big stone house near the Kingsbridge Priory\u2014in what had once been the poor quarter, although it was no longer\u2014and she had gone back into the wool business, buying and selling, negotiating with all her old energy, and making money hand over fist.\n\nThe hanging party came into the square, and Aliena emerged from her reverie. She looked closely at the prisoner, stumbling along at the end of a rope, his hands tied behind his back. It was William Hamleigh.\n\nSomeone in the front spat at him. The crowd in the square was large, for a lot of people were happy to see the last of William, and even for those who had no grudge against him it was quite something to see a former sheriff hanged. But William had been involved in the most notorious murder anybody could remember.\n\nAliena had never known or imagined anything like the reaction to the killing of Archbishop Thomas. The news had spread like wildfire through the whole of Christendom, from Dublin to Jerusalem and from Toledo to Oslo. The pope had gone into mourning. The continental half of King Henry's empire had been placed under interdict, which meant the churches were closed and there were no services except baptism. In England, people had started making a pilgrimage to Canterbury, just as if it were a shrine like Santiago de Compostela. And there had been miracles. Water tinctured with the martyr's blood, and shreds of the mantle he had been wearing when he was killed, cured sick people not just in Canterbury but all over England.\n\nWilliam's men had tried to steal the corpse from the cathedral, but the monks had been forewarned and had hidden it; and now it was secure within a stone vault, and pilgrims had to put their heads through a hole in the wall to kiss the marble coffin.\n\nIt was William's last crime. He had come scurrying back to Shiring, but Tommy had arrested him, and accused him of sacrilege, and he had been found guilty by Bishop Philip's court. Normally no one would dare to sentence a sheriff, for he was an officer of the Crown, but in this case the reverse was true: no one, not even the king, would dare to defend one of Becket's killers.\n\nWilliam was going to make a bad end.\n\nHis eyes were wild and staring, his mouth was open and drooling, he was moaning incoherently, and there was a stain on the front of his tunic where he had wet himself.\n\nAliena watched her old enemy stagger blindly toward the gallows. She remembered the young, arrogant, heartless lad who had raped her thirty-five years ago. It was hard to believe he had become the moaning, terrified subhuman she saw now. Even the fat, gouty, disappointed old knight he had been in later life was nothing like this. He began to struggle and scream as he got closer to the scaffold. The men-at-arms pulled him along like a pig going to the slaughterhouse. Aliena found no pity in her heart: all she could feel was relief. William would never terrorize anyone again.\n\nHe kicked and screamed as he was lifted up onto the ox cart. He looked like an animal, red-faced, wild and filthy; but he sounded like a child as he gibbered and moaned and cried. It took four men to hold him while a fifth put the noose around his neck. He struggled so much that the knot tightened before he dropped, and he began to strangle by his own efforts. The men-at-arms stepped back. William writhed, choking, his fat face turning purple.\n\nAliena stared aghast. Even at the height of her rage and hatred she had not wished a death like this on him.\n\nThere was no noise, now that he was choking; and the crowd stood still. Even the small boys were silenced by the horrible sight.\n\nSomeone struck the ox's flank with a switch and the beast moved forward. At last William fell, but the fall did not break his neck, and he dangled at the end of the rope, slowly suffocating. His eyes remained open. Aliena felt he was looking at her. The grimace on his face as he hung there writhing in agony was familiar to Aliena, and she realized that he had looked like that when he was raping her, just before he reached his climax. The memory stabbed her like a knife, but she would not let herself look away.\n\nIt took a long time but the crowd remained quiet throughout. His face turned darker and darker. His agonized writhing became a mere twitching. At last his eyes rolled up into his head, his eyelids closed, he became still, and then, gruesomely, his tongue stuck out, black and swollen, between his teeth.\n\nHe was dead.\n\nAliena felt drained. William had changed her life\u2014at one time she would have said he had ruined her life\u2014and now he was dead, powerless to hurt her or anyone else ever again.\n\nThe crowd began to move away. The small boys mimicked the death throes to one another, rolling up their eyes and poking out their tongues. A man-at-arms climbed up on the scaffold and cut William down.\n\nAliena caught her son's eye. He looked surprised to see her. He came over immediately, and bent down to kiss her. My son, she thought; my big son. Jack's son. She remembered how terrified she had been that she might have William's child. Well, some things had turned out right.\n\n\"I thought you didn't want to come here today,\" Tommy said.\n\n\"I had to,\" she said. \"I had to see him dead.\"\n\nHe looked startled. He did not understand, not really. She was glad. She hoped he would never have to understand such things.\n\nHe put his arm around her and they walked out of the square together.\n\nAliena did not look back.\n\nOn a hot day in high summer, Jack ate dinner with Aliena and Sally in the cool of the north transept, up in the gallery, sitting on the scratched plaster of his tracing floor. The sound of the monks chanting the service of sext in the chancel was a low murmur like the rushing of a distant waterfall. They had cold lamb chops with fresh wheat bread and a stone jug of golden beer. Jack had spent the morning sketching the layout of the new chancel which he would begin building next year. Sally was looking at his drawing while she tore into a chop with her pretty white teeth. In a moment she would say something critical about it, he knew. He glanced at Aliena. She too had read Sally's face and knew what was coming. They exchanged a knowing parental look, and smiled.\n\n\"Why do you want the east end to be rounded?\" Sally said.\n\n\"I based it on the design of Saint-Denis,\" Jack said.\n\n\"But is there any advantage?\"\n\n\"Yes. You can keep the pilgrims moving.\"\n\n\"So you just have this row of little windows.\"\n\nJack had thought windows would come up soon, for Sally was a glazier. \"Little windows?\" he said, pretending to be indignant. \"Those windows are huge! When I first put windows that size into this church the people thought the whole building would fall down for lack of structural support.\"\n\n\"If the chancel were square-ended, you would have an enormous flat wall,\" Sally persisted. \"You could put in really big windows.\"\n\nShe had a point, Jack thought. With the round-ended layout the entire chancel had to have the same continuous elevation, divided into the traditional three layers of arcade, gallery and clerestory, all the way around. A square end offered the chance to change the design. \"There might be another way to keep the pilgrims moving,\" he said thoughtfully.\n\n\"And the rising sun would shine through the big windows,\" Sally said.\n\nJack could imagine it. \"There could be a row of tall lancets, like spears in a rack.\"\n\nSally said: \"Or one big round window like a rose.\"\n\nThat was a stunning idea. To someone standing in the nave, looking down the length of the church toward the east, the round window would seem like a huge sun exploding into innumerable shards of gorgeous color. Jack could just see it. \"I wonder what theme the monks would want.\"\n\n\"The Law and the Prophets,\" Sally said.\n\nHe raised his eyebrows at her. \"You sly vixen, you've already discussed this idea with Prior Jonathan, haven't you?\"\n\nShe looked guilty, but she was saved from answering by the arrival of Peter Chisel, a young stone carver. He was a shy, awkward man with fair hair that fell over his eyes, but his carvings were beautiful, and Jack was glad to have him. \"What can I do for you, Peter?\" he said.\n\n\"Actually, I was looking for Sally,\" Peter said.\n\n\"Well, you've found her.\"\n\nSally was getting to her feet, brushing bread crumbs off the front of her tunic. \"I'll see you later,\" she said, and then she and Peter went through the low doorway and down the spiral staircase.\n\nJack and Aliena looked at one another.\n\n\"Was she blushing?\" Jack said.\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Aliena. \"My goodness, it's about time she fell for someone. She's twenty-six years old!\"\n\n\"Well, well. I'd given up hope. I thought she was planning to be an old maid.\"\n\nAliena shook her head. \"Not Sally. She's as lusty as anyone. She's just choosy.\"\n\n\"Is she?\" Jack said. \"The girls of the county aren't queuing up to marry Peter Chisel.\"\n\n\"The girls of the county fall for big handsome men like Tommy, who can cut a dash on horseback and have their cloaks lined with red silk. Sally's different. She wants someone clever and sensitive. Peter is just right for her.\"\n\nJack nodded. He had never thought of it that way but he felt intuitively that Aliena was right. \"She's like her grandmother,\" he said. \"My mother fell in love with an oddity.\"\n\n\"Sally's like your mother, and Tommy is like my father,\" Aliena said.\n\nJack smiled at her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her hair was streaked with gray, and the skin of her throat was not as marble-smooth as it used to be, but as she got older, and lost the roundness of motherhood, the fine bones of her lovely face became more prominent, and she took on a spare, almost structural beauty. Jack reached out and traced the line of her jaw. \"Like my flying buttresses,\" he said.\n\nShe smiled.\n\nHe ran his hand down her neck and across her bosom. Her breasts had changed, too. He remembered when they had stuck out from her chest as if they were weightless, the nipples pointing up. Then, when she was pregnant, they had become even bigger, and the nipples had grown larger. Now they were lower and softer, and they swung delightfully from side to side when she walked. He had loved them through all their changes. He wondered what they would be like when she was old. Would they become shriveled and wrinkled? I'll probably love them even then, he thought. He felt her nipple harden under his touch. He leaned forward to kiss her lips.\n\n\"Jack, you're in church,\" she murmured.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he said, and he ran his hand over her belly to her groin.\n\nThere was a footstep on the stair.\n\nHe pulled away guiltily.\n\nShe grinned at his discomfiture. \"That's God's judgment on you,\" she said irreverently.\n\n\"I'll see to you later,\" he whispered in a mock-threatening tone.\n\nThe footsteps reached the top of the stair and Prior Jonathan emerged. He greeted them both solemnly. He looked grave. \"There's something I want you to hear, Jack,\" he said. \"Will you come to the cloisters?\"\n\n\"Of course.\" Jack got to his feet.\n\nJonathan went back down the spiral staircase.\n\nJack paused at the doorway and pointed a threatening finger at Aliena. \"Later,\" he said.\n\n\"Promise?\" she said with a grin.\n\nJack followed Jonathan down the stairs and through the church to the door in the south transept that led into the cloisters. They went along the north walk, past the schoolboys with their wax tablets, and stopped at the corner. With an inclination of his head Jonathan directed Jack's attention to a monk sitting alone on a stone ledge halfway down the west walk. The monk's hood was up, covering his face, but as they paused, the man turned, looked up, and then quickly averted his gaze.\n\nJack took an involuntary step back.\n\nThe monk was Waleran Bigod.\n\nJack said angrily: \"What's that devil doing here?\"\n\n\"Preparing to meet his Maker,\" Jonathan said.\n\nJack frowned. \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"He's a broken man,\" Jonathan said. \"He's got no position, no power and no friends. He's realized that God doesn't want him to be a great and powerful bishop. He's seen the error of his ways. He came here, on foot, and begged to be admitted as a humble monk, to spend the rest of his days asking God's forgiveness for his sins.\"\n\n\"I find that hard to believe,\" said Jack.\n\n\"So did I, at first,\" said Jonathan. \"But in the end I realized that he has always been a genuinely God-fearing man.\"\n\nJack looked skeptical.\n\n\"I really think he was devout. He just made one crucial mistake: he believed that the end justifies the means in the service of God. That permitted him to do anything.\"\n\n\"Including conspiring to murder an archbishop!\"\n\nJonathan held up his hands in a defensive gesture. \"God must punish him for that\u2014not I.\"\n\nJack shrugged. It was the kind of thing Philip would have said. Jack saw no reason to let Waleran live in the priory. However, that was the way of monks. \"Why did you want me to see him?\"\n\n\"He wants to tell you why they hanged your father.\"\n\nJack suddenly felt cold.\n\nWaleran was sitting as still as a stone, gazing into space. He was barefoot. The fragile white ankles of an old man were visible below the hem of his homespun habit. Jack realized that Waleran was no longer frightening. He was feeble, defeated and sad.\n\nJack walked slowly forward and sat down on the bench a yard away from Waleran.\n\n\"The old King Henry was too strong,\" Waleran said without preamble. \"Some of the barons didn't like it\u2014they were too restricted. They wanted a weaker king next time. But Henry had a son, William.\"\n\nAll this was ancient history. \"That was before I was born,\" Jack said.\n\n\"Your father died before you were born,\" Waleran said, with just a hint of his old superciliousness.\n\nJack nodded. \"Go on, then.\"\n\n\"A group of barons decided to kill Henry's son, William. Their thinking was that if the succession was in doubt, they would have more influence over the choice of the new king.\"\n\nJack studied Waleran's pale, thin face, searching for evidence of guile. The old man just looked weary, beaten and remorseful. If he was up to something, Jack could see no sign of it. \"But William died in the wreck of the White Ship,\" Jack said.\n\n\"That shipwreck was no accident,\" Waleran said.\n\nJack was jolted. Could this be true? The heir to the throne, murdered just because a group of barons wanted a weak monarchy? But it was no more shocking than the murder of an archbishop. \"Go on,\" he said.\n\n\"The barons' men scuttled the ship and escaped in a boat. Everybody else drowned, except for one man who clung to a spar and floated ashore.\"\n\n\"That was my father,\" Jack said. He was beginning to see where this was leading.\n\nWaleran's face was white and his lips were bloodless. He spoke without emotion, and did not meet Jack's eyes. \"He was beached near a castle that belonged to one of the conspirators, and they caught him. The man had no interest in exposing them. Indeed, he never realized that the ship had been scuttled. But he had seen things which would have revealed the truth to others, if he had been allowed to go free and talk about his experience. So they kidnapped him, brought him to England, and put him in the care of some people they could trust.\"\n\nJack felt profoundly sad. All his father had ever wanted to do was entertain people, Mother said. But there was something strange about Waleran's story. \"Why didn't they kill him right away?\" Jack said.\n\n\"They should have,\" Waleran said unemotionally. \"But he was an innocent man, a jongleur, someone who gave everyone pleasure. They couldn't bring themselves to do it.\" He gave a mirthless smile. \"Even the most ruthless people have some scruples, ultimately.\"\n\n\"Then why did they change their minds?\"\n\n\"Because eventually he became dangerous, even here. At first he threatened no one\u2014he couldn't even speak English. But he learned, of course, and he began to make friends. So they locked him in the prison cell below the dormitory. Then people began to ask why he was locked away. He became an embarrassment. They realized they would never rest easy while he was alive. So in the end they told us to kill him.\"\n\nSo easy, thought Jack. \"But why did you obey them?\"\n\n\"We were ambitious, all three of us,\" Waleran said, and for the first time his face showed emotion, as his mouth twisted in a grimace of remorse. \"Percy Hamleigh, Prior James, and me. Your mother told the truth\u2014we all were rewarded. I became an archdeacon, and my career in the church was off to a splendid start. Percy Hamleigh became a substantial landowner. Prior James got a useful addition to the priory property.\"\n\n\"And the barons?\"\n\n\"After the shipwreck, Henry was attacked, in the following three years, by Fulk of Anjou, William Clito in Normandy, and the king of France. For a while he looked very vulnerable. But he defeated his enemies and ruled for another ten years. However, the anarchy the barons wanted did come in the end, when Henry died without a male heir, and Stephen came to the throne. While the civil war raged for the next two decades, the barons ruled like kings in their own territories, with no central authority to curb them.\"\n\n\"And my father died for that.\"\n\n\"Even that turned sour. Most of those barons died in the fighting, and some of their sons did too. And the little lies we had told in this part of the country, to get your father killed, eventually came back to haunt us. Your mother cursed us, after the hanging, and she cursed us well. Prior James was destroyed by the knowledge of what he had done, as Remigius said at the nepotism trial. Percy Hamleigh died before the truth came out, but his son was hanged. And look at me: my act of perjury was thrown back at me almost fifty years later, and it ended my career.\" Waleran was looking gray-faced and exhausted, as if his rigid self-control was a terrible strain. \"We were all afraid of your mother, because we weren't sure what she knew. In the end it wasn't much at all, but it was enough.\"\n\nJack felt as drained as Waleran appeared. At last he had learned the truth about his father, something he had wanted all his life. Now he could not feel angry or vengeful. He had never known his real father, but he had had Tom, who had given him the love of buildings which had been the second greatest passion of his life.\n\nJack stood up. The events were all too far in the past to make him weep. So much had happened since then, and most of it had been good.\n\nHe looked down at the old, sorry man sitting on the bench. Ironically, it was Waleran who was now suffering the bitterness of regret. Jack pitied him. How terrible, Jack thought, to be old and know that your life has been wasted. Waleran looked up, and their eyes met for the first time. Waleran flinched and turned away, as if his face had been slapped. For a moment Jack could read the other man's mind, and he realized that Waleran had seen the pity in his eyes.\n\nAnd for Waleran, the pity of his enemies was the worst humiliation of all."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "Philip stood at the West Gate of the ancient Christian city of Canterbury, wearing the full, gorgeously-colored regalia of an English bishop, and carrying a jeweled crozier worth a king's ransom. It was pouring with rain.\n\nHe was sixty-six years of age, and the rain chilled his old bones. This was the last time he would venture so far from home. But he would not have missed this day for all the world. In a way, today's ceremony would crown his life's work.\n\nIt was three and a half years after the historic murder of Archbishop Thomas. In that short span of time the mystical cult of Thomas Becket had swept the world. Philip had had no idea of what he was starting when he led that small candlelit procession through the streets of Canterbury. The pope had made Thomas a saint with almost indecent speed. There was even a new order of monk-knights in the Holy Land called the Knights of Saint Thomas of Acre. King Henry had not been able to fight such a powerful popular movement. It was far too strong for any one individual to withstand.\n\nFor Philip, the importance of the whole phenomenon lay in what it demonstrated about the power of the State. The death of Thomas had shown that, in a conflict between the Church and the Crown, the monarch could always prevail by the use of brute force. But the cult of Saint Thomas proved that such a victory would always be a hollow one. The power of a king was not absolute, after all: it could be restrained by the will of the people. This change had taken place within Philip's lifetime. He had not merely witnessed it, he had helped to bring it about. And today's ceremony would commemorate that.\n\nA stocky man with a large head was walking toward the city out of the mist of rain. He wore no boots or hat. At some distance behind him followed a large group of people on horseback.\n\nThe man was King Henry.\n\nThe crowd was as quiet as a funeral while the rain-drenched king walked through the mud to the city gate.\n\nPhilip stepped into the road, according to the prearranged plan, and walked in front of the barefoot king, leading the way to the cathedral. Henry followed with head bowed, his normally jaunty gait rigidly controlled, his posture a picture of penitence. Awestruck townspeople gazed on in silence as the king of England humbled himself before their eyes. The king's entourage followed at a distance.\n\nPhilip led him slowly through the cathedral gate. The mighty doors of the splendid church were open wide. They went in, a solemn procession of two people that was the culmination of the political crisis of the century. The nave was packed. The crowd parted to let them through. People spoke in whispers, stunned by the sight of the proudest king in Christendom, soaking wet, walking into church like a beggar.\n\nThey went slowly along the nave and down the steps into the crypt. There, beside the new tomb of the martyr, the monks of Canterbury were waiting, along with the greatest and most powerful bishops and abbots of the realm.\n\nThe king knelt on the floor.\n\nHis courtiers came into the crypt behind him. In front of everyone, Henry of England, second of that name, confessed his sins, and said he had been the unwitting cause of the murder of Saint Thomas.\n\nWhen he had confessed he took off his cloak. Beneath it he wore a green tunic and a hair shirt. He knelt down again, bending his back.\n\nThe bishop of London flexed a cane.\n\nThe king was to be whipped.\n\nHe would get five strokes from each priest and three from each monk present. The strokes, would be symbolic, of course: since there were eighty monks present a real beating from each of them would have killed him.\n\nThe bishop of London touched the king's back five times lightly with the cane. Then he turned and handed the cane to Philip, bishop of Kingsbridge.\n\nPhilip stepped forward to whip the king. He was glad he had lived to see this. After today, he thought, the world will never be quite the same."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "A Plague of Poison",
        "author": "Maureen Ash",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "1200s",
            "Templar Knight Mystery"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Lincoln Early Spring 1201 A.D.",
                "text": "With the celebration of Eastertide at the end of March, a warm spring radiance had descended on Lincoln. As the month of April began, only brief showers of gentle rain marred its brilliance. In the countryside, young lambs frolicked beside their mothers and villeins sent prayers of thanksgiving heavenward as the pliable earth turned easily beneath their ploughs. The townspeople, too, welcomed such a providential heralding of the summer to come. Goodwives threw out old rushes from the floors of their homes and replaced them with ones that were new and sweet smelling, linens soiled during the long months of winter were washed and hung out to dry and the walls of houses were given fresh coats of lime.\n\nOnly in the squalid suburb of Butwerk, which lay just outside the city walls, was there no sign of rejoicing, for the ditch called Werkdyke bordered the area and the accumulated rubbish in its depths had begun to steam as the temperature rose. It was a deep cavity, filled with detritus collected from streets within the town, and was comprised of offal, old bones, the contents of soil pots and glutinous blobs of decomposing vegetable matter. The stench of its noxious fumes drifted up and spread into Whore's Alley, where the prostitutes plied their trade, and floated above the gravestones in the cemetery of St. Bavon's, the dilapidated church that served the parish. Rats darted among the piles of refuse, vying with stray cats and dogs in their scavenging, while crows hopped and fluttered in their midst, cawing stridently.\n\nThe earliness of the hour and the miasmic atmosphere kept all who had the misfortune to live in Butwerk inside their dwellings, and so there was no one to remark the presence of the man that tramped beside the ditch. He walked with a purposeful stride, not heeding the loathsome odours that assailed his nostrils, and now that he was alone, he allowed the rage that he had kept hidden behind a pretence of genial civility to bubble up and come to the surface. After so many long months, it was almost time for him to carry out his plan for revenge. Only one final step remained, and that was to test the means by which he intended to extract it.\n\nHe searched among the carrion eaters for a suitable victim. Eventually, he spied a large dog with a matted black coat and ears that were mangled and torn. The animal was cowering near the edge of the ditch, trying to wriggle closer to a lump of maggot-infested meat that was being ferociously guarded by a feral tomcat.\n\nIgnoring the feline, the man approached the dog. He spoke to it in soft tones, proffering a large chunk of salted pork. The cur was timorous at first but, unable to resist the food that was so tantalisingly near its nose, finally gave a tentative wag of its bedraggled tail and crept closer, its whole body quivering with expectation. When the animal came to a halt near the man's feet, its benefactor smeared the meat with a substance he took from the scrip at his belt and laid it on the ground. The dog quickly gulped the tidbit down and then raised its head hopefully, looking for more.\n\n\"One portion is all that will be necessary to sate your hunger, my ugly friend,\" the man said gravely. \"You should have been less hasty and savoured the sweetness of its taste.\"\n\nWhen it seemed that no further largesse would be forthcoming, the dog moved away from the man and resumed its envious contemplation of the tomcat. Within a few minutes the dog began to whine and hunkered down on its belly. Its distress became more evident as the animal's body began to tremble, and soon it was retching copiously and appeared to be in great pain. The man kept watch over the animal until, eventually, the exhausted dog fell onto its side and lay panting on the ground. It made one last feeble attempt to stand upright before a final shudder wracked its frame and it died.\n\nThe man felt no regret for the dog's death, only a sense of triumph. The poison was more effective than he had hoped. He raised his head and looked at the delicate white clouds scudding across the blueness of the April sky then dropped his gaze to the castle battlements and the spire of the Minster, their outlines standing stark on the horizon above the houses of the town spread out below. Soon all of those who had destroyed innocent lives would pay for the sins they had committed. With a mirthless smile of bitter anticipation, he raised his booted foot and pushed the dog's lifeless body over the edge of the ditch and into the foul depths of the Werkdyke."
            },
            {
                "title": "Lincoln Spring 1201 A.D.",
                "text": "The castle at Lincoln sits high atop a hill that overlooks the town, and it is built on the site of the old Roman fort called Lindum, hard by the broad highway of Ermine Street. Sharing the height with the castle is the Minster, and to the east, on the shoulder of the hill, is the Lincoln preceptory of the religious military order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, commonly called the Knights Templar.\n\nThe enclave is moderate in size and encircled by a stout stone wall. Within its confines are a round chapel, refectory, dormitory, kitchen, storehouse, forge and stable, with a central open space used as a training ground. On the hillside below the compound is a stretch of grassland where the Order's horses are exercised.\n\nOn the morning of the day the poisoner claimed his first human victim, the preceptor of the commandery, Everard d'Arderon, an older knight of some sixty years, was seated at a small table in the room that he used for his private quarters. Across from him, standing by the one window the room possessed, was Bascot de Marins, a Templar knight.\n\n\"So, Bascot, you have made your decision, have you?\" d'Arderon asked.\n\n\"Yes, Preceptor. I have not much choice in the matter. The king's proposal is one that any man would find difficult to refuse. I must leave the Order.\"\n\nD'Arderon got up from his chair and paced to the far end of the room. He paused and turned to face Bascot. The younger knight looked tired, his attitude one of dejection. The preceptor remembered when de Marins had first come to Lincoln, some eighteen months before. The London master of the Templars, Thomas Berard, had sent him north, requesting the hereditary castellan of Lincoln castle, Nicolaa de la Haye, to give him a temporary place in her retinue so that he might have a space of time to heal from the rigors of eight long years spent as a captive of the infidels in the Holy Land. His bodily injuries\u2014an eye put out by the Saracens and an ankle badly damaged during his escape from a Muslim pirate ship\u2014were not all that afflicted him. The news, on his return to England, that his entire immediate family\u2014father, mother, brother and sister-by-marriage\u2014had perished in a pestilence during his absence had caused his faith to waver and he had announced his wish to resign from the Order. Berard, knowing that Bascot had conducted himself with valour prior to his capture, was loath to lose him and so had hoped that in the familiar routine of an English castle Bascot would recover his strength and his devotion to God. The master's remedy had worked, but not in the manner that he had hoped.\n\n\"Tell me again of the king's promise,\" the preceptor said. He already knew well the terms of the pledge King John had made to the Templar knight, but he was trying to find time to think of some way to dissuade de Marins from his course.\n\n\"He will restore to me my father's fief\u2014as you know it has been in the possession of the Crown since he and my older brother died\u2014on the condition that I resign from the Order and take up service in the Haye retinue.\" Bascot paused and then added, \"He has also said I will be allowed to select an heir of my own choosing if I do not marry and have sons of my own.\"\n\n\"And that last part is why you are doing this, is it not? For your waif?\"\n\nBascot's one remaining eye, the pale blue of a cold winter sky, grew hard and seemed to turn to ice. \"He is no longer a waif. He is my servant and I am responsible for his welfare. Without my protection he will return to what he once was, a homeless beggar.\"\n\nD'Arderon heaved a sigh and went back to his seat at the table. The boy they had been speaking of was Gianni, a mute urchin that Bascot had picked up two years before as he had journeyed back to England after his escape from the Saracens. Bascot had, over time, become as fond of the boy as if he had been his own true son, and he was now concerned that, if he rejoined the ranks of the Order, not only would the boy be rendered destitute but also that the affection between them would be lost forever.\n\n\"Forgive me, Bascot, for my harsh words,\" d'Arderon said in a placatory tone. \"I do not mean to denigrate the boy, but forswearing the vows you took when you joined the Order is no light matter. I do not wish you to embark on a course you will later regret.\"\n\nBascot's manner softened. He had a great liking for d'Arderon and knew his sentiments were genuine. \"I know, Preceptor, and I appreciate your concern.\"\n\nD'Arderon reached out and took a small leather bag from a pile of similar pouches stacked in a corner of the room. They contained al-Kandiq, boiled sweets made from canes that grew in the Holy Land and were imported to England by the Templars. The anglicised version of their name was candi. The preceptor knew that Bascot was fond of them, as he was himself, and he opened the sack and tossed one to his companion.\n\n\"When do you intend to let Thomas Berard know of your decision?\" d'Arderon asked.\n\n\"It is not something that can be dealt with in a letter. I prefer to tell him personally.\" Bascot's face had a withdrawn look as he said this, and he paused a moment before going on. \"As you know, Lady Nicolaa's husband, Gerard Camville, and their son Richard are in London for the spring session of the exchequer, which Camville is attending in his capacity as sheriff. Since they took most of the household knights with them, Lady Nicolaa has asked me to delay my journey until her husband and son return, which should be before the end of the month. Once they are back, I will go to London and seek an audience with Berard.\"\n\nD'Arderon rose from his seat, came to where de Marins stood and clasped him by the shoulder. \"I will be sorry for your leaving our brotherhood, Bascot,\" he said, \"but will pray in all earnestness for God to help you in your new life.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Bascot's heart was heavy as he left the preceptory and walked through Eastgate to cross the grounds of the Minster on his way back to the castle. He had not been completely honest with d'Arderon. The truth was that he really did not want to resign from the Templar Order. King John had offered him the return of his father's fief as a reward for his assistance to Nicolaa de la Haye in solving two separate cases of murder the previous year, one the death of four people in an alehouse and the other the killing of a squire in the retinue of the castellan's brother-by-marriage. Lady Nicolaa was a good friend, and loyal subject, of the king, and when John had discovered how much value she placed on Bascot's service, he had made the gesture as a mark of royal favour. Had it not been for Bascot's concern for Gianni's well-being, he would have refused the monarch's offer without hesitation, for the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience he had sworn when he joined the Templars had not been taken lightly. But if he had to choose between endangering his immortal soul and placing Gianni's future in jeopardy, he preferred to sacrifice his own fate rather than the boy's. He had come to love the lad dearly; there was no other option than to put the boy's interests before his own.\n\nKing John had made his offer last year, in November. Bascot had spent the intervening months pondering how to respond. He knew that he could not delay his decision indefinitely. Not only would the king expect an answer soon; it had been eighteen months since the Templar master had sent Bascot to Lincoln, and an undertaking to either return to the Order or leave it could not be deferred for much longer. It was only because of Gianni that he had not returned to their ranks before this.\n\nIt had not been until the boy was captured by brigands the previous summer, and his life threatened, that Bascot had realised the depth of his affection for the lad. Had Gianni been a true son of his own loins Bascot could not have valued him more, and he would not forsake the youngster now, no matter the cost to himself.\n\nAs he left the Minster and crossed the old Roman road of Ermine Street, dodging between carts and travellers on horseback making their way to Newport Arch, the northern exit from the town, he reflected that a future in Lincoln would not greatly displease him. He had considerable respect for Nicolaa de la Haye; she was diligent and efficient in the duties she undertook in running the large fief she had inherited from her father, and as an added bonus, he liked her as well. The town itself was a prosperous one, with the usual wrangling between royal authority and some of its citizens\u2014especially those that belonged to a guild\u2014that occurred in any community of a moderate size, but Bascot had come to feel at home here and had made friends among the staff of the castle and some of the town's inhabitants. If only he could find a way to reconcile himself to gainsaying his vows, he would be content.\n\nAs he entered the huge portal that was the eastern gate into the bail, the cathedral bells began to toll the midday hour of Sext. He raised a hand in greeting to the guard on the castle gate and went into the huge expanse of the ward. The place was a beehive of industry, for with the coming of spring, the grime that had collected over the winter months was in the process of being cleansed. Thatch on the roofs of outbuildings was being replaced, carts laden with ordure from the middens were being trundled out the western gate and servants were using metal scrapers attached to long wooden poles to level the furrows that had been scored by harsh winter weather into the hard-packed earth of the bail. Atop the walls, guards paced along the walkway that lined the inside of the parapet.\n\nFrom across the ward, Bascot saw the small, slight figure of Gianni racing towards him, the mop of dark curls on the boy's head bouncing as he ran. The lad had been standing in company with Ernulf, the grizzled captain of the castle guard, at the door to the barracks and had seen Bascot's return. The Templar felt a surge of pride as he watched Gianni approach. The youngster had been emaciated and dispirited from hunger when he had first encountered him; now the muscles on his slender frame were beginning to swell with health, and his countenance was clear and untroubled. Bascot knew that his decision to leave the Order and stay with the boy was the correct one.\n\nAs it was nearly time for the midday meal to be served, the pair made their way across the bail and into the hall. Inside the high-ceilinged chamber, trestle tables had been set up and were in the process of being laid with cloths in preparation for the serving of food. Only the table that was fixed permanently on the dais at the far end of the hall had been left bare of napery, for Lady Nicolaa had been indisposed by the debilitating effects of a rheum for the last few days and had been taking all of her meals in her bedchamber.\n\nJust as the Templar was starting towards a seat above the huge saltcellar that designated the separation of higher rank from lower, a commotion broke out as a manservant came rushing through the door that led to the spiral staircase in the northern tower of the keep. The lackey looked frantically around him until he spotted Martin, the castle leech, preparing to take a seat at one of the tables, and then ran in his direction. \"You must come at once, Martin,\" he yelled. \"Ralf is terribly ill. Master Blund fears for his life.\"\n\nA shocked silence followed the servant's shout, and Bascot made haste to follow the burly figure of Martin as he ran to the door from which the servant had emerged. Ralf, Bascot knew, was one of two assistants to John Blund, Nicolaa de la Haye's elderly secretarius, and carried out his duties in the scriptorium, a small chamber located at the top of the tower whose staircase he now began to climb. Cursing the awkwardness of his injured ankle, Bascot followed Martin up the stone steps as fast as he was able, Gianni pattering close behind.\n\nThe door to the scriptorium was open, and a fetid smell pervaded the air at the top of the steps. Inside the room, Bascot could see Blund kneeling beside the prone figure of his clerk and speaking urgently to Martin. Behind the two men, the chamber was in disarray, one of the three lecterns that lined the far wall was toppled over and there were ink, parchment and quills lying scattered on the floor around it, as though the desk had been suddenly overset. The open-faced cupboard with shelves that held piles of parchment seemed undisturbed, but below it, a ewer was lying on its side and the liquid it contained was seeping out into a puddle on the floor. Above the ewer, on one of the lower shelves of the cupboard, was a metal tray, on which was set a wooden drinking cup and the crumbled remnants of some type of confectionary.\n\nMotioning to Gianni to stay outside in the hallway, Bascot entered the chamber. Ralf, a young man of about eighteen years of age, was lying just a few feet from the entrance, and it was from his body that the rank odour emanated. Bloody vomit was spattered over the front of his gown and clumped in patches at the corners of his mouth. A stain on the floor beneath him gave evidence that he had soiled himself. His limbs were flaccid, and his head lolled to one side, eyes half closed. As Bascot approached, the young clerk gave a great convulsive shudder and, with one last expulsion of air, ceased to breathe.\n\nMartin leaned over the lad and placed a hand on his chest, feeling for a heartbeat. He looked up at Bascot and gave a slight shake of his head. \"He is gone, I am afraid.\"\n\nThe elderly secretary stared at the leech, the expression in Blund's faded blue eyes uncomprehending. \"But he cannot be dead! I left him just a few hours ago and he was hale and hearty. How can he have become so ill in such a short space of time?\"\n\nMartin stood up and shrugged, his attitude dismissive. \"Most likely he ate some tainted food. It is sudden, I admit, but rancid meat or an egg that has been kept too long can sometimes have an abrupt and virulent effect.\" He paused in thought for a moment, his brows drawing down in concern. \"I have had no other reports of sickness among the household, but if Ralf ate something at table last night, a dish that contained an ingredient that was unwholesome, I had best alert...\"\n\n\"No, Martin, that is unlikely,\" Blund interrupted. \"Ralf did not usually take his evening meal with the rest of us, and did not do so yestere'en. He has lodgings in the town, and meals are included in the rooming fee. If it was rancid food that caused this tragedy, it was most likely in a dish that was served there, or in the contents of a pasty he bought on his way home.\"\n\nBlund looked down at the clerk and reached out a hand to smooth the thick mat of auburn hair from Ralf's pallid brow. \"So quickly dead! If only I had not left him by himself this morning to attend my goddaughter's christening. I was gone for just a few hours, but... it is sad to contemplate that he was all alone when this illness overtook him.\" He waved a hand at the upset lectern and scattered writing implements. \"He must have been in great pain to have caused such a mess.\"\n\nBascot looked around the empty room. \"You have two clerks, do you not, Master Blund? Where is the other one? Why was he not here when Ralf was taken ill?\"\n\nThe secretary looked at the Templar with eyes that were glazed and gave his answer absently. \"Lambert is below, in the hall. I saw him as I came back to the castle. He had come to tell me that his hand was sufficiently healed for him to return to his duties.\"\n\nMartin explained to Bascot. \"Lambert took a tumble down a flight of stairs a few days ago and sprained the wrist of his scribing arm. He has not been in the scriptorium since then, and would have been absent this morning.\"\n\nThe leech rose to his feet. \"I am sorry for Ralf's loss, Master Blund,\" he said, his ruddy countenance set in lines of solemnity. \"Does he have any relatives that must be informed?\"\n\n\"No,\" Blund replied. \"Ralf was an orphan, left in the care of the Priory of All Saints when he was only a small child. That is how he came to his duties here; I was looking for a young lad to train as assistant, and the prior recommended him. And now, so soon, he will be returned to the care of the church, to be buried.\"\n\nMartin gave a commiserating shake of his head and turned to Bascot. \"There is no more I can do here. With your leave I will return to the hall and ask the chaplain to attend the body. I shall also tell Lady Nicolaa of Ralf's death, and how he came by it.\"\n\nThe Templar gave his assent, and Martin left the room, shooing downstairs the flock of servants that had gathered in the doorway until only Gianni remained, his eyes wide and frightened. Bascot helped the distraught secretary to his feet and set him on a stool. In the silent and oppressive atmosphere of the scriptorium they waited for the priest to arrive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "The second fatality occured in the early hours of the next morning. Ernulf gave Bascot the news as he and Gianni were going to the castle chapel to attend Mass.\n\n\"I was just coming to get you,\" the serjeant called out from the steps of the forebuilding that led up to the keep. \"There's been another death, from the same sickness as the clerk.\"\n\n\"Another?\" Bascot echoed in disbelief. \"Who?\"\n\n\"Sir Simon,\" Ernulf replied. \"Breathed his last not two hours since, just after Matins.\"\n\nSimon of Haukwell was the knight whose duty it had been to train the squires of the Camville retinue. A dour and taciturn man, he nonetheless had the respect of the boys who wielded lance and sword under his direction, for while he had little patience with careless mistakes, he was also unstinting in the time he spent in ensuring his charges did not make them.\n\n\"Then Haukwell must have eaten the same tainted food that the clerk did,\" Bascot concluded, \"despite the fact that Blund said the clerk didn't take his meals at the castle board.\"\n\nErnulf nodded. \"Seems likely, but if so, we don't know what it was.\" The serjeant rubbed a hand over his face, which was grey with tiredness. \"Lady Nicolaa has been up since before Prime with the disturbance, and she's already worn out from that rheum that's ailing her.\" Concern for his mistress's well-being, Bascot suspected, was adding to the serjeant's fatigue. He had been devoted to her since she was a young girl and was ever-conscious of her welfare.\n\n\"What is Martin's opinion?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"He's insisting that both the clerk and Haukwell ate some victual that was rotten, but there's one or two of the servants as saying it's a pestilence that's come amongst us.\"\n\nThe fear in Ernulf's eyes was reflected in Bascot's own. It had been a pestilence that had taken the lives of the Templar's family while he had been in the Holy Land. It was a scourge that no mortal man could combat. Gianni moved a little closer to his master's side.\n\n\"Aye,\" Ernulf said, \" 'tis to be hoped the leech's claim is a true one. If it is not...\" He did not go on to voice his dread of the alternative, saying instead, \"I've just taken the cook and his assistant into the hall and they're both denying they served anything tainted. Lady Nicolaa sent me to fetch you. She wants your help in trying to sort the matter out.\"\n\n\"I'll come at once,\" Bascot said, and he and Gianni followed Ernulf into the hall.\n\nInside, Nicolaa de la Haye, a small, plump woman who had about her an air of calm authority, was seated at the table on the dais. Behind her chair stood one of the castle sempstresses, Clare, a young, fresh-faced girl who had been attending her mistress while Nicolaa had been indisposed. The flesh around the maid's eyes was puffy, and it looked as though she had been weeping.\n\nAt the table with Nicolaa were John Blund and Martin. The leech was obviously angry, his usual high colour flushed an even deeper red, and he was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table as he looked at the two men standing below him on the floor of the hall. One was the cook, Gosbert; the other his assistant, Eric. Between the two of them they either prepared or supervised the preparation of all the food that was served to the castle household.\n\n\"De Marins,\" Nicolaa said when Bascot came up to her, \"has Ernulf told you that Haukwell has died, and from a similar sickness to that which took the life of Master Blund's clerk?\" The castellan's voice was hoarse from her ailment. Her diminutive frame was slumped with weariness, and her slightly protuberant blue eyes were red-rimmed and watery. As she spoke she dabbed at her nose with a square of soft linen that had been tucked in her sleeve.\n\n\"He has, lady,\" Bascot assured her, \"and also that you are trying to discover the cause of the affliction.\"\n\n\"Then please take a seat up here.\" She motioned to the empty chair beside her. \"I have need of a clear head to assist me in this task. I am afraid my faculties are somewhat dulled at the moment.\"\n\nLeaving Gianni standing with Ernulf, Bascot mounted the dais and took the seat she had indicated, looking out over the people gathered in the hall as he did so. At the back were a few of the household staff including Eudo, the steward, alongside some of the men-at-arms that had just come off duty. At one side, near the huge unlit fireplace, the squires who had been in Haukwell's care\u2014five in number\u2014had gathered to watch the proceedings. The knight who held the post of marshal, Gilles de Laubrec, was standing beside them, his arms crossed over his burly chest and a scowl on his normally amiable face.\n\nBascot studied the two men who were being interrogated. The cook, Gosbert, was the older of the pair; a man of short stature and rotund proportions topped by a completely bald head. His attitude was one of indignant truculence, while his assistant, Eric, who was much younger, taller and more muscular in build, stood at his side and was casting nervous glances at the leech. Both of them wore voluminous aprons of rough linen that were heavily stained with smears of blood and grease.\n\nOnce the Templar had taken his seat, Nicolaa said to him, \"Gosbert has declared that nothing in his kitchen is tainted, but Martin in insistent there must be at least one victual that is rotten. And John Blund says that the clerk did not eat any of his meals here at the castle, so even if Martin is correct, it seems impossible that both Ralf and Haukwell were made ill by a common food. We appear to be at an impasse.\" She did not speak of the fear that the deaths may have been caused by a pestilence, but the implication hung in the air all the same.\n\nBascot considered the problem for a moment and then addressed the cook. \"Gosbert, it is not uncommon for one of the knights, when he has been detained by his duties, to be unable to attend the board at mealtimes. I have often been delayed myself. On such occasions, I would send my servant to the kitchen for some food to stem my hunger. Are you quite sure that did not happen last night with Sir Simon; that you served nothing to him that was quite separate from the meal that was sent to the hall earlier?\"\n\nThe cook looked at Eric, and the assistant shook his head in negation. \"No, Sir Bascot,\" Gosbert declared. \"We did not.\"\n\nThere was a sudden movement amongst the group of squires as Thomas, the eldest, and the one who had most often attended Haukwell, started to speak. De Laubrec gripped his arm roughly and gave him a curt command to be silent.\n\n\"I will not, Sir Gilles,\" Thomas said defiantly, and before the knight could make further protest, he called out to the Templar. \"The cook lies, Sir Bascot, he did serve Sir Simon something that was not given to anyone else.\"\n\nThe heads of everyone present turned in the squire's direction, and Bascot motioned to de Laubrec to release the lad and bade Thomas to come forward. He did so, standing erect and tense in front of the dais. He was a lad of about seventeen years of age, with auburn hair and a spattering of freckles on his face that stood out like drops of blood against the whiteness of his skin.\n\n\"What other food was given to Haukwell?\" Bascot asked quietly.\n\n\"It was not food, it was a drink,\" Thomas replied. \"Sir Simon always had a jug of honeyed wine before retiring every night. After we had all eaten, he sent me to the kitchen to fetch it. He had one cup when I first brought it and then two more after we had spread our pallets in the corner of the hall where he slept alongside the rest of us. It was soon after he had lain down for his night's rest that I was woken by the sound of his purging, and shortly afterwards he was dead.\"\n\nThomas's voice faltered slightly as he said the last words, but he kept his composure and turned to face the cook and his assistant. \"I have been thinking about it ever since. If, as the leech says, it was something Sir Simon ate or drank that killed him, it could only have been the wine. And he was the one,\" the squire pointed an accusing finger at Eric, \"who gave me the flagon.\"\n\nA murmur rose amongst the spectators, and Eric stepped back a pace in stunned surprise. \"But... but, it could not have been the wine,\" he protested. \"The cask was one that had been broached two days before. It has been served to Sir Simon, and others, throughout all the meals that have been prepared.\"\n\n\"It was only after he drank the wine that he complained of pains in his stomach and began to purge,\" the squire maintained stubbornly.\n\n\"Even if the wine had soured, Thomas,\" Bascot said patiently, \"it is unlikely it would have done more than make Sir Simon queasy. It certainly would not have caused his death.\"\n\n\"Besides, Thomas,\" de Laubrec interjected, \"I drank the same wine as Haukwell, and as you can see, it did not make me ill.\"\n\nThe squire's response was quick. \"But, Sir Gilles, you had wine that had not been sweetened. I brought Sir Simon the honeyed wine in a separate flagon from the others.\" Again he pointed at Eric. \"That scullion could have poured the wine into a filthy jug or mixed it with honey that had turned putrid.\" As he spoke, Thomas was growing more and more heated, frustrated by the obvious scepticism of Bascot and de Laubrec, but he drew a deep breath and continued doggedly. \"Sir Simon was in good health and spirits until he drank the wine,\" he insisted, \"so it must have been the cause of his sickness.\"\n\nDespite the doubting looks that had appeared on the faces of those who were listening, Martin gave his support to the squire's assertion. \"Although it is true that neither wine nor honey is likely to deteriorate into a state of such foulness, Thomas makes a valid point in saying that the containers in which they were served, or had been kept, could have been tainted.\" The leech glared at the cook and his assistant. \"Slovenly habits are often the cause of sickness. A dead mouse in the wine tun or insects in the honey\u2014all manner of pernicious substances can invade the area where food is prepared if it is not properly overseen. The squire's charge could well have merit.\"\n\nEric was quick to defend himself, although his voice shook slightly as he spoke. \"The flagon was clean,\" he insisted. \"And so is the rest of the kitchen. Master Gosbert would not allow it to be otherwise. And some of the honey with which I sweetened the wine had already been consumed. It could not have been tainted.\"\n\n\"What Eric says is true,\" Gosbert confirmed, drawing himself up to his full short height and returning Martin's glare. \"I do not allow laxity in the kitchen. I am most particular that all of the work surfaces and the vessels we use are scoured regularly. And, as for the honey,\" he turned his eyes to Nicolaa and said confidently, \"lady, it was your own good self that had already eaten some. It was in the marchpane I laid atop the simnel cake I sent to your chamber. It was from a new jar that I opened especially to make the topping and must have been wholesome, otherwise it would have made you ill as well.\"\n\nNicolaa's brows drew down into a frown. \"Simnel cake? I have had none such.\"\n\nThe cook took a step towards his mistress, his speech earnest now. \"But I sent one of the serving maids up to your chamber yesterday morning, early, with a platter on which it was laid. The maid did not bring the cake back; if you did not eat it, somebody else must have.\"\n\nAt Nicolaa's look of confusion, her attendant, Clare, spoke quietly to her mistress. \"You were sleeping, lady, when the maid came with the cake,\" she told her. \"I knew your throat had become very sore, and you were having difficulty swallowing. I did not think you would be able to eat any of the cake, so I told the maid to take it away.\"\n\n\"But Gosbert says she did not return it to the kitchen. Do you know what she did with it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" Clare replied, her voice tremulous. \"I thought the clerks in the scriptorium might enjoy it, so I told her to take it there.\"\n\nNicolaa looked at her secretary. \"Was this cake there when you returned and found Ralf ill, Master Blund?\"\n\n\"No, lady,\" Blund replied, \"it was not, but there was an empty platter in the chamber. If that is the same one on which the cake was served, then it had been consumed while I was absent.\"\n\n\"And, since your clerk was in the scriptorium alone yesterday morning, it would be logical to assume that he was the one that ate it?\" Nicolaa persisted.\n\nBlund nodded his head sadly. \"Yes, lady. He would have done. He had an especial liking for sweet confections.\"\n\nMartin leaned forward and said triumphantly, \"And it would appear that only Sir Simon and the clerk were served food or drink which contained honey that came from this pot. If it has become tainted in some way, then I am correct. Food from the kitchen was the cause of these deaths.\"\n\nThe horrified silence that followed his words was broken by Thomas, who leapt forward and would have attacked both Gosbert and Eric with his fists if de Laubrec had not grabbed the lad and restrained him. \"I knew I was right about the wine,\" the squire shouted as he struggled against the knight's viselike grip. \" Those filthy cooks poisoned Sir Simon!\"\n\nA babble of voices broke out in agreement. Bascot stood up and gave a stern command for order. As the room fell silent, he said, \"It would seem that it is possible\u2014and I repeat, only possible\u2014that we have discovered a substance that may have been the cause of these deaths. The honey must be tested before we can be certain.\"\n\nWith a glance at Nicolaa for a nod of permission, he came down from the dais and onto the floor of the hall and called to Ernulf. The serjeant came forward at once. \"We will need the help of Thorey, the castle rat catcher, for this task,\" Bascot said to him. \"Have one of your men fetch him and tell him to bring one of the live rats he uses to train his dogs to the bail, and wait outside the entrance to the kitchen.\"\n\nHe motioned to Gosbert. \"You will then take the cook to the kitchen and have him show you the pot of honey that he used, and bring it and some bread on which to smear it, to the catcher. We will have Thorey feed it to the rat and see if it dies. That should prove whether or not the honey is at the root of this mysterious illness.\"\n\nAs Ernulf left the hall to carry out the instructions he had been given, Nicolaa came down from the dais and accompanied Bascot in leading the group from the hall.\n\nIt was another fair day outside. A shower of rain had fallen earlier, but it had been brief and the ground was only slightly damp underfoot. Thorey had answered the summons quickly and was waiting for them outside the building that housed the castle kitchen. He was a small man, with sunken cheeks and a sharp nose, and was wrapped in a cape made from rat skins. On his head was a peaked cap of the same material. In one hand he held a metal cage containing a large black rat, and at his feet were two small dogs of a terrier breed; both were white in colour and had contrasting dark patches of fur about their ears and eyes. They watched intently as their master set the cage containing the rat on the ground, with their ears pricked and bodies alert as they waited for Thorey to loose the rodent and give the command to kill.\n\nWhen Ernulf arrived with the honey pot, a container that held about two pounds of the sweetener, and the bread, Bascot gave the catcher his orders. \"Smear some of the contents of that pot onto the bread and feed it to the rat.\" At Thorey's questioning look, he explained, \"There is a possibility that the honey is noxious. Do not let your dogs near it.\"\n\nThorey's dark eyes narrowed at the warning, but he made no comment and gave a command to the two terriers to go a few paces away from him. The dogs swiftly obeyed, but their concentration remained focused on their master as he took a piece of the bread and, using a spoon given to him by Ernulf, scooped some of the honey onto it. He pushed it through the iron bars of the cage. All waited and watched with morbid fascination as the rodent first sniffed at the morsel then turned it over and over in its tiny paws before beginning to nibble at the bread.\n\nIt was not long before the honey's deadly effects became apparent. Soon the rat began to shake and twitch, then froth bubbled from its mouth and it began to convulse. The spectators watched in awestruck horror as the rodent suffered one final, and obviously painful, spasm and fell onto its side, dead. Shocked gasps broke out from those who had been watching, and the sempstress, Clare, gave a heartrending sob.\n\nNicolaa, too, was shaken by what she had witnessed. \"There can be no doubt that the honey in that pot is contaminated,\" she said in a voice that struggled with disbelief, \"but it is far too toxic to have been caused haphazardly. This has been done on purpose, with malicious intent.\"\n\nShe swung around to where Gosbert was standing. \"That honey has been poisoned, cook. If I had not been too ill to eat the cake, it is I who would have died, not Ralf.\"\n\nThe cook fell to his knees, his plump face terror stricken. \"Lady, I swear by the precious blood of Our Saviour that I did not know the honey was tainted. I would never contrive at your death, never. Please believe me, I beg of you.\"\n\nNicolaa regarded the cook for a moment, and his assistant, Eric, who was staring at the rat in stupefaction, as though he could not believe it was dead.\n\n\"I would like to believe you, Gosbert, but your innocence must be proved before I can do so.\" She made a motion with her hand, and Ernulf ordered two of his men to seize Gosbert. \"Until it is, you will be kept confined and under guard.\"\n\nAs the cook was dragged across the bail towards the holding cells, Bascot gave Ernulf further instructions, the Templar's thoughts leaping to the significance of what they had just witnessed. \"All of the honey pots in the kitchen, Ernulf, both sealed and unsealed, must be brought out into the bail so that Thorey can test the contents. If there are not enough vermin for the purpose, obtain more from rat catchers in the town.\"\n\nHe glanced at Nicolaa and she nodded, adding, \"If that becomes necessary, Ernulf, you may tell the town catchers they will be recompensed out of the castle coffers for their assistance.\"\n\nAs Ernulf hastened away to comply with the order, Nicolaa stood with Bascot and gazed at the dead rat.\n\n\"It seems it is not pestilence that has come to afflict us, lady, but a poisoner,\" Bascot said to her softly.\n\nNicolaa drew a breath and shook her head slightly, as though she could, by doing so, erase the evidence that lay before her eyes. \"I cannot believe that the person who did this is my cook, de Marins. But if it was not him...\"\n\n\"Then the poisoner is still amongst us and free to strike again,\" Bascot finished. He looked at the crowd of household staff who had gathered to watch the testing of the honey. All were standing and looking at the rat, apprehension for their own well-being dawning in their eyes. Was Nicolaa correct in her assumption of Gosbert's innocence? And, if she was, was the guilty person there amongst the household staff, hiding his or her culpability behind a pretence of horror?\n\n\"The truth of this matter must be discovered, lady, and it must be done quickly,\" Bascot said. \"This attempt on your life failed, but if you are right and it was not your cook who made it, then you are in grave danger. And so is the rest of your household.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded as she, too, surveyed the distressed faces of the watching servants and wondered if one of them had been responsible for poisoning the honey. \"Attend me in my private chamber, de Marins. It is best we discuss this matter in confidence.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "The room to which Bascot followed Nicolaa was the chamber where she administered the many details involved in managing the large fief she had inherited from her father. It was sparsely furnished, containing a large oak table laid with sheets of parchment, quills and an ink pot, and a small desk at which John Blund sat when taking dictation. On one side, against the wall, was a stand to accommodate jugs of wine and cups. Clare had trailed behind her mistress and the Templar as they climbed the tower stairs to the chamber, bringing with her the pot that contained the contaminated honey, which had been wrapped in a piece of straining cloth taken from the kitchen. As they entered the room the maid began to weep, silently, and looked near to collapse.\n\n\"Clare, you may leave us now,\" Nicolaa said to her attendant. The castellan's face was ashen, but her voice was steady as she spoke to the girl. \"You have my permission to absent yourself from your duties for the rest of the day.\"\n\nThe maid placed the pot of honey on the table and left the room. Once the door was shut, Nicolaa explained the reason for the maid's distress. \"I recently gave Ralf and Clare permission to become betrothed. His death was a great blow to her. The realisation that she was the unwitting instrument of his demise is, I fear, more than she can stand. I hope that time will ease her suffering, even if it does not eradicate it.\"\n\nBascot nodded in commiseration and, as he did so, noticed that Nicolaa was almost as distraught as the maid. Accustomed to her usual demeanour of quiet efficiency, it gave him a start of dismay to realise that she was having difficulty maintaining her equanimity. In the eighteen months Bascot had been in Lincoln, they had together faced, and solved, the mysteries surrounding two previous incidents of murder, but neither of those had included an attempt on the castellan's own life. He feared that this time, and in her debilitated state, the shock of coming so close to death had put her near to using up the reserves of her considerable inner strength. Pouring them each a cup of wine from the flagon on the table, he remained silent for a few moments, giving her time to recover from the awareness of how close she had come to death.\n\nThat hope was realised when, after taking a sip of the wine, she said, with a faint touch of her usual asperity, \"I cannot\u2014and do not\u2014believe that Gosbert is responsible for this crime. He has been in my retinue for nearly twenty years, since the time my son, Richard, was a babe. If he had ever harboured any ill feeling towards me, I would have been aware of it long before now.\"\n\n\"It may be that the honey was, perhaps, poisoned before it was sealed, in which case, as you say, Gosbert would be innocent,\" Bascot opined.\n\n\"Yes,\" Nicolaa agreed. \"It would be a simple matter to open a jar, contaminate the contents and then replace the stopper and wax seal. And it could have been done at any time, either while it was in the kitchen or before it was delivered to the castle store.\"\n\nShe pointed to the honey pot, which had been finished with a highly coloured amber glaze. \"The glaze on that jar is used to denote that it is the best grade of honey, one that would only be used in a dish that is served to those of higher rank. Whether that is an indication of the poisoner's intent to murder myself, a member of my family or one of the household knights remains to be seen. We shall have to await the results of Thorey's testing to see if any more jars have been adulterated, and if so, of which grade.\"\n\n\"The choice of that jar may have been happenstance,\" Bascot suggested. \"It would not be an easy matter to tamper with it while it was in the kitchen. The pot would need to be removed, adulterated and then replaced at a later time. It may simply have been that it was the easiest one to filch for the purpose.\"\n\n\"Or an empty pot was filled with poisoned honey beforehand and then exchanged for a pure one,\" Nicolaa observed. \"But why was it done? That is the mystery. And until we find out, not only myself but everyone within the castle walls is, as you said, in danger.\"\n\nShe leaned forward. \"For the safety of us all, the identity of the person who committed this crime must be discovered. Are you willing to assist me in this matter?\"\n\n\"Most certainly, lady,\" Bascot assured her. It was a courtesy on Nicolaa's part to ask for his help; although he was nominally a member of her retinue, she was, as ever, conscious of the fact that he was still a member of the Templar Order and not yet bound by any oath of fealty to serve either her or her husband. He appreciated her tact in observing the distinction.\n\n\"Then I would ask you, de Marins, to go to Gosbert and question him. See if he can remember anything at all that may help us. Assure him of my faith in his innocence and explain to him that I had no choice but to incarcerate him, for if I had not done so, with young Thomas's temper so high over Haukwell's death, it is more than likely he would have attacked Gosbert and dealt him a serious injury.\"\n\n\"I will go directly, lady,\" Bascot said as he rose from his seat. \"It may also help,\" he added, \"if we knew the nature of the venom. There are not many, I should think, who would have access to a poison of such virulence, or the knowledge to make it. Would Martin be able to tell, by the symptoms, what was used?\"\n\nNicolaa shook her head. \"Martin is an able enough bonesetter, but he has little knowledge of simples.\" She gave the matter a few moments' consideration and then said, \"I could ask one of the apothecaries in the town for help, but I think it would be better to send for Brother Jehan, the infirmarian at the Priory of All Saints, and ask his opinion. He is a skilled herbalist. If it is at all possible to identify the poison, he will be able to do so.\"\n\nShe reached out and, with care, tipped the honey pot up on its side, revealing a mark etched into the base of the pot. It was a cross patt\u00e9e, the insignia of the Templar Order. \"This honey comes from a small apiary at Nettleham and, as you see, is on property held by the Order. Most of the honey that is used in the kitchen is provided by apiaries on Haye land, but this one has a very distinct and flavourful taste, and Gosbert orders a score of pots to be delivered to the castle every year at the time of the autumn honey fair. If my cook is not able to give you any information that is useful, it may be worthwhile to visit the beekeeper at Nettleham. He has been providing us with his honey for many years, and while it does not seem likely he would have any reason for wishing harm to those who live within the castle, it may be that the honey was left unattended while it was in his care, or en route to the castle kitchen.\"\n\nNicolaa stood up. \"It would seem we are once again involved in the machinations of a murderer, de Marins. Let us pray we are as successful in catching him as we have been beforetimes.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "When Bascot came down into the bail a small crowd of servants was gathered in front of the cookhouse, watching Thorey as he tested the honey on his rats. There were about twenty pots lined up beside him and he had three cages set on the ground in front of him, a rodent in each one. Only a few of the pots bore a glaze of the same bright colour as the one that had been contaminated; most were tinged with a greenish hue, and a few had no glaze at all. Thorey's little terrier dogs were still watching the proceedings from a short distance away, their gaze never wavering from their master's actions.\n\nBascot walked up to Ernulf, who was standing with a couple of the men-at-arms near Thorey and watching as the catcher fed a piece of honey-soaked bread to each of the rodents in turn. Gianni ran to his master when he saw him emerge from the keep. The boy's eyes were still a little fearful, but the excitement caused by the discovery of the poison and the catcher's testing of the honey had gone a small way to alleviate his concern.\n\n\"Had to send to town for more rats,\" Ernulf told Bascot. \"There's too many pots of honey and not enough rats to test them all. Thorey's vermin are already so sated with bait that they're refusing to take any more.\"\n\nAs he spoke, they heard the guard on the eastern gate give a shout and turned to see another rat catcher stride through the huge portal. He was a much bigger man than Thorey, resplendent in a cape and peaked hat made completely of rat skins, and was carrying a long ratting pole set with sharp metal barbs. Alongside him trotted another, much younger man, dressed more conventionally in plain tunic and hose, carrying two cages, each containing half a dozen rats. The rodents were huddled close together and squeaking with fear.\n\n\"Serjeant Ernulf,\" the catcher said as he came up to where they stood. \"I have come as you directed.\"\n\n\"This is Germagan,\" the serjeant informed Bascot. \"He's the premier rat catcher in Lincoln town.\"\n\nThe catcher bowed in the Templar's direction, sweeping his cape aside as he did so. \"My lord,\" he said, \"I am pleased to be of service.\"\n\nGianni's eyes grew big with wonder as he looked at the cape and hat the catcher wore. The skins at the edges of both still had the heads of the rodents attached, and beneath the multitude of whiskered noses, small, sharp teeth gleamed ferociously as the catcher moved to take a place beside Thorey. His assistant set the cages down alongside the others, and Germagan listened intently as Thorey explained the purpose of the honey baiting. Soon, more pots had been opened and pieces of bread smeared with a spoonful of the contents before being fed to each of the caged vermin in turn. Once that was done, both catchers sat down on the ground to await the results.\n\n\"This will take some time, Ernulf,\" Bascot said, \"and most of the day will be gone before all those pots have been tested. I am going to question Gosbert. Lady Nicolaa is not convinced that he is guilty, and if she is correct, he may have information that will help us discover who else had an opportunity to poison the honey.\"\n\n\"I didn't reckon it was the cook, either,\" the serjeant replied, his face grim. \"But you can tell Gosbert from me that if it's proved he did try to poison milady I'll make him rue the day he was born. By the time I get through with him he'll be begging for an easy death from a hang-man's noose.\"\n\nBascot made no reply; he merely left the serjeant to overseeing the testing of the honey and made his way to the holding cells."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Bascot's interrogation of the cook provided no indication of any person who, other than the cook himself, might have been responsible for placing the poison in the honey. Gosbert was relieved to hear that his mistress was not convinced of his guilt and once again adamantly denied his culpability. \"Lady Nicolaa has always had a fondness for marchpane, and when I heard that her appetite was failing, I thought that if I put some atop the simnel cake, it might tempt her into eating,\" he said. \"Had I known the honey was tainted I would have eaten the marchpane myself rather than send it to her.\"\n\nThere was outrage in the cook's eyes as he spoke and no trace of evasion as he answered the questions the Templar put to him. He had not noticed anyone touching the honey pot that had been contaminated, he said, but it could have been easily done. At least two pots of the same grade were always kept on an open shelf in the kitchen, along with a few of the inferior type. To remove one of them and replace it at a later time would be a simple task. And it would be even easier to do as Nicolaa de la Haye had suggested, bring in the tainted pot concealed in a basket or some other receptacle and exchange it for a pure one.\n\n\"Either way would be the work of only a moment,\" Gosbert said, \"and with all the activity in the kitchen, especially at mealtimes, would not have been noticed.\"\n\nWhen Bascot pressed him for the names of those who had access to the place where the honey pots were kept, Gosbert threw up his hands in dismay.\n\n\"They are in easy reach of all the scullions and the servants that wait on the tables in the hall. Then there are the squires and pages that come to get a special dish for the household knights, and the servants that bring bags of flour or wood for the ovens, and the carters who deliver supplies of pots and ladles...\"\n\nGosbert's voice began to tremble as he stumbled to a halt. \"How are you to find the guilty one among so many, Sir Bascot?\" he asked. \"I am doomed. Even though Lady Nicolaa believes me, she will not prevail against the evidence. I will be hanged for a crime I did not commit.\"\n\nThe Templar tried to console the cook, telling him that it would be some time before such a thing came to pass and that, in the meantime, there was every hope the true culprit would be found.\n\n\"Cast your memory back over the last few months, Gosbert. Try to remember if there was any occasion when one of the people of whom you have just spoken was near the honey pots without good cause or seemed to be acting in a furtive manner.\"\n\n\"I will do my best, Sir Bascot,\" Gosbert promised fervently. \"My life may well depend on it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "When the Templar left the cell where the cook was imprisoned, he saw two monks standing by the rat catchers, who were still busy testing the honey. One of the brothers he recognised as Jehan, the elderly infirmarian from the Priory of All Saints, but the other was a much younger monk that Bascot had never met before, although he had seen him within the ward a couple of times in the company of the servant who tended the plants in the castle herb garden. Jehan was deep in conversation with Thorey and Germagan, nodding his head as they spoke while his companion listened with unswerving attention. As Bascot headed in the direction of the keep to tell Nicolaa de la Haye that Gosbert, unfortunately, had not been able to give him any useful information, the two monks left the catcher and made haste to join him.\n\n\"Greetings, Sir Bascot,\" Brother Jehan said, and he introduced the monk who was with him as Brother Andrew, recently come to the priory from another enclave of the Benedictine Order. The younger monk was perhaps thirty years of age, very tall and rangily built. He had an austere appearance about him which was relieved only by the generous mobility of his wide mouth.\n\n\"I just received a message from Lady Nicolaa requesting our assistance in regard to poisonings that have taken the lives of two people in the castle household,\" Jehan said. \"The matter seemed an urgent one and I thought it best to come at once.\" He gestured towards the younger monk. \"Brother Andrew has had some training in the herbal arts and so I brought him with me. His knowledge may prove useful.\"\n\nBascot told the brothers that he was on his way to speak to the castellan, and together the trio went into the keep and up the stairs of the tower in which Nicolaa's chamber was located. She was in the midst of dictating letters to John Blund when Bascot and the two monks arrived; the pot of poisoned honey was still sitting on her desk. The secretarius immediately rose from his seat at the small lectern and began gathering up his papers, but Nicolaa forestalled him and told him to remain where he was.\n\n\"I should like you to take note of any salient points that Brother Jehan may be able to give us, John, in case we should want to review them later.\"\n\nAs the secretary reseated himself and placed a fresh sheet of parchment on his desk, Nicolaa thanked the infirmarian for his prompt answer to her summons, and then, explaining that her throat was sore from her ailment, asked Bascot to tell the two monks what little information they had concerning the deaths of the clerk and Simon of Haukwell.\n\n\"The poison that was used appears to act quickly once it is ingested,\" he said, \"and is extremely virulent.\" He then went on to describe the symptoms that had afflicted the rodent after eating the honey-soaked bread. \"Although Thorey told us that rats do not usually vomit, some foam did appear around its mouth, and both Haukwell and Ralf purged extensively before they died.\"\n\n\"There are many poisons that have a similar effect,\" Jehan said reflectively. He was an elderly man, with a slow and sonorous manner of speaking and a frail appearance that belied his inner fortitude. \"However, as we were coming across the bail, we spoke to the rat catchers. They expressed their opinion as to the nature of the poison, and I think I can tentatively agree with their observation.\" He looked across at Brother Andrew who nodded in agreement.\n\nNicolaa's eyebrows rose. \"The rat catchers know the type of poison that was used? Why was I not informed?\"\n\nJehan gave a slow smile. \"Such knowledge could be considered as incriminating, lady. The catcher here in the castle\u2014Thorey, I believe his name is\u2014was careful to explain to me that after watching the effects of the poisoned honey on the rat, he believes it contained a venom that is used by many of those who follow his trade. While assuring me that he does not use the substance himself, or indeed any other type of poison, he feared that it might be thought he was the perpetrator of the crime.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Nicolaa nodded. \"It is true that I have forbidden him to use such a means to rid the castle of rats. When I was a child, the catcher my father employed was in the habit of using poison to kill rodents, and one of my father's favourite hounds accidentally ate some poison and died. My father was so angry that the catcher was lucky to escape with his life. Afterwards, my father forbade all of his catchers to use any type of venom, and I have followed that dictate. Thorey, as far as I am aware, uses only his dogs and traps baited with untainted food for his purpose. He would be dismissed if he did otherwise.\"\n\nShe returned Jehan's smile. \"And so his concern that he may be blamed is understandable. There was a great display of anger against my cook, even though it is not certain he is guilty. Thorey would have known that and feared the same suspicion might fall on him.\"\n\nBascot motioned to the earthenware pot. \"That is the pot that contains the poisoned honey. What is it that Thorey\u2014and you\u2014believe to have been used to adulterate it?\"\n\n\"It is a common ingredient in rat poison, Sir Bascot,\" Jehan explained, \"and is extracted from a plant whose Latin name is Helleborus niger but is more commonly called the Rose of Christ. The plant blossoms about the time of the celebration of Christ's holy Mass, and the leaves of it, in pagan days, were used in a ceremony to bless cattle and protect them from evil spirits. Other than as a means to destroy vermin, it is sometimes used in a beneficial manner, as a tincture to assist in the purging of parasites or to restore the balance of humours in women, but it is a very dangerous medicant and must be administered with great caution. Most apothecaries would not recommend it for any purpose other than to kill rodents.\"\n\n\"But it is available for purchase from an apothecary?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" Jehan replied. \"The usual customers would be rat catchers, but any householder who wishes to forego the catcher's fee could buy it to use himself.\"\n\n\"It can also be made by any who know how to do so,\" Brother Andrew added. \"In the countryside, where the services of an apothecary or a rat catcher may not be available, I am sure there are many wisewomen who possess the knowledge to make it.\" The younger monk's speech was quicker than his elderly companion's and contained a lilting accent that was not common to the Lincoln area.\n\nNicolaa and Bascot exchanged glances. If the poison was one that could easily be purchased or made, it would not make their task of finding the poisoner an easy one. \"Are you certain, Brother, that this is the poison that was used?\" Bascot asked Jehan.\n\n\"Reasonably so,\" he assured him. \"But it may be easier to confirm that it was truly Helleborus niger if there was another person nearby when either of the two victims was first taken ill. There are certain symptoms that are peculiar to this poison, and if they were present, it would eliminate the possibility that it could be venom of another type.\"\n\nNicolaa spoke to her secretary, who was busy writing down what Jehan had said. \"You were with Ralf just before he died, were you not, John?\"\n\nBlund laid his quill aside. \"Yes, lady, I was. Only for a few moments, though.\"\n\n\"Were you in his presence before he began to vomit?\" Jehan asked.\n\n\"No,\" Blund replied. \"When I arrived he was lying on the floor and was near death.\"\n\nJehan and Andrew both shook their heads. \"Soon after the poison is ingested, and before it acts upon the contents of the stomach and bowels, it will cause an excessive flow of saliva and a tingling sensation in the mouth which usually results in slurred speech. Unfortunately, you arrived too late to see if this was so with your clerk, Master Blund.\"\n\n\"What of Thomas, Haukwell's squire?\" Bascot suggested. \"He said he served his lord with more than one cup of the poisoned wine; it may be that he noticed these symptoms.\"\n\nNicolaa despatched John Blund to fetch the squire, and while they waited, Bascot asked the two monks how long a poison made from Helleborus niger would remain potent. \"There is a possibility that the honey was adulterated some time before the pot was opened,\" he explained. \"If the venom deteriorates with the passage of time, it may help us to determine when the pot was contaminated.\"\n\n\"It would not lose any of its strength with age,\" Andrew replied. \"It might even become more vigorous, aided by fermentation in the honey.\"\n\n\"That is not good news,\" Bascot said regretfully. \"It means that, as we feared, the poison may have been added to the honey at any time since it was harvested from the combs.\"\n\nWhen Blund returned with the squire, Jehan asked him if he had been in company with Haukwell before he was taken ill. \"Yes,\" Thomas replied. \"After I brought him the wine, I sat with him in conversation while he drank it.\"\n\n\"Did he show any signs of discomfort before he began to purge?\" Andrew asked.\n\nThomas thought for a moment. \"Not discomfort, but I did think that the wine seemed to affect him more quickly than usual.\"\n\n\"How so?\" Andrew enquired.\n\n\"His speech became slow, and he kept wiping his face and mouth on his sleeve as though he were hot. It was almost as though he were cupshotten.\" The squire's young face grew thoughtful. \"Sir Simon was not a winebibber. He often cautioned myself and the other squires to beware of the excesses of strong drink, saying it would cloud our judgement on the battlefield. Because of that, I was a little surprised that he would allow himself to be overblown with wine, but when he finished his last cup and said he felt very tired, I thought that perhaps his manner was due to the heaviness of the meal he had eaten earlier. After he retired, I went to my own pallet, which was laid only a little way from his. It was just minutes later that he began to vomit.\"\n\n\"I think,\" Jehan said in his slow, methodical fashion, \"that there can be little doubt that the poison used was extracted from the Helleborus niger plant.\" He pointed to the honey pot on Nicolaa's table. \"I would advise that the contents of that jar be disposed of with great care.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "The rat catchers did not finish their testing of the rest of the honey until late that afternoon. All proved to be untainted. Despite that, after discussing the matter with Bascot, Nicolaa de la Haye ordered that all of the pots be placed in a separate storeroom with the door locked. She also gave directions that only roasted meats free of garnish and plain boiled vegetables were to be served in the days to come, with rounds of cheese to follow. Sweetmeats of any kind, except for dried fruit, were to be foregone.\n\nIt was late in the evening by the time she was ready to retire, and she was exhausted. She thanked God that the Templar was there to give his assistance, for her ailment and the events of the day had drained much of her energy. But it was necessary that Gerard be informed of what had passed, and so before she went to her bedchamber, she penned a letter to her husband in London in order that it could be sent with a messenger early the following morning. She found that the words she needed to write did not come easily to her mind; she knew how much value Gerard had placed on Simon of Haukwell, both as a man and a knight, and that her husband's explosive temper would erupt when he learned the manner of Simon's death. It would be best for Gosbert if Gerard was many miles from Lincoln when he was given the sad news."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Although the poisoner was elated by the successful effect of the poison, his excitement was tinged with disappointment. It had been a simple task to place the adulterated pot of honey in the kitchen, but the risk he had taken to ensure that Nicolaa de la Haye would be his first victim had failed.\n\nHe consoled himself with remembrance of the fearful agitation among the castle household after the discovery of the poison; the secret power he held over them all had given him a heady rush of exhilaration. It would be accelerated even further when the next victims fell prey to his venom. He looked forward to it with eager anticipation."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The next morning Bascot was awake before Prime and lay on his pallet considering the events of the previous day. Before retiring to their chamber at the top of the old keep, he and Gianni had visited the kitchen, a long, cavernous building constructed mostly of stone and attached to the keep by a covered wooden walkway. The Templar had wanted to see for himself how easy it would be to access the shelf on which the poisoned honey pot had been placed. Even though it had been late in the day, the kitchen was full of activity as scullions scraped and scoured cooking utensils and pared and chopped vegetables in readiness for the next day. The air was redolent with the lingering aroma of roasting meat and the pungent tang of onion.\n\nThere were three large fireplaces set in one wall, their flames damped down to rest overnight, with vertical rows of ovens set in niches between each. Huge baskets of turnips, parsnips and carrots were piled on the floor, and bunches of herbs dangled from the ceiling. Deep shelves of considerable length lined almost every wall and were laid with bowls of eggs and grated cheese rinds as well as a number of earthenware jars filled with all manner of substances from grease drippings to leftover gravy. The room was brightly lit, not only by the radiance of the fires, but also by candles fitted into sconces fastened into the wall between the shelves.\n\nGosbert's assistant, Eric, was making bread, kneading dough in a huge bowl, when Bascot and Gianni entered. Some loaves had already been laid out to rise overnight; a few were of fine white manchet bread, which was served to those of higher rank, while the rest, and the most numerous, were made from the coarse-grained flour of barley or rye. Eric quickly left his task when Bascot came in, and he asked the Templar how he could be of assistance.\n\nThe shelves that had held the honey pots before Lady Nicolaa had ordered them put into the locked storeroom were near the back, alongside a small cupboard that Eric told him was filled with spices. It was quickly apparent that, as Gosbert had said, access to the honey pots would have been relatively easy; the shelves were out in the open and within reach of all.\n\nBascot asked the assistant cook how many jars of honey the shelf had contained when the cook had made the marchpane. \"Perhaps a dozen altogether,\" Eric replied, \"but I think there were only two of the finest sort.\"\n\n\"And both of those came from the Nettleham apiary?\"\n\n\"Yes. We have used up all of those from the Haye apiary and are awaiting a delivery of more,\" Eric explained. \"We use a great quantity of honey throughout the year, Sir Bascot. There is not enough room to store it all in the kitchen, so Lady Nicolaa's beekeeper sends further supplies four or five times a year, as it is required.\"\n\n\"But the Nettleham honey\u2014it is delivered all at once, in the autumn?\"\n\nEric nodded. Bascot went on to ask what was done with the pots once they were empty, and Eric told him that all that were not chipped or cracked were cleansed and placed in a shed in the bail for collection so they could be used for refilling. It would be a simple matter, Bascot thought, to extract one of the empty pots from the shed, fill it with tainted honey and then bring it into the kitchen and exchange it for a pot whose contents were pure.\n\nAs he lay in the darkness and reviewed all that he had seen, the Templar considered the likelihood of Eric being the one who had placed the poison in the jar. Was the assistant covetous of Gosbert's position and, wishing to discredit the cook, had tainted the honey in order to pave the way for his own promotion? If so, it could be that Eric had not realised the strength of the poison and had thought it would only cause a slight illness and, as Martin had suggested, could imply that the cook's management of the kitchen was so dilatory that food was becoming contaminated through slovenliness. Or was the assistant perhaps resentful of Gosbert's overbearing manner and had he poisoned the honey in a malicious response to a reprimand he had received?\n\nBascot sighed and turned on his pallet. Such speculation was useless. There could be a myriad of reasons for this crime, ranging from a desire to extract vengeance for some unknown enmity to something as simple as finding enjoyment in malicious mischief, and a plenitude of people who had the opportunity to do it. He did not relish the thought of interrogating every one of the more than twenty scullions who worked in the kitchen, as well as all of the servants who waited on the tables in the hall, but it might prove to be the only way of finding out if any had seen or heard something that was pertinent.\n\nHe recalled the previous times he had been involved in discovering the identity of a secret murderer. As on those occasions, he was outraged by the cowardly stealth of the crime. Ralf, a young man joyfully anticipating marriage to his sweetheart, dead before he had been able to look on the face of the girl he loved one last time. And Haukwell, a knight deserving of meeting death cleanly, with a sword in his hand, taken from life by an enemy that did not have the courage to face him. Bascot knew that the anger he felt would be a detriment to clarity of thought and resolutely put his wrath aside, deciding to replace it with the solace of prayer.\n\nHe began a repetition of the prayer of a paternoster, holding the words steadily before him in his mind's eye. It was a practice that all Templars were encouraged to follow as a means of strengthening their resolve, and it was one that Bascot had often used, especially when he had been a captive of the Saracens in the Holy Land. On the day that an infidel lord had ordered his eye to be put out with a hot poker, he had used the prayer to sustain him through the pain and humiliation of the ordeal, focusing especially on the passage that asked God for deliverance from evil. His supplication had been answered when he had been given the opportunity to escape from his heathen captors. Now he ended each repetition of the litany with a heartfelt plea for heavenly aid in discovering the identity of the poisoner and hoped that, once again, God would look on his appeal with favour. The exercise brought him comfort, and slowly he felt his tense muscles relax.\n\nSleep was just beginning to reclaim him when he heard Gianni stir on his pallet and the rustle that accompanied the boy as he rose and used the chamber pot in the corner of the room to relieve himself. Dawn was beginning to show its light through the one small casement the room possessed, and Bascot decided to get up. If he was going to get to the bottom of this matter, there was a lot of work ahead of him and no time for delay. Pushing into place the leather patch that covered his missing right eye, he pulled on his boots and shoved his arms into the padded gambeson he had discarded before retiring. Telling Gianni to follow him, he had just left the chamber and was standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the bail when he heard one of the gatewards blow his horn three times, the alarm that signalled an emergency."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Ordering Gianni to return to the chamber and fetch his sword, the Templar descended the stairs as quickly as his injured ankle would allow. When he emerged into the bail, he saw that it was the gateward on the eastern gate\u2014the one that led out into Ermine Street\u2014that had sounded the alarm. Ernulf and two of his men-at-arms were running in that direction. As Bascot followed them, the lanky figure of Gilles de Laubrec appeared at the door to the stables, and he hastened to join the Templar.\n\n\"I just sent off one of the grooms with a letter to the sheriff from Lady Nicolaa,\" the marshal said as he came up. \"Let us pray there is no more trouble astir, else there will be need to send another messenger on his heels.\"\n\nThe gateward had come down from his post at the top of one of the two towers that flanked the huge entrance, and he was standing with a man that Bascot recognised as a member of the town guard under the command of Roget, a former mercenary and now their captain. The guard was out of breath and had obviously been running. As the others reached him, he struggled to make his voice steady enough to speak clearly.\n\n\"There's been more poisonings\u2014in the town. A spice merchant and his family. They're all dead. Captain Roget sent me to inform Lady Nicolaa and request her orders. He's put the house under guard, but some of the neighbours are becoming fearful for their own safety.\"\n\n\"I'll go down there, de Laubrec,\" Bascot said to the marshal. \"Inform Lady Nicolaa of what has happened. I'll be back as soon as I can.\"\n\nLeaving Gianni with Ernulf, the Templar accompanied the guard back through the gate and out into Ermine Street. They followed it down into the town, passing through Bailgate and onto the deep incline of Steep Hill, moving as quickly as they could on the slick cobblestones that were still wet from a shower of rain that had fallen during the night. The guard led Bascot down past the Skin Market and the Church of St. John and into the upper end of a street called Hungate, which was mainly inhabited by merchants, with the more affluent of the residents living in houses at the far end of the thorough-fare, at the point where it intersected with Brancegate. The guard led Bascot towards the intersection, and they had almost reached it when he stopped and pointed to a dwelling near the corner.\n\n\"That's the spice merchant's house, over there,\" he said.\n\nDespite the earliness of the hour, a crowd was gathered in the street, most of them in various stages of undress, wearing cloaks and hats that looked as though they had been hastily thrown on. They were muttering amongst themselves and giving anxious glances at the door to the spice merchant's home.\n\nRoget came forward as Bascot and the guard pushed through the group of spectators. The captain was a fearsome-looking man, black visaged and with the scar of an old sword slash running down the side of his face from temple to chin. His dark brown eyes were alight with anger as he yelled at the crowd to move back, and the copper rings that were threaded through his beard danced with the movement.\n\nHis greeting to Bascot was terse. \"It seems this cursed empoisonneur has struck again. The spice merchant and his wife are both dead, as well as their little girl. She was only a child, de Marins, barely six years old.\"\n\n\"How long since their deaths, Roget?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"A couple of hours. Their old cook came running out into the street just after midnight, screaming that her master and his family had become violently ill and needed help. One of the neighbours fetched an apothecary who sent for Alaric, the physician. That's him over there. He can probably tell you more about the manner of their deaths than I can.\"\n\nThe man that the captain had indicated was garbed in a flowing black gown and was engaged in earnest conversation with one of the bystanders, a well-built fellow wearing an expensive cloak trimmed with fur that had been carelessly tossed over his shoulders.\n\nA man of middle years, with an unlined countenance and bushy eyebrows, the physician came forward when Bascot beckoned to him. A scholar's cap sat firmly on top of his thatch of sandy-coloured hair.\n\n\"Are you sure the deaths in this household are due to poison?\" Bascot asked.\n\nThe physician nodded solemnly. \"I am. The whole town has heard of the two recent deaths in the castle and that it is believed they were due to ingesting a poison that is commonly used to exterminate vermin. The symptoms that Master le Breve and his family suffered are exactly those that such a poison would cause.\"\n\n\"Were you with any of them before they died?\"\n\n\"Yes. All were still breathing when I first came, but purging dreadfully. There is no antidote for this type of venom. I could only make them as comfortable as possible and wait for them to die.\"\n\n\"How was the poison administered?\"\n\n\"It seems the old woman who is the household cook made a dish of stewed plums and covered them with a custard that had been sweetened with honey. It would appear that the honey she used had been, as it was at the castle, liberally laced with a poison made from the plant Helleborus niger.\"\n\nThe physician's last words were pompous in tone. Bascot had never met him before but had heard him spoken of as a man of great learning, one of the few who had completed a rigorous course of nine years' study at the great medical school at Montpelier and had his licence to practice granted in the name of the pope.\n\n\"Where is the pot that contained the poisoned honey?\" Bascot asked tersely, disliking the man for his overweening pedantry.\n\n\"It is still inside. I thought it best not to remove it for examination until Lady Nicolaa had been informed of the deaths.\"\n\nBascot gave him a curt nod and motioned for Roget to accompany him into the house. As they went in through the door, Roget said, \"I have already been in here, de Marins. One of my men was on his rounds when the old cook's commotion started. He sent for me immediately but they were already dead when I arrived.\" His eyes darkened. \"Sweet Jesu, it was terrible. The man and his wife were covered in vomit, their eyes open and staring as though they had witnessed the depths of hell, and the little girl...\" His voice broke as he told Bascot of the child. \"La pauvre petite, she was curled up at her mother's side, her little hands clutching at the arm of her ma-man, as though beseeching the poor woman to save her. I tell you, de Marins, this poisoner is more foul than an imp of Satan. Only a man without a soul would willingly cause the death of such an innocent.\"\n\nThe smell that invaded their nostrils when they entered the home was the same foul stench that had been in the scriptorium when Ralf died. The old servant who had raised the alarm was sitting on a stool just inside the entrance, her hands clasped together and tears streaming down her cheeks as she rocked herself to and fro and moaned in distress. The sleeves and front of her kirtle were stained with vomit and blood.\n\n\"Her name is Nantie,\" Roget said. \"The neighbours told me she has been in the household many years and was wet nurse to the spice merchant's wife at the time of her birth. When the wife grew up and married, Nantie came with the young bride to her new home and stayed on as maid and cook.\" He lowered his voice as he added, \"I fear that what has happened has unhinged her mind.\n\nAfter Alaric told her what had caused the deaths, she realised that it was she who had served the dish that killed them all and became as you see her now.\"\n\nThe Templar knelt down in front of the woman and spoke to her gently. Although old, her shoulders were unbowed and the hands that she was wringing together were large and strong. When she raised her ravaged face, he could see that her features were firm and her brow, under the plain white coif on her head, was wide and intelligent.\n\n\"Nantie,\" Bascot said softly, \"I must ask you to show me the pot that contained the honey you mixed into the custard.\"\n\nThe old woman's eyes struggled to focus, and Bascot repeated what he had said, keeping his voice low and calm. She slowly came to her senses and looked directly at him. \" 'Twas the honey that killed them, wasn't it, lord? The physician said someone put poison in it.\"\n\n\"It seems likely, I'm afraid,\" Bascot affirmed.\n\nHer eyes again flooded with tears. \"I didn't know it was poisoned. I didn't eat any myself because I thought to save my portion for little Juliette to have tomorrow. Oh, Sweet Mother Mary, how can this have happened?\"\n\n\"Nantie,\" Bascot said a little more firmly, \"we need to see the honey pot. The markings on it will show which apiary it came from and might help us to find the person who did this terrible thing.\"\n\nHis words seem to penetrate her grief, and she wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and answered him straightly. \"Yes, lord. Whoever did this must be caught and the souls of that sweet baby and her parents avenged. I will show you the pot.\" She got up from the stool and led them down a passage and out a door at the back to the small building that housed the kitchen. It contained a fireplace, a table on which were laid some cooking utensils with a solid three-legged stool beside it and an open-faced cupboard filled with pots and jars. On the floor, in front of the stool, a large bowl was upended with the half-plucked carcass of a chicken lying nearby. Feathers were strewn about as though the old woman had been engaged in the task when le Breve and his family had been taken ill.\n\nNantie confirmed this, saying, \"I was working late at my chores and preparing a chicken for stewing in the morning when I heard my mistress cry out. I ran into the hall and all three of them were purging. Poor little Juliette was the worst, she was clutching her bottom and crying because she had fouled herself and her gown was getting soiled.\"\n\nThe old woman stifled a sob as she said the last words. \"I tried to aid them, but they just kept on being sick so I ran out into the street to get help. One of the neighbours came running to see what was the matter, and when he saw how ill they were, he sent for an apothecary.\"\n\nShe drew a deep breath and added, \"Had I not foregone my own portion of the plums and custard I would be lying dead beside them. And I wish I was. When my own babby died and my husband not long after, I came to give my milk to the mistress and have cared for her ever since. She is the only one I have ever loved for all these years, except for little Juliette, who was just as precious to me.\"\n\nRaising eyes filled with despair, she added, \"I have no wish to live on without them.\"\n\n\"I understand your sorrow, Nantie,\" Bascot said compassionately, and Roget murmured his agreement. The two men waited a moment to give the old woman time to compose herself, then Bascot again asked her to show them the pot that had contained the poisoned honey.\n\nShe went over to the open-faced cupboard and removed a jar. It had the same bright amber glaze as the one that had been adulterated in the castle, and when Bascot tipped it on its side, the cross patt\u00e9e of the Templar Order could be clearly seen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "The midday hour was fast approching by the time Bascot and Roget returned to the castle to give their report to Nicolaa de la Haye.\n\n\"Three deaths, lady,\" Roget told her once he and Bascot were in her presence. \"A spice merchant named Robert le Breve, his wife and their little daughter. They were all poisoned by tainted honey that was contained in this pot.\" He laid the jar carefully on the table at which Nicolaa sat; it was wrapped in a clean cloth he had taken from the spice merchant's kitchen. \"We tested it on a rat. It had the same effect as the honey that killed Sir Simon and the clerk. The rodent was dead soon after he had eaten it.\"\n\n\"The old woman who is a servant in le Breve's household used it to make a dish of spiced custard,\" Bascot added. \"It is marked on the bottom with the Templar insignia and must have come from the same apiary as the one in the castle kitchen.\"\n\n\"Did the servant know when her master bought it?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"He did not buy it,\" Bascot told her. \"It was given to him by a neighbour, Reinbald of Hungate.\" The Templar paused for a moment, recalling his meeting with the man in the fur-trimmed cloak he had seen talking to the physician before he and Roget had gone into the spice merchant's house. The man had waited outside until Bascot had emerged then explained to him that it had been his wife who had given the honey to her neighbour and had, by doing so, caused the death of le Breve and his family.\n\n\"Reinbald is a wine merchant, and he often had dealings with le Breve in the course of business. He and the spice seller were good friends, apparently, as were their wives. Le Breve's wife, Maud, had said she would like to try some of the honey from Nettleham, for she had heard how flavoursome it was, and so Reinbald's wife exchanged the jar for a bag of cinnamon from the spice merchant's store.\"\n\n\"Did you speak to Reinbald's wife and ask her where she bought the honey?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"We did,\" Bascot replied. \"It was one of eight pots obtained for her by her nephew, a man named Ivor Severtsson. He is a Templar bailiff and oversees a property at Wragby, which includes the apiary at Nettleham.\"\n\nNicolaa dabbed at her nose with the square of linen, but the congestion from which she had been suffering seemed to be abating. Her voice was no longer hoarse, and her eyes were clear. \"Did she have any other pots left in her kitchen?\"\n\n\"There were three,\" Roget informed her, \"and we had them all tested. Only the one that she gave to Maud le Breve contained poison.\"\n\n\"Reinbald's wife, whose name is Helge, told me that all of the pots have been in her store since last autumn,\" Bascot added. \"It seems to me most strange that these poisonings have occurred within days of each other. If the honey was poisoned during the months since it was harvested, or even before it left the apiary, then it is a rare chance that both pots should be opened at almost the same time.\"\n\n\"You think, then, that both of the poisonings were done recently, while the pots were in their respective kitchens?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"I do,\" Bascot affirmed. \"Reinbald's wife showed me the place where she kept the honey. The pots are on a shelf in the cookhouse, just as they are in the castle kitchen, and they are arranged with containers of other condiments so that one of each type is to the front. She told me the one she gave to le Breve's wife was the next to hand. If someone placed a poisoned pot there, it was in the most likely place for it to be used within a short space of time.\"\n\nBascot's voice was filled with irritation as he continued. \"Reinbald's kitchen is much like the one in the castle, of easy access to many people. He is an affluent man and has a large number of visitors to his home, including customers who come to select the wines they wish to purchase from his store. As well as these, there are also the carters who deliver the wine and a number of tradesmen who bring a variety of other supplies to the house.\n\n\"And it might not even have been one of the people who were legitimate callers that placed the poisoned honey in the kitchen,\" he added. \"At the back of the property, behind the building where he keeps his tuns of wine, there is a fence and, beyond that, a lane that leads to Brancegate at one end and Spring Hill at the other.\n\nAnyone who wished to enter the premises unseen could simply come down the lane and climb over the fence, or through the gate that is set into it, for the portal is only locked at night just before curfew. They had only to wait until the cook had left the kitchen to go on an errand and then slip inside.\"\n\nNicolaa got up from her seat and paced the length of the room and back, the skirt of her plain grey gown swishing back and forth as she did so. Never had either Bascot or Roget seen her so perturbed. It was evident her chagrin was as great as their own. Finally, she said, \"These additional deaths reinforce my belief that Gosbert is innocent. He is rarely in town and it is certain that he would not be acquainted with a merchant of Reinbald's standing. Only the fact that he, like the old cook in le Breve's household, opened the jar containing the poison made suspicion be cast upon him. He is no more likely to be guilty of this crime than she is. But who can it be? What is the evil purpose of the person who has caused these deaths? First, our own castle kitchen is contaminated, and then one in the household of an affluent merchant within the town. What is the connection between these two places, and the intended victims? This grade of honey is costly and would only be used by persons with the means to buy it. Has the poisoner some grievance against those of higher station? Is the fact that both of these pots came from the same apiary of significance? Has poison been placed in other households about the town, and if so, where?\"\n\n\"If these poisonings were done recently,\" Bascot said, \"then the person who did it must be a man or a woman who is often within the city walls, perhaps lives here in the castle or in the town. If that is so, then our only hope of discovering his or her identity is to keep searching until we find some evidence that links the person to both of these crimes. If it is the poisoner's intention to kill again, we must act with as much haste as possible.\n\n\"If we can confirm our impression that the honey was tampered with recently, lady,\" Bascot said, \"then we can be fairly sure that there is need only to interrogate those who had recent access to the honey pots. If it was done during the months since the honey was delivered to both the castle kitchen and the merchant's home, questioning those who were only lately in either place will be futile. We might be able to narrow our search by questioning the beekeeper at Nettleham. If the jars were not made secure while they awaited delivery, it is possible they were adulterated either at the apiary or somewhere in transit. I would also like to speak to the bailiff, Severtsson. Since it was he who took the honey to his uncle's home, it may be that someone tampered with one of the pots while they were in his possession. He may even be able to give us the name of a person who could have done so.\"\n\nNicolaa agreed. \"The answer to these questions may well give us a clearer guide of the direction our search should take. De Marins, go to Preceptor d'Arderon. Tell him what has happened and that you are requesting permission, on my behalf, to speak to the beekeeper and the bailiff. I do not think he will object.\"\n\n\"I am sure he will not, lady,\" Bascot said. \"It might also be worthwhile to ascertain how many pots of this grade were harvested and to whom they were sold. If they were tampered with before they were delivered, there may be others in the town that are poisoned.\"\n\nNicolaa acknowledged, regretfully, that such a possibility might be the case and then, turning to Roget, gave the captain his orders. \"There will be unrest in the town once news of these latest deaths spreads. I shall send for the town bailiff and ask for his support in keeping all of Lincoln's citizens calm, but it may prove a difficult task. Tell your men to deal gently with any who create a disturbance. This situation is bound to frighten the townspeople, and we must try to assuage their disquietude, not aggravate it. If you find there is a need for more men to patrol the streets, you may ask Ernulf to send some of the castle men-at-arms to your assistance.\"\n\nWhen she had finished, both men rose to leave, and Nicolaa said, \"Let us pray that God will guide our efforts and enable us to snare this knave before anyone else dies.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "When Bascot arrived at the Templar enclave, Everard d'Arderon was standing at the edge of the practice ground watching a serjeant put a couple of newly initiated men-at-arms through a drill with short swords. The preceptor listened with a grave countenance as he was told of the deaths that had taken place in the town, and how it was subsequently found that the second pot which had contained the poisoned honey had, like the jar in the castle kitchen, come from the Nettleham apiary. He quickly gave his permission for Bascot to go to Nettleham and also to elicit the help of Ivor Severtsson, the bailiff.\n\n\"Severtsson has only held the post for a couple of years, although he was employed in a minor capacity at Wragby for some time before I gave him the office,\" d'Arderon said. \"I am sure, since it was his own family members who were very nearly poisoned, that he will do his utmost to help you. He lives in the manor house at Wragby, which is not too far from the apiary, and I can arrange for him to meet you at Nettleham village, if you wish.\"\n\nD'Arderon shook his head sadly as he added, \"These deaths make me wonder if the position of bailiff at that property is not ill-fated in some way. If Reinbald or his wife had been harmed, it would have been the second time that tragedy had struck the man who has held the post.\"\n\n\"How so?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"The former bailiff was a man named John Rivelar,\" d'Arderon explained. \"He had a son who lived with him, and just about the time I came to Lincoln two years ago, the boy was discovered to have been consorting with brigands and was taken into custody by Sheriff Camville. When the lad was hanged for his crimes, Rivelar became so distraught that, a few days later, he was taken with a seizure of his heart and died.\" He sighed heavily. \"As I said, the post seems to be ill-fated.\"\n\n\"How long has the property been in the Order's possession?\"\n\n\"Quite a number of years,\" the preceptor replied. \"It was bequeathed to us by a widow whose youngest son was a member of our brotherhood and stationed in Outremer. He was killed during a skirmish with the Saracens in the Holy Land only a few months before King Richard left on crusade. Shortly after she received news of her son's death, the widow sickened and met her own end. In her will, she left Wragby and the Nettleham apiary\u2014both of which had been part of her dower\u2014to the Order in memory of her son.\"\n\n\"Do you know anything about the beekeeper that may have a connection with these poisonings?\" Bascot asked.\n\nD'Arderon shook his head. \"No, I do not. I have only met the apiarist, whose name is Adam, once, when I went on a tour of the Order's properties shortly after I arrived. He is a rather strange old man, and has a peculiar way of speaking about his bees, but seems competent enough.\"\n\n\"Are there any others living at the apiary?\"\n\n\"Only a daughter and her husband with their children. The daughter's husband is a potter and makes jars for the beekeeper's honey as well as a variety of other vessels which he sells in the town.\"\n\nBascot thanked the preceptor for his help and promised to inform him immediately if he found any connection between the poisoner and the apiary. \"It may only be a chance occurrence, Preceptor, that both pots came from Nettleham,\" he said.\n\n\"We must hope so, de Marins,\" d'Arderon replied. \"But it shall be, as always, as God wills.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Early the next morning, just after the service of Mass had been held in the castle chapel, Nicolaa de la Haye gave orders that all of the household were to assemble in the bail. She did not intend to let Gosbert, of whose innocence she was convinced, remain a prisoner in the holding cells any longer. When her summons had been obeyed, she donned her cloak and, accompanied by Ernulf, went down the steps of the forebuilding and across the ward to the holding cells. At her command, the serjeant brought Gosbert out and left him quaking with fear in front of his mistress. Nicolaa gave him a few words of quiet reassurance and then turned to face the watching servants and addressed them in a stern voice.\n\n\"It has been proven to my satisfaction that Gosbert is innocent of the crime of poisoning Sir Haukwell and Ralf the clerk. He will now return to his duties, and I charge you all to know he is under my protection. Should any of you be foolish enough to cast further aspersions on his name, that person will be dismissed from his or her post and banished from Lincoln.\"\n\nAs she said this, she turned her eyes towards Thomas, the squire. The young man reddened but returned her gaze steadily, and nodded in her direction to show that he realised the import of her words and would obey her instruction.\n\nGosbert fell to his knees in front of Nicolaa. \"I thank you, lady, for your trust in me. I would never harm you, never.\"\n\n\"You may get up, Gosbert,\" she said kindly. \"I never doubted your loyalty, but it had to be proved before I could release you. Return to your duties. You have trained Eric well, but he does not have your delicacy of touch when it comes to preparing the roasted coney of which I am so fond.\"\n\nGosbert rose to his feet and gravely nodded his head. \"I shall prepare it for you tonight, lady,\" he said, \"and in the manner to which you are accustomed.\" The cook gave his mistress a solemn bow and then, his head held high, strode across the bail to the kitchen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "While Gosbert was being released from the holding cell, Bascot was on his way to visit the apiary at Nettleham. The preceptor had sent a message to Ivor Severtsson, instructing him to await the Templar at Nettleham village. Hamo, a serjeant from the preceptory, went with Bascot at d'Arderon's suggestion, so there would be no doubt in the bailiff's mind that any enquiries put to himself and the residents of the apiary were being made with the Order's permission. The Templar would have liked to bring Gianni with him. The boy had sharp eyes and ears, and his help had been invaluable to Bascot on the previous occasions when a murderer had been abroad in Lincoln town. But his involvement in his master's investigations had, the last time, nearly cost the boy his life, and Bascot was reluctant to put him in such jeopardy again. Gianni had been downcast when he had been told he would be left behind, but it was better he suffer disappointment than take a risk with his well-being.\n\nBascot gave a glance at the stern countenance of the knight riding beside him. Hamo was a dour and taciturn individual, but his devotion to the Order was total and without reservation. He would, Bascot knew, be as anxious as the preceptor to prevent any stigma from attaching itself to the Templar brotherhood through the actions of one of its tenants.\n\nThe weather was holding to its promise and the day was again a warm one, with white fleecy clouds scudding overhead across a pale blue sky. After leaving Lincoln by the northern gate of Newport Arch, they turned off Ermine Street a short distance from the town, onto a track that led eastwards towards Nettleham and Wragby. As they rode, the sights and sounds of the countryside engulfed them; all of the trees were in bud, and intermittent patches of bluebells filled the air with their earthy scent. Small birds flitted to and fro, twigs or bits of leaf clamped in their tiny beaks as they went about the task of building their nests, and the hammering of woodpeckers made an intermittent, and clamorous, accompaniment to their passage. An occasional traveller passed them on the track, mainly carters taking produce to one of the markets in Lincoln, but for most of the way, the road was empty.\n\nNettleham village was situated about four miles' distance from the main road, with the larger property of Wragby a further seven miles on. The village was a tiny one, consisting only of a small church, a blacksmith's forge and a few cots built of wattle and daub. On one side was a grassy area of common ground where meetings could be held or animals grazed, and beyond that was a stretch of rolling flatland dotted with sheep. A few villagers were in the street, a woman with a basketful of eggs over one arm and another two women standing gossiping by a well near one of the houses that had a sheaf of greenery fixed beside the door, denoting it was an alehouse. Severtsson was waiting for them outside the blacksmith's forge, his horse tethered to a nearby post and a pot of ale in his hand.\n\nHe was a tall man, with handsome, craggy features, broad shoulders and a shock of close-cropped blond hair above a pair of blue eyes almost as pale as Bascot's single one. Not only his name but his appearance indicated that it was likely he had Viking blood among his antecedents.\n\nSetting his ale pot on a block of wood at the entrance to the forge, he greeted them in a deferential manner and waited to be told the reason he had been summoned.\n\nBascot suggested that they mount their horses and ride a little way out of the village lest the smith, who was engaged in repairing the blade of a plough, or any of the other villagers overhear their conversation.\n\nWhen they had left the hamlet behind them, Bascot slowed his horse to a walk and said to the bailiff, \"Did Preceptor d'Arderon include the purpose of our visit in his message?\"\n\n\"No, lord,\" Severtsson replied, \"he only gave an instruction that I was to be here to meet you this morning.\"\n\nRealising that the bailiff had not yet heard of the poisoned honey that had originally been in his uncle's house, he explained the matter carefully. \"We are here to make enquires concerning the matter of five deaths that have occurred within the castle and town. All were victims of poison, and the substance that killed them was placed in jars of honey that came from Nettleham. I have been sent by Lady Nicolaa, with Preceptor d'Arderon's permission, to determine whether it is possible that the honey was adulterated while it was in the beekeeper's care at the apiary, or during its transport to the places where the poisoned pots were discovered.\"\n\nSevertsson's eyebrows rose in surprise. \"I have heard of the deaths in the castle,\" he said, \"but not of any in the town. May I ask who it is that has died?\" The bailiff was well-spoken, but his words were touched with a slight Scandinavian accent, which confirmed the impression that he was of Nordic stock.\n\n\"A neighbour of your uncle Reinbald's,\" Bascot replied. \"A spice merchant named Robert le Breve, and his wife and young daughter.\"\n\nThe information startled the bailiff. \"I am sorry to hear that,\" he said. \"Le Breve was a good friend of my uncle's. I know he will be distressed at his passing, and especially by the manner of it. You say the little girl was poisoned, too?\"\n\nBascot nodded. \"The only one left alive in the household was an elderly servant. A woman named Nantie.\"\n\n\"And it is certain that the honey in which the poison was placed was purchased from the apiary at Nettleham?\" Severtsson asked.\n\n\"It was, but it was not le Breve who bought it. It was given to Maud le Breve by your aunt, and came from a stock which she said was supplied to them by you.\"\n\nIt took a moment for Severtsson to register the implications of what Bascot had told him, and when he did, the blood drained from his face. \"Are you saying that if my aunt had not given the honey to her neighbour, it would have been she and my uncle who died?\"\n\n\"Yes. It would seem that the poisoner's intended victims were members of your family, not le Breve's.\"\n\nBascot gave the bailiff a few moments to recover from the shock of what he had been told and then asked, \"When did you take the honey pots from Nettleham to your uncle's house?\"\n\n\"Last autumn, just after it had been harvested,\" Severtsson replied, his voice unsteady. \"My uncle asked me to buy some for him and I did so, when I went to Nettleham to collect the beeswax that is the beekeeper's fee for tenancy.\"\n\n\"After you collected it, did you leave it out of your sight for any length of time before you took it to your uncle's house?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"No,\" Severtsson replied. \"I was going into Lincoln that day and had a cart with me. I loaded both the honey and the wax on the wain and took the pots of honey directly to Uncle Reinbald's house. It is my custom, whenever I am in Lincoln, to call on them and stay for a meal. That is what I did that day. After we had eaten, I took the beeswax to the preceptory on my way back to Wragby. The honey never left my possession at any time, nor did I leave it unattended while it was on the wain.\" He ran his tongue over his lips in an agitated manner and said to Hamo, \"Is it really possible that the honey could have been poisoned before I collected it?\"\n\n\"It may have been,\" the serjeant replied, \"and the matter must be looked into. That is why Sir Bascot wishes to go to the apiary and question the inhabitants. Tell him what you know of the beekeeper and his family.\"\n\nHamo's tone was brusque, and Severtsson recovered his composure a little under the force of it. \"There is the beekeeper himself, whose name is Adam. He is a widower, but he has a daughter, Margot, and her husband living with him. Margot's husband's name is Wilkin; he is a potter and makes jars for the apiary honey and other types of vessels which he hawks around Lincoln. They have two children, a daughter, Rosamunde, who is about twenty years old and has a babe of her own, and a young son named after his grandfather and called Young Adam.\"\n\n\"And this daughter, do she and her husband live on the property as well?\" Bascot asked.\n\nSevertsson's gaze faltered a little as he answered. \"She has no husband,\" he said.\n\nBascot noted the hesitation that the bailiff had made when speaking of the girl, and had the feeling that Severtsson was being evasive. He did not pursue the impression, however; it might be nothing more serious than that the bailiff felt uncomfortable speaking of a female who had borne a child out of wedlock, especially to two monks whose vows forbade them to marry or seek out the company of women.\n\n\"Are you aware of any enmity that one, or more, of these people, including the beekeeper, might feel towards your uncle?\" Bascot asked. If the honey had been tampered with before it was taken to Lincoln, the beekeeper or a member of his family would have had ample opportunity to do so.\n\n\"None that I know of,\" Severtsson replied. \"They are good tenants. The beekeeper submits his fee every year without fail, and the property is kept in good order. And, as far as I am aware, they all get along peaceably with the villagers in Nettleham.\"\n\nAs they had been speaking, they had approached a thick stand of elms that stood at one side of the road. The bailiff motioned to a trail that branched off the main track just opposite the trees. It was heavily marked with ruts from the wheels of a wain. \"The apiary is about a half mile down that lane,\" Severtsson said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "The Nettleham apiary appeared to be, as Severtsson had implied, orderly and well run. The main building was a large cot with a thatched roof, alongside which were a few small sheds and a byre. Set a little distance away was a potter's kiln, stone walled and topped with a domed roof of clay. Just inside the gate in the wattle fence that enclosed the main area was a large herb garden, and the bouquet of rosemary, thyme and marjoram was pungent in the air even though the plants were not yet in bloom. A series of niches set in the stone wall down one side of the garden contained beehives, with a few of the insects buzzing lazily about their entrances. To the south was an orchard filled with apple, pear and plum trees, and several large skeps of plaited straw formed two orderly rows beneath their branches. To the north, beyond the enclosure, was a stretch of woodland, mainly comprised of trees of alder and ash.\n\nAs the Templars and Severtsson approached the gate, they could see a man loading earthenware vessels onto a two-wheeled wain, taking his supply from a shed that stood close to the kiln. A towheaded boy of about Gianni's age who was tending a litter of pigs in a sty looked up at their approach and came running to the gate, a large black and white dog following on his heels and barking loudly.\n\n\"We are come to see the beekeeper, Adam,\" Hamo said. \"Open the gate and let us through.\"\n\nThe boy did as he was told, his mouth dropping open a little as he gazed up at the two Templars on their horses, both clothed in thick leather gambesons with a cross patt\u00e9e sewn on the shoulders. As they rode their horses up to a hitching rail and dismounted, two women came to the door of the cot. One was tall, thin and of middle age, dressed in a homespun kirtle and holding a distaff in her hand; the other, whom the older one held firmly grasped by the arm, was much younger and fair of face and figure.\n\n\"The older woman is the beekeeper's daughter, Margot,\" Severtsson said, gesturing towards them. \"The other is her daughter, Rosamunde.\" His voice dropped in tone slightly as he spoke the girl's name.\n\nThe man who had been loading the wain came across to them and bobbed his head respectfully. He was about forty years old, with a sallow complexion, lank brown hair and deep-set brown eyes. His hands and nails were engrained with clay. With no more than a baleful glance at Severtsson, he addressed himself to Bascot and Hamo. \"I am Wilkin, the beekeeper's son-by-marriage,\" he said. \"I heard you ask for Adam, lords. He is in the orchard. I will send the boy for him.\"\n\nAs the lad ran off, Wilkin asked if it would please them to be seated and take a stoup of ale while they waited. Bascot told him it would, and he and the others followed the potter into the cot.\n\nThe interior of the building was large enough to encompass living and sleeping quarters for the beekeeper and his family. An open grate in the center provided heat for warmth and cooking, and a rough-hewn table with benches alongside was set against one wall. In a corner sleeping pallets were piled in readiness for use and there was a sturdy open-faced cupboard lined with shelves along which a variety of jars was ranged. Strings of onions, garlic and herbs hung from the rafters and there were baskets of root vegetables on the floor below. It was all very neatly kept and clean.\n\nThe older woman that Bascot had seen at the doorway, Margot, came forward bearing a tray on which were set three wooden cups of ale, and Wilkin pulled one of the benches away from the table so that the visitors could be seated. Bascot looked around for the girl who had been with Margot at the door and saw her sitting on a stool in the corner, stirring the contents of a bowl placed on her lap with a wooden spoon. Seen close to, Bascot realised that she was more than fair; she was beautiful. Long braids of russet hair framed a heart-shaped face that bore a complexion as delicate as the petals of a flower. Her brow was wide and smooth, and her eyes were the blue green colour of seawater. If this was Rosamunde, the daughter of Wilkin and Margot that the bailiff had seemed embarrassed to speak of, her name surely suited her, for she was indeed a \"Rose of the World.\" She paid the visitors no mind, and just kept stirring the contents of the bowl and gazing into the distance as though she were in a dream. Sitting among the rushes at her feet was a small child of perhaps fifteen months, amusing itself by sucking on the cloth at the hem of her skirt.\n\n\"Please excuse my daughter's discourtesy in not rising, lords,\" Margot said nervously, glancing at the girl as she did so. \"She has not been in her right senses for a while now.\"\n\nWilkin gave his wife an angry look, which seemed to include Severtsson. Bascot felt the undercurrents that were flowing about the room, and he was sure Hamo did, too, for the serjeant stiffened on the bench beside him.\n\nAt that moment, the boy who had opened the gate for the Templars appeared at the door, followed by a man the lad declared was \"granfer\" and who was, presumably, Adam, the beekeeper. His short, stocky frame was topped by tightly curled wiry hair the colour of the honey he gleaned from his bees. His beard was darker in hue and spread wide and thick across his chest. He was clothed all in brown and wore gloves, which he hastily removed as he entered the room and bowed his head to his two visitors.\n\n\"I am sorry to have made you wait, lords,\" he said. \"The bees will be swarmin' soon, and I had needs to tell them I was leavin' their presence so they will stay near the hives 'til I return.\"\n\nBascot remembered that Preceptor d'Arderon had mentioned the beekeeper was a little odd, so he paid Adam's strange statement no mind and told him, and his daughter and her husband, why he and Hamo had come.\n\nAdam's response to the revelation that poison had been put in the honey from his apiary was anger. \" 'Tweren't no poison in the honey when 'twas put into the pots,\" he declared stoutly. \"My bees wouldn't stand fer it, and neither would I. 'Twas pure and clear when it was stopped up and sealed, lords.\"\n\nAgain Bascot ignored the beekeeper's peculiar reference to his bees and said, \"The honey that was poisoned was of the finest grade which is, I believe, put in pots that are glazed in a bright amber shade. Were any of those type of pots left unattended before they were either sold or collected by Severtsson?\"\n\n\"After all the pots be poured and stoppered, we keeps 'em in a shed until it be time for the fair,\" Adam replied. \"The ones for the bailiff was along with them. They was only there for a day or two before he came and collected them and then the rest was taken to town.\"\n\n\"Was the shed kept locked while the honey pots were in there?\"\n\nAdam looked at him in amazement. \"No, lord. There b'aint no need. Even if someone was of a mind to steal some, the bees wouldn't let any but us 'uns near their honey. 'Twould be right dangerous for any who tried to pilfer it.\"\n\nSeeing Bascot's impatience with Adam's curious manner of speaking about his bees, Wilkin hastened to justify the beekeeper's claim. \"We have two dogs here, lord, and both of them keep a good guard. If anyone tried to come onto the property, they would soon alert us. They made no disturbance while the honey was in the shed.\"\n\nBascot nodded his thanks to the potter for the clarity of his reply and said to the beekeeper, \"Did you take the honey to the autumn fair yourself last year?\"\n\n\"No, I never does,\" Adam replied. \"I hasn't been in Lincoln for nigh on ten years. Wilkin allus takes it, and Margot goes along to keep the tally.\"\n\nBascot turned his attention to the potter. \"After you left here to go to the fair, was the honey left unattended by either you or your wife for any length of time?\"\n\n\"No, lord,\" Wilkin replied. \"We did deliver some to the Priory of All Saints, but Margot stayed with the wain all the time that I unloaded the honey and took it inside.\n\nThen we went straight to the fairgrounds and my wife set up our stall.\"\n\n\"And when did you take the order to the castle, before or after the fair?\"\n\n\"Before, lord. I took them while Margot was setting up the stall. One of us was with the pots all the time until they were either delivered or sold.\"\n\nBascot then asked the potter if he made all the containers that were used for the apiary's honey.\n\n\"Aye, lord, I do,\" was the response.\n\n\"And where are the pots kept after you have fired them and before they are filled?\" Bascot asked, trying to determine if there could be a chance that the poison had been placed in the adulterated jars before the honey was poured in.\n\n\"In the same shed as they're kept in after they have been filled and stoppered,\" Wilkin told him.\n\n\"You told me your dogs gave no alarm of any intruder while the filled pots were in the shed. Was there any alert from them before that, while it contained only the empty ones?\"\n\nBoth Adam and Wilkin shook their heads. Unless the beekeeper or one of his family was guilty, it seemed unlikely that any of the honey had been adulterated before it left the apiary, or while it was in transit. To be sure, he asked them if the honey was overseen at all times once it had been harvested from the combs and poured into the pots.\n\n\"The best grade is,\" Adam said. \"That be the one we gets from the first gleanin'. It be ready right away, so after we pours it into honey bags it goes straight from the bags into the jars. Then we leaves the bags to drip overnight on their own before wringin' 'em out for the second gleanin' and then we washes 'em out with water for the third.\"\n\nBascot nodded absently. He was only interested in the best grade, for it was the type that had been poisoned, and it appeared that it could not have been tampered with while under the beekeeper's care. The second grade, which was cheaper and usually purchased by people with lesser means, was of no interest to him, and neither was the last type, which was very thin and used mainly to make mead. He resumed his questioning of the potter and the vessels he made.\n\n\"Do you make any of the amber-glazed honey pots for another apiary's use?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, lord,\" Wilkin told him. \"I fashion many other vessels that I sell in Lincoln town, but not that kind.\"\n\n\"I understand it is the practice for the pots, once they have been emptied by your customers, to be returned to the apiary so they can be reused. Are you the one that collects them?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I only take back those that are not chipped or broken,\" Wilkin explained. \"We pay the customers a fourthing of a penny for each. I collect the empty pots once a year, in the late summer, so as to have 'em ready for the next harvest.\"\n\nSo, Bascot thought, all of the empty pots of the type that had been used by the poisoner were still sitting in the castle shed awaiting collection. The same would probably be true in Reinbald's home; his cook would put them in an out-of-the-way place until the potter arrived to take them away. It would be a simple matter to steal one. A missing pot would not be noticed until Wilkin went to collect it and would even then be thought to have been discarded because it was damaged.\n\nSince it seemed that the honey had not been tampered with while it was on the apiary property\u2014or while it was in Severtsson's possession\u2014it was likely that the adulteration of the honey had been carried out recently, as had been suspected. Nonetheless, he asked Adam how many pots of that grade had been gleaned last year and if the beekeeper knew who had bought them.\n\n\"'Twere two score and four pots altogether,\" Adam replied. \"I don't know who bought 'em, but Margot does, she keeps the tally sticks for to show the bailiff.\"\n\n\"A score went to the castle, lord,\" the beekeeper's daughter replied. \"Then there were the eight given to Master Severtsson for his uncle, six that went to the priory and t'other ten were sold in ones and twos to customers in the town. I don't know the names of the people that had those; I never goes to town except to sell the honey, and I only know their faces, not who they are.\"\n\nBascot was relieved to hear that the remainder of the pots had been sold in small quantities throughout the town. It was likely that all of these had been opened and used throughout the winter months, and since no suspicious deaths had been reported during that time, all of that honey must have been pure. Deciding there was nothing further to be learned from Adam and his family, Bascot signalled to Hamo that he was ready to leave.\n\nAs they went towards the door of the cot, the bailiff, who was a little ahead of Bascot, hesitated and glanced at Rosamunde. The young woman was still sitting as she had been during the whole time they had been there, staring vacantly at the empty space in front of her, and made no sign of having noticed his, or anyone else's, presence. Despite that, Wilkin quickly stepped into the space between the bailiff and his daughter in a protective manner and glared at Severtsson. Margot watched her husband's defiant movement with an anxious face, her lips pressed tight together as though to stop her from crying out in alarm. The bailiff gave them both a disdainful stare and then, with a petulant shrug of his shoulders, turned and left the room.\n\nSevertsson parted company with the two Templars at the junction of the apiary road with the main track, his journey back to Wragby taking him in the opposite direction to their own. As they watched his retreating figure disappear down the road, Bascot said to Hamo, \"All is not well between the potter and the bailiff, and it would seem to have some connection with Wilkin's daughter, Rosamunde.\"\n\nHamo was alert at once, ever conscious of any wrongdoing which might impugn the integrity of the Order. \"Severtsson said the girl was unmarried,\" he observed. \"Perhaps he is the father of her babe. If that is so, the preceptor must be told. The Order frowns on moral laxity among its lay servants.\"\n\n\"We will do so when we return to Lincoln. But, Hamo, both the potter and the bailiff are connected to the mystery of these poisonings, although only by tenuous threads\u2014Wilkin because he is one of those who oversee the preparation of the honey and undertakes its delivery; and Severtsson because one of the jars that he took to his uncle's house was adulterated. Is it possible that the enmity between the two is somehow involved in the matter?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "The poisoner found it difficult to maintain his facade of innocence during the turmoil that followed the deaths of le Breve and his family. His anger had almost overwhelmed him, and it still burned in his gut like molten iron in the depths of a blacksmith's forge. After all the risks he had taken, it had happened again, just as it had with Nicolaa de la Haye, and instead of the lives of Reinbald and his family being taken, it had been people of no consequence who had died.\n\nHe recalled how, for one heart-stopping moment, he had thought himself discovered and had made preparations to flee if the hue and cry was raised for his capture. But, as the hours passed, and his alarm proved groundless, he knew that he could resume his quest for vengeance without fear of hindrance.\n\nHe would need to wait before he made another attempt to poison either the castellan or the merchant.\n\nCounselling himself to patience, he took comfort from the thought that since the finger of suspicion had not been pointed in his direction, there would be no obstacle to his entering the premises of his next victim."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "The morning was not far advanced when bascot and Hamo returned to Lincoln. D'Arderon was waiting for them, and Bascot told him briefly of their visit to the apiary and of his suspicion that there was something amiss between the bailiff and the potter.\n\nThe preceptor shook his head in distaste. \"Whether their rancour has any connection to the poisonings or not, if Severtsson has been involved with this young woman, perhaps even responsible for the babe she bore out of wedlock, I cannot let him continue as a servant of the Order. It would be tantamount to blasphemy to do so.\" He looked at Bascot with weary eyes. \"Unpleasant as it may be, I must learn the truth of the matter, de Marins. The decision to appoint him as bailiff was mine. If he is immoral, I should have discovered his inclinations before giving him the post.\"\n\nHamo nodded his head in confirmation of the preceptor's statement, and Bascot knew the depth of concern they both felt. Not only must the brothers of the Templar Order be morally above reproach, but also any servants they employed. As preceptor of the Lincoln enclave, the responsibility for ensuring this was so fell on d'Arderon's shoulders.\n\n\"I shall let you know if I discover anything about the girl and Severtsson that might be relevant, Preceptor,\" Bascot promised."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "After bascot had ridden out of the enclave he returned immediately to the castle and sought out Ernulf. The serjeant had been in service to the Hayes for many years and was familiar with most of the people who lived and worked in the town. Although Ivor Severtsson did not reside in Lincoln, his uncle did and was a well-known figure among the populace. It might be possible that Ernulf had heard some gossip that was pertinent to the merchant's nephew.\n\nHe found Ernulf in the barracks, having just returned after a spell of duty on the walls. \"There's a lot of unrest over these murders in the town,\" he told Bascot. \"Had to send a few of my men to help Roget, so I've been doing some of the rounds myself.\"\n\nThe Templar told him of his visit to the apiary and of the ill will that the potter seemed to bear Ivor Severtsson. \"I need to find out what the cause is, Ernulf,\" Bascot said. \"It may be no more than the usual resentment of a tenant towards those in authority, especially if Wilkin has been subjected to a reprimand by the bailiff for some infringement of his rights, but I have a feeling it is more than that, and somehow centred on the potter's daughter, Rosamunde, who is the mother of a bastard child.\"\n\n\"Of the people in the town I keeps close track, lest their affairs touch on the security of the castle and so upon milady,\" Ernulf said regretfully. \"Out in the countryside...\"\n\nHe shrugged but, after giving the matter some thought, said, \"I do know of one as might be able to help you. The rat catcher, Germagan, has a cousin who used to be employed as a resident catcher at Wragby. He might have some knowledge of what goes on at Nettleham, since it's part of the same property that the old widow left to the Order. This cousin, he was at Wragby under the old bailiff, and for a little while after Severtsson took over. Came back to Lincoln town a few months ago, I think. If you was to ask Germagan, he can tell you if his cousin is plying his trade in the town, or moved elsewhere.\n\n\"Other than that,\" Ernulf went on, \"the best I can do for you is ask around amongst my men and a few people in the town. As far as the bailiff is concerned, I do know that Severtsson's uncle, Reinbald, is a man of good repute. He and his wife took Ivor and a younger brother, Harald, into their home when the wife's sister and her husband died. Reinbald has no sons, and Harald helps the merchant in his business and will probably be his heir one day. About Ivor, I know little, even though he is often in Lincoln on the Order's business, for he spends most of his time at Wragby. But it could be Germagan's cousin might know summat useful about him. The cousin must have plied his trade under Severtsson's direction after the old bailiff died. He might know about any dealings he has with the apiary and if there is reason for sourness on the potter's part.\"\n\nBascot thanked the serjeant and said he would follow up his suggestion. Severtsson had said he went to his uncle's house whenever he was in Lincoln, which would seem to be fairly often. Was the rancour the potter felt against the bailiff deep enough for him to have poisoned the honey sent to the merchant's house in the hope that Severtsson would eat a dish that contained it?\n\nBut, if that was so, it did not explain why Wilkin would have placed poison in the castle kitchen. The potter had admitted he delivered the honey to the castle store last autumn at the time of the fair. Did he have any reason to be in the kitchen on subsequent occasions? And if so, did he have a grievance against someone in the castle, and a wish to harm them, as well as Severtsson? Perhaps Gosbert could give him answers to these questions.\n\nCalling to Gianni, the Templar and the boy went out into the ward and walked over to the kitchen. It was full of its customary bustle, but now, with Gosbert in charge, the tumult seemed more orderly than it had been under Eric. The morning meal having just been served, scullions were in the process of preparing the vegetables that would be used for the midday meal. In one of the huge grates, a dozen chickens, ducks and rabbits that had been skewered on spits were roasting over the open flames. At the side of the fireplace, a young boy turned the handles of the spits at regular intervals, basting the meat with grease from a pot after each rotation. A large number of loaves of bread had already been baked and were piled in neat stacks on a table. The wooden platters that had been used to carry the food to the hall for the morning meal were being scraped clean by a couple of kitchen maids and then arranged in neat piles.\n\nGosbert was at the gutting table, stuffing an ox heart with a mixture of onions and herbs. He looked up at Bascot's approach and gave a respectful nod as he waited for the Templar to speak.\n\n\"I have come to ask about the potter, Wilkin, who is son-by-marriage to the beekeeper at Nettleham. I am told that he sells his wares in Lincoln town. Does he supply any of the vessels you use here, in the castle kitchen?\"\n\nGosbert's spiky eyebrows rose up towards his shining bald pate in surprise. \"Yes, he does,\" he replied.\n\n\"Has he been here recently?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"He comes here often,\" Gosbert informed him. \"Some of the scullions can be cack-handed if Eric or I don't watch them close, and quite a few of the wine or oil beakers get broken. Wilkin makes good pots, and they aren't too expensive. We usually get one or two replacements from him every week or so, and although I can't remember exactly which days he came, it is more than likely he has been here at least once in the last sennight.\"\n\n\"Does he come into the kitchen when he brings them?\"\n\n\"Yes, he does,\" Gosbert confirmed. \"He leaves his cart outside, in the bail, and carries whatever I have ordered through here and puts them in the storeroom down there\u2014the one that Lady Nicolaa ordered locked after Thorey found the poison in that pot of honey.\" He pointed to a door that was just past the table where he was working. Anyone going into it was within easy reach of the shelf where the jars of honey had been kept.\n\nBascot felt his interest in the potter quicken at the cook's statement. So Wilkin had the opportunity to covertly remove a pure pot of honey and replace it with a tainted one\u2014had he availed himself of it?\n\nGosbert was regarding Bascot closely as the Templar considered what he had just been told. Suddenly the cook, his fingers tightening on the haft of the sharp knife he was holding, asked, \"Do you think it was Wilkin that tampered with the honey?\" His tone was truculent.\n\n\"I do not know, cook,\" Bascot replied, \"and until I find out whether he did or not, I ask that you keep our conversation to yourself.\"\n\nGosbert responded with an angry clenching of his jaw but was mollified when Bascot reminded him that suspicion had fallen on Gosbert not so long ago and, at the time, had seemed justified to everyone except himself. To cast aspersion on another without proof, as the cook should well know, was an act that could have dire consequences.\n\nGosbert reluctantly agreed with his observation, and when Bascot went on to ask if he knew of any reason for Wilkin to bear a grudge against anyone who lived within the bail, he admitted he did not. \"Wilkin is always made welcome here,\" the cook said, \"and, as far as I know, is content in our company. I would not call him a talkative man, but he is always polite and respectful, and seems pleased that I authorise the purchase of his wares. He has never shown or made mention of any animosity towards me or my staff, or of any disgruntlement with Lady Nicolaa or the sheriff.\"\n\nDespite the cook's assurance, Bascot decided there was enough reason to investigate further into the matter of the ill feeling between Wilkin and the bailiff. Perhaps it would lead to a discovery of some dispute the potter had with those who lived in the castle of which Gosbert was unaware. The man had originally delivered the honey and also had easy access to the confines of the kitchen. It was necessary to find out more about Wilkin before he could be considered innocent.\n\nTaking Gianni with him, the Templar went down into the town. The atmosphere on the streets of Lincoln was oppressive. There were small knots of citizens gathered in groups of two or three on corners and at the marketplaces, their attitudes ranging from belligerence to wariness. As Nicolaa de la Haye had instructed, the men of Roget's guard and the castle men-at-arms were a visible presence on the streets.\n\nAfter asking one of the town guards for information, Bascot found Germagan in the yard behind the house of a prominent silversmith, testing various foodstuffs\u2014notably honey and preserved fruit\u2014on half a dozen rats that his assistant had secured in cages. The rat catcher greeted the Templar with his former effusiveness and asked how he might be of service.\n\nAfter motioning Germagan a little to one side of the yard, out of earshot of the catcher's assistant and the silversmith's wife, Bascot said, \"I am looking for a kins-man of yours, a relative that Serjeant Ernulf told me was engaged as a rat catcher for some time at Wragby. I have some questions I would like to put to him.\"\n\n\"That would be Dido,\" Germagan replied. \"He is my cousin and now lodges with me, and plies his trade within the town walls.\" Waving his hand at his assistant, who was busy pushing a bit of bread smeared with apricot conserve through the bars of one of the cages, the catcher added, \"As you can see, the fear of poison has made the services of those who ply my trade in much demand. Dido went this morning to the premises of a baker in Baxtergate who asked him to test the honey he uses in his pastries. Do you wish me to send him to the castle to attend you?\"\n\nBascot shook his head. \"No, I want to speak to him as soon as possible. And privily.\"\n\nGermagan looked up at the Templar with dark, intelligent eyes, very like those of the rats he caught. \" 'Tis not my place to ask, sir, but I would reckon this is to do with the poisoner that's brought our fair town to the depths of such misery. If that is so, both myself and Dido will be right pleased to help you.\"\n\nWhen no reply from Bascot was forthcoming, just a tightening of the Templar's mouth that the catcher took for confirmation of his statement, Germagan said, \"My lodgings are near Baxtergate, sir, close by the baker's house where my cousin is at work. I would be honoured to offer my home for your use. You may be as private as you wish within my walls, for there is only my wife at home, and she will absent herself if I tell her to. I can take you there immediately and collect Dido on the way.\"\n\n\"That will do admirably, Germagan,\" Bascot replied. As they left the silversmith's house, the catcher strode ahead of the Templar and Gianni, cleaving a path through the people that were gathered on the street by waving his ratting pole so that the bells affixed to its tip crashed together noisily as he walked. Bascot smiled inwardly. Germagan, he thought, was a man who was not averse to making any potential customers aware that he was in the confidence of a person of such high rank as a Templar knight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Dido was a short, thin man of about forty years of age with a shock of carrot-coloured hair. He came at once when Germagan knocked at the door of the baker's home and asked to speak to him, hastily stuffing the two ferrets he used in his work into one of the large pockets of his rough tunic. Telling the baker he would return as soon as he could, Dido came out into the street, and the two catchers led Bascot and Gianni to a small dwelling place near the Witham River. The house was sturdily built of strong wooden timbers with an interior that was clean and had sweet-smelling rushes strewn on the floor. There were only two rooms, but both were a fair size, and Germagan led Bascot and Gianni, bowing as he did so, into the larger chamber of the two, which contained four comfortable chairs and an oaken table. The catcher's wife, a broad-hipped woman with a large bosom, greeted the guests with a low curtsey and hastened, at her husband's bidding, to bring tankards of ale for them all.\n\nGermagan offered Bascot the most comfortable chair in the room, which, to the Templar's surprise, had both arms and a padded seat. He had not realised that exterminating rats was such a profitable business. Gianni stood behind him, gazing in awe at the draught-excluding cloths of rat skins that hung from the walls and the marvellous pewter bowlful of rats' claws that sat in the middle of the table.\n\nBascot took a sip of his ale and regarded the two catchers. \"I would have you stay with us, Germagan, while I ask my questions of your cousin. It may be that where his knowledge fails, you are able to fill in the gaps.\"\n\nMotioning to both of the men to be seated, he asked Dido how long it had been since he left the service of the Templars at Wragby.\n\n\"Five months since, lord,\" Dido replied. \" 'Twas a good post, but I am town born and bred and I missed Lincoln.\" He paused for a moment and then elaborated on his reason for returning to the town. \"There is also a maid that I wish to wed. I was married once afore, but my wife took sick and died after she had our first babby. Not long after, the child became ill as well and followed his mother to her grave. At the time, I was glad to get out of Lincoln and leave the memory behind me, but now I've a fancy to make a home again and perhaps raise another family. The girl I would like to marry has told me she might be willing but she is reluctant to move out into the countryside and away from her parents. She said if I plied my trade within the city walls there was a chance she would look on me with favour. So I come back here, and Germagan kindly offered to give me a bed until she says yea or nay.\"\n\nBascot nodded. \"Did you ever have occasion to go to the Nettleham apiary while you were employed at Wragby?\"\n\n\"Only once,\" was the reply. \"That was in the old bailiff's time. There was a nest of rats in the beekeeper's barn and his dogs couldn't lodge them. I stayed there for two days and a night and sent my ferrets in.\" He patted his pocket and one of the tiny animals poked its nose out, bright eyes shining as it looked around the company before disappearing back into its hiding place. \"They got rid of them soon enough. Found their nest as quick as lightning, and between them and the beekeeper's dogs the vermin was all dead within the space of a few heartbeats.\"\n\n\"And you stayed at Wragby after the former bailiff died, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Aye, I did. Terrible time that was, when his son was hanged. Went right out of his senses with grief, did Rivelar. One morning he came out into the yard and called for his horse, but before it could be brought he'd dropped down stone-cold dead as though he'd been hit with a poleax. 'Twas a quick death, but a sorry one.\"\n\n\"And Ivor Severtsson was employed there before he took over the post of bailiff after Rivelar's death?\"\n\n\"He was, lord,\" Dido said, his face clearly showing that he did not understand the import of the Templar's questions.\n\nBascot leaned forward. \"During all the time you were there, Dido, did you ever have knowledge of any animosity between the potter at Nettleham and Severtsson, either before he became bailiff or afterwards?\"\n\nFor the first time, Dido dropped his gaze. When he looked up, he glanced at Germagan, who said, \"Cousin, the purpose of our trade is to keep the dwellings of Lincoln clean and free of vermin. Sir Bascot's aim is the same as ours, but the two-legged rat that he is after is far more dangerous than any of those we catch. It is your bounden duty to assist him, no matter if it needs that you speak ill of others.\"\n\nDido listened to his cousin's words and gave his answer slowly and with a show of disinclination. \" 'Tis not an easy thing to tell tales of another's affairs, but I reckon Germagan's right. 'Tis my duty.\" He gave a sigh. \"You are right, lord. There is bad feeling between Wilkin and Severtsson, and has been for a long time.\"\n\n\"Do you know the reason?\"\n\nDido nodded. \"Wilkin's daughter, Rosamunde\u2014the potter thinks Severtsson raped her and is the father of her baby. When it was first noticed in the village in Nettleham that the girl was pregnant, the potter accused the bailiff of ravishing her to anyone who would listen.\"\n\nHaving already thought it was possible that Severtsson might be the father of the child he had seen playing at Rosamunde's feet, Bascot was nonetheless startled by the additional accusation of rape. Here, indeed, was cause for the potter to have a deep hatred against the bailiff, and a fervent desire for revenge on the man who had defiled his daughter's body. Had the potter tried to extract his retribution by attempting to poison the bailiff while he dined at his uncle's house in Lincoln? But if so, why had he also placed a pot of the same poison in the castle kitchen?\n\nThe Templar returned his attention to Dido. \"Do you believe the potter's accusation?\"\n\nDido reflected before he gave his answer. \"I suppose it might be true, but I don't think so. Wilkin's daughter is beautiful, and always was, even before she became mazed. There were quite a few who came after her alongside the bailiff, and I heard many a tale of how a hopeful swain would have a sudden urge to stop and linger in Nettleham in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her. And she was aware of it, for she often took walks in the woods nearby, even though I heard tell her father beat her more than once for doing so.\"\n\n\"So it could have been anyone that raped her, not just Severtsson?\"\n\nA shadow of reluctance came over Dido's face again as he said, \"That's if she was actually raped, lord, and didn't give herself willingly.\"\n\nBascot became a little impatient with Dido's reticence and said, \"I have no time for niceties, catcher. Tell me all you know, and tell it now, without prompting.\"\n\nGermagan added his own exhortation to Bascot, saying angrily, \"Get on with it, Cousin, and do as you are bid.\"\n\nThe older catcher's words prodded Dido into continuing his tale, albeit in a resigned fashion. \"It is said that Rosamunde was enamoured of Rivelar's son, the man that became a brigand and was taken by the sheriff and hanged. His name was Drue. I saw him with her myself once, in the woods near Wragby when I was out looking for a rat's nest near an old well there. They were lying in the grass entwined together\u2014nearly stepped on them I did, but saw them just in time\u2014and she didn't give no appearance of being there against her will. If anyone's the father of that babe, it's Drue Rivelar, not Ivor Severtsson.\"\n\n\"Did you know this Drue well? He must have been on the property at Wragby before he became an outlaw, while he was growing up.\"\n\n\"Aye. He was just a young lad when I went there about six years ago. He was a bit of a hellion and didn't take kindly to his father's harsh ways. Many a time I saw Rivelar give his son a thrashing for some wrongdoing, but the boy took all his father gave without so much as a whimper and then went out and did what he'd just been told not to do all over again. He was a merry lad, and, I suppose, well-favoured to a woman's eyes. Seems to me that he and Rosamunde were two of a kind, both wayward, but with a joy in them that no amount of punishment would ever quench.\"\n\n\"And yet Wilkin insists that it is Severtsson who impregnated his daughter\u2014was he not aware of her liaison with Rivelar's son?\"\n\nDido wrinkled up his face in thought. \"Wilkin may not have known about Drue. All of us at Wragby did, but the potter never had no cause to come there and the villagers in Nettleham may not have felt easy with telling him about his daughter's love games in the greenwood. And Severtsson would have taken Drue's place if he could. I used to see him look at his master's son with envy in his eyes.\" He shrugged his shoulders. \"That's all I know of the matter, lord. As I said, there were many men for Rosamunde to choose from. Only she knows who she gave her favours to, or how many.\"\n\nBascot mused over what he had just been told. The potter had good reason to hate the bailiff, and it was entirely possible he would wish to harm him, deeming it a justifiable retribution for the shame he believed Severtsson had inflicted on his daughter.\n\nHe asked Dido if he knew whether any rat poison was kept at the Nettleham apiary. Dido had shaken his head. \"Not the poison itself, lord. I asked special before I turned my ferrets loose in case my little creatures should eat some of the stuff by mistake. Old Adam told me his bees wouldn't stand for such a substance being kept where they lived, and he was so upset at the notion that I believed him.\n\n\"But,\" he added, \"despite the old man's words, he did allow Margot to keep some of the root of that there hell herb to treat their cow in case it should be taken with a cough. She cuts a little slit in the dewlap of the beast and pushes a bit of the root through and leaves it for a day or two. It's an old remedy and works right well. When I asked about the poison, she showed me the pot where she kept the roots. It was tightly sealed and I knew I needn't have any fear that my beauties would get near it.\"\n\nDido again patted one of the pockets on his coat and the ferret, as before, popped its head out. Gianni was entranced with the inquisitive little creature, and the catcher took it out and gave it to the boy to hold. The ferret immediately dived inside Gianni's tunic, causing the boy to jump in alarm, but Dido laughed and reached inside the garment to retrieve the tiny animal. \"He won't hurt you, boy, not unless you hurts him,\" he said, stroking the ferret. \"Just likes to be where it's dark and secret, same as the rats he hunts.\"\n\nWhat Bascot had learned seemed to point to Wilkin as a most likely suspect for putting the pot of poisoned honey in the merchant's house, since he not only had a reason to hate Reinbald's nephew but also had access to the herb that was used to make the poison. But Bascot had still not discovered a reason for the potter to have adulterated the pot that was found in the castle kitchen. The Templar felt his frustration mount as he and Gianni left the rat catcher's home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "As the hours of the day crept forward, it soon became apparent that Nicolaa de la Haye's prediction would prove true: the deaths of three of Lincoln's citizens would provoke an outcry among the townspeople. The news of what had befallen le Breve and his family was passed along with the speed of a raging conflagration. The deaths in the castle had not concerned them greatly, for all considered them to be in retaliation for a grudge against the sheriff, Gerard Camville. He was an uncompromising and brutal man, and there were many who had reason to resent his harsh administration. Most of the townspeople had shrugged their shoulders in dismissal when they had heard about the poisoning of the clerk and the knight, and there had even been a few who had quietly whispered that it was a shame that Camville had been away when the deaths had taken place, for if he had not been, he might have been one of the fatalities. It would have made the passage of many lives a little easier.\n\nBut now the poisoner had struck at a family in the town, and one of them had been a young child who could not have been anything but innocent of injury or unkindness to others. As the story of the murders passed from one person to the next, not only fear but outrage rose to the surface. Soon other recent fatalities were recalled, ones where the cause of death had been obscure. It did not take long for such speculation to give rise to the certainty that these other deaths were the result of the poisoner's machinations.\n\nThe first to be remembered had occurred about two months before when the wife of a prominent baker had died. She had been ailing for many months, complaining of pains in her stomach. The baker had obtained the services of a leech, but the numerous bloodlettings he administered did not ease her complaint, and so the baker had asked Alaric, as a physician reputed for his learning, to attend her. After Alaric had checked her blood for its viscosity and inspected her feces and urine for the balance of the humours within her body, the physician had cast her horoscope and shaken his head; there had been a malign conjunction of planets on her natal day, he told the woman's husband. He would do his best to cure her, but she would need a lengthy treatment and it would be costly. The baker, a moderately wealthy man, gave his assent, and Alaric prescribed the use of several medicines, including feeding her on a diet of roasted mice and applying a paste made from pulverised laurel leaves to her abdomen. None of his remedies prevailed, however, and the woman finally died after a great outpouring of blood from her mouth. There was now no doubt in the retrospective minds of the townspeople that she had been a victim of the poisoner.\n\nAnother case that, with hindsight, was viewed with suspicion was the death of a tanner who practiced his trade near the banks of the Witham River. He had been strong and fit one day, and dropped down dead the next, seemingly taken by a stoppage of his heart. Only his wife knew that he had, for some time, been drinking a pint of bull's urine every day, hoping that the potency of the animal from which it came would prove to be an antidote for his own sad lack of performance. She never considered that the urine had been in any way connected with his death, for it had been recommended by a local apothecary who had sworn that many of his clients had benefited greatly from drinking it. After the death of le Breve and his family, however, and since her husband had complained of a stomachache a few days before he died, she began to wonder if the poisoner had somehow adulterated the honey her spouse had mixed with the urine to make it palatable. She did not hesitate to voice her opinion to her neighbours, and this story, too, soon became fact instead of conjecture.\n\nThe most recent fatality, and perhaps the one that most convinced the people of Lincoln that the poisoner had been killing victims over the last few weeks, was the death of a boy of about sixteen years. The young man had suffered almost identical symptoms to that of all of the recent victims, for he had been taken with great bouts of vomiting and a looseness in his bowels, but unlike in the others, these had been milder and had lasted for two days before he finally succumbed. It had been thought at the time that his illness had been due to eating an eel pie he had bought from a roving vendor. The pie seller had suffered great damage to his reputation and much loss of trade from the accusation and, as soon as he heard the news of the poisoning of le Breve's family, quickly claimed that his young customer's death had not been due to the staleness of his pie, but that the boy had, instead, been a victim of the villain that was murdering the people of Lincoln.\n\nAs morning crept towards afternoon, suspicion, like a malignant condiment, was mixed into the brew of rising terror, and fingers were pointed in accusation. Neighbour turned on neighbour, some out of spite for an old dispute, a few out of envy for another's more lavish possessions and even a couple out of resentment because a would-be lover had spurned his or her amorous advances. Little knots of people began to gather along the streets in the town, and not a few arguments broke out, many of which ended in physical violence. The worst were outside the alehouses, where drink had loosened tongues and made people reckless. Roget and his men were finding it difficult to comply with Nicolaa de la Haye's directive to treat the townspeople gently and had no choice but to incarcerate some of the worst offenders in the town gaol.\n\nA few citizens believed that the safety of themselves and their families could only be ensured by leaving the confines of the town, and within hours, wains laden with household goods began to trundle their way through the streets towards the exits of Newport Arch at the north end of Lincoln, and Stonebow in the south.\n\nAs the day progressed, Roget found himself more weary than he could recall having ever been before, even on those many occasions when it had been necessary to fight all day long on a bloody battlefield. As he paced the streets in an attempt to maintain order, he promised himself that never again would he drink wine flavoured with honey, even if he was sure it was untainted. The remembrance of this day would make its sweetness turn sour in his mouth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "By the time Bascot and Gianni left Germagan's house, it was almost midday and they were both getting hungry. The Templar purchased a loaf of bread from one of the bakers in Baxtergate, and they munched on pieces of it as they walked back into the town, passing through Stonebow Gate and going up Mikelgate Street in the direction of the castle. As earlier in the day, people were still gathered in the streets, and some of the groups Bascot and Gianni passed were engaged in passionate argument. A few of those who had decided to leave Lincoln had wains or packhorses outside their doors and were in the process of piling them high with panniers containing clothing and other personal possessions.\n\nAs the Templar and his servant neared the intersection of Brancegate, Bascot saw the merchant, Reinbald, accompanied by a younger man who had enough resemblance to Ivor Severtsson to be his brother, coming towards them. The merchant hailed the Templar and, after introducing him to his companion\u2014who proved to be, as Bascot had suspected, Ivor's brother, Harald\u2014asked if the search for the poisoner had made any progress.\n\n\"Not yet, I am afraid,\" Bascot replied. \"But it is to be hoped that will change soon.\"\n\nReinbald shook his head, the heavy jowls on his face quivering with the movement. \"I fear these deaths are causing much alarm amongst all of those in the town. My poor wife is very distraught, not only at the thought that she was the means by which her good friend, Maud le Breve, and her family died, but also that it could have been us that are lying on our biers in their stead.\"\n\nBascot asked how le Breve's old servant, Nantie, was faring. It was Harald Severtsson who answered. He was very like his brother in appearance, but shorter and not so well-favoured in his features. His face had a more serious cast to it, and his eyes held a look of candour that was lacking in Ivor's.\n\n\"We have just been to the guildhall, Sir Bascot, to arrange a collection of funds to assist her,\" he said, his words touched with the slight Norse accent that Bascot had noticed in his brother. \"As yet, she refuses to leave le Breve's home and is keeping watch over their biers, but after they have been laid to their rest, she will be homeless. My uncle and I have proposed that a collection be made from those of affluence and used to sustain her for the rest of her days, perhaps in the guesthouse of a local nunnery.\"\n\nBascot was very pleased to learn that the old servant would be provided for and then asked if the merchant had given any more consideration as to who could have had reason to place the poison in his kitchen.\n\n\"I have wracked my brain to think of any person who would bear me such malice,\" Reinbald replied. \"While there is sometimes a small rivalry between myself and another wine merchant, I can think of nothing of such severity that it would give rise to a wish for my death.\"\n\n\"If this attack is not a random one, Onkel, then it would be a dull-witted person that would take revenge over an enmity that was well-known to you, for he would immediately be suspected of the crime,\" Harald observed. \"And, because of the boldness and cunning it must have taken to place the poison in Tante Helge's kitchen, I do not believe this poisoner is lacking in intelligence.\"\n\nAs Bascot took his leave of the merchant and his nephew, Harald's last words made the Templar take them into his consideration of the likelihood that Wilkin had committed the crimes. The potter was more well-spoken than the rest of his family, an influence, no doubt, of being often within the town and conversing with the customers he met while he plied his wares. But did such an asset denote the intelligence that Harald Severtsson believed the poisoner possessed? If Wilkin had truly been the person who had adulterated the honey, would he not have been devious enough to hide his dislike of the bailiff in front of himself and Hamo? The Templar would have thought so, but bitter experience had taught him that a person who commits secret murder often wears a guileless face. It could be that Wilkin was such a one."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "When Bascot returned to the castle, he found Nicolaa de la HAYE in the hall where she had, up until a few moments before, been speaking to the town bailiff, Henry Stoyle. The official, an expression of disquietude on his face, was just leaving as Bascot came in.\n\nWhen Bascot approached the dais, Nicolaa was discussing with Gilles de Laubrec the results of her meeting with Stoyle. Seeing the Templar, she immediately invited him to take a seat and sent a page scurrying for a cup of wine.\n\n\"I hope you have some good news for us, de Marins,\" she said. \"I am told that the townspeople are becoming very agitated. According to what I have just heard, every death that has taken place in Lincoln in the last few weeks has now been ascribed to have been the work of the poisoner. I do not doubt that if a corpse were found with a dagger through the heart, the death would still be deemed to have been caused by poisoned honey.\"\n\nShe picked up her cup and took a sip. \"The bailiff tells me that some of the citizens he spoke to are concerned, and rightly so, that rumours of this plague of poison in Lincoln will spread to other parts of the country and affect trade with the town. If it does, it will not only empty the coffers of our richer citizens, it will also mean less work for those they employ, and could cause great hardship among the poor. I have promised to meet tomorrow with some of the leaders of the guilds to discuss the situation. They would be pleased if I could tell them we had apprehended the culprit. Is there any likelihood I may be able to do so, de Marins?\"\n\n\"I fear not, lady,\" Bascot admitted. \"I do have sight of a possible suspect, at least for poisoning the honey in Reinbald's home, but I can find no reason for him to have done so in the castle.\"\n\n\"Who is this person?\"\n\n\"Wilkin, the potter at Nettleham, although I do not think it was the merchant he wished to harm, but his nephew, Ivor Severtsson.\" Bascot explained how Wilkin believed that Ivor had raped his daughter. \"The bailiff often dines at Reinbald's home. Wilkin could have adulterated the honey in the hope that he would eat a dish that contained the poison.\"\n\n\"Is it not more plausible he would try to harm Severtsson directly?\"\n\n\"It would be difficult for him to do so. The bailiff is young and strong. The potter has not the physical strength to overcome him, even if he took him by surprise. And Severtsson, as their overseer, holds the livelihood of the potter and all of his family in his hands. To attack him by stealth would be Wilkin's only option.\"\n\n\"It is strange that the bailiff has not taken some action against the potter over the accusation he has made,\" de Laubrec said. \"Could it be because there is some truth to the charge?\"\n\n\"It may be. Whether he is the father of her babe or not, the potter is adamant that Severtsson assaulted her and has made his charge public. Preceptor d'Arderon is very concerned about the matter and has asked that I let him know if I discover whether there is any validity to Wilkin's claim.\"\n\n\"Still,\" Nicolaa mused, \"whether it is true or not, if the potter believes it is, and he is not in a position to take his revenge openly on Severtsson, it may be that he felt he could do so by poisoning the food the bailiff ate in his uncle's house.\"\n\n\"But that does not give him a reason to harm anyone in the castle,\" Bascot said doubtfully.\n\n\"Not unless it occurred by accident,\" de Laubrec surmised. \"Perhaps the honey pot he poisoned was accidentally put in with those that were destined for the castle kitchen and he had need to prepare another to include with those that Severtsson was taking to his uncle.\"\n\n\"If that is so, then we must conclude that both of the pots were poisoned last autumn and the fact that they were opened at almost the same time was just by chance,\" Nicolaa said. \"That would be a rare coincidence indeed.\"\n\n\"It would, lady,\" Bascot replied. \"I think that the honey in both places was tampered with recently. It would be a simple matter to acquire one or more empty pots, fill them with poisoned honey and then exchange them for ones that are pure. And Gosbert has told me that Wilkin is often in the castle kitchen and would have reason to pass the place where the cook keeps the honey. As for the merchant's home, the kitchen is of easy access to anyone who seeks entry through the lane at the back of the house. The potter could have done it, and my only reservation for not thinking that he did is that he has no reason that I can find to wish the deaths of anyone within the bail.\"\n\nNicolaa considered the matter. \"Is it possible that the potter may have thought that more than one death would cloud the reason he wished to harm Severtsson? That his aim was for all to think, just as we are doing, that he could not be guilty because he had no wish to harm anyone other than the bailiff?\"\n\nBascot admitted that could be possible. \"If that is so, he was foolish not to hide his anger at Severtsson in front of Hamo and myself. His open enmity was the reason I thought to look further into the matter.\"\n\n\"Or crafty enough to believe such honesty would remove him from any taint of suspicion,\" Nicolaa said. \"Keep looking, de Marins. You may yet uncover a reason for his wishing the death of myself or some other person within the bail, and if you do, then\u2014\"\n\nShe broke off as a tall figure came rushing through the door of the hall. Pushing past the servant that was on duty there, he came hurrying up towards the dais. It was Brother Andrew from the Priory of All Saints. The ring of light brown hair around his tonsure was in disarray and his demeanour was agitated as he exclaimed in breathless tones, \"Lady, there has been another poisoning. A patient in the infirmary is dead.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Two servants that had been laying cloths On trestle tables in preparation for the midday meal heard the monk's words and started back in horror. Nicolaa spoke to them sharply, ordering one to bring Brother Andrew a cup of wine and the other to get on with his task.\n\nAs the servants hurried to obey, she returned her attention to the monk, who apologised for breaking the news in such a precipitate fashion. \"It was understandable, Brother,\" Nicolaa said, and asked who it was that had died.\n\n\"The patient was one of the lay brothers,\" Andrew told them. \"His duty is to attend the carp ponds that are on the priory grounds, and he came to us for help only yesterday, suffering from a fever and purulent ulcers in his throat. He was placed in one of the beds in the infirmary, and after bathing him with cooling cloths wrung out in water, Brother Jehan ordered that a decoction made from the flowers and dried seed capsules of the hawthorn bush be given to him every two hours. It was a simple task and, as I was busy lancing a nasty carbuncle on the leg of one of our brothers, was given to Eustace, a novice monk who has been helping us in the infirmary. He gave the medicant as had been ordered, but the patient was finding the medicine difficult to swallow because of the ulcers. Thinking to ease his discomfort, Eustace added some honey from a small pot that is kept on a shelf for the purpose and said that at first the addition of the honey seemed to help the lay brother and he left him resting comfortably, well wrapped in blankets, until it should be time for the next dosage.\n\n\"When Eustace returned, he found the patient tossing and turning in his bed and sweating profusely. He was also complaining that his tongue and gums felt as though they were on fire. Then he began to vomit. Eustace ran to fetch me, and I recognised the symptoms at once as being consistent with a poison derived from the Helleborus niger plant. Brother Jehan and I tried to save the man, but to no avail. He breathed his last just an hour ago. The prior thought you should be told at once and sent me to inform you.\"\n\nThe monk shook his head in confusion. \"I cannot understand it. Why would this devil wish to kill a man who is already lying in his sick bed? What purpose does it serve?\"\n\n\"A good question, Brother, and one to which we must try to find an answer,\" Nicolaa replied.\n\nThe servant came and gave Andrew the cup of wine Nicolaa had ordered. He sipped it slowly, becoming less agitated as he did so, but with a face that was still horror-stricken.\n\n\"It is my fault,\" he said at last. \"We had all the honey in the priory kitchen tested after the deaths in the castle, but this one pot was overlooked.\" His eyes were bleak as he continued. \"It is kept on a shelf just outside the door to the sickroom, along with other medicants of a benign nature. It is my duty to see that the shelf is kept stocked, and I should have remembered there was a jar of honey there. Now a man is dead because of my negligence.\"\n\n\"And the pot of adulterated honey in the infirmary, does it come from the same apiary as the one that was found in the castle kitchen, from the beekeeper at Nettleham?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\nAndrew nodded his head. \"It does. It has a glaze of the same colour and the cross patt\u00e9e etched into the underside of the jar.\"\n\nNicolaa gave Bascot and de Laubrec each a significant glance in turn before she asked her next question. \"Brother Andrew, do you know if a potter, by the name of Wilkin, has lately been in the grounds of the priory?\"\n\nThe monk struggled to focus his thoughts on a matter that seemed to bear no relation to what they were discussing, but finally said, \"He may have been. I am not sure of the man's name, but there is a potter that makes the stoppered flagons that we fill with hot water to warm the beds of our patients. They often get broken and he frequently comes with new ones. If he is this Wilkin, then he will have been at the priory during the last week or so.\"\n\nNicolaa wasted no time in rapping out an order to the marshal. \"De Laubrec, take two men-at-arms from the garrison and go immediately to the Nettleham apiary. If this Wilkin admits to being the potter that makes the flagons for the priory, bring him back here at once and place him in a holding cell.\"\n\nDe Laubrec quickly rose from his seat and started down the steps of the dais. As he began to cross the hall, Brother Andrew looked after him in bafflement. \"I do not understand. Do you suspect this potter of being the poisoner? What reason would he have for wishing the death of one of our brethren?\"\n\n\"As yet, we do not know, Brother,\" Nicolaa replied, \"but I think it is more than likely that he has one.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "After the marshal and Brother Adrew had left, Nicolaa expressed her satisfaction that the identity of the poisoner had been discovered and congratulated Bascot on his perspicacity in suspecting the potter. She was surprised to find that the Templar did not share her elation. \"Are you not convinced of the potter's guilt, de Marins?\"\n\nBascot tried to explain the uncertainty he felt. \"It is only that he seemed, on the one occasion I met him, to be an open and honest man. I find it difficult to believe he could harbour such evil in his heart and give no sign of it on his countenance.\"\n\n\"Many people are adept at hiding their true nature behind a mask of innocence, de Marins, as you should well know,\" Nicolaa said. Bascot knew she was reminding him of how he had been gulled once before, during his investigation into the murders of four people that had been found slain in an alehouse. \"The evidence against Wilkin is overwhelming,\" Nicolaa continued. \"There is his hatred for the bailiff and his close involvement with the honey when it is harvested and sold. He also has access to all of the kitchens where it was found. Do not let yourself be taken in by his ingenuous manner.\"\n\nBascot nodded his acceptance of her caution, and when she asked him if he would go to the Templar enclave and tell Everard d'Arderon of the imminent arrest of one of the Order's tenants, he rose from his seat. It was not a task he relished. The preceptor had already been disturbed by the news that a Templar bailiff might be guilty of rape; for him to learn that yet another person connected to the Order was now accused of a far more serious crime would greatly distress him.\n\nAs Bascot had feared, his visit to d'Arderon that afternoon proved that he had been right to be concerned. The preceptor heard the news in silence and then said, \"I have failed in my duty to the Order, Bascot. If both the bailiff and the potter are guilty of these sinful acts, I must ask to be relieved of my post.\"\n\nBascot made an attempt to convince his friend that he should not feel responsible for crimes committed by others, but his efforts proved useless.\n\n\"I fought for Christ on the field of battle for many long years,\" d'Arderon said, \"and, through His grace, survived. Had it not been for the illness that overtook me in the Holy Land I should still be there, and would willingly have died in His service. But I see now that I have been guilty of the sin of arrogance. If I had taken the trouble to express more interest in those who are tenants of the Order, it may be that the potter would have come to me with his charge against the bailiff and his need for retribution would have been satisfied. Because I did not, six people are now dead.\"\n\nBascot knew how much d'Arderon missed the life he had led prior to becoming preceptor of the Lincoln enclave. Recurring bouts of a tertian fever had forced the Order to remove him from the harsh climes of Outremer and assign him to duties in a land where the weather was more hospitable. But he was an able preceptor, faithful in ensuring that the profits from property held by the Order and from the commodities they traded in were sent in their entirety to fund the cost of arms and equipment needed by brethren overseas. He also gave wholeheartedly of his own martial abilities to train the younger men that were sent to him for instruction.\n\nBascot felt a fresh surge of anger rise at the havoc the poisonings had wrought. Not only had the lives of six people been taken, but great sorrow had fallen on those who had been in some way associated with each of the victims\u2014Clare, the young sempstress who had lost her betrothed when Ralf had been killed; Thomas, the squire who had lost his lord when Haukwell died; Nantie, the old servant, left alone and homeless when le Breve and his family perished; Brother Andrew, who blamed himself for the death of a patient; and now d'Arderon, who felt that negligence on his part had driven a man to commit heinous crimes.\n\nAs he left the preceptor, he sent up a fervent prayer that succour be given to all of those who were now suffering such unwarranted distress."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "It was early in the evening by the time de Laubrec returned with his prisoner. Bascot had been asked by Nicolaa de la Haye to interrogate Wilkin after he was incarcerated, but before he did so, he went to speak to the marshal and asked him how the potter had reacted to his arrest.\n\n\"He seemed genuinely shocked,\" the marshal said, his long, narrow face sceptical, \"and tried to argue with me at first, but desisted when one of the men-at-arms gave him a clout about the head. Unfortunately, he cut his arm quite badly when he landed on a large earthenware pot as he fell. It broke into pieces and one of them gave him a nasty gash. The leech is with him now, stitching it up.\"\n\nDe Laubrec went on to tell Bascot that he had searched the apiary and found a wooden box containing some strange-looking roots in the potter's shed. \"I thought it might be the plant he used to make the poison, so I brought it back with me and gave it to Lady Nicolaa. She said she'll ask Brother Jehan if he can identify it.\"\n\nThese would be the roots of Helleborus niger that Dido had told him Margot kept for treating an illness in their cow. It seemed that Wilkin had used them for another, more nefarious, purpose. Bascot left de Laubrec and went into the holding cell. Since his visit to d'Arderon his anger at the poisoner had hardened into a cold fury. If the potter, as it seemed, was the culprit, the Templar vowed he would make him pay, and pay dearly, for his crimes. As he came through the door, Martin had just finished sewing up the wound in the potter's arm and was binding it with strips of linen. The leech's florid face was rigid with distaste, and as he packed up the small bag that contained his instruments, he said to Bascot, \"Unless the baseness in this man's soul rots the wound, it will heal. He will be fit and ready for the hangman's noose.\"\n\nBascot made no reply, and Martin left, slamming the door to the cell as he went out. Wilkin was slumped on the floor, his sallow skin ashen. His injured arm was held close in front of him, the narrow bands of white cloth which bound it luminous against the darkness of his jerkin. There was a livid bruise on his forehead that must have been caused by the blow from the man-at-arms. He gave no sign of being aware of Bascot's presence, and the Templar had to call his name before he lifted his head.\n\n\"You know why you are here, potter. What have you to say to the charge?\"\n\nWilkin shook his head weakly and licked his lips before he answered. \"The knight who brought me here said that I am accused of putting poison in the honey that comes from our apiary. He said I am a murderer.\" He looked up at Bascot with dark, pain-filled eyes. \"I did not do it, lord. Why would I wish to kill anyone?\"\n\n\"Perhaps in revenge for the rape of your daughter?\" Bascot's tone was icy.\n\nThe potter's jaw sagged. \"Rosamunde? What has she to do with this?\"\n\n\"I have been told that you believe the bailiff, Ivor Severtsson, to be guilty of violating her and getting her with child. Are you going to tell me that is not so?\"\n\nA shadow of anger crossed Wilkin's face. \"No, I do not deny that I accused him. And it is true, he did rape her. She has never been right in her mind since then, and he is the cause of her misery. But I still do not understand why you believe I would poison anyone because of it.\"\n\n\"One of the pots of poisoned honey was found in the home of a spice merchant, Robert le Breve, after he and his family died from eating a dish that contained the honey. That poisoned pot was one that was originally given to Reinbald, a merchant of Hungate, by his nephew, Ivor Severtsson, and it came from the Nettleham apiary.\" Bascot noticed that the potter's eyes flickered with unease when he mentioned the merchant's name, and he pressed the potter harder. \"Was it your intent to kill Severtsson when he dined at the home of his uncle in retaliation for the attack you believe he made on your daughter?\"\n\nWilkin looked at Bascot in bemusement for a few moments before he answered. \"Lord, I did not do this thing of which I am accused. I hate the bailiff and would do him harm if I could, but I would never murder him or anyone else. I swear it by the precious blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"But you do know who Reinbald is, don't you?\"\n\nThe potter nodded, his mouth sullen. Bascot remembered that Wilkin sold pots in the town of Lincoln. It could have been that the merchant's wife was one of his customers. \"And you have been to his home, haven't you, in the course of peddling your wares?\"\n\nAgain the potter nodded, his eyes on the ground. \"When was the last time you were there?\"\n\nWilkin's response was quick and defensive. \"I have not been there for nigh on two years, lord, I swear.\"\n\n\"And why is that, potter? The merchant is prosperous; his custom would be a welcome one. How did it come about that Reinbald's wife no longer buys the pots you sell?\"\n\nThe answer came in a low mumble that Bascot had to strain his ears to hear. \"She heard that I had accused her nephew of rape and told me not to come there anymore.\"\n\nBascot strode over to the potter and grasped the lank hair on his head, jerking him backwards. Wilkin cried out in pain, but the Templar did not release his grip.\n\n\"And so you not only have a grudge against the nephew, but the aunt also, do you not? Did she tell her neighbours of the lies you were spreading about the bailiff? Did others turn you away and refuse to buy your wares? Did she cause the loss of the silver pennies those sales would have brought?\"\n\nBascot released the man and walked across the cell and then turned and faced the potter, who was now cringing in fear. \"It would seem, potter, that you have reason to wish both Severtsson and his family harm. I think you are guilty of these crimes.\"\n\nWilkin fell onto his knees. \"I swear to you, lord, I am not. I was angry, yes, when I told the others about the bailiff raping Rosamunde, and should have kept a still tongue in my head, but it is the truth.\" The potter lifted his head and looked at Bascot directly. \"The bailiff has never denied the charge. He has never even spoken to me of it, for all that he must have known what I said. Would an innocent man not defend himself against such an accusation? He must be guilty, else he would have taken me to task, perhaps even dismissed me from the apiary.\" His words held a ring of triumph.\n\nBascot walked back to him and bent his head down low so that his own face was only inches from Wilkin's. \"It is not Severtsson's guilt or innocence that is in question here, potter, it is yours.\"\n\nWilkin fell silent, and Bascot straightened up and walked back across the room. Having once been a prisoner himself, after his capture by the Saracens, he knew only too well what it was to suffer the degradation that came from being at the mercy of others. Although he had little liking for inflicting the same humiliation on another human being, it might be the only way to get the man in front of him to admit the truth.\n\n\"You deliver your wares to the castle kitchen and the Priory of All Saints, and poisoned pots of honey were found in both places,\" he said to Wilkin accusingly. \"How has anyone at either place offended you? Did Gosbert make some complaint about the quality of the pots you supply? Or did he, perhaps, make a jest about your daughter and her bastard child? Did one of the monks at the priory rebuke you for siring a girl who is so wayward, or shun you because of her sin?\"\n\nWilkin struggled up from the ground on which he lay and pushed himself into a sitting position, holding his injured arm carefully to his chest. His eyes were filled with anguish, but an expression of calmness had come over his countenance and he was suddenly infused with a humble dignity. \"Lord, I admit that I hate Severtsson and would gladly see him come to harm, but I am not guilty of these crimes, nor do I have any reason to hurt those who live in the castle or the priory. But I have no way to prove my innocence. I can only throw myself on the mercy of God, and trust that He will come to my rescue.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Late that night, after Bascot and Gianni had retired to the chamber at the top of the old keep, the Templar once again tossed on his pallet, finding sleep elusive. His thoughts kept going back over the conversation he had with Nicolaa de la Haye after he finished questioning Wilkin.\n\n\"He made no attempt to deny his loathing of Ivor Severtsson,\" Bascot had told the castellan, \"but he swears he is innocent, and despite the evidence, his voice had the ring of truth. The grudge against the bailiff is an old one, and I could not find any reason for him to wish hurt to anyone in our own household or the priory.\"\n\nNicolaa gave him a wry smile and said, \"I think it is possible, de Marins, that your instinct has led you astray.\" She then went on to tell him that, while he had been engaged in interrogating Wilkin, she had spoken to Eudo, her steward, and asked if he knew of any reason for the potter to hold a grudge against those who lived in the castle.\n\n\"Eudo said that two weeks ago he told Wilkin that a potter from the village of Burton had come to the castle and made an offer to supply vessels of the same type as Wilkin's at a more advantageous price. Wilkin was greatly dismayed by the news and said that he could not sell his wares any more cheaply than he already did, for he would not make a profit. Eudo sympathised with him but said he had no choice other than to buy our vessels from the Burton potter and would not be ordering any more from Wilkin. Eudo also told me that he had heard from the refectorer at the priory that this other potter had made the same offer to him, and with the same result. Wilkin is about to lose his commission from both places.\"\n\nShe had looked at the Templar with sad eyes. \"Wilkin's hatred of Severtsson may stem from an occurrence that he believes happened two years ago, but malice is like a wound that does not heal; it festers and gets worse with time. Any additional blow makes the pain unbearable. You have just told me that the potter lost customers in the town when the bailiff's aunt became aware of his accusation against her nephew. Now the custom of our household and that of the priory has been denied to him, and I would think that a substantial portion of the small income he makes comes from these two patronages. He is now faced not only with bearing the continual burden of his daughter's shame but also with the prospect of deprivation for himself and his family. Such an appalling set of circumstances could easily have made him wish to strike out at those he believes to have caused them, however dire the consequences might prove to be.\"\n\nBascot made no answer, and she then tapped a small wooden box that lay on the table in front of her. \"This contains the roots that de Laubrec found in the potter's shed. I sent one of the servants with it to the priory as soon as it was given to me. Jehan confirmed that it is Helleborus niger.\"\n\nShe lifted the lid and revealed the black roots inside. They were evil looking; long, thin and straggly at the ends. \"It would seem to me there cannot be any doubt of his guilt.\"\n\nBascot had to admit that her conclusion was a logical one. \"As you say, lady, this additional evidence seems irrefutable.\"\n\nNicolaa saw the lingering uncertainty in Bascot's eye. She had a great regard for the Templar knight but knew that he was prone to niceties of conscience that sometimes were counterproductive to his well-being. His empathy for those who found themselves in distress was to be lauded, as was the case with his young servant, but she feared that, because of it, he had allowed himself to be deceived by the potter's false protestations. \"We are all prey to letting our sensibilities cloud our judgement, de Marins,\" she said, not unkindly. \"Only God has the ability to be infallible.\"\n\nBascot reluctantly nodded his acceptance of her statement, and the castellan then said it might be prudent to give some consideration as to whether the beekeeper or his daughter may have had any complicity in the crimes or, at least, knowledge of them. \"Even though the potter has been apprehended, if any of his family were in accordance with his actions, they may try to continue the vendetta he has begun. You have met his wife and her father\u2014do you think it possible they were involved?\"\n\nBascot thought back to his trip to Nettleham with Hamo. Old Adam's manner had been strange, but he had seemed honest in his adamant denial that poison had been placed in the honey while it was in his care. Margot, however, had seemed anxious. Was it because she knew what her husband had done and feared the two Templars had come to take him into custody? Or was she merely afraid that Wilkin would once again blurt out his accusation that Severtsson had raped their daughter?\n\n\"Neither of them could have been involved in placing the pots of honey where they were found,\" he said. \"They would have been noticed by Gosbert or Eric if one of them had entered the castle kitchen, and while the old man may have entered the priory under guise of a patient seeking medical help, his daughter would most certainly not have been admitted to a place where females are not allowed.\" He paused. \"As to knowledge of Wilkin's intent\u2014I think the old man could not have been involved. His attitude to his bees is that of a mother towards her children. He would have considered poisoning his honey to be a breach of trust between himself and the insects.\"\n\n\"And the potter's wife, Margot?\" Nicolaa asked.\n\n\"I do not like to think that any woman would willingly give her assistance to bringing about such terrible deaths, especially to a young girl like Juliette le Breve, but Margot seemed very apprehensive on the day that I went there. That could be explained by the presence of Severtsson and the worry that reprisal was about to be taken for the charge her husband had made against him, but it could also be attributed to fear that Wilkin was about to be arrested for poisoning the honey.\"\n\nFinally, Bascot had to admit there was a chance that Margot may have been privy to her husband's actions. \"It is possible she may have known what Wilkin was doing, but whether or not she was in accordance with him is difficult to tell. Perhaps if I were to go back to the apiary and question both her and her father again, I might be able to form a more certain opinion.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded her agreement. \"If you think she abetted her husband, de Marins, bring her back with you and she will be charged along with Wilkin. A wife's duty to her husband does not include aiding him in the commission of murder.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Bascot went to Nettleham the next morning, with Gianni riding pillion behind him. The old man, Margot and her young son were sitting disconsolately around the table when they arrived, the wooden bowls containing their morning meal of boiled oats still in front of them, the contents barely touched. Rosamunde sat, as she had done before, in the corner, mindlessly stirring the contents in a bowl upon her lap. Her child, this time, was sleeping on a small pallet in a corner of the cot, making small sucking movements with its mouth as it dreamed.\n\nMargot looked up when the Templar appeared at the door of the cot and tried to hide her tears as she hastened to offer him a cup of ale. Adam slowly rose from his stool and touched his brow in deference, his face full of sadness. Only the boy, Young Adam, had shown any animation. Forgetting his former awe of the knight, he ran up to Bascot and asked when his father was to be freed from gaol.\n\n\"He will not be released, I am afraid,\" Bascot told him. \"He is to be charged with murder and will be committed for trial at the sheriff's court.\"\n\nThe boy made no response, but tears sprung into his eyes and ran down his cheeks, and the indrawn gasp of Margot's breath was audible. Young Adam ran to his grandfather. \"He won't be hanged, will he, Granfer?\" the boy asked in a desperate voice.\n\nAdam clasped his arm around the youngster's shoulders. \"I reckon as how he might be, lad,\" he said in a weary voice. The beekeeper then looked at Bascot, licked his lips as though summoning up courage and said tremulously, \"He b'aint guilty, lord.\"\n\n\"The evidence would suggest otherwise,\" Bascot replied sternly. \"The roots of the plant that is used to make the poison were found here at the apiary, in his workshop. Why else would he have such a substance, except to make the venom?\"\n\n\"Those were only for treating our old cow, lord,\" Margot burst out. \"I used to keep the roots here, in the cot, but when Rosamunde's little lad started to crawl about, Wilkin said 'twas best to keep them someplace safe, lest the babby accidentally get ahold of one and put it in his mouth. That was the reason they were in his shed. There was no poison made from them, I swear it on my children's lives.\"\n\nWhile her earnestness was convincing, and her statement confirmed by what the rat catcher, Dido, had told him about her storage of the plant, that did not mean that she had not been aware of the use to which her husband had put it, even if she had not realised it until after the victims were dead.\n\n\"It may be that he did so without your knowledge,\" Bascot said. \"You cannot deny that he harboured a great hatred for Severtsson and had reason to try and take his life.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord, hatred he had, but it was misplaced and both my daughter and myself told him so,\" Adam said wearily. \"But even so, Sir Bascot, Wilkin would never have poisoned those other people. The knight that came and took Wilkin away said there were six dead, and one of 'em a little child.\" The beekeeper shook his head. \"Not only would my bees have told me if Wilkin had done such a thing, 'tis not in his nature.\"\n\nIgnoring the old man's reference to his bees, Bascot asked, \"What do you mean, his hatred was misplaced? Your son-by-marriage was adamant in his accusation that the bailiff had raped his daughter.\"\n\n\"'Twasn't Master Severtsson that got her with child,\" Adam replied. \" 'Twas Drue Rivelar, son of the old bailiff.\" Bascot remembered that Dido had also related this information, and so he didn't interrupt as the beekeeper went on. \"We told Wilkin it was so, but he didn't believe us.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Bascot asked.\n\nIt was Margot who answered him, her thin face tinged with weariness and her voice heavy with emotion. \"Wilkin never knew that Drue was her lover. Rosamunde told me and my father but we kept it from my husband because he would have thrashed her if he'd known she was out in the woods keeping company with the lad. When Drue was taken for a brigand, Rosamunde was sore upset and went out into the woods to be by herself for a spell. When it got to evening and she hadn't come back, Wilkin went lookin' for her and found her with her clothing all torn and mazed in her senses, just like she is now. He'd seen Master Severtsson nearby just before he found her, and when her belly began to swell, he swore that the bailiff had raped her that day and was responsible for getting her with child. Da and I tried to tell him he was wrong, and that it was grief that had made her the way she was, but he wouldn't listen.\"\n\n\"Nonetheless, Wilkin believed it was true. That is the reason he tried to harm Severtsson.\"\n\nNeither Margot nor Adam made an answer to his charge, but the beekeeper said, \"But, lord, why would he want to harm all those others? He had no cause to wish the deaths of anyone in the castle or at the priory. It doesn't make any sense.\"\n\n\"Did Wilkin not tell you that he had lost his commission to sell his pots at both places? Another potter made an offer to supply them more cheaply and your son-by-marriage was told of this two weeks ago. He not only had a grudge against Severtsson, but good reason to be resentful of Lady Nicolaa and the prior of All Saints.\"\n\nThe old man's mouth dropped open and he looked at his daughter. Margot's face had gone white with shock. \"He never said a word to me about losing their custom, Da,\" she said to her father in a whisper. \"Not one word.\"\n\nAdam's shoulders slumped. \"Then I reckon there's no chance for him,\" he said resignedly. \"None at all.\"\n\nBoth Margot and Young Adam began to cry. Bascot could see that their distress had upset Gianni, for he went to the beekeeper's grandson and laid a hand on his shoulder in commiseration. The Templar shared his servant's compassion. There was stark desolation in the faces before him. It dispelled any doubt he might have harboured that Margot or her father were guilty of complicity in Wilkin's crimes. Their astonishment at learning that the potter had lost two of his most important customers was too real to be feigned.\n\nCalling to Gianni, he left them to their misery, wishing wholeheartedly he had not been the bearer of the news that had precipitated it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "As bascot and Gianni were on their way back to Lincoln, Nicolaa de la Haye was sitting alone in her chamber, a blank sheet of parchment, quill and ink pot before her, reviewing the events of the past few days. Early that morning she had received another visit from Henry Stoyle, the town bailiff. Since it was his duty to oversee the administration of local justice and mete out punishment for minor infractions, the town gaol fell within his province, even though Roget, captain of the town guard, was the man responsible for arresting wrongdoers and took his orders from the sheriff. It was because of this that Stoyle had come to the castle early, just after Terce, and made a request to speak to her. When she admitted him to her chamber, he had expressed his concern that the prisoner, Wilkin, would be unsafe if he was kept in the town gaol until his fate was decided.\n\n\"Even though he was only arrested last night,\" Stoyle had said, \"news of his incarceration has already spread through the town, and many of the citizens are crying out for his immediate punishment. If Wilkin is placed within the town gaol to await his trial, I fear they will not have the patience to wait for the court's verdict and may attempt to extract it themselves. Their mood is ugly, lady, and tempers may fly too high for Roget and his men to be able to prevent them from seizing the potter and hanging him.\"\n\nShe had assured Stoyle that she would keep Wilkin confined in the castle cell until her husband returned but, after the bailiff left, thought that her own men-at-arms would be just as averse to keeping the potter safe as the townspeople. She could not blame them. The crimes had been despicable, not only for the stealth in which the poisonings had been carried out but for the dreadful manner of the deaths the victims had suffered. She felt her fingers tighten compulsively on the shaft of the quill pen as she recalled how close she had come to such a fate. It was not often that she allowed her composure to slip, as her father, once he had realised there would be no male heir to his estate, had impressed on her the need never to show fear in the face of adversity. To do so was to weaken one's resolve and give strength to an enemy, he had said, and he had been right. But when she had watched the rat's body contort with pain from the effect of the poison, she had come as near as she had ever done to giving way to her emotions. Had her throat not been too sore to swallow, she would have eaten the simnel cake that Gosbert had so innocently made and would have suffered the terrible death that had overtaken Blund's clerk. Even though the poisoner was now safely incarcerated, the memory made her shudder.\n\nPushing the recollection of her fear aside, she pulled a piece of parchment towards her. Gerard must be told not only of the death in the priory and the subsequent arrest of Wilkin but also that the castle, and the town, had sore need of the knights of his escort to assist in keeping order among the populace. As she wrote, she reflected that although she often privately disparaged her husband's impatient and bellicose manner, she would welcome the return of his commanding presence to Lincoln town."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "As Bascot guided his horse through Newport Arch and back into Lincoln, he ruminated on what he had been told about Wilkin's charge of rape against the bailiff. Even if the man responsible for Rosamunde's pregnancy was the now dead brigand, Drue Rivelar, it did not mean that Ivor Severtsson had not violated the girl. He had promised Preceptor d'Arderon he would try and find out if the charge was valid. Although he was reluctant to see Wilkin again, he would have to do so in order to discover why the potter was so positive of his claim.\n\nOnce in the castle bail, Bascot took his mount to the stables and left it in charge of a groom. Ernulf was crossing the ward as he and Gianni emerged from the stables, and the serjeant hailed them.\n\n\"You're just in time to have a decent meal,\" he said as he walked up to them. \"Now that bastard of a potter is safe behind bars, Gosbert is making some tasty dishes' full of spicy sauces to serve at midday.\"\n\n\"That is welcome news,\" Bascot said, glancing at Gianni. The boy had a healthy appetite and enjoyed his food. The Templar hoped that the prospect of eating more than the simple fare that had been served in the hall for the last few days might help to lessen the dejected mood that had descended on the lad when he had witnessed the misery on the faces of Wilkin's family. Gianni, however, did not brighten.\n\n\"I am just on my way to question the potter again,\" Bascot told the serjeant. \"I want to find out more about his accusation of rape against Severtsson. I have no doubt he believes it, else he would not have tried to take his revenge, but I would like to be able to assure the preceptor as to whether or not it is true.\"\n\n\"Rather you than me,\" Ernulf snorted. \"If I was left alone with that cowson for more than a few moments, the sheriff would be relieved of his task of bringing him to trial. When I think that it could have been milady that was lying dead instead of the clerk...\"\n\nThe serjeant's rage made him choke on his words, and Bascot was sure that if Ernulf were given the opportunity he would, as he had said, despatch Wilkin to hell without a second's thought.\n\nBascot spoke to Gianni. \"I may be some time. Go with Ernulf and get yourself something to eat. I will come to the hall once I am finished with the potter.\"\n\nThe boy nodded, and as Bascot watched him walk away, he wished he could do something to alleviate his despondency. Now not only those directly connected to the victims but Wilkin's own innocent family would be affected by his vile actions. The old beekeeper and his daughter, as well as Young Adam, Rosamunde and her little child, would all suffer in their turn for the crimes he had committed. He felt the taste of gall rise into his throat and strode swiftly to the door of the holding cell. The man-at-arms on guard saw the black look on his countenance and swiftly unlocked the door, privately hoping the Templar would use his sword on the man inside.\n\nWhen Bascot entered, Wilkin was sitting crouched in the corner, one of his ankles secured by a manacle to the wall. The bandage on his injured arm was bloodstained, and there were some new bruises on his face. It would appear that the soldiers who had attached his chains had been none too gentle while carrying out their task.\n\nThe potter looked up at his visitor, fear in his eyes. He struggled to a sitting position, cradling his bandaged arm with the other hand. As Bascot approached him, he cowered.\n\nThe Templar knew the potter's hatred for the bailiff was real, and there must be a reason. Had Rosamunde, as Dido had said was possible, given her favours willingly to both Severtsson and the dead brigand? If she had, could it be that Wilkin, driven by shame for his daughter's wanton ways, had blindly fixated on the bailiff as the cause of her downfall? He decided to test the theory on the man in front of him.\n\n\"I have been to Nettleham and spoken to your wife and her father,\" Bascot said to him roughly. \"They both tell me that your daughter was the paramour of a brigand and it is he who was the father of her child, not Severtsson. Your tale of the bailiff raping her is false. Why did you invent such a charge? Is it because Rosamunde also lay with Severtsson and you were enraged by her lechery?\"\n\n\"I did not invent it, lord,\" Wilkin replied shakily. The icy intensity of the gaze in the eye of the knight looming over him chilled his bones, and he had difficulty in keeping his voice steady. \"My daughter is not a jade, even though there are those who would name her one. I did not lie when I said the bailiff took her against her will.\"\n\n\"Did you see him do so?\" Bascot demanded.\n\nWilkin shook his head. \"No. But I saw him just a few minutes before I found her, coming from the place where she was laying.\"\n\nThe potter swallowed hard before continuing. \"Her clothes were all flung up, lord, and... and... her woman's parts uncovered. She had bruises on her arms and her mouth was swollen. I asked her what had happened, but she didn't speak, didn't even look at me, and she's been that way ever since.\"\n\nWilkin looked up at Bascot, almost defiantly. \"What else could have happened to her, lord, but that she'd been raped? Margot and Adam tried to tell me that it was grief for the brigand that made her lose her senses, and they said I was imagining the rest, but they didn't see her like that, lord, and I did.\"\n\nBascot turned from the prisoner and walked a few paces away. Once again, the potter's words had a ring of truth in them. But he had lied before and could easily be doing so again.\n\nBascot turned back and strode over to where Wilkin crouched on the floor of the cell. \"I am going to look into this matter further, potter, and if I find that you are lying, I will see to it that you suffer the torments of hell before you hang.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "After Bascot left the holding cell, he decided to go down into the town and call at the house of the merchant Reinbald. Nicolaa de la Haye had said there was a need to warn all of the people involved in the murders that they would be called as witnesses at Wilkin's trial. Using that as a pretext to visit them would give him an opportunity to find out, from Reinbald's family, more about Ivor Severtsson's character. He went to where Gianni was sitting with Ernulf in the hall and told the boy he would be gone for a short time.\n\nGianni gave him a solemn nod, and Bascot, his concern for the boy deepening, left the hall and made his way down into the town.\n\nThe mood among the townspeople was more subdued than it had been the day before. The flesh markets were busy as goodwives bought meat, poultry or fish, and pedlars were once again hawking their wares among the throng. Some of the men, however, were still clustered in groups of two or three outside many of the alehouses and were speaking in angry tones together. The few snatches of conversation that Bascot overheard were of Wilkin and the need to bring him to a swift justice.\n\nAs he reached the end of Hungate Street, where Reinbald lived, he saw a horse tied to a hitching post near the merchant's house. It seemed familiar to him, and after a moment or two he realised it was the one that Ivor Severtsson had been riding when he and Hamo had met the bailiff in Nettleham village.\n\nHe was admitted to the house by a young woman servant and was shown into the large room that served as the merchant's hall. It was well appointed, with an ample fireplace, two oaken settles with padded tops and a large table around which were placed chairs with ladder backs. Reinbald was sitting in one of these, his younger nephew, Harald, beside him, while his wife was standing in front of the fireplace, speaking in soothing tones to Ivor. The bailiff's face was sullen, and when he turned along with the others to see who was entering the room, Bascot saw that his mouth was set in lines of peevish irritation.\n\nReinbald rose immediately as the maid announced their visitor, and he offered Bascot a cup of wine from the flagon that was standing on the table. Bascot refused the merchant politely, saying his visit would not be a lengthy one, and that he had merely come to enquire if they had heard of the potter's arrest. When Reinbald confirmed that they had, Bascot told them about the need for their attendance when Wilkin was brought to trial and that detailed evidence of the potter's grievance against Ivor would be required.\n\nHis words brought an immediate outburst of speech from Helge, in which was mixed a word here and there of her native tongue. She was a large woman, heavy of frame and with thick hands that she waved angrily as she spoke. When the Templar had met her on the morning of her neighbours' deaths, she had been distraught, her fair hair in disarray and tears streaming down her cheeks. Now she seemed recovered from her grief, and her manner was indignant. Her fat fingers moved in a cadence of angry punctuation as she spoke.\n\n\"That man,\" she said, \"he is not only a murderer but a l\u00f8gner, a liar. Only this morning Ivor was taken to task by Preceptor d'Arderon about the terrible falsehood that djevel spread and now you tell us that it must be repeated again before all those who attend the sheriff's court. It is not to be borne, I tell you. It cannot be done.\"\n\nReinbald reproved his wife. \"It must be, Helge. The court will enquire if we know of any reason for the potter's hatred of Ivor, and if we do not speak of it, we will be forsworn.\"\n\n\"But it is not true,\" Helge burst out.\n\n\"The potter believes it is,\" Reinbald replied, \"and that is why it must be told.\"\n\nBascot studied the merchant's wife for a moment; her ample bosom was heaving with outrage, and her fair skin, so like that of her two nephews, was covered in red blotches. \"I was told by the potter, Mistress Helge, that nearly two years ago, after he made his allegation about your nephew, you refused Wilkin your custom and encouraged those who live nearby to do the same. What reason did you give your neighbours for your sudden disinclination to buy his wares?\"\n\nHer pale blue eyes flickered with sudden misgiving as she replied evasively, \"I did not tell them of the lies he was spreading.\"\n\n\"You must have given them a reason. What was it?\"\n\nShe pursed her lips and glanced first at Ivor and then at her husband before she answered. \"I told them he had tried to be familiar with my maidservant,\" she said defiantly, \"and that when I reprimanded him on her behalf, he had been insolent to me. I said that if they did not take care, he might take the same liberties in their households.\"\n\nSilence followed her words, and she immediately made an attempt to justify her actions. \"I could not tell them the truth. People always want to gossip, and soon the story would have spread about the town.\" Her head came up and she placed her hand on Ivor's arm. \"My nephew is a handsome man; there are many of my husband's acquaintance that would be only too pleased to have him as a bridegroom for their daughters. Such a tale would have ruined his reputation.\"\n\nBascot glanced at the faces of the rest of the family. Reinbald's heavy face seemed to droop as he shook his head in exasperation, while Harald's gaze was fastened downwards on the contents of his wine cup as though he wished it would swallow him up. Unlike the other two men, Ivor stared at the Templar boldly and placed his own hand over the one his aunt had laid on his forearm, as though in support of her actions.\n\n\"But, mistress,\" Bascot said softly, \"was not the tale you invented for your neighbours just as much a lie as the one you claim the potter told?\"\n\n\"Nei,\" she said firmly. \"No. I said it only to protect my nephew from that djevel's scurrilous tongue. I would never have said it otherwise. It is my duty to protect my dead sister's sons and that is what I was doing.\"\n\nFinally, Harald spoke. \"Tante, do you not realise that the potter was doing just the same thing? Even though Ivor says it is not true, Wilkin most assuredly believes it is. He said what he did in a righteous attempt to defend his daughter's virtue.\"\n\n\"Virtue?\" Ivor burst out. \"The girl had no virtue left to defend, Harald. She had taken a brigand for a lover. What girl of modesty would do that?\"\n\nBascot looked at the two brothers, so alike in appearance but so different in nature. Harald made no reply to Ivor's statement but merely resumed his contemplation of his wine cup.\n\n\"Why did you not speak to the potter at the time he made the accusation against you, bailiff?\" Bascot asked. \"It is now almost two years since he first made the charge. Why did you not refute it?\"\n\n\"That is what Preceptor d'Arderon asked me,\" Ivor replied, his eyes hot with anger. \"And I will tell you, Sir Bascot, the same as I told him. The potter is a peasant and has the clod-like mind of one. I did not think his lies, or the opinions of the other landless villeins he repeated them to, worthy of my attention.\"\n\nWhen Bascot left the merchant's home a few minutes later, Reinbald accompanied him to the door and apologised for his wife's discourtesy. \"Please assure Lady Nicolaa that both I and my wife will comply with her request to attend the sheriff's court and that we will give our evidence without reservation.\"\n\nAs he walked back up Hungate towards the castle, the Templar reflected on how personalities within a family, despite similarities in appearance, could be so very different. The physical resemblance between Ivor and his brother Harald was strong, but their outlooks on life were almost diametrically opposed. Bascot did not think that Ivor, with his overwhelming sense of self-importance, had given one moment's thought to the poverty-stricken state that awaited Maud le Breve's old nurse, Nantie, but Harald had enough compassion to be concerned about her future homelessness and was doing his best to forestall it.\n\nAs he neared the castle, and was walking up Spring Hill in the direction of Bailgate, Bascot saw Roget standing by the corner of the fish market, talking to one of his guards. When the former mercenary saw the Templar approaching, he hailed him and asked if there was any news of when the sheriff might return.\n\n\"I will be glad to see him back, de Marins,\" Roget said. \"It is a little quieter in the town now that the potter has been arrested, but the citizens are anxious for him to be punished and are becoming unruly in their impatience.\"\n\nThe captain rubbed his hand across his thick beard, causing the copper rings threaded in its strands to tinkle with a musical sound as they pushed together. \"I must admit I would like to gut that b\u00e2tard myself. Even if it is my duty to keep him safe from those who would punish him, I have more than a little sympathy with them.\"\n\nBascot understood the captain's acrimony, especially after seeing the little body of Juliette le Breve and hearing Nantie's witness of how the child had died. He felt the same way himself.\n\nIt occurred to the Templar that Roget might be able to help him discover whether Ivor Severtsson had been guilty of assaulting Rosamunde, and he asked the captain if he knew the bailiff.\n\nRoget shook his head. \"I have seen him about the town once or twice, but I have never spoken to him,\" he replied.\n\n\"I would like to find out if there is any truth to the potter's charge that Severtsson raped his daughter,\" Bascot said. \"Whether he did or not has no bearing on Wilkin's guilt, for the potter believed it was so whether it is true or not, but I promised the preceptor I would look into the matter.\"\n\nRoget nodded his head in agreement. The captain was an unabashed lecher, but Bascot knew that, like himself and d'Arderon, he had little regard for any man who would sexually assault a woman.\n\n\"I would be interested to know if any women of the town are acquainted with him and have an opinion of his... proclivities,\" Bascot said.\n\nThe captain gave him a straight look. \"You mean you want me to ask the bawds in Butwerk if he is capable of rape, do you not?\"\n\n\"Or any other women of the town who are known to give their favours lightly,\" Bascot replied. \"I am sure you are acquainted with more than one or two of that sort.\"\n\nRoget gave a wry grin. \"That is true,\" he admitted. \"I will do as you ask, de Marins. Any man who would force a woman to his will needs to be revealed as the cochon he is.\"\n\nBascot thanked Roget and resumed his walk back to the castle. The Templar knew it was a sin to harbour a desire to bring discredit to another, but if Ivor Severtsson was guilty of rape, it would give him great satisfaction to prove it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Nicolaa's hope that her husband would return soon was granted the next morning when, just before the hour of Sext, Gerard Camville, at the head of his retinue, rode into the bail. All of the horses were covered in a coating of dust, as were the cloaks the riders wore. The sheriff was a massive man, with muscles swelling at neck and thigh, and the stallion he rode was of the same large proportions. On his face was a bellicose scowl, and he glared about him as he rode up to the steps of the forebuilding and dismounted. Behind him was his son, the hood of his mail coat pushed back in the warmth of the morning air to display the flaming red hair that he had inherited from his mother.\n\nThe rest of the entourage rode to the stables and wearily got down from their steeds and gave them into the care of the grooms. The messenger Nicolaa had sent with news of Wilkin's incarceration was with them, having met his lord as the sheriff was on his return journey.\n\nAll of them followed Gerard Camville into the hall, and servants were sent in haste to bring food and drink for the returning travellers.\n\nBarely an hour later, a page came to summon Bascot to the sheriff's chamber, and when Bascot mounted the stairs and knocked on the door of the room, he was surprised to find that it was not Gerard who awaited him, but his son, Richard.\n\nThe room he entered was slightly larger than Lady Nicolaa's and strewn with belts, boots and tack for horses. Against one of the walls was a substantial bed, laid with a coverlet of wolf skin. Here there was no sign of parchment or the implements of writing; Camville was numerate, but his literacy was minimal, and he depended on his wife to attend to the many details that were involved in managing their vast demesne. Although, as her husband, he was lord over all of the possessions she had inherited from her father, he was an indolent man and was content to leave the administration of their lands to her, preferring to devote his time to the pleasures of the hunt. Included in the inheritance she had received from her father was the constableship of the castle, and despite the fact that Gerard nominally held the office, it was Nicolaa who was viewed as castellan throughout all of Lincoln. Both she and her husband were content that it should be so.\n\nBut the office of sheriff was viewed by Gerard in a different light. The post was a lucrative one, and he took his duties seriously and guarded his rights jealously. Any person who was misguided enough to break the laws that he upheld and foolish enough to get caught would reap his punishment quickly and without any show of mercy. The fate of Wilkin now resided in his hands.\n\nRichard was sitting at a table that was laid with a chessboard and chessmen, a magnificent set that had been given to his father by the Henry II, sire of both King Richard and King John. Gerard was an avid player and valued the set highly; he had been a familiare, or close companion, to King Henry, and still mourned his loss even after the passage of so many years. The chess pieces were of carved oak; half of them were stained and polished until they were almost black, and the other half had been left in the natural colour of the wood and covered with only a protective coating of oil. Each of the pieces had been set into a base of precious metal, the squat men-at-arms in pewter, the bishops, knights and castles in silver and the monarchs in gold. The board on which the pieces were set was a thick slab of oak, the surface inlaid with alternating squares of light and dark wood and the edges carved with a motif of scrolled leaves. The arrangement of the pieces indicated that a game was in progress, with a couple of men lying to one side after having been captured and the others in various positions on the board. It seemed as though the white side was losing; the black men-at-arms were fast encroaching on the king, and one of the two white knights had been taken.\n\nThe sheriff's son looked up from his study of the pieces and greeted Bascot civilly before offering him a cup of wine. \"Do you play chess, de Marins?\" he asked.\n\n\"I used to play with my father many years ago,\" Bascot replied, accepting the proffered cup, \"but not since then.\"\n\n\"Ah yes,\" Richard said. \"It is frowned upon by the church for its warlike aspects, I know, and because many are foolish enough to lose large sums wagering upon the outcome. I assume the Order does not allow it to be played within their ranks?\"\n\nBascot shook his head. \"It is not banned, lord, but it is not often that any of the brothers have time to enjoy a game.\"\n\nRichard picked up a white rook and fingered it thoughtfully. \"My father and I began this match before we left for London.\" He gave a regretful smile. \"I have never beaten him yet, and it looks as though I will lose again this time.\"\n\nThe Templar knew that Camville had rarely been bested at the game. Rumour had it that on one occasion he had lost a match to his wife, which had cost him the price of a gilded statue to St. Monica, the patron saint of mothers, for the castle chapel. Bascot did not know if the rumour held any truth, but there was a statue of the saint in the chapel.\n\nRichard replaced the chess piece on the board and moved to take a seat in front of the small fire that had been lit in the huge grate on one side of the chamber, motioning Bascot to a stool nearby. The sheriff's son then went straight to the heart of the matter he wished to discuss.\n\n\"My father is aware of all of the details concerning the recent deaths in Lincoln, de Marins, including the arrest of the potter, through the messages my mother sent. When the second missive reached us we were almost home, and after learning its contents, he decided that the matter must be dealt with swiftly in order that the townspeople will feel that justice has been served.\"\n\nRichard took a sip of his wine before he continued. \"As soon as it can be arranged, a session of the sheriff's court will be held to try the potter. Since I will be involved in conducting the trial, and you have been closely engaged with the matter, my mother suggested I speak to you and review the evidence against him.\"\n\nBascot complied, taking an occasional sip of wine as he related all that had passed since the morning the clerk had died in the scriptorium. Richard listened intently, only interrupting the Templar on occasion to clarify the identities of the people who had been murdered. When Bascot had finished, Richard poured them both another cup of wine, contemplating what he had been told.\n\n\"The proof against the potter is certainly damning,\" he said finally. \"Not only was the means of making the poison found among his possessions, but he also makes the pots in which it was placed. It is a wonder he would be so foolish.\"\n\nHe looked at Bascot with eyes that were very like Nicolaa's, perceptive and patient. \"My mother told me that she felt you are not entirely convinced of his guilt. Is it because of your measure of the man?\"\n\n\"It was, lord, but this latest evidence of the reason for his resentment against those in the castle and priory seems to prove I am in error,\" Bascot replied. \"I had thought him honest enough, and not likely to risk putting not only his own life, but the lives of his family, in jeopardy. They will be in sore straits without his skill to sustain them.\"\n\n\"But it is not uncommon for a man, if he becomes angry enough, to carry out acts that are ill-advised,\" Richard objected. \"Perhaps that is what happened with the potter.\"\n\n\"It must have been. There is no doubt of his hatred for the bailiff.\"\n\nRichard mused for a moment. \"Ivor Severtsson. I have heard his name before. It was he who gave the information that led to the arrest of a band of brigands, one of which was Drue Rivelar, the son of the previous bailiff of the Wragby property.\"\n\n\"I have heard about the capture of the wolf's heads, but not that it was Severtsson who assisted in their taking,\" Bascot replied.\n\nRichard got up and walked the length of the chamber, his wine cup in his hand, in the restless fashion his father often adopted. \"Severtsson came privately to my father and told him of the crimes that were being committed by Drue, and that he and a few of his cohorts were the ones responsible for attacking and robbing travellers who use the road that passes by Wragby. He also gave information of when the next attack would take place, saying he had overheard Drue arranging it with one of the others in the band.\"\n\nRichard's mouth turned down in distaste. \"My father had no liking for Severtsson and told me that he felt the man's cooperation was given not, as he said, out of concern for the welfare of the travellers but from envy of his master's son. Perhaps my father's estimate was correct, but the jealousy was inspired by resentment of Drue Rivelar's liaison with the potter's daughter rather than his privileged position.\n\n\"That was a difficult time,\" Richard continued. \"I remember well the day Rivelar's boy and the others of the band were taken. A merchant, a draper who was bringing some bolts of cloth he had bought in Grimsby back to Lincoln, was killed, and his servant was badly wounded when he sprang to his master's defence. My father's men arrived in time to save the lives of the half dozen others that made up the party, but all bore injuries from the fray. After the brigands were brought back to the castle, John Rivelar came here almost immediately to protest his son's innocence, but there could be no doubt of Drue's guilt, and in accordance with the law, my father hanged him and the others without trial. Rivelar came every day for a week afterwards, accusing my father of overstepping the bounds of his office and threatening to bring a charge against him before the justices. My father had a little sympathy at first, for Drue was the man's son, but eventually he lost patience and had him thrown out of the keep. It was a relief when Rivelar died a short time later.\"\n\nRichard stopped in his pacing and added, \"It would seem that Ivor Severtsson is once again a source of grief to those who have the misfortune to come in contact with him, but, be that as it may, that does not excuse the potter for attempting to kill him.\"\n\n\"No, it does not,\" Bascot replied.\n\n\"My father intends to convene the sheriff's court as soon as he has had notice of it posted throughout the town and summons have been sent to those who will give witness. That will not take longer than one day, and so the trial will most surely be held on the day following.\"\n\nAs Bascot stood up and was preparing to leave, Richard added, \"Even though the potter will be tried swiftly, de Marins, his punishment, if he is found guilty, will not be meted out until the evidence has been reviewed by the justices at the next assize. We were told in London that the justices will arrive in Lincoln at the end of the first week in May. If they are constant to the schedule we were given, it will not be overlong before the potter meets the fate he deserves.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "That afternoon Roget found that his rounds about the town had taken him near Claxledgate, the gate that led out of the city into the poor suburb of Butwerk. Since Butwerk was the district where most of Lincoln's prostitutes plied their trade, he decided to go to Whore's Alley and ask the bawds who lived there if Ivor Severtsson had ever had occasion to pay for their services.\n\nMost of the stewe-keepers knew Roget and were wary of him. Although it was the town bailiff who had jurisdiction over the management of their brothels, the captain of Camville's guard was a man who was well-known for his ruthless treatment of any who disturbed the sheriff's peace. His sudden appearance in Whore's Alley made them all uneasy.\n\nWhile Roget's presence may have caused trepidation among the stewe-keepers, the bawds were pleased to see him. Although he had never had the need to pay for the services of a harlot, they all knew him as a man who enjoyed the company of women, and one or two of the bawds had willingly shared his bed purely for the pleasure of his company. All of them would gladly have helped him if they could, but unfortunately none remembered having a customer such as Roget described. Severtsson's appearance, with his height and startlingly fair hair and pale eyes, was distinctive, and while many of the male inhabitants of Lincoln could number an antecedent of Nordic origin in their family, none had so completely inherited not only the colouring Ivor Severtsson possessed, but also the height and strength. Each of the harlots shook her head reluctantly in response to the captain's question.\n\nIt was not until Roget went into the last whorehouse in the area that he finally found a bawd who was able to help him. She was one that Roget had never seen before, a full-figured young woman with a tousle of raven black hair, and she nodded with conviction when he described the bailiff.\n\n\"I didn't see him here in Lincoln, Captain,\" the girl, whose name was Amelia, said. She had, she explained, been employed at a bawdy house in Louth until a few months before, and it was there that she had seen a man fitting Severtsson's description. Roget listened to her with interest; Louth was a town which lay just a little over twenty-five miles eastward from Lincoln, but Wragby, where Severtsson was employed as bailiff, was closer to Louth, and could be reached by a relatively short ride on horseback.\n\n\"Are you sure it was the same man, ma belle?\" Roget asked the harlot.\n\nAmelia tossed her head and replied, \"It must be him. He was a big man, just like you said, and very fair, and I remember the stewe-keeper calling him Ivor.\"\n\nRoget gave the girl a smile and stroked his beard knowingly. \"I expect such a well-favoured man would be a pleasant customer to entertain,\" he said. \"And you are pretty enough, ma petite, to stoke any man's desire.\"\n\nAmelia's response surprised Roget. \"I don't know as how I'd want to stoke his,\" she said tartly. \"I remember the time he came and how we all looked at him with admiration, hopin' to be the one he chose. It was my good fortune that he didn't pick me. The girl who went with him was just a tiny little thing, no bigger than a mouse, and he used her so harshly that she couldn't get out of bed for the next two days.\"\n\nHer dark eyes narrowed in disgust. \"She told us afterwards that when she begged him to stop it seemed to inflame him further, and he held his hand over her mouth so she couldn't cry out to the stewe-keeper for help. That's the reason I remember him. I'll never forget the bruises that were on her body. He wasn't a man, he was a beast.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "The return of the sheriff had caused the atmosphere in the town to change yet again. By the next day, and for the first time that any could remember, Gerard Camville's presence was welcomed by the people of Lincoln, and they contrarily lauded his reputation for dealing out summary justice without regard for clemency. Instead of the self-righteous outrage that had dominated their attitude when they had heard news of the potter's arrest, the mood was now one of suppressed excitement. As news of the sheriff's intention to hold his court spread, all of the town's citizens looked forward with a macabre pleasure to seeing the potter sentenced to dangle from the end of a rope.\n\nBascot looked at Gianni. They were sitting in their sleeping chamber at the top of the old keep, and the boy was practicing his letters on one of the pieces of parchment Bascot had bought for him a few weeks before, copying out some basic phrases of Latin grammar that the Templar had penned for him. Bascot noticed that he was doing it in a desultory fashion far removed from the eager industry he had shown throughout the dreary months of winter.\n\nIt had only been since they had visited the apiary that Gianni had been subdued, and the Templar knew that the plight of the beekeeper's family had struck a chord of pity in Gianni's heart. He suspected that the sympathy the boy felt was laced with a resurgence of his own fears and a remembrance of the time before Bascot had found him homeless and starving on a wharf in Palermo. The Templar was well aware that his young servant feared the loss of his master's patronage; that had been made plain last year when Gianni had taken great risks with his own safety to make his services valuable to Nicolaa de la Haye in the hope that she would find him a place in her retinue. Bascot was tempted to tell the boy of his plans to leave the Order to give him reassurance, but until he had been to London and discussed the matter with Master Berard, he was reluctant to do so. The oath that he had taken when he joined the Order had included the avowal that if he should ever decide to leave the brotherhood, he would enter a monastic order that held to a stricter regime than its own. He hoped that the influence of King John and Nicolaa de la Haye would help to alleviate the severity of such a penance, but it was still entirely possible that another act of contrition would be levied, and that could include a pilgrimage that would be of some months' duration or a long period of solitary reflection in a hermit's cell. His own conscience dictated that he would have to undergo whatever expiation was required, and he would ensure that Gianni was taken care of during the time he fulfilled it, but he did not want to raise the boy's hopes only to have him discover that, in order to realise them, it might be necessary to forego the protection of his master for a considerable length of time.\n\nAs he watched the boy, it occurred to Bascot that Gianni's melancholy might be eased if Preceptor d'Arderon were asked to give aid to the beekeeper's family. The Templar was sure Adam and his daughter were blameless of any complicity in the murders, but the destitution they would face once Wilkin was hanged was real. Not only would they be deprived of the income the sale of his pots brought in, it was doubtful if anyone in Lincoln would ever again buy Adam's honey. The recollection that it had once contained a substance that had brought about the deaths of so many people would taint it forever. Adam and Margot would then be without any means of income to sustain them. Bascot was sure that d'Arderon would be willing to grant such a request. The Order commanded all of its members to sustain the poor and hungry whenever they were able, and the preceptor was scrupulous in his observance of the Templar Rule.\n\nBut, even if that was done, there was still the worry that Gianni would feel deserted if his master left him alone. If he could find a worthwhile occupation to engage the boy's interest while he was absent, it might allay his apprehension.\n\nAs the cathedral bells rang out the hour of Sext and signalled that it was almost time for the midday meal to be served, Bascot spoke to the lad. \"I have been thinking, Gianni, that perhaps it is time for you to undergo some further instruction in the art of scribing. There are some good scholas in Lincoln. I shall ask Master Blund if he can recommend one for you to attend, or perhaps a tutor to give you lessons privately.\"\n\nBascot fully intended to observe for the rest of his life the vows of poverty and chastity that he had sworn on the day he had been initiated into the Templar ranks, even when he was no longer a member of the brotherhood, and would take for his own use none of the income that would come to him from his father's fief or his salary from Nicolaa de la Haye. But for Gianni, he did not feel the same constraint. There would be ample funds to pay for the boy to have a good education.\n\nGianni's face lit up when he heard his master's words. The boy knew that even though the Templar had taught him to read and write, there were many other lessons to be learned if one was to be fully educated. First would come instruction in the trivium of grammar, rhetoric and logic and then, if he proved an apt pupil, he would be taught the quadrivium, formal training in arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music. How self-sufficient he would be if he did his lessons well; he could even aspire to one day hold a position such as Master Blund's, secretarius to a lord or lady. He had never dreamed he would have such an opportunity and had, as the Templar so rightly surmised, been fearful that his master would return to the Order and leave him to fend for himself. This anxiety had been heightened by the Templar's recent visits to the preceptory. Although Gianni knew that his master had been going there to have discussions with Preceptor d'Arderon about the evil man who was poisoning people, the boy had still been concerned that the Templar would once again feel a pull to return to their ranks, and it had alarmed him. The preceptory was the one place that Gianni never accompanied his master; unlike other monastic orders, children were not allowed either to join the Order or to come within the places where they lived and worshipped. While the lad, like most other boys his age, held the Templars in awe, he had come to dread the times when his master left him to go to the enclave, fearful that he would never see his protector again. Now such times would no longer make his stomach churn with foreboding.\n\nHe clapped his hands together to signify his pleasure, and even though the chamber was a small one, he managed to turn a somersault within the confines of the tiny room to show his joy. When Bascot told him that he would also see if he could obtain some assistance for the beekeeper's family from the Order, he thought the smile on Gianni's face could grow no wider. Both master and servant went to partake of the midday meal feeling that a little ray of happiness had lightened the gloom that had, up until now, intruded on their hearts and minds."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "As Bascot and Gianni were entering the hall, one of the men-at-arms was taking food to the prisoner in the holding cell. It was only a crust of stale bread and a small bowl of pottage, but Wilkin was frightened to eat it. All of the soldiers who stood guard over him had not hesitated to show their contempt, and he feared that the food had been tainted in some way. That morning, he had been told gleefully by one of them that Gerard Camville had returned and would hold a sheriff's court the following day, and had added the assurance that Wilkin would soon find his neck being stretched.\n\nThe potter was desolate. The prospect of losing his life was fearful enough, but what would happen to his family once he was gone? Tears came to his eyes as he thought of his wife, Margot, their son, Young Adam, and poor, mazed Rosamunde and her babe. How would they all survive without him there to protect them? The worry that had engulfed him when he had been told he would be losing the custom of the castle and priory seemed small by comparison to the future that faced them if he was dead. He knew that the beekeeper would do his best to provide for them, but without the pennies Wilkin earned from the produce of his kiln there would be precious little money to buy flour for bread or other necessities of life. And it would not take long, without him there to tend to their maintenance, for the buildings on the property to fall into disrepair. Once that happened, the Templar preceptor might remove his family from the apiary and give it to more suitable tenants.\n\nWilkin cursed himself for not being able to resist the temptation to denounce the bailiff for raping his daughter. Despite both Margot and Adam insisting that Rosamunde's baby had been fathered by Drue Rivelar, the potter was convinced that Ivor Severtsson had, nonetheless, taken her by force on the day that Wilkin had found her out of her senses in the woods near Nettleham village. It had been only moments before that he had seen the bailiff riding by the place where she was lying. She had been upset before that, it was true, and Wilkin allowed there might be some credence in the tale that she had taken the brigand as her lover and was distraught over his death, but she had, until that morning, been in her right senses. It was only after he had found her in such a dreadful state that she had become mazed. He knew with a father's instinct that Severtsson was the cause, and he had been frustrated by his inability to mete out justice to the arrogant bailiff. Every time Severtsson had come to the apiary after that day, the knowledge of his perfidy had burned in Wilkin's breast like the flames in the heart of his kiln. Finally, when the villagers had looked askance at his daughter's swelling belly, he had no longer been able to contain his anger, and the accusation of rape had burst from his lips. Adam had been right; Wilkin's unruly tongue had been his undoing, and now not only was he going to pay for his sin, but so were his family.\n\nThe potter fell to his knees in the small, cramped cell and, clasping his hands together as tightly as he could, once again sent a desperate prayer heavenward for mercy, beseeching God to look with kindly eyes on the plight of himself and his family."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "It was late In the evening before Roget had A chance to go to the castle and tell Bascot what he had learned about Ivor Severtsson. When he finished repeating the tale the harlot had recounted, he hawked and spat as though Severtsson's name had fouled his mouth. \"I reckon that whoreson of a bailiff could easily be guilty of raping the potter's girl,\" he said to Bascot. \"If I ever find him abroad in Lincoln on a dark night, his features won't be so well-favoured when he wakes up in the morning.\"\n\nBascot nodded grimly. \"You may get the opportunity sooner than you think. Once I tell the preceptor what you have discovered, I doubt whether he will be allowed to retain his post at Wragby. There is no other place for him to go but back to his uncle's home in Hungate.\"\n\nRoget's face split into a grin, the old scar that ran down the side of his face crinkling as a result. \"I look forward with pleasure to the day he is within my reach. I will make the b\u00e2tard wish he had been born a eunuch.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "The next morning was the day of Wilkin's trial, and the hour of Terce had barely finished ringing before a group of townspeople were at the eastern gate of the bail seeking admittance. Not only the leading citizens of the town but also many of lower station were agog to witness Wilkin receive his just reward in the sheriff's court.\n\nBascot and Gianni stood outside the door of the barracks watching as Ernulf directed his men to take up positions along the perimeter of the ward, warning them all to be vigilant for any sign of trouble amongst the crowd. Roget was there, too, with a half dozen of the men that belonged to the town guard. They would be on duty in the hall, to serve the same purpose as the men-at-arms outside.\n\nDe Laubrec came across the bail and walked up to Bascot. \"The sheriff has instructed that discrimination should be used regarding those who are allowed into the hall,\" the knight informed him. \"First, the witnesses must be accommodated, then those of the townspeople who are members of the town council, and other citizens of standing.\" The marshal looked towards the throng that was coming through the gate. \"Once the hall is filled, the rest will have to wait in the bail. I have given Ernulf instructions to wait at the gate and sort the wheat from the chaff, and Eudo has allotted a few servants to assist the serjeant and guide those who are to be admitted to their places.\"\n\nThe marshal ran a hand through his shock of tawny hair, its bright colour striking in contrast with the darkness of his brows and beard. His long face was lugubrious as he said, \"I will be glad when this day is over, de Marins. If the verdict is guilty, we will be hard-pressed to get the prisoner safely back into his cell, and if he is, by some rare chance, deemed innocent, there will be outrage that he has escaped justice. Either way, our task will not be an easy one.\"\n\nThe next hour passed swiftly, with more and more people coming through the gate. Bascot knew he would be required to give evidence against the potter, but he decided to wait until it was nearly time for the proceedings to start before he went into the hall.\n\nThe sheriff had decreed that the court would commence an hour after Terce, and as the time drew nearer, Bascot saw the arrival of those who would give witness. Alaric the physician was among the first, closely followed by Reinbald and his wife, with Harald escorting the old nurse, Nantie. Brother Andrew and another monk, whom Bascot assumed was the novice who had inadvertently fed the ailing lay brother the poison, walked together through the gate just afterwards. Everard d'Arderon was among the last to arrive, clad in the white surcoat of a knight of the Order, his face downcast as he strode through the gate and up the steps into the hall.\n\nJust as Bascot turned to follow the preceptor, he saw a two-wheeled dray approach the gate. Driving it was Adam, the beekeeper, his daughter Margot beside him, clutching her grandson to her breast. Sitting in the back were Young Adam and Rosamunde. The girl was staring blankly ahead, not paying any attention to her surroundings.\n\nHurrying over to the gate, Bascot welcomed the old man and helped Margot down from her seat. \"Are you sure it was wise for you to come here today?\" Bascot asked. \"There will be some amongst the crowd who will not look kindly on the kin of a man suspected of murder.\"\n\n\"I know, lord, and I thank you for your concern,\" Adam replied. \"But if we didn't come, then I reckoned as how people would think we believed Wilkin was guilty.\" The old man lifted his head proudly and looked around him. \"I've never deserted my family in times of need afore, and I'll not do so now.\"\n\nBascot admired the old man's courage, but thought it foolhardy, and watched with misgiving as Adam went around to the back of the cart and gently guided his granddaughter down. His grandson went protectively to her side and took his sister's hand as she stood uncomprehendingly beside him.\n\nAs the crowd began to notice the beekeeper's arrival, their faces became indignant and one or two called out to the beekeeper in anger, deriding him for his presence amongst them. \"I think it would be best if Mistress Margot and the others waited outside in the bail,\" Bascot said to Adam. \"They will be safer there than in the hall.\"\n\nThe beekeeper nodded, and Bascot told Gianni to take them to the bench outside the barracks door. \"I will send one of the men-at-arms to keep guard until I return.\"\n\nAs Gianni shepherded the little group across the bail in the direction of the barracks, Bascot went over to Ernulf. \"I would ask you to provide protection for Wilkin's family,\" he said and, seeing the serjeant look askance at the small group, added, \"They are innocents in all of this, Ernulf. I am sure they had no knowledge of the potter's intent and will be left destitute by his actions. They are victims of his crimes just as surely as those who died.\"\n\nBascot waited for Ernulf's reply. He knew the serjeant, for all his crusty manner, had a softness for any defenceless creature, especially women and children. It took only a moment's observation of Margot holding her little grandson fearfully to her breast and of the apprehension etched on Young Adam's face for him to accede to the Templar's request. He called to one of his men and told him to keep watch over the little group.\n\n\"We'll see 'em safe, de Marins,\" Ernulf said reassuringly as he glared menacingly at the sneering faces in the crowd around them. \"If anyone so much as spits in their direction, I'll have 'em clapped in gaol alongside the prisoner.\" He spoke loudly, so that his words carried out over the heads of the throng, and those who had been openly expressing their revulsion immediately turned their attention elsewhere.\n\nBascot motioned for Adam to follow, and they crossed the ward and went into the hall. It was packed, and the Templar had to push his way through the press of people to reach the space where those who would give witness were congregated. Keeping the beekeeper close behind him, he took a place beside Brother Andrew and the novice monk and looked up towards the dais.\n\nAbove him, near one end of the raised table, John Blund sat, parchment, ink and quill pens laid out before him in preparation for recording the details of the trial. His assistant, Lambert, a thin, dolorous man of about thirty years of age with a heavy lantern jaw, was seated by his side. At the other end was the knight who held the office of coroner for Lincoln, a man named Alan of Pinchbeck, who was attending the court in his official capacity. Preceptor d'Arderon sat beside him. Roget and three of his men flanked the dais, two on either side.\n\nThe steady hum of conversation in the hall was abruptly stilled as Gerard Camville came into the room, followed by his wife and son. Around his neck Camville wore a heavy chain of silver bearing a medallion engraved with the image of a man armed with a lance sitting astride a horse, the symbol of the office of sheriff. Taking his seat at the central position, with Richard and Nicolaa one on either side of him, Camville gave a curt command to Roget to bring in the prisoner. The captain signalled to one of his men, and the guard went running to the door. Within moments, Wilkin was led into the hall, escorted by two of Roget's men. The crowd hissed and spat at him as he stumbled through the spectators and was led up to face the sheriff.\n\nGerard Camville stood up, and a hush fell as he spoke in the loud voice of a commander accustomed to giving orders on a battlefield. \"We are here today, according to the laws of England and with the authority of the king, to hear evidence concerning the recent crimes of murder by poison in the town of Lincoln. The details of this hearing will, as is the custom, be taken down and kept as a record.\"\n\nThe sheriff glared out over the assembly as though daring anyone to challenge his authority and then motioned for his son to call the first witness. Richard, his red hair gleaming in the light of the torches in the wall sconces behind him, rose and spoke in a voice that was just as resonant as his father's.\n\n\"We will hear from the first finder of each of the victims, in the order of the deaths. John Blund will now step forward and tell us how the clerk, Ralf, met his end.\"\n\nLeaving the task of making a record of his evidence to Lambert, the secretary descended from his seat on the dais and came to stand before the sheriff. In his precise voice he told how he had found his young assistant in the throes of a violent illness and that the lad had subsequently died. As he related the details of Ralf's final agonies, his voice faltered with emotion, and the crowd called out in anger at the heartlessness of the crime. The sheriff's heavy fist crashed onto the table in front of him and silence quickly descended.\n\nThe squire, Thomas, was called next, to give an accounting of the death of Simon of Haukwell. The young man gave his testimony in a succinct and detached manner that seemed to impress the spectators more than Blund's emotional one. There were a few gasps of horror when he had finished, but no more explosions of indignation.\n\nFor evidence of the spice merchant and his family's deaths, only old Nantie was called. She was supported in her accounting by Reinbald and his wife, who also gave an explanation of how it was that the poisoned honey had first been placed in their home and subsequently given to their neighbour.\n\nFinally, in the list of first finders, Brother Andrew and the novice monk, Eustace, told of the death of the lay brother and how the poison that had caused it was found to have been placed in a small jar of honey kept for use in the infirmary. Andrew also related how he and Brother Jehan had previously identified the nature of the poison for Nicolaa de la Haye.\n\nRichard thanked the monk and then called all of those who, in some way other than being first finder, had knowledge of the circumstances surrounding each death. These included Martin the leech and Alaric the physician. Gosbert and Eric gave evidence that Wilkin had been in the castle kitchen in the days before the deaths of Ralf and Simon of Haukwell and had access to the shelf where the poisoned honey was found; Brother Andrew confirmed that the honey that had been tainted, and that had been fed to the lay brother who had died, had originally come from the priory kitchen where the potter had delivered some of his wares only a few days before. Ivor Severtsson was called to testify that he had received the supply of pots that had contained the adulterated one from Wilkin himself and had taken them to his uncle's house in Hungate. Gilles de Laubrec described how, when he had gone to arrest the potter, roots of the herb from which the poison was made were found in a shed used by Wilkin. Finally, Bascot was called to speak of his investigations into the matter.\n\nThe Templar answered the questions Richard put to him and told how it had been discovered that the potter had a grudge against Ivor Severtsson and why. There were gasps of salacious disgust from the spectators when it was learned that Wilkin had accused the bailiff of rape, and Helge's face flamed red in embarrassment. Then Bascot related how he had learned that Wilkin had been told that his wares would no longer be purchased by the castle or the priory and that it would have caused him to feel resentment for his impending loss of income. When he was done, Gerard Camville pronounced that the evidence given was sufficient to convince him of the prisoner's guilt and that Wilkin would be held over for trial before the justices of the assize, who were due to reach Lincoln at the end of the first week in May.\n\nThe verdict was greeted with shouts of acclaim from all of the spectators. As Wilkin was led out of the hall by Roget's guards, the crowd railed at him, some even landing a blow on his shoulders before the captain or one of his men could forestall them.\n\nAs the crowd surged out of the hall behind the prisoner, Bascot turned to Adam, who had watched and listened in a stoic fashion to all that had occurred, holding rigidly to his place despite the glowering looks he had received from some of the men around him.\n\n\"I am sorry for the trouble that has come upon you and your family, beekeeper,\" he said.\n\n\"Aye, lord, I know you are. And I think you're the only one who is, even though you, like the rest of Lincoln, believe Wilkin is guilty.\"\n\nBascot sighed. \"You have heard the evidence. Surely you do not still think he is innocent?\"\n\n\"'Tis damning, I'll admit,\" Adam said. \"But I knows my daughter's husband as well as I knows my bees. He didn't do these terrible things, lord, and there's nothing that will convince me otherwise.\"\n\nWith that implacable pronouncement, he placed the shapeless cap he had doffed on entering the hall back on his head and said, \"I had best go and see to my daughter and the others. They will be sore grieved at the news.\"\n\nBascot felt sorry for the old man but admiration for his unswerving loyalty to a member of his family. \"I will come with you,\" he said, \"and see you all safely on your way back to Nettleham.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Gianni waited with the beekeeper's family with growing apprehension. He did not fear for their safety, not with the stalwart bulk of Ernulf and his men-at-arms nearby, but was concerned for what would befall the little group when, as he was sure would happen, the potter was found guilty. Young Adam was only a boy, younger than Gianni had been when the Templar had rescued him from starvation; how would he and the others fare if they had to beg on the streets of Lincoln for food? There would be no alms freely given to the family of a man who was believed to have murdered six people. It was more likely they would all be driven out into the countryside and left to the mercy of the wild animals in the forest.\n\nA surge of movement at the door to the keep told the little group waiting by the barracks door that the session of the sheriff's court was over. As Wilkin appeared, still in shackles, and was led down the steps of the forebuilding and back to the holding cell, it was obvious he had been found guilty. Not only his slumped shoulders and the deathly pallor of his face but the jubilant mood of the crowd that followed confirmed that what the beekeeper's family feared had come to pass. Gianni heard Margot give a great sob from where she sat cradling her grandchild, and Young Adam clenched his teeth to avoid spilling the tears which gathered in his eyes. Even the baby, sensing the distress of the woman who was holding him, began to howl. Of them all, only Rosamunde sat unmoved, her blank stare unfocused, and her hands loosely folded in her lap.\n\nIn the hall, Bascot led the beekeeper from the huge room and kept beside him as they emerged onto the top of the forebuilding steps. The staircase was still crowded with people, and Bascot pushed his way through, his hand dropping to his sword hilt as one or two noticed Adam and began to berate the old man for having married his daughter to a filthy murderer. Their voices quietened as they saw the threat in the Templar's eye until finally the pair reached the bottom of the steps and went across the bail to where Adam's family was waiting.\n\nErnulf and two men-at-arms stood like a protective wall in front of the little group, but even so, many malicious glances were thrown in their direction as people passed them on their way to the gate. As Bascot and Adam came near, the Templar noticed Rosamunde's head suddenly come up and her gaze alter from its mindless stare as her eyes began to focus on the crowd that was pushing past the place where she stood. Within moments, an animation filled her face and she jumped up from her seat and wedged her body through the space between Ernulf and the other soldier standing in front of her and darted across the ward.\n\nMargot screamed in terror and yelled at Rosamunde to stop, but her mother's anxious cry did not halt the girl, and she kept going, pushing people aside and heading deeper into the throng. Young Adam and Gianni raced after her, and Ernulf, in a stentorian voice, yelled at de Laubrec, standing on the far side of the queue of people, to halt the maid in her headlong flight. At the edge of the crowd, a group of castle servants that included Gosbert and Eric all turned their heads towards the disturbance as de Laubrec broke into a run to waylay the wildly running Rosamunde. Just as he reached her, however, she stopped, turning her head this way and that, as though searching for a face she had seen. By the time Young Adam and Gianni came up to her, with Bascot and the beekeeper close behind, she was standing completely still, her mouth moving as she uttered one word over and over again. \"Drue. Drue.\"\n\nAdam took his granddaughter by the arms and drew her into the shelter of his own. Suddenly she burst into tears and bent her head to his chest. \"She has done this before, Sir Bascot,\" Adam said breathlessly, \"one day summer afore last when she was in Nettleham village and a man on a horse rode by.\" He heaved a sigh and tried to explain. \"She thinks she sees the lad who was her lover and runs to meet him. We have tried to tell her that he is dead, but she does not understand.\" Patting the girl on the back he spoke softly to her. \"Come, Rosamunde, we must go home. You will be better there.\"\n\nSeemingly docile now, Rosamunde allowed herself to be led away, tears still streaming down her face. Even in distress, she is beautiful, Bascot thought, and as he glanced at de Laubrec, he could see the same admiration in the marshal's eyes. It could not be wondered at that men would lust after her, or that those of corrupt character would, as her father claimed, succumb to the temptation of committing rape to possess her.\n\nErnulf and Bascot saw Adam and his small family onto the dray. As they settled Rosamunde into the back, Young Adam sitting between her and the open end of the wain to prevent her running off again, Bascot asked the beekeeper if they could manage the journey home alone, or if they would feel safer if one of the castle men-at-arms kept them company for the journey.\n\nAdam shook his head. \"I thankee, sir,\" he said, \"but we'll be alright.\" The old man looked about him. \" 'Tis ten years since I've been to Lincoln. My wife was alive then and we brought young Rosamunde to see the summer fair. It was a happy day, that one, not like this.\"\n\nHe glanced over his shoulder at his granddaughter. \"She was only a bit of a lass then, but even so, she was entranced with Drue. He and his brother were in the crowd, watching a dancing bear, and she pestered me to go and keep them company\u2014\"\n\nBascot interrupted him. \"Did you say that Drue had a brother? I have heard no mention that Rivelar had more than one son.\"\n\n\"Aye, he did, lord,\" Adam affirmed. \"There were two boys, Drue and an older lad named Mauger. Mauger ran away when he was about sixteen, just after the end of that same summer fair. Rosamunde said that Drue told her his brother had promised he would come back, but if he did, I've never seen him.\"\n\nThe Templar had been puzzled that the brother had never been mentioned before, either by Dido when he told of the time he had been a rat catcher at Wragby, or by Richard Camville in telling of the trial, but when Adam had said that he had been gone from the area for many years, he gave it no more thought.\n\nAs Bascot and Ernulf stood by protectively, the old man manoeuvred the heavy dray through the eastern gate of the bail and out onto Ermine Street. The Templar watched them disappear in the direction of Newport Arch with a heavy heart. He waited there until the last of the spectators had filed through the gate and then looked down at Gianni, who had come to stand just beside him, seeing a reflection of his own emotions mirrored in the boy's face.\n\n\"Come, Gianni,\" he said. \"It is nearly time for the midday meal. Perhaps you will feel better once\u2014\"\n\nHis words were interrupted by the appearance of one of the guards Roget had left on duty in the town. He was coming through Bailgate at a run, his face beaded with perspiration.\n\n\"What is it, man?\" Ernulf asked as the guard came up to them and stopped to draw breath. \"You look as though all the hounds of hell are on your tail.\"\n\n\"There's been another murder,\" the guard said in a strangled tone. \"I just found a man's body, near a midden just off Danesgate. His throat's been cut from ear to ear. I've come to tell Captain Roget.\"\n\n\"Do you know who the victim is?\" Bascot asked.\n\nThe guard, a rough and burly individual with a nose that was so flat it must have been broken more than once, nodded his head.\n\n\"I don't know his name, but I know who he is,\" the guard replied. \"He worked for one of the fishmongers in the market near Bailgate.\" He looked at the Templar and grimaced. \"He's a right bloody mess, Sir Bascot. Not only was his throat cut, his belly 'ud been ripped open from neck to navel. Whoever killed him must be a vicious whoreson.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "It wasn't until late that evening, when Roget came into the barracks with a flagon of wine under his arm, that Bascot and Ernulf heard more about the murder of the fishmonger's assistant. The Templar and the serjeant were sipping cups of ale in the cubicle Ernulf used for his sleeping place and Gianni was dozing on a stack of blankets in the corner when the captain arrived. The air was heavy with heat from the small fire that Ernulf had lit in a brazier to take the chill out of the air, and it had made the lad drowsy. When Roget pulled aside the leather curtain that screened the serjeant's quarters from the rest of the barracks, Gianni stirred, rubbed his eyes and sat up.\n\n\"Faugh! My nose and mouth are full of the stench of death,\" Roget exclaimed as he hooked a stool from a corner with his foot and sat down heavily. He poured himself a full measure of wine from the flagon and drank it down thirstily, then he wiped his mouth and beard on the sleeve of his tunic before he spoke again. \"First we have that b\u00e2tard of a potter poisoning people all over the town, and now that he is finally penned up in a cell, there is a crazed butcher on the loose with a knife.\"\n\n\"The guard told me that the stabbing was a brutal one,\" Bascot said.\n\n\"Brutal is not the word for it,\" Roget replied. \"The body had been gutted like one of the fish the man sold in the market.\" He raised eyes that were bleak. \"There was not much blood around the wound on his neck, but the ground was awash with it. From the heavy bruises on his mouth and jaw I would think he was disembowelled first and then held down for a space before his throat was slit. He must have been in great agony before he breathed his last. He was only about twenty years of age. It is a terrible way for anyone to die, but especially for one too young to have yet tasted all the joys of life.\"\n\nBoth Bascot and Ernulf were taken aback by the captain's description of the injuries. They were all inured to the wounds that were inflicted in battle, but what Roget was describing went beyond the deathblows that were a necessary part of war; the extent of them spoke of a sadistic desire to give pain. All three were silent for a moment, and then Ernulf asked, \"Any idea who did it?\"\n\nRoget shook his head. \"His body had begun to stiffen by the time I got to where it was lying, so he must have been killed sometime last night after curfew. The guard who found him told me he had seen the dead man before, working for one of the mongers in the fish market, so I went over there and spoke to the man who had employed him. The monger told me the victim's name was Fland Cooper and that Cooper lodged with a cousin who lives in Clachislide. The monger also said he hadn't seen Cooper since he left work just after Vespers on the day he was killed.\"\n\nRoget took a mouthful of wine before he continued. \"When I asked the monger if he knew of any enemies the lad might have had, he told me that Cooper had been dallying with one of the customers, a goodwife who lives in Spring Hill, and that maybe her husband had found out and taken his revenge for being made a cuckold.\"\n\nErnulf nodded his head sagely. \"He could be right. No man likes to have horns put on his head.\"\n\nRoget sighed. \"So I thought, too, mon ami, until the fishmonger told me who the husband was.\" At the look of confusion on the faces of his companions, he explained. \"The goodwife is young, married to a prominent draper in the town who is old enough to be her grandfather. I have seen him walking with his wife when they go to attend Mass. He is small and shrivelled with age. Cooper was young and sturdy. The cuckolded husband would never have had the strength to overpower him.\"\n\n\"Maybe he crept up on him and gave him a crack on the head first to knock him out, and then did the deed,\" Ernulf suggested.\n\nRoget shook his head. \"No, mon ami, there were no marks on Cooper's head. Not one lump or bruise. And, even if there were, it would have required great force to inflict the wound to the stomach and hold him down while he bled. The old man is too frail to have done such a thing.\"\n\n\"What about Cooper's relative, the cousin? Did he know anything?\" Ernulf asked.\n\n\"The cousin is a woman. Name of Mary Gant,\" Roget said.\n\n\"Is she married to a glove maker?\" Ernulf asked, and when Roget nodded, he added, \"I know the man, he has a good business.\" Bascot was not surprised at the serjeant's knowledge. He had an extraordinary memory for the names and faces of everyone who lived in Lincoln. \"Did she know anything about Cooper that might help you find his killer?\"\n\nRoget gave a snort of disgust. \"If she did, I doubt that she would care. Ah, she's a hard woman, that one. She didn't shed a tear when I told her about Cooper's death, or how he had died. Said he had only lived with her for a few months and she only took him in because he had been without a home since his parents died in a terrible fire the summer before last. I think she was glad he would not be coming back.\"\n\n\"I remember talk of that fire,\" Ernulf said. \"It happened at an alehouse out on the Wragby road. The ale keeper's name was Cooper. The dead man must have been his son.\"\n\n\"So the cousin told me,\" Roget confirmed. \"She said it was only because her husband took pity on Cooper that she had given him lodging. I think she would have left him to starve in the street but for that.\"\n\nThe captain took another mouthful of wine before he went on. \"Anyway, I asked her if she had seen Cooper last night. She said he came home after he had finished his work for the day, had something to eat and went out again. When I asked her if she knew of any enemies he might have had, she looked at me as though I was a piece of merde and said she had taken no interest in the company her cousin kept other than to make sure he did not bring any of them to her home.\"\n\n\"As you say, Roget, a hard woman,\" Ernulf opined.\n\n\"What does the sheriff intend to do about the murder now?\" Bascot asked.\n\nThe former mercenary's face grew morose. \"I am to go to all of the alehouses along Danesgate tomorrow and find out if Cooper had been in any of them on the night he was killed and, if he had, the names of anyone he was seen drinking with. The sheriff thinks he was killed because of a drunken argument. He is probably right, but I do not have your talent, de Marins, for seeking out secret murderers. It will be an arduous task.\"\n\nRoget stood and wearily rubbed a hand across the scar that ran down one side of his face. \"Well, mes amis, I must seek my bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.\"\n\nAfter Roget had left, Bascot called to Gianni and told Ernulf that he and the boy were going to retire as well. As the pair left the barracks and began to cross the bail, the Templar felt relieved that it was Roget and not himself who would be investigating the murder of the fishmonger's assistant. Like the captain, he was weary of death."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "The next morning Bascot went to the scriptorium and spoke to John Blund about furthering Gianni's education, asking the secretarius for his advice as to whether it would be best for the boy to attend a schola in Lincoln town or hire a tutor for private lessons. Blund asked about the level of Gianni's accomplishments and then suggested that Bascot give him a few days to look into the matter, saying he would see what places were available in the schools run by the some of the churches within the town or, alternatively, if there were any suitable clerks seeking pupils.\n\nBascot thanked Blund for his promise of help and decided that, while he waited for the secretary to make his enquiries, he would ensure that Gianni had an ample supply of parchment and ink to keep up his scribing practice. The few pieces of vellum the boy had been using were much scraped and worn, and his supply of ink and reed pens was low. It was about an hour after Terce when he took Gianni down into the town to visit one of the shops on Parchmingate where the materials the boy required could be purchased.\n\nThe satisfactory outcome of Wilkin's trial seemed to have restored the good humour of the people of Lincoln. Traffic on the streets had returned to normal, the markets were busy with goodwives making their purchases and there was the usual complement of itinerant traders hawking their wares from boards carried on their heads or being trailed behind them in small carts. The news of Cooper's death had not seemed to alarm them. Like the sheriff, it would appear that most believed the stabbing had been the result of a drunken brawl. Nonetheless, mindful of the savagery that Roget had described, Bascot told Gianni to walk on his sighted side. Usually the boy, compensating for his master's lack of vision, took up a position on his master's right hand, but Bascot wanted to ensure that Gianni was always in his view, at least until it was determined that the murder of Cooper had not been perpetrated by someone who took pleasure in killing at random.\n\nParchmingate was a street that ran parallel to Hungate and had three parchment shops along its length. Two of them were small, located on the second storey of the premises, and mainly provided the services of a clerk who would charge a fee for scribing a document that was required by a customer who was illiterate. These ranged from a simple letter to be sent for the purposes of business or to a relative or friend, to the much more complicated outline of a plea that the customer wished entered before a magistrate. The third shop, and the one to which Bascot took Gianni, was much larger and was situated on the lower floor of a house that was owned by the parchment seller and had living quarters for himself and his family on the storey above.\n\nGianni was almost dancing with excitement by the time they entered the shop, and when the owner, a tall, thin man with ginger red hair encircling a prematurely bald pate, motioned to his two assistants that he would personally deal with the customer who had just arrived, the boy puffed out his small chest with importance.\n\nThe parchment maker had noted the Templar badge on Bascot's tunic and came forward obsequiously, asking how he could be of assistance. When told that a quantity of medium-grade vellum was required, as well as some ink, reed pens and a knife for sharpening them, he led his customer to the back of the shop where an array of goods was laid out. The air was filled with the powdery smell of parchment and the sharp tang of ink.\n\nThe pair spent a happy hour choosing the purchases, with Gianni carefully examining everything they were shown before his master gave his nod of approval to the parchment maker. When the paper and ink had been selected, Bascot asked that a wax tablet, of the small, portable type that could easily be carried in a scrip to copy down short notes and then later scraped clean, be included, as well as a ruler and a leather satchel to hold the parchment. When they left the shop with all of the materials packed into the satchel, Gianni carefully tucked it under his arm and smiled his thanks at his master. The happiness on the boy's face was reward enough for Bascot. He felt once again the rightness of his decision to leave the Templar Order and take care of the boy.\n\nThey walked back towards the castle along Parchmingate and, as they approached the marketplace, saw Roget standing near the fish stalls. Bascot walked up to the captain and asked him how his investigation into the death of the fishmonger's assistant was progressing.\n\n\"Not well,\" Roget admitted in exasperation. \"It would seem that Cooper vanished into the air after he left his cousin's house. I have been into every alehouse between Clachislide and Danesgate and have not found one person who saw him. I have just been speaking again to the fishmonger, asking if he knew of any friends that his assistant might have visited in their homes, but he could not help me.\"\n\nHe motioned with his head towards the fish stalls where a richly dressed young woman of some twenty-five years was choosing some eels. She was attended by a female servant who was much older than her mistress. \"That is the matron that Cooper was swiving. I did not want to call at her house in case the draper should be home and become suspicious of his wife's involvement with the dead man. I am waiting for her to finish her shopping and then will ask her if she can help me.\" He gave Bascot a doleful look. \"She is my last hope, de Marins. If she knows nothing of where Cooper might have been on the night he was killed, then I fear I must admit defeat and the chien who murdered him will go free.\"\n\nAs he was speaking, they saw the young matron recoil a step or two in seeming horror at something the fishmonger had told her. She was very handsome, with corn-coloured hair that hung in two heavy braids from beneath her coif, and eyes that were a luminous dark brown. Her maid stepped forward and placed a hand under her mistress's arm as though to comfort her, but the goodwife shook it off and seemed to recover herself. She completed her purchase, spoke a word of thanks to the fishmonger and then started to walk in the direction of St. John's Church, the entrance to which was just a few steps away from where Roget and Bascot stood, at the intersection where the top of Hungate Street debouched into Spring Hill. Her eyes were filled with moisture.\n\nAs she neared the gate into the churchyard, the captain stepped forward. \"Mistress Marchand, may I speak to you for a moment?\" he asked respectfully.\n\nShe raised a face full of distress and looked at him. \"You are Captain Roget, are you not, of the sheriff's town guard?\"\n\n\"I am,\" Roget confirmed, plainly impressed by the beauty of her heart-shaped face and lissom figure. She wore a perfume that had the faint scent of gillie flowers.\n\nThe captain introduced Bascot and then asked the young woman if she had heard of Cooper's death.\n\n\"Indeed I have,\" she replied, tears welling afresh in her eyes. \"Just a few moments ago, from the fishmonger. I am very sorry to hear of it.\" She nodded towards the church. \"I am just on my way to St. John's to light a candle and offer up a prayer for the repose of Fland's soul.\"\n\nRoget explained the reason he wished to speak to her in a tone that was carefully devoid of innuendo. \"I am trying to find out where Cooper was on the night he was killed and, so far, have not met with any success. The fishmonger told me that his assistant often delivered purchases of fish to your home, Mistress, and I am wondering if, when he did so, you may have engaged him in conversation and perhaps heard mention of the names of any friends whose company he was in the habit of keeping.\"\n\nThe draper's wife dabbed a scrap of white linen edged with lace to her eyes and regarded the captain thoughtfully. \"It is true I was friendly with Fland,\" she admitted, \"and we did, on occasion, speak together.\" Her lips curved a little as though in happy remembrance of those times, and then she compressed them as her distress returned. For a few moments she stood thus, as though in contemplation of Roget's request. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. \"If you will wait for me in the churchyard while I go into St. John's, Captain,\" she said, \"I will speak to you when my prayers are done.\"\n\nAs she walked through the gate, Roget gave Bascot a hopeful look. \"Perhaps fortune is finally beginning to smile on me, de Marins,\" he said. \"She may have information that will help me discover who was with Cooper on the night he was killed.\"\n\nThe Templar wished the captain luck and turned to go, but Roget forestalled him. \"Will you wait a little and keep me company while I talk to her?\" He gave a Gallic shrug and a knowing smile. \"In case her husband has suspicions that she is making him a cuckold, it would be better if she was not seen alone in my company while I question her, and no one, mon ami, is likely to believe I would importune such a lovely women with a chaste Templar by my side.\"\n\nBascot returned the captain's smile, for he was well aware of Roget's reputation with women, and owing him a debt for finding out the truth about Ivor Severtsson, he agreed to the request.\n\nThey did not have long to wait. Before many minutes had passed, Mistress Marchand appeared at the door of the church and came to where they were standing, her servant trailing behind. Roget gallantly removed the short cloak he was wearing and spread it over a small stone seat near the pathway and the young matron sat down.\n\n\"I have examined my conscience while I have been in the church, Captain Roget,\" she said, \"and decided that I must do all I can to help you discover the evil person who murdered poor Fland. I think I may know something that will assist you.\"\n\n\"I am greatly interested to hear it, Mistress,\" Roget assured her.\n\nMotioning her servant to go and wait for her at the gate, she did not speak until the woman had done so. \"I saw Fland on the afternoon of the day he died,\" she admitted to the captain. \"He had not made a delivery to our house for a few days, not since just before that terrible potter poisoned the spice merchant's family in Hungate, and so we spent a little while in... conversation... just to talk about the trial that was to take place, you understand.\"\n\nA slight blush coloured her cheeks as she said this, but Roget gave no sign of noticing. \"I understand completely,\" he said to her in a gentle tone.\n\nThe young matron's face cleared when she saw no censure in his eyes and then became reflective as she cast her memory back to the last time she had been with her lover. \"Fland was very excited,\" she said. \"He said that the last time he had brought the fish I had purchased, he had seen someone who was going to make a great improvement in his lot, a man he had known in his childhood and who he had never thought to see again.\"\n\nShe looked up at both of the men who were standing before her. \"When I asked him why this man had offered to be so generous, he said that it was not because he was willing to be so, but because he\u2014Fland\u2014had found out about a crime this person had committed, and the person was willing to pay a good sum of silver to keep it a secret.\"\n\n\"Did Cooper tell you the man's name?\" Roget enquired.\n\nShe shook her head. \"He only told me that the name the man was using was a false one. That is why I thought it might be important to tell you, Captain. Perhaps this man is the one who killed Fland.\"\n\nRoget gave Bascot a glance full of meaning before answering Mistress Marchand. Here, indeed, was information that might lead to Cooper's murderer. \"Please think hard, Mistress. Did he say anything else about this person? Where it was that he had known him, perhaps?\"\n\n\"I think it must have been someone he met while his parents ran the alehouse on the Wragby road,\" she replied, \"because he told me he had been born there and had never lived anywhere else until it burned down.\" She frowned in concentration for a moment. \"I thought this person must be an outlaw, for Fland said that brigands used to come to his father's alehouse and he often told me stories about them and the daring robberies he heard them plan.\" She shivered a little. \"His tales sounded exciting when I heard them, but now...\" Tears once again filled her liquid brown eyes. \"I think it may be that the man he saw was one of those outlaws, one who had come to Lincoln and was fearful that Fland would tell the sheriff of his presence in the town.\"\n\nShe gave Roget a look of appeal. \"I told Fland he was putting himself in danger by agreeing to protect this man, even if he was going to get paid for doing so, but he would not listen to me.\"\n\n\"It would seem you were right in your caution, Mistress,\" Roget said, \"especially now that Cooper is dead.\"\n\nShe nodded and stood up. \"I was very... fond of Fland and will miss his cheerful face at the market. I hope you catch the man who killed him.\"\n\nRoget exchanged a look with Bascot. He and the captain were both aware that although she had warned Cooper of the peril he was in, she did not realise that she, too, could be seen as a threat to the man who had murdered him.\n\n\"I do not wish to alarm you, Mistress,\" Bascot said to her, \"but whoever killed Cooper may be aware of your... friendship with him and fearful that you know more about him than you do. It may be that he will make an attempt to ensure your silence.\"\n\nA look of panic came into the woman's eyes, and Roget was quick to assure her he would keep a guard posted near her house both day and night until Cooper's killer was caught, adding that she would be wise not to speak to anyone, even her closest friends, of what Fland Cooper had told her.\n\nShe seemed to take some comfort from his words, and then her eyes widened as another fear struck her. \"But if guards are outside our house\u2014my husband, he will wonder why...\"\n\n\"There is no need for Master Marchand to be informed of the reason why they are there,\" Roget said quickly. \"It is my duty to keep the town safe, and with this recent killing, it will not be thought unusual if extra guards are on patrol.\"\n\nSeeming somewhat relieved, she thanked the captain and accepted his offer to walk with her to the door of her home and see her safely inside. As she and her maidservant left the churchyard in Roget's company, Bascot felt Gianni tug at his sleeve. The Templar had noticed the boy had been listening intently to the merchant's wife and now his face was full of animation. When he had Bascot's attention, he laid the leather satchel he had been clutching possessively to his chest on the ground between his feet and pointed towards the lane that ran from Spring Hill down the back of Hungate Street. He then swivelled his hand in a back and forth movement that resembled a fish swimming through water.\n\nBascot understood what the boy was saying, but not why he thought it was important. \"Yes, Gianni, it is probable that Cooper would have delivered the fish to the back door of the Marchand house,\" the Templar said. \"The kitchen is at the back and that is where the fish would be stored until it was cooked.\"\n\nIt was not until Gianni made further motions, bringing his fingers up to shade his brow in an indication he was looking for something, and then pointing to his stomach and drawing his forefinger across his neck in the sign for death, that the Templar realised the implication of what the boy was communicating. The lane Gianni was pointing to led down behind Reinbald's house and had been considered to be the way that Wilkin had got onto the merchant's property on the day he had placed the poison in the kitchen. Since the draper's wife had said Cooper had seen the person she believed was his killer just before Reinbald's wife gave the honey to her neighbour, Gianni was suggesting that the fishmonger's assistant had seen the man who had done it and, since Wilkin was in the castle gaol at the time Cooper was killed, it could not have been the potter.\n\nWhen Bascot asked the boy if his understanding of his hand motions was correct, Gianni clapped his hands together and nodded enthusiastically. The Templar gave the boy's conjecture consideration for a moment and then said, \"But Cooper did not say to Mistress Marchand that he saw the person from his childhood in the lane, Gianni, only that he met him on the day he brought her previous order of fish. He could have seen him somewhere else in the town, in the marketplace, perhaps, or near another house where he was making his deliveries.\"\n\nGianni pointed to his mouth and shook his head.\n\n\"Yes, you are right. There is nothing in what Cooper said to suggest he did not meet his killer in the lane.\"\n\nRather than being the poisoner, it was much more likely, Bascot thought, that it had been as the draper's wife had suggested and Cooper's murderer had been an outlaw he had known when he was young. Some felon that had mended his ways and come to Lincoln to take up honest work and did not want his past, and his former crimes, known. But Mistress Marchand had also said that Cooper had told her he had found out about a crime this person had committed which he wished kept secret\u2014that did not sound as though the fishmonger's assistant had been referring to former villainy, but something much more recent.\n\nBascot thought back over the last few months. The only serious crimes that had occurred in the town were the poisonings. There had been a few petty thefts, some drunken brawls and one case where a man had beaten his wife's lover so badly that her paramour had almost died, but nothing of sufficient import to warrant killing a man to keep the commission of it from being revealed. He knew Gianni was desperate to help the beekeeper's family, and proving Wilkin innocent would be a sure way of doing so. It was more than likely that the boy's desire had led him into imaginings that had no basis in fact. But even so, Gianni's suggestion had led the Templar into remembering the nagging doubt he had formerly felt about Wilkin's guilt. Was it possible he had allowed the proliferation of evidence to subjugate an instinct that had been a true one?\n\nHe bid Gianni pick up his leather satchel. The boy's logic had enough merit for him to investigate it further. \"The Nettleham apiary is near the alehouse where Cooper once lived. I will question Wilkin about the customers that used it. Perhaps that will give an indication of whether the man who killed the fishmonger's assistant could have had any connection to the poisonings.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "When they arrived back at the castle, the Templar sent Gianni to their chamber at the top of the old keep, telling him to unpack the paper and scribing instruments they had bought that morning while he went to question Wilkin. Gianni nodded happily, rubbing his hand lovingly over the soft leather of the satchel before he scampered away. His jubilation had been increased, Bascot knew, by the hope that his master would be able to prove Wilkin innocent.\n\nThe potter was in an apathetic state when Bascot entered the cell. He was crouched in the corner, his eyes dull and devoid of any emotion. There were fresh bruises on his face. It would appear the guards were continuing their rough treatment of the prisoner. Bascot called his name and Wilkin looked up.\n\n\"The night before last a man was stabbed to death in Lincoln, potter,\" Bascot said. \"It is possible you may have known the victim. His name was Fland Cooper; he was about twenty years of age and was the son of the man who was the ale keeper at an alehouse on the Wragby road.\"\n\nHis words produced no response from Wilkin. \"We can find no trace of whoever killed Cooper,\" Bascot went on, \"but it is believed it may be someone from his past, from the days when he was a young lad growing up in the alehouse.\" Still there was no flicker of interest from the man in front of him. An incentive was needed to rouse the prisoner from his stupor. \"If you help to find his murderer, potter, there is a chance that, by doing so, you will aid your own cause.\"\n\nThat suggestion brought a response from Wilkin, whose eyes brightened as he drew in his breath sharply.\n\n\"I do not promise that such will be so,\" Bascot cautioned him sternly. \"Only that it might.\"\n\nThe potter nodded his understanding, but his listless expression had disappeared. \"Tell me,\" Bascot asked, \"did you know Fland Cooper? He has been working in the fish market near Spring Hill for the last few months.\"\n\nWilkin shook his head. \"I do not remember him from Wragby, so I would not have known who he was if I had met him in the town.\"\n\n\"Did you frequent the alehouse his parents ran? It was not far from Nettleham, I understand.\"\n\n\"I went there only a few times, many years ago, when I made deliveries to a customer who lived in Wragby,\" Wilkin replied. \"Guy Cooper was not the ale keeper then. His old widowed mother was the one who ran it.\"\n\n\"I have been told that many of the alehouse customers were outlaws. Is that true?\" Bascot wanted to try and ascertain if Cooper's murderer could be, as the draper's wife had assumed, an outlaw from the past. If he was, then Gianni's assumption that the monger's assistant had been killed to keep secret his knowledge of the poisoning crimes would be in error.\n\n\"There were no brigands there while the old woman was alive,\" Wilkin told him, \"but there was talk of them being there when her son took over after she died.\"\n\n\"When did the widow die?\"\n\n\"About three or four years ago, I think,\" Wilkin replied. \"After her death her son inherited the alehouse and took charge of running it. He was a tosspot. He served his ale to all manner of miscreants. 'Tis said his drinking was the cause of the place catching on fire, that he left a candle burning and him and his wife were too drunk to escape.\"\n\nIf it had been a brigand who had killed Cooper, three or four years ago was too recent for him to have known one of them in his childhood. Nonetheless, the Templar pressed the potter further, trying to confirm this fact.\n\n\"Are you sure that the old alewife did not allow customers of disreputable character to come and buy her ale?\"\n\nWilkin shook his head with certainty. \"I wouldn't have gone there if she had. The widow served good ale and kept a clean house. She would never have allowed any wolf's heads under her lintel. They only came in after her son became the ale keeper. That's why I never went in there anymore.\"\n\nConvinced that he could eliminate a brigand as a possible suspect for Cooper's death, Bascot asked Wilkin about the customers who had used the alehouse while the old alewife had been alive, and if, on his occasional visits, there had been any that he knew to be regular patrons. \"I need you to go back at least seven years or more,\" Bascot told him, reckoning that Cooper would have regarded his childhood as when he had been thirteen years of age or younger.\n\nWilkin screwed up his face as he searched his memory. As he did so, the bruises on his face were more apparent, with one that was fresh and livid colouring the lower half of his jaw. \"That was the only alehouse along the stretch of road between Nettleham and Louth, so the customers were mostly travellers that used it for the same purpose I did, when they had a need to wash the dust of the road from their throats,\" he told the Templar. \"They were packmen and carters and the like, most of them heading to Lincoln with their wares. Sometimes there would be a merchant or two that was either going or coming back from Grimsby or Louth, but they would not have gone there regular, only when they were on a journey.\"\n\n\"What about local people? Do you know of any that went in there often?\"\n\n\"I suppose there might have been a few that lived in Wragby, but the only one I know of that was there more than once is John Rivelar, the old bailiff. He'd pass me on the road near there sometimes, him and his two sons, and a couple of times I saw their horses outside the alehouse. On those days I never stopped for a sup of ale, for I didn't want to be in his company, but they must have been inside because their horses were there, tied to the hitching post.\"\n\nBascot remembered that Adam had told him that Drue Rivelar had an older brother who had left the area many years ago. He then had a sudden memory of Wilkin's daughter, Rosamunde, running through the crowd after her father's trial because she believed, so the beekeeper had said, that she had seen her dead lover. Was it possible it was his brother she had seen?\n\n\"John Rivelar's oldest son, what was his name?\" Bascot asked Wilkin. \"And what did he look like? Did he resemble his brother?\"\n\n\"His name was Mauger,\" the potter replied in answer to the first question and then shook his head in answer to the second. \"He wasn't much like Drue. He was bigger, for a start; thickset and strong like his father. And he was just as vicious as the bailiff as well.\" Wilkin's eyes grew angry at the memory. \"Rivelar carried a blackthorn staff and used it on the backs of his tenants whenever he had the chance. A couple of times he hit me with it when his sons were with him and Mauger just laughed and looked as though he'd like to crack me one as well. I didn't like him any more than his father.\"\n\n\"Were Mauger's features like Drue's? Could it be easily seen that they were brothers?\" Bascot pressed.\n\nWilkin considered what he had been asked. \"I suppose there was a likeness in their faces, but Drue was dark and Mauger was fairer of hair and eyes...\"\n\nHe broke off as he realised the point of the Templar's questions and looked up into the intensity in the one pale blue eye of the knight standing over him. Against the darkness of his beard and sun-browned skin, it glittered like the sword of an avenging angel. The Templar frightened him more than all of the guards who kicked and swore at him every time they brought him food. Finally, he asked hesitantly, \"Is it Mauger you think killed Guy Cooper's son, lord? That he came back after all these years and stabbed him to death?\"\n\nBascot shook his head. \"Until it is discovered who murdered Fland Cooper and why, potter, there is nothing of which I can be certain.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "As bascot left the holding cell And crossed the ward on his way back to the chamber in the old tower, his thoughts whirled. As he had been questioning the potter, he had realised that until Gianni's deduction was proved to be valid or otherwise, it would be dangerous to discount it. The draper's wife had said the man Cooper had met had been using a false name; he could be anyone, a man who lived in the town, the priory or even the castle, hiding behind his assumed identity and free from suspicion. He would have to find out more about Mauger Rivelar before he could consider him as a likely suspect for killing Cooper, but whoever it was, and especially if it was also connected to the poisonings, any person who might recognise the man that the ale keeper's son had remembered from his childhood was in danger, and precautions would have to be taken to keep them safe. That included Rosamunde. If Cooper's murderer was the man she had seen in the bail on the day of her father's trial, he would be aware that she had recognised him and might do so again. He must ask Preceptor d'Arderon to send men to keep watch over her and the rest of her family.\n\nWhen he entered the chamber, he found Gianni practicing some Latin phrases on the wax tablet they had bought that morning, erasing them carefully when he had finished and then using the stylus to write others on the newly smoothed surface. For a fleeting moment Bascot allowed himself to enjoy a sense of gratification for the boy's industry, and then, as Gianni looked up expectantly, he told him what he had learned from the potter.\n\n\"There may be some merit in your belief that Cooper's killer is also the poisoner,\" he said, \"but even if he is not, there is still the risk that the lives of any who remember this man, as Cooper did, are at hazard. I will ask Preceptor d'Arderon to ensure that the beekeeper and his family have protection.\"\n\nThe boy nodded solemnly. \"While I am at the preceptory, Gianni, or at any other time that you are not in my company, I want you to stay with Ernulf and not leave his side, even if it means having to accompany him while he is making his rounds of the castle grounds. If this man should become aware that we are looking for him, he will consider anyone connected with the investigation to be a threat. Until this matter is resolved, I do not want you, at any time, to be alone.\"\n\nBascot took the boy to the barracks and asked Ernulf to watch over him, explaining briefly that, due to the brutality of Cooper's murder, he did not want to leave the boy unprotected while he was gone. Then he left the castle by the eastern gate and walked through the Minster grounds to the Templar enclave.\n\nEverard d'Arderon listened in silence as Bascot told him of his fears for the safety of Wilkin's family and why.\n\n\"I have come to ask you to send a couple of men to the apiary to provide protection for them,\" Bascot said. \"It would be best if it seemed as though they are there merely to help maintain the property, to carry out the manual chores that the potter would normally do, mending fences and the like. That way the beekeeper will not be aware of the real reason they are there. I do not want him and his family, or the man I am seeking, to be aware of their true purpose until I am sure such precautions are warranted.\"\n\nD'Arderon nodded. \"I have two men-at-arms who will be suitable. Both of them have done a spell of duty in Outremer. Unless this murderer has more stealth than an infidel, he will not get by them. I will send them to Nettleham immediately.\"\n\nBascot asked the preceptor if there was anyone at the Wragby property who had been there long enough to remember customers who had patronised the alehouse seven or more years ago. \"If there is, they, too, will need to be guarded. Although I would be glad to find someone who might be able to give me information, it is certain Cooper's murderer will want to eliminate any witnesses who may be able to identify him.\"\n\nD'Arderon said there were none. \"All of the servants at Wragby have been there no longer than five or six years. There was one old cowman that had been there longer, but he died a few months ago.\"\n\nBascot thanked the preceptor and, before he left, told him what Roget had found out about Ivor Severtsson. The older knight's face suffused with anger. \"Such a man is a disgrace to humankind. He shall be dismissed forthwith.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "The next morning Bascot rode out to Nettleham with Gianni riding pillion behind him. He wanted to try and find out more about Mauger Rivelar, and it was possible that Margot or her father might remember more about the former bailiff's son than the potter had. As he pressed his mount to a gallop along the road to the apiary, he reviewed his conversation with Ernulf the night before.\n\nWhen Bascot had asked the serjeant if he remembered Drue Rivelar's brother, Ernulf had shaken his head. \"I don't recall that I ever heard mention of the brigand as having one,\" he said. \"But one thing's certain, if he had come back to town and said who he was, I'd know of it. Everyone in Lincoln turned out to watch Drue and those other brigands get hanged, and there are plenty who would remark on it if a brother to one of 'em had returned. 'Twould have been a tidbit of gossip to repeat to all and sundry.\"\n\nThe serjeant shook his head in sad remembrance of the day the executions had taken place. \"Sir Gerard ordered me to hang them all, including Drue Rivelar, from the parapets, and let their bodies dangle over the wall in plain sight of all as a warning to any others as should be tempted to rob honest travellers. 'Twas his right; all of them had been caught in the act of thievery and murder, and no trial was needed. The people in the town agreed with him and gathered along the south wall by Bailgate to see the deed done. There was a multitude of cheers when they breathed their last. 'Twas one of the few times they gave Sir Gerard their support, but it was well deserved.\"\n\nBascot then said that Richard Camville had told him that John Rivelar had accused the sheriff of meting out too swift a justice and had claimed that his son should have been publically tried so that his innocence could be proven.\n\n\"Aye, he did,\" Ernulf confirmed. \"Stood in the bail and ranted at the sheriff as we put a noose over his son's head. When the boy was dead, tears streamed down his face and he could barely keep to his feet. Then he went down into the town, to see Bailiff Stoyle, trying to enlist his help in bringing a charge against Sir Gerard, but Stoyle would have none of it. On the day the brigands were captured, the prior from All Saint's had been among the party they were robbing, returning from a sad journey to visit his father on his deathbed. He had been beaten during the attack, but he came to the bail and denounced all of the brigands, including Drue, to the sheriff despite the fact that he could barely walk for soreness at his injuries. The townspeople were outraged that a man of the church, and one who had been on an errand of mercy, should have been attacked so violently.\"\n\nWhile listening to the serjeant's recounting, the Templar felt his interest in Mauger Rivelar grow. If the bailiff's elder son had returned after the deaths of his brother and father, he would have been desolated by the news of their demise, much as Bascot had been when he returned after his eight years' imprisonment in the Holy Land and found that all of his family had died during a pestilence. Mingled with the Templar's sorrow had also been a good portion of guilt, a feeling that he had betrayed them for not being at their sides to give them comfort during their last moments. It had been then that Bascot had raged at God for keeping him away from his homeland for so many long years. Would Mauger not have felt the same? Bascot knew that if the deaths in his own family had been caused by a human agency, he would have sought retribution; was it possible that all of these deaths had been caused by Mauger's desire to do just that, wreak vengeance on those who had been responsible for his brother's and father's deaths? All of those who had been affected by the poisonings had in some way been connected to the fate that had fallen on Drue Rivelar. Ivor Severtsson had been the one who had enabled his capture, the sheriff had hanged him and the former prior had given evidence against him. Poison had been placed in all of the places where each of these men, or people close to them, lived. The likelihood that Mauger Rivelar had returned was certainly worth investigating.\n\nWhen Bascot and Gianni arrived at the apiary, there was a large dray piled with sacks standing just inside the gate, and Bascot recognised the driver as a Templar lay brother. At the sound of Bascot's arrival, one of the men-at-arms that d'Arderon had sent the day before came swiftly forward from the direction of the orchard, and the other, who had been engaged in mending wattles on a portion of the fence, quickly dropped the tool he had been using and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. When they recognised Bascot, they saluted him and returned to what they were doing. The Templar smiled. Both of the soldiers were men about his own age, their skin bronzed from the hot sun of the Holy Land, and possessed of the wariness that came from being constantly on vigil against an enemy. Their alert and unobtrusive presence would ensure that if Cooper's murderer came to the apiary, he would not find an easy victim among the beekeeper's family. There was no need to worry about their safety until it was made certain whether or not they were in danger.\n\nAdam, who had been about to help the Templar lay brother unload the cart, came forward to greet his visitor. He was effusive in his thankfulness to the preceptor for the help that had been sent, and tears filled his eyes as he told Bascot that the sacks on the cart contained milled flour and a variety of root vegetables. \"The bees told me not to fear we would go hungry,\" he said, \"but I never expected such kindness as this.\"\n\nBascot told the beekeeper that he had some questions he wished to ask both him and his daughter, and Adam quickly showed the Templar into the cot and called for Margot to fill a mug with ale for their visitor. Wilkin's wife had just finished feeding her young grandson a bowl of bread sopped in milk when they entered, and she passed the child to Young Adam to hold while she complied with her father's request. Rosamunde was in her usual corner of the room, this time holding a large metal comb used for carding wool. Although a piece of sheep's fleece lay in her lap, her hands were motionless as she stared off into space. Bascot wondered if she would ever come out of her stupor. He had seen men on the field of battle taken in just the same way, usually after a blow to the head. Sometimes the dazedness was of short duration; on others it lasted for many months. He wished he knew of a remedy. Rosamunde had knowledge inside her head that would help him, but in her present state, it was inaccessible.\n\nTaking a seat at the table, Bascot motioned for Adam and Margot to be seated alongside him. \"I have come to ask you about a man you mentioned to me, Adam, on the day that you were in Lincoln for Wilkin's trial\u2014Mauger Rivelar. There has been a stabbing in Lincoln town, and from information given by a person who knew the victim, it is possible he may have been involved. You said the elder son of the old bailiff left many years ago and had not returned. Are you certain that he never came back?\"\n\nThe Templar could see that both the beekeeper and his daughter were startled by the question, but he did not elaborate on his reason for asking it. The less they knew about why he wanted information concerning Mauger, the less they would be alarmed. Deference for his rank would ensure they answered him without demur.\n\n\"I don't think he come back, lord,\" Adam said. \"If he did I never seen him, nor heard talk of it.\"\n\nThe beekeeper looked at his daughter, who agreed with her father but added, \"Rosamunde said Drue told her his brother was coming back, but I don't think he did.\"\n\n\"When did Rosamunde tell you this?\"\n\nAdam was the one who answered him. \"As I recall, 'twas about a week before Drue was taken by the sheriff.\" Margot nodded in confirmation of her father's words. \"Wilkin was at work in his kiln and Rosa was here with us in the cot. She was excited, and when Margot asked her why, she said 'twould not be long before she and Drue could get married 'cause his brother would help them to do so.\"\n\n\"That's right, lord,\" Margot said. \"Rosamunde and Drue were planning to run away 'cause neither Wilkin nor John Rivelar would have allowed for them to be wed, but they had no money to keep them fed until Drue could find work. Rosamunde said Drue was sure his brother would give them some when he came.\"\n\n\"How did Drue know his brother was returning? Had he been in contact with Mauger during the time he had been away?\"\n\n\"I don't think so, lord, not 'til then, anyway. Rosa said Mauger had sent a message sayin' he would soon be back in Lincoln, and I think they hoped Drue's brother would help them. I warned Rosa that Mauger might be just as penniless as they were, but she wouldn't listen. She just kept goin' on about how they would soon be married.\"\n\n\"This message from Mauger, did she know how it came and from where?\" Bascot asked shortly.\n\nMargot was a little taken aback at the urgency in the Templar's voice, but she answered it without hesitation. \"Rosa said a pedlar had come to Cooper's alehouse while Drue was in there havin' a mug of ale, askin' where he could find a man named John Rivelar. When Drue told the pedlar he was the bailiff's son, the pedlar said he had a message for his father from his brother, and that it was to tell Rivelar that Mauger would soon be back in Lincoln.\"\n\n\"Did the message say when Mauger would arrive?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"No,\" Margot replied. \"The only other thing Rosa told me was that Drue reckoned his brother wouldn't be long in coming because when he asked the pedlar where he had seen Mauger, he said it had been in Grimsby, and that's not a far piece from here. The pedlar told Drue he had met his brother when he had called with his wares at the house of a lady who lives in the town, and Mauger had paid him to deliver the message.\"\n\nSo, Bascot thought, the message had come just a week before Drue Rivelar had died, and since his father's death had taken place only a few days later, it could be possible that Mauger had returned too late to see either of them alive. The alehouse had burned down about the same time, so if Mauger had passed that way, Fland Cooper would not have been there to see him, hence the reason that the fishmonger's assistant had said that the man he had met was one he had not seen since childhood.\n\nNext, Bascot asked the beekeeper and Margot what they remembered of Mauger's appearance. Both gave the same vague description as Wilkin\u2014he was bigger than his brother and had hair that was lighter in colour. Margot thought his eyes were a pale colour, maybe green or blue.\n\n\"You told me your granddaughter had mistakenly thought she had seen Drue Rivelar once before,\" the Templar said to Adam. \"Who was with her on that day that happened?\"\n\n\"I was, lord,\" Margot replied.\n\n\"Were you near enough to the man to see his face?\"\n\nMargot shook her head. \"No. We were in the village and he was riding a horse when he went by where we were standing. By the time I caught ahold of Rosa and calmed her he had gone a long way down the road. And he never turned round when she called. I don't think he heard her.\"\n\nFeeling that he had exhausted any help they could give him about details of Mauger's description, he then tried to corroborate what Wilkin had told him when he had said the bailiff's elder son had enjoyed his father's harsh treatment of the Order's tenants. \"The man who was murdered in Lincoln was killed in a most savage way. I have been told that John Rivelar could be violent at times. Do you think it likely that his son would be the same?\"\n\n\"Aye, I reckon so,\" Adam said sadly. \"He was very like his father was Mauger, a rare one for lashing out at any he thought had wronged him. 'Tis said that's why he left\u2014him and his father had an argument that turned into a right battle and the old man bested him, so he ran away. I reckon if Mauger had been here when his brother was taken by the sheriff he would have been just as angry as his father, and just as mettlesome in defendin' him.\"\n\nBascot paused at the beekeeper's statement. Here, perhaps, could be a hint that Mauger was possessed of a personality that was cruel enough to enjoy inflicting the pain that had been visited on Fland Cooper and on the poisoning victims as well. \"Why was John Rivelar so convinced of Drue's innocence?\" Bascot asked. \"I have been told there was a witness who swore Drue was part of the captured outlaw band.\"\n\nAdam looked uncomfortable, and when he finally spoke, it was reluctantly. \"The old bailiff said his son just happened to be nearby the place where the outlaws were that day. He said Drue came forward to help the travellers and was accused by mistake.\"\n\n\"Do you believe that is so?\" he asked, and seeing Adam's discomfiture grow, he added, \"Whatever you tell me, I will keep in confidence. The crime is an old one and there is no benefit in pursuing the question of whether justice was ill served.\"\n\nReassured, Adam nodded. \"There's some of us here in Nettleham that reckons John Rivelar could of been right about the boy. Drue wasn't like his father and brother. He could be sly at times, but he wasn't wilful like them, nor did he ever get so angry he would of hurt anyone. Rosamunde swore to us that he would never of done such a thing; that if he'd been robbin' travellers of their silver, she and Drue would have had the money they needed to run away long before he was caught. Made sense to me, and I reckoned that if the boy did come forward to help like Rivelar said, and got mixed up in the fray, 'twould explain why t'others thought he was one of the brigands, even if he weren't.\"\n\nBascot wondered if Mauger, supposing he had returned, had heard this explanation. If so, it would have confirmed his father's belief in Drue's innocence. \"You are aware that it was Ivor Severtsson who told the sheriff about the attack that was planned on the merchant's party, and that he also said Drue was one of the wolf's heads?\" Bascot said to Adam.\n\n\"Aye, lord, we are,\" the beekeeper replied. \"And that's what's so flummoxin' about it all. With Master Severtsson being a bailiff an' all, it don't seem likely he would lie, so if he said Drue was a brigand, it must be true. Somehow it don't all tally up quite right.\"\n\nNot unless, Bascot thought, Drue ran out of patience for his brother's return and decided to throw in his lot with the outlaws he met at Cooper's alehouse. It may have been the first time he had done such a thing but done it he had, for the prior was a witness to his act. Severtsson, probably in Drue's company much of the time, must have learned of his intention and informed the sheriff, thereby ridding himself of the man he believed to be a rival for Rosamunde's affections. It was a cowardly act on Severtsson's part, but since Roget had told him about the bailiff's treatment of the bawd, it did not surprise him. It was more than likely that the man had, as Wilkin claimed, raped Rosamunde, perhaps out of anger for a rebuff of his attentions or simply because, as had been shown by his treatment of the harlot, his pleasure was enhanced by forcing a woman to his will. If Mauger had learned of Severtsson's betrayal of his brother, and of his jealousy, it would have been logical for him to assume that the bailiff had lied about Drue's involvement with the outlaw band. And would have made Severtsson his prime target for revenge."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "When Bascot and Gianni returned to the castle, the Templar took the boy to the barracks and left him in Ernulf's care. Then he crossed the ward and went up the tower stairs, going past the chamber that he and Gianni shared and up onto the roof and through the arch that led out to the walkway encircling the parapet. It was a place he often sought when he needed to be alone to measure his thoughts, and he hoped that the solitude would enable him to consider all that he had learned about Mauger with clearness and detachment.\n\nHe leaned into one of the crenellations in the battlement and was assailed by the dizziness that the loss of his right eye caused whenever he was in a high place. Breathing deeply, he waited for the sensation to pass and then looked out over the town of Lincoln spread out below, washed in the brightness of the spring sun. Houses spilled down the side of the hill on which the castle and Minster stood, scattered like rows of small pebbles caught inside the protective walls that marked the edge of the city. The figures of the townspeople moving about the streets seemed tiny when viewed from such a high elevation, and the occasional bright colour of a cloak or hat bobbed like flotsam on the tidal swell of their passage. He concentrated on the panorama for a few moments until he felt the final remnants of his dizziness leave him and, with it, the cluttered state of his mind.\n\nAs a likely suspect for the murder of Fland Cooper, and taking into consideration what the fishmonger's assistant had told Mistress Marchand, it was reasonable to assume that his killer had been someone from the dead man's childhood. With the exception of the last few months, Cooper had lived all of his life in the vicinity of his parents' alehouse on the Wragby road, so it was more than likely he was referring to someone he had met in that area many years ago. Wilkin had said that most of the customers in those days had been travellers; the only ones he remembered as having been regular patrons were John Rivelar and his sons, who lived in the area and whose horses he had seen tied to the hitching post outside the alehouse door on more than one occasion. Both the former bailiff and his younger son were dead; that left the elder, Mauger.\n\nIf Bascot accepted Gianni's premise that the person responsible for the poisoning deaths in the town was not Wilkin\u2014and the Templar was now inclined to do so\u2014but was instead the man who had murdered Cooper, then a motive linking the former crimes to the latter must be found. Since the people who lived in all of the places where the poison had been found were connected in some way to the capture and subsequent hanging of Drue Rivelar, Bascot could think of no greater motivation than that of a man who was taking revenge on all of those who had been instrumental in bringing about his brother's death. If Cooper had recognised Mauger, and connected his presence in the vicinity of Reinbald's house with the poisonings, then his possession of that knowledge could be the reason that the fishmonger's assistant had been killed.\n\nBut, Bascot pondered, if it had been Mauger, why had he not taken a more direct method to wreak retribution? It was said he was a big man and so would presumably be strong; he was aggressive and possessed of a violent temper. He had used a blade on Cooper, an instrument of death that seemed a likely tool for such a man as had been described by the potter and his family. Why had he used such an unreliable means as poison on the others?\n\nThe Templar thought back over the poisoning deaths in the castle and town. If he was right in his assumptions about the bailiff's elder son, Mauger would have had no surety that the people responsible for his brother's capture and death would ingest the venom. The sheriff had not even been in Lincoln when the adulterated honey pot had been placed in the castle kitchen. While it was true that all of the people that had been killed had been connected with those involved in Drue's capture and subsequent hanging, it seemed a haphazard scheme for Mauger to employ.\n\nBascot ruminated once again on the little he knew of Mauger's personality. Wilkin told how Mauger had laughed when John Rivelar had laid his blackthorn staff across the potter's back and had seemed to derive enjoyment from the pain his father had caused. The manner of Cooper's death would seem to indicate the potter's opinion was accurate; a quick thrust to the heart would have easily killed the fishmonger's assistant, but instead, he had been disembowelled and made to linger in excruciating agony until his throat was finally cut. Both of these facts seemed to indicate that the murderer was a man who derived pleasure not only from the infliction of pain but from watching it. As he thought about the manner of the deaths, a pattern began to emerge\u2014one that he had seen before.\n\nWhen he had been a prisoner of the infidels in Outremer, the Saracen lord who had captured him had been at war with a neighbouring emir and they had often engaged in battle. One day the Saracen's soldiers had returned with a captive, a proud-faced infidel who had stood boldly in front of his enemy and shown no fear. The next morning, all of the lord's household, including his slaves, were assembled in the courtyard and made to watch as the captive was subjected to a most appalling torture; he was secured between two posts and the skin had been slowly flayed from most of his body and then, still conscious and screaming with the pain of his ordeal, he was spread-eagled on the ground and left to die in the heat of the broiling sun. It was five hours before he did so. Sickened by the cruelty, Bascot had asked one of the other slaves, a Jew who had a smattering of the French tongue but a good understanding of Arabic, if he knew why the captive had been put to death in such a sadistic manner, and the Jew had explained, \"That man was the only son of the emir with whom this Saracen lord is at war. When the emir learns of the great pain that his son went through before he died, the Saracen will not only derive much pleasure from the greatness of his enemy's grief, it will also unman the emir and make him weak with sorrow. He will, therefore, be much easier to defeat.\"\n\nThe reason why poison had been employed to murder people connected with those responsible for Drue Rivelar's death came to the Templar with undeniable certainty, and he knew beyond any doubt that Mauger was the one that had used it.\n\nHis elation, however, was short-lived. There was no means of proving his conviction. Without substantiation, Gerard Camville would give no credence to a claim that his official declaration of the potter's guilt had been an error and that the true culprit was, instead, a man who had not been seen in Lincoln for ten years. And Nicolaa de la Haye would also doubt Bascot's assertion; it had been on her authority that Wilkin had been accused, and she was still convinced that her charge had been a true one. Both of them would dismiss his allegation about Mauger as being unsupported by real evidence, and it was highly unlikely that either the sheriff or his wife would agree to a search being made for Rivelar's elder son.\n\nThe Templar looked out over the town of Lincoln. Mauger was out there somewhere, he knew. He could be one of the people walking through the crowded streets below, or a servant in the castle ward or Minster, safe behind the facade of his false identity as he pretended to share in the horror that the poisonings had provoked amongst those with whom he lived and worked. He was resourceful and he was clever and Bascot had no doubt that he would kill again. It was imperative to find him before that happened. But how?\n\nHe needed evidence linking Cooper's murder to Mauger before either the sheriff or Lady Nicolaa would believe that John Rivelar's elder son was the poisoner. The only person left who might be able to give him information that would enable him to do that was Cooper's cousin, Mary Gant. Although Roget had questioned her on the morning that the body of the fishmonger's assistant had been found, the captain had not, at that time, yet spoken to Mistress Marchand and so was not aware that the murderer had been someone Cooper had not seen for many years. And even after the draper's wife had given the captain that additional bit of information, Roget believed it to be a brigand who was responsible and would not have thought to return to the glover's wife and question her again.\n\nThere was also the need to discover whether Mistress Gant had visited the alehouse in her childhood and had been there on the occasions that Mauger and his father had stopped to sup ale. If she had, it was possible that she, like Cooper, would recognise him and know that the name he was using was not his own. She, along with the beekeeper's family, could be in great danger and must be provided with protection.\n\nBascot turned away from the parapet and went back down the stairs to the bail. He would visit the glover's wife without delay. The need to institute a search for Mauger became more urgent with every passing moment."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "Roget had told him that Mary Gant lived In A house on Clachislide, which was a street that branched off Mikelgate near the church of St. Peter at Motston. Bascot took Gianni with him, but they did not go directly to it, taking a circuitous route by walking down Danesgate until they came to Claxledgate before turning onto Clachislide. With every step that he took, Bascot wondered if Mauger was keeping watch on the approaches to Mary Gant's house, waiting to see if anyone connected with the sheriff came to question her again about her cousin's death. As they walked, he told Gianni the reason for their journey, and to keep a sharp eye out for any who seemed to be loitering without purpose near the glover's home.\n\nThey found the premises without difficulty, since the open-fronted shop on the lower floor was still open for custom. As Ernulf had said, it seemed that Gant had a good business, for there were quite a few customers crowded around the goods displayed on the counter that lay open to the street. Bascot scrutinised the customers carefully. Most were women, some accompanied by a child or a maidservant, and although there were three men amongst them, these all appeared to be well over the age of thirty. Deciding it would be safe to assume that none of the men could be Mauger, Bascot approached the shop and spoke to the middle-aged man behind the counter, telling him he wished to speak to the glove maker.\n\nThe man nodded and went to the back of the premises and disappeared through a doorway, returning a few moments later accompanied by a short, spare man with a kindly face. His brown eyes were gentle and his shoulder-length hair was liberally sprinkled with grey.\n\nHe introduced himself to Bascot as Matthew Gant and asked the Templar politely how he could be of service.\n\n\"I want to ask you and your wife a few questions concerning the death of her cousin, Fland Cooper,\" Bascot told him.\n\nGant nodded and, opening a small wooden gate that allowed entry into the shop, led Bascot and Gianni through the door that the glover's assistant had used and into a workshop strewn with pieces of leather, soft linens and wool. On the work surfaces were many wooden lasts in the shape of a hand, all of different sizes, and numerous pairs of scissors as well as large spools of thread and a quantity of needles. Square wooden frames that were used for stretching the materials before they were cut and sewn were hanging from the walls. Motioning to a flight of stairs that led to the second storey, and explaining that his wife was above, they followed the glover up the narrow staircase to the living quarters and into a large chamber where Mary Gant sat at a table sewing tiny beads into a decoration on the back of a woman's glove. She was older than her cousin Fland, about thirty years of age, and some ten or fifteen years younger than her husband. Her face and figure possessed little beauty, for her dull brown eyes were set close together and lines of irritability curved alongside lips that wore a pursed expression.\n\n\"My wife tends to the finer work,\" Gant said proudly. \"She has a deftness that is rare.\" That explained why the glover must have married her, Bascot thought; she had no other attribute to recommend her.\n\nGant smiled at his wife and explained why Bascot had come. She had laid her sewing aside when she saw that their visitor was of knight's rank and gave a deferential nod in response to her husband's explanation, but her manner was far from welcoming. \"I know nothing about any of the people my cousin associated with,\" she said, her pinched features screwed up with disapproval. \"I told Captain Roget so on the day that he came here.\"\n\n\"I am aware of that, mistress,\" Bascot said, tingeing his voice with sternness. \"But since the captain's visit, further information about your cousin has been received that you might be able to help clarify.\"\n\nThe glover saw that the Templar was annoyed by his wife's tone and hastened to offer Bascot some refreshment. Bascot shook his head and bade them both be seated. When they had done so, he asked Mary Gant if she had ever visited the alehouse her relatives had run out on the Wragby road.\n\nShe sniffed with condemnation. \"No, I never went there,\" she replied loftily. \"It was a low place, even when my great-aunt ran it.\"\n\n\"Fland's grandmother and Mary's were sisters,\" her husband interrupted in explanation.\n\nBascot nodded his head in understanding, and although he was relieved to find that it was not likely the glove maker's wife had ever seen Mauger, and so would not be a threat to him, he felt a pang of disappointment that she could not identify him. \"I have been told that, in later years, Fland's father often had brigands for customers,\" he said to Mary. \"Is that true?\"\n\nHe wanted to find out if Cooper had ever spoken of Mauger's brother, Drue, to his cousin. If he had, it was possible he had also mentioned Mauger. His question set the glove maker's wife off into a tirade.\n\n\"That was all Fland ever talked about,\" she said sharply.\n\n\"How he had met all those outlaws and of the tales they told him. I warned him more than once that he was not to tell his stories to people who knew myself and my husband, but he would not obey me. It was embarrassing to have all our neighbours know that members of my family kept such nefarious company.\"\n\n\"Now, Mary,\" Gant said in a conciliatory tone to his virago of a wife, \"the boy meant no harm. And his customers found his stories interesting. You know that he was often given a fourthing or a halfpenny by some of them when he went to make deliveries of fish. He said it was because they liked to listen to his tales.\"\n\nMary Gant clamped her lips together and made no reply to her husband's comment.\n\n\"Did he mention any of these wolf's heads by name?\" Bascot asked her.\n\nShe waved her hand dismissively. \"Often. Especially those that were hanged by the sheriff about two years ago, but I paid no attention to their names.\"\n\n\"Do you remember of whom he spoke?\" Bascot asked the glove maker.\n\nMatthew Gant shook his head.\n\nThe Templar changed the direction of his questions. \"Your cousin told someone who knew him that he was expecting to receive some money from a man he was once acquainted with. Did he tell you of this?\"\n\n\"Money?\" Mary Gant said explosively. \"Never. He had none and no prospect of any. That is why we were forced to give him shelter.\"\n\nBascot turned from the wife and looked at her husband. \"And you, Master Gant, did he ever speak to you of this expectation?\"\n\nGant looked at his wife uncomfortably before he answered. \"Not specifically, no, but he did tell me just before he was killed that he would not be taking advantage of my generosity\u2014and that of my wife, of course\u2014for much longer.\"\n\nHis wife glared at him. \"He never said that to me. Why did you not tell me he was planning to leave us?\"\n\nGant shrugged his shoulders helplessly. \"He was killed before I could mention it, Mary. It did not seem important once he was dead.\"\n\n\"What exactly did Fland say to you, Master Gant?\" Bascot asked, feeling his hopes rise.\n\nThe glove maker took a moment to recall the conversation. \"It was the night before he was killed,\" he said and then gave a glance that bordered on defiance at his wife. \"He and Mary had an argument earlier, while we were eating. It was, as usual, about him recounting some memory of the brigands he had known to a friend of ours the day before. They exchanged harsh words and I felt sorry for Fland.\"\n\nHe looked up at the Templar with his soft brown eyes. \"The boy had not had a very good life, but it was all he had known. It was only natural he wanted to talk of it.\" Bascot nodded and bade him go on.\n\n\"After my wife went to bed, I tried to console him and told him that Mary only castigated him because she was concerned for his well-being and was worried that his tales might damage not only our reputation in Lincoln but his own. It was not her intent to be purposefully unkind, I told him, but he did not believe me. He said that I need not worry there would be any more arguments since he would soon be leaving our home and would no longer be here for Mary to rail at him.\"\n\n\"Since your wife said he had no money, did he explain how he expected to be able to pay for other lodgings?\" Bascot asked.\n\n\"I asked him that and his answer was a strange one,\" Gant replied. \"He laughed and said that while Mary might not think it profitable to make his former association with brigands known, his company with them had proved far more gainful than she thought, especially when he also knew the members of their families.\"\n\nBascot felt his pulse leap. \"Did he make mention of any particular outlaw, or to which relative he was referring?\"\n\nGant shook his head. \"Not really. He just looked at me and said that it was a true saying that blood was thicker than water, especially between brothers.\"\n\nThe Templar glanced at Gianni, who was standing beside him, and saw the boy smile. They had found the evidence they had been looking for."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "After they left the glove maker's shop, Bascot decided that they would not go directly back to the castle but would take their time in returning. If Mauger was amongst the people on the street, the Templar did not want to arouse any suspicion that they might have learned anything of import from Cooper's cousin. First, he and Gianni went into the nearby church of St. Peter at Motston to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for heaven's assistance in their quest. After leaving there, they walked slowly up Hungate and stopped at the shop of a cobbler who had supplied the Templar with the boots he was now wearing\u2014ones that the shoemaker had fitted with soft pads that greatly eased the pain in his injured ankle. They were greeted with what appeared to be genuine pleasure by the cobbler's wife, a horse-faced woman with a mellow voice. She explained that her husband and son were both absent at the moment, having gone to pick up supplies of leather from one of the tanners in the lower part of town, but she would be glad to help Bascot with anything he required. The Templar examined some wrist guards that were on display on the counter and then enquired about getting a pair of new shoes for Gianni. After looking at several models the cobbler's wife showed him, he promised to return later and place an order for a pair, then they left and walked back up Hungate to Spring Hill and out onto Steep Hill, passing through Bailgate before they entered the eastern gate of the castle.\n\nIt was nearing time for the evening meal when they reached the ward, and the Templar, aware that it might still be prudent not to seem in any haste to speak to the sheriff, sat down in his customary seat. He forced himself to chew slowly, conscious all the time that any of those eating at board or serving the food could be the man he sought. If Mauger had been watching as he and Gianni had gone to the home of Cooper's cousin, it was imperative that he believed Mary Gant had not been able to tell anything of importance. Bascot lingered over a last cup of wine until he saw that Gerard Camville was making ready to leave the hall before he called to a page and sent him to the sheriff with a request that he speak privately to the sheriff and Lady Nicolaa. After listening to the page's message, Camville gave him a nod across the space that intervened between them, and Bascot waited for a full quarter of an hour after the sheriff and his wife had left the room before he went up the staircase that led to Camville's private chamber.\n\nWhen Bascot arrived, a servant had just finished placing a tray bearing a flagon of wine on a small table set against the wall. The sheriff offered the Templar a cup before he asked why he had come, and Bascot accepted it, taking a deep draught before he spoke.\n\n\"I have come to tell you, lord, that I believe the potter to be innocent of the crimes with which he has been charged, and that the poisoner is a man named Mauger Rivelar. He is the older brother of Drue, a brigand you hanged about two years ago. He is also the one who is responsible for the recent death of Fland Cooper, the young man who worked in the fish market.\"\n\nCamville's heavy brows came down over his eyes. \"That is a far leap of the imagination, de Marins,\" he said harshly. \"Do you have some proof to substantiate this allegation?\"\n\n\"I do, lord. Mauger left the Lincoln area some ten years ago, but Cooper knew him well as a child, when Mauger and his father used to patronise an alehouse Cooper's parents owned on the Wragby road. I have evidence that will support this. After speaking to a relative of Cooper's, I am certain that Mauger returned to Lincoln after the deaths of his brother and father and it was he who adulterated the honey that killed six people in the town. The fishmonger's assistant saw him while he was returning from placing the poisoned honey in the home of the merchant, Reinbald, and recognised him. When Cooper realised that Mauger was using a name that was not his own, he also became aware that it was he, and not the potter, who was the poisoner. Cooper then tried to extort money from Mauger to keep his identity, and his crimes, a secret and was killed for doing so.\"\n\nThe sheriff had begun to pace in his restless fashion as Bascot had been speaking. \"And Rivelar's reason for the poisonings?\" he asked tersely.\n\n\"Revenge, lord,\" Bascot replied in an equally short fashion. \"Against you, Ivor Severtsson and the prior. You were the one responsible for hanging his brother, the bailiff gave information that enabled him to be captured and the prior was witness to the deed.\"\n\n\"But none of us are dead, Templar,\" Gerard objected. \"I do not see how his purpose has been served by the deaths of those who had no part in bringing his brother to justice.\"\n\nBascot spoke earnestly. \"Each of those who was an intended victim was connected to one of you three, lord. Here, in the castle, the poison was meant for Lady Nicolaa. With Severtsson, it was his aunt and uncle. It was only happenstance that, on both of those occasions, others ingested the poison in their stead. The death in the priory is the only instance where Mauger achieved his aim. The poison was given to one of the monks, who are, to the prior, like members of his family. I have been told that when Mauger was a boy he enjoyed watching others being inflicted with pain. The manner in which Cooper was killed indicates that maturity has not changed him. Any revenge he sought would not be taken quickly, in the way that most men would do, with their fists or a sword. His requital would only be satisfied if he made his victims suffer before the coup de gr\u00e2ce was delivered, so that he could take pleasure in their anguish before he despatched them. If Lady Nicolaa and Severtsson's family had died, as he intended, he would have fulfilled his purpose.\"\n\nCamville's face had become grim. \"What are your proofs of this man's guilt?\"\n\nBascot related the details of Roget's interview with the draper's wife and how Gianni had afterwards made a suggestion that there was a connection between the poisoner and Cooper's death. He then gave details of his questioning of Wilkin and, afterwards, the beekeeper and his daughter. Finally, he related his conversation with Matthew Gant and how it had provided proof of his suspicions. Both the sheriff and his wife listened intently.\n\n\"Mauger will not stop, lord, until he has gained his objective,\" Bascot said when he had finished. \"He will kill again. And the next time he might be more successful.\"\n\n\"If de Marins is right, Gerard,\" Nicolaa said quietly, \"I am not the only one he will try to kill. Richard's skill with a sword would be no defence against poison.\"\n\nFor the first time since he had met him, Bascot saw an unfamiliar emotion appear in the sheriff's eyes\u2014fear.\n\nCamville walked over to the fireplace and studied the small flames rising from the log of applewood that was burning there. It was a long time before he spoke. \"You are certain of this, Templar? There can be no mistake?\"\n\n\"I am sure, lord,\" Bascot replied.\n\nThe sheriff nodded, convinced. \"Then no time must be lost in finding him.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "After Gerard Camville gave his sanction to the search, they discussed how it could best be carried out.\n\n\"He may be anywhere in Lincoln,\" Bascot said. \"Someone who lives in the town, a servant here in the castle or a lay brother at the priory. It is possible he is a man we see every day whose presence we accept unthinkingly, not realising his identity is a false one. The only facts of which we can be certain are that he is in his late twenties, probably strong in build and has hair that is brown and eyes of a pale colour. He will not have returned to Lincoln until after his brother and father were dead, and so he has not been here for longer than two years.\"\n\n\"The only place to start,\" Nicolaa said, \"is with a list of possible suspects. Ernulf and Roget can help me with those who have recently arrived in the town, and I will review the household records for those within the castle. The prior of All Saints can be asked if there are any newcomers among the monks and servants who fit Mauger's age and description.\"\n\n\"You must exercise caution, Wife,\" the sheriff warned. \"We do not want this man alerted to our search. If he is, he will be forewarned and may leave Lincoln before we find him. To that same end, the potter must be kept in confinement.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded her agreement. \"For the present, I will take only Ernulf, Roget and the prior into our confidence. And Richard.\"\n\n\"Reinbald and his family must be warned that they are in danger,\" Bascot said. Then, as he recalled the animosity that the merchant's wife, Helge, had towards Wilkin, added, \"I am not confident that Reinbald's wife has the ability to keep a still tongue in her head. She is a headstrong woman and suffered extreme embarrassment at the potter's trial. She is also convinced that he is guilty. Her hatred of him may blind her to the peril she is in, and she may feel it necessary to defend her views to any who will listen.\"\n\nNicolaa pondered the problem for a few moments and then said, \"I shall ask the merchant to come here to the castle so that I can speak to him of this matter alone. I can use the pretext of wishing to order some wine for our stores to request his presence and, once he arrives, explain to him our fears and the reason for them. Perhaps a way can be found to protect his family without his wife being aware of it.\"\n\n\"I will question Wilkin again, see if he can remember more of Mauger's appearance, though I am doubtful he will recall much. The last time he saw Rivelar's elder son was many years ago.\"\n\nNicolaa nodded. \"And the aspect of a man can change drastically as he becomes an adult\u2014his height increases and his beard will thicken. Unless he had some deformity or a visible blemish, he may look completely different. But it will be worthwhile to try, for we have a difficult task before us.\"\n\n\"It would be wise, Wife, if you and Richard were careful of what you eat and drink until Mauger is found,\" Camville said gruffly.\n\n\"We will be, Gerard, and I will especially ensure that Richard abstains from drinking the honeyed wine of which he, like Haukwell, is so fond.\"\n\nThe castellan stood up. \"I owe you an apology, de Marins. I should not have doubted your instincts when you told me you believed the potter was innocent.\"\n\n\"I doubted them myself, lady,\" Bascot replied. \"Had Gianni not made an observation that directed me to the truth, I would still be doing so.\"\n\n\"Then I will ensure the boy is rewarded for his quick intelligence,\" Nicolaa promised him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "Early the next morning, Nicolaa de la Haye sat with her son, waiting for Reinbald to respond to a summons she had sent asking that he attend her that afternoon to discuss the purchase of a quantity of wine for the castle store. Richard had been apprised of the situation the night before when his father sent for him to come to the sheriff's private chamber while Bascot was still there. He had listened in dismay as the Templar repeated his proofs of Mauger's guilt and was shaken when he realised the danger that Nicolaa was in. \"You must stay in the company of either Father or myself at all times, Mother. To do otherwise will put you in great peril.\"\n\n\"Then you can help me prepare the list of those within the castle household who fit Mauger's description, Richard,\" Nicolaa said lightly, trying to alleviate the fear she saw in her son's face. \"I do not think your father would have much liking for the task.\"\n\nIt was this list they were studying as they were waiting for Reinbald, Richard eschewing his favoured honeyed wine and sharing a flagon of tart cider with his mother as they considered each of the names that had been put down. There were many, for old age, death or injury often gave need for replacement.\n\nAfter they had spent an hour at the task, Nicolaa laid her pen down with a sigh of frustration. \"This would be far more profitable if we had some sort of description, Richard. While we can eliminate some as being too old, or too young, the rest are such a motley crew of differing physiognomies that it becomes almost impossible to eliminate any of them.\"\n\n\"I agree, Mother,\" Richard replied. \"A description of fair skin and brown hair does not give much guidance.\"\n\n\"I have been trying to remember John Rivelar's appearance and that of his son Drue, although it cannot be taken as certain that Mauger will resemble either of them closely. It is possible he may take after his mother, but I was told that she has been dead for many years, and so any details of her aspect are lost to anyone's memory.\"\n\n\"I recall that Drue was small and dark, but his father was not. They would not have been taken as father and son at a cursory glance,\" Richard said.\n\n\"Just so,\" Nicolaa agreed. \"Let us hope the potter will be able to give de Marins details that are more helpful.\"\n\nAt that moment, a servant knocked at the door and told his mistress that Reinbald had arrived. When the merchant entered, his younger nephew, Harald, was with him, carrying a flagon of Granarde wine in the crook of his arm. Nicolaa looked at Richard and her son grimaced before reluctantly giving a nod. Although neither of them had much regard for Ivor Severtsson, especially after Bascot had told them what Roget had learned about him, it seemed it would be necessary to include his brother in the conversation they intended to have with his uncle.\n\nReinbald doffed the tasselled cap of brocaded silk he wore and bowed low to the castellan and her son. \"I was pleased to learn that you are interested in the wines that I offer, lady, and have brought one for you to taste in the hopes that it will tempt your palate.\"\n\n\"I am afraid, Master Reinbald, that I asked you here for quite a different purpose than the one which I stated in my message,\" Nicolaa told him. \"While both my son and I would be more than pleased to sample your wares, we have a much more serious matter than the purchase of wines to discuss.\"\n\nBoth of the men were startled by her words, but when she bade them sit down and hear what she had to say, they complied, albeit with wary expressions on their faces. As Nicolaa explained the discovery that Wilkin was not guilty of attempting to murder the members of their household and who they believed had done so instead, Reinbald's face became grave.\n\n\"If what you suspect is true, lady, then my wife, myself and Harald are all still at risk from this man.\"\n\n\"I am afraid so, merchant,\" Nicolaa replied. \"And that is why it was necessary to use the precaution of a ruse in my summons to you. There was a need to alert you to the danger and find a way to circumvent it, but if we are to apprehend this man, it is vital that our suspicions are kept secret.\"\n\nNicolaa gave the merchant a conciliatory smile as she added, \"I feared the danger of the situation might prove a little too much for your wife to withstand, and so decided to talk to you privily.\"\n\n\"But how can we defend ourselves, lady?\" Reinbald said with some agitation. \"This man has gained access to our home before, without any of us having knowledge that he had done so. He may do so again.\"\n\n\"We are well aware of that, merchant,\" Nicolaa said dryly, \"and that is why you are here, to discuss how we may provide you with protection without it seeming to be done.\"\n\nHarald had remained silent throughout the exchange between Nicolaa and his uncle, but now, with a steadiness in his pale blue eyes, he said, \"Would it not be easier if my aunt and uncle were to leave Lincoln for a time, Lady Nicolaa? My uncle often goes to London and even farther afield to purchase wine for his stores. If he made it known that he was leaving town for such a purpose, and taking my aunt with him, none would suspect that it was not the truth.\"\n\n\"But I never take your aunt Helge with me on such trips,\" Reinbald protested.\n\n\"She is always begging you to do so, Onkel, and every time you refuse. Now you must pretend to indulge her. It will keep you both out of harm's way, even if it is only for a short time.\"\n\n\"And what of you, Harald?\" Reinbald objected. \"Will you remain in Lincoln and expose yourself to the danger alone? I am not sure I can allow such a thing.\" The merchant's consternation was palpable.\n\nHarald gave his uncle a reassuring smile. \"Onkel, it is far easier to protect one person than three, especially if one of those three is a woman. I do not need to spend much time in our house; I will be in the wine store during the day and, if necessary, can spend the nights with Bedoc.\" Harald glanced at Nicolaa and Richard. \"Bedoc is our clerk and lives above the storehouse. He has two dogs who keep watch over the premises at night. I will be perfectly safe there.\"\n\n\"But you are Ivor's brother,\" Reinbald reminded him. \"This man may decide that you would be a fair exchange for his own brother, whose death he believes Ivor caused. He may not use poison next time but attack you with a knife as he did when he killed the fishmonger's assistant. It is a quick matter to stab a man in the street and disappear in the crowd around him.\"\n\nAgain Harald dismissed his uncle's protestations. \"I promise I will stay alert, Onkel, while you are gone. And that will be much easier to do if I know that you and Tante Helge are safe.\"\n\nRichard regarded the younger Severtsson brother. He had not the height nor the strength of his brother, but his manner was unaffected and the courage inherent in his words had been stated with a quiet resolution that held no hint of bravado. The sheriff's son thought that although Harald and Ivor were brothers, they were not much alike, and that the younger was far more preferable than the elder."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "While Nicolaa and her son were closeted with Reinbald and Harald, Bascot was questioning Wilkin about his memories of John Rivelar's elder son. The potter had returned to the state of apathy that the Templar had found him in on the previous occasion he had been in the cell, and the spark of hope that had gleamed in Wilkin's eyes on that occasion was gone. Bascot suspected he had been subjected to another round of abuse by the guards and had to shake him sharply before he regained awareness. Although he wished he could relieve the potter's anguish, and that of his family, by telling all of them that Wilkin's innocence was no longer in doubt, he knew he could not do so. If the potter tried to defend himself against the guards' brutality by revealing his knowledge, or if Adam or Margot mentioned it to one of their neighbours, the news of the search for Mauger would leak out. That could not be allowed to happen.\n\n\"Tell me what you recall of Mauger during the time before he went away,\" Bascot demanded of Wilkin, keeping his tone rough on purpose. \"Did he have any blemish on his skin, or perhaps a lisp in his speech? Were there any scars on his face or arms that you noticed?\"\n\nWilkin rallied sufficiently to say that the only thing he remembered was that he thought Mauger's eyes may have been blue, but nothing else.\n\n\"I want you to think on the matter, potter, and send one of the guards to fetch me if you remember anything that might be pertinent, no matter how insignificant it seems.\"\n\nWilkin gave the Templar a weak nod, and Bascot left the cell, disappointed by the interview."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "That same afternoon, Mauger Rivelar went down into the streets of the town. He knew Roget had been questioning the citizens about their knowledge of Fland Cooper's friends and wanted to listen to any gossip about the killing. Although Cooper had sworn that he had not mentioned his knowledge of Mauger's presence in Lincoln to anyone, he wanted to make sure that the ale keeper's son had been telling the truth. He had, after all, been begging for his life when he said it.\n\nMauger smiled inwardly at remembrance of his last meeting with Cooper. As he had feared at the time, Fland had recognised him on the day that Mauger had been in the lane behind Reinbald's house, just after he had placed the poison in the merchant's kitchen, but it had taken Cooper a couple of days to remember where he had seen him, and then a couple more before he realised that Mauger was using a false name and why. It had been then that the little whoreson had come to him with a demand that he be paid to keep silent and had foolishly expected Mauger would part with the money quietly and without a struggle. Cooper had been stupid and greedy as a child, and had not changed with the passage of years. It had not been until he was lying on the ground with his stomach ripped open that he had finally realised the pass to which his avarice had brought him. Cooper had deserved every second of the agony he had endured, and Mauger had enjoyed inflicting it. Lovingly, he patted the knife that he wore in a sheath underneath his tunic. He could hardly contain his longing for the day when he would do the same to all of those who had conspired in his brother's death, but he knew he must be patient. Before he killed them, they must experience the same depth of anguish they had inflicted on him. Only then would justice be served.\n\nGrief for Drue swelled anew in Mauger's breast as he recalled the night he had left all those years ago. His brother had been just a boy then, only twelve years old, and Mauger could still remember the excited look on Drue's face as he had watched his older brother pack a sack with food as he prepared to leave their home. When Drue had asked him where he intended to go, Mauger had answered carelessly that he did not know, but anywhere was preferable to being under the subjection of their father any longer. In all the years he had been gone, he had not once envisaged that he would never see either Drue or his father again.\n\nIf only he had returned a scant few weeks earlier he might have been able to save his little brother from the sheriff's noose, but he had been too entranced with the charms of a compliant widow in Grimsby to come as quickly as he had intended. He had not heard of his brother's and father's fate until he was finally on his way back to Lincoln in the company of a party of travellers going in the same direction. Shortly after he joined the group, one of them, a cordwainer returning to Lincoln after collecting a shipment of Spanish leather at Grimsby, and not aware of Mauger's identity, had told his companions about a band of brigands that had recently been hanged by the sheriff in his hometown, and how the father of one of them, a bailiff by the name of John Rivelar, had died shortly afterwards from the shock of his son's death. Mauger had been horror-struck. He had kept a grim silence as the cordwainer embellished his tale with details of his brother's hanging, wishing he could tear the man's tongue out so that he could speak no more. When the travellers reached Louth he made an excuse to part from the others and took a private room in an alehouse. Only when he was finally alone did he allow his grief to engulf him.\n\nAt first he had tried to deny the truth of what he had heard, but he soon realised there could be no mistake. His father had been the last living member of his family, and there had never been any other people bearing the name of Rivelar in the Lincoln area. Besides, the cordwainer had said that the father of the boy who had been hanged was a Templar bailiff. He must have been speaking of Mauger's father; it could be no other man. But how had it come about that Drue had turned to brigandage? John Rivelar had been a difficult man to live with, but he had never stinted on the comforts of a pint of ale or suitable clothing for either himself or his sons. What had made Drue join a band of outlaws?\n\nIt was then that he had decided to go to Lincoln and find out the truth of the matter, and realising that it would be easier to get the townspeople to speak more freely if they were not aware of his connection to John Rivelar and his son, he had taken a false name and identity. He had assumed, and rightly, that he would not be expected to be in the town, or recognised, after so many years away. It had not taken long for him to learn how his father had vehemently denied Drue's guilt and had been thrown out of the sheriff's keep for his protestations. Mauger knew that although his father had been a hard man, he had also been an honest one. If his father had insisted Drue was innocent, it must have been the truth. All of them\u2014Severtsson, Gerard Camville and the prior of All Saints\u2014had conspired to bring his brother and father to unjust and untimely deaths. They must all be made to pay for their actions.\n\nIt had taken him a long time to formulate a plan that would enable him to extract a suitable vengeance from those who had betrayed his family, but when he had done so, he found that the taste of retribution was sweeter than untainted honey."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The next morning dawned with gloomy weather and a drop in temperature, as though nature had changed her mind and decided to revert to the months of winter. As Bascot and Gianni came down from their chamber in the old keep and entered the bail, a heavy rain drummed about their heads, striking their faces like needles of ice. A shipment of cages containing live geese was being unloaded from a heavy dray, and as Bascot and Gianni were threading their way through the tangle of servants attending to the task, Ernulf came hurrying up to them.\n\n\"Milady and Sir Richard request that you attend them as soon as you are able,\" he told the Templar. \"I've just been trying to help them with a list they're making of men in the town that might be this damned Mauger Rivelar.\" He shrugged regretfully. \"I wasn't much help, I fear.\"\n\nWhen he reached Nicolaa's chamber, Richard was with her, discussing each of the names on the list they had compiled. As Bascot entered, the castellan looked at him expectantly. \"Was the potter able to give you any additional details about Mauger's appearance?\"\n\n\"Only that he might have blue eyes,\" Bascot replied. \"That is all.\"\n\nNicolaa sat back in her chair, disappointed. \"We have been trying to recall John Rivelar's appearance in more detail,\" she said, \"but our memories contain nothing remarkable.\" She tapped the piece of parchment on the table in front of her. \"Many of the men on this list could be his son, but lacking some definitive feature to set one apart from the others, it is impossible to tell which of them it could be.\"\n\nBascot picked up the list and scanned it. It was separated into three parts\u2014castle, town and priory. The listing for the castle household had just over half a dozen names with Gosbert's assistant, Eric, at the top followed by six more, and ending with the name of Gilles de Laubrec, the marshal. Bascot was surprised at the knight's inclusion.\n\n\"I had not expected to see de Laubrec's name here,\" he said.\n\nRichard gave a nod of reluctance. \"He took up his post in my father's retinue just before you came yourself, de Marins, and so his arrival is within the two-year space of time during which Mauger could have returned to Lincoln. De Laubrec told us that he was formerly in the retinue of a lord in Normandy, but...\" Richard rubbed a hand over his mouth as though to stop himself from voicing his misgivings, \"if Mauger gained some skill at arms during the ten years he was absent, the pretence of being a landless knight in a distant demesne would not be difficult to assume. We can send a messenger to Normandy, of course, and ask the baron if de Laubrec is telling the truth, but it would take many weeks before we knew the answer. We do not have that much time.\"\n\n\"The same can be said of most of the others on the list,\" Nicolaa added. \"Eric came to me saying he had been in the employ of a woman with whom I am acquainted but have not seen for many years. He gave me details of her household and the manor house in which she lives. I did not question his veracity.\" She pointed to some of the other names. \"You will also see that Martin, the castle leech, is here, along with Lambert, John Blund's clerk. Martin told us he served his apprenticeship for leechcraft in the company of a physician from London while they were both in the retinue of one of the Marcher lords on the Welsh border. Lambert says he comes from Exeter, in Devon, and claims he was taught to scribe at a schola there. Their bona fides, like the marshal's, can all be checked but, as Richard says, it will take a long while to do so.\"\n\nBascot pointed to the second category on the list, that of the priory, where the names of Brother Andrew and two other monks were written down. \"It should not be as difficult with these men. The church is scrupulous in investigating the backgrounds of any men requesting admission to their ranks.\"\n\nRichard got up and began to pace. \"You would think so, de Marins,\" he said, \"but I have been to All Saints and spoken in confidence to the prior, and that is not always so. Andrew claims to come from the land of the Scots, and to have been a member of a Benedictine monastery on one of the many small and remote islands off the northern coast of Scotland. He brought with him a letter from the abbot there, saying Andrew wished to extend his knowledge by studying under Brother Jehan, whose renown as an herbalist is well-known.\"\n\nHe gave Bascot a look of irritation. \"Unless we send an enquiry to the Scottish monastery, how are we to know that Mauger did not adopt the guise of Andrew to gain access to the priory? In the ten years he has been away, he could easily have become skilled in scribing and written the letter himself. The prior seems to think he is sincere.\"\n\n\"Andrew, by his own admission, had easy access to the shelf where the pot was kept in the priory,\" Bascot mused, \"but so do the many people of the town who come to the infirmary for aid when they are ill.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Richard replied.\n\n\"I have asked Roget to enquire discreetly about those who live in the town,\" Nicolaa said, pointing to the section where ten names were recorded, \"but it will not be easy to ask their neighbours for information without revealing the purpose for it.\"\n\n\"We seem to be at a standstill,\" Bascot said.\n\nTheir frustration was like a physical presence in the room, as though a fog had descended and engulfed them. Nicolaa stood up, breaking the tension. \"We must press onwards, regardless of how hopeless it seems, until we find some way to uncover Mauger's false identity. There is no other option left open to us.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "That evening, Bascot sat with Ernulf in the small cubicle in the barracks that the serjeant used for a sleeping place, sharing a pot of ale. Even though the room was screened off by a leather curtain from the large open space that housed the soldiers of the garrison, they were talking quietly lest they be overheard. In a corner, Gianni sat listening to their conversation while he used the wax tablet to practice his competence with Latin phrases.\n\nThe Templar and the serjeant were discussing the names on the list Nicolaa and Richard had prepared.\n\n\"I can't believe 'twould be any of those in the castle,\" Ernulf said. \"Especially Sir Gilles. He has never given, by word or sign, that he is other than what he claims to be.\"\n\n\"Neither has Martin,\" said Bascot. \"A man becomes a leech, I would have thought, because he wants to heal people, not kill them.\"\n\nErnulf took another swig of ale. \"Could be the clerk, Lambert, I suppose,\" he said. \"He's allus seemed to me to be a sly fellow. I put it down to him coming from Devon. I knew a lass from those parts once; she was as bright and pretty as a new minted penny, but she slipped my purse with a month's wages off my belt and was gone before I'd had time to take the kiss she'd promised me. Never trusted anyone from Devon after that.\"\n\nHe looked at Bascot. \"Course, if Lambert is Mauger, he never would of come from Devon, anyway, so maybe his slyness has more to it than I thought.\"\n\nThe serjeant's logic was convoluted, but Bascot nodded in agreement as Ernulf added, \"Milady said it was possible that the monk that helps Jehan in the infirmary could be Mauger, the one who calls himself Brother Andrew.\" The serjeant shook his head in despair. \"Don't like to think that a man of God could be responsible for killing all those people but then, if he's only posing as a monk, I suppose it might make sense.\" He hawked and spat on the ground. \"If 'tis that assistant of Gosbert's, I'll skewer him on a spit and roast him like a pig over an open fire. He'll not die quick, I promise you that.\"\n\nAt that moment, the leather curtain over the cubicle rattled and Roget entered. The expression on his face did nothing to lighten the despondency that Ernulf's words had invoked. The former mercenary looked disgruntled and tired; the scar down one side of his face seemed deeper and his eyes were dull. He was carrying a stoppered flagon of wine and poured himself a generous measure before offering it to the others. When they shook their heads, he sat down heavily on a stool.\n\n\"I have just finished giving my report to Lady Nicolaa,\" he told them. \"I tried to find out what I could about the people whose names she gave me but discovered little that might help us. It could be none of them, or all. Everyone seems to be what he says he is, but how are we to know who is telling the truth and who is not?\" He took a long swallow of his wine and cursed long and hard. \"Mon Dieu, it is like going into battle with a sack over your head. You know the enemy is there, but you cannot see him.\"\n\nBoth Bascot and Ernulf commiserated with his words and they sat in morose companionship until the Templar stood up and said he was going to bed. Bidding the serjeant and the captain a good night's rest, he called to Gianni and they left the barracks, making their way across the bail towards the old keep. Once in their sleeping chamber, Bascot struck tinder from a small firebox he kept beside his bed and lit a rushlight, not extinguishing it until they had both removed their boots and lain down on their pallets.\n\nOnce the chamber was in darkness, Bascot removed his eye patch. He knew sleep would not come easily, for even as he closed his eye, his mind began to go over and over the small store of information they had about Mauger. He felt as though one of the ferrets that belonged to Dido was in his mind, ducking and diving into dark crannies to find the scent of the rodent he was seeking, just as he was searching for a trace of the human vermin who was the poisoner. He had a feeling that something had been missed but could not determine what it was.\n\nThe Templar tossed and turned, trying to still his mind so that he could induce it to rest. He lay thus for a long time, until finally the cathedral bells tolled the hour of Laud. The slow pacing of the strokes was sonorous, and Bascot felt a calmness descend on him. Just before sleep claimed him, the words of a verse from the Bible came to him, from the book of Exodus, where it was related how the Lord had commanded Moses to turn back and camp by the sea so as to confuse the Egyptians. As his mind stilled into the void of slumber the words \"Go back\" echoed in his consciousness like one of the cathedral bells."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "The next morning, as Bascot and Gianni attended Mass in the castle chapel, the Templar found the two words from the text in Exodus still reverberating in his mind, so much so that he found it difficult to concentrate on the words of the service. A restless night's sleep had added its toll to his fatigue, and he decided that he was in need of some physical exercise to sharpen his concentration.\n\nAfter they had emerged from the chapel and broken their fast, Bascot sent Gianni to the barracks and watched until the lad was safely inside before he walked across the bail to the open stretch of ground that was set aside for use as a training area by the squires and pages. The household knight that had been appointed in Haukwell's stead as mentor to the young men of the Camville retinue had set Thomas and one of the other older boys to a round of practice at the quintain, while the younger ones were strengthening the muscles in their arms and the accuracy of their eye by throwing wooden javelins at water butts filled with sand. Sending a page to the armoury for one of the blunt-edged swords used for training in combat, Bascot stripped off his outer tunic and set himself before one of the half dozen thick wooden posts that stood near the perimeter of the training ground. When the sword was brought to him, he hefted it in both his hands to gauge the weight and then began to swing it at the block.\n\nAs the first strokes of the dulled blade smashed into the wooden block, a feeling of relief engulfed Bascot's knotted muscles and he kept swinging the sword until perspiration dripped from every part of his body. Shaking his head to clear it of the beads of sweat that had gathered on his brow, he took a moment's respite from the exercise and then began again, this time more methodically, letting the rhythm of the sword beat order into his mind and thoughts. As the words of the text had seemed to bid him, he went back in his memory to the day Mauger had claimed his first victim and Bascot had ascended the stairs to the scriptorium and found Blund kneeling over the dying clerk. Then had come the death of Haukwell and Nicolaa de la Haye's subsequent questioning of Gosbert and his assistant. Thomas's accusation that Eric had poisoned the honeyed drink had followed, and then the assistant's denial, citing the fact that Gosbert had used some of the honey to make marchpane and it could not have been tainted. That was when it had been revealed that Nicolaa de la Haye had most likely been the intended victim, since the cook had admitted he had sent the cake to her chamber, saying in his defence that he had done so in the hope of tempting her flagging appetite. The sempstress, Clare, had then told how she had taken the cakes to the scriptorium...\n\nBascot halted in the sword in mid-stroke. No, it was later that Gosbert had mentioned Nicolaa's failing appetite, when Bascot had questioned him in the holding cell after the cook had been incarcerated. Then Gosbert's statement had been more detailed; he had said his purpose in sending the cakes had been to encourage Lady Nicolaa to eat and had added that his reason for doing so had been that \"he had heard\" her appetite was waning. Who had told him that? The entire household in the castle had known that Nicolaa was indisposed, but Bascot could not recall anyone mentioning that she had suffered a disinclination for food. Had it been an assumption on Gosbert's part that her illness had induced a lack of appetite, or had someone intentionally told him it was so? Could it have been Mauger, in the guise of his assumed identity, that had encouraged Gosbert to prepare the marchpane and send it to his mistress, using the cook as an innocent dupe in the commission of her murder?\n\nSlowly Bascot let the sword fall loose in his hand so that the tip rested on the ground as he examined the notion that had just come to him, and then, grabbing the tunic he had discarded, he gave the blunted sword to one of the pages and walked swiftly across the bail in the direction of the castle kitchen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "When Bascot entered the cookhouse, he found Gosbert overseeing two scullions as they positioned the carcass of a recently slaughtered sheep onto a spit in one of the fireplaces. Eric was standing nearby, a pot of grease with which to lard the animal in his hand. When the Templar called to Gosbert, the cook immediately came to his side, pulling off the rough linen cap that covered his bald head.\n\n\"I am here under instruction from Lady Nicolaa,\" Bascot informed him. The Templar wanted to get the information he was seeking from the cook without Gosbert realising the point of his questions, and also wanted to prevent Eric overhearing the gist of their conversation. He would have to use a ploy of some sort to get the cook away from the rest. \"She wants to ensure that Wilkin did not tamper with any of the other foodstuffs in the kitchens,\" he said to the cook, \"especially those in the storeroom, which was not locked until after the remaining honey pots had been tested. Open the door and show me what the room contains, so I may judge whether there is need for Thorey to test any of it on his rats.\"\n\nGosbert was quick to comply with the request and led the Templar away from the ovens towards the room that Bascot remembered seeing on the day he had come to question Eric. Taking a candle from a shelf, Gosbert set the wick alight from the flame of one of the cresset lamps that were set in holders at intervals along the walls, and he walked to the far end of the kitchen. After unlocking the storeroom door with a key hanging from a chain on his belt, Gosbert pushed it open and led Bascot inside. The Templar shut the door behind them. The room was large, with bags of flour stacked along one side and barrels of salted fish lined up on the other. Stoppered earthenware containers of various sizes stood at the farthest end, and above them were shelves laid with rounds of cheese, bowls of eggs and jars of mustard. In one corner were a box of candles and a large wooden bucket filled with scoops and ladles.\n\n\"I think 'twould only be the fish that would have a taste strong enough to mask a poison, lord,\" Gosbert said with a worried look on his face, \"but the mustard might do just as well. Shall I get them all brought out into the bail so Thorey can test them?\"\n\nBascot walked about the room, pretending to examine the lids on all of the fish barrels and the seals on the jars of mustard. \"I will ask Lady Nicolaa if she thinks it best to do so, Gosbert. After all, the potter managed to exchange a jar of poisoned honey for a pure one while you and the rest of the kitchen servants were near at hand; he could just as easily have slipped in here and done the same with one of these.\"\n\nThe cook ran a hand over his bald head in distress. \"I know, lord. I blame myself for not being more vigilant. 'Twas bad enough the life of Sir Simon was taken, and that of the clerk, but if Lady Nicolaa had died...\"\n\n\"Yes, we must give thanks to God that she was spared,\" Bascot replied soberly. \"If her throat had not been so sore, then such would have been her lot.\" He gave the cook an accusing look. \"But, Gosbert, it must be said that if you had not made the simnel cake and sent it to her chamber, the danger to her life would not have been there in the first place.\"\n\n\"I know that, lord.\" Gosbert gave the Templar a look full of remorse, but as Bascot had hoped, he then tried to exonerate himself from blame. \"I would never have made the cake, Sir Bascot, if I had not been told that milady's desire for food was waning. 'Tis well-known that Lady Nicolaa has a fondness for marchpane. I thought it might encourage her to eat. She is a good mistress and has been kind to me; I would never wish any harm to come to her.\"\n\n\"I am sure you would not,\" Bascot offered sympathetically. \"And neither, I am sure, would the person who told you of her disinclination for food. Did he, too, know of Lady Nicolaa's liking for marchpane?\"\n\nGosbert nodded absently, and Bascot then asked, in as nonchalant a manner as he could adopt, the name of the person with whom the cook had discussed Nicolaa de la Haye's failing appetite. The Templar held his breath as he waited for the cook's reply and, when it came, felt a surge of triumph. It was one of the names on the list that Nicolaa and Richard had prepared."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "A short time later Bascot was sitting with Nicolaa in her private chamber. He told her that he had discovered an indication of the assumed identity Mauger was using but, to corroborate it, he needed first to ask her a question. The castellan gave him a look of puzzlement but agreed to his request all the same.\n\n\"The rheum you had at the time that the clerk and Haukwell died\u2014did it cause you to lose your appetite?\"\n\nNicolaa thought back for a moment before replying. \"Not until the sore throat came upon me the night before the clerk was poisoned. I had been taking a medicant that my mother always used when either I or one of my sisters came down with such an ailment\u2014a mixture of borage steeped in cider\u2014and, although it has the effect of relieving the congestion, it tends to make one hungry. It was only when my throat became too sore to swallow that I could not eat. Up until then, my appetite had been hearty, even though the ache in my head had forced me to keep to the solace of my bedchamber. The sempstress, Clare, brought me food from the hall at mealtimes.\" She looked at the Templar, waiting for an explanation of his query.\n\n\"So no one on the household staff would have been under the impression that you had no desire for food?\" Bascot persisted.\n\n\"I cannot see why they should,\" Nicolaa replied, becoming slightly impatient. \"Just as I cannot fathom why my appetite, or lack of it, should be important, de Marins. Surely it is obvious that if Mauger had believed my desire for food to be waning, he would not have poisoned the honey in the hope that I would ingest it. It was only the sudden advent of the soreness in my throat that saved my life, and I give thanks to God for making it so.\"\n\n\"Yes, lady, but if you will think back to the day that I told you of the answers Gosbert had given to the questions I put to him, you will recall that he stated that the reason he made the marchpane was that he had heard you had lost interest in eating and hoped to encourage its return by preparing a dish of which you were fond. We paid no heed to his statement at the time because, due to the tenderness in your throat, you were, in fact, unable to eat, and the question of when he had been told about your condition never arose.\"\n\nNicolaa immediately saw the error that had been made. \"And we were also, at that moment, distracted by the death of Haukwell and his squire's accusation that Eric was responsible for poisoning his lord's drink, and so passed over the importance of his words,\" she said.\n\n\"Exactly so,\" Bascot agreed.\n\n\"Have you questioned Gosbert about this?\" she asked.\n\n\"I have,\" Bascot replied. \"And discovered that the same person who told him the falsehood about your waning appetite also suggested that he prepare a dish including marchpane\u2014your partiality for which is well-known\u2014to restore it.\"\n\nWhen Nicolaa de la Haye heard the name of the person responsible, her face became grave as she nodded. \"He would have easy access to the kitchens in the castle and priory and, I think, the boldness to place the poison in Reinbald's home. He must be the one we are seeking.\"\n\nEven though she was in accord with his opinion, the castellan was quick to point out that they could not afford to be in error. \"If we are wrong, we would be putting another innocent man in gaol, just as was done with the potter. We must find a way to confirm, beyond doubt, that the person we suspect is Mauger Rivelar so that there can be no mistake this time.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "Nicolaa sent for her son to join them, And with Bascot they sat through the long hours of the afternoon and early evening discussing a way in which they might trap Mauger into revealing his true identity and purpose. Various ideas were considered, amongst them searching his possessions for a supply of the poison, but after deciding it was unlikely he would have secreted the venom amongst his few belongings and it would alert him to their suspicions if they asked to inspect them, the ideas were all discarded.\n\nAt last, tiredness overtook them, and they decided it would be best to seek some rest and continue their discussion the next day.\n\n\"Sometimes sleep reveals a solution that has remained hidden from the wakened mind,\" Nicolaa said, rising from her stool.\n\n\"We must hope it does so speedily,\" Richard remarked, \"for in only two days' time it will be May Day. If Mauger decides to claim another victim, he will have ample opportunity to do so amidst the confusion of the celebrations, especially if he decides to use poison again.\"\n\nNicolaa knew that what her son said was true. On the first day of May it was her custom to allow a huge maypole to be erected in the castle ward and a queen to be elected from among the female servants. Once that was done the fortunate maid would reign over her companions in a merry pretence of royalty as she led a procession out into the countryside to collect boughs of greenery and spring wildflowers to decorate the pole. While the church frowned upon the heathen aspect of the celebration, they gave their sanction to the festivities by honouring it as the feast of the apostles Philip and Jacob and ensured that all of Lady Nicolaa's staff was reminded of the sanctity of the day by sending a priest to give a blessing in the castle ward before the procession began. There would be many people milling about the hall and the bail during the festivities, and not only in the daytime, but during the evening, when the queen would lead her subjects in a dance around the maypole.\n\n\"We must both be careful of what we eat and drink while the celebrations are being held, Mother,\" Richard said to Nicolaa. \"With open kegs of ale and tables full of victuals laid out for all to consume, it would be a simple matter for Mauger to slip poison into one of the dishes or cups without being noticed.\"\n\nHer shoulders drooping with weariness, Nicolaa had almost reached the door of the chamber as her son spoke. She turned, her hand on the latch as she began to assure him she would heed his words, when she suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. \"But that is it, Richard! The May Day celebrations. That is the time when it may be possible to cozen Mauger into revealing himself.\"\n\nBoth her son and Bascot looked at her in confusion, but this was soon dispelled when she explained the idea that had come to her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "The next morning, before the hour of Terce, Bascot went into the town, bound for Reinbald's house. He had sat up with Nicolaa and Richard until a late hour the night before, refining the plan that Nicolaa had devised, and it had been decided that the cooperation of both Harald and Ivor Severtsson would be needed to bring it to fruition. Before they went to bed, Roget had come to give his report and told them he had seen Reinbald and his wife, Helge, leaving town earlier that day, riding ahead of a wain crammed with a number of laden panniers. The Templar hoped that at this early hour he would catch Harald before he left to attend to his uncle's business.\n\nWhen he knocked at the door of the merchant's home, it was not opened by the maidservant that had formerly answered his call, but by Harald himself.\n\nThe young merchant's face expressed surprise at the identity of his visitor, but he quickly ushered Bascot in, explaining that he had given his aunt's cook leave to visit her sister in Nottingham while Helge was absent and that the young maidservant, who was the woman's niece, had gone with her.\n\n\"I thought they might be in danger if they were in the house while the poisoner is roaming free,\" he explained and added, with an impish grin, \"I hope you bring news that they may soon return, Sir Bascot. Preparing my own meals is not a task I enjoy.\"\n\nThe Templar said that he had come to tell Harald of a plan that might enable them to tempt Mauger into betraying himself and had been sent by Lady Nicolaa to request his collaboration.\n\nThe young merchant readily gave his assent to whatever ruse the castellan was proposing. \"Since the man is trying to kill me and the rest of my family, I would be a fool if I did not make every effort to gain his capture.\"\n\nRelieved at the young merchant's sensible attitude, Bascot explained that he would also need to speak to his brother. \"Ivor, too, must play a part,\" the Templar told him, \"and I will go to Wragby to speak to him as soon as I leave here.\"\n\n\"There will be no need for you to make the journey,\" Harald said, an unreadable expression on his face. \"My brother is here, in the hall. He will not be anymore at Wragby.\"\n\n\"Then I assume that Preceptor d'Arderon has dismissed him,\" Bascot said shortly.\n\n\"Yes.\" Harald gave Bascot an oblique glance. \"I see you were already aware that he would lose his post.\"\n\n\"I was,\" Bascot confirmed. \"Did he tell you the reason for his dismissal?\"\n\nHarald gave a curt nod, and the Templar asked if Ivor had denied the charge that had been levelled against him.\n\n\"My brother is not a man to take responsibility for his actions,\" Harald said with distaste. \"Unless it might be to his advantage, that is.\"\n\nHarald gave the Templar a level look and said, \"I love my brother, Sir Bascot, but I do not like him. Is it not strange how the vagaries of kinship can often be ironic?\"\n\nAfter assuring himself that Harald had told Ivor of the belief that it was John Rivelar's elder son who was responsible for the poisonings, and why, Bascot asked the merchant to take him to his brother.\n\nIvor Severtsson was in the hall, seated at the table, a flagon of wine in front of him and a full cup in his hand. When he saw Bascot he rose to his feet and gave the Templar a nod that held little respect. His face was flushed, and his expression mulish. He said nothing, however; he merely waited in silence as Bascot told both of the brothers to be seated and took a chair on the opposite side of the table.\n\nAs Harald poured his visitor a cup of wine, the Templar explained the stratagem that had been devised to trap Mauger, and both of them listened, without comment, until he finished. When he had done, Ivor was the first to speak.\n\n\"There is much danger in this enterprise. We will both be laying ourselves open to a sudden attack and may not have time to defend ourselves,\" he said.\n\nHarald turned to him and said, \"Is it not worth the risk, Brother? I do not want to live under the shadow of this man's threat any longer than I have to, and even less do I wish our aunt and uncle to be subjected to the threat he poses. Are not a few moments of peril preferable to days, or perhaps weeks, of waiting for him to make another attempt on our lives? If you have not the courage for it, say so, and we will try to trap him without your assistance.\"\n\nIvor flushed red at the rebuke in his brother's words, and Harald said to Bascot, \"You may tell Lady Nicolaa that I am ready to do as she asks, and willingly.\"\n\n\"And you?\" Bascot challenged Ivor.\n\nThe older Severtsson brother made no answer, only giving the Templar a grudging nod of assent.\n\nBascot rose to take his leave, and as Harald accompanied him to the door, the young merchant said, \"Tell Lady Nicolaa she need have no fear that Ivor will participate in the scheme.\"\n\n\"How can you be sure?\" Bascot asked doubtfully.\n\nAn ironic smile appeared on Harald's face as he said, \"I have only to threaten Ivor that I will tell our aunt the true reason he was relieved of his post by Preceptor d'Arderon. My brother will not be able to lie his way out of that, for while it might be easy to convince Tante Helge that a potter would tell a falsehood, she will never believe it of a Templar knight.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "Ivor and Harald Severtsson came to the castle that afternoon as had been arranged, timing their visit to coincide with the end of the last meal of the day. Members of the castle retinue were still in their places at the tables, and Nicolaa sat on the dais in company with the prior of All Saints and Brother Andrew. The two monks had been invited to attend the meal in order to discuss the part the church would play in the festivities the following morning. The prior would bless the procession of castle servants before it left to go out into the countryside, and Andrew and two other monks would sing psalms as the cavalcade left the ward, reminding all of those present that the festival was of Christian significance, honouring two saints, and not in praise of the pagan entity that had been associated with the festival in heathen times. Gerard and Richard Camville were absent.\n\nNoticing Harald and Ivor's arrival, Nicolaa gave a nod of sanction to her steward for their admission, and they made their way up the central aisle between the tables and came to a halt below the dais. Harald bowed and removed the cap he was wearing, his brother standing behind him. The attire of both was somber; tunics and hose of dark grey, the only item of ornamentation a badge bearing an image of St. Amandus, patron saint of vintners and merchants, affixed to Harald's sleeve.\n\nAfter introducing his brother and telling the castellan that Ivor had left his post as bailiff and was assisting him in Reinbald's business while his uncle was away, Harald came to the purpose of his visit.\n\n\"Lady Nicolaa,\" he said, \"I am come to offer my apologies for not being able to deliver the order of Granarde wine that you placed with me a few days ago. I have just received word from the merchant in London who was to supply it that he will not be able to do so. It will be some weeks before I can obtain more.\"\n\n\"That is sad news, Master Severtsson,\" Nicolaa said.\n\n\"My son had a particular fancy to try it. He will be disappointed.\"\n\n\"So I thought, lady,\" Harald said smoothly, \"and, to make up for the loss, my brother and I have brought with us tonight a small tun of another wine that is very similar but, I believe, even finer of taste. I would like to offer it to you free of payment, in the hopes that you will enjoy it and be encouraged to order more.\"\n\nHe bowed low as he said this last, looking exactly like a merchant touting for business. Bascot, watching his performance from his seat among the household knights, admired Harald's steady nerve. No one listening to his conversation with Nicolaa de la Haye would have realised that he was acting a part, just like a mummer in a play. As for Ivor, he stood silently by, and although there was a hint of defiant nervousness in his manner, it could be construed by onlookers as embarrassment for having to take a secondary role to his younger brother.\n\nNicolaa considered the merchant's words for a moment and then nodded her head. \"I would be a foolish woman to refuse such a generous offer,\" she said. \"While my husband does not have a taste for sweetened wine, both my son and I are very fond of it. We will sample it at our leisure and let you know our judgement.\"\n\nHarald took a step forward. \"Lady,\" he said, \"the wine is a strong one and is at its best when mixed with honey and spices that come from the region where the grapes are grown. We have also brought these with us. The preparation must be made with a delicate hand, and if it is your pleasure, I would show your butler how to do it for your first sampling. I had hoped to have the honour of doing that for you tonight, for I have need to leave Lincoln town on urgent business as soon as the May Day festivities are over.\" He gestured to Ivor. \"My brother, unfortunately, has not yet sufficient skill to take my place.\"\n\nNicolaa frowned, making a pretence of considering the suggestion. \"Tonight is not a good time, Master Harald,\" she said. \"My son is not here and, as I said, it was for his delectation that I ordered the Granarde. Besides,\" she gestured to the cup that sat beside her trencher, \"I have already taken my fill of wine for this evening. I do not have a fancy for more, no matter how excellent the taste.\"\n\n\"Then may I proffer my services for tomorrow, instead?\" Harald said. \"I would gladly rearrange the schedule for my departure to accommodate you.\"\n\nNicolaa laughed. \"I see you hope that a good order will follow this wine sampling.\"\n\n\"Since I know the excellence of the wine, lady, I think my hope is fully justified,\" Harald said with assurance.\n\nNicolaa rose from her seat. \"Very well. Make it mid-morning, after the procession is under way. If the wine proves to be as palatable as you say, I may even extend you an invitation to share in the feast that will be held in the evening and, of course, to share in the wine. You have my permission for both of you to attend us here tomorrow for the purpose of this tasting.\"\n\nAs she began to descend from the dais, Harald thanked her and then added, with a show of obsequiousness, \"Lady, may I ask one more boon?\"\n\n\"You may ask, merchant, but it remains to be seen if I will grant it,\" Nicolaa said impatiently.\n\n\"The tun of wine I brought tonight, and the spices and honey with which to serve it\u2014I have left them outside in the ward. May they remain here overnight, in your safe-keeping, until the morrow? It will save us the task of taking them away and bringing them back again.\"\n\nNicolaa waved her hand dismissively. \"Of course. Give them into the charge of my butler. He will see to their storage.\"\n\nHarald bowed once again as she left the room, then he and Ivor went to the back of the hall and spoke to Eudo. The steward had heard his mistress's command and quickly summoned the castle butler to direct the placing of the wine, honey and spices in the buttery. Bascot gave a secret smile of satisfaction. Just as in the staging of a mystery play, the scene was now set. Would Mauger take the bait they had dangled before him?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "Later that evening, Mauger gave thought as to whether or not he should take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself that afternoon. He recalled the moment that Ivor Severtsson had walked into the hall and how he had been almost blinded with hate for the man. He had listened to the ensuing conversation between Nicolaa de la Haye and Severtsson's merchant brother with distraction, the intensity of his rage overcoming his ability to focus on anything other than the bailiff.\n\nOnly when he realised that the wine Harold Severtsson was requesting the castellan to taste was to be flavoured with honey had his attention at last been diverted to the arrangements that were being made. As a small tun of the merchant's wine was brought in and placed in the buttery, a capacious room just off the hall that was used for the storage of wine and ale, his speculation about how it could further his aim had begun. When Harald had followed the servant who was carrying the barrel with a jar of honey and a bag of spices in his arms, it had grown even further, especially when the butler had directed the merchant to place the condiments on top of the tun and leave them in the buttery.\n\nThe honey pot was of the same shape and design as the ones that were stored in Reinbald's kitchen, and identical to the pots that Mauger had exchanged for those laden with poison. All were made by Wilkin and bore the Templar mark. Harald Severtsson must have decanted some of the foreign honey into a pot from his aunt's store; it was a reasonable action, especially if the honey that had accompanied the wine had been in a larger container and he wanted to bring only enough to prepare the wine. Harald had said he was supplying the wine for the sampling free of cost, and a canny merchant did not willingly give away more of his wares than he needed to.\n\nIt would not be an easy matter to replace the honey that the merchant had brought for one laced with the poison. The buttery's close placement to the confines of the hall would make it overlooked all night by the servants and knights that slept on the floor of the large open space, including the butler, who made up his pallet within the buttery itself. But in the early part of the morning, just after the night's fast had been broken, Mauger might have an opportunity to enter the buttery undetected, at the time when the entire castle household went out into the bail to watch the selection of the queen of May.\n\nFor the space of an hour he wondered if it was worth the risk before finally deciding it was. There seemed to be no doubt that everyone considered the potter to be guilty of the crimes that had been committed; there would be no suspicion that the poisoner would strike again, not until after Nicolaa de la Haye and Richard Camville lay writhing on the floor in fatal agony, while the sheriff watched in horror. It was even possible that the merchant would drink some himself, but if he did not, it was most likely that, instead of the potter, the finger of guilt would now be pointed at Harald Severtsson; the brother of the man that Mauger hated most of all. The sheriff would be terrible in his wrath; he might even take his sword to Ivor's brother without the nicety of a trial. The poisoner suppressed a grim smile. All of those he had sworn would pay for Drue's and his father's deaths would, at one stroke, suffer the same agonies of grief they had inflicted on him. Once that happened, he could watch their torment at leisure until he deemed the time had come for them, too, to pay the ultimate penalty for their sins. It would be a fine spectacle to witness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "To the relief of everyone within the bail, THE next morning dawned with a clear sky and somewhat pale, but sparkling, sunshine. The louring clouds and rumbles of distant thunder that had started the previous afternoon had been swept away to the east and replaced by the promise of a bright spring day for the festivities.\n\nAll of the castle servants were up early, hastening to complete their duties so that the celebrations could commence. A four-wheeled wain that was to be used as transport for the queen of May had been dragged into the bail the day before, and a huge tree trunk had been erected by the eastern gate for use as a maypole. Once their chores were over, the servants would assemble in the ward to watch Nicolaa preside over the election of the May queen, then the new monarch would select female attendants from among those girls who had been less fortunate. When all was in readiness, the service honouring the two apostles would be held, and then the procession would start, led by the wain that carried the queen of May and her coterie of companions.\n\nOnce out into the countryside, the servants, free of the restraint that existed within the castle walls, could roam the greenwood at their leisure, gathering boughs and spring flowers that would later be piled at the base of the maypole. There would be ample opportunities for amorous encounters among the secluded leafy bowers, and afterwards, when they returned to the bail, a sumptuous feast was to be enjoyed while the maypole was decorated. Nearly all of the servants who would take part cared not whether it was a Christian festival or a pagan one; their only intention was to enjoy themselves.\n\nLike the servants, Nicolaa was up early, pacing her chamber as she went over the preparations they had made. Gerard and Richard had arrived back at the castle late the night before, as planned, to be on hand for the wine tasting. She had carefully explained to Eudo the instructions he was to give the butler, fervently hoping that the wine steward, a man chosen more for his abstemiousness than his intelligence, would carry them out exactly as he had been told. Was there anything they had forgotten? Some small detail that would alert Mauger that he was being lured into a trap? She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, murmuring a prayer for heavenly assistance as she did so."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "In the hall, all of the castle staff, along with the monks from the priory, were waiting for Nicolaa to appear and give her permission for the festivities to begin. When she entered the huge room, a collective sigh of anticipation rose from the assembly then stilled into silence as she went up onto the dais and turned to face them. Her husband and son had followed her in and, like the rest of the company, were waiting for her to speak. The choosing of the May queen was a woman's task, and although the men took part as spectators\u2014and by not a little ogling of the female pulchritude on display\u2014it was the lady of the castle who would direct the activities.\n\nNicolaa let her eyes roam over the company. All of the men that had been included on their list of suspects were present: de Laubrec standing with the other household knights; Brother Andrew in the company of the prior; Eric, the assistant cook, casting admiring glances at one of the female scullions who was standing near him; Martin the leech conversing quietly with one of the men-at-arms; and Lambert, the clerk, standing in discourse with Master Blund. Bascot de Marins was standing on the fringe of the crowd, his mute servant at his side. Nicolaa saw her own thoughts mirrored in the knight's face. Like her, he must be wondering if they had chosen correctly in their identification of the man they believed to be Mauger. If they were wrong, their plan would all be for naught, and Rivelar's son would be alerted to their suspicions. If that happened, he would most likely take flight and only his absence would reveal his true identity. But the die was cast; either they would succeed or fail. That decision was in God's hands, and His alone.\n\nShe cleared her throat and pronounced that the celebration of May Day could commence, letting her voice ring out over the hall. \"First, a queen will be selected. I ask that all here attend me to witness the choosing.\"\n\nNicolaa descended from the dais, and the women, chattering excitedly, followed. In their wake the men walked in a slow, straggling group, taking their time as the whole company went out of the keep and into the bail, watching the excited females ahead of them with expressions of amusement.\n\nAs Nicolaa reached the bottom of the steps of the forebuilding and walked in the direction of a large table that had been erected in the middle of the ward, she willed herself not to glance behind her to see whether their suspect was with the company. She must, she reminded herself, appear natural and not betray their intent either by expression or movement.\n\nThe women, jostling each other as they vied to be nearest the front, gathered in front of the table. On it had been placed an earthenware jar with a neck that was only a hand's span wide. It was full of pebbles. All of the small stones had been left as nature made them except for one, which had been painted blue. One by one, each of the unmarried women among the household staff would come up and place her hand into the jar and retrieve a stone. The girl who had the good fortune to grasp the hidden blue one would be declared queen of May. Nicolaa stepped up to the table and instructed Eudo to stir the contents of the jar with a long wooden spoon, and when he had done so, she bade the first girl come forward.\n\nThere were forty-odd women who hoped to be the finder of the blue-painted pebble, and the order of their turns was dictated by length of service. Nearly half of their number had pushed their hands excitedly into the jar and been disappointed before one of the younger girls, the daughter of one of the castle washerwomen, held her hand aloft and gave a cry of victory. She was a full-figured girl of about fourteen, and her rosy cheeks blushed even redder as Eudo stepped forward, looked at the stone she held clutched in her hand and proclaimed her the winner.\n\nEven though the rest of the women were disappointed, they took their loss in good part and gave the lucky girl smiles of congratulation. Nicolaa signalled that it was now time for the wardrobe mistress to present the girl's prize, a chaplet which was, by custom, worn every year by the servant proclaimed queen of May. It was a dainty headdress, with flowers embroidered on a length of silk woven about a circlet of bronze. It was a treasure to be coveted, for the girl who was elected would be allowed to retain the delicate piece of material as her own once the celebrations were over.\n\nAs the rest of the female servants gathered about the girl and her prize, Nicolaa called for a cask of ale to be broached and joined the company in watching the queen choose her attendants. On the periphery of her vision she had seen the figure of the man they believed to be Mauger join the spectators. He had been well behind the others, and she felt a small shiver of hope mingled with fear for her own and Richard's safety sweep through her as the prior began to intone the blessing for the day and the chanting of the psalms began. Heads were bowed in reverence as the two saints, Philip and Jacob, were remembered for their selfless piety and martyred deaths. Once the service was completed, heads came up swiftly in joyous anticipation and the celebrants left the bail, walking behind the queen and her ladies in the wain, raising their voices in accompaniment to the half dozen servants playing the merry lilt of a Maying song on slender reed pipes."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "Nicolaa led the remaining castle staff of upper servants, knights and the two monks back into the hall. Mauger was among them. He was elated at his success. When Nicolaa had led everyone outside to watch the election of the May queen, it had been an easy matter to announce to the people closest to him that he had need to visit the jakes before he went outside. Waiting in the confines of the latrine until he was assured the hall was clear of people, he had then gone quickly into the buttery and exchanged the jar of honey that Harald Severtsson had brought for the adulterated one he had retrieved late last night and carried into the hall secreted in a bag under his cloak. A quick revisit to the jakes had allowed him to dispose of the untainted jar by dropping it through one of the holes in the wooden board that covered the deep shaft leading to the midden. He had heard a satisfying plop as it hit the bottom. The deed had been done almost before the drawing of the pebbles had started.\n\nNow he watched with anticipation as Nicolaa de la Haye ordered her butler to set up a small table in preparation for the tasting of Harald Severtsson's wine. The merchant and his brother appeared at the door while this was being done, and Harald hastened up to the front of the hall to join the butler in his duty, inspecting the flagons into which the wine had been decanted and asking that a shallow bowl be brought along with one of the small braziers that stood, lighted, in the corners of the hall. Ivor stood at the edge of the group that was gathered and watched his brother in a disdainful manner. As Harald waited for his instructions to be carried out, he stood alongside Richard and Nicolaa, extolling the merits of the wine and assuring them that they would find it to be the best they had ever tasted.\n\nMauger looked at Ivor Severtsson. The man had obviously been removed by the Templars from his post as bailiff due, no doubt, to rumours that he had raped the potter's daughter. Now he was reduced to the status of a menial, assisting his younger brother in the tedious business of selling wine. He was already miserable; soon grief would be added to his conniving soul when he saw his brother either die or be charged with the murder of the sheriff's wife and son. Mauger hoped that Harald would be cut down where he stood by the truculent sheriff. If he was not, Mauger would gut him later, just as he had done with Fland Cooper, and just as slowly.\n\nHis eyes swivelled to Gerard Camville, who was standing a little apart from the rest. This was the man who had ordered the hanging of Drue. Soon sorrow would descend on his brutal heart and he, too, would be alone in his misery, his world shattered by the deaths of his loved ones.\n\nHarald had commenced the preparation of the wine, making a great fuss of pouring a little into the bowl and adding the spices before heating the contents with a small poker that had been resting in the embers of the brazier. After allowing the spices to simmer for a few moments, he used a loosely woven cloth to strain the mixture into a beaker and then poured a little into the bottom of two silver goblets Eudo had placed in readiness on the table. A heady aroma filled the air, comprised mainly of the sharp tang of cinnamon but with hints of other spices, such as tarragon and rosemary, mixed in.\n\n\"Now, the wine itself must be poured and heated,\" the merchant said, plunging the red-hot poker, which had been reheating while the spices were simmering, into a decanted flagon of the wine he had brought. Then he filled both of the goblets to about an inch from the brim. \"It is most important that the wine be well heated, for the warmth enhances the taste of the honey.\"\n\nSo saying, he tipped up the honey pot and poured a good measure into each of the wine cups, stirring the contents of both as he did so with a silver spoon hanging from a chain about his neck. The honey poured out in a thick golden flow, glistening lusciously in the light of the flaring torches that illuminated the hall. There was a murmur of approval from the spectators.\n\n\"Now, lord and lady,\" Severtsson said as he handed a goblet each to Nicolaa and her son, \"tell me truly if you have ever tasted a more flavoursome wine.\"\n\nAs they both drank from the wine cups, Mauger felt a surge of elation. He edged his way closer to the front of the group near the table, the better to see the effects of the poison. It should not be long before the symptoms began to show themselves.\n\nAs he gained a place near the table, he gloated with satisfaction as Nicolaa said to her son, \"It is most certainly toothsome, Richard, but I fear, even with the addition of the honey, it is a little too strong. My throat is tingling.\"\n\n\"That is as it should be, Mother,\" Richard replied with a smile. \"A good vintage arouses the senses, and who amongst us does not enjoy that?\"\n\nThe ambiguity of this remark with its salacious overtones was greeted by chuckles from the crowd gathered around the table, but Nicolaa made light of her son's lewdity and persisted in her uncertainty about the merit of the wine.\n\n\"I am not sure, merchant, that this vintage fulfills your boast. What region did you say it comes from?\"\n\n\"Perigord, lady, south of the Limousin,\" Harald replied. \"It is sold by a vintner there who has, I am told, lately received orders for a large quantity from none other than our king's mother, Queen Eleanor.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" Nicolaa replied, pretending to be suitably impressed. There was a modicum of contention in her voice, however, as she added, \"But since that esteemed lady comes from those lands herself she is doubtless prejudiced in favour of the wine that is produced there.\" She turned to her son. \"We need another opinion, Richard, to help me decide whether this wine is suitable to serve to the guests who grace our board. Do I not recollect that we have heard someone speak of the wines of Perigord before today?\"\n\nRichard pretended to consider her question before nodding his head and saying, \"Yes, Mother, we have,\" and with that he raked the crowd with his eyes until he saw Mauger and called out his assumed name. \"I remember that you once said the produce of the vineyards in the Limousin area is superior to any other. Come, have a cup of Severtsson's wine and tell us if it is truly worthy of the claim he is making.\"\n\nMauger's bowels turned to ice as Richard Camville bade him come forward and sample the wine. Damn the man for remembering a slight remark that had been made months ago. Quickly, he measured his chances of escape, but they were few. Bascot de Marins, the Templar knight, stood a little behind him, to his left, and on his right hand was the bulk of the castle serjeant, Ernulf. Neither would let him pass if he did not obey the bidding of the sheriff's son. Only behind the two Severtsson brothers was there a small clearness of space that would enable him to gain access to the door of the hall, but the merchant blocked his path. He took a slow step forward; the effects of the poison should soon take hold of both Nicolaa and Richard. If he could delay drinking from the cup of wine just long enough for one of them to become ill, he may be able to escape detection.\n\n\"I fear that, like Sir Gerard, I have not much taste for honey in my wine,\" Mauger said as he approached the table. \"Perhaps I could take a cup of it without the sweetener so that I may give a better judgement of its merit.\"\n\nNicolaa de la Haye shook her head. \"If I am to purchase some of this, it will be prepared as Master Harald has directed, and that is how it must be tasted.\"\n\nShe motioned to the wine cup which the merchant had filled and into which he was adding a generous dollop of honey. \"Besides, the cup is already prepared.\" She looked up at Mauger. \"You would not deny a lady her whim, would you?\"\n\nMauger's fingers were trembling as he took the cup in his hand. It was not hard for him to let it slip, as though by accident, so that the contents spilled across the white cloth that had been laid on the table, leaving a deep purple stain.\n\n\"I am sorry, lady,\" Mauger apologised. \"That was clumsy of me.\"\n\n\"Do not reproach yourself,\" Nicolaa replied considerately. \"It will not take Master Harald more than a moment to prepare another one.\"\n\nMauger watched with dismay as the merchant picked up the fallen cup, set it upright and refilled it with wine from the flagon and added the spices. As he reached for the honey, Nicolaa forestalled him. \"Perhaps, merchant, you should use honey from the other pot, the one you brought last night, instead of the sweetener that has been added to my cup and that of my son.\"\n\nShe looked up at Mauger. \"We used honey from the castle kitchen for ours, since the cost of the honey that the merchant brought was nearly as high as the wine. I had hoped to save the expense of purchasing it by using our own native honey instead, but it may be that, by doing so, I have detracted from the taste.\" She gave her butler a curt order, and from beneath the table, where its presence had been hidden by the long cloth, he lifted another pot of honey.\n\nMauger felt his senses reel as he realised that the wine both the castellan and her son had drunk had not been sweetened with the honey he had adulterated. The tainted pot that he had left in the buttery was there, in front of him, being freshly opened and the honey about to be added to a cup of wine that he must either drink or give an acceptable reason for refusing. A memory of the dog he had killed flashed into his mind, accompanied by vivid pictures of the symptoms it had suffered before its death; how it had writhed in spasms of agony and spewed the contents of its stomach and bowels. The thought of undergoing such a fate made the beating of his heart accelerate, and the sound drummed in his ears as Nicolaa directed that the merchant be generous with the sweetener lest the wine's taste be spoiled by parsimony.\n\nAs the cup was held out to him by Harald Severtsson, Mauger took a step backwards, his hand reaching for the knife that was secreted in his tunic. Nicolaa looked at him, her protuberant blue eyes filled with condemnation. \"You seem reluctant to drink the wine that you recommended to my son, Martin\u2014is that perhaps because you know that poison has been added? And, if so, how do you know that? Could it be because your name is not Martin, but Mauger Rivelar, and you seek to murder us in the same way you have killed six others?\"\n\nIn desperation, Mauger sought to escape and, drawing his blade, he stabbed out at Harald Severtsson, catching the merchant in the flesh of his upper arm. As Harald staggered back Mauger pushed past him, upsetting the table and the flagons of wine as he did so but gaining his way to the clear space beyond. Without pause, he began to run towards the door of the hall feeling a momentary rush of exhilaration and the hopeful expectancy of escape. But another obstacle suddenly appeared in his path\u2014one that would not be so easy to circumvent as the merchant. Gerard Camville, moving his bulk with the speed that made him such a formidable opponent in battle, was in front of him, sword drawn and the point imbedded in the cloth of the leech's tunic. Mauger could feel the bite of the steel as it lanced his flesh.\n\n\"I would as soon gut you now, pig, as later,\" Camville growled. \"The choice is yours.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "Once Mauger had been hauled away, with considerable roughness, by Ernulf and one of the men-at-arms, Brother Andrew hastened to tend the wound that Harald had sustained. It proved not to be serious, and as the monk was binding it, the young merchant gave Nicolaa a smile and said, \"I think, lady, that the offer you made me yesterday of sharing in a cup of wine would now be most welcome. And, if it pleases you, I would prefer it not to be sweetened.\"\n\nNicolaa de la Haye poured the wine herself and, with a disdainful glance at Ivor, said to Harald, \"Your courage does you credit, merchant. You have brought honour to your family's name.\"\n\nAs Richard explained to the puzzled spectators the meaning of what they had witnessed and how it was not the potter, Wilkin, who had murdered six people in Lincoln, but the leech, Martin, who was truly the poisoner, Bascot asked the sheriff for permission to take the news of Mauger's capture to Wilkin.\n\nCamville gave his assent and said, \"Tell the potter that he will need to be kept in the holding cell for a day or two until his innocence has been proclaimed throughout the town. He will not be safe abroad in Lincoln until all are assured he had no part in the murders.\"\n\nAs Bascot left the hall, he found that his gratification at the successful apprehension of Mauger was mingled with a deep sorrow for the anguish of all those who had been affected by the crimes the bailiff's son had committed. The act of murder was itself a type of poison, reaching out a like malignant hand to taint all of those it touched.\n\nWilkin was overjoyed at the news, as was Everard d'Arderon. When Bascot went directly from the holding cell to the preceptory and told the older Templar knight that the charges against the potter would now be dropped, d'Arderon seemed to regain some of his old ease of manner.\n\n\"Our prayers have been answered, de Marins,\" he said. \"I shall send immediately to the apiary and ensure that Adam and the rest of Wilkin's family are told he will soon be released.\"\n\nBy the time Bascot returned to the castle, the servants who had been out in the countryside were coming back from their excursion, faces flushed and happy, and with a multitude of boughs bearing apple and cherry blossoms piled in the cart and wildflowers entwined in the tresses of the men and women. Kegs of ale were broached as the branches were tied to ropes and affixed to the top of the maypole, and the music of pipes and tabors accompanied the women as they picked up the ends of the ropes and began to dance in an intertwining fashion about the pole until it was covered in the fairy-like flowers. Food was brought out and laid on trestle tables, and everyone ate their fill as the dancing continued throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening. It was a day full of merriment and laughter, and by the time night fell, all were sated with contentment."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "The next morning, after attending mass, Bascot and Gianni went into the hall for the morning meal. John Blund was sitting in his customary place, just below the salt, and the Templar took a seat beside him. Now that the poisoner had been caught and the complement of household knights was back to its full strength, Bascot knew he could not delay his trip to London any longer. But first he hoped to resolve the question of furthering Gianni's education. He asked Blund if he had had sufficient time to give the matter his consideration.\n\nThe secretary's face brightened at the question. \"I have given much thought to the matter, Sir Bascot, and have arrived at what I hope you will feel is an acceptable solution. It was my intention to seek you out this very day and tell you of it.\"\n\nBlund motioned to the empty space across from him, where Lambert, his assistant, usually sat. \"Lambert is already at his tasks in the scriptorium, even though the hour is early. We have been sore pressed, in the absence of Ralf, to keep up with our duties because the many small chores to which he attended\u2014sharpening quills, ruling lines on parchment, mixing ink and so forth\u2014take up so much of our time. It is this situation that has prompted me to my suggestion.\"\n\nHis faded blue eyes rested on Gianni as the boy hefted the jug of ale that was on the table and began to fill his master's cup. \"You told me that your servant already has some literacy, is that correct?\" When Bascot assured him that was so, Blund went on to ask, \"Do you think he would be able to fulfil those minor tasks of which I have just spoken? And perhaps even do a bit of copying of documents that are of minor importance?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Bascot replied. \"He has had scant scribing tools to practice with; it was necessary that he knew how to take care of them in order to prolong their use. As for the copying, he has spent these last few months improving his hand, and it is now almost as good as my own.\"\n\nBlund smiled with satisfaction. \"Then here is what I would propose, Sir Bascot. It will take us some time to find a competent replacement for poor Ralf, and our work is piling up. Would you be agreeable to sparing the boy to assist us in the scriptorium for an hour or two each day? If so, in return, Lambert is willing to give the boy the same amount of time in instruction in the evening, after our day's work is completed. I have already spoken to Lady Nicolaa about the matter,\" Blund told him with a smile. \"She told me she wishes to reward your servant for the part he played in uncovering the true identity of the poisoner and is more than willing to pay Lambert for these additional services out of her personal funds.\"\n\nThe Templar glanced at Gianni and saw the excitement in the boy's face. \"I think, Master Blund, that your suggestion is an excellent one. Both my servant and I owe you our thanks.\"\n\nAfter Bascot finished his meal and left the hall, he knew there now remained only one task to be completed before he left for London. He would have to tell Gianni where he was going and why."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "Bascot waited a few days before he told Gianni of his impending journey. He wanted to be sure that the boy was able to fulfil his duties in the scriptorium and also that the lessons given by Lambert were not beyond his limited knowledge. By the end of the week, Gianni's enthusiasm for his tasks and his contented face told him that the boy was happy in his new role and would, Bascot felt, not be too distressed by his master's absence.\n\nThe night before his departure, he sat the boy down in their chamber in the old keep and explained that he would be leaving Lincoln the next morning and the reason for his trip. As he had expected, fear had immediately darkened the boy's expression.\n\n\"I promise that I will return, Gianni,\" Bascot assured him, \"but I cannot say when that will be. Until that time, you are to sleep in the barracks with Ernulf, and he will watch over you. Each morning, you will go to the scriptorium and carry out the duties you are assigned by Master Blund, and for the rest of the day, you will study the lessons that Lambert gives you each evening. Lady Nicolaa has assured me she will supervise your welfare.\"\n\nThe look in Gianni's eyes made his words sound hollow. Bascot felt as though he was betraying the boy even though he had explained that it was for Gianni's welfare that he was about to take the step of leaving the Templar Order. As he sought for some way to reassure the lad, Gianni snatched up the wax tablet and wrote a few brief words on it and then handed it to his master. \"Your heart is with the men of the red cross. It will break if you leave it.\"\n\nBascot felt his breath catch in his throat. It was not for himself the boy was concerned, but for his master. He was not worthy to have such a lad for a servant, much less an adopted son.\n\nThe Templar had never, since the time they had met, laid a hand on the boy in any but the most casual of ways; he had seen the fear of men that lurked in Gianni's eyes when he had first found him and knew that it stemmed from evil acts that he most likely had witnessed or even been subjected to. Now, he reached out a hand, laid it on the boy's shoulder and gripped the thin flesh beneath his fingers with a clasp of affection.\n\n\"Sometimes God demands a sacrifice as proof of devotion, Gianni. I am sure this one will be well worth it.\"\n\nThese words echoed in Bascot's mind the next morning as he ordered one of the grooms in the castle stables to saddle a mount, and he felt comforted by them, relieved of any doubt as to the rightness of his decision."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "On Ermine Street, just a few miles south of Lincoln, a party of Templar knights was riding north-wards. They had left the guesthouse of an abbey near Waddington just as dawn was breaking, intending to reach Lincoln before the day was far advanced. At their head rode the master of the English branch of the Templars, Amery St. Maur. He was a man of some forty years, broad-shouldered and with a beard of dark brown. His slate grey eyes surveyed the world with a look of keen intelligence, but his mouth held a hint of humour in its thin curve, and while he had often proved his courage in battle, he was praised more often for his innate sense of justice than his military prowess.\n\nThe troupe reached the outskirts of Lincoln and skirted the walls on the westward side. As they approached the castle gate, the guard saw them and blew twice on his horn to signal their approach then sent one of the men-at-arms to tell the sheriff of the knights' imminent arrival. By the time the knights clattered over the drawbridge and into the bail, Gerard Camville was standing in the ward to greet them. Across the expanse of the open space, by the stable door, Amery St. Maur saw Bascot de Marins.\n\n\"You are well come, St. Maur,\" the sheriff said when the party had dismounted. The two men were well-known to each other since the time that one of Gerard's brothers had gone on crusade to the Holy Land with King Richard a decade before. \"I did not expect to see you this far north so soon,\" Gerard said. \"Just before I left London I had heard that you were in Canterbury, with the king.\"\n\n\"Aye, I was,\" St. Maur replied. \"I attended the celebration of Christ's resurrection at Eastertide and witnessed John and Isabella's ceremonial crowning for the service, but I left soon afterwards. There is need for my presence at our enclave in York, and it is there I am bound. Since the journey took me through Lincoln, I thought I would stop here on the way to discuss with Lady Nicolaa a matter that King John mentioned to me while we were both in Canterbury.\"\n\n\"My wife will be pleased to see you,\" Gerard said. \"Will you come and take a cup of wine with us?\"\n\n\"Gladly,\" St. Maur replied. \"But first, I would have a word with de Marins.\"\n\nBascot went down on one knee as St. Maur walked toward him. The two had met only once before, on that long-ago night in London when Bascot had taken his vows and had been initiated into the Order. The reticent young knight that the Templar master remembered, so full of ardour to become a soldier for Christ, was now much changed. Thomas Berard had described the injuries that de Marins had sustained throughout the long years of his captivity, and the knight's wavering of faith after his return to England, but the master had not expected to see a man who wore the results of his ordeal so plainly. It was not the black leather patch that covered his missing right eye which made it so, but the weary resolution in the vision of the other. Here was a man who had undergone great suffering at the hands of his heathen captors but had kept his devotion to Christ unsullied throughout. It was only amongst those of his own faith that his inner strength had been tested, and the master could see that his long endurance was beginning to flag.\n\nSt. Maur bade Bascot rise, giving him the kiss of peace on both cheeks as he did so. \"I am pleased to see that the health of your body has been recovered,\" he said, and then gestured to the saddled horse that the groom was bringing through the stable door. \"Are you about to embark on a journey?\"\n\n\"Yes, Master,\" Bascot replied. \"I am going to London, to request permission from Master Berard to resign from the Order.\"\n\nSt. Maur rubbed his hand over his short pointed beard and nodded. \"I met with King John recently and he told me of the offer he had made to you.\" He gave Bascot an intent look as he asked, \"I take it that you have decided to accept the king's gift and abide by the stipulations he attached to it?\"\n\nWhen Bascot replied that he had, St. Maur asked another question. \"Is it your wish, de Marins, as well as your intention, to leave our brotherhood?\"\n\nBascot answered him honestly. \"No, Master, it is not.\"\n\n\"Then I think there is need for us to discuss the matter further,\" St. Maur said in grave tones. \"Go to the commandery and await me there. Inform Preceptor d'Arderon of my arrival and tell him I will join you shortly.\"\n\nBound by his vow of obedience, Bascot did as he was bid and then, with d'Arderon's permission, went to await his interview with St. Maur in the preceptory chapel.\n\nThe Templar chapel in Lincoln had been built, like many of those in other enclaves, in a circular fashion to emulate the rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The interior of the chapel was plain, its small space supported by columns placed around the perimeter. On each of the two pillars alongside the altar, stone representations of cherubim had been carved on the capitals, and below them was a depiction of two knights astride one horse, the symbol that was used on the Templar seal. Niches in the walls contained torches that were kept alight day and night, and the acrid smell of burning resin filled the air, mixed with the sweeter and underlying aroma of incense. The altar was at the eastern end, with a figure of Christ on a cross above it and a statue of the Virgin Mary to one side. Bascot knelt in front of the rail that protected the table on which Mass was celebrated, and he bowed his head.\n\nFirst he put an image of Gianni in his mind, asking God to protect the boy through whatever trials awaited him, then repeated the prayer of a paternoster over and over until he heard the footsteps of St. Maur ring on the stones of the chapel floor behind him.\n\nThe master genuflected and then knelt beside Bascot, his lips moving in silent prayer before he rose and spoke to the younger knight.\n\n\"I have just been discussing with Lady Nicolaa the offer that King John made to you and the terms that bind it. She tells me, as I suspected, that she believed you were not content in the Order and wished to leave it. That being so, her suggestion to the king that he reward your services by restoring your father's fief to your possession was in anticipation of that desire. The constraints placed upon the boon were not of her design, but King John's alone. She assures me that although she would be pleased to have you join her retinue, she has no desire to command the fealty of a man who has given it under duress.\"\n\nSt. Maur paused when he finished speaking and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked to where the statue of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus in her arms stood on a plinth. After looking up at her serene face for a few moments, he walked with a measured tread back to where Bascot stood. \"Am I correct in assuming, de Marins, that were it not for the boy, you would refuse the king's offer and return to our brotherhood?\"\n\n\"You are, Master, but I must put Gianni's welfare before my own and so cannot, as much as I would wish to.\"\n\n\"And the vows you took, de Marins, what of them?\"\n\n\"I shall honour those even though I leave the Order, Master. I will remain chaste, as I swore to do, and I have no desire for earthly riches. Any monies that accrue from the king's gift, or my service to Lady Nicolaa, will remain intact and be given to Gianni when he is old enough to manage them.\"\n\n\"And your promise of obedience?\" St. Maur pressed.\n\n\"Any penance that is laid on me I will complete,\" Bascot replied. \"I would hope that it would not be so severe as to take me from Gianni's company for the rest of my life, but if it is, I will do it and leave his care to a person of integrity.\"\n\nSt. Maur nodded. \"Thomas Berard told me that such would be your intent.\"\n\nNoting the expression of surprise on Bascot's face, the master explained. \"Before I came north to Lincoln, I called an assembly of some of our older and wiser brothers, as is the custom, to discuss your dilemma and seek their advice as to a resolution. We are always reluctant to lose any of our number, de Marins, especially one who has suffered as much as you have done in the service of Our Lord. At the meeting, that thought was uppermost in our minds, and we all gave much consideration to the part of our Rule which enjoins all brothers to defend the poor, widows and orphans. It was felt, by all of those who conferred on the matter, that your young servant is one of those we have sworn to protect and that it is incumbent on us, your brethren, to assist you in that task.\"\n\nBascot held his breath as St. Maur continued. \"While I was at the castle, I had your servant brought to me. I asked him what his feelings were in this matter, and he conveyed to me, through his literacy, that he has no desire for you to leave the Order, or for the provision that you would gain for him by your sacrifice.\"\n\n\"He is young yet, Master. He has not the wisdom to judge...\"\n\nSt. Maur interrupted him. \"On the contrary, de Marins, I think he shows much intelligence and has considerable pureness of heart. He is very conscious of the favour you have shown him and now wishes to give to you in return.\n\nIs it not written in holy script that charity is the greatest of all gifts? Would you deny him the right to practice the dictates of that blessed teaching?\"\n\nBascot accepted the rebuke without comment but felt his heart swell with pride in Gianni.\n\n\"I asked the boy to tell me, if he were given the freedom to choose, what path in life he would follow,\" St. Maur went on. \"He wrote down four words\u2014'to be a clerk.' He then explained to me, through signs he made with his hands, that because of his muteness, his longing to be able to communicate with others was his paramount desire.\" The master grinned with remembered amusement. \"He was very descriptive, even without the use of words. First he pointed to his mouth and shook his head, then he picked up the quill he had been given and pointed it at the paper and, with a wide smile, clapped his hands together. There was no mistaking his intent.\"\n\nBascot could imagine Gianni using the signs that had been their only way of communicating when he had first found the boy. Over time, as Bascot had taught him to be literate, he had used them less, but the motions were still remarkable for their clarity.\n\n\"If there were a way, de Marins, to fulfil the boy's desire and, with it, your own, would you forego the king's gift to obtain it?\" St. Maur asked.\n\n\"At once, and with no regret,\" Bascot assured him.\n\n\"Then, in the name of the Order, my command to you is this. You will stay on in Lincoln castle for the space of one year while the boy is instructed, as you had already arranged, in the art of scribing. At the end of that time, if the lad proves to be as intelligent as he seems, and as diligent as he has promised, Lady Nicolaa has agreed to take him into her household staff and assign him duties in the scriptorium. Once his future is assured, you will rejoin your brethren and once more wield your sword in the battle against the enemies of our sovereign Lord, Jesus Christ.\"\n\nAs tears swelled in Bascot's eye, St. Maur added, with a smile, \"I see that I need not harbour any concern that, on this occasion, you will honour your vow of obedience.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Epilogue",
                "text": "Two curious incidents occurred after the capture of Mauger Rivelar. The first took place just a few days later when Ivor Severtsson claimed to have had an accident with a stack of falling wine barrels. The injuries from the mishap were severe\u2014a broken nose and severely lacerated jaw as well as the loss of several of his front teeth. Before his wounds had even begun to heal he announced his intention of leaving Lincoln immediately and returning to his homeland of Norway. Although Helge, his aunt, was rendered disconsolate by his decision, it was remarked by the neighbours that Reinbald did not seem greatly distressed by Ivor's departure and that the younger Severtsson brother, Harald, had been pleased to speed his sibling on his way. Some of them also noticed that Captain Roget of the sheriff's town guard was standing outside the merchant's house on the day that Ivor left and had watched the former bailiff ride towards the southern exit from the town with a satisfied smile on his face.\n\nThe second happening was not until many months later, long after Mauger Rivelar had undergone the penalty of being hanged, drawn and quartered for his crimes. After his arrest, all of the buildings within the castle ground were searched in an attempt to locate the poison he had used, but no trace was ever found. It was not until a new priest was appointed to St. Bavon's Church in Butwerk and ordered some straggling brambles in a corner of the graveyard to be cleared away that a leather bag containing a compound of Helleborus niger was discovered. The two gravediggers that were carrying out the task of clearing the undergrowth first discovered the bodies of several dead rats and then, after upending a flat stone that lay over the place where the vermin had been digging, a large scrip. The surface of the bag had been chewed, and the contents had oozed into the cavity where it had been concealed. Underneath the bag were two honey pots, their bright amber colour dulled by being buried in the earth for so long. The wax seals at the necks had melted in the heat of summer, and the contents had run out of the containers and mixed with the substance that had been in the scrip. The cross patt\u00e9e etched into the bottoms of the jars was nearly obliterated by dirt and neither of the men noticed it.\n\nThe gravediggers did not realise the import of their discovery, but they nonetheless called the priest and showed him what they had found. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he ordered the men to shovel the whole mess, including the bodies of the dead rats, into a hempen sack and dispose of it. The gravediggers did as they were instructed, securing the bag tightly before they took it to the Werkdyke and threw it onto the deep pile of rubbish in the ditch."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Brother Cadfael 3) Monk's Hood",
        "author": "Ellis Peters",
        "genres": [
            "medieval",
            "mystery",
            "monastery"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "On this particular morning at the beginning of December, in the year 1138, Brother Cadfael came to chapter in tranquillity of mind, prepared to be tolerant even towards the dull, pedestrian reading of Brother Francis, and long-winded legal haverings of Brother Benedict the sacristan. Men were variable, fallible, and to be humoured. And the year, so stormy in its earlier months, convulsed with siege and slaughter and disruptions, bade fair to end in calm and comparative plenty. The tide of civil war between King Stephen and the partisans of the Empress Maud had receded into the south-western borders, leaving Shrewsbury to recover cautiously from having backed the weaker side and paid a bloody price for it. And for all the hindrances to good husbandry, after a splendid summer the harvest had been successfully gathered in, the barns were full, the mills were busy, sheep and cattle thrived on pastures still green and lush, and the weather continued surprisingly mild, with only a hint of frost in the early mornings. No one was wilting with cold yet, no one yet was going hungry. It could not last much longer, but every day counted as blessing.\n\nAnd in his own small kingdom the crop had been rich and varied, the eaves of his workshop in the garden were hung everywhere with linen bags of dried herbs, his jars of wine sat in plump, complacent rows, the shelves were thronging with bottles and pots of specifics for all the ills of winter, from snuffling colds to seized-up joints and sore and wheezing chests. It was a better world than it had looked in the spring, and an ending that improves on its beginning is always good news.\n\nSo Brother Cadfael rolled contentedly to his chosen seat in the chapter-house, conveniently retired behind one of the pillars in a dim corner, and watched with half-sleepy benevolence as his brothers of the house filed in and took their places: Abbot Heribert, old and gentle and anxious, sadly worn by the troublous year now near its ending; Prior Robert Pennant, immensely tall and patrician, ivory of face and silver of hair and brows, ever erect and stately, as if he already balanced the mitre for which he yearned. He was neither old nor frail, but an ageless and wiry fifty-one, though he contrived to look every inch a patriarch sanctified by a lifetime of holiness; he had looked much the same ten years ago, and would almost certainly change not at all in the twenty years to come. Faithful at his heels slid Brother Jerome, his clerk, reflecting Robert's pleasure or displeasure like a small, warped mirror. After them came all the other officers, sub-prior, sacristan, hospitaller, almoner, infirmarer, the custodian of the altar of St. Mary, the cellarer, the precentor, and the master of the novices. Decorously they composed themselves for what bade fair to be an unremarkable day's business.\n\nYoung Brother Francis, who was afflicted with a nasal snuffle and somewhat sparse Latin, made heavy weather of reading out the list of saints and martyrs to be commemorated in prayer during the coming days, and fumbled a pious commentary on the ministry of St. Andrew the Apostle, whose day was just past. Brother Benedict the sacristan contrived to make it sound only fair that he, as responsible for the upkeep of church and enclave, should have the major claim on a sum willed jointly for that purpose and to provide lights for the altar of the Lady Chapel, which was Brother Maurice's province. The precentor acknowledged the gift of a new setting for the \"Sanctus,\" donated by the composer's patron, but by the dubious enthusiasm with which he welcomed so generous a gift, he did not think highly of its merits, and it was unlikely to be heard often. Brother Paul, master of the novices, had a complaint against one of his pupils, suspected of levity beyond what was permitted to youth and inexperience, in that the youngster had been heard singing in the cloisters, while he was employed in copying a prayer of St. Augustine, a secular song of scandalous import, purporting to be the lament of a Christian pilgrim imprisoned by the Saracens, and comforting himself by hugging to his breast the chemise given him at parting by his lover.\n\nBrother Cadfael's mind jerked him back from incipient slumber to recognise and remember the song, beautiful and poignant. He had been in that Crusade, he knew the land, the Saracens, the haunting light and darkness of such a prison and such a pain. He saw Brother Jerome devoutly close his eyes and suffer convulsions of distress at the mention of a woman's most intimate garment. Perhaps because he had never been near enough to it to touch, thought Cadfael, still disposed to be charitable. Consternation quivered through several of the old, innocent, lifelong brothers, to whom half the creation was a closed and forbidden book. Cadfael made an effort, unaccustomed at chapter, and asked mildly what defence the youth had made.\n\n\"He said,\" Brother Paul replied fairly, \"that he learned the song from his grandfather, who fought for the Cross at the taking of Jerusalem, and he found the tune so beautiful that it seemed to him holy. For the pilgrim who sang was not a monastic or a soldier, but a humble person who made the long journey out of love.\"\n\n\"A proper and sanctified love,\" pointed out Brother Cadfael, using words not entirely natural to him, for he thought of love as a self-sanctifying force, needing no apology. \"And is there anything in the words of that song to suggest that the woman he left behind was not his wife? I remember none. And the music is worthy of noting. It is not, surely, the purpose of our order to obliterate or censure the sacrament of marriage, for those who have not a celibate vocation. I think this young man may have done nothing very wrong. Should not Brother Precentor try if he has not a gifted voice? Those who sing at their work commonly have some need to use a God-given talent.\"\n\nThe precentor, startled and prompted, and none too lavishly provided with singers to be moulded, obligingly opined that he would be interested to hear the novice sing. Prior Robert knotted his austere brows, and frowned down his patrician nose; if it had rested with him, the errant youth would have been awarded a hard penance. But the master of novices was no great enthusiast for the lavish use of the discipline, and seemed content to have a good construction put on his pupil's lapse.\n\n\"It is true that he has shown as earnest and willing, Father Abbot, and has been with us but a short time. It is easy to forget oneself at moments of concentration, and his copying is careful and devoted.\"\n\nThe singer got away with a light penance that would not keep him on his knees long enough to rise from them stiffly. Abbot Heribert was always inclined to be lenient, and this morning he appeared more than usually preoccupied and distracted. They were drawing near the end of the day's affairs. The abbot rose as if to put an end to the chapter.\n\n\"There are here a few documents to be sealed,\" said Brother Matthew the cellarer, rustling parchments in haste, for it seemed to him that the abbot had turned absent-minded, and lost sight of this duty. \"There is the matter of the fee-farm of Hales, and the grant made by Walter Aylwin, and also the guestship agreement with Gervase Bonel and his wife, to whom we are allotting the first house beyond the mill-pond. Master Bonel wishes to move in as soon as may be, before the Christmas feast\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I have not forgotten.\" Abbot Heribert looked small, dignified but resigned, standing before them with a scroll of his own gripped in both hands. \"There is something I have to announce to you all. These necessary documents cannot be sealed today, for sufficient reason. It may well be that they are now beyond my competence, and I no longer have the right to conclude any agreement for this community. I have here an instruction which was delivered to me yesterday, from Westminster, from the king's court. You all know that Pope Innocent has acknowledged King Stephen's claim to the throne of this realm, and in his support has sent over a legate with full powers, Alberic, cardinal-bishop of Ostia. The cardinal proposes to hold a legatine council in London for the reform of the church, and I am summoned to attend, to account for my stewardship as abbot of this convent. The terms make clear,\" said Heribert, firmly and sadly, \"that my tenure is at the disposal of the legate. We have lived through a troubled year, and been tossed between two claimants to the throne of our land. It is not a secret, and I acknowledge it, that his Grace, when he was here in the summer, held me in no great favour, since in the confusion of the times I did not see my way clear, and was slow to accept his sovereignty. Therefore I now regard my abbacy as suspended, until or unless the legatine council confirms me in office. I cannot ratify any documents or agreements in the name of our house. Whatever is now uncompleted must remain uncompleted until a firm appointment has been made. I cannot trespass on what may well be another's field.\"\n\nHe had said what he had to say. He resumed his seat and folded his hands patiently, while their bewildered, dismayed murmurings gradually congealed and mounted into a boiling, bees'-hive hum of consternation. Though not everyone was horrified, as Cadfael plainly saw. Prior Robert, just as startled as the rest, and adept at maintaining a decorous front, none the less glowed brightly behind his ivory face, drawing the obvious conclusion, and Brother Jerome, quick to interpret any message from that quarter, hugged himself with glee inside the sleeves of his habit, while his face exhibited pious sympathy and pain. Not that they had anything against Heribert, except that he continued to hold an office on which impatient subordinates were casting covetous eyes. A nice old man, of course, but out of date, and far too lax. Like a king who lives too long, and positively invites assassination. But the rest of them fluttered and panicked like hens invaded by the fox, clamouring variously:\n\n\"But, Father Abbot, surely the king will restore you!\"\n\n\"Oh, Father, must you go to this council?\"\n\n\"We shall be left like sheep without a shepherd!\"\n\nPrior Robert, who considered himself ideally equipped to deal with the flock of St. Peter himself, if need be, gave that complaint a brief, basilisk glare, but refrained from protest, indeed murmured his own commiseration and dismay.\n\n\"My duty and my vows are to the Church,\" said Abbot Heribert sadly, \"and I am bound to obey the summons, as a loyal son. If it pleases the Church to confirm me in office, I shall return to take up my customary ward here. If another is appointed in my place, I shall still return among you, if I am permitted, and live out my life as a faithful brother of this house, under our new superior.\"\n\nCadfael thought he caught a brief, complacent flicker of a smile that passed over Robert's face at that. It would not greatly disconcert him to have his old superior a humble brother under his rule at last.\n\n\"But clearly,\" went on Abbot Heribert with humility, \"I can no longer claim rights as abbot until the matter is settled, and these agreements must rest in abeyance until my return, or until another considers and pronounces on them. Is any one of them urgent?\"\n\nBrother Matthew shuffled his parchments and pondered, still shaken by the suddenness of the news. \"There is no reason to hurry in the matter of the Aylwin grant, he is an old friend to our order, his offer will certainly remain open as long as need be. And the Hales fee-farm will date only from Lady Day of next year, so there's time enough. But Master Bonel relies on the charter being sealed very soon. He is waiting to move his belongings into the house.\"\n\n\"Remind me of the terms, if you will,\" the abbot requested apologetically. \"My mind has been full of other matters, I have forgotten just what was agreed.\"\n\n\"Why, he grants to us his manor of Mallilie absolutely, with his several tenants, in return for a messuage here at the abbey\u2014the first house on the town side of the mill-pond is vacant, and the most suitable to his household\u2014together with keep for life for himself and his wife, and for two servants also. The details are as usual in such cases. They shall have daily two monks' loaves and one servants' loaf, two gallons of conventual ale and one of servants' ale, a dish of meat such as the abbey sergeants have, on meat-days, and of fish on fish-days, from the abbot's kitchen, and an intermissum whenever extra dainties are provided. These to be fetched by their manservant. They shall also have a dish of meat or fish daily for their two domestics. Master Bonel is also to have annually a robe such as the senior of the abbey officers receive, and his wife\u2014she so prefers\u2014shall have ten shillings yearly to provide a robe for herself as she chooses. There is also a provision of ten shillings yearly for linen, shoes and firing, and livery for one horse. And at the death of either, the other to retain possession of the house and receive a moiety of all the aforesaid provisions, except that if the wife be the survivor, she need not be provided with stabling for a horse. These are the terms, and I had intended to have witnesses come hither after chapter for the ratification. The justice has a clerk waiting.\"\n\n\"I fear none the less,\" said the abbot heavily, \"that this also must wait. My rights are in abeyance.\"\n\n\"It will greatly inconvenience Master Bonel,\" said the cellarer anxiously. \"They have already prepared to remove here, and expected to do so in the next few days. The Christmas feast is coming, and they cannot well be left in discomfort.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" suggested Prior Robert, \"the move could be countenanced, even if the ratification must wait a while. It's highly unlikely that any abbot appointed would wish to upset this agreement.\" Since it was perfectly clear that he himself was in line for the appointment, and knew himself to be in better odour with King Stephen than his superior, he spoke with easy authority. Heribert jumped at the suggestion.\n\n\"I think such a move is permissible. Yes, Brother Matthew, you may proceed, pending final sanction, which I feel sure will be forthcoming. Reassure our guest on that point, and allow him to bring his household at once. It is only right that they should feel settled and at peace for the Christmas feast. There is no other case needing attention?\"\n\n\"None, Father.\" And he asked, subdued and thoughtful: \"When must you set forth on this journey?\"\n\n\"The day after tomorrow I should leave. I ride but slowly these days, and we shall be some days on the road. In my absence, of course, Prior Robert will be in charge of all things here.\"\n\nAbbot Heribert lifted a distrait hand in blessing, and led the way out of the chapter-house. Prior Robert, sweeping after, no doubt felt himself already in charge of all things within the pale of the Benedictine abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul of Shrewsbury, and had every intent and expectation of continuing so to his life's end.\n\nThe brothers filed out in mourne silence, only to break out into subdued but agitated conversations as soon as they were dispersed over the great court. Heribert had been their abbot for eleven years, and an easy man to serve under, approachable, kindly, perhaps even a little too easy-going. They did not look forward to changes.\n\nIn the half-hour before High Mass at ten, Cadfael betook himself very thoughtfully to his workshop in the herb-gardens, to tend a few specifics he had brewing. The enclosure, thickly hedged and well trimmed, was beginning now to look bleached and dry with the first moderate cold, all the leaves grown elderly and lean and brown, the tenderest plants withdrawing into the warmth of the earth; but the air still bore a lingering, aromatic fragrance compounded of all the ghostly scents of summer, and inside the hut the spicy sweetness made the senses swim. Cadfael regularly took his ponderings there for privacy. He was so used to the drunken, heady air within that he barely noticed it, but at need he could distinguish every ingredient that contributed to it, and trace it to its source.\n\nSo King Stephen, after all, had not forgotten his lingering grudges, and Abbot Heribert was to be the scapegoat for Shrewsbury's offence in holding out against his claims. Yet he was not by nature a vindictive man. Perhaps it was rather that he felt a need to flatter and court the legate, since the pope had recognised him as king of England, and given him papal backing, no negligible weapon, in the contention with the Empress Maud, the rival claimant to the throne. That determined lady would certainly not give up so easily, she would be pressing her case strongly in Rome, and even popes may change their allegiance. So Alberic of Ostia would be given every possible latitude in pursuing his plans for the reform of the Church, and Heribert might be but one sacrificial victim offered to his zeal on a platter.\n\nAnother curious theme intruded itself persistently into Cadfael's musings. This matter of the occasional guests of the abbey, so-called, the souls who chose to abandon the working world, sometimes in their prime, and hand over their inheritance to the abbey for a soft, shielded, inactive life in a house of retirement, with food, clothing, firing, all provided without the lifting of a finger! Did they dream of it for years while they were sweating over lambing ewes, or toiling in the harvest, or working hard at a trade? A little sub-paradise where meals dropped from the sky and there was nothing to do but bask, in the summer, and toast by the fire with mulled ale in the winter? And when they got to it, how long did the enchantment last? How soon did they sicken of doing nothing, and needing to do nothing? In a man blind, lame, sick, he could understand the act. But in those hale and busy, and used to exerting body and mind? No, that he could not understand. There must be other motives. Not all men could be deceived, or deceive themselves, into mistaking idleness for blessedness. What else could provoke such an act? Want of an heir? An urge, not yet understood, to the monastic life, without the immediate courage to go all the way? Perhaps! In a man with a wife, well advanced in years and growing aware of his end, it might be so. Many a man had taken the habit and the cowl late, after children and grandchildren and the heat of a long day. The grace house and the guest status might be a stage on the way. Or was it possible that men divested themselves of their life's work at last out of pure despite, against the world, against the unsatisfactory son, against the burden of carrying their own souls?\n\nBrother Cadfael shut the door upon the rich horehound reek of a mixture for coughs, and went very soberly to High Mass.\n\nAbbot Heribert departed by the London road, turning his back upon the town of Shrewsbury, in the early morning of a somewhat grey day, the first time there had been the nip of frost in the air as well as the pale sparkle in the grass. He took with him his own clerk, Brother Emmanuel, and two lay grooms who had served here longest; and he rode his own white mule. He put on a cheerful countenance as he took leave, but for all that he cut a sad little figure as the four riders dwindled along the road. No horseman now, if he ever had been much of one, he used a high, cradling saddle, and sagged in it like a small sack not properly filled. Many of the brothers crowded to the gates to watch him as long as he remained in view, and their faces were apprehensive and aggrieved. Some of the boy pupils came out to join them, looking even more dismayed, for the abbot had allowed Brother Paul to conduct his schooling undisturbed, which meant very tolerantly, but with Prior Robert in charge there was no department of this house likely to go its way un-goaded, and discipline might be expected to tighten abruptly.\n\nThere was, Cadfael could not but admit, room for a little hard practicality within these walls, if the truth were told. Heribert of late had grown deeply discouraged with the world of men, and withdrawn more and more into his prayers. The siege and fall of Shrewsbury, with all the bloodshed and revenge involved, had been enough to sadden any man, though that was no excuse for abandoning the effort to defend right and oppose wrong. But there comes a time when the old grow very tired, and the load of leadership unjustly heavy to bear. And perhaps\u2014perhaps!\u2014Heribert would not be quite so sad as even he now supposed, if the load should be lifted from him.\n\nMass and chapter passed that day with unexceptionable decorum and calm, High Mass was celebrated devoutly, the duties of the day proceeded in their smooth and regular course. Robert was too sensible of his own image to rub his hands visibly, or lick his lips before witnesses. All that he did would be done according to just and pious law, with the authority of sainthood. Nevertheless, what he considered his due would be appropriated, to the last privilege.\n\nCadfael was accustomed to having two assistants allotted to him throughout the active part of the gardening years, for he grew other things in his walled garden besides the enclosure of herbs, though the main kitchen gardens of the abbey were outside the enclave, across the main highway and along the fields by the river, the lush level called the Gaye. The waters of Severn regularly moistened it in the flood season, and its soil was rich and bore well. Here within the walls he had made, virtually single-handed, this closed garden for the small and precious things, and in the outer levels, running down to the Meole brook that fed the mill, he grew food crops, beans and cabbages and pulse, and fields of pease. But now with the winter closing gently in, and the soil settling to its sleep like the urchins under the hedges, curled drowsily with all their prickles cushioned by straw and dead grass and leaves, he was left with just one novice to help him brew his draughts, and roll his pills, and stir his rubbing oils, and pound his poultices, to medicine not only the brothers, but many who came for help in their troubles, from the town and the Foregate, sometimes even from the scattered villages beyond. He had not been bred to this science, he had learned it by experience, by trial and study, accumulating knowledge over the years, until some preferred his ministrations to those of the acknowledged physicians.\n\nHis assistant at this time was a novice of no more than eighteen years, Brother Mark, orphaned, and a trouble to a neglectful uncle, who had sent him into the abbey at sixteen to be rid of him. He had entered tongue-tied, solitary and homesick, a waif who seemed even younger than his years, who did what he was told with apprehensive submission, as though the best to be hoped out of life was to avoid punishment. But some months of working in the garden with Cadfael had gradually loosened his tongue and put his fears to flight. He was still undersized, and slightly wary of authority, but healthy and wiry, and good at making things grow, and he was acquiring a sure and delicate touch with the making of medicines, and an eager interest in them. Mute among his fellows, he made up for it by being voluble enough in the garden workshop, and with none but Cadfael by. It was always Mark, for all his silence and withdrawal about the cloister and court, who brought all the gossip before others knew it.\n\nHe came in from an errand to the mill, an hour before Vespers, full of news.\n\n\"Do you know what Prior Robert has done? Taken up residence in the abbot's lodging! Truly! Brother Sub-prior has orders to sleep in the prior's cell in the dormitory from tonight. And Abbot Heribert barely out of the gates! I call it great presumption!\"\n\nSo did Cadfael, though he felt it hardly incumbent upon him either to say so, or to let Brother Mark utter his thoughts quite so openly. \"Beware how you pass judgment on your superiors,\" he said mildly, \"at least until you know how to put yourself in their place and see from their view. For all we know, Abbot Heribert may have required him to move into the lodging, as an instance of his authority while we're without an abbot. It is the place set aside for the spiritual father of this convent.\"\n\n\"But Prior Robert is not that, not yet! And Abbot Heribert would have said so at chapter if he had wished it so. At least he would have told Brother Sub-prior, and no one did. I saw his face, he is as astonished as anyone, and shocked. He would not have taken such a liberty!\"\n\nToo true, thought Cadfael, busy pounding roots in a mortar, Brother Richard the sub-prior was the last man to presume; large, good-natured and peace-loving to the point of laziness, he never exerted himself to advance even by legitimate means. It might dawn on some of the younger and more audacious brothers shortly that they had gained an advantage in the exchange. With Richard in the prior's cell that commanded the length of the dortoir, it would be far easier for the occasional sinner to slip out by the night-stairs after the lights were out; even if the crime were detected it would probably never be reported. A blind eye is the easiest thing in the world to turn on whatever is troublesome.\n\n\"All the servants at the lodging are simmering,\" said Brother Mark. \"You know how devoted they are to Abbot Heribert, and now to be made to serve someone else, before his place is truly vacant, even! Brother Henry says it's almost blasphemy. And Brother Petrus is looking blacker than thunder, and muttering into his cooking-pots something fearful. He said, once Prior Robert gets his foot in the door, it will take a dose of hemlock to get him out again when Abbot Heribert returns.\"\n\nCadfael could well imagine it. Brother Petrus was the abbot's cook, old in his service, and a black-haired, fiery-eyed barbarian from near the Scottish border, at that, given to tempestuous and immoderate declarations, none of them to be taken too seriously; but the puzzle was where exactly to draw the line.\n\n\"Brother Petrus says many things he might do well not to say, but he never means harm, as you well know. And he's a prime cook, and will continue to feed the abbot's table nobly, whoever sits at the head of it, because he can do no other.\"\n\n\"But not happily,\" said Brother Mark with conviction.\n\nNo question but the even course of the day had been gravely shaken; yet so well regulated was the regime within these walls that every brother, happy or not, would pursue his duties as conscientiously as ever.\n\n\"When Abbot Heribert returns, confirmed in office,\" said Mark, firmly counting wishes as horses, \"Prior Robert's nose will be out of joint.\" And the thought of that august organ bent aside like the misused beak of an old soldier so consoled him that he found heart to laugh again, while Cadfael could not find the heart to scold him, since even for him the picture had its appeal.\n\nBrother Edmund the infirmarer came to Cadfael's hut in the middle of the afternoon, a week after Abbot Heribert's departure, to collect some medicines for his inmates. The frosts, though not yet severe, had come after such mild weather as to take more than one young brother by surprise, spreading a sneezing rheum that had to be checked by isolating the victims, most of them active youngsters who worked outdoors with the sheep. He had four of them in the infirmary, besides the few old men who now spent their days there with none but religious duties, waiting peacefully for their end.\n\n\"All the lads need is a few days in the warm, and they'll cure themselves well enough,\" said Cadfael, stirring and pouring a large flask into a smaller one, a brown mixture that smelled hot and aromatic and sweet. \"But no need to endure discomfort, even for a few days. Let them drink a dose of this, two or three times in the day and at night, as much as will fill a small spoon, and they'll be the easier for it.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Brother Edmund curiously. Many of Brother Cadfael's preparations he already knew, but there were constantly new developments. Sometimes he wondered if Cadfael tried them all out on himself.\n\n\"There's rosemary, and horehound, and saxifrage, mashed into a little oil pressed from flax seeds, and the body is a red wine I made from cherries and their stones. You'll find they'll do well on it, any that have the rheum in their eyes or heads, and even for the cough it serves, too.\" He stoppered the large bottle carefully, and wiped the neck. \"Is there anything more you'll be wanting? For the old fellows? They must be in a taking at all these changes we're seeing. Past the three score men don't take kindly to change.\"\n\n\"Not, at all events, to this change,\" owned Brother Edmund ruefully. \"Heribert never knew how he was liked, until they began to feel his loss.\"\n\n\"You think we have lost him?\"\n\n\"I fear it's all too likely. Not that Stephen himself bears grudges too long, but what the legate wants, Stephen will let him have, to keep the pope sweet. And do you think a brisk, reforming spirit, let loose here in our realm with powers to fashion the church he wants, will find our abbot very impressive? Stephen cast the doubt, while he was still angry, but it's Alberic of Ostia who will weigh up our good little abbot, and discard him for too soft in grain,\" said Brother Edmund regretfully. \"I could do with another pot of that salve of yours for bed-sores. Brother Adrian can't be much longer for this penance, poor soul.\"\n\n\"It must be pain now, just shifting him for the anointing,\" said Cadfael with sympathy.\n\n\"Skin and bone, mere skin and bone. Getting food down him at al is labour enough. He withers like a leaf.\"\n\n\"If ever you want an extra hand to lift him, send for me, I'm here to be used. Here's what you want. I think I have it better than before, with more of Our Lady's mantle in it.\"\n\nBrother Edmund laid bottle and pot in his scrip, and considered on other needs, scouring his pointed chin between thumb and forefinger. The sudden chill that blew in through the doorway made them both turn their heads, so sharply that the young man who had opened the door a wary inch or two hung his head in instant apology and dismay.\n\n\"Close the door, lad,\" said Cadfael, hunching his shoulders.\n\nA hasty, submissive voice called: \"Pardon, brother! I'll wait your leisure.\" And the door began to close upon a thin, dark, apprehensively sullen face.\n\n\"No, no,\" said Cadfael with cheerful impatience, \"I never meant it so. Come into the warm, and close the door on that wicked wind. It makes the brazier smoke. Come in, I'll be with you very shortly, when Brother Infirmarer has all his needs.\"\n\nThe door opened just wide enough to allow a lean young man to slide in through the aperture, which he thereupon very hastily closed, and flattened his thin person against the door in mute withdrawal, willing to be invisible and inaudible, though his eyes were wide in wonder and curiosity at the storehouse of rustling, dangling, odorous herbs that hung about the place, and the benches and shelves of pots and bottles that hoarded the summer's secret harvest.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Brother Edmund, recollecting, \"there was one more thing. Brother Rhys is groaning with creaks and pains in his shoulders and back. He gets about very little now, and it does pain him, I've seen it make him jerk and start. You have an oil that gave him ease before.\"\n\n\"I have. Wait, now, let me find a flask to fill for you.\" Cadfael hoisted from its place on a low bench a large stone bottle, and rummaged along the shelves for a smaller one of cloudy glass. Carefully he unstoppered and poured a viscous dark oil that gave off a strong, sharp odour. He replaced the wooden stopper firmly, bedding it in with a wisp of linen, and with another torn shred scrupulously wiped the lips of both containers, and dropped the rag into the small brazier beside which he had a stoneware pot simmering gently. \"This will answer, all the more if you get someone with good strong fingers to work it well into his joints. But keep it carefully, Edmund, never let it near your lips. Wash your hands well after using it, and make sure any other who handles it does the same. It's good for a man's outside, but bad indeed for his inside. And don't use it where there's any scratch or wound, any break in the skin, either. It's powerful stuff.\"\n\n\"So perilous? What is it made from?\" asked Edmund curiously, turning the bottle in his hand to see the sluggish way the oils moved against the glass.\n\n\"The ground root of monk's-hood, chiefly, in mustard oil and oil from flax seeds. It's powerfully poisonous if swallowed, a very small draught of this could kill, so keep it safe and remember to cleanse your hands well. But it works wonders for creaking old joints. He'll notice a tingling warmth when it's rubbed well in, and then the pain is dulled, and he'll be quite easy. There, is that all you need? I'll come over myself presently, and do the anointing, if you wish? I know where to find the aches, and it needs to be worked in deep.\"\n\n\"I know you have iron fingers,\" said Brother Edmund, mustering his load. \"You used them on me once, I thought you would break me apart, but I own I could move the better, the next day. Yes, come if you have time, he'll be glad to see you. He wanders, nowadays, there's hardly one among the young brothers he recognises, but he'll not have forgotten you.\"\n\n\"He'll remember any who have the Welsh tongue,\" said Cadfael simply. \"He goes back to his childhood, as old men do.\"\n\nBrother Edmund took up his bag and turned to the door. The thin young man, all eyes, slipped aside and opened it for him civilly, and again closed it upon his smiling thanks. Not such a meagre young man, after all, inches above Cadfael's square, solid bulk, and erect and supple of movement, but lean and wary, with a suggestion of wild alertness in his every motion. He had a shock of light-brown hair, unkempt from the rising wind outside, and the trimmed lines of a fair beard about lips and chin, pointing the hungry austerity of a thin, hawk-featured face. The large, bright-blue eyes, glittering with intelligence and defensive as levelled spears, turned their attention upon Cadfael, and sustained the glance unwavering, lances in rest.\n\n\"Well, friend,\" said Cadfael comfortably, shifting his pot a shade further from the direct heat, \"what is it I can do for you?\" And he turned and viewed the stranger candidly, from head to foot. \"I don't know you, lad,\" he said placidly, \"but you're welcome. What's your need?\"\n\n\"I'm sent by Mistress Bonel,\" said the young man, in a voice low-pitched and pleasant to hear, if it had not been so tight and wary, \"to ask you for some kitchen-herbs she needs. Brother Hospitaller told her you would be willing to supply her when her own stocks fail. My master has today moved into a house in the Foregate, as guest of the abbey.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Cadfael, remembering the manor of Mallilie, gifted to the abbey in return for the means of life to the giver. \"So they are safely in, are they? God give them joy of it! And you are the manservant who will carry their meals back and forth\u2014yes, you'll need to find your way about the place. You've been to the abbot's kitchen?\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\n\"No man's master,\" said Cadfael mildly, \"every man's brother, if you will. And what's your name, friend? For we shall be seeing something of each other in the days to come, we may as well be acquainted.\"\n\n\"My name is Aelfric,\" said the young man. He had come forward from the doorway, and stood looking round him with open interest. His eyes lingered with awe on the large bottle that held the oil of monk's-hood. \"Is that truly so deadly? Even a little of it can kill a man?\"\n\n\"So can many things,\" said Cadfael, \"used wrongly, or used in excess. Even wine, if you take enough of it. Even wholesome food, if you devour it beyond reason. And are your household content with their dwelling?\"\n\n\"It's early yet to say,\" said the young man guardedly.\n\nWhat age would he be? Twenty-five years or so? Hardly more. He bristled like an urchin at a touch, alert against all the world. Unfree, thought Cadfael, sympathetic; and of quick and vulnerable mind. Servant to someone less feeling than himself? It might well be.\n\n\"How many are you in the house?\"\n\n\"My master and mistress, and I. And a maid.\" A maid! No more, and his long, mobile mouth shut fast even on that.\n\n\"Well, Aelfric, you're welcome to make your way here when you will, and what I can supply for your lady, that I will. What is it I can send her this time?\"\n\n\"She asks for some sage, and some basil, if you have such. She brought a dish with her to warm for the evening,\" said Aelfric, thawing a little, \"and has it on a hob there, but it wants for sage. She was out. It's a curious time, moving house here, she'll have left a mort of things behind.\"\n\n\"What's in my way she may send here for, and welcome. Here you are, Aelfric, lad, here's a bunch of either. Is she a good mistress, your lady?\"\n\n\"She's that!\" said the youth, and closed upon it, as he had upon mention of the maid. He brooded, frowning into mixed and confused thoughts. \"She was a widow when she wed him.\" He took the bunches of herbs, fingers gripping hard on the stems. On a throat? Whose, then, since he melted at mention of his mistress? \"I thank you kindly, brother.\"\n\nHe drew back, lissome and silent. The door opening and closing took but a moment. Cadfael was left gazing after him very thoughtfully. There was still an hour before Vespers. He might well go over to the infirmary, and pour the sweet sound of Welsh into Brother Rhys's old, dulled ears, and dig the monk's-hood oil deep into his aching joints. It would be a decent deed.\n\nBut that wild young thing, caged with his grievances, hurts and hatreds, what was to be done for him? A villein, if Cadfael knew one when he saw one, with abilities above his station, and some private anguish, maybe more than one. He remembered that mention of the maid, bitten off jealousy between set teeth.\n\nWell, they were but newly come, all four of them. Let the time work for good. Cadfael washed his hands, with all the thoroughness he recommended to his patrons, reviewed his sleeping kingdom, and went to visit the infirmary.\n\nOld Brother Rhys was sitting up beside his neatly made bed, not far from the fire, nodding his ancient, grey-tonsured head. He looked proudly complacent, as one who has got his due against all the odds, stubbly chin jutting, thick old eyebrows bristling in all directions, and the small, sharp eyes beneath almost colourless in their grey pallor, but triumphantly bright. For he had a young, vigorous, dark-haired fellow sitting on a stool beside him, waiting on him good-humouredly and pouring voluble Welsh into his ears like a mountain spring. The old man's gown was stripped down from his bony shoulders, and his attendant was busily massaging oil into the joints with probing fingers, drawing grunts of pleasure from his patient.\n\n\"I see I'm forestalled,\" said Cadfael into Brother Edmund's ear, in the doorway.\n\n\"A kinsman,\" said Brother Edmund as softly. \"Some young Welshman from up in the north of the shire, where Rhys comes from. It seems he came here today to help the new tenants move in at the house by the mill-pond. He's connected somehow\u2014journeyman to the woman's son, I believe. And while he was here he thought to ask after the old man, which was a kind act. Rhys was complaining of his pains, and the young fellow offered, so I set him to work. Still, now you're here, have a word. They'll neither of them need to speak English for you.\"\n\n\"You'll have warned him to wash his hands well, afterwards?\"\n\n\"And shown him where, and where to stow the bottle away safely when he's done. He understands. I'd hardly let a man take risks with such a brew, after your lecture. I've told him what the stuff could do, misused.\"\n\nThe young man ceased his ministrations momentarily when Brother Cadfael approached, and made to stand up respectfully, but Cadfael waved him down again. \"No, sit, lad, I won't disturb you. I'm here for a word with an old friend, but I see you've taken on my work for me, and doing it well, too.\"\n\nThe young man, with cheerful practicality, took him at his word, and went on kneading the pungent oils into Brother Rhys's aged shoulders. He was perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five years old, sturdily built and strong; his square, good-natured face was brown and weathered, and plentifully supplied with bone, a Welsh face, smooth-shaven and decisive, his hair and brows thick, wiry and black. His manner towards Brother Rhys was smiling, merry, almost teasing, as it probably would have been towards a child; and that was engaging in him, and won Brother Cadfael's thoughtful approval, for Brother Rhys was indeed a child again. Livelier than usual today, however, the visitor had done him a deal of good.\n\n\"Well, now, Cadfael!\" he piped, twitching a shoulder pleasurably at the young man's probing. \"You see my kinsmen remember me yet. Here's my niece Angharad's boy come to see me, my great-nephew Meurig. I mind the time he was born\u2026 Eh, I mind the time she was born, for that matter, my sister's little lass. It's many years since I've seen her\u2014or you, boy, come to think of it, you could have come to see me earlier. But there's no family feeling in the young, these days.\" But he was very complacent about it, enjoying handing out praise one moment and illogical reproof the next, a patriarch's privilege. \"And why didn't the girl come her-self? Why didn't you bring your mother with you?\"\n\n\"It's a long journey from the north of the shire,\" said the young man Meurig, easily, \"and always more than enough to be done at home. But I'm nearer now, I work for a carpenter and carver in the town here, you'll be seeing more of me. I'll come and do this for you again\u2014have you out on a hillside with the sheep yet, come spring.\"\n\n\"My niece Angharad,\" murmured the old man, benignly smiling, \"was the prettiest little thing in half the shire, and she grew up a beauty. What age would she be now? Five and forty, it may be, but I warrant she's still as beautiful as ever she was\u2014don't you tell me different, I never yet saw the one to touch her\u2026\"\n\n\"Her son's not likely to tell you any different,\" agreed Meurig comfortably. Are not all one's lost nieces beautiful? And the weather of the summers when they were children always radiant, and the wild fruit they gathered then sweeter than any that grows now? For some years Brother Rhys had been considered mildly senile, his wanderings timeless and disorganised; memory failed, fantasy burgeoned, he drew pictures that never had existed on sea or land. But somewhere else, perhaps? Now, with the stimulus of this youthful and vigorous presence and the knowledge of their shared blood, he quickened into sharp remembrance again. It might not last, but it was a princely gift while it lasted.\n\n\"Turn a little more to the fire\u2014there, is that the spot?\" Rhys wriggled and purred like a stroked cat, and the young man laughed, and plied deep into the flesh, smoothing out knots with a firmness that both hurt and gratified.\n\n\"This is no new skill with you,\" said Brother Cadfael, observing with approval.\n\n\"I've worked mostly with horses, and they get their troubles with swellings and injuries, like men. You learn to see with your fingers, where to find what's bound, and loose it again.\"\n\n\"But he's a carpenter now,\" Brother Rhys said proudly, \"and working here in Shrewsbury.\"\n\n\"And we're making a lectern for your Lady Chapel,\" said Meurig, \"and when it's done\u2014and it soon will be\u2014I'll be bringing it down to the abbey myself. And I'll come and see you again while I'm here.\"\n\n\"And rub my shoulder again? It gets winterly now, towards Christmas, the cold gets in my bones.\"\n\n\"I will so. But that's enough for now, I'll be making you too sore. Have up your gown again, uncle\u2014there, and keep the warmth in. Does it burn?\"\n\n\"For a while it prickled like nettles, now there's a fine, easy glow. I don't feel any pain there now. But I'm tired\u2026\"\n\nHe would be, tired and drowsy after the manipulation of his flesh and the reviving of his ancient mind. \"That's right, that's well. Now you should lie down and have a sleep.\"\n\nMeurig looked to Cadfael to support him. \"Isn't that best, brother?\"\n\n\"The very best thing. That's hard exercise you've been taking, you should rest after it.\"\n\nRhys was well content to be settled on his bed and left to the sleep that was already overtaking him. His drowsy farewells followed them towards the door, to fade into silence before they reached it. \"Take my greetings to your mother, Meurig. And ask her to come and see me\u2026 when they bring the wool to Shrewsbury market\u2026 I'm fain to see her again\u2026\"\n\n\"He set great store by your mother, it seems,\" said Cadfael, watching as Meurig washed his hands where Brother Edmund had shown him, and making sure that he was thorough about it. \"Is there a hope that he may see her again?\"\n\nMeurig's face, seen in profile as he wrung and scrubbed at his hands, had a gravity and brooding thoughtfulness that belied the indulgent gaiety he had put on for this old man. After a moment he said: \"Not in this world.\" He turned to reach for the coarse towel, and looked Cadfael in the eyes fully and steadily. \"My mother has been dead for eleven years this Michaelmas past. He knows it\u2014or he knew it\u2014as well as I. But if she's alive to him again in his dotage, why should I remind him? Let him keep that thought and any other that can pleasure him.\"\n\nThey went out together in silence, into the chilly air of the great court, and there separated, Meurig striking across briskly towards the gatehouse, Cadfael making for the church, where the Vesper bell could be only a few minutes delayed.\n\n\"God speed!\" said Cadfael in parting. \"You gave the old man back a piece of his youth today. The elders of your kinship, I think, are fortunate in their sons.\"\n\n\"My kinship,\" said Meurig, halting in mid-stride to stare back with great black eyes, \"is my mother's kinship, I go with my own. My father was not a Welshman.\"\n\nHe went, lengthening a lusty stride, the square shape of his shoulders cleaving the dusk. And Cadfael wondered about him, as he had wondered about the villein Aelfric, as far as the porch of the church, and then abandoned him for a more immediate duty. These people are, after all, responsible for themselves, and none of his business.\n\nNot yet!"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "It was nearing mid-December before the dour manservant Aelfric came again to the herb-gardens for kitchen herbs for his mistress. By that time he was a figure familiar enough to fade into the daily pattern of comings and goings about the great court, and among the multifarious noise and traffic his solitary silence remained generally unremarked. Cadfael had seen him in the mornings, passing through to the bakery and buttery for the day's loaves and measures of ale, always mute, always purposeful, quick of step and withdrawn of countenance, as though any delay on his part might bring penance, as perhaps, indeed, it might. Brother Mark, attracted to a soul seemingly as lonely and anxious as his own had once been, had made some attempt to engage the stranger in talk, and had little success.\n\n\"Though he does unfold a little,\" said Mark thoughtfully, kicking his heels on the bench in Cadfael's workshop as he stirred a salve. \"I don't think he's an unfriendly soul at all, if he had not something on his mind. When I greet him he sometimes comes near to smiling, but he'll never linger and talk.\"\n\n\"He has his work to do, and perhaps a master who's hard to please,\" said Cadfael mildly.\n\n\"I heard he's out of sorts since they moved in,\" said Mark. \"The master, I mean. Not really ill, but low and out of appetite.\"\n\n\"So might I be,\" opined Cadfael, \"if I had nothing to do but sit there and mope, and wonder if I'd done well to part with my lands, even in old age. What seems an easy life in contemplation can be hard enough when it comes to reality.\"\n\n\"The girl,\" said Mark judiciously, \"is pretty. Have you seen her?\"\n\n\"I have not. And you, my lad, should be averting your eyes from contemplation of women. Pretty, is she?\"\n\n\"Very pretty. Not very tall, round and fair, with a lot of yellow hair, and black eyes. It makes a great effect, yellow hair and black eyes. I saw her come to the stable with some message for Aelfric yesterday. He looked after her, when she went, in such a curious way. Perhaps she is his trouble.\"\n\nAnd that might well be, thought Cadfael, if he was a villein, and she a free woman, and unlikely to look so low as a serf, and they were rubbing shoulders about the household day after day, in closer quarters here than about the manor of Mallilie.\n\n\"She could as well be trouble for you, boy, if Brother Jerome or Prior Robert sees you conning her,\" he said briskly. \"If you must admire a fine girl, let it be out of the corner of your eyes. Don't forget we have a reforming rule here now.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm careful!\" Mark was by no means in awe of Brother Cadfael now, and had adopted from him somewhat unorthodox notions of what was and was not permissible. In any case, this boy's vocation was no longer in doubt or danger. If the times had been less troublesome he might well have sought leave to go and study in Oxford, but even without that opportunity, Cadfael was reasonably certain he would end by taking orders, and become a priest, and a good priest, too, one aware that women existed in the world, and respectful towards their presence and their worth. Mark had come unwillingly and resisting into the cloister, but he had found his rightful place. Not everyone was so fortunate.\n\nAelfric came to the hut in the afternoon of a cloudy day, to ask for some dried mint. \"My mistress wants to brew a mint cordial for my master.\"\n\n\"I hear he's somewhat out of humour and health,\" said Cadfael, rustling the linen bags that gave forth such rich, heady scents upon the air. The young man's nostrils quivered and widened with pleasure, inhaling close sweetness. In the soft light within, his wary face eased a little.\n\n\"There's not much ails him, more of the mind than the body. He'll be well enough when he plucks up heart. He's out of sorts with his kin most of all,\" said Aelfric, growing unexpectedly confiding.\n\n\"That's trying for you all, even the lady,\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"And she does everything woman could do for him, there's nothing he can reproach her with. But this upheaval has him out with everybody, even himself. He's been expecting his son to come running and eat humble pie before this, to try and get his inheritance back, and he's been disappointed, and that sours him.\"\n\nCadfael turned a surprised face at this. \"You mean he's cut off a son, to give his inheritance to the abbey? To spite the young man? That he couldn't, in law. No house would think of accepting such a bargain, without the consent of the heir.\"\n\n\"It's not his own son.\" Aelfric shrugged, shaking his head. \"It's his wife's son by a former marriage, so the lad has no legal claims on him. It's true he'd made a will naming him as his heir, but the abbey charter wipes that out\u2014or will when it's sealed and witnessed. He has no remedy in law. They fell out, and he's lost his promised manor, and that's all there is to it.\"\n\n\"For what fault could he deserve such treatment?\" Cadfael wondered.\n\nAelfric hoisted deprecating shoulders, lean shoulders but broad and straight, as Cadfael observed. \"He's young and wayward, and my lord is old and irritable, not used to being crossed. Neither was the boy used to it, and he fought hard when he found his liberty curbed.\"\n\n\"And what's become of him now? For I recall you said you were but four in the house.\"\n\n\"He has a neck as stiff as my lord's, he's taken himself off to live with his married sister and her family, and learn a trade. He was expected back with his tail between his legs before now, my lord was counting on it, but never a sign, and I doubt if there will be.\"\n\nIt sounded, Cadfael reflected ruefully, a troublous situation for the disinherited boy's mother, who must be torn two ways in this dissension. Certainly it accounted for an act of spleen which the old man was probably already regretting. He handed over the bunch of mint stems, their oval leaves still well formed and whole, for they had dried in honest summer heat, and had even a good shade of green left. \"She'll need to rub it herself, but it keeps its flavour better so. If she wants more, and you let me know, I'll crumble it fine for her, but this time we'll not keep her waiting. I hope it may go some way towards sweetening him, for his own sake and hers. And yours, too,\" said Cadfael, and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.\n\nAelfric's gaunt features were convulsed for a moment by what might almost have been a smile, but of a bitter, resigned sort. \"Villeins are there to be scapegoats,\" he said with soft, sudden violence, and left the hut hurriedly, with only a hasty, belated murmur of thanks.\n\nWith the approach of Christmas it was quite usual for many of the merchants of Shrewsbury, and the lords of many small manors close by, to give a guilty thought to the welfare of their souls, and their standing as devout and ostentatious Christians, and to see small ways of acquiring merit, preferably as economically as possible. The conventual fare of pulse, beans, fish, and occasional and meagre meat benefited by sudden gifts of flesh and fowl to provide treats for the monks of St. Peter's. Honey-baked cakes appeared, and dried fruits, and chickens, and even, sometimes, a haunch of venison, all devoted to the pittances that turned a devotional sacrament into a rare indulgence, a holy day into a holiday.\n\nSome, of course, were selective in their giving, and made sure that their alms reached abbot or prior, on the assumption that his prayers might avail them more than those of the humbler brothers. There was a knight of south Shropshire who was quite unaware that Abbot Heribert had been summoned to London to be disciplined, and sent for his delectation a plump partridge, in splendid condition after a fat season. Naturally it arrived at the abbot's lodging to be greeted with pleasure by Prior Robert, who sent it down to the kitchen, to Brother Petrus, to be prepared for the midday meal in fitting style.\n\nBrother Petrus, who seethed with resentment against him for Abbot Heribert's sake, glowered at the beautiful bird, and seriously considered spoiling it in some way, by burning it, or drying it with over-roasting, or serving it with a sauce that would ruin its perfection. But he was a cook of pride and honour, and he could not do it. The worst he could do was prepare it in an elaborate way which he himself greatly loved, with red wine and a highly spiced, aromatic sauce, cooked long and slow, and hope that Prior Robert would not be able to stomach it.\n\nThe prior was in high content with himself, with his present eminence, with the assured prospect of elevation to the abbacy in the near future, and with the manor of Mallilie, which he had been studying from the steward's reports, and found a surprisingly lavish gift. Gervase Bonel had surely let his spite run away with his reason, to barter such a property for the simple necessities of life, when he was already turned sixty years, and could hardly expect to enjoy his retirement very long. A few extra attentions could be accorded him at little cost. Brother Jerome, always primed with the news within and without the pale, had reported that Master Bonel was slightly under the weather, with a jaded appetite. He might appreciate the small personal compliment of a dish from the abbot's table. And there was enough, a partridge being a bird of ample flesh.\n\nBrother Petrus was basting the plump little carcase lovingly with his rich wine sauce, tasting delicately, adding a pinch of rosemary and a mere hint of rue, when Prior Robert swept into the kitchen, imperially tall and papally austere, and stood over the pot, his alabaster nostrils twitching to the tantalising scent, and his cool eyes studying the appearance of the dish, which was as alluring as its savour. Brother Petrus stooped to hide his face, which was sour as gal, and basted industriously, hoping his best efforts might meet with an uninformed palate, and disgust where they should delight. Small hope, Robert had such pleasure in the aroma that he almost considered abandoning his generous plan to share the satisfaction. Almost, but not quite. Mallilie was indeed a desirable property.\n\n\"I have heard,\" said the prior, \"that our guest at the house by the mill-pond is in poor health, and lacks appetite. Set aside a single portion of this dish, Brother Petrus, and send it to the invalid with my compliments, as an intermissum after the main dish for the day. Bone it, and serve it in one of my own bowls. It should tempt him, if he is out of taste with other foods, and he will appreciate the attention.\" He condescended, all too genuinely, to add: \"It smells excellent.\"\n\n\"I do my best,\" grated Brother Petrus, almost wishing his best undone.\n\n\"So do we all,\" acknowledged Robert austerely, \"and so we ought.\" And he swept out as he had swept in, highly content with himself, his circumstances, and the state of his soul. And Brother Petrus gazed after him from under lowering brows, and snarled at his two lay scullions, who knew better than to meddle too close while he was cooking, but kept the corners of the kitchen, and jumped to obey orders.\n\nEven for Brother Petrus orders were orders. He did as he had been instructed, but after his own fashion, seeing to it that the portion he set aside for the unoffending guest was the choicest part of the flesh, and laced with the richest helping of the sauce.\n\n\"Lost his appetite, has he?\" he said, after a final tasting, and unable to suppress his satisfaction in his own skills. \"That should tempt a man on his death-bed to finish it to the last drop.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael on his way to the refectory saw Aelfric crossing the great court from the abbot's kitchen, heading quickly for the gatehouse, bearing before him a high-rimmed wooden tray laden with covered dishes. Guests enjoyed a more relaxed diet than the brothers, though it did not differ greatly except in the amount of meat, and at this time of year that would already be salt beef. To judge by the aroma that wafted from the tray as it passed, beef boiled with onions, and served with a dish of beans. The small covered bowl balanced on top had a much more appetising smell. Evidently the newcomer was to enjoy an intermissum today, before coming to the apples from the orchard. Aelfric carried his burden, which must be quite heavy, with a careful concentration, bent on getting it safely and quickly to the house by the pond. It was not a long journey, out at the gatehouse, a short step to the left, to the limits of the monastery wall, then past the mill-pond on the left, and the first house beyond was Aelfric's destination. Beyond, again, came the bridge over the Severn, and the wall and gate of Shrewsbury. Not far, but far enough in December for food to get cold. No doubt the household, though relieved of the need to do much cooking, had its own fire and hob, and pans and dishes enough, and the fuel was a part of the price of Bonel's manor.\n\nCadfael went on to the refectory, and his own dinner, which turned out to be boiled beef and beans, as he had foreseen. No savory intermissum here. Brother Richard, the sub-prior, presided; Prior Robert ate privately in the lodging he already thought of as his own. The partridge was excellent.\n\nThey had reached the grace after meat, and were rising from table, when the door flew open almost in Brother Richard's face, and a lay brother from the porter's lodge burst in, babbling incoherently for Brother Edmund, but too short of breath from running to explain the need.\n\n\"Master Bonel\u2014his serving-maid has come running for help\u2026\" He gulped breath deep, and suppressed his panting long enough to get out clearly: \"He's taken terribly ill, she said he looks at death's door\u2026 the mistress begs someone to come to him quickly!\"\n\nBrother Edmund gripped him by the arm. \"What ails him? Is it a stroke? A convulsion?\"\n\n\"No, from what the girl said, not that. He ate his dinner, and seemed well and well content, and not a quarter of an hour after he was taken with tingling of the mouth and throat, and then willed to vomit, but could not, and lips and neck are grown stiff and hard\u2026 So she said!\"\n\nBy the sound of it, she was a good witness, too, thought Cadfael, already making for the door and his workshop at a purposeful trot. \"Go before, Edmund, I'll join you as fast as I may. I'll bring what may be needed.\"\n\nHe ran, and Edmund ran, and behind Brother Edmund the messenger scuttled breathlessly towards the gatehouse, and the agitated girl waiting there. Prickling of the lips, mouth and throat, Cadfael was reckoning as he ran, tingling and then rigidity, and urgent need, but little ability, to rid himself of whatever it was he had consumed. And a quarter of an hour since he got it down, more by now, if it was in the dinner he had eaten. It might be late to give him the mustard that would make him sick, but it must be tried. Though surely this was merely an attack of illness from some normal disagreement between an indisposed man and his perfectly wholesome food, nothing else was possible. But then, that prickling of the flesh of mouth and throat, and the stiffness following\u2026 that sounded all too like at least one violent illness he had witnessed, which had almost proved fatal; and the cause of that he knew. Hurriedly he snatched from the shelves the preparations he wanted, and ran for the gatehouse.\n\nFor all the chill of the December day, the door of the first house beyond the mill-pond stood wide, and for all the awed quietness that hung about it, a quivering of agitation and confusion seemed to well out at the doorway to meet him, an almost silent panic of fluttering movements and hushed voices. A good house, with three rooms and the kitchen, and a small garden behind, running down to the pond; he knew it well enough, having visited a previous inmate upon less desperate business. The kitchen door faced away from the pond, towards the prospect of Shrewsbury beyond the river, and the north light at this time of day and year made the interior dim, although the window that looked out southwards stood unshuttered to let in light and air upon the brazier that did duty as all the cooking facilities such pensioners needed. He caught the grey gleam of a reflection from the water, as the wind ruffled it; the strip of garden was narrow here, though the house stood well above the water level.\n\nBy the open inner door through which the murmur of frightened voices emerged, stood a woman, obviously watching for him, her hands gripped tightly together under her breast, and quivering with tension. She started eagerly towards him as he came in, and then he saw her more clearly; a woman of his own years and his own height, very neat and quiet in her dress, her dark hair laced with silver and braided high on her head, her oval face almost unlined except for the agreeable grooves of good-nature and humour that wrinkled the corners of her dark-brown eyes, and made her full mouth merry and attractive. The merriment was quenched now, she wrung her hands and fawned on him; but attractive she was, even beautiful. She had held her own against the years, all forty-two of them that had come between.\n\nHe knew her at once. He had not seen her since they were both seventeen, and affianced, though nobody knew it but themselves, and probably her family would have made short work of the agreement if they had known of it. But he had taken the Cross and sailed for the Holy Land, and for all his vows to return to claim her, with his honours thick upon him, he had forgotten everything in the fever and glamour and peril of a life divided impartially between soldier and sailor, and delayed his coming far too long; and she, for all her pledges to wait for him, had tired at last and succumbed to her parents' urgings, and married a more stable character, and small blame to her. And he hoped she had been happy. But never, never had he expected to see her here. It was no Bonel, no lord of a northern manor, she had married, but an honest craftsman of Shrewsbury. There was no accounting for her, and no time to wonder.\n\nYet he knew her at once. Forty-two years between, and he knew her! He had not, it seemed, forgotten very much. The eager way she leaned to him now, the turn of her head, the very way she coiled her hair; and the eyes, above all, large, direct, clear as light for all their darkness.\n\nAt this moment she did not, thank God, know him. Why should she? He must be far more changed than she; half a world, alien to her, had marked, manipulated, adapted him, changed his very shape of body and mind. All she saw was the monk who knew his herbs and remedies, and had run to fetch aids for her stricken man.\n\n\"Through here, brother\u2026 he is in here. The infirmarer has got him to. bed. Oh, please help him!\"\n\n\"If I may, and God willing,\" said Cadfael, and went by her into the next room. She pressed after him, urging and ushering. The main room was furnished with table and benches, and chaotically spread with the remains of a meal surely interrupted by something more than one man's sudden illness. In any case, he was said to have eaten his meal and seemed well; yet there were broken dishes lying, shards on both table and floor. But she drew him anxiously on, into the bedchamber.\n\nBrother Edmund rose from beside the bed, wide and dismayed of eye. He had got the invalid as near rest as he could, wrapped up here on top of the covers, but there was little more he could do. Cadfael drew near, and looked down at Gervase Bonel. A big, fleshy man, thickly capped in greying brown hair, with a short beard now beaded with saliva that ran from both corners of a rigid, half-open mouth. His face was leaden blue, the pupils of his eyes dilated and staring. Fine, strong features were congealed now into a livid mask. The pulse for which Cadfael reached was faint, slow and uneven, the man's breathing shallow, long and laboured. The lines of jaw and throat stood fixed as stone.\n\n\"Bring a bowl,\" said Cadfael, kneeling, \"and beat a couple of egg-whites into some milk. We'll try to get it out of him, but I doubt it's late, it may do as much damage coming up as going down.\" He did not turn his head to see who ran to do his bidding, though certainly someone did; he was hardly aware, as yet, that there were three other people present in the house, in addition to Brother Edmund and Mistress Bonel and the sick man. Aelfric and the maid, no doubt, but he recognised the third only when someone stopped to slide a wooden bowl close to the patient's face, and tilt the livid head to lean over it. Cadfael glanced up briefly, the silent and swift movement pleasing him, and looked into the intent and horrified face of the young Welshman, Meurig, Brother Rhys's great-nephew.\n\n\"Good! Lift his head on your hand, Edmund, and hold his brow steady.\" It was easy enough to trickle the emetic mixture of mustard into the half-open mouth, but the stiff throat laboured frightfully at swallowing, and much of the liquid ran out again into his beard and the bowl. Brother Edmund's hands quivered, supporting the tormented head. Meurig held the bowl, himself shivering. The following sickness convulsed the big body, weakened the feeble pulse yet further, and produced only a painfully inadequate result. It was indeed late for Gervase Bonel. Cadfael gave up, and let the paroxysms subside, for fear of killing him out of hand.\n\n\"Give me the milk and eggs.\" This he fed very slowly into the open mouth, letting it slide of itself down the stiff throat, in such small quantities that it could not threaten the patient with choking. Too late to prevent whatever the poison had done to the flesh of Bonel's gullet, it might still be possible to lay a soothing film over the damaged parts, and ease their condition. He spooned patient drop after drop, and dead silence hung all round him, the watchers hardly breathing.\n\nThe big body seemed to have shrunk and subsided into the bed, the pulse fluttered ever more feebly, the stare of the eyes filmed over. He lay collapsed. The muscles of his throat no longer made any effort at swallowing, but stood corded and rigid. The end came abruptly, with no more turmoil than the cessation of breathing and pulse.\n\nBrother Cadfael laid the spoon in the little bowl of milk, and sat back on his heels, He looked up at the circle of shocked, bewildered faces, and for the first time saw them all clearly: Meurig, the bowl with its horrid contents shaking in his hands, Aelfric grim-eyed and pale, hovering at Brother Edmund's shoulder and staring at the bed, the girl\u2014Brother Mark had not exaggerated, she was very pretty, with her yellow hair and black eyes\u2014standing frozen, too shocked for tears, both small fists pressed hard against her mouth; and the widow, Mistress Bonel, who had once been Richildis Vaughan, gazing with marble face and slowly gathering tears at what remained of her husband.\n\n\"We can do no more for him,\" said Brother Cadfael. \"He's gone.\"\n\nThey all stirred briefly, as though a sudden wind had shaken them. The widow's tears spilled over and ran down her motionless face, as though she were still too bemused to understand what caused them. Brother Edmund touched her arm, and said gently: \"You will need helpers. I am very sorry, so are we all. You shall be relieved of such duties as we can lift from you. He shall lie in our chapel until all can be arranged. I will order it\u2026\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cadfael, clambering stiffly to his feet, \"that can't be done yet, Edmund. This is no ordinary death. He is dead of poison, taken with the food he has recently eaten. It's a matter for the sheriff, and we must disturb nothing here and remove nothing until his officers have examined all.\"\n\nAfter a blank silence Aelfric spoke up hoarsely: \"But how can that be? It can't be so! We have all eaten the same, every one of us here. If there was anything amiss with the food, it would have struck at us all.\"\n\n\"That is truth!\" said the widow shakily, and sobbed aloud.\n\n\"All but the little dish,\" the maid pointed out, in a small, frightened but determined voice, and flushed at having drawn attention to herself, but went on firmly: \"The one the prior sent to him.\"\n\n\"But that was part of the prior's own dinner,\" said Aelfric, aghast. \"Brother Petrus told me he had orders to take a portion from it and send it to my master with his compliments, to tempt his appetite.\"\n\nBrother Edmund shot a terrified look at Brother Cadfael, and saw his own appalling thought reflected back to him. Hastily he said: \"I'll go to the prior. Pray heaven no harm has come to him! I'll send also to the sheriff, or, please God! Prior Robert shall do as much on his own account. Brother, do you stay here until I return, and see that nothing is touched.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Cadfael grimly, \"I will certainly do.\"\n\nAs soon as the agitated slapping of Brother Edmund's sandals had dwindled along the road, Cadfael shooed his stunned companions into the outer room, away from the horrid air of the bedchamber, tainted with the foul odours of sickness, sweat and death. Yes, and of something else, faint but persistent even against that powerful combination of odours; something he felt he could place, if he could give it a moment's undisturbed thought.\n\n\"No help for this,\" he said sympathetically. \"We may do nothing now without authority, there's a death to account for. But no need to stand here and add to the distress. Come away and sit down quietly. If there's wine or ale in that pitcher, child, get your mistress a drink, and do as much for yourself, and sit down and take what comfort you can. The abbey has taken you in, and will stand by you now, to the best it may.\"\n\nIn dazed silence they did as he bade. Only Aelfric looked helplessly round at the debris of broken dishes and the littered table, and mindful of his usual menial role, perhaps, asked quaveringly: \"Should I not clear this disorder away?\"\n\n\"No, touch nothing yet. Sit down and be as easy as you can, lad. The sheriffs officer must see what's to be seen, before we remedy any part of it.\"\n\nHe left them for a moment, and went back into the bed-chamber, closing the door between. The curious, aromatic smell was almost imperceptible now, overborne by the enclosed stench of vomit, but he leaned down to the dead man's drawn-back lips, and caught the hint of it again, and more strongly. Cadfael's nose might be blunt, battered and brown to view, but it was sharp and accurate in performance as a hart's.\n\nThere was nothing more in this death-chamber to tell him anything. He went back to his forlorn company in the next room. The widow was sitting with hands wrung tightly together in her lap, shaking her head still in disbelief, and murmuring to herself over and over. \"But how could it happen? How could it happen?\" The girl, tearless throughout, and now jealously protective, sat with an arm about her mistress's shoulders; clearly there was more than a servant's affection there. The two young men shifted glumly and uneasily from place to place, unable to keep still. Cadfael stood back from them in the shadows, and ran a shrewd eye over the laden table. Three places laid, three beakers, one of them, in the master's place where a chair replaced the backless benches, overturned in a pool of ale, probably when Bonel suffered the first throes and blundered up from his seat. The large dish that had held the main meal was there in the centre, the congealing remains still in it. The food on one trencher was hardly touched, on the others it had been finished decently. Five people\u2014no, apparently six\u2014had eaten of that dish, and all but one were whole and unharmed. There was also the small bowl which he recognised as one of Abbot Heribert's, the same he had seen on Aelfric's tray as he passed through the court. Only the smallest traces of sauce remained in it; Prior Robert's gift to the invalid had clearly been much appreciated.\n\n\"None of you but Master Bonel took any of this dish?\" asked Cadfael, bending to sniff at the rim carefully and long.\n\n\"No,\" said the widow tremulously. \"It was sent as a special favour to my husband\u2014a kind attention.\"\n\nAnd he had eaten it all. With dire results.\n\n\"And you three\u2014Meurig, Aelfric\u2014and you, child, I don't yet know your name\u2026\"\n\n\"It's Aldith,\" said the girl.\n\n\"Aldith! And you three ate in the kitchen?\"\n\n\"Yes. I had to keep the extra dish hot there until the other was eaten, and to see to the serving. And Aelfric always eats there. And Meurig, when he visits\u2026\" She paused for only a second, a faint flush mantling in her cheeks: \"\u2026 he keeps me company.\"\n\nSo that was the way the wind blew. Well, no wonder, she was indeed a very pretty creature.\n\nCadfael went into the kitchen. She had her pots and pans in neat order and well polished, she was handy and able as well as pretty. The brazier had an iron frame built high on two sides, to support an iron hob above the heat, and there, no doubt, the little bowl had rested until Bonel was ready for it. Two benches were ranged against the wall, out of the way, but close to the warmth. Three wooden platters, all used, lay on the shelf under the open window.\n\nIn the room at his back the silence was oppressive and fearful, heavy with foreboding. Cadfael went out at the open kitchen door, and looked along the road.\n\nThank God there was to be no second and even more dismaying death to cope with: Prior Robert, far too dignified to run, but furnished with such long legs that Brother Edmund had to trot to keep up with his rapid strides, was advancing along the highroad in august consternation and displeasure, his habit billowing behind him.\n\n\"I have sent a lay brother into Shrewsbury,\" said the prior, addressing the assembled household, \"to inform the sheriff of what has happened, as I am told this death\u2014madam, I grieve for your loss!\u2014is from no natural cause, but brought about by poison. This terrible thing, though clearly reflecting upon our house, has taken place outside the walls, and outside the jurisdiction of our abbey court.\" He was grateful for that, at least, and well he might be! \"Only the secular authorities can deal with this. But we must give them whatever help we can, it is our duty.\"\n\nHis manner throughout, however gracefully he inclined towards the widow, and however well chosen his words of commiseration and promises of help and support in the sad obligations of burial, had been one of outrage. How dared such a thing happen in his cure, in his newly acquired abbacy and through the instrument of his gift? His hope was to soothe the bereaved with a sufficiently ceremonious funeral, perhaps a very obscure place in the actual church precincts if one could be found, bundle the legal responsibility into the sheriff's arms, where it belonged, and hush the whole affair into forgetfulness as quickly as possible. He had baulked in revulsion and disgust in the doorway of the bedchamber, giving the dead man only a brief and appalled reverence and a hasty murmur of prayer, and quickly shut the door upon him again. In a sense he blamed every person, there for imposing this ordeal and inconvenience upon him; but most of all he resented Cadfael's blunt assertion that this was a case of poison. That committed the abbey to examine the circumstances, at least. Moreover, there was the problem of the as yet unsealed agreement, and the alarming vision of Mallilie possibly slipping out of his hands. With Bonel dead before the charter was fully legal, to whom did that fat property now belong? And could it still be secured by a rapid approach to the hypothetical heir, before he had time to consider fully what he was signing away?\n\n\"Brother,\" said Robert, looking down his long, fastidious nose at Cadfael, who was a head shorter, \"you have asserted that poison has been used here. Before so horrid a suggestion is put to the sheriff's officers, rather than the possibility of accidental use, or indeed, a sudden fatal illness\u2014for such can happen even to men apparently in good health!\u2014I should like to hear your reasons for making so positive a statement. How do you know? By what signs?\"\n\n\"By the nature of his illness,\" said Cadfael. \"He suffered with prickling and tingling of lips, mouth and throat, and afterwards with rigidity in those parts, so that he could not swallow, or breathe freely, followed by stiffness of his whole body, and great weakness of his heart-beat. His eyes were greatly dilated. All this I have seen once before, and then I knew what the man had swallowed, for he had the bottle in his hand. You may remember it, some years ago. A drunken carter during the fair, who broke into my store and thought he had found strong liquor. In that case I was able to recover him, since he had but newly drunk the poison. But I recognise all the signs, and I know the poison that was used. I can detect it by smell on his lips, and on the remains of the dish he ate, the dish you sent him.\"\n\nIf Prior Robert's face paled at the thought of what that might all too easily have meant, the change was not detectable, for his complexion was always of unflawed ivory. To do him justice, he was not a timorous man. He demanded squarely: \"What is this poison, if you are so sure of your judgement?\"\n\n\"It is an oil that I make for rubbing aching joints, and it must have come either from the store I keep in my workshop, or from some smaller quantity taken from it, and I know of but one place where that could be found, and that is our own infirmary. The poison is monk's-hood\u2014they call it so from the shape of the flowers, though it is also known as wolfsbane. Its roots make an excellent rub to remove pain, but it is very potent poison if swallowed.\"\n\n\"If you can make medicines from this plant,\" said Prior Robert, with chill dislike, \"so, surely, may others, and this may have come from some very different source, and not from any store of ours.\"\n\n\"That I doubt,\" said Cadfael sturdily, \"since I know the odour of my own specific so well, and can detect here mustard and houseleek as well as monk's-hood. I have seen its effects, once taken, I know them again. I am in no doubt, and so I shall tell the sheriff.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said Robert, no less frigidly, \"that a man should know his own work. You may, then, remain here, and do what you can to provide my lord Prestcote or his deputies with whatever truth you can furnish. I will speak with them first, I am responsible now for the peace and good order of our house. Then I will send them here. When they are satisfied that they have gathered all the facts that can be gathered, send word to Brother Infirmarer, and he will have the body made seemly and brought to the chapel. Madam,\" he said in quite different tones, turning to the widow, \"you need have that your tenure here will be disturbed. We will not add to your distresses, we deplore them heartily. If you are in any need, send your man to me.\" And to Brother Edmund, who hovered unhappily: \"Come with me! I wish to see where these medicaments are kept, and how accessible they may be to unauthorised people. Brother Cadfael will remain here.\"\n\nHe departed as superbly as he had come, and at the same speed, the infirmarer scurrying at his heels. Cadfael looked after him with tolerant comprehension; this was certainly a disastrous thing to happen when Robert was new in his eminence, and the prior would do everything he could to smooth it away as a most unfortunate but perfectly natural death, the result of some sudden seizure. In view of the unconcluded charter, it would present him with problems enough, even so, but he would exert himself to the utmost to remove the scandalous suspicion of murder, or, if it must come to that, to see it ebb away into an unsolved mystery, attributed comfortably to some unidentified rogue outside the abbey enclave. Cadfael could not blame him for that; but the work of his own hands, meant to alleviate pain, had been used to destroy a man, and that was something he could not let pass.\n\nHe turned back with a sigh to the doleful household within, and was brought up short to find the widow's dark eyes, tearless and bright, fixed upon him with so significant and starry a glance that she seemed in an instant to have shed twenty years from her age and a great load from her shoulders. He had already come to the conclusion that, though undoubtedly shocked, she was not heartbroken by her loss; but this was something different. Now she was unmistakably the Richildis he had left behind at seventeen. Faint colour rose in her cheeks, the hesitant shadow of a smile caused her lips to quiver, she gazed at him as if they shared a knowledge closed to everyone else, and only the presence of others in the room with them kept her from utterance.\n\nThe truth dawned on him only after a moment's blank incomprehension, and struck him as the most inconvenient and entangling thing that could possibly have happened at this moment. Prior Robert in departing had called him by his name, no usual name in these parts, and reminder enough to one who had, perhaps, already been pondering half-remembered tricks of voice and movement, and trying to run them to earth.\n\nHis impartiality and detachment in this affair would be under siege from this moment. Richildis not only knew him, she was sending him urgent, silent signals of her gratitude and dependence, and her supreme assurance that she could rely on his championship, to what end he hardly dared speculate."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Gilbert Prestcote, sheriff of Shropshire since the town fell into King Stephen's hands during the past summer, had his residence in Shrewsbury castle, which he held fortified for the king, and managed his now pacified shire from that headquarters. Had his deputy been in Shrewsbury when Prior Robert's message reached the castle, Prestcote would probably have sent him to answer the call, which would have been a relief to Brother Cadfael, who had considerable faith in Hugh Beringar's shrewd sense; but that young man was away on his own manor, and it was a sergeant, with a couple of men-at-arms as escort, who finally arrived at the house by the mill-pond.\n\nThe sergeant was a big man, bearded and deep-voiced, in the sheriff's full confidence, and able and willing to act with authority in his name. He looked first to Cadfael, as belonging to the abbey, whence the summons had come, and it was Cadfael who recounted the course of events from the time he had been sent for. The sergeant had already spoken with Prior Robert, who would certainly have told him that the suspected dish had come from his own kitchen and at his own orders.\n\n\"And you swear to the poison? It was in this and no other food that he swallowed it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, \"I can swear to it. The traces left are small, but even so minute a smear of the sauce, if you put it to your lips, would bring out a hot prickling some minutes later. I have confirmed it for myself. There is no doubt.\"\n\n\"And Prior Robert, who ate the remainder of the bird, is live and well, God be praised. Therefore somewhere between the abbot's kitchen and yonder table, poison was added to the dish. It is not a great distance, or a great time. You, fellow, you fetch the meals from the kitchen to this house? And did so today? Did you halt anywhere by the way? Speak to any? Set down your tray anywhere?\"\n\n\"I did not,\" said Aelfric defensively. \"If I delay, or the food is cold, I have to answer for it. I do to the letter what I am supposed to do, and so I did today.\"\n\n\"And here? What did you do with the dishes when you came in?\"\n\n\"He delivered them to me,\" said Aldith, so quickly and firmly that Cadfael looked at her with new interest. \"He put down the tray on the bench by the brazier, and I myself set the small dish on the hob to keep warm, while we two served the main dish to our lord and lady. He told me the prior had kindly sent it for the master. When I had served them within, we sat down in the kitchen to eat our own meal.\"\n\n\"And none of you noticed anything wrong with the partridge? In odour or appearance?\"\n\n\"It was a very rich, spiced sauce, it had a fine smell. No, there was nothing to notice. The master ate it and found nothing wrong until his mouth began to prick and burn, and that was afterwards.\"\n\n\"Both scent and savour,\" confirmed Cadfael, consulted with a rapid glance, \"could well be covered by such a sauce. And the amount needed would not be so great.\"\n\n\"And you\u2026\" The sergeant turned to Meurig. \"You were also here? You belong to the household?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" said Meurig readily. \"I come from Master Bonel's manor, but I'm working now for the master-carpenter Martin Bellecote, in the town. I came here today to visit an old great-uncle of mine in the infirmary, as Brother Infirmarer will tell you, and being about the abbey I came to visit here also. I came into the kitchen just when Aldith and Aelfric were about to share out their own meal, and they bade me join them, and I did.\"\n\n\"There was enough,\" said Aldith. \"The abbot's cook is generous-handed.\"\n\n\"So you were the three eating here together. And giving the little dish a stir now and then? And within\u2026\" He passed through the doorway and looked a second time about the debris of the table. \"Master Bonel and the lady, naturally.\" No, he was not a stupid man, he could count, and he had noted the absence of one person both from the house and from their talk, as if they were all united to smooth the sixth trencherman out of sight. \"Here are three places laid. Who was the third?\"\n\nThere was no help for it, someone had to answer. Richildis made the best of it. With apparently ingenuous readiness, rather as though surprised at the introduction of an irrelevancy, she said: \"My son. But he left well before my husband was taken ill.\"\n\n\"Without finishing his dinner! If this was his place?\"\n\n\"It was,\" she said with dignity, and volunteered nothing more.\n\n\"I think, madam,\" said the sergeant, with a darkly patient smile, \"you had better sit down and tell me more about this son of yours. As I have heard from Prior Robert, your husband was by way of granting his lands to the abbey in return for this house and guest status for the rest of his life and yours. After what has happened here, that agreement would seem to be forcibly in abeyance, since it is not yet sealed. Now, it would be greatly to the advantage of an heir to those lands, supposing such to be living, to have your husband removed from this world before the charter was ratified. Yet if there was a son of your marriage, his consent would have been required before any such agreement could have been drawn up. Read me this riddle. How did he succeed in disinheriting his son?\"\n\nPlainly she did not want to volunteer anything more than she must, but she was wise enough to know that too stubborn reticence would only arouse suspicion. Resignedly she replied: \"Edwin is my son by my first marriage. Gervase had no paternal obligation to him. He could dispose of his lands as he wished.\" There was more, and if she left it to be ferreted out through others it would sound far worse. \"Though he had previously made a will making Edwin his heir, there was nothing to prevent him from changing his mind.\"\n\n\"Ah! So there was, it seems, an heir who was being dispossessed by this charter, and had much to regain by rendering it void. And limited time for the business\u2014only a few days or weeks, until a new abbot is appointed. Oh, don't mistake me, my mind is open. Every man's death may be convenient to someone, often to more than one. There could be others with something to gain. But you'll grant me, your son is certainly one such.\"\n\nShe bit her lip, which was unsteady, and took a moment to compose herself before she said gallantly: \"I don't quarrel with your reasoning. I do know that my son, however much he may have wanted his manor, would never have wanted it at this price. He is learning a trade, and resolved to be independent and make his own future.\"\n\n\"But he was here today. And departed, it appears, in some haste. When did he come?\"\n\nMeurig said readily: \"He came with me. He's apprenticed himself to Martin Bellecote, who is his sister's husband and my master. We came here together this morning, and he came with me, as he has once before, to see my old uncle in the infirmary.\"\n\n\"Then you arrived at this house together? You were together throughout that time? A while ago you said you came into the kitchen\u2014'I,' you said, not 'we.' \"\n\n\"He came before me. He was restive after a while\u2026 he's young, he grew tired of standing by the old man's bed while we spoke only Welsh together. And his mother was here waiting to see him. So he went ahead. He was in at the table when I got here.\"\n\n\"And left the table almost dinnerless,\" said the sergeant very thoughtfully. \"Why? Can that have been a very comfortable dinner-table, a young man come to eat with the man who disinherited him? Was this the first time they had so met, since the abbey supplanted him?\"\n\nHe had his nose well down on a strong trail now, and small blame to him, it reeked enough to lure the rawest pup, and this man was far from being that. What would I have said to such a strong set of circumstances, Cadfael wondered, had I been in his shoes? A young man with the most urgent need to put a stop to this charter, while he had time, and into the bargain, here on the scene just prior to the disaster, and fresh from the infirmary, which he had visited before, and where the means to the end was to be found. And here was Richildis, between holding the sheriff's sergeant fast with huge, challenging eyes, shooting desperate glances in Cadfael's direction, crying out to him silently that he must help her, or her darling was deep in the mire! Silently, in turn, he willed her to spill out at once everything that could count against her son, leave nothing untold, for only so could she counter much of what might otherwise be alleged against him.\n\n\"It was the first time,\" said Richildis. \"And it was a most uneasy meeting, but it was for my sake Edwin sought it. Not because he hoped to change my husband's mind, only to bring about peace for me. Meurig, here, has been trying to persuade him to visit us, and today he prevailed, and I'm grateful to him for his efforts. But my husband met the boy with illwill, and taunted him with coming courting for his promised manor\u2014for it was promised!\u2014when Edwin intended no such matter. Yes, there was a quarrel! They were two hasty people, and they ended with high words. And Edwin flung out, and my husband threw that platter after him\u2014you see the shards there against the wall. That's the whole truth of it, ask my servants. Ask Meurig, he knows. My son ran out of the house and back into Shrewsbury, I am sure, to where he now feels his home to be, with his sister and her family.\"\n\n\"Let me understand you clearly,\" said the sergeant, a thought too smoothly and reasonably. \"Ran out of the house through the kitchen, you say?\u2014where you three were sitting?\" The turn of his head towards Aldith and the young men was sharp and intent, not smooth at all. \"So you saw him leave the house, without pause on the way?\"\n\nAll three hesitated a brief instant, each casting uncertain glances aside at the others, and that was a mistake. Aldith said for them all, resignedly: \"When they began to shout and throw things, we all three ran in there, to try and calm the master down\u2026 or at least to\u2026\"\n\n\"To be there with me, and some comfort,\" said Richildis.\n\n\"And there you remained after the boy had gone.\" He was content with his guess, their faces confirmed it, however unwilling. \"So I thought. It takes time to placate a very angry man. So none of you saw whether this young fellow paused in the kitchen, none of you can say he did not stop to take his revenge by dosing the dish of partridge. He had been in the infirmary that morning, as he had once before, he may well have known where to find this oil, and what its powers could be. He may have come to this dinner prepared either for peace or war, and failed of getting peace.\"\n\nRichildis shook her head vigorously. \"You don't know him! It was my peace he wanted to secure. And besides, it was no more than a few minutes before Aelfric ran out after him, to try to bring him back, and though he followed almost to the bridge, he could not overtake him.\"\n\n\"It's true,\" said Aelfric. \"He surely had no time to check at all. I ran like a hare and called after him, but he would not turn back.\"\n\nThe sergeant was unconvinced. \"How long does it take to empty a small vial into an open dish? One twirl of the spoon, and who was to know? And when your master was calm again, no doubt the prior's gift made a very handy and welcome sop to his pride, and he ate it gladly.\"\n\n\"But did this boy even know,\" asked Cadfael, intervening very gingerly, \"that the dish left in the kitchen was meant solely for Master Bonel? He would hardly risk harm to his mother.\"\n\nThe sergeant was by that time too certain of his quarry to be impressed by any such argument. He eyed Aldith hard, and for all her resolution she paled a little.\n\n\"With such a strange gathering to wait on, was it likely the girl would miss the chance of a pleasant distraction for her master? When you went in to serve him his meat, did you not tell him of the prior's kind attention, and make the most of the compliment to him, and the treat in store?\"\n\nShe cast down her eyes and pleated the corner of her apron. \"I thought it might sweeten him,\" she said despairingly.\n\nThe sergeant had all he needed, or so he thought, to lay his hands promptly upon the murderer. He gave a final look round the shattered household, and said: \"Well, I think you may put things in order here, I've seen all there is to be seen. Brother Infirmarer is prepared to help you take care of your dead. Should I need to question you further, I must be sure of finding you here.\"\n\n\"Where else should we be?\" asked Richildis bleakly. \"What is it you mean to do? Will you at least let me know what happens, if you\u2026 if you should\u2026\" She could not put it into words. She stiffened her still straight and lissome back, and said with dignity: \"My son has no part in this villainy, and so you will find. He is not yet fifteen years old, a mere child!\"\n\n\"The shop of Martin Bellecote, you said.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said one of the men-at-arms.\n\n\"Good! Show the way, and we'll see what this lad has to say for himself.\" And they turned confidently to the door and the highway.\n\nBrother Cadfael saw fit to toss one disturbing ripple, at least, into the pool of their complacency. \"There is the matter of a container for this oil. Whoever purloined it, whether from my store or from the infirmary, must have brought a vial to put it in. Meurig, did you see any sign of such about Edwin this morning? You came from the shop with him. In a pocket, or a pouch of cloth, even a small vial would hang in a noticeable way.\"\n\n\"Never a sign of anything such,\" said Meurig stoutly.\n\n\"And further, even well stoppered and tied down, such an oil is very penetrating, and can leave both a stain and an odour where even a drop seeps through or is left on the lip. Pay attention to the clothing of any man you think suspect in this matter.\"\n\n\"Are you teaching me my business, brother?\" enquired the sergeant with a tolerant grin.\n\n\"I am mentioning certain peculiarities about my business, which may be of help to you and keep you from error,\" said Cadfael placidly.\n\n\"By your leave,\" said the sergeant over his shoulder, from the doorway, \"I think we'll first lay hands on the culprit. I doubt if we shall need your learned advice, once we have him.\" And he was off along the short path to the roadway where the horses were tethered, and his two men after him.\n\nThe sergeant and his men came to Martin Bellecote's shop on the Wyle late in the afternoon. The carpenter, a big, comely fellow in his late thirties, looked up cheerfully enough from his work, and enquired their business without wonder or alarm. He had done work for Prestcote's garrison once or twice, and the appearance of one of the sheriff's officers in his workshop held no menace for him. A brown-haired, handsome wife looked out curiously from the house-door beyond, and three children erupted one by one from that quarter to examine the customers fearlessly and frankly. A grave girl of about eleven, very housewifely and prim, a small, square boy of eight or so, and an elfin miss no more than four, with a wooden doll under her arm. All of them gazed and listened. The door to the house remained open. and the sergeant had a loud, peremptory voice.\n\n\"You have an apprentice here by the name of Edwin. My business is with him.\"\n\n\"I have,\" agreed Martin loudly, rising and dusting the resin of polish from his hands. \"Edwin Gurney, my wife's young brother. He's not yet home. He went down to see his mother in the Foregate. He should have been back before this, but I daresay she's wanted to keep him longer. What's your will with him?\" He was still quite serene; he knew of nothing amiss.\n\n\"He left his mother's house above two hours since,\" said the sergeant flatly. \"We are come from there. No offence, friend, if you say he's not here, but it's my duty to search for him. You'll give us leave to go through your house and yard?\"\n\nMartin's placidity had vanished in an instant, his brows drew into a heavy frown. His wife's beech-brown head appeared again in the doorway beyond, her fair, contented face suddenly alert and chill, dark eyes intent. The children stared unwaveringly. The little one, voice of natural justice in opposition to law, stated firmly: \"Bad man!\" and nobody hushed her.\n\n\"When I say he is not here,\" said Martin levelly, \"you may be assured it is true. But you may also assure yourselves. House, workshop and yard have nothing to hide. Now what are you hiding? This boy is my brother, through my wife, and my apprentice by his own will, and dear to me either way. Now, why are you seeking him?\"\n\n\"In the house in the Foregate where he visited this morning,\" said the sergeant deliberately, \"Master Gervase Bonel, his stepfather, who promised him he should succeed to the manor of Mallilie and then changed his mind, is lying dead at this moment, murdered. It is on suspicion of his murder that I want this young man Edwin. Is that enough for you?\"\n\nIt was more than enough for the eldest son of this hitherto happy household, whose ears were stretched from the inner room to catch this awful and inexplicable news. The law nose-down on Edwin's trail, and Edwin should have been back long ago if everything had gone even reasonably well! Edwy had been uneasy for some time, and was alert for disaster where his elders took it for granted all must be well. He let himself out in haste by the back window on to the yard, before the officers could make their way into the house, clambered up the stacked timber and over the wall like a squirrel, and was away at a light, silent run towards the slope that dived riverwards, and one of the tight little posterns through the town wall, open now in time of peace, that gave on to the steep bank, not far from the abbot's vineyard. Several of the businesses in town that needed bulky stores had fenced premises here for their stock, and among them was Martin Bellecote's wood-yard where he seasoned his timber. It was an old refuge when either or both of the boys happened to be in trouble, and it was the place Edwin would make for if\u2026 oh, no, not if he had killed; because that was ridiculous!\u2026 but if he had been rejected, affronted, made miserably unhappy and madly angry. Angry almost to murder, but never, never quite! It was not in him.\n\nEdwy ran, confident of not being followed, and fell breathless through the wicket of his father's enclosure, and headlong over the splayed feet of a sullen, furious, tear-stained and utterly vulnerable Edwin.\n\nEdwin, perhaps because of the tear-stains, immediately clouted Edwy as soon as he had regained his feet, and was clouted in his turn just as indignantly. The first thing they did, at all times of stress, was to fight. It meant nothing, except that both were armed and on guard, and whoever meddled with them in the matter afterwards had better be very careful, for their practice on each other would be perfected on him. Within minutes Edwy was pounding his message home into bewildered, unreceptive, and finally convinced and dismayed ears. They sat down cheek by jowl to do some frantic planning.\n\nAelfric appeared in the herb-gardens an hour before Vespers. Cadfael had been back in his solitude no more than half an hour then, after seeing the body cleansed, made seemly, and borne away into the mortuary chapel, the bereaved house restored to order, the distracted members of the household at least set free to wander and wonder and grieve as was best for them. Meurig was gone, back to the shop in the town, to tell the carpenter and his family word for word what had befallen, for what comfort or warning that might give them. By this time, for all Cadfael knew, the sheriff's men had seized young Edwin\u2026 Dear God, he had even forgotten the name of the man Richildis had married, and Bellecote was only her son-in-law.\n\n\"Mistress Bonel asks,\" said Aelfric earnestly, \"that you'll come and speak with her privately. She entreats you for old friendship, to stand her friend now.\"\n\nIt came as no surprise. Cadfael was aware that he stood on somewhat perilous ground, even after forty years. He would have been happier if the lamentable death of her husband had turned out to be no mystery, her son in no danger, and her future none of his business, but there was no help for it. His youth, a sturdy part of the recollections that made him the man he was, stood in her debt, and now that she was in need he had no choice but to make generous repayment.\n\n\"I'll come,\" he said. \"You go on before, and I'll be with her within a quarter of an hour.\"\n\nWhen he knocked at the door of the house by the millpond, it was opened by Richildis herself. There was no sign either of Aelfric or Aldith, she had taken good care that the two of them should be able to talk in absolute privacy. In the inner room all was bare and neat, the morning's chaos smoothed away, the trestle table folded aside. Richildis sat down in the great chair which had been her husband's, and drew Cadfael down on the bench beside her. It was dim within the room, only one small rush-light burning; the only other brightness came from her eyes, the dark, lustrous brightness he was remembering more clearly with every moment.\n\n\"Cadfael\u2026\" she said haltingly, and was silent again for some moments. \"To think it should really be you! I never got word of you, after I heard you were back home. I thought you would have married, and been a grandsire by this. As often as I looked at you, this morning, I was searching my mind, why I should be so sure I ought to know you\u2026 And just when I was in despair, to hear your name spoken!\"\n\n\"And you,\" said Cadfael, \"you came as unexpectedly to me. I never knew you'd been widowed from Eward Gurney\u2014I remember now that was his name!\u2014much less that you'd wed again.\"\n\n\"Three years ago,\" she said, and heaved a sigh that might have been of regret or relief at the abrupt ending of this second match. \"I mustn't make you think ill of him, he was not a bad man, Gervase, only elderly and set in his ways, and used to being obeyed. A widower he was, many years wifeless, and without any children, leastways none by the marriage. He courted me a long time, and I was lonely, and then he promised, you see\u2026 Not having a legitimate heir, he promised if I'd have him he'd make Edwin his heir. His overlord sanctioned it. I ought to tell you about my family. I had a daughter, Sibil, only a year after I married Eward, and then, I don't know why, time went on and on, and there were no more. You'll remember, maybe, Eward had his business in Shrewsbury as a master-carpenter and carver. A good workman he was, a good master and a good husband.\"\n\n\"You were happy?\" said Cadfael, grateful at hearing it in her voice. Time and distance had done well by the pair of them, and led them to their proper places, after all.\n\n\"Very happy! I couldn't have had a better man. But there were no more children then. And when Sibil was seventeen she married Eward's journeyman, Martin Bellecote, and a good lad he is, too, and she's as happy in her match as I was in mine, thank God! Well, then, in two years the girl was with child, and it was like being young again myself\u2014the first grandchild!\u2014it's always so. I was so joyful, looking after her and making plans for the birth, and Eward was as proud as I was, and what with one thing and another, you'd have thought we old folk were young newlyweds again ourselves. And I don't know how it happens, but when Sibil was four months gone, what should I find but I was carrying, too!\n\nAfter all those years! And I in my forty-fourth year\u2014it was like a miracle! And the upshot is, she and I both brought forth boys, and though there's the four months between them, they might as well be twins as uncle and nephew\u2014and the uncle the younger, at that! They even look very much like, both taking after my man. And from the time they were first on their feet they've been as close as any brothers, and closer than most, and both as wild as fox-cubs. So that's my son Edwin and my grandson Edwy. Not yet turned fifteen, either of them. It's for Edwin I'm praying your help, Cadfael. For I swear to you he never did nor even could do such wicked harm, but the sheriff's man has it fixed fast in his head that it was Edwin who put poison in the dish. If you knew him, Cadfael, if only you knew him, you'd know it's madness.\"\n\nAnd so it sounded when her fond, maternal voice spoke of it, yet sons no older than fourteen had been known to remove their fathers to clear their own paths, as Cadfael knew well enough. And this was not Edwin's own father, and little love lost between them.\n\n\"Tell me,\" he said, \"about this second marriage, and the bargain you struck.\"\n\n\"Why, Eward died when Edwin was nine years old, and Martin took over his shop, and runs it as Eward did before him, and as Eward taught him. We all lived together until Gervase came ordering some panelling for his house, and took a strong fancy to me. And he was a fine figure of a man, too, and in good health, and very attentive\u2026 He promised if I would have him he'd make Edwin his heir, and leave Mallilie to him. And Martin and Sibil had three more children to provide for by then, so with all those mouths to feed he needed what the business can bring in, and I thought to see Edwin set up for life.\"\n\n\"But it was not a success,\" said Cadfael, \"understandably. A man who had never had children, and getting on in years, and a lusty lad busy growing up\u2014they were bound to cross swords.\"\n\n\"It was ten of one and half a score of the other,\" she owned, sighing. \"Edwin had been indulged, I fear, he was used to his freedom and to having his own way, and he was for ever running off with Edwy, as he'd always been used to do. And Gervase held it against him that he ran with simple folk and craftsmen\u2014he thought that low company, beneath a young man with a manor to inherit, and that was bound to anger Edwin, who loves his kin. Not to claim that he had not some less respectable friends, too! They rubbed each other the wrong way daily. When Gervase beat him, Edwin ran away to Martin's shop and stayed for days. And when Gervase locked him up, he'd either make his way out all the same, or else take his revenge in other ways. In the end Gervase said as the brat's tastes obviously ran to mere trade, and running loose with all the scallywags of the town, he might as well go and apprentice himself in good earnest, it was all he was fit for. And Edwin, though he knew better, pretended to take that, word for word, as well meant, and went and did that very thing, which made Gervase more furious than ever. That was when he vowed he'd hand over his manor by charter to the abbey, and live here retired. 'He cares nothing for the lands I meant to leave him,' he said, 'why should I go on nursing them for such an ingrate?' And he did it, there and then, while he was hot, he had this agreement drawn up, and made ready to move here before Christmas.\"\n\n\"And what did the boy say to that? For I suppose he never realised what was intended?\"\n\n\"He did not! He came with a rush, penitent but indignant, too. He swore he does love Mallilie, he never meant to scorn it, and he would take good care of it if it came to him. But my husband would not give way, though we all pleaded with him. And Edwin was bitter, too, for he had been promised, and a promise should be kept. But it was done, and nobody could make my lord undo it. Not being his own son, Edwin's consent was never asked nor needed\u2014it would never have been given! He went flying back to Martin and Sibil with his raging grievance, and I haven't seen him again until this day, and I wish he'd never come near us today. But he did, and now see how the sheriff's man is hunting him as a villain who would kill his own mother's husband! Such a thought could never enter that child's head, I swear to you, Cadfael, but if they take him\u2026 Oh, I can't bear to think of it!\"\n\n\"You've had no word since they left here? News travels this highroad fast. I think it would have reached us before now if they had found him at home.\"\n\n\"Not a word yet. But where else would he go? He knew no reason why he should hide. He ran from here knowing nothing of what was to happen after his going, he was simply sore about his bitter welcome.\"\n\n\"Then he might not wish to take such a mood home with him, not until he'd come to terms with it. Hurt things hide until the fright and pain wears off. Tell me all that happened at this dinner. It seems Meurig has been a go-between for you, and tried to bring him to make peace. Some mention was made of a former visit\u2026\"\n\n\"Not to me,\" said Richildis sadly. \"The two of them came to bring down the lectern Martin has been making for the Lady Chapel, and Meurig took my boy with him to see the old brother, his kinsman. He tried to persuade Edwin then to come and see me, but he would not. Meurig is a good fellow, he's done his best. Today he did prevail on Edwin to come, but see what came of it! Gervase was in high glee about it, and monstrously unfair\u2014he taunted my boy with coming like a beggar to plead to be restored, and get his inheritance back, which was never Edwin's intent. He'd die sooner! Tamed at last, are you, says Gervase! Well, if you go down on your knees, he says, and beg pardon for your frowardness who knows, I might relent yet. Crawl, then, he says, and beg for your manor! And so it went, until Edwin blazed out that he was not and never would be tamed by a wicked, tyrannical, vicious old monster\u2014which I grant you,\" she sighed hopelessly, \"Gervase was not, only a stubborn and ill-tempered one. Oh, I can't tell you all they yelled at each other! But I do say this, it took a lot of goading today to get Edwin to blaze, and that's credit to him. For my sake he would have borne it, but it was too much for him. So he said what he had to say, very loudly, and Gervase flung the platter at him, and a beaker, too, and then Aldith and Aelfric and Meurig came rushing in to try and help me calm him down. And Edwin stamped out\u2014and that was all.\"\n\nCadfael was silent for a moment, ruminating on these other members of the household. A hot-tempered, proud, affronted boy seemed to him a possible suspect had Bonel been struck down with fist or even dagger, but a very unlikely poisoner. True, the lad had been twice with Meurig in the infirmary, and probably seen where the medicines were kept, he had a reason for action, he had the opportunity; but the temperament for a poisoner, secret, dark and bitter, surely that was an impossibility to such a youngster, by all his breeding and training open, confident, with a fine conceit of himself. There were, after all, these others, equally present.\n\n\"The girl, Aldith\u2014you've had her long?\"\n\n\"She's distant kin to me,\" said Richildis, almost startled into a smile. \"I've known her from a child, and took her when she was left orphan, two years ago. She's like my own girl.\"\n\nIt was what he had supposed, seeing Aldith so protective while they waited for the law. \"And Meurig? I hear he was also of Master Bonel's household once, before he went to work for your son-in-law.\"\n\n\"Meurig\u2014ah, well, you see, it's this way with Meurig. His mother was a Welsh maidservant at Mallilie, and like so many such, bore her master a by-blow. Yes, he's Gervase's natural son. My lord's first wife must have been barren, for Meurig is the only child he ever fathered, unless there are one or two we don't know of, somewhere about the shire there. He maintained Angharad decently until she died, and he had Meurig taken care of, and gave him employment on the manor. I was not easy about him,\" she admitted, \"when we married. Such a good, willing, sensible young man, and with no claims on any part of what was his father's, it seemed hard. Not that he ever complained! But I asked him if he would not be glad to have a trade of his own, that would last him for life, and he said he would. So I persuaded Gervase to let Martin take him, to teach him all he knew. And I did ask him,\" said Richildis, with a quaver in her voice, \"to keep a watch on Edwin, after he ran from us, and try to bring him to make terms with Gervase. I never expected my son to give way, for he's able, too, and he could make his own road. I just wanted to have him back. There was a time when he blamed me\u2014as having to choose between them, and choosing my husband. But I'd married him\u2026 and I was sorry for him\u2026\" Her voice snapped off short, and she was silent a moment. \"I've been glad of Meurig, he has stood friend to us both.\"\n\n\"He got on well enough with your husband, did he? There was no bad blood between them?\"\n\n\"Why, no, none in the world!\" She was astonished at the question. \"They rubbed along together quietly, and never any sparks. Gervase was generous to him, you know, though he never paid him much attention. And he makes him a decent living allowance\u2014that is, he did\u2026 Oh, how will he fare now, if that ends? I shall have to have advice, law is a tangle to me\u2026\"\n\nNothing there to raise a brow, it seemed, even if Meurig knew as well as anyone how to lay hands on poison. So did Aelfric, who had been in the workshop and seen it dispensed. And whoever gained by Bonel's death, it seemed, Meurig stood only to lose. Manorial bastards were thick on the ground everywhere, the lord who had but one had been modest and abstemious indeed, and the by-blow who was set up with an expanding trade and an allowance to provide for him was fortunate, and had no cause for complaint. Good cause, in fact, to lament his father's passing.\n\n\"And Aelfric?\"\n\nThe darkness outside had made the light of the little lamp seem brighter; her face, oval and grave, shone in the pallid radiance, and her eyes were round as moons. \"Aelfric is a hard case. You must not think my husband was worse than his kind, or ever knowingly took more than was his by law. But the law limps, sometimes. Aelfric's father was born free as you or I, but younger son in a holding that was none too large even for one, and rather than have it split, when his father died, he left it whole for his brother, and took a villein yardland that had fallen without heirs, on my husband's manor. He took it on villein tenure, to do the customary duties for it, but never doubting to keep his status as a free man, doing villein service of his own undertaking. And Aelfric in his turn was a younger son, and foolishly accepted service in the manor household when his elder had family enough to run his yardland without him. So when the manor was to be surrendered, and we were ready to come here, Gervase chose him to be his manservant, for he was the neatest-handed and best we had. And when Aelfric chose rather to go elsewhere and find employment, Gervase brought suit that he was villein, both his brother and his father having done customary service for the land they held. And the court found that it was so, and he was bound, however free-born his father had been. He takes it hard,\" said Richildis ruefully. \"He never felt himself villein before, he was a free man doing work for pay. Many and many a one has found himself in the same case, never having dreamed of losing his freedom until it was lost.\"\n\nCadfael's silence pricked her. He was reflecting that here was another who had a burning grudge, knew where to find the means, and of all people had the opportunity; but her mind was on the painful picture she had just drawn, and she mistook his brooding for disapproval of her dead husband, censure he was unwilling to express to her. Valiantly she sought to do justice, at least, if there was no affection left.\n\n\"You are wrong if you think the fault was all on one side. Gervase believed he was doing no more than his right, and the law agreed with him. I've never known him wilfully cheat any man, but he did stand fast on his own dues. And Aelfric makes his own situation worse. Gervase never used to harry or press him, for he worked well by nature, but now he's unfree he sticks stubbornly on every last extreme of servile labour, purposely, drives home his villein condition at every turn\u2026 It is not servility, but arrogance, he deliberately rattles his chains. He did give offence by it, and truly I think they grew to hate each other. And then, there's Aldith\u2026 Oh, Aelfric never says word of it to her, but I know! He looks after her as if his heart's being drawn out of him. But what has he to offer a free girl like her? Even if Meurig wasn't casting an eye in that direction, too, and he so much more lively company. Oh, I tell you, Cadfael, I've had such trouble and grief with all this household of mine. And now this! Do help me! Who else will, if not you? Help my boy! I do believe you can, if you will.\"\n\n\"I can promise you,\" said Cadfael after scrupulous thought, \"that I'll do everything I can to find out the murderer of your husband. That I must, whoever he may be. Will that content you?\"\n\nShe said: \"Yes! I know Edwin is guiltless. You don't, yet. But you will!\"\n\n\"Good girl!\" said Cadfael heartily. \"That's how I remember you from when time was. And even now, before your knowledge becomes my knowledge also, I can promise you one thing more. Yes, I will help your son to the utmost I may, guilty or innocent, though not by hiding the truth. Will that do?\"\n\nShe nodded, for the moment unable to speak. The stresses not only of this disastrous day, but of many days before, showed suddenly in her face.\n\n\"I fear,\" said Cadfael gently, \"you went too far aside from your own kind, Richildis, in marrying the lord of the manor.\"\n\n\"I did so!\" she said, and incontinently burst into tears at last, and wept, alarmingly, on his shoulder."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Brother Denis the hospitaller, who always had all the news of the town from the wayfarers who came to the guest-hall, reported on the way to Vespers that the story of Bonel's death and the hunt for his stepson was all over Shrewsbury, and the sheriff's sergeant had drawn a blank at Martin Bellecote's shop. A thorough search of the premises had turned up no trace of the boy, and the sergeant was having him cried through the streets; but if the populace joined in the hunt with no more than their usual zeal for the sheriff's law, it was likely the crier would be wasting his breath. A boy not yet fifteen, and known to a great many of the town, and with nothing against him but a bit of riotous mischief now and then\u2026 no, they were not likely to give up their night's sleep to help in his capture.\n\nThe first necessity, it seemed to Cadfael no less than to the sergeant, was to find the boy. Mothers are partial, especially towards only sons, late sons conceived after hope of a son has faded. Cadfael felt a strong desire to see and hear and judge for himself before he made any other move in the matter.\n\nRichildis, relieved by her fit of weeping, had told him where to find her son-in-law's shop and house, and it fell blessedly at the near end of the town. A short walk past the mill-pond, over the bridge, in through the town gates, which would be open until after Compline, and it was but a couple of minutes up the steep, curving Wyle to Bellecote's premises. Half an hour to go and return. After supper, and a quick supper at that, he would slip away, cutting out Collations\u2014safe enough, for Prior Robert would absent himself on principle, standing on his privacy as abbot-designate, and leaving the mundane direction of the house to Brother Richard, who certainly would not meddle where it might cost him effort.\n\nSupper was salt fish and pulse, and Cadfael disposed of it with scant attention, and made off across the great court in haste, and out at the gates. The air was chill, but as yet barely on the edge of frost, and there had been no snow at all so far. All the same, he had muffled his sandalled feet in well-wound strips of wool, and drawn his hood close.\n\nThe town porters saluted him respectfully and cheerfully, knowing him well. The right-hand curve of the Wyle drew him upward, and he turned off, again to the right, into the open yard under the eaves of Bellecote's house. After his knock at the closed door there was a longish silence, and that he could well understand, and forbore from knocking again. Clamour would only have alarmed them. Patience might reassure.\n\nThe door opened cautiously on a demure young person of about eleven years, erect and splendidly on guard for a troubled household at her back; all of whom, surely, were stretching sharp ears somewhere there beyond. She was bright, well primed and vulnerable; she saw the black Benedictine habit, drew deep breath, and smiled.\n\n\"I'm come from Mistress Bonel,\" said Cadfael, \"with a word to your father, child, if he'll admit me. There's none else here, never fear.\"\n\nShe opened the door with a matron's dignity, and let him in. The eight-year-old Thomas and the four-year-old Diota, naturally the most fearless creatures in the house, erupted round her skirts to examine him with round, candid eyes, even before Martin Bellecote himself appeared from a half-lit doorway within, and drew the younger children one either side of him, his hands spread protectively round their shoulders. A pleasant, square-built, large-handed man with a wide, wholesome face, and a deep reserve in his eyes, which Cadfael was glad to see. Too much trust is folly, in an imperfect world.\n\n\"Step in, brother,\" said Martin, \"and, Alys, do you close and bar the door.\"\n\n\"Forgive me if I'm brisk,\" said Cadfael as the door was closed behind him, \"but time's short. They came looking for a lad here today, and I'm told they did not find him.\"\n\n\"That's truth,\" said Martin. \"He never came home.\"\n\n\"I don't ask you where he is. Tell me nothing. But I do ask you, who know him, is it possible he can have done what they are urging against him?\"\n\nBellecote's wife came through from the inner room, a candle in her hand. A woman like enough to be known for her mother's daughter, but softer and rounder and fairer in colouring, though with the same honest eyes. She said with indignant conviction: \"Rankly impossible! If ever there was a creature in the world who made his feelings known, and did all his deeds in the daylight, that's my brother. From an imp just crawling, if he had a grievance everyone within a mile round knew it, but grudges he never bore. And my lad's just such another.\"\n\nYes, of course, there was the as yet unseen Edwy, to match the elusive Edwin. No sign of either of them here.\n\n\"You must be Sibil,\" said Cadfael. \"I've been lately with your mother. And for my credentials\u2014did ever you hear her speak of one Cadfael, whom she used to know when she was a girl?\"\n\nThe light from the candle was reflected pleasingly in eyes suddenly grown round and bright with astonishment and candid curiosity. \"You are Cadfael? Yes, many a time she talked of you, and wondered\u2026\" She viewed his black habit and cowl, and her smile faded into a look of delicate sympathy. Of course! She was reflecting, woman-like, that he must have been heartbroken at coming home from the holy wars to find his old love married, or he would never have taken these bleak vows. No use telling her that vocations strike from heaven like random arrows of God, by no means all because of unrequited love. \"Oh, it must be comfort to her,\" said Sibil warmly, \"to find you near her again, at this terrible pass. You she would trust!\"\n\n\"I hope she does,\" said Cadfael, gravely enough. \"I know she may. I came only to let you know that I am there to be used, as she already knows. The specific that was used to kill was of my making, and that is something that involves me in this matter. Therefore I am friend to any who may fall suspect unjustly. I will do what I can to uncover the guilty. Should you, or anyone, have reason to speak with me, anything to tell me, anything to ask of me, I am usually to be found between offices in the workshop in the herb-gardens, where I shall be tonight until I go to Matins at midnight. Your journeyman Meurig knows the abbey grounds, if he has not been to my hut. He is here?\"\n\n\"He is,\" said Martin. \"He sleeps in the loft across the yard. He has told us what passed at the abbey. But I give you my word, neither he nor we have set eyes on the boy since he ran from his mother's house. What we know, past doubt, is that he is no murderer, and never could be.\"\n\n\"Then sleep easy,\" said Cadfael, \"for God is awake. And now let me out again softly, Alys, and bar the door after me, for I must hurry back for Compline.\"\n\nThe young girl, great-eyed, drew back the bolt and held the door. The little ones stood with spread feet, sturdily staring him out of the house, but without fear or hostility. The parents said never a word but their still: \"Good night!\" but he knew, as he hastened down the Wyle, that his message had been heard and understood, and that it was welcome, here in this beleaguered household.\n\n\"Even if you are desperate to have a fresh brew of cough syrup boiled up before tomorrow,\" said Brother Mark reasonably, coming out from Compline at Cadfael's side, \"is there any reason why I should not do it for you? Is there any need for you, after the day you've had, to be stravaiging around the gardens all night, into the bargain? Or do you think I've forgotten where we keep mullein, and sweet cicely, and rue, and rosemary, and hedge mustard?\" The recital of ingredients was part of the argument. This young man was developing a somewhat possessive sense of responsibility for his elder.\n\n\"You're young,\" said Brother Cadfael, \"and need your sleep.\"\n\n\"I forbear,\" said Brother Mark cautiously, \"from making the obvious rejoinder.\"\n\n\"I think you'd better. Very well, then, you have signs of a cold, and should go to your bed.\"\n\n\"I have not,\" Brother Mark disagreed firmly. \"But if you mean that you have some work on hand that you'd rather I did not know about, very well, I'll go to the warming-room like a sensible fellow, and then to bed.\"\n\n\"What you know nothing about can't be charged against you,\" said Brother Cadfael, conciliatory.\n\n\"Well, then, is there anything I can be doing for you in blessed ignorance? I was bidden to be obedient to you, when they sent me to work under you in the garden.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael. \"You can secure me a habit much your own size, and slip it into my cell and out of sight under my bed before you sleep. It may not be needed, but\u2026\"\n\n\"Enough!\" Brother Mark was cheerful and unquestioning, though that did not prove he was not doing some hard and accurate thinking. \"Will you be needing a scissor for the tonsure, too?\"\n\n\"You are growing remarkably saucy,\" observed Cadfael, but with approval rather than disapproval. \"No, I doubt that would be welcomed, we'll rely on the cowl, and a chilly morning. Go away, boy, go and get your half-hour of warmth, and go to bed.\"\n\nThe concoction of a syrup, boiled up lengthily and steadily with dried herbs and honey, made the use of the brazier necessary; should a guest have to spend the night in the workshop, he would be snug enough until morning. In no haste, Cadfael ground his herbs to a finer powder, and began to stir the honeyed brew on the hob over his brazier. There was no certainty that the bait he had laid would be taken, but beyond doubt young Edwin Gurney was in urgent need of a friend and protector to help him out of the morass into which he had fallen. There was no certainty, even, that the Bellecote household knew where to find him, but Cadfael had a shrewd inkling that the eleven-year-old Alys of the matronly dignity and the maidenly silence, even if she were not in her own brother's confidence, would be very well acquainted with what he probably considered his secrets. Where Edwy was, there would Edwin be, if Richildis had reported them truly. When trouble threatened the one, the other would be by his side. It was a virtue Cadfael strongly approved.\n\nThe night was very still, there would be sharp frost by dawn. Only the gently bubbling of his brew and the occasional rustling of his own sleeve as he stirred punctured the silence. He had begun to think that the fish had refused the bait, when he caught, past ten o'clock, and in the blackest of the darkness, the faint, slow sound of the door-latch being carefully raised. A breath of cold air came in as the door opened a hair's-breadth. He sat still and gave no sign; the frightened wild thing might be easily alarmed. After a moment a very light, young, wary voice outside uttered just above a whisper: \"Brother Cadfael\u2026?\"\n\n\"I'm here,\" said Cadfael quietly. \"Come in and welcome.\"\n\n\"You're alone?\" breathed the voice.\n\n\"I am. Come in and close the door.\"\n\nThe boy stole in fearfully, and pushed the door to at his back, but Cadfael noticed that he did not latch it. \"I got word\u2026\" He was not going to say through whom. \"They told me you spoke with my sister and brother this evening, and said you would be here. I do need a friend\u2026 You said you knew my gr\u2014my mother, years ago, you are the Cadfael she used to speak about so often, the one who went to the Crusade\u2026 I swear I had no part in my stepfather's death! I never knew any harm had come to him, till I was told the sheriff's men were hunting for me as a murderer. You said my mother knows you for a good friend, and can rely on your help, so I've come to you. There's no one else I can turn to. Help me! Please help me!\"\n\n\"Come to the fire,\" said Cadfael mildly, \"and sit down here. Draw breath and answer me one thing truly and solemnly, and then we can talk. On your soul, mind! Did you strike the blow that laid Gervase Bonel dead in his blood!\"\n\nThe boy had perched himself gingerly on the edge of the bench, almost but not quite within touch. The light from the brazier, cast upwards over his face and form, showed a rangy, agile youngster, lightly built but tall for his years, in the long hose and short cotte of the country lads, with capuchon dangling at his back, and a tangled mop of curling hair uncovered. By this reddish light it looked chestnut-brown, by daylight it might well be the softer mid-brown of seasoned oak. His face was still childishly rounded of cheek and chin, but fine bones were beginning to give it a man's potential. At this moment half the face was two huge, wary eyes staring unwaveringly at Brother Cadfael.\n\nMost earnestly and vehemently the boy said: \"I never raised hand against him. He insulted me in front of my mother, and I hated him then, but I did not strike him. I swear it on my soul!\"\n\nEven the young, when bright in the wits and very much afraid, may exercise all manner of guile to protect themselves, but Cadfael was prepared to swear there was no deceit here. The boy really did not know how Bonel had been killed; that could not have been reported to his family or cried in the streets, and murder, most often, means the quick blow with steel in anger. He had accepted that probability without question.\n\n\"Very well! Now tell me your own story of what happened there today, and be sure I'm listening.\"\n\nThe boy licked his lips and began. What he had to tell agreed with the account Richildis had given; he had gone with Meurig, at his well-intentioned urging, to make his peace with Bonel for his mother's sake. Yes, he had felt very bitter and angry about being cheated out of his promised heritage, for he loved Mallilie and had good friends there, and would have done his best to run it well and fairly when it came to him; but also he was doing well enough at learning his craft, and pride would not let him covet what he could not have, or give satisfaction to the man who had taken back what he had pledged. But he did care about his mother. So he went with Meurig.\n\n\"And went with him first to the infirmary,\" Cadfael mentioned helpfully, \"to see his old kinsman Rhys.\"\n\nThe boy was brought up short in surprise and uncertainty. It was then that Cadfael got up, very gently and casually, from his seat by the brazier, and began to prowl the workshop. The door, just ajar, did not noticeably draw him, but he was well aware of the sliver of darkness and cold lancing in there.\n\n\"Yes\u2026 I\u2026\"\n\n\"And you had been there with him, had you not, once before, when you helped Meurig bring down the lectern for our Lady Chapel.\"\n\nHe brightened, but his brow remained anxiously knotted. \"Yes, the\u2014yes, we did bring that down together. But what has that\u2026\"\n\nCadfael in his prowling had reached the door, and laid a hand to the latch, hunching his shoulders, as though to close and fasten it, but as sharply plucked it wide open on the night, and reached his free hand through, to fasten on a fistful of thick, springy hair. A muted squeal of indignant outrage rewarded him, and the creature without, abruptly scorning the flight shock had suggested to him, reared upright and followed the fist into the workshop. It was, in its way, a magnificent entrance, erect, with jutted jaw and blazing eyes, superbly ignoring Cadfael's clenched hold on his curls, which must have been painful.\n\nA slender, athletic, affronted young person the image of the first, only, perhaps, somewhat darker and fiercer, because more frightened, and more outraged by his fear.\n\n\"Master Edwin Gurney?\" enquired Cadfael gently, and released the topknot of rich brown hair with a gesture almost caressing. \"I've been expecting you.\" He closed the door, thoroughly this time; there was no one now left outside there to listen, and take warning by what he heard, like a small, hunted animal crouching in the night where the hunters stirred. \"Well, now that you're here, sit down with your twin\u2014is it uncle or nephew? I shall never get used to sorting you!\u2014and put yourself at ease. It's warmer here than outside, and you are two, and I have just been reminded gently that I am not as young as once I was. I don't propose to send for help to deal with you, and you have no need of help to deal with me. Why should we not put together our versions of the truth, and see what we have?\"\n\nThe second boy was cloakless like the first, and shivering lightly with cold. He came to the bench by the brazier gladly, rubbing numbed hands, and sat down submissively beside his fellow. Thus cheek to cheek they were seen to share a very strong family likeness, in which Cadfael could trace subtle recollections of the young Richildis, but they were not so like as to give rise to any confusion when seen together. To encounter one alone might present a problem of identification, however.\n\n\"So, as I thought,\" observed Cadfael, \"Edwy has been playing Edwin for my benefit, so that Edwin could stay out of the trap, if trap it turned out to be, and not reveal himself until he was certain I had no intention of making him prisoner and handing him over to the sheriff. And Edwy was well primed, too\u2026\"\n\n\"And still made a hash of it,\" commented Edwin, with candid and tolerant scorn.\n\n\"I did not!\" retorted Edwy heatedly. \"You never told me more than half a tale. What was I supposed to answer when Brother Cadfael asked me about going to the infirmary this morning? Never a word you said about that.\"\n\n\"Why should I? I never gave it a thought, what difference could it make? And you did make a hash of it. I heard you start to say grandmother instead of mother\u2014yes, and they instead of we. And so did Brother Cadfael, or how did he guess I was listening outside?\"\n\n\"He heard you, of course! Blowing like a wheezy old man\u2014and shivering,\" added Edwy for good measure.\n\nThere was no ill-will whatever in these exchanges, they were the normal endearments current between these two, who would certainly have championed each other to the death against any outside threat. There was no malice in it when Edwin punched his nephew neatly and painfully in the muscles of the upper arm, and Edwy as promptly plucked Edwin round by the shoulder while he was less securely balanced, and spilled him on to the floor. Cadfael took them both by the scruff of the neck, a fistful of capuchon in either hand, and plumped them back firmly on to the beach, a yard apart this time, rather in defence of his softly bubbling syrup than in any very serious exasperation. The brief scuffle had warmed them, and shaken fear away to a magical distance; they sat grinning, only slightly abashed.\n\n\"Will you sit still a minute, and let me get the measure of you? You, Edwin, are the uncle, and the younger\u2026 yes, I could know you apart. You're darker, and sturdier in the build, and I think your eyes must be brown. And Edwy's\u2026\"\n\n\"Hazel,\" said Edwin helpfully.\n\n\"And you have a small scar by your ear, close to the cheekbone. A small white crescent.\"\n\n\"He fell out of a tree, three years ago,\" Edwy informed him. \"He never could climb.\"\n\n\"Now, enough of that! Master Edwin, now that you are here, and I know which one you are, let me ask you the same question I asked your proxy here a while ago. On your soul and honour, did you strike the blow that killed Master Bonel?\"\n\nThe boy looked back at him with great eyes suddenly solemn enough, and said firmly: \"I did not. I carry no weapon, and even if I did, why should I try to harm him? I know what they must be saying of me, that I grudged it that he broke his word, for so he did. But I was not born to manor, but to trade, and I can make my way in trade, I would be ashamed if I could not. No, whoever wounded him to the death\u2014but how could it happen, so suddenly?\u2014it was not I. On my soul!\"\n\nCadfael was in very little doubt of him by then, but he gave no sign yet. \"Tell me what did happen.\"\n\n\"I left Meurig in the infirmary with the old man, and went on to my mother's house alone. But I don't understand about the infirmary. Is that important?\"\n\n\"Never mind that now, go on. How were you welcomed?\"\n\n\"My mother was pleased,\" said the boy. \"But my stepfather crowed over me like a cock that's won its bout. I answered him as little as I might, and bore it for my mother's sake, and that angered him more, so that he would find some way to sting me. We were three sitting at table, and Aldith had served the meat, and she told him the prior had paid him the compliment of sending a dish for him from his own table. My mother tried to talk about that, and flatter him with the distinction of it, but he wanted me to burn and smart at all costs, and he wouldn't be put off. He said I'd come, as he knew I would, my tail between my legs, like a whipped hound, to beg him to change his mind and restore me my inheritance, and he said if I wanted it, I should kneel and beg him, and he might take pity on me. And I lost my temper, for all I could do, and shouted back at him that I'd see him dead before I'd so much as once ask him a favour, let alone crawl on my knees. I don't know now all I said, but he began throwing things, and\u2026 and my mother was crying, and I rushed out, and straight back over the bridge and into the town.\"\n\n\"But not to Master Bellecote's house. And did you hear Aelfric calling after you as far as the bridge, to fetch you back?\"\n\n\"Yes, but what would have been the use? It would only have made things worse.\"\n\n\"But you did not go home.\"\n\n\"I was not fit. And I was ashamed.\"\n\n\"He went to brood in Father's wood-store by the river,\" said Edwy helpfully. \"He always does when he's out of sorts with the world. Or if we're in trouble, we hide there until it's blown over, or at least past the worst. That's where I found him. When the sheriff's sergeant came to the shop, and said they wanted him, and his stepfather was murdered, I knew where to look for him. Not that I ever supposed he'd done any wrong,\" stated Edwy firmly, \"though he can make a great fool of himself sometimes. But I knew something bad must have happened to him. So I went to warn him, and of course he knew nothing whatever about the murder, he'd left the man alive and well, only in a rage.\"\n\n\"And you've both been hiding since then? You've not been home?\"\n\n\"He couldn't, could he? They'll be watching for him. And I had to stay with him. We had to leave the woodyard, we knew they'd come there. But there are places we know of. And then Alys came and told us about you.\"\n\n\"And that's the whole truth,\" said Edwin. \"And now what are we to do?\"\n\n\"First,\" said Cadfael, \"let me get this brew of mine off the fire, and stand it to cool before I bottle it. There! You got in here, I suppose, by the parish door of the church, and through the cloisters?\" The west door of the abbey church was outside the walls, and never closed except during the bad days of the siege of the town, that part of the church being parochial. \"And followed your noses, I daresay, once you were in the gardens. This syrup-boiling gives off a powerful odour.\"\n\n\"It smells good,\" said Edwy, and his respectful stare ranged the workshop, and the bunches and bags of dried herbs stirring and rustling gently in the rising heat from the brazier.\n\n\"Not all my medicines smell so appetising. Though myself I would not call even this unpleasant. Powerful, certainly, but a fine, clean smell.\" He unstoppered the great jar of anointing oil of monk's-hood, and tilted the neck beneath Edwin's inquisitive nose. The boy blinked at the sharp scent, drew back his head, and sneezed. He looked up at Cadfael with an open face, and laughed at his own pricked tears. Then he leaned cautiously and inhaled again, and frowned thoughtfully.\n\n\"It smells like that stuff Meurig was using to rub the old man's shoulder. Not this morning, the last time I came with him. There was a flask of it in the infirmary cupboard. Is it the same?\"\n\n\"It is,\" said Cadfael, and hoisted the jar back to its shelf. The boy's face was quite serene, the odour meant nothing more to him than a memory blessedly removed from any connection with tragedy and guilt. For Edwin, Gervase Bonel had died, inexplicably suddenly, of some armed attack, and the only guilt he felt was because he had lost his temper, infringed his own youthful dignity, and made his mother cry. Cadfael no longer had any doubts at all. The child was honest as the day, and caught in a deadly situation, and above all, badly in need of friends.\n\nHe was also very quick and alert of mind. The diversion began to trouble him just as it was over. \"Brother Cadfael\u2026\" he began hesitantly, the name new and almost reverent on his lips, not for this elderly and ordinary monk, but for the crusader Cadfael he had once been, fondly remembered even by a happy and fulfilled wife and mother, who had certainly much exaggerated his good looks, gallantry and daring. \"You knew about my going to the infirmary with Meurig\u2026 you asked Edwy about it. I couldn't understand why. Is it important? Has it something to do with my stepfather's death? I can't see how.\"\n\n\"That you can't see how, child,\" said Brother Cadfael, \"is your proof of an innocence we may have difficulty in proving to others, though I accept it absolutely. Sit down again by your nephew\u2014dear God, shall I ever get these relationships straight?\u2014and refrain from fighting him for a little while, till I explain to you what isn't yet public knowledge outside these walls. Yes, your two visits to the infirmary are truly of great importance, and so is this oil you have seen used there, though I must say that many others know of it, and are better acquainted than you with its properties, both bad and good. You must forgive me if I gave you to understand that Master Bonel was hacked down in his blood with dagger or sword. And forgive me you should, since in accepting that tale you quite delivered yourselves from any guilt, at least to my satisfaction. It was not so, boys. Master Bonel died of poison, given in the dish the prior sent him, and the poison was this same oil of monk's-hood. Whoever added it to the partridge drew it either from this workshop or from the flask in the infirmary, and all who knew of either source, and knew the peril if it was swallowed, are in suspicion.\"\n\nThe pair of them, soiled and tired and harried as they were, stared in horrified understanding at last, and drew together on the bench as threatened litters of young in burrow and nest huddle for comfort. Years bordering on manhood dropped from them; they were children indeed, frightened and hunted. Edwy said strenuously: \"He didn't know! All they said was, dead, murdered. But so quickly! He ran out, and there was nobody there but those of the house. He never even saw any dish waiting\u2026\"\n\n\"I did know,\" said Edwin, \"about the dish. She told us, I knew it was there. But what did it matter to me? I only wanted to go home\u2026\"\n\n\"Hush, now, hush!\" said Cadfael chidingly. \"You speak to a man convinced. I've made my own tests, all I need. Now sit quiet, and trouble your minds no more about me, I know you have nothing to repent.\" That was much, perhaps, to say of any man, but at least these two had nothing on their souls but the ordinary misdemeanours of the energetic young. And now that he had leisure to look at them without looking for prevarication or deceit, he was able to notice other things. \"You must give me a little while for thought, but the time need not be wasted. Tell me, has either of you eaten, all these hours? The one of you, I know, made a very poor dinner.\"\n\nThey had been far too preoccupied with worse problems, until then, to notice hunger, but now that they had an ally, however limited in power, and shelter, however temporary, they were suddenly and instantly ravenous.\n\n\"I've some oat-cakes here of my own baking, and a morsel of cheese, and some apples. Fill up the hollows, while I think what's best to be done. You, Edwy, had best make your way home as soon as the town gates open in the morning, slip in somehow without being noticed, and make as though you've never been away but on some common errand. Keep a shut mouth except with those you're sure of.\" And that would be the whole united family, embattled in defence of their own. \"But for you, my friend\u2014you're a very different matter.\"\n\n\"You'll not give him up?\" blurted Edwy round a mouthful of oat-cake, instantly alarmed.\n\n\"That I certainly will not do.\" Yet he might well have urged the boy to give himself up, stand fast on his innocence, and trust in justice, if he had had complete trust himself in the law as being infallibly just. But he had not. The law required a culprit, and the sergeant was comfortably convinced that he was in pursuit of the right quarry, and would not easily be persuaded to look further. Cadfael's proofs he had not witnessed, and would shrug off contemptuously as an old fool fondly believing a cunning young liar.\n\n\"I can't go home,\" said Edwin, the solemnity of his face in no way marred by one cheek distended with apple, and a greenish smudge from some branch soiling the other. \"And I can't go to my mother's. I should only be bringing worse trouble on her.\"\n\n\"For tonight you can stay here, the pair of you, and keep my little brazier fed. There are clean sacks under the bench, and you'll be warm and safe enough. But in the day there's coming and going here from time to time, we must have you out early, the one of you for home, the other\u2026 Well, we'll hope you need stay hidden only a matter of a few days. As well close here at the abbey as anywhere, they'll hardly look for you here.\" He considered, long and thoughtfully. The lofts over the stables were always warmed from the hay, and the bodies of the horses below, but too many people came and went there, and with travellers on the roads before the festival, there might well be servants required to sleep there above their beasts. But outside the enclave, at one corner of the open space used for the horse-fairs and the abbey's summer fair, there was a barn where beasts brought to market could be folded before sale, and the loft held fodder for them. The barn belonged to the abbey, but was open to all travelling merchants. At this time of year its visitors would be few or none, and the loft well filled with good hay and straw, a comfortable enough bed for a few nights. Moreover, should some unforeseen accident threaten danger to the fugitive, escape from outside the walls would be easier than from within. Though God forbid it should come to that!\n\n\"Yes, I know a place that will serve, we'll get you to it early in the morning, and see you well stocked with food and ale for the day. You'll need patience, I know, to lie by, but that you must endure.\"\n\n\"Better,\" said Edwin fervently, \"than falling into the sheriff's clutches, and I do thank you. But\u2026 how am I bettered by this, in the end? I can't lie hidden for ever.\"\n\n\"There's but one way,\" said Cadfael emphatically, \"that you can be bettered in this affair, lad, and that's by uncovering the man who did the thing you're charged with doing. And since you can hardly undertake that yourself, you must leave the attempt to me. What I can do, I'll do, for my own honour as well as for yours. Now I must leave you and go to Matins. In the morning before Prime I'll come and see you safely out of here.\"\n\nBrother Mark had done his part, the habit was there, rolled up beneath Brother Cadfael's bed. He wore it under his own, when he rose an hour before the bell for Prime, and left the dortoir by the night stairs and the church. Winter dawns come very late, and this night had been moonless and overcast; the darkness as he crossed the court from cloister to gardens was profound, and there was no one else stirring. There was perfect cover for Edwy to withdraw unobserved through the church and the parish door, as he had come, and make his chilly way to the bridge, to cross into Shrewsbury as soon as the gate was opened. Doubtless he knew his own town well enough to reach his home by ways devious enough to baffle detection by the authorities, even if they were watching the shop.\n\nAs for Edwin, he made a demure young novice, once inside the black habit and the sheltering cowl. Cadfael was reminded of Brother Mark, when he was new, wary and expecting nothing but the worst of his enforced vocation; the springy, defensive gait, the too tightly folded hands in the wide sleeves, the flickering side-glances, wild and alert for trouble. But there was something in this young thing's performance that suggested a perverse enjoyment, too; for all the danger to himself, and his keen appreciation of it, he could not help finding pleasure in this adventure. And whether he would manage to behave himself discreetly in hiding, and bear the inactive hours, or be tempted to wander and take risks, was something Cadfael preferred not to contemplate.\n\nThrough cloister and church, and out at the west door, outside the walls, they went side by side, and turned right, away from the gatehouse. It was still fully dark.\n\n\"This road leads in the end to London, doesn't it?\" whispered Edwin from within his raised cowl.\n\n\"It does so. But don't try leaving that way, even if you should have to run, which God forbid, for they'll have a check on the road out at St. Giles. You be sensible and lie still, and give me a few days, at least, to find out what I may.\"\n\nThe wide triangle of the horse-fair ground gleamed faintly pallid with light frost. The abbey barn loomed at one corner, close to the enclave wall. The main door was closed and fastened, but at the rear there was an outside staircase to the loft, and a small door at the top of it. Early traffic was already abroad, though thin at this dark hour, and no one paid attention to two monks of St. Peter's mounting to their own loft. The door was locked, but Cadfael had brought the key, and let them in to a dry, hay-scented darkness.\n\n\"The key I can't leave you, I must restore it, but neither will I leave you locked in. The door must stay unfastened for you until you may come forth freely. Here you have a loaf, and beans, and curd, and a few apples, and here's a flask of small ale. Keep the gown, you may need it for warmth in the night, but the hay makes a kindly bed. And when I come to you, as I will, you may know me at the door by this knock\u2026 Though no one else is likely to come. Should anyone appear without my knock, you have hay enough to hide in.\"\n\nThe boy stood, suddenly grave and a little forlorn. Cadfael reached a hand, and put back the cowl from the shock-head of curls, and there was just filtering dawn-light enough to show him the shape of the solemn oval face, all steady, dilated, confronting eyes.\n\n\"You have not slept much. If I were you, I'd burrow deep and warm, and sleep the day out. I won't desert you.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Edwin firmly. He knew that even together they might avail nothing, but at least he knew he was not alone. He had a loyal family, with Edwy as link, and he had an ally within the enclave. And he had one other thinking of him and agonising about him. He said in a voice that lost its firmness only for one perilous instant, and stubbornly recovered: \"Tell my mother I did not ever do him or wish him harm.\"\n\n\"Fool child,\" said Cadfael comfortably, \"I've been assured of that already, and who do you suppose told me, if not your mother?\" The very faint light was magically soft, and the boy stood at that stage between childhood and maturity when his face, forming but not yet formed, might have been that of boy or girl, woman or man. \"You're very like her,\" said Cadfael, remembering a girl not much older than this sprig, embraced and kissed by just such a clandestine light, her parents believing her abed and asleep in virginal solitude.\n\nAt this pass he had momentarily forgotten all the women he had known between, east and west, none of them, he hoped and believed, left feeling wronged. \"I'll be with you before night,\" he said, and withdrew to the safety of the winter air outside.\n\nGood God, he thought with reverence, making his way back by the parish door in good time for Prime, that fine piece of young flesh, as raw and wild and faulty as he is, he might have been mine! He and the other, too, a son and a grandson both! It was the first and only time that ever he questioned his vocation, much less regretted it, and the regret was not long. But he did wonder if somewhere in the world, by the grace of Arianna, or Bianca, or Mariam, or\u2014were there one or two others as well loved here and there, now forgotten?\u2014he had left printings of himself as beautiful and formidable as this boy of Richildis's bearing and another's getting."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "It was now imperative to find the murderer, otherwise the boy could not emerge from hiding and take up his disrupted life. And that meant tracing in detail the passage of the ill-fated dish of partridge from the abbot's kitchen to Gervase Bonel's belly. Who had handled it? Who could have tampered with it? Since Prior Robert, in his lofty eminence within the abbot's lodging, had eaten, appreciated and digested the rest of it without harm, clearly it had been delivered to him in goodwill and in good condition. And he, certainly without meddling, had delivered it in the same condition to his cook.\n\nBefore High Mass, Cadfael went to the abbot's kitchen. He was one of a dozen or so people within these walls who were not afraid of Brother Petrus. Fanatics are always frightening, and Brother Petrus was a fanatic, not for his religion or his vocation, those he took for granted, but for his art. His dedicated fire tinted black hair and black eyes, scorching both with a fiery red. His northern blood boiled like his own cauldron. His temper, barbarian from the borders, was as hot as his own oven. And as hotly as he loved Abbot Heribert, for the same reasons he detested Prior Robert.\n\nWhen Cadfael walked in upon him, he was merely surveying the day's battlefield, and mustering his army of pans, pots, spits and dishes, with less satisfaction than the exercise should have provided, because it was Robert, and not Heribert, who would consume the result of his labours. But for all that, he could not relax his hold on perfection.\n\n\"That partridge!\" said Petrus darkly, questioned on the day's events. \"As fine a bird as ever I saw, not the biggest, but the best-fed and plumpest, and could I have dressed it for my abbot, I would have made him a masterwork. Yes, this prior comes in and bids me set aside a portion\u2014for one only, mark!\u2014to be sent to the guest at the house by the millpond, with his compliments. And I did it. I made it the best portion, in one of Abbot Heribert's own dishes. My dishes, says Robert! Did anyone else here touch it? I tell you, Cadfael, the two I have here know me, they do what I say, and let all else ride. Robert? He came in to give his orders and sniff at my pan, but it was all in one pan then, it was only after he left my kitchen I set aside the dish for Master Bonel. No, take it as certain, none but myself touched that dish until it left here, and that was close on the dinner hour, when the manservant\u2014Aelfric, is it?\u2014brought his tray.\"\n\n\"How do you find this man Aelfric?\" asked Cadfael. \"You're seeing him daily.\"\n\n\"A surly fellow, or at least a mute one,\" said Petrus without animosity, \"but keeps exact time, and is orderly and careful.\"\n\nSo Richildis had said, perhaps even to excess, and with intent to aggrieve his master.\n\n\"I saw him crossing the court with his load that day. The dishes were covered, he has but two hands, and certainly he did not halt this side the gatehouse, for I saw him go out.\"\n\nBut once through the gate there was a bench set in an alcove in the wall, where a tray could easily be put down for a moment, on pretense of adjusting to a better balance. And Aelfric knew his way to the workshop in the garden, and had seen the oil dispensed. And Aelfric was a soured man on two counts. A man of infinite potential, since he let so little of himself be known to any.\n\n\"Ah, well, it's certain nothing was added to the food here.\"\n\n\"Nothing but wholesome wine and spices. Now if it had been the rest of the bird that was poisoned,\" said Petrus darkly, \"I'd give you leave to look sideways at me, for you'd have reason. But if ever I did go so far as to prepare a monk's-hood stew for that one, be sure I'd make no mistake about which bowl went to which belly.\"\n\nNo need, thought Cadfael, crossing the court to Mass, to take Brother Petrus's fulminations too seriously. For all his ferocity he was a man of words rather than actions. Or ought it, after all, to be considered as worth pondering? The idea that a mistake had been made, and the dish intended for Robert sent instead to Bonel, had never entered Cadfael's head until now, but clearly Petrus had credited him with just such a notion, and made haste to hammer it into absurdity before it was uttered. A shade too much haste? Murderous hatreds had been known to arise between those who were sworn to brotherhood, before this, and surely would so arise again. Brother Petrus might have started the very suspicion he had set out to scotch. Not, perhaps, a very likely murderer. But bear it in mind!\n\nThe few weeks before the main festivals of the year always saw an increase in the parochial attendance at Mass, the season pricking the easy consciences of those who took their spiritual duties lightly all the rest of the year. There were a creditable number of local people in the church that morning, and it was no great surprise to Cadfael to discover among them the white coif and abundant yellow hair of the girl Aldith. When the service ended he noticed that she did not go out by the west door, like the rest, but passed through the south door into the cloister, and so out into the great court. There she drew her cloak around her, and sat down on a stone bench against the refectory wall.\n\nCadfael followed, and saluted her gravely, asking after her mistress. The girl raised to him a fair, composed face whose soft lines seemed to him to be belied by the level dark force of her eyes. She was, he reflected, as mysterious in her way as Aelfric, and what she did not choose to reveal of herself it would be hard to discover unaided.\n\n\"She's well enough in body,\" she said thoughtfully, \"but distressed in mind for Edwin, naturally. But there's been no word of his being taken, and I'm sure we should have heard if he had been. That's some comfort. Poor lady, she's in need of comfort.\"\n\nHe could have sent her some reassurance by this messenger, but he did not. Richildis had taken care to speak with him alone, he should respect that preference. In so tight and closed a situation, where only the handful of people involved in one household seemed to be at risk, how could Richildis be absolutely sure even of her young kinswoman, even of her stepson or her manservant? And could he, in the end, even be sure of Richildis? Mothers may be driven to do terrible things in defence of the rights of their children. Gervase Bonel had made a bargain with her, and broken it.\n\n\"If you'll permit, I'll sit with you a little while. You're not in haste to return?\"\n\n\"Aelfric will be coming for the dinner soon,\" she said. \"I thought I would wait for him, and help him carry everything. He'll have the ale and the bread as well.\" And she added, as Cadfael sat down beside her: \"It's ill for him, having to do that same office daily, after what fell on us yesterday. To think that people may be eyeing him and wondering. Even you, brother. Isn't it true?\"\n\n\"No help for that,\" said Cadfael simply, \"until we know the truth. The sheriff's sergeant believes he knows it already. Do you agree with him?\"\n\n\"No!\" She was mildly scornful, it even raised the ghost of a smile. \"It isn't the wild, noisy, boisterous boys, the ones who let the world all round know their grievances and their tantrums and their pleasures, who use poison. But what avails my telling you this, saying I believe or I don't believe, when I'm deep in the same coil myself? As you know I am! When Aelfric came into my kitchen with the tray, and told me about the prior's gift, it was I who set the dish to keep hot on the hob, while Aelfric carried the large dish into the room, and I followed with the platters and the jug of ale. The three of them were in there at table, they knew nothing about the partridge until I told them\u2026 thinking to please the master, for in there the air was so chill you could hardly breathe. I think I was back in the kitchen first of the two of us, and I sat by the hob to eat my meal, and I stirred the bowl when it simmered. More than once, and moved it aside from the heat, too. What use my saying I added nothing? Of course that is what I, or any other in my shoes would say, it carries no weight until there's proof, one way or the other.\"\n\n\"You are very sensible and very just,\" said Cadfael. \"And Meurig, you say, was just coming in at the door when you returned to the kitchen. So he was not alone with the dish\u2026 even supposing he had known what it was, and for whom it was intended.\"\n\nHer dark brows rose, wonderfully arched and vivid and striking under the pale brow and light-gold hair. \"The door was wide open, that I recall, and Meurig was just scraping the dirt from his shoes before coming in. But what reason could Meurig have, in any case, to wish his father dead? He was not lavish with him, but he was of more value to him alive than dead. He had no hope of inheriting anything, and knew it, but he had a modest competence to lose.\"\n\nThat was simple truth. Not even the church would argue a bastard's right to inherit, while the state would deny it even where marriage of the parents, every way legal, followed the birth. And this had been a commonplace affair with one of his own maidservants. No, Meurig had no possible stake in this death. Whereas Edwin had a manor to regain, and Richildis, her adored son's future. And Aelfric?\n\nShe had reared her head, gazing towards the gatehouse, where Aelfric had just appeared, the high-rimmed wooden tray under his arm, a bag for the loaves slung on his shoulder. She gathered her cloak and rose.\n\n\"Tell me,\" said Cadfael, mild-voiced beside her, \"now that Master Bonel is dead, to whom does Aelfric belong? Does he go with the manor, to the abbey or some other lord? Or was he excluded from the agreement, conceded to Master Bonel as manservant in villeinage for life?\"\n\nShe looked back sharply in the act of going to meet Aelfric. \"He was excluded. Granted to be my lord's villein personally.\"\n\n\"Then whatever happens to the manor now, he will go to whoever inherits the personal effects\u2026 to widow or son, granted the son escapes a criminal charge. And Aldith, you know Mistress Bonel's mind, would you not say that she would at once give Aelfric his freedom, with a glad heart? And would the boy do any other?\"\n\nAll she gave him by way of answer was a brief, blinding flash of the black, intelligent eyes, and the sudden, veiling swoop of large lids and long dark lashes. Then she went to cross Aelfric's path, and fall in beside him on his way to the abbot's lodging. Her step was light and easy, her greeting indifferent, her manner dutiful. Aelfric trudged by her side stiff and mute, and would not let her take the bag from his shoulder. Cadfael sat looking after them for a long moment, observing and wondering, though after a while the wonder subsided into mild surprise, and by the time he set off to wash his hands before dinner in the refectory, even surprise had settled into conviction and reassessment.\n\nIt was mid-afternoon, and Cadfael was picking over the stored trays of apples and pears in the loft of the abbot's barn, discarding the few decayed specimens before they could infect their neighbours, when Brother Mark came hallooing for him from below.\n\n\"The sheriff's man is back,\" he reported, when Cadfael peered down the ladder at him and demanded what the noise was about, \"and asking for you. And they've not captured their man\u2014if it's any news I'm telling you.\"\n\n\"It's no good news that I should be wanted,\" admitted Cadfael, descending the ladder backwards, as nimbly as a boy. \"What's his will? Or his humour, at least?\"\n\n\"No menace to you, I think,\" said Mark, considering. \"Vexed at not laying his hands on the boy, naturally, but I think his mind's on small things like the level of that rubbing oil in your store. He asked me if I could tell if any had been removed from there, but I'm a slipshod hand who notices nothing, as you'll bear witness. He thinks you'll know to the last drop.\"\n\n\"Then he's the fool. It takes a mere mouthful or two of that to kill, and in a container too wide to get the fingers of both hands around, and tall as a stool, who's to know if ten times that amount has been purloined? But let's at least pick his brains of what he's about now, and how far he thinks he has his case proven.\"\n\nIn the workshop the sheriff's sergeant was poking his bushy beard and hawk's beak into all Cadfael's sacks and jars and pots in somewhat wary curiosity. If he had brought an escort with him this time, he must have left them in the great court or at the gatehouse.\n\n\"You may yet be able to help us, brother,\" he said as Cadfael entered. \"It would be a gain to know from which supply of this oil of yours the poison was taken, but the young brother here can't say if any is missing from this store. Can you be more forthcoming?\"\n\n\"On that point,\" said Cadfael bluntly, \"no. The amount needed would be very small, and my stock, as you see, is large. No one could pretend to say with certainty whether any had been taken out unlawfully. This I can tell you, I examined the neck and stopper of this bottle yesterday, and there is no trace of oil at the lip. I doubt if a thief in haste would stop to wipe the lip clean before stoppering it, as I do.\"\n\nThe sergeant nodded, partially satisfied that this accorded with what he believed. \"It's more likely it was taken from the infirmary, then. And that's a smaller flask by much than this, but I've been there, and they can none of them hazard an opinion. Among the old the oil is in favoured use now, who can guess if it was used one more time without lawful reason?\"\n\n\"You've made little progress, I fear,\" said Brother Cadfael.\n\n\"We have not caught our man, yet. No knowing where Edwin Gurney is hiding, but there's been no trace of him round Bellecote's shop, and the carpenter's horse is in its stable. I'd wager the boy is still somewhere within the town. We're watching the shop and the gates, and keeping an eye on his mother's house. It is but a matter of time before we take him.\"\n\nCadfael sat back on his bench and spread his hands on his knees. \"You're very sure of him. Yet there are at least four others who were there in the house, and any number more who, for one reason or another, know the use and abuse of this preparation. Oh, I know the weight of the case you can make against this boy. I could make as good a case against one or two more, but that I won't do. I'd rather by far consider those factors that might provide, not suspicion, but proof, and not against one chosen quarry, but against the person, whoever he may be, towards whom the facts point. The time concerned is tight, half an hour at most. I myself saw the manservant fetch the dishes from the abbot's kitchen, and carry them out at the gate. Unless we are to look seriously at those who serve the abbot's kitchen, the dish was still harmless when it left our enclave. I don't say,\" he added blandly, \"that you should, because we wear the cowl, write off any man of us as exempt from suspicion, myself included.\"\n\nThe sergeant was intelligent, though not impressed. \"Then what limiting factors, what firm facts, do you refer to, brother?\"\n\n\"I mentioned to you yesterday, and if you care to sniff at that bottle, and try a drop of it on your sleeve, you'll note for yourself, that it makes itself apparent both to the nose and eye. You would not easily wash out the greasy mark from cloth, nor get rid of the smell. It is not the wolfsbane that smells so sharp and acrid, there's also mustard and other herbs. Whoever you seize upon, you must examine his clothing for these signs. I don't say it's proof of innocence if no such signs are found, but it does weaken the evidence of guilt.\"\n\n\"You are interesting, brother,\" said the sergeant, \"but not convincing.\"\n\n\"Then consider this. Whoever had used that poison would be in haste to get rid of the bottle as soon as possible, and as cleanly. If he lingered, he would have to hide it about him, and risk marking himself, or even having it discovered on him. You will conduct your business as you see fit. But I, were I in your shoes, would be looking very carefully for a small vial, anywhere within a modest distance of that house, for when you find it, the place where it was discarded will tell a great deal about the person who could have cast it there.\" And with certainty he added: \"You'll be in no doubt of it being the right vial.\"\n\nHe did not at all like the expression of indulgent complacency that was creeping over the sergeant's weathered countenance, as though he enjoyed a joke that presently, when he chose to divulge it, would quite take the wind out of Cadfael's sails. He himself admitted he had not captured his man, but there was certainly some other secret satisfaction he was hugging to his leather bosom.\n\n\"You have not found it already?\" said Cadfael cautiously.\n\n\"Not found it, no. Nor looked for it very hard. But for all that, I know where it is. Small use looking now, and in any case, no need.\" And now he was openly grinning.\n\n\"I take exception to that,\" said Cadfael firmly. \"if you have not found it, you cannot know where it is, you can only surmise, which is not the same thing.\"\n\n\"It's as near the same thing as we're likely to get,\" said the sergeant, pleased with his advantage. \"For your little vial has gone floating down the Severn, and may never be seen again, but we know it was tossed in there, and we know who tossed it. We've not been idle since we left here yesterday, I can tell you, and we've done more than simply pursue a young fox and lose his trail a while. We've taken witness from any we could find who were moving about the bridge and the Foregate around the dinner hour, and saw Bonel's manservant running after the boy. We found a carter who was crossing the bridge just at that time. Such a chase, he pulled up his cart, thinking there was a hue and cry after a thief, but when the boy had run past him he saw the pursuer give up the chase, short of the bridge, for he had no chance of overtaking his quarry. The one shrugged and turned back, and when the carter turned to look after the other he saw him slow in his running for a moment, and hurl some small thing over the downstream parapet into the water. It was young Gurney, and no other, who had something to dispose of, as soon as possible after he'd tipped its contents into the dish for his stepfather, given the spoon a whirl or two, and rushed away with the bottle in his hand. And what do you say to that, my friend?\"\n\nWhat, indeed? The shock was severe, for not one word had Edwin said about this incident, and for a moment Cadfael did seriously consider that he might have been hoodwinked for once by a cunning little dissembler. Yet cunning was the last thing he would ever have found in that bold, pugnacious face. He rallied rapidly, and without betraying his disquiet.\n\n\"I say that 'some small thing' is not necessarily a vial. Did you put it to your carter that it might have been that?\"\n\n\"I did, and he would not say yes or no, only that whatever it was was small enough to hold in the closed hand, and flashed in the light as it flew. He would not give it a shape or a character more than that.\"\n\n\"You had an honest witness. Now can you tell me two things more from his testimony. At exactly what point on the bridge was the boy when he threw it? And did the manservant also see it thrown?\"\n\n\"My man says the fellow running after had halted and turned back, and only then did he look round and catch the other one in the act. The servant could not have seen. And as for where the lad was at that moment, he said barely halfway across the drawbridge.\"\n\nThat meant that Edwin had hurled away whatever it was as soon as he felt sure he was above the water, clear of the bank and the shore, for it was the outer section of the bridge that could be raised. And at that, he might have miscalculated and been in too big a hurry. The bushes and shelving slope under the abutments ran well out below the first arch. There was still a chance that whatever had been discarded could be recovered, if it had fallen short of the current. It seemed, also, that Aelfric had not concealed this detail, for he had not witnessed it.\n\n\"Well,\" said Cadfael, \"by your own tale the boy had just gone running past a halted cart, with a driver already staring at him, and no doubt, at that hour, several other people within view, and made no secret of getting rid of whatever it was he threw. Nothing furtive about that. Hardly the way a murderer would go about disposing of the means, to my way of thinking. What do you say?\"\n\nThe sergeant hitched at his belt and laughed aloud. \"I say you make as good a devil's advocate as ever I've heard. But lads in a panic after a desperate deed don't stop to think. And if it was not the vial he heaved into the Severn, you tell me, brother, what was it?\" And he strode out into the chill of the early evening air, and left Cadfael to brood on the same question.\n\nBrother Mark, who had made himself inconspicuous in a corner all this time, but with eyes and ears wide and sharp for every word and look, kept a respectful silence until Cadfael stirred at length, and moodily thumped his knees with clenched fists. Then he said, carefully avoiding questions: \"There's still an hour or so of daylight left before Vespers. If you think it's worth having a look below the bridge there?\"\n\nBrother Cadfael had almost forgotten the young man was present, and turned a surprised and appreciative eye on him.\n\n\"So there is! And your eyes are younger than mine. The two of us might at least cover the available ground. Yes, come, for better or worse we'll venture.\"\n\nBrother Mark followed eagerly across the court, out at the gatehouse, and along the highroad towards the bridge and the town. A flat, leaden gleam lay over the mill-pond on their left, and the house beyond it showed only a closed and shuttered face. Brother Mark stared at it curiously as they passed. He had never seen Mistress Bonel, and knew nothing of the old ties that linked her with Cadfael, but he knew when his mentor and friend was particularly exercised on someone else's behalf, and his own loyalty and partisan fervour, after his church, belonged all to Cadfael. He was busy thinking out everything he had heard in the workshop, and making practical sense of it. As they turned aside to the right, down the sheltered path that led to the riverside and the main gardens of the abbey, ranged along the rich Severn meadows, he said thoughtfully:\n\n\"I take it, brother, that what we are looking for must be small, and able to take the light, but had better not be a bottle?\"\n\n\"You may take it,\" said Cadfael, sighing, \"that whether it is or not, we must try our best to find it. But I would very much rather find something else, something as innocent as the day.\"\n\nJust beneath the abutments of the bridge, where it was not worth while clearing the ground for cultivation, bushes grew thickly, and coarse grass sloped down gradually to the lip of the water. They combed the tufted turf along the edge, where a filming of ice prolonged the ground by a few inches, until the light failed them and it was time to hurry back for Vespers; but they found nothing small, relatively heavy, and capable of reflecting a flash of light as it was thrown, nothing that could have been the mysterious something tossed away by Edwin in his flight.\n\nCadfael slipped away after supper, absenting himself from the readings in the chapter-house, helped himself to the end of a loaf and a hunk of cheese, and a flask of small ale for his fugitive, and made his way discreetly to the loft over the abbey barn in the horse-fair. The night was clear overhead but dark, for there was no moon as yet. By morning the ground would be silvered over, and the shore of Severn extended by a new fringe of ice.\n\nHis signal knock at the door at the head of the stairs produced only a profound silence, which he approved. He opened the door and went in, closing it silently behind him. In the darkness within nothing existed visibly, but the warm, fresh scent of the clean hay stirred in a faint wave, and an equally quiet rustling showed him where the boy had emerged from his nest to meet him. He moved a step towards the sound. \"Be easy, it's Cadfael.\"\n\n\"I knew,\" said Edwin's voice very softly. \"I knew you'd come.\"\n\n\"Was it a long day?\"\n\n\"I slept most of it.\"\n\n\"That's my stout heart! Where are you\u2026? Ah!\" They moved together, uniting two faint warmths that made a better warmth between them; Cadfael touched a sleeve, found a welcoming hand. \"Now let's sit down and be blunt and brief, for time's short. But we may as well be comfortable with what we have. And here's food and drink for you.\" Young hands, invisible, clasped his offerings gladly. They felt their way to a snug place in the hay, side by side.\n\n\"Is there any better news for me?\" asked Edwin anxiously.\n\n\"Not yet. What I have for you, young man, is a question. Why did you leave out half the tale?\"\n\nEdwin sat up sharply beside him, in the act of biting heartily into a crust of bread. \"But I didn't! I told you the truth. Why should I keep anything from you, when I came asking for your help?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed! Yet the sheriff's men have had speech with a certain carter who was crossing the bridge from Shrewsbury when you went haring away from your mother's house, and he testifies that he saw you heave something over the parapet into the river. Is that true?\"\n\nWithout hesitation the boy said: \"Yes!\" his voice a curious blend of bewilderment, embarrassment and anxiety. Cadfael had the impression that he was even blushing in the darkness, and yet obviously with no sense of guilt at having left the incident unmentioned, rather as though a purely private folly of his own had been accidentally uncovered.\n\n\"Why did you not tell me that yesterday? I might have had a better chance of helping you if I'd known.\"\n\n\"I don't see why.\" He was a little sullen and on his dignity now, but wavering and wondering. \"It didn't seem to have anything to do with what happened\u2026 and I wanted to forget it. But I'll tell you now, if it does matter. It isn't anything bad.\"\n\n\"It matters very much, though you couldn't have known that when you threw it away.\" Better tell him the reason now, and show that by this examiner, at least, he was not doubted. \"For what you sent over the parapet, my lad, is being interpreted by the sheriff's man as the bottle that held the poison, newly emptied by you before you ran out of the house, and disposed of in the river. So now, I think, you had better tell me what it really was, and I'll try to convince the law they are on the wrong scent, over that and everything else.\"\n\nThe boy sat very still, not stunned by this blow, which was only one more in a beating which had already done its worst and left him still resilient. He was very quick in mind, he saw the implications, for himself and for Brother Cadfael. Slowly he said: \"And you don't need first to be convinced?\"\n\n\"No. For a moment I may have been shaken, but not longer. Now tell me!\"\n\n\"I didn't know! How could I know what was going to happen?\" He drew breath deeply, and some of the tension left the arm and shoulder that leaned confidingly into Cadfael's side, \"No one else knew about it, I hadn't said a word to Meurig, and I never got so far as to show it even to my mother\u2014I never had the chance. You know I'm learning to work in wood, and in fine metals, too, a little, and I had to show that I meant to be good at what I did. I made a present for my stepfather. Not because I liked him,\" he made haste to add, with haughty honesty, \"I didn't! But my mother was unhappy about our quarrel, and it had made him hard and ill-tempered even to her\u2014he never used to be, he was fond of her, I know. So I made a present as a peace offering\u2026 and to show I should make a craftsman, too, and be able to earn my living without him. He had a relic he valued greatly, he bought it in Walsingham when he was on pilgrimage, a long time ago. It's supposed to be a piece of Our Lady's mantle, from the hem, but I don't believe it's true. But he believed it. It's a slip of blue cloth as long as my little finger, with a gold thread in the edge, and it's wrapped in a bit of gold. He paid a lot of money for it, I know. So I thought I would make him a little reliquary just the right size for it, a little box with a hinge. I made it from pearwood, and jointed and polished it well, and inlaid the lid with a little picture of Our Lady in nacre and silver, and blue stone for the mantle. I think it was not bad.\" The light- ache in his voice touched Brother Cadfael's relieved heart; he had loved his work and destroyed it, he was entitled to grieve.\n\n\"And you took it with you to give to him yesterday?\" he asked gently.\n\n\"Yes.\" He bit that off short. Cadfael remembered how he had been received, according to Richildis, when he made his difficult, courageous appearance at their table, his gift secreted somewhere upon him.\n\n\"And you had it in your hand when he drove you out of the house with his malice. I see how it could happen.\"\n\nThe boy burst out bitterly, shivering with resentment still: \"He said I'd come to crawl to him for my manor\u2026 he taunted me, and if I kneeled to him\u2026 How could I offer him a gift, after that? He would have taken it as proof positive\u2026 I couldn't bear that! It was meant to be a gift, without any asking.\"\n\n\"I should have done what you did, boy, kept it clutched in my hand, and run from there without a word more.\"\n\n\"But not thrown it in the river, perhaps,\" sighed Edwin ruefully. \"Why? I don't know\u2026 Only it had been meant for him, and I had it in my hand, and Aelfric was running after me and calling, and I couldn't go back\u2026 It wasn't his, and it wasn't any more mine, and I threw it over to be rid of it\u2026\"\n\nSo that was why neither Richildis nor anyone else had mentioned Edwin's peace offering. Peace or war, for that matter? It had been meant to assert both his forgiveness and his independence, neither very pleasing to an elderly autocrat. But well-meant, for all that, an achievement, considering the lad was not yet fifteen years old. But no one had known of it. No one but the maker had ever had the chance to admire\u2014as Richildis would have done most dotingly!\u2014the nice dove-tailing of the joints of his little box, or the fine setting of the slips of silver and pearl and lapis which had flashed just once in the light as they hurtled into the river.\n\n\"Tell me, this was a well-fitted lid, and closed when you threw it over?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He was very fairly visible now, and all startled eyes. He did not understand the question, but he was sure of his work. \"Is that important, too, I wish now I hadn't done it, I see I've made everything worse. But how was I to know? There wasn't any hue and cry for me then, there wasn't any murder, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.\"\n\n\"A small wooden box, tightly closed, will float gallantly where the river carries it, and there are men who live by the river traffic and fishing, yes, and poaching, too, and they'll know every bend and beach from here to Atcham where things fetch up on the current. Keep your heart up, lad, you may yet see your work again if I can get the sheriff to listen to me, and put out the word to the watermen to keep a watch. If I give them a description of what was thrown away\u2014oh, be easy, I'll not reveal how I got it!\u2014and somewhere downstream that very thing is discovered, that's a strong point in your favour, and I may even be able to get them to look elsewhere for the bottle, somewhere where Edwin Gurney was not, and therefore could not have left it. You bide yet a day or two here in quiet, if you can bear it, and if need be, I'll get you away to some more distant place, where you can wait the time out in better comfort.\"\n\n\"I can bear it,\" said Edwin sturdily. And added ruefully: \"But I wish it may not be long!\"\n\nThe brothers were filing out at the end of Compline when it dawned upon Cadfael that there was one important question which he and everyone else had neglected to ask, and the only person he could think of who might conceivably be able to answer it was Richildis. There was still time to ask it before night, if he gave up his final half-hour in the warming-room. Not, perhaps, a tactful time to visit, but everything connected with this business was urgent, and Richildis could at least sleep a little more easily for the knowledge that Edwin was, thus far at least, safe and provided for. Cadfael drew up his cowl, and made purposefully for the gates.\n\nIt was bad luck that Brother Jerome should be coming across the court towards the porter's lodge at the same time, probably with some officious orders for the morrow, or some sanctimonious complaint of irregularities today. Brother Jerome already felt himself to be in the exalted position of clerk to the abbot-elect, and was exerting himself to represent adequately his master Robert, now that that worthy man had availed himself of the abbot's privilege and privacy. Authority delegated to Brother Richard, and sedulously avoided by him wherever possible, would be greedily taken up by Brother Jerome. Some of the novices and boy pupils had already had cause to lament his zeal.\n\n\"You have an errand of mercy at so late an hour, brother?\" Jerome smiled odiously. \"Can it not wait until morning?\"\n\n\"At the risk of further harm,\" snapped Cadfael, \"it might.\" And he made no further halt, but proceeded on his way, well aware of the narrowed eyes following his departure. He had, within reason, authority to come and go as he thought fit, even to absent himself from services if his aid was required elsewhere, and he was certainly not going to explain himself, either truthfully or mendaciously, to Brother Jerome, however others less bold might conform for the sake of staying out of Robert's displeasure. It was unfortunate, but he had nothing ill to conceal, and to turn back would have suggested the contrary.\n\nThere was still a small light burning in the kitchen of the house beyond the mill-pond, he could see it through a tiny chink in the shutter as he approached. Yes, now, there was something he had failed to take into account: the kitchen window overlooked the pond, and close, at that, closer than from the road, and yesterday it had been open because of the brazier standing under it, an outlet for the smoke. An outlet, too, for a small vial hurled out there as soon as emptied, to be lost for ever in the mud at the bottom of the pond? What could be more convenient? No odour on clothing, no stains, no dread of being discovered with the proof.\n\nTomorrow, thought Cadfael, elated, I'll search from that window down to the water. Who knows but this time the thing thrown may really have fallen short, and be lying somewhere in the grass by the water's edge for me to find? That would be something gained! Even if it cannot prove who threw it there, it may still tell me something.\n\nHe knocked softly at the door, expecting Aldith to answer, or Aelfric, but it was the voice of Richildis herself that called out quietly from within: \"Who's there?\"\n\n\"Cadfael! Open to me for a few minutes.\"\n\nHis name had been enough, she opened eagerly, and reached a hand to draw him into the kitchen. \"Hush, softly! Aldith is asleep in my bed, and Aelfric within, in the room. I could not sleep yet, I was sitting late, thinking about my boy. Oh, Cadfael, can you give me no comfort? You will stand his friend if you can?\"\n\n\"He is well, and still free,\" said Cadfael, sitting down beside her on the bench against the wall. \"But mark me, you know nothing, should any ask. You may truly say he has not been here, and you don't know where he is. Better so!\"\n\n\"But you do know!\" The tiny, steady light of the rush-candle showed him her face smoothed of its ageing lines and softly bright, very comely. He did not answer; she might read that for herself, and could still say truly that she knew nothing.\n\n\"And that's all you can give me?\" she breathed.\n\n\"No, I can give you my solemn word that he never harmed his stepfather. That I know. And truth must come out. That you must believe.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will, I do, if you'll help to uncover it. Oh, Cadfael, if you were not here I should despair. And such constant vexations, pin-pricks, when I can think of nothing but Edwin. And Gervase not in his grave until tomorrow! Now that he's gone, I no longer have a claim to livery for his horse, and with so many travellers coming now before the feast, they want his stable-room, and I must move him elsewhere, or else sell him\u2026 But Edwin will want him, if\u2026\" She shook her head distractedly, and would not complete that doubt. \"They told me they'll find him a stall and feed somewhere until I can arrange for him to be stabled elsewhere. Perhaps Martin could house him\u2026\"\n\nThey might, Cadfael thought indignantly, have spared her such small annoyances, at least for a few days. She had moved a little closer to him, her shoulder against his. Their whispering voices in the dimly lit room, and the lingering warmth from a brazier now mostly ash, took him back many years, to a stolen meeting in her father's outhouse. Better not linger, to be drawn deeper still!\n\n\"Richildis, there's something I came to ask you. Did your husband ever actually draw up and seal the deed that made Edwin his heir?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did.\" She was surprised by the question, \"It was quite legal and binding, but naturally this agreement with the abbey has a later date, and makes the will void now. Or it did\u2026\" She was brought back sharply to the realisation that the second agreement, too, had been superseded, more roughly even than the first. \"Of course, that's of no validity now. So the grant to Edwin stands. It must, our man of law drew it properly, and I have it in writing.\"\n\n\"So all that stands between Edwin and his manor, now, is the threat of arrest for murder, which we know he did not do. But tell me this, Richildis, if you know it: supposing the worst happened\u2014which it must not and will not\u2014and he was convicted of killing your husband\u2014then what becomes of Mallilie? The abbey cannot claim it, Edwin could not then inherit it. Who becomes the heir?\"\n\nShe managed to gaze resolutely beyond the possibility of the worst, and considered what sense law would make of what was left.\n\n\"I suppose I should get my dower, as the widow. But the manor could only revert to the overlord, and that's the earl of Chester, for there's no other legitimate heir. He could bestow it where he pleased, to his best advantage. It might go to any man he favoured in these parts. Sheriff Prestcote, as like as not, or one of his officers.\"\n\nIt was true, and it robbed all others here, except Edwin, of any prospect of gaining by Bonel's death; or at least, of any material gain. An enemy sufficiently consumed by hate might find the death in itself gain enough, yet that seemed an excessive reaction to a man no way extreme, however difficult Edwin had found him.\n\n\"You're sure? There's no nephew, or cousin of his somewhere about the shire?\"\n\n\"No, no one, or he would never have promised me Mallilie for Edwin. He set great store by his own blood.\"\n\nWhat had been going through Cadfael's mind was the possibility that someone with his own fortune in view might have planned to remove at one stroke both Bonel and Edwin, by ensuring the boy's arrest for the man's murder. But evidently that was far from the mark. No one could have calculated with any certainty on securing for himself what the house of Bonel forfeited.\n\nBy way of comfort and encouragement, Cadfael laid his broad, gnarled hand on her slender one, and marked in the slanting tight, with roused tenderness, its enlarged knuckles and tracery of violet veins, more touching than any girlish smoothness could ever have been. Her face was beautiful, too, even in its ageing, lined, now that he saw it almost at peace, with good-humour and the long experience of happiness, which this brief ordeal of exasperation, disruption and pain could do little now to deflower. It was his youth he was lamenting, not any waste of Richildis. She had married the right man and been blessed, and a late mistake with the wrong man was over without irreparable damage, provided her darling could be extricated from his present danger. That, and only that, Cadfael thought gratefully, is my task.\n\nThe warm hand under his turned and closed, holding him fast. The still beguiling face turned to gaze at him closely and earnestly, with limpid, sympathetic eyes and a mouth with delicate, self-congratulatory guilt. \"Oh, Cadfael, did you take it so hard? Did it have to be the cloister? I wondered about you so often, and so long, but I never knew I had done you such an injury. And you have forgiven me that broken promise?\"\n\n\"The whole fault was mine,\" said Cadfael, with somewhat over-hearty fervour. \"I've wished you well always, as I do now.\" And he made to rise from the bench, but she kept her hold on his hand and rose with him. A sweet woman, but dangerous, like all her innocent kind.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" she was saying, in the hushed whisper the hour demanded, but with something even more secret in its intimacy, \"the night we pledged our troth? That was December, too. I've been thinking of it ever since I knew you were here\u2014a Benedictine monk! Who would ever have dreamed it would end so! But you stayed away so long!\"\n\nIt was certainly time to go. Cadfael retrieved his hand gently, made her a soothing good night, and discreetly withdrew, before worse could befall him. Let her by all means attribute his vocation to the loss of her own delightful person, for the conviction would stand by her well until her world was restored in safety. But as for him, he had no regrets whatever. The cowl both fitted and became him.\n\nHe let himself out and returned enlarged through the chill and sparkle of the frosty night, to the place he had chosen, and still and for ever now preferred.\n\nBehind him, as he neared the gatehouse, a meagre shadow detached itself from the shelter of the eaves of Richildiss house, and slid contentedly along the road after him, keeping well to the side in case he looked back. But Brother Cadfael did not look back. He had just had a lesson in the perils of that equivocal exercise; and in any case, it was not his way."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "\"There is also the matter of the horse that belonged to Master Gervase Bonel,\" said Brother Matthew, \"who is to be buried today. Our responsibility to provide stabling and feed is now at an end, though I know the case is in suspense until the matter of the man's death and the disposal of his property is cleared up. But the widow as survivor is certainly not entitled to livery for a horse. She has a daughter married in the town, and doubtless will be able to make provision for the beast, and of course we must house it until she so disposes, but it need not occupy a stall in our main stables. Have I your approval to move it out with our own working beasts to the stabling under our barn in the horse-fair ground?\"\n\nMost certainly he had not Cadfael's approval! He sat stiff with alarm and exasperation, fuming at his own unfortunate choice of hiding-place rather than Matthew's practical dispositions. Yet how could he have foreseen this? Very seldom had it been necessary to make use of the stalls at the barn, apart from its actual purpose as temporary accommodation at the horse-fairs and St. Peter's fair. And now how was he to get to Edwin in time to remove him from the peril of discovery? In broad daylight, and with the inescapable spiritual duties of the day confining his movements?\n\n\"That should certainly provide adequate stabling,\" agreed Prior Robert. \"It would be well to make the transfer at once.\"\n\n\"I will give instructions to the grooms. And you agree also, Father, to the Widow Bonel's horse being removed with them?\"\n\n\"By all means!\" Robert no longer had quite the same interest in the Bonel family, now that it seemed doubtful he would ever lay his hands on the manor of Mallilie, though he did not intend to give up without a struggle. The unnatural death and its consequences irked him like a thorn in his flesh, and he would gladly have removed not merely the horse but the whole household, could he have done so with propriety. He did not want murder associated with his convent, he did not want the sheriff's officers probing among his guests, or the whiff of notoriety hanging round the monastery buildings like a bad odour. \"It will be necessary to go into the legal complications on the vexed question of the charter, which inevitably lapses now unless a new lord chooses to endorse and complete it. But until after Master Bonel's burial, of course, nothing should be done. The horse, however, can well be moved. I doubt if the widow will now have any use for a mount, but that is not yet our problem.\"\n\nHe is already regretting, thought Cadfael, that in the first flush of sympathy and concern he authorised a grave for Bonel in the transept. But his dignity will not let him withdraw the concession now. God be thanked, Richildis will have whatever comfort there is in a solemn and dignified funeral, since all that Robert does must be done with grandeur. Gervase has lain in state in the mortuary chapel of the abbey, and will lie in abbey ground by nightfall. She would be soothed and calmed by that. She felt, he was sure, a kind of guilt towards the dead man. Whenever she was solitary she would be playing the ageless, debilitating game of: If only\u2026 If only I'd never accepted him\u2026 if only I had managed affairs between him and Edwin better\u2026 if only\u2014then he might have been alive and hale today!\n\nCadfael closed his ears to the desultory discussion of a possible purchase of land to enlarge the graveyard, and gave his mind to the consideration of his own more pressing problem. It would not be impossible to find himself an errand along the Foregate when the grooms were stabling the horses in their new quarters, and the lay brothers would not question any movements of his. He could as well bring Edwin out of his retreat in a Benedictine habit as lead him into it, provided he took care to time the exit property. And once out, then where? Certainly not towards the gatehouse. There were people in one or two houses along the highroad towards St. Giles who had had dealings with him when sick, some whose children he had attended in fever. They might give shelter to a young man at his recommendation, though he did not much like the idea of involving them. Or there was, at the end of this stretch of road, the leper hospital of St. Giles, where young brothers often served a part of their novitiate in attendance on those less fortunate. Something, surely, might be arranged to hide one haunted boy.\n\nIncredulously, Cadfael heard his own name spoken, and was jerked sharply out of his planning. Across the chapter-house, in his stall as close as possible to Prior Robert, Brother Jerome had risen, and was in full spate, his meagre figure deceptively humble in stance, his sharp eyes half-hooded in holy meekness. And he had just uttered Brother Cadfael's name, with odious concern and affection!\n\n\"\u2026 I do not say, Father, that there has been any impropriety in our dearly valued brother's conduct. I do but appeal for aid and guidance for his soul's sake, for he stands in peril. Father, it has come to my knowledge that many years since, before his call to this blessed vocation, Brother Cadfael was in a relationship of worldly affection with the lady who is now Mistress Bonel, and a guest of this house. By reason of the death of her husband he was drawn back into contact with her, by no fault of his, oh, no, I do not speak of blame, for he was called to help a dying man. But consider, Father, how severe a test may be imposed upon a brother's sincere devotion, when he is again brought unexpectedly into so close touch with a long-forgotten attachment according to this world!\"\n\nTo judge by Prior Robert's loftily erected head and stretched neck, which enabled him to look from an even greater height down his nose at the imperilled brother, he was indeed considering it. So was Cadfael, with astonished indignation that congealed rapidly into cool, inimical comprehension. He had underestimated Brother Jerome's audacity, no less than his venom. That large, sinewy ear must have been pressed lovingly to the large keyhole of Richildis's door, to have gathered so much.\n\n\"Do you allege,\" demanded Robert incredulously, \"that Brother Cadfael has been in unlawful conversation with this woman? On what occasion? We ourselves know well that he attended Master Bonel's death-bed, and did his best for the unfortunate, and that the unhappy wife was then present. We have no reproach to make upon that count, it was his duty to go where he was needed.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael, as yet unaddressed, sat grimly silent, and let them proceed, for obviously this attack came as unexpectedly to Robert as to him.\n\n\"Oh, no man of us can question that,\" agreed Jerome obligingly. \"It was his Christian duty to give aid according to his skills, and so he did. But as I have learned, our brother has again visited the widow and spoken with her, only last night. Doubtless for purposes of comfort and blessing to the bereaved. But what dangers may lurk in such a meeting, Father, I need not try to express. God forbid it should ever enter any mind, that a man once betrothed, and having lost his affianced wife to another, should succumb to jealousy in his late years, after abandoning the world, when he once again encounters the former object of his affections. No, that we may not even consider. But would it not be better if our beloved brother should be removed utterly even from the temptations of memory? I speak as one having his wellbeing and spiritual health at heart.\"\n\nYou speak, thought Cadfael, grinding his teeth, as one at last provided with a weapon against a man you've hated for years with little effect. And, God forgive me, if I could wring your scrawny neck now, I would do it and rejoice.\n\nHe rose and stood forth from his retired place to be seen. \"I am here, Father Prior, examine me of my actions as you wish. Brother Jerome is somewhat over-tender of my vocation, which is in no danger.\" And that, at least, was heartfelt.\n\nPrior Robert continued to look down at him all too thoughtfully for Cadfael's liking. He would certainly fight any suggestion of misconduct among his flock, and defend them to the world for his own sake, but he might also welcome an opportunity of curbing the independent activities of a man who always caused him slight discomfort, as though he found in Cadfael's blunt, practical, tolerant self-sufficiency a hidden vein of desire of satire and amusement. He was no fool, and could hardly have failed to notice that he was being obliquely invited to believe that Cadfael might, when confronted with his old sweetheart married to another, have so far succumbed to jealousy as to remove his rival from the world with his own hands. Who, after all, knew the properties of herbs and plants better, or the proportions in which they could be used for good or ill? God forbid it should enter any mind, Jerome had said piously, neatly planting the notion as he deplored it. Doubtful if Robert would seriously entertain any such thought, but neither would he censure it in Jerome, who was unfailingly useful and obsequious to him. Nor could it be argued that the thing was altogether impossible. Cadfael had made the monk's-hood oil, and knew what could be done with it. He had not even to procure it secretly, he had it in his own charge; and if he had been sent for in haste to a man already sick to death, who was to say he had not first administered the poison he feigned to combat? And I watched Aelfric cross the court, thought Cadfael, and might easily have stopped him for a word, lifted the lid in curiosity at the savoury smell, been told for whom it was sent, and added another savour of my own making? A moment's distraction, and it could have been done. How easy it is to bring on oneself a suspicion there's no disproving!\n\n\"Is it indeed truth, brother,\" asked Robert weightily, \"that Mistress Bonel was intimately known to you in your youth, before you took vows?\"\n\n\"It is,\" said Cadfael directly, \"if by intimately you mean only well and closely, on terms of affection. Before I took the Cross we held ourselves to be affianced, though no one else knew of it. That was more than forty years ago, and I had not seen her since. She married in my absence, and I, after my return, took the cowl.\" The fewer words here, the better.\n\n\"Why did you never say word of this, when they came to our house?\"\n\n\"I did not know who Mistress Bonel was, until I saw her. The name meant nothing to me, I knew only of her first marriage. I was called to the house, as you know, and went in good faith.\"\n\n\"That I acknowledge,\" conceded Robert. \"I did not observe anything untoward in your conduct there.\"\n\n\"I do not suggest, Father Prior,\" Jerome made haste to assure him, \"that Brother Cadfael has done anything deserving of blame\u2026\" The lingering ending added silently: \"\u2026 as yet!\" but he did not go so far as to utter it. \"I am concerned only for his protection from the snares of temptation. The devil can betray even through a Christian affection.\"\n\nPrior Robert was continuing his heavy and intent study of Cadfael, and if he was not expressing condemnation, there was no mistaking the disapproval in his elevated eyebrows and distended nostrils. No inmate of his convent should even admit to noticing a woman, unless by way of Christian ministry or hard-headed business. \"In attending a sick man, certainly you did only right, Brother Cadfael. But is it also true that you visited this woman last night? Why should that be? If she was in need of spiritual comfort, there is here also a parish priest. Two days ago you had a right and proper reason for going there, last night you surely had none.\"\n\n\"I went there,\" said Cadfael patiently, since there was no help in impatience, and nothing could mortify Brother Jerome so much as to be treated with detached forbearance, \"to ask certain questions which may bear upon her husband's death\u2014a matter which you, Father Prior, and I, and all here, must devoutly wish to be cleared up as quickly as possible, so that this house may be in peace.\"\n\n\"That is the business of the sheriff and his sergeants,\" said Robert curtly, \"and none of yours. As I understand it, there is no doubt whose is the guilt, and it is only a matter of laying hands upon the youth who did so vile a thing. I do not like your excuse, Brother Cadfael.\"\n\n\"In due obedience,\" said Cadfael, \"I bow to your judgment, but also must not despise my own. I think there is doubt, and the truth will not be easily uncovered. And my reason was not an excuse; it was for that purpose I went to the house. It was my own preparation, meant to bring comfort and relief from pain, that was used to bring death, and neither this house nor I, as a brother herein, can be at peace until the truth is known.\"\n\n\"In saying so, you show lack of faith in those who uphold the law, and whose business justice is, as yours it is not. It is an arrogant attitude, and I deplore it.\" What he meant was that he wished to distance the Benedictine house of St. Peter and St. Paul from the ugly thing that had happened just outside its walls, and he would find a means of preventing the effective working of a conscience so inconvenient to his aims. \"In my judgment, Brother Jerome is right, and it is our duty to ensure that you are not allowed, by your own folly, to stray into spiritual danger. You will have no further contact with Mistress Bonel. Until her future movements are decided, and she leaves her present house, you will confine yourself to the enclave, and your energies to your proper function of work and worship within our walls only.\"\n\nThere was no help for it. Vows of obedience, voluntarily taken, cannot be discarded whenever they become inconvenient. Cadfael inclined his head\u2014bowed would have been the wrong word, it was more like a small, solid and formidable bull lowering its armed brow for combat!\u2014and said grimly: \"I shall observe the order laid upon me, as in duty bound.\"\n\n\"But you, young man,\" he was saying to Brother Mark in the garden workshop, a quarter of an hour later, with the door shut fast to contain the fumes of frustration and revolt, rather Mark's than his own, \"you have no such order to observe.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Brother Mark, taking heart, \"is what I was thinking. But I was afraid you were not.\"\n\n\"I would not involve you in my sins, God knows,\" sighed Cadfael, \"if this was not urgent. And perhaps I should not\u2026 Perhaps he must be left to fend for himself, but with so much against him\u2026\"\n\n\"He!\" said Brother Mark thoughtfully, swinging his thin ankles from the bench. \"The he whose something, that was not a vial, we did not find? From all I gather, he's barely out of childhood. The Gospels are insistent we should take care of the children.\"\n\nCadfael cast him a mild, measuring and affectionate look. This child was some four years older than the other, and his childhood, since his mother's death when he was three years old, no one had cared for, beyond throwing food and grudged shelter his way. The other had been loved, indulged and admired all his life, until these past months of conflict, and the present altogether more desperate danger.\n\n\"He is a spirited and able child, Mark, but he relies on me. I took charge of him and gave him orders. Had he been left on his own, I think he would have managed.\"\n\n\"Tell me only where I must go, and what I must do,\" said Mark, quite restored to cheerfulness, \"and I will do it.\"\n\nCadfael told him. \"But not until after High Mass. You must not be absent, or any way put your own repute in peril. And should there be trouble, you'll hold aloof and safe\u2014you hear?\"\n\n\"I hear,\" said Brother Mark, and smiled.\n\nBy ten o'clock of that morning, when High Mass began, Edwin was heartily sick of obedience and virtue. He had never been so inactive for so long since he had first climbed mutinously out of his cradle and crawled into the yard, to be retrieved from among the wagon wheels by a furious Richildis. Still, he owed it to Brother Cadfael to wait in patience, as he had promised, and only in the darkest middle of the night had he ventured out to stretch his legs and explore the alleys and lanes about the horse-fair, and the silent and empty stretch of the Foregate, the great street that set out purposefully for London. He had taken care to be back in his loft well before the east began to lighten, and here he was, seated on an abandoned barrel, kicking his heels and eating one of Cadfael's apples, and wishing something would happen. From the slit air-vents enough light entered the loft to make a close, dim, straw-tinted day.\n\nIf wishes are prayers, Edwin's was answered with almost crude alacrity. He was used to hearing horses passing in the Foregate, and the occasional voices of people on foot, so he thought nothing of the leisurely hoof-beats and monosyllabic voices that approached from the town. But suddenly the great double doors below were hurled open, their solid weight crashing back to the wall, and the hoof-beats, by the sound of them of horses being walked on leading reins, clashed inward from the cobbles of the apron and thudded dully on the beaten earth floor within.\n\nEdwin sat up, braced and still, listening with pricked ears. One horse\u2026 two\u2026 more of them, lighter in weight and step, small, neat hooves\u2014mules, perhaps? And at least two grooms with them, probably three or four. He froze, afraid to stir, wary of even the crunching of his apple. Now if they were only meaning to stall these beasts during the day, all might yet be well, and all he had to do was keep quiet and sit out the time in hiding.\n\nThere was a heavy trapdoor in the cleared space of flooring, so that at need grooms could gain access to the loft without having to go outside, or carry the other key with them. Edwin slid from his barrel and went to stretch himself cautiously on the floor, and apply an ear to the crack.\n\nA young voice chirruped soothingly to a restive horse, and Edwin heard a hand patting neck and shoulder. \"Easy there, now, my beauty! A very fine fellow you are, too. The old man knew his horse-flesh, I'll say that for him. He's spoiled for want of work. It's shame to see him wasted.\"\n\n\"Get him into a stall,\" ordered a gruff voice shortly, \"and come and lend a hand with these mules.\"\n\nThere was a steady to-ing and fro-ing about settling the beasts. Edwin got up quietly, and put on his Benedictine habit over his own clothes, for if by ill-luck he was seen around this building, it would be the best cover he could have. Though it seemed that everything would probably pass off safely. He went back to his listening station just in time to hear a third voice say: \"Fill up the hay-racks. If there's not fodder enough down here, there's plenty above.\"\n\nThey were going to invade his refuge, after all! There was already a foot grating on the rungs of the ladder below. Edwin scrambled up in haste, no longer troubling to be silent, and rolled his heavy barrel on its rim to settle solidly over the trapdoor, for the bolts must be on the underside. The sound of someone wrestling them back from stiff sockets covered the noise of the barrel landing, and Edwin perched on top of his barricade, and wished himself three times as heavy. But it is very difficult to thrust a weight upwards over one's head, and it seemed that even his slight bulk was enough. The trap heaved a little under him, but nothing worse.\n\n\"It's fast,\" called a vexed voice from below. \"Some fool's bolted it on top.\"\n\n\"There are no bolts on top. Use your brawn, man, you're no such weed as all that.\"\n\n\"Then they've dumped something heavy over the trap. I tell you it won't budge.\" And he rattled it again irritably to demonstrate.\n\n\"Oh, come down, and let a man try his arm,\" said he of the gruff voice disgustedly. There was an alarming scrambling of heavier feet on the rungs, and the ladder creaked. Edwin held his breath and willed himself to grow heavier by virtue of every braced muscle. The trap shook, but lifted not an inch, and the struggling groom below panted and swore.\n\n\"What did I tell you, Will?\" crowed his fellow, with satisfaction.\n\n\"We'll have to go round to the other door. Lucky I brought both keys. Wat, come and help me shift whatever's blocking the trap, and fork some hay down.\"\n\nHad he but known it, he needed no key, for the door was unlocked. The voice receded rapidly down the ladder, and footsteps stamped out at the stable-door. Two of them gone from below, but only a matter of moments before he would be discovered; not even time to burrow deep into the hay, even if that had been a safe stratagem when they came with forks. If they were only three in all, why not attempt the one instead of the two? Edwin as hastily rolled his barrel back to jam it against the door, and then flung himself upon the trap, hoisting mightily. It rose so readily that he was almost spilled backwards, but he recovered, and lowered himself hastily through. No time to waste in closing the trap again, all his attention was centered on the perils below.\n\nThey were four, not three! Two of them were still here among the horses, and though one of them had his back squarely turned, and was forking hay into a manger at the far end of the long stable, the other, a lean, wiry fellow with shaggy grey hair, was only a few feet from the foot of the ladder, and just striding out from one of the stalls.\n\nIt was too late to think of any change of plan, and Edwin never hesitated. He scrambled clear of the trap, and launched himself in a flying leap upon the groom. The man had just caught the sudden movement and raised his head sharply to stare at its source, when Edwin descended upon him in a cloud of overlarge black skirts, and brought him to the ground, momentarily winded. Whatever advantage the habit might have been to the boy was certainly lost after that assault. The other youth, turning at his companion's startled yell, was baffled only briefly at the sight of what appeared to be a Benedictine brother, bounding up from the floor with gown gathered in one hand, and the other reaching for the pikel his victim had dropped. No monk the groom had ever yet seen behaved in this fashion. He took heart and began an indignant rush which halted just as abruptly when the pikel was flourished capably in the direction of his middle. But by then the felled man was also clambering to his feet, and between the fugitive and the wide open doorway.\n\nThere was only one way to go, and Edwin went that way, pikel in hand, backing into the stall nearest him. Only then did he take note, with what attention he had to spare from his adversaries, of the horse beside him, the one which had been so restive, according to the young groom, spoiling for want of work and shamefully wasted. A tall, high-spirited chestnut beast with a paler mane and tail, and a white blaze, stamping in excitement of the confusion, but reaching a nuzzling lip to Edwin's hair, and whinnying in his ear. He had turned from his manger to face the fray, and the way was open before him. Edwin cast an arm over his neck with a shout of recognition and joy.\n\n\"Rufus\u2026 oh, Rufus!\"\n\nHe dropped his pikel, knotted a fist in the flowing mane, and leaped and scrambled astride the lofty back. What did it matter that he had neither saddle nor bridle, when he had ridden this mount bareback more times than he could remember, in the days before he fell utterly out of favour with the owner? He dug in his heels and pressed with his knees, and urged an all too willing accomplice into headlong flight.\n\nIf the grooms had been ready to tackle Edwin, once they realised his vocation was counterfeit, they were less eager to stand in the way of Rufus. He shot out of his stall like a crossbow bolt, and they leaped apart before him in such haste that the older one fell backwards over a truss of hay, and measured his length on the floor a second time. Edwin lay low on the rippling shoulders, his fists in the light mane, whispering incoherent gratitude and encouragement into the laidback ears. They clattered out on to the triangle of the horse-fair, and by instinct Edwin used knee and heel to turn the horse away from the town and out along the Foregate.\n\nThe two who had mounted by the rear staircase, and had difficulty in getting the door open, not to mention finding it inexplicably unlocked in the first place, heard the stampede and rushed to stare out along the road.\n\n\"God save us!\" gasped Wat, round-eyed. \"It's one of the brothers! What can he be at in such a hurry?\"\n\nAt that moment the light wind filled Edwin's cowl and blew it back on to his shoulders, uncovering the bright tangle of hair and the boyish face. Will let out a wild yell, and began to scurry down the stairs. \"You see that? That's no tonsure, and no brother, either! That's the lad the sheriff's hunting. Who else would be hiding in our barn?\"\n\nBut Edwin was already away, nor was there a horse left in the stable of equal quality, to pursue him. The young groom had spoken the truth, Rufus was baulked and frustrated for want of exercise, and now, let loose, he was ready to gallop to his heart's content. There was now only one obstacle to freedom. Too late Edwin remembered Cadfael's warning not, in any circumstances, to take the London road, for there was certainly a patrol out at St. Giles, where the town suburbs ended, to check on all passing traffic in search of him. He recalled it only when he saw in the distance before him a party of four riders spread well across the road and approaching at a relaxed amble. The guard had just been relieved, and here was the off-duty party making its way back to the castle.\n\nHe could not possibly burst a way through that serried line, and the black gown would not deceive them for a moment, on a rider proceeding at this desperate speed. Edwin did the only thing possible. With pleading voice and urgent knees he checked and wheeled his displeased mount, and set off back the way he had come, at the same headlong gallop. And well behind him he heard a gleeful shout that told him he was now pursued by a posse of determined men-at-arms, fully persuaded they were on the heels of a miscreant, even if they were not yet certain of his identity.\n\nBrother Mark, hurrying along the horse-fair after High Mass, primed with his part to enter the loft unobserved, so that no one should be able afterwards to swear that only one went in where two came out, arrived close to the barn just in time to hear the commotion of a hue and cry, and see Edwin on his elated war-horse come hurtling back along the Foregate, cowl and skirts streaming, head stooped low to the flying mane. He had never before set eyes on Edwin Gurney, but there was no doubt as to who this careering desperado must be; nor, alas, any doubt that Mark's own errand came much too late. The quarry was flushed from cover, though not yet taken. But there was nothing, nothing at all, Brother Mark could do to help him.\n\nThe head groom Will, a stout-hearted man, had hastily hauled out the best of the remaining horses in his care, and prepared to pursue the fugitive, but he had no more than heaved himself into the saddle when he beheld the chestnut thundering back again in the opposite direction. He spurred forward to try and intercept it, though the prospect was daunting; but his mount's courage failed of matching his, and it baulked and swerved aside before Rufus's stretched neck, laidback ears and rolling eye. One of the undergrooms hurled a pikel towards the pounding hooves, but if truth be told rather half-heartedly, and Rufus merely made a startled sidewise bound, without checking speed, and was past and away towards the town.\n\nWill might well have followed, though with small hope of keeping that yellow, billowing tail in sight; but by then the clamour of the pursuers was approaching along the Foregate, and he was only too glad to surrender the task to them. It was, after all, their business to apprehend malefactors, and whatever else this pseudo-monk had done, he had certainly stolen a horse belonging to the Widow Bonel, and in the abbey's care. Obviously the theft should be reported at once. He rode into the path of the galloping guards, waving a delaying hand, and all three of his colleagues closed in to give their versions of what had happened.\n\nThere was a substantial audience by then. Passersby had happily declined to pass by such a promising m\u00eal\u00e9e, and people had darted out from nearby houses to discover what all the hard riding meant. During the pause to exchange information, several of the children had drawn close to listen and stare, and that in itself somewhat slowed the resumption of the chase. Mothers retrieved children, and managed to keep the way blocked a full minute more. But there seemed no reasonable explanation for the fact that at the last moment, when they were virtually launched, the horse under the captain of the guard suddenly shrieked indignantly, reared, and almost spilled his rider, who was not expecting any such disturbance, and had to spend some minutes mastering the affronted horse, before he could muster his men and gallop away after the fugitive.\n\nBrother Mark, craning and peering with the rest of the curious, watched the guards stream away towards the town, secure that the chestnut horse had had time to get clean out of sight. The rest was up to Edwin Gurney. Mark folded his hands in his wide sleeves, drew his cowl well forward to shadow a modest face, and turned back towards the gatehouse of the abbey, with very mixed news. On the way he discarded the second pebble he had picked up by the barn. On his uncle's manor he had been set to work for his meagre keep at four years old, following the plough with a small sack full of stones, to scare off the birds that took the seed. It had taken him two years to discover that he sympathised with the hungry birds, and did not really want to harm them; but by then he was already a dead shot, and he had not lost his skills.\n\n\"And you followed as far as the bridge?\" Cadfael questioned anxiously. \"And the bridge-keepers had not so much as seen him? And the sheriff's men had lost him?\"\n\n\"Clean vanished,\" Brother Mark reported with pleasure. \"He never crossed into the town, at least, not that way. If you ask me, he can't have turned from the road by any of the alleys short of the bridge, he wouldn't be sure he was out of sight. I think he must have dived down along the Gaye, the shoreward side where the orchard trees give some cover. But what he would do after that I can't guess. But they haven't taken him, that's certain. They'll be hounding his kin within the town, but they'll find nothing there.\" He beamed earnestly into Cadfael's troubled face, and urged: \"You know you'll prove he has nothing to answer for. Why do you worry?\"\n\nIt was more than enough worry to have someone depending so absolutely on the victory of truth, and the credit with heaven of Brother Cadfael, but it seemed that this morning's events had cast no shadow upon young Mark, and that was matter for gratitude.\n\n\"Come to dinner,\" said Cadfael thankfully, \"and then take your ease, for with such a faith as yours you can. I do believe when you come to cast a pebble with intent, it must hit the mark. Whoever named you foresaw your future. And since it arises, what is your own mark? A bishopric?\"\n\n\"Pope or cardinal,\" said Brother Mark happily. \"Nothing less.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Brother Cadfael seriously. \"Beyond bishop, and a pastoral cure, I think you would be wasted.\"\n\nAll that day the sheriff's men hunted Edwin Gurney through the town, where they reckoned he must have sought help, somehow evading notice in crossing the bridge. Finding no trace there, they sent out patrols to cover all the major roads out of the peninsula. In a close loop of the Severn, Shrewsbury had only two bridges, one towards the abbey and London, by which he was thought to have entered, one towards Wales, with a fan of roads branching out westwards.\n\nThey were convinced that the fugitive would make for Wales, that being his quickest way out of their jurisdiction, though his future there might well be hazardous. So it came as a surprise when a party patrolling the abbey side of the river, where they had little expectation of picking up the trail, was accosted by an excited young person of about eleven, who ran to them through the fields to demand breathlessly if it was true the man they were looking for was in monk's gown, and riding a bright-brown horse with a primrose mane and tail. Yes, she had seen him, and only a short time since, breaking cautiously out of that copse and trotting away eastwards, as if he wanted to cross the next loop of the river and move round to join the highroad to London, some way past St. Giles. Since he had first set out in that direction, and found the way blocked at the rim of the town, her report made sense. Evidently he had managed to find cover and lie up for a while, in the hope that the hunt would take the opposite direction, and now he felt secure in moving again. The girl said he might be making for the ford at Uffington.\n\nThey thanked her heartily, sent back one man to report the trail hot again and bring reinforcements after, and set off briskly for the ford. And Alys, having watched them out of sight, made her way back as briskly to the highroad and the bridge. No one was on the watch for eleven-year-old girls going in and out.\n\nBeyond the ford at Uffington the hunters got their first glimpse of the quarry, jogging along almost sedately on the narrow road towards Upton. From the moment he turned and saw them, he flashed away at speed; the colour and the gait of the horse were unmistakable, and the pursuers could not but wonder why the rider had retained his purloined habit, which was now more liability than asset, for everyone in the countryside must be looking out for it.\n\nIt was then mid-afternoon, and the light beginning to dim. The chase went on for hours. The boy seemed to know every byway and every covert, and managed to lose them several times, and lead them into some unexpected and perilous places, often leaving the roads for marshy meadows where one stout man-at-arms was thrown into odorous bog, or broken places where it was soon impossible to see the easiest passage, and one horse picked up a stone and went lame. Through Atcham, Cound and Cressage he held them off, and from time to time lost them, until Rufus tired and stumbled in the woods beyond Acton, and they were on him and round him, grasping at gown and cowl and pinioning him fast. They pulled him down and tied his hands, and for the chase he had led them they gave him some rough handling, which he bore philosophically and in silence. All he asked was that the miles they had to go back to Shrewsbury should be taken at an easy pace, for the horse's sake.\n\nAt some stage he had rigged a serviceable bridle from the rope girdle of his habit. They borrowed that back to secure him behind the lightest weight among them, for fear he should leap clear even with bound hands, and make off into the darkening woods on foot. Thus they brought their prisoner back the lengthy journey to Shrewsbury, and turned in at the abbey gatehouse late in the evening. The stolen horse might as well be returned at once where he belonged; and since that was, at present, the only crime that stood manifestly proven against the culprit, his proper place, until further examination had been made of his deeds, was in the abbey prison. There he could safely be left to kick his heels until the law was ready to proceed against him on graver charges of acts committed outside the pale, and therefore within the sheriff's jurisdiction.\n\nPrior Robert, courteously informed that the wanted youth was brought in captive, and must remain in abbey keeping at least overnight, was torn between satisfaction at the prospect of getting rid of the criminal implications of Master Bonel's death, in order to be able to deal more skilfully with the legal ones, and the vexation of having temporarily to accommodate the criminal within his own domain. Still, an arrest for the murder must follow in the morning, the inconvenience was not so great.\n\n\"You have this youth in the gatehouse now?\" he asked the man-at-arms who had brought the news to his lodging.\n\n\"We have, Father. Two of your abbey sergeants are with him there, and if you please to give orders that they hold him in charge until tomorrow, the sheriff will certainly take him off your hands on the graver count. Would it please you come and examine him for yourself on the matter of the horse? If you see fit, there could be charges of assault against your grooms, a serious matter even without the theft.\"\n\nPrior Robert was not immune to human curiosity, and was not adverse to taking a look at this youthful demon who had poisoned his own stepfather and led the sheriff's men a dance over half the shire. \"I will come,\" he said. \"The church must not turn its back upon the sinner, but only deplore the sin.\"\n\nIn the porter's room at the gatehouse the boy sat stolidly on a bench opposite the welcome fire, hunched defensively against the world, but looking far from cowed, for all his bruises and wariness. The abbey sergeants and the sheriff's patrol circled him with brooding eyes and hectoring questions, which he answered only when he chose to do so, and then briefly. Several of them were soiled and mud-stained from the hunt, one or two had scratches and bruises of their own to show. The boy's bright eyes flickered from one to another, and it even seemed that his lips twitched with the effort to suppress a smile when he contemplated the one who had gone head over heels in the meadows near Cound. They had stripped his borrowed habit from him and restored it to the porter's care; the boy showed now slender and light-haired, smooth and fair of skin, with ingenuous-seeming hazel eyes. Prior Robert was somewhat taken aback by his youth and comeliness; truly the devil can assume fair shapes!\n\n\"So young and marred!\" he said aloud. The boy was not meant to hear that, it was uttered in the doorway as Robert entered, but at fourteen the hearing is keen. \"So, boy,\" said the prior, drawing near, \"you are the troubler of our peace. You have much upon your conscience, and I fear it is even late to pray that you may have time to amend. I shall so pray. You know, for you are old enough to know, that murder is mortal sin.\"\n\nThe boy looked him in the eye, and said with emphatic composure: \"I am not a murderer.\"\n\n\"Oh, child, is it now of any avail to deny what is known? You might as well say that you did not steal a horse from our barn this morning, when four of our servants and many other people saw the act committed.\"\n\n\"I did not steal Rufus,\" the boy retorted promptly and firmly. \"He is mine. He was my stepfather's property, and I am my stepfather's heir, for his agreement with the abbey has never been ratified, and the will that made me his heir is sound as gold. What belongs to me how could I steal? From whom?\"\n\n\"Wretched child,\" protested the prior, bristling at such bold defiance, and even more at a dawning suspicion that this imp, in spite of his dire situation, was daring to enjoy himself, \"think what you say! You should rather be repenting while you have time. Have you not yet realised that the murderer cannot live to inherit from his victim?\"\n\n\"I have said, and say again, I am not a murderer. I deny, on my soul, on the altar, on whatever you wish, that ever I did my stepfather harm. Therefore Rufus is mine. Or when the will is proven, and my overlord gives his consent as he promised, Rufus and Mallilie and all will be mine. I have committed no crime, and nothing you can do or say can make me admit to any. And nothing you can do,\" he added, his eyes suddenly flashing, \"can ever make me guilty of any.\"\n\n\"You waste your goodwill, Father Prior,\" growled the sheriff's sergeant, \"he's an obdurate young wretch meant for the gallows, and his come-uppance will be short.\" But under Robert's august eye he refrained from clouting the impudent brat round the ears, as otherwise he might well have done. \"Think no more of him, but let your servants clap him into safe hold in your cell here, and put him out of your mind as worth no more pains. The law will take care of him.\"\n\n\"See that he has food,\" said Robert, not altogether without compassion, and remembering that this child had been in the saddle and in hiding all the day, \"and let his bed be hard, but dry and warm enough. And should he relent and ask\u2026 Boy, listen to me, and give a thought to your soul's welfare. Will you have one of the brothers come and reason and pray with you before you sleep?\"\n\nThe boy looked up with a sudden sparkle in his eye that might have been penitent hope, but looked more like mischief, and said with deceptive meekness: \"Yes, and gratefully, if you could be so kind as to send for Brother Cadfael.\" It was time, after all, to take thought for his own situation, he had surely done enough now.\n\nHe expected the name to raise a frown, and so it did, but Robert had offered a grace, and could not now withdraw it or set conditions upon it. With dignity he turned to the porter, who hovered at the door. \"Ask Brother Cadfael to come here to us at once. You may tell him it is to give counsel and guidance to a prisoner.\"\n\nThe porter departed. It was almost the hour for retirement, and most of the brothers would certainly be in the warming-room, but Cadfael was not there, nor was Brother Mark. The porter found them in the workshop in the garden, not even compounding mysteries, either, but sitting somewhat glumly, talking in low and anxious tones. The news of the capture had not yet gone round; by day it would have been known everywhere within minutes. It was common knowledge, of course, how the sheriff's men had spent their day, but it was not yet common knowledge with what an achievement they had crowned it.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, you're wanted at the gatehouse,\" announced the porter, leaning in at the doorway. And as Cadfael looked up at him in surprise: \"There's a young fellow there asks for you as his spiritual adviser, though if you want my view, he's very much in command of his own spirit, and has let Prior Robert know it, too. A company of the sheriff's men rode in towards the end of Compline with a prisoner. Yes, they've taken young Gurney at last.\"\n\nSo that was how it had ended, after all Mark's efforts and prayers, after all his own ineffective reasonings and seekings and faith. Cadfael got up in grieving haste. \"I'll come to him. With all my heart I'll come. Now we have the whole battle on our hands, and little time left. The poor lad! But why have they not taken him straight into the town?\" Though of that one small mercy he was glad, seeing he himself was confined within the abbey walls, and only this odd chance provided him with a brief meeting.\n\n\"Why, the only thing they can charge him with, and nobody can question, is stealing the horse he rode off on this morning, and that was from our premises and our care, the abbey court has rights in it. In the morn they'll fetch him away on the count of murder.\"\n\nBrother Mark fell in at their heels and followed to the gatehouse, altogether cast down and out of comfort, unable to find a hopeful word to say. He felt in his heart that that was sin, the sin of despair; not despair for himself, but despair of truth and justice and right, and the future of wretched mankind. Nobody had bidden him attend, but he went, all the same, a soul committed to a cause about which, in fact, he knew very little, except the youth of the protagonist, and the absolute nature of Cadfael's faith in him, and that was enough.\n\nCadfael entered the porter's room with a heavy heart but not in despair; it was a luxury he could not afford. All eyes turned upon him, understandably, since he entered upon a heavy silence. Robert had abandoned his kindly meant but patronising exhortations, and the men of law had given up the attempt to get any admissions out of their captive, and were content to see him safely under lock and key, and get to their beds in the castle. A ring of large, well-equipped men on guard round a willowy lad in country homespun, bareheaded and cloakless on a frosty night, who sat braced and neat and alert on a bench by the wall, pleasantly flushed now from the fire, and looking, incredibly, almost complacent. His eyes met Brother Cadfael's eyes, and danced; clear, dark-fringed, greenish eyes. His hair was light brown, like seasoned oak. He was lightly built but tall for his years. He was tired, sleepy, bruised and dirty, and behind the wary eyes and solemn face he was undoubtedly laughing.\n\nBrother Cadfael looked long, and understood much, enough at that moment to have no great worries about what as yet he did not understand. He looked round the attentive circle, looked last and longest at Prior Robert.\n\n\"Father Prior, I am grateful that you sent for me, and I welcome the duty laid on me, to do what may be done for the prisoner. But I must tell you that these gentlemen are in some error. I cast no doubt on what they may have to report of how this boy was taken, but I do advise them to make enquiry how and where he spent this morning's hours, when he is said to have escaped from the abbey barn on the horse belonging to Mistress Bonel. Gentlemen,\" he informed the sheriff's bewildered patrol very gravely, \"this is not Edwin Gurney you have captured, but his nephew, Edwy Bellecote.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The abbey prison was two little cells attached to the rear of the gatehouse, very clean, furnished with benchbeds no worse than the novices endured, and very rarely occupied. The summer period of Saint Peter's fair was the chief populator of the cells, since it could be relied upon to provide two happy drunken servants or lay brothers nightly, who slept off their excesses and accepted their modest fines and penances without rancour, thinking the game well worth the candle. From time to time some more serious disturbance might cast up an inmate, some ill-balanced brother who nursed a cloistered hate long enough to attempt violence, or a lay servant who stole, or a novice who offended too grossly against the imposed code. The abbey court was not a busy one.\n\nIn one of the two cells Brother Cadfael and Edwy sat side by side, warmly and companionably. There was a grille in the door, but it was most improbable that anyone was paying attention to anything that could be heard through it. The brother who held the keys was sleepy, and in any case indifferent to the cause that had brought him a prisoner. The difficulty would probably be to batter loudly enough to wake him when Cadfael wanted to leave.\n\n\"It wasn't so hard,\" said Edwy, sitting back with a grateful sigh after demolishing the bowl of porridge a tolerant cook had provided him, \"there's a cousin of father's lives along the riverside, just beyond your property of the Gaye, he has an orchard there, and a shed for the donkey and cart, big enough to hide Rufus. His boy brought word into the town to us, and I took father's horse and came out to meet Edwin there. Nobody was looking for a bony old piebald like our Japhet, I never got a second glance as I crossed the bridge, and I didn't hurry. Alys came with me pillion, and kept watch in case they got close. Then we changed clothes and horses, and Edwin made off towards\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't tell me!\" said Cadfael quickly.\n\n\"No, you can truly say you don't know. Plainly not the way I went. They were slow sighting me,\" said Edwy scornfully, \"even with Alys helping them. But once they had me in view it was a matter of how long I could keep them busy, to give him time to get well away. I could have taken them still further, but Rufus was tiring, so I let them have me. I had to, in the end, it kept them happy several more hours, and they sent one man ahead to call off the hunt. Edwin's had a clear run. Now what do you think they'll do with me?\"\n\n\"If you hadn't already been in abbey charge, and the prior by, at that,\" said Cadfael frankly, \"they'd have had the hide off you for leading them such a dance and making such fools of them. I wouldn't say Prior Robert himself wouldn't have liked to do as much, but dignity forbids, and authority forbids letting the secular arm skin you on his behalf. Though I fancy,\" he said with sympathy, viewing the blue bruises that were beginning to show on Edwy's jaw and cheekbone, \"they've already paid you part of your dues.\"\n\nThe boy shrugged disdainfully. \"I can't complain. And it wasn't all one way. You should have seen the sergeant flop belly-down into the bog\u2026 and heard him when he got up. It was good sport, and we got Edwin away. And I've never had such a horse under me before, it was well worth it. But now what's to happen? They can't accuse me of murder, or of stealing Rufus, or even the gown, because I was never near the barn this morning, and there are plenty of witnesses to where I was, about the shop and the yard.\"\n\n\"I doubt if you've broken any law,\" agreed Cadfael, \"but you have made the law look very foolish, and no man in authority and office enjoys that. They could well keep you in close hold in the castle for a while, for helping a wanted man to escape. They may even threaten you in the hope of fetching Edwin back to get you out of trouble.\"\n\nEdwy shook his head vigorously. \"He need take no notice of that, he knows in the end there's nothing criminal they can lay against me. And I can sit out threats better than he. He loses his temper. He's getting better, but he has far to go yet.\" Was he as buoyant about his prospects as he made out? Cadfael could not be quite sure, but certainly this elder of the pair had turned his four months seniority into a solid advantage, perhaps by reason of feeling responsible for his improbable uncle from the cradle. \"I can keep my mouth shut and wait,\" said Edwy serenely.\n\n\"Well, since Prior Robert has so firmly demanded that the sheriff come in person tomorrow to remove you,\" sighed Cadfael, \"I will at least make sure of being present, and try what can be got for you. The prior has given me a spiritual charge, and I'll stand fast on it. And now you'd better get your rest. I am supposed to be here to exhort you to an amended life, but to tell the truth, boy, I find your life no more in need of amendment than mine, and I think it would be presumption in me to meddle. But if you'll join your voice to mine in the night prayers, I think God may be listening.\"\n\n\"Willingly,\" said Edwy blithely, and plumped to his knees like a cheerful child, with reverently folded hands and closed eyes. In the middle of the prayers before sleeping his lips fluttered in a brief smile; perhaps he was remembering the extremely secular language of the sergeant rising dripping from the bog.\n\nCadfael was up before Prime, alert in case the prisoner's escort should come early. Prior Robert had been extremely angry at last night's comedy, but grasped readily at the plain fact that it gave him full justification for demanding that the sheriff should at once relieve him of an offender who had turned out to be no concern of his at all. This was not the boy who had taken away a Benedictine habit and a horse in Benedictine care, he was merely the mischievous brat who had worn the one and ridden the other to the ludicrous discomfiture of several gullible law officers. They could have him, and welcome; but the prior considered that it was due to his dignity\u2014in this mood fully abbatial\u2014that the senior officer then in charge, sheriff or deputy, should come in person to make amends for the inconvenience to which the abbey had been subjected, and remove the troublesome element. Robert wanted a public demonstration that henceforth all responsibility lay with the secular arm, and none within his sacred walls.\n\nBrother Mark hovered close at Cadfael's elbow as the escort rode in, about half past eight in the morning, before the second Mass. Four mounted men-at-arms, and a spruce, dark, lightly built young nobleman on a tall, gaunt and self-willed horse, dappled from cream to almost black. Mark heard Brother Cadfael heave a great, grateful sigh at the sight of him, and felt his own heart rise hopefully at the omen.\n\n\"The sheriff must have gone south to keep the feast with the king,\" said Cadfael with immense satisfaction. \"God is looking our way at last. That is not Gilbert Prestcote, but his deputy, Hugh Beringar of Maesbury.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said Beringar briskly, a quarter of an hour later, \"I have placated the prior, promised him deliverance from the presence of this desperate bravo, sent him off to Mass and chapter in tolerable content, and retrieved you, my friend, from having to accompany him, on the grounds that you have questions to answer.\" He closed the door of the room in the gatehouse from which all his men-at-arms had been dismissed to wait his pleasure, and came and sat down opposite Cadfael at the table. \"And so you have, though not, quite as he supposes. So now, before we go and pick this small crab out of his shell, tell me everything you know about this curious business. I know you must know more of it than any other man, however confidently my sergeant sets out his case. Such a break in the monastic monotony could never occur, and you not get wind of it and be there in the thick of it. Tell me everything.\"\n\nAnd now that it was Beringar in the seat of authority, while Prestcote attended dutifully at his sovereign lord's festal table, Cadfael saw no reason for reserve, at least so far as his own part was concerned. And all, or virtually all, was what he told.\n\n\"He came to you, and you hid him,\" mused Beringar.\n\n\"I did. So I would again, in the same circumstances.\"\n\n\"Cadfael, you must know as well as I the strength of the case against this boy. Who else has anything to gain? Yet I know you, and where you have doubts, I shall certainly not be without them.\"\n\n\"I have no doubts,\" said Cadfael firmly. \"The boy is innocent even of the thought of murder. And poison is so far out of his scope, he never would or could conceive the idea. I tested them both, when they came, and they neither of them even knew how the man had died, they believed me when I said he had been cut down in his blood. I stuck the means of murder under the child's nose, and he never paled. All it meant to him was a mild memory of sniffing the same sharp smell while Brother Rhys was having his shoulders rubbed in the infirmary.\"\n\n\"I take your word for all that,\" said Beringar, \"and it is good evidence, but it is not in itself proof. How if we should both of us underestimate the cunning of the young, simply because they are young?\"\n\n\"True,\" agreed Cadfael with a wry grin, \"you are none so old yourself, and of your cunning, as I know, the limit has not yet been found. But trust me, these two are not of the same make as you. I have known them, you have not; agreed? I have my duty to do, according to such lights as I see. So have you your duty to do, according to your office and commission. I don't quarrel with that. But at this moment, Hugh, I don't know and have no means of guessing where Edwin Gurney is, or I might well urge him to give himself up to you and rely on your integrity. You will not need me to tell you that this loyal nephew of his, who has taken some sharp knocks for him, does know where he is, or at least knows where he set out to go. You may ask him, but of course he won't tell you. Neither for your style of questioning nor Prestcote's.\"\n\nHugh drummed his fingers on the table, and pondered in silence for a moment. \"Cadfael, I must tell you I shall pursue the hunt for the boy to the limit, and not spare any tricks in the doing, so look to your own movements.\"\n\n\"That's fair dealing,\" said Cadfael simply. \"You and I have been rivals in trickery before, and ended as allies. But as for my movements, you'll find them monstrously dull. Did Prior Robert not tell you? I'm confined within the abbey walls, I may not go beyond.\"\n\nHugh's agile black brows shot up to meet his hair. \"Good God, for what cloistered crime?\" His eyes danced. \"What have you been about, to incur such a ban?\"\n\n\"I spent too long in talk with the widow, and a stretched ear gathered that we had known each other very well, years ago, when we were young.\" That was one thing he had not thought necessary to tell, but there was no reason to withhold it from Hugh. \"You asked me, once, how it came I had never married, and I told you I once had some idea of the kind, before I went to the Holy Land.\"\n\n\"I do remember! You even mentioned a name. By now, you said, she must have children and grandchildren\u2026 Is it really so, Cadfael? This lady is your Richildis?\"\n\n\"This lady,\" said Cadfael with emphasis, \"is indeed Richildis, but mine she is not. Two husbands ago I had a passing claim on her, and that's all.\"\n\n\"I must see her! The charmer who caught your eye must be worth cultivating. If you were any other man I should say this greatly weakens the force of your championship of her son, but knowing you, I think any scamp of his age in trouble would have you by the nose. I will see her, however, she may need advice or help, for it seems there's a legal tangle there that will take some unravelling.\"\n\n\"There's another thing you can do, that may help to prove to you what I can only urge. I told you the boy says he threw into the river an inlaid wooden box, quite small.\" Cadfael described it minutely. \"If that could come to light, it would greatly strengthen his story, which I, for one, believe. I cannot go out and contact the fishermen and watermen of Severn, and ask them to keep watch for such a small thing in the places they'll know of, where things afloat do wash up. But you can, Hugh. You can have it announced in Shrewsbury and downstream. It's worth the attempt.\"\n\n\"That I'll certainly do,\" said Beringar readily. \"There's a man whose grim business it is, when some poor soul drowns in Severn, to know exactly where the body will come ashore. Whether small things follow the same eddies is more than I know, but he'll know. I'll have him take this hunt in charge. And now, if we've said all, we'd better go and see this twin imp of yours. Lucky for him you knew him, they'd hardly have believed it if he'd told them himself that he was the wrong boy. Are they really so like?\"\n\n\"No, no more than a general family look about them if you know them, or see them side by side. But apart, a man might be in doubt, unless he did know them well. And your men were after the rider of that horse, and sure who it must be. Come and see!\"\n\nHe was still in doubt, as they went together to the cell where Edwy waited, by this time in some trepidation, exactly what Beringar meant to do with his prisoner, though he had no fear that any harm would come to the boy. Whatever Hugh might think about Edwin's guilt or innocence, he was not the man to lean too heavily upon Edwy's staunch solidarity with his kinsman.\n\n\"Come forth, Edwy, into the daylight,\" said Beringar, holding the cell door wide, \"and let me look at you. I want to be in no doubt which of you I have on my hands, the next time you change places.\" And when Edwy obediently rose and stepped warily out into the court, after one nervous side-glance to make sure Brother Cadfael was there, the deputy sheriff took him by the chin and raised his face gently enough, and studied it attentively. The bruises were purple this morning, but the hazel eyes were bright. \"I'll know you again,\" said Hugh confidently. \"Now, young sir! You have cost us a great deal of time and trouble, but I don't propose to waste even more by taking it out of your skin. I'll ask you but once: Where is Edwin Gurney?\"\n\nThe phrasing of the question and the cut of the dark face left in doubt what was to happen if he got no answer; in spite of the mild tone, the potentialities were infinite. Edwy moistened dry lips, and said in the most conciliatory and respectful tone Cadfael had heard from him: \"Sir, Edwin is my kin and my friend, and if I had been willing to tell where he is, I should not have gone to such pains to help him get there. I think you must see that I can't and won't betray him.\"\n\nBeringar looked at Brother Cadfael, and kept his face grave but for the sparkle in his eye. \"Well, Edwy, I expected no other, to tell the truth. Nobody does ill to keep faith. But I want you where I may lay hand on you whenever I need to, and be sure you are not stravaiging off on another wild rescue.\"\n\nEdwy foresaw a cell in Shrewsbury castle, and stiffened a stoical face to meet the worst.\n\n\"Give me your parole not to leave your father's house and shop,\" said Beringar, \"until I give you your freedom, and you may go home. Why should we feed you at public expense over the Christmas feast, when I fancy your word, once given, will be your bond? What do you say?\"\n\n\"Oh, I do give you my word!\" gasped Edwy, startled and radiant with relief. \"I won't leave the yard until you give me leave. And I thank you!\"\n\n\"Good! And I take your word, as you may take mine. My task, Edwy, is not to convict your uncle, or any man, of murder at all costs, it is to discover truly who did commit murder, and that I mean to do. Now come, I'll take you home myself, a word with your parents may not come amiss.\"\n\nThey were gone before High Mass at ten, Beringar with Edwy pillion behind him, the raw-boned dapple being capable of carrying double his master's light weight, the men-at-arms of the escort two by two behind. Only in the middle of Mass, when his mind should have been on higher things, did Cadfael recall vexedly two more concessions he might have gained if he had thought of them in time. Martin Bellecote, for certain, was now without a horse, and the abbey was willing to part with Rufus, while Richildis would surely be glad to have him settled with her son-in-law, and no longer be beholden to the abbey for his keep. It would probably have tickled Beringar's humour to restore the carpenter a horse, on the pretext of relieving the abbey of an incubus. But the other thing was more important. He had meant to go searching the shores of the pond for the poison vial the previous day, and instead had found himself confined within the walls. Why had he not remembered to ask Beringar to follow up that tenuous but important line of inquiry, while he was asking him to have the watermen watch for the pear-wood reliquary? Now it was too late, and he could not follow Beringar into the town to remedy the omission. Vexed with himself, he even snapped at Brother Mark, when that devoted young man questioned him about the outcome of the morning's events. Undeterred, Mark followed him, after dinner, to his sanctuary in the garden.\n\n\"I am an old fool,\" said Cadfael, emerging from his depression, \"and have lost a fine chance of getting my work done for me, in places where I can no longer go myself. But that's no fault of yours, and I'm sorry I took it out on you.\"\n\n\"If it's something you want done outside the walls,\" said Mark reasonably, \"why should I be of less use today than I was yesterday?\"\n\n\"True, but I've involved you enough already. And if I had had good sense I could have got the law to do it, which would have been far better. Though this is not at all dangerous or blameworthy,\" he reminded himself, taking heart, \"it is only to search once again for a bottle\u2026\"\n\n\"Last time,\" said Mark thoughtfully, \"we were looking for something we hoped would not be a bottle. Pity we did not find it.\"\n\n\"True, but this time it should be a bottle, if the omen of Beringar's coming instead of Prestcote means anything. And I'll tell you where.\" And so he did, pointing the significance of a window open to the south, even in light frost, on a bright day.\n\n\"I'm gone,\" said Brother Mark. \"And you may sleep the noon away with a good conscience. My eyes are younger than yours.\"\n\n\"Mind, take a napkin, and if you find it, wrap it loosely, and touch only as you must. I need to see how the oil has run and dried.\"\n\nIt was when the afternoon light was dimming that Brother Mark came back. There was half an hour yet before Vespers, but from this time on any search for a small thing in a narrow slope of grass would have been a blind and hopeless quest. Winter days begin so late and end so early, like the dwindling span of life past three score.\n\nCadfael had taken Brother Mark at his word, and dozed the afternoon away. There was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do here, no work needing his efforts. But suddenly he started out of a doze, and there was Brother Mark, a meagre but erect and austere figure, standing over him with a benign smile on the ageless, priestly face Cadfael had seen in him ever since his scared, resentful, childish entry within these walls. The voice, soft, significant, delighted, rolled the years back; he was still eighteen, and a young eighteen at that.\n\n\"Wake up! I have something for you!\"\n\nLike a child coming on a father's birthday: \"Look! I made it for you myself!\"\n\nThe carefully folded white napkin was lowered gently into Cadfael's lap. Brother Mark delicately turned back the folds, and exposed the contents with a gesture of such shy triumph that the analogy was complete. There it lay to be seen, a small, slightly misshapen vial of greenish glass, coloured somewhat differently all down one side, where yellowish brown coated the green, from a residue of liquid that still moved very sluggishly within.\n\n\"Light me that lamp!\" said Cadfael, gathering the napkin in both hands to raise the prize nearer his eyes. Brother Mark laboured industriously with flint and tinder, and struck a spark into the wick of the little oil-lamp in its clay saucer, but the conflict of light, within and without, hardly bettered the view. There was a stopper made of a small plug of wood wrapped in a twist of wool cloth. Cadfael sniffed eagerly at the cloth on the side that was coloured brown. The odour was there, faint but unmistakable, his nose knew it well. Frost had dulled but still retained it. There was a long trail of thin, crusted oil, long dried, down the outside of the vial.\n\n\"Is it right? Have I brought you what you wanted?\" Brother Mark hovered, pleased and anxious.\n\n\"Lad, you have indeed! This little thing carried death in it, and, see, it can be hidden within a man's hand. It lay thus, on its side, as you found it? Where the residue has gathered and dried the length of the vial within? And without, too\u2026 It was stoppered and thrust out of sight in haste, surely about someone's person, and if he has not the mark of it somewhere about him still, this long ooze of oil from the leaking neck is a great deceiver. Now sit down here and tell me where and how you found it, for much depends on that. And can you find the exact spot again, without fail?\"\n\n\"I can, for I marked it.\" Flushed with pleasure at having pleased, Brother Mark sat down, leaning eagerly against Cadfael's sleeve. \"You know the houses there have a strip of garden going down almost to the water, there is only a narrow footpath along the edge of the pond below. I did not quite like to invent a reason for entering the gardens, and besides, they are narrow and steep. It would not be difficult to throw something of any weight from the house right to the edge of the water, and beyond\u2014even for a woman, or a man in a hurry. So I went first along the path, the whole stretch of it that falls within reach from the kitchen window, the one you said was open that day. But it was not there I found it.\"\n\n\"It was not?\"\n\n\"No, but beyond. There's a fringe of ice round the edge of the pond now, but the current from the millrace keeps all the middle clear. I found the bottle on my way back, after I'd searched all the grass and bushes there, and thought to look on the other side of the path, along the rim of the water. And it was there, on its side half under the ice, held fast. I've driven a hazel twig into the ground opposite the place, and the hole I prised it from will say unless we have a thaw. I think the bottle was thrown clear of whatever ice there may have been then, but not far enough out to be taken away by the mill current, and because the stopper was in it, it floated, and drifted back to be caught in the next frost. But, Cadfael, it couldn't have been thrown from the kitchen window, it was too far along the path.\"\n\n\"You're sure of that? Then where? Is it the distance that seems too great?\"\n\n\"No, but the direction. It's much too far to the right, and there's a bank of bushes between. The ground lies wrong for it. If a man threw it from the kitchen window it would not go where I found it, it could not. But from the window of the other room it very well could. Do you remember, Cadfael, was that window unshuttered, too? The room where they were dining?\"\n\nCadfael thought back to the scene within the house, when Richildis met him and ushered him desperately through to the bedchamber, past the disordered table laid with three trenchers. \"It was, it was!\u2014the shutter was set open, for the midday sun came in there.\" From that room Edwin had rushed in indignant offence, and out through the kitchen, where he was thought to have committed his crime and rid himself of the evidence later. But not for a moment had he been alone in that inner room; only in his precipitate flight had he been out of sight of all the household.\n\n\"You see, Mark, what this means? From what you say, this vial was either thrown from the window of the inner room, or else someone walked along that path and threw it into the pond. And neither of those things could Edwin have done. He might, as they suppose, have halted for a moment in the kitchen, but he certainly did not go along the path by the pond before making for the bridge, or Aelfric would have overtaken him. No, he would have been ahead of him, or met him at the gate! Nor did he have the opportunity, at any time afterwards, to dispose of the vial there. He hid with his bitter mood until Edwy found him, and from then on they were both in hiding until they came to me. This small thing, Mark, is proof that Edwin is as clear of guilt as you or I.\"\n\n\"But it does not prove who the guilty man is,\" said Mark.\n\n\"It does not. But if the bottle was indeed thrown from the window of that inner room, then it was done long after the death, for I doubt if anyone was alone in there for a moment until after the sergeant had come and gone. And if the one responsible carried this somewhere on him all that time, as ill-stoppered as it is now, then the marks of it will be on him. He might try to scrub the stain away, but it will not be easily removed. And who can afford to discard cotte or gown? No, the signs will be there to be found.\"\n\n\"But what if it was someone else, not of the household, who did the deed, and flung the vial from the pathway? Once you did wonder, about the cook and the scullions\u2026\n\n\"I won't say it's impossible. But is it likely? From the path a man could make very sure the vial went into the mid-current and the deep of the pool, and even if it did not sink\u2014though he would have had time in that case to ensure that it did!\u2014it would be carried away back to the brook and the river. But you see it fell short, and lay for us to find.\"\n\n\"What must we do now?\" asked Brother Mark, roused and ready.\n\n\"We must go to Vespers, my son, or we shall be late. And tomorrow we must get you, and this witness with you, to Hugh Beringar in Shrewsbury.\"\n\nThe lay contingent at Vespers was always thin, but never quite absent. That evening Martin Bellecote had come down out of the town to give a word of hearty thanks first to God, and then to Cadfael, for his son's safe return. After the service ended he waited in the cloister for the brothers to emerge, and came to meet Cadfael at the south door.\n\n\"Brother, it's to you we owe it that the lad's home again, if it is with a flea in his ear, and not lying in some den in the castle for his pains.\"\n\n\"Not to me, for I could not free him. It was Hugh Beringar who saw fit to send him home. And take my word, in all that may happen you can rely on Beringar for a decent, fair-minded man who'll not tolerate injustice. In any encounter with him, tell him the truth.\"\n\nBellecote smiled, but wryly. \"Truth, but not all the truth, even to him\u2014though he showed generous indeed to my boy, I grant you. But until the other one's as safe as Edwy, I keep my own counsel on where he is. But to you, brother\u2026\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cadfael quickly, \"not to me, either though soon, I hope, there may be no reason left for hiding him. But that time's not yet. Is all well, then, with your own family? And Edwy none the worse?\"\n\n\"Never a whit the worse. Without a bruise or two he'd have valued his adventure less. It was all his own devising. But it's caused him to draw in his horns for a while. I never knew him so biddable before, and that's no bad thing. He's working with more zeal than he commonly shows. Not that we're overburdened with work, this close to the feast, but wanting Edwin, and now Meurig's gone to keep Christmas with his kin, I've enough on hand to keep my scamp busy.\"\n\n\"So Meurig goes to his own people, does he?\"\n\n\"Regularly for Christmas and Easter. He has cousins and an uncle or so up in the borders. He'll be back before the year ends. He sets store by his own folk, does Meurig.\"\n\nYes, so he had said on the day Cadfael first encountered him. \"My kinship is my mother's kinship, I go with my own. My father was not a Welshman.\" Naturally he would want to go home for the feast.\n\n\"May we all be at peace for the Lord's nativity!\" said Cadfael, with heartier optimism since the discovery of the small witness now lying on a shelf in his workshop.\n\n\"Amen to that, brother! And I and my household thank you for your stout aid, and if ever you need ours, you have but to say.\"\n\nMartin Bellecote went back to his shop with duty done, and Brother Cadfael and Brother Mark went to supper with duty still to be done.\n\n\"I'll go early into the town,\" said Brother Mark, earnestly whispering in Cadfael's ear in a corner of the chapter-house, during some very lame readings in the Latin by Brother Francis, after the meal. \"I'll absent myself from Prime, what does it matter if I incur penance?\"\n\n\"You will not,\" Brother Cadfael whispered back firmly. \"You'll wait until after dinner, when you are freed to your own work, as this will truly be legitimate work for you, the best you could be about. I will not have you flout any part of the rule.\"\n\n\"As you would not dream of doing, of course!\" breathed Mark, and his plain, diffident face brightened beautifully into a grin he might have borrowed from Edwin or Edwy.\n\n\"For no reason but matter of life and death. And owning my fault! And you are not me, and should not be copying my sins. It will be all the same, after dinner or before,\" he said reassuringly. \"You'll ask for Hugh Beringar\u2014no one else, mind, I would not be sure of any other as I am of him. Take him and show him where you found the vial, and I think Edwin's family will soon be able to call him home again.\"\n\nTheir planning was largely vain. The next morning's chapter undid such arrangements as they had made, and changed everything.\n\nBrother Richard the sub-prior rose, before the minor matters of business were dealt with, to say that he had an item of some urgency, for which he begged the prior's attention.\n\n\"Brother Cellarer has received a messenger from our sheepfold near Rhydycroesau, by Oswestry. Lay Brother Barnabas is fallen ill with a bad chest, and is in fever, and Brother Simon is left to take care of all the flock there alone. But more than this, he is doubtful of his skill to tend the sick brother successfully, and asks, if it's possible, that someone of more knowledge should come to help him for a while.\"\n\n\"I have always thought,\" said Prior Robert, frowning, \"that we should have more than two men there. We run two hundred sheep on those hills, and it is a remote place. But how did Brother Simon manage to send word, since he is the only able man left there?\"\n\n\"Why, he took advantage of the fortunate circumstances that our steward is now in charge at the manor of Mallilie. It seems it is only a few miles from Rhydycroesau. Brother Simon rode there and asked that word be sent, and a groom was despatched at once. No time has been lost, if we can send a helper today.\"\n\nThe mention of Mallilie had caused the prior to prick up his ears. It had also made Cadfael start out of his own preoccupations, since this so clearly had a bearing on the very problems he was pondering. So Mallilie was but a few short miles from the abbey sheepfolds near Oswestry! He had never stopped to consider that the exact location of the manor might have any significance, and this abrupt enlightenment started a number of mental hares out of their forms in bewildering flight.\n\n\"Clearly we must do so,\" said Robert, and almost visibly reminded himself that the errand could with propriety be laid upon the abbey's most skilled herbalist and apothecary, which would effectively remove him not only from all contact with the Widow Bonel, but also from his meddlesome insistence on probing the unfortunate events which had made her a widow. The prior turned his silver, stately head and looked directly at Brother Cadfael, something he normally preferred not to do. The same considerations had dawned upon Cadfael, with the same pleasing effect. If I had devised this myself, he was thinking, it could not have been more apposite. Now young Mark can leave the errand to me, and remain here blameless.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, it would seem this is a duty for you, who are accomplished in medicines. Can you at once put together all such preparations as may be needed for our sick brother?\"\n\n\"I can and will, Father,\" said Cadfael, so heartily that for a moment Prior Robert recoiled into doubt of his own wisdom and penetration. Why should the man be so happy at the prospect of a long winter ride, and hard work being both doctor and shepherd at the end of it? When he had been so assiduously poking his nose into the affairs of the Bonel household here? But the distance remained a guarantee; from Rhydycroesau he would be in no position to meddle further.\n\n\"I trust it may not be for very long. We shall say prayers for Brother Barnabas, that he may rally and thrive. You can again send word by the grooms at Mallilie, should there be need. And is your novice Mark well grounded, enough for minor ailments in your absence? In cases of serious illness we may call on the physician.\"\n\n\"Brother Mark is devoted and able,\" said Cadfael, with almost paternal pride, \"and can be trusted absolutely, for if he feels himself in need of better counsel he will say so with modesty. And he has a good supply of all those remedies that may most be needed at this season. We have taken pains to provide against an ill winter.\"\n\n\"That's very well. Then in view of the need, you may leave chapter and make ready. Take a good mule from the stables, and have food with you for the way, and make sure you're well provided for such an illness as Brother Barnabas seems to have contracted. If there is any case in the infirmary you feel you should visit before leaving, do so. Brother Mark shall be sent to you, you may have advice for him before you go.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael went out from the chapter-house and left them to their routine affairs. God is still looking our way, he thought, bustling blithely into his workshop and raking the shelves for all that he needed. Medicines for throat, chest, head, an unguent for rubbing into the chest, goose-grease and strong herbs. The rest was warmth and care and proper food. They had hens at Rhydycroesau, and their own good milch cow, fed through the winter. And last, a thing he need take only into Shrewsbury, the little green glass vial, still wrapped in its napkin.\n\nBrother Mark came with a rush and out of breath, sent from his Latin studies under Brother Paul. \"They say you're going away, and I'm to be custodian here. Oh, Cadfael, how shall I manage without you? And what of Hugh Beringar, and this proof we have for him?\"\n\n\"Leave that to me now,\" said Cadfael. \"To go to Rhydycroesau one must go through the town, I'll bear it to the castle myself. You pay attention only to what you've learned from me, for I know how well it's been learned, and I shall be here with you in spirit every moment. Imagine that you ask me, and you'll find the answer.\" He had a jar of unguent in one hand, he reached the other with absent affection and patted the young, smooth tonsure ringed by rough, thick, spiky straw-coloured hair. \"It's only for a short while, we'll have Brother Barnabas on his feet in no time. And listen, child dear, the manor of Mallilie, I find, is but a short way from where I shall be, and it seems to me that the answer to what we need to know may be there, and not here.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" said Brother Mark hopefully, forgetting his own anxieties.\n\n\"I do, and I have a thought\u2014no more than the gleam of an idea, that they loosed in me at chapter\u2026 Now make yourself useful! Go and bespeak me a good mule at the stables, and see all these things into the saddlebags for me. I have an errand to the infirmary before I leave.\"\n\nBrother Rhys was in his privileged place by the fire, hunched in his chair in a contented half-doze, but awake enough to open one eye pretty sharply at every movement and word around him. He was in the mood to welcome a visitor, and brightened into something approaching animation when Cadfael told him that he was bound for the north-west of the county, to the sheepfolds of Rhydycroesau.\n\n\"Your own countryside, brother! Shall I carry your greetings to the borderland? You'll still have kinsfolk there, surely, three generations of them.\"\n\n\"I have so!\" Brother Rhys bared toothless gums in a dreamy smile. \"If you should happen to meet with my cousin Cynfrith ap Rhys, or his brother Owain, give them my blessings. Ay, there's a mort of my people in those parts. Ask after my niece Angharad, my Sister Marared's girl\u2014my youngest sister, that is, the one who married Ifor ap Morgan. I doubt Ifor's dead before this, but if you should hear of him living, say I remember, and give him my good word. The girl ought to come and visit me, now her lad's working here in the town. I remember her as a little lass no higher than a daisy, and that pretty\u2026\"\n\n\"Angharad was the girl who went as maidservant in the house of Bonel of Mallilie?\" said Cadfael, gently prompting.\n\n\"She did, a pity it was! But they've been there many years now, the Saxons. You get used to foreigner families, in time. They never got further, though. Mallilie's nothing but a thorn stuck in the side of Cynllaith. Stuck far in\u2014nigh broken off, as some day it may be yet! It touches Saxon land barely at all, only by a claw\u2026\"\n\n\"Is that truth!\" said Cadfael. \"Then properly speaking Mallilie, for all it was held by an Englishman, and has been three generations now, is rightly within Wales?\"\n\n\"As Welsh as Snowdon,\" said Brother Rhys, harking back to catch once again a spark of his old patriotic fire. \"And all the neighbours Welsh, and most of the tenants. I was born just to the west of it, nearby the church of Llansilin, which is the centre of the commote of Cynllaith. Welsh land from the beginning of the world!\"\n\nWelsh land! That could not be changed, merely because a Bonel in William Rufus's reign had pushed his way in and got a hold on some acres of it, and maintained his grasp under the patronage of the earl of Chester ever since. Why did I never think, wondered Cadfael, to enquire earlier where this troublous manor lay? \"And Cynllaith has properly appointed Welsh judges? Competent to deal according to the code of Hywel Dda, not of Norman England?\"\n\n\"Surely it has! A sound commote court as there is in Wales! The Bonels in their time have pleaded boundary cases, and suchlike, by whichever law best suited their own purposes, Welsh or English, what matter, provided it brought them gain? But the people like their Welsh code best, and the witness of neighbours, the proper way to settle a dispute. The just way!\" said Brother Rhys righteously, and wagged his old head at Cadfael. \"What's all this of law, brother? Are you thinking of bringing suit yourself?\" And he fell into a moist, pink-gummed giggling at the thought.\n\n\"Not I,\" said Cadfael, rising, \"but I fancy one that I know of may be thinking of it.\"\n\nHe went out very thoughtfully, and in the great court the low winter sun came out suddenly and flashed in his eyes, dazzling him for the second time. Paradoxically, in this momentary blindness he could see his way clearly at last."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "He would have liked to turn aside from the Wyle to have a word with Martin Bellecote and see for himself that the family were not being hounded, but he did not do it, partly because he had a more urgent errand on his mind, partly because he did not want to call attention to the house or the household. Hugh Beringar was one man, of independent mind and a strong attachment to justice, but the officers of the sheriffry of Shropshire were a very different matter, looking for their lead rather to Gilbert Prestcote, understandably enough, since Prestcote was King Stephen's official representative in these parts; and Prestcote's justice would be sharper, shorter-sighted, content with a brisk and tidy ending. Prestcote might be away in Westminster, Beringar might be nominally in charge, but the sergeants and their men would still be proceeding on their usual summary course, making for the most obvious quarry. If there was a watch set on Bellecote's shop, Cadfael had no intention of giving it any provocation. If there was not, so much the better, Hugh's orders had prevailed.\n\nSo Cadfael paced demurely up the Wyle and past the Bellecote yard without a glance, and on through the town. His way to the north-west lay over the bridge that led towards Wales, but he passed that, too, and climbed the hill to the High Cross; from that point the road descended slightly, to mount again into the castle gatehouse.\n\nKing Stephen's garrison was in full possession since the summer siege, and the watch, though vigilant, was assured and easy. Cadfael lighted down at the approach, and led his mule up the causeway and into the shadow of the gate. The guard waited for him placidly.\n\n\"Goodmorrow, brother! What's your will?\"\n\n\"A word with Hugh Beringar of Maesbury,\" said Cadfael. \"Tell him Brother Cadfael, and I think he'll spare me a short while of his time.\"\n\n\"You're out of luck, brother, for the present while. Hugh Beringar is not here, and likely won't be till the light fails, for he's off on some search down the river with Madog of the Dead-boat.\" That was news that heartened Cadfael as suddenly as the news of Hugh's absence had disheartened and dismayed him. He might have done better, after all, to leave the vial with Brother Mark, who could have paid a second visit after the first one had missed its mark. Of all but Beringar here, Cadfael had his doubts, but now he was caught in a situation he should have foreseen. Hugh had lost no time in setting the hunt in motion after Edwin's reliquary, and better still, was pursuing it himself instead of leaving it to underlings. But long delay here to wait for him was impossible; Brother Barnabas lay ill, and Cadfael had undertaken to go and care for him, and the sooner he reached him the better. He pondered whether to entrust his precious evidence to another, or keep it until he could deliver it to Beringar in person. Edwin, after all, was somewhere at liberty yet, no immediate ill could befall him.\n\n\"If it's the matter of the poisoning you're here about,\" said the guard helpfully, \"speak a word to the sergeant who's left in charge here. I hear there's been strange goings-on down at the abbey. You'll be glad when you're left in quiet again, and the rascal taken. Step in, brother, and I'll tether your mule and send to let William Warden know you're here.\"\n\nWell, no harm, at any rate, in taking a look at the law's surrogate and judging accordingly. Cadfael waited in a stony anteroom within the gatehouse, and let the object of his visit lie hidden in his scrip until he made up his mind. But the first glimpse of the sergeant as he entered rendered it virtually certain that the vial would remain in hiding. The same officer who had first answered the prior's summons to Bonel's house, bearded, brawny, hawk-beaked, self-assured and impatient of caution once his nose had found an obvious trail. He knew Cadfael again just as promptly; large white teeth flashed in a scornful grin in the bushy beard.\n\n\"You again, brother? And still finding a dozen reasons why young Gurney must be blameless, when all that's wanting is a witness who stood by and watched him do the deed? Come to throw some more dust in our eyes, I suppose, while the guilty make off into Wales?\"\n\n\"I came,\" said Brother Cadfael, not strictly truthfully, \"to enquire whether anything had yet come to light, concerning what I reported to Hugh Beringar yesterday.\"\n\n\"Nothing has and nothing will. So it was you who set him off on this fool's errand down the river! I might have guessed it! A glib young rogue tells you a tall tale like that, and you swallow it, and infect your betters into the bargain! Wasteful nonsense! To spare men to row up and down Severn in the cold, after a reliquary that never was! You have much to answer for, brother.\"\n\n\"No doubt I have,\" agreed Cadfael equably. \"So have we all, even you. But to exert himself for truth and justice is Beringar's duty, and so it is yours and mine, and I do it as best I may, and forbear from snatching at what offers first and easiest, and shutting my eyes to everything else in order to be rid of the labour, and at ease again. Well, it seems I've troubled you for nothing. But let Hugh Beringar know that I was here asking for him.\"\n\nHe eyed the sergeant closely at that, and doubted whether even that message would be delivered. No, grave evidence that pointed the wrong way could not be left with this man, who was so sure of his rightness he might bend even circumstances and facts to match his opinions. No help for it, the vial would have to go on to Rhydycroesau and wait its time, when Brother Barnabas was restored, and back among his sheep.\n\n\"You mean well, brother,\" said William generously, \"but you are far out of your cloister in matters like these. Best leave them to those who have experience.\"\n\nCadfael took his leave without further protest, mounted his mule, and rode back through the town to the foot of the hill, where the street turning off to the right led him to the westward bridge. At least nothing was lost, and Beringar was following up the lead he had given. It was time now to keep his mind on the journey before him, and put aside the affairs of Richildis and her son until he had done his best for Brother Barnabas.\n\nThe road from Shrewsbury to Oswestry was one of the main highroads of the region, and fairly well maintained. The old people, the Romans, had laid it long ago when they ruled in Britain, and the same road ran south-eastward right to the city of London, where King Stephen was now preparing to keep Christmas among his lords, and Cardinal-bishop Alberic of Ostia was busy holding his legatine council for the reform of the church, to the probable discomfiture of Abbot Heribert. But here, riding in the opposite direction, the road ran straight and wide, only a little overgrown with grass here and there, and encroached upon by the wild verges, through fat farming country and woods to the town of Oswestry, a distance of no more than eighteen miles. Cadfael took it at a brisk but steady pace, to keep the mule content. Beyond the town it was but four miles to the sheepfolds. In the distance, as he rode due west in the dimming light, the hills of Wales rose blue and noble, the great rolling ridge of Berwyn melting into a faintly misted sky.\n\nHe came to the small, bare grange in a fold of the hills before dark. A low, solid wooden hut housed the brothers, and beyond lay the much larger byres and stables, where the sheep could be brought in from ice and snow, and beyond again, climbing the gentle slopes, the long, complex greystone walls of the field enclosures, where they grazed in this relatively mild beginning of winter, and were fed roots and grain if ever stubble and grass failed them. The hardiest were still out at liberty in the hills. Brother Simon's dog began to bark, pricking his ears to the neat hooves that hardly made a sound in the thin turf of the ride.\n\nCadfael lighted down at the door, and Simon came eagerly out to welcome him, a thin, wiry, dishevelled brother, some forty years old but still distrait as a child when anything went wrong with other than sheep. Sheep he knew as mothers know their babes, but Brother Barnabas's illness had utterly undone him. He clasped Cadfael's hands in his, and shook them and himself in his gratitude at no longer being alone with his patient.\n\n\"He has it hard, Cadfael, you hear the leaves of his heart rustling as he breathes, like a man's feet in the woods in autumn. I cannot break it with a sweat, I've tried\u2026\"\n\n\"We'll try again,\" said Cadfael comfortably, and went into the dark, timber-scented hut before him. Within it was blessedly warm and dry; wood is the best of armours against weather, where there's small fear of fire, as in this solitude there was none. A bare minimum of furnishing, yet enough; and within, in the inner room, Brother Barnabas lay in his bed neither asleep nor awake, only uneasily in between, rustling at every breath as Simon had said, his forehead hot and dry, his eyes half-open and vacant. A big, massive man, all muscle and bone, with reserves of fight in him that needed only a little guidance.\n\n\"You go look to whatever you should be doing,\" said Cadfael, unbuckling his scrip and opening it on the foot of the bed, \"and leave him to me.\"\n\n\"Is there anything you will need?\" asked Simon anxiously.\n\n\"A pan of water on the fire, out there, and a cloth, and a beaker ready, and that's all. If I want for more, I'll find it.\"\n\nBlessedly, he was taken at his word; Brother Simon had a childlike faith in all who practised peculiar mysteries. Cadfael worked upon Brother Barnabas without haste all the evening, by a single candle that Simon brought as the light died. A hot stone wrapped in Welsh flannel for the sick man's feet, a long and vigorous rub for chest and throat and ribs, down to the waist, with an ointment of goose-grease impregnated with mustard and other heat-giving herbs, and chest and throat then swathed in a strip of the same flannel, cool cloths on the dry forehead, and a hot draught of wine mulled with spices and borage and other febrifuge herbs. The potion went down patiently and steadily, with eased breathing and relaxing sinews. The patient slept fitfully and uneasily; but in the middle of the night the sweat broke like a storm of rain, drenching the bed. The two attentive nurses lifted the patient, when the worst was past, drew the blanket from under him and laid a fresh one, rolled him close in another, and covered him warmly again.\n\n\"Go and sleep,\" said Cadfael, content, \"for he does very well. By dawn he'll be wake and hungry.\"\n\nIn that he was out by some hours, for Brother Barnabas, once fallen into a deep and troubled sleep, slept until almost noon the following day, when he awoke clear-eyed and with quiet breathing, but weak as a new lamb.\n\n\"Never trouble for that,\" said Cadfael cheerfully. \"Even if you were on your feet, we should hardly let you out of here for a couple of days, or longer. You have time in plenty, enjoy being idle. Two of us are enough to look after your flock for you.\"\n\nBrother Barnabas, again at ease in his body, was content to take him at his word, and luxuriate in his convalescence. He ate, at first doubtfully, for savour had left him in his fever, then, rediscovering the pleasures of taste, his appetite sharpened into fierce hunger.\n\n\"The best sign we could have,\" said Cadfael. \"A man who eats heartily and with enjoyment is on his way back to health.\" And they left the patient to sleep again as thoroughly as he had eaten, and went out to the sheep, and the chickens and the cow, and all the rest of the denizens of the fold.\n\n\"An easy year so far,\" said Brother Simon, viewing his leggy, tough hill-sheep with satisfaction. Sheep as Welsh as Brother Cadfael gazed towards the southwest, where the long ridge of Berwyn rose in the distance; long, haughty, inscrutable faces, and sharp ears, and knowing yellow eyes that could outstare a saint. \"Plenty of good grazing still, what with the grass growing so late, and the good pickings they had in the stubble after harvest. And we have beet-tops, they make good fodder, too. There'll be better fleeces than most years, when next they're shorn, unless the winter turns cruel later on.\"\n\nFrom the crest of the hill above the walled folds Brother Cadfael gazed towards the south-west, where the long ridge dipped towards lower land, between the hills. \"This manor of Mallilie will be somewhere in the sheltered land there, as I judge.\"\n\n\"It is. Three miles round by the easy track, the manor-house drawn back between the slopes, and the lands open to the south-east. Good land for these parts. And main glad I was to know we had a steward there, when I needed a messenger. Have you an errand there, brother?\"\n\n\"There's something I must see to, when Brother Barnabas is safely on the way to health again, and I can be spared.\" He turned and looked back towards the east. \"Even here we must be a good mile or more the Welsh side of the old boundary dyke. I never was here before, not being a sheep man. I'm from Gwynedd myself, from the far side of Conwy. But even these hills look like home to me.\"\n\nGervase Bonel's manor must lie somewhat further advanced into Welsh land even than these high pastures. The Benedictines had very little hold in Wales. Welshmen preferred their own ancient Celtic Christianity, the solitary hermitage of the self-exiled saint and the homely little college of Celtic monks rather than the shrewd and vigorous foundations that looked to Rome. In the south, secular Norman adventurers had penetrated more deeply, but here Mallilie must, indeed, as Brother Rhys had said, be lodged like a single thorn deep in the flesh of Wales.\n\n\"It does not take long to ride to Mallilie,\" said Brother Simon, anxiously helpful. \"Our horse here is elderly, but strong, and gets little enough work as a rule. I could very well manage now, if you want to go tomorrow.\"\n\n\"First let's see,\" said Cadfael, \"how Brother Barnabas progresses by tomorrow.\"\n\nBrother Barnabas progressed very well once he had the fever out of him. Before nightfall he was sick of lying in his bed, and insisted on rising and trying his enfeebled legs about the room. His own natural strength and stout heart were all he needed now to set him up again, though he swallowed tolerantly whatever medicines Cadfael pressed upon him, and consented to have his chest and throat anointed once again with the salve.\n\n\"No need to trouble yourself for me now,\" he said. \"I shall be hale as a hound pup in no time. And if I can't take to the hills again for a day or two\u2014though I very well could, if you would but let me!\u2014I can see to the house here, and the hens and the cow, for that matter.\"\n\nThe next morning he rose to join them for Prime, and would not return to his bed, though when they both harried him he agreed to sit snugly by the fire, and exert himself no further than in baking bread and preparing dinner.\n\n\"Then I will go,\" said Cadfael, \"if you can manage alone for the day, Simon. If I leave now I shall have the best of the daylight, and be back with you in time for the evening work.\"\n\nBrother Simon went out with him to where the track branched, and gave him directions. After the hamlet of Croesau Bach he would come to a cross roads, and turn right, and from that point he would see how the hills were cleft ahead of him, and making straight for that cleft he would come to Mallilie, beyond which the track continued westward to Llansilin, the central seat of the commote of Cynllaith.\n\nThe morning was faintly misty, but with the sun bright through the mist, and the turf wet and sparkling with the hint of rime already melting. He had chosen to ride the horse from the grange rather than his mule, since the mule had had lengthy exercise on the way north, and was entitled to a rest. The horse was an ungainly bay, of homely appearance but amiable disposition and stout heart, willing and ready for work. It was pleasant to be riding here alone in a fine winter morning on cushioned turf, between hills that took him back to his youth, with no routine duties and no need for talk, beyond the occasional greeting for a woman splitting kindling in her yard, or a man moving sheep to a new pasture, and even that was a special pleasure because he found himself instinctively calling his good-day in Welsh. The holdings here were scattered and few until he came through Croesau into lower and richer ground, where the patterns of ordered tillage told him he was already entering Mallilie land. A brook sprang into life on his right hand, and accompanied him towards the cleft where the hill-slopes on either side drew close together. Within a mile it was a little river, providing level meadows on either bank, and the dark selions of ploughed land beyond. Trees clothed the upper slopes, the valley faced south-east into the morning sun; a good place, its tenant holdings sheltered and well found. Well into the defile, drawn back into a fold of the slope on his right, and half-circled with arms of woodland, he came to the manor-house.\n\nA timber stockade surrounded it, massive and high, but the house stood on rising ground, and showed tall above it. Built of local stone, granite grey, with a great long roof of slates, gleaming like fish-scales in the sun as the frost on them turned to dew. When he had crossed the river by a plank-bridge and ridden in at the open gate of the stockade, the whole length of the house lay before him, a tall stone stair leading up to the main door of the living floor at the left-hand end. At ground level three separate doors, wide enough to take in country carts, led into what was evidently a vaulted under-croft, with storage room enough for a siege. Judging by the windows in the gable end, there was yet another small room above the kitchen. The windows of hall and solar were stone-mullioned and generous. Round the inner side of the stockade there were ample outhouses, stables, mews and stores. Norman lordlings, promised heirs, Benedictine abbeys might well covet such a property. Richildis had indeed married out of her kind.\n\nThe servants here would be Bonel's servants, continuing their functions under a new rule. A groom came to take Cadfael's bridle, feeling no need to question one who arrived in a Benedictine habit. There were few people moving about the court, but those few assured in their passage; and impressive though the house was, it could never have needed a very numerous body to run it. All local people, surely, and that meant Welsh people, like the serving-maid who had warmed her lord's bed and borne him a disregarded son. It happened! Bonel might even have been an attractive man then, and given her pleasure, as well as a child; and at least he had kept her thereafter, and the child with her, though as mere indulged dependents, not members of his family, not his kin. A man who did not take more than he felt to be legally his, but would not forgo any item of what fell within that net. A man who let an unclaimed villein holding go to a hungry younger son from a free family, on terms of customary service, and then, with the law firmly behind him, claimed that questionable tenant as villein by reason of the dues rendered between them, and his progeny as unfree by the same code.\n\nIn this disputed borderland of soil and law, Cadfael found his heart and mind utterly Welsh, but could not deny that the Englishman had just as passionately held by his own law, and been sure that he was justified. He had not been an evil man, only a child of his time and place, and his death had been murder.\n\nProperly speaking, Cadfael had no business at this house but to observe, as now he had observed. But he went in, nevertheless, up the outdoor stair and into the passage screened off from the hail. A boy emerging from the kitchen louted to him and passed, accepting him as one of the breed, who would know his way here. The hall was lofty and strongly beamed. Cadfael passed through it to the solar. This must be where Bonel had intended to install the panelling commissioned from Martin Bellecote, the transaction which had first caused him to set eyes and heart on Richildis Gurney, who had once been Richildis Vaughan, daughter of an honest, unpretentious tradesman.\n\nMartin had done good work, and fitted it into place here with skill and love. The solar was narrower than the hall, there being a garderobe off it, and a tiny chapel. It glowed and was scented with the polished and sparely carved oak panelling, the suave silvery grain glinting in the light from the wide window. Edwin had a good brother and a good master. He need not repine if he missed the illusory heritage.\n\n\"Your pardon, brother!\" said a respectful voice at Cadfael's back. \"No one told me there was a messenger here from Shrewsbury.\"\n\nCadfael turned, startled, to take a look at the abbey's steward here; a layman, a lawman, young enough to be deferential to his employers, mature enough to be in command of his own province.\n\n\"It's I who should ask your pardon,\" said Cadfael, \"for walking in upon you without ceremony. Truth to tell, I have no errand here, but being in the neighbourhood I was curious to see our new manor.\"\n\n\"If it is indeed ours,\" said the steward ruefully, and looked about him with a shrewd eye, assessing what the abbey might well be losing. \"It seems to be in doubt at the moment, though that makes no difference to my commission here, to maintain it in good order, however the lot falls in the end. The place has been run well and profitably. But if you are not sent to join us here, brother, where is your domicile? As long as we hold the manor, we can well offer you lodging, if it please you to stay.\"\n\n\"That I can't,\" said Cadfael. \"I was sent from Shrewsbury to take care of an ailing brother, a shepherd at the folds by Rhydycroesau, and until he's restored I must take on his duties there.\"\n\n\"Your patient is mending, I trust?\"\n\n\"So well that I thought I might use a few hours to come and see what manner of property may be slipping through our fingers here. But have you any immediate reason for feeling that our tenure may be threatened? More than the obvious difficulty of the charter not being sealed in time?\"\n\nThe steward frowned, chewing a dubious lip. \"The situation is strange enough, for if both the secular heir and the abbey lose their claim, the future of Mallilie is a very open question. The earl of Chester is the overlord, and may bestow it as he pleases, and in troublous times like these I doubt if he'll want to leave it in monastic hands. We could appeal to him, true, but not until Shrewsbury has an abbot again, with full powers. All we can do in the meantime is manage this land until there's a legal decision. Will you take your dinner here with me, brother? Or at least a cup of wine?\"\n\nCadfael declined the offer of a midday meal; it was yet early, and he had a use for the remaining hours of daylight. But he accepted the wine with pleasure. They sat down together in the panelled solar, and the dark Welsh kitchen-boy brought them a flagon and two horns.\n\n\"You've had no trouble with the Welsh to west of you?\" asked Cadfael.\n\n\"None. They've been used to the Bonels as neighbours for fifty years now, and no bad blood on either side. Though I've had little contact except with our own Welsh tenants. You know yourself, brother, both sides of the border here there are both Welsh and English living cheek by jowl, and most of those one side have kin on the other.\"\n\n\"One of our oldest brothers,\" said Cadfael, \"came from this very region, from a village between here and Llansilin. He was talking of his old kinship when he knew I was coming to Rhydycroesau. I'd be glad to carry his greetings, if I can find his people. Two cousins he mentioned, Cynfrith and Owain ap Rhys. You haven't encountered either? And a brother by marriage, one Ifor ap Morgan\u2026 though it must be many years since he had any contact with any of them, and for ought I know this Ifor ap Morgan may be dead long ago. He must be round about Rhys's own age, and few of us last so long.\"\n\nThe steward shook his head doubtfully. \"Cynfrith ap Rhys I've heard spoken of, he has a holding half a mile or so west of here. Ifor ap Morgan\u2026 no, I know nothing of him. But I tell you what, if he's living the boy will know, he's from Llansilin himself. Question him when you leave, and do it in Welsh, for all he knows English well enough. You'll get more out of him in Welsh\u2026 and all the more readily,\" he added with a wry grin, \"if I'm not with you. They're none of them ill-disposed, but they keep their own counsel, and it's wonderful how they fail to understand English when it suits them to shut the alien out.\"\n\n\"I'll try it,\" said Cadfael, \"and my thanks for the good advice.\"\n\n\"Then you'll forgive me if I don't accompany you to the gate and give you God-speed. You'll do better alone.\"\n\nCadfael took the hint and his leave, there in the solar, and went out through the hail and by the screened way into the kitchen. They boy was there, backing red-faced from the oven with a tray of new loaves. He looked round warily as he set down his burden on the clay top to cool gradually. It was neither fear nor distrust, but the wariness of a wild creature alert and responsive to every living thing, curious and ready to be friendly, sceptical and ready to vanish.\n\n\"God save you, son!\" said Cadfael in Welsh. \"If your bread's all out now, do a Christian deed, come out to the gate with me, and show a stranger the way to the holding of Cynfrith ap Rhys or his brother Owain.\"\n\nThe boy gazed, eyes brightening into interest at being addressed placidly in his own tongue. \"You are from Shrewsbury abbey, sir? A monk?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"But Welsh?\"\n\n\"As Welsh as you, lad, but not from these parts. The vale of Conwy is my native place, near by Trefriw.\"\n\n\"What's your will with Cynfrith ap Rhys?\" asked the boy directly.\n\nNow I know I'm in Wales, thought Cadfael. An English servant, if he ventured to challenge your proceedings at all, would do it roundabout and obsequiously, for fear of getting his ears clipped, but your Welsh lad speaks his mind to princes.\n\n\"In our abbey,\" he said obligingly, \"there's an old brother who used to be known in these parts as Rhys ap Griffith, and he's cousin to these other sons of Rhys. When I left Shrewsbury I said I'd take his greetings to his kin, and so I will if I can find them. And while we're about it there's one more name he gave me, and you may at least be able to tell me if the man's alive or dead, for he must be old. Rhys had a sister Marared, who married one Ifor ap Morgan, and they had a daughter Angharad, though I'm told she's dead years ago. But if Ifor is still living I'll speak the good word to him, also.\"\n\nUnder this rain of Welsh names the boy thawed into smiles. \"Sir, Ifor ap Morgan is still alive. He lives a fair way beyond, nearly to Llansilin. I'll come out with you and show you the way.\"\n\nHe skipped down the stone staircase lightly, ahead of Cadfael, and trotted before him to the gate. Cadfael followed, leading his horse, and looked where the boy pointed, westward between the hills.\n\n\"To the house of Cynfrith ap Rhys it is but half a mile, and it lies close by the track, on your right hand, with the wattle fence round the yard. You'll see his white goats in the little paddock. For Ifor ap Morgan you must go further. Keep to the same track again until you're through the hills, and looking down into the valley, then take the path to the right, that fords our river before it joins the Cynllaith. Half a mile on, look to your right again, just within the trees, and you'll see a little wooden house, and that's where Ifor lives. He's very old now, but he lives alone still.\"\n\nCadfael thanked him and mounted.\n\n\"And for the other brother, Owain,\" said the boy cheerfully, willing enough now to tell all he knew that might be helpful, \"if you're in these parts two more days you may catch him in Llansilin the day after tomorrow, when the commote court meets, for he has a dispute that was put oft from the last sitting, along with some others. The judges have been viewing the impleaded lands, and the day after tomorrow they're to give judgment. They never like to let bad blood continue at the Christmas feast. Owain's holding is well beyond the town, but you'll find him at Llansilin church, sure enough. One of his neighbours moved his boundary stone, or so he claims.\"\n\nHe had said more than he realised, but he was serenely innocent of the impression he had made on Brother Cadfael. One question, perhaps the most vital of all, had been answered without ever having to be asked.\n\nCynfrith ap Rhys\u2014the kinship seemed to be so full of Rhyses that in some cases it was necessary to list three generations back in order to distinguish them\u2014was easily found, and very willing to pass the time of day even with a Benedictine monk, seeing that the monk spoke Welsh. He invited Cadfael in heartily, and the invitation was accepted with pleasure. The house was one room and a cupboard of a kitchen, a solitary man's domain, and there was no sign of any other creature here but Cynfrith and his goats and hens. A solid, thickset, prominent-boned Welshman was Cynfrith, with wiry black hair now greying round the edges and balding on the crown, and quick, twinkling eyes set in the webs of good-humoured creases common to outdoor men. Twenty years at least younger than his cousin in the infirmary at Shrewsbury. He offered bread and goat's-milk cheese, and wrinkled, sweet apples.\n\n\"The good old soul, so he's still living! Many a time I've wondered. He's my mother's cousin in the first degree, not mine, but time was I knew him well. He'll be nearing four-score now, I suppose. And still comfortable in his cloister? I'll send him a small flask of the right liquor, brother, if you'll be so kind as to carry it. I distil it myself, it will stand him in good stead through the winter, a drop in season is good for the heart, and does the memory no harm, either. Well, well, and to think he still remembers us all! My brother? Oh, be sure I'll pass on the word to Owain when I see him. He has a good wife, and grown sons, tell the old man, the elder, Elis, is to marry in the spring. The day after tomorrow I shall be seeing my brother, he has a judgment coming up at the commote court at Llansilin.\"\n\n\"So they told me at Mallilie,\" said Cadfael. \"I wish him good speed with it.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, he claims Hywel Fychan, who lives next him, shifted one of his boundary stones, and I daresay he did, but I wouldn't say but what Owain has done the like by Hywel in his time. It's an old sport with us\u2026 But I needn't tell you, you being of the people yourself. They'll make it up as the court rules, they always do until the next time, and no hard feelings. They'll drink together this Christmas.\"\n\n\"So should we all,\" said Cadfael, somewhat sententiously.\n\nHe took his leave as soon but as graciously as he well might, truthfully claiming another errand and the shortness of the daylight, and rode on his way by the little river, both heartened and chastened by contact with open and fearless goodwill. The little flask of powerful home-distilled spirit swung in his scrip; he was glad he had left the other, the poisoned one, behind at the sheepfold.\n\nHe came through the defile, and saw the valley of the Cynllaith open before him, and the track to the right weaving a neat line through rising grass to ford the little tributary. Half a mile beyond, woodland clothed the slope of the ridge, and in the full leaf of summer it might have been difficult to detect the low wooden house within the trees; but now, with all the leaves fallen, it stood clear behind the bare branches like a contented domestic hen in a coop. There was clear grass almost to its fence, and on one side continuing behind it, the veil of trees drawn halfway round like a curtain. Cadfael turned in towards it, and circled with the skirt of grass, seeing no door in the side that faced the track. A horse on a long tether came ambling round the gable end, placidly grazing; a horse as tall and rakish and unbeautiful as the one he rode, though probably some years older. At sight of it he pulled up short, and sat at gaze for a moment, before lighting down into the coarse grass.\n\nThere must, of course, be many horses that would answer to the description given: a bony old piebald. This one was certainly that, very strikingly black and white in improbable patterns. But they could not all, surely, be called by the same name?\n\nCadfael dropped his bridle and went softly forward towards the serenely feeding beast, which paid him no attention whatever after a single, glance. He chirruped to it, and called quietly: \"Japhet!\"\n\nThe piebald pricked long ears and lifted a gaunt, amiable head, stretching out a questing muzzle and dilated nostrils towards the familiar sound, and having made up his mind he was not mistaken, advanced confidently and briskly to the hand Cadfael extended. He ran caressing fingers up the tall forehead, and along the stretched, inquisitive neck. \"Japhet, Japhet, my friend, what are you doing here?\"\n\nThe rustle of feet in the dry grass, while all four feet of this mild creature were still, caused Cadfael to look up sharply towards the corner of the house. A venerable old man stood looking at him steadily and silently; a tall old man, white-haired and white-bearded, but still with brows black and thick as gorse-bushes, and eyes as starkly blue as a winter sky beneath them. His dress was the common homespun of the countryman, but his carriage and height turned it into purple.\n\n\"As I think,\" said Cadfael, turning towards him with one hand still on Japhet's leaning neck, \"you must be Ifor ap Morgan. My name is Cadfael, sometime Cadfael ap Meilyr ap Dafydd of Trefriw. I have an errand to you from Rhys ap Griffith, your wife's brother, who is now Brother Rhys of the abbey of Shrewsbury.\"\n\nThe voice that emerged from the long, austere, dry lips was deep and sonorous, a surprising music. \"Are you sure your errand is not to a guest of mine, brother?\"\n\n\"It was not,\" said Cadfael, \"it was to you. Now it is to both. And the first thing I would say is, keep this beast out of sight, for if I can know him again from a mere description, so can others.\"\n\nThe old man gave him a lengthy, piercing blue stare. \"Come into the house,\" he said, and turned on his heel and led the way. But Cadfael took time to lead Japhet well behind the house and shorten his tether to keep him there, before he followed.\n\nIn the dimness within, smoky and wood-scented, the old man stood with a hand protectively on Edwin's shoulder; and Edwin, with the impressionable generosity of youth, had somehow gathered to himself a virgin semblance of the old man's dignity and grace, and stood like him, erect and quiet within his untried body as was Ifor ap Morgan in his old and experienced one, copied the carriage of his head and the high serenity of his regard.\n\n\"The boy tells me,\" said Ifor, \"that you are a friend. His friends are welcome.\"\n\n\"Brother Cadfael has been good to me,\" said Edwin, \"and to my nephew, Edwy, also, as Meurig told us. I have been well blessed in my friends. But how did you find me?\"\n\n\"By not looking for you,\" said Cadfael. \"Indeed, I've been at some pains not to know where you had taken yourself, and certainly I never rode this way to find you. I came with a harmless errand to Ifor ap Morgan here, from that same old brother you visited with Meurig in our infirmary. Your wife's brother, friend, Rhys ap Griffith, is still living, and for his age hale, too, in our convent, and when he heard that I was bound into these parts he charged me to bring his kinsmen his greetings and prayers. He has not forgotten his kin, though it's long since he came among you, and I doubt he'll come no more. I have been with Cynfrith ap Rhys, and sent the same word by him to his brother Owain, and if there are any others of his generation left, or who would remember him, be kind enough to give them word, when chance offers, that he remembers his blood and his own soil yet, and all those whose roots are in it.\"\n\n\"So he would,\" said Ifor, melting suddenly into a warm smile. \"He was always a loyal kinsman, and fond of my child and all the other young in our clan, having none of his own. He lost his wife early, or he'd have been here among us yet. Sit down a while, brother, and tell me how he does, and if you'll take my blessings back to him, I'll be grateful.\"\n\n\"Meurig will have told you much of what I can tell,\" and Cadfael, settling beside him on a bench at the rough table, \"when he brought you Edwin to shelter. Is he not here with you?\"\n\n\"My grandson is away making the round of all his kin and neighbours,\" said the old man, \"for he comes home rarely now. He'll be here again in a few days, I daresay. He did tell me he'd been to see the old man, along with the boy here, but he stayed only an hour or so before making off about his visiting. There'll be time to talk when he comes back.\"\n\nIt was in Cadfael's mind that he ought to cut short his own stay, for though it had never entered his mind that the officers of the law might find it worth while to keep a watch on him when he left Shrewsbury, the too easy discovery of Edwin in this house had shaken his assurance. It was true that he had neither expected nor wished to trace the boy as yet, but even Hugh Beringar, let alone his underlings, might well have considered the contrary as a possibility, and set a discreet hound on his trail. But he could not flatly deliver his message and go, while the old man clearly took pleasure in polishing up old memories. He was rambling away happily about the time when his wife was with him, and his daughter a fair and lively child. Now all that remained to him was a single grandson, and his own dignity and integrity.\n\nExile and refuge in this remote place and this impressive company had had a strong effect on Edwin. He withdrew into the shadows to leave his elders undisturbed, making no plea, asking no question yet concerning his own troubled affairs. Quietly he went and brought beakers and a pitcher of mead, and served them unobtrusively and neatly, all dignity and humility, and again absented himself, until Ifor turned to reach a long arm and draw him to the table.\n\n\"Young man, you must have things to ask of Brother Cadfael, and things to tell him.\"\n\nThe boy had not lost his tongue, after all, once invited he could talk as volubly and vehemently as ever. First he asked after Edwy, with an anxiety he would never have revealed to the object of it, and was greatly eased to hear how that adventure had ended better than it had threatened. \"And Hugh Beringar was so fair and generous? And he listened to you, and is looking for my box? Now if he could but find it\u2026! I was not happy leaving Edwy to play that part for me, but he would have it so. And then I took Japhet a roundabout way to a place we used to play sometimes, a copse by the river, and Meurig met me there, and gave me a token to carry to his grandfather here, and told me how to find the place. And the next day he came, too, as he said he would.\"\n\n\"And what,\" asked Cadfael gently, \"had you planned to do, if truth never did come out? If you could not go back? Though God forbid it should end so, and God granting, I'll see that it does not.\"\n\nThe boy's face was solemn but clear; he had thought much, here in his haven, and spent so much time contemplating the noble face of his patron that a kind of shining likeness had arisen between them. \"I'm strong, I can work, I could earn my keep in Wales, if need be, even if it must be as an outlander. Other men have had to leave their homes because of unjust accusations, and have made their way in the world, and so could I. But I'd rather go back. I don't want to leave my mother, now that she's alone, and her affairs in such disorder. And I don't want to be remembered as the man who poisoned his stepfather and ran away, when I know I never did him harm or wished him any.\"\n\n\"That shall not happen,\" said Cadfael firmly. \"You lie close in cover a few days more, and put your trust in God, and I believe we shall get to the truth, and you can go home openly and proudly.\"\n\n\"Do you believe that? Or is it just to hearten me?\"\n\n\"I believe it. Your heart is not in want of bolstering up with false cheer. And I would not lie to you, even for good cause.\" Yet there were lies, or at least unspoken truths, hanging heavy on his mind in this house, and he had better make his farewells and go, the passing of time and daylight giving him a sound excuse. \"I must get back to Rhydycroesau,\" he said, making to rise from the table, \"for I've left Brother Simon to do all the work alone, and Brother Barnabas still shaky on his legs yet. Did I tell you I was sent there to get a sick man well again, and to supply his place while he was mending?\"\n\n\"You'll come again if there's news?\" said Edwin, and if his voice was resolutely steady, his eyes were anxious.\n\n\"I'll come again when there's news.\"\n\n\"You'll be in Rhydycroesau some days yet?\" asked Ifor ap Morgan. \"Then we shall see you again at more leisure, I trust.\"\n\nHe was leading the way to the door to speed his guest, his hand again possessive on Edwin's shoulder, when he halted suddenly, stiffening, and with the other hand, outstretched with spread fingers, halted them, too, and enjoined silence. Age had not dulled those ancient ears; he was the first to catch the muted sound of voices. Not muted by distance, close and deliberately quiet. The dry grass rustled. In the edge of the trees one of the tethered horses whinnied enquiringly, giving notice of other horses approaching.\n\n\"Not Welsh!\" said Ifor in a soundless whisper. \"English! Edwin, go into the other room.\"\n\nThe boy obeyed instantly and silently; but in a moment he was back, shadowy in the doorway. \"They're there\u2014two, outside the window. In leather, armed\u2026\"\n\nThe voices had drawn nearer, outside the house-door, their whispers grew louder, satisfied, abandoning stealth.\n\n\"That's the pied beast\u2026 no mistaking it!\"\n\n\"What did I tell you? I said if we found the one we'd find the other.\"\n\nSomeone laughed, low and contentedly. Then abruptly a fist thudded at the door, and the same voice called aloud, peremptorily: \"Open to the law!\" The formality was followed up immediately by a strong thrust, hurling the door inwards to the wall, and the doorway was filled by the burly figure of the bearded sergeant from Shrewsbury, with two men-at-arms at his back. Brother Cadfael and William Warden confronted each other at a distance of a couple of feet; mutual recognition made the one bristle and the other grin.\n\n\"Well met, Brother Cadfael! And sorry I am I have no writ for you, but my business is with the young man behind you. I'm addressed to Edwin Gurney. And you, I think, my lad, are he?\"\n\nEdwin came forward a step from the inner doorway, pale as his shirt and huge-eyed, but with a chin jutting valiantly, and a stare like a levelled lance. He had learned a great deal in his few days here. \"That is my name,\" he said.\n\n\"Then I arrest you on suspicion of the murder of Gervase Bonel by poison, and I'm here to take you back in custody to answer the charge in Shrewsbury.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Ifor ap Morgan drew himself up in a single long breath, seeming to grow half a head in the process, and stood forth to face his unexpected visitor.\n\n\"Fellow,\" he said in his deep voice, in itself a weapon, \"I am the master of this house, and you have not, as yet, addressed yourself to me. There are visitors I invite, there are some I welcome, unexpected. You I do not know and have not invited, and you I do not welcome. Have the courtesy to make yourself known to me, if you have business with me or with others under my roof. Otherwise, leave this house.\"\n\nIt could not be said that the sergeant was abashed, since he was protected by his office from any personal humiliation; but he did make a shrewd appraisal of this venerable person, and abate what would otherwise have been a boldly abrasive manner. \"I understand that you are Ifor ap Morgan. I am William Warden, a sergeant serving under Gilbert Prestcote, the sheriff of Shropshire, and I am in pursuit of Edwin Gurney on suspicion of murder. My commission is to bring him by. whatever means to Shrewsbury, where the charge stands, and that I shall do, as I am bound. You also, as an elder of this region, are bound by law.\"\n\n\"But not by English law,\" said Ifor simply.\n\n\"By law! Knowing murder for murder, by whatever law. Murder by poison, grandsire!\"\n\nBrother Cadfael glanced once at Edwin, who stood motionless and pale, one hand advanced to take the old man pleadingly and comfortingly by the arm, but too much in awe and love of him to complete the gesture. Cadfael did it for him, laying a hand gently on the lean old wrist. For whatever was done and said now, they would take the boy with them. If there were three of them there, and two guarding the rear of the house, who was to stop them? And this was a self-assured, arrogant man, who might take petty revenges for past impudent reverses, but who would also have full regard for his own skin when dealing with a deputy sheriff of Beringar's measure, who might unaccountably have strict scruples about the handling of prisoners. Better not alienate Warden unnecessarily, when a little sweet reasonableness might do more to protect Edwin.\n\n\"Sergeant, you know me, and know I do not believe this boy has any guilt to answer for. But I know you, too, and know you have your duty to do. You must obey your orders, and we cannot stand in your way. Tell me, was it Hugh Beringar sent you here to look for me? For I'm sure I was not followed from Shrewsbury. What brought you to this house?\"\n\nThe sergeant was by no means averse to detailing his own cleverness. \"No, we never thought to have you followed, brother, after you left us, for we thought you were bound back to your abbey. But when Hugh Beringar came back empty-handed from his follies down the river, and heard you'd been asking for him, he went down to the abbey after you, only to find you were gone north to Rhydycroesau. I bethought me then how close Bonel's manor was, and took it upon me to bring a party up here to enquire what you were up to. The steward at the manor never questioned it when an officer from Shrewsbury came asking for Brother Cadfael. Why should he? Or his servants, either? They told us you'd been asking directions to a couple of houses this side the hills, and here at the second we've overtaken you. Where the one casts up, I said, the other won't be far.\"\n\nSo no one had wittingly informed on the fugitive; that would be some compensatory good news for Ifor ap Morgan, who would have felt himself shamed and dishonoured for ever if one of his kin had betrayed the guest in his house. It was news of no less vital importance to Cadfael.\n\n\"Then Hugh Beringar did not send you on this quest? 'I took it upon me,' you said. What's he about, while you're doing his work for him?\"\n\n\"He's off on some more tomfoolery down the river. Madog of the Dead-boat sent up to him early this morning to come down to Atcham, and off he went as hopeful as ever, though nothing will come of it. So I took the chance of following my own notions, and a fine surprise he'll get by this evening, when he comes back with nothing to show for his day, and finds I've brought him his prisoner.\"\n\nThat was reassuring, since he was clearly looking forward to the presentation of his prize, and pleased with his own success, therefore the less likely to find satisfaction in rough-handling the boy.\n\n\"Edwin,\" said Cadfael, \"will you be guided now by me?\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Edwin steadily.\n\n\"Then go with them peaceably, and make no trouble. You know you have done no wrong, therefore you cannot be proven guilty, and on that you must take your stand. When you are delivered into the hand of Hugh Beringar, answer freely whatever he may ask of you, and tell him all the truth. I promise you, you will not be long in prison.\" And God stand by me, he thought, and help me make that good! \"If the boy gives you his pledge to go with you of his own will, sergeant, and attempt no escape, you surely need not bind him. It's a long ride, and you'll be pressing before the dark comes.\"\n\n\"He may have the use of his hands, and welcome,\" said Warden indifferently, \"seeing the two men I have outside are archers, and masters of their craft. If he tried to evade us he would not get many yards.\"\n\n\"I shall not try,\" said Edwin firmly. \"I give you my word. I'm ready!\" He went to Ifor ap Morgan, and bent the knee to him reverently. \"Grandfather, thank you for all your goodness. I know I'm not truly of your kinship\u2014I wish I were!\u2014but will you give me your kiss?\"\n\nThe old man took him by the shoulders, and stooped to kiss his cheek. \"Go with God! And come again free!\"\n\nEdwin took up his saddle and bridle from the corner where they were stowed, and marched out with his head up and his chin jutting, his attendants closing in on either side. In a few minutes the two left behind, gazing through the open door, saw the little cort\u00e8ge form and move off, the sergeant ahead, the boy between two men-at-arms riding close, the archers behind. The day was already chilling, though the light had not yet dimmed. They would not reach Shrewsbury until after dark; a drear journey, and a stony cell in Shrewsbury castle at the end of it. But please God, not for long. Two or three days, if all went well. But well for whom?\n\n\"What am I to tell my grandson Meurig,\" said the old man sadly, \"when he returns, and finds I have let his guest be taken?\"\n\nCadfael closed the door upon the last glimpse of Edwin's brown head and slight figure; well grown as he was, he looked very small and young between his brawny guards.\n\n\"Tell Meurig,\" he said after heavy thought, \"that he need have no fears for Edwin, for in the end truth will out, and the truth will deliver him.\"\n\nHe had one day of inactivity left to live through now, and since there was nothing he could do of use to Edwin's cause in that time, it behoved him at least to try to turn the waiting time into a day of grace by some other means. Brother Barnabas, heartily convalescent, could at least be persuaded to forbear from the heavier work and keep the warmth of the house for a little longer. Brother Simon could take his own day of rest, all the more since on the morrow Cadfael would again be absent. Moreover, they could observe together all the main offices of the day, as if they had been home in the abbey of St. Peter. The patient recital of the proper forms must surely in itself be regarded as prayer.\n\nThere was time for thought all that day, while he scattered grain for the hens, milked the cow, groomed the old bay horse, and moved the sheep to a fresh hill-pasture. Edwin was lodged in his prison by now, though only, Cadfael hoped, after a long and calming interview with Hugh Beringar. Had Martin Bellecote yet heard that he was taken? Did Edwy know that his decoy ride had been all for nothing? And Richildis\u2026 Had Beringar seen it as his duty to visit her and tell her of her son's capture? It would be done as courteously and kindly as possible, but there was no way of allaying the pain and dread she would feel.\n\nBut Cadfael was even more exercised in mind for the old man Ifor ap Morgan, left alone now after his brief experience of being trusted and revered by a creature fresh and young, like a vision of his own youth returning. The unruly vigour which had made Edwin rebel and wage war against Gervase Bonel had all been charmed and tamed into willing duty and service by Ifor ap Morgan. We are all both the victims and the heirs of our fellow-men.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" said Cadfael at supper, round the brazier hissing with resiny logs and giving forth a blue, weaving smoke as aromatic as his workshop at Shrewsbury, \"I must set out very early.\" The commote court would sit as soon as there was daylight, and hope to adjourn in time for all present to reach their homes before night. \"I'll try to be back to fold the sheep in the evening. You have not asked me where I go this time.\"\n\n\"No, brother,\" agreed Simon mildly. \"We've seen that you have much on your mind, and would not trouble you yet with questions. When you wish it, you will tell us what we need to know.\"\n\nBut it was a long story, of which they, here in this solitude and with their own tranquil world undisturbed, knew not even the beginnings. Better say nothing.\n\nHe rose before dawn and saddled his horse, taking the same track he had ridden two days previously as far as the ford, where he had turned aside to cross the tributary and make his way to Ifor's house. This time he did not turn aside, but rode on into the valley of the Cynllaith, and crossed by a wooden bridge. From there it was little more than a mile into Llansilin, and the sun was up, veiled but bright. The village was wide awake, and full of people, converging on the timber church. Every house in the neighbourhood must have given shelter overnight to friends and kin from other parts of the commote, for the normal population of this hamlet could be no more than a tenth part of those met here on this day. Cadfael turned his horse into the paddock by the churchyard, where there was a stone water-trough and peaceful grazing, and joined the leisurely procession of men entering the church. Out in the roadway he was conspicuous in his black Benedictine habit, the species being so rare here, but within, he could be well hidden in a retired corner. He had no wish to be noticed too soon.\n\nHe was glad that Ifor ap Morgan did not appear among the elders who came to see justice done, the duty of neighbours who knew the land and the people involved. Better by far the testimony of these familiar and respected men than the legal arguments of professional lawmen, though these, too, would be here in plenty. Nor did he see Cynfrith ap Rhys until after the bench of three judges had taken their places, and the first adjourned case was called. Then, when the plaintiff was asked to stand forth with his guarantors on one side, Cadfael recognised Cynfrith among his brother's backers. Owain was the younger of the two, but very like his brother. Hywel Fychan, the defendant, was a wiry, dark man of belligerent aspect, with his own little cluster of witnesses at his back.\n\nThe presiding judge gave the verdict of the bench. They had viewed the two disputed holdings on the spot, and taken measurements to match with old charters. Their judgment was that Hywel Fychan had indeed moved the corner boundary stone in such a way as to filch some yards of his neighbour's land, but they had also found that Owain ap Rhys, more discreetly, and admittedly after he had discovered the defendant's fraud, had countered by shifting a whole length of fencing between them by a cautious yard, adequately repaying himself for his loss. They therefore decreed that both marks should be restored to their former positions, and amerced both parties by a negligible fine. Predictably, Owain and Hywel clasped hands amicably enough in acceptance of the verdict; and probably they would be drinking away together, later in the day, the excess of their expected fines over those imposed. The game would be resumed next year. Cadfael was familiar with the national sport.\n\nThere were two more boundary disputes which had been awaiting a judgment arrived at on the disputed land, the one settled amicably, the other accepted with some bitterness by the losing party, but none the less accepted. There was a widow who claimed a patch of land against her husband's kin, and won her claim by the testimony of no less than seven neighbours. The morning wore away, and Cadfael, constantly looking over his shoulder towards the door, began to wonder if he had been utterly mistaken in his reading of the probabilities. How if he had interpreted all the signs wrongly? Then he had all to do again, and Edwin was in genuine peril, and his only resort was Hugh Beringar, whose rule would end when Gilbert Prestcote returned from the king's Christmas.\n\nThe grateful widow was withdrawing with her witnesses, flushed and happy, when the door of the church opened wide. The light of day flowed across the crowded assembly, and so remained for some minutes, as a numerous group entered the nave. Cadfael looked round, as half those met there were also doing, and saw Meurig advance into the open aisle, and there take his stand, with seven grave elders at his back.\n\nHe was wearing, Cadfael noted, the same cotte and hose in which he had always seen him, no doubt his best, worn to the commote court as they were worn to visit the abbey at Shrewsbury. His only other garment would be those he wore at work. And the linen scrip hanging by its leather thongs from his belt was the same Cadfael had seen on him at the infirmary, where he had laboured, certainly out of kindliness and with nothing to gain, to coax the aches and pains out of an old man's rusty joints. Such scrips cost money, and are durable for many years. Doubtful if he even owned another such.\n\nAn ordinary enough figure, this square, sturdy, black-avised young fellow, anybody's son or brother; but not ordinary now. He stood in the middle of the open aisle, feet spread, arms down at his sides but braced, as if either hand had a weapon within reach, though he surely had not so much as a hunting-knife on him, here in a place doubly sacred as church and court. He was shaven and bathed clean, and the subdued light within the nave found and plucked into relief every bony line of his powerful face, the outline of a skull drawn white and taut, shadowy dark flesh clothing it sparely. His eyes were like burning lamps sunk into cavernous hollows; he looked both piteously young and age-old, and hungry to starving.\n\n\"With the court's leave,\" he said, and his voice was high and clear, \"I have a plea that will not wait.\"\n\n\"We were about to declare this sitting at an end,\" said the presiding judge mildly. \"But we are here to serve. Declare yourself and your business.\"\n\n\"My name is Meurig, son of Angharad, daughter of Ifor ap Morgan, who is known to all men here. By this same Angharad I am the son of Gervase Bonel, who held the manor of Mallilie while he lived. I am here to advance my claim to that manor, by reason of my birth, as the son, and the only child, of Gervase Bonel. I am here to introduce testimony that that same land is Welsh land, and subject to Welsh law, and that I am that man's son, and the only child he ever engendered. And by Welsh law I lay claim to Mallilie, for by Welsh law a son is a son, whether born in or out of wedlock, provided only that his father has acknowledged him.\" He drew breath, and the pale, drawn lines of his face sharpened yet further with tension. \"Will the court hear me?\"\n\nThe shudder and murmur that rippled through the church caused even the dark timber walls to quiver. The three on the bench stirred and peered, but kept their more than human balance and calm. The president said with the same restraint: \"We must and will hear whoever comes with an urgent plea, however proffered, with or without legal advice, but the cause may involve adjournment for proper procedure. On that consideration, you may speak.\"\n\n\"Then first, as to the land of Mallilie, here with me are four respected men, known to all here, who hold land bordering the manor, and their boundaries between them encircle nine-tenths of the manor lands. Only the remaining tenth touches English soil. And all is on the Welsh side of the dyke, as all men know. I ask my witnesses to speak for me.\"\n\nThe oldest said simply: \"The manor of Mallilie is within the land of Wales, and causes within it and concerning it have been tried by Welsh law within my lifetime, on two occasions, even though the manor was in English hands. True it is that some cases have also been heard in English court and by English law, but Gervase Bonel himself twice preferred to plead in this court and by Welsh law. I hold that Welsh law has never lost its right in any part of that land, for whatever its ownership, it is part of the commote of Cynllaith.\"\n\n\"And we hold the same opinion,\" said the second of the elders.\n\n\"That is the view of you all?\" asked the judge.\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Is there any present here who wishes to refute that opinion?\"\n\nThere were several, on the contrary, who spoke up in confirmation of it, one indeed who recalled that he had been the party in dispute with Bonel on the last occasion, over a matter of cattle straying, and had had his case heard in this court, by a bench on which one of the present judges had sat with two others. As doubtless the judge in question recalled without need of reminders.\n\n\"The bench is in agreement with the witness of neighbours,\" said the president, having consulted his colleagues with hardly more than a glance and a nod.\" There is no question that the land involved is within Wales, and any plaintiff advancing a claim on it is entitled to Welsh law if he desires it. Proceed!\"\n\n\"As to the second matter of substance,\" said Meurig, moistening lips dry with tension, \"I declare that I am the son of Gervase Bonel, his only son, his only child. And I ask these who have known me from birth to testify to my parentage, and any here who may also know the truth to speak up in support of me.\"\n\nThis time there were many in the body of the church who rose in turn to confirm the declaration of the elders: Meurig, son of Angharad, daughter of Ifor ap Morgan, had been born on the manor of Mallilie, where his mother was a maidservant, and it had been known to everyone before his birth that she was with child by her lord. It had never been any secret, and Bonel had housed and fed the boy.\n\n\"There is a difficulty here,\" said the presiding judge. \"It is not enough that the common opinion should be that a certain man is father, for common opinion could be mistaken. Even the acceptance of the duty of providing for a child is not in itself proof of acknowledgement. It must be shown that the father has himself acknowledged the child as his. That is the validation the kinship requires for the admittance of a young man into full rights, and that is the validation necessary before property can be inherited.\"\n\n\"It is no difficulty,\" said Meurig proudly, and drew out from the bosom of his cotte a rolled parchment. \"If the court will examine this, they will see that in this indenture, when I took up a trade, Gervase Bonel himself called me his son, and set his seal to it.\" He came forward and handed up the parchment to the judges' clerk, who unrolled and studied it.\n\n\"It is as he says. This is an agreement between Martin Bellecote, master-carpenter, of Shrewsbury, and Gervase Bonel, for the young man Meurig to be taken and taught the whole craft of the carpenter and carver. A payment was made with him, and a small allowance made to him for his keep. The seal is in order, the young man is described as 'my son.' There is no doubt in the matter. He was acknowledged.\"\n\nMeurig drew breath deep, and stood waiting. The bench conferred in low and earnest tones.\n\n\"We are agreed,\" said the president, \"that the proof is irrefutable, that you are what you purport to be, and have the right to make claim upon the land. But it's known that there was an agreement, never completed, to hand over the manor to the abbey of Shrewsbury, and on that ground, before the man's unfortunate death, the abbey placed a steward in the house to administer the estate. A claim by a son, in these circumstances, must be overwhelmingly strong, but in view of the complications it should be advanced through the channels of law. There is an English overlord to be taken into account, as well as such claims as the abbey may advance, by virtue of Bonel's having shown his intent even in an uncompleted agreement. You will have to bring formal suit for possession, and we would advise that you brief a man of law at once.\"\n\n\"With respect,\" said Meurig, paler and brighter than ever, and with hands cupped and curled at his sides, as if he had already filled them with the desired and coveted soil, \"there is a provision in Welsh law by which I may take possession even now, before the case is tried. Only the son may do so, but I am the son of this man who is dead. I claim the right of dadanhudd, the right to uncover my father's hearth. Give me the sanction of this court, and I will go, with these elders who uphold my claim, and enter the house which is mine by right.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael was so caught into the intensity of this consuming passion that he almost let the just moment slip by him. All his Welsh blood rose in helpless sympathy with so strong a hunger and love for the land, which Meurig's blood would have granted him, but by Norman-English law his birth had denied him. There was almost a nobility about him in this hour, and the bleak force of his longing carried with him judges, witnesses, even Cadfael.\n\n\"It is the court's judgment that your claim is justified,\" said the president gravely, \"and your right to enter the house cannot be denied you. For form's sake we must put it to this assembly, since no notice has been given beforehand. If there is any here who has anything to raise an objection, let him stand forward now, and speak.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, wrenching himself out of his daze with a great effort. \"Here is one who has somewhat to say before this sanction is granted. There is an impediment.\"\n\nEvery head turned to peer and crane and stare. The judges ranged the ranks looking for the source of the voice, for Cadfael was no taller than the majority of his fellow-countrymen, and even his tonsure could be matched by many here conferred by time rather than a cloistered order. Meurig's head had turned with a wild start, his face suddenly fixed and bloodless, his eyes blank. The voice had pierced him like a knife, but he did not recognise it, and for the moment was too blind to be able to mark even the undulation of movement as Cadfael pushed his way clear of the crowd to be seen.\n\n\"You are of the Benedictine order?\" said the presiding judge, bewildered, as the sturdy, habited figure emerged and stood in the aisle. \"A monk of Shrewsbury? Are you here to speak on behalf of your abbey?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Brother Cadfael. He stood no more than two yards from Meurig now, and the mist of shock and unbelief had cleared from the black, brilliant eyes; they recognised him all too well. \"No, I am here to speak on behalf of Gervase Bonel.\"\n\nBy the brief, contorted struggle of Meurig's throat, he made an attempt to speak, but could not.\n\n\"I do not understand you, brother,\" said the judge patiently. \"Explain yourself. You spoke of an impediment.\"\n\n\"I am a Welshman,\" said Cadfael. \"I endorse and approve the law of Wales, that says a son is a son, in or out of marriage, and has the same rights though English law may call him a bastard. Yes, a son born out of wedlock may inherit\u2014but not a son who has murdered his father, as this man has.\"\n\nHe expected uproar, and instead there was such a silence as he had seldom known. The three judges sat rigid and staring, as though turned to stone, and every breath in the church seemed to be held in suspense. By the time they all stirred out of their daze, and turned almost stealthily, almost fearfully, to look at Meurig, he had regained his colour and his hardihood, though at a price. Forehead and high cheekbones had a wet sheen of sweat, and the muscles of his neck were drawn like bow-strings, but he had himself in hand again, he could look his accuser in the face, refrain from hurling himself upon him, even turn from him with dignity and calm to look at the judges, in eloquent protest against a charge he disdained to deny except by silent contempt. And probably, Cadfael reflected ruefully, there are some here who will take for granted that I am an agent sent by my order to prevent, or at least delay, the surrender of Mallilie to its rightful owner. By any means, however base, even by accusing a decent man of murder.\n\n\"This is a most grave charge,\" said the presiding judge, formidably frowning. \"If you are in earnest, you must now stand to it, and make good what you have said, or withdraw.\"\n\n\"That I will do. My name is Cadfael, a brother of Shrewsbury, and the herbalist who made the oil with which Gervase Bonel was poisoned. My honour is involved. The means of comfort and healing must not be used to kill. I was called to attend the dying man, and I am here now to demand justice for him. Allow me, if you will, to tell you how this death befell.\"\n\nHe told the story very baldly, the narrow circle of those present, of whom one, the stepson, seemed then to be the only one with anything to gain from the death.\n\n\"Meurig, as it seemed to us, had nothing to gain, but you and I have now seen how much, indeed, was at stake for him.\n\nThe agreement with my abbey had not been completed, and by Walsh law, which we had not understood could be invoked in the matter, he is the heir. Let me tell you his story as I see it. Ever since he grew a man he has been well aware that by Welsh law his position as heir was unassailable, and he was well content to wait for his father's death, like any other son, before claiming his inheritance. Even the will Gervase Bonel made, after his second marriage, making his stepson his heir, did not trouble Meurig, for how could such a claim stand against his right as a true son of the man's blood? But it was a different case when his father granted his manor to the abbey of Shrewsbury in return for housing, food and comfort for life, after the usual fashion of such retirements. I do believe that if that agreement had been completed and sealed at once, all would have been over, and this man would have grown reconciled to his loss and never become a murderer. But because my abbot was summoned away to London, with good reason to think that another may be appointed in his place, he would not complete the charter, and that respite caused Meurig to hope again, and to look about him desperately for the means to prevent it ever being completed. For, see, if the abbey ever established its legal right by final ratification, his position at law would have been hopeless. How could he fight Shrewsbury abbey? They have influence enough to ensure that any suit should be tried in an English court and by English law, and by English law, I acknowledge it with regret and shame, such children as Meurig are deprived, and cannot inherit. I say it was mere chance, and that resulting from an act of kindness, that showed him where to find the means to kill, and tempted him to use it. And great pity it is, for he was never meant to be a murderer. But here he stands in his guilt, and must not and cannot enter into possession of the fruit of his crime.\"\n\nThe presiding judge sat back with a heavy and troubled sigh, and looked at Meurig, who had heard all this with a motionless face and a still body. \"You have heard and understood what is charged against you. Do you wish now to answer?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to answer,\" said Meurig, wise in his desperation. \"This is nothing but words. There is no substance. Yes, I was there in the house, as he has told you, with my father's wife, the boy her son, and the two servants. But that is all. Yes, by chance I have been in the infirmary, and did know of this oil he speaks of. But where is there any thread to link me with the act? I could as well put forward the same story against any of those in that household that day, and with as little proof, but I will not. The sheriff's officers have held from the beginning that my father's stepson did this thing. I don't say that is true. I say only that there is no proof to entangle me rather than any other.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, \"there is such proof. There is one small matter that makes this crime all the more grievous, for it is the only proof that it was not all impulsive, done in an angry instant and regretted after. For whoever took away a portion of my monk's-hood oil from our infirmary must have brought with him a bottle in which to put it. And that bottle he had to conceal afterwards, as long as he was observed, but dispose of as soon as he privately might. And the place will show that it could not have been put there by the boy Edwin Gurney, Bonel's stepson. By any other of the household, yes, but not by him. His movements are known. He ran straight from the house to the bridge and the town, as there are witnesses to declare.\"\n\n\"We have still nothing but words, and deceptive words, too,\" said Meurig, gaining a little confidence. \"For this bottle has not been found, or we should have known it from the sheriff's men. This is a whole-cloth tale compounded for this court alone.\"\n\nFor of course he did not know; not even Edwin knew, not even Hugh Beringar, only Cadfael and Brother Mark. Thank God for Brother Mark, who had done the finding and marked the place, and was in no suspicion of being anyone's corrupted agent.\n\nCadfael reached into his pouch, and brought forth the vial of flawed green glass, unwrapping it carefully from the napkin in which it was rolled. \"Yes, it has been found. Here it is!\" And he held it out sharply at the full stretch of his arm into Meurig's appalled face.\n\nThe instant of sick disintegration passed valiantly, but Cadfael had witnessed it, and now there was no shadow of doubt left, none. And it was a piercing grief to him, for he had liked this young man.\n\n\"This,\" said Cadfael, whirling to face the bench, \"was found, not by me, but by an innocent novice who knew little of the case, and has nothing to gain by lying. And it was found\u2014the place is recorded\u2014in the ice of the mill-pond, under the window of the inner room of that house. In that room the boy Edwin Gurney was never for one moment alone, and could not have thrown this out from that window. Inspect it, if you will. But carefully, for the marks of the oil are there in a dried stream down one outer side of the vial, and the dregs are still easily identifiable within.\"\n\nMeurig watched the small, dreadful thing being passed among the three in its napkin, and said with arduous calm: \"Even granted this\u2014for we have not the finder here to speak for himself!\u2014there were four of us there who could well have gone in and out of that inner room the rest of the day. Indeed, I was the only one to leave, for I went back to my master's shop in the town. They remained there, living in the house.\"\n\nNevertheless, it had become a trial. Even with his admirable and terrible gallantry, he could not entirely prevent the entry of a note of defence. And he knew it, and was afraid, not for himself, for the object of his absorbing love, the land on which he had been born. Brother Cadfael was torn in a measure he had hardly expected. It was time to end it, with one fatal cast that might produce success or failure, for he could not bear this partition of his mind much longer, and Edwin was in a prison cell, something even Meurig did not yet know, something that might have reassured him if he had been aware of it, but no less might have moved and dismayed him. Never once, in that long afternoon of questioning, had Meurig sought to turn suspicion upon Edwin, even when the sergeant pointed the way.\n\n\"Draw out the stopper,\" said Cadfael to the three judges, almost strident now in his urgency. \"Note the odour, it is still strong enough to be recognised again. You must take my word for it that it was the means of death. And you see how it has run down the vial. It was stoppered in haste after the act, for all was then done in haste. Yet some creature carried this vial on his person for a considerable while after, until the sheriffs officers had come and gone. In this condition, oiled without as well as within. It would leave a greasy stain not easy to remove, and a strong smell\u2014yes, I see you detect the smell.\" He swung upon Meurig, pointing to the coarse linen scrip that hung at his belt. \"This, as I recall, you wore that day. Let the judges themselves examine, with the vial in their hands, and see whether it lay within there an hour, two hours or more, and left its mark and its odour. Come, Meurig, unbuckle and give up your scrip.\"\n\nMeting indeed dropped a hand to the buckles, as though stunned into obedience. And after this while, Cadfael knew, there might be nothing to find, even though he no longer had any doubts that the vial had indeed lain within there all that prolonged and agonising afternoon of Bonel's death. It needed only a little hardihood and a face of brass, and the single fragile witness against Meurig might burst like a bubble, and leave nothing but the scattered dew of suspicion, like the moisture a bubble leaves on the hand. But he could not be sure! He could not be sure! And to examine the scrip and find nothing would not be to exonerate him completely, but to examine it and find the seam stained with oil, and still with the penetrating scent clinging, would be to condemn him utterly. The fingers that had almost withdrawn the first thong suddenly closed into a clenched fist denying access.\n\n\"No!\" he said hoarsely. \"Why should I submit to this indignity? He is the abbey's man sent to besmirch my claim.\"\n\n\"It is a reasonable requirement,\" said the presiding judge austerely. \"There is no question of your surrendering it to anyone but this court. There can be no suspicion that we have anything to gain by discrediting you. The bench requires you to hand it over to the clerk.\"\n\nThe clerk, accustomed to having the court's orders respected without demur, advanced trustingly, extending a hand. Meurig dared not take the risk. Suddenly he whirled and sprang for the open door, scattering the old men who had come to back his claim. In a moment he was out into the wintry light of the morning, running like a deer. Behind him uproar broke out, and half of those in the church poured out after the fugitive, though their pursuit was half-hearted after the first instinctive rush. They saw Meurig vault the stone wall of the churchyard and head for the fringes of woodland that clothed the hillside behind. In a moment he was lost to view among the trees.\n\nIn the half-deserted church a heavy silence fell. The old men looked at one another helplessly, and made no move to join the hunt. The three judges conferred in low and anxious tones. Cadfael stood drooping in a weariness that seemed temporarily to have deprived him of energy or thought, until at last he drew breath long and deeply, and looked up.\n\n\"It is not a confession, nor has there been a formal charge, or any suit as yet brought against him. But it is evidence for a boy who is now in prison at Shrewsbury on suspicion of this crime. Let me say what can and should be said for Meurig: he did not know Edwin Gurney had been taken, of that I am sure.\"\n\n\"We have now no choice but to pursue him,\" said the presiding judge, \"and it will be done. But certainly the record of this court must be sent, out of courtesy, to the sheriff at Shrewsbury, and at once. Will that content you?\"\n\n\"It's all I ask. Send also, if you will, the vial, concerning which a novice by the name of Mark will testify, for it was he who found it. Send all to Hugh Beringar, the sheriff's deputy, who is in charge, and deliver the report only to him, of your kindness. I wish I might go, but I have still work to do here.\"\n\n\"It will take some hours for our clerks to make the necessary copies and have them certified. But by tomorrow evening, at latest, the report shall be delivered. I think your prisoner will have nothing more to fear.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael uttered his thanks, and went out from the church into a village thronging with agitated, head-shaking neighbours. The tale of the morning's events was on the wing by now, surely already being carried over the hills throughout the commote of Cynllaith, but even rumour had not flown so fast as Meurig, for nothing was seen of him all that day. Cadfael led his horse from the paddock, and mounted and rode. The weariness that had fallen upon him when the need for effort ended so suddenly was subsiding slowly into a desperate sadness, and that again into a drear but grateful calm. He took the journey back very slowly, for he needed time to think, and above all, time for another to do some even more urgent thinking. He passed by the manor-house of Mallilie with only a rueful glance. The ending would not be there.\n\nHe was very well aware that it was not yet over.\n\n\"You are back in good time, brother,\" said Simon, stoking the brazier with fresh fuel for the evening. \"Whatever your business, I trust God prospered it.\"\n\n\"He did,\" said Cadfael. \"And now it must be your turn to rest, and leave the remaining work to me. I've stabled and groomed and fed the horse, he's not overdone for I took things gently with him. After supper there'll be time for shutting the hen-house and seeing to the cow, and light enough still to bring down the ewes in lamb to the barn, for I think there may be harder frost in the night. Curious how the light lies in these hills a good half-hour longer than in the town.\"\n\n\"Your Welsh eyes, brother, are only just regaining their proper vision. There are few nights here that a man could not travel safely even among the upland bogs, knowing the ground at all well. Only in the woods is it ever truly dark. I talked with a wandering brother from the north once, a rough red-haired man with a tongue I could barely understand, a Scot. He said in his far country there were nights when the sun barely set before it rose again on the other side, and you could see your way in an endless afterglow. But I do not know,\" said Brother Simon wistfully, \"if he was romancing. I have never been further than Chester.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael forbore from citing his own travels, remembered now with the astonished contentment of a man at rest. To tell the truth, he had enjoyed the storms no less than he now enjoyed the calm, if this was indeed calm: but each had its own time and place.\n\n\"I've been glad of this stay with you,\" he said, and that at least was true \"It smells like Gwynedd here. And the folk hereabouts have me speaking Welsh to them, and that's gain, for I use it little enough in Shrewsbury.\"\n\nBrother Barnabas came with the supper, his own good bread, barley gruel, ewe's-milk cheese and dried apples. He breathed without labour, and strode round the house unwearied and energetic. \"You see I'm ready and able for work, brother, thanks to your skills. I could fold the ewes myself tonight.\"\n\n\"You will not,\" said Cadfael firmly, \"for I've taken that task for myself, having been truant all day. You be content to see us devouring this baking of yours, for that's one art I have not, and at least I have the grace to know it, and be thankful for the skills of other men.\"\n\nThey ate early at Rhydycroesau, having normally laboured out of doors from early morning. There was still a muted half-light, the east a clear, deep blueness, the west a pallid glow, when Cadfael went out to climb to the nearer crest and bring down the ewes already heavy with lamb. They were few but precious, once in a while they even dropped twins, and with care both survived. Cadfael discerned a deep and tranquil satisfaction in the shepherd's life. The children of his solicitude were seldom killed, unless disease, injury or decrepitude threatened, or in time of desperation the flock could not all be fed through the winter. Their wool and milk were of more value than their meat, and their precious skins could be garnered only once, and better when for distress they had to be slaughtered. So they remained through their natural lives, growing into familiarity and affection, trusting and being understood, even acquiring names. Shepherds had a community of their own, peopled with gentle, obstinate, quiet companions, who did no murder or theft or banditry, broke no laws, made no complaints, fuelled no rebellions.\n\nAll the same, he thought, climbing the hill In long, easy strides, I could not be a shepherd for long. I should miss all the things I deplore, the range and grasp of man for good and evil. And instantly he was back with the struggles and victories and victims of the day.\n\nOn the crest of the ridge he stood to contemplate the coming night, aware that he must be seen from a good distance around. The sky above was immense and very lofty, a very deep blue, with a faint dappling of stars so new and fine that they were visible only when seen from the corner of the eye, and a direct stare immediately put them out. He looked down at the cluster of walled folds and the snug dark huddle of buildings, and could not be quite sure whether he had seen a mere quiver of movement at the corner of the barn. The ewes, accustomed to extra pampering, were gathering about him of their own will, ready to go down into the steamy, wool-scented warmth of the barn for the night. Their rounded sides and bellies swayed contentedly as they walked. By this light only an occasional gleam showed the disconcerting yellow stare of their eyes.\n\nWhen at last he stirred, and began slowly to descend the hill, they followed daintily on their little, agile feet, crowding close, jostling one another, the mild, warm, greasy smell of their fleeces making a flowing cloud about them. He counted, called softly back to one or two stragglers, young ones in their first lamb, and irresponsible, though they came hurrying at his call. Now he had them all.\n\nApart from himself and his little flock, the night was empty and still, unless that was the momentary intrusion and instant withdrawal of some live thing he had caught between the buildings below. Blessedly, Brother Simon and Brother Barnabas had taken him at his word, and remained contentedly in the warmth of the house, by this time probably nodding over the brazier.\n\nHe brought his charges down to the large barn, half of which was cleared by now for their housing at night until they gave birth. The wide doors opened inwards, he thrust them open before him and ushered his flock within, where there was a rack filled for their use, and a trough of water. These needed no light to find their way. The interior of the barn was still peopled with vague, bulky shadows, but otherwise dark, and smelled of dried grass and clover and the fat scent of fleeces. The mountain sheep had not the long, curly wool of the lowlands, but they brought a very thick, short fleece that carried almost as much wool of a somewhat less valuable kind, and they converted handsomely the pasture their spoiled lowland cousins could not make use of. Their cheeses alone were worth their keep.\n\nCadfael chided the last and most unbiddable of his charges into the barn, and passed in after her, advancing into the dimness that left him temporarily blind. He felt the sudden presence behind him, and stood, every muscle stilled. The blade that was laid cold and sudden against the skin of his throat started no movement; he had had knives at his throat before, he was not such a fool as to provoke them into malice or fright, especially when he approached them forewarned.\n\nAn arm encircled him from behind, pinning both arms fast to his body, and he made no move to recoil or resist. \"And did you think when you destroyed me, brother,\" panted a suffocating voice in his ear, \"that I would go into the dark alone?\"\n\n\"I have been expecting you, Meurig,\" said Brother Cadfael quietly. \"Close the door! You may safely, I shall not move. You and I have no need now of witnesses.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "\"NO,\" SAID THE VOICE IN HIS EAR, low and savagely, \"no need of witnesses. My business is with you alone, monk, and brief enough.\" But the arms withdrew from him, and in a moment the heavy doors closed with a hollow sound upon the glimpse of sky in which, from this walled darkness within, the stars showed doubly large and bright.\n\nCadfael stood motionless, and heard the soft brushing of cloth as Meurig leaned back against the closed door, arms spread, drawing deep breaths to savour the moment of arrival, and anticipate the last vengeful achievement. There was no other way out, and he knew his quarry had not moved by so much as a step.\n\n\"You have branded me murderer, why should I draw back now from murder? You have ruined me, shamed me, made me a reproach to my own kin, taken from me my birthright, my land, my good name, everything that made my existence worth calling a life, and I will have your life in recompense. I cannot live now, I cannot even die, until I have been your death, Brother Cadfael.\"\n\nStrange how the simple act of giving his victim a name changed everything, even this blind relationship, like the first gleam of light. Further light could only assist the change.\n\n\"Hanging behind the door, where you are,\" said Cadfael practically, \"you'll find a lantern, and on another nail there a leather bag with flint and steel and tinder in it. We may as well see each other. Take care with the sparks, you've nothing against our sheep, and fire would bring people running. There's a shelf where the lantern will stand.\"\n\n\"And you will make your bid to keep your forfeit life. I know!\"\n\n\"I shall not move hand or foot,\" said Cadfael patiently. \"Why do you suppose I have made so certain the last work tonight should fall to me? Did I not say I was expecting you? I have no weapon, and if I had I would not use it. I finished with arms many years ago.\"\n\nThere was a long pause, during which, though he felt that more was expected of him, he added nothing more. Then he heard the creek of the lantern as Meurig's questing hand found it, the grating noise of the horn shutter being opened, the groping of fingers to find the shelf, and the sound of the lantern being set down there. Flint and steel tapped sharply several times, sparks flashed and vanished, and then a corner of charred cloth caught and held the tiny fire, and Meurig's face hung ghostlike over it, blowing until the wick caught in its turn, and sent up a lengthening flame. Dim yellow light brought into being the feeding-rack, the trough, the forest of shadows in the network of beams above, and the placid, incurious ewes; and Cadfael and Meurig stood looking intently at each other.\n\n\"Now,\" said Cadfael, \"you can at least see to take what you came for.\" And he sat down and settled himself solidly on a corner of the feeding-rack.\n\nMeurig came towards him with long, deliberate strides through the straw-dust and chaff of the floor. His face was fixed and grey, his eyes sunken deep into his head and burning with frenzy and pain. So close that their knees touched, he advanced the knife slowly until the point pricked Cadfael's throat; along eight inches of steel they eyed each other steadily.\n\n\"Are you not afraid of death?\" asked Meurig, barely above a whisper.\n\n\"I've brushed elbows with him before. We respect each other. In any case there's no evading him for ever, we all come to it, Meurig. Gervase Bonel\u2026 you\u2026 I. We have to die, every one of us, soon or late. But we do not have to kill. You and I both made a choice, you only a week or so ago, I when I lived by the sword. Here am I, as you willed it. Now take what you want of me.\"\n\nHe did not take his eyes from Meurig's eyes, but he saw at the edge of vision the tightening of the strong brown fingers and the bracing of the muscles in the wrist to strike home. But there was no other movement. All Meurig's body seemed suddenly to writhe in an anguished attempt to thrust, and still he could not. He wrenched himself backward, and a muted animal moan came from his throat. He cast the knife out of his hand to whine and stick quivering in the beaten earth of the floor, and flung up both arms to clasp his head, as though all his strength of body and will could not contain or suppress the pain that filled him to overflowing. Then his knees gave under him, and he was crouched in a heap at Cadfael's feet, his face buried in his arms against the hay-rack. Round yellow eyes, above placidly chewing muzzles, looked on in detached surprise at the strangeness of men.\n\nBroken sounds came from Meurig's buried mouth, muffled and sick with despair \"Oh, God, that I could so face my death\u2026 for I owe it, I owe it, and dare not pay! If I were clean\u2026 if I were only clean again\u2026\"And in a great groan he said: \"Oh, Mallilie\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael softly. \"A very fair place. Yet there is a world outside it.\"\n\n\"Not for me, not for me\u2026 I am forfeit. Give me up! Help me\u2026 help me to be fit to die\u2026\" He raised himself suddenly, and looked up at Cadfael, clutching with one hand at the skirts of his habit. \"Brother, those things you said of me\u2026 never meant to be a murderer, you said\u2026\"\n\n\"Have I not proved it?\" said Cadfael. \"I live, and it was not fear that stayed your hand.\"\n\n\"Mere chance that led me, you said, and that because of an act of simple kindness\u2026 Great pity it is, you said! Pity\u2026 Did you mean all those things, brother? Is there pity?\"\n\n\"I meant them,\" said Cadfael, \"every word. Pity, indeed, that ever you went so far aside from your own nature, and poisoned yourself as surely as you poisoned your father. Tell me, Meurig, in these last days you have not been back to your grandfather's house, or had any word from him?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Meurig, very low, and shuddered at the thought of the upright old man now utterly bereft.\n\n\"Then you do not know that Edwin was fetched away from there by the sheriff's men, and is now in prison in Shrewsbury.\"\n\nNo, he had not known. He looked up aghast, seeing the implication, and shook with the fervour of his denial: \"No, that I swear I did not do. I was tempted\u2026 I could not prevent that they cast the blame on him, but I did not betray him\u2026 I sent him here, I would have seen that he got clear\u2026 I know it was not enough, but oh, this at least don't lay to my charge! God knows I liked the boy well.\"\n\n\"I also know it,\" said Cadfael, \"and know it was not you who sent them to take him. No one wittingly betrayed him. None the less, he was taken. Tomorrow will see him free again. Take that for one thing set right, where many are past righting.\"\n\nMeurig laid his clasped hands, white-knuckled with tension, on Cadfael's knees, and lifted a tormented face into the soft light of the lantern. \"Brother, you have been conscience to other men in your time, for God's sake do as much by me, for I am sick, I am maimed, I am not my own. You said\u2026 great pity! Hear me all my evil!\"\n\n\"Child,\" said Cadfael, shaken, and laid his own hand over the stony fists that felt chill as ice, \"I am not a priest, I cannot give absolution, I cannot appoint penance\u2026\"\n\n\"Ah, but you can, you can, none but you, who found out the worst of me! Hear me my confession, and I shall be better prepared, and then deliver me to my penalty, and I will not complain.\"\n\n\"Speak, then, if it gives you ease,\" said Cadfael heavily, and kept his hand closed over Meurig's as the story spilled out in broken gouts of words, like blood from a wound: how he had gone to the infirmary with no ill thought, to pleasure an old man, and learned by pure chance of the properties of the oil he was using for its true purpose, and how it could be put to a very different use. Only then had the seed been planted in his mind. He had a few weeks, perhaps, of grace before Mallilie was lost to him forever, and here was a means of preventing the loss.\n\n\"And it grew in me, the thought that it would not be a hard thing to do\u2026 and the second time I went there I took the vial with me, and filled it. But it was still only a mad dream\u2026 Yet I carried it with me, that last day, and I told myself it would be easy to put in his mead, or mull wine for him\u2026 I might never have done it, only willed it, though that is sin enough. But when I came to the house, they were all in the inner room together, and I heard Aldith saying how the prior had sent a dish from his own table, a dainty to please my father. It was there simmering on the hob, a spoon in it\u2026 The thing was done almost before I knew I meant to do it\u2026 And then I heard Aelfric and Aldith coming back from the table, and I had no time for more than to step quickly outside the door again, as if I had just opened it, and I was scraping my shoes clean to come in when they came into the kitchen\u2026 What could they think but that I had only just come? A score of times in the next hour, God knows how wildly, I wished it undone, but such things cannot be undone, and I am damned\u2026 What could I do but go forward, when there was no going back?\"\n\nWhat, indeed, short of what he was doing now, and this had been forced on him. Yet it was not to kill that he had flown like a homing bird to this meeting, whatever he himself had believed.\n\n\"So I went on. I fought for the fruit of my sin, for Mallilie, as best I could. I never truly hated my father, but Mallilie I truly loved, and it was mine, mine\u2026 if only I could have come by it cleanly! But there is justice, and I have lost, and I make no complaint. Now deliver me up, and let me pay for his death with mine, as is due. I will go with you willingly, if you will wish me peace.\"\n\nHe laid his head on Cadfael's steadying hand with a great sigh, and fell silent; and after a long moment Cadfael laid his other hand on the thick dark hair, and held him so. Priest he might not be, and absolution he could not give, yet here he was in the awful situation of being both judge and confessor. Poison is the meanest of killings, the steel he could respect. And yet\u2026 Was not Meurig also a man gravely wronged? Nature had meant him to be amiable, kindly, unembittered, circumstances had so deformed him that he turned against his nature once, and fatally, and he was all too well aware of his mortal sickness. Surely one death was enough, what profit in a second? God knew other ways of balancing the scale.\n\n\"You asked your penance of me,\" said Cadfael at last. \"Do you still ask it? And will you bear it and keep faith, no matter how terrible it may be?\"\n\nThe heavy head stirred on his knee. \"I will,\" said Meurig in a whisper, \"and be grateful.\"\n\n\"You want no easy penalty?\"\n\n\"I want all my due. How else can I find peace?\"\n\n\"Very well, you have pledged yourself. Meurig, you came for my life, but when it came to the stroke, you could not take it. Now you lay your life in my hands, and I find that I cannot take it, either, that I should be wrong to take it. What benefit to the world would your blood be? But your hands, your strength, your will, that virtue you still have within you, these may yet be of the greatest profit. You want to pay in full. Pay, then! Yours is a lifelong penance, Meurig, I rule that you shall live out your life\u2014and may it be long!\u2014and pay back all your debts by having regard to those who inhabit this world with you. The tale of your good may yet outweigh a thousand times the tale of your evil. This is the penance I lay on you.\"\n\nMeurig stirred slowly, and raised a dazed and wondering face, neither relieved nor glad, only utterly bewildered. \"You mean it? This is what I must do?\"\n\n\"This is what you must do. Live, amend, in your dealings with sinners remember your own frailty, and in your dealings with the innocent, respect and use your own strength in their service. Do as well as you can, and leave the rest to God, and how much more can saints do?\"\n\n\"They will be hunting for me,\" said Meurig, still doubting and marvelling. \"You will not hold that I've failed you if they take and hang me?\"\n\n\"They will not take you. By tomorrow you will be well away from here. There is a horse in the stable next to the barn, the horse I rode today. Horses in these parts can very easily be stolen, it's an old Welsh game, as I know. But this one will not be stolen. I give it, and I will be answerable. There is a whole world to reach on horseback, where a true penitent can make his way step by step through a long life towards grace. Were I you, I should cross the hills as far west as you may before daylight, and then bear north into Gwynedd, where you are not known. But you know these hills better than I.\"\n\n\"I know them well,\" said Meurig, and now his face had lost its anguish in open and childlike wonder. \"And this is all? All you ask of me?\"\n\n\"You will find it heavy enough,\" said Brother Cadfael. \"But yes, there is one thing more. When you are well clear, make your confession to a priest, ask him to write it down and have it sent to the sheriff at Shrewsbury. What has passed today in Llansilin will release Edwin, but I would not have any doubt or shadow left upon him when you are gone.\"\n\n\"Neither would I,\" said Meurig. \"It shall be done.\"\n\n\"Come, then, you have a long pilgrimage to go. Take up your knife again.\" And he smiled. \"You will need it to cut your bread and hunt your meat.\"\n\nIt was ending strangely. Meurig rose like one in a dream, both spent and renewed, as though some rainfall from heaven had washed him out of his agony and out of his wits, to revive, a man half-drowned and wholly transformed. Cadfael had to lead him by the hand, once they had put out the lantern. Outside, the night was very still and starlit, on the edge of frost. In the stable Cadfael himself saddled the horse.\n\n\"Rest him when you safely may. He's carried me today, but that was no great journey. I'd give you the mule, for he's fresh, but he'd be slower, and more questionable under a Welshman. There, mount and go. Go with God!\"\n\nMeurig shivered at that, but the pale, fixed brightness of his face did not change. With a foot already in the stirrup, he said with sudden inexpressibly grave and burdened humility:\n\n\"Give me your blessing! For I am bound by you while I live.\"\n\nHe was gone, up the slope above the folds, by ways he knew better than did the man who had set him free to ride them, back into the world of the living. Cadfael looked after him for only a moment, before turning down towards the house. He thought as he went: Well, if I have loosed you on the world unchanged and perilous, if this cleansing wears off once you are safe, then on me be the guilt. But he found he could not feel greatly afraid; the more he reviewed the course he had taken, the more profound became his soul's tranquillity.\n\n\"You were a long time, brother,\" said Simon, welcoming him with pleasure into the evening warmth within the house. \"We were wondering about you.\"\n\n\"I was tempted to stay and meditate among the ewes,\" said Brother Cadfael. \"They are so calming. And it is a beautiful night.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "It was a good Christmas; he had never known one more firelit and serene. The simple outdoor labour was bliss after stress, he would not have exchanged it for the ceremonial and comparative luxury of the abbey. The news that came in from the town, before the first snow discouraged travel, made a kind of shrill overtone to the homely Christmas music they made between them, with three willing but unskilled voices and three contented and fulfilled hearts. Hugh Beringar sent word, not only that he had received the record of the Llansilin court, but also that Edwin's well-meant conciliatory gift had been cast up in the shallows near Atcham, in considerable disarray, but still recognisable. The boy was restored to his doting mother, and the Bonel household could breathe freely again, now that the culprit was known. The apologetic report that the horse belonging to the Rhydycroesau sheepfolds had gone missing, due to Brother Cadfael's reprehensible failure to bar the stable door securely, had been noted with appropriate displeasure by the chapter of the abbey, and repayment in some form awaited him on his return.\n\nAs for the fugitive Meurig, cried through Powys for murder, the hunt had never set eyes on him since, and the trail was growing cold. Even the report of his voluntary confession, sent by a priest from a hermitage in Penllyn, did not revive the scent, for the man was long gone, and no one knew where. Nor was Owain Gwynedd likely to welcome incursions on his territory in pursuit of criminals against whom he had no complaint, and who should never have been allowed to slip through authority's fingers in the first place.\n\nIn fact, all was very well. Cadfael was entirely happy among the sheep, turning a deaf ear to the outer world. He felt he had earned a while of retreat. His only regret was that the first deep snow prevented him from riding to visit Ifor ap Morgan, to whom he owed what consolation there was to be found for him. Frail though it might seem, Cadfael found it worth cherishing, and so would Ifor; and the very old are very durable.\n\nThey had no less than three Christmas morning lambs, a single and twins. They brought them all, with their dams, into the house and made much of them, for these innocents shared their stars with the Christchild. Brother Barnabas, wholly restored, nursed the infants in his great hands and capacious lap, and was as proud as if he had produced them of his own substance. They were very merry together, in a quiet celebration, before Brother Cadfael left them to return to Shrewsbury. His patient was by this time the most vigorous force within twenty miles round, and there was no more need for a physician here at Rhydycroesau.\n\nThe snow had abated in a temporary thaw, when Cadfael mounted his mule, three days after the feast, and set out southwards for Shrewsbury.\n\nHe made a long day of it because he did not take the direct road to Oswestry, but went round to pay his delayed visit on Ifor ap Morgan before cutting due east from Croesau Bach to strike the main road well south of the town. What he had to say to Ifor, and what Ifor replied to him, neither of them ever confided to a third. Certainly when Cadfael mounted again, it was in better heart that he set out, and in better heart that Ifor remained alone.\n\nBy reason of this detour it was already almost dusk when Cadfael's mule padded over the Welsh bridge into Shrewsbury, and through the hilly streets alive with people and business again after the holiday. No time now to turn aside from the Wyle for the pleasure of being let in by the shrewd little housewife Alys, and viewing the jubilation of the Bellecote family; that would have to keep for another day. No doubt Edwy was long since released from his pledge to keep to home, and off with his inseparable uncle on whatever work, play or mischief offered. The future of Mallilie still lay in the balance; it was to be hoped that the lawmen would not manage to take the heart out of it in their fees, before anyone got acknowledged possession.\n\nAnd here round the curve of the Wyle the arc of the river showed before him, the waning day regaining half its light as he stepped on to the open span and passed through the gates on to the draw-bridge. Here Edwin checked in his indignant flight to hurl away his despised offering. And here beyond was the level road opening before him, and on his right the house where Richildis must still be living, and the mill-pond, a dull silver plane in the twilight; then the wall of the abbey enclosure, the west front and the parish door of the great church looming before him, and on his right hand the gate-house.\n\nHe turned in and checked in astonishment at the bustle and noise that met him. The porter was out at his door, brushed and flushed and important as though for a bishop's visitation, and the great court was full of brothers and lay brothers and officials running to and fro busily, or gathered in excited groups, conversing in raised voices, and looking round eagerly at every creature who entered at the gate. Cadfael's coming caused one such stir, which subsided with unflattering promptness when he was recognised. Even the schoolboys were out whispering and chirruping together under the wall of the gatehouse, and travellers crowded into the doorway of the guest-hall. Brother Jerome stood perched on the mounting-block by the hail, his attention divided between giving orders left and right, and watching every moment at the gate. In Cadfael's absence he seemed, if anything, to have grown more self-important and officious than ever.\n\nCadfael lighted down, prepared to stable his own beast, but unsure whether the mules might still be housed in the barn on the horse-fair; and out of the weaving excitement around him Brother Mark came darting with a whoop of pleasure.\n\n\"Oh, Cadfael, what joy to see you! Such happenings! And I thought you would be missing everything, and all the while you were in the thick of it. We've heard about the court at Llansilin\u2026 Oh, you're so welcome home again!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" said Cadfael, \"if this reception is for me.\"\n\n\"Mine is!\" said Brother Mark fervently. \"But this\u2026 Of course, you won't have heard yet. We're all waiting for Abbot Heribert. One of the carters was out to St. Giles a while ago, and he saw them, they've made a stop at the hospital there. He came to give the word. Brother Jerome is waiting to run and tell Prior Robert as soon as they come in at the gate. They'll be here any moment.\"\n\n\"And no news until they come? Will it still be Abbot Heribert, I wonder?\" said Cadfael ruefully.\n\n\"We don't know. But everybody's afraid\u2026 Brother Petrus is muttering awful things into his ovens, and vowing he'll quit the order. And Jerome is unbearable!\"\n\nHe turned to glare, so far as his mild, plain face was capable of glaring, at the incubus of whom he spoke, and behold, Brother Jerome had vanished from his mounting-block, and was scurrying head-down for the abbot's lodging.\n\n\"Oh, they must be coming! Look\u2014the prior!\"\n\nRobert sailed forth from his appropriated lodging, immaculately robed, majestically tall, visible above all the peering heads. His face was composed into otherworldly serenity, benevolence and piety, ready to welcome his old superior with hypocritical reverence, and assume his office with hypocritical humility; all of which he would do very beautifully, and with noble dignity.\n\nAnd in at the gate ambled Heribert, a small, rotund, gentle elderly man of unimpressive appearance, who rode like a sack on his white mule, and had the grime and mud and weariness of the journey upon him. He wore, at sight, the print of demotion and retirement in his face and bearing, yet he looked pleasantly content, like a man who has just laid by a heavy burden, and straightened up to draw breath. Humble by nature, Heribert was uncrushable. His own clerk and grooms followed a respectful few yards behind; but at his elbow rode a tall, spare, sinewy Benedictine with weathered features and shrewd blue eyes, who kept pace with him in close attendance, and eyed him, Cadfael thought, with something of restrained affection. A new brother for the house, perhaps.\n\nPrior Robert sailed through the jostling, whispering brothers like a fair ship through disorderly breakers, and extended both hands to Heribert as soon as his foot touched ground. \"Father, you are most heartily welcome home! There is no one here but rejoices to see you back among us, and I trust blessed and confirmed in office, our superior as before.\"\n\nTo do him justice, thought Cadfael critically, it was not often he lied as blatantly as that, and certainly he did not realise even now that he was lying. And to be honest, what could he or any man say in this situation, however covetously he exulted in the promotion he foresaw for himself? You can hardly tell a man to his face that you've been waiting for him to go, and he should have done it long ago.\n\n\"Indeed, Robert, I'm happy to be back with you,\" said Heribert, beaming. \"But no, I must inform all here that I am no longer their abbot, only their brother. It has been judged best that another should have charge, and I bow to that judgment, and am come home to serve loyally as a simple brother under you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" whispered Brother Mark, dismayed. \"Oh, Cadfael, look, he grows taller!\"\n\nAnd indeed it seemed that Robert's silver head was suddenly even loftier, as if by the acquisition of a mitre. But equally suddenly there was another head as lofty as his; the stranger had dismounted at leisure, almost unremarked, and stood at Heribert's side. The ring of thick, straight dark hair round his tonsure was hardly touched with grey, yet he was probably at least as old as Robert, and his intelligent hatchet of a face was just as incisive, if less beautiful.\n\n\"Here I present to you all,\" said Heribert almost fondly, \"Father Radulfus, appointed by the legatine council to have rule here in our abbey as from this day. Receive your new abbot and reverence him, as I, Brother Heribert of this house, have already learned to do.\"\n\nThere was a profound hush, and then a great stir and sigh and smile that ran like a quiet wave all through the assembly in the great court. Brother Mark clutched Cadfael's arm and buried what might otherwise have been a howl of delight in his shoulder. Brother Jerome visibly collapsed, like a pricked bladder, and turned the identical wrinkled mud-colour. Somewhere at the rear there was a definite crow, like a game-cock celebrating a kill, though it was instantly suppressed, and no one could trace its origin. It may well have been Brother Petrus, preparing to rush back into his kitchen and whip all his pots and pans into devoted service for the newcomer who had disjointed Prior Robert's nose in the moment of its most superb elevation.\n\nAs for the prior himself, he had not the figure or the bearing to succumb to deflation like his clerk, nor the kind of complexion that could be said to blench. His reaction was variously reported afterwards. Brother Denis the hospitaller claimed that Robert had rocked back on his heels so alarmingly that it was a wonder he did not fall flat on his back. The porter alleged that he blinked violently, and remained glassy-eyed for minutes afterwards. The novices, after comparing notes, agreed that if looks could have killed, they would have had a sudden death in their midst, and the victim would not have been the new abbot, but the old, who by so ingenuously acknowledging his future subordination to Robert as prior had led him to believe in his expected promotion to the abbacy, only to shatter the illusion next moment. Brother Mark, very fairly, said that only a momentary marble stillness, and the subsequent violent agitation of the prior's Adam's-apple as he swallowed gall, had betrayed his emotions. Certainly he had been forced to a heroic effort at recovery, for Heribert had proceeded benignly:\n\n\"And to you, Father Abbot, I make known Brother Robert Pennant, who has been an exemplary support to me as prior, and I am sure will serve you with the same selfless devotion.\"\n\n\"It was beautiful!\" said Brother Mark later, in the garden workshop where he had submitted somewhat self-consciously to having his stewardship reviewed, and been relieved and happy at being commended. \"But I feel ashamed now. It was wicked of me to feel such pleasure in someone else's downfall.\"\n\n\"Oh, come, now!\" said Cadfael absently, busy unpacking his scrip and replacing the jars and bottles he had brought back with him. \"Don't reach for the halo too soon. You have plenty of time to enjoy yourself, even a little maliciously sometimes, before you settle down to being a saint. It was beautiful, and almost every soul there rejoiced in it. Let's have no hypocrisy.\"\n\nBrother Mark let go of his scruples, and had the grace to grin. \"But all the same, when Father Heribert could meet him with no malice at all, and such affection\u2026\"\n\n\"Brother Heribert! And you do yourself less than justice,\" said Cadfael fondly. \"You're still endearingly green, it seems. Did you think all those well-chosen words were hit upon by accident? 'A simple brother under you\u2026 ' He could as well have said among you, since he was speaking to us all a moment before. And 'with the same selfless devotion,' indeed! Yes, the very same! And by the look of our new abbot, Robert will be waiting a long, long time before there's another vacancy there.\"\n\nBrother Mark dangled his legs from the bench by the wall, and gaped in startled consternation. \"Do you mean he did it all on purpose?\"\n\n\"He could have sent one of the grooms a day ahead, couldn't he, if he'd wished to give warning? He could at least have sent one on from St. Giles to break the news gently. And privately! A long-suffering soul, but he took a small revenge today.\" He was touched by Brother Mark's stricken face. \"Don't look so shocked! You'll never get to be a saint if you deny the bit of the devil in you. And think of the benefit he's conferred on Prior Robert's soul!\"\n\n\"In showing the vanity of ambition?\" hazarded Mark doubtfully.\n\n\"In teaching him not to count his chickens. There, now be off to the warming-room, and get me all the gossip, and I'll join you in a little while, after I've had a word or two with Hugh Beringar.\"\n\n\"Well, it's over, and as cleanly as we could have hoped,\" said Beringar, comfortable beside the brazier with a beaker of mulled wine from Cadfael's store in his hand. \"Documented and done with, and the cost might well have been higher. A very fine woman, by the way, your Richildis, it was a pleasure to hand her boy back to her. I've no doubt he'll be in here after you as soon as he hears you're back, as he soon will, for I'll call at the house on my way into the town.\"\n\nThere had been few direct questions asked, and few but oblique answers. Their conversation was often as devious as their relationship was easy and secure, but they understood each other.\n\n\"I hear you lost a horse while you were up on the borders,\" said Beringar.\n\n\"Mea culpa!\" owned Cadfael. \"I left the stable unlocked.\"\n\n\"About the same time as the Llansilin court lost a man,\" observed Hugh.\n\n\"Well, you're surely not blaming me for that. I found him for them, and then they couldn't keep their hold on him.\"\n\n\"I suppose they'll have the price of the horse out of you, one way or the other?\"\n\n\"No doubt it will come up at chapter tomorrow. No matter,\" said Brother Cadfael placidly, \"as long as no one here can dun me for the price of the man.\"\n\n\"That can only be charged at another chapter. But it could come high.\" But Hugh's sharp, dark face behind the quivering vapour from the brazier was smiling. \"I've been saving a piece of news for you, Cadfael, my friend. Every few days a new wonder out of Wales! Only yesterday I got word from Chester that a rider who gave no name came into one of the granges of the monastery of Beddgelert, and left there his horse, asking that the brothers would give it stable-room until it could be returned to the Benedictine brothers at the sheepfolds of Rhydycroesau, whence it had been borrowed. They don't yet know of it at Rhydycroesau, for they had their first snow before us, up there in Arfon, and there was no chance of getting a messenger through overland, and I gather is none even yet. But the horse is there, and safe. Whoever the stranger was,\" said Hugh innocently, \"he must have left it there no more than two days after our own vanished malefactor made his confession in Penllyn. The word came by way of Bangor, when they could reach it, and by sea to Chester with one of the coastal boats. So it seems you'll get a shorter penance than you bargained for.\"\n\n\"Beddgelert, eh!\" said Cadfael, pondering. \"And left there on foot, it seems. Where do you suppose he was bound, Hugh? Clynnog or Caergybi, and oversea to Ireland?\"\n\n\"Why not into the cells of the clas at Beddgelert?\" Hugh suggested, smiling into his wine. \"After all your buffeting around the world, you came into a like harbour.\"\n\nCadfael stroked his cheeks thoughtfully. \"No, not that. Not yet! He would not think he had paid enough for that, yet.\"\n\nHugh gave a brisk bait of laughter, set down his cup, and got to his feet, clapping Cadfael heartily on the shoulder. \"I'd better be off. Every time I come near you I find myself compounding a felony.\"\n\n\"But it may end like that, some day,\" said Cadfael seriously.\n\n\"In a felony?\" Hugh looked back from the doorway, still smiling.\n\n\"In a vocation. More than one has gone from the one to the other, Hugh, and been profitable to the world in between.\"\n\nIt was in the afternoon of the following day that Edwy and Edwin presented themselves at the door of the workshop, in their best, very well brushed and trimmed, and both looking slightly shocked into unusually discreet behaviour, at least at first. This subdued demeanour rendered them so alike that Cadfael had to look closely for the brown eyes and the hazel to be certain which of them was which. Their thanks were cheerfully and heartily expressed, their contentment had made total peace between them for the time being.\n\n\"This ceremonial finery,\" said Cadfael, eyeing the pair of them with cautious benevolence, \"can hardly be for me.\"\n\n\"The lord abbot sent for me,\" explained Edwin, his eyes rounding in awe at the recollection. \"My mother made me put on my best. He only came with me out of curiosity, he wasn't invited.\"\n\n\"And he fell over his feet in the doorway,\" Edwy countered promptly, \"and blushed red as a cardinal's hat.\"\n\n\"I did not!\"\n\n\"You did! You're doing it now.\" And indeed he was; the very suggestion produced the flooding crimson.\n\n\"So Abbot Radulfus sent for you,\" said Cadfael. Clearing up unfinished business, he thought, and briskly, too. \"And what did you think of our new abbot?\"\n\nNeither of these two was going to own to being impressed. They exchanged a considering glance, and Edwy said: \"He was very fair. But I'm not sure I'd want to be a novice here.\"\n\n\"He said,\" reported Edwin, \"that it would be matter for discussion with my mother, and with the lawmen, but clearly the manor can't belong to the abbey, the agreement is void, and if the will is proven, and the earl of Chester confirms his assent as overlord, Mallilie will be mine, and until I'm of age the abbey will leave a steward there to manage it, and the lord abbot himself will be my guardian.\"\n\n\"And what did you say to that?\"\n\n\"I thanked him and said yes, very heartily. What else? Who knows better how to run a manor? I can learn all the art from them. And we are to return there, my mother and I, as soon as we wish, and that will be very soon, if we don't get more snows.\" Edwin's eager brightness, though not dimmed, nevertheless grew very solemn. \"Brother Cadfael, it was a terrible thing\u2014about Meurig. Hard to understand\u2026\n\nYes, for the young very hard, and almost impossible to forgive. But where there had been liking and trust there still remained a residue of unquenchable warmth, incompatible with the revulsion and horror he felt for a poisoner.\n\n\"I wouldn't have let him have Mallilie without a fight,\" said Edwin, dourly intent on absolute honesty. \"But if he'd won, I don't think I'd have grudged it to him. And if I'd won\u2026 I don't know! He would never have shared it, would he? But I'm glad he got away! If that's wicked, I can't help it. I am glad!\"\n\nIf it was wicked, he had company in his fault, but Cadfael said nothing of that.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael\u2026 As soon as we're home again in Mallilie, I mean to go and visit Ifor ap Morgan. He did give me the kiss when I asked him. I can be a kind of grandson.\"\n\nThank God I didn't make the mistake of suggesting it to him, thought Cadfael devoutly. There's nothing the young hate and resent so much as to be urged to a good act, when they've already made the virtuous resolve on their own account.\n\n\"That's very well thought of,\" he said warmly. \"He'll be glad of you. If you take Edwy with you to his house, better teach him how to tell you apart, his eyes may not be quite so sharp as mine.\"\n\nThey both grinned at that. Edwy said: \"He still owes me for the buffeting I got on his account, and the night I spent in prison here. I mean to have a foot in the door of Mallilie as often as I please on the strength of that.\"\n\n\"I had two nights of it,\" objected Edwin smartly, \"and in a much worse place.\"\n\n\"You? Never a bruise on you, and in clover there with Hugh Beringar looking after you!\"\n\nAnd thereupon Edwin jabbed Edwy smartly in the middle with a stiff forefinger, and Edwy hooked a knee under Edwin's, and spilled him to the floor, both laughing. Cadfael looked on tolerantly for a while, and then grasped two separate handfuls of thick, curling hair, and plucked them apart. They rolled clear and came obligingly to their feet, grinning broadly, and looking much less immaculate than before.\n\n\"You are a pestilential pair, and I wish Ifor ap Morgan joy of you,\" said Cadfael, but very complacently. \"You're the lord of a manor now, young Edwin, or will be when you're of age. Then you'd better be studying your responsibilities. Is that the kind of example uncle should set before nephew?\"\n\nEdwin stopped shaking and dusting himself into order with abrupt gravity, and stood erect, large-eyed. \"I have been thinking of my duties, truly. There's much I don't yet know, and have to learn, but I told the lord abbot\u2026 I don't like it, I never liked it, that my stepfather entered suit against Aelfric, and made him villein, when he thought himself born free, as his fathers had been before him. I asked him if I could free a man, or if I had to wait until I was of age, and got seisin myself. And he said certainly it could be done at will, and he would be sponsor for me. I am going to see Aelfric a free man. And I think\u2026 that is, he and Aldith\u2026\"\n\n\"I told him,\" said Edwy, giving himself a brief shake, like a dog, and settling back at ease on the bench, \"that Aldith likes Aelfric, and once he's free they will certainly marry, and Aelfric is lettered, and knows Mallilie, and will make a splendid steward, when the abbey hands over the manor.\"\n\n\"You told me! I knew very well she liked him, only he wouldn't say how much he liked her. And what do you know about manors and stewards, you prentice carpenter?\"\n\n\"More than you'll ever know about wood, and carving, and craftsmanship, you prentice baron!\"\n\nThey were at it again, locked in a bear's hug, propped in the corner of the bench, Edwy with a grip on Edwin's russet thatch, Edwin with fingers braced into Edwy's ribs, tickling him into convulsions of laughter. Cadfael hoisted the pair of them in his arms, and heaved them towards the door.\n\n\"Out! Take your cantrips off these premises, where they hardly belong. There, go and find a bear-pit!\" Even to himself he sounded foolishly proud and proprietary.\n\nAt the door they fell apart with bewildering ease and neatness, and both turned to beam at him. Edwin remembered to plead, in penitent haste: \"Brother Cadfael, will you please come and see my mother before we leave? She begs you!\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Cadfael, helpless to say otherwise, \"I will, surely!\"\n\nHe watched them go, out towards the great court and the gatehouse, again wrangling amiably, arms round each other in ambiguous embrace and assault. Strange creatures at this age, capable of heroic loyalty and gallantry under pressure, earnest in pursuing serious ends, and reverting to the battle-play of pups from one litter when all was serene in their world.\n\nCadfael turned back into his workshop, and barred the door against all the rest of the world, even Brother Mark. It was very quiet in there, and very dim with the darkness of the timber walls and the faint blue smoke from the brazier. A home within a home to him now, and all he wanted. It was well over, as Hugh Beringar had said, with no more waste than was inevitable. Edwin would have his manor, Aelfric would have his freedom, a secure future, good ground for loosening his tongue and declaring himself to Aldith; and no doubt, if he proved obstinate about it, she would find the means of prompting him. Brother Rhys would have a long gossip about his kin, and his little flask of the right spirit, and hazy memory would film over the gap left by a lost great-nephew. Ifor ap Morgan would have a grief of his own, never mentioned, but a hope of his own, too, and a substitute grandchild only a short ride away. And Meurig, somewhere at large in the world, had the long penance before him, and good need of other men's prayers. He would not want for Cadfael's.\n\nHe settled himself at ease on the bench where the boys had wrestled and laughed, and put up his feet comfortably. He wondered if he could legitimately plead that he was still confined within the enclave until Richildis left for Mallilie, and decided that that would be cowardly only after he had decided that in any case he had no intention of doing it.\n\nShe was, after all, a very attractive woman, even now, and her gratitude would be a very pleasant indulgence; there was even a decided lure in the thought of a conversation that must inevitably begin to have: \"Do you remember\u2026?\" as its constant refrain. Yes, he would go. It was not often he was able to enjoy an orgy of shared remembrances.\n\nIn a week or two, after all, the entire household would be removing to Mallilie, all those safe miles away. He was not likely to see much of Richildis after that. Brother Cadfael heaved a deep sigh that might have been of regret, but might equally well have been of relief.\n\nAh, well! Perhaps it was all for the best!"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Silver Stallion",
        "author": "Peter Darman",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "1300s",
            "Catalan Chronicles"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The Pass of Thermopylae, northern Greece, autumn 1309",
                "text": "Luca had expected the Duchy of Athens to be warmer than Gallipoli for some reason. Everyone had told him Greece was a place of eternal sun, olives, wine and learned men in white robes with long beards. Today the sun was conspicuous by its absence, a desultory drizzle coming from the mist-shrouded mountains to soak the Catalan Company camped in the famous pass where three hundred Spartans had stood against tens of thousands of Persians seventeen hundred years before. King Leonidas and his Spartans had fought the Persians in the summer heat when the sun had glinted off the whetted spear points of the king of king's royal guard, but today the air was damp and the temperature cool.\n\nAfter its adventures in Macedonia where the company had faced and defeated the duplicity of Empress Irene and had briefly laid siege to the city of Thessalonica, the empress' seat of power, the mercenaries had ended their siege and marched south in the direction of Athens to present themselves to their new employer \u2013 Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens. The march from Thessalonica through the Kingdom of Thessaly had been a leisurely affair, not least because the Catalans had destroyed the army of Thessaly, had captured its young king and had planned to sell him to his future mother-in-law, Empress Irene, for a huge sum of money. Instead, the company had swapped the King of Thessaly for a lowly, illiterate Almogavar whose monetary value was worthless, but who was worth more than his weight in gold as he was the company's lucky talisman.\n\nLuca Baldi, the man saved from a grisly death in Thessalonica, placed an arm around the shoulder of the woman who had saved his life by rousing the company to forgo the ransom for the King of Thessaly for the life of the Black Sheep. The company had heard her plea, much to the annoyance of Hector, the company's commander. Yet here they all were, safe and sound and standing in the pass of Thermopylae, listening to the knight responsible for holding the pass against the enemies of the Latin states of Greece.\n\nLuca planted a delicate kiss on the cheek of his beloved, causing her to smile and lay her head on his shoulder. Life was good, a new challenge beckoned and he was back in the arms of his woman and the embrace of the Catalan Company. The mercenary camp was planted in the centre of the pass, between the high cliffs of Zestano and the grey waters of the Malian Gulf. Even Luca could see that the pass was a naturally defensive position. He did not know the names of the mountains that came close in to the sea, on the other side of which was the island of Euboea, with a narrow channel between the island and the mainland. The brutal grandeur of the mountains was increased by the damp air and grey skies, the mist obscuring the tops of the rugged terrain adding to their imposing appearance.\n\n'This is where the Spartans made their last stand against the Persians.'\n\nLuca turned away from the mountains to look at their self-styed guide. Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa, was not a particularly tall individual but he was imposing. His round face was framed by a black beard and balding hair, his complexion ruddy, his shoulders wide and his hands strong and easily able to wield the expensive sword at his hip in a velvet-covered scabbard with enamelled coats-of-arms on the gilded mounts. That coat of arms \u2013 alternating blue and yellow squares \u2013 was also stitched on to the pristine yellow surcoat he was wearing, under which he wore a short-sleeved mail hauberk. The mail coif that would normally be protecting his head and neck had been removed and now lay on the back of his shoulders.\n\n'The Spartans,' continued the marquis, 'exhausted and surrounded, were given the chance to surrender by the tyrant Xerxes, the so-called king of kings of the Persian Empire. But the Spartan leader scorned his offer, and when the emissary related Xerxes' warning that he had so many archers that when they shot their arrows they would block out the sun, Leonidas replied that he and his men would fight in the shade.'\n\nHector emitted a raucous laugh, much to the delight of the marquis. He, Luca and the others were standing on top of a small hillock at the eastern end of the pass, gazing towards the west where the three-day battle had taken place hundreds of years before. Luca did not understand how a mere three hundred man could defend a wide pass without being easily outflanked. Hector was also thinking the same because he pointed towards where the Catalan encampment had been established.\n\n'There is no way on God's earth that three hundred soldiers could defend this pass. There must have been other troops to supplement their numbers.'\n\nThe marquis chuckled knowingly.\n\n'The Spartans were reinforced by contingents from the other Greek states, but even with the addition of a few thousand their forces were still vastly outnumbered by the Persians. The pass was much narrower at the time of the battle, around twenty paces at its narrowest point. The sea has retreated over the centuries. And yet, despite their overwhelming numerical superiority, the Persians could only overcome the Greeks by luck.'\n\nHector's ears pricked up. 'Luck?'\n\nThe marquis pointed at the mountain on their left.\n\n'As you can see, Mount Kallidromos is heavily forested and though it contains many tracks and paths of varying widths, it is easy to lose one's way. But Xerxes sent his Immortals, his personal bodyguard, to search the area and they found a way to cross the mountain and get behind the Greeks. The result was their annihilation on the hill we now stand on.'\n\n'That is not quite correct.'\n\nThe marquis turned to stare at Ayna, the exotic black-haired young woman with a lithe figure that he assumed was the slave of the one they called the Black Sheep, the peasant who had once served him wine after he had been escorted to Hector's Turkish pavilion in the centre of the sprawling Catalan camp. And now she dared to open her mouth in his presence, he who was a member of the Pallavicini family, which had been Italian nobility for over two hundred years.\n\nHe looked at Hector and then at the commander of his horsemen, Alfonso of Navarre, who was obviously not a knight judging by the lack of coat of arms on his red surcoat and his rather shabby appearance.\n\nAppearance was everything for Albert Pallavicini and men of his class. Christian knights took immense pride and care in their appearance, especially when it came to military equipment. The more expensive and lavish his arms and armour, the greater a knight's reputation, allied to his prowess on the battlefield. Rusty armour and poor-quality weapons were considered a personal disgrace. Everything about the Marquis of Bodonitsa shouted wealth and privilege. His surcoat was decorated with gold thread, he wore gilded iron spurs and on his legs domed iron poleyn knee protectors and golden leather cuisses over his chausses \u2013 mail stockings \u2013 to protect his shins.\n\nSimilarly, the marquis' horse was an expensive beast, though its white coat with black spots might have led some to believe it was an unusual mount for a high-ranking knight. Alfonso had told Luca the animal was a Jennet, a specific kind of palfrey, which was a horse trained to trot at an ambling pace, thus giving the person sitting in the saddle a comfortable ride. And the Jennets bred in the lands to the south of Catalonia were considered the finest and most prized of the palfrey breed. The Jennet of the marquis had a medium-sized head, deep chest and a strong back, being short in the body and long in the leg. Alfonso was very impressed, telling Luca the Jennet was the choice of kings and royalty off the battlefield. On the battlefield the Marquis of Bodonitsa would ride a destrier or warhorse, the mighty stallions easily able to carry a knight in full armour.\n\n'She is allowed to speak in your presence?'\n\nAyna's eyes narrowed and she bristled with indignation.\n\n'Why should I not speak?' she said in flawless Italian, the language the marquis was speaking as a courtesy to the Catalans.\n\nThe official language of the Latin states in Greece was French and as a noble he was fluent in that language, his mother tongue, as well as Greek and Latin.\n\n'We are all equal in the company,' added Luca.\n\nThe marquis raised an eyebrow. Nobles were equal, but glorified shepherds and their camp followers were inferior to anointed knights in every way. But the Duke of Athens had sent a letter asking Albert to welcome the Catalan Company into his lands and to provide them with food during what he hoped would be a brief stay. When he had first clapped eyes on them he had wanted to laugh, especially the Almogavars in their poor sheepskin coats and linen clothes. But the reputation they established in Sicily and latterly in the Roman Empire was not to be lightly dismissed, and so he treated Hector and Alfonso as equals. The curtesy did not extend to the one they called the Black Sheep and his impudent infidel wench.\n\nHector nodded his head at Ayna.\n\n'Ayna here is Persian, so she has a keen interest in what her ancestors got up to.'\n\nThe marquis was surprised and in truth a little intrigued. He noted the dagger at her hip, her sensual good looks and what was obviously a fine body, albeit one dressed in poor attire. He decided to indulge her for the sake of diplomacy.\n\n'Perhaps you would care to enlighten us.'\n\n'The Greeks were betrayed by one of their own to lead the Immortals through the mountain,' said Ayna. 'The trail was called the Anopaea and was known to the Greek King Leonidas, who placed soldiers to guard it. But it was not a narrow track but a broad path. How else would ten thousand Immortals be able to cross the mountain in a single night?'\n\n'How do you know this?' asked the marquis, surprised a woman, let alone a heathen, would be so knowledgeable.\n\n'In Persia we take great pride in our history,' replied Ayna. 'And the Battle of Thermopylae was a great Persian victory.'\n\nHector was now intrigued.\n\n'I would like to see this path.'\n\n'It can be arranged,' said the marquis. 'I can send a guide to show you the way.'\n\n'I accept.'\n\n'Who are the Immortals?' asked Luca.\n\n'The royal bodyguard of the kings of Persia,' Ayna told him. 'They were called Immortals because their number was always maintained at ten thousand. If one fell in battle he was immediately replaced.'\n\n'And yet, the Persians were defeated at the Battle of Plataea a few weeks later and Persia never again attempted to invade Greece, and a few decades later it fell to Alexander of Macedon,' gloated the marquis.\n\n'It is true,' conceded Ayna, 'but after the battle in this pass, the Persians advanced south and destroyed Athens. Let us hope the current owner of the city does not suffer the same fate.'\n\nThe marquis was not amused. 'What!'\n\n'Apologies, my lord,' said Hector. 'You know what these eastern types are like. No manners.'\n\nAlbert gave Ayna an icy glare but she merely turned her eyes away from him. She saw no reason to feel apologetic for voicing an observation. When Luca had returned from his serving duties to inform her the ruler of the land they were in, who was called a marquis, whatever that meant, had extended an invitation to the commanders of the Catalan Company to be shown the sites of the Battle of Thermopylae, she had badgered him to get Hector to allow her to be one of the party. And he was to join her as it would be good for his education. Luca was doubtful he would be allowed to attend because it would be an event for the company's leaders, not a lowly Almogavar and his woman. But the Almogavar captains had better things to do than be lectured by a noble and excused themselves. Melek Kose and Halil Ece also turned down the offer, Melek stating 'one battlefield was much like another'. Hector begged Alfonso to attend, who reluctantly agreed, and was delighted when Luca and Ayna volunteered to listen to Albert Pallavicini. Hector explained to the marquis that Luca was the lucky talisman of the company and was known throughout the Roman Empire. The marquis was sceptical but instantly noted the ivory-handled dagger at Luca's hip, which pointed to the Almogavar being a notch above the average, which compared to the rest of the company was not saying much.\n\nThe marquis had ridden to the Catalan camp accompanied by a small escort of men-at-arms and a standard bearer carrying a huge banner showing his coat of arms. He left the pass without extending an invitation to Hector to dine with him and his wife, Maria of Verona, at his residence, the castle of Bodonitsa, some four miles southeast of Thermopylae. But Albert Pallavicini was still busy that night \u2013 compiling a letter to the Duke of Athens.\n\n\u2002Your grace\n\n\u2002The Catalan Company of mercenaries is now camped in the pass at Thermopylae prior to continuing its march south to Athens. Having had a chance to inspect its camp and having met with its commanders, I would like to give my personal opinion concerning the Catalan mercenaries.\n\n\u2002Whereas their record on the battlefield in Sicily and more recently in the Roman Empire cannot be disputed, I worry that just as the Romans failed to control them, so you might encounter difficulties when it comes to getting them to obey orders. It is well known they created their own kingdom on the Gallipoli Peninsula. They were forced to quit that place on account of an exhaustion of their funds and the laying waste of the lands to the north of the peninsula. As they do not contain a single Christian knight or an individual of noble status, they have become accustomed to living like a large band of well-organised brigands. They have a complete disregard for social norms to the extent that low-born women are allowed to express their opinion in the presence of their social superiors. And it would appear all the menfolk are free to give their opinion to any who will listen to them.\n\n\u2002I have acceded to your wishes and provided the mercenaries with food so they will not resort to plunder, but in all conscience I will be pleased when they have departed my lands. But when they do so they will enter your domain.\n\n\u2002My fear is that the Catalan Company, being bereft of the Christian values we have established and maintained in Greece, such as piety, respect for the social order and adherence to the Catholic faith, will prove untrustworthy and duplicitous allies. I pray I will be proved wrong in the above but fear my concerns will come to fruition.\n\n\u2002I remain your faithful ally, Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa.\n\nIntrigued by the story of the Immortals crossing over the mountain, Hector decided to recreate the trek of Persia's finest warriors. Two days after the Marquis of Bodonitsa had ridden back to his castle, Hector's division stood at the foot of Mount Kallidromos, a thousand men in ranks of four with long files, each one made up of two hundred and fifty men. The morning was sunny and warm, the drizzle and grey clouds having vanished to present the high mountain in all its glory. True to his word, the marquis had sent a shepherd to show Hector the way over the mountain via the so-called Anopaea trail. The shepherd was a miserable, stick-thin individual who looked as though he would fall apart at any moment. Worse, he spoke neither Catalan nor Italian, which meant Romanus, the former shepherd from Anatolia, would have to act as translator.\n\n'Tell him we like to maintain a brisk pace,' Hector instructed Romanus.\n\nThe former shepherd stood to the right of Hector in the front rank of the division, while on the left of the commander was Luca and on the Black Sheep's left side stood Jordi. All four were equipped in full war gear of helmet, three javelins in a quiver protruding over the right shoulder for ease of plucking, small round shield slung over the left shoulder, spear, short sword and dagger.\n\nThe shepherd nodded when Romanus had translated Hector's words, placed a finger against his right nostril to close it and blew a large glob of phlegm out of the left one. He then said something to Romanus who turned to Hector.\n\n'He says it is warm here but up on the mountain it will probably get windy and rainy, and do we want to get our cloaks?'\n\nThe shepherd was dressed in dirty linen clothes but wore a woollen hat and had a cloak around his shoulders, the combination of which was making him sweat. He also carried a gnarled crook in his skeleton-like right hand.\n\n'Just tell him to concentrate on his own well-being,' replied Hector.\n\nThe shepherd grunted and shrugged his shoulders when the message was passed on, though his eyes lit up when he spotted Ayna. Luca could not help but smile at his beloved, who looked like the epitome of an Amazon warrior of old. Her black locks were tied behind her neck and her leggings and tunic clung to her shapely body. Like the men she was wearing a zamarra sheepskin coat, the distinctive garment of the Almogavars. She was not wearing a helmet and did not carry a sword or shield, but the spear she held in her right hand was identical to the one carried by Luca and there was a wicked dagger in a sheath attached to her belt.\n\nHector gave her a dispassionate look. 'Haven't changed your mind, then?'\n\nWhen Luca had told her Hector was planning to march the Almogavars over the mountain to recreate the march of the Immortals many centuries before, she had begged the company commander to allow the Maidens of the Spear to join them. Hector had scoffed at the idea at first but then the malicious side of his nature saw an opportunity to take the wind out of the sails of the Muslim woman who had too much to say for herself. He respected her abilities with a spear; indeed, it was because she was a fighter that she had joined the company, albeit as a captive who had been purchased by Luca Baldi. And she had fought beside Carla Rey in the harbour at Kallipolis when the Genoese had attempted to seize the city. She was a fighter, no doubt about that, but she was also opinionated and had become something of a spokeswoman for the female members of the company. She had formed a unit of Muslim women called the Maidens of the Spear, recruited from the wives and daughters of the company's horse archers. It would fight alongside other females in the company who were able to carry a weapon in emergencies. But Ayna had dreams of fighting with the Almogavars on the battlefield, an idea which appalled Hector. There was no use in arguing with her because she stood her ground and refused to back down, just as she had when she had secured the release of the supposedly doomed Luca Baldi at Thessalonica. But now perhaps Mount Kallidromos might come to Hector's rescue.\n\n'The maidens are eager to show you their abilities,' replied Ayna. 'They and the two hundred other women with them.'\n\nHector rolled his eyes and pointed up at the mountain.\n\n'If you fall behind you are on your own. In war the weak fall first and the strong cannot afford to sacrifice themselves out of pity. You understand?'\n\n'You worry about yourself, Hector,' she replied, flashing a smile at Luca before turning and walking back along Hector's division to where two hundred and forty women waited for their inspirational leader.\n\n'Talk is cheap,' muttered Hector, comforting himself with the thought a hard march under arduous conditions would shatter the growing myth of the Maidens of the Spear and their leader.\n\n'What do you think?' Luca said to Jordi.\n\nJordi smiled. 'I think Hector underestimates our women.'\n\nMonica, his woman, was part of the female contingent, the buxom Chana having been asked by Ayna to remain with the children in camp. It was a considerate request as Chana would struggle on a route march over the mountain.\n\nHector could not resist one last dig, turning to Luca.\n\n'Immortals, Maidens of the Spear, they are a strange lot these Persians. Fancy names don't mean anything on the battlefield, though. Or on a big mountain.' He blew the whistle around his neck. 'Let's move.'\n\nAnd the mountain was excessively big close up, immense slabs of grey rock rearing up on either side of the path the shepherd led the Almogavars to. Luca saw the track, which was narrow, steep, almost vertical, and worried about Ayna. She was tough and resilient. But still\u2026\n\nThe first ten minutes were easy, a thousand Almogavars and a formation of women moving silently upwards, the shepherd guide displaying remarkable stamina as he led the way, not turning even once to see if he was being followed or was out-pacing the foreign soldiers. Either side of the track tall pines clung to the rocks, creating a deep ravine that made Luca feel like a tiny ant. As he continued upwards the way narrowed and the branches of the trees overlapped to form a solid green roof to block out the sun apart from a few tiny shards of light.\n\nAfter an hour of marching, Almogavars with red cloths making brief stops to tie them to branches as markers, they came to a precipitous ravine, the guide darting left to follow the track upwards and away from the sheer drop. Luca suddenly admired the Immortals, who made the march at night, and wondered how many fell to their deaths at this point as they staggered through the dark. Despite being autumn the air was thick and humid and he was sweating, compounded by having to negotiate a track littered with pebbles and brown pine needles. The guide led them along the winding track through a forest of silver firs, continuing on up at a steep angle that forced Luca and the others to take gulps of air. And in the back of his mind was a nagging fear that Ayna might have fallen behind or, worse, injured herself. He was used to marching over difficult terrain but she was not an Almogavar and might inadvertently twist an ankle or fall and break a bone. He caught brief glimpses of brisk streams running over shingle and waterfalls cascading over rock ledges but no stunning views of the Malian Gulf or inland hills. They were still in a never-ending forest, which was still and airless.\n\nHector allowed no halts as his division maintained the cruel pace, which Luca was surprised at. He thought it was going to be a leisurely stroll up and down a mountain, not a forced march. He was twenty-four years old and at the peak of his physical powers but even he was finding it difficult to maintain the pace while at the same time keep his footing on the slippery surface.\n\nAnd then the pines suddenly ended and he was no longer going upwards, instead marching on level ground as the Almogavars entered a verdant plateau sprinkled with walnut, mulberry and other fruit trees. He took a few steps after leaving the firs and was buffeted by a strong wind that caught him unawares and nearly knocked him off his feet.\n\n'Stay focused,' shouted Hector.\n\nThe guide had his head down and his cloak clutched tightly to his body as he leaned into the wind and paced on. The sun had disappeared, the grey clouds had returned and then the heavens emptied. A hard pelting rain assaulted the column, the raindrops becoming like tiny darts as they assaulted the Almogavars. Luca was drenched in sweat and hot but he soon became soaked and cold as the wind and rain combined to chill him to the bone. He had been marching for two hours but Hector told Romanus to instruct the guide to continue showing them the way; they would stop for a water break when they reached the cover of a forest. He knew the Almogavars' reserves of strength and stamina would easily see them through the lashing they were enduring. But Luca worried about the women and by the look on Jordi's face his friend was having similar thoughts. He glanced right to see an evil leer on Hector's face.\n\nThey had been marching for three hours when he called a halt after entering a forest of pine. Luca uncorked his water bottle and took a few small gulps. No one guzzled down their water for to do so was to invite stomach cramps and retching when they re-commenced marching, which they did after five minutes. He looked towards the rear of the column but the track was winding and he could not see any women. He prayed they were safe.\n\n'You should remind your woman we are not here for amusement and war is not a game,' Hector said to him before blowing his whistle to signal the column should move.\n\nThey were descending now and going down is easier on the lungs but harder on the knees as individuals tried to maintain their footing on the muddy, rocky path that followed the course of a fast-flowing stream. The pace became slower when they entered an expanse of oak, the trees autumn red and a stunning spectacle, though their fallen leaves made the ground very slippery and treacherous. The guide was very light on his feet, dodging fallen branches, muddy pools and slippery rocks with the skill of a mountain goat, which in a sense he was, albeit in human form.\n\nIt took another two hours to reach the valley. Two hours of concentrating on keeping one's footing and ensuring spears did not get caught on low branches. When Luca spotted the shimmering waters of the Malian Gulf below, he was tempted to quicken his pace, but he fought against the instinct, aware needless injuries could occur when the end was in sight and when concentration could slip. So he kept his discipline while descending the steep, scree-covered track as it left the pines, bushes of red berries among the limestone rocks replacing branches, leaves and tree trunks. It was now dry underfoot, though Luca's footwear was splattered with mud and his leggings soaked from the rain encountered on the plateau higher up. Five hours after commencing the route march, Hector and his division of tired and filthy Almogavars walked back to camp after replicating the night march of the Persian Immortals centuries before. After being dismissed Luca, Romanus and dozens of others raced back up the track to find their women.\n\nAyna and the others were half an hour behind the Almogavars, still marching in formation but slowed by the need to assist those who had twisted ankles or cracked a rib after falling. Luca smiled when he saw Ayna in the front rank, Monica beside her, gripping their spears and resting them on their right shoulders. They both looked tired and no wonder. They and those with them had conducted an arduous march across a mountain carrying weapons, which even for veteran soldiers was challenging. He had nothing but admiration for the Maidens of the Spear. He and the other Almogavars lined the side of the track applauding them as they passed by, then falling in behind to escort them on the final leg of the journey.\n\nThat night Ayna and Monica seized up, their legs trapped in invisible vices that tightened by the hour, despite being massaged by their menfolk. The price of over-exertion and refusing to give up.\n\nThe next day the divisions of Xavi and Ferran made the march over Mount Kallidromos, their route marked by the red cloths positioned the day before. On the third day Miquel's division carried out the march, though its members did not need the red markers as the route was clearly indicated by the ground trampled and churned up by the previous three divisions. Hector had ordered that all four divisions be timed to determine which one was the quickest, an uneven contest as far as his division was concerned because it had been slowed by the guide leading it, who had vanished into thin air once Hector's division neared camp.\n\nXavi's division won the contest.\n\nHector was impressed by the Maidens of the Spear and ordered the hot springs at the base of the mountain to be cordoned off to allow the women who had followed his division to bathe in their healing waters. Supposedly created by the ancient Greek god Hephaestus on the request of the goddess Athena, the hot, healing waters allowed the Greek hero Heracles to regain his strength after carrying out herculean tasks. It certainly healed Ayna, Monica and the others, who emerged from the steaming pools reinvigorated and ready to conduct another march, this time to Athens. The Marquis of Bodonitsa was both glad and relieved to see the back of the Catalan Company, which departed Thermopylae leaving a host of red markers on Mount Kallidromos."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "As soon as the Frankish crusaders had conquered the Roman Empire after diverting from the Holy Land to plunder the city of Constantinople, they established the system of rule they practised in their countries of origin. So the so-called Latin states of Greece were divided into a number of fiefs, each one ruled by a noble who exploited his land for economic purposes. Those few remaining Roman nobles were also allotted fiefs to rule over, as long as they pledged allegiance to the ruler of the state they lived in and followed the Catholic faith. In reality, while the Roman lords swore allegiance to their new rulers, they continued to worship according to the indigenous Orthodox faith, as did the local population. The Catholic clergy in Greece were furious but the Latin lords, appreciating that consigning the locals to being burnt at the stake, would be a self-defeating move as there would be no one left to work the land on which they depended on for raising taxes and soldiers. It was far easier to manage the locals so their conquerors could prosper, the alternative being to import peasants from western Europe, a measure fraught with risks. The indigenous population was used to working the land and so the Frankish lords allowed Orthodox churches to stand, did not force the locals to speak French or banished the use of Greek, and both sides entered into a wary co-existence.\n\nThe Greek peasants endured a life markedly poorer than when they had been ruled by Roman emperors. They became serfs to the Franks, which meant a man could not marry or give his daughter away in marriage without the permission of his Catholic lord. If he died without heirs the lord took all his possessions, and even in life that lord could give his goods to another serf, as long as he had enough to subsist. And if his lord killed the serf of another noble by mistake, he could be given to the aggrieved lord by way of compensation. The indigenous Greeks thus became mere chattels, and because of their Orthodox faith were not allowed to testify in court against a Catholic. It was not lost on many Greeks that they had been reduced to the status of slaves.\n\nThe Franks built many towers and castles in the Peloponnese to ensure their rule was not challenged as they were always in the minority compared to the indigenous population. Frequent wars with the Romans after the collapse of the so-called Latin Empire established after the fall of Constantinople to the crusaders, plus conflicts with the Kingdom of Thessaly and the Despotate of Epiros, had thrown the Latin states of the Peloponnese on to the defensive. Nearly a century of conflict had also weakened them considerably, both in terms of manpower and money. It was for these reasons that the Latin lords in Greece elected Walter of Brienne, whose father-in-law was the marshal of France, the most powerful noble in that land, to be the new Duke of Athens, in the hope he would bring a great army to Greece to secure their lands against any the Orthodox opponents in the north, specifically the Romans but also the ambitions of the Despotate of Epiros.\n\nWalter of Brienne, Duke of Athens, finished reading the letter and tossed it on the table.\n\n'Our brave Catalan allies have offended the Marquis of Bodonitsa, it seems.'\n\nHe nodded at the missive to indicate his deputy, Jean de Carrouges, should read it. The French knight obeyed, his forehead creasing into a frown as he read the words.\n\nWalter sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He had arrived at Athens expecting a great city but found instead a miserable town, the buildings of which were clustered around the Acropolis, the famed rock where great temples had stood in antiquity. Now the great temple, the Parthenon, was a Catholic church and the Propylaea, the ancient monumental gateway to the Acropolis, had been converted into a fortress and the living quarters for the duke and his family. Impressive blue banners emblazoned with golden lions with red claws flew from the battlements of the Acropolis to show who ruled the Duchy of Athens, but Walter of Brienne was far from happy. He had arrived in Greece with four hundred soldiers, but had hired the Catalan Company to supplement his own and the forces of the lords of the Peloponnese, to create an army that would conquer Thessaly and re-establish the golden age of the Latin Empire. And now one of his fellow rulers was complaining about the lack of manners of the mercenaries who had destroyed every enemy they had encountered! It was beyond satire.\n\n'It is as I feared, your grace,' said a sombre Jean. 'The Catalans are volatile and I worry we will not be able to control them.'\n\n'The local lords are too delicate, more like. They have gotten used to easy living and need to be shaken out of their self-indulgent existence.'\n\n'The memory of Pelagonia still lingers,' said Jean.\n\nFought fifty years before in northern Greece between the Latin Franks and the Romans, the Battle of Pelagonia had been a heavy Latin defeat, especially for the Principality of Achaea, resulting in the Romans retaking the city of Constantinople. And since that defeat the Latin Greek states had been wholly on the defensive.\n\n'I intend to erase the memory of Pelagonia by leading the Latin states to victory, but to do so we need the Catalan Company, the more so after reading the Marquis of Bodonitsa's whining letter. How are the duchy's finances?'\n\n'Greece is not France, lord.'\n\nLike all great lords, Walter derived his income from taxes and people. Nobility did not involve themselves in commerce as their high social status, marked by the possession of lands and titles, set them apart from the rest of society. Those involved in trade were despised as common and looked down on. It was why Genoa and Venice had to trade to survive, both republics having little land. That they had both become extremely wealthy as a result of maritime trade did not prevent them being regarded as vulgar in the eyes of the kings and great lords of Europe. And just as in Europe, the Dukes of Athens had given their Catholic knights lands \u2013 fiefs \u2013 in exchange for military service and taxes, the knights becoming vassals of their liege lord. But the terrain of Athens was not as productive as the rich agricultural lands of northern France, which meant the duchy's exchequer was frequently empty. It was so now.\n\n'When the Catalans arrive they will be expecting their wages,' warned Jean, 'both for the next six months and the back-pay for the service they have already carried out.'\n\n'Back-pay?' queried Walter.\n\n'For raiding the lands of Empress Irene in the winter before you arrived here, lord,' explained Jean. 'I thought it prudent to divert the empress' attention in your absence.'\n\nWalter shrugged. 'That is why you are my deputy, Jean. Where are the Catalans now?'\n\n'As they are taking frequent halts, I estimated they would be here in four weeks. I received a subsequent message from Hector informing me his company is taking the coast road, so might take longer.'\n\n'Hector?'\n\n'The commander of the company, lord. A simple Almogavar who has risen through the ranks, as it were.'\n\n'And he was the one who gave in to the mob in surrendering the ransom money for the King of Thessaly?'\n\nJean nodded. 'For a man named Luca Baldi, yes. I met them both during my visit to the Catalan camp.'\n\n'This Luca Baldi must be an exceptional man.'\n\nJean thought of the very ordinary peasant whose only distinguishing feature was the expensive ivory handled dagger he carried.\n\n'So the mercenaries believe, lord. But if they arrive at Athens and there is no money to pay them, they may turn mutinous.'\n\n'Have no fear, I have something in mind. Summon the other lords to Athens. When the Catalans arrive they will have their money.'\n\nIt took two weeks to bring the Latin lords of the Peloponnese to Athens, along with their personal bodyguards and priests. Walter stood on the ramparts of the Acropolis and saw their banners approach his great citadel. The first to grace Athens was a yellow cross on a blue background, the sigil of Boniface of Verona, the lord of the Triarchy of Negroponte. In theory, Boniface ruled the whole of the island of Euboea, but his knights were spread thin on the island and his power centred on the port of Chalcis, where much to the Italian's annoyance the Venetians acted like lords of the city, such was the power of the republic in the Peloponnese.\n\nThe next to arrive was the scribbler \u2013 Albert Pallavicini, another Italian from a prestigious family. The design of the Marquis of Bodonitsa's banner depicting rows of alternating blue and yellow squares was duplicated on the surcoats of his mounted escort and the caparisons of the horses they rode, to present a splendidly colourful spectacle. But whereas Walter took an instant liking to the ruler of Negroponte, not least because they both shared a dislike for the arrogance of the Venetians, he found the ruler of Bodonitsa proud and prickly and clearly opposed to the duke's hiring of the Catalan Company. But Bodonitsa was small and would fall into line, of that he had no doubt. The same was true of the County of Salona, ruled by the somewhat dour and serious Thomas d'Autremoncourt, like him a Frenchman whose sigil was a white cross on a red background, over which was a blue diagonal stripe from the top left to the bottom right. But he was pleased when the Frenchman pledged his allegiance to the Duchy of Athens.\n\nThe last to arrive was the head of the council of the Principality of Achaea, the largest of the Latin states, its capital at Andravida being further away from Athens than those of the other Latin states. Everything about Achaea was bigger, from the size of the state itself to the huge flag of a gold cross on a red background carried by the banner man of the party that rode into the Acropolis behind his master, to the bear of a man who came to represent Achaea.\n\nJacques of Taranto was huge, a knight possessed of great height, powerful, massive shoulders, arms as thick as tree trunks and a large head sporting well-trimmed hair and beard. His hands were like the paws of a large bear, which was fortuitous as his personal weapon was a two-handed great sword that he carried in a scabbard strapped to his back. He left his fearsome weapon in his quarters when he took his place at the large oak table in the Propylaea's main hall, the banners of all those present hanging on the walls beside the golden lion sigil of the Duke of Athens. The duke himself sat in silence as the corpulent Archbishop of Athens stood and asked for holy guidance, his face flush from imbibing wine before the assembly of lords took place.\n\n'Heavenly Father, in these troubling times when the spirit of the age threatens Christian values, give these lords, the guardians of the true faith in this land of the apostates, the wisdom to guide and direct them through the coming months as they face great dangers. We ask this through Christ our Lord.'\n\nThe lords said 'amen' and then the archbishop picked up a goblet of wine form the table and raised it to Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens.\n\n'To you, your grace, who God has sent to us in our hour of need.'\n\nHe drained the goblet in one go, his piggy eyes lighting up as the wine slipped down his throat into his large stomach, before taking his seat next to the duke.\n\n'Still devoted to the grape, your excellency?' sneered Jacques.\n\nA servant walked forward and refilled the archbishop's goblet, the churchman taking another large gulp.\n\n'I go upon the Lord's work, my lord, and such heavy toil requires constant fortification.'\n\nJacques banged the table and guffawed loudly, making the solid oak tremble and the others at the table jump.\n\n'Let us hope the vineyards of Greece do not wither and interrupt your great crusade, your excellency.'\n\nThe archbishop looked daggers at him. Walter raised a hand to halt their discourse.\n\n'My lords, I requested your presence at Athens to explain my plans to make the Catholic states in Greece stronger in the face of Roman aggression.'\n\nHe raised his goblet to Jacques. 'But first, I would like to convey my thanks and gratitude to the council of Achaea for choosing me as the new Duke of Athens.'\n\nJacques nodded his massive head. 'You are most welcome, your grace.'\n\nWalter rose to his feet. 'I would ask you all to stand and toast the Catholic faith, the true faith.'\n\nThey all stood and raised their drinking vessels, saying 'the true faith' before retaking their seats. The archbishop emptied his goblet for a second time.\n\n'My first aim is to banish the memory of Pelagonia,' began Walter, 'a stain on this land that has lingered for too long. I believe a set of circumstances has come about that will allow us to both avenge that defeat at the hands of the apostates and expand our territory northwards.'\n\n'Northwards, your grace?' said Albert, Marquis of Bodonitsa.\n\nThere was a frown on his face and with good reason. His marquisate lay at the northern fringe of the Latin sphere of influence in Greece, and so any talk of expansion, which would involve conflict, would directly affect his lands.\n\n'Yes, my lord,' smiled Walter, 'for I intend to invade and conquer the Kingdom of Thessaly.'\n\nThere were sharp intakes of breath from the others sat at the table, except for the archbishop who was sinking into the warm embrace of an alcoholic stupor.\n\n'That would be no small undertaking, your grace,' said Thomas d'Autremoncourt, 'especially as the ruler of that kingdom is a close ally of Empress Irene.'\n\n'In normal circumstances I would agree,' agreed Walter. 'But these are far from normal times. Empress Irene has had her power drastically reduced, as has the Kingdom of Thessaly. Indeed, I am reliably informed that to all intents and purposes, Thessaly has no army. They are both weak and I intend to take advantage of their weaknesses.'\n\n'We too are constrained by a lack of military resources, your grace,' admitted Thomas. 'The defeat at Pelagonia may have occurred fifty years ago, but its ramifications have echoed down the decades.'\n\nJacques nodded. 'That's true enough. Achaea suffered grievously that day at the hands of the Romans, an experience no one is keen to replicate.'\n\nWalter sighed. He had not realised until now that Greece's Latin states lacked a collective backbone. No wonder they wanted him to be the new Duke of Athens. He remained calm and smiled at Marquis Albert.\n\n'Measures are already in place to rectify any deficiency in military assets, as my lord marquis can attest to, for I have hired the Catalan Company, which for the last six years has defeated the Turks, the Alans, the Romans and the Thessalians.'\n\nBoniface was shocked. 'The Catalans? Have they not been excommunicated by His Holiness the Pope, your grace?'\n\n'I believe so,' replied Walter casually, 'though it does not appear to have dulled their fighting skills.'\n\nThomas d'Autremoncourt was shaking his head.\n\n'The Catalans are well known for their battlefield prowess but also their brutality if not paid promptly. I only have one question, your grace. After they have served their purpose, where will they go?'\n\n'I was wondering that,' said the ruler of Bodonitsa.\n\nWalter began rapping his fingers on the table top to show his annoyance. He looked at each lord in turn.\n\n'I am well acquainted with the fighting capabilities of the Catalans,' he rubbed the side of his face, 'especially the Almogavars. But the opportunity to hire them is too good to ignore. With the Catalans by our side, we will prove irresistible against what remains of the army of Thessaly and its Roman allies. As for what we do with them afterwards, I intend to give them land in Thessaly on which they can settle.'\n\nThe rulers of Bodonitsa and Salona were far from happy. Their fiefdoms were very near Thessaly, which meant the Catalans would also be near their lands after what they all assumed would be a victorious war.\n\n'We are upon God's work,' said the archbishop suddenly, 'and should make use of every tool He makes available to us. He has sent us a great warlord to lead our holy crusade, who bears the scars of his glory.'\n\nHis slurred words resonated with those round the table, all of whom had no battle scars on their faces, testament to the years of peace that had ensued after the Battle of Pelagonia. In contrast, Walter of Brienne had seen much combat during the War of the Sicilian Vespers where he and his Frenchmen had fought the Sicilian rebels and their Aragonese allies. The mementos of that dreadful conflict were etched on his face. He had a scar on his left cheek and a deeper scar on the right side of his face running from his hairline to his mouth. Walter of Brienne could have sported a beard like the vast majority of his fellow nobles, but he chose to maintain a clean-shaven face, not because of reasons of hygiene but to deliberately show off his scars.\n\nCombat scars signified battlefield prowess, glory and a knight's honour. These signs of the heritage of battle were accepted as marks of glory throughout Christendom and beyond. They became almost holy marks inscribed on the flesh of those who survived the white-heat of battle. There was an important caveat, however, which was the great difference between facial battle scars and facial injuries that were so disfiguring that they prompted horror rather than admiration. Walter of Brienne was a handsome man and though his facial scars were very notable, they gave him a striking appearance rather that a repulsive one.\n\nHaving had the archbishop's endorsement, Walter continued speaking.\n\n'My lords, I will not lie to you. The finances of my duchy are in a dire state.'\n\n'That's because the Greeks are lazy oafs,' said Jacques, 'who spend their time drinking and whoring rather than working their lord's land.'\n\n'Be that as it may,' continued Walter, 'the fact is the Duchy of Athens cannot pay the wages of the Catalan Company that is currently on its way to this town. I therefore ask you, my fellow Catholic lords, to loan me the equivalent of six months' pay of the mercenaries to give me time to raise the money to pay them after that period.'\n\nThe lords looked at each other in confusion.\n\n'I had no idea the duchy's finances were in such a parlous state, your grace,' said Thomas.\n\n'It begs the question; why hire the Catalan Company in the first place if the duchy cannot afford to?' remarked Albert.\n\nThe others shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. The marquis' words were impertinent and bordered on insulting the wisdom of the Duke of Athens.\n\nWalter took a gulp of wine.\n\n'An honest question deserves an honest answer. I originally hired five hundred Almogavars to reinforce my army. However, I later discovered that the Catalans had left Gallipoli and were on their way to Greece after exhausting the land they had been living in for three years. They were marching here anyway so it appeared prudent to hire them all rather than having six thousand unemployed mercenaries loose in Greece. Unless you have a better plan, my lord, the best way, the only way, to solve the problem of the Catalans is to hire them all.'\n\nWalter was being disingenuous because he had actually sent Jean to the Catalans with on offer to hire them all. But no matter. He slammed a fist down hard on the table.\n\n'I beg you to support me, for we stand at a pivotal moment in our history. We have one opportunity and one only to reverse the tide of history and re-establish the Latin Empire.'\n\n'That is an ambitious objective, your grace,' said Boniface.\n\n'It is,' nodded Walter, 'but I would rather die trying than sit idle and watch Athens deteriorate before my eyes.'\n\nThe Latin Empire, the realm established by the crusaders from western Europe, who were mostly French, had disappeared nearly fifty years before, the Romans re-establishing their empire save for Greece, and most of western Anatolia where the Turkish emirs were strengthening their position. But for Walter to talk about resurrecting the Latin Empire was beyond anything they had even considered. It would entail a major military effort to conquer Thessaly, Macedonia \u2013 the private fiefdom of the formidable Empress Irene \u2013 to say nothing of subduing Thrace and Gallipoli before the greatest prize of all \u2013 Constantinople \u2013 could be taken. Walter saw the doubt on their faces. How weak and timid they had all become. But not all. He looked at the giant from Achaea.\n\n'What message will you take back to your barons, my lord?'\n\nAll eyes turned to Jacques of Taranto, who took a large gulp of wine.\n\n'We chose you to be the Duke of Athens because of your reputation as an individual of action and resolve, your grace. I will recommend the principality donates gold to pay for the mercenaries, and will raise an army to march by your own when you take the field against Thessaly. It is high time these Roman bastards were taught a lesson in humility.'\n\nAchaea was a principality but its ruler was not in residence. Phillip, Prince of Achaea and Taranto, King of Romania and Despot of Romania, had visited the Peloponnese only once, leaving Achaea to be ruled by a council of barons, which Jacques of Taranto headed. As head of the council Jacques, given the title 'prince' by Phillip, had the respect and backing of the prince but the other council members considered themselves his equal. They had their own private armies and castles. But the voice of Jacques was a powerful one and in any case they would not be able to resist the appeal of a crusade against the apostate Romans, the more so after their savaging at the hands of the Catalans.\n\n'My county is small but I will raise what I can, your grace,' pledged Thomas.\n\n'As will Negroponte,' added Boniface.\n\n'Bodonitsa will do what it can,' Albert's tone was unenthusiastic but that did not concern Walter. He would pay Athens gold like the others, and with gold he could pay the Catalans.\n\nHe stood and raised his goblet. The others did the same, the archbishop staggering to his feet and swaying on his feet, his cheeks a rosy red and his eyes glazed. Walter grabbed him with his free hand to prevent him toppling over. He had served his purpose. There was no need to see him humiliated any further.\n\n'To the new crusade.'\n\n'The new crusade,' replied the others before emptying their goblets.\n\nThe lords left the next morning, Jean de Carrouges standing beside Walter on the ramparts of the Acropolis watching the column of riders divide as the leaders made their way back to their domains. Jean was silent but his lord knew something was eating away at him.\n\n'Spit it out, Jean, for your silence is like a black cloud hovering overhead.'\n\n'May I speak frankly, lord?'\n\n'That is what I appointed you for.'\n\n'When the Catalans arrive you can, with the pledges of gold from the other lords, pay them for six months, which will last until the spring of next year. But your campaign of conquest will only commence in the spring, by which time the gold to pay the Catalans will most likely be exhausted.'\n\n'Correct,' said Walter, watching the colourful banners of the other states disappear into the distance.\n\n'After which the Catalans might turn on us rather than the enemy, they being very prickly when it comes to employers honouring their contracts.'\n\n'In the spring the Catalans will be fighting in Thessaly where I expect them to be victorious,' said Walter, 'and if they are I will grant them lands in that kingdom after they have marched into Macedonia and destroyed what remains of the army of Empress Irene. Then, after they have been given a new home, I will order them into Thrace and then to the walls of Constantinople. Exhausted after a lengthy campaign, they will either be destroyed by the Romans or I will put an end to the scourge of the Catalan Company.'\n\n'Many have tried, lord, none have succeeded.'\n\nWalter turned away from the town of Athens below to look at his deputy.\n\n'The difference being, I intend to let the Catalans do all the fighting while we follow with our Catholic army, taking possession of what they have conquered. They will grow weaker and we will remain strong. In any case, we are their allies, or so they will believe. It will easy enough to put an end to them when we stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them before the walls of Constantinople and butcher them before storming the city.'\n\nJean was silent.\n\n'You think me treacherous?'\n\n'No, lord, but I would caution care when dealing with the Catalans. They are not to be underestimated.'\n\n'It is precisely because I do not underestimate them that I have formulated a plan to do away with them. How can I allow another Catalan Kingdom to be established in Thessaly, a stone's throw away from my own duchy? I cannot. There can be no future for a lawless band of mercenaries to establish their own state, which will attract criminal elements and the godless to its borders. They are like a plague and plagues can only be driven out by fire and sword.'\n\nWalter smiled. 'Besides, the gold that I will give them will find its way back to the duchy's coffers, for the mercenaries will be purchasing food and supplies from the duchy's merchants.'\n\n'Ah, I had not considered that, lord.'\n\nWalter slapped him on the shoulder. 'The only thing the godless deserve is a place in hell, Jean. But in the meantime we will welcome the Catalans with open arms and treat them as valuable allies until they have outlived their usefulness. I do not intend to make the same mistake as Emperor Andronicus.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "The Duchy of Athens was a beautiful place, a land of spectacular mountains, verdant forests, crystalline lakes and bubbling streams. Small villages clung to the bases of craggy massifs and vineyards and orchards dotted the scenic landscape. The air was fresh and invigorating; conflict and battle seemed a thousand miles away. It was a place of colossal valleys and unspoiled beaches, the often mist-shrouded valleys filled with gurgling streams and rivers blessed with ice-cold waters from the snow-capped mountains. The lakes were deep and pure. Those who immersed themselves in their waters emerged refreshed and free from troubles. Sprinkled among the valleys were the reddish roofs of collections of houses, arranged like a spider's web around small towns. These places sent representatives to Hector when he and his company approached, promising food but politely requesting the mercenaries refrain from entering their towns. Just as the people of Thessaly had treated the Catalans as a group of lepers who they gave supplies to so they would hurry on their way, they received the same treatment in the Duchy of Athens. The mercenaries might have taken offence, but they were well fed, had the land seemingly to themselves and were on their way to a lucrative contract. Life was good and everyone was happy. Well, almost everyone.\n\n'I am going to cut it out,' declared Luca.\n\n'Mother of Christ, not this again,' complained Hector beside him.\n\nThe company was slowly making its way to Athens, averaging less that ten miles a day as it enjoyed the equivalent of a holiday in the playground of the ancient Greek gods. The Catalans were in the land of their allies, there was no enemy anywhere close and there would be no fighting until the spring of the new year. So Hector pulled in his mounted patrols, allowed the company to relax and strictly forbade on pain of death any plundering of the countryside or molestation of its inhabitants. For the first time in an age he could see a long-term future for himself and the company.\n\n'You have a brand on your arm, accept it,' Hector told him, 'You are lucky it healed and did not get infected. If it had, we would have had to cut off your arm.'\n\n'You don't have the brand of your enemy on your body,' moaned Luca.\n\nHe had a battle scar on his belly and two more inflicted by Dario Spinola when he had been a captive: one on his chest and the other on the top of his left hand. But it was dragon branded on his left arm that irked him the most.\n\n'You should wear it as a badge of good fortune,' Hector advised him, 'for that is what it surely is. Because you are one lucky bastard.'\n\nHe and Luca were in the front rank of the veteran Almogavar's division, Luca on the left of Hector, Romanus on the right of the latter and Jordi making up the other member of the rank.\n\n'He's the Black Sheep,' said Jordi, 'he has the luck of the devil, or so Father Ramon always said.'\n\n'I wonder where he is?' pondered Romanus.\n\n'Dead, hopefully,' said Hector, 'because if he is still alive and our paths cross, I will disembowel him.'\n\n'I'm still going to cut it out,' muttered Luca.\n\n'No you won't and that's an order,' Hector told him. 'Deliberately wounding yourself is a serious offence punishable with a flogging at least but hanging more likely.'\n\n'Hanging?' laughed Luca.\n\n'Deliberately injuring yourself is a form of desertion,' said Hector, 'and you know the punishment for desertion.'\n\n'The absence of the Black Sheep from the battle line would have a serious effect on morale,' remarked the Almogavar marching directly behind Luca.\n\n'Exactly,' agreed Hector, 'so you touch that brand and it's hanging, drawing and quartering for you.'\n\n'What is that?' asked Romanus.\n\nHector licked his lips.\n\n'A punishment usually reserved for traitors. The prisoner is first hanged, though only for a minute or two before being taken down.'\n\n'That won't kill him,' said Jordi.\n\n'That's the idea,' Hector told him. 'Still alive, the prisoner is placed on boards and held down before having his balls cut off. That's a nice touch because it symbolises he can't father any more traitors. Then his stomach is cut open and his entrails pulled out and tossed on a brazier. And all the time he is alive, don't forget. Finally, the head is cut off and the body hacked into four pieces, or quartered. Beautiful.'\n\nLuca shuddered. 'That Genoese bastard was going to castrate me, and would have done if a senior Roman officer had not intervened.'\n\nHe had not told anyone about being seduced by the alluring Roman noblewoman after he was tortured. He wanted to tell his friends but knew they would mention it to Monica and Chana, who would have passed it on to Ayna. He had no wish to disturb what for him was a blissful coupling and so he kept the episode to himself. It did not matter. It meant nothing to him and as he would never see the seductress again, he saw no gain in opening what would become a festering wound and perhaps grow into a chasm between him and Ayna. His own wounds had now healed fully and he had no desire to open fresh emotional ones.\n\n'I was going to be an executioner,' said Hector wistfully, 'back in Catalonia, that is. It's not a bad life. Decent pay if you are good at your job, too, and a profession that will never endure lean times. There is always some town that requires its criminals to have their necks stretched or their heads cut off. And you can earn a tidy sum of money from extracting confessions on the side.'\n\n'So what changed your mind?' asked Luca.\n\n'My friend Sancho Rey. Him and me went back a long way even before we set foot on Sicily. He persuaded me that joining the expedition to the island would be a great and profitable adventure. It was an adventure, all right, but not particularly profitable.'\n\n'My father respected you greatly,' said Jordi, 'and my mother loved you.'\n\n'And I loved them,' admitted Hector in a rare display of human emotion. 'In the end I chose to be a mercenary, which is not that different from an executioner. They both kill for a living, they both get paid for their expertise, and they both may get a bonus if they perform particularly well.'\n\n'But an executioner does not face thousands of enemy soldiers on the battlefield,' said Romanus. 'He does not face any danger.'\n\n'He does if he botches the execution,' Hector corrected him. 'Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people turn up to watch a prisoner or prisoners be despatched, and many of them are drunk. They are all thirsting for blood and if they think the executioner has put on a poor display, it might be his blood spilling on the boards.'\n\n'Perhaps when we have our own land, you can fulfil your boyhood dream,' jested Jordi.\n\n'Hector will be our king,' said Romanus.\n\n'He bloody well won't,' insisted Hector.\n\n'Then who will rule us?' asked Luca.\n\n'There will be a council, just like there is now,' said Hector.\n\nThey were marching south towards Athens but their home after their contract with the Duke of Athens had been concluded would be in southern Thessaly, which they had already journeyed through. It too was a place of high mountains but also verdant valleys, vineyards, orchards and rolling fields of wheat. Thrace was called the breadbasket of the Roman Empire but Thessaly came a close second and would easily be able to support just over ten thousand men, women and children. Hector hoped his show of clemency when the Almogavars had infiltrated the camp of Angelus Ducas, the King of Thessaly, at night to capture his entire army, which Hector had released to go back to their homes, would make the local population amenable to the idea of foreigners settling in their lands. And if not, they would be forcibly ejected.\n\nAfter its leisurely march the company finally reached Athens, or rather the hilly plain to the north of the town after a courier arrived from Duke Walter inviting Hector to the Acropolis and kindly requesting he and his soldiers camp two miles from the town so as not to alarm its residents. Hector gladly agreed, though did not deviate from standard procedure and ordered the Catalan camp to be surrounded by a deep ditch and a rampart behind it created from the spoil, which was topped with wooden stakes. Wooden stakes were also placed on the outside of the rampart itself, the experience of the attack of the horsemen of Despot John still raw in the memory. Guards were posted on the rampart at regular intervals during the day and at night, not that any Greeks or Frenchmen approached the camp. The Catalans could not see Athens from their camp but they could see the Acropolis, sited on a large rock outcrop poking above the trees around what was now a small town.\n\nLuca was impressed and thought the fortifications on top of the rocks were formidable. He had seen the walls of Constantinople up close and thought them a difficult nut to crack in a siege, but the Acropolis looked impregnable. He sat with his friends, his own and their families around a campfire while Ertan, their Syrian cook, child minder and father figure, fussed over the pot containing the stew they would shortly consume. They were a disparate group made up of two Catalans, a Persian, a Sicilian, a Syrian, a Jewess and a Roman. Under normal circumstance they would probably have never met, and even if they had they most likely would not have got on. But the unique institution that was the Catalan Company had forged them into a strong band of brothers and sisters, much like an armourer forges a mighty sword from a mixture of metals. Sam, his three-year-old son, was asleep, his head resting on his mother's legs. The twins of Jordi and Chana \u2013 Sancho and David \u2013 were sitting cross-legged watching Ertan intently for the moment he declared his aromatic stew was ready for eating. The serious Prisca, the Roman girl adopted by Romanus and Monica, was looking wistfully at the Acropolis, while their other adoptee, Anicius, was sharpening his dagger on a stone. He thirsted for the day when he took his place among the Almogavars but he had a few more years to wait yet.\n\nJordi pointed at the Acropolis. 'We will be going there tomorrow. Hector has told us we will form part of his escort when he goes to see the duke.'\n\n'I'm looking forward to seeing the view from the battlements,' said Romanus.\n\n'Are we free to visit the town?' asked Monica.\n\nThe three Almogavars looked at each other.\n\n'I suppose so,' said Luca.\n\n'And the Acropolis?' probed Ayna.\n\n'I doubt it. That is the residence of the duke,' said Jordi. 'He will not want peasants roaming around his home.'\n\n'Why are we camped outside the town rather than in it?' asked Chana.\n\n'No one trusts us,' said Jordi, 'especially the French who we fought in Sicily.'\n\n'Though they trust us to fight their battles for us,' stated Luca.\n\n'It will be different when we have our own homeland,' said Romanus, 'and then we will have to answer to no one and be free to go where we want.'\n\n'You paint a pretty picture, Romanus,' smiled Ayna. 'Let us hope it comes to fruition.'\n\n'So much talk about what might and might not happen, where you can and cannot go and who is your friend and who is your enemy,' said Ertan, placing a wooden spoon to his lips to taste a sample of his stew. 'Come, let us eat.'\n\nErtan's culinary skills never disappointed and they all tucked into his broth with gusto. How lucky they were to have found the Syrian in the captured Turkish camp outside the city of Philadelphia when the company had been allies of the Romans. Luca looked at his feet between shovelling stew into his mouth and wondered how many hundreds of miles he had marched between then and now. He was a young man, but he did not want to spend the next twenty years tramping around the Roman Empire looking for a homeland. He would like to have a house for him, Ayna and Sam, like the one they occupied in Kallipolis.\n\nThe next day Hector and Alfonso left camp to meet with the Duke of Athens, the paymaster they had never met. They took a mounted escort of four horsemen and ten Almogavars, of which Luca, Romanus and Jordi were a part. The day was warm and sunny, small white clouds above with a gentle breeze that ruffled the banner of horizontal red and yellow stripes carried behind Alfonso. The commander of the company's horsemen was uncomfortable with Hector marching at the head of the party of Almogavars, arguing in vain that the commander of the whole company should ride into Athens. Hector could not ride and preferred to stay on his own two feet, and so he walked beside Luca on the ancient Roman road that had once been pristine but was now overgrown with weeds. The drainage channels on each side of the uneven paved surface were filled with dirt and weeds, a sign of decades of neglect.\n\n'Alfonso wants to me to ride into the town,' said Hector. 'He thinks me walking will make a poor impression on our new employer. Good man, Alfonso, but he worries too much. Besides, what he does not realise is that the duke considers us no better than gutter rats.'\n\nLuca was surprised. 'Why did he hire us, then?'\n\n'Why? Because we are very good at what we do, that's why. And like all nobles, this Frenchman only wants the best. And right now we are the best soldiers in this part of the world.'\n\nLuca could not prevent himself from smiling. He was dressed in his sheepskin coat, linen leggings and abarka shoes, with an open-faced helmet on his head. He carried an eight-foot spear, there were three javelins half that length in a quiver strapped to his back, a short sword in a scabbard attached to his belt and he carried a small round shield in his left hand. The only thing of value was his Damascus dagger that had been gift from the Roman emperor. He and his fellow Almogavars hardly looked like \u00e9lite soldiers. But then, even the greatest knight in the finest armour can be killed by the simplest weapon.\n\nThe journey to Athens was a short one, the Catalans being met at the edge of what was obviously not a city by a pair of French knights wearing blue surcoats bearing a golden lion with red claws, the caparisons of their horses being the same colour and showing the same heraldic design. They ignored Hector and the Almogavars and addressed Alfonso, speaking in Italian and welcoming him to Athens, falling in bedside him and engaging him in polite conversation as the Catalans headed for the Acropolis.\n\nLuca thought Athens a dirty, rundown place, the roads in a semi-derelict condition, the red-tiled buildings suffering from missing and broken roof tiles, stained plaster and untidy porches sprouting weeds. It was a far cry from the clean streets and well-maintained buildings in Constantinople and Thessalonica, even if he had little time to enjoy the architecture of the latter during his brief stay. And whereas those two great cities were teeming with people and bursting with activity, Athens seemed subdued, its people careworn, going about their business in a half-hearted fashion. So this was the great centre of civilisation he had heard so much about.\n\n'No walls,' he said out loud.\n\n'What?' queried Hector.\n\n'There are no walls around the city.'\n\nHector shrugged. 'Perhaps the Duchy of Athens has been at peace for so long they saw no need for city walls and tore them down. I have a feeling that is about to change.'\n\nThe Acropolis, in comparison, was a mighty citadel the like of which Luca had never seen before. From a distance it was impressive, up close it was overwhelmingly imposing. In ancient times the entrance to the temples built on top of the outcrop had been via the Propylaea, a monumental piece of architecture built around the natural entrance to the plateau. A visitor would walk up wide steps into a central hall, the roof of which comprised marble slabs, before entering the Acropolis. But Luca and the others ascended a circuitous path around the Propylaea, which had been sealed for security reasons. The town below the Acropolis may have been in a dilapidated state but the walls of the residence of the Duke of Athens were tall and well-maintained, crenellations along their extent and towers at regular intervals. Inside the fortress the ground was free of weeds and grass, the buildings smart and sturdy, if a little austere. The Acropolis contained a palace, barracks, stables, storage sheds, armoury and a large building with a red-tiled roof with a cross mounted above its entrance.\n\nIt was a little after midday, the clouds overhead had disappeared and the sun shone down on the reception party drawn up in the great courtyard in front of the main citadel. As he took his place in the line of Almogavars, Luca recognised one of the soldiers standing at the foot of the stone steps leading to the impressive stone building that was the duke's home. It was the Frenchman who had ridden into the Catalan camp when the company had still been in Thessaly, a short man of slender build with sharp features whom he could not name.\n\nA huge blue banner with a golden lion motif hung on the wall above the open entrance to the citadel-cum-palace. And above the banner were two narrow windows, the shutters of which were open to allow the two individuals standing behind one of them to look down on the scene below. Their eyes were drawn to the line of Almogavars, from where a lean individual with long black hair paced to stand in front of Jean de Carrouges.\n\n'They look like starving peasants,' remarked Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon.\n\n'They do,' admitted her husband.\n\n'And these are the men you think will give you the Roman Empire?'\n\n'Yes,' said Walter.\n\nJoanna was impressed. 'You are a man of deep faith to believe such wretches will give you a great prize.'\n\n'Come,' he said, 'let us play host to our guests. And no disparaging remarks. They may be illiterate peasants, but at this present juncture they and their fellow mercenaries are worth more to me than all the gold in France.'\n\nJoanna might have thought the Almogavars and the mailed horsemen with them filthy peasant mercenaries, but she was all smiles and grace when Hector and Alfonso were shown into the citadel's main hall. Luca and the others were shown to a corner of the courtyard out of the sun and left to their own devices, though the Catalan horses were watered and unsaddled before being taken to the stables. Joanna wore a striking blue silk dress that covered her legs down to the ankles and her arms down to the buttoned cuffs. She wore her thick auburn hair in a bun and topped with a silver crown as befitting her status as a duchess. Like all noblewomen in western Europe, her hair was arranged to emphasise her high, broad forehead and to indicate her marital status, only unmarried women wearing their hair loose.\n\nWalter, Duke of Athens, also wore silk, in his case loose leggings and a close-fitting overgarment buttoned down to the waist and continuing on to the knees, with elbow-length sleeves, also in blue. Beneath it he wore a white long-sleeved shirt. He did not wear a crown and kept his hair loose. Beside them Hector and Alfonso did indeed look like beggars. Jean introduced them both and Walter beamed with delight.\n\n'Welcome Hector and Alfonso of Navarre. This is my wife, Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon.'\n\nThey both bowed their heads to the duchess before being invited to sit at the table, facing the two nobles. Hector had come to talk about the coming campaign but Walter wanted to impress the mercenary leader. The meal they were all about to share was to be a statement of wealth, power and breeding. The table they sat at was covered with a white damask tablecloth, on which were positioned silver plates. Hector and Alfonso were used to eating from wooden bowls and off wooden platters, but at least French nobles still used knives to skewer their food and hands to tear off lumps of bread. Hector smiled. His own and Alfonso's weapons had been surrendered at the entrance of the chamber, but at least they had recourse to knives should they need to fight their way out.\n\n'A magnificent display, lord,' said Hector, admiring the piles of bread on silver platters on the table and the silver wine goblets, which were soon filled by servants.\n\nHector noticed all the servants were olive-skinned Greeks and also saw they were pouring a red liquid into the drinking vessels. The duchess saw his surprise.\n\n'Red wine,' said Joanna, 'you will not be disappointed.'\n\nLight, white wines were commonplace but Hector found the full-bodied red variety much to his liking as he took a few sips after toasting the duke and his wife.\n\nAlfonso tore off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of him and took a gulp of the wine. He too found it agreeable. The same could be said of the bread, which was made from pure, finely sifted wheat to produce white loaves. The bread of the poor, by comparison, was mixed with bran to produce a darker loaf.\n\nBread, meat and wine comprised the core of a French nobleman's diet, vegetables being reserved for peasants. And of the meats acceptable to a French aristocrat, wild boar, venison, swan and pheasant were considered the most noble. Hector and Alfonso cut off strips of sizzling venison once the meal began proper, the Catalan leader getting straight to the point.\n\n'You will invade Thessaly in the new year, lord?'\n\n'We will invade Thessaly, Hector,' said Walter, 'and after King Angelus has been defeated and deposed, the Catalan Company shall have lands in that kingdom to settle on.'\n\nAlfonso smiled, revealing bits of meat between his teeth, to the disgust of Joanna.\n\n'You are most generous, lord.'\n\n'Though before any campaign takes place, we require being paid, my lord,' said Hector.\n\nWalter clapped his hands to bring two guards carrying a small wooden chest between them into the chamber. They placed it between Hector and Alfonso and withdrew.\n\n'Please,' said Walter, 'open it.'\n\nHector did so and his and Alfonso's eyes lit up. The chest was filled with gold coins, specifically hyperpyra, the standard currency of the Roman Empire. The Latin states used it as their own currency, which eased the trade their merchants conducted with their Roman counterparts. Hector would not have known it but the coins were not pure gold but electron, an alloy of gold, silver, copper and other metals. But no matter, he had seen hyperpyron coins before and knew their worth.\n\n'Consider it a down payment,' said Walter, 'the rest to follow shortly.'\n\nIf the other states stayed true to their pledges.\n\nHector raised his goblet to the duke.\n\n'I thank you, lord.'\n\nHaving put the mercenary leaders at their ease, the duke ordered the centrepiece of the meal to be brought in. It was not so much food as a gaudy display of wealth, being a cooked swan that had been sewn back into its skin so it appeared intact. The feet and nose had been plated with gold leaf to complete the exhibition. Joanna's face lit up but the effort was lost on Hector and Alfonso who both looked at the bird with indifference. When the skin had been removed and they finally tucked into the meat, they did not like its taste, the bird having been treated with spices, which was sign of luxury. But Hector found it bitter and drank some wine to banish the taste. He was surprised there was no beef on offer, but had he enquired he would have been told French physicians advised their masters to avoid beef as it was considered too coarse a meat for the delicate and refined stomachs of the nobility.\n\n'Tell me, Lord Hector,' said Joanna, who like him only ate a morsel of swan, 'I heard your company surrendered a large ransom for the life of one of your captured soldiers, preferring to exchange a king for a commoner.'\n\nHector observed two servants taking the barely touched swan back to the kitchens.\n\n'I am not a lord, lady, but it is true about the exchange.'\n\n'What is so special about this common foot soldier?'\n\nHector wiped his hands on the tablecloth.\n\n'Nothing, really, lady, though he has become a sort of lucky mascot in the company, a man who seems to attract good fortune for himself and the rest of us.'\n\nJean, who sat at the table beside his lord, had remained silent throughout the meal but now he spoke.\n\n'His name is Luca Baldi, your grace, and he is outside in the courtyard.'\n\nJoanna, who had endured the meal as a necessary ordeal, showed the first flicker of interest. She turned to the steward of the household stood behind her husband.\n\n'I wish to see him. Bring him in.'\n\n'He does not speak French,' said Hector.\n\n'Henri speaks Italian, have no fear,' replied Jean.\n\nA few minutes later Luca was standing to attention before the table, having first surrendered his weapons to the commander of the guard. He saw the Frenchman who had summoned him to the citadel hand his ivory-handled Damascus dagger to the duke, who pulled it from its sheath.\n\n'A fine weapon,' said Walter in Italian, pointing the tip at Luca. 'How did a poor mercenary come by such an instrument? Did you take it from a dead enemy?'\n\n'No, lord, I was given it by the Roman emperor.'\n\nJoanna registered surprise. 'You are an acquaintance of the Roman emperor? I find that difficult to believe. You look like a half-starved hound.'\n\n'I saved his sister from robbers, lady, in Constantinople when the company was an ally of the emperor.'\n\n'And now it is our ally,' said the duke. 'Have you ever seen your home? Catalonia, I mean.'\n\n'I am Sicilian, lord, not Catalan.'\n\nThe duke examined the strange swirling patterns on the dagger's blade.\n\n'Did you fight in the Sicilian war?'\n\n'Only as a boy when my village was attacked.'\n\n'Attacked by whom?' asked Joanna.\n\n'The French,' replied Luca.\n\nHector cracked a smile but Walter was not amused, sliding the dagger back in its sheath and handing it to Henri.\n\n'You are dismissed,' he told Luca curtly.\n\nHenri gave Luca his dagger once he had left the citadel. Around the table there was an awkward silence after his departure, Walter smarting from being reminded the Catalans had fought the French during the War of the Sicilian Vespers. It was eventually broken by the duchess.\n\n'To swap such an arrogant wretch for a king appears folly to me.'\n\nHector drank some wine. 'He does looks like a scrawny wretch, I agree. But on the battlefield he fights like a lion, as do all my Almogavars, which is why your husband hired us. Is that not so, my lord?'\n\nWalter grunted in acknowledgement and rose from his chair, prompting Jean to do the same.\n\n'I have urgent business to attend to.'\n\nHe held out a hand to his wife who took it, stood, looked daggers at Hector and Alfonso, and walked with her husband from the chamber.\n\nHector wore a smile on the walk back to camp, Luca beside him and Jordi and Romanus carrying the chest of coins between them.\n\n'Well, your friend managed to insult the Duke of Athens during his brief appearance at his table.'\n\n'How?' asked Jordi.\n\n'Reminded him of his capture and imprisonment at our hands during the Sicilian war.'\n\n'He asked me a question and I answered,' said Luca. 'I only told the truth.'\n\n'Nobles do not want to hear the truth,' chuckled Hector. 'They want to be flattered and reminded of their great status. For a lowly Almogavar to remind a great lord he was once a captive was a very unwise move. Could have put our entire contract in peril.'\n\n'I don't like him, or his wife,' said Luca.\n\n'And I'm sure they despise you, and all of us for that matter.'\n\n'But they invited you to dine with them,' said Romanus.\n\n'Ah, that has more to do with them than us,' answered Hector. 'Nobles put great store by their manners and public behaviour. I saw the look on the duchess' pretty face when we walked into her hall. It was like a pair of lepers had wandered in off the street. But she endured our uncouth company for the sake of her husband, that and being seen to be the dutiful wife. But the politeness was just a mask.'\n\n'The duke said we were allies,' stated Luca.\n\nHector guffawed. 'We are allies only until we have served our purpose. That is why we are going to seize land in Thessaly when the war starts, so we can have a place we can call our own. Until then we keep our eyes open and our weapons sharp.'\n\nBut the prospect of war and violence seemed far away as the company settled in for the rest of the autumn and a winter in the Duchy of Athens before marching north in the spring. The climate was milder than Gallipoli and though the summers in Greece are hotter, the winters are moderate. The autumn rains filled the dry riverbeds and streams to provide the citizens of Athens with water, which also supplied the Catalans. The grassy plain on which the company made its camp was dotted with olive trees, wild fig trees, firs, cedars and pines, which decreased in number on a daily basis as parties were sent to collect firewood.\n\nThe horsemen and Almogavars continued with their daily training, which included long route marches into the countryside, well away from Athens so as not to upset the residents. And they were not the only ones. Ayna took her Maidens of the Spear on long treks to increase their stamina, other women proficient in the use of the spear and javelin frequently joining them. Soon the Maidens of the Spear grew from being a wholly Muslim unit into a fighting sisterhood numbering over three hundred. After one particularly gruelling march, Ayna remarked to Ertan she had passed a patch of herbs around two miles from camp. The cook implored her to return to the spot and pick some for his recipes. She agreed and the next afternoon set out from camp, leaving Sam and the other children in the charge of the fat cook. She took Suna Ece, the daughter of Halil Ece, with her, the young woman also being the cook for her father, brothers and mother in between learning to fight in the Maidens of the Spear.\n\nThe area around Athens was a veritable treasure trove of herbs, including sage, thyme, basil, rosemary, spearmint and sage, and soon their baskets were full. After an hour of picking plants they headed back to camp along the dirt track pounded by dozens of female feet the day before.\n\n'I am glad your father has allowed you to continue your training after discovering you were a Maiden of the Spear,' said Ayna.\n\n'He is conflicted,' replied the younger woman, her black locks loose and tumbling to her shoulders. 'On the one hand, he does not approve of an unmarried Muslim woman indulging in disrespectful practises. But on the other he is pleased that you have formed the maidens, who are considered valuable members of the company.'\n\n'Whatever our religion or beliefs, it is wise to learn how to handle a weapon if you are a part of a mercenary band. Mercenaries have no friends,' said Ayna glumly.\n\nThe hairs on the back of her head stood up and she instinctively glanced behind her, to see a man on a horse. Suna did the same and thought nothing of it but Ayna's instincts honed first as a member of the ghazi army and then among the Catalans, told her trouble was approaching.\n\n'Keep walking,' she told Suna. 'Do not run.'\n\n'Why should I run?' asked the younger woman innocently.\n\nAyna heard the gentle thuds of the horse's hooves on the dirt track and knew the rider had urged his mount to quicken its pace. She looked left and right at the grassland interspersed with copses. They had nowhere to run to. Then she heard a man's voice.\n\n'Halt!'\n\nShe did not understand French but she had no need to. Ayna understood the danger she and Suna were in well enough. Two young women alone and a man on a horse giving them orders, a man armed with a sword who manoeuvred his horse to bar their way before dismounting and eyeing them both.\n\n'Do not look him in the eyes,' Ayna told Suna.\n\nThose eyes were filled with greedy lust as the Frenchman eyed the pair, each one with an attractive face, long black hair, and clothes that accentuated their shapely behinds and lithe bodies. He smiled to reveal brown, uneven teeth.\n\n'What are you pair of lovelies doing wandering about the countryside all alone?' he asked, though it was not a question more him thinking out loud.\n\nHe looked around to ensure they were truly alone, licking his lips at the prospect of having some fun. He whipped his sword from its scabbard and held it to Ayna's throat, glancing at Suna who was now shaking with fear. Luca's woman stood as still as a statue. He was older than her but slightly shorter, the padded gambeson he wore under the sleeveless yellow surcoat giving his a somewhat stout appearance. He had a long nose, thin mouth and cruel eyes, which were aflame with the prospect of raping her and Suna. A lowly squire must take his pleasures where he found them.\n\nHe would never become a knight and would remain a non-noble warrior fetching and carrying for his master, erecting his tent, collecting firewood and water, hunting game, the reason for his current journey, and looking after his horse. He was also expected to fight in battle beside his lord, which was why he had a sword. On campaign he would also be detailed to guard the baggage train and watch over prisoners. He and his master, Reynard of Rouen, had recently arrived in Greece, attracted by the promise of plunder in the Duke of Athens' approaching war with the Romans.\n\nHe traced the point of the sword from Ayna's neck to her pert breasts, debating with himself what he would do with the bodies after he had finished with them. Tears were running down Suna's face but he felt no pity. He remembered his master's words regarding women.\n\n'The heat of female desire resembles wet wood, which catches fire less readily but burns longer and more strongly. Female desire is like burning coals covered with ashes. They burn with greater heat, intensity and duration than the more open passions of men.'\n\nThis being the case, his master, who was a philosopher as well as a noble knight, viewed women as being more sinful than men and thus partly if not wholly responsible if they were raped after enticing a man. And the pair in front of him were certainly enticing. He leered at Ayna and moved closer to her, moving the edge of his blade to rest it against the side of her neck. She was a looker but obviously a peasant, and a foreign peasant at that judging by her failure to understand him. French peasants were fodder for the rich and powerful so these two could be treated liked the animals they were before being disposed of. Her grabbed Ayna's hair, twisted it and forced her down onto her knees. She raised her hands in a sign of submission and began unlacing his leggings.\n\n'That's more like it,' he purred.\n\nHis sword now resting on her shoulders, Suna sobbing and rooted to the spot, Ayna skilfully let the squire's leggings drop to his boots and gently eased down his cotton breeches after unfastening the leather drawstring that kept them up. His manhood shot up, erect and proud. Suna sobbed pitifully, unable to keep her eyes off Ayna as she took the Frenchman's manhood in her hand and began to caress it.\n\n'Yes, bitch, keep going,' murmured the squire.\n\nWith the other hand she began stroking his scrotum, making the squire breathe heavily and close his eyes. Damn she was good. He was waiting for her mouth to descend on his manhood but instead felt an intense burning sensation, opened his eyes and saw the face of evil intent as Ayna gripped the dagger she always carried concealed in her boot and was sawing off his genitals.\n\nHe screamed in rage, lifted his sword so he could hack off her head and then dropped the blade as a feeling akin to being dipped in molten metal engulfed his lower body.\n\n'Run, Suna,' shouted Ayna, rising to her feet, grabbing Suna's hand and sprinting back towards camp and safety. Behind them, blood gushing from his mortal wound, the squire collapsed to the ground and was left to die alone.\n\nAyna took a visibly distraught Suna back to her parents, explaining what had happened but assuring Halil Ece that his daughter's virtue was intact. But even to threaten his daughter with rape provoked the Muslim warlord to fury. He wanted revenge, though his rage was soothed when Ayna told him she had castrated the villain. Halil Ece was placated but the incident was far from over."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "The woman of Luca Baldi was making a name for herself. Suna Ece may have been a gibbering wreck when she had been returned to her father, but Ayna suddenly became as famous as the man she shared a bed with. Luca was delighted with her castrating her would-be rapist, a tale that soon spread through the Catalan camp. Hector immediately forbade any women or children leaving the camp unless they had an armed escort. Training exercises conducted by the Maidens of the Spear would continue, though Hector believing that three hundred armed women marching in a disciplined unit would deter any considering raping the company's females. Ayna basked in the adulation, more single women flocked to her tent to become members of what was becoming a fighting unit of female Almogavars, and Hector thought nothing more of the incident. Unfortunately, Walter Duke of Athens took a different view.\n\nThe money that he was shipping to the company on a regular basis resulted in the Catalans being able to purchase supplies from the shops and businesses of Athens rather than resorting to plunder. The murder of a rapist by the Black Sheep's woman was naturally mentioned in gossip, which reached the ears of Duke Walter, resulting him immediately riding to the Catalan camp.\n\nHe appeared unannounced at one of the camp's entrances with a score of mounted knights, all equipped in full-face helms, mail armour, wearing blue surcoats bearing a golden lion motif and carrying lances decorated with pennants bearing the same animal. The duke himself was bare headed and probably thought he would be allowed to enter the camp immediately when those on guard at the entrance recognised him. But only a few of the Catalans had seen Walter up close, his coat of arms meant nothing to the Almogavars and crossbowmen guarding the entrance, and so the ruler of the Duchy of Athens was kept waiting while a message was sent to Hector. Walter sat on his horse waiting for several minutes before Alfonso rode to the entrance and offered to escort a now fuming Walter to the commander's tent.\n\nInside the pavilion the duke got straight to the point.\n\n'Athens is rife with rumours about a woman in this camp who killed a man a few days ago. He bled to death after being castrated.'\n\nHector saw the simmering anger in the duke's face and wondered why he was concerning himself with the death of a criminal. He pointed to a chair across the table where he usually conducted business.\n\n'Would you like to sit, lord?'\n\nWalter did so grudgingly but refused an offer of wine.\n\n'It is true,' said Hector.\n\n'I have come for the woman. She is to be hanged from the walls of the Acropolis so all may see my justice.'\n\n'I'm afraid that will not happen, lord.'\n\nWalter's nostrils flared with anger.\n\n'Why not? Do you not execute murderers? This woman killed a squire and now she must pay the price for her villainy.'\n\n'The woman in question did not murder the squire, lord, he was trying to rape her and another with her. She acted in self-defence.'\n\n'She is probably lying to save her skin,' said Walter dismissively.\n\n'I give her the benefit of the doubt, lord. In my opinion her word is to be trusted. She would not cut off a man's balls unless she had good reason.'\n\n'It is irrelevant,' snapped Walter. 'She must be handed over.'\n\n'Can't do that, lord. For one thing she is the woman of Luca Baldi, whose exploits you are acquainted with. For another, she has forged close relations between the Christians and Muslims in this company. If I were to give her to you it would offend my Muslim horsemen, which I am not prepared to do.'\n\n'She is a Muslim?'\n\nHector nodded. 'And useful with a spear to boot. I am prepared to let her stand trial, though, where I am sure she will be acquitted.'\n\nWalter shook his head. 'Even if it was the case she was defending herself against a rapist, the Duchy of Athens is not part of the Roman Empire. It is to all intents and purposes a French land ruled by French laws. It is a legal impossibility for a Christian man to be accused of raping a Muslim woman, seeing as Muslims are outside of God's grace.'\n\n'Then she will not be put on trial,' replied Hector. 'I cannot afford to sow discourse in the company over the death of a rapist, even if he was a squire.'\n\n'Not just any squire,' Walter shot back. 'Have you heard of Reynard of Rouen.'\n\nThe blank expression on Hector's face told him all he needed to know.\n\n'Reynard of Rouen is a great French knight and a friend of my father-in-law. He is now residing in the Acropolis after travelling from France to fight in my coming war. He is a man of high honour who demands immediate restitution for the murder of his squire.'\n\nWalter leaned forward. 'I cannot leave this camp empty handed. The eyes of Reynard, the duchy and all the other Latin states in Greece are on me.'\n\nHector was not impressed. What was the honour of a Frenchman to him? Did the French have any honour?\n\n'I will not give up the woman you seek, whom you will kill to satisfy the honour of a French knight who should have had more control over his squire.'\n\nWalter clenched his fist. He too was a noble knight and took exception to the Catalan's tone and disrespect. He would have drawn his sword and cut him down on the spot were it not for the fact he needed him and his low-born mercenaries. They were the key to a great prize and despite his anger he was not about to let his pride deny him riches, fame and glory.\n\n'Perhaps she might undergo a trial by ordeal.'\n\nHector threw back his head and roared with laughter.\n\n'What, like being bound and thrown into a pond, after which if you sank you are innocent, if you float you are guilty? Even I can see such an ordeal is biased against the accused. As I said, lord, to surrender her to such so-called justice will be seen in camp for what it is. Legalised murder.'\n\nBut Walter had another idea, one that would appeal to the company's leader.\n\n'Then what about trial by combat?'\n\nHector was sceptical. 'This woman is useful with a spear but against a knight in armour and wielding a sword? It would still be murder.'\n\n'I did not say she would be fighting, and in any case Sir Reynard would not debase himself fighting a woman, much less a Muslim woman. No, but she can elect a champion to fight for her.'\n\nHector rolled his eyes.\n\n'We are a mercenary organisation, lord, not some chivalric band. We have no knights who can be champions. We have no time for such irrelevancies.'\n\nWalter stiffened at the insult. To him and thousands like him, chivalry was the rigid code they lived by and its lofty ideals they aspired to. Well, most of the time. Walter gave Hector an evil leer.\n\n'But you are wrong, for did you not say she is the woman of Luca Baldi? He can be her champion.'\n\n'Luca Baldi is an illiterate peasant who does not know how to use a sword. He certainly would fare poorly against a knight in single combat. He's an Almogavar, trained to fight as part of a unit with a spear and javelins.'\n\nWalter examined his fingernails. 'He carries a sword for I saw him and the others a short while ago in my fortress.'\n\n'Short swords, yes, but they are only used as a weapon of last resort.'\n\n'It does not matter,' said Walter, 'in a trial by combat God decides whom the victor will be. The innocent cannot lose.'\n\n'I am sure you believe that, lord.'\n\nWalter regarded Hector coolly. 'Do you deny the existence of God?'\n\n'Not at all, I just think He can't be bothered to intervene in men's affairs, having washed His hands of us centuries ago.'\n\nWalter stood. 'I will inform Sir Reynard you will send a champion to fight on behalf of the Muslim woman.'\n\n'And if I refuse?'\n\n'Then our contract is at an end and you and your company will have to leave Athens and find employment elsewhere,' replied Walter casually. 'What is the life of one man against the promise of a permanent home for thousands?'\n\nHector went to see Luca and Ayna personally that evening. They and their friends were sitting round a glowing, crackling campfire complete with ubiquitous cauldron hanging above it, cloaks wrapped around them, staring into the flames. Hector told them to remain seated as he warmed his hands on the fire. Ertan filled a ladle with the liquid in the cauldron, poured it into a wooden cup and handed it to Hector.\n\n'To warm your stomach, effendi .'\n\nHector took it and initially took a small sip of the liquid, which he found most agreeable.\n\n'What's this?'\n\n'Spiced pomegranate, effendi ,' answered Ertan, 'mixed with honey. Heal your stomach.'\n\nHector drained the cup and belched. 'Nothing wrong with my stomach.'\n\nHe told Ayna and Luca about the visit of Duke Walter and his offer. Jordi and Romanus were outraged.\n\n'My father warned me about the French, said they were not to be trusted,' spat Jordi.\n\n'Someone tries to rape Ayna and Luca has to fight to prove her innocence?' said Romanus. 'It is wrong.'\n\n'I will fight the Frenchman,' declared the ten-year-old Anicius.\n\n'Luca will not do it,' stated Chana. 'It will not be a fair fight. I do not trust this duke and his followers.'\n\n'The Black Sheep is too valuable to the company for you to allow him to put his life in danger over a travesty of justice,' added Monica.\n\nBut Hector was not listening to or looking at them. He was studying Luca, who sat in silence beside an equally quiet Ayna. They were all correct, of course, it was an outrage and a travesty, but no different to the outrages and travesties that occurred in the world on a daily basis. He saw the look on Luca's face and knew he would accept the challenge. Clever bastard, the Duke of Athens.\n\nLuca stared unblinking at the flickering flames of the fire. A squire of a famous knight had tried to rape Ayna and she had killed him. Now the knight wanted her dead and would not let the matter go. Hector stated he would not force him to fight a trial by combat, knowing that in a face-to-face fight against a veteran French noble he would almost certainly lose. As Hector never tired of telling him and anyone else who would listen, he was an illiterate peasant, little better than a slave in the grand scheme of things. And yet here he was, a feted figure in the Catalan Company, a man who had stared death in the face on the battlefield and who had escaped its embrace on many occasions. Had he not fought and bettered Dario Spinola, a Genoese knight, at Apros? Why would a Frenchman be any different? He looked up at Hector, the company's leader smiled.\n\n'I will fight this Frenchman.'\n\n'Allah preserve us,' muttered Ertan.\n\nAyna, usually so vociferous when it came to arguing a point, placed her arm around Luca and rested her head on his shoulder. She had been with him for five years now and knew her man. He was a simple soul but not stupid. He had no money or land but he did have a reputation and that gave him a sense of self-worth. But as any knight would tell him, a reputation had to be jealously defended at all times. That is why she knew Luca would accept the challenge without hesitation.\n\nThe next day Hector sent a message to the duke that Luca Baldi had agreed to be Ayna's champion, stating he himself would be present at the trial by combat to ensure it would be a fair fight. His worries were misplaced. Trial by combat was in essence a direct appeal to God to resolve an issue of guilt and innocence, and it was only God who could grant victory to the righteous. This being the case, it would be a form of heresy to intervene to stack the odds in favour of one combatant.\n\nLuca slept well that night, though Ayna lay on her back with eyes wide open wondering how a woman who had successfully fought off a rapist could be subsequently put on trial. She had every confidence in Luca's martial abilities, but he had never fought a single combat against a noble, who would be wearing fine armour and wielding expensive weapons. But she did not show her misgivings the next morning when she sat with Sam eating breakfast before hugging him close and putting him in the charge of Ertan. Luca also embraced his young son and told him he would see him later. For Sam the day was no different to any other. His father and mother always disappeared after breakfast to attend morning training before returning after midday. How Ayna envied his innocent ignorance.\n\nHector's division undertook camp guard duty that morning to allow Jordi and Romanus to accompany their friend to the Acropolis, Chana and Monica joining the Black Sheep and Ayna. Halil Ece and his two sons were waiting at the southern entrance to the camp on their horses.\n\n'No training today?' barked Hector.\n\n'Melek is commanding all the horse archers today,' replied Halil Ece calmly. 'I have more important matters to attend to.'\n\nHector jabbed his spear at the two sons. 'What about them?'\n\n'Family honour usurps everything,' Halil Ece told him.\n\nThe two sons nodded at Luca. Their first meeting had been a frosty one but now Luca Baldi was held in high regard by the Ece family. He was going to fight on behalf of Ayna, who had saved the honour and indeed life of their sister. They fell in behind their father as the Turkish exile walked his horse alongside Hector.\n\n'You should have told me the Duke of Athens had visited you.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'So I could have fought him today instead of the Black Sheep.'\n\n'First of all,' chuckled Hector, 'the duke is not fighting anyone. He visited us on behalf of the knight whose squire was killed by Ayna.'\n\n'In self-defence,' said Ayna.\n\n'Be that as it may,' continued Hector, 'the fact is the squire worked for an important French knight who wants justice.'\n\n'Justice?' mocked Halil Ece. 'Justice was served on the miscreant and the matter should have ended there.'\n\n'Luca here was more than willing to try his luck against the French lord, isn't that right, Black Sheep.'\n\n'Yes,' replied Luca.\n\nThe day was very pleasant. Not too warm and no sign of rain, which would make it slippery underfoot. Luca assumed, correctly as it turned out, that it would be a fight on foot. The people of Athens were going about their daily lives as the party of Almogavars, their women and three horsemen made its way to the entrance of the Acropolis. Ayna, Chana and Monica gawped in wonderment at the size of the fortress they walked into, the guards at the gates bewildered by the sight of women carrying spears and equipped with javelins. They eyed the three Muslim horse archers with suspicion but were calmed by the presence of Jean de Carrouges who had been waiting in the gatehouse for Hector and his party to arrive. But he too was surprised by the appearance of the women.\n\nAs they walked to the fighting arena, which was a fenced-off square near what had been the Parthenon, Jean explained to Luca and the others the formalities of trial by combat. The fighting arena had to be a level and even piece of ground in the shape of a square, each side sixty feet in length. Jean told them that strict rules dictated what weapons were allowed to ensure the fight was as fair as possible.\n\n'Don't worry about that,' said Hector, 'the Black Sheep knows how to use a spear with some skill.'\n\nJean went on to say that trial by combat was usually a public event but the duke had decided the one about to take place should be conducted behind the walls of the Acropolis, as he had no wish to be surrounded by hundreds of Greeks.\n\nAyna clutched Luca's hand tightly as they made their way to the arena, which was fenced off.\n\n'You can still change your mind,' she said.\n\n'And become a laughing stock? I think not.'\n\nThere was a steely determination in his eyes, which intensified when he saw the dozens of spectators gathered around the fence \u2013 haughty French knights and their squires, along with sergeants and ordinary foot soldiers. All present to see a lowly mercenary put to death. A covered scaffold had been hastily erected to allow the duke and his wife to observe the fight from the comfort of cushioned chairs, other chairs reserved for Jean and the Archbishop of Athens. Flagpoles had been positioned at each corner of the area, from which hung blue flags showing the duke's coat of arms. Or would have done had there been any wind to make them flutter.\n\nReynard of Rouen strode into the fighting area to the accompaniment of rousing cheers from those at the fence surrounding it. He raised a hand to Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon, who beckoned him over to the scaffold. She untied a delicate blue scarf from around her neck, handed it to a servant who walked from the scaffold to the fence, holding it out to the man who would fight Luca Baldi. Reynard took it, tied it around his right wrist, bowed his head to the duchess and walked back to the centre of the arena.\n\nHector slapped Luca on the back.\n\n'Ready to enter the lion's den?'\n\nLuca kissed Ayna on the lips. 'Ready.'\n\nHe shook the hands of Jordi and Romanus before ducking under the fence, accepting his spear from Ayna, and striding to the centre of the area when Sir Reynard was slashing the air with his sword. He saw Luca and stopped, his stare unblinking as the Almogavar walked to where another individual dressed in brown leggings, knee-length, short-sleeved tunic and long-sleeved white shirt and armed with a wooden stave around six feet in length was beckoning him. The man pointed his stave at the ground to indicate where Luca should stand.\n\n'Sir Reynard,' the man said in French, which Luca did not understand, the knight taking up his position around a yard from Luca, both of them facing the scaffold where the duke and duchess were seated.\n\nLuca glanced at Sir Reynard in his imposing armour. He wore a mail hauberk, iron gauntlets, iron leg armour and a bevor, a piece of plate armour designed to protect the neck. Clearly this Frenchman had been informed about Almogavar fighting techniques. He would have worn a full-face helm but seeing as Luca wore no armour and a helmet that only protected the top of his head, Reynard according to the rules of trial by combat had been forced to wear an open-faced helmet. Over his armour the French knight wore a red knee-length surcoat emblazoned with a yellow unicorn. The same design was replicated on his shield, which was made of wood, covered in leather and held by means of three leather straps on the inside. His weapons comprised a dagger and a magnificent sword with a long, tapering blade, broad at the hilt with a sharp point.\n\nThe individual with a stave stood between the two combatants and spoke to the assembly in French, which Luca did not understand. But he then repeated the words in Italian.\n\n'The justices command, in the Duke of Athen's name, that no person of what estate, degree or condition that he be, being present, be so hardy to give any token or sign, by countenance, speech or language, to either party, whereby the one of them may take advantage of the other. Furthermore no person shall remove but will keep his place; and that every person or persons keep their staves and their weapons to themselves; and suffer neither party to take any of their weapons or any other thing, that may stand either one any avail, upon pain of forfeiture of lands, tenements, goods, chattels and imprisonment of their bodies, and making fine and ransom at the duke's pleasure.'\n\nLuca was bored. While Reynard stood to attention throughout the preliminaries he leaned on his spear and let the small wooden shield he held in his left hand drop by his side. After making the announcement to the crowd, the official spoke to both combatants in a more subdued voice, first to Sir Reynard and then Luca.\n\n'You will be adjudged the winner if you kill your opponent, if you force him to submit and utter the word \"craven\", or if you remain standing when the stars appear.'\n\nLuca laughed, which mortified the official and Sir Reynard. It was not yet noon so the idea of fighting for hours without water and rest was farcical. The official turned and then beckoned forward two other officials, one of whom reached into Luca's tunic with his hand. He pushed him away.\n\n'It is a necessary procedure,' explained the man with the staff, 'to ensure you are not carrying any magical enchantments or hidden religious items that may give you an advantage.'\n\nLuca begrudgingly allowed the man to search him, not that it took him long to rummage through his sheepskin coat and linen shirt. He went back to leaning on his spear while Sir Reynard removed his gauntlets so they could be searched, and also allowed the official to feel beneath his surcoat for anything untoward. The duchess' scarf clearly was not considered magical. The two officials, satisfied there were no hidden charms on the person of either party, withdrew, leaving the man with the staff between the two combatants. He stood facing the scaffold, his stave held at a horizontal angle between Luca and Sir Reynard.\n\n'When I remove my staff you may begin,' he said to each man.\n\nIt would clearly be an unequal contest between a former peasant and a noble knight. Reynard of Rouen had been trained to become a warrior from the age of five, becoming a page, a squire and finally a knight, by which time he was fully versed in fighting on foot and horseback with a variety of weapons. Moreover, he was encased in mail and steel armour whereas Luca had only a rudimentary helmet and small shield for protection.\n\nLuca ignored the crowd and focused on the staff held between him and his opponent, his eyes flitting between the two, his left leg slightly forward. There was a lack of utter disgust on the face of the middle-aged Sir Reynard, who had his shield tucked tightly to his body, his left forearm gripped by its two leather straps, his hand gripping the other strap. His right hand moved to the hilt of his sword, a malicious smile creased his lips and his blue eyes narrowed. He licked his lips in anticipation of the duel.\n\nThe staff was withdrawn and the official stepped back. Luca dropped his shield, lunged forward, gripped his spear with both hands and drove the metal point through Sir Reynard's right eye socket. The knight managed to pull his sword half out of its scabbard before stiffening when the steel point entered his brain, before collapsing on the ground on his back, dead. The strike was so fast and unexpected that the official was still close to the combatants and he too froze, staring wide-eyed at the dead French knight almost at his feet. The crowd was totally silent and still, many not believing what their eyes had just witnessed. Luca retrieved his shield and walked back to where Hector and his friends were standing.\n\nHector clenched a fist and punched the air.\n\n'Yes! That's the way to do it. Strike fast and hard and leave the fancy stuff to the enemy.'\n\nAyna ducked under the fence and ran to Luca, throwing her arms around him and planting kisses on his lips and cheeks. When they had left the arena the others crowded round to congratulate him. Hector slapped him on the back and Halil Ece offered him his hand.\n\n'You are a great warrior, Luca Baldi.'\n\n'Almost,' said Hector.\n\nLuca turned to him. 'Almost?'\n\n'Throwing your shield away would ordinarily be a flogging offence. But this time I will turn a blind eye. I'm glad all those hours spent training weren't wasted on you and you actually listened to my words.'\n\nHe remembered every word.\n\n'Forget all the tall tales about swords and lances. The spear is the king of the battlefield when used correctly. In a defensive formation a row of spear points will deter the most expensive warhorse in the world. In the attack, a combination of speed and a spear's reach makes a devastating weapon.'\n\nSpears are long. Longer than swords, maces and axes, and become even longer when combined with a lunge by their owners. An eight-foot spear can be pushed through the first hand holding it by the second hand behind to extend the space between its owner and an opponent opposite. And when they are thrust very quickly they are hard to defend against. Lightning-fast jabs against the face, neck, legs and feet are confusing and hard to defeat.\n\nLuca may have been illiterate and landless but he was no fool. He had seen the expensive armour worn by Sir Reynard up close while the longwinded preliminaries had been underway, knew it was useless trying to stab at the knight's neck that was protected by a necklace of plate armour, and realised his only chance of a quick kill was to aim for the Frenchman's exposed face. And as he had no desire to spend hours trying to avoid the sword of his opponent, even though the arena was large enough to 'dance' around his more heavily equipped and thus slower foe, he wanted to make a point, literally. The Frenchman had wanted Ayna dead so Luca decided to give the noble a taste of his own medicine. The code of chivalry, which involved the concepts of noble deeds, valour and prowess, meant nothing to him. He fought to survive and protect the lives of his loved ones and friends. The spectators wanted to see a display of knightly fighting prowess, at the end of which Luca Baldi would be slain, like an animal in a bullfight. He wanted it over as quickly as possible.\n\nThe party left the Acropolis unmolested. After all, it was considered impossible for the wrong man to be killed in a trial by combat because it was God's will. But still, church doctrine said nothing about bearing a grudge concerning a low-born Almogavar killing a noble knight. The day after the duel, Duke Walter sent word to Hector that he could not guarantee the safety of any member of the Catalan Company outside of camp. Moreover, he suggested that Hector confine every Catalan to camp to prevent another unsavoury incident occurring. He would ensure that merchants visited the camp on a daily basis to sell food and other supplies, guaranteeing all outstanding monies owed for wages would be paid by the beginning of winter.\n\nThe same day Hector received another letter ordering him and his company to quit their camp and withdraw north to the valley of Gravia in the north of the duchy, from where it would be easier for the company to launch offensive operations against Thessaly in the spring. As an incentive to move the company speedily, the duke sent two large chests filled with gold coins to ensure the Catalans had enough money to purchase supplies along the way. Duke Walter was apologetic about the inconvenience, explaining that his wife had fond memories of Reynard of Rouen, the noblemen being a frequent guest at her father's castle in France. The sight of him being killed in front of her, combined with the presence of the individual responsible a stone's throw away from the Acropolis, had triggered a sever attack of anxiety. Fearing for Joanna's well-being, he had no option but to order the company's relocation.\n\n'Sore losers, the French,' mused Hector as he walked beside Luca after the company had struck camp and thousands of people and animals made their way north in the rain.\n\nLuca was in a glum mood. 'I did not think my winning the trial by combat would result in us having to leave Athens.'\n\n'You are an affront to their honour,' Hector told him. 'The rich and powerful have always taken what they wanted, everything from land, money and livestock to women. It never crosses their minds they might be in the wrong. So when they see one of their own cut down in the blink of an eye by a peasant, they are incensed.'\n\n'It was God's decision,' declared Romanus.\n\n'You watch,' laughed Hector, 'Luca's victory will be interpreted as an act of sorcery, that somehow he bewitched Reynard of Rouen, for how else could an Almogavar have defeated a knight in single combat? Nobility can never be wrong, you understand. At least we have been paid our wages until the spring, which is something. The French are not as tight as the Romans when it comes to money, I will give them that.'\n\n'We will probably never see Athens again,' lamented Luca.\n\nThe duke had provided guides to show the company the way, and also to record any instances of plundering, which Walter informed Hector would not be tolerated. Hector sent a message back stating that as the company had been paid what it was owed, there would be no plundering. His soldiers were trained professionals and only indulged in rape and plunder when it was warranted, not for sport like a French squire. He received no reply from the Acropolis."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Empress Irene groaned under the man who was making love to her, if his animal-like stabs could be considered love-making. Sweat beaded his face and his cheeks were redder than usual. He heard her groan and intensified his efforts, his great bulk shaking the large bed as he thrust into her. But he mistook her groans for feminine ecstasy, which gave him a second wind, or rather a third as he had flatulence as well as a huge belly.\n\nIrene wanted to laugh because his manhood was barely entering her so large was his belly, but of more concern to her was the danger of being pressed to death.\n\n'Take me from behind,' she told him.\n\nHis blue eyes lit up and he nodded his head, his mouth open as he panted for air. He looked like a big slavering hound, though ailing bear would be more accurate. He had black hair and a wild beard, which was bad enough, but he was hairy all over, which she found disgusting. He rolled off her so she could turn over and get on all fours to present her shapely behind to him. She heard him grunt like a pig in anticipation. She reached for the chalice of wine on the bedside table and took a large gulp.\n\n'You are a stallion, my lord.'\n\nShe should have become an actress so accomplished was she at hiding her true feelings.\n\nHe roughly grabbed her buttocks and forced his manhood into her, thrusting like fury not only to give her pleasure but to encourage his waning member to perform. His panting increased in noise and intensity as the race between wanting to finish and his manhood giving up the ghost entered the home straight. He let out a pitiful groan as he reached the finish line first, Irene laughing out loud, which she instantly disguised by squealing in fake ecstasy. His knees wobbled and he flopped down on the beside her, rolling on to his back, his belly rising and falling as he took great gulps of air. His whole body was covered in sweat, which meant her silk sheets would also be soaked.\n\n'You are a unique woman, Irene,' he said at last, his heart not having given way after his exertions.\n\n'And you are a warrior both on the battlefield and between the sheets, my lord,' she lied.\n\nHer words pleased him greatly, a beaming smile appearing on his blotchy face. He reached for his chalice of wine and drained it. There was a time when Theodore Svetoslav had been a handsome man: tall, a clean-shaven square face with bright blue eyes and a powerful, muscular body. Now the eyes were dull and surrounded by dark circles, his once impressive body turned to an unattractive bulk due to an excess of drinking and feasting. No woman would find him physically attractive, and certainly not Empress Irene of the Roman Empire, a woman who was by any reckoning a beauty, a woman who took pride in her physical appearance, and who ate and drank sparingly to maintain her flawless complexion and graceful body. It was a case of beauty submitting to the beast; but the beast had his uses.\n\nShe had invited him to Thessalonica, endured his boorish behaviour, his lecherous approaches and had finally allowed him into her bed. And now the scales would be balanced. She rolled on her side and began toying with his chest hair.\n\n'I was sorry to hear about your friend Lord Aldimir.'\n\nWine dribbled down his chin. He tossed the empty chalice on the floor and belched.\n\n'Good man, Aldimir, killed by those Catalan bastards.'\n\nAldimir was a Bulgarian boyar and the blustering oaf beside her was the Tsar of Bulgaria, a man of great power and prestige who had ended Mongol over-lordship of his country and defeated the Romans in a series of border wars, resulting in his marriage to the teenage daughter of Co-Emperor Michael to seal the peace. He surrounded himself with a loyal band of boyars \u2013 wealthy aristocratic landowners who acted as the tsar's military leaders. The one who had been closest to the emperor was Aldimir, a man entrusted with securing the Bulgarian Empire's southern border. He had been killed at the hands of the Almogavars in the aftermath of the Battle of Apros four years before.\n\n'I intend to mount a campaign against the Catalans in the new year, lord,' purred Irene.\n\nTheodore's ears pricked up. 'Oh?'\n\n'The details are unimportant but suffice to say I intend to put an end to them once and for all. They murdered my son.'\n\n'I heard.'\n\n'I would welcome the assistance of Bulgaria in the quest to rid the world of this pestilence.'\n\n'What sort of assistance?'\n\nIrene, disgusted by being next to a sweating, stinking hulk, rose from the bed and hid her nudity with a silk dressing gown. She walked to the closed doors that led to her balcony and opened them. Light flooded into the chamber along with a cool draught. Theodore, feeling the chill, rolled off the bed and began to get dressed. Irene breathed a sigh of relief. She turned away from the tsar to look at the city of Thessalonica below, her palace and the mighty citadel surrounding it constructed on the top of a steep slope to give magnificent views of the city and the Aegean below.\n\n'I will not lie to you, lord, Thessalonica currently lacks the military resources to wage a war against the Catalans. However, my husband has agreed to provide soldiers to strike into Greece, specifically Athens, where the mercenaries currently reside.'\n\nTheodore pulled on his boots.\n\n'Athens? It is ruled by the Catholics.'\n\nIrene turned away from the city to give him a malicious leer.\n\n'There will soon be a new ruler in Athens, one who will be an ally of Thessalonica and the empire.'\n\nThe tsar was impressed, or more likely blinded by lust. He walked across the marble tiles covering the floor and sidled up to her, his hands cupping her breasts. He squeezed them tightly making her wince. His repugnant breath was hot on her neck.\n\n'How many soldiers do you need?'\n\n'Five thousand, to be here in the spring,' she answered immediately.\n\nHe continued to grope her breasts. She broke away from his lascivious embrace.\n\n'Guards!'\n\nTwo soldiers entered the room and saluted, causing the tsar to remember he was the ruler of a large empire and compose himself with a modicum of decency.\n\n'Bring more wine,' she ordered.\n\nThey saluted and left her bedroom, which stank of sweat and alcohol, closing the twin doors behind them.\n\n'Are you hungry, lord?' she asked.\n\nHis eyes filled with lust. 'Only for you.'\n\nThere was a knock at the door.\n\n'Come.'\n\nA male slave entered and bowed his head to the empress. He carried a silver tray on which was a large wine jug and two gold chalices. He did not look the empress or the tsar in the eye as he placed the jug and empty chalices on the round table in the centre of the large room, removed the empty jug, placed it on the tray and then picked up the chalice the tsar had cast aside and also removed the empress' used drinking vessel.\n\n'Fill them,' ordered Irene.\n\nThe slave did as ordered before bowing and withdrawing. Irene walked over to the table, picked up the chalices and handed one to Theodore. She looked straight into his eyes.\n\n'The emperor has assured me your soldiers will have free passage through the empire's territory, lord.'\n\nShe drank some wine, walked back to the table, put the chalice down, unfastened her silk gown and let it drop to the floor. She stood naked before him. She thought his eyes might pop out of their sockets as he looked her magnificent nakedness up and down.\n\n'Do I have my soldiers, lord?'\n\n'Yes, yes,' he babbled. 'Now get on the bed so I can show you how a Bulgarian tsar makes love.'\n\nI have seen a hog mounting a sow in the animal market on many occasions, you fat oaf.\n\nThat evening, after she had endured another bout of his grunting, wind, panting and sweating, he retired drunk and spent to his room and she bathed to remove his stench from her body. She ordered her bed to be changed and her bedroom cleaned thoroughly and scented with candles and incense so she could sleep soundly. But before she closed her eyes after a day of extreme ordeal, she penned a letter to her husband, a man she had left seven years before to escape the cloying atmosphere at Constantinople where inertia had become an art form."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "The black cloud that had hung over the city of Constantinople for three years had mercifully vanished. The time of strife had at last come to an end. The city was fortunate in that its impregnable walls shielded a metropolis that had dwindled in population since the time of antiquity when a million citizens lived there. This was fortuitous when Emperor Andronicus took his sister's advice and ordered the evacuation of Thrace following the disaster at Apros. Farmers and villagers had left their homes to flock to the Roman capital, whose many open spaces had allowed them to live in miserable camps. But the city authorities were able to ensure they did not starve or die of thirst, the imperial treasury being nearly exhausted keeping them alive. And Patriarch Athanasius, the chief priest in the city, ordered the citizens of Constantinople to donate money for the relief of their fellow Romans, which yielded a substantial sum. Finally, Treasurer Timothy, Timothy the Forest Dweller, the despised eunuch with a penchant for young boys, managed to persuade the governor of Magnesia, a city in western Anatolia, to send gold to the city for the relief of the homeless. Magnesia was blessed with good relations with the emirs whose lands surrounded the city, but more by its own gold mine that allowed the governor, Arcadius Drogon, to bribe the emirs to keep their warriors away from the walls of his city. Lacking siege equipment, the emirs were more than happy to take his gold and allow his citizens free passage through their lands. Thus did Princess Maria's strategy prove victorious. The farmers and villagers of Thrace finally returned to their homes after the accursed Catalans had left Gallipoli.\n\nThe stress of the preceding three years had aged Andronicus, who had always been a very serious individual. He was only middle-aged but his hair and forked beard were now quite white. His long face and nose added to his now gaunt appearance, which was a result of his frequent fasting and the mental strain of unending concern about his crumbling empire. He was like a hermit who never left the confines of the Blachernae Palace, the grandiose home of the emperor boasting three hundred rooms and twenty chapels, a residence of long colonnaded halls resplendent with gold mosaics depicting Roman triumphs over the barbarians, hunting scenes, religious figures and imperial portraits. The centrepiece of excess was the throne room where a golden throne inlaid with jewels sat beneath a ceiling of sparkling gold leaf, from which hung a golden crown suspended above the throne by a gold chain.\n\nBut the grandeur and images were all an illusion of a great and powerful Roman Empire that no longer existed, which was the reason the emperor rarely left the Blachernae, except to tend to his flowers and plants in his private garden. He took pleasure in the simple things, such as meeting with his son and sister in one of the small rooms overlooking the Golden Horn, the deep-water channel to the north of the city where the imperial fleet was anchored, along with a multitude of different-sized civilian boats.\n\nFrom the room he could take in the view of a thriving harbour below, a symbol of the power and strength of the Roman Empire. And beyond the Golden Horn was the city's Galata quarter, though he chose not to look too closely at the flags interspersed among the church spires, which were the banners of Genoa, the apostate Italian republic that owned half the eastern Mediterranean. But the republic's ships that sailed through the Bosporus on their way to Caffa in the Black Sea paid a toll to journey through the narrow strait, as did every boat, Muslim included, which helped to alleviate the strains on the imperial treasury. And the Genoese paid rent on the buildings and warehouses they used in Galata, another small mercy for which he gave thanks to God.\n\nAll was ordered and calm in the palace. Officials with titles dating back hundreds of years went about their business quietly and methodically, slaves cleaned rooms and corridors and fetched and carried for their masters. Young pages, the sons of senators and nobles, waited on the emperor to prepare themselves for high office. The Blachernae was a living history museum, a throwback to an age that no longer existed.\n\nThe emperor nibbled on a cake then held it up.\n\n'One would not know it but to make this cake requires hours of diligent work.'\n\nHis sister, Princess Maria, rolled her eyes. It was going to be another of those afternoons.\n\n'Dough made up of wheat flour, water and a little oil is rolled thin on a large table and then cut into squares. But to produce paper-thin dough requires experience and great dexterity.'\n\nHe looked at his son, Co-Emperor Michael, stuffing another cake, comprising layers of thin pastry and cream flavoured with cinnamon and lemon, into his mouth.\n\n'Such an example of culinary expertise should be savoured before being consumed.'\n\nThe emperor and his guests were reclining on couches, scented candles filling the room with a calming aroma.\n\nAndronicus took another nibble of the cake.\n\n'I letter arrived from my wife yesterday. She begs me for soldiers to wage war against the Catalan Company.'\n\n'The Catalan Company, having worsted Irene's own army, is now resident in the Duchy of Athens, one of the Catholic Latin states,' said Michael.\n\nAndronicus finished his cake and wiped his hands on a cloth.\n\n'She informs me a plan is currently in motion to eject the current Duke of Athens and replace him with a new duke who will be an ally of the empire.'\n\n'An ally of the empire or Irene?' Maria shot back.\n\nIrene's decision to leave Constantinople seven years before had shocked Roman society. That a wife of the emperor would consciously desert her husband was unthinkable. That the emperor was seen to sanction it shocking. Irene taking herself off to Thessalonica had damaged the authority of Andronicus, which had been further shaken by the defeat at the hands of the Turks at the Battle of Bapheus, which had prompted the hiring of the Catalan Company, a decision that would further weaken the reign of Emperor Andronicus. Indeed, it was widely believed in Constantinople that Princess Maria was the power behind the throne, a view Andronicus did nothing to disprove.\n\n'You are unkind, sister. Have you forgotten these Catalans murdered my son in the most base manner?'\n\n'I have not, but even if you send soldiers to her, how do you know they will not suffer the same fate as Irene's, and indeed our own?' she asked.\n\nAs if her words reminded Michael of the disaster at Apros where his army had been destroyed and he himself gravely wounded, he suddenly clutched the disfigured side of his face as a sharp pain shot through his check and into his brain. There was a time when the co-emperor was an energetic individual, determined to reverse the decline of the empire. But no more. The Catalan blade that had dug deep into his skull had made him half the man he used to be. His stout frame had run to fat, he was lethargic and often took to his bed when severe headaches seized him. Moreover he had difficulty remembering details, all of which made his father fearful of his fitness to wear the crown after his death.\n\n'The Catalans should be destroyed, father, both to assist my stepmother and avenge my stepbrother's murder.'\n\nIt was an open secret Michael had despised Despot John and thought little of Empress Irene, but the prospect of making war on the Catalan heretics over-ruled any personal animosity.\n\n'I will lead them.'\n\nMaria gave her brother a concerned look. Michael was unfit to lead troops in the field, and indeed had rarely left the Blachernae after being severely wounded. He had spent months in bed recovering and more months building up his physical strength. But he suffered crippling headaches on a daily basis, which the physicians were unable to stop. His long-term prognosis was poor.\n\n'No, my son,' said Andronicus, 'your place is here beside me. Besides, my wife also informs me that she has secured the services of five thousand Bulgarian soldiers for her scheme, subject to my approving their march through Roman territory.'\n\n'She has been busy,' remarked Maria.\n\n'She wants revenge, and quickly,' muttered Michael, smarting from his father's refusal to allow him to lead the mission against the Catalans. He stuffed another cake into his mouth.\n\n'I will support Irene,' said Andronicus. 'John was also my son, after all. Master John will join with the Bulgarians and my wife's soldiers in the spring, and with God's help finally put an end to the Catalan plague.'\n\nMaster John was actually a Cuman, descended from central Asian nomads who had moved into the southern steppes of Russia and thereafter served as mercenaries in Roman armies, settling in the empire as a reward for their sterling service. The Cumans settled chiefly in the themes of Thrace and Macedonia, assimilating and marrying into the indigenous population. The most powerful and influential Cuman was Master John, originally named Syrgiannes but being called John after his baptism into the Orthodox faith. A personal friend of the emperor, he was more Roman than Roman and was also a skilled military commander. He was governor of the city of Arcadiopolis where he commanded upwards of five thousand horse archers.\n\nThe grand coalition against the Catalan Company was taking shape."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Elena Laskarina loved being Queen of Thessaly and the people of the kingdom loved her being their queen. She had been married for six months following her betrothal to Angelus Ducas in Thessalonica. They were still teenagers but enjoyed the adulation of their people. The king had been saved from certain death after his capture by the Catalan Company when he was exchanged for a low-born member of the mercenaries, though Empress Irene had promised to pay the huge ransom demanded by the Catalans from her own treasury. She used it instead to provide Elena with a large dowry, which delighted Angelus Ducas. Delighted him so much, in fact, that he managed to get Elena pregnant almost immediately. The child would be born in the spring and everyone hoped it would be a boy. The people of Thessaly thought it an auspicious omen because the child would, if a boy, be a grandson of Count Laskarina, her father, who had been a native of Thessaly before his untimely death at the Battle of Apros.\n\nElena had spent three years at the palace in Thessalonica by the empress' side, during which she had been raped by Despot John, adopted by Irene to make her a member of the Roman imperial family, and learned at first hand the skills and nuances of court intrigue, politics and diplomacy. By nature Elena was a schemer, a quality that was refined under Irene's tutelage. And though she loved her husband, she found the king easy to manipulate. Her high cheekbones, full lips and dazzling smile had won him over but he was also attracted to her ambition to be the ruler of a resurgent Thessaly.\n\nIt was her suggestion that they should extend the hand of friendship to the Despotate of Epiros to encourage closer relations between the two kingdoms. They both shared the same religion, language and customs, after all, and both bordered the Catholic Latin kingdoms to the south, which united them in a common enemy.\n\n'These are for Regent Anna,' smiled Angelus, clapping his hands to bring servants into the reception room where he and Elena reclined on couches with the ambassador from Epiros, a small, portly individual with an amiable nature named Alexios Ancona.\n\nThe servants were carrying purple silk rolls, which they showed to a clearly impressed ambassador.\n\n'Take the rolls to the ambassador's rooms,' commanded Elena.\n\n'You are both most generous,' smiled the ambassador.\n\nThey were indeed. The colour purple was associated with royalty, luxury and extravagance. Purple robes were the preserve of kings, queens, rich lords and churchmen. The dye was distilled from the dehydrated gland of a mollusc that lies just behind the rectum. It took tens of thousands of desiccated glands, which were plucked from murex sea snails before being dried and boiled, to dye just a small patch of material. But murex purple as it was known, in contrast to other textile colours, intensified with wear and weathering, making it truly special. The ambassador was right, to gift rolls of silk dyed purple was generosity in the extreme. Or would have been had it not been fake murex made by extracting the dye from the madder plant and mixing it with indigo. But no matter, by the time Regent Anna, the ruler of Epiros, noticed the clothes made from the silk gifted her by Thessaly were fading, she would have served her purpose.\n\n'In the spring a great campaign will be launched into the Duchy of Athens,' announced Angelus, 'the aim of which will be to destroy the Catalan Company.'\n\nThe smile disappeared from the ambassador's face.\n\n'I believe Regent Anna is familiar with this band of cutthroat mercenaries,' sighed Elena.\n\nSeven years before the Catalans had fought and beaten the army of Epiros when the regent's son, Thomas Komnenos Doukas, had fancied his luck against the mercenaries. The defeat still rankled in Epiros.\n\n'The Duke of Athens has hired the Catalan Company,' said Angelus, 'and I have no doubt he will add it to his own forces to attempt to conquer Thessaly.'\n\n'And after that Epiros,' added Elena.\n\n'I invite Regent Anna to send her army to reinforce my own in the spring,' said the king, 'after which we will join with soldiers sent by Empress Irene to nip any Catholic aggression in the bud.'\n\nThe ambassador looked at the two young rulers. Both attractive and both seemingly with functioning brains. Dressed in finery and adorned with gold and silver jewellery, the only flaw in their appearance was the absence of the king's little finger on his left hand. Everyone knew it had been amputated by the barbarian leader of the Catalans when the king had been taken prisoner, though out of politeness no one mentioned it.\n\n'It is not within my power to declare war or peace, majesty,' said Alexios, 'but I will recommend to Regent Anna that an alliance with Thessaly and the Roman Empire is in the interests of Epiros.'\n\n'If Thessaly falls to the Catholics, the Franks will be on your border,' stated Angelus bluntly.\n\nIt was not an open border, the Despotate of Epiros occupying the western edge of Greece, adjacent to the Adriatic coast, and isolated from the rest of Greece by the Pindos Mountains. That said, armies could still march through the mountain passes from a conquered Thessaly.\n\n'Something Epiros does not desire, majesty,' Alexios assured him.\n\nThe visit of the ambassador was considered a great success, though after he had left Angelus was filled with doubts. He rubbed his wife's swelling belly as they both lay naked in bed, his head on her shoulder.\n\n'I do not want Thessaly to revert to being a vassal state of the Duchy of Athens, like it was when I was a boy. Or worse.'\n\nElena caressed his hair. 'It will not come to that. When the armies gather here in the spring, the Duke of Athens will be distracted by events elsewhere, specifically the army of Dario Spinola, which my mother assures me will soon be making its way from Caffa in the Black Sea on her ships. We cannot fail.'\n\nHe kissed her on the cheek. 'You are so certain all the time.'\n\n'A queen should be certain. Besides, the empress taught me there are more ways to win a war than on the battlefield.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "There was no town or city at Gravia, just a simple stone tower sited on the lower slopes of Mount Oeta, one of the strongpoints that guarded the passes through the mountains and the northern frontier of the Duchy of Athens. To the east of Mount Oeta, across the valley that divided the two, was Mount Kallidromos and the pass of Thermopylae, which was guarded by Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa. The Catalan Company camped in the valley of Gravia during the autumn and winter, the money arriving from Athens saving the need to plunder the local area. This part of the duchy was sparsely populated, though there were small villages dotted among the dense fir forests that covered the lower slopes of the mountain. Oeta was filled with springs, waterfalls, streams and seasonal ponds. Greece enjoyed mild winters but the high mountain passes on Mount Oeta were impassable during the winter months, being blocked with snow and ice and lashed by fierce winds. But the arrival of spring melted the snows on the lower slopes and re-opened the passes. That said, the tracks were still muddy and the mornings wet, chilly and foggy.\n\nLuca slipped on a wet slate, his reflexes allowing him to use the end of his spear to prevent him falling flat on his face. He had been using his spear as a walking aid when he and the others had entered the forest of fir, which was like entering a wet, green cloud. Mist clung to the tops of trees to block out the sun and create a dank, murky world. Behind him were four thousand Almogavars moving through the forest resembling a huge brown caterpillar making its way up the mountain. Hector beside him was moving with purpose, eager to pass through the forest and reach the rock and gravel higher up where the Almogavars would swap being cold and wet for being lashed by cold winds.\n\nNo one spoke. Everyone was focused on keeping their balance on the slippery conditions underfoot, that and thinking about the battle they would have to fight after they had traversed the mountain. Hector's plan was bold and ambitious. At the northern end of the valley where the Catalans had made their camp was a winding road that threaded through the ravine between Mount Oeta and Mount Kallidromos. The road had been scouted by the company's horse archers for weeks, both to prevent any raiding parties from Thessaly from attacking the Catalan camp, and to scout the valley beyond the mountains and specifically the city of Neopatras, the capital of Thessaly, which nestled at the foot of the northern slope of Mount Oeta. Now Alfonso was leading over two thousand horsemen on the narrow dirt road towards the city of Neopatras. The Thessalians also scouted the ravine, of course, and would ride back to their capital to report to their king that the Catalan Company was heading his way. Hector hoped this would result in the king, whose little finger he had cut off, leading his army east to prevent the Catalan horsemen entering the great valley that marked the southern border of the Kingdom of Thessaly. Meanwhile, four divisions of Almogavars would skirt the east of the mountain to arrive behind the King of Thessaly's army, trap it and destroy it. Afterwards, the company would force the surrender of Neopatras, occupy it and declare it and the lands to the east and west the new Catalan Kingdom. Everyone wanted his plan to succeed because they were now fighting for a permanent home and not just fulfilling a contract.\n\nHector was a like a man possessed, maintaining a hard pace as the Almogavars left the damp forest to enter a terrain of rock, grass and gravel, Luca being buffeted by a brisk wind that was sweeping the middle slopes of the mountain. Above him was the tall, snow-capped peak of Oeta, which fortunately he would be avoiding. His hands were cold and his eyes running as he increased the pace to keep up with Hector and stay warm. On his other side was Jordi with Romanus completing the front rank of the lead division. In summer there were shepherds on the higher slopes but now they were empty, though there were probably eyes watching the Almogavars as they fast-paced around the mountain. But he believed the Catalans would reach the valley before any scouts, so fleet of foot were they. In any case, if Hector's plan worked the King of Thessaly would already be leading his army out of the city to do battle with what he believed was the whole of the mercenary army making its way through the ravine. He had seen the city of Neopatras from the mountain during the winter when he had been sent out on scouting duties, accompanied by Jordi and Romanus on two-day missions to reconnoitre Mount Oeta. It looked a tidy, clean city, much like Kallipolis that he had fond memories of. But it would be better than Kallipolis because the company would have the support and friendship of the Duke of Athens after it had been captured.\n\nWhen the Almogavars had left the windswept open slopes and returned back to the trees, Hector began to relax, his rigid features easing to make him look more human. The wind abated and the sun had burnt through the mist that had earlier hung over the forest. It was still damp among the trees but at least the Almogavars were now descending, which made the going less taxing though no less slippery.\n\n'Good country, this. We will be able to feed ourselves once we are rid of the King of Thessaly.'\n\nThe pace slowed now the Almogavars were in the forest on the way down. There had been a mad rush to get up and across the mountain but now they were nearing the base of Mount Oeta, and the enemy's capital, there would be time to hide among the trees and wait for the right time to spring the trap.\n\n'What about the local population?' asked Luca.\n\n'When we took Kallipolis, Bernat ejected all the Romans from the city,' said Jordi.\n\n'We won't be making that mistake again,' answered Hector. 'We will respect the locals and work with them, becoming their protectors, and we might even entice a few to leave the Duchy of Athens and settle in our lands.'\n\n'Why would they do that?' asked Romanus.\n\n'You should ask Luca here what it is like being a peasant in Sicily where they are essentially slaves of their local lord,' explained Hector.\n\n'True enough,' confirmed Luca.\n\n'Over the winter I had a few chats with that long streak of French piss who owns the watchtower near our camp,' continued Hector, 'and as well as moaning about his lack of soldiers to defend the pass, he told me locals often sneak off over the mountain to make a new life in Thessaly. There a peasant can own land and is free to sell his produce.'\n\n'They still have to pay their taxes,' said Romanus.\n\n'But a man who has a bit of ambition and half a brain at least has a chance of making a better life for himself,' replied Hector. 'Not like Luca here. He would have spent his whole life tending sheep for nothing in Sicily if we hadn't had rescued him.'\n\n'True enough,' repeated Luca.\n\n'But now he is famous throughout the Roman world, the man who was swapped for a king, a king we are going to kill. Cutting off his little finger was the smallest body part I intend to remove from his body.'\n\nHector had the smell of blood in his nostrils and was chafing at the bit. The prospect of battle against a foe they had already easily beaten infused the Almogavars with relish, and the promise of a land they could call their own only increased their determination.\n\nThey reached the treeline where four divisions of Almogavars moved from column into line, which took an inordinate amount of time. But four thousand men redeploying among fir trees and doing it quietly for fear of alerting any horsemen on patrol have to move slowly.\n\nHector was leaning against a tree, Luca resting on the ground directly behind him, the rest of the division extending left and right in the forest. The three other divisional commanders reported to Hector half an hour after the Almogavars had arrived at the treeline. It was still damp in the forest but the plain was now bathed in sunshine. It was around midday. The city of Neopatras was to the left of where the Almogavars lay hidden among the trees. The plain beyond the forest appeared deserted.\n\n'You think the enemy has already left the city and is at the pass?' queried Xavi.\n\n'Perhaps,' mused Hector.\n\n'Do we lay siege to the city and fight the enemy when he returns?' asked Ferran.\n\n'If they return,' grinned Miquel.\n\n'We wait,' Hector told them. 'Return to your men. If the enemy appears I will lead the attack. If not, we will surround the city and wait for the horsemen. Either way, we are staying.'\n\n'Looks like we will be living in tents for a long time,' said Jordi. 'If we aren't going to eject the population of the city, I mean.'\n\n'We will have to build more houses,' Luca reassured him, 'either that or live in the villages around the city.'\n\n'Hector should have killed the captives we took when we captured the King of Thessaly,' grumbled Romanus. 'Now we are waiting to fight them again.'\n\n'Keep your mouths shut,' hissed Hector, turning to face the trio. 'Try to remember you are soldiers, not fish wives.'\n\nSo they sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity but was in fact only a few minutes before the valley began to fill with soldiers. As one the Almogavars stood and checked their equipment. Where before there had been a relaxed atmosphere there was now eager anticipation and tension, like a bowstring being slowly being pulled back.\n\nThey were easy to spot in the afternoon sun \u2013 a long line of men on horses cantering away from the city towards the pass to head off the Catalan horsemen. The King of Thessaly had taken the bait but he had also spent the winter preparing for the day when the Catalan Company, camped a mere twenty miles from his own capital on the other side of Mount Oeta, would launch an invasion of his kingdom.\n\nThe horsemen were moving at speed, among them many red banners with a yellow cross and yellow symbols in the quarters. One was larger than the others, indicating the position of the King Angelus and his bodyguard. All the horsemen were wearing long-sleeved yellow tunics, those immediately behind the king also attired in scale armour, the sun glinting off the burnished iron scales of their protection. There were a good number of them. Hector slammed the tree trunk he was leaning against.\n\n'We will never catch them. Let's hope Alfonso holds them at the pass.'\n\nFrom behind the treeline Luca watched them disappear to the east, wondering if his morning trek over the mountain had been in vain. But then he heard the sound of trumpets in the distance and saw a new line of enemy soldiers, this one moving far slower.\n\nHector laughed. 'Foot soldiers. There is a god after all.'\n\nLuca checked his equipment, making sure his javelin quiver was securely in place, along with the shield slung over his shoulder on the opposite side. He carried a water bottle at his right hip, his dagger on the same side and his short sword on the left. He was a combination of spearman, javelin thrower and swordsman, though if it came to the latter then he and his division would be in trouble because the sword and dagger were weapons of last resort.\n\nNo one spoke but the tension rose dramatically as the line of yellow-clad foot soldiers marched across the valley in full view of four thousand Almogavars hidden among the trees. First came the spearmen, all wearing helmets but as far as Luca could tell no armour. They were followed by a column of archers wearing soft hats and knee-length yellow tunics. As he watched the spearmen and then the archers march by, Luca wondered why Hector had not given the order to advance. Every Almogavar must have been thinking the same but Hector held his nerve. Then he left his position beside the tree and took up his station in the front rank beside Luca.\n\n'Wondering why we are not already among the enemy, Black Sheep?'\n\n'I am.'\n\nHector pointed his spear at a third block of enemy soldiers coming into view behind the archers.\n\n'That's why. The weak link in the chain.'\n\nLike many veteran soldiers, Hector could smell weakness in an opponent a mile off. He had watched the enemy horsemen ride by and seen the column of foot soldiers, now detached from the king and his riders, leave the city. His years of campaigns and battles told him the best troops were at the front, their missile support directly behind. But bringing up the rear were those who had been pressed into service. Their headgear \u2013 white cloth wrapped tight to look like a turban \u2013 instead of helmets gave them away. That and their spears either held upright or resting on the shoulder, which pointed to a lack of training. Around two hundred yards distant, they were also bunched up or spaced out, again indicating they were at best part-time soldiers. No armour, no headgear and no training would be easy enough to beat, but the archers were a different matter. But Hector knew that if he and the rest of the Almogavars could reach the part-time spearmen before the archers could react, then the foe's missile troops would be emasculated. No bowmen would shoot into a m\u00eal\u00e9e and risk the lives of his own comrades.\n\nHector turned to Luca.\n\n'No javelins, pass the word.'\n\nHe then turned to Romanus on his other side and repeated the order. Luca told Jordi who told the man next to him and so on, the command reverberating down the line. It would be passed on to the other divisions in turn, and all the while the enemy foot soldiers shuffled by the forest unaware of the danger lurking on their right flank. Luca could see a sizeable gap between the archers and the part-time spearmen. He smiled and gave thanks to God for Hector. The company's commander suddenly pointed his spear at the enemy column and walked forward. The front rank of his division followed his lead and exited the trees into the sunlight.\n\nThen they charged.\n\nIt was not a disciplined charge. There was no forming up at the edge of the forest prior to attacking or waiting for the other three divisions to exit the trees and form up. It was a headlong sprint across the grass led by Hector, his division forming an arrowhead. Its commander, Luca, Jordi, and Romanus at the tip. They covered the two hundred paces in around half a minute, running directly at the shopkeepers turned soldiers. Professional soldiers would have faced right, closed ranks and prepared to meet the oncoming tide of men and weapons. Some might have even reacted instinctively and mounted a counter-charge. But the troops facing Luca did what Hector knew they would. They froze. And then the Almogavars were on them like a wolf grabbing a lamb.\n\nSeconds before the clash Luca levelled his spear and gripped it with both hands, his eyes focusing on a man directly in front of him. He saw the fear etched on his face as he screamed at the top of his voice, causing his opponent to turn and run. Or would have done if Luca had not plunged the point of his spear into the man's back. Not a wild stab or a thrust with all his weight behind it. The yellow-clad enemy was wearing no armour. A powerful thrust would send the point into his back, shattering one or more ribs, through his lungs and out of his chest. A very satisfying victory but one that might have unfortunate consequences, not least a spear stuck fast in a dead enemy's torso.\n\nLuca instinctively slowed before jabbing the point of his spear into the man's back, no more than three inches but enough to seriously wound him. The soldier dropped his spear and fell to the ground, a red stain on the back of his tunic. Luca leapt over him and faced a spearman with his round shield held out in front of him, his spear grasped in the underarm position in his right hand. Around him the enemy formation was dissolving as Almogavars hunted down and killed fleeing soldiers, the initial assault having broken what little discipline the foe had possessed. To his credit the soldier facing Luca had stood his ground and now thrust his spear forward. In a tight formation of soldiers equipped with shields and spears Luca would have been in trouble. Ordinarily in such a situation the Almogavars would have hurled javelins at the faces of the enemy to kill or wound the enemy front rank, for to get too close to an unbroken line of disciplined spearmen was to invite being stabbed not only by an opponent in front but also his comrade on his left. But Luca was fighting the equivalent of a single combat and he had a greater reach with his spear that he could feed through both hands far easier than the man he faced who could not. Luca pounced right to put the foe's shield between himself and his spear, thrusting his spear upwards at the enemy's face before poking downwards at his feet and stabbing the top of his left foot. The man yelped and swung left, thrusting his spear at Luca who leapt back so the point missed him by a distance. He threaded the spear through his hands and sprang forward, dazzling his wounded opponent with a succession of thrusts to the face, legs and feet that forced him to hobble back. The enemy thrust his own spear forward but it did not have the reach of Luca's because he had to hold the shaft in the middle to keep it balanced.\n\nLuca could have ended the bout by plucking a javelin from his quiver but he obeyed Hector's command and so made do with his spear that was now gripped with his right hand near the end of the shaft, giving him an advantage in reach of four feet over his opponent.\n\nThe enemy attacked Luca, repeatedly thrusting his spear forward and using his shield to deflect Luca's weapon. But he lost his balance, his wounded foot giving way. Luca pounced and sprung forward, thrusting his spear at his foe's face, his spear point going through his left eye socket, blinding him. He dropped his shield, exposed his torso and died when Luca stabbed him in the throat. The duel had lasted less than a minute.\n\nThe enemy's part-time soldiers had been routed, most killed, a few running for their lives away from the Almogavars. They let them go, a flurry of whistle blasts ordering men to form back into their ranks. The four Almogavar divisions had charged from the trees in a ragged line, Miquel's on the right flank, Hector's and Ferran's in the centre and Xavi's on the left flank. Now they swiftly about-faced and ran back to the trees, arrows arching into the sky as the enemy's bowmen unleashed their first volley. Luca sprinted to the firs faster than he had left them when attacking, the whooshes behind him quickening his pace, he and four thousand others. He reached the treeline and kept on running, dodging trunks and ducking under low branches as the first volley of arrows thudded harmlessly into the earth behind him. He slowed his pace and grinned at Jordi and Romanus. There was not a scratch on any of them. The Almogavars had destroyed at least a third of the enemy's foot soldiers for very little loss.\n\nThey were now at least fifty paces back from the treeline, using the firs for cover and kneeling down to stay hidden. Luca felt a tap on his shoulder.\n\n'Go forward and see what is happening,' Hector told him.\n\nHe left his spear with Jordi and crept forward, going from tree to tree and listening for any tell-tale cracks to indicate a bowstring was being released. The forest was eerily silent but he saw no movement ahead, only bright light among the branches and tree trunks where the forest ended. For the last few yards he crouched low and moved very slowly lest a keen-eyed archer be alerted by movement among the trees. When he was almost at the treeline he peered round a trunk and saw enemy spearmen rushing back to the city, followed by archers who were falling back in good order. He saw one group of archers halt and about face, the bowmen shooting their arrows and then retreating past another stationary block. Shoot and retreat, shoot and retreat. He smiled and then ran back to report.\n\n'The enemy is withdrawing back to the city. Alfonso must have left the pass and routed the enemy's horsemen.'\n\n'Did you seen any horsemen?' asked Hector.\n\n'Not one.'\n\nFor when they were in the trees and watching the foot soldiers leave the city, the king and his horsemen were already at the pass fighting the Catalan horsemen, out of view of the Almogavars.\n\n'Well, back we go. Form up!'\n\nThe forest was filled with commanders shouting and then the Almogavars headed back to the treeline. Only now did they see the enemy horsemen, which had been beaten at the pass and were retreating to the city. The Almogavars were bystanders to the enemy's retreat as the archers fell back in relays and their horsemen tried to keep the company's horsemen at bay.\n\nLuca watched with satisfaction as Melek's and Halil Ece's horse archers darted in and out of the fray, unleashing arrows that felled enemy riders and their mounts. But the sacrifice of the foe's horsemen allowed the majority of their foot soldiers to reach the city alive, minus the shopkeepers who had been butchered earlier. The last to leave the field was a group of riders in glittering scale-armour, among them a huge banner showing a yellow cross on a red background.\n\nAfter the archers had departed the Almogavars walked from the trees, whistling and cheering when the company's horsemen got close. Luca was relieved to see Melek Kose still lived, dressed for an afternoon pleasure ride in his loose, open blue coat, baggy tan leggings and leather boots. He did not wear body armour; indeed, he wore nothing on his head, his long black hair falling to his shoulders. He and his men relied on their instincts and swift horses to avoid the arrows and lances of the enemy.\n\nMelek raised his bow to Hector.\n\n'You were late to the feast, my friend. After we forced them at the pass it was just a matter of mopping up.'\n\n'We killed our fair share before you decided to show up after eating a late breakfast.'\n\nThe insults were just in jest, each man holding the other in high respect, which had been forged on numerous battlefields. Melek turned to Luca.\n\n'Good to see you alive, Black Sheep. It is as well there are many trees in this part of the world.'\n\n'Why is that?'\n\nHe pointed his bow at the city of Neopatras.\n\n'Those walls are high. You will need many tall scaling ladders to reach the top of them to enter the city, either that or large battering rams to smash through the gates.'\n\n'We won't be climbing any walls or smashing through any gates,' Hector told him.\n\nA few minutes later the company's commanders gathered round Hector for an impromptu council of war. They were all still alive, though Alfonso had links missing in his mail armour and his helmet was dented. In contrast, Halil Ece looked as if he had just finished breakfast and was about to write some letters. He smiled at Luca and nodded his head when Hector told the Almogavar to hold the Turk's horse. Hector was in an ebullient mood as he pointed his spear at the white walls of the city, which looked grand and imposing in the afternoon sun.\n\n'We will lay siege to the city,' announced Hector. 'We will establish a camp in this valley and wait for the enemy's food to run out. Then we will give those inside the option of staying and living under Catalan rule or going and finding a home elsewhere.'\n\n'The king and his nobles will not accept such an offer,' said Melek.\n\n'The offer does not apply to them. King Angelus, his queen and all his nobles will be evicted from Thessaly and will have to find shelter at Thessalonica. As the queen is the daughter of Empress Irene, it will not be a problem. The brat king told me her name when he was our captive but I forget it.'\n\n'Elena,' said Luca out of the blue.\n\nThey all turned to look at him.\n\n'How do you know her name, Black Sheep?' asked Ferran.\n\nLuca blushed. 'Someone must have mentioned her when I too was a captive.'\n\nHector frowned. 'Well, that is the plan. Any objections?'\n\nIn theory, every council member had an equal voice and decisions were supposed to be reached after debate. But everyone deferred to Hector because just as on the battlefield he never hesitated when it came to making decisions, which were invariably the right ones.\n\n'What's that?'\n\nJordi, holding the reins of Melek's horse, was pointing at something flashing on the walls of the city. They all looked in the direction of Neopatras.\n\n'Just the sun reflecting off something shiny,' opined Xavi.\n\n'No, it is a signal,' said Halil Ece. 'They are using a mirror of burnished steel to send a message.'\n\n'To whom?' asked Miquel.\n\n'To them.'\n\nLuca was pointing north, to the far side of the valley where another mirror above the treeline on the mountain was also catching the sun's rays.\n\n'The city calls for help,' said Halil Ece.\n\nHector spat on the ground. 'Xavi, take your division and scout that mountain for enemy soldiers. The plan still stands. What help will come to save Neopatras? We have killed most of the army of Empress Irene already and the other Romans are still hiding behind the walls of their towns and cities.'\n\n'Melek, I would ask a favour.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Ride back through the pass to that streak of French piss and tell him we are leaving his valley. But impress upon him that we are due another payment of monies from his master. Just because we have left the Duchy of Athens does not mean we have left the duke's employment.'\n\n'Consider it done,' smiled Melek.\n\nThe 'streak of French piss' was actually Hubert of Corinth, an ancestor of one of the original Frankish crusaders who had plundered Constantinople over a hundred years before. Since then his family had fallen on hard times and ruling a small border stronghold with a handful of soldiers made him sullen and resentful, the more so when over six thousand mercenaries and their families descended upon him the previous autumn. He had met Hector only a few times, both taking an instant dislike to each other.\n\nHector cracked a smile. 'Make yourself at home, gentlemen, because that is what this land now is.'\n\nLuca was also beaming with delight. Ayna's fears had proved misguided. The company had a home, or would have when the King of Thessaly surrendered his now isolated city."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Or in the case of Neopatras the woman. Queen Elena, not yet eighteen, wept distraught tears as her husband and king fought for his life after being wounded in the battle against the Catalans. He had placed soldiers in the pass leading to the Valley of Gravia as soon as news reached him the Catalan mercenaries had established a camp in the valley. Nothing had happened throughout the autumn and winter, at least not in the pass. But in his capital he made preparations for the coming war. He stockpiled food and supplies in the city's granaries and summoned his lords to Neopatras as soon as spring arrived. But when the Catalans rode through the pass, his soldiers were shot to pieces by the infidel horse archers and fled. He led the army out of the city and for a while held his own against the apostate Catholics and their Muslim allies. But the appearance of the Almogavars behind him resulted in the foot soldiers raised from the city militia being destroyed, and then the professional soldiers were worsted by the enemy's horse archers. It was only his personal courage and that of his fellow lords, combined with the steadiness of his foot archers, that allowed his army to retreat back to the city. King Angelus was the last to leave the field but paid for his bravery by being wounded in the side by an enemy lance, and then falling from his horse and receiving a blow to the head that rendered him unconscious.\n\nElena had recently given birth to a healthy son they had named Alexander, but now there was a distinct possibility the boy would never know his father. The king was still unconscious, his breathing shallow. But at least he was alive. Elena sat beside the bed holding his hand, his senior nobles and city officials waiting in the throne room. She stood and composed herself, wiping the tears from her face.\n\n'I wish to know the moment he wakes,' she told the aged physician on the other side of the bed.\n\n'Majesty, I fear\u2026'\n\n'The moment he wakes. Understand?'\n\nThe physician bowed. She left the bedroom and walked from the palace's private apartments, sweeping into the throne room where over a score of men in armour and civilian dress were waiting. Waiting for the king's death so they could seek an accommodation with the enemy. She was barely an adult but was still the daughter of the late Count Laskarina and the adopted daughter of Empress Irene. They bowed as one as she walked by them to sit on one of the two thrones on the marble dais. She smiled at the knot of five young nobles who stood to one side, the close friends of the king and her allies.\n\n'We all pray for the king, majesty,' said the city governor, a portly individual dressed in ostentatious finery.\n\n'He will recover,' answered Elena. 'A message has been sent to Thessalonica?'\n\n'The signal was sent earlier, majesty,' stated the commander of the city garrison.\n\n'How long will the food supplies last?' asked the queen, her face an emotionless mask.\n\n'Two months, majesty,' he answered.\n\n'The army of the empress will be here before then,' promised Elena.\n\nThe men looked at each other in surprise. They all knew, as did the whole of Thessaly, that the army of Empress Irene had been reduced to a shadow of its former self after its clashes with the Catalans, the same soldiers who were now about to lay siege to their city. Emperor Andronicus himself also had few troops to call on, which begged the question: who would march to their aid?\n\nThe governor brought his hands together and interlinked his chubby fingers.\n\n'Perhaps an envoy could be despatched to the Catalans to enquire as to their intentions, majesty.'\n\n'No,' Elena shot back. 'The army of Epiros is already on the march through southern Thessaly to attack the Duchy of Athens, in accordance with an agreement concluded by the king last year. That will ensure the Catalan stay at Neopatras will be short.'\n\nThe governor was both surprised and delighted, as were the others present, their faces suddenly filled with hope.\n\n'The empress will also send help,' Elena assured them. 'It may fortify your resolve to know that she too has been busy forging alliances, the Tsar of Bulgaria having agreed to send five thousand soldiers to fight on her behalf. So you see, my lords, the Catalans may have enjoyed a fleeting triumph, but they have unwittingly walked into the lion's den.'\n\nThey broke into spontaneous applause. It was good to know the daughter of the late, greatly lamented Count Laskarina was made of the same hard material as her father. The queen allowed herself a faint smile.\n\n'In the meantime, ensure the gates are blocked up and the walls are manned night and day. In addition, all food is to be rationed. Empty bellies promote mutinous spirits. The Catalans could not breach the walls of Thessalonica and they will fail here, too.'\n\nShe stood. 'And now, my lords, I will return to the king's bedside. I hope you will pray for his speedy recovery.'\n\nThey bowed their heads as she left the throne room, entering the beautifully painted corridor leading to the palace's private quarters. The mask of icy detachment crumbled, and she began to sob, tears streaming down her face as the gravity of the situation she faced both personally and now as the sole ruler of Thessaly bore down on her like tons of falling masonry."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "There had been a settlement where Neopatras stood for eighteen hundred years, people first living on the rocky outcrop a short distance from the base of mountain. A naturally defensive position, a strongpoint was constructed on the outcrop that later became a walled castle, which in turn became the residence of the rulers of Thessaly and around which houses were built. Now the city was surrounded by stout walls forty feet high with taller square towers along their length. The walls and towers were built from bricks and limestone blocks, archers on the walls and in the towers ensuring the Catalans were not allowed to get too close to the fortifications.\n\nThe city itself, some twenty miles west of Thermopylae and a mere ten miles from the pass through the mountains to the Gravia Valley, was arranged in a typical Roman fashion. It was a rough square with two wide, straight, colonnaded streets bisecting Neopatras. Where it differed from the norm was in possessing only three entrances \u2013 north, east and west. There was little point in having a southern entrance as that direction led straight up the mountain. Unlike many towns and cities in western Europe the city was airy and spotless, its streets paved and regularly cleaned. It contained two large rectangular open squares: the upper agora around which were civic buildings, and the lower agora dedicated to commercial activities. There were also theatres, monumental fountains, statues, and paintings adorning public buildings and spaces. It also possessed many granaries and large cisterns that were fed by underground springs of fresh mountain water. The citizens of Neopatras would certainly not die of thirst.\n\nThe main Catalan camp was established half a mile due east of the city, three smaller camps occupied purely by soldiers sited directly opposite each entrance to Neopatras. They were set back some four hundred yards from the gates, a sufficient distance to keep them beyond the range of archers on the walls and in the towers. Each military camp was garrisoned by a mixture of Almogavars and horse archers, the latter tasked with shooting any who ventured from the city, not that anyone did so. Luca and his comrades settled into a daily routine of standing sentry on camp ramparts, conducting training exercises in the valley and on the mountain, fetching and carrying, and digging. Always digging. Digging latrine ditches, filling in latrine ditches, digging ditches to create ramparts and digging graves. Not graves for Catalans but for their enemies. After the battle in the valley Hector ordered all the enemy dead to be stripped and buried in a mass grave well away from where he intended to establish the main camp and the siege camps. This meant stripping the dead of anything useful prior to loading the corpses on carts and transporting them to the other side of the valley where they were interred in the ground. Luca and hundreds of others carried out the grisly task, which was conducted quickly to prevent a breakout of pestilence. Afterwards the corpses were covered with soil and a large wooden cross planted in the ground to indicate a burial site.\n\nA month passed, the weather got warmer and there were no sallies from the city of Neopatras. The siege was a mere distraction for Hector as he went out of his way to avoid having to plunder the countryside in an effort both to placate the indigenous population and not wreck the economy of what was a very rich area. Vineyards were everywhere, along with orchards growing apples, pears, cherries, peaches and pomegranates. Plants such as hemp and flax were also cultivated, not only for local use but to sell to shipbuilders for the manufacture of sails and rigging. Almost every village had oxen for ploughing and transport, in addition to donkeys, sheep for wool and meat, plus cows, goats, pigs and poultry.\n\nThe villages close to Neopatras had all been abandoned, their residents either seeking refuge in the city itself or fleeing to the hills, taking their livestock with them. But further afield there were still many occupied settlements and it was these that Hector was determined to win over. He did this by scouring the company for any who could speak Greek and could ride, or at least sit on a horse and not fall off when it moved, then attaching them to a party of Alfonso's horsemen. The group would then ride down the valley to the east and into the hills to inform any locals they encountered who they were and assure them that they meant no harm. As a gesture of goodwill, they paid over the odds for any food they purchased and left the villages unmolested. This made the villagers incredibly happy. But it increased the drain on Catalan finances.\n\n'Do you think they will surrender?' said Jordi.\n\nLuca shrugged. 'Either that or starve to death.'\n\nThey were on guard duty in one of the siege camps directly opposite the city's northern gates. After morning training on the mountain behind the city they had been assigned to stand watch in the afternoon. Each camp's garrison was made up of a mixture of Almogavars and horse archers, the horsemen invariably spending more time on the ramparts than in the saddle such was the inactivity of the soldiers of Neopatras.\n\n'Ayna is pleased Hector will not order an assault on the city,' said Luca.\n\n'So am I,' grinned Jordi, 'scaling those walls would be a bloody task. Better to starve them out.'\n\n'Do you remember that city we visited, in Anatolia, when we returned the green banner of the Muslims to Karesi Bey.'\n\nJordi thought for a moment. 'Bergama?'\n\n'That's it. When Ayna was a member of the fanatical Muslim army she took part in the storm of the city. She killed unarmed civilians.'\n\nJordi was unconcerned. 'The rules of war, Luca. When a city refuses to surrender and the walls are breached, it is expected all the inhabitants will be put to the sword.'\n\n'It cast a long shadow over her. When she lost her baby after the fighting in Kallipolis harbour, she believed Allah had punished her for the slaughter at Bergama.'\n\n'Ayna thinks too much,' was Jordi's only comment.\n\n'Will you miss it?'\n\n'What?'\n\n'War and fighting, now we have found our home,' said Luca.\n\n'I will not miss living in a tent, having no money or being at the mercy of emperors and great lords who treat us like slaves.'\n\n'I liked Kallipolis.'\n\n'Me too. But at least here Hector has not made the mistake of butchering or evicting the locals.'\n\n'Start pacing!'\n\nThey stiffened when they heard the voice of a gruff Almogaten, or sergeant, who was commander of the watch, recommencing their walking up and down a section of the southern rampart of the camp. Luca wondered how Romanus was faring. He had been spared guard duty and training because he was a Roman and therefore could converse with the locals in their own tongue. So he spent his days talking with villagers and assuring them that life under Catalan rule would be tolerable, even pleasant. When he returned to camp each evening he told Luca and the others of the mostly favourable receptions he had encountered, not least because some of those he met had been soldiers in the army of King Angelus the previous year. That army had been destroyed when the Almogavars had mounted a night attack on its encampment, resulting in many foot soldiers being captured. In an act of surprising mercy, Hector had freed them so they could return to their homes, telling them the Catalan Company was not their enemy. For a brutal leader it was both astounding but also far sighted, and it was now paying dividends. And Romanus was also excused serving at Hector's table when he entertained important guests, an irritating chore Luca and Jordi still carried out.\n\nAs soon as Luca had filled the knight's cup it was drained. His hair was matted to his skull as a result of sweating because he had ridden hard in full armour to reach the Catalans as quickly as possible. He had requested an immediate audience with Hector, the company commander summoning his divisional commanders to his pavilion, minus Xavi who was in the hills with his division on exercise. Alfonso was also absent, being part of the effort to win over the people of Thessaly.\n\n'We need your help, lord,' pleaded the knight in Italian.\n\n'I am not a lord,' replied Hector. 'Who is we?'\n\n'The Count of Salona, lord,' the knight drained his cup. Luca went to refill it but Hector held up a hand to stop him.\n\n'Why would the Count of Salona need my help?'\n\n'The count's lands have been invaded, lord, by the forces of Epiros. They defeated the count's army and marched on his capital, the count and a small number of his men retreating to the castle on the acropolis above the town.'\n\n'The town has fallen?' enquired Hector.\n\nThe knight's head dropped. 'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Has the Duke of Athens been informed?'\n\n'Two riders left the town before it fell,' answered the knight, 'I and another heading for Athens.'\n\n'Why does Epiros make war on Catholic Greece?' asked Miquel.\n\n'I do not know.'\n\n'How large is the army that besieges your count?' asked Halil Ece.\n\nThe French knight looked at him in confusion, wondering why an infidel was sitting at the same table as an anointed French knight.\n\n'Answer him,' ordered Hector.\n\n'I do not know,' came the reply.\n\n'Has the enemy left a force to besiege your lord's castle while the main army marches towards Athens, if that is where it is heading?' asked Ferran.\n\n'I do not know.'\n\nHector was not amused. 'You don't know much, that is quite obvious. Our contract is with the Duke of Athens, not the Count of Salona. What if the matter is a private dispute between the ruler of Epiros and the count?'\n\n'I know of no such dispute,' stated the knight.\n\n'Why does that not surprise me,' said Hector.\n\nThe Frenchman looked despairingly at Hector, who indicated Luca should refill his cup. He took a gulp of wine.\n\nHector looked at the Frenchman. 'Private quarrel or not, we can't have a likely enemy army operating freely a short distance to the south of this camp.'\n\n'What are you thinking?' asked Miquel.\n\nHector rubbed his hands together. 'A march through the mountains to see for myself what is happening at Salona. I will take my division only, the rest will stay here.'\n\n'What about horsemen?' queried Melek.\n\n'No horsemen,' Hector told him. 'It will be quicker and quieter with only foot soldiers, and if the worst happens, we can always flee up the nearest mountain.'\n\n'A thousand men is a small army,' remarked Halil Ece.\n\nHector jerked a thumb at Luca.\n\n'Have no fear, I will be taking our lucky mascot with us.'\n\nHe pointed at Melek and Halil Ece.\n\n'In the meantime, have some of your men shoot a few arrows at the walls of Neopatras.'\n\n'To what end?' asked Melek.\n\n'To remind the enemy they are under siege and provoke them into some sort of action. I fear we might die of boredom before they run out of food.'\n\nThe Catalan Company had camped in the Gravia Valley for six months, during which time its soldiers reconnoitred all the surrounding hills and mountains. The Almogavars had spent many hours marching up and down the forested hills and wind-blasted mountains, even trekking through snow to test their endurance. Now a thousand of them would retrace their steps around Mount Oeta and head south around the eastern side of Mount Giona to arrive at the small town of Salona. The count of that besieged place was fortunate the Catalans now had a detailed knowledge of the tracks and trails of the area, for the enemy would surely be guarding the valleys that led to Gravia to the north and the Gulf of Corinth to the south.\n\nArmies traditionally used river valleys and coastal plains for movement. Difficult and inhospitable terrain were to be avoided at all costs. The tracks and trails over hills and mountains were invariably narrow, liable to flooding, prone to snow and ice, and would slow the rate of advance to a crawl. Foot soldiers would find it hard going but for dismounted horsemen leading their beasts it would be far harder, and for carts and wagons almost impossible. For knights and nobles, clambering over rocks and around trees was also undignified. Far better to be riding through a valley or along a coast road on a fine horse in full armour with banner men behind displaying their coat of arms. It was not lost on Catholic and Orthodox nobles alike that only shepherds, peasants and outlaws made the mountains their home.\n\nThe Almogavars were originally shepherds and in a sense were born in the mountains, so fighting in such terrain did not concern them unduly, or offend their sense of honour, not that they had any. But they never underestimated the conditions they had to operate in. The night before they set out, Luca, his friends and the other members of the division filled their bellies with a hearty meal. Ertan cooked a thick beef stew. Ayna, Monica and Chana were quiet and withdrawn as their men wolfed down the tasty fare, along with bread cooked in the camp's field ovens, which produced hundreds of loaves on a daily basis.\n\n'I wish I was going with you,' said Anicius.\n\nThe boy was now eleven and filling out nicely. There was not a bit of fat on his frame and he would make a fine Almogavar. He was already being taught how to use a spear and throw a javelin and would soon be learning basic drills, such as simple battle formations. His bones were still too soft to subject them to punishing route marches, though. At the age of sixteen he would enter the ranks of the Almogavars proper. But until then he would have to wait.\n\n'Your time will come,' promised Romanus.\n\nSam, his mouth covered in stew, looked up at his father.\n\n'Can I come?'\n\nLuca smiled at him. 'You must stay here and protect your mother. Think you can do that?'\n\nHe nodded. Ayna wiped his faced with a cloth.\n\n'Are you going to kill French bastards?' asked Sancho innocently.\n\nJordi's son had many of the features of his grandfather, with a long face and hair as black as night. Looking at him, Luca was reminded of the man of iron who had been basely murdered at Adrianople by the Romans.\n\n'Language,' said Chana.\n\nSancho was hurt. 'That is what I have heard many people say, mother.'\n\n'The French are our allies,' Jordi told him.\n\n'Is bastard the French word for ally?' asked David, Sancho's twin, both the same age as Sam.\n\n'No,' said Jordi.\n\n'Then again, many a true word comes out of the mouths of infants,' reflected Luca.\n\nChana rolled her eyes and Ayna shook her head. The eve of battle was not a time for levity.\n\nWhen the meal had been eaten and children put to bed, the three men and their partners sat round the campfire staring into the flames. Ertan fussed around them, ensuring the women were wrapped in blankets and the fire fed.\n\n'Just one more battle and then this land is ours,' said Jordi.\n\nAyna looked up at him.\n\n'One more battle?'\n\n'The King of Thessaly is beaten and hides behind his walls, we are allies of the Duke of Athens who has promised us this land. We beat the army of Epiros, the city surrenders and the war is over.'\n\n'Then we will have a place to call home and an ally at our back,' agreed Romanus.\n\n'We beat the army of Epiros once before,' said Luca. 'That was my first battle. Among the sand dunes. I remember it like it was yesterday. And now it looks like my last will be against the same enemy.'\n\n'The wheel of fate turns full circle,' mused Ayna. She looked at Luca, Jordi and Romanus.\n\n'Just make sure you all come back alive.'\n\n'And in one piece,' added Monica.\n\n'What would you rather lose, an arm or a leg?' asked Jordi.\n\n'An arm,' replied Luca. 'Without a leg you cannot stand. At least with an arm you can still use a weapon and do some sort of work.'\n\n'Makes sense,' nodded Romanus. 'A man without a leg is looked on as a useless cripple, whereas a one-armed man can still make himself useful.'\n\n'And can still produce children,' said Luca. 'Whereas if he has a leg chopped off\u2026'\n\nRomanus shuddered. 'Exactly.'\n\n'What has losing a leg to do with fathering children?' enquired Chana.\n\n'Something else might get chopped off as well,' answered Jordi.\n\n'Only a man could think of that,' groaned Ayna.\n\nShe woke early the next morning, Sam still sleeping soundly beside her as she and the others made their way into the pre-dawn half-light. Luca's breath misted as he wiped his eyes and stretched his limbs. It was a cool spring morning but already the eastern horizon was red and orange, the sky clear and the moon still visible above the camp. It was going to be a warm day, which meant firm ground, at least on the lower slopes of the mountains. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day and Ertan, who had his own tent due to his loud snoring, had already got a fire going and was cooking porridge. He would cook a second breakfast for the children when they woke and after the three men had left.\n\nAyna, Monica and Chana did not eat as their men consumed hot porridge mixed with honey to give them stamina for the coming long march. When they had finished they donned their war gear and said their goodbyes.\n\nAyna held Luca close. 'Make sure you come back to me.'\n\n'I always come back,' he grinned.\n\n'I love you.'\n\n'I love you, too.'\n\nJordi gave him a gentle slap on the arm, and they departed, making their way to the centre of the camp, a large, cleared space where the Almogavars collected rations that had been prepared the day before. For centuries Roman armies in the eastern Mediterranean had used the same small square fare that Luca now placed in his knapsack, but it was relatively new to the Catalans, but most welcome all the same. It was essentially cake that was made from squill, a root vegetable, mixed with honey, olive oil, almonds and sesame. The squill was chopped into small pieces and then pounded into a smooth paste, after which the oil and honey were added and the mixture cooked, the sesame and almonds being added just before it boiled, the ingredients mixing to become a firm cake. It was then set aside to cool and cut into small squares. Sweet to the taste, it provided fuel for soldiers undertaking long, exacting marches.\n\nIt may have been spring but there was still snow on the mountains above the treeline and mist frequently shrouding the forests of fir lower down. When the Almogavars left camp the sun was rising rapidly in the valley, though there was still fog obscuring the peak of Mount Oeta. The sheepskin coats of the soldiers kept them warm during the first part of the journey \u2013 the ascent up the slippery slope of Oeta before following a winding trail around the mountain. It would take the division a full day to reach Salona, followed by a cold night near the town during which no campfires would be lit so as not to alert the enemy of their presence. If the enemy was still there.\n\nScouts were sent ahead with no weapons or equipment to reconnoitre the trails and keep watch for enemy patrols and lookouts, not that Hector expected enemy troops in the north, not with the coast road into the Duchy of Athens wide open. He did not speak during the march, no one did, he and a thousand others concentrating on staying on their feet as the morning warmed and they ascended through the trees.\n\nThe first part of the march was conducted above the treeline on Mount Oeta, though below the snow. It was a beautiful day in the open and Luca welcomed the sun on his face, not that he allowed his concentration to slip. Traversing hilly and rocky terrain is strenuous, both physically and mentally. And moving across alpine ground was wholly different from marching across even or gently undulating terrain. Luca concentrated on not taking big, bounding steps when ascending, which placed greater strain on larger muscles such as the hamstrings, resulting in tiring the legs quicker. Like everyone else he halved his normal stride, taking so-called 'baby steps', and stepping down on the middle or front of his feet rather than the heels. This worked the smaller leg muscles such as the calves, which were designed for frequent activity. Taking small, regular steps was not normal and felt awkward at first, prompting an instinctive desire to quicken the pace. But the Almogavars resisted the temptation and marched uphill at a slow pace.\n\nIt was the same going downhill where the temptation is to quicken the pace. But to do so increases the chances of slipping or rolling an ankle. Anyone who did so would be left behind to hobble their way back to camp. So every man concentrated on regulating his pace and watching out for obstacles. Hector set the pace, which was leisurely compared to the normal Almogavar march rate. But he wanted a thousand men to arrive at Salona. Thanks to the 'French bastards', he unfortunately knew nothing about the size or composition of the enemy army he was going to encounter.\n\nThere were frequent halts for water breaks, drinking on the move being strictly forbidden for fear of twisting ankles or worse. Water bottles were replenished from the many mountain streams along the way, the arrival of spring slowly melting the snow on the upper peaks to provide an inexhaustible supply of water.\n\nBy midday the division had passed Mount Oeta and descended into the forest for the last leg of the journey along the eastern side of Mount Giona, nicknamed the 'moonless mountain' and one of the highest in Greece. But to Luca it looked just the same as the others as he marched through a massive forest of pine along a trail covered with brown needles. Further to the east, down the mountain, was the valley leading to Salona where enemy horsemen would be patrolling.\n\nThe atmosphere suddenly became oppressive. Everyone felt it, Jordi casting Luca concerned glances but saying nothing. No one said anything, Hector having issued orders that strict silence was to be maintained at all times. But their instincts told the Almogavars they were nearing the end of their journey, which meant the chances of encountering the enemy increased with every step they took. The pace slowed further as eyes scanned the forest looking for any signs of movement among the trees.\n\nAfter around two hours of travel Hector held up his spear to signal a halt. He tapped Luca on the arm.\n\n'You are with me.'\n\nThe pair walked on, a few minutes later encountering two scouts who had been reconnoitring ahead. All four crouched down beside a tree a few paces from the track.\n\n'The enemy is camped around the town,' said one.\n\n'By the number of tents and horses, I would say it is the main enemy army,' remarked the other.\n\n'Did they spot you?' asked Hector.\n\n'No, we were well hidden,' the first scout told him.\n\n'Get some food inside you,' said Hector, leaving the pair as he and Luca continued along the track.\n\nThey walked for a further half an hour before the track diverted right to skirt an outcrop that allowed a magnificent view of the town of Salona and the valley below. They left their spears and helmets on the ground for fear of the sun glinting off metal and alerting anyone below of something untoward.\n\nThe mountains and surrounding hills were bathed in afternoon sunlight, a patchwork of lush green and grey outcrops. The town of Salona sat tight against the foot of Mount Giona, the flat ground of the valley extending to the south for around three or four miles before it reached the sea. And in the valley was a large military encampment, a host of white, conical tents organised in a series of square blocks clustered around larger tents \u2013 the accommodation of the army's senior commanders. There was also a wagon park, a mule park and field stables. It was an impressive and imposing sight.\n\nHector's mind was working feverishly and he began to speak, not to Luca but thinking out loud.\n\n'Tents separate from the wagon parks and stabling areas. No defences. Each tent houses eight men plus a servant. Around eight thousand troops in all, give or take. Most of the archers will be in the town near the castle. Other troops will also be billeted in the town.'\n\nHe turned to Luca. 'What can you smell?'\n\nLuca was surprised. 'What?'\n\n'Quick! What can you smell?'\n\n'Pine, fresh air.'\n\n'Exactly. No burning flesh or rotting corpses. Leads me to believe most of Salona's citizens are still alive and there was no great battle in or around the town. The French obviously fled into the castle after they had left the town gates open. The soldiers of Epiros are not staying. They have built no ramparts. My guess is that they will leave a portion of their army to besiege the castle and continue their advance into the Duchy of Athens.'\n\nThe town was a small affair, a tight cluster of houses around a tall rocky outcrop, on which stood the castle. Hector looked up at the sky and then at the besieged town below.\n\n'We will wait until they are cooking evening meal and then attack. There will still be enough light to see what we are doing.'\n\nHe slapped Luca on the arm. 'And the best thing is that all their archers will be in the town shooting at the French on the castle walls.'\n\nA surprise attack mounted against an enemy sitting down to his evening meal evened the odds somewhat, and they needed evening. Eight thousand soldiers, perhaps more, was a daunting prospect for only a thousand men.\n\nHector and Luca returned to the division and its commander explained to the officers his plan, they in turn repeating it to their men. There was around three hours left before the enemy's evening meal, which meant the Almogavars could rest and fill their bellies with the Roman sweet cake. Everyone did so in silence. Even though the Almogavars were higher up than the enemy below, Hector did not want to risk making any noise that would alert the foe. After an hour during which Luca managed to grab half an hour's sleep, the division commenced its descent to the valley. The long column moved slowly, every man concentrating on each step he took to avoid tripping over a fallen branch or slipping on wet pine needles. They also kept their eyes peeled for enemy patrols, though the later it got the chances of running into foot soldiers diminished, it being standard practice to pull in patrols as the evening approached. They left the track when it veered sharply to the right to head straight down to the valley floor. The enemy would certainly post guards where tracks and trails started. And then the Almogavars could hear faint human voices carried on the breeze \u2013 they were near the enemy camp. They were still in the trees on a slope but were now within striking distance of their target.\n\nOrdinarily the Almogavars would now deploy from a column into line, the two outer files of the column fanning out left and right and the two inner ones doing the same to become the second of two ranks that numbered five hundred men each. In the trees this was clearly impossible, so everyone turned left to face down the tree-covered slope towards the valley floor. And then they waited.\n\nTime passed agonisingly slowly as the afternoon gave way to early evening, and then Luca smiled when he smelled the distinctive aroma of cooking. He was in the second line of what was an Almogavar division of four ranks, Jordi in front of him and Hector behind. The commander now left his position to place himself in front of the Almogavar front rank. Luca could no longer see him, obscured as he was by the rank in front and a host of trees. Romanus walked forward to fill Hector's place and rested his hand on Luca's shoulder for a few seconds. Luca turned and smiled at his friend. He laid a hand on Jordi's shoulder ahead of him, his friend turning and nodding.\n\nAnd then the division began to shuffle forward.\n\nThere were no orders, no whistles to indicate what formation to adopt. Just faith that every Almogavar was disciplined and trained to such a high degree the division would act as if it had one brain and one set of reflexes and instincts. And if not then the hope of total surprise against an enemy caught off-guard would disappear.\n\nThe division picked up pace as it moved down the slope. Men weaving among the trees and at the same time glancing left and right to try to maintain some sort of formation. Luca experienced the familiar feeling of exhilaration and relish as the inevitable clash of arms got nearer. He felt light on his feet and his instincts suddenly became sharper. He could hear more and see more as he gripped his spear in his left hand, leaving his right free to pluck javelins from the quiver on his back. And then he was out of the trees and into the open.\n\nThere was no stopping to dress the ranks or receive orders. No shouting or hollering, just an increase in pace as he followed the front rank towards another forest \u2013 this one of round white tents around three hundred paces away. The sun had now dipped behind Mount Giona to cast the valley into a subdued light, dozens of cooking fires filling the air with wood smoke. Guards posted on the perimeter of the camp had seen the Almogavars, at first staring in disbelief as hundreds of men in sheepskin coats carrying spears rushed from the trees. Then they shouted and raised the alarm.\n\nIt now became a race against time for the Almogavars, their speed pitted against the enemy's ability to form a defence on the camp's perimeter in under two minutes before the Catalans were among the tents. It was a contest the enemy lost. The guards outside the camp melted away rather than face hundreds of charging soldiers, allowing the Almogavars to infiltrate the tents unopposed. But as soon as they did so they were fighting in small groups. Command and control vanished but training and discipline did not.\n\nLuca remembered the army of Epiros from when the company had fought it among the dunes seven years before. The foot soldiers wore heavy, blue padded coats with sleeves slit at the elbow and turned back to the shoulder to ease holding a spear. The uniform of the horsemen was a long-sleeved blue tunic split at the waist, grey leggings and helmets. But there were no enemy soldiers wearing helmets when the Almogavars rudely interrupted their evening meal, just men in shirts and leggings who were rushing to reach their weapons.\n\nHector, Luca, Jordi and Romanus unconsciously formed a unit, coming across a campfire with a cooking pot still over the flames. A man hopped from a tent trying to pull a boot on. Hector killed him with a spear thrust. Another ran at Luca with a levelled spear, the Almogavar plucking a javelin from his quiver and hurling it at his assailant, who collapsed on the ground when the missile hit him in the chest. Romanus waited beside a tent and tripped the man exiting it, sending him sprawling to the ground. Jordi stabbed him in the back with his spear. The man following came running from the tent with his spear directed at Jordi but Romanus stabbed him in the side as soon as he appeared, doing the same to a third individual who also only saw Jordi and thought him an easy target.\n\nHector tossed a firebrand from the fire into a tent, and another into an adjacent one, the incendiaries igniting fires. The group moved on. A servant, one of dozens in the camp responsible for cooking meals and menial duties, held up his hands to surrender when he ran into Hector, who killed him instantly with his spear. The camp was aflame now, frightened horses and mules having been released to sow panic and mayhem, which the Almogavars took advantage of.\n\nLuca and the others came face-to-face with a line of enemy soldiers, eight of them with teardrop-shaped shields facing front, spears levelled. All four plucked javelins from their quivers and hurled them at the row of faces, each steel point smashing jawbones, cheekbones and penetrating eye sockets. Four men fell dead and then the Almogavars raced at the others. Luca gripped his spear with both hands and went to stab his opponent in the face, the spearman instinctively raising his shield to block the thrust that was just a feint. He shrieked with pain when Luca jabbed the point of his spear into his groin, dropping his shield and spear before crumbling to the ground. The others were also killed and the group moved on. Strike hard and fast, keep moving. Anything that came in range of a spear or javelin was killed.\n\nLuca's quiver was empty. He had killed three men with his javelins and perhaps double that with his spear. The point and shaft were red. His fingers were red with blood that had run down the shaft. The air was thick with acrid smoke as the camp burned. Horses and mules were burning, the enemy was running. And then he and the others were in open ground in front of the town. They and hundreds of others had swept through the camp and exited the other side, leaving a burning charnel house in their wake.\n\nNow the whistles began to blast as Hector and his officers and sergeants called their men to them. The light was beginning to fade but there was one more assault to make. But then the town gates were slammed shut and archers appeared on the walls, unleashing volleys against the Almogavars, who did not wait to be told but turned and ran away from the battlements before the first arrows thudded into the ground.\n\n'God's teeth!' shouted Hector, throwing his spear to the ground.\n\nHe had won a great victory but it was incomplete. The enemy who had been besieging the castle in the town had reacted quickly and shut the gates to prevent the Almogavars entering Salona. Smoke was now billowing into the darkening sky. Hector called one of his officers to him.\n\n'Take half the division. Post sentries and kill any enemy wounded.'\n\nThe officer saluted and strode off. Hector turned to Romanus who was drinking from his water bottle.\n\n'Get a white cloth.'\n\n'White cloth?'\n\n'Big enough so the archers on the walls can see it. And be quick about it.'\n\nHe was forced to use the white shirt of a dead enemy soldier, Luca and Jordi helping him remove the garment from the corpse. It was then tied onto the end of Romanus' spear and then he and Hector walked towards the town walls, behind them five hundred Almogavars deployed in two ranks. It was early evening and any breeze had disappeared. It was absolutely still. Luca craned his neck trying to hear the words of Romanus, as dictated to him by Hector, behind him the roar of a camp being consumed by a greedy fire.\n\n'Soldiers of Epiros. I am the commander of the Catalan Company. You are in a hopeless position, with an army in front of you and a hostile garrison behind you. In recognition of your bravery, I will allow you to leave the town and march back to Epiros as free men, taking your weapons with you. You have one hour to decide. But before you do, know that more Almogavars are marching to Salona and will be here tomorrow.'\n\nIt took ten minutes for the enemy archers to decide to march back home. Hector allowed them to stay in the town until the morning, ordering them to send a message to the castle informing the count he would have his town back the next day. For Luca and a thousand Almogavars it threatened to be a cold night without shelter, though Hector ordered the slaughter of mules that had not bolted and their meat cooked over fires fuelled with wood from chopped-up carts. The many fires, whooping Almogavars and thousands of dead bodies gave the valley the appearance of hell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The Duke of Athens ordered church bells to be rung throughout his dukedom. The first report he read from the Count of Salona told of a great army from Epiros having scattered his forces, taken the town and laid siege to the castle. The count pleaded for help, which Athens could not supply immediately. The second letter from Thomas d'Autremoncourt explained how a force of Almogavars had suddenly appeared in front of the town, had routed the army of Epiros, reduced its camp to ashes and relieved the town. Walter of Brienne was relieved and delighted, the only blemish on the missive being the count's final words that the commander of the Catalan Company reminded the Duke of Athens his men were in arrears of pay and 'when can he expect the next instalment of money from Athens?'\n\n'They really are prodigies,' smiled Walter. 'My wife was amazed when I told her of the latest Catalan victories. She is very much a person who judges others on their appearance and breeding.'\n\nJean de Carrouges finished reading the letter from the Count of Salona and handed it back to the duke.\n\nThe temperature was still pleasant on the Acropolis and Athens below was not yet experiencing the fierce heat of summer. But it was now April and in May it would get noticeably hotter, which would last until September. Knights encased in mail armour would find fighting in such temperatures taxing. Far better to campaign in the spring and autumn.\n\n'We should march to Neopatras now, lord,' suggested Jean, 'before the heat of summer arrives.'\n\nIt was mid-morning and they were strolling along the ramparts of the Acropolis, the town of Athens below bathed in sunlight, an oasis of white-washed buildings with red-tiled roofs among a sea of green. Walter rested his hands on the battlements and gazed at the landscape.\n\n'I never realised Greece would be so green. I always imagined it to be a parched land.'\n\n'What about Neopatras, lord?'\n\nWalter turned away from the land he ruled.\n\n'We wait until the city has surrendered to the Catalans before we march. They have been besieging it for nearly two months so it should not be long before if falls.'\n\n'And then?' asked Jean.\n\n'And then we join with our Catalan allies and put them all to the sword.'\n\n'You still mean to do away with them then?'\n\nWalter was surprised by his deputy's question.\n\n'Of course. They will have out-lived their usefulness, and I have no intention of allowing them to become a thorn in my side like they did in the Roman emperor's lands. He made a mistake by only killing the Catalan leaders at Adrianople, thinking the rest would simply melt away. But a pack of rabid dogs will always choose another leader, and so it proved. I thought I could make use of them to campaign against the Roman emperor, but I was wrong. They are too dangerous and if we were to join forces with them they will eventually turn on us.'\n\n'What will you do with the King and Queen of Thessaly, lord, assuming the Catalans do not kill them or hold them for ransom? After their capital has fallen, that is.'\n\n'Kill them,' shrugged Walter, 'along with their child. The queen gave birth to a boy?'\n\nJean nodded.\n\n'Well, then. I have no desire to leave any claimants to the crown of Thessaly. To all intents and purposes it will cease to exist. As will Epiros.'\n\n'Epiros, lord?'\n\nWalter gave him a sly smile.\n\n'God moves in mysterious ways, Jean. For whatever reason, Regent Anna attacked the County of Salona, which was in effect a declaration of war against all the Latin states in Greece. But her army was destroyed at Salona and now I am presented with a golden opportunity to take Epiros as well as Thessaly.'\n\n'It will take a big army to conquer both, lord.'\n\nWalter slapped his deputy hard on the arm.\n\n'And I will have a big army and it is all thanks to Luca Baldi.'\n\nJean was perplexed. 'I do not understand.'\n\n'Neither did I, Jean, neither did I. Joanna could not believe God would allow that miserable peasant to kill Reynard of Rouen.'\n\n'An opinion we all shared, lord.'\n\nThey continued their inspection of the ramparts, sentries on the walls standing to attention and saluting as they passed by.\n\n'In truth, I always found Reynard to be a loud-mouth bore, a boaster who had the brains of an ox. However, my wife was fond of him and more importantly, so was her father.'\n\n'The Constable of France.'\n\n'Indeed,' nodded Walter, 'and when my father-in-law heard what had happened to his friend, he called for volunteers to avenge him, a call that has been answered with enthusiasm. Reinforcements are on their way, Jean. God's will, you see.'\n\n'When will they arrive, lord?'\n\n'Not till the end of the year, unfortunately. It will take a few months to arrange the logistics. Until then I will have to make do with my own meagre forces and those of the other Latin states.'\n\n'Which are also meagre,' said Jean.\n\n'It does not matter. As soon as Neopatras surrenders to the Catalans, I will march to the city and do away with the mercenaries, after which I will consolidate my hold over Thessaly. By the spring of next year I will have the reinforcements from France, which combined with my own army and the forces of the other Latin states in Greece will give me enough soldiers to conquer Epiros and advance north to the walls of Thessalonica and beyond.'\n\n'To subdue Thessalonica will require siege engines and ships to blockade the harbour, lord.'\n\n'We will have both, Jean. The Venetians will provide ships to blockade Thessalonica, and after the city has fallen they can use it for their commercial interests, subject to them paying fees.'\n\n'It is an ambitious plan, lord.'\n\nWalter looked back to the tree-covered hills around Athens.\n\n'We are about to enter a new age, Jean, the age of the final triumph of the true religion over the apostate Orthodox faith, so called. I intend to make you governor of Thessalonica after it has fallen.'\n\n'You are too generous, lord.'\n\n'Those beloved of God can afford to be generous, Jean.'\n\nBut God had other plans for Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "'Lord God Almighty, bless this land. May health, chastity, conquest of sin, virtue, humility, goodness and meekness flourish here. May the law be observed and thanks be given to God the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. And may this blessing always remain on this land and those who live in it.'\n\nFather Ramon crossed himself and then stood, making the sign of the cross at the three figures standing on the sand observing him. Around them horses were being offloaded from the Roman transport ships behind them at the water's edge. They were large vessels with flat keels and rounded hulls called hippagogi, ideal for unloading cargoes on beaches, as now. There were twenty of them and they were all owned by Empress Irene, the crews watching the warriors leading horses from the holds on to the beach via ramps in the bow. Each ship could transport up to thirty horses but it would take several more relays before all the mounts of Dario Spinola's private army were transported from the peninsula of Chalkidiki to the island of Euboea.\n\nThe shipment of a thousand Mongol warriors from the Khanate of the Golden Horde via the Black Sea port of Caffa through the Bosporus to Thessalonica, or rather the peninsula southeast of the city, had been a major political and logistical exercise. Dario Spinola had to travel to Caffa himself, the Genoese trading port, to conduct negotiations with the Mongol authorities and also Genoese officials in the port regarding docking fees for the empress' horse transports. Then there were disputes with the imperial treasury in Constantinople over transit fees through the Bosporus, Emperor Andronicus insisting they be high on account of Spinola's continued occupation of Kallipolis, which the Genoese knight still refused to return to its rightful owners. Finally, Empress Irene was horrified by the idea of a thousand heathen Mongols descending on her city and so insisted they quarter on the Chalkidiki peninsula, and specifically around the small town of Coroni in the far south of the peninsula. But all the money and negotiations had been worth it for now he was standing on the island of Euboea with his vanguard of Mongols and Genoese soldiers recruited from the Galata quarter of Constantinople.\n\n'That man is your personal priest, khan?'\n\nA major stumbling block concerning the hiring of Mongol warriors was finding a senior commander among them who could speak Italian. An individual was eventually found, a man trusted by Toqta, the ruler of the Golden Horde.\n\nMengu Timur was quietly spoken, reserved but at the same time intimidating. Like most Mongol warriors he was of slight build, though tall, which accentuated his slimness to make him appear gaunt. His broad, flat nose, prominent cheekbones, sparse black beard, thin moustache and straight black hair gave him a severe countenance.\n\n'He is,' replied Dario Spinola.\n\n'More's the pity,' added Vito Carcione, Spinola's deputy whose nose had been put out of place by the arrival of Mengu Timur.\n\n'We should plant the banners, khan ,' said Timur, 'to proclaim to the whole world you intend to conquer this land.'\n\nAs there was no wind there seemed little point in displaying the two standards \u2013 the red banner showing a white dragon of Dario Spinola and the purple flag emblazoned with a crude silver stallion of Mengu Timur. But it was an entirely symbolic gesture and one that provided another opportunity for Father Ramon to say a prayer and bless the standards. While he was doing so Mengu Timur had his own horse and those of some of his officers saddled and rode from the beach to conduct a reconnaissance of the immediate area.\n\n'What do you think of our brave Mongol allies, Vito?' asked Spinola.\n\nCarcione had until recently being enjoying himself as governor of Kallipolis, the strategic port taken by Dario Spinola the year before after its evacuation by the Catalan Company. He had garrisoned it with a small number of Genoese soldiers but it had remained an empty city. Emperor Andronicus had forbidden any Romans from entering it until the Genoese nobleman withdrew his troops. It was a stand-off that showed no signs of ending, Andronicus having no wish to use force for fear of offending the Republic of Genoa, which owned half his empire.\n\n'I don't trust them,' sniffed Carcione, 'just like I don't trust him.'\n\nHe was pointing at Father Ramon who was walking towards them. The former chief priest in the Catalan Company had filled out since his defection, one reason being he had learned to ride, which meant he no longer had to undertake long marches on foot. The other was that Dario Spinola indulged him with fine wine and good living. He was eternally grateful the priest had allowed him to capture Luca Baldi, even though he was forced to give up the mangy Almogavar when he was swapped for the King of Thessaly. He believed Father Ramon to be a lucky totem, which Carcione thought ridiculous and, worse, a mistake. It gave the pompous priest a position of privilege he did not deserve.\n\nRamon looked around at the bay when he reached them.\n\n'A beautiful land, lord. Such perfect conditions are an auspicious omen for your campaign.'\n\n'Much thought has gone into this campaign, father,' said Spinola. 'I intend to be in Athens before the summer has ended.'\n\nRaman's face lit up. 'I pray it will be so.'\n\n'I bet you do,' sneered Carcione, 'seeing as you will be the next Archbishop of Athens when the white dragon flies from the Acropolis.'\n\nRamon's eyes narrowed. He disliked the cutthroat who was Spinola's deputy, though he had had little to do with him until now. After leaving Thessalonica Ramon had accompanied Spinola to Rhaedestus where the Genoese noble, previously made governor of the city by Andronicus, had told the priest about his plans to become the new Duke of Athens. Ramon had tried to offer words of comfort when news reached the city that Spinola's young wife had died in childbirth, though the Genoese seemed strangely indifferent to her demise. She had produced a boy that survived the birth, which had pleased Spinola. And in a rare moment of generosity he had pledged to make Ramon Archbishop of Athens when he captured the duchy's capital.\n\n'I am just a poor priest,' said Ramon, 'whose only aim in this life is to serve God.'\n\nSpinola nodded. 'It is a beautiful land and soon it will be mine.'\n\nHe and his army had landed in the beautiful bay of Vasilika in the north of the island, the same place where the royal ships of King of Kings Xerxes had anchored during the Persian invasion of Greece seventeen hundred years before. The long curved beach of light pebbles and sand was ideal for offloading supplies, soldiers and horses, the crystal-clear waters of the Aegean shallow and free from underwater obstacles that might gash the timbers of a vessel. The ancient Greeks and then the Romans had mapped every inch of the island of Euboea so Empress Irene's captains knew exactly where to land Dario Spinola and his army of godless heathens. The island had three distinct parts: a barren south, a mountainous centre with agriculture limited to the coastal valleys, and a fertile north littered with dense pine forests and olive groves. He who controlled the north of Euboea could feed his army and its animals, though if he wanted to invade the Duchy of Athens itself he would have to capture the port of Chalcis, the seat of power of Boniface of Verona. In theory the count controlled the whole of Euboea but he had too few soldiers to garrison the whole island and so Spinola's invasion was unopposed.\n\nThis was fortuitous because it took seven days to ship the troops, horses and supplies from Roman territory to Vasilika, during which time the only incident of note was when a flock of sheep inadvertently wandered into camp. When the last horses had been offloaded from the transports the Roman vessels up-anchored and left, leaving Dario Spinola's galley the only ship in the bay. The lack of enemy forces combined with the warm weather and abundance of water and food ensured morale in camp was high, so no one considered that if things went awry the only way off the island was Spinola's ship, which meant only the Genoese knight and his inner circle would escape. That inner circle comprised Vito Carcione, Father Ramon and the fifty mounted men-at-arms who made up Dario Spinola's personal bodyguard. They were all Genoese and part of the garrison of Rhaedestus.\n\nSpinola's three hundred spearmen and two hundred crossbowmen had been recruited by agents in the Genoese quarter of Galata, a part of Constantinople on the northern side of the Golden Horn. All Italian, they hailed from Sicily and southern Italy. They were all equipped with helmets but wore padded gambesons instead of mail armour, the garments made up of multiple layers of fabric crammed with wool and horsehair giving adequate protection against glancing blows and even arrows at the end of their trajectory. They were lighter than mail, which meant the troops would not tire as quickly as they would have done if wearing metal armour. Their gambesons were also split on the sleeves to allow the arms to be rolled back. The crossbowmen were equipped with sleeveless gambesons and all the foot soldiers wore sleeveless red surcoats with a white dragon motif stitched on the front. The spearmen's shields were also red and carried the same design. Spinola planned for his foot soldiers to be the garrison of Athens when he took the town, leaving the Mongols to do any fighting against the Franks.\n\nWith rudimentary maps supplied by the empress' cartographers, the invaders advanced south after the army, its horses and supplies had been landed, locals fleeing before them to leave deserted villages and farms. As Dario Spinola intended to rule the island and the rest of the Duchy of Athens, he gave orders that any looting, raping or killing was strictly forbidden, on pain of death.\n\nThe going was slow along the tracks that snaked their way through the mountains and ancient forests, passing towering rock formations, waterfalls and tall green ferns. The tracks were paved in stretches, large cobblestones made smooth by centuries of use, though in other parts they were dirt. The army of fifteen hundred soldiers, two hundred civilian staff and over four thousand horses \u2013 each Mongol warrior had brought with him three remounts \u2013 was soon strung out over several miles. The rate of advance was barely ten miles a day, though that did not concern Spinola as even at such a sluggish rate he would be before the walls of Chalcis in a week.\n\n'I won't go back to Genoa,' Spinola announced suddenly.\n\n'What about your son, lord?' asked Ramon, on his head a white mitre embroidered with gold.\n\nHe had no permission to wear such official Catholic attire, but Spinola had seen to it he was no longer an excommunicate and had made him the unofficial bishop of Rhaedestus, a gesture not so much to please Ramon as to annoy the Roman emperor.\n\n'He will grow up a rich, pampered noble in the palace of his late mother,' replied Spinola, 'waited on hand and foot by an army of servants.'\n\n'You do not wish to see him?' queried Carcione.\n\n'Not while he is a screaming brat, no. When he is older and has received an education in manners, then perhaps. I doubt he will miss my presence with all the attention that will be showered on him by his grandfathers.'\n\n'You should think about remarrying, lord,' suggested Ramon.\n\nSpinola's handsome face became misshapen by a frown.\n\n'There are no suitable potential brides in this part of the world,' he replied.\n\n'He means rich and powerful women, father,' smirked Carcione, 'not good Catholics. Now if Empress Irene was to convert.'\n\nSpinola was horrified. 'Irene? She is twice my age and possessed of a cunning, malicious nature.'\n\n'You would be well-suited, then,' grinned Carcione.\n\n'She is well past her child-bearing years anyway,' remarked Spinola. 'Now her adopted daughter Elena is a different prospect, altogether. Unfortunately, she married that wastrel the King of Thessaly, who is currently besieged in the city of Neopatras by the Catalan Company.'\n\n'And she is an apostate,' added Ramon.\n\n'Apostates can convert,' replied Spinola, who was staring at his left hand, which had a scar running across it just below the knuckles.\n\n'You should let it go,' Carcione told him.\n\n'Let what go?'\n\nCarcione rolled his eyes. 'You had him in your hands and was forced to let him go, in return for which you got your Mongols transported across the Black Sea and will likely become Duke of Athens, as well as governor of Rhaedestus and Kallipolis.'\n\n'You are governor of Kallipolis,' Spinola reminded him.\n\n'Concentrate on the here and now, lord,' said Carcione. 'You have enough to think about other than a scrawny peasant.'\n\nHis name was not mentioned but all three knew the topic of conversation was Luca Baldi, the Almogavar who had scarred Spinola at the Battle of Apros, who had insulted him in the Blachernae Palace in Constantinople, and who had escaped a public execution in Thessalonica. While he still lived Dario Spinola would not be content, despite his great wealth, his prestige and his power. It was like a tooth ache he could find no relief from. At least now he had enemies to fight his mind would be concentrated on things that mattered, or so Carcione hoped.\n\nThe first three days of the march were uneventful, Mongol scouts riding ahead to ensure the army would not encounter any nasty surprises. The weather stayed warm and dry, the tall rock faces and pines providing welcome shade as afternoon temperatures rose. On the fourth day the army began to descend to a flat piece of ground at the mid-point of the island on its eastern side. Thus far the Franks had been conspicuous by their absence, as had the locals. Their villages nestled in the hills around the flat plain and were surrounded by neat olive groves and vineyards, the white-washed homes in stark contrast to the verdant greenery around them. All deserted, all silent, all unmolested and all about to bear witness to the clash that would decide who would rule Euboea.\n\nThere had once been an ancient town on the hills overlooking the plain. Called Kirinthos, it had been destroyed by the Phoenicians nearly two thousand years before. But it would bear the name of the battle that was about to take place to decide the ownership of Euboea. The plain was surrounded by rocky hills and was bisected by a more or less straight stream that divided into two when it encountered the beach of sand and small pebbles before emptying into the sea. There was a breeze blowing in off the Aegean to show the banners of Baron Boniface's soldiers.\n\nAs his horsemen and foot soldiers filed on to the northern part of the plain, Dario Spinola scanned the enemy army drawn up immediately behind the stream, which appeared wide and obviously not very deep. He knew this because for the count to place his horsemen, the most mobile and devastating element of his army, behind a deep watercourse made no sense. From his vantage point on the hill, the plain now filling with Mongol horsemen, foot soldiers tramping past him, Spinola could see that the count had placed all his horsemen on his left wing. His centre comprised foot soldiers, a long line of shields and glinting helmets also behind the stream stretching to the beach, which formed the count's right wing. The entire frontage of the Boniface's army covered a distance of around a mile.\n\n'Behold the army of Count Boniface of Verona,' said Spinola, 'the ruler of the Triarchy of Negroponte, one of the great Frankish kingdoms of Greece.'\n\nHe pointed across the plain to the blue banners bearing a yellow cross, the majority of the horses of the baron's riders wearing caparisons of the same colours and design. Spinola's finger moved left and stopped at a block of foot soldiers in red, flanked either side by other troops in blue and carrying blue shields.\n\n'Is there no place in this world I cannot go without seeing those accursed colours?'\n\nCarcione was confused. 'Lord?'\n\n'Venetians, Vito, the plague that infests the world. They are the allies of the Franks and have sent soldiers to support the count. One day the world will be free of the Venetian pestilence.'\n\n'Leaving Genoa to rule the entire world, lord.'\n\n'There is a place for flippancy, Vito, but the battlefield is not it.'\n\nCarcione swung in the saddle to observe Father Ramon blessing the foot soldiers making their way from the hillside track to the plain, forming up behind a screen of Mongol horse archers around half a mile from the count's static army.\n\n'I don't know why you bother with him.'\n\n'Why? Because he did me a great service that would have resulted in the death of Luca Baldi, and would have done had not that idiot King of Thessaly allowed himself to become a captive of the Almogavars.'\n\n'Who are currently besieging the capital of that kingdom,' said Carcione.\n\n'Yes, and hopefully will put all its inhabitants to the sword before Empress Irene can assemble a relief force.'\n\nCarcione pointed to the enemy army. 'Lucky for us she is not commanding the Franks and Venetians. As it is, I reckon it will be over very quickly, as long as our heathen bastards are as good as people say they are.'\n\nSpinola cracked a smile. 'Oh, they are good, Vito, very good.'\n\nAt that moment the commander of the 'heathen bastards' rode up to Spinola and saluted. Mengu Timur was as calm as the surface of a village pond on an airless day.\n\n'The enemy is rooted to the spot, khan. It will be for us to shift him from his position. If I may suggest we start when your foot soldiers are in position.'\n\n'To you I give the honour of commencing hostilities, Mengu.'\n\nThe Mongol saluted and rode back down the hill to where his men were drawn up in immaculately dressed ranks.\n\n'Do you know why I hired a mingham of Mongols, Vito?'\n\n'A mingham?'\n\n'The word for a regiment of a thousand Mongol warriors, Vito.'\n\n'Ah, I see. I assume you hired them to show off your great wealth, lord.'\n\nSpinola shook his head. 'No. The Mongols have been defeating Christian knights for nearly a hundred years. Man for man they are the finest soldiers in the world. The secret of their success is a combination of strategic mobility, devastating tactics and the superior quality of the individual Mongol warrior and his horse.'\n\nCarcione laughed. 'His horse?'\n\n'Mongol horses are highly trained and are treated more like comrades-in-arms than animals. They are never killed for meat and when old and lame are put out to pasture to live out their final days in peace.'\n\n'They live better than your average mercenary.'\n\nSpinola nudged his horse forward down the slope, Carcione and the mounted men-at-arms following. The Genoese kept glancing at the count's army, expecting it to launch an attack while his own forces were still deploying. But it stayed rooted to the spot. It could not be outflanked on its left due to the steeply rising hill, or on the right where the soft sand of the beach would make it hard going for foot soldiers and horsemen alike, giving the enemy time to rush crossbowmen to the flank to counter any threat.\n\nThe count's crossbowmen were deployed just behind the stream, in front of the spearmen, from where they could shoot two bolts a minute at Dario Spinola's army when his troops came within range \u2013 a distance of around two hundred and fifty yards. The count's horsemen were massed on the left of his army, at least twice the size of Spinola's mounted contingent. They were composed entirely of riders wearing mail armour, full-face helmets and armed with lances, swords, maces and axes. If they got close to the Mongol horse archers they would cut them to pieces.\n\nIf they got close.\n\nMengu Timur waited until the bulk of Spinola's foot soldiers were in position before sending forward half his light horseman \u2013 three hundred riders organised in three squadrons, or jaguns, each one made up of ten troops, or arbans. They trotted forward towards the wall of enemy foot soldiers. Each warrior carried two recurve bows made from yak horn, sinew and bamboo glued and bounded together to produce a weapon with greater range than a crossbow. Each warrior also carried two quivers filled with thirty arrows each, the quivers containing a mixture of light arrows with small, sharp points for long-range use, armour-piercing arrows and arrows with large, broad heads for use at close quarters.\n\nThe Mongols halted when crossbow bolts thudded into the firm ground in front of them, plucking arrows from their quivers, nocking them in bowstrings and shooting them at a high trajectory so they landed among the count's foot soldiers. Not a deluge of arrows, more like a gentle trickle of missiles to annoy the enemy. The enemy crossbowmen retreated back through the spearmen, who raised their shields as a defence against the iron-tipped raindrops falling from the sky, and then ran back to take them beyond the range of the Mongols. Who continued to shoot at the spearmen in a leisurely fashion.\n\nSpinola rode forward to observe the contest, continually glancing at the stationary enemy horsemen on the left of the count's line. He could see the large banner of Boniface being ruffled by the breeze and next to it the sigil he hated most in the world. The red flag showed the lion of Saint Mark, the patron saint of Venice, with an open gospel in one of its front paws, the other resting on Veneto, the terrain around the city. Attached to the fly edge were seven tails, each one bearing the coat of arms of the republic's seven provincial capitals.\n\n'They won't stand by and take being showered with arrows for much longer,' remarked Carcione next to him.\n\nThe enemy was not being showered with arrows but the veteran mercenary was correct in his observation regarding Christian knights being bystanders to their foot soldiers being assaulted by the enemy. Carcione's words were prophetic for moments after his words came a blast of trumpets and the enemy horsemen led by the Count Boniface and his blue and yellow banner splashed across the stream.\n\nIt was a magnificent sight: hundreds of mail-clad horsemen in helmets and wearing colourful surcoats charging in the morning sun, fluttering pennants on their lances lowering as the horsemen rode across the front of their own foot soldiers to charge the stationary Mongol horse archers. Who promptly wheeled about and cantered back to where the other horse archers sat on their horses. There was a flurry of frantic waving of red signal flags among the Mongols and then the balance of Mengu Timur's horse archers broke into a gallop and headed straight for the Frankish and Venetian horsemen.\n\n'Take command of the foot soldiers,' Spinola told Carcione, yanking on the reins of his horse to turn it. 'If the enemy horsemen break through, try to get the troops back into the hills where they will stand a better chance.'\n\nCarcione said nothing as he rode off to where the Genoese foot soldiers stood in their ranks \u2013 three hundred spearmen and two hundred crossbowmen \u2013 who suddenly appeared an inconsequential number against the flower of Frankish chivalry. Dario Spinola rode back to where the Mongol heavy horsemen were waiting on the right flank of the Genoese battle line, directly opposite the now empty left wing of the enemy line. His riders joined the Mongol heavy horsemen and he himself rode over to their commander, who pointed his lance at the empty space opposite, around a mile away.\n\n'Now is the time, khan, to inflict a mortal wound on the enemy.'\n\nHe raised his lance and nudged his horse forward. Dario Spinola cast worried eyes towards the left, to where a great m\u00eal\u00e9e appeared to be taking place between the count's knights and the Mongol horse archers. He had no idea what was happening but saw Mongols riding around the battle. He wanted to lead the Mongols heavy horsemen across the field to assist the horse archers, who he was sure were being butchered by Frankish lances, swords and maces. But it was too late. He and his men were moving towards the empty enemy flank, breaking into a trot and then a canter, before breaking into a gallop, four hundred Mongol horsemen and fifty Christian riders thundering across the plain.\n\nEach Mongol heavy horseman was protected by lamellar armour made up of small, square iron scales, each one pierced with two holes to allow it to be sewn together with other scales to create a coat of armour, which was worn over the heavy, knee-length coat underneath called a deel. Head protection comprised a helmet shaped like a rounded cone made from a number of iron pieces with a neck guard of iron plates. They carried no shields but supplemented the lance with a sword, axe and mace, and their horses were protected by armour made of strips of ox hide.\n\nDario Spinola forgot about the enemy's knights as he drew his sword and anticipated the slaughter to come. He and the Mongols slowed their horses to ford the stream, splashing through its waters and then wheeling left to strike the exposed flank of the enemy foot soldiers. Four hundred and fifty horsemen wheeling left in a great arc momentarily slowed their momentum and some spearmen managed to form a ragged wall of shields and spears to confront the sudden appearance of the foe's horsemen. But the wall was too short and Mengu Timur and Spinola led the bulk of their horsemen behind the foe's foot soldiers before wheeling inwards to attack the rear of their formation.\n\nOut of the corner of his eye Spinola caught sight of crossbowmen in short-sleeved blue surcoats and others wearing red surcoats running back to the enemy spearmen. He wondered where they had been but then saw them disappear as a wave of Mongol horsemen swept over them. Hit in the flank and rear the enemy spearmen panicked and then ran, fleeing to the only place that offered them refuge \u2013 the beach on their right. He urged his horse forward when he spotted a man running towards the sand, a Venetian with a heavy rectangular shield that he dropped so he could increase his speed. But Spinola was behind him and then next to him in seconds, chopping down with his sword to strike the man's collarbone, the power behind the blow cutting deep into his shoulder and sending him sprawling to the ground. Spinola manoeuvred his horse so the animal trampled the man beneath its iron-shod hooves. He smiled with satisfaction when he heard a sharp crack signalling the man's spine being snapped. One less Venetian in the world.\n\nOther Venetians were also being killed, along with their Frankish allies, the Mongol heavy horsemen using their lances expertly against the few enemy foot soldiers who decided to stand and fight. Hundreds more were now on the beach, milling around in confusion. Mengu Timur now instructed his signallers to recall his heavy horsemen, the jaguns forming up in front of the stream and facing west, behind them the ground littered with enemy dead. His silver stallion banner billowed proudly behind him, the breeze of earlier having turned into a stiff wind blowing in off the sea.\n\nDario Spinola and Mengu Timur were now occupying the ground the enemy had possessed at the start of the battle, watching the count fleeing the battlefield, his banner streaming behind him and followed by what was left of his horsemen. The Mongol horse archers had defeated the Christian knights but Spinola was perplexed when he saw no pursuit.\n\n'You will let them go?'\n\n'No, khan, but the horses of my warriors are now tired and they will have to ride fresh remounts to conduct a pursuit. But there will be no respite, I assure you.'\n\nThe battlefield now presented a somewhat bizarre spectacle. To the front Count Boniface and the remnants of his horsemen were fleeing south to take the road back to Chalcis. Mongol horse archers were retreating back to the wagons to collect remounts, while to the right the beach was filled with what was left of the enemy's foot soldiers. And in the centre were four jaguns of Mongol heavy horsemen, sitting idly on their horses.\n\nWhat had been the mid-point of the battlefield, where the Mongol horse archers and the mounted knights had duelled, was a dreadful sight. Dozens of dead horses lay sprawled on the ground, around them and on top of them slain Franks and Venetians, arrows lodged in their lifeless bodies. There were few Mongols among the heaps of carrion.\n\n'When armoured horseman attack, my light horsemen withdraw,' explained Mengu Timur, who had led his heavy horsemen forward to issue orders to his light squadrons now they had swapped their tired horses for fresh beasts and replenished their quivers. 'They avoid getting too close to the enemy knights, at the same time manoeuvring around them to shoot arrows at them from all directions. In this way, the enemy is worn down.'\n\n'It is important those enemy still left alive are allowed no respite,' said Spinola.\n\n'They will be pursued to the gates of Chalcis, khan .'\n\n'Give thanks to the Lord!'\n\nThey both turned to see a beaming Father Ramon on his horse, the priest making the sign of the cross at Dario Spinola and ignoring the Mongol warlord.\n\n'Just as Samson smote the Hittites, so you have defeated the enemies of the Lord, lord.'\n\nSpinola liked the comparison. 'Assisted by your prayers, father, I am sure.'\n\n'Who is this Samson?' asked Mengu Timur.\n\n'A figure from the Christian Bible,' Spinola told him, 'who killed a thousand enemy soldiers called Hittites with the jawbone of a jackass.'\n\n'With the assistance of our Lord,' added Ramon sternly.\n\n'That is impossible,' said Mengu Timur.\n\n'Nothing is impossible with the aid of God,' remarked Ramon sternly.\n\n'God has nothing to do with it.'\n\nVito Carcione joined the small group, pointing his axe towards the beach where the Genoese foot soldiers had herded their opponents next to the sea, forming a perimeter around them.\n\n'The enemy foot soldiers have surrendered. What do you want to do with them?'\n\nSpinola's reply was instant. 'Execute all the Venetians. Offer the rest the opportunity to fight for me. Break the right wrists of those who refuse so they cannot use a weapon for at least three months.'\n\nNearly all the captured Frankish foot soldiers, most of whom were actually indigenous Greeks rather than French, volunteered to join the army of Dario Spinola. Every Venetian captive was shot down by crossbowmen. The ownership of the island of Euboea had been resolved on the plain of Kirinthos."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "The citizens of Neopatras had been shaken when their king was wounded in the battle against the Catalan Catholics, and they flocked to their churches when the wounded and defeated soldiers returned to the city in the aftermath of the dreadful clash. They prayed for the life of their king and their own salvation as the Catalans laid siege to the city, living in constant fear of an assault they expected to be an inevitability. Angelus Ducas hovered between life and death as the Catalans established their main camp within sight of the city walls, as well as a number of smaller camps facing the three entrances into the city. This was interpreted as the preliminaries to an assault and once again the churches were packed with frightened civilians who all knew that in the vanguard of the attack would be the dreadful Almogavars, the merciless killers who were without pity.\n\nA month passed and nothing happened. The Catalans were still sitting outside the city but they had made no offensive moves aside from shooting a few arrows at sentries on the battlements, infidel Muslims riding up to the walls and loosing a few missiles before riding back to their lines. News from the palace informed the citizens their king was showing signs of recovery, though he would be bedridden for a while. But the city was in the hands of one of their own, the fierce, proud, defiant Queen Elena who did not hide away in the palace but rather showed herself frequently to the good citizens of Neopatras. Dressed in a figure-hugging leather cuirass, her black hair plaited down her back, her slender frame belying her indomitable spirit. The people drew strength from her iron resolve and the citizens of Neopatras began to believe they would hold out until the soldiers of Empress Irene arrived.\n\nThe walls of Neopatras were high and strong and the underground streams that flowed from the mountains ensured its citizens would not die of thirst. Hunger was a different matter, though the governor had been diligent in ensuring the city granaries were full at the start of the siege. Even so, feeding thousands on a daily basis would eventually exhaust the food supply, but not before relief arrived.\n\nGrain was the food keeping the citizens alive once the siege began, which was stored in a number of places throughout the city. In the palace itself it was stored in cellars, which were cool and thus excellent for preserving perishable goods. They could also hold large amounts. But the majority of the city's grain was held in the royal granaries \u2013 huge stone buildings surrounded by walls and guarded day and night. Wealthy citizens had their own grain supplies but the great majority of the inhabitants of Neopatras were fed from the royal granaries, the grain being issued on a daily basis having first been emptied from sacks into large stalls in warehouses where it was shovelled and aired twice a week to keep it dry and in good condition.\n\nIn the granaries the grain was stored in sacks that were piled high to the ceilings in huge quantities. Great effort went into ensuring the granaries were free from, or at least not plagued by, insects and rodents, the main threats when grain is stored for long periods. The Master of the Royal Granaries was a meticulous individual, a man who took great pride in his responsibility and who insisted on meticulous records being kept of the exact number of sacks of grain held in the granaries on a daily basis. In this way he ensured every sack was accounted for, which meant there were no thefts by corrupt officials or guards. It was testament to his honesty and thoroughness that the people of Neopatras would not go hungry for at least two months, after which the rationing system would be tightened to ensure none would actually starve.\n\nThousands of sacks of grain were stored in the royal granaries, all under armed guard and thoroughly itemised. As the siege wore on they became more precious than gold but unlike the rare, expensive metal they can be volatile. It was unfortunate for the Master of the Royal Granaries that a consignment of his grain contained excessive moisture, which would not have been a problem in itself but became one when the sacks holding it were packed tightly together in a way that did not permit the resulting heat to escape. The temperature of the grain therefore rose until it reached a level allowing it to ignite. The effect was like a volcano erupting, the combustion producing such energy that it not only blew off the roof of the granary but also shattered the walls, sending fragments of tiles and masonry into the air and in other directions. The large crack was heard throughout the city, people running outside their homes and looking up in confusion at the clear sky, expecting it to be full of dark clouds, the noise heralding a thunderstorm.\n\nThe destruction was bad enough but the incident also produced flames that spread to adjacent granaries when their roofs were blown off by the force of the eruption. Soon two other granaries were aflame as well as the remains of the first, the fires raging unchecked because the soldiers and civilians in close proximity to the affected granaries had been killed or injured after the initial eruption took place.\n\n'By the time the fires were brought under control, half the grain in the royal granaries had been destroyed, majesty.'\n\nThe Master of the Royal Granaries was close to tears as he relayed to a silent and stunned Queen Elena the catastrophe that had taken place earlier. In the immediate aftermath of the severe wounding of her husband, who slept for the majority of most days, Elena had been shaken to the core but had managed to find reserves of mental stamina to present a brave face to the world. She did so again now.\n\n'How long will our food supplies last?'\n\n'Two weeks, majesty,' came the stark reply.\n\n'Will the empress' relief force have arrived by then?' asked the governor.\n\n'I have no idea,' admitted Elena, 'but even if it does we still have the problem of feeding the city after the siege has been lifted. Normally, we could sweep the area around the city for food, but I assume the Catalans have already done that.'\n\nShe looked at her advisers, the young friends of the king who had accompanied him on his disastrous campaign the previous year and who had ridden from the city to do battle with the Catalans at the pass. All were brave and loyal but they had no idea how to rectify the dire food situation. She looked at the Master of the Royal Granaries.\n\n'Does your estimate of how long the food will last include the grain held in the palace and among the private storerooms of the wealthy?'\n\n'Yes, majesty.'\n\nElena's head dropped.\n\n'That is dire news, indeed. You may leave.'\n\nHe bowed his head and left the chamber. The atmosphere in the throne room was oppressive, the weight of responsibility bearing down on the queen's young shoulders in particular. The one individual with more experience than them all was the governor, who now spoke.\n\n'Perhaps we should consider an agreement with the Catalans, majesty.'\n\nElena was surprised. 'The Catalans?'\n\n'Their inaction suggests they lack the inclination to mount an assault on the city, and they certainly have no siege engines for they would have certainly employed them by now. This being the case, I would suggest they would be receptive to an agreement.'\n\n'You mean the surrender of the city,' said one of the king's friends.\n\n'I do,' replied the governor.\n\n'Impossible,' hissed another friend.\n\nThe governor was undaunted. 'We could withdraw from the city and establish a new capital at Larissa, which is nearer to Empress Irene's lands. The Catalans occupied the empty city of Kallipolis on the Gallipoli Peninsula and were forced to give it up.'\n\n'After three years of occupation,' stated one of the king's confidantes.\n\n'And after they had stripped the peninsula and Thrace bare,' added another.\n\n'All what has been said is true, majesty,' admitted the governor, 'but it is also true that in two weeks there will be no food in the city, which will lead to hunger and starvation and possibly insurrection. People with empty stomachs can be as volatile as tightly packed sacks of grain.'\n\n'The army will maintain order,' pledged its commander.\n\n'Soldiers also require feeding, general,' replied the governor dryly.\n\nStung by his words, the general looked at the queen for support, as did the friends of the king. Her expression hardened.\n\n'The destruction of the granaries demands immediate action, I agree. But I will not yield the city until there is no other choice, and right now we have several choices. The most pressing matter is to reassure the people that there are no food shortages, to which end, governor, there will be no interruption in the issuing of the grain ration. This will quash any rumours the city will soon run out of food.'\n\n'That will buy us time, majesty, nothing more,' the governor reminded her.\n\n'Time enough to deal with the Catalans,' said the queen, rising from her throne.\n\nThe governor and the rest were perplexed.\n\n'I am tired and must rest,' said Elena, stepping down from the dais and walking to the open door to her private quarters.\n\nHer subjects bowed their heads as she departed, being none the wiser what she intended to do or how the city, and indeed the kingdom, could be saved."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "'Is there any reason why the Queen of Thessaly should concern herself with an illiterate peasant?'\n\nHector was waving a piece of paper in the air, which was ironic because he could not read and as far as he was concerned the letters on it could have been a magical spell or a bill of sale. But he had Dalmau by his side, the company's chief book keeper who had fulfilled clerical duties during the Catalans' occupation of Kallipolis, and he could read. Luca stared at the letter and shrugged his shoulders.\n\n'No idea.'\n\n'No idea, sir ,' Hector corrected him. 'Well, she knows you because she has requested your presence at a meeting involving myself and her serene majesty, or so she calls herself.'\n\nIt was the end of another boring day in the siege of Neopatras. Luca had spent the morning on the training ranges practising throwing javelins, afterwards joining the rest of his division in the hills collecting firewood. The only excitement to be had was when what sounded like a thunderclap had made him and hundreds of others rush to the ramparts with their weapons. It had been a sunny day with not a cloud in the sky and many suspected the enemy had used some sort of fanciful weapon. But all he saw were plumes of smoke rising into the sky from inside the city and nothing happening outside the walls.\n\n'And also the woman of Luca Baldi,' said Dalmau.\n\nLuca grew alarmed. 'She is obviously mad.'\n\nHector was intrigued. 'Sieges are boring so anything to relieve the tedium is to be welcomed. I will meet with the queen, who says she will bring only one other with her. The meeting is to take place in a disused hut directly south of a postern gate in the southern city wall.'\n\n'It might be a trap,' warned Luca. 'Why else would a queen want to meet you?'\n\n'He has a point,' agreed Dalmau.\n\n'Because I am an illiterate, low-born mercenary?' said Hector.\n\n'I would not say that,' replied Dalmau.\n\n'But that is what you are thinking.'\n\nDalmau smiled. 'I am paid to keep your records, not give opinions, sir. Speaking of which, the company is on the verge of running out of funds, monies from the Duke of Athens having dried up.'\n\nTo maintain good relations with the local population, which the company hoped to live among rather than rule once the war was over, goods and food were paid for rather than plundered. At the same time as they were besieging Neopatras, representatives from the company were conducting commercial activity with the merchants and farmers of Thessaly. Many of the latter while not well-disposed towards the mercenaries, were at least prepared to trade with them as a result of Hector releasing hundreds of them after the Almogavar victory the year before. But paying for food and supplies to support ten thousand people is expensive, and the coffers were nearly bare.\n\nHector was far from amused. 'You have written to the duke requesting payment?'\n\n'Ad nauseam,' answered Dalmau, 'but silence has been my only reward.'\n\nHector pointed at him. 'Don't use clever Greek words with me.'\n\n'They are Latin,' smirked Dalmau.\n\nHector turned to Luca. 'I will be meeting this queen tomorrow afternoon. You will join me. And bring your Ayna.'\n\nLuca became concerned. 'What if it is a trap, sir?'\n\n'Then I am sure with the help of Ayna we will be able to fight our way out.'\n\nLuca left Hector's pavilion a worried man. Not because he feared being captured or killed by the troops of Thessaly. He lived under that threat every day. No, he feared his seduction at the hands of the she-wolf would become common knowledge. Why else had he been summoned to a meeting between the queen and Hector? It made no sense. With every step he took back to his tent his feet became heavier, as though they were reluctant to take him closer to Ayna, who would surely suspect something was wrong with the upcoming meeting. He had been summoned to escort Hector, that is what he would tell her, for that was the truth.\n\nYou are an imbecile, Luca Baldi, a poor deluded fool. You kept the truth from her and now you will be revealed for the liar you are. Pray for a trap, Luca Baldi, because that is the only way you are going to worm your way out of the maze of lies you have built around yourself.\n\nHe told Ayna about Hector's order the moment he arrived back at the tent they shared with the others. She seemed surprised, as did their friends, though more intrigued than suspicious. Like him they had all settled into the tedium of siege warfare and anything out of the mundane was welcome. He picked at his food that night, continually glancing at Ayna and Sam as their boy played with Jordi's twins and Ayna reported with pride on the slowly increasing size of the Maidens of the Spear. She and Monica had approached Hector with an idea of amalgamating the female Muslim volunteers with those Catalan women who could use a weapon. The combined total would be around five hundred, which was half the size of an Almogavar division. He promised he would think about it, Ayna promising Monica she would pester the company's commander when she and Luca escorted him to the clandestine meeting with the Queen of Thessaly. Neither she nor the others yet knew that Luca had already met her. Surprisingly, Ayna was so absorbed with dreams of increasing the size of the Maidens of the Spear that she did not question Luca as to why he, and indeed she, had been summoned to the meeting. She interpreted it as a sign that Allah was smiling on her plans.\n\nThe Muslim god would be the only one smiling when the meeting took place.\n\nLuca lay awake that night staring up at the roof of the large round tent he and the others slept in. He felt the same as the night before what was to be his execution in Rometta all those years ago. It was not a nice sensation.\n\nOminously, there was a fire-red sunset that night, which Luca took as a bad omen. The church taught it was blasphemy to interpret natural phenomena as good or bad portents but ever since the church had condemned him to death in Rometta for the 'crime' of defending his flock of sheep, he had little time for religion. Some said he was beloved of God, others, such as Father Ramon, had told all and sundry he was the spawn of Satan. He concentrated on staying alive and protecting his family.\n\nDawn came all too soon, the sky turning from purple to red and then blue to herald another beautiful warm day. It was early summer now and temperatures were rising, especially in lowland areas. Hector and his division left camp early, the commander beside Luca saying nothing as he set a hard pace, Almogavars scrambling over a rocky path leading up through the forest of fir that carpeted the lower slopes of the mountain behind the city of Neopatras. Luca welcomed the ascent, both to get away from the city and to reach higher altitudes where the air was fresh but chilly, though there was no breeze to cool the Almogavars. Higher up the division journeyed through pine, the aroma produced by the trees invigorating to the senses. After an hour of climbing Hector signalled a halt, the Almogavars taking the opportunity to take the weight off their feet and drink from their water bottles. Hector pointed at Luca.\n\n'With me.'\n\nHe followed the commander of the company through the looming trees with grey-brown bark until they reached a rocky outcrop giving stunning views of the valley below. Luca saw the city of Neopatras in all its glory, around it the three small Almogavar military camps and off to the right the main Catalan camp, around them all the green, lush valley. Further to the east were the blue waters of the Malian Gulf. Hector looked directly at Luca.\n\n'I have been pondering about our meeting with the queen later today, specifically why she wants you to attend. You and she have obviously met before, either that or you are so famous in these parts that kings and queens are queuing up to meet you.'\n\nLuca smiled. 'I doubt that.'\n\n'So do I. Have you met this woman before?'\n\nThere was a sheer drop from the ledge they were standing on. Luca looked down at the rocks below and then at Hector, whose expression was as hard as the rock below their feet. Luca considered lying to Hector but then thought better of it.\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'In what circumstances?'\n\n'She visited me after I had been tortured.'\n\n'How very kind of her. Anything else?'\n\nLuca looked down and shuffled his feet.\n\n'Spit it out,' snapped Hector.\n\n'She seduced me,' said Luca softly.\n\nHector roared with laughter and then his smile disappeared when he saw Luca's miserable expression.\n\n'You humped a queen, which is truly remarkable, even for a man such as yourself who seems to enjoy more than his fair share of good fortune. So why the long face?'\n\n'Ayna does not know.'\n\nHector shrugged. 'Women do as they are told. Why should you concern yourself with what your woman thinks?'\n\n'I have betrayed her.'\n\nHector slapped him on the arm. 'But you have not betrayed me and that is far more important. It still does not explain why she wants to meet with me, though. Perhaps she wants to seduce me as well.'\n\nHe rubbed his hands together. 'I am looking forward to this afternoon.'\n\nLuca was not but approached the meeting stoically. He had no choice. There was no point in informing Ayna of his betrayal now, several months after it had happened. He prayed that the Queen of Thessaly would not reveal the truth and would restrict her conversation to politics and ignore him altogether. It was curious that only in times of extreme strife did he pray. Why should God bother with someone who only called on His help when he needed something?\n\nThe venue for the meeting was an abandoned stone hut among the firs on the hillside, around three hundred paces from the postern gate the queen and her companion would use to walk across the open space between the city walls and the start of the forested mountainside. Hector had promised there would be no Almogavars or horsemen in the open ground or the forest and he was true to his word. Indeed, he was so intrigued with meeting the Queen of Thessaly he would have provided an escort to hear her words.\n\nLuca stood with Ayna and Hector in the stone hut, its walls mouldy, its roof missing tiles and covered in moss. It smelt damp in the interior, which was a simple square with a single entrance and two small windows for light. Not too big because in winter they needed blocking to prevent the cold and wet from entering. In the centre of the floor was a stone hearth so a fire could be lit, not used in years.\n\n'She is not coming,' said Luca, relief in his voice.\n\n'Patience, Black Sheep,' replied Hector.\n\nAyna kept her counsel. Both the men carried their spears, javelins, swords and daggers, though no helmets or shields. Despite it being late afternoon it was still warm, sweat running down Luca's face and neck.\n\n'Feeling nervous?' grinned Hector.\n\nThe bastard is enjoying this.\n\nLuca was beginning to believe he had dodged a deadly missile when his heart froze and he heard a voice outside.\n\n'Anyone inside, declare yourselves.'\n\nThe words were Italian and spoken by a woman.\n\n'Hector, commander of the Catalan Company, with Luca Baldi and his woman. Who are you?'\n\nThere was silence for a few seconds before a tall woman dressed in boots, tight leggings and a sleeveless leather jerkin with buttons on the front, a white silk shirt beneath, walked through the doorway.\n\n'I am Elena, Queen of Thessaly.'\n\nLuca had to admit she was an impressive sight, her leggings and jerkin giving more than a hint of a womanly frame beneath. Roman women of importance usually wore their hair collected in a bun or tied behind their back, but Elena had hers loose and tumbling to her shoulders, the locks framing her beautiful face with its high cheekbones and full lips. Her lustrous eyes went from Hector to Luca and finally to Ayna. She held out a hand to a shaven-headed brute with thick arms and a large sword in a scabbard at his waist.\n\n'This is Rustique, who is a mute eunuch and a trusted bodyguard and confidante.'\n\nHector raised an eyebrow. 'Is there a third?'\n\n'No,' replied Elena. 'I requested Luca Baldi be present so he can testify that I am indeed the daughter of Empress Irene and the Queen of Thessaly, as we have met before.'\n\nShe turned to Luca. 'You agree with my words?'\n\nLuca nodded.\n\n'Then let us begin,' said Hector. 'What do you want, your royal highness?'\n\n'You can call me majesty,' smiled Elena. 'As for what I want, I desire you to lift the siege of my city.'\n\n'Why should I do that?'\n\n'For money,' replied Elena. 'You are, after all, mercenaries and mercenaries fight for pay, do they not?'\n\n'We have a paymaster,' Hector told her.\n\n'The Duke of Athens is soon to be toppled,' Elena told him. 'As we speak I can tell you that Dario Spinola has landed with an army in the duchy. He has the support of Empress Irene and will soon be the new Duke of Athens. And I am sure you are aware that Dario Spinola is no friend of the Catalan Company.'\n\nTo his credit Hector did not show any emotion, even though the news Dario Spinola was at war with the Duke of Athens must have been a shock.\n\n'All the things the Duke of Athens promised you have turned to ashes,' said Elena, 'whereas I will give you money and land, which is what you really want, is it not, Hector, commander of the Catalan Company?'\n\nShe was right. Land was what the company craved because with no land it would always be just a roving band of mercenaries whose luck would one day run out.\n\n'I'm listening,' said Hector.\n\nElena gave him a dazzling smile. She had him intrigued.\n\n'Halmyros is a small valley in the east of my kingdom. It is a fertile plain a short distance from the city of Volos to the north.'\n\nHector's ears pricked up. The company had passed by Volos the previous year on its way to Athens. He recalled the area around the city to be as she was describing.\n\n'I give it to you, along with enough money so you and your mercenaries can trade with your neighbours instead of robbing them.'\n\n'And what does the king, your husband, have to say about this?' asked Hector.\n\n'The king is currently convalescing after being wounded. But he is in full agreement with the offer, which is dependent on you agreeing not to make further war on Thessaly.'\n\n'And will Thessaly refrain from making war on us?' Hector shot back.\n\n'Yes. But you must lift the siege immediately as a sign of good faith.'\n\n'Then you must send a consignment of money to our camp first in a sign of equivalent good faith,' Hector told her, 'the quantity being enough to pay our wages for six months. Then we will lift the siege.'\n\n'How do I know you will not take the money and remain camped around the walls of my city?'\n\nHector thought for a moment. 'As you say, majesty, it is all a question of faith. But if you pay our wages, then we will do as you request.'\n\nShe seemed surprised by his acquiescing to what she desired. He looked like a poor famer in his scruffy attire but she knew from bitter experience that the Catalans were not to be underestimated.\n\n'Then you will have your money,' she promised.\n\nShe turned to leave but then stopped to look at Luca.\n\n'You have recovered from your wounds?'\n\n'Yes, majesty.'\n\nElena looked at Ayna.\n\n'You are a Catalan?'\n\n'A Persian.'\n\n'You are Muslim?'\n\n'I am.'\n\n'What is your name?'\n\n'Ayna.'\n\n'Do you have any children, Ayna the Persian?'\n\n'A boy.'\n\n'I too have a boy,' said Elena, 'born recently. We have something in common.'\n\nThe queen looked at Luca, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.\n\n'I doubt we have anything in common,' said Ayna.\n\n'You are wrong. The father of our children is the same man.'\n\n'You lie!' shouted Luca.\n\nRustique stepped in between him and Elena, who appeared shocked.\n\n'Do you deny we had sex in Thessalonica, Luca Baldi?'\n\nAyna's mouth dropped open.\n\n'Oh dear,' muttered Hector.\n\nLuca's eyes darted between the queen and an incensed Ayna.\n\n'He did not tell you?' said Elena, looking hurt. 'Men are so wicked.'\n\n'Your son's name is Alexander,' she told Luca, 'though to the rest of the world he is the legitimate child of the King of Thessaly. Come, Rustique.'\n\nShe sauntered out of the hut with a smile on her face.\n\nLuca looked at Ayna and was about to speak when she flung herself at him, raining down her fists on his head and body. Hector stepped in to pull her off, just in time as she pulled Luca's dagger from its sheath and went to stab him. Hector grabbed her wrist and twisted it to make her drop the weapon. She pulled herself free and stormed from the hut.\n\n'You are dead to me,' were her parting words to Luca."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Two women were as good as their word following the meeting in the derelict stone hut between the Queen of Thessaly and Hector. Elena sent a large chest of money to the commander of the Catalan Company the next morning after Hector had stood down all mounted patrols around the city. The queen stipulated further payments would be conditional on the mercenaries abandoning the three small, fortified camps facing the entrances to the city. Hector duly complied whereupon further chests of money were sent to the Catalans, along with a vellum document signed by the king and queen and bearing the royal seal declaring that the Halmyros Valley now belonged to the Catalan Company in perpetuity. As the Duke of Athens had not paid the company since the beginning of the year, Hector felt no compunction to continue with the siege. His aim, indeed the aim of Roger de Flor and Bernat de Rocafort, had been to win a homeland for the mercenaries and their dependents. And now that objective had been achieved. When the last shipment of money arrived from Neopatras, he gave orders for the company to quit its camp and march east.\n\nThey did so to the sound of bells being rung inside the city as the citizens flocked to churches to give thanks to the queen and God, in that order, for delivering Neopatras from a terrible fate. The ruthless reputation of the Catalan Company was well known, not only for its battlefield prowess but also for its lack of pity towards civilians. The eviction of the Romans from Kallipolis and the Gallipoli Peninsula was the stuff of nightmares, as was the desolation inflicted on Thrace during the company's three-year occupation of Kallipolis. The inhabitants of Neopatras knew their army had been defeated on two separate occasions and their king had been severely wounded. They had been promised relief from the Empress Irene but many were sceptical. Her army had also been defeated by the Catalans so there was no reason to believe any soldiers she sent would prevail. They appeared to be doomed. Until the Queen of Thessaly had acted.\n\nElena Laskarina was a native of Thessaly before Empress Irene had taken pity on her after the death of her father, Count Laskarina, at the Battle of Apros, adopting her as a daughter. When she married Angelus Ducas Thessaly was joyous, but it was nothing compared to the eruption of relief and jubilation that followed her brokering a deal with the Catholic mercenaries. She had ventured from the city alone and talked with the leader of the apostates himself, and a few days later the mercenaries quit their camp and departed. No one knew where to but that was irrelevant. They were gone, the city was saved and Queen Elena was elevated to the status of a living saint.\n\nLuca trudged along with his head down as the company made its way east, heading to the valley of Halmyros, which was only a few days' march away via the northern coastline of the Malian Gulf. The mercenaries had money, a new home and everyone was in high spirits. Everyone except one individual. Ayna was true to her declaration that Luca was dead to her. Not only was he banished from their tent and their close circle of friends, but she had also forbidden him from seeing Sam, which he considered most cruel. He was reduced to sharing a tent with a group of young, single Almogavars, all of whom were delighted to have the Black Sheep in their company. Now he was marching beside his friends in Hector's division, the commander whistling as he led the company towards its new home. Behind him marched four thousand Almogavars, two and a half thousand horsemen and four thousand women, children and veterans. The summer sun shone down on dozens of Catalan banners fluttering in the breeze. Life was good, though not for Luca Baldi.\n\n'How is Ayna?' he asked Jordi beside him.\n\n'Still angry, Chana too.'\n\n'Chana? Why is she angry?'\n\n'She and Ayna are close, so when you betrayed Ayna you betrayed her as well.'\n\n'I did not betray Ayna,' insisted Luca.\n\n'You did have sex with the Queen of Thessaly, though.'\n\n'I was bewitched,' said Luca, 'I was helpless and under an enchantment.'\n\nJordi cast him a sceptical glance. 'Really?'\n\n'The queen is a bitch and a witch,' said Luca, 'who spits poison to ruin people's lives.'\n\n'No, only yours,' grinned Hector, eavesdropping.\n\nLuca ignored him. 'Will you speak to Ayna on my behalf?'\n\nJordi was hesitant. 'Emotions are still raw, Luca, but I will try.'\n\n'I could order her to take you back,' suggested Hector.\n\n'That will not work,' said Luca, 'she will only take Sam and leave the company if she is pushed.'\n\n'To go where?' scoffed Hector. 'We are in the middle of enemy territory and her homeland is far away. Perhaps she could take herself off to Neopatras so your son can meet his brother.'\n\n'You should not trust her, the Queen of Thessaly, I mean,' said Luca, changing the subject. 'She is malicious. After she had bewitched me, she warned me that if I ever stepped into her kingdom, she would kill me, and that goes for all of us.'\n\nHector shook his head. 'Still insisting you were bewitched? You remind me of a trial I attended in Sicily years ago. I was providing security and there was this man, a scrawny beggar like you. Anyway, he had raped this woman and then strangled her. The judges weren't bothered about the rape but murder is another matter altogether.\n\n'The accused insisted he had been bewitched and therefore was not responsible for his actions, which made no sense.'\n\n'In what way?' asked Romanus on Hector's right.\n\n'Well, if the woman had been a witch and had used magic, I doubt the spell included her being strangled at the end of it.'\n\n'What happened to him?' asked Luca.\n\n'They hanged him, naturally,' responded Hector.\n\n'Very cheering,' muttered Luca.\n\nBecause the company was still near Neopatras it moved slowly, barely making ten miles on the first day before making camp. Melek and Halil Ece's horsemen were riding far and wide to ensure the Queen of Thessaly did not send raiders after the Catalans, Hector taking heed of Luca's warning. But the soldiers of Thessaly were conspicuous by their absence and the fine weather, splendid scenery and the promise of a homeland raised spirits enormously. Many began to dream of a life free from war and battle, though those two things were never far away.\n\nOn the second day after lifting the siege of Neopatras, before the mercenaries and their families had finished their breakfast, the ruddy faced Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa, rode into the Catalan camp with a dozen riders, one of whom carried a large banner of alternating blue and yellow squares. Luca along with Jordi and Romanus were summoned to Hector's pavilion to become servants, Luca questioning them both about Ayna and Sam.\n\n'They are fine,' Romanus told him.\n\n'Did you speak to Ayna?' asked Luca.\n\nJordi avoided his eyes. 'She will not yield.'\n\n'Not yet, anyway,' said Romanus.\n\n'We will keep trying,' promised Jordi.\n\nThe Italian nobleman was in a prickly mood, drumming his fingers on the table in the pavilion as he waited for Hector to arrive. The commander of the company had summoned the three Almogavars to his tent but had been tardy when it came to meeting with the marquis. Luca poured wine into the marquis' cup. It was early but the Italian was clearly in the mood for drinking alcohol. When he finally arrived, Hector waved away Luca's offer of wine.\n\n'This is an unexpected pleasure, lord,' said Hector now seated opposite the marquis.\n\n'I was surprised not to find you before the walls of Neopatras, seeing as we are at war with Thessaly. But I assume you have heard, hence your quitting the siege.'\n\nHector's forehead creased into a frown. 'Heard what?'\n\n'The Duke of Athens is besieged in the Acropolis. An army landed on the island of Euboea, defeated the forces of Baron Boniface, captured Chalcis and then scattered the local forces sent to prevent it from crossing the narrow strait and reaching the mainland.'\n\nHector registered no surprise.\n\n'That is news indeed. But who leads this army?'\n\n'A Genoese noble by the name of Dario Spinola.'\n\n'So the queen did not lie,' muttered Hector.\n\nThere was a sharp intake of breath from Luca before the marquis could respond, prompting Hector and Albert to both look at him.\n\n'You will have to forgive this man, lord, he is an old friend of Dario Spinola.'\n\nThe marquis did not understand but he had no time to enquire further.\n\n'I need you to march south immediately to the relief of Athens.'\n\n'That will not be possible,' said Hector firmly, 'at least not until we have been paid our back-pay.'\n\nThe marquis could not believe his ears.\n\n'Did you not hear what I said? Athens is under siege. Your lord is in danger.'\n\n'He is not my lord, lord, he is my paymaster,' said Hector, 'there is a difference. Shall I explain what it is? Put simply, the Duke of Athens is our paymaster as long as he keeps paying us, which he has not done for half a year. When the money stops he becomes just another French nobleman.'\n\nAlbert slammed his fist down hard on the table, Hector not flinching or reacting. He had seen aristocratic petulance a hundred times.\n\n'In the name of God, man, have you no honour?'\n\nHector gave a nonchalant shrug. 'Neither honour or God puts food in the bellies of my men and their families. Honour does not buy weapons, armour and other necessities, and God cares neither way.'\n\nThe marquis drained his goblet of wine, clicked his fingers and pointed at it. Luca walked forward and refilled it. Albert breathed deeply to compose himself.\n\n'Very well, if I cannot appeal to your sense of honour, perhaps a more practical consideration might prompt you to action. If Athens falls, so does your hopes of land in Thessaly.'\n\nHector gave him a triumphal leer.\n\n'Allow me to update you, lord. We have reached an agreement with the Queen of Thessaly, who unlike your master has actually dipped into her coffers to pay us to lift the siege of her capital. What's more, she has given us land in her kingdom, signed and sealed and all legal. So you see, we care not if Athens is burnt to the ground.'\n\nThe marquis flung the goblet across the room.\n\n'You would accept the money of apostates?'\n\n'We are mercenaries, we accept money from anyone who employs us.'\n\n'You are truly godless,' growled Albert. 'I warn you now, if you turn your back on the Duke of Athens, you will make enemies of all the Frankish states in Greece.'\n\n'I'll take that chance,' replied Hector calmly.\n\nThe marquis stood. 'This insult will not be forgotten.'\n\n'I think it is best if you leave now, my lord, before you say something that I might not forget.'\n\nBeing unused to being spoken to in such a manner by an illiterate mercenary, the marquis was momentarily lost for words. But he regained his noble composure to look down his nose at Hector before storming out. The company's commander pointed at the three Almogavars.\n\n'Sit yourselves down and have some wine.'\n\nThey did so, filling cups and drinking from them. Hector leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.\n\n'The Queen of Thessaly was right and our old friend Dario Spinola has raised another army and this time has decided to invade the Duchy of Athens. If he succeeds in toppling the duke then we will have enemies to the north, the south, east and west. Not an enviable situation.'\n\n'Spinola is an ally of Empress Irene and Queen Elena,' said Luca.\n\n'We should march to the duke's relief,' suggested Jordi. 'He is our only ally in this part of the world.'\n\nHector said nothing for a few moments. He looked at the son of Sancho Rey.\n\n'He is not an ally,' said Hector. 'He is a paymaster, which is entirely different. You all know that the duke promised us land in Thessaly after we had fought on his behalf. Well, we now have our own land, given to us by the Queen of Thessaly herself.'\n\n'She will betray us,' said Luca. 'She wants us all dead.'\n\n'No, she wants you dead,' grinned Hector.\n\n'She will not rest with Luca's death,' said Romanus. 'She will come after all of us.'\n\nHector nodded. 'You are right, and the brutal fact is that wherever we end up, we will have to fight for it. This is the life of a mercenary. We have no friends aside from the ones we make in this camp. We have no allies and never will have. But if we have a homeland we can defend it and make it very difficult for our enemies to take it. And after a time, they will leave us alone because it will be too costly for them to wage war against us.'\n\n'We might all be dead by then,' said Luca.\n\n'We might all be dead tomorrow,' stated Hector bluntly. 'Let me tell you all something. We have enjoyed a string of almost uninterrupted victories, aside from the wrestling match in the wheat fields near Thessalonica, which I entirely accept the blame for.'\n\n'We killed many of the enemy that day,' boasted Romanus.\n\n'But it does not alter the fact that tomorrow the enemy might kill more of us than he suffers himself. Nothing is guaranteed in this life. All of you are relative newcomers to the company, though perhaps Jordi might remember the times when we nearly starved to death in Sicily during the long war against the French and their allies.'\n\n'I remember being cold and wet more,' said Jordi.\n\n'There were many times when we went without pay,' continued Hector, 'and because the war was a long one there was little or no plunder to be had. So we went without food often for days at a time.'\n\n'The land we are going to is fertile and rich,' said Luca, 'I remember it from last year.'\n\n'But land needs to be worked, which is why the locals will not be evicted from their homes and farms. We need them and will work with them,' stated Hector.\n\n'We will be their guardians,' smiled Luca.\n\nHector nodded. 'Yes we will, and there will be no plundering or raping and certainly no slave-taking. Halil Ece will have to find a new hobby.'\n\nHalil Ece, the exiled Turkish warlord, had proved a great asset on the battlefield but had continued to capture civilians and sell them to slave traders when the company had left Gallipoli and headed west and then south through Macedonia and Thessaly. Hector and the other captains had turned a blind eye to his activities because his prowess on the battlefield, his diligence in conducting scouting patrols and his network of slave traders that provided intelligence regarding enemy activities far outweighed the seizing of a few civilians. And it was one such slaver who passed on information that diverted the company from its march east. There was a healthy slave market in Thessalonica and from the city came news that Empress Irene had assembled an army of Romans and Bulgarians to ride to the aid of Neopatras. That the city was no longer besieged had not reached Thessalonica but in any case the army had already departed the city's Golden Gate after being first blessed in the agora by the metropolitan of the Orthodox Church. It was made up entirely of horsemen, which meant it would arrive in the region of Neopatras in four or five days, after which it would head east to catch up and destroy the Catalan Company before it reached Halmyros.\n\nA council of war was convened as soon as news reached camp, Hector taking the opportunity to explain to the other captains and the commanders of horsemen why he chose not to agree to march south to Athens to relieve the beleaguered duke. Once more Luca and his two friends served wine to the Almogavars and Alfonso and water to Melek and Halil Ece, the two Muslims deciding it was a day for abstinence.\n\n'Did your sources inform you how large this army of horsemen that recently left Thessalonica was?' asked Hector.\n\nHalil Ece made an expansive gesture with his arms.\n\n'Large enough to make the whole world tremble, effendi .'\n\n'Which means not that large,' sniffed Xavi. 'In my experience the more gossip is passed from person to person the larger the subject of that gossip becomes.'\n\nHalil Ece gave him a withering look.\n\n'It is not gossip, it is intelligence.'\n\n'They will ride to Neopatras first,' said Alfonso, 'and then follow the churned up ground to find us.'\n\n'Perhaps we should march back to the city and lie in wait for them,' suggested Ferran.\n\n'Before laying siege to Neopatras once again,' added Miquel.\n\nHalil Ece turned to Luca standing behind him with a wine jug.\n\n'I have heard you are the father of the new-born child of Queen Elena of Thessaly.'\n\nLuca was mortified but before he could answer the four Almogavars and Alfonso banged their fists on the table they sat round in acclaim. Luca's shame multiplied.\n\n'Is this true, Black Sheep?' asked Melek, a glint of admiration in his eyes.\n\n'No,' said Luca firmly.\n\nBut Halil Ece would not let the matter drop.\n\n'My daughter tells me the queen herself declared you to be the father of her child. She further informs me Ayna is very angry and has cast you out of the family home.'\n\n'She will take you back, my friend,' promised Melek. 'Islam preaches forgiveness.'\n\n'I would not be so sure,' said Halil Ece. 'Remember that Ayna was a member of the ghazi army, whose members were ruled by strict Islamic teachings. The punishment for fornication between an unmarried man and an unmarried woman is one hundred lashes.'\n\nLuca blinked in surprise.\n\n'However, for a man to be convicted of a crime there has to four credible Muslim witnesses to the act,' Halil Ece reassured him, 'which I assume were not present when you impregnated the queen.'\n\n'I like that word,' said Hector.\n\nLuca remembered the eunuch, Rustique, being present in the bedroom when Queen Elena took advantage of him.\n\n'No,' he said quietly.\n\n'Talking of the queen,' said Xavi, 'she will reinforce the relief force from Thessalonica with her own soldiers when it arrives.'\n\nHector took a gulp of wine.\n\n'You are right, of course. Notwithstanding our agreement with the young queen, she will want to see us destroyed.'\n\n'Even though she and her king signed an agreement giving us lands?' asked Ferran.\n\n'Even then,' answered Hector. 'Which is why we must allow her, or rather her husband, to join with the relief force when it arrives at Neopatras. We inflict a further defeat on the army of Thessaly and we won't have to face it again, at least for a long time.'\n\n'What about Dario Spinola and his army?' asked Melek.\n\n'He's preoccupied besieging Athens at the moment,' replied Hector, 'which is why we are not marching to its relief. If we did we could be in a situation where we have Spinola ahead of us and the troops of Empress Irene and the Queen of Thessaly behind us, which I do not desire.'\n\n'One more thing you should know,' Halil Ece said to Hector. 'The majority of the horsemen in Dario Spinola's army are Mongols.'\n\nAside from Melek, who was impressed and alarmed at the same time, blank faces stared back at him.\n\n'They are fierce warriors,' continued Halil Ece, 'who have tasted nothing but success on the battlefield. They must be treated with the utmost respect and caution.'\n\n'We never underestimate our enemies,' Hector reassured him.\n\n'The King of Thessaly must be dead,' opined Miquel, changing the subject. 'Why else would his queen be dealing with matters of politics and strategy?'\n\n'This part of the world is all upside down,' said Hector. 'The men wear the dresses and the women have the balls. Why else would their leaders allow men with no balls to hold important positions?'\n\n'I have heard there was once a Roman emperor who was a eunuch,' said Melek, 'imagine that.'\n\n'I prefer not to,' grunted Hector. 'To more practical matters. How many Romans are on the way?'\n\n'Though it makes the earth tremble,' answered Halil Ece, 'even with the Bulgarians I doubt it numbers more than ten thousand.'\n\n'That is a lot of horsemen,' said Xavi.\n\n'Plus perhaps another thousand or so when the horsemen of Thessaly join them,' remarked Ferran.\n\n'We've fought longer odds,' said Hector. 'But this time I want to achieve a crushing victory to send a message to Empress Irene and Queen Elena that it is too costly to fight the Catalan Company.'\n\n'What do you have in mind?' asked Miquel.\n\n'I will tell you on the march. Give the order to strike camp. We are heading south.'\n\nAfter the meeting Luca joined Jordi and Romanus as they made their way back to their families, around them the bustle and noise of tents being dismantled, horses and mules being hitched to carts and supplies being loaded into the backs of the vehicles. It appeared wholly chaotic and disorganised but in reality was a smooth operation. The company had spent weeks on the road the previous year on its march from Kallipolis to the Duchy of Athens, during which the erection and dismantling of tents became second nature. But it would still take upwards of two hours before the whole company was on the road, to where no one yet knew.\n\nSam ran up to Luca who scooped him up into his arms. The boy hugged his father tightly and Jordi's twins also ran up to the Almogavars when they appeared. Ayna, Chana and Monica were already dismantling the tent they shared, the portly Ertan taking down his somewhat smaller tent. They all stopped when they saw Luca, Ertan casting nervous glances at Ayna. Chana and Monica avoided Luca's eyes as he walked up to Ayna, who grabbed Sam from his embrace.\n\n'I would talk with you,' he said.\n\n'I have nothing to say to you, adulterer.'\n\nStrictly speaking her accusation was incorrect because they were not married, but everyone knew what she meant.\n\n'Can we talk in private?' he asked.\n\n'In private?' she shouted. 'The whole world knows you slept with the Queen of Thessaly and fathered a child with her.'\n\n'I was bewitched,' he pleaded.\n\nShe gently put Sam down before striking Luca hard on the cheek with the back of her hand.\n\n'Liar!'\n\nSam began crying and hid his face in his mother's leggings. She cradled his head in a soothing manner. But her stare at Luca was cold and unyielding.\n\n'Leave us,' she hissed, 'there is no place for you here.'\n\n'Yes, go,' said Anicius.\n\nThe boy was growing into an angry teenager. Luca ignored him.\n\n'What will it take for you to forgive me?' he asked Ayna.\n\n'A signed confession from the Queen of Thessaly that she lied about you fathering her child,' she shot back.\n\nJordi laughed at such a nonsensical idea but Chana froze him with a glare.\n\n'Does not your religion teach forgiveness?' Luca asked.\n\n'Yes, but I am weak and cannot forgive you for your great betrayal. I know I will pay for my sin in the afterlife, but may Allah forgive me I cannot find it in my heart to forgive. I could perhaps forgive you sleeping with the queen, for you were a prisoner at the time. But you kept your betrayal as a secret and it would still remain hidden were it not for the fact that Allah brought about events to reveal your sin to the whole world.'\n\nLuca thought the idea a foreign god engineering a siege of a city just to reveal to Ayna he had had sex with another woman far-fetched, but he had no wish to ridicule her faith.\n\n'I will go,' he said softly, 'but I say this. If Allah has great power to bring about a siege and direct the fate of tens of thousands just to reveal the truth to you, then he also has the power to see into my heart and know the Queen of Thessaly took advantage of me. Am I ashamed of what I did? Yes. Should I have told you? Yes. I am weak, I freely admit it. But I will never stop loving you.'\n\nHe turned and sloped off.\n\n'Yes, weak,' said Anicius, earning him a painful cuff on the ear from Jordi.\n\nTwo hours later the company was on the road south heading for the Marquisate of Bodonitsa."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "The sweat was pouring off Luca but he continued to dig the earth with his shovel \u2013 a long, hardened wooden pole with a flat, sharpened iron head. He was totally focused on his task, blotting out all thoughts of Aya's rejection of him, for to dwell on the matter would plunge him into the pit of despair. The sun was roasting the pass at Thermopylae and the thousands of men digging earth to create a huge square camp at the heavily forested base of Mount Kallidromos. In ancient times the pass was extremely narrow and could be held with a handful of troops, as the Spartans had proved against the might of the Persian Empire. But that was seventeen hundred years ago and since then sediments from the Sperchios River had resulted in significant infilling of the Malian Gulf. As a result, the narrowed point of the pass was now three-quarters of a mile wide.\n\nOver a thousand men dug earth on each side of a huge square to create the ditch and rampart that would surround the camp, the spoil from the ditch being used to create the rampart behind it. It was the middle of summer now and the heat was unforgiving. Hector had ordered the ditch to be deeper than usual and the rampart higher to prepare for the great army of horsemen everyone knew was coming. Hector sent a letter to the Marquis of Bodonitsa informing him an army of Romans and Bulgarians was on its way and invited the French nobleman to join him in the pass to face the oncoming tide. Hector received no reply to his missive, Melek's patrols of horse archers informing him the marquis had summoned his subjects to his castle a few miles away, along with their food and livestock, after which the gates of the stronghold were firmly shut. The Catalan Company was on its own.\n\n'So much for the marquis marching to the relief of Athens,' sniffed Hector.\n\nThe stark mountain above the camp seemed to symbolise the daunting odds the company faced against a seemingly inexhaustible number of enemies as it struggled to survive in a land where it had no friends or allies, and no place of sanctuary. The document signed by the King and Queen of Thessaly was not worth the material it was written on. It did not matter. If the company still existed after the coming battle, it would return to Neopatras, lay siege to the city and starve it into submission. And after it had surrendered all the citizens would be put to the sword. Hector had promised Luca he would be the one to slit Queen Elena's throat, but before he did so he would force the witch to admit to Ayna that she had lied about her son's parentage. But all this would only happen if the company defeated the large army of Romans and Bulgarians heading its way.\n\nLuca and thousands of others hacked at the soil, desperate to finish the task before the enemy arrived. He cared not if he lived or died but was determined to sell his life dearly to give Ayna and Sam the best chance of surviving. Even in death he could still help them.\n\nHe and the others cast glances to the west between bouts of digging, expecting to see Muslim horse archers galloping towards them and bringing news of the enemy's arrival. The pass actually ran west to east rather than north to south, but regardless of the points of the compass any army invading the Duchy of Athens would have to travel through it. There was no way around it, which is why Hector had chosen it for the company's stand against the Romans and Bulgarians. Anyone holding the pass could not easily be outflanked, though as the Persians had proved centuries before the Anopaea trail was the pass' Achilles' heel. But Hector knew horsemen could not traverse the trail, which meant the battle would be decided in the pass itself. From the base of the mountain on the southern side of the pass to the shore of the gulf in the north was a distance of just over thirteen hundred yards. When the camp was completed it would reduce that distance by five hundred yards, leaving eight hundred yards of flat, open ground through which an army of horsemen could ride with ease. An army could infiltrate the pass leading to the Gravia Valley, but that would mean leaving the Catalan Company unmolested in the rear.\n\nMen, women and children helped dig the ditch and rampart around the camp, which was completed in less than a day. The company was placed on high alert that night for a surprise attack mounted by Alan mercenaries, the deadly enemies of the Catalans due to the latter killing the traitorous Arabates, the Alan leader. Hector knew the Romans did not fight at night but the same could not be said for the Alans, who were riding with the Bulgarians, or so Halil Ece was informed by his slave-trading contacts.\n\n'What was she like?'\n\nLuca glanced at Jordi beside him, both of them standing sentry on the camp's rampart along with hundreds of other Almogavars.\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Queen Elena, when you had sex with her, I mean?'\n\nLuca exhaled angrily.\n\n'I do not wish to talk about it.'\n\n'Why didn't you tell me?'\n\nLuca's head dropped. 'I was ashamed, truth be told.'\n\n'If you get the chance will you kill her, the queen, I mean?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'What about her child?' said Jordi.\n\n'What child?'\n\n'Your son?'\n\n'He is not my son,' hissed Luca. 'Anyway, it is not worth thinking about, not with an army on the way here. We might all be dead soon and then it is all irrelevant.'\n\n'I thought it would be different,' reflected Jordi. 'I thought after we captured Kallipolis we would make the city our home. But here we are, in another country fighting for our survival once more. Perhaps Father Ramon was right and we are all doomed.'\n\n'Why, because he disapproved of Chana and Ayna? He is a traitor and coward and if I ever meet him again I am going to kill him.'\n\n'There is a long queue for that honour, my friend.'\n\nLuca tightened the grip on his spear. He found solace in thinking about the people he was going to kill. It stopped him from being melancholy when his mind drifted back to Ayna and Sam, both in the same camp but separated from him by an invisible chasm that seemed to widen by the day.\n\nHector gambled the enemy would arrive at the pass three days after his company, but his estimate was far too optimistic."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "The combined Roman-Bulgarian army was co-commanded by Master John and Michael Cosses, Count of Opsikion, and a traditionalist. Andronicus himself had selected the count as a restraining influence on the Bulgarians. And though Empress Irene had impressed upon them both the need for urgency, both were professional soldiers who ensured their army marched with discipline and adequate supplies, the latter assuming great importance as they would be marching through Roman territory before crossing into Thessaly. A Roman army composed of foot and horse covered an average of ten miles a day; a force of wholly mounted troops exceeded that distance by only five miles a day. The army may have been wholly horsemen but it was accompanied by a large baggage train of mules, packhorses and wagons to carry its tents, food and equipment.\n\nMichael Cosses and Master John were representing the emperor so they travelled in style, each one sleeping in a scarlet silk pavilion and attended by a small army of kortinaroi \u2013 tent attendants \u2013 as well as priests and monks who blessed the generals and their troops and administered daily prayers, once in the morning, at sunrise, and once in the evening after dinner. It was very much a godly army about God's business. Holy icons were positioned in the generals' pavilions and were paraded before the troops to steel their resolve, monks with processional crosses marching in front of the army for at least an hour every day after the tents and pavilions had been stowed on carts and mules, before riding for the rest of the day on mules. It was all very elaborate and pious and slowed the army's rate of advance to half the distance an Almogavar division could cover in a day on foot. But then, the Almogavars were godless heathens who knew nothing about piety or religion.\n\nThe core of the army was a thousand mounted lancers provided by Emperor Andronicus himself, all attired in blue long-sleeved tunics, open-faced helmets and short-sleeved mail corselets. In addition to their lances they carried swords and maces and almond-shaped shields painted yellow with a black double-headed eagle motif. The four thousand horse archers under the command of Master John were excellent soldiers, all well-trained and equipped with composite bows and sabres. Each rider wore a long green coat split at the waist for ease of movement in the saddle, with two quivers of arrows and a sabre for close protection. The Cumans wore no armour or head protection aside from a soft hat, their attire and recurve bows more suited to hit-and-run battles on dry, flat plains rather than close-quarter m\u00eal\u00e9es. The Cuman recurve bow was an efficient instrument, being able to store more energy and deliver it more efficiently than an equivalent straight-limbed bow, thereby increasing the speed and power of the arrow it shot.\n\nThe Bulgarians were a mixture of the very good and the very bad. True to his word the tsar had sent five thousand soldiers to help Empress Irene destroy the Catalan Company, though only a thousand were worthy of the word 'soldier'. They were knights commanded by a boyar named Dragomir, a surly, uncommunicative individual who obviously had no wish to be fighting beside the Romans, that he had fought in a series of border battles just a few years before. But his knights were magnificent, every one of them protected by a helmet, mail aventail to cover the neck, cuirasses of lamellar armour and long, straight-sided triangular shields. Each rider was uniformed in a red tunic and leggings and armed with a lance, sword, one-handed axe and a dagger.\n\nThe bulk of the Bulgarian forces comprised four thousand Alan mercenaries, a rabble of horsemen who were united by their hatred of the Catalans and the Almogavars in particular, who had killed their popular leader Arabates. They were undoubtedly the most highly motivated troops in the combined army, but their enthusiasm was watered down by their ill-discipline. Dressed in flamboyant long yellow coats and soft brown hats, they were armed with composite bows and sabres. They were a law unto themselves, made worse by the fact that Dragomir showed no inclination to impose any form of control over them. When they reached the city of Neopatras, no longer besieged by the Catalans, Michael Cosses went to great lengths to ensure they were kept out of the capital of Thessaly.\n\nThe King of Thessaly was still too ill to ride a horse, but he did reinforce the relief army with five hundred light horsemen and two hundred heavy horsemen, all attired in bright yellow uniforms but only the heavy horsemen being equipped with body armour. The addition of the king's horsemen to the army brought its number of soldiers up to nearly eleven thousand troops.\n\nNot wanting to linger in the vicinity of Neopatras, not least because the Alans might resort to plundering at any moment, Michael Cosses and Master John left the city the day after arriving to pursue the Catalan Company, which the scouts of Angelus Ducas informed them had diverted from its destination of Halmyros to turn south towards the Duchy of Athens. This made sense as the company was an ally of the Catholic lord currently besieged in Athens by the friend of Empress Irene, Dario Spinola.\n\nThe army was a blaze of different colours, as were the banners fluttering behind the generals and their senior officers. The largest was the Roman imperial flag \u2013 a yellow standard with a black, crowned double-headed eagle. But the most precious banner among the standards was the 'flag of the empire' presented to Michael Cosses by Emperor Andronicus himself. It was a quartered flag with two quarters white with a red cross and the other two quarters red with yellow crosses. On the red backgrounds surrounding the yellow crosses were Greek letter 'B's, forming the initial letters of the motto of the Palaiologos family, which translated as 'King of Kings, ruling over kings'.\n\nThe banner of Boyar Dragomir was a red bull on a white background, the bull being the symbol of the Terter dynasty, the royal house that ruled Bulgaria. The last sigil was that of Thessaly, a red banner with a yellow cross, each of its quarters around the cross containing a yellow chain link, which was entirely appropriate as the soldiers of King Angelus were one of the weakest links in the army's chain, the other being the Alans.\n\nThe army sent to destroy the Catalan Company made camp ten miles to the west of Thermopylae, Melek's scouts having shadowed it when it left Neopatras. It presented an impressive sight, the dozens of yellow, red, and white banners emblazoned with crosses, eagles and bulls' heads adding to the different-coloured uniforms of the horsemen drawn from the Roman Empire, Thessaly, and Bulgaria. The column of horsemen, mules and wagons stretched over many miles, like a giant multi-coloured snake slithering its way across the plain, intent on swallowing the whole Catalan Company.\n\nMichael Cosses removed his helmet and dabbed his sweat-beaded brow with a cloth. He had forgotten how hot Greece could be in the summer. It was approaching midday and the sun was directly overhead in a piercing blue sky filled with a sparse number of white puffy clouds. He gazed to the east to where the Catalan camp was positioned at the foot of Mount Kallidromos. To the left of the camp was a line of horsemen extending all the way to the blue waters of the Malian Gulf. A sardonic smile creased the count's lips.\n\n'It is obviously a trap. They are inviting us to attack them before springing a surprise, which will not be to our liking.'\n\n'I am apt to agree,' nodded Master John.\n\nThe sour-faced Dragomir called forward one of the Alan officers.\n\n'Send some of your men forward to reconnoitre the enemy.'\n\nThe bearded rider turned his horse and rode back to where the Alans were grouped in a disorganised mob. Moments later four of them galloped forward down the pass. The Alans did not get too close to the Catalan horsemen or their camp before wheeling around and riding back to the three generals and their stand of banners. One of the Alans rode up to Dragomir and saluted.\n\n'The Almogavars are on the camp's ramparts with their banners, lord, standing behind the stakes planted on the top.'\n\nDragomir turned to Count Michael.\n\n'I thought you said these Catalans were great soldiers. Do they think they are safe on top of their mud wall?'\n\n'We should let them come to us, my lord,' suggested Michael, 'then we can defeat their horsemen before dealing with their foot soldiers. They should not be underestimated.'\n\n'I concur, count,' said Master John.\n\nDragomir puffed out his cheeks.\n\n'I grow tired of hearing about these Catalans. I grow tired of your whining, count.'\n\nMaster John's jaw dropped in astonishment. Count Michael retained his composure.\n\n'Your empress opened her legs to convince my master, the Tsar of Bulgaria, to provide her with soldiers so she could destroy the Catalans,' said Dragomir, 'and I was the unlucky one selected by the tsar to command the soldiers promised to Empress Irene.'\n\n'I demand an apology,' said Count Michael calmly.\n\nDragomir waved a dismissive hand at him before digging his spurs into the flanks of his horse. The beast broke into a trot and then a canter, the Bulgarian general's bodyguard closing up on him as he wheeled right to where the Alans sat impatiently on their horses.\n\n'You want to avenge Arabates?' he called to their leaders. 'Then follow me.'\n\n'This is folly,' said Master John to Count Michael.\n\n'Folly, indeed,' agreed the count, 'but the die is cast and we must play our part or else be damned forever as cowards.'\n\nHow easy it must have seemed to Dragomir who saw the camp on the right as he looked down the pass and the Catalan horsemen in the centre and on the left. All that was required was to unleash his Alans against the camp to shoot at the Almogavars manning its ramparts while he and his heavy horsemen charged the enemy riders, scattering them or forcing them to retreat. It made no difference either way because an assault would drive a wedge between the Almogavars and non-combatants in the camp and the Catalan horsemen in the pass. And a divided enemy quickly became a defeated enemy.\n\nHe drew his sword and cantered forward, behind him a thousand Bulgarian heavy horsemen following, on his right thousands of whooping and hollering Alans heading for the camp. They would not try to cross the ditch and ride up the rampart, at least not until they had shot the Almogavars to pieces. But they would shoot arrows into the camp from all directions after they had killed the Almogavars to rain death down on the non-combatants sheltering behind the ramparts.\n\nDragomir heard bugle calls and knew the Romans were joining his charge. They had no choice; Count Michael and the ridiculously named Master John were sticklers when it came to honour and honour demanded they join the fray. Dragomir smiled when he saw green-uniformed horse archers galloping ahead of him and his heavy horsemen. Master John had sent some of his four thousand riders to clear a path for the Bulgarian knights, though Dragomir suspected it was to make it easier for Count Michael and his lancers now cantering towards the Catalan horsemen. He knew the enemy would not remain stationary but would either charge or turn and run.\n\nThey chose the latter."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "Luca was standing in the front rank of Hector's division, which was deployed in a column behind him. On his left was Jordi, the space to his right was empty because Hector himself was a few yards ahead at the treeline, observing the enemy horsemen ride past him towards the camp a few hundred paces to the right of where he was standing. He turned and ran back to his division, his eyes alive with excitement. He slapped Romanus hard on the arm and thumped Luca in the chest.\n\n'So far, so good.'\n\nFour thousand Almogavars were concealed among the pines that blanketed the lower slopes of the mountain, a short distance from the Anopaea trail that the Persian Immortals had used to outflank the Spartans defending the pass seventeen hundred years before. Hector had remembered the trail when the company had camped in the pass on its way to Athens the previous year, had reconnoitred the forest on the lower slopes of the mountain and had led the Almogavars along the trail the Immortals had used all those centuries before. And just as the Immortals had sprung a nasty surprise on the Spartans, so would he do the same to the Romans and Bulgarians.\n\nLuca heard the rumble of horses' hooves on the dry ground and heard the shouts and whoops of men riding alongside the forest, ignoring the trees as they headed for the Catalan camp, its ramparts decorated with dozens of banners of alternating horizontal red and yellow stripes.\n\nLuca wanted to move but Hector showed no signs of giving the order. As the minutes passed he and hundreds of other chafed at the bit. He stared unblinkingly at Hector, but the company commander was as cool as ice. Then Luca heard many cracks like a thousand woodpeckers going to work and he saw Hector smile before blowing the whistle hanging around his neck. Hector led the four divisions into the open, each one deployed side by side among the trees to facilitate their speedy deployment in the pass.\n\nSpeed.\n\nOne word that encapsulated the Almogavars on the battlefield. Actual speed when it came to marching and charging, and agility when it came to reacting to enemy movements. And now Hector's division raced across the ground to reach the shoreline of the Malian Gulf, Luca and a thousand others busting a gut to reach the northern side of the pass. Every Almogavar in every division knew what he had to do. They had been training incessantly to run from the trees, halt and face right to form an unbroken battle line across the pass. But before they did so each division would divide into two parts, each one of two files numbering two hundred and fifty men apiece, one moving ahead and one falling in behind, so that when the division halted and faced right it would become a unit of two ranks, each rank numbering five hundred men. In this way the four Almogavar divisions formed an unbroken line across the pass. But it was a very thin line and one that could be easily pierced by a large body of disciplined horsemen. The great gamble was about to begin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Four thousand Alans and two thousand Cumans swarmed around the Catalan camp, unleashing volley after volley of arrows at the Almogavars standing behind wooden stakes on the ramparts. Thousands of arrows hissed through the air to strike individual Almogavars, knocking them down along with their banners. And then the horse archers went to work shooting arrows on high trajectories so they would fall among the tents and carts inside the camp. They emptied their quivers in an orgy of wild shooting after the hated Almogavars had been killed, raising their bows in triumph when their quivers held no more missiles. And then their leaders marshalled them into groups to join the heavy horsemen who had ridden past the camp in pursuit of the fleeing Catalan horsemen. None bothered to attempt to force an entry to the camp, which was full of women, children and old men. They could be rounded up and dealt with after the battle was over, those still alive after being showered with arrows.\n\nAs soon as they had seen the opposition horsemen approaching, Melek and Halil Ece had given the command for their horse archers to retreat east along the pass. They numbered six hundred riders in total and they were under strict orders not to engage the enemy. They were the bait to entice the enemy horsemen into charging. So the Muslim horse archers wheeled about and cantered away from camp, which was in the process of being surrounded by enemy horse archers. A few arrows thudded into the ground to encourage them on their way, shot by the screen of Master John's horse archers in front of two thousand Roman and Bulgarian heavy horsemen that had now lowered their lances in anticipation of an easy victory.\n\nEntirely focused on the paltry number of Catalan horsemen in front of them, they failed to notice the fifteen hundred mailed lancers deployed a few hundred paces to the east of the Catalan camp, who now also lowered their lances after multiple trumpet blasts ordered them to charge into the right flank of the horsemen of Count Michael Cosses, Dragomir and Master John. Not all the Catalan lancers assaulted the enemy heavy horsemen, Alfonso ordering around a fifth to divert left to attack the Alan horse archers who were sweeping around the eastern side of the camp. The horse archers were wholly absorbed in shooting arrows at the Almogavars on the ramparts, only realising there were enemy horsemen among them when Catalan lances and swords were knocking them from their saddles.\n\nA horse archer can be a deadly effective soldier on the battlefield, his mobility and long-range missile power able to wreak havoc on enemy horsemen and foot soldiers. But in a close-quarter m\u00eal\u00e9e all the things that made him effective were nullified and he became a lightly armed man without armour and helmet sitting on a horse, who can easily be killed by a foe wearing armour and a helmet wielding a lance and sword. And so it proved. The five hundred Catalans cut a swathe of destruction through the Alans.\n\nThe other thousand mailed Catalan horsemen slammed into the Bulgarian knights and Roman lancers to bring their pursuit of the Muslim horse archers to a shuddering halt. Cuman horse archers who were caught up in what soon became a huge, swirling m\u00eal\u00e9e were quickly skewered on the end of Catalan lances, and then the air was filled with a cacophony of clicking sounds as horsemen went to work with swords, axes and maces. The Catalan Company had the enemy by the tail but the beast they held was a ferocious one and the cream of Bulgarian and Roman chivalry was not about to give Alfonso's horsemen an easy victory. Melek and Halil Ece ordered their horse archers to wheel about and ride back to the m\u00eal\u00e9e to give what assistance they could. And on the other side of the cauldron of men on horseback hacking at each other, four thousand Almogavars were racing to seal the gap between the camp and the shoreline.\n\n'Move like the devil himself is chasing you but never lose your discipline.'\n\nLuca heard Hector's voice in his head as he ran across the ground towards the shimmering blue waters of the Malian Gulf. Hector's division was in the vanguard, followed by the divisions of Xavi, Ferran and Miquel in that order. Miquel's men had the shortest distance to cover once they exited the trees, Hector's the furthest. Over the preceding days the Almogavars had practised the drill many times. Run to the predesignated markers \u2013 stones on the ground painted white \u2013 halt and turn right so that two files became two ranks.\n\nThe clash of horsemen gave the Almogavars time to deploy into position, Luca and Jordi halting at the sandy shoreline before facing right, Jordi being the last in a long line that stretched from the water to edge of the camp, a camp that had been peppered with tens of thousands of arrows by the Alans and Cumans. A camp that was protected by hundreds of scarecrows. Sacks stuffed with foliage nailed to wooden posts with a helmet shoved on top, with real spears tied to the sacks so it appeared Almogavars were manning the ramparts, the addition of red and yellow banners on the ramparts adding to the illusion. The Alans and Cumans had done a commendable job in shooting the scarecrows to pieces so there were none left standing on the ramparts. But now they were out of arrows and the real Almogavars had cut off their retreat. Four divisions now filled the gap between the camp and the gulf.\n\n'Christ.'\n\nLuca heard Jordi's voice and agreed with his profanity. In front of them thousands of horsemen were doing battle, the sun reflecting off thousands of sword blades, helmets and armour to create a dazzling display of brilliance that was at the same time impressive and intimidating. Luca could only stand and gape at what appeared to be a huge brawl in the middle of the pass. And above the chaos could be heard shouts, screams and the squeals of wounded horses. Their task was to form a barrier to prevent the enemy horsemen escaping, Hector having gambled his ruse of planting scarecrows on the camp's ramparts would exhaust the enemy's supply of arrows. It had worked with the Alans well enough, who had emptied their quivers in their thirst to kill the hated Almogavars. Now it was up to Alfonso's horsemen and the Muslim horse archers to herd the enemy horsemen towards the waters of the gulf where they would hopefully drown."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Michael Cosses had seen enough. He sat on his stallion with sword in hand, next to him a concerned Master John, behind them both signallers and bodyguards, the latter tasked with protecting the sacred banners as well as the generals. The count knew the Catalans had wanted him and his men to charge down the pass as part of a trap they would spring, which is why he was determined not to dance to their tune. Only for General Dragomir to ignore the blatantly obvious and play into the enemy's hands. The result was the chaos surrounding him, which if not addressed quickly would surely see the destruction of the emperor's army.\n\n'It is time to retire, lord,' he said to Master John.\n\n'I agree,' replied the Cuman, turning to the signallers. 'Sound retreat.'\n\nThe signallers sounded the command on their trumpets again and again, small groups of green- and blue-uniformed horsemen making their way to the two Roman banners in the midst of the battle, hacking at Catalans trying to impede their progress. Cuman horse archers, those who had not been committed to the wild shooting against the camp, rode forward and helped to create a path to the stand of banners.\n\nArrows hissed through the air and they were almost all Cuman. Melek and Halil had returned to the fray but they were unwilling to plunge their unarmoured riders into the m\u00eal\u00e9e out of fear they would be cut down by enemy swords and lances. So they remained on the periphery of the battle, shooting at targets as and when they presented themselves. In the m\u00eal\u00e9e itself, meanwhile, the Romans were withdrawing with some aplomb.\n\nCount Michael observed the line of Almogavars in front of him, around three hundred paces away. He smiled grimly.\n\n'We hit them in the centre of their line. I will need your horse archers, lord,' he said to Master John beside him.\n\n'And you shall have them.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Luca waited for the command to attack, gripping his spear in his left hand, leaving his right free to pluck javelins from the quiver on his back. But it was horsemen who attacked the Almogavars first, a great mass of them suddenly leaving the battle to head for the centre point of the Almogavar battle line.\n\n'Oh, shit.'\n\nHe nodded in response to Jordi's words, observing arrows being shot from the vanguard of the enemy horsemen directed at the centre of the Almogavar line. Then he heard sharp whistle blasts to order him and the others to attack. The horsemen would break the battle line, either that or the officers and sergeants in their path would take the decision to move out of their way. It would be easy to do so because each division was arrayed in two ranks so moving aside would be relatively straightforward. A horse will not run at a solid object such as a wall or a wall of spears. But horse archers can reduce a wall of spears to a line of offal very quickly and so it proved now.\n\nThe horsemen struck the point between Xavi and Ferran's division, the formations parting but not before a hundred Almogavars had been killed by arrows. The outermost divisions \u2013 Hector's and Miquel's \u2013 wheeled inwards to hurl javelins at the riders galloping west back to their camp some ten miles away, the missiles being aimed at horses to bring down the beasts and throw their riders. Then the Almogavars were on them, stabbing them with their spears before they could get up.\n\nHector's division attacked the flank of the fleeing mass of horsemen, Luca and Jordi on the end of a long line that wheeled inwards like a door on its hinges. Luca's eye was drawn to a rider on the magnificent black stallion draped in a yellow saddlecloth with black eagles in the corners, on its back a man in a glimmering steel lamellar cuirass and burnished helmet decorated with a red plume. The rider had halted his horse and was urging the fleeing Romans and Cumans to hurry, and as he did so he made himself an inviting target. For a split-second Luca felt remorse at having to slay such a splendid animal but then his training took over and he plucked a javelin from his quiver and hurled it at the horse. The missile struck the animal in the flank, causing it to shriek in pain and collapse on the ground, throwing its rider.\n\nJordi jumped over the dying horse and gripped his spear with both hands, ready to plunge its steel point into the thrown rider, who was now helmetless after the shock of the fall. Jordi raised his spear and then froze. The dazed Count Michael Cosses was at his feet, his sword beyond reach and his right foot pinned beneath his wounded horse. Luca was now beside Jordi and stared in disbelief at the Roman nobleman. Jordi withdrew his spear and offered the count his hand.\n\n'Have no fear, lord, you are quite safe.'\n\n'It is good to see you again, lord,' smiled Luca.\n\nAnd so it was that Jordi Rey and Luca Baldi captured Count Michael Cosses at the Battle of Thermopylae on a blistering hot summer's day in northern Greece."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "As a race Catalans have long memories. As a mercenary company they did not forget their friends and Michael Cosses, Count of Opsikion, was regarded as a friend of the Catalans. He may have been co-commander of the army Emperor Andronicus had despatched to Thessalonica to join with Bulgarian forces and then march south to destroy the mercenaries, but that was his job. The Catalans remembered the count fondly from the time they first arrived in the Roman Empire. It had been the count who had provided them with homes during their first, terrible winter in the empire when they lived side by side with the count's civilians on the Artake Peninsula. The count treated the leaders of the company with great respect, and the idea was mooted that Jordi Rey should marry his daughter to cement the alliance between the Romans and Catalans. But the count's daughter died of exposure during the terrible winter and Jordi was fated to meet the buxom and beautiful Chana.\n\nThe winter ended and Michael Cosses subsequently campaigned beside the Catalans in western Anatolia, winning a number of victories against the Turkish beys and the fanatical Ghazi army. The count was rewarded with honours being showered upon him; the Catalans were rewarded by having their leaders lured to Adrianople to be murdered on the orders of Co-Emperor Michael. The count had taken no part in the betrayal and had not marched with the army that had been destroyed at Apros five years before. For all these reasons he was held in high esteem by the Catalans, who were delighted he had survived the battle unharmed to be their 'guest'.\n\nHalf the combined Roman-Bulgarian army was dead, the majority of the fallen being Alan horse archers who had been attacked and cut down by Alfonso's lancers. There was a smaller number of Cuman, Roman and Bulgarian dead thanks to the count's decision to withdraw from the fray before the Almogavars could join the battle. Count Michael was delighted to discover that the banners of the emperor had not fallen into Catalan hands, not that the company put any store in collecting enemy standards. To the mercenaries they were not emblems of the enemy's shame but mere useless pieces of cloth. Melek sent mounted patrols to pursue the retreating foe after the battle, returning with news that the enemy was falling back to Neopatras. He and the other commanders in the company dined with the count that night in Hector's pavilion, Luca and Jordi being seated either side of Michael Cosses at the large rectangular table. For once it was they who were served food and wine, by teenage boys training to be Almogavars.\n\nAfter bellies had been filled with roast chicken, bread, cheese, fruits and honey-cakes, the wine flowed freely and tongues were loosened. The night was warm and the pavilion filled with good cheer. Hector slammed his fist down on the table and rose unsteadily to his feet. He had drunk too much wine.\n\n'My friends,' he slurred raising his cup, 'we have won a great victory.'\n\nEveryone aside from Count Michael banged the table with their fists in agreement. Hector raised a hand to call for quiet.\n\n'But I wanted to toast a man who we all know and respect, a man I would be honoured to stand beside in battle were it not for the fact he is an enemy.'\n\nHe stopped to allow his captains, Melek and Halil Ece to bang their fists on the table once more. Hector raised his cup to the Roman.\n\n'To Count Michael Cosses.'\n\nThey all stood and toasted the count, who accepted their respect with equanimity before standing and raising his own cup.\n\n'To the Catalan Company.'\n\nAfter everyone had sat down Jordi informed the count they had been heading for Halmyros, which the King and Queen of Thessaly had given to the company in return for lifting the siege of her capital.\n\n'They have no intention of honouring the agreement,' said the count. 'It was just a means of getting you to quit the siege. You will find no peace in Halmyros.'\n\n'What's that?' asked Hector.\n\nAll the chatter died.\n\nThe count's blue-green eyes looked at the hardened mercenaries around him. Even Luca Baldi, who had been fresh-faced when he had first encountered him, looked older than his twenty-five years, and harder, like a sapling turned into a mature oak.\n\n'The rulers of Thessaly have no intention of honouring their agreement regarding the ownership of Halmyros and the surrounding land.'\n\nHector took a swig of wine. 'You mean the queen won't. She was the one we dealt with. Why is that?'\n\n'The king was grievously wounded when you fought his army,' answered the count. 'He is still very weak. It is the queen who takes all the decisions.'\n\n'She has no army,' said Hector.\n\n'But she has an ally in Dario Spinola who is currently waging war on the Duke of Athens.'\n\n'We know that,' said Xavi.\n\n'The duke wanted us to march to his relief,' added Ferran.\n\n'We refused,' stated Miquel.\n\nCount Michael was confused. 'Surely you were marching to Athens before\u2026'\n\n'Before you and your allies tried to wipe us out,' grinned Hector. 'No, lord, we were merely luring you into the pass. We are finished with the Duke of Athens.'\n\n'He had not paid us in six months,' said Xavi.\n\n'We are mercenaries,' Ferran told the count, 'and paymasters who do not pay discover they have no mercenaries to call upon.'\n\n'Besides,' smiled Hector, 'I'm sure the duke can deal with our old friend Dario Spinola easily enough.'\n\n'Not this time,' said the count. 'He has recruited a thousand Mongol warriors to fight for him and they are not to be underestimated.'\n\nThe Almogavar captains stared at him with unconcerned faces.\n\n'We had heard,' said Xavi.\n\n'A thousand men is not many,' said Hector dismissively.\n\n'You should not underestimate them,' cautioned the count.\n\n'We won't,' stated Hector.\n\nThe count took a sip of wine.\n\n'I assume you will be ransoming me?'\n\n'Prisoners are ransomed, lord, but you are our guest,' replied Hector. 'In the morning you will be given a horse and a mounted guard to escort you back to Neopatras. But I would like you to convey a message to the Queen of Thessaly.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Tell her treachery will always be repaid in full,' said Hector.\n\nThere were no morning exercises the next day, some of the Almogavars and the horsemen being detailed to carry out the grim task of burying the dead, the Catalan dead. The Romans and Bulgarians would be left to rot in the sun after their corpses had been relieved of anything useful first. Hector thought it proper that since the Marquis of Bodonitsa had hidden away in his castle, he should be the one to tidy up the mess. The rest of the men, women and children busied themselves with taking down the tents and packing them in the backs of carts or on mules prior to leaving Thermopylae.\n\n'Where will you go?' asked Count Michael, who was displaying a marked reluctance to make use of the horse gifted him by Hector.\n\n'Halmyros, I assume,' shrugged Luca.\n\n'As I told Lord Hector last night,' said the count, 'you will have no peace or respite there. The rulers of Thessaly will not tolerate your presence in their kingdom.'\n\n'He is not a lord,' Jordi corrected the count.\n\nThey had both been assigned to guard the count as he took a tour of the camp, which was being dismantled in a display of efficiency that would put the Roman army to shame, and indeed most armies. Hector was concerned someone with a grudge might attempt to harm the count, but in truth most people ignored the tall, handsome, clean-shaven noble in his shining lamellar armour. Like many around him he had black hair falling to his shoulders and many assumed he was a friend of Luca Baldi and Jordi Rey.\n\n'What is he, then?' probed the count.\n\n'The leader of the company, but also a member of the council where everyone has an equal voice,' said Luca.\n\n'And therein lies the problem,' the count told him. 'It is bad enough that a mercenary company marches through the empire and Thessaly with impunity, but much worse that it is administered democratically.'\n\nLuca and Jordi exchanged perplexed stares. The count smiled at their ignorance.\n\n'What I mean is that everyone in this company has an equal voice and can state his or her opinion without fear of punishment, even Muslims.'\n\n'Of course, what's wrong with that?' asked Jordi.\n\n'Everything if you are a king or emperor appointed by God,' replied the count, 'for you threaten the entire social fabric of civilised society. In this camp any man can rise to become its leader, which if applied to society in general means even the humblest individual could become an emperor. Such a system would destroy the established order of things.'\n\n'You mean the poor must stay poor,' said Luca.\n\n'I would not have couched it in such words, but yes, that is what I mean,' admitted the count.\n\nHe pointed at an Almogavar working free an arrow stuck in a cart.\n\n'How many civilians were killed when the Alans shot their arrows into the camp?'\n\n'None,' replied Jordi with pride.\n\n'All the civilians, spare horses and mules left the camp the night before the battle,' explained Luca. 'They spent the night and the next day in the forest on the slopes of the mountain.'\n\nCount Michael was impressed. 'Clever, very clever.'\n\n'Our families are safe,' said Jordi.\n\n'You have families?' asked the count.\n\nThe two Almogavars nodded.\n\n'A boy and a girl,' said Jordi.\n\n'A boy,' added Luca, his head dropping, 'though I am estranged from the woman I love.'\n\n'I would like to meet them,' announced the count.\n\nLuca and Jordi took him over to where their large tent was located, though when they arrived it had been dismantled and Ertan and Anicius were loading it onto a cart. On the way Luca was candid with the count regarding why he was estranged from Aya, the nobleman seeming unsurprised by the Queen of Thessaly's malice. When they arrived at the campsite Ertan and Anicius stopped their activity when they saw Luca and Jordi with a tall individual in magnificent armour they did not recognise. Aya stiffened when she saw Luca, though Sam ran up to his father who scooped him up in his arms.\n\n'This is Sam, my son, lord.'\n\n'I am pleased to meet you,' smiled the count,' I am a friend of your father.'\n\nHe was introduced to the alluring Chana and her twins, the proud Monica, the prickly Anicius, the kindly Prisca and the defiant Aya, who pointedly ignored Luca, much to his distress. The portly Ertan brought his hands together and bowed his head to the count.\n\n'Apologies, effendi, I have packed the cooking utensils away and cannot offer you any refreshments.'\n\n'Do not worry, I have already eaten,' said the count. 'You are Turkish?'\n\n'Syrian, effendi, but I was formally a Turkish slave.'\n\nThey exchanged a few words in Turkish before Count Michael walked over to where Ayna was tying a rolled sheet with string. She tossed the blanket to Ertan who placed it in the back of the cart. Luca continued to talk soft words to Sam.\n\n'A fine boy, you must be very proud.'\n\n'I am. You are the Roman general Jordi captured at the battle?'\n\nHe was momentarily taken aback by her sharp words and curt tone, but regained his aristocratic composure.\n\n'I was captured by Jordi and Luca, who in fact saved my life, for which I will be eternally grateful. They are fine men. I first fought beside then at the wall of Cyzicus, where you and Luca first met, I believe.'\n\nAyna was surprised. 'How do you know this?'\n\n'Luca told me the story of both of you. He also told me about the unfortunate encounter with the Queen of Thessaly.'\n\nAyna stiffened at the mention of the queen's name.\n\n'I have nothing more to say on the matter.'\n\n'I too have met the queen,' continued the count, 'and have found her to be an individual absolutely focused on the preservation of her crown, who will stop at nothing to achieve that aim. She is quite capable of sowing seeds of discontent among her enemies. And neither is she stupid.'\n\n'Meaning what?'\n\nThe count looked into the sultry Ayna's brown eyes.\n\n'The Black Sheep is famous among the Catalan Company, a man others admire for his fighting prowess and the luck that he seems to attract. Your enemies will always seek ways to undermine the morale of this company, and what better way than to demoralise the Black Sheep so that he is no longer the lucky mascot on the battlefield. As I said, the Queen of Thessaly is not stupid.'\n\n'You speak the words of one who has breeding and an education,' said Ayna, 'and in truth what you say is wise. But betrayal is still betrayal.'\n\n'You are a Turk, a Muslim?' asked the count.\n\n'Persian,' said Ayna. 'And yes, I am Muslim.'\n\n'Then you will be aware of the Mongols who now rule Persia.'\n\nAyna wore a mask of sadness. 'All too well.'\n\n'Do you know that Dario Spinola, ally of Empress Irene, currently campaigns in the Duchy of Athens with an army of Mongol mercenaries?'\n\nAyna's eyes opened wide.\n\n'That is correct Ayna the Persian. And once Dario Spinola has finished subduing the Franks, he will seek out the Catalan Company and especially the Black Sheep, or so Empress Irene informed me when I was at her court.'\n\nThe count looked around at the high level activity as the camp was being dismantled.\n\n'In any fight against the Mongols, the Catalan Company will need a Black Sheep free of doubt.'\n\nHe turned back to Ayna.\n\n'Does it not say in the Quran that whoever suffers an injury and forgives the one responsible, God will raise his status to a higher degree and remove one of his sins?'\n\nAyna was impressed. 'You have studied the Quran, lord?'\n\n'I am a student of all religions, Ayna, but they all hold the virtue of forgiveness in high regard.'\n\nHe saw conflict in her face and moved closer. What an intriguing woman she was. Sensual, exotic but also obviously possessed of a keen mind.\n\n'Luca told me he was dead to you in your eyes after the Queen of Thessaly's words, which I do not believe. But I know one thing. This band of mercenaries has many enemies and will have more battles to fight before it finds peace, if it ever does. In any one of those battles Luca might fall. He will not be just dead to you but to the world. And then you will regret your choice.'\n\nThe count's expensive saddlecloth was retrieved and placed on his new horse, Hector and the other captains and commanders joining Luca and Jordi in bidding Michael Cosses farewell.\n\n'I hope we will not see you across the battlefield again, lord,' said Hector.\n\nThe count placed his left foot in a stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle.\n\n'In truth, I doubt the empire has the resources to muster another army to fight on Thessaly's behalf,' he remarked candidly. 'All its efforts are directed against trying to preserve its borders.'\n\nHe leaned forward to look directly at Hector.\n\n'You should not have assassinated the empress' son. Doing so has earned you her eternal enmity.'\n\n'Did she tell you that she went back on her word and betrayed us first, lord?'\n\nThe look on the count's face told him she did not.\n\n'May God go with you all,' said the count, 'and especially you Jordi Rey and Luca Baldi.'\n\nHe turned his horse and left the group of mercenaries, around him dozens of carts and hundreds of mules leaving the camp to head west along the pass. The company did not travel far, making camp on the northern side of the Malian Gulf while its leaders decided what route the mercenaries should take. After being allowed to sit at the table when Michael Cosses had been a guest of Hector's, Luca and Jordi, plus Romanus, returned to their duties as servants pouring wine for the company's leaders.\n\n'We could march to the relief of Athens,' suggested Miquel, 'and once there demand our back-pay.'\n\n'The duke is not to be trusted,' said Xavi. 'If we save his neck he will only renege on what we are owed.'\n\n'And yet,' interrupted Melek, 'if Dario Spinola takes Athens and the duchy, we will have an enemy to the south as well as to the north and west. If we march to Halmyros we will be surrounded by enemies.'\n\nLuca stood against the wall of the tent and stared at the thin scar across the top of his left hand, the scar given to him by Dario Spinola. How he wanted to march south to do battle with the Genoese nobleman once more.\n\n'Melek is right,' said Hector. 'Irrespective of whether the Duke of Athens has paid us or not, it is in our own interests to deal with Dario Spinola. If Athens falls to him, he will surely march against us afterwards. But I would have a show of hands. All those in favour of marching to the relief of the ungrateful French bastard.'\n\nXavi shrugged and raised a hand, as did Ferran and Miquel. Melek smiled and raised his hand, leaving only Halil Ece remaining. The Turk turned to look at Luca.\n\n'I give my vote to you, Black Sheep, seeing as your fate appears to be entwined with that of Dario Spinola. What would be your decision?'\n\n'To fight Dario Spinola,' replied Luca without hesitation.\n\n'Then I vote to march south to the relief of Athens,' said Halil Ece. 'But what happens afterwards when, God willing, we are still alive and we still need a home?'\n\n'Then we ask the Duke of Athens and all the other Frankish states in Greece to pledge their support if, after we have taken Halmyros, the rulers of Thessaly launch another war against us,' Hector told him.\n\nAfter the meeting Luca went back with Jordi and Romanus to their tent, Luca determined to speak with Ayna, whom he had not seen during the march to the new location to the north of Thermopylae. It was the height of summer and the air crackled with heat. There was no wind, so banners hung limply on their flagstaffs and horses and mules were flicking their tails to swat away the flies that had descended on the camp to torment beasts and humans alike.\n\n'Looking forward to meeting Dario Spinola again, Luca?' asked Romanus.\n\n'Immensely, and this time I will have a weapon in my hand rather than being chained to a wall. It's all his fault.'\n\n'Fault for what?' enquired Jordi.\n\n'Everything,' spat Luca. 'If it wasn't for him I would not have been captured and hauled off to Thessalonica where I encountered the witch Queen of Thessaly.'\n\n'At least you lived to tell the tale,' remarked Romanus.\n\n'And what a tale,' said Jordi. 'Seduced by a queen.'\n\n'I was not seduced!' insisted Luca. 'I was bewitched.'\n\n'I bet she smelled nice,' opined Romanus. 'High-borns always smell nice.'\n\n'And they have feather beds,' added Jordi. 'No sleeping on the floor of a tent for kings and queens.'\n\n'I would rather sleep in a tent than a great palace,' said Luca.\n\n'Well, one tent in particular,' grinned Jordi.\n\nThe tent in question was a large round Turkish affair captured outside the city of Philadelphia, along with the portly Syrian cook who now greeted the trio when they arrived. Ayna, Chana and Monica were relaxing on the ground after a morning spent training with the Maidens of the Spear, which combined with the heat had sapped their energy. The twins and Sam were asleep in the tent, which was a marvel of manufacture, being cool on the inside in summer. Anicius was sharpening his dagger and Prisca was darning a sock. The boy looked up when the men arrived, his eyes narrowing when he saw Luca.\n\n'What's he doing here?'\n\nRomanus picked up a bucket and tossed it over to him.\n\n'Make yourself useful and get some water for Ertan.'\n\n'The streams are miles away,' complained Anicius.\n\nThe company was supplied with fresh water from the many streams that flowed from Mount Othrys to the immediate north of the camp. But acquiring it required constant relays of people to provide water for cooking and treating wounds. Anyone who wanted to wash was free to immerse themselves in the warm waters of the gulf. Shaving was done dry, which was why the majority of the men chose to sport beards.\n\nAyna opened her eyes and saw Luca, rising to her feet as Jordi and Romanus flopped down beside Chana and Monica respectively. Luca felt awkward but was pleased Ayna had not bitten his head off on seeing him. He took it as a good sign.\n\n'It is hot,' he said.\n\n'Very.'\n\n'I miss you and was wondering if I could move back into the tent.'\n\n'It is too soon, Luca.'\n\nHis head dropped.\n\n'But you can share Ertan's tent if he is agreeable. Sam should have his father near him.'\n\nHis spirits soared. 'Thank you.'\n\n'One step at a time, Luca.'\n\nHe gave thanks to Count Michael Cosses for his wise words to Ayna.\n\n'We are marching to the relief of Athens,' he told her.\n\nShe was surprised. 'To save the Duke of Athens? The same man who banished us to the north of his kingdom? Who wanted you dead?'\n\n'Hector believes it is in the company's interests to save the duke so we can have an ally to the south when we settle in Halmyros.'\n\n'So you will face Dario Spinola once more.'\n\nHe rubbed his left hand. 'For the final time, I hope.'\n\n'I do not think you are fated to kill each other,' she said. 'But perhaps you are fated to forever be at each other's throats.'\n\n'I only need to have a blade at his throat once.'\n\nShe laughed.\n\n'I am glad we are talking to each other again.'\n\nShe nodded but did not reply but it did not matter. He saw a glimmer of hope that he clung to like a man adrift in the ocean clinging to a piece of driftwood. She would come round, of that he was certain. That night he slept a short distance from her, albeit in a small tent he shared with an overweight Syrian cook who snored and suffered from flatulence. But no matter, it was a small price to pay for the prospect of lying beside his love, eventually. The next day the company struck its tents and marched west towards the city of Neopatras and then sharply south, taking the narrow pass that the King of Thessaly had failed to defend when the company's horsemen had advanced from the Valley of Gravia. Hector expected to be before the walls of the Acropolis in less than a week."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "Michael Cosses was delighted to see the Roman camp outside the walls of Neopatras, though instantly recognised the absence of the Bulgarians who campaigned with a mixture of conical tents and round yurts as used by the Mongols. There were also no white banners sporting bulls' heads. But Master John had laid out the camp according to regulations, with a ditch lined with caltrops and a bank of earth behind lined with sentries. In the centre of the camp stood the pavilion of Master John surrounded by the tents of his senior commanders. The Cuman was delighted to see the count seemingly returned from the dead. For his part the count was delighted to see the two banners gifted by the emperor outside Master John's pavilion. The empire might have been on its knees but protocols were maintained at all times and Roman generals lived in style while on campaign. Master John's scarlet silk tent was not only a place where the general rested his head at night, but also a repository of holy icons and gold and silver crosses to infuse the common soldiery with religious zeal and impress upon them they were carrying out God's work. They were also visible proof of the divinely approved power of the empire.\n\nCount Michael was served wine from gold jugs and ate fruit off a gold plate as Master John gave him a summary of the army's condition. To one side of the large table where they were seated musicians played calming tunes on a harp and violins.\n\n'Dragomir left with what was left of his army two days ago,' reported Master John. 'He rode away with nine hundred horsemen.'\n\nThe count nearly dropped his golden goblet. Master John smiled wryly.\n\n'That is correct, count. Almost every Alan horse archer was killed in the pass, along with one hundred of the boyar's knights. For its part, Thessaly lost four hundred dead.'\n\n'What of our own losses?' asked Michael.\n\n'Four hundred horse archers dead and a hundred wounded. Fifty lancers killed and four times that number suffering varying degrees of injury. You were guests of the Catalans, you say?'\n\nMichael nodded.\n\n'Your estimate of their losses, lord?'\n\nThe count placed his goblet back on the table. 'Very light. If they so wished, they could be before the walls of this city in no time at all.'\n\n'And will they?'\n\nMichael shook his head. 'No, they intend to march to Halmyros and there establish a Catalan homeland, as promised to them by the King and Queen of Thessaly.'\n\n'Tomorrow we should ride into the city to report the good news of your return, lord,' said Master John.\n\n'How are the king and queen?'\n\nMaster John turned the gold ring on his finger, which had been given to him by the emperor.\n\n'The king is still suffering from the wound he received when he fought the Catalans and the queen is still an angry young woman.'\n\nThe queen may have been angry but she was also a ruler without an army save for the garrison of Neopatras. In a series of battles with the Catalan Company the kingdom had lost thousands of soldiers, and the next day Count Michael Cosses informed her she was also losing the support of the Roman army.\n\nThe count and Master John stood in the throne room of the palace before the pale king and indignant queen seated on their gilded thrones on a marble dais. Fortunately the floor was also tiled with marble so the temperature in the room was bearable, becoming distinctly cooler when the count informed the pair of his decision.\n\n'Without reinforcements, majesty, the army is too depleted to continue military operations.'\n\nMichael was addressing the king, his eyes filled with pain and his face drawn. He looked like he was going to pass out so feeble was his appearance.\n\n'Thank you, count,' he said softly.\n\nThe queen was an altogether different proposition, her large, lustrous eyes filled with fire.\n\n'You will leave us to the mercy of the Catalans?' she asked.\n\n'The Catalans are marching to Halmyros, majesty,' the count told her, 'which you and the king promised them in return for them lifting the siege of this city.'\n\n'Queens do not make promises to criminals and cutthroats, count,' she shot back. 'She does what is necessary to protect her kingdom. I command you to resume offensive operations against the Catalans.'\n\nThe room was filled with courtiers, priests and government officials, though officers were visibly lacking. Most of them had been killed fighting the Catalans. The commander of the city garrison was present and the close friends of the king who had fought beside him at the pass and recently without him at Thermopylae. They all waited for the count's response.\n\n'I will be taking the army back to Thessalonica, majesty.'\n\nThere were audible gasps at his reply. Elena pointed at the guards either side of dais and then at the count.\n\n'Arrest him.'\n\n'I must protest, majesty,' said Master John.\n\n'Arrest him, too,' ordered the queen.\n\nAs they were both led away, Count Michael said in a loud voice.\n\n'Catalan hospitality is more pleasant than that found in this city.'\n\nThe count and Master John were placed under luxurious house arrest, though even the most gilded cage is still a cage. Angelus Ducas was unhappy about the turn of events but his wife assured him that all would be well. Elena was a dutiful wife as well as a determined queen. In the evening, after the couple had eaten their last meal of the day, they retired early due to the king's weakened state. She insisted on being in attendance when the physicians changed the king's dressings and applied ointments to his abdominal wound, afterwards massaging his fingers with oil and dabbing his forehead with a cool, damp cloth.\n\n'It was a mistake to arrest the pair sent by the emperor to save us,' said Angelus, his breathing laboured.\n\nElena gently dabbed his sweaty forehead.\n\n'Have no fear, my sweet, their confinement will be short. Just long enough to convince them to continue the war against the Catalans.'\n\n'What has Thessaly done to deserve such torment?'\n\n'Close your eyes and do not torture yourself,' she said softly. 'And there is also no need to concern yourself with the emperor. Mother warned me he is a man prone to making wrong decisions, such as appointing men unsuitable to lead his army.'\n\n'Mmm?'\n\nShe smiled when she realised her gentle touch was lulling him into a blissful sleep.\n\n'Let me tell you about Count Michael Cosses,' she whispered. 'He is a friend of the Catalans, a man who wanted to marry his daughter to the son of one of their leaders. Can you imagine that? Fortunately the poor girl died before such a match could take place, thus ensuring her physical body was not defiled by an apostate and her soul ascended to heaven. Lord Dragomir informed me before he left us that the count had been unwilling to attack the Catalans at Thermopylae, and it was his hesitancy that cost us the battle.'\n\nShe smiled when she heard the king snoring.\n\n'As for the so-called Master John,' she continued, 'he and his ilk are but pagans pretending to be followers of the true faith.'\n\nThe king was a magnificent specimen of manhood, tall, lithe and possessed of a robust constitution, which was just as well because his body had suffered two serious injuries in less than a year. The little finger on his left hand had been amputated by the barbarian leader of the Catalan Company, and a lance had been driven through his right side in the battle for the pass. Fortunately, none of the king's vital organs were damaged but he lost a lot of blood and for days hovered between life and death. Only the skill of the royal physicians saved him, that and the prayers of his young wife.\n\nOne of those physicians was called to the royal bedchamber the next morning when the king took a turn for the worse. He woke with a rapid heartbeat and breathing. He was sweating and his skin felt cold and clammy to the touch. The chief physician was summoned immediately, who informed the queen the king should not have broken his bed rest. He was a fussy, irritating individual with a stooping posture, thinning hair and pointed nose. After examining the king and ordering one of his twelve qualified assistants to fetch herbs to make a concoction to ease the patient's fever, he spoke to the queen.\n\n'I left instructions that the king was to leave his bed only for short periods, and then only to take fresh air and to let his body receive the benefit of sunlight. But I discover that he sat on his throne yesterday and carried out official duties.'\n\n'That is what kings do,' said Elena sharply.\n\n'Well, majesty, if you wish him to carry out his anointed role far into the future, you will respect my instructions and see to it he is confined to his bedchamber.'\n\n'For how long?' Elena demanded to know.\n\n'Until I decide otherwise. Good day, majesty.'\n\n'I have arranged for icons of Saint Cosmas and Saint Damien to be placed near the king's bed,' she called after him.\n\nShe hoped the mention of the patron saints of medicine and doctors would impress him but he merely stopped, turned and frowned.\n\n'You would not need the help of the saints if you had followed my instructions, majesty. But their help cannot do any harm, unlike encouraging the king to sit all day on his throne listening to gibberish from all and sundry.'\n\nElena's lustrous dark eyes narrowed. 'Rodent.'\n\nShe would have liked to have had the physician flogged for his impertinence but was mindful of his great expertise and the fact he had saved the king's life. The result was that Queen Elena was in a foul mood when she swept into the throne room where the senior Roman and Cuman officers had been assembled. Elena sat on her throne and examined the high-ranking bearded Roman lords and Cumans with thin moustaches and hostile looks.\n\n'I have summoned you here to inform you your generals are under house arrest.'\n\nAngry murmurs greeted her words, prompting the guards around the dais and around the walls of the chamber to move their hands to the hilts of their swords. Elena was undaunted.\n\n'The recent failure at Thermopylae has imperilled Thessaly, which was not the intention of your march here. Therefore, I intend to continue the war against the apostate Catalans, to which end I will be leading you in person against the Catholic heretics.'\n\nLaughter greeted her announcement.\n\n'Silence!' she commanded. 'You may find such a notion amusing, but it is no less farcical than your laughable efforts to defeat the Catalans. It may fortify your courage to know that I have written to the ally of Empress Irene, Dario Spinola, who is presently campaigning in the Duchy of Athens, and by all accounts is sweeping all before him.'\n\nThe Roman and Cuman officers looked at each other. Elena saw she now had their attention.\n\n'Caught between our own forces and those of Dario Spinola,' she said, 'there will be no escape for the Catholic apostates. Thessaly and the empire will be finally free of these vermin.\n\n'We leave the city tomorrow.'\n\nAnd so it was that a nineteen-year-old queen took the field against the Catalan Company in the summer of the year thirteen hundred and ten."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "Dario Spinola was a very happy man. In the space of two weeks he had conquered the island of Euboea, taken its capital Chalcis, and swept on to the mainland to assault Athens. So speedy had been the advance of his Mongols that before he knew it the Duke of Athens found himself besieged in the Acropolis, the forces he had hastily assembled being swept aside in a blizzard of Mongol arrows. Athens, which had no city walls, fell without a murmur and the duke and his followers fled into the Acropolis where they remained under siege. Spinola placed his foot soldiers around the Acropolis when they arrived, sending a message to the besieged French duke that no relief was coming and he should surrender immediately. No reply came from the Acropolis and so Spinola waited for the duke's food supplies to run out.\n\nThe committing of any outrages against the local population was strictly forbidden as Athens and the land around it were now the property of Dario Spinola and the Republic of Genoa. The port of Piraeus had similarly been speedily captured, its three natural harbours being taken intact along with their ship sheds, warehouses and shipyards. The Mongols even managed to seize three galleys, shooting down their crews as they attempted to row out to sea, though unfortunately Mengu Timur's warriors got out of hand and set two on fire before Spinola could place Piraeus under Christian control. Nevertheless, it was a remarkable victory and one of strategic importance as Venice had now lost its main port in the Duchy of Athens. Genoa would be delighted when it received news its galleys and merchant vessels could now make use of Piraeus.\n\nSpinola stood with the Mongol leader and Vito Carcione in the agora, the commercial centre of what had once been a great city but now was nothing more than a small provincial town. Ten chained prisoners were shuffling across the agora to where a row of stakes had been planted in the ground. The floor of the agora had once been white paving stones but over the centuries many had been stolen for the purposes of house building or repairs, to leave an open space of parched dirt. Around the ten stakes were stacked piles of brushwood and off to one side stood a brazier of hot coals. Guards used their spears to urge the prisoners forward, Spinola casting glances up at the Acropolis behind him. The agora was located beneath the northwest slope of the Acropolis. The Genoese smiled.\n\n'It is only a matter of time before the duke surrenders. His food will soon run out and then he will be forced to seek terms.'\n\n'You will grant terms, lord?' asked Carcione.\n\nSpinola was hurt. 'Of course, Vito, I am not a barbarian.'\n\nHis deputy groaned when he saw Father Ramon approaching the trio. The good father, promised the archbishopric of Athens once the current incumbent was arrested and executed, had been in a jovial mood after reaching Athens, but he now wore a concerned frown.\n\n'Come to give the condemned the last rights, your excellency?' asked Spinola.\n\n'I am troubled, lord,' replied Ramon, the sun reflecting off the large gold cross he wore round his neck.\n\n'Oh?'\n\nRamon pointed to the ten unfortunates being pinioned to the stakes in the agora around twenty paces away.\n\n'They are Catholics, lord.'\n\n'They are Venetians,' Spinola corrected him.\n\nRamon watched the guards smear the shirts of the condemned with sulphur.\n\n'All the same, lord,' continued Ramon, 'to burn innocent Catholics just because they are Venetian might be considered a sin. Not by me, of course.'\n\n'Of course not,' remarked Carcione dryly.\n\n'I wonder if it might be more appropriate to burn apostates instead,' proposed Ramon.\n\n'You mean select some from the local population,' said Spinola.\n\nRamon's eyes lit up. 'Exactly, lord.'\n\n'No,' said Spinola firmly. 'I have no wish to alienate my new subjects. I can tolerate the Orthodox faith but the fewer Venetians there are in the world the better.'\n\nHe raised his hand to signal the executions should begin then wiped his brow with a cloth.\n\n'It's hot.'\n\n'And about to get hotter,' grinned Carcione.\n\nThe brushwood was set on fire using torches lit from the brazier and soon the screams of those being roasted alive filled the morning air. The tinder-dry brushwood combined with the sulphur on the shirts meant the roar of raging fires competed with the high-pitched screams to get the attention of those watching from the ramparts of the Acropolis. Spinola looked up at the stone battlements to see the sun glinting off helmets and spear points. He hoped one of those observing the terrible deaths of the Venetians below was Walter of Brienne himself. If not it did not matter. Tomorrow a further ten Venetians would meet the same fate to encourage the Frenchman to give up his futile occupation of the Acropolis.\n\nRamon placed a scented cloth to his nose as the noxious aroma of burning human flesh and wood smoke reached his nostrils.\n\nMercifully, the combination of the summer heat, bone-dry firewood and sulphur-covered clothes made the torment of the Venetians short, ten roaring columns of flames and smoke no longer accompanied by high-pitched screams as the bodies were speedily reduced to bone and ash. A Mongol warrior trotted into the agora and headed over to Mengu Timur, the horseman dismounting, saluting and handing his commander a rolled piece of paper. The Mongol unrolled the scroll but even though he could speak and read Italian, he had no knowledge of Greek, the language on the paper. He handed it to Dario Spinola, whose eyes lit up. He read aloud the words written on the paper.\n\n'To my dear friend Dario Spinola, Governor of Rhaedestus and Kallipolis and Duke of Athens.'\n\nCarcione rolled his eyes. 'Ten florins says it's a begging letter.'\n\nSpinola ignored him. 'It may interest you to know that the apostate Catalan Company is at this moment marching south towards Athens with the intention of saving Walter of Brienne.'\n\nThe Genoese noble pointed at Carcione. 'You owe me ten florins.'\n\nHe carried on reading the letter out loud.\n\n'The Catalans were recently involved in a battle against a combined army of Thessalians, Romans and Bulgarians, in which they suffered grievous losses. Know also that I am currently at the head of my army in pursuit of the Catalans and invite you to join me in putting an end to these lawless mercenaries once and for all, especially Luca Baldi who I am certain still boasts of his escape from justice. The Catalans recently entered the pass leading to the Gravia Valley, which leads me to assume they plan to march through the regions of Phocis and Boeotia before entering Attica. And because they are accompanied by their women, children and wagons, their progress is tardy.\n\n'I remain your friend and ally, Elena, Queen of Thessaly.'\n\n'The Queen of Thessaly?' guffawed Carcione. 'She's nothing but a girl, a good-looking one I'll grant you. But if she's leading an army, things are worse than I thought.'\n\n'She is an adult,' said Spinola, 'and having met her in Thessalonica I would say she is not to be underestimated.'\n\nHe looked at the date on the letter. 'Posted four days ago.'\n\n'Which means the Catalans will be here tomorrow,' joked Carcione, causing Ramon to blanch.\n\nThe mercenary leered at the priest and pointed at the crackling fires behind them.\n\n'And when they do, you will be the first to be burnt.'\n\n'Be quiet, Vito,' Spinola scolded him.\n\n'My scouts report no enemy army anywhere near Athens, khan ,' said Mengu Timur.\n\n'That is because it is slowed down by wagons and non-combatants,' smiled Spinola.\n\n'I would not put much store in the young queen's words,' cautioned Carcione.\n\n'You have no respect for your betters, Vito,' Spinola told him.\n\nHis deputy nodded. 'That's true, but I know a liar when I see one, or hear one in this case.'\n\nThere was a sharp intake of breath from Ramon but Dario Spinola was used to the cutting tongue of his deputy.\n\n'Explain.'\n\nCarcione did so, scratching the deep scar on the left side of his face.\n\n'Her holiness says the Catalans suffered a grievous defeat. Well, in my experience armies that suffer heavy defeats do not commence another march immediately afterwards. They either retreat and lick their wounds or fall apart. My guess is that the reverse happened and it was the Romans who got their arses kicked.\n\n'And then she says she is leading her army in pursuit of the Catalans.'\n\n'What of it?' Spinola demanded to know.\n\n'My question would be,' said Carcione, 'what happened to the Romans and Bulgarians?'\n\n'I would agree with Lord Carcione,' nodded Mengu Timur. 'There appears to be a contradiction in the queen's letter.'\n\n'He is not a lord,' said Spinola, 'and you are both right. But that does not change the fact that the Catalans are on the march to relieve Walter of Brienne, and nor does it alter my plan to intercept them before they arrive.'\n\n'They will outnumber you, lord,' cautioned Carcione.\n\n'They will,' admitted Spinola. 'But I intend to join with the Queen of Thessaly before engaging the Catalans. I will take Mengu Timur's warriors only. You will stay here with the rest of our forces and continue the siege. At the very least, should the queen's army prove a disappointment, I can harass the Catalans and their non-combatants to make their march to Athens too costly.'\n\n'And the executions?' asked Carcione. 'Do you want them continued?'\n\n'Of course, I want you to maintain pressure on the French in the Acropolis.'\n\nHe smiled at Father Ramon. 'We will soon have you in your new home on that hill, your eminence.'\n\n'God willing,' smiled Ramon, making the sign of the cross at Dario Spinola.\n\nSpinola, Mengu Timur and his Mongols left the next day, setting out before dawn to cover as many miles as possible before the heat of the day became too unbearable for men and horses alike. Using remounts, Mongol scouts could cover up to a hundred miles a day, and though Spinola's thousand riders did not cover that distance, they were sixty miles north of Athens by the end of the day, having travelled through the region of Attica to enter Boeotia. One of the great states of ancient Greece, it had undergone centuries of decline after the so-called Golden Age of Greece. The region's story was one of de-population as cities and villages shrunk in size and disappeared altogether in the face of civil strife and the breakdown of law and order. During the centuries of crisis much of southern Greece came under the ownership of wealthy indigenous families, the members of which lived in the cities and appointed managers to administer their estates. Land and labour were cheap but the estates were never intensively farmed, providing enough for their wealthy owners and little else, a system that had continued with the Frankish conquest of southern Greece.\n\nDario Spinola and his Mongols rode through a sparsely populated land, half of which was dedicated to the growing of crops or open grazing. The mountains that dominated Boeotia were covered in forests of mostly fir, though there were also expanses of pine and oak. The peaks were now a stark grey, the snow having melted in the spring. The multitude of rivers and streams running off the mountains provided the plains with abundant water for crops, though there was a paucity of farmers to cultivate the land, which meant a thousand Mongol warriors could pass through Boeotia relatively unseen.\n\nVito Carcione was left in charge of Athens and had at his disposal three hundred spearmen and two hundred crossbowmen to keep the French penned in the Acropolis and the residents of the town under control. He also had fifty mounted men-at-arms that he sent west to keep watch on the Corinth area to ensure any forces marching from the Principality of Achaea would not descend on Athens without prior warning. However, such had been the speed with which Dario Spinola had swept through Euboea and the Duchy of Athens that the fearsome Jacques of Taranto had no idea that Walter of Brienne had lost his duchy and was besieged in the Acropolis.\n\nThe next day Vito Carcione did not march ten Venetians to the agora to be executed, instead sending the captives and half his soldiers to cut down trees. The higher parts of Greece were covered in firs and pines but at lower altitudes poplars, oaks, cypress and plane trees predominated. Trees were felled, branches were sawed and logs were placed in the back of carts for shipment to the area beneath the southern slopes of the citadel where Walter of Brienne held out. It was another blisteringly hot day, the southern wind only increasing the unbearable heat.\n\nCarcione stood in a loose shirt watching sweating soldiers and shackled prisoners heap the wood on to pyres, his large straw hat giving him the appearance of a poor farmer rather than a ruthless mercenary. The same could not be said for the richly attired Father Ramon who appeared with an escort of soldiers and a servant who held a parasol over the priest's head when he had alighted from his horse. Ramon adjusted his pristine white mitre before strolling over to Carcione.\n\n'The executions are not taking place in the agora today?' enquired Ramon.\n\n'They are not taking place at all.'\n\n'Oh?'\n\n'Dario Spinola is a generous employer and I owe him much,' said Carcione, 'but like all nobles he believes in honour and grand gestures, which often get in the way of getting a job done, which is why he employs me.'\n\nHe pointed up at the stone battlements on the Acropolis where the sun glinted off helmets and spear points, indicating members of the garrison were observing proceedings below.\n\n'Now, the Frenchies up there, and especially Walter of Brienne, could not give a rat's arse for the fate of a few low-born Venetians. So we could waste days burning ten of them at a time, or we could put them to good use to bring this siege to an end.'\n\nRamon looked at the pyres of firewood. 'By lighting bonfires?'\n\n'Nice gentle breeze today,' remarked Carcione, 'blowing from the south. Should do nicely.'\n\nA sweating soldier walked up and saluted to Carcione.\n\n'All is ready, sir.'\n\n'Put the sacks on the pyres and light them.'\n\nThe soldier saluted and marched away.\n\n'Sacks?' said Ramon.\n\nCarcione gave him an evil leer.\n\n'Sacks of sulphur, my lord archbishop.'\n\nSulphur had many uses. Its fumes were useful in ridding homes of fleas, rats and mice. The ancients used its fumes to purify houses of evil spirits and physicians used it to drive away bad air and restore a body's humours. They also used sulphur in a powdered form as a prescription for ridding an individual of ticks, fleas and lice. Sulphur fumes were also used to fumigate buildings whose occupants had died of the plague. Sulphur was thus in great demand, men and boys working long hours in dreadful conditions in sulphur mines to extract the yellow clumps of sulphur from volcanic sites. The largest sulphur mine in the world was in Sicily but Athens obtained its sulphur from the mines on the eastern side of the volcanic island of Milos, around a hundred miles due south of the town.\n\n'The Queen of Thessaly is a clever bitch,' said Carcione out of the blue.\n\n'In what way?' asked Ramon, more interested in the sacks being tossed on the now flaming bonfires, producing blue flames as they began to burn.\n\n'Mentioning Luca Baldi in her letter to my lord,' answered Carcione. 'She knows he would crawl across hot coals to get at the Sicilian peasant.'\n\nRamon made the sign of the cross. 'He is the agent of Satan who casts an evil shadow over the world.'\n\nCarcione was also watching the blue flames with satisfaction, smiling as the acrid smoke billowed into the air towards the battlements of the Acropolis above. He glanced at the priest.\n\n'Agent of Satan? I think you credit him with too much power and influence. He is just a peasant who seems to be at the right place at the right time. But he has cost Genoa a lot of money.'\n\n'In what way?'\n\n'When the Catalans captured the city of Kallipolis, the Vatican was delighted a Catholic enclave had been created in the Roman Empire, and planned to acknowledge it as a Catholic state, much like the Frankish states in Greece. But my lord had other ideas. It was a large donation from the Spinola family that convinced his holiness the Pope to excommunicate the Catalans instead.'\n\n'I see,' said Ramon bitterly, remembering how Bernat de Rocafort had once promised him the bishopric of Kallipolis.\n\n'Honour again,' Carcione was watching the plumes of smoke drifting over the battlements of the Acropolis. 'It eats away at nobles like maggots in rancid meat. My lord will not rest until Luca Baldi is dead.'\n\n'I pray that day will be soon,' said Ramon.\n\n'Or,' shrugged Carcione, 'Dario Spinola is dead.'\n\nCarcione's soldiers kept heaping sacks of sulphur on the bonfires, others tossing firewood into the flames to ensure smoke kept billowing into the hot air. The breeze was easing up to increase the heat on the ground but that was irrelevant. Carcione did not intend to burn the Acropolis to the ground; all he was interested in was the sulphur smoke drifting upwards and over the battlements."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Walter of Brienne had seen enough. His own eyes were streaming, though others were suffering more from the sulphur fumes. The guards on the walls were now retching as the smoke filled their lungs, some unable to stop coughing and others suffering from shortness of breath. It was early afternoon and there was no lessening of the smoke that was not only drifting over the battlements on the southern side of the Acropolis, but was also lingering in the open space where his soldiers had pitched their tents and their horses were quartered in temporary stables of canvas and wood. It would soon enter the buildings where his wife and young children lived. The doors and windows could be sealed with wet cloths but it was the height of summer and the temperature inside rooms would rise to intolerable levels if shutters on windows and doors were closed and sealed. And this was only the first day. Even if the wind changed the enemy could merely start fires on the other sides of the Acropolis to continue to wreath the top of the escarpment in sulphur fumes.\n\nHis sentries had seen a large body of horsemen leave the town and knew the bulk of the enemy's mounted soldiers \u2013 the infidel Mongols who had done so much damage to his own forces and those of the other lords \u2013 were no longer in the vicinity of Athens. He did not know how many enemy soldiers remained but it did not matter. He could not stand idly by while the foe tormented his troops and his family.\n\nThe gates to the Acropolis opened and Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens, led his knights and crossbowmen from the citadel. The crossbowmen were in the vanguard, each man carrying twenty bolts in his quiver, hooks attached to his belt to facilitate the rapid reloading of his weapon. The duke and his men were coughing but they nevertheless ran down the narrow, winding path that had been deliberately constructed thus to ensure any attacker was exposed to archers and crossbowmen on the battlements as long as possible before reaching the gates. There were no Genoese near the gates for just such a reason and for the first minute or so of their foray the Frenchmen were not exposed to enemy missiles.\n\nWalter saw the row of burning bonfires pumping toxic smoke into the sky ahead and quickened his pace. Like the 'Knights of Death' now flanking him he was a veteran of the Sicilian war and knew the enemy was waiting beyond the fires, but also knew courage and discipline could still carry the day. He gripped the mace with its head of wicked steel flanges in his right hand and brought up his shield so it was in front of his body, crouching low to make him a smaller target. The crossbowmen ran forward, halted, and crouched down before shooting their bolts through the smoke, the series of sharp cracks followed seconds later by screams when bolts struck flesh.\n\n'For God and France!' shouted the duke, sprinting forward through the smoke and row of bonfires.\n\nThe Genoese were waiting, a rank of widely spaced soldiers with spears levelled and immediately behind them a line of crossbowmen with weapons loaded and aimed, both ranks around thirty paces back from the fires that were still burning fiercely. Around a score of men were hit by French crossbow bolts, men collapsing and staggering back with quarrels stuck in their bodies. A handful were killed outright when the missiles went through eye sockets.\n\n'Steady!' called Vito Carcione, axe in his right hand and shield in his left.\n\nHe cursed under his breath when the mail-clad French knights appeared and his crossbowmen released the triggers on their weapons. A hundred crossbowmen should have a reaped a rich haul of the foot soldiers bearing down on them. But their aim was high as a result of them being unnerved by the volley of French bolts. Now they would pay the price.\n\nA bolt slammed into Walter's shield, the iron head piercing the leather outer facing and the wood beneath, exiting the inner side just above the count's left wrist. The Genoese crossbowmen shot one volley before the French were among them. The spearmen, ordered to protect the crossbowmen behind them, could not advance to meet the onrushing knights, with the result the French could use their shields to sweep the spears aside to use their close-quarter weapons. A man holding a spear in one hand and a shield in the other has no time to draw his sword after the spear has been brushed aside. Walter brought down the mace hard on the face of the spearman, the sharp metal flanges shattering his cheekbone and biting deep into his skull. He fell backwards against a crossbowman desperately trying to reload his weapon, his right foot in the metal stirrup on the front of his weapon. He staggered back and Walter was on him in an instant, bludgeoning his skull with his bloody mace, reducing his face and skull to an unrecognisable gory pulp. He shouted in triumph as his men chopped and hacked the Italian soldiers to pieces, the golden lion on his own shield and those of his men being decorated with the blood of the enemy. That enemy was being reduced to offal by the ferocity of the French assault.\n\nWalter raised his mace. 'Victory!'\n\nThe last of the Italian spearmen and crossbowmen were being despatched by the 'Knights of Death', who gave a mighty cheer in acknowledgement of their lord's triumph. And then fell silent."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "'Shoot.'\n\nA fresh line of Genoese spearmen and crossbowmen stood twenty paces back from the victorious Frenchmen, a volley of bolts shot by a hundred crossbows cutting down at least half.\n\n'For Genoa!' shouted Carcione, rushing forward, axe gripped in his right hand.\n\nThis time the Italian spearmen did not wait to be shot down by French bolts, instead joining Vito Carcione and sprinting across the parched ground below the Acropolis. In seconds they were plunging their spears into wounded and dying Frenchmen, the 'Knights of Death' literally dying as the Genoese took their revenge.\n\nVito Carcione used his shield to barge over a knight, chopping down with his axe to half-decapitate the man's head. He ducked to avoid a sideways slash by a sword, raising up his axe at the same time and in an uninterrupted movement chopping it down to sever the Frenchman's sword arm at the wrist. The knight emitted a blood-curdling scream as his hand, still clutching the sword, fell to the ground, blood sheeting from the open wound. Carcione spotted a crossbowman aiming his weapon at him and wrapped his left arm and the shield he was holding with it around the wounded Frenchman and hugged him close, the bolt going into the knight's chest instead of his own. The Frenchman groaned and sank to the ground when Carcione tossed him aside, sprinting forward to deal with the crossbowman, who knew he had no time to reload his weapon and so drew his sword. He froze when Carcione threw his axe at him, the curved blade embedding itself in his face, shattering his nose in the process. The shock made him drop his sword and crossbow, Carcione grabbing the axe with both hands, violently wrenching it free, before hacking at the victim again and again to knock him to the ground, dead."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Walter grabbed an injured colleague and hauled him back towards the gates of the Acropolis. He had gambled on launching an assault against the wretched fires and the troops stoking and protecting them in an attempt to extinguish the flames and deal a heavy blow to the Genoese. And now he had lost at least half the men he had led on the sortie, with the danger he and the rest would be cut down by the enemy's fresh crossbowmen who were now lining up just beyond the pile of Italian dead he and his men had created but minutes before. The only consolation was that the bonfires were now burning low and he and his men had killed many Genoese in the first assault. But now the tables were about to be well and truly turned.\n\nHe kept his shield, in which two crossbow bolts were lodged, high to protect him and the man he was assisting, other knights clustering around him to form a ragged compact body of mailed and helmeted Frenchmen shuffling back to the gates.\n\n'Down,' he shouted, those around instinctively dropping to their knees and holding their shields aloft as a volley of bolts were shot at them.\n\nHe heard the man he was carrying groan and then become a dead weight after a bolt hit him in the chest, killing him outright. He dropped the body and rose to his feet with the others to continue the journey to the gates. It was only a short distance \u2013 perhaps thirty paces \u2013 but seemed miles away as he and the others endeavoured to keep together and anticipate when to duck down to make themselves smaller targets when the Genoese crossbowmen shot their bolts. There were no French crossbowmen left alive, all having been killed when the second body of Italians had charged."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Vito Carcione's eyes lit up when he saw more Frenchmen fall after his crossbowmen had shot another volley. He could have ordered them to keep on shooting until the knights were all dead, but that risked allowing some to reach the gates and safety. Instead, he decided to end them once and for all.\n\n'Charge!' he called.\n\nThe spearmen behind the crossbowmen gave a hearty cheer and ran forward a split-second after their commander, spears levelled ready to deliver the coup de gr\u00e2ce. Little did they realise that Walter of Brienne himself lay at their mercy and the key to who controlled the Duchy of Athens came down to a small, arid area of ground just outside the gates to the ancient Acropolis.\n\nThose gates were narrow, just wide enough to allow a cart to pass through them and two men on horses riding side-by-side. They had been deliberately designed thus to make it difficult for attackers to gain entry to the Acropolis, but the constricted space also made it difficult for parties of horsemen to sally from the citadel. They now swung open to allow Jean de Carrouges to lead a rescue party to save his lord and what was left of his knights. Walter's deputy led one hundred and fifty sergeants wearing mail armour and helmets and carrying over-sized shields usually employed by foot soldiers as a defence against crossbowmen. They swept through the gates in a thick column before deploying left and right, a mixture of maces and axes in their hands.\n\nThe Genoese spearmen were circling the huddle of French knights like hungry wolves, about to seal their fate when Jean and his relief force appeared. They swept aside the menacing spearmen like a brush clearing leaves, hacking and chopping with their weapons to strike down two score of the foe before the Genoese had time to react. While they were doing so Jean found Walter in the midst of his decimated knights, barely a third of those who had charged from the gates with their lord now alive. Walter was sweating profusely for the day was warm and getting hotter. He gave Jean a weary smile.\n\n'You are a sight for sore eyes.'\n\n'Your wife sent me, lord. She feared your impetuosity might get you killed.'\n\n'She was right,' conceded Walter, 'but we have cut down many of the enemy so it was not all in vain.'\n\nThe sounds of axes and maces striking shields and men's shouts and yelps filled the warm air as the sergeants forced the spearmen to retreat from the gates, their discipline ensuring they stayed close to Walter and his knights as they retreated back towards the entrance. On the battlements above the gates, squires armed with crossbows and spears prepared to shoot and spear any Genoese who neared the entrance to the Acropolis.\n\nThe sergeants formed a curved wall of shields around the knights and their lords and began to step back towards the gates, in front of them a line of dead spearmen and others walking back disconsolately, unwilling to mount another charge after being so rudely handled by the French sergeants."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "The spearmen hobbled and walked past Vito Carcione, bloody axe in hand, which was held aloft.\n\n'Move, you miserable bastards,' he shouted. He turned to the crossbowmen arrayed in two ranks beside him, each rank numbering fifty men, and smiled.\n\n'First rank, clear those wretches from the walls. Second rank, kill those shuffling towards the gates. Shoot!'\n\nAs well as possessing immense wealth, hundreds of war galleys and a vast commercial empire, the Republic of Genoa also produced \u00e9lite crossbowmen, soldiers able to shoot up to three bolts a minute in battle. It was less than a fully trained bowman but crossbowmen were more accurate than archers because they usually shot at targets at shorter ranges.\n\nGroans and screams followed the first volley of bolts, which not only cleared the French from the battlements above the gates but also felled a good number of the sergeants forming a defensive ring around Count Walter and his bloodied knights. And then the crossbowmen reloaded their weapons in less than twenty seconds. Each soldier wore a thick leather belt, attached to the front of which was a double-pronged metal claw, which he now hooked over the centre of the bowstring. He raised his right foot and placed it in the metal stirrup fitted to the fore-end of the crossbow's wooden stock. He then straightened his right leg to force the crossbow downwards. The bowstring, hooked to the claw, was restrained from following the movement of the crossbow, instead being forcibly drawn along the stock until at length it slipped over the catch of the lock. The crossbowman then plucked a bolt from the quiver hanging from his belt on the right side of his body. The quiver was hour-glass shaped with a leather top flap and belt loop. It held twenty bolts, points up, which were not nocked like the arrows of a bow but rather had plain, upright ends. Bolts with a variety of heads were carried, such as those with sharp points that could easily penetrate mail armour at short ranges. They did so now as a second volley was directed at the Frenchmen at the gates, a hundred bolts cutting down sergeants like a farmer scythes wheat.\n\nWhat was left of Walter of Brienne's men now ran for their lives as the crossbowmen reloaded, in seconds reaching the gates, which were almost closed but not in time to prevent a third volley killing a further dozen men who were all shot in the back within touching distance of safety. The gates were finally closed seconds before a fourth volley of bolts slammed into the thick oak.\n\n'Shoot anyone who appears on the walls,' commanded Carcione.\n\nHe surveyed the scene, the crossbowmen reloading their weapons and scanning for any movement on the battlements. It was now very quiet and very warm. Carcione's clothing was soaked in sweat and he removed his helmet. His sweat-soaked hair was matted to his skull and he was suddenly possessed of a raging thirst. Behind him spearmen were assisting wounded comrades to their feet or supporting those more seriously wounded. The bonfires had burnt low and were no longer producing toxic smoke. Overall, Spinola's deputy was a happy man. He had lost a not insignificant number of soldiers \u2013 perhaps over two hundred \u2013 but the bodies attired in blue surcoats and blue shields sporting golden lion motifs scattered on the ground testified to an equal number at least of French dead. Carcione peered up at the battlements of the Acropolis. He had no knowledge about the size of the garrison but estimated that after today there would be two hundred less Frenchmen to defend the walls. And in a few days Dario Spinola and his Mongols would return to tighten the screw on the garrison. In the meantime, he would continue to burn sulphur in an effort to poison the occupants of the Acropolis."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Walter of Brienne was also sweating, not out of fear but because the morning breeze had disappeared and the Acropolis and all those on it were being roasted by the summer sun. The physician extracting chainmail links from the top of his left arm was also sweating but he did so out of fear. His eyes were focused on the nasty wound inflicted by a crossbow bolt that had gone through the duke's shield and into his shoulder. Walter had only noticed the missile sticking out of his shoulder when he and his men were back inside the citadel, wrenching the bolt free and stuffing a cloth in the wound before walking back to his palace. The building was the former ancient Propylaea converted into a fortress, many of its windows bricked up to produce a building that was austere both inside and out.\n\nThe duke's green eyes were on the physician as he used a pair of pliers to remove the metal fragments.\n\n'You were struck by a crossbow bolt, your grace?'\n\n'Yes,' said Walter, snapping his fingers at a young valet standing nearby. 'Wine.'\n\nThe valet poured wine into a silver chalice and handed it to Walter.\n\n'You were lucky, your grace,' said the physician. 'There appears to be no deep penetration of your arm.'\n\n'How many men did you lose?' asked the duke's wife.\n\nJoanna of Ch\u00e2tillon's auburn hair was gathered into a bun on top of her head in an effort to stave off over-heating, though the thick stone walls and marble tiles on the floor made the inside temperature bearable.\n\n'Less than the enemy,' snapped her husband. 'It is irrelevant. Jacques of Taranto will be here with a relief army soon enough.'\n\n'Unless he and his army are destroyed by the Genoese and his Mongols,' replied Joanna.\n\n'Achaea can raise thousands of troops,' Walter told her, wincing when the physician pulled the last metal fragment from his arm.\n\n'France will send soldiers,' said Joanna, 'but in the meantime you should seek terms from the enemy.'\n\nWalter drained his chalice. 'Never. You think I became Duke of Athens to cower in the face of the Genoese and their heathen allies? God is testing us.'\n\n'Is that what the archbishop told you?' her tone was mocking.\n\nWalter looked around. 'Where is he?'\n\n'Drunk, no doubt. His answer to the crisis we find ourselves in is to seek solace in the bottle rather than his faith. If the enemy takes the Acropolis they will put everyone to the sword, including our children. Far better to concede a little ground and retrieve it later.'\n\n'Even better to yield no ground at all. Besides, the enemy is incapable of breaching the walls and our food will last longer after the losses we suffered today.'\n\n'And after that?' probed his wife.\n\n'After that we slaughter the horses and eat them. And then we will slaughter and roast the archbishop.'\n\nHorrified, Joanna crossed herself. Walter roared with laughter.\n\n'Why the face? You said yourself he is fat and useless. He might as well serve some purpose in our hour of need.'\n\nThe physician finished dressing the count's wound and stepped back. Walter examined the bandage.\n\n'You may go.'\n\nThe physician bowed and retreated from their presence. Walter sniffed the air.\n\n'At least we are no longer being poisoned.'\n\n'The Genoese have no honour,' complained Joanna.\n\n'Perhaps I should challenge the enemy commander to single combat, like the one between Bernard of Rouen and Luca Baldi. Remind me, how did that turn out?'\n\n'Sometimes, Walter, you are as amusing as an outbreak of plague. Hopefully, Luca Baldi is now dead and long forgotten.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "Luca Baldi was very much alive and content with the world. Admittedly he had not yet been admitted to Ayna's bed, being billeted with the snoring, flatulent Ertan, but he and Ayna talked convivially every day, he had been reunited with Sam, and the walls of his beloved's resistance were crumbling by the day. Such was his happy state of mind that he almost forgot about the heat that was roasting the Catalan Company as it made its way south towards Athens.\n\nAn Almogavar could march up to thirty miles a day; the company averaged less than a third of that distance. It had retraced its steps west and then south through the pass that led to the Gravia Valley, the strongpoint occupied by the 'French streak of piss' having been abandoned before the company reappeared in the valley. Hector assumed the Frenchman had been recalled to Athens to help in the defence of the town, or he may have been killed. Either way, it made the mercenary commander very cautious about the march south. Mounted patrols were increased in all directions and when on the road the carts and mules were kept closer together to prevent them being strung out in a column covering several miles. All this meant the rate of advance was very slow, which meant it would take longer to reach Athens.\n\nHector cursed when he stubbed his foot on the edge of a paving stone.\n\n'Damned French, can't even maintain the roads.'\n\nIn Thrace, Macedonia, Gallipoli and even western Anatolia the old Roman roads were in a decent condition, give or take. But the roads in Greece were in a deplorable state. Not only were the drainage ditches on either side invariably filled with soil and weeds, the paving stones that formed the top surface of the road were often cracked or missing altogether. There was a time when all the paved roads in Greece, divided into 'imperial roads' or 'public roads' according to their strategic importance, were administered by the Demosios Dromos. This official delegated responsibility for the upkeep of roads to provincial officials who not only oversaw the construction and repair of roads but also provided stables, wagons and transport animals for imperial duties. But the Demosios Dromos no longer existed and neither did his local officials, with the result the roads slowly crumbled. The Franks had been in charge of the Peloponnese for a hundred years but they too had done nothing to upkeep land communications, being content to use the sea to travel from port to port, leaving inland areas to be patrolled and worked by indigenous Greeks. They built strongholds to guard against insurrection but little else. And in the meantime Greece slowly emptied of people as many flocked to the towns and cities in search of a better life.\n\n'This is an empty land,' reflected Jordi, as usual in the front rank of Hector's division as it led the way south along a spear-straight Roman road.\n\n'I feel we are being watched,' said Luca beside him.\n\n'Me, too,' nodded Hector, glancing at the thickly wooded lower slopes of the mountains on either side of the valley.\n\nThe company was following the road beside the River Cephissus, which began on the northwest slope of Mount Parnassus before flowing east. They would not have known it but the mercenaries were in the ancient Greek state of Phocis. Once it was filled with the prosperous settlements of Amphicleia, Tithorea, Elateia, Hymampolis, Abae and Daulis. But that was over a thousand years ago and now those places were dust and ruins, long forgotten by those who made use of the region's tracks and roads. The wide, fertile valley of the Cephissus used to support a population that could send hundreds of hoplites to fight in the defence of Greece against invading barbarians. But now it harboured only ghosts of a bygone era.\n\nPhocis was a land of extremes: wet in winter but receiving almost no rain in summer. And in summer the land was roasted by the sun, making the River Cephissus of strategic importance. The company's horses alone required thirty thousand gallons of fresh water a day, to say nothing of the hundreds of mules that hauled tents and other supplies. Then there were over ten thousand men, women and children who had to be fed and watered daily, which meant food had to be rationed if the company's supplies carried on carts and on the backs of mules were not quickly exhausted. Fortunately, the river ensured no one would die of thirst in the intense heat that sapped humans and beasts alike.\n\n'It is a curious thing,' reflected Hector, pointing his spear at the vanguard of some of Alfonso's mailed horsemen on the road ahead. The riders were helmetless, their shields hanging from saddles to save their strength in the heat. 'Alfonso and his horsemen do not have to ride far and wide to reconnoitre ahead and on the flanks, leaving those duties to our Muslim horse archers.'\n\n'Why is it curious?' asked Romanus.\n\n'Because many would consider it blasphemous to task infidels with such important tasks,' Hector told him. 'Even your presence and those like you in our ranks would be judged harshly by some, you following a heretical faith.'\n\nHector grabbed Luca's shoulder.\n\n'And of course, we also have Satan's servant himself marching with us, which damns us all in the eyes of the Pope and the whole Catholic world. We are outcasts both physically and spiritually.'\n\n'Then why bother to save the Duke of Athens?' asked Luca. 'A man who despises us.'\n\n'A man who despises you ,' replied Hector. 'You did, after all, kill a family friend. Very short-sighted.'\n\n'What would you have had me do?' enquired Luca.\n\n'Dance around him for a few minutes, give the fine French lords and ladies something to watch before you jabbed him in his sword arm to force him to yield. His honour would have been saved, you would have been satisfied and the rest of us would have been able to spend the winter in Athens.'\n\n'The Frenchman's honour would have been satisfied only with my death,' said Luca, 'a price I was not prepared to pay. He was my enemy and I was trained to kill my enemies, to show them no mercy on the battlefield.'\n\n'Quite right,' agreed Hector, 'but as to why we are marching to Athens, I would prefer to have a Frenchman who is in our debt as Duke of Athens rather than Dario Spinola who wants to have us all killed.'\n\n'The Frenchman will forget the debt he owes us if he wins the war,' said Luca.\n\n'Perhaps we should march south, defeat Dario Spinola, kill the Duke of Athens and seize his duchy for ourselves,' suggested Jordi.\n\nHe looked sideways at those marching beside him and he and they all burst into laughter.\n\nThe company had marched but two miles when Melek appeared at the head of the column, sliding off his horse to walk alongside Hector. His horse tossed its tail from side to side in an effort to swat away the flies that were hovering around its rear end.\n\n'There is a Roman army behind us,' he told Hector, 'they carry the same banners as those we defeated in the pass of Thermopylae. All horsemen.'\n\nLuca felt a pang of disappointment shoot through him. For some strange reason he felt Count Michael Cosses had betrayed the company.\n\n'How far away?' asked Hector.\n\n'A day's march,' Melek told him.\n\n'Looks like they are desperate to prevent us from reaching Athens so we can meet our old friend Dario Spinola. They will have less soldiers after the mauling we gave them at Thermopylae.'\n\n'But they will still have many horse archers,' Melek warned him, 'and we will not be able to hide our non-combatants in trees this time, not if we cling to the river.'\n\nHector looked at the mountains on either side of the valley, which was around five miles wide with the river running through its centre. He looked at Luca, Jordi and Romanus in turn.\n\n'Go and bring Xavi, Ferran and Miquel here.'\n\n'Where is Alfonso?' he asked Melek.\n\n'With the rearguard.'\n\n'Can you please go and ask him to ride here, and Halil Ece as well for that matter.'\n\n'What are your instincts telling you?' asked Melek as he hoisted himself into the saddle.\n\n'To keep on marching south and dare the Romans to attack us.'\n\nHe told the assembled captains the same when they appeared, along with Alfonso whose face was streaked with sweat as a result of wearing mail armour and helmet in the intense heat. Luca was also sweating, after running the length of the column twice to fetch Xavi whose division was bringing up the rear of the slow-moving column.\n\n'We need to stay near the river,' Hector told them all. 'If we are forced away from it we will have to scatter to source water from mountain streams, which will make us very vulnerable.'\n\nFerran looked around at the flat terrain on both sides of the river.\n\n'We are still vulnerable, Hector. The enemy's horse archers will be able to shower us with arrows from all directions.'\n\n'We have our own horse archers,' Melek informed him, 'to keep the enemy's at arm's length.'\n\n'And we have more soldiers than the Romans,' added Hector.\n\n'More soldiers, how can you be certain?' asked Xavi.\n\n'Because I saw the piles of their dead at Thermopylae,' replied Hector. 'I reckon they lost around half their army in that pass. The Romans are clearly desperate to save Dario Spinola and that gives us the edge.'\n\n'Or so you hope,' said Ferran.\n\n'And as they are close, we might as well call a halt and prepare the battlefield for our Roman guests,' said Hector.\n\nIf Luca thought the early halt in the day's march would mean he would have more time to spend with Ayna and Sam he was to be disappointed. He and thousands of others set about digging a ditch and erecting an earth rampart from the spoil under a blazing afternoon sun. Women and children ferried water from the river to refill the water bottles of the Almogavars, who were fit to drop after three hours of frenzied hacking at the dry earth to construct the camp's perimeter. Inside hundreds of tents were erected along with temporary stables with canvas roofs to provide shade for horses and mules alike. Animals were taken to the river to drink and patrols were sent across the Cephissus to keep watch for any enemy horsemen sent ahead of the main Roman army. The river was around twenty paces wide and in the winter and spring was fast-flowing and deep in parts, but in summer the current was mild and the level dropped sufficiently to enable a man on a horse to wade across with relative ease.\n\nLuca lay on his back and stared lovingly into the brown eyes of Ayna, cupping her face with his right hand. She caressed his forehead with a circling finger that made him close his eyes. Sam and the other children were asleep in the tent, Ertan also taking the opportunity for an afternoon snooze. Nearby Jordi's head was resting in Chana's lap, above it her magnificent breasts peering down at him, while Romanus and Monica were fast asleep in each other's arms. All three couples were under an awning to save them from the rays of the sun that was still high in the afternoon sky. It was August and the days were long and hot. There were another five hours of daylight left at least but mercifully they would be spent relaxing and looking forward to the evening meal.\n\n'I have been thinking about what Count Michael said to me,' said Ayna softly. 'I want us to sleep beside each other again.'\n\nLuca opened his eyes and smiled up at her. 'What changed your mind?'\n\nThe sound of the slumbering Ertan breaking wind loudly interrupted their conversation.\n\n'Well, for one thing I did not think it charitable to condemn you to be in close proximity to Ertan,' she smiled. 'And for another, the count made me realise that our time together might be cut short at any moment. He also reminded me of the part forgiveness plays in my religion.'\n\n'He has betrayed us,' said Luca, 'the count, I mean.'\n\n'In what way?'\n\n'He is part of the Roman army that we will be fighting tomorrow.'\n\n'Ah, I see. You think he should not have been released, that he should still be our prisoner.'\n\n'Yes, either that or given his word he would not take up arms against us again.'\n\n'He is a high-born Roman lord, Luca, who has sworn to protect and fight for his emperor. His sense of honour would never allow him to make such a pledge. Besides, I like him and so do many in this camp.'\n\n'Not me,' he insisted.\n\n'Very well, let me put it like this. If we are defeated tomorrow and fall into the hands of the Romans, I know that Count Michael will treat us with dignity and respect and will show us mercy. He is an honourable man.'\n\nShe lowered her head to kiss him on the lips. 'Well, perhaps not you, Black Sheep.'\n\n'Isn't this a pretty picture.'\n\nLuca reluctantly opened his eyes when he heard Hector's gruff voice, the others also stirring themselves from their states of bliss.\n\nHector rubbed his hands together. 'I have a lovely treat to make your day complete. On your feet.'\n\nAll three Almogavars slowly left the comforting embrace of their loved ones to stand before the company's commander, whose cold eyes were filled with evil relish.\n\n'What sort of treat?' asked Luca, knowing whatever Hector had in store it would not be enjoyable.\n\n'Sowing crops,' said Hector."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "Queen Elena was enjoying herself immensely. The defeat of the army sent by her mother in the pass at Thermopylae had been a grievous blow it was true, as had the desertion of the oafish Dragomir and what was left of his Bulgarians. But still, Elena found leading an army an exhilarating experience. If she had to give an opinion she would say it was better than carnal relations, not only because it lasted longer but also because it gave her the chance to win fame and glory. A queen was appointed by god but a general was master of his own destiny. Her husband would normally have led the soldiers of Thessaly and the empire, but such was the delicate state of the king's health that to even put him on a horse was to risk him expiring outright. So Queen Elena, daughter of Count Laskarina and adopted daughter of Empress Irene, was leading the army that tracked the Catalan Company.\n\nTo placate the honour of the senior Roman and Cuman officers riding alongside her, she had assured them that the arrest of Count Michael and Master John was only a temporary measure. Both would be released once the campaign was over. But they had to pay for the ignominy of allowing the emperor's army to be defeated by the low-born Catalans, and a short spell of confinement would allow them both to reflect on their errors. It would also give them time to come up with a suitable excuse for their shortcomings when they faced the emperor in person. Whether the officers believed the queen was another matter, but they all knew they had failed at Thermopylae, that Queen Elena was now part of the imperial family as well as being joint ruler of Thessaly, and another chance at beating the Catalans and therefore repairing the damage done to their reputations was not to be sniffed at.\n\nElena had sought, and received, special dispensation from the metropolitan of Neopatras to lead the army, women not considered suitable to lead men in battle. Moreover, because Roman noblewomen were expected to display modesty in their dress, her arms and legs were covered at all times. It was considered scandalous for high-born Roman women to ride a horse as sitting in the saddle necessitated them opening their legs in public, but the metropolitan had agreed this could be overlooked in her case because she was riding to save both Thessaly and the empire. A special leather cuirass had been hastily made for the queen, along with an adapted open-faced helmet to accommodate her crown. She wore a yellow silk tunic beneath the cuirass, the same colour and design worn by the horsemen of Thessaly, three hundred of whom formed her personal bodyguard and camped around her large pavilion pitched in the centre of the army's camp.\n\nNot being able to bathe on a daily basis or be massaged with oils took some getting used to, as did the aroma of horses and their dung that filled the air every evening in camp. But Elena reckoned a period of self-deprivation would by favourable in God's eyes and assure her of victory, and truth be told she was rather enjoying a more rustic lifestyle in the height of summer. Her bed was a simple cot affair and she had to brush her own hair in the mornings, all the servants accompanying her being males who could ride, albeit eunuchs to ensure they were not tempted by lascivious thoughts when being close to the queen when they slept near her at night.\n\nOne emasculated servant in yellow attire and flawless skin and full lips poured wine into the queen's golden chalice. She raised the vessel to her lips but was interrupted by one of the guards posted inside the pavilion entering her inner sanctum. He bowed his head.\n\n'Apologies, majesty, but Dario Spinola requests an audience.'\n\nElena was shocked. 'Dario Spinola is here?'\n\n'Yes, majesty.'\n\nShe placed the chalice on the table before her, which was nothing more than a board laid on two trestles and covered with a white silk cloth. Even her 'throne' was a simple high-backed chair with upholstered seat and back. She suddenly felt naked.\n\n'Show him in.'\n\nShe rose and picked up the golden crown on the table, which she found heavy and uncomfortable to wear, and placed it on her head. Moments later Dario Spinola entered the sanctum, helmet in the crook of his arm. He bowed his head at the queen.\n\n'Majesty.'\n\nElena was shocked by his appearance. In Thessalonica the Genoese noble was always fastidious when it came to his appearance, wearing the finest clothes, his handsome face clean-shaven and his black locks always immaculately groomed. Occasionally he had them tied back with a red ribbon but today they were loose and uncombed. There was stubble on his chin and his green eyes looked tired.\n\nElena clapped her hands. 'Bring a chair for our guest.'\n\nA eunuch placed a chair opposite the queen's and another poured wine into a chalice and placed it on the table. The queen sat, as did Spinola.\n\n'This is an unexpected surprise,' she said, raising her chalice to him.\n\nHe reciprocated the gesture before taking a large gulp.\n\n'I hope all is well.'\n\nHe gave a half-smile.\n\n'If you mean is the Acropolis still besieged? Yes. But I have ridden north with my Mongols and intend to strike the Catalans tomorrow. I request you also attack the Catalans from the west to divert their attention. They are camped in the Cephissus Valley.'\n\n'I am quite aware of the current location of the Catalans,' she replied tersely. 'My scouts keep me informed on the whereabouts of the enemy on a regular basis.'\n\nSpinola looked at the effeminate eunuchs waiting at the queen's table, then at the guards standing around the silk walls of the pavilion.\n\n'How many soldiers do you have, majesty?'\n\n'Nearly five thousand,' she said proudly.\n\n'And of those, how many are horse archers?'\n\n'Three and a half thousand. And your forces?\n\n'A thousand Mongol warriors, of whom six hundred are horse archers, which means our combined forces are still outnumbered by the enemy, which in turn means I am not hopeful we can overcome them.'\n\nShe was surprised by his defeatism.\n\n'God is on our side, Dario.'\n\nAnother bitter smile. 'If that were true, majesty, then we would have been victorious at Apros and your forces latterly at Thermopylae. I fear God watches the affairs of man with disinterest.'\n\n'I intended to track the Catalans and give battle at a time and place favourable to us,' remarked Elena, 'and certainly before they reached Athens. And now, with your appearance, I interpret the Cephissus Valley as such a place, as revealed to us by God.'\n\nSpinola took another gulp of wine.\n\n'Just as you are aware of the location of the Catalans, so they will be aware you are pursuing them. However, they are not aware of the presence of me and my Mongols in the mountains on the northern side of the valley. This being the case, I would ask you to advance with all speed in the morning, and which much noise, against the Catalans to fix their attention.'\n\nElena took a sip of wine. 'So you may attack their exposed flank.'\n\nHe was surprised and delighted by her apparent grasp of rudimentary military tactics.\n\n'Yes, majesty.'\n\n'So you may win all the glory.'\n\nHe was less well pleased. 'Our strategy must be to inflict casualties on the Catalans with our horse archers, especially against the Almogavars. However, I would caution against allowing your horsemen getting too close to the same Almogavars. They are not to be underestimated. Use your other horsemen to shield your horse archers. We hit them hard and retire.'\n\nShe was confused. 'To what end?'\n\n'So they cannot reach Athens to save the French,' he told her. 'After the Acropolis has surrendered, we can then pick them off like vultures hovering over an ailing animal.'\n\nHe stood and bowed his head to her.\n\n'And now, if you will forgive me, I must rejoin my men.'\n\n'I saw him recently,' she said absently.\n\n'Who?'\n\nElena examined her fingernails. 'Luca Baldi. He was part of a Catalan delegation I met with.'\n\nSpinola felt a pain shoot across the top of his left hand.\n\n'Perhaps you may encounter him tomorrow.'\n\nHe said nothing as he turned and walked from her presence, leaving the Queen of Thessaly both intrigued and annoyed. Intrigued by the prospect of doing battle against the Catalans and achieving what the purest Roman blood had failed to do. Annoyed because Dario Spinola had talked to her like he was an equal rather than a subject. Tomorrow she would show the impertinent Genoese how the daughter of Empress Irene conducted herself on the battlefield."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "The air crackled with heat and it was still early morning. It was going to be a long, hot day, though some would not see the end of it. Luca stood beside Jordi and Hector in the front rank of the latter's division, which was positioned on the right of Xavi's division, both units at right angles to the River Cephissus on their left. Behind them, some four hundred paces distant, were the western ramparts of the Catalan camp \u2013 sixty acres of tents, stables, a central square and the haven of the veterans, Maidens of the Spear, and non-combatants. The two divisions, each one drawn up in four ranks, occupied a frontage of five hundred paces, with the river on their left and the company's horsemen on their right. They faced west, from where a great racket was coming from, heralding the approach of the combined Thessalian-Roman army. The divisions of Ferran and Miquel were deployed north of the camp, at right angles to the rest of the army.\n\n'They like their flags and music, these Romans,' said Hector, 'along with their pretty uniforms. Perhaps we will capture Count Michael again.'\n\n'What will you do if he falls into our hands?' enquired Luca.\n\n'Ransom him this time,' answered Hector.\n\nLuca was relieved. 'You won't kill him?'\n\n'If we come face to face on the battlefield today, I will,' said Hector, 'but not if he becomes our prisoner. He's worth a lot more alive than dead.'\n\n'What if he captures us?' asked Romanus on the other side of the commander.\n\n'Oh, he'll hang the lot of us, probably. No point in ransoming us as there's no one to pay it.'\n\n'Then we had better ensure we are the winners today,' said Luca grimly.\n\n'I intend to,' growled Hector. 'God willing.'\n\n'I thought you had no time for religion,' said Jordi.\n\n'Priests and crosses, yes, but there is no harm in asking the Almighty for a bit of help when you are in a tight spot,' answered Hector. 'Not that we will need it. They may have all the drums and trumpets but they will be dancing to our tune, have no fear.'\n\nHe spoke in a loud voice so many within earshot could hear his reassuring words. There was no need. Every Almogavar had absolute faith and trust in Hector's leadership, the man who had led the company to victory after victory following the seizure of Bernat de Rocafort by the Romans. Like most of them he was just an illiterate mercenary who had plied his craft for over twenty years, first in Sicily and for the last seven years in the Roman Empire. His uncouth appearance, lack of manners, callous nature and blunt speaking hid a perceptive mind that was well suited to assessing a tactical situation. And like all good leaders took a keen interest in his opponents.\n\nKnow your enemy. Three words that were crucial to battlefield success, and which were invariably ignored by those who fought the Catalans. Many Catholic, Orthodox and Muslim nobles alike despised the mercenaries, especially the basely attired Almogavars, and dismissed them out of hand. Many had heard of their reputation but could not reconcile the stories that had reached their ears with the shabby foot soldiers that confronted them across the battlefield. Their eyes were drawn to the dirty, patched leggings and the sheepskin coats of the Almogavars, the variety of headgear they wore \u2013 a consequence of the spoils of victory won by the Catalans in Anatolia and in the Roman Empire \u2013 and the mailed horsemen who carried no heraldic designs on their shields, rode horses with no caparisons and wore basic mail armour. The Catalan Company was an army devoid of nobility, which many interpreted as meaning God had abandoned it, reinforced by the Pope's excommunication of its members. Hector knew all this and planned his battles accordingly. He knew the Romans would see the Almogavars standing immobile extending from the river northwards, with the Catalan horsemen on their right flank. He smiled when he saw the Romans appear at the western end of the valley, red and yellow banners fluttering above the mass of horsemen in green and blue uniforms, interspersed among them a smattering of yellow \u2013 the horsemen of Thessaly.\n\nLuca gripped the shaft of his spear as the horizon filled with horsemen, just like at Thermopylae. The blasts of trumpets and thumping of kettledrums was getting louder in an attempt to unnerve the Catalans, who remained silent in their ranks, both those on foot and in the saddle. They had heard horns, drums and trumpets many times before and were unconcerned with the pomp and ceremony of the enemy. But Luca's body grew taught when he saw green-uniformed horsemen massing directly ahead of him and the two Almogavar divisions, the ground between them filled with gently swaying meadow grass. It was perfect ground for horsemen and not just any horsemen. The riders directly opposite were Cuman horse archers and they had ample room to manoeuvre in the valley against the two divisions of foot soldiers. Their tactics would be the same as those of the company's own horse archers: ride forward to within around fifty paces or so of the foot soldiers before unleashing volleys of arrows to cut them down. If the foot soldiers possessed crossbowmen or archers the Cumans would retreat and seek to outflank them, all the time endeavouring to stay out of range of enemy missiles.\n\nLuca glanced at Hector as the horse archers trotted forward, the tension rising as the ground began to tremble under the weight of thousands of horses' hooves. The Cumans would not break into a gallop, they had no need to. They would ride to within range of the Almogavars before unleashing rapid volleys against them. Apprehension began to nibble at Luca. He had faith in Hector, but even so. A thousand well-trained horse archers shooting three or four arrows a minute equated to upwards of five thousand arrows hurtling at foot soldiers wearing helmets but no body armour and carrying inadequately sized round wooden shields. And he estimated there were far more than a thousand horse archers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hector place the whistle that hung around his neck into his mouth, seconds later blowing a long blast. The sound was echoed up and down the line and also in Xavi's division as commanders blew their whistles, seconds later two thousand men about-facing and breaking into a run. Luca and his friends, and Hector, were now in the rear rank and he felt his apprehension growing as he willed those in front to increase their pace so those behind would be beyond the range of the Cumans' recurve bows. He fought the temptation to glance behind, focusing on maintaining his position in the rank, hundreds of others doing the same. He waited, waited for the sound Hector had told them would rent the air, which would be the signal for them to halt.\n\nThe hairs on the back of Luca's neck stood up when he heard it, a hideous and at the same time exhilarating mixture of groans, snorts and squeals as hundreds of horses collapsed to the ground in pain, careering into others to sow discord and confusion among the Cumans. Hector had promised Luca and his friends a mixture of sowing and digging and that is what they and thousands of others had done the previous day, though what they sowed was death and destruction.\n\nAs a consequence of their many victories the Catalans had captured many weapons and much equipment from the enemy, including large quantities of caltrops.\n\nThe name originally meant 'star thistle' and the design was simple enough \u2013 two twisted double-pointed strips of iron cold-hammered together to resemble a ground thistle when finished. The instrument with four spikes was fashioned in such a way that when any three spikes rested on the ground, the fourth always pointed upwards. Simple, sturdy, deadly. Even a small number could inflict serious injuries, sometimes death, on humans or animals that stepped on them. And the Almogavars had scattered thousands on the ground north of the river to create a wide belt of iron spikes that the Cumans unwittingly rode into.\n\nLuca and two thousand others retraced their steps, sprinting as fast as their legs could carry them to reach the Cumans and their injured, frightened horses thrashing around in the field of iron thistles. Luca swapped his spear between his right and left hands, leaving his right free to pluck a javelin from the quiver on his back, a move duplicated by the others around him. His feet and legs felt as light as feathers and his reflexes became as sharp as the blade of his Damascus dagger. It was always like this when battle was joined. The moments before combat were always pensive as his mind filled with endless possibilities of what may or may not occur. But when the fighting began his brain was cleansed of all doubt and filled with a razor-sharp focus. It was almost as if his body became detached from his mind and he was watching the man Luca Baldi from above.\n\nThe physical Luca ran to the edge of the field of caltrops and stopped. How did he and the other Almogavars know when to stop and not step on a caltrop? The day before, as well as scattering caltrops, Luca had helped create a narrow strip of dug-up earth on the eastern edge of the field of caltrops some five hundred paces in length extending from the river.\n\nLuca hurled his javelin at the first Cuman he saw, a disorientated individual holding his head who had obviously been thrown by his injured horse. He was around twenty paces away and the javelin struck him in the chest, the steel point going through his green coat into his ribcage, knocking him to the ground. Luca plucked a second javelin from his quiver and searched for a target. There were none. The other Almogavars in the front rank of the two divisions discovered the same. The Cumans had ridden into the field of caltrops and their horses had fallen as they stepped on the iron obstacles, which meant the majority of the enemy horse archers and their horses were towards the western end of the caltrop belt, too far away to be hit by javelins.\n\n'We are defeated by our own successful measures,' wailed Luca in frustration.\n\n'You are a godless heathen with no faith, Black Sheep,' smiled Hector, looking up just in time to see the first volley of arrows fly over his head.\n\nLuca, Jordi, Romanus and hundreds of others turned, to see Melek and three hundred of his horse archers immediately behind them loosing arrows over the heads of the Almogavar. The missiles arched into the sky and then fell among the Cumans. Luca and hundreds of others began cheering loudly and whooping with joy as Melek's men cut down dozens and then hundreds of Cumans in the space of a few short minutes. Those of the enemy who could fled on their horses, others hobbled back to safety on foot, around half never made it out of the caltrop field. And Hector just stood and smiled with grim satisfaction as another victory fashioned by a low-born mercenary from a hovel in Catalonia over royalty and nobility began to take shape.\n\nMelek and his horsemen, their task complete, did not tarry behind the Almogavars but promptly took themselves off to reinforce the horse archers of Halil Ece.\n\nLuca watched what was left of the Cumans retreat to the west, back towards the stand of banners where as far as he knew Count Cosses was directing the battle. His role in the battle was now over. All attention now turned to the Catalan right flank where Alfonso's horsemen were massed along with Halil Ece's two hundred horse archers. Man for man the Roman horsemen facing the Catalan and Muslim riders were better trained, armed and led, their commanders being men of noble blood who did not lack for courage and were far from devoid of tactical knowledge. But Hector had made allowances for the disparity and had placed Halil Ece's horse archers at Alfonso's disposal. And it was the Muslims who now rode forward and began loosing arrows at the Roman horsemen. With the Cumans withdrawing in confusion on their right and being showered with arrows by riders to the front, the Roman horsemen took the only option open to them: they wheeled about and withdrew.\n\nHector was beside himself with joy. Luca had never seen him so ecstatic.\n\n'Flee, you eunuchs,' he shouted, shaking his spear in the direction of the Roman horsemen. 'Back to your boy-lovers. Go and tell your emperor he will never defeat the Catalan Company.'\n\nThose around him, including Luca, joined in the insults, hurling foul language and abuse at the retreating Romans, who were well out of earshot. Still, it cheered the Almogavars immensely. And following the Romans at a steady pace, a host of banners showing alternating red and yellow horizontal bands in their midst, were Alfonso's horsemen preceded by Halil Ece's horses archers. There was no danger they would stray into the field of caltrops because the previous day the Almogavars had also created a strip of dug-up earth parallel to the river five hundred paces from the waterway. As Hector promised, it had been an intense period of sowing and digging. And behind the Catalan horsemen would march the divisions of Ferran and Miquel, their task being to storm the Roman camp, put everyone inside it to the sword and burn everything else to the ground. Carts, tents, pavilions and supplies were to be torched with no exception. Any mules, oxen and horses in camp would also be slaughtered. In this way the Romans and their Thessalian allies were to be denied the means to mount further campaigns against the Catalans. Hector would then lead the company south to relieve Athens to earn the gratitude of Walter of Brienne, so the company would have an ally on its southern border when it marched back north and made the area around Halmyros its permanent home.\n\nAnd then his plan turned to ashes."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "'It is time, khan .'\n\nIn the trees that covered the mountains on the northern side of the valley a thousand Mongol warriors waited patiently on their horses. Mengu Timur was beside Dario Spinola at the treeline, a few paces back from the edge of the forest. They had ridden unseen through mountain passes to reach their present position, sleeping on the ground wrapped in a single blanket among the trees, eating hard biscuit and cured meat and drinking cool water from mountain streams. Rather than wasting time waiting for those in the Acropolis to surrender, Mengu Timur had sent patrols of his warriors far and wide not only to provide intelligence on the enemy's movements, but also to reconnoitre the terrain of the Duchy of Athens. But for the ride north to intercept the Catalan Company, Dario Spinola had offered obscene amounts of money to any who were prepared to lead him and the Mongols through the mountains. There was no shortage of offers.\n\nHe had to admit the stupid bitch Queen Elena had played her part beyond all expectation and now the Catalans were ripe for the plucking. The great body of their horsemen was nearest the forest, moving westwards or left to right as Spinola viewed them. Behind them, moving in a leisurely fashion, were two formations of Almogavars. He could identity the pair of units because they were for some reason advancing towards the trees.\n\nMengu Timur's mind worked quickly.\n\n'I will lead my heavy horsemen against the enemy riders, khan. You take my light horsemen and force back the foot soldiers.'\n\nSpinola drew his sword. 'With pleasure.'\n\nHe and Mengu Timur were the first to exit the trees, followed by standard bearers carrying a red banner with a white dragon and a large purple flag showing a rearing silver stallion. Then came a thousand Mongol warriors, dressed in the same way and carrying the same weapons as those who had unleashed such devastation against the Christian West a hundred years before. And their tactics remained the same. There were no cheers or war cries, no fanfare of trumpets, only an assault conducted in silence, as now.\n\nFour jaguns followed the silver dragon of Mengu Timur as he led them right to attack the rear of the Catalan horsemen \u2013 four hundred Mongol horsemen wearing lamellar armour and helmets, their horses protected by leather armour, armed with lances, swords, maces and axes. Dario Spinola was at the head of six jaguns of light Mongol horsemen, riding directly south towards the two divisions of Almogavars that were in the process of wheeling left to follow the victorious Catalan horsemen. Which now stopped upon seeing hundreds of horsemen bearing down on them, having seemingly appeared out of thin air.\n\nSpinola roared with delight as he beheld a wondrous sight \u2013 Almogavars fleeing from him as arrows began to rain down upon them. The lightly equipped Almogavars were quick on their feet but Mongol horsemen were quicker and they began to close the gap between them, arrows continually hissing either side of the Genoese noble and finding targets. Almogavars began to go down, not many at first, but more and more as the Mongols shot arrows from the saddle and found Catalan targets.\n\nMongol arbans \u2013 ten-man troops \u2013 broke left and right from the main body that now slowed to a canter and then a trot, the warriors deliberately ceasing their shooting. Spinola pulled up his horse and rode over to Mengu Timur's deputy.\n\n'Why have you stopped?' he said in an angry voice.\n\n'Have patience, khan ,' replied the officer, 'we do not want the enemy to escape back to their camp. See, they have halted.'\n\nSpinola turned in the saddle and smiled. The Mongols despatched from the flanks had galloped past the Almogavars to place themselves between the northern edge of the Catalan camp and the two divisions, more and more Mongols joining them to create a wall of horseflesh blocking the Almogavars' retreat.\n\n'Now we shoot them to pieces, khan ,' said the officer.\n\nThe Almogavar divisions had joined together so the Mongols could not get between them, presenting a wall of spear points to become an elongated hedgehog on the battlefield, which no horsemen could break. But they did not need to break the formation, just whittle it down with arrows, which the Mongols now proceeded to do. For Dario Spinola it was as if all the humiliation of the past few years was being washed away as Almogavars fell to the ground, pierced by one or more arrows. His left hand no longer throbbed with pain and a heavy weight was being lifted from his shoulders. He looked around him and noticed more and more Mongol arbans were riding around the Almogavar flanks to swell the number of warriors between the camp's northern entrance and the Almogavars. The blocking force now comprised the bulk of the Mongol horse archers, which he found strange, though not when the Almogavars suddenly charged the Mongols. The latter's officers had clearly found out as much as they could about the tactics of the Catalans and specifically the Almogavars, and knew they would never meekly stand on the battlefield and wait to be shot down by enemy arrows. So they launched a desperate charge in an attempt to reach the northern entrance of their camp."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "For Luca, being an observer to a battle was a strange experience. His participation in the bloodletting had been frustratingly brief. He stood with the rest of Hector's division waiting, for what he was not sure. But a nagging doubt in his mind told him the day was not yet over. His instincts were correct.\n\nA panting, sweating boy, no more than thirteen years old, presented himself to Hector, who realised the youth had not run from camp to join his division.\n\n'Speak.'\n\n'Carlos sends his regards and reports Miquel and Ferran are being destroyed.'\n\nCarlos was one of the veteran Almogavars who had been left in command of the camp.\n\n'Look sharp,' called Hector, placing the whistle in his mouth and blowing it three times.\n\nThe three blasts were duplicated up and down the line. It was the emergency signal and everyone knew they had only one command to fulfil: follow Hector, the commander of the Almogavars.\n\n'Column,' he called.\n\nHe paced forward, Luca falling in on his left, Romanus on his right and Jordi beside Luca. Thus did a thousand men in four ranks, each one numbering two hundred and fifty men, turn into a column of two hundred and fifty ranks, each one made up of four Almogavars, in quick time. It was a marvel to behold and testament to the discipline and training of each individual Almogavar. Hector led his division not back to camp but in a north-easterly direction, straight for where he assumed the beleaguered divisions of Ferran and Miquel were located. He could not see them as he ran across the ground, his division keeping pace with him. But he could now see dozens, hundreds of men on horses equipped with bows riding up and down. As he got closer he knew they were shooting their bows because the air was filled with sharp cracks \u2013 the sound of bowstrings being released.\n\nLuca saw the riders and their bows and knew Hector was contravening all accepted tactical norms and was leading a column of foot soldiers in a charge against horse archers. But then Hector suddenly veered slightly left to lead his division beyond the horse archers, in effect not trying to break through the cordon of riders around the trapped divisions but to get behind the horsemen.\n\nLuca's heart was pounding in his chest, not due to the exertion of running half a mile at speed but because any minute the horsemen would be directing their arrows against him and the rest of the division, plus Xavi's division that was following Hector's. He had no time to look around, his only focus being Hector, who suddenly slowed and raised his spear.\n\n'On me!'\n\nLuca heard the cracks of bowstrings and could see the horsemen clearly now: strange-looking individuals in brown coats with fur hats on their heads. Hector halted and the division once again formed into four ranks around him. Now the horsemen became aware of two formations of foot soldiers behind them and arrows began to hiss through the air towards the Almogavars. One went past Luca's right ear and struck the man behind him in the face, killing him instantly.\n\n'Into them!' shouted Hector who sprang forward with javelin in his right hand.\n\nIt did not remain in his hand long and neither did the one grasped by Luca who threw it at a horseman around twenty paces away, or rather the horse he was riding. But the target was moving at speed and the javelin missed its intended victim. It was only one of two hundred and fifty hurled in less than half a minute and others did not miss, horses going down and throwing their riders. From the opposite direction came arrows, dozens of them, some hissing overhead, others striking the ground and not a few slamming into flesh.\n\nLuca threw his last javelin at a fleeting target and was delighted to see the point hit a rider in the back, who threw up his arms and let go of his bow. He slammed into Jordi on his left as a wounded horse, a javelin stuck in its flank, bolted straight at him. He and his friend fell to the ground and at that moment the cohesion of Hector's division fell apart. To be replaced by a scene of utter chaos and confusion.\n\nJordi jumped to his feet and hauled up his friend, Luca plunging his spear into the belly of a rider who had just shot an Almogavar in the back. The beast collapsed and Jordi thrust his spear into the guts of it thrown rider. Luca looked around and saw Almogavars being shot by arrows and others spearing horses and riders. Where was Hector? Where was Romanus? He took the shield off his back and held it in his left hand as the air was thick with arrows, as well as screams and yelps. And the ground was being carpeted with dead and dying horses.\n\nA horseman came at the pair, nocked arrow pointed at Luca, who focused on the missile's iron head.\n\n'Take him after he has shot his arrow,' Luca shouted at his friend.\n\nSupreme calm had taken hold of Luca as he forgot the disarray around him and focused wholly on the missile directed at him. When the rider released his bowstring time seemed to slow and the arrow appeared to only inch towards him. His gaze was wholly on the arrow as he changed the position of his shield to catch the missile, the iron head penetrating the wood and exiting the inside of the shield only inches from his hand. The rider turned his horse but not in time to prevent the javelin Jordi had thrown the moment he had released his bowstring hitting his horse in the chest. The beast immediately collapsed on its left side and Jordi sprang forward to stab its rider in the face with his spear.\n\nIn his daring assault Hector had used his own division and that of Xavi's to essentially corral the horse archers and deny them the one thing that made them most effective: space in which to manoeuvre. It was innovative, brilliant, and costly. Whistle blasts rent the air and replaced the cracks of bowstrings as Almogavar captains and sergeants attempted to restore some sort of order. It was at first difficult because the divisions of Hector and Xavi had deliberately plunged into the enemy horsemen. But gradually a semblance of two divisions began to form amid dead humans and horses.\n\nThe depleted divisions of Miquel and Ferran were now visible across the scene of slaughter. All four Almogavar divisions had charged the Mongols and both sides had paid a heavy price. But Ferran and Miquel had been saved and the Mongols defeated. Though there was still one drama left to play out.\n\nDario Spinola was happy with events. He had been surprised when the Almogavars had charged the Mongols and more astounded when other Almogavars had appeared behind him and his eastern warriors. But they had paid a heavy price in casualties and he knew that it was unlikely the Catalan Company would be continuing its march to Athens, or at least it would be delayed long enough to allow him to capture the Acropolis and put an end to French rule in the Duchy of Athens. He had no idea what was happening on other parts of the battlefield and he did not care. He cantered back towards the treeline, the surviving Mongols with him. And then he spotted someone and his mood changed. He held up his hand.\n\n'Halt!'\n\nHis standard bearer pulled up his horse, prompting the Mongols to slow their horses. Everything disappeared \u2013 the dead bodies, the carcasses of horses with bellies ripped open, limping and crawling wounded soldiers \u2013 when Dario Spinola spotted Luca Baldi. It was as if a ray of light from above had highlighted the impious Sicilian peasant, like God himself was challenging the Genoese to finally put an end to the low-born rogue whose existence poured scorn on him and made him a laughing stock in the eyes of his peers. He pointed at the Sicilian.\n\n'Kill him.'\n\nHe dug his spurs into his horse and cantered back towards where the Almogavars were standing in their battered ranks. The Mongols, surprised by the order, initially hesitated but then followed their employer, stringing arrows in bowstrings and releasing them when they got within range of the Catalan foot soldiers. But many of their quivers were depleted and they received a nasty shock when their horses began to collapse under them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "When Carlos had sent a runner to Hector to alert him to the threat that had appeared from the northern side of the valley, he had also organised a relief force to assist the beleaguered divisions of Xavi and Ferran. It was made up of two hundred crossbowmen and the same number of veteran Almogavars \u2013 men aged fifty and above who could still throw a javelin and wield a spear but were reckoned too old to conduct rapid route marches and move around a battlefield at speed. The crossbowmen were all younger, mostly men in their forties, but had become redundant for battlefield duties on account of leaders such as Sancho Rey and Hector believing mobility on the battlefield, allied to the missile power of the Almogavars' javelins, was preferable to having to protect crossbowmen who were of little use in close-quarter combat. And who became a liability in a m\u00eal\u00e9e. But the crossbowmen were still useful when it came to defending the camp and providing security for the wagons when the company was on the march.\n\nLuca and hundreds of others immediately adopted a hedgehog formation as the Mongols bore down on them, not so many this time but still enough to fill the air with hundreds of arrows that began to strike Almogavars standing stationary in close order, the front rank with left legs extended and the butt ends of their spears secured by their right feet, the shaft held by the left hand at an angle of forty-five degrees. The second rank held their spears horizontally to create a bristling wall of spear points. The second and third ranks duplicated the arrangement but in the opposite direction. However, between the divisions were now crossbowmen who began shooting at the horses of the Mongols at a rate of three bolts a minute.\n\nThe encounter was brief and involved an intense exchange of arrows and crossbow bolts. Missiles hissed through the air in every direction and at all angles. Luca stood next to Hector and Jordi, his face an iron-hard visage as his instincts screamed at him to turn and run from the arrows being shot at the Almogavars, or at least throw himself to the ground to make himself as small a target as possible. Like all the others he held his shield in his right hand to provide a modicum of protection. But Almogavar shields were only two feet in diameter and too small to cover the torso. His blood was chilled when an arrow flew between him and Jordi to strike a comrade in the second rank, the man collapsing forward on to him. The blow caused him to lurch forward and the arrow that slammed into the top of his left arm caused him to drop his spear and fall to his knees. Hector also dropped his shield and hauled Luca back to his feet.\n\n'Don't die, Black Sheep, it would be bad for morale.'\n\nAn arrow struck Jordi in the right leg, just above the knee but slightly to the right so it fortunately did not shatter the bone. But the iron head bit deep into the muscle and the leg gave way beneath him. Then the Mongol horsemen who had shot the Black Sheep and his friend were themselves hit by bolts as the Catalan crossbowmen cut down the entire front rank of Spinola's mercenaries. The Mongols pitched forward and toppled from their mounts, went listless as stirrups kept their dead bodies in the saddle, or were pinned and crushed beneath the bulk of their slain horses."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "The commander of the Mongol horse archers reached over and grabbed the reins of Dario Spinola's horse. The Genoese had seen Luca Baldi being hit by an arrow and fall and had shouted in triumph.\n\nHe was oblivious to the losses being inflicted on the Mongols whom he had led against the Almogavars, but who now had no room in which to manoeuvre to get around and behind the thousands of foot soldiers they faced. Who had been reinforced by crossbowmen who were now trading missiles in what had become an exchange between two stationary formations. But he was very aware of a violent tug on his horse's reins.\n\n'It is time to go, khan .'\n\nThe Genoese was outraged. 'How dare you speak to me in such a manner.'\n\nA Mongol next to them released his bowstring but then threw up his hands, the bow leaving his grip, when a crossbow bolt hit him in the throat. His mouth opened but no sound came out, only spurts of blood.\n\n'We leave now!' said the commander forcibly. 'Or die in this place.'\n\nSpinola roared with rage but allowed his horse to be turned and ducked low in the saddle as crossbow bolts flew above his head.\n\nDario Spinola had led six hundred Mongol horse archers against the Almogavars. He returned to the treeline with one hundred; the rest lay scattered on the soft meadow grass of the Cephissus Valley along with their dead horses. Spinola felt cheated but he had dealt the Catalan Company a heavy blow, from which it would take many months to recover. And moreover he had seen Luca Baldi fall.\n\nMengu Timur had enjoyed great initial success against the Catalan horsemen, his four hundred riders hitting Alfonso's mailed lancers in the rear and knocking many from the saddle before they could respond. Worse for the Catalans, the horse archers of Halil Ece, now reinforced by those of Melek Kose, were in the vanguard visiting damage upon the Roman horsemen as they retreated west back towards their camp. But four hundred against fifteen hundred is an unequal contest and soon Alfonso and his men had recovered from the shock of enemy horsemen appearing behind them and launched a counterattack. There was a brief but violent m\u00eal\u00e9e in which Mengu Timur lost a hundred men before he ordered a hasty withdrawal. Their retreat to the treeline was impeccable, the Mongols melting into the forest, the Catalans reluctant to follow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "Another individual who had the reins of her horse grabbed in a most ill-mannered way was Queen Elena, the commander of her bodyguard taking immediate action to save his queen when he saw hundreds of Roman horsemen and the light horsemen of Thessaly in their yellow uniforms riding towards him. He also saw arrows in the air and knew the enemy's horse archers were assaulting the Roman horsemen, who had taken the entirely reasonable decision to withdraw rather than be shot. He had also witnessed the rout of the Cuman horse archers earlier and decided the queen's safety took precedence over all other considerations.\n\n'What are you doing?' Elena demanded to know.\n\n'Ensuring Thessaly has a future, majesty,' replied the commander, who unlike many of the king and queen's close confidantes was a middle-aged man with considerable military experience.\n\nElena snatched the reins from him.\n\n'I am quite capable of directing my own horse, general.'\n\nHe bowed his head but knew she would do as he had urged. He heard the nervousness in her voice and saw the alarm in her large, lustrous eyes. She and her bodyguard trotted away from the mass of blue-uniformed Roman horsemen approaching.\n\n'Where is Dario Spinola?' cried the young queen. 'He has betrayed Thessaly and the empire.'\n\nThe three hundred soldiers around the queen trotted west for a distance of around a quarter of a mile before a rider appeared next to the general and saluted.\n\n'The enemy horsemen have halted and are retreating, lord general.'\n\nThe general turned to the pair of signallers behind him.\n\n'Call a halt.'\n\nThey did so, the trumpet blasts making Elena jump.\n\n'Idiots,' she hissed.\n\nShe saw the smile on the general's face and felt at ease.\n\nHer bodyguard halted and turned around to deploy back into line, the standards of Thessaly and the empire fluttering behind the queen and her senior officers. They all had a splendid view of the valley, the mountains on either side, their lower slopes covered in trees, the River Cephissus flowing through its centre, and beyond the northern bank of the waterway thousands of individuals manoeuvring and dying. The queen could not see the enemy horsemen, only the backs of hundreds of Roman horsemen after they had turned around to face their Catalan opponents once more.\n\n'What is happening?' she demanded to know.\n\n'The enemy horsemen have halted, majesty,' answered the general, 'which would suggest something has interrupted their advance.'\n\n'Dario Spinola?' suggested the queen, confidence returning to her.\n\n'I cannot say for certain, majesty, but it would appear so.'\n\nElena flashed a dazzling smile. 'Excellent. What now?'\n\nThe general looked over his right shoulder.\n\n'Our Cuman allies having fled the field, we have no choice but to withdraw in good order back to camp.'\n\nThe queen stiffened in the saddle. 'Withdraw? We are defeated?'\n\n'Neither side has achieved a victory, majesty, but the longer we remain here our chances of being worsted increase. We have no horse archers whereas those of the enemy are still on the field. All in all, I would say we have achieved some success. My congratulations.'\n\nElena was delighted. She had ridden out of Neopatras a young queen leaving a sick husband behind at the head of an army whose leaders she had arrested. She would return to the city a heroine for no one son of Thessaly had fallen in the Cephissus Valley."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "'Leave it!'\n\nJordi was startled by Hector's tone as he reached to rip the arrow from Luca's arm.\n\n'The worst thing you can do is try to remove an arrow by pulling on the shaft. The head is embedded in the flesh and pulling the shaft might wrench it free from the wood, which means whoever has to get it out after your idiocy will have to dig around in his arm. Wait till you get back to camp. And the same goes for the arrow stuck in your leg.'\n\nSo Jordi hobbled back to camp, assisted by Romanus who did not have a scratch on him. Neither did Hector who supported Luca as the surging emotions of combat wore off and his left arm began to ache and then burn. When he had been struck by the arrow it felt as though someone had tapped him gently on the arm, but now the wound was oozing blood and the pain was increasing in frequency and intensity. Hector uncorked his water bottle and held it to Luca's lips.\n\n'Drink, we don't want the Black Sheep expiring a short distance from help.'\n\nLuca drank greedily.\n\n'Thank you. Did you see it?'\n\n'What?'\n\n'The banner of Dario Spinola, the accursed white dragon?'\n\nHector nodded as he replaced the cork in the top of his water bottle.\n\n'I did, which means Athens has already fallen, for why else would Spinola be this far north? One thing's for sure, we won't be marching any further south.'\n\n'Then where?'\n\nHector looked around at the scene of carnage.\n\n'Nowhere for a while, that much is certain.'\n\nThe walk back into camp was unlike anything Luca had ever experienced. The Catalans had suffered casualties in every battle they had fought in. But they had always been light compared to the losses of the enemy, sometimes ridiculously light. Luca and his friends had got used to inflicting heavy losses on the enemy for little return, as had the rest of the company. The dead and wounded the mercenaries had suffered in the Cephissus Valley came as a great shock and cast a dark shadow over everyone. It had also shattered the myth of Catalan invincibility, which would not be lost on the company's enemies. This was not Apros or the whirlwind victories in Anatolia where the foe had been slaughtered and the Catalans had been left masters of the field on every occasion. The enemy had been mauled, it was true, but the Romans had retired in good order back to their camp, along with the Queen of Thessaly and her bodyguard. They might return the next day, as might Dario Spinola with more of his barbarian horse archers.\n\nIt was midday and the sun was now at its zenith, roasting all below, which meant the bodies and horse carcasses, already the attention of hordes of flies, would begin to rot and give off noxious gases after a few days. The carcasses would have to be burnt, the bodies interred, if the company was planning to stay in the valley. The pyres and pits would have to be sited well away from the river in order to ensure the company's fresh drinking water was not poisoned.\n\nA shot of intense pain shot through Luca's arm and he doubled up.\n\n'We'll soon have you back with your woman,' said Hector by way of reassurance.\n\nLuca felt faint but walked on, entering the camp's northern entrance through which the rest of the Almogavars were trudging, many being carried by their comrades, having been wounded in the battle. The veterans had returned to the ramparts to provide camp security, to be joined by teenage boys who were too young to fight but who knew how to throw a javelin. The Maidens of the Spear were returning to their tents to tend to their men.\n\nHector assisted Luca back to where a tearful Ayna embraced him, Chana likewise bursting into tears when she saw the arrow stuck in Jordi's right leg. Monica threw herself into Romanus' arms and then looked him up and down.\n\n'I got lucky,' he said.\n\n'You pair sit tight and the surgeons will be with you as soon as they have dealt with the more seriously injured,' said Hector.\n\n'There is no need for that, effendi ,' Ertan told him. 'I will attend to them.'\n\nHector looked at the kindly, portly Syrian. 'You?'\n\n'I have dealt with many arrow wounds during my time in Anatolia. Allah will guide my hand, have no fear.'\n\nChana clung to the shred of hope offered by Ertan.\n\n'He always looks after us.'\n\nErtan pointed at Romanus.\n\n'I will need your belt.'\n\nRomanus looked quizzically at him.\n\n'Now!' snapped the cook in a rare moment of anger.\n\n'I will leave you to it,' said Hector, pointing at Ertan. 'Don't let them die.'\n\n'In shaa Allah ,' replied Ertan.\n\nHector stared at him blankly.\n\n'It means God willing,' Ayna told him.\n\nHector was shaking his head as he walked off. Ertan worked quickly, ordering Prisca to take a distraught Sam and bawling twins away to save them the upset of watching him remove the arrows from the flesh of their fathers. Romanus tossed a spear to Anicius.\n\n'Make yourself useful and get yourself to the ramparts.'\n\n'He's too young,' said Monica.\n\n'I'm not,' protested the boy.\n\n'Then go,' Romanus told him, handing Ertan his belt after he had removed the scabbard and sheath holding his weapons.\n\nA delighted Anicius ran off holding a spear, followed by the maternal Prisca who ushered the three young ones away, promising them a game of hide and seek. Ertan told Jordi to sit on a stool and proceeded to fasten the belt around the top of his right leg.\n\n'It will reduce the flow of the blood until I can attend to the wound,' he told Jordi.\n\nHe asked Ayna to fetch another stool and told Luca to sit on it. He peered at the arrow lodged in his arm.\n\nErtan held out his hand. 'You magical knife, effendi .'\n\nLuca pulled the Damascus blade from its sheath and handed it to Ertan who passed it to Ayna.\n\n'Hold it in the fire for a few moments, mistress.'\n\nLuca was sweating, though not due to the heat but rather the pain that felt like a hot iron was being pressed into his flesh.\n\n'I must see if the arrowhead is lodged in bone, effendi ,' Ertan told him. 'I apologise in advance for the pain involved.'\n\n'You are forgiven.'\n\nErtan nodded to Ayna who passed him the dagger, the Syrian making an incision with the razor-sharp edge to enlarge the entry wound. Luca stiffened as more pain gripped him. Ertan slid a finger down the shaft of the arrow and felt the depth of the wound, smiling and slowly easing the arrowhead from Luca's arm. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he clenched his fists tightly as Ertan slowly extracted the arrow, which mercifully had not embedded itself in bone.\n\n'Wash the wound with the white wine in my tent,' Ertan told Ayna, 'and afterwards clean it with a clean piece of linen soaked with honey.'\n\nHe then turned his attention to Jordi, reheating Luca's dagger in the fire before carrying out the same procedure. Once again he was delighted to discover the arrowhead had not lodged itself in Jordi's leg bone, though Luca's friend had lost a lot of blood and passed out after Ertan had extracted the arrow from his wound. He quickly washed out the wound, cleaned it with honey and wrapped it in fresh linen, afterwards helping Ayna, Monica and Chana carry the unconscious Jordi to their large tent.\n\nLuca managed to stay awake to tell Ayna what had happened and was delighted when she informed him that from henceforth she would be overseeing his recovery. Ertan told them both it would take at least a month and his bandages would have to be changed every day, during which he would examine the wound to ensure it was healing. But the Syrian was confident it would fully heal.\n\n'Though it will leave a scar, effendi, which will obscure the dragon brand on your arm.'\n\nLuca went to sleep a happy man, knowing that the hated symbol of Dario Spinola would no longer be decorating his body, though when his wound did heal the top of his left arm would look like a badly patched piece of cloth. But he and Jordi were the lucky ones. The Mongol horse archers had inflicted great losses on Miquel's division. Like all archers they knew that a hit to the trunk of the body was likely to be fatal. It represented not only the largest part of the body but also contained the majority of the major organs \u2013 heart, lungs, guts \u2013 and was therefore the target they always aimed at. And Almogavars standing still and wearing no body armour were very vulnerable to skilled archers.\n\nThe brief but bloody fight between the Almogavars and Mongols took the lives of four hundred of the former, with an additional six hundred wounded. Alfonso's horsemen had suffered greater losses in proportion to their numbers, three hundred being killed and the same number wounded. The slain included Aziz Ece, eldest son of Halil Ece, who met his demise on the end of a Mongol lance. The wails and crying of the women of the fallen filled the camp for days and increased the sense of uncertainty that had been notably absent before the battle. Before Cephissus the members of the Catalan Company believed the Roman Empire, Thessaly and Greece to be their playthings, but now people wondered what place could offer them sanctuary and rest.\n\nLuca, excused duties until his arm had healed, spent the first week largely confined in and around his tent. He sat on a stool assisting Ertan with preparing meals or stitching clothing while the women were away training with the Maidans of the Spear, Jordi mostly sleeping in the tent as he recovered at a slower rate. He also helped Prisca and Ertan watch over and amuse Sam and the twins, Anicius being drafted into the grisly task of burying the dead and consigning slain horses to great pyres that burnt day and night. He returned each afternoon with soot on his solemn face, his young eyes filled with shock at what they had seen. Romanus was also gone all day, he and the rest of those Almogavars who were unhurt sweeping the forests on either side of the valley for enemy soldiers. They found none and the mounted patrols sent east and west reported the Romans had quit their camp and the road to Athens was open. Hector took measures to revive morale by having a meticulous count made of the enemy dead before they were interred in a mass grave near the treeline on the northern side of the valley. It revealed two thousand Cumans had been killed, along with two hundred Romans and five hundred Mongols. The fact the enemy had lost three times as many soldiers as the Catalans was certainly a morale booster, but could not hide the other fact, which was the company had lost over one in ten dead and one in seven wounded. The next decision Hector took would decide whether the Catalan Company would survive or be annihilated."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "The elation of seeing hundreds of Almogavars cut down quickly faded for Dario Spinola when he returned to Athens. Not only did he discover that the Acropolis still held out, but the scouts Vito Carcione had despatched to keep watch on activity in the Principality of Achaea had returned with news a great relief army was on the march.\n\nSpinola watched a servant pour wine into his goblet. During his occupation of Athens he had taken possession of a grand house near the agora that had excellent views of the Acropolis from its first-storey balconies. It had been the home of a Frankish lord and his family, who were now besieged on the escarpment, either that or dead. The building was a place of spacious rooms, marble floors and beautiful wall frescoes, with a red-tile roof and well-maintained gardens. Spinola had retained the services of the house's Greek servants.\n\n'Father Ramon informs me you stopped the execution of the Venetians in my absence.'\n\nVito Carcione did not blink as he raised the goblet to his lips.\n\n'I did. It seemed a waste of time executing people those in the Acropolis didn't give a fig for.'\n\nSpinola took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair to stare at his ugly, scarred deputy.\n\n'You did right, Vito. They will provide the rowers to get us out of here.'\n\nCarcione raised an eyebrow. 'We are leaving?'\n\n'We are. I doubt the Acropolis will surrender before Jacques of Taranto arrives, and even if it does, we will ourselves be besieged. And if we are, no one will march to our aid.'\n\n'The Romans proved a disappointment again?'\n\nSpinola allowed a thin smile to crease his lips.\n\n'As usual, their women proved more spirited than their menfolk. But I take comfort in giving the Catalan Company a bloody nose.'\n\nCarcione raised his goblet to his lord. 'I will drink to that.'\n\n'I saw him fall, Vito.'\n\n'Who is that, lord?'\n\n'Luca Baldi. He is finally dead, of that I am certain. That alone is worth trading the Duchy of Athens for.'\n\nCarcione was shocked. 'You will abandon the duchy?'\n\n'For the moment, Vito, for the moment. I will return to Rhaedestus to plan my next move and you will return to Kallipolis.'\n\n'I will place Mengu Timur in charge of Rhaedestus and travel back to Caffa to arrange to hire more Mongols for next year's campaign.'\n\n'The Romans might object to that.'\n\nSpinola chuckled. 'The Romans? They are finished, Vito, of that I am convinced. When I rode north I met with Queen Elena to coordinate our joint assault on the Catalans. When I asked her how many troops she commanded, she answered just under five thousand.'\n\nHe looked at Carcione, expecting his deputy to register surprise, but the uncouth mercenary merely stared blankly back at him.\n\n'The combined Roman and Bulgarian force that rode from Thessalonica numbered ten thousand, to which were added the troops of Thessaly when they reached Neopatras.'\n\nNow Carcione was shocked. 'What happened to the other five thousand?'\n\n'What, indeed, Vito? But it just points to the malaise and rottenness that infect the Roman world. It is like an old, diseased tree that is in danger of falling to pieces at any moment.'\n\n'And you intend to hasten its demise.'\n\nSpinola nodded. 'I do. The republic already owns Galata, Rhaedestus and Kallipolis, and next year I intend to launch a fresh campaign against the Duchy of Athens.'\n\n'The Franks will have something to say about that, lord.'\n\n'The Franks are allies of the Venetians, which is why the republic will assist me in my plans. Ultimately, it comes down to who is the stronger in the Mediterranean, Genoa or Venice.'\n\nDario Spinola and what was left of his army left the port of Piraeus the next afternoon. When he mentioned to Mengu Timur that his Mongols would have to leave their horses behind, either that or slaughter them to deny them to the enemy, the Mongol flatly refused either option. He explained to Spinola that Mongol horses were highly trained and became comrades-in-arms to those who rode them, not mere beasts of burden. They were accorded respect and dignity and could never be abandoned to the foe. That being the case, he and the other Mongols would ride from Athens and retrace their steps to Chalcis and on to the north of Euboea where they would wait for the transports that had brought them to the island some weeks before. Spinola thought the idea mad and doomed to failure, but he agreed to Timur's request.\n\nSpinola, Carcione and the surviving Genoese boarded three galleys that rowed out of the harbour before those in the Acropolis were aware anything was awry. One of the galleys was Spinola's own with the redoubtable Paul Gatto in command, the other two being captured vessels that were crewed by Venetian prisoners. They were promised their freedom if they rowed well and made no trouble, a pledge Spinola debated whether to honour. Spinola detested Venetians but the acquisition of two war galleys made him feel magnanimous.\n\nIt was another beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and the waters of the Saronic Gulf as flat and smooth as a piece of polished marble. Dario Spinola had invaded the Duchy of Athens with nearly sixteen hundred soldiers; he left with seven hundred and fifty. By any measure it was a defeat. He had failed to capture Athens and the duchy, being forced to retire on hearing of the approach of a relief army. But his army was composed of mercenaries and his great wealth meant he would be able to raise another army easily enough. As long as slaves, timber and furs continued to pour into the Black Sea port of Caffa, Dario Spinola would have inexhaustible funds with which to finance his grandiose plans. Which was why he was wearing a phlegmatic expression as his galley glided out of the port of Piraeus with the banner of the golden lion still flying from the walls of the Acropolis. Father Ramon was less sanguine, his lips clenched tightly together in a mask of anger. Bernat de Rocafort had promised him the bishopric of Kallipolis, a post that had disappeared when the Pope had excommunicated the Catalan Company. Dario Spinola had dangled the prospect of him becoming archbishop of Athens before him, only to see his hopes cruelly dashed. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever rise above his humble position and was also beginning to question his own faith. How could God ignore one so deserving of high office?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "The Genoese had set fires on the morning of their departures. Lots of fires around the Acropolis, on which they heaped their remaining sacks of sulphur. They did this for two reasons. To produce a lot of smoke to mask their departure; and fill the lungs of those holding out in the Acropolis with toxic fumes. By the time the fires had burnt themselves out the Genoese had sailed from Piraeus and the Mongols had ridden north to Euboea. Only the cowered citizens of Athens remained behind, too frightened to leave their homes after being instructed to stay inside and bolt their doors until told otherwise, on pain of death.\n\nJean de Carrouges held a cloth to his mouth and coughed into it. Both his eyes and lungs had been badly affected by the sulphur fumes and he looked pale and drained standing beside Count Walter on the battlements of the Acropolis. His eyes were streaming and the coughing convulsed his body. Walter was in genuine distress seeing his deputy and friend in such discomfort. Jean removed the cloth from his mouth.\n\n'Apologies, your grace.'\n\n'You do not need to apologise for the devilry of the enemy, Jean. Talking of which, they are conspicuous by their absence today.'\n\nThe fires had been lit the day before, the glowing embers visible from the battlements as dusk fell over Athens. It was now the next day and the town below appeared deserted. There were no enemy soldiers patrolling the streets or keeping watch on the gates of the Acropolis. There was not even a stray dog wandering the empty streets.\n\nJean wiped his weeping eyes. 'It is very quiet.'\n\n'Too quiet. I have never seen the town so empty.'\n\nJean pointed down at the agora. 'Not totally empty.'\n\nThey watched a solitary rider trot into the agora, his horse covered by a red caparison, followed by more horsemen, one of whom was carrying a large red banner. They could not determine the emblem on the sigil as there was no wind and the flag hung limply on its staff. Walter's eye was drawn to the lead rider who looked large in comparison to the others, as did his horse. A smile cracked the Frenchman's lips.\n\n'Your eyes and lungs can rest easy, Jean, for relief has arrived.'\n\nThey hurried from the battlements to the gates, waiting impatiently as the wooden braces and earth heaped against them were removed to allow them to be opened. When they were they walked out of the Acropolis and down the track leading to Athens. They had not travelled twenty paces when the man they had seen in the agora was before them, a tall knight in mail armour with huge shoulders wearing a red surcoat bearing a gold cross, strapped on his back a huge two-handed great sword. Behind him was a large party of his vassal knights, all wearing his coat of arms and carrying long, red-painted lances.\n\nJacques of Taranto dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to his mounted squire. He walked up to the pair of Frenchmen and tipped his head to Walter.\n\n'Your grace.'\n\n'It is good to see you, Jacques. Your timing is impeccable.'\n\n'Your summons has been answered,' said Jacques, 'and not only in Achaea. The King of France himself has sent reinforcements to aid you in your holy mission.'\n\nWalter's face lit up but Jean was perplexed.\n\n'Holy mission?'\n\n'To kill Luca Baldi,' explained Jacques."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Thessalonica's throne room was packed with dignitaries \u2013 men with immaculately trimmed beards wearing expensive silk kabbadions embellished with gold and silver thread and fastened at the waist by wide leather belts. All the great officials of Empress Irene's court were present, including the Megas Logothetes, the Grand Chancellor, the First Secretary of the Court \u2013 the Protasekretis \u2013 and the Megas Baiulos, the Grand Bailiff. Then there was the Grand Metropolitan of the Orthodox Church surrounded by a coterie of his black-robed priests, as well as representatives of the city's merchant classes: the bankers, goldsmiths, perfumers, leather workers, fishermen, silk weavers and slave traders. The great estates that produced huge quantities of wheat from the fields in the hinterland around the city were represented by the noblemen who owned those estates, proud individuals whose lands had been ravaged by the Catalan Company two years before. They had applauded when the combined Roman-Bulgarian army had ridden from the city weeks before. Now they stood in silence with solemn expressions as the commanders of that army, Count Michael Cosses and Master John, stood to attention in front of Empress Irene. To the right of the empress was the commander of her own army, Michael Choniates, to her left Joseph Aplakes, the city governor.\n\nIrene was dressed to impress in a tight-fitting apricot-coloured silk dress lined in cream with jewelled cuffs. From her gold crown hung ropes of pearls, gold and gemstones, with large, jewelled earrings beneath and gold rings on her fingers. Her heavy eye liner and eye shadow made her brown eyes darker, menacing, her lustrous black hair tied back. The chamber crackled with tension as Irene regarded the two before her like a soaring eagle observing a pair of rabbits in a meadow.\n\n'Ten thousand soldiers rode from this city. How many did you bring back?' she demanded to know.\n\nShe knew the truth already but wanted those who were responsible for the debacle to declare it to her court.\n\n'Two thousand, five hundred, highness,' answered Count Michael.\n\nThere were gasps around the court, which Irene did nothing to silence as she regarded the two high-ranking Roman officers before her. Both stood tall and proud, refusing to be cowered or intimidated by what was a carefully arranged public humiliation.\n\n'What should I say to Tsar Theodore when he asks me why only a fifth of his men returned to Bulgaria with General Dragomir?'\n\n'That he should send a better commander next time,' said Master John without hesitation.\n\nCount Michael gave a faint smile, prompting Irene to spring from her throne.\n\n'You think this is funny, count? You think the humiliation of the empire at the hands of apostate peasants is a cause for merriment? I could have both your heads for your insolence and cowardice.'\n\nMichael stiffened when he heard the last word.\n\n'You may have my head, highness, for I would gladly give my life for the empire. But no one calls me a coward.'\n\n'Nor me,' growled Master John.\n\nThere were angry murmurs from many behind them at daring to speak to their empress in such a manner. Irene held up a hand to silence them before slowly retaking her throne, pleased that she had touched a raw nerve.\n\n'And yet you were both defeated twice by the Catalans, for my daughter, Queen Elena, has kept me fully abreast of the lamentable events that occurred at Thermopylae and in the Cephissus Valley.'\n\n'If this is a trial, highness,' said Count Michael, 'then I request the opportunity to speak before I am condemned.'\n\n'The court is listening,' Irene told him.\n\n'First of all, I would like to state to all present that I was placed in joint command of the army by the emperor and that Master John is innocent of all blame,' began the count. 'He was obeying orders at all times and therefore bears no responsibility for the misfortune that befell the army. The blame is entirely mine and mine alone.'\n\n'I see there is still honour left in Artake' said Irene. 'You are free to go, Master John.'\n\nThe Cuman smiled. 'Unlike the Bulgarians, highness, I do not desert my comrades in their hour of need. I stand with Count Michael and will share his punishment.'\n\nIrene was indifferent but Joseph Aplakes stepped forward to whisper into her ear.\n\n'The son of Master John is a cup bearer at the court of the emperor, highness, and is by all accounts a favourite of your husband's. Constantinople might take a dim view of him being executed.'\n\nIrene waved the governor away.\n\n'Please continue, Count Michael.'\n\n'General Dragomir launched an assault at Thermopylae after ignoring my warning that the Catalan dispositions were clearly a trap. The result was the loss of most of the Bulgarian horse archers. The rest of the army was able to retire in good order.'\n\n'Only to be decimated in the Cephissus Valley,' said Irene wryly.\n\n'I would not know anything about that, highness, as I and Master John had been relieved of our commands by Queen Elena before the army engaged the Catalans in the valley.'\n\nA surprised Irene looked at General Choniates, who merely frowned and cleared his throat.\n\n'Idiot,' she hissed.\n\n'It is true, highness,' confirmed Master John. 'The battle against the Catalans in the Cephissus Valley was an affair directed entirely by Queen Elena.'\n\n'Not wholly directed by the queen, lord.'\n\nAll eyes turned to the back of the chamber where a smiling Dario Spinola stood framed in its entrance, beside him the ugly Vito Carcione. Spinola was dressed in a bright red, long-sleeved silk tunic beneath his richly decorated cuir-bouilli leather cuirass, his hair tied back with a red ribbon. He strode confidently towards the dais, guards moving to intercept him but withdrawing after Irene indicated they should do so. Spinola halted and made an exaggerated bow to the empress.\n\n'We are surprised to see you,' said Irene, 'believing you to be the new ruler in Athens.'\n\nSpinola nodded to Count Michael and Master John.\n\n'Alas, highness, I was unable to capture the Acropolis in Athens before a large French relief army arrived, and thus due to strategic considerations was forced to withdraw.'\n\n'How unfortunate.'\n\nSpinola was unconcerned. 'There is always next year, highness, and the year after that if it comes to it. But I come here with good news.'\n\n'We are all in dire need of that,' said Irene.\n\n'The Catalan Company suffered grievous losses in the Cephissus Valley. I was there and saw a great many of the accursed Almogavars cut down by my Mongol warriors. The battle was a resounding success, in no small part due to the assistance lent me by Queen Elena.'\n\nSpontaneous applause greeted his words and it was genuine. Many remembered the Catalans, and specifically the Almogavars, from two years before when they had torched many great estates and killed a great number of the empress' soldiers.\n\n'The mercenary company is a gravely wounded animal,' said Spinola in a loud voice, provoking more applause, 'and what's more Luca Baldi is dead. I saw him cut down with my own eyes.'\n\nNow there were cheers and rapturous applause. Luca Baldi was the man who had murdered the empress' son, Despot John. He had been captured and sentenced to death, but had been released in exchange for Angelus Ducas, King of Thessaly, who had fallen into the hands of the Catalans.\n\nIrene brought her hands together.\n\n'This is indeed good news, Sebastokrator Spinola. You are to be congratulated. I am in your debt.'\n\nThe title meant 'venerable lord' and had been confirmed on the Genoese by the empress in this very chamber. It accorded him a position of great honour in the court.\n\nIrene turned to Count Michael and Master John.\n\n'The investigation into the recent campaign is closed.'\n\nThe pair left Thessalonica deeply unhappy, their sense of honour wounded but not fatally so. The appearance of Dario Spinola had probably saved their lives and had certainly saved the city of Thessalonica and Macedonia, which was what really had concerned Irene and her court. She and all her courtiers knew that they lacked the military resources to confront the Catalans again. But now it was likely that the Catholic mercenaries and their Muslim allies would be destroyed by the Franks, and afterwards things would return to normal. But the new normal was not to the empress' liking.\n\nShe invited Spinola to dine with her that evening in the intimate room in her private quarters overlooking the city below, a host of sparkling lights showing the oil lamps that lit its main porticoed streets and a host of businesses and private homes. By law, the owners of shops and workshops were required to provide lighting in front of the arcades that housed their businesses, the lamps being brass with glass inserts. It made Thessalonica at night resemble a thousand twinkling stars.\n\nSpinola drank greedily from his silver chalice.\n\n'I will need all your horse transports for the foreseeable future, highness. I will pay you, of course.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\nSpinola used his knife to spear a piece of cheese that he nibbled on.\n\n'Next year I won't bother landing on the island of Euboea. I will hire agents in Galata to raise five thousand foot soldiers and assemble them at Rhaedestus. The Mongols will also dock there after I have sent Mengu Timur back to Caffa to raise more horsemen.'\n\n'How many horsemen?' enquired Irene.\n\n'Five thousand at least. Enough to conquer the Duchy of Athens and the rest of Frankish Greece. From Rhaedestus I will march across land to return to Athens.'\n\nA chill ran down Irene's spine. Dario Spinola represented the power and wealth of Genoa, a man who could raise more soldiers than either Thessalonica or Constantinople combined, whose money could determine the fate of the empire. He already controlled two of the empire's cities and now he was talking of leading an army of ten thousand through the heart of what was left of that empire. And what if he decided to add Thessalonica or the Kingdom of Thessaly to his Roman collection, in addition to his Frankish conquests?\n\nSpinola took another gulp of wine.\n\n'I have a favour to ask. Highness?'\n\nIrene snapped out of the nightmare vision that had appeared before her.\n\n'A favour? Of course. I am after all in your debt.'\n\n'If you could arrange for my Mongols to be picked up from the same place on Euboea where they disembarked from your ships a few weeks ago, I would be eternally grateful.'\n\n'Consider it done, Sebastokrator Spinola,' she smiled, raising her chalice to him.\n\nThat night Empress Irene wrote a long and detailed letter to her estranged husband in Constantinople."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "The Catalan Company licked its wounds in the Cephissus Valley. A thousand of its soldiers had injuries of varying severity, every day a few of the casualties expiring from their injuries. Their loved ones wept at their graves and the families of others on sickbeds prayed their men would not follow. It was a wretched time and the waning of summer only added to the gloom. Hector sent mounted patrols south to cover the approaches to the valley and despatched Almogavar patrols into the hills on either side of the plain to ensure no more enemy horsemen would make an unwelcome appearance. He and the other members of the council realised the company could not remain in the valley for a prolonged period, and so he and they gathered in the camp's central square to address the assembled mercenaries and non-combatants. Not all were present. The ramparts still needed guarding and some patrols had yet to return, but the vast majority was present and a majority decision was all that was needed.\n\nHector stood on the back of a cart so the thousands packed tightly in the square could see him, even if all could not hear him. That said, there was no wind in the late afternoon air and Hector's deep voice carried far. Luca, left arm in a sling, his right around Ayna, Sam holding her right hand, was near the back of the assembly. Jordi, still pale, had hobbled to the meeting using a wooden crutch. Chana was holding the hands of the twins while Romanus and Monica stood with Anicius and Prisca, the boy proudly holding a spear. Those Almogavars free of wounds also held their spears and had javelins strapped to their backs, just in case. A nervous Ertan looked around at the thousands of spears points.\n\n'I should not be here,' he said to Luca.\n\n'Why? We all have an equal vote here.'\n\n'You are not a slave,' Ayna told him.\n\nAn Almogavar turned when he heard voices, his chiselled features lighting up when he spotted Luca.\n\n'You are healing well, Black Sheep?'\n\nLuca turned to Ertan. 'Thanks to this man, yes.'\n\n'We owe you a great debt,' the Almogavar said to Ertan.\n\n'You see, you are a hero,' Luca told Ertan.\n\n'Here we go,' said Jordi, pointing at Hector on the cart who blew his whistle.\n\n'Friends, we find ourselves in a predicament,' began Hector. 'We cannot remain here, not after the losses we suffered in the recent battle. We must seek a place where we can recover and rebuild. I believe that place is Halmyros, which was gifted to us by the Queen of Thessaly.'\n\n'The same Queen of Thessaly who fought us in this valley,' said Jordi.\n\n'I believe that just as we have been wounded, so has the queen's kingdom suffered greatly,' said Hector, 'which makes it unlikely she will send her soldiers against us, at least not this year.'\n\n'Next year, then,' grinned Romanus, earning him a dig in the ribs from Monica.\n\n'So I will make this brief,' shouted Hector. 'All those in favour of marching to Halmyros, raise your hands.'\n\nEveryone did so, not because they had any great faith in the Queen of Thessaly, or indeed out of any great desire to travel to Halmyros, a place none had been to or knew anything about. But they all had faith and belief in Hector, the man who had never led them to defeat or disaster, including the recent battle, notwithstanding the losses.\n\nLuca smiled when he saw Ertan's arm raised. 'You see, that was not so difficult.'\n\nThe company struck camp the next morning, glad to be leaving the Cephissus Valley but uncertain what the future held. No news came from the south and the mounted patrols reported no signs of enemy soldiers. Any locals they came across did not have any news of what was happening in Athens, which lay a hundred miles south of the valley. So the company inched north, heading for the Gravia Valley before travelling through the pass that led to Thessaly, the same pass its horsemen had used when they had defeated and wounded King Angelus, subsequently laying siege to Neopatras. How long ago that all seemed now, almost a distant age. The company had entered the valley with four Almogavar divisions; it left with three."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Mengu Timur and his Mongols reached the beach in the northern corner of Euboea without incident, having ridden hard from Athens to Chalcis where Dario Spinola had left a small garrison to secure the town. Crossing the very narrow strait on rafts, the Mongols and the garrison retraced their steps north, passing Kirinthos where they had routed the army of Boniface of Verona, who with a handful of followers had fled to the extreme south of the island, becoming nothing more than penniless refugees living in hovels amidst a barren landscape. The Mongols made camp near the beach of small pebbles and sand where they had landed weeks before, looking out over the crystal-clear waters of the Aegean for the Roman ships that would take them to safety.\n\nThe horse transports appeared a few days later, their rounded hulls making them look like large floating barrels. The wind filled their sails when on the open seas but were furled when approaching the shore, the banks of oarsmen on the upper deck providing propulsion for the final leg of the journey. Because each hippagogus had a flat keel it was able to sail almost to the water's edge before dropping anchor. The Mongols waited patiently on the beach, each warrior dismounted, holding the reins of his horse and those of his remounts. It would take at least two trips, perhaps three, to embark the Mongols and all their horses for the journey to the Chalkidiki Peninsula, some one hundred miles to the north, which meant the whole operation would take three or four days depending on the weather and conditions at sea.\n\nThe commander of the fleet \u2013 the grandly titled Megas Drongarius, or Vice-Admiral \u2013 insisted that all his ships were in line at the water's edge before the ramps in the bows were lowered, which took around an hour. The Mongols began to get fidgety but a translator on board one of the ships shouted to Mengu Timur in Italian that it was just procedure and he and his men should be patient. The Mongol commander thought it strange all the ramps were lowered in unison by the waving of red signal flags on the vice-admiral's vessel, which was reciprocated up and down the line. The ramps were lowered and the Mongols began walking their horses into the water, stopping when soldiers rushed from the ships and splashed through the water.\n\nThey were Tzakones \u2013 marines \u2013 supplemented by oarsmen armed with axes with long, curved blades. The marines wore helmets and padded armour cuirasses and were armed with spears and swords. Hundreds ran from the ships to attack the dismounted Mongols. Mengu Timur's men reacted with surprising speed, drawing swords and axes and releasing the reins to do battle with the Romans. But they were outnumbered and on foot and were soon being surrounded and cut down. If they had been on their horses and in formation it would have been entirely different, but on foot and strung out in a long linen on the beach, the outcome was a forgone conclusion. After a brief but intense battle, every Mongol warrior lay dead on the sand.\n\nThe vice-admiral walked with General Choniates to the bow of his vessel, both of them looking down on the beach after the short engagement.\n\n'It would have been easier to have used archers to kill the barbarians.'\n\n'The empress strictly forbade the use of archers,' Choniates told him.\n\n'Why?'\n\n'She wanted the Mongols dead but not their horses, which she intends to sell once they have been transported to Thessalonica.'\n\nThe vice-admiral looked up and down the beach.\n\n'How will she explain the deaths of his Mongols to Dario Spinola, who will be expecting their arrival at Rhaedestus or Kallipolis or whatever other city of the empire he now rules?'\n\n'She will tell the vulgar Genoese they failed to arrive at the embarkation point. The ships arrived and found an empty beach. Who knows what happened to the infidels, she will say, perhaps they were ambushed by the Franks or killed by angry locals? Besides, I doubt he will lose much sleep over the matter. He is, by all accounts, one of the richest men in the Mediterranean and can replace dead mercenaries with living ones easily enough.'\n\n'And living proof that even all the money in the world cannot buy taste or good breeding.'\n\nChoniates nodded. 'One day the empire will be free of the servants of the Pope and his false faith. God will have his vengeance on the Catholics, vice-admiral, of that you can be certain.'\n\nThe marines and oarsmen began to search the Mongol dead for any money or valuables, their bows being stacked on the sand, the quivers of arrows, swords and axes being taken back to the ships, along with the captured horses. The bows were then set alight to destroy them. Choniates spotted a marine carrying what appeared to be a large flag towards a fire.\n\n'Wait!' he hollered. 'What is that?'\n\nThe marine looked up and saluted before speaking to a comrade nearby, both of them grabbing the ends of the material to show the banner to the admiral on the bow of the ship above. It was a purple flag showing a rearing silver stallion.\n\n'Bring it on board,' he ordered.\n\nHe turned to the vice-admiral.\n\n'A gift for the empress.'\n\n'I'm sure she would rather have a red banner showing a white dragon on her wall and the head of Dario Spinola above the city gates,' remarked the vice-admiral.\n\n'We all pray for that day, admiral.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "A mass of celebration was held in the former Parthenon, now a Catholic church, following the arrival of Jacques of Taranto and his relief force, for once the rosy-cheeked Archbishop of Athens being sober as he thanked God for the deliverance of those who had been besieged on the Acropolis. The interior of the church still resembled an Orthodox place of worship with its gaudy frescos and mosaics depicting the Virgin Mary, Christ and scenes from the lives of the Apostles. Indeed, the only change the Franks had made when they had captured it a hundred years before was the addition of a bell tower to call the faithful to prayer.\n\nThe cavernous interior was filled with candlelight and the intoxicating aroma of incense. Walter smiled when he led a procession to the altar to receive communion. He had suggested to his wife that the service should really be dedicated to Luca Baldi, the upstart Almogavar peasant who had killed Reynard of Rouen in a trial by combat, a proposal Joanna thought the height of bad taste. But Walter was deadly serious for without the arrogance and daring of Luca Baldi, the French king and his marshal would not have been stirred to action and despatched aid to the Duchy of Athens. The events of the preceding weeks had revealed the Latin lords of the Peloponnese to be lacking in fortitude to put it mildly. Only Jacques had shown any zeal in marching to the relief of Athens, though even he had been hamstrung by the tardiness of his barons. But that was in the past and Walter was determined to let sleeping dogs lie when he invited the lords of Latin Greece to the Acropolis to share in his good fortune.\n\nIt was autumn now and the fierce heat of summer had abated. The temperatures were pleasant, which meant the men gathered round the table in the duke's stronghold in the Acropolis did not sweat in their mail armour. Their banners hung on the walls of the hall and the Acropolis itself was filled with their personal retinues. In the town below and outlying villages French and Italian soldiers were billeted on locals as Walter's great army took shape.\n\n'We will march in the spring of next year,' he announced to those present. 'I intend to finally put an end to the Catalan Company, which now resides in Thessaly.'\n\nHe looked at Albert Pallavicini, who had been conspicuous by his absence during the recent siege of Athens, not shifting from his castle near Thermopylae.\n\n'The mercenaries have moved to Halmyros, south of the city of Volos,' stated Albert.\n\n'Have they joined with the rulers of Thessaly?' asked Boniface of Verona, who looked gaunt after his ordeal on Euboea.\n\n'I doubt that,' said Thomas d'Autremoncourt. 'It was not that long ago they were besieging the Thessalian capital.'\n\n'It is irrelevant if they are allies of Thessaly or not,' insisted Walter, 'in the spring we will march north, destroy the Catalan Company, conquer Thessaly, subdue Epiros and then advance to the walls of the city of Thessalonica.'\n\n'That is an ambitious plan, your grace,' said Jacques of Taranto, his great sword resting against the table. 'By doing so you will incur the wrath of the Roman emperor.'\n\n'We are already at war with the Roman emperor,' Walter replied. 'My Venetian contacts informed me the recent invasion of my duchy was led by a Genoese nobleman who was supported by Empress Irene, whose soldiers were stopped at Thermopylae.'\n\n'By the Catalan Company,' said Albert Pallavicini.\n\nWalter regarded the marquis coolly. The Italian's actions thus far had been dilatory to say the least.\n\n'Your point, my lord?' asked Walter.\n\n'My point, your grace, is that we should enlist the Catalan Company, bearing in mind the mercenaries were marching south to relieve Athens when they fought the soldiers of Genoa, Thessaly and the Roman Empire in the Cephissus Valley in the summer. I too have contacts.'\n\n'They would be a useful addition to our army,' agreed Thomas d'Autremoncourt. 'It was the Catalans who relieved Salona, after all.'\n\n'I have no evidence the Catalans were marching to the relief of Athens,' said Walter testily. 'But I do know one of them killed the great friend of my father-in-law.'\n\n'In a trial by combat,' Albert reminded him, 'the result of which was God's judgement, surely.'\n\n'Luca Baldi is a servant of the Devil.'\n\nThey all looked at the handsome knight in mail who wore a surcoat bearing horizonal bands of alternating red and white, and who thus far had remained silent. Tall with a strong jaw and piercing brown eyes, Walter now turned to the stranger at the table.\n\n'My lords, may I introduce Count Giovanni Carafa of Messina, a man acquainted with the depredations of the Catalans during the Sicilian war, and who has been instrumental in raising a substantial number of soldiers to put an end to the Catalan plague once and for all.'\n\nGiovanni bowed his head to Walter.\n\n'Thank you, your grace. I can assure your lordships that this land will have no peace while the Catalans are allowed to roam through it at will.'\n\n'And let us not forget,' added Walter, 'thousands of Frenchmen have travelled to Greece to avenge the death of Reynard of Rouen.'\n\n'How do you know this Luca Baldi?' Albert asked Giovanni.\n\n'He was a shepherd on my father's lands,' answered the Sicilian, 'though a practitioner of witchcraft would be a more accurate description. He had a familiar, a black sheep, to aid him in his nefarious work. He was tried and condemned to death but Satan is a formidable foe.'\n\n'What happened?' enquired Thomas of Salona.\n\n'He was rescued by the Almogavars of the Catalan Company and joined them in their expedition to the Roman Empire. The rest is known to you all, I think.'\n\n'To start a war that might have no end over one man seems a trifle excessive,' said Boniface of Verona.\n\nWalter rounded on him. 'Excessive? I consider my family being threatened with death, the machinations of Empress Irene and the death of a great French knight at the hands of a filthy Sicilian peasant excessive, my lord. Such outrages cannot go unanswered, not if one is to retain one's honour.'\n\n'You intend to take Thessalonica?' asked Jacques.\n\nWalter's eyes lit up. 'I do. It will be the capital of the new Latin Empire. One hundred years ago the true faith conquered Constantinople and banished the Orthodox heretics to the infidel wastelands of Anatolia. That should have been the beginning of a new golden age for Catholicism in the eastern Mediterranean. Instead, greed, indolence and weakness allowed the heretics to regain Constantinople and re-establish their apostate empire. That must be our ultimate aim, my lords, the recapture of Constantinople.'\n\n'It will take a big army to conquer Thessaly and Epiros and capture Thessalonica, let alone think about marching on Constantinople afterwards,' said Thomas.\n\n'We will have a big army,' Walter told him. 'Twenty thousand troops have either landed in Greece or are on their way. Added to our own forces, there is every reason to believe that in the spring thirty thousand soldiers will be marching north.'\n\nWalter turned to Albert.\n\n'You asked if we should enlist the Catalan Company to our cause, but that cause is holy and cannot be tainted by those who freely associate with heretics, infidels and practitioners of black magic.'\n\n'Well said, your grace,' smiled Giovanni Carafa. 'We should paint our shields with the sign of the cross during our holy war against the Catalans and heretic Romans.'\n\nThe Latin lords looked at each other with scepticism. They were all grateful the French king and King Frederick of Sicily had sent soldiers to save them from the Mongols of Dario Spinola and the Romans, but many remembered their fathers telling them about the disaster at the Battle of Pelagonia in Macedonia where many Latin knights had fallen beneath Roman lances. It had taken two generations to repair the damage and though the promise of thirty thousand soldiers was enticing, all save Giovanni Carafa and Walter of Brienne knew the Catalan Company had triumphed over a Roman army of roughly equal size at Apros five years before. And they all knew Walter of Brienne had himself hired the Catalan Company when he had first arrived at Athens, which had led to the Almogavar Luca Baldi killing Reynard of Rouen. Even the bombastic Jacques of Taranto appeared hesitant.\n\n'We cannot afford another Pelagonia,' he stated bluntly.\n\nWalter extended his arms. 'I cannot command you to march with me, my lords, and nor would I seek to do so. But in the spring I will be marching north with the crusading army that has seemingly materialised out of thin air, though I would call it a miracle. And as a miracle I interpret it as a sign from God that his holy warriors cannot be resisted.'\n\n'Achaea will be marching beside you, your grace,' said Jacques. 'It was I and the barons on the principality's council that invited you here in the first place, after all.'\n\n'Salona's resources are meagre, your grace, but be assured they are at your disposal,' declared Thomas d'Autremoncourt.\n\n'As are those of Negroponte,' said Boniface of Verona.\n\nAll looked at the clearly unhappy Albert Pallavicini, who like them all was a hostage to his honour.\n\n'Bodonitsa does not forget its old alliances, rest assured.'\n\nWalter of Brienne, Duke of Athens and soon to be lord of all Greece, Thessaly and Epiros, could not help but wear an ear-to-ear grin, and secretly gave thanks to Luca Baldi who had provided the spark that would light up the eastern Mediterranean."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "Of all the places in the city of Constantinople, Emperor Andronicus loved his private garden the most. Located near the Blachernae Palace, it was place of beauty, quiet and contemplation. Laid out according to the accounts given in the books of Genesis and Revelation in the Bible, it was an earthly representation of Paradise, which scholars believed was a place of brilliantly coloured flowers, iridescent grass, fragrant plants and a climate with no extremes of heat or cold. Dressed in a simple linen smock, a straw hat on his head, the only indication he was not one of the gardeners employed to keep the garden immaculate was the emperor's forked beard, a design associated with authority, moderation and reverence. The emperor cut the stalk of a white rose and held the flower under his nose, closing his eyes as he savoured the sweet aroma. He opened his eyes and gazed at a stand of cypress trees nearby, their expertly pruned shapes resembling candles, the evergreens symbolising the immortality of the soul. There was another reason why the emperor insisted cypress trees should decorate his garden: they grew thinner as they rose to the skies, which Andronicus interpreted as symbolising the shedding of material excess as one grew older. He closed his eyes again. How he wished he could shed the worries that accompanied him during his every waking hour.\n\n'You look tired, brother.'\n\nHe opened his eyes to see his sister Maria standing before him, smiling at his rustic attire. He gave her the rose.\n\n'Thank you. Is that the reason you summoned me here, to give me a rose?'\n\n'Walk with me.'\n\nThey strolled beside a pond filled with large goldfish and waterlilies, Andronicus stopping to reach into the small cloth bag slung over his shoulder to grab a handful of breadcrumbs that he tossed on the water. The goldfish, previously in a semi-comatose state, thrashed around wildly as they greedily gulped down the food.\n\n'The letter my wife sent to me recently has been playing on my mind.'\n\n'What does she want now? Another army to waste in Greece on a foolhardy mission? Or perhaps the imperial fleet so she can have it sunk at sea?'\n\nAndronicus gave his sister a wan smile.\n\n'Something far more grievous, sister. The prospect of thousands of Mongols rampaging through the empire.'\n\n'Mongols?'\n\n'Our friend Dario Spinola, having tasted defeat before the walls of Athens, far from being deterred by the reverse, is determined to launch a fresh effort next year. He told my wife he would bring five thousand Mongol warriors from Caffa and combine them with the same number of Genoese to form an army to take Athens. Only this time he intends to march from Rhaedestus instead of sailing from the Chalkidiki Peninsula.'\n\n'He does know he is governor of the city only because you allow it?' said Maria.\n\nAndronicus gave her a wry smile.\n\n'He titles himself prince of the city now and governor of Kallipolis.'\n\n'He should be ordered to return both cities to Roman governors.'\n\nThe emperor tossed more breadcrumbs on the pond.\n\n'And what forces will I be able to send to evict him and his followers when he refuses? Count Michael, so basely used by Queen Elena in the summer? Master John, who lost half his Cumans in Greece? Dario Spinola knows I cannot enforce my orders. I refuse to add personal humiliation to stark reality.'\n\n'What can I do to help?' asked Maria.\n\nAndronicus left the pond to amble along the garden path.\n\n'Having lived among the Mongols when you were married to Abaq Khan, perhaps you still have some influence with them. This being the case, I would ask you to intervene to prevent Dario Spinola bringing any more Mongols into the empire.'\n\n'I have to tell you the chances are slim,' said Maria. 'For one thing Abaq Khan was the ruler of the Ilkhanate whereas Dario Spinola would have recruited his Mongols from the Khan of the Golden Horde, Toqta.'\n\nShe saw the pain in her brother's eyes.\n\n'But I will go to Caffa and seek an audience with the khan if it will help.'\n\nA sorrowful expression crept over the emperor's face.\n\n'I would not ask you to embark on such a perilous mission were it not for the fact we are in a desperate situation.'\n\nMaria was untroubled. 'By all accounts Caffa is a delightful place, or so the captains who have visited it inform me. A place of fine stone buildings, beautiful squares and many churches, both Catholic and Orthodox. Perhaps you would do me a favour in return.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Promise me you will not send your estranged wife any more soldiers to indulge the whims of her adopted daughter.'\n\nAndronicus chuckled. 'You need have no fear of that, sister, there are no more soldiers to send to my wife.'\n\nThey passed a pair of gardeners planting hyacinth bulbs for the spring. They both rose to their feet and bowed to the emperor and his sister.\n\n'How is my nephew?' asked Maria.\n\nAndronicus shook his head. 'He grows worse, I fear. He still suffers from debilitating headaches even after all these years.'\n\nThe head wound Co-Emperor Michael had suffered at the Battle of Apros five years before had nearly cost him his life. He had been nursed back from the brink of death by the emperor himself, but his son had continued to suffer intense headaches that often led to him being bedridden in a shuttered room for days on end. It was established custom for the eldest sons of emperors to assume the position of co-emperor to prepare them for the day when they would assume imperial duties in what would be a seamless transition of power. But Michael's fragile health led many to question if he would ever become emperor following his father's death.\n\n'I will leave for Caffa immediately,' Maria told him.\n\n'If Dario Spinola assembles ten thousand soldiers at Rhaedestus, I fear he will forget about Athens and turn his attention to Constantinople. He will not be the first Catholic lord to covet sitting on this city's throne, after all.'\n\n'That will not happen,' Maria assured him, 'not while I have breath in my body.'\n\nHer resolution made her brother smile, something he rarely did of late."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "The Halmyros Valley had been hurriedly abandoned when the mounted scouts of the Catalan Company had approached. The residents took themselves off to the city of Volos to the north to throw themselves on the mercy of its authorities, preferring the slow death of starvation to the cruelties of the Catholic mercenaries and their Muslim allies. So Hector and his company took possession of the fertile plain without opposition, which was known to the locals as Krokio Pedio. They did not know it but the Catalans had found an ideal place to rest and recuperate. The plain was largely flat and sheltered by mountains on either side, the slopes covered with pines, fir, oak and wild olive trees. It was a place blessed with mild winters and moderate summers, the waters of the Pagasetic Gulf lapping the white sands of the shoreline at its eastern end. On the other side of the gulf \u2013 twenty miles distant \u2013 was the tree-covered peninsula of Mount Pelion, home of the mythical centaurs, creatures with the body of a horse waist down and of a man waist up. Krokio Pedio was free of harsh winds and raging storms, a place of calm and quiet where the tired Catalan Company could lick its wounds and take stock.\n\nLuca held Ayna's hand as they walked barefoot in the cool waters of the gulf, a few paces from the white sands of the beach. The sun was slowly dropping in the west, the waters of the gulf turning orange as it did so. His left arm was no longer in a sling. His wound was healing well, though the combination of dragon brand mixed with the scar made by the arrow made the skin at the top of his arm look like an untidy mess. Jordi was taking longer to recover, his leg wound being deeper and requiring more care and dressings. He was still using a walking stick, though Ertan was confident he would not suffer a permanent limp, which they all gave thanks for, not least Jordi who knew there was no place in the ranks for an Almogavar with a limp.\n\n'I like this place,' sighed Ayna.\n\n'Me too.'\n\n'I have often thought about leaving the company, of us making a new life away from the Roman Empire. But perhaps here we may begin to live like normal people.'\n\n'Normal people?'\n\n'To wake each day not fearing if it might be our last, to be free of the thought we could be killed in battle or, worse, our family separated and sold into slavery after being defeated.'\n\nHe laughed. 'When I was a shepherd in Sicily I woke every day with similar fears, though I admit I was never concerned about being sold into slavery because I was a slave in all but name. But starvation and disease were never far away. You had a privileged existence compared to mine.'\n\n'And I want Sam to have a similar upbringing to my own, not spent living in a tent and wandering the earth, constantly looking over his shoulder.'\n\nLuca looked around at the calm waters of the gulf and green slopes of the hills and mountains around it.\n\n'I believe we have found a home.'\n\n'Will you be able to give up fighting?\n\nIt was a good question and one he had never really considered. For the last seven years his life had been filled with battles and bloodshed, and in truth he had developed a liking for war. Battle had elevated him to a position of respect among his peers that he never had as a poor shepherd in Sicily. War had also gifted him Ayna, the greatest prize.\n\n'It will take some getting accustomed to,' he admitted. 'But your dream is a worthy one to which I will strive to make it real with my every sinew.'\n\nShe squeezed his hand. 'That is a start.'\n\nHe saw her look over his shoulder and shiver.\n\n'What's the matter, are you cold?'\n\n'The dream just died.'\n\nHe turned, hand reaching for the handle of his dagger, expecting to see a party of soldiers bearing down on them, but instead saw a solitary figure walking on the sand.\n\nHe relaxed. 'It's just Hector.'\n\n'No, it is an omen of trouble.'\n\nThe commander of the company stopped at the water's edge.\n\n'I'm not going for a swim so can you two come here?'\n\nAfter they had done so Hector looked Ayna in the eye.\n\n'Your heathen harridans, how many do they number?'\n\nShe stiffened at his mockery.\n\n'Two hundred and fifty well-trained female soldiers battle-ready, the same number not yet at their standard, but all know how to use a spear and throw a javelin. And for your information, they include both Christian and Muslim volunteers.'\n\n'I know you have approached your task with diligence,' he told her, 'which is why from this day forth you and they will be included in the company's fighting strength.'\n\nLuca was horrified. 'What?'\n\nHector gave him a malicious grin. 'That's right, Black Sheep, your woman and the rest of those who have been bending the ears of all who will listen about how they should be allowed to fight like men, are going to be given their chance.'\n\nAyna was beaming from ear to ear.\n\n'Thank you, Hector, this is a great honour.'\n\n'It is a very bad idea,' insisted Luca.\n\n'Don't listen to him,' Ayna urged Hector.\n\n'I rarely do.'\n\nLuca was suspicious. 'Something is wrong. There is no other reason you would agree to something you have previously poured scorn on. Unless something has happened.'\n\nHector winked at Ayna.\n\n'He's not as stupid as he looks.'\n\nThen the company's commander looked deadly serious and sighed.\n\n'It will be common knowledge soon enough so you might as well know. Through his many shady contacts Halil Ece has learnt that Dario Spinola did not capture Athens but in fact crept back to his Roman allies, leaving Walter of Brienne, our former employer, as Duke of Athens.'\n\n'That is good, is it not?' queried Ayna.\n\n'Unfortunately, our French friend has received many reinforcements from abroad to give him a large army, which he intends to use in a war of conquest,' explained Hector.\n\n'What has this to do with us?' asked Ayna.\n\nHector gave a grand sweep of his arm.\n\n'He intends to conquer all of this for starters, as well as putting the Catalan Company to the sword. Rumour has it he intends to march all the way to Thessalonica and capture it, and afterwards Constantinople.'\n\nAyna dismissed the idea. 'He is clearly mad.'\n\nHector shrugged. 'Maybe he is, maybe he ain't. But there are thousands of French and Italian soldiers flooding into the Duchy of Athens and they are not there to just pay their respects to Walter of Brienne.'\n\n'I thought we were allies of the duke,' said Luca.\n\n'Not since the Black Sheep killed the close friend of his wife's father in front of him and all his knights.'\n\n'It was a fair fight,' insisted Ayna.\n\n'There is no such thing as a fair fight between a peasant and a noble knight,' Hector told her. 'If the peasant wins then it must be witchcraft because no noble knight can be killed in single combat against a peasant. It contravenes all notions of nobility, government and religion.'\n\n'Not my religion,' said Ayna.\n\n'You are an infidel so you are already condemned to the fires of hell,' smiled Hector. 'But what really make us an enemy of Walter of Brienne is that he no longer needs us. He has escaped being killed in his own stronghold after his friends and relatives rallied to his cause. He now finds himself in command of thousands of troops and intends to use them.'\n\n'We could offer to fight by his side,' suggested Luca.\n\nHector discounted the idea.\n\n'He cannot allow us to survive because he knows, notwithstanding our losses in the Cephissus Valley, we are still the only force to be reckoned with in this part of the world. He destroys us, he wins everything.'\n\n'So we have no choice but to fight this Frenchmen?' said Ayna glumly.\n\n'Why the face?' Hector asked her. 'You should be looking forward to seeing if all that training with your women has paid off.'\n\nA glint appeared in his eye. 'Besides, there is another reason you should be looking forward to fighting in the spring.'\n\n'Which is?' asked Ayna.\n\n'Walter of Brienne will also be making war on Thessaly and he has siege engines, which means your friend the Queen of Thessaly might end up working in a brothel in Athens after it is all over.'\n\n'That will be no comfort to me if I am dead,' retorted Ayna.\n\n'Well, then, make sure you don't die,' Hector told her.\n\n'And how do I do that?'\n\nHe gave her another wink. 'Impress upon your women that their task is not to die a glorious death on the battlefield but rather to grant that privilege to the enemy.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Dario Spinola was not only the heir and current beneficiary to an immense fortune, he also owned his own businesses in the Genoese outposts throughout the Crimea. These included not only the thriving Caffa but also Soldaia, Lusta, Caulita and Cembalo. Money attracts money and wealth was flowing into his personal coffers. And not only in the Black Sea where slaves, furs, timber and spices were making Genoa and its wealthiest citizens even richer. Dario Spinola also possessed the Roman cities of Rhaedestus and Kallipolis. He had been made governor of the former by a then grateful emperor and had captured the latter. Both were ports and Spinola benefited from the revenues that flowed into them, but unlike Roman governors he kept all the taxes gathered for himself rather than sending a portion on to Constantinople. Dario Spinola was not only very wealthy but was accruing power to rival that of the emperor himself. If he managed to ship five thousand Mongol horsemen to Rhaedestus in the new year and combined them with the same number of foot soldiers, he might try to topple the emperor himself. And he would have willing support, for the Genoese quarter of Galata lay across the Golden Horn to the north of Constantinople. The empire was weak enough after the disaster at Apros and the recent ill-advised campaign of Empress Irene, which would have incurred the anger of the Tsar of Bulgaria when only a fifth of those he sent to aid the empress returned. To sit idly by and watch Dario Spinola grow stronger like a ravenous cuckoo in the nest was not an option.\n\n'Signal fire, highness.'\n\nPrincess Maria snapped out of her musings to look in the direction the captain was pointing. He was a young man for such a senior position, and his enthusiasm filled her with confidence.\n\n'Let us begin,' she said.\n\nThe captain gave an order to his deputy who turned and spoke to the two pilots in charge of the two quarter rudders at the stern of the dromon, one of the great galleys of the imperial fleet based in the Gold Horn. The galley had been loitering offshore within sight of the small village of Rumelifeneri at the northwest end of the Bosporus, waiting for the signal fire. Now black smoke was billowing into the morning air, the sea mercifully calm with good visibility and no rain.\n\nThe young, bearded captain stared across the mouth of the Bosporus towards Cape Psomion, at the passage's northeast end, around two miles distant.\n\n'The second signal fire, highness.'\n\n'God is with us, captain.'\n\nShe had left the Blachernae Palace early, ostensibly to prepare for her passage to the Crimea and on to Sarai, the capital of the Golden Horde, a journey that would take around a month. She had commandeered two fire dromons from the Golden Horn and ordered their captains to sail north at all speed, leaving orders with imperial headquarters that signal fires were to be lit the length of the Bosporus north from Constantinople when a certain vessel was spotted in the waterway. The advantage of being the emperor's sister was that her orders were never questioned, and when said vessel had passed by Constantinople imperial fleet headquarters was to close the waterway at the city for 'security reasons'.\n\nThe captain, wearing a striking white padded cuirass of felt and leather, turned to Maria.\n\n'Perhaps it would be better if you went below deck, highness, to avoid danger.'\n\n'Many men will die today because of my orders,' she replied, 'I do not intend to avoid the consequences of my actions.'\n\n'I am responsible for your safety, highness.'\n\n'I absolve you of any responsibility should God decide this is to be my last day on earth.'\n\nOrdinarily Admiral Morisco would have been in command of the galley due to the presence of the emperor's sister onboard, but Maria did not want the admiral troubled by any sense of conflicting loyalties during this particular mission.\n\nThere was a southerly breeze blowing through the Bosporus, which meant the two dromons each had their two large lateen sails furled, relying on oars alone for propulsion, the one hundred and eight oarsmen straining at their stations to propel each galley forward. All professionals, they were expected to fight in battle as well as pull an oar. In addition to the rowers the dromon carried seventy archers and crews to operate the siphon at the bow of the vessel and the two ballistae positioned amidships.\n\nMaria could see the other dromon now, the fifty-four oars on each side of the vessel dipping in and out the water in unison in a display of consummate professionalism. Both galleys were diverging on a third galley, its red sails bearing a white dragon straining on their yardarms, its oars shipped as wind power propelled it forward towards the open water of the Black Sea.\n\nThe galleys of antiquity carried bronze rams to pierce the hulls of enemy vessels but the emperor's fire dromons were not equipped with such instruments. Instead, they carried siphons at their bows to spit Greek Fire at the enemy, the highly secret concoction containing naphtha, pine resin, sulphur, lime and bitumen. Stored in large vats, it was projected through the siphon by means of a hand-operated pump, which meant it was only capable of being discharged in short bursts.\n\nThe two dromons were closing on the Genoese galley fast, archers stringing bows and loosing their arrows into the air. They were shooting into the breeze so shot their missiles on a high trajectory so they would fall on the crowded deck of the Italian vessel. But Dario Spinola's galley veered to the right to avoid the volley, the arrows falling harmlessly into the sea. Then a volley of Italian crossbow bolts raked the deck of the dromon, men groaning and screaming as iron-tipped missiles struck flesh and bone. The captain turned to shout at the pilots.\n\n'Hold course.'\n\nThere would only be one chance to destroy the Genoese galley before it passed his own and the other dromon and entered the Black Sea, after which its greater speed would allow it to outrun the emperor's larger galleys.\n\nThe ballista on the port side of Maria's dromon shot its bolt that smashed into the hull of Spinola's vessel, its crew then dying as they were struck by Italian crossbow bolts. The Genoese galley was filled with marines as well as rowers and they were taking advantage of the wind to increase the lethality of their crossbows. Archers were replying as the two vessels got to within one hundred paces of each other, on the other side of the Italian galley the second dromon also closing in on it fast. But archers have to stand to shoot their weapons whereas crossbowmen can shoot from a kneeling position behind cover and reload while lying on their backs, which is what they were doing. And marines behind them were holding shields above their heads as a defence against arrows.\n\nMaria kept glancing at the siphon at the front of the dromon, from where a stream of fire suddenly burst forth as Spinola's galley came within range. The burst lasted for perhaps ten seconds, a second stream of fire from the dromon on the opposite side of the Italian galley also engulfing the deck of the vessel and everyone on it.\n\nThe galley, now aflame, passed the two dromons, the two captains of which screamed at their pilots to turn the vessels away from each other to avoid colliding. The flames on the Italian galley soon engulfed the two red sails, eating through them to turn them to ashes. The crews of the dromons worked feverishly to unfurl the sails as the ships slowly turned so the wind was suddenly behind them. Maria closed her eyes as flaming figures on board the Genoese galley flung themselves into the sea, but it did not help them. Greek Fire stuck to and burned everything and could not be doused by water. They continued to burn in the water.\n\nThe sails of the dromons filled with wind and propelled them forward towards the now listing Genoese galley bereft of sails. There were still screams coming from it as men were burned alive by Greek Fire.\n\nThe rowers in each dromon dropped their oars in the water to slow the vessels when they were around thirty yards from Spinola's galley, the crews of the siphons shooting Greek Fire again at the stricken vessel. This time there were no screams or signs of life aboard the Italian galley, just crackles and roars as the Greek Fire consumed the timbers. The oarsmen and archers on both dromons watched the ship turn black as fire consumed it. It began to sink to the accompaniment of loud hisses as charred timbers met cold seawater, steam rising from the water. And then the galley of Dario Spinola sank beneath the waves and disappeared from sight.\n\nPrincess Maria closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for the men on both sides who had lost their lives. She opened them and looked at the captain, a smile of satisfaction on his face. He had lost a few oarsmen and more archers but his vessel was still seaworthy. He could sail back to Constantinople with his reputation not only intact but enhanced. The same was true for the other dromon 's captain.\n\n'I will inform the emperor personally of the great service you rendered him today.'\n\nHe stood proudly on the deck. 'Thank you, highness.'\n\nHis deputy pointed to the north. 'Vessels approaching.'\n\nThey were specks on the horizon, unrecognisable for the moment.\n\n'It is time to return to Constantinople,' said Maria.\n\nThe captain issued orders for the sails to be furled once again; oar power would propel his ship once more during the journey south through the Bosporus. When the two dromons had turned once more and were heading back towards the Golden Horn, Maria looked back to where the brief action had taken place and where Dario Spinola had met his end. A few blackened bodies and timbers lay scattered on the surface and perhaps bodies would be washed ashore in the coming days. But Dario Spinola and the threat he posed to the empire were gone forever. Her brother Andronicus was a good and religious man, an individual who believed in the rule of law and the forging of treaties. But Maria knew her mission to the Golden Horde would have been a wasted effort. The Mongols only respected strength and her appearance at the court of Khan Toqta would only confirm to them that the Roman Empire was weak, for why else would its emperor send a woman to do his bargaining? This meant Dario Spinola would meet no objections concerning his hiring of five thousand Mongol horsemen. Perhaps Toqta himself would be tempted to send more men to aid the Italian in return for his own colony in the Roman Empire. This Maria could not allow. If the Genoese discovered Dario Spinola had been killed in a battle with imperial ships, she would take the blame and offer her own life in payment. She chuckled to herself. Knowing the Genoese, the loss of a galley would provoke more indignation than the death of one of their noblemen.\n\nFather Ramon did not dally in Rhaedestus when word reached him Dario Spinola had probably been lost at sea. It was common knowledge the Catalan priest was Spinola's creature and had only been made governor of the city because of the Italian's patronage. With Spinola's passing Ramon's position became precarious. He had no allies among the small garrison or the residents and when a summons from the emperor in Constantinople reached him to surrender Rhaedestus immediately, he knew his time was up. He wrote letters to Vito Carcione at Kallipolis pleading for help but received no reply. So he took enough money to buy him a place on a boat and headed south to Athens on a spice ship. Like everyone in the Roman Empire, he had heard of a great Catholic army assembling at Athens, though unlike the apostate followers of the Orthodox faith he had welcomed the news. There would always be a place among such a godly host for a Catholic priest used to accompanying soldiers on campaign. So it was that Father Ramon, former chief priest in the Catalan Company, would-be Bishop of Kallipolis, Archbishop of Athens and briefly Governor of Rhaedestus, headed south to join the crusaders of Walter of Brienne.\n\nThere was a chance the vessel carrying Father Ramon to Athens passed one of the ships transporting the soldiers of the garrison of Kallipolis north to Galata. Vito Carcione, the former deputy of Dario Spinola had also ensured he would not go hungry while he searched for fresh employment. He had dismissed the garrison, such as it was, ensuring every one of them had enough money to reach Galata, the Genoese quarter on the other side of the Golden Horn, and subsist for six months until they found alternative employment. The great port was slowly recovering its former glory, though only a trickle of Roman civilians had returned to their homes after their enforced exile. Carcione assembled them in the great square in the centre of the port and through an interpreter informed them Kallipolis was now a Roman city. He too had received a summons from Emperor Andronicus to return the port to its rightful owner and saw no reason to put up a fight now that his employer was dead. The last time anyone saw Vito Carcione was when he rode out of the gates of Kallipolis with two saddlebags bulging with gold, leading a packhorse loaded with food and supplies."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "As the year drew to a close a deceptive calm descended on the land from the gates of Constantinople all the way south to the Acropolis of Athens. All eyes were on Greece but Walter of Brienne was in no rush to commence hostilities prematurely. He had no need to. The armies of Epiros and Thessaly had been greatly weakened in their encounters with the Catalan Company, itself licking its wounds at Halmyros after its sobering experience in the Cephissus Valley. Farther north, Empress Irene was a broken reed, having seen her soldiers suffer heavy losses at the hands of the Catalans, even with Bulgarian assistance. No potential enemy was going to march on the Duchy of Athens, that much was certain. The only question remaining was: when would Walter of Brienne take the field? The duke was in no hurry. For one thing reinforcements were still arriving at Piraeus, transported there on Venetian ships, the republic having swung fully behind the Frenchman after the outrages committed against its citizens by Dario Spinola during his brief foray into the duchy. That and the loss of three of its galleys.\n\nKing Angelus of Thessaly had recovered from his wounds, which would normally have prompted great rejoicing throughout Thessaly, and indeed a service of thanksgiving had been held in Neopatras for his return to the land of the living. But fear and foreboding stalked the kingdom as its citizens looked south to the Duchy of Athens where thousands of Catholic soldiers were gathering around the banner of Walter of Brienne. Come the spring those soldiers would be marching north to renew the duke's war against Thessaly. And to the east thousands of Catalan mercenaries were camped in the Halmyros Valley.\n\nElena picked at her slice of melon, glancing up at her handsome young husband at the other end of the table.\n\n'My mother writes that Dario Spinola is dead,' she told him, 'so there will be no more Mongols rampaging through Athens next year.'\n\nThe king's head dropped. He usually liked taking breakfast with his beautiful wife but of late every day began with ill tidings. Today was no different. He looked up at her.\n\n'Will Thessalonica be sending assistance in the new year?'\n\n'No,' she answered bluntly. 'Thessalonica has no more soldiers to send, and the same goes for the emperor. We are on our own and can rely only on our wits.'\n\n'Our wits? What use will they be when the French are battering the walls of this city?'\n\n'What about the Catalans?' she asked.\n\nHe looked out of the window of their dining room, the city of Neopatras with its neat streets and symmetrical blocks of homes and businesses below.\n\n'The same Catalans you marched against in the summer, the same Catalans whom I fought at the pass and who subsequently laid siege to this city? They are allies of the Duke of Athens. In the spring they will join with him to conquer Thessaly. Thanks to you, they are already in possession of the Halmyros Valley.'\n\n'I did what I had to do to save the city,' she shot back. 'I do not regret my actions. Perhaps we can enlist the Catalans to fight for us instead of the Frenchmen.'\n\nHe held his head in his hands.\n\n'Are you insane? You led an army against them in the summer and now you expect them to fight for us?'\n\nHer lustrous eyes narrowed. 'They are mercenaries, they will fight for whoever pays them. They know we are good paymasters, after all, after I gave them my wedding dowry. I also know the treasury is full. It is worth a try at least.'\n\nHe picked at a fig on his plate.\n\n'No. In the spring we will relocate north to Larissa. If the Duke of Athens invades Thessaly then we can muster an army at Larissa and call on your mother to send us reinforcements. Either that or retreat to Thessalonica itself if the situation becomes dire. Even in exile we can still be figures to rally round so we may launch a bid to reclaim our thrones.'\n\n'I have no intention of relinquishing my crown,' she stated defiantly.\n\n'Admirable words, my love, and I want nothing more than Alexander inheriting my own crown. But it will avail us, and him for that matter, little if we are both dead and he is a captive or worse a slave.\n\n'If we remain here we will be trapped between the French marching from the south and the Catalans advancing from the east. At least at Larissa we will have time to respond to developments.'\n\nElena was shocked. 'You will abandon this city?'\n\nHe picked up the fig and nibbled it.\n\n'Neopatras has strong walls. We will evacuate most of the women and children and leave the city well-provisioned and garrisoned. In that way it will be a thorn in the enemy's side.'\n\nHe jumped up from his chair and began pacing.\n\n'Yes, and with a defiant city in his rear the duke will be forced to allocate a significant part of his army to besiege it. This will weaken his main force, which may, with God's help, give us a chance to stop the French in their tracks.'\n\nElena beamed with delight. 'And we can do the same with Volos.'\n\nThe king stopped pacing. 'Volos. Yes, I had forgotten about that. It is on the northern end of the Pagasetic Gulf, a short distance from Halmyros.'\n\nElena finished eating a slice of melon.\n\n'Is the governor capable of defying the Catalans?'\n\n'The thought of meeting them in battle probably terrifies him, to be frank. But the walls of Volos are strong and supplies and reinforcements can be shipped to him by sea.'\n\n'So we have a plan to defeat the enemy,' beamed Elena.\n\n'Or at least stop him in his tracks, yes.'\n\nHer smile disappeared when her eyes dropped to her chest.\n\n'What's the matter?' he asked.\n\n'When I was pregnant with Alexander and immediately afterwards my breasts became enlarged, but now they have returned to their original size,' she sighed.\n\n'They are perfect as they are,' he assured her.\n\nShe shook her head. 'Sometimes, life can be so unfair.'\n\nThey might have hatched a plan to prevent a quick conquest of the Kingdom of Thessaly when it was assaulted by the French in the south and the Catalans in the east, which was certain to occur in the spring, but there was nothing to be done about the shrinking of the queen's breasts. Angelus hoped they were not a metaphor for the future size of his kingdom."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Luca and Jordi had fully recovered from their battle wounds, though they both carried battle scars. For Jordi it was his first combat wound, for Luca another to add to the one on his chest and left hand. It had taken six months for the Catalan wounded to heal fully, most of those who had received deep stomach wounds having sadly expired. They were both now back in the ranks of Hector's division, which again numbered a thousand Almogavars, as did the divisions of Xavi and Ferran. But Miquel had died in the Cephissus Valley and so had the majority of his division, only four hundred remaining. They were placed under the command of a seasoned individual named Seve whom Hector had every faith in. But even drafting in the company's veterans as replacements Seve would still have an under-strength division, and men over forty might be willing and brave but they lacked the strength and stamina when compared to men such as Luca and Jordi, individuals in their mid-twenties. And then there were the Maidens of the Spear.\n\nAfter their morning trek through the hills, all the while being lashed by heavy rain that seemed to be in their faces no matter in what direction they were marching, the Almogavars of Hector's division trudged back to camp soaked, cold and hungry. It was February and despite the Halmyros Valley being sheltered, a cold wind could still blow in from the north to chill everyone to the bone. But at least there had been no snow and ice for the company's first winter in its new home.\n\nThanks to the money Queen Elena had given the Catalans, they were able to purchase provisions from merchants resident in the city of Volos in the north of the gulf. Boats would visit the valley's crescent-shaped beach to barter their wares, fishermen also doing a healthy trade with the foreign mercenaries. Merchants will always have time for people who have money to spend, and over the weeks they did brisk business with the Catalans. Hector in turn collected useful intelligence concerning events elsewhere. Gossip always embellishes numbers and drama but sifting through the tall stories the members of the council were able to glean some useful information. Walter of Brienne was gathering a large army at Athens, with which he intended to use in a war of conquest. This was no surprise to the Catalans as the duke had informed Hector of his ambitions for expansion when the Catalans themselves had been at Athens. But whereas then the company had been the duke's allies, now it was clear the duke was now an implacable enemy, if only because the Catalans represented the only major impediment to his ambitions. In turn the company was resentful towards Walter of Brienne, who had used the mercenaries to destroy the armies of Epiros and Thessaly, as well as cull a good number of Romans, but who now was intent on destroying them. The company had been backed into a corner, both literally and metaphorically, and faced its greatest threat since its leaders were murdered at Adrianople, perhaps even greater.\n\nLuca's footwear and leggings were soaked and splattered with mud as the division marched towards the main entrance of the camp. To the right of the division was Ayna leading a Maiden of the Spear training session with javelins. Groups of women, all in their teens and twenties, were hurling javelins at straw dummies, none missing their targets despite the wind and rain. The Almogavar behind Luca slapped him on the left arm.\n\n'Your woman has whipped them into shape, Black Sheep. Soon they will be killing Frenchmen.'\n\n'Soon they might all be dead,' replied Luca glumly.\n\n'It is a bad idea placing women in the battle line,' agreed Jordi.\n\nHector derided their negativity.\n\n'They are not being forced to fight and the truth is we need anyone who can use a spear and throw a javelin. Besides, the woman of the Black Sheep is already a battle veteran. After all, you did meet her after the battle we fought at the wall of Cyzicus.'\n\nAn image of Ayna being marched off into slavery after the ghazi army had been repulsed at the wall flashed through his mind.\n\n'Do you regret killing that French lord?' asked Hector mischievously. 'And putting us all in danger?'\n\n'If I thought surrendering myself would save the company, I would do it willingly,' replied Luca.\n\n'They don't just want you dead, Luca,' said Romanus on the other side of Hector. 'They want us all gone.'\n\n'The Franks and the Romans,' agreed Jordi.\n\n'And the King and Queen of Thessaly,' added Luca.\n\n'If I hear much more from you three I will burst into tears,' said Hector. 'Just concentrate on killing the man in front of you and the man behind him and everything will be fine.'\n\n'Do you ever think of a time when you won't be fighting or marching off to war?' Luca asked him.\n\nHector thought for a moment. 'Not really. It is what I do, I'm good at it and I enjoy it. What more can a man ask for?'\n\n'Ayna wants to settle down and live a normal life,' reflected Luca.\n\nThe column was nearing the camp's entrance, filing past the Maidens of the Spear practising their javelin throwing. Luca saw Ayna showing a young woman how to hold the missile correctly, drawing back the javelin with her right arm before hurling it at a target at least twenty paces from her. The steel head hit the dead centre of the straw dummy.\n\n'Yeah, she looks the peaceable type,' nodded Hector.\n\n'I would be proud to have the woman of the Black Sheep fight beside me,' said the Almogavar behind Luca.\n\n'Me, too,' agreed the man beside him.\n\n'There won't be any women fighting in my division,' declared Hector. 'They would be a distraction.'\n\n'In what way?' asked Jordi.\n\n'A woman goes down, the men around her will instinctively rush to her aid and forget about the enemy. One of you lot goes down, no one gives a damn. Best if the women fight as a separate group. Not that there will be any fighting till the spring, mind.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "It was also raining at Athens, the great military camp north of the town reduced to a sea of mud as thousands of feet and animal hooves churned up the ground. It was mid-February and the winter was still in full flow. There had been no snow but Athens had been tormented by extended periods of rain. There were over twenty thousand troops in camp, plus their horses, wagons and servants. There would be more when the Latin lords of Greece joined it with their retinues, swelling the number to a further five thousand at least. Enough to destroy the Catalans and subdue Thessaly, Epiros and Thessalonica.\n\nWalter's boot got stuck in the mud. Jean assisted him in extracting his foot from the squelching ooze.\n\n'It is time to summon the Latin lords and begin this campaign,' he declared.\n\nJean, wrapped in a thick cloak and wearing a large waterproof hat like his lord, was surprised.\n\n'So early, lord? If we wait until the spring more reinforcements might arrive.'\n\nWalter continued with his walk, the slate-grey clouds above threatening rain for the rest of the day.\n\n'This army is like a plague of locusts, Jean, and will soon exhaust all our provisions. If it is going to strip the land bare, it might as well do so in foreign lands.'\n\nThe father of his wife Joanna, Gaucher of Ch\u00e2tillon, Constable of France, had planned with precision the raising, equipping, and provisioning of the troops to be sent to Greece to avenge the death of Reynard of Rouen. They had been assembled in southern France before marching through Italy to the port of Taranto, from where they were transported to the Principality of Achaea on Venetian ships. As soon as they arrived on Greek soil, however, they became the responsibility of the Frankish lords, and when they arrived at Athens they had to be fed by the Duke of Athens. Pasture for the animals was not a problem, especially when the rains came to turn the countryside green. But food for hungry soldiers soon became a major headache. Thousands of men required prodigious quantities of corn, millet, barley, wheat, cheese, biscuits, beans, nuts, salted pork, salted mutton, fish, wine and beer. The fish could be sourced locally to be served fresh but Athens was buckling under the strain of providing the army with rations, made worse by the tardiness of the other Latin states to send food to the Duchy of Athens.\n\n'I doubt any more reinforcements will arrive, Jean, but if they do they can join us on campaign. This miserable weather, combined with the need to reduce rations if we stay here another month, will make the army mutinous. And I would rather the soldiers be killing enemy troops and non-combatants than threatening me and my family. Send word to Jacques of Taranto he and his followers are to meet us at Thermopylae.'\n\n'When do you propose to commence the march north, lord?'\n\n'The end of the week. I want to be at Thermopylae by the end of the month.'\n\nThey continued walking through the camp, the only individuals in sight being those who needed to be out in the inclement weather \u2013 servants, horsemen leaving camp to go on patrol and sentries on duty. When not on duty the rank and file spent their days in cramped conical tents, the knights and lords being accommodated in more spacious tents with spikes on top to prevent birds sitting on them and depositing their droppings. Where the canopy met the side walls there was invariably a crenelated valance. The sides were slanted to make the tent more resistant to wind. Wooden boards were placed on the floor inside the tent, over which were placed carpets to keep the occupants' feet dry. But even for a noble accommodated in a pavilion, adverse weather created miserable living conditions. Far better to give everyone a sense of purpose rather than giving them time to brood and become resentful.\n\nWalter liked to take regular walks through the camp both to show his face and reassure those living under canvas that he was not a remote, aloof figure living a privileged life in the Acropolis, even if he was. By sharing the hardships of those who had come from overseas to fight for him, albeit briefly, he hoped to prevent any potential mutinous sentiments from developing. His wife thought him mad for even considering the opinions of the lower orders, but she had never been on campaign and seen how minor grievances could quickly lead to outbreaks of mutiny, especially in an army that numbered thousands. Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon took the view that the common soldiery were no better than animals, and certainly inferior to the great destriers on which noble knights rode into battle. Walter took a more pragmatic and realistic view of soldiers and armies.\n\n'Do you think he is still alive, lord?'\n\nWalter diverted his attention away from negotiating the pools of mud.\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Luca Baldi, the man many in this camp have travelled a great distance to kill.'\n\n'Perhaps he died in the Cephissus Valley, perhaps not. It does not matter. There will be plenty of Catalans to kill when we meet them in battle, after which the soldiers in this camp, those still alive, will have the spoils of war to enjoy. They will soon forget Luca Baldi, believe me.'\n\n'When the Catalans have been dealt with, it will take many months to reduce Thessaly and Epiros, lord.'\n\n'Yes, which is why we might as well get the campaign underway sooner rather than latter,' agreed Walter. 'After the Catalans have been destroyed, I will give you half the army to subdue Thessaly and Epiros. I will take the rest and lay siege to Thessalonica.'\n\n'The Catalans failed to take the city over two years ago.'\n\nWalter gave his deputy a cunning smile. 'The Catalans did not have Venetian ships to blockade Thessalonica's harbour, Jean. The lofty Empress Irene will soon discover what a close siege entails.'\n\nHe turned to look at the Acropolis, its walls grey and drab in the rain.\n\n'I intend to make Thessalonica my capital so I can get away from this dreary little town. Before I came here I thought Athens was a place of magnificent buildings of marble and gold, a vibrant, sprawling city filled with a thriving population. You cannot imagine what a disappointment it was, Jean, and how glad I will be to see the back of it.'\n\nWhen the army set out a week later the rain had ceased and bright sunshine bathed Athens and the thousands of soldiers leaving it. The ground was still soft, which quickly churned up the road that thousands of soldiers were using, until the order was given to march on either side to leave the highway itself to the wagons. There were dozens of them, both four-wheeled and two-wheeled, carrying everything needed to sustain twenty thousand men in the field. This included not only food but also tents, tools, saddles, shields, weapons and crossbow bolts. The four-wheeled wagons were pulled by a single horse, the two-wheeled vehicles by a mule.\n\nThe long column was led by Walter and the senior lords who had travelled to Greece. Because he was the commander of the army, the banner of the Duke of Athens \u2013 a golden lion with red claws on a blue background \u2013 was larger than the others. But the plethora of standards on show made for a dazzling display of colours. There were gold roses on white backgrounds, black eagles on yellow, red and blue griffins, gold unicorns, black boars' heads, white fishes, silver mermaids and blue squirrels in an impressive display of chivalry. Ordinarily on the march a knight would ride his ambling horse or palfrey, but when leaving Athens all the nobles and wealthiest knights rode their warhorses, complete with padded and quilted caparisons in their colours.\n\nThe poorer knights had no squires or valets, having had enough money to purchase a horse and armour only. They had left France in search of a reputation, land and money, which made them the most reckless among the horsemen. The mounted sergeants, in contrast, were non-noble but more disciplined both on and off the battlefield.\n\nThe majority of the army were foot soldiers, a mixture of Italian mercenaries, French militia and a thousand French crossbowmen. Walter would have preferred Genoese crossbowmen, the best missile troops in the world, but as Genoa had sided with the Romans it was out of the question.\n\nThe majority of the foot soldiers were spearmen, though their principal weapon was not a spear but a polearm, which was both a cutting and stabbing weapon with a razor-sharp blade and point at the end of a wooden shaft. It was a weapon designed for both hunting and fighting. Among the French militias were a host of black pennons bearing the word Justice, a statement of their intent to hold Luca Baldi to account for his base murder of Reynard of Rouen. All the members of the militia wore helmets, carried shields and wore some sort of armour ranging from mail hauberks to hardened leather armour.\n\nThe Sicilian contingent commanded by Giovanni Carafe wore the colours of the wealthy family that had raised them: rows of horizontal red and white bands. The knights all wore expensive cuir-bouilli leather armour over their mail hauberks, plus armoured gauntlets and leather greaves on their lower legs. The thousand Sicilian foot soldiers all wore mail hauberks, quilted aketons beneath and open-faced helmets. They carried large rectangular shields and were armed with spears and daggers. The five hundred Sicilian crossbowmen wore padded aketons and open-faced helmets. In addition to their missile weapons they also carried swords. Father Ramon, who had recently arrived in the Duchy of Athens, attached himself to the Sicilian soldiers. He spoke their language and had spent many years on their island, though he did not reveal he had once been the chief priest among the Almogavars. For their part the foot soldiers welcomed a man of God among them. Their nobles and knights may have boasted about crushing the enemy beneath the hooves of their warhorses, but many had seen at first hand the effectiveness of the Catalans on the battlefield and were in need of spiritual reassurance."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "Melek's horsemen and the riders of Halil Ece scouted far to the west, north and south of the valley to give prior warning of the approach of any hostile forces. They did not engage in rapine in an effort not to alienate the local population. However, many villagers decided to seek sanctuary behind the walls of towns and cities and so the Muslim horse archers rode through a mostly empty land. Occasionally they ran into a patrol of Thessalian horsemen and after a brief skirmish in which both sides lost one or two men, both parties went their separate ways. It was Melek himself who brought news that the army of Walter of Brienne was heading for Halmyros, the Frenchman's troops marching through the pass at Thermopylae and then taking the coast road skirting the south and west of Mount Othrys to approach the Halmyros Valley from the south.\n\nLuca and his friends were sitting round their campfire, Ertan putting away the cooking utensils after the evening meal of a fortifying thick fish broth. Sam and the twins were already asleep in the tent, the rest huddled together and wrapped in cloaks. It was the beginning of March and though the days were now getting warmer, the evenings were still cool.\n\nLuca stared into the flames of the fire, his arm around Ayna. Like everyone else he knew a clash between the Catalans and the French was now inevitable. Hector and the other members of the council had taken the decision to allow the French to enter the valley before offering battle.\n\n'It is a bad decision,' muttered Luca.\n\nJordi opposite looked at him. 'What?'\n\n'We should fight the French on the coast road where they cannot use their horsemen. If they enter the valley it will make things much harder.'\n\n'If their soldiers are anything like the lord who hid away in his castle while we fought the Romans at Thermopylae, I do not think we have much to worry about.'\n\n'I want to fight,' declared Anicius.\n\nHe was on the cusp of his twelfth birthday and was itching to prove himself in battle. His frustration had reached new heights when Hector had issued orders for all teenage boys in the company to be formed into a fighting unit. This had yielded two hundred recruits, who would man the camp's ramparts and probably see no actual fighting unless the enemy stormed the camp. If they did it would mean all the Almogavars and horsemen would most likely be dead.\n\n'You have the greatest responsibility when we fight the French,' Jordi told him.\n\nAnicius looked at him suspiciously. 'How?'\n\n'You will be protecting the young, the old and the infants in camp. If the enemy breaks through, it will be up to you to save Sam and the twins.'\n\n'And Ertan,' added Romanus. 'Good cooks are hard to come by.'\n\nAnicius was having none of it.\n\n'The enemy never breaks into camp. You are just thinking up ways to stop me from fighting. It's not fair.'\n\n'Life is seldom fair,' said Chana.\n\n'You should be grateful you don't have to fight,' Monica told him.\n\n'It is not sport,' said Ayna.\n\nAnicius looked at her, the Muslim who had become almost as famous as the Black Sheep in the company. The woman who would lead a unit of females in the battle against the French. The woman who had actually fought in battle when she had been a member of the ghazi army, a horde of fanatics that had drunk the blood of its defeated enemies, or so he had heard.\n\n'It is shameful that women are allowed to fight and I am not,' he spat at her.\n\n'Do not speak to Ayna like that,' Monica rebuked him.\n\n'Before I joined the company, when I was a member of the ghazi army, some of my actions were shameful, I freely admit it,' she said. 'You think war is all honour and heroic deeds but you are wrong. It is mostly horror and terror. I pray you will never see the face of battle, Anicius.'\n\n'That is what we are fighting for,' Luca told him, 'so you and all the other children in this camp can enjoy lives of peace.'\n\nThe words were like a red rag to a bull to Anicius. He jumped up and pointed at Luca.\n\n'You lie. You are the Black Sheep, a man famous throughout the whole world, a fighter who has killed many of the enemy in battle and who lives for war. You just do not want others sharing your glory.'\n\nHe stormed off into the night in a fit of adolescent rage. Romanus rolled his eyes.\n\n'He needs a strap taking to him.'\n\n'Actually, he raises an interesting point,' said Chana. 'What will you do when all the fighting is done, Luca?'\n\n'His time will be fully occupied with other things,' Ayna answered for him.\n\n'You have come a long way since you were a poor shepherd in Sicily, Luca,' said Jordi.\n\n'If you had not have been disrespectful to that lord, I might still be a shepherd,' grinned his friend.\n\n'Like many of his kind, he was arrogant and deserved putting in his place. What was his name?'\n\nLuca thought hard. 'Giovanni Carafa. I wonder what became if him?'\n\n'I'm sure he is still a rich, arrogant noble,' Jordi assured him.\n\n'And still hanging peasants for no reason,' said Luca.\n\nRomanus looked up at Ertan who was still fussing around his cooking utensils.\n\n'What about you, Ertan? What will you do when the fighting is over? Will you go back home?'\n\nThe Syrian stopped and looked at them all.\n\n'You are my home, effendi. Where you all go, I follow.'\n\nIt did not occur to him or the others that they might all die in the coming battle or be enslaved in the aftermath should the company be defeated. But in every battle the Catalan Company had a great advantage over those it fought. In every clash the Catalans were fighting for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, not for glory or booty. The Almogavars in particular were bound to one another by bonds of brotherly solidarity, knowing that when it came to the crunch, they could rely only on each other.\n\n'I would like a home in the hills,' said Ayna, 'like the one we lived in on the Artake Peninsula.'\n\nLuca shuddered. 'It was freezing, I seem to remember.'\n\n'I lived with my parents then,' remembered Jordi, 'in a large house given to us by Count Michael. I'm glad we saved him at Thermopylae.'\n\n'Me too,' reflected Luca.\n\nLater, when the others were asleep around them in the tent, Ayna whispered into Luca's ear.\n\n'Are you asleep?'\n\n'Mmm?'\n\n'Are you asleep?'\n\n'I was.'\n\n'I need to tell you something.'\n\n'Go on.'\n\n'I'm pregnant.'\n\nHe was suddenly very awake. A large grin appeared on his face. Not only was he delighted; it would also mean she would not be taking part in the coming battle. He held her tightly.\n\n'I love you,' he told her.\n\nLuca Baldi went back to sleep an incredibly happy man."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "The Halmyros Valley was funnel shaped, the widest part being where it met the blue waters of the Pagasetic Gulf in the east. It was around eight miles in length and enjoyed six miles of coastline, being flanked by low-lying hills with mountains beyond. The terrain in the valley itself was flat in the centre and gently undulating nearer the sides, but devoid of trees and any hidden features. It was ideal terrain for horsemen. There were three entrances to the valley. In the west there was a narrow, winding pass through the mountains; in the north the narrow coast road skirted tall cliffs; and in the south a stretch of land just over a mile wide gave entry to where the Catalan Company was camped in the valley. For an army, the southern entrance was the most attractive, though it would have to take the coast road from the south, which narrowed greatly as it threaded its way through a western spur of Mount Othrys. Hector had debated ambushing the French army as it travelled along this narrow road but argued against it during a council of war because to do so would make the company's horsemen redundant. Instead, the decision was taken to allow Duke Walter and his army uncontested entry into the valley.\n\nThe morning of battle dawned bright but cool, the ground firm but damp, men and women still wrapped in cloaks and blankets when the first rays of the sun reflected off the shimmering waters of the gulf. Luca and the other adult occupants of the tent they shared were up before dawn, moving silently to exit the round structure so as to not wake their sleeping children. Ertan already had a fire going and a large cauldron suspended over it containing porridge. No one spoke at first as they made their way to the latrine trenches and afterwards returned to wash their hands and faces in cold water. Then they sat round the fire and waited for Ertan to serve them food into large wooden bowls. Luca saw Ayna examine the blade of her dagger. His heart sank. She caught him looking at her in a disapproving manner.\n\n'What? You thought I would not fight because I am pregnant.'\n\nChana's ears pricked up. 'You are pregnant? Why did you not tell us?'\n\n'And yet you will still fight?' Monica did not seem surprised.\n\n'You should stay in camp,' Luca told her.\n\n'I am in the early stages of pregnancy, not ill,' Ayna replied testily.\n\nLuca looked to Jordi and Romanus for support but they merely shrugged. They knew as did he that the day's battle would be fought against a numerically superior enemy. The Catalan Company needed every man, and woman, it could muster.\n\n'The Maidens of the Spear without Ayna would be at a grave disadvantage,' said Monica, shoving her dagger in its sheath.\n\nShe and Ayna went over to Chana and embraced her.\n\n'You know what to do?' asked Ayna.\n\nChana nodded. 'I know what to do.'\n\nChana held up a leather pouch to them both.\n\n'God be with you, then, and if we do not see each other again in this life, we will meet in the next.'\n\n'What's this?' probed Luca.\n\nAyna examined the three javelins in the quiver before slinging it on her back and fixing it in place with a leather strap, Monica doing likewise. It was obvious Chana was not preparing for battle.\n\n'What is going on?' asked Jordi.\n\nAyna looked at Chana. 'Tell him.'\n\n'There is only one man in this camp who has money of his own, real money not a few coins in a pouch, and that is Halil Ece.'\n\n'Slave trading is a lucrative business,' agreed Luca.\n\n'Ayna asked him for money, enough to pay for lodgings in Volos for myself, all the children and Ertan should the battle be lost,' explained Chana.\n\n'I knew he would not refuse, not after having saved his daughter from being raped,' said Ayna.\n\n'You saved her from being raped only to be slaughtered in battle,' muttered Luca.\n\n'There is honour in dying in battle,' Ayna told him, 'but there is only a lifetime of shame for a woman who has been raped.'\n\n'Do we have any say in this plan?' asked Jordi.\n\n'No,' replied Chana firmly.\n\nThere was nothing left to say. Time was pressing and the Franks and their allies would not wait. Luca embraced Ayna, Monica and Chana and marched away with his friends after they too had said their goodbyes. They had said farewell many times and they did not prolong it. What was the point? They had all kissed their children farewell before leaving the tent where they still slept in blissful ignorance, even the would-be slayer of the enemy Anicius. It would be left to Chana and Ertan to wipe away their tears later.\n\nThousands of men, teenage boys and two hundred and fifty Maidens of the Spear formed up in the central square of the camp and then marched to the battlefield. Two hundred and fifty more Maidens, those not yet fully trained, would remain in camp to defend the ramparts. Grim determination filled every one of them as they filed out of camp, the horsemen trotting behind their commanders, the Almogavars marching in column like they had done countless times before. There was absolute silence. No commands being shouted, no whistles or trumpets being blown and no coarse revelry or singing in the ranks. Their commanders had told them the battle plan and their part in it. They had supreme confidence in their leaders and their own abilities. But they also knew that in battle even the best-laid plans could turn to ashes in an instant and success could become calamity in the blink of an eye.\n\nThe sun was rising now to bathe the valley in glorious morning sunlight. There was still a nip in the air but that was welcome to horsemen wearing mail armour and Almogavars carrying heavy loads who might be standing and fighting for hours. There were only three divisions now, a fourth of sorts being four hundred Almogavars placed under the command of Seve. The divisions took up position to the immediate west of the camp, facing south, the front rank level with the southern rampart of the camp. On the right of Seve's men, who occupied the extreme left of the battle line, stood Ferran's division and to the right of it Hector and his thousand men. Xavi's division formed the right flank of the Almogavar battle line, which had a total frontage of three hundred and fifty paces. Each division and Seve's men were deployed in four ranks to present a solid block of whetted spear points.\n\nImmediately behind Xavi's' division stood the company's two hundred crossbowmen, who usually stayed behind to defend the camp but today would have a crucial part to play in the battle. Either that or be slaughtered to a man if it went badly. And behind them was the second line of Catalan foot soldiers, a meagre force comprising the Maidens of the Spear directly behind the crossbowmen, veteran Almogavars on their left and two hundred teenage boys who would become Almogavars in one or two years, but who today had been granted the privilege of fighting, and dying, beside those they aspired to be. So the company's foot soldiers stood facing south to the immediate west of the camp, the deep, wide ditch surrounding it and the earth rampart behind decorated with large numbers of sharpened stakes so that it resembled a mammoth hedgehog asleep in the valley. To the enemy scouts on horseback who had entered the valley and were keeping a respectful distance, two things would have become immediately apparent as they stared north. The right flank of the Catalan foot soldiers was very exposed; and the Catalan horsemen were nowhere to be seen.\n\nLuca kept glancing behind him. Hector struck him on his helmet.\n\n'Eyes front, the enemy will be coming from the south. Focus of doing your job. You are worried about Ayna?'\n\nLuca nodded, promoting Hector to give him an evil leer.\n\n'No need, that one is difficult to kill and I'm hoping her women will be, too. Still got that magical dagger of yours?'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Good, today it might come into its own.'\n\n'If we don't get trampled to death,' said Luca casually.\n\nHector was going to retort but movement to the front caught his eye, followed seconds later by the muffled sound of trumpet blasts. He gave a thin smile. The enemy army had arrived.\n\nThey moved slowly, the horsemen in the vanguard and the foot following. It was a crystal-clear morning, which meant the many different colours among the enemy were plain to see. The warhorses of the knights were covered in brightly coloured caparisons decorated with their owners' heraldic designs, while fluttering in the breeze that was blowing in off the sea were the banners of the lords and the nobles who had travelled from France to fight beside Walter of Brienne and avenge Reynard of Rouen. In the vanguard were the flags of the Latin lords of the Peloponnese: the gold cross on a red background of Achaea, the yellow cross on a blue background of Negroponte, the alternating blue and yellow squares of Bodonitsa, and the white cross on a red background with a blue diagonal band running from top left to bottom right of Salona. Luca saw another banner that he recognised but could not place, a flag of alternating red and white bands next to the largest standard among the enemy \u2013 a huge blue sigil emblazoned with a golden lion with red claws. Around it were the duke's knights, their shields and surcoats showing the same design. It was a magnificent display of mounted might, hundreds of lance tips and burnished helmets glinting in the morning sun.\n\nThe foe was moving slowly, purposely, from left to right to get into position, a great mailed column dotted with hundreds of banners, the host accompanied by fanfares of trumpets. It was an impressive sight designed to shake and awe the Almogavars as they stood silently in their ranks.\n\nHector turned. 'Bring it forward.'\n\nFrom the rear ranks came a great banner, a huge flag passed from man to man. As soon as it reached Hector he had it place on the ground in front of him.\n\n'Unfurl it,' he ordered Luca and Jordi, Hector and Romanus each standing on one corner as it was unrolled like a carpet.\n\nWhen it was laid flat on the ground Luca placed the point of his spear through a metal ring in the top left-hand corner of the flag, Hector doing the same on the opposite side with his spear point.\n\n'Up.'\n\nLuca was surprised by the weight of the flag, which was huge and an exact copy of the banner of Walter of Brienne. They hoisted it up so it became visible to the Latin and French lords riding across the front of the Almogavars. Hector blew the whistle he had in his mouth and a raucous racket ensued, the Almogavars whistling, jeering and shaking their spears at the enemy, a din to ensure it got the attention of the foe.\n\nStanding behind the banner, Luca could not see what was happening but he heard Jordi's raised voice.\n\n'They've halted.'\n\n'Drop the flag,' commanded Hector. Luca gladly did so.\n\n'Let's send the duke a message,' said Hector, pulling down his leggings.\n\nLuca, Jordi and Romanus did the same and commenced to piss on the flag in full view of the group of Latin lords and their allies. Luca pulled up his leggings and retrieved his spear from the ground, just in time to see the enemy horsemen deploy into line in front of the Almogavars. Hector rubbed his hands together.\n\n'For all their wealth, manners and breeding, sometimes these lords are dumber than mules.'\n\nHe turned to the second rank.\n\n'Bring them forward.'\n\nThe entire front rank in his division about-faced and shouted the same words, which were replicated in the flanking divisions. The fourth ranks began to shove long spears forward, spears with sharpened ends with shafts thicker than the standard spears of the Almogavars, and over double their length. They were heavy, unwieldly, but the only things that could stop a charging warhorse with a mailed knight sitting on its back holding a couched lance. The long spears were pushed along the ground until they lay beside the men in the front rank, who pushed them forward some more so when they lifted them at least ten feet of shaft would be in front of them. The second rank also had long spears to hand to create two rows of long spears, on which the enemy horsemen would impale themselves. Of course if the enemy saw the shafts they would abort their charge, so Hector had given strict instructions they were to be raised only at the last minute. It would be left to individuals in the first and second ranks to precisely define what 'last minute' meant.\n\nFacing a charge of mounted knights is a daunting prospect. A foot soldier suddenly feels very small and insignificant when faced by a wall of destriers approaching in a tight formation, knights riding knee-to-knee, those in the second rank less than a horse's length behind the first with their lances aimed between the riders in front. Their charge started slowly, the great warhorses breaking into a trot and then a canter, as they were trained to do. The knights would only put spurs to their horses when the wretched Almogavars were within close range. And at that particular moment the Almogavars did indeed feel wretched.\n\nLuca could not swallow, a knot formed and then tightened in his belly and his legs felt weak. And with good reason. The knights bearing down on him were nobles, men of renown who had been trained for war from an early age. Every instinct screamed at him to turn and run away from the lances, swords, maces and axes coming at him, to say nothing of the iron-shod hooves of the warhorses that threatened to smash his body to pulp if he was trampled on. Part-time soldiers would have already fled; ordinary foot soldiers would have wavered and then crumbled before the horses reached them, the mental strain of standing in the way of a disciplined charge of knights in armour being too much to bear. Only soldiers with the highest levels of training, discipline and faith in their comrades could hope to even maintain their formation in the face of such overwhelming power. But even the Almogavars wondered if the sheer momentum of hundreds of mounted knights would simply crush them beneath the hooves of their warhorses. Luca momentarily forgot about everything and everyone around him as he focused on a horse cantering right at him, an animal that appeared overly large, the lance held by its rider seemingly growing longer by the second. The knights put the spurs to their horses, he reached down, gripped the long spear at his feet with both hands and raised it so it became pointed at the horse at an angle of forty-five degrees, ramming his withdrawn right foot against the spear's butt end. An eagle flying over the battlefield would have seen eight hundred and fifty Almogavars in the front rank doing likewise and the same number in the second rank doing the same in an almost simultaneous movement that was a wonder to behold. And then there was a sickening squelchy crunching noise as dozens of horses ran headlong into the long wall of sharpened wooden points.\n\nLuca screamed with delight as the point of the spear-cum-stake he was holding went into the chest of the warhorse that had been bearing down on him. So hard was the impact that the shaft bent in his hands, the force of the charging horse forcing the butt end deep into the earth. He released it and watched with glee the knight on its back being propelled over its neck and head to land at his feet. He drew his dagger and stabbed down onto the knight's throat, the Damascus blade easily going through mail to penetrate his windpipe. He kept hold of the dagger in his right hand, his eight-foot spear in his left, and leapt forward to get among the chaos of badly wounded horses, thrown riders and now stationary horsemen. As did three and half thousand other Almogavars.\n\nHector was a man who could not read or write, had had no education and knew nothing of culture, but he knew nobles and knights better than they knew themselves. The deployment of the Almogavars with no mounted support and with an open right flank ordinarily would have prompted Walter of Brienne to place his crossbowmen directly opposite the Catalans, who would proceed to shoot volleys of bolts at the Almogavars to soften them up. Then the duke would lead his knights forward to complete the rout of the Catalans, supported by thousands of his foot soldiers, very much in a minor supporting role. No high-born noble wished to share the honour of victory with illiterate peasants or detestable urban tradesmen. But honour was a double-edged sword. Hector knew the sight of his banner being disrespected in front of his peers would be unbearable for Walter and would provoke him to act rashly to uphold his honour. And so it proved.\n\nLuca and Jordi worked in tandem, stabbing with their Damascus blades at winded knights and men trapped in a press of horses, the rear ranks involved in Walter's charge colliding with those in front. The fleet-footed Almogavars darted around like angry hornets, their spears becoming like stings as they stabbed exposed armpits, groins and thighs.\n\nLuca remembered Hector's command.\n\n'If we are still standing after their mounted charge, get among them but do not use your javelins. You will need them later.'\n\nLuca ducked low beneath a horse and slashed open its belly with his dagger, the weapon making a deep incision, resulting in him being covered in blood. The horse groaned and collapsed sideways whereupon Jordi on the other side leapt out the way, waited until the beast had collapsed to the ground, pinning its rider's right leg beneath its bulk, before plunging his spear into the knight's face. They flanked another horse, the knight in the saddle slashing down with his sword at Luca, who jumped back to avoid the blade, giving Jordi on the other side enough time to plunge his spear into the man's groin. The knight shrieked with agony, dropped his sword and slumped in the saddle. They left him to bleed to death.\n\nThe Almogavars swept through the routed horsemen like locusts devouring a field of wheat. After killing the knights, they easily dealt with the squires, mounted sergeants and 'poor' knights, many of whom lacked mail armour on their limbs and rode horses without caparisons. Individual horsemen were surrounded and cut down with great haste, the Almogavars knowing that shock and surprise would tip the scales in their favour against well-armed horsemen who ordinarily would have triumphed in single combat against a foot soldier. But the loss of their leaders, the fall of their banners and a lack of space in which to manoeuvre turned an unfavourable situation into a bloody rout.\n\nSome French horsemen fought on foot after having their horses slain beneath them. A limping knight in a blue surcoat bearing a golden lion was swinging a mace at Jordi, shield held in front of him to ward off the Almogavar's spear as it was jabbed at him. His attention was wholly focused on the threat posed by Jordi and he did not see Luca run up to him from behind, though he undoubtedly felt the dagger thrust forcefully into his back. The Damascus blade easily penetrated the chainmail to penetrate his flesh a couple of inches, Luca stabbing repeatedly until the knight fell to his knees, allowing Jordi to plunge his spear point into his throat.\n\nThe Almogavars could not have defeated hundreds of enemy horsemen on their own. But after they had destroyed the cream of Walter's army, they were delighted to meet the mailed lancers of Alfonso of Navarre, which had struck the bulk of the enemy horsemen as they rode forward to assist the knights and nobles who had ridden into a trap.\n\nAll the Latin and French horsemen were fleeing now, those still in the saddle abandoning the fight to save themselves. Hundreds lay dead on the ground, hundreds more lay wounded, some with leg injuries using broken lances as crutches to hobble away. Dozens of whistle blasts rent the air to recall the Almogavars to their units, Luca and Jordi sprinting to a fresh piece of ground beyond where the brief but bloody clash had taken place, away from groaning men and horses and dead bodies and carcasses. They moved quickly as the battle was not yet won. They clasped the forearm of Romanus who had been fighting with Hector, the company commander looking them both up and down.\n\n'Still alive I see.'\n\n'The Black Sheep never dies,' smiled Jordi.\n\n'Is any of that your own?' Hector asked Luca, who was covered in blood.\n\n'A horse bled all over me.'\n\n'How inconsiderate,' remarked Hector.\n\nLosses had been light and thus far his plan had worked to perfection, though Hector actually owed his success not to three and half thousand Almogavars but to a determined, feisty infidel and her fellow female fighters."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "When Walter of Brienne had deployed his knights against the Almogavars, the right flank had been awarded to the Sicilian Giovanni Carafa and his knights. On his left was Boniface of Verona, with Walter of Brienne and his followers in the centre. To the left of the Duke of Athens rode Thomas d'Autremoncourt, with the Prince of Achaea and his four hundred knights and squires on the left. In the ill-fated charge of the French and Latin knights Jacques of Taranto and his knights and squires were forced to ride around the right flank of the Almogavar battle line.\n\nJacques thus led his horsemen around the flank of the Almogavars intent on swinging one hundred and eighty degrees to attack the Catalan mercenaries in the rear and complete the duke's victory.\n\nAyna heard the thunder of horses' hooves and felt the ground shake beneath her feet. She was standing in the front rank of the Maidens of the Spear, behind Xavi's division. Hector had told her to expect to be assaulted by heavily armed and armoured horsemen, which is why the company's two hundred crossbowmen had been assigned to the Maidens of the Spear. They were a relatively newly formed unit but its members were not novices, far from it. Many like Monica who stood beside Ayna had fought to defend the Catalan camp outside the city of Kallipolis when its governor had unleashed his garrison against the women defending its ramparts. And when the company had captured the city many had followed Carla Rey in the defence of the city harbour against Dario Spinola and his Genoese, which had cost many female lives and had led to Carla taking her own life. Ayna had fought in both actions and had convinced Hector the women of the company could be of use on the battlefield. She was about to find out if all the months of training had been worthwhile.\n\nShe turned and raised her spear, the women tightly formed into four ranks like their male counterparts.\n\n'This is what we have worked hard for. Do not falter, have faith in your god, your training and the woman next to you.'\n\nBut the sight of four hundred horsemen with whetted lances and wearing helmets and armour turning to attack them was a fearsome spectacle and two hundred and fifty women armed with eight-foot spears suddenly felt very isolated and vulnerable. But none faltered, instead obeying whistle blasts to form four ranks facing west. The crossbowmen had already rushed to deploy into a line that now raked the horsemen with crossbow bolts. Dozens of horses went down when they were hit by iron-tipped missiles, throwing their riders and stopping the riders of Jacques of Taranto in their tracks. The knights slowed and Ayna saw a huge banner showing a gold cross on a red background change direction and head towards the Maidens. Soon many couched lances were being directed at the women.\n\nThe crossbowmen shot a second and third volley that cut down more horses and struck their riders. They then retreated a few paces, reloaded and shot a fourth volley. They were now a few paces in front of the Maidens, in front of them dozens of knights preparing to charge them and Ayna's women. The space between the two groups was less than fifty paces but the knights were encumbered by dead and dying horses around them and wounded comrades on the ground. Nevertheless, led by Jacques himself, the knights manoeuvred through the debris to trot and then canter towards the block of females. The crossbowmen shot one last volley and turned to flee.\n\n'Let them through,' shouted Ayna, the Maidens parting to allow the crossbowmen to filter through their ranks to the rear.\n\nShe saw a huge man in a bright red surcoat pick himself up after being thrown from his now dead warhorse. He shook his head and clutched his great sword with both hands before screaming in rage and then charging directly at her. Either side of him, knights thrown from their horses that had been hit by the last volley of crossbowmen regained their senses and likewise abandoned their lances to fight the Maidens with their swords. Most sported open-faced helmets, some were bare headed as a result of their fall; all had been greatly discomfited and thirsted for blood. Behind them more and more knights jumped down from their horses to follow Jacques of Taranto into the m\u00eal\u00e9e.\n\n'Ready!' shouted Ayna, spear in her left hand.\n\nThe giant knight was running at her now, his huge bulk pacing towards her, his face contorted in visceral rage.\n\n'Now!'\n\nThe command was unnecessary. They had prepared ad nauseum for this moment, spending hours on the training field every day, every week for months on end. Fifty javelins were plucked from quivers and hurled at the onrushing enemy at a range of around twenty paces. Ayna saw her javelin fly straight and true towards the angry giant, who stubbed his boot on a small divot and stumbled. The javelin flew over his head. He regained his footing and gave a great roar as he charged at her, gripping his sword with both hands on his right side, ready to cleave her in two. But Ayna the Persian was quick and had already plucked a second javelin that she hurled with all her might at the largest target available \u2013 his torso. The missile and the great bulk met halfway, the steel head penetrating surcoat and mail just enough to take the sting out of his attack. Jacques slowed when the javelin stuck in him. He was now only three of four paces away from the olive-skinned she-devil. He let the sword drop and gripped the javelin with his left hand, yanking it free, then walked forward. He was not alone.\n\nUp and down the line knights stepped over their dead comrades, javelins lodged in their skulls, to do battle with the shrieking harridans. The Maidens' front rank buckled as knights hacked and chopped at the wall of spears in front of them. They hacked diagonally and vertically in an attempt to cut legs and arms, also thrusting forward to strike faces. But the women extended their spears through their hands so at least six feet of shaft and head were between them and the enemy swords.\n\nMonica was on the right side of Ayna, both of them jabbing their spears at the large round face of the giant, who was wielding his huge sword with a dexterity that almost dazzled them. He cut down from the left and right, swung the blade sideways in scything movements and was able to change the direction of his strikes with great speed. It took all their concentration to keep him at bay and prevent him splintering their spear shafts with the heavy sword blade.\n\nThe Maidens were taking casualties. More and more knights were now hacking at the walls of spears, using their shields as battering rams to force a gap between individuals and slash at exposed limbs before being forced back.\n\n'Duck, Ayna.'\n\nTo place your life unquestionably in the hands of another is an example of supreme faith but Ayna obeyed the command without hesitation. The javelin flew over her head towards the face of Jacques of Taranto, the Prince of Achaea showing remarkable reflexes and flinching right, so the steel lightly brushed the side of his face as it hurtled by him. His attention momentarily diverted, from her crouched position Ayna sprang forward like an attacking cat, driving the point of her spear into the giant's groin. He gave an ear-splitting shriek as the spear point pierced his genitals. The sword slipped from his grip to give Monica an opening to stab him in the throat, blood shooting from the wound as she held the shaft in place. Jacques grabbed the spear and tried to wrench it free from his neck, but blood was flowing from his body from two fatal wounds, his strength suddenly gave way, his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to his knees. Monica pulled her spear free and grabbed Ayna to haul her back into the front rank. Jacques of Taranto collapsed forward face-down on the ground, dead.\n\nAyna blew her whistle to signal retreat, the other leaders in the front rank doing the same. All the Maidens began stepping backwards, all the time fending off the swords of the knights. She heard horns sound behind her.\n\n'Kneel.'\n\nShe took a knee, Monica and those around her doing likewise, followed by all the Maidens of the Spear, still holding their spears pointed towards the knights, who for a moment believed the women were surrendering. They were violently disabused of the notion when two hundred crossbow bolts flew over the heads of the Maidens and struck them. Forty knights fell dead, another score being wounded in the first volley. The rest staggered back, to be struck by a second volley that cut down a further thirty. Fresh horn blasts stopped the crossbowmen from shooting as the Almogavar veterans and the teenage boys appeared on the right flank of the Maidens. Ayna looked behind her to check the crossbowmen were standing at ease before standing herself, raising her spear and blowing her whistle once to signal the charge.\n\nThe Maidens, veterans and teenage boys assaulted what was left of the knights of Achaea, ruthlessly hunting them down. A handful managed to find a horse and escape west towards the end of the valley. The Maidens of the Spear had passed their first battlefield test. They stood in their ranks and looked at the carnage they had caused with satisfaction. They and the other units of the second line now faced south, observing the victorious Almogavars advancing towards where a great mass of enemy foot soldiers stood. The enemy's horsemen had seemingly vanished into thin air, but there was still a lot of fighting left to do.\n\nAlfonso, or Alfonso of Navarre as he was known by virtue of Hector's attempt to bestow a veneer of knightly respectability on the commander of his horsemen, was in reality a humble man. His surname was Perez and he was the son of an impoverished knight from Navarre who had taken service with the Catalan expedition to Sicily as a way of avoiding starvation or servitude, the former being more desirable than the latter. He took his wife and young son with him, the boy having already acquired the rudiments of fighting from the saddle. During the long War of the Sicilian Vespers Alfonso's father and mother both died and Alfonso took his place among the Catalan horsemen. Over the course of a twenty-year conflict he rose in the ranks to become a dependable commander, though under normal circumstances he would never have achieved high rank, even in a mercenary company. But here he was, put in charge of seventeen hundred horsemen and entrusted with tipping the scales of victory against a numerically superior opponent.\n\nAll the company's horseman had been deployed immediately north of the camp so they remained out of sight to the enemy, only moving when the red signal flags on the camp's ramparts were waved frantically to indicate Walter of Brienne had taken exception to his coat of arms being defiled. Then speed became paramount. The horse archers of Melek Kose and Halil Ece led the way, galloping down the eastern side of the camp to intercept the foot soldiers of the enemy, which were still in column formation as they marched to get into position prior to assaulting the Almogavars.\n\nAs soon as the horse archers were spotted trumpets sounded among the enemy foot soldiers, units halting and closing ranks to form hedgehogs of spears as a defence against horsemen. But these horsemen had no intention of charging them or getting close to their spears and polearms. Instead they began riding up and down the column shooting arrows at inviting targets of foot soldiers huddled close together. Each rider carried two quivers \u2013 sixty arrows in total \u2013 and maintained a steady rate of shooting three arrows a minute. Melek's horse archers had been assigned the enemy's spearmen \u2013 three hundred and fifty men shooting a total of just over a thousand arrows a minute \u2013 but Halil Ece's men had been given a special mission: find and destroy the foe's crossbowmen.\n\nIt was fortunate, and unfortunate for the crossbowmen, that they were in a separate body in the vanguard of Walter of Brienne's foot soldiers, following the French and Latin horsemen in front of them. Their mission would be to shoot at the Almogavars to soften them up. But the appearance of Halil Ece put paid to that plan. Halil Ece's men shot unwaveringly, riding at speed to minimise the risk from the enemy missile troops. Loosing five arrows a minute, the horse archers shot fifteen hundred missiles at the crossbowmen in the space of two minutes. The French and Italian crossbowmen formed into compact units and shot back at their tormentors, emptying a few saddles. But they were stationary and packed tightly together, creating inviting targets, around which the horse archers darted like angry wasps. And their sting was venomous. After five minutes of battle half the crossbowmen lay dead for the loss of a dozen horse archers.\n\nMelek's horsemen suffered two casualties \u2013 a dislocated wrist on account of a reloading mishap and a broken ankle after a fall \u2013 before retiring back to camp to replenish empty quivers. In twenty minutes of combat they left over a thousand enemy dead and twice that number of wounded on the battlefield. Halil Ece and his horsemen had returned to the eastern entrance of the camp in half that time to collect fresh quivers from the old men and young boys guarding the temporary gate.\n\n'Now, boy.'\n\nThe old man tapped Anicius on the shoulder and he ran from the camp's entrance with two full quivers in his hands. He and two dozen other boys followed him, all carrying spare arrows for the waiting horse archers. Anicius sprinted over to the nearest rider, a handsome individual with a strong jaw and pale grey eyes. He sat tall in the saddle, bare headed, his long black hair falling to his shoulders. He unfastened the two empty quivers attached to his saddle and tossed them to the ground, holding out his hand to Anicius. Who froze when he recognised Taner Ece, one of the men who had raided his village and taken him as a slave years before, before he had been rescued by Romanus, Luca and Jordi.\n\n'Hurry, boy,' said Taner impatiently in Italian.\n\n'You killed my parents,' Anicius shouted.\n\nTaner frowned.\n\n'I have no knowledge of what you speak. But seek me out after the battle and you and I will talk some more. Now give me the quivers.'\n\n'You and your father raided my village and took me as a slave. I was rescued by the Black Sheep.'\n\nTaner fixed the quivers to his saddle and examined him more closely.\n\n'I do not remember you but I remember the incident. It was war, boy, nothing more, nothing less.'\n\nHe pointed to the south.\n\n'There is a big army out there and if it is victorious I will be dead and you will be a slave once more, or dead. Do not concern yourself with the past, focus on the here and now and staying alive. Allah be with you.'\n\nHe turned his horse to join the other horse archers who had been supplied with fresh arrows.\n\n'I do not follow Allah.'\n\nTaner Ece turned in the saddle as he rode off.\n\n'Then pray to your Christ that my arrows fly straight and true.'\n\nAlfonso of Navarre and his mailed lancers were already killing fellow Christians. They had left the enemy foot soldiers to the company's Muslim horse archers to deploy into line and charge the rear formations of enemy horsemen. Their attack was unexpected and devastating, their lances emptying hundreds of saddles before the foe could respond. By then it was too late. Alfonso and his horsemen were among the impoverished French knights and the mounted sergeants, like some plague riddling a body, hacking and slashing with gusto and putting the enemy riders to flight. There was a brief, intense m\u00eal\u00e9e when the French put up a fight, followed by a rout resembling a dam bursting as their resistance collapsed and every man shifted for himself. It might have been different if Walter, the Latin lords, the French nobles, and their knights had been able to lend support, but they were already dead and there was no assistance to be had.\n\nAlfonso, followed by a standard bearer carrying a large Catalan banner, found Hector standing with his division beyond the scene of carnage he and the other Almogavars had created battling the flower of Latin and French chivalry.\n\n'My congratulations,' he said to the company's commander, 'your ability to get into the mind of the enemy is quite remarkable.'\n\n'There's little to it,' Hector replied modestly, 'all you have to do is offend the enemy general's sense of honour and everything falls into place.'\n\nAlfonso's horsemen were reforming in their squadrons behind him, most of the troops now without lances, which were either stuck in dead enemy soldiers or lying on the grassy ground. He looked behind him to where the thousands of enemy foot soldiers were still being tormented by horse archers.\n\n'There are still many of the enemy in the field Hector, plus those who have been routed but might rally to return.'\n\n'We will deal with the foot soldiers. Get yourself and your horsemen to the enemy camp. Kill everyone and burn everything,' Hector told him. 'Even if the enemy rallies, an army without tents, food, tools, wagons and horses to pull them will turn into a leaderless rabble soon enough. Besides, I will have Halil and Melek's horse archers to keep us company.'\n\nAlfonso tugged on the reins of his horse. 'Then God go with you, Hector.'\n\nHe trotted over to the knot of his officers waiting for his orders. Moments later trumpet calls signalled an about-face and hundreds of horsemen were cantering directly south to skirt the groups of enemy foot soldiers pinned in place by what appeared to be an insignificant number of horse archers in relation to the number of spearmen they were harassing. They headed for the southern entrance to the valley, beyond which was located the camp of Walter of Brienne.\n\nHector watched them go, cleared his throat and spat phlegm on the ground. He examined the quiver holding three javelins strapped to Luca's back.\n\n'You remembered my orders, then.'\n\nLuca pointed his spear at what looked like large squares of foot soldiers to the southeast.\n\n'Why don't you leave the horse archers to shoot them to pieces?'\n\nHector appeared hurt. 'Where's the fun in that? Anyway, I have acquired a taste for killing Frenchmen, so let's kill some more.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "Despite his irreverence Hector was determined to strictly adhere to the plan he had formulated, as he knew that ultimately supplies were more important than soldiers. There was an almost inexhaustible supply of men to carry a spear or ride a horse, but to deny the enemy the means to equip, mount and house those men on campaign meant cutting the legs from beneath the foe. The long list of Catalan victories in Sicily and latterly in the Roman Empire were testament to that basic fact. No matter how many of the enemy the Catalans killed, there was always another army to face.\n\nLuca looked at Jordi and rolled his eyes. They had been standing waiting for what seemed like an eternity while Hector attended to formalities. He sent orders the Maidens, teenagers, veterans and crossbowmen were to return to camp and man the ramparts. Heeding Alfonso's warning, there were many enemy horsemen still in the saddle. They had been scattered but the day was still young and they might return to launch an attack against an ill-armed camp. It would be a crime to have sent Alfonso to destroy the logistical support of the enemy army, only to see the same happen to his own camp. Then he called Xavi, Ferran and Seve to him to hold an impromptu council of war. Xavi gave Luca a broad grin when he arrived.\n\n'Your woman and her women fought well, Black Sheep.'\n\nHe saw the look of apprehension on Luca's face.\n\n'She was covering the withdrawal of the second line when I last saw her. There was not a mark on her.'\n\nHe turned to Jordi. 'And your woman, too.'\n\nIn reality Xavi had seen neither but he had rendered the pair an act of kindness and if their women were dead they could grieve after the battle was won. Hector pointed at the enemy foot soldiers, no longer rooted to the spot but inching back in the direction that they had come from.\n\n'Hit them hard. I will take the lead formation, Xavi the one behind and Ferran the one behind that. Seve, you can pick your formation. Good luck.'\n\nThe enemy foot soldiers were arranged in blocks in column formation, one behind the other as they had had no time to deploy into line before being assailed by horse archers. They were also arranged at a forty-five degree angle in a northwesterly direction, which meant they would have to be assaulted by the Almogavar divisions leapfrogging over each other to strike separate enemy formations.\n\nHector blew his whistle and his officers and sergeants did the same to signal the advance. The horse archers were still riding in and out to shoot arrows at the enemy foot soldiers, which now halted again when they saw the Almogavars approaching. Luca saw the foe to the front, men with large rectangular shields, open-faced helmets and bristling spears. Seeing Hector's division advancing, the horse archers of Halil Ece withdrew in good order, allowing the enemy to deploy into line to face the Almogavars, who now slowed to negotiate the bodies scattered on the ground, hundreds of them. The horse archers had been doing their work for two hours and doing it very well, with the result that Hector's division was denied the opportunity to conduct a rapid assault against the enemy. An enemy that was now locking shields and levelling spears to meet the Catalans. And an enemy that was matching the frontage of the Almogavars so there would be no chance to outflank them.\n\nIt did not matter.\n\nLike he had done many times before, without thinking Luca swapped his spear from right hand to left, a move repeated a thousand times throughout the division. He did it instinctively, concentrating more on not losing his footing as he stepped over men with vacant stares and arrows stuck in them. Ahead, around fifty paces away, was a wall of locked shields, spear points and determined faces. He felt supremely calm and in total control of his senses. He felt his spear and the javelin he pulled from the quiver over his right shoulder become part of him, extensions of his arms. The enemy soldiers became not men but targets, no more alive than the straw dummies he had practised on a thousand times. He focused on the face of a man directly opposite, a slack-jawed individual with a scratched shield and dented helmet. The open-faced headgear framed his unsightly face. Luca was now around fifteen paces away, the man gave him an evil leer and the javelin left his grip.\n\nUp and down the line the front-rank Almogavars hurled their javelins at their opponents, a succession of grotesque thuds being the result as steel points shattered jawbones, pierced eye sockets and smashed teeth. Every javelin hit a face, killing two hundred and fifty enemy soldiers. Luca, Hector, Jordi and Romanus continued walking forward, a scene of chaos and carnage in front of them. The enemy's second rank was revealed and without being told to do so the front-rank Almogavars again hurled a volley of javelins, and then a third.\n\nLuca's quiver was empty so he turned and walked back to the rear of the division, he and two hundred and fifty others, the front rank becoming the fourth. His legs felt like feathers and he experienced a surge of sheer elation as the new front rank began hurling its javelins at a now reeling enemy. He dug Jordi in the ribs and gave him a cheeky smile. Hector next to him had a granite-like expression, but he too allowed himself a thin smirk when the inevitable happened.\n\nAfter two ranks of Almogavars had emptied their quivers \u2013 fifteen hundred javelins thrown at faces \u2013 the enemy formation collapsed. The enemy soldiers had been shot at for two hours without being able to respond or seek cover, which had resulted in hundreds of fatalities. And now they had been assaulted by foot soldiers who had unleashed more missiles against them, cutting down hundreds more. The rear ranks, demoralised by the horse archers and witnessing those in front scythed down without inflicting a single casualty in reply, now fled.\n\nThey scattered initially holding their shields but then dumped them to make their escape quicker. Their banners were also tossed aside as hundreds fled towards the low-lying hills on the southern side of the valley, hills that were covered with trees. Hector pushed his way through the ranks and blew his whistle, his commanders doing the same, to reform the division. Luca watched with glee as Halil Ece's horse archers thundered past to cut down the remnants of the formation he and the others had just put to flight. The majority of the fleeing soldiers never reached the trees, being shot in the back by Halil Ece's men.\n\nHector blew his whistle again and the division began moving south. It would pass the enemy formations being methodically attacked and put to flight by the divisions of Xavi and Ferran respectively, plus the understrength unit commanded by Seve. Hector's division was forced to halt when fleeing enemy soldiers ran across its front, many carrying small black banners bearing a single word in silver. The advance continued, a thousand men marching along the left flank of groups of enemy foot soldiers who were crumbling. And when a unit collapsed, horse archers would ride in to complete the rout.\n\nThe march continued. The division was now nearing the southern entrance to the valley, adjacent to the turquoise waters of the gulf. Ahead stood the last two units of enemy foot soldiers, still rooted to the spot, the last of Walter of Brienne's great crusader army. Hector blew his whistle to signal a halt. He looked around to assess the situation. On the left the other Almogavar divisions were doing murder, assisted by the horse archers. Alfonso and his horsemen would be at the enemy camp by now, burning and killing. On the right were tree-covered hills and ahead, around a hundred paces away, stood the first block of enemy foot soldiers.\n\nLuca could sense something was about to happen and so could Hector, who put into words what he was thinking.\n\n'They are going to try to reach the trees.'\n\nThe treeline was around a hundred paces from the hedgehog of enemy soldiers. If they stayed in their ranks they could reach it in around two minutes. If they made a dash it would take less than half that time, but they would turn into a disorganised rabble. But they had already become a rabble, the straight sides of their square formation giving an illusion of discipline. They had marched into the valley as a constituent part of a mighty army, which now no longer existed. They would not have known what was happening on other parts of the battlefield but they would have certainly seen Alfonso's horsemen ride by them, would have been aware of horse archers launching attacks further up the column, and knew the foot soldiers nearing them were not allies.\n\n'Cut them off!' shouted Hector, putting the whistle to his mouth and blowing it.\n\nHector ran forward, followed by Luca and the others in the front rank, which became arrowhead shaped instead of a line. At the same time the opponent's square broke apart as the enemy fled towards the trees. It was now a straight race between two groups. But it was not an equal race. The Almogavars were lean and fast, unencumbered by mail armour and heavy shields, and they were used to sprinting both on and off the battlefield. The enemy, by comparison, were wearing mail armour, helmets and carried large shields. They were also militia, men lured from the towns and cities of France with generous pay and the promise of a share of the riches that would be won in Walter of Brienne's glorious crusade. They were civilians, reprobates, criminals and wastrels first, soldiers second. And because of that they came second in the race for the trees.\n\nLuca was gripped by the surge of ecstasy he always experienced in battle, the thirst to destroy the enemy in front of him. Not a mad rage that grips insane individuals but more akin to a rapid boosting of his instincts, reflexes and ability to think clearly, as if his mind and body were working at a greater intensity than those around him. His legs also worked faster to reach the enemy and his mind was able to take in information and make assessments rapidly. He fixed an individual in his sight and sprinted towards him, knowing he would cut him off before he reached the trees. The two of them were suddenly alone, even though they were surrounded by thousands, two individuals closing in on each other in a race to decide who would live and who would die. The result was a foregone conclusion.\n\nLuca bounded across the turf, increasing his speed and then turning left to face his adversary, a man in an ill-fitting mail hauberk that descended to below his knees who staggered to a halt, brought his shield in front of his body but died before he could bring his spear to bear when Luca lunged to drive the point of his own spear through his windpipe. The man was still standing when Luca withdrew his weapon, pivoted right and stabbed another enemy soldier in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground.\n\nAll semblance of order and discipline had disappeared in Hector's desire to intercept the enemy before they reached the trees. The battle became a multitude of individual combats, like the battles fought by the heroes of ancient Greece, the land the Almogavars were standing on. Luca had never heard of Achilles but he fought like the demi-god in the valley of Halmyros that day, thrusting left and right and ducking low to avoid spears thrust at him and sword blades swung at him. A large man with a wicked polearm appeared in front of him and chopped at his head with the curved blade, Luca jumping back to avoid the silver blur, and stepping back again when his opponent chopped at him with a series of diagonal attacks with the polearm, which was held in his right hand, the left holding a blue shield on which was painted a strange mythical beast in yellow. Luca leapt to the right, swung left and stabbed his spear over the top of his opponent's shield, the man ducking his head to avoid the strike and stepping backwards. But he had twisted his torso to protect his body with his shield, meaning his feet were still pointed in the other direction and when he stepped back he lost his footing and fell over. Luca was on him like a cat pouncing on a mouse, gripping his spear with both hands and stabbing repeatedly at the man's face with his spear, reducing it to a mass of blood, teeth, eyes and bone. There was no need to plunge the point into mail when a visage was available. Such a target ensured the blade would not get stuck in chainmail or leather and guaranteed an opponent would not survive.\n\nThe Almogavars were butchering their opponents without mercy, cutting down part-time soldiers with brutal efficiency. They were now forming packs and hunting down the remnants of the French militia. Frenchmen threw down their weapons and raised their hands in submission but were still cut down. The Almogavars were in no mood to extend mercy to those who had marched to destroy them and enslave their families.\n\nLuca spotted an individual disappear into the trees and followed, small numbers of Frenchmen already scrambling through the forest to save themselves. Luca was not the only Almogavar to chase after them, the battle now turning into a hunt against small numbers of a defeated enemy. Luca saw the individual disappear behind a tree and ran to catch up, the individual reappearing, turning and tripping over his feet to fall flat on his back. He was not armed, wore no armour and was dressed in a drab brown monk's habit. Luca raised his spear, ready to send the monk to heaven, but froze when he saw the face of Father Ramon staring up at him. He held his spear with both hands over the traitorous priest, the man who had engineered his capture at the hands of Dario Spinola. He wanted to skewer Ramon but something was holding him back. Ramon saw the hesitation in the Black Sheep's eyes and regained a semblance of composure. He grasped the heavy gold pectoral cross hanging around his neck, crawled backwards and scrambled to his feet. He held out the cross to Luca.\n\n'That's right, heretic, you are in the presence of the Lord. It is He who confronts you, spawn of Satan.'\n\nLuca stepped back and looked at the former spiritual leader of the Catalan Company.\n\n'Where will you go now, father?' asked Luca. 'Your new masters are all dead.'\n\n'To hell.'\n\nRamon's face contorted into a grimace of agony when Hector thrust his spear into his back and the point burst out of his chest. The thrust had pierced his heart to kill him instantly, but his eyes were still focused on Luca.\n\n'Is he dead?' grinned Hector.\n\nLuca nodded. Hector yanked his spear free and the body of Father Ramon collapsed to the ground. Hector reached down, plucked the gold cross from the priest's neck and tossed it to Luca.\n\n'A present for Ayna. She and her women did good work today.'\n\n'Thank you.'\n\nHector walked over to stand beside Luca, both staring down at the dead priest.\n\n'I hope you are not going soft on me,' said Hector.\n\n'Even though he hated me, it seemed wrong to kill a priest.'\n\n'Still some of the cowering peasant left inside you, then. A few more campaigns and that man will finally be dead.'\n\n'You did it, Hector, you beat the Duke of Athens and his army. They will talk of this battle for years to come. You are a genius.'\n\nHector emitted a belly laugh. 'Genius? No, I learned long ago how the world works, that is all. What would you do if you saw the enemy pissing on a Catalan flag?'\n\n'Nothing,' Luca answered honestly.\n\n'That is because you have no honour and no breeding. But to a noble such things wound his honour and he has to respond if he wants to maintain face with his equals. And every noble wants to do that. So a few piss-poor Almogavars pissing on the banner of Walter Brienne, Duke of Athens, was all it took to set in motion my plan. Quite simple, really.'\n\n'What now?'\n\nHector slapped him on the back. 'Now, Black Sheep, we get drunk.'\n\nBy the time they reached the battlefield the fighting was over. Hector reformed his division and marched it back to camp, the divisions of Xavi and Ferran falling in behind and Seve bringing up the rear with his unit. All three commanders reported to Hector as the Almogavars retraced their steps. They marched in silence, though many wore wide grins as they beheld the carnage they had inflicted on an enemy numbering thousands that morning but now all dead. Some had escaped, of course, either into the hills or fleeing west, but they would not be returning. The Catalan Company was master of the field in every sense.\n\nThe return to camp degenerated into a wild celebration, Almogavars and horsemen leaving the ranks to embrace their loved ones. Luca, Jordi and Romanus, all in one piece, enjoyed a tearful reunion with their women and children, even the normally aloof and testy Anicius. Ertan insisted on getting out his prayer mat and giving thanks to Allah for the safe return of not only the men but also Ayna and Monica, which amused Sam and the twins greatly, all three imitating the portly cook's movements as he prostrated himself on his mat.\n\nThat evening they ate and drank to excess, Anicius being allowed to drink a small amount of wine that went straight to his head.\n\n'You were not the only ones to fight today,' he boasted, his cheeks flushed with wine. 'I ran on to the battlefield carrying bundles of quivers. Without me the horse archers would have run out of arrows.'\n\n'A warrior, indeed,' said Romanus, slurring his words.\n\n'I think we saw you,' added Jordi.\n\nAnicius was delighted. 'Really?'\n\n'That's right,' added Luca, 'when the French ran away from a man holding an armful of quivers.'\n\nAnicius emptied his cup of wine.\n\n'My first battle' he sighed.\n\nThey all raised their cups and toasted him. In his euphoria he had completely forgotten about seeking revenge on Taner Ece. Five minutes later he was asleep snoring loudly. Ertan placed a blanket over him.\n\nThat night the camp was alive with the sounds of singing, loud voices and an all-permeating atmosphere of relief mixed with elation. Later in the evening, when campfires had burned low and couples had retired to bed, the moans and grunts of couples making love predominated, but only from those who had not drank to excess, which included Luca who collapsed into Ayna's arms and fell into a deep sleep.\n\nThe next morning he woke with a thumping headache and aching limbs but managed to revive himself by dunking his head in a trough of cold water set aside for horses and mules. All his friends were subdued, even Ayna who did not imbibe, the slaughter she had inflicted and witnessed the day before making her sombre. Anicius was still snoring and dead to the world. Children and adults sat around the fire and Ertan served them all hot porridge. Like the previous morning, the day had dawned bright but chilly.\n\n'Thank God we don't have to fight a battle today,' said Luca.\n\n'Black Sheep!'\n\nThey turned to see a grinning Melek Kose standing beside his horse.\n\n'Hector has sent for you, my friend.'\n\nA pale Jordi and Romanus stared at Melek in alarm.\n\n'Christ, not a route march today,' moaned Jordi, 'my guts would fall out.'\n\n'You have such a way with words,' said Chana dryly.\n\nLuca slowly rose to his feet and walked over to Melek.\n\n'I would be in your debt if I could ride on your horse behind you,' he said.\n\nWhen they arrived at Hector's pavilion Luca was surprised to see the company's commander standing beside a slight man with ruffled hair wearing mail armour and a torn blue surcoat decorated with a yellow cross. Two Almogavars stood behind the pair to keep watch on what was obviously a prisoner. But what intrigued Luca were the six bodies arranged in a line on the ground in front of Hector and the prisoner, all in mail armour and wearing an assortment of different-coloured surcoats.\n\n'Ah, Black Sheep,' said Hector with glee, 'glad you could join us. Head throbbing this morning?'\n\nLuca walked over to him.\n\n'Like fury.'\n\nHector grinned and pointed at the bodies.\n\n'Then this will be a pleasant distraction.'\n\nHe turned to the dejected prisoner.\n\n'This is Boniface of Verona, Count of Negroponte, who fought in the battle yesterday. His lordship was knocked unconscious and later found alive amidst the slaughter. Isn't that right, your lordship?'\n\nBoniface gave a sullen nod.\n\n'So, while you were sleeping off your hangover, me and the lordship rode out with some horsemen and sifted through the bodies of the knights and nobles and this is the result.'\n\nHector nodded at the row of bodies. Luca was none the wiser and stood with a vacant expression on his face. Hector turned to Boniface.\n\n'He's not the sharpest tool in the box, your lordship, but he is a man of great influence and importance.'\n\nNow it was the Latin lord's turn to wear a mask of confusion.\n\n'Him?'\n\n'Of course,' grinned Hector, who was enjoying himself immensely. 'This is Luca Baldi, the man who killed Reynard of Rouen and the individual who was responsible for bringing half of France to Greece, all of whom now lie dead outside this camp.'\n\n'I see,' muttered Boniface.\n\n'And not only France but also Sicily,' said Hector gleefully.\n\nHe pointed to a dead knight in a red and white surcoat.\n\n'Take a closer look.'\n\nLuca took a few steps forward and peered down at the dead man. His eyes opened wide in surprise.\n\n'Giovanni Carafa,' he uttered in astonishment.\n\nHector rubbed his hands together.\n\n'That's right. The man from the family who murdered your parents and who wanted you dead. Do you want to mutilate the body?'\n\n'What?'\n\nBoniface crossed himself and went a lighter shade of pale.\n\n'We could hack off his head and limbs and mount them on the ramparts,' mused Hector, 'and use the torso for target practise. It's up to you.'\n\n'He deserves a Christian burial, lord,' said Boniface.\n\nHector rounded on him.\n\n'Does he? Do any of them? Would they have given us a Christian burial if the roles were reversed? I think not. You will identify the dead for the benefit of Luca Baldi, and then we will discuss your own fate, my lord .'\n\nThere was venom in Hector's voice. He pointed at the second corpse, its face half missing.\n\n'Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens,' said Boniface quietly.\n\n'Our former employer,' remarked Hector. 'Behold, Luca, this is what happens to men who fail to pay their debts.'\n\nHe pointed to the corpse beside Walter's.\n\n'His deputy, Jean de Carrouges.'\n\nHector pointed at the fourth corpse.\n\n'This one I know. Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa, who gave us such a lukewarm reception when we arrived in his lands, and who let us fight his battle for him when the Romans arrived at Thermopylae.'\n\nHector pointed at the over-sized corpse next to Albert's.\n\n'Who's the giant?'\n\n'Jacques of Taranto, Prince of Achaea.'\n\n'Prince?' Hector was surprised. 'Then he outranked Walter of Brienne?'\n\n'Technically yes,' answered Boniface. 'But in reality Duke Walter commanded the army on account of his greater influence with the King of France.'\n\nHector pointed at the last corpse.\n\n'Thomas d'Autremoncourt \u2026' began Boniface.\n\n'Thomas d'Autremoncourt?' interrupted Hector. 'We rescued his arse a while back and his thanks? To march against us. Ungrateful bastard.'\n\nHector turned back to Luca.\n\n'So, do you want Carafa's body mutilated or not?'\n\n'Not,' answered Luca. 'He's dead, I'm alive. That is all that matters.'\n\nHector frowned. 'You are a constant disappointment to me, Black Sheep, but I will respect your wishes.'\n\n'We had better bury the bodies outside of camp,' said Luca, 'before they begin to rot and spread pestilence.'\n\nHector nodded. 'You are right. I will organise the collection and internment of the dead.'\n\nHe pointed at the corpses. 'This lot will go in a mass grave with the rest.'\n\n'And me?' asked Boniface. 'Am I to be killed and tossed into a burial pit?'\n\nHector gave him a sideways glance.\n\n'We will ransom you, my lord.'\n\n'Then I will be your guest for some time.'\n\n'How so?' queried Hector.\n\nBoniface pointed to the corpses.\n\n'There is no one to pay a ransom. All the Latin lords of the Peloponnese, save me, are dead, along with their knights and squires. You are now lord of all Latin Greece.'\n\n'Prince Hector,' joked Luca. 'I like it.'\n\n'Less of your lip,' Hector rebuked him.\n\nLuca was unrepentant. 'Why not? We should march on Athens and capture it before someone else does. Even I know that a duchy without a duke will attract the wolves. Why not Catalan wolves?'\n\n'He has a point, lord,' said Boniface, sensing an opportunity for self-preservation. 'Athens was recently besieged by a Genoese nobleman called Dario Spinola, who praise the Lord was subsequently lost at sea.'\n\nLuca clench his fist and smiled. He looked at the scar on his left hand, which appeared small and insignificant.\n\n'This is a day to celebrate the death of many bastards,' reflected Hector.\n\n'The road to Athens is open,' stated Boniface. 'Fortune favours the bold.'\n\n'Seize the chance,' urged Luca. 'We have both seen the strength of the Acropolis. Why should not the flag of the company fly from its walls?'\n\nHector pointed at him. 'You stay here.'\n\nHe turned to one of the Almogavars.\n\n'Summon the council, and that includes the commander of the Maidens of the Spear.'\n\nLuca still had a headache when the council met half an hour later, Ferran, Xavi and Seve also nursing sore heads. For the first time in his life Luca sat at the table with the other commanders, next to a bemused but delighted Ayna. Teenage boys served water instead of wine, which Luca drank greedily. When everyone was present Hector rose and extended an arm to Boniface of Verona sitting next to him at the large rectangular table.\n\n'This is Boniface of Verona, Count of Negroponte, the only Latin lord who survived yesterday's battle.'\n\nHe pointed at Luca. 'You all know the Black Sheep. He has suggested we march to Athens and seize the Acropolis, seeing as Boniface informs me it lies empty.'\n\n'Not entirely empty, lord prince,' said Boniface.\n\nXavi raised an eyebrow. 'Prince?'\n\nHector took his seat and a swig of water. 'The Black Sheep thinks I should be called Prince of Athens from now on.'\n\nThe Almogavars laughed but Halil Ece thought it an excellent idea.\n\n'It will confer a degree of legitimacy on you and will make dealing with other princes and kings a little easier, though they will still baulk at dealing with an uncouth mercenary.'\n\n'A stone fortress is easier to defend than a tent,' said Melek.\n\nLuca concurred. 'That is what I told him.'\n\n'May I speak?' asked Ayna.\n\n'After yesterday, you have earned the right.' Ferran told her, his eyes bloodshot after a night of heavy drinking.\n\n'We may have been given this valley,' said Ayna, 'but eventually the Queen of Thessaly will want it back, and will enlist the aid of her mother, Empress Irene, to that end. We will never be free of the queen's venom until we are out of her lands.'\n\n'Spoken like a true woman,' smiled Melek, 'and Ayna is right. Despite our great victory yesterday, we are still a band of mercenaries living in tents.'\n\n'We should capture Athens,' declared Xavi. 'At least we will have a mighty stronghold to defend, plus the other towns in the duchy, which we can occupy.'\n\nHector turned to Boniface.\n\n'Who poses the greatest threat to the Duchy of Athens?'\n\nBoniface scratched his beard and pursed his lips.\n\n'The most immediate threat is Thessaly as it shares a border with the duchy, but as you have inflicted numerous defeats on its army, I doubt its rulers have the means or will to mount an invasion.'\n\n'And there are no troops left in Athens?' probed Hector.\n\n'A small garrison to guard the town and the wife, now widow, of the duke,' replied Boniface.\n\n'What of your own forces?' Ferran asked him.\n\n'Dead outside this camp,' said Boniface flatly.\n\nHector looked around the table.\n\n'All right. All those in favour of seizing Athens, raise your hands.'\n\nEveryone did so, even Luca.\n\n'Your vote doesn't count,' Hector told him.\n\n'Why not?'\n\n'Because you are just a common Almogavar,' Xavi told him.\n\nAyna looked supremely smug next to her man with her arm raised.\n\n'It's settled,' said Hector. 'I will leave with my division today. Melek, you and a couple of hundred of your men will ride ahead to scout the road, just in case there are more Frenchmen lurking. Alfonso, you will have temporary command of the company during its march south. Everyone leaves today.'\n\nWord soon spread that the company would have a new home, and not any home. Athens, the great city of antiquity, the place they had already visited, though camped near would be a more accurate description. And what was more, the members of the company would have their own houses throughout the duchy and would no longer be living under canvas. And unlike their occupation of Kallipolis, they would be taking possession of a land cleared of its Latin occupiers rather than evicting local residents. It was a happy and buoyant company that quit its camp in the Halmyros Valley to march south later that afternoon.\n\nLuca was less cheerful, his stomach still delicate when he and a thousand others set off on their forced march an hour after the council meeting. His water bottle and knapsack full, Hector set a cruel pace, declaring his intention to cover thirty miles on the first day and the same on subsequent days.\n\nLuca nearly threw up when the Almogavars marched through the southern entrance to the valley, where the day before Alfonso and his horsemen had raided the enemy camp. It was now a smouldering collection of torched tents and wagons, slain animals horses and mules and dead bodies, many of the beasts and humans being incinerated in the conflagration that engulfed the camp. The area was now infused with a nauseous, sickly sweet aroma that produced a desire to retch. He was glad to fast-pace by it, to breath the pure air blowing in off the sea. At the end of the first day the division camped in the trees on the mountainside in the pass at Thermopylae, the mounted patrols of the Marquis of Bodonitsa a distant memory. Luca remembered the arrogant, aloof marquis who had barely tolerated the company's presence two years before, and then thought of the lifeless corpse he had seen in camp earlier. How quickly are men's vanities reduced to ashes.\n\nHis stomach recovered and his limbs grew firmer as he got into his stride and fresh air filled his lungs. The Almogavars slept for only five hours before setting off the next day in the pre-dawn half-light, the land seemingly bereft of people as they headed south along the old Roman road. But it was not bereft of horsemen, Melek and his riders riding ahead of the column and scouting the flanks to ensure no more Mongol horsemen burst from the trees. Hector increased the pace, the idea of being the ruler of the Duchy of Athens becoming more attractive by the hour. On the evening of the third day the Almogavars made camp in a large stand of cypress trees ten miles north of the Acropolis, Melek and a dozen of his horsemen joining the Catalans in the trees.\n\n'I have ridden to the town,' Melek told Hector as he chewed on a piece of cured meat. 'There are civilians milling around but I saw no soldiers.'\n\nHector nodded. 'They will all be in the Acropolis, waiting.'\n\n'For what?' asked Melek.\n\n'For news. No one will know about the battle in the Halmyros Valley, at least not until we arrive.'\n\nHector looked at Luca consuming a delicious ball of trakhanas.\n\n'I will send the Black Sheep to inform the wife of the duke that her French bastard husband is dead.'\n\nLuca, his back resting against a tree trunk, stopped eating.\n\n'Me?'\n\nHector finished chewing. 'It seems fitting. A lowly Almogavar bringing news her noble husband has been killed by an army like you will rub her nose in the dung. You can also tell her to get out of my new home as well, her and her children, otherwise I will kill her and them.'\n\n'You send Luca alone to convey such a message and he will be killed instantly,' said a concerned Jordi.\n\n'If not tortured first,' added Romanus.\n\n'I did not say he would be going alone,' Hector told them. 'You two will be going with him.'\n\nThe Almogavars conducted a leisurely march the next morning, moving in open order to exaggerate their numbers to maximise the chances of them being spotted by locals and their progress reported to the occupants of the Acropolis. Hector sent Melek and his horsemen ahead to scatter any local militia barring the road, but the Turk returned with news that anyone who spotted them fled to their homes. The Almogavars entered a deserted Athens at midday, the sun immersing the walls of the Acropolis and giving them a pink hue. The gates of the citadel were shut and only a few guards stood sentry on the walls, peering down at the hundreds of Almogavars who filed into the agora, within full view of those on the escarpment but safely out of crossbow range. The town was silent and devoid of life. Hector sent Melek and his horsemen to patrol the streets and the countryside around the town, still not believing that a rich prize had fallen into his lap so easily.\n\nBut as soon as the Turk had left the agora the gates of the Acropolis opened and a party on foot exited the stronghold, one among the group carrying a large white flag. A party of Almogavars keeping watch on the gates escorted the party into the agora to meet with Hector. The leader of the group was a rotund individual in an expensive white, short-sleeved padded gambeson with a red silk shirt beneath. He wore a wide-brimmed tan hat sporting a large white plume. His beard and moustache were immaculately manicured, as were his fingernails. The four soldiers behind him looked pensive; he in contrast looked like he was on an afternoon stroll.\n\n'I am Niccolo Fregoso, Venetian ambassador to the court of the Duke of Athens,' he spoke in Italian, his voice slightly high pitched.\n\n'The Duke of Athens is dead,' said Hector bluntly.\n\nThe Venetian regarded the uncouth mercenary in front of him with barely concealed disdain.\n\n'Please take me to your commander.'\n\n'He is the commander,' said Luca beside Hector. 'This is Prince Hector, commander of the Catalan Company and the new ruler of the Duchy of Athens.'\n\nFregoso's eyes opened wide with astonishment but he instantly composed himself. Venice appointed ambassadors who could think on their feet. Fregoso bowed flamboyantly.\n\n'Forgive me, your royal highness, I had no knowledge of obviously portentous recent events.'\n\n'Allow me to bring you up to date, ambassador,' said Hector, his face dirty from the forced marched to Athens, his zamarra also grimy. 'The army of the Duke of Athens was routed at Halmyros four days ago. The duke is dead, as are the Marquis of Bodonitsa, the Prince of Achaea and the Count of Salona. The duchess is in residence in the Acropolis?'\n\n'Yes, your royal highness,' answered Niccolo Fregoso.\n\nLuca and those around him found it hard not to laugh at how the ambassador was addressing the gruff Hector, but the company's commander was quickly getting accustomed to his new status.\n\n'She has two hours to leave the Acropolis, otherwise we will storm the fortress and put everyone to the sword.'\n\nThe Venetian ambassador went pale.\n\n'Might I suggest a less radical approach to the problem, your royal highness?'\n\nHe made a sweeping gesture with his arm.\n\n'You are clearly in command of Athens and you possess many soldiers to enforce your will. But may I put forward the case for compassion.'\n\n'Compassion?' Hector's tone was mocking. 'Conquerors do not need to be compassionate.'\n\n'Indeed,' agreed Fregoso, 'but they do need to be both pragmatic and practical.'\n\n'Explain,' demanded Hector.\n\n'The wife of the late Duke of Athens is about to receive news her husband is dead,' said Fregoso, 'and that those who killed him are about to evict her from her home. Christian charity would demand she be treated with respect, and if you think such a notion unimportant, consider that Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon is still the daughter of the second-most powerful man in France after the king. The safe return of his widowed daughter would ensure a smooth transition of power.'\n\n'That's true,' agreed Luca, to the bemusement of the ambassador and Hector.\n\n'If the constable of France receives news his daughter and grandchildren have been murdered,' continued Fregoso, 'then you can be certain another French army will be landing in Greece next year.'\n\nHis words gave Hector food for thought.\n\n'What are a few hours to a guarantee of future security?' asked Fregoso.\n\n'What would you suggest?' queried Hector.\n\nThe ambassador knew he had swayed the hard mercenary.\n\n'Allow Venice to evacuate the duchess, her children and servants to the Duchy of Naxos, a Venetian colony in the Cyclades, an island group in the Aegean. You take possession of Athens and the duchy, Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon leaves with her dignity intact, and you will have the thanks of all Christendom, which I have no doubt will help in reversing your excommunication.'\n\nThe Venetian seemed to know everything but it was the last point that made Hector agree to his proposal. He may have been illiterate and a common mercenary, but Hector knew the Catalan Company would always be adrift from the civilised world as long as its members were excommunicants. Saving a woman and her children was a small price to pay if it contributed towards the Pope reversing his decision.\n\n'I will allow the duchess to leave with dignity and in her own time. In return, I would like Venice's assistance to intercede on our behalf with the Pope.'\n\nFregoso showed his perfect white teeth.\n\n'I cannot speak for the republic or obviously the Pope, but Venice greatly desires the continued friendship of the Duke of Athens as an ally against Genoa whose power casts a dark shadow over the world. As such, I am certain the republic will lobby the Pope on your behalf, His Holiness desirous to have a Catholic ruling the Duchy of Athens.'\n\n'Then please convey my regards to the duchess,' said Hector, 'and inform her she may leave the Acropolis in her own time.'\n\nHector even agreed to withdraw from the town so as not to increase the duchess' distress. So Luca and a thousand others spent a night in a cypress wood drinking from their water bottles, eating cold food and sleeping on the ground without blankets. Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillon left Athens the next day, along with her children and entourage, travelling the short distance to Piraeus from where she took ship to the Duchy of Naxos on a Venetian galley.\n\nWhen Hector and his division walked through the open gates of the Acropolis they found it deserted. He assigned parties to man the walls, conduct a search of the great enclosure and secure the Propylaea. Luca and his friends were part of the score of Almogavars who walked into the great hall of the duke's palace, to find two individuals waiting for them. One was Niccolo Fregoso and the other was an overweight priest in a white mitre, who raised the holy crook he was holding in his right hand.\n\n'Welcome Prince Hector, Duke of Athens and victor of Halmyros,' he declared in Italian. 'May God smile on your reign.'\n\nThus did the Archbishop of Athens usher in Catalan rule in Athens. All traces of Walter of Brienne and the French had been removed from the palace and the Acropolis. No golden lion banners hung from the walls or flew from the battlements. It was as if the French had been exorcised from Athens. But the smug smile of Niccolo Fregoso spoke volumes. After the outrages committed by the heathens of Dario Spinola against its property at Piraeus, the Republic of Venice had taken active measures to increase its power in the Peloponnese. This involved bolstering the defences of Piraeus itself but also assigning an ambassador to the Duchy of Athens, who could call on the military resources of the Duchy of Naxos to support the incumbent duke. Whoever ruled the Duchy of Athens, Venice was determined it would always be the power behind the throne.\n\nLuca was on guard duty on the walls of the Acropolis when he spotted the approach of the company, a long column of Almogavars on foot preceded by horsemen and followed by endless wagons, with more Almogavars and horsemen bringing up the rear. The company made camp on the outskirts of the town. Even if the mercenaries had evicted every resident of Athens there was not enough accommodation to house over ten thousand people, much less their horses and mules. And Hector had no intention of alienating his new subjects. But the company would not be remaining at Athens for long.\n\nThe day after its arrival, Hector assembled every horseman, Almogavar, woman and child in the Acropolis, a sea of faces staring up at him as he addressed them from the balcony of the palace, from the walls of which hung a huge Catalan banner.\n\n'My friends, the last few years have been far from easy. We have faced many enemies alone, with no allies or homeland. In the dark period after the murder of Roger de Flor and our leaders by the Romans, and then in the aftermath of departing Kallipolis, we became a people without hope. But you drew upon reserves of strength and courage to overcome seemingly impossible odds.\n\n'You are a special group of people, bound by a unique bond that only comes with the hardships we have endured together. I am proud to have led you and humbled by you granting me the privilege of being your commander. We have faced many dangers together, enjoyed many triumphs, stared death in the face and maintained our faith throughout. Not one particular faith for we are a company of many religions, but faith in our resolve, in our brotherhood, and in the bond that links us and which can never be severed.\n\n'I am proud to have served with each and every one of you and will do everything in my power to ensure you all live the long and happy lives of peace you deserve.'\n\nHe finished speaking and silence greeted his words. Hector frowned and wondered if his words had been ill chosen, then cracked a smile when ten thousand people began cheering and chanting his name."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "Hector relied on three individuals to ensure Catalan rule in Athens started smoothly. The most important was Dalmau, his chief book keeper who became his private secretary. Then there was Niccolo Fregoso, the silver-tongued Venetian ambassador who was all smiles and flattery but had a keen mind and was eager to cement Hector as the undisputed ruler of the Duchy of Athens, if only to ensure Venice strengthened its grip over the duchy. Finally, there was Boniface of Verona, the hapless Latin lord who had survived the Battle of Halmyros but who now found himself a prisoner of the Catalans. With no one to pay a ransom for his release and no friends or allies in the whole of the Peloponnese, his future appeared bleak. But Fregoso suggested to Hector that Boniface could be of great use in a diplomatic capacity. He could be sent on visits to the Principality of Achaea to assure any Franks still alive that the Catalans would not bother them, as long as they did not wage war against the Duchy of Athens. In return for his assistance, Hector promised to reinstall him as lord of the Triarchy of Negroponte. The Italian accepted the proposal.\n\nIt was perhaps fortuitous that Boniface left Athens the day before Hector rewarded his commanders. Xavi was made Marquis of Bodonitsa and given the responsibility of defending the pass at Thermopylae. Ferran became the new Count of Salona, tasked with keeping an eye on Thessaly, while Melek Kose was gifted the governorship of Thebes, a town with a flourishing silk industry. Halil Ece was given a whole island to rule \u2013 Aegina in the Saronic Gulf. It was a beautiful jewel in the sea, filled with olive groves and pistachio orchards.\n\nLuca and Ayna stood on the harbour front in Piraeus with a tearful Sunna Ece, now dressed in a long dress and a headscarf covering her hair. The feisty young Maiden of the Spear had been consigned to history now her father had his own domain to rule and his family would conform to strict notions of Islamic tradition. Behind them porters were loading her family's effects on a Venetian galley for the short journey to the island. Halil Ece's horse archers and their families were boarding other galleys. Their horses would be shipped to the island later.\n\nAyna hugged Suna. 'Farewell, and be happy.'\n\n'I will never forget you,' said Suna in a faltering voice.\n\nShe held Ayna tightly. 'I will pray for the safe delivery of your new child. Allah smile on you.'\n\nAyna kissed her forehead. 'And you.'\n\nSuna embraced Luca, turned and walked down the gangplank to board the galley. Halil Ece, his closely trimmed beard now more grey than brown, appeared by the side of Ayna and Luca. He spoke to her first.\n\n'I wanted to thank you again for saving the honour of my daughter, and to wish you long life and happiness. May Allah make it so.'\n\n'Thank you, lord,' she smiled. 'I will pray for you and your family.'\n\nHalil Ece turned to Luca.\n\n'Well, Black Sheep, we have come a long way together and now we must part. What will you do now there are no more enemies to slaughter?'\n\nLuca had given the future no thought. He shrugged.\n\n'Hector will find a use for me, lord, of that I have no doubt.'\n\n'Then farewell, Luca Baldi, it has been an honour fighting by your side.'\n\nHe offered his hand and Luca took it before the Turk boarded the galley. He and Ayna stood and watched the galley leave its moorings and row out of the harbour, followed by two others carrying Halil Ece's men and their families.\n\n'I wonder if we will see them again?' sighed Ayna. 'But Halil Ece had a point. What will we do now?'\n\nThe immediate answer to the question was revealed two days later when Hector assembled his division and marched it back north, leaving Alfonso in charge at Athens, though taking five hundred of his horsemen with him for the journey north, plus Melek Kose and all his horse archers. His taking up the governorship of Thebes would have to wait until Hector had completed his business. Not that Luca had any idea what that business was. But whatever it was the new Prince of Athens wanted it concluded speedily, maintaining a daily rate of march of forty miles to bring his division and accompanying horsemen to the valley of Gravia after two days.\n\nHector pulled aside Luca, Jordi and Romanus after the Almogavars and horsemen had made camp in the valley and pointed to the now deserted stronghold that guarded it and the pass through the mountains that led to Thessaly and the city of Neopatras on the other side of Mount Oeta.\n\n'I am giving you three and your families that stronghold,' he told them, 'so you can keep an eye on the Queen of Thessaly.'\n\nHe gave Luca a leer. 'And you can be close to your son.'\n\n'He's not my son,' insisted Luca angrily.\n\n'We have marched all the way here with two thousand men so you could tell us that?' said Jordi.\n\n'Not quite,' answered Hector. 'I am disbanding most of the Almogavars, retaining only those men who have no families. This will give me a standing force of around a thousand Almogavars, plus two or three hundred horsemen with no families. Those like you will be settled around the duchy to put down roots and provide a militia in times of emergency.'\n\n'Makes sense,' nodded Luca.\n\n'But first we have to appraise the rulers of Thessaly of the new regime to the south.'\n\nThe land was a healthy green after the winter rains, the spring bringing not only lengthening and sunny days but also the awakening of wildlife. The valley was dotted with white and yellow flowers and the hillsides were literally buzzing with bees and flickering with butterfly wings.\n\n'Good country, this,' said Romanus as the light faded in the valley. 'Monica will be delighted.'\n\n'It will be strange not being a soldier,' reflected Jordi, 'though Chana will also be delighted.'\n\nRomanus pointed to the hills on the opposite side of where the stronghold was located.\n\n'I will build a home over there, on the edge of the forest.'\n\n'You won't live in the stronghold?' said Luca.\n\n'I prefer to live on one level,' answered Romanus. 'Besides, I want to be near my crops and sheep.'\n\n'Sheep?' queried Jordi.\n\n'I was a shepherd once. I can be again. Besides, dirt is easier to wash off your hands than blood.'\n\n'And you, Luca, what will the Black Sheep do now the fighting is over?' asked Jordi.\n\nLuca looked at the scar on his left hand, which now looked small and insignificant.\n\n'I will miss battle, I will not lie to you. On the other hand, I have spent the last eight years wondering if I might die tomorrow. That ages a man. It will be nice to wake up and not wonder if I might not see the night.'\n\nThe next morning, he did wonder if a hidden archer might take a shot at him as the Almogavars and horsemen marched through the pass leading to Thessaly. Melek left the column with a small party of his men and a large white flag to seek a parley with the King and Queen of Thessaly. Such a show of strength within their borders might have been interpreted as a declaration of war, but Melek returned with a message for Hector that the king and queen would indeed meet with him.\n\n'I am glad to see your head still on its shoulders,' grinned Hector. 'What sort of reception did you receive?\n\nMelek jumped down from his horse and walked beside Hector and the three others in the front rank of his division \u2013 Romanus, Luca and Jordi.\n\n'Cordial enough, though I got the sense the queen would rather have me killed on the spot.'\n\nHector laughed. 'She's a nasty bitch, that one.'\n\n'They desire to meet with you east of the city, at a place called the Nymph's Pond,' Melek informed him.\n\n'Where in the name of Christ is that?' asked Hector.\n\nIt was a bubbling pool fed by a mountain stream on the southern slopes of Mount Oeta, a charming and open space surrounded by pines. It was around five miles east of Neopatras and well hidden from the valley so no one would see King Angelus and Queen Elena parley with the detested Catalans. Like everything to do with the Romans the meeting was a meticulously organised affair. Two overweight eunuchs oversaw the pitching of a large square tent near the pool, which would be the venue for the meeting. The commander of the palace guard then rode to Hector to request that he be accompanied by no more than a dozen guards to the meeting place, and did he want to exchange hostages?\n\n'If I am killed on the orders of the king and queen,' Hector told him, 'then I will be avenged just as our murdered leaders were after they were butchered at Adrianople.'\n\nThe hours passed and the Almogavars and horse archers grew bored as they waited among the trees for the terms of the meeting to be finalised. But eventually, the formalities agreed upon, Hector departed for the meeting. He included Luca in the party, just to rile the Queen of Thessaly.\n\n'Looking forward to meeting her again, Black Sheep?' he teased.\n\n'No.'\n\n'I'm sure she will be just as disappointed seeing your ugly face, which is why I invited you along.'\n\n'Do you enjoy making people feel uncomfortable?'\n\n'Yes,' replied Hector.\n\n'Did you mean what you said, about giving me and the others the stronghold in the Gravia Valley?'\n\n'Of course, I wouldn't have said it otherwise.'\n\n'And about disbanding the Almogavars with families?' probed Luca.\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Then am I technically disbanded?'\n\nHector considered for a moment. 'Technically, I suppose you are.'\n\n'Then please stop going on about the Queen of Thessaly, otherwise I will walk back to my new home.'\n\nHector chuckled. 'Someone got out of the wrong side of the coffin this morning.'\n\nWhatever his opinion of the Queen of Thessaly Luca had to admit she was a beautiful woman, even in the hardened leather cuirass she wore for the meeting, which was not only carved with a figure of the Christ on the front but had also been fashioned to emphasise the largeness of her breasts. Luca was perplexed by this as he remembered them to be modest in size. He smiled at the memory but quickly donned a severe countenance when he seated himself opposite the queen at the large square table covered with a white silk cloth. Hector sat opposite King Angelus, smiling at the young king who looked decidedly pale. He wore a short-sleeved hauberk-type armour of gilded scales, a gold crown on both his head and his wife's. They both stared at the two Almogavars with barely concealed contempt.\n\n'You requested this meeting, so what do you want?' snapped Angelus. 'I assume you want something, for why else would you invade my kingdom?'\n\nHector stretched out his arms and legs, noting the two guards standing behind the monarchs, behind him and Luca two Almogavars watching their backs.\n\n'I want two things,' stated Hector. 'First of all, I want you to buy back the Halmyros Valley from me, seeing as I have a legal document granting me ownership of said valley.'\n\n'It was granted under duress,' said Elena, purposely ignoring Luca.\n\n'Indeed it was,' sniggered Hector, 'but it was a small price to pay for not burning your capital city. But after our great victory at Halmyros we longer need it. I assume you have heard of the defeat and death of the Duke of Athens?'\n\n'We have heard,' muttered Angelus.\n\n'There is a new power in Athens and you are looking at him,' growled Hector. 'I will send a note stating how much you will pay me for allowing you to take back possession of the Halmyros Valley.'\n\nElena was fuming and looked daggers at Hector but the mercenary was unconcerned. He fixed her with his cold eyes.\n\n'The figure will be non-negotiable.'\n\n'What else?' said Angelus.\n\nHector placed a hand on Luca's shoulder.\n\n'As all the Latin lords were killed at Halmyros, I will be replacing them with my own men. This is Luca Baldi, nicknamed the Black Sheep, whom I believe the queen knows.'\n\nAngelus looked at him with bemusement.\n\n'Why would the queen know him?'\n\n'That is a conversation between you and her later,' said Hector, 'but more pertinent is that Luca Baldi is now Lord Gravia who is entrusted with keeping watch on my northern border. If I discover he has been harmed or killed, I will assume the soldiers of Thessaly did it. In such a scenario, war between Athens and Thessaly will quickly ensue.'\n\n'Thessaly has never been the aggressor in any war against Athens,' insisted Angelus. 'Quite the reverse, in fact.'\n\nHector stroked his chin.\n\n'I seem to recall defeating an army in the pass at Thermopylae that contained the yellow-uniformed soldiers of the Kingdom of Thessaly.'\n\n'After you had laid siege to Neopatras,' hissed Elena, her lustrous brown eyes filled with rage.\n\nHector leaned forward, interlinked his fingers, rested his elbows on the table and peered at the queen.\n\n'And you can tell your mother, Empress Irene, that if she finances another war against Athens I will load my army on the ships of my new allies the Venetians and assault Thessalonica from the sea, after which I will burn it to the ground and butcher everyone in it.'\n\n'You are a barbarian devoid of humanity and morals,' she told him.\n\n'That I am,' agreed Hector. 'But here we are. The real question is, are we going to continue hostilities or agree to peace?'\n\nHe looked at Angelus and back to the queen.\n\n'What about him?' asked the king, looking contemptuously at Luca.\n\n'I desire peace and no further contact with Thessaly,' stated Luca.\n\n'Then do we have an agreement, your majesties, or do I have to cut off another of the king's fingers to seal the deal?' said Hector casually.\n\n'I would like nothing more than to draw my sword and slay you,' seethed Angelus, 'and your base companion.'\n\nHector looked at the king with sympathy.\n\n'I know. I feel your pain and I sympathise with you. It must be excruciating to be king of a piss-poor kingdom with an army that is a laughing stock.'\n\nThe guards behind the king took a menacing step forward and placed hands on the hilts of their swords. The Almogavars behind Hector also stepped forward. Hector flicked his hand to indicate they should stand down.\n\n'Kill us and your city will be raised to the ground and my captains will kill every man, woman and child in Thessaly. It makes no difference to me.'\n\n'You have your agreement. Now leave us, your presence offends us,' spat the queen.\n\n'As you wish,' smiled Hector, standing. 'Come, Black Sheep.'\n\nLuca walked from the tent, glancing back at Elena who appeared savagely beautiful and whose nostrils flared in anger at his impertinence. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who was all sweetness and light in a palace bedroom in Thessalonica in her desire to bed a wild Almogavar. He hoped he would never see her beautiful face again.\n\nHector was all smiles during the walk back to the rest of his troops.\n\n'We won't be having any more trouble from that pair. The king was almost pissing himself with fear. It's like I've always said. In this part of the world, the women have more balls than the men.'\n\nLuca was also in high spirits.\n\n'Did you mean what you said, about me being a lord?'\n\n'What? You, a lord? Don't be ridiculous. You are a peasant, Luca Baldi, always was, always will be, and no amount of silk or gold will change that. But you now have a chance to make yourself a bit of money in peace and see your children rise up in the world. For a peasant, that is not a bad prospect, not at all.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "The Church of Saint Demetrios was a magnificent building, a large, five-aisled basilica with a three-aisled transept. The five aisles terminated at the eastern end of the church in a transept that projected from the church so the building had the shape of a cross. A church had first existed on the site a thousand years before when a Roman officer named Demetrios had been martyred for his faith, the place of worship being erected on the spot where he had been speared to death on the orders of the then-pagan Roman governor. The interior of the grand basilica that replaced it was a magnificent shrine to Demetrios, who became the patron saint of the city he was martyred in. The interior walls were decorated with frescoes of the saint in his uniform, defending the walls of Thessalonica and standing next to the Virgin Mary. But the most sacred part of the Church of Saint Demetrios was the crypt beneath the altar, which housed the saint's bones.\n\nThe altar itself was shielded from the congregation by a wooden screen covered with gold leaf and decorated with icons. It had three doors, the central one being known as the Holy Door and was flanked by icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary. Like all the icons in the basilica they were both beautiful and intricate, being described as 'windows into the kingdom of God'. The space behind the screen was known as the Sanctuary and a sacred part of the church and reserved for the clergy. The metropolitan of Thessalonica led the two special guests through the Holy Door, blessed them at the altar, which was covered in a white cloth edged with gold, before leading them down the stone steps behind the altar to the crypt.\n\nIt was quiet and cool in the place where the bones of the saint were kept in a white marble tomb, over which hung an oil lamp, the flame of which never went out. The metropolitan bowed to the two guests before retreating to allow them to pray at the tomb of the saint. Empress Irene waited until the priest had ascended the stone steps before speaking.\n\n'I assume your presence here is not merely for religious purposes.'\n\nHer tone was sharp bordering on impolite.\n\nPrincess Maria smiled at her host.\n\n'The emperor is unhappy.'\n\n'The emperor is always unhappy. What is the cause of his grief this time? The vines in his garden have withered?'\n\nMaria, her body covered head to foot in a crimson dress and a blue smock top beneath, covering her arms and neck, kept her eyes on the tomb.\n\n'The emperor desires no more conflict with the Latin kingdoms of the Peloponnese, which has already cost the lives of too many Roman sons.'\n\nIrene, her body covered in a similar manner to Maria's, gave her sister-in-law a withering look.\n\n'So the emperor will allow the heathen Catalans to use Greece as a platform from which to launch wars against the empire?'\n\nNow Maria turned away from the tomb to look Irene in the eye.\n\n'There will be no more assistance given to that foolish girl you made Queen of Thessaly. You have been excessive in your indulgence of Queen Elena. The result has been Bulgarians encouraged to march through the empire, and after their defeat at Thermopylae their tsar is now demanding the emperor should compensate him. And the threat of thousands of Mongols rampaging through the empire has only been narrowly avoided.'\n\n'How?' snapped Irene.\n\n'Dario Spinola is dead. Lost at sea. And his dream of bringing yet more Mongols across the Black Sea has mercifully died with him.'\n\n'I will not abandon my daughter to the heretic Catalans,' pledged Irene. 'The same Catalans who murdered my dearest son, in case you have forgotten.'\n\n'I have not forgotten, and I pray for his soul every day. But after their victory at Halmyros the Catalans are now in control of the Duchy of Athens, which means they have a homeland which no others have a claim to, the previous occupants having been killed in battle. The emperor desires you to impress upon Thessaly that it must not intrigue against the Duchy of Athens. Let sleeping dogs lie.'\n\n'They are worse than dogs,' seethed Irene. 'They are murderers and heretics and the emperor is to blame for bringing them into the empire in the first place.'\n\n'You are right,' admitted Maria, 'but we must deal with the here and now, and right now the Catalans are no longer a threat, the spectre of Dario Spinola has been removed and we have peace in the empire.'\n\n'Thessalonica will not let Thessaly fall to the heretics.'\n\nMaria gave the empress a wry smile.\n\n'I am reliably informed Thessaly would have fallen already if the Catalans had wanted it so. As it is, they have agreed to a peace with its king and queen.'\n\nIrene's lips tightened.\n\n'Agreement? They threatened my daughter and her husband before extorting a large amount of money from them. They are nothing more than thieves and beggars.'\n\n'They are Catholics, what do you expect? But as long as they restrict themselves to the Duchy of Athens,' said Maria, 'they are to be left alone.'\n\n'Thessalonica has its own army,' remarked Irene casually.\n\n'Thessalonica is part of the empire, which is ruled from Constantinople, sister .'\n\nIrene smarted at Maria's words.\n\n'The Catalans cannot take this city. They tried it once and failed.'\n\n'They did not have the assistance of Venetian naval power then. Do you know that the Venetians have an ambassador at Athens, who by all accounts has forged a close relationship with the Catalan leader, the self-style Prince Hector?'\n\n'What is this to me?' said Irene.\n\n'A great deal, if you desire Thessalonica not to be assaulted from the land and sea simultaneously in the event of renewed hostilities with the Catalans. You must forget what has gone before and concentrate on reining in the scheming of the Queen of Thessaly. In a renewed war you will not have any assistance from Constantinople.'\n\n'The emperor would abandon his wife?'\n\nMaria considered for a moment.\n\n'A wife who deserts her husband can expect no support from him, sister .'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Epilogue",
                "text": "When Luca and his friends took possession of the Gravia Valley it was deserted. The earth rampart and ditch created by the Catalan Company when it had been camped in the valley were still extant. Then it had been an ally of Walter of Brienne, now it occupied the duchy and its members were now settled throughout the region. Luca had a shock when he travelled back to Athens with Hector and his division to collect his family before returning to Gravia. He and every other Almogavar and horseman who was disbanded and placed on a reserve list were informed they would be given a month's pay but nothing thereafter. The duchy's coffers were empty and with no wars to fight belts needed to be tightened. Luca was going to raise the issue of the large amount of money Hector had extorted from the King and Queen of Thessaly, but Ayna told him they had more than enough money to establish their civilian lives.\n\nHe had forgotten about the gold pectoral cross Hector had ripped from the dead body of Father Ramon and the money given to Ayna by Halil Ece before the Battle of Halmyros. With the equivalent of three months' pay and a large sum of money after the gold had been sold, Luca, his family, his friends and their families set off for Gravia.\n\nRomanus stuck to his plan of living in a poor shepherd's hut on the other side of the valley to where the great stone tower stood, and where Luca and Jordi would live. Their accommodation may have been basic but with their share of the money Romanus and Monica were able to purchase a large flock of sheep, plus goats, chickens and a substantial number of beehives, Prisca being put in charge of the latter. For his part Luca also purchased a flock of sheep, which was modest in comparison to Romanus', and he employed a local shepherd to watch over it. Ayna and Chana resurrected the olive groves and vineyards that had been neglected during the French lord's control of the valley, again employing locals to help them out on a daily basis. In this way a bond of trust was slowly established between the indigenous Greeks and the newcomers, whose fearsome reputation had preceded them.\n\nOrders arrived from Athens on a regular basis, Hector insisting Luca establish a local militia to keep watch on the pass that led to Thessaly, and to lead reprisals against any raids from that kingdom. But the years passed and the only hostile force that came through the pass was a bitter northerly wind in winter. Hector had awarded ownership of the whole valley to Luca, Jordi and Romanus and they rented it out to local famers. In this way they were able to maintain a comfortable living and purchase a few horses and weapons and armour to equip the local militia. The military equipment was stored in the tower, which was a massive rectangular building sixty foot high that dominated the entire valley, which was why it had been built in the first place.\n\nIt comprised three parts: the ground floor, a middle part encompassing the first, second and third floors, and a fighting and observation platform with crenellations. There was no external access to the ground floor, which served as a storeroom and was reached by a trapdoor in the floor of the first-floor. A fixed external wooden staircase gave entry to the first floor, which contained a dining hall, fireplace and kitchen. The second and third floors were sleeping quarters, partitioned by wooden walls, the floors throughout also wooden. All interior walls were covered in plaster and the windows on the upper levels had wooden shutters to keep out the cold and act as a defence in case of attack.\n\nAyna gave birth to her second child in the first autumn, a girl she and Luca named Sofia after his mother. Romanus and Monica welcomed their first child in the spring, a boy named Alexios. And just as they welcomed a new addition to the family, so they bade farewell to another. Anicius was now fourteen and desperate to be an Almogavar. He showed no interest in becoming a shepherd or farmer, becoming a reluctant shearer. So Romanus asked Ayna to write a letter to Athens requesting Anicius be given a place in the corps of Almogavar cadets that Hector had established to ensure there was a constant supply of fresh recruits to his standing army. Luca had never seen such unbridled joy when a courier delivered the news Anicius had been accepted as a cadet. Ertan cooked the large trakhanas balls to put in his knapsack for the journey, though it would entail a trip in the back of a wagon to Thebes rather than a forced march to Athens. Ertan fussed over Anicius like a mother hen, much to the boy's embarrassment.\n\n'You have your water bottle, young effendi?'\n\n'Of course I do, leave me alone.'\n\n'Show some respect,' growled Romanus. 'Remember who fed you when we were living in tents.'\n\nAnicius was not listening, his eyes spotting a wagon trundling from the south with a solitary horseman beside it. Everyone watched the wagon approach the stone tower where Luca and the others stood, Anicius becoming fidgety in his eagerness to get on the vehicle and fulfil his destiny, whatever he imagined that to be.\n\n'Easy, Anicius,' smiled Luca, 'you will be pounding the roads and mountain paths soon enough.'\n\nThe boy was wearing a specially made zamarra, which was in pristine condition, but he carried no weapons despite him pleading with Romanus to let him have his spear, sword and knife. He would be issued with armaments when his instructors thought it appropriate, but first he would be undergoing training to build up his stamina to prepare him for life as a full-time Almogavar.\n\nThe wagon driver tugged on the reins of horse pulling the vehicle to bring it to a halt. Luca could see three teenage boys in the back, all looking curiously at the men, women and children stood around Anicius. The horseman looked at Monica with her arm around the boy's shoulder, the former Maiden of the Spear kissing him on the cheek and releasing him from her grip. The horseman, a middle-aged man in mail wearing an open-faced helmet, smiled at the group before him.\n\n'The Black Sheep. Maidens of the Spear. It takes me back to the Halmyros Valley. How long ago that day seems now. And now I spend my time playing nursemaid to cadets.'\n\n'We all get old,' smiled Luca.\n\n'But not the legend of the Black Sheep,' the horseman replied. He looked at Anicius. 'In the back, off you go.'\n\nSam, Sancho and David all rushed up to him and held him tightly and I thought I saw a tear in Anicius' eye. Prisca also cupped his face tenderly. He stiffened and marched to the wagon with his head held high, not looking back.\n\n'How is Hector?' asked Jordi.\n\n'Fighting new battles.'\n\nLuca's ears pricked up. 'Oh? Will he be recalling us to the colours?'\n\n'I'm afraid not. He is battling offers of marriage. The Venetians want to pair him off with one of their young ladies of noble blood. So far he is resisting but he may face defeat in the end. He is not happy.'\n\n'Why is that?' asked Ayna.\n\n'He has no more enemies to kill and no more wars to fight,' answered the rider. 'Peace is killing him.'\n\nHe turned his horse.\n\n'God be with you all.'\n\nThey stood and watched the wagon grow small and disappear altogether as it journeyed south.\n\n'Is peace killing you?' Ayna asked as they walked back to the tower.\n\n'I thought it would, I will not lie. But I have realised I am not like Hector and his type, men who live for war and killing. I fought because I had to, not because I wanted to. I was good at it and I am still fighting in a way. Fighting to raise a family and build a future for my children. Fighting with a weapon is easy; fighting for the future is much harder.'\n\n'You are quite the philosopher,' she told him.\n\n'What's that?'\n\nShe rolled her eyes. 'It does not matter.'\n\nSam had run ahead, a boy with boundless energy who saw the world through innocent eyes. But those eyes were filled with worry when he came running back to his parents a few minutes later.\n\n'Come see, come see,' he pleaded with them. 'Hurry.'\n\nIt was lambing season and the valley was filled with sheep and the baas of their new offspring. It would be a good year for fleeces and Romanus would make a tidy profit selling them to wool merchants in Neopatras.\n\n'Hurry,' squealed Sam, tugging at his mother's hand.\n\n'Here, take her.'\n\nShe gave the infant Sophie to Luca and allowed herself to be pulled by her impatient son.\n\n'Look,' he shouted in excitement, 'a black one.'\n\nSure enough, one of the lambs suckling on its mother was as black as night and stood out from the other new-borns. The old shepherd Luca had employed came wandering over, crook in hand and frown on his face. He saw Luca and Ayna staring at the black lamb.\n\n'Do you want it killed, lord? The black lamb, I mean?'\n\n'Not at all, I want you to make sure it thrives.'\n\nThe shepherd was surprised. 'A black sheep? It will be no good for wool, lord.'\n\n'I know,' smiled Luca, 'but it will be good to have some company at long last. After all, two black sheep are better than one.'\n\n\u2042\n\n[ The Battle of Halmyros ]\n\nFought on 11 March 1311, the battle was a decisive encounter between the Catalan Company and the Frankish lords of the Latin states of Greece. So decisive, in fact, that the Peloponnese was emptied of Catholic nobles, all but one dying on the battlefield. It was a defeat of catastrophic proportions and allowed the Catalan Company to occupy the Duchy of Athens without resistance. And not only Athens. Albert Pallavicini, Marquis of Bodonitsa, was killed at Halmyros, as was Thomas d'Autremoncourt, Count of Salona, which meant the Catalans also took control of their lands. The only Latin lord to survive was Boniface of Verona, who continued to rule the port of Chalcis and the island of Euboea until his death in 1317. Thereafter Venice took control of the island. There must have been some Frankish barons left in the Principality of Achaea because it continued to exist as a separate state after the battle.\n\nIt is impossible to give accurate figures for the size of the armies at Halmyros or the casualties suffered by both sides. Figures given for the Frankish dead range from 15,000 to 20,000, those for the Catalans far fewer. But it is no exaggeration to say that the Catalans inflicted severe losses on the enemy, born out by the fact that there were hardly any Franks left throughout the whole of southern Greece afterwards and certainly not enough to mount any meaningful resistance to the Catalans as they marched south to capture Athens. Thus, Joanna of Ch\u00e2tillion was forced to surrender the Acropolis without a fight in the aftermath and return to France where she died in 1354."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Catalan Duchy of Athens",
                "text": "After they had seized Athens and the duchy, the Catalan Company sought to legitimise their rule (they were still excommunicated from the Catholic Church) by offering to be symbolically ruled by King Frederick of Sicily. Having fought for Frederick during the War of the Sicilian Vespers, the king accepted their offer, though offered no material support to the Catalan Duchy of Athens. Far more beneficial to the Catalans was alliance they signed with Venice in 1319, though in reality the threats to the duchy were insignificant and Catalan hold on the region was uncontested. Thus, when the son of Walter of Brienne returned to Greece to reclaim his father's duchy in 1331, the Catalans retreated behind the walls of the Acropolis, forcing young Walter to leave Greece, defeated.\n\nCatalan relations with the indigenous Greeks were amicable, among the concessions to those they ruled being the lifting of the ban on mixed marriages and the granting of Greeks the rights of inheritance and citizenship. The law on mixed marriages stated that although Catholic men were allowed to marry Greek, i.e. Orthodox, women, Catholic women were not allowed to marry Greek men. In practice, these rules were often ignored by rulers who had accepted Muslims and Orthodox Christians in their ranks during their wanderings through the Byzantine Empire. And it is recorded that many Catalan men married the widows of those they had killed at the Battle of Halmyros.\n\nOld habits die hard, however, and though the Catalans were rarely the victims of foreign aggression, they were not above launching their own hostilities. They frequently raided the Principality of Achaea and when King Angelus of Thessaly died in 1318, they seized the city of Neopatras for themselves to create the Duchy of Neopatras (perhaps Ayna finally got her revenge against Queen Elena!). Their status of excommunication was finally lifted in 1345 when the Pope was seeking allies in a crusade against the Turks who were running rampant in Anatolia, which failed to materialise.\n\nCatalan rule in Greece continued until 1388, 77 years after Halmyros, when another mercenary force, the Navarrese Company, seized Athens. The only territory left in Catalan hands was the island of Aegina, which eventually came under Venetian control in 1451. But the shadow of Ottoman rule hung over all Greece and the Duchy of Athens fell to the Turks in 1458."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Byzantines/Romans",
                "text": "They may have called themselves Romans and traced their lineage back to the Roman emperors of antiquity, but the story of the Catalan Company in the eastern Mediterranean is also an account of the continuing decline of the Byzantine Empire. The books in 'The Catalan Chronicles' may be fictional accounts of the ravages of a mercenary company in the heart of an ancient empire, and the inability of that empire to destroy or even defeat the mercenaries, but they do not exaggerate events.\n\nThe human and physical toll on the empire was immense and affected the imperial family itself. Co-Michael Michael, badly wounded at the Battle of Apros in 1305, never fully recovered from his wounds and died in 1320, 15 years after the battle. He was survived by his father Emperor Andronicus who died in 1332. As mentioned above, King Angelus of Thessaly died in 1318, a year after Empress Irene who never got over the loss of her son Despot John. The year Princess Maria died is unknown but after the events described in 'The Silver Stallion', it is recorded she lived out the rest of her days in Constantinople, some accounts maintaining she died an Orthodox nun.\n\nCount Michael Cosses, aggrieved at the treatment meted out to him by Emperor Andronicus and Empress Irene, eventually quit the Byzantine cause, converted to Islam and assumed the name K\u00f6se Mihal. He served the Turkish warlord Osman Bey, the founder of the Ottoman Empire, until his death in 1340.\n\nMaster John became involved in numerous plots and intrigues in the years after Halmyros, becoming a supporter and then a rival of Andronicus' grandson, also named Andronicus, who became Byzantine emperor in 1332. Master John defected to the Serbs and was subsequently given command of a Serb army that invaded the Byzantine Empire and laid siege to the city of Thessalonica in 1334. However, he was lured away from camp by a Byzantine spy and murdered, the siege thereafter being abandoned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Genoa and Venice",
                "text": "The simmering rivalry between the two superpowers of the Medieval period erupted into open warfare again in 1350 over which should control the Black Sea. Like a whirlpool the conflict sucked in the Byzantines and King Peter IV of Catalonia. There was a major naval engagement in the Bosporus in February 1352, in which a combined Venetian-Catalan-Byzantine fleet suffered heavy losses at the hands of the Genoese (this battle did not involve the Catalan Duchy of Athens). In August 1353, the Venetians inflicted a heavy defeat on the Genoese fleet off the island of Sardinia. A year later the Genoese captured the entire Venetian feet at anchorage in the Peloponnese, forcing Venice to sue for peace.\n\nA new war broke out between Venice and Genoa in 1377, which would last for four years, achieving very little but exhausting the financial resources of both republics and commencing their long-term decline."
            },
            {
                "title": "Caffa",
                "text": "The Genoese trading port of Caffa (modern-day Feodosia) has been mentioned in both 'The Golden Lion' and 'The Silver Stallion'. Its importance to Genoese power and wealth in the Black Sea cannot be overstated, but its historical fame is not due to commercial activity but to the Black Death. Following a dispute between Genoese Christians and local Muslims in the Genoese colony of Tana (modern-day Azov), in which a Muslim was killed, the Genoese individuals responsible fled to Caffa in the Crimea. The Mongol khan, Jani Beg, demanded the culprits be handed over to him but the authorities in Caffa refused, whereupon the Mongols laid siege to Caffa in 1343.\n\nCaffa, however, had formidable fortifications and could be supplied by sea, which meant the forces of the Golden Horde were forced to abandon their siege after suffering 15,000 dead. The Mongols did not let the matter lie, however, and Jani Beg returned in 1345 with another army, which was infected with the Black Death, the terrible plague that had been raging in Central Asia since 1331. Laying siege to Caffa once more, the ranks of the Mongol army were slowly decimated by the Black Death. Determined not to retreat a second time, Jani Beg ordered plague-infected bodies to be catapulted into the Genoese port. The siege finally ended in 1347 following negotiations between the Genoese and the Mongols, by which time Caffa had been ravaged by the Black Death. Those still alive in the city took ship and fled the Crimea, taking the plague with them. They first docked in Constantinople where the Black Death spread to the residents of the city, killing thousands in the following months (up to 90 percent of the city's population according to some estimates). The Genoese ships travelled back to Italy, which would allow the Black Death to spread throughout Europe, killing perhaps half the population of the continent, some 25\u201350 million people. Venice lost an estimated 60 percent of its population of 300,000 to the Black Death; Genoa lost 35 percent of its 100,000 residents to the terrible plague."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Kristin Lavransdatter 1",
        "author": "Sigrid Undset",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "THE WREATH",
                "text": "[ J \u00d8RUNDGAARD ]\n\nWhen the earthly goods of Ivar Gjesling the Younger of Sundbu were divided up in the year 1306, his property at Sil was given to his daughter Ragnfrid and her husband Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulf s\u00f8n. Before that time they had lived at Skog, Lavrans's manor in Follo near Oslo, but now they moved to J\u00f8rundgaard, high on the open slope at Sil.\n\nLavrans belonged to a lineage that here in Norway was known as the sons of Lagmand. It originated in Sweden with a certain Laurentius \u00d6stg\u00f6telagman, who abducted the Earl of Bjelbo's sister, the maiden Bengta, from Vreta cloister and fled to Norway with her. Herr Laurentius served King Haakon the Old, and was much favored by him; the king bestowed on him the manor Skog. But after he had been in this country for eight years, he died of a lingering disease, and his widow, a daughter of the house of the Folkungs whom the people of Norway called a king's daughter, returned home to be reconciled with her kinsmen. She later married a rich man in another country. She and Herr Laurentius had had no children, and so Laurentius's brother Ketil inherited Skog. He was the grandfather of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n.\n\nLavrans was married at a young age; he was only twenty-eight at the time he arrived at Sil, and three years younger than his wife. As a youth he had been one of the king's retainers and had benefited from a good upbringing; but after his marriage he lived quietly on his own estate, for Ragnfrid was rather moody and melancholy and did not thrive among people in the south. After she had had the misfortune to lose three small sons in the cradle, she became quite reclusive. Lavrans moved to Gudbrandsdal largely so that his wife might be closer to her kinsmen and friends. They had one child still living when they arrived there, a little maiden named Kristin.\n\nBut after they had settled in at J\u00f8rundgaard, they lived for the most part just as quietly and kept much to themselves; Ragnfrid did not seem overly fond of her kinsmen, since she only saw them as often as she had to for the sake of propriety. This was partially due to the fact that Lavrans and Ragnfrid were particularly pious and God-fearing people, who faithfully went to church and were glad to house God's servants and people traveling on church business or pilgrims journeying up the valley to Nidaros. And they showed the greatest respect to their parish priest, who was their closest neighbor and lived at Romundgaard. But the other people in the valley felt that God's kingdom had cost them dearly enough in tithes, goods, and money already, so they thought it unnecessary to attend to fasts and prayers so strictly or to take in priests and monks unless there was a need for them.\n\nOtherwise the people of J\u00f8rundgaard were greatly respected and also well liked, especially Lavrans, because he was known as a strong and courageous man, but a peaceful soul, honest and calm, humble in conduct but courtly in bearing, a remarkably capable farmer, and a great hunter. He hunted wolves and bears with particular ferocity, and all types of vermin. In only a few years he had acquired a good deal of land, but he was a kind and helpful master to his tenants.\n\nRagnfrid was seen so seldom that people soon stopped talking about her altogether. When she first returned home to Gudbrandsdal, many were surprised, since they remembered her from the time when she lived at Sundbu. She had never been beautiful, but in those days she seemed gracious and happy; now she had lost her looks so utterly that one might think she was ten years older than her husband instead of three. People thought she took the deaths of her children unreasonably hard, because in other ways she was far better off than most women\u2014she had great wealth and position and she got on well with her husband, as far as anyone could tell. Lavrans did not take up with other women, he always asked for her advice in all matters, and he never said an unkind word to her, whether he was sober or drunk. And she was not so old that she couldn't have many more children, if God would grant her that.\n\nThey had some difficulty finding young people to serve at J\u00f8rundgaard because the mistress was of such a mournful spirit and because they observed all of the fasts so strictly. But the servants lived well on the manor, and angry or chastising words were seldom heard. Both Lavrans and Ragnfrid took the lead in all work. The master also had a lively spirit in his own way, and he might join in a dance or start up singing when the young people frolicked on the church green on sleepless vigil nights. But it was mostly older people who took employment at J\u00f8rundgaard; they found it to their liking and stayed for a long time.\n\nOne day when the child Kristin was seven years old, she was going to accompany her father up to their mountain pastures.\n\nIt was a beautiful morning in early summer. Kristin was standing in the loft where they slept in the summertime. She saw the sun shining outside, and she heard her father and his men talking down in the courtyard. She was so excited that she couldn't stand still while her mother dressed her; she jumped and leaped after she was helped into every garment. She had never before been up to the mountains, only across the gorge to Vaage, when she was allowed to go along to visit her mother's kinsmen at Sundbu, and into the nearby woods with her mother and the servants when they went out to pick berries, which Ragnfrid put in her weak ale. She also made a sour mash out of cowberries and cranberries, which she ate on bread instead of butter during Lent.\n\nRagnfrid coiled up Kristin's long golden hair and fastened it under her old blue cap. Then she kissed her daughter on the cheek, and Kristin ran down to her father. Lavrans was already sitting in the saddle; he lifted her up behind him, where he had folded his cape like a pillow on the horse's loin. There Kristin was allowed to sit astride and hold on to his belt. Then they called farewell to her mother, but she had come running down from the gallery with Kristin's hooded cloak; she handed it to Lavrans and told him to take good care of the child.\n\nThe sun was shining but it had rained hard during the night so the streams were splashing and singing everywhere on the hillsides, and wisps of fog drifted below the mountain slopes. But above the crests, white fair-weather clouds climbed into the blue sky, and Lavrans and his men said it was going to be a hot day later on. Lavrans had four men with him, and they were all well armed because at that time there were all kinds of strange people in the mountains\u2014although it seemed unlikely they would encounter any such people because there were so many in their group, and they were only going a short way into the mountains. Kristin liked all of the servants. Three of them were somewhat older men, but the fourth, Arne Gyrds\u00f8n of Finsbrekken, was a half-grown boy and Kristin's best friend. He rode right behind Lavrans because he was supposed to tell her about everything they saw along the way as they passed.\n\nThey rode between the buildings of Romundgaard and exchanged greetings with Eirik the priest. He was standing outside scolding his daughter\u2014she ran the house for him\u2014about a skein of newly dyed yarn that she had left hanging outdoors the day before; now it had been ruined by the rain.\n\nOn the hill across from the parsonage stood the church; it was not large but graceful, beautiful, well kept, and freshly tarred. Near the cross outside the cemetery gate, Lavrans and his men removed their hats and bowed their heads. Then Kristin's father turned around in his saddle, and he and Kristin waved to her mother. They could see her out on the green in front of the farm buildings back home; she waved to them with a corner of her linen veil.\n\nKristin was used to playing almost every day up here on the church hill and in the cemetery; but today she was going to travel so far that the child thought the familiar sight of her home and village looked completely new and strange. The clusters of buildings at J\u00f8rundgaard, in both the inner and outer courtyards, seemed to have grown smaller and grayer down there on the lowlands. The glittering river wound its way past into the distance, and the valley spread out before her, with wide green pastures and marshes at the bottom and farms with fields and meadows up along the hillsides beneath the precipitous gray mountains.\n\nKristin knew that Loptsgaard lay far below the place where the mountains joined and closed off the valley. That was where Sigurd and Jon lived, two old men with white beards; they always teased her and played with her whenever they came to J\u00f8rundgaard. She liked Jon because he carved the prettiest animals out of wood for her, and he had once given her a gold ring. But the last time he visited them, on Whitsunday, he had brought her a knight that was so beautifully carved and so exquisitely painted that Kristin thought she had never received a more marvelous gift. She insisted on taking the knight to bed with her every single night, but in the morning when she woke up he would be standing on the step in front of the bed where she slept with her parents. Her father told her that the knight got up at the first crow of the cock, but Kristin knew that her mother took him away after she fell asleep. She had heard her mother say that he would be so hard and uncomfortable if they rolled on top of him during the night.\n\nKristin was afraid of Sigurd of Loptsgaard, and she didn't like it when he took her on his knee, because he was in the habit of saying that when she grew up, he would sleep in her arms. He had outlived two wives and said he would no doubt outlive the third as well; so Kristin could be the fourth. But when she started to cry, Lavrans would laugh and say that he didn't think Margit was about to give up the ghost anytime soon, but if things did go badly and Sigurd came courting, he would be refused\u2014Kristin needn't worry about that.\n\nA large boulder lay near the road, about the distance of an arrow shot north of the church, and around it there was a dense grove of birch and aspen. That's where they played church, and Tomas, the youngest grandson of Eirik the priest, would stand up and say mass like his grandfather, sprinkling holy water and performing baptisms when there was rainwater in the hollows of the rock. But one day the previous fall, things had gone awry. First Tomas had married Kristin and Arne\u2014Arne was still so young that he sometimes stayed behind with the children and played with them when he could. Then Arne caught a piglet that was wandering about and they carried it off to be baptized. Tomas anointed it with mud, dipped it into a hole filled with water and, mimicking his grandfather, said the mass in Latin and scolded them for their scanty offerings. That made the children laugh because they had heard the grownups talking about Eirik's excessive greed. And the more they laughed, the more inventive Tomas became. Then he said that this child had been conceived during Lent, and they would have to atone before the priest and the church for their sin. The older boys laughed so hard that they howled, but Kristin was so filled with shame that she was almost in tears as she stood there with the piglet in her arms. And while this was going on, they were unlucky enough that Eirik himself came riding past, on his way home after visiting a sick parishioner. When he saw what the children were up to, he leaped from his horse and handed the holy vessel abruptly to Bentein, his oldest grandson, who was with him. Bentein almost dropped the silver dove containing the Holy Host on the ground. The priest rushed in among the children and thrashed as many as he could grab. Kristin dropped the piglet, and it ran down the road squealing as it dragged the christening gown behind, making the priest's horses rear up in terror. The priest also slapped Kristin, who fell, and then he kicked her so hard that her hip hurt for days afterward. When Lavrans heard of this, he felt that Eirik had been too harsh toward Kristin, since she was so young. He said that he would speak to the priest about it, but Ragnfrid begged him not to do so, because the child had received no more than she deserved by taking part in such a blasphemous game. So Lavrans said nothing more about the matter, but he gave Arne the worst beating he had ever received.\n\nThat's why, as they rode past the boulder, Arne plucked at Kristin's sleeve. He didn't dare say anything because of Lavrans, so he grimaced, smiled, and slapped his backside. But Kristin bowed her head in shame.\n\nThe road headed into dense forest. They rode in the shadow of Hammer Ridge; the valley grew narrow and dark, and the roar of the Laag River was stronger and rougher. When they caught a glimpse of the river, it was flowing icy-green with white froth between steep walls of stone. The mountain was black with forest on both sides of the valley; it was dark and close and rank in the gorge, and the cold wind came in gusts. They rode over the foot-bridge across Rost Creek, and soon they saw the bridge over the river down in the valley. In a pool just below the bridge there lived a river sprite. Arne wanted to tell Kristin about it, but Lavrans sternly forbade the boy to speak of such things out there in the forest. And when they reached the bridge, he jumped down from his horse and led it across by the bridle as he held his other arm around the child's waist.\n\nOn the other side of the river a bridle path led straight up into the heights, so the men got down from their horses and walked, but Lavrans lifted Kristin forward into his saddle so she could hold on to the saddlebow, and then she was allowed to ride Guldsvein alone.\n\nMore gray crests and distant blue peaks striped with snow rose up beyond the mountainsides as they climbed higher, and now Kristin could glimpse through the trees the village north of the gorge. Arne pointed and told her the names of the farms that they could see.\n\nHigh up on the grassy slope they came to a small hut. They stopped near the split-rail fence. Lavrans shouted and his voice echoed again and again among the cliffs. Two men came running down from the small patch of pasture. They were the sons of the house. They were skillful tar-burners, and Lavrans wanted to hire them to do some tar distilling for him. Their mother followed with a large basin of cold cellar milk, for it was a hot day, as the men had expected it would be.\n\n\"I see you have your daughter with you,\" she said after she had greeted them. \"I thought I'd have a look at her. You must take off her cap. They say she has such fair hair.\"\n\nLavrans did as the woman asked, and Kristin's hair fell over her shoulders all the way to the saddle. It was thick and golden, like ripe wheat.\n\nIsrid, the woman, touched her hair and said, \"Now I see that the rumors did not exaggerate about your little maiden. She's a lily, and she looks like the child of a knight. Gentle eyes she has as well\u2014she takes after you and not the Gjeslings. May God grant you joy from her, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n! And look how you ride Guldsvein, sitting as straight as a king's courtier,\" she teased, holding the basin as Kristin drank.\n\nThe child blushed with pleasure, for she knew that her father was considered the most handsome of men far and wide, and he looked like a knight as he stood there among his servants, even though he was dressed more like a peasant, as was his custom at home. He was wearing a short tunic, quite wide, made of green-dyed homespun and open at the neck so his shirt was visible. He had on hose and shoes of undyed leather, and on his head he wore an old-fashioned wide-brimmed woolen hat. His only jewelry was a polished silver buckle on his belt and a little filigree brooch at the neck of his shirt. Part of a gold chain was also visible around his neck. Lavrans always wore this chain, and from it hung a gold cross, set with large rock crystals. The cross could be opened, and inside was a scrap of shroud and hair from the Holy Fru Elin of Sk\u00f8vde, for the sons of Lagmand traced their lineage from one of the daughters of that blessed woman. Whenever Lavrans was in the forest or at work, he would put the cross inside his shirt against his bare chest, so as not to lose it.\n\nAnd yet in his rough homespun clothing he looked more high born than many a knight or king's retainer dressed in banquet attire. He was a handsome figure, tall, broad-shouldered, and narrow-hipped. His head was small and set attractively on his neck, and he had pleasing, somewhat narrow facial features\u2014suitably full cheeks, a nicely rounded chin, and a well-shaped mouth. His coloring was fair, with a fresh complexion, gray eyes, and thick, straight, silky-gold hair.\n\nHe stood there talking to Isrid about her affairs, and he also asked about Tordis, Isrid's kinswoman who was looking after J\u00f8rundgaard's mountain pastures that summer. Tordis had recently given birth, and Isrid was waiting for the chance to find safe passage through the forest so she could carry Tordis's little boy down from the mountains to have him baptized. Lavrans said that she could come along with them; he was going to return the next evening, and it would be safer and more reassuring for her to have so many men to accompany her and the heathen child.\n\nIsrid thanked him. \"If the truth be told, this is exactly what I've been waiting for. We all know, we poor folks who live up here in the hills, that you will do us a favor if you can whenever you come this way.\" She ran off to gather up her bundle and a cloak.\n\nThe fact of the matter was that Lavrans enjoyed being among these humble people who lived in clearings and on leaseholdings high up at the edge of the village. With them he was always happy and full of banter. He talked to them about the movements of the forest animals, about the reindeer on the high plateaus, and about all the uncanny goings-on that occur in such places. He assisted them in word and deed and offered a helping hand; he saw to their sick cattle, helped them at the forge and with their carpentry work. On occasion he even applied his own powerful strength when they had to break up the worst rocks or roots. That's why these people always joyfully welcomed Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n and Guldsvein, the huge red stallion he rode. The horse was a beautiful animal with a glossy coat, white mane and tail, and shining eyes\u2014known in the villages for his strength and fierceness. But toward Lavrans he was as gentle as a lamb. And Lavrans often said that he was as fond of the horse as of a younger brother.\n\nThe first thing Lavrans wanted to attend to was the beacon at Heimhaugen. During those difficult times of unrest a hundred years earlier or more, the landowners along the valleys had erected beacons in certain places on the mountainsides, much like the wood stacked in warning bonfires at the ports for warships along the coast. But these beacons in the valleys were not under military authority; the farmer guilds kept them in good repair, and the members took turns taking care of them.\n\nWhen they came to the first mountain pasture, Lavrans released all the horses except the pack horse into the fenced meadow, and then they set off on a steep pathway upward. Before long there was a great distance between trees. Huge pines stood dead and white, like bones, next to marshy patches of land\u2014and now Kristin saw bare gray mountain domes appearing in the sky all around. They climbed over long stretches of scree, and in places a creek ran across the path so that her father had to carry her. The wind was brisk and fresh up there, and the heath was black with berries, but Lavrans said that they had no time to stop and pick them. Arne leaped here and there, plucking off berries for her, and telling her which pastures they could see below in the forest\u2014for there was forest over all of H\u00f8vringsvang at that time.\n\nNow they were just below the last bare, rounded crest, and they could see the enormous heap of wood towering against the sky and the caretaker's hut in the shelter of a sheer cliff.\n\nAs they came over the ridge, the wind rushed toward them and whipped through their clothes\u2014it seemed to Kristin that something alive which dwelled up there had come forward to greet them. The wind gusted and blew as she and Arne walked across the expanse of moss. The children sat down on the very end of a ledge, and Kristin stared with big eyes\u2014never had she imagined that the world was so huge or so vast.\n\nThere were forest-clad mountain slopes below her in all directions; her valley was no more than a hollow between the enormous mountains, and the neighboring valleys were even smaller hollows; there were many of them, and yet there were fewer valleys than there were mountains. On all sides gray domes, golden-flamed with lichen, loomed above the carpet of forest; and far off in the distance, toward the horizon, stood blue peaks with white glints of snow, seeming to merge with the grayish-blue and dazzling white summer clouds. But to the northeast, close by\u2014just beyond the pasture woods\u2014stood a cluster of magnificent stone-blue mountains with streaks of new snow on their slopes. Kristin guessed that they belonged to the Raanekamp, the Boar Range, which she had heard about, for they truly did look like a group of mighty boars walking away with their backs turned to the village. And yet Arne said that it was half a day's ride to reach them.\n\nKristin had thought that if she came up over the crest of her home mountains, she would be able to look down on another village like their own, with farms and houses, and she had such a strange feeling when she saw what a great distance there was between places where people lived. She saw the little yellow and green flecks on the floor of the valley and the tiny glades with dots of houses in the mountain forests; she started to count them, but by the time she had reached three dozen, she could no longer keep track. And yet the marks of settlement were like nothing in that wilderness.\n\nShe knew that wolves and bears reigned in the forest, and under every rock lived trolls and goblins and elves, and she was suddenly afraid, for no one knew how many there were, but there were certainly many more of them than of Christian people. Then she called loudly for her father, but he didn't hear her because of the wind\u2014he and his men were rolling great boulders down the rock face to use as supports for the timbers of the beacon.\n\nBut Isrid came over to the children and showed Kristin where the mountain Vaage Vestfjeld lay. And Arne pointed out Graafjeld, where the people of the villages captured reindeer in trenches and where the king's hawk hunters lived in stone huts. That was the sort of work that Arne wanted to do himself someday\u2014but he also wanted to learn to train birds for the hunt\u2014and he lifted his arms overhead, as if he were flinging a hawk into the air.\n\nIsrid shook her head.\n\n\"It's a loathsome life, Arne Gyrds\u00f8n. It would be a great sorrow for your mother if you became a hawk hunter, my boy. No man can make a living doing that unless he keeps company with the worst kind of people, and with those who are even worse.\"\n\nLavrans had come over to them and caught the last remark.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"there's probably more than one household out there that pays neither taxes nor tithes.\"\n\n\"I imagine you've seen one thing and another, haven't you, Lavrans?\" Isrid hinted. \"You who have journeyed so deep into the mountains.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" Lavrans said reluctantly, \"that could be\u2014but I don't think I should speak of such things. We must not begrudge those who have exhausted their peace in the village whatever peace they may find on the mountain, that's what I think. And yet I've seen yellow pastures and beautiful hay meadows in places where few people know that any valleys exist. And I've seen herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, but I don't know whether they belonged to people or to the others.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Isrid. \"Bears and wolves are blamed for the loss of cattle up here in the mountain pastures, but there are much worse robbers on the slopes.\"\n\n\"You call them worse?\" said Lavrans thoughtfully, stroking his daughter's cap. \"In the mountains south of the Raanekamp I once saw three little boys, the oldest about Kristin's age, and they had blond hair and tunics made of hides. They bared their teeth at me like young wolves before they ran away and hid. It's not so surprising that the poor man they belonged to should be tempted to take a cow or two for himself.\"\n\n\"Well, wolves and bears all have young ones too,\" said Isrid peevishly. \"And you don't choose to spare them, Lavrans. Neither the full-grown ones nor their young. And yet they have never been taught laws or Christianity, as have these evil-doers that you wish so well.\"\n\n\"Do you think I wish them well because I wish for them something slightly better than the worst?\" said Lavrans with a faint smile. \"But come along now, let's see what kind of food packets Ragnfrid has given us for today.\" He took Kristin's hand and led her away. He bent down to her and said softly, \"I was thinking of your three baby brothers, little Kristin.\"\n\nThey peeked into the caretaker's hut, but it was stuffy and smelled of mold. Kristin took a quick look around, but there were only earthen benches along the walls, a hearthstone in the middle of the floor, barrels of tar, and bundles of resinous pine sticks and birchbark. Lavrans thought they should eat outdoors, and a little farther down a birch-covered slope they found a lovely green plateau.\n\nThey unloaded the pack horse and stretched out on the grass. And there was plenty of good food in Ragnfrid's bag\u2014soft bread and thin lefse, butter and cheese, pork and wind-dried reindeer meat, lard, boiled beef brisket, two large kegs of German ale, and a small jug of mead. They wasted no time in cutting up the meat and passing it around, while Halvdan, the oldest of the men, made a fire; it was more comforting to have heat than to be without it in the forest.\n\nIsrid and Arne pulled up heather and gathered birch twigs and tossed them into the flames; the fire crackled as it tore the fresh foliage from the branches so that little white charred specks flew high up into the red mane of the blaze. Thick dark smoke swirled up toward the clear sky. Kristin sat and watched; the fire seemed happy to be outside and free to play. It was different; not like when it was confined to the hearth back home and had to slave to cook the food and light up the room for them.\n\nShe sat there leaning against her father, with one arm over his knee. He gave her as much as she wanted to eat from all the best portions and offered her all the ale she could drink, along with frequent sips of the mead.\n\n\"She'll be so tipsy she won't be able to walk down to the pasture,\" said Halvdan with a laugh, but Lavrans stroked her plump cheeks.\n\n\"There are enough of us here to carry her. It will do her good. Drink up, Arne. God's gifts will do you good, not harm, all you who are still growing. The ale will give you sweet red blood and make you sleep well. It won't arouse rage or foolishness.\"\n\nAnd the men drank long and hard too. Isrid did not stint herself either, and soon their voices and the roar and hiss of the fire became a distant sound in Kristin's ears; she felt her head grow heavy. She also noticed that they tried to entice Lavrans to tell them about the strange things he had witnessed on his hunting expeditions. But he would say very little, and she thought this so comforting and reassuring. And she had eaten so much.\n\nHer father was holding a chunk of soft barley bread. He shaped little pieces with his fingers so they looked like horses, and he broke off tiny scraps of meat and set them astride the bread horses. Then he made them ride down his thigh and into Kristin's mouth. Before long she was so tired that she could neither yawn nor chew\u2014and then she toppled over onto the ground and fell asleep.\n\nWhen she woke up, she was lying in the warmth and darkness of her father's arms\u2014he had wrapped his cape around both of them. Kristin sat up, wiped the sweat from her face, and untied her cap so the air could dry her damp hair.\n\nIt must have been late in the day, for the sunshine was a gleaming yellow and the shadows had lengthened and now fell toward the southeast. There was no longer even a breath of wind, and mosquitoes and flies were buzzing and humming around the sleeping group of people. Kristin sat quite still, scratching the mosquito bites on her hands, and looked around. The mountain dome above them shone white with moss and gold from the lichen in the sunshine, and the beacon of weatherbeaten timbers towered against the sky like the skeleton of some weird beast.\n\nShe started to feel uneasy\u2014it was so odd to see all of them asleep in the bright, bare light of day. Whenever she woke up at home in the night, she would be lying snugly in the dark with her mother on one side and the tapestry that hung over the timbered wall on the other. Then she would know that the door and smoke vent of the room had been closed against the night and the weather outside; and she could hear the small noises of the sleeping people who lay safe and sound among the furs and pillows. But all of these bodies lying twisted and turned on the slope around the small mound of white and black ashes might just as well have been dead; some of them lay on their stomachs and some on their backs with their knees pulled up, and the sounds they uttered frightened Kristin. Her father was snoring heavily, but when Halvdan drew in a breath, a squeak and a whistle came from his nose. And Arne was lying on his side with his face hidden in his arm and his glossy light-brown hair spread out on the heath. He lay so still that Kristin was afraid he might be dead. She had to bend over and touch him; then he stirred a bit in his sleep.\n\nSuddenly it occurred to Kristin that they might have slept a whole night and that it was now the next day. Then she grew so alarmed that she shook her father, but he merely grunted and kept on sleeping. Kristin felt heavy-headed herself, but she didn't dare lie down to sleep. So she crept over to the fire and poked at it with a stick\u2014there were still some embers glowing. She added some heather and small twigs, which she found close at hand, but she didn't want to venture outside the circle of sleepers to find bigger branches.\n\nSuddenly there was a thundering and crashing from the field nearby; Kristin's heart sank and she grew cold with fear. Then she saw a red body through the trees, and Guldsvein emerged from the alpine birches and stood there, looking at her with his clear, bright eyes. She was so relieved that she jumped up and ran toward the stallion. The brown horse that Arne had ridden was there too, along with the pack horse. Then Kristin felt quite safe; she went over and patted all three of them on the flank, but Guldsvein bowed his head so she could reach up to stroke his cheeks and tug on his golden-white forelock. He snuffled his soft muzzle in her hands.\n\nThe horses ambled down the birch-covered slope, grazing, and Kristin walked along with them, for she didn't think there was any danger if she kept close to Guldsvein\u2014he had chased off bears before, after all. The blueberries grew so thick there, and the child was thirsty and had a bad taste in her mouth. She had no desire for any ale just then, but the sweet, juicy berries were as good as wine. Over in the scree she saw raspberries too; then she took Guldsvein by the mane and asked him nicely to come with her, and the stallion obediently followed the little girl. As she moved farther and farther down the slope, he would come to her whenever she called him, and the other horses followed Guldsvein.\n\nKristin heard a stream trickling and gurgling somewhere nearby. She walked toward the sound until she found it, and then she lay down on a slab of rock and washed her sweaty, mosquito-bitten face and hands. Beneath the rock slab the water stood motionless in a deep black pool; on the other side a sheer rock face rose up behind several slender birch trees and willow thickets. It made the finest mirror, and Kristin leaned over and looked at herself in the water. She wanted to see if what Isrid had said was true, that she resembled her father.\n\nShe smiled and nodded and bent forward until her hair met the blond hair framing the round young face with the big eyes that she saw in the water.\n\nAll around grew such a profusion of the finest pink tufts of flowers called valerian; they were much redder and more beautiful here next to the mountain stream than back home near the river. Then Kristin picked some blossoms and carefully bound them together with blades of grass until she had the loveliest, pinkest, and most tightly woven wreath. The child pressed it down on her hair and ran over to the pool to see how she looked, now that she was adorned like a grownup maiden about to go off to a dance.\n\nShe bent over the water and saw her own dark image rise up from the depths and become clearer as it came closer. Then she saw in the mirror of the stream that someone was standing among the birches on the other side and leaning toward her. Abruptly she straightened up into a kneeling position and looked across the water. At first she thought she saw only the rock face and the trees clustered at its base. But suddenly she discerned a face among the leaves\u2014there was a woman over there, with a pale face and flowing, flaxen hair. Her big light-gray eyes and her flaring, pale-pink nostrils reminded Kristin of Guldsvein's. She was wearing something shiny and leaf-green, and branches and twigs hid her figure up to her full breasts, which were covered with brooches and gleaming necklaces.\n\nKristin stared at the vision. Then the woman raised her hand and showed her a wreath of golden flowers and beckoned to her with it.\n\nBehind her, Kristin heard Guldsvein whinny loudly with fear. She turned her head. The stallion reared up, gave a resounding shriek, and then whirled around and set off up the hillside, making the ground thunder. The other horses followed. They rushed straight up the scree, so that rocks plummeted down with a crash, and branches and roots snapped and cracked.\n\nThen Kristin screamed as loud as she could. \"Father!\" she shrieked. \"Father!\" She sprang to her feet and ran up the slope after the horses, not daring to look back over her shoulder. She clambered up the scree, tripped on the hem of her dress, and slid down, then climbed up again, scrabbling onward with bleeding hands, crawling on scraped and bruised knees, calling to Guldsvein in between her shouts to her father\u2014while the sweat poured out of her whole body, running like water into her eyes, and her heart pounded as if it would hammer a hole through her chest; sobs of terror rose in her throat.\n\n\"Oh, Father, Father!\"\n\nThen she heard his voice somewhere above her. She saw him coming in great leaps down the slope of the scree\u2014the bright, sun-white scree. Alpine birches and aspens stood motionless along the slope, their leaves glittering with little glints of silver. The mountain meadow was so quiet and so bright, but her father came bounding toward her, calling her name, and Kristin sank down, realizing that now she was saved.\n\n\"Sancta Maria!\" Lavrans knelt down next to his daughter and pulled her to him. He was pale and there was a strange look to his mouth that frightened Kristin even more; not until she saw his face did she realize the extent of her peril.\n\n\"Child, child...\" He lifted up her bloody hands, looked at them, noticed the wreath on her bare head, and touched it. \"What's this? How did you get here, little Kristin?\"\n\n\"I followed Guldsvein,\" she sobbed against his chest. \"I was so afraid because you were all asleep, but then Guldsvein came. And then there was someone who waved to me from down by the stream....\"\n\n\"Who waved? Was it a man?\"\n\n\"No, it was a woman. She beckoned to me with a wreath of gold\u2014I think it was a dwarf maiden, Father.\"\n\n\"Jesus Christus,\" said Lavrans softly, making the sign of the cross over the child and himself.\n\nHe helped her up the slope until they came to the grassy hillside; then he lifted her up and carried her. She clung to his neck and sobbed; she couldn't stop, no matter how much he hushed her.\n\nSoon they reached the men and Isrid, who clasped her hands together when she heard what had happened.\n\n\"Oh, that must have been the elf maiden\u2014I tell you, she must have wanted to lure this pretty child into the mountain.\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" said Lavrans harshly. \"We shouldn't have talked about such things the way we did here in the forest. You never know who's under the stones, listening to every word.\"\n\nHe pulled out the golden chain with the reliquary cross from inside his shirt and hung it around Kristin's neck, placing it against her bare skin.\n\n\"All of you must guard your tongues well,\" he told them. \"For Ragnfrid must never hear that the child was exposed to such danger.\"\n\nThen they caught the horses that had run into the woods and walked briskly down to the pasture enclosure where the other horses had been left. Everyone mounted their horses, and they rode over to the J\u00f8rundgaard pasture; it was not far off.\n\nThe sun was about to go down when they arrived. The cattle were in the pen, and Tordis and the herdsmen were doing the milking. Inside the hut, porridge had been prepared for them, for the pasture folk had seen them up at the beacon earlier in the day and they were expected.\n\nNot until then did Kristin stop her weeping. She sat on her father's lap and ate porridge and thick cream from his spoon.\n\nThe next day Lavrans was to ride out to a lake farther up the mountain; that's where some of his herdsmen had taken the oxen. Kristin was supposed to have gone with him, but now he told her to stay at the hut. \"And you, Tordis and Isrid, must see to it that the door is kept locked and the smoke vent closed until we come back, both for Kristin's sake and for the sake of the little unbaptized child in the cradle.\"\n\nTordis was so frightened that she didn't dare stay up there any longer with the baby; she had not yet been to church herself since giving birth. She wanted to leave at once and stay down in the village. Lavrans said he thought this reasonable; she could travel with them down the mountain the next evening. He thought he could get an older widow who was a servant at J\u00f8rundgaard to come up here in her place.\n\nTordis had spread sweet, fresh meadow grass under the hides on the bench; it smelled so strong and good, and Kristin was almost asleep as her father said the Lord's Prayer and Ave Maria over her.\n\n\"It's going to be a long time before I take you with me to the mountains again,\" said Lavrans, patting her cheek.\n\nKristin woke up with a start.\n\n\"Father, won't you let me go with you to the south in the fall, as you promised?\"\n\n\"We'll have to see about that,\" said Lavrans, and then Kristin fell at once into a sweet sleep between the sheepskins."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Every summer Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n would ride off to the south to see to his estate at Follo. These journeys of her father were like yearly mileposts in Kristin's life: those long weeks of his absence and then the great joy when he returned home with wonderful gifts\u2014cloth from abroad for her bridal chest, figs, raisins, and gingerbread from Oslo\u2014and many strange things to tell her.\n\nBut this year Kristin noticed that there was something out of the ordinary about her father's trip. It was postponed again and again. The old men from Loptsgaard came riding over unexpectedly and sat at the table with her father and mother, talking about inheritances and allodial property, repurchasing rights, and the difficulties of running a manor from a distance; and about the episcopal seat and the king's castle in Oslo, which took so many of the workers away from the farms in the neighboring areas. The old men had no time to play with Kristin, and she was sent out to the cookhouse to the maids. Her uncle, Trond Ivars\u00f8n of Sundbu, also came to visit them more often than usual\u2014but he had never been in the habit of teasing or playing with Kristin.\n\nGradually she began to understand what it was all about. Ever since he had come to Sil, her father had sought to acquire land there in the village, and now Sir Andres Gudmunds\u00f8n had offered to exchange Formo, which was his mother's ancestral estate, for Skog, which lay closer to him, since he was one of the king's retainers and seldom came to the valley. Lavrans was loath to part with Skog, which was his ancestral farm; it had come into his family as a gift from the king. And yet the exchange would be advantageous to him in many ways. But Lavrans's brother, Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, was also interested in acquiring Skog\u2014he was now living in Hadeland, where he had a manor that he had obtained through marriage\u2014and it was uncertain whether Aasmund would relinquish his ancestral property rights.\n\nBut one day Lavrans told Ragnfrid that this year he wanted to take Kristin along with him to Skog. She should at least see the estate where she had been born and the home of his forefathers if it was going to pass out of their possession. Ragnfrid thought this a reasonable request, even though she was a little uneasy about sending so young a child on such a long journey when she was not going along herself.\n\nDuring the first days after Kristin had seen the elf maiden, she was so fearful that she kept close to her mother; she was even frightened by the mere sight of any of the servants who had been up on the mountain that day and who knew what had happened to her. She was glad that her father had forbidden anyone to mention it.\n\nBut after some time had passed, she thought that she would have liked to talk about it. In her own mind she told someone about it\u2014she wasn't sure who\u2014and the strange thing was that the more time that passed, the better she seemed to remember it, and the clearer her memory was of the fair woman.\n\nBut the strangest thing of all was that every time she thought about the elf maiden, she would feel such a yearning to travel to Skog, and she grew more and more afraid that her father would refuse to take her.\n\nFinally one morning she woke up in the loft above the storeroom and saw that Old Gunhild and her mother were sitting on the doorstep looking through Lavrans's bundle of squirrel skins. Gunhild was a widow who went from farm to farm, sewing furs into capes and other garments. Kristin gathered from their conversation that now she was the one who was to have a new cloak, lined with squirrel skins and trimmed with marten. Then she realized that she was going to accompany her father, and she jumped out of bed with a cry of joy.\n\nHer mother came over to her and caressed her cheek.\n\n\"Are you so happy then, my daughter, to be going so far away from me?\"\n\nRagnfrid said the same thing on the morning of their departure from J\u00f8rundgaard. They were up before dawn; it was dark outside, and a thick mist was drifting between the buildings when Kristin peeked out the door at the weather. It billowed like gray smoke around the lanterns and in front of the open doorways. Servants ran back and forth from the stables to the storehouses, and the women came from the cookhouse with steaming pots of porridge and trenchers of boiled meat and pork. They would have a good meal of hearty food before they set off in the cold of the morning.\n\nIndoors the leather bags with their traveling goods were opened up again, and forgotten items were placed inside. Ragnfrid reminded her husband of all the things he was supposed to tend to for her, and she talked about kinsmen and acquaintances who lived along the way\u2014he must give a certain person her greetings, and he must not forget to ask after someone else she mentioned.\n\nKristin ran in and out, saying goodbye many times to everyone in the house, unable to sit still anywhere.\n\n\"Are you so happy then, Kristin, to be going so far away from me, and for such a long time?\" asked her mother. Kristin felt both sad and crestfallen, and she wished that her mother had not said such a thing. But she replied as best she could.\n\n\"No, dear Mother, but I'm happy to be going with my father.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose you are,\" said Ragnfrid with a sigh. Then she kissed the child and fussed with the maiden's clothes a bit.\n\nAt last they sat in the saddles, everyone who was to accompany them on the journey. Kristin was riding Morvin, the horse that had once been her father's. He was old, wise, and steady. Ragnfrid handed the silver goblet with one last fortifying drink to her husband, placed a hand on her daughter's knee, and told her to remember everything that she had impressed upon her.\n\nThen they rode out of the courtyard into the gray dawn. The fog hovered as white as milk over the village. But in a while it began to disperse and then the sun seeped through. Dripping with dew and green with the second crop of hay, the pastures shimmered in the white haze, along with pale stubble-fields and yellow trees and mountain ash with glittering red berries. The blue of the mountainsides was dimly visible, rising up out of the mist and steam. Then the fog broke and drifted in wisps among the grassy slopes, and they rode down through the valley in the most glorious sunshine\u2014Kristin foremost in the group, at her father's side.\n\nThey arrived in Hamar on a dark and rainy evening. Kristin was sitting in front on her father's saddle, for she was so tired that everything swam before her eyes\u2014the lake gleaming palely off to the right, the dark trees dripping moisture on them as they rode underneath, and the somber black clusters of buildings in the colorless, wet fields along the road.\n\nShe had stopped counting the days. It seemed to her that she had been on this long journey forever. They had visited family and friends who lived along the valley. She had gotten to know children on the large manors, she had played in unfamiliar houses and barns and courtyards, and she had worn her red dress with the silk sleeves many times. They had rested along the side of the road in the daytime when it was good weather. Arne had gathered nuts for her, and after their meals she had been allowed to sleep on top of the leather bags containing their clothes. At one estate they had been given silk-covered pillows in their beds. On another night they had slept in a roadside hostel, and whenever Kristin woke up she could hear a woman weeping softly and full of despair in one of the other beds. But every night she had slept snugly against her father's broad, warm back.\n\nKristin woke up with a start. She didn't know where she was, but the odd ringing and droning sound she had heard in her dreams continued. She was lying alone in a bed, and in the room where it stood, a fire was burning in the hearth.\n\nShe called to her father, and he rose from the hearth where he was sitting and came over to her, accompanied by a heavyset woman.\n\n\"Where are we?\" she asked.\n\nLavrans laughed and said, \"We're in Hamar now, and this is Margret, Shoemaker Fartein's wife. You must greet her nicely, for you were asleep when we arrived. But now Margret will help you get dressed.\"\n\n\"Is it morning?\" asked Kristin. \"I thought you would be coming to bed now. Can't you help me instead?\" she begged, but Lavrans replied rather sternly that she should thank Margret for her willingness to help.\n\n\"And look at the present she has for you!\"\n\nIt was a pair of red shoes with silk straps. The woman smiled at Kristin's joyful face and then helped her put on her shift and stockings in bed so that she wouldn't have to step barefoot onto the dirt floor.\n\n\"What's making that sound?\" asked Kristin. \"Like a church bell, but so many of them.\"\n\n\"Those are our bells,\" laughed Margret. \"Haven't you heard about the great cathedral here in town? That's where you're going now. That's where the big bell is ringing. And bells are ringing at the cloister and the Church of the Cross too.\"\n\nMargret spread a thick layer of butter on Kristin's bread and put honey in her milk so that the food would be more filling\u2014she had so little time to eat.\n\nOutside it was still dark and frost had set in. The mist was so cold that it bit into her skin. The footpaths made by people and cattle and horses were as hard as cast iron, so that Kristin's feet hurt in her thin new shoes. In one place, she stepped through the ice into a rut in the middle of the narrow street, which made her legs wet and cold. Then Lavrans lifted her up on his back and carried her.\n\nShe peered into the darkness, but there was little she could see of the town\u2014she glimpsed the black gables of houses and trees outlined against the gray sky. Then they reached a small meadow that glittered with rime, and on the other side of the meadow she could make out a pale gray building as huge as a mountain. There were large stone buildings surrounding it, and here and there light shone through peepholes in the wall. The bells, which had been silent for a while, started ringing again, and now the sound was so powerful that it made icy shivers run down her spine.\n\nIt was like entering the mountain, thought Kristin as they stepped inside the vestibule of the church; they were met by darkness and cold. They went through a doorway, and there they encountered the chill smell of old incense and candles. Kristin was in a dark and vast room with a high ceiling. Her eyes couldn't penetrate the darkness, neither overhead nor to the sides, but a light was burning on an altar far in front of them. A priest was standing there, and the echo of his voice crept oddly around the room, like puffs of air and whispers. Lavrans crossed himself and his child with holy water, and then walked forward. Even though he stepped cautiously, his spurs rang loudly against the stone floor. They passed giant pillars, and looking between the pillars was like peering into coal-black holes.\n\nUp front near the altar Lavrans knelt down, and Kristin knelt at his side. Her eyes began adjusting to the dark. Gold and silver gleamed from altars between the pillars, but on the altar before them, candles were glowing in gilded candlesticks, and the holy vessels shone, as did the great, magnificent paintings behind. Kristin again thought of the mountain\u2014this is the way she had imagined it must be inside, so much splendor, but perhaps even more light. And the dwarf maiden's face appeared before her. But then she raised her eyes and saw above the painting the figure of Christ himself, huge and stern, lifted high up on the cross. She was frightened. He didn't look gentle and sad, as he did back home in their own warm, brown-timbered church, where he hung heavily from his arms, his feet and hands pierced through, and his blood-spattered head bowed beneath the crown of thorns. Here he stood on a step, his arms rigidly outstretched and his head erect; his hair was gleaming gold and adorned with a golden crown; his face was lifted upward, with a harsh expression.\n\nThen Kristin tried to follow the priest's words as he prayed and sang, but his speech was so rapid and indistinct. At home she was able to distinguish each word, for Sira Eirik had the clearest voice, and he had taught her what the holy words meant in Norwegian so that she could better keep her thoughts on God when she was in church.\n\nBut she couldn't do that here, for she was constantly noticing things in the dark. There were windows high up on the wall, and they began to grow lighter with the day. And near the place where they were kneeling, a strange gallowslike structure of wood had been raised; beyond it lay light-colored blocks of stone, and troughs and tools lay there too. Then she could hear that people had arrived and were padding around in there. Her eyes fell once more on the stern Lord Jesus on the wall, and she tried to keep her thoughts on the service. The icy cold of the stone floor made her legs stiff all the way up to her hips, and her knees ached. Finally everything began to swirl around her, because she was so tired.\n\nThen her father stood up. The service was over. The priest came forward to greet her father. While they talked, Kristin sat down on a step because she saw the altar boy do the same. He yawned, and that made her yawn too. When he noticed that she was looking at him, he stuck his tongue in his cheek and crossed his eyes at her. Then he pulled out a pouch from under his clothing and dumped out the contents onto the stone floor: fish hooks, lumps of lead, leather straps, and a pair of dice; and the whole time he made faces at Kristin. She was quite astonished.\n\nThen the priest and Lavrans looked at the children. The priest laughed and told the boy that he should go off to school, but Lavrans frowned and took Kristin by the hand.\n\nIt was starting to get lighter inside the church. Sleepily, Kristin clung to Lavrans's hand while he and the priest walked under the wooden scaffold, talking about Bishop Ingjald's construction work.\n\nThey wandered through the entire church, and at last they came out into the vestibule. From there a stone stairway led up into the west tower. Kristin trudged wearily up the stairs. The priest opened a door to a beautiful side chapel, but then Lavrans told Kristin to sit down outside on the steps and wait while he went in to make his confession. Afterward she could come in to kiss the shrine of Saint Thomas.\n\nAt that moment an old monk wearing an ash-brown cowl came out of the chapel. He paused for a minute, smiled at the child, and pulled out some sacking and homespun rags that had been stuffed into a hole in the wall. He spread them out on the landing.\n\n\"Sit down here; then you won't be so cold,\" he said, and continued on down the stairs in his bare feet.\n\nKristin was asleep when Father Martein, as the priest was called, came out to get her. From the church rose the loveliest song, and inside the chapel, candles burned on the altar. The priest gestured for Kristin to kneel beside her father, and then he took down a little golden reliquary that stood above the altar. He whispered to her that inside was a fragment of Saint Thomas of Canterbury's bloody clothing, and he pointed to the holy image, so that Kristin could press her lips to the feet.\n\nLovely tones were still streaming from the church as they went downstairs. Father Martein told them that the organist was practicing while the schoolboys sang. But they had no time to listen, for Lavrans was hungry; he had fasted before confession. Now they would go over to the guest quarters at the canons' house to eat.\n\nOutside, the morning sun gleamed gold on the steep shores of distant Lake Mj\u00f8sa, so that all of the faded leafy groves looked like golden dust in the dark blue forests. The lake was rippled with little white specks of dancing foam. The wind blew cold and fresh, making the multicolored leaves float down onto the frost-covered hill.\n\nA group of horsemen appeared between the bishop's citadel and the house belonging to the Brothers of the Holy Cross. Lavrans stepped aside and bowed with his hand to his breast as he nearly swept the ground with his hat; then Kristin realized that the horseman in the fur cape had to be the bishop himself, and she sank in a curtsey almost to the ground.\n\nThe bishop reined in his horse and greeted them in return, beckoning Lavrans to approach, and he spoke with him for a moment.\n\nThen Lavrans came back to the priest and the child and said, \"I have been invited to dine at the bishop's citadel. Do you think, Father Martein, that one of the canons' servants could accompany this little maiden home to Shoemaker Fartein's house and tell my men that Halvdan should meet me here with Guldsvein at the hour of midafternoon prayers?\"\n\nThe priest replied that this could easily be arranged. Then the barefoot monk who had spoken to Kristin in the tower stairway stepped forward and greeted them.\n\n\"There's a man over in our guest house who has business with the shoemaker anyway; he can take your message, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n. And then your daughter can either go with him or stay at the cloister until you return. I'll see to it that she's given food over there.\"\n\nLavrans thanked him and said, \"It's a shame that you should be troubled with this child, Brother Edvin.\"\n\n\"Brother Edvin gathers up all the children he can,\" said Father Martein with a laugh. \"Then he has someone to preach to.\"\n\n\"Yes, I don't dare offer you learned gentlemen here in Hamar my sermons,\" said the monk, smiling, and without taking offense. \"I'm only good at talking to children and farmers, but that's no reason to tie a muzzle on the ox that threshes.\"\n\nKristin gave her father an imploring look; she thought there was nothing she would like better than to go with Brother Edvin. So Lavrans thanked him, and as her father and the priest followed the bishop's entourage, Kristin put her hand in the monk's and they walked down toward the monastery, which was a cluster of wooden houses and a light-colored stone church all the way down near the water.\n\nBrother Edvin gave her hand a little squeeze, and when they glanced at each other, they both had to laugh. The monk was tall and gaunt but quite stoop-shouldered. The child thought he looked like an old crane because his head was small, with a narrow, shiny, smooth pate above a bushy white fringe of hair, and perched on a long, thin, wrinkled neck. His nose was also as big and sharp as a beak. But there was something about him that made Kristin feel at ease and happy just by looking up into his long, furrowed face. His old watery-blue eyes were red-rimmed, and his eyelids were like thin brown membranes with thousands of wrinkles radiating from them. His hollow cheeks, with their reddish web of veins, were crisscrossed with wrinkles that ran down to his small, thin-lipped mouth. But it looked as if Brother Edvin had become so wrinkled simply from smiling at people. Kristin thought she had never seen anyone who looked so cheerful or so kind. He seemed to carry within him a luminous and secret joy, and she was able to share it whenever he spoke.\n\nThey walked along the fence of an apple orchard where a few yellow and red fruits still hung on the trees. Two friars wearing black-and-white robes were raking withered beanstalks in the garden.\n\nThe monastery was not much different from any other farm, and the guest house into which the monk escorted Kristin closely resembled a humble farmhouse, although there were many beds. In one of the beds lay an old man, and at the hearth sat a woman wrapping an infant in swaddling clothes; two older children, a boy and a girl, stood near her.\n\nThey complained, both the man and the woman, because they had not yet received their lunch. \"But they don't want to bring food to us twice, so here we sit and starve while you run around in town, Brother Edvin.\"\n\n\"Don't be so angry, Steinulv,\" said the monk. \"Come over here, Kristin, and say hello. Look at this pretty maiden who is going to stay here today and eat with us.\"\n\nHe told Kristin that Steinulv had fallen ill on his way home from a meeting, and he had been allowed to stay in the cloister's guest house instead of the hospice because a kinswoman who was living at the hospice was so mean that he couldn't stand to be there.\n\n\"But I can tell they're getting tired of having me here,\" said the old man. \"When you leave, Brother Edvin, no one will have time to take care of me, and then they'll probably make me go back to the hospice.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll be well long before I'm done with my work at the church,\" said Brother Edvin. \"Then your son will come to get you.\" He took a kettle of hot water from the hearth and let Kristin hold it as he attended to Steinulv. Then the old man grew more tractable, and a moment later a monk came in, bringing food and drink for them.\n\nBrother Edvin said a prayer over the food and then sat down next to Steinulv on the edge of the bed so he could help the old man eat. Kristin sat down near the woman and fed the little boy, who was so small that he couldn't reach the porridge bowl, and who spilled whenever he tried to dip into the bowl of ale. The woman was from Hadeland and had come with her husband and children to visit her brother who was a monk at the cloister. But he was out wandering among the villages, and she complained bitterly about having to sit there wasting time.\n\nBrother Edvin spoke gently to the woman. She must not say that she was throwing her time away when she was here in the bishop's Hamar. Here were all the splendid churches, and all day long the monks and canons celebrated mass and chanted the offices of the day. And the town was so beautiful, even lovelier than Oslo itself, although it was somewhat smaller. But here, nearly every farm had a garden. \"You should have seen it when I arrived in the springtime,\" the monk said. \"The whole town was white with flowers. And since then the sweetbriar roses have bloomed...\"\n\n\"Well, what good does that do me?\" said the woman peevishly. \"And it seems to me that there are more holy places here than holiness.\"\n\nThe monk chuckled and shook his head. Then he rummaged around in his straw pallet and pulled out a big pile of apples and pears, which he shared among the children. Kristin had never tasted such luscious fruit. The juice ran out of her mouth with every bite she took.\n\nThen Brother Edvin had to go off to church, and he said that Kristin could come along. They cut across the cloister courtyard, and through a little side door they entered the church's choir.\n\nConstruction was still going on at this church too, and scaffolding had been set up at the juncture of the nave and the transept. Brother Edvin told Kristin that Bishop Ingjald was having the choir renovated and decorated. The bishop was immensely wealthy, and he used all of his riches to adorn the churches of the town. He was an excellent bishop and a good man. The friars of Olav's cloister were also good men: celibate, learned, and humble. It was a poor monastery, but they had received Brother Edvin kindly. His home was at the Minorite cloister in Oslo, but he had been given permission to beg for alms here in the Hamar diocese.\n\n\"Come over here,\" he said, leading Kristin to the foot of the scaffolding. He climbed up a ladder and rearranged several planks high above. Then he went back down and helped the child to ascend.\n\nOn the gray stone wall above her, Kristin saw strange, flickering specks of light, red as blood and yellow as ale, blue and brown and green. She wanted to look behind her, but the monk whispered, \"Don't turn around.\" When they stood together high up on the planks, he gently turned her around, and Kristin saw a sight so glorious that it almost took her breath away.\n\nDirectly opposite her, on the south wall of the nave, stood a picture that glowed as if it had been made from nothing but glittering gemstones. The multicolored specks of light on the wall came from rays emanating from the picture itself; she and the monk were standing in the midst of its radiance. Her hands were red, as if she had dipped them in wine; the monk's face seemed to be completely gilded, and from his dark cowl the colors of the picture were dimly reflected. She gave him a questioning glance, but he merely nodded and smiled.\n\nIt was like standing at a great distance and looking into heaven. Behind a lattice of black lines she began to distinguish, little by little, the Lord Jesus himself, wearing the costliest red cloak; the Virgin Mary in robes as blue as the sky; and the holy men and maidens in gleaming yellow and green and violet attire. They stood beneath the arches and pillars of illuminated houses surrounded by intertwining branches and twigs with extraordinary, bright leaves.\n\nThe monk pulled her a little farther out toward the edge of the scaffold.\n\n\"Stand here,\" he whispered. \"Then the light will fall on you from Christ's own cloak.\"\n\nFrom the church below the faint smell of incense and the odor of cold stone drifted up toward them. It was gloomy down below, but rays of sunlight were entering diagonally through a series of windows on the south wall of the nave. Kristin began to see that the heavenly picture must be some sort of windowpane, for it filled that type of opening in the wall. The others were empty or closed off with panes of horn in wooden frames. A bird appeared, perched on the windowsill, chirped briefly, and then flew away. Outside the wall of the choir the sound of metal on stone could be heard. Otherwise everything was quiet; only the wind came in small gusts, sighed a little between the church walls, and then died away.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Brother Edvin with a sigh. \"No one can make things like this in Norway. They may paint with glass in Nidaros, but not like this. But in the lands to the south, Kristin, in the great cathedrals, there they have picture panes as big as the portals of this church.\"\n\nKristin thought about the pictures in the church back home. The altars of Saint Olav and Saint Thomas of Canterbury had paintings on the front panels and the tabernacles behind. But those pictures seemed dull to her and without radiance as she thought about them now.\n\nThey climbed down the ladder and went up into the choir. There stood the altar, naked and bare, and on its stone top were stacked up small boxes and cups made of metal and wood and ceramic; odd little knives, pieces of iron, and pens and brushes lay next to them. Then Brother Edvin told Kristin that these were his tools. He was skilled in the craft of painting pictures and carving tabernacles, and he had made the exquisite paintings that stood nearby on the choir chairs. They were intended for the front panels of the altars here in the friars' church.\n\nKristin was allowed to watch as he mixed colored powders and stirred them in little ceramic cups, and she helped him carry the things over to a bench next to the wall. As the monk went from one painting to the next, sketching fine red lines in the fair hair of the holy men and women so curls and waves were made visible, Kristin followed close on his heels, watching him and asking questions. And the monk explained what he had painted.\n\nIn one of the paintings Christ sat on a golden chair, and Saint Nikulaus and Saint Clement stood near him under a canopy. On either side was depicted the life of Saint Nikulaus. In one place he was an infant sitting on his mother's knee; he had turned away from the breast she offered him, for he was so holy, even in his cradle, that he refused to nurse more than once on Fridays. Next to this was a picture of him placing the money bags at the door of the house where three maidens lived who were so poor that they couldn't find husbands. Kristin saw how he cured the child of the Roman knight, and she saw the knight sail off in a boat with the false golden chalice in his hands. The knight had promised the holy bishop a golden chalice, which had been in his family for a thousand years, as payment for returning the child to good health. But then he tried to betray Saint Nikulaus by giving him a false golden chalice instead. That's why the boy fell into the sea with the real golden chalice in his hand. But Saint Nikulaus carried the child unharmed beneath the water, and he emerged onto shore as his father stood in Saint Nikulaus's church, offering the false goblet. All of this was shown in the picture, painted with gold and the most beautiful of colors.\n\nIn another painting the Virgin Mary sat with the Christ child on her knee. He had put one hand up under his mother's chin, and he was holding an apple in the other. With them stood Saint Sunniva and Saint Kristina. They were leaning gracefully from the hips, their faces a lovely pink and white, and they had golden hair and wore golden crowns.\n\nBrother Edvin gripped his right wrist with his left hand as he painted leaves and roses in their crowns.\n\n\"It seems to me that the dragon is awfully small,\" said Kristin, looking at the image of the saint who was her namesake. \"It doesn't look as if it could swallow up the maiden.\"\n\n\"And it couldn't, either,\" said Brother Edvin. \"It was no bigger than that. Dragons and all other creatures that serve the Devil only seem big as long as we harbor fear within ourselves. But if a person seeks God with such earnestness and desire that he enters into His power, then the power of the Devil at once suffers such a great defeat that his instruments become small and impotent. Dragons and evil spirits shrink until they are no bigger than goblins and cats and crows. As you can see, the whole mountain that Saint Sunniva was trapped inside is so small that it will fit on the skirt of her cloak.\"\n\n\"But weren't they inside the caves?\" asked Kristin. \"Saint Sunniva and the Selje men? Isn't that true?\"\n\nThe monk squinted at her and smiled again.\n\n\"It's both true and not true. It seemed to be true for the people who found the holy bodies. And it seemed true to Sunniva and the Selje men, because they were humble and believed that the world is stronger than all sinful people. They did not imagine that they might be stronger than the world because they did not love it. But if they had only known, they could have taken all the mountains and flung them out into the sea like tiny pebbles. No one and nothing can harm us, child, except what we fear and love.\"\n\n\"But what if a person doesn't fear and love God?\" asked Kristin in horror.\n\nThe monk put his hand on her golden hair, gently tilted her head back, and looked into her face. His eyes were blue and open wide.\n\n\"There is no one, Kristin, who does not love and fear God. But it's because our hearts are divided between love for God and fear of the Devil, and love for this world and this flesh, that we are miserable in life and death. For if a man knew no yearning for God and God's being, then he would thrive in Hell, and we alone would not understand that he had found his heart's desire. Then the fire would not burn him if he did not long for coolness, and he would not feel the pain of the serpent's bite if he did not long for peace.\"\n\nKristin looked up into his face; she understood nothing of what he said.\n\nBrother Edvin continued, \"It was because of God's mercy toward us that He saw how our hearts were split, and He came down to live among us, in order to taste, in fleshly form, the temptations of the Devil when he entices us with power and glory, and the menace of the world when it offers us blows and contempt and the wounds of sharp nails in our hands and feet. In this manner He showed us the way and allowed us to see His love.\"\n\nThe monk looked down into the child's strained and somber face. Then he laughed a little and said in an entirely different tone of voice, \"Do you know who was the first one to realize that Our Lord had allowed Himself to be born? It was the rooster. He saw the star and then he said\u2014and all the animals could speak Latin back then\u2014he cried, 'Christus natus est!'\"\n\nBrother Edvin crowed out the last words, sounding so much like a rooster that Kristin ended up howling with laughter. And it felt so good to laugh, because all the strange things that he had just been talking about had settled upon her like a burden of solemnity.\n\nThe monk laughed too.\n\n\"It's true. Then when the ox heard about it, he began to bellow, 'Ubi, ubi, ubi?'\n\n\"But the goat bleated and said, 'Betlem, Betlem, Betlem.'\n\n\"And the sheep was so filled with longing to see Our Lady and her Son that he baa'd at once, 'Eamus, eamus!'\n\n\"And the newborn calf lying in the straw got up and stood on his own legs. 'Volo, volo, volo!' he said.\n\n\"Haven't you heard this before? No, I should have known. I realize that he's a clever priest, that Sira Eirik who lives up there with you, and well educated, but he probably doesn't know about this because it's not something you learn unless you journey to Paris....\"\n\n\"Have you been to Paris then?\" asked the child.\n\n\"God bless you, little Kristin, I've been to Paris and traveled elsewhere in the world as well, and yet you mustn't think me any better for it, because I fear the Devil and love and desire this world like a fool. But I hold on to the cross with all my strength\u2014one must cling to it like a kitten hanging on to a plank when it falls into the sea.\n\n\"And what about you, Kristin? How would you like to offer up those lovely curls of yours and serve Our Lady like these brides that I've painted here?\"\n\n\"There are no other children at home besides me,\" replied Kristin. \"So I will probably marry, I would think. Mother has already filled chests and trunks with my dowry.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" said Brother Edvin, stroking her forehead. \"That's the way folk dispatch their children these days. To God they give the daughters that are lame and blind and ugly and infirm; or if they think He has given them too many children, they let Him take some of them back. And yet they wonder why the men and maidens who live in the cloisters are not all holy people....\"\n\nBrother Edvin took Kristin into the sacristy and showed her the monastery's books, which were displayed on stands. They contained the most beautiful pictures. But when one of the monks came in, Brother Edvin said he was merely looking for a donkey's head to copy.\n\nAfterward he shook his head at himself. \"There you see my fear, Kristin. But they're so nervous about their books here in this house. If I had the proper faith and love, I wouldn't stand here and lie to Brother Aasulv. But then I could just as well take these old leather gloves and hang them up on that ray of sunshine over there.\"\n\nKristin went with the monk over to the guest house and had something to eat, but otherwise she sat in the church all day long, watching him work and talking to him. And not until Lavrans came back to get Kristin did either she or the monk remember the message that should have been sent to the shoemaker.\n\nKristin remembered those days she spent in Hamar better than anything else she experienced on that long journey. Oslo was no doubt larger than Hamar, but since she had already seen a town, it did not seem so extraordinary to her. Nor did she think Skog was as beautiful as J\u00f8rundgaard, even though the buildings were finer. She was glad she wasn't going to live there. The manor was set on a hill, and below lay Botn Fjord, gray and melancholy with black forests, while on the opposite shore and beyond the buildings the sky reached all the way down to the tops of the trees. There were no towering or steep mountainsides like those back home to lift the sky high overhead or to soften and frame the view so that the world was neither too big nor too small.\n\nThe journey home was cold; it was almost Advent, and when they had traveled a short distance into the valley, they came upon snow. They had to borrow sleighs and ride for most of the way.\n\nThe exchange of estates was handled in such a manner that Lavrans turned over Skog to his brother Aasmund but retained the right of repurchase for himself and his descendants."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "In the spring after Kristin's long journey, Ragnfrid gave birth to a daughter. Both parents had no doubt wished that the child would be a boy, but this did not trouble them for long, and they developed the deepest love for little Ulvhild. She was an exceedingly pretty child, healthy, good-natured, happy, and serene. Ragnfrid loved this new child so much that she continued to nurse her even after she turned two. For that reason Ragnfrid followed Sira Eirik's advice and refrained from participating in her usual strict fasts and devout rituals for as long as she had the child at her breast. Because of this and because of her joy for Ulvhild, Ragnfrid blossomed; and Lavrans thought he had never seen his wife look so happy and beautiful and approachable in all the years of their marriage.\n\nKristin also felt it was a great joy that they had been given her little infant sister. She had never thought about the fact that her mother's somber disposition had made life at home so subdued. She thought things were as they should be: her mother disciplined or admonished her, while her father teased and played with her. Now her mother was gentler toward her and gave her more freedom; she caressed her more often too, so Kristin didn't notice that her mother also had less time to spend with her. She loved Ulvhild, as everyone did, and was pleased when she was allowed to carry her sister or rock her cradle. And later on the little one was even more fun; as she began to crawl and walk and talk, Kristin could play with her.\n\nIn this manner the people of J\u00f8rundgaard enjoyed three good years. Good fortune was also with them in many ways, and Lavrans did a great deal of construction and made improvements on the estate. The buildings and stables had been old and small when he came to J\u00f8rundgaard, since the Gjeslings had leased out the farm for several generations.\n\nThen came Whitsuntide of the third year. At that time Ragnfrid's brother Trond Ivars\u00f8n of Sundbu and his wife Gudrid and their three small sons were visiting. One morning the grownups were sitting up on the loft gallery talking, while the children played in the courtyard. There Lavrans had started building a new house, and the children were climbing up onto the timbers that had been brought by wagon. One of the Gjesling boys had hit Ulvhild and made her cry, so Trond went down and scolded his son as he picked Ulvhild up in his arms. She was the prettiest and most amenable child that one could imagine, and her uncle had great affection for her, although he was not usually very fond of children.\n\nAt that moment a man came walking across the courtyard from the barnyard leading a huge black ox, but the ox was mean and intractable, and it tore away from the man. Trond leaped up on top of the pile of timbers, chasing the older children ahead of him, but he was carrying Ulvhild in one arm and he had his youngest son by the hand. A log suddenly rolled beneath his feet, and Ulvhild fell from his grasp and down the hill. The log slid after her and then rolled until it came to rest on the child's back.\n\nLavrans dashed down from the gallery at once. He came racing over and tried to lift the log. Suddenly the ox charged toward him. He grabbed for its horns but he was knocked off his feet; then he managed to seize hold of its nostrils, pulled himself halfway up, and held on to the ox until Trond recovered from his confusion, and the men who came running from the house threw harnesses over the animal.\n\nRagnfrid was on her knees, trying to raise the log. Lavrans lifted it enough so that she could pull the child out and place her on her lap. The little girl whimpered terribly when they touched her, but Ragnfrid sobbed loudly, \"She's alive, thank God, she's alive.\"\n\nIt was a great miracle that Ulvhild had not been crushed; the log had fallen in such a way that it had come to rest with one end lying on top of a rock in the grass. When Lavrans straightened up, blood ran from his mouth, and his clothes had been ripped to shreds across his chest from the ox's horns.\n\nTordis came running with a sheet made from hides; carefully she and Ragnfrid lifted the child onto it, but she sounded as if she was suffering intolerable pain at even the slightest touch. Ragnfrid and Tordis carried her into the winter house.\n\nKristin stood pale and rigid on the pile of timbers; the little boys clung to her, crying. All the servants of the farm had now gathered in the courtyard, the women weeping and wailing. Lavrans ordered them to saddle Guldsvein and one more horse. But when Arne brought the horses, Lavrans fell to the ground when he tried to mount. Then he ordered Arne to ride over to the priest while Halvdan would travel south to bring back a wise woman who lived near the place where the rivers converged.\n\nKristin saw that her father's face was grayish white; he had bled so much that his light-blue clothing was completely covered with reddish-brown spots. Suddenly he straightened up, tore an axe out of the hands of one of the men, and strode over to where several servants were still holding on to the ox. He struck the beast between the horns with the blade of the axe so that the ox sank to its knees, but Lavrans kept on hammering away until blood and brains were spattered everywhere. Then he was seized by a coughing fit and fell backward onto the ground. Trond and one of the men had to carry him inside.\n\nKristin thought her father was dead; she screamed loudly and ran after him as she called to him with all her heart.\n\nInside the winter house Ulvhild had been placed on her parents' bed. All of the pillows had been thrown to the floor so that the child could lie flat. It looked as if she had already been laid out on the straw of her deathbed. But she was moaning loudly and incessantly, and her mother was leaning over her, stroking and patting her, wild with grief because there was nothing she could do.\n\nLavrans was lying on the other bed. He got up and staggered across the floor to console his wife.\n\nThen she sprang up and screamed, \"Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Jesus, Jesus, I am so worthless that you should strike me dead\u2014will there never be an end to the misfortune I bring upon you?\"\n\n\"You haven't... my dear wife, this is not something you have brought upon us,\" said Lavrans, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch and her pale gray eyes glistened in her gaunt, sallow face.\n\n\"No doubt she means that I am the one who caused this,\" said Trond Ivars\u00f8n harshly.\n\nHis sister shot him a look of hatred and replied, \"Trond knows what I mean.\"\n\nKristin ran to her parents but they both pushed her aside. And Tordis, who came over with a kettle of hot water, took her gently by the shoulders and said, \"Go over to our house, Kristin. You're in the way here.\"\n\nTordis wanted to attend to Lavrans, who was sitting on the step of the bed, but he told her that he was not gravely wounded.\n\n\"But can't you ease Ulvhild's pain a little? God help us, her moans could arouse pity from the stone inside the mountain.\"\n\n\"We don't dare touch her until the priest arrives, or Ingegjerd, the wise woman,\" said Tordis.\n\nArne came in just then and reported that Sira Eirik was not at home.\n\nRagnfrid stood there for a moment, wringing her hands. Then she said, \"Send word to Fru Aashild at Haugen. Nothing else matters, if only Ulvhild can be saved.\"\n\nNo one paid any attention to Kristin. She crept up onto the bench behind the headboard of the bed, tucked up her legs, and rested her head on her knees.\n\nNow she felt as if her heart were being crushed between hard fists. Fru Aashild was going to be summoned! Her mother had never wanted them to send for Fru Aashild, not even when she herself was near death when she gave birth to Ulvhild, nor when Kristin was so ill with fever. People said she was a witch; the bishop of Oslo and the canons of the cathedral had sat in judgment on her. She would have been executed or burned at the stake if she hadn't been of such high birth that she was like a sister to Queen Ingebj\u00f8rg. But people said that she had poisoned her first husband, and that she had won her present husband, Herr Bj\u00f8rn, through witchcraft. He was young enough to be her son. She did have children, but they never came to visit their mother. So those two highborn people, Bj\u00f8rn and Aashild, sat on their small farm in Dovre, having lost all their riches. None of the gentry in the valley would have anything to do with them, but secretly people sought out Fru Aashild's advice. Poor folk even went to her openly with their troubles and ills; they said she was kind, but they were also afraid of her.\n\nKristin thought that her mother, who was otherwise constantly praying, should have called on God and the Virgin Mary instead. She tried to pray herself\u2014especially to Saint Olav, for she knew that he was kind and he had helped so many who suffered from illness and wounds and broken bones. But she couldn't collect her thoughts.\n\nHer parents were now alone in the room. Lavrans was lying on the bed again and Ragnfrid sat leaning over the injured child, occasionally wiping Ulvhild's forehead and hands with a damp cloth and moistening her lips with wine.\n\nA long time passed. Tordis looked in on them now and then; she wanted so desperately to help, but each time Ragnfrid sent her away. Kristin wept soundlessly and prayed in silence, but every once in a while she would think about the witch, and she waited tensely to see her enter the room.\n\nSuddenly Ragnfrid broke the silence. \"Are you asleep, Lavrans?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied her husband. \"I'm listening to Ulvhild. God will help His innocent lamb, my wife\u2014we mustn't doubt that. But it's hard to lie here and wait.\"\n\n\"God hates me for my sins,\" said Ragnfrid in despair. \"My children are in peace where they are\u2014I don't dare doubt that. And now Ulvhild's time has come too. But He has cast me out, for my heart is a viper's nest of sin and sorrow.\"\n\nJust then the door opened. Sira Eirik stepped inside, straightening up his enormous body as he stood in the doorway, and pronounced in his deep, clear voice, \"God help those in this house!\"\n\nThe priest placed the box containing his medical things on the step of the bed, went over to the hearth, and poured warm water over his hands. Then he pulled out his cross, raised it to all four corners of the room, and murmured something in Latin. After that he opened the smoke vent so that light could stream into the room. Then he went over and looked at Ulvhild.\n\nKristin was afraid that he would discover her and chase her away\u2014usually very little escaped Sira Eirik's eye. But he didn't look around. The priest took a vial out of his box, poured something onto a tuft of finely carded wool, and placed it over Ulvhild's nose and mouth.\n\n\"Soon her suffering will lessen,\" said the priest. He went over to Lavrans and attended to him as he asked them to tell him how the accident had occurred. Lavrans had two broken ribs and he had received a wound to his lungs, but the priest didn't think he was in danger.\n\n\"What about Ulvhild?\" asked her father sorrowfully.\n\n\"I'll tell you after I have examined her,\" replied the priest. \"But you must go up to the loft and rest; we need quiet here and more room for those who will take care of her.\" He put Lavrans's arm around his shoulder, lifted up the man, and helped him out. Kristin would have preferred to go with her father, but she didn't dare show herself.\n\nWhen Sira Eirik returned, he didn't speak to Ragnfrid but cut the clothes off Ulvhild, who was now whimpering less and seemed to be half asleep. Cautiously he ran his hands over the child's body and limbs.\n\n\"Are things so bad for my child, Eirik, that you don't know what to do? Is that why you have nothing to say?\" asked Ragnfrid in a subdued voice.\n\nThe priest replied softly, \"It looks as if her back is badly injured, Ragnfrid. I don't know anything else to do except to let God and Saint Olav prevail. There's not much I can do here.\"\n\nThe mother said vehemently, \"Then we must pray. You know that Lavrans and I will give everything you ask for, sparing nothing, if you can convince God to allow Ulvhild to live.\"\n\n\"I think it would be a miracle,\" said the priest, \"if she were to live and regain her health.\"\n\n\"But aren't you always talking about miracles both day and night? Don't you think a miracle could happen for my child?\" she said in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"It's true that miracles do occur,\" said the priest, \"but God does not grant everyone's prayers\u2014we do not know His mysterious ways. And don't you think it would be worse for this pretty little maiden to grow up crippled and lame?\"\n\nRagnfrid shook her head and cried softly, \"I have lost so many, priest, I cannot lose her too.\"\n\n\"I'll do everything I can,\" replied the priest, \"and pray with all my might. But you must try, Ragnfrid, to bear whatever fate God visits upon you.\"\n\nThe mother murmured softly, \"Never have I loved any of my children as I have loved this one. If she too is taken from me, I think my heart will break.\"\n\n\"God help you, Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter,\" said Sira Eirik, shaking his head. \"You want nothing more from all your prayers and fasting than to force your will on God. Does it surprise you, then, that it has accomplished so little good?\"\n\nRagnfrid gave the priest a stubborn look and said, \"I have sent for Fru Aashild.\"\n\n\"Well, you may know her, but I do not,\" said the priest.\n\n\"I will not live without Ulvhild,\" said Ragnfrid in the same voice as before. \"If God won't help her, then I will seek the aid of Fru Aashild, or offer myself up to the Devil if he will help!\"\n\nThe priest looked as if he wanted to make a sharp retort, but he restrained himself. He leaned down and touched the injured girl's limbs again.\n\n\"Her hands and feet are cold,\" he said. \"We must put some kegs of hot water next to her\u2014and then you must not touch her again until Fru Aashild arrives.\"\n\nKristin soundlessly slipped down onto the bench and pretended to sleep. Her heart was pounding with fear. She had not understood much of the conversation between Sira Eirik and her mother, but it had frightened her greatly, and she knew it wasn't meant for her ears.\n\nHer mother stood up to get the kegs; then she broke down, sobbing. \"Pray for us, nevertheless, Sira Eirik!\"\n\nA little while later her mother came back with Tordis. The priest and the women bustled around Ulvhild, and then Kristin was discovered and sent away.\n\nThe light dazzled Kristin as she stood in the courtyard. She thought that most of the day had passed while she sat in the dark winter house, but the buildings were light gray and the grass was shimmering, as glossy as silk in the white midday sun. Beyond the golden lattice of the alder thicket, with its tiny new leaves, the river glinted. It filled the air with its cheerful, monotonous roar, for it flowed strongly down a flat, rocky riverbed near J\u00f8rundgaard. The mountainsides rose up in a clear blue haze, and the streams leaped down the slopes through melting snow. The sweet, strong spring outside made Kristin weep with sorrow at the helplessness she felt all around her.\n\nNo one was in the courtyard, but she heard people talking in the servants' room. Fresh earth had been spread over the spot where her father had killed the ox. She didn't know what to do with herself; then she crept behind the wall of the new building, which had been raised to a height of a couple of logs. Inside were Ulvhild's and her playthings; she gathered them up and put them into a hole between the lowest log and the foundation. Lately Ulvhild had wanted all of Kristin's toys, and that had made her unhappy at times. She thought now that if her sister got well, she would give her everything she owned. And that thought comforted her a little.\n\nKristin thought about the monk at Hamar\u2014he at least was convinced that miracles could happen for everyone. But Sira Eirik was not as sure of it, nor were her parents, and they were the ones she was most accustomed to listening to. It fell like a terrible burden upon her when she realized for the first time that people could have such different opinions about so many things. And not just evil, godless people disagreeing with good people, but also good people such as Brother Edvin and Sira Eirik\u2014or her mother and father. She suddenly realized that they too thought differently about many things.\n\nTordis found Kristin asleep there in the corner late in the day, and she took her indoors. The child hadn't eaten a thing since morning. Tordis kept vigil with Ragnfrid over Ulvhild that night, and Kristin lay in her bed with Jon, Tordis's husband, and Eivind and Orm, her little boys. The smell of their bodies, the man's snoring, and the even breathing of the two children made Kristin quietly weep. Only the night before she had lain in bed, as she had every night of her life, with her own father and mother and little Ulvhild. It was like thinking about a nest that had been torn apart and scattered, and she herself had been flung from the shelter and wings that had always warmed her. At last she cried herself to sleep, alone and miserable among all those strangers.\n\nOn the following morning when Kristin got up, she learned that her uncle and his entire entourage had left J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014in anger. Trond had called his sister a crazy, demented woman and her husband a spineless fool who had never learned to rein in his wife. Kristin grew flushed with rage, but she was also ashamed. She realized that a grave impropriety had taken place when her mother had driven her closest kinsmen from the manor. And for the first time it occurred to Kristin that there was something about her mother that was not as it should be\u2014that she was different from other women.\n\nAs she stood and pondered this, a maidservant came up to her and asked her to go up to the loft to her father.\n\nBut when she stepped into the loft room Kristin forgot all about tending to him, for across from the open doorway, with the light shining directly in her face, sat a small woman, whom she realized must be the witch\u2014although Kristin had not expected her to look like that.\n\nShe seemed as small as a child, and delicate, for she was sitting in the big high-backed chair that had been brought up to the room. A table had also been placed in front of her, covered with Ragnfrid's finest embroidered linen cloth. Pork and fowl were set forth on silver platters, there was wine in a bowl of curly birchwood, and she had Lavrans's own silver goblet to drink from. She had finished eating and was wiping her small, slender hands on one of Ragnfrid's best towels. Ragnfrid herself stood in front of her, holding a brass basin of water.\n\nFru Aashild let the towel drop into her lap, smiled at the child, and said in a lovely, clear voice, \"Come over here to me!\" And to Kristin's mother she said, \"You have beautiful children, Ragnfrid.\"\n\nHer face was full of wrinkles but pure white and pink like a child's, and her skin looked as if it were just as soft and fine to the touch. Her lips were as red and fresh as a young woman's, and her big hazel eyes gleamed. An elegant white linen wimple framed her face and was fastened tightly under her chin with a gold brooch; over it she wore a veil of soft, dark-blue wool, which fell loosely over her shoulders and onto her dark, well-fitting clothes. She sat as erect as a candle, and Kristin sensed rather than thought that she had never seen such a beautiful or noble woman as this old witch whom the gentry of the village refused to have anything to do with.\n\nFru Aashild held Kristin's hand in her own soft old hands; she spoke to her kindly and with humor, but Kristin could not find a word to reply.\n\nFru Aashild said to Ragnfrid with a little laugh, \"Do you think she's afraid of me?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" Kristin almost shouted.\n\nFru Aashild laughed even more and said, \"She has wise eyes, this daughter of yours, and good strong hands. And she's not accustomed to slothfulness either, I can see. You're going to need someone who can help you care for Ulvhild when I'm not here. So you can let Kristin assist me while I'm at the manor. She's old enough for that, isn't she? Eleven years old?\"\n\nThen Fru Aashild left, and Kristin was about to follow her. But Lavrans called to her from his bed. He was lying flat on his back with pillows stuffed under his knees; Fru Aashild had ordered him to lie in this manner so that the injury to his chest would heal faster.\n\n\"You're going to get well soon, aren't you, Father?\" asked Kristin, using the formal means of address. Lavrans looked up at her. Never before had she addressed him in that manner.\n\nThen he said somberly, \"I'm not in danger, but it's much more serious for your sister.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Kristin with a sigh.\n\nThen she stood next to his bed for a while. Her father did not speak again, and Kristin could find nothing more to say. And when Lavrans told her some time later to go downstairs to her mother and Fru Aashild, Kristin hurried out and rushed across the courtyard to the winter house."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Fru Aashild stayed at J\u00f8rundgaard for most of the summer, which meant that people came there to seek her advice. Kristin heard Sira Eirik speak jeeringly of this, and it dawned on her that her parents did not much care for it either. But she pushed aside all thoughts of these things, nor did she pay any heed to what her own opinion of Fru Aashild might be; she was her constant companion and never tired of listening to and watching the woman.\n\nUlvhild still lay stretched out flat on her back in the big bed. Her small face was white to the very edge of her lips, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her lovely blond hair smelled sharply of sweat because it hadn't been washed in such a long time; it had turned dark and had lost its sheen and curl so that it looked like old, windblown hay. She looked tired and tormented and patient, and she would smile, feeble and wan, whenever Kristin sat by her on the bed to talk and to show her all the lovely presents she had received from her parents and their friends and kinsmen far and wide. There were dolls, toy birds and cattle, a little board game, jewelry, velvet caps, and colorful ribbons. Kristin had put it all in a box for her. Ulvhild would look at everything with her somber eyes, sigh, and then let the treasures fall from her weary hands.\n\nBut whenever Fru Aashild came over to her, Ulvhild's face would light up with joy. Eagerly she drank the refreshing and sleep-inducing brews that Fru Aashild prepared for her. She never complained when the woman tended to her, and she would lie still, listening happily, whenever Fru Aashild played Lavrans's harp and sang\u2014she knew so many ballads that were unfamiliar to the people there in the valley.\n\nOften she would sing for Kristin when Ulvhild had fallen asleep. And sometimes she spoke of her youth, when she lived in the south of the country and frequented the courts of King Magnus and King Eirik and their queens.\n\nOnce, as they were sitting there and Fru Aashild was telling stories, Kristin blurted out what she had thought about so often.\n\n\"It seems strange to me that you're always so happy, when you've been used to\u2014\" she broke off, blushing.\n\nFru Aashild looked down at the child, smiling.\n\n\"You mean because now I'm separated from all those things?\" She laughed quietly and then she said, \"I've had my glory days, Kristin, but I'm not foolish enough to complain because I have to be content with sour, watered-down milk now that I've drunk up all my wine and ale. Good days can last a long time if one tends to things with care and caution; all sensible people know that. That's why I think that sensible people have to be satisfied with the good days\u2014for the grandest of days are costly indeed. They call a man a fool who fritters away his father's inheritance in order to enjoy himself in his youth. Everyone is entitled to his own opinion about that. But I call him a true idiot and fool only if he regrets his actions afterward, and he is twice the fool and the greatest buffoon of all if he expects to see his drinking companions again once the inheritance is gone.\n\n\"Is something wrong with Ulvhild?\" Fru Aashild asked gently, turning to Ragnfrid, who had given a start from her place near the child's bed.\n\n\"No, she's sleeping quietly,\" said the mother as she came over to Fru Aashild and Kristin, who were sitting near the hearth. With her hand on the smoke vent pole, Ragnfrid stood and looked down into the woman's face.\n\n\"Kristin doesn't understand all this,\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" replied Fru Aashild. \"But she also learned her prayers before she understood them. At those times when one needs either prayers or advice, one usually has no mind to learn or to understand.\"\n\nRagnfrid raised her black eyebrows thoughtfully. When she did that, her light, deep-set eyes looked like lakes beneath a black forest meadow. That's what Kristin used to think when she was small, or perhaps she had heard someone say that. Fru Aashild looked at her with that little half smile of hers. Ragnfrid sat down at the edge of the hearth, picked up a twig, and poked at the embers.\n\n\"But the person who has wasted his inheritance on the most wretched of goods\u2014and then later sees a treasure he would give his life to own\u2014don't you think that he would deplore his own stupidity?\"\n\n\"No bargain is without some loss, Ragnfrid,\" said Fru Aashild. \"And whoever wishes to give his life must take the risk and see what he can win.\"\n\nRagnfrid jerked the burning twig from the fire, blew out the flame, and curled her hand around the glowing end so that a blood-red light shone between her fingers.\n\n\"Oh, it's all nothing but words, words, words, Fru Aashild.\"\n\n\"There is very little worth paying for so dearly, Ragnfrid,\" said the other woman, \"as with one's own life.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is,\" said Kristin's mother fervently. \"My husband,\" she whispered almost inaudibly.\n\n\"Ragnfrid,\" said Fru Aashild quietly, \"many a maiden has had the same thought when she was tempted to bind a man to her and gave up her maidenhood to do so. But haven't you read about men and maidens who gave God all they owned, and entered cloisters or stood naked in the wilderness and then regretted it afterward? They're called fools in the holy books. And it would certainly be a sin to think that God was the one who had deceived them in their bargain.\"\n\nRagnfrid sat quite still for a moment. Then Fru Aashild said, \"Come along with me, Kristin. It's time to go out and collect the dew that we'll use to wash Ulvhild in the morning.\"\n\nOutside, the courtyard was white and black in the moonlight. Ragnfrid accompanied them through the farmyard down to the gate near the cabbage garden. Kristin saw the thin silhouette of her mother leaning against the fence nearby. The child shook dew from the large, ice-cold cabbage leaves and from the folds of the lady's-mantle into her father's silver goblet.\n\nFru Aashild walked silently at Kristin's side. She was there only to protect her, for it was not wise to let a child go out alone on such a night. But the dew would have more power if it was collected by an innocent maiden.\n\nWhen they came back to the gate, Ragnfrid was gone. Kristin was shaking with cold as she put the icy silver goblet into Fru Aashild's hands. In her wet shoes she ran over to the loft where she slept with her father. She had her foot on the first step when Ragnfrid emerged from the shadows beneath the gallery of the loft. In her hands she held a bowl of steaming liquid.\n\n\"I've warmed up some ale for you, daughter,\" said Ragnfrid.\n\nKristin thanked her gratefully and put her lips to the rim. Then her mother asked, \"Kristin, those prayers and other things that Fru Aashild is teaching you\u2014is there anything sinful or ungodly about them?\"\n\n\"I can't believe that,\" replied the child. \"They all mention Jesus and the Virgin Mary and the names of the saints.\"\n\n\"What has she been teaching you?\" asked her mother again.\n\n\"Oh, about herbs, and how to ward off bleeding and warts and strained eyes\u2014and moths in clothing and mice in the storehouse. And which herbs to pick in sunlight and which ones have power in the rain. But I mustn't tell the prayers to anyone else, or they will lose their power,\" she said quickly.\n\nHer mother took the empty bowl and set it on the steps. Suddenly she threw her arms around her daughter, pulled her close, and kissed her. Kristin noticed that her mother's cheeks were hot and wet.\n\n\"May God and Our Lady guard and protect you against all evil\u2014we have only you now, your father and I; you're the only one that misfortune has not touched. My dear, my dear\u2014never forget that you are your father's dearest joy.\"\n\nRagnfrid went back to the winter house, undressed, and crawled into bed with Ulvhild. She put her arm around the child and pressed her face close to the little one's so that she could feel the warmth of Ulvhild's body and smell the sharp odor of sweat from the child's damp hair. Ulvhild slept soundly and securely as always after Fru Aashild's evening potion. There was a soothing scent from the Virgin Mary grass spread under the sheet. And yet Ragnfrid lay there for a long time, unable to sleep, and stared up at the little scrap of light in the roof where the moon shone on the horn pane of the smoke vent.\n\nFru Aashild lay in the other bed, but Ragnfrid never knew whether she was asleep or awake. Fru Aashild never mentioned that they had known each other in the past, and that frightened Ragnfrid quite badly. She thought she had never felt so bitterly sad or in such an agony of fear as she did now, even though she knew that Lavrans would regain his full health\u2014and that Ulvhild would survive.\n\nFru Aashild seemed to enjoy talking to Kristin, and for each day that passed, the maiden became better friends with her.\n\nOne day when they had gone out to pick herbs, they sat down next to the river in a little grassy clearing at the foot of a scree. They could look down at the courtyard of Formo and see Arne Gyrds\u00f8n's red shirt. He had ridden over with them and was going to look after their horses while they were up in the mountain meadow gathering herbs.\n\nAs they sat there, Kristin told Fru Aashild about her encounter with the dwarf maiden. She hadn't thought about the incident for many years, but now it suddenly came back to her. And as she spoke, the strange thought occurred to her that there was some resemblance between Fru Aashild and the dwarf woman\u2014even though she realized full well that they did not look at all alike.\n\nBut when she had finished telling the story, Fru Aashild sat in silence for a moment and gazed out across the valley.\n\nFinally she said, \"It was wise of you to flee, since you were only a child back then. But haven't you ever heard of people who took the gold the dwarf offered them, and then trapped the troll in a rock afterward?\"\n\n\"I've heard of such stories,\" said Kristin, \"but I would never dare do that myself. And I don't think it's the right thing to do.\"\n\n\"It's good when you don't dare do something that doesn't seem right,\" said Fru Aashild with a little laugh. \"But it's not so good if you think something isn't right because you don't dare do it.\" Then she added abruptly, \"You've grown up a great deal this summer. I wonder if you realize how lovely you've become.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Kristin. \"They say I look like my father.\"\n\nFru Aashild laughed softly.\n\n\"Yes, it would be best if you took after Lavrans, both in temperament and appearance. And yet it would be a shame if they married you to someone up here in the valley. Farming customs and the ways of smallholders should not be disdained, but these gentry up here all think they're so grand that their equals are not to be found in all of Norway. I'm sure they wonder how I can manage to live and prosper even though they've closed their doors to me. But they're lazy and arrogant and refuse to learn new ways\u2014and then they blame everything on the old enmity with the monarchy in the time of King Sverre. It's all a lie\u2014your ancestor reconciled with King Sverre and accepted gifts from him. But if your mother's brother wanted to serve the king and join his retinue, then he would have to cleanse himself, both inside and out, which is not something Trond is willing to do. But you, Kristin, you ought to marry a man who is both chivalrous and courtly....\"\n\nKristin sat staring down at the Formo courtyard, at Arne's red back. She hadn't been aware of it herself, but whenever Fru Aashild talked about the world she had frequented in the past, Kristin always pictured the knights and counts in Arne's image. Before, when she was a child, she had always envisioned them in her father's image.\n\n\"My nephew, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n of Husaby\u2014now he would have been a suitable bridegroom for you. He has grown up to be so handsome, that boy. My sister Magnhild came to visit me last year when she was on her way through the valley, and she brought her son along with her. Well, you won't be able to marry him, of course, but I would have gladly spread the blanket over the two of you in the wedding bed. His hair is as dark as yours is fair, and he has beautiful eyes. But if I know my brother-in-law, he has already set his sights on a better match for Erlend than you would be.\"\n\n\"Does that mean I'm not a good match, then?\" asked Kristin with surprise. She was never offended by anything Fru Aashild said, but she felt embarrassed and chagrined that Fru Aashild might be somehow better than her own family.\n\n\"Yes, of course you're a good match,\" said Fru Aashild. \"And yet you couldn't expect to become part of my lineage. Your ancestor here in Norway was an outlaw and a foreigner, and the Gjeslings have sat moldering away on their estates for such a long time that almost no one remembers them outside of this valley. But my sister and I married the nephews of Queen Margret Skulesdatter.\"\n\nKristin didn't even think to object that it was not her ancestor but his brother who had come to Norway as an outlaw. She sat and gazed out over the dark mountain slopes across the valley, and she remembered that day, many years ago, when she went up onto the ridge and saw how many mountains there were between her own village and the rest of the world. Then Fru Aashild said they ought to head home, and she asked Kristin to call for Arne. Kristin put her hands up to her mouth and shouted and then waved her kerchief until she saw the red speck down in the courtyard turn and wave back.\n\nSome time later Fru Aashild returned home, but during the fall and the first part of winter she often came to J\u00f8rundgaard to spend a few days with Ulvhild. The child was now taken out of bed in the daytime, and they tried to get her to stand on her own, but her legs crumpled beneath her whenever she tried it. She was fretful, pale, and tired, and the laced garment that Fru Aashild had made for her from horsehide and slender willow branches plagued her terribly; all she wanted to do was lie in her mother's lap. Ragnfrid was constantly holding her injured daughter, so Tordis was now in charge of all the housekeeping. At her mother's request, Kristin accompanied Tordis, to help and to learn.\n\nKristin sometimes longed for Fru Aashild, who occasionally would talk to her a great deal, but at other times Kristin would wait in vain for a word beyond the casual greeting as Fru Aashild came and went.\n\nInstead, Fru Aashild would sit with the grownups and talk. That was always what happened when she brought her husband along with her, for now Bj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n also came to J\u00f8rund gaard. One day in the fall, Lavrans had ridden over to Haugen to take Fru Aashild payment for her doctoring: the best silver pitcher and matching platter they owned. He had stayed the night and afterward had high praise for their farm. He said it was beautiful and well tended, and not as small as people claimed. Inside the buildings everything looked prosperous, and the customs of the house were as courtly as those of the gentry in the south of the country. What Lavrans thought of Bj\u00f8rn he didn't say, but he always received the man courteously when Bj\u00f8rn accompanied his wife to J\u00f8rundgaard. On the other hand, Lavrans was exceedingly fond of Fru Aashild, and he believed that most of what people said about her was a lie. He also said that twenty years earlier she would hardly have required witchcraft to bind a man to her\u2014she was sixty now but still looked young, and she had a most appealing and charming manner.\n\nKristin noticed that her mother was not happy about all this. It's true that Ragnfrid never said much about Fru Aashild, but one time she compared Bj\u00f8rn to the flattened yellow grass that can be found under large rocks, and Kristin thought this an apt description. Bj\u00f8rn had an oddly faded appearance\u2014he was quite fat, pale, and sluggish, and slightly bald\u2014even though he was not much older than Lavrans. And yet it was still apparent that he had once been an extremely handsome man. Kristin never exchanged a single word with him. He said little, preferring to stay in one spot, wherever he happened to be seated, from the moment he stepped in the door until it was time for bed. He drank an enormous amount but it seemed to have little effect on him. He ate almost nothing, and occasionally he would stare at someone in the room, stony-faced and pensive, with his strange, pale eyes.\n\nThey had not seen their kinsmen from Sundbu since the accident occurred, but Lavrans had been over to Vaage several times. Sira Eirik, on the other hand, came to J\u00f8rundgaard as often as before, and there he frequently met Fru Aashild. They had become good friends. People thought this a generous attitude on the part of the priest, since he himself was a very capable doctor. This was also probably one of the reasons why people on the large estates had not sought Fru Aashild's advice, at least not openly, because they considered the priest to be competent enough. It was not easy for them to know how to act toward two people who in some ways had been cast out of their own circles. Sira Eirik himself said that they caused no one any harm, and as for Fru Aashild's witchcraft, he was not her parish priest. It could be that the woman knew more than was good for the health of her soul\u2014and yet one should not forget that ignorant people often spoke of witchcraft as soon as a woman showed herself to be wiser than the councilmen. For her part, Fru Aashild spoke highly of the priest and diligently went to church if she happened to be at J\u00f8rundgaard on a holy day.\n\nChristmas was a sad time that year. Ulvhild was still unable to stand on her own. And they neither saw nor heard from their kinsmen at Sundbu. Kristin noticed that people in the village were talking about the rift and that her father took it to heart. But her mother didn't care, and Kristin thought this was callous of her.\n\nOne evening toward the end of the holidays, Sira Sigurd, Trond Gjesling's house priest, arrived in a big sleigh, and his primary mission was to invite them all to visit Sundbu.\n\nSira Sigurd was not well liked in the surrounding villages, for he was the one who actually managed Trond's properties for him\u2014or at least he was the one who was blamed whenever Trond acted harshly or unjustly, and Trond tended to plague his tenants somewhat. The priest was exceedingly clever at writing and figuring; he knew the law and was a skilled doctor, although not as skilled as he thought. But judging by his behavior, no one would think him a clever man; he often said foolish things. Ragnfrid and Lavrans had never liked him, but the Sundbu people, as was reasonable, set great store by their priest, and both they and he were greatly disappointed that he had not been called on to tend to Ulvhild.\n\nOn the day that Sira Sigurd came to J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014unfortunately for him\u2014Fru Aashild and Herr Bj\u00f8rn were already there, as were Sira Eirik, Arne's parents Gyrd and Inga of Finsbrekken, Old Jon from Loptsgaard, and a friar from Hamar, Brother Aasgaut.\n\nWhile Ragnfrid had the tables set once more with food for the guests and Lavrans pored over the boxes of sealed letters that the priest had brought, Sira Sigurd asked to see Ulvhild. She had already been put to bed for the night and was sleeping, but Sira Sigurd woke her up, examined her back and limbs, and asked her questions\u2014at first kindly enough, but with increasing impatience as Ulvhild grew frightened. Sigurd was a small man, practically a dwarf, but he had a big, flame-red face. When he tried to lift her onto the floor to test her legs, Ulvhild began to scream. Then Fru Aashild stood up, went over to the bed, and covered her with the blanket, saying that the child was sleepy\u2014she wouldn't have been able to stand up even if her legs were healthy.\n\nThe priest began to protest vehemently; he was also considered a capable doctor. But Fru Aashild took his hand, led him over to the high seat at the table, and started talking about what she had done for Ulvhild as she asked his opinion on everything. Then he grew more amenable, and he ate and drank of Ragnfrid's good repast.\n\nBut when the ale and wine began to go to his head, Sira Sigurd was once again in a foul mood, quarrelsome and bad tempered. He was quite aware that no one in the room liked him. First he turned to Gyrd, who was the envoy of the Bishop of Hamar at Vaage and Sil. There had been numerous disputes between the bishopric and Trond Ivars\u00f8n. Gyrd didn't say much, but Inga was a hot-tempered woman, and then Brother Aasgaut joined in the discussion.\n\nHe said, \"You shouldn't forget, Sira Sigurd, that our worthy Father Ingjald is your prelate too; we know all about you in Hamar. You revel in all that is good at Sundbu, and give little thought to the fact that you are dedicated to other work than acting as Trond's eye-servant, helping him do everything that is unjust so that he endangers his own soul and diminishes the power of the Church. Haven't you ever heard about what happens to those disobedient and unfaithful priests who contravene their own spiritual fathers and superiors? Don't you know about the time when the angels led Saint Thomas of Canterbury to the gates of Hell and let him peek inside? He was greatly surprised not to see any of those who had opposed him as you oppose your bishop. He was just about to praise God's mercy, for the holy man wished all sinners to be saved, when the angel asked the Devil to lift his tail. With a tremendous roar and a horrid stench of sulfur, out spewed all the priests and learned men who had betrayed the interests of the Church. And then he saw where all of them had ended up.\"\n\n\"You're lying, monk,\" said the priest. \"I've heard that story too, but it was friars, not priests, who were spewed out of the Devil's behind like wasps from a wasp's nest.\"\n\nOld Jon laughed louder than all the servants and cried, \"No doubt it was both, I'll bet it was....\"\n\n\"Then the Devil must have a very wide tail,\" said Bj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n.\n\nAnd Fru Aashild smiled and said, \"Yes, haven't you heard it said that everything bad has a long rump dragging behind?\"\n\n\"You be quiet, Fru Aashild,\" shouted Sira Sigurd. \"You shouldn't talk about the long rump that bad people drag behind them. Here you sit as if you were the mistress of the house instead of Ragnfrid. But it's odd that you haven't been able to cure her child\u2014don't you have any more of that powerful water you used to use? The water that could make a dismembered sheep whole again in the soup pot and turn a woman into a maiden in the bridal bed? I know all about that wedding here in the village when you prepared the bath for the despoiled bride....\"\n\nSira Eirik jumped up, grabbed the other priest by the shoulder and flank, and threw him right across the table so that pitchers and cups toppled and food and drink spilled onto the tablecloths and floor. Sira Sigurd landed flat on his back, his clothing torn.\n\nEirik leaped over the table and was about to strike him again, bellowing over the din, \"Shut your filthy trap, you damned priest!\"\n\nLavrans tried to separate them, but Ragnfrid stood at the table, as white as a corpse, wringing her hands. Then Fru Aashild ran over and helped Sira Sigurd to his feet and wiped the blood from his face.\n\nShe handed him a goblet of mead as she said, \"You shouldn't be so stern, Sira Eirik, that you can't stand to hear a joke late in the evening after so many drinks. Now sit down, and I'll tell you about that wedding. It wasn't here in this valley at all, and it's my misfortune that I was not the one who knew about that water. If I had been able to brew it, we wouldn't be sitting up there on that little farm. Then I'd be a rich woman with property out in the big villages somewhere\u2014near the town and cloisters and bishops and canons,\" she said, smiling at the three clergymen.\n\n\"But someone must have known the art in the old days, because this was in the time of King Inge, as far as I know, and the bridegroom was Peter Lodins\u00f8n of Bratteland. But I won't say which of his three wives was the bride, since there are living descendants from all three. Well, this bride probably had good reason to wish for that water, and she managed to get it too. She prepared a bath for herself out in the shed, but before she managed to bathe, in came the woman who was to be her motherin-law. She was muddy and dirty from the ride to the wedding manor, so she took off her clothes and stepped into the tub. She was an old woman, and she had had nine children by Lodin. But on that night both Lodin and Peter had a different kind of pleasure than they had counted on.\"\n\nEveryone in the room laughed heartily, and both Gyrd and Jon called to Fru Aashild to tell more such ribald tales.\n\nBut she refused. \"Here sit two priests and Brother Aasgaut and young boys and maidservants. We should stop now before the talk grows indecent and vulgar; remember that these are the holy days.\"\n\nThe men protested, but the women agreed with Fru Aashild. No one noticed that Ragnfrid had left the room. A little later Kristin, who had been sitting at the far end of the women's bench among the maidservants, stood up to go to bed. She was sleeping in Tordis's house because there were so many guests at the farm.\n\nIt was biting cold, and the northern lights were flaring and flickering above the domed mountains to the north. The snow creaked under Kristin's feet as she ran across the courtyard, shivering, with her arms crossed over her breast.\n\nThen she noticed that in the shadows beneath the old loft someone was pacing vigorously back and forth in the snow, throwing out her arms, wringing her hands, and moaning loudly. Kristin recognized her mother. Frightened, she ran over to her and asked her if she was ill.\n\n\"No, no,\" said Ragnfrid fiercely. \"I just had to get out. Go to bed now, child.\"\n\nKristin turned around when her mother softly called her name.\n\n\"Go into the house and lie down in bed with your father and Ulvhild\u2014hold her in your arms so that he doesn't crush her by mistake. He sleeps so heavily when he's drunk. I'll go up and sleep here in the old loft tonight.\"\n\n\"Jesus, Mother,\" said Kristin. \"You'll freeze to death if you sleep there\u2014and all alone. What will Father say if you don't come to bed tonight?\"\n\n\"He won't notice,\" replied her mother. \"He was almost asleep when I left, and tomorrow he'll get up late. Go and do as I say.\"\n\n\"You'll be so cold,\" whimpered Kristin, but her mother pushed her away, somewhat more gently, and then shut herself inside the loft.\n\nIt was just as cold inside as out, and pitch dark. Ragnfrid fumbled her way over to the bed, tore the shawl from her head, took off her shoes, and crawled under the furs. They chilled her to the bone; it was like sinking into a snow drift. She pulled the covers over her head, tucked up her legs, and put her hands into the bodice of her clothing. And she lay there in that way, weeping\u2014alternately crying quite softly, with streaming tears, and then screaming and gnashing her teeth in between her sobs. Finally she had warmed up the bed enough that she began to feel drowsy, and then she cried herself to sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "In the springtime of Kristin's fifteenth year, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n and Sir Andres Gudmunds\u00f8n of Dyfrin agreed to meet at Holledis ting. There they decided that Andres's second son, Simon, should be betrothed to Kristin Lavransdatter and that he would be given Formo, the property which Andres had inherited from his mother. The men sealed the agreement with a handshake, but no document was drawn up about it because Andres first had to arrange for the inheritance of his other children. And no betrothal ale was drunk either, but Sir Andres and Simon accompanied Lavrans back to J\u00f8rundgaard to see the bride, and Lavrans gave a great banquet.\n\nLavrans had finished building the new house\u2014two stories tall, with brick fireplaces in both the main room and the loft. It was richly and beautifully decorated with wood carvings and fine furniture. He had also renovated the old loft and expanded the other buildings, so that he could now live in a manner befitting a squire. By this time, he possessed great wealth, for he had been fortunate in his undertakings, and he was a wise and thoughtful master. He was especially known for breeding the finest horses and the best cattle of all types. And now that he had arranged things so that his daughter would acquire Formo through marriage with a man of the Dyfrin lineage, people said that he had successfully achieved his goal of becoming the foremost landowner in the village. Lavrans and Ragnfrid were also very pleased, as were Sir Andres and Simon.\n\nKristin was a little disappointed when she first saw Simon Andress\u00f8n, for she had heard such high praise of his handsome appearance and noble manner that there was no limit to what she had expected of her bridegroom.\n\nSimon was indeed handsome, but he was rather heavyset for a man of only twenty; he had a short neck, and his face was as round and shiny as the moon. His hair was quite beautiful, brown and curly, and his eyes were gray and clear, but they seemed slightly pinched because his eyelids were puffy. His nose was too small and his mouth was also small and pouting, but not ugly. And in spite of his stoutness he was light-footed and quick and agile in all his movements, and he was an able sportsman. He was rather impetuous and rash in his speech, but Lavrans felt that he nevertheless showed both good sense and wisdom when he spoke to older men.\n\nRagnfrid soon came to like him, and Ulvhild developed at once the greatest affection for him; he was also particularly kind and loving toward the little maiden who was ill. And after Kristin had grown accustomed to his round face and his way of speaking, she was entirely satisfied with her betrothed and pleased that her father had arranged the marriage for her.\n\nFru Aashild was invited to the banquet. Ever since the people of J\u00f8rundgaard had taken up with her, the gentry of the nearest villages had once again begun to remember her high birth, and they paid less attention to her strange reputation; so now Fru Aashild was often in the company of others.\n\nAfter she had seen Simon, she said, \"He's a good match, Kristin. This Simon will do well in the world\u2014you'll be spared many types of sorrow, and he'll be a kind man to live with. But he seems to me rather too fat and cheerful. If things were the same in Norway today as they were in the past and as they are in other countries, where people are no sterner toward sinners than God is Himself, then I would suggest you find yourself a friend who is thin and melancholy\u2014someone you could sit and talk to. Then I would say that you could fare no better than with Simon.\"\n\nKristin blushed even though she didn't fully understand what Fru Aashild meant. But as time passed and her dowry chests were filled and she listened to the constant talk of her marriage and what she would take to her new home, she began to yearn for the matter to be bound with a formal betrothal and for Simon to come north. After a while she began to think about him a great deal, and she looked forward to seeing him again.\n\nKristin was now grownup, and she was exceedingly beautiful. She most resembled her father. She was tall and small-waisted, with slender, elegant limbs, but she was also buxom and shapely. Her face was rather short and round; her forehead low and broad and as white as milk; her eyes large, gray, and gentle under finely etched brows. Her mouth was a little too big, but her full lips were a fresh red, and her chin was round like an apple and nicely shaped. She had lovely thick, long hair, but it was rather dark now, more brown than gold, and quite straight. Lavrans liked nothing better than to hear Sira Eirik boast about Kristin. The priest had watched the maiden grow up, had taught her reading and writing, and was very fond of her. But Lavrans was not particularly pleased to hear the priest occasionally compare his daughter to a flawless and glossy-coated young mare.\n\nYet everyone said that if the accident had not befallen Ulvhild, she would have been many times more beautiful than her sister. She had the prettiest and sweetest face, white and pink like roses and lilies, with white-gold, silky-soft hair that flowed and curled around her slender neck and thin shoulders. Her eyes resembled those of the Gjesling family: they were deep-set beneath straight black brows, and they were as clear as water and grayish blue, but her gaze was gentle, not sharp. The child's voice was also so clear and lovely that it was a joy to listen to her whether she spoke or sang. She had an agile talent for book learning and for playing all types of stringed instruments and board games, but she took little interest in needlework because her back would quickly tire.\n\nIt seemed unlikely that this pretty child would ever regain the full health of her body, although she improved somewhat after her parents took her to Nidaros to the shrine of Saint Olav. Lavrans and Ragnfrid went there on foot, without a single servant or maid to accompany them, and they carried the child on a litter between them for the entire journey. After that, Ulvhild was so much better that she could walk with a crutch. But it was not likely that she would ever be well enough to marry, and so, when the time came, she would probably be sent to a convent with all the possessions that she would inherit.\n\nThey never talked about it, and Ulvhild was not aware that she was any different from other children. She was very fond of finery and beautiful clothes, and her parents didn't have the heart to refuse her anything; Ragnfrid stitched and sewed for her and adorned her like a royal child. Once some peddlers came through the village and stayed the night at Laugarbru, where Ulvhild was allowed to examine their wares. They had some amber-yellow silk, and she was set on having a shift made from it. Lavrans normally never traded with the kind of people who traveled through the villages, illegally selling goods from the town, but this time he bought the entire bolt at once. He also gave Kristin cloth for her bridal shift, which she worked on during the summer. Before that she had never owned shifts made of anything but wool, except for a linen shift for her finest gown. But Ulvhild was given a shift made of silk to wear to banquets and a Sunday shift of linen with a bodice of silk.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n now owned Laugarbru as well, which was tended by Tordis and Jon. Lavrans and Ragnfrid's youngest daughter Ramborg lived with them there; Tordis had been her wetnurse. Ragnfrid would hardly even look at the child during the first days after her birth because she said that she brought her children bad luck. And yet she loved the little maiden dearly and was constantly sending gifts to her and to Tordis. Later on she would often go over to Laugarbru to visit Ramborg, but she preferred to arrive after the child was asleep, and then she would sit with her. Lavrans and the two older daughters often went to Laugarbru to play with the little one; she was a strong and healthy child, though not as pretty as her sisters.\n\nThat summer was the last one that Arne Gyrds\u00f8n spent at J\u00f8rund gaard. The bishop had promised Gyrd to help the boy make his way in the world, and in the fall Arne was to leave for Hamar.\n\nKristin had undoubtedly noticed that Arne was fond of her, but in many ways her feelings were quite childish, so she didn't give it much thought and behaved toward him as she always had, ever since they were children. She sought out his company as often as she could and always took his hand when they danced at home or on the church hill. The fact that her mother didn't approve of this, she found rather amusing. But she never spoke to Arne about Simon or about her betrothal, for she noticed that he grew dispirited whenever it was mentioned.\n\nArne was good with his hands and he wanted to make Kristin a sewing chest to remember him by. He had carved an elegant and beautiful box and frame, and now he was working in the smithy to make iron bands and a lock for it. On a fine evening with fair weather late in the summer, Kristin went over to talk to him. She took along one of her father's shirts to mend, sat down on the stone doorstep, and began to sew as she chatted with the young man inside the smithy. Ulvhild was with her too, hopping around on her crutch and eating raspberries that were growing among the stones piled up on the ground.\n\nAfter a while Arne came over to the smithy door to cool off. He wanted to sit down next to Kristin, but she moved away a bit and asked him to take care not to get soot on the sewing that she was holding on her lap.\n\n\"So that's how things have become between us?\" said Arne. \"You don't dare let me sit with you because you're afraid that the farm boy will get you dirty?\"\n\nKristin looked at him in surprise and then said, \"You know quite well what I meant. But take off your apron, wash the coal from your hands, and sit down here with me and rest a while.\" And she made room for him.\n\nBut Arne lay down in the grass in front of her.\n\nThen Kristin continued, \"Now don't be angry, dear Arne. Do you think I would be so ungrateful for the lovely present that you're making for me, or that I would ever forget that you've always been my best friend here at home?\"\n\n\"Have I been?\" he asked.\n\n\"You know you have,\" said Kristin. \"And I'll never forget you. But you, who are about to go out into the world\u2014maybe you'll acquire wealth and honor before you know it. You'll probably forget me long before I forget you.\"\n\n\"You'll never forget me,\" said Arne and smiled. \"But I'll forget you before you forget me\u2014you're such a child, Kristin.\"\n\n\"You're not very old yourself,\" she replied.\n\n\"I'm just as old as Simon Darre,\" he said. \"And we can bear helmets and shields just as well as the Dyfrin people, but my parents have not had fortune on their side.\"\n\nHe had wiped off his hands on some tufts of grass. Now he took hold of Kristin's ankle and pressed his cheek against her foot, which was sticking out from the hem of her dress. She tried to pull her foot away, but Arne said, \"Your mother is at Laugarbru, and Lavrans rode off from the farm\u2014and from the buildings no one can see us sitting here. Just this once you must let me talk about what's on my mind.\"\n\nKristin replied, \"We've always known, both you and I, that it would be futile for us to fall in love with each other.\"\n\n\"Can I put my head in your lap?\" asked Arne, and when she didn't reply, he did it anyway, wrapping his arm around her waist. With the other hand he tugged on her braids.\n\n\"How will you like it,\" he asked after a moment, \"when Simon lies in your lap like this and plays with your hair?\"\n\nKristin didn't answer. She felt as if a weight suddenly fell upon her\u2014Arne's words and Arne's head on her knees\u2014it seemed to her as if a door were opening into a room with many dark corridors leading into more darkness. Unhappy and heartsick, she hesitated, refusing to look inside.\n\n\"Married people don't do things like this,\" she said abruptly and briskly, as if with relief. She tried to imagine Simon's plump, round face looking up at her with the same gaze in his eyes as Arne now had; she heard his voice\u2014and she couldn't help laughing.\n\n\"I don't think Simon would ever lie down on the ground to play with my shoes!\"\n\n\"No, because he can play with you in his own bed,\" said Arne. His voice made Kristin feel suddenly sick and helpless.\n\nShe tried to push his head off her lap, but he pressed it harder against her knees and said gently, \"But I would play with your shoes and your hair and your fingers and follow you in and out all day long, Kristin, if you would be my wife and sleep in my arms every night.\"\n\nHe pulled himself halfway up, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes.\n\n\"It's not proper for you to talk to me this way,\" said Kristin quietly and shyly.\n\n\"No, it's not,\" said Arne. He got to his feet and stood in front of her. \"But tell me one thing\u2014wouldn't you rather it had been me?\"\n\n\"Oh, I would rather...\" She sat in silence for a moment. \"I would rather not have any man at all\u2014not even...\"\n\nArne didn't move. He said, \"Would you rather go into a convent then, as they've planned for Ulvhild, and be a maiden all your days?\"\n\nKristin wrung her hands in her lap. She felt a strange, sweet trembling inside her\u2014and with a sudden shudder she realized how sad it was for her little sister. And her eyes filled with tears of sorrow for Ulvhild's sake.\n\n\"Kristin,\" said Arne gently.\n\nAt that moment Ulvhild screamed loudly. Her crutch had lodged between some stones and she had fallen. Arne and Kristin ran over to her, and Arne lifted her into her sister's arms. She had cut her mouth and was bleeding badly.\n\nKristin sat down with her in the doorway to the smithy, and Arne brought water in a wooden bowl. Together they began to wash Ulvhild's face. She had also scraped the skin on her knees. Kristin bent tenderly over the small, thin legs.\n\nUlvhild's wailing soon stopped and she whimpered softly, the way children do who are used to suffering pain. Kristin pressed Ulvhild's head against her breast and rocked her gently.\n\nThen the bell up in Olav's church began ringing for vespers.\n\nArne spoke to Kristin, but she sat there as if she neither heard nor sensed what he said as she bent over her sister. Then he grew frightened and asked her whether she thought the injuries were serious. Kristin shook her head but refused to look at him.\n\nA little later she stood up and started walking toward the farm, carrying Ulvhild in her arms. Arne followed, silent and confused. Kristin looked so preoccupied that her face was completely rigid. As she walked, the bell continued to toll across the meadows and valley; it was still ringing as she went into the house.\n\nShe placed Ulvhild on the bed which the sisters had shared ever since Kristin had grown too old to sleep with her parents. Then she took off her own shoes and lay down next to the little one. She lay there and listened for the bell long after it had stopped ringing and the child was asleep.\n\nIt had occurred to her, as the bell began to peal, while she sat with Ulvhild's little bloodied face in her hands, that perhaps this was an omen for her. If she would take her sister's place\u2014if she would promise herself to the service of God and the Virgin Mary\u2014then maybe God would grant the child renewed vigor and good health.\n\nKristin remembered Brother Edvin saying that these days parents offered to God only the crippled and lame children or those for whom they could not arrange good marriages. She knew her parents were pious people, and yet she had never heard them say anything except that she would marry. But when they realized that Ulvhild would be ill all her days, they at once proposed that she should enter a convent.\n\nBut Kristin didn't want to do it; she resisted the idea that God would perform a miracle for Ulvhild if she became a nun. She clung to Sira Eirik's words that so few miracles occurred nowadays. And yet she had the feeling this evening that it was as Brother Edvin had said\u2014that if someone had enough faith, then he could indeed work miracles. But she did not want that kind of faith; she did not love God and His Mother and the saints in that way. She would never love them in that way. She loved the world and longed for the world.\n\nKristin pressed her lips to Ulvhild's soft, silky hair. The child slept soundly, but the elder sister sat up, restless, and then lay down again. Her heart was bleeding with sorrow and shame, but she knew that she could not believe in miracles because she was unwilling to give up her inheritance of health and beauty and love.\n\nThen she tried to console herself with the thought that her parents would never give her permission to do such a thing. Nor would they ever believe that it would do any good. She was already betrothed, after all, and they would undoubtedly be loath to lose Simon, whom they liked so much. She felt betrayed because they seemed to find this son-in-law so splendid. She suddenly thought with displeasure of Simon's round, red face and his small, laughing eyes, of his leaping gait\u2014it occurred to her all of a sudden that he bounced like a ball\u2014and of his teasing manner of speaking, which made her feel awkward and stupid. And it was not such a splendid thing, either, to be given to him and then move only as far as Formo. And yet she would rather have him than be sent to a convent. But what about the world beyond the mountains? The king's castle, and the counts and the knights that Fru Aashild had talked about, a handsome man with melancholy eyes who would follow her in and out and never grow tired.... She remembered Arne on that summer day long ago when he lay on his side and slept with his shiny brown hair spread out on the heath\u2014she had loved him as if he were her own brother back then. It wasn't proper for him to speak to her the way he had today, when he knew they could never have each other.\n\nWord was sent from Laugarbru that her mother would stay there overnight. Kristin got up to undress and get ready for bed. She began to unlace her dress, but then she put her shoes back on, wrapped her cloak around her, and went out.\n\nThe night sky, bright and green, stretched above the mountain crests. It was almost time for the moon to rise, and at the spot where it waited below the ridge, small clouds drifted past, gleaming like silver underneath; the sky grew lighter and lighter, like metal gathering dew.\n\nKristin ran between the fences, across the road, and up the hill toward the church. It was asleep, black and locked, but she went over to the cross that stood nearby\u2014a memorial to the time when Saint Olav once rested there as he was fleeing from his enemies.\n\nKristin knelt down on the stone and placed her folded hands on the base. \"Holy Cross, the strongest of masts, the fairest of trees, the bridge for those who are ill to the fair shores of health...\"\n\nAs she spoke the words of the prayer, she felt her yearning gradually spread like rings on water. The various thoughts that were making her uneasy were smoothed out, her mind grew calmer, more tender, and a gentle sorrow, empty of all thought, replaced her troubles.\n\nShe stayed there on her knees, aware of all the sounds of the night. The wind was sighing so oddly, the river was roaring beyond the groves on the other side of the church, and the stream was flowing nearby, right across the road\u2014and everywhere, both close at hand and far away in the dark, her eyes and her ears caught hints of tiny rivulets of running and dripping water. The river flashed white down in the village. The moon glided up over a small gap in the mountains; stones and leaves wet with dew shimmered faintly, and the newly tarred timbers of the bell tower near the cemetery gate shone dull and dark. Then the moon vanished again where the ridge of the mountain rose higher. Many more gleaming white clouds appeared in the sky.\n\nShe heard a horse approaching at a slow pace higher up the road, and the sound of men's voices, speaking evenly and softly. Kristin was not afraid of people so close to home where she knew everyone; she felt quite safe.\n\nHer father's dogs came rushing toward her, turned around and bounded back to the grove, then turned again and raced back to her; then her father called a greeting as he emerged from among the birches. He was leading Guldsvein by the bridle; a bunch of birds dangled in front of the saddle, and Lavrans was carrying a hooded hawk on his left hand. He was in the company of a tall, hunchbacked man in monk's clothing, and before Kristin had even seen his face, she knew it was Brother Edvin. She went to greet them, and she couldn't have been more surprised than if she had dreamed it. She merely smiled when Lavrans asked her whether she recognized their guest.\n\nLavrans had met the monk up by Rost Bridge. Then he had persuaded him to come home with him and stay the night at the farm. But Brother Edvin insisted on being allowed to sleep in the cowshed: \"For I've picked up so many lice that you can't have me lying in your good beds.\"\n\nAnd no matter how much Lavrans begged and implored, the monk was adamant; at first he even wanted them to bring his food out into the courtyard. But finally they coaxed him inside the house, and Kristin put wood in the fireplace in the corner and set candles on the table, while a maid brought in food and drink.\n\nThe monk sat down on the beggar's bench near the door, but he would only take cold porridge and water for his evening meal. And he refused to accept Lavrans's offer to prepare a bath for him and to have his clothes washed.\n\nBrother Edvin scratched and rubbed himself and his gaunt old face beamed with glee.\n\n\"No, no,\" he said. \"The lice bite better at my proud hide than any scourges or the guardian's words. I spent this summer under an overhang up on the mountain. They had given me permission to go into the wilderness to fast and pray, and there I sat, thinking that I was as pure as a holy hermit, and the poor people over in Setna valley brought food up to me and thought they beheld a pious monk, living a pure life. 'Brother Edvin,' they said, 'if there were more monks like you, then we would soon mend our ways, but when we see priests and bishops and monks shoving and fighting like piglets at the trough...' Well, I told them that was not a Christian way to talk\u2014but I liked hearing it all the same, and I sang and prayed so my voice resounded in the mountains. Now it will be to my benefit to feel how the lice are biting and fighting on my skin and to hear the good housewives, who want to keep their houses clean and neat, shouting that the filthy monkhide can just as well sleep in the barn during the summer. I'm heading north to Nidaros now, to celebrate Saint Olav's Day, and it will do me good to see that people aren't so keen to come near me.\"\n\nUlvhild woke up. Then Lavrans went over and lifted her up in his cape.\n\n\"Here is the child I told you about, dear Father. Place your hands on her and pray to God for her, the way you prayed for the boy up north in Meldal\u2014we heard he regained his health.\"\n\nThe monk gently put his hand under Ulvhild's chin and looked into her eyes. Then he lifted one of her hands and kissed it.\n\n\"You should pray instead, you and your wife, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n, that you will not be tempted to bend God's will with this child. Our Lord Jesus himself has set these small feet on a path so that she can walk safely toward the house of peace\u2014I can see in your eyes, blessed Ulvhild, that you have your intercessors in that other house.\"\n\n\"I heard that the boy in Meldal got well,\" said Lavrans quietly.\n\n\"He was the only child of a poor widow, and there was no one to feed or clothe him when the mother passed away, except the village. And yet the woman only asked that God give her a fearless heart so that she might have faith that He would let happen whatever was best for the boy. I did nothing more than pray alongside her.\"\n\n\"It's not easy for Ragnfrid and me to be content with that,\" said Lavrans gloomily. \"Especially since she's so pretty and so good.\"\n\n\"Have you seen the child they have over in Lidstad, in the south of the valley?\" asked the monk. \"Would you rather your daughter were like that?\"\n\nLavrans shuddered and pressed the child close.\n\n\"Don't you think,\" Brother Edvin went on, \"that in God's eyes we are all like children for whom He has reason to grieve, crippled as we are by sin? And yet we don't think that things are the worst in the world for us.\"\n\nHe walked over to the painting of the Virgin Mary on the wall, and everyone knelt down as he said the evening prayer. They felt that Brother Edvin had offered them great comfort.\n\nBut after he had left the house to find his sleeping place, Astrid, who was in charge of all the maids, vigorously swept the floor everywhere the monk had stood and hastily threw the sweepings into the fire.\n\nThe next morning Kristin got up early, put some milk porridge and wheat cakes into a lovely red-flecked bowl made from birch roots\u2014for she knew that the monk never touched meat\u2014and took the food out to him. No one else in the house was awake yet.\n\nBrother Edvin was standing on the ramp to the cowshed, ready to leave, with his staff and bag in hand. With a smile he thanked Kristin for her trouble and sat down in the grass and ate, while Kristin sat at his feet.\n\nHer little white dog came running over to them, making the tiny bells on his collar ring. Kristin pulled the dog onto her lap, and Brother Edvin snapped his fingers, tossing little bits of wheat cake into the dog's mouth, as he praised the animal.\n\n\"It's the same breed that Queen Eufemia brought over to Norway,\" he said. \"Everything is so splendid here at J\u00f8rundgaard now.\"\n\nKristin blushed with pleasure. She knew the dog was particularly fine, and she was proud to own him. No one else in the village had a pet dog. But she hadn't known that he was of the same type as the queen's pet dogs.\n\n\"Simon Andress\u00f8n sent him to me,\" she said, hugging the dog as he licked her face. \"His name is Kortelin.\"\n\nShe had planned to speak to the monk about her uneasiness and ask for his advice. But now she had no wish to spend any more time on her thoughts of the night before. Brother Edvin believed that God would do what was best for Ulvhild. And it was generous of Simon to send her such a gift even before their betrothal had been formally acknowledged. She refused to think about Arne\u2014he had behaved badly toward her, she thought.\n\nBrother Edvin picked up his staff and bag and asked Kristin to give his greetings to the others; he wouldn't wait for everyone to wake up, but would set off while the day was cool. She walked with him up past the church and a short way into the grove.\n\nWhen they parted, he offered her God's peace and blessed her.\n\n\"Give me a few words, as you did for Ulvhild, dear Father,\" begged Kristin as she stood with her hand in his.\n\nThe monk poked his bare foot, knotty with rheumatism, in the wet grass.\n\n\"Then I would impress upon your heart, my daughter, that you should pay close attention to the way God tends to the welfare of the people here in the valley. Little rain falls, but He has given you water from the mountains, and the dew refreshes the meadows and fields each night. Thank God for the good gifts He has given you, and don't complain if you think you are lacking something else that you think would be beneficial. You have beautiful golden hair, so do not fret because it isn't curly. Haven't you heard about the woman who sat and wept because she had only a little scrap of pork to give to her seven hungry children for Christmas dinner? Saint Olav came riding past at that very moment. Then he stretched out his hand over the meat and prayed to God to feed the poor urchins. But when the woman saw that a slaughtered pig lay on the table, she began to cry because she didn't have enough bowls and pots.\"\n\nKristin ran off toward home, and Kortelin danced around at her feet as he nipped at her clothing and barked, making all his tiny silver bells ring."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Arne was home at Finsbrekken for the last time before he left for Hamar. His mother and sisters were outfitting him with clothes.\n\nThe day before he was supposed to ride south he went to J\u00f8rundgaard to say farewell. There he asked Kristin in a whisper whether she would meet him on the road south of Laugarbru on the following evening.\n\n\"I would like us to be alone, just the two of us, the last time we meet,\" he said. \"Do you think that's too much to ask? We who have grown up together as brother and sister?\" he added when Kristin hesitated a moment before replying.\n\nThen she promised to come if she could slip away from home.\n\nThe next morning it snowed, but later in the day it began to rain and soon the roads and fields were nothing but gray mud. Wisps of fog hovered and drifted along the mountain ridges, occasionally dropping down and twining into white mist at the foot of the mountains, but then the weather closed in again.\n\nSira Eirik came over to help Lavrans put together several boxes of letters. They went into the hearth house because it was more comfortable there in that kind of weather than in the larger house where the fireplace filled the room with smoke. Ragnfrid was at Laugarbru, where Ramborg was recuperating from an illness and fever she had suffered earlier that fall.\n\nSo it was not difficult for Kristin to slip away from the farm unnoticed; she didn't dare take a horse, so she went on foot. The road was a morass of slushy snow and withered leaves; the air smelled mournfully raw and dead and moldy, and now and then a gust of wind would blow the rain right into her face. Kristin pulled her hood up over her head and held her cloak closed with both hands as she walked briskly onward. She was a little apprehensive\u2014the clamor of the river sounded so muffled in the oppressive air, and the clouds were black and ragged, drifting above the mountain crests. Occasionally she would stop and listen behind her, thinking that she might hear Arne.\n\nAfter a while she became aware of a horse's hooves on the sodden road, and then she stopped, for she had reached a rather desolate spot and thought it would be a suitable place for them to say goodbye to each other undisturbed. A moment later she saw the rider appear behind her, and Arne jumped down from his horse, leading it forward as he walked toward her.\n\n\"It was good of you to come,\" he said, \"in this awful weather.\"\n\n\"It's worse for you, who will have to ride such a long way. But why are you leaving so late in the evening?\"\n\n\"Jon has invited me to stay at Loptsgaard tonight,\" said Arne. \"And I thought it would be easier for you to come here at this time of day.\"\n\nThey stood in silence for a moment. Kristin thought she had never before realized how handsome Arne was. He wore a shiny steel helmet, and under it a brown woolen hood that framed his face and spread out over his shoulders; underneath, his thin face looked so bright and fair. His leather breastplate was old, flecked with rust, and scratched from the coat of mail that had been worn over it\u2014Arne's father had given it to him\u2014but it fit snugly on his slender, lithe, and strong body. He wore a sword at his side and carried a spear in his hand; his other weapons hung from his saddle. He was a full-grown man and looked imposing.\n\nKristin put her hand on his shoulder and said, \"Do you remember, Arne, that you once asked me whether I thought you were as splendid a fellow as Simon Andress\u00f8n? I want to tell you something now, before we part. You seem to me as much his superior in fair appearance and bearing as he is held above you in birth and wealth by people who value such things most.\"\n\n\"Why are you telling me this?\" asked Arne breathlessly.\n\n\"Because Brother Edvin impressed on my heart that we should thank God for His good gifts and not be like the woman who wept because she had no bowls when Saint Olav multiplied the meat for her. So you shouldn't fret over the fact that He hasn't given you as much wealth as He has physical gifts....\"\n\n\"Is that what you meant?\" said Arne. And when Kristin didn't reply he went on, \"I was wondering whether you meant that you would rather have been married to me than to that other man.\"\n\n\"I probably would, at that,\" she said quietly. \"For I know you much better.\"\n\nArne threw his arms around her so tight that he lifted her feet off the ground. He kissed her face many times, but then he set her down.\n\n\"God help us, Kristin. You're such a child!\"\n\nShe stood there with her head bowed, but she kept her hands on his shoulders. He gripped her wrists and held them tight.\n\n\"I see now that you don't realize, my sweet, how my heart aches because I am going to lose you. Kristin, we've grown up together like two apples on a branch. I loved you before I began to realize that one day someone else would come and tear you away from me. As certain as God had to die for us all, I don't know how I can ever be happy again in this world after today.\"\n\nKristin wept bitterly and lifted her face so that he could kiss her.\n\n\"Don't talk like that, my Arne,\" she begged, patting his arm.\n\n\"Kristin,\" said Arne in a muted voice, taking her in his arms again. \"Couldn't you consider asking your father... Lavrans is such a good man, he would never force you against your will. Couldn't you ask him to wait a few years? No one knows how my fortune may change\u2014we're both so young.\"\n\n\"I must do what those at home want me to do,\" she sobbed.\n\nThen tears overcame Arne too.\n\n\"You have no idea, Kristin, how much I love you.\" He hid his face on her shoulder. \"If you did, and if you loved me too, then you would go to Lavrans and beg him sweetly\u2014\"\n\n\"I can't do that,\" sobbed the maiden. \"I don't think I could ever love a man so dearly that I would go against my parents' will for his sake.\" She slipped her hands under Arne's hood and heavy steel helmet to find his face. \"You mustn't cry like that, Arne, my dearest friend.\"\n\n\"I want you to have this,\" he said after a moment, giving her a small brooch. \"And think of me now and then, for I will never forget you, or my sorrow.\"\n\nIt was almost completely dark by the time Kristin and Arne had said their last farewells. She stood and gazed after him when he finally rode away. A yellow light shone through the clouds, and the light was reflected in their footsteps, where they had walked and stood in the slush of the road; it looked so cold and bleak, she thought. She pulled out the linen cloth covering her bodice and wiped her tear-streaked face; then she turned around and set off for home.\n\nShe was wet and cold and she walked fast. After a while she heard someone approaching on the road behind her. She was a little frightened; it was possible that strangers might be traveling on this main road, even on an evening like this, and she had a lonely stretch ahead of her. Steep black scree rose up on one side, but on the other there was a sharp drop-off, covered with pine woods all the way down to the pale, leaden river at the bottom of the valley. So she was relieved when the person behind her called her name; she stopped and waited.\n\nThe person who approached was a tall, thin man wearing a dark surcoat with lighter colored sleeves. When he came closer, Kristin saw that he was dressed as a priest and carried an empty knapsack on his back. She now recognized Bentein Prestes\u00f8n, as they called him\u2014Sira Eirik's grandson. She noticed at once that he was quite drunk.\n\n\"Well, one departs and the other arrives,\" he said and laughed after they had greeted each other. \"I met Arne from Brekken just now\u2014and I see that you're walking along and crying. So how about giving me a little smile because I've come back home? The two of us have also been friends since childhood, haven't we?\"\n\n\"It's a poor bargain to have you come back to the valley in his stead,\" said Kristin crossly. She had never liked Bentein. \"Quite a few people will say the same, I'm afraid. And your grandfather was so happy that you were getting on so well down south in Oslo.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Bentein with a snicker and a sneer. \"So you think I was getting on well, do you? Like a pig in a wheat field, that's how it was for me, Kristin\u2014and the end result was the same. I was chased off with a shout and a long stick. Well, well. He doesn't have much joy from his offspring, my grandfather. Why are you walking so fast?\"\n\n\"I'm freezing,\" said Kristin curtly.\n\n\"No more than I am,\" said the priest. \"The only clothing I have to wear is what you see. I had to sell my cape for food and ale in Lillehammer. But you must still have warmth in your body from saying farewell to Arne. I think you should let me come under your furs with you.\" And he seized hold of her cloak, threw it around his shoulders, and wrapped his wet arm around her waist.\n\nKristin was so startled by his boldness that it took a moment for her to regain her senses\u2014then she tried to tear herself away, but he was holding on to her cloak and it was fastened with a sturdy silver clasp. Bentein put his arms around her again and tried to kiss her, shoving his mouth close to her chin. She tried to strike him, but he was gripping her upper arms.\n\n\"I think you've lost your mind,\" she seethed as she struggled against him. \"How dare you manhandle me as if I were a... You're going to regret this bitterly tomorrow, you miserable wretch.\"\n\n\"Oh, tomorrow you won't be so stupid,\" said Bentein, tripping her with his leg so that she fell to her knees in the mud of the road. Then he pressed his hand over her mouth.\n\nAnd yet Kristin still did not think to scream. Now she finally realized what he intended to do to her, but rage overcame her with such fury and violence that she hardly felt any fear. She snarled like an animal in battle and fought against this man who was holding her down so that the ice-cold snow water soaked through her clothing and reached her burning hot flesh.\n\n\"Tomorrow you'll know enough to keep quiet,\" said Bentein. \"And if it can't be concealed, you can always blame Arne; people will sooner believe that....\"\n\nHe had put a finger in her mouth, so she bit him with all her might, and Bentein screamed and loosened his grip. As quick as lightning Kristin pulled one hand free and shoved it into his face, pressing her thumb as hard as she could into his eye. He bellowed and got up on one knee. She wriggled free like a cat, pushed the priest so that he fell onto his back, and then ran off down the road as the mud spurted up behind her with every step.\n\nShe ran and ran without looking back. She heard Bentein coming after her, and she raced off with her heart pounding in her throat, as she moaned softly and peered ahead\u2014would she never reach Laugarbru? At last Kristin came to the part of the road where it passed through the fields. She saw buildings clustered on the hillside, and suddenly realized that she didn't dare go to her mother\u2014not the way she looked, covered with mud and withered leaves from head to toe, her clothing torn.\n\nShe could feel Bentein coming closer. She bent down and picked up two big rocks, and when he was near enough she threw them; one of them struck him so hard that it knocked him down. Then she started running again and didn't stop until she stood on the bridge.\n\nTrembling, she stood there holding on to the railing; everything went black and she was afraid that she would sink into unconsciousness\u2014but then she thought about Bentein. What if he came and found her like that? Shaking with shame and bitterness, she kept on going, but her legs could hardly bear her, and now she felt how her face stung from the scratches of his fingernails, and she had hurt both her back and her arms. Tears came, hot as fire.\n\nShe wished Bentein would be dead from the rock she had thrown; she wished she had gone back and put an end to him, that she had taken out her knife, but she noticed that she must have lost it.\n\nThen she realized again that she dared not be seen like this at home; it occurred to her that she could go to Romundgaard. She would complain to Sira Eirik.\n\nBut the priest had not yet returned from J\u00f8rundgaard. In the cookhouse she found Gunhild, Bentein's mother. The woman was alone, and then Kristin told her how her son had behaved toward her. But she didn't mention that she had gone out to meet Arne. When she realized that Gunhild thought she had been at Laugarbru, she didn't dissuade her.\n\nGunhild said very little but cried a great deal as she washed Kristin's clothing and mended the worst rips. And the young girl was so distressed that she didn't notice the glances Gunhild cast at her in secret.\n\nAs Kristin was leaving, Gunhild put on her own cloak and followed her out the door, but then headed toward the stable. Kristin asked her where she was going.\n\n\"Surely I should be allowed to ride over and tend to my son,\" said the woman, \"to see if you've killed him with that rock or what's happened to him.\"\n\nKristin had nothing to say in reply, so she simply told Gunhild to make sure that Bentein left the village as soon as possible; she never wanted to lay eyes on him again. \"Or I'll speak of this to Lavrans, and then you can well imagine what will happen.\"\n\nBentein headed south hardly more than a week later; he carried letters to the Bishop of Hamar from Sira Eirik, asking the bishop if he could find some occupation for Bentein or give him some assistance."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "One day during the Christmas season, Simon Andress\u00f8n arrived at J\u00f8rundgaard on horseback, quite unexpected. He apologized for coming in this manner, uninvited and alone, without kinsmen, but Sir Andres was in Sweden on business for the king. He himself had been at home at Dyfrin for some time, but there he had only the company of his younger sisters and his mother, who was ill in bed, and the days had grown so dreary for him; he suddenly felt such an urge to come and see them.\n\nRagnfrid and Lavrans thanked him warmly for making the long journey at the height of winter. The more they saw of Simon, the more they liked him. He was well acquainted with everything that had been agreed upon between Andres and Lavrans, and it was now decided that the betrothal ale for the young couple would be celebrated before the beginning of Lent, if Sir Andres returned home before then\u2014otherwise, at Easter.\n\nKristin was quiet and shy when she was with her betrothed; she found little to talk about with him. One evening when everyone had been sitting and drinking, Simon asked her to go outside with him to get some fresh air. As they stood on the gallery in front of the loft room, he put his arm around her waist and kissed her. After that, he did it often whenever they were alone. She wasn't pleased by this, but she allowed him to do it because she knew there was no escape from the betrothal. Now she thought of her marriage as something she had to do, but not something that she looked forward to. And yet she liked Simon well enough, especially when he was talking to the others and did not touch her or speak to her.\n\nShe had been so unhappy the entire autumn. It did no good to tell herself that Bentein had done her no harm; she felt herself defiled just the same.\n\nNothing could be as it had been before, now that a man had dared to do such a thing to her. She lay awake at night, burning with shame, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. She remembered Bentein's body against hers when she fought with him, and his hot ale-breath. She was forced to think about what might have happened, and she was reminded, as a shudder rippled through her flesh, of what he had said: that if it could not be concealed, then Arne would be blamed. Images raced through her head of everything that would have followed if she had ended up in such misfortune and then people had found out about her meeting with Arne. And what if her mother and father had believed such a thing of Arne? And Arne himself... She saw him as he had looked on that last evening, and she felt as if she were sinking down before him in shame simply because she might have dragged him down along with her into sorrow and disgrace. And her dreams were so vile. She had heard about the desires and temptations of the flesh in church and in the Holy Scriptures, but it had meant nothing to her. Now it had become clear that she herself and everyone else had a sinful, fleshly body encompassing the soul, biting into it with harsh bands.\n\nThen she imagined how she might have killed Bentein or blinded him. That was the only consolation she could find\u2014to indulge in dreams of revenge against that hideous dark figure who was always haunting her thoughts. But it never helped for long; she would lie next to Ulvhild at night and weep about everything that had been visited upon her by violence. In her mind, Bentein had managed to breach her maidenhood all the same.\n\nOn the first workday after the Christmas season, all the women of J\u00f8rundgaard were busy in the cookhouse. Ragnfrid and Kristin had also spent most of the day there. Late in the evening, while some of the women were cleaning up after the baking and others were preparing the evening meal, the milkmaid came rushing in, screaming as she threw up her hands.\n\n\"Jesus, Jesus\u2014has anyone ever heard more dreadful news! They're carrying Arne Gyrds\u00f8n home in a sleigh\u2014God help Gyrd and Inga in their misery.\"\n\nIn came a man who lived in a house a short way down the road, and with him was Halvdan. They were the ones who had met the funeral procession.\n\nThe women crowded around them. On the very outskirts of the circle stood Kristin, pale and trembling. Halvdan, Lavrans's own servant who had known Arne since he was a boy, sobbed loudly as he spoke.\n\nIt was Bentein Prestes\u00f8n who had killed Arne. On New Year's Eve the bishop's men were sitting in the men's house drinking, when Bentein came in. He had become a scribe for a priest, a Corpus Christi prebendary. At first the men didn't want to let Bentein in, but he reminded Arne that they were from the same village. So Arne allowed him to sit with him, and they both began to drink. But then they came to blows, and Arne fought so fiercely that Bentein seized a knife from the table and stabbed Arne in the throat and then several times in the chest. Arne died almost at once.\n\nThe bishop took this misfortune greatly to heart; he personally saw to it that the body was properly tended to, and he had his own men accompany it on the long journey home. He had Bentein thrown in irons and excommunicated from the Church, and if he had not already been hanged, then he soon would be.\n\nHalvdan had to tell the story several times as more people crowded into the room. Lavrans and Simon also came over to the cookhouse when they noticed all the noise and commotion in the courtyard. Lavrans was much distressed; he ordered his horse to be saddled, for he wanted to ride over to Brekken at once. As he was about to leave, his eyes fell on Kristin's white face.\n\n\"Perhaps you would like to go with me?\" he asked. Kristin hesitated for a moment, shuddering, but then she nodded, for she didn't dare utter a word.\n\n\"Isn't it too cold for her?\" said Ragnfrid. \"Tomorrow they will hold the wake, and then we'll all go.\"\n\nLavrans looked at his wife; he also glanced at Simon's face, and then he went over and put his arm around Kristin's shoulder.\n\n\"You must remember that she's his foster sister,\" he said. \"Perhaps she would like to help Inga attend to the body.\"\n\nAnd even though Kristin's heart was gripped with fear and despair, she felt a warm surge of gratitude toward her father for his words.\n\nThen Ragnfrid wanted them to eat the evening porridge before they left, if Kristin would be going along. She also wanted to send gifts to Inga\u2014a new linen sheet, candles, and freshly baked bread. She asked them to tell Inga that she would come to help them prepare for the burial.\n\nLittle was eaten but much was said in the room while the food stood on the table. One person reminded the other about the trials that God had visited upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been destroyed by a rock slide and flood, and many of their older children had died, so all of Arne's siblings were still quite young. But fortune had been with them for several years now, ever since the bishop had appointed Gyrd of Finsbrekken as his envoy, and the children they had been blessed to keep were good-looking and full of promise. But Inga had loved Arne more dearly than all the rest.\n\nPeople felt sorry for Sira Eirik too. The priest was loved and respected, and the people in the village were proud of him; he was well educated and capable, and in all his years with the Church he had not missed a single holy day or mass or service that he was obliged to observe. In his youth he had been a soldier under Count Alv of Tornberg, but he had brought trouble on himself by killing a man of exceedingly high birth, and so he had turned to the Bishop of Oslo. When the bishop realized how quick Eirik was to acquire book learning, he had accepted him into the priesthood. And if not for the fact that he still had enemies because of that killing in the past, Sira Eirik would probably never have stayed at that little church. It's true that he was quite avaricious, both for his own purse and for his church. But the church was, after all, quite attractively furnished with vessels and draperies and books, and he did have those children\u2014but he had never had anything but trouble and sorrow from his family. In the countryside people thought it unreasonable to expect priests to live like monks, since they had to have women servants on their farms and might well be in need of a woman to look after things for them when they had to make such long and arduous journeys through the parish in all kinds of weather. People also remembered that it was not so long ago that priests in Norway had been married men. So no one blamed Sira Eirik for having three children by the housekeeper who was with him when he was young. On this evening, however, they said that it looked as if God wanted to punish Eirik for taking a mistress, since his children and grandchildren had caused him so much grief. And some people said that there was good reason for priests not to have wives or children\u2014for enmity and indignation were bound to arise between the priest and the people of Finsbrekken. Until now they had been the best of friends.\n\nSimon Andress\u00f8n was quite familiar with Bentein's conduct in Oslo, and he told the others about it. Bentein had become a scribe for the provost of the Maria Church and was considered a clever fellow. And there were plenty of women who were quite fond of him; he had those eyes and a quick tongue. Some thought him a handsome man\u2014mostly women who felt they had been cheated by their husbands, or young maidens who enjoyed having men act freely toward them. Simon laughed; they knew what he meant, didn't they? Well, Bentein was so shrewd that he didn't get too close to those kinds of women; with them he exchanged only words, and he won a reputation for leading a pure life.\n\nIt so happened that King Haakon, who was a pious and decent man himself, wanted his men to maintain disciplined and proper behavior\u2014at least the younger men. The others he had little control over. But the king's priest always heard about whatever pranks the young men managed to sneak out and take part in\u2014drunken feasts, gambling, ale-drinking, and the like. And then the rascals had to confess and repent, and they received harsh punishment; yes, two or three of the wildest boys were even sent away. But at last it came to light that it was that fox, Bentein secretarius, who had been secretly frequenting all of the ale houses and establishments that were even worse; he had actually listened to the confessions of whores and had given them absolution.\n\nKristin was sitting next to her mother. She tried to eat so that no one would notice how things stood with her, but her hand shook so badly that she spilled some of the porridge with every spoonful, and her tongue felt so thick and dry in her mouth that she could hardly swallow the bread. But when Simon began to talk about Bentein she had to give up all pretense of eating. She gripped the edge of the bench with her hands; terror and loathing took such a hold on her that she felt dizzy and filled with nausea. He was the one who had tried to... Bentein and Arne, Bentein and Arne... Sick with impatience she waited for the others to finish. She longed to see Arne, Arne's handsome face, to fall to her knees and grieve, forgetting everything else.\n\nWhen Ragnfrid helped Kristin into her outer garments, she kissed her daughter on the cheek. Kristin was unaccustomed to receiving any kind of caress from her mother, and it felt so good. She rested her head on Ragnfrid's shoulder for a moment, but she could not cry.\n\nWhen she came out to the courtyard, she saw that there were more people coming with them\u2014Halvdan, Jon of Laugarbru, and Simon and his servant. She felt unreasonably anguished that the two strangers would be going along.\n\nIt was a biting cold night; the snow creaked underfoot, and the stars glittered, as dense as frost, in the black sky. After they had gone a short distance, they heard howls and shouts and furious hoofbeats south of the meadows. A little farther along the road the whole pack of riders came storming up behind them and then raced on past. The sound of ringing metal and vapor from the steaming, frost-covered bodies of the horses rose up before Lavrans and his party as they moved out of the way into the snow. Halvdan shouted at the wild throng\u2014it was the youths from the farms south of the village. They were still celebrating Christmas and were out trying their horses. Those who were too drunk to take notice raced on ahead, thundering and bellowing as they hammered on their shields. But a few of them understood the news that Halvdan had yelled after them; they dropped away from the group, fell silent, and joined Lavrans's party as they whispered to the men in the back of the procession.\n\nThey continued on until they could see Finsbrekken on the slope alongside the Sil River. There was a light between the buildings; in the middle of the courtyard the servants had set pine torches in a mound of snow, and the firelight gleamed red across the white hillock, but the dark houses looked as if they were streaked with clotted blood. One of Arne's little sisters was standing outside, stamping her feet, with her arms crossed under her cloak. Kristin kissed the tear-stained face of the freezing child. Her heart was as heavy as stone, and she felt as if there was lead in her limbs as she climbed the stairs to the loft where they had laid him out.\n\nThe sound of hymns and the radiance of many lighted candles filled the doorway. In the center of the loft stood the coffin Arne had been brought home in, covered with a sheet. Boards had been placed over trestles and the coffin had been lifted on top. At its head stood a young priest with a book in his hands, singing. All around him people were kneeling with their faces hidden in their thick capes.\n\nLavrans lit his candle from one of the candles in the room, set it firmly on the board of the bier, and knelt down. Kristin was about to do the same, but she couldn't get her candle to stand; then Simon stepped over to help her. As long as the priest prayed, everyone remained on their knees, repeating his words in a whisper, so that the steam hovered around their mouths. It was ice-cold in the loft.\n\nWhen the priest closed his book, the people rose; many had already gathered in the death chamber. Lavrans went over to Inga. She was staring at Kristin and seemed not to hear Lavrans's words; she stood there with the gifts he had given her, holding them as if unaware that she had anything in her hands.\n\n\"So you have come too, Kristin,\" she said in an odd, strained tone of voice. \"Perhaps you would like to see my son, the way he has come back to me?\"\n\nShe moved a few candles aside, grabbed Kristin's arm with a trembling hand, and with the other she tore the cloth from the dead man's face.\n\nIt was grayish-yellow like mud, and his lips were the color of lead; they were slightly parted so that the even, narrow, bone-white teeth seemed to offer a mocking smile. Beneath the long eyelashes could be seen a glimpse of his glazed eyes, and there were several bluish-black spots high on his cheeks that were either bruises from the fight or the marks of a corpse.\n\n\"Perhaps you would like to kiss him?\" asked Inga in the same tone of voice, and Kristin obediently leaned forward and pressed her lips to the dead man's cheek. It was clammy, as if from dew, and she thought she could faintly smell the stench of the corpse; he had no doubt begun to thaw out in the heat from all the candles.\n\nKristin remained leaning there, with her hands on the bier, for she did not have the strength to stand up. Inga pulled aside more of the shroud so the gash from the knife wound across his collar-bone was visible.\n\nThen she turned to the people and said in a quavering voice, \"I see that it's a lie, what people say, that a dead man's wounds will bleed if he's touched by the one who caused his death. He's colder now, my boy, and not as handsome as when you last met him down on the road. You don't care to kiss him now, I see\u2014but I've heard that you didn't refuse his lips back then.\"\n\n\"Inga,\" said Lavrans, stepping forward, \"have you lost your senses? What are you saying?\"\n\n\"Oh, you're all so grand over there at J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014you were much too rich a man, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, for my son to dare court your daughter with honor. And no doubt Kristin thought she was too good for him too. But she wasn't too good to run after him on the road at night and dally with him in the thickets on the evening he left. Ask her yourself and we'll see if she dares to deny it, as Arne lies here dead\u2014she who has brought this upon us with her loose ways....\"\n\nLavrans did not ask the question; instead he turned to Gyrd.\n\n\"You must rein in your wife\u2014she has taken leave of her senses.\"\n\nBut Kristin raised her pale face and looked around in despair.\n\n\"I did go out to meet Arne on that last evening, because he asked me to do so. But nothing happened between us that was not proper.\" And as she seemed to pull herself together and fully realize what was implied, she shouted loudly, \"I don't know what you mean, Inga. Are you defaming Arne as he lies here? Never did he try to entice or seduce me.\"\n\nBut Inga laughed loudly.\n\n\"Arne? No, not Arne. But Bentein didn't let you play with him that way. Ask Gunhild, Lavrans, who washed the filth off your daughter's back, and ask any man who was in the men's quarters at the bishop's citadel on New Year's Eve when Bentein ridiculed Arne for having let her go and then was made her fool. She let Bentein come under her fur as she walked home, and she tried to play the same game with him\u2014\"\n\nLavrans gripped Inga by the shoulder and pressed his hand against her mouth.\n\n\"Get her out of here, Gyrd. It's shameful that you should talk this way before the body of this good boy. But even if all of your children lay here dead, I would not stand and listen to your lies about mine. And you, Gyrd, will have to answer for what this demented woman is saying.\"\n\nGyrd took hold of his wife to lead her away, but he said to Lavrans, \"It's true that Arne and Bentein were talking about Kristin when my son lost his life. It's understandable that you may not have heard it, but there has been talk here in the village this fall....\"\n\nSimon slammed his sword into the nearest clothes chest.\n\n\"No, good folks, now you will have to find something other than my betrothed to talk about in this death chamber. Priest, can't you harness these people so that everything proceeds according to custom?\"\n\nThe priest\u2014Kristin now saw that he was the youngest son from Ulvsvold who had been home for Christmas\u2014opened his book and took up his position next to the bier. But Lavrans shouted that those who had spoken of his daughter, whoever they might be, would have to eat their words.\n\nAnd then Inga screamed, \"Go ahead and take my life, Lavrans, just as she has taken all my solace and joy\u2014and celebrate her marriage to this son of a knight, and yet everyone will know that she was married to Bentein on the road. Here\u2014\" And she threw the sheet that Lavrans had given her across the bier to Kristin. \"I don't need Ragnfrid's linen to wrap around Arne for burial. Make yourself a kerchief out of it, or keep it to swaddle your wayside bastard\u2014and go over to help Gunhild mourn for the hanged man.\"\n\nLavrans, Gyrd, and the priest all seized hold of Inga. Simon tried to lift up Kristin, who was lying across the bier. But she vehemently shook off his hand, and then, still on her knees, she straightened up and shouted loudly, \"May God my Savior help me, that is a lie!\"\n\nShe put out her hand and held it over the nearest candle on the bier.\n\nIt looked as if the flame wavered and moved aside. Kristin felt everyone's eyes upon her\u2014for a very long time, it seemed. Then she suddenly noticed a searing pain in her palm, and with a piercing shriek she collapsed onto the floor.\n\nShe thought she had fainted, but she could feel Simon and the priest lifting her up. Inga screamed something. She saw her father's horrified face and heard the priest shout that no one should consider it a true trial\u2014this was not the way to ask God to bear witness\u2014and then Simon carried Kristin out of the loft and down the stairs. Simon's servant ran to the stable and a moment later Kristin, still only half conscious, was sitting on the front of Simon's saddle, wrapped in his cape, as he rode down toward the village as fast as his horse could carry them.\n\nThey had almost reached J\u00f8rundgaard when Lavrans overtook them. The rest of their entourage came thundering along the road far behind.\n\n\"Say nothing to your mother,\" said Simon as he set Kristin down next to the door. \"We've heard far too much senseless talk tonight; it's no wonder that you fainted in the end.\"\n\nRagnfrid was lying awake when they came in and she asked how things had gone at the vigil. Simon spoke for all of them. Yes, there were many candles and many people. Yes, a priest was there\u2014Tormod of Ulvsvold. Of Sira Eirik, he heard that he had ridden south to Hamar that very evening, so they would avoid any difficulty at the burial.\n\n\"We must have a mass said for the boy,\" said Ragnfrid. \"May God give Inga strength. She has been sorely tried, that good, capable woman.\"\n\nLavrans fell in with the tone that Simon had set, and in a little while Simon said that now they must all go to bed\u2014\"For Kristin is both tired and sad.\"\n\nSome time later, when Ragnfrid had fallen asleep, Lavrans threw on some clothes and went over to sit on the edge of the bed where his daughters were sleeping. In the dark he found Kristin's hand, and then he said gently, \"Now you must tell me, child, what is true and what is a lie in all this talk that Inga is spouting.\"\n\nSobbing, Kristin told him of everything that had happened on the evening that Arne left for Hamar. Lavrans said little. Then Kristin crawled forward on the bed and threw her arms around his neck, whimpering softly.\n\n\"I am to blame for Arne's death\u2014it's true what Inga said....\"\n\n\"Arne himself asked you to come and meet him,\" said Lavrans, pulling the covers up around his daughter's bare shoulders. \"It was thoughtless of me to allow the two of you to spend so much time together, but I thought the boy had better sense. I won't blame the two of you; I can see that these things are heavy for you to bear. And yet I never imagined that any of my daughters would fall into ill repute here in our village. It will be painful for your mother when she hears this news. But you went to Gunhild instead of coming to me\u2014that was so unwise that I can't understand how you could act so foolishly.\"\n\n\"I don't want to stay here in the village any longer,\" wept Kristin. \"I don't dare look a single person in the eye. And all the sorrow I have caused those at Romundgaard and at Finsbrekken...\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lavrans, \"they will have to make sure, both Gyrd and Sira Eirik, that these lies about you are put in the ground along with Arne. Otherwise it is Simon Andress\u00f8n who can best defend you in this matter.\" And he patted her in the dark. \"Don't you think he handled things well and with good sense?\"\n\n\"Father,\" Kristin begged, fearful and fervent, as she clung to him, \"send me to the cloister, Father. Yes, listen to me\u2014I've thought about this for a long time. Maybe Ulvhild will get well if I go in her place. Do you remember the shoes that I sewed for her this autumn, the ones with pearls on them? I pricked my fingers so badly, I bled from the sharp gold thread. I sat and sewed those shoes because I thought it was wrong that I didn't love my sister enough to become a nun and help her. Arne asked me about that once. If I had said yes back then, none of this would have happened.\"\n\nLavrans shook his head.\n\n\"Lie down now,\" he told her. \"You don't know what you're saying, my poor child. Now you must try to sleep.\"\n\nBut Kristin lay there, feeling the pain in her burned hand; bitterness and despair over her fate raged in her heart. Things could not have gone worse for her if she had been the most sinful of women; everyone would believe... No, she couldn't, she couldn't stand to stay here in the village. Horror after horror appeared before her. When her mother found out about this... And now there was blood between them and their parish priest, hostility among all those around her who had been friends her whole life. But the most extreme and oppressive fears seized her whenever she thought of Simon\u2014the way he had picked her up and carried her off and spoken for her at home and acted as if she were his property. Her father and mother had yielded to him as if she already belonged more to him than to them.\n\nThen she remembered Arne's face, cold and hideous. She remembered that she had seen an open grave waiting for a body the last time she came out of church. The chopped-up lumps of earth lay on the snow, hard and cold and gray as iron\u2014that was where she had brought Arne.\n\nSuddenly she thought about a summer night many years before. She was standing on the loft gallery at Finsbrekken, the same loft where she had been struck down this evening. Arne was playing ball with some boys down in the courtyard, and the ball came sailing up to her on the gallery. She held it behind her back and refused to give it up when Arne came to retrieve it. Then he tried to take it from her by force, and they had fought over it on the gallery, then inside the loft among the chests. The leather sacks full of clothes that were hanging there knocked them on the head when they ran into them during the chase. They had fought and tumbled over that ball.\n\nAnd now she finally seemed to realize that he was dead and gone, and that she would never see his brave, handsome face or feel his warm hands again. She had been so childish and heartless that it had never occurred to her how he would feel about losing her. She wept in despair and thought she deserved her own unhappiness. But then she started thinking again about everything that still awaited her, and she wept because she thought the punishment that would befall her was too severe.\n\nSimon was the one who told Ragnfrid about what had happened at the vigil at Brekken the night before. He made no more of the matter than was necessary. But Kristin was so dazed from grief and a sleepless night that she felt a purely unreasonable bitterness toward him, because he could speak of it as if it were not so terrible after all. She also felt a great displeasure at the way her parents let Simon act as if he were the master of the house.\n\n\"So you don't think anything of it, Simon?\" asked Ragnfrid anxiously.\n\n\"No,\" replied Simon. \"And I don't think anyone else will either; they know you and her and they know this Bentein. But there's not much to talk about in this remote village; it's perfectly reasonable for people to help themselves to this juicy tidbit. Now we'll have to teach them that Kristin's reputation is too rich a diet for the peasants around here. But it's too bad that she was so frightened by his coarseness that she didn't come to you at once, or go to Sira Eirik himself. I think that whorehouse priest would have gladly testified that he had meant no more than some innocent teasing if you had spoken to him, Lavrans.\"\n\nBoth parents agreed that Simon was right. But Kristin gave a shriek and stamped her foot.\n\n\"But he knocked me to the ground. I hardly know what he did to me. I was out of my senses; I no longer remember a thing. For all I know, it might be as Inga says. I haven't been well or happy for a single day since....\"\n\nRagnfrid gave a cry and pressed her hands together; Lavrans leaped to his feet. Even Simon's face changed expression; he gave Kristin a sharp look, went over to her, and put his hand under her chin. Then he laughed.\n\n\"God bless you, Kristin. You would have remembered it if he had done you any harm. It's no wonder she's been feeling melancholy and unwell since that unlucky evening when she was given such a fright\u2014she who has never met with anything but kindness and goodwill before,\" he said to the others. \"Anyone can see from her eyes, which bear no ill intent and would rather believe in good than evil, that she is a maiden and not a woman.\"\n\nKristin looked up into the small, steady eyes of her betrothed. She raised her arms halfway up; she wanted to place them around his neck.\n\nThen Simon went on. \"You mustn't think, Kristin, that you won't forget all about this. I don't intend for us to settle at Formo right away and never allow you to leave this valley. 'No one has the same color of hair or temperament in the rain as in the sun,' said old King Sverre when they accused his 'Birch-Leg' followers of growing arrogant with success.\"\n\nLavrans and Ragnfrid smiled. It amused them to hear the young man speak as if he were a wise old bishop.\n\nSimon continued. \"It would not be proper for me to admonish you, the man who is to be my fatherin-law, but perhaps I might say this much: we were dealt with more strictly, my siblings and I. We were not allowed to move so freely among the servants as I see it is Kristin's custom. My mother used to say that if you play with the cottager's children, in the long run you'll end up with lice in your hair; and there is some truth to that.\"\n\nLavrans and Ragnfrid said nothing to this. But Kristin turned away, and the desire she had felt for a moment to put her arms around Simon Darre's neck had vanished completely.\n\nAround midday Lavrans and Simon put on their skis and went off to tend to several traps up on the ridge. Outdoors it was now beautiful weather, sunny and not nearly as bitter cold. Both men were relieved to slip away from all the sorrow and tears at home, so they skied a great distance, all the way up to the bare rock.\n\nThey lay in the sun under a steep cliff and drank and ate. Then Lavrans talked a little about Arne; he had been very fond of the boy. Simon joined in, praising the dead man, and said that he didn't find it strange that Kristin should grieve for her foster brother. Then Lavrans mentioned that perhaps they should not pressure her so much, but give her a little more time to regain her composure before they celebrated the betrothal ale. She had said that she would like to go to a cloister for a while.\n\nSimon sat up suddenly and gave a long whistle.\n\n\"You don't care for the idea?\" asked Lavrans.\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes,\" replied the other man hastily. \"This seems to be the best counsel, dear fatherin-law. Send her to the sisters in Oslo for a year; then she'll learn how people talk about each other out in the world. I happen to know a little about several of the maidens who are there,\" he said and laughed. \"They wouldn't lie down and die of grief over two mad boys tearing each other apart for their sake. Not that I would want such a maiden for my wife, but I don't think it would do Kristin any harm to meet some new people.\"\n\nLavrans put the rest of the food in the knapsack and said, without looking at the young man, \"You are fond of Kristin, I think.\"\n\nSimon laughed a little but did not look at Lavrans.\n\n\"You must know that I have great affection for her\u2014and for you, as well,\" Simon said brusquely, and then he stood up and put on his skis. \"I have never met any maiden I would rather marry.\"\n\nRight before Easter, while it was still possible to drive a sleigh down the valley and across Lake Mj\u00f8sa, Kristin made her second journey to the south. Simon came to escort her to the cloister. So this time she traveled with her father and her betrothed, sitting in the sleigh, wrapped in furs. And accompanying them were servants and sleighs full of her chests of clothing and gifts of food and furs for the abbess and the sisters of Nonneseter."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE WREATH",
                "text": "Early one sunday morning at the end of April, Aasmund Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n's church boat glided past the point on the island of Hoved\u00f8 as the bells rang in the cloister church, and bells from the town chimed their reply out across the bay, sounding louder, then fainter as the wind carried the notes.\n\nThe sky was clear and pale blue, with light fluted clouds drifting across it, and the sun was glinting restlessly on the rippling water. It seemed quite springlike along the shore; the fields were almost bare of snow, and there were bluish shadows and a yellowish sheen on the leafy thickets. But snow was visible in the spruce forest atop the ridges framing the settlements of Aker, and to the west, on the distant blue mountains beyond the fjord, many streaks of white still gleamed.\n\nKristin was standing in the bow of the boat with her father and Gyrid, Aasmund's wife. She turned her gaze toward the town, with all of its light-colored churches and stone buildings rising up above the multitudes of grayish-brown wooden houses and the bare crowns of the trees. The wind ruffled the edges of her cloak and tousled her hair beneath her hood.\n\nThey had let the livestock out to pasture at Skog the day before, and Kristin had suddenly felt such a homesickness for J\u00f8rundgaard. It would be a long time before they could let out the cattle back home. She felt a tender and sympathetic longing for the winter-gaunt cattle in the dark stalls; they would have to wait and endure for many days yet. She missed everyone so\u2014her mother, Ulvhild, who had slept in her arms every night for all these years, little Ramborg. She longed for all the people back home and for the horses and dogs; for Kortelin, whom Ulvhild would take care of while she was gone; and for her father's hawks, sitting on their perches with hoods over their heads. Next to them hung the gloves made of horsehide, which had to be worn when handling them, and the ivory sticks used to scratch them.\n\nAll the terrible events of the winter now seemed so far away, and she only remembered her home as it had been before. They had also told her that no one in the village thought ill of her. Nor did Sira Eirik; he was angry and aggrieved by what Bentein had done. Bentein had escaped from Hamar, and it was said that he had run off to Sweden. So things had not been as unpleasant between her family and the people of the neighboring farm as Kristin had feared.\n\nOn their way south they had stayed at Simon's home, and she had met his mother and siblings; Sir Andres was still in Sweden. She had not felt at ease there, and her dislike of the family at Dyfrin was all the greater because she knew of no reasonable explanation for it. During the entire journey she had told herself that they had no reason to be haughty or to consider themselves better than her ancestors\u2014no one had ever heard of Reidar Darre, the Birch-Leg, until King Sverre found the widow of the baron at Dyfrin for him to wed.\n\nBut they turned out not to be haughty at all, and Simon even spoke of his ancestor one evening. \"I have now found out for certain that he was supposed to have been a comb maker\u2014so you will truly be joining a royal lineage, Kristin,\" he said.\n\n\"Guard your tongue, my boy,\" said his mother, but they all laughed.\n\nKristin felt so oddly distressed when she thought of her father. He laughed a great deal whenever Simon gave him the least reason to do so. The thought occurred to her that perhaps her father would have liked to laugh more often in his life. But she didn't like it that he was so fond of Simon.\n\nDuring Easter they were all at Skog. Kristin noticed that her Uncle Aasmund was a stern master toward his tenants and servants. She met a few people who asked after her mother and who spoke affectionately of Lavrans; they had enjoyed better days when he was living there. Aasmund's mother, who was Lavrans's stepmother, lived on the farm in her own house. She was not particularly old, but she was sickly and feeble. Lavrans seldom spoke of her at home. Once when Kristin asked her father whether he had had a quarrelsome stepmother, he had replied, \"She has never done much for me, good or bad.\"\n\nKristin reached for her father's hand, and he squeezed hers in return.\n\n\"I know you'll be happy with the worthy sisters, my daughter. There you'll have other things to think about than yearning for us back home.\"\n\nThey sailed so close to the town that the smell of tar and salt fish drifted out to them from the docks. Gyrid pointed out the churches and farms and roads that stretched upward from the water's edge. Kristin recognized nothing from the last time she had been there except for the ponderous towers of Halvard's Cathedral. They sailed west, around the entire town, and then put in at the nuns' dock.\n\nKristin walked between her father and her uncle past a cluster of warehouses and then reached the road, which led uphill past the fields. Gyrid followed after them, escorted by Simon. The servants stayed behind to help several men from the cloister load the trunks onto a cart.\n\nThe convent Nonneseter and all of Leiran lay inside the town's boundaries, but there were only a few houses clustered here and there along the road. The larks were chirping overhead in the pale blue sky, and tiny yellow Michaelmas daisies teemed on the sallow dirt hills, but along the fences the roots of the grass were green.\n\nAs they went through the gate and entered the colonnade, all the nuns came walking toward them in a procession from church, with music and song streaming after them from the open doorway.\n\nKristin stared uneasily at the many black-clad women with white wimples framing their faces. She sank into a curtsey, and the men bowed with their hats pressed to their chests. Following the nuns came a group of young maidens\u2014some of them were children\u2014wearing dresses of undyed homespun, with black-and-white belts made of twisted cord around their waists. Their hair was pulled back from their faces and braided tightly with the same kind of black-and-white cord. Kristin unconsciously put on a haughty expression for the young maidens because she felt shy, and she was afraid that they would think she looked unrefined and foolish.\n\nThe convent was so magnificent that she was completely overwhelmed. All the buildings surrounding the inner courtyard were made of gray stone. On the north side the long wall of the church loomed above the other buildings; it had a two-tiered roof and a tower at the west end. The surface of the courtyard was paved with flagstones, and the entire area was enclosed by a covered arcade supported by stately pillars. In the center of the square stood a stone statue of Mater Misericordiae, spreading her cloak over a group of kneeling people.\n\nA lay sister came forward and asked them to follow her to the parlatory, the abbess's reception room. Abbess Groa Guttormsdatter was a tall, stout old woman. She would have been good-looking if she hadn't had so many stubbly hairs around her mouth. Her voice was deep and made her sound like a man. But she had a pleasant manner, and she reminded Lavrans that she had known his parents, and then asked after his wife and their other children. At last she turned kindly to Kristin.\n\n\"I have heard good things of you, and you seem to be clever and well brought up, so I do not think you will give us any reason for displeasure. I have heard that you are promised to that noble and good man, Simon Andress\u00f8n, whom I see before me. We think it wise of your father and your betrothed to send you here to the Virgin Mary's house for a time, so that you can learn to obey and to serve before you are charged with giving orders and commands. I want to impress on you now that you should learn to find joy in prayer and the divine services so that in all your actions you will be in the habit of remembering your Creator, the Lord's gentle Mother, and all the saints who have given us the best examples of strength, rectitude, fidelity, and all the virtues that you ought to demonstrate if you are to manage property and servants and raise children. You will also learn in this house that one must pay close attention to time, because here each hour has a specific purpose and chore. Many young maidens and wives are much too fond of lying in bed late in the morning, and of lingering at the table in the evening, carrying on useless conversation. But you do not look as if you were that kind. Yet you can learn a great deal from this year that will benefit you both here and in that other home.\"\n\nKristin curtseyed and kissed her hand. Then Fru Groa told Kristin to follow an execeptionally fat old nun, whom she called Sister Potentia, over to the nuns' refectory. She invited the men and Fru Gyrid to dine with her in a different room.\n\nThe refectory was a beautiful hall. It had a stone floor and arched windows with glass panes. A doorway led into another room, and Kristin could see that this room too must have glass windowpanes, because the sun was shining inside.\n\nThe sisters had already sat down and were waiting for the food. The older nuns were sitting on a stone bench covered with cushions along the wall under the windows. The younger sisters and the bareheaded maidens wearing light homespun dresses sat on a wooden bench in front of the table. Tables had also been set in the adjoining room, which was intended for the most distinguished of the corrodians and the lay servants; there were several old men among them. These people did not wear cloister garb, but they did wear dark and dignified attire.\n\nSister Potentia showed Kristin to a place on the outer bench while she herself went over to a seat near the abbess's place of honor at the head of the table, which would remain empty today.\n\nEveryone rose, both in the main hall and in the adjoining room, as the sisters said the blessing. Then a young, pretty nun came forward and stepped up to a lectern which had been placed in the doorway between the rooms. And while two of the lay sisters in the main hall and two of the youngest nuns in the other room brought in the food and drink, the nun read in a loud and lovely voice\u2014without pausing or hesitating at a single word\u2014the story of Saint Theodora and Saint Didymus.\n\nFrom the very first moment, Kristin thought most about showing good table manners, for she noticed that all the sisters and young maidens had such elegant comportment and ate so properly, as if they were at the most magnificent banquet. There was an abundance of the best food and drink, but everyone took only modest portions, using only the tips of their fingers to help themselves from the platters. No one spilled any soup on the tablecloth or on their clothes, and everyone cut up the meat into such tiny pieces that they hardly sullied their lips; they ate so carefully that not a sound could be heard.\n\nKristin was sweating with fear that she wouldn't be able to act as refined as the others. She also felt uncomfortable in her brightly colored attire among all the women dressed in black and white. She imagined that they were all staring at her. Then, as she was about to eat a piece of fatty mutton breast and was holding it with two fingers pressed against the bone while in her right hand she held the knife, trying to cut easily and neatly, the whole thing slipped away from her. The bread and the meat leaped onto the tablecloth as the knife fell with a clatter to the floor.\n\nThe sound was deafening in that quiet room. Kristin blushed red as blood and was about to bend down to pick up the knife, but a lay sister wearing sandals came over, soundlessly, and gathered up the things. But Kristin could eat nothing more. She also noticed that she had cut her finger, and she was afraid of bleeding on the tablecloth, so she sat there with her hand wrapped up in a fold of her dress, thinking that now she was making spots on the lovely light-blue gown that she had been given for her journey to Oslo. And she didn't dare raise her eyes from her lap.\n\nAfter a while she started to listen more closely to what the nun was reading. When the chieftain could not sway the maiden Theodora's steadfast will\u2014she would neither make sacrifices to false gods nor let herself be married\u2014he ordered her to be taken to a brothel. Furthermore, he exhorted her along the way to think of her freeborn ancestors and her honorable parents, upon whom an everlasting shame would now fall, and he promised that she would be allowed to live in peace and remain a maiden if she would agree to serve a pagan goddess, whom they called Diana.\n\nTheodora replied, unafraid, \"Chastity is like a lamp, but love for God is the flame. If I were to serve the devil-woman whom you call Diana, then my chastity would be worth no more than a rusty lamp without fire or oil. You call me freeborn, but we are all born thralls, since our first parents sold us to the Devil. Christ has redeemed me, and I am obliged to serve him, so I cannot marry his enemies. He will protect his dove, but if he would cause you to break my body, which is the temple of his Holy Spirit, then it shall not be reckoned to my shame, as long as I do not consent to betray his property in enemy hands.\"\n\nKristin's heart began to pound, because this reminded her in a certain way of her encounter with Bentein. It struck her that perhaps this was her sin, that she had not for a moment thought of God or prayed for His help. Then Sister Cecilia read about Saint Didymus. He was a Christian knight, but he had kept his Christianity secret from all except a few friends. He went to the house where the maiden was confined. He gave money to the woman who owned the house, and then he was allowed to go to Theodora. She fled to a corner like a frightened rabbit, but Didymus greeted her as a sister and the bride of his Lord and said that he had come to save her. Then he talked to her for a while, saying: \"Shouldn't a brother risk his own life for his sister's honor?\" And finally she did as he asked; she exchanged clothes with him and allowed herself to be strapped into his coat of mail. He pulled the helmet down over her eyes and drew the cape closed under her chin, and then he told her to go out with her face hidden, like a youth who was ashamed to be in such a place.\n\nKristin thought about Arne and had the greatest difficulty in holding back her sobs. She stared straight ahead, with tear-filled eyes, as the nun read the end of the story\u2014how Didymus was led off to the gallows and Theodora came rushing down from the mountains, threw herself at the executioner's feet, and begged to be allowed to die in his place. Then those two pious people argued about who would be the first to win the crown, and they were both beheaded on the same day. It was the twenty-eighth day of April in the year A.D. 304, in Antioch, as Saint Ambrosius has written of it.\n\nWhen they rose from the table, Sister Potentia came over and patted Kristin kindly on the cheek. \"Yes, I can imagine that you are longing for your mother.\" Then Kristin's tears began to fall. But the nun pretended not to notice, and she led Kristin to the dormitory where she was going to live.\n\nIt was in one of the stone buildings along the colonnade, a beautiful room with glass windowpanes and an enormous fireplace at the far end. Along one wall stood six beds and along the other were all of the maidens' chests.\n\nKristin wished she would be allowed to sleep with one of the little girls, but Sister Potentia called to a plump, fair-haired, fully grown maiden.\n\n\"This is Ingebj\u00f8rg Filippusdatter, who will be your bedmate. The two of you should get acquainted.\" And then she left.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg took Kristin's hand at once and began to talk. She was not very tall and much too fat, especially in her face; her eyes were tiny because her cheeks were so fat. But her complexion was pure, pink and white, and her hair was yellow like gold and so curly that her thick braids twisted and turned like ropes, and little locks were constantly slipping out from under her headband.\n\nShe immediately began asking Kristin about all sorts of things but never waited for an answer. Instead, she talked about herself and reeled off all her ancestors in all the branches; they were grand and enormously wealthy people. Ingebj\u00f8rg was also betrothed, to a rich and powerful man, Einar Einarss\u00f8n of Agan;aes\u2014but he was much too old and had twice been widowed. It was her greatest sorrow, she said. But Kristin couldn't see that she was taking it particularly hard. Then Ingebj\u00f8rg talked a little about Simon Darre\u2014it was strange how carefully she had studied him during that brief moment when they passed each other in the arcade. Then Ingebj\u00f8rg wanted to look in Kristin's chest, but first she opened her own and showed Kristin all of her gowns. As they were rummaging in the chests, Sister Cecilia came in. She reproached them and told them that was not a proper activity on a Sunday. And then Kristin felt downhearted again. She had never been reprimanded by anyone except her own mother, and it felt odd to be scolded by strangers.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg was completely unperturbed.\n\nThat night, after they had gone to bed, Ingebj\u00f8rg lay there talking, right up until Kristin fell asleep. Two elderly lay sisters slept in a corner of the room. They were supposed to see to it that the maidens did not remove their shifts at night\u2014for it was against the rules for the girls to undress completely\u2014and that they got up in time for matins at the church. But otherwise they didn't concern themselves with keeping order in the dormitory, and they pretended not to notice when the maidens lay in bed talking or eating treats they had hidden in their chests.\n\nWhen Kristin awoke the next morning, Ingebj\u00f8rg was already in the middle of a long story, and Kristin wondered whether she had been talking all night."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "The foreign merchants who spent the summer trading in Oslo arrived in the city in the spring, around Holy Cross Day, which was ten days before the Vigil of Saint Halvard. For that celebration, people came in throngs from all the villages from Lake Mj\u00f8sa to the Swedish border, so the town was teeming with people during the first weeks of May. It was best to buy goods from the foreigners during that time, before they had sold too many of their wares.\n\nSister Potentia was in charge of the shopping at Nonneseter, and on the day before the Vigil of Saint Halvard she had promised Ingebj\u00f8rg and Kristin that they could go along with her into town. But around noon some of Sister Potentia's kinsmen came to the convent to visit her; she would not be able to go out that day. Then Ingebj\u00f8rg managed to beg permission for them to go alone, although this was against the rules. As an escort, an old farmer who received a corrody from the cloister was sent along with them. His name was Haakon.\n\nBy this time, Kristin had been at Nonneseter for three weeks, and in all that time she had not once set foot outside the convent's courtyards and gardens. She was astonished to see how springlike it had become outside. The small groves of leafy trees out in the fields were shiny green, and the wood anemones were growing as thick as a carpet beneath the lustrous tree trunks. Bright fair-weather clouds came sailing above the islands in the fjord, and the water looked fresh and blue, rippled by small gusts of spring wind.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg skipped along, snapping off clusters of leaves from the trees and smelling them, turning to stare at the people they passed, but Haakon reproached her. Was that the proper way for a noble maiden to act, and one who was wearing convent attire, at that? The maidens had to take each other by the hand and walk along behind him, quietly and decorously; but Ingebj\u00f8rg let her eyes wander and her mouth chatter all the same, since Haakon was slightly deaf. Kristin now wore the garb of a young sister: an undyed, pale-gray homespun dress, a woolen belt and headband, and a simple dark-blue cloak with the hood pulled forward so that her braided hair was completely hidden. Haakon strode along in front of them with a big brass-knobbed stick in his hand. He was dressed in a long black coat, with an Agnus Dei made of lead hanging on his chest and a picture of Saint Christopher on his hat. His white hair and beard were so well-brushed that they glinted like silver in the sun.\n\nThe upper part of the town, from the nuns' creek and down toward the bishop's citadel, was a quiet neighborhood. There were no market stalls or hostelries, only farms belonging mostly to gentry from the outlying villages. The buildings faced the street with dark and windowless timbered gables. But on this day, the lane was already crowded up there, and servants were hanging over the farm fences, talking to the people walking past.\n\nAs they came out near the bishop's citadel, they joined a great throng at the marketplace in front of Halvard's Cathedral and Olav's cloister. Booths had been set up on the grassy slope and there were strolling players who were making trained dogs jump through barrel hoops. But Haakon wouldn't let the maidens stop to watch, nor would he allow Kristin to enter the church; he said it would be more fun for her to see it on the great festival day itself.\n\nOn the road in front of Clement's Church, Haakon took them both by the hand, for here the crowd was even bigger, with people coming in from the wharves or from the lanes between the townyards. The girls were going to Miklegaard, where the shoemakers worked. Ingebj\u00f8rg thought the dresses that Kristin had brought from home were pretty and nice, but she said that the footwear Kristin had with her from the village could not be worn on fine occasions. And when Kristin saw the foreign-made shoes, of which Ingebj\u00f8rg had many pairs, she thought she could not rest until she had bought some for herself.\n\nMiklegaard was one of the largest townyards in Oslo. It extended all the way from the wharves up toward Shoemaker Lane, with more than forty buildings surrounding two big courtyards. Now booths with homespun canopies had also been set up in the courtyards, and above the tents towered a statue of Saint Crispin. There was a great crush of people shopping. Women were running back and forth to the cookhouses with pots and buckets, children were getting tangled up in people's feet, horses were being led in and out of the stables, and servants were carrying loads in and out of the storage sheds. Up on the galleries of the lofts where the finest wares were sold, the shoemakers and hawkers in the booths called to the maidens below, dangling toward them small, colorful, gold-stitched shoes.\n\nBut Ingebj\u00f8rg headed for the loft where Shoemaker Didrek had his workshop; he was German but had a Norwegian wife and owned a building in Miklegaard.\n\nThe old man was conducting business with a gentleman wearing a traveling cape and a sword at his belt, but Ingebj\u00f8rg stepped forward boldly, bowed, and said, \"Good sir, won't you allow us to speak with Didrek first? We must be back home at our convent before vespers, and you perhaps have more time?\"\n\nThe gentleman greeted her and stepped aside. Didrek gave Inge bj\u00f8rg a poke with his elbow and asked her with a laugh whether they were dancing so much at the cloister that she had already worn out all the shoes she had bought the year before. Ingebj\u00f8rg gave him a poke back and said that they were hardly used at all, good heavens, but here was another maiden\u2014and she pulled Kristin over to him. Then Didrek and his apprentice brought a chest out to the gallery, and he started taking out the shoes, each pair more beautiful than the last. Kristin sat down on a box and he tried the shoes on her feet. There were white shoes, and brown and red and green and blue shoes; shoes with painted heels made of wood, and shoes with no heels at all; shoes with buckles, shoes with silken ties, and shoes made from two or three different colored leathers. Kristin almost thought she liked them all. But they were so expensive that she was shocked\u2014not a single pair cost less than a cow back home. Her father had given her a purse with one mark of silver counted out in coins when he left; this was to be her spending money, and Kristin had thought it a great sum. But she could see that Ingebj\u00f8rg didn't think she could buy much with it at all.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg also had to try on shoes, just for fun. It didn't cost anything, said Didrek with a laugh. She bought a pair of leaf-green shoes with red heels, but she had to take them on credit; Didrek knew her, after all, as well as her family.\n\nBut Kristin could see that Didrek did not much care for this, and he was also dismayed because the tall gentleman in the traveling cape had left the loft; they had spent a long time trying on shoes. So Kristin chose a pair of shoes without heels made of thin, blue-violet leather; they were stitched with silver and rose-colored stones. But she didn't like the green silk straps. Then Didrek said that he could change them, and he took them along to a room at the back of the loft. There he had boxes of silk ribbons and small silver buckles\u2014things which shoemakers were actually not allowed to sell, and many of the ribbons were too wide and the buckles too big for shoes anyway.\n\nBoth Kristin and Ingebj\u00f8rg had to buy a few of these odds and ends, and by the time they had drunk a little sweet wine with Didrek and he had wrapped up their purchases in a homespun cloth, it had grown quite late, and Kristin's purse had grown much lighter.\n\nWhen they came out onto East Lane again, the sun was quite gold, and the dust from all the traffic in the town hung like a faint haze over the street. It was so warm and lovely, and people were arriving from Eikaberg with great armfuls of new foliage to decorate their houses for the holiday. Then Ingebj\u00f8rg decided that they should walk out toward Gjeita Bridge. On market days there was always so much entertainment going on in the paddocks along the river, with jugglers and fiddlers. Ingebj\u00f8rg had even heard that a whole ship full of foreign animals had arrived, and they were being displayed in cages down on the shore.\n\nHaakon had had some German beer at Miklegaard and was now quite amenable and in good spirits, so when the maidens took him by the arm and begged so nicely, he relented, and the three of them walked over toward Eikaberg.\n\nOn the other side of the river there were only a few small farms scattered across the green slopes between the river and the steep incline. They went past the Minorites' cloister, and Kristin's heart shrank with shame, for she suddenly remembered that she had wanted to offer most of her silver for Arne's soul. But she had not wanted to speak of this to the priest at Nonneseter; she was afraid of being questioned. She had thought that perhaps she could go out to visit the barefoot friars in the pastures to see whether Brother Edvin had returned\u2014she would have liked so much to meet him. But she didn't know how properly to approach one of the monks or to broach the topic. And now she had so little money left that she didn't know whether she could afford a mass; maybe she would have to settle for offering a thick wax candle.\n\nSuddenly they heard a terrible roar from countless voices out at the paddock on the shore\u2014it was as if a storm were passing over the swarm of people gathered down there. And then the whole crowd came rushing up toward them, shrieking and hollering. Everyone was running in wild terror, and several people screamed to Haakon and the maidens that the leopards were loose.\n\nThey raced back toward the bridge, and they heard people shouting to each other that a cage had tipped over and two leopards had escaped; someone also mentioned a snake. The closer they came to the bridge, the greater the crowd. A baby fell from a woman's arms right in front of them, and Haakon stood over the little one to protect him. A moment later Kristin and Ingebj\u00f8rg caught a glimpse of the old man far off to one side, holding the child in his arms, and then they lost sight of him.\n\nAt the narrow bridge the mob surged forward so fiercely that the maidens were forced out into a field. They saw people running along the riverbank; young men jumped into the water and began to swim, but the older people leaped into the moored boats, which became instantly overloaded.\n\nKristin tried to make Ingebj\u00f8rg listen to her; she screamed that they should run over to the Minorites' cloister. The gray-cowled monks had come rushing over and were trying to gather the terrified people. Kristin was not as frightened as her friend, and they saw nothing of the wild animals, but Ingebj\u00f8rg had completely lost her head. The swarms of people surged forward again, and then were driven back from the bridge because a large crowd of men who had gone to the nearest farms to arm themselves was now headed back, some on horseback, some running. When Ingebj\u00f8rg was almost trampled by a horse, she gave a shriek and took off up the hill toward the forest. Kristin had never imagined that Ingebj\u00f8rg could run so fast\u2014she was reminded of a hunted boar \u2014and she ran after her so that they wouldn't become separated.\n\nThey were deep inside the forest before Kristin managed to stop Ingebj\u00f8rg on a small pathway which seemed to lead down toward the road to Tr\u00e6laborg. They paused for a moment to catch their breath. Ingebj\u00f8rg was sniffling and crying, and she said she didn't dare go back alone through the town and all the way out to the convent.\n\nKristin didn't think it a good idea either, with so much commotion in the streets; she thought they should find a house where they might hire a boy to accompany them home. Ingebj\u00f8rg recalled a bridle path to Tr\u00e6laborg farther down near the shore, and she was certain that along the path were several houses. So they followed the path downhill."
            },
            {
                "title": "Distressed as they both were, it seemed to them that they walked for a long time before they finally saw a farm in the middle of a field. In the courtyard they found a group of men sitting at a table beneath some ash trees, drinking. A woman went back and forth, bringing pitchers out to them. She gave the two maidens in convent attire a surprised and annoyed look, and none of the men seemed to want to accompany them when Kristin explained their need. But finally two young fellows stood up and said they would escort the girls to Nonneseter if Kristin would pay them an \u00f8rtug.",
                "text": "She could tell from their speech that they weren't Norwegian, but they seemed to be decent men. She thought their demand shamefully exorbitant, but Ingebj\u00f8rg was scared out of her wits and she didn't think they should walk home alone so late in the day, so she agreed.\n\nNo sooner had they come out onto the forest path than the men drew aside and began talking to each other. Kristin was upset by this, but she didn't want to show her apprehension, so she spoke to them calmly, told them about the leopards, and asked them where they were from. She also looked around, pretending that at any minute she expected to meet the servants who had been escorting them; she talked about them as if they were a large group. Gradually the men said less and less, and she understood very little of their language anyway.\n\nAfter a while Kristin noticed that they were not headed the way she had come with Ingebj\u00f8rg; the path led in a different direction, more to the north, and she thought they had already gone much too far. Deep inside her, terror was smoldering, but she dared not let it slip into her thoughts. She felt oddly strengthened having Ingebj\u00f8rg along; the girl was so foolish that Kristin realized she would have to handle things for both of them. Under her cloak she pulled out the reliquary cross that her father had given her, clasped her hand around it, and prayed with all her heart that they might meet up with someone soon, as she tried to gather her courage and pretend that nothing was wrong.\n\nA moment later she saw that the path led out onto a road, and at that spot there was a clearing. The bay and the town lay far below them. The men had led them astray, either willfully or because they were not familiar with the paths. They were high up on the slope and far north of Gjeita Bridge, which Kristin could see. The road they had reached seemed to lead in that direction.\n\nThen she stopped, took out her purse, and began to count out the ten penninger into her hand.\n\n\"Now, good sirs,\" she said, \"we no longer need your escort. We know the way from here. We give you thanks for your trouble, and here is your payment, as we agreed. God be with you, good friends.\"\n\nThe men looked at each other for a moment, quite foolishly, so that Kristin was almost about to smile. But then one of them said with an ugly leer that the road down to the bridge was a desolate one; it would not be advisable for them to go alone.\n\n\"No one would be so malicious or so stupid as to want to stop two maidens, especially two dressed in convent attire,\" replied Kristin. \"We prefer to go alone,\" and then she handed them the money.\n\nThe man grabbed hold of her wrist, stuck his face close to hers, and said something about a \"Kuss\" and a \"Beutel.\" Kristin understood that they would be allowed to go unharmed if she would give him a kiss and her purse.\n\nShe remembered Bentein's face close to hers, just like this, and for a moment fear seized her; she felt nauseated and sick. But she pressed her lips together, calling upon God and the Virgin Mary in her heart\u2014and at that moment she heard hoofbeats on the path coming from the north.\n\nThen she struck the man in the face with her coin purse so that he stumbled, and she shoved him in the chest so that he toppled off the path and tumbled down into the woods. The other German grabbed her from behind, tore the purse out of her hand, and tugged at the chain around her neck, breaking it. She was just about to fall, but she seized hold of the man, attempting to get her cross back. He tried to pull away; the robber had now heard someone approaching too. Ingebj\u00f8rg screamed loudly, and the horsemen on the path came racing as fast as they could. They emerged from the thickets; there were three of them. Ingebj\u00f8rg ran toward them, shrieking, and they jumped down from their horses. Kristin recognized the gentleman from Didrek's loft; he drew his sword, grabbed the German she was struggling with by the scruff of his neck, and struck him with the flat of the blade. His men ran after the other one, seized him, and beat him with all their might.\n\nKristin leaned against the rock face. Now that it was over she was shaking, but what she felt most was astonishment that her prayer had been answered so quickly. Then she noticed Ingebj\u00f8rg. The girl had thrown back her hood, letting her cloak fall loosely over her shoulders, and she was arranging her thick blonde braids on her breast. Kristin burst out laughing at the sight. She sank down and had to cling to a tree because she couldn't hold herself up; it was as if she had water instead of marrow in her bones, she felt so weak. She trembled and laughed and cried.\n\nThe gentleman came over to her and cautiously placed his hand on her shoulder.\n\n\"No doubt you have been more frightened than you dared show,\" he said, and his voice was pleasant and kind. \"But now you must get hold of yourself; you acted so bravely while the danger lasted.\"\n\nKristin could only nod. He had beautiful bright eyes, a thin, tan face, and coal-black hair that was cropped short across his forehead and behind his ears.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg had managed to arrange her hair properly at last; she came over and thanked the stranger with many elegant words. He stood there with his hand on Kristin's shoulder as he spoke to the other maiden.\n\n\"We'll take these birds along to town so they can be thrown in the dungeon,\" he said to his men who were holding the two Germans, who said they belonged to the Rostock ship. \"But first we must escort the maidens back to their convent. I'm sure you can find some straps to tie them up with....\"\n\n\"Do you mean the maidens, Erlend?\" asked one of the men. They were young, strong, and well-dressed boys, and they were both flushed after the fight.\n\nTheir master frowned and was about to give a sharp reply. But Kristin put her hand on his sleeve.\n\n\"Let them go, kind sir!\" She gave a small shudder. \"My sister and I would be most reluctant to have this matter talked about.\"\n\nThe stranger looked down at her, bit his lip, and nodded as he gazed at her. Then he gave each of the prisoners a blow on the back of the neck with the flat of his blade so that they fell forward. \"Get going,\" he said, giving them a kick, and they took off as fast as they could. The gentleman turned back to the maidens and asked them if they would like to ride.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg allowed herself to be lifted up into Erlend's saddle, but it turned out that she couldn't stay in it; she slipped down again at once. He gave Kristin a questioning look, and she told him that she was used to riding a man's saddle.\n\nHe grasped her around the knees and lifted her up. She felt a thrill pass through her, sweet and good, because he held her away from himself so carefully, as if he were afraid to get too close to her. Back home they had never paid attention if they pressed her too close when they helped her onto her horse. She felt so strangely honored.\n\nThe knight\u2014as Ingebj\u00f8rg called him, even though he wore silver spurs\u2014offered the other maiden his hand, and his men leaped onto their horses. Ingebj\u00f8rg now wanted them to go north, around the town and along the foot of the Ryen hills and the Marte outcrop, not through the streets. Her excuse was that Sir Erlend and his men were fully armed, weren't they? The knight replied somberly that the ban against bearing weapons was not so strictly enforced for those who were traveling, or for all the people in town who were now hunting wild beasts. Kristin realized full well that Ingebj\u00f8rg wanted to take the longest and least traveled road in order to talk more with Erlend.\n\n\"This is the second time we have delayed you this evening, sir,\" said Ingebj\u00f8rg.\n\nErlend replied gravely, \"It doesn't matter; I'm going no farther than to Gerdarud tonight\u2014and it stays light all night long.\"\n\nKristin was so pleased that he neither teased nor jested but spoke to her as he would to an equal, or more than that. She thought of Simon; she had never met any other young men of the courtly class. But this man was probably somewhat older than Simon.\n\nThey made their way down into the valley below the Ryen hills and up along the stream. The path was narrow, and the young leafy bushes flicked wet, fragrant branches at Kristin. It was a little darker down there, the air was chill, and the foliage was wet with dew along the streambed.\n\nThey moved slowly, and the hooves of the horses sounded muffled against the damp, grass-covered path. Kristin swayed in the saddle; behind her she could hear Ingebj\u00f8rg talking, and the stranger's dark, calm voice. He didn't say much, answering as if preoccupied\u2014as if he were feeling the same as she was, thought Kristin. She felt so strangely drowsy, but safe and content now that all the events of the day had slipped away.\n\nIt was like waking up as they emerged from the forest, out onto the slopes below the Marte outcrop. The sun had gone down and the town and the bay lay below them in clear, pallid light. The Aker ridges were limned with bright yellow beneath the pale blue sky. Sounds carried a long way in the quiet of the evening, as if they were coming from the depths of the cool air. From somewhere along the road came the screech of a wagon wheel, and dogs barked to each other from farms on opposite sides of the town. But in the forest behind them birds chirped and sang at the top of their voices now that the sun had gone down.\n\nSmoke drifted through the air as dry grass and leaves were burned, and in the middle of a field a bonfire flared red; the great fiery rose made the clarity of the night seem dim.\n\nThey were riding between the fences of the convent's fields when the stranger spoke to Ingebj\u00f8rg again. He asked her what she thought would be best: Should he escort her to the door and ask to speak with Fru Groa, so that he could tell her how this had all come about? But Ingebj\u00f8rg thought they should sneak in through the church; then they might be able to slip into the convent without being noticed. They had been gone much too long. Perhaps Sister Potentia had forgotten them because of the visit from her kinsmen.\n\nIt didn't occur to Kristin to wonder why it was so quiet in the square in front of the west entrance of the church. Usually there was a great hubbub in the evening as people from the neighboring area came to the nuns' church. And all around stood houses where many of the lay servants and corrodians lived. This was where they said farewell to Erlend. Kristin paused to pet his horse; it was black, with a handsome head and gentle eyes. She thought it looked like Morvin, the horse she had ridden back home when she was a child.\n\n\"What's the name of your horse, sir?\" she asked as the animal turned his head and snuffled at the man's chest.\n\n\"Bajard,\" he said, looking at Kristin over the horse's neck. \"You ask the name of my horse, but not mine?\"\n\n\"I would indeed like to know your name, sir,\" she replied, with a little bow.\n\n\"Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n is my name,\" he said.\n\n\"Then we must thank you, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, for your good assistance tonight,\" replied Kristin, giving him her hand.\n\nSuddenly her face flushed bright red; she pulled her hand halfway out of his grasp.\n\n\"Fru Aashild Gautesdatter at Dovre\u2014is she your kinswoman?\" she asked.\n\nShe saw with surprise that he too turned blood red. He let go of her hand abruptly and replied, \"She is my mother's sister. It's true that I am Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n of Husaby.\" He gave Kristin such a strange look that she grew even more confused, but she pulled herself together.\n\n\"I should have thanked you with better words, Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n, but I don't know what to say to you.\"\n\nThen he bowed, and she thought she should say goodbye, even though she would have preferred to talk with him longer. At the entrance to the church she turned around, and when she saw that Erlend was still standing next to his horse, she raised her hand and waved.\n\nInside the convent great fear and commotion reigned. Haakon had sent a messenger home on horseback while he himself walked through the town searching for the maidens, and servants had been sent out to help him. The nuns had heard that the wild animals had supposedly killed and devoured two children in town. This turned out to be a rumor, and the leopard\u2014there was only one\u2014 had been captured well before vespers by several men from the king's castle.\n\nKristin stood with her head bowed and kept silent as the abbess and Sister Potentia vented their anger on the maidens. She seemed to be asleep inside. Ingebj\u00f8rg wept and spoke in their defense: they had gone out with Sister Potentia's permission, after all, with the proper escort, and they were not to blame for what had happened afterward.\n\nBut Fru Groa told them to stay in the church until the clock struck midnight and try to turn their thoughts to spiritual matters and thank God, who had saved their lives and honor. \"God has clearly shown you the truth about the world,\" she said. \"Wild beasts and the Devil's servants threaten His children every step of the way, and there is no salvation unless you cleave to Him with entreaties and prayers.\"\n\nShe gave each of them a lit candle and told them to go with Sister Cecilia Baardsdatter, who often sat in the church alone, praying into the night.\n\nKristin placed her candle on the altar of Saint Laurentius and knelt down on the prayer bench. She stared steadily into the flame as she said her Pater noster and Ave Maria. Gradually the glow of the taper seemed to envelop her, shutting out everything else surrounding her and the candle. She felt her heart open up, brimming over with gratitude and promises and love for God and His gentle Mother\u2014she felt them so near. She had always known that they saw her, but on this night she felt that it was so. She saw the world as if in a vision: a dark room into which a beam of sunlight fell, with dust motes tumbling in and out, from darkness to light, and she felt that now she had finally moved into the sunbeam.\n\nShe thought she would gladly have stayed in the quiet night-dark church forever\u2014with the few tiny specks of light like golden stars in the night, the sweet fragrance of old incense, and the warm smell of burning wax. With herself resting inside her own star.\n\nThis sense of joy seemed to vanish when Sister Cecilia silently approached and touched her shoulder. Curtseying before the altar, the three women slipped out of the small south entrance into the convent courtyard.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg was so sleepy that she got into bed without talking. Kristin was relieved; she was reluctant to be disturbed, now that she was thinking so clearly. And she was glad they had to keep their shifts on at night\u2014Ingebj\u00f8rg was so fat and sweated heavily.\n\nKristin lay awake for a long time, but the deep current of sweetness which had borne her as she knelt in the church would not return. And yet she still felt its warmth inside her; she fervently thanked God, and she sensed a feeling of strength in her spirit as she prayed for her parents and her sisters and for the soul of Arne Gyrds\u00f8n.\n\nFather, she thought. She felt such a longing for him, for all they had had together before Simon Darre had entered their lives. A new tenderness for Lavrans welled up inside her, as if there were a presentiment of maternal love and maternal sorrows in her love for her father that night. She was dimly aware that there was much in life that he had not received. She thought of the old black wooden church at Gerdarud, where at Eastertide she had seen the graves of her three little brothers and her grandmother\u2014her father's own mother, Kristin Sigurdsdatter\u2014who had died as she gave birth to him.\n\nWhat could Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n be doing at Gerdarud? She could not fathom it.\n\nShe wasn't conscious of giving any more thought to him that night, but the whole time the memory of his thin, dark face and his quiet voice had hovered somewhere in the shadows, just beyond the radiance of her soul.\n\nWhen Kristin woke up the next morning, the sun was shining in the dormitory, and Ingebj\u00f8rg told her that Fru Groa herself had sent word to the lay sisters that they should not be awakened for matins. They had permission to go over to the cookhouse now to have some food. Kristin felt warm with joy at the kindness of the abbess. It was as if the whole world had been good to her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The farmers' guild at Aker was dedicated to Saint Margareta, and every year began its meeting on the twentieth of July, which was Saint Margareta's Day. On that day the brothers and sisters would gather with their children, guests, and servants at Aker Church to attend mass at the Saint Margareta altar. Afterward they would go to the guild hall, which stood near Hofvin Hospice; there they would drink for five days.\n\nBut because both Aker Church and Hofvin Hospice belonged to Nonneseter, and since many of the Aker peasants were tenant farmers of the convent, the custom had arisen for the abbess and several of the eldest sisters to honor the guild by attending the celebrations on the first day. And the young maidens of the convent who were there to be educated but who were not going to enter the order were allowed to go along and dance in the evening; and for this celebration they would wear their own clothes and not their convent attire.\n\nSo there was a great commotion in the young novices' dormitory on the evening before Saint Margareta's Day. Those maidens who were to attend the banquet rummaged through their chests and laid out their finery, while the others looked on and moped. Some of the girls had set small pots on the hearth and were boiling water to make their skin soft and white. Others were brewing something that they rubbed in their hair; afterward, when they had wound strands of their hair tightly around leather straps, they would have wavy and curly tresses.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg took out all that she owned of finery, but she couldn't decide what to wear. Not her best leaf-green velvet dress, anyway; it was too costly and too elegant to wear to such a farmers' guild. But a thin little maiden who was not going along\u2014Helga was her name, and she had been given to the convent as a child\u2014pulled Kristin aside and whispered that Ingebj\u00f8rg would of course wear the green dress and her pink silk shift.\n\n\"You've always been kind to me, Kristin,\" said Helga. \"It's most improper for me to get involved in such things, but I'm going to tell you anyway. The knight who escorted you home on that evening in the spring\u2014I have both seen and heard that Ingebj\u00f8rg has talked to him since then. They have spoken to each other in church, and he has waited for her up along the fenced road when she goes to visit Ingunn at the corrodians' house. But it's you that he asks for, and Ingebj\u00f8rg has promised to bring you out there with her. I'll wager that you've never heard about this before, have you?\"\n\n\"It's true that Ingebj\u00f8rg has never mentioned this to me,\" said Kristin. She pursed her lips so the other maiden wouldn't see the smile that threatened to appear. So that's the kind of girl Ingebj\u00f8rg was. \"I expect she realizes that I'm not the type to run off to meetings with strange men behind house corners and fences,\" she said haughtily.\n\n\"Then I could have spared myself the trouble to tell you this news, since it would have been more proper for me not to mention it,\" said Helga, offended; and the two parted.\n\nBut all evening Kristin had to try not to smile whenever anyone looked at her.\n\nThe next day Ingebj\u00f8rg dawdled for a long time, wearing only her shift. Kristin finally realized that the other maiden was not going to get dressed until she herself was done.\n\nKristin didn't say a word, but she laughed as she went over to her chest and took out her golden-yellow silk shift. She had never worn it before, and it felt so soft and cool as it slid over her body. It was beautifully trimmed with silver and blue and brown silk at the neck and across the part of the bodice that would be visible above the neckline of her dress. There were also matching sleeves. She pulled on her linen stockings and tied the ribbons of the dainty blue-violet shoes, which Haakon had fortunately managed to bring home on that tumultuous day. Ingebj\u00f8rg looked at her.\n\nThen Kristin laughed and said, \"My father has always taught me that we should not show contempt for our inferiors, but you are no doubt so grand that you won't want to dress up for peasants and tenant farmers.\"\n\nHer face as red as a berry, Ingebj\u00f8rg dropped the woolen shift from her white hips and put on the pink silk one. Kristin slipped her best velvet dress over her head; it was violet-blue and cut deep across the bodice, with slit sleeves and cuffs that trailed almost to the ground. She wrapped the gilded belt around her waist and slung her gray squirrel cloak over her shoulders. Then she spread out her thick blond hair over her shoulders and placed the circlet studded with roses on her forehead.\n\nShe noticed that Helga was watching them. Then she took from her chest a large silver clasp. It was the one she had worn on her cloak the night that Bentein had confronted her on the road, and she had never wanted to wear it since. She went over to Helga and said softly, \"I realize that you meant to show me kindness yesterday; you must believe I know that.\" And she handed the clasp to Helga.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg was also quite beautiful when she had finished dressing, wearing her green gown with a red silk cloak over her shoulders and her pretty, curly hair falling loose. They had been in a race to outdress each other, thought Kristin and laughed.\n\nThe morning was cool and fresh with dew when the procession wound its way from Nonneseter, heading west toward Frysja. The haying season was almost over in that area, but along the fences grew clusters of bluebells and golden Maria-grass. The barley in the fields had sprouted spikes and rippled pale silver with a sheen of faint rose. In many places where the path was narrow and led through the fields, the grain brushed against people's knees.\n\nHaakon walked in front, carrying the convent's banner with the image of the Virgin Mary on blue silk cloth. Behind him walked the servants and corrodians, and then came Fru Groa and four old nuns on horseback, followed by the young maidens on foot; their colorful, secular feast attire shimmered and fluttered in the sun. Several corrodian women and a few armed men brought up the rear of the procession.\n\nThey sang as they walked across the bright meadows, and whenever they met others on the side roads, the people would step aside and greet them respectfully. All across the fields small groups of people were walking and riding, heading toward the church from every house and farm. In a little while they heard behind them hymns sung by deep male voices, and they saw the cloister banner from Hoved\u00f8 rise up over a hill. The red silk cloth gleamed in the sun, bobbing and swaying with the footsteps of the man who was bearing it.\n\nThe mighty, sonorous voice of the bells drowned out the neighs and whinnies of the stallions as they came over the last hill to the church. Kristin had never seen so many horses at one time\u2014a surging, restless sea of glossy equine backs surrounded the green in front of the entrance to the church. People dressed for the celebration were standing, sitting, and lying on the slope, but everyone stood up in greeting when the Maria banner from Nonneseter was carried in amongst them, and they all bowed deeply to Fru Groa.\n\nIt looked as if more people had come than the church could hold, but an open space closest to the altar had been reserved for the people from the convent. A moment later the Cistercian monks from Hoved\u00f8 came in and went up to the choir, and then song resounded throughout the church from the throats of men and boys.\n\nDuring the mass, when everyone had risen, Kristin caught sight of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. He was tall, and his head towered above those around him. She saw his face from the side. He had a high, narrow forehead and a large, straight nose; it jutted out like a triangle from his face and was strangely thin, with fine, quivering nostrils. There was something about it that reminded Kristin of a skittish, frightened stallion. He was not as handsome as she thought she had remembered him; the lines in his face seemed to extend so long and somberly down to his soft, small, attractive mouth\u2014oh yes, he was handsome after all.\n\nHe turned his head and saw her. She didn't know how long they continued to stare into each other's eyes. Then her only thought was for the mass to be over; she waited expectantly to see what would happen next.\n\nAs everyone began to leave the crowded church, there was a great crush. Ingebj\u00f8rg pulled Kristin along with her, backward into the throng; they were easily separated from the nuns, who were the first to leave. The girls were among the last to approach the altar with their offering and then exit from the church.\n\nErlend was standing outside, right next to the door, between the priest from Gerdarud and a stout, red-faced man wearing a magnificent blue velvet surcoat. Erlend was dressed in silk but in dark colors\u2014a long, brown-and-black patterned surcoat and a black cape interwoven with little yellow falcons.\n\nThey greeted each other and walked across the slope toward the spot where the men's horses were tethered. As they exchanged words about the weather, the beautiful mass, and the great crowd of people in attendance, the fat, ruddy-faced gentleman\u2014he wore golden spurs and his name was Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n\u2014offered his hand to Ingebj\u00f8rg. He seemed to find the maiden exceedingly attractive. Erlend and Kristin fell behind; they walked along in silence.\n\nThere was a great hubbub on the church hill as people began to ride off. Horses jostled past each other and people shouted, some of them angry, some of them laughing. Many of them rode in pairs\u2014men with their wives behind them or children in front on the saddle\u2014and young boys leaped up to ride with a friend. They could already see the church banners, the nuns, and the priest far below them.\n\nSir Munan rode past; Ingebj\u00f8rg was sitting in front of him, in his arms. They both shouted and waved.\n\nThen Erlend said, \"My men are both here with me. They could take one of the horses and you could have Haftor's\u2014if you would prefer that?\"\n\nKristin blushed as she replied, \"We're so far behind the others already, and I don't see your men, so...\" Then she laughed and Erlend smiled.\n\nHe leaped into the saddle and helped her up behind him. At home Kristin often sat sideways behind her father after she grew too old to sit astride the horse's loins. And yet she felt a little shy and uncertain as she placed one of her hands over Erlend's shoulder; with the other hand she supported herself against the horse's back. Slowly they rode down toward the bridge.\n\nAfter a while Kristin felt that she ought to speak since he did not, and she said, \"It was unexpected, sir, to meet you here today.\"\n\n\"Was it unexpected?\" asked Erlend, turning his head around toward her. \"Hasn't Ingebj\u00f8rg Filippusdatter brought you my greeting?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin. \"I haven't heard of any greeting. She has never mentioned you since that day when you came to our aid back in May,\" she said slyly. She wanted Ingebj\u00f8rg's duplicity to come to light.\n\nErlend didn't turn around, but she could hear in his voice that he was smiling when he spoke again.\n\n\"And what about the little black-haired one\u2014the novitiate\u2014I can't remember her name. I even paid her a messenger's fee to give you my greetings.\"\n\nKristin blushed, but then she had to laugh. \"Yes, I suppose I owe it to Helga to tell you that she earned her pay,\" she said.\n\nErlend moved his head slightly, and his neck came close to her hand. Kristin shifted her hand at once to a place farther out on his shoulder. Rather uneasy, she thought that perhaps she had shown greater boldness than was proper, since she had come to this feast after a man had, in a sense, arranged to meet her there.\n\nAfter a moment Erlend asked, \"Will you dance with me tonight, Kristin?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir,\" replied the maiden.\n\n\"Perhaps you think it might not be proper?\" he asked. When she didn't answer, he went on. \"It could be that it's not. But I thought perhaps you might not think it would do any harm if you took my hand tonight. And by the way, it has been eight years since I took part in a dance.\"\n\n\"Why is that, sir?\" asked Kristin. \"Is it because you are married?\" But then it occurred to her that if he were a married man, it would not have been seemly for him to arrange this rendezvous with her. So she corrected herself and said, \"Perhaps you have lost your betrothed or your wife?\"\n\nErlend turned around abruptly and gave her a peculiar look. \"Me? Hasn't Fru Aashild...\" After a moment he asked, \"Why did you blush when you heard who I was that evening?\"\n\nKristin blushed again but did not reply.\n\nThen Erlend went on. \"I would like to know what my aunt has told you about me.\"\n\n\"Nothing more than that she praised you,\" said Kristin hastily. \"She said you were handsome and so highborn that... she said that compared to a lineage such as yours and hers, we were of little consequence, my ancestors and I.\"\n\n\"Is she still talking about such things, there, where she now resides?\" said Erlend with a bitter laugh. \"Well, well, if it comforts her... And she has said nothing else about me?\"\n\n\"What else would she say?\" asked Kristin. She didn't know why she felt so strange and anxious.\n\n\"Oh, she might have said... ,\" replied Erlend in a low voice, his head bowed, \"she might have said that I had been excommunicated and had to pay dearly for peace and reconciliation.\"\n\nKristin said nothing for a long time. Then she said quietly, \"I've heard it said that there are many men who are not masters of their fortunes. I've seen so little of the world. But I would never believe of you, Erlend, that it was for any... ignoble... matter.\"\n\n\"God bless you for such words, Kristin,\" said Erlend. He bent his head and kissed her wrist so fervently that the horse gave a start beneath them. When the animal was once again walking calmly, he said with great ardor, \"Won't you dance with me tonight, Kristin? Later I'll tell you everything about my circumstances\u2014but tonight let's be happy together.\"\n\nKristin agreed, and they rode for a while in silence.\n\nBut a short time later Erlend began asking about Fru Aashild, and Kristin told him everything she knew; she had much praise for her.\n\n\"Then all doors are not closed to Bj\u00f8rn and Aashild?\" asked Erlend.\n\nKristin replied that they were well liked and that her father and many others thought that most of what had been said of the couple was untrue.\n\n\"What did you think of my kinsman, Munan Baards\u00f8n?\" asked Erlend with a chuckle.\n\n\"I didn't pay much heed to him,\" said Kristin, \"and it didn't seem to me that he was much worth looking at anyway.\"\n\n\"Didn't you know that he's her son?\" asked Erlend.\n\n\"Fru Aashild's son?\" said Kristin in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, the children couldn't take their mother's fair looks, since they took everything else,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"I didn't even know the name of her first husband,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"They were two brothers who married two sisters,\" said Erlend. \"Baard and Nikulaus Munans\u00f8n. My father was the older one; Mother was his second wife, but he had no children by his first wife. Baard, who married Aashild, wasn't a young man either, and apparently they never got on well. I was a child when it all happened, and they kept as much from me as they could. But she left the country with Herr Bj\u00f8rn and married him without the counsel of her kinsmen\u2014after Baard was dead. Then people wanted to annul their marriage. They claimed that Bj\u00f8rn had slept with her while her first husband was still alive and that they conspired together to get rid of my father's brother. But they couldn't find any proof of this, and they had to let the marriage stand. But they had to give up all their possessions. Bj\u00f8rn had killed their nephew too\u2014the nephew of my mother and Aashild, I mean.\"\n\nKristin's heart was pounding. At home her parents had taken strict precautions to keep the children from hearing impure talk. But things had occurred in their village, too, that Kristin had heard about\u2014a man who lived in concubinage with a married woman. That was adultery, one of the worst of sins. They were also to blame for the husband's violent death, and then it was a case for excommunication and banishment. Lavrans had said that no woman had to stay with her husband if he had been with another man's wife. And the lot of offspring from adultery could never be improved, even if the parents were later free to marry. A man could pass on his inheritance and name to his child by a prostitute or a wandering beggar woman, but not to his child from adultery\u2014not even if the mother was the wife of a knight.\n\nKristin thought about the dislike she had always felt toward Herr Bj\u00f8rn, with his pallid face and his slack, corpulent body. She couldn't understand how Fru Aashild could always be so kind and amenable toward the man who had lured her into such shame; to think that such a gracious woman could have allowed herself to be fooled by him. He was not even nice to her; he let her toil with all the work on the farm. Bj\u00f8rn did nothing but drink ale. And yet Aashild was always so gentle and tender when she spoke to her husband. Kristin wondered whether her father knew about this, since he had invited Herr Bj\u00f8rn into their house. Now that she thought about it, it seemed odd to her that Erlend would speak in this manner of his close kinsmen. But he probably thought that she knew about it already.\n\n\"It would please me,\" said Erlend after a moment, \"to visit her, my Aunt Aashild, sometime\u2014when I journey north. But is he still a handsome man, my kinsman Bj\u00f8rn?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin. \"He looks like a mound of hay that has lain on the ground all winter long.\"\n\n\"Ah yes, it must wear on a man,\" said Erlend with the same bitter smile. \"Never have I seen a more handsome man\u2014that was twenty years ago, and I was only a small boy back then\u2014but I have never seen his equal.\"\n\nA short time later they reached the hospice. It was an enormous and grand estate with many buildings of both stone and wood: a hospital, an almshouse, a guest inn for travelers, the chapel, and the rectory. There was a great tumult in the courtyard, for food was being prepared for the banquet in the hospice's cookhouse, and the poor and the sick guild members were also to be served the very best on that day.\n\nThe guild hall was beyond the gardens of the hospice, and people were heading that way through the herb garden, for it was quite famous. Fru Groa had brought in plants that no one in Norway had ever heard of before and, besides that, all the plants that usually grew in such gardens seemed to thrive better in hers\u2014flowers and cooking herbs and medicinal herbs. She was the most skilled woman in all such matters, and she had even translated herbals from Salerno into the Norwegian language. Fru Groa had been particularly friendly toward Kristin ever since she noticed that the maiden knew something of the art of herbs and wanted to know more about it.\n\nSo Kristin pointed out to Erlend what plants were growing in the beds on both sides of the green lane as they walked. In the noonday sun there was a hot, spicy fragrance of dill and celery, onions and roses, southernwood and wallflowers. Beyond the shadeless, sun-baked herb garden, the rows of fruit trees looked enticingly cool; red cherries gleamed in the dark foliage, and apple trees bowed their branches, weighted down by green fruit.\n\nSurrounding the garden was a hedge of sweetbriar. There were still some roses left\u2014they looked no different from other hedge roses, but the petals smelled of wine and apples in the heat of the sun. People broke off twigs and pinned them to their clothing as they passed. Kristin picked several roses too, tucking them into the circlet at her temples. She held one in her hand, and after a moment Erlend took it from her, without saying a word. He carried it for a while and then stuck it into the filigree brooch on his chest. He looked selfconscious and embarrassed, and did it so clumsily that he scratched his fingers and drew blood.\n\nIn the banquet loft several wide tables had been set up: one for the men and one for the women along the walls. In the middle of the floor there were two tables where the children and the young people sat together.\n\nAt the women's table Fru Groa sat in the high seat; the nuns and most of the wives of high standing sat along the wall, and the unmarried women sat on the opposite bench, with the maidens from Nonneseter closest to the head of the table. Kristin knew that Erlend was looking at her, but she didn't dare turn her head even once, either when they were standing or after they sat down. Not until they rose and the priest began to read the names of the deceased guild brothers and sisters did she cast a hasty glance toward the men's table. She caught a glimpse of him as he stood near the wall, behind the burning candle on the table. He was looking at her.\n\nThe meal lasted a long time with all of the toasts in honor of God, the Virgin Mary, and Saint Margareta, Saint Olav, and Saint Halvard, interspersed with prayers and hymns.\n\nKristin could see through the open door that the sun had gone down; the sound of fiddles and songs could be heard from out on the green, and the young people had already left the tables when Fru Groa said to the young daughters that now they might go out to play for a while, if they so pleased.\n\nThree red bonfires were burning on the green; around them moved the chains of dancers, now aglow, now in silhouette. The fiddlers were sitting on stacks of chests, bowing the strings of their instruments; they were playing and singing a different tune in each circle. There were far too many people to form only one dance. It was nearly dusk already; to the north the crest of the forested ridges stood coal-black against the yellowish green sky.\n\nPeople were sitting under the gallery of the loft, drinking. Several men leaped up as soon as the six maidens from Nonneseter came down the stairs. Munan Baards\u00f8n ran up to Ingebj\u00f8rg and dashed off with her, and Kristin was seized by the wrist\u2014it was Erlend; she already knew his touch. He gripped her hand so tightly that their rings scraped against each other and bit into their flesh.\n\nHe pulled her along to the farthest bonfire, where many children were dancing. Kristin took a twelve-year-old boy by the hand, and Erlend had a tiny, half-grown maiden on his other side.\n\nNo one was singing in their circle just then\u2014they walked and swayed from side to side, in time with the sound of the fiddle. Then someone shouted that Sivord the Dane should sing a new ballad for them. A tall, fair man with enormous fists stepped in front of the chain of dancers and performed his song:\n\n\u2003They are dancing now at Munkholm\n\n\u2003across the white sand.\n\n\u2003There dances Ivar Herr Jons\u00f8n\n\n\u2003taking the Queen's hand.\n\n\u2003Do you know Ivar Herr Jons\u00f8n?\n\nThe fiddle players didn't know the tune; they plucked a little on the strings, and the Dane sang alone. He had a beautiful, strong voice.\n\n\u2003Do you remember, Danish Queen,\n\n\u2003that summer so clear\n\n\u2003when you were led out of Sweden\n\n\u2003and to Denmark here.\n\n\u2003When you were led out of Sweden\n\n\u2003and to Denmark here\n\n\u2003with a golden crown so red\n\n\u2003and on your cheek a tear.\n\n\u2003With a golden crown so red\n\n\u2003and on your cheek a tear.\n\n\u2003Do you remember, Danish Queen,\n\n\u2003the first man you held dear!\n\nThe fiddlers played along once more, and the dancers hummed the newly learned tune and joined in with the refrain.\n\n\u2003And are you, Ivar Herr Jons\u00f8n,\n\n\u2003my very own man,\n\n\u2003then tomorrow from the gallows\n\n\u2003you shall surely hang!\n\n\u2003And it was Ivar Herr Jons\u00f8n\n\n\u2003but he did not quail,\n\n\u2003he sprang into the golden boat,\n\n\u2003clad in coat of mail.\n\n\u2003May you be granted, Danish Queen,\n\n\u2003as many good nights\n\n\u2003as do fill the vault of heaven\n\n\u2003all the stars so bright.\n\n\u2003May you be granted, Danish King,\n\n\u2003life so fraught with cares\n\n\u2003as the linden tree has leaves\n\n\u2003and the hart has hairs.\n\n\u2003Do you know Ivar Herr Jons\u00f8n?\n\nIt was late at night, and the bonfires were mere mounds of glowing embers that grew dimmer and dimmer. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand beneath the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revelers had died out; a few young boys were humming and leaping around the ember mounds, but the fiddlers had gone off to bed and most of the people had left. Here and there a woman walked around in search of her husband, toppled by ale somewhere outdoors.\n\n\"I wonder where I've left my cloak,\" whispered Kristin. Erlend put his arm around her waist and wrapped his cape around both of them. Walking close together, they went into the herb garden.\n\nA remnant of the day's hot, spicy scent wafted toward them, muted and damp with the coolness of the dew. The night was quite dark, the sky hazy gray with clouds above the treetops. But they sensed that others were in the garden.\n\nErlend pressed the maiden to him once and asked in a whisper, \"You're not afraid, are you Kristin?\"\n\nSuddenly she vaguely remembered the world outside this night \u2014it was madness. But she was so blissfully robbed of all power. She leaned closer to the man and whispered faintly; she didn't know herself what she said.\n\nThey reached the end of the path; there was a stone fence along the edge of the woods. Erlend helped her up. As she was about to jump down to the other side, he caught her and held her in his arms for a moment before he set her down in the grass.\n\nShe stood there with her face raised and received his kiss. He placed his hands at her temples. She thought it so wonderful to feel his fingers sinking into her hair, and then she put her hands up to his face and tried to kiss him the way he had kissed her.\n\nWhen he placed his hands on her bodice and stroked her breasts, she felt as if he had laid her heart bare and then seized it; gently he parted the folds of her silk shift and kissed the place in between\u2014heat rushed to the roots of her heart.\n\n\"You I could never hurt,\" whispered Erlend. \"Don't ever weep a single tear for my sake. I never thought a maiden could be as good as you are, my Kristin....\"\n\nHe pulled her down into the grass under the bushes; they sat with their backs against the stone fence. Kristin said not a word, but when he stopped caressing her, she raised her hand and touched his face.\n\nAfter a moment Erlend asked, \"Are you tired, dear Kristin?\" And when she leaned against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered, \"Sleep, Kristin, sleep here with me.\"\n\nShe slipped deeper and deeper into the darkness and the warmth and the joy at his chest.\n\nWhen she woke up, she was lying stretched out on the grass with her cheek against the brown silk of his lap. Erlend was still sitting with his back against the stone fence; his face was gray in the gray light, but his wide-open eyes were so strangely bright and beautiful. She saw that he had wrapped his cape all around her; her feet were wonderfully warm inside the fur lining.\n\n\"Now you have slept on my lap,\" he said, smiling faintly. \"May God reward you, Kristin. You slept as soundly as a child in her mother's arms.\"\n\n\"Haven't you slept, Herr Erlend?\" asked Kristin, and he smiled down into her newly awakened eyes.\n\n\"Perhaps someday the night will come when you and I dare to fall asleep together\u2014I don't know what you will think once you have considered that. I have kept vigil here in the night. There is still so much between us, more than if a naked sword had lain between you and me. Tell me, will you have affection for me after this night is over?\"\n\n\"I will have affection for you, Herr Erlend,\" said Kristin. \"I will have affection for you as long as you wish\u2014and after that I will love no one else.\"\n\n\"Then may God forsake me,\" said Erlend slowly, \"if ever a woman or maiden should come into my arms before I dare to possess you with honor and in keeping with the law. Repeat what I have said,\" he implored her.\n\nKristin said, \"May God forsake me if I ever take any other man into my arms, for as long as I live on this earth.\"\n\n\"We must go now,\" said Erlend after a moment. \"Before everyone wakes up.\"\n\nThey walked along the outside of the stone fence, through the underbrush.\n\n\"Have you given any thought to what should happen next?\" asked Erlend.\n\n\"You must decide that, Erlend,\" replied Kristin.\n\n\"Your father,\" he said after a pause. \"Over in Gerdarud they say that he's a kind and just man. Do you think he would be greatly opposed to breaking the agreement he has made with Andres Darre?\"\n\n\"Father has so often said that he would never force any of his daughters,\" said Kristin. \"The main concern is that our lands would fit so well together. But I'm certain that Father would not want me to lose all joy in the world for that reason.\" She had a sudden inkling that it might not be quite as simple as that, but she pushed it aside.\n\n\"Then maybe this will be easier than I thought last night,\" said Erlend. \"God help me, Kristin\u2014I can't bear to lose you. Now I will never be happy if I can't have you.\"\n\nThey parted among the trees, and in the dim light of dawn Kristin found the path to the guest house where everyone from Nonneseter was sleeping. All the beds were full, but she threw her cloak over some straw on the floor and lay down in her clothes.\n\nWhen she woke up, it was quite late. Ingebj\u00f8rg Filippusdatter was sitting on a bench nearby, mending a fur border that had torn loose from her cloak. She was full of chatter, as always.\n\n\"Were you with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n all night long?\" she asked. \"You ought to be a little more careful about that young man, Kristin. Do you think Simon Andress\u00f8n would like it if you befriended him?\"\n\nKristin found a basin and began to wash herself. \"And what about your betrothed? Do you think he would like it that you danced with Munan the Stump last night? But we have to dance with anyone who invites us on such an evening; and Fru Groa gave us permission, after all.\"\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg exclaimed, \"Einar Einarss\u00f8n and Sir Munan are friends, and besides, he's married and old. And he's ugly too, but amiable and courteous. Look what he gave me as a souvenir of the night.\" And she held out a gold buckle which Kristin had seen on Sir Munan's hat the day before. \"But that Erlend\u2014well, the ban was lifted from him this past Easter, but they say that Eline Ormsdatter has been staying at his manor at Husaby ever since. Sir Munan says that he has fled to Sira Jon at Gerdarud because he's afraid that he'll fall back into sin if he sees her again.\"\n\nKristin, her face white, went over to the other girl.\n\n\"Didn't you know that?\" asked Ingebj\u00f8rg. \"That he lured a woman from her husband somewhere up north in Haalogaland? And that he kept her at his estate in spite of the king's warning and the archbishop's ban? They have two children together too. He had to flee to Sweden, and he has had to pay so many fines that Sir Munan says he'll end up a pauper if he doesn't mend his ways soon.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, you can be sure that I knew all about it,\" said Kristin, her face rigid. \"But that's all over now.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's what Sir Munan said, that it's been over between them so many times before,\" replied Ingebj\u00f8rg thoughtfully. \"It won't affect you\u2014you're going to marry Simon Darre, after all. But that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n is certainly a handsome man.\"\n\nThe company from Nonneseter was going to leave that same day, after the midafternoon prayers. Kristin had promised Erlend to meet him at the stone fence where they had sat during the night, if she could find a way to come.\n\nHe was lying on his stomach in the grass, with his head on his arms. As soon as he saw her, he leaped up and offered her both of his hands as she was about to jump down.\n\nShe took them, and they stood for a moment, hand in hand.\n\nThen Kristin said, \"Why did you tell me that story about Herr Bj\u00f8rn and Fru Aashild yesterday?\"\n\n\"I can see that you know,\" replied Erlend, abruptly letting go of her hands. \"What do you think of me now, Kristin?\n\n\"I was eighteen years old back then,\" he continued vehemently. \"It was ten years ago that the king, my kinsman, sent me on the journey to Varg\u00f8y House, and then we spent the winter at Steigen. She was married to the judge Sigurd Saksulvs\u00f8n. I felt sorry for her because he was old and unbelievably ugly. I don't know how it happened; yes, I was fond of her too. I told Sigurd to demand what he wanted in fines; I wanted to do right by him\u2014he's a decent man in many ways\u2014but he wanted things to proceed according to the law, and he took the case to the ting. I was to be branded for adultery with the woman in whose house I had been a guest, you see.\n\n\"My father got wind of it, and then King Haakon found out too. And he... he banished me from his court. And if you need to know the whole story: there's nothing left between Eline and me except the children, and she cares very little for them. They're at \u00d8sterdal, on a farm that I own there. I've given the farm to Orm, the boy. But she doesn't want to be with them. I suppose she expects that Sigurd can't live forever, but I don't know what she wants.\n\n\"Sigurd took her back, but she says she was treated like a dog and a slave on his farm. So she asked me to meet her in Nidaros. I was not faring much better at Husaby with my father. I sold everything I could get my hands on and fled with her to Halland; Count Jacob has been a kind friend to me. What else could I do? She was carrying my child. I knew that so many men had managed to escape unscathed from such a relationship with another man's wife\u2014if they were rich, that is. But King Haakon is the sort of man who treats his own most sternly. We were separated from each other for a year, but then my father died, so she came back. And then other things happened. My tenants refused to pay their land rent or to speak to my envoys because I had been excommunicated. I retaliated harshly, and then a case was brought against me for robbery, but I had no money to pay my house servants. You can see that I was too young to deal sensibly with these difficulties, and my kinsmen refused to help me\u2014except for Munan, who did as much as he dared without angering his wife.\n\n\"So now you know, Kristin, that I have compromised much, both my land and my honor. You would certainly be much better served if you stayed with Simon Andress\u00f8n.\"\n\nKristin put her arms around his neck.\n\n\"We will stand by what we swore to each other last night, Erlend\u2014if you feel as I do.\"\n\nErlend pulled her close, kissed her, and then said, \"You must also have faith that my circumstances are bound to change. Now no one in the world has power over me except you. Oh, I thought about so many things last night as you lay asleep in my lap, my fair one. The Devil cannot have so much power over a man that I would ever cause you sorrow or harm, you who are the most precious thing in my life.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "During the time he lived at Skog, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had given property to Gerdarud Church for requiems to be held for the souls of his parents on the anniversaries of their deaths. His father Bj\u00f8rg ulf Ketils\u00f8n's death date was the thirteenth of August, and this year Lavrans had made arrangements for his brother to bring Kristin out to his estate so that she could attend the mass.\n\nShe was afraid that something might happen to prevent her uncle from keeping his promise. She thought she had noticed that Aasmund was not particularly fond of her. But on the day before the mass was to be held, Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n arrived at the convent to get his niece. Kristin was told to dress in secular attire, but dark and simple in appearance. People had begun to remark that the sisters of Nonneseter spent a great deal of time outside the convent, and the bishop had therefore decreed that the young daughters who were not to become nuns should not wear anything resembling convent garb when they went to visit their kinsmen\u2014then the populace would not mistake them for novices or nuns of the order.\n\nKristin was in a joyous mood as she rode along the road with her uncle, and Aasmund became more cheerful and friendly toward her when he noticed that the maiden was an affable companion. Otherwise, Aasmund was rather dejected; he said it seemed likely that a campaign was about to be launched in the fall and that the king would sail with his army to Sweden to avenge the vile deed that had been perpetrated against his brother-in-law and his niece's husband. Kristin had heard about the murder of the Swedish dukes and thought it an act of the worst cowardice, although all such affairs of the realm seemed so distant to her. No one talked much about such things back home in the valley. But she also remembered that her father had participated in the campaign against Duke Eirik at Ragnhildarholm and Konungahella. Aasmund explained everything that had happened between the king and the dukes. Kristin didn't understand much of what he said, but she paid close attention to what her uncle told her about the betrothals that had been agreed upon and then broken by the king's daughters. It gave her some comfort to hear that it was not the same in all places as it was back home in the villages, where an arranged betrothal was considered almost as binding as a marriage. So she gathered her courage, told her uncle about her adventures on the evening before the Vigil of Saint Halvard, and asked him whether he knew Erlend of Husaby. Aasmund gave Erlend a good report, saying that he had acted unwisely, but that his father and the king were mostly to blame. He said they had behaved as if the boy had been the horn of the Devil himself because he had landed in such a predicament. The king was much too pious, and Sir Nikulaus was angry because Erlend had wasted so much good property, so they had both thundered about adultery and the fires of hell.\n\n\"Any able-bodied young man has to have a certain amount of defiance in him,\" said Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n. \"And the woman was exceedingly beautiful. But you have no reason to have anything to do with Erlend, so pay no heed to his affairs.\"\n\nErlend did not attend the mass as he had promised Kristin he would, and she thought more about this than about the word of God. But she felt no remorse over it. She merely had the odd feeling of being a stranger to everything to which she had previously felt herself bound.\n\nShe tried to console herself; Erlend probably thought it best that no one who had authority over her should find out about their friendship. She could understand this herself. But she had longed to see him with all her heart, and she wept when she went to bed that evening in the loft where she slept with Aasmund's small daughters.\n\nThe next day she headed up toward the woods with the youngest of her uncle's children, a little maiden six years old. When they had gone some distance, Erlend came running after them. Kristin knew who it was before she even saw him.\n\n\"I've been sitting up here on the hill looking down at the farmyard all day long,\" he said. \"I was sure that you'd find some chance to slip away.\"\n\n\"Do you think I've come out here to meet you?\" said Kristin with a laugh. \"And aren't you afraid to be wandering in my uncle's woods with your dogs and bow?\"\n\n\"Your uncle has given me permission to hunt here for a short time,\" said Erlend. \"And the dogs belong to Aasmund\u2014they found me up here this morning.\" He patted the dogs and picked up the little girl. \"You remember me, don't you, Ragndid? But you mustn't say that you've talked to me, and then I'll give you this.\" He took out a little bundle of raisins and handed it to the child. \"I had intended it for you,\" he told Kristin. \"Do you think this child can keep quiet?\"\n\nBoth of them spoke quickly and laughed. Erlend was wearing a short, snug brown tunic, and he had a small red silk cap pressed down onto his black hair; he looked so young. He laughed and played with the child, but every once in a while he would take Kristin's hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt.\n\nHe talked about the rumors of the campaign with joy. \"Then it will be easier for me to win back the friendship of the king. Everything will be easier then,\" he said fervently.\n\nAt last they sat down in a meadow some distance up in the woods. Erlend had the child on his lap. Kristin sat at his side. He was playing with her fingers in the grass. He put into her hand three gold rings tied together with a string.\n\n\"Later on,\" he whispered to her, \"you shall have as many as you can fit on your fingers.\n\n\"I'll wait for you here in this field every day at this time, for as long as you are at Skog,\" he said as they parted. \"Come when you can.\"\n\nThe next day Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, along with his wife and children, left for Gyrid's ancestral estate at Hadeland. They had become alarmed by the rumors of the campaign. The people around Oslo were still filled with terror ever since Duke Eirik's devastating incursion into the region some years before. Aasmund's old mother was so frightened that she decided to seek refuge at Nonneseter; she was too frail to travel with the others. So Kristin would stay at Skog with the old woman, whom she called Grandmother, until Aasmund returned from Hadeland.\n\nAround noontime, when the servants on the farm were resting, Kristin went up to the loft where she slept. She had brought along some clothing in a leather bag, and she hummed as she changed her clothes.\n\nHer father had given her a dress made of thick cotton fabric from the East; it was sky-blue with an intricate red flower pattern. This is what she put on. She brushed and combed out her hair, tying it back from her face with red silk ribbons. She wrapped a red silk belt tightly around her waist and slipped Erlend's rings onto her fingers, all the while wondering whether he would find her beautiful.\n\nShe had let the two dogs that had been up in the forest with Erlend sleep in the loft with her at night. Now she enticed them to come with her. She sneaked around the buildings and took the same path up through the outlying fields that she had used the day before.\n\nThe forest meadow lay empty and still in the glare of the noonday sun. There was a hot fragrance coming from the spruce trees that surrounded it on all sides. The blazing sun and the blue sky seemed strangely close and harsh against the treetops.\n\nKristin sat down in the shade at the edge of the clearing. She wasn't disappointed at Erlend's absence. She was sure that he would come, and she felt a peculiar joy at being allowed to sit there alone, the first to arrive.\n\nShe listened to the soft buzz of insects across the yellow, scorched grass. She plucked off several dry, spice-scented flowers that she could reach without moving more than her hand. She twirled them between her fingers and sniffed at them; with her eyes wide open she sank into a kind of trance.\n\nShe didn't move when she heard a horse approaching from the forest. The dogs growled and raised their hackles; then they bounded up across the meadow, barking and wagging their tails. Erlend jumped down from his horse at the edge of the forest and let it go with a slap on its loins. Then he ran down toward Kristin with the dogs leaping around him. He grabbed their snouts with his hands and walked toward her between the two animals, which were elk-gray and wolflike. Kristin smiled and reached out her hand without getting up.\n\nOnce, as she was looking down at his dark-brown head lying in her lap between her hands, a memory abruptly rose up before her. It stood there, clear and distant, the way a house far off on the slope of a ridge can suddenly emerge quite clearly from the dark clouds as it is struck by a ray of sunshine on a turbulent day. And her heart suddenly seemed filled with all of the tenderness that Arne Gyrds\u00f8n had once wanted, back when she hardly even understood his words. Anxiously she drew the man to her, pressing his face against her breast, kissing him as if she were afraid that he might be taken from her. And when she looked at his head lying in her embrace, she thought it was like having a child in her arms. She hid his eyes with her hand and sprinkled little kisses over his mouth and cheek.\n\nThe sun had disappeared from the meadow. The intense color above the treetops had deepened to a dark blue, spreading over the entire sky. There were small copper-red streaks in the clouds, like smoke from a fire. Bajard came toward them, gave a loud whinny, and then stood motionless, staring. A moment later the first lightning flashed, followed at once by thunder, not far away.\n\nErlend stood up and took the reins of the horse. There was an old barn at the bottom of the meadow, and that's where they headed. He tethered Bajard to some planks just inside the door. In the back of the barn was a mound of hay, and there Erlend spread out his cape. They sat down with the dogs at their feet.\n\nSoon the rain had formed a curtain in front of the doorway. The wind rushed through the forest and the rain lashed against the hillside. A moment later they had to move farther inside because of a leak in the roof.\n\nEvery time there was lightning and thunder, Erlend would whisper, \"Aren't you afraid, Kristin?\"\n\n\"A little,\" she would whisper back and then press closer to him.\n\nThey had no idea how long they sat there. The storm passed over quite quickly, and they could still hear the thunder far away, but the sun was shining outside the door in the wet grass, and fewer and fewer glittering drops were falling from the roof. The sweet smell of hay grew stronger in the barn.\n\n\"I have to go now,\" said Kristin.\n\nAnd Erlend replied, \"I suppose you do.\" He put his hand on her foot. \"You'll get wet. You must ride, and I'll walk. Out of the forest...\" He gave her such a strange look.\n\nKristin was trembling\u2014she thought it was because her heart was pounding so hard\u2014and her hands were clammy and cold. When he kissed the bare skin above her knee, she tried powerlessly to push him away. Erlend raised his face for a moment, and she was suddenly reminded of a man who had once been given food at the convent\u2014he had kissed the bread they handed to him. She sank back into the hay with open arms and let Erlend do as he liked.\n\nShe was sitting bolt upright when Erlend lifted his head from his arms. Abruptly he propped himself up on his elbow.\n\n\"Don't look like that, Kristin!\"\n\nHis voice etched a wild new pain into Kristin's soul. He wasn't happy\u2014he was distressed too.\n\n\"Kristin, Kristin...\"\n\nAnd a moment later he asked, \"Do you think I lured you out here to the woods because I wanted this from you, to take you by force?\"\n\nShe stroked his hair but didn't look at him.\n\n\"I wouldn't call it force. No doubt you would have let me go as I came if I had asked you to,\" she said softly.\n\n\"I'm not sure of that,\" he replied, hiding his face in her lap.\n\n\"Do you think I will forsake you?\" he asked fervently. \"Kristin\u2014I swear on my Christian faith\u2014may God forsake me in my last hour if I fail to be faithful to you until I die.\"\n\nShe couldn't say a word; she merely caressed his hair, over and over.\n\n\"Now, surely, it must be time for me to go home,\" she said at last, and she felt as if she were waiting with dread for his reply.\n\n\"I suppose it is,\" he said gloomily. He stood up quickly, went over to his horse, and began to untie the reins.\n\nThen Kristin stood up too\u2014slowly, feeling faint and shattered. She didn't know what she had expected him to do\u2014perhaps help her up onto his horse and take her along with him so that she could avoid going back to the others. Her whole body seemed to be aching with astonishment\u2014that this was the iniquity that all the songs were about. And because Erlend had done this to her, she felt as if she had become his possession, and she couldn't imagine how she could live beyond his reach anymore. She was going to have to leave him now, but she could not conceive of doing so.\n\nDown through the woods he walked, leading the horse and holding Kristin's hand in his, but they could think of nothing to say to each other.\n\nWhen they had gone so far that they could see the buildings of Skog, he said farewell.\n\n\"Kristin, don't be sad. Before you know it the day will come when you'll be my wife.\"\n\nBut her heart sank as she spoke.\n\n\"Then you have to leave me?\" she asked fearfully.\n\n\"As soon as you've left Skog,\" he said, and his voice sounded more vibrant all at once. \"If there's no campaign, then I'll speak to Munan. He's been urging me for a long time to get married; I'm certain he'll accompany me and speak to your father on my behalf.\"\n\nKristin bowed her head. For every word he spoke, the time that lay before her seemed longer and more impossible to imagine\u2014the convent, J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014it was as if she were floating in a stream that was carrying her away from everything.\n\n\"Do you sleep alone in the loft, now that your kinsmen have gone?\" asked Erlend. \"If so, I'll come and talk to you tonight. Will you let me in?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" murmured Kristin. And then they parted.\n\nThe rest of the day Kristin sat with her grandmother, and after the evening meal she helped the old woman into bed. Then she went up to the loft where she slept. There was a small window in the room, and Kristin sat down on the chest that stood beneath it; she had no desire to go to bed.\n\nShe had to wait for a long time. It was pitch dark outside when she heard the quiet footsteps on the gallery. He tapped on the door with his cape wrapped around his knuckles, and Kristin stood up, drew back the bolt, and let Erlend in.\n\nShe noticed that he was pleased when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.\n\n\"I was afraid you'd be angry with me,\" he said.\n\nSome time later he said, \"You mustn't grieve over this sin. It's not a great one. God's law is not the same as the law of the land in this matter. Gunnulv, my brother, once explained it all to me. If two people agree to stand by each other for all eternity and then lie with each other, they are married before God and cannot break their vows without committing a great sin. I would tell you the word in Latin if I could remember it\u2014I knew it once.\"\n\nKristin wondered what could have been the reason for Erlend's brother to speak of this, but she brushed aside the nagging fear that it might have been about Erlend and someone else. And she sought solace in his words.\n\nThey sat next to each other on the chest. Erlend put his arm around Kristin, and now she felt warm and secure\u2014at his side was the only place she would ever feel safe and protected again.\n\nFrom time to time Erlend would say a great deal, speaking elat edly. Then he would fall silent for long periods, simply caressing her. Without knowing it, Kristin was gathering up from all he said every little thing that might make him more attractive and dear to her, and that would lessen his blame in all she knew about him that was not good.\n\nErlend's father, Sir Nikulaus, was so old when his children were born that he had neither the patience nor the ability to raise them himself. Both sons had grown up in the home of Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n of Hestn\u00e6s. Erlend had no siblings other than his brother Gunnulv, who was one year younger and a priest at Christ Church. \"I love him more dearly than anyone, except for you.\"\n\nKristin asked Erlend whether Gunnulv looked like him, but he laughed and said they were quite different in both temperament and appearance. Gunnulv was abroad, studying. This was the third year he had been gone, but twice he had sent letters home; the last one arrived the year before, when he was about to leave Sancta Genoveva in Paris and head for Rome. \"Gunnulv will be happy when he comes home and finds me married,\" said Erlend.\n\nThen he talked about the vast inheritance he had acquired from his parents. Kristin realized that he hardly knew himself how his affairs now stood. She was quite familiar with her father's land dealings, but Erlend's dealings had been of the opposite kind. He had sold and scattered, mortgaged and squandered his property, especially during the past few years as he had tried to separate from his mistress, thinking that with time his wild life would be forgotten and his kinsmen would take him back. He had believed that in the end he would be named sheriff of half of Orkd\u00f8la county, just as his father had been.\n\n\"But now I have no idea how things will finally go,\" he said. \"Maybe I'll end up on a farm on some scruffy slope like Bj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n, and I'll have to carry out the dung on my back the way slaves used to do in the past because I own no horses.\"\n\n\"God help you,\" said Kristin, laughing. \"Then I'd better come with you. I think I know more about peasant ways than you do.\"\n\n\"But I don't imagine that you've ever carried a dung basket,\" he said, laughing too.\n\n\"No, but I've seen how they spread out the muck, and I've sown grain almost every year back home. My father usually plows the closest fields himself, and then he lets me sow the first section because I'll bring him luck...\" The memory painfully pierced her heart, and she said hastily, \"And you'll need a woman to bake and brew the weak ale and wash out your only shirt and do the milking. You'll have to lease a cow or two from the nearest wealthy farmer.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank God I can hear you laugh a little once again,\" said Erlend, taking her onto his lap so that she lay in his arms like a child.\n\nDuring the six nights before Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n returned home, Erlend came up to the loft to be with Kristin each evening.\n\nOn the last night he seemed just as unhappy as she was; he said many times that they would not be parted from each other a day longer than was necessary.\n\nFinally he said in a subdued voice, \"If things should go so badly that I cannot return here to Oslo before winter\u2014and you happen to be in need of a friend's help\u2014then you can safely turn to Sira Jon here at Gerdarud; we've been friends since childhood. And Munan Baards\u00f8n you can also trust.\"\n\nKristin could only nod. She realized that he was talking about the same thing that had been on her mind every single day, but Erlend didn't mention it again. Then she was silent too, not wanting to show him how sick at heart she felt.\n\nThe other times he had left her as the hour grew late, but on this last night he pleaded earnestly to be allowed to lie down and sleep with her for a while.\n\nKristin was afraid, but Erlend said defiantly, \"You should realize that if I'm discovered here in your chamber, I know how to defend myself.\"\n\nShe wanted so badly to keep him with her a little longer, and she was incapable of refusing him anything.\n\nBut she was worried that they might sleep too long. So for most of the night she sat up, leaning against the headboard, dozing a little now and then, not always conscious of when he was actually caressing her and when she had simply dreamed it. She kept one hand on his chest, where she could feel the beat of his heart, and turned her face toward the window so she could watch for the dawn outside.\n\nFinally she had to wake him. She threw on some clothes and walked out onto the gallery with him. He leaped over the railing on the side of the house facing another building. Then he disappeared around the corner. Kristin went back inside and crawled into bed again; then she let herself go and wept for the first time since she had become Erlend's possession."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "At nonneseter the days passed as they had before. Kristin spent her time in the dormitory and the church, the weaving room, the library, and the refectory. The nuns and the convent servants harvested the crops of the herb garden and orchard, Holy Cross Day arrived in the fall with its procession, and then came the time of fasting before Michaelmas. Kristin was astonished that no one seemed to notice anything different about her. But she had always been quiet in the company of strangers, and Ingebj\u00f8rg Filippusdatter, who was her companion day and night, managed to talk enough for both of them.\n\nSo no one noticed that her thoughts were far away from everything around her. Erlend's mistress. She told herself this: now she was Erlend's mistress. It was as if she had dreamed it all\u2014the evening of Saint Margareta's Day, the time in the barn, the nights in her bedchamber at Skog. Either she had dreamed all that or she was dreaming now. But one day she would have to wake up; one day it would all come out. Not for a moment did she doubt that she was carrying Erlend's child.\n\nBut she couldn't really imagine what would happen to her when this came to light\u2014whether she would be thrown into a dark cell or be sent home. Far off in the distance she glimpsed the faint images of her father and mother. Then she would close her eyes, dizzy and sick, submerged by the imagined storm, trying to steel herself to bear the misfortune, which she thought would inevitably end with her being swept into Erlend's arms for all eternity\u2014the only place where she now felt she had a home.\n\nSo in this sense of tension there was just as much anticipation as there was terror; there was sweetness as well as anguish. She was unhappy, but she felt that her love for Erlend was like a plant that had been sown inside her, and for every day that passed it sprouted a new and even lusher abundance of flowers, in spite of her misery. She had experienced the last night that he had slept with her as a delicate and fleeting sweetness, and a passion and joy awaited her in his embrace which she had never known before. Now she trembled at the memory; it felt to her like the hot, spicy gust from the sun-heated gardens. Wayside bastard\u2014those were the words that Inga had flung at her. She reached out for the words and held them tight. Wayside bastard\u2014a child that had been conceived in secret in the woods or meadows. She remembered the sunshine and the smell of the spruce trees in the glade. Every new, trickling sensation, every quickened pulse in her body she took to be the unborn child, reminding her that now she had ventured onto new paths; and no matter how difficult they might be to follow, she was certain that in the end they would lead her to Erlend.\n\nShe sat between Ingebj\u00f8rg and Sister Astrid, embroidering on the great tapestry with the knights and birds beneath the twining leaves. All the while she was thinking that she would run away once her condition could no longer be concealed. She would walk along the road, dressed as a poor woman, with all the gold and silver she owned knotted into a cloth in her hand. She would pay for a roof over her head at a farm somewhere in an isolated village. She would become a servant woman, carrying water buckets on a yoke across her shoulders. She would tend to the stables, do the baking and washing, and suffer curses because she refused to name the father of her child. Then Erlend would come and find her.\n\nSometimes she imagined that he would come too late. Snow-white and beautiful, she would be lying in the poor peasant bed. Erlend would lower his head as he stepped through the doorway. He was wearing the long black cape he had worn when he came to her on those nights at Skog. The farm woman had led him to the room where she lay. He sank down and took her cold hands in his, his eyes desperate with grief. \"Is this where you are, my only joy?\" Then, bowed with sorrow, he would leave, with his infant son pressed to his breast inside the folds of his cape.\n\nNo, that's not how she wanted things to end. She didn't want to die, and Erlend must not suffer such a sorrow. But she was so despondent, and it helped to think such things.\n\nThen all of a sudden it became chillingly clear to her\u2014the child was not something she had merely imagined, it was something inevitable. One day she would have to answer for what she had done, and she felt as if her heart had stopped in terror.\n\nBut after some time had passed, she realized it was not as certain as she had thought that she was with child. She didn't understand why this did not make her happy. It was as if she had been lying under a warm blanket, weeping; now she had to get up and step into the cold. Another month passed, then another. Finally she was convinced\u2014she had escaped that misfortune. Freezing and empty, she now felt more unhappy than ever, and in her heart a tiny bitterness toward Erlend was brewing. Advent was approaching and she had not heard a word, either about him or from him; she had no idea where he was.\n\nAnd now she felt she could no longer endure the anguish and uncertainty; it was as if a bond between them had been broken. Now she was truly frightened. Something might happen and she would never see him again. She was separated from everything she had been bound to in the past, and the bond between them was such a fragile one. She didn't think that he would forsake her, but so many things might happen. She couldn't imagine how she would be able to stand the day-to-day uncertainty and agony of this waiting time any longer.\n\nSometimes she would think about her parents and sisters. She longed for them, but with the feeling that she had lost them for good.\n\nAnd occasionally in church, and at other times as well, she would feel a fervent yearning to become part of it all, this community with God. It had always been part of her life, and now she stood outside with her unconfessed sin.\n\nShe told herself that this separation from her home and family and Christianity was only temporary. But Erlend would have to lead her back by the hand. When Lavrans consented to the love between her and Erlend, then she would be able to go to her father as she had before; and after she and Erlend were married, they would make confession and atone for their offense.\n\nShe began looking for evidence that other people, like herself, were not without sin. She paid more attention to gossip, and she took note of all the little things around her which indicated that not even the sisters in the convent were completely holy and unworldly. There were only small things\u2014under Fru Groa's guidance Nonneseter was, in the eyes of the outside world, exactly as a holy order of nuns ought to be. The nuns were zealous in their service to God, diligent, and attentive to the poor and the sick. Confinement to the cloister was not so strictly enforced that the sisters could not receive visits from their friends and kinsmen in the parlatory; nor were they prevented from returning these visits in the town if the occasion so warranted. But no nun had ever brought shame upon the order through her actions in all the years that Fru Groa had been in charge.\n\nKristin had now developed an alert ear for all the small disturbances within the convent's walls: little complaints and jealousies and vanities. Other than nursing, no nun would lend a hand with the rough housework; they all wanted to be learned and skilled women. Each one tried to outshine the other, and those sisters who did not have talent for such refined occupations gave up and drifted through the hours as if in a daze.\n\nFru Groa herself was both learned and wise. She kept a vigilant eye on the conduct and industry of her spiritual daughters, but she paid little heed to the welfare of their souls. She had always been friendly and kind toward Kristin and seemed to favor her above the other young daughters, but that was because Kristin was well trained in book learning and needlework and was diligent and quiet. Fru Groa never expected replies from the sisters. On the other hand, she enjoyed talking to men. They came and went in her parlatory: landholders and envoys associated with the convent, predicant brothers from the bishop, and representatives from the cloister at Hoved\u00f8, with which she was involved in a legal matter. She had her hands full tending to the convent's large estates, the accounts, sending out clerical garb, and taking in and then sending off books to be copied. Not even the most ill-tempered person could find anything improper about Fru Groa's behavior. She simply liked to talk about those things that women seldom knew anything about.\n\nThe prior, who lived in a separate building north of the church, seemed to have no more will than the reed pen or switch of the abbess. Sister Potentia, for the most part, ruled the house. She was primarily intent on maintaining the customs that she had observed in the distinguished German convents where she had lived during her novitiate. Her former name was Sigrid Ragnvaldsdatter, but she had changed her name when she assumed the habit of the order, as was the custom in other countries. She was also the one who had decided that the pupils who were only at Nonneseter for a short time should also wear the attire of young novices.\n\nSister Cecilia Baardsdatter was not like the other nuns. She walked around in silence, her eyes downcast. She always replied meekly and humbly, acted as everyone's maidservant, preferred to take on the roughest tasks, and fasted more often than was prescribed\u2014as much as Fru Groa would allow. And in church she would kneel for hours after the evening hymn or go there long before matins.\n\nBut one evening, after she had spent the whole day at the creek washing clothes along with two lay sisters, she suddenly began to sob loudly at the supper table. She threw herself onto the stone floor, crawled on her knees among the sisters, and beat her breast. With burning cheeks and streaming tears she begged them to forgive her. She was the worst sinner of them all\u2014she had been stone-hard with arrogance all her days. It was arrogance and not humility or gratitude for the death of Christ the Savior that had sustained her when she was tempted in the world; she had fled to the convent not because she loved a man's soul but because she had loved her own pride. She had served her sisters with arrogance, she had drunk vanity from her water goblet, and she had spread her bare bread thick with conceit while the sisters drank ale and ate butter on their bread.\n\nFrom all this Kristin understood that not even Cecilia Baardsdatter was completely pure of heart. An unlit tallow candle that has hung from the ceiling and turned filthy with soot and cobwebs\u2014that was how she compared her loveless chastity.\n\nFru Groa herself went over and lifted up the sobbing young woman. Sternly she said that as punishment for her outburst Cecilia would move from the sisters' dormitory into the abbess's own bed and stay there until she had recovered from this fever.\n\n\"And then, Sister Cecilia, you will sit in my chair for eight days. We will ask your advice in spiritual matters and show you such respect because of your godly conduct that you will grow sated from the tribute of sinful people. Then you must judge whether this is worth so much struggle, and decide either to live by the rules as the rest of us do or to continue the trials that no one demands of you. Then you can contemplate whether all the things that you say you do now so that we might look up to you, hence-forward you will do out of love of God and so that He might look upon you with mercy.\"\n\nAnd so it was. Sister Cecilia lay in the abbess's room for two weeks; she had a high fever, and Fru Groa nursed the nun herself. When she had recovered, for eight days she had to sit at the abbess's side in the place of honor both in church and at home, and everyone served her. She wept the whole time, as if she were being beaten. Afterward she was much gentler and happier. She continued to live in almost the same manner as before, but she would blush like a bride if anyone looked at her, whether she was sweeping the floor or walking alone to church.\n\nThis episode with Sister Cecilia aroused in Kristin a strong yearning for peace and reconciliation with everything from which she had come to feel herself cut off. She thought about Brother Edvin, and one day she gathered her courage and asked Fru Groa for permission to visit the barefoot friars to see a friend of hers there.\n\nShe could tell that Fru Groa was not pleased; there was little friendship between the Minorites and the other cloisters of the diocese. And the abbess was no more favorably disposed when she heard who Kristin's friend was. She said that this Brother Edvin was an unreliable man of God, always roaming about the country seeking alms in other dioceses. In many places the peasantry considered him a holy man, but he didn't seem to realize that the first duty of a Franciscan monk was obedience to his superiors. He had heard the confessions of outlaws and those who had been excommunicated; he had baptized their children and sung them into their graves without asking for permission. And yet his sin was as much due to lack of understanding as it was to defiance, and he had patiently borne the reprimands which had been imposed on him because of these matters. The Church had treated him with forbearance because he was skilled at his craft; but even in the execution of his art he had come into conflict with others. The bishop's master painters in Bergen refused to allow him to work in their diocese.\n\nKristin was bold enough to ask where this monk with the un-Norwegian name had come from. Fru Groa was in a mood to talk. She said that he was born in Oslo, but his father was an Englishman, Rikard the Armormaster, who had married a farmer's daughter from the Skogheim district, and they had taken up residence in Oslo. Two of Edvin's brothers were respected armorers in town. But Edvin, the eldest of the armormaster's sons, had been a restless soul all his days. He had no doubt felt an attraction for the monastic life since early childhood; he had joined the gray monks at Hoved\u00f8 as soon as he reached the proper age. They sent him to a cloister in France to be educated; he had excellent abilities. From there he managed to win permission to leave the Cistercian order and enter the order of the Minorites instead. And when the brothers arbitrarily decided to build their church out in the fields to the east, against the orders of the bishop, Brother Edvin had been one of the worst and most obstinate among them\u2014he had even used a hammer to strike one of the men sent by the bishop to stop the work and had almost killed him.\n\nIt had been a long time since anyone had talked at such length with Kristin. When Fru Groa dismissed her, the young maiden bent down and kissed the abbess's hand, respectfully and fervently, and tears sprang at once into her eyes. But Fru Groa, who saw that Kristin was crying, thought it was from sorrow\u2014and so she said that perhaps one day she would be allowed to go out to visit Brother Edvin after all.\n\nAnd several days later Kristin was told that some of the convent's servants had to go over to the king's castle, so at the same time they could accompany her out to the brothers in the fields.\n\nBrother Edvin was home. Kristin had not imagined that she would be so happy to see anyone other than Erlend. The old man sat and stroked her hand as they talked, thanking her for coming. No, he hadn't been to her part of the country since that night he had stayed at J\u00f8rundgaard, but he had heard that she was to marry, and he offered her his congratulations. Then Kristin asked him to go over to the church with her.\n\nThey had to go out of the cloister and around to the main entrance; Brother Edvin didn't dare lead her across the courtyard. He seemed in general quite timid and afraid to do anything that might offend. He had grown terribly old, thought Kristin.\n\nAnd when she had placed her offering on the altar for the priest of the church and then asked Edvin to hear her confession, he grew quite frightened. He didn't dare; he had been strictly forbidden to listen to confessions.\n\n\"Perhaps you've heard about it,\" he said. \"I didn't think that I could deny these poor souls the gifts that God has bestowed on me so freely. But I was supposed to exhort them to seek reconciliation at the proper place.... Well then. But you, Kristin, you will have to confess to the prior at the convent.\"\n\n\"There is something that I cannot confess to the prior,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Do you think it would benefit you if you confess to me something that you wish to conceal from your proper confessor?\" said the monk more sternly.\n\n\"If you cannot hear my confession,\" said Kristin, \"then you can let me talk to you and ask your advice about what is on my mind.\"\n\nThe monk looked around. The church was empty at the moment. He sat down on a chest that stood in the corner. \"You must remember that I cannot absolve you, but I will advise you and I will keep silent as if you had spoken in confession.\"\n\nKristin stood before him and said, \"You see, I cannot become Simon Darre's wife.\"\n\n\"As to this matter, you know I cannot advise you otherwise than the prior would,\" said Brother Edvin. \"Disobedient children bring God no joy, and your father has done his best for you\u2014you must realize that.\"\n\n\"I don't know what your advice will be when you hear the rest,\" said Kristin. \"The situation is such that Simon is too good to gnaw on the bare branch from which another man has broken off the blossom.\"\n\nShe looked directly at the monk. But when she met his eye and noticed how the dry, wrinkled old face suddenly changed and became filled with grief and horror, something seemed to break inside her; the tears poured out, and she tried to throw herself to her knees. But Edvin pulled her vehemently back.\n\n\"No, no, sit down here on the chest with me. I cannot hear your confession.\" He moved aside to make room for her.\n\nKristin continued to cry.\n\nHe stroked her hand and said softly, \"Do you remember that morning, Kristin, when I saw you for the first time on the stairs of Hamar Cathedral? I once heard a legend, when I was abroad, about a monk who could not believe that God loved all of us wretched, sinful souls. An angel came and touched his sight so that he saw a stone at the bottom of the sea, and under the stone lived a blind, white, naked creature. And the monk stared at the creature until he began to love it because it was so small and pitiful. When I saw you sitting there, so tiny and pitiful inside that huge stone building, then I thought it was reasonable that God should love someone like you. You were lovely and pure, and yet you needed protection and help. I thought I saw the whole church, with you inside it, lying in the hand of God.\"\n\nKristin said softly, \"We have bound ourselves to each other with the most solemn of oaths\u2014and I have heard that such an agreement consecrates us before God just as much as if our parents had given us to each other.\"\n\nBut the monk replied with despair, \"I see, Kristin, that someone has been telling you of the canonical law without fully understanding it. You could not promise yourself to this man without sinning against your parents; God placed them above you before you met him. And won't it also be a sorrow and a shame for this man's kinsmen if they learn that he has seduced the daughter of a man who has carried his shield with honor all these years? And you were also betrothed. I see that you do not think you have sinned so greatly\u2014and yet you dare not confess this to your parish priest. And if you think you are as good as married to this man, why don't you wear the linen wimple instead of going around bareheaded among the young maidens, with whom you have so little in common now? For now your thoughts must be on other things than theirs are.\"\n\n\"I don't know what I'm thinking about,\" said Kristin wearily. \"It's true that all my thoughts are with this man, whom I yearn for. If it weren't for Father and Mother, then I would gladly pin up my hair on this very day\u2014I wouldn't care if they called me a paramour, if only I could be called his.\"\n\n\"Do you know whether this man's intentions are such that you might be his with honor someday?\" asked Brother Edvin.\n\nThen Kristin told him about everything that had happened between Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and herself. And as she talked, she seemed to have forgotten that she had ever doubted the outcome of the whole matter.\n\n\"Don't you see, Brother Edvin,\" she continued, \"we couldn't control ourselves. God help me, if I met him here outside the church, after I leave you, I would go with him if he asked me to. And you should know that I have now seen that other people have sinned as we have. When I was back home I couldn't understand how anything could have such power over the souls of people that they would forget all fear of sin, but now I have seen so much that if one cannot rectify the sins one has committed out of desire or anger, then heaven must be a desolate place. They say that you too once struck a man in anger.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said the monk, \"and it is only through God's mercy that I am not called a murderer. That was many years ago. I was a young man back then, and I didn't think I could tolerate the injustice that the bishop wished to exercise against us poor brothers. King Haakon\u2014he was the duke at that time\u2014had given us the land for our building, but we were so poor that we had to do the work on our church ourselves, with the help of a few workmen who lent a hand more for their reward in heaven than for what we were able to pay them. Perhaps it was arrogance on the part of the mendicant monks that we wanted to build our church with such splendor; but we were as happy as children in the meadows, singing hymns as we chiseled and built walls and toiled. May God bless Brother Ranulv. He was a master builder, a skilled stone-mason; I think God Himself had granted this man all his knowledge and skills. I was cutting altarpieces from stone back then. I had finished one of Saint Clara, with the angels leading her to the church of Saint Francis early Christmas morning. It had turned out beautifully, and we all rejoiced over it. Then those cowardly devils tore down the walls, and the stones toppled and crushed my altarpieces. I lunged at a man with a hammer; I couldn't control myself.\n\n\"Yes, I see that you're smiling, Kristin. But don't you realize how badly things stand with you now? For you would rather hear about other people's frailties than about the deeds of decent people, which might serve as an example for you.\"\n\nAs Kristin was about to leave, Brother Edvin said, \"It's not easy to advise you. If you were to do what's right, then you would bring sorrow to your parents and shame upon your entire lineage. But you must try to win release from your promise to Simon Andress\u00f8n. Then you must wait patiently for the joy that God will send you. Do penance in your heart as best you can\u2014and do not let this Erlend tempt you to sin more often, but ask him lovingly to seek reconciliation with your kinsmen and with God.\n\n\"I cannot absolve you of your sin,\" said Brother Edvin as they parted. \"But I will pray for you with all my heart.\"\n\nThen he placed his thin old hands on Kristin's head and said a prayer of blessing and peace for her in farewell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Afterward Kristin could not remember everything that Brother Edvin had said to her. But she left him with a strange feeling of clarity and serene peace in her soul.\n\nBefore, she had struggled with a hollow and secret fear, trying to defy it: her sin had not been so great. Now she felt that Edvin had shown her clearly and lucidly that she had indeed sinned, that such and such were her sins, and that she would have to take them upon her shoulders and try to bear them with patience and dignity. She strove to think of Erlend without impatience, in spite of the fact that he had sent no word and she missed his caresses. She simply had to be faithful and full of kindness toward him. She thought about her parents and promised herself that she would repay all their love after they had first recovered from the sorrow that she was going to cause them by breaking with the Dyfrin people. And she thought most about Brother Edvin's advice that she should not seek solace by looking at the failings of others; she felt herself growing humble and kind, and soon realized how easy it was for her to win the friendship of others. At once she felt consoled that it was not so difficult, after all, to get along with people\u2014and then she thought that it shouldn't be so difficult for her and Erlend either.\n\nUp until the day when she gave Erlend her promise, she had always tried diligently to do everything that was right and good, but she had done everything at the bidding of other people. Now she felt that she had grown up from maiden to woman. This was not just because of the passionate, secret caresses she had received and given. She had not merely left her father's guardianship and subjected herself to Erlend's will. Brother Edvin had impressed on her the responsibility of answering for her own life, and for Erlend's as well, and she was willing to bear this burden with grace and dignity. So she lived among the nuns during the Christmas season; during the beautiful services and amidst the joy and peace, she no doubt felt herself unworthy, but she consoled herself with the belief that the time would soon come when she would be able to redeem herself again.\n\nBut on the day after New Year's, Sir Andres Darre arrived unexpectedly at the convent together with his wife and all five children. They were going to spend the last part of the Christmas holidays with friends and kinsmen in town, and they came to ask Kristin to join them at the place where they were staying for several days.\n\n\"I've been thinking, my daughter, said Fru Angerd, \"that you probably wouldn't mind seeing some new faces by now.\"\n\nThe Dyfrin people were staying in a beautiful house that was part of an estate near the bishop's citadel. Sir Andres's nephew owned it. There was a large room where the servants slept and a magnificent loft room with a brick fireplace and three good beds. Sir Andres and Fru Angerd slept in one of the beds, along with their youngest son, Gudmund, who was still a child. Kristin and their two daughters, Astrid and Sigrid, slept in the second bed. And in the third slept Simon and his older brother, Gyrd Andress\u00f8n.\n\nAll of Sir Andres's children were good-looking\u2014Simon the least so, and yet people still considered him handsome. And Kristin noticed even more than when she had been at the Dyfrin manor the year before that both his parents and his four siblings listened closely to Simon and did everything he wished. All his kinsmen loved each other heartily but agreed without rancor to place Simon foremost.\n\nThese people led a joyful and happy life, going to one of the churches each day to make their offerings, meeting to drink among friends each evening, and allowing the young to play and dance. Everyone showed Kristin the greatest kindness, and no one seemed to notice how little joy she felt.\n\nAt night, when the candles were put out in the loft and everyone had gone to bed, Simon would get up and come over to where the maidens lay. He would sit for a while on the edge of the bed, speaking mostly to his sisters, but in the dark he would sneak his hand up to Kristin's breast and let it stay there. She would lie there, sweating with indignation.\n\nNow that her sense for such matters was so much keener, she realized there were many things that Simon was both too proud and too shy to say to her, once he noticed that she didn't want to go into such topics. And she felt a strange, bitter anger toward him because it seemed to her that he was trying to make himself seem a better man than the one who had taken her\u2014even though he had no idea of the other man's existence.\n\nBut one evening when they had been out dancing at another estate, Astrid and Sigrid stayed behind and were going to sleep with a foster sister. Late that night, when the people from Dyfrin had gone to bed in the loft, Simon came over to Kristin's bed and climbed in; he lay on top of the furs.\n\nKristin pulled the covers up to her chin and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. After a moment Simon reached out his hand to touch her breasts. She felt the silk embroidery at his wrists, so she realized that he had not undressed.\n\n\"You're just as shy in the dark as in the daylight, Kristin,\" said Simon with a chuckle. \"Surely you'll let me hold your hand, won't you?\" he asked, and Kristin gave him her fingertips.\n\n\"Don't you think we might have a few things to talk about, now that we have the chance to be alone for a little while?\" he said. And Kristin thought that now she would be able to speak. So she agreed. But then she could not utter a word.\n\n\"Can I come under the furs?\" he asked again. \"It's cold in the room.\" And he slipped in between the furs and the woolen blanket she had over her. He crooked one arm behind her head, but in such a way that he did not touch her. And they lay there like that for a while.\n\n\"You're not an easy person to woo, either,\" said Simon after a pause, and then laughed in resignation. \"I promise you I won't so much as kiss you, if you don't want me to. But surely you can talk to me, can't you?\"\n\nKristin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, but she still remained silent.\n\n\"It seems to me that you're lying here trembling,\" Simon continued. \"Is it because you have something against me, Kristin?\"\n\nShe didn't think that she could lie to Simon, so she said, \"No,\" but nothing more.\n\nSimon lay there a little longer, trying to get a conversation started. But finally he laughed again and said, \"I see that you think I should be satisfied with this\u2014that you have nothing against me\u2014for tonight, at least, and that I should even be happy. It's strange how proud you are too. But you must give me a kiss, all the same; then I'll go and not plague you any longer.\"\n\nHe took his kiss, sat up, and set his feet on the floor. Kristin thought that now she would manage to tell him what had to be said\u2014but he had already left her bed, and she could hear him getting undressed.\n\nThe next day Fru Angerd was not as friendly toward Kristin as she usually was. The young maiden realized that she must have heard something and felt that the betrothed girl had not received her son in the manner that his mother felt she should have.\n\nLater in the afternoon Simon mentioned that he was thinking of trading for a horse that was owned by one of his friends. He asked Kristin whether she would like to go along and watch. She said yes, and they went into town together.\n\nThe weather was clear and beautiful. It had snowed a little during the night, but now the sun was shining, and it was still so cold that the snow squeaked under their feet. Kristin enjoyed getting out in the cold and walking, so when Simon had found the horse that he was thinking of, she talked to him about it in the most lively manner; she had some knowledge of horses, since she had always spent so much time with her father. And this one was a fine animal: a mouse-gray stallion with narrow black stripes along his back and a short, clipped mane. He was well built and spirited, but quite small and slight.\n\n\"He won't last long under a fully-armed man,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"No, but that's not what I had in mind, either,\" said Simon.\n\nHe led the horse out to the open area behind the farm, let him run and walk, rode the animal himself, and then had Kristin ride him too. They stayed outdoors in the white pasture for a long time.\n\nFinally, as Kristin was feeding bread to the horse from her hand, Simon leaned against the animal with his arm over his back and said suddenly, \"It seems to me, Kristin, that you and my mother have been rather cross with each other.\"\n\n\"I haven't meant to be cross with your mother,\" she said, \"but I can't find much to say to Fru Angerd.\"\n\n\"You don't seem to find much to say to me, either,\" said Simon. \"I won't force myself on you, Kristin, before the time comes. But things can't go on like this; I never get a chance to talk to you.\"\n\n\"I have never been talkative,\" said Kristin. \"I know that myself, and I don't expect you to think it a great loss if things don't work out between us.\"\n\n\"You know what I think about that subject,\" replied Simon, looking at her.\n\nKristin blushed as red as blood. And she was startled to find that she was not averse to Simon Darre's wooing.\n\nAfter a moment he said, \"Is it Arne Gyrds\u00f8n, Kristin, that you think you can't forget?\" Kristin stared at him. Simon continued, and his voice was kind and understanding, \"I won't blame you for that. You grew up as siblings, and barely a year has passed. But you can depend on this: I want only what's best for you.\"\n\nKristin's face had grown quite pale. Neither of them spoke as they walked through town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the greenish blue sky, the crescent of the new moon hung with a bright star in its embrace.\n\nOne year, thought Kristin, and she could hardly remember when she had last given Arne a thought. It gave her a fright\u2014maybe she was a loose, vile woman. A year since she had seen him lying on the bier in the death chamber, when she thought she would never be happy again. She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things. Erlend, Erlend\u2014would he forget her? But worse yet was that she might ever forget him.\n\nSir Andres and his children went to the great Christmas celebration at the king's castle. Kristin saw all the finery and splendor, and they were also invited into the hall where King Haakon sat with Fru Isabel Bruce, the widow of King Eirik. Sir Andres went forward to greet the king, while his children and Kristin remained behind. She thought of everything that Fru Aashild had told her, and she remembered that the king was Erlend's close kinsman\u2014their fathers' mothers had been sisters. And she was Erlend's wife by seduction; she had no right to stand here, especially not among these good, fine people, the children of Sir Andres.\n\nSuddenly she saw Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. He had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel and was standing there with his head bowed and his hand on his breast while she spoke a few words to him. He was wearing the brown silk surcoat that he had worn to their banquet rendezvous. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres's daughters.\n\nWhen Fru Angerd, some time later, escorted the three maidens over to the queen, Kristin could not see Erlend anywhere, but she didn't dare raise her eyes from the floor. She wondered if he was standing somewhere in the hall; she thought she could feel his eyes on her. But she also thought that everyone was staring at her, as if they could tell that she was standing there like a liar with the gold wreath on her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders.\n\nHe was not in the hall where the young people were served dinner and where they danced after the tables had been cleared away. Kristin had to dance with Simon that evening.\n\nAlong one wall stood a built-in table, and that's where the king's servants set ale and mead and wine all night long. Once when Simon took Kristin over there and drank a toast to her, she saw that Erlend was standing quite close to her, behind Simon. He looked at her, and Kristin's hand shook as Simon gave her the goblet and she raised it to her lips. Erlend whispered fiercely to the man who was with him\u2014a tall, heavyset, but handsome older man, who shook his head dismissively with an angry expression. In the next moment Simon led Kristin back to the dance.\n\nShe had no idea how long that dance lasted; the ballad seemed endless and every moment was tedious and painful with longing and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon escorted her over to the table for drinks again.\n\nOne of his friends approached and spoke to him, leading him away a few paces, over to a group of young men. Then Erlend stood before her.\n\n\"I have so much I want to say to you,\" he whispered. \"I don't know what to say first. In Christ's name, Kristin, how are things with you?\" he asked hastily, for he noticed that her face had turned as white as chalk.\n\nShe couldn't see him clearly; it was as if there was running water between their faces. He picked up a goblet from the table, drank from it, and handed it to Kristin. She thought it was much too heavy, or that her arm had been pulled from its socket; she couldn't manage to raise it to her lips.\n\n\"Is that how things stand\u2014that you'll drink with your betrothed but not with me?\" asked Erlend softly. But Kristin dropped the goblet and swooned forward into his arms.\n\nWhen she woke up she was lying on a bench with her head in the lap of a maiden she didn't know. They had loosened her belt and the brooch on her breast. Someone was slapping her hands, and her face was wet.\n\nShe sat up. Somewhere in the circle of people around her she saw Erlend's face, pale and ill. She felt weak herself, as if all her bones had melted, and her head felt huge and hollow. But somewhere in her mind a single thought, clear and desperate, shone\u2014she had to talk to Erlend.\n\nThen she said to Simon Darre, who was standing close by, \"It must have been too hot for me. There are so many candles burning in here, and I'm not accustomed to drinking so much wine.\"\n\n\"Are you all right now?\" asked Simon. \"You frightened everyone. Perhaps you would like me to take you home?\"\n\n\"I think we should wait until your parents leave,\" said Kristin calmly. \"But sit down here. I don't feel like dancing anymore.\" She patted the cushion beside her. Then she stretched out her other hand to Erlend.\n\n\"Sit down here, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. I didn't have a chance to give you my full greeting. Ingebj\u00f8rg was just saying lately that she thought you had forgotten all about her.\"\n\nShe saw that he was having a much more difficult time composing himself than she was. It cost her great effort to hold back the tender little smile that threatened to appear on her lips.\n\n\"You must thank the maiden for still remembering me,\" he said, stammering. \"And here I was so afraid that she had forgotten me.\"\n\nKristin hesitated for a moment. She didn't know what message she could bring from the flighty Ingebj\u00f8rg that would be interpreted correctly by Erlend. Then bitterness rose up inside her for all those months of helplessness, and she said, \"Dear Erlend, did you think that we maidens would forget the man who so magnificently defended our honor?\"\n\nShe saw that he looked as if she had struck him. And she regretted it at once when Simon asked what she meant. Kristin told him of her adventure with Ingebj\u00f8rg out in the Eikaberg woods. She noticed that Simon was not pleased. Then she asked him to go in search of Fru Angerd, to see if they would be leaving soon. She was tired after all. When he had gone, she turned to look at Erlend.\n\n\"It's odd,\" he said in a low voice, \"how resourceful you are\u2014I wouldn't have thought it of you.\"\n\n\"I've had to learn to conceal things, as you might well imagine,\" she said somberly.\n\nErlend breathed heavily. He was still quite pale.\n\n\"Is that it?\" he whispered. \"But you promised to go to my friends if that should come about. God knows, I've thought about you every single day, about whether the worst had happened.\"\n\n\"I know what you mean by the worst,\" replied Kristin tersely. \"You needn't worry about that. It seems worse to me that you would not send me a word of greeting. Can't you understand that I'm living there with the nuns like some strange bird?\" She stopped because she could feel the tears rising.\n\n\"Is that why you're with the Dyfrin people now?\" he asked. Then she grew so full of despair that she couldn't answer.\n\nShe saw Fru Angerd and Simon appear in the doorway. Erlend's hand lay on his knee, close to her own, but she could not touch it.\n\n\"I have to talk to you,\" he said fiercely. \"We haven't said a word to each other of what we should have talked about.\"\n\n\"Come to the mass at the Maria Church after the last day of the Christmas season,\" Kristin said hastily, as she stood up and stepped forward to meet the others.\n\nFru Angerd was quite loving and kind toward Kristin on the way home, and she helped the maiden into bed herself. Kristin didn't have a chance to speak to Simon until the following day.\n\nThen he said, \"How is it that you would agree to convey messages between this Erlend and Ingebj\u00f8rg Filippusdatter? You should not lend a hand in this matter, if they have some secret business between them.\"\n\n\"I don't think there's anything behind it,\" said Kristin. \"She's just a chatterbox.\"\n\n\"I thought you would have been more sensible,\" said Simon, \"than to venture into the woods and out onto roads alone with that magpie.\" But Kristin reminded him with some fervor that it was not their fault they had gone astray. Simon didn't say another word.\n\nThe next day the Dyfrin people escorted her back to the convent before setting off for home themselves.\n\nErlend came to vespers at the convent church every day for a week, but Kristin didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with him. She felt as if she were a hawk that sat chained to a roost with a hood pulled over its eyes. She was also unhappy about every word they had said to each other at their last meeting; that was not the way it was supposed to have been. It didn't help that she told herself it had happened so suddenly for both of them that they hardly knew what they were saying.\n\nBut one afternoon, at dusk, a beautiful woman who looked like the wife of a townsman appeared in the parlatory. She asked for Kristin Lavransdatter and said that she was the wife of a clothing merchant. Her husband had just arrived from Denmark with some fine cloaks, and Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n wished to give one of them to his niece, so the maiden was to go with her to select it herself.\n\nKristin was allowed to accompany the woman. She thought it unlike her uncle to want to give her a costly gift, and peculiar that he would send a stranger to get her.\n\nAt first the woman said little, replying only briefly to Kristin's questions, but when they had walked all the way into town, she suddenly said, \"I don't want to fool you, lovely child that you are. I'm going to tell you how things truly stand so you can decide for yourself. It wasn't your uncle who sent me, but a man\u2014maybe you can guess his name, and if you can't, then you shouldn't come with me. I have no husband, and I have to make a living for myself and mine by keeping an inn and serving ale. So I can't be too afraid of either sin or servants\u2014but I will not let my house be used for purposes of deceiving you within my walls.\"\n\nKristin stopped, her face flushed. She felt strangely hurt and ashamed on Erlend's behalf.\n\nThe woman said, \"I will accompany you back to the convent, Kristin, but you must give me something for my trouble. The knight promised me a large reward, but I was also beautiful once, and I too was deceived. And then you can remember me in your prayers tonight. They call me Brynhild Fluga.\"\n\nKristin took a ring from her finger and gave it to the woman.\n\n\"That was kind of you, Brynhild, but if the man is my kinsman Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, then I have nothing to fear. He wants me to reconcile him with my uncle. You will not be blamed\u2014but thank you for warning me.\"\n\nBrynhild Fluga turned away to hide her smile.\n\nShe led Kristin through the alleys behind Clement's Church and north toward the river. A few small, isolated farms were situated on the bank. They walked between several fences, and there came Erlend to meet them. He glanced around and then took off his cape and wrapped it around Kristin, pulling the hood forward over her face.\n\n\"What do you think of this ruse?\" he asked quickly, in a low voice. \"Do you think I've done wrong? But I had to talk to you.\"\n\n\"It won't do much good for us to think about what's right and what's wrong,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Don't talk like that,\" implored Erlend. \"I take the blame. Kristin, I've longed for you every day and every night,\" he whispered close to her ear.\n\nA shudder passed through her as she briefly met his glance. She felt guilty because she had been thinking about something besides her love for him when he looked at her in that way.\n\nBrynhild Fluga had gone on ahead. When they reached the inn, Erlend asked Kristin, \"Do you want to go into the main room, or should we talk upstairs in the loft?\"\n\n\"As you please,\" replied Kristin.\n\n\"It's cold up there,\" said Erlend softly. \"We'll have to get into the bed.\" Kristin merely nodded.\n\nThe instant he had closed the door behind them, she was in his arms. He bent her this way and that like a wand, blinding her and smothering her with kisses, as he impatiently tore both cloaks off her and tossed them to the floor. Then he lifted the girl in the pale convent dress in his arms, pressing her to his shoulder, and carried her over to the bed. Frightened by his roughness and by her own sudden desire for this man, she put her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.\n\nIt was so cold in the loft that they could see their own breath like a cloud of smoke in front of the little candle standing on the table. But there were plenty of blankets and furs on the bed, covered by a great bearskin, which they pulled all the way up over their faces.\n\nShe didn't know how long she had lain like that in his arms when Erlend said, \"Now we must talk about those things that have to be discussed, my Kristin. I don't dare keep you here long.\"\n\n\"I'll stay here the whole night if you want me to,\" whispered Kristin.\n\nErlend pressed his cheek to hers.\n\n\"Then I would not be much of a friend to you. Things are bad enough already, but I won't have people gossiping about you because of me.\"\n\nKristin didn't reply, but she felt a twinge of pain. She didn't understand how he could say such a thing, since he was the one who had brought her here to Brynhild Fluga's house. She didn't know how she knew it, but she realized that this was not a good place. And he had expected that everything would proceed just as it did, for he had a cup of mead standing inside the bed drapes.\n\n\"I've been thinking,\" continued Erlend, \"that if there's no other alternative, then I'll have to take you away by force, to Sweden. Duchess Ingebj\u00f8rg received me kindly this autumn and spoke of the kinship between us. But now I'm paying for my sins\u2014I've fled the country before, you know\u2014and I don't want you to be mentioned as that other one's equal.\"\n\n\"Take me home to Husaby with you,\" said Kristin quietly. \"I can't bear to be separated from you and to live with the maidens in the convent. Surely both your kinsmen and mine will be reasonable enough that they'll allow us to be together and become reconciled with them.\"\n\nErlend hugged her tight and moaned, \"I can't take you to Husaby, Kristin.\"\n\n\"Why can't you?\" she asked in a whisper.\n\n\"Eline came back this fall,\" he said after a moment. \"I can't make her leave the farm,\" he continued angrily, \"not unless I carry her by force out to the sleigh and drive her away myself. And I don't think I could do that\u2014she brought both of our children home with her.\"\n\nKristin felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper. In a voice that was brittle with fear she said, \"I thought you had parted from her.\"\n\n\"I thought so too,\" replied Erlend curtly. \"But she apparently heard in \u00d8sterdal, where she was living, that I was thinking of marriage. You saw the man I was with at the Christmas banquet\u2014that was my foster father, Baard Peters\u00f8n of Hestn\u00e6s. I went to him when I returned from Sweden; I visited my kinsman, Heming Alvs\u00f8n, in Saltvik too. I told them that I wanted to get married now and asked them to help me. That must be what Eline heard.\n\n\"I told her to demand whatever she wanted for herself and the children. But they don't expect Sigurd, her husband, to survive the winter, and then no one can prevent us from living together.\n\n\"I slept in the stables with Haftor and Ulv, and Eline slept in the house in my bed. I think my men had a good laugh behind my back.\"\n\nKristin couldn't say a word.\n\nAfter a moment Erlend went on, \"You know, on the day when our betrothal is formally celebrated, she'll have to realize that it will do her no good\u2014that she has no power over me any longer.\n\n\"But it will be bad for the children. I hadn't seen them in a year\u2014they're good-looking children\u2014and there's little I can do to secure their situation. It wouldn't have helped them much even if I had been able to marry their mother.\"\n\nTears began to slide down Kristin's cheeks.\n\nThen Erlend said, \"Did you hear what I said? That I have spoken to my kinsmen? And they were pleased that I want to marry. Then I told them that it was you I wanted and no one else.\"\n\n\"And weren't they pleased about that?\" asked Kristin at last, timidly.\n\n\"Don't you see,\" said Erlend gloomily, \"that there was only one thing they could say? They cannot and they will not ride with me to speak with your father until this agreement between you and Simon Andress\u00f8n has been dissolved. It hasn't made things any easier for us, Kristin, that you have celebrated Christmas with the Dyfrin people.\"\n\nKristin broke down completely and began to sob quietly. She had no doubt felt that there was something unwise and ignoble about her love, and now she realized that the blame was hers.\n\nShe shivered with cold as she got out of bed a short time later and Erlend wrapped both cloaks around her. It was now completely dark outside, and Erlend accompanied her to Clement's churchyard; then Brynhild escorted her the rest of the way to Nonneseter."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "The following week Brynhild Fluga came with word that the cloak was now finished, and Kristin went with her and was with Erlend in the loft room as before.\n\nWhen they parted he gave her a cloak, \"so you have something to show at the convent,\" he said. It was made of blue velvet interwoven with red silk, and Erlend asked her whether she noticed that they were the same colors as the dress she had worn on that day in the forest. Kristin was surprised that she could be so happy over what he said; she felt as if he had never given her greater joy than with those words.\n\nBut now they could no longer use this excuse to meet, and it was not easy to think of something else. Erlend went to vespers at the convent church, and several times after the service Kristin went on an errand up to the corrodians' farms; they stole a few words with each other up along the fences in the dark of the winter evening.\n\nThen Kristin thought of asking Sister Potentia for permission to visit several palsied old women, charity cases of the convent, who lived in a house out in a field some distance away. Behind the house was a shed where the women kept a cow. Kristin offered to tend to the animal for them when she visited, and then she would let Erlend come in while she worked.\n\nShe noticed with some surprise that in spite of Erlend's joy at being with her, a tiny scrap of bitterness had settled in his mind that she had been able to think up this excuse.\n\n\"It was not to your best advantage that you became acquainted with me,\" he said one evening. \"Now you've learned to use these kinds of secret ruses.\"\n\n\"You should not be blaming me for that,\" replied Kristin de jectedly.\n\n\"It's not you that I blame,\" said Erlend at once, embarrassed.\n\n\"I never thought,\" she went on, \"that it would be so easy for me to lie. But what must be done can be done.\"\n\n\"That's not always true,\" said Erlend in the same voice as before. \"Do you remember this past winter, when you couldn't tell your betrothed that you wouldn't have him?\"\n\nKristin didn't reply, but merely stroked his face.\n\nShe never felt so strongly how much she loved Erlend as when he said such things that made her feel dejected or surprised. And she was glad that she could take the blame for everything that was disgraceful or ignoble about their love. If she had had the courage to speak to Simon as she should have, then they could have progressed a long way in settling these matters. Erlend had done all that he could when he had spoken of marriage to his kinsmen. This is what she told herself whenever the days at the convent grew long and dreary. Erlend had wanted to make everything right and proper. With tender little smiles she would think about him as he looked whenever he described their wedding. She would ride to the church dressed in silk and velvet, and she would be led to the bridal bed with the tall golden crown on her hair, which would be spread out over her shoulders\u2014her lovely, beautiful hair, he said, running her braids through his fingers.\n\n\"But for you it won't be the same as if you had never possessed me,\" Kristin once said thoughtfully when he had spoken of such things.\n\nThen he had pulled her ardently to him.\n\n\"Don't you think I can remember the first time I celebrated Christmas, or the first time I saw the mountainsides turn green back home after winter? Oh, of course I'll remember the first time I had you, and every time after that. But to possess you, that's like perpetually celebrating Christmas or hunting birds on the green slopes.\"\n\nJoyfully she crept closer in his arms.\n\nNot that she for a moment believed that things would go as Erlend so confidently expected. Kristin thought that a judgment day was sure to befall them before long. It was impossible for things to continue to go so well. But she was not particularly afraid. She was much more frightened that Erlend might have to travel north before the matter could be settled, and she would have to stay behind, separated from him. He was over at the fortress on Akersnes right now; Munan Baards\u00f8n was there while the Royal Treasurer was in Tunsberg, where the king lay deathly ill. But one day Erlend would no doubt have to return home to see to his property. She refused to admit that this frightened her because he would be going home to Husaby where his mistress was waiting for him. But she was less afraid of being caught in sin with Erlend than of standing up alone and telling Simon, and her father as well, what was in her heart.\n\nAnd so she almost wished that some punishment would befall her, and soon. For now she had no thoughts for anything but Erlend. She longed for him in the daytime and she dreamed of him at night. She felt no repentance, but she consoled herself with the thought that the day would come when she would have to pay dearly for everything they had taken in secret. And during those brief evening hours when she could be together with Erlend in the poor women's cowshed, she would throw herself into his arms so ardently, as if she had paid with her soul to be his.\n\nBut time passed, and it looked as if Erlend was to have the good fortune that he was counting on. Kristin noticed that no one at the convent ever suspected her, although Ingebj\u00f8rg had discovered that she met with Erlend. But Kristin could see that the other girl never thought it was anything more than a little amusement she was allowing herself. That a betrothed maiden of good family would dare to break the agreement that her kinsmen had made was something that would never occur to Ingebj\u00f8rg. And for a moment fear raced through Kristin once more; perhaps this was something completely unheard of, this situation she had landed in. And then she wished again that she would be found out, so that it could be brought to an end.\n\nEaster arrived. Kristin couldn't understand what had happened to the winter; each day that she had not seen Erlend had been as long as a dismal year, and the long gloomy days had become linked together into endless weeks. But now it was spring and Easter, and it seemed to her as if they had just celebrated Christmas. She asked Erlend not to seek her out during the holidays; and it seemed to Kristin that he acquiesced to all her wishes. It was just as much her fault as his that they had sinned against the strictures of Lent. But she wanted them to observe the Easter holiday\u2014even though it hurt not to see him. He might have to leave quite soon; he hadn't said anything about it, but she knew that the king was now dying, and she thought that this might cause some change in Erlend's position.\n\nThis was how matters stood for Kristin, when, a few days after Easter, she was summoned down to the parlatory to speak with her betrothed.\n\nAs soon as Simon came toward her and put out his hand, she realized that something was wrong. His face was not the same as usual; his small gray eyes weren't laughing, and they were untouched by his smile. Kristin couldn't help noticing that it suited him to be a little less jovial. And he looked quite handsome in the traveling clothes he wore: a long, blue, tight-fitting outer garment that men called a cote-hardie, and a brown shoulder-cape with a hood, which he had thrown back. His light brown hair was quite curly from the raw, damp air.\n\nThey sat and talked for a while. Simon had been at Formo during Lent, and he was over at J\u00f8rundgaard almost daily. They were all well there. Ulvhild was as healthy as anyone could expect. Ramborg was home now; she was charming and lively.\n\n\"The time is almost over, the year that you were supposed to spend here at Nonneseter,\" said Simon. \"They're probably preparing everything for our betrothal feast at your home.\"\n\nKristin didn't reply as Simon continued.\n\n\"I told Lavrans that I would ride to Oslo to speak with you about it.\"\n\nKristin looked down and said quietly, \"Things are such, Simon, that I would prefer to speak with you in private about this matter.\"\n\n\"I too have felt that this would be necessary,\" replied Simon Andress\u00f8n. \"I was going to ask that you obtain Fru Groa's permission for us to walk in the garden together.\"\n\nKristin stood up abruptly, and slipped soundlessly out of the room. A short time later she returned, accompanied by one of the nuns with a key.\n\nA door from the parlatory opened onto the herb garden, which lay beyond the buildings on the west side of the convent. The nun unlocked the door, and they stepped out into a fog so dense that they could see only a few steps in front of them amidst the trees. The closest trunks were black as coal; beads of moisture clung to every branch and twig. Small patches of new snow were melting on the wet soil, but beneath the bushes tiny white and yellow lilies had already sprouted flowers, and it smelled fresh and cool from the violet-grass.\n\nSimon led her to the nearest bench. He sat down, leaning forward slightly with his elbows propped on his knees. Then he looked up at her with an odd little smile.\n\n\"I almost think I know what you want to tell me,\" he said. \"There's another man that you like better than me?\"\n\n\"That is true,\" replied Kristin softly.\n\n\"I think I know his name too,\" said Simon, his voice more harsh. \"Is it Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n of Husaby?\"\n\nAfter a moment Kristin said in a low voice, \"So this has come to your attention?\"\n\nSimon hesitated before he answered.\n\n\"Surely you can't think me so stupid that I wouldn't notice anything when we were together at Christmastime? I couldn't say anything then, because my father and mother were present. But this is the reason that I wanted to come here alone this time. I don't know whether it's wise of me to speak of this matter, but I thought that we ought to talk of such things before we are joined in marriage.\n\n\"But as it happened, when I arrived here yesterday, I met my insman, Master \u00d8istein. And he spoke of you. He said that he saw you walking across Clement's churchyard one evening, and that you were with a woman they call Brynhild Fluga. I swore a sacred oath that he must have been mistaken. And if you tell me that it's untrue, I will take you at your word.\"\n\n\"The priest was right,\" replied Kristin stubbornly. \"You forswore yourself, Simon.\"\n\nHe sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again.\n\n\"Do you know who this Brynhild Fluga is, Kristin?\" When she shook her head, he said, \"Munan Baards\u00f8n set her up in a house here in town after he was married\u2014she sells wine illegally and other such things.\"\n\n\"Do you know her?\" asked Kristin derisively.\n\n\"I've never been inclined to become a monk or a priest,\" said Simon, turning red. \"But I know that I have never acted unjustly toward a maiden or another man's wife. Don't you realize that it's not the conduct of an honorable man to allow you to go out at night in such company?\"\n\n\"Erlend did not seduce me,\" said Kristin, blushing and indignant. \"And he has promised me nothing. I set my heart on him though he did nothing to tempt me. I loved him above all men from the first moment I saw him.\"\n\nSimon sat there, playing with his dagger, tossing it from one hand to the other.\n\n\"These are strange words to be hearing from one's betrothed,\" he said. \"This does not bode well for us now, Kristin.\"\n\nKristin took a deep breath. \"You would be poorly served to take me for your wife, Simon.\"\n\n\"Almighty God knows that this seems to be so,\" said Simon Andress\u00f8n.\n\n\"Then I trust that you will support me,\" said Kristin, meek and timid, \"so that Sir Andres and my father will retract this agreement between us?\"\n\n\"Oh, is that what you think?\" said Simon. He was silent for a moment. \"God only knows whether you truly understand what you're saying.\"\n\n\"I do,\" Kristin told him. \"I know that the law is such that no one can force a maiden into a marriage against her will; then she can bring her case before the ting.\"\n\n\"I think it's before the bishop,\" said Simon, smiling harshly. \"But I've never had any reason to look into what the law says about such matters. And don't think you'll have any need to do so either. You know I won't demand that you keep your promise if you're so strongly opposed to it. But don't you realize... it's been two years since our betrothal was agreed upon, and you've never said a word against it until now, when everything is being prepared for the betrothal banquet and the wedding. Have you thought about what it will mean if you step forward and ask for the bond to be broken, Kristin?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't want me now, anyway,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Yes, I would,\" replied Simon curtly. \"If you think otherwise, you had better think again.\"\n\n\"Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and I have promised ourselves on our Christian faith,\" she said, trembling, \"that if we cannot be joined in marriage, then neither of us will ever take a husband or a wife.\"\n\nSimon was silent for a long time. Then he said wearily, \"Then I don't understand what you meant, Kristin, when you said that he had neither seduced you nor promised you anything. He has lured you away from the counsel of all your kinsmen. Have you thought about what kind of husband you'll have if you marry a man who took another man's wife as his mistress? And now he wants to take as his wife another man's betrothed.\"\n\nKristin swallowed her tears, whispering in a thick voice, \"You're saying this to hurt me.\"\n\n\"Do you think I want to hurt you?\" asked Simon softly.\n\n\"This is not how things would have been if you... ,\" Kristin said hesitantly. \"You were never asked, either, Simon. It was your father and mine who decided on this marriage. It would have been different if you had chosen me yourself.\"\n\nSimon drove his dagger into the bench so that it stood upright. After a moment he pulled it out and tried to slip it back into its scabbard. But it refused to go in because the tip was bent. Then he went back to fumbling with it, tossing it from one hand to the other.\n\n\"You know very well... ,\" he said, his voice low and shaking. \"You know that you would be lying if you tried to pretend that I didn't... You know quite well what I wanted to talk to you about, many times, but you received me in such a way that I wouldn't have been a man if I had mentioned it afterward, not if they tried to draw it out of me with burning tongs.\n\n\"At first I thought it was the dead boy. I thought I should give you some time... you didn't know me.... I thought it would be harmful to you, such a short time after. Now I see that you didn't need long to forget... and now... now... now...\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin quietly. \"I understand, Simon. I can't expect you to be my friend any longer.\"\n\n\"Friend!\" Simon gave an odd little laugh. \"Are you in need of my friendship now?\"\n\nKristin blushed.\n\n\"You're a man now,\" she said softly. \"And old enough. You can decide on your own marriage.\"\n\nSimon gave her a sharp look. Then he laughed as he had before.\n\n\"I see. You want me to say that I'm the one who... I should take the blame for this breach of promise?\n\n\"If it's true that you are set in your decision\u2014if you dare and are determined to press your case\u2014then I will do it,\" he said softly. \"To my family back home and before all your kinsmen\u2014except one. You will have to tell your father the truth, such as it is. If you wish, I will take your message to him and make it as easy for you as I can. But Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n must know that I would never go against a promise that I have made to him.\"\n\nKristin gripped the edge of the bench with both hands; this affected her more strongly than everything else Simon Darre had said. Pale and frightened, she glanced up at him.\n\nSimon stood up.\n\n\"We must go in now,\" he said. \"I think we're both freezing, and the sister is waiting for us with the key. I'll give you a week to think things over. I have some business here in town. I'll come back to talk to you before I leave, but I doubt you'll want to see me before then.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "So that was finally settled, Kristin told herself. But she felt exhausted, drained, and sick with yearning for Erlend's arms.\n\nShe lay awake most of the night, and she decided to do what she had never before dared\u2014she would send a message to Erlend. It wasn't easy to find someone who could carry out this errand for her. The lay sisters never went out alone, and she couldn't think of anyone she knew who would do it. The men who did the farm work were older and seldom came near the nuns' residence except to speak with the abbess. So Olav was the only one. He was a half-grown boy who worked in the gardens. He had been Fru Groa's foster son ever since he was found one morning as a newborn infant on the steps of the church. People said his mother was one of the lay sisters. She was supposed to become a nun, but after she had sat in the dark cell for six months\u2014for gross disobedience, it was said, and that was after the child was found\u2014she was given lay-sister garb, and since then she had worked in the farmyard. During the past months Kristin had often thought about Sister Ingrid's fate, but she had never had the chance to talk to her. It was risky to count on Olav; he was only a child, and Fru Groa and all the nuns talked to him and teased him whenever they saw him. But Kristin thought she had very little left to lose. And a couple of days later, when Olav was about to go into town one morning, Kristin asked him to take her message out to Akersnes, telling Erlend to find some excuse so they could meet alone.\n\nThat same afternoon Ulv, Erlend's own servant, appeared at the speaking gate. He said he was Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's man and had been sent by his master to ask whether Aasmund's niece might come into town for a while, because he didn't have time to come up to Nonneseter himself. Kristin thought this would never work; but when Sister Potentia asked her whether she knew the messenger, she said yes. So she went with Ulv over to Brynhild Fluga's house.\n\nErlend was waiting for her in the loft. He was nervous and tense, and Kristin realized at once that he was again afraid of the one thing that he seemed to fear most.\n\nShe always felt a pang in her heart that he should be so terrified that she might be carrying a child, when they couldn't seem to stay away from each other. So anxious was she feeling that evening that she said as much to him, quite angrily. Erlend's face turned dark red; he lay his head on her shoulder.\n\n\"You're right,\" he said. \"I should try to leave you alone, Kristin, and not keep testing your luck in this way. If you want me to...\"\n\nShe threw her arms around him and laughed, but he clasped her tightly around the waist and pressed her down onto a bench; then he sat down on the other side of the table. When she reached her hand across to him, he impetuously kissed her palm.\n\n\"I've been trying harder than you have,\" he said fiercely. \"If you only knew how important I think it is for both of us that we be married with full honor.\"\n\n\"Then you should not have taken me,\" said Kristin.\n\nErlend hid his face in his hands.\n\n\"No, I wish to God that I hadn't done you this wrong,\" he said.\n\n\"Neither one of us wishes that,\" said Kristin with a giddy laugh. \"And as long as I can be reconciled and make peace in the end with my family and with God, then I won't grieve if I have to be wed wearing the wimple of a married woman. As long as I can be with you, I often think that I could even do without peace.\"\n\n\"You're going to bring honor back to my manor,\" said Erlend. \"I'm not going to pull you down into my disgrace.\"\n\nKristin shook her head. Then she said, \"You'll be glad to hear that I have spoken to Simon Andress\u00f8n\u2014and he's not going to bind me to the agreements that were made for us before I met you.\"\n\nErlend was jubilant, and Kristin had to tell him everything, although she kept to herself the derogatory words that Simon had spoken about Erlend. But she did mention that he refused to let Lavrans think he was the one to blame.\n\n\"That's reasonable,\" said Erlend curtly. \"They like each other, your father and Simon, don't they? Lavrans will like me less.\"\n\nKristin took these words to mean that Erlend understood she would still have a difficult path ahead of her before they had settled everything, and she was grateful for that. But he didn't return to this topic. He was overjoyed and said he had been afraid she wouldn't have the courage to speak to Simon.\n\n\"I can see that you're fond of him, in a way,\" he said.\n\n\"Does it matter to you,\" asked Kristin, \"after all that you and I have been through, that I realize Simon is both a just and capable man?\"\n\n\"If you had never met me,\" said Erlend, \"you could have enjoyed good days with him, Kristin. Why do you laugh?\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm thinking about something that Fru Aashild once said,\" replied Kristin. \"I was only a child back then. But it was something about good days being granted to sensible people, but the grandest of days are enjoyed by those who dare to act unwisely.\"\n\n\"God bless Aunt Aashild for teaching you that,\" said Erlend, taking her onto his lap. \"It's strange, Kristin, but I haven't noticed that you were ever afraid.\"\n\n\"Haven't you ever noticed?\" she asked, pressing herself to him.\n\nHe set her on the edge of the bed and took off her shoes, but then he pulled her back over to the table.\n\n\"Oh no, Kristin\u2014now things look bright for both of us. I wouldn't have acted toward you as I have,\" he said, stroking her hair over and over, \"if it hadn't been for the fact that every time I saw you, I thought it was so unlikely that they would ever give me such a fine and beautiful wife. Sit down here and drink with me.\"\n\nAt that moment there was a pounding on the door, as if someone were striking it with the hilt of a sword.\n\n\"Open the door, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, if you're in there!\"\n\n\"It's Simon Darre,\" said Kristin softly.\n\n\"Open up, man, in the name of the Devil\u2014if you are a man!\" shouted Simon, striking the door again.\n\nErlend went over to the bed and took his sword down from the peg. He looked around in bewilderment. \"There's no place here for you to hide\u2014except in the bed...\"\n\n\"It wouldn't make things any better if I did that,\" said Kristin. She had stood up and spoke quite calmly, but Erlend saw that she was trembling. \"You'll have to open the door,\" she said in the same voice. Simon was hammering on the door again.\n\nErlend went over and drew back the bolt. Simon stepped inside, holding a drawn sword in his hand, but he stuck it back into its scabbard at once.\n\nFor a moment the three of them stood there without saying a word. Kristin was shaking, and yet in those first few moments she felt an oddly sweet excitement\u2014deep inside her something rose up, sensing this fight between two men\u2014and she exhaled slowly: here was the culmination to those endless months of silent waiting and longing and fear. She looked from one man to the other, their faces pale, their eyes shining; then her excitement collapsed into an unfathomable, freezing despair. There was more cold contempt than indignation or jealousy in Simon Darre's eyes, and she saw that Erlend, behind his obstinate expression, was burning with shame. It dawned on her how other men would judge him\u2014he who had allowed her to come to him in such a place\u2014and she realized that it was as if he had been struck in the face; she knew that he was burning to pull out his sword and fall upon Simon.\n\n\"Why have you come here, Simon?\" she shouted loudly, sounding frightened.\n\nBoth men turned toward her.\n\n\"To take you home,\" said Simon. \"You shouldn't be here.\"\n\n\"You no longer have any right to command Kristin Lavransdatter,\" said Erlend furiously. \"She is mine now.\"\n\n\"No doubt she is,\" said Simon coarsely. \"And what a lovely bridal house you've brought her to.\" He stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he regained control over his voice and continued calmly, \"But as things stand right now, I'm still her betrothed\u2014until her father can come to get her. And until then I intend to defend with both the point and the edge of my sword as much of her honor as can be protected\u2014in the judgment of other people.\"\n\n\"You don't need to do that; I can do it myself.\" Erlend again turned as red as blood under Simon's gaze. \"Do you think I would allow myself to be threatened by a whelp like you?\" he bellowed, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.\n\nSimon put his hands behind his back.\n\n\"I'm not so timid that I'm afraid you'll think I'm afraid of you,\" he said in the same tone as before. \"I shall fight you, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, you can bet the Devil on that, if you do not ask Kristin's father for her hand within a reasonable time.\"\n\n\"I won't do it at your bidding, Simon Andress\u00f8n,\" said Erlend angrily; crimson washed over his face again.\n\n\"No, do it to right the wrong you have done to so young a wife,\" replied Simon, unperturbed. \"That will be better for Kristin.\"\n\nKristin screamed shrilly, tormented by Erlend's pain. She stamped on the floor.\n\n\"Go now, Simon, go! What right do you have to meddle in our affairs?\"\n\n\"I have already told you,\" replied Simon. \"You'll have to put up with me until your father has released us from each other.\"\n\nKristin broke down completely.\n\n\"Go, go, I'll come right away. Jesus, why are you tormenting me like this, Simon? You can't think it's worth it for you to worry about my affairs.\"\n\n\"It's not for your sake I'm doing this,\" replied Simon. \"Erlend, won't you tell her that she has to come with me?\"\n\nErlend's face quivered. He touched her shoulder.\n\n\"You have to go now, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will talk about this some other time.\"\n\nKristin rose obediently. She fastened her cloak around her. Her shoes stood next to the bed; she remembered them, but didn't have the courage to put them on with Simon watching.\n\nOutside the fog had descended again. Kristin rushed along with her head bowed and her hands clutching at her cloak. Her throat was bursting with suppressed sobs; wildly she wished that there was some place she could go to be alone, to weep and weep. The worst, the very worst she still had ahead of her. She had experienced something new that night, and now she was writhing from it\u2014how it felt to see the man she had given herself to humiliated.\n\nSimon was at her elbow as she dashed through the narrow alleys and across the streets and the open squares where the buildings had vanished; they could see nothing but the fog. Once, when she stumbled over something, he gripped her arm and stopped her from falling.\n\n\"Don't run so fast,\" he said. \"People are staring at us. How you're trembling,\" he said in a gentler tone. Kristin was silent and kept walking.\n\nShe slipped on the muck of the road, she was soaking wet, and her feet were ice cold. The hose she wore were made of leather, but quite thin; she could feel them starting to split open, and the mud seeped in to her naked feet.\n\nThey reached the bridge across the convent creek and walked more slowly up the slope on the other side.\n\n\"Kristin,\" said Simon suddenly, \"your father must never hear of this.\"\n\n\"How did you know that I was... there?\" Kristin asked.\n\n\"I came to talk to you,\" replied Simon tersely. \"Then I heard about the servant sent by your uncle. I knew that Aasmund was at Hadeland. The two of you aren't very good at inventing ruses. Did you hear what I just said?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Kristin. \"I was the one who sent word to Erlend that we should meet at the Fluga house. I knew the woman.\"\n\n\"Then shame on you! But you couldn't have known what kind of woman she is\u2014and he... Now listen,\" said Simon sternly. \"If it is possible to conceal it, then you should conceal from Lavrans what you have thrown away. And if you cannot, then you must try to spare him the worst of the shame.\"\n\n\"You certainly show great concern for my father,\" said Kristin, trembling. She tried to speak defiantly, but her voice was about to break with tears.\n\nSimon walked on a short distance. Then he stopped\u2014she caught a glimpse of his face as they stood out there alone in the fog. She had never seen him look that way before.\n\n\"I've noticed it every time I've been out to visit your home,\" he said. \"You, his women, have so little understanding of the kind of man Lavrans is. Trond Gjesling says that he doesn't keep you all in line. But why should Lavrans bother with such things when he was born to rule over men? He had the makings of a chieftain, he was someone men would have followed, gladly; but these are not the times for such men. My father knew him at Baagahus. And so it has ended with him living up there in the valley, almost like a peasant. He was married off much too young; and your mother, with that temperament of hers, was not the one to make it any easier for him to lead such a life. It's true that he has many friends, but do you think that any one of them can measure up to him? His sons he was not allowed to keep; it was you daughters who were to continue the lineage after him. Will he now have to endure the day when he sees that one is without health and another is without honor?\"\n\nKristin clasped her hands to her heart. She felt that she had to hold on to it to make herself as hard as she needed to be.\n\n\"Why are you telling me this?\" she whispered after a moment. \"You neither want to possess me nor marry me anymore.\"\n\n\"That... I do not,\" said Simon uncertainly. \"God help me, Kristin. I remember you on that night in the loft at Finsbrekken. But may the Devil take me alive if I ever trust a maiden by her eyes again!\n\n\"Promise me this, that you will not see Erlend until your father arrives,\" he said as they stood at the gate.\n\n\"I won't promise that,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Then he will make me this promise,\" said Simon.\n\n\"I won't meet him,\" replied Kristin quickly.\n\n\"That poor little dog I once sent you,\" said Simon before they parted. \"You must let your sisters have him\u2014they're so fond of him\u2014if you don't mind seeing him in the house, that is.\n\n\"I'm heading north tomorrow morning,\" he said, taking her hand in farewell as the sister keeping the gate looked on.\n\nSimon Darre walked down toward the town. He struck at the air with his clenched fist as he walked, muttering in a low voice and cursing at the mist. He swore to himself that he wasn't sorry about her. Kristin was like something he had believed to be pure gold, but when he saw it up close, it was merely brass and tin. White as a snowflake, she had knelt and put her hand into the flame; that was a year ago. This year she was drinking wine with an excommunicated rogue in Fluga's loft. The Devil take it, no! It was because of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, who was sitting up there at J\u00f8rundgaard and believed... Never would it have occurred to Lavrans that they might betray him in this way. Now he would have to bring Lavrans the message himself and be an accomplice in lying to this man. That was why his heart was burning with grief and rage.\n\nKristin had not intended to keep her promise to Simon Darre, but she managed to exchange only a few words with Erlend, one evening up on the road.\n\nShe stood there holding his hand, strangely submissive, while he talked about what had happened up in Brynhild's loft the last time they had met. He would speak to Simon Andress\u00f8n some other time. \"If we had fought up there, news of it would have spread all over town,\" said Erlend angrily. \"He knew that quite well, that Simon.\"\n\nKristin could see how the incident had made him suffer. She had also been thinking about it constantly ever since. There was no escaping the fact that in this situation, Erlend was left with even less honor than she was. And she felt that now they were truly one flesh; she would have to answer for everything he did, even when she disliked his conduct, and she would feel it on her own hand when Erlend so much as scratched his skin.\n\nThree weeks later Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n came to Oslo to get his daughter.\n\nKristin was both afraid and sick at heart when she went to the parlatory to meet her father. The first thing that struck her as she watched him conversing with Sister Potentia was that he didn't look the same as she remembered him. Perhaps he had not actually changed since they parted a year ago, but over the years she had always seen him as the young, vigorous, and handsome man she had been so proud to have as her father when she was small. Each winter and each summer that had passed up there at home had no doubt marked him and made him age, just as they had seen her develop into a grownup young woman\u2014but she had not noticed it. She hadn't noticed that his hair had paled in some spots and had acquired a rusty reddish sheen at his temples, the way blond hair goes gray. His cheeks had become dry and thin so that the muscles of his face extended like cords to his mouth; his youthful white and pink complexion had grown uniformly weatherbeaten. His back was not bowed, and yet his shoulder blades curved in a different manner beneath his cape. His step was light and steady as he came toward her with his hand outstretched, but these were not the same limber, brisk movements of the past. All of these things had probably been present the year before, but Kristin simply hadn't noticed. Perhaps there was a slight touch of something else\u2014a touch of dejection\u2014that made her see these things now. She burst into tears.\n\nLavrans put his arm around her shoulder and held his hand to her cheek.\n\n\"Now, now, try to calm yourself, child,\" he said gently.\n\n\"Are you angry with me, Father?\" she asked softly.\n\n\"Surely you must realize that I am,\" he replied, but he kept on caressing her cheek. \"But you also know full well that you needn't be afraid of me,\" he said sadly. \"No, you must calm down now, Kristin; aren't you ashamed to be acting this way?\" She was crying so hard that she had to sit down on a bench. \"We're not going to speak of these matters here where people are coming and going,\" he said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. \"Aren't you going to ask me about your mother? And your sisters?\"\n\n\"What does Mother say about all this?\" asked his daughter.\n\n\"Oh, you can imagine what she thinks\u2014but we're not going to talk about that here,\" he said again. \"Otherwise she's fine.\" And then he began to tell her all about everyone back home, until Kristin gradually grew calmer.\n\nBut she felt as if the tension only grew worse as her father refused to say anything about her breach of promise. He gave her money to distribute among the poor at the convent and gifts for the lay sisters; he himself gave generously to the convent and to the sisters, and no one at Nonneseter had any other thought than that Kristin was now going home to celebrate her betrothal and her marriage. They both ate the last meal at Fru Groa's table in the abbess's room, and the abbess gave Kristin the best report.\n\nBut all this finally came to an end. She said her last goodbyes to the sisters and her friends at the convent gate. Lavrans escorted her to her horse and lifted her into the saddle. It was so strange to be riding with her father and the men from J\u00f8rundgaard down to the bridge, along the road on which she had crept in the dark; it was odd to be riding so nobly and freely through the streets of Oslo. She thought about the magnificent wedding procession that Erlend had spoken of so often. Her heart grew heavy; it would have been easier if he had taken her with him. There was still a long time remaining for her to be one person in secret and another in public with other people. But then her gaze fell on her father's aging, somber face, and she tried to convince herself that Erlend was right after all.\n\nThere were other travelers at the hostel. In the evening they all ate together in a small room with an open hearth where there were only two beds. Lavrans and Kristin were to sleep there, for they were the foremost guests at the inn. The others left when it grew late, saying a friendly good night and then dispersing to find a place to sleep. Kristin thought about the fact that she was the one who had sneaked up to Brynhild Fluga's loft and allowed Erlend to take her in his arms. Sick with sorrow and the fear that she might never be his, she felt that she no longer belonged here, among these people.\n\nHer father was sitting over on the bench, looking at her.\n\n\"We're not going to Skog this time?\" Kristin asked, to break the silence.\n\n\"No,\" replied Lavrans. \"I've had enough of listening to your uncle for a while\u2014about why I don't use force against you,\" he explained when she looked at him.\n\n\"Yes, I would force you to keep your word,\" he said after a moment, \"if only Simon hadn't said that he did not want an unwilling wife.\"\n\n\"I have never given Simon my word,\" said Kristin hastily. \"You always said before that you would never force me into a marriage.\"\n\n\"It would not be force if I demanded that you keep to an agreement that has been known to everyone for such a long time,\" replied Lavrans. \"For two winters people have called you betrothed, and you never said a word of protest or showed any unwillingness until the wedding day was set. If you want to hide behind the fact that the matter was postponed last year, so that you have never given Simon your promise, I would not call that honorable conduct.\"\n\nKristin stood there, gazing into the fire.\n\n\"I don't know which looks worse,\" her father continued. \"People will either say that you have cast Simon out or that you have been abandoned. Sir Andres sent me a message...\" Lavrans turned red as he said this. \"He was angry with the boy and begged me to demand whatever penalties I might find reasonable. I had to tell him the truth\u2014I don't know whether the alternative would have been any better\u2014that if there were penalties to be paid, we were the ones to do so. We both share the shame.\"\n\n\"I can't see that the shame is so great,\" murmured Kristin. \"Since Simon and I both agree.\"\n\n\"Agree!\" Lavrans seized upon the word. \"He didn't hide the fact that he was unhappy about it, but he said that after the two of you had talked he didn't think anything but misery would result if he demanded that you keep the agreement. But now you must tell me why you have made this decision.\"\n\n\"Didn't Simon say anything about it?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"He seemed to think,\" said her father, \"that you had given your affections to another man. Now you must tell me how things stand, Kristin.\"\n\nKristin hesitated for a moment.\n\n\"God knows,\" she said quietly, \"I realize that Simon would be good enough for me\u2014more than that. But it's true that I have come to know another man, and then I realized that I would never have another joyous moment in my life if I had to live with Simon\u2014not if he possessed all the gold in England. I would rather have the other man even if he owned no more than a single cow.\"\n\n\"You can't expect me to give you to a servant,\" said her father.\n\n\"He is my equal and more,\" replied Kristin. \"He has enough of both possessions and land, but I simply meant that I would rather sleep with him on bare straw than with any other man in a silk bed.\"\n\nHer father was silent for a moment.\n\n\"It's one thing, Kristin, that I would not force you to take a man you don't want\u2014even though only God and Saint Olav know what you might have against the man I had promised you to. But it's another matter whether the man you have now set your heart on is the sort that I would allow you to marry. You're young and have little experience... and setting his sights on a maiden who is betrothed is not something a decent man would normally do.\"\n\n\"That's not something a person can help,\" said Kristin vehemently.\n\n\"Oh yes, he can. But this much you have to realize\u2014that I will not offend the Dyfrin people by betrothing you again as soon as you turn your back on Simon\u2014and least of all to a man who might seem more distinguished or who is richer. You must tell me who this man is,\" he said after a moment.\n\nKristin clasped her hands tight, breathing hard. Then she said hesitantly, \"I can't do that, Father. Things are such that if I cannot have this man, then you can take me back to the convent and leave me there for good\u2014then I don't think I can live any longer. But it wouldn't be right for me to tell you his name before I know whether he has as good intentions toward me as I do toward him. You... you mustn't force me to tell you who he is until... until it becomes clear whether he intends to ask you for my hand through his kinsmen.\"\n\nLavrans was silent for a long time. He could not be displeased that his daughter acted in this manner. At last he said, \"Then let it be so. It's reasonable that you would prefer not to give his name, since you don't know his intentions.\"\n\nAfter a moment he said, \"You must go to bed now, Kristin.\" He came over to her and kissed her.\n\n\"You have caused much sorrow and anger with this notion of yours, my daughter, but you know that your welfare is what I have most at heart. God help me, I would feel the same no matter what you did. He and His gentle Mother will help us to turn this to the best. Go now and sleep well.\"\n\nAfter he had gone to bed, Lavrans thought he heard the faint sound of sobbing from the other bed where his daughter lay, but he pretended to be asleep. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he now feared the old gossip about her and Arne and Bentein would be dug up again. But it weighed heavily on his mind that there was little he could do to prevent the child's good reputation from being sullied behind his back. And the worst thing was that he thought she might have brought this upon herself by her own thoughtlessness."
            },
            {
                "title": "LAVRANS BJ\u00d8RGULFS\u00d8N",
                "text": "Kristin came home during the loveliest time of the spring. The Laag River raced in torrents around the farm and the fields; through the young leaves of the alder thickets the stream glittered and sparkled white with silver flashes. The glints of light seemed to have voices, singing along with the rush of the current; when dusk fell, the water seemed to flow with a more muted roar. The thunder of the river filled the air over J\u00f8rundgaard day and night, so that Kristin thought she could feel the very timbers of the walls quivering with the sound, like the sound box of a zither.\n\nThin tendrils of water shone on the mountain slopes, which were shrouded in a blue mist day after day. The heat steamed and trembled over the land; the spears of grain hid the soil in the fields almost completely, and the grass in the meadows grew deep and shimmered like silk when the wind blew across it. There was a sweet scent over the groves and hills, and as soon as the sun went down, a strong, fresh, sharp fragrance of sap and young plants streamed forth; the earth seemed to heave a great sigh, languorous and refreshed. Trembling, Kristin remembered how Erlend had released her from his embrace. Every night she lay down, sick with longing, and each morning she awoke, sweating and exhausted from her own dreams.\n\nIt seemed incomprehensible to her that everyone at home could avoid saying a word about the one thing that was in her thoughts. But week after week went by, and they were silent about her breach of promise to Simon and did not question what she had on her mind. Her father spent a great deal of time in the woods now that the spring plowing was done. He visited his tar-burners, and he took along his hawk and dogs and was gone for days. When he came home, he would speak to his daughter in just as friendly a manner as he always had; but he seemed to have so little to say to her, and he never asked her to come along when he went out riding.\n\nKristin had dreaded coming home to her mother's reproaches, but Ragnfrid didn't say a word, and to Kristin that felt even worse. For his ale feast on Saint Jon's Day each year, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n distributed to the poor people of the village all the meat and food that was saved in the house during the last week of fasting. Those who lived closest to J\u00f8rundgaard usually came in person to receive the alms. Great hospitality was shown, and Lavrans and his guests and the entire household would gather around these poor folk, for some of them were old people who knew many sagas and ballads. Then they would sit in the hearth room and pass the time drinking ale and engaging in friendly conversation, and in the evening they would dance in the courtyard.\n\nThis year Saint Jon's Day was cold and overcast, but no one complained about it because the farmers of the valley were beginning to fear a drought. No rain had fallen since the Vigil of Saint Halvard, and there was so little snow on the mountains that in the past thirteen years people couldn't remember seeing the river so low at midsummer.\n\nLavrans and his guests were in a good mood when they went down to greet the poor folk in the hearth room. The people were sitting around the table eating milk porridge and drinking stout. Kristin went back and forth to the table, serving the old and the sick.\n\nLavrans greeted his guests and asked them if they were satisfied with the food. Then he went over to welcome a poor old peasant man who had been moved to J\u00f8rundgaard that very day. The man's name was Haakon, and he had been a soldier under old King Haakon and had taken part in the king's last expedition to Scotland. Now he was impoverished and nearly blind. People had offered to build a cottage for him, but he preferred to be taken from farm to farm, since he was received everywhere as an honored guest. He was unusually knowledgeable and had seen so much of the world.\n\nLavrans stood with his hand on his brother's shoulder; Aasmund Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had come to J\u00f8rundgaard as a guest. He too asked Haakon whether he was satisfied with the food.\n\n\"The ale is good, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n,\" said Haakon. \"But a slut must have made the porridge for us today. Overly bedded cooks make overly boiled porridge, as the saying goes, and this porridge is scorched.\"\n\n\"It's a shame for me to give you burned porridge,\" said Lavrans. \"But I hope that the old saying isn't always true, because it was my daughter herself who made the porridge.\" He laughed and asked Kristin and Tordis to hurry and bring in the meat dishes.\n\nKristin dashed outside and over to the cookhouse. Her heart was pounding\u2014she had caught a glimpse of her uncle's face when Haakon was talking about the cook and the porridge.\n\nLate that evening she saw her father and uncle talking for a long time as they walked back and forth in the courtyard. She was dizzy with fear, and it was no better the next day when she noticed that her father was taciturn and morose. But he didn't say a word to her.\n\nHe said nothing after his brother left either. But Kristin noticed that he wasn't talking to Haakon as much as usual, and when their time was up for housing the old man, Lavrans didn't offer to keep him longer but let him move on to the next farm.\n\nThere were plenty of reasons for Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n to be unhappy and gloomy that summer, because there were signs it would be a bad harvest in the village. The landowners called a ting to discuss how they were going to face the coming winter. By late summer it was already clear to most people that they would have to slaughter their livestock or drive a large part of their cattle to market in the south in order to buy grain for people to eat in the winter. The year before had not been a good year for grain, so supplies of old grain were smaller than normal.\n\nOne morning in early autumn Ragnfrid went out with all three of her daughters to see to some linen she had spread out to bleach. Kristin praised her mother's weaving skill. Then Ragnfrid began stroking Ramborg's hair.\n\n\"This is for your wedding chest, little one.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Ulvhild, \"will I have a chest too, if I go to a cloister?\"\n\n\"You know that you'll have no smaller dowry than your sisters,\" said Ragnfrid. \"But you won't need the same kinds of things. And you know that you can stay with your father and me for as long as we live... if that's what you want.\"\n\n\"And by the time you go to the convent,\" said Kristin, her voice quavering, \"it's possible, Ulvhild, that I will have been a nun for many years.\"\n\nShe glanced at her mother, but Ragnfrid was silent.\n\n\"If I could have married,\" said Ulvhild, \"I would never have turned away from Simon. He was kind, and he was so sad when he said goodbye to all of us.\"\n\n\"You know your father has said we shouldn't talk about this,\" said Ragnfrid.\n\nBut Kristin said stubbornly, \"Yes, I know he was sadder to part with all of you than with me.\"\n\nHer mother said angrily, \"He wouldn't have had much pride if he had shown you his sorrow. You didn't deal fairly with Simon Andress\u00f8n, my daughter. And yet he asked us not to threaten you or curse you.\"\n\n\"No, he probably thought he had cursed me so much that no one else needed to tell me how wretched I was,\" said Kristin in the same manner as before. \"But I never noticed that Simon was particularly fond of me until he realized that I held another man dearer than I held him.\"\n\n\"Go on home,\" said Ragnfrid to the two younger ones. She sat down on a log lying on the ground and pulled Kristin down by her side. \"You know very well,\" she began, \"that it has always been thought more proper and honorable for a man not to speak too much of love to his betrothed\u2014or to sit alone with her or show too much feeling.\"\n\n\"I'd be amazed,\" said Kristin, \"if young people in love didn't forget themselves once in a while, instead of always keeping in mind what their elders regard as proper.\"\n\n\"Take care, Kristin,\" said her mother, \"that you do keep it in mind.\" She was silent for a moment. \"I think it's probably true that your father is afraid you have thrown your love away on a man to whom he is unwilling to give you.\"\n\n\"What did my uncle say?\" asked Kristin after a moment.\n\n\"Nothing except that Erlend of Husaby has better lineage than reputation,\" her mother said. \"Yes, he did ask Aasmund to put in a good word for him with Lavrans. Your father wasn't pleased when he heard about it.\"\n\nBut Kristin sat there beaming. Erlend had spoken to her uncle. And here she had been so miserable because he hadn't sent any word.\n\nThen her mother spoke again. \"Now, Aasmund did mention something about a rumor going around Oslo that this Erlend had been hanging around the streets near the convent and that you had gone out and talked to him by the fence.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Aasmund advised us to accept this offer, you see,\" said Ragnfrid. \"But then Lavrans grew angrier than I've ever seen him before. He said that a suitor who took such a path to his daughter would find him with his sword in hand. The manner in which we dealt with the Dyfrin people was dishonorable enough, but if Erlend had lured you into taking to the roads with him in the dark\u2014and while you were living in a convent, at that\u2014then Lavrans would take it as a sure sign that you would be better served to lose such a husband.\"\n\nKristin clenched her fists in her lap. The color came and went in her face. Her mother put her arm around her waist, but Kristin wrenched herself loose and screamed, beside herself with outrage, \"Leave me be, Mother! Or maybe you'd like to feel whether I've grown thicker around the middle.\"\n\nThe next moment she was on her feet, holding her hand to her cheek. In confusion she stared down at her mother's furious face. No one had struck her since she was a child.\n\n\"Sit down,\" said Ragnfrid. \"Sit down,\" she repeated so that her daughter obeyed. The mother sat in silence for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady.\n\n\"I've always known, Kristin, that you've never been very fond of me. I thought it might be because you didn't think I loved you enough\u2014not the way your father loves you. I let it pass. I thought that when the time came for you to have children yourself, then you would realize...\n\n\"Even when I was nursing you, whenever Lavrans came near, you would always let go of my breast and reach out to him and laugh so the milk ran out of your mouth. Lavrans thought it was funny, and God knows I didn't begrudge him that. I didn't begrudge you either that your father would play and laugh whenever he saw you. I felt so sorry for you, poor little thing, because I couldn't help weeping all the time. I worried more about losing you than I rejoiced at having you. But God and the Virgin Mary know that I loved you no less than Lavrans did.\"\n\nTears ran down over Ragnfrid's cheeks, but her face was quite calm and her voice was too.\n\n\"God knows that I never resented him or you because of the affection you shared. I thought that I had not given him much happiness during the years we had lived together, and I was glad that he had you. And I also thought that if only my father Ivar had treated me that way...\n\n\"There are many things, Kristin, that a mother should teach her daughter to watch out for. I didn't think it was necessary with you, since you've been your father's companion all these years; you ought to know what is proper and right. What you just mentioned\u2014do you think I would believe that you would cause Lavrans such sorrow?\n\n\"I just want to say that I wish you would find a husband you could love. But then you must behave sensibly. Don't let Lavrans get the idea that you have chosen a troublemaker or someone who doesn't respect the peace and honor of women. For he would never give you to such a man\u2014not even if it were a matter of protecting you from public shame. Then Lavrans would rather let steel be the judge between him and the man who had ruined your life.\"\n\nAnd with that her mother rose and left her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "On Saint Bartholomew's day, the twenty-fourth of August, the grandson of blessed King Haakon was acclaimed at the Hauga ting. Among the men who were sent from northern Gudbrandsdal was Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n. He had been one of the king's men since his youth, but in all those years he had seldom spent any time with the king's retainers, and he had never tried to use for his own benefit the good name he had won in the campaign against Duke Eirik. He was not very keen on going to the ting of acclamation either, but he couldn't avoid it. The tribunal officials from Norddal had also been given the task of attempting to buy grain in the south and send it by ship to Raumsdal.\n\nThe people in the villages were despondent and worried about the approaching winter. The peasants also thought it a bad sign that yet another child was to be king of Norway. Old people remembered the time when King Magnus died and his sons were children.\n\nSira Eirik said, \"Vae terrae, ubi puer rex est. In plain Norwegian it means: there's no peace at night for the rats on the farm when the cat is young.\"\n\nRagnfrid Ivarsdatter managed the farm while her husband was away, and both she and Kristin were glad to have their minds and hands full of cares and work. Everyone in the village was struggling to gather moss in the mountains and to cut bark because there was so little hay and almost no straw, and even the leaves that were collected after midsummer were yellow and withered. On Holy Cross Day, when Sira Eirik carried the crucifix across the fields, there were many in the procession who wept and loudly entreated God to have mercy on men and beasts.\n\nOne week after Holy Cross Day, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n came home from the ting.\n\nIt was long past everyone's bedtime, but Ragnfrid was still sitting in her weaving room. She had so much to do these days that she often worked into the night at her weaving and sewing. And Ragnfrid always felt so happy in that building. It was thought to be the oldest one on the farm; they called it the women's house, and people said it had stood there since heathen times. Kristin and the maid named Astrid were with Ragnfrid, spinning wool next to the open hearth.\n\nThey had been sitting there, sleepy and silent, for a while when they heard the hoofbeats of a single horse; a man came riding at great speed into the wet courtyard. Astrid went to the entryway to ook outside. She returned at once, followed by Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n.\n\nBoth his wife and daughter saw at once that he was quite drunk. He staggered and grabbed hold of the smoke vent pole as Ragnfrid removed his soaking wet cape and hat and unfastened his scabbard belt.\n\n\"What have you done with Halvdan and Kolbein?\" she asked apprehensively. \"Did you leave them behind along the road?\"\n\n\"No, I left them behind at Loptsgaard,\" he said, laughing a bit. \"I had such an urge to come home. I couldn't rest before I did. They went to bed down there, but I took Guldsvein and raced homeward.\n\n\"Go and find me some food, Astrid,\" he said to the maid. \"Bring it over here so you won't have to walk so far in the rain. But be quick; I haven't eaten since early this morning.\"\n\n\"Didn't you have any food at Loptsgaard?\" asked his wife in surprise.\n\nLavrans sat down on a bench and rocked back and forth, chuckling.\n\n\"There was food enough, but I didn't feel like eating while I was there. I drank with Sigurd for a while, but then I thought I might just as well come home at once instead of waiting till morning.\"\n\nAstrid brought ale and food; she also brought dry shoes for her master.\n\nLavrans fumbled as he tried to unfasten his spurs but he kept lurching forward.\n\n\"Come over here, Kristin,\" he said, \"and help your father. I know you'll do it with a loving heart\u2014yes, a loving heart\u2014today at least.\"\n\nKristin obeyed and knelt down. Then he put his hands on either side of her head and tilted her face up.\n\n\"You know very well, my daughter, that I want only what is best for you. I wouldn't cause you sorrow unless I saw that I was saving you from many sorrows later on. You're still so young, Kristin. You only turned seventeen this year, three days after Saint Halvard's Day. You're seventeen...\"\n\nKristin had finished her task. Somewhat pale, she got up and sat down on her stool by the hearth again.\n\nThe intoxication seemed to wear off to some extent as Lavrans ate. He answered questions from his wife and the servant girl about the ting. Yes, it had been magnificent. They had bought grain and flour and malt, some in Oslo and some in Tunsberg. They were imported goods\u2014could have been better, but could have been worse too. Yes, he had met many kinsmen and acquaintances and brought greetings from them all. He simply sat there, the answers dripping from him.\n\n\"I talked to Sir Andres Gudmunds\u00f8n,\" he said when Astrid had gone. \"Simon has celebrated his betrothal to the young widow at Manvik. The wedding will be at Dyfrin on Saint Andreas's Day. The boy made the decision himself this time. I tried to avoid Sir Andres in Tunsberg, but he sought me out. He wanted to tell me that he was absolutely certain that Simon saw Fru Halfrid for the first time around midsummer this year. He was afraid I'd think that Simon was planning on this wealthy marriage when he broke off with us.\" Lavrans sat for a moment, laughing mirthlessly. \"You see, this honorable man was terribly afraid that we'd think something like that of his son.\"\n\nKristin sighed with relief. She thought that this was what her father was so upset about. Maybe he had been hoping all along that it would still take place\u2014the marriage between Simon Andress\u00f8n and herself. At first she had been afraid that he had inquired about her behavior down south in Oslo.\n\nShe stood up and said goodnight. Then her father told her to stay a while.\n\n\"I have some other news,\" said Lavrans. \"I might have kept it from you, Kristin, but it's better that you hear it. Here it is: That man you have set your heart on, you must try to forget.\"\n\nKristin had been standing with her arms at her sides and her head bowed. Now she raised her head and looked into her father's face. Her lips moved, but she couldn't manage a single audible word.\n\nLavrans turned away from his daughter's gaze; he threw out his hand.\n\n\"You know I wouldn't be against it if I sincerely believed that it would be to your benefit,\" he said.\n\n\"What news have you heard on this journey, Father?\" asked Kristin, her voice steady.\n\n\"Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and his kinsman Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n came to me in Tunsberg,\" replied Lavrans. \"Sir Munan asked me for your hand on Erlend's behalf, and I told him no.\"\n\nKristin stood in silence for a moment, breathing heavily.\n\n\"Why won't you give me to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n?\" she asked.\n\n\"I don't know how much you know about this man you want for your husband,\" said Lavrans. \"If you don't know the reason yourself, it won't be pleasant for you to hear it from my lips.\"\n\n\"Is it because he was excommunicated and outlawed?\" asked Kristin in the same tone as before.\n\n\"Do you know what it was that caused King Haakon to drive his close kinsman from his court? And do you know that he was banned by the Church in the end because he defied the archbishop's decree? And that he did not leave the country alone?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kristin. Her voice grew uncertain. \"I know too that he was eighteen years old when he met her\u2014his mistress.\"\n\n\"That's how old I was when I was married,\" said Lavrans. \"When I was young, we reckoned that from a man's eighteenth birthday he could answer for himself and be responsible for his own welfare and that of others.\"\n\nKristin stood in silence.\n\n\"You called her his mistress, that woman he has lived with for ten years and who has borne him children,\" said Lavrans after a moment. \"I would regret the day I sent my daughter off with a husband who had lived openly with a mistress for years on end before he married. But you know it was more than merely living in sin.\"\n\n\"You weren't so harsh to judge Fru Aashild and Herr Bj\u00f8rn,\" said Kristin quietly.\n\n\"Yet I cannot say I would willingly join families with them,\" replied Lavrans.\n\n\"Father,\" said Kristin, \"have you and Mother been so without sin all your lives that you dare judge Erlend so harshly?\"\n\n\"God knows,\" replied Lavrans sternly, \"that I judge no man to be a greater sinner than I am myself. But one cannot expect me to give my daughter to any man who wishes to ask for her, just because we all need God's mercy.\"\n\n\"You know that's not what I meant,\" said Kristin hotly. \"Father, Mother, you were both young once. Don't you remember that it's not easy to guard yourself against the sin that love provokes?\"\n\nLavrans turned blood-red.\n\n\"No,\" he said curtly.\n\n\"Then you don't know what you're doing,\" screamed Kristin in despair, \"if you separate Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and me!\"\n\nLavrans sat down on the bench again.\n\n\"You're only seventeen years old, Kristin,\" he continued. \"It might be that the two of you are more fond of each other than I thought. But he's not so young a man that he shouldn't have realized... If he were a good man, then he wouldn't have approached such a young, immature child as you with words of love. He seems to have considered it trivial that you were promised to someone else.\n\n\"But I will not betroth my daughter to a man who has two children with another man's true wife. Don't you realize that he has children?\n\n\"You're too young to understand that such an injustice breeds endless quarrels and strife among kinsmen. The man cannot abandon his own offspring; neither can he claim them. It will be difficult for him to find a way to present his son in society, or to marry off his daughter to anyone other than a servant boy or a smallholder. And his children would not be made of flesh and blood if they didn't despise you and your children....\n\n\"Don't you see, Kristin? Sins like this... God may forgive such sins more readily than many others, but they damage a lineage so severely that it can never be redeemed. I was thinking about Bj\u00f8rn and Aashild myself. There stood that Munan, her son. He was dripping with gold and he sits on the King's council. He and his brothers control the inheritance from their mother, and yet he hasn't visited Aashild in her poverty in all these years. Yes, this was the man that your friend chose as his spokesman.\n\n\"No, I say, no! You shall never be part of that family as long as my head is above ground.\"\n\nKristin covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. \"Then I'll pray to God night and day, night and day, to take me away from here if you won't change your mind!\"\n\n\"It's useless to discuss this any more tonight,\" said her father, aggrieved. \"You may not believe it, but I must watch over you in such a way that I can answer for the consequences. Go to bed now, child.\"\n\nHe held out his hand to her, but she refused to acknowledge it and went sobbing out of the room.\n\nThe parents sat for a moment in silence.\n\nThen Lavrans said to his wife, \"Would you mind bringing some ale over here? No, bring some wine. I'm tired.\"\n\nRagnfrid did as he asked. When she returned with the tall goblet, her husband was sitting with his face in his hands. He looked up, and then stroked his hands over the wimple covering her head and down along her arms.\n\n\"Poor thing, now you've gotten wet. Drink a toast to me, Ragnfrid.\"\n\nShe placed the goblet to her lips.\n\n\"No, drink with me,\" said Lavrans vehemently, pulling his wife down onto his lap. Reluctantly she yielded to him.\n\nLavrans said, \"You'll stand behind me in this matter, won't you, my wife? It will be best for Kristin if she realizes from the very start that she must put this man out of her mind.\"\n\n\"It will be hard for the child,\" said Ragnfrid.\n\n\"Yes, I know that,\" replied Lavrans.\n\nThey sat in silence for a while, and then Ragnfrid asked, \"What does he look like, this Erlend of Husaby?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Lavrans, hesitating, \"he's a handsome fellow\u2014in a way. But he doesn't look as if he were much good for anything but seducing women.\"\n\nThey were silent again for a while, and then Lavrans went on, \"He has handled the great inheritance he received from Sir Nikulaus in such a way that it is much reduced. I haven't struggled and striven to protect my children for a son-in-law like that.\"\n\nRagnfrid paced the floor nervously.\n\nLavrans went on, \"I was most displeased by the fact that he tried to bribe Kolbein with silver\u2014he was supposed to carry a secret letter from Erlend to Kristin.\"\n\n\"Did you look at the letter?\" asked Ragnfrid.\n\n\"No, I didn't want to,\" said Lavrans crossly. \"I tossed it back to Sir Munan and told him what I thought of such behavior. He had put his seal on it too; I don't know what to make of such childish pranks. Sir Munan showed me the seal\u2014said it was King Skule's privy seal that Erlend had inherited from his father. He thought I ought to realize that it's a great honor that they would ask for my daughter. But I don't think that Sir Munan would have presented this matter on Erlend's behalf with such great warmth if he hadn't realized that, with this man, the power and honor of the Husaby lineage\u2014won in the days of Sir Nikulaus and Sir Baard\u2014are now in decline. Erlend can no longer expect to make the kind of marriage that was his birthright.\"\n\nRagnfrid stopped in front of her husband.\n\n\"I don't know whether you're right about this matter or not, my husband. First I ought to mention that, in these times, many a man on the great estates has had to settle for less power and honor than his father before him. You know quite well yourself that it's not as easy for a man to gain wealth, whether from the land or through commerce, as it was before.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" interrupted her husband impatiently. \"All the more reason to handle with caution what one has inherited.\"\n\nBut his wife continued. \"There is also this: It doesn't seem to me that Kristin would be an unequal match for Erlend. In Sweden your lineage is among the best; your grandfather and your father bore the title of knight in this country. My distant ancestors were barons, son after father for many hundreds of years down to Ivar the Old; my father and my grandfather were sheriffs of the county. It's true that neither you nor Trond has acquired a title or land from the Crown. But I think it could be said that things are no different for Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n than for the two of you.\"\n\n\"It's not the same thing,\" said Lavrans vehemently. \"Power and a knight's title lay just within reach for Erlend, and he turned his back on them for the sake of whoring. But I see now that you're against me too. Maybe you think, like Aasmund and Trond, that it's an honor for me that these noblemen want my daughter to be one of their kinswomen.\"\n\n\"I told you,\" said Ragnfrid rather heatedly, \"that I don't think you need to be so offended and afraid that Erlend's kinsmen will think they're condescending in this matter. But don't you realize one thing above all else? That gentle, obedient child had the courage to stand up to us and reject Simon Darre. Haven't you noticed that Kristin has not been herself since she came back from Oslo? Don't you see that she's walking around as if she had just stepped out from the spell of the mountain? Don't you realize that she loves this man so much that if you don't give in, a great misfortune may befall us?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\" asked Lavrans, looking up sharply.\n\n\"Many a man greets his son-in-law and does not know it,\" said Ragnfrid.\n\nHer husband seemed to stiffen; he slowly turned white in the face.\n\n\"And you are her mother!\" he said hoarsely. \"Have you... have you seen... such certain signs... that you dare accuse your own daughter of this?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Ragnfrid quickly. \"I didn't mean what you think. But no one can know what may have happened or is going to happen. Her only thought is that she loves this man. That much I've seen. She may show us someday that she loves him more than her honor\u2014or her life!\"\n\nLavrans leaped up.\n\nHave you taken leave of your senses? How can you think such things of our good, beautiful child? Nothing much can have happened to her there, with the nuns. I know she's no milkmaid who gives up her virtue behind a fence. You must realize that she can't have seen this man or spoken to him more than a few times. She'll get over him. It's probably just the whim of a young maiden. God knows it hurts me dearly to see her grieving so, but you know that this has to pass with time!\n\n\"Life, you say, and honor. Here at home on my own farm I can surely protect my own daughter. And I don't believe any maiden of good family and with an honorable and Christian upbringing would part so easily with her honor, or her life. No, this is the kind of thing people write ballads about. I think when a man or a maiden is tempted to do something like that, they make up a ballad about it, which helps them, but they refrain from actually doing it....\n\n\"Even you,\" he said, stopping in front of his wife. \"There was another man you would rather have had, back when the two of us were married. What kind of situation do you think you'd have been in if your father had let you make up your own mind?\"\n\nNow it was Ragnfrid's turn to grow pale as death.\n\n\"Jesus and Maria! Who told you...\"\n\n\"Sigurd of Loptsgaard said something about it, right after we moved here to the valley,\" said Lavrans. \"But give me an answer to my question. Do you think you would have been happier if Ivar had given you to that man?\"\n\nHis wife stood with her head bowed low.\n\n\"That man,\" she said almost inaudibly, \"didn't want me.\" A shudder seemed to pass through her body; she struck at the air with a clenched fist.\n\nThen her husband gently placed his hands on her shoulders.\n\n\"Is that it?\" he said, overcome, and a profound and sorrowful amazement filled his voice. \"Is that it? For all these years... have you been harboring sorrow for him, Ragnfrid?\"\n\nShe was shaking, but she did not answer.\n\n\"Ragnfrid?\" he said in the same tone of voice. \"But after Bj\u00f8rgulf died... and when you... when you wanted me to be toward you\u2014in a way that I couldn't... Were you thinking about the other man then?\" he whispered, frightened and confused and tormented.\n\n\"How can you think such things?\" she whispered, on the verge of tears.\n\nLavrans leaned his forehead against his wife's and turned his head gently from side to side.\n\n\"I don't know. You're so strange, everything you said tonight... I was afraid, Ragnfrid. I don't understand women very well.\"\n\nRagnfrid smiled wanly and put her arms around his neck.\n\n\"God knows, Lavrans... I begged you because I loved you more than is good for a human soul. And I hated the other man so much that I knew it made the Devil happy.\"\n\n\"I have loved you, dear wife, with all my heart,\" said Lavrans tenderly, kissing her. \"Do you know that? I thought we were so happy together\u2014weren't we, Ragnfrid?\"\n\n\"You are the best husband,\" she said with a little sob, pressing herself against him.\n\nArdently he embraced her.\n\n\"Tonight I want to sleep with you, Ragnfrid. And if you would be toward me the way you were in the old days, then I wouldn't be... such a fool.\"\n\nHis wife stiffened in his arms and pulled away a little.\n\n\"It's fasting time,\" she said quietly, her voice strangely hard.\n\n\"So it is.\" Her husband chuckled. \"You and I, Ragnfrid, we have observed all the fast days and have tried to live by God's commandments in all things. And now it almost seems to me... that we might have been happier if we had had more to regret.\"\n\n\"Don't talk that way,\" implored his wife in despair, holding his temples in her gaunt hands. \"You know that I don't want you to do anything except what you think is right.\"\n\nHe pulled her to him once more. He gasped aloud as he said, \"God help her. God help us all, my Ragnfrid.\n\n\"I'm tired,\" he said, releasing her. \"You should go to bed now too, shouldn't you?\"\n\nHe stood by the door, waiting as she put out the fire in the hearth, blew out the little iron lamp by the loom, and pinched the wick. Together they walked through the rain over to the main house.\n\nLavrans already had his foot on the stairs up to the loft when he turned back to his wife, who was still standing in the door to the entryway. He pulled her fervently to him one last time and kissed her in the darkness. Then he made the sign of the cross over his wife's face and went upstairs.\n\nRagnfrid threw off her clothes and crept into bed. She lay still for a while, listening to her husband's footsteps overhead in the loft room; then the bed creaked up there and silence fell. Ragnfrid crossed her thin arms over her withered breasts. Yes, God help her. What kind of woman was she? What kind of mother was she? She would soon be old. And yet she was just the same. She no longer begged the way she had when they were young, when she had threatened and raged against this man who closed himself off, shy and modest, when she grew ardent\u2014who turned cold when she wanted to give him more than his husband's right. That's the way things were, and that's how she had gotten with child, time after time\u2014humiliated, furious with shame because she couldn't be content with his lukewarm, married man's love. Then, when she was pregnant and in need of kindness and tenderness, he had had so much to give. Whenever she was sick or tormented, her husband's tireless, gentle concern for her fell like dew on her hot soul. He willingly took on all her troubles and bore them, but there was something of his own that he refused to share. She had loved her children so much that it felt as though her heart were cut out of her each time she lost one of them. God, God, what kind of woman was she, who in the midst of her suffering was capable of tasting that drop of sweetness when he took on her sorrow and laid it close to his own?\n\nKristin. She would gladly have walked through fire for her daughter; they wouldn't believe it, neither Lavrans nor the child, but it was true. And yet she felt an anger toward her that was close to hatred right now. It was to forget his own sorrow over the child's sorrow that Lavrans had wished tonight that he could have given in to his wife.\n\nRagnfrid didn't dare get up, for she didn't know whether Kristin might be lying awake over in the other bed. But she got soundlessly to her knees, and with her forehead leaning against the footboard of the bed, she tried to pray\u2014for her daughter, for her husband, and for herself. As her body gradually grew stiff with the cold, she set out once more on one of her familiar night journeys, trying to break a path to a peaceful home for her heart."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Haugen lay high up on the slope on the west side of the valley. On this moonlit night the whole world was white. Wave after wave of white mountains arched beneath the bluish, washed-out sky with few stars. Even the shadows cast across the snowy surfaces by rounded summits and crests seemed strangely light and airy, for the moon was sailing so high.\n\nDown toward the valley the forest, laden white with snow and frost, stood enclosing the white slopes around the farms with intricate patterns of fences and buildings. But at the very bottom of the valley the shadows thickened into darkness.\n\nFru Aashild came out of the cowshed, pulled the door shut behind her, and paused for a moment in the snow. The whole world was white, and yet it was still more than three weeks until the beginning of Advent. The cold of Saint Clement's Day would herald the real arrival of winter. Well, it was all part of a bad harvest year.\n\nThe old woman sighed heavily, standing outdoors in the desolation. Winter again, and cold and loneliness. Then she picked up the milk pail and the lantern and walked toward the house, gazing around once more.\n\nFour black spots emerged from the forest halfway down the slope. Four men on horseback. There was the flash of a spear point in the moonlight. They were making their way across with difficulty. No one had come here since the snowfall. Were they heading this way?\n\nFour armed men. It was unlikely that anyone with a legitimate reason for visiting her would travel in such company. She thought about the chest containing Bj\u00f8rn's and her valuables. Should she hide in the outbuilding?\n\nShe looked out across the wintry landscape and wilderness around her. Then she went into the house. The two old dogs that had been lying in front of the fireplace beat their tails against the floorboards. Bj\u00f8rn had taken the younger dogs along with him to the mountains.\n\nShe blew at the coals in the hearth and laid on some wood. She filled the iron pot with snow and hung it over the fire. She strained some milk into a wooden cask and carried it to the storeroom near the entryway.\n\nAashild took off her filthy, undyed homespun dress that stank of sweat and the cowshed and put on a dark blue one. She exchanged the rough muslin kerchief for a white linen wimple which she draped around her head and throat. She took off her fleecy leather boots and put on silver-buckled shoes.\n\nThen she set about putting the room in order. She smoothed out the pillows and furs on the bed where Bj\u00f8rn had been sleeping during the day, wiped off the long table, and straightened the cushions on the benches.\n\nFru Aashild was standing in front of the fireplace, stirring the evening porridge, when the dogs gave warning. She heard the horses in the yard, the men coming into the gallery, and a spear striking the door. Aashild lifted the pot from the fire, straightened her dress, and, with the dogs at her side, stepped forward and opened the door.\n\nOut in the moonlit courtyard three young men were holding four frost-covered horses. The man standing in the gallery shouted joyfully, \"Aunt Aashild, is that you opening the door yourself? Then I must say 'Ben trouv\u00e9!'\"\n\n\"Nephew\u2014is that you? Then I must say the same! Come inside while I show your men to the stable.\"\n\n\"Are you alone on the farm?\" asked Erlend. He followed along as she showed the men where to go.\n\n\"Yes, Herr Bj\u00f8rn and his man went out with the sleigh. They were going to see about bringing back some supplies we have stored on the mountain,\" said Fru Aashild. \"And I have no servant girl,\" she added, laughing.\n\nSoon afterward the four young men were seated on the outer bench with their backs against the table, watching the old woman quietly bustling about and putting out food for them. She spread a cloth on the table and set down a single lighted candle; she brought butter, cheese, a bear thigh, and a tall stack of fine, thin pieces of flatbread. She brought ale and mead from the cellar beneath the room, and then she served up the porridge in a beautiful wooden trencher and invited them to sit down and begin.\n\n\"It's not much for you young fellows,\" she said with a laugh. \"I'll have to cook another pot of porridge. Tomorrow you'll have better fare\u2014but I close up the cookhouse in the winter except when I'm baking or brewing. There are only a few of us here on the farm, and I'm starting to get old, my kinsman.\"\n\nErlend laughed and shook his head. He noticed that his men showed the old woman more courtesy and respect than he had ever seen them show before.\n\n\"You're a strange woman, Aunt. Mother was ten years younger than you, but the last time we visited, she looked older than you do tonight.\"\n\n\"Yes, youth fled quickly enough from Magnhild,\" said Fru Aashild softly. \"Where are you coming from now?\" she asked after a while.\n\n\"I've been spending some time on a farm up north in Lesja,\" said Erlend. \"I've rented lodgings there. I don't know whether you can guess why I've come here to these parts.\"\n\n\"You mean whether I know that you've asked for the hand of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's daughter here in the south, at J\u00f8rundgaard?\" asked Fru Aashild.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend. \"I asked for her in proper and honorable fashion, and Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n stubbornly said no. Since Kristin and I refuse to let anything part us, I know of no other way than to take her away by force. I have... I've had a scout here in the village, and I know that her mother is supposed to be at Sundbu until some time after Saint Clement's Day and that Lavrans is out at the headland with the other men to bring in the winter provisions for Sil.\"\n\nFru Aashild sat in silence for a moment.\n\n\"You'd better give up that idea, Erlend,\" she said. \"I don't think the maiden would follow you willingly, and you wouldn't use force, would you?\"\n\n\"Oh yes she will. We've talked about this many times. She's begged me many times to carry her away.\"\n\n\"Did Kristin...!\" said Fru Aashild. Then she laughed. \"That's no reason for you to count on the maiden coming with you when you show up to take her at her word.\"\n\n\"Oh yes it is,\" said Erlend. \"And now I was thinking, Aunt, that you should send an invitation to J\u00f8rundgaard for Kristin to come and visit you\u2014for a week or so while her parents are away. Then we could reach Hamar before anyone notices that she's gone,\" he explained.\n\nFru Aashild replied, still laughing a little, \"Did you also think about what we should say\u2014Herr Bj\u00f8rn and I\u2014when Lavrans comes to call us to account for his daughter?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend. \"We were four armed men, and the maiden was willing.\"\n\n\"I won't help you with this,\" said his aunt sternly. \"Lavrans has been a faithful friend to us for many years. He and his wife are honorable people, and I won't participate in betraying them or shaming her. Leave the maiden in peace, Erlend. It's also about time that your kinsmen heard of other exploits from you than that you were slipping in and out of the country with stolen women.\"\n\n\"We need to talk alone, Aunt,\" said Erlend abruptly.\n\nFru Aashild took a candle, went into the storeroom, and shut the door behind them. She sat down on a cask of flour; Erlend stood with his hands stuck in his belt looking down at her.\n\n\"You can also tell Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n that Sira Jon in Gerdarud married us before we continued on to stay with Duchess Inge bj\u00f8rg Haakonsdatter in Sweden.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Fru Aashild. \"Do you know whether the duchess will receive you when you arrive there?\"\n\n\"I spoke with her in Tunsberg,\" said Erlend. \"She greeted me as her dear kinsman and thanked me for offering her my service, either here or in Sweden. And Munan has promised to give me letters to her.\"\n\n\"Then you know,\" said Fru Aashild, \"that even if you can find a priest to marry you, Kristin will relinquish all right to property and inheritance from her father. And her children will not be legitimate heirs. It's uncertain whether she will be considered your wife.\"\n\n\"Maybe not here in this country. That's also why I want to head for Sweden. Her forefather, Laurentius Lagmand, was never married to the maiden Bengta in any other way; they never received her brother's blessing. And yet she was considered his wife.\"\n\n\"There were no children,\" said Fru Aashild. \"Do you think my sons would keep their hands off their inheritance from you if Kristin were left a widow with children and there was any doubt that they were born legitimate?\"\n\n\"You do Munan an injustice,\" replied Erlend. \"I know little of your other children. You have no reason to be kind to them, that I know. But Munan has always been my loyal kinsman. He would like to see me married; he spoke with Lavrans on my behalf. Otherwise, by law, I can sue for the inheritance and the good name of whatever children we may have.\"\n\n\"With that you will brand their mother as your mistress,\" said Fru Aashild. \"But I don't think that meek priest, Jon Helges\u00f8n, would dare risk trouble with his bishop in order to marry you against the law.\"\n\n\"I confessed to him this summer,\" said Erlend, his voice muted. \"He promised then to marry us if all other means were exhausted.\"\n\n\"I see,\" replied Fru Aashild. \"Then you have taken a grave sin upon yourself, Erlend. Kristin was happy at home with her father and mother. A good marriage with a handsome and honorable man of good family was arranged for her.\"\n\n\"Kristin told me herself,\" said Erlend, \"that you said she and I might suit each other well. And that Simon Andress\u00f8n was no fit husband for her.\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind what I said or didn't say,\" snapped his aunt. \"I've said so much in my time. I don't think you could have had your way with Kristin so easily. You couldn't have met very often. And I wouldn't think she was easy to win over, that maiden.\"\n\n\"We met in Oslo,\" said Erlend. \"Afterward she was staying with her uncle in Gerdarud. She came out to the woods to meet me.\" He looked down and said quite softly, \"I had her alone to myself out there.\"\n\nFru Aashild sprang up. Erlend bowed his head even lower.\n\n\"And after that... was she friends with you?\" asked his aunt in disbelief.\n\n\"Yes.\" Erlend's smile was wan and quivering. \"We were friends after that. And she didn't resist very strongly; but she is without blame. That was when she wanted me to take her away; she didn't want to go back to her kinsmen.\"\n\n\"But you refused?\"\n\n\"Yes, I wanted to attempt to win her as my wife with her father's consent.\"\n\n\"Was this long ago?\" asked Fru Aashild.\n\n\"It was a year ago, on Saint Lavrans's Day,\" replied Erlend.\n\n\"You haven't made much haste to ask for her hand,\" said his aunt.\n\n\"She wasn't free of her previous betrothal,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"And since then you haven't come too close to her?\" asked Aashild.\n\n\"We made arrangements so that we could meet several times.\" Once again that quavering smile flitted across his face. \"At a place in town.\"\n\n\"In God's name,\" said Fru Aashild. \"I'll help the two of you as much as I can. I see that it will be much too painful for Kristin to stay here with her parents with something like this on her conscience. There's nothing else, is there?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not that I know of,\" said Erlend curtly.\n\nAfter a pause, Fru Aashild asked, \"Have you thought about the fact that Kristin has friends and kinsmen all along this valley?\"\n\n\"We must travel in secrecy as best we can,\" said Erlend. \"That's why it's important for us to get away quickly, so we can put some distance behind us before her father comes home. You have to lend us your sleigh, Aunt.\"\n\nAashild shrugged her shoulders. \"Then there's her uncle at Skog. What if he hears you're celebrating a wedding with his brother's daughter in Gerdarud?\"\n\n\"Aasmund has spoken with Lavrans on my behalf,\" said Erlend. \"He can't be an accomplice, that's true, but he'll probably look the other way. We'll go to the priest at night and keep on traveling by night. I imagine that Aasmund will probably tell Lavrans afterward that it's improper for a God-fearing man like him to part us once we've been married by a priest. Rather, he ought to give us his blessing so that we will be legally married. You must tell Lavrans the same thing. He can state his own conditions for a reconciliation with us and demand whatever penalties he deems reasonable.\"\n\n\"I don't think Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n will be easy to advise in this matter,\" said Fru Aashild. \"God and Saint Olav know that I do not like this business, nephew. But I realize that this is your last recourse if you are to repair the harm you have done to Kristin. Tomorrow I will ride to J\u00f8rundgaard myself if you'll lend me one of your men, and I can get Ingrid to the north to look after my livestock.\"\n\nFru Aashild arrived at J\u00f8rundgaard the following evening just as the moonlight broke away from the last glow of the day. She saw how pale and hollow-cheeked Kristin had become when the girl came out to the courtyard to receive her guest.\n\nFru Aashild sat next to the hearth and played with the two younger sisters. Secretly she watched Kristin with searching eyes as the maiden set the table. She was thin and silent. She had always been quiet, but it was a different kind of silence that had come over her now. Fru Aashild could imagine all the tension and stubborn defiance that lay behind it.\n\n\"You've probably heard,\" said Kristin, coming over to her, \"about what happened here this fall?\"\n\n\"Yes, that my sister's son has asked for your hand?\"\n\n\"Do you remember,\" said Kristin, \"that you once said he and I might suit each other well? Except that he was much too rich and of too good a family for me?\"\n\n\"I hear that Lavrans is of another mind,\" said Aashild dryly. There was a sparkle in Kristin's eye, and she smiled a little. She'll do, thought Fru Aashild. As little as she liked it, she would oblige Erlend and give him the help he had asked for.\n\nKristin made up her parents' bed for the guest, and Fru Aashild asked the young woman to sleep with her. After they lay down and the main room was quiet, Fru Aashild explained her errand.\n\nHer heart grew strangely heavy when she saw that this child did not seem to give a thought to the sorrow she would cause her parents. Yet I lived in sorrow and torment with Baard for more than twenty years, thought Aashild. But that's probably the way it is for all of us. Kristin didn't even seem to have noticed how Ulvhild's health had declined that autumn. Aashild thought it unlikely that Kristin would see her little sister alive again. But she said nothing of this. The longer Kristin could hold on to this wild joy and keep up her courage, the better it would be for her.\n\nKristin got up, and in the darkness she collected her jewelry in a small box, which she brought over to the bed.\n\nThen Fru Aashild said to her, \"It still seems to me, Kristin, a better idea for Erlend to ride over here when your father comes home, admit openly that he has done you a great wrong, and place his case in Lavrans's hands.\"\n\n\"Then I think Father would kill Erlend,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Lavrans wouldn't do that if Erlend refused to draw his sword against his fatherin-law,\" replied Aashild.\n\n\"I don't want Erlend to be humiliated like that,\" said Kristin. \"And I don't want Father to know that Erlend touched me before he asked for my hand with honor and respect.\"\n\n\"Do you think Lavrans will be less angry when he hears that you've fled the farm with him?\" asked Aashild. \"And do you think it will be any easier for him to bear? According to the law you'll be nothing more than Erlend's mistress as long as you live with him without your father's consent.\"\n\n\"This is a different matter,\" said Kristin, \"since he tried to win me as his wife but could not. I will not be considered his mistress.\"\n\nFru Aashild was silent. She thought about having to meet Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n when he returned home and found out that his daughter had stolen away.\n\nThen Kristin said, \"I see that you think me a bad daughter, Fru Aashild. But ever since Father came back from the ting, every day here at home has been torture for him as well as for me. It's best for everyone if this matter is finally settled.\"\n\nThey set off from J\u00f8rundgaard early the next day and reached Haugen at a little past the hour of midafternoon prayers. Erlend met them in the courtyard, and Kristin threw herself into his arms without regard for Erlend's manservant, who had accompanied Fru Aashild and herself. Inside the house she greeted Bj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n and then Erlend's two other men as if she knew them well. Fru Aashild could see no sign that she was either shy or afraid. And later, when they were sitting at the table and Erlend presented his plan, Kristin joined in and suggested what road they should take. She said they should ride from Haugen the following night so late that they would arrive at the gorge as the moon went down, then travel in darkness through Sil until they had passed Loptsgaard. From there they should go along the Otta River to the bridge, and then on the west side of the Otta and Laag by back roads as far as the horses could carry them. They would rest during the day at one of the spring huts there on the slopes, she said, \"for as far as the law of the Holledis ting reaches, we might run into people who know me.\"\n\n\"Have you thought about fodder for the horses?\" asked Fru Aashild. \"You can't take feed from people's spring huts in a year like this\u2014if there's any there at all\u2014and you know no one has any to sell here in the valley this year.\"\n\n\"I've thought of that,\" said Kristin. \"You must lend us fodder and provisions for three days. That's also the reason why we shouldn't travel in a large group. Erlend will have to send Jon back to Husaby. In Tr\u00f8ndelag it's been a better year, and it should be possible to get some supplies over the mountain before Christmas. There are some poor people south of the village that I'd like you to give some alms to, from Erlend and me, Fru Aashild.\"\n\nBj\u00f8rn uttered a strangely mirthless guffaw. Fru Aashild shook her head.\n\nBut the manservant Ulv lifted his sharp, swarthy face and looked at Kristin with a particularly sly smile. \"There's never anything left over at Husaby, Kristin Lavransdatter, neither in a good year nor a bad one. But maybe things will be different when you manage the household. From your speech it sounds like you're the wife Erlend needs.\"\n\nKristin nodded calmly at the man and continued hastily. They would have to keep away from the main road as much as possible. And it didn't seem advisable for them to travel via Hamar. Erlend objected that that was where Munan was waiting\u2014there was the matter of the letter for the duchess.\n\n\"Ulv will have to leave us at Fagaberg and ride to Sir Munan while we head west toward Lake Mj\u00f8sa and ride across country and by back roads via Hadeland down to Hakedal. From there a desolate road goes south to Margretadal; I've heard my uncle speak of it. It's not advisable for us to ride through Raumarike while the great wedding is taking place at Dyfrin,\" she said with a laugh.\n\nErlend came over and put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned back against him, not caring about all the people who were sitting there watching.\n\nFru Aashild said acidly, \"Anyone might think you had eloped before.\"\n\nAnd Herr Bj\u00f8rn guffawed again.\n\nA little later Fru Aashild stood up to go to the cookhouse and prepare some food. She had started the fire out there because Erlend's men would be sleeping in the cookhouse that night. She asked Kristin to come along, \"because I want to be able to swear to Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n that the two of you were never alone for a single minute in my house,\" she said crossly.\n\nKristin laughed and went out with Aashild. Erlend at once came sauntering after them, pulled up a three-legged stool to the hearth and sat down. He kept getting in the women's way. He grabbed Kristin every time she came near him as she bustled and flew around. Finally he pulled her down onto his knee.\n\n\"It's probably true what Ulv said, that you're the wife I need.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Aashild, both laughing and annoyed, \"she will certainly serve you well. She's the one risking everything in this venture; you're not risking much.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said Erlend, \"but I've shown my willingness to go to her along the proper paths. Don't be so angry, Aunt Aashild.\"\n\n\"I have every right to be angry,\" she said. \"No sooner do you get your affairs in order than you put yourself in a position where you have to run away from everything with a woman.\"\n\n\"You must remember, Aunt,\" said Erlend, \"that it has always been true that it's not the worst men who get themselves into trouble for the sake of a woman. That's what all the sagas say.\"\n\n\"Oh, God help us,\" said Aashild. Her face grew soft and young. \"I've heard that speech before, Erlend.\" She took his head in her hands and ruffled his hair.\n\nAt that moment Ulv Haldors\u00f8n tore open the door and shut it at once behind him.\n\n\"A guest has arrived at the farm, Erlend\u2014the one person you would least want to see, I think.\"\n\n\"Is it Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n?\" asked Erlend, jumping up.\n\n\"Unfortunately not,\" said the man. \"It's Eline Ormsdatter.\"\n\nThe door was opened from the outside; the woman who entered shoved Ulv aside and stepped into the light. Kristin looked over at Erlend. At first he seemed to wither and collapse; then he straightened up, his face dark red.\n\n\"Where the Devil did you come from? What do you want here?\"\n\nFru Aashild stepped forward and said, \"Come with us up to the house, Eline Ormsdatter. We have enough courtesy on this farm that we don't receive our guests in the cookhouse.\"\n\n\"I don't expect Erlend's kin to greet me as a guest, Fru Aashild,\" said the woman. \"You asked where I came from? I come from Husaby, as you well know. I bring you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are well.\"\n\nErlend didn't reply.\n\n\"When I heard that you had asked Gissur Arnfins\u00f8n to raise money for you, and that you were heading south again,\" she went on, \"I thought you would probably visit your kinsmen in Gudbrandsdal this time. I knew that you had made inquiries about the daughter of their neighbor.\"\n\nShe looked at Kristin for the first time and met the girl's eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she gazed at the other woman with a calm and searching expression.\n\nKristin was as calm as a rock. From the moment she heard who had arrived, she realized that it was the thought of Eline Ormsdatter that she had been constantly fleeing from, that she had tried to drown it out with defiance and restlessness and impatience. The whole time she had been striving not to think about whether Erlend had freed himself completely from his former mistress. Now she had been overtaken, and it was futile to fight it anymore. But she did not try to avoid it.\n\nShe saw that Eline Ormsdatter was beautiful. She was no longer young, but she was lovely, and at one time she must have been radiantly beautiful. She had let her hood fall back; her forehead was round and smooth, her cheekbones jutted out slightly\u2014but it was still easy to see that once she had been quite striking. Her wimple covered only the back of her head; as she spoke, Eline tucked the shiny gold, wavy hair in front under the cloth. Kristin had never seen a woman with such big eyes; they were dark brown, round, and hard, but beneath the narrow, coal-black eyebrows and the long eyelashes her eyes were strangely beautiful next to her golden hair. Her skin and lips were chapped from the ride in the cold, but this did not detract from her appearance; she was much too beautiful for that. The heavy traveling clothes enshrouded her figure, but she wore them and carried herself as only a woman can who bears the most confident pride in the splendor of her own body. She was not quite as tall as Kristin, but she had such a bearing that she seemed taller than the slim, small-boned girl.\n\n\"Has she been with you at Husaby the whole time?\" Kristin asked quietly.\n\n\"I haven't been at Husaby,\" said Erlend brusquely, his face flushing again. \"I've been at Hestn\u00e6s for most of the summer.\"\n\n\"Here is the news I wanted to bring you, Erlend,\" said Eline. \"You no longer need to seek lodgings with your kinsmen and test their hospitality while I keep house for you. This autumn I became a widow.\"\n\nErlend stood motionless.\n\n\"I wasn't the one who asked you to come to Husaby to keep house last year,\" he said with difficulty.\n\n\"I heard that everything was going downhill there,\" said Eline. \"I still had enough good feelings toward you from the old days, Erlend, that I thought I should look out for your well-being\u2014though God knows you haven't treated me or our children very kindly.\"\n\n\"I've done what I could for the children,\" said Erlend, \"and you know full well that it was for their sake that I allowed you to stay at Husaby. You can't say that you did either them or me any good,\" he added, smiling spitefully. \"Gissur could manage quite well without your help.\"\n\n\"Yes, you've always trusted Gissur,\" said Eline, laughing softly. \"But the fact is, Erlend\u2014now I am free. If you wish, you can keep the promise you once gave me.\"\n\nErlend was silent.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" said Eline, \"the night I gave birth to your son? You promised then that you would marry me when Sigurd died.\"\n\nErlend pushed back his hair, wet with sweat.\n\n\"Yes, I remember,\" he said.\n\n\"Will you keep your word now?\" asked Eline.\n\n\"No,\" said Erlend.\n\nEline Ormsdatter looked over at Kristin, smiled slightly, and nodded. Then she turned back to Erlend.\n\n\"That was ten years ago, Eline,\" he said. \"Since that day we have lived together year in and year out like two people condemned to Hell.\"\n\n\"That's not entirely true,\" she said with the same smile.\n\n\"It's been years since there was anything else,\" said Erlend, exhausted. \"It wouldn't help the children. And you know... you know that I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you anymore,\" he almost screamed.\n\n\"I didn't notice that when you were home this summer,\" said Eline with a telling smile. \"We weren't enemies then. Not all the time.\"\n\n\"If you think that meant we were friends, go ahead and think so,\" said Erlend wearily.\n\n\"Are you just going to stand here?\" said Fru Aashild. She ladled some porridge into two large wooden trenchers and handed one of them to Kristin. The girl took it. \"Take it over to the house. Here, Ulv, take the other one. Put them on the table; we must have supper no matter how things stand.\"\n\nKristin and the servant went out with the dishes of food. Fru Aashild said to the others, \"Come along, you two; it does no good for you to stand here barking at each other.\"\n\n\"It's best for Eline and me to talk this out with each other now,\" said Erlend.\n\nFru Aashild said no more and left.\n\nOver in the house Kristin put the food on the table and brought up ale from the cellar. She sat down on the outer bench, erect as a candlestick, her face calm, but she did not eat. Bj\u00f8rn and Erlend's men didn't have much appetite either. Only Bj\u00f8rn's man and the servant who had come with Eline ate anything. Fru Aashild sat down and ate a little porridge. No one said a word.\n\nFinally Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Fru Aashild offered her a place between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate something. Every once in a while the trace of a secret smile flitted across her face, and she would glance at Kristin.\n\nAfter a while Fru Aashild went out to the cookhouse.\n\nThe fire had almost gone out. Erlend was sitting on the three-legged stool near the hearth, huddled up with his head on his arms. Fru Aashild went over and put her hand on his shoulder. \"God forgive you, Erlend, for the way you have handled things.\"\n\nErlend looked up. His face was tear-streaked with misery.\n\n\"She's with child,\" he said and closed his eyes.\n\nFru Aashild's face flamed up; she gripped his shoulder hard. \"Whose is it?\" she asked bluntly and with contempt.\n\n\"Well, it isn't mine,\" said Erlend dully. \"But you probably won't believe me. No one will....\" He collapsed once more.\n\nFru Aashild sat down in front of him at the edge of the hearth.\n\n\"You must try to pull yourself together, Erlend. It's not so easy to believe you in this matter. Do you swear that it's not yours?\"\n\nErlend lifted his haggard face. \"As truly as I need God's mercy. As truly as I hope that... that God has comforted Mother in Heaven for all that she had to endure down here. I have not touched Eline since the first time I saw Kristin!\" He shouted so that Fru Aashild had to hush him.\n\n\"Then I don't see that this is such a misfortune. You must find out who the father is and pay him to marry her.\"\n\n\"I think it's Gissur Arnfins\u00f8n, my foreman at Husaby,\" said Erlend wearily. \"We talked about it last fall\u2014and since then too. Sigurd's death has been expected for some time. Gissur was willing to marry her when she became a widow if I would give her a sufficient dowry.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Fru Aashild.\n\nErlend went on. \"She swears that she won't have him. She will name me as the father. If I swear that I'm not... do you think anyone will believe that I'm not swearing falsely?\"\n\n\"You'll have to dissuade her,\" said Fru Aashild. \"There's no other way out. You must go home with her to Husaby tomorrow. And then you must stand firm and arrange this marriage between your foreman and Eline.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" said Erlend. Then he bent forward and sobbed aloud.\n\n\"Don't you see, Aunt... What do you think Kristin will believe?\"\n\nThat night Erlend slept in the cookhouse with the servants. In the house Kristin slept with Fru Aashild in her bed, and Eline Ormsdatter slept in the other one. Bj\u00f8rn went out to sleep in the stable.\n\nThe next morning Kristin followed Fru Aashild out to the cowshed. While Fru Aashild went to the cookhouse to make breakfast, Kristin carried the milk up to the house.\n\nA candle was burning on the table. Eline was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. Kristin greeted her quietly, got out a basin, and strained the milk.\n\n\"Would you give me some milk?\" asked Eline. Kristin took a wooden ladle and handed it to the woman. She drank greedily and looked over the rim at Kristin.\n\n\"So you're Kristin Lavransdatter, the one who has robbed me of Erlend's affections,\" she said, handing the ladle back.\n\n\"You're the one who should know whether there were any affections to rob,\" replied the young maiden.\n\nEline bit her lip. \"What will you do,\" she said, \"if Erlend grows tired of you and one day offers to marry you to his servant? Would you obey Erlend in that too?\"\n\nKristin didn't answer.\n\nThen the other woman laughed and said, \"You obey him in everything, I imagine. What do you think, Kristin\u2014shall we throw the dice for our man, we two mistresses of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n?\" When she received no reply, she laughed again and said, \"Are you so simple-minded that you don't deny you're a kept woman?\"\n\n\"To you I don't feel like lying,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"It wouldn't do you much good anyway,\" replied Eline in the same tone of voice. \"I know that boy. I can imagine that he probably rushed at you like a black grouse the second time you were together. And it's too bad for you, pretty child that you are.\"\n\nKristin's cheeks grew pale. Sick with loathing she said quietly, \"I don't want to talk to you.\"\n\n\"Do you think he'll treat you any better than he did me?\" Eline continued.\n\nThen Kristin replied sharply, \"I won't complain about Erlend, no matter what he does. I was the one who took the wrong path, and I won't moan and feel sorry for myself even if it leads me out over the scree.\"\n\nEline was silent for a moment. Then she said, flushed and uncertain, \"I was a maiden too, when he took me, Kristin\u2014even though I had been the old man's wife for seven years. But you probably can't understand what a wretched life that was.\"\n\nKristin started to tremble violently. Eline gazed at her. Then she took a little horn out of her traveling box which stood at her side on the step of the bed.\n\nShe broke the seal and said quietly, \"You are young and I am old, Kristin. I know it's useless for me to fight against you\u2014now it's your turn. Will you drink with me, Kristin?\"\n\nKristin didn't move. Then the other woman put the horn to her lips. Kristin noticed that she did not drink.\n\nEline said, \"You might at least do me the honor of drinking to me\u2014and promise that you won't be a harsh stepmother to my children.\"\n\nKristin took the horn. At that moment Erlend opened the door. He stood there, looking from one woman to the other.\n\n\"What's this?\" he asked.\n\nThen Kristin replied, and her voice was shrill and wild. \"We're drinking to each other, your two mistresses.\"\n\nHe grabbed her wrist and snatched away the horn. \"Be quiet,\" he said harshly. \"You shall not drink with her.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" said Kristin in the same voice as before. \"She was just as pure as I was when you seduced her.\"\n\n\"She's said that so often that she believes it herself,\" replied Erlend. \"Do you remember when you made me go to Sigurd with that lie, Eline, and he produced witnesses that he had caught you with another man?\"\n\nPale with disgust, Kristin turned away. Eline's face had flushed dark red. Then she said spitefully, \"Even so, that girl isn't going to turn into a leper if she drinks with me.\"\n\nFurious, Erlend turned toward Eline\u2014and then his face suddenly grew rigid and the man gasped in horror.\n\n\"Jesus!\" he said almost inaudibly. He grabbed Eline by the arm.\n\n\"Then drink to her,\" he said, his voice harsh and quavering. \"Drink first, and then she'll drink with you.\"\n\nEline wrenched herself away with a gasp. She fled backward across the room, the man after her.\n\n\"Drink,\" he said. He pulled his dagger out of his belt and followed her with it in his hand. \"Taste the drink you've made for Kristin.\" He grabbed Eline by the arm, dragged her over to the table, and forced her to bend toward the horn.\n\nEline screamed once and hid her face in her arm.\n\nErlend released her and stood there shaking.\n\n\"It was a hell with Sigurd,\" shrieked Eline. \"You... you promised\u2014but you've treated me even worse, Erlend!\"\n\nThen Kristin stepped forward and grabbed the horn. \"One of us must drink\u2014you can't keep both of us.\"\n\nErlend took the horn from her and flung her across the room so she fell to the floor over by Fru Aashild's bed. He forced the drink to Eline Ormsdatter's mouth. Standing with one knee on the bench next to her and his hand on her head, he tried to force her to drink.\n\nShe fumbled under his arm, snatched the dagger from the table, and stabbed at the man. The blow didn't seem to cut much but his clothes. Then she turned the point on herself, and immediately fell sideways into his arms.\n\nKristin got up and came over to them. Erlend was holding Eline; her head hung back over his arm. The death rattle came almost at once; she had blood in her throat and it was running out of her mouth. She spat out a great quantity and said, \"I had intended... that drink... for you... for all the times... you betrayed me.\"\n\n\"Go get Aunt Aashild,\" said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood motionless.\n\n\"She's dying,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"Then she'll fare better than we will,\" replied Kristin. Erlend looked at her, and the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Fru Aashild when Kristin called her away from the cookhouse.\n\n\"We've killed Eline Ormsdatter,\" said Kristin. \"She's dying.\"\n\nFru Aashild set off at a run. But Eline breathed her last as she stepped through the door.\n\nFru Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench; she wiped the blood from her face and covered it with a linen cloth. Erlend stood leaning against the wall behind the body.\n\n\"Do you realize,\" said Fru Aashild, \"that this was the worst thing that could have happened?\"\n\nShe had put branches and kindling into the fireplace; now she placed the horn in the middle and blew on it till it flared up.\n\n\"Can you trust your men?\" she asked.\n\n\"Ulv and Haftor, I think I can. I don't know Jon very well, or the man who came with Eline.\"\n\n\"You realize,\" said Fru Aashild, \"that if it comes out that you and Kristin were here together, and that you were alone with Eline when she died, then you might as well have let Kristin drink Eline's brew. And if there's any talk of poison, people will remember what I have been accused of in the past. Did she have any kinsmen or friends?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Erlend in a subdued voice. \"She had no one but me.\"\n\n\"Even so,\" said Fru Aashild, \"it'll be difficult to cover this up and remove the body without the deepest suspicion falling on you.\"\n\n\"She must be buried in consecrated ground,\" said Erlend, \"if it costs me Husaby to do it. What do you say, Kristin?\"\n\nKristin nodded.\n\nFru Aashild sat in silence. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to find a solution. In the cookhouse sat four men; could Erlend bribe all of them to keep quiet? Could any of them, could Eline's man, be paid to leave the country? That would always be risky. And at J\u00f8rundgaard they knew that Kristin had been here. If Lavrans found out about it, she couldn't imagine what he might do. They would have to take the body away. The mountain road to the west was unthinkable now; there was the road to Raumsdal or across the mountain to Nidaros or south down the valley. And if the truth came out, it would never be believed\u2014even if it were accepted.\n\n\"I have to discuss this with Bj\u00f8rn,\" she said, standing up and going out.\n\nBj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n listened to his wife's account without changing expression and without taking his eyes off Erlend.\n\n\"Bj\u00f8rn,\" said Aashild desperately, \"someone has to swear that he saw her lay hands on herself.\"\n\nThe life slowly darkened in Bj\u00f8rn's eyes; he looked at his wife, and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile.\n\n\"You mean that someone should be me?\"\n\nFru Aashild clasped her hands and raised them toward him. \"Bj\u00f8rn, you know what it means for these two....\"\n\n\"And you think it's all over for me anyway?\" he asked slowly. \"Or do you think there's enough left of the man I once was that I'll dare to swear falsely to save this boy from going under? I, who was dragged under myself... all those years ago. Dragged under, I say,\" he repeated.\n\n\"You say this because I'm old now,\" whispered Aashild.\n\nKristin burst into sobs that cut through the room. Rigid and silent, she had been sitting in the corner near Aashild's bed. Now she began to weep out loud. It was as if Fru Aashild's voice had torn open her heart. This voice, heavy with memories of the sweetness of love, seemed to make Kristin fully realize for the first time what the love between her and Erlend had been. The memory of burning, passionate happiness washed over everything else, washed away the cruel despairing hatred from the night before. She felt only her love and her will to survive.\n\nAll three of them looked at her. Then Herr Bj\u00f8rn went over, put his hand under her chin, and gazed down at her. \"Kristin, do you say that she did it herself?\"\n\n\"Every word you've heard is true,\" said Kristin firmly. \"We threatened her until she did it.\"\n\n\"She had planned a worse fate for Kristin,\" said Aashild.\n\nHerr Bj\u00f8rn let go of the girl. He went over to the body, lifted it onto the bed where Eline had slept the night before, and laid it close to the wall with the blankets pulled over it.\n\n\"You must send Jon and the man you don't know back to Husaby with the message that Eline will accompany you to the south. Have them ride off around noon. Tell them that the women are asleep in here; they'll have to eat in the cookhouse. Then speak to Ulv and Haftor. Has she threatened to do this before? Can you bring witnesses forward if anyone asks about this?\"\n\n\"Everyone who has been at Husaby during the last years we lived together,\" said Erlend wearily, \"can testify that she threatened to take her own life\u2014and sometimes mine too\u2014whenever I talked about leaving her.\"\n\nBj\u00f8rn laughed harshly. \"I thought so. Tonight we'll dress her in traveling clothes and put her in the sleigh. You'll have to sit next to her\u2014\"\n\nErlend swayed where he stood. \"I can't do that.\"\n\n\"God only knows how much of a man there will be left of you when you take stock of yourself twenty years from now,\" said Bj\u00f8rn. \"Do you think you can drive the sleigh, then? I'll sit next to her. We'll have to travel by night and on back roads until we reach Fron. In this cold no one will know how long she's been dead. We'll drive to the monks' hostel at Roaldstad. There you and I will testify that the two of you came to words in the back of the sleigh. It's well attested that you haven't wanted to live with her since the ban was lifted from you and that you have asked for the hand of a maiden who is your equal. Ulv and Haftor must keep their distance during the whole journey so that they can swear, if necessary, that she was alive the last time they saw her. You can get them to do that, can't you? At the monks' hostel you can have her placed in a casket; and then you must negotiate with the priests for peace in the grave for her and peace of the soul for yourself.\n\n\"I know it's not pleasant, but you haven't handled matters so that it could be pleasant. Don't stand there like a child bride who's about to swoon away. God help you, my boy\u2014I suppose you've never tried feeling the edge of a knife at your throat, have you?\"\n\nA biting wind was coming down off the mountain. Snow was blowing, fine and silvery, from the drifts up toward the moon-blue sky as the men prepared to set off.\n\nTwo horses were hitched up, one in front of the other. Erlend sat in the front of the sleigh. Kristin went over to him.\n\n\"This time, Erlend, you must take the trouble to send me word about how the journey goes and where you end up.\"\n\nHe squeezed her hand so hard she thought the blood would burst from her fingernails.\n\n\"Do you still dare stand by me, Kristin?\"\n\n\"Yes, I still do,\" she said, and after a moment, \"We both bear the blame for this deed. I urged you on because I wanted her dead.\"\n\nFru Aashild and Kristin stood and watched them go. The sleigh dipped down and rose up over the drifts. It vanished in a hollow, to appear farther down on a white meadow. But then the men passed into the shadow of a slope and disappeared for good.\n\nThe two women were sitting in front of the fireplace, their backs to the empty bed; Fru Aashild had taken out the bedclothes and straw. They both knew that it was standing there empty, gaping at them.\n\n\"Do you want us to sleep in the cookhouse tonight?\" Fru Aashild asked.\n\n\"It makes no difference where we sleep,\" said Kristin.\n\nFru Aashild went outside to look at the weather.\n\n\"No, it doesn't matter whether a storm blows in or a thaw comes; they won't get far before the truth comes out,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"It always blows here at Haugen,\" replied Fru Aashild. \"There's no sign of a break in the weather.\"\n\nThen they sat in silence again.\n\n\"You mustn't forget what fate she had intended for the two of you,\" said Fru Aashild.\n\nKristin said softly, \"I keep thinking that in her place I might have wanted to do the same.\"\n\n\"You would never have wanted to cause another person to become a leper,\" said Fru Aashild staunchly.\n\n\"Do you remember, Aunt, you once told me that it's a good thing when you don't dare do something if you don't think it's right. But it's not good when you think something's not right because you don't dare do it.\"\n\n\"You didn't dare because it was a sin,\" said Fru Aashild.\n\n\"No, I don't think so,\" said Kristin. \"I've done many things that I thought I would never dare do because they were sins. But I didn't realize then that the consequence of sin is that you have to trample on other people.\"\n\n\"Erlend wanted to mend his ways long before he met you,\" replied Aashild vehemently. \"It was over between those two.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said Kristin, \"but she probably never had reason to believe that Erlend's plans were so firm that she wouldn't be able to change them.\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" pleaded Fru Aashild fearfully, \"you won't give up Erlend now, will you? The two of you can't be saved unless you save each other.\"\n\n\"That's hardly what a priest would say,\" said Kristin, smiling coldly. \"But I know that I won't let go of Erlend\u2014even if I have to trample on my own father.\"\n\nFru Aashild stood up.\n\n\"We might as well keep ourselves busy instead of sitting here like this,\" she said. \"It would probably be useless for us to try to go to bed.\"\n\nShe brought the butter churn from the storeroom, carried in some basins of milk, and filled it up; then she took up her position to churn.\n\n\"Let me do that,\" begged Kristin. \"I have a younger back.\"\n\nThey worked without talking. Kristin stood near the storeroom door and churned, and Aashild carded wool over by the hearth. Not until Kristin had strained out the churn and was forming the butter did she suddenly say, \"Aunt Aashild\u2014aren't you ever afraid of the day when you have to face God's judgment?\"\n\nFru Aashild stood up and went over to stand in front of Kristin in the light.\n\n\"Perhaps I'll have the courage to ask the one who created me, such as I am, whether He will have mercy on me when the time comes. For I have never asked for His mercy when I went against His commandments. And I have never asked God or man to return one penning of the fines I've had to pay here in my earthly home.\"\n\nA moment later she said quietly, \"Munan, my eldest son, was twenty years old. Back then he wasn't the way I know him to be now. They weren't like that then, those children of mine...\"\n\nKristin replied softly, \"And yet you've had Herr Bj\u00f8rn by your side every day and every night all these years.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aashild, \"that I have.\"\n\nA little later Kristin was done with forming the butter. Then Fru Aashild said that they ought to try lying down for a while.\n\nIn the dark bed she put her arm around Kristin's shoulder and pulled the girl's head toward her. And it wasn't long before she could hear by her even and quiet breathing that Kristin was asleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "The frost hung on. In every stable of the village the starving animals lowed and complained, suffering from the cold. But the people were already rationing the fodder as best they could.\n\nThere was not much visiting done during the Christmas season that year; everyone was staying at home.\n\nAt Christmas the cold grew worse; each day felt colder than the one before. People could hardly remember such a harsh winter. And while no more snow fell, even up in the mountains, the snow that had fallen on Saint Clement's Day froze as hard as stone. The sun shone in a clear sky, now that the days were growing lighter. At night the northern lights flickered and sputtered above the mountain ridges to the north; they flickered over half the sky, but they didn't bring a change in the weather. Once in a while it would cloud over, sprinkling a little dry snow, but then the clear skies and biting cold would return. The Laag murmured and gurgled lazily beneath the bridges of ice.\n\nEach morning Kristin would think that now she could stand it no longer; that she wouldn't be able to make it through the day, because each day felt like a duel between her father and herself. And was it right for them to be so at odds with each other right now, when every living thing, every person and beast in the valleys, was enduring a common trial? But when evening came she had made it through after all.\n\nIt was not that her father was unfriendly. They never spoke of what lay between them, but Kristin could feel that in everything he left unsaid he was steadfastly determined to stand by his refusal.\n\nAnd she burned with longing for his affection. Her anguish was even greater because she knew how much else her father had to bear; and if things had been as they were before, he would have talked to her about his concerns. It's true that at J\u00f8rundgaard they were better prepared than most other places, but even here they felt the effects of the bad year, every day and every hour. In the winter Lavrans usually spent time breaking and training his foals, but this year, during the autumn, he had sold all of them in the south. His daughter missed hearing his voice out in the courtyard and watching him tussle with the lanky, shaggy two-year-old horses in the game that he loved so much. The storerooms, barns, and bins on the farm had not been emptied after the harvest of the previous year, but many people came to J\u00f8rundgaard asking for help, either as a purchase or a gift, and no one asked in vain.\n\nLate one evening a very old man, dressed in furs, arrived on skis. Lavrans spoke to him out in the courtyard, and Halvdan took food to him in the hearth room. No one on the farm who had seen him knew who he was, but it was assumed that he was one of the people who lived in the mountains; perhaps Lavrans had run into him out there. But Kristin's father didn't speak of the visit, nor did Halvdan.\n\nThen one evening a man arrived with whom Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulf s\u00f8n had had a score to settle for many years. Lavrans went out to the storeroom with him. But when he returned to the house, he said, \"Everyone wants me to help them. And yet here on my farm you're all against me. Even you, wife,\" he said angrily to Ragnfrid.\n\nThen Ragnfrid lashed out at Kristin.\n\n\"Do you hear what your father is saying to me? I'm not against you, Lavrans. You know full well, Kristin, what happened south of here at Roaldstad late in the fall, when he traveled through the valley in the company of that other whoremonger, his kinsman from Haugen\u2014she took her own life, that unfortunate woman he had enticed away from all her kinsmen.\"\n\nHer face rigid, Kristin replied harshly, \"I see that you blame him as much for the years when he was striving to get out of sin as for those when he was living in it.\"\n\n\"Jesus Maria,\" cried Ragnfrid, clasping her hands together. \"Look what's become of you! Won't even this make you change your mind?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin. \"I haven't changed my mind.\"\n\nThen Lavrans looked up from the bench where he was sitting with Ulvhild.\n\n\"Nor have I, Kristin,\" he said quietly.\n\nBut Kristin knew in her heart that in some way she had changed \u2014if not her decision, then her outlook. She had received word of the progress of that illfated journey. It had gone easier than anyone could have expected. Whether it was because the cold had settled in his wound or for some other reason, the knife injury which Erlend had received in his chest had become infected. He lay ill at the hostel in Roaldstad for a long time, and Herr Bj\u00f8rn tended to him during those days. But because Erlend had been wounded, it was easier to explain everything else and to make others believe them.\n\nWhen he was able to continue, he transported the dead woman in a coffin all the way to Oslo. There, with Sira Jon's intervention, he found a gravesite for her in the cemetery of Nikolaus Church, which lay in ruins. Then he had confessed to the Bishop of Oslo himself, who had enjoined him to travel to the Shrine of the Holy Blood in Schwerin. So now he had left the country.\n\nThere was no place to which she could make a pilgrimage to seek redemption. Her lot was to stay here, to wait and worry and try to endure her opposition to her parents. A strange, cold winter light fell over all her memories of her meetings with Erlend. She thought about his ardor\u2014in love and in sorrow\u2014and it occurred to her that if she had been able to seize on all things with equal abruptness and plunge ahead at once, then afterward they might seem of less consequence and easier to bear. Sometimes she thought that Erlend might give her up. She had always had a slight fear that it could become too difficult for them, and he would lose heart. But she would not give him up\u2014not unless he released her from all promises.\n\nAnd so the winter wore on. And Kristin could no longer fool herself; she had to admit that now the most difficult trial awaited all of them, for Ulvhild did not have long to live. And in the midst of her bitter sorrow over her sister, Kristin realized with horror that her own soul had been led astray and was corrupted by sin. For as she witnessed the dying child and her parents' unspeakable grief, she thought of only one thing: if Ulvhild dies, how will I be able to endure facing my father without throwing myself down before him, to confess everything and to beg him to forgive me and to do with me what he will.\n\nThe Lenten fast was upon them. People were slaughtering the small animals they had hoped to save before the livestock perished on its own. And people were falling ill from living on fish and the scant and wretched portions of grain. Sira Eirik released the entire village from the ban against consuming milk. But no one had even a drop of milk.\n\nUlvhild was confined to bed. She slept alone in the sisters' bed, and someone watched over her every night. Sometimes Kristin and her father would both sit with her. On one such night Lavrans said to his daughter, \"Do you remember what Brother Edvin said about Ulvhild's fate? I thought at the time that maybe this was what he meant. But I put it out of my mind.\"\n\nDuring those nights he would occasionally talk about one thing or another from the time when the children were small. Kristin would sit there, pale and miserable, understanding that behind his words, her father was pleading with her.\n\nOne day Lavrans had gone out with Kolbein to seek out a bear's lair in the mountain forest to the north. They returned home with a female bear on a sled, and Lavrans was carrying a little bear cub, still alive, inside his tunic. Ulvhild smiled a little when he showed it to her. But Ragnfrid said that this was no time to take in that kind of animal, and what was he going to do with it now?\n\n\"I'm going to fatten it up and then tie it to the bedchamber of my maidens,\" said Lavrans, laughing harshly.\n\nBut they couldn't find the kind of rich milk that the bear cub needed, and so several days later Lavrans killed it.\n\nThe sun had grown so strong that occasionally, in the middle of the day, the eaves would begin to drip. The titmice clung to the timbered walls and hopped around on the sunny side; the pecking of their beaks resounded as they looked for flies asleep in the gaps between the wood. Out across the meadows the snow gleamed, hard and shiny like silver.\n\nFinally one evening clouds began to gather in front of the moon. In the morning they woke up at J\u00f8rundgaard to a whirl of snow that blocked their view in all directions.\n\nOn that day it became clear that Ulvhild was going to die.\n\nThe entire household had gathered inside, and Sira Eirik had come. Many candles were burning in the room. Early that evening, Ulvhild passed on, calmly and peacefully, in her mother's arms.\n\nRagnfrid bore it better than anyone could have expected. The parents sat together, both of them weeping softly. Everyone in the room was crying. When Kristin went over to her father, he put his arm around her shoulders. He noticed how she was trembling and shaking, and then he pulled her close. But it seemed to her that he must have felt as if she had been snatched farther away from him than her dead little sister in the bed.\n\nShe didn't know how she had managed to endure. She hardly remembered why she was enduring, but, lethargic and mute with pain, she managed to stay on her feet and did not collapse.\n\nThen a couple of planks were pulled up in the floor in front of the altar of Saint Thomas, and a grave was dug in the rock-hard earth underneath for Ulvhild Lavransdatter.\n\nIt snowed heavily and silently for all those days the child lay on the straw bier; it was snowing as she was laid in the earth; and it continued to snow, almost without stop, for an entire month.\n\nFor those who were waiting for the redemption of spring, it seemed as if it would never come. The days grew long and bright, and the valley lay in a haze of thawing snow while the sun shone. But frost was still in the air, and the heat had no power. At night it froze hard; great cracking sounds came from the ice, a rumbling issued from the mountains, and the wolves howled and the foxes yipped all the way down in the village, as if it were midwinter. People scraped off bark for the livestock, but they were perishing by the dozens in their stalls. No one knew when it would end.\n\nKristin went out on such a day, when the water was trickling in the furrows of the road and the snow glistened like silver across the fields. Facing the sun, the snowdrifts had become hollowed out so that the delicate ice lattice of the crusted snow broke with the gentle ring of silver when she pressed her foot against it. But wherever there was the slightest shadow, the air was sharp with frost and the snow was hard.\n\nShe walked up toward the church. She didn't know why she was going there, but she felt drawn to it. Her father was there. Several farmers\u2014guild brothers\u2014were holding a meeting in the gallery, that much she knew.\n\nUp on the hill she met the group of farmers as they were leaving. Sira Eirik was with them. The men were all on foot, walking in a dark, fur-wrapped cluster, nodding and talking to each other; they returned her greeting in a surly manner as she passed.\n\nKristin thought to herself that it had been a long time since everyone in the village had been her friend. Everyone no doubt knew that she was a bad daughter. Perhaps they knew even more about her. Now they probably all thought that there must have been some truth to the old gossip about her and Arne and Bentein. Perhaps she was in terrible disrepute. She lifted her chin and walked on toward the church.\n\nThe door stood ajar. It was cold inside the church, and yet a certain warmth streamed toward her from this dim brown room, with the tall columns soaring upward, lifting the darkness up toward the crossbeams of the roof. There were no lit candles on the altars, but a little sunshine came in through the open door, casting a faint light on the paintings and vessels.\n\nUp near the Saint Thomas altar she saw her father on his knees with his head resting on his folded hands, which were clutching his cap against his chest.\n\nShy and dispirited, Kristin tiptoed out and stood on the gallery. Framed by the arch of two small pillars, which she held on to, she saw J\u00f8rundgaard lying below, and beyond her home the pale blue haze over the valley. In the sun the river glinted white with water and ice all through the village. But the alder thicket along its bank was golden brown with blossoms, the spruce forest was spring-green even up by the church, and tiny birds chittered and chirped and trilled in the grove nearby. Oh yes, she had heard birdsong like that every evening after the sun set.\n\nAnd now she felt the longing that she thought had been wrung out of her, the longing in her body and in her blood; it began to stir now, feeble and faint, as if it were waking up from a winter's hibernation.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n came outside and closed the church door behind him. He went over and stood near his daughter, looking out from the next arch. She noticed how the winter had ravaged her father. She didn't think that she could bring this up now, but it tumbled out of her all the same.\n\n\"Is it true what Mother said the other day, that you told her... if it had been Arne Gyrds\u00f8n, then you would have relented?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lavrans without looking at her.\n\n\"You never said that while Arne was alive,\" replied Kristin.\n\n\"It was never discussed. I could see that the boy was fond of you, but he said nothing... and he was young... and I never noticed that you thought of him in that way. You couldn't expect me to offer my daughter to a man who owned no property.\" He smiled fleetingly. \"But I was fond of the boy,\" he said softly. \"And if I had seen that you were pining with love for him...\"\n\nThey remained standing there, staring straight ahead. Kristin sensed her father looking at her. She struggled to keep her expression calm, but she could feel how pale she was. Then her father came over to her, put both arms around her, and hugged her tight. He tilted her head back, looked into his daughter's face, and then hid it against his shoulder.\n\n\"Jesus Christus, little Kristin, are you so unhappy?\"\n\n\"I think I'm going to die from it, Father,\" she said against his chest.\n\nShe burst into tears. But she was crying because she had felt in his caress and seen in his eyes that now he was so worn out with anguish that he could no longer hold on to his opposition. She had won.\n\nIn the middle of the night she woke up when her father touched her shoulder in the dark.\n\n\"Get up,\" he said quietly. \"Do you hear it?\"\n\nThen she heard the singing at the corners of the house\u2014the deep, full tone of the moisture-laden south wind. Water was streaming off the roof, and the rain whispered as it fell on soft, melting snow.\n\nKristin threw on a dress and followed her father to the outer door. Together they stood and looked out into the bright May night. Warm wind and rain swept toward them. The sky was a heap of tangled, surging rain clouds; there was a seething from the woods, a whistling between the buildings. And up on the mountains they heard the hollow rumble of snow sliding down.\n\nKristin reached for her father's hand and held it. He had called her and wanted to show her this. It was the kind of thing he would have done in the past, before things changed between them. And now he was doing it again.\n\nWhen they went back inside to lie down, Lavrans said, \"The stranger who was here this week carried a letter to me from Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n. He intends to come here this summer to visit his mother, and he asked whether he might seek me out and speak with me.\"\n\n\"How will you answer him, my father?\" she whispered.\n\n\"I can't tell you that now,\" replied Lavrans. \"But I will speak to him, and then I must act in such a way that I can answer for myself before God, my daughter.\"\n\nKristin crawled into bed beside Ramborg, and Lavrans went over and lay down next to his sleeping wife. He lay there, thinking that if the flood waters rose high and suddenly, then few farms in the village would be as vulnerable as J\u00f8rundgaard. There was supposed to be a prophecy about it\u2014that one day the river would take the farm."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Spring arrived abruptly. Several days after the frost broke, the village lay brown and black beneath the torrents of rain. Water rushed down the mountain slopes, and the river swelled and lay like a leaden-gray lake at the bottom of the valley, with small flooded groves at the edge of the water and a sly, gurgling furrow of current. At J\u00f8rundgaard the water reached far into the fields. And yet everywhere the damage was much less than people had feared.\n\nThe spring farm work was late that year, and everyone sowed their sparse seeds with prayers to God that He might spare them from the night frost until harvest time. And it looked as if He would heed their prayers and lighten their burden a little. June came with favorable weather, the summer was good, and everyone began to hope that in time the traces of the bad year would be erased.\n\nThe hay harvesting was over when one evening four men came riding toward J\u00f8rundgaard. Two gentlemen and their two servants: Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n and Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n of Hestnes.\n\nRagnfrid and Lavrans ordered the table to be set in the high loft and beds to be made up in the loft above the storehouse. But Lavrans asked the gentlemen to wait to set forth their purpose until the following day, after they had rested from their journey.\n\nSir Munan did most of the talking during the meal, directing much of the conversation toward Kristin, speaking to her as if they were well acquainted. She noticed that her father was not pleased by this. Sir Munan was thickset, with a ruddy face\u2014an ugly and garrulous man with a rather foolish manner. People called him Munan the Stump or Munan the Prancer. But in spite of the impression he made, Fru Aashild's son was still a sensible and capable man who had been the Crown's envoy in several matters and who doubtless had some influence on those who counseled the gover nance of the kingdom. He lived on his mother's ancestral property in the Skogheim district. He was quite wealthy and he had made a rich marriage. Fru Katrin, his wife, was peculiarly ugly and she seldom opened her mouth, but her husband always spoke of her as if she were the wisest of women. In jest people called Fru Katrin the \"resourceful woman with the lovely voice.\" They seemed to get on well together and treated each other with affection, even though Sir Munan was notorious for his wayward behavior, both before and after his marriage.\n\nSir Baard Peters\u00f8n was a handsome and stately old man, although he was rather portly and heavy of limb. His hair and beard were somewhat faded now, but there was still as much gold in them as there was white. Ever since the death of King Magnus Haakons\u00f8n he had lived quietly, managing his vast properties at Nordm\u00f8re. He was a widower after the death of his second wife, and he had many children, who were all said to be handsome, well-mannered, and well-to-do.\n\nThe following day Lavrans and his guests went up to the loft to talk. Lavrans asked his wife to join them, but she refused.\n\n\"This must lie solely in your hands,\" said Ragnfrid. \"You know that it would be the greatest sorrow for our daughter if this matter could not be resolved, but I see that there is much to be said against this marriage.\"\n\nSir Munan presented a letter from Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. Erlend proposed that Lavrans should decide on all of the conditions if he would agree to the betrothal of his daughter Kristin. Erlend himself was willing to have his properties appraised and his income examined by impartial men, and to offer Kristin such betrothal and wedding gifts that she would own a third of his possessions, in addition to whatever she brought to the marriage herself, and all inheritances that she might acquire from her kinsmen if she should become a widow with no children surviving the father. Furthermore, he offered to allow Kristin to manage with full authority her part of the property, both that which she brought into the marriage and that which she was given by him. But if Lavrans preferred other conditions for the division of property, then Erlend would be willing to hear his views and to act accordingly. There was only one condition to which Kristin's kinsmen would have to bind themselves: if they acquired guardianship over any children that he and she might have, they must never try to revoke the gifts that he had given to his children by Eline Ormsdatter. They must recognize as valid the claim that these properties had been separated from his possessions before he entered into the marriage with Kristin Lavransdatter. Finally, Erlend offered to hold the wedding with all appropriate splendor at his manor at Husaby.\n\nIt was then Lavrans's turn to speak, and he said, \"This is a handsome offer. I see that it is your kinsman's fervent desire to come to an agreement with me. I also realize that he has asked you, Sir Munan, for a second time to come on such an errand to me\u2014a man of no great import outside this village\u2014and a gentleman such as you, Sir Baard, to take the trouble to make this journey on his behalf. But now I must tell you in regard to Erlend's offer that my daughter has not been raised to manage properties and riches herself, and I have always intended to give her to a man in whose hands I could confidently place the maiden's welfare. I don't know whether Kristin is capable of handling such responsibility or not, but I hardly think that she would thrive by doing so. She is placid and compliant in temperament. One of the reasons that I bore in mind when I opposed the marriage was this: that Erlend has shown a certain imprudence in several areas. Had she been a domineering, bold, and headstrong woman, then the situation would have been quite different.\"\n\nSir Munan burst out laughing and said, \"My dear Lavrans, are you complaining that the maiden is not headstrong enough?\"\n\nAnd Sir Baard said with a little smile, \"It seems to me that your daughter has demonstrated that she is not lacking in will. For two years she has stood by Erlend, in spite of your wishes.\"\n\nLavrans said, \"I know that quite well, and yet I know what I'm talking about. It has been hard for her during the time she has defied me, and she won't be happy with a husband for long unless he can rule her.\"\n\n\"The Devil take me,\" said Sir Munan. \"Then your daughter must be quite unlike all the women I have known, for I've never found a single one who didn't prefer to rule over both herself and her husband.\"\n\nLavrans shrugged his shoulders and didn't reply.\n\nThen Baard Peters\u00f8n said, \"I can imagine, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, that now you are even less in favor of this marriage between your daughter and my foster son since the woman he was with came to such an end. But you should know that it has now come to light that the wretched woman had let herself be seduced by another man, the foreman of Erlend's farm at Husaby. Erlend knew about this when he journeyed with her through the valley; he had offered to provide her with a proper dowry if the man would marry her.\"\n\n\"Are you sure this is true?\" asked Lavrans. \"And yet I don't know whether it makes the situation any better. It must be bitter for a woman of good family to arrive on the arm of the landowner, only to leave with the farm hand.\"\n\nMunan Baards\u00f8n put in, \"I see, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, that your strongest objection to my cousin is that he has had this unfortunate trouble with Sigurd Saksulvs\u00f8n's wife. And it's true that it was ill advised. But in the name of God, man, you must remember\u2014there he was, a young boy in the same house with a young and beautiful wife, and she had a cold and useless old husband, and the nights last half the year up there. I don't think much else could have been expected, unless Erlend had actually been a holy man. It can't be denied that Erlend has never had any monk flesh in him, but I don't imagine that your lovely young daughter would be grateful if you gave her to a monk. It's true that Erlend conducted himself foolishly, and even worse later on. But this matter must finally be considered closed. We, his kinsmen, have striven to help set the boy on his feet again. The woman is dead, and Erlend has done everything within his power for her body and soul. The Bishop of Oslo himself has redeemed him from his sin, and now he has come home, cleansed by the Holy Blood in Schwerin. Do you intend to be harsher than the Bishop of Oslo and the archbishop or whoever it is down there who presides over the precious blood?\n\n\"My dear Lavrans, it's true that pure living is an admirable thing, but it's hardly within the powers of a grown man unless he is particularly blessed by God. By Saint Olav\u2014you should keep in mind that the holy king himself was not given that blessing until the end of his life on earth. It was evidently God's will that he should first produce the capable boy-king Magnus, who repelled the heathens' invasion of the north. King Olav did not have that son by his queen, and yet he sits among the highest of saints in Heaven. Yes, I can see that you think this improper talk...\"\n\nSir Baard interrupted, \"Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, I didn't like this matter any better than you when Erlend first came to me and said that he had set his heart on a maiden who was betrothed. But I have since realized that there is such a strong love between these two young people, it would be a great sin to separate their affections. Erlend was with me at the Christmas feast that King Haakon held for his men. That's where they met, and as soon as they saw each other, your daughter fainted and lay as if dead for a long time\u2014and I could see that my foster son would rather lose his own life than lose her.\"\n\nLavrans sat in silence for a moment before he replied.\n\n\"Yes, that sort of thing sounds so beautiful when we hear it in a courtly tale from the southern lands. But we are not in Bretland, and surely you would demand more of a man you intend to take as a son-in-law than that he had made your daughter swoon with love before everyone's eyes.\"\n\nThe other two didn't speak, and then Lavrans continued, \"I think, good sirs, that if Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n had not so greatly diminished both his property and his reputation, then you would not be sitting here, asking so earnestly for a man of my circumstances to give my daughter to him. But I won't have it said about Kristin that she was honored by coming to Husaby through marriage to a man belonging to this country's best lineage\u2014after that man had disgraced himself so badly that he could neither expect a better match nor maintain his family's distinction.\"\n\nHe stood up abruptly and paced back and forth across the floor.\n\nBut Sir Munan jumped up. \"No, Lavrans, if you're going to talk about bringing shame upon oneself, then by God you should know that you're being much too proud\u2014\"\n\nSir Baard cut him off. He went over to Lavrans and said, \"And proud you are, Lavrans. You're like those landowners in the past we've heard about, who refused to accept titles from the kings because their sense of pride could not tolerate hearing people say that they owed anything to anyone but themselves. I must tell you that if Erlend had possessed all the honor and wealth that the boy was born with, I would still not consider it disparaging to myself when I asked a man of good lineage and good circumstances to give his daughter to my foster son, if I could see that it would break the hearts of these two young people to be kept apart. Especially,\" he said softly, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder, \"if things were such that it was best for the health of both their souls if they were allowed to marry.\"\n\nLavrans shook off Baard's hand. His face grew stony and cold. \"I don't know what you mean, sir.\"\n\nThe two men looked at each other for a moment. Then Sir Baard said, \"I mean that Erlend has told me that they have sworn themselves to each other with the most solemn of oaths. Perhaps you think you have the authority to release your child, since she has sworn without your consent. But you cannot release Erlend. And I can't see that there is anything standing in the way except your pride\u2014and your abhorrence of sin. But in this it seems to me that you wish to be harsher than God Himself, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n!\"\n\nLavrans answered somewhat uncertainly, \"You may be right in what you say, Sir Baard. But I have mainly opposed this marriage because Erlend seemed to me an unreliable man to whom I would not want to entrust my daughter.\"\n\n\"I think I can vouch for my foster son now,\" said Baard in a subdued tone of voice. \"He loves Kristin so much that if you give her to him, I am convinced he will conduct himself in such a manner that you will have no cause to complain of your son-in-law.\"\n\nLavrans didn't reply at once.\n\nThen Sir Baard said imploringly, holding out his hand, \"In God's name, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, give your consent!\"\n\nLavrans gave his hand to Sir Baard. \"In God's name.\"\n\nRagnfrid and Kristin were called to the loft, and Lavrans told them of his decision. Sir Baard graciously greeted the two women. Sir Munan shook Ragnfrid's hand and spoke courteously to her, but he greeted Kristin in the foreign manner with kisses, and he took his time about it. Kristin noticed that her father was looking at her as he did this.\n\n\"How do you like your new kinsman, Sir Munan?\" he asked with derision when he was alone with her for a moment that evening.\n\nKristin gave her father an imploring look. Then he stroked her face several times and said nothing more.\n\nWhen Sir Baard and Sir Munan had gone to bed, the latter said, \"What wouldn't I give to see the face of this Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n if he ever learned the truth about his precious daughter. Here you and I had to beg on our knees for Erlend to win a woman as his wife whom he has had with him up at Brynhild's inn so many times.\"\n\n\"You keep quiet about that,\" replied Sir Baard bitterly. \"It was the worst thing Erlend could have done when he enticed the child to such a place. And never let Lavrans get word of this; it will be best for everyone if those two can be friends.\"\n\nIt was agreed that the betrothal celebration would be held that same autumn. Lavrans said that he could not offer a grand banquet because the previous year had been so bad in the valley; but he would, on the other hand, host the wedding and hold it at J\u00f8rundgaard with all appropriate splendor. He mentioned again the bad year as his reason for demanding that the betrothal period should last a year."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "The betrothal celebration was postponed for various reasons. It didn't take place until the New Year, but Lavrans agreed that the wedding needn't be delayed because of that. It would be held immediately following Michaelmas, as had been originally agreed.\n\nSo Kristin continued to live at J\u00f8rundgaard as Erlend's properly acknowledged betrothed. Along with her mother she went over the dowry that had been assembled for her and strove to add even more to the piles of bed linen and clothing, for Lavrans wanted nothing to be spared now that he had given his daughter to the master of Husaby.\n\nKristin was surprised that she didn't feel happier. But in spite of all the activity, there was no real joy at J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nHer parents missed Ulvhild deeply\u2014she knew that. But she also realized that this was not the only reason they were so silent and somber. They were kind to her, but when they spoke of her betrothed, she could see that they had to force themselves to do so. And they did it to please her and to be kind; they did not do it out of any desire to speak of Erlend themselves. They were not any happier about the husband she had chosen now that they had come to know the man. Erlend was also silent and reserved during the brief time he was at J\u00f8rundgaard for the betrothal celebration\u2014and it could not have been any other way, thought Kristin. He knew that her father had only reluctantly given his consent.\n\nEven she and Erlend had hardly exchanged more than a few words alone. And it had been awkward and strange for them to sit together in full view of everyone; they had had little to talk about because they had shared so many secrets. A slight fear began to stir inside her\u2014faint and dim, but always present\u2014that perhaps, in some way, it might be difficult for them when they were finally married, because they had been too close to each other in the beginning and then had been separated for far too long.\n\nBut she tried to push this thought aside. Erlend was supposed to stay with them at J\u00f8rundgaard during Whitsuntide. He had asked Lavrans and Ragnfrid whether they would have any objections if he came to visit, and Lavrans had hesitated a moment but then replied that he would welcome his son-in-law, Erlend could be assured of that.\n\nDuring Whitsuntide they would be able to take walks together, and they would talk as they had in the old days; then it would surely go away, this shadow that had come between them during the long separation, when they had each struggled and borne everything alone.\n\nAt Easter Simon Andress\u00f8n and his wife were at Formo. Kristin saw them in church. Simon's wife was standing quite close to her.\n\nShe must be much older than he is, thought Kristin\u2014almost thirty. Fru Halfrid was short and delicate and thin, but she had an unusually lovely face. Even the pale brown color of her hair, which billowed from under her wimple, seemed so gentle, and her eyes were full of gentleness too; they were large and gray with a sprinkling of tiny glints of gold. Every line of her face was fine and pure; but her complexion was a pale gray, and when she opened her mouth, it was apparent that she did not have good teeth. She didn't look strong, and she was also said to be sickly. Kristin had heard that she had already miscarried several times. She wondered how Simon felt about this wife.\n\nThe people from J\u00f8rundgaard and from Formo had greeted each other across the church hill several times, though they had not spoken. But on the third day Simon came to church without his wife. Then he came over to Lavrans, and they talked together for a while. Kristin heard them mention Ulvhild. Afterward he spoke to Ragnfrid. Ramborg, who was with her mother, said quite loudly, \"I remember you. I know who you are.\"\n\nSimon lifted up the child and swung her around. \"It was nice of you not to forget me, Ramborg.\" Kristin he greeted only from a short distance away. And her parents didn't mention the meeting again.\n\nBut Kristin thought a great deal about it. It had been strange to see Simon Darre as a married man. So many things from the past came alive once more: she remembered her own blind and submissive love for Erlend back then. Now it was somehow different. She wondered whether Simon had told his wife how the two of them had parted. But she knew that he wouldn't have done that, \"for my father's sake,\" she thought with derision. She felt so oddly destitute to be still unmarried and living at home with her parents. But they were betrothed; Simon could see that they had forced their will through. Whatever else Erlend might have done, he had remained faithful to her, and she had been neither reckless nor frivolous.\n\nOne evening in early spring Ragnfrid wanted to send a message south to Old Gunhild, the widow who sewed fur pelts. The evening was so beautiful that Kristin asked if she could go. In the end she was given permission because all the men were busy.\n\nIt was after sunset, and a fine white frosty mist rose up toward the golden-green sky. With every hoofbeat Kristin heard the brittle sound of evening ice as it shattered and then dispersed with a rattling sound. But in the twilight, from the thickets along the road, came a jubilant birdsong, soft and full of spring.\n\nKristin rode briskly down the road without thinking about much of anything, simply feeling how good it was to be outside alone. She rode with her gaze fixed on the new moon, which was about to sink behind the mountain ridge on the other side of the valley. She almost fell off her horse when the animal abruptly swerved to the side and then reared up.\n\nShe saw a dark body curled up at the edge of the road. At first she was afraid. The dire fear of meeting someone alone out on the road never left her. But she thought it might be a wanderer who had fallen ill, so when she had regained control of her horse, she turned around and rode back as she called out, \"Is anyone there?\"\n\nThe bundle stirred a bit and a voice said, \"I think it must be you, Kristin Lavransdatter.\"\n\n\"Brother Edvin?\" she asked softly. She almost thought it was a phantom or some kind of deviltry that was trying to fool her. But she went over to him, and it was the old man after all, but he couldn't get up without help.\n\n\"My dear Father, are you out here wandering at this time of year?\" she asked in astonishment.\n\n\"Praise be to God for sending you this way tonight,\" said the monk. Kristin noticed that he was shivering all over. \"I was on my way north to visit you, but I could go no farther tonight. I almost thought it was God's will that I should lie here and die on the roads where I've roamed and slept all my life. But I would have liked to receive absolution and the last rites. And I wanted to see you again, my daughter.\"\n\nKristin helped the monk up onto her horse and then led it by the bridle as she supported him. In between his protests that she was getting her feet wet in the icy slush, he moaned softly in pain.\n\nHe told her that he had been at Eyabu since Christmas; some wealthy farmers in the village had promised during the bad year to furnish their church with new adornments. But his work had gone slowly; he had been ill during the winter. There was something wrong with his stomach that made him vomit blood, and he couldn't tolerate food. He didn't think he had long to live, so he was headed home to his cloister; he wanted to die there, among his brothers. But he had set his mind on coming north through the valley one last time, and so he had accompanied the monk from Hamar when he traveled north to become the new resident priest at the pilgrim hostel in Roaldstad. From Fron he had gone on alone.\n\n\"I heard that you were betrothed,\" he said, \"to that man.... And then I had such a yearning to see you. I felt so anguished that our meeting in the church at the cloister should be our last. It's been weighing so heavy on my heart, Kristin, that you had strayed from the path of peace.\"\n\nKristin kissed the monk's hand and said, \"I don't understand, Father, what I have done to deserve your willingness to show me such great love.\"\n\nThe monk replied quietly, \"I have often thought, Kristin, that if it had been possible for us to meet more often, you might have become my spiritual daughter.\"\n\n\"Do you mean you would have guided me so that I turned my heart to the convent life?\" asked Kristin. After a pause she went on. \"Sira Eirik impressed on me that if I couldn't win my father's consent to marry Erlend, then I would have to enter a holy sisterhood and do penance for my sins.\"\n\n\"I have often prayed that you might have a yearning for the convent life,\" said Brother Edvin, \"but not since you told me what you know. I wish that you could have come to God with your wreath, Kristin.\"\n\nWhen they reached J\u00f8rundgaard, Brother Edvin had to be carried inside and put to bed. They put him in the old winter house, in the hearth room, and made him as comfortable as they could. He was very ill, and Sira Eirik came and tended to him with medicaments for his body and soul. But the priest said that the old man was suffering from cancer, and that he didn't have long to live. Brother Edvin himself thought that when he had regained some of his strength he would head south again and try to make it back to his cloister. Sira Eirik told the others that he didn't believe this was likely.\n\nEveryone at J\u00f8rundgaard felt that great peace and joy had come to them with the monk. People went in and out of the hearth room all day long, and it was never difficult to find someone willing to keep vigil over the sick man at night. They flocked around him, as many as could find the time to sit and listen when Sira Eirik came and read to the dying man from the holy books; and they talked with Brother Edvin about spiritual matters. And even though much of what he said was vague and obscure, as was his manner of speaking, the people seemed to draw strength and comfort for their souls, because everyone could see that Brother Edvin was filled with his love for God.\n\nBut the monk also wanted to hear about everything else; he asked for news from the villages and wanted Lavrans to tell him about the bad year. Some people had seized upon evil counsel in that time of adversity and had sought out the sort of help that Christian men must shun. A short way into the mountains west of the valley, there was a place with great white stones that were shaped like the secret parts of human beings, and some men had fallen to sacrificing boars and cats before this monstrosity. Sira Eirik had then taken several of the most pious and brave of the farmers out there one night, and they had smashed the stones flat. Lavrans had gone along and could testify that they were completely smeared with blood, and there were bones and the like lying all around. Up in Heidal people had apparently made an old woman sit outside on a buried stone and recite ancient incantations on three Thursday nights in a row.\n\nOne night Kristin was sitting alone with Brother Edvin.\n\nAround midnight he woke up and seemed to be suffering great pain. Then he asked Kristin to read to him from the book about the miracles of the Virgin Mary, which Sira Eirik had lent to him.\n\nKristin wasn't used to reading aloud, but she sat down on the step of the bed and put the candle next to her. She placed the book on her knees and read as best she could.\n\nAfter a while she noticed that the sick man was lying in bed with his teeth clamped tight, and he had clenched his emaciated hands into fists from the pain.\n\n\"You're suffering badly, dear Father,\" said Kristin with dismay.\n\n\"It seems that way to me now. But I know it's because God has made me into a child again, and is tossing me up and down.\n\n\"I remember a time when I was small\u2014I was four winters old\u2014and I ran away from home and headed into the forest. I got lost and was out there for many days and nights. My mother was with the people who found me, and when she lifted me up into her arms, I remember that she bit me on the back of the neck. I thought it was because she was angry with me, but later I understood otherwise.\n\n\"Now I'm longing for home, away from this forest. It is written: 'Forsake all things and follow me.' But there has been far too much here in this world that I didn't have the heart to forsake.\"\n\n\"You, Father?\" said Kristin. \"I've always heard everyone say that you were a model of pure living and poverty and humility.\"\n\nThe monk chuckled.\n\n\"Ah, young child, you probably think there's nothing else that entices in the world save sensual pleasure and wealth and power. I must tell you that these are small things that are found along the side of the road\u2014but I, I have loved the roads themselves. It was not the small things of the world that I loved but the entire world. God in His mercy allowed me to love Sister Poverty and Sister Celibacy even in my youth, and that was why I thought that with these lay sisters I could walk in safety. And so I have wandered and roamed, wishing that I could travel all the roads of the world. And my heart and my thoughts have wandered and roamed too\u2014I fear that I have often gone astray in my thoughts about the darkest of things. But now that's over, little Kristin. Now I want to go back to my home and put aside all my own thoughts and listen to the clear words of the guardian about what I should believe, and think about my sins and about God's mercy.\"\n\nA little while later he fell asleep. Kristin sat down near the hearth and tended the fire. But toward morning, when she was also about to doze off, Brother Edvin suddenly said to her from the bed, \"I'm glad, Kristin, that this matter between Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and you has come to a good end.\"\n\nThen Kristin burst into tears.\n\n\"We have done so much wrong to come this far. And worst of all is this gnawing at my heart that I have caused my father such great sorrow. He's not happy about this either. And yet he doesn't know... if he knew everything, then he would surely withdraw all his affection from me.\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" said Brother Edvin gently, \"don't you understand, child, that this is why you must never tell him, and why you must not cause him any more sorrow? Because he would never demand penance from you. Nothing you do could ever change your father's heart toward you.\"\n\nA few days later Brother Edvin was feeling so much better that he wanted to head south. Since he had set his heart on this, Lavrans had a kind of stretcher made that was hung between two horses, and in this manner he carried the sick man as far south as Lidstad. There Brother Edvin was given new horses and a new escort, and in this way he was taken as far as Hamar. There he died in the monastery of the Dominican brothers and was buried in their church. Later the barefoot friars demanded that the body be delivered to them, because many people in the villages considered him a holy man and called him Saint Even. The farmers in the outlying districts and valleys as far north as Nidaros prayed to him. And thus there was a long dispute between the two cloisters over his body.\n\nKristin didn't hear of this until much later. But she grieved deeply when she parted with the monk. It seemed to her that he alone knew her whole life\u2014he had known the foolish child that she had been under her father's care, and he had known of her secret life with Erlend. So he was like a clasp, she thought, which bound everything she had loved to all that now filled her heart. She was now quite cut off from the person she had been\u2014the time when she was a maiden."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "As she tested the lukewarm brew in the vats, Ragnfrid said, \"I think it's cool enough that we can put in the yeast.\"\n\nKristin had been sitting inside the brewhouse door, spinning, while she waited for the liquid to cool. She set the spindle on the doorstep, unwrapped the blanket from around the bucket with the dissolved yeast, and measured out a portion.\n\n\"Shut the door first,\" said her mother, \"so there won't be any draft. You're acting as if you're asleep, Kristin,\" she added, annoyed.\n\nKristin slowly poured the yeast into the brewing vats as Ragnfrid stirred.\n\nGeirhild Drivsdatter invoked the name of Hatt, but it was Odin who came and helped her with the brewing; in return he demanded what was between her and the vat. This was a saga that Lavrans had once told Kristin when she was little.\n\nWhat was between her and the vat... Kristin felt ill and dizzy from the heat and the sweet, spicy steam in the dark, close brewhouse.\n\nOut in the courtyard Ramborg was dancing in a circle with a group of children and singing:\n\nThe eagle sits in the highest hall flexing his golden claw...\n\nKristin followed her mother out to the little entryway, which was filled with empty ale kegs and all kinds of implements. From there a door led out to a strip of ground between the back wall of the brewhouse and the fence surrounding the barley field. A swarm of pigs jostled each other, biting and squealing as they fought over the tepid, discarded mash.\n\nKristin shaded her eyes with her hand from the glaring noonday sun. Her mother glanced at the scuffling pigs and said, \"We won't be able to get by with fewer than eighteen reindeer.\"\n\n\"Do you think we'll need so many?\" asked her daughter, distracted.\n\n\"Yes, we must serve game with the pork each day,\" replied her mother. \"And we'll only have enough fowl and hare to serve the guests in the high loft. You must remember that close to two hundred people will be coming here, with their servants and children, and the poor must be fed as well. And even though you and Erlend will leave on the fifth day, some of the guests will no doubt stay on for the rest of the week\u2014at least.\n\n\"Stay here and tend to the ale, Kristin,\" said Ragnfrid. \"I have to go and cook dinner for your father and the haymakers.\"\n\nKristin went to get her spinning and then sat down in the back doorway. She tucked the distaff with the wool under her arm, but her hands sank into her lap, holding the spindle.\n\nBeyond the fence the tips of the barley glinted like silver and silk in the sun. Above the rush of the river, she heard now and then the sound of the scythes in the meadows out on the islet; occasionally the iron would strike against stone. Her father and the servants were working hard to put the worst of the mowing season behind them. There was so much to do for her wedding.\n\nThe smell of the tepid mash and the rank breath of the pigs... she suddenly felt nauseated again. And the noontime heat made her so faint and weak. White-faced, her spine rigid, she sat there waiting for the sensation to pass; she didn't want to be sick again.\n\nShe had never felt this way before. It would do no good for her to try to console herself with the thought that it wasn't yet certain\u2014that she might be mistaken. What was between her and the vat...\n\nEighteen reindeer. Close to two hundred wedding guests. People would have something to laugh about then, when they heard that all the commotion was for the sake of a pregnant woman who had to be married off in time.\n\nOh no! She tossed aside her spinning and leaped to her feet. With her forehead pressed against the wall of the brewhouse she vomited into the thicket of nettles that grew in abundance there. Brown caterpillars were swarming over the nettles; the sight of them made her feel even sicker.\n\nKristin rubbed her temples, wet with sweat. Oh no, surely that was enough.\n\nThey were going to be married on the second Sunday after Michaelmas, and then their wedding would be celebrated for five days. That was more than two months away. By then her mother and the other women of the village would be able to see it. They were always so wise about such matters; they could always tell when a woman was with child months before Kristin could see how they knew. Poor thing, she has grown so pale.... Impatiently Kristin rubbed her hands against her cheeks, for she could feel that they were wan and bloodless.\n\nIn the past she had so often thought that this was bound to happen one day. And she had not been terribly afraid of it. But it wouldn't have been the same back then, when they could not and would not be allowed to marry in the proper fashion. It was considered... yes, it was thought to be shameful in many ways, and a sin too. But if it was a matter of two young people who refused to be forced from each other, that was something everyone would remember, and they would speak of the two with compassion. She would not have been ashamed. But when it happened to those who were betrothed, then everyone merely laughed and teased them mercilessly. She realized herself that it was laughable. Here they were brewing ale and making wine, slaughtering and baking and cooking for a wedding that would be talked about far and wide\u2014and she, the bride, felt ill at the mere smell of food and crept behind the outbuildings, in a cold sweat, to throw up.\n\nErlend. She clenched her teeth in anger. He should have spared her this. She had not been willing. He should have remembered how it had been before, when everything had been uncertain for her, when she had had nothing to hold on to except his love; then she had always, always gladly yielded to his wishes. He should have left her alone this time, when she tried to refuse because she thought it improper for them to steal something in secret after her father had placed their hands together in the sight of all their kinsmen. But he had taken her, partly by force, but with laughter and with caresses too, so she had been unable to show him that she was serious in her refusal.\n\nKristin went inside to tend to the ale, and then came back and stood leaning over the fence. The grain swayed faintly, glinting in the light breeze. She couldn't remember ever seeing the crops so dense and lush as this year. She caught a glimpse of the river in the distance, and she heard her father's voice shouting; she couldn't distinguish his words, but the workers out on the islet were laughing.\n\nWhat if she went to her father and told him? It would be better to forgo all this trouble, to marry her to Erlend quietly, without a church wedding and grand feast\u2014now that it was a matter of her acquiring a wife's name before it became apparent to everyone that she was already carrying Erlend's child.\n\nErlend would be ridiculed too, just as much as she would be, or more. He was not a young boy, after all. But he was the one who wanted this wedding, he wanted to see her as a bride wearing silk and velvet and a high golden crown; he wanted that, but he also wanted to possess her during all those sweet, secret hours. She had acquiesced to everything. She would continue to do as he wanted in this matter too.\n\nAnd in the end, no doubt, he would realize that no one could have both. He who had talked of the great Christmas celebration he would hold at Husaby during the first year she was his wife on the manor\u2014then he would show all his kinsmen and friends and the people of the villages far and wide what a beautiful wife he had won. Kristin smiled spitefully. Christmas this year would hardly be a fitting occasion for that.\n\nIt would happen around Saint Gregor's Day. Her thoughts seemed to swirl in her head whenever she told herself that sometime close to Saint Gregor's Day she would give birth to a child. She was a little frightened by it too; she remembered her mother's shrill screams, which had rung out over the farm for two days when Ulvhild had come into the world. Over at Ulvsvold two young women had died, one after the other, in childbirth; and Sigurd of Loptsgaard's first two wives had died too. And her own grandmother, for whom she was named.\n\nBut fear was not what she felt most. These past years, when she realized again that she was still not pregnant, she had thought that perhaps this was to be their punishment, hers and Erlend's\u2014that she would continue to be barren. They would wait and wait in vain for what they had feared before; they would hope so futilely, just as they had feared so needlessly. Until at last they would realize that one day they would be carried out from his ancestral estate and vanish. His brother was a priest, after all, and the children that Erlend already had could never inherit from him. Munan the Stump and his sons would come in and take their place, and Erlend would be erased from the lineage.\n\nShe pressed her hand hard against her womb. It was there\u2014between her and the fence, between her and the vat. Between her and the whole world\u2014Erlend's legitimate son. She had tried everything she had heard Fru Aashild once speak of, with blood from her right and left arm. She was carrying a son, whatever fate he might bring her. She remembered her brothers who had died and her parents' sorrowful faces whenever they mentioned them; she remembered all those times when she had seen them in despair over Ulvhild, and the night she died. And she thought about all the sorrow she herself had caused them, and about her father's careworn face. And yet this was not the end of the grief she would bring to her father and mother.\n\nAnd yet, and yet. Kristin rested her head on her arm lying along the fence; the other hand she kept pressed against her womb. Even if this brought her new sorrows, even if it caused her own death, she would still rather die giving Erlend a son than have them both die someday, with the buildings standing empty and with the grain in their fields swaying for strangers.\n\nSomeone came into the front room. The ale! thought Kristin. I should have looked at it long ago. She straightened up\u2014and then Erlend stooped as he came out of the doorway and stepped forward into the sunlight, beaming with joy.\n\n\"So this is where you are,\" he said. \"And you don't even take a step to meet me?\" he asked. He came over and embraced her.\n\n\"Beloved, have you come to visit?\" she asked, astonished.\n\nHe must have just dismounted from his horse; he still had his cape over his shoulders and his sword at his side. He was unshaven, filthy, and covered with dust. He was wearing a red surcoat, which draped from the neckline and was slit up the sides almost to his arms. As they went through the brewhouse and across the courtyard, his clothes fluttered around him so that his thighs were visible clear up to his waist. It was odd; she had never noticed before that he walked slightly crooked. Before she had only seen that he had long, slender legs and narrow ankles and small, well-shaped feet.\n\nErlend had brought a full escort along with him: five men and four spare horses. He told Ragnfrid that he had come to get Kristin's household goods. Wouldn't it be a comfort for her to find her things at Husaby when she arrived? And since the wedding was to take place so late in the fall, it might be more difficult to transport everything then. And wouldn't it be more likely to suffer damage from sea water on the ship? The abbot at Nidarholm had offered to send everything now with the Laurentius cloister's ship; they expected to set sail from Ve\u00f8y around Assumption Day. That was why he had come to convey her things through Raumsdal to the headland.\n\nHe sat in the doorway to the cookhouse and drank ale and talked while Ragnfrid and Kristin plucked the wild ducks that Lavrans had brought home the day before. The mother and daughter were alone at home; the women servants were all out in the meadows, raking. He looked so happy; he was so pleased with himself for coming on such a sensible errand.\n\nHer mother left, and Kristin tended to the birds on the spit. Through the open door she caught a glimpse of Erlend's men lying in the shade across the courtyard, passing the basin of ale among them. He sat on the stoop, chatting and laughing. The sun shone brightly on his bare, soot-black hair; she noticed that there were several gray streaks in it. Well, he would soon be thirty-two, after all, but he acted like a brash young man. She knew that she wouldn't tell him about her trouble; there would be time enough for that when he realized it himself. A good-humored tenderness coursed through her heart, over the hard little anger that lay at the bottom, like a glittering river over stones.\n\nShe loved him more than anything; it filled her heart, even though she always saw and remembered everything else. How out of place this courtier seemed amidst the busy farm work, wearing his elegant red surcoat, silver spurs on his feet, and a belt studded with gold. She also noticed that her father didn't come up to the farm, even though her mother had sent Ramborg down to the river with word of the guest who had arrived.\n\nErlend came over to Kristin and put his hands on her shoulders.\n\n\"Can you believe it?\" he said, his face radiant. \"Doesn't it seem strange to you\u2014that all these preparations are being made for our wedding?\"\n\nKristin gave him a kiss and pushed him aside. She poured fat over the birds and told him not to get in her way. No, she wouldn't tell him.\n\nLavrans didn't come up to the farm until the haymakers did, around suppertime. He wasn't dressed much differently from the workmen, in an undyed, knee-length homespun tunic and ankle-length leggings of the same fabric. He was barefoot and carried his scythe over his shoulder. The only thing that distinguished his attire from that of the servants was a shoulder collar of leather for the hawk that was perched on his left shoulder. He was holding Ramborg's hand.\n\nLavrans greeted his son-in-law heartily enough and asked his forgiveness for not coming earlier. They had to push as hard as they could to get the farm work done because he had to make a journey into town between the haying season and the harvest. But when Erlend presented the reason for his visit at the supper table, Lavrans became quite cross.\n\nIt was impossible for him to do without any of his wagons or horses right now. Erlend replied that he had brought along four extra horses himself. Lavrans thought there would be at least three cartloads. Besides, the maiden would have to keep all her clothing at J\u00f8rundgaard. And the bed linen that Kristin would be taking with her would be needed at the farm during the wedding for all the guests they would have to house.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Erlend. Surely they would find a way to transport everything in the fall. But he had been so pleased, and he thought it sounded so sensible, when the abbot had suggested that Kristin's things might travel with the monastery's ship. The abbot had reminded him of their kinship. \"That's something they're all remembering now,\" said Erlend with a smile. His fatherin-law's disapproval did not seem to affect him in the least.\n\nAnd so it was decided that Erlend should borrow a wagon and take a cartload of those things that Kristin would need most when she arrived at her new home.\n\nThe next day they were busy with the packing. Ragnfrid thought that both the large and the small looms could be sent along now; she wouldn't have time to weave anything else before the wedding. The mother and daughter cut off the weaving that was on the loom. It was an undyed homespun fabric, but of the finest and softest wool, with tufts of black wool woven in to form a pattern. Kristin and her mother rolled up the cloth and placed it in a leather bag. Kristin thought it would be good for swaddling clothes, and it would be pretty with red or blue ribbons around it.\n\nThe sewing chest that Arne had once made for her could also go along. Kristin took from her box all the things that Erlend had given her over time. She showed her mother the blue velvet cape with the red pattern that she was going to wear in the bridal procession. Her mother turned it this way and that, feeling the fabric and the fur lining.\n\n\"This is a most costly cloak,\" said Ragnfrid. \"When did Erlend give this to you?\"\n\n\"He gave it to me while I was at Nonneseter,\" her daughter told her.\n\nKristin's bridal chest, which her mother had been adding to ever since she was little, was repacked. It was carved in panels, and on each there was a leaping deer or a bird sitting amidst the foliage. Ragnfrid placed Kristin's bridal gown in one of her own chests. It was not quite done; they had been sewing on it all winter long. It was made of scarlet silk and cut in such a fashion that it would fit snugly to her body. Kristin thought that now it would be much too tight across her breasts.\n\nToward evening the load was all packed and tied under the wagon's cover. Erlend would leave early the next morning.\n\nHe stood with Kristin, leaning over the farm gate, looking north, where the bluish-black smudge of a storm cloud filled the valley. Thunder rumbled from the mountains, but to the south the meadows and the river lay in dazzling yellow sunlight.\n\n\"Do you remember the storm on that day in the forest near Gerdarud?\" he asked softly, playing with her fingers.\n\nKristin nodded and tried to smile. The air was so heavy and sultry; her head was aching and she was sweating with every breath she took.\n\nLavrans came over to them at the gate and talked about the weather. It seldom did any harm down here in the village, but God only knew whether it would bring trouble to the cattle and horses up in the mountains.\n\nIt was as black as night up behind the church on the hill. A flash of lightning revealed a group of horses, crowding together restlessly, on the meadow outside the church gate. Lavrans didn't think they belonged there in the valley\u2014the horses were more likely from Dovre and had been wandering in the mountains up beneath Jetta. He shouted over the thunder that he had a mind to go up and see to them, to find out whether there were any of his among them.\n\nA terrible bolt of lightning ripped through the darkness up there. Thunder crashed and roared so they could hear nothing else. The horses raced across the grass beneath the ridge. All three of them crossed themselves.\n\nThen more lightning flashed; the sky seemed about to split in half, and a tremendous snow-white bolt of lightning hurtled down toward them. All three were thrown against each other; they stood there with their eyes closed, blinded, and noticed a smell like scorched stone\u2014and then the crash of thunder exploded in their ears.\n\n\"Saint Olav, help us,\" murmured Lavrans.\n\n\"Look at the birch, look at the birch!\" cried Erlend. The huge birch out in the field seemed to wobble, and then a heavy limb broke off and dropped to the ground, leaving a long gash in the trunk.\n\n\"I think it's burning. Jesus Christus! The church roof is on fire!\" shouted Lavrans.\n\nThey stood there and stared. No... yes, it was! Red flames were flickering out of the shingles beneath the ridge turret.\n\nBoth men set off running, back across the farmyard. Lavrans tore open all the doors to the buildings, yelling to those inside. Everyone came rushing out.\n\n\"Bring axes, bring axes\u2014the felling axes,\" he shouted. \"And the pickaxes!\" He raced over to the stables. A moment later he reemerged, leading Guldsvein by his mane. He leaped up onto the unsaddled horse and tore off toward the north. He had the big broadaxe in his hand. Erlend rode right behind him, and all the other men followed. Some were on horseback, but others couldn't control the frightened animals and gave up and set off running. Behind them came Ragnfrid and the women of the farm with basins and buckets.\n\nNo one seemed to notice the storm any longer. In the flash of the lightning they saw people come streaming from the buildings farther down in the village. Sira Eirik was already running up the hill, followed by his servants. Horse hooves thundered across the bridge below, and several farm hands raced past. They all turned their pale, terrified faces toward the burning church.\n\nA light wind was blowing from the southeast. The fire was firmly entrenched in the north wall; on the west side the entrance was already blocked. But it had not yet seized the south side or the apse.\n\nKristin and the women from J\u00f8rundgaard entered the churchyard south of the church, at a place where the gate had collapsed.\n\nThe tremendous red blaze lit up the grove north of the church and the area where posts had been erected for tying up the horses. No one could approach the spot because of the heat. Only the cross stood there, bathed in the glow of the flames. It looked as if it were alive and moving.\n\nThrough the roaring and seething of the fire they could hear the crash of axes against the staves of the south wall. There were men on the gallery, slashing and chopping, while others tried to tear down the gallery itself. Someone shouted to the women from J\u00f8rundgaard that Lavrans and a few other men had followed Sira Eirik into the church. They had to break an opening in the wall\u2014little tongues of fire were playing here and there among the shingles on the roof. If the wind changed or died down altogether, the flames would engulf the whole church.\n\nAny thought of extinguishing the blaze was futile; there was no time to form a chain down to the river, but at Ragnfrid's command, the women took up positions and passed water from the small creek running along the road to the west; at least there was a little water to throw on the south wall and on the men who were toiling there. Many of the women were sobbing as they worked, out of fear and anguish for those who had gone inside the burning building, and out of sorrow for their church.\n\nKristin stood at the very front of the line of women, throwing the water from the buckets. She stared breathlessly at the church, where they had both gone inside, her father and Erlend.\n\nThe posts of the gallery had been torn down and lay in a heap of wood amid pieces of shingle from the gallery's roof. The men were chopping at the stave wall with all their might; a whole group had lifted up a timber and was using it as a battering ram.\n\nErlend and one of his men came out of the small south door of the choir; they were carrying between them the large chest from the sacristy, the chest that Eirik usually sat on when he heard confession. Erlend and the servant tipped the chest out into the churchyard.\n\nKristin didn't hear what he shouted; he ran back, up onto the gallery again. He was as lithe as a cat as he dashed along. He had thrown off his outer garments and was dressed only in his shirt, pants, and hose.\n\nThe others took up his cry\u2014the sacristy and choir were burning. No one could go from the nave up to the south door anymore; the fire was now blocking both exits. A couple of staves in the wall had been splintered, and Erlend had picked up a fire axe and was slashing and hacking at the wreckage of the staves. They had smashed a hole in the side of the church, while other people were shouting for them to watch out\u2014the roof might collapse and bury them all inside the church. The shingled roof was now burning briskly on this side too, and the heat was becoming unbearable.\n\nErlend leaped through the hole and helped to bring Sira Eirik out. The priest had his robes full of holy vessels from the altars.\n\nA young boy followed with his hand over his face and the tall processional cross held out in front of him. Lavrans came next. He had closed his eyes against the smoke, staggering under the heavy crucifix he held in his arms; it was much taller than he was.\n\nPeople ran forward and helped them move down to the churchyard. Sira Eirik stumbled, fell to his knees, and the altar vessels rolled across the slope. The silver dove opened, and the Host fell out. The priest picked it up, brushed it off, and kissed it as he sobbed loudly. He kissed the gilded man's head which had stood above the altar with a scrap of Saint Olav's hair and nails inside.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n was still standing there, holding the crucifix. His arm lay across the arms of the cross, and he was leaning his head on the shoulder of Christ. It looked as if the Savior were bending his beautiful, sad face toward the man to console him.\n\nThe roof had begun to collapse bit by bit on the north side of the church. A blazing roof beam shot out and struck the great bell in the low tower near the churchyard gate. The bell rang with a deep, mournful tone, which faded into a long moan, drowned out by the roar of the fire.\n\nNo one had paid any attention to the weather during all the tumult. The whole event had not taken much time, but no one was aware of that either. Now the thunder and lightning were far away, to the south of the valley. The rain, which had been falling for a while, was now coming down harder, and the wind had ceased.\n\nBut suddenly it was as if a sail of flames had been hoisted up from the foundation. In a flash, and with a shriek, the fire engulfed the church from one end to the other.\n\nEveryone dashed away from the consuming heat. Erlend was suddenly at Kristin's side and urging her down the hill. His body reeked with the stench of the fire; she pulled away a handful of singed hair when she stroked his head and face.\n\nThey couldn't hear each other's voices above the roaring of the flames. But she saw that his eyebrows had been scorched right off, he had burns on his face, and his shirt was burned in places too. He laughed as he pulled her along after the others.\n\nEveryone followed behind the weeping old priest and Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, carrying the crucifix.\n\nAt the edge of the churchyard, Lavrans leaned the cross against a tree, and then sank down onto the wreckage of the gate. Sira Eirik was already sitting there; he stretched out his arms toward the burning church.\n\n\"Farewell, farewell, Olav's church. God bless you, my Olav's church. God bless you for every hour I have spent inside you, singing and saying the mass. Olav's church, good night, good night.\"\n\nEveryone from the parish wept loudly along with him. The rain was pouring down on the people, huddled together, but no one thought of leaving. It didn't look as if the rain were damping the heat in the charred timbers; fiery pieces of wood and smoldering shingles were flying everywhere. A moment later the ridge turret fell into the blaze with a shower of sparks rising up behind it.\n\nLavrans sat with one hand covering his face; his other arm lay across his lap, and Kristin saw that his sleeve was bloody from the shoulder all the way down. Blood was running along his fingers. She went over and touched his arm.\n\n\"I don't think it's serious. Something fell on my shoulder,\" he said, looking up. He was so pale that even his lips were white. \"Ulvhild,\" he whispered with anguish as he gazed at the inferno.\n\nSira Eirik heard him and placed a hand on his shoulder.\n\n\"It will not wake your child, Lavrans. She will sleep just as soundly with the fire burning over her resting place,\" he said. \"She has not lost the home of her soul, as the rest of us have this evening.\"\n\nKristin hid her face against Erlend's chest. She stood there, feeling his arms around her. Then she heard her father ask for his wife.\n\nSomeone said that out of terror a woman had started having labor pains; they had carried her down to the parsonage, and Ragnfrid had gone along.\n\nKristin was suddenly reminded of what she had completely forgotten ever since they realized that the church was on fire: she shouldn't have looked at it. There was a man south of the village who had a red splotch covering half his face. They said he was born that way because his mother had looked at a fire while she was carrying him. Dear Holy Virgin Mary, she prayed in silence, don't let my unborn child be harmed by this.\n\nThe next day a village ting was to be convened on the church hillside. The people would decide on how to rebuild the church.\n\nKristin sought out Sira Eirik up at Romundgaard before he left for the ting. She asked the priest whether he thought she should take this as an omen. Perhaps it was God's will that she should tell her father she was unworthy to stand beneath the bridal crown, and that it would be more fitting for her to be married to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n without a wedding feast.\n\nBut Sira Eirik flew into a rage, his eyes flashing with fury.\n\n\"Do you think God cares so much about the way you sluts surrender and throw yourselves away that He would burn down a beautiful and honorable church for your sake? Rid yourself of your pride and do not cause your mother and Lavrans a sorrow from which they would scarcely recover. If you do not wear the crown with honor on your wedding day, it will be bad enough for you; but you and Erlend are in even greater need of this sacrament as you are joined together. Everyone has his sins to answer for; no doubt that is why this misfortune has been brought upon us all. Try to better your life, and help us to rebuild this church, both you and Erlend.\"\n\nKristin thought to herself that she had not yet told him of the latest thing that had befallen her\u2014but she decided to let it be.\n\nShe went to the ting with the men. Lavrans attended with his arm in a sling, and Erlend had numerous burns on his face. He looked so ghastly, but he only laughed. None of the wounds was serious, and he said that he hoped they wouldn't disfigure him on his wedding day. He stood up after Lavrans and promised to give to the church four marks of silver, and to the village, on behalf of his betrothed and with Lavrans's consent, a section of Kristin's property worth one mark in land tax.\n\nErlend had to stay at J\u00f8rundgaard for a week because of his wounds. Kristin saw that Lavrans seemed to like his son-in-law better after the night of the fire; the men now seemed to be quite good friends. Then she thought that perhaps her father might be so pleased with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n that he would be more forbearing and not take it as hard as she had feared when one day he realized that they had sinned against him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "That year was an unusually good one in all the valleys of the north. The hay was abundant, and it was all safely harvested. Everyone returned home from the mountain pastures with fattened livestock and great quantities of butter and cheese\u2014and they had been mercifully free of predators that year. The grain stood so high that few people could remember ever seeing it look so fine. The crops ripened well and were bounteous, and the weather was the best it could be. Between Saint Bartholomew's Day and the Feast of the Birth of Mary, during the time when frosty nights were most likely, it rained a little and the weather was warm and overcast, but after that the harvest month proceeded with sunshine and wind and mild, hazy nights. By the week after Michaelmas, most of the grain had been brought in throughout the valley.\n\nAt J\u00f8rundgaard they were toiling and preparing for the great wedding. For the past two months Kristin had been so busy from morning to night, every single day, that she had had little time to worry about anything but her work. She could see that her breasts had grown heavier, and that her small pink nipples had turned brown and were as tender as wounds every morning when she had to get out of bed in the cold. But the pain passed as soon as she warmed up from her work, and then she thought only of what she had to do before nightfall. Sometimes when she straightened up to stretch out her back and paused to rest for a moment, she would notice that what she was carrying in her womb was growing heavy. But she was still just as slender and trim in appearance. She smoothed her hands over her long, fine hips. No, she didn't want to worry about it now. At times she would suddenly think, with a prickling sense of longing, that in a month or two she would be able to feel life inside her. By that time she would be at Husaby. Maybe Erlend would be pleased. She closed her eyes and bit down on her betrothal ring\u2014she saw Erlend's face, pale with emotion, when he stood up in the high loft and spoke the betrothal vows in a loud, clear voice:\n\n\"As God is my witness, along with these men who stand before me, I, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, promise myself to Kristin Lavransdatter in accordance with the laws of God and men, on such conditions as have been presented to these witnesses who stand here with us. That I shall possess you as my wife, and you shall possess me as your husband as long as we both shall live, that we shall live together in matrimony with all such communion as God's laws and the laws of the land acknowledge.\"\n\nShe was running errands across the courtyard, going from building to building, and she stopped for a moment. The mountain ash was full of berries this year; it would be a snowy winter. And the sun was shining over the pale fields, where the sheaves of grain stood piled on poles. If only the weather would hold until the wedding."
            },
            {
                "title": "Lavrans held firm to his intention that his daughter should be married in a church. It was therefore decided that this would take place in the chapel at Sundbu. On Saturday the bridal procession would ride over the mountains to Vaage. They would stay the night at Sundbu and the neighboring farms, and then ride back on Sunday after the wedding mass. On the same evening, after vespers, when the Sabbath was over, the wedding would be celebrated and Lavrans would give his daughter away to Erlend. And after midnight the bride and groom would be escorted to bed.",
                "text": "On Friday, in the afternoon, Kristin was standing on the gallery of the high loft, watching the travelers who came riding from the north, past the burned church on the hill. It was Erlend with all his groomsmen. She strained to distinguish him from the others. They were not allowed to see each other; no man could see her until she was led out in the morning, wearing her bridal clothes.\n\nAt the place where the road turned toward J\u00f8rundgaard, several women pulled away from the group. The men continued on toward Laugarbru, where they would spend the night.\n\nKristin went downstairs to welcome the guests. She felt so tired after her bath, and her scalp ached terribly; her mother had rinsed her hair in a strong lye solution to give it a bright sheen for the next day.\n\nFru Aashild Gautesdatter slipped down from her saddle into Lavrans's arms. How lissome and young she keeps herself, thought Kristin. Her daughter-in-law Katrin, Sir Munan's wife, almost looked older than she did; she was tall and stout, her eyes and skin colorless. It's strange, thought Kristin, that she's ugly and he's unfaithful, and yet people say that they get on well together. Two of Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n's daughters had also come, one of them married, the other not. They were neither ugly nor beautiful; they looked trustworthy and kind, but seemed quite reserved with strangers. Lavrans thanked them courteously for their willingness to honor this wedding and for making the long journey so late in the fall.\n\n\"Erlend was raised by our father when he was a boy,\" said the older sister, and she stepped forward to greet Kristin.\n\nThen two young men came trotting briskly into the courtyard. They leaped from their horses and ran laughing toward Kristin, who dashed into the house and hid. They were Trond Gjesling's young sons, handsome and promising boys. They brought with them the bridal crown from Sundbu in a chest. Trond and his wife wouldn't come to J\u00f8rundgaard until Sunday after the mass.\n\nKristin had fled to the hearth room, and Fru Aashild had followed. She placed her hands on Kristin's shoulders and pulled her face down to her own for a kiss.\n\n\"I'm glad that I shall see this day,\" said Fru Aashild.\n\nShe noticed as she held Kristin's hands how gaunt they had become. She saw that the bride had also grown thin, but her bosom was full. All the lines of her face had become leaner and more delicate than before; in the shadow of her thick, damp hair her temples seemed slightly hollowed. Her cheeks were no longer round, and her fresh complexion had faded. But Kristin's eyes had grown much larger and darker.\n\nFru Aashild kissed her again.\n\n\"I see you've had much to struggle with, Kristin,\" she said. \"I'll give you something to drink tonight so you'll be rested and fresh in the morning.\"\n\nKristin's lips began to quiver.\n\n\"Hush,\" said Fru Aashild, patting her hand. \"I'm looking forward to dressing you in your finery\u2014no one will ever see a lovelier bride than you shall be tomorrow.\"\n\nLavrans rode over to Laugarbru to dine with his guests who were staying there.\n\nThe men could not praise the food enough; a better Friday supper could not be had even in the richest cloister. There was rye-flour porridge, boiled beans, and white bread. And the fish that was served was trout, both salted and fresh, and long strips of dried halibut.\n\nGradually, as they helped themselves to the ale, the men became more and more boisterous and their teasing of the bridegroom became more and more vulgar. All of Erlend's groomsmen were much younger than he was; his own peers and friends had all become married men long ago. Now the men joked about the fact that he was so old and would lie in the bridal bed for the first time. Some of Erlend's older kinsmen, who were still rather sober, were afraid that with each new word uttered the talk might shift to subjects that would be better left untouched. Sir Baard of Hestn\u00e6s kept an eye on Lavrans. He was drinking heavily, but it didn't look as if the ale was making him any happier as he sat there in the high seat; his face grew more and more tense as his gaze grew stonier. But Erlend, who was sitting to the right of his fatherin-law, parried the teasing merrily and laughed a good deal; his face was red and his eyes sparkled.\n\nSuddenly Lavrans bellowed, \"That wagon, son-in-law\u2014while I think of it, what did you do with the wagon that you borrowed from me this past summer?\"\n\n\"Wagon?\" said Erlend.\n\n\"Don't you remember that you borrowed a wagon from me last summer? God knows it was a good wagon. I'll probably never see a better one, because I was here myself when it was built on this farm. You promised and you swore, as I can testify before God. And my house servants can verify that you promised you would bring it back to me, but you haven't kept your word.\"\n\nSome of the guests shouted that this was nothing to talk about right now, but Lavrans pounded on the table and swore that he would find out what Erlend had done with his wagon.\n\n\"Oh, it's probably still at the farm on the headland, where we took the boat out to Ve\u00f8y,\" said Erlend indifferently. \"I didn't think it was so important. You see, Fatherin-law, it was a long and arduous journey with the cartload through the valleys, so by the time we reached the fjord, none of my men had a mind to travel the whole way back with the wagon and then over the mountains north to Nidaros. So I thought it could wait for the time being....\"\n\n\"No, may the Devil seize me right here where I'm sitting if I've ever heard the likes of this,\" Lavrans interrupted him. \"What kind of people do you employ in your household? Is it you or your men who decide where they will or will not go?\"\n\nErlend shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"It's true that many things have not been as they should be in my home. The wagon will be sent back south to you when Kristin and I journey that way. My dear Fatherin-law,\" he said with a smile, putting out his hand, \"you must know that now everything will be different, and I will be too, now that Kristin will be coming home as my wife. The matter of the wagon was unfortunate. But I promise you, this will be the last time you shall have reason to complain about me.\"\n\n\"Dear Lavrans,\" said Baard Peters\u00f8n, \"reconcile yourself with him over this paltry matter....\"\n\n\"A paltry matter or a great one...\" began Lavrans. But then he stopped himself and shook hands with Erlend.\n\nSoon afterward he left, and the guests at Laugarbru went to find their beds for the night.\n\nOn Saturday before noon the women and maidens were busy in the old loft. Some were making up the bridal bed, while others were helping the bride to finish dressing.\n\nRagnfrid had chosen this building for the bridal house because it was the smallest of the lofts\u2014they could house many more guests in the new loft over the storeroom\u2014and it was the bedchamber they had used themselves in the summertime, when Kristin was small, before Lavrans had built the high loft house, where they now lived both summer and winter. But the old storehouse was undoubtedly also the loveliest building on the farm, ever since Lavrans had had it rebuilt; it had been in a state of disrepair when they moved to J\u00f8rundgaard. It was now decorated with the most beautiful carvings both inside and out, and the loft was not large, so it was easier to adorn it with tapestries and weavings and pelts.\n\nThe bridal bed had been made ready with silk-covered pillows, and lovely blankets had been hung all around as draperies; over the furs and woolen blankets had been spread an embroidered silk coverlet. Ragnfrid and several women were hanging tapestries up on the timbered walls and placing cushions on the benches.\n\nKristin was sitting in an armchair that had been carried up to the loft. She was wearing her scarlet bridal gown. Large brooches held it together at her breast and closed the yellow silk shift at the neck; golden armbands gleamed on the yellow silk sleeves. A gilded silver belt had been wrapped three times around her waist, and around her neck and on her bosom lay necklace upon necklace\u2014and on top of them all lay her father's old gold chain with the large reliquary cross. Her hands, which lay in her lap, were heavy with rings.\n\nFru Aashild was standing behind her chair, brushing out Kristin's thick, golden-brown hair.\n\n\"Tomorrow you will wear it loose for the last time,\" she said with a smile, winding around Kristin's head the red and green silk cords that would support the crown. Then the women gathered around the bride.\n\nRagnfrid and Gyrid of Skog brought over from the table the great bridal crown of the Gjesling family. It was completely gilded; the tips alternated between crosses and cloverleaves, and the circlet was set with rock crystals.\n\nThey pressed it down onto the bride's head. Ragnfrid was pale, and her hands shook as she did this.\n\nKristin slowly rose to her feet. Jesus, how heavy it was to bear all that silver and gold. Then Fru Aashild took her by the hand and led her forward to a large water basin, while the bridesmaids threw open the door to let in the sun and brighten up the loft.\n\n\"Look at yourself now, Kristin,\" said Fru Aashild, and Kristin bent over the basin. She saw her own face rise up, white, from the water; it came so close that she could see the golden crown above. So many light and dark shadows played all around her reflection\u2014there was something she was just about to remember\u2014and suddenly she felt as if she would faint away. She gripped the edge of the basin. Then Fru Aashild placed her hand on top of hers and dug in her nails so hard that Kristin came to her senses.\n\nThe sound of lur horns came from the bridge. People shouted from the courtyard that now the bridegroom had arrived with his entourage. The women led Kristin out onto the gallery.\n\nThe courtyard was swarming with horses, magnificently bridled, and people in festive dress; everything glittered and gleamed in the sun. Kristin stared past everything, out toward the valley. Her village lay bright and still beneath a thin, hazy-blue mist, and out of the mist towered the mountains, gray with scree and black with forests, and the sun poured its light down into the basin of the valley from a cloudless sky.\n\nShe hadn't noticed it before, but all the leaves had fallen from the trees, and the groves shone silver-gray and naked. Only the alder thicket along the river still had a little faded green in the crowns of the trees, and a few birches held on to some pale yellow leaves at the very tips of their branches. But the trees were almost bare, except the mountain ash, which was still shining with brownish-red foliage surrounding the blood-red berries. In the still, warm day the acrid smell of autumn rose up from the ash-colored blanket of fallen leaves spread all around.\n\nIf not for the mountain ash trees, it might have been springtime\u2014except for the silence, because it was autumn-quiet, so quiet. Every time the lur horns ceased, no sound was heard from the village but the clinking of bells from the fallow and harvested fields where the cattle were grazing.\n\nThe river was small and low, and it flowed so quietly; it was nothing more than tiny currents trickling between the sandbars and the heavy shoals of white stones worn smooth. No streams rushed down the slopes; it had been such a dry autumn. There were glints of moisture all over the fields, but it was only the dampness that always seeped up from the earth in the fall, no matter how hot the day or how clear the sky.\n\nThe throng of people down in the courtyard parted to make way for the bridegroom's entourage. The young groomsmen rode forward. There was a ripple of excitement among the women on the gallery.\n\nFru Aashild was standing next to the bride.\n\n\"Be strong now, Kristin,\" she said. \"It won't be long before you are safely under the wimple of a married woman.\"\n\nKristin nodded helplessly. She could feel how terribly pale her face was.\n\n\"I'm much too pale a bride,\" she murmured.\n\n\"You are the loveliest bride,\" replied Aashild. \"And there's Erlend\u2014it would be hard to find a more handsome pair than the two of you.\"\n\nErlend rode forward beneath the gallery. He leaped from his horse, agile and unhampered by the heavy drapery of his clothing. Kristin thought he was so handsome that her whole body ached.\n\nHe was dressed in dark attire: a silk surcoat, pale brown interwoven with a black-and-white pattern, ankle-length and slit at the sides. Around his waist he wore a gold-studded belt and on his left hip a sword with gold on the hilt and scabbard. Over his shoulders hung a heavy, dark-blue velvet cape, and on his black hair he wore a black French silk cap which was shirred like wings at the sides and ended in two long streamers, one of which was draped across his chest from his left shoulder and then thrown back over the other.\n\nErlend greeted his bride, went over to her horse, and stood there with his hand on the saddlebow as Lavrans climbed the stairs. Kristin felt so odd and dizzy faced with all this splendor; her father seemed a stranger in the formal green velvet surcoat that reached to his ankles. But her mother's face was ashen white beneath the wimple she wore with her red silk dress. Ragnfrid came over and placed the cloak around her daughter.\n\nThen Lavrans took the bride's hand and led her down to Erlend, who lifted her up onto her horse and then mounted his own. They sat there, side by side, in front of the bridal loft as the procession began to pass through the farm gates: first the priests, Sira Eirik and Sira Tormod from Ulvsvold, and a Brother of the Cross from Hamar who was a friend of Lavrans. Next came the groomsmen and the maidens, two by two. And then it was time for Erlend and Kristin to ride forward. After them followed the bride's parents, kinsmen, friends, and guests in long lines, riding between the fences out to the village road. A long stretch of the road was strewn with clusters of mountain ash berries, spruce boughs, and the last white chamomile blossoms of the autumn. People stood along the road as the procession passed, greeting it with cheers.\n\nOn Sunday just after sundown the mounted procession returned to J\u00f8rundgaard. Through the first patches of twilight the bonfires shone red from the courtyard of the bridal farm. Musicians and fiddlers sang and played their drums and fiddles as the group rode toward the warm red glow.\n\nKristin was about to collapse when Erlend lifted her down from her horse in front of the gallery to the high loft.\n\n\"I was so cold crossing the mountain,\" she whispered. \"I'm so tired.\" She stood still for a moment; when she climbed the stairway to the loft, she swayed on every step.\n\nUp in the high loft the frozen wedding guests soon had the warmth restored to their bodies. It was hot from all the candles burning in the room, steaming hot food was served, and wine and mead and strong ale were passed around. The din of voices and the sounds of people eating droned in Kristin's ears.\n\nShe sat there, unable to get warm. Her cheeks began to burn after a while, but her feet refused to thaw out and shivers of cold ran down her spine. All the heavy gold forced her to lean forward as she sat in the high seat at Erlend's side.\n\nEvery time the bridegroom drank a toast to her, she had to look at the red blotches and patches that were so evident on his face now that he was warming up after the ride in the cold air. They were the marks of the burns from that summer.\n\nA terrible fear had come over her the evening before, while they were at dinner at Sundbu, when she felt the vacant stare of Bj\u00f8rn Gunnars\u00f8n on her and Erlend\u2014eyes that did not blink and did not waver. They had dressed Herr Bj\u00f8rn in knight's clothing; he looked like a dead man who had been conjured back to life.\n\nThat night she shared a bed with Fru Aashild, who was the bridegroom's closest kinswoman.\n\n\"What's the matter with you, Kristin?\" asked Fru Aashild a little impatiently. \"You must be strong now and not so despondent.\"\n\n\"I'm thinking about all the people we have hurt so that we could live to see this day,\" said Kristin, shivering.\n\n\"It wasn't easy for you two either,\" said Fru Aashild. \"Not for Erlend. And I imagine it's been even harder for you.\"\n\n\"I'm thinking about those helpless children of his,\" said the bride in the same tone as before. \"I wonder whether they know that their father is celebrating his wedding today....\"\n\n\"Think about your own child,\" said Fru Aashild. \"Be glad that you're celebrating your wedding with the one who is the father.\"\n\nKristin lay still for a while, helplessly dizzy. It was so pleasant to hear it mentioned\u2014what had occupied her mind every single day for three months or more, though she hadn't been able to breathe a word about it to a living soul. But this helped her for only a moment.\n\n\"I'm thinking about the woman who had to pay with her life because she loved Erlend,\" she whispered, trembling.\n\n\"You may have to pay with your own life before you're half a year older,\" said Fru Aashild harshly. \"Be happy while you can.\n\n\"What should I say to you, Kristin?\" the old woman continued, in despair. \"Have you lost all your courage? The time will come soon enough when the two of you will have to pay for everything that you've taken\u2014have no fear of that.\"\n\nBut Kristin felt as if one landslide after another were ravaging her soul; everything was being torn down that she had built up since that terrifying day at Haugen. During those first days she had simply thought, wildly and blindly, that she had to hold out, she had to hold out one day at a time. And she had held out until things became easier\u2014quite easy, in the end, when she had cast off all thoughts except one: that now their wedding would take place at last, Erlend's wedding at last.\n\nShe and Erlend knelt together during the wedding mass, but it was all like a hallucination: the candles, the paintings, the shining vessels, the priests dressed in linen albs and long chasubles. All those people who had known her in the past seemed like dream images as they stood there filling the church in their unfamiliar festive garb. But Herr Bj\u00f8rn was leaning against a pillar and looking at them with his dead eyes, and she thought that the other dead one must have come back with him, in his arms.\n\nShe tried to look up at the painting of Saint Olav\u2014he stood there, pink and white and handsome, leaning on his axe, treading his own sinful human form underfoot\u2014but Herr Bj\u00f8rn drew her eyes. And next to him she saw Eline Ormsdatter's dead countenance; she was looking at them with indifference. They had trampled over her in order to get here, and she did not begrudge them that.\n\nShe had risen up and cast off all the stones that Kristin had striven so hard to place over the dead. Erlend's squandered youth, his honor and well-being, the good graces of his friends, the health of his soul\u2014the dead woman shook them all off. \"He wanted me and I wanted him, you wanted him and he wanted you,\" said Eline. \"I had to pay, and he must pay, and you must pay when your time comes. When the sin is consummated it will give birth to death.\"\n\nKristin felt that she was kneeling with Erlend on a cold stone. He knelt with the red, singed patches on his pale face. She knelt beneath the heavy bridal crown and felt the crushing, oppressive weight in her womb\u2014the burden of sin she was carrying. She had played and romped with her sin, measuring it out as if in a child's game. Holy Virgin\u2014soon it would be time for it to lie fully formed before her, looking at her with living eyes, revealing to her the brands of her sin, the hideous deformity of sin, striking hatefully with misshapen hands at his mother's breast. After she had borne her child, after she had seen the marks of sin on him and loved him the way she had loved her sin, then the game would be played to the end.\n\nKristin thought: What if she screamed now so that her voice pierced through the song and the deep, droning male voices and reverberated out over the crowd? Would she then be rid of Eline's face? Would life appear in the dead man's eyes? But she clenched her teeth together.\n\nHoly King Olav, I call to you. Among all those in Heaven, I beg you for help, for I know that you loved God's righteousness above all else. I beseech you to protect the innocent one who is in my womb. Turn God's anger away from the innocent, turn it toward me. Amen, in the precious name of the Lord.\n\n\"My children are innocent,\" said Eline, \"yet there is no room for them in a land where Christian people live. Your child was conceived out of wedlock just as my children were. You can no more demand justice for your child in the land you have strayed from than I could demand it for mine.\"\n\nHoly Olav, I beg for mercy nevertheless, I beg for compassion for my son. Take him under your protection, then I will carry him to your church in my bare feet. I will bring my golden crown to you and place it on your altar, if you will help me. Amen.\n\nHer face was as rigid as stone, she was trying so hard to keep herself calm, but her body trembled and shuddered as she knelt there and was married to Erlend.\n\nAnd now Kristin sat beside him in the high seat at home and sensed everything around her as a mere illusion in the delirium of fever.\n\nThere were musicians playing on harps and fiddles in the high loft; singing and music came from the room below and from out in the courtyard. A reddish glow from the fire outside was visible whenever servants came through the door, carrying things back and forth.\n\nEveryone stood up around the table; she stood between her father and Erlend. Her father announced in a loud voice that now he had given his daughter Kristin to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n as his wife. Erlend thanked his fatherin-law and all the good people who had gathered to honor him and his wife.\n\nThen they told Kristin to sit down, and Erlend placed his wedding gifts in her lap. Sira Eirik and Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n unrolled documents and read off a list of their property. The groomsmen stood by with spears in hand, pounding the shafts on the floor now and then during the reading and whenever gifts or moneybags were placed on the table.\n\nThe tabletops and trestles were removed. Erlend led her out onto the floor and they danced. Kristin thought: Our bridesmaids and groomsmen are much too young for us. Everyone who grew up with us has moved away from this region; how can it be that we have come back here?\n\n\"You seem so strange, Kristin,\" whispered Erlend as they danced. \"I'm afraid for you, Kristin. Aren't you happy?\"\n\nThey went from building to building and greeted their guests. All the rooms were filled with many candles, and people were drinking and singing and dancing everywhere. Kristin felt as though everything was so unfamiliar at home, and she had lost all sense of time; the hours and the images flowed around each other, oddly disconnected.\n\nThe autumn night was mild. There were fiddlers in the courtyard too, and people dancing around the bonfire. They shouted that the bride and groom must also do them the honor, so Kristin danced with Erlend in the cold, dew-laden courtyard. That seemed to wake her up a little and her head felt clearer.\n\nOut in the darkness a light band of fog hovered over the rushing river. The mountains stood pitch black against the star-strewn sky.\n\nErlend led her away from the dance and crushed her to him in the darkness beneath an overhanging gallery.\n\n\"I haven't even told you that you're beautiful, so beautiful and so lovely. Your cheeks are as red as flames.\" He pressed his cheek against hers as he spoke. \"Kristin, what's the matter?\"\n\n\"I'm just so tired, so tired,\" she whispered in reply.\n\n\"Soon we'll go in and sleep,\" said the bridegroom, looking up at the sky. The Milky Way had swung around and was stretching almost due north and south. \"Do you know we've never spent a whole night together except that one time when I slept with you in your bedchamber at Skog?\"\n\nSome time later Sira Eirik shouted across the courtyard that now it was Monday, and then the women came to lead the bride to bed. Kristin was so tired that she hardly had the energy to resist, as she was supposed to do for the sake of propriety. She let herself be led out of the loft by Fru Aashild and Gyrid of Skog. The groomsmen stood at the foot of the stairs with burning tapers and drawn swords; they formed a circle around the group of women and escorted Kristin across the courtyard, up to the old loft.\n\nThe women removed her wedding finery, piece by piece, and laid it aside. Kristin noticed that at the foot of the bed was draped the violet-blue velvet dress that she would wear the next day, and on top of it lay a long, finely pleated, snow-white linen cloth. This was the wimple that married women wore and that Erlend had brought for her; tomorrow she would bind up her hair in a bun and fasten the cloth over it. It looked so fresh and cool and reassuring.\n\nFinally she stood before the bridal bed, in her bare feet, bare-armed, dressed only in the ankle-length, golden-yellow silk shift. They had placed the crown on her head again; the bridegroom would take it off when the two of them were alone.\n\nRagnfrid placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders and kissed her cheek; the mother's face and hands were strangely cold, but she felt sobs bursting deep inside her breast. Then she threw back the covers of the bed and invited the bride to sit down. Kristin obeyed and leaned back on the silk pillows propped up against the headboard; she had to tilt her head slightly forward because of the crown. Fru Aashild pulled the covers up to Kristin's waist, placed the bride's hands on top of the silk coverlet, and arranged her shining hair, spreading it out over her breast and her slender, naked arms.\n\nThen the men led the bridegroom into the loft. Munan Baards\u00f8n removed Erlend's gold belt and sword; when he hung it up on the wall above the bed, he whispered something to the bride. Kristin didn't understand what he said, but she did her best to smile.\n\nThe groomsmen unlaced Erlend's silk clothing and lifted the long, heavy garment over his head. He sat down in the high-backed armchair, and they helped him take off his spurs and boots.\n\nOnly once did the bride dare to look up and meet his eyes.\n\nThen everyone wished the couple good night. The wedding guests left the loft. Last to leave was Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, who closed the door to the bridal chamber.\n\nErlend stood up and tore off his underclothes and threw them onto the bench. He stood before the bed, took the crown and silk ribbons from Kristin's hair, and placed them over on the table. Then he came back and climbed into bed. And kneeling beside her on the bed, he took her head in his hands, pressing it to his hot, naked chest as he kissed her forehead all along the red band that the crown had made.\n\nShe threw her arms around him and sobbed loudly. Sweet and wild, she felt that now it would all be chased away\u2014the terror, the ghostly visions\u2014now, at last, it was just the two of them again. He raised her face for a moment, looked down at her, and stroked her face and her body with his hand, strangely quick and rough, as if he were tearing away a covering.\n\n\"Forget,\" he begged in an ardent whisper, \"forget everything, my Kristin\u2014everything except that you're my wife, and I'm your husband.\"\n\nWith his hand he put out the last flame and threw himself down next to her in the dark; he was sobbing too.\n\n\"I never believed, never in all these years, that we would live to see this day.\"\n\nOutside in the courtyard the noise died out, little by little. Weary from the ride earlier in the day and bleary with drink, the guests wandered around a while longer for the sake of propriety, but more and more of them began to slip away to find the places where they would sleep.\n\nRagnfrid escorted the most honored guests to their beds and bade them good night. Her husband, who should have been helping her with this, was nowhere to be found.\n\nSmall groups of youths, mostly servants, were the only ones remaining in the dark courtyard when she finally slipped away to find her husband and take him along to bed. She had noticed that Lavrans had grown exceedingly drunk as the evening wore on.\n\nAt last she stumbled upon him as she was walking stealthily outside the farmyard, looking for him. He was lying face down in the grass behind the bathhouse.\n\nFumbling in the dark, she recognized him\u2014yes, it was him. She thought he was sleeping, and she touched his shoulder, trying to pull him up from the ice-cold ground. But he wasn't asleep\u2014at least not completely.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked, his voice groggy.\n\n\"You can't stay here,\" said his wife. She held on to him, for he was reeling as he stood there. With her other hand she brushed off his velvet clothes. \"It's time for us to go to bed too, husband.\" She put her hand under his arm and led the staggering man up toward the farm. They walked along behind the farmyard buildings.\n\n\"You didn't look up, Ragnfrid, when you sat in the bridal bed wearing the crown,\" he said in the same voice. \"Our daughter was less modest than you were; her eyes were not shy as she looked at her bridegroom.\"\n\n\"She has waited for him for three and a half years,\" said the mother quietly. \"After that I think she would dare to look up.\"\n\n\"No, the Devil take me if they've waited!\" shouted the father, and his wife hushed him, alarmed.\n\nThey were standing in the narrow lane between the back of the latrine and the fence. Lavrans slammed his fist against the lower timber of the outhouse.\n\n\"I put you here to suffer ridicule and shame, you timber. I put you here so the muck would devour you. I put you here as punishment because you struck down my pretty little maiden. I should have put you above the door of my loft and honored and thanked you with decorative carvings because you saved her from shame and from sorrow\u2014for you caused my Ulvhild to die an innocent child.\"\n\nHe spun around, staggered against the fence, and collapsed against it with his head resting on his arms as he sobbed uncontrollably, with long deep moans in between.\n\nHis wife put her arms around his shoulders.\n\n\"Lavrans, Lavrans.\" But she could not console him. \"Husband.\"\n\n\"Oh, I never, never, never should have given her to that man. God help me\u2014I knew it all along\u2014he has crushed her youth and her fair honor. I refused to believe it, no, I could not believe such a thing of Kristin. But I knew it all the same. Even so, she is too good for that weak boy, who has shamed both her and himself. I shouldn't have given her to him, even if he had seduced her ten times, so that now he can squander more of her life and happiness.\"\n\n\"What else was there to do?\" said Ragnfrid in resignation. \"You could see for yourself that she was already his.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I didn't need to make such a great fuss to give Erlend what he had already taken himself,\" said Lavrans. \"It's a fine husband she has won, my Kristin.\" He yanked at the fence. Then he wept some more. Ragnfrid thought he had grown a bit more sober, but now the drink took the upper hand again.\n\nAs drunk as he was and as overcome with despair, she didn't think she could take him up to the hearth room where they were supposed to sleep\u2014it was filled with guests. She looked around. Nearby was a small barn where they kept the best hay for the horses during the spring farm work. She walked over and peered inside; no one was there. Then she led her husband inside and shut the door behind them.\n\nRagnfrid piled the hay up all around and then placed their capes over both of them. Lavrans continued to weep off and on, and occasionally he would say something, but it was so confused that she couldn't understand him. After a while she lifted his head into her lap.\n\n\"My dear husband, since they feel such love for each other, maybe everything will turn out better than we expect....\"\n\nLavrans, who now seemed more clearheaded, replied, gasping, \"Don't you see? He now has complete power over her; this man who could never restrain himself. She will find it difficult to oppose anything that her husband wishes\u2014and if she is forced to do so one day, then it will torment her bitterly, that gentle child of mine.\n\n\"I don't understand any longer why God has given me so many great sorrows. I have striven faithfully to do His will. Why did He take our children from us, Ragnfrid, one after the other? First our sons, then little Ulvhild, and now I have given the one I love most dearly, without honor, to an unreliable and imprudent man. Now we have only the little one left. And it seems to me unwise to rejoice over Ramborg until I see how things may go for her.\"\n\nRagnfrid was shaking like a leaf. Then she touched her husband's shoulder.\n\n\"Lie down,\" she begged him. \"Let's go to sleep.\" And with his head in his wife's arms Lavrans lay quietly for a while, sighing now and then, until finally he fell asleep.\n\nIt was still pitch dark in the barn when Ragnfrid stirred; she was surprised she had slept at all. She put out her hand. Lavrans was sitting up with his hands clasped around his knees.\n\n\"Are you already awake?\" she asked, astonished. \"Are you cold?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, his voice hoarse, \"but I can't sleep anymore.\"\n\n\"Is it Kristin you're thinking about?\" asked Ragnfrid. \"It may turn out better than we think, Lavrans,\" she told him again.\n\n\"Yes, that's what I'm thinking about,\" said her husband. \"Well, well. Maiden or wife, at least she lay in the bridal bed with the one she had given her love to. Neither you nor I did that, my poor Ragnfrid.\"\n\nHis wife gave a deep, hollow moan. She threw herself down next to him in the hay. Lavrans placed his hand on her shoulder.\n\n\"But I could not,\" he said with fervor and anguish. \"No, I could not... act toward you the way you wanted me to\u2014back when we were young. I'm not the kind of man...\"\n\nAfter a moment Ragnfrid murmured, in tears, \"We have lived well together all the same, Lavrans\u2014all these years.\"\n\n\"So I too have believed,\" he replied gloomily.\n\nHis thoughts were tumbling and racing through his mind. That one naked glance which the groom and bride had cast at each other, the two young faces blushing with red flames\u2014he thought it so brazen. It had stung him that she was his daughter. But he kept on seeing those eyes, and he struggled wildly and blindly against tearing away the veil from something in his own heart which he had never wanted to acknowledge\u2014there he had concealed a part of himself from his own wife when she had searched for it.\n\nHe had not been able to, he interrupted himself harshly. In the name of the Devil, he had been married off as a young boy; he had not chosen her himself. She was older than he was. He had not desired her. He had not wanted to learn this from her\u2014how to love. He still grew hot with shame at the thought of it\u2014that she had wanted him to love her when he had not wanted that kind of love from her. That she had offered him everything that he had never asked for.\n\nHe had been a good husband to her; he believed that himself. He had shown her all the respect he could, given her full authority, asked her advice about everything, been faithful to her; and they had had six children. He had simply wanted to live with her without her always trying to seize what was in his heart\u2014and what he refused to reveal.\n\nHe had never loved anyone. What about Ingunn, Karl's wife at Bru? Lavrans blushed in the darkness. He had always visited them when he traveled through the valley. He had probably never spoken to the woman alone even once. But whenever he saw her\u2014if he merely thought of her\u2014he felt something like that first smell of the earth in the spring, right after the snow had gone. Now he realized: it could have happened to him too... he could have loved someone too.\n\nBut he had been married so young, and he had grown wary. Then he found that he thrived best out in the wilderness\u2014up on the mountain plateaus, where every living creature demands wide-open space, with room enough to flee. Wary, they watch every stranger that tries to sneak up on them.\n\nOnce a year the animals of the forest and in the mountains would forget their wariness. Then they would rush at their females. But he had been given his as a gift. And she had offered him everything for which he had never wooed her.\n\nBut the young ones in the nest... they had been the little warm spot in his desolation, the most profound and sweetest pleasure of his life. Those small blonde girls' heads beneath his hand...\n\nMarried off\u2014that was what had happened to him, practically unconsulted. Friends... he had many, and he had none. War... it had been a joy, but there was no more war; his armor was hanging up in the loft, seldom used. He had become a farmer. But he had had daughters; everything he had done in his life became dear to him because he had done it to provide for those tender young lives that he held in his hands. He remembered Kristin's tiny two-year-old body on his shoulder, her flaxen soft hair against his cheek. Her little hands holding on to his belt while she pressed her hard, round forehead against his shoulder blades when he went riding with her sitting behind him on the horse.\n\nAnd now she had those ardent eyes, and she had won the man she wanted. She was sitting up there in the dim light, leaning against the silk pillows of the bed. In the glow of the candle she was all golden\u2014golden crown and golden shift and golden hair spread over her naked golden arms. Her eyes were no longer shy.\n\nThe father moaned with shame.\n\nAnd yet it seemed that his heart had burst with blood\u2014for what he had never had. And for his wife, here at his side, to whom he had been unable to give himself.\n\nSick with compassion, he reached for Ragnfrid's hand in the dark.\n\n\"Yes, I thought we lived well together,\" he said. \"I thought you were grieving for our children. And I thought you had a melancholy heart. I never thought that it might be because I wasn't a good husband to you.\"\n\nRagnfrid was trembling feverishly.\n\n\"You have always been a good husband, Lavrans.\"\n\n\"Hm...\" Lavrans sat with his chin resting on his knees. \"And yet you might have done better if you had been married as our daughter was today.\"\n\nRagnfrid sprang up, uttering a low, piercing cry. \"You know! How did you find out? How long have you known?\"\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" said Lavrans after a moment, his voice strangely dispirited.\n\n\"I'm talking about the fact that I wasn't a maiden when I became your wife,\" replied Ragnfrid, and her voice was clear and resounding with despair.\n\nAfter a moment Lavrans said, in the same voice as before, \"I never knew of this until now.\"\n\nRagnfrid lay down in the hay, shaking with sobs. When the spell had passed she raised her head. A faint gray light was beginning to seep in through the holes in the wall. She could dimly see her husband as he sat there with his hands clasped around his knees, as motionless as if he were made of stone.\n\n\"Lavrans\u2014speak to me,\" she whimpered.\n\n\"What do you want me to say?\" he asked, not moving.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. You should curse me\u2014strike me...\"\n\n\"It's a little late for that now,\" replied her husband; there was the shadow of a scornful smile in his voice.\n\nRagnfrid wept again. \"No, I didn't think I was deceiving you, so deceived and betrayed did I feel myself. No one spared me. They brought you... I saw you only three times before we were married. I thought you were only a boy, so pink and white... so young and childish.\"\n\n\"That I was,\" said Lavrans, and his voice seemed to acquire more resonance. \"And that's why I would have thought that you, who were a woman, you would have been more afraid of... of deceiving someone who was so young that he didn't realize...\"\n\n\"I began to think that way later on,\" said Ragnfrid, weeping.\n\n\"After I came to know you. Soon the time came when I would have given my soul twenty times over if I could have been without blame toward you.\"\n\nLavrans sat silent and motionless.\n\nThen his wife continued, \"You're not going to ask me anything?\"\n\n\"What good would that do now? It was the man who... we met his funeral procession at Feginsbrekka, when we were carrying Ulvhild to Nidaros.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ragnfrid. \"We had to step off the road, into the meadow. I watched them carry his bier past, with priests and monks and armed men. I heard that he had been granted a good death\u2014reconciled with God. As we stood there with Ulvhild's litter between us I prayed that my sin and my sorrow might be placed at his feet on that last day.\"\n\n\"Yes, no doubt you did,\" said Lavrans, and there was that same shadow of scorn in his quiet voice.\n\n\"You don't know everything,\" said Ragnfrid, cold with despair. \"Do you remember when he came out to visit us at Skog that first winter after we were married?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said her husband.\n\n\"When Bj\u00f8rgulf was struggling with death... Oh, no one had spared me. He was drunk when he did it to me\u2014later he said that he had never loved me, he didn't want me, he told me to forget about it. My father didn't know about it; he didn't deceive you\u2014you must never believe that. But Trond... my brother and I were the dearest of friends back then, and I complained to him. He tried to threaten the man into marrying me\u2014but he was only a boy, so he lost the fight. Later he advised me not to speak of it and to take you....\"\n\nShe sat in silence for a moment.\n\n\"When he came out to Skog... a year had passed, and I didn't think much about it anymore. But he came to visit. He said that he regretted what he had done, that he would have taken me then if I hadn't been married, that he was fond of me. So he said. God must judge whether he spoke the truth. After he left... I didn't dare go out on the fjord; I didn't dare because of the sin, not with the child. And by then I had... by then I had begun to love you so!\" She uttered a cry, as if in the wildest torment. Her husband turned his head toward her.\n\n\"When Bj\u00f8rgulf was born,\" Ragnfrid went on, \"oh, I thought I loved him more than my own life. When he lay there, struggling with death, I thought: If he perishes, I will perish too. But I did not ask God to spare the boy's life.\"\n\nLavrans sat for a long time before he asked, his voice heavy and dead, \"Was it because I wasn't his father?\"\n\n\"I didn't know whether you were or not,\" said Ragnfrid, stiffening.\n\nFor a long time both of them sat there, as still as death.\n\nThen the husband said fervently, \"In the name of Jesus, Ragnfrid, why are you telling me this\u2014now?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know.\" She wrung her hands so hard that her knuckles cracked. \"So that you can take vengeance on me. Chase me away from your manor...\"\n\n\"Do you think that would help me?\" His voice was shaking with scorn. \"What about our daughters?\" he said quietly. \"Kristin, and the little one?\"\n\nRagnfrid said nothing for a moment.\n\n\"I remember how you judged Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n,\" she murmured. \"So how will you judge me?\"\n\nA long icy shiver rippled through the man's body, releasing some of his stiffness.\n\n\"You have now... we have now lived together... for almost twenty-seven years. It's not the same thing as with a man who's a stranger. I can see that you have suffered the greatest anguish.\"\n\nRagnfrid collapsed into sobs at his words. She tried to reach out for his hand. He didn't move, but sat as still as a dead man. Then she wept louder and louder, but her husband sat motionless, staring at the gray light around the door. Finally she lay there as if all her tears had run out. Then he gave her arm a fleeting caress. And she began to cry again.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" she said in between her sobs, \"that man who once visited us while we were at Skog? The one who knew the old ballads? Do you remember the one about a dead man who had come back from the land of torment and told his son the legend of what he had seen? He said that a great clamor was heard from the depths of Hell, and unfaithful wives ground up earth for their husbands' food. Bloody were the stones that they turned, bloody hung their hearts from their breasts...\"\n\nLavrans said nothing.\n\n\"For all these years I have thought of those words,\" said Ragnfrid. \"Each day I felt as if my heart were bleeding, for I felt as if I were grinding up earth for your food.\"\n\nLavrans didn't know why he answered the way he did. His chest felt empty and hollow, like a man whose heart and lungs had been ripped out through his back. But he placed his hand, heavy and weary, on his wife's head and said, \"Earth has to be ground up, my Ragnfrid, before the food can grow.\"\n\nWhen she tried to take his hand to kiss it, he pulled it abruptly away. Then he looked down at his wife, took her hand, placed it on his knee, and leaned his cold, rigid face against it. And in this manner they sat there together, without moving and without speaking another word.\n\n\u2002THE WIFE\n\n\u2002IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER\n\n\u2002INGVALD UNDSET\n\n\u2002THE FRUIT OF SIN\n\nOn the eve of Saint Simon's Day, Baard Peters\u00f8n's ship anchored at the spit near Birgsi. Abbot Olav of Nidarholm had ridden down to the shore himself to greet his kinsman Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and to welcome the young wife he was bringing home. The newly married couple would be the guests of the abbot and spend the night at Vigg.\n\nErlend led his deathly pale and miserable young wife along the dock. The abbot bantered about the wretchedness of the sea voyage; Erlend laughed and said that his wife was no doubt longing to sleep in a bed that stood firmly next to a wall. And Kristin tried to smile, but she was thinking that she would not go willingly on board a ship again for as long as she lived. She felt ill if Erlend merely came close to her, so strongly did he smell of the ship and the sea\u2014his hair was completely stiff and tacky with salt water. He had been quite giddy with joy the entire time they were on board ship, and Sir Baard had laughed. Out there at M\u00f8re, where Erlend had grown up, the boys were constantly out in the boats, sailing and rowing. They had felt some sympathy for her, both Erlend and Sir Baard, but not as much as her misery warranted, thought Kristin. They kept saying that the seasickness would pass after she got used to being on board. But she had continued to feel wretched during the entire voyage.\n\nThe next morning she felt as if she were still sailing as she rode up through the outlying villages. Up one hill and down the next, carried over steep moraines of clay, and if she tried to fix her eyes up ahead on the mountain ridge, she felt as if the whole countryside was pitching, rising up like waves, and then tossed up against the pale blue-white of the winter morning sky.\n\nA large group of Erlend's friends and neighbors had arrived at Vigg that morning to accompany the married couple home, so they set off in a great procession. The horses' hooves rang hollowly, for the earth was now as hard as iron from black frost. Steam enveloped the people and the horses; rime covered the animals' bodies as well as everyone's hair and furs. Erlend looked as white-haired as the abbot, his face glowing from the morning drink and the biting wind. Today he was wearing his bridegroom's clothing; he looked so young and happy that he seemed radiant, and joy and wild abandon surged in his beautiful, supple voice as he rode, calling to his guests and laughing with them.\n\nKristin's heart began quivering so strangely, from sorrow and tenderness and fear. She was still feeling sick after the voyage; she had that terrible burning in her breast that now appeared whenever she ate or drank even the smallest amount. She was bitterly cold; and lodged deep in her soul was that tiny, dull, mute anger toward Erlend, who was so free of sorrow. And yet, now that she saw with what naive pride and sparkling elation he was escorting her home as his wife, a bitter remorse began trickling inside her, and her breast ached with pity for him. Now she wished she hadn't held to her own obstinate decision but had told Erlend when he visited them in the summer that it would not be fitting for their wedding to be celebrated with too much grandeur. And yet she had doubtless wished he might see for himself that they would not be able to escape their actions without humiliation.\n\nBut she had also been afraid of her father. And she had thought that after their wedding was celebrated, they would be going far away. She wouldn't see her village again for a long time\u2014not until all talk of her had long since died out.\n\nNow she realized that this would be much worse. Erlend had mentioned the great homecoming celebration that he would hold at Husaby, but she hadn't envisioned that it would be like a second wedding feast. And these guests\u2014they were the people she and Erlend would live among; it was their respect and friendship that they needed to win. These were the people who had witnessed Erlend's foolishness and misfortune all these years. Now he believed that he had redeemed himself in their opinion, that he could take his place among his peers by right of birth and fortune. But he would be ridiculed everywhere, here in the villages, when it became apparent that he had taken advantage of his own lawfully betrothed bride.\n\nThe abbot leaned over toward Kristin.\n\n\"You look so somber, Kristin Lavransdatter. Haven't you recovered from your seasickness yet? Or are you longing for your mother, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Father,\" said Kristin softly. \"I suppose I'm thinking of my mother.\"\n\nThey had reached Skaun. They were riding high up along the mountainside. Beneath them, on the valley floor, the leafless forest stood white and furry with frost; it glittered in the sunlight, and there were glints from a little blue lake down below. Then they emerged from the evergreen grove. Erlend pointed ahead.\n\n\"There you can see Husaby, Kristin. May God grant you many happy days there, my wife!\" he said warmly.\n\nSpread out before them were vast acres, white with rime. The estate stood on what looked like a wide ledge midway up the mountain slope. Closest to them was a small, light-colored stone church, and directly to the south stood all the buildings; they were both numerous and large. Smoke was swirling up from the smoke vents. The bells began to chime from the church and people came streaming out toward them from the courtyard, shouting and waving. The young men in the bridal procession clanged their weapons against each other\u2014and with much banging and clattering and joyous commotion the group raced toward the manor of the newly married man.\n\nThey stopped in front of the church. Erlend lifted his bride down from her horse and led her to the door, where an entire crowd of priests and clerics stood waiting to receive them. It was bitterly cold inside, and the daylight seeped in through the small arched windows in the nave, making the glow of the tapers in the choir pale.\n\nKristin felt abandoned and afraid when Erlend let go of her hand and went over to the men's side while she joined the group of unfamiliar women, dressed in their holiday finery. The service was very beautiful. But Kristin was freezing, and it seemed as if her prayers were blown back to her when she tried to ease her heart and lift it upwards. She thought it was probably not a good omen that it was Saint Simon's Day\u2014since he was the patron saint of the man whom she had treated so badly.\n\nFrom the church they walked in procession down toward the manor; first the priests and then Kristin and Erlend, hand in hand, followed by the guests, two by two. Kristin was so distracted that she didn't notice much of the estate. The courtyard was long and narrow; the buildings stood in two rows along the south and north sides. They were massive and set close together, but they seemed old and in disrepair.\n\nThe procession stopped at the door to the main house, and the priests blessed it with holy water. Then Erlend led Kristin inside, through a dark entryway. On her right a door was thrown open to brilliant light. She ducked through the doorway and stood next to Erlend in his hall.\n\nIt was the largest room she had ever seen on any man's estate. There was a hearthplace in the middle of the floor, and it was so long that fires were burning at both ends. And the room was so wide that the crossbeams were supported by carved pillars. It seemed to Kristin more like the interior of a church or a king's great hall than the hall of a manor. At the east end of the house, where the high seat stood in the middle of the bench along the wall, enclosed beds had been built into the walls between the pillars.\n\nAnd so many candles were now burning in the room\u2014on the tables, which groaned with precious vessels and platters, and in brackets attached to the walls. As was the custom in the old days, weapons and shields hung between the draped tapestries. The wall behind the high seat was covered with velvet, and that was where a man now hung Erlend's gold-chased sword and his white shield with the leaping red lion.\n\nServing men and women had taken the guests' outer garments from them. Erlend took his wife by the hand and led her forward to the hearthplace; the guests formed a semicircle behind them. A heavyset woman with a gentle face stepped forward and shook out Kristin's wimple, which had wrinkled a bit under her cloak. As the woman stepped back to her place, she bowed to the young couple and smiled. Erlend bowed and smiled in return and then looked down at his wife. At that moment his face was so handsome. And once again Kristin's heart seemed to sink\u2014she felt such pity for him. She knew what he was now thinking; he saw her standing there in his hall with the long, snow-white wimple of a married woman spread out over her scarlet wedding gown. That morning she had been forced to wind a long woven belt tightly around her stomach and waist under her clothing before she could get the gown to fit properly. And she had rubbed her cheeks with a red salve that Fru Aashild had given her. While she was doing this, she had thought with indignation and sadness that Erlend didn't seem to look at her much, now that he had won her\u2014since he hadn't yet noticed her condition. Now she bitterly regretted that she hadn't told him before.\n\nAs the couple stood there, hand in hand, the priests walked around the room, blessing the house and the hearth, the bed and the table.\n\nThen a servant woman brought the keys of the house over to Erlend. He hung the heavy key ring on Kristin's belt\u2014and as he did this he looked as if he wanted to kiss her at the same time. A man brought a large drinking horn, ringed in gold, and Erlend put it to his lips and drank to her.\n\n\"Health and happiness on your estate, my wife!\"\n\nAnd the guests shouted and laughed as she drank with her husband and then threw the rest of the wine into the hearth fire.\n\nThen the musicians began to play as Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n led his lawful wife to the high seat and the banquet guests sat down at the table.\n\nOn the third day the guests began to leave, and by the fifth day, just before midafternoon prayers, the last ones had departed. Then Kristin was alone with her husband at Husaby.\n\nThe first thing she did was to ask the servants to remove all the bedclothes from the bed, to wash them and the surrounding walls with lye, and to carry out the straw and burn it. Then she had the bed filled with fresh straw and on top she spread the bedclothes that she had brought with her to the estate. It was late at night before the work was done. But Kristin said that this should be done with all the beds on the farm, and all the furs were to be steamed in the bathhouse. The maids would have to start first thing in the morning and do as much as they could before the sabbath. Erlend shook his head and laughed\u2014what a wife she was! But he was quite ashamed.\n\nKristin had not slept much on the first night, even though the priests had blessed her bed. On top were spread silk-covered pillows, a linen sheet, and the finest blankets and furs, but underneath lay filthy, rotting straw; there were lice in the bedclothes and in the magnificent black bear pelt that lay on top.\n\nMany things she had noticed during those days. Behind the costly tapestries which covered the walls, the soot and the dirt had not been washed from the timbers. There was an abundance of food for the feast, but much of it was spoiled or ill-prepared. And they had lit the fires with raw, wet wood that offered hardly any heat and filled the room with smoke.\n\nPoor management she had seen everywhere when, on the second day, she walked around with Erlend to look at the estate. There would be empty stalls and storerooms after the celebration was over; the flour bins were almost swept clean. And she couldn't understand how Erlend planned to feed all the horses and so much livestock with what was left of the straw and hay; there was not even enough fodder for the sheep.\n\nBut there was a loft half-filled with flax, and nothing had been done with it\u2014it seemed to be a large part of several years' harvest. And a storeroom full of ancient, unwashed, and stinking wool, some in sacks and some lying loose all around. When Kristin put her hand into the wool, tiny brown worm eggs spilled out of it\u2014moths and maggots had gotten into the wool.\n\nThe cattle were feeble, gaunt, scabrous, and chafed; never had she seen so many old animals in one place. Only the horses were beautiful and well cared for. But none of them was a match for Guldsvein or Ringdrott, the stallion that her father now owned. Sl\u00f8ngvanbauge, the horse that he had given her from home, was the most splendid horse in Husaby's stables. She couldn't resist putting her arm around his neck and pressing her face against his coat when she went over to him. And the gentry of Tr\u00f8ndelag looked at the horse and praised his strong, stout legs, his deep chest and high neck, his small head and broad flanks. The old man from Gimsar swore by both God and the Fiend that it was a great sin that they had gelded the horse\u2014what a battle horse he might have been. Then Kristin had to boast a little about his sire, Ringdrott. He was much bigger and stronger; there wasn't another stallion that could compete with him; her father had even tested him against the most celebrated horses all the way north to this parish. Lavrans had given these horses the unusual names\u2014Ringdrott and Sl\u00f8ngvanbauge\u2014because they were golden in color and had markings that were like reddish-gold rings. The mother of Ringdrott had strayed from the other mares one summer up near the Boar Range, and they thought that a bear had taken her, but then she came back to the farm late in the fall. And the foal she bore the following year had surely not been bred by a stallion belonging to anyone aboveground. So they burned sulfur and bread over the foal, and Lavrans gave the mare to the church, to be even safer. But the foal had grown so magnificent that he now said he would rather lose half his estate than Ringdrott.\n\nErlend laughed and said, \"You don't talk much, Kristin, but when you talk about your father, you're quite eloquent!\"\n\nKristin abruptly fell silent. She remembered her father's face when she was about to ride off with Erlend and he lifted her onto her horse. Lavrans had put on a happy expression because there were so many people around them, but Kristin saw his eyes. He stroked her arm and took her hand to say farewell. At that time her main thought had been that she was glad to be leaving. Now she thought that for as long as she lived, she would feel a sting in her soul whenever she remembered her father's eyes on that day.\n\nThen Kristin Lavransdatter set about organizing and managing her household. She was up before dawn each morning, even though Erlend protested and pretended that he would keep her in bed by force; no one expected a newly married woman to be running from one building to another long before the light of day.\n\nWhen she saw into what a sorry state everything had fallen and how much she would have to tend to, then the thought shot through her mind, hard and clear: if she had committed a sin to come to this place, so be it\u2014but it was also a sin to make use of God's gifts as was done here. Shame was deserved by those who had been in charge before, along with all of those who had allowed Erlend's manor to decline so badly. There had not been a proper foreman at Husaby for the past two years; Erlend himself had been away from home much of the time, and besides, he had little knowledge of how to run the estate. So it was only to be expected that his envoys farther out in the countryside cheated him, as Kristin suspected they did, or that the servants at Husaby worked only as much as they pleased and whenever and in whatever manner it suited each of them. It would not be easy now for her to restore order to things.\n\nOne day she talked about this with Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, Erlend's personal servant. They should be done with the threshing, at least of the grain on their own land\u2014and there wasn't much of it\u2014before it was time for the slaughtering.\n\nUlf said, \"You know, Kristin, that I'm not a farmer. We were to be Erlend's weapons bearers, Haftor and I\u2014and I am no longer practiced in farming ways.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said the mistress. \"But as things stand, Ulf, it won't be easy for me to manage this winter, newly arrived as I am in this northern region and unfamiliar with our people. It would be kind of you to help me and advise me.\"\n\n\"I can see, Kristin, that you won't have an easy time this winter,\" said the man. He looked at her with a little smile\u2014that odd smile he always wore whenever he spoke to her or to Erlend. It was impudent and mocking, and yet there was in his bearing both kindness and a certain esteem for her. And she didn't feel that she had the right to be offended when Ulf assumed a more familiar attitude toward her than might otherwise be fitting. She and Erlend had allowed this man to be a witness to their improper and sinful behavior; now she saw that he also knew in what condition she found herself. That was something she would have to bear. She saw that Erlend too tolerated whatever Ulf said or did, and the man did not show much respect for his master. But they had been friends in their childhood; Ulf was from M\u00f8re, the son of a smallholder who lived near Baard Peters\u00f8n's estate. He used the familiar form of address when he spoke to Erlend, as he now did with her\u2014but that was more the custom among people up north than back home in her village.\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n was quite a striking man, tall and dark, with handsome eyes, but his speech was ugly and coarse. Kristin had heard terrible things about him from the maids on the farm. When he went into town he would drink ferociously, reveling and carousing in the houses that stood along the alleyways; but when he was home at Husaby, he was the most steadfast of men, the most capable, the hardest worker, and the wisest. Kristin had taken a liking to him.\n\n\"It would not be easy for any woman to come to this estate, after all that has gone on here,\" he said. \"And yet, I believe, Mistress Kristin, that you will fare better here than most women might. You're not the kind to sit down and whimper and complain; instead, you think of protecting the inheritance here for your descendants, when no one else gives any thought to that. And you know full well that you can count on me; I'll help you as much as I can. You must remember that I'm unaccustomed to farming ways. But if you will seek my counsel and allow me to advise you, then we should be able to make it through this winter, after a fashion.\"\n\nKristin thanked Ulf and went inside the house.\n\nHer heart was heavy with fear and anguish, but she struggled to free herself. Part of her worry was that she didn't understand Erlend\u2014he still didn't seem to notice anything. But the other part, and this was worse, was that she couldn't feel any life in the child she was carrying. She knew that at twenty weeks it should begin to move; now it was more than three weeks past that time. At night she would lie in bed and feel this burden which was growing and becoming heavier but which continued to be as dull and lifeless as ever. And hovering in her thoughts was all that she had heard about children who were born lame, with hardened sinews; about creatures that came to light without limbs, that had almost no human form. Before her closed eyes passed images of tiny infants, hideously deformed; one horrific sight melted into another that was even worse. In the south of Gudbrandsdal, at Lidstad, they had a child\u2014well, it must be full grown by now. Her father had seen it, but he would never speak of it; she noticed that he grew distressed if anyone even mentioned it. She wondered how it looked... Oh, no. Holy Olav, pray for me! She must believe firmly in the beneficence of the Holy King. She had given her child into his care, after all. With patience she would suffer for her sins and place her faith, with all her soul, in help and mercy for the child. It must be the Fiend himself who was tempting her with these loathsome sights in order to lure her into despair. But it was worse at night. If a child had no limbs, if it was lame, then the mother would doubtless feel no sign of life. Half-asleep, Erlend noticed that his wife was uneasy. He folded her tighter into his arms and buried his face in the hollow of her neck.\n\nBut in the daytime Kristin acted as if nothing was wrong. And each morning she would dress carefully, to hide from the house servants a little while longer that she was not walking alone.\n\nIt was the custom at Husaby that after the evening meal the servants would retire to the buildings where they slept. Then she and Erlend would sit alone in the hall. In general the customs here on the manor were more as they had been in the old days, back when people had thralls to do the housework. There was no permanent table in the hall, but each morning and evening a large plank was placed on trestles and then set with dishes, and after the meal it was hung back up on the wall. For the other meals everyone took their food over to the benches and sat there to eat. Kristin knew that this had been the custom in the past. But nowadays, when it was hard to find men to serve at the table and everyone had to be content with maids to do the work indoors, it was no longer practical\u2014the women didn't want to waste their strength by lifting the heavy tables. Kristin remembered her mother telling her that at Sundbu they had a permanent table when she was eight winters old, and the women thought this a great advantage in every way. Then they no longer had to go out to the women's house with their sewing but could sit in the main room and cut and clip, and it looked so fine to have candlesticks and a few lovely vessels always standing there. Kristin thought that in the summer she would ask Erlend to put a table along the north wall.\n\nThat's where it stood at home, and her father had his high seat at the head of the table. But at J\u00f8rundgaard the beds stood along the wall to the entryway. At home her mother sat at the end of the outer bench so that she could go back and forth and keep an eye on the food being served. Only when there were guests did Ragnfrid sit at her husband's side. But here the high seat was in the middle beneath the east gable, and Erlend always wanted Kristin to sit with him. At home her father always offered God's servants a place in the high seat if they were guests at J\u00f8rundgaard, and he and Ragnfrid would serve them while they ate and drank. But Erlend refused to do so unless they were of high rank. He had little love for priests or monks\u2014they were costly friends, he said. Kristin thought about what her father and Sira Eirik always said when people complained about the avarice of clerics: every man forgets the sinful pleasure he has enjoyed when he has to pay for it.\n\nShe asked Erlend about life at Husaby in the old days. But he knew very little. Such and such he had heard, if he remembered rightly\u2014but he couldn't recall exactly. King Skule had owned the manor and built it up, presumably intending to make Husaby his home when he donated Rein manor to the convent. Erlend was exceedingly proud that he was descended from the duke, as he always called the king, and from Bishop Nikulaus. The bishop was the father of his grandfather, Munan Biskopss\u00f8n. But Kristin thought that he knew less about these men than she did from her own father's stories. At home things were different. Neither her father nor her mother boasted of the power or prestige of their deceased ancestors. But they often spoke of them, holding out the good they knew about them as an example and telling of their faults and the evil that had resulted as a warning. And they knew amusing little tales\u2014about Ivar Gjesling the Elder and his enmity with King Sverre, about Dean Ivar's sharp and witty replies, about Haavard Gjesling's tremendous girth, and about Ivar Gjesling the Younger's wondrous luck in hunting. Lavrans told of his grandfather's brother who abducted the Folkung maiden from Vreta cloister; about his grandfather, the Swedish knight Ketil; and about his grandmother, Ramborg Sunesdatter, who always longed for her home in V\u00e4sterg\u00f6taland and who one day drove her sleigh through the ice of Lake V\u00e4nern when she was visiting her brother at Solberga. He told of his father's skill with weapons and of his inexpressible sorrow at the death of his young first wife, Kristin Sigurdsdatter, who died in childbed, giving birth to Lavrans. And he read from a book about his ancestor, the Holy Fru Elin of Sk\u00f8vde, who was blessed to become God's martyr. Lavrans had often said that he and Kristin should make a pilgrimage to the grave of the holy widow. But nothing had ever come of it.\n\nIn her fear and need, Kristin tried to pray to this holy woman to whom she was bound by blood. She prayed to Saint Elin for her child and kissed the cross that her father had given her; inside was a scrap of the holy saint's shroud. But Kristin was afraid of Saint Elin, now that she had shamed her lineage so terribly. When she prayed to Saint Olav and Saint Thomas for their intercession, she often felt that her laments reached living ears and sympathetic hearts. Her father loved these two martyrs of righteousness above all the other saints, even more than Saint Lavrans himself, whose name he bore, and whose feast day in late summer he always honored with a great banquet and rich alms. Kristin's father had seen Saint Thomas in his dreams one night when he lay wounded outside of Baagahus. No one could describe how loving and venerable he was in appearance, and Lavrans himself had not been able to utter anything but \"Lord, Lord!\" But the radiant bishop had tenderly touched the man's wound and promised him life and vigor so that he would once again see his wife and daughter, as he had prayed for. And yet at that time not a soul had believed that Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n would live through the night.\n\nWell, Erlend had said. One heard so many things. Nothing like that had ever happened to him, and it wasn't likely to, either. He had never been a pious man like Lavrans.\n\nThen Kristin asked about the people who had attended their homecoming feast. Erlend had little to say about them either. It occurred to Kristin that her husband did not resemble the people here in the countryside. Many of them were handsome; blond and ruddy-hued, with round, hard heads; strong and stocky in build. Many of the old men were immensely fat. Erlend looked like a strange bird among his guests. He was a head taller than most of the men, thin and lean, with slender limbs and fine joints. And he had black, silken hair and a tan complexion, but pale blue eyes beneath coal black brows and shadowy black lashes. His forehead was high and narrow, his temples hollowed; his nose was a little too big and his mouth a little too small and weak for a man. And yet he was handsome; Kristin had never seen a man who was half as handsome as Erlend. Even his soft, quiet voice was unlike the husky voices of the others.\n\nErlend laughed and said that his lineage was not from around here, except for his paternal great-grandmother, Ragnrid Skulesdatter. People said that he was much like his mother's father, Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n of Skogheim. Kristin asked him what he knew of this man. But he knew almost nothing.\n\nOne evening Erlend and Kristin were undressing. Erlend couldn't unfasten the strap on his shoe, so he cut it off, and the knife sliced into his hand. He bled heavily and cursed fiercely. Kristin took a cloth out of her linen chest. She was wearing only her shift. Erlend put his other arm around her waist as she bandaged his hand.\n\nSuddenly he looked down into her face with horror and confusion\u2014and flushed bright red himself. Kristin bowed her head.\n\nErlend withdrew his arm. He said nothing, and so Kristin walked quietly away and climbed into bed. Her heart thudded hollowly and hard against her ribs. Now and then she cast a glance at her husband. He had turned his back to her, slowly taking off one garment after the other. Then he came over and lay down.\n\nKristin waited for him to speak. She waited so long that her heart seemed to stop beating and just stood still, quivering in her breast.\n\nBut Erlend didn't say a word. And he didn't take her into his arms.\n\nAt last he hesitantly placed his hand on her breast and pressed his chin against her shoulder so that the stubble of his beard prickled her skin. When he still said nothing, Kristin turned over to face the wall.\n\nShe felt as if she were sinking and sinking. He had not one word to offer her\u2014now that he knew she had been carrying his child these long, difficult days. Kristin clenched her teeth in the dark. She would not beg him. If he remained silent, then she would be silent too, even if it lasted until the day she gave birth. Resentment surged up inside her. But she lay absolutely still next to the wall. Erlend too lay still in the dark. Hour after hour they lay there this way, and each one knew that the other was not asleep. Finally Kristin heard by his regular breathing that Erlend had dozed off. Then she allowed her tears to fall as they would, from sorrow and hurt and shame. This, she felt, she would never be able to forgive him.\n\nFor three days Erlend and Kristin went about in this manner\u2014he seemed like a wet dog, thought the young wife. She was burning and stony with anger, becoming wild with bitterness whenever she felt him give her a searching look but then swiftly shift his glance if she turned her eyes toward his.\n\nOn the morning of the fourth day Kristin was sitting in the main house when Erlend appeared in the doorway, dressed for riding. He said that he was going west to Medalby and asked whether she wanted to accompany him to visit the manor; it was part of her wedding-morning gift. Kristin assented, and Erlend himself helped her to put on the fur-lined boots and the black cloak with sleeves and silver clasps.\n\nOut in the courtyard stood four saddled horses, but Erlend told Haftor and Egil to stay home and help with the threshing. Then he helped his wife into the saddle. Kristin realized that Erlend was now planning to speak about the matter which lay unspoken between them. Yet he said nothing as they slowly rode off, southward, toward the forest.\n\nIt was now nearly the end of the slaughtering month, but still no snow had fallen in the parish. The day was fresh and beautiful; the sun had just come up, and it glittered and sparkled on the white frost everywhere, on the fields and on the trees. They rode across Husaby's land. Kristin saw that there were few cultivated acres or stubble fields, but mostly fallow land and old meadows, tufted with grass, moss-covered, and overgrown with alder saplings. She mentioned this.\n\nHer husband replied merrily, \"Don't you know, Kristin\u2014you who know so well how to tend and manage farms\u2014that it does no good to grow grain this close to a trading port? You gain more by trading butter and wool for grain and flour from the foreign merchants.\"\n\n\"Then you should have traded the goods that are lying in your lofts and have rotted long ago,\" said Kristin. \"I also know that the law says that every man who leases land must sow grain on three parts but let the fourth part lie fallow. And surely the estate of the master should not be worse tended than the farms of his leaseholders\u2014that's what my father always said.\"\n\nErlend laughed a bit and said, \"I have never asked about the law in that regard. As long as I receive what is my due, my tenants can run their farms as they see fit, and I will run Husaby in the manner that seems to me best and most suitable.\"\n\n\"Do you think yourself wiser then,\" said Kristin, \"than our deceased ancestors and Saint Olav and King Magnus, who established these laws?\"\n\nErlend laughed again and said, \"I hadn't given any thought to that. What a devilish good grasp you have of our country's laws and regulations, Kristin.\"\n\n\"I have some understanding of these matters,\" said Kristin, \"because Father often asked Sigurd of Loptsgaard to recite laws for us when he came to visit and we sat at home in the evening. Father thought it was beneficial for the servants and the young people to have some knowledge of such things, and so Sigurd would recount one passage or another.\"\n\n\"Sigurd...\" said Erlend. \"Oh, yes, now I remember. I saw him at our wedding. He was the toothless old man with the long drooping nose who slobbered and wept and patted you on the breast. He was still dead drunk in the morning when everyone came up to us and watched as I put the linen wimple of a married woman on your head.\"\n\n\"He has known me for as long as I can remember,\" said Kristin crossly. \"He used to take me on his lap and play with me when I was a little maiden.\"\n\nErlend laughed again. \"That was an odd kind of amusement\u2014that you had to sit and listen to the old man chanting the law, passage by passage. Lavrans is unlike any other man in every way. Usually it is said that if the tenant knew the full law of the land and the stallion knew his strength, then the Devil would be a knight....\"\n\nKristin gave a shout and struck her horse on the flank. Erlend threw his wife an angry and astonished look as she rode away from him.\n\nSuddenly he spurred his horse. Jesus, the ford in the river\u2014it was impossible to cross there now, the earth had slid away recently. Sl\u00f8ngvanbauge took longer strides when he noticed another horse chasing him. Erlend was deathly afraid\u2014how she was racing down the steep slopes. He bounded past her through the copse-wood and doubled back on the road where it flattened out for a short stretch to make her stop. When he came up alongside her, he saw that Kristin herself had grown a little scared.\n\nErlend leaned over toward his wife and struck her a ringing blow beneath the ear; Sl\u00f8ngvanbauge leaped sideways, startled, and reared up.\n\n\"Well, you deserved that,\" said Erlend, his voice shaking, after the horses had calmed down and they once again rode side by side. \"The way you rushed off like that, senseless with fury... You frightened me.\"\n\nKristin held her hand to her head so that he couldn't see her face. Erlend wished that he hadn't hit her. But he repeated, \"Yes, you scared me, Kristin\u2014to dash off like that! And to do so now... ,\" he said softly.\n\nKristin didn't reply, nor did she look at him. But Erlend felt that she was less angry than before, when he had mocked her home. He was greatly surprised by this, but he saw that it was so.\n\nThey arrived at Medalby, and Erlend's leaseholder came out and wanted to show them into the main house. But Erlend thought they first ought to inspect the buildings, and Kristin should come along. \"She owns the farm now, and she has a better understanding of such things than I do, Stein,\" he said with a laugh. Several farmers were there too, who were to act as witnesses, and some of them were also Erlend's tenants.\n\nStein had come to the farm on the last turnover day and since then he had been begging the master to come up and see the condition that the buildings were in when he took over, or to send an envoy in his stead. The farmers testified that not one building had been without leaks, and those that were now in a state of collapse had been that way when Stein arrived. Kristin saw that it was a good farm, but it had been poorly maintained. She saw that this Stein was a capable man, and Erlend was also very amenable and promised him some reductions in his land rent until he was able to repair the buildings.\n\nThen they went into the main house where the table was set with good food and strong ale. The leaseholder's wife asked Kristin's forgiveness for not coming out to greet her. But her husband would not allow her to step out under open sky until she had been to church after giving birth. Kristin greeted the woman kindly, and then she had to go over to the cradle to see the child. It was the couple's first, and it was a son, twelve nights old, big and strong.\n\nThen Erlend and Kristin were led to the high seat, and everyone sat down and ate and drank for a good long time. Kristin was the one who talked most during the meal; Erlend didn't say much, nor did the farmers, and yet Kristin noticed that they seemed to like her.\n\nThen the child woke up, at first whimpering but then shrieking so terribly that the mother had to put him to her breast to calm his cries. Kristin glanced over at the two of them several times, and when the boy had had enough, she took him from the woman and held him in her arms.\n\n\"Look, husband,\" she said, \"don't you think he's a handsome and fine young fellow?\"\n\n\"That he is,\" said Erlend, not looking in her direction.\n\nKristin sat and held the child for a while before she gave him back to his mother.\n\n\"I will send a gift over here to your son, Arndis,\" she said. \"For he's the first child I've held in my arms since I came up here to the north.\"\n\nFlushed and defiant, with a little smile Kristin cast a glance at her husband and then at the farmers sitting along the bench. A few of them showed a slight twitch at the corner of the mouth, but then they stared straight ahead, their faces stiff and solemn. After a moment a very old man stood up; he had been drinking heavily. Now he lifted the ladle out of the ale bowl, placed it on the table, and raised the large vessel.\n\n\"So let us drink to that, mistress; that the next child you hold in your arms will be the new master of Husaby!\"\n\nKristin stood up and accepted the heavy bowl. First she offered it to her husband. Erlend barely touched it with his lips, but Kristin took a long, deep drink.\n\n\"Thank you for that greeting, Jon of Skog,\" she said with a cheery nod, her eyes twinkling. Then she sent the bowl around.\n\nKristin could see that Erlend was red-faced and quite angry. She herself merely felt such a foolish urge to laugh and be merry. A short time later Erlend wanted to leave, and so they set off on their way home.\n\nThey had been riding for a while without speaking when Erlend suddenly burst out, \"Do you think it's necessary to let even our tenants know that you were carrying a child when you were wed? You can wager your soul with the Devil that talk about the two of us will soon be flying through all the villages along the fjord.\"\n\nKristin didn't reply at first. She stared into the distance over her horse's head, and she was now so white in the face that Erlend grew frightened.\n\n\"I will never forget for as long as I live,\" she said at last, without looking at him, \"that those were the first words you greeted him with, this son of yours that I carry under my belt.\"\n\n\"Kristin!\" said Erlend, his voice pleading. \"My Kristin,\" he implored when she said nothing and refused to look at him. \"Kristin!\"\n\n\"Sir?\" she replied coldly and courteously, without turning her head.\n\nErlend cursed so that sparks flew; he spurred his horse and raced ahead along the road. But a few minutes later he came riding back toward her.\n\n\"This time I was almost so furious,\" he said, \"that I was going to ride away from you.\"\n\nKristin said calmly, \"Then you might have had to wait a good long time before I followed you to Husaby.\"\n\n\"The things you say!\" said her husband, resigned.\n\nOnce again they rode for some time without talking. In a while they reached a place where a small path led up over a ridge. Erlend said to his wife, \"I was thinking that we could ride home this way, over the heights\u2014it will take a little longer, but I've wanted to travel up this way with you for some time.\"\n\nKristin nodded indifferently.\n\nAfter a while Erlend said that now it would be better for them to walk. He tied their horses to a tree.\n\n\"Gunnulf and I had a fortress up here on the ridge,\" he said. \"I'd like to see whether there's anything left of our castle.\"\n\nHe took Kristin's hand. She didn't resist, but walked with her eyes downcast, looking at where she set her feet. It wasn't long before they were up on the heights. Beyond the bare, frost-covered forest, in the crook of the little river, Husaby lay on the mountain slope directly across from them, looming big and grand with the stone church and all its massive buildings, surrounded by the broad acres, and the dark forested ridge behind.\n\n\"Mother used to come up here with us,\" said Erlend softly. \"Often. But she would always sit and stare off to the south, toward the Dovre Range. I suppose she was always yearning, night and day, to be far away from Husaby. Or she would turn toward the north and gaze out at the gap in the slopes\u2014there where you can see blue in the distance; those are the mountains on the other side of the fjord. Not once did she look at the farm.\"\n\nErlend's voice was tender and beseeching. But Kristin neither spoke nor looked at him. Then he went over and kicked at the frozen heath.\n\n\"No, there's probably nothing left here of Gunnulf's and my fortress. And it was a long time ago, after all, that we played up here, Gunnulf and I.\"\n\nHe received no answer. Right below where they stood was a small frozen pond. Erlend picked up a stone and threw it. The hollow was frozen solid so that only a tiny white star appeared on the black mirror. Erlend picked up another stone and threw it harder\u2014then another and another. Now he was throwing them in utter fury, and in the end he would have splintered the ice with a vengeance. But then he caught sight of his wife's face\u2014she stood there, her eyes dark with contempt, smiling scornfully at his childishness.\n\nErlend spun around, but all at once Kristin grew deathly pale and her eyes fell shut. She stood there with her hands stretched out and groping, swaying as if she were about to faint\u2014then she grabbed hold of a tree trunk.\n\n\"Kristin\u2014what is it?\" Erlend asked in fear.\n\nShe didn't answer but stood as if she were listening to something. Her gaze was remote and strange.\n\nNow she felt it again. Deep within her womb it felt as if a fish was flicking its tail. And again the whole world seemed to reel around her, and she felt dizzy and weak, but not as much as the first time.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Erlend.\n\nShe had waited so long for this\u2014she hardly dared to acknowledge the great fear in her soul. She could not speak of it\u2014not now, when they had been fighting all day long. Then he said it.\n\n\"Was it the child moving inside you?\" he asked gently, touching her shoulder.\n\nThen she cast off all her anger toward him, pressed herself against the father of her child, and hid her face on his chest.\n\nSome time later they walked back down to the place where their horses were tied. The short day was almost over; behind them in the southwest the sun was sinking behind the treetops, red and dull in the frosty haze.\n\nErlend carefully tested the buckles and straps of the saddle before he lifted his wife up onto her horse. Then he went over and untied his own. He reached under his belt for the gloves he had put there, but he found only one. He looked around on the ground.\n\nThen Kristin couldn't resist and said, \"It will do you no good to look for your glove here, Erlend.\"\n\n\"You might have said something to me if you saw me lose it\u2014no matter how angry you were with me,\" he replied. They were the gloves that Kristin had sewn for him and given to him as one of his betrothal presents.\n\n\"It fell out of your belt when you hit me,\" said Kristin very quietly, her eyes downcast.\n\nErlend stood next to his horse with his hand on the saddlebow. He looked embarrassed and unhappy. But then he burst out laughing.\n\n\"Never would I have believed, Kristin\u2014during all the time I was courting you, rushing around and begging my kinsmen to speak on my behalf and making myself so meek and pitiful in order to win you\u2014that you could be such a witch!\"\n\nThen Kristin laughed too.\n\n\"No, then you probably would have given up long ago\u2014and it certainly would have been in your own best interest.\"\n\nErlend took a few steps toward her and placed his hand on her knee.\n\n\"Jesus help me, Kristin\u2014have you ever heard it said of me that I did anything that was in my own best interest?\"\n\nHe pressed his face down in her lap and then looked up with sparkling eyes into his wife's face. Flushed and happy, Kristin bowed her head, trying to hide her smile and her eyes from Erlend.\n\nHe grabbed hold of her horse's harness and let his own horse follow behind; and in this manner he escorted her until they reached the bottom of the ridge. Every time they looked at each other he would laugh and she would turn her face away to hide that she was laughing too.\n\n\"So,\" he said merrily as they came out onto the road again, \"now we'll ride home to Husaby, my Kristin, and be as happy as two thieves!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "On Christmas eve the rain poured down and the wind blew hard. It was impossible to use sleighs, and so Kristin had to stay home when Erlend and the servants rode off for the evening mass at Birgsi Church.\n\nShe stood in the doorway of the main house and watched them go. The pine torches they carried shone red against the dark old buildings, reflected in the icy surface of the courtyard. The wind seized the flames and flattened them out sideways. Kristin stood there as long she could hear the faint sound of their passage in the night.\n\nInside the hall there were candles burning on the table. The remains of the evening meal were scattered about\u2014lumps of porridge in dishes, half-eaten pieces of bread, and fishbones floating in puddles of spilt ale. The serving maids who were to stay at home had all fallen asleep on the straw spread out on the floor. Kristin was alone with them at the manor, along with an old man named Aan. He had served at Husaby since the time of Erlend's grandfather; now he lived in a little hut down by the lake but he liked to come up to the farm in the daytime to putter around, in the belief that he was working very hard. Aan had fallen asleep at the table that evening, and Erlend and Ulf had laughingly carried him over to a corner and spread a blanket over him.\n\nBack home at J\u00f8rundgaard the floor would now be thickly strewn with rushes, for the entire household would sleep together in the main house during the holiday nights. Before they left for church they used to clear away the remains of the meal eaten after their fast, and Kristin's mother and the maids would set the table as beautifully as they could with butter and cheeses, heaps of thin, light bread, chunks of glistening bacon, and the thickest joints of cured mutton. The silver pitchers and horns of mead stood there gleaming. And her father himself would place the ale cask on the bench.\n\nKristin turned her chair around to face the hearth\u2014she didn't want to look at the loathsome table. One of the maids was snoring so loudly that it was awful to hear.\n\nThat was also one of the things that she didn't care for about Erlend. At home on his estate he ate in a manner that was so repugnant and slovenly, pawing through the dishes for good bits of food, hardly bothering to wash his hands before he came to the table. And he let the dogs jump up onto his lap and gulp down food along with him while everyone ate. So it was only to be expected that the servants had no table manners. Back home she had been constrained to eat delicately and slowly. It would not be proper, said her mother, for the master's family to wait while the servants ate, and those who had toiled and labored should have time to eat their fill.\n\n\"Here, Gunna,\" Kristin called softly to the big yellow bitch that lay with a whole cluster of pups against the draft stone by the hearth. She was such an ill-tempered animal, and that's why Erlend had named her after the old mistress of Raasvold.\n\n\"You poor wretch,\" whispered Kristin, petting the dog who had come over and put her head on Kristin's knee. Her backbone was as sharp as a scythe, and her teats almost swept the floor. The pups were literally eating their mother up. \"Oh, yes, my poor wretch.\"\n\nKristin leaned her head against the back of the chair and looked up at the soot-covered rafters. She was tired.\n\nNo, she had not had an easy time of it these past few months that she had spent at Husaby. She had talked with Erlend a little on the evening of the day they had gone to Medalby. Then she realized that he thought she was angry with him because he had brought this upon her.\n\n\"I do remember,\" he said in a low voice, \"that day in the spring when we went walking in the woods north of the church. I do remember that you asked me to leave you alone....\"\n\nKristin was pleased that he had told her this. Otherwise she often wondered about all the things that Erlend seemed to have forgotten.\n\nBut then he said, \"And yet I would not have believed it of you, Kristin, that you could walk around bearing such a secret rancor toward me, and still act so gentle and happy. For you must have known long ago how things stood with you. And I believed that you were as bright and honest as the rays of the sun.\"\n\n\"Oh, Erlend,\" she said sadly. \"You of all people in the world should know best that I have followed forbidden paths and acted falsely toward those who have trusted me most.\" But she wanted so much for him to understand. \"I don't know whether you recall, my dear, but in the past you have behaved toward me in a manner that some might not call proper. And God and the Virgin Mary know that I didn't bear you any grudge, nor did I love you any less.\"\n\nErlend's face grew tender.\n\n\"So I thought,\" he said quietly. \"But you know too that I have striven all these years to rectify the harm I have done. I consoled myself that in the end I would be able to reward you, for you were so faithful and patient.\"\n\nThen she said to him, \"No doubt you have heard about my grandfather's brother and the maiden Bengta, who fled from Sweden against the wishes of her kinsmen. God punished them by refusing to give the couple a child. Haven't you ever feared, during all these years, that He might punish us in that way too?\"\n\nShe added, her voice quavering and soft, \"You can understand, my Erlend, that I was not very happy this summer when I first became aware of it. And yet I thought... I thought that if you should die before we were married, I would rather be left behind with your child than alone. I thought that if I should die in childbirth... it was still better than if you had no lawful son who could take your high seat after you, when you must leave this earth.\"\n\nErlend replied vehemently, \"Then I would think my son was too dearly bought if he should cost you your life. Don't talk like that, Kristin.\" A little later he said, \"Husaby is not so dear to me. Especially since I realized that Orm can never inherit my ancestral property after me.\"\n\n\"Do you care more for her son than for mine?\" Kristin then asked.\n\n\"Your son... ,\" Erlend gave a laugh. \"Of him I know nothing more than that he will arrive half a year or so before he should. Orm I have loved for twelve years.\"\n\nSome time later Kristin asked, \"Do you ever long for these children of yours?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said her husband. \"In the past I often went over to see them in \u00d8sterdal, where they are living.\"\n\n\"You could go there now, during Advent,\" said Kristin quietly.\n\n\"You wouldn't be averse to it?\" asked Erlend happily.\n\nKristin said that she would find it reasonable. Then he asked whether she would be against it if he brought the children back home for Christmas. \"You will have to see them sometime, after all.\" And again she had replied that this too seemed reasonable to her.\n\nWhile Erlend was away, Kristin worked hard to prepare for Christmas. It distressed her greatly to be living among these unfamiliar men and servant women now\u2014she had to take a firm grip on herself whenever she dressed or undressed in the presence of the two maids, whom Erlend had ordered to sleep with her in the hall. She had to remind herself that she would never have dared to sleep alone in the large house\u2014where another had slept with Erlend before her.\n\nThe serving women on the estate were no better than could be expected. Those farmers who kept close watch over their daughters did not send them to serve on an estate where the master had lived openly with a concubine and had placed such a woman in charge. The maids were lazy and not in the habit of obeying their mistress. But some of them soon came to like the fact that Kristin was putting the house in good order and personally lent a hand with their work. They grew talkative and joyful when she listened to them and answered them gently and cheerfully. And each day Kristin showed her house servants a kind and calm demeanor. She reprimanded no one, but if a maid refused her orders, then the mistress would act as if the girl did not understand what was asked of her and would quietly show her how the work was to be done. This was how Kristin had seen her father behave toward new servants who grumbled, and no man had tried twice to disobey Lavrans of J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nIn this manner they would have to make it through the winter. Later she would see about getting rid of those women she disliked or could not bring around."
            },
            {
                "title": "There was one type of work that Kristin didn't dare take up unless she was free from the eyes of these strangers. But in the morning, when she was alone in the hall, she would sew the clothing for her child\u2014swaddling clothes of soft homespun, ribbons of red and green fabric from town, and white linen for the christening garments. As she sat there with her sewing, her thoughts would tumble between fear and then faith in the holy friends of humankind, to whom she had prayed for intercession. It was true that the child lived and moved inside her so that she had no peace, night or day. But she had heard about children who were born with a pelt where they should have had a face, with their heads turned around backwards, or their toes where their heels should have been. And she pictured Svein, who was purple over half his face because his mother had inadvertently looked at a fire.",
                "text": "Then Kristin would cast aside her sewing and go over to kneel before the image of the Virgin Mary and say seven Ave Marias. Brother Edvin had said that the Mother of God felt an equal joy every time she heard the angel's greeting, even if it came from the lips of the most wretched sinner. And it was the words Dominus tecum that most cheered Mary's heart; that was why Kristin always said them three times.\n\nThis always helped her for a while. She knew of many people, both men and women, who paid scant honor to God or to His Mother and who kept the commandments poorly\u2014but she hadn't seen that they gave birth to misshapen children because of it. Often God was so merciful that He did not visit the sins of the parents upon their poor children, although every once in a while He had to show people a sign that He could not perpetually tolerate their evil. But surely it would not be her child...\n\nThen she called in her heart upon Saint Olav. He was the one she had heard so much about that it was as though she had known him while he lived in Norway and had seen him here on this earth. He was not tall, quite stout, but straight-backed and fair, with the gold crown and shining halo on his golden curls, and a curly red beard on his firm, weatherbeaten, and intrepid face. But his deep-set and blazing eyes looked straight through everyone; those who had strayed did not dare look into them. Kristin didn't dare either. She lowered her gaze before his eyes, but she was not afraid. It was more as if she were a child and had to lower her eyes before her father's glance when she had done something wrong. Saint Olav looked at her, sternly but not harshly\u2014she had promised to better her life, after all. She longed so fervently to go to Nidaros and kneel down before his shrine: Erlend had promised her this, when they came north\u2014that they would go there very soon. But the journey had been postponed. And now Kristin realized that he was reluctant to travel with her; he was ashamed and afraid of gossip.\n\nOne evening when she was sitting at the table with her servants, one of the maids, a young girl who helped in the house, said, \"I was wondering, Mistress, whether it wouldn't be better if we started sewing swaddling clothes and infant garments before we set up the loom that you're talking about....\"\n\nKristin pretended not to hear and kept on talking about wool dyeing.\n\nThen the girl continued, \"But perhaps you have brought such garments from home?\"\n\nKristin smiled faintly and then turned back to the others. When she glanced at the maid a little while later, she was sitting there bright red in the face and peering anxiously at her mistress. Kristin smiled again and spoke to Ulf across the table. Then the young girl began to weep. Kristin laughed a bit, and the maid cried harder and harder until she was sniffing and snuffling.\n\n\"Stop that now, Frida,\" Kristin finally said calmly. \"You hired on here as a grownup serving maid; you shouldn't behave as if you were a little child.\"\n\nThe maid whimpered. She hadn't meant to be impertinent, and Kristin mustn't be angry.\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin, smiling again. \"Eat your food now and stop crying. The rest of us have no more sense, either, than what God has granted us.\"\n\nFrida jumped up and ran out, sobbing loudly.\n\nLater, when Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n stood talking to Kristin about the work that had to be done the next day, he laughed and said, \"Erlend should have married you ten years ago, Kristin. Then his affairs would have been in a better state today, in every respect.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" she asked, smiling as before. \"Back then I was nine winters old. Do you think Erlend would have been capable of waiting for a child bride for years on end?\"\n\nUlf laughed and went out.\n\nBut at night Kristin would lie in bed and weep with loneliness and humiliation.\n\nThen Erlend came home during the week before Christmas, and Orm, his son, rode at his father's side. Kristin felt a stab in her heart when Erlend led the boy forward and told him to greet his stepmother.\n\nHe was the most handsome child. This was how she had thought he would look, the son that she carried. Sometimes, when she dared to be happy, to believe that her child would be born healthy and well-formed, and to think ahead about the boy who would grow up at her knee, then it was like this she pictured him\u2014just like his father.\n\nOrm was perhaps a little small for his age, and slight, but handsomely built, with fine limbs and a lovely face, his complexion and hair dark, but with big blue eyes and a soft red mouth. He greeted his stepmother courteously, but his expression was hard and cold. Kristin had not had the chance to talk with the boy further. But she sensed his eyes on her, wherever she walked or stood, and she felt as if her body and gait grew even more heavy and clumsy when she knew the boy was staring at her.\n\nShe didn't notice Erlend talking much with his son, but she realized that it was the boy who held back. Kristin told her husband that Orm was handsome and looked intelligent. Erlend had not brought his daughter along; he thought Margret was too young to make the long journey in the winter. She was even more lovely than her brother, he said proudly when Kristin asked about the little maiden\u2014and much more clever; she had her foster parents wrapped around her little finger. She had wavy golden hair and brown eyes.\n\nThen she must look much like her mother, thought Kristin. And she couldn't help the feeling of envy that burned inside her. She wondered whether Erlend loved his daughter the way her father had loved her. His voice had sounded so tender and warm when he spoke of Margret.\n\nKristin stood up and went over to the main door. It was so dark and heavy with rain outside that there seemed to be no moon or stars. But she thought it must soon be midnight. She picked up a lantern from the entryway, went inside, and lit it. Then she threw on her cloak and went out into the rain.\n\n\"In Christ's name,\" she whispered, crossing herself three times as she stepped out into the night.\n\nAt the upper end of the courtyard stood the priest's house. It was empty now. Ever since Erlend had been released from the ban of excommunication, there had not been a private cleric at Husaby; now and then one of the assistant priests from Orkedal would come over to say mass, but the new priest who had been assigned to the church was abroad with Master Gunnulf; they were apparently friends from school. They had been expected home this past summer, but now Erlend thought they wouldn't return until after spring. Gunnulf had had a lung ailment in his youth, so he would be unlikely to travel during the winter.\n\nKristin let herself into the cold, deserted house and found the key to the church. Then she paused for a moment. It was very slippery, pitch dark, windy, and rainy. It was reckless of her to go out at night, and especially on Christmas Eve, when all the evil spirits were in the air. But she refused to give up\u2014she had to go to the church.\n\n\"In the name of God, the Almighty, I here proceed,\" she whispered aloud. Lighting her way with the lantern, Kristin set her feet down where stones and tufts of grass stuck up from the icy ground. In the darkness the path to the church seemed exceedingly long. But at last she stood on the stone threshold in front of the door.\n\nInside it was piercingly cold, much colder than out in the rain. Kristin walked forward toward the chancel and knelt down before the crucifix, which she glimpsed in the darkness above her.\n\nAfter she had said her prayers and stood up, she stopped for a moment. She seemed to expect something to happen to her. But nothing did. She was freezing and scared in the desolate, dark church.\n\nShe crept up toward the altar and shone her light on the paintings. They were old, ugly, and stern. The altar was bare stone. She knew that the cloths, books, and vessels lay locked up in a chest.\n\nIn the nave a bench stood against the wall. Kristin went over and sat down, placing the lantern on the floor. Her cloak was wet, and her feet were wet and cold. She tried to pull one leg up underneath her, but the position was uncomfortable. So she wrapped the cloak tightly around her and struggled to focus her thoughts on the fact that now it was once again the holy midnight hour when Christ was born to the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem."
            },
            {
                "title": "Verbum caro factum est et habitavit in nobis.",
                "text": "Kristin remembered Sira Eirik's deep, pure voice. And Audun, the old deacon, who never attained a higher position. And their church back home where she had stood at her mother's side and listened to the Christmas mass. Every single year she had heard it. She tried to recall more of the holy words, but she could only think about their church and all the familiar faces. In front, on the men's side, stood her father, staring with remote eyes into the dazzling glow of candles from the choir.\n\nIt was so incomprehensible that their church was no more. It had burned to the ground. She burst into tears at the thought. And here she was, sitting alone in the dark on this night when all Christian people were gathered in happiness and joy in God's house. But perhaps that was as it should be, that tonight she was shut out from the celebration of the birth of God's son to a pure and innocent maiden.\n\nHer parents were no doubt at Sundbu this Christmas. But there would be no mass in the chapel tonight; she knew that on Christmas Eve those who lived at Sundbu always attended the service at the main church in Ladalm.\n\nThis was the first time, for as far back as Kristin could remember, that she was not at the Christmas mass. She must have been quite young the first time her parents took her along. She could recall that she was bundled up in a fur-lined sack, and her father had carried her in his arms. It was a terribly cold night, and they were riding through a forest\u2014the pine torches shone on fir trees heavy with snow. Her father's face was dark red, and the fur border on his hood was chalk-white with frost. Now and then he would bend forward and nip the end of her nose and ask her whether she could feel it. Then, laughing, he would shout over his shoulder to her mother that Kristin's nose hadn't frozen off yet. That must have been while they were still living at Skog; she couldn't have been more than three winters old. Her parents were quite young back then. Now she remembered her mother's voice on that night\u2014clear and happy and full of laughter\u2014when she called out to her husband and asked about the child. Yes, her mother's voice had been young and fresh.\n\nBethlehem. In Norwegian it means the place of bread. For that was where the bread which will nourish us for eternal life was given to the people.\n\nIt was at the mass on Christmas Day that Sira Eirik stepped forward to the pulpit and explained the gospels in the language of his own country.\n\nIn between the masses everyone would sit in the banquet hall north of the church. They had brought ale with them and passed it around. The men slipped out to the stables to see to the horses. But on vigil nights, in the summertime before a holy day, the congregation would gather on the church green, and then the young people would dance among the servants.\n\nAnd the blessed Virgin Mary wrapped her son in swaddling clothes. She placed him in the straw of the manger from which the oxen and asses ate....\n\nKristin pressed her hands against her sides.\n\nLittle son, my own sweet child, my own son. God will have mercy on us for the sake of His own blessed Mother. Blessed Mary, you who are the clear star of the sea, the crimson dawn of eternal life who gave birth to the sun of the whole world\u2014help us! Little child, what is it tonight? You're so restless. Can you feel beneath my heart that I am so bitterly cold?\n\nIt was on the Children's Day last year, the fourth day of Christmas, when Sira Eirik preached about the innocent children whom the cruel soldiers had slaughtered in their mothers' arms. But God had chosen these young boys to enter into the hall of heaven before all other blood witnesses. And it would be a sign that such belong to the Kingdom of Heaven. And Jesus picked up a little boy and put him among them. Unless you create yourselves in their image, you cannot enter into the hall of heaven, dear brothers and sisters. So let this be a solace to every man and woman who mourns a young child's death....\n\nThen Kristin had seen her father's eyes meet her mother's across the church, and she withdrew her gaze, because she knew that this was not meant for her.\n\nThat was last year. The first Christmas after Ulvhild's death. Oh, but not my child! Jesus, Maria. Let me keep my son!\n\nHer father had not wanted to ride in the races on Saint Stefan's Day last year, but the men begged him until he finally agreed. The course extended from the church hill at home, down to the confluence of the two rivers near Loptsgaard; that's where they joined up with the men from Ottadal. She remembered her father racing past on his golden stallion. He stood up in his stirrups and bent low over the horse's neck, shouting and urging the animal on, with the whole group thundering behind.\n\nBut last year he had come home early, and he was completely sober. Normally on that day the men would return home late, tremendously drunk, because they had to ride into every farm courtyard and drink from the bowls brought out to them, to honor Christ and Saint Stefan, who first saw the star in the east as he drove King Herod's foals to the River Jordan for water. Even the horses were given ale on that day, for they were supposed to be wild and reckless. On Saint Stefan's Day the farmers were allowed to race their horses until vespers\u2014it was impossible to make the men think or talk of anything but horses.\n\nKristin could remember one Christmas when they held the great drinking feast at J\u00f8rundgaard. And her father had promised a priest who was among the guests that he would be given a young red stallion, son of Guldsvein, if he could manage to swing himself up onto the animal as it ran around unsaddled in the courtyard.\n\nThat was a long time ago\u2014before the misfortune with Ulvhild occurred. Her mother was standing in the doorway with the little sister in her arms, and Kristin was holding onto her dress, a bit scared.\n\nThe priest ran after the horse and grabbed the halter, leaping so that his ankle-length surcoat swirled around him, and then he let go of the wild, rearing beast.\n\n\"Foal, foal\u2014whoa, foal. Whoa, son!\" he cried out. He hopped and he danced like a billy goat. Her father and an old farmer stood with their arms around each other's necks, the features of their faces completely dissolved in laughter and drunkenness.\n\nEither the priest must have won Rauden or else Lavrans gave the foal to him all the same, for Kristin remembered that he rode away from J\u00f8rundgaard on the horse. By that time they were all sober enough; Lavrans respectfully held the stirrup for him, and the priest blessed them with three fingers in farewell. He was apparently a cleric of high standing.\n\nOh yes. It was often quite merry at home during the Christmas season. And then there were the Christmas masqueraders. Kristin's father would sling her up onto his back, his tunic icy and his hair wet. To clear their heads before they went to vespers, the men threw ice water over each other down by the well. They laughed when the women voiced their disapproval of this. Kristin's father would take her small, cold hands and press them against his forehead, which was still red and burning hot. This was out in the courtyard, in the evening. A new white crescent moon hung over the mountain ridge in the watery-green air. Once when he stepped into the main house with her, Kristin hit her head on the doorframe so she had a big bump on her forehead. Later she sat on his lap at the table. He lay the blade of his dagger against her bruise, fed her tidbits of food, and let her drink mead from his goblet. Then she wasn't afraid of the masqueraders who stormed into the room.\n\n\"Oh Father, oh Father. My dear, kind father!\"\n\nSobbing loudly, Kristin now hid her face in her hands. Oh, if only her father knew how she felt on this Christmas Eve!\n\nWhen she walked back across the courtyard, she saw that sparks were rising up from the cookhouse roof. The maids had set about preparing food for the churchgoers.\n\nIt was gloomy in the hall. The candles on the table had burned out, and the fire in the hearth was barely smoldering. Kristin put more wood on and blew at the embers. Then she noticed that Orm was sitting in her chair. He stood up as soon as his stepmother saw him.\n\n\"My dear\u2014\" said Kristin. \"Didn't you go with your father and the others to mass?\"\n\nOrm swallowed hard a couple of times. \"I guess he forgot to wake me. Father told me to lie down for a while in the bed on the south wall. He said he would wake me....\"\n\n\"That's too bad, Orm,\" said Kristin.\n\nThe boy didn't reply. After a moment he said, \"I thought you went with them after all. I woke up and was alone here in the hall.\"\n\n\"I went over to the church for a little while,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Do you dare to go out on Christmas Eve?\" asked the boy. \"Don't you know that the spirits of the dead could come and seize you?\"\n\n\"I don't think it's only the evil spirits that are out tonight,\" she said. \"Christmas Eve must be for all spirits. I once knew a monk who is now dead and standing before God, I think, because he was pure goodness. He told me... Have you ever heard about the animals in the stable and how they talked to each other on Christmas Eve? They could speak Latin back then. And the rooster crowed: 'Christus natus est!' No, now I can't remember the whole thing. The other animals asked 'Where?' and the goat bleated, 'Betlem, Betlem,' and the sheep said, 'Eamus, eamus.'\"\n\nOrm smiled scornfully.\n\n\"Do you think I'm such a child that you can comfort me with tales? You should offer to take me on your lap and put me to your breast.\"\n\n\"I told the story mostly to comfort myself, Orm,\" said Kristin quietly. \"I would have liked to go to mass too.\"\n\nNow she couldn't stand to look at the littered table any longer. She went over, swept all the scraps into a trencher and set it on the floor for the dog. Then she found the whisk made of sedge under the bench and scrubbed off the tabletop.\n\n\"Would you come with me over to the western storehouse, Orm? To get bread and salted meat. Then we'll set the table for the holy day,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Why don't you let your maidservants do that?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"This is the way I was taught by my father and mother,\" replied the young mistress. \"That at Christmastime no one should ever ask anyone else for anything, but we all should strive to do our utmost. Whoever serves the others most during the holidays is the most blessed.\"\n\n\"But you're asking me,\" said Orm.\n\n\"That's a different matter\u2014you're the son here on the estate.\"\n\nOrm carried the lantern and they walked across the courtyard together. Inside the storehouse Kristin filled two trenchers with Christmas food. She also took a bundle of large tallow candles.\n\nWhile they were working, the boy said, \"That must be a peasant custom, what you mentioned a moment ago. For I've heard he's nothing more than a homespun farmer, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n.\"\n\n\"Who did you hear that from?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"From Mother,\" said Orm. \"I heard her say it all the time to Father when we were living here at Husaby before. She said he could see that not even a gray-clad farmer would give his daughter's hand in marriage to him.\"\n\n\"It must have been pleasant here at Husaby back then,\" said Kristin curtly.\n\nThe boy didn't reply. His lips quivered.\n\nKristin and Orm carried the filled trenchers back to the hall, and she set the table. But she had to go back over to the storehouse for food once again.\n\nOrm took the trencher and said, a little awkwardly, \"I'll go over there for you, Kristin. It's so slippery in the courtyard.\"\n\nShe stood outside the door and waited until he returned.\n\nThen they sat down near the hearth, Kristin in the armchair and the boy on a three-legged stool nearby. After a moment Orm Er lendss\u00f8n said softly, \"Tell me another story while we sit here, my stepmother.\"\n\n\"A story?\" asked Kristin, her voice equally quiet.\n\n\"Yes, a tale or some such\u2014that would be suitable on Christmas Eve,\" said the boy shyly.\n\nKristin leaned back in her chair and wrapped her thin hands around the animal heads on the armrests.\n\n\"That monk I mentioned\u2014he had also been to England. And he said there is a region where wild rosebushes grow that bloom with white blossoms on Christmas night. Saint Joseph of Arimathea put ashore in that area when he was fleeing from the heathens, and there he stuck his staff into the ground and it took root and flowered. He was the first to bring the Christian faith to Bretland. The name of the region is Glastonbury\u2014now I remember. Brother Edvin had seen the bushes himself. King Arthur, whom you've no doubt heard stories of, was buried there in Glastonbury with his queen. He was one of the seven most noble defenders of Christendom.\n\n\"They say in England that Christ's Cross was made of alderwood. But we burned ash during Christmas at home, for it was the ash tree that Saint Joseph, the stepfather of Christ, used when he needed to light a fire for the Virgin Mary and the newborn Son of God. That's something else that Father heard from Brother Edvin.\"\n\n\"But very few ash trees grow up north here,\" said Orm. \"They used them all up for spear poles in the olden days, you know. I don't think there are any ash trees here on Husaby's land other than the one standing east of the manor gate, and Father can't chop that one down, because the spirit of the first owner lives underneath. But you know, Kristin, they have the Holy Cross in Romaborg; so they must be able to find out whether it was made of alderwood.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Kristin, \"I don't know whether it's true. For you know it's said that the cross was made from a shoot of the tree of life, which Seth was allowed to take from the Garden of Eden and bring home to Adam before he died.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Orm. \"But then tell me...\"\n\nSome time later Kristin said to the boy, \"Now you should lie down for a while, kinsman, and sleep. It will be a long time yet before the churchgoers return.\"\n\nOrm stood up.\n\n\"We have not yet toasted each other as kinsmen, Kristin Lavransdatter.\" He went over and took a drinking horn from the table, drank to his stepmother, and handed her the vessel.\n\nShe felt as if ice water were running down her back. She couldn't help remembering that time when Orm's mother wanted to drink with her. And the child inside her womb began to thrash violently. What's going on with him tonight? wondered the mother. It seemed as if her unborn son felt everything that she felt, was cold when she was cold, and shrank in fear when she was frightened. But then I mustn't be so weak, thought Kristin. She took the horn and drank with her stepson.\n\nWhen she handed it back to Orm, she gently stroked his dark hair. No, I'm certainly not going to be a harsh stepmother to you, she thought. You handsome, handsome son of Erlend.\n\nShe had fallen asleep in her chair when Erlend came home and tossed his frozen mittens onto the table.\n\n\"Are you back already?\" said Kristin, astonished. \"I thought you would stay for the daytime mass.\"\n\n\"Oh, two masses will last me for a long time,\" said Erlend as Kristin picked up his icy cape. \"Yes, the sky is clear now, so the frost has set in.\"\n\n\"It was a shame that you forgot to wake Orm,\" said his wife.\n\n\"Was he sad about it?\" asked Erlend. \"I didn't actually forget,\" he went on in a low voice. \"But he was sleeping so soundly, and I thought... You can well believe that people stared enough because I came to church without you. I didn't want to step forward with the boy at my side on top of that.\"\n\nKristin said nothing, but she felt distressed. She didn't think Erlend had handled this very well."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "They did not have many guests at Husaby that Christmas. Erlend didn't want to travel to any of the places where he was invited; he stayed home on his manor and was in a bad humor.\n\nAs it turned out, he took this act of fate more to heart than his wife could know. He had boasted so much of his betrothed, ever since his kinsmen had won Lavrans's assent at J\u00f8rundgaard. This was the last thing Erlend had wanted\u2014for anyone to believe that he considered her or her kinsmen to be lesser than his own people. No, everyone must know that he held it to be an honor and a distinction when Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n betrothed him to his daughter. Now people would say that Erlend had not considered the maiden much more than a peasant child, since he had dared to offend her father in such a manner, by sleeping with the daughter before she had been given to him in marriage. At his wedding, Erlend had urged his wife's parents to come to Husaby in the summer to see how things were on his estate. He wanted to show them that it was not to paltry circumstances that he had brought their daughter. But he had also looked forward to traveling around and being seen in the company of these gracious and dignified in-laws; he realized that Lavrans and Ragnfrid could hold their own among the most esteemed of people, wherever they might go. And ever since the time when he was at J\u00f8rundgaard and the church burned down, Erlend had thought that Lavrans was rather fond of him, in spite of everything. Now it was unlikely that the reunion between Erlend and his wife's kinsmen would be pleasant for either party.\n\nIt angered Kristin that Erlend so often took his ill temper out on Orm. The boy had no children of his own age to play with, so he was frequently peevish and in the way; he also got into a good deal of mischief. One day he took his father's French crossbow without permission, and something broke in the lock. Erlend was very angry; he struck Orm on the ear and swore that the boy would not be allowed to touch a bow again at Husaby.\n\n\"It wasn't Orm's fault,\" said Kristin without turning around. She was sitting with her back to the two, sewing. \"The spring was bent when he took it, and he tried to straighten it out. You can't be so unreasonable to refuse to allow this big son of yours to use a single bow out of all those you have on the estate. Why don't you give him one of the bows from up in the armory?\"\n\n\"You can give him a bow yourself, if you feel like it,\" said Erlend furiously.\n\n\"I'll do that,\" replied Kristin in the same tone as before. \"I'll speak to Ulf about it the next time he goes to town.\"\n\n\"You must go over and thank your kind stepmother, Orm,\" said Erlend, his voice derisive and angry.\n\nOrm obeyed. And then he fled out the door as fast as he could. Erlend stood there for a moment.\n\n\"You did that mostly to annoy me, Kristin,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, I know I'm a witch. You've said that before,\" replied his wife.\n\n\"Do you also remember, my sweet,\" said Erlend sadly, \"that I didn't mean it seriously that time?\"\n\nKristin neither answered nor looked up from her sewing. Then Erlend left, and afterwards she sat there and cried. She was fond of Orm, and she thought Erlend was often unreasonable toward his son. But the fact was that her husband's taciturn and aggrieved demeanor now tormented her so that she would lie in bed and weep half the night. And then she would walk around with an aching head the next day. Her hands had become so gaunt that she had to slip several small silver rings from her childhood days onto her fingers after her betrothal and wedding rings to keep them from falling off while she slept.\n\nOn the Sunday before Lent, late in the afternoon, Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n arrived unexpectedly at Husaby with his daughter, a widow, and Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n and his wife. Erlend and Kristin went out to the courtyard to bid the guests welcome.\n\nAs soon as Sir Munan caught sight of Kristin, he slapped Erlend on the shoulder.\n\n\"I see that you've known how to treat your wife, kinsman, so that she is thriving on your estate. You're not so thin and miserable now as you were at your wedding, Kristin. And you have a much healthier color too,\" he laughed, for Kristin had turned as red as a rosehip.\n\nErlend did not reply. Sir Baard wore a dark expression, but the two women seemed neither to hear nor see a thing; they greeted their hosts formally and with courtesy.\n\nKristin had ale and mead brought over to the hearth while they waited for the food. Munan Baards\u00f8n talked without stopping. He had letters for Erlend from the duchess\u2014she was inquiring what had become of him and his bride: whether he was now married to the same maiden that he had wanted to carry off to Sweden. It was hellish traveling now, in midwinter\u2014up through the valleys and by ship to Nidaros. But he was on the king's business, so it would do no good to grumble. He had stopped by to see his mother at Haugen and he brought them greetings from her.\n\n\"Were you at J\u00f8rundgaard?\" Kristin ventured.\n\nNo, for he had heard that they had gone to a wake at Blakarsarv. A terrible event had occurred. The mistress, Tora, Ragnfrid's kinswoman, had fallen from the storeroom gallery and had broken her back, and it was her husband who had inadvertently pushed her out. It was one of those old storerooms without a proper gallery; there were merely several floorboards placed on top of the posts at the second-story level. They had been forced to tie up Rolv and keep watch over him night and day ever since the accident occurred. He wanted to lay hands on himself.\n\nEveryone sat in silence, shivering. Kristin didn't know these kinsmen well, but they had come to her wedding. She felt suddenly strange and weak\u2014everything went black before her eyes. Munan was sitting across from her and he leaped to his feet. When he stood over her, his arm around her shoulder, he looked so kind. Kristin realized that it was perhaps not so odd for Erlend to be fond of this cousin of his.\n\n\"I knew Rolv when we were young,\" he said. \"People felt sorry for Tora Guttormsdatter\u2014they said he was wild and hardhearted. But now you can see that he cared for her. Oh yes, many a man may boast and pretend that he'd like to be rid of his spouse, but most men know full well that a wife is the worst thing they can lose\u2014\"\n\nBaard Peters\u00f8n stood up abruptly and went over to the bench against the wall.\n\n\"May God curse my tongue,\" said Sir Munan in a low voice. \"I can never remember to keep my mouth shut either....\"\n\nKristin didn't know what he meant. The dizziness was gone now, but she had such an unpleasant feeling; they all seemed so peculiar. She was glad when the servants brought in the food.\n\nMunan looked at the table and rubbed his hands.\n\n\"I didn't think we'd be disappointed if we came to visit you, Kristin, before we have to gnaw on Lenten food. How have you managed to put together such delicious platters in such a short time? One would almost think you had learned to conjure from your mother. But I see that you're quick to set forth everything a wife should offer to please her husband.\"\n\nThey sat down at the table. Velvet cushions had been placed for the guests on the inner benches on either side of the high seat. The servants sat on the outer bench, with Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n in the middle, right across from Erlend.\n\nKristin chatted quietly with the women guests and tried to conceal how ill at ease she felt. Every once in a while Munan Baards\u00f8n would interrupt with words that were meant to tease, and it was always about how Kristin was already moving so slowly. She pretended not to hear.\n\nMunan was an unusually stout man. His small, shapely ears were set deep in the ruddy, fat flesh above his neck, and his belly got in his way when he sat down at the table.\n\n\"Yes, I've often wondered about the resurrection of the body,\" he said. \"Whether I'm going to rise up with all this fat that I've put on when that day arrives. You'll be slim-waisted again soon enough, Kristin\u2014but it's much worse for me. You may not believe it, but I was just as slender in the belt as Erlend over there when I was twenty winters old.\"\n\n\"Stop it now, Munan,\" begged Erlend softly. \"You're upsetting Kristin.\"\n\n\"All right then, if that's what you want,\" replied Munan. \"You must be proud now, I can well imagine\u2014presiding over your own table, sitting in the high seat with your wedded wife beside you. And God Almighty knows that it's about time, too\u2014you're plenty old enough, my boy! Of course I'll keep my mouth shut, since that's what you want. But nobody ever told you... to speak or keep still\u2014back when you were sitting at my table. You were often a guest in my house and stayed a long time, and I don't think I ever noticed that you weren't welcome.\n\n\"But I wonder whether Kristin dislikes it so much that I tease her a little. What do you say, my fair kinswoman? You weren't as timid in the past. I've known Erlend from the time he was only so high, and I think I can venture to say that I've wished the boy well all his days. Quick and boyish you are, Erlend, with a sword in your hand, whether on horseback or on board ship. But I'll ask Saint Olav to cleave me in half with his axe on the day when I see you stand up on your long legs, look man or woman freely in the eye, and answer for what you have done in your thoughtlessness. No, my dear kinsman, then you will hang your head like a bird in a trap and call on God and your kinsmen to help you out of trouble. And you're such a sensible woman, Kristin, that I imagine you know this. I think you need to laugh a little now; no doubt you've seen enough this winter of shameful memories and sorrows and regrets.\"\n\nKristin sat there, her face deep red. Her hands were trembling, and she didn't dare glance at Erlend. Fury was boiling inside her\u2014here sat the women guests and Orm and the servants. So this was the kind of courtesy shown by Erlend's rich kinsmen....\n\nThen Sir Baard said so quietly that only those sitting closest could hear him, \"I don't think this is something to banter about\u2014that Erlend has behaved in this way before his marriage. I vouched for you, Erlend, to Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n.\"\n\n\"Yes, and that was devilishly unwise of you, my foster father,\" said Erlend loudly and fervently. \"I can't understand that you could be so foolish. For you know me well.\"\n\nBut Munan was completely intractable.\n\n\"Now I'm going to tell you why I think this is so funny. Do you remember what you said to me, Baard, when I came to you and said that we had to help Erlend to achieve this marriage? No, I am going to talk about it; Erlend should know what you thought about me. This is the way it stands between them, I said, and if he doesn't win Kristin Lavransdatter, only God and the Virgin Mary know what madness will result. Then you asked me if that was the real reason I wanted him to marry the maiden he had seduced, because I thought perhaps she was barren since she had managed to escape for so long. But I think you know me, all of you; you know that I'm a faithful kinsman to my kin....\" And he broke into tears of emotion.\n\n\"As God is my witness along with all holy men: never have I coveted your property, kinsman\u2014because otherwise there is only Gunnulf between me and Husaby. But I said to you, Baard, as you know\u2014to Kristin's firstborn son I would give my gold-encrusted dagger with its walrus-tusk sheath. Here, take it,\" he shouted, sobbing, and he tossed the magnificent weapon across the table to her. \"If it's not a son this time, then it'll be one next year.\"\n\nTears of shame and anger were pouring down Kristin's hot cheeks. She struggled fiercely not to break down. But the two women guests sat and ate as calmly as if they were used to such commotion. And Erlend whispered that she should take the dagger \"or Munan will just keep on all night.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I'm not going to hide the fact,\" Munan went on, \"that I wish your father could see, Kristin, that he was too quick to defend your soul. So arrogant Lavrans was\u2014we weren't good enough for him, Baard and I, and you were much too delicate and pure to tolerate a man like Erlend in your bed. He talked as if he didn't believe that you could stand to do anything in the nighttime hours except sing in the nuns' choir. I said to him, 'Dear Lavrans,' I said, 'your daughter is a beautiful and healthy and lively young maiden, and the winter nights are long and cold here in this country....'\"\n\nKristin pulled her wimple over her face. She was sobbing loudly and tried to get up, but Erlend pulled her back down in her seat.\n\n\"Try to get hold of yourself,\" he said vehemently. \"Don't pay any attention to Munan\u2014you can see for yourself that he's dead drunk.\"\n\nShe sensed that Fru Katrin and Fru Vilborg thought it pitiable that she didn't have better command of herself. But she couldn't stop her tears.\n\nBaard Peters\u00f8n said furiously to Munan, \"Shut your rotten trap. You've been a swine all your days\u2014but even so, you can spare an ill woman from that filthy talk of yours.\"\n\n\"Did you say swine? Yes, I do have more bastard children than you do, be that as it may. But one thing I've never done\u2014and Erlend hasn't either\u2014we've never paid another man to be the child's father for us.\"\n\n\"Munan!\" shouted Erlend, springing to his feet. \"Now I demand peace here in my hall!\"\n\n\"Oh, demand peace in your backside! My children call the man 'father' who sired them\u2014in my swinish life, as you call it!\" Munan pounded the table so the cups and small plates danced. \"Our sons don't go around as servants in the house of our kinsmen. But here sits your son across the table from you, and he's sitting on the servants' bench. That seems to me the worst of all shame.\"\n\nBaard leaped up and threw his goblet into the other man's face. The two fell upon each other so the table plank tipped onto its side, and food and vessels slid into the laps of those sitting on the outer bench.\n\nKristin sat there white-faced, with her mouth agape. Once she stole a glance at Ulf\u2014the man was laughing openly, crudely and maliciously. Then he tipped the table plank back into place and shoved it against the two combatants.\n\nErlend leaped up onto the table. Kneeling in the middle of the mess, he seized hold of Munan's arms, then grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him up next to him; he turned bright red in the face from the effort. Munan managed to give Baard a kick so that the old man began to bleed from the mouth\u2014then Erlend flung Munan over the table and out onto the floor. He jumped down after him, and stood there huffing like a bellows.\n\nThe other man got to his feet and rushed at Erlend, who slipped under his arms a couple of times. Then he fell on Munan and held him entangled in the grip of his long, supple limbs. Erlend was as agile as a cat, but Munan held his ground; strong and bulky, he refused to be forced to the floor. They whirled around and around the room while the serving women shrieked and screamed, and none of the men made a move to separate them.\n\nThen Fru Katrin stood up, heavy and fat and slow; she stepped onto the table as calmly as if she were walking up the storehouse stairs.\n\n\"Stop that now,\" she said in her husky, sated voice. \"Let go of him, Erlend! It was wrong, husband\u2014to speak that way to an old man and close kinsman.\"\n\nThe men obeyed her. Munan stood meekly and let his wife wipe his bloody nose with her wimple. She told him to go to bed, and he followed docilely when she led him away to the bed on the south wall. His wife and one of his servants pulled the clothes off him, toppled him into the bed, and closed the door.\n\nErlend had walked over to the table. He leaned past Ulf, who was still sitting as he had before.\n\n\"Foster father,\" said Erlend unhappily. He seemed to have completely forgotten his wife. Sir Baard sat and rocked his head back and forth, and the tears were dripping down his cheeks.\n\n\"He didn't have to become a servant, Ulf didn't,\" were the words that came out, but his sobs lodged, gasping, in his chest. \"You could have taken the farm after Haldor, you know that's what I intended....\"\n\n\"It wasn't a very good farm that you gave Haldor; you bought a cheap husband for your wife's serving maid,\" said Ulf. \"He fixed it up and managed it well, and it seemed to me reasonable that my brothers should take it over after their father. That's one thing. But I had no desire to end up as a farmer, either\u2014and least of all up on the slope, staring down at the Hestnes courtyard. It seemed to me that I heard every day that Paal and Vilborg were going around saying vicious things about how you gave much too grand a gift to your bastard son.\"\n\n\"I offered to help you, Ulf,\" said Baard, weeping. \"When you wanted to go out traveling with Erlend. I told you everything as soon as you were old enough to understand. I begged you to return to your father.\"\n\n\"I call the man my father who looked after me when I was small. That man was Haldor. He was good to Mother and to me. He taught me to ride a horse and to fight with a sword\u2014the way a farmer wields his club, I remember Paal once said.\"\n\nUlf flung the knife he was holding so that it clattered across the table. Then he got to his feet, picked up the knife, wiped it on the back of his thigh, and stuck it in its sheath. He turned to Erlend. \"Put an end to this feast now and send the servants to bed! Can't you see that your wife is still not used to the banquet customs we have in our family?\"\n\nAnd with that he left the hall.\n\nSir Baard stared after him. He seemed so pitifully old and frail as he sat slumped among the velvet cushions. His daughter, Vilborg, and one of his servants helped Baard to his feet and escorted him out.\n\nKristin sat alone in the high seat, weeping and weeping. When Erlend touched her, she angrily struck his hand aside. She swayed a few times as she walked across the floor, but she replied with a curt \"no\" when her husband asked if she was ill.\n\nShe detested these closed beds. Back home they simply had tapestries hung up facing the room, and thus it was never hot or stuffy. But now it was worse than ever... it was so hard for her to breathe. She thought that the hard lump pressing on her all the way up under her ribcage must be the child's head; she imagined him lying with his little black head burrowed in amongst the roots of her heart. He was suffocating her, as Erlend had done before when he pressed his dark-haired head to her breast. But tonight there was no sweetness in the thought.\n\n\"Will you never stop your crying?\" asked her husband, trying to ease his arm under her shoulder.\n\nHe was quite sober. He could tolerate a great deal of liquor, but he usually drank very little. Kristin thought that never in all eternity would this have happened back at her home\u2014never had she heard people fling slanderous words at each other or rip open something that would be better left unsaid. As many times as she had seen her father reeling from intoxication and the hall full of drunken guests, there was never a time when he couldn't keep order in his own house. Peace and good will reigned right up until everyone tumbled off the benches and fell asleep in joy and harmony.\n\n\"My dearest wife, don't take this so hard,\" implored Erlend.\n\n\"And Sir Baard!\" she burst into tears. \"Shame on such behavior\u2014this man who spoke to my father as if he were bearing God's message. Yes, Munan told me about it at our betrothal banquet.\"\n\nErlend said softly, \"I know, Kristin, that I have reason to cast down my eyes before your father. He's a fine man\u2014but my foster father is no worse. Inga, the mother of Paal and Vilborg, lay paralyzed and ill for six years before she died. That was before I came to Hestnes, but I've heard about it. Never has a husband tended to an ailing wife in a more faithful or loving manner. But it was during that time that Ulf was born.\"\n\n\"Then it was an even greater sin\u2014with his sick wife's maid.\"\n\n\"You often act so childish that it's impossible to talk to you,\" said Erlend in resignation. \"God help me, Kristin, you're going to be twenty this spring\u2014and several winters have passed since you had to be considered a grownup woman.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's true that you have the right to scoff at me for that.\"\n\nErlend moaned loudly.\n\n\"You know yourself that I didn't mean it like that. But you lived all that time at J\u00f8rundgaard and listened to Lavrans\u2014so splendid and manly he is, but he often talks as if he were a monk and not a grown man.\"\n\n\"Have you ever heard of any monk who has had six children?\" she said, offended.\n\n\"I've heard of that man, Skurda-Grim, and he had seven,\" said Erlend in despair. \"The former abbot at Holm... No, Kristin, Kristin, don't cry like that. In God's name, I think you've lost your senses.\"\n\nMunan was quite subdued the next morning. \"I didn't think you would take my ale-babble so much to heart, young Kristin,\" he said somberly, stroking her cheek. \"Or I would have kept better watch on my tongue.\"\n\nHe said to Erlend that it must be strange for Kristin with the boy being there. It would be best to send Orm away for the time being. Munan offered to take him in for a while. Erlend approved, and Orm wanted to go with Munan. But Kristin missed the child deeply; she had grown fond of her stepson.\n\nNow she once again sat alone with Erlend in the evenings, and there was not much companionship in him. He would sit over by the hearth, say a few words now and then, take a drink from the ale bowl, and play with his dogs. He would go over to the bench and stretch out\u2014and then he would go to bed, asking a couple of times whether she was coming soon, and then he'd fall asleep.\n\nKristin sat and sewed. Her breathing was audible, shallow and heavy. But it wouldn't be long now. She couldn't even remember how it felt to be light and slim in the waist\u2014or how to tie her shoes without strain and effort.\n\nNow that Erlend was asleep she no longer tried to hold back her tears. There was not a sound in the hall except the firewood collapsing in the hearth and the dogs stirring. Sometimes she wondered what they had talked about before, she and Erlend. But then they hadn't talked much\u2014they had had other things to do in those brief, stolen hours together.\n\nAt this time of year her mother and the maids used to sit in the weaving room in the evenings. Then her father and the men would come to join them and sit down with their work\u2014they would repair leather goods and farm tools and make carvings out of wood. The little room would be crowded with people; conversation flowed quietly and easily among them. Whenever somebody went over to drink from the ale keg, before he hung up the ladle he would always ask whether anyone else would like some\u2014that was the custom.\n\nThen someone would recite a short saga\u2014perhaps about giants in the past who had fought with grave-barrow ghosts and giantesses. Or her father, as he whittled, would recount those tales of knights that he had heard read aloud in Duke Haakon's hall when he was a page in his youth. Strange and beautiful names: King Os antrix, Titurel the knight; Sisibe, Guinevere, Gloriana, and Isolde were the names of the queens. But on other evenings they told bawdy tales and ribald sagas until the men were roaring with laughter and her mother and the maids would shake their heads and giggle.\n\nUlvhild and Astrid would sing. Ragnfrid had the loveliest voice of all, but they had to plead before they could get her to sing. Lavrans didn't need such persuasion\u2014and he could play his harp so beautifully.\n\nThen Ulvhild would put down her distaff and spindle and press her hands behind her hips.\n\n\"Is your back tired now, little Ulvhild?\" asked her father, taking her onto his lap. Someone would bring a board game and Ulvhild and her father would move the markers around until it was time for bed. Kristin remembered her little sister's golden locks flowing over her father's brownish-green homespun sleeve. He held the weak little back so tenderly.\n\nHer father's big, slender hands with a heavy gold ring on each little finger... They had both belonged to his mother. He had said that the one with the red stone, her wedding ring, Kristin would inherit from him. But the one that he wore on his right hand, with a stone that was half blue and half white, like the emblem on his shield\u2014that one Sir Bj\u00f8rgulf had ordered made for his wife when she was with child, and it was to be given to her when she had borne him a son. For three nights Kristin Sigurdsdatter had worn the ring; then she tied it around the boy's neck, and Lavrans said that he would wear it to his grave.\n\nOh, what would her father say when he heard the news about her? When it spread throughout the villages back home, and he had to realize that wherever he went, to church or to the ting or to a meeting, every man would be laughing behind his back because he had allowed himself to be fooled? At J\u00f8rundgaard they had adorned a wanton woman with the Sundbu crown on her flowing hair.\n\n\"People are no doubt saying of me that I can't keep my children in check.\" She remembered her father's face whenever he said that; he meant to be stern and somber, but his eyes were merry. She had misbehaved in some small way\u2014spoken to him uninvited while guests were present or some such. \"And you, Kristin, you don't have much fear of your father, do you?\" Then he would laugh, and she laughed along with him. \"Yes, but that's not right, Kristin.\" And neither of them knew what was not right\u2014that she didn't have the proper terror of her father, or that it was impossible for him to remain serious when he had to scold her.\n\nIt was as if the unbearable fear that something would be wrong with her child diminished and faded away the more trouble and torment Kristin had from her body. She tried to think ahead\u2014to a month from now; by then her son would have already been born. But it didn't seem real to her. She simply yearned more and more for home.\n\nOnce Erlend asked Kristin if she wanted him to send for her mother. But she told him no\u2014she didn't think her mother could stand to travel so far in the winter. Now she regretted this. And she regretted that she had said no to Tordis of Laugarbru, who had been so willing to accompany her north and lend a hand during the first winter she was to be mistress. But she felt ashamed before Tordis. Tordis had been Ragnfrid's maid at home at Sundbu and had accompanied her to Skog and then back to the valley. When Tordis married, Lavrans had made her husband a foreman at J\u00f8rundgaard because Ragnfrid couldn't bear to be without her beloved maid. Kristin had not wanted to bring along any of the maids from home.\n\nNow it seemed to her terrible that she would have no familiar face above her when her time came to kneel on the floor. She was frightened\u2014she knew so little about what went on at childbirth. Her mother had never spoken to her of it and had never wanted young maidens to be present when she helped a woman give birth. It would only frighten the young, she said. It could certainly be dreadful; Kristin remembered when her mother had Ulvhild. But Ragnfrid said it was because she had inadvertently crawled under a fence\u2014she had given birth to her other children with ease. But Kristin remembered that she herself had been thoughtless and had walked under a rope on board ship.\n\nBut that didn't always cause harm\u2014she had heard her mother and other women speak of such things. Ragnfrid had a reputation back home in the village for being the best midwife, and she never refused to go and help, no matter if it was a beggar or the poorest man's seduced daughter, or if the weather was such that three men had to accompany her on skis and take turns carrying her on their backs.\n\nBut it was completely unthinkable that an experienced woman like her mother hadn't realized what was wrong with her this past summer, when she was feeling so wretched. It suddenly occurred to Kristin: but then... then it was certain that her mother would come, even though they hadn't sent for her! Ragnfrid would never stand for a stranger helping her daughter through the struggle. Her mother was coming\u2014she was probably on her way north right now. Oh, then she could ask for her mother's forgiveness for all the pain she had caused her. Her own mother would support her, she would kneel at her own mother's knees when she gave birth to her child. Mother is coming, Mother is coming. Kristin sobbed with relief, covering her face with her hands. Yes, Mother; forgive me, Mother.\n\nThis thought, that her mother was on her way to be with her, became so entrenched in Kristin's mind that one day she thought she could sense that her mother would arrive that very day. In the early morning she put on her cloak and went out to meet her on the road which leads from Gauldal to Skaun. No one noticed her leave the estate.\n\nErlend had ordered timber to be brought for the improvement of the buildings, so the road was good, but walking was still difficult for her. She was short of breath, her heart pounded, and she had a pain in both sides\u2014it felt as if the taut skin would burst apart after she had walked a short while. And most of the road passed through dense forest. She was afraid, but there had been no word of wolves in the area that winter. And God would protect her, since she was on her way to meet her mother, to fall down before her and beg forgiveness\u2014and she could not stop walking.\n\nShe reached a small lake where there were several farms. At the spot where the road led out onto the ice, she sat down on a log. She sat there for a while, walked a little farther when she began to freeze, and waited for many hours. But at last she had to turn back and head for home.\n\nThe next day she wandered along the same road. But when she crossed the courtyard of one of the small farms near the lake, the farmer's wife came running after her.\n\n\"In God's name, mistress, you mustn't do that!\"\n\nWhen the other woman spoke, Kristin grew so frightened herself that she didn't dare move. Trembling, her eyes wide with fear, she stared at the farmer's wife.\n\n\"Through the woods\u2014just think if a wolf caught your scent. Other terrible things could happen to you, too. How can you do something so foolish?\"\n\nThe farmer's wife put her arm around the young mistress and supported her; she looked into Kristin's gaunt face with the yellowish, brown-flecked skin.\n\n\"You must come into our house and rest for a while. Then someone from here will escort you home,\" said the farmer's wife as she led Kristin indoors.\n\nIt was a cramped and impoverished house, and there was great disarray inside; many little children were playing on the floor. Their mother sent them out to the cookhouse, took her guest's cloak, seated her on a bench, and pulled off her snowy shoes. Then she wrapped a fur around Kristin's feet.\n\nNo matter how much Kristin begged the woman not to trouble herself, the farmer's wife continued to dish up food and ale from the Christmas cask. All the while the woman thought: So that's how things are at Husaby! She was a poor man's wife; they had little help on the farm, and usually none at all; but \u00d8istein had never allowed her to walk alone outside the courtyard fence when she was with child\u2014yes, even if she was just going out to the cowshed after dark, someone would have to keep watch for her. But the richest mistress in the parish could go out and risk the most hideous death, and not a Christian soul was looking out for her\u2014even though the servants were falling over each other at Husaby and did no work. It must be true then what people said, that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n was already tired of his marriage and cared nothing for his wife.\n\nBut she chatted with Kristin the whole time and urged her to eat and drink. And Kristin was thoroughly ashamed, but she had a craving for food such as she had not felt before\u2014not since the spring. This kind woman's food tasted so good. And the woman laughed and said that the gentry's women probably were created no different from other people. If a woman couldn't stand to look at food at home, someone else's food could often make her almost greedy, even if it was poor and coarse fare.\n\nHer name was Audfinna Andunsdatter, and she was from Updal, she said. When she noticed that it put her guest at ease, she began to talk about her home and her village. And before Kristin knew it, her own tongue was loosened, and she was talking about her own home and her parents and her village. Audfinna could see that the young woman's heart was almost bursting with homesickness, so she stealthily prodded Kristin to keep talking. Hot and giddy from the ale, Kristin talked until she was laughing and crying at the same time. All that she had futilely tried to sob out of her heart during the lonely evening hours at Husaby, now was gradually released as she spoke to this kind farmer's wife.\n\nIt was quite dark above the smoke vent, but Audfinna wanted ristin to wait for \u00d8istein or her sons to return from the woods so they could accompany her. Kristin fell silent and grew drowsy, but she sat there smiling, her eyes shining\u2014she hadn't felt this way since she had to come to Husaby.\n\nThen a man tore open the door, shouting: Had they seen any sign of the mistress? Then he noticed her and went back outside. A moment later Erlend's tall figure ducked through the doorway. He set down the axe he was carrying and leaned back against the wall. He had to put his hands behind him to support himself, and he could not speak.\n\n\"You have feared for your wife?\" asked Audfinna, going over to him.\n\n\"Yes, I'm not ashamed to admit it.\" Erlend pushed back his hair. \"No man has ever been as frightened as I was tonight. When I heard that she had gone through the woods...\"\n\nAudfinna told him how Kristin had happened to come there. Erlend took the woman's hand.\n\n\"I will never forget this\u2014either you or your husband,\" he said.\n\nThen he went over to where his wife was sitting, stood next to her, and placed his hand on the back of her neck. He didn't say a word to her, but he stood there like that for as long as they remained in the house.\n\nNow they all came inside, the servants from Husaby and men from the nearest farms. Everyone looked as if they could use something fortifying to drink, so Audfinna served ale all around before they left.\n\nThe men set off on skis across the fields, but Erlend had given his to a servant; he walked along, holding Kristin under his cape, and headed down the slope. It was quite dark now, but a starry night.\n\nThen they heard it from the forest behind them\u2014a long, drawn-out howl that grew and grew in the night. It was the howl of the wolf\u2014and there were several of them. Shivering, Erlend stopped and let Kristin go. She sensed that he crossed himself while he gripped the axe in his other hand. \"If you were now... oh, no!\" He pulled her to him so hard that she whimpered.\n\nThe skiers out in the field turned around and made their way back toward the two as fast as they could. They slung the skis over their shoulders and closed around her in a tight group with spears and axes. The wolves followed them all the way to Husaby\u2014so close that once or twice they caught a glimpse of the beasts in the dark.\n\nWhen the men entered the hall at home, many of them were gray or white in the face. \"That was the most horrifying...\" said one man, and he at once threw up into the hearth. The frightened maids put their mistress to bed. She could eat nothing. But now that the terrible, sickening fear was over, in an odd way she thought it was good to see that everyone had been so scared on her behalf.\n\nWhen they were alone in the hall, Erlend came over and sat on the edge of the bed.\n\n\"Why did you do that?\" he whispered. And when she didn't reply, he said even more softly, \"Do you so regret that you came to my manor?\"\n\nIt took a moment before she realized what he meant.\n\n\"Jesus, Maria! How can you think something like that!\"\n\n\"What did you mean that time when you said\u2014when we were at Medalby, and I was going to ride away from you\u2014that I would have had to wait a good long time before you followed me to Husaby?\" he asked in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"Oh, I spoke in anger,\" said Kristin quietly, embarrassed. And now she told him why she had gone out these past few days. Erlend sat quite still and listened to her.\n\n\"I wonder when the day will come when you'll think of Husaby here with me as your home,\" he said, bending toward her in the dark.\n\n\"Oh, that time is probably no more than a week away,\" whispered Kristin, laughing uncertainly. When he lay his face next to hers, she threw her arms around his neck and returned his ardent kisses.\n\n\"That's the first time you've ventured to embrace me since I struck you,\" said Erlend in a low voice. \"You hold a grudge for a long time, my Kristin.\"\n\nIt occurred to her that this was the first time, since the night when he realized that she was with child, that she dared to caress him without his asking.\n\nBut after that day, Erlend was so kind to her that Kristin regretted every hour that she had spent feeling angry toward him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Saint Gregor's day came and went, and Kristin had thought that surely her time would have come by then. But now it would soon be the Feast of the Annunciation, and she was still on her feet.\n\nErlend had to go to Nidaros for the mid-Lenten ting; he said he would certainly be home on Monday evening, but by Wednesday morning he had still not returned. Kristin sat in the hall and didn't know what to do with herself\u2014she felt as if she couldn't bear to start on anything.\n\nSunlight came flooding down through the smoke vent, and she sensed that outdoors it must be an almost springlike day. Then she stood up and threw a cloak around her shoulders.\n\nOne of the maids had mentioned that if a woman carried a child too long, then a good remedy was to let the bridal horse eat grain from her lap. Kristin paused for a moment in the doorway\u2014in the dazzling sunshine the courtyard looked quite brown with glistening rivulets that had washed shiny, icy stripes through the horse manure and dirt. The sky arched bright and silky-blue above the old buildings, and the two dragon figureheads which were carved into the gables of the eastern storehouse glistened against the sky with the remnants of ancient gilding. Water dripped and trickled off the roofs, and smoke whirled and danced in the little, warm gusts of wind.\n\nShe walked over to the stable and went inside, filling her skirt with oats from the grain chest. The smell of the stable and the sound of the horses stirring in the dark did her good. But there were people in the stable, so she didn't have the nerve to do what she had come for.\n\nShe went out and threw the grain to the chickens that were strutting around in the courtyard, sunning themselves. Absentmindedly she watched Tore, the stableboy, who was grooming and brushing the gray gelding, which was shedding heavily. Once in a while she would close her eyes and turn her wan, house-pale face up toward the sun.\n\nAs Kristin was standing like that, three men rode into the courtyard. The one in front was a young priest she didn't know. As soon as he saw Kristin, he jumped down from his saddle and came straight over to her with his hand outstretched.\n\n\"I doubt you had intended to do me this honor, mistress, of standing outside to receive me,\" he said, smiling. \"But I thank you for it all the same. For you must certainly be my brother's wife, Kristin Lavransdatter?\"\n\n\"Then you must be Master Gunnulf, my brother-in-law,\" she replied, blushing crimson. \"Well met, sir! And welcome home to Husaby!\"\n\n\"Thank you for your kind greeting,\" said the priest. He bent down to kiss her cheek in the manner which she knew was the custom abroad, when kinsmen meet. \"I hope I find you well, Erlend's wife!\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n came out and told a servant to take the guests' horses. Gunnulf greeted Ulf heartily.\n\n\"Are you here, kinsman? I had expected to find you now a married and settled man.\"\n\n\"No, I won't be marrying until I have to choose between a wife and the gallows,\" said Ulf with a laugh, and the priest laughed too. \"I've made the Devil as firm a promise to live unwed as you have promised the same to God.\"\n\n\"Well, then you'll be safe, no matter which way you turn, Ulf,\" replied Master Gunnulf, laughing. \"Since you'll do well the day you break the promise that you've given. But then it is also said that a man should keep his word, even if it's to the Devil himself.\n\n\"Isn't Erlend home?\" he asked, surprised. He offered Kristin his hand as they turned to go into the main house.\n\nTo hide her shyness, Kristin busied herself among the servant women and tended to the setting of the table. She invited Erlend's learned brother to sit in the high seat, but since she didn't want to sit there with him, he moved down to the bench next to her.\n\nNow that he was sitting at her side, Kristin saw that Master Gunnulf must be at least half a head shorter than Erlend, but he was much heavier. He was stronger and stockier in build and limbs, and his broad shoulders were perfectly straight. Erlend's shoulders drooped a bit. Gunnulf wore dark clothing, very proper for a priest, but his ankle-length surcoat, which came almost up to the neckband of his linen shirt, was fastened with enameled buttons; from his woven belt hung his eating utensils in a silver sheath.\n\nShe glanced up at the priest's face. He had a strong, round head and a lean, round face with a broad, low forehead, somewhat prominent cheekbones, and a finely rounded chin. His nose was straight and his ears small and lovely, but his mouth was wide, and his upper lip protruded slightly, overshadowing the little patch of red made by his lower lip. Only his hair looked like Erlend's\u2014the thick fringe around the priest's shaved crown was black with the luster of dry soot and it looked as silky-soft as Erlend's hair. Otherwise he was not unlike his cousin Munan Baards\u00f8n\u2014now Kristin could see that it might be true after all that Munan had been handsome in his youth. No, it was his Aunt Aashild whom he resembled\u2014now she saw that he had the same eyes as Fru Aashild: amber-colored and bright beneath narrow, straight black eyebrows.\n\nAt first Kristin was a little shy of this brother-in-law who had been educated in so many fields of knowledge at the great universities of Paris and Italy. But little by little she lost her embarrassment. It was so easy to talk to Gunnulf. It didn't seem as if he were talking about himself\u2014least of all that he wanted to boast about his learning. But before she knew it, he had told her about so many things that Kristin felt she had never before realized what a vast world there was outside Norway. She forgot about herself and everything around her as she sat and looked up into the priest's round, strong-boned face with the bright and delicate smile. He had crossed one leg over the other under his surcoat, and he sat there with his white, powerful hands clasped around his ankle.\n\nLater in the afternoon, when Gunnulf came into the room to join her, he asked whether they might play a board game. Kristin had to tell him that she didn't think there were any board games in the house.\n\n\"Aren't there?\" asked the priest in surprise. He went over to Ulf.\n\n\"Do you know, Ulf, what Erlend has done with Mother's gold board game? The amusements that she left behind\u2014surely he hasn't let anyone have them?\"\n\n\"They're in a chest up in the armory,\" said Ulf. \"It's more likely that he didn't want anyone who once lived here on the estate to take them. Shall we go and get the chest, Gunnulf?\"\n\n\"Yes, Erlend can't have anything against that,\" said the priest.\n\nA little while later the two men came back with a large, carved chest. The key was in the lock, so Gunnulf opened it. On top lay a zither and another stringed instrument, the like of which Kristin had never seen before. Gunnulf called it a psaltery; he ran his fingers over the strings, but it was badly out of tune. There were also twists of silk, embroidered gloves, silken scarves, and three books with metal clasps. Finally, the priest found the board game; it was checked, with white and gilt tiles, and the markers were made of walrus tusk, white and golden.\n\nNot until then did Kristin realize that in all the time she had been at Husaby, she hadn't seen a single amusement of this type that people might use to pass the time.\n\nKristin now had to admit to her brother-in-law that she wasn't very clever at board games, nor was she much good at playing the zither. But she was eager to take a look at the books.\n\n\"Ah, have you learned to read books, Kristin?\" asked the priest, and she could tell him rather proudly that she had already learned to do so as a child. And at the convent she had won praise for her skill in reading and writing.\n\nThe priest stood over her, smiling, as she paged through the books. One of them was a courtly tale about Tristan and Isolde, and the other was about holy men\u2014she looked up Saint Martin's story. The third book was in Latin and was particularly beautiful, printed with great, colorful initial letters.\n\n\"Our ancestor, Bishop Nikulaus, owned this book,\" said Gunnulf.\n\n\u2003Kristin read half-aloud:\n\n\u2003Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis\n\n\u2003et omnes iniquitates meas dele.\n\n\u2003Cor mundum crea in me, Deus\n\n\u2003et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis.\n\n\u2003Ne projicias me a facie tua\n\n\u2003et Spiritum Sanctum tuum ne auferas a me.\n\n\"Can you understand it?\" asked Gunnulf, and Kristin nodded and said that she understood a little. The words were familiar enough that it seemed strange to her that they should appear before her right now. Her face contorted and tears rose up. Then Gunnulf set the stringed instrument on his lap and said he was tempted to try to tune it.\n\nAs they sat there they heard horses out in the courtyard, and a moment later Erlend rushed into the hall, beaming with joy. He had heard who had arrived. The brothers stood with their hands on each other's shoulders; Erlend asking questions and not waiting for the replies. Gunnulf had been in Nidaros for two days, so it was a wonder they hadn't met there.\n\n\"It's odd,\" said Erlend. \"I thought the whole clergy of Christ Church would have turned out in procession to meet you when you returned home\u2014so wise and exceedingly learned as you now must be.\"\n\n\"How do you know they didn't do just that?\" said his brother with a laugh. \"I've heard that you never venture too close to Christ Church when you're in town.\"\n\n\"No, my boy\u2014I don't get too close to my Lord the Archbishop if I can avoid it. He once singed my hide,\" laughed Erlend insolently. \"How do you like your brother-in-law, my sweet? I see you've already made friends with Kristin, brother. She thinks very little of our other kinsmen....\"\n\nNot until they were about to sit down to eat that evening did Erlend realize he was still wearing his cape and fur cap and his sword at his belt.\n\nThat was the merriest evening Kristin had spent at Husaby. Erlend cajoled his brother into sitting in the high seat with her, while he himself sliced off food for him and replenished his goblet. The first time he drank a toast to Gunnulf, he got down on one knee and tried to kiss his brother's hand.\n\n\"Health and happiness, sir! We must learn to show the archbishop the proper respect, Kristin\u2014yes, of course, you'll be the archbishop someday, Gunnulf!\"\n\nIt was late when the house servants left the hall, but the two brothers and Kristin remained behind, sitting over their drink. Erlend was seated atop the table with his face turned toward his brother.\n\n\"Yes, I thought about that during my wedding,\" he said, pointing to his mother's chest, \"and that Kristin should have it. And yet I forget things so quickly, while you forget nothing, my brother. But I think Mother's ring has come to grace a fair hand, don't you?\" He placed Kristin's hand on his knee and twisted her betrothal ring around.\n\nGunnulf nodded. He placed the psaltery on Erlend's lap. \"Sing now, brother. You used to sing so beautifully and play so well.\"\n\n\"That was many years ago,\" said Erlend more somberly. Then he ran his fingers over the strings.\n\n\u2003Olav the king, Harald's son,\n\n\u2003rode out in the thick woods,\n\n\u2003found a tiny footprint there\u2014\n\n\u2003and so the news is great.\n\n\u2003Then said he, Finn Arness\u00f8n,\n\n\u2003riding before the band:\n\n\u2003Fair must be so small a foot,\n\n\u2003clad in scarlet hose.\n\nErlend smiled as he sang, and Kristin looked up at the priest a little shyly\u2014to see whether the ballad of Saint Olav and Alvhild might displease him. But Gunnulf sat there smiling too, and yet she suddenly felt certain that it was not because of the ballad but because of Erlend.\n\n\"Kristin doesn't have to sing; you must be short of breath now, my dear,\" Erlend said, caressing her cheek. \"But you can....\" He handed the stringed instrument to his brother.\n\nIt could be heard in the priest's playing and in his voice that he had learned well in school.\n\n\u2003North over the mountains rode the king\u2014\n\n\u2003He heard the dove lament bitterly:\n\n\u2003\"The hawk took my sweetheart away from me!\"\n\n\u2003Then he rode so far and wide\n\n\u2003The hawk flew over the countryside.\n\n\u2003Into a garden the hawk then flew,\n\n\u2003Where it blossoms ever anew.\n\n\u2003In that garden there is a hall,\n\n\u2003Draped with purple over all.\n\n\u2003There lies a knight, seeping blood,\n\n\u2003He is our Lord so fine and good.\n\n\u2003Beneath the blue scarlet he does lie\n\n\u2003And etched atop: Corpus domini.\n\n\"Where did you learn that ballad?\" asked Erlend.\n\n\"Oh. Some fellows were singing it outside the hostel where I was staying in Canterbury,\" said Gunnulf. \"And I was tempted to turn it into Norwegian. But it doesn't work so well....\" He sat there strumming a few notes on the strings.\n\n\"Well, brother, it's long past midnight. Kristin must need to go to bed. Are you tired, my wife?\"\n\nKristin looked up at the men timidly; she was very pale.\n\n\"I don't know... But I don't think I should sleep in the bed in here.\"\n\n\"Are you ill?\" they both asked, bending toward her.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she replied in the same voice. She pressed her hands to her flanks. \"It feels so strange in the small of my back.\"\n\nErlend leaped up and headed for the door. Gunnulf followed. \"It's shameful that you haven't yet brought the women here who will help her,\" he said. \"Is it long before her time?\"\n\nErlend turned bright red.\n\n\"Kristin said she didn't need anyone but her maids. They've borne children themselves, some of them.\" He tried to laugh.\n\n\"Have you lost your senses?\" Gunnulf stared at him. \"Even the poorest wench has servant women and neighbors with her when she takes to childbed. Should your wife crawl into a corner to hide and give birth like a cat? No, brother, so much a man you must be that you bring to Kristin the foremost women of the parish.\"\n\nErlend bowed his head, blushing with shame.\n\n\"You speak the truth, brother. I will ride down to Raasvold myself, and I'll send men to the other farms. You must stay with Kristin.\"\n\n\"Are you going away?\" asked his wife, frightened, when she saw Erlend put on his outer garments.\n\nHe went over to Kristin and put his arms around her.\n\n\"I'm going to bring back the noblest women for you, my Kristin. Gunnulf will stay with you while the maids get ready for you in the little house,\" he said, kissing her.\n\n\"Couldn't you send word to Audfinna Audunsdatter?\" she pleaded. \"But not until morning\u2014I don't want her to be wakened from her sleep for my sake\u2014she has so much work to do, I know.\"\n\nGunnulf asked his brother who Audfinna was.\n\n\"It doesn't seem to me proper,\" said the priest. \"The wife of one of your leaseholders\u2014\"\n\n\"Kristin must have whatever she wants,\" said Erlend. And as Gunnulf accompanied him out and Erlend waited for his horse, he told the priest how Kristin had come to meet the farmer's wife. Gunnulf bit his lip and looked pensive.\n\nNow there was noise and commotion on the estate; men rode off and servant women came running in to ask how their mistress was faring. Kristin said there was nothing to worry about yet, but they were to make everything ready in the little house. She would send word when she wanted to be escorted there.\n\nThen she sat alone with the priest. She tried to talk calmly and cheerfully with him as she had before.\n\n\"You're not afraid then?\" he asked with a little smile.\n\n\"Yes, of course, I'm afraid!\" She looked up into his eyes\u2014her own were dark and frightened. \"Can you tell me, brother-in-law, whether they were born here at Husaby\u2014Erlend's other children?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the priest quickly. \"The boy was born at Hune hals, and the maiden over at Strind, on an estate that he once owned there.\" A moment later he asked, \"Is that it? Has the thought of that other woman here with Erlend tormented you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"It would be difficult for you to judge Erlend's behavior in this dealing with Eline,\" said the priest somberly. \"It wasn't easy for Erlend to know what to do. It was never easy for Erlend to know what was right. Ever since we were children, our mother thought whatever Erlend did was right, and our father thought it was wrong. But he has probably told you so much about our mother that you know all about this.\"\n\n\"I can only recall that he has mentioned her two or three times,\" said Kristin. \"But I understood that he did love her....\"\n\nGunnulf said softly, \"I doubt there has ever been such a love between a mother and her son. Mother was much younger than my father. But then that whole trouble with Aunt Aashild happened. Our uncle Baard died, and it was said... well, you know about this, don't you? Father thought the worst and said to Mother... Erlend once flung his knife at Father; he was only a young boy. He rushed at Father more than once in Mother's defense when he was growing up.\n\n\"When Mother fell ill, he parted with Eline Ormsdatter. Mother grew sick with sores and scabs on her skin, and Father said it was leprosy. He sent her away\u2014tried to threaten her into taking a corrody with the sisters at the hospice. Then Erlend went to get Mother and took her to Oslo\u2014they stayed with Aashild too; she's a good healer. And the king's French doctor also said that she was not leprous. King Haakon received Erlend kindly then, and bade him seek out the grave of the holy King Erik Valdemarss\u00f8n\u2014the king's grandfather. Many people found cures for their skin afflictions there.\n\n\"Erlend journeyed to Denmark with Mother, but she died on board his ship, south of Stad. When Erlend brought her home\u2014well, you must remember that Father was very old, and Erlend had been a disobedient son all his days. When Erlend came to Nidaros with Mother's body, Father was staying at our town estate, and he refused to allow Erlend inside until he determined whether the boy had been infected, as he said. Erlend got on his horse and rode off, not resting until he arrived at the manor where Eline was staying with his son. After that he stood by her, in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that he had grown weary of her; and that's how he happened to bring her here to Husaby and put her in charge when he became owner of the estate. She had such a hold on him, and she said that if he deserted her after this, then he deserved to be struck by leprosy himself.\n\n\"But it must be time for your women to tend to you, Kristin.\" He looked down into the young, gray face that was rigid with fear and anguish.\n\nBut when he stood up to move toward the door, she cried loudly after him, \"No, no, don't leave me!\"\n\n\"It will soon be over,\" the priest consoled her, \"since you are already so ill.\"\n\n\"That's not it!\" She gripped his arm hard. \"Gunnulf!\"\n\nHe thought he had never seen such terror in anyone's face.\n\n\"Kristin\u2014you should remember that this is no worse for you than for other women.\"\n\n\"But it is, it is.\" She pressed her face against the priest's arm. \"For now I know that Eline and her children should be sitting here. He had promised her fidelity and marriage before I became his paramour.\"\n\n\"You know about that?\" said Gunnulf calmly. \"Erlend himself didn't know any better back then. But you must understand that he could not keep that promise; the archbishop would never have given his consent for those two to marry. You mustn't think that your marriage isn't valid. You are Erlend's rightful wife.\"\n\n\"Oh, I gave up all right to walk this earth long before then. And yet it's worse than I imagined. Oh, if only I might die and this child would never be born. I don't think I dare look at what I've been carrying.\"\n\n\"May God forgive you, Kristin\u2014you don't know what you're saying! Would you wish for your child to die stillborn and unbaptized?\"\n\n\"Yes, for that which I've carried under my heart may already belong to the Devil! It cannot be saved. Oh, if only I had drunk the potion that Eline offered me\u2014that might have been atonement for all the sins we've committed, Erlend and I. Then this child would never have been conceived. Oh, I've thought this whole time, Gunnulf, that when I saw what I had fostered inside me, then I would come to realize that it would have been better for me to drink the leprosy potion that she offered me\u2014rather than drive to her death the woman to whom Erlend had first bound himself.\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" said the priest, \"you've lost your senses. You weren't the one who drove that poor woman to her death. Erlend couldn't keep the promise that he'd given her when he was young and knew little of law and justice. He could never have lived with her without sin. And she herself allowed another man to seduce her, and Erlend wanted to marry her to him when he heard of it. The two of you were not to blame for her taking her own life.\"\n\n\"Do you want to know how it happened that she took her life?\" Kristin was now so full of despair that she spoke quite calmly. \"We were together at Haugen, Erlend and I, when she arrived. She had brought along a drinking horn, and she wanted me to drink with her. I now see that she probably intended it for Erlend, but when she found me there with him, she wanted me to... I realized it was treachery\u2014I saw that she didn't drink any herself when she put the horn to her lips. But I wanted to drink and I didn't care whether I lived or died when I found out that she had been with him here at Husaby the whole time. Then Erlend came in\u2014he threatened her with his knife: 'You must drink first.' She begged and begged, and he was about to let her go. Then the Devil took hold of me; I grabbed the horn\u2014'One of us, your two mistresses,' I said\u2014I egged Erlend on\u2014'You can't keep both of us,' I said. And so it was that she killed herself with Erlend's knife. But Bj\u00f8rn and Aashild found a way to conceal what had happened.\"\n\n\"So Aunt Aashild took part in this concealment,\" said Gunnulf harshly. \"I see... she played you into Erlend's hands.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin vehemently. \"Fru Aashild pleaded with us. She begged Erlend and she begged me so that I don't understand how I dared defy her\u2014to step forward in as honorable a manner as was still possible, to fall at my father's feet and implore him to forgive us for what we had done. But I didn't dare. I argued that I was afraid that Father would kill Erlend\u2014but oh, I knew full well that Father would never harm a man who put himself and his case into his hands. I argued that I was afraid he would suffer such sorrow that he would never be able to hold his head high again. But I have since shown that I was not so afraid to cause my father sorrow. You can't know, Gunnulf, what a good man my father is\u2014no one can realize it who doesn't know him, how kind he has been to me all my days. Father has always been so fond of me. I don't want him to find out that I behaved shamelessly while he thought I was living with the sisters in Oslo and learning everything that was right and just. I even wore the clothing of a lay sister as I met with Erlend in cowsheds and lofts in town.\"\n\nShe looked up at Gunnulf. His face was pale and hard as stone.\n\n\"Do you see now why I'm frightened? She who took him in when he arrived, infected with leprosy...\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you have done the same?\" the priest asked gently.\n\n\"Of course, of course, of course.\" A shadow of that wild, sweet smile of the past flickered across the woman's ravaged face.\n\n\"But Erlend wasn't infected,\" said Gunnulf. \"No one except Father ever thought that Mother died of leprosy.\"\n\n\"But I must be like a leper in God's eyes,\" said Kristin. She rested her face on the priest's arm which she was gripping. \"Such as I am, infected with sins.\"\n\n\"My sister,\" said the priest softly, placing his other hand on her wimple. \"I doubt that you are so sinful, young child, that you have forgotten that just as God can cleanse a person's flesh of leprosy, He can also cleanse your soul of sin.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" she sobbed, hiding her face on his arm. \"I don't know\u2014and I don't feel any remorse, Gunnulf. I'm afraid, and yet... I was afraid when I stood at the church door with Erlend and the priest married us. I was afraid when I went inside for the wedding mass with him, with the golden crown on my flowing hair, for I didn't dare speak of shame to my father, with all my sins unatoned for; I didn't even dare confess fully to my parish priest. But as I went about here this winter and saw myself growing more hideous for each day that passed\u2014then I was even more frightened, for Erlend did not act toward me as he had before. I thought about those days when he would come to me in my chamber at Skog in the evenings....\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" the priest tried to lift her face, \"you mustn't think about this now! Think about God, who sees your sorrow and your remorse. Turn to the gentle Virgin Mary, who takes pity on every sorrowful\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't you see? I drove another human being to take her own life!\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" the priest said sternly. \"Are you so arrogant that you think yourself capable of sinning so badly that God's mercy is not great enough?...\"\n\nHe stroked her wimple over and over.\n\n\"Don't you remember, my sister, when the Devil tried to tempt Saint Martin? Then the Fiend asked Saint Martin whether he dared believe it when he promised God's mercy to all the sinners whose confessions he heard. And the bishop answered, 'Even to you I promise God's forgiveness at the very instant you ask for it\u2014if only you will give up your pride and believe that His love is greater than your hatred.'\"\n\nGunnulf continued to stroke the head of the weeping woman. All the while he thought: Was this the way that Erlend had behaved toward his young bride? His lips grew pale and grim at the thought.\n\nAudfinna Audunsdatter was the first of the women to arrive. She found Kristin in the little house; Gunnulf was sitting with her, and a couple of maids were bustling about the room.\n\nAudfinna greeted the priest with deference, but Kristin stood up and went toward her with her hand outstretched.\n\n\"I must give you thanks for coming, Audfinna. I know it's not easy for your family to be without you at home.\"\n\nGunnulf had given the woman a searching look. Now he too stood up and said, \"It was good of you to come so quickly. My sister-in-law needs someone she can trust to be with her. She's a stranger here, young and inexperienced.\"\n\n\"Jesus, she's as white as her linen wimple,\" whispered Audfinna. \"Do you think, sir, that I might give her a sleeping potion? She needs to rest a while before it gets much worse.\"\n\nShe set to work, quietly and efficiently, inspecting the bed that the servant women had prepared on the floor, and telling them to bring more cushions and straw. She put small stone vessels of herbs on the fire to heat. Then she proceeded to loosen all the ribbons and ties on Kristin's clothing, and finally she pulled out all the pins from the ill woman's hair.\n\n\"I've never seen anything so lovely,\" she said when the cascading, silky, golden-brown mane tumbled down around the pale face. She had to laugh. \"It certainly hasn't lost much of either fullness or sheen, even though you went bareheaded a little longer than was proper.\"\n\nShe settled Kristin comfortably among the cushions on the floor and covered her with a blanket.\n\n\"Drink this now, and you won't feel the pains as much\u2014and see if you can sleep a little now and then.\"\n\nGunnulf was ready to leave. He went over and bent down toward Kristin.\n\n\"You will pray for me, Gunnulf?\" she implored him.\n\n\"I will pray for you until I see you with your child in your arms\u2014and after that too,\" he said as he tucked her hand back under the covers.\n\nKristin lay there, dozing. She felt almost content. The pain in her loins came and went, came and went\u2014but it was unlike anything she had ever felt before, so that each time it was over, she wondered whether she had just imagined it. After the anguish and dread of the early morning hours, she felt as if she were already beyond the worst fear and torment. Audfinna walked about quietly, hanging up the infant clothes, blankets, and furs to warm at the hearth\u2014and stirring her pots a little so the room smelled of spices. Finally Kristin slept between each wave of pain; she thought she was back home in the brewhouse at J\u00f8rundgaard and was supposed to help her mother dye a large woven fabric\u2014probably because of the steam from the ash bark and nettles.\n\nThen the neighbor women arrived, one after another\u2014wives from the estates in the parish and in Birgsi. Audfinna withdrew to her place with the maids. Toward evening, Kristin began to suffer terrible pain. The women told her to walk around as long as she could bear it. This tormented her greatly; the house was now crowded with women, and she had to walk around like a mare that was for sale. Now and then she had to let the women squeeze and touch her body all over, and then they would confer with each other. At last Fru Gunna from Raasvold, who was in charge of things, said that now Kristin could lie down on the floor. She divided up the women: some to sleep and some to keep watch. \"This isn't going to pass quickly\u2014but go ahead and scream, Kristin, when it hurts, and don't pay any mind to those who are sleeping. We're all here to help you, poor child,\" she said, gentle and kind, patting the young woman's cheek.\n\nBut Kristin lay there biting her lips to shreds and crushing the corners of the blanket in her sweaty hands. It was suffocatingly hot, but they told her that was as it should be. After each wave of pain, the sweat poured off her.\n\nAt times she would lie there thinking about food for all these women. She fervently wanted them to see that she kept good order in her house. She had asked Torbj\u00f8rg, the cook, to put whey in the water for boiling the fresh fish. If only Gunnulf wouldn't regard this as breaking the fast. Sira Eirik had said that it wasn't, for whey was not milk, and the fish broth would be thrown out. They mustn't be allowed to taste the dried fish that Erlend had brought home in the fall, spoiled and full of mites that it was.\n\nBlessed Virgin Mary\u2014will it be long before you help me? Oh, how it hurts, it hurts, it hurts....\n\nShe was trying to hold out a little longer, before she gave in and screamed.\n\nAudfinna sat next to the hearth and tended the pots of water. Kristin wished that she dared ask her to come over and hold her hand. There was nothing she wouldn't give to hold on to a familiar and kind hand right now. But she was ashamed to ask for it.\n\nThe next morning a bewildered silence hovered over Husaby. It was the day before the Feast of the Annunciation and the farm work was supposed to be finished by midafternoon prayers, but the men were distracted and somber, and the frightened maids were careless with their chores. The servants had grown fond of their young mistress, and it was said that things were not going well for her.\n\nErlend stood outside in the courtyard, talking to his smith. He tried to keep his thoughts on what the man was saying. Then Fru Gunna came rushing over to him.\n\n\"There's no progress with your wife, Erlend\u2014we've tried everything we know. You must come. It might help if she sits on your lap. Go in and change into a short tunic. But be quick; she's suffering greatly, your poor young wife!\"\n\nErlend had turned blood-red. He remembered he had heard that if a woman was having trouble delivering a child she had conceived in secrecy, then it might help if she were placed on her husband's knee.\n\nKristin was lying on the floor under several blankets; two women were sitting with her. The moment that Erlend came in, he saw her body convulse and she buried her head in the lap of one of the women, rocking it from side to side. But she didn't utter a single whimper.\n\nWhen the pain had passed, she looked up with wild, frightened eyes, her cracked, brown lips gasping. All trace of youth and beauty had vanished from the swollen, flushed red face. Even her hair was matted together with bits of straw and wool from the fur of a filthy hide. She looked at Erlend as if she didn't immediately recognize him. But when she realized why the women had sent for him, she shook her head vigorously.\n\n\"It's not the custom where I come from... for men to be present when a woman is giving birth.\"\n\n\"It's sometimes done here in the north,\" said Erlend quietly. \"If it can lessen the pain a little for you, my Kristin, then you must\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh!\" When he knelt beside her she threw her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him. Hunched over and shaking, she fought her way through the pain without a murmur.\n\n\"May I have a few words with my husband alone?\" she said when it was over, her breathing rapid and harsh. The women withdrew.\n\n\"Was it when she was suffering the agony of childbirth that you promised her what she told me\u2014that you would marry her when she was widowed... that night when Orm was born?\" whispered Kristin.\n\nErlend gasped for air, as if he had been struck deep in the heart. Then he vehemently shook his head.\n\n\"I was at the castle that night; my men and I had guard duty. It was when I came back to our hostel in the morning and they put the boy in my arms.... Have you been lying here thinking about this, Kristin?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Again she clung to him as the waves of pain washed over her. Erlend wiped away the sweat that poured down her face.\n\n\"Now you know,\" he said, when she lay quiet once more. \"Don't you want me to stay with you, as Fru Gunna says?\"\n\nBut Kristin shook her head. And finally the women had to let Erlend go.\n\nBut then it seemed as if her power to endure was broken. She screamed in wild terror of the pain that she could feel approaching, and begged pitifully for help. And yet when the women talked of bringing her husband back, she screamed \"No!\" She would rather be tortured to death.\n\nGunnulf and the cleric who was with him walked over to the church to attend evensong. Everyone on the estate went along who was not tending to the woman giving birth. But Erlend slipped out of the church before the service was over and walked south toward the buildings.\n\nIn the west, above the ridges on the other side of the valley, the sky was a yellowish-red. The twilight of the spring evening was about to descend, clear and bright and mild. A few stars appeared, white in the light sky. A little wisp of fog drifted over the bare woods down by the lake, and there were brown patches where the fields lay open to the sun. The smell of earth and thawing snow filled the air.\n\nThe little house was at the westernmost edge of the courtyard, facing the hollow of the valley. Erlend went over and stood for a moment behind the wall. The timbers were still warm from the sun as he leaned against them. Oh, how she screamed.... He had once heard a heifer shrieking in the grip of a bear \u2014that was up at their mountain pasture, and he was only a half-grown boy. He and Arnbj\u00f8rn, the shepherd boy, were running south through the forest. He remembered the shaggy creature that stood up and became a bear with a red, fiery maw. The bear broke Arnbj\u00f8rn's spear in half with its paw. Then the servant threw Erlend's spear, as he stood there paralyzed with terror. The heifer lay there still alive, but its udder and thigh had been gnawed away.\n\nMy Kristin, oh, my Kristin. Lord, for the sake of Your blessed Mother, have mercy. He rushed back to the church.\n\nThe maids came into the hall with the evening meal. They didn't set up the table, but placed the food near the hearth. The men took bread and fish over to the benches, sat down in their places, not speaking and eating little; no one seemed to have an appetite. No one came to clear away the dishes after the meal, and none of the men got up to go to bed. They stayed sitting there, staring into the hearth fire, without talking.\n\nErlend had hidden himself in a corner near the bed; he couldn't bear to have anyone see his face.\n\nMaster Gunnulf had lit a small oil lamp and set it on the arm of the high seat. He sat on the bench with a book in his hands, his lips moving gently, soundless and unceasing.\n\nAt one point Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n stood up, walked forward to the hearth, and picked up a piece of soft bread; he rummaged around among the pieces of firewood and selected one. Then he went over to the corner near the doorway where old man Aan was sitting. The two of them fiddled with the bread, hidden behind Ulf's cape. Aan whittled and cut the piece of wood. The men cast a glance in their direction now and then. In a little while Ulf and Aan got up and left the hall.\n\nGunnulf watched them go, but said nothing. He took up his prayers once more.\n\nOnce a young boy toppled off the bench, falling to the floor in his sleep. He got up and looked around in bewilderment. Then he sighed softly and sat down again.\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n and Aan quietly came back in and returned to the places where they had sat before. The men looked at them, but no one said a word.\n\nSuddenly Erlend jumped up. He strode across the floor toward his servants. He was hollow-eyed, and his face was as gray as clay.\n\n\"Doesn't anyone know what to do?\" he asked. \"You, Aan,\" he whispered.\n\n\"It didn't help,\" replied Ulf, his voice equally quiet.\n\n\"It could be that she's not meant to keep this child,\" said Aan, wiping his nose. \"Then neither sacrifices nor runes can help. It's a shame for you, Erlend, that you should lose this good wife so soon.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't talk as if she were already dead,\" implored Erlend, broken and in despair. He went back to his corner and threw himself down on the enclosed bed with his head near the footboard.\n\nLater a man went outside and then came back in.\n\n\"The moon is up,\" he said. \"It will soon be morning.\"\n\nA few minutes later Fru Gunna came into the hall. She sank down onto the beggar's bench near the door. Her gray hair was disheveled, her wimple had slid back onto her shoulders.\n\nThe men stood up and slowly moved over to her.\n\n\"One of you must come and hold her,\" she said, weeping. \"We have no more strength. You must go to her, Gunnulf. There's no telling how this will end.\"\n\nGunnulf stood up and tucked his prayer book inside his belt pouch.\n\n\"You must come too, Erlend,\" said the woman.\n\nA raw and broken howl met him in the doorway. Erlend stopped and shivered. He caught a glimpse of Kristin's contorted, unrecognizable face among the sobbing women. She was on her knees, and they were supporting her.\n\nOver by the door several servant women were kneeling at the benches; they were praying loudly and steadily. He threw himself down next to them and hid his head in his arms. She screamed and screamed, and each time he felt himself freeze with incredulous horror. It couldn't possibly be like this.\n\nHe ventured a glance in her direction. Now Gunnulf was sitting on a stool in front of her and holding her under the arms. Fru Gunna was kneeling at her side, with her arms around Kristin's waist, but Kristin was fighting her, frightened to death, and trying to push the other woman away.\n\n\"Oh no, oh no, let me go\u2014I can't do it\u2014God, God, help me...\"\n\n\"God will help you soon, Kristin,\" said the priest each time. A woman held a basin of water, and after each wave of pain he would take a wet cloth and wipe the sick woman's face\u2014along the roots of her hair and in between her lips, from which saliva was dripping.\n\nThen she would rest her head in Gunnulf's arms and doze off for a moment, but the torment would instantly tear her out of her sleep again. And the priest continued to say, \"Now, Kristin, you will have help soon.\"\n\nNo one had any idea what time of night it was anymore. The dawn was already a gray glare in the smoke vent.\n\nThen, after a long, mad howl of terror, everything fell silent. Erlend heard the women rushing around; he didn't want to look up. Then he heard someone weeping loudly and he cringed again, not wanting to know.\n\nThen Kristin shrieked once more\u2014a piercing, wild cry of lament that didn't sound like the insane, inhuman animal cries of before. Erlend leaped up.\n\nGunnulf was bending down and holding on to Kristin, who was still on her knees. She was staring with deathly horror at something that Fru Gunna was holding in a sheepskin. The raw and dark red shape looked like nothing more than the entrails from a slaughtered beast.\n\nThe priest pulled her close.\n\n\"Dear Kristin\u2014you have given birth to as fine and handsome a son as any mother should thank God for\u2014and he's breathing!\" said Gunnulf fiercely to the weeping women. \"He's breathing\u2014God would not be so harsh as not to hear us.\"\n\nAnd as the priest spoke, it happened. Through the exhausted, confused mind of the mother tumbled, hazily recalled, the sight of a bud she had seen in the cloister garden\u2014something from which red, crinkled wisps of silk emerged and spread out to become a flower.\n\nThe shapeless lump moved\u2014it whimpered. It stretched out and became a very tiny, wine-red infant in human form. It had arms and legs and hands and feet with fully formed fingers and toes. It flailed and hissed a bit.\n\n\"So tiny, so tiny, so tiny he is,\" she cried in a thin, broken voice and then burst into laughing sobs. The women around her began to laugh and wipe their tears, and Gunnulf gave Kristin into their arms.\n\n\"Roll him in a trencher so he can scream better,\" said the priest as he followed the women carrying the newborn son over to the hearth.\n\nWhen Kristin awoke from a long faint, she was lying in bed. Someone had removed the dreadful, sweat-soaked garments, and a feeling of warmth and healing was blessedly streaming through her body. They had placed small pouches of warm nettle porridge on her and wrapped her in hot blankets and furs.\n\nSomeone hushed her when she tried to speak. It was quite still in the room. But through the silence came a voice that she couldn't quite recognize.\n\n\"Nikulaus, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost...\"\n\nThere was the sound of water trickling.\n\nKristin propped herself up on her elbow to take a look. Over by the hearth stood a priest in white garb, and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n was lifting a kicking, red, naked child out of the large brass basin; he handed him to the godmother, and then took the lit taper.\n\nShe had given birth to a child, and he was screaming so loudly that the priest's words were almost drowned out. But she was so tired. She felt numb and wanted to sleep.\n\nThen she heard Erlend's voice; he spoke quickly and with alarm.\n\n\"His head\u2014he has such a strange head.\"\n\n\"He's swollen up,\" said the woman calmly. \"And it's no wonder\u2014he had to fight hard for his life, this boy.\"\n\nKristin shouted something. She felt as if she were suddenly awake, to the very depths of her heart. This was her son, and he had fought for his life, just as she had.\n\nGunnulf turned around at once and laughed; he seized the tiny white bundle from Fru Gunna's lap and carried it over to the bed. He placed the boy in his mother's arms. Weak with tenderness and joy she rubbed her face against the little bit of red, silky-soft face visible among the linen wrappings.\n\nShe glanced up at Erlend. Once before she had seen his face look this haggard and gray\u2014she couldn't remember when, her head felt so dizzy and strange, but she knew that it was good she had no memory of it. And it was good to see him standing there with his brother; the priest had his hand on Erlend's shoulder. An immeasurable sense of peace and well-being came over her as she looked at the tall man wearing alb and stole; the round, lean face beneath the black fringe of hair was strong, but his smile was pleasant and kind.\n\nErlend drove his dagger deep into the wall timber behind the mother and child.\n\n\"That's not necessary now,\" said the priest with a laugh. \"The boy has been baptized, after all.\"\n\nKristin suddenly remembered something that Brother Edvin once said. A newly baptized child was just as holy as the holy angels in heaven. The sins of the parents were washed from the child, and he had not yet committed any sins of his own. Fearful and cautious, she kissed the little face.\n\nFru Gunna came over to them. She was worn out and exhausted and angry at the father, who had not had the sense to offer a single word of thanks to all the women who had helped. And the priest had taken the child from her and carried him over to his mother. She should have done that, both because she had delivered the woman and because she was the godmother of the boy.\n\n\"You haven't yet greeted your son, Erlend, or held him in your arms,\" she said crossly.\n\nErlend lifted the swaddled infant from the mother's arms\u2014for a moment he lay his face close.\n\n\"I don't think I'm going to be properly fond of you, Naakkve, until I forget what terrible suffering you caused your mother,\" he said, and then gave the boy back to Kristin.\n\n\"By all means give him the blame for that,\" said the old woman, annoyed. Master Gunnulf laughed, and then Fru Gunna laughed with him. She wanted to take the child and put him in his cradle, but Kristin begged to keep him with her for a while. A moment later she fell asleep with her son beside her\u2014vaguely noticing that Erlend touched her, cautiously, as if he were afraid to hurt her, and then she was sound asleep again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "In the morning of the tenth day after the child's birth, Master Gunnulf said to his brother when they were alone in the hall, \"It's about time now, Erlend, for you to send word to your wife's kinsmen about how things are with her.\"\n\n\"I don't think there's any haste with that,\" replied Erlend. \"I doubt they will be overly glad at J\u00f8rundgaard when they hear that there's already a son here on the manor.\"\n\n\"Don't you think Kristin's mother would have realized last fall that her daughter was unwell?\" Gunnulf asked. \"She must be worried by now.\"\n\nErlend didn't say a word in reply.\n\nBut later in the day, as Gunnulf was sitting in the little house and talking to Kristin, Erlend came in. He was wearing a fur cap on his head, a short, thick homespun coat, long pants, and furry boots. He bent down to his wife and patted her cheek.\n\n\"So, dear Kristin\u2014do you have any greetings you wish to send to J\u00f8rundgaard? I'm heading there now to bring word of our son.\"\n\nKristin blushed bright red. She looked both frightened and happy.\n\n\"It's no more than your father would demand of me,\" said Erlend somberly, \"that I bring the news myself.\"\n\nKristin lay in silence for a moment.\n\n\"Tell them at home,\" she said softly, \"that I have yearned every day since I left home to fall at Father's and Mother's feet to beg their forgiveness.\"\n\nA few minutes later, Erlend left. Kristin didn't think to ask how he would travel. But Gunnulf went out to the courtyard with his brother. Next to the doorway of the main house stood Erlend's skis and a staff with a spear point.\n\n\"You're going to ski there?\" asked Gunnulf. \"Who's going with you?\"\n\n\"Nobody,\" replied Erlend, laughing. \"You should know best of all, Gunnulf, that it's not easy for anyone to keep up with me on skis.\"\n\n\"This seems reckless to me,\" said the priest. \"There are many wolves in the mountain forests this year, they say.\"\n\nErlend merely laughed and began to strap on his skis. \"I was thinking of heading up through the Gjeitskar pastures before it gets dark. It will be light for a long time yet. I can make it to J\u00f8rundgaard on the evening of the third day.\"\n\n\"The path from Gjeitskar to the road is uncertain, and there are bad patches of fog there too. You know it's unsafe up in the mountain pastures in the wintertime.\"\n\n\"You can lend me your flint,\" said Erlend in the same tone of voice, \"in case I should need to throw mine away\u2014at some elf woman if she demands such courtesies of me as would be unseemly for a married man. Listen, brother, I'm doing now what you said I should do\u2014going to Kristin's father to ask him to demand whatever penances from me that he finds reasonable. Surely you can allow me to decide this much, that I myself choose how I will travel.\"\n\nAnd with that Master Gunnulf had to be content. But he sternly commanded the servants to conceal from Kristin that Erlend had set off alone.\n\nTo the south the sky arched pale yellow over the blue-tinged snowdrifts of the mountains on the evening when Erlend came racing down past the churchyard, making the snow crust creak and shriek. High overhead hovered the crescent moon, shining white and dewy in the twilight.\n\nAt J\u00f8rundgaard dark smoke was swirling up from the smoke vents against the pale, clear sky. The sound of an axe rang out cold and rhythmic in the stillness.\n\nAt the entrance to the courtyard a pack of dogs started barking loudly at the approaching man. Inside the courtyard a group of shaggy goats ambled around, dark silhouettes in the clear dusk. They were nibbling at a heap of fir boughs in the middle of the courtyard. Three winter-clad youngsters were running among them.\n\nThe peace of the place made an oddly deep impression on Erlend. He stood there, irresolute, and waited for Lavrans, who was coming forward to greet the stranger. His fatherin-law had been over by the woodshed, talking to a man splitting rails for a fence. Lavrans stopped abruptly when he recognized his son-in-law; he thrust the spear he was holding hard into the snow.\n\n\"Is that you?\" he asked in a low voice. \"Alone? Is there... is something...?\" And a moment later he said, \"How is it that you've come here like this?\"\n\n\"Here's the reason.\" Erlend pulled himself together and looked his fatherin-law in the eye. \"I thought I could do no less than to come here myself to bring you the news. Kristin gave birth to a son on the morning of the Feast of the Annunciation.\n\n\"And yes, she is doing well now,\" he added quickly.\n\nLavrans stood in silence for a moment. He was biting down hard on his lip\u2014his jaw trembled and quivered faintly.\n\n\"That was news indeed!\" he said then.\n\nLittle Ramborg had come over to stand at her father's side. She looked up, her face flaming red.\n\n\"Be quiet,\" said Lavrans harshly, even though the maiden hadn't uttered a word but had merely blushed. \"Don't stand here\u2014go away.\"\n\nHe didn't say anything more. Erlend stood leaning forward, with his left hand gripping his staff. His eyes were fixed on the snow. He had stuck his right hand inside his tunic.\n\nLavrans pointed. \"Have you injured yourself?\"\n\n\"A little,\" said Erlend. \"I slipped down a slope yesterday in the dark.\"\n\nLavrans touched his wrist and pressed it cautiously. \"I don't think there are any bones broken,\" he said. \"You can tell her mother yourself.\" He started for the house as Ragnfrid came out into the courtyard. She looked in amazement at her husband; then she recognized Erlend and quickly walked over to him.\n\nShe listened without speaking as Erlend, for the second time, presented his message. But her eyes filled with tears when Erlend said at the end, \"I thought you might have noticed something before she left here in the fall\u2014and that you might be worried about her now.\"\n\n\"It was kind of you, Erlend,\" she said uncertainly. \"For you to think of that. I think I've been worried every day since you took her away from us.\"\n\nLavrans came back.\n\n\"Here is some fox fat\u2014I see that you've frozen your cheek, son-in-law. You must stay for a while in the entryway, so Ragnfrid can attend to it and thaw you out. How are your feet? You must take off your boots so we can see.\"\n\nWhen the servants came in for the evening meal, Lavrans told them the news and ordered special foreign ale to be brought in so they could celebrate. But there was no real merriment about the occasion\u2014the master himself sat at the table with a cup of water. He asked Erlend to forgive him, but this was a promise he had made during his youth, to drink water during Lent. And so the servants sat there quietly, and the conversation lagged over the good ale. Once in a while the children would go over to Lavrans; he put his arm around them when they stood at his knee, but he gave absentminded answers to their questions. Ramborg replied curtly and sharply when Erlend tried to tease her; she would show that she didn't like this brother-in-law of hers. She was now eight winters old, lively and lovely, but she bore little resemblance to her sisters.\n\nErlend asked who the other children were. Lavrans told him the boy was Haavard Trondss\u00f8n, the youngest child at Sundbu. It was so tedious for him over there among his grownup siblings; at Christmastime he had decided to go home with his aunt. The maiden was Helga Rolvsdatter. Her kinsmen had been forced to take the children from Blakarsarv home with them after the funeral; it wasn't good for them to see their father the way he was now. And it was nice for Ramborg that she had these foster siblings. \"We're getting old now, Ragnfrid and I,\" said Lavrans. \"And she's more wild and playful, this one here, than Kristin was.\" He stroked his daughter's curly hair.\n\nErlend sat down next to his motherin-law, and she asked him about Kristin's childbirth. The son-in-law noticed that Lavrans was listening to them, but then he stood up, went over, and picked up his hat and cape. He would go over to the parsonage, he said, to ask Sira Eirik to come and join them for a drink.\n\nLavrans walked along the well-trodden path through the fields toward Romundgaard. The moon was about to sink behind the mountains now, but thousands of stars still sparkled above the white slopes. He hoped the priest would be at home\u2014he could no longer stand to sit there with the others.\n\nBut when he turned down the lane between the fences near the courtyard, he saw a small candle coming toward him. Old Audun was carrying it, and when he sensed there was someone in the road, he rang his tiny silver bell. Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n threw himself down on his knees in the snowdrift at the side of the road.\n\nAudun walked past with his candle and bell, which rang faintly and gently. Behind him rode Sira Eirik. With his hands he lifted the Host vessel high as he came upon the kneeling man, but he did not turn his head; he rode silently past as Lavrans bowed down and raised his hands in greeting to his Savior.\n\nThat was the son of Einar Hnufa with the priest\u2014it must be nearing the end for the old man now. Ah well. Lavrans said his prayers for the dying man before he stood up and walked back home. The meeting with God in the night had nevertheless strengthened and consoled him a great deal.\n\nWhen they had gone to bed, Lavrans asked his wife, \"Did you know anything about this\u2014that things were such with Kristin?\"\n\n\"Didn't you?\" said Ragnfrid.\n\n\"No,\" replied her husband so curtly that she could tell he must have been thinking of it all the same.\n\n\"I was indeed fearful for a time this past summer,\" said the mother hesitantly. \"I could see that she took no pleasure in her food. But as the days passed, I thought I must have been mistaken. She seemed so happy during all the time we were preparing for her wedding.\"\n\n\"Well, she certainly had good reason for that,\" said the father with some disdain. \"But that she said nothing to you.... You, her own mother...\"\n\n\"Yes, you think of that now when she's gone astray,\" said Ragnfrid bitterly. \"But you know quite well that Kristin has never confided in me.\"\n\nLavrans said no more. A little later he bade his wife sleep well and then lay down quietly. He realized that sleep would not come to him for some time.\n\nKristin, Kristin\u2014his poor little maiden.\n\nNot with a single word had he ever referred to what Ragnfrid had confessed to him on the night of Kristin's wedding. And in all fairness she couldn't say he had made her feel it was on his mind. He had been no different in his demeanor toward her\u2014rather, he had striven to show her even more kindness and love. But it was not the first time this winter he had noticed the bitterness in Ragnfrid or seen her searching for some hidden offense in the innocent words he had spoken. He didn't understand it, and he didn't know what to do about it\u2014he would simply have to accept it.\n\n\"Our Father who art in Heaven...\" He prayed for Kristin and her child. Then he prayed for his wife and for himself. Finally, he prayed for the strength to tolerate Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n with a patient spirit for as long as he was forced to have his son-in-law there on his estate.\n\nLavrans would not allow his daughter's husband to set off for home until they saw how his wrist was healing. And he refused to let Erlend go back alone.\n\n\"Kristin would be pleased if you came with me,\" said Erlend one day.\n\nLavrans was silent for a moment. Then he voiced many objections. Ragnfrid would undoubtedly not like to be left alone on the farm. And once he had journeyed so far north, it would be difficult to return in time for spring planting. But in the end he set off with Erlend. He took no servant along\u2014he would travel home by ship to Raumsdal. There he could hire horses to carry him south through the valley; he knew people everywhere along the way.\n\nThey talked little as they skied, but they got along well together. It was a struggle for Lavrans to keep up with his companion; he didn't want to admit that his son-in-law went too fast for him. But Erlend took note of this and at once adapted his pace to his fatherin-law's. He went to great lengths to charm his wife's father\u2014and he had that quiet, gentle manner whenever he wished to win someone's friendship.\n\nOn the third evening they sought shelter in a stone hut. They had had bad weather and fog, but Erlend seemed to be able to find his way just as confidently. Lavrans noticed that Erlend had an astoundingly accurate knowledge of all signs and tracks, in the air and on the ground, and of the ways of animals and their habits\u2014and he always seemed to know where he was. Everything that Lavrans, experienced in the mountains as he was, had learned by observing and paying attention and remembering, the other man seemed to intuit quite blindly. Erlend laughed at this, but it was simply something he knew.\n\nThey found the stone hut in the dark, exactly at the moment Erlend had predicted. Lavrans recalled one such night when he had dug himself a shelter in the snow only an arrow's shot away from his own horse shed. Here the snow had drifted up over the hut and they had to break their way in through the smoke vent. Erlend covered the opening with a horsehide that was lying in the hut, fastening it with sticks of firewood, which he stuck in among the roof beams. With a ski he cleared away the snow that had blown inside and managed to build a fire in the hearth from the frozen wood lying about. He pulled out three or four grouse from under the bench\u2014he had put them there on his way south. He packed them in earth from the floor where it had thawed out around the hearth and then threw the bundles into the embers.\n\nLavrans stretched out on the earthen bench, which Erlend had prepared for him as best he could, spreading out their knapsacks and capes.\n\n\"That's what soldiers do with stolen chickens, Erlend,\" he said with a laugh.\n\n\"Yes, I learned a few things when I was in the Earl's service,\" said Erlend, laughing too.\n\nNow he was alert and lively, not silent and rather sluggish the way his fatherin-law had most often seen him. As he sat on the floor in front of Lavrans, he started telling stories about the years when he served Earl Jacob in Halland. He had been head of the castle guard, and he had patrolled the coast with three small ships. Erlend's eyes shone like a child's\u2014he wasn't boasting, he merely let the words spill out. Lavrans lay there looking down at him.\n\nHe had prayed to God to grant him patience with this man, his daughter's husband. Now he was almost angry with himself because he was more fond of Erlend than he wanted to be. He thought about that night when their church burned down and he had taken a liking to his son-in-law. It was not that Erlend lacked manhood in his lanky body. Lavrans felt a stab of pain in his heart. It was a pity about Erlend; he could have been fit for better things than seducing women. But nothing much had come of that except boyish pranks. If only times had been such that a chieftain could have taken this man in hand and put him to use... but as the world was now, when every man had to depend on his own judgment about so many things... and a man in Erlend's circumstances was supposed to make decisions for himself and for the welfare of many other people. And this was Kristin's husband.\n\nErlend looked up at his fatherin-law. He grew somber too. Then he said, \"I want to ask one thing, Lavrans. Before we reach my home, I'd like you to tell me what is in your heart.\"\n\nLavrans was silent.\n\n\"You must know,\" said Erlend in the same tone of voice, \"that I would gladly fall at your feet in whatever manner you wish and make amends in whatever way you deem a fitting punishment for me.\"\n\nLavrans looked down into the younger man's face; then he smiled oddly.\n\n\"That might be difficult, Erlend\u2014for me to decide and for you to do. But now you must make a proper gift to the church at Sundbu and to the priests, whom you have also deceived,\" he said adamantly. \"I will speak no more of this! And you cannot blame it on your youth. It would have been much more honorable, Erlend, if you had fallen at my feet before you held your wedding.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend. \"But at the time I didn't know how things stood, or that it would come to light that I had offended you.\"\n\nLavrans sat up.\n\n\"Didn't you know, when you were wed, that Kristin...\"\n\n\"No,\" said Erlend, looking crestfallen. \"We were married for almost two months before I realized it.\"\n\nLavrans gave him a look of surprise but said nothing.\n\nThen Erlend spoke again, his voice low and unsteady, \"I'm glad that you came with me, Fatherin-law. Kristin has been so melancholy all winter\u2014she has hardly said a word to me. Many times it seemed to me that she was unhappy, both with Husaby and with me.\"\n\nLavrans replied somewhat coldly and harshly, \"That's no doubt the way things are with most young wives. Now that she's well again, you two will probably be just as good friends as you were before.\" And he smiled a little mockingly.\n\nBut Erlend sat and stared into the glowing embers. He suddenly understood with certainty\u2014but he had realized it from the moment he first saw the tiny red infant face pressed against Kristin's white shoulder. It would never be the same between them, the way it had been before.\n\nWhen Kristin's father stepped inside the little house, she sat up in bed and held out her hands toward him. She threw her arms around his shoulders and wept and wept, until Lavrans grew quite alarmed.\n\nShe had been out of bed for some time, but then she learned that Erlend had set off for Gudbrandsdal alone, and when he failed to return home for days on end, she grew so anxious that she developed a fever. And she had to go back to bed.\n\nIt was apparent that she was still weak\u2014she wept at everything. The new manor priest, Sira Eiliv Serkss\u00f8n, had arrived while Erlend was away. He had taken it upon himself to visit the mistress now and then to read to her, but she wept over such unreasonable things that soon he didn't know what he dared let her hear.\n\nOne day when her father was sitting with her, Kristin wanted to change the child herself so that he could see how handsome and well-formed the boy was. He lay naked on the swaddling clothes, kicking on the wool coverlet in front of his mother.\n\n\"What kind of a mark is that on his chest?\" asked Lavrans.\n\nRight over his heart the child had several little blood-red flecks; it looked as if a bloody hand had touched the boy there. Kristin had been distressed by it too, the first time she saw this mark. But she had tried to console herself, and she said now, \"It's probably just a fire mark\u2014I put my hand to my breast when I saw the church was burning.\"\n\nHer father gave a start. Well. He hadn't known how long\u2014or how much\u2014she had kept to herself. And he couldn't understand that she had had the strength\u2014his own child, and from him..."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "\"I don't think you're truly fond of my son,\" Kristin said to her father many times, and Lavrans would laugh a bit and say of course he was. He had also placed an abundance of gifts both in the cradle and in the mother's bed. But Kristin didn't think anyone cared enough for her son\u2014least of all Erlend. \"Look at him, Father,\" she would beg. \"Did you see he was laughing? Have you ever seen a more beautiful child than Naakkve, Father?\"\n\nShe asked this same thing over and over. Once Lavrans said, as if in thought, \"Haavard, your brother\u2014our second son\u2014was a very handsome child.\"\n\nAfter a moment Kristin asked in a timid voice, \"Was he the one who lived the longest of my brothers?\"\n\n\"Yes. He was two winters old. Now you mustn't cry again, my Kristin,\" he said gently.\n\nNeither Lavrans nor Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n liked the fact that the boy was called Naakkve; he had been baptized Nikulaus. Erlend maintained that it was the same name, but Gunnulf disagreed; there were men in the sagas who had been called Naakkve since heathen times. But Erlend still refused to use the name that his father had borne. And Kristin always called the boy by the name Erlend had spoken when he first greeted their son.\n\nIn Kristin's view there was only one person at Husaby, aside from herself, who fully realized what a splendid and promising child Naakkve was. That was the new priest, Sira Eiliv. In that way, he was nearly as sensible as she was.\n\nSira Eiliv was a short, slight man with a little round belly, which gave him a somewhat comical appearance. He was exceedingly nondescript; people who had spoken to him many times had trouble recognizing the priest, so ordinary was his face. His hair and complexion were the same color\u2014like reddish-yellow sand\u2014and his round, watery blue eyes were quite dull. In manner he was subdued and diffident, but Master Gunnulf said that Sira Eiliv was so learned that he could have attained high standing if only he had not been so unassuming. But he was far less marked by his learning than by pure living, humility, and a deep love for Christ and his Church.\n\nHe was of low birth, and although he was not much older than Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n, he seemed almost like an old man. Gunnulf had known him ever since they went to school together in Nidaros, and he always spoke of Eiliv Serkss\u00f8n with great affection. Erlend didn't think it was much of a priest they had been given at Husaby, but Kristin immediately felt great trust and affection for him.\n\nKristin continued to live in the little house with her child, even after she had made her first visit back to church. That was a bleak day for Kristin. Sira Eiliv escorted her through the church door, but he didn't dare give her the body of Christ. She had confessed to him, but for the sin that she had committed when she became implicated in another person's illfated death, she would have to seek absolution from the archbishop. That morning when Gunnulf had sat with Kristin, her spirit in anguish, he had impressed upon her heart that as soon as she was out of any physical danger, she must rush to seek redemption for her soul. As soon as she had regained her health, she must keep her promise to Saint Olav. Now that he, through his intercession, had brought her son, healthy and alive, into the light and to the baptismal font, she must walk barefoot to his grave and place there her golden crown, the honored adornment of maidens, which she had guarded so poorly and unjustly worn. And Gunnulf had advised her to prepare for the journey with solitude, prayers, reading, meditation, and even fasting, although with moderation for the sake of the nursing child.\n\nThat evening as she sat in sorrow after going to church, Gunnulf had come to her and given her a Pater noster rosary. He told her that in countries abroad, cloister folk and priests were not the only ones who used these kinds of beads to help them with their devotions. This rosary was extremely beautiful; the beads were made of a type of yellow wood from India that smelled so sweet and wondrous they might almost serve as a reminder of what a good prayer ought to be\u2014a sacrifice of the heart and a yearning for help in order to live a righteous life before God. In between there were beads of amber and gold, and the cross was painted with a lovely enamel.\n\nErlend would give his young wife a look full of longing whenever he met her out in the courtyard. She had never been as beautiful as she was now\u2014tall and slender in her simple, earth-brown dress of undyed homespun. The coarse linen wimple covering her hair, neck, and shoulders merely showed even more how glowing and pure her complexion had become. When the spring sun fell on her face, it was as if the light were seeping deep into her flesh, so radiant she was\u2014her eyes and lips were almost transparent. When he went into the little house to see the child, she would lower her great pale eyelids if he glanced at her. She seemed so modest and pure that he hardly dared touch her hand with his fingers. If she had Naakkve at her breast, she would pull a corner of her wimple over the tiny glimpse of her white body. It seemed as if they were trying to send his wife away from him to heaven.\n\nThen he would joke, half-angrily, with his brother and fatherin-law as they sat in the hall in the evening\u2014just men. Husaby had practically become a collegial church. Here sat Gunnulf and Sira Eiliv; his fatherin-law could be considered a half-priest, and now they wanted to turn him into one too. There would be three priests on the estate. But the others laughed at him.\n\nDuring the spring Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n supervised much of the farming on his manor. That year all the fences were mended and the gates were put up in good time; the plowing and spring farm work were done early and properly, and Erlend purchased excellent livestock. At the new year he had been forced to slaughter a great many animals, but this was not a bad loss, as old and wretched as they were. He set the servants to burning tar and stripping off birch bark, and the farm's buildings were put in order and the roofs repaired. Such things had not been done at Husaby since old Sir Nikulaus had had his full strength. And he also sought advice and support from his wife's father\u2014people knew that. Amidst all this work Erlend would visit friends and kinsmen in the villages along with Lavrans and his brother, the priest. But now he traveled in a suitable manner, with a couple of fit and proper servants. In the past, Erlend had been in the habit of riding around with an entire entourage of undisciplined and rowdy men. The gossip, which had for so long seethed with indignation at Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's shameless living and the disarray and decline at Husaby, now died down to a good-natured teasing. People smiled and said that Erlend's young wife had achieved a great deal in six months.\n\nShortly before Saint Botolv's Day, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n left for Nidaros, accompanied by Master Gunnulf. Lavrans was to be the priest's guest for several days while he visited Saint Olav's shrine and the other churches in town before starting his journey south to return home. He parted from his daughter and her husband with love and kindness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Kristin was to go to Nidaros three days after the Selje Men's Feast Day. Later in the month the frenzy and tumult in town would have already started as Saint Olav's Day neared, and before that time the archbishop was not in residence.\n\nThe evening before, Master Gunnulf came to Husaby, and very early the next morning he went with Sira Eiliv to the church for matins. The dew, gray as a pelt, covered the grass as Kristin walked to church, but the sun was gilding the forest at the top of the ridge, and the cuckoo was singing on the grassy mountainside. It looked as if she would have beautiful weather for her journey.\n\nThere was no one in the church except Erlend and his wife and the priests in the illuminated choir. Erlend looked at Kristin's bare feet. It must be ice cold for her to be standing on the stone floor. She would have to walk twenty miles with no escort but her prayers. He tried to lift his heart toward God, which he had not done in many years.\n\nKristin was wearing an ash-gray robe with a rope around her waist. Underneath he knew that she wore a shift of rough sack-cloth. A homespun cloth, tightly bound, hid her hair.\n\nAs they came out of the church into the morning sunshine, they were met by a maidservant carrying the child. Kristin sat down on a pile of logs. With her back to her husband she let the boy nurse until he had had his fill before she started off. Erlend stood motionless a short distance away; his cheeks were pale and cold with strain.\n\nThe priests came out a little while later; they had taken off their albs in the sacristy. They stopped in front of Kristin. A few minutes later Sira Eiliv headed down toward the manor, but Gunnulf helped her tie the child securely onto her back. Around her neck hung a bag holding the golden crown, some money, and a little bread and salt. She picked up her staff, curtseyed deeply before the priest, and then began walking silently north along the path leading up into the forest.\n\nErlend stayed behind, his face deathly white. Suddenly he started running. North of the church there were several small hills with scraggly grass slopes and shrubs of juniper and alpine birch that had been grazed over; goats usually roamed there. Erlend raced to the top. From there he would be able to see her for a little while longer, until she disappeared into the woods.\n\nGunnulf slowly followed his brother. The priest looked so tall and dark in the bright morning light. He too was very pale.\n\nErlend was standing with his mouth half-open and tears streaming down his white cheeks. Abruptly he bent forward and dropped to his knees; then he threw himself down full length on the scruffy grass. He lay there sobbing and sobbing, tugging at the heather with his long tan fingers.\n\nGunnulf stood quite still. He stared down at the weeping man and then gazed out toward the forest where the woman had disappeared.\n\nErlend raised his head off the ground. \"Gunnulf\u2014was it necessary for you to compel her to do this? Was it necessary?\" he asked again. \"Couldn't you have offered her absolution?\"\n\nThe other man did not reply.\n\nThen Erlend spoke again. \"I made my confession and offered penance.\" He sat up. \"I bought for her thirty masses and an annual mass for her soul and burial in consecrated ground; I confessed my sin to Bishop Helge and I traveled to the Shrine of the Holy Blood in Schwerin. Couldn't that have helped Kristin a little?\"\n\n\"Even though you have done that,\" said the priest quietly, \"even though you have offered God a contrite heart and been granted full reconciliation with Him, you must realize that year after year you will still have to strive to erase the traces of your sin here on earth. The harm you did to the woman who is now your wife when you dragged her down, first into impure living and then into blood guilt\u2014you cannot absolve her of that, only God can do so. Pray that He holds His hand over her during this journey when you can neither follow her nor protect her. And do not forget, brother, for as long as you both shall live, that you watched your wife leave your estate in this manner\u2014for the sake of your sins more than for her own.\"\n\nA little later Erlend said, \"I swore by God and my Christian faith before I stole her virtue that I would never take any other wife, and she promised that she would never take any other husband for as long as we both should live. You said yourself, Gunnulf, that this was then a binding marriage before God; whoever later wed another would be living in sin in His eyes. So it could not have been impure living that Kristin was my...\"\n\n\"It was not a sin that you lived with her,\" said the priest after a moment, \"if it could have been done without breaking other laws. But you drove her into sinful defiance against everyone God had put in charge of this child\u2014and then you brought the shame of blood upon her. I told you this too, back when we talked of this matter. That's why the Church has created laws regarding marriage, why banns must be announced, and why we priests must not marry man and maiden against the will of their kinsmen.\" He sat down, clasped his hands around one knee, and stared out across the summer-bright landscape, where the little lake glinted blue at the bottom of the valley. \"Surely you must realize that, Erlend. You had sown a thicket of brambles around yourself, with nettles and thorns. How could you draw a young maiden to you without her being cut and flayed bloody?\"\n\n\"You stood by me more than once, brother, during that time when I was with Eline,\" said Erlend softly. \"I have never forgotten that.\"\n\n\"I don't think I would have done so,\" replied Gunnulf, and his voice quavered, \"if I had imagined that you would have the heart to behave in such a manner toward a pure and delicate maiden\u2014and a mere child compared to you.\"\n\nErlend said nothing.\n\nGunnulf asked him gently, \"That time in Oslo\u2014didn't you ever think about what would happen to Kristin if she became with child while she was living in the convent? And was betrothed to another man? Her father a proud and honorable man\u2014and all her kinsmen of noble lineage, unaccustomed to bearing shame.\"\n\n\"Of course I thought about it.\" Erlend had turned his face away. \"Munan promised to take care of her\u2014and I told her that too.\"\n\n\"Munan! Would you deign to speak to a man like Munan of Kristin's honor?\"\n\n\"He's not the sort of man you think,\" said Erlend curtly.\n\n\"But what about our kinswoman Fru Katrin? For surely you didn't intend for him to take Kristin to any of his other estates, where his paramours live....\"\n\nErlend slammed his fist against the ground, making his knuckles bleed.\n\n\"The Devil himself must have a hand in it when a man's wife goes to his brother for confession!\"\n\n\"She hasn't confessed to me,\" said the priest. \"Nor am I her parish priest. She told me her laments during her bitter fear and anguish, and I tried to help her and give her such advice and solace as I thought best.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Erlend threw back his head and looked up at his brother. \"I know that I shouldn't have done it; I shouldn't have allowed her to come to me at Brynhild's inn.\"\n\nThe priest sat speechless for a moment.\n\n\"At Brynhild Fluga's?\"\n\n\"Yes, didn't she tell you that when she told you all the rest?\"\n\n\"It will be hard enough for Kristin to say such things about her lawful husband in confession,\" said the priest after a pause. \"I think she would rather die than speak of it anywhere else.\"\n\nHe fell silent and then said harshly and vehemently, \"If you felt, Erlend, that you were her husband before God and the one who should protect and guard her, then I think your behavior was even worse. You seduced her in groves and in barns, you led her across a harlot's threshold. And finally up to Bj\u00f8rn Gunnarss\u00f8n and Fru Aashild...\"\n\n\"You mustn't speak of Aunt Aashild that way,\" said Erlend in a low voice.\n\n\"You've said yourself that you thought our aunt caused the death of our father's brother\u2014she and that man Bj\u00f8rn.\"\n\n\"It makes no difference to me,\" said Erlend forcefully. \"I'm fond of Aunt Aashild.\"\n\n\"Yes, so I see,\" said the priest. A crooked, mocking little smile appeared on his lips. \"Since you were ready to leave her to face Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n after you carried off his daughter. It seems as if you think that your affection is worth paying dearly for, Erlend.\"\n\n\"Jesus!\" Erlend hid his face in his hands.\n\nBut the priest continued quickly, \"If only you had seen the torment of your wife's soul as she trembled in horror of her sins, unconfessed and unredeemed\u2014as she sat there, about to give birth to your child, with death standing at the door\u2014so young a child herself, and so unhappy.\"\n\n\"I know, I know!\" Erlend was shaking. \"I know she lay there thinking about this as she suffered. For Christ's sake, Gunnulf, say no more. I'm your brother, after all!\"\n\nBut he continued without mercy.\n\n\"If I had been a man like you and not a priest, and if I had led astray so young and good a maiden, I would have freed myself from that other woman. God help me, but I would have done as Aunt Aashild did to her husband and then burned in Hell forever after, rather than allow my innocent and dearest beloved to suffer such things as you have done.\"\n\nErlend sat in silence for a moment, trembling.\n\n\"You say that you're a priest,\" he said softly. \"Are you such a good priest that you have never sinned\u2014with a woman?\"\n\nGunnulf did not look at his brother. Blood flushed red across his face.\n\n\"You have no right to ask me that, but I will answer you all the same. He who died for us on the cross knows how much I need his mercy. But I tell you, Erlend\u2014if on the whole round disk of this earth he had not one servant who was pure and unmarked by sin, and if in his holy Church there was not a single priest who was more faithful and worthy than I am, miserable betrayer of the Lord that I am, then the Lord's commandments and laws are what we can learn from this. His Word cannot be defiled by the mouth of an impure priest; it can only burn and consume our own lips\u2014although perhaps you can't understand this. But you know as well as I, along with every filthy thrall of the Devil that He has bought with His own blood\u2014God's law cannot be shaken nor His honor diminished. Just as His sun is equally mighty, whether it shines above the barren sea and desolate gray moors or above these fair lands.\"\n\nErlend had hidden his face in his hands. He sat still for a long time, but when he spoke his voice was dry and hard.\n\n\"Priest or no priest\u2014since you're not such a strict adherent of pure living\u2014don't you see... Could you have done that to a woman who had slept in your arms and borne you two children? Could you have done to her what our aunt did to her husband?\"\n\nThe priest didn't answer at first. Then he said with some scorn, \"You don't seem to judge Aunt Aashild too harshly.\"\n\n\"But it can't be the same for a man as for a woman,\" said Erlend. \"I remember the last time they were here at Husaby, and Herr Bj\u00f8rn was with them. We sat near the hearth, Mother and Aunt Aashild, and Herr Bj\u00f8rn played the harp and sang for them. I stood at his knee. Then Uncle Baard called to her\u2014he was in bed, and he wanted her to come to bed too. He used words that were vulgar and shameless. Aunt Aashild stood up and Herr Bj\u00f8rn did too. He left the room, but before he did, they looked at each other. Later, when I was old enough to understand, I thought... that it might be true after all. I had begged for permission to light the way for Herr Bj\u00f8rn over to the loft where he was going to sleep, but I didn't dare, and I didn't dare sleep in the hall, either. I ran outside and went to sleep with the men in the servants' house. By Jesus, Gunnulf\u2014it can't be the same for a man as it was for Aashild that evening. No, Gunnulf\u2014to kill a woman who... unless I caught her with another man...\"\n\nAnd yet that was exactly what he had done. But Gunnulf wouldn't dare mention that to his brother.\n\nThen the priest asked coldly, \"Wasn't it true that Eline had been unfaithful to you?\"\n\n\"Unfaithful!\" Erlend abruptly turned to face his brother, furious. \"Do you think I should have blamed her for taking up with Gissur, after I had told her so often that it was over between us?\"\n\nGunnulf bowed his head.\n\n\"No. No doubt you're right,\" he said, his voice weary and low.\n\nBut having won that small concession, Erlend flared up. He threw back his head and looked at the priest.\n\n\"You take so much notice of Kristin, Gunnulf. The way you've been hanging about her all spring\u2014almost more than is decent for a brother and a priest. It's as if you didn't want her to be mine. If things hadn't been the way they were with her when you first met, people might even think...\"\n\nGunnulf stared at him. Provoked by his brother's gaze, Erlend jumped to his feet. Gunnulf stood up too. When he continued to stare, Erlend lashed out at him with his fist. The priest grabbed his wrist. He tried to charge at Gunnulf, but his brother stood his ground.\n\nErlend grew meek at once. \"I should have remembered that you're a priest,\" he said softly.\n\n\"Well, you have nothing to repent on that account,\" said Gunnulf with a little smile. Erlend stood there rubbing his wrist.\n\n\"Yes, you always had such devilishly strong hands.\"\n\n\"This is the way it was when we were boys.\" Gunnulf's voice grew oddly tender and gentle. \"I've thought about that often during the years I was away from home\u2014about when we were boys. We often fought, but it never lasted long, Erlend.\"\n\n\"But now,\" said the other man sorrowfully, \"it can never be the same as when we were boys, Gunnulf.\"\n\n\"No,\" murmured the priest. \"I suppose it can't.\"\n\nThey stood in silence for a long time. Finally Gunnulf said, \"I'm going away now, Erlend. I'll go down to bid Eiliv farewell, and then I'm leaving. I'm heading over to visit the priest in Orkedal; I won't go to Nidaros while she is there.\" He gave a small smile.\n\n\"Gunnulf! I didn't mean... Don't leave me this way.\"\n\nGunnulf didn't move. He breathed hard several times and then he said, \"There's one thing I want to tell you, Erlend\u2014since you now know that I know everything about you. Sit down.\"\n\nThe priest sat down in the same position as before. Erlend stretched out in front of him, lying with one hand propped under his chin and looking up at his brother's strangely tense and rigid face. Then he smiled.\n\n\"What is it, Gunnulf? Are you about to confess to me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his brother softly. But then he fell silent for a long time. Erlend noticed that his lips moved once, and he clasped his hands tighter around his knee.\n\n\"What is it?\" He gave him a fleeting smile. \"It can't be that you\u2014that some fair woman out there in the southern lands...\"\n\n\"No,\" said the priest. His voice had a peculiar gruff tone. \"This is not about love. Do you know, Erlend, how it happened that I was promised to the priesthood?\"\n\n\"Yes. When our brothers died and they thought they were going to lose us too...\"\n\n\"No,\" said Gunnulf. \"They thought Munan had regained his health, and Gaute was not ill at all; he didn't die until the next winter. But you lay in bed and were suffocating, and that's when Mother promised that I would serve Saint Olav if he would save your life.\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\" asked Erlend after a moment.\n\n\"Ingrid, my foster mother.\"\n\n\"Well, I would have been an odd gift to offer to Saint Olav,\" said Erlend, with a laugh. \"He would have been poorly served by me. But you've told me, Gunnulf, that you were pleased even as a boy to be called to the priesthood.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the priest. \"But it was not always so. I remember the day you left Husaby along with Munan Baards\u00f8n to journey to our kinsman, the king, to join his service. Your horse danced beneath you, and your new weapons gleamed and shone. I would never bear weapons. You were handsome, my brother. You were only sixteen winters old, and I had already noticed long ago that women and maidens were fond of you.\"\n\n\"All that glory was short-lived,\" said Erlend. \"I learned to cut my nails straight across, to swear on the name of Jesus with every other word, and to resort to my dagger to defend myself when I wielded a sword. Then I was sent north and met her\u2014and was banished with shame from the king's retinue, and our father closed his door to me.\"\n\n\"And you left the country with a beautiful woman,\" said Gunnulf in the same low voice. \"We heard at home that you had become a chief of guards at Earl Jacob's castle.\"\n\n\"Well, it wasn't as grand as it seemed back home,\" said Erlend, laughing.\n\n\"You and Father were no longer friends. But he had so little regard for me that he didn't even bother to quarrel with me. Mother loved me, that I know\u2014but she found me less worthy than you. I felt it the most when you left the country. You, brother, were the only one who had any real love for me. And God knows you were my dearest friend on earth. But back when I was young and ignorant, I would sometimes think you had been given so much more than I had. Now I've told you, Erlend.\"\n\nErlend lay with his face against the ground.\n\n\"Don't go, Gunnulf,\" he begged.\n\n\"I must,\" said the priest. \"Now we've told each other far too much. May God and the Virgin Mary grant that we meet again at a better time. Farewell, Erlend.\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" said Erlend, but did not look up.\n\nWhen Gunnulf, wearing traveling clothes, stepped out of the priest's house several hours later, he saw a man riding south across the fields toward the forest. He had a bow slung over his shoulder and three dogs were running alongside his horse. It was Erlend.\n\nIn the meantime Kristin was walking briskly along the forest path over the ridge. The sun was now high, and the tops of the fir trees shone against the summer sky, but inside the woods it was still cool and fresh with the morning. A fragrant smell filled the air from spruce boughs, the marshy earth, and the twinflowers that covered the ground everywhere, in bloom with pairs of tiny pink, bell-shaped blossoms. And the path, overgrown with grass, was damp and soft and felt good under her feet. Kristin walked along, saying her prayers; now and then she would look up at the small white, fair-weather clouds swimming in the blue above the treetops.\n\nThe whole time she found herself thinking about Brother Edvin. This is how he had walked and walked, year in and year out, from early spring until late in the fall. Over mountain paths, through dark ravines and white snowdrifts. He rested in the mountain pastures, drank from the creeks, and ate from the bread that milkmaids and horse herdsmen brought out to him. Then he would bid them live well and God's peace and bestow blessings on both them and the livestock. Through rustling mountain meadows the monk would hike down into the valley. Tall and stoop-shouldered, with his head bowed, he wandered the main roads past manors and farms\u2014and everywhere he went, he would leave behind his loving prayers of intercession for everyone, like good weather.\n\nKristin didn't meet a living soul, except for a few cows now and then\u2014there were mountain pastures on the ridge. But it was a clearly marked path, with log bridges across the marshes. Kristin was not afraid; she felt as if the monk were walking invisibly at her side.\n\nBrother Edvin, if it's true that you are a holy man, if you now stand before God, then pray for me!\n\nLord Jesus Christ, Holy Mary, Saint Olav. She longed to reach the destination of her journey. She longed to cast off the burden of years of concealed sins, the weight of church services and masses which she had stolen, unconfessed and unredeemed. She longed to be absolved and free\u2014just as she had longed to be released from her burden this past spring when she was carrying the child.\n\nHe was sleeping soundly, safe on his mother's back. He didn't wake up until she had walked through the woods down to the farms of Snefugl and could look out across Budvik and the arm of the fjord at Saltnes. Kristin sat down in an outlying field, pulled the bundle with the child around into her lap, and loosened her robe at the breast. It felt good to hold him to her breast; it felt good to sit down; and a blessed warmth coursed through her whole body as she felt her stone-hard breasts bursting with milk empty out as he nursed.\n\nThe countryside below her lay silent and baking in the sun, with green pastures and bright fields amidst dark forest. A little smoke drifted up from the rooftops here and there. The hay harvesting had begun in a few places.\n\nShe traveled by boat from Saltnes Sand over to Steine. Then she was in completely unfamiliar regions. The road through Bynes went past farms for a while; then she reached the woods again, but there was no longer such a great distance between human dwellings. She was very tired. But then she thought about her parents\u2014they had walked barefoot all the way from J\u00f8rundgaard at Sil, through Dovre, and on to Nidaros, carrying Ulvhild on a litter between them. She must not think that Naakkve was so heavy on her back.\n\nAnd yet her head itched terribly from the sweat under her thick homespun wimple. Around her waist, where the rope held her clothing close to her body, her shift had rubbed on her skin so that it felt quite raw.\n\nAfter a while there were others on the road. Now and then people would ride past her. She caught up with a farmer's cart taking goods to town; the heavy wheels jolted and jounced over roots and stones, screeching and creaking. Two men were driving a beast to slaughter. They glanced at the young woman pilgrim because she was so beautiful; otherwise people were used to such wayfarers in these parts. At one place several men were building a house a short distance from the road; they shouted to her, and an old man came running to offer her some ale. Kristin curtseyed, took a drink, and thanked the man with such words as poor people usually said to her when she gave them alms.\n\nA little while later she had to rest again. She found a small green hill along the road with a trickling creek. Kristin placed the child on the grass; he woke up and cried loudly, so she hurried distractedly through the prayers she had meant to say. Then she picked up Naakkve, held him on her lap, and loosened the swaddling clothes. He had sullied his underclothes, and she had little to change him with; so she rinsed the cloths and spread them out to dry on a bare rock in the sun. She wrapped the outer garments loosely around the boy. He seemed to like this, and lay there kicking as he drank from his mother's breast. Kristin gazed happily at his fine, rosy limbs and pressed one of his hands between her breasts as she nursed him.\n\nTwo men rode past at a fast trot. Kristin glanced up briefly\u2014it was a nobleman and his servant. But suddenly the man reined in his horse, leaped from the saddle, and walked back to where she was sitting. It was Simon Andress\u00f8n.\n\n\"Perhaps you won't be pleased that I stopped to greet you?\" he asked. He stood there holding his horse and looking down at her. He was wearing traveling clothes, with a sleeveless leather vest over a light-blue linen tunic; he wore a small silk cap on his head, and his face was rather flushed and sweaty. \"It's strange to see you\u2014but perhaps you'd rather not speak to me?\"\n\n\"Surely you should know... How are you, Simon?\" Kristin tucked her bare feet under the hem of her skirts and tried to take the child from her breast. But the boy screamed, opening his mouth to suckle, so she had to let him nurse again. She pulled the robe over her breast as best she could and sat with her eyes lowered.\n\n\"Is it yours?\" asked Simon, pointing to the child. \"That was a foolish question,\" he laughed. \"It's a son, isn't it? He's blessed with good fortune, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n!\" He tied his horse to a tree, and now he sat down on a rock not far from Kristin. He placed his sword between his knees and sat with his hands on the hilt, poking at the dirt with the point of the scabbard.\n\n\"It was unexpected to meet you here in the north, Simon,\" said Kristin, just for something to say.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Simon. \"I haven't had business in this part of the country before.\"\n\nKristin recalled that she had heard something\u2014at the welcome celebration for her at Husaby\u2014about the youngest son of Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n of Ranheim being betrothed to Andres Darre's youngest daughter. So she asked him whether that's where he had been.\n\n\"You know about it?\" asked Simon. \"Well, I suppose it must have been talked about all through these parts.\"\n\n\"So it's true,\" said Kristin, \"that Gjavvald is to marry Sigrid?\" Simon looked up abruptly, pressing his lips together.\n\n\"I see you don't know everything, after all.\"\n\n\"I haven't been beyond the courtyard of Husaby all winter,\" said Kristin. \"And I've seen few people. I heard there was talk of this marriage.\"\n\n\"You might as well hear it from my lips, then\u2014the news will doubtless reach here soon enough.\" He sat in silence for a moment. \"Gjavvald died three days before Winter Night. He fell off his horse and broke his back. Do you remember before you reach Dyfrin how the road heads east of the river and there's a steep drop-off? No, you probably don't. We were on our way to their betrothal celebration; Arne and his sons had come by ship to Oslo.\" Then Simon fell silent.\n\n\"She must have been happy, Sigrid\u2014because she was going to marry Gjavvald,\" said Kristin, shy and timid.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Simon. \"And she had a son by him\u2014on the Feast Day of the Apostles this spring.\"\n\n\"Oh, Simon!\"\n\nSigrid Andresdatter, with the brown curls framing her small round face. Whenever she laughed, deep dimples appeared in her cheeks. The dimples and the small, childish white teeth\u2014Simon had them too. Kristin remembered that when she grew less kindly inclined toward her betrothed, these things seemed to her unmanly, especially after she had met Erlend. They were much alike, Sigrid and Simon; but in her case it seemed charming that she was so plump and quick to laughter. She was fourteen winters old back then. Kristin had never heard such merry laughter as Sigrid's. Simon was always teasing his youngest sister and joking with her; Kristin could see that of all his siblings, he was most fond of her.\n\n\"You know that Father loved Sigrid best,\" said Simon. \"That's why he wanted to see whether she and Gjavvald would like each other before he made this agreement with Arne. And they did\u2014in my mind a little more than was proper. They always had to sit close whenever they met, and they would steal looks at each other and laugh. That was last summer at Dyfrin. But they were so young. No one could have imagined this. And our sister Astrid\u2014you know she was betrothed when you and I... Well, she voiced no objections; Torgrim is very wealthy and kind, and in a certain way... but he finds fault with everyone and everything, and he thinks he suffers from all the ailments and troubles that anyone can name. So all of us were happy when Sigrid seemed so pleased with the man chosen for her.\n\n\"And then we brought Gjavvald's body to the manor. Halfrid, my wife, arranged things so that Sigrid would come home with us to Mandvik. And then it came out that Sigrid wasn't left alone when Gjavvald died.\"\n\nThey were silent for a while. Then Kristin said softly, \"This has not been a joyful journey for you, Simon.\"\n\n\"No, it hasn't.\" Then he gave a laugh. \"But I've gotten used to traveling on unfortunate business, Kristin. And I was the closest one, after all\u2014Father lacked the courage, and they're living with me at Mandvik, Sigrid and her son. But now he'll have a place in his father's lineage, and I could see from all of them there that he won't be unwelcome, the poor little boy, when he goes to live with them.\"\n\n\"But what of your sister?\" asked Kristin, breathlessly. \"Where is she to live?\"\n\nSimon looked down at the ground.\n\n\"Father will take her home to Dyfrin now,\" he said in a low voice.\n\n\"Simon! Oh, how can you have the heart to agree to this?\"\n\n\"You must realize,\" he replied without looking up, \"that it's a great advantage for the boy, that he'll be part of his father's family from the beginning. Halfrid and I, we would have liked to keep both of them with us. No sister could be more loyal and loving toward another than Halfrid is toward Sigrid. None of our kinsmen has been unkind toward her\u2014you mustn't think that. Not even Father, although this has made him a broken man. But can't you see? It wouldn't be right if any of us objected to the innocent boy gaining inheritance and lineage from his father.\"\n\nKristin's child let go of her breast. She quickly drew her garments closed over her bosom and, trembling, hugged the infant close. He hiccupped happily a couple of times and then spit up a little over himself and his mother's hands.\n\nSimon glanced at the two of them and said with an odd smile, \"You had better luck, Kristin, than my sister did.\"\n\n\"Yes, no doubt it may seem unfair to you,\" said Kristin softly, \"that I'm called wife and my son was lawfully born. I might have deserved to be left with the fatherless child of a paramour.\"\n\n\"That would seem to me the worst thing I could have heard,\" said Simon. \"I wish you only the best, Kristin,\" he said even more quietly.\n\nA moment later he asked her for directions. He mentioned that he had come north by ship from Tunsberg. \"Now I must continue on and see about catching up with my servant.\"\n\n\"Is it Finn who's traveling with you?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"No. Finn is married now; he's no longer in my service. Do you still remember him?\" asked Simon, and his voice sounded pleased.\n\n\"Is Sigrid's son a handsome child?\" asked Kristin, looking at Naakkve.\n\n\"I hear that he is. I think one infant looks much like another,\" replied Simon.\n\n\"Then you must not have children of your own,\" said Kristin, giving a little smile.\n\n\"No,\" he said curtly. Then he bid her farewell and rode off.\n\nWhen Kristin continued on, she didn't put her child on her back. She carried him in her arms, pressing his face against the hollow of her neck. She could think of nothing else but Sigrid Andresdatter.\n\nHer own father would not have been able to do it. Should Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n ride off to beg for a place and rank for his daughter's bastard child among the father's kinsmen? He would never have been able to do that. And never, never would he have had the heart to take her child away from her\u2014to pull a tiny infant out of his mother's arms, tear him away from her breast while he still had mother's milk on his innocent lips. My Naakkve, no he wouldn't do that\u2014even if it were ten times more just to do so, my father would not have done it.\n\nBut she couldn't get the image out of her mind: a group of horsemen vanishing north of the gorge, where the valley grows narrow and the mountains crowd together, black with trees. Cold wind comes in gusts from the river, which thunders over the rocks, icy green and frothing, with deep black pools in between. Whoever throws himself into it would be crushed in the rapids at once. Jesus, Maria.\n\nThen she envisioned the fields back home at J\u00f8rundgaard on a light summer night. She saw herself running down the path to the green clearing in the alder grove near the river, where they used to wash clothes. The water rushed past with a loud, monotonous roar along the flat riverbed filled with boulders. Lord Jesus, there is nothing else I can do.\n\nOh, but Father would not have had the heart to do it. No matter how right it was. If I begged and begged him, begged on my knees: Father, you mustn't take my child from me.\n\nKristin stood on the hill at Feginsbrekka and looked down at the town lying at her feet in the golden evening sun. Beyond the wide, glittering curve of the river lay brown farm buildings with green sod roofs; the crowns of the trees were dark and domelike in the gardens. She saw light-colored stone houses with stepped gables, churches thrusting their black, shingle-covered backs into the air, and churches with dully gleaming roofs of lead. But above the green landscape, above the glorious town, rose Christ Church so magnificently huge and radiantly bright, as if everything lay prone at its feet. With the evening sun on its breast and the sparkling glass of its windows, with its towers and dizzying spires and gilded weather vanes, the cathedral stood pointing up into the bright summer sky.\n\nAll around lay the summer-green land, bearing venerable manors on its hills. In the distance the fjord opened out, shining and wide, with drifting shadows from the large summer clouds that billowed up over the glittering blue mountains on the other side. The cloister island looked like a green wreath with flowers of stone-white buildings, softly lapped by the sea. So many ships' masts out among the islands, so many beautiful houses.\n\nOvercome and sobbing, the young woman sank down before the cross at the side of the road, where thousands of pilgrims had lain and thanked God because helping hands were extended to them on their journey through the perilous and beautiful world.\n\nThe bells of the churches and cloisters were ringing for vespers as Kristin entered the courtyard of Christ Church. For a moment she ventured to glance up at the west gable\u2014then she lowered her dazzled eyes.\n\nHuman beings could not have done this work on their own. God's spirit had been at work in holy \u00d8istein and the men who built the church after him. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Now she understood those words. A reflection of the splendor of God's kingdom bore witness through the stones that His will was all that was beautiful. Kristin trembled. Yes, God must surely turn away with scorn from all that was vile\u2014from sin and shame and impurity.\n\nAlong the galleries of the heavenly palace stood holy men and women, and they were so beautiful that she dared not look at them. The imperishable vines of eternity wound their way upward, calm and lovely, bursting into flower on spires and towers with stone monstrances. Above the center door hung Christ on the cross; Mary and John the Evangelist stood at his side. And they were white, as if molded from snow, and gold glittered on the white.\n\nThree times Kristin walked around the church, praying. The huge, massive walls with their bewildering wealth of pillars and arches and windows, the glimpse of the roof's enormous slanting surface, the tower, the gold of the spire rising high into the heavens\u2014Kristin sank to the ground beneath her sin.\n\nShe was shaking as she kissed the hewn stone of the portal. In a flash she saw the dark carved timber around the church door back home, where as a child she had pressed her lips after her father and mother.\n\nShe sprinkled holy water over her son and herself, remembering that her father had done the same when she was small. With the child clasped tightly in her arms, she stepped forward into the church.\n\nShe walked as if through a forest. The pillars were furrowed like ancient trees, and into the woods the light seeped, colorful and as clear as song, through the stained-glass windows. High overhead animals and people frolicked in the stone foliage, and angels played their instruments. At an even higher, more dizzying height, the vaults of the ceiling arched upward, lifting the church toward God. In a hall off to the side a service was being held at an altar. Kristin fell to her knees next to a pillar. The song cut through her like a blinding light. Now she saw how deep in the dust she lay.\n\nPater noster. Credo in unum Deum. Ave Maria, gratia plena. She had learned her prayers by repeating them after her father and mother before she could understand a single word, from as far back as she could remember. Lord Jesus Christ. Was there ever a sinner like her?\n\nHigh beneath the triumphal arch, raised above the people, hung Christ on the cross. The pure virgin, who was his mother, stood looking up in deathly anguish at her innocent son who was suffering the death of a criminal.\n\nAnd here knelt Kristin with the fruit of her sin in her arms. She hugged the child tight\u2014he was as fresh as an apple, pink and white like a rose. He was awake now, and he lay there looking up at her with his clear, sweet eyes.\n\nConceived in sin. Carried under her hard, evil heart. Pulled out of her sin-tainted body, so pure, so healthy, so inexpressibly lovely and fresh and innocent. This undeserved beneficence broke her heart in two; crushed with remorse, she lay there with tears welling up out of her soul like blood from a mortal wound.\n\nNaakkve, Naakkve, my child. God visits the sins of the parents upon the children. Didn't I know that? Yes, I did. But I had no mercy for the innocent life that might be awakened in my womb\u2014to be cursed and tormented because of my sin.\n\nDid I regret my sin while I was carrying you inside me, my beloved, beloved son? Oh no, there was no remorse. My heart was hard with anger and evil thoughts at the moment I first felt you move, so small and unprotected. Magnificat anima mea Dominum. Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo. That is what she sang, the gentle queen of women, when she was chosen to bear the one who would die for our sins. I didn't think about the one who was the redeemer of my sin and my child's sin. Oh, no, there was no remorse. Instead I made myself pitiful and wretched and begged that the commandments of righteousness be broken, for I could not bear it if God should keep His promise and punish me in accordance with the Word that I have known all my days.\n\nOh yes, now she knew. She had thought that God was like her own father, that Holy Olav was like her father. All along she had expected, deep in her heart, that whenever the punishment became more than she could bear, then she would encounter not righteousness but mercy.\n\nShe wept so hard that she didn't have the strength to rise when the others stood up during the service; she stayed there, collapsed in a heap, holding her child. Near her several other people knelt who did not rise either: two well-dressed farmers' wives with a young boy between them.\n\nShe looked up toward the raised chancel. Beyond the gilded, grated door, high up behind the altar, Saint Olav's shrine glistened in the darkness. An ice-cold shiver ran down her back. There lay his holy body, waiting for Resurrection Day. Then the lid would spring open, and he would rise up. With his axe in hand, he would stride through this church. And from the stone floor, from the earth outside, from every cemetery in all of Norway the dead yellow skeletons would rise up; they would be clothed in flesh and would rally around their king. Those who had striven to follow in his bloodied tracks, and those who had merely turned to him for help with the burdens of sin and sorrow and illness to which they had bound themselves and their children, here in this life. They would crowd around their king and ask him to remind God of their need.\n\n\"Lord, hear my prayer for these people, whom I love so much that I would rather suffer exile and want and hatred and death than have a single man or maiden grow up in Norway not knowing that you died to save all sinners. Lord, you who bade us go out and make everyone your disciple\u2014with my blood I, Olav Haraldss\u00f8n, wrote your gospel in the Norwegian language for these free men, my poor subjects.\"\n\nKristin closed her eyes, feeling sick and dizzy. She saw the king's face before her\u2014his blazing eyes pierced the depths of her soul\u2014now she trembled before Saint Olav's gaze.\n\n\"North of your village, Kristin, where I rested when my own countrymen drove me from my ancestral kingdom, because they could not keep God's Commandments\u2014wasn't a church built at that spot? Didn't knowledgeable men come there to teach you of God's Word?\n\n\"Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother. Thou shalt not kill. God visits the sins of the fathers upon the children. I died so that you might learn these teachings. Haven't they been given to you, Kristin Lavransdatter?\"\n\nOh yes, yes, my Lord and King!\n\nOlav's church back home\u2014she saw in her mind the pleasant, brown-timbered room. The ceiling was not so high that it could frighten her. It was unassuming, built in God's honor from dark, tarred wood, in the same way that people constructed their mountain huts and storehouses and cattle sheds. But the timbers had been cut into supple staves, and they were raised and joined to form the walls of God's house. And Sira Eirik taught each year on the church consecration day that in this manner we ought to use the tools of faith to cut and carve from our sinful, natural being a faithful link in the Church of Christ.\n\n\"Have you forgotten this, Kristin? Where are the deeds that should bear witness for you on the last day, showing that you were a link in God's church? The good deeds which will bear witness that you belong to God?\"\n\nJesus, her good deeds! She had repeated the prayers that were placed on her lips. She had given out the alms that her father had placed in her hands; she had helped her mother when Ragnfrid clothed the poor, fed the hungry, and tended to the sores of the ill.\n\nBut the evil deeds were her own.\n\nShe had clung to everyone who offered her protection and support. Brother Edvin's loving admonitions, his sorrow over her sin, his tender intercessionary prayers which she had received\u2014and then she had flung herself into passionate sinful desire as soon as she was beyond the light of his gentle old eyes. She lay down in cowsheds and outbuildings and scarcely felt any shame that she was deceiving the good and honorable Abbess Groa; she had accepted the kind concern of the pious sisters and hadn't even had the wit to blush when they praised her gentle and seemly behavior before her father.\n\nOh, the worst was thinking about her father. Her father, who had not said a single unkind word when he came to visit this spring.\n\nSimon had concealed the fact that he had caught his betrothed with a man at an inn for wandering soldiers. And she had let him take the blame for her breach of promise, had let him bear the blame before her father.\n\nOh, but her father, that was the worst. No, her mother, that was even worse. If Naakkve should grow up to show his mother as little love as she had shown her own mother\u2014oh, she couldn't bear it. Her mother, who had given birth to her and nursed her at her breast, kept watch over her when she was sick, washed and combed her hair and rejoiced at its beauty. And the first time that Kristin felt she needed her mother's help and comfort, she had waited for her mother to come, in spite of all her own disdain. \"You should know that your mother would have come north to be with you if she had known that it might give you comfort,\" her father had said. Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother!\n\nShe had seen the water from the well back home. It looked so clean and pure when it was in the wooden cups. But her father owned a glass goblet, and when he filled it with water and the sun shone through, the water was muddy and full of impurities.\n\nYes, my Lord and King, now I see the way I am!\n\nGoodness and love she had accepted from everyone, as if they were her right. There was no end to the goodness and love she had encountered all her days. But the first time someone confronted her, she had risen up like a snake and struck. Her will had been as hard and sharp as a knife when she drove Eline Ormsdatter to her death.\n\nJust as she would have risen up against God Himself if He had placed His righteous hand on the back of her neck. Oh, how could her father and mother bear it? They had lost three young children; they had watched Ulvhild sicken until she died, after they had striven those long sorrowful years to give the child back her health. But they had borne all these trials with patience, never doubting that God knew what was best for their children. Then she had caused them all this sorrow and shame.\n\nBut if there had been anything wrong with her child\u2014if they had taken her child the way they were now taking Sigrid Andresdatter's child from her... Oh, lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.\n\nShe had wandered to the very edge of Hell's abyss. If she should lose her son, after she had thrown herself into the seething rapids, turned away with scorn from any hope of joining the good and dear people who loved her\u2014giving herself into the Devil's power...\n\nIt was no wonder that Naakkve bore the mark of a bloody hand on his chest.\n\nOh, Holy Olav, you who heard me when I prayed for you to help my child. I prayed that you would turn the punishment upon me and spare the innocent one. Yes, Lord, I know how I kept my part of the agreement.\n\nLike a wild, heathen animal she had reared up at the first chastisement. Erlend. Not for a moment did she ever believe that he no longer loved her. If she had believed that, then she would not have had the strength to live. Oh no. But she had secretly thought that when she was beautiful again, and healthy and lively\u2014then she would act in such a way that he would have to beg her. It wasn't that he had been unloving during the winter. But she, who had heard ever since she was a girl that the Devil always keeps close to a woman with child and tempts her because she is weak\u2014she had turned a willing ear to the Devil's lies. She had pretended to believe that Erlend didn't care for her because she was ugly and ill, when she noticed that he was distressed because he had made both her and himself the subject of gossip. She had flung his timid and tender words back at him, and when she drove him to say harsh and thoughtless things, she would bring them up later to rebuke him. Jesus, what an evil woman she was\u2014she had been a bad wife.\n\n\"Now do you understand, Kristin, that you need help?\"\n\nYes, my Lord and King, now I understand. I am in great need of your support so that I won't turn away from God again. Stay with me, you who are the chieftain of His people, as I step forward with my prayers; pray for mercy for me. Holy Olav, pray for me!\n\nCor mundum crea in me, Deus, et Spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis.\n\nNe projicias me a facie tua."
            },
            {
                "title": "Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis me\u00e6.",
                "text": "The service was over. People were leaving the church. The two farmers' wives who were kneeling near Kristin stood up. But the boy between them did not get up. He began moving across the floor by setting his knuckles on the flagstones and hopping along like a fledgling crow. He had tiny legs, bent crooked under his belly. The women walked in such a way as to hide him with their clothes as best they could.\n\nWhen they were out of sight, Kristin threw herself down and kissed the floor where they had walked past her.\n\nFeeling lost and uncertain, she was standing at the entrance to the chancel when a young priest came out the grated door. He stopped in front of the young woman with the tear-stained face, and Kristin did her best to explain the reason for her journey. At first he didn't understand. Then she pulled out the golden crown and held it out.\n\n\"Oh, are you Kristin Lavransdatter, the wife of Erlend of Husaby?\" He gave her a rather surprised look; her face was quite swollen from weeping. \"Yes, your brother-in-law, Gunnulf, spoke of you, yes he did.\"\n\nHe led her into the sacristy and took the crown; he unwrapped the linen cloth and looked at it. Then he smiled.\n\n\"Well, you must realize that there will have to be witnesses and the like. You can't give away such a costly treasure as if it were a piece of buttered lefse. But I can keep it for you in the meantime; no doubt you would prefer not to carry it around with you in town.\n\n\"Oh, ask Herr Arne if he wouldn't mind coming here,\" he said to a sexton. \"I think that by rights your husband should be present too. But perhaps Gunnulf has a letter from him.\n\n\"You wish to speak to the archbishop himself, is that right? Otherwise there is Hauk Tomass\u00f8n, who is the penitentiarius. I don't know whether Gunnulf has spoken to Archbishop Eiliv. But you must come here for matins tomorrow, and then you can ask for me after lauds. My name is Paal Aslakss\u00f8n. That,\" and he pointed to the child, \"you must leave at the hostel. I seem to remember your brother-in-law saying that you're staying with the sisters at Bakke, is that right?\"\n\nAnother priest came in, and the two men talked to each other briefly. The first priest then opened a small cupboard in the wall and took out a balance scale and weighed the crown, while the other made a note of it in a ledger. Then they placed the crown in the cupboard and closed the door.\n\nHerr Paal was about to escort Kristin out, but then he asked her whether she would like him to lift her son up to Saint Olav's shrine.\n\nHe picked up the boy with the confident, almost indifferent ease of a priest who was used to holding children for baptism. Kristin followed him into the church, and he asked her whether she too would like to kiss the shrine.\n\nI don't dare, thought Kristin, but she accompanied the priest up the stairs to the dais on which the shrine stood. A great, chalk-white light seemed to pass before her eyes as she pressed her lips to the golden chest.\n\nThe priest looked at her for a moment, to see whether she might collapse in a faint. But she got to her feet. Then he touched the child's forehead to the sacred shrine.\n\nHerr Paal escorted Kristin to the church door and asked whether she was certain she could find her way to the ferry landing. Then he bade her good night. He spoke the whole time in an even and dry voice, like any other courteous young man in the king's service.\n\nIt had started to rain lightly, and a wonderful fragrance wafted blessedly from the gardens and along the street, which, on either side of the worn ruts from the wheel tracks, was as fresh and green as a country courtyard. Kristin sheltered the child from the rain as best she could\u2014he was heavy now, so heavy that her arms were quite numb from carrying him. And he fussed and cried incessantly; he was probably hungry again.\n\nThe mother was dead tired from the long journey and from all the weeping and the intense emotions in the church. She was cold, and the rain was coming down harder; the drops splashed on the trees, making the leaves flutter and shake. She made her way down the lanes and came out onto a broad street; from there she could see the rushing river, wide and gray, its surface punctured like a sieve by the falling drops.\n\nThere was no ferryboat. Kristin talked to two men who were huddled in a space beneath a warehouse standing on posts at the water's edge. They told her to go out to the sandbanks\u2014there the nuns had a house, and that's where the ferryman was.\n\nKristin went back up the wide street, wet and tired and with aching feet. She came to a small gray stone church; behind it stood several buildings enclosed by a fence. Naakkve was screaming furiously, so she couldn't go inside the church. But she heard the song from the recessed paneless windows, and she recognized the antiphon: L\u00e6tare, Regina Coeli\u2014rejoice, thou Queen of Heaven, for he whom you were chosen to bear, has risen, as he promised. Hallelujah!\n\nThis was what the Minorites sang after the completorium. Brother Edvin had taught her this hymn to the Lord's Mother as Kristin kept vigil over him during those nights when he lay deathly ill in their home at J\u00f8rundgaard. She crept out to the churchyard and, standing against the wall with her child in her arms, she repeated his words softly to herself.\n\n\"Nothing you do could ever change your father's heart toward you. This is why you must not cause him any more sorrow.\"\n\nAs your pierced hands were stretched out on the cross, O precious Lord of Heaven. No matter how far a soul might stray from the path of righteousness, the pierced hands were stretched out, yearning. Only one thing was needed: that the sinful soul should turn toward the open embrace, freely, like a child who goes to his father and not like a thrall who is chased home to his stern master. Now Kristin realized how hideous sin was. Again she felt the pain in her breast, as if her heart were breaking with remorse and shame at the undeserved mercy.\n\nNext to the church wall there was a little shelter from the rain. She sat down on a gravestone and set about quelling the child's hunger. Now and then she would bend down and kiss his little down-covered head.\n\nShe must have fallen asleep. Someone was touching her shoulder. A monk and an old lay brother holding a spade in his hand stood before her. The barefoot brother asked if she was looking for shelter for the night.\n\nThe thought raced through her mind that she would much rather stay here tonight with the Minorites, Brother Edvin's brothers. And it was so far to Bakke, and she was nearly collapsing with weariness. Then the monk offered to have the lay servant accompany her to the women's hostel\u2014\"and give her a little calamus poultice for her feet; I see that they are sore.\"\n\nIt was stuffy and dark at the women's hostel, which stood outside the fence in the lane. The lay brother brought Kristin water to wash with and a little food, and she sat down near the hearth, trying to soothe her child. Naakkve could no doubt tell from her milk that his mother was worn out and had fasted all day. He fretted and whimpered in between attempts to suckle from her empty breasts. Kristin gulped down the milk that the lay brother brought her. She tried to squirt it from her mouth into the child's, but the boy protested loudly at this new means of being fed, and the old man laughed and shook his head. She would have to drink it herself, and then it would benefit the boy.\n\nFinally the man left. Kristin crept into one of the beds high up beneath the center roof beam. From there she could reach a hatch. There was a foul smell in the hostel\u2014one of the women was in bed with a stomach ailment. Kristin opened the hatch. The summer night was bright and mild, the rain-washed air streamed down on her. She sat in the short bed with her head leaning back against the timbers of the wall; there were few pillows for the beds. The boy was asleep in her lap. She had meant to close the hatch after a moment, but she fell asleep.\n\nIn the middle of the night she woke up. The moon, a pale summery honey-gold, was shining down on her and the child and illuminating the opposite wall. At that moment Kristin became aware of a person standing in the midst of the stream of moonlight, hovering between the gable and the floor.\n\nHe was wearing an ash-gray monk's cowl; he was tall and stooped. Then he turned his ancient, furrowed face toward her. It was Brother Edvin. His smile was so inexpressibly tender, and a little sly and merry, just as it was when he lived on this earth.\n\nKristin was not the least bit surprised. Humbly, joyfully, and filled with anticipation, she looked at him and waited for what he would say or do.\n\nThe monk laughed and held up a heavy old leather glove toward her; then he hung it on the moonbeam. He smiled even more, nodded to her, and then vanished."
            },
            {
                "title": "HUSABY",
                "text": "One day just after New Year's, unexpected guests arrived at Husaby. They were Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n and old Smid Gudleikss\u00f8n from Dovre, and they were accompanied by two gentlemen whom Kristin didn't know. But Erlend was very surprised to see his fatherin-law in their company\u2014they were Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n from Giske and Bjark\u00f8y, and Haftor Graut from God\u00f8y. He hadn't realized that Lavrans knew them. But Sir Erling explained that they had met at Nes; he had served with Lavrans and Smid on the six-man court, which had finally settled the inheritance dispute among Jon Haukss\u00f8n's descendants. Then he and Lavrans happened to speak of Erlend; and Erling, who had business in Nidaros, mentioned that he had a mind to pay a visit to Husaby if Lavrans would keep him company and sail north with him.\n\nSmid Gudleikss\u00f8n said with a laugh that he had practically invited himself along on the journey. \"I wanted to see our Kristin again\u2014the loveliest rose of the north valley. And I also thought that my kinswoman Ragnfrid would thank me if I kept an eye on her husband, to see what kind of decisions he was making with such wise and mighty men. Yes, your father has had other matters on his hands this winter, Kristin, than carousing from farm to farm with us and celebrating the Christmas season until Lent begins. All these years we've been sitting at home on our estates in peace and quiet, with each man tending to his own interests. But now Lavrans wants the men of the valleys who are the king's retainers to ride together to Oslo in the harshest time of the winter\u2014now we're supposed to advise the noblemen of the Council and look after the king's interests. Lavrans says they're handling things so badly for the poor, underaged boy.\"\n\nSir Erling looked rather embarrassed. Erlend raised his eyebrows.\n\n\"Have you decided to support these efforts, Fatherin-law? For the great meeting of the royal retainers?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Lavrans. \"I'm merely going to the meeting, just like the other king's men of the valley, because we have been summoned.\"\n\nBut Smid Gudleikss\u00f8n spoke again. It was Lavrans who had persuaded him\u2014and Herstein of Kruke and Trond Gjesling and Guttorm Sneis, as well as others who had not wanted to go.\n\n\"Isn't it the custom to invite guests into the house on this estate?\" asked Lavrans. \"Now we'll see whether Kristin brews ale as good as her mother's.\" Erlend looked thoughtful, and Kristin was greatly surprised.\n\n\"What's this about, Father?\" she asked some time later, when he went with her to the little house where she had taken the child in order not to disturb the guests.\n\nLavrans sat and bounced his grandchild on his knee. Naakkve was now ten months old, big and handsome. He had been allowed to wear a tunic and hose since Christmas.\n\n\"I've never heard of you lending your voice to such matters before, Father,\" she said. \"You've always told me that for the country, and for his subjects, it was best for the king to rule, along with those men he called to his side. Erlend says that this attempt is the work of the noblemen in the south; they want to remove Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg from power, along with those men whom her father appointed to advise her. They want to steal back the power they had when King Haakon and his brother were children. But that brought great harm to the kingdom\u2014you've said so yourself in the past.\"\n\nLavrans whispered that she should send the nursemaid away. When they were alone, he asked, \"Where did Erlend get this information? Did he hear it from Munan?\"\n\nKristin told him that Orm had brought a letter from Sir Munan when he returned home in the fall. She didn't say that she had read it to Erlend herself\u2014he wasn't very good at deciphering script. But in the letter Munan had complained bitterly that now every man in Norway who bore a coat of arms thought himself better at ruling the kingdom than those men who had stood at King Haakon's side when he was alive, and they presumed to have a better understanding of the young king's welfare than the highborn woman who was his own mother. He had warned Erlend that if there were signs that the Norwegian noblemen had intentions of doing as the Swedes had done in Skara last summer, of plotting against Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg and her old, trusted advisers, then her kinsmen would stand ready and Erlend should go to meet Munan in Hamar.\n\n\"Didn't he mention,\" asked Lavrans as he tapped his finger under Naakkve's chubby chin, \"that I'm one of the men opposed to the unlawful call to arms that Munan has been carrying through the valley, in the name of our king?\"\n\n\"You!\" said Kristin. \"Did you meet Munan Baards\u00f8n last fall?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did,\" replied Lavrans. \"And there was not much agreement between us.\"\n\n\"Did you talk about me?\" asked Kristin swiftly.\n\n\"No, my dear Kristin,\" said her father, with a laugh. \"I can't recall that your name was mentioned by either of us this time. Do you know whether your husband intends to travel south to meet with Munan Baards\u00f8n?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" said Kristin. \"Sira Eiliv drafted a letter for Erlend not long ago, and he mentioned that he might soon have to go south.\"\n\nLavrans sat in silence for a moment, looking down at the child, who was fumbling with the hilt of his dagger and trying to bite the rock crystal embedded in it.\n\n\"Is it true that they want to take the regency away from Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"She's about the same age as you are,\" replied her father, a slight smile still on his lips. \"No one wants to take from the king's mother the honor and power that are her birthright. But the archbishop and some of our blessed king's friends and kinsmen have gathered for a meeting to deliberate how Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg's power and honor and the interests of the people should best be protected.\"\n\nKristin said quietly, \"I can see, Father, that you haven't come to Husaby this time just to see Naakkve and me.\"\n\n\"No, that was not the only reason,\" said Lavrans. Then he laughed. \"And I can tell, daughter, that you're not at all pleased!\"\n\nHe put his hand up to stroke her face, just as he used to do when she was a little girl, any time he had scolded her or teased her.\n\nIn the meantime Sir Erling and Erlend were sitting in the armory\u2014that was what the large storehouse was called which stood on the northeast side of the courtyard, right next to the manor gate. It was as tall as a tower, with three stories; on the top floor there was a room with loopholes in the walls for shooting arrows, and that was where all the weapons were stored which were not in daily use on the farm. King Skule had built this structure.\n\nSir Erling and Erlend were wearing fur capes because it was bitterly cold in the room. The guest walked around looking at the many splendid weapons and suits of armor which Erlend had inherited from his grandfather, Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n.\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n was a rather short man, slight in build and yet quite plump, but he carried himself well and with ease. Handsome he was not, although he had well-formed features. But his hair had a reddish tinge, and his eyelashes and brows were white; even his eyes were a very pale blue. That people nevertheless found Sir Erling to be good-looking was perhaps due to the fact that everyone knew he was the wealthiest knight in Norway. But he also had a distinctly winning and modest demeanor. He was exceptionally intelligent, well educated and learned, but because he never tried to boast of his wisdom and always seemed to be willing to listen to others, he had become known as one of the wisest men in the country. He was the same age as Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, and they were kinsmen, although distant ones, by way of the Stovreim lineage. They had known each other all their lives, but there had never been a close friendship between the two men.\n\nErlend sat down on a chest and talked about the ship which he had had built in the summer; it was a thirty-two-oar ship, and he deemed it to be a particularly swift sailing ship and easy to steer. He had hired two shipbuilders from the north, and he had personally overseen the work along with them.\n\n\"Ships are among the few things I know something about, Erling,\" he said. \"You just wait\u2014it will be a beautiful sight to see Margygren cutting through the waves.\"\n\n\"Margygren\u2014what a fearfully heathen name you've given your ship, kinsman,\" said Erling with a little laugh. \"Is it your intention to travel south in it?\"\n\n\"Are you as pious as my wife? She calls it a heathen name, too. She doesn't like the ship much, either, but she's such an inland person\u2014she can't stand the sea.\"\n\n\"Yes, she looks pious and delicate and lovely, your wife,\" said Sir Erling courteously. \"As one might expect from someone of her lineage.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend and laughed. \"Not a day passes without her going to mass. And Sira Eiliv, our priest, whom you met, reads to us from the holy books. Reading aloud\u2014that's what he likes best, after ale and sumptuous food. And the poor people come to Kristin for help and advice. I think they would gladly kiss the hem of her skirts; I can scarcely recognize my own servants anymore. She's almost like one of the women described in the holy sagas that King Haakon forced us to sit and listen to as the priest read them aloud\u2014do you remember? Back when we were pages? Things have changed a great deal here at Husaby since you visited us last, Erling.\"\n\nAfter a moment he added, \"It was odd, by the way, that you were willing to come here that time.\"\n\n\"You mentioned the days when we were pages together,\" said Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n with a smile that became him. \"We were friends back then, weren't we? We all expected that you would achieve great things here in Norway, Erlend.\"\n\nBut Erlend merely laughed. \"Yes, I expected as much myself.\"\n\n\"Couldn't you sail south with me, Erlend?\" asked Sir Erling.\n\n\"I was thinking of traveling overland,\" replied the other man.\n\n\"That will be troublesome for you\u2014setting out over the mountains now, in the wintertime,\" said Sir Erling. \"It would be pleasant if you would accompany Haftor and myself.\"\n\n\"I have promised to travel with others,\" replied Erlend.\n\n\"Ah yes, you will join your fatherin-law\u2014yes, that seems only fitting.\"\n\n\"Well, no\u2014I don't know these men from the valley who are riding with him.\" Erlend sat in silence for a moment. \"No, I have promised to look in on Munan at Stange,\" he said quickly.\n\n\"You don't need to waste your time looking for Munan there,\" replied Erling. \"He's gone to his estates at Hising, and it might be some time before he comes north again. Has it been a long time since you heard from him?\"\n\n\"It was around Michaelmas\u2014he wrote to me from Ringabu.\"\n\n\"Well, you know what happened in the valley here last autumn,\" said Erling. \"You don't? Surely you must know that he rode around to the district sheriffs of Lake Mj\u00f8sa and all along the valley carrying letters stating that the farmers should pay for provisions and horses for a full campaign\u2014with six farmers for each horse\u2014and that the gentry should send horses but would be allowed to stay at home. Haven't you heard about this? And that the men of the northern valleys refused to pay this war tax when Munan accompanied Eirik Topp to the ting in Vaage? And Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n was the one who led the opposition\u2014he demanded that Eirik pursue a lawful course, if anything remained of the lawful taxes, but he called it an injustice against the peasantry to demand war taxes from the farmers to help a Dane in a feud with the Danish king. And yet if our king required the service of his retainers, then he would find them quick enough to respond with good weapons and horses and armed men. But he would not send from J\u00f8rundgaard even a goat with a hemp halter unless the king commanded him to ride it himself to the mustering of the army. You truly didn't know about this? Smid Gudleikss\u00f8n says that Lavrans had promised his tenants that he would pay the campaign levies for them, if need be.\"\n\nErlend sat there stunned.\n\n\"Lavrans did that? Never have I heard of my wife's father involving himself in matters other than those concerning his own properties or those of his friends.\"\n\n\"No doubt he seldom does,\" said Sir Erling. \"But this much was clear to me when I was at Nes\u2014when Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n decides to speak about a matter, he receives everyone's full support, for he never speaks without understanding the issue so well that his opinion would be difficult to refute. Now, regarding these events, he has no doubt exchanged letters with his kinsmen in Sweden. Fru Ramborg, his father's mother, and Sir Erngisle's grandfather were the children of two brothers, so Lavrans has strong family ties over there. No matter how quiet his manner, your fatherin-law commands power of some consequence in those parishes where people know him\u2014although he doesn't often make use of it.\"\n\n\"Well, now I can understand why you have taken up with him, Erling,\" said Erlend, laughing. \"I was rather surprised that you had become such good friends.\"\n\n\"Why should that surprise you?\" replied Erling soberly. \"It would be an odd man who would not want to call Lavrans of J\u00f8rundgaard his friend. You would be better served, kinsman, to listen to him than to Munan.\"\n\n\"Munan has been like an older brother to me, ever since the day when I left home for the first time,\" said Erlend, a little heatedly. \"He has never failed me whenever I was in trouble. So if he's in trouble now...\"\n\n\"Munan will manage well enough,\" said Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n, his voice still calm. \"The letters he carried were written and sealed with the royal seal of Norway\u2014unlawful, but that's not his problem. Oh yes, there's more. That to which he testified and attached his seal when he was a witness to the maiden Eufemia's betrothal 4\u2014but this cannot be easily revealed without mentioning someone whom we cannot... If truth be told, Erlend, I think Munan will save himself without your support\u2014but you may harm yourself if you\u2014\"\n\n\"It's Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg that all of you want to depose, I see,\" said Erlend. \"But I've promised our kinswoman to serve her both here and abroad.\"\n\n\"I have too,\" replied Erling. \"And I intend to keep that promise\u2014as does every Norwegian man who has served and loved our lord and kinsman, King Haakon. And she is now best served by being separated from those advisers who counsel so young a woman to the detriment of her son and herself.\"\n\n\"Do you think you're capable of that?\" asked Erlend, his voice subdued.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n firmly. \"I think we are. And everyone else thinks so too, if they refuse to listen to malicious and slanderous talk.\" He shrugged his shoulders. \"And those of us who are kinsmen of Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg should be the last to do that.\"\n\nA servant woman raised the hatch in the floor and said that if it suited them, the mistress would now have the food carried into the hall.\n\nWhile everyone was sitting at the table, the conversation, such as it was, constantly touched on the great news that was circulating. Kristin noticed that both her father and Sir Erling refused to join in; they brought up news of bride purchases and deaths, inheritance disputes and property trades among family and acquaintances. She grew uneasy but didn't know why. They had business with Erlend\u2014this much she understood. And yet she didn't want to admit this to herself. She now knew her husband so well that she realized Erlend, with all his stubborn-mindedness, was easily influenced by anyone who had a firm hand in a soft glove, as the saying goes.\n\nAfter the meal, the gentlemen moved over to the hearth, where they sat and drank. Kristin settled herself on a bench, put her needlework frame in her lap, and began twining the threads. A moment later Haftor Graut came over, placed a cushion on the floor, and sat down at Kristin's feet. He had found Erlend's psaltery; he set it on his knee and sat there strumming it as he chatted. Haftor was quite a young man with curly blond hair and the fairest features, but his face was covered with freckles. Kristin quickly noticed that he was exceedingly talkative. He had recently made a rich marriage, but he was bored back home on his estates; that was why he wanted to travel to the gathering of the king's retainers.\n\n\"But it's understandable that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n would want to stay home,\" he said, laying his head in her lap. Kristin moved away a bit, laughed, and said with an innocent expression that she knew only that her husband was intending to travel south, \"for whatever reason that might be. There's so much unrest in the country right now; it's difficult for a simple woman to understand such things.\"\n\n\"And yet it's the simplicity of a woman that's the main cause of it all,\" replied Haftor, laughing and moving closer. \"At least that's what Erling and Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n say\u2014I'd like to know what they mean by that. What do you think, Mistress Kristin? Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg is a good and simple woman. Perhaps right now she is sitting as you are, twining silk threads with her snow-white fingers and thinking: It would be hardhearted to refuse the loyal chieftain of her deceased husband some small assistance to improve his lot.\"\n\nErlend came and sat down next to his wife so that Haftor had to move over a bit.\n\n\"The women chatter about such nonsense in the hostels when their husbands are foolish enough to take them along to the meeting.\"\n\n\"Where I come from, it's said that there's no smoke unless there's fire,\" said Haftor.\n\n\"Yes, we have that saying too,\" said Lavrans; he and Erling had come over to join them. \"And yet I was duped, Haftor, this past winter, when I tried to light my torch with fresh horse droppings.\" He perched on the edge of the table. Sir Erling at once brought his goblet and offered it to Lavrans with a word of greeting. Then the knight sat down on a bench nearby.\n\n\"It's not likely, Haftor,\" said Erlend, \"that up north in Haalogaland you would know what Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg and her advisers know about the undertakings and enterprises of the Danes. I suspect you might have been short-sighted when you opposed the king's demand for help. Sir Knut\u2014yes, we might as well mention his name since he's the one that we're all thinking about\u2014he seems to me a man who wouldn't be caught unawares. You sit too far away from the cookpots to be able to smell what's simmering inside them. And better to prepare now than regret later, I say.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Erling. \"You might almost say that they're cooking for us on the neighboring farm\u2014we Norwegians will soon be nothing more than their wards. They send over the porridge they've made in Sweden and say: Eat this, if you want food! I think our lord, King Haakon, made a mistake when he moved the cookhouse to the outskirts of the farm and made Oslo the foremost royal seat in the land. Before then it was in the middle of the courtyard, if we stay with this image\u2014Bj\u00f8rgvin or Nidaros\u2014but now the archbishop and chapter rule here alone. What do you think, Erlend? You who are from Tr\u00f8ndelag and have all your property and all your power in this region?\"\n\n\"Well, God's blood, Erling\u2014if that's what you want: to carry home the cookpot and hang it over the proper hearth, then\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Haftor. \"For far too long we up here in the north have had to settle for smelling the soup cooking while we spoon up cold cabbage.\"\n\nLavrans joined in.\n\n\"As things stand, Erlend, I would not have presumed to be spokesman for the people of the district back home unless I had letters in my possession from my kinsman, Sir Erngisle. Then I knew that none of the lawful rulers plans to break the peace or the alliance between the countries, neither in the realm of the Danish king nor in that of our own king.\"\n\n\"If you know who now rules in Denmark, Fatherin-law, then you know more than most men,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"One thing I do know. There is one man that nobody wants to see rule, not here nor in Sweden nor in Denmark. That was the purpose of the Swedes' actions in Skara last summer, and that is the purpose of the meeting we will now hold in Oslo\u2014to make clear to everyone who has not yet realized it, that on this matter all sober-minded men are agreed.\"\n\nBy this time they had all drunk so much that they had grown boisterous, except for old Smid Gudleikss\u00f8n; he was slumped in his chair next to the hearth.\n\nErlend shouted, \"Yes, you're all so sober-minded that the Devil himself can't trick you. It makes sense that you'd be afraid of Knut Porse. You don't understand, all you good gentlemen, that he's not the kind who can be satisfied with sitting quietly, watching the days drift past and the grass grow as God wills. I'd like to meet that knight again; I knew him when I was in Halland. And I'd have no objections to being in Knut Porse's place.\"\n\n\"That's not something I would dare say if my wife could hear me,\" said Haftor Graut.\n\nBut Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had also drunk a good deal. He was still trying to maintain his chivalrous manner, but he finally gave up. \"You!\" he said, laughing uproariously. \"You, kinsman? No, Erlend!\" He slapped the other man on the shoulder and laughed and laughed.\n\n\"No, Erlend,\" said Lavrans bluntly, \"more is needed for that than a man who is capable of seducing women. If there was no more to Knut Porse than his ability to play the fox in the goose pen, then all of us Norwegian noblemen would be much too lazy to make the effort to leave our manors to chase him off\u2014even if the goose was our own king's mother. But no matter who Sir Knut may lure into committing foolish acts in his behalf, he never commits follies without having some reason for doing so. He has his purpose, and you can be certain that he won't take his eyes off it.\"\n\nThere was a pause in the conversation. Then Erlend spoke, and his eyes glittered.\n\n\"Then I would wish that Sir Knut were a Norwegian man!\"\n\nThe others were silent. Sir Erling drank from his goblet and said, \"God forbid. If we had such a man among us here in Norway, then I fear there would be a sudden end to peace in the land.\"\n\n\"Peace in the land!\" said Erlend scornfully.\n\n\"Yes, peace in the land,\" replied Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n. \"You must remember, Erlend, that we knights are not the only ones who live in this country. To you it might seem amusing if an adventurous and ambitious man like Knut Porse should rise up here. In the past, things were such in the world that if a man stirred up a group of rebels, it was always easy for him to win a following among the noblemen. Either they won and acquired titles and land, or their kinsmen won and they were granted a reprieve for both their lives and their estates. Yes, those who lost their lives have been entered in the records, but the majority survived, no matter whether things went one way or the other\u2014that's how it was for our fathers. But the farmers and the townspeople, Erlend\u2014the workers who often had to make payments to two masters many times in a single year, but who still had to rejoice each time a band of rebels raced through their villages without burning their farms or slaughtering their cattle\u2014the peasants, who had to endure such intolerable burdens and attacks\u2014I think they must thank God and Saint Olav for old King Haakon and King Magnus and his sons, who fortified the laws and secured the peace.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can believe you would think that way.\" Erlend threw back his head. Lavrans sat and stared at the young man\u2014Erlend was now fully alert. A flush had spread over his dark, fierce face, the sinews of his throat were arched taut in his slender, tan neck. Then Lavrans glanced at his daughter. Kristin had let her needlework sink to her lap, and she was intently following the men's conversation.\n\n\"Are you so sure that the farmers and common men think this way and are rejoicing over the new sovereign?\" said Erlend. \"It's true that they often had difficult times\u2014back when kings and their rivals waged war throughout the land. I know they still remember the time when they had to flee to the mountains with their livestock and wives and children while their farms stood in flames down below in the valley. I've heard them talking about it. But I know they remember something else\u2014that their own fathers were part of the hordes. We weren't alone in the battle for power, Erling. The sons of farmers were part of it too\u2014and sometimes they even won our ancestral estates. When law rules the land, a bastard son from Skidan who doesn't know his own father's name cannot win a baron's widow and her estate, such as Reidar Darre did. His descendant was good enough to be betrothed to your daughter, Lavrans; and now he's married to your wife's niece, Erling! Now law and order rule\u2014and I don't understand how it happens, but I do know that farmers' lands have fallen into our hands, and lawfully so. The more entrenched the law, the more quickly they lose their power and authority to take part in their own affairs or those of the realm. And that, Erling, is something that the farmers know too! Oh, no, don't be too certain, any of you, that the peasants aren't longing for the past when they might lose their farms by fire and force\u2014but they could also win with weapons more than they can win with law.\"\n\nLavrans nodded. \"There may be some truth in what Erlend says,\" he murmured.\n\nBut Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n stood up. \"I believe you're right; the peasants remember better the few men who rose up from meager circumstances to become lords\u2014in the time of the sword\u2014than the unspeakable numbers who perished in filthy poverty and wretchedness. And yet none was a sterner master to the commoners than they were. I think it was of them that the saying was first spoken: kinsmen behave worst toward their own. A man must be born to be a master, or he will turn out to be a harsh one. But if he has spent his childhood among servant men and women, then he will have an easier time understanding that without the commoners, we are in many ways helpless children all our days, and that for God's sake as well as our own, we ought to serve them in turn with our knowledge and protect them with our chivalry. Never has it been possible to sustain a kingdom without noblemen who had the ability and the will to secure with their power the rights of those poorer than themselves.\"\n\n\"You could compete in sermonizing with my brother, Erling,\" said Erlend with a laugh. \"But I think the people of Outer Tr\u00f8ndelag liked the gentry better back when we led their sons on military incursions, let our blood run and mingle with theirs across the planks, and split apart rings and divided up the booty with our serving men. Yes, as you can hear, Kristin, sometimes I sleep with one ear open when Sira Eiliv reads aloud from the great books.\"\n\n\"Property that is unlawfully won shall not be handed down to the third heir,\" said Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n. \"Haven't you ever heard that before, Erlend?\"\n\n\"Of course I've heard that!\" Erlend laughed loudly. \"But I've never seen it happen.\"\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n said, \"Things are such, Erlend, that few are born to rule, but everyone is born to serve; the proper way to rule is to be your servants' servant.\"\n\nErlend clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched, smiling. \"I've never thought about that. And I don't think my leaseholders have any favors to thank me for. And yet, strange as it may seem, I think they're fond of me.\" He rubbed his cheek against Kristin's black kitten, which had jumped up onto his shoulder and was now walking around his neck, purring and with its back arched. \"But my wife here\u2014she is the most eager to serve of all women, although you wouldn't have reason to believe me, since the pitchers and mugs are now empty, my Kristin!\"\n\nOrm, who had been sitting quietly and listening to the men's conversation, stood up at once and left the room.\n\n\"Your wife grew so bored that she fell asleep,\" said Haftor, smiling. \"And the blame is yours\u2014you could have let me talk to her in peace\u2014a man who knows how to speak to women.\"\n\n\"All this talk has no doubt gone on much too long for you, mistress,\" began Sir Erling contritely, but Kristin answered with a smile.\n\n\"It's true, sir, that I haven't understood everything that's been said here this evening, but I will remember it well, and I will have plenty of time to think about it later.\"\n\nOrm came back with several maids who brought in more ale. The boy walked around, pouring for the men. Lavrans looked sorrowfully at the handsome child. He had tried to start up a conversation with Orm Erlendss\u00f8n, but he was a taciturn boy, although he had a striking and noble bearing.\n\nOne of the maids whispered to Kristin that Naakkve was awake over in the little house and crying terribly. Kristin then bid the men good night and followed the maids out when they left.\n\nThe men started drinking again. Sir Erling and Lavrans exchanged occasional glances, and then the former said, \"There is something, Erlend, that I meant to discuss with you. A campaign force will certainly be summoned from the countryside here around the fjord and from M\u00f8re. People to the north are afraid that the Russians will return this summer, stronger than before, and they won't be able to handle their defense alone. This is the first benefit for which we can thank the royal union with Sweden\u2014but it wouldn't be right for the people of Haalogaland to profit from it alone. Now, things are such that Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n is too old and sickly\u2014so there has been talk of making you chieftain of the farmers' ships from this side of the fjord. What would you think of that?\"\n\nErlend pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. His whole face glowed. \"What I would think of it!\"\n\n\"It's unlikely that a large contingent could be mustered,\" said Erling, admonishingly. \"But perhaps you should find out what the sheriffs think. You're well known in this area\u2014there has been talk among the men on the council that you were perhaps the man who could do something about this matter. There are those who still remember that you won more than a little honor when you were a guardsman for Earl Jacob. I myself recall hearing him say to King Haakon that he had acted unwisely when he dealt so harshly with a capable young man. He said you were destined to be a support to your king.\"\n\nErlend snapped his fingers. \"You're not thinking of becoming our king, Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n! Is that what all of you are plotting?\" he asked, laughing boisterously. \"To make Erling king?\"\n\nErling said impatiently, \"No, Erlend. Can't you tell that now I was speaking in earnest?\"\n\n\"God help me\u2014were you joking before? I thought you were speaking in earnest all evening. All right then, let's speak seriously. Tell me about this matter, kinsman.\"\n\nKristin was asleep with the child at her breast when Erlend came into the little house. He stuck a pine branch into the embers of the hearth and then let it shine on the two of them for a long time.\n\nHow beautiful she was. And he was a handsome child, their son. Kristin was always so sleepy in the evening now. As soon as she lay down and placed the boy close to her, they would both fall asleep. Erlend laughed a bit and tossed the twig back into the hearth. Slowly he undressed.\n\nNorthward in the spring with Margygren and three or four warships. Haftor Graut with three ships from Haalogaland. But Haftor had no experience; Erlend would be able to command him as he liked. Yes, he realized that he would have to take charge himself because this Haftor did not look either fearful or indecisive. Erlend stretched and smiled in the dark. He was thinking of finding a crew for Margygren outside of M\u00f8re. But there were plenty of bold and hearty boys both here in the parish and in Birgsi\u2014he would be able to choose from the finest of men.\n\nHe had been married little more than a year. Childbirth, penance, and fasting. And now the boy, always the boy, night and day. And yet... she was still the same sweet, young Kristin, whenever he could make her forget the priest's words and the greedy suckling child for a brief time.\n\nHe kissed her shoulder, but she didn't notice. Poor thing\u2014he would let her sleep. He had so much to think about tonight. Erlend turned away from her and lay staring across the room at the tiny glowing dot in the hearth. He ought to get up and cover the ashes, but he didn't feel like it.\n\nIn bits and pieces, memories from his youth came back to him. A quivering ship's prow that paused a scant moment, waiting for the approaching swell; then the sea washing over it. The mighty sound of the storm and the sea. The whole vessel shuddered under the press of the waves, the top of the mast cut a wild arc through the scudding clouds. It was somewhere off the coast of Halland. Overwhelmed, Erlend felt tears fill his eyes. He hadn't realized himself how much these years of idleness had tormented him.\n\nThe next morning Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n and Sir Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n were standing at the end of the courtyard, watching some of Erlend's horses that were running loose outside the fence.\n\n\"I think,\" said Lavrans, \"that if Erlend is to come to this meeting, then he is of such high position and birth, being the kinsman of the king and his mother, that he must step forward to join the ranks of the foremost men. But I don't know, Sir Erling, whether you feel you can trust that his judgment in these matters won't lead him to the opposing side. If Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n attempts to make a countermove... Erlend is also strongly tied to the men who will follow Sir Ivar.\"\n\n\"I think it unlikely that Sir Ivar will do anything,\" said Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n. \"And Munan...\" He gave a slight smile. \"He's wise enough to stay away. He knows that otherwise it might become clear to everyone how much or how little influence Munan Baards\u00f8n wields.\" They both laughed. \"The truth is... Yes, no doubt you know better than I, Lavrans Lagmanss\u00f8n, you who have your ancestors and kinsmen over there, that the Swedish nobles are reluctant to consider our knighthood equal to their own. For that reason it's important that we exclude no man who is among the richest and most highborn. We cannot afford to let a man like Erlend win permission to stay at home, jesting with his wife and tending to his estates\u2014in whatever manner he tends to them,\" he said when he saw Lavrans's expression.\n\nA smile flickered across Lavrans's face.\n\n\"But if you think it unwise to pressure Erlend in order to make him join us, then I will not do so.\"\n\n\"I think, dear sir,\" said Lavrans, \"that Erlend would do more good here in the villages. As you said yourself\u2014we can expect that this war levy will be met with opposition in the districts south of Namdalseid, where the people feel they have nothing to fear from the Russians. It's possible that Erlend might be the man who could change people's minds about these matters in some way.\"\n\n\"He has such a cursed loose tongue,\" Sir Erling exclaimed.\n\nLavrans replied with a small smile. \"Perhaps that's the language that will appeal more to people than... the speech of more in sightful men.\" Again they looked at each other and laughed. \"However that may be, he could do more harm if he went to the meeting and spoke too loudly.\"\n\n\"Well, if you cannot restrain him, then...\"\n\n\"No, I can do so only until he meets up with the kind of birds he's used to flying around with; my son-in-law and I are too unlike each other.\"\n\nErlend came over to them. \"Have you benefited so much from the mass that you need no breakfast?\"\n\n\"I haven't heard mention of breakfast\u2014I'm as hungry as a wolf, and thirsty.\" Lavrans stroked a dirty-white horse that he had been examining. \"Whoever the man is who tends to your horses, son-in-law, I would drive him off my estate before I sat down to eat, if he was my servant.\"\n\n\"I don't dare, because of Kristin,\" said Erlend. \"He has gotten one of her maids with child.\"\n\n\"And do you deem it such a great achievement here in these parts,\" said Lavrans, raising his eyebrows, \"that you now find him irreplaceable?\"\n\n\"No, but you see,\" said Erlend, laughing, \"Kristin and the priest want them to be married\u2014and they want me to place the man in such a position that he'll be able to support the two of them. The girl refuses and her guardian refuses, and Tore himself is reluctant. But I'm not allowed to drive him off; she's afraid that then he would flee the village. But Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n is his overseer, when he's home.\"\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n walked over toward Smid Gudleikss\u00f8n. Lavrans said to his son-in-law, \"It seems to me that Kristin is looking a little pale these days.\"\n\n\"I know. Can't you talk to her, Fatherin-law?\" Erlend said eagerly. \"That boy is sucking the marrow out of her. I think she wants to keep him at her breast until the third fast, like some kind of pauper's wife.\"\n\n\"Yes, she is certainly fond of her son,\" said Lavrans with a slight smile.\n\n\"I know.\" Erlend shook his head. \"They can sit there for three hours\u2014Kristin and Sira Eiliv\u2014talking about a rash he has here or there; and for every tooth he gets, they seem to think a great miracle has occurred. I've never heard otherwise but that all children get teeth. And it would be more wondrous if our Naakkve should have none.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "One evening a year later, toward the end of the Christmas holidays, Kristin Lavransdatter and Orm Erlendss\u00f8n arrived quite unexpectedly to visit Master Gunnulf at his residence in Nidaros.\n\nThe wind had raged and sleet had fallen all day long, since before noon, but now, late in the evening, the weather had grown worse until it was an actual snowstorm. The two visitors were completely covered in snow when they stepped into the room where the priest was sitting at the supper table with the rest of his household.\n\nGunnulf asked fearfully whether something was wrong back at the manor. But Kristin shook her head. Erlend was away on a visit in Gelmin, she said in reply to her brother-in-law's queries, but she was so weary that she hadn't felt like going with him.\n\nThe priest thought about how she had come all the way into town. The horses that she and Orm had ridden were exhausted; during the last part of the journey they had barely been able to struggle their way through the snowdrifts. Gunnulf sent his two servant women off with Kristin to find dry clothing for her. They were his foster mother and her sister\u2014there were no other women at the priest's house. He attended to his nephew himself. And all the while, Orm talked steadily.\n\n\"I think Kristin is ill. I told Father, but he got angry.\"\n\nShe had been so unlike herself lately, said the boy. He didn't know what was wrong. He couldn't remember whether it was her idea or his for them to come here\u2014oh yes, she had mentioned first that she had a great longing to go to Christ Church, and he had said that he would accompany her. So this morning, just as soon as his father had ridden off, Kristin told him she wanted to go today. Orm had agreed, even though the weather was threatening\u2014but he didn't like the look in her eyes.\n\nGunnulf thought to himself that he didn't like it either, when Kristin returned to the room. She looked terribly thin in Ingrid's black dress; her face was as pale as bast and her eyes were sunken, with dark blue circles underneath. Her gaze was strange and dark.\n\nIt had been three months since he had last seen her, when he attended the christening at Husaby. She had looked good then as she lay in bed in her finery, and she said she felt well\u2014the birth had been an easy one. So he had protested when Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter and Erlend wanted to give the child to a foster mother; Kristin cried and begged to be allowed to nurse Bj\u00f8rgulf herself. The second son had been named after Lavrans's father.\n\nNow the priest asked first about Bj\u00f8rgulf; he knew that Kristin was not pleased with the wet nurse to whom they had given the child. But she said he was doing well and that Frida was fond of him and took better care of him than anyone had expected. And what about Nikulaus? asked her brother-in-law. Was he still so handsome? A little smile flitted across the mother's face. Naakkve grew more and more handsome every day. No, he didn't talk much, but otherwise he was ahead of his years in every way, and so big. No one would believe he was only in his second winter; even Fru Gunna said as much.\n\nThen Kristin fell silent again. Master Gunnulf glanced at the two of them\u2014his brother's wife and his brother's son\u2014who were sitting on either side of him. They looked weary and sorrowful, and his heart felt uneasy as he gazed at them.\n\nOrm had always seemed melancholy. The boy was now fifteen years old, and he would have been the most handsome of fellows if he hadn't looked so delicate and weak. He was almost as tall as his father, but his body was much too slender and narrow-shouldered. His face resembled Erlend's too, but his eyes were much darker blue, and his mouth, beneath the first downy black mustache, was even smaller and weaker, and it was always pressed tight with a sad little furrow at each corner. Even the back of Orm's thin, tan neck under his curly black hair looked oddly unhappy as he sat there eating, slightly hunched forward.\n\nKristin had never sat at table with her brother-in-law in his own house. Last year she had come to town with Erlend for the springtime ting, and they had stayed at this residence, which Gunnulf had inherited from his father; but at that time the priest was living on the estate of the Brothers of the Cross, substituting for one of the canons. Master Gunnulf was now the parish priest for Steine, but he had a chaplain to assist him while he oversaw the work of copying manuscripts for the churches of the archbishopric while the cantor, Herr Eirik Finss\u00f8n, was ill. And during this time he lived in his own house.\n\nThe main hall was unlike any of the rooms Kristin was used to. It was a timbered building, but in the middle of the end wall, facing east, Gunnulf had had masons construct a large fireplace, like those he had seen in the countries of the south; a log fire burned between cast andirons. The table stood along one wall, and opposite were benches with writing desks. In front of a painting of the Virgin Mary burned a brass lamp, and nearby stood shelves of books.\n\nThis room seemed strange to her, and her brother-in-law seemed strange too, now that she saw him sitting at the table with members of his household\u2014clerics and servant men who looked oddly priestlike. There were also several poor people: old men and a young boy with thin, reddish eyelids clinging like membranes to his empty eye sockets. On the women's bench next to the old housekeepers sat a young woman with a two-year-old child on her lap; she was hungrily gulping down the stew and stuffing her child's mouth so that his cheeks were about to burst.\n\nIt was the custom for all priests at Christ Church to give supper to the poor. But Kristin had heard that fewer beggars came to Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n than to any of the other priests, and yet\u2014or perhaps this was the very reason\u2014he seated them on the benches next to him in the main hall and received every wanderer like an honored guest. They were served food from his own platter and ale from the priest's own barrels. The poor would come whenever they felt in need of a supper of stew, but otherwise they preferred to go to the other priests, where they were given porridge and weak ale in the cookhouse.\n\nAs soon as the scribe had finished the prayers after the meal, the poor guests wanted to leave. Gunnulf spoke gently to each of them, asking whether they would like to spend the night or whether they needed anything else; but only the blind boy remained. The priest implored in particular the young woman with the child to stay and not take the little one out into the night, but she murmured an excuse and hurried off. Then Gunnulf asked a servant to make sure that Blind Arnstein was given ale and a good bed in the guest room. He put on a hooded cape.\n\n\"You must be tired, Orm and Kristin, and want to go to bed. Audhild will take care of you. You'll probably be asleep when I return from the church.\"\n\nThen Kristin asked to go with him. \"That's why I've come here,\" she said, fixing her despairing eyes on Gunnulf. Ingrid lent her a dry cloak, and she and Orm joined the small procession departing from the parsonage.\n\nThe bells were ringing as if they were right overhead in the black night sky\u2014it wasn't far to the church. They trudged through deep, wet, new snow. The weather was calm now, with a few snowflakes still drifting down here and there, shimmering faintly in the dark.\n\nDead tired, Kristin tried to lean against the pillar she was standing next to, but the stone was icy cold. She stood in the dark church and stared up at the candles in the choir. She couldn't see Gunnulf up there, but he was sitting among the priests, with a candle beside his book. No, she would not be able to speak to him, after all.\n\nTonight it seemed to her that there was no help to be found anywhere. Back home Sira Eiliv admonished her because she brooded so much over her everyday sins\u2014he said this was the temptation of pride. She should simply be diligent with her prayers and good deeds, and then she wouldn't have time to dwell on such matters. \"The Devil is no fool; he'll realize that he will lose your soul in the end, and he won't feel like tempting you as much.\"\n\nShe listened to the antiphony and remembered the nuns' church in Oslo. There she had raised her poor little voice with others in the hymn of praise\u2014and down in the nave stood Erlend, wrapped in a cape up to his chin, and the two of them thought only of finding a chance to speak to each other in secret.\n\nAnd she had thought that this heathen and burning love was not so terrible a sin. They couldn't help themselves\u2014and they were both unmarried. It was at most a transgression against the laws of men. Erlend wanted to escape from a terrible life of sin, and she imagined that he would have greater strength to free himself from the old burden if she put her life and her honor and her happiness into his hands.\n\nThe last time she knelt here in this church she had fully realized that when she said such things in her heart she had been trying to deceive God with tricks and lies. It was not because of their virtue but because of their good fortune that there were still commandments they had not broken, sins they had not committed. If she had been another man's wife when she met Erlend... she would not have been any more sparing of his salvation or his honor than she was of the man she had so mercilessly spurned. It seemed to her now that there was nothing that wouldn't have tempted her back then, in her ardor and despair. She had felt her passion temper her will until it was sharp and hard like a knife, ready to cut through all bonds\u2014those of kinship, Christianity, and honor. There was nothing inside her except the burning hunger to see him, to be near him, to open her lips to his hot mouth and her arms to the deadly sweet desire which he had taught her.\n\nOh, no. The Devil was probably not so convinced that he was going to lose her soul. But when she lay here before, crushed with sorrow over her sins, over the hardness of her heart, her impure life, and the blindness of her soul... then she had felt the saintly king take her in under his protective cloak. She had gripped his strong, warm hand; he had pointed out to her the light that is the source of all strength and holiness. Saint Olav turned her eyes toward Christ on the cross\u2014see, Kristin: God's love. Yes, she had begun to understand God's love and patience. But she had turned away from the light again and closed her heart to it, and now there was nothing in her mind but impatience and anger and fear.\n\nHow wretched, wretched she was. Even she had realized that a woman like herself would need harsh trials before she could be cured of her lack of love. And yet she was so impatient that she felt her heart would break with the sorrows that had been imposed on her. They were small sorrows, but there were many of them, and she had so little patience. She glanced at her stepson's tall, slender figure over on the men's side of the church.\n\nShe couldn't help it. She loved Orm as if he were her own child; but it was impossible for her to be fond of Margret. She had tried and tried and even commanded herself to like the child, ever since that day last winter when Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n brought her home to Husaby. She thought it was dreadful; how could she feel such ill will and anger toward a little maiden only nine years old? And she knew full well that part of it was because the child looked so fearfully like her mother Eline. She couldn't understand Erlend; he was simply proud that his little golden-haired daughter with the brown eyes was so pretty. The child never seemed to arouse any bad memories in the father. It was as if Erlend had completely forgotten the mother of these children. But it wasn't only because Margret resembled the other woman that Kristin lacked affection for her stepdaughter. Margret would not tolerate anyone instructing her; she was arrogant and treated the servants badly. She was dishonest too, and she fawned over her father. She didn't love him the way Orm did; she would snuggle up to Erlend with affection and caresses only because she wanted something. And Erlend showered her with gifts and gave in to the maiden's every whim. Orm wasn't fond of his sister, either\u2014that much Kristin had noticed.\n\nKristin suffered because she felt so harsh and mean since she couldn't watch Margret's behavior without feeling indignant and censorious. But she suffered even more from observing and listening to the constant discord between Erlend and his eldest son. She suffered most of all because she realized that Erlend, deep in his heart, felt a boundless love for the boy\u2014and he treated Orm unjustly and with severity because he had no idea what to do with his son or how he might secure his future. He had given his bastard children property and livestock, but it seemed unthinkable that Orm would ever be fit to be a farmer. And Erlend grew desperate when he saw how frail and weak Orm was; then he would call his son rotten and rage at him to harden himself. He would spend hours with his son, training him in the use of heavy weapons that the boy couldn't possibly handle, urging him to drink himself sick in the evenings, and practically breaking the boy on dangerous and exhausting hunting expeditions. In spite of all this, Kristin saw the fear in Erlend's soul; she realized that he was often wild with sorrow because this fine and handsome son of his was suited for only one position in life\u2014and there his birth stood in the way. And Kristin had come to understand how little patience Erlend possessed whenever he felt concern or compassion for someone he loved.\n\nShe saw that Orm realized this too. And she saw that the young boy's soul was split: Orm felt love and pride for his father, but also contempt for Erlend's unfairness when he allowed his child to suffer because he was faced with worries which he himself, and not the boy, had caused. But Orm had grown close to his young stepmother; with her he seemed to breathe easier and feel freer. When he was alone with her, he was able to banter and laugh, in his own quiet way. But Erlend was not pleased by this; he seemed to suspect that the two of them were sitting in judgment of his conduct.\n\nOh, no, it wasn't easy for Erlend; and it wasn't so strange that he was sensitive when it came to those two children. And yet...\n\nShe still trembled with pain whenever she thought about it.\n\nThe manor had been filled with guests the week before. When Margret came home, Erlend had furnished the loft which was at the far end of the hall, above the next room and the entry hall\u2014it was to be her bower, he said. And there she slept with the servant girl whom Erlend had ordered to keep watch over and serve the maiden. Frida also slept there along with Bj\u00f8rgulf. But since they had so many Christmas guests, Kristin had made up beds for the young men in this loft room; the two maids and the infant were to sleep in the servant women's house. But because she thought Erlend might not like it if she sent Margret off to sleep with the servants, she had made up a bed for her on one of the benches in the hall, where the women and maidens were sleeping. It was always difficult to get Margret up in the morning. On that morning Kristin had woken her many times, but she had lain back down, and she was still asleep after everyone else was up. Kristin wanted to clean the hall and put things in order; the guests must be given breakfast\u2014and so she lost all patience. She yanked the pillows from under Margret's head and tore off the covers. But when she saw the child lying there naked on the sheet made of hides, she took her own cloak from her shoulders and placed it over Margret. It was a garment made from plain, undyed homespun; she only wore it when she went back and forth to the cookhouse and the storerooms, tending to the food preparation.\n\nAt that moment Erlend came into the room. He had been sleeping in a chamber above a storeroom with several other men, since Fru Gunna was sharing Kristin's bed. And he flew into a rage. He grabbed Kristin by the arm so hard that the marks from his fingers were still on her skin.\n\n\"Do you think my daughter should be lying on straw and homespun cloth? Margit is mine, even though she may not be yours. What's not good enough for your own children is good enough for her. But since you've mocked the innocent little maiden in the sight of these women, then you must rectify matters before their eyes. Put back the covers that you took from Margit.\"\n\nIt so happened that Erlend had been drunk the night before, and he was always bad-tempered the following day. And no doubt he thought the women must have been gossiping among themselves when they saw Eline's children. And he grew sensitive and testy about their reputation. And yet...\n\nKristin had tried to talk to Sira Eiliv about it. But he couldn't help her with this matter. Gunnulf had told her that she need not mention the sins to which she had confessed and repented before Eiliv Serkss\u00f8n became her parish priest unless she thought that he should know about them in order to judge and advise her. So there were many things she had never told him, even though she felt that by not doing so she would seem, in Sira Eiliv's eyes, to be a better person than she was. But it was so good for her to have the friendship of this kind and pure-hearted man. Erlend made fun of her, but she gained such comfort from Sira Eiliv. With him she could talk as much as she liked about her children; the priest was willing to discuss with her all the small bits of news that bored Erlend and drove him from the room. The priest got on well with children, and he understood their small troubles and illnesses. Erlend laughed at Kristin when she went to the cookhouse herself to prepare special dishes, which she would send over to the parsonage. Sira Eiliv was fond of good food and drink, and it amused Kristin to spend time on such matters and to try out what she had learned from her mother or seen at the convent. Erlend didn't care what he ate as long as he was always served meat if it wasn't a time for fasting. But Sira Eiliv would come over to talk and thank her, praising her skill after she had sent him grouse on a spit, wrapped in the best bacon, or a platter of reindeer tongues in French wine and honey. And he gave her advice about her garden, obtaining cuttings for her from Tautra, where his brother was a monk, and from the Olav monastery, whose prior was a good friend of his. And he also read to her and could recount so many wonderful things about life out in the world.\n\nBut because he was such a good and pious man, it was often difficult to speak to him about the evil she saw in her own heart. When she confessed to him how embittered she felt at Erlend's behavior that day with Margret, he had impressed upon her that she must bear with her husband. But he seemed to think that Erlend alone had committed an offense when he spoke so unjustly to his wife\u2014and in the presence of strangers. Kristin doubtless agreed with him. And yet deep in her heart she felt a complicity which she could not explain and which caused her great pain.\n\nKristin looked up at the holy shrine, which glittered a dull gold in the dim light behind the high altar. She had been so certain that if she stood here again, something would happen\u2014a redemption of her soul. Once more a living fount would surge up into her heart and wash away all the anguish and fear and bitterness and confusion that filled her.\n\nBut no one had any patience for her tonight. Haven't you learned yet, Kristin\u2014to lift your self-righteousness to the light of God's righteousness, your heathen and selfish passion to the light of love? Perhaps you do not want to learn it, Kristin.\n\nBut the last time she knelt here she had held Naakkve in her arms. His little mouth at her breast warmed her heart so well that it was like soft wax, easy for the heavenly love to shape. And she did have Naakkve; he was playing back home in the hall, so lovely and sweet that her breast ached at the mere thought of him. His soft, curly hair was now turning dark\u2014he was going to have black hair like his father. And he was so full of life and mischief. She made animals for him out of old furs, and he would throw them into the air and then chase after them, racing with the young dogs. And it usually ended with the fur bear falling into the hearth fire and burning up, with smoke and a foul smell. Naakkve would howl, hopping up and down and stomping, and then he would bury his head in his mother's lap\u2014that's where all of his adventures still ended. The maids fought for his favor; the men would pick him up and toss him up to the ceiling whenever they came into the room. If the boy saw Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, he would run over and cling to the man's leg. Ulf sometimes took him along out to the farmyard. Erlend would snap his fingers at his son and set him on his shoulder for a moment, but he was the one person at Husaby who paid the least attention to the boy. And yet he was fond of Naakkve. Erlend was glad that he now had two lawfully born sons.\n\nKristin's heart clenched tight.\n\nThey had taken Bj\u00f8rgulf away from her. He whimpered whenever she tried to hold him, and Frida would put him to her own breast at once. His foster mother kept a jealous watch over the boy. But Kristin would refuse to let the new child go. Her mother and Erlend had said that she should be spared, and so they took her newborn son away and gave him to another woman. She felt an almost vengeful joy when she thought that their only accomplishment was that she would now be having a third child before Bj\u00f8rgulf was even eleven months old.\n\nShe didn't dare speak of this to Sira Eiliv. He would merely think that she was resentful because now she would have to go through all of that again so soon. But that wasn't it.\n\nShe had come home from her pilgrimage with a deep dread in her soul\u2014never would that wild desire have power over her again. Until the end of summer she lived alone with her child in the old house, weighing in her mind the words of the archbishop and Gunnulf's speech, vigilantly praying and repenting, diligently working to put the neglected farm in order, to win over her servants with kindness and concern for their welfare, eager to help and serve all those around her as far as her hands and her power might reach. A cool and wondrous peace descended upon her. She sustained herself with thoughts of her father, she sustained herself with prayers to the holy men and women Sira Eiliv read to her about, and she pondered their steadfastness and courage. And tender with joy and gratitude, she remembered Brother Edvin, who had appeared before her in the moonlight on that night. She had understood his message when he smiled so gently and hung his glove on the moonbeam. If only she had enough faith, she would become a good woman.\n\nWhen their first year of marriage came to an end, she had to move back in with her husband. Whenever she felt doubtful, she would console herself that the archbishop himself had impressed upon her that in her life with her husband she should show her new change of heart. And she strove zealously to tend to his welfare and his honor. Erlend himself had said: \"And so it has happened after all, Kristin\u2014you have brought honor back to Husaby.\" People showed her great kindness and respect; everyone seemed willing to forget that she had begun her marriage a little impetuously. Whenever the women gathered, they would seek out her advice; people praised her housekeeping at the manor, she was summoned to assist with weddings and with births on the great estates, and no one made her feel that she was too young or inexperienced or a newcomer to the region. The servants would remain sitting in the hall until late into the evening, just as they did back home at J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014they all had something to ask their mistress about. She felt a rush of exhilaration that people were so kind to her and that Erlend was proud of her.\n\nThen Erlend took charge of the men called up for duty on the ships south of the fjord. He dashed around, riding or sailing, and he was busy with people who came to see him and letters that had to be sent. He was so young and handsome, and so happy\u2014the listless, dejected look that she had often seen come over him in the past seemed to have been swept away. He sparkled with alertness, like the morning. He had little time left over for her now; but she grew dizzy and wild whenever he came near her with his smiling face and those adventure-loving eyes.\n\nShe had laughed with him at the letter that had come from Munan Baards\u00f8n. The knight had not attended the gathering of the king's retainers himself, but he ridiculed the entire meeting and especially the fact that Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had been appointed leader of the realm. But first Erling had probably given himself new titles\u2014no doubt he would want to be called regent now. Munan also wrote about her father:\n\nThe mountain wolf from Sil crept under a rock and sat there mutely. I mean that your fatherin-law took lodgings with the priests at Saint Laurentius Church and did not let his fair voice be heard at the discussions. He had in his possession letters bearing the seals of Sir Erngisle and Sir Karl Turess\u00f6n; if they haven't yet been worn out it's because the parchment was tougher than the soles of Satan's shoes. You should also know that Lavrans gave eight marks of pure silver to Nonneseter. Apparently the man realized that Kristin was not as docile when she was there as she should have been.\n\nKristin felt a stab of pain and shame at this, but she had to laugh along with Erlend. For her the winter and spring had passed in exhilarating merriment and happiness, with now and then a squall for Orm's sake\u2014Erlend couldn't decide whether he should take the boy north with him. It ended with an outburst during Easter. One night Erlend wept in her arms: he didn't dare take his son on board for fear that Orm wouldn't be able to hold his own during a war. She had comforted him and herself\u2014and the youth. Perhaps the boy would grow stronger over the years.\n\nOn the day she rode with Erlend to the anchorage at Birgsi, she couldn't feel either fearful or sad. She was almost intoxicated with him and with his joy and high spirits.\n\nAt that time she didn't know she was already carrying another child. When she felt unwell she had thought... Erlend was so exuberant, there had been so much commotion and drinking at home, and Naakkve was sucking the strength out of her. When she felt the new life stir inside her, she was... She had been looking forward to the winter, to traveling to town and around the valley with her bold and handsome husband; she was young and beautiful herself. She had planned to wean the boy by autumn; it was troublesome always having to take him and the nursemaid along wherever she went. She was certain that in this Russian campaign Erlend would prove fit for something other than ruining his name and his property. No, she had not been glad, and she told this to Sira Eiliv. Then the priest had reprimanded her quite sternly for her unloving and worldly disposition. And all summer long she had tried to be happy and to thank God for the new child she was to have, and for the good reports she heard about Erlend's courageous actions in the north.\n\nThen he returned home just before Michaelmas. And she saw that he was not pleased when he realized what was to come. He said as much that evening.\n\n\"I thought that when I finally had you, it would be like celebrating Christmas every day. But now it seems that there will be mostly long periods of fasting.\"\n\nEvery time she thought about this, the blood would rush to her face, just as hot as on that evening when she turned away from him, flushing deep red and shedding no tears. Erlend had tried to make amends with love and kindness. But she couldn't forget it. The fire inside her, which all her tears of remorse had been unable to extinguish and all her fear of sin could not smother\u2014it was as if Erlend had stomped it out with his foot when he said those words.\n\nLate that night they sat in front of the fireplace in Gunnulf's house\u2014the priest and Kristin and Orm. A jug of wine and a few small goblets stood at the edge of the hearth. Master Gunnulf had suggested several times that his guests ought to seek rest. But Kristin begged to stay sitting there a little longer.\n\n\"Do you remember, brother-in-law,\" she said, \"that I once told you that the priest back home at J\u00f8rundgaard counseled me to enter a cloister if Father would not give his consent for Erlend to marry me?\"\n\nGunnulf glanced involuntarily at Orm. But Kristin said with a wry little smile, \"Do you think this grownup boy doesn't know that I'm a weak and sinful woman?\"\n\nMaster Gunnulf replied softly, \"Did you feel a yearning for the life of a nun back then, Kristin?\"\n\n\"No doubt God would have opened my eyes once I had decided to serve Him.\"\n\n\"Perhaps He thought that your eyes needed to be opened so you would learn that you ought to serve Him wherever you are. Your husband, children, and the servants at Husaby need to have a faithful and patient servant woman of God living among them and tending to their welfare.\n\n\"Of course the maiden who makes the best marriage is the one who chooses Christ as her bridegroom and refuses to give herself to a sinful man. But the child who has already done wrong...\"\n\n\"'I wish that you could have come to God with your wreath,' \" whispered Kristin. \"That's what he said to me, Brother Edvin Rikardss\u00f8n, the monk I've often told you about. Do you feel the same way?\"\n\nGunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n nodded. And yet many a woman has pulled herself up from a life of sin with such strength that we dare pray for her intercession. But this happened more often in the past, when she was threatened with torture and fire and glowing tongs if she called herself a Christian. I have often thought, Kristin, that back then it was easier to tear oneself away from the bonds of sin, when it could be done forcefully and all at once. And yet we humans are so corrupt\u2014but courage is by nature present in the heart of many, and courage is what often drives a soul to seek God. The torments have incited just as many people to faithfulness as they have frightened others into apostasy. But a young, lost child who is torn from sinful desire even before she has learned to understand what it has brought upon her soul\u2014a child placed in an order of nuns among pure maidens who have given themselves up to watch over and pray for those who are asleep out in the world...\n\n\"I wish it would soon be summer,\" he said suddenly and stood up.\n\nThe other two looked at him in amazement.\n\n\"Oh, I happened to think about when the cuckoo was singing on the slopes in the morning back home at Husaby. First we would hear the one on the ridge to the east, behind the buildings, and then the other would reply from far off, in the woods close to By. It sounded so lovely out across the lake in the stillness of the morning. Don't you think it's beautiful at Husaby, Kristin?\"\n\n\"The cuckoo in the east is the cuckoo of sorrow,\" said Orm Er lendss\u00f8n quietly. \"Husaby seems to me the fairest manor in the world.\"\n\nThe priest placed his hands on his nephew's narrow shoulders for a moment.\n\n\"I thought so too, kinsman. It was my father's estate for me too. The youngest son stands no closer to inheriting the ancestral farm than you do, dear Orm!\"\n\n\"When Father was living with my mother, you were the closest heir,\" said the young boy in the same quiet voice.\n\n\"We're not to blame, Orm\u2014my children and I,\" said Kristin sorrowfully.\n\n\"You must have noticed that I bear you no rancor,\" he replied softly.\n\n\"It's such an open, wide landscape,\" said Kristin after a moment. \"You can see so far from Husaby, and the sky is so... so vast. Where I come from, the sky is like a roof above the mountain slopes. The valley lies sheltered, round and green and fresh. The world seems just the right size\u2014neither too big nor too small.\" She sighed and her hands began fidgeting in her lap.\n\n\"Was his home there\u2014the man your father wanted you to marry?\" asked the priest, and Kristin nodded.\n\n\"Do you ever regret that you refused to have him?\" he then asked, and she shook her head.\n\nGunnulf went over and pulled a book from the shelf. He sat down near the fire again, opened the clasps, and began turning the pages. But he didn't read; he sat with the open book on his lap.\n\n\"When Adam and his wife had defied God's will, then they felt in their own flesh a power that defied their will. God had created them, man and woman, young and beautiful, so that they would live together in marriage and give birth to other heirs who would receive the gifts of His goodness: the beauty of the Garden of Eden, the fruit of the tree of life, and eternal happiness. They didn't need to be ashamed of their bodies because as long as they were obedient to God, their whole body and all of their limbs were under the command of their will, just as a hand or a foot is.\"\n\nBlushing blood-red, Kristin folded her hands under her breast. The priest bent toward her slightly; she felt his strong amber eyes on her lowered face.\n\n\"Eve stole what belonged to God, and her husband accepted it when she gave him what rightfully was the property of their Father and Creator. They wanted to be His equal\u2014and they noticed that the first way in which they became His equal was this: Just as they had betrayed His dominion over the great world, so too was their dominion betrayed over the small world, the soul's house of flesh. Just as they had forsaken their Lord God, the body would now forsake its master, the soul.\n\n\"Then these bodies seemed to them so hideous and hateful that they made clothes to cover them. First a short apron of fig leaves. But as they became more and more familiar with their own carnal nature, they drew the clothes up over their heart and their back, which is unwilling to bend. Until today, when men dress themselves in steel all the way to their fingertips and toes and hide their faces behind the grids of their helmets. In this way unrest and deceit have grown in the world.\"\n\n\"Help me, Gunnulf,\" begged Kristin. She was white to the very edge of her lips. \"I don't know my own will.\"\n\n\"Then say: Thy will be done,\" replied the priest softly. \"You know you must open your heart to His love. Then you must love Him once more with all the power of your soul.\"\n\nKristin abruptly turned to face her brother-in-law.\n\n\"You can't know how much I loved Erlend. And my children!\"\n\n\"Dear sister\u2014all other love is merely a reflection of the heavens in the puddles of a muddy road. You will become sullied too if you allow yourself to sink into it. But if you always remember that it's a reflection of the light from that other home, then you will rejoice at its beauty and take good care that you do not destroy it by churning up the mire at the bottom.\"\n\n\"Yes, but as a priest, Gunnulf, you have promised God that you would shun these... difficulties.\"\n\n\"As you have too, Kristin\u2014when you promised to forsake the Devil and his work. The Devil's work is what begins in sweet desire and ends with two people becoming like the snake and the toad, snapping at each other. That's what Eve learned, when she tried to give her husband and her descendants what belonged to God. She brought them nothing but banishment and the shame of blood and death, which entered the world when brother killed brother in that first small field, where thorns and thistles grew among the heaps of stones around the patches of land.\"\n\n\"Yes, but you're a priest,\" she said in the same tone of voice. \"You're not subjected to the daily trial of trying to agree patiently with the will of another.\" And she broke into tears.\n\nThe priest said with a little smile, \"About that matter there is disagreement between body and soul in every mother's child. That's why marriage and the wedding mass were created\u2014so that man and woman would be given help in their lives: married folk and parents and children and house servants as loyal and helpful companions on the journey toward the house of peace.\"\n\nKristin said quietly, \"It seems to me that it would be easier to watch over and pray for those who are asleep out in the world than to struggle with one's own sins.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" said the priest sharply. \"But you mustn't believe, Kristin, that there has ever been a priest who has not had to guard himself against the Fiend at the same time as he tried to protect the lambs from the wolf.\"\n\nKristin said in a quiet and timid voice, \"I thought that those who live among the holy shrines and possess all the prayers and powerful words...\"\n\nGunnulf leaned forward, tended to the fire, and then sat with his elbows on his knees.\n\n\"It was almost exactly six years ago that we arrived in Rome, Eiliv and I, along with two Scottish priests whom we had met in Avignon. We journeyed the whole way on foot.\n\nWe arrived in the city just before Lent. That's when people in the southern countries hold great celebrations and feasts\u2014they call it carnevale. The wine, both red and white, flows in rivers from the taverns, and people dance late into the night, and there are torches and bonfires in the open marketplaces. It is springtime in Italy then, and the flowers are blooming in the meadows and gardens. The women adorn themselves with blossoms and toss roses and violets down to the people strolling along the streets. They sit up in the windows, with silk and satin tapestries hanging from the ledge over the stone walls. All buildings are made from stone down there, and the knights have their castles and strongholds in the middle of town. There are apparently no town statutes or laws about keeping the peace in the city\u2014the knights and their men fight in the streets, making the blood run.\n\n\"There was such a castle on the street where we were staying, and the knight who ruled it was named Ermes Malavolti. Its shadow stretched over the entire narrow lane where our hostel stood, and our room was as dark and cold as the dungeon in a stone fortress. When we went out we often had to press ourselves up against the wall as he rode past with silver bells on his clothing and a whole troop of armed men. Muck and filth would splash up from the horses' hooves, because in that country people simply throw all their slops and offal outdoors. The streets are cold and dark and narrow like clefts in a mountain\u2014quite unlike the green lanes of our towns. In the streets during carnevale they hold races\u2014they let the wild Arabian horses race against each other.\"\n\nThe priest sat in silence for a moment, then he continued.\n\n\"This Sir Ermes had a kinswoman living at his house. Isota was her name, and she might have been Isolde the Fair One herself. Her complexion and hair were as light as honey, but her eyes were no doubt black. I saw her several times at a window....\n\n\"But outside the city the land is more desolate than the most desolate heaths in this country, and nothing lives there but deer and wolves; and the eagles scream. And yet there are towns and castles in the mountains all around, and out on the green plains you can see traces everywhere that people once lived in this world. Great flocks of sheep graze there now, along with herds of white oxen. Herdsmen with long spears follow them on horseback; they are dangerous folk for wayfarers to meet, for they will kill and rob them and throw their bodies into pits in the ground.\n\n\"But out on these green plains are the pilgrim churches.\"\n\nMaster Gunnulf paused for a moment.\n\n\"Perhaps this land seems so inexpressibly desolate because the city is nearby\u2014the one that was the queen of the entire heathen world and then became Christ's betrothed. The guards have abandoned the city, which in the teeming din of the feasting seems like an abandoned woman. The revelers have settled into the castle where the husband is absent, and they have lured the mistress into joining their carousing, with their merriment and spilling of blood and strife.\n\n\"But underground there are splendors that are more precious than all the splendors on which the sun shines. That's where the graves of the holy martyrs are, dug into the very rock, and there are so many that the thought of them can make you dizzy. When you remember how numerous they are\u2014the tortured witnesses who have suffered death for the sake of Christ\u2014then it seems as if every speck of dust that is whirled up by the hooves of the revelers' horses must be holy and worthy of worship.\"\n\nThe priest pulled out a thin chain from under his robe and opened the little silver cross hanging from it. Inside was something black that looked like tinder-moss, and a tiny green bone.\n\n\"One day we were down in those catacombs all day long, and we said our prayers in caves and oratories where the first disciples of Saint Peter and Saint Paul once gathered for mass. Then the monks who owned the church into which we had descended gave us these sacred relics. This is a piece of the sponge which the pious maidens used to wipe up the martyr blood so that it would not be lost, and this is a knuckle from the finger of a holy man\u2014but only God knows his name. Then all four of us vowed that every day we would invoke this holy man, whose honor is unknown to any human. And we chose this nameless martyr as a witness so that we might never forget how completely unworthy we are of God's reward or the honors of men, and always remember that nothing in this world is worthy of desire except His mercy.\"\n\nKristin kissed the cross with deference and handed it to Orm, who did the same.\n\nThen Gunnulf said suddenly, \"I want to give you this relic, kinsman.\"\n\nOrm sank down on one knee and kissed his uncle's hand. Gunnulf hung the cross around the boy's neck.\n\n\"Wouldn't you have a mind to see these places, Orm?\"\n\nThe boy's face lit up with a smile. \"Yes, I now know that someday I will go there.\"\n\n\"Have you ever had a mind to become a priest?\" asked his uncle.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the boy. \"Whenever Father curses these weak arms of mine. But I don't know whether he would like me to be a priest. And then there's that other matter, as you know,\" he murmured.\n\n\"Dispensation can be sought for your birth,\" said the priest calmly. \"Perhaps we might journey south together sometime, Orm, you and I.\"\n\n\"Tell me more, Uncle,\" Orm implored.\n\n\"That I will.\" Gunnulf put his hands on the armrests of his chair and stared into the fire.\n\nAs I wandered there, seeing nothing but reminders of the tortured witnesses and thinking of the intolerable torments they had borne in the name of Jesus, a terrible temptation came over me. I thought about the way the Savior had hung nailed to the cross all those hours. But his disciples had suffered inexpressible torments for many days. Women watched their children tortured to death before their very eyes; delicate young maidens had their flesh raked from their bones with iron combs; young boys were forced to confront beasts of prey and enraged oxen. Then it occurred to me that many of these people had suffered more than Christ himself.\n\n\"I pondered this until I felt that my heart and mind would burst. But finally I received the light that I had prayed and begged for. And I realized that just as they had suffered, so should we all have the courage to suffer. Who would be so foolish not to accept pain and torment if this was the way to a faithful and steadfast bridegroom who waits with open arms, his breast bloody and burning with love.\n\n\"But he loved humankind. And that's why he died as the bridegroom who has gone off to rescue his bride from the robbers' hands. And they bind him and torture him to death, but he sees his sweetest friend sitting at the table with his executioners, bantering with them and mocking his pain and his loyal love.\"\n\nGunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n hid his face in his hands.\n\n\"Then I realized that this mighty love sustains everything in the world\u2014even the fire in Hell. For if God wanted to, He could take our souls by force; then we would be completely powerless in His grasp. But since He loves us the way the bridegroom loves the bride, He will not force her; if she won't embrace Him willingly, then He must allow her to flee and to shun Him. I have also thought that perhaps no soul is lost for all eternity. For I think every soul must desire this love, but it seems too dearly bought to let go of every other precious possession for the sake of this love alone. When the fire has consumed all other will that is rebellious and hostile to God, then at last the will toward God, even if it was no bigger in a person than one nail in a whole house, shall remain inside the soul, just as the iron remains in a burned-out ruin.\"\n\n\"Gunnulf\u2014\" Kristin rose halfway to her feet. \"I'm afraid.\"\n\nGunnulf looked up, pale, with blazing eyes.\n\n\"I was also afraid. For I understood that the torment of God's love will never end as long as men and maidens are born on this earth, and that He must be afraid of losing their souls\u2014as long as He daily and hourly surrenders his body and his blood on thousands of altars and there are those who reject the sacrifice.\n\n\"And I was afraid of myself because I, an impure man, had served at his altar, said mass with impure lips, and held up the Host with impure hands. And I felt that I was like the man who led his beloved to a place of shame and betrayed her.\"\n\nHe caught Kristin in his arms when she fainted, and he and Orm carried the unconscious woman over to the bed.\n\nAfter a while she opened her eyes; she sat up and covered her face with her hands. She burst into tears and uttered a wild and plaintive cry, \"I can't, Gunnulf, I can't\u2014when you talk like that, then I realize that I can never...\"\n\nGunnulf took her hand. But she turned away from the man's pale and agitated face.\n\n\"Kristin. You cannot settle for anything less than the love that is between God and the soul.\n\n\"Kristin, look around at what the world is like. You who have given birth to two children\u2014have you never thought about the fact that every child who is born is baptized in blood, and the first thing a person breathes on this earth is the smell of blood? Don't you think that as their mother you should put all your effort into one thing? To ensure that your sons do not fall back on that first baptismal pact with the world but instead hold on to the other pact, which they affirmed with God at the baptismal font.\"\n\nShe sobbed and sobbed.\n\n\"I'm afraid of you,\" she said again. \"Gunnulf, when you talk like that, then I realize I'll never be able to find my way to peace.\"\n\n\"God will find you,\" said the priest quietly. \"Stay calm and do not flee from Him who has been seeking you before you even existed in your mother's womb.\"\n\nHe sat in silence for a moment near the edge of the bed. Then he asked calmly and evenly whether he should wake Ingrid and ask the woman to come and help her undress. Kristin shook her head.\n\nHe made the sign of the cross over her three times. He bade Orm good night and went into the alcove where he slept.\n\nOrm and Kristin undressed. The boy seemed deeply absorbed in his own thoughts. After Kristin was in bed, he came over to her. He looked at her tear-stained face and asked whether he should sit with her until she fell asleep.\n\n\"Oh, yes... oh, no, Orm, you must be tired, you who are so young. It must be very late.\"\n\nOrm stood there a little longer.\n\n\"Don't you think it's strange,\" he said suddenly. \"Father and Uncle Gunnulf\u2014they're so unlike each other\u2014and yet they're alike in a certain way.\"\n\nKristin lay there, thinking to herself, Yes, perhaps. They're unlike any other men.\n\nA moment later she was asleep, and Orm went over to the other bed. He took off the rest of his clothes and crept under the covers. There was a linen sheet underneath and linen cases on the pillows. With pleasure the boy stretched out on the smooth, cool bed. His heart was pounding with excitement at these new adventures which his uncle's words had pointed out to him. Prayers, fasts, everything he had practiced because he had been taught to do so, suddenly seemed new to him\u2014weapons in a glorious war for which he longed. Perhaps he would become a monk\u2014or a priest\u2014if he could obtain dispensation because he had been born of adultery.\n\nGunnulf's bed was a wooden bench with a sheet made from a hide spread over a little straw and a single, small pillow; he had to stretch himself out full length to sleep. The priest took off his surcoat, lay down wearing his undergarments, and pulled the thin homespun blanket over himself.\n\nHe left the little candlewick burning that was twined around an iron stake.\n\nHis own words had oppressed him with fear and uneasiness.\n\nHe felt faint with longing for that time\u2014would he ever again find that nuptial joy in his heart that had filled him all spring long in Rome? Together with his three brothers he had wandered in the sunshine across the green, flower-starred meadows. He grew weak and trembled when he saw how beautiful the world was\u2014and then to know that all of this was nothing compared to the riches of that other life. And yet this world greeted them with a thousand small joys and sweet reminders of the bridegroom. The lilies in the field and the birds in the sky reminded them of his words; he had spoken of donkeys like the ones they saw and of wells like the stone-lined cisterns they passed. They received food from the monks at the churches they visited, and when they drank the blood-red wine and broke off the golden crust from the bread made of wheat, all four priests from the barley lands understood why Christ had honored wine and wheat, which were purer than all other foodstuffs that God had given humankind, by manifesting himself in their likeness during the holy communion.\n\nDuring that spring he had not felt any uneasiness or fear. He had felt himself released from the temptations of the world to such an extent that when he sensed the warm sun on his skin, then everything he had pondered before with such anguish seemed so easy to comprehend. How this body of his could be cleansed by fire to become the transfigured form... Feeling light and released from the demands of the earth, he needed no more sleep than the cuckoo, dozing in the spring nights. His heart sang in his breast; his soul felt like a bride in the arms of the bridegroom.\n\nHe realized full well that this would not last. No man could live on earth in this manner for long. And he had received each hour of that bright springtime like a pledge\u2014a merciful promise that would strengthen his endurance when the skies darkened over him and the road led down into a dark ravine, through roaring rivers and cold snowdrifts.\n\nBut it wasn't until he returned to Norway that the uneasiness seized hold of his mind.\n\nThere were so many things. There was his wealth. The great inheritance from his father\u2014and the richly endowed benefice. There was the path he envisioned before him. His place in the cathedral chapter; he knew it was intended for him\u2014provided he didn't renounce everything he owned, enter the friars' order, take the vows of a monk, and submit to their rules. That was the life he desired\u2014with half his heart.\n\nAnd then when he grew old enough and hardened enough in the battle... In the kingdom of Norway there were people who lived like utter heathens or were led astray by the false teachings which the Russians put forward in the name of Christianity\u2014the Finns and the other half-wild peoples, who were constantly on his mind. Wasn't it God who had awakened in him this desire to journey to their villages, bringing the Word and the Light?\n\nBut he pushed aside these thoughts with the excuse that he had to obey the archbishop. And Lord Eiliv counseled him against it. Lord Eiliv had talked to him and listened to him and shown him clearly that he was speaking to the son of his old friend, Sir Nikulaus of Husaby. \"But you are not capable of moderation, you who are descended from the daughters of Skogheims-Gaute, whether it be good or bad, whatever you have set your mind to.\" The salvation of the Finns weighed heavily on the archbishop's heart as well\u2014but they had no need of a spiritual teacher who wrote and spoke Latin as well as his own language, who was no less knowledgeable about the law than about Aritmetica and Algorismus. Gunnulf had acquired his learning in order to use it, hadn't he? \"But it is unclear to me whether you have the gift to talk with the poor and simple people up there in the north.\"\n\nOh, that sweet spring when his learning seemed to him no more venerable than the learning that every little maiden acquires from her mother\u2014how to spin and brew and bake and milk\u2014the training that every child needs to tend to his place in the world.\n\nHe had complained to the archbishop about the uneasiness and fear that came over him whenever he thought about his riches and how much he enjoyed being wealthy. For the needs of his own body he required little; he himself lived like a poor monk. But he liked to see many people sitting at his table; he liked to forestall the needs of the poor with his gifts. And he loved his horses and his books.\n\nLord Eiliv spoke somberly about the honors of the Church. Some were called to honor it with a stately and dignified demeanor, while others were called to show the world a voluntary poverty; wealth was nothing in itself. He reminded Gunnulf of those archbishops and prelates and priests who had been forced to suffer attacks, banishment, and offenses by kings in the past because they asserted the right of the Church. Time after time they had shown that if it was required of Norwegian clergymen, they would renounce everything to follow God. And God Himself would give the sign if it should be required\u2014if only they all kept this firmly in sight, then they need not be afraid that wealth might become an enemy of the soul.\n\nAll this time Gunnulf noticed that the archbishop was not pleased that he thought and pondered so much on his own. It seemed to Gunnulf that Lord Eiliv Kortin and his priests were like men who were adding more and more bricks to their house. The honor of the Church and the power of the Church and the right of the Church. God knew that Gunnulf could be just as zealous as any other priest about matters of the Church; he was not one to avoid the work of hauling stones or carrying mortar for the building. But they seemed to be afraid of entering the house and resting inside. They seemed to be afraid of going astray if they thought too much.\n\nThat was not what he feared. It was impossible for a man to succumb to heresy if he kept his eye steadfastly fixed on the cross and unceasingly surrendered himself to the protection of the Holy Virgin. That was not the danger for him.\n\nThe danger was the unquenchable longing in his soul to win the favor and friendship of others.\n\nHe who had felt in the depths of his being that God loved him; to God his soul was as dear and precious as all other souls on earth.\n\nBut here at home it rose up in him again: the memory of everything that had tormented him during his childhood and youth. That his mother had not been as fond of him as she was of Erlend. That his father hadn't wanted to pay any attention to him, the way he had constantly paid attention to Erlend. Later, when they lived with Baard at Hestnes, it was Erlend who was praised and Erlend who did wrong\u2014Gunnulf was merely the brother. Erlend, Erlend was the chieftain for all the young boys, Erlend was the one the serving maids cursed at and then laughed at just the same. And Erlend was the one he himself loved above all others on earth. If only Erlend would be fond of him; but he could never be satisfied with the love Erlend gave him. Erlend was the only one who cared for him\u2014but Erlend cared for so many.\n\nAnd now he saw the way his brother handled everything that had fallen to his lot. God alone must know how it would end with the riches of Husaby; there was gossip enough in Nidaros about Erlend's imprudent management. To think he took so little notice, when God had given him four handsome children; and they were handsome, even the children he had begotten in his dissolute days. Erlend perceived this not as a gift of grace but as something that was simply as it should be.\n\nAnd finally he had won the love of a pure, delicate young maiden of good family. Gunnulf thought about the way Erlend had dealt with her; he could no longer respect his brother after he found that out. He grew impatient with himself when he noticed traits he had in common with his brother. Erlend, as old as he was, would turn pale or blush crimson as easily as a half-grown maiden, and Gunnulf would rage because he felt the blood coming and going just as easily in his own face. They had inherited this from their mother; a single word could make her change color.\n\nNow Erlend assumed it was no more than reasonable that his wife was a good woman, a mirror for all wives\u2014in spite of the fact that year after year he had tried to corrupt this young child and lead her astray. But Erlend didn't even seem to imagine that things might be otherwise; he was now married to the woman whom he had trained in sensual pleasures, betrayal, and dishonesty. He didn't seem to think it was something he should honor his wife for\u2014that in spite of her fall, she was still truthful and faithful, modest and good.\n\nAnd yet, when the news arrived this past summer and autumn about Erlend's actions in the north... Then he had yearned for only one thing: to be with his brother. Erlend, the king's military protector in Haalogaland; and he, the preacher of God's words in the desolate, half-heathen districts near the Gandvik Sea...\n\nGunnulf stood up. On one wall of the alcove hung a large crucifix, and in front of it, on the floor, lay a big slab of stone.\n\nHe knelt down on the stone and stretched out his arms to either side. He had hardened his body to tolerate this position, and he could remain like this for hours, as motionless as stone. With his eyes fastened on the crucifix, he waited for the solace that would come when he was able to focus all his attention on his contemplation of the cross.\n\nBut the first thought that now came to him was this: Should he part with this image? Saint Francis and his friars had crosses which they carved themselves from a couple of tree branches. He ought to give away this beautiful rood\u2014he could give it to the church at Husaby. Peasants, children, and women who went there for mass might gain strength from such a visible display of the Savior's loving gentleness during his suffering. Simple souls like Kristin. For him it shouldn't be necessary.\n\nNight after night he had knelt here with his senses closed off and his limbs numb, until he saw the vision. The hill with the three crosses against the sky. The cross in the middle, which was meant to bear the king of heaven and earth, shook and trembled; it bent like a tree in a storm, in fear of bearing the much too precious burden, the sacrifice for all the sins of the world. The lord of the storm tents forced it, the way a knight forces his defiant stallion; the chieftain of heaven carried it into battle. Then that miracle occurred which was the key to ever deeper miracles. The blood that ran down from the cross in redemption for all sins and penance for all sorrows\u2014that was the visible sign. With this first miracle the eye of the soul could be opened to contemplate those still hidden\u2014God, who came down to earth and became the son of a virgin and brother to the human kin, who lay waste to Hell and who, with the released souls that were his spoils of war, stormed toward the dazzling sea of light from which the world was born and which sustains the earth. It was toward that unfathomable and eternal depth of light that his thoughts were drawn, and there they perished in the light, vanishing like a flock of birds into the radiance of an evening sky.\n\nNot until the bells of the church rang for matins did Gunnulf get up. There was not a sound as he walked through the main hall\u2014they were both asleep, Kristin and Orm.\n\nOut in the dark courtyard the priest paused for a moment. But none of the servants appeared to accompany him to church. He didn't require them to attend more than two services a day. But Ingrid, his foster mother, almost always went with him to matins. This morning she was evidently still asleep too. Well, she had been up late the night before.\n\nAll that day the three kinsmen spoke little to each other, and then only about unimportant things. Gunnulf looked tired, but he kept up his bantering just the same. \"How foolish we were last night. We sat here so mournfully, like three fatherless children,\" he said once. Many funny little things went on in Nidaros, with the pilgrims and such, which the priests often jested about among themselves. An old man from Herjedal had come to offer prayers on behalf of his fellow villagers, but he managed to mix them all up\u2014and he later realized that things would have looked bad in his village if Saint Olav had taken him at his word.\n\nLate that evening Erlend arrived, soaking wet. He had come to Nidaros by ship, and now the wind was blowing hard again. He was furious and fell upon Orm at once with angry words.\n\nGunnulf listened for a while and said, \"When you speak to Orm in that manner, Erlend, you sound like our father\u2014the way he used to speak to you.\"\n\nErlend abruptly fell silent. Then he shouted, \"But I know I never acted so senselessly when I was a boy\u2014running off from the manor in a snowstorm, a woman who is ill and a whelp of a boy! There's not much else to boast of about Orm's manhood, but you can see that he's not afraid of his father!\"\n\n\"You weren't afraid of Father either,\" replied his brother with a smile.\n\nOrm stood before his father without saying a word and tried to look indifferent.\n\n\"Well, you can go now,\" said Erlend. \"I'm tired of the whole lot at Husaby. But one thing I know\u2014this summer Orm will go north with me, then I'll make something of this pampered lamb of Kristin's. He's no bumbler, either,\" he said eagerly to his brother. \"He has a sure aim, I can tell you that. And he's not afraid; but he's always surly and morose, and it seems as if he has no marrow in his bones.\"\n\n\"If you often rage at your son the way you did just now, then it's not so strange that he would be morose,\" said the priest.\n\nErlend's mood shifted; he laughed and said, \"I often had to suffer much worse from Father\u2014and God knows I didn't grow morose from that. It could very well be... but now that I've come here, we should celebrate Christmas, since it's Christmastime, after all. Where's Kristin? What was it she had to talk to you about again that she would...\"\n\n\"I don't think there was anything she wanted to talk to me about,\" said the priest. \"She had a mind to attend mass here during Christmas.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that she could have made do with what we have at home,\" said Erlend. \"But it's hard for her\u2014all her youth is being stripped from her in this way.\" He rammed one fist against the other. \"I don't understand why our Lord should think we need a new son every year.\"\n\nGunnulf looked up at his brother.\n\n\"Well... I have no idea what our Lord thinks you may need. But what Kristin no doubt needs most is for you to be kind to her.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose she does,\" murmured Erlend.\n\nThe next day Erlend went to morning mass with his wife. They set off for Saint Gregor's Church; Erlend always attended mass there when he was in Nidaros. The two of them went alone, and in the lane where the snow lay piled up in drifts, heavy and wet, Erlend led his wife by the hand, in a refined and courtly fashion. He hadn't said a word to her about her flight, and he had been kind toward Orm after his first outburst.\n\nKristin walked along, pale and silent, with her head bowed slightly; the ankle-length, black fur cloak with the silver clasps seemed to weigh heavily on her frail, thin body.\n\n\"Would you like me to ride back home with you? Then Orm can travel home by ship,\" her husband said. \"I suppose you would prefer not to travel across the fjord.\"\n\n\"No, you know I'm reluctant to journey by ship.\"\n\nThe weather was calm and mild now\u2014every once in a while mounds of heavy wet snow would slide down off the trees. The sky hung low and dark-gray over the white town. There was a watery, greenish-gray sheen to the snow; the timbered walls of the houses, the fences, and the tree trunks looked black in the damp air. Never, thought Kristin, had she seen the world look so cold and faded and pale."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "Kristin sat with Gaute on her lap and stared into the distance from the hill north of the manor. It was such a lovely evening. Below, the lake lay glistening and still, reflecting the mountain ridges, the buildings of By, and the golden clouds in the sky. The strong smell of leaves and earth rose up after the rainfall earlier in the day. The grass in the meadows must be knee-deep by now, and the fields were covered with spears of grain.\n\nSounds traveled a long way on such an evening. Now the pipes and drums and fiddles began playing down on the green near Vinjar; they sounded so splendid up on the hill.\n\nThe cuckoo fell silent for long periods, but then it would cry out a few notes, far away in the woods to the south. And birds whistled and warbled in all the groves around the farm\u2014but sporadic and quiet, because the sun was still high.\n\nThe livestock were bellowing and their bells were ringing as they returned home from the pasture across from the farmyard gate.\n\n\"Now Gaute will soon have his milk,\" she cooed to the infant, lifting him up. The boy lay as he usually did, with his heavy head resting on his mother's shoulder. Now and then he would press closer, and Kristin took this as a sign that he understood her endearing words and chatter.\n\nShe walked down toward the buildings. Outside the main hall Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf were leaping around, trying to entice a cat down from the roof where it had taken refuge. Then the boys took up the broken dagger which belonged to both of them and went back to digging a hole in the earthen floor of the entryway.\n\nDagrun came into the hall carrying a basin of goat milk, and Kristin let Gaute drink ladle after ladle of the warm liquid. The boy grunted crossly when the servant woman spoke to him; when she tried to take him away, he struck out at her and hid his face on his mother's breast.\n\n\"But it seems to me that he's getting better,\" said the milkmaid.\n\nKristin cupped the little face in her hand; it was yellowish-white, like tallow, and his eyes were always tired. Gaute had a big, heavy head and thin, frail limbs. He had turned two years old on the eighth day after Saint Lavrans's Day, but he still couldn't stand on his own, he had only five teeth, and he couldn't speak a word.\n\nSira Eiliv said that it wasn't rickets; and neither the alb nor the altar books had helped. Everywhere the priest went he would ask advice about this illness that had overtaken Gaute. Kristin knew that he mentioned the child in all his prayers. But to her he could only say that she must patiently submit to God's will. And she should let him have warm goat milk.\n\nHer poor little boy. Kristin hugged him and kissed him after the woman had left. How handsome, how handsome he was. She thought she could see that he took after her father's family\u2014his eyes were dark gray and his hair as pale as flax, thick and silky soft.\n\nNow he began to whimper again. Kristin stood up and paced the floor as she held him. Small and weak though he was, he still grew heavy after a while. But Gaute refused to leave his mother's arms. So she walked back and forth in the dim hall, carrying the boy and lulling him to sleep.\n\nSomeone rode into the courtyard. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n's voice echoed between the buildings. Kristin went over to the entryway door with the child in her arms.\n\n\"You'll have to unsaddle your own horse tonight, Ulf. All the men have gone off to the dance. It's a shame you should have to be troubled with this, but I'm afraid it can't be helped.\"\n\nUlf muttered with annoyance, but he unsaddled the horse. Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf swarmed around him and wanted to ride the horse over in the pasture.\n\n\"No, Naakkve, you must stay with Gaute\u2014play with your brother so he doesn't cry while I'm in the cookhouse,\" said Kristin.\n\nThe boy frowned unhappily. But then he got down on all fours, roaring and butting at his little brother whom Kristin had put down on a cushion near the entryway door. She bent down and stroked Naakkve's hair. He was so good to his younger brothers.\n\nWhen Kristin came back to the hall holding the big trencher in her hands, Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n was sitting on the bench, playing with the children. Gaute liked to be with Ulf as long as he didn't see his mother\u2014but now he began crying at once and reached out for her. Kristin put down the trencher and picked Gaute up.\n\nUlf blew on the foam of the newly tapped ale, took a swallow, and then began taking food from the small bowls on the trencher.\n\n\"Are all of your maidservants out tonight?\"\n\nKristin said, \"There are fiddles and drums and pipes\u2014a group of musicians arrived from Orkedal after the wedding. And you know that as soon as they heard about them... They're young girls, after all.\"\n\n\"You let them run around too freely, Kristin. I think you're most afraid that it'll be hard to find a wet nurse this autumn.\"\n\nKristin involuntarily smoothed down her gown over her slender waist. She had blushed dark red at the man's words.\n\nUlf laughed harshly. \"But if you keep carrying around Gaute this way, then things may go as they did last year. Come here to your foster father, my boy, and I'll give you some food from my plate.\"\n\nKristin didn't reply. She set her three small sons in a row on the bench along the opposite wall, brought the basin of milk porridge, and pulled over a little stool close by. There she sat, feeding the boys, although Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf grumbled\u2014they wanted spoons so they could feed themselves. The oldest was now four, and the other would soon be three years old.\n\n\"Where's Erlend?\" asked Ulf.\n\n\"Margret wanted to go to the dance, and so he went with her.\"\n\n\"It's good he understands he should keep a watchful eye on that maiden of his,\" said Ulf.\n\nAgain Kristin did not reply. She undressed the children and put them to bed\u2014Gaute in the cradle and the other two in her own bed. Erlend had resigned himself to having them there after she recovered from her long illness the year before.\n\nWhen Ulf had eaten his fill, he stretched out on the bench. Kristin pushed the chair carved from a tree stump over to the cradle, got her basket of wool, and began to wind up balls of yarn for her loom as she gently and quietly rocked the cradle.\n\n\"Shouldn't you go to bed?\" she asked once without turning her head. \"Aren't you tired, Ulf?\"\n\nThe man got up, poked at the fire a bit, and came over to Kristin. He sat down on the bench across from her. Kristin saw that he was not as spent from carousing as he usually was whenever he had been in Nidaros for a few days.\n\n\"You don't even ask about news from town, Kristin,\" he said, looking at her as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.\n\nHer heart began pounding with fear. She could see from the man's expression and manner that again there was news that wasn't good. But she said with a gentle and calm smile, \"You must tell me, Ulf\u2014have you heard anything?\"\n\n\"Yes, well...\" But first he took out his traveling bag and unpacked the things he had brought from town for her. Kristin thanked him.\n\n\"I understand that you've heard some news in Nidaros,\" she said after a while.\n\nUlf looked at the young mistress; then he turned his gaze to the pale, sleeping child in the cradle.\n\n\"Does he always sweat like this?\" he asked softly, gently pushing back the boy's damp, dark hair. \"Kristin\u2014when you were betrothed to Erlend... the document that was drawn up regarding the ownership of both your possessions\u2014didn't it state that you should manage with full authority those properties which he gave you as betrothal and wedding gifts?\"\n\nKristin's heart pounded harder, but she said calmly, \"It's also true, Ulf, that Erlend has always asked my advice and sought my consent in all dealings with those properties. Is this about the sections of the estate in Verdal that he has sold to Vigleik of Lyng?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ulf. \"He has bought a ship called Hugrekken from Vigleik. So now he's going to maintain two ships. And what do you gain in return, Kristin?\"\n\nErlend's share of Skjervastad and two plots of land in Ulfkel stad\u2014each taxed by one month's worth of food\u2014and what he owns of Aarhammar,\" she said. \"Surely you didn't think Erlend would sell that estate without my permission or without repaying me?\"\n\n\"Hmm...\" Ulf sat in silence for a moment. \"And yet your income will be reduced, Kristin. Skjervastad\u2014that was where Erlend obtained hay this past winter and in return he released the farmer from the land tax for the next three years.\"\n\n\"Erlend was not to blame because we had no dry hay last year. I know, Ulf, you did everything you could, but with all the misery we had here last summer\u2014\"\n\n\"He sold more than half of Aarhammar to the sisters at Rein back when he was preparing to flee the country with you.\" Ulf laughed. \"Or pledged it as security, which amounts to the same thing, in Erlend's case. Free of war levies\u2014the entire burden rests on Audun, who oversees the farm which you will now call your own.\"\n\n\"Can't he lease the land from the convent?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"The nuns' tenant farmer on the neighboring estate has leased it,\" said Ulf. \"It's difficult and risky for leaseholders to manage when lands are split up the way Erlend is bent on doing.\"\n\nKristin was silent. She knew he was right.\n\n\"Erlend is working quickly,\" said Ulf, \"to increase his lineage and to destroy his property.\"\n\nWhen she didn't reply, Ulf went on, \"You will soon have many children, Kristin Lavransdatter.\"\n\n\"But none I would give up,\" she said, with a slight quaver in her voice.\n\n\"Don't be so fearful for Gaute\u2014I'm sure he'll grow strong over time,\" said Ulf softly.\n\n\"It must be as God wills, but it's difficult to wait.\"\n\nHe could hear the concealed suffering in the mother's voice; a strange sense of helplessness came over the ponderous, gloomy man.\n\n\"It's of such little avail, Kristin. You have accomplished much here at Husaby, but if Erlend is now going to set off with two ships... I have no faith that there will be peace in the north, and your husband has so little cunning; he doesn't know how to turn to his advantage what he has gained in the past two years. Bad years they have been, and you have been constantly ill. If things should continue in this way, you'll be brought to your knees in the end, and as such a young woman. I've helped you as best I could here on the estate, but this other matter, Erlend's lack of prudence\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, God knows you have,\" she interrupted him. \"You've been the best of kinsmen toward us, Ulf my friend, and I can never fully thank you or repay you.\"\n\nUlf stood up, lit a candle at the hearth, and set it in the candlestick on the table; he stood there with his back turned to Kristin. She had let her hands sink into her lap as they talked, but now she began winding up the yarn and rocking the cradle with her foot again.\n\n\"Can't you send word to your parents back home?\" he asked. \"So that Lavrans might journey north in the fall along with your mother when she comes to help you?\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought of troubling my mother this fall. She's getting older, and it happens much too often now that I must lie down in the straw to give birth. I can't ask her to come every time.\" Her smile looked a bit strained.\n\n\"Do it this time,\" said Ulf. \"And ask your father to come along, so you can seek his advice on these matters.\"\n\n\"I will not ask my father's advice about this,\" she said quietly but firmly.\n\n\"What about Gunnulf then?\" asked Ulf after a moment. \"Can't you speak to him?\"\n\n\"It's not proper to disturb him with such things now,\" said Kristin in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"Do you mean because he has entered a monastery?\" Ulf laughed scornfully. \"I've never noticed that monks had less understanding about managing estates than other people.\"\n\nWhen she didn't answer, he said, \"But if you won't seek advice from anyone, Kristin, then you must speak to Erlend. Think of your sons, Kristin!\"\n\nShe sat in silence for a long time.\n\n\"You who are so good toward our children, Ulf,\" she said at last. \"It would seem to me more reasonable if you married and had your own worries to tend to\u2014than that you should stay here, tormenting yourself... with Erlend's and my troubles.\"\n\nUlf turned to face her. He stood with his hands gripping the edge of the table behind him and looked at Kristin Lavransdatter. She was still straight-backed and slender and beautiful as she sat there. Her gown was made of dark, hand-dyed woolen cloth, but she wore a fine, soft linen wimple around her calm, pale face. The belt from which her ring of keys hung was adorned with small silver roses. On her breast glittered two chains with crosses, the larger one on gilded links which hung almost to her waist; that one had been given to her by her father. On top lay the thin silver chain with the little cross which Orm had given to his stepmother, asking her to wear it always.\n\nSo far she had recovered from each childbirth looking just as lovely as ever\u2014only a little quieter, with heavier responsibilities on her young shoulders. Her cheeks were thinner, her eyes a little darker and more somber beneath the wide, white forehead, and her lips were a little less red and full. But her beauty would soon be worn away before many more years had passed if things continued in this fashion.\n\n\"Don't you think, Ulf, that you would be happier if you settled down on your own farm?\" she continued. \"Erlend told me that you've bought three more plots of land at Skjoldvirkstad\u2014you will soon own half the estate. And Isak has only the one child\u2014Aase is both beautiful and kind, a capable woman, and she seems to like you\u2014\"\n\n\"And yet I don't want her if I have to marry her,\" sneered the man crudely and laughed. \"Besides, Aase Isaksdatter is too good for...\" His voice changed. \"I've never known any other father but my foster father, Kristin, and I think it's my fate not to have any other children but foster children.\"\n\n\"I'll pray to the Virgin Mary that you'll have better fortune, kinsman.\"\n\n\"I'm not so young, either. Thirty-five winters, Kristin,\" he laughed. \"It wouldn't take many more than that and I could be your father.\"\n\n\"Then you must have begun your sinful ways early,\" replied Kristin. She tried to make her voice sound merry and lighthearted.\n\n\"Shouldn't you go to sleep now?\" Ulf asked.\n\n\"Yes, soon\u2014but you must be tired too, Ulf. You should go to bed.\"\n\nThe man quietly bade her good night and left the room.\n\nKristin took the candlestick from the table and shone the light on the two sleeping boys in the enclosed bed. Bj\u00f8rgulf's eyelashes were not festering\u2014thank God for that. The weather would stay fine for a while yet. As soon as the wind blew hard or the weather forced the children to stay inside near the hearth, his eyes would grow inflamed. She stood there a long time, gazing at the two boys. Then she went over and bent down to look at Gaute in his cradle.\n\nThey had been as healthy as little fledglings, all three of her sons\u2014until the sickness had come to the region last summer. A fever had carried off children in homes all around the fjord; it was a terrible thing to see and to hear about. She had been allowed to keep hers\u2014all her own children.\n\nFor five days she had sat near the bed on the south wall where they lay, all three of them, with red spots covering their faces and with feverish eyes that shunned the light. Their small bodies were burning hot. She sat with her hand under the coverlet and patted the soles of Bj\u00f8rgulf's feet while she sang and sang until her poor voice was no more than a whisper.\n\nShoe, shoe the knight's great horse.\n\nHow are we to shoe it best?\n\nIron shoes will pass the test.\n\nShoe, shoe the earl's great horse.\n\nHow are we to shoe it best?\n\nSilver shoes will pass the test.\n\nShoe, shoe the king's great horse.\n\nHow are we to shoe it best?\n\nGolden shoes will pass the test.\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf was less sick than the others, and more restless. If she stopped singing for even a minute, he would throw off the coverlets at once. Gaute was then only ten months old; he was so ill that she didn't think he would survive. He lay at her breast, wrapped in blankets and furs, and had no strength to nurse. She held him with one arm as she patted the soles of Bj\u00f8rgulf's feet with her other hand.\n\nNow and then, if all three of them happened to fall asleep for a while, she would stretch out on the bed beside them, fully dressed. Erlend came and went, looking helplessly at his three small sons. He tried to sing to them, but they didn't care for their father's fine voice\u2014they wanted their mother to sing, even though she didn't have the voice for it.\n\nThe servant women would come in, wanting their mistress to rest; the men would come in to inquire about the boys; and Orm tried to play with his young brothers. At Kristin's advice, Erlend had sent Margret over to \u00d8sterdal, but Orm wanted to stay\u2014he was grown up now, after all. Sira Eiliv sat at the children's bedside whenever he wasn't out tending to the sick. Through work and worry the priest had shed all the corpulence he had acquired at Husaby; it grieved him greatly to see so many fair young children perish. And some grownups had died too.\n\nBy the evening of the sixth day, all the children were so much better that Kristin promised her husband to undress and go to bed that night. Erlend offered to keep watch along with the maids and to call Kristin if need be. But at the supper table she noticed that Orm's face was bright red and his eyes were shiny with fever. He said it was nothing, but he jumped up abruptly and rushed out. When Erlend and Kristin went out to him, they found him vomiting in the courtyard.\n\nErlend threw his arms around the youth.\n\n\"Orm, my son. Are you ill?\"\n\n\"My head aches,\" complained the boy, and he let his head sink heavily onto his father's shoulder.\n\nThat night they kept vigil over Orm. Most of the time he lay there muttering in delirium\u2014then screaming loudly and flailing his long arms about, seeming to see hideous things. What he said they could not understand.\n\nIn the morning Kristin collapsed. It turned out that she must have been with child again; now it went very badly for her, and afterwards she lay as if immersed in a deathlike sleep; later she was seized by a terrible fever. Orm had been in the grave for more than two weeks before she learned of her stepson's death.\n\nAt the time she was so weak that she couldn't properly grieve. She felt so bloodless and faint that nothing seemed to reach her\u2014she was content to lie in bed, only half-alive. There had been a dreadful time when the women hardly dared touch her or tend to her cleanliness, but that had all merged with the confusion of the fever. Now it felt good to submit to the care of others. Around her bed hung many fragrant wreaths of mountain flowers which were meant to keep the flies away\u2014the people from the mountain pastures had sent them, and they smelled especially sweet whenever there was rain in the air. One day Erlend brought the children to her. She saw that they were haggard from their illness, and that Gaute didn't recognize her, but even that didn't trouble her. She merely sensed that Erlend seemed always to be at her side.\n\nHe went to mass every day, and he knelt at Orm's grave to pray. The cemetery was next to the parish church at Vinjar, but some of the infants in the family had been given a resting place inside the manor church at Husaby\u2014Erlend's two brothers and one of Munan Biskopss\u00f8n's little daughters. Kristin had often felt sorry for these little ones who lay so alone under the flagstones. Now Orm Erlendss\u00f8n had his final resting place among these children.\n\nWhile the others feared for Kristin's life, processions of beggars on their way to Nidaros just before Saint Olav's Day began to pass through the region. They were mostly the same wandering men and women who had made the journey the year before; the pilgrims in Nidaros were always generous to the poor, since intercessions of this kind were considered particularly powerful. And they had learned to travel by way of Skaun during the years since Kristin had settled at Husaby. They knew that there on the estate they would be given shelter, alms, and an abundance of food before they continued on. This time the servants wanted to send them away because the mistress was ill. But when Erlend, who had been up north the last two summers, heard that his wife was accustomed to receiving the beggars so kindly, he ordered that they should be given food and lodging, just as they had before. And in the morning he himself tended to the wanderers, helping the servants to pour the ale and bring in food for them; he gave them alms as he quietly asked for their prayers of intercession for his wife. Many of the beggars wept when they heard that the gentle young woman lay close to death.\n\nAll of this Sira Eiliv had told Kristin when she began to regain her health. Not until Christmastime was she strong enough to take up her keys again.\n\nErlend had sent word to her parents as soon as she fell ill, but at the time they were in the south, attending a wedding at Skog. Later they came to Husaby; she was better by then, but so tired that she had little energy to talk to them. What she wanted most was simply to have Erlend at her bedside.\n\nWeak and pale and always cold, she would cling to his healthy body. The old fire in her blood had gone. It had disappeared so completely that she could no longer remember how it felt to love in that way, but with it had also vanished the worry and bitterness from the past few years. She felt that things were better now, even though the sorrow over Orm's death lay heavily on both of them, and even though Erlend didn't realize how frightened she was for little Gaute. But things were so good between them. She saw that he had feared terribly that he might lose her.\n\nAnd so it was difficult and painful for her to speak to him, to touch on matters that might destroy the peace and joy they now shared.\n\nShe was standing outside in the bright summer night, in front of the entrance to the main house, when the servants returned from the dance. Margret was clinging to her father's arm. She was dressed and adorned in a fashion that would have been more suited to a wedding feast than to a dance out on the green, where all manner of folk came together. But her stepmother had stopped interfering in the maiden's upbringing. Erlend could do as he pleased in raising his own daughter.\n\nErlend and Margret were both thirsty, so Kristin brought ale for them. The girl sat and talked with them for a while; she and her stepmother were good friends now that Kristin no longer attempted to instruct her. Erlend laughed at everything his daughter said about the dance. But finally Margret and her maid went up to the loft to sleep.\n\nErlend continued roaming around the hall; he stretched, yawned, but claimed he wasn't tired. He ran his fingers through his long black hair.\n\n\"There wasn't time for it after we were in the bathhouse. Because of the dance. I think you'll have to cut my hair, Kristin; I can't walk around like this during the holy days.\"\n\nKristin protested that it was too dark, but Erlend laughed and pointed to the vent hole in the ceiling; it was already daylight again. Then she relit the candle, told him to sit down, and draped a cloth around his shoulders. As she worked, he squirmed from the tickling, and laughed when the scissors came too close to his neck.\n\nKristin carefully gathered up the hair clippings and burned them in the hearth; she shook out the cloth over the fire as well. Then she combed Erlend's hair straight down from his scalp and snipped here and there, wherever the ends weren't quite even.\n\nErlend grabbed her hands tightly as she stood behind him, placed them at his throat, and smiled as he tilted his head back to look up at her.\n\nBut then he let her go, saying, \"You're tired.\" And he stood up with a little sigh.\n\nErlend sailed to Bj\u00f8rgvin right after Midsummer. He was disconsolate because his wife was again unable to travel with him. She smiled wearily; all the same, she wouldn't have been able to leave Gaute.\n\nAnd so Kristin was once again alone at Husaby in the summer. But she was glad that this year she wouldn't give birth until Saint Matthew's Day; it would be difficult both for her and for the women who would attend her if it occurred during the harvest season.\n\nShe wondered whether it would always be this way. Times were different now than when she was growing up. She had heard her father speak of the Danish war, and she remembered when he was away from home during the campaign against Duke Eirik. That was how he got the terrible scars on his body. But back home in the valleys, war had still seemed so far away, and no doubt most people thought it would never return. It was mostly peaceful, and her father was home, managing his estates, and thinking about and caring for all of them.\n\nNowadays there was always unrest\u2014everyone talked about wars and campaigns and the ruling of the kingdom. In Kristin's mind it all merged with her image of the sea and the coast, which she had seen only once since she had moved north. From the coast they sailed and to the coast they came\u2014men whose heads were full of ideas and plans and counterplots and deliberations; clergymen and laymen. To these men belonged Erlend, by virtue of his high birth and his wealth. But she felt that he stood partially outside their circles.\n\nShe pondered and thought about this. What was it that caused her husband to have such a position? How did his peers truly regard him?\n\nWhen he was simply the man she loved, she had never asked about such things. She could see that he was short-tempered and impetuous and rash, that he had a particular penchant for acting unwisely. But back then she had found excuses for everything, never troubling to think about what his temperament might bring upon them both. When they had won her father's consent to marry, everything would be different\u2014that was how she had consoled herself. Gradually it dawned on her that it was from the moment a child was born to them that she began to think about things. What kind of man was Erlend, whom people called irresponsible and imprudent, a man whom no one could trust?\n\nBut she had trusted him. She remembered Brynhild's loft, she remembered how the bond between him and that other woman had finally been severed. She remembered his conduct after she had become his lawful bride. But he had stood by her in spite of all the humiliations and rejections; and she had seen that he did not want to lose her for all the gold on earth.\n\nShe thought about Haftor of God\u00f8y. He was always following her around, speaking words of nonsense and affection whenever they met, but she had never cared for his attentions. That must be his way of jesting. She didn't think it was more than that; she had been fond of the handsome and boisterous man, and she was still fond of him. But to think that anyone would act that way in mere jest\u2014no, she didn't understand it.\n\nShe had met Haftor Graut again at the royal banquets in Nidaros, and he sought out her company there too, just as he usually did. One evening he convinced her to go into a loft room, and she lay down with him on a bed that stood there. Back home in Gudbrandsdal she would never have thought of doing such a thing\u2014there it was not a banquet custom for men and women to slip away, two by two. But here everyone did it; no one seemed to find it improper\u2014it was apparently common practice among knights in other countries. When they first entered the room, Fru Elin, the wife of Sir Erling, was lying on the other bed with a Swedish knight; Kristin could hear that they were talking about the king's earache. The Swede looked pleased when Fru Elin wanted to get up and go back to the hall.\n\nWhen Kristin realized that Haftor was quite serious about the intentions behind his request as they lay there and talked, she was so astonished that she failed to be either frightened or suitably indignant. They were both married, after all, and they both had children with their spouses. She had never truly believed that such things actually went on. In spite of all she herself had done and experienced\u2014no, she hadn't believed that such things happened. Haftor had always been merry and affectionate and full of laughter. She couldn't say that what he wanted was to try to seduce her; he hadn't been serious enough for that. And yet he wanted her to commit the worst of sins.\n\nHe got off the bed the minute she told him to go. He had turned submissive, but he seemed more surprised than ashamed. And he asked in utter disbelief: Did she truly think that married people were never unfaithful? But she must know that few men could admit to never having a paramour. Women were perhaps a little better than the men, and yet...\n\n\"Did you believe everything the priests preach about sin and the like even back when you were a young maiden?\" he asked. \"Then I don't understand, Kristin Lavransdatter, how Erlend ever managed to have his way with you.\"\n\nThen he had looked into her eyes\u2014and her eyes must have spoken, although she wouldn't have discussed this matter with Haftor for any amount of gold. But his voice rang with amazement as he said, \"I thought that was only something they wrote about\u2014in ballads.\"\n\nKristin had not mentioned this episode to anyone, not even Erlend. He was fond of Haftor. And of course it was dreadful that some people could behave as recklessly as Haftor Graut, but she couldn't see that it was any concern of hers. And he hadn't attempted to be overly familiar toward her since then. Now whenever they met, he would simply sit and stare at her with obvious astonishment in his sea-blue eyes.\n\nNo, if Erlend behaved rashly, it was not in that fashion, at any rate. And was he truly so imprudent? she wondered. She saw that people were startled by things he said, and afterwards they would put their heads together to talk. There was often much that was truthful and just in the opinions that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n expressed. The problem was that he never saw what the other men never allowed to slip from view: the cautious hindsight with which they kept an eye on each other. Intrigue, Erlend called it, and then he would laugh insolently, which seemed to provoke people at first but eventually won them over. They would laugh too, slap him on the shoulder, and say that he could be sharp-witted enough, but short-sighted.\n\nThen he would undo his own words with raucous and impudent banter. And people tolerated a great deal of this sort of behavior from Erlend. His wife was dimly aware of why everyone put up with his reckless talk, and it made her feel humiliated. For Erlend would yield as soon as he encountered any man who held firm to his own opinion; even if he understood no more than that this opinion was foolish, Erlend would nevertheless relinquish his own view on the matter. But he covered his retreat with disrespectful gossip about the man. And people were satisfied that Erlend had this cowardice of spirit\u2014reckless as he was with his own welfare, adventurous, and boldly enamored of any danger that could be faced with armed force. All the same, they had no need to worry about Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n.\n\nThe year before, toward the end of winter, the regent had come to Nidaros, and he had brought the young king along with him. Kristin attended the grand feast at the king's palace. With quiet dignity, wearing a silk wimple and with all her best jewelry adorning her red bridal gown, she had sat there among the most high born women at the banquet. With alert eyes she studied her husband's conduct among the men, watching and listening and pondering\u2014just as she watched and listened and pondered wherever she went with Erlend, and wherever she noticed that people were talking about him.\n\nAnd she had learned several things. Sir Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n was willing to risk every effort to assert the right of the Norwegian Crown north to the Gandvik Sea, to defend and protect Haalogaland. But the Council and the knights opposed him and were reluctant to support any endeavor that might help. The archbishop himself and the clergy of the archdiocese were not unwilling to offer financial support\u2014this she knew from Gunnulf\u2014but otherwise the men of the Church all over the country were opposed to the war, even though it was against the enemies of God: heretics and heathens. And the noblemen were working against the regent, at least here in Tr\u00f8ndelag. They had grown accustomed to disregarding the words of the law books and the rights of the Crown, and they were not pleased that Sir Erling so sternly invoked the spirit of his blessed kinsman King Haakon in these matters. But it was not for these reasons that Erlend refused to allow himself to be used, as Kristin now understood that the regent had intended to use her husband. For Erlend it was simply because the other man's somber and dignified demeanor bored him, so he took revenge by lightly ridiculing his powerful kinsman.\n\nKristin now thought she understood Sir Erling's attitude toward Erlend. On the one hand, he had felt a certain affection for Erlend ever since their youth; no doubt he thought that if he could win the support of the noble and fearless master of Husaby, who also had some experience in the art of war from the days when he served Earl Jacob\u2014at any rate more than most of the other men who had stayed at home\u2014then it would be of benefit to both Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's plans and to Erlend's welfare. But that's not how things had turned out.\n\nFor two summers Erlend had stayed out at sea until late autumn, patrolling the waters off the long northern coast and chasing off pirate vessels with the four small ships that bore his banner. One day he had arrived in search of fresh provisions at a new Norwegian settlement far north in Tana just as the Karelians were in the process of plundering it. With the handful of men he had brought ashore, he captured eighteen of the pirates and hanged them from the roof beam in the half-burned barn. He cut down a troop of Russians attempting to flee into the mountains; he vanquished and burned several enemy ships somewhere out among the distant skerries. Rumors of his speed and boldness spread through the north; his men from Outer Tr\u00f8ndelag and M\u00f8re loved their chieftain for his toughness and his willingness to share in all the toil and travails of his crew. He had won friends among the peasants and the young sons on the estates of the chieftains up north in Haalogaland, where people had almost grown accustomed to having to defend their own coasts alone.\n\nBut even so, Erlend was of no help to the regent and his plans for a great crusade north. In Tr\u00f8ndelag people boasted of Erlend's exploits in the Russian campaign\u2014if talk turned to this subject, they would point out that he was one of their own. Yes, it had turned out that the young boys from the fjord possessed a fair share of good old-fashioned valor. But no matter what Erlend of Husaby said or did, it was not enough to impress grownup and sensible men.\n\nKristin saw that Erlend continued to be counted among the young, even though he was a year older than the regent. She realized that this suited many, because then his words and actions could be disparaged as those of a young and reckless man. People liked him, humored him, and boasted of him\u2014but he was never considered a fully entitled man. And she saw how willingly he accepted the role that his peers wanted him to play.\n\nHe spoke in favor of the Russian war; he talked about the Swedes who shared the Norwegian king. But they refused to acknowledge the Norwegian lords and knights as noblemen, equal with their own. In other countries, for as long as the world had existed, had anyone ever heard of demanding payment of war levies from noblemen in any other form than having them ride their own horses and bear their own shields into battle? Kristin knew this was much the same thing her father had said that time at the ting in Vaage, and Lavrans had also mentioned it to Erlend when his son-in-law had not wanted to oppose Munan Baards\u00f8n's plans. No, Erlend now said\u2014and he would allude to his fatherin-law's powerful kinsmen in Sweden\u2014he knew full well how the Swedish noblemen regarded the Norwegians. \"And if we don't show them what we're capable of, we'll soon be considered nothing more than wards of the Swedes.\"\n\nAnd people agreed that there was some truth to this. But then they would go back to talking about the regent. Sir Erling had his own reasons for lamenting what went on in the north. One year the Karelians had burned down Bjark\u00f8y in defiance of his overseer and persecuted his leaseholders. But Erlend would change his tone and jest\u2014Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n wasn't thinking of his own affairs, he was sure of that. Sir Erling was such a noble and refined and distinguished knight; they couldn't have found a better man to serve as leader for all of them. By God, Erling was as honorable and venerable as the most beautiful golden initial capital at the beginning of the book of law. People laughed, less impressed with Erlend's praise of the regent's integrity than with Erlend's comparing him to a gilded letter.\n\nNo, they didn't take Erlend seriously\u2014not now, when he was in some ways respected. But back in the days when he was young and stubborn and desperate, when he lived with his concubine and refused to send her away in spite of the king's command and excommunication from the Church\u2014back then they did take him seriously, turning away from him in bitter fury at his ungodly and disgraceful life. Now it was all forgiven and forgotten, and Kristin realized that it was partly out of gratitude for this that her husband so willingly acquiesced and behaved in the way people wanted him to behave. He must have suffered bitterly during that time when he was banished from the company of his peers in Norway. But the problem was, it made her think of her father, when he released incompetent men from their obligations or debts with a mere shrug of his shoulders. It was a Christian duty to bear with those who could not conduct themselves properly. Was it in this manner that Erlend had been forgiven the sins of his youth?\n\nBut Erlend had paid the consequences for his actions when he was living with Eline. He had answered for his sins right up until the moment when he met Kristin and she eagerly followed him into new sin. Was she then the one who...\n\nNo. Now she was afraid of her own thoughts.\n\nAnd she tried to block out of her mind all the worries about things she could not change. She wanted only to think about matters in which she could do something with her compassion. Everything else she would have to place in God's hands. God had helped her in every instance when her own hard work could do some good. Husaby had now been transformed into a prosperous farm, as it had been in the past\u2014in spite of the bad years. Three healthy and handsome sons He had given her, and each year He had granted her new life whenever she was faced with death in childbirth. He had allowed her to recover her full health after each convalescence. She had been permitted to keep all three of her small sons the year before, when illness took the lives of so many fair children in the region. And Gaute\u2014Gaute would regain his health, that she firmly believed.\n\nIt must be as Erlend had said: It was necessary for him to lead his life and maintain his estates in as costly a fashion as he did. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to assert himself among his peers and win the rights and revenues that were his birthright under the Crown. She would have to believe that he understood this better than she did.\n\nIt was senseless to think that things might have been better in some ways for him\u2014and even for her\u2014back when he was living tangled up in sin with that other woman. In glimpses of memory she saw his face from that time, ravaged with sorrow, contorted with passion. No, no, things were fine as they were now. He was merely a little too carefree and thoughtless.\n\nErlend returned home just before Michaelmas. He had hoped to find Kristin confined to bed, but she was still on her feet. She came to meet him out on the road. Her gait was terribly cumbersome this time\u2014but she had Gaute in her arms, as usual; the two older sons came running ahead of her.\n\nErlend jumped down from his horse and lifted the boys onto the saddle. Then he took his youngest son from his wife so he could carry him. Kristin's pale, worn face lit up when Gaute wasn't frightened by his father; he must have recognized him, after all. She asked nothing about her husband's travels, but talked only about Gaute's four new teeth which had made him so sick.\n\nThen the boy started to scream; he had scraped his cheek bloody on the filigree brooch on his father's chest. He wanted to go back to his mother, and she wanted to take him, no matter how much Erlend protested.\n\nNot until evening, when they were sitting alone in the hall and the children were asleep, did Kristin ask her husband about his journey to Bj\u00f8rgvin\u2014as if she only then happened to think about it.\n\nErlend glanced furtively at Kristin. His poor wife\u2014she looked so miserable. He began to tell her all kinds of news. Erling had asked him to send his greetings and give her this\u2014it was a bronze dagger, corroded with verdigris. They had found it in a heap of stones out at Giske; it was supposed to be beneficial to place such a thing in the cradle in case it was rickets that had stricken Gaute.\n\nKristin wrapped up the dagger again, awkwardly rose from her chair, and went over to the cradle. She put the bundle under the bedclothes with everything else that lay there: a stone axe found buried in the ground, the musk gland of a beaver, a cross made from daphne twigs, old silver, flint, roots of a Mariahand orchid, and an Olav's Beard fern.\n\n\"Lie down now, dear Kristin,\" Erlend said tenderly. He came over and pulled off her shoes and stockings. All the while he talked.\n\nHaakon Ogmundss\u00f8n had come back, and peace with the Russians and Karelians had been concluded and sealed. Erlend himself would have to travel north this fall. For it was certain that calm would not be restored at once, and a man was needed at Varg\u00f8y who knew the region. He would be given full authority as the king's officer in command at the fortress up there, which had to be better secured so that peace could be defended at the new border markers.\n\nErlend looked up into his wife's face with excitement. She seemed a bit alarmed\u2014but she didn't ask many questions, and it was clear that she had little understanding of what his news meant. He saw how tired she was, so he spoke no more about this matter but remained sitting on the edge of her bed for a while.\n\nHe understood the gravity of what he had taken on. Erlend laughed quietly to himself as he took his time undressing. There would be no sitting back with his silver belt around his belly, holding feasts for friends and kinsmen, and filing his nails straight and clean as he dispatched his vassals and lieutenants here and there\u2014the way the king's commanders of the castles did here in the south of Norway. And the castle at Varg\u00f8y was quite a different sort of fortress.\n\nFinns, Russians, Karelians, and mixed breeds of all kinds\u2014troll rabble, conjurers, heathen dogs, the Devil's own precious lambs who had to be taught to pay taxes to the Norwegian emissaries and to leave the Norwegian settlements in peace, which were spread out with as much distance between each other as from Husaby all the way to M\u00f8re. Peace\u2014perhaps the king's peace would be possible up there someday, but in his lifetime there would be peace only when the Devil attended mass. And he would have his own roughnecks to keep in check too. Especially toward the spring, when they began to grow despondent from the darkness and the cold and the hellish roar of the sea\u2014when the flour and butter and liquor were in short supply, and they began fighting over their women, and life on the island grew unbearable. Erlend had witnessed some of this when he was there as a young boy with Gissur Galle. No, he wouldn't be lying about idle!\n\nIngolf Peit, who was now in charge, was able enough. But Erling was right: A man from the knighthood should take control of things up there\u2014not until then would anyone realize that it was the Norwegian king's firm intention to assert his power over the land. Ha, ha\u2014in that territory he would be like a needle in a coverlet. Not a single Norwegian settlement until as far south as Malang.\n\nIngolf was a capable fellow, but only as long as he had someone in command over him. He would put Ingolf in charge of his ship Hugrekken. Margygren was the most splendid of ships; that much he had now learned. Erlend laughed softly and happily. He had told Kristin so often before, this was one mistress she would have to put up with.\n\nHe was awakened by one of the children crying in the dark. Over by the bed on the opposite wall, he could hear Kristin stirring and speaking gently\u2014it was Bj\u00f8rgulf who was complaining. Sometimes the boy woke up in the night and couldn't open his festering eyes; then his mother would moisten them with her tongue. Erlend had always been repelled by the sight of this.\n\nKristin was softly humming. The thin, weak sound of her voice annoyed him.\n\nErlend remembered what he had been dreaming. He was walking along a shore somewhere; it was low tide, and he was leaping from stone to stone. In the distance the sea was glistening and pale, lapping at the seaweed; it was like a silent, cloudy summer evening, with no sun. At the mouth of the silvery fjord he saw the ship anchored, black and sleek, rocking gently on the waves. There was an ungodly, delicious smell of sea and kelp.\n\nHis heart grew sick with longing. Now in the darkness of the night, as he lay here in the guest bed and listened to the monotonous sound of the lullaby gnawing at his ear, he felt how strong his longing was. To be away from this house and the swarms of children who filled it, away from talk of farming matters and servants and tenants and children\u2014and from his anguished concern for her, who was always ill and whom he always had to pity.\n\nErlend clasped his hands over his heart. It felt as if it had stopped; it merely lay there, shivering with fright inside his breast. He longed to be away from her. When he thought about what she would have to endure, as weak and frail as she now was\u2014and he knew that it could happen at any hour\u2014he felt as if he would suffocate from fear. But if he should lose Kristin... He didn't know how he would be able to live without her. But he didn't feel able to live with her, either, not now. He wanted to flee from everything and breathe freely\u2014as if it were a matter of life itself for him.\n\nJesus, my Savior\u2014oh, what kind of man was he! He realized it now, tonight. Kristin, my sweet, my dearest wife\u2014the only time he had known deep, heartfelt joy with her was when he was leading her astray.\n\nHe who had been so convinced on that day when he was given Kristin to have and to hold before God and man that everything bad would be driven from his life so completely that he would forget it had ever existed.\n\nHe must be the kind of man who couldn't tolerate anything truly good or pure to be near him. Because Kristin... Ever since she had emerged from the sin and impurity into which he had led her, she had been like an angel from God's heaven. Kind and faithful, gentle, capable, deserving of respect. She had returned honor to Husaby. She had become once again the person she had been on that summer night, when the pure young maiden had crept under his cape there in the convent garden; and he had thought when he felt that slender young body against his side: The Devil himself wouldn't dare harm this child or cause her sorrow.\n\nTears streamed down Erlend's face.\n\nIt must be true, what the priests had told him, that sin ate up a man's soul like rust\u2014for he could find no rest or peace here with his sweet beloved. He longed to be away from her and everything that was hers.\n\nHe had wept himself almost to sleep when he sensed that she was up and pacing the floor, quietly humming and singing.\n\nErlend sprang out of bed, stumbled in the dark over a child's shoes on the floor, and went right over to his wife and took Gaute from her. The boy started screaming, and Kristin said crossly, \"I had almost lulled him to sleep!\"\n\nThe father shook the crying child, gave him a few slaps on the bottom\u2014and when the boy shrieked even louder, he hushed him so harshly that Gaute fell silent with fear. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.\n\n\"It's time for you to use what good sense you have, Kristin.\" His fury robbed him of all power as he stood there, startled and naked and freezing in the pitch-dark room with a sobbing child in his arms. \"There has to be an end to this, I tell you\u2014what do you have nursemaids for? The children will sleep with them; you can't keep on this way.\"\n\n\"Won't you allow me to have my children with me during the time I have left?\" replied his wife, her voice low and plaintive.\n\nErlend refused to acknowledge what she meant.\n\n\"During the time you have left, you need rest. Go to bed now, Kristin,\" he implored her more calmly.\n\nHe took Gaute with him to bed. He hummed to him for a while, and in the dark he found his belt lying on the step of the bed. The little silver medallions adorning it clinked and clattered as the boy played with the belt.\n\n\"The dagger isn't in it, is it?\" asked Kristin anxiously from her bed, and Gaute began howling again when he heard his mother's voice. Erlend hushed him and made the belt clink\u2014at last the child stopped crying and grew calm.\n\nPerhaps it would be unwise to wish for this poor little boy to grow to adulthood\u2014it was not certain that Gaute possessed all his wits.\n\nOh no, oh no. Blessed Virgin Mary, he didn't mean that. He didn't wish death for his own little son. No, no. Erlend held the child close in his arms and pressed his face to the soft, fine hair.\n\nTheir handsome sons. But he grew so weary of listening to them all day long; of stumbling over them whenever he came home. He couldn't understand how three small children could be everywhere at once on such a large estate. But he remembered how furious he had been with Eline because she showed no interest in their children. He must be an unreasonable man, for he was also resentful that he no longer saw Kristin without children clinging to her.\n\nWhen he held his lawfully born sons in his arms he never felt the same way he had when they gave him Orm to hold for the first time. Oh Orm, Orm, my son. He had been so tired of Eline by then\u2014sick and tired of her stubbornness and her vehemence and her uncontrollable ardor. He had seen that she was too old for him. And he had begun to realize what this madness would eventually cost him. But he hadn't felt that he could send her away\u2014not after she had given up everything for his sake. The boy's birth had given him a reason to tolerate the mother, it seemed to him. He had been so young when he became Orm's father, and he hadn't fully understood the child's position, since the mother was another man's lawful wife.\n\nSobs overcame him once more, and he held Gaute tighter. Orm\u2014he had never loved any of his children the way he loved that boy; he missed him terribly, and he bitterly regretted every harsh and impatient word he had ever said to him. Orm couldn't have known how much his father loved him. Bitterness and despair had gradually seized Erlend as it became abundantly clear that Orm would never be considered his lawful son, that he would never be able to inherit his father's coat of arms. And Erlend felt jealousy too because he saw his son draw closer to his stepmother than to him, and it seemed to him that Kristin's calm, gentle kindness toward the boy was a form of reproach.\n\nThen came those days and nights that Erlend could not bear to remember. Orm lay on his bier in the loft, and the women came to tell him that they didn't think Kristin would live. They dug a grave for Orm over in the church, and they asked whether Kristin should be buried there too. Or should she be taken instead to Saint Greg or's Church to be laid to rest beside his parents?\n\nOh... He held his breath in fear. Behind him lay an entire lifetime of memories from which he had fled, and he couldn't bear to think of it. Now, tonight, he understood. He could forget about it to some extent from day to day. But he couldn't protect himself from the memories turning up at some moment such as this\u2014and then it felt as if all courage had been conjured out of him.\n\nThose days at Haugen\u2014he had almost succeeded in forgetting about them entirely. He hadn't been back to Haugen since that night when he drove off, and he hadn't seen Bj\u00f8rn or Aashild again after his wedding. And now... He thought about what Munan had told him\u2014it was said that their spirits had come back. Haugen was so haunted that the buildings stood deserted; no one wanted to live there, even if they were given the farm free.\n\nBj\u00f8rn Gunnarss\u00f8n had possessed a type of courage that Erlend knew he himself would never have. His hand had been steady when he stabbed his wife\u2014right through the heart, said Munan.\n\nIt would be two years this winter since Bj\u00f8rn and Fru Aashild died. People had not seen smoke coming from the buildings at Haugen for nearly a week; finally several men gathered their courage and went over there. Herr Bj\u00f8rn was lying in bed with his throat cut; he was holding his wife's body in his arms. On the floor next to the bed lay his bloody dagger.\n\nEveryone knew what had happened, and yet Munan Baards\u00f8n and his brother managed to have the two buried in consecrated ground. Perhaps they had fallen victim to robbers, people said, although the chest containing Bj\u00f8rn's and Aashild's valuables had not been touched. And the bodies were untouched by mice or rats\u2014in fact, those kinds of vermin never came to Haugen, and people took this as a sign of the woman's sorcery skills.\n\nMunan Baards\u00f8n had been terribly distressed by his mother's death. He had set off on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela at once.\n\nErlend remembered the morning following his own mother's death. They were anchored in Mold\u00f8y Sound, but the fog was so white and thick that only occasionally could they catch a glimpse of the mountain ridge towering above them. But there was a muffled echo from the hollow sound of the boat being rowed to shore with the priest. Erlend stood in the bow and watched them rowing away from the ship. Everything he came near was wet with fog; beads of moisture covered his hair and clothing. And the priest and his acolyte, who were strangers to Erlend, sat in the bow of the boat, their shoulders hunched as they bent over the holy vessels they held on their laps. They looked like hawks in the rain. The slap of the oars and the scrape of the oarlocks and the echo from the mountain continued to resound long after the boat had been spirited away by the fog.\n\nOn that day Erlend had also vowed to make a pilgrimage. He had only had one thought back then: that he be allowed to see his mother's lovely, sweet face again, the way it had been before, with ts soft, smooth, light tan complexion. Now she lay dead be lowdecks, with her face ravaged by the terrible sores that ruptured and seeped little drops of clear fluid whenever she had tried to smile at him.\n\nHe was not to blame for the way his father had received him. Nor for the fact that he had turned to someone who was outcast, like himself. But then Erlend had pushed the pilgrimage from his mind, and he had refused to think any more about his mother. As painful as her life had been here on earth, she must now be in that place of peace\u2014and there was not much peace for him, after he took up with Eline again.\n\nPeace\u2014he had known it only once in his life; on that night when he sat behind the stone wall near the woods of Hofvin and held Kristin as she slept on his lap\u2014the safe, tender, undisturbed sleep of a child. He hadn't been able to hold out for long before he shattered her tranquillity. And it wasn't peace that he found with her later on, and he had no peace with her now. And yet he saw that everyone else in his home did find peace in the presence of his young wife.\n\nNow he longed only to go away to that strife-torn place. He yearned madly and wildly for that remote promontory and for the thundering sea surrounding the forelands of the north, for the endless coastline and the enormous fjords which could conceal all manner of traps and deceptions, for the people whose language he understood only slightly, for their sorcery and inconstancy and cunning, for war and the sea, and for the singing of weapons, both his own and his men's.\n\nAt last Erlend fell asleep, and then woke up again\u2014what was it he had dreamed? Oh yes. That he was lying in a bed with a black-haired Finnish girl on either side of him. Something half-forgotten that had happened to him back when he was up north with Gissur. A wild night when they had all been drunk and reeling. He couldn't recall much more of the whole night than the rank, wild-beast smell of the women.\n\nAnd now here he lay with his sick little son in his arms and dreamed of such things. He was so shocked at himself that he didn't dare try to sleep anymore. And he couldn't bear to lie awake in bed. He must truly be fated to unhappiness. Rigid with anguish he lay motionless and felt the clench of his heart in his breast, while he longed for the redemption of dawn.\n\nHe persuaded Kristin to stay in bed the next day. He didn't think he could stand to see her so miserable, dragging herself around the house. He sat with her and played with her hand. She had had the loveliest arms\u2014slim and yet so plump that the small, delicate bones were hardly visible in the slender joints. Now they stood out like knots on her gaunt forearm, and the skin underneath was bluish-white.\n\nOutside it stormed and rained so hard that water gushed down the slopes. Erlend came out of the armory later in the day and heard Gaute screaming and crying from somewhere in the courtyard. He found his small sons in the narrow passageway between two of the buildings, sitting directly under the dripping eaves. Naakkve was clutching the youngest boy while Bj\u00f8rgulf was trying to force-feed him a worm\u2014he had a whole fistful of pink worms, twisting and squirming.\n\nThe boys looked crestfallen as their father scolded them. It was Old Aan, they said, who had mentioned that Gaute's teeth would come in with no trouble if they could get him to take a bite of a live worm.\n\nThey were soaked through from head to toe, all three of them. Erlend bellowed for the nursemaids, who came rushing out\u2014one from the workroom and the other from the stable. Their master cursed them roundly, stuffed Gaute under his arm like a piglet, and then chased the other two ahead of him into the hall.\n\nA little while later, dry and content in their best blue tunics, the boys sat in a row on the step of their mother's bed. Erlend had brought a stool over, and he chattered nonsense and fussed over his sons, hugging them close and laughing in order to drive out the remnants of the nighttime terror from his mind. But Kristin smiled happily because Erlend was playing with their children. Erlend told them that he had a Finnish witch; she was two hundred winters old, and so wizened that she was no bigger than this. He kept her in a leather pouch in the big chest that stood in his boathouse. Oh yes, he gave her food, all right; every Christmas he gave her the thigh of a Christian man\u2014that was enough to last her the whole year. And if they weren't nice and quiet and didn't stop plaguing their mother, who was ill, then he would put them in the pouch too.\n\n\"Mother is sick because she's carrying our sister,\" said Naakkve, proud that he knew about such matters.\n\nErlend pulled the boy by the ears down onto his knee.\n\n\"Yes, and after she's born, this sister of yours, I'm going to let my old Finnish woman work her magic on all three of you and turn you into polar bears so you can go padding around in the wild forest, but my daughter will inherit all that I own.\"\n\nThe children shrieked and tumbled into their mother's bed. Gaute didn't understand, but he yelled and scrambled up there too, after his brothers. Kristin complained\u2014Erlend shouldn't tease them so horribly. But Naakkve toppled off the bed again; in an ecstasy of laughter and fright he rushed at his father, hung on to his belt, and bit at Erlend's hands, while he shouted and cheered.\n\nErlend didn't get the daughter he had wished for this time, either. His wife gave birth to two big, handsome sons, but they almost cost Kristin her life.\n\nErlend had them baptized; one of them was named after Ivar Gjesling and the other after King Skule. His name had otherwise not been continued in their family; Fru Ragnrid had said that her father was a man fated to misfortune, and no one should be named for him. But Erlend swore that none of his sons bore a prouder name than the youngest.\n\nIt was now so late in the autumn that Erlend had to journey north as soon as Kristin was out of the worst danger. And he felt in his heart that it was just as well that he left before she was out of bed again. Five sons in five years\u2014that should be enough, and he didn't want to have to worry that she would die in childbirth while he sat up north at Varg\u00f8y.\n\nHe could see that Kristin had thought much the same. She no longer complained that he was going to leave her behind. She had accepted each child that came as a precious gift from God, and the suffering as something to which she had to submit. But this time the experience had been so appallingly difficult that Erlend could tell that all courage seemed to have been stripped from her. She lay in bed listlessly, her face yellow as clay, staring at the two little bundles at her side; and her eyes were not as happy as they had been with the others.\n\nErlend sat beside her and went over the entire trip north in his mind. It would doubtless be a hard sea voyage so late in the fall\u2014and strange to arrive there for the long nights. But he felt such an unspeakable yearning. This last bout of fear for his wife had completely broken all resistance in his soul\u2014helplessly he surrendered to his own longing to flee from home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "Erlend nikulauss\u00f8n served as the king's military commander and chieftain at the fortress of Varg\u00f8y for almost two years. In all that time he never ventured farther south than to Bjark\u00f8y, when he and Sir Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n once arranged a meeting there. During the second summer Erlend was away, Heming Alfss\u00f8n finally died, and Erlend was appointed sheriff of Orkd\u00f8la county in his place. Haftor Graut traveled north to succeed him at Varg\u00f8y.\n\nErlend was a happy man when he sailed south in the autumn, several days after the Feast of the Birth of Mary. This was the redress he had been seeking all these years\u2014to become sheriff of the region as his father had once been. Not that this had been a goal which he had ever worked to achieve. But it had always seemed to him that this was what he needed in order to assume the standing which he rightfully deserved\u2014both in his own eyes and those of his peers. Now it no longer mattered that he was considered somewhat different from the men who were bench sitters\u2014there was no longer anything awkward about his special position.\n\nAnd he longed for home. It had been more peaceful in Finnmark than he had expected. Even the first winter took its toll on him; he sat idle in the castle and could do nothing about repairing the fortress. It had been well restored seventeen years before, but now it had fallen into terrible disrepair.\n\nThen came spring and summer with great activity and commotion\u2014meetings at various places along the fjords with the Norwegian and half-Norwegian tax collectors and with spokesmen for the peoples of the inland plains. Erlend sailed here and there with his two ships and enjoyed himself immensely. On the island the buildings were repaired and the castle fortified. But the following year, peace still prevailed.\n\nHaftor would no doubt see to it that troubles commenced soon enough. Erlend laughed. They had sailed together almost as far as Trjanema, and there Haftor had found himself a Sami woman from Kola whom he had taken with him. Erlend had spoken to him sternly. He had to remember that it was important for the heathens to realize that the Norwegians were the masters. And he would have to conduct himself so as not to provoke anyone unnecessarily, considering the small group of men he had with him. He shouldn't intervene if the Finns fought and killed each other; they were to be granted that pleasure without interference. But act like a hawk over the Russians and the Kola people, or whatever that rabble was called. And leave the women alone\u2014for one thing, they were all witches; and for another, there were plenty who would offer themselves willingly. But the God\u00f8y youth would just have to take care of himself, until he learned.\n\nHaftor wanted to get away from his estates and his wife. Erlend now wanted to go back home to his. He felt a blissful longing for Kristin and Husaby and his home district and all his children\u2014for everything that was back home with Kristin.\n\nAt Lyngsfjord he got word of a ship with several monks on board; they were supposedly Dominican friars from Nidaros who were heading north to try to plant the true faith among heathens and heretics in the border territories.\n\nErlend felt certain that Gunnulf was among them. And three nights later he was indeed sitting alone with his brother in a sod hut that belonged to a little Norwegian farm near the shore where they had found each other.\n\nErlend felt strangely moved. He had attended mass and had taken communion with his crew for the first time since he had come north, except when he was at Bjark\u00f8y. The church at Varg\u00f8y was without a priest; a deacon lived at the castle, and he had made an effort to observe the holy days for them, but otherwise the Norwegians in the north had found little help for their souls. They had to console themselves with the thought that they were part of a kind of crusade, and surely their sins would not be judged so severely.\n\nErlend sat talking to Gunnulf about this, and his brother listened with an odd, remote smile on his thin, compressed lips. It looked as if he were constantly sucking on his lower lip, the way a person often does when he is thinking hard about something and is on the verge of understanding but has not yet achieved full clarity in his mind.\n\nIt was late at night. All the other people on the farm were asleep in the shed; the brothers knew that they were now the only ones awake. And they were both struck by the strange circumstance that the two of them should be sitting there alone.\n\nThe muffled and muted sound of the storm and the roaring sea reached them through the sod walls. Now and then gusts of wind would blow in, breathe on the embers of the hearth, and make the flame of the oil lamp flicker. There was no furniture in the hut; the brothers were sitting on the low earthen bench which ran along three sides of the room, and between them lay Gunnulf's writing board with ink horn, his quill pen, and a rolled-up parchment. Gunnulf had been writing down a few notes as his brother told him about meetings and Norwegian settlements, about navigation markers and weather indications and words in the Sami language\u2014everything Erlend happened to think of. Gunnulf was piloting the ship himself; it was named Sunnivasuden, for the friars had chosen Saint Sunniva as the patron saint for their endeavor.\n\n\"As long as you don't suffer the same fate as the martyred Selje men,\" said Erlend, and Gunnulf again gave him a little smile.\n\n\"You call me restless, Gunnulf,\" Erlend continued. \"Then what should we call you? First you wander around in the southern lands for all those years, and then you've barely returned home before you give up your benefice and prebends to go off to preach to the Devil and his offspring up north in Velliaa. You don't know their language and they don't know yours. It seems to me that you're even more inconstant than I am.\"\n\n\"I own neither manors nor kinsmen to answer for,\" said the monk. \"I have now freed myself from all bonds, but you have bound yourself, brother.\"\n\n\"Yes, well... I suppose the man who owns nothing is free.\"\n\nGunnulf replied, \"A man's possessions own him more than he owns them.\"\n\n\"Hmm. No, by God, I might concede that Kristin owns me. But I won't agree that the manor and the children own me too.\"\n\n\"Don't think that way, brother,\" said Gunnulf softly. \"For then you might easily lose them.\"\n\n\"No, I refuse to be like those other old men, up to their chins in the muck of their land,\" said Erlend, laughing, and his brother smiled with him.\n\n\"I've never seen fairer children than Ivar and Skule,\" he said. \"I think you must have looked like them at that age\u2014it's no wonder our mother loved you so much.\"\n\nBoth brothers rested a hand on the writing board, which lay between them. Even in the faint light of the oil lamp it was possible to see how unlike the hands of these two men were. The monk's fingers bore no rings; they were white and sinewy, shorter and stubbier than the other man's fingers, and yet they looked much stronger\u2014even though the palm of Erlend's fist was now as hard as horn and a blue-white scar from an arrow wound furrowed the dark skin from his wrist all the way up his sleeve. But the fingers of Erlend's slender, tanned hand were dry and knotty-jointed like tree branches, and they were completely covered with rings of gold and precious stones.\n\nErlend had an urge to take his brother's hand, but he was too embarrassed to do so; instead, he drank a toast to him, grimacing at the bad ale.\n\n\"And you think that Kristin has now regained her full health?\" Erlend continued.\n\n\"Yes, she had blossomed like a rose when I was at Husaby in the summer,\" said the monk with a smile. He paused for a moment and then said somberly, \"I ask this of you, brother\u2014think more about the welfare of Kristin and your children than you have done in the past. Abide by her advice and agree to the decisions she and Eiliv have made; they're only waiting for your consent to conclude them.\"\n\n\"I'm not greatly in favor of these plans you speak of,\" said Erlend with some reluctance. \"And now my position will be quite different.\"\n\n\"Your lands will gain in value if you consolidate your property more,\" replied the monk. \"Kristin's plans seemed sensible when she explained them to me.\"\n\n\"And there isn't another woman in all of Norway who offers advice more freely than she does,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"But in the end you're the one who commands. And you now command Kristin too, and can do as you please,\" Gunnulf said, his voice strangely weak.\n\nErlend laughed softly from deep in his throat, then stretched and yawned. Suddenly somber, he said, \"You have also counseled her, my brother. And at times your advice may well have come between our friendship.\"\n\n\"Do you mean the friendship between you and your wife, or the friendship between the two of us?\" the monk asked hesitantly.\n\n\"Both,\" replied Erlend, as if the thought had just now occurred to him.\n\n\"It isn't usually necessary for a laywoman to be so pious,\" he continued in a lighter tone of voice.\n\n\"I have counseled her as I thought best. As it was best,\" Gunnulf corrected himself.\n\nErlend looked at the monk dressed in the rough, grayish-white friar's robes, with the black cowl thrown back so that it lay in thick folds around his neck and over his shoulders. The crown of his head was shaved so that only a narrow fringe of hair now remained, encircling his round, gaunt, pallid face; but his hair was no longer thick and black as it had been in Gunnulf's younger days.\n\n\"Well, you aren't as much my brother anymore as you are the brother of all men,\" said Erlend, surprising himself by the great bitterness in his own voice.\n\n\"That's not true\u2014although it ought to be.\"\n\n\"So help me God, I think that's the real reason that you want to go up there to the Finns!\"\n\nGunnulf bowed his head. His amber eyes smoldered.\n\n\"To some extent that's true,\" he said swiftly.\n\nThey spread out the furs and coverlets they had brought with them. It was too cold and raw in the room for them to undress, so they bade each other good night and lay down on the earthen bench, which was quite low to the floor to escape the smoke from the hearth.\n\nErlend lay there thinking about the news he had received from home. He hadn't heard much during the past years\u2014two letters from his wife had reached him, but they had been outdated by the time they arrived. Sira Eiliv had written them for her. Kristin could write, and she had a beautiful hand, but she was never eager to do so, because she didn't think it quite proper for an uneducated woman.\n\nShe would no doubt become even more pious now that they had acquired a holy relic in the neighboring village, and it was from a man whom she had known while he was alive. And Gaute had now won release from his illness there, and Kristin herself had recovered her full health after having been weak ever since giving birth to the twins. Gunnulf said that the friars of Hamar had finally been forced to give Edvin Rikardss\u00f8n's body back to his brothers in Oslo, and they had now written down everything about Brother Edvin's life and about the miracles he was said to have performed, both during his lifetime and after death. It was their intention to send these writings to the Pope in an attempt to have the monk proclaimed a saint. Several brothers from Gauldal and Medaldal had journeyed south to bear witness to the wonders that Brother Edvin had achieved with his prayers of intercession in the parishes and with a crucifix he had carved; it was now at Medalhus. They had vowed to build a small church on Vatsfjeld, the mountain where he had spent several summers, living a hermit's existence, and where a mountain spring had become endowed with healing powers. And the brothers were given a hand from his body to enshrine in the church.\n\nKristin had contributed two silver bowls and the large cloak clasp with blue stones which she had inherited from her grandmother, Ulvhild Haavardsdatter, so that Tiedeken Paus in Nidaros could fashion a silver hand for Brother Edvin's bones. And she had been to Vatsfjeld with Sira Eiliv and her children and a great entourage when the archbishop consecrated the church at Midsummer the year after Erlend had departed for the north.\n\nAfterwards, Gaute's health quickly improved; he had learned to walk and talk, and he was now like any other child his age. Erlend stretched out his limbs. That was the greatest joy they had been granted\u2014that Gaute was now well. He would donate some land to the church. Gunnulf had told him that Gaute was blond, with a fair complexion, like his mother. If only he had been a little maiden, then he would have been named Magnhild. Yes, he was also longing for his handsome sons now.\n\nGunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n lay there thinking about the spring day three years ago when he rode toward Husaby. On the way he met a man from the manor. The mistress was not at home, he had said; she was tending to a woman who was ill.\n\nHe was riding along a narrow, grass-covered road between old split-rail fences. Young, leafy trees covered the slopes, from the top all the way down to the swollen river rushing through the ravine below. He rode into the sun, and the tender green leaves glittered like golden flames on the branches, but inside the forest the shadows were already spreading, cool and deep, across the grassy floor.\n\nGunnulf reached a place where he could catch a glimpse of the lake, with a reflection of the dark opposite shore and the blue of the sky, and an image of the great summer clouds constantly merging and dispersed by the ripples. Far below the road was a small farm on green, flower-strewn slopes. A group of women wearing white wimples stood outside in the courtyard, but Kristin was not among them.\n\nA little farther away he saw her horse; it was walking around in the pasture with several others. The road dipped down into a hollow of green shadows ahead of him, and where it curved up over the next rise in the hills, he saw her standing next to the fence beneath the foliage, listening to the birds singing. He looked at her slim, dark figure, leaning over the fence, facing the woods; there was a gleam of white from her wimple and her arm. He reined in his horse and rode toward her slowly, step by step. But when he drew closer, he saw that it was the slender stump of an old birch tree standing there.\n\nThe next evening, when his servants sailed his ship into Nidaros, the priest himself was at the helm. He felt his heart beating in his chest, steadfast and newborn. Now nothing could deter his purpose.\n\nHe now knew that what had held him back in life was the unquenchable longing he had carried with him ever since childhood. He wanted to win the love of others. To do so he had been kind-hearted, gentle, and good-natured toward the poor; he had let his wisdom shine, but with moderation and humility, among the priests of the town so that they would like him; he had been submissive toward Lord Eiliv Kortin because the archbishop was friends with his father, and he knew how Lord Eiliv wanted people to behave. He had been loving and gentle toward Orm, in order to win the boy's affection away from his moody father. And Gunnulf had been stern and demanding toward Kristin because he saw what she needed: to encounter something that would not give way when she reached for help, something that would not lead her astray when she came, ready to follow.\n\nBut now he realized that he had sought to win her trust for himself more than he had tried to strengthen her faith in God.\n\nErlend had found expression for it this evening: Not as much my brother anymore as the brother of all men. This was the detour he would have to take before his brotherly love could benefit anyone at all.\n\nTwo weeks later he had divided up his possessions among his kinsmen and the Church and donned the robes of a friar. And now, this spring, when everyone was profoundly troubled by the terrible misfortune that had befallen the country\u2014lightning had struck Christ Church in Nidaros and partially destroyed Saint Olav's shrine\u2014Gunnulf had won the support of the archbishop for his old plan. Together with Brother Olav Jonss\u00f8n, who was an ordained priest like himself, and three younger monks\u2014one from Nidaros and two from the order in Bj\u00f8rgvin\u2014he was now headed north to bring the light of the Word to the lost heathens who lived and died in darkness within the boundaries of a Christian land.\n\nChrist, you who were crucified! Now I have given up everything that could bind me. And I have placed myself in your hands, if you would find my life worthy enough to be freed from its servitude to Satan. Take me so that I may feel that I am your slave, for then I will possess you in return.\n\nThen someday, once again, his heart would crow and sing in his chest, as it did when he walked across the green plains at Romaborg, from pilgrim church to pilgrim church: \"I am my Beloved's, and to Him belongs my desire.\"\n\nThe two brothers lay there, each on his own bench in the little hut, and let their thoughts lull them to sleep. A tiny ember smoldered in the hearth between them. Their thoughts took them farther and farther away from each other. And the following day one of them headed north, and the other south.\n\nErlend had promised Haftor Graut to go out to God\u00f8y and take his sister south with him. She was married to Baard Aasulfss\u00f8n of Lensvik, who was also one of Erlend's kinsmen, but distantly related.\n\nOn the first morning, as Margygren cut through the waters of God\u00f8y Sound with its sails billowing against the blue mountains in the fine breeze, Erlend was standing on the raised afterdeck of the ship. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n had the helm. Then Fru Sunniva came up to them. The hood of her cloak was draped over her shoulders, and the wind was blowing her wimple back from her curly, sun-yellow hair. She had the same sea-blue, gleaming eyes as her brother, and like him she had a fair complexion, but with many freckles, which also covered her small, plump hands.\n\nFrom the first evening Erlend saw her at God\u00f8y\u2014their eyes met, and then they looked away, both of them smiling secretively\u2014he was convinced that she knew him, and he knew her. Sunniva Olavsdatter\u2014he could take her with his bare hands, and she was waiting for him to do so.\n\nNow, as he stood with her hand in his\u2014he had helped her up onto the deck\u2014he happened to look into Ulf's coarse, dark face. No doubt Ulf knew it too. Erlend felt oddly ashamed under the other man's gaze. He suddenly remembered everything that this kinsman and weaponsbearer had witnessed\u2014every mad prank that Erlend had gotten caught up in, ever since his youth. Ulf didn't need to look at him so scornfully. Erlend consoled himself that he hadn't intended to come any closer to this woman than honor and virtue permitted. He was old enough by now, and wise from his mistakes; he could be allowed north to Haalogaland without getting himself tangled up in some foolishness with another man's wife. He had a wife himself now. He had been faithful to Kristin from the very first time he saw her and to this day. No reasonable man would count those few incidents that had occurred up north. But otherwise he hadn't even looked at another woman\u2014in that way. He knew... with a Norwegian woman, and even worse, with one of their peers... no, he would never have a moment's peace in his heart if he betrayed Kristin in that way. But this voyage south with her on board\u2014it might easily prove risky.\n\nIt helped somewhat that they had stormy weather along the way, so he had other things to do than banter with the woman. They had to seek harbor in Dyn\u00f8y and wait a few days. While they were anchored there, something happened that made Fru Sunniva seem less enticing to him.\n\nErlend and Ulf and a couple of the servants slept in the same cabin where she and her maids slept. One morning he was there alone, and Fru Sunniva had not yet gotten up. Then she called to him, saying that she had lost a gold ring in her bed. He had to agree to come and help her look for it. She was crawling around in bed on her knees, wearing only her shift. Now and then they would bump into each other, and every time they would both get a devilish glint in their eyes. Then she grabbed hold of him. And it's true that his behavior had not been overly proper, either; time and place were both against him. But she was so bold and disgracefully willing that he grew suddenly cold. Blushing with shame, he turned away from that face, which had dissolved with laughter and wantonness. He tore himself away without further explanation and left; then he sent in Fru Sunniva's maidservants to her.\n\nNo, by Satan, he was not some young pup who allowed himself to be caught in the bedstraw. It was one thing to seduce\u2014but to be seduced was something else entirely. But he had to laugh; here he stood, having fled from a beautiful woman like Joseph the Hebrew. Yes, strange things happened both at sea and on land.\n\nNo, Fru Sunniva. No, he had to think of one woman\u2014a woman that he knew. She had come to meet him in a hostel for wandering soldiers\u2014and she came with as much chasteness and dignity as a royal maiden going to mass. In groves and in barns she had been his. God forgive him\u2014he had forgotten her birthright and her honor; and she had forgotten them for his sake, but she hadn't been able to fling them away. Her lineage was evident in her, even when she did not think of it.\n\nGod bless you, dear Kristin. So help me, God\u2014I will keep the promise that I made to you in secret and at the church door, or I will never be a man. So be it.\n\nThen Erlend had Fru Sunniva put ashore at Yrjar where she had kinsmen. And best of all, she didn't seem overly angry when they parted. There had been no need for him to bow his head with a somber expression, like a monk; they had chased each other out over the oarlocks, as the saying goes. In parting, Erlend gave her several costly furs for a cloak, and she promised that one day he would see her wearing that cloak. They would surely meet again. Poor thing, her husband was sickly and no longer young.\n\nBut Erlend was glad to come home to his wife with nothing on his conscience that he would have to conceal from her, and he was proud of his own newly tested steadfastness. He was quite giddy and wild with longing for Kristin. She was the sweetest and loveliest rose and lily\u2014and she was his!\n\nKristin came out to the skerries to meet him when Erlend anchored at Birgsi. Fishermen had brought word to Vigg that Margygren had been seen near Yrjar. She had brought along her two eldest sons and Margret, and back home at Husaby a feast was being prepared for friends and kinsmen to celebrate Erlend's homecoming.\n\nShe had grown so beautiful that it took Erlend's breath away when he saw her. But she had changed. The girlish demeanor which had returned each time she had recovered from a childbirth\u2014the frail and delicate nunlike face beneath the wimple of a married woman\u2014was now gone. She was a blossoming young woman and mother. Her cheeks were round and a healthy pink, framed by the white wimple; her breasts were high and firm, covered with glittering chains and brooches. Her hips were rounder and wider, soft beneath the belt bearing her ring of keys and the gilded sheath holding her scissors and knife. Oh yes, she had grown even more lovely. She didn't look as if she might be easily carried off to heaven as she had before. Even her large, slender hands had grown fuller and whiter.\n\nThey stayed at Vigg that night, in the abbot's house. And this time it was a young, flushed, and happy Kristin, gentle and glowing with joy, who rode with Erlend to the celebration at Husaby when they set off for home the next day.\n\nThere were so many important matters that she had to speak with her husband about when he came home. There were hundreds of things about the children, about her worries for Margret, and about her plans to set the estates back on their feet. But all this was swallowed up in the festivities.\n\nThey went from one banquet to another, and she accompanied the new sheriff on his rounds. Erlend now had more men serving at Husaby. Messages and letters flew between him and his subordinates and envoys. Erlend was full of high spirits and merriment. Why shouldn't he be a capable sheriff? He who had beat his head against nearly every barrier of Norwegian law and Christian commandment. Such things were well learned and not easily forgotten. The man was quick-witted and he had been taught well in his youth. Now all this became apparent in him again. He grew accustomed to reading letters himself, and he had acquired an Icelander as his scribe. In the past, Erlend had put his seal on everything that was read aloud to him, barely casting a glance at even a single line\u2014this is what Kristin had discovered during the two years in which she had become familiar with all the papers she found in his chests of letters.\n\nNow a certain recklessness came over her, which she had never felt before. She grew livelier and more talkative when she was among other people\u2014for she sensed that she was beautiful now, and she felt completely healthy and well for the first time since she had been married. And in the evening, when she and Erlend lay together in a strange bed in the loft of one of the great estates or in a farmer's house, they would laugh and whisper and jest about the people they had met and the news they had heard. Erlend was more rash in his speech than ever, and people seemed to like him even better than before.\n\nKristin could see it in their own children. They would grow flustered with delight whenever their father occasionally took notice of them. Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf now spent all their time with such things as bows and spears and axes. Every once in a while their father would stop on his way across the courtyard, glance at them, and then correct whatever they were doing. \"Not like that, my son\u2014you should hold it like this.\" And then he would shift the grip of the boy's small fist and place his fingers in the proper position. Then they would be filled with zeal.\n\nThe two eldest sons were inseparable. Bj\u00f8rgulf was the biggest and strongest of the children, as tall as Naakkve, who was a year and a half older, but stouter. Bj\u00f8rgulf had tightly curled, raven black hair; his small face was broad but handsome, his eyes dark blue. One day Erlend asked Kristin anxiously whether she knew that Bj\u00f8rgulf saw poorly out of one eye\u2014he also had a slight squint. Kristin said she didn't think there was anything wrong and that he'd probably grow out of it. As things had turned out, this child was the one she had given the least attention; he had been born when she was worn out from caring for Naakkve, and Gaute had followed soon afterwards. He was the hardiest of the children, no doubt also the smartest, but taciturn. Erlend was more fond of this son than the others.\n\nAlthough he wouldn't admit it to himself, Erlend bore some ill will toward Naakkve because the boy had arrived so inopportunely and because he was named for his grandfather. And Gaute was not as he'd expected. The boy had a large head, which was understandable, since for two years it seemed as if only his head had grown\u2014and now his limbs had to catch up. His wits were good enough, but he spoke very slowly because if he talked fast he would slur his words or stutter, and then Margret would make fun of him. Kristin had a great weakness for the boy, even though Erlend could see that in some ways the eldest son was her favorite child. But Gaute had been so frail, and he looked a bit like Kristin's father, with his flaxen hair and dark gray eyes. And he was always clinging to his mother. He was a rather solitary child, between the two oldest ones, who always stuck together, and the twins, who were still so little that they kept close to their foster mothers.\n\nKristin had less time for her children now, and she had to do as the other women did and let the serving maids look after them; but the two oldest sons preferred to follow the men around on the farm. She no longer brooded over them with that old, sickly tenderness, but she played and laughed with them more, whenever she had time to gather them around her.\n\nAt the beginning of the New Year, they received a letter at Husaby under the seal of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n. It had been written in his own hand and sent with the priest of Orkedal, who had been traveling in the south, so it was two months old. The biggest news in the letter was that Lavrans had betrothed Ramborg to Simon Andress\u00f8n of Formo. The wedding would take place on Holy Cross Day in the spring.\n\nKristin was surprised beyond words. But Erlend said he had thought this might happen\u2014ever since he had heard that Simon Darre had become a widower and had settled on his estate at Sil after old Sir Andres Gudmundss\u00f8n had died."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Simon Darre had accepted it as only proper when his father had arranged the marriage with Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's daughter for him. It had always been the custom in his family for the parents to make these decisions. He was pleased when he saw that his betrothed was so beautiful and charming. And he had always thought that he would be good friends with the woman his father had chosen for him. He and Kristin were well-suited in age and wealth and birth. Lavrans may have come from a somewhat better lineage, but Simon's father was a knight and had been close to King Haakon, while Lavrans had always lived quietly on his estates. And Simon had never seen married couples not get on well together, as long as they were equals.\n\nThen came that evening in the loft at Finsbrekken, when the people tried to torment the innocent young child. From that moment he knew that he felt greater affection for his betrothed than was merely expected of him. He didn't dwell on this\u2014he was happy. He could see that the maiden was modest and shy, but he didn't give this much thought either. Then came that time in Oslo, when he was forced to think about these things\u2014and then the night in Fluga's loft.\n\nHe had been faced with something he had never imagined could happen in this world\u2014not between honorable people of good family, and not in these times. Blinded and confused, he had staggered his way out of the betrothal, although his demeanor had been cool and calm and steady as he talked over these matters with his father and hers.\n\nThen he had found himself outside the traditions of his family, and so he did what was also unheard of in his lineage: Without even consulting his father, he had courted the rich young widow of Mandvik. It dazzled him when he realized that Fru Halfrid was fond of him. She was much wealthier and more highborn than Kristin; she was the niece of Baron Tore Haakonss\u00f8n of Tunsberg and the widow of Sir Finn Aslakss\u00f8n. And she was beautiful, with such a gracious and noble bearing that compared to her, the women in his circle were little more than peasant women, he thought. The Devil take him if he wouldn't show everyone that he could win the noblest wife; she was even more resplendent with wealth and other possessions than that man from Tr\u00f8nder who had lured Kristin into shame. And a widow\u2014that was good and proper; then he knew where he stood. By Satan, he would never trust a maiden again.\n\nHe had learned that it was not as simple to live in this world as he had thought back home at Dyfrin. There his father ruled over everything, and his views were always right. Simon had been one of the king's retainers, and he had served as a page for a while; he had also been taught by his father's resident priest at home. At times he would find what his father said a bit old-fashioned. Occasionally he would voice his opposition, but it was only meant in jest, and it was taken as such. \"What a quick wit Simon has,\" laughed his father and mother and siblings, who never spoke against Sir Andres. But everything was done as his father commanded, and Simon himself thought this reasonable.\n\nDuring the years he was married to Halfrid Erlingsdatter and lived at Mandvik, he learned a little more each day that life could be more complicated and difficult than Sir Andres Gudmundss\u00f8n had ever dreamed.\n\nSimon could never have imagined that he would not be happy with such a wife as he had now won. Deep in his soul he felt a painful sense of amazement whenever he looked at his wife, as she moved about the house all day long, so lovely, with her gentle eyes, and her mouth so sweet as long as it was closed. He had never seen any other woman wear gowns and jewelry with such grace. But in the dark gloom of the night his aversion to her stripped him of all youth and vigor. She was sickly, her breath was tainted, and her caresses plagued him. And yet she was so kind that he felt a desperate sense of shame, but he still could not overcome his dislike of her.\n\nThey hadn't been married long before he realized that she would never give him a healthy, living child. He could see that she herself grieved over this even more than he did. The pain he felt was like knives in his heart whenever he thought of her fate in this matter. One way or another he had heard that she was this way because Sir Finn had kicked and struck her so badly that she had miscarried many times while she was married to him. He had been insanely jealous of his beautiful young wife. Her kinsmen wanted to take her away from him, but Halfrid felt that it was a Christian wife's duty to stay with her lawful husband, no matter how he behaved.\n\nBut as long as Simon had no children with her, he would feel all his days that it was her land they lived on and her riches that he managed. He managed sensibly and carefully, but during those years there rose up in his soul a longing for Formo, his grandmother's ancestral estate, which he had always been destined to inherit after his father. He began to feel that he belonged north in Gudbrandsdal even more than at Romerike.\n\nPeople continued to call Halfrid \"the knight's wife,\" as they had during the time of her first husband. And this made Simon feel even more as if he were merely her advisor at Mandvik.\n\nThen one day, Simon and his wife were sitting alone in the hall. One of the maids had just come in on some errand. Halfrid stared after her as she left.\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" she said, \"but I'm afraid that Jorunn is with child this summer.\"\n\nSimon was holding a crossbow on his lap, adjusting the locking device. He adjusted the crank, sighted down the spring assembly, and said without looking up, \"Yes, and it's mine.\"\n\nHis wife didn't reply. When he finally looked up at her, she was sitting there sewing, going about her work just as steadily as he had been doing his.\n\nSimon was truly sorry. Sorry he had offended his wife in this manner, and sorry he had taken up with this girl, regretting that he had now assumed the burden of fatherhood. He was far from certain that it was actually his\u2014Jorunn had loose ways. And he had never really liked her; she was ugly, but she was quick-witted and amusing to talk to. And she was the one who had always sat up to wait for him whenever he came home late the winter before. He had spoken rashly because he expected his wife to berate and denounce him. That was foolish of him; he should have known that Halfrid would consider herself above such conduct. But now it was done, and he wouldn't retreat from his own words. He would have to put up with being called father of his maid's child, whether he was or not.\n\nHalfrid didn't mention the matter until a year later; then she asked Simon one day whether he knew that Jorunn was to be married over at Borg. Simon knew this quite well, since he himself had given her a dowry. Where was the child to live? his wife wanted to know. With the mother's parents, where she now was, replied Simon.\n\nThen Halfrid said, \"It seems to me that it would be more proper for your daughter to grow up here on your manor.\"\n\n\"On your manor, you mean?\" asked Simon.\n\nA slight tremor flickered across his wife's face.\n\n\"You know full well, dear husband, that as long as we both live, you are the one who rules here at Mandvik,\" she said.\n\nSimon went over and placed his hands on his wife's shoulders.\n\n\"If it's true, Halfrid, that you think you can stand to see that child here with us, then I owe you great thanks for your generosity.\"\n\nBut he didn't like it. Simon had seen the girl several times\u2014she was a rather unattractive child, and he couldn't see that she looked like him or anyone else in his family. He was even less inclined to believe that he was the father. And he had resented it deeply when he heard that Jorunn had the child baptized Arngjerd, after his mother, without asking his permission. But he would have to let Halfrid do as she wished. She brought the child to Mandvik, found a foster mother for her, and saw to it that the girl lacked for nothing. If she caught sight of the child, she would often take her onto her lap and chat with her, kindly and lovingly. And gradually, as Simon saw more of the child, he grew fond of the little maiden\u2014he had great affection for children. Now he also thought he could see some resemblance between Arngjerd and his father. It was possible that Jorunn had been wise enough to restrain herself after the master had come too close to her. If so, then Arngjerd was indeed his daughter, and what Halfrid had persuaded him to do was honorable and right.\n\nAfter they had been married for five years, Halfrid bore her husband a fully formed son. She was radiant with joy, but soon after the birth she fell ill, and it quickly became clear to everyone that she would die. And yet she was without fear, the last time that she had her full wits about her for a moment. \"Now you will sit here, Simon, master of Mandvik, and rule over the estate for your lineage and mine,\" she told her husband.\n\nAfter that her fever rose so sharply that she was no longer aware of anything, and so she did not have to suffer the grief, while she was still in this world, of hearing that the boy had died one day before his mother. And no doubt in that other home she would not feel sorrow over such things, but would be glad that she had their Erling with her, thought Simon.\n\nLater, Simon remembered that on the night when the two bodies were laid out in the loft, he had stood leaning over the fence next to a field down by the sea. It was just before Midsummer, and the night was so bright that the glow of the full moon was barely visible. The water was gleaming and pale, rippling and lapping along the shore. Simon had slept no more than an hour at a time, off and on, since the night the boy was born. That seemed to him very long ago now, and he was so tired that he scarcely felt able to grieve.\n\nHe was then twenty-seven years old.\n\nIn the middle of the summer, after the inheritance had been settled, Simon turned over Mandvik to Stig Haakonss\u00f8n, Halfrid's cousin. He left for Dyfrin and stayed there all winter.\n\nOld Sir Andres lay in bed, suffering from dropsy and numerous ailments and pains; he was approaching the end now, and he complained a great deal. Life had not been so easy for him in the long run, either. Things had not gone as he had wished and expected for his handsome and promising children. Simon sat with his father and tried hard to adopt the calm and lighthearted tone from the past, but the old man moaned incessantly. Helga Saksesdatter, whom Gyrd had married, was so refined that there was no end to the unreasonable demands she could dream up\u2014Gyrd didn't even dare belch in his own manor without asking his wife for permission. And then there was Torgrim, who was always whining about his stomach. Sir Andres would never have given his daughter to Torgrim if he had known the man was so loathsome that he was incapable of either living or dying. Astrid would have no joy from her youth or her wealth as long as her husband was alive. Sigrid wandered around the estate, broken and grieving\u2014all smiles and merriment had deserted her, that good daughter of his. And she had borne that child, while Simon had none. Sir Andres wept, miserable and old and ill. Gudmund had refused all of the marriages suggested by his father, who had grown so old and frail that he had let the boy wear him down.\n\nBut the misfortunes had begun when Simon and that foolish maiden had defied their parents. And Lavrans was to blame\u2014as bold a man as he was among men, his knees buckled before his womenfolk. No doubt the girl had sobbed and screamed, and he at once relented and sent word to that gilded whoremaster from Tr\u00f8ndelag who couldn't even wait until he and his bride were married. But if Lavrans had been master of his house, then he, Andres Darre, would have shown that he could teach a beardless whelp sensible behavior. Kristin Lavransdatter\u2014she certainly had children enough. A healthy, squirming son every eleventh month, he had heard.\n\n\"It's going to be costly, Father,\" said Simon, laughing. \"Their inheritance will be divided up many times.\" He picked up Arngjerd and set her on his lap. She had just come toddling into the room.\n\n\"Well, that one there won't cause your inheritance to be divided up into too many parts after you\u2014whoever does inherit it,\" said Sir Andres crossly. He was fond of his son's daughter in his own way, but it infuriated him that Simon had a bastard child. \"Have you thought of marrying anew, Simon?\"\n\n\"You must let Halfrid grow cold in her grave first, Father,\" said Simon, stroking the child's pale hair. \"I'll probably marry again, but there's no reason to make haste.\"\n\nThen he picked up his crossbow and skis and set off for the forest to find some respite. With his dogs at his side he tracked elk through the mountain pass and shot wood grouse in the treetops. At night he slept in the forest hut belonging to Dyfrin, thinking that it felt good to be alone.\n\nThere was the sound of skis scraping outside in the pass; the dogs leaped up, and other dogs responded from outdoors. Simon threw open the door to the moon-blue night, and Gyrd came in, slender and tall, handsome and silent. He now looked younger than Simon, who had always been rather stout and had grown a good deal heavier during those years at Mandvik.\n\nThe brothers sat with the sack of provisions between them, eating and drinking and staring into the hearth.\n\n\"I suppose you know,\" said Gyrd, \"that Torgrim will make a great deal of noise and ruckus when Father is gone. And he has won Gudmund's support. And Helga's. They will not grant Sigrid the full rights of a sister with us.\"\n\n\"I realize that. But she must be given her share as a sister; you and I should be able to force them to agree, brother.\"\n\n\"It would be best if Father himself saw to this matter before he dies,\" said Gyrd.\n\n\"No, let Father die in peace,\" replied Simon. \"You and I will manage to protect our sister, so they don't rob her because she has suffered such misfortune.\"\n\nSo the heirs of Sir Andres Darre parted in bitter enmity after his death. Gyrd was the only one Simon said farewell to when he left home, and now he knew that Gyrd wouldn't have many pleasant days with that wife of his. Sigrid moved to Formo with Simon; she would keep house for him, and he in turn would manage her properties.\n\nHe rode into his own estate on a grayish-blue day as the snow was melting, when the alder trees along the Laag River were brown with buds. As he was about to cross the threshold of the main house with Arngjerd in his arms, Sigrid Andresdatter asked, \"Why are you smiling like that, Simon?\"\n\n\"Was I smiling?\"\n\nHe had been thinking that this was a different kind of homecoming than what he had once dreamed of\u2014when he would one day settle down here on his grandmother's estate. A seduced sister and a paramour's child\u2014these were now his companions.\n\nDuring that first summer he saw little of the people at J\u00f8rundgaard; he diligently avoided them.\n\nBut on the Sunday after the Feast of the Birth of Mary in the fall, he happened to be standing next to Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n in church, and so the two of them had to give each other the traditional kiss after Sira Eirik had prayed for the peace of the Holy Church to be bountiful among them. And when Simon felt the older man's thin, dry lips on his cheek and heard him whisper the prayer of peace, he was strangely moved. He realized that Lavrans meant more by this than if he were simply obeying the ritual of the Church.\n\nHe hastened outside after the mass was done, but over by the horses he again ran into Lavrans, who invited him to come to J\u00f8rundgaard for dinner. Simon replied that his daughter was sick and that his sister was sitting with her. Lavrans then prayed that God might heal the child and shook his hand in farewell.\n\nSeveral days later they had been working hard at Formo to bring in the harvest because the weather looked threatening. Most of the grain had been brought in by evening, when the first showers opened up. Simon ran across the courtyard in the downpour; great bands of bright sunshine broke through the clouds and lit up the main building and the mountain wall beyond. Then he caught sight of a little maiden standing in front of the door in the rain and the sunlight. She had his favorite dog with her. The dog pulled loose and leaped at Simon, dragging along a woven woman's belt, which was tied to his collar.\n\nHe saw that the girl came from highborn family. She was bareheaded and wore no cloak, but her wine-red dress was made from foreign cloth, and it was embroidered across the breast and fastened with a gilded brooch. A silken cord held her rain-dark hair back from her brow. The girl had a lively little face with a broad forehead, a sharp chin, and big, shining eyes. Her cheeks were flaming red, as if she had been running hard.\n\nSimon knew who the maiden must be and greeted her by name: Ramborg.\n\n\"What might be the reason for you honoring us with this visit?\"\n\nIt was the dog, she told Simon, as she followed him into the house and out of the rain. The dog had gotten into the habit of running off to J\u00f8rundgaard; now she was bringing him back. Oh yes, she knew it was his dog; she had seen the animal running alongside when he rode.\n\nSimon scolded her a bit because she had come alone. He said he would have horses saddled and escort her home himself. But first she must have some food. Ramborg ran at once over to the bed where little Arngjerd lay ill; both the child and Sigrid were pleased with their guest, for Ramborg was both lively and merry. She wasn't like her sisters, thought Simon.\n\nHe rode with Ramborg as far as the manor gate and was then about to turn around when he met Lavrans, who had just learned that the child was not with her foster sisters at Laugarbru. He was on his way out with his servants to look for her\u2014he was quite worried. Now Simon had to come inside, and as soon as he sat down in the hall of the main house, his shyness left him and he soon felt at home with Ragnfrid and Lavrans. They sat up late over their ale, and since the weather had grown quite fierce, he accepted their invitation to stay the night.\n\nThere were two beds in the hall. Ragnfrid made up one of them nicely for the guest, and then she asked where Ramborg should sleep\u2014with her parents or in the other building?\n\n\"No, I want to sleep in my own bed,\" said the child. \"Can't I sleep with you, Simon?\" she begged.\n\nHer father said that their guest should not be bothered with children in his bed, but Ramborg continued to insist that she wanted to sleep with Simon. Finally Lavrans said sternly that she was too big to share a bed with a strange man.\n\n\"No, I'm not, Father,\" she protested. \"I'm not too big, am I, Simon?\"\n\n\"You're too little,\" said Simon, laughing. \"Offer to sleep with me five years from now and I certainly won't say no. But by then you'll no doubt want a different sort of man than a hideous, fat old widower, little Ramborg!\"\n\nLavrans didn't seem pleased by the jest; he told her sharply to keep quiet now and go lie down in her parents' bed.\n\nBut Ramborg shouted, \"Now you have asked for me, Simon Darre, so my father could hear you!\"\n\n\"So be it,\" replied Simon with a laugh. \"But I'm afraid he would refuse me, Ramborg.\"\n\nAfter that day the people of Formo and J\u00f8rundgaard were constantly together. Ramborg went over to the neighboring estate as often as she had the chance, tending to Arngjerd as if the child were one of her dolls, following Sigrid around and helping with household chores, sitting on Simon's lap when they were in the main house. He fell into the habit of teasing and chattering with the maiden as he had in the old days when she and Ulvhild were like sisters to him.\n\nSimon had lived in the valley for two years when Geirmund Hersteinss\u00f8n of Kruke asked for the hand of Sigrid Andresdatter. The family of Kruke was an old lineage, but even though some of the men had served in the retinues of kings, they had never won fame outside their own district. Yet it was the best marriage Sigrid could expect to make, and she was quite willing to marry Geirmund. Her brothers made the arrangements, and Simon was to hold his sister's wedding on his estate.\n\nOne evening just before the wedding, when they were rushing about making preparations for the feast, Simon said in jest that he didn't know how things would go with his household after Sigrid left. Then Ramborg said, \"You'll have to manage as best you can for two more years, Simon. At fourteen a maiden reaches a marriageable age, and then you can bring me home.\"\n\n\"No, you I wouldn't want,\" said Simon with a laugh. \"I don't trust my ability to harness a wild maiden like you.\"\n\n\"It's the ponds with still water that have deceptive bottoms, my father says,\" replied Ramborg. \"I may be wild, but my sister was meek and quiet. Have you forgotten Kristin, Simon Andress\u00f8n?\"\n\nSimon jumped up from the bench, took the maiden in his arms, and raised her to his chest. He kissed her throat so hard that he left a little red mark. Horrified and astounded by his own actions, he let her go; then he grabbed Arngjerd, tossed her in the air, and hugged her in the same way so as to hide his feelings. He ran about, chasing the girls, the half-grown maiden and the little one, so that they fled up onto the tables and along the benches, until finally he lifted them up onto the crossbeam nearest the door and then ran outside.\n\nThey almost never mentioned Kristin at J\u00f8rundgaard when he was within earshot.\n\nRamborg Lavransdatter grew up to be a lovely maiden. The local gossips were busy marrying her off. One time it was Eindride Haakonss\u00f8n of the Valders-Gjeslings. They were third cousins but Lavrans and Haakon were both so wealthy that they should be able to send a letter to the Pope in Italy and obtain dispensation. That would finally put an end to some of the old legal disputes that had continued ever since the old Gjeslings had sided with Duke Skule, and King Haakon had taken the Vaage estate away from them and given it to Sigurd Eldjar. Ivar Gjesling the Younger had, in turn, acquired Sundbu through marriage and the exchange of properties, but these matters had caused an endless number of quarrels and disagreements. Lavrans himself laughed at the whole thing; whatever compensation he might be able to claim for his wife wasn't worth the parchment and wax he had used up on this matter\u2014not to mention the toil and traveling. But he had been embroiled in the dispute ever since he had become a married man, so he couldn't give it up.\n\nBut Eindride Gjesling celebrated his marriage to another maiden, and the people at J\u00f8rundgaard didn't seem overly troubled by this. They were invited to the banquet, and Ramborg told everyone proudly when she came home that four men had spoken to Lavrans about her, either on their own behalf or for kinsmen. Lavrans had told them he wouldn't agree to any betrothal for his daughter until she was old enough to have some say in the matter herself.\n\nAnd that's how things stood until the spring of the year when Ramborg was fourteen winters old. One evening she was out in the cowshed at Formo with Simon, looking at a new calf. It was white with a brown patch, and Ramborg thought the patch looked very much like a church. Simon was sitting on the edge of the grain bin, the maiden was leaning on his knees, and he was tugging at her braids.\n\n\"It looks as if you will soon be riding in a bridal procession to church, Ramborg!\"\n\n\"You know quite well that my father wouldn't refuse you if you asked for my hand,\" she said. \"I'm old enough now that I could be married this year.\"\n\nSimon gave a little start, but he tried to laugh.\n\n\"Are you talking about that foolishness again?\"\n\n\"You know it's not foolishness,\" said the girl, looking up at him with her big eyes. \"I've known for a long time that what I want is to move over here to Formo with you. Why have you kissed me and held me on your lap so often for all these years if you didn't want to marry me?\"\n\n\"Certainly I would like to marry you, dear Ramborg. But I've never thought that such a young, beautiful maiden would be intended for me. I'm seventeen years older than you; no doubt you haven't thought about how you would end up with an old, bleary-eyed, big-bellied husband while you were a woman in the best of her years.\"\n\n\"These are my best years,\" she said, her face radiant. \"And besides, you're not so decrepit, Simon!\"\n\n\"But I'm ugly too. You'd soon grow tired of kissing me!\"\n\n\"You have no reason to think that,\" she replied, laughing again as she tilted her face up toward him for a kiss. But he didn't kiss her.\n\n\"I won't take advantage of your imprudence, my sweet. Lavrans wants to take you with him to the south this summer. If you haven't changed your mind when you return, then I will thank God and Our Lady for better fortune than I had ever expected\u2014but I will not bind you to this, fair Ramborg.\"\n\nHe took his dogs, his spear, and his bow and went up into the mountains that same evening. There was still a great deal of snow on the high plateau. He went to his hut to get a pair of skis and then stayed out by the lake south of the Boar Range and hunted reindeer for a week. But on the night he headed back toward the village, he grew uneasy and afraid again. It would be just like Ramborg to have said something to her father all the same. As he crossed the meadow near J\u00f8rundgaard's mountain hut, he saw smoke and sparks coming from the roof. He thought Lavrans himself might be there, so he went over to the hut.\n\nFrom the other man's demeanor Simon thought he had guessed right. But they sat and talked about the bad summer the year before and about when might be a good time to move the livestock up to the mountain pastures; about the hunting and about Lavrans's new falcon, which was sitting on the floor, flapping its wings over the entrails of the birds roasting on a spit over the fire. Lavrans had come up to see to his horse shed in Ilmandsdal; it was reported to have collapsed, according to several people from Alv dal who had passed through earlier that day. The two men spent most of the evening in this fashion.\n\nThen Simon finally said, \"I don't know whether Ramborg has said anything to you about a matter which we discussed one evening?\"\n\nLavrans said slowly, \"I think you should have spoken to me first, Simon. You might imagine what kind of answer you would have received. Yes, well\u2014I can understand how it happened that you mentioned it first to the maiden\u2014and it will make no difference. I'm happy to give my child into the hands of a good man.\"\n\nThen there's not much more to say, thought Simon. And yet it was strange\u2014here he sat, a man who had never intended to come too close to any virtuous maiden or woman, and now he was bound on his honor to marry a girl he did not truly want. But he made an attempt.\n\n\"It's not true, Lavrans, that I've been courting your daughter behind your back. I thought I was so old that she wouldn't consider it anything but brotherly affection from the past if I talked with her so often. And if you think I'm too old for her, I wouldn't be surprised nor would I allow it to end the friendship between us.\"\n\n\"I've met few men I would rather see take a son's place than you, Simon,\" replied Lavrans. \"And I would rather give Ramborg away myself. You know who would be the man to arrange her marriage after I'm gone.\" That was the first time any mention was made between them of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. \"In many ways my son-in-law is a better man than I took him for when I first met him. But I don't know whether he's the right person to make a wise decision about a young maiden's marriage. And I can tell that this is what Ramborg wants herself.\"\n\n\"She thinks so now,\" said Simon. \"But she's hardly more than a child, and I don't intend to press you, if you think we should wait a little longer.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Lavrans with a slight frown, \"do not intend to force my daughter upon you\u2014you mustn't believe that.\"\n\n\"You should know,\" said Simon quickly, \"that there is not another maiden in all of Norway I would rather have than Ramborg. If truth be told, Lavrans, my good fortune seems much too great if I'm to have such a fair, young, and good bride, who is rich and descended from the best lineage. And you as my fatherin-law,\" he added, a little selfconsciously.\n\nLavrans chuckled with embarrassment. \"You know how I feel about you. And you will deal with my child and her inheritance in such a way that her mother and I will never have cause to regret this arrangement.\"\n\n\"That I promise you, with the help of God and all the saints,\" said Simon.\n\nThen they shook hands. Simon remembered the first time he had secured such an arrangement by clasping Lavrans's hand. His heart felt small and pained in his breast.\n\nBut Ramborg was a better match than he could have expected. There were only the two daughters to divide up the inheritance after Lavrans's death. He would step into the role of son with the man whom he had always respected and loved above all others he knew. And Ramborg was indeed young and sweet and lively.\n\nSurely he must have acquired the wisdom of a grown man by now. Had he actually thought he could win Kristin as a widow even though he couldn't have her as a maiden? After the other man had enjoyed her youth\u2014and with a dozen stepsons of his lineage? No, then he deserved to have his brothers declare him incapable and refuse to let him handle his own affairs. Erlend would live to be as old as the stone of the mountain\u2014that type of fellow always did.\n\nSo now they would be called brothers-in-law. They hadn't seen each other since that night in the house in Oslo. Well, no doubt it would be even more uncomfortable for Erlend than for him to be reminded of that.\n\nHe would be a good husband to Ramborg, with no deceptions. And yet it was possible that the child had lured him into a trap.\n\n\"You're sitting there laughing?\" said Lavrans.\n\n\"Was I laughing? It was just something that struck me...\"\n\n\"You must tell me what it is, Simon, so I can laugh too.\"\n\nSimon Andress\u00f8n fixed his small, sharp eyes on the other man's face.\n\n\"I was thinking about... women. I wonder whether any woman respects the laws and beliefs of men as we do among ourselves\u2014when she or her own kind can win something by stepping over them. Halfrid, my first wife... Well, I haven't spoken of this to a single Christian soul before you, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, and I will never speak of it again. She was such a good and pious and virtuous woman that I don't think she has ever had an equal. I've told you about what she did when Arngjerd was born. But back when we realized how things stood with Sigrid\u2014well, Halfrid wanted us to hide my sister and she would pretend that she herself was with child and then present Sigrid's child as her own. In that way we would have an heir and the child would be cared for, and Sigrid could live with us and wouldn't have to be separated from her son. I don't think Halfrid realized that this would have been a betrayal of her own kinsmen.\"\n\nAfter a moment Lavrans said, \"Then you could have stayed at Mandvik, Simon.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Simon Darre laughed harshly. \"And perhaps with just as much right as many other men occupy lands they call their ancestral estates. Since we have nothing more to rely on in such matters except the honor of women.\"\n\nLavrans pulled the hood over the falcon's head and lifted the bird onto his wrist.\n\n\"This is a strange topic of conversation for a man who is thinking of marriage,\" he said quietly. There was a hint of displeasure in his voice.\n\n\"Of course no one would think such things of your daughters,\" replied Simon.\n\nLavrans looked down at his falcon, scratching it with a twig.\n\n\"Not even about Kristin?\" he whispered.\n\n\"No,\" said Simon firmly. \"She didn't deal with me kindly, but I never found that she was untruthful. She told me honestly and openly that she had met another man whom she cared for more than me.\"\n\n\"When you so willingly let her go,\" said Lavrans softly, \"that was not because you had heard... any rumors about her?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Simon in the same firm voice. \"I never heard rumors about Kristin.\"\n\nIt was agreed that the betrothal would be celebrated that very summer and the wedding would take place during Easter of the following year, after Ramborg had turned fifteen.\n\nKristin had not seen J\u00f8rundgaard since the day she rode away as a bride, and that was eight winters ago. Now she returned with a great entourage: her husband, Margret, five sons, nursemaids, serving men and women, and horses carrying their traveling goods. Lavrans had ridden out to meet them and found them at Dovre. Kristin no longer cried as easily as she had in her youth, but when she saw her father riding toward them, her eyes filled with tears. She reined in her horse, slipped down from the saddle, and ran to greet her father; when she reached him, she grabbed his hand and kissed it humbly. Lavrans at once jumped down from his horse and took his daughter in his arms. Then he shook hands with Erlend, who had done as the others had and came to meet his fatherin-law on foot, with respectful words of greeting.\n\nThe next day Simon came over to J\u00f8rundgaard to see his new kinsmen. Gyrd Darre and Geirmund of Kruke were with him, but their wives had stayed behind at Formo. Simon was going to hold the wedding at his own estate, so there was much work for the women to do.\n\nIt turned out that when they met, Simon and Erlend greeted each other openly and without restraint. Simon kept his feelings in check, and Erlend was so unabashed and merry that the other man thought he must have forgotten where they had last met. Then Simon gave Kristin his hand. The two of them were more uncertain, and their eyes barely met for more than a moment.\n\nKristin thought his looks had faded a good deal. In his youth, Simon had been quite handsome, even though he was much too stout and his neck was too thick. His steel-gray eyes had seemed small under his full eyelids, his mouth was too little, and his dimples were too big in his round, childish face. But he had had a healthy complexion and a broad, milky-white forehead under his beautiful, curly, light-brown hair. His hair was still curly, and just as thick and nut-brown, but his whole face was now reddish-brown; he had lines under his eyes, heavy jowls, and a double chin. He had become heavyset, and he had a noticeable belly. He didn't look like a man who would take time to lie down on the edge of the bed in the evening to whisper to his betrothed. Kristin felt sorry for her young sister; she was so lively and lovely and childishly happy about her marriage. On the very first day she showed Kristin all the chests containing her dowry and Simon's betrothal gifts. And she said she had heard from Sigrid Andresdatter about a gilded chest that was up in the bridal loft at Formo; there were twelve costly wimples inside, and this was what her husband was going to give her on their first morning. Poor little thing, she had no idea what marriage was like. It was too bad that Kristin hardly knew her little sister; Ramborg had been to Husaby twice, but there she was always sullen and unfriendly. She didn't care for Erlend or for Margret, who was the same age.\n\nSimon thought to himself that he had expected\u2014perhaps even hoped\u2014that Kristin would look more careworn than she did, after having so many children. But she was glowing with youth and health, her posture was still erect, and her bearing just as lovely, although her step was a little firmer than before. She was the most beautiful mother with her five handsome small sons.\n\nShe was wearing a homemade gown of rust-brown wool with dark-blue birds woven into the cloth; Simon remembered standing next to her loom while she sat and worked on that cloth.\n\nThere was some commotion when they were about to sit down at the table in the loft of the main house. Skule and Ivar began screaming; they wanted to sit between their mother and foster mother, as they usually did. Lavrans didn't think it proper for Ramborg to sit farther down than her sister's servant woman and children, so he invited his daughter to sit in the high seat next to him, since she would soon be leaving home.\n\nThe small sons from Husaby were unruly and seemed to have no table manners. They had barely started eating before the little blond boy ducked under the table and popped up on the cushion next to Simon's knee.\n\n\"Can I look at that odd sheath you have on your belt, kinsman Simon?\" he asked. The boy spoke slowly and solemnly. It was the large silver-studded sheath holding a spoon and two knives that he had caught sight of.\n\n\"Yes, you may, kinsman. And what is your name, cousin?\"\n\n\"My name is Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n, cousin.\" He put the scrap of bacon he was holding onto the lap of Simon's silver-gray Flemish surcoat, pulled a knife out of the sheath, and examined it carefully. Then he took the knife that Simon was eating with, and the spoon, and put them all back in place so he could see how the sheath looked when everything was inside. He was quite earnest, and his fingers and face were very greasy. Simon smiled at the eager expression on the small, handsome face.\n\nA few minutes later the two oldest boys came over to the men's bench too. The twins toppled under the table and began rolling around between everyone's feet; then they went over to the dogs near the fire. There was little peace for the adults as they ate their supper. Their mother and father reprimanded the boys and told them to sit quietly, but the children paid them no mind. And their parents kept laughing at them and seemed not to take their mischievous behavior too seriously\u2014not even when Lavrans, in a rather sharp voice, told one of his men to take the whelps down to the room below so people in the hall could hear themselves speak.\n\nEveryone from Husaby was to sleep in the loft of the main house, and after the meal, while more ale was being brought in for the men, Kristin and her maids took the children over to a corner of the hall to undress them. They had gotten so dirty while eating that their mother wanted to wash them up a bit. But the youngest boys refused to be washed, and the older ones splashed the water, and then all of them started rushing around the hall as the maids pulled one piece of clothing after another off them. Finally they were all put into one bed, but they continued to yell and play and shove each other, laughing and shrieking. Pillows and coverlets and sheets were hurled this way and that, making dust fly, and the smell of chaff filled the whole room. Kristin laughed and explained calmly that they were so high-spirited from being in a strange place.\n\nRamborg accompanied her betrothed outside and walked with him for a short distance between the fences in the spring night. Gyrd and Geirmund had ridden on ahead while Simon stopped to say good night. He had already put his foot in the stirrup when he turned back to the maiden, took her in his arms, and held the delicate child so close that she whimpered happily.\n\n\"God bless you, dear Ramborg\u2014you're so fine and so fair\u2014much too fine and fair for me,\" he murmured into her mass of curls.\n\nRamborg stood watching Simon as he rode off into the misty moonlight. She rubbed her arm\u2014he had gripped her so hard that it hurt. Dizzy with joy, she thought: Now there were only three days left until she would be married to him.\n\nLavrans stood next to Kristin at the children's bedside and watched her tucking in her small sons. The eldest were already big boys with lanky bodies and slender, lean limbs; but the two smallest ones were chubby and rosy, with folds in their skin and dimples at their joints. Lavrans thought it a lovely sight to see them lying there, pink and warm, their thick hair damp with sweat, breathing quietly as they slept. They were healthy, beautiful boys\u2014but never had he seen such poorly behaved children as his grandsons. Luckily Simon's sister and sister-in-law hadn't been present tonight. But he wasn't the one to speak to Kristin about discipline. Lavrans gave a small sigh and then made the sign of the cross over the small boys' heads.\n\nThen Simon Andress\u00f8n celebrated his wedding to Ramborg Lavransdatter, and it was magnificent and grand in every way. The bride and bridegroom looked happy, and it seemed to many that Ramborg was more lovely on her wedding day than her sister had been\u2014perhaps not as striking as Kristin, but much happier and gentler. Everyone could see in the bride's clear, innocent eyes that she wore the golden crown of her Gjesling ancestors with full honor on that day.\n\nAnd full of joy and pride, with her hair pinned up, she sat in the armchair in front of the bridal bed as the guests came upstairs to greet the young couple on the first morning. With laughter and bold teasing, they watched as Simon placed the wimple of a married woman over his young wife's head. Cheers and the clanging of weapons filled the room as Ramborg stood up, straight-backed and flushed beneath the white wimple, and gave her husband her hand.\n\nIt was not often that two noble children from the same district were married\u2014when all the branches of the lineage were studied, it was often found that the kinship was too close. So everyone considered this wedding to be a great and joyous occasion."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "One of the first things Kristin noticed at home was that all the carvings of old men's heads which sat carved above the crossbeams on the building gables were now gone. They had been replaced by spires with foliage and birds, and there was a gilded weather vane atop the new house. The old posts on the high seat in the hearth room had also been replaced with new ones. The old ones had been carved to look like two men\u2014rather hideous, but they had apparently been there since the house was built, and the servants used to polish them with fat and wash them with ale before the holy days. On the new posts her father had carved two men with crosses on their helmets and shields. They weren't meant to be Saint Olav himself, Lavrans said, for he didn't think it would be proper for a sinful man to have images of the saint in his house, except those he knelt in front of to say his prayers. But they could very well be two of Olav's men. Lavrans had chopped up and burned all the old carvings himself. The servants didn't dare. It was with some reluctance that he still allowed them to take food out to the great stone at J\u00f8rund's grave on the evening before holy days; Lavrans conceded that it would be a shame to take away from the original owner of the estate something he had grown accustomed to receiving for as long as anyone had lived on the land. He died long before Christianity came to Norway, so it wasn't his fault that he was a heathen.\n\nPeople didn't like these changes that Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had made. That was fine for him, since he could afford to buy his security elsewhere. And it seemed to be equally powerful, because he continued to have the same good fortune with his farming as before. But there was some talk that the spirits might take their revenge when the estate was taken over by a master who was less pious and not as generous about everything that belonged to the Church. And it was easier for poor folk to give the ancestors what they were used to receiving instead of stirring up strife with them by siding too much with the priests.\n\nOtherwise it was rather uncertain how things would go with the friendship between J\u00f8rundgaard and the parsonage after Sira Eirik was gone. The priest was old now and in poor health, and he had been forced to bring in a curate to assist him. At first he had talked to the bishop about his grandson Bentein Jonss\u00f8n; but Lavrans had also had a word with the bishop, who had been his friend in the past. People thought this unfair. No doubt the young priest had been overly importunate toward Kristin Lavransdatter on that evening, and he may have even frightened the girl; but it was also possible that she herself might have been to blame for the young man's boldness. It had later turned out that she was not as shy as she seemed to be. But Lavrans had always believed his daughter to be good, and he treated her as if she were a holy shrine.\n\nAfter that there was a coldness between Sira Eirik and Lavrans for some time. But then Sira Solmund arrived, and he was immediately embroiled in a dispute with the parish priest over a piece of land and whether it belonged to the parsonage or to Eirik himself. Lavrans had the best grasp of any man in the district about land purchases and such matters back to ancient times, and it was his testimony that determined the outcome. Since then, he and Sira Solmund had not been friends. But it might be said that Sira Eirik and Audun, the old deacon, practically lived at J\u00f8rundgaard now, for they went over there every day to sit with Lavrans and complain of all the injustices and troubles they had to endure from the new priest; and they were waited on as if they were bishops.\n\nKristin had heard a little about this from Borgar Trondss\u00f8n of Sundbu; his wife came from Tr\u00f8ndelag, and he had been a guest at Husaby several times. Trond Gjesling had been dead for a few years now. But this was not considered a great loss, since he had been like an intruder in the ancient lineage\u2014surly, avaricious, and sickly. Lavrans was the only one who had any patience with Trond, for he pitied his brother-in-law and even more Gudrid, his wife. Now they were both gone, and all four of their sons lived together on the estate. They were intrepid, promising, and handsome men; people thought them a good replacement for the father. There was great friendship between these men and the master of J\u00f8rundgaard. Lavrans rode to Sundbu a couple of times each year to join them in hunting on the slopes of Vestfjeld. But Borgar said that it seemed completely unreasonable the way Lavrans and Ragnfrid were now worrying themselves with penances and devotions.\n\n\"He gulps down water during fasts just as eagerly as always, but your father doesn't speak to the ale bowls with the same heartiness he used to show in the past,\" said Borgar. No one could understand the man\u2014it was unthinkable that Lavrans might have some secret sin to repent. As far as people could tell, he had lived as Christian a life as any child of Adam, apart from the saints.\n\nDeep inside Kristin's heart, a foreboding began to stir about why her father was always striving so hard to come closer to God. But she didn't dare think about it too much.\n\nShe didn't want to acknowledge how changed her father was. It wasn't that he had aged excessively: he was still slim, with an erect and noble bearing. His hair was quite gray now, but it wasn't overly noticeable, since he had always been so fair. And yet... Kristin's memory was haunted by the image of the young and radiantly handsome man\u2014the fresh roundness of his cheeks in the narrow face, the pure blush of his skin under the sheen of tan, and the crimson fullness of his lips with the deep corners. Now his muscular body had withered to bone and sinew, his face was brown and sharp, as if carved out of wood, and his cheeks were flat and gaunt, with a knot of muscle at the corners of his mouth. Well, he was no longer a young man\u2014and yet he wasn't very old, either.\n\nHe had always been quiet, sober-minded, and pensive, and Kristin knew that even in childhood he had obeyed the Christian commandments with particular zeal. He loved the holy mass and prayers spoken in Latin, and he regarded the church as the place where he felt the most joy. But everyone had sensed a daring courage and zest for life flowing calmly in this quiet man's soul. Now it seemed as if something had ebbed out of him.\n\nSince she had come home, she hadn't seen him drunk except on one occasion\u2014an evening during the wedding celebration at Formo. Then he had staggered a bit and slurred his words, but he hadn't been especially merry. She thought back to her childhood, to the banquets and great ale drinking on feast days, when her father would roar with laughter and slap his thighs at every jest\u2014offering to fight or wrestle with any man renowned for his physical strength, trying out horses, and leaping into dance, but laughing most at himself when he was unsteady on his feet, and lavishly handing out gifts, brimming over with good will and kindness toward everyone. She understood that her father needed this sort of exhilaration from time to time, amidst the constant work, the strict fasts he kept, and the sedate home life with his own people, who saw him as their best friend and supporter.\n\nShe also saw that her husband never had this need to get drunk because he put so few restrictions on himself, no matter how sober he might be. He regularly gave in to his impulses, without brooding over right or wrong or what was considered good and proper behavior for sensible people. Erlend was the most moderate man she had ever met when it came to strong liquor. He drank in order to quench his thirst and for the sake of camaraderie, but otherwise he didn't particularly care for it.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had now lost his old sense of enjoyment for the ale bowls. He no longer had that craving inside him that needed to be released through revelry. It had never occurred to him before to drown his sorrows in drunkenness, and it didn't occur to him now\u2014he had always thought that a man ought to bring his joy to the drinking table.\n\nHe had turned elsewhere with his sorrows. There was an image that had always hovered dimly in his daughter's memory: Lavrans on the night when the church burned down. He stood beside the crucifix he had rescued, holding on to the cross and supporting himself with it. And without thinking it through, Kristin had the feeling that what had changed Lavrans was partly his fear for the future of herself and her children with the husband she had chosen, along with the awareness of his own powerlessness.\n\nThis knowledge secretly gnawed at her heart. And she had returned home to J\u00f8rundgaard, worn out by the tumult of the previous winter and by her own rashness in accepting Erlend's nonchalance. She knew he was wasteful and always would be, and he had no idea how to manage his properties, which were slowly but constantly diminishing under his control. She had been able to get him to agree to a few things which she and Sira Eiliv had advised, but she didn't have the heart to speak to him about such matters time and again. And it was tempting simply to be happy with him now. She was tired of arguing and fighting with everything both outside and inside her own soul. But she was also the kind of person who was made anxious and weary by such heedless behavior.\n\nHere at home she had expected to rediscover the peace from her childhood, under the protection of her father.\n\nNo, she felt so uneasy. Erlend now had a good income from his position as sheriff, but he also lived with greater ostentation, with more servants and an entourage befitting a chieftain. And he had begun to shut her out of everything that didn't concern their domestic life together. She realized that he didn't want to have her watchful eyes on what he was doing. With other men he would talk willingly about all he had seen and experienced up north\u2014to her he never said a word. And there were other things as well. He had met with Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg, the king's mother, and Sir Knut Porse several times over the past few years. But it had never been opportune for Kristin to accompany him. Now Sir Knut was a duke in Denmark, and King Haakon's daughter had bound herself to him in marriage. This had aroused bitter indignation in the souls of many Norwegian men; measures had been taken against the king's mother which Kristin did not understand. And the bishop in Bj\u00f8rgvin had secretly sent several chests to Husaby. They were now on board Margygren, and the ship was anchored at Nes. Erlend had been given boxes of letters and was to sail to Denmark later in the summer. He wanted Kristin to go along with him, but she refused. She could see that Erlend moved among these noble people as an equal and a dear kinsman, and this worried her\u2014it wasn't safe with such an impetuous man as Erlend. But she didn't dare travel with him; she wouldn't be able to advise him in these matters, and she didn't want to run the risk of consorting with people among whom she, a simple wife, could not assert herself. And she was also afraid of the sea. For her, seasickness was worse than the most difficult childbirth.\n\nSo she spent the days at J\u00f8rundgaard with her soul shivering and uneasy.\n\nOne day she went with her father to Skjenne. There she saw again the strange treasure which they kept on the estate. It was a spur of the purest gold, shaped in a bulky and old-fashioned style, with peculiar ornamentation. She, like every other child in the area, knew where it had come from.\n\nIt was soon after Saint Olav had brought Christianity to the valley that Audhild the Fair of Skjenne was lured into the mountain. The villagers carried the church bell up onto the slopes and rang it for the maiden. On the third evening she came walking across the meadow, adorned with so much gold that she glittered like a star. Then the rope broke, the bell tumbled down the scree, and Audhild had to return to the mountain.\n\nBut many years later, twelve warriors came to the priest\u2014this was the first priest here at Sil. They wore golden helmets and silver coats of mail, and they rode dark-brown stallions. They were the sons of Audhild and the mountain king, and they asked that their mother might be given a Christian funeral and be buried in consecrated ground. She had tried to maintain her faith and observe the holy days of the Church inside the mountain, and this was her earnest prayer. But the priest refused. And people said that because of this, he himself had no peace in the grave. On autumn nights he could be heard walking through the grove north of the church, weeping with remorse at his own cruelty. That same night Audhild's sons had gone to Skjenne to bring greetings from their mother to her old parents who still lived there. The next morning the golden spur was found in the courtyard. And the sons doubtless continued to regard the Skjenne men as their kin, for they always had exceptional good fortune in the mountains.\n\nLavrans said to his daughter as they rode home in the summer night, \"The sons of Audhild repeated Christian prayers that their mother had taught them. They couldn't mention the name of God or Jesus, but they said the Lord's Prayer and credo like this: 'I believe in the Almighty, I believe in the only begotten Son, I believe in the mightiest Spirit.' And then they said: 'Hail to the Lady, you who are the most blessed of women\u2014and blessed is the fruit of your womb, the solace of all the earth.'\"\n\nKristin timidly glanced up at her father's gaunt, weatherbeaten face. In the bright summer night it seemed more ravaged with sorrows and worries than she had ever seen it.\n\n\"You've never told me that before,\" she said softly.\n\n\"Haven't I? Well, I may have thought it would give you more melancholy thoughts than your years could bear. Sira Eirik says that it is written according to Saint Paul the Apostle that humankind is not alone in sighing with agony.\"\n\nOne day Kristin was sitting and sewing at the top of the stairs leading up to the high loft when Simon came riding into the courtyard and stopped just below where she sat, although he didn't see her. Her parents both came out of the house. No, Simon wouldn't dismount; Ramborg had merely asked him to find out, when he was passing this way, whether they had sent the sheep that had been her pet lamb up to the mountain pastures. She wanted to bring it to Formo.\n\nKristin saw her father scratching his head. Ramborg's sheep. Yes, well... He gave an exasperated laugh. It was a shame, but he had hoped she would have forgotten about it. He had given each of his two eldest grandsons a little axe, and the first thing they had used them for was to kill Ramborg's sheep.\n\nSimon laughed. \"Yes, those Husaby boys, they're rascals all right.\"\n\nKristin ran down the loft stairs and unfastened the silver scissors from her belt.\n\n\"You can give these to Ramborg, as compensation for my sons killing her sheep. I know she's wanted to have these scissors ever since she was a child. No one must say that my sons...\" She had spoken in anger, but now she fell silent. She had noticed her parents' faces\u2014they were giving her a look of dismay and astonishment.\n\nSimon didn't take the scissors; he felt embarrassed. Then he caught sight of Bj\u00f8rgulf and rode over to him, leaning down to lift the boy up into the saddle in front of him.\n\n\"I hear you've been making raids around the countryside\u2014now you're my prisoner, and tomorrow your parents can come over to see me and we'll negotiate the ransom.\"\n\nAnd with that he gave a laugh and a wave and rode off with the boy wriggling and laughing in his arms. Simon had become great friends with Erlend's sons. Kristin remembered that he had always had a way with children; her younger sisters had loved him dearly. Oddly enough it made her cross that he should be so fond of children and take pleasure in playing with them when her own husband had little interest in listening to children's prattle.\n\nThe next day, when they were at Formo, Kristin realized that Simon had not won any favors with his wife by bringing this guest home with him.\n\n\"No one should expect Ramborg to care much for children yet,\" said Ragnfrid. \"She's hardly more than a child herself. Things will be different when she's older.\"\n\n\"No doubt you're right.\" Simon and his motherin-law exchanged a look and a little smile.\n\nAh, thought Kristin. Well, it had already been two months since the wedding.\n\nDistressed and agitated as Kristin now was, she took her feelings out on Erlend. He had accepted this stay at his wife's ancestral estate with the satisfaction and pleasure of a righteous man. He was good friends with Ragnfrid and made it known that he had a deep fondness for his wife's father. And Lavrans, in turn, seemed to have affection for his son-in-law. But Kristin had now become so sensitive and wary that she saw in her father's kindness toward Erlend much of the same tolerant tenderness that Lavrans had always shown toward every living creature he felt was less able to take care of itself. His love for his other son-in-law was different; he treated Simon as a friend and equal. And even though Erlend was much closer in age to his fatherin-law than Simon was, it was Lavrans and Simon who addressed each other in the informal manner. Ever since Erlend had become betrothed to Kristin, Lavrans had addressed Erlend informally, while Erlend had continued to use the more formal mode. It was up to Lavrans to change this, but he had never offered to do so.\n\nSimon and Erlend got along well whenever they were together, but they didn't seek out each other's company. Kristin still felt a secret shyness toward Simon Darre\u2014because of what he knew about her, and even more because she knew that he was the one whose conduct had been honorable, while Erlend had acted with shame. It made her furious when she realized that Erlend could forget even this. And so she wasn't always amenable toward her husband. If Erlend was in a mood to bear her irritability with good humor and gentleness, it would annoy her that he wasn't taking her words seriously. On some other day he might have little patience, and then his temper would flare, but she would respond with bitterness and coldness.\n\nOne evening they were sitting in the hearth room at J\u00f8rundgaard. Lavrans always felt most comfortable in this building, especially in weather that was rainy and oppressive, as it was on that day. In the main building, up in the hall, the ceiling was flat and the smoke from the fireplace could be bothersome. But in the hearth room the smoke would rise up to the central beam in the pitched roof, even when they had to close the smoke vent because of the weather.\n\nKristin sat near the hearth, sewing. She was feeling out of sorts and bored. Right across from her was Margret, dozing over her needlework and yawning now and then. The children were noisily running about the room. Ragnfrid was at Formo, and most of the servants were elsewhere. Lavrans sat in the high seat, with Erlend at his elbow, at the end of the outer bench. They had a chessboard between them and they were moving the pieces in silence, after much reflection. Once, when Ivar and Skule were tugging on a puppy, trying to tear it in half, Lavrans stood up and took the poor howling animal away from them. He didn't say a word, but simply sat down to his game again with the dog on his lap.\n\nKristin went over to them and stood with one hand on her husband's shoulder, watching the game. Erlend was a much less skilled chess player than his fatherin-law, so he was most often the loser when they took out the board in the evening, but he bore this with gentle equanimity. This evening he was playing especially badly. Kristin stood there castigating him, and not in a particularly kind or sweet way.\n\nFinally Lavrans said rather harshly, \"Erlend can't keep his thoughts on the game when you're standing here bothering him. What do you want, anyway, Kristin? You've never understood board games!\"\n\n\"No, you don't seem to think I understand much at all.\"\n\n\"There's one thing I see that you don't understand,\" said her father sharply, \"and that's the proper way for a wife to speak to her husband. It would be better if you went and reined in your sons\u2014they're behaving worse than a pack of Christmas trolls.\"\n\nKristin went over and set her children in a row on a bench and then sat down next to them.\n\n\"Be quiet now, my sons,\" she said. \"Your grandfather doesn't want you to play in here.\"\n\nLavrans glanced at his daughter but didn't speak. A little later the foster mothers came in, and Kristin left with her maids and Margret to put the children to bed.\n\nErlend said after a moment, when he and Lavrans were alone, \"I would have wished, Fatherin-law, that you hadn't reprimanded Kristin in that way. If it gives her some comfort to carp at me when she's in a bad temper, then... It does no good to talk to her, and she won't stand for anyone saying a word against her children.\"\n\n\"And what about you?\" said Lavrans. \"Do you intend to allow your sons to grow up so ill-behaved? Where were the maids who are supposed to watch and tend to the children?\"\n\n\"In the servants' house with your men, I would think,\" said Erlend, laughing and stretching. \"But I don't dare say a word to Kristin about her serving maids. Then she flies into a fury and tells me that she and I have never been examples for anyone.\"\n\nThe following day Kristin was picking strawberries in the meadow south of the farm when her father called to her from the smithy door and asked her to come over to him.\n\nKristin went, though rather reluctantly. It was probably Naakkve again\u2014that morning he had left a gate open, and the cows had wandered into a barley field.\n\nLavrans pulled a glowing iron from the forge and set it on the anvil. His daughter sat down to wait, and for a long time there was no sound other than the pounding of the hammer against the glowing piece of iron and the ringing reply of the anvil. Finally Kristin asked her father what he wanted to say to her.\n\nThe iron was now cold. Lavrans put down his tongs and hammer and came over to Kristin. With soot on his face and hair, his clothing and hands blackened, and garbed as he was in the big leather apron, Lavrans looked much sterner than usual.\n\n\"I called you over here, my daughter, because I want to tell you this. Here on my estate you will show your husband the respect that is proper for a wife. I refuse to hear my daughter speaking the way you did to Erlend last night.\"\n\n\"This is something new, Father, for you to think Erlend is a man worthy of people's respect.\"\n\n\"He's your husband,\" said Lavrans. \"I didn't force you to arrange this marriage. You should remember that.\"\n\n\"You're such warm friends,\" replied Kristin. \"If you had known him back then the way you know him now, then you might well have done so.\"\n\nLavrans looked down at her, his face somber and sad.\n\n\"Now you're speaking rashly, Kristin, and saying things that are untrue. I didn't try to force you when you wanted to cast off the man to whom you were lawfully betrothed, even though you know I was very fond of Simon.\"\n\n\"No, but Simon didn't want me either.\"\n\n\"Oh, he was much too high-minded to demand his rights when you were unwilling. But I don't know whether he would have been so against it in his heart if I had done as Andres Darre wanted. He said we should pay no attention to the whims of you two young people. And I wonder whether the knight might have been right\u2014now that I see you can't live in a seemly fashion with the husband you insisted on winning.\"\n\nKristin gave a loud and ugly laugh.\n\n\"Simon! You would never have been able to threaten Simon into marrying the woman he had found with another man in such a house.\"\n\nLavrans gasped for air. \"House?\" he repeated involuntarily.\n\n\"Yes, what you men call a house of sin. The woman who owned it was Munan's paramour. She warned me herself not to go there. I told her I was going to meet a kinsman\u2014I didn't know he was her kinsman.\" She gave another laugh, wild and harsh.\n\n\"Silence!\" said her father.\n\nHe stood there for a moment. A tremor flickered across his countenance\u2014a smile that made his face blanch. She thought suddenly of the foliage on the mountain slope which turns white when gusts of wind twist each leaf around\u2014patches of pale and glittering light.\n\n\"A man can learn a great deal without asking.\"\n\nKristin broke down as she sat there on the bench, supporting herself on one elbow, with her other hand covering her eyes. For the first time in her life she was afraid of her father\u2014deathly afraid.\n\nHe turned away from her, picked up the hammer, and put it back in its place next to the others. Then he gathered up the files and small tools and went about putting them back on the crossbeam between the walls. He stood with his back to his daughter; his hands were shaking violently.\n\n\"Have you never thought about the fact, Kristin, that Erlend kept silent about this?\" Now he was standing in front of her, looking down into her pale, frightened face. \"I told him no, quite firmly, when he came to me in Tunsberg with his rich kinsmen and asked for your hand. I didn't know then that I was the one who should have thanked him for wanting to redeem my daughter's honor. Many a man would have told me so.\n\n\"Then he came again and courted you with full honor. Not all men would have been so persistent in winning a wife who was... who was... what you were back then.\"\n\n\"I don't think any man would have dared say such a thing to you.\"\n\n\"Erlend has never been afraid of cold steel.\" A great weariness suddenly came over Lavrans's face, and his voice lost all vigor and resonance. But then he spoke again, quietly and deliberately.\n\n\"As bad as this is, Kristin\u2014it seems to me even worse that you speak of it now that he's your husband and the father of your sons.\n\n\"If things were as you say, then you knew the worst about him before you insisted on entering into marriage with him. And yet he was willing to pay as dearly for you, as if you had been an honest maiden. He has granted you much freedom to manage and rule; you must do penance for your sin by ruling sensibly and make up for Erlend's lack of caution\u2014that much you owe to God and your children.\n\n\"I myself have said, and others have said the same, that Erlend doesn't seem to be capable of much else than seducing women. You are also to blame for this being said, according to your own testimony. But since then he has shown he is capable of other things\u2014your husband has won a good name for himself through courage and swiftness in battle. It's no small benefit for your sons that their father has acquired a reputation for his boldness and skill with weapons. That he is... incautious... you must realize this better than anyone. It would be best for you to redeem your shame by honoring and helping the husband whom you yourself have chosen.\"\n\nKristin was bending forward, with her head in her hands. Now she looked up, her face pale and despairing. \"It was cruel of me to tell you this. Oh... Simon begged me... It was the only thing he asked of me\u2014that I should spare you from knowing the worst.\"\n\n\"Simon asked you to spare me?\" Kristin heard the pain in her father's voice. And she realized it was also cruel of her to tell him that a stranger saw fit to remind her to spare her own father.\n\nThen Lavrans sat down beside her, took her hand in both of his, and placed it on his knee.\n\n\"Yes, it was cruel, my Kristin,\" he said gently and sadly. \"You are good to everyone, my dear child, but I have also realized that you can be cruel to those you love too dearly. For the sake of Jesus, Kristin, spare me the need to be so worried for you\u2014that your impetuous spirit might bring more sorrow upon you and yours. You struggle like a colt that has been tied up in the stable for the first time, whenever your heartstrings are bound.\"\n\nSobbing, she sank against her father, and he held her tight in his arms. They sat there for a long time in that manner, but Lavrans said no more. Finally he lifted her face.\n\n\"You're covered in soot,\" he said with a little smile. \"There's a cloth over in the corner, but it will probably just make you blacker. You must go home and wash; everyone can see that you've been sitting on the blacksmith's lap.\"\n\nGently he pushed her out the door, closed it behind her, and stood there for a moment. Then he staggered a few steps over to the bench, sank down onto it, and leaned his head back against the timbers of the wall with his contorted face tilted upward. With all his might he pressed a fist against his heart.\n\nIt never lasted long. The shortness of breath, the black dizziness, the pain that radiated out into his limbs from his heart, which shuddered and struggled, giving a few fierce thuds and then quivering quietly again. His blood hammered in the veins of his neck.\n\nIt would pass in a few minutes. It always did after he sat still for a while. But it was happening more and more often.\n\nErlend had called his crews to a meeting at Ve\u00f8y on the eve of Saint Jacob's Day, but then he stayed on at J\u00f8rundgaard a while longer to accompany Simon on a hunt for a vicious bear that had killed some of the livestock in the mountain pastures. When Erlend returned from the hunting expedition, there was a message for him. Some of his men had gotten into trouble with the townspeople, and he had to hurry north to win their release. Lavrans had business up there too, and so he decided to ride along with his son-in-law.\n\nIt was already nearing the end of Saint Olav's Day by the time they reached the island. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's ship was anchored offshore, and they met the regent at vespers in Saint Peter's Church. He went back to the monastery with them, where Lavrans had taken lodgings. There he dined with them, sending his men down to the ship for some particularly good French wine, which he had brought along from Nidaros.\n\nBut the conversation waned as they sat drinking. Erlend was lost in his own thoughts; his eyes sparkled as they always did when he was out on some new adventure, but he seemed distracted as the others talked. Lavrans merely sipped at his wine, and Sir Erling had fallen silent.\n\n\"You look tired, kinsman,\" Erlend said to him.\n\nYes, they had encountered stormy weather near Husastadvik the night before; he hadn't gotten any sleep.\n\n\"And now you'll have to ride swiftly if you're going to reach Tunsberg by Saint Lavrans's Day. I doubt you'll have much peace or comfort there either. Is Master Paal with the king now?\"\n\n\"Yes. Are you thinking of coming to Tunsberg?\"\n\n\"If I did, it would have to be to ask the king whether he'd like to send filial greetings to his mother.\" Erlend laughed. \"Or whether Bishop Audfinn wants to send word to Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg.\"\n\n\"Many are surprised that you're heading for Denmark, just as the chieftains are gathering for a meeting in Tunsberg,\" said Sir Erling.\n\n\"Yes, isn't it odd how people are always surprised by me? Maybe I have a mind to see some of the folk customs I haven't seen since I was last in Denmark\u2014maybe even participate in a tournament. And our kinswoman has invited me, after all. No one else in her lineage here in Norway wants anything to do with her now, except Munan and myself.\"\n\n\"Munan...\" Erling frowned. Then he laughed and said, \"Is there so much life left in the old boar? I'd almost thought he wouldn't have the energy to move his bulk about anymore. So Duke Knut is organizing a tournament, is he? And is Munan going to join in the jousting?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014it's too bad, Erling, you can't come along to see it.\" And Erlend laughed as well. \"I can see you fear that Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg has invited us to this christening-ale so that we might brew a different kind of ale and invite her in. But you know very well that I'm too heavy-footed and too lighthearted to be used in making secret plans. And from Munan you've yanked out every tooth.\"\n\n\"Oh no, we're not afraid of secret plans from those quarters, either. Ingebj\u00f8rg Haakonsdatter must have realized by now that she squandered all rights in her own country when she married Knut Porse. It would be unwise for her to set foot inside the door here after giving her hand to that man, when we don't want to see even his little finger within our boundaries.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was clever of you to separate the boy from his mother,\" said Erlend gloomily. \"He's still only a child\u2014and now all of us Norwegian men have reason to hold our heads up high when we think about the king whom we have sworn to protect.\"\n\n\"Be quiet!\" said Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n in a low, dejected voice. \"That's... surely that's not true.\"\n\nBut the other two could see from his face that he knew it was true. Although King Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n might still be a child, he had already been infected by a sin which was unseemly to mention among Christian men. A Swedish cleric, who had been assigned to guide his book learning while he was in Sweden, had led him astray in an unmentionable manner.\n\nErlend said, \"People are whispering on every estate and in every house around us in the north that Christ Church burned because our king is unworthy to sit in Saint Olav's seat.\"\n\n\"In God's name, Erlend\u2014I tell you it's not certain this is true! And we must believe that the child, King Magnus, is innocent in God's eyes. He can surely redeem himself. And you say that we have separated him from his mother? I say that God punishes the mother who deserts her child the way Ingebj\u00f8rg has deserted her son\u2014and do not put your trust in such a woman, Erlend. Keep in mind that these are treacherous people you're now setting off to meet!\"\n\n\"I think they've been admirably loyal toward each other. But you speak as if letters from Christ himself were floating down into the lap of your robe every day\u2014that must be why you've decided that you dare to be so bold as to provoke a fight with the highest authorities of the Church.\"\n\n\"Now you must stop, Erlend. Talk about things that you understand, my boy, but otherwise keep quiet.\" Sir Erling got to his feet; they were both standing up now, angry and red in the face.\n\nErlend grimaced with disgust.\n\n\"If an animal has been mistreated, we kill it and toss the corpse into a waterfall.\"\n\n\"Erlend!\" The regent gripped the edge of the table with both hands. \"You have sons yourself...\" he said softly. \"How can you say such a thing? And you'd better watch your tongue, Erlend. Think before you speak in that place where you're now going. And think about it twenty times over before you do anything.\"\n\n\"If that's how you act, you who rule over the affairs of the kingdom, then it doesn't surprise me that everything has gone awry. But I don't think you need to be afraid,\" Erlend sneered. \"I doubt that I'll do anything. But what a splendid thing it has become to live in this country....\n\n\"Well, you have to set out early in the morning. And my fatherin-law is tired.\"\n\nThe other two men remained sitting there, without speaking, after Erlend had bid them good night. He was going to sleep aboard his ship. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n sat and turned his goblet around and around in his hand.\n\n\"Are you coughing?\" he asked, just for something to say.\n\n\"Old men catch cold easily. We have so many ailments, dear sir, which you young men know nothing about,\" said Lavrans with a smile.\n\nThey sat in silence again. Until Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n said, as if to himself, \"Yes, everyone thinks the same\u2014that it doesn't bode well for this kingdom. Six years ago in Oslo, I thought it was clear that there was a firm desire to support the Crown\u2014among the men who are born to this task by virtue of their lineage. I... was counting on that.\"\n\n\"I think back then your perception was correct, sir. But you yourself said that we're accustomed to rallying around our king. This time he's merely a child\u2014and he spends half his time in another country.\"\n\n\"Yes. Sometimes I think... nothing is so bad that it's not good for something. In the past, when our kings frolicked around like stallions\u2014then there were enough fine colts to choose from; our countrymen simply had to select the one who was the best fighter.\"\n\nLavrans gave a laugh. \"Yes, well...\"\n\n\"We spoke three years ago, Lavrans Lagmanss\u00f8n, when you returned from your pilgrimage to Sk\u00f8vde and had paid a visit to your kinsmen in G\u00f6taland.\"\n\n\"I remember, sir, that you honored me by seeking me out.\"\n\n\"No, no, Lavrans, you need not be so formal.\" A little impatiently, Erling threw out his hands. \"It was as I said,\" he continued gloomily. \"There's no one here who can unite the nobles of this country. Whoever has the greatest hunger forces his way forward\u2014there's still some food in the trough. But those who might attempt to win power and wealth in an honorable manner, as was done in the time of our fathers, are not the ones who come forward now.\"\n\n\"That seems to be true. But honor follows the banner of the chieftains.\"\n\n\"Then men must think that my banner carries with it little honor,\" said Erling dryly. \"You have avoided everything that might have won you renown, Lavrans Lagmanss\u00f8n.\"\n\n\"I've done so ever since I became a married man, sir. And that was at a young age; my wife was sickly and had little tolerance for the company of others. And it looks as if our lineage will not continue to thrive here in Norway. My sons died young, and only one of my brother's sons has lived to be a man.\"\n\nLavrans regretted that he had come to speak of this matter. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had endured great sorrow of his own. His daughters were healthy children and had grown to adulthood, but he too had only been allowed to keep a single son, and the boy was said to be in poor health.\n\nBut Sir Erling merely said, \"And you have no close kinsmen from your mother's lineage, either, as I recall.\"\n\n\"No, no closer than the children of my grandfather's sister. Sigurd Lodinss\u00f8n had only two daughters, and they both died giving birth to their first child\u2014and my aunt took hers to the grave with her.\"\n\nThey sat in silence again for a while.\n\n\"Men like Erlend,\" said the regent in a low voice. \"They're the most dangerous kind. Men who think a little farther than their own interests, but not far enough. Don't you think Erlend is just like an indolent youth?\" He slid his wine goblet around on the table with annoyance. \"But he's intelligent, isn't he? And of good family, and courageous? But he never wants to listen to any matter long enough to understand it fully. And if he bothers to hear a man out, he forgets the first part before the discussion comes to an end.\"\n\nLavrans glanced over at the other man. Sir Erling had aged a great deal since he had last seen him. He looked careworn and weary; he seemed to have shrunk in his chair. He had fine, clear features, but they were a little too small, and he had a pallid complexion, as he always had. Lavrans felt that this man\u2014even though he was a knight with integrity, who was wise and willing to serve without deceit, never sparing himself\u2014fell somewhat short in every way as a leader. If he had been a head taller, he might have won full support more easily.\n\nLavrans said quietly, \"Sir Knut is also clever enough that he would realize\u2014if they're contemplating any kind of incursion down there\u2014that he wouldn't have much use for Erlend in any secret council.\"\n\n\"You're rather fond of this son-in-law of yours, aren't you, Lavrans?\" said the other man, almost crossly. \"If truth be told, you have no reason to love him.\"\n\nLavrans sat running his finger through a puddle of spilled wine on the table. Sir Erling noticed that his rings were quite loose on his fingers now.\n\n\"Do you?\" Lavrans looked up with a little smile. \"And yet I think that you too are fond of him!\"\n\n\"Well... God knows... But I swear to you, Lavrans, Sir Knut has plenty of things going through his mind right now. He's the father of a son who is the grandson of King Haakon.\"\n\n\"Even Erlend must realize that the child's father has much too broad a back for that poor young nobleman ever to get around it. And his mother has all the people of Norway against her because of this marriage.\"\n\nA little while later Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n stood up and strapped on his sword. Lavrans had politely taken his guest's cape from the hook and was holding it in his hands, when he suddenly swayed and was about to collapse, but Sir Erling caught him in his arms. With difficulty he carried the man, who was heavy and tall, over to the bed. It wasn't a stroke, but Lavrans lay there with his lips pale blue, his limbs weak and limp. Sir Erling raced across the courtyard to wake up the hostel priest.\n\nLavrans felt quite embarrassed when he came to himself again. Yes, it was a weakness that occurred now and then, ever since an elk hunt two winters before, when he had gotten lost in a blizzard. That was evidently what it took for a man to learn that his body was no longer youthful, and he smiled apologetically.\n\nSir Erling waited until the monk had bled the ill man, although Lavrans begged him not to take the trouble, because he would have to leave so early in the morning.\n\nThe moon was high, shining above the mountains of the main-land; the water lay black below, but out on the fjord the light glinted like flecks of silver. Not a wisp came from the smoke-vent holes; the grass on the rooftops glittered like dew in the moonlight. Not a soul was on the one short street of the town as Sir Erling swiftly walked the few paces down to the king's fortress, where he was to sleep. He looked strangely fragile and small in the moonlight, with his black cape wrapped tightly around him, shivering slightly. A couple of weary servants, who had sat up waiting for him, tumbled out of the courtyard with a lantern. The regent took the lantern and sent his men off to bed; then he shivered a little again as he climbed the stairs to his chamber up in the loft room."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Just after saint Bartholomew's Day Kristin set off on the journey home in the company of a large entourage of children, servants, and possessions. Lavrans rode with her as far as Hjerdkinn.\n\nThey went out into the courtyard to talk, he and his daughter, on the morning when he was to head back south. Sunlight sparkled over the mountains; the marshes were already crimson, and the slopes were yellow like gold from the alpine birches. Up on the plateau, lakes alternately glittered and then darkened as shadows from the big, glossy, fair-weather clouds passed overhead. They billowed up incessantly, and then sank down between distant clefts and gaps amid all the gray-domed mountains and blue peaks, with patches of new snow and old snowdrifts, which encircled the view far into the distance. The small grayish-green fields of grain belonging to the travelers' hostel looked so strange in color against the brilliant autumn hues of the mountains.\n\nThe wind was blowing, sharp and brisk. Lavrans pulled up the hood of Kristin's cloak which had blown back around her shoulders, smoothing out the corners of her linen wimple with his fingertips.\n\n\"It seems to me your cheeks have grown so pale and thin back home on my manor,\" he said. \"Haven't we taken good care of you, Kristin?\"\n\n\"Yes, you have. That's not why...\"\n\n\"And it's a wearisome journey for you with all the children,\" said her father.\n\n\"Yes, well... It's not because of those five that I have pale cheeks.\" She gave him a fleeting smile, and when her father cast a startled and inquiring glance at her, she nodded and smiled again.\n\nLavrans looked away, but after a moment he said, \"If I understand rightly how matters stand, then perhaps it will be some time before you return to Gudbrandsdal?\"\n\n\"Well, we won't let eight years pass this time,\" she said in the same tone of voice. Then she caught a glimpse of his face. \"Father! Oh, Father!\"\n\n\"Hush, hush, my daughter.\" Involuntarily he gripped her arm to stop her as she tried to throw her arms around him. \"No, Kristin.\"\n\nHe took her hand firmly in his and set off walking beside her. They had come some distance away from the buildings and were now wandering along a small path through the yellow birch forest, paying no attention to where they were going. Lavrans jumped over a little creek cutting across the path, and then turned around to offer his daughter a helping hand.\n\nShe saw, even from that slight movement, that he was no longer agile or spry. She had noticed before but refused to acknowledge it. He no longer sprang in and out of the saddle as nimbly as he once had; he didn't race up the stairs or lift heavy things as easily as he had in the past. He carried his body more rigidly and carefully\u2014as if he bore some slumbering pain within and was moving quietly so as not to arouse it. His blood pulsed visibly in the veins of his neck when he came home after riding his horse. Sometimes she noticed a swelling or puffiness under his eyes. She remembered one morning when she came into the main house, and he was lying on the bed, half-dressed, with his bare legs draped over the footboard; her mother was kneeling in front of him, rubbing his ankles.\n\n\"If you're going to grieve for every man who is felled by age, then you'll have much to cry about, child,\" Lavrans said in a calm and quiet voice. \"You have big sons yourself now, Kristin. It shouldn't surprise you to see that your father will soon be an old man. Whenever we parted in my younger days, we didn't know any better back then than we do now, whether we're destined to meet again here on this earth. And I might live for a long time yet; it must be as God wills, Kristin.\"\n\n\"Are you ill, Father?\" she asked in a toneless voice.\n\n\"Certain frailties always come with age,\" her father replied lightly.\n\n\"You're not old, Father. You're only fifty-two.\"\n\n\"My own father didn't live this long. Come and sit down here with me.\"\n\nThere was a sort of grass-covered shelf beneath the rock face which leaned out over the stream. Lavrans unfastened his cape, folded it up, and pulled his daughter down to sit beside him. The creek gurgled and trickled over the stones in front of them, rocking a willow branch that was lying in the water. Lavrans sat with his eyes fixed on the blue-and-white mountain far beyond the autumn-tinged plateau.\n\n\"You're cold, Father,\" said Kristin. \"Take my cloak.\" She undid the clasp, and then he pulled a corner of the cloak around his shoulders, so it covered both of them. He slipped his arm around her waist.\n\n\"You must know, my Kristin, that it's an unwise person who weeps at another's passing. Christ will protect you better than I\u2014no doubt you have heard this said. I put all my faith in God's mercy. It's not for long that friends are parted. Although at times it may seem so to you now, while you're young. But you have your children and your husband. When you reach my age, then you'll think it's been no time at all since you saw those of us who have departed, and you'll be surprised when you count the winters that have passed to see how many there have been. It seems to me now that it wasn't long ago that I was a boy myself\u2014and yet it's been so many years since you were that little blonde maiden who followed me everywhere I went. You followed your father so lovingly. May God reward you, my Kristin, for all the joy you have given me.\"\n\n\"Yes, but if He should reward me as I rewarded you...\" Then she sank to her knees in front of her father, took his wrists, and kissed his hands, hiding her face in them. \"Oh, Father, my dear father. No sooner wasIagrown maiden than I rewarded your love by causing you the most bitter sorrow.\"\n\n\"No, no, child. You mustn't weep like this.\" He pulled his hands away and then lifted her up to sit beside him as before.\n\n\"I've also had great joy from you during these years, Kristin. I've seen handsome and promising children growing up at your knee; you've become a capable and sensible wife. And I've seen that you've grown more and more accustomed to seeking help where it can best be found, whenever you're in some difficulty. Kristin, my most precious gold, do not weep so hard. You might harm the one you carry under your belt,\" he whispered. \"Do not grieve so!\"\n\nBut he could not console her. Then he took his daughter in his arms and lifted her onto his lap so he was holding her as he had when she was small. Her arms were clasped around his neck, and her face was pressed to his shoulder.\n\n\"There is one thing I have never told another mother's child except for my priest, but now I'll tell it to you. During the time of my youth\u2014back home at Skog and in the early years when I was one of the king's retainers\u2014I thought of entering a monastery as soon as I was old enough, although I hadn't made any kind of promise, not even in my own heart, and many things pulled me in the opposite direction. But whenever I was out fishing on Botn Fjord and heard the bells ringing from the brothers' cloister on Hoved\u00f8, then I would think that I was drawn most strongly there.\n\n\"When I was sixteen winters old, Father had a coat of mail made for me from Spanish steel plates covered in silver. Rikard, the Englishman in Oslo, made it. And I was given my sword\u2014the one I've always used\u2014and the armor for my horse. It wasn't as peaceful back then as it was during your childhood; we were at war with the Danes, so I knew I would soon have use for my splendid weapons. And I didn't want to lay them aside. I consoled myself with the thought that my father wouldn't want his eldest son to become a monk, and I had no wish to defy my parents.\n\n\"But I chose this world myself, and whenever things went against me, I tried to tell myself that it would be unmanly to complain about the fate I had chosen. For I've realized more and more with each year that I've lived: There is no worthier work for the person who has been graced with the ability to see even a small part of God's mercy than to serve Him and to keep vigil and to pray for those people whose sight is still clouded by the shadow of worldly matters. And yet I must tell you, my Kristin, that it would be hard for me to sacrifice, for the sake of God, that life which I have lived on my estates, with its care of temporal things and its worldly joys, with your mother at my side and with all of you children. So a man must learn to accept, when he produces offspring from his own body, that his heart will burn if he loses them or if the world goes against them. God, who gave them souls, is the one who owns them\u2014not I.\"\n\nSobs shook Kristin's body; her father began rocking her in his arms as if she were a small child.\n\n\"There were many things I didn't understand when I was young. Father was fond of my brother Aasmund too, but not in the same way as he loved me. It was because of my mother, you see\u2014he never forgot her, but he married Inga because that was what his father wanted. Now I wish I could still go to my stepmother here on earth and beg her to forgive me for not respecting her goodness.\"\n\n\"But you've often said, Father, that your stepmother never did much for you, either good or bad,\" said Kristin in between sobs.\n\n\"Yes, God help me, I didn't know any better. Now it seems to me a great thing that she didn't hate me and never spoke an unkind word to me. How would you like it, Kristin, to see your stepson favored above your own son, constantly and in everything?\"\n\nKristin was somewhat calmer now. She lay with her face turned so that she could look out at the mountain meadow. It grew dark from an enormous gray-blue cloud passing in front of the sun; several yellow rays pierced through, and the water of the creek glinted sharply.\n\nThen she broke into tears again.\n\n\"Oh, no\u2014Father, my father. Will I never see you again in this life?\"\n\n\"May God protect you, Kristin, my child, so that we might meet again on that day, all of us who were friends in this life... and every human soul. Christ and the Virgin Mary and Saint Olav and Saint Thomas will keep you safe all your days.\" He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. \"May God have mercy on you. May God grant you light in the light of this world and in the great light beyond.\"\n\nSeveral hours later, as Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n rode away from Hjerdkinn, his daughter walked alongside his horse. His servant was already a good distance ahead, but Lavrans continued on slowly, step by step. It hurt him to see her tear-stained and despairing face. This was also the way she had sat the whole time inside the guesthouse, as he ate and talked with her children, bantering with them and taking them onto his lap, one after the other.\n\nLavrans said softly, \"Do not grieve any more for whatever you might regret toward me, Kristin. But remember it when your children are grown and you don't think they behave toward you or their father in a way you consider reasonable. And remember too what I told you about my youth. You're loyal in your love for them, that I know, but you're most stubborn when you love most, and there is obstinacy in those boys of yours\u2014that much I've seen,\" he said with a little smile.\n\nAt last Lavrans said that she had to turn around and go back. \"I don't want you to walk alone any farther away from the buildings.\" They had reached a hollow between small hills, with birch trees at the bottom and heaps of stones on the slopes.\n\nKristin threw herself against her father's foot in the stirrup. She ran her fingers over his clothing and his hand and his saddle, and along the neck and flank of his horse; she pressed her head here and there, weeping and uttering such deep, pitiful moans that her father thought his heart would break to see her in such terrible sorrow.\n\nHe jumped down from his horse and took his daughter in his arms, holding her tight for the last time. Again and again he made the sign of the cross over her and gave her into the care of God and the saints. Finally he said that now she would have to let him go.\n\nAnd so they parted. But after he had gone some distance, Kristin saw that her father reined in his horse, and she realized that he was weeping as he rode away from her.\n\nShe ran into the birch grove, raced through it, and began scrambling up the lichen-gold scree on the nearest hillside. But it was rocky and difficult to climb, and the little hill was higher than she thought. At last she reached the top, but by that time he had disappeared among the hills. She lay down on the moss and bearberries growing on the ridge, and there she stayed, sobbing, with her face buried in her arms.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n arrived home at J\u00f8rundgaard late in the evening. A feeling of warmth passed through him when he saw that someone was still awake in the hearth room\u2014there was a faint flicker of firelight behind the tiny glass window facing the gallery. It was in this building that he always felt most at home.\n\nRagnfrid was alone inside, sitting at the table with clothes to be mended in front of her. A tallow candle in a brass candlestick stood nearby. She got up at once, greeted him, put more wood on the hearth, and then went to get food and drink. No, she had sent the maids off to bed long ago; they had had a hard day, but now enough barley bread had been baked to last until Christmas. Paal and Gunstein had gone off into the mountains to gather moss. While they were talking about moss... Would Lavrans like to have for his winter surcoat the cloth that was dyed with moss or the one that was heather green? Orm of Moar had come to J\u00f8rundgaard that morning, wanting to buy some leather rope. She had taken the ropes hanging in the front of the shed and said he could have them as a gift. Yes, Orm's daughter was a little better now; the injury to her leg had knit together nicely.\n\nLavrans answered her questions and nodded while he and his servant ate and drank. But he was quickly done with eating. He stood up, wiped his knife on the back of his thigh, and picked up a spool of thread that lay at Ragnfrid's place. The thread had been wound around a stick with a bird carved into both ends\u2014one of them had a slightly broken tail. Lavrans smoothed out the rough part and whittled it down so the bird had a stump of a tail. Once, long ago, he had made many of these thread spools for his wife.\n\n\"Are you going to mend them yourself?\" he asked, looking down at her sewing. It was a pair of his leather hose; Ragnfrid was patching the inner side of the thighs, where they were worn from the saddle. \"That's hard work for your fingers, Ragnfrid.\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" His wife placed the pieces of the leather edge to edge and poked holes in them with an awl.\n\nThe servant bade them good night and left. The husband and wife were alone. Lavrans stood near the hearth, warming himself, with one foot up on the edge and his hand on the smoke-vent pole. Ragnfrid glanced over at him. Then she noticed that he wasn't wearing the little ring with the rubies\u2014his mother's bridal ring. He saw that she had noticed.\n\n\"Yes, I gave it to Kristin,\" he said. \"I always meant it to be hers, and I thought she might as well have it now.\"\n\nThen one of them said to the other that they ought to go to bed. But Lavrans stayed where he was, and Ragnfrid sat and sewed. They exchanged a few words about Kristin's journey, about the work that had to be done on the farm, about Ramborg and about Simon. Then they mentioned again that they should probably go to bed, but neither of them moved.\n\nFinally Lavrans took off the gold ring with the blue-and-white stone from his right hand and went over to his wife. Shy and embarrassed, he took her hand and put on the ring; he had to try several times before he found a finger it would fit. He put it on her middle finger, in front of her wedding ring.\n\n\"I want you to have this now,\" he said in a low voice, without looking at her.\n\nRagnfrid sat motionless, her cheeks blood red.\n\n\"Why are you doing this?\" she whispered at last. \"Do you think I begrudge our daughter her ring?\"\n\nLavrans shook his head and gave a little smile. \"I think you know why I'm doing this.\"\n\n\"You've said in the past that you wanted to have this ring in the grave with you,\" she said in the same tone of voice. \"And no one but you was to wear it.\"\n\n\"And that's why you must never take it off, Ragnfrid. Promise me that. After you, I want no one else to wear it.\"\n\n\"Why are you doing this?\" she repeated, holding her breath.\n\nHer husband looked down into her face.\n\n\"This spring it was thirty-four years ago that we were married. I was an underaged boy; during all of my manhood you have been at my side, whenever I suffered grief and whenever things went well. May God help me, I had such little understanding of how many troubles you had to bear in our life together. But now it seems to me that all of my days I felt it was good that you were here.\n\nI don't know whether you believed that I had more love for Kristin than for you. It's true that she was my greatest joy, and she caused me the greatest sorrow. But you were mother to them all. Now I think leaving you behind will hurt me the most, when I go.\n\n\"And that's why you must never give my ring to anyone else\u2014not even to one of our daughters; tell them they must not take it from you.\n\n\"Perhaps you may think, wife, that you've had more sorrow than joy with me; things did go wrong for us in some ways. And yet I think we have been faithful friends. And this is what I have thought: that afterwards we will meet again in such a manner that all the wrongs will no longer separate us; and the friendship that we had, God will build even stronger.\"\n\nRagnfrid lifted her pale, furrowed face. Her big, sunken eyes burned as she looked up at her husband. He was still holding her hand; she looked at it, lying in his, slightly raised. The three rings gleamed next to each other: on the bottom her betrothal ring, next her wedding ring, and on top his ring.\n\nIt seemed so strange to her. She remembered when he put the first one on her finger; they were standing in front of the smoke-vent pole in the hall back home at Sundbu, their fathers with them. He was pink and white, his cheeks were round, hardly more than a child\u2014a little bashful as he took a step forward from Sir Bj\u00f8rgulf's side.\n\nThe second ring he had put on her finger in front of the church door in Gerdarud, in the name of the Trinity, under the hand of the priest.\n\nWith this last ring, she felt as if he were marrying her again. Now that she would soon sit beside his lifeless body, he wanted her to know that with this ring he was committing to her the strong and vital force that had lived in this dust and ashes.\n\nHer heart felt as if it were breaking in her breast, bleeding and bleeding, young and fierce. From grief over the warm and ardent love which she had lost and still secretly mourned; from anguished joy over the pale, luminous love which drew her to the farthest boundaries of life on this earth. Through the great darkness that would come, she saw the gleam of another, gentler sun, and she sensed the fragrance of the herbs in the garden at world's end.\n\nLavrans set his wife's hand back in her lap and sat down on the bench a short distance away, with his back against the table and one arm resting along the top. He did not look at her, but stared into the hearth fire.\n\nAnd yet her voice was quiet and calm when she once again spoke.\n\n\"I did not know, my husband, that you had such affection for me.\"\n\n\"I do,\" he replied, his voice equally calm.\n\nThey sat in silence for a while. Ragnfrid moved her sewing from her lap onto the bench beside her. After a time she said softly, \"What I told you that night\u2014have you forgotten that?\"\n\n\"I doubt that any man on this earth could forget such words. And it's true that I myself have felt that things were no better between us after I heard them. But God knows, Ragnfrid, I tried so hard to conceal from you that I gave that matter so much thought.\"\n\n\"I didn't realize you thought so much about it.\"\n\nHe turned toward her abruptly and stared at his wife.\n\nThen Ragnfrid said, \"I am to blame that things grew worse between us, Lavrans. I thought that if you could be toward me exactly the same as before that night\u2014then you must have cared even less for me than I thought. If you had been a stern husband toward me afterwards, if you had struck me even once when you were drunk\u2014then I would have been better able to bear my sorrow and my remorse. But when you took it so lightly...\"\n\n\"Did you think I took it lightly?\"\n\nThe faint quaver in his voice made her wild with longing. She wanted to bury herself inside him, down in the depths of the emotions that could make his voice ripple with tension and strain.\n\nShe exclaimed in fury, \"If only you had taken me in your arms even once, not because I was the lawful, Christian wife they had placed at your side, but as the wife you had yearned for and fought to win. Then you couldn't have behaved toward me as if those words had not been said.\"\n\nLavrans thought about what she had said. \"No... then... I don't think I could have. No.\"\n\n\"If you had been as fond of your betrothed as Simon was of our Kristin...\"\n\nLavrans didn't reply. After a moment, as if against his will, he said softly and fearfully, \"Why did you mention Simon?\"\n\n\"I suppose because I couldn't compare you to that other man,\" Ragnfrid said, confused and frightened herself although she tried to smile. \"You and Erlend are too unlike each other.\"\n\nLavrans stood up, took a few steps, feeling uneasy. Then he said in an even quieter voice, \"God will not forsake Simon.\"\n\n\"Have you never thought that God had forsaken you?\" asked his wife.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What did you think that night as we sat in the barn, when you found out at the very same moment that Kristin and I\u2014the two people you held dearest and loved the most faithfully\u2014we had both betrayed you as much as we possibly could?\"\n\n\"I don't think I thought much about it,\" replied her husband.\n\n\"But later on,\" continued his wife, \"when you kept thinking about it, as you say you did...\"\n\nLavrans turned away from her. She saw a blush flood his sunburned neck.\n\n\"I thought about all the times I had betrayed Christ,\" he said in a low voice.\n\nRagnfrid stood up, hesitating a moment before she dared go over and place her hands on her husband's shoulders. When he put his arms around her, she pressed her forehead against his chest. He could feel her crying. Lavrans pulled her closer and rested his face against her hair.\n\n\"Now, Ragnfrid, we will go to bed,\" he said after a moment.\n\nTogether they walked over to the crucifix, knelt, and made the sign of the cross. Lavrans said the evening prayers, speaking the language of the Church in a low, clear voice, and his wife repeated the words after him.\n\nThen they undressed. Ragnfrid lay down on the inner side of the bed; the headboard was now much lower because lately her husband had been plagued with dizziness. Lavrans shoved the bolt on the door closed, scraped ashes over the fire in the hearth, blew out the candle, and climbed in beside her. In the darkness they lay with their arms touching each other. After a moment they laced their fingers together.\n\nRagnfrid Ivarsdatter thought it seemed like a new wedding night, and a strange one. Happiness and sorrow flowed into each other, carrying her along on waves so powerful that she felt her soul beginning to loosen its roots in her body. Now the hand of death had touched her too\u2014for the first time.\n\nThis was how it had to end\u2014when it had begun as it did. She remembered the first time she saw her betrothed. At that time Lavrans was pleased with her\u2014a little shy, but willing enough to have affection for his bride. Even the fact that the boy was so radiantly handsome had irritated her. His hair hung so thick and glossy and fair around his pink-and-white, downy face. Her heart burned with anguish at the thought of another man, who was not handsome nor young nor gentle like milk and blood; she was dying with longing to sink into his embrace and drive her knife into his throat. And the first time her betrothed tried to caress her... They were sitting together on the steps of a loft back home, and he reached out to take one of her braids. She leaped to her feet, turned her back on him, white with anger, and left.\n\nOh, she remembered that nighttime journey, when she rode with Trond and Tordis through Jerndal to Dovre, to the woman who was skilled in sorcery. She had fallen to her knees, pulling off rings and bracelets and putting them on the floor in front of Fru Aashild; in vain she had begged for a remedy so her bridegroom might not have his will with her. She remembered the long journey with her father and kinsmen and bridesmaids and the entourage from home, down through the valley, out across the flat countryside, to the wedding at Skog. And she remembered the first night\u2014and all the nights afterwards\u2014when she received the clumsy caresses of the newly married boy and acted cold as stone, never concealing how little they pleased her.\n\nNo, God had not forsaken her. In His mercy, He had heard her cries for help when she called on Him, as she sank more and more into her misery\u2014even when she called without believing she would be heard. It felt as if the black sea were rushing over her; now the waves lifted her toward a bliss so strange and so sweet that she knew it would carry her out of life.\n\n\"Talk to me, Lavrans,\" she implored him quietly. \"I'm so tired.\"\n\nHer husband whispered, \"Venite ad me, omnes qui laborate et onerati estis. Ego reficiam vos\u2014the Lord has said.\"\n\nHe slipped one arm under her shoulder and pulled her close to his side. They lay there for a moment, cheek to cheek.\n\nThen she said softly, \"Now I have asked the Mother of God to answer my prayer that I need not live long after you, my husband.\"\n\nHis lips and his lashes brushed her cheek in the darkness like the wings of a butterfly.\n\n\"My Ragnfrid, my Ragnfrid.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Kristin stayed home at Husaby during the autumn and winter with no wish to go anywhere; she blamed this on the fact that she was unwell. But she was simply tired. She had never felt so tired before in all her life. She was tired of merriment and tired of sorrow, and most of all tired of brooding.\n\nIt would be better after she had this new child, she thought; and she felt such a fierce longing for it. It was the child that would save her. If it was a son and her father died before he was born, he would bear her father's name. And she thought about how dearly she would love this child and nurse him at her own breast. It had been such a long time since she had had an infant, and she wept with longing whenever she thought about holding a tiny child in her arms again.\n\nShe gathered her sons around her as she had in the past and tried to bring a little more discipline and order to their upbringing. She felt that in this way she was acting in accordance with her father's wishes, and it seemed to give her soul some peace. Sira Eiliv had now begun to teach Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf reading and Latin, and Kristin often sat in the parsonage when the children went there for lessons. But they weren't very eager pupils, and all the boys were unruly and wild except for Gaute, and so he continued to be his mother's lap-child, as Erlend called him.\n\nErlend had returned home from Denmark in high spirits around All Saints' Day. He had been received with the greatest honor by the duke and by his kinswoman, Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg. They had thanked him heartily for his gifts of furs and silver; he had ridden in a jousting tournament and hunted stag and deer. And when they parted, Sir Knut had given him a coal-black Spanish stallion, while Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg had sent kind greetings along with two silver grey-hounds for his wife. Kristin thought these foreign dogs looked sly and treacherous, and she was afraid they would harm her children. And people all around were talking about the Castilian horse. Erlend looked good on the back of the long-legged, elegantly built horse, but animals like that were not suited to this country, and only God knew how the stallion would manage in the mountains. In the meantime, wherever he went in his district, Erlend would buy the most splendid of black mares, and he now had a herd that was beautiful in appearance, at any rate. Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n usually gave his horses refined, foreign names, such as Belkolor and Bajard, but he said that this stallion was so magnificent that it didn't need any further adornment, and he named it simply Soten.\n\nErlend was greatly annoyed that his wife refused to accompany him anywhere. He couldn't see that she was ill; she neither swooned nor vomited this time, and it was not even visible that she was with child. And by constantly sitting indoors, brooding and worrying over his misdeeds, she had grown weary and pale. It was during the Christmas season that fierce quarrels erupted between them. But this time Erlend didn't come and apologize for his bad temper, as he had in the past. Until now, whenever they had disagreements, he had always believed that he was to blame. Kristin was good, she was always right; if he felt uncomfortable and bored at home, then it must be because it was his nature to grow weary of what was good and right if he had too much of it. But this summer he had noticed more than once that his fatherin-law had sided with him and seemed to think Kristin was lacking in wifely gentleness and tolerance. It occurred to him that she was overly sensitive about petty matters and reluctant to forgive him for minor offenses which he had committed with no ill intent. He would always beg her forgiveness after taking time to reflect, and she would say that she forgave him. But afterwards he could see that it was simply stored away, not forgotten.\n\nSo Erlend spent much time away from home, and now he often took his daughter Margret along with him. The maiden's upbringing had always been a source of disagreement between him and his wife. Kristin had never said a word about it, but Erlend knew quite well what she, and others, thought. He had treated Margret in all respects as his lawful child, and whenever she accompanied her father and stepmother everyone received her as if she were. At Ramborg's wedding she had been one of the bridesmaids, wearing a golden wreath on her flowing hair. Many of the women didn't approve, but Lavrans had persuaded them, and Simon had also said that no one should voice any objection to Erlend or say a word about it to the maiden. The lovely child was not to blame for her unfortunate birth.\n\nBut Kristin knew that Erlend planned to marry Margret to a man of noble lineage. He thought that with his present position, he could succeed in arranging it, even though the maiden had been conceived in adultery and it would be difficult to gain for her a position that was firm and secure. It might have been possible if people had been convinced that Erlend was capable of preserving and increasing his power and wealth. But although he was well-liked and respected in many ways, no one truly believed that the prosperity at Husaby would last. So Kristin was afraid that it would be difficult for him to carry out his plans for Margret. Even though she was not particularly fond of Margret, Kristin felt sorry for the maiden and dreaded the day when the girl's arrogant spirit might be broken\u2014if she had to settle for a match that was much poorer than what her father had taught her to expect, and for circumstances that were quite different from what she had grown up with.\n\nThen, around Candlemas, three men came from Formo to Husaby; they had skied over the mountains to bring Erlend troubling news from Simon Andress\u00f8n. Simon wrote that their fatherin-law was ill, and that he was not expected to live long. Lavrans wanted to ask Erlend to come to Sil, if he could; he wanted to speak to both of his sons-in-law about how everything should be arranged after his death.\n\nErlend cast surreptitious glances at his wife. She was heavy with child now; her face was thin and quite pale. And she looked so unhappy, as if she might cry at any moment. Now he regretted his behavior toward her that winter; her father's illness came as no surprise to her, and if she had been carrying such a secret sorrow, he would have to forgive her for being unreasonable.\n\nAlone he would be able to travel to Sil quite swiftly, if he skied over the mountains. But if he had to take along his wife, it would be a slow and difficult journey. And then he would have to wait until after the weapons-ting during Lent, and call meetings with his deputies first. There were also several meetings and tings that he would have to attend himself. Before they could leave, it would be dangerously close to the time when she would give birth\u2014and Kristin couldn't stand the sea, even when she was feeling well. But he didn't dare think about her not being allowed to see her father before he died. That evening, after they had gone to bed, he asked his wife whether she dared make the journey.\n\nHe felt rewarded as she wept in his arms, grateful and full of remorse for her unkindness toward him that winter. Erlend grew gentle and tender, as he always did whenever he had caused a woman sorrow and then was forced to see her struggle with her grief before his eyes. And he gave in to Kristin's proposal with reasonable patience. He said at once that he wouldn't take the children along. But Kristin replied that Naakkve was old enough now, and it would be good for him to witness his grandfather's passing. Erlend said no. Then she thought that Ivar and Skule were too young to be left in the care of the servant women. No, said Erlend. And Lavrans had grown so fond of Gaute. No, said Erlend again. It would be difficult enough, as things now stood with her\u2014for Ragnfrid to have a nursemaid on the estate while she was tending to her husband on his sickbed, and for them to bring the newborn home again. Either Kristin would have to leave the child with foster parents on one of Lavrans's farms, or she would have to stay at J\u00f8rundgaard until summer; but he would have to travel home before then. He went over all the plans, again and again, but he tried to make his voice calm and convincing.\n\nThen it occurred to him that he ought to bring a few things from Nidaros that his motherin-law might need for the funeral feast: wine and wax, wheat flour and Paradise grains and the like. But at last they made their departure, reaching J\u00f8rundgaard on the day before Saint Gertrud's Day.\n\nBut this homecoming was much different for Kristin than she had imagined.\n\nShe had to be grateful that she was given the chance to see her father again. When she thought about his joy at her arrival and how he had thanked Erlend for bringing her, then she was happy. But this time she felt shut out from so many things, and it was a painful feeling.\n\nIt was less than a month before she would give birth, and Lavrans forbade her from lifting a hand to tend to him. She wasn't allowed to keep watch over him at night with the others, and Ragnfrid wouldn't hear of her offering the slightest help in spite of all the work to be done. She sat with her father during the day, but they were seldom alone together. Almost daily, guests would come to the manor; friends who wanted to see Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n one last time before he died. This pleased her father, although it made him quite weary. He would talk in a merry and hearty voice to everyone\u2014women and men, poor and rich, young and old\u2014thanking them for their friendship and asking for their prayers of intercession for his soul, and hoping that God might allow them to meet on the day of rejoicing. At night, when only his close family was with him, Kristin would lie in bed in the high loft, staring into the darkness, unable to sleep because she was thinking about her father's passing and about the impetuousness and wickedness of her own heart.\n\nThe end was coming quickly for Lavrans. He had held on to his strength until Ramborg gave birth to her child and Ragnfrid no longer needed to be at Formo so often. He had also had his servants take him over there one day so he could see his daughter and granddaughter. The little maiden had been christened Ulvhild. But then he took to his bed, and it was unlikely he would ever get up again.\n\nLavrans lay in the hall of the high loft. They had made up a kind of bed for him on the high-seat bench, for he couldn't bear to have his head raised; then he would grow dizzy at once and suffer fainting spells and heart spasms. They didn't dare bleed him anymore; they had done it so often during the fall and winter that he was now quite lacking in blood, and he had little desire for food or drink.\n\nThe handsome features of his face were now sharp, and the tan had faded from his once-fresh complexion; it was sallow like bone, and bloodless and pale around his lips and eyes. The thick blond hair with streaks of white was now untrimmed, lying withered and limp against the blue-patterned expanse of the pillow. But what had changed him most was the rough, gray beard now covering the lower half of his face and growing on his long, broad neck, where the sinews stood out like thick cords. Lavrans had always been meticulous about shaving before every holy day. His body was so gaunt that it was little more than a skeleton. But he said he felt fine as long as he lay flat and didn't move. And he was always cheerful and happy.\n\nThey slaughtered and brewed and baked for the funeral feast; they took out the bedclothes and mended them. Everything that could be done ahead of time was done now, so that there would be quiet when the last struggle came. It cheered Lavrans considerably to hear about these preparations. His last banquet would be far from the poorest to be held at J\u00f8rundgaard; in an honorable and worthy manner he was to take leave of his guardianship of the estate and his household. One day he wanted to have a look at the two cows that would be included in the funeral procession, to be given to Sira Eirik and Sira Solmund, and so they were led into the house. They had been fed extra fodder all winter long and were as splendid and fat as cows in the mountain pastures around Saint Olav's Day, even though the valley was now in the midst of the spring shortages. He laughed the hardest every time one of the cows relieved itself on the floor.\n\nBut he was afraid his wife was going to wear herself out. Kristin had considered herself a diligent housewife, and that was her reputation back home in Skaun, but she now thought that compared to her mother she was completely incompetent. No one understood how Ragnfrid managed to accomplish everything she did\u2014and yet she never seemed to be absent for very long from her husband's side; she also helped to keep watch at night.\n\n\"Don't think of me, husband,\" she would say, putting her hand in his. \"After you're gone, you know that I'll take a rest from all these toils.\"\n\nMany years before, Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had purchased his resting place at the friars' monastery in Hamar, and Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter would accompany his body there and then stay on. She would live on a corrody in a manor owned by the monks in town. But first the coffin would be carried to the church here at home, with splendid gifts for the church and the priests; Lavrans's stallion would follow behind with his armor and weapons, and Erlend would then redeem them by paying forty-five marks of silver. One of his sons would be given the armor, preferably the child Kristin now carried, if it was a son. Perhaps there would be another Lavrans at J\u00f8rundgaard sometime in the future, said the ill man with a smile. On the journey south through Gudbrandsdal, the coffin would be carried into several more churches and stay there overnight; these would be remembered in Lavrans's testament with gifts of money and candles.\n\nOne day Simon mentioned that his fatherin-law had bedsores, and he helped Ragnfrid to lift the sick man and tend to him.\n\nKristin was in despair over her jealous heart. She could hardly bear to see her parents on such familiar terms with Simon Andress\u00f8n. He felt at home at J\u00f8rundgaard in a way that Erlend never had. Almost every day his huge, sorrel-colored horse would be tied to the courtyard fence, and Simon would be sitting inside with Lavrans, wearing his hat and cape. He wasn't intending to stay long. But a short time later he would appear in the doorway and yell to the servants to put his horse in the stable after all. He was acquainted with all of her father's business affairs; he would get out the letter box and take out deeds and documents. He took care of chores for Ragnfrid, and he talked to the overseer about the management of the farm. Kristin thought to herself that her greatest desire had been for her father to be fond of Erlend, but the first time Lavrans had taken his side against her, she had responded at once in the worst possible manner.\n\nSimon Andress\u00f8n was deeply grieved that he would soon be parted from his wife's father. But he felt such joy at the birth of his little daughter. Lavrans and Ragnfrid spoke often of little Ulvhild, and Simon could answer all their questions about the child's welfare and progress. And here too Kristin felt jealousy sting her heart\u2014Erlend had never taken that kind of interest in their children. At the same time, it seemed to her a bit laughable when this man with the heavy, reddish-brown face who was no longer young would sit and talk so knowledgeably about an infant's stom achaches and appetite.\n\nOne day Simon brought a sleigh to take her south to see her sister and niece.\n\nHe had rebuilt the old, dark hearth house, where the women of Formo had gone for hundreds of years whenever they were going to give birth. The hearth had been thrown out and replaced with a stone fireplace, with a finely carved bed placed snugly against one side. On the opposite wall hung a beautiful carved image of the Mother of God, so that whoever lay in the bed could see it. Flagstones had been laid down, and a glass pane was put in the window; there were lovely, small pieces of furniture and new benches. Simon wanted Ramborg to have this house as her women's room. Here she could keep her things and invite other women in; and whenever there were banquets at the manor, the women could retire to this house if they grew uneasy when the men became overwhelmed by drink late in the evening.\n\nRamborg was lying in bed, in honor of her guest. She had adorned herself with a silk wimple and a red gown trimmed across the breast with white fur. She had silk-covered pillows behind her back and a flowered, velvet coverlet on top of the bedclothes. In front of the bed stood Ulvhild Simonsdatter's cradle. It was the old Swedish cradle that Ramborg Sunesdatter had brought to Norway, the same one in which Kristin's father and grandfather, and she herself and all her siblings had slept. According to custom, she, as the eldest daughter, should have had the cradle as part of her dowry, but it had never been mentioned at the time she was married. She thought that her parents had purposely forgotten about the cradle. Didn't they think the children she and Erlend would have were worthy to sleep in it?\n\nAfter that, she refused to go back to Formo, saying that she didn't have the strength.\n\nAnd Kristin did feel ill, but this was from sorrow and her anguished soul. She couldn't hide from herself that the longer she stayed at home, the more painful it felt. That was just her nature: it hurt her to see that now, as her father approached his death, it was his wife who was closest to him.\n\nShe had always heard people praise her parents' life together as an exemplary marriage, beautiful and noble, with harmony, loyalty, and good will. But she had felt, without thinking too closely about it, that there was something that kept them apart\u2014some indefinable shadow that made their life at home subdued, even though it was calm and pleasant. Now there was no longer any shadow between her parents. They talked to each other calmly and quietly, mostly about small, everyday matters; but Kristin sensed there was something new in their eyes and in the tone of their voices. She could see that her father missed his wife whenever she was somewhere else. If he managed to convince her to take a rest, he would lie in bed, fidgeting and waiting; when Ragnfrid came back, it was as if she brought peace and joy to the ill man. One day Kristin heard them talking about their dead children, and yet they looked happy. When Sira Eirik came over to read to Lavrans, Ragnfrid would always sit with them. Then he would take his wife's hand and lie there, playing with her fingers and twisting her rings around.\n\nKristin knew that her father loved her no less than before. But she had never noticed until now that he loved her mother. And she could see the difference between the love of a husband for the wife he had lived with all his life, during good days and bad\u2014and his love for the child who had shared only his joys and had received his greatest tenderness. And she wept and prayed to God and Saint Olav for help\u2014for she remembered that tearful, tender farewell with her father on the mountain in the autumn, but surely it couldn't be true that she now wished it had been the last.\n\nOn Summer Day Kristin gave birth to her sixth son. Five days later she was already out of bed, and she went over to the main house to sit with her father. Lavrans was not pleased by this; it had never been the custom on his estate for a woman who had recently given birth to go outdoors under open sky until the first time she went to church. She must at least agree not to cross the courtyard unless the sun was up. Ragnfrid listened as Lavrans talked about this.\n\n\"I was just thinking, husband,\" she said, \"that your women have never been very obedient; we've usually done whatever we wanted to do.\"\n\n\"And you've never realized that before?\" asked her husband, laughing. \"Well, your brother Trond isn't to blame, at any rate. Don't you remember that he used to call me spineless because I always let all of you have your way?\"\n\nWhen the next mass was celebrated, Ramborg went to church for the first time after giving birth, and afterwards she paid her first visit to J\u00f8rundgaard. Helga Rolvsdatter came with her; she was also a married woman now. And Haavard Trondss\u00f8n of Sundbu had come to see Lavrans, too. These three young people were all the same age, and for three years they had lived together like siblings at J\u00f8rundgaard. The other two had looked up to Haavard, and he had been the leader in all their games because he was a boy. But now the two young wives with the white wimples made him feel quite clearly that they were experienced women with husbands and children and households to manage, while he was merely an immature and foolish child. Lavrans found this greatly amusing.\n\n\"Just wait until you have a wife of your own, Haavard, my foster son. Then you will truly be told how little you know,\" he said, and all the men in the room laughed and agreed.\n\nSira Eirik came daily to visit the dying man. The old parish priest's eyesight was now failing, but he could still manage to read just as easily the story of Creation in Norwegian and the gospels and psalms in Latin, because he knew those books so well. But several years earlier, down in Saastad, Lavrans had acquired a thick volume, and it was passages from this book that he wanted to hear. Sira Eirik couldn't read it because of his bad eyes, so Lavrans asked Kristin to try to read from the book. And after she grew accustomed to it, she managed to read beautifully and well. It was a great joy for her that now there was something she could do for her father.\n\nThe book contained what seemed to be dialogues between Fear and Courage, between Faith and Doubt, Body and Soul. There were also stories of saints and many accounts of men who, while still alive, were swept away in spirit and who witnessed the torments of the abyss, the trials of fiery purgatory, and the salvation of Heaven. Lavrans now spoke often of the purgatory fire, which he expected to enter soon, but he showed no sign of fear. He hoped for great solace from the prayers of intercession offered by his friends and the priests; and he consoled himself that Saint Olav and Saint Thomas would give him strength for the last trial, as he felt they had given him strength here in life. He had always heard that the person who firmly believed would never for a moment lose sight of the salvation toward which the soul was moving, through the fiery blaze. Kristin thought her father seemed to be looking forward to it, as if it were a test of manhood. She vaguely remembered from her childhood the time when the king's retainers from the valley set off on a campaign against Duke Eirik. Now she thought that her father seemed eager for his death, in the same way he had been eager for battle and adventure back then.\n\nOne day she said that she thought her father had endured so many trials in this life that surely he would be spared from the worst of them in the next. Lavrans replied that it didn't seem that way to him; he had been a rich man, he was descended from a splendid lineage, and he had won friends and prosperity in the world. \"My greatest sorrows were that I never saw my mother's face, and that I lost my children\u2014but soon they will no longer be sorrows. And the same is true of other things that have grieved me in my life\u2014they are no longer sorrows.\"\n\nRagnfrid was often in the room while Kristin read. Strangers were also present, and now Erlend wanted to sit and listen too. Everyone found joy in what she read, but Kristin grew dejected and distressed. She thought about her own heart, which fully understood what was right and wrong, and yet it had always yearned for what was not righteous. And she was afraid for her little child; she could hardly sleep at night for fear that he would die unbaptized. Two women had to keep constant vigil over her, and yet she was still afraid to fall asleep. Her other children had all been baptized before they were three days old, but they had decided to wait this time, because the boy was big and strong, and they wanted to name him after Lavrans. But in the valley people strictly abided by the custom that children not be named for anyone who was still alive.\n\nOne day when Kristin was sitting with her father and holding the child on her lap, Lavrans asked her to unwrap the swaddling clothes. He had still not seen more than the infant's face. She did as he asked and then placed the child in her father's arms. Lavrans stroked the small, rounded chest and took one of the tiny, plump hands in his own.\n\n\"It seems strange, kinsman, that one day you will wear my coat of mail. Right now you wouldn't fill up more space than a worm in a hollow nutshell; and this hand will have to grow big before it can grip the hilt of my sword. Looking at a lad like this, it almost seems God's will that we not bear arms. But you won't have to grow very old, my boy, before you long to take them up. There are so few men born of women who have such a love for God that they would forswear the right to carry weapons. I did not have it.\"\n\nHe lay quietly, looking at the infant.\n\n\"You carry your children under a loving heart, my Kristin. The boy is fat and big, but you're pale and thin as a reed; your mother said it was always that way after you gave birth. Ramborg's daughter is small and thin, but Ramborg is blossoming like a rose,\" he said, laughing.\n\n\"And yet it seems strange to me that she doesn't want to nurse the child herself,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Simon is also against it. He says he wouldn't reward her for the gift by wearing her out in that way. You must remember that Ramborg was not even sixteen, and she had barely grown out of her own childhood shoes when her daughter was born. And she has never known a moment of ill health before. It's not so strange that she would have little patience. You were a grown woman when you were married, my Kristin.\"\n\nSuddenly Kristin was overcome by violent sobs; she hardly knew what she was crying about. But it was true: She had loved her children from the first moment she held them in her womb; she had loved them even as they had tormented her with anguish, weighing her down and spoiling her looks. She had loved their small faces from the first moment she saw them, and loved them every single hour as they grew and changed, becoming young men. But no one had loved them as she had or rejoiced along with her. It was not in Erlend's nature. He was fond of them, of course, but he had always thought that Naakkve came too early, and that each son afterwards was one too many. She recalled what she had thought about the fruit of sin during the first winter she lived at Husaby; she realized she had tasted its bitterness, although not as much as she had feared. Things had gone wrong between her and Erlend back then and apparently could never be rectified.\n\nKristin hadn't been close to her mother. Her sisters were mere children when she was already a grown maiden, and she had never had companions to play with. She was brought up among men; she was able to be gentle and soft because there had always been men around to hold up protective and shielding hands between her and everything else in the world. Now it seemed reasonable to her that she gave birth only to sons\u2014boys to nurse with her blood and at her breast, to love and protect and care for until they were old enough to join the ranks of men. She remembered that she had heard of a queen who was called the Mother of Boys. She must have had a wall of watchful men around her when she was a child.\n\n\"What is it now, Kristin?\" asked her father quietly after a while.\n\nShe couldn't tell him any of this; when she stopped crying enough to talk, she said, \"Shouldn't I grieve, Father, when you are lying here...?\"\n\nFinally, when Lavrans pressed her, she told him of her fears for the unbaptized child. Then he at once ordered the boy to be taken to church the next time mass was celebrated; he said he didn't think it would cause his death any sooner than God willed it.\n\n\"And besides, I've been lying here long enough,\" he said with a laugh. \"Wretched deeds accompany our arrival and our departure, Kristin. In sickness we are born and in sickness we die, except for those who die in battle. That seemed to me the best kind of death when I was young: to be killed on the battlefield. But a sinful man has need of a sickbed, and yet I don't think my soul will be any better healed if I lie here longer.\"\n\nAnd so the boy was baptized on the following Sunday and was given his grandfather's name. Kristin and Erlend were bitterly criticized for this in the outlying villages. Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n told everyone who came to visit that it was done on his orders; he refused to have a heathen in his house when death came to the door.\n\nLavrans now began to worry that his death would come in the middle of the spring farm work, which would be a great hardship for many people who wanted to honor him by escorting his funeral procession. But two weeks after the child was baptized, Erlend came to Kristin in the old weaving room where she had been sleeping since giving birth. It was late in the morning, past breakfast time, but she was still in bed because the boy had been restless. Erlend was deeply distressed, but he said in a calm and loving voice that now she must get up and go to her father. Lavrans had suffered terrible convulsions and heart spasms at daybreak, and since then he lay drained of all strength. Sira Eirik was with him now, and had just heard his confession.\n\nIt was the fifth day after the Feast of Saint Halvard. It was raining lightly but steadily. When Kristin went out into the courtyard, she noticed in the gentle southern wind the earthy smell of newly plowed and manured fields. The countryside was brown in the spring rain, the sky was pale blue between the high mountains, and the mist was drifting by, halfway up the slopes. The ringing of little bells came from the groves of trees along the swollen gray river; herds of goats had been let out, and they were nibbling at the bud-covered branches. This was the kind of weather that had always filled her father's heart with joy. The cold of winter was over for both people and livestock, the animals were finally released from their dark, narrow stalls and scanty fodder.\n\nKristin saw at once from her father's face that death was now very near. The skin around his nostrils was snowy white, but bluish under his eyes and at his lips; his hair had separated into sweaty strings lying on his broad, damp forehead. But he had his full wits about him and spoke clearly, although slowly and in a weak voice.\n\nThe servants approached the bed, one by one, and Lavrans gave his hand to each of them, thanking them for their service, telling them to live well and asking for forgiveness if he had ever offended them in any way; and he asked them to remember him with a prayer for his soul. Then he said goodbye to his kinsmen. He told his daughters to bend down so he could kiss them, and he asked God and all the saints to bless them. They wept bitterly, both of them; and young Ramborg threw herself into her sister's arms. Holding on to each other, Lavrans's two daughters went back to their place at the foot of their father's bed, and the younger one continued to weep on Kristin's breast.\n\nErlend's face quivered and the tears ran down his face when he lifted Lavrans's hand to kiss it, as he quietly asked his fatherin-law to forgive him for the sorrows he had caused him over the years. Lavrans said he forgave him with all his heart, and he prayed that God might be with him all his days. There was a strange, pale light in Erlend's handsome face when he silently moved away to stand at his wife's side, hand in hand with her.\n\nSimon Darre did not weep, but he knelt down as he took his fatherin-law's hand to kiss it, and he held on to it tightly as he stayed on his knees a moment longer. \"Your hand feels warm and good, son-in-law,\" said Lavrans with a faint smile. Ramborg turned to her husband when he went to her, and Simon put his arm around her thin, girlish shoulders.\n\nLast of all, Lavrans said goodbye to his wife. They whispered a few words to each other that no one else could hear, and exchanged a kiss in everyone's presence, as was now proper when death was in the room. Then Ragnfrid knelt in front of her husband's bed, with her face turned toward him; she was pale, silent, and calm.\n\nSira Eirik stayed with them after he had anointed the dying man with oil and given him the viaticum. He sat near the headboard and prayed; Ragnfrid was now sitting on the bed. Several hours passed. Lavrans lay with his eyes half-closed. Now and then he would move his head restlessly on the pillow and pick at the covers with his hands, breathing heavily and groaning from time to time. They thought he had lost his voice, but there was no death struggle.\n\nDusk came early, and the priest lit a candle. Everyone sat quietly, watching the dying man and listening to the dripping and trickling of the rain outside the house. Then the sick man grew agitated, his body trembled, his face turned blue, and he seemed to be fighting for breath. Sira Eirik put his arm under Lavrans's shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position as he supported his head against his chest and held up the cross before his face.\n\nLavrans opened his eyes, fixed his gaze on the crucifix in the priest's hand, and said softly, but so clearly that almost everyone in the room could hear him:\n\n\"Exsurrexi, et adhuc sum tecum.\"\n\nSeveral more tremors passed over his body, and his hands fumbled with the coverlet. Sira Eirik continued to hold him against his chest for a moment. Then he gently laid his friend's body down on the bed, kissing his forehead and smoothing back his hair, before he pressed his eyelids and nostrils closed; then he stood up and began to say a prayer.\n\nKristin was allowed to join the vigil and keep watch over the body that night. They had laid Lavrans out on his bier in the high loft, since that was the biggest room and they expected many people to come to the death chamber.\n\nHer father seemed to her inexpressibly beautiful as he lay in the glow of the candles, with his pale, golden face uncovered. They had folded down the cloth that hid his face so that it wouldn't become soiled by the many people who came to view the body. Sira Eirik and the parish priest from Kvam were singing over him; the latter had arrived that evening to say his last farewell to Lavrans, but he had come too late.\n\nBy the following day guests already began riding into the courtyard, and then, for the sake of propriety, Kristin had to take to her bed since she had not yet been to church. Now it was her turn to have her bed adorned with silk coverlets and the finest pillows in the house. The cradle from Formo was borrowed, and there lay the young Lavrans; all day long people came in to see her and the child.\n\nShe heard that her father's body continued to look beautiful\u2014it had merely yellowed a bit. And no one had ever seen so many candles brought to a dead man's bier.\n\nOn the fifth day the funeral feast began, and it was exceptionally grand in every way. There were more than a hundred strange horses at the manor and at Laugarbru; even Formo housed some of the guests. On the seventh day the heirs divided up the estate, amicably and with friendship; Lavrans himself had made all the arrangements before his death, and everyone carefully abided by his wishes.\n\nThe next day the body, which now lay in Olav's Church, was to begin the journey to Hamar.\n\nThe evening before\u2014or rather, late that night\u2014Ragnfrid came into the hearth room where her daughter lay in bed with her child. Ragnfrid was very tired, but her face was calm and clear. She asked her serving women to leave.\n\n\"All the houses are full, but I'm sure you can find a corner to sleep in. I have a mind to sit with my daughter myself on this last night that I'll spend on my estate.\"\n\nShe took the child from Kristin's arms and carried him over to the hearth to get him ready for the night.\n\n\"It must be strange for you, Mother, to leave this manor where you've lived with my father all these years,\" said Kristin. \"I don't see how you can stand to do it.\"\n\n\"I could stand it much less to stay here,\" replied Ragnfrid, rocking little Lavrans in her arms, \"and not see your father going about among the buildings.\n\n\"I've never told you how we happened to move to this valley and ended up living here,\" she continued after a moment. \"When word came that Ivar, my father, was expected to breathe his last, I was unable to travel; Lavrans had to go north alone. I remember the weather was so beautiful on the evening he left\u2014back then he liked to ride late, when it was cool, and so he set off for Oslo in the evening. It was just before Midsummer. I followed him out to the place where the road from the manor crosses the church road\u2014do you remember the spot where there are several big flat rocks and barren fields all around? The worst land at Skog, and always arid; but that year the grain stood high in the furrows, and we talked about that. Lavrans was on foot, leading his horse, and I was holding you by the hand. You were four winters old.\n\n\"When we reached the crossroads, I wanted you to run back to the farm buildings. You didn't want to, but then your father told you to see if you could find five white stones and lay them out in a cross in the creek below the spring\u2014that would protect him from the trolls of Mj\u00f8rsa Forest when he sailed past. Then you set off running.\"\n\n\"Is that something people believe?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"I've never heard of it, either before or since. I think your father made it up right then. Don't you remember how he could think up so many things when he was playing with you?\"\n\n\"Yes. I remember.\"\n\nI walked with him through the woods, all the way to the dwarf stone. He told me to turn around, and then he accompanied me back to the crossroads. He laughed and said I should know he couldn't very well allow me to walk alone through the forest, especially after the sun was down. As we stood there at the crossroads, I put my arms around his neck. I was so sad that I couldn't travel home with him. I had never felt comfortable at Skog, and I was always longing to go north to Gudbrandsdal. Lavrans tried to console me, and at last he said, 'When I return and you're holding my son in your arms, you can ask me for whatever you wish, and if it's within my power to give it to you, then you will not have asked in vain.' And I replied that I would ask that we might move up here and live on my ancestral estate. Your father wasn't pleased, and he said, 'Couldn't you have thought of something bigger to ask for?' He laughed a little, and I thought this was something he would never agree to, which seemed to me only reasonable. But as you know, Sigurd, your youngest brother, lived less than an hour. Halvdan baptized him, and after that the child died.\n\n\"Your father came home early one morning. The evening before, he had asked in Oslo how things stood at home, and then he set off for Skog at once. I was still keeping to my bed; I was so full of grief that I didn't have the strength to get up, and I thought I would prefer never to get up again. God forgive me\u2014when they brought you in to me, I turned to the wall and refused to look at you, my poor little child. But then Lavrans said, as he sat on the edge of my bed, still wearing his cape and sword, that now we would try to see if things might be better for us living here at J\u00f8rundgaard, and that's how we came to move from Skog. But now you can see why I don't want to live here any longer, now that Lavrans is gone.\"\n\nRagnfrid brought the child and placed him on his mother's breast. She took the silk coverlet, which had been spread over Kristin's bed during the day, folded it up, and laid it aside. Then she stood there for a moment, looking down at her daughter and touching the thick, dark-blonde braids which lay between her white breasts.\n\n\"Your father asked me often whether your hair was still thick and beautiful. It was such a joy to him that you didn't lose your looks from giving birth to so many children. And you made him so happy during the last few years because you had become such a capable wife and looked so healthy and lovely with all your fair young sons around you.\"\n\nKristin tried to swallow back her tears.\n\n\"He often told me, Mother, that you were the best wife\u2014he told me to tell you that.\" She paused, embarrassed, and Ragnfrid laughed softly.\n\n\"Lavrans should have known that he didn't need anyone else to tell me of his good will toward me.\" She stroked the child's head and her daughter's hand which was holding the infant. \"But perhaps he wanted... It's not true, my Kristin, that I have ever en-vied your father's love for you. It's right and proper that you should have loved him more than you loved me. You were such a sweet and lovely little maiden\u2014I could hardly believe that God would let me keep you. But I always thought more about what I had lost than what I still had.\"\n\nRagnfrid sat down on the edge of the bed.\n\n\"They had other customs at Skog than I was used to back home. I can't remember that my father ever kissed me. He kissed my mother when she lay on her bier. Mother would kiss Gudrun during the mass, because she stood next to her, and then my sister would kiss me; otherwise that was not something we ever did.\n\n\"At Skog it was the custom that when we came home from church, after taking the corpus domini, and we got down from our horses in the courtyard, then Sir Bj\u00f8rgulf would kiss his sons and me on the cheek, while we kissed his hand. Then all the married couples would kiss each other, and we would shake hands with all the servants who had been to the church service and ask that everyone might benefit from the sacrament. They did that often, Lavrans and Aasmund; they would kiss their father on the hand when he gave them gifts and the like. Whenever he or Inga came into the room, the sons would always get to their feet and stand there until asked to sit down. At first these seemed to me foolish and foreign ways.\n\n\"Later, during the years I lived with your father when we lost our sons, and all those years when we endured such great anguish and sorrow over our Ulvhild\u2014then it seemed good that Lavrans had been brought up as he had, with gentler and more loving ways.\"\n\nAfter a moment Kristin murmured, \"So Father never saw Sigurd?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Ragnfrid, her voice equally quiet. \"Nor did I see him while he was alive.\"\n\nKristin lay in silence; then she said, \"And yet, Mother, it seems to me that there has been much good in your life.\"\n\nThe tears began to stream down Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter's pale face.\n\n\"God help me, yes. It seems that way to me, too.\"\n\nA little later she carefully picked up the infant, who had fallen asleep at his mother's breast, and placed him in the cradle. She fastened Kristin's shift with the little silver brooch, caressed her daughter's cheek, and told her to go to sleep now.\n\nKristin put out her hand. \"Mother...\" she implored.\n\nRagnfrid bent down, gathered her daughter into her arms, and kissed her many times. She hadn't done that in all the years since Ulvhild died.\n\nIt was the most beautiful springtime weather on the following day, as Kristin stood behind the corner of the main house looking out toward the slopes beyond the river. There was a verdant smell in the air, the singing of creeks released everywhere, and a green sheen over all the groves and meadows. At the spot where the road went along the mountainside above Laugarbru, a blanket of winter rye shimmered fresh and bright. Jon had burned off the saplings there the year before and planted rye on the cleared land.\n\nWhen the funeral procession reached that spot, she would be able to see it best.\n\nAnd then the procession emerged from beneath the scree, across from the fresh new acres of rye.\n\nShe could see all the priests riding on ahead, and there were also vergers among the first group, carrying the crosses and tapers. She couldn't see the flames in the bright sunlight, but the candles looked like slender white streaks. Two horses followed, carrying her father's coffin on a litter between them, and then she recognized Erlend on the black horse, her mother, Simon and Ramborg, and many of her kinsmen and friends in the long procession.\n\nFor a moment she could faintly hear the singing of the priests above the roar of the Laag, but then the tones of the hymn died away in the rush of the river and the steady trickling of the springtime streams on the slopes. Kristin stood there, gazing off into the distance, long after the last packhorse with the traveling bags had disappeared into the woods."
            },
            {
                "title": "ERLEND NIKULAUSS\u00d8N",
                "text": "Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter lived less than two years after her husband's death; she died early in the winter of 1332. It's a long way from Hamar to Skaun, so they didn't hear of her death at Husaby until she had already been in the ground more than a month. But Simon Andress\u00f8n came to Husaby during Whitsuntide; there were a few things that needed to be agreed upon among kinsmen about Ragnfrid's estate. Kristin Lavransdatter now owned J\u00f8rundgaard, and it was decided that Simon would oversee her property and collect payments from her tenants. He had managed his motherin-law's properties in the valley while she lived in Hamar.\n\nJust then Erlend was having a great deal of trouble and vexation with several matters that had occurred in his district. During the previous autumn, Huntjov, the farmer at Forbregd in Updal, had killed his neighbor because the man had called his wife a sorceress. The villagers bound the murderer and brought him to the sheriff; Erlend put him in custody in one of his lofts. But when the cold grew worse that winter, he allowed the man to move freely among his servant men. Huntjov had been one of Erlend's crew members on Margygren on the voyage north, and at that time he had displayed great courage. When Erlend submitted his report regarding Huntjov's case and asked that he be allowed to remain in the country, he also presented the man in the most favorable light. When Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n offered a guarantee that Huntjov would appear at the proper time for the ting at Orkedal, Erlend permitted the farmer to go home for the Christmas holy days. But then Huntjov and his wife went to visit the innkeeper in Drivdal who was their kinsman, and on the way there, they disappeared. Erlend thought they had perished in the terrible storm that had raged at the time, but many people said they had fled; now the sheriff's men could go whistling after them. And then new charges were brought against the man who had vanished. It was said that several years earlier, Huntjov had killed a man in the mountains and buried the body under a pile of rocks\u2014a man whom Huntjov claimed had wounded his mare in the flank. And it was revealed that his wife had indeed practiced witchcraft.\n\nThen the priest of Updal and the archbishop's envoy set about investigating these rumors of sorcery. And this led to shameful discoveries about the way in which people observed Christianity in many parts of Orkd\u00f8la county. This occurred mostly in the remote regions of Rennabu and Updalsskog, but an old man from Budvik was also brought before the archbishop's court in Nidaros. Erlend showed so little zeal for this matter that people began talking about it. There was also that old man named Aan, who had lived near the lake below Husaby and practically had to be considered one of Erlend's servants. He was skilled in runes and incantations, and it was said that he had several images in his possession to which he offered sacrifices. But nothing of the kind was found in his hut after his death. Erlend himself, along with Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, had been with the old man when he died; people said that no doubt they had destroyed one thing or another before the priest arrived. Yes, now that people happened to think about it, Erlend's own aunt had been accused of witchcraft, adultery, and the murder of her husband\u2014although Fru Aashild Gautesdatter had been much too wise and clever and had too many powerful friends to be convicted of anything. Then people suddenly remembered that in his youth Erlend had lived a far from Christian life and had defied the laws of the Church.\n\nThe result of all this was that the archbishop summoned Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n to Nidaros for an interview. Simon accompanied his brother-in-law to town; he was going to Ranheim to get his sister's son, for the boy was supposed to travel home with him to Gudbrandsdal to visit his mother for a while.\n\nIt was a week before the Frosta ting was to be held, and Nidaros was full of people. When the brothers-in-law arrived at the bishop's estate and were shown into the audience hall, many Brothers of the Cross were there, as well as several noble gentlemen, including the judge of the Frosta ting, Harald Nikulauss\u00f8n; Olav Hermanss\u00f8n, judge in Nidaros; Sir Guttorm Helgess\u00f8n, the sheriff of Jemtland; and Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n, who at once came over to Simon Darre to give him a hearty greeting. Arne drew Simon over to a window alcove, and they sat down there together.\n\nSimon felt ill at ease. He hadn't seen the other man since he was at Ranheim ten years before, and even though everyone had treated him exceedingly well, the purpose of that journey had left a scar on his soul.\n\nWhile Arne boasted of young Gjavvald, Simon kept an eye on his brother-in-law. Erlend was speaking to the royal treasurer, whose name was Sir Baard Peterss\u00f8n, but he was not related to the Hestnes lineage. It could not be said that Erlend's conduct was lacking in courtesy, and yet his manner seemed overly free and unrestrained as he stood there talking to the elderly gentleman while he rocked back and forth on his heels, with his hands clasped behind his back. As usual, he was wearing garments that were dark in color, but magnificent: a violet-blue cote-hardi that fit snugly to his body, with slits up the sides; a black shoulder collar with the cowl thrown back to reveal the gray silk lining; a silver-studded belt; and high red boots that were laced tightly around his calves, displaying the man's handsome, slim legs and feet.\n\nIn the sharp light coming through the glass windows of the stone building, it was evident that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n now had quite a bit of gray hair at his temples. Around his mouth and under his eyes the fine, tanned skin was now etched with wrinkles, and there were creases on the long, handsome arch of his throat. And yet he looked quite young among the other gentlemen, although he was by no means the youngest man in the room. But he was just as slim and slender, and he carried his body in the same loose, rather careless fashion as he had in his youth. And when the royal treasurer left him, Erlend's gait was just as light and supple as he began pacing around the hall, with his hands still clasped behind his back. All the other men were sitting down, occasionally conversing with each other in low, dry voices. Erlend's light step and the ringing of his small silver spurs were all too audible.\n\nFinally one of the younger men told him with annoyance to sit down, \"And stop making so much noise, man!\"\n\nErlend came to an abrupt halt and frowned\u2014then he turned to face the man who had spoken and said with a laugh, \"Where were you out drinking last night, Jon my friend, since your head is so tender?\" Then he sat down. When Judge Harald came over to him, Erlend got to his feet and waited until the other man had taken a seat, but then he sank down next to the judge, crossed one leg over the other, and sat with his hands clasped around his knee while they talked.\n\nErlend had told Simon quite openly about all the troubles he had endured because the murderer and his sorceress wife had escaped from his hands. But no man could possibly look more carefree than Erlend as he sat discussing the case with the judge.\n\nThen the archbishop came in. He was escorted to his high seat by two men who propped cushions around him. Simon had never seen Lord Eiliv Kortin before. He looked old and frail and seemed to be freezing even though he wore a fur cape and a fur-trimmed cap on his head. When his turn came, Erlend escorted his brother-in-law over to the archbishop, and Simon fell to one knee as he kissed Lord Eiliv's ring. Erlend, too, kissed the ring with respect.\n\nHe behaved very properly and respectfully when he at last stood before the archbishop, after Lord Eiliv had talked with the other gentlemen for some time about various matters. But he answered the questions put to him by one of the canons in a rather light hearted manner, and his demeanor seemed casual and innocent.\n\nYes, he had heard the talk about sorcery for many years. But as long as no one had come to him as enforcer of the law, he couldn't very well be responsible for investigating all such gossip that flew among the womenfolk in a parish. Surely it was the priest who should determine whether there were any grounds for pressing charges.\n\nThen he was asked about the old man who had lived at Husaby and was said to possess magic skills.\n\nErlend gave a little smile. Yes, well, Aan had boasted of this himself, but Erlend had never seen proof of his abilities. Ever since his childhood he had heard Aan talk about three women whom he called H\u00e6rn and Sk\u00f8gul and Snotra, but he had never taken this for anything but storytelling and jest. \"My brother Gunnulf and our priest, Sira Eiliv, talked to him many times about this matter, but apparently they never found any cause to accuse him, since they never did so. After all, the man came to church for every mass and he knew his Christian prayers.\" Erlend had never had much faith in Aan's sorcery, and after he had witnessed something of the spells and witchcraft of the Finns in the north, he had come to realize that Aan's purported skills were mere foolishness.\n\nThen the priest asked whether it was true that Erlend himself had once been given something by Aan\u2014something that would bring him luck in amor?\n\nYes, replied Erlend swiftly and openly, with a smile. He must have been fifteen at the time, for it was about twenty-eight years ago. A leather pouch with a small white stone inside and several dried pieces that must have come from some animal. But he hadn't had much faith in that kind of thing even back then. He gave it away the following year, when he was serving at the king's castle for the first time. It happened in a bathhouse up in town; he had rashly shown the talismans to several other, younger boys. Later, one of the king's retainers came to him, wanting to purchase the pouch, and Erlend had exchanged it for a fine shaving knife.\n\nHe was asked who this gentleman might be.\n\nAt first Erlend refused to say. But the archbishop himself urged him to speak. Erlend looked up with a roguish glint in his blue eyes.\n\n\"It was Sir Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n.\"\n\nEveryone's face took on a peculiar expression. Old Sir Guttorm Helgess\u00f8n uttered several odd snorts. Even Lord Eiliv tried to restrain a smile.\n\nThen Erlend dared to say, with lowered eyes and biting his lip, \"My Lord, surely you would not disturb that good knight with this ancient matter. As I said, I didn't have much faith in it myself\u2014and I've never noticed that it made any difference to any of us that I gave those charms to him.\"\n\nSir Guttorm doubled over with a bellow, and then the other men gave in, one after the other, and roared with laughter. The archbishop chuckled and coughed and shook his head. It was well known that Sir Ivar had always had more desire than luck in certain matters.\n\nAfter a while one of the Brothers of the Cross regained his composure enough to remind them that they had come here to discuss serious issues. Erlend asked rather sharply whether anyone had accused him of anything and whether this was an interrogation; he had assumed he had simply been invited to an interview. The discussion was then continued, but it was greatly disrupted by the fact that Guttorm Helgess\u00f8n sat there incessantly snickering.\n\nThe next day, as the brothers-in-law rode home from Ranheim, Simon brought up the subject of the interview. Simon said that Erlend seemed to take it terribly lightly\u2014and yet he thought he could see that many of the noblemen would have blamed something on him if they could.\n\nErlend said he knew that's what they would have liked, if it was within their power. For here in the north, most men now sided with the chancellor\u2014except for the archbishop; in him, Erlend had a true friend. But Erlend's actions in all matters were taken in accordance with the law; he always consulted with his scribe, Kl\u00f8ng Aress\u00f8n, who was exceptionally knowledgeable about the law. Erlend was now speaking somberly, and he smiled only briefly as he said that doubtless no one had expected him to have such a good grasp of his business affairs as he now had\u2014neither his dear friends around the countryside nor the gentlemen of the Council. But he was no longer certain that he wanted the position of sheriff, if other conditions should apply than those he had been granted while Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n represented the king. His own situation was now such, especially since the death of his wife's parents, that he no longer needed to secure the favor of those who had risen to power after the king had been proclaimed of age. Yes, that rotten boy might as well be declared of age now rather than later; he wasn't going to become any more manly if they kept him hidden. Then they would know even sooner what he was concealing behind his shield\u2014or how much the Swedish nobles controlled him. The people would learn the truth: that Erling had been right, after all. It would cost the Norwegians dearly if King Magnus tried to put Skaane under the Swedish Crown\u2014and it would immediately lead to war with the Danes the moment one man, whether Danish or German, seized power there. And the peace in the north, which was supposed to be enforced for ten years... Half of that time had now passed, and it was uncertain whether the Russians would adhere to the treaty much longer. Erlend had not much faith in it, nor did Erling. No, Chancellor Paal was a learned man and in many respects sensible too\u2014perhaps. But all the gentlemen of the Council, who had chosen him as their leader, had little more combined wit than his horse Soten. But now they were rid of Erling, for the time being. And until things changed, Erlend would just as soon step aside too. But surely Erling and his friends would want Erlend to maintain his power and prosperity up here in the north. He didn't know what he should do.\n\n\"It seems to me that now you've learned to sing Sir Erling's tune,\" Simon Darre couldn't help remarking.\n\nErlend replied that this was true. He had stayed at Sir Erling's estate the summer before, when he was in Bj\u00f8rgvin, and he now knew the man much better. It was evident that, above all else, Erling wanted to maintain peace in the land. But he wanted the Norwegian Crown to have the peace of the lion\u2014which meant that no one should be allowed to break off a tooth or cut off a claw from their kinsman King Haakon's lion. Nor should the lion be required to become the hunting dog for the people of some other country. And now Erling was also determined to bring to an end the old quarrels between the Norwegians and Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg. Now that she had been left a widow by Sir Knut, it was only desirable for her to have some control over her son again. It was no doubt true that she felt such great love for the children she had borne to Knut Porse that she seemed to have almost forgotten her eldest son\u2014but things would surely be different when she saw him again. And Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg could have no reason to wish for King Magnus to interfere in the unrest occurring in Skaane, because it was under the authority of his half-brothers.\n\nSimon thought Erlend sounded quite well-informed. But he wondered about Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n. Did the former regent think that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n was capable of making decisions in such matters? Or was Erling merely grasping for any possible support? The knight from Bjark\u00f8y would be unlikely to give up his power. He could never be accused of having used it for his own benefit, but his great wealth made this unnecessary. Everyone said that over the years he had become more and more obstinate and single-minded; and by the time the other men of the Council gradually started to oppose him, he had grown so belligerent that he hardly deigned to listen to anyone else's opinion.\n\nIt was like Erlend for him finally to climb aboard Erling Vid kunss\u00f8n's ship with both feet, so to speak, as soon as the winds were against it. It was uncertain whether either Sir Erling or Erlend himself would benefit, now that he seemed to have joined forces wholeheartedly with his wealthy kinsman. And yet Simon had to admit that no matter how reckless Erlend's words might be about both people and events, what he had said did not seem entirely foolish.\n\nBut that evening he was quite wild and boisterous. Erlend was now staying at Nikulausgaard, which his brother had given to him when he joined the friars. Kristin was there too, along with their two eldest boys, their youngest son, and Erlend's daughter Margret.\n\nLate in the evening a large group of people came to visit them, including many of the gentlemen who had been at the meeting with the archbishop the previous morning. Erlend laughed and talked loudly as they sat drinking at the table after supper. He had taken an apple from a bowl and had cut and carved it with his knife; then he rolled it across the table into the lap of Fru Sunniva Olavsdatter, who sat opposite him.\n\nThe woman sitting next to Sunniva wanted to look at it, and she reached for the apple. But Sunniva refused to give it up, and the two women pushed and tugged at each other with much shrieking and laughter. Then Erlend cried that Fru Eyvor should have an apple from him too. Before long he had tossed apples to every woman there, and he claimed to have carved love-runes into all of them.\n\n\"You're going to be worn out, my boy, if you try to redeem all those pledges,\" one of the men shouted.\n\n\"Then I'll have to forget about redeeming them\u2014I've done that before,\" replied Erlend, and there was more laughter.\n\nBut the Icelander Kl\u00f8ng had taken a look at one of the apples and exclaimed that they weren't runes but just meaningless cuts. He would show them how runes should be carved.\n\nThen Erlend shouted that he shouldn't do that. \"Or else they'll tell me I have to tie you up, Kl\u00f8ng, and I can't get along without you.\"\n\nDuring all the commotion Erlend's and Kristin's youngest son had come padding into the hall. Lavrans Erlendss\u00f8n was now a little more than two years old and an exceptionally attractive child, plump and fair, with silky, fine blond curls. The women on the outer bench all wanted to hold the boy at once; they sent him from lap to lap, caressing him freely, for by now they were all giddy and wild. Kristin, who was sitting against the wall in the high seat next to her husband, asked to be given the child; he began fretting and wanted to go to his mother, but it did no good.\n\nSuddenly Erlend leaped across the table and picked up the boy, who was now howling because Fru Sunniva and Fru Eyvor were tugging at him and fighting over him. The father took the boy in his arms, speaking soothing words. When the child kept on crying, he began humming and singing as he held him and paced back and forth in the dim light of the hall. Erlend seemed to have completely forgotten about his guests. The child's little blond head lay on his father's shoulder beneath the man's dark hair, and every once in a while Erlend would touch his parted lips to the small hand resting on his chest. He continued in this way until a serving maid came in who was supposed to watch the child and should have put him to bed long ago.\n\nThen some of the guests shouted that Erlend should sing them a ballad for a dance; he had such a fine voice. At first he declined, but then he went over to his young daughter who was sitting on the women's bench. He put his arm around Margret and escorted her out to the floor.\n\n\"You must come with me, my Margret. Take your father's hand for a dance!\"\n\nA young man stepped forward and took the maiden's hand. \"Margit promised to dance with me tonight,\" he said. But Erlend lifted his daughter into his arms and set her down on the other side of him.\n\n\"Dance with your wife, Haakon. I never danced with anyone else when I was so newly married as you are.\"\n\n\"Ingebj\u00f8rg says she doesn't want to... and I did promise Haakon to dance with him, Father,\" said Margret.\n\nSimon Darre had no wish to dance. He stood next to an old woman for a while and watched; now and then his gaze fell on Kristin. While her servants cleared away the dishes, wiped the table, and brought in more liquor and walnuts, Kristin stood at the end of the table. Then she sat down near the fireplace and talked to a priest who was one of the guests. After a while Simon sat down near them.\n\nThey had danced to one or two ballads when Erlend came over to his wife. \"Come and dance with us, Kristin,\" he begged, holding out his hand.\n\n\"I'm tired,\" she said, looking up for a moment.\n\n\"You ask her, Simon. She can't refuse to dance with you.\"\n\nSimon rose halfway and held out his hand, but Kristin shook her head. \"Don't ask me, Simon. I'm so tired....\"\n\nErlend stood there for a moment, looking as if he were embarrassed. Then he went back to Fru Sunniva and took her hand in the circle of dancers as he shouted to Margit that now she should sing for them.\n\n\"Who is that dancing next to your stepdaughter?\" asked Simon. He thought he didn't much care for that fellow's face, even though he was a stalwart and boyish-looking young man with a healthy, tan complexion, fine teeth, and sparkling eyes, but they were set too close to his nose and he had a large, strong mouth and chin, although his face was narrow across the brow. Kristin told him it was Haakon Eindridess\u00f8n of Gimsar, the grandson of Tore Ein dridess\u00f8n, the sheriff of Gauld\u00f8la county. Haakon had recently married the lovely little woman who was sitting on the lap of Judge Olav\u2014he was her godfather. Simon had noticed her because she looked a little like his first wife, although she was not as beautiful. When he now heard that there was kinship between them, he went over and greeted Ingebj\u00f8rg and sat down to talk to her.\n\nAfter a while the dancing broke up. The older folks sat down to drink, but the younger ones continued to sing and frolic out on the floor. Erlend came over to the fireplace along with several elderly gentlemen, but he was still absentmindedly leading Fru Sunniva by the hand. The men sat down near the fire, but there was no room for Sunniva, so she stood in front of Erlend and ate the walnuts he cracked in his hands for her.\n\n\"You're an unchivalrous man, Erlend,\" she said suddenly. \"There you sit while I have to stand.\"\n\n\"Then sit down,\" said Erlend with a laugh, pulling her down onto his lap. She struggled against him, laughing and shouting to his wife to come and see how her husband was treating her.\n\n\"Erlend just does that to be kind,\" replied Kristin, laughing too. \"My cat can't rub against his leg without him picking her up and putting her in his lap.\"\n\nErlend and Fru Sunniva remained sitting there as before, feigning nonchalance, but they had both turned crimson. He held his arm lightly around her, as if he hardly noticed she was sitting there, while he and the men talked about the enmity between Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n and Chancellor Paal which was so much on everyone's mind. Erlend said that Paal Baards\u00f8n had displayed his attitude toward Erling in quite a womanish way\u2014as they could judge for themselves:\n\n\"Last summer a young country boy had come to the gathering of the chieftains to offer his services to the king. Now this poor boy from Vors was so eager to learn courtly customs and manners that he tried to embellish his speech with Swedish words\u2014it was French back when I was young, but today it's Swedish. So one day the boy asks someone how to say traakig, which happens to mean 'boring' in Norwegian. Sir Paal hears this and says: 'Traakig, my friend, that's what Sir Erling's wife, Fru Elin, is.' The boy now thinks this means beautiful or noble, because that's what she is, and apparently the poor fellow hadn't had much opportunity to hear the woman talk. But one day Erling meets him on the stairs outside the hall, and he stops and speaks kindly to the youth, asking him whether he liked being in Nidaros, and such things, and then he tells him to give his greetings to his father. The boy thanks him and says it will please his father greatly when he returns home with greetings 'from you, kind sir, and your boring wife.' Whereupon Erling slaps him in the face so the boy tumbles backwards down three or four steps until a servant catches him in his arms. Now there's a great commotion, people come running, and the matter is finally cleared up. Erling was furious at being made a laughingstock, but he feigned indifference. And the only response from the chancellor was that he laughed and said he should have explained that 'traakig' was what the regent was\u2014then the boy couldn't have misunderstood.\"\n\nEveryone agreed that such behavior on the part of the chancellor was undignified, but all of them laughed a great deal. Simon listened in silence, sitting with his chin resting on his hand. He thought this was a peculiar way for Erlend to show his friendship for Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n. The story made it quite clear that Erling must be a little unbalanced if he could believe that a youth, freshly arrived from the countryside, would dare stand on the stairs to the king's palace and ridicule him to his face. Erlend could hardly be expected to remember Simon's former relationship as the brother-in-law of Fru Elin and Sir Erling.\n\n\"What are you thinking about, Kristin?\" he asked. She was sitting quietly, her back straight, with her hands crossed on her lap.\n\nShe replied, \"Right now I'm thinking about Margret.\"\n\nLate that night, as Erlend and Simon were tending to a chore out in the courtyard, they scared off a couple standing behind the corner of the house. The nights were as light as day, and Simon recognized Haakon of Gimsar and Margret Erlendsdatter. Erlend stared after them; he was quite sober, and the other man could see that he wasn't pleased. But Erlend said, as if in excuse, that the two had known each other since childhood and they had always teased each other. Simon thought that even if this meant nothing, it was still a shame for Haakon's young wife, Ingebj\u00f8rg.\n\nThe next day young Haakon came over to Nikulausgaard on an errand, and he asked for Margit.\n\nThen Erlend furiously exclaimed, \"My daughter is not Margit to you. And if you didn't say everything you wanted to say yesterday, then you'll have to forget about telling it to her.\"\n\nHaakon shrugged his shoulders, but when he left, he asked them to give his greetings to Margareta.\n\nThe people from Husaby stayed in Nidaros for the ting, but Simon took little pleasure in this. Erlend was often bad-tempered when he stayed at his estate in town, because Gunnulf had granted the hospital, which stood on the other side of the orchard, the right to use any of the buildings that faced in its direction, and also rights to part of the garden. Erlend wanted to buy these rights back from the hospital. He didn't like seeing the patients in the garden or courtyard; many of them were also hideous in appearance, and he was afraid they would infect his children. But he couldn't reach an agreement with the monks who were in charge of the hospital.\n\nAnd there was Margret Erlendsdatter. Simon knew that people gossiped about her a good deal and that Kristin took this to heart, but her father seemed not to care. Erlend seemed certain that he could protect his maiden and that the talk meant nothing. And yet he said to Simon one day that Kl\u00f8ng Aress\u00f8n would like to marry his daughter, and he didn't quite know how to handle this matter. He had nothing against the Icelander except that he was the son of a priest; he didn't want it to be said of Margret's children that they bore the taint of both parents' birth. Otherwise Kl\u00f8ng was a likeable man, good-humored, clever, and very learned. His father, Sira Are, had raised him himself and taught him well; he had hoped his son would become a priest and had even taken steps to obtain dispensation for him, but then Kl\u00f8ng refused to take the vows. It seemed as if Erlend intended to leave the matter unsettled. If no better match presented itself, then he could always give the maiden to Kl\u00f8ng Aress\u00f8n.\n\nAnd yet Erlend had already had such a good offer for his daughter that there was a great deal of talk about his arrogance and imprudence, when he allowed that match to slip away. It was the grandson of Baron Sigvat of Leirhole\u2014Sigmund Finss\u00f8n was his name. He wasn't wealthy, because Finn Sigvatss\u00f8n had had eleven surviving children. Nor was he altogether young; he was about the same age as Erlend, but a respected and sensible man. And yet Margret would have been wealthy enough because of the properties Erlend had given her when he married Kristin Lavransdatter, along with all the jewelry and costly possessions he had given the child over the years, as well as the dowry he had agreed upon with Sigmund. Erlend had also been overjoyed to have such a suitor for his daughter born of adultery. But when he came home and told Margret about this bridegroom, the maiden protested that she wouldn't have him because Sigmund had several warts on one of his eyelids, and she claimed this made her feel such revulsion for him. Erlend bowed to her wishes. When Sigmund became indignant and began talking of a breach of agreement, Erlend responded angrily and told the man that he should realize all agreements were made on the condition that the maiden was willing. His daughter would not be forced into a bridal bed. Kristin agreed with her husband on this matter; he shouldn't force the girl. But she thought Erlend ought to have had a serious discussion with his daughter and made her realize that Sigmund Finss\u00f8n was such a good match that Margret couldn't possibly expect to find any better, considering her birth. But Erlend grew terribly angry with his wife, simply because she had dared to broach the subject with him. All of this Simon had heard about at Ranheim. There they predicted that things could not possibly end well. Erlend might be a powerful man now, and the maiden was certainly lovely, but it had done her no good for her father to spoil her and encourage her stubbornness and arrogance for all these years.\n\nAfter the Frosta ting, Erlend went home to Husaby with his wife, children, and Simon Darre, who now had his sister's son, Gjavvald Gjavvaldss\u00f8n, with him. He was afraid that the reunion, which Sigrid had been yearning for with inexpressible joy, would not turn out well. Sigrid now lived at Kruke in good circumstances; she had three handsome children with her husband, and Geirmund was as good a man as could be found on this earth. He was the one who had spoken to his brother-in-law about bringing Gjavvald south so that Sigrid might see him, for the child was always on her mind. But Gjavvald had grown accustomed to living with his grandpar ents, and the old couple loved the child beyond measure, giving him everything he wanted and humoring his every whim; and things were not the same at Kruke as at Ranheim. Nor was it to be expected that Geirmund would be pleased to have his wife's bastard son come visiting and then behave like a royal child, even bringing along his own servant\u2014an elderly man whom the boy ruled and tyrannized. The man didn't dare say a word against any of Gjavvald's unreasonable demands. But for Erlend's sons, it was cause for celebration when Gjavvald came to Husaby. Erlend didn't think his sons should have any less than the grandson of Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n did, and so Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf were given all the things they told him the boy possessed.\n\nNow that Erlend's oldest sons were big enough to accompany him and go out riding with him, he paid more attention to the boys. Simon noticed that Kristin wasn't entirely pleased by this; she thought that what they learned among his men was not all good. And it was usually about the children that unkind words most often erupted between the couple. Even though they might not have an outright quarrel, they were much closer to it than Simon thought was proper. And it seemed to him that Kristin was most to blame. Erlend could be quick-tempered, but she often spoke as if she harbored a deep, hidden rancor toward him. That was the case one day when Kristin brought up several complaints about Naakkve. Erlend replied that he would have a serious talk with the boy. But after another remark from his wife, he exclaimed angrily that he wasn't about to give the boy a beating in front of the servants.\n\n\"No, it's too late for that now. If you had done it when he was younger, he would listen to you now. But back then you never paid the slightest attention to him.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I did. But surely it was reasonable that I left him in your keeping when he was small\u2014and besides, it's no job for a man to hand out beatings to little boys who aren't even in breeches yet.\"\n\n\"That's not what you thought last week,\" said Kristin, her voice scornful and bitter.\n\nErlend didn't reply but stood up and left the room. And Simon thought it was unkind of his wife to speak to him in this manner. Kristin was referring to something that had happened the week before. Erlend and Simon had come riding into the courtyard when little Lavrans ran toward them with a wooden sword in his hand. As he raced past his father's horse, he rashly struck the animal across the leg with his sword. The horse reared up, and the boy was suddenly lying under its feet. Erlend backed away, yanked the horse to the side, and threw his reins to Simon. His face was white with dread as he lifted the child up in his arms. But when he saw that the boy was unharmed, he put him over his arm, took the wooden sword, and gave Lavrans a beating on his bare bottom\u2014the boy was not yet wearing breeches. In those first heated moments, he didn't realize how hard he was striking, and Lavrans was still walking around with black and blue marks. But afterwards Erlend tried all day to make amends with the boy, who sulked and clung to his mother, hitting and threatening his father. Later that evening, when Lavrans was settled in his parents' bed where he usually slept because his mother still nursed him during the night, Erlend sat next to him for hours. Every once in a while he would stroke the sleeping child a bit as he gazed down at him. He told Simon that this was the boy he loved most of all his sons.\n\nWhen Erlend set off for the summer tings, Simon headed home. He raced south along Gauldal, making the sparks fly from his horse's hooves. Once, as they rode more slowly up several steep slopes, his men laughingly asked him whether he was trying to cover three days' journey in two. Simon laughed in reply and said that was indeed his intention, \"because I'm longing to reach Formo.\"\n\nThat was how he always felt whenever he had been away from his estate for long; he loved his home and always felt great joy when he could turn his horse homeward. But this time it seemed he had never longed so much to return to his valley and manor and his young daughters\u2014yes, he even yearned for Ramborg. To be truthful, he thought it unreasonable to feel this way, but up there at Husaby he had been so uneasy that now he thought he knew firsthand how cattle could sense in their bodies that a storm was brewing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "All summer long Kristin thought of little else but what Simon had told her about her mother's death.\n\nRagnfrid Ivarsdatter had died alone; no one had been near as she drew her last breath except a servant woman, who was asleep. And it helped very little that Simon had said she was well prepared for her death. It was like the providence of God that several days earlier Ragnfrid had felt such a longing for the body of the Savior that she made her confession and was given communion by the priest of the cloister, who was her confessor. It was true that she had been granted a good death. Simon saw her body and said he thought it a wondrous sight\u2014she had grown so beautiful in death. She was a woman of nearly sixty, and for many years her face had been greatly lined and wrinkled, and yet now it was completely changed; her face was youthful and smooth, and she looked just like a young woman asleep. She had been laid to rest at her husband's side; there they had also brought Ulvhild Lavransdatter's remains shortly after her father's death. On top of the graves a large slab of stone had been placed, divided in two by a beautifully carved cross. On a winding banner a long Latin verse had been written, composed by the prior of the cloister, but Simon couldn't remember it properly, for he understood little of that language.\n\nRagnfrid had lived in her own house on the estate in town where the corrodians of the cloister resided; she had a small room with a lovely loft room above. There she lived alone with a poor peasant woman who had taken lodgings with the brothers in return for a small payment, provided she would lend a hand to one of the wealthier women lodgers. But during the past half year, it had been Ragnfrid who had served the other woman, because the widow, whose name was Torgunna, had been unwell. Ragnfrid tended to her with great love and kindness.\n\nOn the last evening of her life, she had attended evensong in the cloister church, and afterwards she went into the cookhouse of the estate. She made a hearty soup with several restorative herbs and told the other women there that she was going to give the soup to Torgunna. She hoped the woman would feel well enough the next day so that they could both attend matins. That was the last time anyone saw the widow of J\u00f8rundgaard alive. Neither she nor the peasant woman came to matins or to the next service. When some of the monks in the choir noticed that Ragnfrid didn't come to the morning mass either, they were greatly surprised\u2014she had never before missed three services in a day. They sent word to town, asking whether the widow of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n was ill. When the servants went up to the loft, they found the soup bowl standing untouched on the table. In the bed, Torgunna was sleeping sweetly against the wall. But Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter lay on the edge with her hands crossed over her breast\u2014dead and already nearly cold. Simon and Ramborg went to her funeral, which was very beautiful.\n\nNow that there were so many people in the Husaby household and Kristin had six sons, she could no longer manage to take part in all the individual chores that had to be done. She had to have a housekeeper to assist her. The mistress of the manor would usually sit in the hall with her sewing. There was always someone who needed clothing\u2014Erlend, Margret, or one of the boys.\n\nThe last time she had seen her mother, Ragnfrid was riding behind her husband's bier, on that bright spring day while she herself stood in the meadow outside J\u00f8rundgaard and watched her father's funeral procession setting off across the green carpet of winter rye beneath the hillside scree.\n\nKristin's needle flew in and out as she thought about her parents and their home at J\u00f8rundgaard. Now that everything had become memories, she seemed to see so much that she hadn't noticed when she was in the midst of it all\u2014when she took for granted her father's tenderness and protection, as well as the steady, quiet care and toil of her silent, melancholy mother. She thought about her own children; she loved them more than the blood of her own heart, and there was not a waking hour when she wasn't thinking about them. And yet there was much in her soul that she brooded over more\u2014her children she could love without brooding. While she lived at J\u00f8rundgaard, she had never thought otherwise than that her parents' whole life and everything they did was for the sake of her and her sisters. Now she seemed to realize that great currents of both sorrow and joy had flowed between these two people, who had been given to each other in their youth by their fathers, without being asked. And she knew nothing of this except that they had departed from her life together. Now she understood that the lives of these two people had contained much more than love for their children. And yet that love had been strong and wide and unfathomably deep; while the love she gave them in return was weak and thoughtless and selfish, even back in her childhood when her parents were her whole world. She seemed to see herself standing far, far away\u2014so small at that distance of time and place. She was standing in the flood of sunlight streaming in through the smoke vent in the old hearth house back home, the winter house of her childhood. Her parents were standing back in the shadows, and they seemed to tower over her, as tall as they had been when she was small. They were smiling at her, in the way she now knew one smiles at a little child who comes and pushes aside dark and burdensome thoughts.\n\n\"I thought, Kristin, that once you had children of your own, then you would better understand....\"\n\nShe remembered when her mother said those words. Sorrowfully, the daughter thought that she still didn't understand her mother. But now she was beginning to realize how much she didn't understand.\n\nThat fall Archbishop Eiliv died. At about the same time, King Magnus had the terms changed for many of the sheriffs in the land, but not for Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. When he was in Bj\u00f8rgvin during the last summer before the king came of age, Erlend had received a letter stating that he should be granted one fourth of the income collected from bail paid by criminals, from fines for the crime of letter-breaching, and from forfeitures of property. There had been much talk about his acquisition of such rights toward the end of a regency. Erlend had a vast income because he now owned a great deal of land in the county and usually stayed on his own estates when he traveled around his district, but he permitted his leaseholders to buy their way out of their obligation to house and feed him. It's true that he took in little in land taxes, and the upkeep of his manor was costly; in addition to his household servants, he never had fewer than twelve armed men with him at Husaby. They rode the best horses and were splendidly outfitted, and whenever Erlend traveled around his district, his men lived like noblemen.\n\nThis matter was mentioned one day when Judge Harald and the sheriff of Gauld\u00f8la county were visiting Husaby. Erlend replied that many of these men had been with him when he lived up north. \"Back then we shared whatever conditions we found there, eating dried fish and drinking bitter ale. Now these men whom I clothe and feed know that I won't begrudge them white bread and foreign ale. And if I tell them to go to Hell when I get angry, they know that I don't mean for them to set off on the journey without me in the lead.\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n, who was now the head of Erlend's men, later told Kristin that this was true. Erlend's men loved him, and he had complete command of them.\n\n\"You know yourself, Kristin, that no one should rely too heavily on what Erlend says; he must be judged by what he does.\"\n\nIt was also rumored that in addition to his household servants, Erlend had men throughout the countryside\u2014even outside Orkd\u00f8la county\u2014who had sworn allegiance to him on the hilt of his sword. Finally a letter from the Crown arrived regarding this matter, but Erlend replied that these men had been part of his ship's crew and they had been bound to him by oath ever since that first spring when he sailed north. He was then commanded to release the men at the next ting he held to announce the verdicts and decisions of the Law ting; and he was to summon to the meeting those men who lived outside the county and pay for their journey himself. He did summon some of his old crew members from outside M\u00f8re to the ting at Orkedal\u2014but no one heard that he released them or any other men who had served him in his position as chieftain. For the time being the matter was allowed to languish, and as the autumn wore on, people stopped talking about it altogether.\n\nLate that fall Erlend journeyed south and spent Christmas at the court of King Magnus, who was residing in Oslo that year. Erlend was annoyed that he couldn't persuade his wife to come with him, but Kristin had no courage for the difficult winter journey, and she stayed at Husaby.\n\nErlend returned home three weeks after Christmas, bringing splendid gifts for his wife and all his children. He gave Kristin a silver bell so she could ring for her maids; to Margret he gave a clasp of solid gold, which was something she didn't yet own, although she had all sorts of silver and gilded jewelry. But when the women were putting away these costly gifts in their jewelry chests, something got caught on Margret's sleeve.\n\nThe girl quickly removed it and hid it in her hand as she said to her stepmother, \"This belonged to my mother\u2014that's why Father doesn't want me to show it to you.\"\n\nBut Kristin's face had turned even more crimson than the maiden's. Her heart pounded with fear, but she knew that she had to speak to the young girl and warn her.\n\nAfter a moment she said in a quiet and uncertain voice, \"That looks like the gold clasp that Fru Helga of Gimsar used to wear to banquets.\"\n\n\"Well, many gold things look much the same,\" replied the maiden curtly.\n\nKristin locked her chest and stood with her hands resting on top so that Margret wouldn't see how they were shaking.\n\n\"Dear Margret,\" she said softly and gently, but then she had to stop while she gathered all her strength.\n\n\"Dear Margret, I have often bitterly regretted... My happiness has never been complete, even though my father forgave me with all his heart for the sorrows I caused him. You know that I sinned greatly against my parents for the sake of your father. But the longer I live and the more I come to understand, the harder it is for me to remember that I rewarded their kindness by causing them sorrow. Dear Margret, your father has been good to you all your days...\"\n\n\"You don't have to worry, Mother,\" replied the girl. \"I'm not your lawful daughter; you don't have to worry that I might put on your filthy shift or step into your shoes...\"\n\nHer eyes flashing with anger, Kristin turned to face her stepdaughter. But then she gripped the cross she wore around her neck tightly in her hand and bit back the words she was about to speak.\n\nShe took this matter to Sira Eiliv that very evening after vespers, and she looked in vain for some sign in the priest's face. Had a misfortune already occurred, and did he know about it? She thought about her own misguided youth; she remembered Sira Eirik's face, which gave nothing away as he lived side by side with her and her trusting parents, with her sinful secret locked inside his heart\u2014while she remained mute and callous to his stern entreaties and admonitions. And she remembered when she showed her own mother gifts that Erlend had given her in Oslo; that was after she had been lawfully betrothed to him. Her mother's expression was steady and calm as she picked up the items, one by one, looked at them, praised them, and then laid them aside.\n\nKristin was deathly afraid and anguished, and she kept a vigilant eye on Margret. Erlend noticed that something was troubling his wife, and one evening after they had gone to bed, he asked whether she might be with child again.\n\nKristin lay in silence for a moment before she replied that she thought she was. And when her husband lovingly took her in his arms without another word, she didn't have the heart to tell him that something else was causing her sorrow. But when Erlend whispered to her that this time she must try and give him a daughter, she couldn't manage a reply but lay there, rigid with fear, thinking that Erlend would find out soon enough what kind of joy a man had from his daughters.\n\nSeveral nights later everyone at Husaby had gone to bed slightly drunk and with their stomachs quite full because it was the last few days before Lent began; for this reason, they all slept heavily. Late that night little Lavrans woke up in his parents' bed, crying and demanding sleepily to nurse at his mother's breast. But they were trying to wean him. Erlend woke up, grunting crossly. He picked up the boy, gave him some milk from a cup that stood on the step of the bed, and then lay the child back down on the other side of him.\n\nKristin had fallen into a deep slumber again when she suddenly realized that Erlend was sitting up in bed. Only half awake, she asked what was wrong. He hushed her in a voice that she didn't recognize. Soundlessly he slipped out of bed, and she saw that he was pulling on a few clothes. When she propped herself up on one elbow, he pressed her back against the pillows with one hand as he bent over her and took down his sword, which hung over the headboard.\n\nHe moved as quietly as a lynx, but she saw that he was going over to the ladder which led up to Margret's chamber above the entry hall.\n\nFor a moment Kristin lay in bed completely paralyzed with fear. Then she sat up, found her shift and gown, and began hunting for her shoes on the floor beside the bed.\n\nSuddenly a woman's scream rang out from the loft\u2014loud enough to be heard all over the estate. Erlend's voice shouted a word or two, and then Kristin heard the clang of swords striking each other and the stomp of feet overhead\u2014then the sound of a weapon falling to the floor and Margret screaming in terror.\n\nKristin was on her knees, huddled next to the hearth. She scraped away the hot ashes with her bare hands and blew on the embers. When she had lit a torch and lifted it up with trembling hands, she saw Erlend in the darkness above. He leaped down from the loft, not bothering with the ladder, holding his drawn sword in his hand, and then dashed out the main door.\n\nThe boys were peering out from the dark on all sides of the room. Kristin went over to the enclosed bed on the north wall where the three eldest slept and told them to lie down and shut the door. Ivar and Skule were sitting on the bench, blinking at the light, frightened and bewildered. She told them to climb up into her bed, and then she shut them inside too. Then she lit a candle and went out into the courtyard.\n\nIt was raining. For a moment, as the light of her candle was reflected in the glistening, ice-covered ground, she saw a crowd standing outside the door to the next building: the servants' hall where Erlend's men slept. Then the flame of her candle was blown out, and for a moment the night was pitch-dark, but then a lantern emerged from the servants' hall, and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n was carrying it.\n\nHe bent down over a dark body curled up on the wet patches of ice. Kristin knelt down and touched the man. It was young Haakon of Gimsar, and he was either senseless or dead. Her hands were at once covered with blood. With Ulf's help she straightened out his body and turned him over. The blood was gushing out of his right arm, where his hand had been lopped off.\n\nInvoluntarily Kristin glanced at the window hatch of Margret's chamber as it slammed shut in the wind. She couldn't discern any face up there, but it was quite dark.\n\nAs she knelt in the rain puddles, clamping her hand as tight as she could around Haakon's wrist to stop the spurting blood, she was aware of Erlend's men standing half-dressed all around her. Then she noticed Erlend's gray, contorted face. With a corner of his tunic he wiped off his bloody sword. He was naked underneath and his feet were bare.\n\n\"One of you... find me something to bind this with. And you, Bj\u00f8rn, go and wake up Sira Eiliv. We'll carry him over to the parsonage.\" She took the leather strap that they gave her and wrapped it around the stump of the man's arm.\n\nSuddenly Erlend said, his voice harsh and wild, \"Nobody touch him! Let the man lie where he fell!\"\n\n\"You must realize, husband, we can't do that,\" said Kristin calmly, although her heart was pounding so loud that she thought she would suffocate.\n\nErlend rammed the tip of his sword hard against the ground.\n\n\"Yes\u2014she's not your flesh and blood\u2014you've made that quite clear to me every single day, for all these years.\"\n\nKristin stood up and whispered quietly to him, \"And yet for her sake I want this to be concealed\u2014if it can be done. You men...\" she turned to the servants who were standing around them. \"If you're loyal to your master, you won't speak of this until he has told you how this quarrel with Haakon arose.\"\n\nAll the men agreed. One of them dared step forward and explained: They had been awakened by the sound of a woman screaming, as if she were being taken by force. And then someone ran along their roof, but he must have slipped on the icy surface. They heard a scrambling noise and then a thud on the ground. But Kristin told the man to be silent. At that moment Sira Eiliv came running.\n\nWhen Erlend turned on his heel and went inside, his wife ran after him and tried to force her way past him. When he headed for the ladder to the loft, she sprang in front of him and grabbed him by the arm.\n\n\"Erlend\u2014what will you do to the child?\" she gasped, looking up into his wild, gray face.\n\nWithout replying, he tried to fling her aside, but she held on tight.\n\n\"Wait, Erlend, wait\u2014your child! You don't know... The man was fully clothed,\" she cried urgently.\n\nHe gave a loud wail before he answered. She turned as pale as a corpse with horror\u2014his words were so raw and his voice unrecognizable with desperate anguish.\n\nThen she wrestled mutely with the raging man. He snarled and gnashed his teeth, until she managed to catch his eye in the dim light.\n\n\"Erlend\u2014let me go to her first. I haven't forgotten the day when I was no better than Margret....\"\n\nThen he released her and staggered backwards against the wall to the next room; he stood there, shaking like a dying beast. Kristin went to light a candle, then came back and went past him up to Margret in her bedchamber.\n\nThe first thing the candlelight fell on was a sword lying on the floor not far from the bed, and the severed hand beside it. Kristin tore off the wimple which she, without thinking, had wrapped loosely over her flowing hair before she went out to the men in the courtyard. Now she dropped it over the hand lying on the floor.\n\nMargret was huddled up on the pillows at the headboard, staring at Kristin's candle, wide-eyed and terrified. She was clutching the bedclothes around her, but her white shoulders shone naked under her golden curls. There was blood all over the room.\n\nThe strain in Kristin's body erupted into violent sobs; it was such a terrible sight to see that fair young child amidst such horror.\n\nThen Margret screamed loudly, \"Mother\u2014what will Father do to me?\"\n\nKristin couldn't help it: In spite of her deep sympathy for the girl, her heart seemed to shrink and harden in her breast. Margret didn't ask what her father had done to Haakon. For an instant she saw Erlend lying on the ground and her own father standing over him with the bloody sword, and she herself... But Margret hadn't budged. Kristin couldn't stem her old feeling of scornful displeasure toward Eline's daughter as Margret threw herself against her, trembling and almost senseless with fear. She sat down on the bed and tried to soothe the child.\n\nThat was how Erlend found them when he appeared on the ladder. He was now fully dressed. Margret began screaming again and hid her face in her stepmother's arms. Kristin glanced up at her husband for a moment; he was calm now, but his face was pale and strange. For the first time he looked his age.\n\nBut she obeyed him when he said calmly, \"You must go downstairs now, Kristin. I want to speak to my daughter alone.\" Gently she laid the girl down on the bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and went down the ladder.\n\nShe did as Erlend had done and got properly dressed\u2014there would be no more sleep at Husaby that night\u2014and then she set about reassuring the frightened children and servants.\n\nThe next morning, in a snowstorm, Margret's maid left the manor in tears, carrying her possessions in a sack on her back. The master had chased her out with the harshest words, threatening to flay her bloody because she had sold her mistress in such a fashion.\n\nThen Erlend interrogated the other servants. Hadn't any of the maids suspected anything when all autumn and winter Ingeleiv kept coming to sleep with them instead of with Margret in her chamber? And the dogs had been locked up with them too. But all of them denied it, which was only to be expected.\n\nFinally, he took his wife aside to speak to her alone. Sick at heart and deathly tired, Kristin listened to him and tried to counter his injustice with meek replies. She didn't deny that she had been worried; but she didn't tell him that she had never spoken to him of her fears because she received nothing but ingratitude every time she attempted to counsel him or Margret about the maiden's best interests. And she swore by God and the Virgin Mary that she had never realized or even imagined that this man might come to Margret up in the loft at night.\n\n\"You!\" said Erlend scornfully. \"You said yourself that you remember the time when you were no better than Margret. And the Lord God in Heaven knows that every day, in all these years we've lived together, you've made certain I would see how you remember the injustice I did to you\u2014even though your desire was as keen as mine. And it was your father, not I, who caused much of the unhappiness when he refused to give you to me as my wife. I was willing enough to rectify the sin from the very outset. When you saw the Gimsar gold...\" He grabbed his wife's hand and held it up; the two rings glittered which Erlend had given her while they were together at Gerdarud. \"Didn't you know what it meant? When all these years you've worn the rings I gave you after you let me take your honor?\"\n\nKristin was faint with weariness and sorrow; she whispered, \"I wonder, Erlend, whether you even remember that time when you won my honor....\"\n\nThen he covered his face with his hands and flung himself down on the bench, his body writhing and convulsing. Kristin sat down some distance away; she wished she could help her husband. She realized that this misfortune was even harder for him to bear because he himself had sinned against others in the same way as they had now sinned against him. And he, who had never wanted to take the blame for any trouble he might have caused, couldn't possibly bear the blame for this unhappiness\u2014and there was no one else but her for him to fault. But she wasn't angry as much as she was sad and afraid of what might happen next.\n\nEvery once in a while she would go up to see to Margret. The girl lay in bed, motionless and pale and staring straight ahead. She had still not asked about Haakon's fate. Kristin didn't know if this was because she didn't dare or because she had grown numb from her own misery.\n\nThat afternoon Kristin saw Erlend and Kl\u00f8ng the Icelander walking together through the snowdrifts over to the armory. But only a short time later Erlend returned alone. Kristin glanced up for a moment when he came into the light and walked past her\u2014but then she didn't dare turn her gaze toward the corner of the room where he had retreated. She had seen that he was a broken man.\n\nLater, when she went over to the storeroom to get something, Ivar and Skule came running to tell their mother that Kl\u00f8ng the Icelander was going to leave that evening. The boys were sad, because the scribe was their good friend. He was packing up his things right now; he wanted to reach Birgsi by nightfall.\n\nKristin could guess what had happened. Erlend had offered his daughter to the scribe, but he didn't want a maiden who had been seduced. What this conversation must have been like for Erlend... she felt dizzy and ill and refused to think any more about it.\n\nThe following day a message came from the parsonage. Haakon Eindridess\u00f8n wanted to speak to Erlend. Erlend sent back a reply that he had nothing more to say to Haakon. Sira Eiliv told Kristin that if Haakon lived, he would be greatly crippled. In addition to losing his hand, he had also gravely injured his back and hips when he fell from the roof of the servants' hall. But he wanted to go home, even in this condition, and the priest had promised to find a sleigh for him. Haakon now regretted his sin with all his heart. He said that the actions of Margret's father were fully justified, no matter what the law might say; but he hoped that everyone would do their best to hush up the incident so that his guilt and Margret's shame might be concealed as much as possible. That afternoon he was carried out to the sleigh, which Sira Eiliv had borrowed at Repstad, and the priest rode with him to Gauldal.\n\nThe next day, which was Ash Wednesday, the people of Husaby had to go to the parish church at Vinjar. But at vespers Kristin asked the curate to let her into the church at Husaby.\n\nShe could still feel the ashes on her head as she knelt beside her stepson's grave and said the Pater noster for his soul.\n\nBy now there was probably not much left of the boy but bones beneath the stone. Bones and hair and a scrap of the clothing he had been laid to rest in. She had seen the remains of her little sister when they dug up her grave to take her body to her father in Hamar. Dust and ashes. She thought about her father's handsome features; about her mother's big eyes in her lined face, and Ragnfrid's figure which continued to look strangely young and delicate and light, even though her face seemed old so early. Now they lay under a stone, falling apart like buildings that collapse when the people have moved away. Images swirled before her eyes: the charred remains of the church back home, and a farm in Silsaadal which they rode past on their way to Vaage\u2014the buildings were deserted and caving in. The people who worked the fields didn't dare go near after the sun went down. She thought about her own beloved dead\u2014their faces and voices, their smiles and habits and demeanor. Now that they had departed for that other land, it was painful to think about their figures; it was like remembering your home when you knew it was standing there deserted, with the rotting beams sinking into the earth.\n\nShe sat on the bench along the wall of the empty church. The old smell of cold incense kept her thoughts fixed on images of death and the decay of temporal things. And she didn't have the strength to lift up her soul to catch a glimpse of the land where they were, the place to which all goodness and love and faith had finally been moved and now endured. Each day, when she prayed for the peace of their souls, it seemed to her unfair that she should pray for those who had possessed more peace in their souls here on earth than she had ever known since she became a grown woman. Sira Eiliv would no doubt say that prayers for the dead were always good\u2014good for oneself, since the other person had already found peace with God.\n\nBut this did not help her. It seemed to her that when her weary body was finally rotting beneath a gravestone, her restless soul would still be hovering around somewhere nearby, the way a lost spirit wanders, moaning, through the ruined buildings of an abandoned farm. For in her soul sin continued to exist, like the roots of a weed intertwined in the soil. It no longer blossomed or flared up or smelled fragrant, but it was still there in the soil, pale and strong and alive. In spite of all the tenderness that welled up inside her when she saw her husband's despair, she didn't have the will to silence the inner voice that asked, hurt and embittered: How can you speak that way to me? Have you forgotten when I gave you my faith and my honor? Have you forgotten when I was your beloved friend? And yet she understood that as long as this voice spoke within her, she would continue to speak to him as if she had forgotten.\n\nIn her thoughts she threw herself down before Saint Olav's shrine, she reached for Brother Edvin's moldering bones over in the church at Vatsfjeld, she held in her hands the reliquaries containing the tiny remnants of a dead woman's shroud and the splinters of bone from an unknown martyr. She reached for protection to the small scraps which, through death and decay, had preserved a little of the power of the departed soul\u2014like the magical powers residing in the rusted swords taken from the burial mounds of ancient warriors.\n\nOn the following day Erlend rode to Nidaros with only Ulf and one servant to accompany him. He didn't return to Husaby during all of Lent, but Ulf came to get his armed men and then left to meet him at the mid-Lenten ting in Orkedal.\n\nUlf drew Kristin aside to tell her that Erlend had arranged with Tiedeken Paus, the German goldsmith in Nidaros, for Margret to marry his son Gerlak just after Easter.\n\nErlend came home for the holy day. He was quite calm and composed now, but Kristin thought she could tell that he would never recover from this misfortune the way he had recovered from so much else. Perhaps this was because he was no longer young, or because nothing had ever humiliated him so deeply. Margret seemed indifferent to the arrangements her father had made on her behalf.\n\nOne evening when Erlend and Kristin were alone, he said, \"If she had been my lawful child\u2014or her mother had been an unmarried woman\u2014I would never have given her to a stranger, as things now stand with her. I would have granted shelter and protection to both her and any child of hers. That's the worst of it\u2014but because of her birth, a lawful husband can offer her the best protection.\"\n\nAs Kristin made all the preparations for the departure of her stepdaughter, Erlend said one day in a brusque voice, \"I don't suppose you're well enough to travel to town with us?\"\n\n\"If that's what you wish, I will certainly go with you,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"Why should I wish it? You've never taken a mother's place for her before, and you don't need to do so now. It's not going to be a festive wedding. And Fru Gunna of Raasvold and her son's wife have promised to come, for the sake of kinship.\"\n\nAnd so Kristin stayed at Husaby while Erlend was in Nidaros to give his daughter to Gerlak Tiedekenss\u00f8n."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "That summer, just before Saint Jon's Day, Gunnulf Niku lauss\u00f8n returned to his monastery. Erlend was in town during the Frosta ting; he sent a message home, asking his wife whether she would care to come to Nidaros to see her brother-in-law. Kristin wasn't feeling very well, but she went all the same. When she met Erlend, he told her that his brother's health seemed completely broken. The friars hadn't had much success with their endeavors up north at Munkefjord. They never managed to have the church they had built consecrated, because the archbishop couldn't travel north during a time of such unrest. Finally they ended up with no bread or wine, candles or oil for the services, but when Brother Gunnulf and Brother Aslak sailed for Varg\u00f8y for supplies, the Finns cast their spells and the ship sank. They were stranded on a skerry for three days, and afterwards neither of them regained his full health. Brother Aslak died a short time later. They had suffered terribly from scurvy during Lent, for they had no flour or herbs to eat along with the dried fish. Then Bishop Haakon of Bj\u00f8rgvin and Master Arne, who was in charge of the cathedral chapter while Lord Paal was at the Curia to be ordained as archbishop, instructed the monks who were still alive to return home; the priests at Varg\u00f8y were to tend to the flocks at Munkefjord for the time being.\n\nAlthough she was not unprepared, Kristin was still shocked when she saw Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n again. She went with Erlend over to the monastery the next day, and they were escorted into the interview room. The monk came in. His body was bent over, his fringe of hair was now completely gray, and the skin under his sunken eyes was wrinkled and dark brown. But his smooth, pale complexion was flecked with leaden-colored spots, and she noticed that his hand was covered with the same spots when he thrust it out from the sleeve of his robe to take her hand. He smiled, and she saw that he had lost several teeth.\n\nThey sat down and talked for a while, but it seemed as if Gunnulf had also forgotten how to speak. He mentioned this himself before they left.\n\n\"But you, Erlend, you are just the same\u2014you don't seem to have aged at all,\" he said with a little smile.\n\nKristin knew that she looked miserable at the moment, while Erlend was so handsome as he stood there, tall and slender and dark and well-dressed. And yet Kristin knew in her heart that he too had been greatly changed. It was odd that Gunnulf couldn't see it; he had always been so sharp-sighted in the past.\n\nOne day late in the summer Kristin was up in the clothing loft, and Fru Gunna of Raasvold was with her. She had come to Husaby to help Kristin when she once again gave birth. They could hear Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf singing down in the courtyard as they sharpened their knives\u2014a lewd and vulgar ballad which they sang at the top of their lungs.\n\nTheir mother was beside herself with rage as she went downstairs to speak to her sons in the harshest words. She wanted to know who had taught the boys the song\u2014it must have been in the servants' hall, but who among the men would teach children such a song? The boys refused to answer. Then Skule appeared beneath the loft steps; he told his mother she might as well stop asking, because they had learned the ballad from listening to their father sing it.\n\nFru Gunna joined in: Had they no fear of God that they would sing such a song? Especially now that they couldn't be sure, when they went to bed at night, whether they might be motherless before the roosters crowed? Kristin didn't reply but went quietly back into the house.\n\nLater, after she had taken to her bed to rest, Naakkve came into the room to see her. He took his mother's hand but did not speak, and then he began to weep softly. She talked to him gently, jesting and begging him not to grieve or cry. She had made it through six times before; surely she would make it through the seventh. But the boy wept harder and harder. Finally she allowed him to crawl into the bed between her and the wall, and there he lay, sobbing, with his arms around her neck and his head pressed to his mother's breast. But she couldn't get him to tell her what he was crying about, even though he stayed with her until the servants began carrying in the evening meal.\n\nNaakkve was now twelve years old. He was big for his age and tried to affect a manly and grownup bearing, but he had a gentle soul, and his mother could sometimes see that he was very childish. But he was old enough to understand the misfortune that had befallen his half-sister; Kristin wondered whether he could also see that his father was different afterwards.\n\nErlend had always been the kind of man who could say the worst things when his temper was aroused, but in the past he had never said an unkind word to anyone except in anger, and he had been quick to make amends when his own good humor was restored. Nowadays he could say harsh and ugly things with a cold expression on his face. Before, he used to curse and swear fiercely, but to some extent he had put aside this bad habit when he saw that it bothered his wife and offended Sira Eiliv, for whom he had gradually developed great respect. But he had never been rude or spoken in a vulgar manner, and he had never approved when other men talked that way. In that sense, he was much more modest than many a man who had lived a purer life. As much as it offended Kristin to hear such a song on the lips of her innocent sons, especially in her present condition, and then to hear they had learned it from their father, there was something else that gave her an even more bitter taste in her mouth. She realized that Erlend was still childish enough to think that he could counter cruelty with cruelty since, after suffering the shame of his daughter, he had now begun to use foul words and speak in an offensive manner.\n\nFru Gunna had told her that Margret had given birth to a stillborn son shortly before Saint Olav's Day. She also knew that Margret already seemed to have found ample consolation; she got on well with Gerlak, and he was kind to her. Erlend went to see his daughter whenever he was in Nidaros, and Gerlak always made a great fuss over his fatherin-law, although Erlend was not particularly willing to accept this man as his kinsman. But Erlend had not once mentioned his daughter at Husaby since she had left the manor.\n\nKristin gave birth to another son; he was baptized Munan, after Erlend's grandfather. During the time she lay in the little house, Naakkve came to see his mother daily, bringing her berries and nuts he had picked in the woods, or wreaths he had woven from medicinal herbs. Erlend returned home when the new child was three weeks old. He often sat with his wife and tried to be gentle and loving\u2014and this time he didn't complain that the infant was not a maiden or that the boy was weak and frail. But Kristin said very little in response to his warm words; she was silent and pensive and despondent, and this time she was slow to recover her health.\n\nAll winter long Kristin was ailing, and it seemed unlikely that the child would survive. The mother had little thought for anything but the poor infant. For this reason she listened with only half an ear to all the talk of the great news that was heard that winter. King Magnus had fallen into the worst financial straits through his attempts to win sovereignty over Skaane, and he had demanded assistance and taxes from Norway. Some of the noblemen of the Council seemed willing enough to support him in this matter. But when the king's envoys came to Tunsberg, the royal treasurer was away, and Stig Haakonss\u00f8n, who was the chieftain of Tunsberg Fortress, barred the king's men from entering and made ready to defend the stronghold with force. He had few men of his own, but Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n, who was his uncle through marriage and was at home on his estate at Aker, sent forty armed men to the fortress while he himself sailed west. At about the same time the king's cousins, Jon and Sigurd Haftorss\u00f8n, threatened to oppose the king because of a court ruling that had gone against some of their men.\n\nErlend laughed at all this and said the Haftorss\u00f8ns had shown their youth and stupidity in this matter. Discontent with King Magnus was not rampant in Norway. The noblemen were demanding that a regent be placed in charge of the kingdom and that the royal seal be given to a Norwegian man for safekeeping, since the king, because of his dealings in Skaane, seemed to want to spend most of his time in Sweden. The townsmen and the clergy of the towns had become frightened by rumors of the king's loans from the German city-states. The insolence of the Germans and their disregard for Norwegian laws and customs were already more than could be tolerated. And now it was said that the king had promised them even greater rights and freedoms in Norwegian towns, and this would make it impossible to bear for the Norwegian traders, who already had difficult conditions. Among the peasantry the rumor of King Magnus's secret sin still held sway, and many of the parish priests in the countryside and the wandering monks were agreed about at least one thing: They believed this was the reason that Saint Olav's Church in Nidaros had burned. The farmers also blamed this sin for the many misfortunes that had befallen one village after another over the past few years: sickness in the livestock, blight in the crops, which brought illness and disease to both people and beasts, and poor harvests of grain and hay. Erlend said that if the Haftorss\u00f8ns had been wise enough to hold their peace a little longer and acquire a reputation for amenable and chieftainlike conduct, then people might have remembered that they too were grandsons of King Haakon.\n\nEventually this unrest died down, but the result was that the king appointed Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n as lord chancellor in Norway. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n, Stig Haakonss\u00f8n, the Haftorss\u00f8ns, and all their supporters were threatened with charges of treason. Then they yielded and came to make peace with the king. There was a powerful man from the Uplands whose name was Ulf Sakses\u00f8n; he had taken part in the Haftorss\u00f8ns' opposition, and he did not make peace with the king but came instead to Nidaros after Christmas. He spent a good deal of time with Erlend in town, and from him the people of the north heard about the matters, as Ulf perceived them. Kristin had a great dislike for this man; she didn't know him, but she knew his sister Helga Saksesdatter, who was married to Gyrd Darre of Dyfrin. She was beautiful but exceedingly arrogant, and Simon didn't care for her either, although Ramborg got along well with her. Soon after the beginning of Lent, letters arrived for the sheriffs stating that Ulf Sakses\u00f8n was to be declared an outlaw at the tings, but by that time he had already sailed away from Norway in midwinter.\n\nThat spring Erlend and Kristin were staying at their town estate during Easter, and they had brought their youngest son, Munan, with them because there was a sister at the Bakke convent who was so skilled in healing that every sick child she touched regained health, as long it was not God's wish for the child to die.\n\nOne day shortly after Easter, Kristin came home from the convent with the infant. The manservant and maid who had accompanied her came with her into the house. Erlend was alone, lying on one of the benches. After the manservant left, and the women had taken off their cloaks, Kristin sat near the hearth with the child while the maid heated some oil which the nun had given them. Then Erlend asked from his place on the bench what Sister Ragnhild had said about the boy. Kristin replied brusquely to his questions as she unwrapped the swaddling clothes; finally she stopped talking altogether.\n\n\"Are things so bad with the boy, Kristin, that you don't want to tell me?\" he asked with some impatience.\n\n\"You've asked the same things before, Erlend,\" replied his wife in a cold voice. \"And I've answered you many times. But since you care so little about the boy that you can't remember from one day to the next...\"\n\n\"It has also happened to me, Kristin,\" said Erlend as he stood up and went over to her, \"that I've had to give you the same answer two or three times to some question you've asked me because you didn't bother to remember what I'd said.\"\n\n\"It was probably not about such important matters as the children's health,\" she said in the same cold voice.\n\n\"But it wasn't about petty things, either, this past winter. They were matters that weighed heavily on my mind.\"\n\n\"That's not true, Erlend. It's been a long time since you talked to me about those things that were most on your mind.\"\n\n\"Leave us now, Signe,\" said Erlend to the maid. His brow was flushed red as he turned to his wife. \"I know what you're referring to. But I won't speak to you about that as long as your maid might hear me\u2014even though you're such good friends with her that you think it a small matter for her to be present when you start a quarrel with your husband and say I'm not speaking the truth.\"\n\n\"One learns least from the people one lives with,\" said Kristin curtly.\n\n\"It's not easy to understand what you mean by that. I've never spoken unkindly to you in the presence of strangers or forgotten to show you honor and respect in front of our servants.\"\n\nKristin burst into an oddly desolate and quavering laugh.\n\n\"You forget so well, Erlend! Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n has lived with us all these years. Don't you remember when you had him and Haftor bring me to you in the bedchamber of Brynhild's house in Oslo?\"\n\nErlend sank down onto the bench, staring at his wife with his mouth agape.\n\nBut she continued, \"You never thought it necessary to conceal from your servants all that was improper or disrespectful here at Husaby, or anywhere else\u2014whether it was something shameful for yourself or for your wife.\"\n\nErlend stayed where he was, looking at her aghast.\n\n\"Do you remember that first winter of our marriage? I was carrying Naakkve, and as things stood, it seemed likely that it would be difficult for me to demand obedience and respect from my household. Do you remember how you supported me? Do you remember when your foster father visited us with women guests we didn't know, and his maids and serving men, and our own servants, sat across the table from us? Do you remember how Munan pulled from me every shred of dignity I might use to hide behind, and you sat there meekly and dared not stop his speech?\"\n\n\"Jesus! Have you been brooding about this for fifteen years?\" Then he looked up at her\u2014his eyes seemed such a strange pale blue, and his voice was faltering and helpless. \"And yet, my Kristin\u2014it doesn't seem to me that the two of us say unkind or harsh words to each other....\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kristin, \"and that's why it cut even deeper into my heart that time during the Christmas celebration when you railed at me because I had spread my cape over Margret, while women from three counties stood around and listened.\"\n\nErlend did not reply.\n\n\"And yet you blame me for the way things went with Margret, but every time I tried to reprimand her with even a single word, she would run to you, and you would tell me sternly to leave the maiden in peace\u2014she was yours and not mine.\"\n\n\"Blame you? No, I don't,\" Erlend said with difficulty, struggling hard to speak calmly. \"If one of our children had been a daughter, then you might have better understood how this matter of my daughter... it stabs a father to the very marrow.\"\n\n\"I thought I showed you this spring that I understood,\" said his wife softly. \"I only had to think of my own father....\"\n\n\"All the same, this was much worse,\" said Erlend, his voice still calm. \"I was an unmarried man. This man... was married. I was not bound. At least,\" he corrected himself, \"I wasn't bound in such a way that I couldn't free myself.\"\n\n\"And yet you didn't free yourself,\" said Kristin. \"Don't you remember how it came about that you were freed?\"\n\nErlend leaped to his feet and slapped her face. Then he stood staring at her in horror. A red patch appeared on her white cheek, but she sat rigid and motionless, her eyes hard. The child began to cry in fright; she rocked him gently in her arms, hushing him.\n\n\"That... was a vile thing to say, Kristin,\" said her husband uncertainly.\n\n\"The last time you struck me,\" she answered in a low voice, \"I was carrying your child under my heart. Now you hit me as I hold your son on my lap.\"\n\n\"Yes, we keep having all these children,\" he shouted impatiently.\n\nThey both fell silent. Erlend began swiftly pacing back and forth. She carried the child over to the alcove and put him on the bed; when she reappeared in the alcove doorway, he stopped in front of her.\n\n\"I... I shouldn't have struck you, my Kristin. I wish I hadn't done it. I'll probably regret it for as long as I regretted it the first time. But you... you've told me before that you think I forget things too quickly. But you never forget\u2014not a single injustice I might have done you. I've tried... tried to be a good husband to you, but you don't seem to think that worth remembering. You... you're so beautiful, Kristin...\" He gazed after her as she walked past him.\n\nOh, his wife's quiet and dignified bearing was as lovely as the willowy grace of the young maiden had been; she was wider in the bosom and hips, but she was also taller. She held herself erect, and her neck bore the small, round head as proudly and beautifully as ever. Her pale, remote face with the dark-gray eyes stirred and excited him as much as her round, rosy child's face had stirred and excited his restless soul with its wondrous calm. He went over and took her hand.\n\n\"For me, Kristin, you will always be the most beautiful of women, and the most dear.\"\n\nShe allowed him to hold her hand but didn't squeeze his in return. Then he flung it aside; rage overcame him once again.\n\n\"You say I've forgotten. That may not always be the worst of sins. I've never pretended to be a pious man, but I remember what I learned from Sira Jon when I was a child, and God's servants have reminded me of it since. It's a sin to brood over and dwell on the sins we have confessed to the priest and repented before God, receiving His forgiveness through the hand and the words of the priest. And it's not out of piety, Kristin, that you're constantly tearing open these old sins of ours\u2014you want to hold the knife to my throat every time I oppose you in some way.\"\n\nHe walked away and then came back.\n\n\"Domineering... God knows that I love you, Kristin, even though I can see how domineering you are, and you've never forgiven me for the injustice I did to you or for luring you astray. I've tolerated a great deal from you, Kristin, but I will no longer tolerate the fact that I can never have peace from these old misfortunes, nor that you speak to me as if I were your thrall.\"\n\nKristin was trembling with fury when she spoke.\n\n\"I've never spoken to you as if you were my thrall. Have you ever heard me speak harshly or in anger to anyone who might be considered lesser than me, even if it was the most incompetent or worthless of our household servants? I know that before God I am free of the sin of offending His poor in either word or deed. But you're supposed to be my lord; I'm supposed to obey and honor you, bow to you and lean on you, next to God, in accordance with God's laws, Erlend! And if I've lost patience and talked to you in a manner unbefitting a wife speaking to her husband\u2014then it's because many times you've made it difficult for me to surrender my ignorance to your better understanding, to honor and obey my husband and lord as much as I would have liked. And perhaps I had expected that you... perhaps I thought I could provoke you into showing me that you were a man and I was only a poor woman....\n\n\"But you needn't worry, Erlend. I will not offend you again with my words, and from this day forward, I will never forget to speak to you as gently as if you were descended from thralls.\"\n\nErlend's face had flushed dark red. He raised his fist at her, then turned swiftly on his heel, grabbed his cape and sword from the bench near the door, and rushed out.\n\nIt was sunny outside, with a piercing wind. The air was cold, but glistening particles of thawing ice sprayed over him from the building eaves and from the swaying tree branches. The snow on the rooftops gleamed like silver, and beyond the black-green, forested slopes surrounding the town, the mountain peaks sparkled icy blue and shiny white in the sharp, dazzling light of the wintry spring day.\n\nErlend raced through the streets and alleyways\u2014fast but aimless. He was boiling inside. She was wrong, it was clear that she had been wrong from the very beginning, and he was right. He had allowed himself to be provoked and struck her, undercutting his position, but she was the one who was wrong. Now he had no idea what to do with himself. He had no wish to visit any acquaintances, and he refused to go back home.\n\nThere was a great tumult in town. A large trading ship from Iceland\u2014the first of the spring season\u2014had put in at the docks that morning. Erlend wandered west through the lanes and emerged near Saint Martin's Church; he headed down toward the wharves. There were already shrieks and clamor coming from the inns and alehouses, even though it was early afternoon. In his youth Erlend could have gone into such places himself, along with friends and companions. But now people would stare, wide-eyed, and afterwards they would wear out their gums gossiping if the sheriff of Orkd\u00f8la county, who had a residence in town and ale, mead, and wine in abundance in his own home, should go into an inn and ask for a taste of their paltry ale. But that was truly what he wished for most\u2014to sit and drink with the smallholders who had come to town and with the servants and seamen. No one would make a fuss if these fellows gave their women a slap in the face; it would do them good. How in fiery Hell was a man to rule his wife if he couldn't beat her because of her high birth and his own sense of honor. The Devil himself couldn't compete with a woman through words. She was a witch\u2014but so beautiful. If only he could beat her until she gave in.\n\nThe bells began to ring from all the churches in town, calling the people to vespers. The sounds tumbled in the spring wind, hovering over him in the turbulent air. No doubt she was on her way to Christ Church now, that holy witch. She would complain to God and the Virgin Mary and Saint Olav that she had been struck in the face by her husband. Erlend sent his wife's guardian saints a greeting of sinful thoughts as the bells resounded and tolled and clanged. He headed toward Saint Gregor's Church.\n\nThe graves of his parents lay in front of Saint Anna's altar in the north aisle of the nave. As Erlend said his prayers, he noticed that Fru Sunniva Olavsdatter and her maid had entered the church portal. When he finished praying, he went over to greet her.\n\nIn all the years he had known Fru Sunniva, things had always been such between them that they could banter and jest quite freely whenever they met. On this evening, as they sat on the bench and waited for evensong to begin, he grew so bold that several times she had to remind him that they were in church, with people constantly coming in.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Erlend, \"but you're so lovely tonight, Sunniva! It's wonderful to banter with a woman who has such gentle eyes.\"\n\n\"You're not worthy enough, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, for me to look at you with gentle eyes,\" she said, laughing.\n\n\"Then I'll come and banter with you after it grows dark,\" replied Erlend in the same tone of voice. \"When the mass is over, I'll escort you home.\"\n\nAt that moment the priests entered the choir, and Erlend went over to the south nave to join the other men.\n\nWhen the service came to an end, he left the church through the main door. He saw Fru Sunniva and her maid a short distance down the street. He thought it best he didn't accompany her and go right home instead. Just then a group of Icelanders from the trading ship appeared in the street, staggering and clinging to each other, and seemed intent on blocking the way of the two women. Erlend ran after them. As soon as the seamen saw a gentleman with a sword on his belt approaching, they stepped aside and made room for the women to pass.\n\n\"I think it would be best if I escorted you home, after all,\" said Erlend. \"There's too much unrest in town tonight.\"\n\n\"What do you think, Erlend? As old as I am... And yet perhaps it doesn't displease me if a few men still find me pretty enough to try to block my passage....\"\n\nThere was only one answer that a courteous man could give.\n\nHe returned to his own residence at dawn the next morning, pausing for a moment outside the bolted door to the main building, frozen, dead tired, heartsick, and dejected. Should he pound on the door to wake the servants and then slip inside to crawl into bed next to Kristin, who lay there with the child at her breast? No. He had with him the key to the eastern storehouse loft; that's where he kept some possessions that were in his charge. Erlend unlocked the door, pulled off his boots, and spread some homespun fabric and empty sacks on top of the straw in the bed. He wrapped his cape around him, crept under the sacks, and was fortunate enough to fall asleep and forget everything, exhausted and confused as he was.\n\nKristin was pale and weary from a sleepless night as she sat down to breakfast with her servants. One of the men said he had asked the master to come to the table\u2014he was sleeping in the east loft\u2014but Erlend told him to go to the Devil.\n\nErlend was supposed to go to Elgeseter after the morning service to be a witness to the sale of several estates. Afterwards he managed to excuse himself from the meal in the refectory, and to slip away from Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n, who had also declined to stay and drink with the brothers but wanted Erlend to come home to Ranheim with him.\n\nLater he regretted that he had parted company with the others, and he was filled with dread as he walked home alone through town\u2014now he would have to think about what he had done. For a moment he was tempted to go straight down to Saint Gregor's Church; he had promised to make confession to one of the priests whenever he was in Nidaros. But if he did it again, after he had confessed, it would be an even greater sin. He had better wait for a while.\n\nSunniva must think he was little better than a chicken she had caught with her bare hands. But no, the Devil take him if he'd ever thought a woman would be able to teach him so many new things\u2014here he was walking around and gasping with astonishment at what he had encountered. He had imagined himself to be rather experienced in ars amoris, or whatever the learned men called it. If he had been young and green, he would probably have felt quite cocky and thought it splendid. But he didn't like that woman\u2014that wild woman. He was sick of her. He was sick of all women except his own wife\u2014and he was sick of her as well! By the Holy Cross, he had been so married to her that he had grown pious himself, because he had believed in her piety. But what a handsome reward he had been given by his pious wife for his faithfulness and love\u2014witch that she was! He remembered the sting of her spiteful words from the evening before. So she thought he acted as if he were descended from thralls.... And that other woman, Sunniva, no doubt thought he was inexperienced and clumsy because he had been caught off guard and showed some surprise at her skills in love. Now he would show her that he was no more a saint than she was. He had promised her to come to Baardsgaard that night, and he might as well go. He had committed the sin\u2014he might as well enjoy the pleasure that it offered.\n\nHe had already broken his vows to Kristin, and she herself was to blame, with her spiteful and unreasonable behavior toward him....\n\nHe went home and wandered through the stables and outbuildings, looking for something to complain about; he quarreled with the priest's servant from the hospital because she had brought malt into the drying room, even though he knew that his own servants had no use for the grain-drying house while they were in Nidaros. He wished that his sons were with him; they would have been good company. He wished he could go back home to Husaby at once. But he had to stay in Nidaros and wait for letters to arrive from the south; it was too risky to receive such letters at his own home in the village.\n\nThe mistress of the house didn't come to the evening meal. She was lying in bed in the alcove, said her maid Signe, with a reproachful look at her master. Erlend replied harshly that he hadn't asked about her mistress. After the servants had left the room, he went into the alcove. It was oppressively dark. Erlend bent over Kristin on the bed.\n\n\"Are you crying?\" he asked very softly, for her breathing sounded so strange. But she answered brusquely that she wasn't.\n\n\"Are you tired? I'm about to go to bed too,\" he murmured.\n\nKristin's voice quavered as she said, \"Then I would rather, Erlend, that you went to bed in the same place where you slept last night.\"\n\nErlend didn't reply. He went out and then returned with the candle from the hall and opened up his clothes chest. He was already dressed suitably enough to go out wherever he liked, for he was wearing the violet-blue cote-hardi because he had been to Elgeseter in the morning. But now he took off these garments, slowly and deliberately, and put on a red silk shirt and a mouse-gray, calf-length velvet tunic with small silver bells on the points of the sleeves. He brushed his hair and washed his hands, all the while keeping his eyes on his wife. She was silent and didn't move. Then he left without bidding her good night. The next day he openly returned home to the estate at breakfast time.\n\nThis went on for a week. Then one evening, when Erlend came back home after going up to Hangrar on business, he was told that Kristin had set off for Husaby that morning.\n\nHe was already quite aware that no man had ever had less pleasure from a sin than he was having from his dealings with Sunniva Olavsdatter. In his heart he was so unbearably tired of that demented woman\u2014sick of her even as he played with her and caressed her. He had also been reckless; it must be known all over town and throughout the countryside by now that he had been spending his nights at Baardsgaard. And it was not worth having his reputation sullied for Sunniva's sake. Occasionally he also wondered whether there might be consequences. After all, the woman had a husband, such as he was, decrepit and sickly. He pitied Baard for being married to such a wanton and foolish woman; Erlend was hardly the first to tread too close to the man's honor. And Haftor... but when he took up with Sunniva he hadn't remembered that she was Haftor's sister; he didn't think of this until it was too late. The situation was as bad as it could possibly be. And now he realized that Kristin knew about it.\n\nSurely she wouldn't think of bringing a charge against him before the archbishop, seeking permission to leave him. She had J\u00f8rundgaard to flee to, but it would be impossible for her to travel over the mountains at this time of year; even more so if she wanted to take the children along, and Kristin would never leave them behind. He reassured himself that she wouldn't be able to travel by ship with Munan and Lavrans so early in the spring. No, it would be unlike Kristin to seek help from the archbishop against him. She had reason to do so, but he would willingly stay away from their bed until she understood that he felt true remorse. Kristin would never allow this matter to become a public case. Yet he realized it had been a long time since he could be certain what his wife might or might not do.\n\nThat night he lay in his own bed, letting his thoughts roam. It occurred to him that he had acted with even greater folly than he had first thought when he entered into this miserable affair, now that he was involved in the greatest plans.\n\nHe cursed himself for still being such a fool over a woman that she could drive him to this. He cursed both Kristin and Sunniva. By Devil, he was no more besotted with women than other men; he had gotten involved with fewer of them than most of the men he knew. But it was as if the Fiend himself were after him; he couldn't come near a woman without landing in mire up to his armpits.\n\nIt had to be stopped now. Thank the Lord he had other matters on his hands. Soon, very soon, he would receive Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg's letters. Well, he couldn't avoid trouble with women in this matter either, but that must be God's punishment for the sins of his youth. Erlend laughed out loud in the dark. Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg would have to see that what they had told her about the situation was true. The question was whether it would be one of her sons or the sons of her unlawful sister whom the Norwegians supported to oppose King Magnus. And she loved the children she had borne to Knut Porse in a way she had never loved her other children.\n\nSoon, very soon... then it would be the sharp wind and the salty waves that would fill his embrace. God in Heaven, it would be good to be soaked through by the sea swells and feel the fresh wind seep into his marrow\u2014to be quit of women for a good long time.\n\nSunniva. Let her think what she would. He wouldn't go back there again. And Kristin could go off to J\u00f8rundgaard if she liked. It might be safest and best for her and the children to be far away in Gudbrandsdal this summer. Later on he would no doubt make amends with her again.\n\nThe following morning he rode up toward Skaun. He decided he wouldn't have any peace until he knew what his wife intended to do.\n\nShe received him politely, her demeanor gentle and cool, when he arrived at Husaby later in the day. Unless he asked her a question, she said not a word, not even anything unkind, and she didn't object when later that evening he came over and tentatively lay down in their bed. But when he had lain there for a while, he hesitantly tried to put his hand on her breast.\n\nKristin's voice shook, but Erlend couldn't tell if it was from sorrow or bitterness, when she whispered, \"Surely you're not so lowly a man, Erlend, that you will make this even worse for me. I cannot start a quarrel with you, since our children are sleeping all around. And since I have seven sons by you, I would rather our servants didn't see that I know I'm a woman who has been betrayed.\"\n\nErlend lay there in silence for a long time before he dared reply.\n\n\"Yes, may God have mercy on me, Kristin\u2014I have betrayed you. I wouldn't have... wouldn't have done it if I had found it easier to bear those vicious words you said to me in Nidaros. I haven't come home to beg your forgiveness, for I know this would be too much to ask of you right now.\"\n\n\"I see that Munan Baards\u00f8n spoke the truth,\" replied his wife. \"The day will never come when you will stand up and take the blame for what you have done. You should turn to God and seek redemption from Him. You need to ask His forgiveness more than you need to ask mine.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know that,\" said Erlend bitterly. And then they said no more. The next morning he rode back to Nidaros.\n\nHe had been in town several days when Fru Sunniva's maid came to speak to him in Saint Gregor's Church one evening. Erlend thought he ought to talk to Sunniva one last time and told the girl to keep watch that night; he would come the same way as before.\n\nHe had to creep and climb like a chicken thief to reach the loft where they always met. This time he felt sick with shame that he had made such a fool of himself\u2014at his age and in his position. But in the beginning it had amused him to carry on like a youth.\n\nFru Sunniva received him in bed.\n\n\"So you've finally come, at this late hour?\" she laughed and yawned. \"Hurry up, my friend, and come to bed. We can talk later about where you've been all this time.\"\n\nErlend didn't know what to do or how to tell her what was on his mind. Without thinking, he began to unfasten his clothing.\n\n\"We've both been reckless, Sunniva\u2014I don't think it advisable that I stay here tonight. Surely Baard must be expected home sometime?\" he said.\n\n\"Are you afraid of my husband?\" teased Sunniva. \"You've seen for yourself that Baard didn't even prick up his ears when we flirted right in front of him. If he asks me whether you've been spending time here at the manor, I'll just convince him that it's the same old nonsense. He trusts me much too well.\"\n\n\"Yes, he does seem to trust you too well,\" laughed Erlend, digging his fingers into her fair hair and her firm, white shoulders.\n\n\"Do you think so?\" She gripped his wrist. \"And do you trust your own wife? I was still a shy and virtuous maiden when Baard won me....\"\n\n\"We'll keep my wife out of this,\" said Erlend sharply, releasing her.\n\n\"Why is that? Does it seem to you less proper for us to talk about Kristin Lavransdatter than about Sir Baard, my husband?\"\n\nErlend clenched his teeth and refused to answer.\n\n\"You must be one of those men, Erlend,\" said Sunniva scornfully, \"who thinks you're so charming and handsome that a woman can hardly be blamed if her virtue is like fragile glass to you\u2014when usually she's as strong as steel.\"\n\n\"I've never thought that about you,\" replied Erlend roughly.\n\nSunniva's eyes glittered. \"What did you want with me then, Erlend? Since you have married so well?\"\n\n\"I told you not to mention my wife.\"\n\n\"Your wife or my husband.\"\n\n\"You were always the one who started talking about Baard, and you were the worst to ridicule him,\" said Erlend bitterly. \"And if you didn't mock him in words... I'd like to know how dearly you held his honor when you took another man in your husband's place. She is not diminished by my misdeeds.\"\n\n\"Is that what you want to tell me\u2014that you still love Kristin even though you like me well enough to want to play with me?\"\n\n\"I don't know how well I like you... You were the one who showed your affection for me.\"\n\n\"And Kristin doesn't care for your love?\" she sneered. \"I've seen how tenderly she looks at you, Erlend....\"\n\n\"Be silent!\" he shouted. \"Perhaps she knew how worthless I was,\" he said, his voice harsh and hateful. \"You and I might be each other's equal.\"\n\n\"Is that it?\" threatened Sunniva. \"Am I supposed to be the whip you use to punish your wife?\"\n\nErlend stood there, breathing hard. \"You could call it that. But you put yourself willingly into my hands.\"\n\n\"Take care,\" said Sunniva, \"that the whip doesn't turn back on you.\"\n\nShe was sitting up in bed, waiting. But Erlend made no attempt to argue or to make amends with his lover. He finished getting dressed and left without saying another word.\n\nHe wasn't overly pleased with himself or with the way he had parted with Sunniva. There was no honor in it for him. But it didn't matter now; at least he was rid of her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "During that spring and summer they saw little of the master at home at Husaby. On those occasions when he did return to his manor, he and his wife behaved with courtesy and friendliness toward each other. Erlend didn't try in any way to breach the wall that she had now put up between them, even though he would often give her a searching look. Otherwise, he seemed to have much to think about outside his own home. And he never inquired with a single word about the management of the estate.\n\nThis was something his wife mentioned when, shortly after Holy Cross Day, he asked her whether she wanted to accompany him to Raumsdal. He had business to tend to in the Uplands; perhaps she would like to take the children along, spend some time at J\u00f8rundgaard, visit kinsmen and friends in the valley? But Kristin had no wish to do so, under any circumstances.\n\nErlend was in Nidaros during the Law ting and afterwards out in Orkedal. Then he returned home to Husaby but immediately began preparations for a journey to Bj\u00f8rgvin. The Margygren was anchored out at Nidarholm, and he was only waiting for Haftor Graut, who was supposed to sail with him.\n\nThree days before Saint Margareta's Day, the hay harvesting began at Husaby. It was the finest weather, and when the workers went back out into the meadows after the midday rest, Olav the overseer asked the children to come along.\n\nKristin was up in the clothing chamber, which was on the second story of the armory. The house was built in such a fashion that an outside stair led up to this room and the exterior gallery running along the side; projecting over it was the third floor, which could be reached only by means of a ladder through a hatchway inside the clothing chamber. It was standing open because Erlend was up in the weapons loft.\n\nKristin carried the fur cape that Erlend wanted to take along on his sea voyage out to the gallery and began to shake it. Then she heard the thunder of a large group of horsemen, and a moment later she saw men come riding out of the forest on Gauldal Road. An instant later, Erlend was standing at her side.\n\n\"Is it true what you said, Kristin, that the fire went out in the cookhouse this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes, Gudrid knocked over the soup kettle. We'll have to borrow some embers from Sira Eiliv.\"\n\nErlend looked over at the parsonage.\n\n\"No, he can't get mixed up in this.... Gaute,\" he called softly to the boy dawdling under the gallery, picking up one rake after another, with little desire to go out to the hay harvesting. \"Come up the stairs, but stop at the top or they'll be able to see you.\"\n\nKristin stared at her husband. She'd never seen him look this way before. A taut, alert calm came over his voice and face as he peered south toward the road, and over his tall, supple body as he ran inside the loft and came back at once with a flat package wrapped in linen. He handed it to the boy.\n\n\"Put this inside your shirt, and pay attention to what I tell you. You must safeguard these letters\u2014it's more important than you can possibly know, my Gaute. Put your rake over your shoulder and walk calmly across the fields until you reach the alder thickets. Keep to the bushes down by the woods\u2014you know the place well, I know you do\u2014and then sneak through the densest underbrush all the way over to Skjoldvirkstad. Make sure that things are calm at the farm. If you notice any sign of unrest or strange men around, stay hidden. But if you're sure it's safe, then go down and give this to Ulf, if he's home. If you can't put the letters into his own hand and you're sure that no one is near, then burn them as soon as you can. But take care that both the writing and the seals are completely destroyed, and that they don't fall into anyone's hands but Ulf's. May God help us, my son\u2014these are weighty matters to put into the hands of a boy only ten winters old; many a good man's life and welfare... Do you understand how important this is, Gaute?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father. I understand everything you said.\" Gaute lifted his small, fair face with a somber expression as he stood on the stairs.\n\n\"If Ulf isn't home, tell Isak that he has to set off at once for Hevne and ride all night\u2014he must tell them, and he knows who I mean, that I think a headwind has sprung up here, and that I fear my journey has now been cursed. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father. I remember everything you've told me.\"\n\n\"Go then. May God protect you, my son.\"\n\nErlend dashed up to the weapons loft and was about to close the hatchway, but Kristin was already halfway through the opening. He waited until she had climbed up, then shut the hatch and ran over to a chest and took out several boxes of letters. He tore off the seals and stomped them to bits on the floor; he ripped the parchments into shreds and wrapped them around a key and tossed the whole thing out the window to the ground, where it landed in the tall nettles growing behind the building. With his hands on the windowsill, Erlend stood and watched the small boy who was walking along the edge of the grain field toward the meadow where the rows of harvest workers were toiling with scythes and rakes. When Gaute disappeared into the little grove of trees between the field and the meadow, Erlend pulled the window closed. The sound of hoofbeats was now loud and close to the manor.\n\nErlend turned to face his wife.\n\n\"If you can retrieve what I threw outside just now... let Skule do it, he's a clever boy. Tell him to fling it into the ravine behind the cowshed. They'll probably be watching you, and maybe the older boys as well. But I don't think they would search you....\" He tucked the broken pieces of seal inside her bodice. \"They can't be recognized anymore, but even so...\"\n\n\"Are you in some kind of danger, Erlend?\" Kristin asked. As he looked down at her face, he threw himself into her open arms. For a moment he held her tight.\n\n\"I don't know, Kristin. We'll find out soon enough. Tore Ein dridess\u00f8n is riding in the lead, and I saw that Sir Baard is with them. I don't expect that Tore is coming here for any good purpose.\"\n\nNow the horsemen had entered the courtyard. Erlend hesitated for a moment. Then he kissed his wife fervently, opened the hatchway, and ran downstairs. When Kristin came out onto the gallery, Erlend was standing in the courtyard below, helping the royal treasurer, an elderly and ponderous man, down from his saddle. There were at least thirty armed men with Sir Baard and the sheriff of Gauld\u00f8la county.\n\nAs Kristin walked across the courtyard, she heard the latter man say, \"I bring you greetings from your cousins, Erlend. Borgar and Guttorm are enjoying the king's hospitality in Ve\u00f8y, and I think that Haftor Toress\u00f8n has already paid a visit to Ivar and the young boy at home at Sundbu by this time. Sir Baard seized Graut yesterday morning in town.\"\n\n\"And now you've come here to invite me to the same meeting of the royal retainers, I can see,\" said Erlend with a smile.\n\n\"That is true, Erlend.\"\n\n\"And no doubt you'll want to search the manor? Oh, I've taken part in this kind of thing so many times that I should know how it goes....\"\n\n\"But you've never had such great matters as high treason on your hands before,\" said Tore.\n\n\"No, not until now,\" said Erlend. \"And it looks as if I'm playing with the black chess pieces, Tore, and you have me check-mated\u2014isn't that so, kinsman?\"\n\n\"We're looking for the letters that you've received from Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg Haakonsdatter,\" said Tore Eindridess\u00f8n.\n\n\"They're in the chest covered with red leather, up in the weapons loft. But they contain little except such greetings as loving kinsmen usually send to each other; and all of them are old. Stein here can show you the way....\"\n\nThe strangers had dismounted, and the servants of the estate had now come swarming into the courtyard.\n\n\"There was much more than that in the one we took from Borgar Trondss\u00f8n,\" said Tore.\n\nErlend began whistling softly. \"I suppose we might as well go into the house,\" he said. \"It's getting crowded out here.\"\n\nKristin followed the men into the hall. At a sign from Tore, a couple of the armed guards came along.\n\n\"You'll have to surrender your sword, Erlend,\" said Tore of Gimsar when they came inside. \"As a sign that you're our prisoner.\"\n\nErlend slapped his flanks to show that he carried no other weapon than the dagger at his belt.\n\nBut Tore repeated, \"You must hand over your sword, as a sign\u2014\"\n\n\"Well, if you want to do this formally...\" said Erlend, laughing a bit. He went over and took down his sword from the peg, holding it by the sheath and offering the hilt to Tore Eindridess\u00f8n with a slight bow.\n\nThe old man from Gimsar loosened the fastenings, pulled the sword all the way out, and stroked the blade with a fingertip.\n\n\"Was it this sword, Erlend, that you used...?\"\n\nErlend's blue eyes glittered like steel; he pressed his lips together into a narrow line.\n\n\"Yes. It was with this sword that I punished your grandson when I found him with my daughter.\"\n\nTore stood holding the sword; he looked down at it and said in a threatening tone, \"You who were supposed to uphold the law, Erlend\u2014you should have known then that you were going farther than the law would follow you.\"\n\nErlend threw back his head, his eyes blazing and fierce. \"There is a law, Tore, that cannot be subverted by sovereigns or tings, which says that a man must protect the honor of his women with the sword.\"\n\n\"You've been fortunate, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, that no man has ever used that law against you,\" replied Tore of Gimsar, his voice full of malice. \"Or you might have needed as many lives as a cat.\"\n\nErlend's response was infuriatingly slow.\n\n\"Isn't the present undertaking serious enough that you would think it inopportune to bring up those old charges from my youth?\"\n\n\"I don't know whether Baard of Lensvik would consider them old charges.\" Rage surged up inside Erlend and he was about to reply, but Tore shouted, \"You ought to find out first, Erlend, whether your paramours are so clever that they can read, before you run around on your nightly adventures with secret letters in your belt. Just ask Baard who it was that warned us you were planning treachery against your king, to whom you've sworn loyalty and who granted you the position of sheriff.\"\n\nInvoluntarily Erlend pressed a hand to his breast\u2014for a moment he glanced at his wife, and the blood rushed to his face. Then Kristin ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. Erlend looked down into her face\u2014he saw nothing but love in her eyes.\n\n\"Erlend\u2014husband!\"\n\nThe royal treasurer had remained largely silent. Now he went over to the two of them and said softly, \"My dear mistress, perhaps it would be best if you took the children and the serving women with you into the women's house and stayed there as long as we're here at the manor.\"\n\nErlend let go of his wife with one last squeeze of his arm around her shoulder.\n\n\"It would be best, my dear Kristin. Do as Sir Baard advises.\"\n\nKristin stood on her toes and offered Erlend her lips. Then she went out into the courtyard and collected her children and serving women from among the crowd, taking them with her into the little house. There was no other women's house at Husaby.\n\nThey sat there for several hours; the composure of their mistress kept the frightened group more or less calm. Then Erlend entered, bearing no weapons and dressed for travel. Two strangers stood guard at the door.\n\nHe shook hands with his eldest sons and then lifted the smallest ones into his arms, while he asked where Gaute was. \"Well, you must give him my greetings, Naakkve. He must have gone off into the woods with his bow the way he usually does. Tell him he can have my English longbow after all\u2014the one I refused to give him last Sunday.\"\n\nKristin pulled him to her without speaking a word.\n\nThen she whispered urgently, \"When are you coming back, Erlend, my friend?\"\n\n\"When God wills it, my wife.\"\n\nShe stepped back, struggling not to break down. Normally he never addressed her in any other way except by using her given name; his last words had shaken her to the heart. Only now did she fully understand what had happened.\n\nAt sunset Kristin was sitting up on the hill north of the manor.\n\nShe had never before seen the sky so red and gold. Above the opposite ridge stretched an enormous cloud; it was shaped like a bird's wing, glowing from within like iron in the forge, and gleaming brightly like amber. Small golden shreds like feathers tore away and floated into the air. And far below, on the lake at the bottom of the valley, spread a mirror image of the sky and the cloud and the ridge. Down in the depths the radiant blaze was flaring upward, covering everything in sight.\n\nThe grass in the meadows had grown tall, and the silky tassels of the straw shone dark red beneath the crimson light from the sky; the barley had sprouted spikes and caught the light on the young, silky-smooth awn. The sod-covered rooftops of the farm buildings were thick with sorrel and buttercups, and the sun lay across them in wide bands. The blackened shingles of the church roof gleamed darkly, and its light-colored stone walls were becoming softly gilded.\n\nThe sun broke through from beneath the cloud, perched on the mountain rim, and lit up one forested ridge after another. It was such a clear evening; the light opened up vistas to small hamlets amidst the spruce-decked slopes. She could make out mountain pastures and tiny farms in among the trees that she had never been able to see before from Husaby. The shapes of huge mountains rose up, reddish-violet, in the south toward Dovre, in places that were usually covered by haze and clouds.\n\nThe smallest bell down in the church began to ring, and the church bell at Vinjar answered. Kristin sat bowed over her folded hands until the last notes of the ninefold peal died away.\n\nNow the sun was behind the ridge; the golden glow paled and the crimson grew softer and pinker. After the ringing of the bells had ceased, the rustling sound from the forest swelled and spread again; the tiny creek trickling through the leafy woods down in the valley sounded louder. From the pasture nearby came the familiar clinking of the livestock bells; a flying beetle buzzed halfway around her and then disappeared.\n\nShe sent a last sigh after her prayers; an appeal for forgiveness because her thoughts had been elsewhere while she prayed.\n\nThe beautiful large estate lay below her on the hillside, like a jewel on the wide bosom of the slope. She gazed out across all the land she had owned along with her husband. Thoughts about the manor and its care had filled her soul to the brim. She had worked and struggled. Not until this evening did she realize how much she had struggled to put this estate back on its feet and keep it going\u2014how hard she had tried and how much she had accomplished.\n\nShe had accepted it as her fate, to be borne with patience and a straight back, that this had fallen to her. Just as she had striven to be patient and steadfast no matter what life presented, every time she learned she was carrying yet another child under her breast\u2014again and again. With each son added to the flock she recognized that her responsibility had grown for ensuring the prosperity and secure position of the lineage. Tonight she realized that her ability to survey everything at once and her watchfulness had also grown with each new child entrusted to her care. Never had she seen it so clearly as on this evening\u2014what destiny had demanded of her and what it had given her in return with her seven sons. Over and over again joy had quickened the beat of her heart; fear on their behalf had rent it in two. They were her children, these big sons with their lean, bony, boy's bodies, just as they had been when they were small and so plump that they barely hurt themselves when they tumbled down on their way between the bench and her knee. They were hers, just as they had been back when she lifted them out of the cradle to her milk-filled breast and had to support their heads, which wobbled on their frail necks the way a bluebell nods on its stalk. Wherever they ended up in the world, wherever they journeyed, forgetting their mother\u2014she thought that for her, their lives would be like a current in her own life; they would be one with her, just as they had been when she alone on this earth knew about the new life hidden inside, drinking from her blood and making her cheeks pale. Over and over she had endured the sinking, sweat-dripping anguish when she realized that once again her time had come; once again she would be pulled under by the groundswell of birth pains\u2014until she was lifted up with a new child in her arms. How much richer and stronger and braver she had become with each child was something that she first realized tonight.\n\nAnd yet she now saw that she was the same Kristin from J\u00f8rundgaard, who had never learned to bear an unkind word because she had been protected all her days by such a strong and gentle love. In Erlend's hands she was still the same...\n\nYes. Yes. Yes. It was true that all this time she had remembered, year after year, every wound he had ever caused her\u2014even though she had always known that he never wounded her the way a grown person intends harm to another, but rather the way a child strikes out playfully at his companion. Each time he offended her, she had tended to the memory the way one tends to a venomous sore. And with each humiliation he brought upon himself by acting on any impulse he might have\u2014it struck her like the lash of a whip against her flesh, causing a suppurating wound. It wasn't true that she willfully or deliberately harbored ill feelings toward her husband; she knew she wasn't usually narrow-minded, but with him she was. If Erlend had a hand in it, she forgot nothing\u2014and even the smallest scratch on her soul would continue to sting and bleed and swell and ache if he was the one to cause it.\n\nAbout him she would never be wiser or stronger. She might strive to seem capable and fearless, pious and strong in her marriage with him\u2014but in truth, she wasn't. Always, always there was the yearning lament inside her: She wanted to be his Kristin from the woods of Gerdarud.\n\nBack then she would have done everything she knew was wrong and sinful rather than lose him. To bind Erlend to her, she had given him all that she possessed: her love and her body, her honor and her share of God's salvation. And she had given him anything else she could find to give: her father's honor and his faith in his child, everything that grown and clever men had built up to protect an innocent little maiden if she should fall. She had set her love against their plans for the welfare and progress of her lineage, against their hopes for the fruit of their labors after they themselves lay buried. She had put at risk much more than her own life n this game, in which the only prize was the love of Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n.\n\nAnd she had won. She had known from the first time he kissed her in the garden of Hofvin until he kissed her today in the little house, before he was escorted from his home as a prisoner\u2014Erlend loved her as dearly as his own life. And if he had not counseled her well, she had known from the first moment she met him how he had counseled himself. If he had not always treated her well, he had nonetheless treated her better than he did himself.\n\nJesus, how she had won him! She admitted it to herself tonight; she had driven him to break their marriage vows with her own coldness and poisonous words. She now admitted to herself that even during those years when she had looked on his unseemly flirting with that woman Sunniva with resentment, she had also felt, in the midst of her rancor, an arrogant and spiteful joy. No one knew of any obvious stain on Sunniva Olavsdatter's reputation, and yet Erlend talked and jested with her like a hired man with an alehouse maid. About Kristin he knew that she could lie and betray those who trusted her most, that she could be willingly lured to the worst of places\u2014and yet he had trusted her, he had honored her as best he could. As easily as he forgot his fear of sin, as easily as he had finally broken his promise to God before the church door\u2014he had still grieved over his sins against her, he had struggled for years to keep his promises to her.\n\nShe had chosen him herself. She had chosen him in an ecstasy of passion, and she had chosen him again each day during those difficult years back home at J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014his impetuous passion in place of her father's love, which would not allow even the wind to touch her harshly. She had refused the destiny that her father had wished for her when he wanted to put her into the arms of a man who would have safely led her onto the most secure paths, even bending down to remove every little pebble that she might tread upon. She had chosen to follow the other man, whom she knew traveled on dangerous paths. Monks and priests had pointed out remorse and repentance as the road home to peace, but she had chosen strife rather than give up her precious sin.\n\nSo there was only one thing left for her; she could not lament or complain over whatever might now befall her at this man's side. It made her dizzy to think how long ago she had left her father. But she saw his beloved face and remembered his words on that day in the smithy when she stabbed the last knife into his heart; she remembered how they talked together up on the mountain that time when she realized that death's door stood open behind her father. It was shameful to complain about the fate she had chosen herself. Holy Olav, help me, so that I do not now prove myself unworthy of my father's love.\n\nErlend, Erlend... When she met him in her youth, life became for her like a roiling river, rushing over cliffs and rocks. During these years at Husaby, life had expanded outward, becoming wide and spacious like a lake, mirroring everything around her. She remembered back home when the Laag overflowed in the spring, stretching wide and gray and mighty along the valley floor, carrying with it drifting logs; and the crowns of the trees that stood rooted to the bottom would rock in the water. In the middle appeared small, dark, menacing eddies, where the current ran rough and wild and dangerous beneath the smooth surface. Now she knew that her love for Erlend had rushed like a turbulent and dangerous current through her life for all these years. Now it was carrying her outward\u2014she didn't know where.\n\nErlend, dear friend!\n\nOnce again Kristin spoke the words of a prayer to the Virgin into the red of the evening. Hail Mary, full of grace! I dare not ask you for more than one thing\u2014I see that now. Save Erlend, save my husband's life!\n\nShe looked down at Husaby and thought about her sons. Now, as the manor lay swathed in the evening light like a dream vision that might be whirled away, as her fear for the uncertain fate of her children shook her heart, she remembered this: She had never fully thanked God for the rich fruits her toils had borne over the years, she had never fully thanked Him for giving her a son seven times.\n\nFrom the vault of the evening sky, from the countryside beneath her gaze came the murmur of the mass intoned as she had heard it thousands of times before, in the voice of her father, who had explained the words to her when she was a child and stood at his knee: Then Sira Eirik sings the Pr\u00e6fatio when he turns toward the altar, and in Norwegian it means:\n\nTruly it is right and just, proper and redemptive that we always and everywhere should thank Thee, Holy Lord, Almighty Father, eternal God....\n\nWhen she lifted her face from her hands, she saw Gaute coming up the hillside. Kristin sat quietly and waited until the boy stood before her; then she reached out to take his hand. There was grassy meadow all around and not a single place to hide anywhere near the rock where she sat.\n\n\"How have you carried out your father's errand, my son?\" she asked him softly.\n\n\"As he asked me to, Mother. I made my way to the farm without being seen. Ulf wasn't home, so I burned what Father had given me in the hearth. I took it out of the wrapping.\" He hesitated for a moment. \"Mother\u2014there were nine seals on it.\"\n\n\"My Gaute.\" His mother put her hands on the boy's shoulders and looked into his face. \"Your father has had to place important matters in your hands. If you don't know what else to do, but you feel you need to speak of this to someone, then tell your mother what's troubling you. But it would please me most if you could keep silent about this altogether, son!\"\n\nThe fair complexion beneath the straight, flaxen hair, the big eyes, the full, firm red lips\u2014he looked so much like her father now. Gaute nodded. Then he placed his arm around his mother's shoulders. With painful sweetness Kristin noticed that she could lean her head against the boy's frail chest; he was so tall now that as he stood there and she sat beside him, her head reached to just above his heart. It was the first time she had leaned for support against this child.\n\nGaute said, \"Isak was home alone. I didn't show him what I was carrying, just told him I had something that needed to be burned. Then he made a big fire in the hearth before he went out and saddled his horse.\"\n\nKristin nodded. Then he released her, turned to face her, and asked in a childish voice full of fear and awe, \"Mother, do you know what they're saying? They're saying that Father... wants to be king.\"\n\n\"That sounds most unlikely, child,\" she replied with a smile.\n\n\"But he comes from the proper lineage, Mother,\" said the boy, somber and proud. \"And it seems to me that Father might be better at it than most other men.\"\n\n\"Hush.\" She took his hand again. \"My Gaute... you should realize, after Father has shown such trust in you... You and all the rest of us must neither think nor speak, but guard our tongues well until we learn more and can judge whether we ought to speak, and in what way. I'm going to ride to Nidaros tomorrow, and if I can talk to your father alone for a moment, I'll tell him that you have carried out his errand well.\"\n\n\"Take me with you, Mother!\" begged the boy earnestly.\n\n\"We must not let anyone think you're anything but a thoughtless child, Gaute. You will have to try, little son, to play and be as happy as you can at home\u2014in that way you will serve him best.\"\n\nNaakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf walked slowly up the hill. They came over to their mother and stood there, looking so young and strained and distraught. Kristin saw that they were still children enough to turn to their mother at this anxious time\u2014and yet they were so close to being men that they wanted to console or reassure her, if they could find some way to do so. She reached out a hand to each of the boys. But neither of them said very much.\n\nAfter a while they headed back home; Kristin walked with one hand on the shoulder of each of her eldest sons.\n\n\"Why are you looking at me that way, Naakkve?\" she said. But the boy blushed, turned his head away, and did not reply.\n\nHe had never before thought about how his mother looked. It had been years ago that he began comparing his father to other men\u2014his father was the most handsome of men, with the bearing most like a chieftain. His mother was the mother who had more and more children; they grew up and left the hands of women to join the life and companionship and fighting and friendship of the group of brothers. His mother had open hands through which everything they needed flowed; his mother had a remedy for almost every ill; his mother's presence at the manor was like the fire in the hearth. She created life at home the way the fields around Husaby created the year's crops; life and warmth issued from her as they did from the beasts in the cowshed and the horses in the stable. The boy had never thought to compare her to other women.\n\nTonight he suddenly saw it: She was a proud and beautiful woman. With her broad, pale forehead beneath the linen wimple, the even gaze of her steel-gray eyes under the calm arch of her brows, with her heavy bosom and her long, slender limbs. She held her tall figure as erect as a sword. But he could not speak of this; blushing and silent, he walked beside her, with her hand on the nape of his neck.\n\nGaute followed along behind. Bj\u00f8rgulf was also gripping the back of his mother's belt, and the older boy began grumbling because his brother was treading on his heels. They started shoving and pushing at each other. Their mother told them to hush and put an end to their quarreling\u2014but her somber expression softened into a smile. They were still just children, her sons.\n\nShe lay awake that night; she had Munan sleeping at her breast and Lavrans lay between her and the wall.\n\nKristin tried to take stock of her husband's case.\n\nShe couldn't believe that it was truly dangerous. Erling Vidkuns s\u00f8n and the king's cousins at Sudrheim had been charged with treason against their king and country\u2014but they were still here in Norway, as secure and rich as ever, although they might not stand as high in the king's favor as before.\n\nNo doubt Erlend had become involved in some unlawful activities in the service of Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg. Over all these years he had maintained his friendship with his highborn kinswoman. Kristin knew that five years back, when he visited her in Denmark, he had done her some unlawful service that had to be kept secret. Now that Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had taken up Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg's cause and was trying to acquire for her control of the property she owned in Norway\u2014it was conceivable that Erling had sent her to Erlend, or that she herself had turned to the son of her father's cousin after the friendship had cooled between Erling and the king. And then Erlend had handled the matter recklessly.\n\nYet if that was true, it was hard to understand how her kinsmen at Sundbu could have been involved in this.\n\nIt could only end with Erlend coming to a full reconciliation with the king, if he had done nothing more than act overzealously in service of the king's mother.\n\nHigh treason. She had heard about the downfall of Audun Hugleikss\u00f8n; it had happened during her father's youth. But they were terrifying misdeeds that Audun had been charged with. Her father said it was all a lie. The maiden Margret Eiriksdatter had died in the arms of the bishop of Bj\u00f8rgvin, but Audun took no part in the crusade, so he could not have sold her to the heathens. Maiden Isabel was thirteen years old, but Audun was more than fifty when he brought her home to be King Eirik's bride. It was shameful for a Christian to pay any heed at all to such rumors as there were about that bridal procession. Her father refused to allow the ballads about Audun to be sung at home on his manor. And yet there were unheard-of things said about Audun Hestakorn. He had supposedly sold all of King Haakon's military power to the French king and promised to sail to his aid with twelve hundred warships\u2014and for that he had received seven barrels of gold in payment. But it had never been fully explained to the peasants of the country why Audun Hugleikss\u00f8n had to die on the gallows at Nordnes.\n\nHis son fled the country; people said he had taken service in the army of the French king. The granddaughters of the Aalhus knight, Gyrid and Signe, had left their grandfather's execution site with his stable boy. They were to live like poor peasant wives somewhere in a mountain village in Haddingjadal.\n\nIt was a good thing, after all, that she and Erlend did not have daughters. No, she was not going to think about such matters. It was so unlikely that Erlend's case should have a worse outcome than... than that of Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n and the Haftorss\u00f8ns.\n\nNikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n of Husaby. Oh, now she too felt that Husaby was the most beautiful manor in all of Norway.\n\nShe would go to Sir Baard and find out all she could. The royal treasurer had always been her friend. Judge Olav, as well\u2014in the past. But Erlend had gone too far, that time when the judge decided against him in the case of his estate in town. And Olav had taken to heart the misfortune with his goddaughter's husband.\n\nThey had no close kinsmen, neither she nor Erlend\u2014no matter how extensive their lineage might be. Munan Baards\u00f8n no longer had great influence. He had been charged with unlawful deeds when he was sheriff of Ringerike; he was too eager in his attempts to further the position of his many children in the world\u2014he had four from his marriage and five outside of it. And he had apparently declined greatly since Fru Katrin had died. Inge of Ry county, Julitta and her husband, Ragnrid who was married to a Swede\u2014Erlend knew little of them. They were the remaining children of Herr Baard and Fru Aashild. There had never been friendship between Erlend and the Hestnes people since the death of Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n; Tormod of Raasvold had grown senile; and his children with Fru Gunna were all dead and his grandchildren underage.\n\nKristin herself had no other kinsmen in Norway from her father's lineage than Ketil Aasmundss\u00f8n of Skog and Sigurd Kyrning, who was married to her uncle's oldest daughter. The second daughter was a widow, and the third was a nun. All four of the men of Sundbu seemed to be involved in the case. Lavrans had become such foes with Erlend Eldjarn over the inheritance after Ivar Gjesling's death that they had refused to see each other ever again, so Kristin did not know her aunt's husband or his son.\n\nThe ailing monk at the friars' monastery was Erlend's only close kinsman. And the one who stood closest to Kristin in the world was Simon Darre, since he was married to her only sister.\n\nMunan woke up and began to whimper. Kristin turned over in bed and placed the child to her other breast. She couldn't take him with her to Nidaros, as uncertain as everything now stood. Perhaps this would be the last drink the poor child would ever have from his own mother's breast. Perhaps this was the last time in this world that she would lie in bed holding a little infant... so good, so good... If Erlend was condemned to death... Blessed Mary, Mother of God, if she had ever for an hour or a day been impatient because of the children that God had granted to her... Was this to be the last kiss she ever received from a little mouth, sweet with milk?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "Kristin went to the king's palace the next evening, as soon as she arrived in Nidaros. Where are they holding Erlend? she wondered as she looked around at the many stone buildings. She seemed to be thinking more about how Erlend might be faring than about what she needed to find out. But she was told that the royal treasurer was not in town.\n\nHer eyes were stinging from the long boat trip in the glittering sunshine, and her breasts were bursting with milk. After the servants who slept in the main house had fallen asleep, she got out of bed and paced the floor all night.\n\nThe next day she sent Haldor, her personal servant, over to the king's palace. He came back shocked and distressed.\n\nHis uncle, Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, had been taken prisoner on the fjord as he attempted to reach the monastery on the island of Holm. The royal treasurer had not yet returned.\n\nThis news also frightened Kristin terribly. Ulf had not lived at Husaby during the past year but had served as the sheriff's deputy, residing for the most part at Skjoldvirkstad, a large share of which he now owned. What kind of matter could this be when so many men seemed to be involved? She couldn't stop herself from thinking the worst, ill and exhausted as she now was.\n\nBy the morning of the third day, Sir Baard had still not returned home. And a message that Kristin had tried to send to her husband was not allowed through. She thought about seeking out Gunnulf at the monastery, but decided against it. She paced the floor at home, back and forth, again and again, with her eyes half-closed and burning. Now and then she felt as if she were walking in her sleep, but as soon as she lay down, fear and pain would seize hold of her and she would have to get up again, wide awake, and walk to make it bearable.\n\nShortly after midafternoon prayers Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n came to see her. Kristin walked swiftly toward the monk.\n\n\"Have you seen Erlend? Gunnulf, what are they accusing him of?\"\n\n\"The news is troubling, Kristin. No, they won't allow anyone near Erlend\u2014least of all any of us from the monastery. They think that Abbot Olav knew about his undertakings. He borrowed money from the brothers, but they swear they knew nothing about what he intended to use it for when they placed the cloister's seal on the document. And Abbot Olav refuses to give any explanation.\"\n\n\"Yes, but what is it all about? Was it the duchess who lured Erlend into this?\"\n\nGunnulf replied, \"It seems instead that they had to press hard before she would agree. Someone... has seen drafts of a letter, which Erlend and his friends sent to her in the spring; it's not likely to fall into the hands of the authorities unless they can threaten Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg to part with it. And they haven't found any drafts. But according to both the reply letter and the letter from Herr Aage Laurisen, which they seized from Borgar Trondss\u00f8n in Ve\u00f8y, it seems certain enough that she did receive such a missive from Erlend and the men who have joined forces with him in this plan. For a long time she clearly seemed to fear sending Prince Haakon to Norway; but they persuaded her that no matter what the outcome might be, King Magnus would not possibly harm the child, since they are brothers. Even if Haakon Knutss\u00f8n did not win the Crown in Norway, he would be no worse off than before. But these men were willing to risk their lives and their property to put him on the throne.\"\n\nFor a long time Kristin sat in utter silence.\n\n\"I understand. These are more serious matters than what came between Sir Erling or the Haftorss\u00f8ns and the king.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Gunnulf in a subdued voice. \"Haftor Olavss\u00f8n and Erlend were supposedly sailing to Bj\u00f8rgvin. But they were actually heading for Kalundborg, and they were to bring Prince Haakon back with them to Norway while King Magnus was abroad courting his bride.\"\n\nAfter a moment the monk continued in the same tone of voice. \"It must be... nearly a hundred years since any Norwegian has dared attempt such a thing: to overthrow the man who was king by right of succession and replace him with an opposing king.\"\n\nKristin sat and stared straight ahead; Gunnulf could not see her face.\n\n\"Yes. The last men who dared undertake this game were your ancestors and Erlend's. Back then my deceased kinsmen of the Gjesling lineage were also on the side of King Skule,\" she said pensively.\n\nShe met Gunnulf's searching glance and then exclaimed hotly and fiercely, \"I'm merely a simple woman, Gunnulf\u2014I paid little attention when my husband spoke with other men about such matters. I was unwilling to listen when he wanted to discuss them with me. God help me, I don't have the wits to understand such weighty topics. But foolish woman that I am, with knowledge of nothing more than my household duties and rearing children\u2014even I know that justice had much too long a road to travel before any grievance could find its way to the king and then back again to the villages. I too have seen that the peasants of this country are faring worse and must endure more hardships now than when I was a child, and blessed King Haakon was our lord. My husband...\" She took several quick, shuddery breaths. \"My husband took up a cause that was so great that none of the other chieftains in all the land dared raise it. I see that now.\"\n\n\"That he did.\" The monk clasped his hands tightly together. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. \"Such a great cause that many will think it very grave that he brought about its downfall himself... and in this way...\"\n\nKristin cried out and leaped to her feet. She moved with such force that the pain in her breast and arms brought the sweat pouring from her body. Agitated and dizzy with fever, she turned to Gunnulf and shouted loudly, \"Erlend is not to blame... it just happened... it was his misfortune...\"\n\nShe threw herself to her knees and pressed her hands on the bench; she lifted her blazing, desperate face to the monk.\n\n\"You and I, Gunnulf... you, his brother, and I, his wife for thirteen years, we shouldn't blame Erlend now that he's a poor prisoner, with his life perhaps in danger.\"\n\nGunnulf's face quivered. He looked down at the kneeling woman. \"May God reward you, Kristin, for accepting things in this manner.\" Again he wrung his emaciated hands. \"God... may God grant Erlend life and such circumstances that he might repay your loyalty. May God turn this evil away from you and your children, Kristin.\"\n\n\"Don't talk like that!\" She straightened her back as she knelt, and looked up into the monk's eyes. \"No good has come of it, Gunnulf, whenever you have taken on Erlend's affairs or mine. No one has judged him more harshly than you\u2014his brother and God's servant.\"\n\n\"Never have I judged Erlend more harshly than... than was necessary.\" His pale face had grown even paler. \"I've never loved anyone on earth more than my brother. That is no doubt why... They stung me as if they were my own sins, sins that I had to repent myself, when Erlend dealt with you so badly. And then there is Husaby. Erlend alone must carry on the lineage which is also mine. And I have put most of my inheritance into his hands. Your sons are the men who are closest to me by blood....\"\n\n\"Erlend has not dealt with me badly! I was no better than him! Why are you talking to me this way, Gunnulf? You were never my confessor. Sira Eiliv never blamed my husband\u2014he admonished me for my sins whenever I complained of my difficulties to him. He was a better priest than you are; he's the one God has placed over me, he's the one I must listen to, and he has never said that I suffered unjustly. I will listen to him!\"\n\nGunnulf stood up when she did. Pale and distressed, he murmured, \"What you say is true. You must listen to Sira Eiliv.\"\n\nHe turned to go, but she gripped his hand tightly. No, don't leave me like this! I remember, Gunnulf... I remember when I visited you here on this estate, back when it belonged to you. And you were kind to me. I remember the first time I met you\u2014I was in great need and anguish. I remember you spoke to me in Erlend's defense; you couldn't know... You prayed and prayed for my life and my child's. I know that you meant us well, and that you loved Erlend....\n\n\"Oh, don't speak harshly of Erlend, Gunnulf! Who among us is pure before God? My father grew fond of him, and our children love their father. Remember that he found me weak and easy to sway, but he led me to a good and honorable place. Oh, yes, Husaby is beautiful. On the night before I left, it was so lovely; the sunset was magnificent that evening. We've spent many a good day there, Erlend and I. No matter how things go, no matter what happens, he is still my husband\u2014my husband, whom I love.\"\n\nGunnulf leaned both hands on his staff, which he always carried now whenever he left the monastery.\n\n\"Kristin... Do not put your faith in the red of the sunset and in the... love that you remember, now that you fear for his life.\n\n\"I remember, when I was young\u2014only a subdeacon. Gudbj\u00f8rg, whom Alf of Uvaasen later married, was serving at Siheim then. She was accused of stealing a gold ring. It turned out that she was innocent, but the shame and the fear shook her soul so fiercely that the Fiend seized power over her. She went down to the lake and was about to sink into the water. She has often told us of this afterwards: that the world seemed to her such a lovely red and gold, and the water glistened and felt wondrously warm. But as she stood out there in the lake, she spoke the name of Jesus and made the sign of the cross\u2014and then the whole world grew gray and cold, and she saw where she was headed.\"\n\n\"Then I won't say his name.\" Kristin spoke quietly; her bearing was rigid and erect. \"If I thought that, then I would be tempted to betray my lord when he is in need. But I don't think it would be the name of Christ but rather the name of the Devil that would bring this about....\"\n\n\"That's not what I meant. I meant... May God give you strength, Kristin, that you may have the will to do this, to bear your husband's faults with a loving spirit.\"\n\n\"You can see that's what I'm doing,\" she said in the same voice as before.\n\nGunnulf turned away from her, pale and trembling. He drew his hand over his face.\n\n\"I must go home now. It's easier... at home it's easier for me to collect myself\u2014to do what I can for Erlend and for you. God... May God and all the saints protect my brother's life and freedom. Oh, Kristin... You mustn't ever think that I don't love my brother.\"\n\nBut after he had left, Kristin thought everything seemed much worse. She didn't want the servants in the room with her; she paced back and forth, wringing her hands and moaning softly. It was already late in the evening when people came riding into the courtyard. A moment later, as the door was thrown open, a tall, stout man wearing a traveling cloak appeared in the twilight; he walked toward her with his spurs ringing and his sword trailing behind. When she recognized Simon Andress\u00f8n, Kristin broke into loud sobbing and ran toward him with outstretched arms, but she shrieked in pain when he embraced her.\n\nSimon let her go. She was standing with her hands on his shoulders and her forehead leaning against his chest, weeping inconsolably. He put his hands lightly on her hips.\n\n\"In God's name, Kristin!\" There was a sense of deliverance in the very sound of his dry, warm voice and in the vital male smell about him: of sweat, road dust, horses, and leather harnesswork. \"In God's name, it's much too soon to lose all hope and courage. Surely there must be a way...\"\n\nAfter a while she regained her composure enough to ask his forgiveness. She was feeling quite wretched because she had been forced to take the youngest child from her breast so suddenly.\n\nSimon heard how she had been faring the last three days. He shouted for her maid and asked angrily whether there wasn't a single woman on the estate who had enough wits to see what was wrong with the mistress. But the maid was an inexperienced young girl, and Erlend's foreman of his Nidaros manor was a widower with two unmarried daughters. Simon sent a man to town to find a woman skilled in healing, but he begged Kristin to lie down and rest. When she felt a little better he would come in and talk to her.\n\nWhile they waited for the woman to arrive, Simon and his man were given food in the hall. As they ate, he talked to Kristin, who was undressing in the alcove. Yes, he had ridden north as soon as he heard what had happened at Sundbu. He had come here, while Ramborg went to stay with the wives of Ivar and Borgar. They had taken Ivar to Mj\u00f8s Castle, but they allowed Haavard to remain free, although he had to promise to stay in the village. It was said that Borgar and Guttorm had been fortunate enough to flee; Jon of Laugarbru had ridden out to Raumsdal to hear the news and would send word to Nidaros. Simon had reached Husaby around midday, but he hadn't stayed long. The boys were fine, but Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf had begged him earnestly to bring them along.\n\nKristin had regained her calm and courage when Simon, late that evening, came to sit at her bedside. She lay there with the feeling of pleasant exhaustion which follows great suffering, and looked at her brother-in-law's heavy, sunburned face and his small, piercing eyes. It was a great comfort to her that he had come. Simon grew quite somber when he heard more details of the matter, and yet his words were full of hope.\n\nKristin lay in bed, staring at the elkskin belt around his portly middle. The large, flat buckle made of copper and chased with silver, its only decoration a filigreed \"A\" and \"M\" which stood for Ave Maria; the long dagger with the gilded silver mountings and the large rock crystals on the hilt; the pitiful little table knife with its cracked horn hilt which had been repaired with a band of brass\u2014all these things had been part of her father's everyday attire ever since she was a child. She remembered when Simon received them; it was right before her father died, and he wanted to give Simon his best gilded belt with enough silver to have extra plates made so that his son-in-law could wear it. But Simon asked for the other belt instead, and when Lavrans said that now he was cheating himself, Simon replied that the dagger was a costly item. \"Yes, and then there's the knife,\" said Ragnfrid with a little smile, and both men laughed and said: \"Yes indeed, the knife.\" Her father and mother had had so many quarrels over that knife. Ragnfrid had complained every day at having to look at that ugly little knife on her husband's belt. But Lavrans swore that she would never succeed in parting him from it. \"I've never drawn this knife against you, Ragnfrid\u2014and it's the best one in all of Norway for cutting butter, as long as it's warm.\"\n\nKristin now asked to see the knife, and she lay in bed, holding it in her hands for a moment.\n\n\"I wish that I might own this knife,\" she pleaded softly.\n\n\"Yes, I can well believe that. I'm glad it's mine; I wouldn't sell it for even twenty marks of silver.\" With a laugh Simon grabbed her wrist and took back the knife. His small, plump hands always felt so good\u2014warm and dry.\n\nA short time later he bade her good night, picked up the candle, and went into the main room. She heard him kneel down before the cross, then stand up and drop his boots onto the floor. A few minutes later he climbed heavily into the bed against the north wall. Then Kristin sank into a deep, sweet sleep.\n\nShe didn't wake up until quite late the next morning. Simon Andress\u00f8n had left hours earlier, and he had asked the servants to tell her to stay calm and remain at the estate.\n\nHe didn't return until almost time for midafternoon prayers; he said at once, \"I bring you greetings from Erlend, Kristin. I was allowed to speak to him.\"\n\nHe saw how young her face became, soft and full of anguished tenderness. Then he held her hand in his as he talked. He and Erlend hadn't been able to say much to each other, because the man who had escorted Simon up to the prisoner never left the room. Judge Olav had won Simon permission for this meeting, because of the kinship that had existed between them while Halfrid was alive. Erlend sent loving greetings to Kristin and the children; he had asked about all of them, but most about Gaute. Simon thought that in a few days Kristin would surely be allowed to see her husband. Erlend had seemed calm and in good spirits.\n\n\"If I had gone with you today, they would have let me see him too,\" she said quietly.\n\nBut Simon thought he had been granted permission because he came alone. \"Although it might be easier for you in many ways, Kristin, to gain concessions if a man steps forward in your behalf.\"\n\nErlend was being held in a room in the east tower, facing the river\u2014one of the finer chambers, although it was small. Ulf Hal dorss\u00f8n was supposedly sitting in the dungeon; Haftor in a different chamber.\n\nCautiously and hesitantly, as he tried to discern how much she could bear, Simon recounted what he had been able to learn in town. When he saw that she understood fully what had happened, he didn't hide that he too thought it a dangerous matter. But everyone he had spoken to said that Erlend would never have ventured to plan such an undertaking and carry it out as far as he had without being certain that he had a majority of the knights and gentry behind him. And since the ranks of the malcontent noblemen were so great, it wasn't expected that the king would dare deal harshly with their chieftain; he would have to allow Erlend to be reconciled with him in some way.\n\nKristin asked in a low voice, \"Where does Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n stand in all this?\"\n\n\"I think that's something that many a man would like to know,\" said Simon.\n\nHe didn't tell Kristin, nor had he told any of the men he talked to, but he thought it unlikely that Erlend would have a large group of men behind him who had bound themselves to support him with their lives and property in such a perilous undertaking. And certainly they would never have chosen him as chieftain; all his peers knew that Erlend was unreliable. It was true that he was the kinsman of Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg and the pretender to the throne. He had enjoyed both power and respect in the last few years, he was more experienced in war than most of his peers, and he had a reputation for being able to recruit and lead soldiers. Even though he had acted unwisely so many times, he could still present his arguments in such a good and convincing manner that it was almost possible to believe he had finally learned caution from his misdeeds. Simon thought it likely that there were some who knew of Erlend's plan and had urged him on, but he would be surprised if they had bound themselves so closely that they couldn't now retreat; Erlend would be left standing with no one to back him.\n\nSimon thought he could see that Erlend himself expected little else, and he seemed prepared to have to pay dearly for his risky game. \"When cows are stuck in the mire, whoever owns them has to pull them out by the tail,\" he had said with a laugh. Otherwise Erlend had not been able to say much in the presence of the third man.\n\nSimon wondered why the reunion with his brother-in-law had upset him so greatly. Perhaps it was the small, confining tower room where Erlend had invited him to take a seat on the bed, which stretched from one wall to the other and filled half the room, or Erlend's slender, dignified form as he stood at the small slit in the wall which allowed in light. Erlend looked unafraid, his eyes alert, unclouded by either fear or hope. He was a vigorous, cool, and manly figure now that all the constraining webs of flirtations and foolishness over women had been swept away from him. And yet it was women and his dealings in love that had landed him there, along with all his bold plans, which came to an end before he had even brought them to light. But Erlend didn't seem to be thinking about that. He stood there like a man who had risked the most daring of ventures and lost, and then knew how to bear the defeat in a manly and stalwart fashion.\n\nAnd his surprised and joyous gratitude when he saw his brother-in-law suited him well.\n\nSimon had said, \"Do you remember, brother-in-law, that night we kept watch at our fatherin-law's bedside? We shook hands, and Lavrans placed his hand on top. We promised each other and him that all our days we would stand together as brothers.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Erlend's smile lit up his face. \"Yes, Lavrans probably never thought that you would ever be in need of my help.\"\n\n\"It was more likely,\" said Simon unperturbed, \"that he meant you, in your circumstances, might be of support to me, and not that you should need my help.\"\n\nErlend smiled again. \"Lavrans was a wise man, Simon. And as strange as it may sound, I know he was fond of me.\"\n\nSimon thought that God knew it might indeed seem strange, but now he himself\u2014in spite of all he knew about Erlend and in spite of everything the other man had done to him\u2014couldn't help feeling a brotherly tenderness toward Kristin's husband. Then Erlend had asked about her.\n\nSimon told him how he had found her: ill and very frightened for her husband. Olav Hermanss\u00f8n had promised to seek permission for her to come to see him as soon as Sir Baard returned home.\n\n\"Not before she's well,\" said Erlend quickly, his voice fearful. An odd, almost girlish blush spread across his tan, unshaven face. \"That's the only thing I fear, Simon\u2014that I won't be able to bear it when I see her!\"\n\nBut after a moment he said calmly, \"I know you will stand steadfast at her side if she is to be widowed this year. They won't be poor, at any rate\u2014she and the children\u2014with her inheritance from Lavrans. And then she'll have you close at hand when she goes to live at J\u00f8rundgaard.\"\n\nThe day after the Feast of the Birth of Mary, the lord chancellor, Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n, arrived in Nidaros. A court was now appointed, consisting of twelve of the king's retainers from the northern districts, to decide Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's case. Sir Finn Ogmundss\u00f8n, the lord chancellor's brother, was chosen to present the charges against him.\n\nIn the meantime, during the summer, Haftor Olavss\u00f8n of God\u00f8y had killed himself, using the little dagger that every prisoner was allowed to keep to cut up his food. Imprisonment had apparently taken such a toll on Haftor that he hadn't had his full wits about him. When Erlend heard of this, he told Simon that at least now he wouldn't have to worry about what Haftor might say. And yet he was clearly shaken.\n\nGradually it became a habit for the guard to leave the room on an errand whenever Simon or Kristin was visiting Erlend. Both of them realized, and mentioned it to each other, that Erlend's first and foremost thought was to make it through the court case without revealing his accomplices. One day he said this quite openly to Simon. He had promised every man who had conspired with him that he would rather cut off his own hand than reveal anything, if it came to that; \"and I have never yet betrayed anyone who has put their trust in me.\" Simon stared at the man. Erlend's eyes were blue and clear; it was obvious that he truly believed this about himself.\n\nThe king's envoys had not succeeded in tracking down anyone else who had taken part in Erlend's plot other than the two brothers, Greip and Torvard Toress\u00f8n of M\u00f8re. And they refused to admit to knowing anything but that Erlend and several other men planned to persuade Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg to allow Prince Haakon Knutss\u00f8n to be educated in Norway. Later the chieftains would propose to King Magnus that it would be of benefit to both of his kingdoms if he gave his half-brother sovereignty in Norway.\n\nBorgar and Guttorm Trondss\u00f8n had been fortunate enough to escape from the king's castle at Ve\u00f8y. No one knew how, but people guessed that Borgar had been helped by a woman. He was very handsome and quite impetuous. Ivar of Sundbu was still being held in Mj\u00f8s Castle; the brothers had apparently kept young Haavard out of their plans.\n\nAt the same time the meeting of the retainers was being held at the king's palace, the archbishop convened a concilium at his estate. Simon was a man with many friends and acquaintances, and so he could report to Kristin what was happening. Everyone thought that Erlend would be banished and would have to forfeit his properties to the king. Erlend also thought this was how things would turn out, and he was in good spirits; he was planning to go to Denmark. As things now stood in that country, there were always opportunities open for a man who was fit and skilled with weapons, and Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg would surely embrace his wife as her kinswoman and keep her at her side with the proper honors. Simon would have to take care of the children, although Erlend wanted to take his two eldest sons with him.\n\nKristin hadn't been outside of Nidaros for a single day in all this time, nor had she seen her children, except for Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rg ulf. They had come riding up to the estate one evening alone. Their mother kept them with her for several days, but then she sent them to Raasvold, where Fru Gunna had taken in the younger boys.\n\nThis was in accordance with Erlend's wishes. And she was afraid of the thoughts that might rise up in her mind if she should see her sons around her, hear their questions, and try to explain matters to them. She struggled to push aside all thoughts and memories of her marriage years spent at Husaby, which had been so rich that now they seemed to her like a great calm\u2014the way there is a kind of calm over the waves of the sea if viewed from high enough up a mountain ridge. The swells that surge after each other seem eternal, melding into one; that was the way life had rippled through her soul during that vast span of years.\n\nNow things were once again the way they had been in her youth, when she had put her faith in Erlend, defying everyone and everything. Once again her life had become one long waiting from hour to hour, in between the times when she was allowed to see her husband, to sit at his side on the bed in the tower room of the king's palace, and to talk with him calmly\u2014until they happened to be alone for a few moments. Then they would throw themselves into each other's arms with endless, passionate kisses and wild embraces.\n\nAt other times she would sit in Christ Church for hours on end. She would sink to her knees and stare up at Saint Olav's golden shrine behind the gratings of the choir. Lord, I am his wife. Lord, I stood by him when I was his, in sin and iniquity. By the grace of God, we two unworthy souls were joined together in holy marriage. Branded by the flames of sin, bowed by the burdens of sin, we came together at the portals of God's house; together we received the Savior's Host from the hand of the priest. Should I now complain if God is testing my faith? Should I now think about anything else but that I am his wife and he is my husband for as long as we both shall live?\n\nOn the Thursday before Michaelmas the meeting of the royal retainers was held and sentence was pronounced over Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n of Husaby. He was found guilty of attempting to steal land and subjects from King Magnus, of inciting opposition to the king throughout the country, and of attempting to bring into Norway mercenary forces from abroad. After looking into similar cases from the past, the judges found that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n should forfeit his life and his property at the hands of King Magnus.\n\nArne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n brought the news to Simon Darre and Kristin Lavransdatter at Nikulausgaard. He had been present at the meeting.\n\nErlend had not tried to prove his innocence. In a clear, firm voice he had acknowledged his intentions: With these undertakings he had sought to force King Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n to grant the Crown of Norway to his young half-brother, Prince Haakon Knutss\u00f8n Porse. Erlend had spoken eloquently, thought Arne. He had talked about the great hardships that had befallen his countrymen because for the past few years the king had spent little time within Norway's boundaries and had never seemed willing to appoint representatives who could rule justly and exercise royal authority. Because of the king's actions in Skaane, and because of the extravagance and inability to handle money matters shown by those men he listened to most, the people had been subjected to great burdens and poverty. And they never felt safe from new demands for aid and taxes above what was normally expected. Since the Norwegian knights and noblemen had far fewer rights and freedom than the Swedish knighthood, it was difficult for the former to compete with the latter. And it was only reasonable that the young and imprudent man, King Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n, should listen more to his Swedish lords and love them better, since they had more wealth and thus a greater ability to support him with men who were both armed and experienced in war.\n\nErlend and his allies had thought they could sense such strong feelings among the majority of their countrymen\u2014the gentry, farmers, and townsmen in the north and west of Norway\u2014that they were certain of finding full support if they could produce a royal rival who was as closely related to our dear lord, the blessed King Haakon, as the king who was now in power. Erlend had expected that his countrymen would rally around the plan to persuade King Magnus to allow his brother to assume the throne here, but Prince Haakon would have to swear to maintain peace and brotherhood with King Magnus, to protect the kingdom of Norway in accordance with the ancient land boundaries, to assert the rights of God's Church, to enforce the laws and customs of the land according to ancient tradition, along with the rights and freedoms of the peasants and townsmen, as well as to fend off any incursion of foreigners into the realm. It had been the intention of Erlend and his friends to present this plan to King Magnus in a peaceful manner. And yet it had always been the right of Norwegian farmers and chieftains in the past to reject any king who attempted to rule unlawfully.\n\nAs to the actions of Ulf Sakses\u00f8n in England and Scotland, Erlend said that Ulf's sole purpose had been to win favor there for Prince Haakon, if God should grant that he became king. No other Norwegian man had taken part in these endeavors except for Haftor Olavss\u00f8n of God\u00f8y\u2014may God have mercy on his soul\u2014the three sons of his kinsman Trond Gjesling of Sundbu, and Greip and Torvard Toress\u00f8n of the Hatteberg lineage.\n\nErlend's speech had made a deep impression, said Arne Gjav valdss\u00f8n. But in the end, when he mentioned that they had expected support from men of the Church, he then referred to the old rumors from the days when King Magnus was growing up, and that had been unwise, thought Arne. The archbishop's representative had responded sharply: Archbishop Paal Baards\u00f8n, both now and when he was chancellor, felt great love for King Magnus because of his godly temperament, and people wanted to forget that these rumors had ever existed about their king. Now he was about to marry a maiden, the daughter of the Earl of Namur... so even if there had ever been any truth to the rumors, Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n had now completely turned away from such interests.\n\nArne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n had shown Simon Andress\u00f8n the greatest friendship while he was in Nidaros. It was also Arne who now reminded Simon that Erlend had the right to appeal this sentence as having been unlawfully decided. According to the law books, the charge against Erlend had to be brought by one of his peers, but Sir Finn of Hestb\u00f8 was a knight, while Erlend was a nobleman, but not a knight. Arne thought it was possible that a new court would find that Erlend could not be sentenced to a harsher punishment than banishment.\n\nIn terms of what Erlend had proposed, about the kind of sovereignty which he thought would serve the country best... that had sounded fine indeed. And everyone knew where the man was who would like to take the helm and steer that course while the new king was underage. Arne scratched the gray stubble of his beard and gave Simon a sidelong glance.\n\n\"No one has heard from Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n or spoken to him all summer?\" asked Simon, also keeping his voice low.\n\n\"No. Well, I've heard he says he's fallen out of favor with the king and is keeping out of all such matters. But it's been years since he could stand to sit at home for such a long time and listen to Fru Elin chattering. And people say his daughters are just as beautiful and just as foolish as their mother.\"\n\nErlend had listened to his sentence with a steadfast, calm expression, and he had greeted the gentlemen of the royal retinue in just as courteous, open, and splendid a manner when he was led out as when he had been escorted in. He was calm and cheerful when Kristin and Simon were allowed to talk to him the following day. Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n was with them, and Erlend said that he would take Arne's advice.\n\n\"I could never persuade Kristin here to come with me to Denmark before,\" he said, putting an arm around his wife's waist. \"And I always had such a desire to journey out into the world with her....\" A tremor seemed to pass over his features, and suddenly he pressed an ardent kiss to her pale cheek, without concern for the two men who stood looking on.\n\nSimon Andress\u00f8n set off for Husaby to make arrangements for Kristin's personal possessions to be moved to J\u00f8rundgaard. He had also advised her to send the children to Gudbrandsdal at the same time.\n\nKristin said, \"My sons will not leave their father's estate until they are driven from it.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't wait for that, if I were you,\" said Simon. \"They're young; they can't fully understand these things. It would be better if you let them leave Husaby believing that they are merely going to visit their aunt and see their mother's property in the valley.\"\n\nErlend said that Simon was right about this. But in the end only Ivar and Skule traveled with their uncle south. Kristin didn't have the heart to send the two youngest boys so far away from her. When Lavrans and Munan were brought to her at the estate in town and she saw that the smallest didn't even recognize her, she broke down. Simon hadn't seen her shed a single tear since the first evening he arrived in Nidaros; now she wept and wept over Munan, who squirmed and wriggled in the crush of his mother's arms, wanting to go to his foster mother. And she wept over little Lavrans, who crept up into his mother's lap and put his arms around her neck and cried because she was crying. Now she would keep the two youngest with her, along with Gaute, who didn't want to go with Simon. She also thought it ill-advised to let the child out of her sight, since he had to bear a burden that was much too heavy for his age.\n\nSira Eiliv had brought the children to Nidaros. He had asked the archbishop for leave from his church and permission to visit his brother in Tautra; this was gladly granted to Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n's house priest. Now he said that Kristin couldn't stay in town with so many children to care for, and he offered to take Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf out to the monastery.\n\nOn the last evening before the priest and the two boys were to depart\u2014Simon had already left with the twins\u2014Kristin made her confession to the pious and pure-hearted man who had been her spiritual father all these years. They sat together for hours, and Sira Eiliv impressed upon her heart that she must be humble and obedient toward God; patient, faithful, and loving toward her husband. She knelt before the bench where he sat. Then Sira Eiliv stood up and knelt at her side, still wearing the red stole which was a symbol of the yoke of Christ's love; he prayed long and fervently, without words. But she knew he was praying for the father and mother and the children and all the servants whose salvation he had striven so faithfully to encourage all these years.\n\nThe next day Kristin stood on the shore of Brat\u00f8r and watched the lay brothers from Tautra set sail in the boat that would carry away the priest and her two eldest sons. On her way home she went over to the Minorites' church and stayed there until she felt strong enough to venture back to her own residence. And in the evening, when the two youngest were asleep, she sat with her spinning and told Gaute stories until it was his bedtime too."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Erlend was held at the king's palace until almost Saint Clement's Day. Then messages and letters arrived stating that he was to be taken under safe conduct to meet with King Magnus. The king intended to celebrate Christmas at Baagahus that year.\n\nKristin grew terribly frightened. With unspeakable effort she had accustomed herself to feigning a calm demeanor while Erlend sat in prison, condemned to death. Now he would be taken far away to an uncertain fate. Much was said about the king, and among the circle of men who stood closest to him, her husband had no friends. Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n, who was now the chieftain of the castle at Baagahus, had spoken the harshest words regarding Erlend's treason. And he was supposedly further enraged at having heard once again some disrespectful remarks which Erlend had made about him.\n\nBut Erlend was in good spirits. Kristin could see that he didn't take their imminent separation lightly, but the long imprisonment had now begun to wear him down; he eagerly seized upon the prospect of a long sea voyage and seemed almost indifferent to everything else.\n\nIn a matter of three days everything was arranged, and Erlend sailed with Sir Finn's ship. Simon had promised to return to Nidaros before Advent, after he had taken care of some obligations at home. If there was any news before then, he had asked Kristin to send word to him, and he would come at once. Now she decided to travel south to visit him, and from there she would go to see the king\u2014to fall at his feet and beg for mercy for her husband. She would gladly give all she possessed in return for his life.\n\nErlend had sold and mortgaged every part of his residence in Nidaros to various buyers; Nidarholm cloister now owned the main house, but Abbot Olav had written a kind letter to Kristin, offering her the use of the house for as long as she needed it. She was living there alone with one maid and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n\u2014who had been released because they hadn't been able to prove anything against him\u2014and his nephew, Haldor, who was Kristin's personal servant.\n\nShe sought Ulf's counsel, and at first he was rather doubtful. He thought it would be a difficult journey for her through the Dovre Range; a great deal of snow had fallen in the mountains. But when he saw the anguish of her soul, he advised her to go. Fru Gunna took the two youngest children out to Raasvold, but Gaute refused to be parted from his mother, and she didn't dare let the boy out of her sight up there in the north.\n\nThe weather was so severe when they came south to the Dovre Range that they followed Ulf's advice to leave their horses behind at Drivstuen and borrowed skis, prepared to spend the next night out in the open if need be. Kristin hadn't had skis on her feet since she was a child, so it was difficult for her to make progress, even though the men supported her as best they could. They reached no farther that day than halfway over the mountain, between Drivstuen and Hjerdkinn. When it began to grow dark, they had to seek shelter in a birch grove and dig themselves into the snow. At Toftar they managed to hire some horses, but there they ran into fog, and when they had descended partway into the valley, rain set in. When they rode into the courtyard of Formo several hours after dark, the wind was howling around the corners of the buildings, the river was roaring, and a great rushing and droning came from the forested slopes. The courtyard was a soggy mire, muffling the sound of the horses' hooves. As the Sabbath had already begun at this hour on Saturday evening, there was no sign of life on the large estate, and neither the servants nor the dogs seemed to have noticed their arrival.\n\nUlf pounded on the door to the main house with his spear; a serving man opened the door. A moment later Simon himself was standing in the entryway, broad and dark against the light behind him, holding a child in his arms. He pushed back the barking dogs. He gave a shout when he recognized his wife's sister, set the child down, and then pulled Kristin and Gaute inside as he helped them out of their soaked outer garments.\n\nIt was splendidly warm in the room, but the air seemed oppressive because it was a hearth room with a flat ceiling beneath the loft hall. And it was full of people; children and dogs were swarming from every corner. Then Kristin caught sight of both of her own small sons, their faces ruddy and warm and gleeful, behind the table on which a lighted candle stood. The two boys came forward and greeted their mother and brother a bit awkwardly; Kristin could see that they had arrived in the midst of everyone's merriment and fun. And the room was in great disarray. She stepped on crunching nutshells at every turn\u2014they were scattered all over the floor.\n\nSimon sent his servants off to do chores, and the room was emptied of people\u2014neighbors and their attendants, as well as most of the children and dogs. While he asked questions and listened to her replies, Simon fastened his shirt and tunic, which were open wide, revealing his bare, hairy chest. The children had brought him to such a state, he said apologetically. He was terribly disheveled; his belt was twisted around, his clothes and hands were dirty, his face was covered with soot, and his hair was full of straw and dust.\n\nA few minutes later two serving women came in to take Kristin and Gaute over to Ramborg's women's house. A fire had been started in the fireplace, and several maids busily lit the candles, made up the beds, and helped her and the boy into dry clothes, while others set the table with food and drink. A half-grown maiden with silk-wrapped braids brought Kristin a frothy bowl of ale. The girl was Simon's eldest daughter, Arngjerd.\n\nThen Simon came into the room. He had tidied himself up and now looked more as Kristin was used to seeing him, handsomely and splendidly dressed. He was leading his little daughter by the hand, and Ivar and Skule followed.\n\nKristin asked about her sister, and Simon replied that Ramborg had accompanied the Sundbu women down to Ringheim; Jostein had come to get his daughter, Helga, and then he wanted Dagny and Ramborg to come along too. He was such a merry, kind old man, and he had promised to take good care of the three young wives. Ramborg might stay there all winter. She was expecting a child around Saint Matthew's Day, and Simon had thought he might have to be away from home that winter, so she would be better off with her young kinswomen. No, it made no difference to the housekeeping here at Formo whether she was home or not, laughed Simon. He had never demanded that young Ramborg trouble herself with all that toil.\n\nAs to Kristin's plans, Simon said at once that he would travel south with her. He had so many kinsmen there, as well as his father's friends and his own from the past, that he hoped to be able to serve her better than he had in Nidaros. And there it would be easier for him to determine whether it would be wise for her to pay a visit to the king himself. He could be ready to travel in three or four days.\n\nThey attended mass together the next day, which was Sunday, and afterwards they visited Sira Eirik at his home at Romundgaard. The priest was old now. He received Kristin kindly and seemed very saddened by her troubling fate. Then they went over to J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nThe buildings looked the same, and the rooms held the same beds, benches, and tables. It was now her property, and it seemed most likely that her sons would grow up here; this was also where she herself would one day lie down and close her eyes. But never had she felt so clearly as at this moment that life in this home had depended on her father and mother. No matter what they had struggled with in private, from them had streamed warmth, help, peace, and security to everyone else who lived there.\n\nUneasy and dejected as she now felt, it made her weary to listen to Simon talk about his own affairs: his manor and his children. She knew she was being unreasonable; he was willing to do all he could to help her. She realized how good it was of him to agree to leave his home during the Christmas season, and to be away from his wife, as things now stood. No doubt he was thinking a great deal about whether he might have a son. He had only the one child with Ramborg, even though they had been married six years. Kristin couldn't expect that he should take Erlend's and her misfortune so much to heart that he would forget all the joy he had from his own life. But it was strange to be there with him; he seemed so happy and warm and secure in his own home.\n\nWithout thinking, Kristin had assumed that Ulvhild Simonsdatter would be like her own little sister, for whom the child had been named\u2014fair and fragile and pure. But Simon's little daughter was round and plump, with cheeks like apples and lips as red as a berry, lively gray eyes that looked like her father's in his youth, and lovely brown curls. Simon had the greatest love for his pretty, merry child, and he was proud of her bright chatter.\n\n\"Even though this girl is so hideous and wicked and naughty,\" he said, putting his hands around her chest and tumbling her around as he lifted her up into the air. \"I think she must be a changeling that the trolls up here in the hills left in the cradle for her mother and me\u2014such an ugly and loathsome child she is.\" Then he set her down abruptly and hastily made the sign of the cross over her three times, as if he were frightened by his own imprudent words.\n\nArngjerd, the daughter born of his maid, was not beautiful, but she looked kind and sensible, and Simon took her with him whenever he could. He was constantly praising her cleverness. Kristin had to look at everything in Arngjerd's marriage chest, at all she had spun and woven and stitched as part of her dowry.\n\n\"When I place the hand of my daughter into the hand of a faithful husband,\" said Simon as he gazed after the child, \"it will be one of the happiest days of my life.\"\n\nTo spare expenses and so that the journey might proceed faster, Kristin was to take along no maids, nor any servant other than Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. Two weeks before Christmas they left Formo, accompanied by Simon Andress\u00f8n and his two young, vigorous men.\n\nWhen they arrived in Oslo, Simon learned at once that the king would not be coming to Norway\u2014he would apparently celebrate Christmas in Stockholm. Erlend was being held in the castle at Akersnes; the chieftain was away, so for the time being it would be impossible for any of them to see him. But the deputy royal treasurer, Olav Kyrning, promised to let Erlend know that they had come to town. Olav was quite friendly toward Simon and Kristin because his brother was married to Ramborg Aasmundsdatter of Skog, which made him distantly related to the daughters of Lavrans.\n\nKetil of Skog came to town and invited them to spend Christmas with him, but Kristin had no wish for noisy feasting as matters now stood for Erlend. And then Simon too refused to go, no matter how earnestly she begged him. Simon and Ketil knew each other, but Kristin had only met her uncle's son once since he had grown up.\n\nKristin and Simon had taken lodgings at the same residence where she had once been the guest of his parents, back when the two of them were betrothed, but this time they were staying in a different building. There were two beds in the main room; Kristin slept in one of them, Simon and Ulf slept in the other. The servants bedded down in the stable.\n\nOn Christmas Eve Kristin wanted to attend midnight mass at Nonneseter's church; she said it was because the sisters sang so beautifully. All five of them decided to go. The night was starry and clear, mild and lovely; it had snowed a little in the evening, so it was quite bright. When the bells began to ring from the churches, people came streaming out of all the houses, and Simon had to give Kristin his hand. Now and then he would cast a sidelong glance at her. She had grown terribly thin in the autumn, but her tall, erect figure seemed to have regained some of its maidenly softness and quiet grace. Her pale face had assumed the expression from her youth of calm and gentleness, which hid a deep, tense wariness. She had taken on an oddly phantomlike resemblance to the young Kristin from that Christmastime so long ago. Simon gripped her hand hard, unaware that he was doing so until she squeezed his fingers in return. He looked up. She smiled and nodded, and he understood that she had interpreted the pressure of his hand as a reminder that she must remain brave\u2014and now she was trying to show him that she would.\n\nWhen the holy days were over, Kristin went out to the convent and asked to be allowed to pay her respects to the abbess and to those sisters who were still living there since she had left. She then spent a little time in the abbess's parlatory. Afterwards she went into the church. She realized that there was nothing for her to gain inside the walls of the convent. The sisters had received her kindly, but she saw that for them she was merely one of the many young maidens who had spent a year there. If they had heard any talk about her distinguishing herself from the rest of the young daughters in any way, and not for the better, they made no mention of it. But that year at Nonneseter, which loomed so large in her own life, meant so little in the life of the cloister. Her father had bought for himself and his family a place in the convent's prayers of intercession for their souls. The new abbess, Fru Elin, and the sisters said that they would pray for her and for her husband's salvation. But Kristin saw that she had no right to force her way in and disturb the nuns with her visits. Their church stood open to her, as it did to everyone; she could stand in the north aisle and listen to the singing of the pure women's voices from the choir; she could look around the familiar room, at the altars and pictures. And when the sisters left the church through the door to the convent courtyard, she could go up and kneel before the gravestone of Abbess Groa Guttormsdatter and think about the wise, powerful, and dignified mother whose words she had neither understood nor heeded. She had no other rights in this women's residence for Christ's servants.\n\nAt the end of the holy days, Sir Munan came to see Kristin. He said he had just learned that she was in Oslo. He greeted her heartily, as he did Simon Andress\u00f8n and Ulf, whom he kept calling his kinsman and dear friend. He thought it would be difficult for them to win permission to see Erlend; he was being kept under tight guard. Munan himself had not succeeded in gaining access to his cousin. But after the knight had ridden off, Ulf said with a laugh that he thought Munan probably hadn't tried very hard\u2014he was so deathly afraid of being mixed up in the case that he hardly dared hear mention of it. Munan had aged greatly; he was quite bald and gaunt, and his skin hung loosely on his large frame. He was living out at Skogheim, with one of his unlawful daughters, who was a widow. Munan would have liked to be rid of her because none of his other children, lawful or unlawful, would come near him as long as this half-sister was managing his household. She was a domineering, avaricious, and sharp-tongued woman. But Munan didn't dare ask her to leave.\n\nFinally, around New Year's, Olav Kyrning obtained permission for Kristin and Simon to see Erlend. It was again Simon's lot to escort the sorrowful wife to these heartbreaking meetings. The guards were much more careful here than they were in Nidaros not to let Erlend speak to anyone without the chieftain's men being present.\n\nErlend was calm, as before, but Simon could see that the situation was now beginning to wear him down. He never complained; he said he suffered no privations and was treated as well as was allowed, but he admitted that the cold bothered him a good deal; there was no hearth fire in the room. And there was little he could do to keep himself clean\u2014although, he jested, if he hadn't had the lice to fight with, the time might have passed much more slowly out there.\n\nKristin too was calm\u2014so calm that Simon held his breath with fear, waiting for the day when she would completely fall apart.\n\nKing Magnus was making his royal tour of Sweden, and there was little prospect that he would return to his homeland anytime soon, or that there would be any change in Erlend's situation.\n\nOn Saint Gregor's Day Kristin and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n had been to church at Nonneseter. On their way home, as they crossed the bridge over the convent creek, she did not take the road to their hostel, which lay near the bishop's citadel; instead, she turned east toward the lane near Saint Clement's Church and headed along the narrow alleyways between the church and the river.\n\nThe day was hazy and gray, and a thaw had set in, so their footwear and the hems of their cloaks grew quickly soaked and heavy from the yellow mud near the river. They reached the fields along the riverbank. Once their eyes met. Ulf laughed softly and a kind of smirk appeared on his lips, but his eyes were sad; Kristin gave him an odd, sickly smile.\n\nA moment later they were standing on the ridge of a hill; the earth had given way out here sometime before, and the farm now lay right below the hill\u2014so close to the dirty-yellow slope, covered with tufts of black, dried weeds, that the rank stench from the pigsty, which they were looking down at, rose up toward them. Two fat sows were wallowing around in the dark muck. The riverbank was only a narrow strip here; the gray, murky current of the river, filled with careening ice floes, ran right up to the dilapidated buildings with the faded rooftops.\n\nAs they stood there, a man and a woman came walking over to the fenced area and looked at the pigs; the man leaned over and scratched one of the sows with the haft of the silver-chased, thin-bladed axe he was using as a staff. It was Munan Baards\u00f8n himself, and the woman was Brynhild Fluga. He looked up and noticed them. He stood there gaping, until Kristin shouted a merry greeting down to him.\n\nSir Munan began to bellow with laughter.\n\n\"Come down and have a hot ale in this vile weather,\" he called.\n\nOn their way down to the farmyard fence, Ulf told Kristin that Brynhild Jonsdatter no longer kept an inn or an alehouse. She had been in trouble several times and was finally threatened with flogging, but Munan had come to her rescue and vouched for her; she promised to stop all her unlawful activities. And her sons now held such positions that, for their sake, their mother had to think about improving her reputation. After the death of his wife, Munan Baards\u00f8n had taken up with Brynhild again and was often over at Flugagaard.\n\nHe met them at the gate.\n\n\"All four of us are kinsmen, after a fashion,\" he chuckled. He was slightly drunk, but not overly so. \"You're a good woman, Kristin Lavransdatter, pious but not at all haughty. Brynhild is now an honorable and respectable woman too. And I was an unmarried man when I produced the two sons we have together\u2014and they're the most splendid of all my children. That's what I've told you every single day in all these years, Brynhild. I'm more fond of Inge and Gudleik than any of my other children....\"\n\nBrynhild was still beautiful, but her skin was sallow and looked as if it would be clammy to the touch, thought Kristin\u2014the way it does after standing over a pot of grease all day long. But her house was well-kept, the food and drink she set on the table were excellent, and the crockery was pleasing and clean.\n\n\"Yes, I drop by over here whenever I have business in Oslo,\" said Munan. \"A mother likes to hear news of her sons, you see. Inge writes to me himself, because he's a learned man, Inge\u2014a bishop's envoy has to be, you know.... I found him a good match too: Tora Bjarnesdatter from Grjote. Do you think many men could have acquired such a woman for their bastard son? So we sit here and talk about that, and Brynhild brings in the food and ale for me, just like in the old days, when she wore my keys at Skogheim. It's hard to sit out there now and think about my blessed wife... So I ride over here to find some solace\u2014when Brynhild here has a mind to grant me a little kindness and warmth.\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n was sitting with his chin in his hand and gazing at the mistress of Husaby. Kristin sat and listened, answering quietly and gently and courteously\u2014just as calm and refined as if she were a guest at one of the grand estates back home in Tr\u00f8ndelag.\n\n\"Well, Kristin Lavransdatter, you won honor and the name of wife,\" said Brynhild Fluga, \"even though you came willingly enough to meet Erlend up in my loft. But I was called a wanton and loose woman all my days; my stepmother sold me into the hands of that man there\u2014I bit and fought, and the scratches from my fingernails marked his face before he had his way with me.\"\n\n\"Are you going to bring that up again?\" fretted Munan. \"You know full well... I've told you so many times before... I would have let you go in peace if you had behaved properly and begged me to spare you, but you rushed at my face like a wildcat before I had even stepped inside the door.\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n chuckled to himself.\n\n\"And I've treated you well ever since,\" said Munan. \"I gave you everything you wanted... and our children... well, they're in a better and more secure position than those poor sons of Kristin. May God protect the poor boys, the way Erlend has left things for his children! I think that must be more important to a mother's heart than the name of wife\u2014and you know how many times I wished that you had been highborn so that I might marry you\u2014I've never liked any other woman as much as you, even though you were seldom gentle or kind to me... and the wife I did have, may God reward her. I've established an altar for my Katrin and me in our church, Kristin\u2014I've thanked God and Our Lady every day for my marriage.... no man has had things better....\" He sniffed and began to cry.\n\nA little later Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n said they would have to leave. He and Kristin didn't exchange a single word on the way home. But outside the main door, she took Ulf's hand.\n\n\"Ulf\u2014my kinsman and my friend!\"\n\n\"If it would help,\" he said quietly, \"I would gladly go to the gallows in Erlend's place\u2014for his sake and for yours.\"\n\nIn the evening, a little before bedtime, Kristin was sitting alone in the room with Simon. Suddenly she began to tell him where she had been that day. She recounted the conversation they had had out there.\n\nSimon was sitting on a small stool a short distance away. Bending forward slightly, with his arms resting on his thighs and his hands hanging down, he sat and gazed up at her with a peculiar, searching look in his small, sharp eyes. He didn't say a word, and not a muscle twitched in his heavy, broad face.\n\nThen Kristin mentioned that she had told her father everything, and what his response had been.\n\nSimon sat in the same position, without moving. But after a while he said calmly, \"That was the only request I have ever made of you in all the years we've known each other... if I remember right... that you should... but if you couldn't keep that to yourself to spare Lavrans, then...\"\n\nKristin's body trembled violently. \"Yes. But... Oh, Erlend, Erlend, Erlend!\"\n\nAt her wild cries, the man leaped to his feet. Kristin had flung herself forward, and with her head in her arms she was rocking from side to side, calling to Erlend over and over in between the quavering, racking sobs that seemed to be wrung from her body, filling her mouth with moans that welled up and spilled out.\n\n\"Kristin, in the name of Jesus!\"\n\nWhen he grasped her arms and tried to console her, she threw her full weight against his chest and put her arms around his neck, as she continued to weep and call out her husband's name.\n\n\"Kristin\u2014calm yourself....\" He crushed her in his arms but saw that she took no notice; she was crying so hard that she couldn't stand on her own. Then he lifted her in his arms\u2014held her tight for a moment, and then carried her over to the bed and laid her down.\n\n\"Calm yourself,\" he again implored, his voice stifled and almost threatening. He placed his hands over her face, and she took hold of his wrists and arms and then clung to him.\n\n\"Simon... Simon... oh, he must be saved....\"\n\n\"I'll do what I can, Kristin. But now you must calm yourself!\" Abruptly he turned away, walked to the door, and went out. He shouted so loudly that his voice echoed between the buildings; he called for the serving maid Kristin had hired in Oslo. She came running, and Simon told her to go in to her mistress. A moment later the girl came back out\u2014her mistress wanted to be left alone, she fearfully told Simon; he hadn't moved from the spot where he stood.\n\nHe nodded and went over to the stable, staying there until his servant Gunnar and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n came out to give the horses their evening fodder. Simon began talking with them and then went with Ulf back to the main house.\n\nKristin saw little of her brother-in-law the following day. But after midafternoon prayers, as she sat and sewed on a garment she was going to take to her husband, Simon came dashing into the room. He didn't speak to her or look at her; he merely threw open his traveling chest, filled his silver goblet with wine, and left. Kristin stood up and followed. Outside the main door stood a stranger, still holding the reins of his horse. Simon took a gold ring off his finger, tossed it into the goblet, and drank a toast to the messenger.\n\nKristin guessed what the news was and shouted joyfully, \"You've been given a son, Simon!\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He slapped the messenger on the shoulder as the man uttered his thanks and tucked the goblet and ring under his belt. Then Simon put his arm around the waist of his wife's sister and spun her around. He looked so happy that Kristin had to put her hands on his shoulders; then he kissed her full on the mouth and laughed loudly.\n\n\"I see it will be the Darre lineage, after all, that will live on at Formo after you're gone, Simon,\" she said joyously.\n\n\"So be it... if God wills.\"\n\nWhen Kristin asked him if they should go to evensong together, he replied, \"No, tonight I want to go alone.\"\n\nThat evening he told Kristin he had heard that Erling Vidkuns s\u00f8n was supposed to be at his manor, Aker, near Tunsberg. Earlier in the day Simon had booked passage on a ship down the fjord; he wanted to talk to Sir Erling about Erlend's case.\n\nKristin said very little. They had mentioned this possibility before, but avoided discussing it further\u2014whether Sir Erling had known about Erlend's endeavor or not. Simon said he would seek Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's counsel\u2014ask him what he thought of Kristin's plan that Simon should accompany her to meet with Lavrans's powerful kinsmen in Sweden, to ask the help of friends and kin.\n\nThen she said, \"But you have received such great news, brother-in-law, that it seems to me it would be more reasonable for you to postpone this journey to Aker and first travel to Ringheim, to see Ramborg and your son.\"\n\nHe had to turn away, he felt so weak. He had been waiting for this\u2014whether Kristin would show some sign that she understood how he longed to see his son. But when he had regained mastery of his feelings, he said with some embarrassment, \"I've been thinking, Kristin, that God will perhaps grant the boy better health if I can be patient and rein in my longing to see him until I've helped Erlend and you a little more in this matter.\"\n\nThe next day Simon went out and bought rich and splendid gifts for his wife and son, as well as for all the women who had been at Ramborg's side when she gave birth. Kristin took out a beautiful silver spoon she had inherited from her mother; this was for the infant, Andres Simonss\u00f8n. But to her sister she sent the heavy gilded silver chain, which Lavrans had once given her in her childhood along with the reliquary cross. The cross she now moved to the chain Erlend had given her as a betrothal present. The following day, around noon, Simon set sail.\n\nIn the evening the ship anchored off an island in the fjord. Simon stayed on board, lying in a sleeping bag made of pelts, with several homespun blankets spread on top; he looked up at the starry skies, where the images seemed to rock and sway as the ship pitched on the sleepily gliding swells. The water sloshed and the ice floes scraped and hammered against the sides of the vessel. It was almost pleasant to feel the cold seeping deeper and deeper into his body. It was soothing....\n\nAnd yet he was now certain that as bad as things had been, they would never be so again. Now that he had a son. It was not that he thought he would love the boy more than he did his daughters. But this was different. As joyful as the small maidens could make him feel whenever they came to their father with their games and laughter and chatter, and as wonderful as it felt to have them sitting on his lap with their soft hair beneath his chin\u2014a man could not claim the same position in the succession of men among his kin if his estate and property and the memory of his deeds in this world should be transferred on the hand of his daughter to some other lineage. But now that he dared to hope\u2014if only God would allow this infant boy to grow up\u2014that son would follow father at ormo: Andres Gudmundss\u00f8n, Simon Andress\u00f8n, Andres Simons s\u00f8n. Then it was clear that he must be for Andres what his own father had been for him: a man of integrity, both in his secret thoughts and in his actions.\n\nSometimes he felt he didn't have the strength to continue. If only he had seen a single sign that she understood. But Kristin behaved toward him as if they were actual siblings: considerate of his welfare, kind and loving and gentle. And he didn't know how long it could last: living together in the same house in this manner. Didn't she ever think about the fact that he couldn't forget? Even though he was now married to her sister, he could still never forget that they had once been betrothed to live together as man and wife.\n\nBut now he had a son. Whenever he said his prayers, he had always shied away from adding any of his own words, whether wishes or words of gratitude. But Christ and Mary knew full well what he meant when he had said double the number of Pater noster s and Ave Mariaslately. He would continue to do so as long as he was away from home. And he would show his gratitude in an equally fitting and generous manner. Then perhaps he would receive help on this journey, as well.\n\nIn truth, he thought it unreasonable to expect to make any gains from this meeting. Relations between Erling and the king were now quite cold. And no matter how powerful and proud the former regent might be, no matter how little he needed to fear the young king\u2014who was in a much more difficult position than Norway's wealthiest and most highborn man\u2014it was still unlikely that he would want to provoke King Magnus even more by speaking on Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's behalf and drawing suspicion upon himself that he might have known about Erlend's treasonous plans. Even if Erling had taken part in them\u2014yes, even if he was behind the whole undertaking, prepared to intervene and allow himself to be placed in charge of the realm as soon as there was once again an underaged king in the land\u2014he would not feel bound to take any risks to help the man who had ruined the entire plan for the sake of a shameful love affair. This was something Simon almost forgot whenever he was together with Erlend and Kristin, for the two of them seemed hardly to remember it anymore. But it was true that Erlend himself was to blame for the whole endeavor resulting in nothing more than misfortune for him and the good men who had been exposed by his foolish philandering.\n\nHe must try every recourse to help her and her husband. And now he began to hope. Perhaps God and the Virgin Mary or some of the saints, whom he had always honored with offerings and alms, would support him in this undertaking too.\n\nHe arrived at Aker quite late the following evening. An overseer on the estate met him and sent servants on ahead, some with the horses and some to escort Simon's man over to the servants' hall. The overseer himself went up to the loft where the knight was sitting and drinking. A moment later Sir Erling came out onto the gallery and stood there as Simon climbed the stairs. Then he welcomed his guest courteously enough and led him into the chamber where Stig Haakonss\u00f8n of Mandvik was sitting with a very young man who was Erling's only son, Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n.\n\nSimon was received in a friendly fashion; the servants took his outer garments and brought in food and drink. But he could see that the men had guessed why he had come\u2014or at least Erling and Stig had\u2014and he noticed their reticence. When Stig began to talk about how rare it was to see Simon in that part of the country, and how he wasn't exactly wearing down the doorstep of his former kinsmen\u2014he hadn't even been farther south than to Dyfrin since Halfrid died\u2014then Simon replied, \"No, not until this winter.\" But he had been in Oslo for several months now with his wife's sister, Kristin Lavransdatter, who was married to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n.\n\nAt that they all fell silent. Then Sir Erling asked politely about Kristin and about Simon's wife and siblings, and Simon asked about Fru Elin and Erling's daughters, and Stig's health, and news from Mandvik and old neighbors there.\n\nStig Haakonss\u00f8n was a stout, dark-haired man a few years older than Simon, the son of Halfrid Erlingsdatter's half-brother, Sir Haakon Toress\u00f8n, and the nephew of Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's wife, Elin Toresdatter. He had lost his position as sheriff of Skidu and his command of the castle at Tunsberg two winters earlier when he fell out of favor with the king, but otherwise he lived well enough at Mandvik, although he was a widower with no children. Simon knew him quite well and had been on good terms with him, as he was with all the kinsmen of his first wife\u2014although the friendship had never been overly warm. He knew what they had all thought about Halfrid's second marriage: Sir Andres Gudmundss\u00f8n's younger son might be both well positioned and of good lineage, but he was not an equal marriage match for Halfrid Erlingsdatter, and he was ten years younger than she was. They couldn't understand why she had set her heart on this young man, but they allowed her to do as she wished, since she had suffered so unbearably with her first husband.\n\nSimon had met Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n only a couple of times before, and then he had always been in the company of Fru Elin and uttered hardly a sound; no one needed to say more than \"yes,\" or \"ah,\" whenever she was in the room. Sir Erling had aged quite a bit since that time. He had grown stouter, but he still had a handsome and stately figure for he carried himself exceedingly well and it suited him that his pale, reddish-gold hair had now turned a gleaming, silvery gray.\n\nSimon had never met the young Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n before. He had grown up near Bj\u00f8rgvin in the house of a clergyman who was Erling's friend\u2014within the family it was said that this was because the father didn't want his son living out there at Giske amidst all the prattling of the women. Erling himself didn't spend any more time at home than he had to, but he didn't dare take the boy along with him on his frequent journeys because Bjarne had suffered poor health in his childhood, and Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had lost two other sons when they were small.\n\nThe boy looked exceptionally handsome as he sat with the light behind him and his face turned in profile. Thick, black, curly hair cascaded over his forehead; his big eyes were dark, his nose was large, with a graceful curve, his lips were firm and delicate, his chin well-shaped. He was also tall, broad-shouldered, and slim. But when Simon was about to sit down at the table to eat, the servant moved the candle, and then he saw that the skin of Bjarne's throat was completely eaten away by scrofulous scars\u2014they spread out to both sides, all the way up to his ears and under his chin: dead, shiny white patches of skin, purplish stripes, and swollen knots. And Bjarne had the habit of suddenly pulling up the hood of the round, fur-trimmed velvet shoulder collar which he wore even inside the house\u2014pulling it up to his ears. After a few minutes it would grow too hot for him, and he would let it fall back, only to pull it up again. He didn't seem aware that he was doing this. After a while Simon felt his own hands grow restless from watching him, even though he tried to avoid looking in his direction.\n\nSir Erling hardly took his eyes off his son, although he too seemed unaware that he was sitting with his gaze fixed on the boy. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's face showed little emotion, and there was no particular expression in his pale-blue eyes; but behind that somewhat vague and watery glance there seemed to lie endless years of worry and care and love.\n\nThen the three older men conversed, politely but in a desultory fashion, while Simon ate, and the young man sat there fidgeting with his hood. Afterwards all four of them drank for a proper length of time, and then Sir Erling asked Simon if he was weary from his journey, and Stig invited him to share his bed. Simon was glad to postpone talking about the purpose of his visit. This first evening at Aker had left him quite dejected.\n\nThe next day, when he finally spoke of it, Sir Erling replied in much the way Simon had expected. He said that King Magnus had never willingly listened to him, but he had noticed that the moment Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n became old enough to have an opinion, it had been his view that Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n wouldn't have anything more to say to him after he came of age. And ever since the dispute had been settled between Erling and his friends on one side and the king on the other, he had neither heard from nor spoken to the king or the king's friends. If he spoke on Erlend's behalf to King Magnus, it would be of little benefit to the man. And he was aware that many people in the country thought he had been behind Erlend's undertaking in some way. Simon could believe him or not, but neither he nor his friends had known anything about what was being planned. But if this matter had come to light in a different fashion, or if these adventuresome young daredevils had carried through their plot and failed\u2014then he might have stepped forward and tried to mediate. But because of the way things had gone, he didn't think anyone could reasonably demand him to stand up and reinforce the people's suspicions that he had been playing two games.\n\nBut he advised Simon to appeal to the Haftorss\u00f8ns. They were the king's cousins, and when they weren't quarreling with him, they managed to maintain a certain friendship. And as far as Erling could see, the men Erlend was protecting were more likely to be found among the Haftorss\u00f8ns' circles, as well as among the younger noblemen.\n\nAs everyone knew, the king's wedding was to be celebrated in Norway that summer. It might provide a fitting opportunity for King Magnus to show mercy and leniency toward his enemies. And the king's mother and Lady Isabel would no doubt attend the festivities. Simon's mother had been Queen Isabel's handmaiden when she was young, after all; perhaps Simon should appeal to her, or perhaps Erlend's wife ought to fall to her knees before the king's bride and Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg Haakonsdatter with her prayers for their intercession.\n\nSimon thought it would have to be the last resort, for Kristin to kneel before Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg. If she had realized what was honorable, Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg would have long ago stepped forward to gain Erlend's release from his troubles. But when Simon had once mentioned this to Erlend, he had simply laughed and said that Lady Ingebj\u00f8rg always had so many troubles and worries of her own, and no doubt she was angry because it now seemed unlikely that her most beloved child would ever win the title of king."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "In early spring Simon Andress\u00f8n traveled north to Toten to see his wife and infant son and accompany them home to Formo. He stayed there for some time to tend to his own affairs.\n\nKristin didn't want to leave Oslo. And she didn't dare give in to her burning, urgent longing to see her three sons who were back home in Gudbrandsdal. If she was going to continue to endure the life she was now living from day to day, she couldn't think about her children. And she did manage to endure; she seemed calm and brave. She talked and listened to strangers and accepted advice and encouragement. But she had to hold on to the thought of Erlend\u2014only Erlend! In those moments when she failed to hold her thoughts tight in the grasp of her will, other images and pictures would race through her mind: Ivar standing in the woodshed at Formo with Simon and waiting expectantly as his uncle searched for a split piece of wood for him, bending down to heft each one in his hand. Gaute's fair, boyish face, full of manly determination as he struggled through the snowdrifts on that gray wintry day in the mountains last fall. His skis slipped backwards, and he slid some distance down the steep slope, sinking deep into the snow. For a moment his face seemed about to crumple; he was an exhausted, helpless child. Her thoughts would wander to her youngest sons: Munan must be able to walk and even talk a little by now. Was he just as sweet as the others had been at his age? Lavrans had probably forgotten her by now. And the two oldest boys out at the monastery at Tautra. Naakkve, Naakkve... her firstborn... How much did the two older sons understand? What were they thinking about? And how was Naakkve, still a child, coping with the fact that now nothing in his life would be the way that she and he and everyone else had imagined it would be?\n\nSira Eiliv had sent her a letter, and she had reported to Erlend what it said about their sons. Otherwise they never spoke of their children. They didn't talk about the past or the future anymore. Kristin would bring him some piece of clothing or a plate of food; he would ask her how she had fared since they last met, and they would sit on the bed holding hands. Sometimes they would be left alone for a moment in the small, cold and filthy, stench-filled room. Then they would cling to each other with mute, passionate caresses, hearing but paying no attention to Kristin's maid laughing with the castle guards outside on the stairs.\n\nThere would be plenty of time, either after he was taken from her or after he came back to her, for thinking about all the children and their changed circumstances\u2014and about everything else in her life besides her husband. She didn't want to lose a single hour of the time they had together, and she didn't dare think about her reunion with the four sons she had left behind up north. For this reason she accepted Simon Andress\u00f8n's offer to travel alone to Nidaros; along with Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n, he would see to her interests in the settling of the estate. King Magnus would not be made richer by acquiring Erlend's property; his debts were much greater than he himself had thought, and he had raised money that was sent to Denmark and Scotland and England. Erlend shrugged his shoulders and said with a faint smile that he didn't expect to be compensated for that.\n\nSo Erlend's situation was largely unchanged when Simon Andress\u00f8n returned to Oslo around Holy Cross Day in the fall. But he was horrified to see how exhausted they both looked, Kristin and his brother-in-law; and he felt strangely weak and sick at heart when they both still had enough composure to thank him for coming at that time of year, when he could least be spared from his own estates. But now people were gathering in Tunsberg, where King Magnus had come to wait for his bride.\n\nA little later in the month Simon managed to book himself passage on a ship with several merchants who were planning to sail there in a week's time. One morning a stranger arrived with the request that Simon Andress\u00f8n should trouble himself to come to Saint Halvard's Church at once. Olav Kyrning was waiting for him there.\n\nThe deputy royal treasurer was in a terribly agitated state. He was in charge of the castle while the treasurer was in Tunsberg. The previous evening a group of gentlemen had arrived and shown him a letter with King Magnus's seal on it, saying that they were to investigate Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's case. He had ordered the prisoner to be brought to them. The three men were foreigners, apparently Frenchmen; Olav didn't understand their language, but this morning the royal priest had spoken to them in Latin. They were supposedly kinsmen of the maiden who was to be Norway's queen\u2014what a promising start this was! They had interrogated Erlend in the harshest manner... had brought along some kind of rack and several men who knew how to use such things. Today Olav had refused to allow Erlend to be taken out of his chamber and had put him under heavy guard. He would take responsibility for it, because this was not lawful\u2014such conduct had never been heard of before in Norway!\n\nSimon borrowed a horse from one of the priests at the church and rode at once back to Akersnes with Olav.\n\nOlav Kyrning glanced a little anxiously at the other man's grim face, which was flooded with furious waves of crimson. Now and then Simon would make a wild and violent gesture, not even aware of it himself\u2014but the borrowed horse would start, rear up, and rebel beneath the rider.\n\n\"I can see you're angry, Simon,\" said Olav Kyrning.\n\nSimon hardly knew what was foremost in his mind. He was so furious that he felt spells of nausea overtake him. The blind and desperate feeling that surged up inside him, driving him to the utmost rage, was a form of shame\u2014a man who was defenseless, without weapon or protection, who had to tolerate the hands of strangers in his clothes, strangers searching his body... It was like hearing about the rape of women. He grew dizzy with the desire for revenge and the need to spill blood to retaliate. No, such had never been the custom in Norway. Did they want Norwegian noblemen to grow used to tolerating such things? That would never happen!\n\nHe was sick with horror at what he would now see. Fear of the shame he would bring upon the other man by seeing him in such a state overwhelmed all other feelings as Olav Kyrning unlocked the door to Erlend's prison cell.\n\nErlend was lying flat on the floor, his body placed diagonally from one corner of the room to the other; he was so tall that this was the only way he could find enough room to stretch out full length. Some straw and pieces of clothing had been placed underneath him, on top of the floor's thick layer of filth. His body was covered all the way up to his chin with his dark-blue, fur-lined cape so that the soft, grayish-brown marten fur of the collar seemed to blend with the curly black tangle of the beard that Erlend had grown while in prison.\n\nHis lips were pale next to his beard; his face was snowy white. The large, straight triangle of his nose seemed to protrude much too far from his hollowed cheeks; his gray-flecked hair lay in lank, sweaty strings, swept back from his high, narrow forehead. At each temple was a large purple mark, as if something had clamped or held him there.\n\nSlowly, with great difficulty, Erlend opened his big pale-blue eyes and attempted to smile when he recognized the men. His voice was odd-sounding and husky. \"Sit down, brother-in-law...\" He turned his head toward the empty bed. \"I've learned a few new things since we last met....\"\n\nOlav Kyrning bent over Erlend and asked him if he wanted anything. When he received no answer\u2014probably because Erlend had no strength to reply\u2014he pulled the cape aside. Erlend was wearing only linen pants and a ragged shirt. The sight of the swollen and discolored limbs shocked and enraged Simon like some indecent horror. He wondered whether Erlend felt the same way\u2014a shadow of a blush passed over his face as Olav gently rubbed his arms and legs with a cloth he had dipped in a basin of water. And when he replaced the cape, Erlend straightened it out with a few small movements of his limbs and by drawing it all the way up to his chin, so that he was completely covered.\n\n\"Well,\" said Erlend. Now he sounded a bit more like himself, and the smile was stronger on his pale lips. \"Next time it will be worse. But I'm not afraid. No one needs to be afraid... they won't get anything out of me... not that way.\"\n\nSimon could tell that he was speaking the truth. Torture was not going to force a word out of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n. He could do and say anything in anger and on impulse, but he would never let himself be budged even a hand's breadth by violence. Simon realized that the shame and indignation he felt on the other man's behalf was not something Erlend felt himself\u2014instead, he was filled with a stubborn joy at defying his tormenter and a confident faith in his ability to resist. He who had always yielded so pitifully when confronted by a strong will, who might have shown cruelty himself in a moment of fear, now displayed his valor when he, in this cruel situation, sensed an opponent who was weaker than he was.\n\nBut Simon snarled through clenched teeth, \"Next time... will never come! What do you say, Olav?\"\n\nOlav shook his head, but Erlend said with a trace of the old impudent boldness in his voice, \"If only I could believe that... as firmly as you do! But these men will hardly... be satisfied with this...\" He noticed the twitching of Simon's muscular, heavy face. \"No, Simon... brother-in-law!\" Erlend tried to raise himself up on one elbow; in pain he uttered a stifled moan and then sank back in a faint.\n\nOlav and Simon tended to him. When the fainting spell had passed, Erlend lay still with his eyes open wide; he spoke more somberly.\n\n\"Don't you see... how much is at stake... for King Magnus? To find out... which men he shouldn't trust... farther than he can see them. So much unrest... and discontent... as we've had here...\"\n\n\"Well, if he thinks this will quell the discontent, then\u2014\" said Olav Kyrning angrily.\n\nBut Erlend said in a soft, clear voice, \"I've handled this matter in such a way... that few will consider it important how I'm treated. I know that myself.\"\n\nThe two men blushed. Simon hadn't thought that Erlend understood this\u2014and neither of them had ever referred to Fru Sunniva. Now he exclaimed in despair, \"How could you be so foolish and reckless!\"\n\n\"I can't understand it either... now,\" said Erlend honestly. \"But\u2014how in hell was I to know that she could read! She seemed so uneducated.\"\n\nHis eyes closed again; he was about to faint once more. Olav Kyrning murmured that he would get something and left the room. Simon bent over Erlend, who was again lying there with half-open eyes.\n\n\"Brother-in-law... did... did Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n support you in this matter?\"\n\nErlend shook his head and smiled. \"No, by Jesus. We thought either he wouldn't have the courage to join us... or else he would want to control the whole thing. But don't ask me, Simon... I don't want to tell... anyone. Then I know that I won't talk...\"\n\nSuddenly Erlend whispered his wife's name. Simon bent over him; he expected Erlend to ask him to bring Kristin to him. But he said hastily, as if in a feverish breath, \"She mustn't find out about this, Simon. Tell her the king has sent word that no one is to be allowed to see me. Take her out to Munan\u2014at Skogheim. Do you hear me? These Frenchmen... or Moors... new friends of our king... they won't stop yet. Get her out of Oslo before the news spreads through town! Simon?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, although he had no idea how he would manage it.\n\nErlend lay still for a moment with his eyes closed. Then he said with a sort of smile, \"I was thinking last night... about the time she gave birth to our eldest son. She was no better off than I am now\u2014judging by how she wailed. And if she could bear it seven times... for the sake of our pleasure... then surely I can too.\"\n\nSimon was silent. The involuntary qualms he felt about life revealing to him its last secrets of suffering and desire seemed not to trouble Erlend in the least. He wrestled with the worst and with the sweetest, as innocently as a naive young boy whose friends have taken him to a house of sin, drunken and full of curiosity.\n\nErlend rolled his head back and forth impatiently.\n\n\"These flies are the worst... I think they're the Devil himself.\"\n\nSimon took off his cap and swatted vigorously at the swarms of blue-black flies so that they rose up in great clouds, buzzing noisily. And all those that were knocked senseless to the floor, he furiously trampled in the dirt. It wouldn't help much because the window hole in the wall stood wide open. The previous winter there had been a wooden shutter with a skin-covered opening. But it had made the room very dark.\n\nHe was still busily flailing at the flies when Olav Kyrning came back with a priest who was carrying a drinking goblet. The priest put his hand under Erlend's head to support him as he drank. Much of the liquid ran down into his beard and along his neck, but he lay as calm and unconcerned as a child when the priest wiped him off with a rag.\n\nSimon felt as if his whole body was in ferment\u2014his blood was pulsing hard in his neck beneath his ears, and his heart was pounding in an odd and restless fashion. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the tall body stretched out under the cape. A feverish flush was now passing in waves over Erlend's face. He lay there with his eyes half-open and glittering, but he gave his brother-in-law a smile, a shadow of his peculiar, boyish smile.\n\nThe following day, as Stig Haakonss\u00f8n of Mandvik was sitting at the breakfast table with his guests, Sir Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n and his son Bjarne, they heard the hoofbeats of a lone horse out in the courtyard. A moment later the door of the building was flung open and Simon Andress\u00f8n stepped swiftly toward them. He wiped his face on his sleeve; he was spattered with mud all the way up to his neck after the ride.\n\nThe three men sitting at the table rose to their feet to greet the new arrival with small exclamations that were part welcome and part surprise. Simon didn't greet them but stood there leaning on the hilt of his sword with both hands. He said, \"I bring you strange news\u2014they have taken Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and stretched him on the rack\u2014some foreigners that the king has sent to interrogate him....\"\n\nThe men shouted and then crowded around Simon Andress\u00f8n. Stig pounded a fist into the palm of his other hand. \"What did he tell them?\"\n\nAt the same time both he and Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n involuntarily turned to face Sir Erling. Simon burst into laughter; he roared and roared.\n\nThen he sank down onto the chair that Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n pulled out for him, accepted the ale bowl the young man offered him, and drank greedily.\n\n\"Why are you laughing?\" asked Sir Erling sternly.\n\n\"I was laughing at Stig.\" Simon was leaning slightly forward, with his hands resting on the thighs of his mud-covered breeches. He gave a few more bursts of laughter. \"I had thought... All of us here are the sons of great chieftains... I expected you to be so angry that such a thing could be done to one of our peers that your first response would be to ask how this could possibly happen.\n\n\"I can't say that I know exactly what the law is about such matters. Ever since my lord King Haakon died, I've been content with the idea that I owed his successor my service if he should ask for it, both in war and in peace; otherwise I've lived quietly on my manor. But now I can only think that this case against Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n has been unlawfully handled. His fellow noblemen have passed judgment on him, but I don't know by what right they condemned him to death. Then a reprieve and safe conduct were granted to him until he could meet with his kinsman, King Magnus, to see whether the king might allow Erlend to be reconciled with him. But since then the man has been imprisoned in the tower at Akers Castle for nearly a year, and the king has been abroad almost all that time. Letters have been dispatched, but nothing has come of it. And now he sends over these louts, who are neither Norwegian nor the king's retainers, and who attempt to interrogate Erlend with conduct that is unheard of toward any Norwegian man with the rights of a royal retainer\u2014while peace reigns in the land, and Erlend's kinsmen and peers are gathering in Tunsberg to celebrate the royal wedding....\n\n\"What do you think of all this, Sir Erling?\"\n\n\"I think...\" Erling sat down on the bench across from him. \"I think you have told us clearly and bluntly how this matter now stands, Simon Darre. As I see it, the king can only do one of three things: He can allow Erlend to appeal the sentence that was handed down in Nidaros. Or he can appoint a new court of royal retainers and have the case against Erlend brought by a man who does not bear the title of knight, and then they will sentence Erlend to exile, with the proper time allowed for him to leave the realms of King Magnus. Or he will have to permit Erlend to be reconciled with him. And that would be the wisest solution of all.\n\n\"It seems to me that this case is now so clear, that whoever you present it to in Tunsberg will assist you and support you. Jon Haftorss\u00f8n and his brother are there. Erlend is their kinsman, just as he is the king's. The Ogmundss\u00f8ns will realize that injustice in this matter would be folly. You should seek out the commander of the royal retinue first; ask him and Sir Paal Eirikss\u00f8n to call a meeting of the retainers who are now in town and who seem most suited to handle this case.\"\n\n\"Won't you and your kinsmen go with me, sir?\" asked Simon.\n\n\"We don't intend to join the festivities,\" said Erling curtly.\n\n\"The Haftorss\u00f8ns are young, Sir Paal is old and feeble, and the others... You know yourself, sir, that they have some power, being in the king's favor and such, but... what importance do they have compared to you, Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n? You, sir, have held more power in this country than any other chieftain since... I don't know when. Behind you, sir, stand the ancient families that the people of this country have known, man after man, for as far back as the legends tell us of bad times and good times in our villages. In your father's lineage\u2014what is Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n or the sons of Haftor of Sudrheim compared to you? Is their wealth worth mentioning compared to yours? This advice you have given me\u2014it will take time, and the Frenchmen are already in Oslo, and you can bet that they will not yield. It's clear that the king is attempting to rule Norway according to foreign customs. I know that abroad there's a tradition for the king to ignore the law when he so chooses, if he can find amenable men among the knighthood to support him. Olav Kyrning has sent letters to those noblemen he could find to join him, and the bishop has promised to write as well. But you could end this dispute and unrest at once, Erling Vid kunss\u00f8n, by seeking out King Magnus. You are the foremost descendant of all the old noblemen here in Norway; the king knows that all the others would stand behind you.\"\n\n\"I can't say that I've noticed that in the past,\" said Erling bitterly. \"You speak with great fervor on behalf of your brother-in-law, Simon. But don't you understand that I can't do it now? If I do, people would say... that I step forward the minute pressure is put on Erlend and it's feared he might not be able to hold his tongue.\"\n\nThere was silence for a moment. Then Stig asked again, \"Has Erlend... talked?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Simon impatiently. \"He has kept silent. And I think he'll continue to do so. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n,\" he implored, \"he's your kinsman\u2014you were friends.\"\n\nErling took a few deep, heavy breaths.\n\n\"Yes. Simon Andress\u00f8n, do you fully understand exactly what Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n has brought upon himself? He wanted to dissolve the royal union with the Swedes\u2014this form of rule that has never been tested before\u2014which seems to bring more and more hardship and difficulty to Norway for each year that passes. He wanted to go back to the old, familiar rule, which we know brings good fortune and prosperity. Don't you see that this was the plan of a wise and bold man? And don't you see that now it would be difficult for anyone else to take up this plan after him? He has ruined the chances of the sons of Knut Porse\u2014and there are no other men of royal lineage the people can rally around. You might argue that if Erlend had carried out his intentions and brought Prince Haakon here to Norway, then he would have played right into my hands. Other than deliver the boy into the country, these... young fellows... wouldn't have been able to do much without the intervention of sober-minded men who could handle all the rest that needed to be done. That's how it is\u2014I can vouch for it. God knows I've reaped few rewards; rather, I've had to set aside the care of my own estates for the ten years I've endured unrest and toil, strife and torment without end\u2014a few men in this country have understood as much, and I've had to be satisfied with that!\" He pounded his hand hard against the table. \"Don't you understand, Simon, that the man who took such great plans onto his shoulders\u2014and no one knows how important they might have been to the welfare of all of us here in Norway, and to our descendants for many years to come\u2014he set them all aside, along with his breeches, on the bed of a wanton woman. God's blood! It could be he deserves to pay the same penance Audun Hestakorn did!\"\n\nHe grew calmer.\n\n\"Otherwise I have no reason to begrudge Erlend his release, and you mustn't think I'm not angry about what you have told us. I think if you follow my advice, you'll find plenty of men who will support you in this matter. But I don't think I can help you enough by joining you that I would approach the king uninvited for the sake of this cause.\"\n\nSimon got to his feet stiffly and arduously. His face was gray-streaked with fatigue. Stig Haakonss\u00f8n came over and put his arm around his shoulders. Now he would have food; he hadn't wanted any servants in the room before they finished talking. But now he ought to regain his strength with food and drink, and then rest. Simon thanked him, but he wanted to continue on his way shortly, if Stig would lend him a fresh horse, and if he would give his servant, Jon Daalk, lodging for the night. Simon had been forced to ride on ahead of his man the night before because his horse couldn't keep up with Digerbein. Yes, he had been traveling almost all night; he thought he knew the road to Mandvik so well, but he had lost his way a couple of times.\n\nStig asked him to stay until the next day; then he would go with him at least part of the way. Well, he might even accompany him as far as Tunsberg.\n\n\"There's no reason for me to stay here any longer. I just want to go over to the church. Since I'm here on the estate, I want to say a prayer at Halfrid's grave, at least.\"\n\nThe blood rushed and roared through his exhausted body; the pounding of his heart was deafening. He felt as if he might collapse; he was only half awake. But he heard his own voice saying evenly and calmly, \"Won't you go over there with me, Sir Erling? Of all her kinsmen, I know she was most fond of you.\"\n\nHe didn't look at the other man, but he could sense him stiffen. After a moment he heard through the rushing and ringing sound of his own blood the clear and courteous voice of Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n.\n\n\"I'll gladly do so, Simon Darre. It's miserable weather,\" he said as he buckled on the belt with his sword and threw a thick cape around his shoulders. Simon stood as still as a rock until the other man was ready. Then they went out the door.\n\nOutside, the autumn rain was pouring down, and the fog was drifting in so thick from the sea that they could barely see more than a couple of horse-lengths into the fields and the yellow leafy groves on either side of the path. It was not far to the church. Simon went to get the key from the chaplain at the parsonage nearby; he was relieved to see that new people had come since the days when he lived there, so he could avoid a long chat.\n\nIt was a small stone church with only one altar. Distractedly Simon looked at the same pictures and adornments he had seen so many hundreds of times before as he knelt down a short distance from Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n near the white marble gravestone; he said his prayers, crossing himself at the proper times, without fully taking notice.\n\nSimon didn't understand how he'd been able to do it. But now he was in the thick of it all. What he should say, he wasn't sure\u2014but no matter how sick with fear and shame he felt, he knew he would attempt it all the same.\n\nHe remembered the white, ill face of the aging woman lying in the dim light of the bed, and her lovely, gentle voice on that afternoon when he sat at her bedside and she told him. It was a month before the child was due, and she expected that it would take her life\u2014but she was willing and happy to pay so dearly for their son. That poor boy who now lay under the stone in a little coffin at his mother's shoulder. No, no man could do what he intended....\n\nBut he thought of Kristin's white face. She knew what had happened, when he returned from Akersnes that day. Pale and calm, she spoke of it and asked him questions; but he had looked into her eyes for one brief moment, and he didn't dare meet them again. Where she was now or what she was doing, he didn't know. Whether she was at the hostel or with her husband, or whether they had persuaded her to go out to Skogheim... he had left it in the hands of Olav Kyrning and Sira Ingolf. He lacked the strength to do more, and he didn't think he could waste any time.\n\nSimon didn't realize that he was hiding his face in his hands. Halfrid... it's not a question of sin or shame, my Halfrid. And yet... What she had told her husband\u2014about her sorrow and her love, which had made her stay with that old devil. One day he had even killed the child she carried under her heart, but she stayed because she didn't want to tempt her beloved friend.\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n was kneeling with no expression on his colorless, finely shaped face. He held his hands in front of his chest, with the palms pressed together; from time to time he would cross himself with a quiet, tender, and graceful gesture, and then put his fingertips together as before.\n\nNo. It was too terrible for any man to do. Not even for Kristin's sake could he do that. They stood up together, bowed to the altar, and walked back through the church. Simon's spurs rang faintly with every step he took on the flagstone floor. They had still not said a word to each other since leaving the manor, and Simon had no idea what might happen next.\n\nHe locked the church door, and Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n walked on ahead across the cemetery. Under the little roof of the churchyard gate, he stopped. Simon joined him, and they stood there for a while before heading back out into the pouring rain.\n\nErling spoke calmly and evenly, but Simon sensed the stifled, boundless rage that was menacing deep inside the other man; he didn't dare look up.\n\n\"In the name of the Devil, Simon Andress\u00f8n! What do you mean by... referring to... that?\"\n\nSimon couldn't say a word.\n\n\"If you think you can threaten me so that I'll do what you want because you've heard some false rumors about events that supposedly occurred, back when you were hardly weaned from your mother's breast...\" His fury was snarling closer to the surface now.\n\nSimon shook his head. \"I thought, sir, that if you remembered the woman who was better than the purest gold, then you might have pity for Erlend's wife and children.\"\n\nSir Erling looked at him. He didn't reply but began to scrape moss and lichen off the stones of the churchyard wall. Simon swallowed and then moistened his lips with his tongue.\n\n\"I hardly know what I was thinking, Erling. Perhaps if you remembered the woman who endured all those terrible years, with no solace or help except from God alone, then you might want to help many other people\u2014because you can! Since you couldn't help her... Have you ever regretted riding away from Mandvik on that day and leaving Halfrid behind in the hands of Sir Finn?\"\n\n\"But I didn't do that!\" Erling's voice was now scathing. \"Because I know that she never... but I don't think you can understand that! For if you fully understood for a single moment how proud she was, that woman who became your wife...\" He laughed angrily. \"Then you would never have done this. I don't know how much you know\u2014but I'll gladly tell you this: Haakon was ill at the time, and so they sent me to bring her home to her kinsmen. She and Elin had grown up together like sisters; they were almost the same age, although Elin was her father's sister. We had... it so happened that whenever she came home from Mandvik, we were forced to meet quite often. We would sit and talk, sometimes all night long, on the gallery to the Lindorm chamber. Every word that was spoken she and I can both defend before God on Judgment Day. Then maybe He can tell us why it had to be so.\n\n\"And yet God rewarded her piety in the end. He gave her a good husband as consolation for the one she had had before. Such a young whelp you were... lying with her serving maids on her own estate... and making her raise your bastard children.\" He flung far away the ball of moss he had crushed in his hand.\n\nSimon stood motionless and mute. Erling scraped off another patch of moss and tossed it aside.\n\n\"I did what she asked me to do. Have you heard enough? There was no other way. Wherever else we might have met in the world, we would have had... we would have had... Adultery is not a nice word. The shame of blood is much worse.\"\n\nSimon gave a stiff little nod. He could see that it would be laughable to say what he was thinking. Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had been in his early twenties, handsome and refined; Halfrid had loved him so much that she would have gladly kissed his footprints in the dewy grass of the courtyard on that spring morning. Her husband was an aging, portly, loathsome farmer. What about Kristin? It would never occur to her now to think there was any danger to anyone's salvation if she lived together with her brother-in-law on the same estate for twenty years. That was something Simon had learned well enough by now.\n\nThen he said quietly, almost meekly, \"Halfrid didn't want the innocent child her maid had conceived with her husband to suffer in this world. She was the one who begged me to do right by her as best I could. Oh, Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n\u2014for the sake of Erlend's poor wife... She's grieving herself to death. I didn't think I could leave any stone unturned while I searched for help for her and all her children.\"\n\nErling stood leaning against the gatepost. His face was just as calm as always, and his voice was courteous and cool when he spoke again.\n\n\"I liked her, Kristin Lavransdatter, the few times I've met her. She's a beautiful and dignified woman. And as I've told you many times now, Simon Andress\u00f8n, I'm certain you'll win support if you follow my advice. But I don't fully understand what you mean by this... strange notion. You can't mean that because I had to let my uncle decide my marriage, underaged as I was back then, and the maiden I loved most was already betrothed when we met... And Erlend's wife is not as innocent as you say. Yes, you're married to her sister, that's true; but you are the one, not I, who has caused us to have this... strange conversation... and so you'll have to tolerate that I mention this. I remember there was plenty of talk about it when Erlend married her; it was against Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's will and advice that the marriage was arranged, but the maiden thought more of having her own way than of obeying her father or guarding her honor. Yes, she might well be a good woman all the same\u2014but she was allowed to marry Erlend, and no doubt they've had their share of joy and pleasure. I don't think Lavrans ever had much joy from that son-in-law; he had chosen another man for his daughter. When she met Erlend she was already betrothed, that much I know.\" He suddenly fell silent, glanced at Simon for a moment, and then turned his face away in embarrassment.\n\nBurning red with shame, Simon bowed his head, but he said in a low, firm voice, \"Yes, she was betrothed to me.\"\n\nFor a moment they stood there, not daring to look at each other. Then Erling tossed away the last ball of moss, turned on his heel, and stepped out into the rain. Simon stayed where he was, but when the other man had gone some distance into the fog, he turned and signaled to him impatiently.\n\nThen they walked back, just as silently as they had come. They had almost reached the manor when Sir Erling said, \"I'll do it, Simon Andress\u00f8n. You'll have to wait until tomorrow; then we can travel together, all four of us.\"\n\nSimon looked up at the other man. His face was contorted with shame and grief. He wanted to thank him, but he couldn't. He had to bite his lip hard because his jaw was trembling so violently.\n\nAs they entered the hall, Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n touched Simon's shoulder, as if by accident. But both of them knew that they dared not look at each other.\n\nThe next day, as they were preparing for the journey, Stig Haakonss\u00f8n wanted to lend Simon some clothes\u2014he hadn't brought any with him. Simon looked down at himself. His servant had brushed and cleaned his garments, but they were still badly soiled from the long ride in the foul weather. But he gave a slap to his thighs.\n\n\"I'm too fat, Stig. And I won't be invited to the banquet anyway.\"\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n stood with his foot up on the bench as his son attached his gilded spur; Erling seemed to want to keep his servants away as much as possible that day. The knight gave an oddly cross laugh.\n\n\"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm if it looked as if Simon Darre had spared nothing in the aid of his brother-in-law, coming right in from the road with his bold and pleasing words. He has a finely tailored tongue, this former kinsman of ours, Stig. There's only one thing I fear\u2014that he won't know when to stop.\"\n\nSimon's face was dark red, but he didn't reply. In everything that Erling had said to him since the day before, he had noticed this scornful mocking, as well as a strangely reluctant kindness, and a firm will to see this matter through to the end, now that he had taken it on.\n\nThen they set off north from Mandvik: Sir Erling, his son, and Stig, along with ten handsomely outfitted and well-armed men. Simon, with his one servant, thought that he should have had the sense to arrive better attired and with a more impressive entourage. Simon Darre of Formo shouldn't have to ride with his former kinsmen like some smallholder who had sought their support in his helpless position. But he was so weary and broken by what he had done the day before that he now felt almost indifferent to whatever outcome this journey might bring.\n\nSimon had always claimed that he put no faith in the ugly rumors about King Magnus. He was not so saintly a man that he couldn't stand some vulgar jesting among grown men. But when people put their heads together, muttering and shuddering over dark and secret sins, Simon would grow uneasy. And he thought it unseemly to listen to or believe such things about the king, when he was a member of his retinue.\n\nYet he was surprised when he stood before the young sovereign. He hadn't seen Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n since the king was a child, but he had expected there would be something womanish, weak, or unhealthy about him. But the king was one of the most handsome young men Simon had ever set eyes on\u2014and he had a manly and regal bearing, in spite of his youth and slender build.\n\nHe wore a surcoat patterned in light blue and green, ankle-length and voluminous, cinched around his slim waist with a gilded belt. He carried his tall, slender body with complete grace beneath the heavy garment. King Magnus had straight, blond hair framing his handsomely shaped head, although the ends of his locks had been artfully curled so they billowed around the staunch, wide column of his neck. The features of his face were delicate and charming, his complexion fresh, with red cheeks and a faint golden tinge from the sun; he had clear eyes and an open expression. He greeted his men with a polite bearing and pleasant courtesy. Then he placed his hand on Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's sleeve and led him several steps away from the others, as he thanked him for coming.\n\nThey talked for a moment, and Sir Erling mentioned that he had a particular request to make of the king's mercy and good will. Then the royal servants set a chair for the knight before the king's throne, showed the other three men to seats somewhat farther away in the hall, and left the room.\n\nWithout even thinking, Simon had assumed the bearing and demeanor he had learned in his youth. He had relented and agreed to borrow from Stig a brown silk garment so that his attire was no different from what the other men wore. But he sat there feeling as if he were in a dream. He was and yet he was not the same man as that young Simon Darre, the alert and courtly son of a knight who had carried towels and candles for King Haakon in the Oslo castle an endless number of winters ago. He was and was not Simon the owner of Formo who had lived a free and merry life in the valley for all these years\u2014largely without sorrows, although he had always known that within him resided that smoldering ember; but he turned his thoughts away from this. A stifled, ominous sense of revolt rose up inside the man\u2014he had never willfully sinned or caused any trouble that he knew of, but fate had fanned the blaze, and he had to struggle to keep his composure while he was being roasted over a slow fire.\n\nHe rose to his feet along with all the others; King Magnus had stood up.\n\n\"Dear kinsmen,\" he said in his young, fresh voice. \"Here is how I view this matter. The prince is my brother, but we have never attempted to share a royal retinue\u2014the same men cannot serve us both. Nor does it sound as if this was Erlend's intention, although for a while he might continue as sheriff under my rule, even after becoming one of Haakon's retainers. But those of my men who would rather join my brother Haakon will be released from my service and be permitted to try their fortune at his court. Who they might be\u2014that's what I intend to find out from Erlend's lips.\"\n\n\"Then, my Lord King,\" said Erling, \"you must try to reach agreement with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n regarding this matter. You must keep the promise of safe conduct which you have made, and grant your kinsman an interview.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is my kinsman and yours, and Sir Ivar persuaded me to promise him safe conduct. But he did not keep his promise to me, nor did he remember our kinship.\" King Magnus gave a small laugh and then placed his hand on Erling's arm once more. \"Dear friend, my kinsmen seem to live by the saying we have here in Norway: that a kinsman is the worst enemy of his kin. I am quite willing to show mercy to my kinsman, Erlend of Husaby, for the sake of God and Our Lady and my betrothed; I will grant him his life and property and lift the sentence of banishment if he will be reconciled with me; or I will allow him proper time to leave my kingdoms if he wishes to join his new lord, Prince Haakon. This same mercy I will show to any man who has conspired with him\u2014but I want to know which of my men residing in this country have served their lord falsely. What do you have to say, Simon Andress\u00f8n? I know that your father was my grandfather's faithful supporter, and that you yourself served King Haakon with honor. Do you think I have the right to investigate this matter?\"\n\n\"I think, my Lord King...\" Simon stepped forward and bowed again, \"that as long as Your Grace rules in accordance with the laws and customs of the land, with benevolence, then you will never find out who these men might be who tried to resort to lawlessness and treason. For as soon as the people see that Your Grace intends to uphold the laws and traditions established by your ancestors, then surely no man in this kingdom would think of breaking the peace. Instead, they will hold their tongues and acknowledge what for a time it may have been difficult to believe\u2014that you, my Lord, in spite of your youth, can rule two kingdoms with wisdom and power.\"\n\n\"That is so, Your Majesty,\" added Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n. \"No man in this country would think of refusing you allegiance over something which you lawfully command.\"\n\n\"No? Then you think that Erlend may not have incited betrayal and high treason\u2014if we look closer at the case?\"\n\nFor a moment Sir Erling seemed at a loss for a reply, when Simon spoke.\n\n\"You, my Lord, are our king\u2014and every man expects that you will counter lawlessness with law. But if you pursue the path that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n has embarked upon, then men might step forward to state their names, which you are now pressing so hard to discover, or other men might begin to wonder about the true nature of this case\u2014for it will be much discussed if Your Grace proceeds as you have warned, against a man as well-known and highborn as Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that, Simon Andress\u00f8n?\" said the king sharply, and his face turned crimson.\n\n\"Simon means,\" interjected Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n, \"that Your Grace might be poorly served if people began to ask why Erlend was not allowed the privilege of personal security, which is the right of every man except thieves and villains. They might even begin to think about King Haakon's other grandsons....\"\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n swiftly turned to face his son with a furious expression.\n\nBut the king asked dryly, \"Don't you consider traitors to be villains?\"\n\n\"No one will call him that, if he wins support for his plans,\" replied Bjarne.\n\nFor a moment they all fell silent. Then Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n said, \"Whatever Erlend is called, my Lord, it would not be proper for you to disregard the law for his sake.\"\n\n\"Then the law needs to be changed in this case,\" said the king vehemently, \"if it is true that I have no power to obtain information about how the people intend to show their loyalty to me.\"\n\n\"And yet you cannot proceed with a change in the law before it has been enacted without exerting excessive force against the people\u2014and from ancient times the people have had difficulty in accepting excessive force from their kings,\" said Sir Erling stubbornly.\n\n\"I have my knights and my royal retainers to support me,\" replied Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n with a boyish laugh. \"What do you say to this, Simon?\"\n\n\"I think, my Lord... it may turn out that this support cannot be counted on, judging by the way the knights and nobles in Denmark and Sweden have dealt with their kings when the people had no power to support the Crown against the nobles. But if Your Grace is considering such a plan, then I would ask you to release me from your service\u2014for then I would rather take my place among the peasants.\"\n\nSimon spoke in such a calm and composed manner that the king at first seemed not to understand what he had said. Then he laughed.\n\n\"Are you threatening me, Simon Andress\u00f8n? Do you want to cast down your gauntlet before me?\"\n\n\"As you wish, my Lord,\" said Simon just as calmly as before, but he took his gloves from his belt and held them in his hand. Then the young Bjarne leaned over and took them.\n\n\"These are not proper wedding gloves for Your Grace to buy!\" He held up the thick, worn riding gloves and laughed. \"If word gets out, my Lord, that you have demanded such gloves, you might receive far too many of them\u2014and for a good price!\"\n\nErling Vidkunss\u00f8n gave a shout. With an abrupt movement he seemed to sweep the young king to one side and the three men to the other; he urged them toward the door. \"I must speak to the king alone.\"\n\n\"No, no, I want to talk to Bjarne,\" called the king, running after them.\n\nBut Sir Erling shoved his son outside along with the others.\n\nFor some time they roamed around the castle courtyard and out on the slope\u2014no one said a word. Stig Haakonss\u00f8n looked pensive, but held his tongue, as he had all along. Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n walked around with a little, secretive smile on his lips the whole time. After a while Sir Erling's armsbearer came out and said that his master requested they wait for him at the hostel\u2014their horses stood ready in the courtyard.\n\nAnd so they waited at the hostel. They avoided discussing what had happened. Finally they fell to talking about their horses and dogs and falcons. By late that evening, Stig and Simon ended up recounting amorous adventures. Stig Haakonss\u00f8n had always had a good supply of such tales, but Simon discovered that whenever he began to tell some remembered story, Stig would take over, saying that either the event had happened to him or it had recently occurred somewhere near Mandvik\u2014even though Simon recalled hearing the tale in his childhood, told by servants back home at Dyfrin.\n\nBut he laughed and roared along with Stig. Once in a while he felt as if the bench were swaying under him\u2014he was afraid of something but didn't dare think about what it might be. Bjarne Er lingss\u00f8n laughed quietly as he drank wine, gnawed on apples, and fidgeted with his hood; now and then he would tell some little anecdote\u2014and they were always the worst of the lot, but so wily that Stig could not understand them. Bjarne said that he had heard them from the priest at Bj\u00f8rgvin.\n\nFinally Sir Erling arrived. His son went to meet him, to take his outer garments. Erling turned angrily to the youth.\n\n\"You!\" He threw his cape into Bjarne's arms. Then a trace of a smile, which he refused to acknowledge, flitted across the father's face. He turned to Simon and said, \"Well, now you must be content, Simon Andress\u00f8n! You can rest assured that the day is not far off when you will be sitting together in peace and comfort on your neighboring estates\u2014you and Erlend\u2014along with his wife and all their sons.\"\n\nSimon's face had turned a shade more pale as he stood up to thank Sir Erling. He realized what the fear was that he hadn't dared face. But now there was nothing to be done about it.\n\nAbout fourteen days later Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n was released. Simon, along with two men and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, rode out to Akersnes to bring him home.\n\nThe trees were already nearly bare, for there had been a strong wind the week before. Frost had set in\u2014the earth rang hard beneath the horses' hooves, and the fields were pale with rime as the men rode in toward town. It looked like snow; the sky was overcast and the daylight was dreary and a chilly gray.\n\nSimon noticed that Erlend dragged one leg a bit as he came out to the castle courtyard, and his body seemed stiff and clumsy as he mounted his horse. He was also very pale. He had shaved off the beard, and his hair was trimmed and neat; the upper part of his face was now a sallow color, while the lower part was white with bluish stubble. There were deep hollows under his eyes. But he was a handsome figure in the long, dark-blue surcoat and cap, and as he bade farewell to Olav Kyrning and handed out gifts of money to the men who had guarded him and brought him food in prison, he looked like a chieftain who was parting with the servants at a wedding feast.\n\nAs they rode off, he seemed at first to be freezing; he shivered several times. Then a little color crept into his cheeks, and his face brightened\u2014as if sap and vitality were welling up inside him. Simon thought it was no easier to break Erlend than a willow branch.\n\nThey reached the hostel, and Kristin came out to meet her husband in the courtyard. Simon tried to avert his eyes, but he could not.\n\nThey took each other's hands and exchanged a few words, their voices quiet and clear. They handled this meeting under the eyes of the servants in a manner that was graceful and seemly enough. Except that they flushed bright red as they gazed at each other for a moment, and then they both lowered their eyes. Erlend once again offered his wife his hand, and together they walked toward the loft room, where they would stay while they were in Oslo.\n\nSimon turned toward the room which he and Kristin had shared up until now. Then she turned around on the lowest step to the loft room and called to him with a strange resonance in her voice.\n\n\"Aren't you coming, brother-in-law? Have some food first\u2014and you too, Ulf!\"\n\nHer body seemed so young and soft as she stood there with her hip turned slightly, looking back over her shoulder. As soon as she arrived in Oslo, she had begun fastening her wimple in a different manner than before. Here in the south only the wives of smallholders wore the wimple in the old-fashioned way she had worn it ever since she was married: tightly framing her face like a nun's wimple, with the ends crossed in front so her neck was completely hidden, and the folds draped along the sides and over her hair, which was knotted at the nape of her neck. In Tr\u00f8ndelag it was considered a sign of piety to wear the wimple in this manner, which Archbishop Eiliv had always praised as the most seemly and chaste style for married women. But in order to fit in, Kristin had adopted the fashion of the south, with the linen cloth placed smoothly on her head and hanging straight back, so that her hair in front was visible, and her neck and shoulders were free. And another part of the style was to have the braids simply pinned up so they couldn't be seen under the edge of the wimple, with the cloth fitted softly to the shape of her head. Simon had seen this before and thought it suited her\u2014but he had never noticed how young it made her look. And her eyes were shining like stars.\n\nLater in the day a great many people arrived to bring greetings to Erlend: Ketil of Skog, Markus Torgeirss\u00f8n, and later that evening Olav Kyrning himself, along with Sira Ingolf and Herr Guttorm, a priest from Saint Halvard's Church. By the time the two priests arrived, it had begun to snow, a fine, dry powder, and they had lost their way in a field and wandered into some burdock bushes\u2014their clothing was full of burrs. Everyone busily fell to picking the burdocks from the priests and their servants. Erlend and Kristin were helping Herr Guttorm; every now and then they would blush as they jested with the priest, their voices strangely unsteady and quavering when they laughed.\n\nSimon drank a good deal early in the evening, but it didn't make him merry\u2014only a little more sluggish. He heard every word that was said, his hearing unbearably sharp. The others soon began speaking openly\u2014none of them supported the king.\n\nAfter a while he felt so strangely weary of it all. They sat there spouting foolish chatter, in loud and heated voices. Ketil Aas mundss\u00f8n was quite a simpleton, and his brother-in-law Markus was not much more clever himself; Olav Kyrning was a right-minded and sensible man, but short-sighted. And to Simon the two priests didn't seem any more intelligent. Now they were all sitting there listening to Erlend and agreeing with him\u2014and he grew more and more like the man he had always been: brash and impetuous. Now he had taken Kristin's hand and placed it on his knee; he was sitting there playing with her fingers\u2014and they sat close together, so their shoulders touched. Now she blushed bright red; she couldn't take her eyes off him. When he put his arm around her waist, her lips trembled and she had trouble pressing them closed.\n\nThen the door flew open, and Munan Baards\u00f8n stepped in.\n\n\"At last the mighty ox himself arrives,\" shouted Erlend, jumping up and going to greet him.\n\n\"May God and the Virgin Mary help us\u2014I don't think you're troubled in the least, Erlend,\" said Munan, annoyed.\n\n\"And do you think it would do any good to whine and weep now, kinsman?\"\n\n\"I've never seen anything like it\u2014you've squandered all your wealth....\"\n\n\"Well, I was never the kind of man who would go to Hell with a bare backside merely to save my breeches from being burned,\" said Erlend, and Kristin laughed softly, looking flustered.\n\nSimon leaned over the table and rested his head on his arms. If only they would think he was so drunk that he'd fallen asleep\u2014he just wanted to be left alone.\n\nNothing was any different than he'd expected\u2014or at least ought to have expected. She wasn't either. Here she sat, the only woman among all these men, as gentle and modest, comfortable and confident as ever. That's how she had been back then\u2014when she betrayed him\u2014shameless or innocent, he wasn't sure. Oh, no, that wasn't true either... she hadn't been confident at all, she hadn't been shameless\u2014she hadn't been calm behind that calm demeanor. But the man had bewitched her; for Erlend's sake she would gladly walk on searing stones\u2014and she had trampled on Simon as if she thought he was nothing more than a cold stone.\n\nAnd here he lay, thinking foolishness. She had wanted to have her way and thought of nothing else. Let them have their joy\u2014it made no difference to him. He didn't care if they produced seven more sons; then there would be fourteen to divide up the inheritance from Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's estate. It didn't look as if he would have to worry about his own children; Ramborg wasn't as quick to give birth as her sister. And one day his descendants would be left with power and wealth after his death. But it made no difference to him\u2014not this evening. He wanted to keep on drinking, but he knew that tonight God's gifts would have no hold on him. And then he would have to lift his head and perhaps be pulled into the conversation.\n\n\"Well, you probably think you would have made a good regent, don't you?\" said Munan scornfully.\n\n\"No, you should know that we intended that position for you,\" laughed Erlend.\n\n\"In God's name, watch your tongue, man.\"\n\nThe others laughed.\n\nErlend came over and touched Simon's shoulder.\n\n\"Are you sleeping, brother-in-law?\" Simon looked up. Erlend was standing before him with a goblet in his hand. \"Drink with me, Simon. To you I owe the most gratitude for saving my life\u2014which is dear to me, even such as it is, my man! You stood by me like a brother. If you hadn't been my brother-in-law, I would have surely lost my head. Then you could have had my widow....\"\n\nSimon leaped to his feet. For a moment they stood there staring at each other. Erlend grew sober and pale; his lips parted in a gasp.\n\nSimon knocked the goblet out of the other man's hand with his fist; the mead spilled out. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.\n\nErlend stayed where he was. He wiped his hand and wrist on the fabric of his surcoat without realizing that he was doing so, then looked around\u2014the others hadn't noticed. With his foot he pushed the goblet under the bench, then stood there a moment before following after his brother-in-law.\n\nSimon Darre was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Jon Daalk was leading his horses from the stable. He didn't move when Erlend came down to stand beside him.\n\n\"Simon! Simon... I didn't know. I didn't know what I was saying!\"\n\n\"Now you do.\"\n\nSimon's voice was toneless. He stood stock-still, without looking at the other man.\n\nErlend glanced around him helplessly. A pale sliver of the moon shone through the veil of clouds; small, hard bits of snow were falling. Erlend shivered in the cold.\n\n\"Where... where are you going?\" he asked uncertainly, looking at the servant and horses.\n\n\"To find myself another inn,\" said Simon curtly. \"You know full well that I can't stay here.\"\n\n\"Simon!\" Erlend exclaimed. \"Oh, I don't know what I would give to have those words unsaid!\"\n\n\"As would I,\" replied the other man in the same voice.\n\nThe door to the loft opened. Kristin stepped out onto the gallery with a lantern in her hand; she leaned over and shone the light on them.\n\n\"Is that where you are?\" she asked in her clear voice. \"What are you doing outdoors?\"\n\n\"I thought I should see to my horses\u2014as it's the custom for polite people to say,\" replied Simon, laughing up at her.\n\n\"But... you've taken your horses out!\" she said merrily.\n\n\"Yes, a man can do strange things when he's been drinking,\" said Simon in the same manner as before.\n\n\"Well, come back up here now!\" she called, her voice bright and joyful.\n\n\"Yes. At once.\" She went inside, and Simon shouted to Jon to put the horses back in the stable. Then he turned to Erlend, who was standing there, his expression and demeanor oddly numb. \"I'll come inside in a few minutes. We must try to pretend it was never said, Erlend\u2014for the sake of our wives. But this much you might realize: that you were the last man on earth I wanted... to know about... this. And don't forget that I'm not as forgetful as you are!\"\n\nThe door above them opened again; the guests came swarming out, and Kristin was with them; her maid carried the lantern.\n\n\"Well, it's getting late,\" teased Munan Baards\u00f8n, \"and I think these two must be longing for bed....\"\n\n\"Erlend. Erlend. Erlend.\" Kristin had flung herself into his arms as soon as they were alone inside the loft. She clung tightly to him. \"Erlend, you look sad,\" she whispered fearfully, with her half-parted lips against his mouth. \"Erlend?\" She pressed both of her hands to his temples.\n\nHe stood there for a moment with his arms limply clasped around her. Then, with a soft moaning sound in his throat, he crushed her to him.\n\nSimon walked over to the stable; he was going to tell Jon something, but halfway there he forgot what it was. For a moment he stood in front of the stable door and looked up at the hazy moonlight and the snow drifting down\u2014now bigger flakes were beginning to fall. Jon and Ulf came out and closed the door behind them, and then the three men walked together over to the building where they would sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CROSS",
                "text": "[ HONOR AMONG KIN ]\n\nDuring the second year that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and Kristin Lavransdatter lived at J\u00f8rundgaard, Kristin decided to spend the summer up in the mountain pastures.\n\nShe had been thinking about this ever since winter. At Skjenne it had long been the custom for the mistress herself to stay in the mountain pastures; in the past a daughter from the manor had once been lured into the hills, and afterward her mother insisted on living in the mountains each summer. But in many ways they had their own customs at Skjenne; people in the region were used to it and expected as much.\n\nBut elsewhere it wasn't customary for the women of the gentry on the large estates to go up to the pastures. Kristin knew that if she did so, people would be surprised and would gossip about it.\n\nIn God's name, then, let them talk. No doubt they were already talking about her and her family.\n\nAudun Torbergss\u00f8n owned nothing more than his weapons and the clothes on his back when he was wed to Ingebj\u00f8rg Nikulaus-datter of Loptsgaard. He had been a groom for the bishop of Hamar. It was back when the bishop came north to consecrate the new church that Ingebj\u00f8rg suffered the misfortune. Nikulaus Sigurds s\u00f8n took it hard at first, swearing by God and man that a stableboy would never be his son-in-law. But Ingebj\u00f8rg gave birth to twins, and people said with a laugh that Nikulaus evidently thought it would be too much to support them on his own. He allowed his daughter to marry Audun.\n\nThis happened two years after Kristin's wedding. It had not been forgotten, and people probably still thought of Audun as a stranger to the region; he was from Hadland, of good family, but his lineage had become quite impoverished. And the man himself was not well liked in Sil; he was obstinate, hardheaded, and slow to forget either bad or good, but he was a most enterprising farmer, with a fair knowledge of the law. In many ways Audun Torbergss\u00f8n was now a respected man in the parish and a man with whom people were loath to become foes.\n\nKristin thought about Audun's broad, tanned face with the thick, curly red hair and beard and those sharp, small blue eyes of his. He looked like many other men she had seen; she had seen such faces among their servants at Husaby, among Erlend's men and ship's crew.\n\nShe sighed. It must be easier for such a man to assert himself as he sat there on his wife's ancestral estate since he had never ruled over anything else.\n\nAll winter and spring Kristin spent time talking to Frida Styrkaarsdatter, who had come with them from Tr\u00f8ndelag and was in charge of all her other maids. Again and again she would tell the woman that such and such was the way they did things here in the valley during the summer, this was what the haymakers were used to getting, and this was how things were done at harvest time. Surely Frida must remember how Kristin had done things the year before. For she wanted everything on the manor to be just as it was during Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter's time.\n\nBut to come right out and say that she would not be there on the farm during the summer, that was hard for her to do. She had been the mistress of J\u00f8rundgaard for two winters and a summer, and she knew that if she went up to the mountain pastures now, it would be the same as running away.\n\nShe realized that Erlend was in a terribly difficult position. Ever since the days when he sat on his foster mother's knee, he had never known anything other than that he was born to command and rule over everything and everyone around him. And if the man had allowed himself to be ruled and commanded by others, at least he had never been aware of this himself.\n\nHe couldn't possibly feel the way he outwardly seemed. He must be unhappy here. She herself... Her father's estate at the bottom of the quiet, closed-in valley, the flat fields along the curve of the gleaming river through the alder woods, the farms on the cultivated land far below at the foot of the mountain, and the steep slopes above, with the gray clefts against the sky overhead, pale slides of scree and the spruce forest and leafy woods clambering upward through the meadows from the valley\u2014no, this no longer seemed to her the most beautiful and safest home in the world. It felt closed off. Surely Erlend must think that it was ugly and confining and unpleasant.\n\nBut no one could tell anything from his appearance except that he seemed content.\n\nOn the day when they let out the livestock at J\u00f8rundgaard, she finally managed to speak of it, in the evening as they ate their supper. Erlend was picking through the fish platter in search of a good piece; in surprise he sat there with his fingers in the dish while he stared at his wife. Then Kristin added quickly that it was mostly because of the throat ailment that was rampant among the children in the valley. Munan wasn't strong; she wanted to take him and Lavrans along with her up to the mountains.\n\nWell, said Erlend. In that case it would be advisable for Ivar and Skule to go with her too.\n\nThe twins leaped up from the bench. During the rest of the meal they both chattered at once. They wanted to go with Erling, who would be camping north among the Gray Peaks with the sheep. Three years before, the sheepherders from Sil had caught a poacher and killed him near his stone hut in the Boar Range; he was a man who had been banished to the forest from ster \u00d8dal. As soon as the servants got up from the table, Ivar and Skule brought into the hall all the weapons they owned and sat down to tinker with them.\n\nA little later that evening Kristin set off southward with Simon Andress\u00f8n's daughters and her own sons Gaute and Lavrans. Arngjerd Simonsdatter had been at J\u00f8rundgaard most of the winter. The maiden was now fifteen years old, and one day during Christmas at Formo, Simon had mentioned that Arngjerd ought to learn something more than what they could teach her at home; she was just as skilled as the serving maids. Kristin had then offered to take the girl home with her and teach her as best she could, for she could see that Simon dearly loved his daughter and worried a great deal about her future. And the child needed to learn other ways than those practiced at Formo. Since the death of his wife's parents Simon Andress\u00f8n was now one of the richest men in the region. He managed his properties with care and good sense, and he oversaw the farm work at Formo with zeal and intelligence. But indoors things were handled poorly; the serving women were in charge of everything. Whenever Simon noticed that the disarray and slovenliness in the house had surpassed all bounds, he would hire one or two more maids, but he never spoke of such things to his wife and seemed neither to wish nor to expect that she should pay more attention to the housekeeping. It was almost as if he didn't yet consider her to be fully grown up, but he was exceedingly kind and amenable toward Ramborg and was constantly showering her and the children with gifts.\n\nKristin grew fond of Arngjerd after she got to know her. The maiden was not pretty, but she was clever, gentle, good-hearted, nimble-fingered, and diligent. When the young girl accompanied her around the house or sat by her side in the weaving room in the evenings, Kristin often thought that she wished one of her own children had been a daughter. A daughter would spend more time with her mother.\n\nShe was thinking about that on this evening as she led Lavrans by the hand and looked at the two children, Gaute and Arngjerd, who were walking ahead of her along the road. Ulvhild was running about, stomping through the brittle layer of nighttime ice on the puddles of water. She was pretending to be some kind of animal and had turned her red cloak around so that the white rabbit fur was on the outside.\n\nDown in the valley in the dusk the shadows were deepening across the bare brown fields. But the air of the spring evening seemed sated with light. The first stars were sparkling, wet and white, high up in the sky, where the limpid green was turning blue, moving toward darkness and night. Above the black rim of the mountains on the other side of the valley a border of yellow light still lingered, and its glow lit up the scree covering the steep slope that towered above them as they walked. At the very top, where the snowdrifts jutted out over the ridges, the snow glistened, and underneath glittered the glaciers, which gave birth to the streams rushing and splashing everywhere down through the scree. The sound of water completely filled the air of the countryside; from below reverberated the loud roar of the river. And the singing of birds came from the groves and leafy shrubbery on all sides.\n\nOnce Ulvhild stopped, picked up a stone, and threw it toward the sound of the birds. Her big sister grabbed her arm, and she walked on calmly for a while. But then she tore herself away and ran down the hill until Gaute shouted after her.\n\nThey had reached the place where the road headed into the forest; from the thickets came the ringing of a steel bow. Inside the woods snow lay on the ground, and the air smelled cold and fresh. A little farther on, in a small clearing, stood Erlend with Ivar and Skule.\n\nIvar had taken a shot at a squirrel; the arrow was stuck high up in the trunk of a fir tree, and now he was trying to get it down. He pitched stone after stone at it; the huge mast tree resonated when he struck the trunk.\n\n\"Wait a minute. I'll try to see if I can shoot it down for you,\" said his father. He shook his cape back over his shoulders, placed an arrow in his bow, and took aim rather carelessly in the uncertain light among the trees. The string twanged; the arrow whistled through the air and buried itself in the tree trunk right next to the boy's. Erlend took out another arrow and shot again; one of the two arrows sticking out of the tree clattered down from branch to branch. The shaft of the other one had splintered, but the point was still embedded in the tree.\n\nSkule ran into the snow to pick up the two arrows. Ivar stood and stared up at the treetop.\n\n\"It's mine\u2014the one that's still up there, Father! It's buried up to the shaft. That was a powerful shot, Father!\" Then he proceeded to explain to Gaute why he hadn't hit the squirrel.\n\nErlend laughed softly and straightened his cape. \"Are you going to turn back now, Kristin? I'm setting off for home; we're planning to go after wood grouse early in the morning, Naakkve and I.\"\n\nKristin told him briskly no, that she wanted to accompany the maidens to their manor. She wanted to have a few words with her sister tonight.\n\n\"Then Ivar and Skule can go with Mother and escort her home if I can stay with you, Father,\" said Gaute.\n\nErlend lifted Ulvhild Simonsdatter up in his arms in farewell. Because she was so pretty and pink and fresh, with her brown curls under the white fur hood, he kissed her before he set her back down and then turned and headed for home with Gaute.\n\nNow that Erlend had nothing else to occupy him, he was always in the company of a few of his sons. Ulvhild took her aunt's hand and walked on a bit; then she started running again, rushing in between Ivar and Skule. Yes, she was a beautiful child, but wild and unruly. If they had had a daughter, Erlend would have no doubt taken her along and played with her too.\n\nAt Formo Simon was alone in the house with his little son when they came in. He was sitting in the high seat in the middle of the long table, looking at Andres. The child was kneeling on the outer bench and playing with several old wooden pegs, trying to make them stand on their heads on the table. As soon as Ulvhild saw this, she forgot about greeting her father. She climbed right up onto the bench next to her brother, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and pounded his face against the table while she screamed that they were her pegs; Father had given them to her.\n\nSimon stood up to separate the children; then he happened to knock over a little pottery dish standing near his elbow. It fell to the floor and shattered.\n\nArngjerd crawled under the table and gathered up the pieces. Simon took them from her and looked at them, greatly dismayed. \"Your mother is going to be angry.\" It was a pretty little flower-painted dish made of shiny white ceramic that Sir Andres Darre had brought home from France. Simon explained that Helga had inherited it, but she had given it to Ramborg. The women considered it a great treasure. At that moment he heard his wife out in the entryway, and he hid his hands, holding the pottery shards, behind his back.\n\nRamborg came in and greeted her sister and nephews. She took off Ulvhild's cloak, and the maiden ran over to her father and clung to him.\n\n\"Look how fine you are today, Ulvhild. I see that you're wearing your silver belt on a workday.\" But he couldn't hug the child because his hands were full.\n\nUlvhild shouted that she had been visiting her aunt Kristin at J\u00f8rundgaard; that was why Mother had dressed her so nicely in the morning.\n\n\"Yes, your mother keeps you dressed so splendid and grand; they could set you up on the shrine on the north side of the church, the way you look,\" said Simon, smiling. The only work Ramborg ever did was to sew garments for her daughter; Ulvhild was always magnificently clothed.\n\n\"Why are you standing there like that?\" Ramborg asked her husband.\n\nSimon showed her the pottery pieces. \"I don't know what you're going to say about this\u2014\"\n\nRamborg took them from him. \"You didn't have to stand there looking like such a fool because of this.\"\n\nKristin felt ill at ease as she sat there. It was true that Simon had looked quite ridiculous as he stood there hiding the broken pieces in such a childish manner, but Ramborg didn't need to mention it.\n\n\"I expected you to be mad because your dish was broken,\" said her husband.\n\n\"Yes, you always seem to be so afraid that something will make me mad\u2014and something so frivolous,\" replied Ramborg. And the others saw that she was close to tears.\n\n\"You know quite well, Ramborg, that's not the only way I act,\" said Simon. \"And it's not just frivolous things either...\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know,\" replied his wife in the same tone of voice. \"It has never been your habit, Simon, to talk to me about important matters.\"\n\nShe turned on her heel and walked toward the entryway. Simon stood still for a moment, staring after her. When he sat down, his son Andres came over and wanted to climb onto his father's lap. Simon picked him up and sat there with his chin resting on the child's head, but he didn't seem to be listening to the boy's chatter.\n\nAfter a while Kristin ventured, a little hesitantly, \"Ramborg isn't so young anymore, Simon. Your oldest child is already seven winters old.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Simon, and it seemed to her that his voice was unnecessarily sharp.\n\n\"I mean nothing more than that... perhaps my sister thinks you find her too young to... maybe if you could try to let her take charge of things more here on the estate, together with you.\"\n\n\"My wife takes charge of as much as she likes,\" replied Simon heatedly. \"I don't demand that she do more than she wants to do, but I've never refused to allow Ramborg to manage anything here at Formo. If you think otherwise, then it's because you don't know\u2014\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Kristin. \"But it has seemed to me, brother-in-law, that now and then you don't consider Ramborg to be any older than when you married her. You should remember, Simon\u2014\"\n\n\"You should remember\u2014\" he set the child down and jumped to his feet\u2014\"that Ramborg and I came to an agreement; you and I never could.\" His wife came into the room at that moment, carrying a container of ale for the guests. Simon quickly went over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. \"Did you hear that, Ramborg? Your sister is standing here saying that she doesn't think you're happy with your lot.\" He laughed.\n\nRamborg looked up; her big dark eyes glittered strangely. \"Why is that? I got what I wanted, just as you did, Kristin. If we two sisters can't be happy, then I don't know...\" And she too laughed.\n\nKristin stood there, flushed and angry. She refused to accept the ale bowl. \"No, it's already late; time for us to head back home now.\" And she looked around for her sons.\n\n\"Oh no, Kristin!\" Simon took the bowl from his wife and drank a toast. \"Don't be angry. You shouldn't take so much to heart every word that falls between the closest kin. Sit down for a while and rest your feet and be good enough to forget it if I've spoken to you in any way that I shouldn't have.\"\n\nThen he said, \"I'm tired,\" and he stretched and yawned. He asked how far they had gotten with the spring farm work at J\u00f8rundgaard. Here at Formo they had plowed up all the fields north of the manor road.\n\nKristin left as soon as she thought it was seemly. No, Simon didn't need to accompany her, she said when he picked up his hooded cape and axe; she had her big sons with her. But he insisted and also asked Ramborg to walk along with them, at least up through the fenced fields. She didn't usually agree to this, but tonight she went with them all the way up to the road.\n\nOutdoors the night was black and clear with glittering stars. The faint, warm and pleasant smell of newly manured fields gave a springtime odor to the night frost. The sound of water was everywhere in the darkness around them.\n\nSimon and Kristin walked north; the three boys ran on ahead. She could sense that the man at her side wanted to say something, but she didn't feel like making it easier for him because she was still quite furious. Of course she was fond of her brother-in-law, but there had to be a limit to what he could say and then brush aside afterward\u2014as merely something between kinsmen. He had to realize that because he had stood by them so loyally during their troubles, it wasn't easy for her when he grew quick-tempered or rude. It was difficult for her to take him to task. She thought about the first winter, not long after they had arrived in the village. Ramborg had sent for her because Simon lay in bed with boils in his throat and was terribly ill. He suffered from this ailment now and then. But when Kristin arrived at Formo and went in to see the man, he refused to allow her to touch him or even look at him. He was so irate that Ramborg, greatly distressed, begged her sister's forgiveness for asking her to come. Simon had not been any kinder toward her, she said, the first time he fell ill after they were married and she tried to nurse him. Whenever he had throat boils, he would retreat to the old building they called the S\u00e6mund house, and he couldn't stand to have anyone near him except for a horrid, filthy, and lice-ridden old man named Gunstein, who had served at Dyfrin since before Simon was born. Later Simon would no doubt come to see his sister-in-law to make amends. He didn't want anyone to see him when he was ill like that; he thought it such a pitiful shortcoming for a full-grown man. Kristin had replied, rather crossly, that she didn't understand\u2014it was neither sinful nor shameful to suffer from throat boils.\n\nSimon accompanied her all the way up to the bridge, and as they walked, they exchanged only a few words about the weather and the farm work, repeating things they had already said back at the house. Simon said good night, but then he asked abruptly, \"Do you know, Kristin, how I might have offended Gaute that the boy should be so angry with me?\"\n\n\"Gaute?\" she said in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, haven't you noticed? He avoids me, but if he can't help meeting me, he barely opens his mouth when I speak to him.\"\n\nKristin shook her head. No, she hadn't noticed, \"unless you said something in jest and he took it wrong, child that he is.\"\n\nHe heard in her voice that she was smiling; then he laughed a bit and said, \"But I can't remember anything of the sort.\"\n\nAnd with that he again bade her good night and left.\n\nIt was completely quiet at J\u00f8rundgaard. The main house was dark, with the ashes raked over the fire in the hearth. Bj\u00f8rgulf was awake and said that his father and brothers had left some time ago.\n\nOver in the master's bed Munan was sleeping alone. Kristin took him in her arms after she lay down.\n\nIt was so difficult to talk about it to Erlend when he didn't seem to realize himself that he shouldn't take the older boys and run off with them into the woods when there was more than enough work to be done on the estate.\n\nThat Erlend himself should walk behind a plow was not something she had ever expected. He probably wouldn't be able to do a proper job of it either. And Ulf wouldn't like it much if Erlend interfered in the running of the farm. But her sons could not grow up in the same way as their father had been allowed to do, learning to use weapons, hunting animals, and amusing himself with his horses or poring over a chessboard with a priest who would slyly attempt to cajole the knight's son into acquiring a little knowledge of Latin and writing, of singing and the playing of stringed instruments. She had so few servants on the estate because she thought that her sons should learn even as children that they would have to become accustomed to farm work. It now looked doubtful that there would be any knighthood for Erlend's sons.\n\nBut Gaute was the only one of the boys who had any inclination for farming. Gaute was a hard worker, but he was thirteen years old, and it could only be expected that he would rather go with his father when Erlend came and invited him to come along.\n\nIt was difficult to talk to Erlend about this because it was Kristin's firm resolve that her husband should never hear from her a single word that he might perceive as a criticism of his behavior or a complaint over the fate that he had brought upon himself and his sons. That meant it wasn't easy to make the father understand that his sons had to get used to doing the work themselves on their estate. If only Ulf would speak of it, she thought.\n\nWhen they moved the livestock from the spring pastures up to H\u00f8vringen, Kristin went along up to the mountains. She didn't want to take the twins with her. They would soon be eleven years old, and they were the most unruly and willful of her children; it was even harder for her to handle them because the two boys stuck together in everything. If she managed to get Ivar alone, he was good and obedient enough, but Skule was hot-tempered and stubborn. And when the brothers were together, Ivar said and did everything that Skule demanded."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "One day early in the fall Kristin went outside about the time of midafternoon prayers. The herdsman had said that a short distance down the mountainside, if she followed the riverbed, there was supposed to be an abundance of mulleins on a cleared slope.\n\nKristin found the spot, a steep incline baking in the direct glare of the sun; it was the very best time for picking the flowers. They grew in thick clumps over the heaps of stones and around the gray stubble. Tall, pale yellow stalks, richly adorned with small open stars. Kristin set Munan to picking raspberries in among some brushwood from which he wouldn't be able to escape without her help; she told the dog to stay with him and keep watch. Then she took out her knife and began cutting mulleins, constantly casting an eye at the little child. Lavrans stayed at her side and cut flowers too.\n\nShe was always fearful for her two small children in the mountains. Otherwise she was not afraid of the people up there anymore. Many had already gone home from the pastures, but she was thinking of staying until after the Feast of the Birth of Mary. It was pitch black at night now, and vile when the wind blew hard\u2014vile if they had to go outside late at night. But the weather had been so fine up in the heights, while down below, the countryside was parched this year and the grazing was poor. The men would have to stay up in the mountains during both the late fall and winter, but her father had said that he had never noticed anyone haunting their high pastures during the winter.\n\nKristin stopped under a solitary spruce tree in the middle of the hillside; she stood with her hands wrapped around the heavy weight of the flower stalks that were draped over her arm. From here she could look northward and see halfway to Dovre. In many places the grain was gathered in shocks in the fields.\n\nThe hillsides were yellow and sun-scorched over there too. But it was never truly green here in the valley, she thought, not as green as in Tr\u00f8ndelag.\n\nYes, she longed for the home they had had there: the manor that stood so high and magnificent on the broad breast of the ridge, with fields and meadows spreading out all around, extending below to the cluster of leafy woods that sloped down toward the lake at the bottom of the valley. The vast view across low, forested hills that undulated, wave upon wave, south toward the Dovre Range. And the lush meadows so thick and tall in the summer, red with crimson flowers beneath the red evening sky, the second crop of hay so succulent and green in the autumn.\n\nYes, sometimes she even felt a longing for the fjord. The skerries of Birgsi, the docks with the boats and ships, the boathouses, the smell of tar and fishing nets and the sea\u2014all those things she had disliked so much when she first went north.\n\nErlend must be longing for that smell, and for the sea and the sea wind.\n\nShe missed everything that she had once found so wearisome: all the housekeeping, the scores of servants, the clamor of Erlend's men as they rode into the courtyard with clanging weapons and jangling harnesses, the strangers who came and went, bringing them great news from all over the land and gossip about people in the town and countryside. Now she realized how quiet her life had become when all this had been silenced.\n\nNidaros with its churches and cloisters and banquets at the great estates in town. She longed to walk through the streets with her own servingman and maid accompanying her, to climb the loft stairs to the merchants' shops, to choose and reject wares, to step aboard the boats on the river to buy goods: English linen hats, elegant shawls, wooden horses with riders that would thrust out their lances if you pulled a string. She thought about the meadows outside town near Nidareid where she used to walk with her children, looking at the trained dogs and bears of the wandering minstrels, buying gingerbread and walnuts.\n\nAnd there were times when she longed to dress in her finery again. A silk shift and a delicate, fine wimple. The sleeveless surcoat made of pale blue velvet that Erlend had bought for her the winter before the misfortune befell them. It was edged with marten fur along the deep cut of the bodice and around the wide arm-holes, which reached all the way down to her hips, revealing the belt underneath.\n\nAnd occasionally she longed for... oh no, she should be sensible and be happy about that\u2014happy as long as she was free from having any more children. When she fell ill this autumn after the great slaughtering... It was best that it happened that way. But she had wept a little, those first few nights afterward.\n\nIt seemed an eternity since she had held an infant. Munan was only four winters old, but she had been forced to give him into the care of strangers before he was even a year. When he came back to her, he could already walk and talk, and he didn't know her.\n\nErlend. Oh, Erlend. Deep in her heart she knew that he wasn't as nonchalant as he seemed. This man who was always restless, now he seemed always so calm. Like a stream that finally runs up against a steep cliff and lets itself be diverted, trickling out into the peat to become a calm pool with marshlands all around. He wandered about J\u00f8rundgaard, doing nothing, and then he would find one or another of his sons to keep him company in his idleness. Or he would go out hunting with them. Once in a while he would go off to tar and repair one of the fishing boats they kept at the lake. Or he would set about breaking in one of the young colts, although he never had much success; he was far too impatient.\n\nHe kept to himself and pretended not to notice that no one sought out his company. His sons followed their father's example. They were not well liked, these outsiders who had been driven to the valley by misfortune and who still went about like proud strangers, never inquiring about the customs of the region or its people. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n was outright despised. He was openly scornful of the inhabitants of the valley, calling them stupid and old-fashioned; people who hadn't grown up near the sea weren't proper folks at all.\n\nAs for Kristin herself... She knew that she didn't have many friends here in her own valley either. Not anymore.\n\nShe straightened her back in the peat-brown homespun dress, shading her eyes with her hand against the golden flood of afternoon sunlight.\n\nTo the north she caught a glimpse of the valley along the pale green ribbon of the river and then the crush of mountainous shapes, one after the other, grayish yellow with scree and moss-covered plateaus; toward the center, snowdrifts and clouds melded into one another in the passes and ravines. Right across from her the Rost Range jutted out its knee, closing off the valley. The Laag River had to bend its course; a distant roar reached her from the river, which cut deep through the rocky cliffs below and tumbled in a roiling froth from ledge to ledge. Just beyond the mossy slopes at the top of the range towered the two enormous Blue Peaks, which her father had compared to a woman's breasts.\n\nErlend must think this place hemmed in and hideous, find it difficult to breathe.\n\nIt was a little farther to the south, on this same hillside, but closer to the familiar slopes, that she had seen the elf maiden when she was a small child.\n\nA gentle, soft, pretty child with lush silken hair framing her round, pink-and-white cheeks. Kristin closed her eyes and turned her sunburned face up toward the flood of light. A young mother, her breasts bursting with milk, her heart churned up and fecund like a newly plowed field after the birth of her child\u2014yes. But with someone like herself there should be no danger: They wouldn't even try to lure her inside. No doubt the mountain king would find the bridal gold ill suited to such a gaunt and worn-out woman. The wood nymph would have no desire to place her child at Kristin's withered teats. She felt hard and dry, like the spruce root under her foot that curved around stones and clung to the ground. Abruptly she dug her heel into the root.\n\nThe two little boys who had come over to their mother rushed to do as she did, kicking the tree root with all their might and then asking eagerly, \"Why are you doing that, Mother?\"\n\nKristin sat down, placed the mulleins in her lap, and began tearing off the open blossoms to put in the basket.\n\n\"Because my shoe was pinching my toes,\" she replied so much later that the boys had forgotten what they had asked. But this didn't bother them; they were used to the way their mother seemed not to listen when they spoke to her or the way she would wake up and give an answer after they had long forgotten their own question.\n\nLavrans helped tear off the flowers; Munan wanted to help too, but he merely shredded the tufts. Then Kristin took the mulleins away from him without a word, showing no anger, completely absorbed in her own thoughts. After a while the boys began playing and fighting with the bare stalks that she had cast aside.\n\nThey were making a loud ruckus next to her knee. Kristin looked at the two small, round heads with brown hair. They still looked much alike; their hair was the same light brown color, but from various faint little traits and hastily glimpsed signs, their mother could tell they would grow up to be quite different. Munan was going to look like his father; he had those pale blue eyes and such silky hair, which curled in thick, soft tendrils on his narrow head. It would grow as dark as soot with time. His little face was still so round in the chin and cheeks that it was a pleasure to cup her hands around its tender freshness; his face would become thin and lean when he grew older. He would also have the high, narrow forehead with hollowed temples and the straight, jutting triangle of a nose that was narrow and sharp across the ridge with thin, flaring nostrils, just as Naakkve already had and the twins clearly showed signs of having too.\n\nLavrans had had flaxen, curly hair as fine as silk when he was small. Now it was the color of a hazelnut, but it gleamed like gold in the sun. It was quite straight and still soft enough, although somewhat coarser and heavier than before, close and thick when she buried her fingers in it. Lavrans looked like Kristin; he had gray eyes and a round face with a broad forehead and a softly rounded chin. He would probably retain his pink-and-white complexion long after he became a man.\n\nGaute too had that fresh coloring; he looked so much like her father, with a long, full face, iron-gray eyes, and pale blond hair.\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf was the only one in whom she could see no resemblance. He was the tallest of her sons, with broad shoulders and heavy, strong limbs. Curly locks of raven-black hair fell low over his broad white forehead; his eyes were blue-black but oddly without luster, and he squinted badly when he looked up. She didn't know when he had actually started doing this, because he was the child to whom she had always paid the least attention. They took him away from her and gave him to a foster mother right after his birth. Eleven months later she had Gaute, and Gaute had been in poor health during the first four years of his life. After the birth of the twins she had gotten out of bed, still ailing and with a pain in her back, and resumed caring for the older child, carrying him around and tending to him. She barely had time to look at the two new children except when Frida brought her Ivar, who was crying and thirsty. And Gaute would lie there screaming while she sat and nursed the infant. She hadn't had the strength... Blessed Virgin Mary, you know that I couldn't manage to pay more attention to Bj\u00f8rgulf. And he preferred to keep to himself and do things alone, solitary and quiet as he always had been; he never seemed to like it when she caressed him. She had thought he was the strongest of her children; a young, stubborn, dark bull is how she thought of him.\n\nGradually she realized that his eyesight was quite poor. The monks had done something for his eyes when he and Naakkve were at Tautra, but it hadn't seemed to help.\n\nHe continued to be taciturn; it did no good for her to try to draw Bj\u00f8rgulf closer. She saw that he was just the same with his father. Bj\u00f8rgulf was the only one of their sons who didn't warm to Erlend's attention the way a meadow receives the sunlight. Only toward Naakkve was Bj\u00f8rgulf any different, but when Kristin tried to talk to Naakkve about his brother, he refused to say anything. She wondered whether Erlend had any better luck in those quarters, since Naakkve's love for Erlend was so great.\n\nOh no, Erlend's offspring readily bore witness to who their father was. She had seen that child from Lensvik when she was in Nidaros the last time. She had met Sir Baard in the Christ Church courtyard. He was coming out the door, accompanied by many men and women and servants; a maid carried the swaddled infant. Baard Aasulfss\u00f8n greeted Kristin with a nod of his head, silent and courteous, as they walked past her. His wife was not with him.\n\nShe had seen the child's face, just a single glance. But that was enough. He looked like the tiny infant faces that she had held to her own breast.\n\nArne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n was with her, and he couldn't keep from talking\u2014that's just the way he was. Sir Baard's other heirs were not pleased when the child was born the previous winter. But Baard had had him baptized Aasulf. Between Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and Fru Sunniva there had never been any other friendship than what everyone knew; that's what Baard claimed never to doubt. Indiscreet and reckless as Erlend was, he had probably let too much slip when he was bantering with Sunniva, and it was nothing more than her duty to warn the king's envoys when she became suspicious. But if they had been too friendly, then Sunniva must have also known that her brother was involved in Erlend's plans. When Haftor Graut took his own life and forfeited his salvation in prison, she was greatly distraught. No one could know how much she blamed herself during that time. Sir Baard had placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and stared at everyone as he spoke of this, said Arne.\n\nArne had also mentioned the matter to Erlend. One day when Kristin was up in one of the lofts, the men were standing beneath the gallery, unaware that she could hear their conversation. The Lensvik knight was overjoyed about the son his wife had given birth to the winter before; he never doubted that he himself was the father.\n\n\"Yes, well, Baard must know best about that,\" Erlend had replied. She knew that tone of voice of his; now he would be standing there with lowered eyes and a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.\n\nSir Baard bore such rancor toward his kinsmen who would have been his heirs if he had died childless. But people were now saying this was unfair. \"Well, the man himself must know best,\" said Erlend again.\n\n\"Yes, yes, Erlend, but that boy is going to inherit more than the seven sons you have with your wife.\"\n\n\"I will provide for my seven sons, Arne.\"\n\nThen Kristin went downstairs; she couldn't bear to hear them talk anymore about this subject. Erlend was a little startled when he saw her. Then he went over and took her hand, standing behind her so that her shoulder touched his body. She understood that as he stood there, gazing down at her, he was repeating without words what he had just affirmed, as if he wanted to give her strength.\n\nKristin became aware that Munan was staring up at her a bit anxiously. She had apparently smiled, though not in a pleasant way. But when his mother looked down at him, the boy smiled back, hesitant and uncertain.\n\nImpetuously she pulled him onto her lap. He was little, little, still so little, her youngest... not too big to be kissed and caressed by his mother. She winked one eye at him; he wanted to wink back, but try as he might, both his eyes kept winking. His mother laughed loudly, and then Munan laughed too, chortling as Kristin hugged him in her arms.\n\nLavrans had been sitting with the dog on his lap. They both turned toward the woods to listen.\n\n\"It's Father!\" First the dog and then the boy bounded down the steep slope.\n\nKristin stayed where she was for a moment. Then she stood up and walked forward to the precipice. Now they appeared on the path below: Erlend, Naakkve, Ivar, and Skule. They shouted greetings up to her, merry and boisterous.\n\nKristin greeted them in return. Were they on their way up to get the horses? No, Erlend replied. Ulf planned to send Sveinbj\u00f8rn after them that evening. He and Naakkve were off to hunt reindeer, and the twins had wanted to come along to see her.\n\nShe didn't reply. She had realized this even before she asked. Naakkve had a dog on a tether; he and his father were dressed in gray-and-black dappled homespun tunics that were hard to see against the scree. All four were carrying bows.\n\nKristin asked about news from the manor, and Erlend chatted as they climbed upward. Ulf was in the midst of the grain harvesting. He seemed pleased enough, but the hay was stunted, and the grain in the rest of the fields had ripened too early in the drought; it was falling off the stalks. And the oats would soon be ready to harvest; Ulf said they would have to work fast. Kristin walked along, nodding, without saying a word.\n\nShe went to the cowshed herself to do the milking. She usually enjoyed the time she sat in the dark next to the bulging flank of the cow, smelling the sweet breath of the milk as it reached her nose. A spurting sound echoed from the darkness where the milkmaid and herdsman were milking. It created such a calm feeling: the strong, warm smell of the shed, the creaking sounds of the osier door hasps, horns butting against wood, a cow shifting her hooves in the soft muck of the floor and swatting her tail at the flies. The wagtails that had made their nests inside during the summer were gone now.\n\nThe cows were restless tonight. Bluesides set her foot down in the milk pail. Kristin gave her a slap and scolded her. The next cow began acting refractory as soon as Kristin moved over to her side. She had sores on her udder. Kristin took off her wedding ring and milked the first spurts through the ring.\n\nShe heard Ivar and Skule down by the gate. They were shouting and throwing stones at the strange bull that always followed her cows in the evening. They had offered to help Finn milk the goats in the pen, but they had soon grown bored.\n\nA little later, when Kristin walked up the hill, they were teasing the pretty white calf that she had given to Lavrans, who was standing nearby and whimpering. She put down her pails, seized the two boys by the shoulder and flung them aside. They should leave the calf alone if their brother, who was its owner, told them to do so.\n\nErlend and Naakkve were sitting on the doorstep. They had a fresh cheese between them, and they were eating sliver after sliver as they fed some to Munan, who was standing between Naakkve's knees. He had put her horsehair sieve on the little boy's head, saying that now Munan would be invisible, because it wasn't really a sieve but a wood nymph's hat. All three of them laughed, but as soon as Naakkve saw his mother, he handed her the sieve, stood up, and took the milk pails from her.\n\nKristin lingered in the dairy shed. The upper half of the door stood open to the outer room of the hut; they had put plenty of wood on the hearth. In the warm flickering glow, they sat around the fire and ate: Erlend, the children, her maid, and the three herdsmen.\n\nBy the time she came in they had finished eating. She saw that the two youngest had been put to bed on the bench along the wall; they were already asleep. Erlend had crawled up into the bed. She stumbled over his outer garments and boots and picked them up as she walked past and then went outside.\n\nThe sky was still light, with a red stripe above the mountains to the west. Several dark wisps of clouds hovered in the clear air. It looked as if they would have fair weather the next day too, since it was so calm and biting cold now that night had begun to fall. No wind, but an icy gust from the north, a steady breath from the bare gray slopes. Above the hills to the southeast the moon was rising, nearly full, huge, and still a pale crimson in the slight haze that always lingered over the marshes in that direction.\n\nSomewhere up on the plateau the strange ox was bellowing and carrying on. Otherwise it was so quiet that it hurt\u2014only the roar of the river from below their pasture, the little trickling creek on the slope, and a languid murmuring in the woods\u2014a rustling through the boughs as they moved, paused for a moment, and then moved again.\n\nShe busied herself with some milk pans and trenchers that stood next to the wall of the hut. Naakkve and the twins came out, and their mother asked them where they were going.\n\nThey were going to sleep in the barn; there was such a foul smell in the dairy shed from all the cheeses and butter and from the goats that slept inside.\n\nNaakkve didn't go to the barn at once. His mother could still see his pale gray figure against the green darkness of the hayfield down at the edge of the woods. A little later the maid appeared in the doorway; she gave a start when she saw her mistress standing near the wall.\n\n\"Shouldn't you go to bed now, Astrid? It's getting late.\"\n\nThe maid muttered that she just had to go behind the cowshed. Kristin waited until she saw the girl go back inside. Naakkve was now in his sixteenth year. It was some time ago that his mother had begun keeping an eye on the serving maids on the manor whenever they flirted with the handsome and lively young boy.\n\nKristin walked down to the river and knelt on a rock protruding out over the water. Before her the river flowed almost black into a wide pool with only a few rings betraying the current, but a short distance above, it gushed white in the darkness with a great roar and cold gusts of air. By now the moon had risen so high that it shone brightly; it glittered here and there on a dewy leaf. Its rays caught on a ripple in the stream.\n\nErlend called her name from right behind her. She hadn't heard him come down the slope. Kristin dipped her arm in the icy water and fished up a couple of milk pans weighted with stones that were being rinsed by the river. She got to her feet and followed her husband back, with both her hands full. They didn't speak as they clambered upward.\n\nInside the hut Erlend undressed completely and climbed into bed. \"Aren't you coming to bed soon, Kristin?\"\n\n\"I'm just going to have a little food first.\" She sat down on her stool next to the hearth with some bread and a slice of cheese in her lap. She ate slowly, staring at the embers, which gradually grew dark in the stone-rimmed hollow in the floor.\n\n\"Are you asleep, Erlend?\" she whispered as she stood up and shook out her skirt.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nKristin went over and drank a ladleful of curdled milk from the basin in the corner. Then she went back to the hearth, lifted a stone, and laid it down flat, sprinkling the mullein blossoms on top to dry.\n\nBut then she could find no more tasks to do. She undressed in the dark and lay down in the bed next to Erlend. When he put his arms around her, she felt weariness wash over her whole body like a cold wave; her head felt empty and heavy, as if everything inside it had sunk down and settled like a knot of pain in the back of her neck. But when he whispered to her, she dutifully put her arms around his neck.\n\nShe woke up and didn't know what time of night it was. But through the transparent hide stretched over the smoke vent she could see that the moon must still be high.\n\nThe bed was short and cramped so they had to lie close to each other. Erlend was asleep, breathing quietly and evenly, his chest moving faintly as he slept. In the past she used to move closer to his warm, healthy body when she woke up in the night and grew frightened that he was breathing so silently. Back then she thought it so blissfully sweet to feel his breast rise and fall as he slept at her side.\n\nAfter a while she slipped out of bed, got dressed in the dark, and crept out the door.\n\nThe moon was sailing high over the world. The moss glistened with water, and the rocky cliffs gleamed where streams had trickled during the day\u2014now they had turned to ice. Up on the plateaus frost glittered. It was bitterly cold. Kristin crossed her arms over her breasts and stood still for a moment.\n\nThen she set off along the creek. It murmured and gurgled with the tiny sounds of ice crystals breaking apart.\n\nAt the top of the meadow a huge boulder rose up out of the earth. No one ever went near it unless they had to, and then they would be certain to cross themselves. People poured cream under it whenever they went past. Otherwise she had never heard that anyone had ever witnessed anything there, but such had been the custom in that pasture ever since ancient times.\n\nShe didn't know what had come over her that she would leave the house this way, in the middle of the night. She stopped at the boulder and set her foot in a crevice. Her stomach clenched tight, her womb felt cold and empty with fear, but she refused to make the sign of the cross. Then she climbed up and sat on top of the rock.\n\nFrom up there she could see a long, long way. Far into the ugly bare mountains in the moonlight. The great dome near Dovre rose up, enormous and pale against the pale sky. Snowdrifts gleamed white in the pass on the Gray Peaks. The Boar Range glistened with new snow and blue clefts. The mountains in the moonlight were more hideous than she could have imagined; only a few stars shone here and there in the vast, icy sky. She was frozen to the very marrow and bone; terror and cold pressed in on her from all sides. But defiantly she stayed where she was.\n\nShe refused to get down and lie in the pitch dark next to the warm, slumbering body of her husband. She could tell that for her there would be no more sleep that night.\n\nAs sure as she was her father's daughter, her husband would never hear his wife reproach his actions. For she remembered what she had promised when she beseeched the Almighty God and all the saints in heaven to spare Erlend's life.\n\nThat was why she had come out into this troll night to breathe when she felt about to suffocate.\n\nShe sat there and let the old, bitter thoughts rise up like good friends, countering them with other old and familiar thoughts\u2014in feigned justification of Erlend.\n\nHe had certainly never demanded this of her. He had not asked her to bear any of the things she had taken upon her own shoulders. He had merely conceived seven sons with her. \"I will provide for my seven sons, Arne.\" God only knew what Erlend had meant by those words. Maybe he meant nothing; it was simply something he had said.\n\nErlend hadn't asked her to restore order to Husaby and his other estates. He hadn't asked her to fight with her life to save him. He had borne it like a chieftain that his property would be dispersed, that his life was at stake, and that he would lose everything he owned. Stripped and empty-handed, with chieftainlike dignity and calm he had accepted the misfortune; with chieftainlike calm and dignity he lived on her father's manor like a guest.\n\nAnd yet everything that was in her possession lawfully belonged to her sons. They lawfully owned her sweat and blood and all her strength. But then surely she and the estate had the right to make claims on them.\n\nShe hadn't needed to flee to the mountain pastures like some kind of poor leaseholder's wife. But the situation was such at home that she felt pressed and hemmed in from all sides\u2014until she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Then she had felt the need to prove to herself that she could do the work of a peasant woman. She had toiled and labored every hour and every day since she had arrived at the estate of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n as his bride\u2014and realized that someone there would have to fight to protect the inheritance of the one she carried under her heart. If the father couldn't do it, then she must. But now she needed to be certain. For that matter, she had demonstrated before to her nursemaids and servant women that there wasn't any kind of work she wasn't capable of doing with her own hands. It was a good day up here if she didn't feel an ache in her flanks from standing and churning. It felt good in the morning when she would go along to let out the cattle; the animals had grown fat and glossy in the summer. The tight grip on her heart eased when she stood in the sunset and called to the cows coming home. She liked to see food growing under her own hands; it felt as if she were reaching down into the very foundation from which the future of her sons would be rebuilt.\n\nJ\u00f8rundgaard was a good estate, but it was not as good as she had thought. And Ulf was a stranger here in the valley; he made mistakes, and he grew impatient. As people saw it in the region, they always had plenty of hay at J\u00f8rundgaard. They had the hay meadows along the river and out on the islands, but it wasn't good hay, not the kind that Ulf was used to in Tr\u00f8ndelag. He wasn't used to having to gather so much moss and foliage, heath and brushwood as they did here.\n\nHer father had known every patch of his land; he had possessed all the farmer's knowledge about the whims of the seasons and the way each particular strip of field handled rain or drought, windy summers or hot summers; about livestock that he himself had bred, raised, foddered, and sold from, generation after generation\u2014the very sort of knowledge that was needed here. She did not have that kind of knowledge of her estate. But she would acquire it, and her sons would too.\n\nAnd yet Erlend had never demanded this of her. He hadn't married her in order to lead her into toil and travail. He had married her so she could sleep in his arms. Then, when her time came, the child lay at her side, demanding a place on her arm, at her breast, in her care.\n\nKristin moaned through clenched teeth. She was shivering with cold and anger.\n\n\"Pactum serva\u2014in Norwegian it means 'keep thy faith.'\"\n\nThat was back when Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n and his brother Leif of Holm had come to Husaby to take her possessions and the children's belongings to Nidaros. This too Erlend had left for her to handle; he had taken lodgings at the monastery at Holm. She was staying at their residence in town\u2014now owned by the monks\u2014and Arne Gjavvaldss\u00f8n was with her, helping her in word and deed. Simon had sent him letters about it.\n\nArne could not have been more zealous if he had been trying to salvage the goods for himself. On the evening he arrived in town with everything, he wanted both Kristin and Fru Gunna of Raasvold, who had come to Nidaros with the two small boys, to come out to the stable. Seven splendid horses\u2014people wanted to be fair with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, and they agreed to Arne's claim that the five oldest boys each owned a horse and that one belonged to the mistress herself and one to her personal servant. He could testify that Erlend had given the Castilian, his Spanish stallion, to his son Nikulaus, even though this had been done mostly in jest. Not that Arne thought much of the long-legged animal, but he knew that Erlend was fond of the stallion.\n\nArne thought it a shame to lose the magnificent armor with the great helmet and gold-chased sword; it was true that these things were of real use only in a tournament, but they were worth a great deal of money. But he had managed to keep Erlend's coat of mail made of black silk with the embroidered red lion. And he had demanded his English armor for Nikulaus; it was so splendid that Arne didn't think its equal could be found in all of Norway\u2014at least to those who knew how to see\u2014although it was in disrepair. Erlend had used his weapons far more than most sons of noblemen at the time. Arne caressed each piece: the helmet, shoulder collar, the leather arm and leg coverings, the steel gloves made of the finest plates, the corselet and skirt made of rings, so light and comfortable and yet so strong. And the sword... It had only a plain steel hilt, and the leather of the handle was worn, but the likes of such a blade were rarely seen.\n\nKristin sat and held the sword across her lap. She knew that Erlend would embrace it like a much-loved betrothed; it was the only one he had used of all the swords he owned. He had inherited it in his early youth from Sigmund Torolfss\u00f8n, who had been his bedmate when he first joined the king's retainers. Only once had Erlend ever mentioned this friend of his to Kristin. \"If God had not been so hasty to take Sigmund away from this world, many things would have doubtless been different for me. After his death I was so unhappy at the royal palace that I managed to beg permission from King Haakon to go north with Gissur Galle that time. But then I might never have won you, my dear; then I probably would have been a married man for many years before you were a grown maiden.\"\n\nFrom Munan Baards\u00f8n she had heard that Erlend nursed his friend day and night, the way a mother cares for her child, getting no more sleep than short naps at the bedside of the ailing man during that last winter when Sigmund Torolfss\u00f8n lay vomiting up bits of his heart's blood and lungs. And after Sigmund was buried at Halvard Church, Erlend had constantly visited his grave, lying prostrate on the gravestone to grieve. But to Kristin he had mentioned the man only once. She and Erlend had arranged to meet several times in Halvard Church during that sinful winter in Oslo. But he had never told her that his dearest friend from his youth lay buried there. She knew he had mourned his mother in the same way, and he had been quite frantic with grief when Orm died. But he never spoke of them. Kristin knew that he had gone into town to see Margret, but he never mentioned his daughter.\n\nUp near the hilt she noticed that some words had been etched into the blade. Most of them were runes, which she couldn't read; nor could Arne. But the monk picked up the sword and studied it for a moment. \"Pactum serva,\" he said finally. \"In Norwegian it means 'keep thy faith.'\"\n\nArne and his brother Leif talked about the fact that a large part of Kristin's properties in the north, Erlend's wedding gifts to her, had been mortgaged and dispersed. They wondered whether there was any way to salvage part of them. But Kristin refused. Honor was the most important thing to salvage; she didn't want to hear of any disputes over whether her husband's dealings had been lawful. And she was deadly tired of Arne's chatter, no matter how well intentioned it was. That evening, when he and the monk bade her good night and went to their sleeping chambers, Kristin had thrown herself to her knees before Fru Gunna and buried her head in her lap.\n\nAfter a moment the old woman lifted her face. Kristin looked up. Fru Gunna's face was heavy, yellowish, and stout, with three deep creases across her forehead, as if shaped out of wax; she had pale freckles, sharp and kind blue eyes, and a sunken, toothless mouth shadowed by long gray whiskers. Kristin had had that face above her so many times. Fru Gunna had been at her side each time she gave birth, except when Lavrans was born and she was at home to attend her father's deathbed.\n\n\"Yes, yes, my daughter,\" said the woman, putting her hands at Kristin's temples. \"I've given you help a few times when you had to sink to your knees, yes, I have. But in this trouble, my Kristin, you must kneel down before the Mother of God and ask her to help you through.\"\n\nOh, she had already done that too, thought Kristin. She had said her prayers and read some of the Gospels every Saturday; she had observed the fast days as Archbishop Eiliv had enjoined her to do when he granted her absolution; she gave alms and personally served every wanderer who asked for shelter, no matter how he might look. But now she no longer felt any light inside her when she did so. She knew that the light outside did exist, but it felt as if shutters had closed her off inside. That must be what Gunnulf had spoken of: spiritual drought. Sira Eiliv said that was why no soul should lose courage; remain faithful to your prayers and good deeds, the way the farmer plows and spreads manure and sows. God would send the good weather for growing when it was time. But Sira Eiliv had never managed a farm himself.\n\nShe had not seen Gunnulf during that time. He was living north in Helgeland, preaching and collecting gifts for the monastery. Well, yes, that was one of the knight's sons from Husaby, while the other...\n\nBut Margret Erlendsdatter came to visit Kristin several times at the town residence. Two maids accompanied the merchant's wife. She was beautifully dressed and glittering with jewelry. Her fatherin-law was a goldsmith, so they had plenty of jewelry at home. She seemed happy and content, although she had no children. She had received her inheritance from her father just in time. God only knew if she ever gave any thought to that poor cripple Haakon, out at Gimsar. He could barely manage to drag himself around the courtyard on two crutches, Kristin had heard.\n\nAnd yet she thought that even back then she had not had bitter feelings toward Erlend. She seemed to realize that for Erlend, the worst was still ahead when he became a free man. Then he had taken refuge with Abbot Olav. Tend to the moving or show himself in Nidaros now\u2014that was more than Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n could bear.\n\nThen came the day when they sailed across Trondheim Fjord, on the Laurentius boat, the same ship on which Erlend had transported all the belongings she had wanted to bring north with her after they had won permission to marry.\n\nA still day in late autumn; a pale, leaden gleam on the fjord; the whole world cold, restless, white-ribbed. The first snow blown into streaks along the frozen acres, the chill blue mountains white-striped with snow. Even the clouds high overhead, where the sky was blue, seemed to be scattered thin like flour by a wind high up in the heavens. Heavy and sluggish, the ship pulled away from the land, the town promontory. Kristin stood and watched the white spray beneath the cliffs, wondering if she was going to be seasick when they were farther out in the fjord.\n\nErlend stood at the railing close to the bow with his two eldest sons beside him. The wind fluttered their hair and capes.\n\nThen they looked across Kors Fjord, toward Gaularos and the skerries of Birgsi. A ray of sunlight lit up the brown and white slope along the shore.\n\nErlend said something to the boys. Then Bj\u00f8rgulf abruptly turned on his heel, left the railing, and walked toward the stern of the ship. He fumbled along, using the spear that he always carried and used as a staff, as he made his way between the empty rowing benches and past his mother. His dark, curly head was bent low over his breast, his eyes squinting so hard they were nearly closed, his lips pressed tight. He walked under the afterdeck.\n\nKristin glanced forward at the other two, Erlend and his eldest son. Then Nikulaus knelt, the way a page does to greet his lord; he took his father's hand and kissed it.\n\nErlend tore his hand away. Kristin caught a glimpse of his face, pale as death and trembling, as he turned his back to the boy and walked away, disappearing behind the sail.\n\nThey put in at a port down by M\u00f8re for the night. The sea swells were more turbulent; the ship tugged at its ropes, rising and pitching. Kristin was below in the cabin where she was to sleep with Erlend and the two youngest children. She felt sick to her stomach and couldn't find a proper foothold on the deck, which rose and fell beneath her feet. The skin-covered lantern swung above her head, its tiny light flickering. And she stood there struggling with Munan, trying to get him to pee in between the planks. Whenever he woke up, groggy with sleep, he would both pee and soil their bed, raging and screaming and refusing to allow this strange woman, his mother, to help him by holding him over the floor. Then Erlend came below.\n\nShe couldn't see his face when he asked in a low voice, \"Did you see Naakkve? His eyes were just like yours, Kristin.\" Erlend drew in a breath, quick and harsh. \"That's the way your eyes looked on that morning out by the fence in the nuns' garden\u2014after you had heard the worst about me\u2014and you pledged me your trust.\"\n\nThat was the moment when she felt the first drop of bitterness rise up in her heart. God protect the boy. May he never see the day when he realizes that he has placed his trust in a hand that lets everything run through its fingers like cold water and dry sand.\n\nA few moments ago she thought she heard distant hoofbeats somewhere on the mountain heights to the south. Now she heard them again, closer. Not horses running free, but a single horse and rider; he rode sharply over the rocky slopes beneath the hillside.\n\nFear seized her, icy cold. Who could be traveling about so late? Dead men rode north under a waning moon; didn't she hear the other horsemen accompanying the first one, riding far behind? And yet she stayed sitting where she was; she didn't know if this was because she was suddenly bewitched or because her heart was so stubborn that night.\n\nThe rider was coming toward her; now he was fording the river beneath the slope. She saw the glint of a spearpoint above the willow thickets. Then she scrambled down from the boulder and was about to run back to the hut. The rider leaped from his horse, tied it to the gatepost, and threw his cape over its back. He came walking up the slope; he was a tall, broad man. Now she recognized him: it was Simon.\n\nWhen he saw her coming to meet him in the moonlight, he seemed to be just as frightened as she had been before.\n\n\"Jesus, Kristin, is that you? Or... How is it that you're out at this time of night? Were you waiting for me?\" he asked abruptly, as if in great dread. \"Did you have a premonition of my journey?\"\n\nKristin shook her head. \"I couldn't sleep. Brother-in-law, what is it?\"\n\n\"Andres is so ill, Kristin. We fear for his life. So we thought... We know you are the most practiced woman in such matters. You must remember that he's the son of your own sister. Will you agree to come home with me to tend to him? You know that I wouldn't come to you in this manner if I didn't think the boy's life was in peril,\" he implored her.\n\nHe repeated these words inside the hut to Erlend, who sat up in bed, groggy with sleep and quietly surprised. He tried to comfort Simon, speaking from experience. Such young children grew easily feverish and jabbered deliriously if they caught the least cold; perhaps it was not as dangerous as it looked.\n\n\"You know full well, Erlend, that I would not have come to get Kristin at such an hour of the night if I hadn't clearly seen that the child is lying there, struggling with death.\"\n\nKristin had blown on the embers and put on more wood. Simon sat and stared into the fire, greedily drinking the milk she offered him but refusing to eat any food. He wanted to head back down as soon as the others arrived. \"If you are willing, Kristin.\" One of his men was following behind with a widow who was a servant at Formo, an able woman who could take over the work up here while she was away. Aasbj\u00f8rg was most capable, he said again.\n\nAfter Simon had lifted Kristin up into the saddle, he said, \"I'd prefer to take the shortcut to the south if you're not averse to it.\"\n\nKristin had never been on that part of the mountain, but she knew there was supposed to be a path down to the valley, cutting steeply across the slope opposite Formo. She agreed, but then his servant would have to take the other road and ride past J\u00f8rundgaard to get her chest and the pouches of herbs and bulbs. He should wake up Gaute; the boy knew best about these things.\n\nAt the edge of a large marsh they were able to ride side by side, and Kristin asked Simon to tell her again about the boy's illness. The children of Formo had had sore throats around Saint Olav's Day, but they had quickly recovered. The illness had come over Andres suddenly, while he seemed in the best of health\u2014in the middle of the day, three days before. Simon had taken him along, and he was going to ride on the grain sledge down to the fields. But then Andres complained that he was cold, and when Simon looked at the boy, he was shivering so hard that his teeth were rattling in his mouth. Then came the burning fever and the coughing; he vomited up such quantities of loathsome brown matter and had such pain in his chest. But he couldn't tell them much about where it hurt most, the poor little boy.\n\nKristin tried to reassure Simon as best she could, and then she had to ride behind him for a while. Once he turned around to ask whether she was cold; he wanted her to take his cape over her cloak.\n\nThen he spoke again of his son. He had noticed that the boy wasn't strong. But Andres had grown much more robust during the summer and fall; his foster mother thought so too. The last few days before he fell ill he had acted a little strange and skittish. \"Scared,\" he had said when the dogs leaped at him, wanting to play. On the day when the fever seized him, Simon had come home in the first rays of dawn with several wild ducks. Usually the boy liked to borrow the birds his father brought home and play with them, but this time Andres screamed loudly when his father swung the bundle toward him. Later he crept over to touch the birds, but when he got blood on his hands, he grew quite wild with terror. And now, this evening, he lay whimpering so terribly, unable to sleep or rest, and then he screamed something about a hawk that was after him.\n\n\"Do you remember that day in Oslo when the messenger arrived? You said, 'It will be your descendant who will live on at Formo after you're gone.'\"\n\n\"Don't talk like that, Simon. As if you think you will die without a son. Surely God and His gentle Mother will help. It's unlike you to be so disheartened, brother-in-law.\"\n\n\"Halfrid, my first wife, said the same thing to me after she gave birth to our son. Did you know that I had a son with her, Kristin?\"\n\n\"Yes. But Andres is already in his third year. It's during the first two years that it's the most difficult to protect a child's life.\" But even to her these words seemed to offer little help. They rode and rode; the horses plodded up a slope, nodding and casting their heads about so the harnesses jangled. Not a sound in the frosty night except the sound of their own passage and occasionally the rush of water as they crossed a stream, and the moon shining on everything. The scree and the rocky slopes glistened as hideously as death as they rode along beneath the cliffs.\n\nFinally they reached a place where they could look down into the countryside. The moonlight filled the whole valley; the river and marshes and lake farther south gleamed like silver; the fields and meadows were pale.\n\n\"Tonight there's frost in the valley too,\" said Simon.\n\nHe dismounted and walked along, leading Kristin's horse down the hillside. The path was so steep in many places that she hardly dared look ahead. Simon supported her by keeping his back against her knee, and she held on by putting one hand behind on the horse's flank. A stone would sometimes roll from under the horse's hooves, tumbling downward, pausing for a moment, and then continuing to roll, loosening more on the way and carrying them along.\n\nFinally they reached the bottom. They rode across the barley fields north of the manor, between the rime-covered shocks of grain. There was an eerie rustling and clattering in the aspen trees above them in the silent, bright night.\n\n\"Is it true,\" asked Simon, wiping his face with his sleeve, \"that you had no premonition?\"\n\nKristin told him it was true.\n\nHe went on, \"I've heard that it does happen; a premonition can appear if a person yearns strongly for someone. Ramborg and I talked about it several times, that if you had been home, you might have known\u2014\"\n\n\"None of you has entered my thoughts all this time,\" said Kristin. \"You must believe me, Simon.\" But she couldn't see it gave him much solace.\n\nIn the courtyard a couple of servants appeared at once to take their horses. \"Things are just as you left them, Simon\u2014not any worse,\" one of them said quickly. He had glanced up at the master's face. Simon nodded. He walked ahead of Kristin toward the women's house.\n\nKristin could see that there was indeed grave danger. The little boy lay alone in the large, fine bed, moaning and gasping, ceaselessly tossing his head from side to side on the pillows. His face was fiery hot and dark red; he lay with his glistening eyes partially open, struggling to breathe. Simon stood holding Ramborg's hand, and all the women of the estate who had gathered in the room crowded around Kristin as she examined the boy.\n\nBut she spoke as calmly as she could and comforted the parents as best she could. It was probably lung fever. But this night would soon be over without any turn for the worse; it was the nature of this illness that it usually turned on the third or sixth or ninth night before the rooster crowed. She told Ramborg to send all the servingwomen to bed except for two, so that she would always have rested maids to help her. When the servant returned from J\u00f8rundgaard with her healing things, she brewed a sweat-inducing potion for the boy and then lanced a vein in his foot so the fluids would be drawn away from his chest.\n\nRamborg's face blanched when she saw her child's blood. Simon put his arm around her, but she pushed her husband away and sat down on a chair at the foot of the bed. There she stayed, staring at Kristin with her big dark eyes while her sister tended to the child.\n\nLater in the day, when the boy seemed to be a little better, Kristin persuaded Ramborg to lie down on a bench. She arranged pillows and blankets around the young woman and sat near her head, stroking her forehead gently. Ramborg took Kristin's hand.\n\n\"You only wish us well, don't you?\" she asked with a moan.\n\n\"Why shouldn't I wish you well, sister? The two of us, living here in our village once again, the only ones remaining of our kinsmen...\"\n\nRamborg uttered several small, stifled sobs from between her tightly pressed lips. Kristin had seen her young sister cry only once, when they stood at their father's deathbed. Now a few swift little tears rose up and trickled down her cheeks. Ramborg lifted Kristin's hand and stared at it. It was big and slender, but reddish brown now, and rough.\n\n\"And yet it's more beautiful than mine,\" she said. Ramborg's hands were small and white, but her fingers were short and her nails square.\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" she said, almost angrily when Kristin shook her head and laughed lightly. \"And you're still more lovely than I have ever been. Our father and mother loved you more than me, all their days. You caused them sorrow and shame; I was docile and obedient and set my sights on the man they most wanted me to marry. And yet they loved you more.\"\n\n\"No, sister. They were just as fond of you. Be happy, Ramborg, that you never gave them anything but joy; you cannot know how heavy the other is to bear. But they were younger back when I was young; perhaps that was why they talked to me more.\"\n\n\"Yes, I think everybody was younger back when you were young,\" said Ramborg, and sighed again.\n\nA short time later she fell asleep. Kristin sat and looked at her. She had known her sister so little; Ramborg was a child when she herself was wed. It seemed to her that in some ways her sister had remained a child. As she sat beside her ill son she looked like a child, a pale, scared child who was trying stubbornly to fend off terror and misfortune.\n\nSometimes an animal would stop growing if it had young ones too soon. Ramborg was not even sixteen when she gave birth to her daughter, and ever since she had never seemed to grow properly again; she continued to be slender and small, lacking in vigor and fertility. She had given birth only to the one boy since then, and he was oddly weak\u2014with a handsome face, fair and fine, but so pitifully frail and small. He had learned to walk late, and he still talked so poorly that only those who were with him every day could understand any of his chatter. He was also so shy and peevish with strangers that Kristin had hardly even touched her nephew until now. If only God and Holy Olav would grant her the joy to save this poor small boy, she would thank them for it all her days. The mother was such a child herself that she wouldn't be able to bear losing him. And Kristin realized that for Simon Darre it would also be terribly difficult to bear if his only son were taken from him.\n\nThat she had become deeply fond of her brother-in-law became most apparent to her now as she saw how much he was suffering from fear and grief. No doubt she could understand her own father's great love for Simon Andress\u00f8n. And yet she wondered whether he might have done wrong by Ramborg when he was in such haste to arrange this marriage. For as she gazed down at her little sister, she thought that Simon must be both too old and much too somber and steadfast to be the husband of this young child."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The days passed, and Andres remained ill in bed; there were no great changes, either for the worse or for the better. The worst thing was that he got almost no sleep. The boy would lie with his eyes half open, seeming not to recognize anyone, his thin little body racked by coughs, gasping for breath, the fever rising and falling. One evening Kristin had given him a soothing drink, and then calm descended on him, but after a while she saw that the child had turned pale blue and his skin felt cold and clammy. Quickly she poured warm milk down his throat and placed heated stones at the soles of his feet. Then she didn't dare give him any more sleeping potions; she realized that he was too young to tolerate them.\n\nSira Solmund came and brought the sacred vessels from the church to him. Simon and Ramborg promised prayers, fasts, and alms if God would hear them and grant their son his life.\n\nErlend stopped by one day; he declined to get down from his horse and go inside, but Kristin and Simon came out to the courtyard to talk to him. He gave them a look of great distress. And yet that expression of his had always annoyed Kristin in an oddly vague and unclear way. No doubt Erlend felt aggrieved whenever he saw anyone either sad or ill, but he seemed mostly perplexed or embarrassed; he looked genuinely bewildered when he felt sad for someone.\n\nAfter that, either Naakkve or the twins would come to Formo each day to ask about Andres.\n\nThe sixth night brought no change, but later the following day the boy seemed a little better; he was not quite as feverish. Simon and Kristin were sitting alone with him around midday.\n\nThe father pulled out a gilded amulet he wore on a string around his neck under his clothing. He bent down over the boy, dangling the amulet before his eyes and then putting it in the child's hand, closing the small fingers around it. But Andres didn't seem to take any notice.\n\nSimon had been given this amulet when he himself was a child, and he had worn it ever since; his father had brought it back from France. It had been blessed at a cloister called Mont Saint Michel, and it bore a picture of Saint Michael with great wings. Andres liked to look at it, Simon explained softly. But the little boy thought it was a rooster; he called the greatest of all the angels a rooster. At long last Simon had managed to teach the boy to say \"angel.\" But one day when they were out in the courtyard, Andres saw the rooster screeching at one of the hens, and he said, \"The angel's mad now, Father.\"\n\nKristin looked up at the man with pleading eyes; it cut her to the heart to listen to him, even though Simon was speaking in such a calm and even voice. And she was so worn out after keeping vigil all these nights; she realized that it would not be good for her to begin weeping now.\n\nSimon stuck the amulet back inside his shirt. \"Ah, well. I will give a three-year-old ox to the church on the eve of Saint Michael's Day every autumn for as long as I live if he will wait a little longer to come for this soul. He'd be no more than a bony chicken on the balance scale, Andres, as small as he is\u2014\" But when Simon tried to laugh, his voice broke.\n\n\"Simon, Simon!\" she implored.\n\n\"Yes, things will happen as they must, Kristin. And God Himself will decide; surely He knows best.\" The father said no more as he stood gazing down at his son.\n\nOn the eighth night Simon and one of the maids kept watch as Kristin dozed on a bench some distance away. When she woke up, the girl was asleep. Simon sat on the bench with the high back, as he had on most nights. He was sitting with his face bent over the bed and the child.\n\n\"Is he sleeping?\" whispered Kristin as she came forward.\n\nSimon raised his head. He ran his hand over his face. She saw that his cheeks were wet, but he replied in a calm, quiet voice, \"I don't think that Andres will have any sleep, Kristin, until he lies under the turf in consecrated ground.\"\n\nKristin stood there as if paralyzed. Slowly her face turned pale beneath the tan until it was white all the way to her lips.\n\nThen she went back to her corner and picked up her outer garments.\n\n\"You must arrange things so that you are alone in here when I come back.\" She spoke as if her throat and mouth were parched. \"Sit with him, and when you see me enter, don't say a word. And never speak of this again\u2014not to me or to anyone else. Not even to your priest.\"\n\nSimon got to his feet and slowly walked over to her. He too had grown pale.\n\n\"No, Kristin!\" His voice was almost inaudible. \"I don't dare... for you to do this thing....\"\n\nShe put on her cloak, then took a linen cloth from the chest in the corner, folded it up, and hid it in her bodice.\n\n\"But I dare. You understand that no one must come near us afterward until I call; no one must come near us or speak to us until he wakes up and speaks himself.\"\n\n\"What do you think your father would say of this?\" he whispered in the same faint voice. \"Kristin... don't do it.\"\n\n\"In the past I have done things that my father thought were wrong; back then it was merely to further my own desire. Andres is his flesh and blood too\u2014my own flesh, Simon\u2014my only sister's son.\"\n\nSimon took in a heavy, trembling breath; he stood with his eyes downcast.\n\n\"But if you don't want me to make this last attempt...\"\n\nHe stood as before, with his head bowed, and did not reply. Then Kristin repeated her question, unaware that an odd little smile, almost scornful, had appeared on her white lips. \"Do you not want me to go?\"\n\nHe turned his head away. And so she walked past him, stepped soundlessly out the door, and closed it silently behind her.\n\nIt was pitch dark outside, with small gusts of wind from the south making all the stars blink and flicker uneasily. She had reached no farther than the road up between the fences when she felt as if she had stepped into eternity itself. An endless path both behind her and up ahead. As if she would never emerge from what she had entered into when she walked out into this night.\n\nEven the darkness was like a force she was pressing against. She plodded through the mud; the road had been churned up by the carts carrying unthreshed grain, and now it was thawing in the south wind. With every footstep she had to pull herself free from the night and the raw chill that clung to her feet, swept upward, and weighted down the hems of her garments. Now and then a falling leaf would drift past her, as if something alive were touching her in the dark\u2014gentle but confident of its superior power: Turn back.\n\nWhen she came out onto the main road, it was easier to walk. The road was covered with grass, and her feet did not get stuck in the mire. Her face felt as rigid as stone, her body tensed and taut. Each step carried her mercilessly toward the forest grove through which she would have to pass. A feeling rose up inside her like an inner paralysis: She couldn't possibly walk through that patch of darkness. But she had no intention of turning around. She couldn't feel her body because of her terror, yet all the while she kept moving forward, as if in her sleep, steadily stepping over stones and roots and puddles of water, unconsciously careful not to stumble or break her steady stride and thus allow fear to overwhelm her.\n\nNow the spruce trees rustled closer and closer in the night; she stepped in among them, still as calm as a sleepwalker. She sensed every sound and hardly dared blink because of the dark. The drone of the river, the heavy sighing of the firs, a creek trickling over stones as she walked toward it, passed by it, and then continued on. Once a rock slid down the scree, as if some living creature were moving about up there. Sweat poured from her body, but she did not venture either to slow or to speed her step because of it.\n\nKristin's eyes had now grown so accustomed to the dark that when she emerged from the woods, she could see much better; a glint came from the ribbon of the river and from the water on the marshes. The fields became visible in the blackness; the clusters of buildings looked like clumps of earth. The sky was also beginning to lighten overhead; she could feel it, although she didn't dare look up at the black peaks towering above. But she knew that it would soon be time for the moon to rise.\n\nShe tried to remind herself that in four hours it would be daytime; people would be setting about their daily chores on all the farms throughout the countryside. The sky would grow pale with dawn; the light would rise over the mountains. Then it wouldn't seem far to go; in the daylight it wasn't far from Formo to the church. And by then she would have returned home long ago. But it was clear that she would be a different person.\n\nShe knew that if it had been one of her own children, she would not have dared make this last attempt. To turn away God's hand when He reached out for a living soul. When she kept watch over her own ill children, back when she was young and her heart bled with tenderness, when she thought she would collapse in anguish and torment, she had tried to say: Lord, you love them better than I do, let thy will be done.\n\nBut now on this night she was walking along, defying her own terror. This child who was not her own\u2014she would save him, no matter what fate she was saving him for....\n\nBecause you too, Simon Darre, acquiesced when the dearest thing you possessed on earth was at stake; you agreed to more than anyone can accept with full honor.\n\nDo you not want me to go? He hadn't been man enough to answer. Deep in her heart she knew that if the child died, Simon would have the strength to bear this too. But she had struck at the only moment when she ever saw him on the verge of breaking down; she had seized hold of that moment and carried it off. She would share that secret with him, the knowledge that she had also witnessed him when he once stood unsteady on his feet.\n\nFor he had learned too much about her. She had accepted help from the man she had spurned every time it was a matter of saving the one she had chosen. This suitor whom she had cast aside\u2014he was the man she had turned to each time she needed someone to protect her love. And never had she asked for Simon's help in vain. Time after time he had stepped forward, covering her with his kindness and his strength.\n\nSo she was undertaking this nighttime errand to rid herself of a little of the debt; until that hour, she hadn't fully realized how heavy a burden it was.\n\nSimon had forced her to see at last that he was the strongest: stronger than she was and stronger than the man to whom she had chosen to give herself. No doubt she had realized this from the moment all three of them met, face-to-face, in that shameful place in Oslo. And yet she had refused to accept it then: that such a plump-cheeked, stout, and gaping young man could be stronger than...\n\nNow she was walking along, not daring to call on a good and holy name; she took upon herself this sin in order to... She didn't know what. Was it revenge? Revenge because she had been forced to see that he was more noble-minded than the two of them?\n\nBut now you too understand, Simon, that when the life of the one you love more than your own heart is at stake... Then the poor person grasps for anything, anything.\n\nThe moon had risen over the mountain ridge as she walked up the hill to the church. Again she felt as if she had to overcome a new wave of terror. The moonlight lay like a delicate spiderweb over the tar-timbered edifice. The church itself looked terrifying and ominously dark beneath the thin veil. Out on the green she saw the cross, but for the first time she didn't dare approach to kneel before the blessed tree. She crept over the churchyard wall at the place where she knew the sod and stone were the lowest and most easily breached.\n\nHere and there a gravestone glistened like water down in the tall, dewy grass. Kristin walked straight across the cemetery to the graves of the poor, which lay near the south wall.\n\nShe went over to the burial place of a poor man who had been a stranger in the parish. One winter the man had frozen to death on the mountainside. His two motherless daughters had been taken in by one farm after another, until Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had offered to keep them and bring them up, for the sake of Christ. When they were full grown and had turned out well, Kristin's father had found honorable, hardworking husbands for them and married them off with cows and calves and sheep. Ragnfrid had given them bedding and iron pots. Now both women were well provided for, as befitted their station. One of them had been Ramborg's maid, and Ramborg had carried the woman's child to be baptized.\n\nSo you must grant me a bit of the turf covering you, Bjarne, for Ramborg's son. Kristin knelt down and pulled out her dagger.\n\nDrops of ice cold sweat prickled her brow and upper lip as she dug her fingers under the dew-drenched sod. The earth resisted... it was only roots. She sliced through them with the dagger.\n\nIn return, the ghost must be given gold or silver that had been passed down through three generations. She slipped off the little gold ring with the rubies that had been her grandmother's betrothal ring.\n\nThe child is my father's descendant.\n\nShe pushed the ring as far down into the earth as she could, wrapped the piece of sod in the linen cloth, and then spread peat and leaves over the spot where she had removed it.\n\nWhen she stood up, her legs trembled under her, and she had to pause for a moment before she could turn around. If she looked under her arm right now, she would be able to see them.\n\nShe felt a terrible tugging inside her, as if they would force her to do so. All the dead who had known her before in this world. Is that you, Kristin Lavransdatter? Are you coming here in this way?\n\nArne Gyrds\u00f8n lay buried outside the west entrance. Yes, Arne, you may well wonder\u2014I was not like this, back when you and I knew each other.\n\nThen she climbed over the wall again and headed down the slope.\n\nThe moon was now bright over the countryside. J\u00f8rundgaard lay out on the plain; the dew glittered in the grass on all the rooftops. She stared in that direction, almost listlessly. She felt as if she herself were dead to that home and all the people there; the door was closed to her, to the woman who had wandered past, up along the road on this night.\n\nThe mountains cast their shadows over her nearly the whole way back. The wind was blowing harder now; one gust of wind after another came straight toward her. Withered leaves blew against her, trying to send her back to the place she had just left.\n\nNor did she believe that she was walking along unaccompanied. She heard the steady sound of stealthy footsteps behind her. Is that you, Arne?\n\nLook back, Kristin, look under your arm, it urged her.\n\nAnd yet she didn't feel truly afraid anymore. Just cold and numb, sick with desire to give up and sink down. After this night she could never be afraid of anything else in the world.\n\nSimon was sitting in his usual place at the head of the bed, leaning over the child, when she opened the door and stepped inside. For a brief moment he looked up; Kristin wondered if she had grown as worn out and haggard and old as he had during these days. Then Simon bowed his head and hid his face with his arm.\n\nHe staggered a bit as he got to his feet. He turned his face away from her as he walked past and over to the door, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped.\n\nKristin lit two candles and set them on the table. The boy opened his eyes slightly and looked up, his gaze strangely unseeing; he whimpered a bit and tried to turn his head toward the light. When Kristin straightened out his little body, the way a corpse is laid out, he tried to change position, but he seemed too weak to move.\n\nThen she covered his face and chest with the linen cloth and placed the strip of sod on top.\n\nAt that moment the terror seized her again, like a great sea swell.\n\nShe had to sit down on the bed. The window was right above the short bench, and she didn't dare sit with her back to it. Better to look them in the eyes if anyone should be standing outside and looking in. She pulled the high-backed chair over to the bed and sat down facing the windowpane. The stifling black of the night pressed against it; one of the candles was reflected in the glass. Kristin fixed her eyes on it, clutching the arms of the chair so that her knuckles grew white; now and then her arms trembled. She couldn't feel her own legs, as chilled and wet as they were. She sat there with her teeth chattering from horror and cold, and the sweat ran like ice water down her face and back. She sat without moving, merely casting now and then a quick glance at the linen cloth, which faintly rose and fell with the child's breath.\n\nFinally the pale light of dawn appeared in the windowpane. The rooster crowed shrilly. Then she heard men out in the courtyard. They were heading for the stable.\n\nShe slumped against the back of the chair, shuddering as if with convulsions, and tried to find a position for her legs so they wouldn't twitch and jerk around from the shaking.\n\nThere was a strong movement under the linen cloth. Andres pushed it away from his face, whimpering crossly. He seemed partially conscious since he grunted at Kristin when she jumped to her feet and leaned over him.\n\nShe grabbed the cloth and sod, rushed over to the fireplace, and stuffed twigs and wood inside it; then she threw the ghostly goods into the fresh, crackling fire. She had to stand still for a moment, holding on to the wall. The tears poured down Kristin's face.\n\nShe took a ladleful of milk from the little pot that stood near the hearth and carried it over to the child. Andres had fallen asleep again. He seemed to be slumbering peacefully now.\n\nThen she drank the milk herself. It tasted so good that she had to gulp down two or three more ladlefuls of the warm drink.\n\nStill, she didn't dare speak; the boy hadn't yet said a comprehensible word. But she sank to her knees next to the foot of the bed and recited mutely to herself:"
            },
            {
                "title": "Convertere, Domine, aliquantulum; et deprecare super servos tuos. Ne ultra memineris iniquitatis nostr\u00e6: ecce respice; populus tuus omnes nos.",
                "text": "Yes, yes, yes. This was a terrible thing she had done. But he was their only son. While she herself had seven! Shouldn't she try everything to save her sister's only son?\n\nAll the thoughts she had had during the night\u2014they were merely ramblings of the night. She had done it only because she couldn't stand to see this child die in her hands.\n\nSimon\u2014the man who had never failed her. The one who had been loyal and good toward every child she had ever known and most of all toward herself and her own. And this son whom he loved above all else\u2014shouldn't she use every measure to save the boy's life? Even if it was a sin?\n\nYes, it was sinful, but let the punishment fall on me, God. That poor, beautiful, innocent son of Simon and Ramborg. God would not allow Andres to be punished.\n\nShe went back and leaned over the bed, breathing on the tiny, waxen hand. She didn't dare kiss it; he mustn't be wakened.\n\nSo fair and blameless.\n\nIt was during the nights of terror when they were left alone at Haugen that Fru Aashild had told her about it\u2014told her about her own errand to the cemetery at Kongunahelle. \"That, Kristin, was surely the most difficult task I have ever undertaken.\" But Bj\u00f8rn Gunnarss\u00f8n was not an innocent child when he lay there after Aashild Gautesdatter's cousins had come too close to his heart with their swords. He had slain one man before he was brought down himself, and the other man never regained his vigor after the day he exchanged blows with Herr Bj\u00f8rn.\n\nKristin stood at the window and looked out into the courtyard. Servants were moving from building to building, going about the day's chores. Several young calves were roaming about the yard; they were so lovely.\n\nMany different thoughts rise up in the darkness\u2014like those gossamer plants that grow in the lake, oddly bewitching and pretty as they bob and sway; but enticing and sinister, they exert a dark pull as long as they're growing in the living, trickling mire. And yet they're nothing but slimey brown clumps when the children pull them into the boat. So many strange thoughts, both terrifying and enticing, grow in the night. It was probably Brother Edvin who once said that those condemned to Hell had no wish to give up their torment: hatred and sorrow were their pleasures. That was why Christ could never save them. Back then this had sounded to her like wild talk. An icy shiver ran through her; now she was beginning to understand what the monk had meant.\n\nShe leaned over the bed once more, breathing in the smell of the little child. Simon and Ramborg were not going to lose him. Even though she had done it out of a need to prove herself to Simon, to show him that she could do something other than take from him. She had needed to take a risk on his behalf, to repay him.\n\nThen she knelt again, repeating over and over as much as she could remember from the prayer book.\n\nThat morning Simon went out and sowed winter rye in the newly plowed field south of the grove. He had decided he must act as if this were merely reasonable, because the work on the estate had to continue as usual. The serving maids had been greatly surprised when he went in to them during the night to tell them that Kristin wanted to be alone with the boy until she sent word. He said the same to Ramborg when she got up: Kristin had requested that no one should go near the women's house that day.\n\n\"Not even you?\" she asked quickly, and Simon said no. That was when he went out to get the seed box.\n\nBut after the midday meal he stayed up at the manor; he didn't have the heart to go far from the buildings. And he didn't like the look in Ramborg's eyes. A short time after the noonday rest it happened. He was standing down by the grain barn when he saw his wife racing across the courtyard. He rushed after her. Ramborg threw herself at the door to the women's house, pounding on it with her fists and screaming shrilly for Kristin to open up.\n\nSimon put his arms around her, speaking gently. Then she bent down as fast as lightning and bit him on the hand. He saw that she was like a raging beast.\n\n\"He's my child! What have the two of you done to my son?\"\n\n\"You know full well that your sister wouldn't do anything to Andres except what might do him good.\" When he put his arms around her again, Ramborg struggled and screamed.\n\n\"Come now, Ramborg,\" said her husband, making his voice stern. \"Aren't you ashamed in front of our servants?\"\n\nBut she kept on screaming. \"He's mine\u2014that much I know. You weren't with us when I gave birth to him, Simon,\" she shouted. \"We weren't so precious to you back then.\"\n\n\"You know what I had on my hands at the time,\" replied her husband wearily. He dragged her across to the main house; he had to use all his strength.\n\nAfter that he didn't dare leave her side. Ramborg gradually calmed down, and when evening came, she obediently allowed her maids to help her undress.\n\nSimon stayed up. His daughters were asleep over in their bed, and he had sent the servingwomen away. Once when he stood up and walked across the room, Ramborg asked from her bed where he was going; her voice sounded wide awake.\n\n\"I was thinking of lying down with you for a while,\" he said after a moment. He took off his outer garments and shoes and then crawled under the blanket and woolen coverlet. He put his arm around his wife's shoulders. \"I realize, my Ramborg, that this has been a long and difficult day for you.\"\n\n\"Your heart is beating so hard, Simon,\" she said a little later.\n\n\"Well, I'm afraid for the boy too, you know. But we must wait patiently until Kristin sends us word.\"\n\nHe sat up abruptly in bed, propping himself up on one elbow. In bewilderment he stared at Kristin's white face. It was right above his own, glistening wet with tears in the candlelight; her hand was on his chest. For a moment he thought... But this time he wasn't merely dreaming. Simon threw himself back against the headboard, and with a stifled moan he covered his face with his arm. He felt sick; his heart was hammering inside him, furious and hard.\n\n\"Simon, wake up!\" Kristin shook him again. \"Andres is calling for his father. Do you hear me? It was the first thing he said.\" Her face was beaming with joy as her tears fell steadily.\n\nSimon sat up, rubbing his face several times. Surely he hadn't spoken in confusion when she woke him. He looked up at Kristin, who was standing next to the bed with a lantern in her hand.\n\nQuietly, so as not to wake Ramborg, he crept out of the room with her. The loathsome nausea was still lodged in his chest. He felt as if something were about to burst inside him. Why couldn't he stop having that dreadful dream? He who in his waking hours struggled and struggled to drive all such thoughts from his mind. But when he lay asleep, powerless and defenseless, he would have that dream, which the Devil himself must have sent. Even now, while she sat and kept watch over his deathly ill son, he dreamed like some kind of demon.\n\nIt was raining, and Kristin had no idea what time of night it might be. The boy had been half conscious, but he hadn't spoken. And it was only when night came and she thought he was sleeping comfortably and soundly that she dared lie down for a moment to rest\u2014with Andres in her arms so she would notice if he stirred. Then she had fallen asleep.\n\nThe boy looked so tiny as he lay alone in the bed. He was terribly pale, but his eyes were clear, and his face lit up with a smile when he saw his father. Simon dropped to his knees beside the bed, but when he reached out to lift the small body into his embrace, Kristin grabbed him by the arm.\n\n\"No, no, Simon. He's soaked with sweat, and it's cold in here.\" She pulled the covers tighter around Andres. \"Lie down next to him instead, while I send word for a maid to keep watch. I'll go back to the main house now and get into bed with Ramborg.\"\n\nSimon crept under the covers. There was a warm hollow where she had lain and the faint, sweet scent of her hair on the pillowcase. Simon quietly uttered a moan, and then he gathered up his little son and pressed his face against the child's damp, soft hair. Andres had become so small that he felt like nothing in Simon's arms, but he lay there contentedly, occasionally saying a word or two.\n\nThen he began tugging and poking at the opening of his father's shirt; he stuck his clammy little hand inside and pulled out the amulet. \"The rooster,\" he said happily. \"There it is.\"\n\nOn the day of Kristin's departure, as she made ready to leave, Simon came to see her in the women's house and handed her a little wooden box.\n\n\"I thought this was something you might like to have.\"\n\nKristin knew from the carving that it was the work of her father. Inside, wrapped in a soft piece of glove leather, was a tiny gold clasp set with five emeralds. She recognized it at once. Lavrans had worn it on his shirt whenever he wanted to look particularly fine.\n\nShe thanked Simon, but then she turned blood red. She suddenly remembered that she had never seen her father wear this clasp since she had come home from the convent in Oslo.\n\n\"When did Father give this to you?\" She regretted the question the moment she asked it.\n\n\"He gave it to me as a farewell gift one time when I was leaving the estate.\"\n\n\"This seems to me much too great a gift,\" she said softly, looking down.\n\nSimon chuckled and replied, \"You're going to need many such things, Kristin, when the time comes for you to send out all your sons with betrothal gifts.\"\n\nKristin looked at him and said, \"You know what I mean, Simon\u2014those things that my father gave you... You know that I'm as fond of you as if you had been his own son.\"\n\n\"Are you?\" He placed the back of his hand against her cheek and gave it a fleeting caress as he smiled, an odd little smile, and spoke as if to a child, \"Yes, yes, Kristin. I know that.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "Later that fall Simon Andress\u00f8n had business with his brother at Dyfrin. While he was there, a suitor was proposed for his daughter Arngjerd.\n\nThe matter was not settled, and Simon felt rather uneasy and apprehensive as he rode northward. Perhaps he ought to have agreed; then the child would have been well provided for, and he could stop all his worrying about her future. Perhaps Gyrd and Helga were right. It was foolish of him not to seize hold with both hands when he received such an offer for this daughter of his. Eiken was a bigger estate than Formo, and Aasmund himself owned more than a third of it; he would never have thought of proposing his son as a suitor for a maiden of such birth as Arngjerd\u2014of lowly lineage and with no kin on her mother's side\u2014if Simon hadn't held a mortgage on a portion of the estate worth three marks in taxes. The family had been forced to borrow money from both Dyfrin and the nuns in Oslo when Grunde Aas mundss\u00f8n happened to slay a man for the second time. Grunde grew wild when he was drunk, although he was otherwise an upright and well-meaning fellow, said Gyrd, and surely he would allow himself to be guided by such a good and sensible woman as Arngjerd.\n\nBut the fact was that Grunde was not many years younger than Simon himself. And Arngjerd was young. And the people at Eiken wanted the wedding to take place as early as spring.\n\nIt hung on like a bad memory in Simon's mind; he tried not to think of it if he could avoid it. But now that Arngjerd's marriage had come under discussion, it kept cropping up. He had been an unhappy man on that first morning when he woke up at Ramborg's side. Certainly he had been no more giddy or bold than a bridegroom ought to be when he went to bed\u2014although it had made him feel strange and reckless to see Kristin among the bride's attendants, and Erlend, his new brother-in-law, was among the men who escorted him up to the loft. But when he woke up the next morning and lay there looking at his bride, who was still asleep, he had felt a terrible, painful shame deep in his heart\u2014as if he had mistreated a child.\n\nAnd yet he knew that he could have spared himself this sorrow.\n\nBut she had laughed when she opened her big eyes.\n\n\"Now you're mine, Simon.\" She ran her hands over his chest. \"My father is your father, and my sister is your sister.\" And he grew cold with anguish, for he wondered whether she knew that his heart had given a start at her words.\n\nOtherwise he was quite content with his marriage\u2014this much he firmly believed. His wife was wealthy, of distinguished lineage, young and lively, beautiful and kind. She had borne him a daughter and a son, and that was something a man valued after he had tried living among riches without producing any children who could keep the estate together after the parents were gone. Two children, and their position was assured. He was so rich that he could even obtain a good match for Arngjerd.\n\nHe would have liked to have another son; yes, he wouldn't be sad if one or two more children were born on Formo. But Ramborg was probably happy as long as she was spared all that. And that was worth something too. For he couldn't deny that things were much more comfortable at home when Ramborg was in good humor. He might well have wished that she had a more even temperament. He didn't always know how he stood with his wife. And more attention could have been paid to the housekeeping in his home. But no man should dare expect to have all his bowls filled to the brim, as the saying goes. This is what Simon kept telling himself as he rode homeward.\n\nRamborg was to travel to Kruke during the week before Saint Clement's Day; it always cheered her up to get away from home for a while.\n\nGod only knew how things would go over there this time around. Sigrid was now carrying her eighth child. Simon had been shocked when he paid a visit to his sister on his way south; she didn't look as if she could stand much more.\n\nHe had offered four thick wax tapers to the ancient image of the Virgin Mary at Eyabu, which was supposed to be particularly powerful in effecting miracles, and he had promised many gifts if Sigrid made it through with her life and her health. How things would go with Geirmund and all their children if the mother died and left them behind... No, he couldn't think about that.\n\nThey lived together so well, Sigrid and Geirmund. Never had she heard an unkind word from her husband, she said; never had he left anything undone that he thought might please her. When he noticed that Sigrid was wasting away with longing for the child she had borne in her youth with Gjavvald Arness\u00f8n, he had asked Simon to bring the boy to visit so the mother could spend some time with him. But Sigrid had reaped only sorrow and disappointment from the reunion with that spoiled, rich man's son. Since then Sigrid Andresdatter had clung to her husband and the children she had with him, the way a poor, ailing sinner clings to her priest and confession.\n\nNow she seemed fully content in many ways. And Simon understood why. Few men were as pleasant to be with as Geirmund. He had such a fine voice that even if he was only talking about the narrow-hoofed horse that had been foisted upon him, it was almost like listening to harp music.\n\nGeirmund Hersteinss\u00f8n had always had a strange and ugly face, but in the past he had been a strong man, with a handsome build and limbs, the best bowman and hunter, and better than most in all sports. Three years ago he had become a cripple, after he returned to the village from a hunting expedition, crawling on his hands and one knee, with the other leg crushed and dragging behind him. Now he couldn't walk across the room without a cane, and he couldn't mount a horse or hobble around the steep slopes of the fields without help. Misfortune constantly plagued him, such an odd and eccentric man as he was, and ill prepared for safeguarding his property or welfare. Anyone who had the heart for it could fool him in trade or business dealings. But he was clever with his hands, an able craftsman in both wood and iron, and a wise and skilled speaker. And when this man took his harp on his lap, Geirmund could make people laugh or cry with his singing and playing. It was almost like listening to the knight in Geirmund's song who could entice the leaves from the linden tree and the horn from the lively cattle with his playing.\n\nThen the older children would take up the refrain and sing along with their father. They were more lovely to hear than the chiming of all the bells in the bishop's Hamar. The next youngest child, Inga, could walk if she held on to the bench, although she had not yet learned to talk. But she would hum and sing all day long, and her tiny voice was so light and delicate, like a little silver bell.\n\nThey lived crowded together in a small, dark old hearth house: the man and his wife, the children, and the servants. The loft, which Geirmund had talked of building all these years, would now probably never be built. He had barely managed to put up a new barn to replace the one that had burned the previous year. But the parents couldn't bear to part with a single one of their many children. Every time he visited Kruke, Simon had offered to take some of them in and raise them; Geirmund and Sigrid had thanked him but declined.\n\nSimon sometimes thought that perhaps she was the one among his siblings who had found the best life, after all. Although Gyrd did say that Astrid was quite pleased with her new husband; they lived far south in Ry County, and Simon hadn't seen them since their wedding. But Gyrd had mentioned that the sons of Torgrim were constantly quarreling with their stepfather.\n\nAnd Gudmund was very happy and content. But if that was man's happiness, then Simon thought it would not be a sin to thank God that their father hadn't lived to see it. As soon as it could be decently permitted after Andres Darre's death, Gudmund had celebrated his wedding to the widow whom his father wouldn't allow him to marry. The knight of Dyfrin thought that since he had sought out young, rich, and beautiful maidens of distinguished families and unblemished reputation for his two eldest sons, and this had led to little joy for either Gyrd or Simon, then it would mean pure misery for Gudmund if his father allowed him to follow his own foolish wishes. Tordis Bergsdatter was much older than Gudmund, moderately wealthy, and she had had no children from her first marriage. But afterward she had given birth to a daughter by one of the priests at the Maria Church in Oslo, and people said that she had been much too amenable toward other men as well\u2014including Gudmund Darre, as soon as she became acquainted with him. She was as ugly as a troll, and much too rude and coarse in speech for a woman, thought Simon. But she was lively and witty, intelligent and good-natured. He knew that he would have been fond of Tordis himself, if only she hadn't married into their lineage. Now Gudmund was flourishing, and it was dreadful to witness; he was almost as stout and portly as Simon. And that was not Gudmund's nature; in his youth he had been slender and handsome. He had grown so flabby and indolent that Simon felt an urge to give the boy a thrashing every time he saw him. But it was true that Gudmund had been a cursed simpleton all his days. And the fact that his children took their wits from their mother but their looks from him was at least one bit of luck in this misfortune. And yet Gudmund was thriving.\n\nSo Simon didn't need to fret as much as he did over his brother. And in some ways it was probably also needless for him to lament on Gyrd's behalf. But each time he went home to his father's manor and saw how things now stood there, he felt so dreadfully overwhelmed that his heart ached when he left.\n\nThe wealth of the estate had increased; Gyrd's brother-in-law, Ulf Sakses\u00f8n, now enjoyed the king's full favor and grace, and he had drawn Gyrd Andress\u00f8n into the circle of men who possessed the most power and advantages in the realm. But Simon didn't care for the man and saw that Gyrd apparently didn't either. Reluctantly and with little joy, Gyrd of Dyfrin followed the course that his wife and her brother had set for him in order to have some peace in his house.\n\nHelga Saksesdatter was a witch. But it was Gyrd's two sons who caused him to look as careworn as he did. Sakse, the older one, must be sixteen winters old by now. Nearly every night his personal servant had to heave the whelp into bed, dead drunk. He had already ruined his mind and his health with liquor; no doubt he would drink himself to death before he reached the age of a man. It would be no great loss; Sakse had acquired an ugly reputation in the region for coarseness and insolence, in spite of his youth. He was his mother's favorite. Gyrd loved Jon, his younger son, better. He also had more of the temperament needed for him to bring honor to his lineage, if only he hadn't been... Well, he was a bit misshapen, with hunched shoulders and a crooked back. And he had some kind of inner stomach complaint and was unable to tolerate any food other than gruel and flat bread.\n\nSimon Andress\u00f8n had always taken secret refuge in a feeling of community with his family whenever his own life seemed to him... well, troublesome, or whatever he might call it. When he met with adversity, it bothered him less if he could remember the good fortune and well-being of his siblings. If only things had been the same at Dyfrin as during his father's time, when peace, contentment, and prosperity reigned, then Simon thought there would have been much to ease his secret distress. He felt as if the roots of his own life were intertwined with those of his brothers and sisters, somewhere deep down in the dark earth. Every blow that struck, every injury that ate away at the marrow of one of them was felt by all.\n\nHe and Gyrd, at any rate, had felt this way, at least in the past. Now he wasn't so sure that Gyrd felt the same anymore.\n\nHe had been most fond of his older brother and of Sigrid. He remembered when they were growing up: He could sit and feel such joy for his youngest sister that he had to do something to show it. Then he would pick a quarrel with her, tease and needle her, pull on her braids, and pinch her arm\u2014as if he couldn't show his affection for her in any other way without feeling ashamed. He had to tease her so that without embarrassment he could give her all the treasures he had stashed away; he could include the little maiden in his games when he built a millhouse at the creek, built farms for her, and cut willow whistles for the little girls in the springtime.\n\nThe memory of that day when he learned the full extent of her misfortune was like a brand scorched onto his mind. All winter long he had seen the way Sigrid was grieving herself into the grave over her dead betrothed, but he didn't know any more than that. Then one Sunday in early spring he was standing on the gallery at Mandvik, feeling cross with the women for not appearing. The horses were in the courtyard, outfitted with their church saddles, and the servants had been waiting a long time. Finally he grew angry and went into the women's house. Sigrid was still in bed. Surprised, he asked whether she was ill. His wife was sitting on the edge of the bed. A tremor passed over her gentle, withered face as she looked up.\n\n\"Ill she is indeed, the poor child. But even more than that, I think she's frightened... of you and your kinsmen... and how you will take the news.\"\n\nHis sister shrieked loudly, throwing herself headlong into Halfrid's arms and clinging to her, wrapping her thin, bare arms around her sister-in-law's waist. Her scream pierced Simon to the heart, so he thought it would stop and be drained of all blood. Her pain and her shame coursed through him, robbing him of his wits; then came the fear, and the sweat poured out. Their father\u2014what would he do with Sigrid now?\n\nHe was so frightened as he struggled through the thawing muck on the journey home to Raumarike that at last the servant, who was traveling with him and knew nothing of the matter, began joking about the way Simon constantly had to get down from his horse. He had been a full-grown married man for many years, and yet he was so terrified at the thought of the meeting with his father that his stomach was in upheaval.\n\nThen his father had barely uttered a word. But he had fallen apart, as if his roots had been chopped in half. Sometimes when he was about to doze off, Simon would recall that image and be wide awake at once: his father sitting there, rocking back and forth, with his head bowed to his chest, and Gyrd standing beside him with his hand on the arm of the high seat, a little paler than usual, his eyes downcast.\n\n\"God be praised that she wasn't here when this came out. It's a good thing she's staying with you and Halfrid,\" Gyrd had said when the two of them were alone.\n\nThat was the only time Simon heard Gyrd say anything that might indicate he didn't put his wife above all other women.\n\nBut he had witnessed how Gyrd seemed to fade and retreat ever since he had married Helga Saksesdatter.\n\nDuring the time he was betrothed to her Gyrd had never said much, but each time he caught sight of his bride, Gyrd had looked so radiantly handsome that Simon had felt uneasy when he glanced at his brother. He had seen Helga before, Gyrd told Simon, but he had never spoken to her and could not have imagined that her kinsmen would give such a rich and beautiful bride to him.\n\nGyrd Darre's splendid good looks in his youth had been something that Simon regarded as a kind of personal honor. He was handsome in a particularly appealing way, as if everyone must see that goodness, gentility, and a courageous and noble heart resided in this fine, quiet young man. Then he was wed to Helga Saksesdatter, and it was as if nothing more ever came of him.\n\nHe had always been taciturn, but the two brothers were constantly together, and Simon managed to talk enough for both of them. Simon was garrulous, well liked, and considered sensible. For drinking bouts and bantering, for hunting and skiing expeditions, and for all manner of youthful amusements, Simon had countless friends, all equally close and dear. His older brother went along, saying little but smiling his lovely, somber smile, and the few words he did say seemed to count all the more.\n\nNow Gyrd Andress\u00f8n was as silent as a locked chest.\n\nThe summer when Simon came home and told his father that he and Kristin Lavransdatter had agreed that they both wished to have the agreement retracted which had been made on their behalf... back then Simon knew that Gyrd understood most of what lay behind this matter: that Simon loved his betrothed, but there was some reason why he had given up his right, and this reason was such that Simon felt scorched inside with rancor and pain. Gyrd had quietly urged his father to let the matter drop. But to Simon he had never hinted with a single word that he understood. And Simon thought that if he could possibly have greater affection for his brother than he had felt all his days, it was then, because of his silence.\n\nSimon tried to be happy and in good spirits as he rode north toward home. Along the way he stopped in to visit his friends in the valley, greeting them and drinking merrily. And his friends saddled up their horses to accompany him to the next manor, where other friends lived. It was so pleasant and easy to ride when there was frost but no snow.\n\nHe rode the last part of the journey in the twilight. The flush of the ale had left him. His men were wild and raucous, but their master seemed to have run dry of laughter and banter; he must be tired.\n\nThen he was home. Andres tagged after his father, wherever he stood or walked. Ulvhild hovered around the saddlebags; had he brought any presents home for her? Arngjerd brought in ale and food. His wife sat down next to him as he ate, chattering and asking for news. When the children had gone to bed, Simon took Ramborg on his knee as he passed on greetings to her and spoke of kinsmen and acquaintances.\n\nHe thought it shameful and unmanly if he could not be content with such a life as he had.\n\nThe next day Simon was sitting in the S\u00e6mund house when Arngjerd came over to bring him food. He thought it would be just as well to speak to her of the suitor while they were alone, and so he told his daughter about his conversation with the men from Eiken.\n\nNo, she was not very pretty, thought her father. He looked up at the young girl as she stood before him. Short and stocky, with a small, plain, pale face; her grayish blond hair was blotchy in color, hanging down her back in two thick braids, but over her forehead it fell in lank wisps in her eyes, and she had a habit of constantly brushing her hair back.\n\n\"It must be as you wish, Father,\" she said calmly when he was done speaking.\n\n\"Yes, I know that you're a good child, but what do you think about all this?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to say. You must decide about this matter, dear Father.\"\n\n\"This is how things stand, Arngjerd: I would like to grant you a few more free years, free from childbirth and cares and responsibilities\u2014all those things that fall to a woman's lot as soon as she is married. But I wonder if perhaps you might be longing to have your own home and to take charge yourself?\"\n\n\"There is no need for haste on my account,\" said the girl with a little smile.\n\n\"You know that if you moved to Eiken through marriage, you would have your wealthy kinsmen nearby. Bare is the brotherless back.\" He noticed the glint in Arngjerd's eyes and her fleeting smile. \"I mean Gyrd, your uncle,\" he said quickly, a little embarrassed.\n\n\"Yes, I know you didn't mean my kinswoman Helga,\" she said, and they both laughed.\n\nSimon felt a warmth in his soul, in gratitude to God and the Virgin Mary, and to Halfrid, who had made him acknowledge this daughter as his own. Whenever he and Arngjerd happened to laugh together in this way, he needed no further proof of his paternity.\n\nHe stood up and brushed off some flour that she had on her sleeve. \"And the suitor\u2014what do you think of the man?\" he asked.\n\n\"I like him well enough, the little that I've seen of him. And one shouldn't believe everything one hears. But you must decide, Father.\"\n\n\"Then we'll do as I've said. Aasmund and Grunde can wait a while longer, and if they're of the same mind when you're a little older... Otherwise, you must know, my daughter, that you may decide on your marriage yourself, insofar as you have the sense to choose in your own best interest. And your judgment is sound enough, Arngjerd.\"\n\nHe put his arms around her. She blushed when her father kissed her, and Simon realized that it had been a long time since he had done this. He was usually not the kind of man who was afraid to embrace his wife in the light of day or to banter with his children. But it was always done in jest, and Arngjerd... It suddenly dawned on Simon that his young daughter was probably the only person at Formo with whom he sometimes spoke in earnest.\n\nHe went over and pulled the peg out of the slit in the south wall. Through the small hole he gazed out across the valley. The wind was coming from the south, and big gray clouds were piling up where the mountains converged and blocked out the view. When a ray of sun broke through, the brilliance of all the colors deepened. The mild weather had licked away the sallow frost; the fields were brown, the fir trees blue-black, and high on the mountain crests the light gleamed with a golden luster where the bare slopes began, covered with lichen and moss.\n\nSimon felt as if he could glean a singular power from the autumn wind outside and the shifting radiance over the countryside. If they had a lasting thaw for All Saints' Day, there would be mill water in the creeks, at least until Christmas. And he could send men into the mountains to gather moss. It had been such a dry fall; the Laag was a meager, small stream running through the fish traps made of yellow gravel and pale stones.\n\nUp in the north end of the valley only J\u00f8rundgaard and the parsonage had millhouses on the river. He had little desire to ask permission to use the J\u00f8rundgaard mill. No doubt everyone in the region would be taking their grain there, since Sira Eirik charged a mill fee. And people thought he gained too good an idea of how much grain they had; he was so greedy about demanding tithes. But Lavrans had always allowed people to grind their grain at his mill without charge, and Kristin wanted things to continue in the same way.\n\nIf he so much as thought of her, his heart would begin trembling, sick and anguished.\n\nIt was the day before both Saint Simon's Day and the Feast of Saint Jude, the day when he always used to go to confession. It was to search his soul, to fast and to pray, that he was sitting there in the S\u00e6mund house while the house servants were doing the threshing in the barn.\n\nIt took no time at all to go over his sins: He had cursed; he had lied when people asked about matters that were not their concern; he had shot a deer long after he had seen by the sun that the Sabbath had begun on a Saturday evening; and he had gone hunting on Sunday morning when everyone else in the village was at mass.\n\nWhat had happened when the boy lay ill\u2014that was something he must not and dared not mention. But this was the first time in his life that he reluctantly kept silent about a sin before his parish priest.\n\nHe had thought much about it and suffered terribly over it in his heart. Surely this must be a great sin, whether he himself had used sorcery to heal or had directly lured another person into doing so.\n\nBut he wasn't able to feel remorse when he thought about the fact that otherwise his son would now be lying in the ground. He felt fearful and dejected and kept watch to see if the child had changed afterward. He didn't think he could discern anything.\n\nHe knew it was true of many kinds of birds and wild animals. If human hands touched the eggs or their young, the parents wanted no more to do with them but would turn away from their offspring. A man who had been granted the light of reason by God could not do the same. For Simon the situation had become such that when he held his son, he almost felt as if he couldn't let the child out of his hands because he had grown so fearful for Andres. Sometimes he could understand why the heathen dumb beasts felt such loathing for their young because they had been touched. He too felt as if his child had been in some way infected.\n\nBut he had no regrets, did not wish that it hadn't happened. He merely wished it had been someone other than Kristin. It was difficult enough for him that they lived in the same region.\n\nArngjerd came in to ask for a key. Ramborg didn't think she had gotten it back after her husband had used it.\n\nThere was less and less order to the housekeeping on the manor. Simon remembered giving the key back to his wife; that was before he journeyed south.\n\n\"Well, I'm sure I'll find it,\" said Arngjerd.\n\nShe had such a nice smile and wise eyes. She wasn't truly ugly either, thought her father. And her hair was lovely when she wore it loose, so thick and blond, for holy days and feasts.\n\nThe daughter of Erlend's paramour had been pretty enough, and nothing but trouble had come of it.\n\nBut Erlend had had that daughter with a fair and highborn woman. Erlend had probably never even glanced at a woman like Arngjerd's mother. He had sauntered jauntily through the world, and beautiful, proud women and maidens had lined up to offer him love and adventure.\n\nSimon's only sin of that kind\u2014and he didn't count the boyish pranks when he was at the king's court\u2014might have had a little more grandeur to it when he finally decided to betray his good and worthy wife. And he hadn't paid her any more heed, that Jorunn; he couldn't even remember how it happened that he first came too near the maid. He had been out carousing with friends and acquaintances a good deal that winter, and when he came home to his wife's estate, Jorunn would always be waiting there, to see that he got into bed without causing any accidents with the hearth.\n\nIt had been no more splendid an adventure than that.\n\nHe had deserved even less that the child should turn out so well and bring him such joy. But he shouldn't dwell on such thoughts now, when he was supposed to be thinking about his confession.\n\nIt was drizzling when Simon walked home from Romundgaard in the dark. He cut across the fields. In the last faint glimmer of daylight the stubble shone pale and wet. Over by the old bathhouse wall something small and white lay shining on the slope. Simon went over to have a look. It was the pieces of the French bowl that had been broken in the spring; the children had set a table made from a board placed across two stones. Simon struck at it with his axe and it toppled over.\n\nHe regretted his action at once, but he didn't like being reminded of that evening.\n\nAs if to make amends for the fact that he had kept silent about a sin, he had talked to Sira Eirik about his dreams. It was also because he needed to ease his heart\u2014at least from that. He had been ready to leave when it suddenly occurred to him that he needed to talk about it. And this old, half-blind priest had been his spiritual father for more than twelve years.\n\nSo he went back and knelt again before Sira Eirik.\n\nThe priest sat motionless until Simon had finished talking. Then he spoke, his powerful voice now sounding old and veiled from inside the eternal twilight: It was not a sin. Every limb of the struggling church had to be tested in battle with the Fiend; that's why God allowed the Devil to seek out a man with many kinds of temptations. As long as the man did not cast aside his weapons, as long as he refused to forsake the Lord's banner or, fully alert and aware, refused to surrender to the visions with which the impure spirit was trying to bewitch him, then the sinful impulses were not a sin.\n\n\"No!\" cried Simon, ashamed at the sound of his own voice.\n\nHe had never surrendered. He was tormented, tormented, tormented by them. Whenever he woke up from these sinful dreams, he felt as if he himself had been violated in his sleep.\n\nTwo horses were tied to the fence when he entered the courtyard. It was Soten, who belonged to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, and Kristin's horse. He called for the stableboy. Why hadn't they been led inside? Because the visitors had said it wasn't necessary, replied the boy sullenly.\n\nHe was a young lad who had taken a position with Simon now that he was home; before, he had served at Dyfrin. There everything was supposed to be done according to courtly custom; that's what Helga had demanded. But if this fool Sigurd thought he could grumble at his master here at Formo because Simon preferred to jest and banter with his men and didn't mind a bold reply from a servant, then the Devil would... Simon was about to scold the boy roundly, but he refrained; he had just come from confession after all. Jon Daalk would have to take the newcomer in hand and teach him that good peasant customs were just as acceptable as the refined ways at Dyfrin.\n\nHe merely asked in a relatively calm voice whether Sigurd was fresh out of the mountains this year and told him to put the horses inside. But he was angry.\n\nThe first thing he saw as he entered the house was Erlend's laughing face. The light from the candle on the table shone directly on him as he sat on the bench and fended off Ulvhild, who was kneeling beside him and trying to scratch him or whatever she was doing. She was flailing her hands at the man's face and laughing so hard that she hiccupped.\n\nErlend sprang to his feet and tried to push the child aside, but she gripped the sleeve of his tunic and hung on to his arm as he walked across the room, erect and light-footed, to greet his brother-in-law. She was nagging him for something; Erlend and Simon could barely get a word in.\n\nHer father ordered her, rather harshly, to go out to the cookhouse with the maids; they had just finished setting the table. When the maiden protested, he took her hard by the arm and tore her away from Erlend.\n\n\"Here!\" Ulvhild's uncle took a lump of resin out of his mouth and stuck it into hers. \"Take it, Ulvhild, my little plum cheeks! That daughter of yours,\" he said to his brother-in-law with a laugh as he gazed after the maiden, \"is not going to be as docile as Arngjerd!\"\n\nSimon hadn't been able to resist telling his wife how well Arngjerd had handled the marriage matter. But he hadn't intended for her to tell the people of J\u00f8rundgaard. And it was unlike Ramborg to do so; he knew that she had little affection for Erlend. He didn't like it. He didn't like the fact that Ramborg had spoken of this matter, or that she was so capricious, or that Ulvhild, little girl though she was, seemed so charmed by Erlend\u2014just as all women were.\n\nHe went over to greet Kristin. She was sitting in the corner next to the hearth wall with Andres on her lap. The boy had grown quite fond of his aunt during the time she nursed him when he was recovering from his illness the previous fall.\n\nSimon realized that there must be some purpose for this visit since Erlend had come too. He was not one to wear out the doorstep at Formo. Simon couldn't deny that Erlend had handled the difficult situation admirably\u2014considering how things had turned out between the brothers-in-law. Erlend avoided Simon as much as he could, but they met as often as necessary so that gossip wouldn't spread about enmity between kinsmen, and then they always behaved like the best of friends. Erlend was quiet and a bit reticent whenever they were together but still displayed a free and unfettered manner.\n\nWhen the food had been brought to the table and the ale set out, Erlend spoke, \"I think you're probably wondering about the reason for my visit, Simon. We're here to invite you and Ramborg to a wedding at our manor.\"\n\n\"Surely you must be jesting? I didn't think you had anyone of marrying age on your estate.\"\n\n\"That depends on how you look at it, brother-in-law. It's Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n.\"\n\nSimon slapped his thigh.\n\n\"Next I'll expect my plow oxen to produce calves at Christmastime!\"\n\n\"You shouldn't call Ulf a plow ox,\" said Erlend with a laugh. \"The unfortunate thing is that the man has been far too bold...\"\n\nSimon whistled.\n\nErlend laughed again and said, \"Yes, you can well imagine that I didn't believe my own ears when they came to the estate yesterday\u2014the sons of Herbrand of Medalheim\u2014and demanded that Ulf should marry their sister.\"\n\n\"Herbrand Remba's? But they're nothing but boys; their sister can't be old enough that Ulf would...\"\n\n\"She's twenty winters old. And Ulf is closer to fifty. Yes.\" Erlend had turned somber. \"You realize, Simon, that they must consider him a poor match for Jardtrud, but it's the lesser of two evils if she marries him. Although Ulf is the son of a knight and a well-to-do man; he doesn't need to earn his bread on another man's estate, but he followed us here because he would rather live with his kinsmen than on his own farm at Skaun... after what happened....\"\n\nErlend fell silent for a moment. His face was tender and handsome. Then he continued.\n\n\"Now we, Kristin and I, intend to celebrate this wedding as if he were our brother. That's why Ulf and I will ride south in the coming week to Musudal to ask for her hand at Medalheim. For the sake of appearances, you understand. But I thought of asking you a favor, brother-in-law. I remember, Simon, that I owe you a great deal. But Ulf is not well liked here in the villages. And you are so highly respected; few men are your equal... while I myself...\" He shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little. \"Would you be willing, Simon, to ride with us and act as spokesman on Ulf's behalf? He and I have been friends since we were boys,\" pleaded Erlend.\n\n\"That I will, brother-in-law!\" Simon had turned crimson; he felt oddly embarrassed and powerless at Erlend's candid speech. \"I will gladly do anything I can to honor Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n.\"\n\nKristin had been sitting in the corner with Andres; the boy wanted his aunt to help him undress. Now she came forward into the light, holding the half-naked child, who had his arms around her neck.\n\n\"That's kind of you, Simon,\" she said softly, holding out her hand. \"For this we all thank you.\"\n\nSimon lightly clasped her hand for a moment.\n\n\"Not at all, Kristin. I have always been fond of Ulf. You should know that I do this gladly.\" He reached up to take his son, but Andres pretended to fret, kicking at his father with his little bare feet, laughing and clinging to Kristin.\n\nSimon listened to the two of them as he sat and talked to Erlend about Ulf's money matters. The boy suddenly started giggling; she knew so many lullabies and nursery rhymes, and she laughed too, a gentle, soft cooing sound from deep in her throat. Once he glanced in their direction and saw that she had made a kind of stairway with her fingers, and Andres's fingers were people walking up it. At last she put him in the cradle and sat down next to Ramborg. The sisters chatted to each other in hushed voices.\n\nIt was true enough, he thought as he lay down that night: He had always been fond of Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. And ever since that winter in Oslo when they had both struggled to help Kristin, he had felt himself bound to the man with a kind of kinship. He never thought that Ulf was anything but his equal, the son of a nobleman. The fact that he had no rights from his father's family because he had been conceived in adultery meant only that Simon was even more respectful in his dealings with Ulf. Somewhere in the depths of his own heart there was always a prayer for Arngjerd's well-being. But otherwise this was not a good situation to get involved with: a middle-aged man and such a young child. Well, if Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter had strayed when she was at the ting last summer, it was none of his concern. He had done nothing to offend these people, and Ulf was the close kinsman of his brother-in-law.\n\nUnasked, Ramborg had offered to help Kristin by overseeing the table at the wedding. He thought this kind of her. When it mattered, Ramborg always showed what lineage she was from. Yes indeed, Ramborg was a good woman."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "The day after Saint Catherine's Day, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n celebrated the wedding of his kinsman in a most beautiful and splendid fashion. Many good people had gathered; Simon Darre had seen to that. He and his wife were exceedingly well liked in all the surrounding villages. Both priests from the Olav Church were in attendance, and Sira Eirik blessed the house and the bed. This was considered a great honor since nowadays Sira Eirik only said mass on the high holy days and performed other priestly duties only for those few who had been coming to him for confession for many years. Simon Darre read aloud the document detailing Ulf's betrothal and wedding gifts to his bride, and Erlend gave an admirable speech to his kinsman at the table. Ramborg Lavransdatter oversaw the serving of the food along with her sister, and she was also present to help the bride undress in the loft.\n\nAnd yet it was not a truly joyous wedding. The bride was from an old and respected family there in the valley; her kinsmen and neighbors could not possibly think she had won an equal match since she had to make do with an outsider and one who had served on another man's estate, even though it belonged to a kinsman. Neither Ulf's birth, as the son of a wealthy knight and his maid, nor his kinship with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n seemed to impress the sons of Herbrand as any great honor.\n\nApparently the bride herself was not content either, considering how she had behaved. Kristin sounded quite despondent when she spoke to Simon about this. He had come to J\u00f8rundgaard to take care of some matters several weeks after the wedding. Jardtrud was urging her husband to move to his property at Skaun. Weeping, she had said within Kristin's earshot that the worst thing she could imagine was that her child should be called the son of a servant. Ulf had not replied. The newly married couple lived in the building known as the foreman's house because Jon Einarss\u00f8n had lived there before Lavrans bought all of Laugarbru and moved him out there. But this name displeased Jardtrud. And she resented keeping her cows in the same shed as Kristin's; no doubt she was afraid that someone might think she was Kristin's servingwoman. That was reasonable enough, thought Kristin. She would have a shed built for the foreman's house if Ulf didn't decide to take his wife and move to Skaun. But perhaps that might be best after all. He was no longer so young that it would be easy for him to change the way he lived; perhaps it would be less difficult for him in a new place.\n\nSimon thought she might be right about that. Ulf was greatly disliked in the region. He spoke scornfully about everything there in the valley. He was a capable and hardworking farmer, but he was unaccustomed to so many things in that part of the country. He took on more livestock in the fall than he could manage to feed through the winter, and when the cows languished or he ended up having to slaughter some of the starving beasts toward spring, he would grow angry and blame the fact that he was unused to the meager ways of the region, where people had to scrape off bark for fodder as early as Saint Paal's Day.\n\nThere was another consideration: In Tr\u00f8ndelag the custom had gradually developed between the landowner and his tenants that he would demand as lease payment the goods that he needed most\u2014hay, skins, flour, butter, or wool\u2014even though certain goods or sums had been specified when the lease was settled. And it was the landowner or his envoys who recalculated the worth of one item in replacement for another, completely arbitrarily. But when Ulf made these demands upon Kristin's leaseholders around the countryside, people called them injurious and grievously unlawful, as they were, and the tenants complained to their mistress. She took Ulf to task as soon as she heard of the matter, but Simon knew that people blamed not only Ulf but Kristin Lavransdatter as well. He had tried to explain, wherever talk of this arose, that Kristin hadn't known about Ulf's demands and that they were based on customs of the man's own region. Simon feared this had done little good, although no one had said as much to his face.\n\nFor this reason he wasn't sure whether he should wish for Ulf to stay or to leave. He didn't know how Kristin would handle things without her diligent and loyal helper. Erlend was completely incapable of managing the farmwork, and their sons were far too young. But Ulf had turned much of the countryside against her, and now there was this: He had seduced a young maiden from a wealthy and respected family in the valley. God only knew that Kristin was already struggling hard enough, as the situation now stood.\n\nAnd they were in difficult straits, the people of J\u00f8rundgaard. Erlend was no better liked than Ulf. If Erlend's overseer and kinsman was arrogant and surly, the master himself, with his gentle and rather indolent manner, was even more irksome. Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n probably had no idea that he was turning people against him; he seemed unaware of anything except that, rich or poor, he was the same man he had always been, and he wouldn't dream that anyone would call him arrogant for that very reason. He had plotted to incite a group of rebels against his king even though he was Lord Magnus's kinsman, vassal, and retainer; then he himself had caused the downfall of the plan through his own foolish recklessness. But he evidently never thought that he might be branded a villain in anyone's eyes because of these matters. Simon couldn't see that Erlend gave much thought to anything at all.\n\nIt was hard to figure the man out. If one sat and conversed with Erlend, he was far from stupid, thought Simon, but it was as if he could never take to heart the wise and splendid things he often said. It was impossible to remember that this man would soon be old; he could have had grandchildren long ago. Upon closer study, his face was lined and his hair sprinkled with gray, yet he and Nikulaus looked more like brothers than father and son. He was just as straight-backed and slender as when Simon had seen him for the first time; his voice was just as young and resonant. He moved among others with the same ease and confidence, with that slightly muted grace to his manner. With strangers he had always been rather quiet and reserved; letting others seek him out instead of seeking their company himself, during times of both prosperity and adversity. That no one sought his company now was something that Erlend didn't seem to notice. And the whole circle of noblemen and landowners all along the valley, intermarried and closely related with each other as they were, resented the way this haughty Tr\u00f8ndelag chieftain, who had been cast into their midst by misfortune, nevertheless considered himself too highborn and noble to seek their favor.\n\nBut what had caused the most bad blood toward Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n was the fact that he had drawn the men of Sundbu into misfortune along with him. Guttorm and Borgar Trondss\u00f8n had been banished from Norway, and their shares of the great Gjesling estates, as well as their half of the ancestral manor, had been seized by the Crown. Ivar of Sundbu had to buy himself reconciliation with King Magnus. The king gave the confiscated properties\u2014not ithout demanding compensation, it was said\u2014to Sir Sigurd Er lendss\u00f8n Eldjarn. Then the youngest of the sons of Trond, Ivar and Haavard, who had not known of their brothers' treasonous plans, sold their shares of the Vaage estates to Sir Sigurd, who was their cousin as well as the cousin of the daughters of Lavrans. Sigurd's mother, Gudrun Ivarsdatter, was the sister of Trond Gjesling and Ragnfrid of J\u00f8rundgaard. Ivar Gjesling moved to Ringheim at Toten, a manor that he had acquired from his wife. His children would do well to live where they had inheritance and property rights from their mother's family. Haavard still owned a great deal of property, but it was mostly in Valdres, and with his marriage he had now come into possession of large estates in the Borge district. But the inhabitants of Vaage and northern Gudbrandsdal thought it the greatest misfortune that the ancient lineage of landowners had lost Sundbu, where they had lived and ruled the countryside for as far back as people could remember.\n\nFor a short time Sundbu had been in the hands of King Haakon Haakonss\u00f8n's loyal retainer Erlend Eldjarn of Godaland at Agder. The Gjeslings had never been warm friends with King Sverre or his noblemen, and they had sided with Duke Skule when he rallied the rebels against King Haakon. But Ivar the Younger had won Sundbu back in an exchange of properties with Erlend Eldjarn and had given his daughter Gudrun to him in marriage. Ivar's son, Trond, had not brought honor of any kind to his lineage, but his four sons were handsome, well liked, and intrepid men, and people took it hard when they lost their ancestral estate.\n\nBefore Ivar moved away from the valley, an accident occurred that made people even more sorrowful and indignant about the fate of the Gjeslings. Guttorm was unmarried, but Borgar's young wife had been left behind at Sundbu. Dagny Bjarnesdatter had always been a little slow-witted, and she had openly shown that she loved her husband beyond all measure. Borgar Trondss\u00f8n was handsome but had rather loose ways. The winter after he had fled from the land, Dagny fell through a hole in the ice of Vaage Lake and drowned. It was called an accident, but people knew that grief and longing had robbed Dagny of the few wits she had left, and everyone felt deep pity for the simple, sweet, and pretty young woman who had met with such a terrible end. That's when the rancor became widespread toward Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, who had brought such misfortune upon the best people of the region. And then everybody began to gossip about how he had behaved when he was to marry the daughter of Lavrans Lagmandss\u00f6n. She too was a Gjesling, after all, on her mother's side.\n\nThe new master of Sundbu was not well liked, even though no one had anything specific to say against Sigurd himself. But he was from Egde, and his father, Erlend Eldjarn, had quarreled with everyone in this part of the land with whom he had had any dealings. Kristin and Ramborg had never met this cousin of theirs. Simon had known Sir Sigurd in Raumarike; he was the close kinsman of the Haftorss\u00f8ns, and they in turn were close kinsmen of Gyrd Darre's wife. But as complicated as matters now were, Simon avoided meeting Sir Sigurd as much as possible. He never had any desire to go to Sundbu anymore. The Trondss\u00f8ns had been his dear friends, and Ramborg and the wives of Ivar and Borgar used to visit each other every year. Sir Sigurd Erlendss\u00f8n was also much older than Simon Andress\u00f8n; he was a man of almost sixty.\n\nThings had become so tangled up because Erlend and Kristin were now living at J\u00f8rundgaard that although the marriage of their overseer could not be called important news, Simon Darre thought it was enough to make the situation even more vexed. Usually he would not have troubled his young wife if he was having any difficulties or setbacks. But this time he couldn't help discussing these matters a bit with Ramborg. He was both surprised and pleased when he saw how sensibly she spoke about them and how admirably she tried to do all that she could to help.\n\nShe went to see her sister at J\u00f8rundgaard much more often than she had before, and she gave up her sullen demeanor with Erlend. On Christmas Day, when they met on the church hill after the mass, Ramborg kissed not only Kristin but her brother-in-law as well. In the past she had always fiercely mocked these foreign customs of his: the fact that he used to kiss his motherin-law in greeting and the like.\n\nIt suddenly occurred to Simon when he saw Ramborg put her arms around Erlend's neck that he might do the same with his wife's sister. But then he realized that he couldn't do it after all. He had never been in the habit of kissing the wives of his kinsmen; his mother and sisters had laughed at him when he suggested trying it when he came home after he had been at court, in service as a page.\n\nFor the Christmas banquet at Formo, Ramborg seated Ulf Hal dorss\u00f8n's young wife in a place of honor, showing both of them such respect as was seemly toward a newly married couple. And she went to J\u00f8rundgaard to be with Jardtrud when she gave birth.\n\nThat took place a month after Christmas\u2014two months too soon, and the boy was stillborn. Then Jardtrud flew into a fury. If she had known that things might go this way, she would never have married Ulf. But now it was done and could not be helped.\n\nWhat Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n thought about the matter, no one knew. He didn't say a word.\n\nDuring the week before MidLent, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and Simon Andress\u00f8n rode south together to Kvam. Several years before Lavrans died, he and a few other farmers had purchased a small estate in the village there. Now the original owners of the manor wanted to buy it back, but it was rather unclear how things had been handled in the past as far as offering the land to the heirs, or whether the kinsmen of the sellers had claimed their rights in lawful fashion. When Lavrans's estate had been settled after his death, his share in this farm had been excluded, along with several other small properties that might involve legal proceedings over proof of ownership. The two sisters then divided up the income from them. That was why both of Lavrans's sons-in-law were now appearing on behalf of their wives.\n\nA good number of people had gathered, and because the tenant's wife and children lay sick in bed in the main house, the men had to make do with meeting in an old outbuilding on the farm. It was drafty and in terrible disrepair; everyone kept on his fur cape. Each man placed his weapons within reach and kept his sword on his belt; no one had a desire to stay any longer than necessary. But they would at least have a bite to eat before they parted, and so at the time of midafternoon prayers, when the discussion was over, the men took out their bags of provisions and sat down to eat, with the packets lying next to them on the benches or in front of them on the floor. There was no table in the building.\n\nThe parish priest of Kvam had sent his son, Holmgeir Moi sess\u00f8n, in his stead. He was a devious and untrustworthy young man, whom few people liked. But his father was greatly admired, and his mother had belonged to a respected family. Holmgeir was a tall and strong fellow, hot-blooded and quick to turn on people, so no one wished to quarrel with the priest's son. There were also many who thought him an able and witty speaker.\n\nSimon hardly knew him and didn't like his looks. He had a long, narrow face with pale freckles and a thin upper lip, which made his big yellow front teeth gleam like a rat's. But Sira Moises had been Lavrans's good friend, and for a time the son had been raised at J\u00f8rundgaard, partly as a servant and partly as a foster son, until his father had acknowledged him as his own. For this reason Simon was always friendly when he met Holmgeir Moi sess\u00f8n.\n\nNow Holmgeir had rolled a stump over to the hearth and was sitting there, sticking slices of meat\u2014roasted thrush with pieces of bacon\u2014on his dagger and heating them in the fire. He had been ill and had been granted fourteen days' indulgence, he told the others, who were chewing on bread and frozen fish as the fragrant smell of Holmgeir's meat rose up to their noses.\n\nSimon was in a bad humor\u2014not truly angry but slightly dejected and embarrassed. The whole property matter was difficult to sort out, and the documents he had received from his fatherin-law were very unclear; and yet when he left home, he thought that he understood them. He had compared them with other documents, but now when he heard the statements of the witnesses and saw the other evidence that was put forth, he realized that his view of the matter wouldn't hold up. But none of the other men had any better grasp of it\u2014particularly not the sheriff's envoy, who was also present. It was suggested that the case would have to be brought up before a ting. Then Erlend suddenly spoke and asked to see the documents.\n\nUp to that moment he had sat and listened, almost as if he had no interest in the matter. Now he seemed to wake up. He carefully read through all the documents, a few of them several times. Then he explained the situation, clearly and briefly: Such and such were the provisions of the lawbooks, and in such a way they could be interpreted. The vague and clumsy phrases in the documents had to mean either this or that. If the case were brought before a ting, it would be decided in either this or that manner. Then he proposed a solution with which the original owners might be satisfied but which was not entirely to the detriment of the present owners.\n\nErlend stood up as he spoke, with his left hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his right hand carelessly holding the stack of documents. He acted as if he were the one in charge of the meeting, although Simon could see that he wasn't aware of this himself. He was used to standing up and speaking in this manner when he used to hold sheriff tings in his county. When he turned to one of the others to ask if something was so and if the man understood what he was explaining, he spoke as if he were interrogating a witness\u2014not without courtesy and yet as if it were his place to ask the questions and the other man's place to answer. When he was done speaking, he handed the documents to the envoy as if the man could be his servant and sat down. While the others discussed the matter and Simon also stated his opinion, Erlend listened, but in such a fashion as if he had no stake in the case. His replies were curt, clear, and instructive if anyone happened to address him, but all the while he scraped his fingernail on some grease spots that had appeared on his tunic, straightened his belt, picked up his gloves, and seemed to be waiting rather impatiently for the conversation to come to an end.\n\nThe others agreed to the arrangement that Erlend had proposed, and it was one that Simon could be tolerably satisfied with; he would have been unlikely to win anything more from a court case.\n\nBut he had fallen into a bad mood. He knew full well that it was childish of him to be cross because his brother-in-law had understood the matter while he had not. It was reasonable that Erlend should be better able to interpret the word of law and decipher confusing documents, since for years it had been his role to explain the statutes to people and settle disputes. But it had come upon Simon quite unexpectedly. The night before at J\u00f8rundgaard, when he talked to Erlend and Kristin about the meeting, Erlend hadn't mentioned any opinion; he seemed to listen with only half an ear. Yes, it was clear that Erlend would be better versed in the law than ordinary farmers, but it was as if the law were no concern of his as he sat there and counseled the others with friendly indifference. Simon had a vague feeling that in some way Erlend had never respected the law as a guide in his own life.\n\nIt was also strange that he could stand up in that manner, completely untroubled. He had to be aware that this made the others think about who and what he had been and what his situation now was. Simon could feel the others thinking about this; some probably resented this man, who never seemed to care what other people thought of him. But no one said anything. When the blue-frozen clerk who had come with the envoy sat down and put the writing board on his lap, he addressed all his questions to Erlend, and Erlend spelled things out for him as he sat holding a few pieces of straw, which he had picked up from the floor, twining them around his long tan fingers and weaving them into a ring. When the clerk was finished, he handed the calfskin to Erlend, who tossed the straw ring into the hearth, took the letter, and read it half aloud:\n\n\"'To all men who see or hear this document, greetings from God and from Simon Andress\u00f8n of Formo, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n of J\u00f8rundgaard, Vidar Steinss\u00f8n of Klaufastad, Ingemund and Toralde Bj\u00f8rnss\u00f8n, Bj\u00f8rn Ingemundss\u00f8n of Lundar, Alf Einarss\u00f8n, Holmgeir Moisess\u00f8n...'\n\n\"Do you have the wax ready?\" he asked the clerk, who was blowing on his frozen fingers. \" 'Let it be known that in the year of our Lord, one thousand three hundred and thirty-eight winters, on the Friday before MidLent Sunday, we met at Granheim in the parish of Kvam...'\n\n\"We can take the chest that's standing in the alcove, Alf, and use it as a table.\" Erlend turned to the envoy as he gave the document back to the scribe.\n\nSimon remembered how Erlend had been when he was in the company of his peers up north. Easy and confident enough; he wasn't lacking in that regard. Impetuous and rash in his speech, but always with something slightly ingratiating about his manner. He was not in the least indifferent to what others thought of him if he considered them his peers or kinsmen. On the contrary, he had doubtless put great effort into winning their approval.\n\nWith an oddly fierce sense of bitterness, Simon suddenly felt allied with these farmers from here in the valley\u2014men whom Erlend respected so little that he didn't even wonder what they might think of him. He had done it for Erlend's sake. For his sake Simon had parted with the circles of the gentry and well-to-do. It was all very well to be the rich farmer of Formo, but he couldn't forget that he had turned his back on his peers, kinsmen, and the friends of his youth. Because he had assumed the role of a supplicant among them, he no longer had the strength to meet them, hardly had the strength to think of it at all. For this brother-in-law of his he had as good as denied his king and departed from the ranks of royal retainers. He had revealed to Erlend something that he found more bitter than death to recall whenever it entered his thoughts. And yet Erlend behaved toward him as if he had understood nothing and remembered nothing. It didn't seem to trouble the fellow at all that he had wreaked havoc with another man's life.\n\nAt that moment Erlend said to him, \"We should see about leaving, Simon, if we want to make it back home tonight. I'll go out and see to the horses.\"\n\nSimon looked up, feeling a strange ill will at the sight of the other man's tall, handsome figure. Under the hood of his cape Erlend wore a small black silk cap that fit snugly to his head and was tied under his chin. His lean dark face with the big pale blue eyes sunk deep in the shadow of his brow looked even younger and more refined under that cap.\n\n\"And pack up my bag in the meantime,\" he said from the door as he went out.\n\nThe other men had continued to talk about the case. It was quite peculiar, said one of them, that Lavrans hadn't been able to arrange things better; the man usually knew what he was doing. He was the most experienced of farmers in all matters regarding the purchase and sale of land.\n\n\"It's probably my father who is to blame,\" said Holmgeir, the priest's son. \"He said as much this morning. If he had listened to Lavrans back then, everything would have been plain and clear. But you know how Lavrans was.... Toward priests he was always as amenable and submissive as a lamb.\"\n\nEven so, Lavrans of J\u00f8rundgaard had always guarded his own welfare, said someone else.\n\n\"Yes, and no doubt he thought he was doing so when he followed the priest's advice,\" said Holmgeir, laughing. \"That can be the wise thing to do, even with earthly matters\u2014as long as you're not eyeing the same patch that the Church has set its sights on.\"\n\nLavrans had been a strangely pious man, thought Vidar. He had never spared either property or livestock with regard to the Church or the poor.\n\n\"No,\" said Holmgeir thoughtfully. \"Well, if I'd been such a rich man, I too might have had a mind to pay out sums for the peace of my soul. But I wouldn't have given away my goods with both hands, the way he did, and then walk around with red eyes and white cheeks every time I'd been to see the priest to confess my sins. And Lavrans went to confession every month.\"\n\n\"Tears of remorse are the fair gifts of grace from the Holy Spirit, Holmgeir,\" said old Ingemund Bj\u00f8rnss\u00f8n. \"Blessed is he who can weep for his sins here in this world; all the easier it will be for him to enter the other....\"\n\n\"Then Lavrans must have been in Heaven long ago,\" said Holmgeir, \"considering the way he fasted and disciplined his flesh. I've heard that on Good Friday he would lock himself in the loft above the storeroom and lash himself with a whip.\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue,\" said Simon Andress\u00f8n, trembling with bitterness; his face was blood red. Whether Holmgeir's remark was true or not, he didn't know. But when he was cleaning up his fatherin-law's belongings, he had found a small, oblong wooden box in the bottom of his book chest, and inside lay a silk whip that the cloisters called a flagellum. The braided strips of leather bore dark spots, which might have been blood. Simon had burned it, with a feeling of sad reverence. He realized that he had come upon something in the other man's life that Lavrans had never wanted a living soul to see.\n\n\"I don't think he would talk about such things to his servants, in any case,\" said Simon when he trusted himself to speak.\n\n\"No, it's just something that people have made up,\" replied Holmgeir. \"Surely he didn't have such sins to repent that he would need to\u2014\" The man gave a little sneer. \"If I had lived as blameless and Christian a life as Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n, and been married to a mournful woman like Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter, I think I would have wept for the sins that I hadn't committed\u2014\"\n\nSimon leaped up and struck Holmgeir in the mouth so the man tumbled back toward the hearth. His dagger fell to the floor, and in the next instant he grabbed it and tried to stab the other man. Simon shielded himself with his arm holding his cape as he seized Holmgeir's wrist with his other hand and tried to wrest the dagger away. In the meantime the priest's son aimed a number of blows at his face. Simon then gripped him by both arms, but the young man sank his teeth into Simon's hand.\n\n\"You dare to bite me, you dog!\" Simon let go, took several steps back, and pulled his sword from its sheath. He fell upon Holmgeir so that his young body arched back, with a few inches of steel buried in his chest. A moment later Holmgeir's body slipped from the sword point and fell heavily, halfway in the hearth fire.\n\nSimon flung his sword away and was about to lift Holmgeir out of the blaze when he saw Vidar's axe raised to strike right above his head. He ducked and lunged to the side, seized hold of his sword again, and just managed to fend off the blade of the envoy, Alf Einarss\u00f8n; he whirled around and again had to shield himself from Vidar's axe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw behind him that the Bj\u00f8rnss\u00f8ns and Bj\u00f8rn of Lunde were aiming spears at him from the other side of the hearth. He then drove Alf in front of him over to the opposite wall but sensed that Vidar was coming for him from behind. Vidar had dragged Holmgeir out of the fire; they were cousins, those two. And the louts from Lunde were approaching from around the hearth. He stood exposed on all sides, and in the midst of it all, even though he had more than enough to do to save his life, he felt a vague, unhappy sense of surprise that the men were all against him.\n\nAt the next moment Erlend's sword flashed between the Lunde men and Simon. Toralde reeled aside and fell against the wall. Quick as lightning, Erlend shifted his sword to his left hand and struck Alf's weapon away so that it slid with a clatter across the floor, while with his right hand he grabbed the shaft of Bj\u00f8rn's spear and pressed it downward.\n\n\"Get outside,\" he told Simon, breathing hard and shielding his brother-in-law from Vidar. Simon ground his teeth together and raced across the room toward Bj\u00f8rn and Ingemund. Erlend was at his side, screaming over the tumult and clanging of swords: \"Get outside! Do you hear me, you fool? Head for the door\u2014we have to get out!\"\n\nWhen Simon realized that Erlend meant for both of them to go out, he began moving backward, still fighting, toward the door. They ran through the entryway, and then they were out in the courtyard, Simon a few steps farther away from the building, and Erlend right in front of the door with his sword half raised and his face turned toward those who were swarming after them.\n\nFor a moment Simon felt blinded; the winter day was so dazzling bright and clear. Under the blue sky the mountains arched white-gold in the last rays of the sun; the forest was weighted down with snow and frost. The expanse of fields glittered and gleamed like gemstones.\n\nHe heard Erlend say, \"It will not make amends for the misfortune if more deaths occur. We should use our wits, good sirs, so there is no more bloodshed. Things are bad enough as they are, with my brother-in-law having slain a man.\"\n\nSimon stepped to Erlend's side.\n\n\"You killed my cousin without cause, Simon Andress\u00f8n,\" said Vidar of Klaufastad, who was standing in front of the others in the doorway.\n\n\"It was not entirely without cause that he fell. But you know, Vidar, that I won't refuse to pay the penance for this misfortune I've brought upon you. All of you know where you can find me at home.\"\n\nErlend talked a little more to the farmers. \"Alf, how did it happen?\" He went indoors with the other men.\n\nSimon stayed where he was, feeling strangely numb. Erlend came back after a moment. \"Let's go now,\" he said as he headed for the stable.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" asked Simon.\n\n\"Yes. And Alf and Toralde and Vidar all have wounds, but none is serious. Holmgeir's hair was singed off the back of his head.\" Erlend had spoken in a somber voice, but now he abruptly burst out laughing. \"Now it certainly smells like a damn roasted thrush in there, you'd better believe me! How the Devil could all of you get into such a quarrel in such a short time?\" he asked in astonishment.\n\nA half-grown boy was holding their horses. Neither of the men had brought his own servant along on this journey.\n\nBoth were still carrying their swords. Erlend picked up a handful of hay and wiped the blood from his. Simon did the same. When he had rubbed off the worst of it, he stuck his sword back in its sheath. Erlend cleaned his sword very thoroughly and then polished it with the hem of his cape. Then he made several playful little thrusts into the air and smiled, fleetingly, as if at a memory. He tossed the sword high up, caught it by the hilt, and stuck it back in its sheath.\n\n\"Your wounds... We should go up to the house, and I'll bandage them for you.\"\n\nSimon said they were nothing. \"But you're bleeding too, Erlend!\"\n\n\"It's nothing dangerous, and my skin heals fast. I've noticed that heavyset people always take longer to heal. And with this cold... and we have such a long way to ride.\"\n\nErlend got some salve and cloths from the tenant farmer and carefully tended to the other man's wounds. Simon had two flesh wounds right next to each other on the left side of his chest; they bled a great deal at first, but they weren't serious. Erlend had been slashed on the thigh by Bj\u00f8rn's spear. That would make it painful to ride, said Simon, but his brother-in-law laughed. It had barely made a scratch through his leather hose. He dabbed at it a bit and then wrapped it tightly against the frost.\n\nIt was bitterly cold. Before they reached the bottom of the hill on which the farm stood, their horses were covered with rime and the fur trim on the men's hoods had turned white.\n\n\"Brrr.\" Erlend shivered. \"If only we were home! We'll have to ride over to the manor down here and report the slaying.\"\n\n\"Is that necessary?\" asked Simon. \"I spoke to Vidar and the others after all...\"\n\n\"It would be better if you did so,\" said Erlend. \"You should report the news yourself. Don't let them have anything to hold against you.\"\n\nThe sun had slipped behind the ridge now; the evening was a pale grayish blue but still light. They rode along a creek, beneath the branches of birch trees that were even more shaggy with frost than the rest of the forest. There was a stink of raw, icy fog in the air, which could make a man's breath stick in his throat. Erlend grumbled impatiently about the long period of cold they had had and about the chill ride that lay before them.\n\n\"You're not getting frostbite on your face, are you, brother-in-law?\" He peered anxiously under Simon's hood. Simon rubbed his hand over his face; it wasn't frostbitten, but he had grown quite pale as he rode. It didn't suit him, because his large, portly face was weatherbeaten and ruddy, and the paleness appeared in gray blotches, which made his complexion look unclean.\n\n\"Have you ever seen a man spreading manure with his sword the way Alf did?\" asked Erlend. He burst out laughing at the memory and leaned forward in his saddle to imitate the gesture. \"What a splendid envoy he is! You should have seen Ulf playing with his sword, Simon\u2014Jesus, Maria!\"\n\nPlaying... Well, now he'd seen Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n playing at that game. Over and over again he saw himself and the other men tumbling around the hearth, the way farmers chop wood or toss hay. And Erlend's slender, lightning-swift figure among them, his gaze alert and his wrist steady as he danced with them, quick-witted and an expert swordsman.\n\nMore than twenty years ago he himself had been considered one of the foremost swordsmen among the youth of the royal retainers, when they practiced out on the green. But since then he hadn't had much opportunity to use his knightly skills.\n\nAnd here he was now, riding along and feeling sick at heart because he had killed a man. He kept seeing Holmgeir's body as it fell from his sword and sank into the fire; he heard the man's abrupt, strangled death cry in his ears and saw, again and again, images of the brief, furious battle that followed. He felt dejected, pained, and confused; they had turned on him suddenly, all those men with whom he had sat and felt a sense of belonging. And then Erlend had come to his aid.\n\nHe had never thought himself a coward. He had hunted down six bears during the years he had lived at Formo, and twice he had put his life at risk in the most reckless manner. With only the thin trunk of a pine tree between him and a raging, wounded female, with no other weapon than his spearpoint on a shaft a scant hand's breadth long... The tenseness of the game had not disturbed his steadiness of thought, action, or instinct. But now, in that outbuilding... he didn't know if he had been afraid, but he certainly had been confused, unable to think clearly.\n\nWhen he was back home after the bear hunt, with his clothes thrown on haphazardly, with his arm in a sling, feverish, his shoulder stiff and torn, he had merely felt an overwhelming joy. Things might have gone worse; how much worse, he didn't dwell on. But now he kept thinking about it, ceaselessly: how everything might have ended if Erlend hadn't come to his aid just in time. He hadn't been afraid, but he had such a peculiar feeling. It was the expressions on the faces of the other men... and Holmgeir's dying body.\n\nHe had never killed a man before.\n\nExcept for the Swedish horseman he had felled... It was during the year when King Haakon led an incursion into Sweden to avenge the murder of the dukes. Simon had been sent out on a scouting mission; he had taken along three men, and he was to be their chieftain. How bold and cocky he was. Simon remembered that his sword had gotten stuck in the steel helmet of the horseman so that he had to pry and wriggle it loose. There was a nick in the blade when he looked at it the next morning. He had always thought about that incident with pride, and there had been eight Swedes. He had gotten a taste of war at any rate, and that wasn't the lot of everyone who joined the king's men that year. When daylight came, he saw that blood and brains had splattered over his coat of mail; he tried to look modest and not boastful as he washed it off.\n\nBut it did no good to think about that poor devil of a horseman now. No, that was not the same thing. He couldn't get rid of a terrible feeling of remorse about Holmgeir Moisess\u00f8n.\n\nThere was also the fact that he owed Erlend his life. He didn't yet know what import this would have, but he felt as if everything would be different, now that he and Erlend were even.\n\nIn that way they were even at least.\n\nThe brothers-in-law had been riding in near silence. Once Erlend said, \"It was foolish of you, Simon, not to think of getting out right from the start.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\" asked Simon rather brusquely. \"Because you were outside?\"\n\n\"No...\" There was the hint of a smile in Erlend's voice. \"Well, because of that too. I hadn't thought about that. But through that narrow door they couldn't follow you more than one at a time. And it's always astounding how quickly people regain their senses when they come out under the open sky. It seems to me a miracle that there weren't more deaths.\"\n\nA few times Erlend inquired about his brother-in-law's wounds. Simon said he hardly noticed them, even though they were throbbing terribly.\n\nThey reached Formo late that evening, and Erlend went inside with his brother-in-law. He had advised Simon to send the sheriff a report of the incident the very next day in order to arrange for a letter of reprieve as soon as possible. Erlend would gladly compose the letter for Simon that night since the wounds on his chest would no doubt hamper his writing hand. \"And tomorrow you must keep to your bed; you may have a little wound fever.\"\n\nRamborg and Arngjerd were waiting up for them. Because of the cold, they had settled on the bench on the warm side of the hearth, tucking their legs underneath them. A board game lay between them; they looked like a couple of children.\n\nSimon had barely uttered a few words about what had happened before his young wife flew to his side and threw her arms around his neck. She pulled his face down to hers and pressed her cheek against his. And she crushed Erlend's hands so tightly that he laughingly said he had never thought Ramborg could have such strong fingers.\n\nShe begged her husband to spend the night in the main house so that she could keep watch over him. She implored him, almost in tears, until Erlend offered to stay and sleep with Simon if she would send a man north to J\u00f8rundgaard to take word. It was too late for him to ride home anyway, \"and a shame for Kristin to sit up so late in this cold. She waits up for me too; you're both good wives, you daughters of Lavrans.\"\n\nWhile the men ate and drank, Ramborg sat close to her husband. Simon patted her arm and hand; he was both a little embarrassed and greatly touched that she showed so much concern and love for him. Simon was sleeping in the S\u00e6mund house during Lent, and when the men went over there, Ramborg went with them and put a large kettle of honey-ale to warm near the hearthstone.\n\nThe S\u00e6mund house was an ancient little hearth building, warm and snug; the timbers were so roughly hewn that there were only four beams to each wall. Right now it was cold, but Simon threw a great armful of resinous pine onto the fire and chased his dog up into the bed. The animal could lie there and warm it up for them. They pulled the log chair and the high-backed bench all the way up to the hearth and made themselves comfortable, for they were frozen to the bone after their ride, and the meal in the main house had only partially thawed them.\n\nErlend wrote the letter for Simon. Then they proceeded to undress. Simon's wound began to bleed again when he moved his arms too much, so his brother-in-law helped him pull the outer tunic over his head and take off his boots. Erlend limped a bit from his wounded leg; it was stiff and tender after the ride, he said, but it was nothing. Then they sat down near the fire again, half dressed. The room had grown pleasantly warm, and there was still plenty of ale in the kettle.\n\n\"I can see that you're taking this much too hard,\" Erlend said once. They had been dozing and staring into the fire. \"He was no great loss to the world, that Holmgeir.\"\n\n\"That's not what Sira Moises will think,\" said Simon quietly. \"He's an old man and a good priest.\"\n\nErlend nodded somberly.\n\n\"It's a bad thing to have made enemies with such a man. Especially since he lives so near. And you know that I often have business in that parish.\"\n\n\"Yes, well... This kind of thing can happen so easily\u2014to any of us. They'll probably sentence you to a fine of ten or twelve marks of gold. And you know that Bishop Halvard is a stern master when he has to hear the confession of an assailant, and the boy's father is one of his priests. But you'll get through whatever is required.\"\n\nSimon did not reply.\n\nErlend continued. \"No doubt I'll have to pay fines for the injuries.\" He smiled to himself. \"And I own no other piece of Norwegian land than the farm at Dovre.\"\n\n\"How big of a farm is Haugen?\" asked Simon.\n\n\"I don't remember exactly; it says in the deed. But the people who work the land harvest only a small amount of hay. No one wants to live there; I've heard that the buildings are in great disrepair. You know what people say: that the dead spirits of my aunt and Herr Bj\u00f8rn haunt the place.\n\n\"But I know that I will win thanks from my wife for what I did today. Kristin is fond of you, Simon\u2014as if you were her own brother.\"\n\nSimon's smile was almost imperceptible as he sat there in the shadows. He had pushed the log chair back a bit and had put his hand up to shield his eyes from the heat of the flames. But Erlend was as happy as a cat in the heat. He sat close to the hearth, leaning against a corner of the bench, with one arm resting along its back and his wounded leg propped up on the opposite side.\n\n\"Yes, she had such charming words to say about it one day this past fall,\" said Simon after a moment. There was an almost mocking ring to his voice.\n\n\"When our son was ill, she showed that she was a loyal sister,\" he said somberly, but then that slightly jesting tone was back. \"Well, Erlend, we have kept faith with each other the way we swore to do when we gave our hands to Lavrans and vowed to stand by each other as brothers.\"\n\nYes,\" said Erlend, unsuspecting. \"I'm glad for what I did to day too, Simon, my brother-in-law.\" They both fell silent for a while. Then Erlend hesitantly stretched out his hand to the other man. Simon took it. They clasped each other's fingers tightly, then let go and huddled back in their seats, a little embarrassed.\n\nFinally Erlend broke the silence. For a long time he had been sitting with his chin in his hand, staring into the hearth, where only a tiny flame now flickered, flaring up, dancing a bit, and playing over the charred pieces of wood, which broke apart and collapsed with brittle little sighs. Soon there would be only black coals and glowing embers left of the fire.\n\nErlend said quite softly, \"You have treated me so magnanimously, Simon Darre, that I think few men are your equal. I... I haven't forgotten...\"\n\n\"Silence! You don't know, Erlend... Only God in Heaven knows everything that resides in a man's mind,\" whispered Simon, frightened and distraught.\n\n\"That's true,\" said Erlend in the same quiet and somber tone of voice. \"We all need Him to judge us... with mercy. But a man must judge a man by what he does. And I... I... May God reward you, brother-in-law!\"\n\nThen they sat in dead silence, not daring to move for fear of being shamed.\n\nSuddenly Erlend let his hand fall to his knee. A fiery blue ray of light flashed from the stone on the ring he wore on his right index finger. Simon knew that Kristin had given it to Erlend when he was released from the prison tower.\n\n\"But you must remember, Simon,\" he said in a low voice, \"the old saying: Many a man is given what was intended for another, but no one is given another man's fate.\"\n\nSimon raised his head sharply. Slowly his face flushed blood red; the veins at his temples stood out like dark, twisted cords.\n\nErlend glanced at him for a moment but quickly withdrew his eyes. Then he too turned crimson. A strangely delicate and girlish blush spread over his tan skin. He sat motionless, embarrassed and confused, with his little, childish mouth open.\n\nSimon stood up abruptly and went over to the bed.\n\n\"You'll want to take the outside edge, I presume.\" He tried to speak calmly and with nonchalance, but his voice quavered.\n\n\"No, I'll let you decide,\" said Erlend numbly. He got to his feet. \"The fire?\" he asked, flustered. \"Should I cover the ashes?\" He began raking the hearth.\n\n\"Finish that and then come to bed,\" said Simon in the same tone. His heart was pounding so hard that he could barely talk.\n\nIn the dark Erlend, soundless as a shadow, slipped under the covers on the outer edge of the bed and lay down, as quiet as a forest creature. Simon thought he would suffocate from having the other man in his bed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "Every year during Easter week Simon Andress\u00f8n held an ale feast for the people of the village. They came to Formo on the third day after mass and stayed until Thursday.\n\nKristin had never particularly enjoyed these banquets with their bantering and pleasantry. Both Simon and Ramborg seemed to think that the more commotion and noise there was, the better. Simon always invited his guests to bring along their children, their servants, and the children of their servants\u2014as many as could be spared from home. On the first day everything proceeded in a quiet and orderly manner; only the gentry and the elders would converse, while the youth listened and ate and drank, and the little children kept mostly to a different building. But on the second day, from early in the morning on, the host would urge the lively young people and the children to drink and make merry, and before long the teasing would grow so wild and unrestrained that the women and maidens would slip away to the corners and stand there in clusters, giggling and ready to flee. But many of the more high-standing wives would seek out Ramborg's women's house, which was already occupied by the mothers who had rescued the youngest children from the tumult of the main building.\n\nOne game that was a favorite among the men was pretending to hold a ting. They would read summons documents, present grievances, proclaim new laws and modify old ones, but they always twisted the words around and said them backward. Audun Tor bergss\u00f8n could recite King Haakon's letter to the merchants of Bj\u00f8rgvin: what they could charge for men's hose and for leather soles on a woman's shoes, about the men who made swords and big and small shields. But he would mix up the words until they were all jumbled and sheer babble. This game always ended with the men not having any idea what they were saying. Kristin remembered from her childhood that her father would never allow the jesting to turn to ridicule of anything related to the Church or divine services. But otherwise Lavrans thought it great fun when he and his guests would compete by jumping up on the tables and benches while they merrily shouted all manner of coarse and unseemly nonsense.\n\nSimon was usually most fond of games in which a man was blindfolded and had to search through the ashes for a knife, or two people had to bob for pieces of gingerbread in a big bowl of ale. The other guests would try to make them laugh, and the ale would spray all around. Or they were supposed to use their teeth to dig a ring out of a flour bin. The hall would soon take on the look of a pigsty.\n\nBut this year they had such surprisingly glorious spring weather for Easter. On Wednesday by early morning it was already sunny and warm, and right after breakfast everyone went out to the courtyard. Instead of making a noisy ruckus, the young people played with balls, or shot at targets or had tugs-of-war with a rope. Later they played the stag game or the woodpile dance, and afterward they persuaded Geirmund of Kruke to sing and play his harp. Soon everyone, both young and old, had joined the dance. Snow still covered the fields, but the alder trees were brown with buds, and the sun shone warm and lovely on all the bare slopes. When the guests came outside after supper, there were birds singing everywhere. Then they made a bonfire in the field beyond the smithy, and they sang and danced until late into the night. The next morning everyone stayed in bed a long time and left the banquet manor much later than usual. The guests from J\u00f8rundgaard were normally the last to depart, but this time Simon persuaded Erlend and Kristin to stay until the following day. Those from Kruke were to stay at Formo until the end of the week.\n\nSimon had accompanied the last of his guests up to the main road. The evening sun was shining so beautifully on his estate, spread out over the hillside. He was warm and in high spirits from the drinking and noise of the feast. He walked back between the fences, homeward to the calm and pleasant goodwill that prevails when a small circle of close kin remains after a great banquet. He felt so light of heart and happier than he had been for a long time.\n\nDown in the field near the smithy they had lit another bonfire: Erlend's sons, Sigrid's older children, Jon Daalk's sons, and his own daughters. Simon leaned over the fence for a moment to watch. Ulvhild's scarlet feast day gown gleamed and rippled in the sun. She ran back and forth, dragging branches over to the fire, and suddenly she was stretched out full length on the ground! Her father shouted merrily, but the children didn't hear him.\n\nIn the courtyard two serving maids were tending to the smallest of the children. They were sitting against the wall of the women's house, basking in the sun. Above their heads the evening light gleamed like molten gold on the small glass windowpane. Simon picked up little Inga Geirmundsdatter, tossed her high in the air, and then held her in his arms. \"Can you sing for your uncle today, pretty Inga?\" Then her brother and Andres both fell upon Simon, wanting to be tossed up in the air too.\n\nWhistling, he climbed the stairs to the great hall in the loft. The sun was shining into the room so splendidly; they had let the door stand open. A wondrous calm reigned over everyone. At the end of the table Erlend and Geirmund were bent over the harp, on which they were putting new strings. They had the mead horn standing near them on the table. Sigrid was in bed, nursing her youngest son. Kristin and Ramborg were sitting with her, and a silver mug stood on a footstool between the sisters.\n\nSimon filled his own gilded goblet to the brim with wine, went over to the bed, and drank a toast to Sigrid. \"I see that all have quenched their thirst, except you, my sister!\"\n\nLaughing, she propped herself up on her elbow and accepted the goblet. The infant began howling crossly at being disturbed.\n\nSimon sat down on the bench, still whistling softly, and listened with half an ear to what the others were saying. Sigrid and Kristin were talking about their children; Ramborg was silent, fiddling with a windmill that belonged to Andres. The men at the table were strumming the harp, trying it out; Geirmund picked out a melody on the harp and sang along. They both had such charming voices.\n\nAfter a while Simon went out to the gallery, leaned against the carved post, and gazed out. From the cowshed came the eternally hungry lowing. If this weather held on for a time, perhaps the spring shortages wouldn't last as long this year.\n\nKristin was approaching. He didn't have to turn around; he recognized her light step. She stepped forward and stood at his side in the evening sun.\n\nSo fair and graceful, she had never seemed to him more beautiful. And all of a sudden he felt as if he had somehow been lifted up and were swimming in the light. He let out a long breath. Suddenly he thought: It was simply good to be alive. A rich and golden bliss washed over him.\n\nShe was his own sweet love. All the troubled and bitter thoughts he had had seemed nothing more than half-forgotten foolishness. My poor love. If only I could comfort you. If only you could be happy again. I would gladly give up my life if it would help you.\n\nOh yes, he could see that her lovely face looked older and more careworn. She had an abundance of fine, little wrinkles under her eyes, and her skin had lost its delicate hue. It had become coarser and tan from the sun, but she was pale under the tan. And yet to him she would surely always be just as beautiful. Her big gray eyes, her fine, calm mouth, her round little chin, and her steady, subdued demeanor were the fairest he knew on earth.\n\nIt was a pleasure to see her once again dressed in a manner befitting a highborn woman. The thin little silk wimple covered only half of her golden brown tresses; her braids had been pinned up so they peeked out in front of her ears. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, but that didn't matter. And she was wearing a magnificent blue surcoat made of velvet and trimmed with marten fur. The bodice was cut so low and the sleeve holes so deep that the garment clung to her breast and shoulders like the narrow straps of a bridle. It looked so lovely. Underneath there was a glimpse of something sand yellow, a gown that fit snugly to her body, all the way up to her throat and down to her wrists. It was held closed with dozens of tiny gilded buttons, which touched him so deeply. God forgive him\u2014all those little golden buttons gave him as much joy as the sight of a flock of angels.\n\nHe stood there and felt the strong, steady beat of his own heart. Something had fallen away from him\u2014yes, like chains. Vile, hateful dreams\u2014they were just phantoms of the night. Now he could see the love he felt for her in the light of day, in full sunlight.\n\n\"You're looking at me so strangely, Simon. Why are you smiling like that?\"\n\nThe man gave a quiet, merry laugh but did not reply. Before them stretched the valley, filled with the golden warmth of the evening sun. Flocks of birds warbled and chirped metallically from the edge of the woods. Then the full, clear voice of the song thrush rang out from somewhere inside the forest. And here she stood, warmed by the sun, radiant in her brilliant finery, having emerged from the dark, cold house and the rough, heavy clothing that smelled of sweat and toil. My Kristin, it's good to see you this way again.\n\nHe took her hand, which lay before him on the railing of the gallery, and lifted it to his face. \"The ring you're wearing is so lovely.\" He turned the gold ring on her finger and then put her hand back down. It was reddish and rough now, and he didn't know how he could ever make amends to it\u2014so fair it had once been, her big, slender hand.\n\n\"There's Arngjerd and Gaute,\" said Kristin. \"The two of them are quarreling again.\"\n\nTheir voices could be heard from underneath the loft gallery, shrill and angry. Now the maiden began shouting furiously, \"Go ahead and remind me of that. It seems to me a greater honor to be called my father's bastard daughter than to be the lawful son of yours!\"\n\nKristin spun on her heel and ran down the stairs. Simon followed and heard the sound of two or three slaps. She was standing under the gallery, clutching her son by the shoulder.\n\nThe two children had their eyes downcast; they were red-faced, silent, and defiant.\n\n\"I see you know how to behave as a guest. You do us such honor, your father and me.\"\n\nGaute stared at the ground. In a low, angry voice he said to his mother, \"She said something... I don't want to repeat it.\"\n\nSimon put his hand under his daughter's chin and tilted her face up. Arngjerd turned even brighter red, and her eyes blinked under her father's gaze.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, pulling away from him. \"I reminded Gaute that his father was a condemned villain and traitor. But before that he called you... He said that you, Father, were the traitor, and that it was thanks to Erlend that you were now sitting here, safe and rich, on your own manor.\"\n\n\"I thought you were a grownup maiden by now. Are you going to let childish chatter provoke you so that you forget both your manners and honor among kin?\" Angrily he pushed the girl away, turned toward Gaute, and asked calmly, \"What do you mean, Gaute, my friend, that I betrayed your father? I've noticed before that you're cross with me. Now tell me: What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You know what I mean!\"\n\nSimon shook his head.\n\nThen the boy shouted, his eyes flashing with bitterness, \"The letter they tortured my father on the rack for, trying to make him say who had put their seal on it\u2014I saw that letter myself! I was the one who took it and burned it.\"\n\n\"Keep silent!\" Erlend broke in among them. His face was deathly white, all the way to his lips; his eyes blazed.\n\n\"No, Erlend. It's better that we clear up this matter now. Was my name mentioned in that letter?\"\n\n\"Keep silent!\" Furiously Erlend seized Gaute by the shoulder and chest. \"I trusted you. You, my son! It would serve you right if I killed you now.\"\n\nKristin sprang forward, as did Simon. The boy tore himself loose and took refuge with his mother. Beside himself with rage, he screamed furiously as he hid behind Kristin's arm, \"I picked it up and looked at the seals before I burned it, Father! I thought the day might come when I could serve you by doing so....\"\n\n\"May God curse you!\" A brief dry sob racked Erlend's body.\n\nSimon too had turned pale and then dark red in the face, out of shame for his brother-in-law. He didn't dare look in Erlend's direction; he thought he would suffocate from the other's humiliation.\n\nKristin stood as if bewitched, still holding her arms protectively around her son. But one thought followed another, in rapid succession.\n\nErlend had had Simon's private seal in his possession for a short time during that spring. The brothers-in-law had jointly sold Lavrans's dock warehouse at Ve\u00f8y to the cloister on Holm. Erlend had mentioned that this was probably unlawful, but surely no one would question it. He had shown her the seal and said that Simon should have had a finer one carved. All three brothers had acquired a copy of their father's seal; only the inscriptions were different. But Gyrd's was much more finely etched, said Erlend.\n\nGyrd Darre... Erlend had brought her greetings from him after both of his last journeys to the south. She remembered being surprised that Erlend had visited Gyrd at Dyfrin. They had met only once, at Ramborg's wedding. Ulf Sakses\u00f8n was Gyrd Darre's brother-in-law; Ulf had been part of the plot....\n\n\"You were mistaken, Gaute,\" said Simon in a low, firm voice.\n\n\"Simon!\" Unawares, Kristin gripped her husband's hand. \"Keep in mind... there are other men than yourself who bear that emblem on their seal.\"\n\n\"Silence! Will you too\u2014\" Erlend tore himself away from his wife with a tormented wail and raced across the courtyard toward the stable. Simon set off after him.\n\n\"Erlend... Was it my brother?\"\n\n\"Send for the boys. Follow me home,\" Erlend shouted back to his wife.\n\nSimon caught up with him in the stable doorway and grabbed him by the arm. \"Erlend, was it Gyrd?\"\n\nErlend didn't reply; he tried to wrench his arm away. His face looked oddly stubborn and deathly pale.\n\n\"Erlend, answer me. Did my brother join you in that plan?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you too would like to test your sword against mine?\" Erlend snarled, and Simon could feel the other man's body trembling as they struggled.\n\n\"You know I wouldn't.\" Simon let go and sank back against the doorframe. \"Erlend, in the name of Christ, who suffered death for our sakes: Tell me if it's true!\"\n\nErlend led Soten out, and Simon had to step aside from the doorway. An attentive servant brought his saddle and bridle. Simon took them and sent the man away. Then Erlend took them from Simon.\n\n\"Erlend, surely you can tell me now! You can tell me!\" He didn't know why he was begging as if for his very life. \"Erlend, answer me. On the wounds of Christ, I beseech you. Tell me, man!\"\n\n\"You can keep on thinking what you thought before,\" said Erlend in a low and cutting voice.\n\n\"Erlend, I didn't think... anything.\"\n\n\"I know what you thought.\" Erlend swung himself into the saddle. Simon grabbed the harness; the horse shifted and pranced uneasily.\n\n\"Let go, or I'll run you down,\" said Erlend.\n\n\"Then I'll ask Gyrd. I'll ride south tomorrow. By God, Erlend, you have to tell me....\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure he will give you an answer,\" said Erlend scornfully, spurring the stallion so that Simon had to leap aside. Then Erlend galloped off from the estate.\n\nHalfway up the courtyard Simon met Kristin. She was wearing her cloak. Gaute walked at her side, carrying their clothing sack. Ramborg followed her sister.\n\nThe boy glanced up for a moment, frightened and confused. Then he withdrew his gaze. But Kristin fixed her big eyes directly on Simon's face. They were dark with sorrow and anger.\n\n\"Could you truly believe that of Erlend? That he would betray you in such a manner?\"\n\n\"I didn't believe anything,\" said Simon vehemently. \"I thought the boy was just babbling nonsense and foolishness.\"\n\n\"No, Simon, I don't want you to come with me,\" said Kristin quietly.\n\nHe saw that she was unspeakably offended and grieved.\n\nThat evening, when Simon was alone with his wife in the main house, as they undressed and their daughters were already asleep in the other bed, Ramborg suddenly asked, \"Didn't you know anything about this, Simon?\"\n\n\"No. Did you?\" he asked tensely.\n\nRamborg came over and stood in the glow of the candle standing on the table. She was half undressed, in her shift and laced bodice; her hair fell in loose curls around her face.\n\n\"I didn't know, but I had a feeling.... Helga was so strange...\" Her features twisted into an odd sort of smile, and she looked as if she were freezing. \"She talked about how new times would be coming to Norway. The great chieftains would acquire the same rights here as in other lands.\" Ramborg gave a crooked, almost contorted smile. \"They would be called knights and barons again.\n\n\"Later, when I saw that you took up their affairs with such zeal, and you were away from home almost a whole year... and didn't even feel that you could come north to be with me at Ringheim when I was staying on a stranger's estate, about to give birth to your child... I thought perhaps you knew that it concerned others than Erlend.\"\n\n\"Ha! Knights and barons!\" Simon gave an angry laugh.\n\n\"Then was it merely for Kristin's sake that you did it?\"\n\nHe saw that her face was pale, as if from frostbite; it was impossible to pretend that he didn't understand what she meant. Out of spite and despair, he exclaimed, \"Yes.\"\n\nThen he thought that she must have gone mad, and he was mad too. Erlend was mad; they had all lost their wits that day. But now there had to be an end to it.\n\n\"I did it for your sister's sake, yes,\" he said soberly. \"And for the sake of the children who had no other man closer in family or kinship to protect them. And for Erlend's sake, since we should be as loyal to each other as brothers. So don't start behaving foolishly, for I've seen more than enough of that here on the estate to day,\" he bellowed, and flung the shoe he had just taken off against the wall.\n\nRamborg went over and picked it up; she looked at the timber it had struck.\n\n\"It's shameful that Torbj\u00f8rg didn't think of it herself, to wash off the soot in here before the feast. I forgot to mention it to her.\" She wiped off the shoe. It was Simon's best, with a long toe and red heel. She picked up its mate and put both of them into his clothes chest. But Simon noticed that her hands were shaking badly as she did so.\n\nThen he went over and took her in his arms. She twined her thin arms around her husband as she trembled with stifled sobs and whispered to him that she was so tired.\n\nSeven days later Simon and his servant rode through Kvam, heading north. They fought their way through a blizzard of great wet snowflakes. At midday they arrived at the small farm on the public road where there was an alehouse.\n\nThe proprietress came out and invited Simon to come into their home; only commoners were shown into the tavern. She shook out his outer garment and hung it up to dry on the wall peg near the hearth as she talked. Such awful weather... hard on the horses... and he must have had to ride the whole way around... it wasn't possible to go across Lake Mj\u00f8sa now, was it?\n\n\"Oh yes, if a man was sick enough of his life...\"\n\nThe woman and her children standing nearby all laughed agreeably. The older ones went about their chores, bringing in wood and ale, while the younger ones huddled together near the door. They usually received a few penninger from Simon, the master of Formo, whenever he stayed there, and if he was bringing home treats for his own children from Hamar, he would often give them a tidbit too. But today he didn't seem to notice them.\n\nHe sat on the bench, leaning forward, with his hands hanging over his knees, staring into the hearth fire, and replied with a word or two to the woman's incessant chatter. Then she mentioned that Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n happened to be at Granheim. It was the day on which the ancestral owners were to place the first payment in the hands of the former owners. Should she send one of the children over to his brother-in-law with a message so that they could ride home together?\n\nNo, said Simon. She could give him a little food, and then he would lie down and sleep for a while.\n\nHe would see Erlend in good time. What he had to say he wanted to say in front of Gaute. But he would prefer not to speak of the matter more than once.\n\nHis servant, Sigurd, had sought refuge in the cookhouse while the woman prepared the food. Yes, it had been a wearisome journey, and his master had been like an angry bull almost the whole way. Normally Simon Andress\u00f8n liked to hear whatever news from his home district his servants could glean while they were at Dyfrin. He usually had one or more people from Raumerike in his service. Folks would come to him to ask for work whenever he was home, for he was known as a well-liked and generous man who was merry and not high-handed with his servants. But on this journey about the only answer that he, Sigurd, had received from his master was \"Keep silent!\"\n\nHe had apparently had a great quarrel with his brothers; he hadn't even stayed the night at Dyfrin. They had taken lodgings on a tenant farm farther out in the countryside. Sir Gyrd\u2014yes, for he could tell her that the king had made his master's brother a knight at Christmastime\u2014well, Sir Gyrd had come out to the courtyard and warmly entreated Simon to stay, but Simon had given his brother a curt reply. And they had roared and bellowed and shouted, all those gentlemen up in the high loft\u2014Sir Ulf Sakses\u00f8n and Gudmund Andress\u00f8n had been on the estate as well\u2014so that everyone was terribly frightened. God only knew what it was that had made them foes.\n\nSimon came past the cookhouse, paused for a moment, and peered inside. Sigurd announced quickly that he would get an awl and a strap to make proper repairs to the harness that had been torn in the morning.\n\n\"Do they have those kinds of things in the cookhouse on this farm?\" Simon flung over his shoulder as he left. Sigurd shook his head and nodded to the woman when Simon had disappeared from sight.\n\nSimon pushed his plate aside but stayed seated. He was so tired that he could hardly even get up. At last he got to his feet and threw himself onto the bed, still wearing his boots and spurs, but then thought better of it. It was a good, clean bed for the house of a commoner. He sat up and pulled off his boots. Stiff and worn out as he was, surely he would be able to sleep now. He was soaked through and freezing, but his face burned after the long ride in the storm.\n\nHe crawled under the coverlet, twisting and turning the pillows; they smelled so strangely of fish. Then he stretched out, half reclining, propped up on one elbow.\n\nHis thoughts began circling again. He had been thinking and thinking these past few days, the way an animal plods around a tether.\n\nEven if Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had known that the welfare of Gyrd and Gudmund Darre might also be at stake if Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n had been broken and talked... well, that didn't make it any worse that Simon had seized upon all means to win the help of the Bjark\u00f8 knight. Quite the opposite. Surely a man was obligated to stand by his own brothers, even to the death if need be. But he still wished that he knew whether Erling had known about it. Simon weighed the matter for and against. Erling couldn't possibly have been entirely ignorant that a rebellion was brewing. But what exactly had he known? Gyrd and Ulf, at any rate, didn't seem to know whether the man was aware of their complicity. But Simon remembered that Erling had mentioned the Haftorss\u00f8ns and had advised him to seek their help, for it was most likely their friends who would need to be afraid. The Haftorss\u00f8ns were cousins of Ulf Sakses\u00f8n and Helga. The nose is right next to the eyes!\n\nBut even if Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n believed that he was also thinking of his own brothers, surely that didn't make what he had done any worse. And Erling might have realized that he knew nothing about his brothers' peril. Besides, he had said himself that... He remembered he had told Stig that he didn't think they could torture Erlend into talking.\n\nThey might still have reason to fear Erlend's tongue. He had kept silent through the torture and imprisonment, but he was the kind of man who might let it slip out afterward through some chance remark. It would be just like him.\n\nAnd yet... Simon thought this was the one thing he could be certain that Erlend would never do. He was as silent as a rock every time the conversation touched on the matter, precisely because he was afraid of being lured into some slip of the tongue. Simon understood that Erlend had a fierce, almost childish terror of breaching a promise. Childish because the fact that he had given away the whole plan to his lover clearly did not seem to Erlend to have tarnished his honor in any significant way. He apparently thought that such could happen to the best of men. As long as he himself held his tongue, he considered his shield unblemished and his promise unbroken. And Simon had noticed that Erlend was sensitive about his honor, as far as his own understanding of honor and reputation went. He had nearly lost his wits from desperation and anger at the mere thought that any of his fellow conspirators might be exposed\u2014even now, so much later and in such a manner that it couldn't possibly make any difference to the men whom he had protected with his life, as well as with his honor and his property. All because of a child talking to the closest kinsman of these men.\n\nErlend wanted to handle it in such a way that if things went wrong, he would be the one to pay the price for all of them. That's what he had vowed on the crucifix to every man who had joined him in the plot. But to think that grownup, sensible men would put their faith in such an oath, when it was not entirely within Erlend's control... Now that Simon had learned everything about the plan, he thought it was the greatest foolishness he had ever heard. Erlend had been willing to let his body be torn apart, limb from limb, in order to keep his sworn oath. All the while the secret lay in the hands of a ten-year-old boy; Erlend himself had seen to that. And it was evidently no thanks to him that Sunniva Olavsdatter didn't know more than she did. Could anyone ever make sense of such a man?\n\nIf, for a moment, he had believed... well, what Erlend and his wife thought he had believed.... God only knew how close to the truth such a thought was when Gaute started talking about seeing his seal on the treasonous letter. The two of them might remember that he knew a few things about Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n so that he, more than most other men, had little reason to believe the best of that gentleman. But they had probably forgotten long ago how he had once come upon them and witnessed the depths of their shamelessness.\n\nSo there was little reason for him to lie here, berating himself like a dog because he had wrongly accused Erlend in his mind. God knew it was not because he wanted to think ill of his brother-in-law; it only made him unhappy to have such thoughts. He was fully aware that it was a wildly foolish notion; he would have realized at once, even without Kristin's words, that things couldn't have happened that way. As quickly as the suspicion occurred to him\u2014that Erlend might have misused his seal\u2014he had dismissed it. No, Erlend couldn't possibly have done that. Erlend had never in his life committed a dishonorable act that had been thought out in advance or with some specific purpose in mind.\n\nSimon tossed and turned in bed, moaning. They had made him half mad with all this madness. He felt so tormented when he thought about how Gaute had gone around for years, believing this of him. But it was unreasonable for him to take it so hard. Even though he was fond of the boy, fond of all of Kristin's sons, they were still hardly more than children. Did he need to be so concerned about how they might judge him?\n\nTo think he could be so furious with rage when he thought about the men who had placed their hands on the hilt of Erlend's sword and sworn to follow their chieftain. If they were such sheep to allow themselves to be dazzled by Erlend's persuasive and bold manner and to believe that he was a suitable chieftain, then it was only to be expected that they would behave like frightened sheep when the whole venture went awry. And yet he felt dazed when he thought about what he had learned at Dyfrin: that so many men had dared entrust the peace of the land and their own welfare into Erlend's hands. Even Haftor Olavss\u00f8n and Borgar Trondss\u00f8n! But not one of them had the courage to step forward and demand of the king that Erlend should be granted an honorable reconciliation and a reprieve for his ancestral estates. There were so many of them that if they had joined forces, it could easily have been accomplished. Apparently there was less wisdom and courage among the noblemen of Norway than he had thought.\n\nSimon was also angry because he had been entirely kept out of these plans. Not that they would have been able to enlist him in such a foolhardy enterprise. But that both Erlend and Gyrd had gone behind his back and concealed everything... Surely he was just as good a nobleman as any of the others, and not without some influence in the regions where people knew him.\n\nIn some ways he agreed with Gyrd. Considering the manner in which Erlend had squandered his position as chieftain, the man couldn't reasonably demand that his fellow conspirators should step forward and declare their allegiance with him. Simon knew that if he had found Gyrd alone, he would not have ended up parting with his brothers in such a fashion. But there sat that knight, Sir Ulf, stretching out his long legs in front of him and talking about Erlend's lack of sense\u2014after it was all over! And then Gudmund spoke up. In the past neither Gyrd nor Simon had let their younger brother take a position against them. But ever since he had married the priest's paramour, who then became his own paramour, the boy had grown so swaggering and cocky and independent. Simon had sat there glaring fiercely at Gudmund. He spoke so arrogantly and his round, red face looked so much like a child's backside that Simon's hands itched to give it a swat. In the end he hardly knew what he was saying to the three men.\n\nAnd now he had broken with his brothers. He felt as if he would bleed to death when he thought about it, as if bonds of flesh and blood had been severed. He was the poorer for it. Bare is the brotherless back.\n\nBut however things now stood, in the midst of the heated exchange of words he had suddenly realized\u2014he didn't know exactly why\u2014that Gyrd's closed and stony demeanor wasn't solely due to the fact that he was hard pressed to find any peace at home. In a flash Simon saw that Gyrd still loved Helga; that was what made him so strangely fettered and powerless. And in some secretive, incomprehensible way, this aroused his fury over... well, over life itself.\n\nSimon hid his face in his hands. Yes, in that sense they had been good, obedient sons. It had been easy for Gyrd and him to feel love for the brides whom his father announced he had chosen for them. The old man had made a long, splendid speech to them one evening, and afterward they had both sat there feeling abashed. About marriage and friendship and faithfulness between honorable, noble spouses; in the end their father even mentioned prayers of intercession and masses. It was too bad their father hadn't given them advice on how to forget as well\u2014when the friendship was broken and the honor dead and the faithfulness a sin and a secret, disgraceful torment, and there was nothing left of the bond but the bleeding wound that would never heal.\n\nAfter Erlend was released, an odd feeling of calm came over Simon\u2014if only because a man can't continue to endure the kind of pain he had suffered during that time in Oslo. Either something happens, or it gets better of its own accord.\n\nSimon had not been pleased when Kristin moved to J\u00f8rund gaard with her husband and all their children so that he had to see them more often and keep up their friendship and kinship. But he consoled himself that it would have been much worse if he had been forced to live with her in a fashion that is unbearable for a man: to live with a woman he loves when she is not his wife or his kinswoman by blood. He chose to ignore what had occurred between his brother-in-law and himself on that evening when they celebrated Erlend's release from the tower. Erlend had probably understood only half of it and surely hadn't given it much thought. Erlend had such a rare talent for forgetting. And Simon had his own estate, a wife whom he loved, and his children.\n\nHe had found some semblance of peace with himself. It was not his fault that he loved his wife's sister. She had once been his betrothed, and he was not the one who had broken his promise. Back when he had set his heart on Kristin Lavransdatter, it had simply been his duty to do so, because he thought she was intended to be his wife. The fact that he married her sister... that was Ramborg's doing, and her father's. Lavrans, as wise a man as he was, hadn't thought to ask whether Simon had forgotten. But he knew that he couldn't have stood to be asked that question by Lavrans.\n\nSimon wasn't good at forgetting. He was not to blame for that. And he had never spoken a single word that he ought to have withheld. But he couldn't help it if the Devil plagued him with impulses and dreams that violated the bonds of blood; he had never willingly indulged in sinful thoughts of love. And he had always behaved like a loyal brother toward her and her kin. Of that he was certain.\n\nAt last he had managed to be tolerably content with his lot.\n\nBut only as long as he knew that he was the one who had served those two: Kristin and the man she had chosen in his stead. They had always been in need of his support.\n\nNow this had changed. Kristin had risked her life and soul to save the life of his son. It felt as if all the old wounds had opened up ever since he allowed that to happen.\n\nLater he became indebted to Erlend for his own life.\n\nAnd then, in return, he had affronted the man\u2014not intentionally, and only in his thoughts, but still...\n\n\"Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittibus debitoribus nostris.\" It was strange that the Lord hadn't also taught them to pray: \"sicut et nos dimittibus creditoribus nostris.\" He didn't know whether this was proper Latin; he had never been particularly good at the language. But he knew that in some way he had always been able to forgive his debtors. It seemed much harder to forgive anyone who had bound a debt around his neck.\n\nBut now they were even: he and those two. He felt all the old resentments, which he had trampled underfoot for years, rip open and come to life.\n\nHe could no longer shove Erlend aside in his thoughts as a foolish chatterer who couldn't see or learn or remember or ponder anything at all. Now the other man weighed on his mind precisely because no one knew what Erlend saw or thought or remembered; he was completely unfathomable.\n\nMany a man is given what was intended for another, but no one is given another man's fate.\n\nHow truly spoken.\n\nSimon had loved his young betrothed. If he had won her, he would certainly have been a contented man; surely they would have lived well together. And she would have continued to be as she was when they first met: gentle and seemly, intelligent enough that a man would gladly seek her counsel even on important matters, a bit headstrong about petty things, but otherwise amenable, accustomed as she was to accepting from her father's hands guidance and support and protection. But then that man had seized hold of her: a man incapable of restraining himself, who had never offered protection to anything. He had ravaged her sweet innocence, broken her proud calm, destroyed her womanly soul, and forced her to stretch and strain to the utmost every faculty she possessed. She had to defend her lover, the way a tiny bird protects its nest with a trembling body and shrill voice when anyone comes too close. It had seemed to Simon that her lovely, slender body was created to be lifted up and fervently shielded by a man's arms. He had seen it tense with wild stubbornness, as her heart pounded with courage and fear and the will to fight, and she battled for her husband and children, the way even a dove can turn fierce and fearless if she has young ones.\n\nIf he had been her husband, if she had lived with his honorable goodwill for fifteen winters, he was certain that she would have stood up to defend him too if he had landed in misfortune. With shrewdness and courage she would have stood by his side. But he would never have seen that stony face she turned toward him on the evening in Oslo when she told him that she had been over to take a look around in that house. He would never have heard her scream his own name in such desperate need and distress. And it was not the honorable and just love of his youth that had answered in his heart. The ardor that rose up and cried out toward her wild spirit... he would never have known that such feeling could reside in his own heart if things had happened between them as their fathers had intended.\n\nHer expression, as she walked past him and went out into the night to find help for his child... She would not have dared to take those measures if she had not been Erlend's wife and had grown accustomed to acting fearlessly, even when her heart trembled with anguish. Her tear-streaked smile when she woke him up and said the boy was calling for his father... A smile of such heartbreaking sweetness was possible only for someone who knew what it meant both to lose a battle and to win.\n\nIt was Erlend's wife whom he loved\u2014the way he loved her now. But that meant his love was sinful, and that was why things stood as they did and why he was unhappy. He was so unhappy that sometimes he felt only a great astonishment that he was the one this had befallen, and he could see no way out of his distress.\n\nWhen he trampled on his own honor and noble decorum and reminded Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n of things that no honorable man would have imagined that he knew, he had done it not for his brothers or kinsmen but for her alone. It was for her sake that he had dared plead with the other man, just like the lepers who begged at the church doors in town, displaying their hideous sores.\n\nHe had thought that someday he would tell her about it. Not everything, not how deeply he had humbled himself. But after they had both grown old, he thought that he would say to Kristin: I helped you as best I could because I remembered how sincerely I loved you, back when I was your betrothed.\n\nBut there was one thing he didn't dare touch on with his thoughts. Had Erlend said anything to Kristin? Yes, he had thought that one day she should hear it from his own lips: I never forgot that I loved you when we were young. But if she already knew, and if she had learned it from her husband... No, then he didn't think he could go on.\n\nHe had intended to tell only her... someday, a long time from now. Then he thought about that moment when he had revealed it himself, when Erlend unwittingly happened to see what he thought he had hidden in the most secret part of his soul. And Ramborg knew\u2014although he didn't understand how she had found out.\n\nHis own wife... and her husband\u2014they both knew.\n\nSimon gave a wild, stifled scream and abruptly flung himself onto the other side of the bed.\n\nMay God help him! Now he was the one who lay here, flayed naked, violated, bleeding with torment and trembling with shame.\n\nThe proprietress peeked around the door and met Simon's feverish, dry, and sharply glittering eyes from the bed. \"Didn't you sleep? Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n was just riding past with two men; no doubt two of his sons were traveling with him.\" Simon mumbled something in reply, angry and incomprehensible.\n\nHe wanted to give them a good head start. But he too would soon have to see about setting off for home.\n\nAs soon as Simon entered the main house at Formo and took off his outer garments, Andres would seize hold of his leather cap and try it on. While the boy straddled the bench and rode off to see his uncle at Dyfrin, the big cap would slip down, first over his small nose and then back over his lovely blond curls. But it did little good for Simon to try to remember such things now. God only knew when the boy would be visiting his uncle at Dyfrin again.\n\nInstead the memory of his other son rose up: Halfrid's child. The tiny, pale blue body of an infant. He had seen little of the boy during the few days he lived; he had to sit at the bedside of the dying mother. If the child had survived, or if he had lived longer than his mother, then Simon would have kept Mandvik. Then he probably would have looked for a new wife there in the south. Occasionally he might have come north to the valley to see to his estate up here. Then surely he would have... not forgotten Kristin; she had led him into much too strange a dance for him to do that. By the Devil, a man should be allowed to remember it as a peculiar dventure: that he had been forced to rescue his betrothed, a high born young maiden, reared in Christian and seemly behavior, from a house of ill repute and another man's bed. But then he wouldn't have been able to think of her in such a way that it troubled him and robbed the taste from everything good that life had to offer.\n\nHis son Erling... He would have been fourteen winters old by now. When Andres one day reached so near the age of a man, he himself would be old and feeble.\n\nOh, yes, Halfrid... You weren't very happy with me, were you? I'm not entirely without blame that things have gone as they have for me.\n\nErlend Nikulauss\u00f8n might well have had to pay with his life for his impetuousness. And Kristin would now be living as a widow at J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nAnd he himself might have then regretted that he was a married man. Nothing seemed so foolish anymore that he didn't think himself capable of it.\n\nThe wind had died down, but great wet flakes of springtime snow were still falling when Simon rode out of the alehouse courtyard. And now, toward evening, birds began whistling and warbling in the grove of trees, defying the snowfall.\n\nJust as a gash in the skin can reopen from too sudden a movement, a fleeting memory caused him pain. Not long ago, at his Easter banquet, several guests were standing outside, basking in the midday sun. High above them in the birch tree sat a robin, whistling into the warm blue air. Geirmund came limping around the corner of the house, dragging himself along with his cane, his other hand resting on the shoulder of his oldest son. He looked up, stopped, and imitated the bird. The boy also pursed his lips and whistled. They could mimic nearly all the birdsongs. Kristin was standing a short distance away, with several other women. Her smile had been so charming as she listened.\n\nNow, toward sunset the clouds began to disperse in the west, tumbling golden over the white mountain slopes, filling the passes and small valleys like gray mist. The river gleamed dully like brass; the dark currents, free of ice, rushed around the rocks in the riverbed, and on each rock lay a little white pillow of new snow.\n\nThey made slow progress on the weary horses through the heavy snow. It was a milky white night with a full moon, which peeked out from the drifting haze and clouds as Simon rode down the slopes to the Ula River. When he had crossed the bridge and reached the flat expanses of pine forest, through which the winter road passed, the horses began moving faster. They knew they were approaching the stable. Simon patted Digerbein's steaming wet neck. He was glad this journey would soon be over. Ramborg had probably gone to bed long ago.\n\nAt the place where the road turned sharply and emerged from the woods, there stood a small house. He was nearly upon it when he noticed that men on horseback were stopped in front of the door. He heard Erlend's voice shout, \"Then it's agreed that you'll come to visit the day after Sunday? Can I tell my wife as much?\"\n\nSimon called out a greeting. It would seem much too strange not to stop and continue on in their company, but he told Sigurd to ride on ahead. Then he rode over to join them; it was Naakkve and Gaute. Erlend was just stepping out of the entryway.\n\nThey greeted each other again, the three others in a somewhat strained fashion. Simon could see their faces, although not very clearly in the fading light. He thought their expressions seemed uncertain\u2014both tense and begrudging at the same time. So he said at once, \"I've come from Dyfrin, my brother-in-law.\"\n\n\"Yes, I heard that you had traveled south.\" Erlend stood with his hand on the saddlebow, his eyes downcast. \"You've made good time,\" he added, as if the silence were uncomfortable.\n\n\"No, wait a bit,\" said Simon to the young boys who were about to ride off. \"You should hear this too. It was my brother's seal that you saw on the letter, Gaute. And I know you must think they showed poor loyalty to your father, both he and the other gentlemen who had affixed their seals on the letter to Prince Haakon, which your father was to carry to Denmark.\"\n\nThe boy looked down in silence.\n\nErlend said, \"There was one thing you probably didn't think about, Simon, when you went to see your brother. I paid dearly for the safety of Gyrd and the others who joined me; it cost me all I owned except for my reputation as a loyal man who keeps his word. Now Gyrd Darre must think that I couldn't save even my reputation.\"\n\nShamefully Simon bowed his head. He hadn't thought about that.\n\n\"You might have told me this, Erlend, when I said that I was going to Dyfrin.\"\n\n\"You must have seen for yourself that I was so desperate and furious that I was beyond thinking or reasoning when I rode away from your manor.\"\n\n\"I wasn't particularly levelheaded myself, Erlend.\"\n\n\"No, but I thought you might have had time to come to your senses during the long ride. And I couldn't very well ask you not to talk to your brother without revealing things I had sworn a sacred oath to conceal.\"\n\nSimon fell silent for a moment. At first he thought that Erlend was right. But then it occurred to him: No, Erlend was being quite unreasonable. Was he supposed to submit to having Kristin and the boys think so ill of him? He mentioned this rather vehemently.\n\n\"I have never uttered a word about this, kinsman\u2014not to my mother or to my brothers,\" said Gaute, turning his handsome, fair face toward his uncle.\n\n\"But in the end they found out about it just the same,\" replied Simon obstinately. \"I thought, after everything that happened on that day at my estate, we needed to clear up the matter. And I don't understand why it should take your father so unawares. You're still not much older than a child, my Gaute, and you were so young when you were mixed up in this... secret plot.\"\n\n\"Surely I should be able to trust my own son,\" replied Erlend angrily. \"And I had no other choice when I needed to save the letter. I either had to give it to Gaute or let the sheriff find it.\"\n\nSimon thought it pointless to discuss the matter any further. But he couldn't resist saying, \"I wasn't happy when I heard what the boy has been thinking of me these past four years. I've always been fond of you, Gaute.\"\n\nThe boy urged his horse forward a few paces and stretched out his hand; Simon saw that his face had darkened, as if he were blushing.\n\n\"You must forgive me, Simon!\"\n\nSimon clasped the boy's hand. At times Gaute looked so much like his grandfather that Simon felt strangely moved. He was rather bowlegged and slight in build, but he was an excellent rider, and on the back of a horse he was as handsome a youth as any father could want.\n\nAll four of them began riding north; the boys were in front, and when they were beyond earshot, Simon continued.\n\n\"You must understand, Erlend... I don't think you can rightfully blame me for seeking out my brother and asking him to tell me the truth about this matter. But I know that you had reason to be angry with me, both you and Kristin. Because as soon as this strange news came out...\" He fumbled for words. \"What Gaute said about my seal... I can't deny that I thought... I know both of you believed that I thought... what I should have had sense enough to realize was unthinkable. So I can't deny that you have reason to be angry,\" he repeated.\n\nThe horses splashed through the slushy snow. It took a moment before Erlend replied, and then his voice sounded gentle and subdued. \"I don't know what else you could have thought. It was almost inevitable that you should believe\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, no. I should have known it wasn't possible,\" Simon interrupted, sounding aggrieved. After a moment he asked, \"Did you think that I knew about my brothers? That I tried to help you for their sake?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Erlend in surprise. \"I realized you couldn't possibly know. I knew that I hadn't said anything. And I thought I could safely rely on your brothers not to talk.\" He laughed softly. Then he grew somber and said gently, \"I knew you did it for the sake of our fatherin-law and because you're a good man.\"\n\nSimon rode on in silence for a while.\n\n\"I imagine you must have been bitterly angry,\" he then said.\n\n\"Well... when I had time to think about it... I didn't see that there was any other way you could interpret things.\"\n\n\"What about Kristin?\" asked Simon, his voice even lower.\n\n\"Kristin!\" Erlend laughed again. \"You know she won't stand for anyone censuring me\u2014except for herself. She seems to think she can handle that well enough all alone. It's the same with our children. God save me if I should chastise them with a single word! But you can rest assured that I've brought her around.\"\n\n\"You have?\"\n\n\"Yes, well... with time I'll manage to convince her. You know that once Kristin gives it some thought, she's the sort of person who will remember you've shown us such loyal friendship that...\"\n\nSimon, agitated and distraught, felt his heart trembling. He found it unbearable. The other man seemed to think that they could now dismiss this matter from their minds. In the pale moonlight Erlend's face looked so genuinely peaceful. Simon's voice quavered with emotion as he spoke again. \"Forgive me, Erlend, but I don't see how I could have believed\u2014\"\n\n\"I told you I understand it.\" The other broke in rather impatiently. \"It seems to me that you couldn't have thought anything else.\"\n\n\"If only those two foolish children had never spoken,\" said Simon heatedly.\n\n\"Yes. Gaute has never received such a beating before in his life. And the whole thing started because they were quarreling about their ancestors: Reidar Birkebein and King Skule and Bishop Niko las.\" Erlend shook his head. \"But let's not think about this anymore, kinsman. It's best if we forget about it as soon as we can.\"\n\n\"I can't do that!\"\n\n\"But, Simon!\" This was spoken in reproach, with mild astonishment. \"It's not worth it to take this so seriously.\"\n\n\"I can't\u2014don't you understand? I'm not as good a man as you are.\"\n\nErlend gave him a bewildered look. \"I don't know what you mean.\"\n\n\"I'm not as good a man as you are. I can't so easily forgive those I have wronged.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you mean,\" repeated Erlend in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"I mean...\" Simon's face was contorted with pain and desperation. His voice was low, as if he were stifling an urge to scream out the words. \"I mean that I've heard you speaking kindly of Judge Sigurd of Steigen, the old man whose wife you stole. I've seen how you loved Lavrans with all the love of a son. And I've never noticed that you bore any grudge toward me because you... enticed my betrothed away from me. I'm not as noble-minded as you think, Erlend. I'm not as noble-minded as you are. I... I do bear a grudge toward the man whom I have wronged.\"\n\nHis cheeks flecked with white from the strain, Simon stared into the eyes of his companion. Erlend had listened to him with his mouth agape.\n\n\"I've never realized this until now! Do you hate me, Simon?\" he whispered, overwhelmed.\n\n\"Don't you think I have reason to do so?\"\n\nUnawares, both men had reined in their horses. They sat and stared at each other. Simon's small eyes glittered like steel. In the hazy white light of the night, he saw that Erlend's lean features were twitching as if something had broken inside him: an awakening. He looked up from beneath half-closed lids, biting his quivering lower lip.\n\n\"I can't bear to see you anymore,\" said Simon.\n\n\"But that was twenty years ago, man!\" exclaimed Erlend, overcome and confused.\n\n\"Yes. But don't you think she's... worth thinking about for twenty years?\"\n\nErlend pulled himself erect in the saddle. He met Simon's eyes with a steady, open gaze. The moonlight lit a blue-green spark in his big, pale blue eyes.\n\n\"Yes, yes, I do. May God bless her!\"\n\nFor a moment he sat motionless. Then he spurred his horse and galloped off through the puddles so the water sprayed up behind him. Simon held Digerbein back; he was almost thrown to the ground because he reined in the horse so sharply. He waited there at the edge of the woods, struggling with the restless animal, for as long as he could hear hoofbeats in the slush.\n\nRemorse had overwhelmed him as soon as he said it. He felt regret and shame, as if in senseless anger he had struck the most defenseless of creatures\u2014a child or a delicate, gentle, and witless beast. His hatred felt like a shattered lance; he was shattered himself from the confrontation with the man's foolish innocence. That bird of misfortune, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, understood so little that he seemed both helpless and without guile.\n\nSimon swore and cursed to himself as he rode. Without guile... The man was well past forty; it was about time that he could handle a conversation man to man. If Simon had wounded himself, then by the Devil it should be considered worth the price if for once he had managed to strike Erlend a blow.\n\nNow he was riding home to her. May God bless her, Simon thought ruefully. And so it was over: the plodding around in that sibling love. The two of them over there, and he and his family. He would never have to meet Kristin Lavransdatter again.\n\nThe thought took his breath away. Just as well, by the Devil. If your eye offends you, then pluck it out, said the priests. He told himself that the main reason he had done this was to escape the sister-brother love with Kristin. He couldn't bear it anymore.\n\nHe had only one wish now: that Ramborg would not be awake when he came home.\n\nBut when he rode in among the fences, he saw someone wearing a dark cloak standing beneath the aspen trees. The white of her wimple gleamed.\n\nShe said that she had been waiting for him ever since Sigurd returned home. The maids had gone to bed, so Ramborg herself ladled up the porridge that stood on the edge of the hearth, keeping warm. She placed bacon and bread on the table and brought in newly tapped ale.\n\n\"Shouldn't you go to bed now, Ramborg?\" asked her husband as he ate.\n\nRamborg did not reply. She went over to her loom and began threading the colorful little balls of wool in and out of the warp. She had set up the loom for a tapestry before Christmas, but she hadn't made much progress yet.\n\n\"Erlend rode past, heading north, some time ago,\" she said, with her back turned. \"From what Sigurd said, I thought you would be riding together.\"\n\n\"No, it didn't turn out that way.\"\n\n\"Erlend had a greater longing for his bed than you did?\" She laughed a little. When she received no answer, she said again, \"I suppose he always longs to be home with Kristin when he has been away.\"\n\nSimon was silent for a good while before he replied, \"Erlend and I did not part as friends.\"\n\nRamborg turned around abruptly. Then he told her what he had learned at Dyfrin and about the first part of the conversation with Erlend and his sons.\n\n\"It seems to me rather unreasonable that you should quarrel over such a matter when you've been able to remain friends until now.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but that's how things went. And it will take too long to discuss the whole matter tonight.\"\n\nRamborg turned back to her loom and busied herself with her work.\n\n\"Simon,\" she said suddenly, \"do you remember a story that Sira Eirik once told us... from the Bible? About a maiden named Abishag the Shunammite?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Back when King David was old and his vigor and manhood were beginning to fade\u2014\" Ramborg began, but Simon interrupted her.\n\n\"My Ramborg, it's much too late at night; this is no time to start telling sagas. And now I do remember the story about the woman you mentioned.\"\n\nRamborg pushed up the reed of the loom and fell silent for a while. Then she spoke again. \"Do you remember the saga my father knew\u2014about the handsome Tristan and fair Isolde and dark Isolde?\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember.\" Simon pushed his plate aside, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and got up. He went over to stand in front of the fireplace. With one foot resting on the edge, his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand, he stared into the fire, which was about to die out inside the stone-lined hollow. From the loom over in the corner came Ramborg's voice, fragile-sounding and close to tears.\n\n\"When I listened to those stories, I always thought that men like King David and Sir Tristan... It seemed to me so foolish, and cruel, that they didn't love the young brides who offered them their maidenhood and the love of their hearts with gentleness and seemly graciousness but preferred instead such women as Fru Bathsheba or fair Isolde, who had squandered themselves in other men's arms. I thought that if I had been a man, I wouldn't have been so lacking in pride... or so heartless.\" Overcome, she fell silent. \"It seems to me the most terrible fate: what happened to Abishag and poor Isolde of Bretland.\" Abruptly she turned around, walked quickly across the room, and stood before her husband.\n\n\"What is it, Ramborg?\" Simon reluctantly asked in a low voice. \"I don't know what you mean by all this.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do,\" she replied fiercely. \"You're a man just like that Tristan.\"\n\n\"I find it hard to believe\"\u2014he tried to laugh\u2014\"that I should be compared with the handsome Tristan. And the two women you mentioned... If I remember right, they lived and died as pure maidens, untouched by their husbands.\" He looked at his wife. The little triangle of her face was pale, and she was biting her lip.\n\nSimon set his foot down, straightened up, and put both hands on her shoulders.\n\n\"My Ramborg, you and I have two children,\" he said softly.\n\nShe didn't reply.\n\n\"I've done my best to show you my gratitude for that gift. I thought... I've tried to be a good husband to you.\"\n\nWhen she didn't speak, he let her go, went over to a bench, and sat down. Ramborg followed and stood before him, looking down at her husband: his broad thighs in the wet, muddy hose, his stout body, his heavy reddish-brown face. Her lip curled with displeasure.\n\n\"You've grown so ugly over the years, Simon.\"\n\n\"Well, I've never thought myself to be a handsome man,\" he said calmly.\n\n\"But I'm young and pretty....\" She sat down on his lap, the tears pouring from her eyes as she held his head in her hands. \"Simon, look at me. Why can't you reward me for this? Never have I wanted to belong to anyone but you. It's what I dreamed of ever since I was a little maiden: that my husband would be a man like you. Do you remember how we were once allowed to follow along with you, both Ulvhild and I? You were going with Father to the west pasture, to look at his foals. You carried Ulvhild over the creek, and Father was going to lift me up, but I cried that I wanted you to carry me too. Do you remember?\"\n\nSimon nodded. He remembered paying a great deal of attention to Ulvhild because he thought it so sad that the lovely child was crippled. Of the youngest daughter he had no memory, except that he knew there was a girl younger than Ulvhild.\n\n\"You had the most beautiful hair....\" Ramborg ran her fingers through the lock of wavy light-brown hair that fell over her husband's forehead. \"And there's still not a single streak of gray. Erlend's hair will soon be as much white as black. And I always loved to see the deep dimples in your cheeks when you smiled... and the fact that you had such a merry voice.\"\n\n\"Yes, no doubt I looked a little better back then than I do now.\"\n\n\"No,\" she whispered fiercely. \"When you look at me tenderly... Do you remember the first time I slept in your arms? I was in bed, whimpering over a toothache. Father and Mother were asleep, and it was dark in the loft, but you came over to the bench where we lay, Ulvhild and I, and asked me why I was crying. You told me to hush and not wake the others; then you lifted me in your arms. You lit a candle and cut a splinter of wood and then poked at my gums around the aching tooth until you drew blood. Then you said a prayer over the splinter, and the tooth didn't hurt anymore. And I was allowed to sleep in your bed, and you held me in your arms.\"\n\nSimon placed his hand on her head, pressing it to his shoulder. Now that she spoke of it, he remembered. It was when he had come to J\u00f8rundgaard to tell Lavrans that the bond between him and Kristin had to be broken. He had slept very little that night. And now he recalled that he had gotten up to tend to little Ramborg, who lay fretting over a toothache.\n\n\"Have I ever behaved toward you in such a way, my Ramborg, that you thought it right to say that I didn't love you?\"\n\n\"Simon... don't you think I might deserve that you loved me more than Kristin? She was wicked and dishonest toward you, while I have stayed with you like a little lapdog all these years.\"\n\nGently Simon lifted her off his lap, stood up, and took her hands in his.\n\n\"Speak no more of your sister, Ramborg\u2014not in that manner. I wonder whether you even realize what you're saying. Don't you think that I fear God? Can you believe that I would be so unafraid of shame and the worst of sins, or that I wouldn't think of my children and all my kinsmen and friends? I'm your husband, Ramborg. Don't forget that, and don't talk of such things to me.\"\n\n\"I know you haven't broken any of God's commandments or breached any laws or code of honor.\"\n\n\"Never have I spoken a word to your sister or touched her with my hand in any way that I cannot defend on the Day of Judgment. This I swear before God and the apostle Saint Simon.\"\n\nRamborg nodded silently.\n\n\"Do you think your sister would have treated me as she has all these years if she thought, as you do, that I love her with sinful desire? Then you don't know Kristin.\"\n\n\"Oh, she has never thought about whether any man might desire her, except for Erlend. She hardly notices that the rest of us are flesh and blood.\"\n\n\"Yes, what you say is probably true, Ramborg,\" replied Simon calmly. \"But then you must realize how senseless it is for you to torment me with your jealousy.\"\n\nRamborg pulled her hands away.\n\n\"I didn't mean to do so, Simon. But you've never loved me the way you love her. She is still always in your thoughts, but you seldom think of me unless you see me.\"\n\n\"I'm not to blame, Ramborg, if a man's heart is created in such a fashion that whatever is inscribed on it when it's young and fresh is carved deeper than all the runes that are later etched.\"\n\n\"Haven't you ever heard the saying that a man's heart is the first thing to come alive in his mother's womb and the last thing to die inside him?\" replied Ramborg quietly.\n\n\"No... Is there such a saying? That might well be true.\" Lightly he caressed her cheek. \"But if we're going to get any sleep tonight, we should go to bed now,\" he said wearily.\n\nRamborg fell asleep after a while. Simon slipped his arm out from under her neck, moved over to the very edge of the bed, and pulled the fur covers all the way up to his chin. His shirt was soaked through at the shoulder from her tears. He felt a bitter sympathy for his wife, but at the same time he realized with renewed bewilderment that he could no longer treat her as if she were a blind and inexperienced child. Now he had to acknowledge that Ramborg was a full-grown woman.\n\nGray light appeared in the windowpane; the May night was fading. He was dead tired, and tomorrow was the Sabbath. He wouldn't go to church in the morning, even though he might need to. He had once promised Lavrans that he would never miss a mass without an exceedingly good reason. But it hadn't helped him much to keep that promise during all these years, he thought bitterly. Tomorrow he was not going to ride to mass."
            },
            {
                "title": "DEBTORS",
                "text": "Kristin did not hear a full account of what had happened between Erlend and Simon. Her husband told her and Bj\u00f8rgulf what Simon had said about his journey to Dyfrin, and he said that afterward they had exchanged words and ended up parting as foes. \"I can't tell you any more than that.\"\n\nErlend was rather pale, his expression firm and resolute. She had seen him look that way only a few times before, in all the years she had been married to him. She knew that this was something he would refuse to discuss any further.\n\nShe had never liked it when Erlend countered her questions with that expression. God only knew she didn't consider herself more than a simple woman; she would have preferred to avoid taking responsibility for anything but her own children and her household duties. And yet she had been forced to deal with so many things that seemed to her more appropriate concerns for a man to handle. But Erlend had thought it quite reasonable to let them rest on her shoulders. So it didn't suit him to act so overbearing and to rebuff her when she wanted to know about things that he had undertaken on his own that would affect the welfare of them all.\n\nShe took this enmity between Erlend and Simon Darre greatly to heart. Ramborg was her only sister. And when she thought about losing Simon's companionship, she realized for the first time how fond she had become of this man and how much gratitude she owed him. His loyal friendship had been the best support she had in her difficult situation.\n\nShe knew that now people would be talking about this all over the countryside: that the folks of J\u00f8rundgaard had quarreled with Simon of Formo too. Simon and Ramborg were liked and respected by everyone. But most people regarded Kristin, her husband, and her sons with suspicion and ill will; this was something she had noticed long ago. Now they would be so alone.\n\nKristin felt as if she would sink into the earth from sorrow and shame on that first Sunday when she arrived at the green in front of the church and saw Simon standing a short distance away, among a group of farmers. He greeted her and her family with a nod, but it was the first time he didn't come over to shake hands and talk with them.\n\nRamborg did come over to her sister and took her hand. \"It's dreadful that our husbands have fallen into discord, but you and I need not quarrel because of that.\" She stood on her toes to kiss Kristin so that everyone in the churchyard could see it. Kristin wasn't sure why, but she seemed to sense that Ramborg was not as sad as she might have been. She had never liked Erlend; God only knew whether she had set her husband against him, intentionally or not.\n\nAnd yet Ramborg always came over to greet her sister whenever they met at church. Ulvhild asked in a loud voice why her aunt didn't come south to visit them anymore; then she ran over to Erlend, to cling to him and his oldest sons. Arngjerd stood quietly at her stepmother's side, took Kristin's hand, and looked embarrassed. Simon and Erlend, along with his sons, vigilantly avoided each other.\n\nKristin greatly missed her sister's children as well. She had grown fond of the two maidens. One day when Ramborg brought her son to mass, Kristin kissed Andres after the service and then burst into tears. She loved this tiny, frail boy so dearly. She couldn't help it, but now that she no longer had any small children of her own, it was a comfort to her to look after this little nephew from Formo and pamper him whenever his parents brought him along to J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nFrom Gaute she learned a little more about the matter because he told her what words were spoken between Erlend and Simon on that night when they met at Skindfeld-Gudrun's hut. The longer Kristin thought about it, the more it seemed to her that Erlend was most at fault. She had felt bitter toward Simon because he ought to have known his kinsman well enough to realize that Erlend would not have betrayed and deceived his brother in any dishonorable way, no matter how many strange things he might do out of recklessness or on impulse. And whenever Erlend saw what he had done, he usually behaved like a skittish stallion that has torn its reins loose and become wild with fright at what is dragging along behind.\n\nBut Erlend never seemed to understand that sometimes other people needed to protect their own interests in the face of the mischief that he had such a rare talent for stirring up. Then Erlend would fail to guard his tongue or watch how he behaved. She remembered from her own experience, back when she was still young and tender; time after time she had felt as if he were trampling on her heart with his reckless behavior. He had driven away his own brother. Even before Gunnulf entered the monastery, he had withdrawn from them, and she knew that Erlend was to blame. He had so often offended his pious and worthy brother, even though Gunnulf had never done anything but good for Erlend, as far as she knew. Now he had pushed Simon away, and when she wanted to know what had caused this animosity between him and their only friend, Erlend merely gave her a stubborn look and said he couldn't tell her.\n\nShe could see that he had told Naakkve more.\n\nKristin felt dismayed and uneasy when she noticed that Erlend and her eldest son would fall silent or change the topic of their conversation as soon as she came near, and this was not a rare occurrence.\n\nGaute and Lavrans and Munan kept closer to their mother than Nikulaus had ever done, and she had always talked more to them than to him. And yet she still felt that of all her children, her firstborn son was in some sense closest to her heart. After she had returned to live at J\u00f8rundgaard, memories of the time when she bore this son under her heart and gave birth to him became strangely vivid and alive. For she noticed in so many ways that the people of Sil had not forgotten the sins of her youth. It was almost as if they felt she had tarnished the honor of the entire region when she, daughter of the man who was regarded as their chieftain, had gone astray. They had not forgiven her, or the fact that she and Erlend had added mockery to Lavrans's sorrow and shame when they fooled him into giving away a seduced maiden with the grandest wedding that had ever been seen in Gudbrandsdal.\n\nKristin didn't know whether Erlend realized that people had begun gossiping about these old subjects again. If he did, he probably paid them no mind. He considered her neighbors no more than homespun farmers and fools, every one of them. And he taught his sons to think the same. It pained her soul to know that these people who had wished her so well back when she was Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n's pretty daughter, the rose of the northern valley, now despised Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n and his wife and judged them harshly. She didn't plead with them; she didn't weep because she had become a stranger among them. But it hurt nevertheless. And it seemed as if even the steep mountains surrounding the valley that had sheltered her childhood now looked differently at her and her home: black with menace and stone-gray with a fierce determination to subdue her.\n\nOnce she had wept bitterly. Erlend knew about it, and he had had little patience with her back then. When he discovered that she had walked alone for many months with the burden of his child under her frightened, sorrowful heart, he did not take her in his arms and console her with tender and loving words. He was bitter and ashamed that it would come out how dishonorably he had acted toward Lavrans. But he hadn't thought about how much more difficult it would be for her on that day when she stood in disgrace before her proud and loving father.\n\nAnd Erlend had not greeted his son with much joy when she finally brought the child into the light of life. That moment when her soul was released from endless anguish and dread and torment and she saw the hideous, shapeless fruit of her sin come alive under the fervent prayers of the priest and become the most beloved and healthy of children, then it felt as if her heart would melt with humble joy, and even the hot, defiant blood of her body turned to sweet, white, innocent milk. Yes, with God's help the boy would doubtless become a man, Erlend had said as she lay in bed, wanting him to rejoice with her over this precious treasure, which she could hardly bear to let out of her arms when the women wanted to tend to the child. He loved the children he had by Eline Ormsdatter\u2014that much she had both seen and sensed\u2014but when she carried Naakkve over to Erlend and tried to place him in his father's arms, Erlend wrinkled his nose and asked what he was supposed to do with this infant who leaked from both ends. For years Erlend would only grudgingly look at his eldest, lawfully born son, unable to forget that Naakkve had come into the world at an inopportune time. And yet the boy was such a handsome and good and promising child that any father would rejoice to see such a son grow up to succeed him.\n\nFrom the time he was quite little, Naakkve loved his father so dearly that it was wondrous to behold. His whole small, fair face would light up like the sun whenever his father took him on his knee for a moment and spoke a few words to him or he was allowed to hold his father's hand to cross the courtyard. Steadfastly Naakkve had courted his father's favor during that time when Erlend was more fond of all his other children than the eldest. Bj\u00f8rgulf was his father's favorite when the boys were small, and occasionally Erlend would take his sons along to the armory when he went up there. That was where all the armor and weapons were kept that were not in daily use at Husaby. While his father talked and bantered with Bj\u00f8rgulf, Naakkve would sit quietly on top of a chest, simply breathing with happiness because he was allowed to be there.\n\nBut as time passed and Bj\u00f8rgulf's poor eyesight meant that he could not accompany Erlend as readily as his other sons, and Bj\u00f8rg ulf also grew more taciturn and withdrawn, things changed. Erlend began to seem almost a little embarrassed in the boy's presence. Kristin wondered whether Bj\u00f8rgulf, in his heart, blamed his father for destroying their well-being and taking his sons' future with him when he fell\u2014and whether Erlend knew or guessed as much. However that might be, Bj\u00f8rgulf was the only one of Erlend's sons who did not seem to look up to him with blind love and boundless pride at calling him Father.\n\nOne morning the two smallest boys noticed that Erlend was reading from the prayer book and fasting on bread and water. They asked him why he was doing this since it wasn't a fast day. Erlend replied that it was because of his sins. Kristin knew that these fast days were part of the penance that had been imposed upon Erlend for breaking his marriage vows with Sunniva Olavsdatter, and she knew that her oldest sons were aware of this. Naakkve and Gaute seemed untroubled by it, but she happened to glance at Bj\u00f8rgulf at that moment. The boy was sitting at the table, squinting nearsightedly at his bowl of food and chuckling to himself. Kristin had seen Gunnulf smile that way several times when Erlend was being most boastful. She didn't like it.\n\nNow it was Naakkve whom Erlend always wanted to take along. And the youth seemed to come alive, as if all his roots were attached to his father. Naakkve served his father the way a young page serves his lord and chieftain. He took care of his father's horse himself and kept his harnesswork and weapons in order. He fastened Erlend's spurs on his feet and brought his hat and cape when Erlend was going out. He filled his father's goblet and served him slices of meat at the table, sitting on the bench just to the right of Erlend's seat. Erlend jested a bit over the boy's chivalrous and noble manners, but he was pleased, and he commanded more and more of Naakkve's attention.\n\nKristin saw that Erlend had now completely forgotten how she had struggled and begged to win from him a scrap of fatherly love for this child. And Naakkve had forgotten the time when she was the one he turned to, seeking solace from all his ills and advice for all his troubles when he was little. He had always been a loving son toward his mother, and he still was in many ways, but she felt that the older the boy became, the farther away he moved from her and her concerns. Naakkve lacked all sense for what she had to cope with. He was never disobliging when she gave him a task to do, but he was oddly awkward and clumsy at anything that might be called farm work. He did the chores without interest or desire and never finished anything. His mother thought that in many ways he was not unlike his deceased half brother, Orm Er lendss\u00f8n; he also resembled him in appearance. But Naakkve was strong and healthy, a lively dancer and sportsman, an excellent bowman and tolerably skilled in the use of other weapons, a good horseman and a superb skier. Kristin spoke about this one day to Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, Naakkve's foster father.\n\nUlf said, \"No one has lost more from Erlend's folly than that boy. There is not another youth growing up in Norway today who would make a more splendid horseman and chieftain than Naakkve.\"\n\nBut Kristin saw that Naakkve never gave a thought to what his father had ruined for him.\n\nAt that time there was once again great unrest in Norway, and rumors were flying all through the valleys, some of them reasonable and some of them completely unlikely. The noblemen in the south and west of the kingdom as well as in the uplands had grown exceedingly discontented with the rule of King Magnus. It was said they had even threatened to take up arms, rally the peasantry, and force Lord Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n to rule in accordance with their wishes and advice; otherwise they would proclaim his cousin, the young Jon Haftorss\u00f8n of Sudrheim, their king. His mother, Lady Agnes, was the daughter of the blessed King Haakon Haalegg. Not much was heard from Jon himself, but his brother Sigurd was supposed to be in the vanguard of the entire enterprise, and Bjarne, Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's young son, was also part of it. People said that Sigurd had promised that if Jon became king, he would take one of Bjarne's sisters as his queen because the maidens of Giske were also descended from the ancient Norwegian kings. Sir Ivar Ogmundss\u00f8n, who had formerly been one of King Magnus's most ardent supporters, was now said to have joined forces with these young noblemen, as had many others among the wealthiest and most highborn of men. People said that Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n himself and the bishop of Bj\u00f8rgvin stood behind the effort.\n\nKristin paid little mind to these rumors; she thought bitterly that she and her family were commoners now and the affairs of the realm no longer concerned them. And yet she had talked about this a bit with Simon Andress\u00f8n during the previous fall, and she also knew that he had spoken of it to Erlend. But she saw that Simon was loath to discuss such things\u2014partly, no doubt, because he disapproved of his brothers getting involved in such dangerous matters. And Gyrd, at any rate, was being led along by his wife's kinsmen. But Simon also feared that it wouldn't be pleasant for Erlend to hear such talk since he had been born to take his place among men who counseled the rulers of Norway, but now misfortune had shut him out from the company of his peers.\n\nAnd yet Kristin saw that Erlend spoke of these matters with his sons. One day she heard Naakkve say, \"But if these men win out against King Magnus, then surely they can't be so cowardly, Father, that they wouldn't take up your case and force the king to make amends with you.\"\n\nErlend laughed.\n\nHis son continued, \"You were the first to show the way to these men and remind them that it was never the custom among Norwegian nobles in the past to sit back calmly and tolerate injustice from their kings. It cost you your ancestral estates and your position as sheriff. The men who supported you escaped without a scratch. You alone have paid the price for all of them.\"\n\n\"Yes, and that's all the more reason why they would want to forget me,\" said Erlend with a laugh. \"And the archbishopric has acquired Husaby against a loan. I don't think the gentlemen of the council will urge impoverished King Magnus to redeem it.\"\n\n\"The king is your kinsman, as are Sigurd Haftorss\u00f8n and most of the other men,\" replied Naakkve vehemently. \"Not without shame can they desert the man who carried his shield with honor to the borderlands of the north and cleared Finnmark and the Gandvik coast of the enemies of God and the Crown. Then they would indeed be miserable cowards.\"\n\nErlend gave a whistle. \"Son, one thing I can tell you. I don't know how this venture of the Haftorss\u00f8ns will end, but I would wager my own neck they don't dare show Lord Magnus the naked blade of a Norwegian sword. Talk and compromise are what I think will result, with not a single arrow fired. And those fellows won't exert themselves for my sake, because they know me and realize that I'm not as squeamish about honed steel as some of the others.\n\n\"Kinsmen you say... Yes, they're your third cousins, both Magnus and those sons of Haftor. I remember them from the time I served at King Haakon's court. It was fortunate that my kinswoman Lady Agnes was the daughter of a king; otherwise she might have found herself out on the wharves, pulling in fish, if a woman like your mother, out of pious mercy, didn't hire her to help out in the cowshed. More than once I've wiped the snouts of those Haftorss\u00f8ns when they had to appear before their grandfather, and they came racing into the hall as snot-nosed as if they had just crept from their mother's lap. And if I gave them a swat out of loving kinship, to teach them some proper manners, they would shriek like stuck pigs. I hear they've made men of these Sudrheim changelings at last. But if you expect to receive the help of kinsmen from those quarters, you'd be looking for solace in the backside of a dog.\"\n\nLater Kristin said to Erlend, \"Naakkve is so young, my dear husband. Don't you think it's unwise to speak so openly about such matters with him?\"\n\n\"You speak so gently, my dear wife,\" replied Erlend with a smile, \"that I see you wish to rebuke me. When I was Naakkve's age, I was headed north to Varg\u00f8y for the first time. If Lady Inge bj\u00f8rg had remained loyal to me,\" he exclaimed vehemently, \"I would have sent Naakkve and Gaute to serve her. In Denmark there might have been a future for two intrepid adventurers skilled with weapons.\"\n\n\"When I gave birth to these children,\" said Kristin bitterly, \"I didn't think that our sons would seek their living in a foreign land.\"\n\n\"You know I didn't intend that either,\" said Erlend. \"But man proposes, God disposes.\"\n\nThen Kristin told herself that it wasn't simply that she felt a stab in her heart every time she noticed that Erlend and her sons, now that they were getting older, acted as if their concerns were beyond the comprehension of a woman. But she feared Erlend's reckless tongue; he never remembered that his sons were little more than children.\n\nAnd yet as young as the boys were\u2014Nikulaus was now seventeen winters old, Bj\u00f8rgulf would be sixteen, and Gaute would turn fifteen in the fall\u2014all three had a certain way with women that made their mother uneasy.\n\nAdmittedly nothing had happened that she could point to. They didn't run after women, they were never coarse or discourteous in speech, and they didn't like it when the servant men told vulgar stories or brought filthy rumors back to the manor. But Erlend too had always been very chivalrous and seemly; she had seen him blush at words over which both her father and Simon laughed heartily. But at the time she had vaguely felt that the other two laughed the way peasants laugh at tales about the Devil, while learned men, who know better his ferocious cunning, have little affection for such jests.\n\nEven Erlend could not be called guilty of the sin of running after women; only people who didn't know the man would think he had loose ways, meaning that he had lured women to himself and then deliberately led them astray. She never denied that Erlend had had his way with her without resorting to seductive arts and without using deceit or force. And she was certain that it was not Erlend who had done the seducing in the case of the two married women with whom he had sinned. But when loose women approached him with bold and provocative manners, she had seen him turn into an inquisitive youth; an air of concealed and impetuous frivolity would come over the man.\n\nWith anguish she thought she could see that the sons of Erlend took after their father in this regard. They always forgot to think about how others would judge them before they acted, although afterward they would take what was said to heart. And when women greeted them with smiles and gentleness, they didn't become shy or sullen or awkward, as did most young boys their age. They would smile back and talk and behave as freely and easily as if they had been at the king's court and were familiar with royal customs. Kristin feared they would get mixed up in some misfortune or trouble out of sheer innocence. She thought the wealthy wives and daughters, as well as the poor servingwomen, were all much too flirtatious with these handsome boys. But like other young men, they would grow furious afterward if anyone teased them about a woman. Frida Styrkaarsdatter was particularly fond of doing this. She was a foolish woman, in spite of her age; she wasn't much younger than her mistress, and she had given birth to two bastard children. She had had difficulty even finding the father of the younger child. But Kristin had offered the poor thing a protective hand. Because Frida had nursed Bj\u00f8rgulf and Skule with such care and affection, the mistress was quite indulgent toward this serving maid, even though she was annoyed that the woman was always talking to the boys about young maidens.\n\nKristin now thought it would be best if she could marry off her sons at a young age, but she knew this wouldn't be easy. The men whose daughters would be equal matches for Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf by birth and blood would not think her sons wealthy enough. And the condemnation and royal enmity their father had brought down upon himself would stand in the way if the boys tried to improve their lot through service with greater noblemen. With bitterness she thought about the days when Erlend and Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n had spoken of a marriage between Naakkve and one of the lord's daughters.\n\nShe knew of one or another young maiden now growing up in the valleys who might be suitable: wealthy and of good lineage, although for several generations their forefathers had refrained from serving at the king's court and had stayed home in their parishes. But she couldn't bear the thought that Erlend might be refused if they should make an offer to one of these landowners. In this situation Simon Darre would have been the best spokesman, but now Erlend had deprived them of his help.\n\nShe didn't think any of her sons had a desire to serve the Church, except perhaps Gaute or Lavrans. But Lavrans was still so young. And Gaute was the only one of the boys who gave her any real help with the estate.\n\nStorms and snow had wreaked havoc with the fences that year, and the snowfall before Holy Cross Day had delayed the repairs, so the workers had to press hard to finish in time. For this reason, Kristin sent Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf off one day to mend the fence around a field up near the main road.\n\nIn midafternoon Kristin went out to see how the boys were handling the unaccustomed chore. Bj\u00f8rgulf was working over by the lane leading to the manor; she stopped for a while to talk with him. Then she continued northward. There she saw Naakkve leaning over the fence and talking to a woman on horseback who had stopped at the side of the road, right next to the rails. He stroked the horse and then grabbed the girl's ankle, moving his hand, as if carelessly, up her leg under her clothing.\n\nThe maiden was the first to notice Kristin. She blushed and said something to Naakkve. Quickly he pulled his hand away and looked a little abashed. The girl was about to ride off, but Kristin called out a greeting and then talked to the maiden for a moment, asking about her kinswoman. The young girl was the niece of the mistress of Ulvsvold and had recently arrived for a visit. Kristin pretended that she hadn't seen anything, talking to Naakkve about the fence after the maiden had gone.\n\nNot long after, Kristin happened to stay at Ulvsvold for two weeks' time because the mistress gave birth to a child and was then quite ill. Kristin was both her neighbor and considered the most capable healer in the region. Naakkve often came over with messages and queries for his mother, and the niece, Eyvor Haakonsdatter, would always find the opportunity to meet and talk with him. Kristin wasn't pleased by this; she had taken a disliking to the maiden and didn't find her beautiful, although she had heard that most men did. She was happy on the day she learned that Eyvor had returned home to Raumsdal.\n\nBut she didn't think Naakkve had been particularly fond of Eyvor, especially when she heard that Frida kept chattering about the daughter at Loptsgaard, Aasta Audunsdatter, and teasing Naakkve about her.\n\nOne day Kristin was in the brewhouse, boiling a juniper decoction, when she heard Frida once again carrying on about Aasta. Naakkve was with Gaute and their father outside behind the courtyard. They were building a boat that they wanted to take up to the small fishing lake in the mountains. Erlend was a moderately good boatbuilder. Naakkve grew cross, and then Gaute began to tease him too: Aasta might be a suitable match.\n\n\"Ask for her hand yourself if that's what you think,\" said his brother heatedly.\n\n\"No, I don't want her,\" replied Gaute, \"because I've heard that red hair and pine forests thrive on meager soil. But you think that red hair is pretty.\"\n\n\"That saying can't be used about women, my son,\" said Erlend with a laugh. \"Those with red hair usually have soft white skin.\"\n\nFrida laughed uproariously, but Kristin grew angry. She thought this talk too frivolous for such young boys. She also remembered that Sunniva Olavsdatter had red hair, although her friends called it golden.\n\nThen Gaute said, \"You should be glad I didn't say anything; I didn't dare, for fear of sin. On the vigil night of Whitsunday you sat with Aasta in the grain tithe barn all the time we were dancing on the church hill. So you must be fond of her.\"\n\nNaakkve was about to fall upon his brother, but at that moment Kristin came outside. After Gaute had left, she asked her other son, \"What was that Gaute said about you and Aasta Audunsdatter?\"\n\n\"I don't think anything was said that you didn't hear, Mother,\" replied the boy. His face was red, and he frowned angrily.\n\nAnnoyed, Kristin said, \"It's unseemly that you young people can't hold a vigil night without dancing and leaping about between services. We never used to do that when I was a maiden.\"\n\n\"But you've told us yourself, Mother, that back when you were young, our grandfather used to sing while the people danced on the church hill.\"\n\n\"Well, not those kinds of ballads and not such wild dancing,\" said his mother. \"And we children stayed properly with our parents; we didn't go off two by two and sit in the barn.\"\n\nNaakkve was about to make an angry retort. Then Kristin happened to glance at Erlend. He was smiling so slyly as he eyed the plank he was about to cut with an axe. Indignant and dismayed, she went back inside the brewhouse.\n\nBut she thought a good deal about what she had heard. Aasta Audunsdatter was not a poor match; Loptsgaard was a wealthy estate, and there were three daughters, but no son. And Ingebj\u00f8rg, Aasta's mother, belonged to an exceedingly good lineage.\n\nShe had never thought that one day the people of J\u00f8rundgaard might call Audun Torbergss\u00f8n kinsman. But he had suffered a stroke this past winter, and everyone thought he had little time left to live. The girl was seemly and charming in manner, and clever, or so Kristin had heard. If Naakkve had great affection for the maiden, there was no reason to oppose this marriage. They would still have to wait for two more years to hold the wedding, as young as Aasta and Naakkve both were, but then she would gladly welcome Aasta as her son's wife.\n\nOn a fine day in the middle of the summer Sira Solmund's sister came to see Kristin to borrow something. The women were standing outside the house to say their farewells when the priest's sister said, \"Well, that Eyvor Haakonsdatter!\" Her father had driven her from his estate because she was with child, so she had sought refuge at Ulvsvold.\n\nNaakkve had been up in the loft; now he stopped on the lowest step. When his mother caught a glimpse of his face, she was suddenly so overcome that she could hardly feel her own legs beneath her. The boy was crimson all the way up to his ears as he walked away toward the main house.\n\nBut Kristin soon understood from the other woman's gossip that things must have been such with Eyvor long before she came to their parish for the first time in the spring. My poor, innocent boy, thought Kristin, sighing with relief. He must be ashamed that he thought well of the girl.\n\nA few nights later Kristin was alone in bed because Erlend had gone out fishing. As far as she knew, Naakkve and Gaute had gone along with him. But she was awakened when Naakkve touched her and whispered that he needed to talk to her. He climbed up and sat at the foot of her bed.\n\n\"Mother, I've been out to talk with that poor woman Eyvor tonight. I was sure they were lying about her; I was so certain that I would have held a glowing piece of iron in my hand to prove that she was lying\u2014that magpie from Romundgaard.\"\n\nKristin lay still and waited. Naakkve tried to speak firmly, but suddenly his voice threatened to break with emotion and distress.\n\n\"She was on her way to matins on the last day of Christmas. She was alone, and the road from their manor passes through the woods for a long stretch. There she met two men. It was still dark. She doesn't know who they were, maybe foresters from the mountains. In the end she couldn't defend herself any longer, the poor young child. She didn't dare tell her troubles to anyone. When her mother and father discovered her misfortune, they drove her from home, with slaps and curses as they pulled her hair. When she told me all this, Mother, she wept so hard that it would have melted a rock in the hills.\" Naakkve abruptly fell silent, breathing heavily.\n\nKristin said she thought it the worst misfortune that those villains had escaped. She hoped that God's justice would find them and that for their deeds they might suffer their just deserts on the executioner's block.\n\nThen Naakkve began to talk about Eyvor's father, how rich he was and how he was related to several respected families. Eyvor intended to send the child away to be raised in another parish. Gudmund Darre's wife had given birth to a bastard child by a priest, and there sat Sigrid Andresdatter at Kruke, a good and honored woman. A man would have to be both hardhearted and unfair to pronounce Eyvor despoiled because against her will she had been forced to suffer such shame and misfortune; surely she was still fit to be the wife of an honorable man.\n\nKristin pitied the girl and cursed her assailants, and in her heart she gave thanks and exulted over what good luck it was that Naakkve would not come of age for three more years. Then she told him gently to bear in mind that he should be careful not to seek out Eyvor in her chamber late at night, as he had just done, or to show himself at Ulvsvold unless he had tasks for the landowner's servants. Otherwise he might unwittingly cause people to gossip even worse about the unfortunate child. It was all well and good to say that those who claimed to doubt Eyvor's word and refused to believe she had landed in this misfortune without blame, wouldn't find him weak in the arms. All the same, it would be painful for the poor girl if there was more talk.\n\nThree weeks later Eyvor's father came to take his daughter home for a betrothal banquet and wedding. She was to marry a good farmer's son from her parish. At first both fathers had opposed the marriage because they were feuding over several sections of land. In the winter the men had reached an agreement, and the two young people were about to be betrothed, but suddenly Eyvor had refused. She had set her heart on another man. Afterward she realized it was too late for her to reject her first suitor. In the meantime she went to visit her aunt in Sil, no doubt thinking that there she would receive help in concealing her shame, because she wanted to marry this new man. But when Hillebj\u00f8rg of Ulvsvold saw what condition the girl was in, she sent her back to her parents. The rumors were true enough\u2014her father was furious and had struck his daughter several times, and she had indeed fled to Ulvsvold\u2014but now he had come to an agreement with her first suitor, and Eyvor would have to settle for the man, no matter how little she liked it.\n\nKristin saw that Naakkve took this greatly to heart. For days he went around without saying a word, and his mother felt so sorry for him that she hardly dared cast a glance in his direction. If he met his mother's eye, he would turn bright red and look so ashamed that it cut Kristin to the heart.\n\nWhenever the servants at J\u00f8rundgaard started talking about these events, their mistress would tell them sharply to hold their tongues. That filthy story and that wretched woman were not to be mentioned in her house. Frida was astonished. So many times she had heard Kristin Lavransdatter speak with forbearance and offer help with both hands to a maiden who had fallen into such misfortune. Frida herself had twice found salvation in the compassion of her mistress. But the few words Kristin said about Eyvor Haakonsdatter were as vile as anything a woman might say about another.\n\nErlend laughed when she told him how badly Naakkve had been fooled. It was one evening when she was sitting out on the green, spinning, and her husband came over and stretched out on the grass at her side.\n\n\"No misfortune has come of it,\" said Erlend. \"Rather, it seems to me the boy has paid a small price to learn that a man shouldn't trust a woman.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" said his wife. Her voice quivered with stifled indignation.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend, smiling. \"Now you, when I first met you, I thought you were such a gentle maiden that you would hardly even take a bite out of a slice of cheese. As pliable as a silk ribbon and as mild as a dove. But you certainly fooled me, Kristin.\"\n\n\"How do you think things would have gone for all of us if I had been that soft and gentle?\" she asked.\n\n\"No...\" Erlend took her hands, and she had to stop working. He looked up at her with a radiant smile. Then he laid his head in her lap. \"No, I didn't know, my sweet, what good fortune God was granting me when He set you in my path, Kristin.\"\n\nBut because she constantly had to restrain herself in order to hide her despair at Erlend's perpetual nonchalance, her anger would sometimes overwhelm her when she had to reprimand her sons. Her fists would turn harsh, and her words fierce. Ivar and Skule felt the brunt of it.\n\nThey were at the worst age, their thirteenth year, and so wild and willful that Kristin often wondered in utter despair whether any mother in Norway had ever given birth to such rogues. They were handsome, as all her children were, with black, silky soft, and curly hair, blue eyes beneath black brows, and lean, finely shaped faces. They were quite tall for their age, but still narrow-shouldered, with long, spare limbs. Their joints stood out like knots on a sprig of grain. They looked so much alike that no one outside their home could tell them apart, and in the countryside people called them the J\u00f8rundgaard swords\u2014but it wasn't meant as a title of honor. Simon had first given them this name in jest because Erlend had presented each of them with a sword, and they never let these small swords out of their grasp except when they were in church. Kristin wasn't pleased with this gift, or with the fact that they were always rushing around with axes, spears, and bows. She feared it would land these hot-tempered boys in some kind of trouble. But Erlend said curtly that they were old enough now to become accustomed to carrying weapons.\n\nShe lived in constant fear for these twin sons of hers. When she didn't know where they were, she would secretly wring her hands and implore the Virgin Mary and Saint Olav to lead them back home, alive and unharmed. They went through mountain passes and up steep cliffs where no one had ever traveled before. They plundered eagles' nests and came home with hideous yellow-eyed fledglings hissing inside their tunics. They climbed among the boulders along the Laag and north in the gorge where the river plunged from one waterfall to the next. Once Ivar was nearly dragged to his death by his stirrups; he was trying to ride a half-tame young stallion, and God only knew how the boys had managed to put a saddle on the animal. And by chance, out of simple curiosity, they had ventured into the Finn's hut in Toldstad Forest. They had learned a few words of the Sami language from their father, and when they used them to greet the Finnish witch, she welcomed them with food and drink. They had eaten until they were bursting, even though it was a fast day. Kristin had always strictly enjoined that when the grownups were fasting, the children should make do with a small portion of food they didn't care for; it was what her own parents had accustomed her to when she was a child. For once Erlend also took his sons sternly to task. He burned all the tidbits that the Finnish woman had given the boys as provisions, and he strictly forbade them ever to approach even the outskirts of the woods where the Finns lived. And yet it amused him to hear about the boys' adventure. Later he would often tell Ivar and Skule about his travels up north and what he had observed of the ways of those people. And he would talk to the boys in that ugly and heathen language of theirs.\n\nOtherwise Erlend almost never chastised his children, and whenever Kristin complained about the wild behavior of the twins, Erlend would dismiss it with a jest. At home on the estate they got into a great deal of mischief, although they could make themselves useful if they had to; they weren't clumsy-handed like Naakkve. But occasionally, when their mother had given them some chore to do and she went out to see how it was going, she would find the tools lying on the ground and the boys would be watching their father, who might be showing them how seafaring men tied knots.\n\nWhen Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n painted tar crosses over the door to the livestock stalls or in other such places, he used to add a few flourishes with the brush: drawing a circle around the cross or painting a stroke through each of its arms. One day the twins decided to use one of these old crosses as a target. Kristin was beside herself with fury and despair at such unchristian behavior, but Erlend came to the children's defense. They were so young; they shouldn't be expected to think about the holiness of the cross every time they saw it painted above the door of a shed or on the back of a cow. The boys would be told to go up to the cross on the church hill, kneel down, and kiss it as they said five Pater nosters and fifteen Ave Marias. It wasn't necessary to call in Sira Solmund for such a reason. But this time Kristin had the support of Bj\u00f8rgulf and Naakkve. The priest was summoned, and he sprinkled holy water on the wall and reprimanded the two young sinners with great severity.\n\nThey fed oxen and goats the heads of snakes to make them more vicious. They teased Munan because he was still clinging to his mother's skirts, and Gaute because he was the one they fought with most often. Otherwise the sons of Erlend stuck together with the greatest brotherly affection. But sometimes Gaute would give them a thrashing if they were too rough. Trying to talk some sense into them was like talking to a wall. And if their mother grew angry, they would stand there stiffly, their fists clenched, as they scowled at her with flashing eyes beneath frowning brows, their faces fiery red with rage. Kristin thought about what Gunnulf had said about Erlend: He had flung his knife at their father and raised his hand against him many times when he was a child. Then she would strike the twins, and strike them hard, because she was frightened. How would things end up for these children of hers if they weren't tamed in time?\n\nSimon Darre was the only one who had ever had any power over the two wild boys. They loved their uncle, and they always complied whenever he chided them, in a friendly and calm manner. But now that they didn't see him anymore, Kristin hadn't noticed that they missed him. Dejected, she thought how faithless a child's heart could be.\n\nBut secretly, in her own heart, she knew that she was actually proudest of these two. If only she could break their terrible defiant and wild behavior, she thought that none of their brothers would make more promising men than they would. They were healthy, with good physical abilities; they were fearless, honest, generous, and kind toward all the poor. And more than once they had shown an alacrity and resourcefulness that seemed to her far beyond what might be expected of such young boys.\n\nOne evening during the hay harvesting Kristin was up late in the cookhouse when Munan came rushing in, screaming that the old goat shed was on fire. There were no men at home on the manor. Some were in the smithy, sharpening their scythes; some had gone north to the bridge where the young people usually gathered on summer evenings. Kristin grabbed a couple of buckets and set off running, calling to her maids to follow her.\n\nThe goat shed was a little old building with a roof that reached all the way down to the ground. It stood in the narrow passageway between the farmyard and the courtyard of the estate, right across from the stable and with other houses built close on either side. Kristin ran onto the gallery of the hearth house and found a broadaxe and a fire hook, but as she rounded the corner of the stable, she didn't see any fire, just a cloud of smoke billowing out of a hole in the roof of the goat shed. Ivar was sitting up on the ridge, hacking at the roof; Skule and Lavrans were inside, pulling down patches of the thatching and then stomping and trampling out the fire. Now they were joined by Erlend, Ulf, and the men who had been in the smithy. Munan had run over to warn them; so the fire was put out in short order. And yet the most terrible of misfortunes might easily have occurred. It was a sultry, still evening, but with occasional gusts of wind from the south, and if the fire had engulfed the goat shed, all the buildings at the north end of the courtyard\u2014the stable, storerooms, and living quarters\u2014would certainly have burned with it.\n\nIvar and Skule had been up on the stable roof. They had snared a hawk and were going to hang it from the gable when they caught a whiff of fire and saw smoke coming from the roof below them. They leaped to the ground at once, and with the small axes they were carrying they began chopping at the smoldering sod while they sent off Lavrans and Munan, who were playing nearby\u2014one to find hooks and the other to get their mother. Fortunately the rafters and beams in the roof were quite rotten, but it was clear that this time the twins had saved their mother's estate by instantly setting about tearing down the burning roof and not wasting time by first running to get help from the grownups.\n\nIt was hard to understand how the fire had started, except that Gaute had passed that way an hour before, carrying embers to the smithy, and he admitted that the container had not been covered. A spark had probably flown up onto the tinder-dry sod roof.\n\nBut less was said about this than about the quick-wittedness of the twins and Lavrans when Ulf later imposed a fire watch and all the servants kept him company during the night while Kristin had strong ale and mead carried out to them. All three boys had been singed on their hands and feet; their shoes were so burned that they split into pieces. Young Lavrans was only nine years old, so it was hard for him to bear the pain patiently for very long, but from the start he was the proudest of the lot, walking around with his hands wrapped up and taking in the praise of the manor servants.\n\nThat night Erlend took his wife in his arms. \"My Kristin, my Kristin... Don't complain so much about your children. Can't you see, my dear, what good breeding there is in our sons? You always treat these two hearty boys as if you thought their path would lead between the gallows and the execution block. Now it seems to me that you should enjoy some pleasure after all the pain and suffering and toil you've borne through all the years when you constantly carried a child under your belt, with another child at your breast and one on your arm. Back then you would talk of nothing else but those little imps, and now that they've grown up to be both sensible and manly, you walk among them as if you were deaf and dumb, hardly even answering when they speak to you. God help me, but it's as if you love them less now that you no longer have to worry for their sake and these big, handsome sons of ours can give you both help and joy.\"\n\nKristin didn't trust herself to answer with a single word.\n\nBut she lay in bed, unable to sleep. And toward morning she carefully stepped over her slumbering husband and walked barefoot over to the shuttered peephole, which she opened.\n\nThe sky was a hazy gray, and the air was cool. Far off to the south, where the mountains merged and closed off the valley, rain was sweeping over the plateaus. Kristin stood there for a moment, looking out. It was always so hot and stuffy in this loft above the new storeroom where they slept in the summertime. The trace of moisture in the air brought the strong, sweet scent of hay to her. Outside a bird or two chittered faintly in their sleep in the summer night.\n\nKristin rummaged around for her flint and lit a candle stump. She crept over to where Ivar and Skule were sleeping on a bench. She shone the light on them and touched their cheeks with the back of her hand. They both had a slight fever. Softly she said an Ave Maria and made the sign of the cross over them. The gallows and the execution block... to think that Erlend could jest about such things... he who had come so close....\n\nLavrans whimpered and murmured in his sleep. Kristin stood bending over her two youngest sons, who were bedded down on a small bench at the foot of their parents' bed. Lavrans was hot and flushed and tossed back and forth but did not wake up when she touched him.\n\nGaute lay with his milk-white arms behind his head, under his long flaxen hair. He had thrown off all the bedclothes. He was so hot-blooded that he always slept naked, and his skin was such a dazzling white. The tan color of his face, neck, and hands stood out in sharp contrast. Kristin pulled the blanket up around his waist.\n\nIt was difficult for her to be angry with Gaute; he looked so much like her father. She hadn't said much to him about the calamity he had nearly brought upon them. As clever and levelheaded as the boy was, she thought that doubtless he would learn from the incident and not forget it.\n\nNaakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf slept in the other bed up in the loft. Kristin stood there longer, shining the light on the two sleeping young men. Black down already shadowed their childish, soft pink lips. Naakkve's foot was sticking out from the covers, slender, with a high instep, a deep arch over the sole, and not very clean. And yet, she thought, it wasn't long ago that the foot of this man was so small that she could wrap her fingers around it, and she had crushed it to her breast and raised it to her lips, nibbling on each tiny toe, for they were as rosy and sweet as the blossoms on a bilberry twig.\n\nIt was probably true that she didn't pay enough heed to what God had granted her as her lot. The memory of those days when she was carrying Naakkve and the visions of terror she had wrestled with... it could pass with fiery heat through her soul. She had been delivered the way a person wakes up to the blessed light of day after terrifying dreams with the oppressive weight of the mare on her breast. But other women had awakened to see that the unhappiness of the day was worse than the very worst they had dreamed. And yet, whenever she saw a cripple or someone who was deformed, Kristin would feel heartsick at the reminder of her own fear for her unborn child. Then she would humble herself before God and Holy Olav with a burning fervor; she would hasten to do good, striving to force tears of true remorse from her eyes as she prayed. But each time she would feel that unthawed discontent in her heart, the fresh surge would cool, and the sobs would seep out of her soul like water in sand. Then she consoled herself that she didn't have the gift of piety she had once hoped would be her inheritance from her father. She was hard and sinful, but surely she was no worse than most people, and like most people, she would have to bear the fiery blaze of that other world before her heart could be melted and cleansed.\n\nAnd yet sometimes she longed to be different. When she looked at the seven handsome sons sitting at her table or when she made her way up to church on Sabbath mornings as the bells tolled, calling so agreeably to joy and God's peace, and she saw the flock of straight-backed, well-dressed young boys, her sons, climbing the hillside ahead of her... She didn't know of any other woman who had given birth to so many children and had never experienced what it was like to lose one. All of them were handsome and healthy, without a flaw in their physical or mental capacities, although Bj\u00f8rgulf's sight was poor. She wished she could forget her sorrows and be gentle and grateful, fearing and loving God as her father had done. She remembered her father had said that the person who recalls his sins with a humble spirit and bows before the cross of the Lord need never bow his head beneath any earthly unhappiness or injustice.\n\nKristin blew out the candle, pinched the wick, and returned the stump to its place between the uppermost logs in the wall. She went back over to the peephole. It was already daylight outside, but gray and dead. On the lower rooftops, upon which she gazed, the dirty, sun-bleached grass stirred faintly from a gust of wind; a little, rustling sound passed through the leaves of the birches across from the roof of the high loft building.\n\nShe looked down at her hands, holding on to the sill of the peephole. They were rough and worn; her arms were tanned all the way up to her elbows, and her muscles were swollen and as hard as wood. In her youth the children had sucked the blood and milk from her until every trace of maidenly smoothness and fresh plumpness had been sapped from her body. Now each day of toil stripped away a little more of the remnants of beauty that had distinguished her as the daughter, wife, and mother of men with noble blood. The slender white hands, the pale, soft arms, the fair complexion, which she had carefully shielded from sunburn with linen kerchiefs and protected with specially brewed cleansing concoctions... She had long ago grown indifferent to whether the sun shone directly on her face, sweaty from work, and turned it as brown as that of a poor peasant woman.\n\nHer hair was the only thing she had left of her girlish beauty. It was just as luxuriant and brown, even though she seldom found time to wash or tend to it. The heavy, tangled braid that hung down her back hadn't been undone in three days.\n\nKristin pulled it forward over her shoulder, undid the plait, and shook out her hair, which still enveloped her like a cloak and reached below her knees. She took a comb from her chest, and shivering now and then, she sat in her shift beneath the peephole, open to the coolness of the morning, and gently combed out her tangled tresses.\n\nWhen she was done with her hair and had rebraided it in a tight, heavy rope, she felt a little better. Then she cautiously lifted the sleeping Munan into her arms, placed him next to the wall in her husband's bed, and then crawled in between them. She held her youngest child in her arms, rested his head against her shoulder, and fell asleep.\n\nShe slept late the next morning. Erlend and the boys were already up when she awakened. \"I think you've been suckling at your mother's breast when nobody's looking,\" said Erlend when he saw Munan lying next to his mother. The boy grew cross, ran outside, and crept across the gallery, out onto a carved beam atop the posts holding up the gallery. He would prove he was a man. \"Run!\" shouted Naakkve from down in the courtyard. He caught his little brother in his arms, turned him upside down, and tossed him to Bj\u00f8rgulf. The two older boys wrestled with him until he was laughing and shrieking at the same time.\n\nBut the following day when Munan cried because his fingers had been stung by the recoil of the bowstring, the twins rolled him up in a coverlet and carried him over to their mother's bed; in his mouth they stuffed a piece of bread so big that the boy nearly choked."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "Erlend's house priest at Husaby had taught his three oldest sons their lessons. They were not very diligent pupils, but all three learned quickly, and their mother, who had been raised with this kind of book learning, kept an eye on them so that the knowledge they gained was not altogether paltry.\n\nDuring the year that Bj\u00f8rgulf and Naakkve spent with Sira Eiliv at the monastery on Tautra, they had eagerly suckled at the breasts of Lady Wisdom, as the priest expressed it. Their teacher was an exceedingly old monk who had devoted his life with the zeal of a bee to gleaning knowledge from all the books he came across, both in Latin and in Old Norse. Sira Eiliv was himself a lover of wisdom, but during his years at Husaby he had had little opportunity to follow his inclination for bookish pursuits. For him the time spent with Aslak, the teacher, was like pasture grazing for starved cattle. And the two young boys, who kept close to their own priest while staying with the monks, followed the learned conversations of the men with their mouths agape. Then Brother Aslak and Sira Eiliv found joy in feeding these two young minds with the most delectable honey from the monastery's book treasures, which Brother Aslak had supplemented with many copied versions and excerpts of the most magnificent books. Soon the boys grew so clever that the monk seldom had to speak to them in Norwegian, and when their parents came to get them, both could answer the priest in Latin, fluently and correctly.\n\nAfterward the brothers kept up what they had learned. There were many books at J\u00f8rundgaard. Lavrans had owned five. Two of them had been inherited by Ramborg when his estate was settled, but she had never wanted to learn to read, and Simon was not so practiced with written words that he had any desire to read for his own amusement, although he could decipher a letter and compose one himself. So he asked Kristin to keep the books until his children were older. After they were married, Erlend gave Kristin three books that had belonged to his parents. She had received another book as a gift from Gunnulf Nikulauss\u00f8n. He had had it copied for his brother's wife from a book about Holy Olav and his miracles, several other saint legends, and the missive the Franciscan monks of Oslo had sent to the pope about Brother Edvin Rikardss\u00f8n, seeking to have him recognized as a saint. And finally, Naakkve had been given a prayer book by Sira Eiliv when they parted. Naakkve often read to his brother. He read fluently and well, with a slight lilt to his voice, the way Brother Aslak had taught him; he was most fond of the books in Latin\u2014his own prayer book and one that had belonged to Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n. But his greatest treasure was a big, exceptionally splendid book that had been part of the family inheritance ever since the days of the ancestor who was his namesake, Bishop Nikulaus Arness\u00f8n.\n\nKristin wanted her younger sons also to acquire learning that would be fitting for men of their birth. But it was difficult to know how this might be done. Sira Eirik was much too old, and Sira Solmund could read only from those books that he used for the church service. Much of what he read he didn't fully understand. On some evenings Lavrans found it amusing to sit with Naakkve and let his brother show him how to form the letters on his wax tablet, but the other three had absolutely no desire to learn such skills. One day Kristin took out a Norwegian book and asked Gaute to see if he could remember anything of what he had learned in his childhood from Sira Eiliv. But Gaute couldn't even manage to spell his way through three words, and when he came across the first symbol that stood for several letters, he closed the book with a laugh and said he didn't feel like playing that game anymore.\n\nThis was the reason that Sira Solmund came over to J\u00f8rundgaard one evening late in the summer and asked Nikulaus to accompany him home. A foreign knight had come from the Feast of Saint Olav in Nidaros and taken lodgings at Romundgaard, but he spoke no Norwegian. Nor did his soldiers or servants, while the guide who was escorting them spoke only a few words of their language. Sira Eirik was ill in bed. Could Naakkve come over and speak to the man in Latin?\n\nNaakkve was not at all displeased to be asked to act as interpreter, but he feigned nonchalance and went with the priest. He returned home very late, in high spirits and quite drunk. He had been given wine, which the foreign knight had brought along and liberally poured for the priest and the deacon and Naakkve. His name was something like Sir Alland or Allart of Bekelar; he was from Flanders and was making a pilgrimage to various holy shrines in the northern countries. He was exceedingly friendly, and it had been no trouble to talk to him. Then Naakkve mentioned his request. From there the knight was headed for Oslo and then on to pilgrim sites in Denmark and Germany, and now he wanted Naakkve to come with him to be his interpreter, at least while he was in Norway. But he had also hinted that if the youth should accompany him out into the world, then Sir Allart was the man who could make his fortune. Where he came from, it seemed as if golden spurs and necklaces, heavy money pouches, and splendid weapons were simply waiting for a man like young Nikulaus Er lendss\u00f8n to come along and take them. Naakkve had replied that he was not yet of age and would need permission from his father. But Sir Allart had still pressed a gift upon him\u2014he had expressly stated that it would in no way bind him\u2014a knee-length, plum-blue silk tunic with silver bells on the points of the sleeves.\n\nErlend listened to him, saying hardly a word, with an oddly tense expression on his face. When Naakkve was finished, he sent Gaute to get the chest with his writing implements and at once set about composing a letter in Latin. Bj\u00f8rgulf had to help him because Naakkve was in no condition to do much of anything and his father had sent him off to bed. In the letter Erlend invited the knight to his home on the following day, after prime so they might discuss Sir Allart's offer to take the noble-born young man, Nikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n, into his service as his esquire. He asked the knight's forgiveness for returning his gift with the plea that Sir Allart might keep it until Nikulaus, with his father's consent, had been sworn into the man's service in accordance with such customs as prevailed among knights in all the lands.\n\nErlend dripped a little wax on the bottom of the letter and lightly pressed his small seal, the one on his ring, into it. Then he sent a servant boy off to Romundgaard at once with the letter and the silk tunic.\n\n\"Husband, surely you can't be thinking of sending your young son off to distant lands with an unknown foreigner,\" said Kristin, shivering.\n\n\"We shall see....\" Erlend smiled quite strangely. \"But I don't think it's likely,\" he added when he noticed her distress. He smiled again and caressed her cheek.\n\nAt Erlend's request, Kristin had strewn the floor in the high loft with juniper and flowers, placed the best cushions on the benches, and set the table with a linen cloth and good food and drink in fine dishes and the precious silver-chased animal horns they had inherited from Lavrans. Erlend had shaved carefully, curled his hair, and dressed in a black, richly embroidered ankle-length robe made of foreign cloth. He went to meet his guest at the manor gate, and as they crossed the courtyard together, Kristin couldn't help thinking that her husband looked more like the French knights mentioned in the sagas than did the fat, fair-haired stranger in the colorful and resplendent garments made from velvet and sarcenet. She stood on the gallery of the high loft, beautifully attired and wearing a silk wimple. The Flemish man kissed her hand as she bade him bienvenu. She didn't exchange another word with him during all the hours he spent with them. She understood nothing of the men's conversation; nor did Sira Solmund, who had come with his guest. But the priest told the mistress that now he had assuredly made Naakkve's fortune. She neither agreed nor disagreed with him.\n\nErlend spoke a little French and could fluently speak the kind of German that mercenaries spoke; the discussion between him and the foreign knight flowed easily and courteously. But Kristin noticed that the Flemish man did not seem pleased as things progressed, although he strove to conceal his displeasure. Erlend had told his sons to wait over in the loft of the new storehouse until he sent word for them to join them, but they were not sent for.\n\nErlend and his wife escorted the knight and the priest to the gate. When their guests disappeared among the fields, Erlend turned to Kristin and said with that smile she found so distasteful, \"I wouldn't let Naakkve leave the estate with that fellow even to go south to Breidin.\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n came over to them. He and Erlend spoke a few words that Kristin couldn't hear, but Ulf swore fiercely and spat.\n\nErlend laughed and slapped the man on the shoulder. \"Yes, if I'd been such a country dolt as the good farmers around here... But I've seen enough that I wouldn't let my fair young falcons out of my hands by selling them to the Devil. Sira Solmund had no idea, that blessed fool.\"\n\nKristin stood with her arms hanging at her sides, the color ebbing and rising in her face. Horror and shame overcame her, making her feel sick; her legs seemed to lose all strength. She had known about such things\u2014as something endlessly remote\u2014but that this unmentionable might venture as close as her own doorstep... It was like the last wave, threatening to overturn her storm-tossed, overloaded boat. Holy Mary, did she also need to fear that for her sons?\n\nErlend said with the same loathsome smile, \"I already had my doubts last night. Sir Allart seemed to me a little too chivalrous from Naakkve's account. I know that it's not the custom among knights anywhere in the world to welcome a man who is to be taken into service by kissing him on the lips or by giving him costly presents before seeing proof of his abilities.\"\n\nShaking from head to toe, Kristin said, \"Why did you ask me to strew the floor with roses and cover my table with linen cloths for such a\u2014\" And she uttered the worst of words.\n\nErlend frowned. He had picked up a stone and was keeping an eye on Munan's red cat, which was slithering on its stomach through the tall grass along the wall of the house, heading for the chickens near the stable door. Whoosh! He threw the stone. The cat streaked around the corner, and the flock of hens scattered. He turned to face his wife.\n\n\"I thought I could at least have a look at the man. If he had been a trustworthy fellow, then... But in that case I had to show the proper courtesy. I'm not Sir Allart's confessor. And you heard that he's planning to go to Oslo.\" Erlend laughed again. \"Now it's possible that some of my true friends and dear kinsmen from the past may hear that we're not sitting up here at J\u00f8rundgaard shaking the lice from our rags or eating herring and oat lefse.\"\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf had a headache and was lying in bed when Kristin came up to the loft at suppertime, and Naakkve said he didn't want to go over to the main house for the evening meal.\n\n\"You seem to me morose tonight, son,\" said his mother.\n\n\"How can you think that, Mother?\" said Naakkve with a scornful smile. \"The fact that I'm a worse fool than other men and it's easier to throw sand in my eyes... surely that's nothing to be morose about.\"\n\n\"Console yourself,\" said his father as they sat down at the table and Naakkve was still too quiet. \"No doubt you'll go out into the world and have a chance to try your luck.\"\n\n\"That depends, Father,\" replied Naakkve in a low voice, as if he intended only Erlend to hear him, \"whether Bj\u00f8rgulf can go with me.\" Then he laughed softly. \"But talk to Ivar and Skule about what you just said. They're merely waiting to reach the proper age before they set off.\"\n\nKristin stood up and put on her hooded cloak. She was going to go north to tend to the beggar at Ingebj\u00f8rg's hut, she told them when they asked. The twins offered to go along and carry her sack, but she wanted to go alone.\n\nThe evenings were already quite dark, and north of the church the path passed through the woods and beneath the shadow of Hammer Ridge. There gusts of cold wind always issued from Rost Gorge, and the din of the river brought a trace of moisture to the air. Swarms of big white moths hovered and flitted under the trees, sometimes flying straight at her. The pale glow of the linen around her face and on her breast seemed to draw them in the dark. She swatted them away with her hand as she rushed upward, sliding on the slippery carpet of needles and stumbling over the writhing roots that sprawled across the path she was following.\n\nA certain dream had haunted Kristin for many years. The first time she had it was on the night before Gaute was born, but occasionally she would still wake up, soaked with sweat, her heart hammering as if it would shatter in her chest, and she had dreamed the same thing.\n\nShe saw a meadow with flowers, a steep hill deep inside a pine forest that bordered the mound on three sides, dark and dense. At the foot of the slope a small lake mirrored the dim forest and the dappled green of the clearing. The sun was behind the trees; at the top of the hill the last long golden rays of evening light filtered through the boughs, and at the bottom of the lake sun-touched, gleaming clouds swam among the leaves of water lilies.\n\nHalfway up the slope, standing deep in the avalanche of alpine catchflies and globeflowers and the pale green clouds of angelica, she saw her child. It must have been Naakkve the first time she had the dream; back then she had only two, and Bj\u00f8rgulf was still in the cradle. Later she was never certain which of her children it might be. The little round, sunburned face under the fringe of yellow-brown hair seemed to her to resemble first one and then another of her sons, but the child was always between two and three years old and dressed in the kind of small dark yellow tunic that she usually sewed for her little boys as everyday attire, from homespun wool, dyed with lichen, and trimmed with red ribbon.\n\nSometimes she seemed to be on the other side of the lake. Or she might not be present at all when it happened, and yet she saw everything.\n\nShe saw her little son moving about, here and there, turning his face as he tugged at the flowers. And even though her heart felt the clutch of a dull anguish\u2014a premonition of the evil about to occur\u2014the dream always brought with it first a powerful, aching sweetness as she gazed at the lovely child there in the meadow.\n\nThen she sees emerging from the darkness at the edge of the woods a furry bulk that is alive. It moves soundlessly, its tiny, vicious eyes smoldering. The bear reaches the top of the meadow and stands there, its head and shoulders swaying, as it considers the slope. Then it leaps. Kristin had never seen a bear alive, but she knew bears didn't leap that way. This is not a real bear. It runs like a cat; at the same moment it turns gray, and like a giant light-colored cat it flies with long, soft strides down the hill.\n\nThe mother is deathly frightened, but she can't reach the child to protect him; she can't make a sound of warning. Then the boy notices that something is there; he turns halfway and looks over his shoulder. With a horrifying, low-pitched cry of terror he tries to run downhill, lifting his legs high in the tall grass the way children do. And his mother hears the tiny crack of sap-filled stalks breaking as he runs through the profusion of blossoms. Now he stumbles over something in the grass, falls headlong, and in the next instant the beast is upon him with its back arched and its head lowered between its front paws. Then she wakes up.\n\nAnd each time she would lie awake for hours before her attempts to reassure herself did any good. It was only a dream after all! She would draw into her arms her smallest child, who lay between herself and the wall, thinking that if it had been real, she could have done such and such: scared off the animal with a shriek or with a pole. And there was always the long, sharp knife that hung from her belt.\n\nBut just as she had convinced herself in this manner to calm down, it would sieze hold of her once again: the unbearable anguish of her dream as she stood powerless and watched her little son's pitiful, hopeless flight from the strong, ruthlessly swift, and hideous beast. Her blood felt as if it were boiling inside her, foaming so that it made her body swell, and her heart was about to burst, for it couldn't contain such a violent surge of blood.\n\nIngebj\u00f8rg's hut lay up on Hammer Ridge, a short distance below the main road that led up to the heights. It had stood empty for many years, and the land had been leased to a man who had been allowed to clear space for a house nearby. An ill beggar who had been left behind by a procession of mendicants had now taken refuge inside. Kristin had sent food and clothing and medicine up to him when she heard of this, but she hadn't had time to visit him until now.\n\nShe saw that the poor man's life would soon be over. Kristin gave her sack to the beggar woman who was staying with him and then tended to the ill man, doing what little she could. When she heard that they had sent for the priest, she washed his face, hands, and feet so they would be clean to receive the last anointment.\n\nThe air was thick with smoke, and a terribly oppressive, foul smell filled the tiny room. When two women from the neighboring household came in, Kristin asked them to send word to J\u00f8rundgaard for anything they might need; then she bade them farewell and left. She suddenly had a strange, sick fear of meeting the priest with the Corpus Domini, so she took the first side path she encountered.\n\nIt was merely a cattle track, she soon realized. And it led her right into the wilderness. The fallen trees with their tangle of roots sticking up frightened her; she had to crawl over them in those places where she couldn't make her way around. Layers of moss slid out from under her feet when she clambered down over large rocks. Spiderwebs clung to her face, and branches swung at her and caught on her clothes. When she had to cross a small creek or she came to a marshy clearing in the woods, it was almost impossible to find a place where she could slip though the dense, wet thickets of leafy shrubs. And the loathsome white moths were everywhere, teeming beneath the trees in the darkness, swarming up in great clouds from the heath-covered mounds when she trod on them.\n\nBut at last she reached the flat rocks down by the Laag River. Here the pine forest thinned out because the trees had to twine their roots over barren rocks, and the forest floor was almost nothing but dry grayish-white reindeer moss, which crackled under her feet. Here and there a black, heath-covered mound was visible. The fragrance of pine needles was hotter and drier and sharper than higher up. Here all the branches of the trees always looked yellow-scorched from early spring on. The white moths continued to plague her.\n\nThe roar of the river drew her. She walked all the way over to the edge and looked down. Far below, the water shimmered white as it seethed and thundered over the rocks from one pool to the next.\n\nThe monotonous drone of the waterfalls resonated through her overwrought body and soul. It kept reminding her of something, of a time that was an eternity ago; even back then she realized that she would not have the strength to bear the fate she had chosen for herself. She had laid bare her protected, gentle girl's life to a ravaging, fleshly love; she had lived in anguish, anguish, anguish ever since\u2014an unfree woman from the first moment she became a mother. She had given herself up to the world in her youth, and the more she squirmed and struggled against the bonds of the world, the more fiercely she felt herself imprisoned and fettered by them. She struggled to protect her sons with wings that were bound by the constraints of earthly care. She had striven to conceal her anguish and her inexpressible weakness from everyone, walking forward with her back erect and her face calm, holding her tongue, and fighting to ensure the welfare of her children in any way she could.\n\nBut always with that secret, breathless anguish: If things go badly for them, I won't be able to bear it. And deep in her heart she wailed at the memory of her father and mother. They had borne anguish and sorrow over their children, day after day, until their deaths; they had been able to carry this burden, and it was not because they loved their children any less but because they loved with a better kind of love.\n\nWas this how she would see her struggle end? Had she conceived in her womb a flock of restless fledgling hawks that simply lay in her nest, waiting impatiently for the hour when their wings were strong enough to carry them beyond the most distant blue peaks? And their father would clap his hands and laugh: Fly, fly, my young birds.\n\nThey would take with them bloody threads from the roots of her heart when they flew off, and they wouldn't even know it. She would be left behind alone, and all the heartstrings, which had once bound her to this old home of hers, she had already sundered. That was how it would end, and she would be neither alive nor dead.\n\nShe turned on her heel, stumbling hastily across the pale, parched carpet of reindeer moss, with her cloak pulled tight around her because it was so unpleasant when it caught on the branches. At last she emerged onto the sparse meadow plains that lay slightly north of the farmers' banquet hall and the church. As she cut across the field, she caught sight of someone in the road. He called out: \"Is that you, Kristin?\" and she recognized her husband.\n\n\"You were gone a long time,\" said Erlend. \"It's almost night, Kristin. I was starting to grow frightened.\"\n\n\"Were you frightened for me?\" Her voice sounded more harsh and haughty than she had intended.\n\n\"Well, not exactly frightened... But I thought I would come out to meet you.\"\n\nThey barely spoke as they walked southward. All was quiet when they entered the courtyard. Some of the horses they kept on the manor were slowly moving along the walls of the main house, grazing, but all the servants had gone to bed.\n\nErlend headed straight for the storeroom loft, but Kristin turned toward the cookhouse. \"I have to see to something,\" she replied to his query.\n\nHe stood leaning over the gallery railing, waiting for his wife, when he saw her come out of the cookhouse with a pine torch in her hand and go over to the hearth house. Erlend waited a moment and then ran down and followed her inside.\n\nShe had lit a candle and placed it on the table. Erlend felt an odd, cold shiver of fear pass through him when he saw her standing there with the lone candle in the empty house. Only the built-in furniture remained in the room, and the glow of the flame shimmered over the worn wood, unadorned and bare. The hearth was cold and swept clean, except for the torch, which had been tossed into it, still smoldering. They never used this building, Erlend and Kristin, and it must have been almost half a year since a fire had been lit inside. The air was strangely oppressive; missing was the vital blend of smells from people living there and coming and going; the smoke vent and doors had not been opened in all that time. The place also smelled of wool and hides; several rolled-up skins and sacks, which Kristin had taken from among the goods in the storeroom, were piled up on the empty bed that had belonged to Lavrans and Ragnfrid.\n\nOn the table lay a heap of small skeins of thread and yarn\u2014linen and wool to be used for mending\u2014which Kristin had set aside when she did the dyeing. She was going through them now, setting them in order.\n\nErlend sat down in the high seat at the end of the table. It seemed oddly spacious for the slender man, now that it had been stripped of its cushions and coverings. The two Olav warriors, with their helmets and shields bearing the sign of the cross, that Lavrans had carved into the armrests of the high seat scowled glumly and morosely under Erlend's slim tan hands. No man could carve foliage and animals more beautifully than Lavrans, but he had never been very skilled at capturing human likenesses.\n\nThe silence between them was so complete that not a sound was heard except for the hollow thudding out on the green, where the horses were plodding around in the summer night.\n\n\"Aren't you going to bed soon, Kristin?\" he finally asked.\n\n\"Aren't you?\"\n\n\"I thought I would wait for you,\" said her husband.\n\n\"I don't want to go yet.... I can't sleep.\"\n\nAfter a moment he asked, \"What is weighing so heavily on your heart, Kristin, that you don't think you'll be able to sleep?\"\n\nKristin straightened up. She stood holding a skein of heather-green wool in her hands, tugging and pulling on it with her fingers.\n\n\"What was it you said to Naakkve today?\" She swallowed a couple of times; her throat felt so parched. \"Some piece of advice... He didn't think it was much good for him... but the two of you talked about Ivar and Skule....\"\n\n\"Oh... that!\" Erlend gave a little smile. \"I just told the boy... I do have a son-in-law, now that I think of it. Although Gerlak wouldn't be as eager to kiss my hands or carry my cape and sword as he used to be. But he has a ship on the sea and wealthy kin both in Bremen and in Lynn. Surely the man must realize that he's obliged to help his wife's brothers. I didn't stint on my gifts when I was a rich man and married my daughter to Gerlak Tiedekenss\u00f8n.\"\n\nKristin did not reply.\n\nAt last Erlend exclaimed vehemently, \"Jesus, Kristin, don't just stand there staring like that, as if you had turned to stone.\"\n\n\"I never thought, when we were first married, that our children would have to roam the world, begging food from the manors of strangers.\"\n\n\"No, and the Devil take me, I don't mean for them to beg! But if all seven of them have to grow their own food here on your estates, then it will be a peasant's diet, my Kristin. And I don't think my sons are suited to that. Ivar and Skule look like they'll turn out to be daredevils, and out in the world there is both wheat bread and cake for the man willing to slice his food with a sword.\"\n\n\"You intend your sons to become hired soldiers and mercenaries?\"\n\n\"I hired on myself when I was young and served Earl Jacob. May God bless him, I say. I learned a few things back then that a man can never learn at home in this country, whether he's sitting in splendor in his high seat with a silver belt around his belly and swilling down ale or he's walking behind a plow and breathing in the farts of the farm horse. I lived a robust life in the earl's service; I say that even though I ended up with that stump chained to my foot when I was no older than Naakkve. But I was allowed to enjoy some of my youth.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" Kristin's eyes grew dark. \"Wouldn't you think it the most unbearable sorrow if your sons should be lured into such sin and misfortune?\"\n\n\"Yes, may God protect them from that. But surely it shouldn't be necessary for them to copy all the follies of their father. It is possible, Kristin, to serve a noble lord without being saddled with such a burden.\"\n\n\"It is written that he who draws his sword shall lose his life by the sword, Erlend!\"\n\n\"Yes, I've heard that said, my dear. And yet most of our forefathers, both yours and mine, Kristin, died peacefully and in a Christian manner in their beds, with the last rites and comfort for their souls. You only need think of your own father; he proved in his youth that he was a man who could use his sword.\"\n\n\"But that was during a war, Erlend, at the summons of the king to whom they had sworn allegiance; it was in order to protect their homeland that Father and the others took up their weapons. And yet Father said himself that it was not God's will that we should bear arms against each other\u2014baptized Christian men.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know that. But the world has been this way ever since Adam and Eve ate from the tree\u2014and that was before my time. It's not my fault that we're born with sin inside us.\"\n\n\"What shameful things you're saying!\"\n\nErlend heatedly interrupted her. \"Kristin, you know full well that I have never refused to atone and repent for my sins as best I could. It's true that I'm not a pious man. I saw too much in my childhood and youth. My father was such a dear friend of the great lords of the chapter. They came and went at his house like gray pigs: Lord Eiliv, back when he was a priest, and Herr Sigvat Lande, and all the others, and they brought little else with them but quarrels and disputes. They were hardhearted and merciless toward their own bishop; they proved to be no more holy or peaceable even though each day they held the most sacred relics in their hands and lifted up God Himself in the bread and wine.\"\n\n\"Surely we are not to judge the priests. That's what Father always said: It's our obligation to bow before the priesthood and obey them, but their human behavior shall be judged by God alone.\"\n\n\"Yes, well...\" Erlend hesitated. \"I know he said that, and you've also said the same in the past. I know you're more pious than I can ever be. And yet, Kristin, I have difficulty accepting that this is the proper interpretation of God's words: that you should go about storing everything away and never forgetting. He had a long memory too, Lavrans did. No, I won't say anything about your father except that he was pious and noble, and you are too; I know that. But often when you speak so gently and sweetly, as if your mouth were full of honey, I fear that you're thinking mostly about old wrongs, and God will have to judge whether you're as pious in your heart as you are in words.\"\n\nSuddenly Kristin fell forward, stretched out across the table with her face buried in her arms, and began shrieking. Erlend leaped to his feet. She lay there, weeping with raw, ragged sobs that shuddered down her back. Erlend put his arm around her shoulder.\n\n\"Kristin, what is it? What is it?\" he repeated, sitting down next to her on the bench and trying to lift her head. \"Kristin, don't weep like this. I think you must have lost your senses.\"\n\n\"I'm frightened!\" She sat up, wringing her hands together in her lap. \"I'm so frightened. Gentle Virgin Mary, help us all. I'm so frightened. What will become of my sons?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Kristin... but you must get used to it. You can't keep hiding them under your skirts. Soon they'll be grown men, all our sons. And you're still acting like a bitch with pups.\" He sat with his legs crossed and his hands clasped around one knee, looking down at his wife with a weary expression. \"You snap blindly at both friend and foe over anything that has to do with your offspring.\"\n\nAbruptly she got to her feet and stood there for a moment, mutely wringing her hands. Then she began swiftly pacing the room. She didn't say a word, and Erlend sat in silence, watching her.\n\n\"Skule...\" She stopped in front of her husband. \"You gave your son an illfated name. But you insisted on it. You wanted the duke to rise up again in that child.\"\n\n\"It's a fine name, Kristin. Ill fated... that can mean many things. When I revived my great-grandfather through my son, I remembered that good fortune had deserted him, but he was still a king, and with better rights than the combmaker's descendants.\"\n\n\"You were certainly proud, you and Munan Baards\u00f8n, that you were close kinsmen of King Haakon Haalegg.\"\n\n\"Yes, you know that Sverre's lineage gained royal blood from my father's aunt, Margret Skulesdatter.\"\n\nFor a long time both husband and wife stood staring into each other's eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I know what you're thinking, my fair wife.\" Erlend went back to the high seat and sat down. With his hands resting on the heads of the two warriors, he leaned forward slightly, giving her a cold and challenging smile. \"But as you can see, my Kristin, it hasn't broken me to become a poor and friendless man. You should know that I have no fear that the lineage of my forefathers has fallen along with me from power and honor for all eternity. Good fortune has also deserted me; but if my plan had been carried out, my sons and I would now have positions and seats at the king's right hand, which we, his close kinsmen, are entitled to by birth. For me, no doubt, the game is over. But I see in my sons, Kristin, that they will attain the positions which are their birthright. You don't need to lament over them, and you must not try to bind them to this remote valley of yours. Let them freely make their own way. Then you might see, before you die, that they have once again won a foothold in their father's ancestral regions.\"\n\n\"Oh, how you can talk!\" Hot, bitter tears rose up in his wife's eyes, but she brushed them aside and laughed, her mouth contorted. \"You seem even more childish than the boys, Erlend! Sitting there and saying... when it was only today that Naakkve nearly won the kind of fortune that a Christian man can hardly speak of, if God hadn't saved us.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I was the one lucky enough to be God's instrument this time.\" Erlend shrugged his shoulders. Then he added in a somber voice, \"Such things... you needn't fear, my Kristin. If this is what has frightened you from your wits, my poor wife!\" He lowered his eyes and said almost timidly, \"You should remember, Kristin, that your blessed father prayed for our children, just as he prayed for all of us, morning and night. And I firmly believe that salvation can be found for many things, for the worst of things, in such a good man's prayers of intercession.\" She noticed that her husband secretly made the sign of the cross on his own chest with his thumb.\n\nBut as distressed as she was, this only infuriated her more.\n\n\"Is that how you console yourself, Erlend, as you sit in my father's high seat? That your sons will be saved by his prayers, just as they are fed by his estates?\"\n\nErlend grew pale. \"Do you mean, Kristin, that I'm not worthy to sit in the high seat of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n?\"\n\nHis wife's lips moved, but not a word came.\n\nErlend rose to his feet. \"Do you mean that? For if you do, then as surely as God is above us both, I will never sit here again.\n\n\"Answer me,\" he insisted when she remained standing in silence. A long shudder passed through his wife's body.\n\n\"He was... a better husband... the man who sat there before you.\" Her words were barely audible.\n\n\"Guard your tongue now, Kristin!\" Erlend took a few steps toward her.\n\nShe straightened up with a start. \"Go ahead and strike me. I've endured it before, and I can bear it now.\"\n\n\"I had no intention of... striking you.\" He stood leaning on the table. Again they stared at each other, and his face had that oddly unfamiliar calm she had seen only a few times before. Now it drove her into a rage. She knew she was in the right; what Erlend had said was foolish and irresponsible, but that expression of his made her feel as if she were utterly wrong.\n\nShe gazed at him, and feeling sick with anguish at her own words, she said, \"I fear that it won't be my sons that will thrive once more among your lineage in Tr\u00f8ndelag.\"\n\nErlend turned blood red.\n\n\"You couldn't resist reminding me of Sunniva Olavsdatter, I see.\"\n\n\"I wasn't the one to mention her name. You did.\"\n\nErlend blushed even more.\n\n\"Haven't you ever thought, Kristin, that you weren't entirely without blame in that... misfortune? Do you remember that evening in Nidaros? I came and stood by your bed. I was terribly meek and sad about having grieved you, my wife. I came to beg your forgiveness for my wrong. You answered me by saying that I should go to bed where I had slept the night before.\"\n\n\"How could I know that you had slept with the wife of your kinsman?\"\n\nErlend was silent for a moment. His face turned white and then red again. Abruptly he turned on his heel and left the room without a word.\n\nKristin didn't move. For a long time she stood there motionless, with her hands clasped under her chin, staring at the candle.\n\nSuddenly she lifted her head and let out a long breath. For once he had been forced to listen.\n\nThen she became aware of the sound of horse hooves out in the courtyard. She could tell from its gait that a horse was being led out of the stable. She crept over to the door and out onto the gallery and peered from behind the post.\n\nThe night had already turned a pale gray. Out in the courtyard stood Erlend and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. Erlend was holding his horse, and she saw that the animal was saddled and her husband was dressed for travel. The two men talked for a moment, but she couldn't make out a single word. Then Erlend swung himself up into the saddle and began riding north, at a walking pace, toward the manor gate. He didn't look back but seemed to be talking to Ulf, who was striding along next to the horse.\n\nWhen they had disappeared between the fences, she tiptoed out, ran as soundlessly as she could up to the gate, and stood there listening. Now she could hear that Erlend had let Soten begin trotting along the main road.\n\nA little later Ulf came walking back. He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Kristin at the gate. For a moment they stood and stared at each other in the gray light. Ulf had bare feet in his shoes and was wearing a linen tunic under his cape.\n\n\"What is it?\" his mistress asked heatedly.\n\n\"Surely you must know, for I have no idea.\"\n\n\"Where was he riding off to?\" she asked.\n\n\"To Haugen.\" Ulf paused. \"Erlend came in and woke me. He said he wanted to ride there tonight, and he seemed in a great hurry. He asked me to see to it that certain things were sent to him up there later on.\"\n\nKristin fell silent for a long time.\n\n\"He was angry?\"\n\n\"He was calm.\" After a moment Ulf said quietly, \"I fear, Kristin... I wonder if you might have said what should have been best left unspoken.\"\n\n\"Surely Erlend for once should be able to stand hearing me speak to him as if he were a sensible man,\" said Kristin vehemently.\n\nThey walked slowly down the hill. Ulf turned toward his own house, but she followed him.\n\n\"Ulf, kinsman,\" she implored him anxiously. \"In the past you were the one who told me morning and night that for the sake of my sons I had to steel myself and speak to Erlend.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I've grown wiser over the years, Kristin. You haven't,\" he replied in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"You offer me such solace now,\" she said bitterly.\n\nHe placed his hand heavily on the woman's shoulder, but at first he didn't speak. As they stood there, it was so quiet they could both hear the endless roar of the river, which they usually didn't notice. Out across the countryside the roosters were crowing, and the cry of Kristin's own rooster echoed from the stable.\n\n\"Yes, I've had to learn to ration out the solace sparingly, Kristin. There's been a cruel shortage of it for several years now. We have to save it up because we don't know how long it might have to last.\"\n\nShe tore herself away from his hand. With her teeth biting her lower lip, she turned her face away. And then she fled back to the hearth house.\n\nThe morning was icy cold. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her and pulled the hood up over her head. With her dew-drenched shoes tucked up under her skirts and her crossed arms resting on her knees, she huddled at the edge of the cold hearth to think. Now and then a tremor passed over her face, but she did not cry.\n\nShe must have fallen asleep. She started up with an aching back, her body frozen through and stiff. The door stood ajar. She saw that sunlight filled the courtyard.\n\nKristin went out onto the gallery. The sun was already high; from the fenced pasture below she could hear the bell of the horse that had gone lame. She looked toward the new storehouse. Then she noticed that Munan was standing up on the loft gallery, peering out from between the posts.\n\nHer sons. It raced through her mind. What had they thought when they woke up and saw their parents' bed untouched?\n\nShe ran across the courtyard and up to the child. Munan was wearing only his shirt. As soon as his mother reached him, he put his hand in hers, as if he were afraid.\n\nInside the loft none of the boys was fully dressed; she realized that no one had woken them. All of them looked quickly at their mother and then glanced away. She picked up Munan's leggings and began helping him to put them on.\n\n\"Where's Father?\" asked Lavrans in surprise.\n\n\"Your father rode north to Haugen early this morning,\" she replied. She saw that the older boys were listening as she said, \"You know he's been talking about it so long, that he wanted to go up there to see to his manor.\"\n\nThe two youngest sons looked up into their mother's face with wide, atonished eyes, but the five older brothers hid their gaze from her as they left the loft."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "The days passed. At first Kristin wasn't worried. She didn't want to ponder over what Erlend might have meant by his behavior\u2014fleeing from home like that in the middle of the night in a fit of rage\u2014or how long he intended to stay north on his upland farm, punishing her with his absence. She was furious at her husband, but perhaps most furious because she couldn't deny that she too had been wrong and had said things she sincerely wished had not been said.\n\nCertainly she had been wrong many times before, and in anger she had often spoken mean and vile words to her husband. But what offended her most bitterly was that Erlend would never offer to forget and forgive unless she first humbled herself and asked him meekly to do so. She didn't think she had let her temper get the better of her very often; couldn't he see that it was usually when she was tired and worn out with sorrows and anguish, which she had tried to bear alone? That was when she could easily lose mastery over her feelings. She thought Erlend might have remembered, after all the years of worry she had borne about the future of their sons, that during the past summer she had twice endured a terrible agony over Naakkve. Her eyes had been opened to the fact that after the burdens and toil of a young mother comes a new kind of fear and concern for the aging mother. Erlend's carefree chatter about having no fear for the future of his sons had angered her until she felt like a wild she-bear or like a bitch with pups. Erlend could go ahead and say that she was like a female dog with her children. She would always be alert and vigilant over them for as long as she had breath in her body.\n\nIf, for that reason, he chose to forget that she had stood by him every time it mattered, with all her strength, and that she had been both reasonable and fair, in spite of her anger, when he struck her and when he betrayed her with that hateful, loose woman from Lensvik, then she could do nothing to stop him. Even now, when she thought about it, she couldn't feel much anger or bitterness toward Erlend over the worst of the wrongs he had done her. Whenever she turned on him to complain about that, it was because she knew that he regretted it himself; he knew it was a great offense. But she had never been so angry with Erlend\u2014nor was she now\u2014that she didn't feel sorrow for the man himself when she remembered how he struck her or betrayed her, with everything that followed afterward. She always felt that with these outbursts of his unruly spirit he had sinned more against himself and the well-being of his own soul than he had against her.\n\nWhat continued to vex her were all the small wounds he had caused her with his cruel nonchalance, his childish lack of patience, and even the wild and thoughtless kind of love he gave her whenever he showed that he did indeed love her. And during all those years when her heart was young and tender, when she realized that neither her health nor her strength of will would be sufficient\u2014as she sat with her arms full of such defenseless little children\u2014if their father, her husband, didn't show that he was both capable and loving enough to protect her and the young sons in her arms. It had been such torment to feel her body so weak, her mind so ignorant and inexperienced, and yet not dare rely on the wisdom and strength of her husband. She felt as if she had suffered deep wounds back then, which would never heal. Even the sweet pleasure of lifting up her infant, placing his loving mouth to her breast, and feeling his warm, soft little body in her arms was soured by fear and uneasiness. So small, so defenseless you are, and your father doesn't seem to remember that above all else he needs to keep you safe.\n\nNow that her children had gained marrow in their bones and mettle in their spirits but still lacked the full wisdom of men, now he was luring them away from her. They were whirling away from her, both her husband and all her sons, with that strange, boyish playfulness which she seemed to have glimpsed in all the men she had ever met and in which a somber, fretful woman could never participate.\n\nFor her own sake then she felt only sorrow and anger when ever she thought about Erlend. But she grew fearful when she wondered what her sons were thinking.\n\nUlf had gone up to Dovre with two packhorses and taken Erlend the things he had sent for: clothing and a good many weapons, all four of his bows, sacks of arrowpoints and iron bolts, and three of his dogs. Munan and Lavrans wept loudly when Ulf took the small, short-haired female with the silky soft, drooping ears. It was a splendid foreign animal which the abbot of Holm had given to Erlend. That their father should own such a rare dog seemed, more than anything else, to elevate him above all other men in the eyes of the two young boys. And their father had promised that when the dog had pups, they would each be allowed to choose one from the litter.\n\nWhen Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n returned, Kristin asked him whether Erlend had mentioned when he intended to come back home.\n\n\"No,\" said Ulf. \"It looks like he means to settle in up there.\"\n\nUlf volunteered little else about his journey to Haugen. And Kristin had no desire to ask.\n\nIn the fall, when they moved from the new storeroom into other quarters, her oldest sons said that this winter they wanted to sleep upstairs in the high loft. Kristin granted them permission to do so; she would sleep alone with the two youngest boys in the main room below. On the first evening she said that now Lavrans could sleep in her bed as well.\n\nThe boy lay in bed, rolling around with delight and burrowing into the ticking. The children were used to having their beds made up on a bench, with leather sacks filled with straw and furs to wrap around them. But in the beds there was blue ticking to lie on and fine coverlets as well as furs, and their parents had white linen cases on their pillows.\n\n\"Is it just until Father comes home that I can sleep here?\" asked Lavrans. \"Then we'll have to move back to the bench, won't we, Mother?\"\n\n\"Then you can sleep in the bed with Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf,\" replied his mother. \"If the boys don't change their minds, that is, and move back downstairs when the weather turns cold.\" There was a little brick fireplace up in the loft, but it produced more smoke than heat, and the wind and cold were felt much more in the upper story.\n\nAs the fall wore on, an uncertain fear crept over Kristin; it grew from day to day, and the strain was difficult to bear. No one seemed to have heard from Erlend or seen him.\n\nDuring the long, dark autumn nights she would lie awake, listening to the even breathing of the two little boys, noting the swirl of the wind around the corners of the house, and thinking about Erlend. If only he wasn't staying at that particular farm.\n\nShe hadn't been pleased when the two cousins had begun talking about Haugen. Munan Baards\u00f8n was visiting them at the hostel in Oslo on one of the last evenings before their departure. Back then Munan had inherited sole ownership of the small manor of Haugen from his mother. Both he and Erlend had been quite drunk and boisterous, and while she sat there feeling tormented by their talk of that place of misfortune, Munan suddenly gave Erlend the farm\u2014so that he wouldn't be entirely bereft of land in Norway. This happened amid much bantering and laughter; they even jested about the rumors that no one could live at Haugen because of the ghosts. The horror that Sir Munan Baards\u00f8n had harbored in his heart ever since the violent death of his mother and her husband up there now seemed to have eased somewhat.\n\nHe ended up giving Erlend the deed and documents to Haugen. Kristin couldn't hide her displeasure that he had become the owner of that ignominious place.\n\nBut Erlend merely jested, \"It's unlikely that either you or I will ever set foot in those buildings\u2014if they're still standing, that is, and haven't collapsed. And surely neither Aunt Aashild nor Herr Bj\u00f8rn will bring us the land rent themselves. So it shouldn't matter to us if it's true what people say, that they still haunt the place.\"\n\nThe year came to an end, and Kristin's thoughts were always circling around one thing: How was Erlend doing up north at Haugen? She grew so reticent that she barely spoke a word to her children or the servants except when she had to answer their questions. And they were reluctant to address their mistress unless it was absolutely necessary, for she gave such curt and impatient replies when they interrupted and disturbed her restless, anxious brooding. She was so unaware of this herself that when she finally noticed that the two youngest children had stopped asking her about their father or talking about him, she sighed and concluded that children forget so quickly. But she didn't realize how often she had scared them away with her impatient words when she told them to keep quiet and stop plaguing her.\n\nTo her oldest sons she said very little.\n\nAs long as the hard frost lasted, she could still tell strangers who passed by the manor and asked for her husband that he was up in the mountains trying his luck at hunting. But then a great snowfall descended upon both the countryside and the mountains during the first week of Advent.\n\nEarly in the morning on the day before Saint Lucia's Day, while it was still pitch-dark outside and the stars were bright, Kristin came out of the cowshed. She saw by the light of a pine torch stuck in a mound of snow that three of her sons were putting on their skis outside the door of the main house. And a short distance away stood Gaute's gelding with snowshoes under its feet and packs on its back. She guessed where they were headed, so she did-n't dare say a word until she noticed that one of the boys was Bj\u00f8rgulf; the other two were Naakkve and Gaute.\n\n\"Are you going out skiing, Bj\u00f8rgulf? But it's going to be clear today, son!\"\n\n\"As you can see, Mother, I am.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you'll all be home before the holy day?\" she asked helplessly. Bj\u00f8rgulf was a very poor skier. He couldn't tolerate the brilliance of the snow in his eyes and spent most of the winter indoors. But Naakkve replied that they might be gone for several days.\n\nKristin went home feeling fearful and uneasy. The twins were cross and sullen, so she realized that they had wanted to go along but their older brothers had refused to take them.\n\nEarly on the fifth day, around breakfast time, the three boys returned. They had left before dawn for Bj\u00f8rgulf's sake, said Naakkve, in order to reach home before the sun came up. The two of them went straight up to the high loft; Bj\u00f8rgulf looked dead tired. But Gaute carried the bags and packs into the house. He had two handsome pups for the small boys, who at once forgot all about their questions and grievances. Gaute seemed embarrassed but tried not to show it.\n\n\"And this,\" he said as he took something out of a sack, \"this Father asked me to give to you.\"\n\nFourteen marten pelts, exceedingly beautiful. Kristin took them, greatly confused; she couldn't utter a single word in reply. There were far too many things she wanted to ask, but she was afraid of being overwhelmed if she opened even the smallest part of her heart. And Gaute was so young.\n\nShe could only manage to say, \"They've already turned white, I see. Yes, we're deep into the winter half of the year now.\"\n\nWhen Naakkve came downstairs and he and Gaute sat down to the porridge bowl, Kristin quickly told Frida that she would take food to Bj\u00f8rgulf up in the loft herself. It occurred to her that she might be able to talk about things with the taciturn boy, who she knew was much more mature in spirit than his brothers.\n\nHe was lying in bed, holding a linen cloth over his eyes. His mother hung a kettle of water on the hook over the hearth, and while Bj\u00f8rgulf propped himself up on his elbow to eat, she boiled a concoction of eyebright and celandine.\n\nKristin took away the empty food bowl, washed his red and swollen eyes with the concoction, and placed moist linen cloths over them. Then she finally gathered her courage to ask, \"Didn't your father say anything about when he intends to come back home to us?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You always say so little, Bj\u00f8rgulf,\" replied his mother after a moment.\n\n\"That seems to run in the family, Mother.\" After a pause he continued, \"We met Simon and his men north of Rost Gorge. They were headed north with supplies.\"\n\n\"Did you speak to them?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" he said with a laugh. \"There seems to be some kind of sickness between us and our kinsmen that makes it impossible for friendship to thrive.\"\n\n\"Are you blaming me for that?\" fumed his mother. \"One minute you complain that we talk too little, and the next you say that we can't keep our friends.\"\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf merely laughed again. Then he lifted himself up on his elbow, as if he were listening to his mother's breathing.\n\n\"In God's name, Mother, you mustn't cry now. I'm tired and dejected, unaccustomed as I am to traveling on skis. Pay no mind to whatever I say. Of course I know that you're not a woman who's fond of quarrels.\"\n\nKristin then left the loft at once. But she no longer dared, for any price, to ask this son what her children thought of these matters.\n\nShe would lie in bed, night after night, when the boys had gone up to the loft, listening and keeping watch. She wondered whether they talked to each other when they were alone up there. She could hear the thump of their boots as they dropped them to the floor, the clatter of their knife belts falling. She heard their voices but couldn't make out their words. They talked all at the same time, growing boisterous; it seemed to be half quarrel, half banter. One of the twins shouted loudly; then something was dragged across the floor, making dust sprinkle down from the ceiling into the main room. The gallery door crashed open with a bang, there was a stomping from outside on the gallery, and Ivar and Skule threatened and carried on as they pounded on the door. She heard Gaute's voice, loud and full of laughter. She could tell that he was standing just inside the door; he and the twins had been fighting again, and Gaute had ended up throwing the twins out. Finally she heard Naakkve's grownup man's voice. He intervened, and the twins came back inside. For a little while longer their chatter and laughter reached her, and then the beds creaked overhead. Gradually silence fell. Then a steady drone interrupted by pauses could be heard\u2014a drone like the sound of thunder deep inside the mountains.\n\nKristin smiled in the dark. Gaute snored whenever he was especially tired. Her father had done the same. Such similarities pleased her; the sons who took after Erlend in appearance were also like him in that they slept as soundlessly as birds. As she lay in bed, thinking about all the small likenesses that could be recognized in offspring, generation after generation, she had to smile to herself. The painful anguish in her heart loosened its grip for a moment, and the trance of sleep descended, tangling up all the threads of her thoughts as she sank down, first into well-being and then into oblivion.\n\nThey were young, she consoled herself. They probably didn't take it so hard.\n\nBut one day, shortly after New Year's, the curate Sira Solmund came to see Kristin at J\u00f8rundgaard. It was the first time he arrived uninvited, and Kristin welcomed him courteously, even though she had her suspicions at once. And it turned out just as she had thought: He felt it was his duty to inquire whether she and her husband had arbitrarily, and without Church consent, ended their marriage and, if so, which of the spouses was responsible for this unlawful act.\n\nKristin felt as if her eyes flitted restlessly, and she spoke too swiftly, using far too many words, as she explained to the priest that Erlend thought he should tend to his property up north in Dovre. It had been sorely neglected over the past few years, and the buildings were apparently in ruins. Considering that they had so many children, they needed to look after their welfare\u2014and many other such matters. She gave much too detailed an account of the situation, so that even Sira Solmund, as dull-witted as he was, had to notice that she was feeling uncertain. She talked on and on about what an eager hunter Erlend was; surely the priest must know that. She showed him the marten pelts she had received from her husband, and in her confusion, before she realized it or could reconsider, she gave them to the priest.\n\nAnger overtook her after Sira Solmund had gone. Erlend should have known that if he stayed away in this manner, their priest, being the kind of man he was, would show up to investigate the reason for his absence.\n\nSira Solmund was a little trifle of a man in appearance; it wasn't easy to guess his age, but he was supposedly about forty winters old. He was not very shrewd and apparently didn't possess an overabundance of learning, but he was an upright, pious, and moral priest. One of his sisters, an aging, childless widow and a wicked gossip, managed his meager household.\n\nHe wanted to be seen as a zealous servant of the Church, but he concerned himself mostly with paltry matters and common folk. He had a timid disposition and was reluctant to meddle with the gentry or take up difficult questions, but once he did so, he grew quite fierce and stubborn.\n\nIn spite of this, he was well liked by his parishioners. On the one hand, people respected his quiet and honorable way of living; on the other hand, he was not nearly as avaricious or strict when it came to the rights of the Church or people's obligations as Sira Eirik had been. This was doubtless due to the fact that he was much less bold than the old priest.\n\nBut Sira Eirik had loved and respected every man and every child in all the surrounding villages. In the past people often grew angry when the priest strove, with unseemly greed, to secure the fortunes and wealth of the children he had conceived out of wedlock with his housekeeper. During the first years he lived in the parish, the people of Sil had a difficult time tolerating his imperious harshness toward anyone who overstepped the slightest dictate of Church law. He had been a soldier before he took his vows, and he had accompanied the pirate earl, Sir Alf of Tornberg, in his youth. This was all quite evident in his behavior.\n\nBut even back then the people had been proud of their priest, for he surpassed nearly all other parish priests in the realm in terms of knowledge, wisdom, physical strength, and courtly manners; he also had the loveliest singing voice. As the years passed and he had to endure the heavy trials God seemed to have placed on His servant because of his willfulness in his youth, Sira Eirik Kaaress\u00f8n grew so much in wisdom, piety, and righteousness that his name was now known and respected throughout the entire bishopric. When he journeyed to ecclesiastical meetings in the town of Hamar, he was honored as a father by all the other priests, and it was said that Bishop Halvard wanted to have him moved to a church which would have granted him a noble title and a seat in the cathedral chapter. But Sira Eirik supposedly requested to stay where he was; he gave his age as his excuse, and the fact that his sight had been failing him for many years.\n\nOn the main road at Sil, a little south of Formo, stood the beautiful cross carved from soapstone that Sira Eirik had paid to have erected where a rockslide on the slope had taken the lives of both his promising young sons forty years before. Older people in the parish never passed that way without stopping to say a Pater noster and Ave Maria for the souls of Alf and Kaare.\n\nThe priest had married off his daughter with a dowry of property and cattle. He gave her to a handsome farmer's son of good family from Viken. No one had any other thought but that Jon Fis was a good lad. Six years later she had returned home to her father, starving, her health broken, wearing rags and full of lice, holding a child by each hand, and with another one under her belt. The people living in Sil back then all knew, although they never mentioned it, that the children's father had been hanged as a thief in Oslo. The sons of Jon didn't turn out well either, and now all three of them were dead.\n\nWhile his offspring were still alive, Sira Eirik had greedily sought to adorn and honor his church with gifts. Now it was the church that would doubtless acquire the majority of his fortune and his precious books. The new Saint Olav and Saint Thomas Church in Sil was much larger and more splendid than the old one that had burned down, and Sira Eirik had endowed it with many magnificent and costly adornments. He went to church every day to say his prayers and to reflect, but now he only said mass for the parishioners on high holy days.\n\nIt was Sira Solmund who now handled most of the other official priestly duties. But when people had a heavy sorrow, or if their souls were troubled by great difficulties or pangs of conscience, they preferred to seek out their old parish priest, and they all felt that they took home solace from a meeting with Sira Eirik.\n\nOne evening in early spring Kristin Lavransdatter went to Romundgaard and knocked on the door of Sira Eirik's house. She didn't know how to bring up the subject she wanted to discuss, so she talked about one thing and another after she had expressed her greetings.\n\nFinally the old man said a little impatiently, \"Have you just come here to bring me greetings, Kristin, and to see how I am? If so, that is most kind of you. But it seems to me that you have something on your mind, and if this is true, tell me about it now, and don't waste time with idle talk.\"\n\nKristin clasped her hands in her lap and lowered her eyes. \"I'm so unhappy, Sira Eirik, that my husband is living up there at Haugen.\"\n\n\"Surely the road isn't any longer,\" said the priest, \"than that you can easily journey up there to talk to him and ask him to return home soon. He can't have so much to do up there on such a small one-man farm that he should need to stay any longer.\"\n\n\"I feel frightened when I think of him sitting alone up there in the winter nights,\" said Kristin, shivering.\n\n\"Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n is old enough and strong enough to look out for himself.\"\n\n\"Sira Eirik... you know about everything that happened up there, back in the old days,\" whispered Kristin, her voice barely audible.\n\nThe priest turned his dim old eyes toward her; once they had been coal-black, sharp, and gleaming. He didn't say a word.\n\n\"Surely you must have heard what people say,\" she continued, speaking in the same low voice. \"That the dead... still haunt the place.\"\n\n\"Do you mean you don't dare seek him out because of that? Or are you afraid the ghosts might break your husband's neck? If they haven't done it by now, Kristin, then no doubt they'll let him stay there in peace.\" The priest laughed harshly. \"It's mostly just ignorance\u2014heathen nonsense and superstition\u2014when people start gossiping about ghosts and the return of dead men. I fear there are stern guards at the door, in that place where Herr Bj\u00f8rn and Fru Aashild now find themselves.\"\n\n\"Sira Eirik,\" she whispered, her voice trembling, \"do you believe there is no salvation for those two poor souls?\"\n\n\"God forbid that I should dare judge the limits of His mercy. But I can't imagine that those two could have managed to settle their debts so quickly; all the slates the two of them have had a hand in carving have not yet been presented: her children, whom she abandoned, and the two of you, who took lessons from the wise woman. If I thought that it might help, so that some of the misdeeds she committed could be rectified... but since Erlend is living up there, God must not think it would be of any benefit for his aunt to reappear and warn him. For we know that it is through the grace of God and the compassion of Our Lady and the intercessionary prayers of the Church that a poor soul may be allowed to return to this world from the fires of purgatory if his sin is such that it can be absolved with the help of someone who is alive and in this manner shorten his time of torment. Such was the case with the wretched soul who moved the boundary between Hov and Jarpstad, or the farmer in Musudal with the false documents about the millstream. But souls cannot leave the fires of purgatory unless they have a lawful errand. It's mostly nonsense what people say about ghosts and phantoms or the mirages of the Devil, which disappear like smoke if you protect yourself with the sign of the cross and the name of the Lord.\"\n\n\"But what about the blessed ones who are with God, Sira Eirik?\" she asked softly.\n\n\"You know quite well that the holy ones who are with God can be sent out to bring gifts and messages from Paradise.\"\n\n\"I once told you that I saw Brother Edvin Rikardss\u00f8n,\" she said in the same tone of voice.\n\n\"Yes, either it was a dream\u2014and it might have been sent by God or one of his guardian angels\u2014or else the monk is a holy man.\"\n\nShivering, Kristin whispered, \"My father... Sira Eirik, I have prayed so often that I might be allowed to see his face one more time. I long so fervently to see him, Sira Eirik. And perhaps I might be able to tell from his expression what he wants me to do. If my father could give me advice in that way...\" She had to bite her lip, and she used a corner of her wimple to brush away the tears that had welled up.\n\nThe priest shook his head.\n\n\"Pray for his soul, Kristin\u2014although I'm convinced that Lavrans and your mother have long ago found solace with those from whom they sought comfort for all the sorrows they endured here on earth. And certainly Lavrans still holds you firmly in his love there too, but your prayers and the masses said for his soul will bind you and all the rest of us to him. How this occurs is one of the secret things that are difficult to fathom, but I have no doubt that this is a better way than if he should be disturbed in his peace to come here and appear before you.\"\n\nKristin had to sit still for a moment before she gained enough mastery over herself that she dared speak. But then she told the priest about everything that had happened between Erlend and her on the evening in the hearth house, repeating every word that was said, as best as she could remember.\n\nThe priest sat in silence for a long time after she was finished.\n\nThen Kristin clapped her hands together harshly. \"Sira Eirik! Do you think I was the one most at fault? Do you think I was so wrong that it wasn't a sin for Erlend to desert me and all our sons in this manner? Do you think it is fair for him to demand that I seek him out, fall to my knees, and take back the words I spoke in anger? Because I know that unless I do, he will never return home to us!\"\n\n\"Do you think you need to call Lavrans back from the other world to ask his advice in this matter?\" The priest stood up and placed his hand on the woman's shoulder. \"The first time I saw you, Kristin, you were a tiny maiden. Lavrans made you stand between his knees as he crossed your little hands on your breast and told you to say the Pater noster for me. You repeated it in a lovely, clear voice, even though you didn't understand a single word. Later you learned the meaning of every prayer in our language; perhaps you've forgotten about that now.\n\n\"Have you forgotten that your father taught you and honored you and loved you? He honored the man before whom you are now afraid of humbling yourself. Or have you forgotten how splendid the feast was that he held for the two of you? And then you rode away from his manor like two thieves. Did you take with you Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's esteem and honor?\"\n\nSobbing, Kristin hid her face in her hands.\n\n\"Do you remember, Kristin? Did he ever demand that the two of you should fall to your knees before he thought he could take you back into his fatherly love? Do you think it too harsh a penance for your pride if you have to bow before a man whom you may not have wronged as much as you sinned against your father?\"\n\n\"Jesus!\" Kristin wept in utter despair. \"Jesus, have mercy on me.\"\n\n\"I see that you at least remember his name,\" said the priest. \"The name of the one your father strove to follow like a disciple and serve like a loyal knight.\" He touched the small crucifix that hung above them. \"Free of sin, God's son died on the cross to atone for the sins we had committed against him.\n\n\"Go home now, Kristin, and think about what I have told you,\" said Sira Eirik after she had regained some measure of calm.\n\nBut during those very days a southerly gale set in with sleet and torrential rains; at times it was so fierce that people could barely cross their own courtyards without the risk of being swept away above all the rooftops; at least that was how it seemed. The roads through the countryside were completely impassable. The spring floods arrived so abruptly and turbulently that people had to move out of the estates that were most vulnerable. Kristin moved most of their belongings up into the loft of the new storehouse, and she was granted permission to put her livestock in Sira Eirik's springtime shed. The shed used at J\u00f8rundgaard in the spring was on the other side of the river. It was a dreadful toil in the storm; up in the meadows the snow was as soft as melted butter, and the animals were so wretched. Two of the best calves broke their legs as if they were tender stalks as they walked along.\n\nOn the day they moved the livestock Simon Darre suddenly appeared in the middle of the road with four of his servants. They set about lending a hand. In the wind and rain and all the tumult with the cattle that had to be prodded and the sheep and lambs that had to be carried, there was neither peace nor quiet for the kinsmen to talk. But after they returned to J\u00f8rundgaard in the evening and Kristin had seated Simon and his men in the main house\u2014everyone who had helped out that day needed some warm ale\u2014he spoke a few words with her. He asked her to go to Formo with the women and children, while he and two of his men would stay behind with Ulf and the boys. Kristin thanked him but said that she wanted to stay on her manor. Lavrans and Munan were already at Ulvsvold, and Jardtrud had gone to stay with Sira Solmund; she had become such good friends with the priest's sister.\n\nSimon said, \"People think it's strange, Kristin, that you two sisters never see each other. Ramborg won't be happy if I return home without you.\"\n\n\"I know it looks strange,\" she told him, \"but I think it would look even stranger if we should visit my sister now, when the master of this estate is not home and people know that there's animosity between him and you.\"\n\nThen Simon said no more, and soon after he and his men took their leave.\n\nThe week preceding Ascension Day arrived with a terrible storm, and on Tuesday word spread from farm to farm in the north of the region that the floods had now carried off the bridge up in Rost Gorge, which people crossed when they went up to the H\u00f8vring pastures. They began to fear for the big bridge south of the church. It was solidly built of the roughest timbers, with a high arch in the middle, and was supported underneath with thick posts that were sunk into the riverbed. But now the waters were flooding over the bridgeheads where they joined the banks, and beneath the vault of the bridge all kinds of debris that had been brought by the currents from the north were piling up. The Laag had now overflowed the low embankments on both shores, and in one place the water had accumulated across J\u00f8rundgaard's fields like in a cove, almost reaching the buildings. There was a hollow in the pastures and in the middle was the roof of the smithy, and the tops of the trees looked like little islands. The barn on the islet had already been swept away.\n\nVery few people attended church from the farms on the east side of the river. They were afraid the bridge would be washed away and they wouldn't be able to get back home. But up on the other shore, on the slope beneath Laugarbru's barn, where there was some shelter from the storm, a dark cluster of people could be glimpsed through the gusts of snow. It was rumored that Sira Eirik had said he would carry the cross over the bridge and set it on the east bank of the river, even if no one dared follow him.\n\nA squall of snow rushed toward the procession of people coming out of the church. The flakes formed slanting streaks in the air. Only a glimmer of the valley was visible: here and there a scrap of the darkening lake where the fields usually lay, the rush of clouds sweeping over the scree-covered slopes and the lobes of forest, and glimpses of the mountain peaks against the billowing clouds high overhead. The air was sated with the clamor of the river, rising and falling, with the roar from the forests, and with the howl of the wind. Occasionally a muffled crash could be heard, echoing the storm's fury from the mountains and the thunder of an avalanche of new snow.\n\nThe candles were blown out as soon as they were carried beyond the church gallery. That day fully grown young men had donned the white shirts of choirboys. The wind whipped at their garments. They walked along in a large group, carrying the banner with their hands, gripping the fabric so the wind wouldn't shred it to pieces as the procession leaned forward, struggling across the slope in the wind. But now and then, above the raging of the storm, the sound of Sira Eirik's resonant voice could be heard as he fought his way forward and sang:"
            },
            {
                "title": "Venite: revertamur ad Dominum; quia ipse cepit & sanabit nos: percutiet, & curabit nos, & vivemus in conspectu ejus. Sciemus sequemurque, ut cognoscamus Dominum. Alleluia.",
                "text": "Kristin stopped, along with all the other women, when the procession reached the place where the water had overflowed the road, but the white-clad young boys, the deacons, and the priests were already up on the bridge, and almost all the men followed; the water came up to their knees.\n\nThe bridge shuddered and shook, and then the women noticed that an entire house was rushing from the north toward the bridge. It churned around and around in the current as it was carried along, partially shattered, with its timbers jutting out, but still managing to stay in one piece. The woman from Ulvsvold clung to Kristin Lavransdatter and moaned loudly; her husband's two nearly grownup brothers were among the choirboys. Kristin screamed without words to the Virgin Mary, fixing her gaze on the group in the middle of the bridge where she could discern the white-clad figure of Naakkve among the men holding the banner. The women thought they could still hear Sira Eirik's voice, almost drowned out by the din.\n\nHe paused at the crest of the bridge and lifted the cross high up as the house struck. The bridge shuddered and swayed; to the people on both shores, it looked as if it had dipped slightly to the south. Then the procession moved on, disappearing behind the curved arch of the bridge and then reappearing on the opposite shore. The wreckage of the house had become tangled up in the heaps of other flotsam caught in the underpinnings of the bridge.\n\nAll of a sudden, like a miracle, silvery light began seeping from the windblown masses of clouds; a dull gleam like molten lead spread over the whole expanse of the swollen river. The haze lifted, the clouds scattered, the sun broke through, and as the procession came back over the bridge, the rays glittered on the cross. On the wet white alb of the priest, the crossed stripes of his stole shimmered a wondrous purple. The valley lay gilded and sparkling with moisture, as if at the bottom of a dark blue grotto, for the storm clouds had gathered around the mountain ridges and, brought low by the rays of the sun, had turned the heights black. The haze fled between the peaks, and the great crest above Formo reached up from the darkness, dazzling white with new snow.\n\nShe had seen Naakkve walk past. The drenched garments clung to the boys as they sang at the top of their lungs to the sunshine:"
            },
            {
                "title": "Salvator mundi, salva nos omnes. Kyrie, eleison, Christe, eleison, Christe, audi nos\u2014.",
                "text": "The priests with the cross had gone past; the group of farmers followed in their heavy, soaked clothing, but looking around them at the weather with amazed and shining faces as they took up the prayer's refrain: Kyrie eleison!\n\nSuddenly she saw... She couldn't believe her own eyes, and now it was her turn to grab hold of the woman next to her for support. There was Erlend walking along in the procession; he was wearing a dripping wet coat made of reindeer hide with the hood pulled over his head. But it was him. His lips were slightly parted, and he was crying, Kyrie eleison, along with the others. He looked right at her as he walked past. She couldn't properly decipher the expression on his face, but it looked as if he wore a shadow of a smile.\n\nTogether with the other women, she joined the procession as it moved up the church hill, calling out with the others as the young boys sang the litany. She was unaware of anything except the wild pounding of her own heart.\n\nDuring the mass she caught a glimpse of him only once. She didn't dare stand in her customary place but hid in the darkness of the north nave.\n\nAs soon as the service was over, she rushed outdoors. She fled from her maids who had been in church. Outside, the countryside was steaming in the sunshine. Kristin raced home without noticing the sodden state of the road.\n\nShe spread a cloth over the table and set a full horn of mead before the master's high seat before she took time to exchange her wet clothes for her Sabbath finery: the dark blue, embroidered gown, silver belt, buckled shoes, and the wimple with the blue border. Then she knelt in the alcove. She couldn't think, she couldn't find the words she sought; over and over again she said the Ave Maria: Blessed Lady, dear Lord, son of the Virgin, you know what I want to say.\n\nThis went on for a long time. From her maids she heard that the men had gone back to the bridge; with broadaxes and hooks they were trying to remove the tangle of debris that had gotten caught. It was a matter of saving the bridge. The priests had also gone back after they had taken off their vestments.\n\nIt was well past midday when the men returned: Kristin's sons, Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, and the three servants\u2014an old man and two youths who had been given refuge on the manor.\n\nNaakkve had already sat down at his place, to the right of the high seat. Suddenly he stood up, stepped forward, and rushed for the door.\n\nKristin softly called out his name.\n\nA moment later he came back and sat down. The color came and went in his young face; he kept his eyes lowered, and now and then he had to bite his lip. His mother saw that he was struggling hard to master his feelings, but he managed to do so.\n\nFinally the meal came to an end. Her sons, who were seated on the inner bench, rose to their feet and came around the end of the table past the vacant high seat, adjusting their belts as they usually did after they had put their knives back in their sheaths. Then they left the room.\n\nWhen they had all gone, Kristin followed. In the sunshine, water was now streaming off all the eaves. There wasn't a soul in the courtyard except for Ulf; he was standing on the doorstep to his own house.\n\nHis face took on an oddly helpless expression when the mistress approached him. He didn't speak, and so she asked quietly, \"Did you talk to him?\"\n\n\"Only a few words. I saw that he and Naakkve talked.\"\n\nAfter a moment he went on, \"He was a little worried... about all of you... when the flooding got this bad. So he decided to head home to see how things were. Naakkve told him how you were handling everything.\n\n\"I don't know how he happened to hear about it... that you gave away the pelts he sent with Gaute in the fall. He was cross about that. Also when he heard that you had rushed home right after the mass; he thought you would have stayed to talk to him.\"\n\nKristin didn't say a word; she turned on her heel and went back inside.\n\nThat summer there were constant quarrels and strife between Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n and his wife. The son of Ulf's half brother, Haldor Jonss\u00f8n, had come to visit his kinsman in the spring, along with his wife; he had been married the year before. It was understood that Haldor would now lease the estate Ulf owned in Skaun and move there on turnover day. But Jardtrud was angry because she thought Ulf had given his nephew conditions that were too good, and she saw that it was the men's intention to ensure for Haldor, perhaps through some kind of agreement, inheritance of the estate after his uncle's death.\n\nHaldor had been Kristin's personal servant at Husaby, and she was very fond of the young man. She also liked his wife, who was a quiet and proper young woman. Shortly after Midsummer the couple had a son, and Kristin lent the wife her weaving house, where the mistresses of the estate used to reside whenever they gave birth. But Jardtrud took offense that Kristin herself should attend the woman as the foremost of the midwives, even though Jardtrud was young and quite inexperienced, unable to offer help with a birth or with caring for a newborn infant.\n\nKristin was the boy's godmother, and Ulf gave the christening banquet, but Jardtrud thought he lavished too much on it and put too many costly gifts in the cradle and in the mother's bed. To placate his wife somewhat, Ulf gave her several precious items from among his own possessions: a gilded cross on a chain, a fur-lined cape with a large silver clasp, a gold ring, and a silver brooch. But she saw that he refused to present her with a single parcel of land that he owned, aside from what he had given her when they married. Everything else would go to his half siblings if he himself had no offspring. Now Jardtrud lamented that her child had been stillborn, and it seemed unlikely that she would have any more; she was ridiculed throughout the countryside because she talked about this to everyone.\n\nUlf had to ask Kristin to allow Haldor and Audhild to live in the hearth house after the young wife had gone to church for the first time after giving birth. Kristin gladly consented. She avoided Haldor because she was reminded of so many things that were painful to think about whenever she spoke with her former servant. But she talked a great deal with his wife, for Audhild wanted to help Kristin as much as she could. Toward the end of the summer the child fell gravely ill, and then Kristin stepped in to tend the boy for his young and inexperienced mother.\n\nWhen the couple journeyed north in the fall, she missed them both, but she missed the child even more. She realized it was foolish, but in recent years she couldn't help feeling some measure of pain because she suddenly seemed to be barren\u2014and yet she wasn't an old woman, not even forty.\n\nIt had helped to keep her thoughts off painful matters when she had the childish young wife and her infant to care for and advise. And even though she found it sad to see that Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n had not found greater happiness in his marriage, the state of affairs in the foreman's house had also served to divert her thoughts from other things.\n\nAfter the way Erlend had behaved on Ascension Day, she hardly dared to speculate anymore about how the whole situation might end. The fact that he had appeared in the village and the church in full view of everyone and then had raced northward again without speaking a single word of greeting to his wife seemed to her so heartless that she felt as if she had at last grown completely indifferent toward him.\n\nShe had not exchanged a word with Simon Andress\u00f8n since the day of the spring floods when he came to help her. She would greet him and often speak a few words to her sister at church. But she had no idea what they thought about her affairs or the fact that Erlend had gone away to Dovre.\n\nOn the Sunday before Saint Bartholomew's Day, Sir Gyrd of Dyfrin came to church with the people from Formo. Simon looked immensely happy as he went inside for mass at his brother's side. And Ramborg came over to Kristin after the service, eagerly whispering that she was with child again and expected to give birth around the Feast of the Virgin Mary in the spring.\n\n\"Kristin, sister, can't you come home and celebrate with us to day?\"\n\nKristin shook her head sadly, patted the young woman's pale cheek, and prayed that God might bring the parents joy. But she said that she couldn't go to Formo.\n\nAfter the falling-out with his brother-in-law, Simon tried to make himself believe that it was for the best. His position was such that he didn't need to ask how people might judge his actions in everything; he had helped Erlend and Kristin when it mattered, and the assistance he could offer them here in the parish was not so important that he should allow it to make his own life more complicated.\n\nBut when he heard that Erlend had left J\u00f8rundgaard, it was impossible for Simon to sustain the stubborn, melancholy calm he had striven to display. It was useless to tell himself that no one fully understood what lay behind Erlend's absence; people chattered so much but knew so little. Even so, he couldn't get himself mixed up in this matter. But he was still uneasy. At times he wondered whether he ought to seek out Erlend at Haugen and take back the words he had said when they parted; then he could see about finding some way to return order to the affairs of his brother-in-law and his wife's sister. But Simon never got any farther than thinking about this.\n\nHe didn't think anyone could tell from looking at him that his heart was uneasy. He lived as he always had, running his farm and managing his properties; he was merry and drank boldly in the company of friends; he went up to the mountains to hunt when he had time and spoiled his children when he was home. And never was an unkind word spoken between him and his wife. For the servants of the manor it must have looked as if the friendship between Ramborg and him was now better than it had ever been, since his wife was more even-tempered and calm, never exhibiting those fits of capriciousness and childish anger over petty matters. But secretly Simon felt awkward and uncertain in his wife's company; he could no longer make himself treat her as if she were still half a child, teasing and pampering her. He didn't know how he should treat her anymore.\n\nNeither did he know how to take it when she told him one evening that she was again with child.\n\n\"I suppose you're not particularly happy about it, are you?\" he finally said, stroking her hand.\n\n\"But surely you are happy, aren't you?\" Ramborg pressed close to him, half crying and half laughing. He laughed, a little embarrassed, as he pulled her into his arms.\n\n\"I'll be sensible this time, Simon; I won't behave the way I did before. But you must stay with me, do you hear me? Even if all your brothers-in-law and all your brothers were to be led off to the gallows, one after the other, with their hands bound, you mustn't leave me!\"\n\nSimon laughed sadly. \"Where would I go, my Ramborg? Geirmund, that poor creature, isn't likely to get mixed up in any weighty matters, and he's the only one left among my friends and kinsmen that I haven't quarreled with yet.\"\n\n\"Oh...\" Ramborg laughed too as her tears fell. \"That enmity will last only until they need a helping hand and you think you can offer it. I know you too well by now, my husband.\"\n\nTwo weeks later Gyrd Andress\u00f8n unexpectedly arrived at the manor. The Dyfrin knight had brought only a single man as an escort.\n\nThe meeting between the brothers took place with few words spoken. Sir Gyrd explained that he hadn't seen his sister and brother-in-law at Kruke in all these years, and so he had decided to come north to visit them. Since he was in the valley, Sigrid felt he should also visit Formo. \"And I thought, brother, that surely you couldn't be so angry with me that you wouldn't offer me and my servant food and lodging until tomorrow.\"\n\n\"You know I will,\" said Simon as he stood looking down, his face dark red. \"It was... noble of you, Gyrd, to come to see me.\"\n\nThe brothers walked through the fields after they had eaten. The grain was starting to turn pale on the slopes facing the sun, down by the river. The weather was so beautiful. The Laag now glittered gently enough, visible as little white flashes amid the alder trees. Big, glossy clouds drifted across the summer sky; sunshine filled the entire basin of the valley, and the mountain on the other side looked light blue and green in the shimmer of heat and the fleeting shadows of the clouds.\n\nA pounding sound came from the pasture behind them as the horses trampled across the dry hillside; the herd came rushing through the alder thickets. Simon leaned over the fence. \"Foal, foal... Bronstein's getting old, isn't he?\" he said as Gyrd's horse poked his head over the rail and nudged his shoulder.\n\n\"Eighteen winters.\" Gyrd stroked the horse. \"I thought, kinsman, that this matter... It wouldn't be right if it should end the friendship between you and me,\" he said without looking at his brother.\n\n\"It has grieved me every single day,\" replied Simon softly. \"Thank you for coming, Gyrd.\"\n\nThey continued walking along the fence\u2014Gyrd first, with Simon plodding behind. Finally they sank down on the edge of a little yellow-scorched stony embankment. A strong, sweet fragrance came from the small mounds of hay that were scattered about, where the scythe had scraped together short stalks of hay mixed with flowers between the piles of stones. Gyrd spoke of the reconciliation between King Magnus and the Haftorss\u00f8ns and their followers.\n\nAfter a moment Simon asked, \"Do you think it's out of the question that any of these kinsmen of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n would be willing to attempt to win full reconciliation for him and clemency from the king?\"\n\n\"There is not much I can do,\" said Gyrd Darre. \"And they have few kind words to say of him, Simon, those who might be able to do something. Oh, I have little desire to talk of this matter now. I thought he was a bold and splendid fellow, but the others think he brought his plans to such a bad end. But I'd rather not talk of this now; I know you're so fond of that brother-in-law of yours.\"\n\nSimon sat gazing out across the silvery white brilliance of the crowns of the trees on the hillside and the sparkling gleam of the river. Surprised, he thought that yes, in a way it was true, what Gyrd had said.\n\n\"Except that right now we are foes, Erlend and I,\" he said. \"It's been a long time since we last spoke.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that you've grown quite quarrelsome over the years, Simon,\" said Gyrd with a laugh.\n\nAfter a moment he continued, \"Haven't you ever thought of moving away from these valleys? We kinsmen could support each other more if we lived closer to each other.\"\n\n\"How can you even think of such a thing? Formo is my ancestral estate...\"\n\n\"Aasmund of Eiken owns part of the manor through inherited rights. And I know that he would not be unwilling to exchange one ancestral property for another. He hasn't yet given up the idea that if he could win your Arngjerd for his Grunde on the terms that he mentioned...\"\n\nSimon shook his head. \"The lineage of our father's mother has resided on this estate ever since Norway was a heathen land. And it is here that I intend for Andres to live when I'm gone. I don't think you have your wits about you, brother. How could I give up Formo!\"\n\n\"No, that's understandable.\" Gyrd blushed a little. \"I merely thought that perhaps... Most of your kinsmen are at Raumarike, along with the friends from your youth; perhaps you might find that you'd thrive better there.\"\n\n\"I'm thriving here.\" Simon had also turned red. \"This is the place where I can give the boy a secure seat.\" He looked at Gyrd, and his brother's fine, furrowed face took on an embarrassed expression. Gyrd's hair was now almost white, but his body was still just as slender and lithe as ever. He shifted rather uneasily; several stones rolled out from the pile of rocks and tumbled down the slope and into the grain.\n\n\"Are you going to send the whole scree down into my field?\" asked Simon in a stern voice as he laughed. Gyrd leaped to his feet, light and agile, reaching out a hand to his brother, who moved more slowly.\n\nSimon gripped his brother's hand for a moment after he got to his feet. Then he placed his arm around his brother's shoulder. Gyrd did the same, and with their arms loosely resting around each other's shoulders, the brothers slowly walked over the hills toward the manor.\n\nThey sat together in the S\u00e6mund house that night; Simon would share a bed with his brother. They had said their evening prayers, but they wanted to empty the ale keg before they went to bed.\n\n\"Benedictus tu in muliebris... mulieribus... Do you remember that?\" Simon laughed suddenly.\n\n\"Yes. It cost me a few blows across the back before Sira Magnus wrung our grandmother's misteachings out of my head.\" Gyrd smiled at the memory. \"And he had a devilishly hard hand too. Do you remember, brother, that time when he sat and scratched the calves of his legs, and he had lifted up the hem of his robe? You whispered to me that if you had had such misshapen calves as Magnus Ketilss\u00f8n, you would have become a priest too and always worn full-length surcoats.\"\n\nSimon smiled. Suddenly he seemed to see the boyish face of his brother, about to burst with stifled laughter, his eyes pitifully miserable. They weren't very old back then, and Sira Magnus was cruelly hard-handed whenever he had to reprimand them.\n\nGyrd had not been terribly clever when they were children. And it wasn't because Gyrd was a particularly wise man that Simon loved him now. But he felt warm with gratitude and tenderness toward his brother as he sat there: for every day of their kinship during almost forty years and for Gyrd, just the way he was\u2014the most loyal and forthright of men.\n\nIt seemed to Simon that winning back his brother Gyrd was like gaining a firm foundation for at least one foot. And for such a long time his life had been so unreasonably disjointed and complicated.\n\nHe felt a warmth inside every time he thought about Gyrd, who had come to him to make amends for something that Simon himself had provoked when he rode to his brother's estate in anger and with curses. His heart overflowed with gratitude; he had to thank more than Gyrd.\n\nA man such as Lavrans... He knew quite well how he would have handled such an event. He could follow his fatherin-law as far as he was able, by giving out alms and the like. But he wasn't capable of such things as true contrition or contemplation of the wounds of the Lord, unless he stared zealously at the crucifix\u2014and that was not what Lavrans had intended. Simon couldn't bring forth tears of remorse; he hadn't wept more than two or three times since he was a child, and never when he needed to most, those times when he had committed the worst of sins: with Arngjerd's mother while he was a married man and that killing the previous year. And yet he had felt great regret; he thought that he always sincerely regretted his sins, taking pains to confess and to atone as the priest commanded. He was always diligent in saying his prayers and saw to it that he gave the proper tithes and abundant alms\u2014with particular generosity in honor of the apostle Saint Simon, Saint Olav, Saint Michael, and the Virgin Mary. Otherwise he was content with what Sira Eirik had said: that salvation was to be found in the cross alone and how a man faced or fought with the Fiend was something for God to decide and not the man himself.\n\nBut now he felt an urge to show his gratitude to the holy ones with greater fervor. His mother had told him that he was supposedly born on the birthday of the Virgin Mary. He decided that he wanted to show the Lord's Mother his veneration with a prayer he was not usually accustomed to saying. He had once had a beautiful prayer copied out, back when he was at the royal court, and he took out the small piece of parchment.\n\nNow, much later, he feared that it was probably intended more as an appeal to King Haakon than for the sake of God or Mary that he had acquired these small epistles with prayers and learned them while he was among the king's retainers. All the young men did so, for the king was in the habit of quizzing the pages about what they knew of such useful knowledge when he lay in bed at night, unable to sleep.\n\nOh yes... that was so long ago. The king's bedchamber in the stone hall of the Oslo palace. On the little table next to his bed burned a single candle; the light fell across the finely etched, faded, and aging face of the man, resting above the red silken quilts. When the priest had finished reading aloud and taken his leave, the king often picked up the book himself and lay in bed, reading with the heavy volume resting against his propped-up knees. On two footstools over by the brick fireplace sat the pages; Simon nearly always had the watch with Gunstein Ingas\u00f8n. It was pleasant in the chamber. The fire burned brightly, giving heat without smoke, and the room seemed so snug with the crossbeamed ceiling and the walls always covered with tapestries. But they would grow sleepy from sitting there in that fashion, first listening to the priest read and then waiting for the king to fall asleep, as he rarely did until close to midnight. When he was sleeping, they were allowed to take turns keeping guard and napping on the bench between the fireplace and the door to the royal Council hall.\n\nOccasionally the king would converse with them; this didn't happen often, but when it did, he was inexpressibly kind and charming. Or he would read aloud from the book a sentence or a few stanzas of a verse that he thought the young men might find useful or beneficial to hear.\n\nOne night Simon was awakened by King Haakon calling for him in pitch-darkness. The candle had burned out. Feeling wretched with shame, Simon blew some life into the embers and lit a new candle. The king lay in bed, smiling secretively.\n\n\"Does that Gunstein always snore so terribly?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Lord.\"\n\n\"You share a bed with him in the dormitory, don't you? It might be deemed reasonable if you asked for another bedfellow for a while who makes less noise when he sleeps.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my Lord, but it doesn't bother me, Your Majesty!\"\n\n\"Surely you must wake up, Simon, when that thunder explodes right next to your ear\u2014don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, Your Grace, but then I give him a shove and turn him over a bit.\"\n\nThe king laughed. \"I wonder whether you young men realize that being able to sleep so soundly is one of God's great gifts. When you reach my age, Simon my friend, perhaps you will remember my words.\"\n\nThat seemed endlessly far away\u2014still clear, but not as if he were the same man, sitting here now, who had once been that young page.\n\nOne day at the beginning of Advent, when Kristin was almost alone on the estate\u2014her sons were bringing home firewood and moss\u2014she was surprised to see Simon Darre come riding into the courtyard. He had come to invite her and her sons to be their guests during Christmas.\n\n\"You know quite well, Simon, that we can't do that,\" she said somberly. \"We can still be friends in our hearts, you and Ramborg and I, but as you know, it's not always possible for us to determine what we must do.\"\n\n\"Surely you don't mean that you're going to take this so far that you won't come to your only sister when she has to lie down to give birth.\"\n\nKristin prayed that all would go well and bring both of them joy. \"But I can't tell you with certainty that I will come.\"\n\n\"Everyone will think it remarkably strange,\" admonished Simon. \"You have a reputation for being the best midwife, and she's your sister, and the two of you are the mistresses of the largest estates in the northern part of the region.\"\n\n\"Quite a few children have been brought into the world on the great manors around here over the past few years, but I've never been asked to come. It's no longer the custom, Simon, for a birth to be considered improperly attended if the mistress of J\u00f8rund gaard is not in the room.\" She saw that he was greatly distressed by her words, and so she continued, \"Give my greetings to Ramborg, and tell her that I will come to help her when it's time; but I cannot come to your Christmas feast, Simon.\"\n\nBut on the eighth day of the Christmas season she met Simon as he came to mass without Ramborg. No, she was feeling fine, he said, but she needed to rest and gather her strength, for the next day he was taking her and the children south to Dyfrin. The weather was so good for traveling by sleigh, and since Gyrd had invited them, and Ramborg was so keen on going, well..."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "On the day after Saint Paal's Day, Simon Darre rode north across Lake Mj\u00f8sa, accompanied by two men. A bitter frost had set in, but he didn't think he could stay away from home any longer; the sleighs would have to follow later, as soon as the cold had let up a bit.\n\nAt Hamar he met a friend, Vigleik Paalss\u00f8n of Fagaberg, and they continued on together. When they reached Lillehammer, they rested for a while at a farm where ale was served. As they sat and drank, several drunken fur peddlers began brawling in the room. Finally Simon stood up, stepped into the thick of things and separated them, but in doing so, he received a knife wound in his right forearm. It was little more than a scratch, so he paid it no mind, although the proprietress of the alehouse insisted on being allowed to bind a cloth around it.\n\nHe rode home with Vigleik and stayed the night at his manor. The men shared a bed, and toward morning Simon was awakened because the other man was thrashing in his sleep. Several times Vigleik called out his name, and so Simon woke him up to ask what was wrong.\n\nVigleik couldn't remember his dream properly. \"But it was loathsome, and you were in it. One thing I do remember: Simon Reidarss\u00f8n stood in this room and asked you to leave with him. I saw him so clearly that I could have counted every single freckle on his face.\"\n\n\"I wish you could sell me that dream,\" said Simon, half in jest and half seriously. Simon Reidarss\u00f8n was his uncle's son, and they had been good friends when they were growing up, but the other Simon had died at the age of thirteen.\n\nIn the morning when the men sat down to eat, Vigleik noticed that Simon hadn't buttoned the sleeve of his tunic around his right wrist. The flesh was red and swollen all the way down to the back of his hand. He mentioned it, but Simon merely laughed.\n\nA little later, when his friend begged him to stay on a few more days and to wait there for his wife\u2014Vigleik couldn't forget his dream\u2014Simon Andress\u00f8n replied, almost indignantly, \"Surely you haven't had such a bad dream about me that I should keep to my bed because of a mere louse bite?\"\n\nAround sunset Simon and his men rode down to Lake Losna. It had been the most beautiful day; now the towering blue and white peaks turned gold and crimson in the twilight, while along the river the groves, heavy with rime, stood furry gray in the shadows. The men had excellent horses and a brisk ride ahead of them across the long lake; tiny bits of ice sprayed up, ringing and clinking beneath the hooves of the horses. A biting wind blew hard against them. Simon was freezing, but in spite of the cold, strange nauseating waves of heat kept washing over him, followed by icy spells that seemed to seep all the way into the marrow of his spine. Now and then he noticed that his tongue was swollen and felt oddly thick at the back of his throat. Even before they had crossed the lake he had to stop and ask one of his men to help him fasten his cape so it would support his right arm.\n\nThe servants had heard Vigleik Paalss\u00f8n recounting his dream; now they wanted their master to show them his wound. But Simon said it was nothing; it merely stung a bit. \"I may have to get used to being left-handed for a few days.\"\n\nBut later that night, when the moon had risen and they were riding high along the ridge north of the lake, Simon realized that his arm might turn out to be rather troublesome after all. It ached all the way up to his armpit, the jolting of the horse caused him great pain, and the blood was hammering in his wounded limb. His head was pounding too, and spasms were shooting up from the back of his neck. He was hot and then cold by turn.\n\nThe winter road passed high up along the slope, partway through forest and partway across white fields. Simon gazed at everything: The full moon was sailing brightly in the pale blue sky, having driven all the stars far away; only a few larger ones still dared wander in the distant heavens. The white fields glittered and sparkled; the shadows fell short and jagged across the snow; inside the woods the uncertain light lay in splotches and stripes among the firs, heavy with snow. Simon saw all this.\n\nBut at the same time he saw quite clearly a meadow with tufts of ash-brown grass in the sunlight of early spring. Several small spruce trees had sprung up here and there at the edge of the field; they glowed green like velvet in the sun. He recognized this place; it was the pasture near his home at Dyfrin. The alder woods stood beyond the field with its tree trunks a springtime shiny gray and the tops brown with blossoms. Behind stretched the long, low Raumarike ridges, shimmering blue but still speckled white with snow. They were walking down toward the alder thicket, he and Simon Reidarss\u00f8n, carrying fishing gear and pike spears. They were on their way to the lake, which lay dark gray with patches of thawing ice, to fish at the open end. His dead cousin walked at his side; he saw his playmate's curly hair sticking out from his cap, reddish in the spring sunlight; he could see every freckle on the boy's face. The other Simon stuck out his lower lip and blew\u2014phew, phew\u2014whenever he thought his namesake was speaking gibberish. They jumped over meandering rivulets and leaped from mound to mound across the trickling snow water in the grassy meadow. The bottom was covered with moss; under the water it churned and frothed a lively green.\n\nHe was fully aware of everything around him; the whole time he saw the road passing up one hill and down another, through the woods and over white fields in the glittering moonlight. He saw the slumbering clusters of houses beneath snow-laden roofs casting shadows across the fields; he saw the band of fog hovering over the river in the bottom of the valley. He knew that it was Jon who was riding right behind him and who moved up alongside him whenever they entered open clearings, and yet he happened to call the man Simon several times. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, even though he noticed that his servants grew alarmed.\n\n\"We must manage to reach the monks at Roaldstad tonight, men,\" he said once when his mind had cleared.\n\nThe men tried to dissuade him; instead they should see about finding lodgings as soon as possible, and they mentioned the nearest parsonage. But their master clung to his plan.\n\n\"It will be hard on the horses, Simon.\" The two men exchanged a glance.\n\nBut Simon merely laughed. They would have to manage it for once. He thought about the arduous miles. Pain shot through his whole body as he jolted in the saddle. But he wanted to go home because now he knew that he was fated to die.\n\nEven though his heart was alternately freezing and burning in the winter night, at the same time he felt the mild spring sunshine of the pasture back home, while he and the dead boy kept walking and walking toward the alder thicket.\n\nFor brief moments the image would vanish and his head would clear, except that it ached so dreadfully. He asked one of his men to cut open the sleeve on his wounded arm. His face turned white and the sweat poured down when Jon Daalk cautiously slit open his vest and shirt from his wrist up to his shoulder, but he managed to support the swollen limb himself with his left hand. After a while the pain began to ease.\n\nThen the men started discussing whether they should see about sending word back south to Dyfrin once they reached Roaldstad. But Simon had his objections. He didn't want to worry his wife with such a message when it might be unnecessary; a sleigh ride in this bitter cold would be ill advised. Perhaps, when they were home at Formo... They should wait and see. He tried to smile at Sigurd to cheer up the young servant, who looked quite frightened and distressed.\n\n\"But you can send word to Kristin at J\u00f8rundgaard as soon as we reach home. She's so skilled at healing.\" His tongue felt as thick and stiff as wood as he spoke.\n\nKiss me, Kristin, my betrothed! At first she would think he was speaking in delirium. No, Kristin. Then she would be surprised.\n\nErlend had understood. Ramborg had understood. But Kristin... She sat there with her sorrow and rancor, and yet as angry and bitter as she now felt toward that man Erlend, she still had no thoughts for anyone else but him. You've never cherished me enough, Kristin, my beloved, that you might consider how difficult it would be for me when I had to be a brother to the woman who was once meant to be my wife.\n\nHe hadn't realized it himself back then, when he parted from her outside the convent gate in Oslo: that he would continue to think about her in this way. That he would end up feeling as if nothing he had acquired afterward in life were an equal replacement for what he had lost back then. For the maiden who had been promised to him in his youth.\n\nShe would hear this before he died. She would give him one kiss.\n\nI am the one who loved you and who loves you still.\n\nHe had once heard those words, and he had never been able to forget them. They were from the Virgin Mary's book of miracles, a saga about a nun who fled from her convent with a knight. The Virgin saved them in the end and forgave them in spite of their sin. If it was a sin that he said this to his wife's sister before he died, then God's Mother would grant him forgiveness for this as well. He had so seldom troubled her by asking for anything....\n\nI didn't believe it myself back then: that I would never feel truly happy or merry again...\n\n\"No, Simon, it's too great a burden for Sokka if she has to carry both of us... considering how far she has had to travel tonight,\" he said to the person who had climbed up behind him on the horse and was supporting him. \"I can see that it's you, Sigurd, but I thought it was someone else.\"\n\nToward morning they reached the pilgrims' hostel, and the two monks who were in charge tended to the ill man. After he had revived a little under their care and the feverish daze had abated, Simon Andress\u00f8n insisted on borrowing a sleigh to continue northward.\n\nThe roads were in good condition; they changed horses along the way, journeyed all night, and arrived at Formo the following morning, at dawn. Simon had lain and dozed under all the covers that someone had spread over him. He felt so weighted down\u2014sometimes he felt as if he were being crushed under heavy boulders\u2014and his head ached terribly. Now and then he seemed to slip away. Then the pain would begin raging inside him again; it felt as if his body were swelling up more and more, growing unimaginably big and about to burst. There was a constant throbbing in his arm.\n\nHe tried to walk from the sleigh to the house, with his good arm around Jon's shoulder and Sigurd walking behind to support him. Simon sensed that the faces of the men were gray and grimy with weariness; they had spent two nights in a row in the saddle. He wanted to say something to them about it, but his tongue refused to obey him. He stumbled over the threshold and fell full length into the room\u2014with a roar of pain as his swollen and misshapen arm struck against something. The sweat poured off him as he choked back the moans that rose up as he was undressed and helped into bed.\n\nNot long afterward he noticed that Kristin Lavransdatter was standing next to the fireplace, grinding something with a pestle in a wooden bowl. The sound kept thudding right through his head. She poured something from a small pot into a goblet and added several drops from a glass vial that she took out of a chest. Then she emptied the crushed substance from the bowl into the pot and set it next to the fire. Such a quiet and competent manner she had.\n\nShe came over to the bed with the goblet in her hand. She walked with such ease. She was just as straight-backed and lovely as she had been as a maiden\u2014this slender woman with the thin, somber face beneath the linen wimple. The back of his neck was also swollen, and it hurt when she slipped one arm under his shoulders to lift him up. She supported his head against her breast as she held the goblet to his lips with her left hand.\n\nSimon smiled a little, and as she cautiously let his head slip back down to the pillow, he seized hold of her hand with his good one. Her fine, slim woman's hand was no longer soft or white.\n\n\"I suppose you can't sew silk with these fingers of yours anymore,\" said Simon. \"But they're good and light\u2014and how pleasantly cool your hand is, Kristin.\" He placed it on his forehead. Kristin remained standing there until she felt her palm grow warm; then she removed it and gently pressed her other hand against his burning brow, up along the hairline.\n\n\"Your arm has a nasty wound, Simon,\" she said, \"but with God's help it will mend.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that you won't be able to heal me, Kristin, no matter how skilled you are with medicines,\" said Simon. But his expression was almost cheerful. The potion began to take effect; he felt the pain much less. But his eyes felt so strange, as if he had no control over them. He thought he must be lying there with each eye squinting in opposite directions.\n\n\"No doubt things will go with me as they must,\" he said in the same tone of voice.\n\nKristin went back to her pots; she spread a paste on some linen cloths and then came over and wrapped the hot bandages around his arm, from the tips of his fingers all the way around his back and across his chest, where the swelling splayed out in red stripes from his armpit. It hurt at first, but soon the discomfort eased. She spread a woolen blanket on top and placed soft down pillows under his arm. Simon asked her what she had put on the bandages.\n\n\"Oh, various things\u2014mostly comfrey and swallowwort,\" said Kristin. \"If only it was summer, I could have picked them fresh from my herb garden. But I had a plentiful supply; thanks be to God I haven't needed them earlier this winter.\"\n\n\"What was it you once told me about swallowwort? You heard it from the abbess when you were at the convent... something about the name.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that in all languages it has a name that means 'swallow,' all the way from the Greek sea up to the northern lands?\"\n\n\"Yes, because it blossoms everywhere when the swallows awake from their winter slumber.\" Simon pressed his lips together more firmly. By then he would have been in the ground for a long time.\n\n\"I want my resting place to be here, at the church, if I should die, Kristin,\" he said. \"I'm such a rich man by now that someday Andres will most likely possess considerable power here at Formo. I wonder if Ramborg will have a son after I'm gone, in the spring. I would have liked to live long enough to see two sons on my estate.\"\n\nKristin told him she had sent word south to Dyfrin that he was gravely ill\u2014with Gaute, who had ridden off that morning.\n\n\"You didn't send that child off alone, did you?\" asked Simon with alarm.\n\nThere was no one at hand whom she thought could manage to keep up with Gaute riding Rauden, she told him. Simon said it would surely be a difficult journey for Ramborg; if only she wouldn't travel any faster than she could bear. \"But I would like to see my children...\"\n\nSometime later he began talking about his children again. He mentioned Arngjerd, wondering whether he might have been wrong not to accept the offer from the people of Eiken. But the man seemed too old to him, and he had been afraid that Grunde could turn out to be violent when he was drunk. He had always wanted to place Arngjerd in the most secure of circumstances. Now it would be Gyrd and Gudmund who would decide on her marriage. \"Tell my brothers, Kristin, that I sent them my greetings and that they should tend to this matter with care. If you would take her back to J\u00f8rundgaard for a while, I would be most grateful, as I lie in my grave. And if Ramborg should remarry before Arngjerd's place is assured, then you must take her in, Kristin. You mustn't think that Ramborg has been anything but kind toward her, but if she should end up with both a stepmother and a stepfather, I'm afraid she would be regarded more as a servant girl than a... You remember that I was married to Halfrid when I became her father.\"\n\nKristin gently placed her hand on top of Simon's and promised she would do all she could for the maiden. She remembered everything she had seen of how difficult they were situated, those children who had a nobleman for a father and were conceived in adultery. Orm and Margret and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. She stroked Simon's hand over and over.\n\n\"It's not certain that you will die this time, you know, brother-in-law,\" she said with a little smile. A glimmer of the sweet and tender smile of a maiden could still pass over her thin, stern woman's face. You sweet, young Kristin.\n\nSimon's fever was not as high that evening, and he said the pain was less. When Kristin changed the bandage on his arm, it was not as swollen, but his skin was darker, and when she cautiously pressed it, the marks from her fingers stayed for a moment.\n\nKristin sent the servants off to bed. She allowed Jon Daalk, who insisted on keeping watch over his master, to lie down on a bench in the room. She moved the chest with the carved back over next to the bed and sat down, leaning against the corner. Simon dozed and slept. Once when he woke up, he noticed that she had found a spindle. She was sitting erect, having stuck the distaff with the wool under her left arm, and her fingers were twining the yarn as the spindle dropped lower and lower beside her long, slender lap. Then she rolled up the yarn and began spinning again as the spindle dropped. He fell asleep watching her.\n\nWhen he awoke again, toward morning, she was sitting in the same position, spinning. The light from the candle, which she had placed so the bed hangings would shield him, fell directly on her face. It was so pale and still. Her full, soft lips were narrow and pressed tight; she was sitting with her eyes lowered as she spun. She couldn't see that he was lying awake and staring at her in the shadow of the bed hangings. She looked so full of despair that Simon felt as if his heart were bleeding inside him as he lay there looking at her.\n\nShe stood up and went over to tend the fire. Without a sound. When she came back, she peeked behind the bed hangings and met his open eyes in the dark.\n\n\"How are you feeling now, Simon?\" she asked gently.\n\n\"I feel fine... now.\"\n\nBut he seemed to notice that it felt tender under his left arm too, and under his chin when he moved his head. No, it must be just something he imagined.\n\nOh, she would never think that she had lost anything by rejecting his love; for that matter, he might as well tell her about it. It wasn't possible for that to make her any more melancholy. He wanted to say it to her before he died\u2014at least once: I have loved you all these years.\n\nHis fever rose again. And his left arm was hurting after all.\n\n\"You must try to sleep some more, Simon. Perhaps you will soon feel better,\" she said softly.\n\n\"I've slept a great deal tonight.\" He began talking about his children again: the three he had and loved so dearly and the one who was still unborn. Then he fell silent; the pain returned much worse. \"Lie down for a while, Kristin. Surely Jon can sit with me for a time if you think it necessary for someone to keep watch.\"\n\nIn the morning, when she took off the bandage, Simon replied calmly to her desperate expression: \"Oh no, Kristin, there was already too much festering and poison in my arm, and I was chilled through before I came into your hands. I told you that I didn't think you could heal me. Don't be so sad about it, Kristin.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't have made such a long journey,\" she said faintly.\n\n\"No man lives longer than he is meant to live,\" replied Simon in the same voice. \"I wanted to come home. There are things we must discuss: how everything is to be arranged after I'm gone.\"\n\nHe chuckled. \"All fires burn out sooner or later.\"\n\nKristin gazed at him, her eyes shiny with tears. He had always had so many proverbs on his lips. She looked down at his flushed red face. The heavy cheeks and the folds under his chin seemed to have sunk, lying in deep furrows. His eyes seemed both dull and glistening, but then clarity and intent returned to them. He looked up at her with the steady, searching glance that had been the most constant expression in his small, sharp, steel-gray eyes.\n\nWhen daylight filled the room, Kristin saw that Simon's face had grown pinched around the nose. A white streak stretched downward on either side to the corners of his mouth.\n\nShe walked over to the little glass-paned window and stood there, swallowing her tears. A golden-green light sparkled and gleamed in the thick coating of frost on the window. Outside, it was no doubt as beautiful a day as the whole week had been.\n\nIt was the mark of death.... She knew that.\n\nShe went back and slid her hand under the coverlet. His ankles were swollen all the way up to his calves.\n\n\"Do you want me\u2014do you want me to send for Sira Eirik now?\" she asked in a low voice.\n\n\"Yes, tonight,\" replied Simon.\n\nHe had to speak of it before he confessed and received the last rites. Afterward he must try to turn his thoughts in another direction.\n\n\"It's odd that you should be the one who will probably have to tend to my body,\" said Simon. \"And I'm afraid I won't be a particularly handsome corpse.\"\n\nKristin forced back a sob. She moved away to prepare another soothing potion.\n\nBut Simon said, \"I don't like these potions of yours, Kristin. They make my thoughts so muddled.\"\n\nAfter a while he asked her to give him a little all the same. \"But don't put so much in it that it will make me drowsy. I have to talk to you about something.\"\n\nHe took a sip and then lay waiting for the pain to ease enough that he would have the strength to talk to her clearly and calmly.\n\n\"Don't you want us to bring Sira Eirik to you, so he can speak the words that might give you comfort?\"\n\n\"Yes, soon. But there is something I must say to you first.\"\n\nHe lay in silence for a while. Then he said, \"Tell Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n that the words I spoke to him the last time we parted\u2014those words I have regretted every day since. I behaved in a petty and unmanly fashion toward my brother-in-law that night. Give him my greetings and tell him... beg him to forgive me.\"\n\nKristin sat with her head bowed. Simon saw that she had turned blood red under her wimple.\n\n\"You will give this message to your husband, won't you?\" he asked.\n\nShe gave a small nod.\n\nThen Simon went on. \"If Erlend doesn't come to my funeral, you must seek him out, Kristin, and tell him this.\"\n\nKristin sat mutely, her face dark red.\n\n\"You wouldn't refuse to do what I ask of you, now that I'm about to die, would you?\" asked Simon Andress\u00f8n.\n\n\"No,\" she whispered. \"I will... do it.\"\n\n\"It's not good for your sons, Kristin, that there is enmity between their father and mother,\" Simon continued. \"I wonder whether you've noticed how much it torments them. It's hard for those lively boys, knowing that their parents are the subject of gossip in the countryside.\"\n\nKristin replied in a harsh, low voice, \"Erlend left our sons\u2014not I. First my sons lost their foothold in the regions where they were born into noble lineage and property. If they now have to bear having gossip spread about them here in the valley, which is my home, I am not to blame.\"\n\nSimon lay in silence for a moment. Then he said, \"I haven't forgotten that, Kristin. There is much you have a right to complain about. Erlend has managed poorly for his children. But you must remember, if that plan of his had been carried out, his sons would now be well provided for, and he himself would be among the most powerful knights in the realm. The man who fails in such a venture is called a traitor to his king, but if he succeeds, people speak quite differently. Half of Norway thought as Erlend did back then: that we were poorly served by sharing a king with the Swedes and that the son of Knut Porse was probably made of stronger stuff than that coddled boy, if we could have won over Prince Haakon in his tender years. Many men stood behind Erlend at the time and tugged on the rope along with him; my own brothers did so, and many others who are now called good knights and men with coats of arms. Erlend alone had to fall. And back then, Kristin, your husband showed that he was a splendid and courageous man, even though he may have acted otherwise, both before and since.\"\n\nKristin sat in silence, trembling.\n\n\"I think, Kristin, that if this is the reason you've said bitter words to your husband, then you must take them back. You should be able to do it, Kristin. Once you held firmly enough to Erlend; you refused to listen to a word of truth about his behavior toward you when he acted in a way I never thought an honorable man would act, much less a highborn gentleman and a chivalrous retainer of the king. Do you remember where I found the two of you in Oslo? You could forgive Erlend for that, both at the time and later on.\"\n\nKristin replied quietly, \"I had cast my lot with his by then. What would have become of me afterward if I had parted my life from Erlend's?\"\n\n\"Look at me, Kristin,\" said Simon Darre, \"and answer me truthfully. If I had held your father to his promise and chosen to take you as you were... If I had told you that I would never remind you of your shame, but I would not release you... What would you have done then?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nSimon laughed harshly. \"If I had forced you to celebrate a wedding with me, you would never have taken me willingly into your arms, Kristin, my fair one.\"\n\nNow her face turned white. She sat with her eyes lowered and did not reply.\n\nHe laughed again. \"I don't think you would have embraced me tenderly when I climbed into your bridal bed.\"\n\n\"I think I would have taken my knife to bed with me,\" she whispered in a stifled voice.\n\n\"I see you know the ballad about Knut of Borg,\" said Simon with a bitter smile. \"I haven't heard that such a thing ever happened, but God only knows whether you might have done it!\"\n\nSome time later he went on, \"It's also unheard of among Christian people for married folks to part ways of their own free will, as you two have done, without lawful cause and the consent of the bishop. Aren't you ashamed? You trampled on everyone, defied everyone in order to be together. When Erlend was in mortal danger, you thought of nothing but how to save him, and he thought much more about you than about his seven sons or his reputation and property. But whenever you can have each other in peace and security, you're no longer capable of maintaining calm and decency. Discord and discontent reigned between you at Husaby too\u2014I saw it myself, Kristin.\n\n\"I tell you, for the sake of your sons, that you must seek reconciliation with your husband. If you are even the slightest bit at fault, then surely it's easier for you to offer Erlend your hand,\" he said in a somewhat gentler tone.\n\n\"It's easier for you than for Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, sitting up there at Haugen in poverty,\" he repeated.\n\n\"It's not easy for me,\" she whispered. \"I think I've shown that I can do something for my children. I've struggled and struggled for them....\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said Simon. Then he asked, \"Do you remember that day when we met on the road to Nidaros? You were sitting in the grass, nursing Naakkve.\"\n\nKristin nodded.\n\n\"Could you have done for that child at your breast what my sister did for her son? Given him away to those who were better able to provide for him?\"\n\nKristin shook her head.\n\n\"But ask his father to forget what you may have said to him in anger... Do you mean that you're unable to do that for him and your six other fair sons? To tell your husband that the young lads need him to come home to them, to his own manor?\"\n\n\"I will do as you ask, Simon,\" said Kristin softly. After a moment she continued, \"You have used harsh words to tell me this. In the past you've also chastised me more sternly than any other man has.\"\n\n\"Yes, but now I can assure this will be the last time.\" His voice had that teasing, merry ring to it that it used to have. \"No, don't weep like that, Kristin. But remember, my sister, that you have made this promise to a dying man.\" Once again the old, mirthful glint came into his eyes.\n\n\"You know, Kristin... it's happened to me before that I learned you weren't to be counted on!\n\n\"Hush now, my dear,\" he implored a little later. He had been lying there listening to her piteous, broken sobs. \"You should know that I remember you were also a good and loyal sister. We will remain friends to the end, my Kristin.\"\n\nToward evening he asked them to send for the priest. Sira Eirik came, heard his confession, and gave him the last oil and viaticum. He took leave of his servants and the sons of Erlend, the five who were home; Kristin had sent Naakkve to Kruke. Simon had asked to see Kristin's children, to bid them farewell.\n\nOn that night Kristin again kept vigil over the dying man. Toward morning she dozed off for a moment. She woke up to a strange sound; Simon lay there, moaning softly. It distressed her greatly when she heard this\u2014that he should complain, as quietly and pitifully as a miserable, abandoned child, when he thought no one would hear him. She leaned down and kissed his face many times. She noticed that his breath and his whole body smelled sickly and of death. But when daylight came, she saw that his eyes were lively and clear and steadfast.\n\nShe could see that he suffered terrible pain when Jon and Sigurd lifted him up in a sheet while she changed his bed, making it as soft and comfortable as she could. He had refused any food for more than a day, but he was very thirsty.\n\nAfter she had gotten him settled, he asked her to make the sign of the cross over him, saying, \"Now I can't move my left arm anymore either.\"\n\nBut whenever we make the sign of the cross over ourselves or over anything that we want to protect with the cross, then we must remember how the cross was made sacred and what it means, and remember that with the suffering and death of the Lord, this symbol was given honor and power.\n\nSimon remembered that he had once heard this read aloud. He wasn't used to thinking about much when he made the sign of the cross over his breast or his houses or possessions. He felt ill prepared and not ready to take leave of this earthly home; he had to console himself that he had prepared himself as best he could in the time he had, through confession, and he had been given the last rites. Ramborg... But she was so young; perhaps she would be much happier with a different man. His children... May God protect them. And Gyrd would look out for their welfare with loyalty and wisdom. And so he would have to put his trust in God, who judges a man not according to his worth but through His mercy.\n\nLater that day Sigrid Andresdatter and Geirmund of Kruke arrived. Simon then asked Kristin to leave and take some rest, now that she had been keeping watch and tending to him for such a long time. \"And soon it will be quite vexing to be around me,\" he said with a little smile. At that she broke into loud sobs for a moment; then she leaned down and once again kissed his wretched body, which was already starting to decay.\n\nSimon lay in bed quietly. The fever and pain were now much less. He lay there thinking that it couldn't be much longer before he would be released.\n\nHe was surprised that he had spoken to Kristin as he had. It was not what he had intended to say to her. But he had not been able to speak of anything else. There were moments when he felt almost annoyed by this.\n\nBut surely the festering would soon reach his heart. A man's heart is the first thing to come alive in his mother's womb and the last thing to fall silent. Surely it would soon fall silent inside him.\n\nThat night his mind rambled. Several times he screamed loudly, and it was terrible to hear. Other times he lay there, laughing softly and saying his own name, or so Kristin thought. But Sigrid, who sat bending over him, whispered to her that he seemed to be talking about a boy, their cousin, who had been his good friend when they were children. Around midnight he grew calm and seemed to sleep. Then Sigrid persuaded Kristin to lie down for a while in the other bed in the room.\n\nShe was awakened by a commotion in the room. It was shortly before daybreak, and then she heard that the death struggle had begun. Simon had lost his voice, but he still recognized her; she could tell by his eyes. Then it was as if a piece of steel had broken inside them; they rolled up under his eyelids. But for a moment he lay there, still alive, a rattling sound in his throat. The priest had come, and he said the prayers for the dying. The two women sat next to the bed and the entire household was in the room. Just before midday Simon finally breathed his last.\n\nThe next day Gyrd Darre came riding into the courtyard at Formo. He had ridden a horse to exhaustion along the way. Down at Breiden he had learned of his brother's death, so at first he seemed quite composed. But when his sister, weeping, threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close and began to sob like a child himself.\n\nHe told them that Ramborg Lavransdatter was at Dyfrin with a newborn son. When Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n brought them the message, she had shrieked at once that she knew this would be the death of Simon. Then she fell to the floor with birth pains. The child was born six weeks early, but they hoped he would live.\n\nA magnificent funeral feast was held in Simon Andress\u00f8n's honor, and he was buried right next to the cross at the Olav Church. People in the parish were pleased that he had chosen his resting place there. The ancient Formo lineage, which had died out with Simon S\u00e6mundss\u00f8n on the male side, had been mighty and grand. Astrid Simonsdatter had made a wealthy marriage; her sons had borne the title of knight and sat on the royal Council, but they had seldom come home to their mother's ancestral manor. When her grandson decided to settle on the estate, people thought it was almost as if the old lineage had been revived. They soon forgot to think of Simon Andress\u00f8n as a stranger, and they felt great sorrow that he had died so young, for he was only forty-two winters old."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "Week after week passed, and Kristin prepared herself in her heart to take the dead man's message to Erlend. There was no doubt that she would do it, but it seemed to her a difficult task. In the meantime so much had to be done at home on the estates. She went about arguing with herself about postponing it.\n\nAt Whitsuntide, Ramborg Lavransdatter arrived at Formo. She had left her children behind at Dyfrin. They were well, she said when Kristin asked about them. The two maidens had wept bitterly and mourned their father. Andres was too young to understand. The youngest, Simon Simonss\u00f8n, was thriving, and they hoped he would grow up to be big and strong.\n\nRamborg went to church to visit her husband's grave a couple of times; otherwise she never left her manor. But Kristin went south to see her as often as she could. She now sincerely wished that she had known her sister better. The widow looked like such a child in her mourning garb. Her body seemed fragile and only half grown in the heavy, dark blue gown; the little triangle of her face was yellow and thin, framed by the linen bands beneath the black woolen veil, which fell in stiff folds from the crown of her head almost to the hem of her skirts. And she had dark circles under her big eyes, the coal-black pupils wide and always staring.\n\nDuring the hay harvest there was a week's time when Kristin couldn't get away to see her sister. From the harvesters she heard that a guest was visiting Ramborg at Formo: Jamm\u00e6lt Hal vardss\u00f8n. Kristin remembered that Simon had mentioned this man; he owned an exceedingly large estate not far from Dyfrin, and he and Simon had been friends since childhood.\n\nA week into the harvest the rains came. Then Kristin rode over to see her sister. Kristin sat talking about the terrible weather and about the hay and then asked how things were going at Formo.\n\nAll of a sudden Ramborg said, \"Jon will have to manage things here; I'm heading south in a few days, Kristin.\"\n\n\"Yes, you must be longing for your children, poor dear,\" said Kristin.\n\nRamborg stood up and paced the floor.\n\n\"I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you,\" the young woman said after a moment. \"You and your sons will soon be invited to a betrothal feast at Dyfrin. I said yes to Jamm\u00e6lt before he left here, and Gyrd will hold the wedding.\"\n\nKristin sat without saying a word. Her sister stood staring at her, pale and dark-eyed.\n\nFinally the older sister spoke, \"I see that you won't be left a widow for very long after Simon's death. I thought you mourned him so grievously. But you can make your own decisions now.\"\n\nRamborg did not reply. After a moment Kristin asked, \"Does Gyrd Darre know that you intend to marry again so soon?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Ramborg began pacing again. \"Helga advises me to do so. Jamm\u00e6lt is rich.\" She laughed. \"And Gyrd is such a clever man that he must have seen long ago that our life was so wretched together, Simon's and mine.\"\n\n\"What are you saying! No one else has ever noticed that your life together was wretched,\" Kristin said after a pause. \"I don't think anyone has ever seen anything but friendship and goodwill between the two of you. Simon indulged you in every way, gave you everything you wished for, always kept in mind your youth, and took care that you should enjoy it and be spared toil and travail. He loved his children and showed you every day that he was grateful to you for giving birth to the two of them.\"\n\nRamborg smiled scornfully.\n\nKristin continued fiercely, \"If you have any cause to think that your life wasn't good together, then surely Simon is not to blame.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ramborg. \"I will bear the blame\u2014if you do not dare.\"\n\nKristin sat there, dumbfounded.\n\n\"I don't think you know what you're saying, sister,\" she replied at last.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Ramborg. \"But I can believe that you might not know. You've had so little thought for Simon that I'm convinced this may be new to you. You considered him good enough to turn to whenever you needed a helper who would gladly have carried red-hot iron for your sake. But never did you give any thought to Simon Andress\u00f8n or ask what it might have cost him. I was allowed to enjoy my youth, yes. With joy and gentleness Simon would lift me up into the saddle and send me off to feasts and merriment; with equal joy and gentleness he would welcome me when I came back home. He would pat me the way he patted his dog or his horse. He never missed me while I was gone.\"\n\nKristin was on her feet; she stood quietly next to the table. Ramborg was wringing her hands so the knuckles cracked, pacing back and forth in the room.\n\n\"Jamm\u00e6lt...\" she said in a calmer voice. I've known for years how he thought of me. I saw it even while his wife was still alive. Not that he ever gave himself away in word or deed\u2014you mustn't think that! He grieved for Simon too and came to me often to console me\u2014that much is true. It was Helga who said to both of us that now it would be fitting if we...\n\n\"And I don't know what I should wait for. I will never find more consolation or any less than I feel right now. I want to try living with a man who has been silently thinking of me for years on end. I know all too well what it feels like to live with a man who is silently thinking about someone else.\"\n\nKristin didn't move. Ramborg stopped in front of her, with her eyes flashing. \"You know what I say is true!\"\n\nKristin left the room without a word, her head bowed. As she stood in the rain outside in the courtyard, waiting for the servant to bring her horse, Ramborg appeared in the doorway. She stared at her sister with dark and hateful eyes.\n\nNot until the next day did Kristin remember what she had promised Simon if Ramborg should marry again. She rode back to Formo. This was not an easy thing for her to do. And the worst of it was that she knew there was nothing she could say that would give her sister any help or solace. This marriage to Jamm\u00e6lt of \u00c6lin seemed to her a rash decision when Ramborg was in such a state of mind. But Kristin realized that it would do no good for her to object.\n\nRamborg was sullen and morose and answered her sister curtly. Under no circumstances would she allow her stepdaughter to go to J\u00f8rundgaard. \"Things at your estate are not such that I would think it advisable to send a young maiden over there.\" Kristin replied meekly that Ramborg might be right about that, but she had promised Simon to make the offer.\n\n\"If Simon, in his feverish daze, didn't realize that he was offending me when he made this request of you, then surely you should realize that you offend me by mentioning it,\" said Ramborg, and Kristin had to return home without accomplishing her goal.\n\nThe next morning promised good weather. But when her sons came in for breakfast, Kristin told them they would have to bring in the hay without her. She had a mind to set off on a journey, and she might be gone several days.\n\n\"I'm thinking of going north to Dovre to find your father,\" she said. \"I intend to ask him to forget the discord that has existed between the two of us, to ask him when he will come home to us.\"\n\nHer sons blushed; they didn't dare look up, but she could tell they were glad. She pulled Munan into her arms and bent her face down to look at him. \"You probably don't even remember your father, do you, little one?\"\n\nThe boy nodded mutely with sparkling eyes. One by one the other sons cast a glance at their mother. Her face looked younger and more beautiful than they had seen it in many years.\n\nShe came out to the courtyard some time later, dressed for travel in her church attire: a black woolen gown trimmed with blue and silver at the neck and sleeves and a black, sleeveless hooded cloak since it was high summer. Naakkve and Gaute had saddled her horse as well as their own; they wanted to go with their mother. She didn't voice any objections. But she said little to her sons as they rode north across Rost Gorge and up toward Dovre. For the most part she was silent and preoccupied; if she spoke to the young lads, it was about other things, not about where they were going.\n\nWhen they had gone so far that they could look up the slope and glimpse the rooftops of Haugen against the horizon, she asked the boys to turn back.\n\n\"You know full well that your father and I have much to talk about, and we would rather discuss things while we're alone.\"\n\nThe brothers nodded; they said goodbye to their mother and turned their horses around.\n\nThe wind from the mountains blew cool and fresh against her hot cheeks as she came over the last sharp rise. The sun gilded the small gray buildings, which cast long shadows across the courtyard. The grain was just about to form ears up there; it stood so lovely in the small fields, glistening and swaying in the wind. Tall crimson fireweed in bloom fluttered from all the heaps of stones and up on the crags; here and there the hay had been piled up in stacks. But there wasn't a trace of life on the farm\u2014not even a dog to greet her or give warning.\n\nKristin unsaddled her horse and led it over to the water trough. She didn't want to let it roam loose, so she took it over to the stable. The sun shone through a big hole in the roof; the sod hung in strips between the beams. And there was no sign that a horse had stood there for quite some time. Kristin tended to the animal and then went back out to the courtyard.\n\nShe looked in the cowshed. It was dark and desolate; she could tell by the smell that it must have stood empty for a long time.\n\nSeveral animal hides were stretched out to dry on the wall of the house; a swarm of blue flies buzzed up into the air as she approached. Near the north gable, earth had been piled up and sod spread over it, so the timbers were completely hidden. He must have done that to keep in the heat.\n\nShe fully expected the house to be locked, but the door opened when she touched the handle. Erlend hadn't even latched the door to his dwelling.\n\nAn unbearable stench met her as she stepped inside: the rank and pungent smell of hides and a stable. The first feeling that came over her as she stood in his house was a deep remorse and pity. This place seemed to her more like an animal's lair.\n\nOh yes, yes, yes, Simon\u2014you were right!\n\nIt was a small house, but it had been beautifully and carefully built. The fireplace even had a brick chimney so that it wouldn't fill the room with smoke, as the hearths did in the high loft room back home. But when she tried to open the damper to air out the foul smell a bit, she saw that the chimney had been closed off with several flat rocks. The glass pane in the window facing the gallery was broken and stuffed with rags. The room had a wooden floor, but it was so filthy that the floorboards were barely visible. There were no cushions on the benches, but weapons, hides, and old clothing were strewn about everywhere. Scraps of food littered the dirty table. And the flies buzzed high and low.\n\nShe gave a start and stood there trembling, unable to breathe, her heart pounding. In that bed over there, in the bed where that thing had lain when she was here last... Something was lying there now, covered with a length of homespun. She wasn't sure what she thought....\n\nThen she clenched her teeth and forced herself to go over and lift up the cloth. It was only Erlend's armor, with his helmet and shield. They were lying on the bare boards of the bed, covered up.\n\nShe glanced at the other bed. That's where they had found Bj\u00f8rn and Aashild. That's where Erlend now slept. No doubt she too would sleep there in the night.\n\nHow must it have been for him to live in this house, to sleep here? Once again all her other feelings were drowned in pity. She went over to the bed; it hadn't been cleaned in a long time. The straw under the hide sheet had been pressed down until it was quite hard. There was nothing else but a few sheepskin blankets and a couple of pillows covered with homespun, so filthy that they stank. Dust and dirt scattered as she touched the bedding. Erlend's bed was no better than that of a stableboy in a stall.\n\nErlend, who could never have enough splendor around him. Erlend, who would put on silk shirts, velvet, and fine furs if he could find the slightest excuse to do so; who resented having to let his children wear handwoven homespun on workdays; and who had never liked it when she nursed them herself or lent her maids a hand with the housework\u2014like a leaseholder's wife, he said.\n\nJesus, but he had brought this upon himself.\n\nNo, I won't say a word. I will take back everything I said, Simon. You were right. He must not stay here... the father of my sons. I will offer him my hand and my lips and ask his forgiveness.\n\nThis isn't easy, Simon. But you were right. She remembered his sharp gray eyes, his gaze just as steadfast, almost to the very end. In that wretched body which had begun to decay, his pure, bright spirit had shone from his eyes until his soul was drawn home, the way a blade is pulled back. She knew it was as Ramborg had said. He had loved her all these years.\n\nEvery single day in the months since his death she couldn't help thinking about him, and now she saw that she had realized it even before Ramborg spoke. During this time she had been forced to mull over all the memories she had of him, for as far back as she had known Simon Darre. In all these years she had carried false memories of this man who had once been her betrothed; she had tampered with these memories the way a corrupt ruler tampers with the coin and mixes impure ore with the silver. When he released her and took upon himself the blame for the breach of promise, she told herself, and believed it, that Simon Andress\u00f8n had turned away from her with contempt as soon as he realized that her honor had been disgraced. She had forgotten that when he let her go, on that day in the nuns' garden, he was certainly not thinking that she was no longer innocent or pure. Even back then he was willing to bear the shame for her inconstant and disobedient disposition; all he asked was that her father should be told that he was not the one who sought to break the agreement.\n\nAnd there was something else she now knew. When he had learned the worst about her, he stood up to redeem for her a scrap of honor in the eyes of the world. If she could have given her heart to him then, Simon would have still taken her as his wife before the church door, and he would have tried to live with her so she would never feel that he concealed a memory of her shame.\n\nBut she still knew that she could never have loved him. She could never have loved Simon Andress\u00f8n. And yet... Everything that had enraged her about Erlend because he didn't have particular traits\u2014those were the traits that Simon did possess. But she was a pitiful woman who couldn't help complaining.\n\nSimon had given selflessly to the one he loved; no doubt she had believed that she did the same.\n\nBut when she received his gifts, without thought or thanks, Simon had merely smiled. Now she realized that he had often been melancholy when they were together. She now knew that he had concealed sorrow behind his strangely impassive demeanor. Then he would toss out some impertinent jest and push it aside, as ready as ever to protect and to help and to give.\n\nShe herself had raged, storing away and brooding over every grief, whenever she offered her gifts and Erlend paid them no mind.\n\nHere, in this very room, she had stood and pronounced such bold words: \"I was the one who took the wrong path, and I won't complain about Erlend even if it leads me out over the scree.\" That was what she had said to the woman whom she drove to her death in order to make room for her own love.\n\nKristin moaned aloud, clasped her hands before her breast, and stood there, rocking back and forth. Yes, she had said so proudly that she would not complain about Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n if he grew tired of her, betrayed her, or even left her.\n\nYes, but if that was what Erlend had done... She thought she would have been able to stand it. If he had betrayed her once, and that had been the end of it. But he hadn't betrayed her; he had merely failed her again and again and made her life full of anguish and uncertainty. No, he had never betrayed her, nor had he ever made her feel secure. And she could see no end to it all. Here she stood now, about to beg him to come back, to fill her goblet each day with uncertainty and unrest, with expectations, with longings and fear and hope that would be shattered.\n\nShe felt now as if he had worn her out. She had neither the youth nor the courage to live with him any longer, and she would probably never grow so old that Erlend couldn't play with her heart. Not young enough to have the strength to live with him; not old enough to have patience with him. She had become a miserable woman; no doubt that was what she had always been. Simon was right.\n\nSimon... and her father. They had held on to their loyal love for her, even as she trampled on them for the sake of this man whom she no longer had the strength to endure.\n\nOh, Simon. I know that never for a minute did you wish vengeance upon me. But I wonder, Simon, if you know in your grave, that now you have been avenged after all.\n\nNo, she couldn't bear it any longer; she would have to find something to do. She made up the bed and looked for a dishrag and broom, but they were not to be found anywhere. She glanced into the alcove; now she understood why it smelled like a stable. Erlend had made a stall for his horse in there. But it had been mucked out and cleaned. His saddle and harness, which hung on the wall, were well cared for and oiled, with all the torn pieces mended.\n\nCompassion once more washed away all other thoughts. Did he keep Soten inside because he couldn't bear to be alone in the house?\n\nKristin heard a sound out on the gallery. She stepped over to the window. It was covered with dust and cobwebs, but she thought she caught a glimpse of a woman. She pulled the rag from the hole and peeked out. A woman was setting down a pail of milk and a small cheese out there. She was middle-aged and lame and wore ugly, tattered clothes. Kristin herself was hardly aware of how much easier she breathed.\n\nShe tidied up the room as best she could. She found the inscription that Bj\u00f8rn Gunnarss\u00f8n had carved into a timber of the wall. It was in Latin, so she couldn't decipher the whole thing, but he called himself both Dominus and Miles, and she read the name of his ancestral estate in Elve County, which he had lost because of Aashild Gautesdatter. In the midst of the splendid carvings on the high seat was his coat of arms with its unicorn and water lilies.\n\nA short time later Kristin heard a horse somewhere outside. She went over to the entryway and peered out.\n\nFrom the leafy forest across from the farm a tall black stallion emerged, pulling a load of firewood. Erlend walked alongside to guide him. A dog was perched on top of the wood, and several more dogs were running around the sled.\n\nSoten, the Castilian, strained against the harness and pulled the sledful of wood across the grassy courtyard. One of the dogs began barking as it crossed the green. Erlend, who had begun to unfasten the harnesses, noticed from all the dogs that something must be wrong. He took his axe from the load of wood and walked toward the house.\n\nKristin fled back inside, letting the door fall shut behind her. She crept over to the fireplace and stood there, trembling and waiting.\n\nErlend stepped inside with his axe in hand and the dogs milling around him on the threshold. They found the intruder at once and began barking furiously.\n\nThe first thing she noticed was the rush of blood that flooded his face, so youthful and red. The quick tremor on his fine, soft lips, and his big, deep-set eyes beneath the shadow of his brows.\n\nThe sight of him took her breath away. No doubt she saw the old stubble of beard on the lower half of his face, and she saw that his disheveled hair was iron gray. But the color that came and went so swiftly in his cheeks, the way it had when they were young... He was just as young and handsome; it was as if nothing had been able to break him.\n\nHe was poorly clad. His blue shirt was filthy and tattered; over it he wore a leather vest, scratched and scraped and torn around the eyelets, but it fit snugly and followed pliantly the graceful, strong movements of his body. His tight leather hose was torn at one knee, and the seam was split on the back of the other leg. And yet he had never looked more like the descendant of chieftains and noblemen than he did now. With such calm dignity he carried his slender body with the wide, rather sloping shoulders and the long, elegant limbs. He stood there, his weight resting slightly on one foot, one hand stuck in the belt around his slim waist, the other holding the axe at his side.\n\nHe had called the dogs back, and now he stood staring at her, turning red and pale and not saying a word. For a good long time they both were silent. Finally the man spoke, his voice a little uncertain. \"So you've come here, Kristin?\"\n\n\"I wanted to see how you were doing up here,\" she replied.\n\n\"Well, now you've seen it.\" He glanced around the room. \"You can see that I'm tolerably comfortable here; it's good that you happened to come by on a day when everything was tidied up so nicely.\" He noticed the shadow of a smile on her face. \"Or perhaps you're the one who has been cleaning up,\" he said, laughing softly.\n\nErlend put down his axe and sat on the outer bench with his back leaning against the table. All of a sudden he grew somber. \"You're standing there so... there's nothing wrong back home, is there? At J\u00f8rundgaard, I mean? With the boys?\"\n\n\"No.\" Now she had the chance to present her purpose. \"Our sons are thriving and show great promise. But they long so much for you, Erlend. It was my intention... I've come here, husband, to ask you to return home to us. We all miss you.\" She lowered her eyes.\n\n\"You look well, Kristin.\" Erlend gazed at her with a little smile.\n\nKristin stood there, red-faced, as if he had struck a blow to her ear.\n\n\"That's not why\u2014\"\n\n\"No, I know it's not because you think you're too young and fresh to be left a widow,\" Erlend said when she broke off. \"I don't think any good would come of it if I returned home, Kristin,\" he added in a more serious tone. \"In your hands everything is flourishing at J\u00f8rundgaard; I know that. You have good fortune with all your undertakings. And I am quite content with my situation here.\"\n\n\"The boys aren't happy that we... are quarreling,\" she replied softly.\n\n\"Oh...\" Erlend hesitated. \"They're so young. I don't think they take it so hard that they won't forget about it when it's time for them to leave their childhood behind. I might as well tell you,\" he added with a little smile, \"that I see them from time to time.\"\n\nShe knew about this, but she felt humiliated by his words, and it seemed as if that was his intention, since he thought she didn't know. Her sons had never realized that she knew. But she replied somberly, \"Then you also know that many things at J\u00f8rundgaard are not as they should be.\"\n\n\"We never talk about such matters,\" he said with the same smile. \"We go hunting together. But you must be hungry and thirsty.\" He jumped up. \"And here you stand... No, sit down in the high seat, Kristin. Yes, sit there, my dear. I won't crowd in next to you.\"\n\nHe brought in the milk and cheese and found some bread, butter, and dried meat. Kristin was hungry and quite thirsty, but she had trouble swallowing her food. Erlend ate in a hasty and careless manner, as had always been his custom when not among guests, and he was soon finished.\n\nHe talked about himself. The people who lived at the foot of the hill worked his land and brought him milk and a little food; otherwise he went into the mountains to hunt and fish. But then he mentioned that he was actually thinking about leaving the country, to seek service with some foreign warlord.\n\n\"Oh no, Erlend!\"\n\nHe gave her a swift, searching glance. But she said no more. The light was growing dim in the room. Her face and wimple shone white against the dark wall. Erlend stood up and stoked the fire in the hearth. Then he straddled the outer bench and turned to face her; the red glow of the fire flickered over his body.\n\nTo think that he would even consider such a thing. He was almost as old as her father had been when he died. But it was all too likely that he would do it one day: take off on some whim, in search of new adventures.\n\n\"Don't you think it's enough?\" said his wife heatedly. \"Enough that you fled the village, leaving me and your sons behind? Do you have to flee the country to leave us too?\"\n\n\"If I'd known what you thought of me, Kristin,\" said Erlend gravely, \"I would have left your estate much sooner! But I now see that you've had to bear a great deal because of me.\"\n\n\"You know quite well, Erlend... You say my estate, but you have the rights of a husband over all that is mine.\" She herself could hear how weak her voice sounded.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Erlend. \"But I know I was a poor master over what I owned myself.\" He fell silent for a moment. \"Naakkve... I remember the time before he was born, and you spoke of the child you were carrying, who would take my high seat after me. I now see, Kristin, that it was hard for you. It's best if things stay as they are. And I'm content with my life up here.\"\n\nKristin shuddered as she glanced around at the room in the fading light. Shadows now filled every cranny, and the glow from the flames danced.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" she said, on the verge of collapse, \"how you can bear this house. You have nothing to occupy your time, and you're all alone. I think you could at least take on a workman.\"\n\n\"You mean that I should run the farm myself?\" Erlend laughed. \"Oh no, Kristin, you know I'm ill suited to be a farmer. I can never sit still.\"\n\n\"Sit still... But surely you're sitting still here... during the long winter.\"\n\nErlend smiled to himself; his eyes had an odd, remote look to them.\n\n\"Yes, in some sense you're right. When I don't have to think about anything but whatever happens to cross my mind and can come and go as I like. And you know that I've always been the kind of person who can fall asleep if there's nothing to keep watch over; I sleep like a hibernating bear whenever the weather isn't good enough to go into the mountains.\"\n\n\"Aren't you ever afraid to be here alone?\" whispered Kristin.\n\nAt first he gave her a look of incomprehension. Then he laughed. \"Because people say this place is haunted? I've never noticed anything. Sometimes I've wished that my kinsman Bj\u00f8rn would pay me a visit. Do you remember that he once said he didn't think I'd be able to stand to feel the edge of a blade at my throat? I'd like to tell him now that I wasn't particularly frightened when I had the rope around my neck.\"\n\nA long shiver rippled through Kristin's body. She sat without saying a word.\n\nErlend stood up. \"It must be time for us to go to bed now, Kristin.\"\n\nStiff and cold, she watched Erlend remove the coverlet from his armor, spread it over the bed, and tuck it around the dirty pillows. \"This is the best I have,\" he said.\n\n\"Erlend!\" She clasped her hands under her breast. She searched for something to say, to win a little more time; she was so frightened. Then she remembered the promise she had made.\n\n\"Erlend, I have a message to give you. Simon asked me, when he was near the end, to bring you his greetings. Every single day he regretted the words he spoke to you when you last parted. 'Un manly' he called them, and he asked you to forgive him.\"\n\n\"Simon.\" Erlend was standing with one hand on the bedpost; he lowered his eyes. \"He's the one man I would least like to be reminded of.\"\n\n\"I don't know what came between the two of you,\" said Kristin. She thought Erlend's words remarkably heartless. \"But it would be strange, and unlike Simon, if things were as he said, that he did not treat you justly. Surely he wasn't entirely to blame if this is true.\"\n\nErlend shook his head. \"He stood by me like a brother when I was in need,\" he said in a low voice. \"And I accepted his help and his friendship, and I never realized that it had always been difficult for him to tolerate me.\n\n\"It seems to me that it would have been easier to live in the old days, when two fellows like us could have fought a duel, meeting out on the islet to let the test of weapons decide who would win the fair maiden.\"\n\nHe picked up an old cape from the bench and slung it over his arm.\n\n\"Perhaps you'd like to keep the dogs inside with you tonight?\"\n\nKristin had stood up.\n\n\"Where are you going, Erlend?\"\n\n\"Out to the barn to sleep.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\nErlend stopped, standing there slender and straight-backed and young in the red glow from the dying embers in the fireplace.\n\n\"I don't dare sleep alone in this room. I don't dare.\"\n\n\"Do you dare sleep in my arms then?\" She caught a glimpse of his smile in the darkness, and she grew faint. \"Aren't you afraid that I might crush you to death, Kristin?\"\n\n\"If only you would.\" She fell into his arms.\n\nWhen she woke up, she could see from the windowpane that it was daylight outdoors. Something was weighing down her breast; Erlend was sleeping with his head on her shoulder. He had placed his arm across her body and was gripping her left arm with his hand.\n\nShe looked at her husband's iron-gray hair. She looked at her own small, withered breasts. Above and below them she could see the high, curved arch of her ribs under the thin covering of skin. A kind of terror seized hold of her as one memory after another from the night before rose up. In this room... the two of them, at their age... Horror and shame overwhelmed her as she saw the patches of red on her worn mother arms, on her shriveled bosom. Abruptly she grabbed the blanket to cover herself.\n\nErlend awoke, raised himself up on one elbow, and stared down at her face. His eyes were coal-black after his slumber.\n\n\"I thought...\" He threw himself down beside her again; a deep, wild tremor rushed through her at the sound of joy and anguish in his voice. \"I thought I was dreaming again.\"\n\nShe opened her lips to his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck. Never, never had it felt so blessed.\n\nLater that afternoon, when the sunshine was already golden and the shadows lay stretched out across the green courtyard, they set off to get water from the creek. Erlend was carrying the two large buckets. Kristin walked at his side, lithe, straight-backed, and slender. Her wimple had slipped back and lay around her shoulders; her uncovered hair was a gleaming brown in the sun. She could feel it herself as she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the light. Her cheeks had turned red; the features of her face had softened. Each time she glanced over at him she would lower her gaze, overwhelmed, when she saw in Erlend's face how young she was.\n\nErlend decided that he wanted to bathe. As he walked farther down, Kristin sat on the thick carpet of grass, leaning her back against a rock. The murmuring and gurgling of the mountain stream lulled her into a doze; now and then, when mosquitoes or flies touched her skin, she would open her eyes briefly and swat them away with her hand. Down among the willow thickets, near the deep pool, she caught sight of Erlend's white body. He was standing with one foot up on a rock, scrubbing himself with tufts of grass. Then she closed her eyes again and smiled, weary but happy. She was just as powerless against him as ever.\n\nHer husband came back and threw himself down on the grass in front of her, his hair wet, his red lips cold from the water as he pressed them to her hand. He had shaved and put on a better shirt, although it was not particularly grand either. Laughing, he pointed to his armpit, where the fabric was torn.\n\n\"You could have brought me a shirt when you finally decided to come north.\"\n\n\"I'll start sewing a shirt for you as soon as I get home, Erlend,\" she replied with a smile, caressing his forehead with her hand.\n\nHe grabbed hold of it. \"Never will you leave here again, my Kristin.\"\n\nShe merely smiled without replying. Erlend pushed himself away so that he could lie down on his stomach. Under the bushes, in a damp, shady spot, grew a cluster of small, white, star-shaped flowers. Their petals had blue veins like a woman's breast, and in the center of each blossom sat a tiny brownish-blue bud. Erlend picked every one of them.\n\n\"You who are so clever about such things, Kristin\u2014surely you must know what these flowers are called.\"\n\n\"They're called Friggja grass. No, Erlend...\" She blushed and pushed away his hand as he tried to slip the flowers into her bodice.\n\nErlend laughed and gently bit the white petals, one after the other. Then he put all the flowers into her open hands and closed her fingers around them.\n\n\"Do you remember when we walked in the garden at Hofvin Hospice, and you gave me a rose?\"\n\nKristin slowly shook her head as she gave him a little smile. \"No. But you took a rose from my hand.\"\n\n\"And you let me take it. Just as you let me take you, Kristin. As gentle and pious as a rose. Later on you sometimes scratched me bloody, my sweet.\" He flung himself into her lap and put his arms around her waist. \"Last night, Kristin... it did no good. You weren't allowed to sit there demurely and wait.\"\n\nKristin bent her head and hid her face against his shoulder.\n\nOn the fourth day they had taken refuge up in the birch woods among the foothills across from the farm, for on that day the tenant was bringing in the hay. Without discussing it, Kristin and Erlend had agreed that no one needed to know that she was visiting him. He went down to the buildings a few times to get food and drink, but she stayed among the alpine birches, sitting in the heather. From where they sat, they could see the man and woman toiling to carry home the hay bundles on their backs.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" asked Erlend, \"the time you promised me that if I ended up on a smallholder's farm in the mountains, you would come and keep house for me? You wanted to have two cows and some sheep.\"\n\nKristin laughed a little and tugged at his hair. \"What do you think our boys would think about that, Erlend? If their mother ran away and left them behind in that manner?\"\n\n\"I think they would be happy to manage J\u00f8rundgaard on their own,\" said Erlend, laughing. \"They're old enough now. Gaute is a capable farmer, even as young as he is. And Naakkve is almost a man.\"\n\n\"Oh no...\" Kristin laughed softly. \"It's probably true that he thinks so himself. Well, no doubt all five of them do. But he's still lacking a man's wisdom, that boy.\"\n\n\"If he takes after his father, it's possible that he might acquire it late, or perhaps never at all,\" replied Erlend. He gave a sly smile. \"You think you can hide your children under the hem of your cloak, Kristin. Naakkve fathered a son this summer\u2014you didn't know about that, did you?\"\n\n\"No!\" Kristin sat there, red-faced and horror-stricken.\n\n\"Yes, it was stillborn, and the boy is apparently careful not to go over there anymore. It was the widow of Paal's son, here at Haugsbrekken. She said it was his, and I suppose he wasn't without blame, no matter how things stood. Yes, we're getting to be so old, you and I\u2014\"\n\n\"How can you talk that way after your son has brought upon himself such dishonor and trouble!\" It pierced her heart that her husband could speak so nonchalantly and that it seemed to amuse him that she hadn't known anything about it.\n\n\"Well, what do you want me to say?\" asked Erlend in the same tone of voice. \"The boy is eighteen winters old. You can see for yourself that it does little good for you to treat your sons as if they were children. When you move up here with me, we'll have to see about finding him a wife.\"\n\n\"Do you think it will be easy for us to find a suitable match for Naakkve? No, husband, after this I think you must realize that you need to come back home with me and lend a hand with the boys.\"\n\nVehemently Erlend propped himself up on his elbow. \"I won't do that, Kristin. I'm a stranger here and will always be one in your parish. No one remembers anything about me except that I was condemned as a traitor and betrayer of the king. Didn't you ever think, during the years I've lived here at J\u00f8rundgaard, that my presence was an uneasy one? Back home in Skaun I was accustomed to a position of some importance among the people. Even during those days in my youth, when gossip flew about my evil ways and I was banned from the Church, I was still Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n of Husaby! Then came the time, Kristin, when I had the joy of showing the people of the northern regions that I was not entirely debased from the honor of my ancestors. No, I tell you! Here on this little farm I'm a free man; no one glares at my footprints or talks behind my back. Do you hear me, Kristin, my only love? Stay with me! You will never have cause to regret it. Life here is better than it ever was at Husaby. I don't know why it is, Kristin, but I've never been so happy or lighthearted\u2014not as a child or ever since. It was hell while Eline lived with me at Husaby, and you and I were never truly happy together there either. And yet the Almighty God knows that I have loved you every hour and every day that I've known you. I think that manor was cursed; Mother was tormented to death there, and my father was always an unhappy man. But here life is good, Kristin\u2014if only you would stay with me. Kristin... As truly as God died on the cross for us, I love you as much today as on that evening when you slept under my cape, the night of Saint Margareta's Day. I sat and looked at you, such a pure and fresh and young and untouched flower you were!\"\n\nKristin said quietly, \"Do you remember, Erlend, that you prayed on that night that I would never weep a single tear for your sake?\"\n\n\"Yes, and God and all the saints in Heaven know that I meant it! It's true that things turned out differently\u2014as surely they must. That's what always happens while we live in this world. But I loved you, both when I treated you badly and when I treated you well. Stay here, Kristin!\"\n\n\"Haven't you ever thought that it would be difficult for our sons?\" she asked in the same quiet voice. \"To have people talk about their father, as you admit? All seven of them can't very well run off to the mountains to escape the parish gossip.\"\n\nErlend lowered his eyes. \"They're young,\" he said. \"Handsome and intrepid boys. They'll figure out how to make their own way. But the two of us, Kristin... We don't have many years left before we'll be old. Do you want to squander the time you have remaining when you are beautiful and healthy and meant to rejoice in life? Kristin?\"\n\nShe looked down to avoid the wild glint in his eyes. After a moment she said, \"Have you forgotten, Erlend, that two of our sons are still children? What would you think of me if I left Lavrans and Munan behind?\"\n\n\"Then you can bring them up here, unless Lavrans would rather stay with his brothers. He's not a little boy anymore. Is Munan still so handsome?\" he asked, smiling.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kristin, \"he's a lovely child.\"\n\nThen they sat in silence for a long time. When they spoke again, it was of other matters.\n\nShe woke up in the gray light of dawn the next day, as she had every morning up there. She lay in bed listening to the horses plodding around outside the house. She had her arms wrapped around Erlend's head. The other mornings, when she woke up in the early gray hour, she had been seized by the same anguish and shame as the first time; she had fought to subdue those feelings. The two of them were a married couple who had quarreled and now reconciled; nothing could benefit the children more than that their father and mother became friends once again.\n\nBut on this morning she lay there, struggling to remember her sons. For she felt as if she had been bewitched; Erlend had spirited her away and brought her up here, straight from the woods of Gerdarud, where he had taken her into his arms the first time. They were so young; it couldn't be true that she had already borne this man seven sons. She was the mother of tall, grownup men. But she felt as if she had been lying here in his arms and merely dreamed about those long years they had spent together as husband and wife at Husaby. All his impetuous words resounded and enticed her; dizzy with fear, she felt as if Erlend had swept away her sevenfold burden of responsibility. This is the way it must feel when the young mare is unsaddled up in the mountain pasture. The packs and saddle and bridle are removed, and the wind and air of the mountain plateau stream against her; she is free to graze the fine grass on the heights, free to run as far as she likes across all the slopes.\n\nBut at the same time she was already yearning, with a sweet and willing sense of longing, to bear a new burden. She was yearning with a faint, tender giddiness for the one who would now live nearest her heart for nine long months. She had been certain of it, from the first morning she woke up here in Erlend's arms. Her barrenness had left her, along with the harsh, dry, gasping heat in her heart. She was hiding Erlend's child in her womb, and with a strangely gentle feeling of impatience, her soul was reaching out toward the hour when the infant would be brought into the light.\n\nMy big sons no longer need me, she thought. They think I'm unreasonable, that I nag them. We'll just be in their way, the little child and I. No, I can't leave here; we must stay here with Erlend. I can't leave.\n\nBut when they sat down together to eat breakfast, she mentioned nevertheless that she would have to return home to her children.\n\nIt was Lavrans and Munan she was thinking of. They were old enough now that she was embarrassed to imagine them living up here with Erlend and herself, perhaps looking with astonishment at their parents who had become so youthful. But those two couldn't be without her.\n\nErlend sat and stared at her as she talked about going home. At last he gave her a fleeting smile. \"Well... if that's what you want, then you must go.\"\n\nHe wanted to accompany her for part of the journey. He rode all the way through Rost Gorge and up to Sil, until they could see a little of the church roof above the tops of the spruce trees. Then he said goodbye. He smiled to the very end, slyly confident.\n\n\"You know now, Kristin, that whether you come at night or by day, whether I have to wait for you a short time or a long time, I will welcome you as if you were the Queen of Heaven come down from the clouds to my farm.\"\n\nShe laughed. \"I don't dare speak as grandly as that. But you must now realize, my love, that there will be great joy at your manor on the day the master returns to his own home.\"\n\nHe shook his head and chuckled. Smiling, they took leave of each other; smiling, Erlend leaned over as they sat on their horses, side by side, and kissed her many times, and between each kiss, he looked at her with his laughing eyes.\n\n\"So we'll see,\" he said finally, \"which of us is more stubborn, my fair Kristin. This is not the last time we will meet; you and I both know that!\" As she rode past the church, she gave a little shudder. She felt as if she were returning home from inside the mountain. As if Erlend were the mountain king himself and could not come past the church and the cross on the hill.\n\nShe pulled in the reins; she had a great urge to turn around and ride after him.\n\nThen she looked out across the green slopes, down at her beautiful estate with the meadows and fields and the glistening curve of the river winding through the valley. The mountains rose up in a blue shimmer of heat. The sky was filled with billowing summer clouds. It was madness. There, with his sons, was where he belonged. He was no mountain knight; he was a Christian man, no matter how full he was of wild ideas and foolish whims. Her lawful husband, with whom she had endured both good and bad\u2014beloved, beloved, no matter how sorely he had tormented her with his unpredictable impulses. She would have to be forbearing, since she could not live without him; she would have to strive to bear the anguish and uncertainty as best she could. She didn't think it would be long before he followed her\u2014now that they had been together once again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "She told her sons that their father had to take care of a few things at Haugen before he moved home. No doubt he would come south early in the fall.\n\nShe went about her estate, looking young, her cheeks flushed, her face soft and gentle, moving more quickly about her work, although she didn't manage to accomplish nearly as much as she used to with her usual quiet and measured manner. She no longer chastised her sons sharply, as had been her custom whenever they did something wrong or failed to satisfy her demands properly. Now she spoke to them in a jesting manner or let it pass without saying a word.\n\nLavrans now wanted to sleep with his older brothers up in the loft.\n\n\"Yes, I suppose you should be counted among the grownup boys too, my son.\" She ran her fingers through the boy's thick, golden-brown hair and pulled him close; he was already so tall that he came up to the middle of her breast. \"What about you, Munan? Can you stand to have your mother treat you as a child for a while longer?\" In the evenings, after the boy had gone to bed in the main room, he liked to have his mother sit on the bed and pamper him a bit. He would lie there with his head in her lap, chattering more childishly than he allowed himself to do during the day when his brothers could hear him. They would talk about when his father was coming home.\n\nThen he would move over next to the wall, and his mother would spread the covers over him. Kristin would light a candle, pick up her sons' clothes that needed mending, and sit down to sew.\n\nShe pulled out the brooch pinned to her bodice and put her hand inside to touch her breasts. They were as round and firm as a young woman's. She pushed up her sleeve all the way to the shoulder and looked at her bare arm in the light. It had grown whiter and fuller. Then she stood up and took a few steps, noticing how softly she walked in her soft slippers. She ran her hands down over her slim hips; they were no longer sharp and dry like a man's. The blood coursed through her body the way sap flows through the trees in the spring. It was youth that was sprouting inside her.\n\nShe went to the brewhouse with Frida to pour warm water over the grain for the Christmas malt. Frida had neglected to tend to it in time, and the grain had lain there, swelling until it was completely dry. But Kristin didn't scold the maid; with a slight smile she listened to Frida's excuses. This was the first time that Kristin had failed to take care of it herself.\n\nBy Christmas she would have Erlend back home with her. When she sent word to him, he would have to return at once. The man wasn't so rash that he would refuse to relent this time; he had to realize that she couldn't possibly move up to Haugen, far from everyone, when she was no longer walking alone. But she would wait a little more before she sent word\u2014even though it was certain enough\u2014perhaps until she felt some sign of life. The second autumn that they lived at J\u00f8rundgaard, she had strayed from the road, as people called a miscarriage. But she had quickly taken solace. She was not afraid that it would happen again this time; it couldn't possibly. And yet...\n\nShe felt as if she had to wrap her entire body protectively around this tiny, fragile life she carried under her heart, the way a person cups her hands like a shield around a little, newly lit flame.\n\nOne day late in the fall Ivar and Skule came and told her they wanted to ride up to see their father. It was fine weather up in the mountains, and they wanted to ask if they could stay with him and go hunting during these days of bare frost.\n\nNaakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf were sitting at the chessboard. They paused to listen.\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Kristin. She hadn't given any thought to who should carry her message. She looked at her two half-grown sons. She realized it was foolish, but she couldn't manage to speak of it to them. She could tell them to take Lavrans along and then ask him to talk to his father alone. He was so young that he wouldn't think it strange. And yet...\n\n\"Your father will soon be coming home,\" she said. \"You might end up delaying him. And soon I'll be sending word to him myself.\"\n\nThe twins sulked. Naakkve looked up from the chess game and said curtly, \"Do as our mother says, boys.\"\n\nDuring Christmas she sent Naakkve north to Erlend. \"You must tell him, son, that I am longing for him so greatly, as all of you must be too!\" She didn't mention the other news that had come about; she thought it likely that this grown lad would have noticed it. He would have to decide for himself whether he would speak of it to his father.\n\nNaakkve returned without having seen his father. Erlend had gone to Raumsdal. He must have received word that his daughter and her husband were about to move to Bj\u00f8rgvin, and that Margret wanted to meet with her father at Ve\u00f8y.\n\nThat was reasonable enough. Kristin lay awake at night, now and then stroking Munan's face as he slept at her side. She was sad that Erlend didn't come for Christmas. But it was reasonable that he should want to see his daughter while he had the chance. She wiped away her tears as they slid down her cheeks. She was so quick to weep, just as she had been when she was young.\n\nJust after Christmas, Sira Eirik died. Kristin had visited him at Romundgaard several times during the fall after he had taken to his bed, and she attended his funeral. Otherwise she never went out among people. She thought it a great loss that their old parish priest was gone.\n\nAt the funeral she heard that someone had met Erlend north at Lesja. He was on his way home to his farm. Surely he would come soon.\n\nSeveral days later she sat on the bench under the little window, breathing on her hand mirror, which she had taken out, and rubbing it shiny so she could study her face.\n\nShe had been as suntanned as a peasant woman during the past few years, but now all trace of the sun had vanished. Her skin was white, with round, bright red roses on her cheeks, like in a painting. Her face had not been so lovely since she was a young maiden. Kristin sat and held her breath with wondrous joy.\n\nAt last they would have a daughter, as Erlend had wished for so dearly, if it turned out as the wise women said. Magnhild. They would have to break with custom this time and name her after his mother.\n\nPart of a fairy tale she had once heard drifted through her mind. Seven sons who were driven high into the wilderness as outlaws because of an unborn little sister. Then she laughed at herself; she didn't understand why she happened to think about that now.\n\nShe took from her sewing chest a shirt of the finest white linen, which she worked on whenever she was alone. She pulled out threads from the neckband and stitched birds and beasts on the loosely woven backing; it was years since she had done such fine embroidery. If only Erlend would come now, while it was still making her look beautiful: young and straight-backed, blushing and thriving.\n\nJust after Saint Gregor's Day the weather turned so lovely that it was almost like spring. The snow began to melt, gleaming like silver; there were already bare brown patches on the slopes facing south, and the mountains rose up from the blue haze.\n\nGaute was standing outside in the courtyard, repairing a sleigh that had fallen apart. Naakkve was leaning against the wall of the woodshed, watching his brother work. At that moment Kristin came from the cookhouse, carrying with both hands a large trough full of newly baked wheat bread.\n\nGaute glanced up at his mother. Then he threw the axe and wheel hubs into the sleigh, ran after her, and took the trough from her; he carried it over to the storehouse.\n\nKristin had stopped where she was, her cheeks red. When Gaute came back, she went over to her sons. \"I think the two of you should ride up to your father in the next few days. Tell him that he is sorely needed here at home to take over the management from me. I have so little strength now, and I will be in bed in the middle of the spring farm work.\"\n\nThe young boys listened to her, and they too blushed, but she could see that they were full of joy. Naakkve said, feigning nonchalance, \"We might as well ride up there today, around midafternoon prayers. What do you think, brother?\"\n\nOn the following day around noon Kristin heard horsemen out in the courtyard. It was Naakkve and Gaute; they were alone. They stood next to their horses, their eyes on the ground, not saying a word.\n\n\"What did your father say?\" their mother asked.\n\nGaute stood leaning on his spear. He kept his eyes downcast.\n\nThen Naakkve spoke. \"Father asked us to tell you that he has been waiting for you to come to him every day this winter. And he said that you would be no less welcome than you were last time you saw him.\"\n\nThe color came and went in Kristin's face.\n\n\"Didn't you mention to your father... that things are such with me that... it won't be long before I have another child?\"\n\nGaute replied without looking up, \"Father didn't seem to think that was any reason... that you shouldn't be able to move to Haugen.\"\n\nKristin stood there for a moment. \"What did he say?\" she then asked, her voice low and sharp.\n\nNaakkve didn't want to speak. Gaute lifted his hand slightly, casting a swift and beseeching glance at his brother. Then the older son spoke after all. \"Father asked us to tell you this: You knew when the child was conceived how rich a man he was. And if he hasn't grown any richer since, he hasn't grown any poorer either.\"\n\nKristin turned away from her sons and slowly walked back toward the main house. Heavy and weary, she sat down on the bench under the window from which the spring sun had already melted the ice and frost.\n\nIt was true. She had begged to sleep in his arms\u2014at first. But it wasn't kind of him to remind her of that now. She thought it wasn't kind of Erlend to send her such a reply with their sons.\n\nThe spring weather held on. The wind blew from the south, and the rain lasted for a week. The river rose, becoming swollen and thunderous. It roared and rushed down the slopes; the snow plunged down the mountainsides. And then the sunshine returned.\n\nKristin was standing outside behind the buildings in the grayish blue of the evening. A great chorus of birdsong came from the thicket down in the field. Gaute and the twins had gone up to the mountain pastures; they were in search of blackcock. In the morning the clamor of the birds' mating dance on the mountain slopes could be heard all the way down at the manor.\n\nShe clasped her hands under her breast. There was so little time left; she had to bear these last days with patience. She too had doubtless been stubborn and difficult to live with quite often. Unreasonable in her worries about the children... For too long, as Erlend had said. Yet it seemed to her that he was being harsh now. But the day would soon arrive when he would have to come to her; surely he knew that too.\n\nIt was sunny and rainy by turns. One afternoon her sons called to her. All seven of them were standing out in the courtyard along with all the servants. Above the valley stretched three rainbows. The innermost one ended at the buildings of Formo; it was unbroken, with brilliant colors. The two outer ones were fainter and faded away at the top.\n\nEven as they stood there, staring at this astonishing fair omen, the sky grew dark and overcast. From the south a blizzard of snow swept in. It began snowing so hard that soon the whole world had turned white.\n\nThat evening Kristin told Munan the story about King Snjo and his pretty white daughter, whose name was Mj\u00f8ll, and about King Harald Luva, who was brought up by the Dovre giant inside the mountain north of Dovre. She thought with sorrow and remorse that it was years since she had sat and told stories to her children in this fashion. She felt sorry that she had offered Lavrans and Munan so little pleasure of this kind. And they would soon be big boys. While the others had been small, back home at Husaby, she had spent the evenings telling them stories\u2014often, so often.\n\nShe saw that her older sons were listening too. She blushed bright red and came to a stop. Munan asked her to tell them more. Naakkve stood up and moved closer.\n\n\"Do you remember, Mother, the story about Torstein Uksafot and the trolls of H\u00f8iland Forest? Tell us that one!\"\n\nAs she talked, a memory came back to her. They had lain down to rest and to have something to eat in the birch grove down by the river: her father and the hay harvesters, both men and women. Her father was lying on his stomach; she was sitting astride him, on the small of his back, and kicking him in the flanks with her heels. It was a hot day, and she had been given permission to go barefoot, just like the grownup women. Her father was reeling off the members of the H\u00f8iland troll lineage: Jernskjold married Skjoldvor; their daughters were Skjolddis and Skjoldgjerd, whom Torstein Uksafot killed. Skjoldgjerd had been married to Skjoldketil, and their sons were Skjoldbj\u00f8rn and Skjoldhedin and Valskjold, who wed Skjoldskjessa; they gave birth to Skjoldulf and Skjoldorm. Skjoldulf won Skjoldkatla, and together they conceived Skjold and Skjoldketil...\n\nNo, he had already used that name, cried Kolbj\u00f8rn, laughing. For Lavrans had boasted that he would teach them two dozen troll names, but he hadn't even made it through the first dozen. Lavrans laughed too. \"Well, you have to understand that even trolls revive the names of their ancestors!\" But the workers refused to give in; they fined him a drink of mead for them all. And you shall have it, said the master. In the evening, after they went back home. But they wanted to have it at once, and finally Tordis was sent off to get the mead.\n\nThey stood in a circle and passed the big drinking horn around. Then they picked up their scythes and rakes and went back to the hay harvesting. Kristin was sent home with the empty horn. She carried it in front of her in both hands as she ran barefoot through the sunshine on the green path, up toward the manor. Now and then she would stop, whenever a few drops of mead had collected in the curve of the horn. Then she would tilt it over her little face and lick the gilded rim inside and out, as well as her fingers, tasting the sweetness.\n\nKristin Lavransdatter sat still, staring straight ahead. Father! She remembered a tremor passing over his face, a paleness, the way a forest slope grows pale whenever a stormy gust turns the leaves of the trees upside down. An edge of cold, sharp derision in his voice, a gleam in his gray eyes, like the glint of a half-drawn sword. A brief moment, and then it would vanish\u2014into cheerful, good-humored jest when he was young, but becoming more often a quiet, slightly melancholy gentleness as he grew older. Something other than deep, tender sweetness had resided in her father's heart. She had learned to understand it over the years. Her father's marvelous gentleness was not because he lacked a keen enough perception of the faults and wretchedness of others; it came from his constant searching of his own heart before God, crushing it in repentance over his own failings.\n\nNo, Father, I will not be impatient. I too have sinned greatly toward my husband.\n\nOn the evening of Holy Cross Day Kristin was sitting at the table with her house servants and seemed much the same as usual. But when her sons had gone up to the high loft to sleep, she quietly called Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n to her side. She asked him to go down to Isrid at the farm and ask her to come up to her mistress in the old weaving room.\n\nUlf said, \"You must send word to Ranveig at Ulvsvold and to Haldis, the priest's sister, Kristin. It would be most fitting if you sent for Astrid and Ingebj\u00f8rg of Loptsgaard to take charge of the room.\"\n\n\"There's no time for that,\" said Kristin. \"I felt the first pangs just before midafternoon prayers. Do as I say, Ulf. I want only my own maids and Isrid at my side.\"\n\n\"Kristin,\" said Ulf somberly, \"don't you see what vile gossip may come of this if you creep into hiding tonight.\"\n\nKristin let her arms fall heavily onto the table. She closed her eyes.\n\n\"Then let them talk, whoever wants to talk! I can't bear to see the eyes of those other women around me tonight.\"\n\nThe next morning her big sons sat in silence, their eyes lowered, as Munan talked on and on about the little brother he had seen in his mother's arms over in the weaving room. Finally Bj\u00f8rgulf said that he didn't need to talk anymore about that.\n\nKristin lay in bed, merely listening; she felt as if she never slept so soundly that she wasn't listening and waiting.\n\nShe got out of bed on the eighth day, but the women who were with her could tell that she wasn't well. She was freezing, and then waves of heat would wash over her. On one day the milk would pour from her breasts and soak her clothes; the next day she didn't have enough to give the child his fill. But she refused to go back to bed. She never let the child out of her arms; she never put him in the cradle. At night she would take him to bed with her; in the daytime she carried him around, sitting at the hearth with him, sitting on her bed, listening and waiting and staring at her son, although at times she didn't seem to see him or to hear that he was crying. Then she would abruptly wake up. She would hold the boy in her arms and walk back and forth in the room with him. With her cheek pressed against his, she would hum softly to him, then sit down and place him to her breast, and sit there staring at him as she had before, her face as hard as stone.\n\nOne day when the boy was almost six weeks old, and the mother had not yet taken a single step across the threshold of the weaving room, Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n and Skule came in. They were dressed for travel.\n\n\"We're riding north to Haugen now, Kristin,\" said Ulf. \"There has to be an end to this matter.\"\n\nKristin sat mute and motionless, with the boy at her breast. At first she didn't seem to comprehend. All of a sudden she jumped up, her face flushed blood red. \"Do as you like. If you're longing for your proper master, I won't hold you back. It would be best if you drew your earnings now; then you won't need to come back here for them later.\"\n\nUlf began cursing fiercely. Then he looked at the woman standing there with the infant clutched to her bosom. He pressed his lips together and fell silent.\n\nBut Skule took a step forward. \"Yes, Mother, I'm riding up to see Father now. If you're forgetting that Ulf has been a foster father to all of us children, then you should at least remember that you can't command and rule me as if I were a servant or an infant.\"\n\n\"Can't I?\" Kristin struck him a blow to the ear so the boy staggered. \"I think I can command and rule all of you as long as I give you food and clothing. Get out!\" she shrieked, stomping her foot.\n\nSkule was furious. But Ulf said quietly, \"It's better this way, my boy, better for her to be unreasonable and angry than to see her sitting and staring as if she had lost her wits to grief.\"\n\nGunhild, her maid, came running after them. They were to come at once to see her mistress in the weaving room. She wanted to talk to them and to all her sons. In a curt, sharp voice, Kristin asked Ulf to ride down to Breidin to speak with a man who had leased two cows from her. He should take the twins along with him, and there was no need to return home until the next day. She sent Naakkve and Gaute up to the mountain pastures. She wanted them to go to Illmanddal to see to the horse paddock there. And on their way up they were to stop by to see Bj\u00f8rn, the tar-burner and Isrid's son, and ask him to come to J\u00f8rundgaard that evening. It would do no good for them to object since tomorrow was the Sabbath.\n\nThe next morning, as the bells were ringing, the mistress left J\u00f8rundgaard, accompanied by Bj\u00f8rn and Isrid, who carried the child. She had given them good and proper clothing, but for this first church visit after the birth Kristin herself was adorned with so much gold that everyone could see she was the mistress and the other two her servants.\n\nDefiant and proud, she faced the indignant astonishment she felt directed at her from everyone on the church green. Oh yes, in the past she had come to church quite differently on such an occasion, accompanied by the most noble of women. Sira Solmund looked at her with unkind eyes as she stood before the church door with a taper in her hand, but he received her in his customary fashion.\n\nIsrid had retreated into childhood by now and understood very little; Bj\u00f8rn was an odd and taciturn man, who never interfered in anyone else's affairs. These two were the godmother and godfather.\n\nIsrid told the priest the child's name. He gave a start. He hesitated. Then he pronounced it so loudly that it was heard by the people standing in the nave.\n\n\"Erlend. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...\"\n\nA shudder seemed to pass through the entire assembled congregation. And Kristin felt a wild, vindictive joy.\n\nThe child had looked quite strong when he was born. But from the very first week Kristin thought she could tell that he was not going to thrive. She herself had felt, at the moment she gave birth, that her heart was collapsing like an extinguished ember. When Isrid showed her the newborn son, she imagined that the spark of life had only an uncertain hold on this child. But she pushed this thought aside; an unspeakable number of times she had already felt as if her heart would break. And the child was plenty big and did not look weak.\n\nBut her uneasiness over the boy grew from day to day. He whimpered constantly and had a poor appetite. She often had to struggle for a long time before she could get him to take her breast. When she had finally enticed him to suckle, he would fall asleep almost at once. She couldn't see that he was getting any bigger.\n\nWith inexpressible anguish and heartache she thought she saw that from the day he was baptized and received his father's name, little Erlend began to weaken more quickly.\n\nNone of her children, no, none of them had she loved as she did this little unfortunate boy. None of them had she conceived in such sweet and wild joy; none had she carried with such happy anticipation. She thought back on the past nine months; in the end she had fought with all her life to hold on to hope and belief. She couldn't bear to lose this child, but neither could she bear to save him.\n\nAlmighty God, merciful Queen, Holy Olav. She could feel that this time it would do her no good to fling herself down and beg for her child's life.\n\nForgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have sinned against us.\n\nShe went to church every Sabbath, as was her custom. She kissed the doorpost, sprinkled herself with holy water, sank to her knees before the ancient crucifix above the choir. The Savior gazed down, sorrowful and gentle in his death throes. Christ died to save his murderers. Holy Olav stands before him, perpetually praying for intercession for those who drove him into exile and killed him.\n\nAs we forgive those who have sinned against us.\n\nBlessed Mary, my child is dying!\n\nDon't you know, Kristin, that I would rather have carried his cross and suffered his death myself than stand under my son's cross and watch him die? But since I knew that this had to happen to save the sinners, I consented in my heart. I consented when my son prayed: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.\n\nAs we forgive those who have sinned against us...\n\nWhat you scream in your heart does not become a prayer until you have said your Pater noster without deceit.\n\nForgive us our sins... Do you remember how many times your sins were forgiven? Look at your sons over there on the men's side. Look at him standing in front, like the chieftain of that handsome group of youths. The fruit of your sin... For nearly twenty years you have seen God grant him greater looks, wisdom, and manliness. See His mercy. Where is your own mercy toward your youngest son back home?\n\nDo you remember your father? Do you remember Simon Darre?\n\nBut deep in her heart Kristin felt that she had not forgiven Erlend. She could not, because she would not. She held on to her bowl of love, refusing to let it go, even though it now contained only these last, bitter dregs. The moment when she left Erlend behind, no longer thinking of him even with this corrosive bitterness, then everything that had been between them would be over.\n\nSo she stood there during mass and knew that it would be of no benefit to her. She tried to pray: Holy Olav, help me. Work a miracle on my heart so that I might say my prayer without deceit and think of Erlend with God-fearing peace in my soul. But she knew that she did not want this prayer to be heard. Then she felt that it was useless for her to pray to be allowed to keep the child. Young Erlend was on loan from God. Only on one condition could she keep him, and she refused to accept that condition. And it was useless to lie to Saint Olav....\n\nSo she kept watch over the ill child. Her tears spilled out; she wept without a sound and without moving. Her face was as gray and stony as ever, although gradually the whites of her eyes and her eyelids turned blood red. If anyone came near her, she would quickly wipe her face and simply sit there, stiff and mute.\n\nAnd yet it took so little to thaw her heart. If one of her big sons came in, cast a glance at the tiny child, and spoke a few kind and sympathetic words to him, then Kristin could hardly keep from bursting into loud sobs. If she could have talked to her grownup sons about her anguish over the infant, she knew her heart would have melted. But they had grown shy around her now. Ever since that day when they came home and learned what name she had given their youngest brother, the boys seemed to have drawn closer together and stood so far away from her.\n\nBut one day, when Naakkve was looking at the child, he said, \"Mother, give me permission... to seek out Father and tell him how things stand with the boy.\"\n\n\"It will no longer do any good,\" replied his mother in despair.\n\nMunan didn't understand. He brought his playthings to the little brother, rejoiced when he was allowed to hold him, and thought he had made the child smile. Munan talked about when his father would come home and wondered what he would think of the new son. Kristin sat in silence, her face gray, and let her soul be torn apart by the boy's chatter.\n\nThe infant was now thin and wrinkled like an old man; his eyes were unnaturally big and clear. And yet he had begun to smile at his mother; she would moan softly whenever she saw this. Kristin caressed his small, thin limbs, held his feet in her hands. Never would this child lie there and reach with surprise for the sweet, strange, pale pink shapes that flailed in the air above him, which he didn't recognize as his own legs. Never would these tiny feet walk on the earth.\n\nAfter she had sat through all the arduous days of the week and kept watch over the dying child, then she would think as she dressed for church that surely she was humble enough now. She had forgiven Erlend; she no longer cared about him. If only she might keep her sweetest, her most precious possession, then she would gladly forgive the man.\n\nBut when she stood before the cross, whispering her Pater noster, and she came to the words sicut et nos dimittibus debitoribus nostris, then she would feel her heart harden, the way a hand clenches into a fist to strike. No!\n\nWithout hope, her soul aching, she would weep, for she could not make herself do it.\n\nAnd so Erlend Erlendss\u00f8n died on the day before the Feast of Mary Magdalena, a little less than three months old."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "That autumn Bishop Halvard came north through the valley on an official church visit. He arrived in Sil on the day before Saint Matthew's Day. It had been more than two years since the bishop had come that far north, so there were many children who were to be confirmed this time. Munan Erlendss\u00f8n was among them; he was now eight years old.\n\nKristin asked Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n to present the child to the bishop; she didn't have a single friend in her home parish whom she could ask to do this. Ulf seemed pleased by her request. And so, when the church bells rang, the three of them walked up the hill: Kristin, Ulf, and the boy. Her other sons had been to the earlier mass\u2014all of them except for Lavrans, who was in bed with a fever. They didn't want to attend this mass because it would be so crowded in the church.\n\nAs they walked past the foreman's house, Kristin noticed that many strange horses were tied to the fence outside. Farther along the road they were overtaken by Jardtrud, who was riding with a large entourage and raced past them. Ulf pretended not to see his wife and her kinsmen.\n\nKristin knew that Ulf had not set foot inside his own house since just after New Year's. Things had apparently gotten worse than usual between him and his wife, and afterward he had moved his clothes chest and his weapons up to the high loft, where he now lived with the boys. Once, in early spring, Kristin had mentioned that it was wrong for there to be such discord between him and his wife. Then he had looked at her and laughed, and she said no more.\n\nThe weather was sunny and beautiful. High over the valley the sky was blue between the peaks. The yellow foliage of the birch-covered slopes was beginning to thin out, and in the countryside most of the grain had been cut, although a few acres of pale barley still swayed near the farms, and the second crop of hay stood green and wet with dew in the meadows. There were throngs of people at the church, and a great neighing and whinneying of stallions, because the church stables were full and many had been forced to tie up their horses outside.\n\nA muted, rancorous uneasiness passed through the crowd as Kristin and her escort moved forward. A young man slapped his thigh and laughed but was fiercely hushed by his elders. Kristin walked with measured steps and erect bearing across the green and then entered the cemetery. She paused for a moment at her child's grave and at that of Simon Andress\u00f8n. A flat gray stone had been placed on top of it, and on the stone was etched the likeness of a man wearing a helmet and coat of mail, leaning his hands on a big, triangular shield with his coat of arms. Around the edge of the stone were chiseled the words:\n\nIn pace. Simon Armiger. Proles Dom. Andreae Filii Gudmundi Militis Pater Noster.\n\nUlf was standing outside the south door; he had left his sword in the gallery.\n\nAt that moment Jardtrud entered the cemetery in the company of four men: her two brothers and two old farmers. One of them was Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n, who had been Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's arms bearer for many years. They walked toward the priest's entrance south of the choir.\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n raced over to block their way. Kristin heard them speaking rapidly and vehemently; Ulf was trying to prevent his wife and her escorts from going any farther. People in the churchyard drew nearer; Kristin too moved closer. Then Ulf jumped up onto the stone foundation on which the gallery rested, leaned in, and pulled out the first axe he could reach. When one of Jardtrud's brothers tried to pull it out of his hand, Ulf leaped forward and swung the axe in the air. The blow fell on the man's shoulder, and then people came running and seized hold of Ulf. He struggled to free himself. Kristin saw that his face was dark red, contorted, and desperate.\n\nThen Sira Solmund and a cleric from the bishop's party appeared in the priest's doorway. They exchanged a few words with the farmers. Three men who bore the white shields of the bishop took Ulf away at once, leading him out of the cemetery, while his wife and her escorts followed the two priests into the church.\n\nKristin approached the group of farmers. \"What is it?\" she asked sharply. \"Why did they take Ulf away?\"\n\n\"Surely you saw that he struck a man in the cemetery,\" replied one of them, his voice equally sharp. Everyone moved away from her so that she was left standing alone with her son at the church door.\n\nKristin thought she understood. Ulf's wife wanted to present a complaint against him to the bishop. By losing mastery of his feelings and breaching the sanctity of the cemetery, he had placed himself in a difficult position. When an unfamiliar deacon came to the door and peered outside, she went over to him, told him her name, and asked whether she might be taken to the bishop.\n\nInside the church all the sacred objects had been set out, but the candles on the altars were not yet lit. A little sunshine fell through the round windows high overhead and streamed between the dark brown pillars. Many of the congregation had already entered the nave and were sitting on the benches along the wall. In front of the bishop's seat in the choir stood a small group of people: Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter and her two brothers\u2014Geirulv with his arm bandaged\u2014Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n, Sigurd Geitung, and Tore Borghildss\u00f8n. Behind and on either side of the bishop's carved chair stood two young priests from Hamar, several other men from the bishop's party, and Sira Solmund.\n\nAll of them stared as the mistress of J\u00f8rundgaard stepped forward and courtsied deeply before the bishop.\n\nLord Halvard was a tall, stout man with an exceedingly venerable appearance. Beneath the red silk cap his hair gleamed snow-white at his temples, and his full, oval face was a blazing red. He had a strong, crooked nose and heavy jowls, and his mouth was as narrow as a slit, almost without lips, as it cut through his closely trimmed, grayish-white beard. But his bushy eyebrows were still dark above his glittering, coal-black eyes.\n\n\"May God be with you, Kristin Lavransdatter,\" said Lord Halvard. He gave the woman a penetrating look from under his heavy eyebrows. With one of his large, pale old man's hands he grasped the gold cross hanging on his chest; in the other hand, which rested on the lap of his dark violet robes, he held a wax tablet.\n\n\"What brings you to seek me out here, Mistress Kristin?\" the bishop asked. \"Don't you think it would be more fitting if you waited until the afternoon and came to see me at Romundgaard to tell me what is in your heart?\"\n\n\"Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter has sought you out here, Reverend Father,\" replied Kristin. \"Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n has now been in the service of my husband for thirty-five years; he has always been our loyal friend and helper and a good kinsman. I thought I might be able to help him in some way.\"\n\nJardtrud uttered a low cry of scorn or indignation. Everyone else stared at Kristin: the parishioners with bitterness, the bishop's party with intent curiosity. Lord Halvard cast a sharp glance around before he said to Kristin, \"Are things such that you would venture to defend Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n? Surely you must know\u2014\" As she attempted to answer, he quickly added, raising one hand, \"No one has the right to demand testimony from you in this matter\u2014other than your husband\u2014unless your conscience forces you to speak. Consider it carefully, before you\u2014\"\n\n\"I was mostly thinking, Lord Bishop, that Ulf let his temper get the better of him, and he took up arms at church; I thought I might aid him in this matter by offering to pay a guarantee. Or,\" she said with great effort, \"my husband will certainly do all he can to help his friend and kinsman in this case.\"\n\nThe bishop turned impatiently to those standing nearby, who all seemed to be seized by strong emotions. \"That woman doesn't need to be here. Her spokesman can wait over in the nave. Go over there, all of you, while I speak to the mistress. And send the parishioners outside for the time being, and Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter along with them.\"\n\nOne of the young priests had been busy laying out the bishop's vestments. Now he carefully set the miter with the gold cross on top of the spread-out folds of the cope and went over to speak to the people in the nave. The others followed him. The congregation, along with Jardtrud, left the church, and the verger closed the doors.\n\n\"You mentioned your husband,\" said the bishop, looking at Kristin with the same expression as before. \"Is it true that last summer you sought to be reconciled with him?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Lord.\"\n\n\"But you were not reconciled?\"\n\n\"My Lord, forgive me for saying this, but... I have no complaints about my husband. I sought you out to speak of this matter regarding Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n.\"\n\n\"Did your husband know you were carrying a child?\" asked Lord Halvard. He seemed angered by her objection.\n\n\"Yes, my Lord,\" she replied in a low voice.\n\n\"How did Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n receive the news?\" asked the bishop.\n\nKristin stood twisting a corner of her wimple between her fingers, her eyes on the floor.\n\n\"Did he refuse to be reconciled with you when he heard about this?\"\n\n\"My Lord, forgive me...\" Kristin had turned bright red. \"Whether my husband Erlend acted one way or another toward me... if it would help Ulf's case for him to come here, then I know that Erlend would hasten to his side.\"\n\nThe bishop frowned as he looked at her. \"Do you mean out of friendship for this man, Ulf? Or, now that the matter has come to light, will Erlend after all agree to acknowledge the child you gave birth to this spring?\"\n\nKristin lifted her head and stared at the bishop with wide eyes and parted lips. For the first time she began to understand what his words signified.\n\nLord Halvard gave her a somber look. \"It's true, mistress, that no one other than your husband has the right to bring charges against you for this. But surely you must realize that he will bring upon both you and himself a great sin if he takes on the paternity of another man's child in order to protect Ulf. It would be better for all of you, if you have sinned, to confess and repent of this sin.\"\n\nThe color came and went in Kristin's face. \"Has someone said that my husband wouldn't... that it was not his child?\"\n\nThe bishop reluctantly replied, \"Would you have me believe, Kristin, that you had no idea what people have been saying about you and your overseer?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't.\" She straightened up, standing with her head tilted back slightly, her face white under the folds of her wimple. \"I pray you, my Reverend Lord and Father\u2014if people have been whispering rumors about me behind my back, then ask them to repeat them to my face!\"\n\n\"No names have been mentioned,\" replied the bishop. \"That is against the law. But Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter has asked permission to leave her husband and go home with her kinsmen because she accuses him of keeping company with another woman, a married woman, and conceiving a child with her.\"\n\nFor a moment both of them fell silent. Then Kristin repeated, \"My Lord, I beg you to show me such mercy that you would demand these men to speak so that I might hear them, to say that I am supposed to be this woman.\"\n\nBishop Halvard gave her a sharp and piercing look. Then he waved his hand, and the men in the nave approached and stood around his chair. Lord Halvard spoke: \"You good men of Sil have come to me today at an inconvenient time, bringing a complaint which by rights should have been presented first to my plenipotentiary. I have acceded to this because I know that you cannot be fully knowledgeable of the law. But now this woman, Mistress Kristin Lavransdatter of J\u00f8rundgaard, has come to me with an odd request. She begs me to ask you if you dare say to her face what people have been saying in the parish: that her husband, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, is not the father of the child she gave birth to this spring.\"\n\nSira Solmund replied, \"It has been said on every estate and in every hovel throughout the countryside that the child was conceived in adultery and with blood guilt, by the mistress and her overseer. And it seems to us hardly credible that she did not know of this rumor herself.\"\n\nThe bishop was about to speak, but Kristin said, in a loud and firm voice, \"So help me Almighty God, the Virgin Mary, Saint Olav, and the archbishop Saint Thomas, I did not know this lie was being said about us.\"\n\n\"Then it's hard to understand why you felt such a need to conceal the fact that you were with child,\" said the priest. \"You hid from everyone and barely came out of your house all winter.\"\n\n\"It's been a long time since I had any friends among the farmers of this parish; I've had so little to do with anyone here over the past few years. And yet I didn't know until now that everyone seems to be my foe. But I came to church on every Sabbath,\" she said.\n\n\"Yes, and you wrapped yourself up in cloaks and dressed so that no one might see you were growing big under your belt.\"\n\n\"As any woman would do; surely any woman would want to look decent in the company of other people,\" replied Kristin curtly.\n\nThe priest continued, \"If the child was your husband's, as you say, then surely you wouldn't have tended to the infant so poorly that you caused him to die of neglect.\"\n\nOne of the young priests from Hamar quickly stepped forward and caught hold of Kristin. A moment later she stood as she had before, pale and straight-backed. She thanked the priest with a nod of her head.\n\nSira Solmund vehemently declared, \"That's what the servingwomen at J\u00f8rundgaard said. My sister, who has been to the manor, witnessed it herself. The mistress went about with her breasts bursting with milk, so that her clothing was soaked through. But any woman who saw the boy's body can testify that he died of starvation.\"\n\nBishop Halvard put up his hand. \"That's enough, Sira Solmund. We will keep to the matter at hand, which is whether Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter had any other basis for her claims when she brought her case against her husband than that she had heard rumors, which the mistress here says are lies. And whether Kristin can dispute these rumors. Surely no one would claim that she laid hands on the child...\"\n\nBut Kristin stood there, her face pale, and did not speak.\n\nThe bishop said to the parish priest, \"But you, Sira Solmund, it was your duty to speak to this woman and let her know what was being said. Haven't you done so?\"\n\nThe priest blushed. \"I have said heartfelt prayers for this woman, that she might willingly give up her stubborn ways and seek remorse and repentance. Her father was not my friend,\" said the priest heatedly. \"And yet I know that Lavrans of J\u00f8rundgaard was a righteous man and a firm believer. No doubt he might have deserved better, but this daughter of his has brought shame after shame upon him. She was barely a grown maiden before her loose ways caused two boys here in the parish to die. Then she broke her promise and betrothal to a fine and splendid knight's son, whom her father had chosen to be her husband, and forced her own will, using dishonorable means, to win this man, who you, my Lord, know full well was condemned as a traitor and betrayer of the Crown. But I thought that at last her heart would have to soften when she saw how she was hated and scorned\u2014she and all her family\u2014and with the worst of reputations, living there at J\u00f8rundgaard, where her father and Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter had enjoyed the respect and love of everyone.\n\n\"But it was too much when she brought her son here today to be confirmed, and that man was supposed to present the boy to you when the whole parish knows that she lives with him in both adultery and blood guilt.\"\n\nThe bishop gestured for the other man to be silent.\n\n\"How closely related is Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n to your husband?\" he asked Kristin.\n\n\"Ulf's rightful father was Sir Baard Peters\u00f8n of Hestnes. He had the same mother as his half brother Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n of Skogheim, who was Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's maternal grandfather.\"\n\nLord Halvard turned impatiently to Sira Solmund, \"There is no blood guilt; her motherin-law and Ulf are cousins. It would be a breach of kinship ties and a grave sin if it were true, but you need not make it any worse than that.\"\n\n\"Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n is godfather to this woman's eldest son,\" said Sira Solmund.\n\nThe bishop looked at her, and Kristin answered, \"Yes, my Lord.\"\n\nLord Halvard sat in silence for a while.\n\n\"May God help you, Kristin Lavransdatter,\" he said sorrowfully. \"I knew your father in the past; I was his guest at J\u00f8rundgaard in my youth. I remember that you were a lovely, innocent child. If Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n had been alive, this would never have happened. Think of your father, Kristin. For his sake, you must put aside this shame and cleanse yourself, if you can.\"\n\nIn a flash the memory came back to her; she recognized the bishop. A winter's day at sunset... a red, rearing colt in the courtyard and a priest with a fringe of black hair around his flaming red face. Hanging on to the halter, splattered with froth, he was trying to tame the wild animal and climb on to its back without a saddle. Groups of drunken, laughing Christmas guests were crowding around, her father among them, red-faced from liquor and the cold, shouting loudly and merrily.\n\nShe turned toward Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n.\n\n\"Kolbein! You who have known me ever since I wore a child's cap, you who knew me and my sisters back home with my father and mother... I know that you were so fond of my father that you... Kolbein, do you believe such a thing of me?\"\n\nThe farmer Kolbein looked at her, his face stern and sorrowful. \"Fond of your father, you say... Yes, we who were his men, poor servants and commoners who loved Lavrans of J\u00f8rundgaard and thought he was the kind of man that God wanted a chieftain to be...\n\n\"Don't ask us, Kristin Lavransdatter, we who saw how your father loved you and how you rewarded his love, what we think you might be capable of doing!\"\n\nKristin bowed her head to her breast. The bishop couldn't get another word out of her; she would no longer answer his questions.\n\nThen Lord Halvard stood up. Next to the high altar was a small door which led to the enclosed section of the gallery behind the apse of the choir. Part of it was used as the sacristy, and part of it was furnished with several little hatches through which the lepers could receive the Host when they stood out there and listened to the mass, separated from the rest of the congregation. But no one in the parish had suffered from leprosy for many years.\n\n\"Perhaps it would be best if you waited out there, Kristin, until everyone has come inside for the service. I want to talk to you later, but in the meantime you may go home to your family.\"\n\nKristin curtsied before the bishop. \"I would rather go home now, venerable Lord, with your permission.\"\n\n\"As you please, Mistress Lavransdatter. May God protect you, Kristin. If you are guilty, then they will plead your defense: God Himself and His martyrs who are the lords of the church here: Saint Olav and Saint Thomas, who died for the sake of righteousness.\"\n\nKristin curtsied once more before the bishop. Then she went through the priest's door out into the cemetery.\n\nA small boy wearing a new red tunic stood there all alone, his bearing stiff and erect. Munan tilted his pale child's face up toward his mother for a moment, his eyes big and frightened.\n\nHer sons... She hadn't thought about them before. In a flash she saw her flock of boys: the way they had stood at the periphery of her life during the past years, crowding together like a herd of horses in a thunderstorm, alert and wary, far away from her as she struggled through the final death throes of her love. What had they understood, what had they thought, what had they endured as she wrestled with her passion? What would become of them now?\n\nShe held Munan's small, scrubbed fist in her hand. The child stared straight ahead; his lips quivered slightly, but he held his head high.\n\nHand in hand Kristin Lavransdatter and her son walked across the churchyard and out onto the hillside. She thought about her sons, and she felt as if she would break down and collapse on the ground. The throngs of people moved toward the church door, as the bells rang from the nearby bell tower.\n\nShe had once heard a saga about a murdered man who couldn't fall to the ground because he had so many spears in his body. She couldn't fall as she walked along because of all the eyes piercing through her.\n\nMother and child entered the high loft room. Her sons were huddled around Bj\u00f8rgulf, who was sitting at the table. Naakkve straightened up and stood over his brothers, with one hand on the shoulder of the half-blind boy. Kristin looked at the narrow, dark, blue-eyed visage of her firstborn son, with the soft, downy black beard around his mouth.\n\n\"You know about it?\" she asked calmly, walking over to the group.\n\n\"Yes.\" Naakkve spoke for all of them. \"Gunhild was at church.\"\n\nKristin paused for a moment. The other boys turned back to their eldest brother, until their mother asked, \"Did any of you know that such things were being said in the countryside\u2014about Ulf and me?\"\n\nThen Ivar Erlendss\u00f8n abruptly turned to face her. \"Don't you think you would have heard the clamor of our actions if we had? I know I couldn't have sat still and let my mother be branded an adulteress\u2014not even if I knew it was true that she was!\"\n\nKristin gazed at them sorrowfully. \"I wonder, my sons, what you must have thought about everything that has happened here over the last few years.\"\n\nThe boys stood in silence. Then Bj\u00f8rgulf lifted his face and looked up at his mother with his failing eyes. \"Jesus Christus, Mother, what were we supposed to think? This past year and all the other years before that! Do you think it was easy for us to figure out what to think?\"\n\nNaakkve said, \"Oh yes, Mother. I know I should have talked to you, but you behaved in such a way that made it impossible for us. And when you let our youngest brother be baptized as if you wanted to call our father a dead man\u2014\" He broke off, gesturing vehemently.\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf continued. \"You and Father thought of nothing else but your quarrel. Not about the fact that we had grown up to be men in the meantime. You never paid any heed to anyone who happened to come between your weapons and was dealt bloody wounds.\"\n\nHe had leaped to his feet. Naakkve placed a hand on his shoulder. Kristin saw it was true: The two were grown men. She felt as if she were standing naked before them; she had shamelessly revealed herself to her children.\n\nThis was what they had seen most as they grew up: that their parents were getting old, that their youthful ardor was pitifully ill suited to them, and that they had not been able to age with honor and dignity.\n\nThen the voice of a child cut through the silence. Munan shrieked in wild despair, \"Mother! Are they coming to take you prisoner, Mother? Are they coming to take Mother away from us now?\"\n\nHe threw his arms around her and buried his face against her waist. Kristin pulled him close, sank down onto a bench, and gathered the little boy into her arms. She tried to console him. \"Little son, little son, you mustn't cry.\"\n\n\"No one can take Mother away from us.\" Gaute came over and touched his little brother. \"Don't cry. They can't do anything to her. You must get hold of yourself, Munan. Rest assured that we will protect our mother, my boy!\"\n\nKristin sat holding the child tightly in her arms; she felt as if he had saved her with his tears.\n\nThen Lavrans spoke, sitting up in bed with the flush of fever on his cheeks. \"Well, what are you going to do, brothers?\"\n\n\"When the mass is over,\" said Naakkve, \"we'll go over to the parsonage and offer to pay a guarantee for our foster father. That's the first thing we'll do. Do you agree, my lads?\"\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf, Gaute, Ivar, and Skule assented.\n\nKristin said, \"Ulf raised a weapon against a man in the cemetery. And I must do something to clear both his name and mine from these rumors. These are such serious matters, boys, that I think you young men must seek someone else's counsel to decide what should be done.\"\n\n\"Who should we ask for advice?\" said Naakkve, a little scornfully.\n\n\"Sir Sigurd of Sundbu is my cousin,\" replied his mother hesitantly.\n\n\"Since that has never occurred to him before,\" said the young man in the same tone of voice, \"I don't think it fitting for the sons of Erlend to go begging to him now, when we're in need. What do you say, brothers? Even if we're not legally of age, we can still wield our weapons with skill, all five of us.\"\n\n\"Boys,\" said Kristin, \"using weapons will get you nowhere in this matter.\"\n\n\"You must let us decide that, Mother,\" replied Naakkve curtly. \"But now, Mother, I think you should let us eat. And sit down in your usual place\u2014for the servants' sake,\" he said, as if he could command her.\n\nShe could hardly eat a thing. She sat and pondered... She didn't dare ask whether they would now send word to their father. And she wondered how this case would be handled. She knew little of the law in such matters; no doubt she would have to refute the rumors by swearing an oath along with either five or eleven others. If so, it would probably take place at the church of Ullinsyn in Vaagaa. She had kinsmen there on nearly every large estate, from her mother's lineage. If her oath failed, and she had to stand before their eyes without being able to clear herself of this shameful charge... It would bring shame upon her father. He had been an outsider here in the valley. But he had known how to assert himself; everyone had respected him. Whenever Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n took up a matter at a ting or a meeting, he had always won full support. Still, she knew it was on him that her shame would fall. She suddenly realized how alone her father had stood; in spite of everything, he was alone and a stranger among the people here every time she heaped upon him one more burden of sorrow and shame and disgrace.\n\nShe didn't think she could ever feel this way anymore; again and again she had thought her heart would burst into bloody pieces, and now, once again, it felt as if it would break.\n\nGaute went out to the gallery and looked north. \"People are leaving the church,\" he said. \"Shall we wait until they've gone some distance away?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Naakkve. \"Let them see that the sons of Erlend are coming. We should get ready now, lads. We had better wear our steel helmets.\"\n\nOnly Naakkve owned proper armor. He left the coat of mail behind, but he put on his helmet and picked up his shield, his sword, and a long lance. Bj\u00f8rgulf and Gaute put on the old iron hats that boys wore when they practiced sword fighting, while Ivar and Skule had to be content with the small steel caps that peasant soldiers still wore. Their mother looked at them. She had such a shattered feeling in her breast.\n\n\"It seems to me ill advised, my sons, for you to arm yourselves in this fashion to go over to the parsonage,\" she said uneasily. \"You shouldn't forget about the peace of the Sabbath and the presence of the bishop.\"\n\nNaakkve replied, \"Honor has grown scarce here at J\u00f8rund gaard, Mother. We have to pay dearly for whatever we can get.\"\n\n\"Not you, Bj\u00f8rgulf,\" pleaded their mother fearfully, for the weak-sighted boy had picked up a big battleaxe. \"Remember that you can't see well, son!\"\n\n\"Oh, I can see as far as I need to,\" said Bj\u00f8rgulf, weighing the axe in his hand.\n\nGaute went over to young Lavrans's bed and took down their grandfather's great sword, which the boy always insisted on keeping on the wall above his bed. He drew the blade from its scabbard and looked at it.\n\n\"You must lend me your sword, kinsman. I think our grandfather would be pleased if we took it along on this venture.\"\n\nKristin wrung her hands as she sat there. She felt as if she would scream\u2014with terror and the utmost dread, but also with a power that was stronger than either her torment or her fear. The way she had screamed when she gave birth to these men. Wound after countless wound she had endured in this life, but now she knew that they all had healed; the scars were as tender as raw flesh, but she knew that she would not bleed to death. Never had she felt more alive than she did now.\n\nBlossoms and leaves had been stripped away from her, but she had not been cut down, nor had she fallen. For the first time since she had given birth to the children of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, she completely forgot about the father and saw only her sons.\n\nBut the sons did not look at their mother, who sat there, pale, with strained and frightened eyes. Munan was still on her lap; he hadn't let go of her even for a moment. The five boys left the loft.\n\nKristin stood up and stepped out onto the gallery. They emerged from behind the buildings and walked swiftly along the path toward Romundgaard between the pale, swaying acres of barley. Their steel caps and iron hats gleamed dully, but the sun glittered on Naakkve's lance and on the spearpoints of the twins. She stood staring after the five young men. She was mother to them all.\n\nBack inside she collapsed before the chest over which the picture of Mary hung. Sobs tore her apart. Munan began to cry too, and weeping, he crept close to his mother. Lavrans leaped out of bed and threw himself to his knees on the other side of her. She put her arms around both her youngest sons.\n\nEver since the infant had died, she had wondered why she should pray. Hard, cold, and heavy as stone, she had felt as if she were falling into the gaping maw of Hell. Now the prayers burst from her lips of their own volition; without any conscious will, her soul streamed toward Mary, maiden and mother, the Queen of Heaven and earth, with cries of anguish and gratitude and praise. Mary, Mary, I have so much\u2014I still have endless treasures that can be plundered from me. Merciful Mother, take them into your protection!\n\nThere were many people in the courtyard of Romundgaard. When the sons of Erlend arrived, several farmers asked them what they wanted.\n\n\"We want nothing from you... yet,\" said Naakkve, smiling slyly. \"We have business with the bishop today, Magnus. Later my brothers and I may decide that we want to have a few words with the rest of you too. But today you have no need to fear us.\"\n\nThere was a great deal of shouting and commotion. Sira Solmund came out and tried to forbid the boys to stay, but then several farmers took up their cause and said they should be allowed to make inquiries about this charge against their mother. The bishop's men came out and told the sons of Erlend they would have to leave because food was being served and no one had time to listen to them. But the farmers were not pleased by this.\n\n\"What is it, good folks?\" thundered a voice overhead. No one had noticed that Lord Halvard himself had come out onto the loft gallery. Now he was standing there in his violet robes, with the red silk cap on his white hair, tall and stout and looking like a chieftain. \"Who are these young men?\"\n\nHe was told that they were Kristin's sons from J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\n\"Are you the oldest?\" the bishop asked Naakkve. \"Then I will talk to you. But the others must wait here in the courtyard in the meantime.\"\n\nNaakkve climbed the steps to the high loft and followed the bishop into the room. Lord Halvard sat down in the high seat and looked at the young man standing before him, leaning on his lance.\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Nikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n, my Lord.\"\n\n\"Do you think you need to be so well armed, Nikulaus Er lendss\u00f8n, in order to speak to your bishop?\" asked the other man with a little smile.\n\nNikulaus blushed bright red. He went over to the corner, put down his weapons and cape, and came back. He stood before the bishop, bareheaded, his face lowered, with one hand clasping the wrist of the other, his bearing easy and free, but seemly and respectful.\n\nLord Halvard thought that this young man had been taught courtly and noble manners. And he couldn't have been a child when his father lost his riches and honorable position; he must certainly remember the time when he was considered the heir of Husaby. He was a handsome lad as well; the bishop felt great compassion for him.\n\n\"Were those your brothers, all those young men who were with you? How many of you are there, you sons of Erlend?\"\n\n\"There are seven of us still living, my Lord.\"\n\n\"So many young lives involved in this.\" The bishop gave an involuntary sigh. \"Sit down, Nikulaus. I suppose you want to talk to me about these rumors that have come forth about your mother and her overseer?\"\n\n\"Thank you, Your Grace, but I would prefer to stand.\"\n\nThe bishop looked thoughtfully at the youth. Then he said slowly, \"I must tell you, Nikulaus, that I find it difficult to believe that what has been said about Kristin Lavransdatter is true. And no one other than her husband has the right to accuse her of adultery. But then there is the matter of the kinship between your father and this man Ulf and the fact that he is your godfather. Jardtrud has presented her complaint in such a manner that there is much to indicate a lack of honor on your mother's part. Do you know whether it's true what she says: that the man often struck her and that he has shunned her bed for almost a year?\"\n\n\"Ulf and Jardtrud did not live well together; our foster father was no longer young when he married, and he can be rather stubborn and hot-tempered. Toward myself and my brothers, and toward our father and mother, he has always been the most loyal kinsman and friend. That is the first request I intended to make of you, kind sir: If it is at all possible, that you would release Ulf as a free man against payment of a guarantee.\"\n\n\"You are not yet of lawful age?\" asked the bishop.\n\n\"No, my Lord. But our mother is willing to pay whatever guarantee you might demand.\"\n\nThe bishop shook his head.\n\n\"But my father will do the same, I'm certain of that. It's my intention to ride straight from here to see him, to tell him what has happened. If you would grant him an audience tomorrow...\"\n\nThe bishop rested his chin on his hand and sat there stroking his beard with his thumb, making a faint scraping sound.\n\n\"Sit down, Nikulaus,\" he said, \"and we'll be able to talk better.\" Naakkve bowed politely and sat down. \"So then it's true that Ulf has refused to live with his wife?\" he continued as if he just happened to remember it.\n\n\"Yes, my Lord. As far as I know...\"\n\nThe bishop couldn't help smiling, and then the young man smiled a little too.\n\n\"Ulf has been sleeping in the loft with all of us brothers since Christmas.\"\n\nThe bishop sat in silence for a moment. \"What about food? Where does he eat?\"\n\n\"He had his wife pack provisions for him whenever he went into the woods or left the estate.\" Naakkve's expression grew a little uncertain. \"There were some quarrels about that. Mother thought it best for him to take his meals with us, as he did before he was married. Ulf didn't want to do that because he said people would talk if he changed the terms of the agreement which he and Father made when he set up his own household, about the goods that he would be given from the estate. And he didn't think it was right for Mother to provide food for him again without some deductions in what he had been granted. But it was arranged as Mother wanted, and Ulf began taking his meals with us again. The other part was to be figured out later.\"\n\n\"Hmm... Otherwise your mother has a reputation for keeping a close eye on her property, and she is an exceedingly enterprising and frugal woman.\"\n\n\"Not with food,\" said Naakkve eagerly. \"Anyone will tell you that\u2014any man or woman who has ever served on our estate. Mother is the most generous of women when it comes to food. In that regard she's no different now from when we were rich. She's never happier than when she can set some special dish on the table, and she makes such an abundance that every servant, right down to the goatherd and the beggar, receives his share of the good food.\"\n\n\"Hmm...\" The bishop sat lost in thought. \"You mentioned that you wanted to seek out your father?\"\n\n\"Yes, my Lord. Surely that must be the reasonable thing to do?\" When the bishop didn't reply, he continued. \"We spoke to Father this winter, my brother Gaute and I. We also told him that Mother was with child. But we saw no sign, nor did we hear a single word from his lips, that might indicate he had doubts that Mother had not been as faithful as gold to him or that he was surprised. But Father has never felt at ease in Sil; he wanted to live on his own farm in Dovre, and Mother was up there for a while this summer. He was angry because she refused to stay and keep house for him. He wanted her to let Gaute and me manage J\u00f8rundgaard while she moved to Haugen.\"\n\nBishop Halvard kept rubbing his beard as he studied the young man.\n\nNo matter what sort of man Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n might be, surely he wouldn't have been contemptible enough to accuse his wife of adultery before their young sons.\n\nIn spite of everything that seemed to speak against Kristin Lavransdatter, he just didn't believe it. He thought she was telling the truth when she denied knowledge of the suspicions about her and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. And yet he remembered that this woman had been weak before, when desires of the flesh had beckoned; with loathsome deceit she and this man with whom she now lived in discord had managed to win Lavrans's consent.\n\nWhen the talk turned to the death of the child, he saw at once that her conscience troubled her. But even if she had neglected her child, she could not be brought before a court of law for that reason. She would have to repent before God, in accordance with the strictures of her confessor. And the child might still be her husband's even if she had cared for it poorly. She couldn't possibly be glad to be burdened with another infant, now that she was no longer young and had been abandoned by her husband, with seven sons already, and in much more meager circumstances than was their birthright. It would be unreasonable to expect that she could have had much love for that child.\n\nHe didn't think she was an unfaithful wife, although only God knew what he had heard and experienced in the forty years he had been a priest and listened to confessions. But he believed her.\n\nAnd yet there was only one way in which he could interpret Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's behavior in this matter. He had refused to seek out his wife while she was with child, or after the birth, or when the infant died. He must have thought that he was not the father.\n\nWhat now remained to find out was how the man would act. Whether he would stand up and defend his wife all the same, for the sake of his seven sons, as an honorable man would do. Or whether, now that these rumors were being openly discussed, he would bring charges against her. Based on what the bishop had heard about Erlend of Husaby, he wasn't sure he could count on the man not to do this.\n\n\"Who are your mother's closest kinsmen?\" he asked.\n\n\"Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n of \u00c6lin is married to her sister, the widow of Simon Darre of Formo. She also has two cousins: Ketil Aasmundss\u00f8n of Skog and his sister, Ragna, who is married to Sigurd Kyrning. Ivar Gjesling of Ringheim and his brother, Haavard Trondss\u00f8n, are the sons of her mother's brother. But all of them live far away.\"\n\n\"What about Sir Sigurd Eldjarn of Sundbu? He and your mother are cousins. In a case like this the knight must step forward to defend his kinswoman, Nikulaus! You must seek him out this very day and tell him about this, my friend!\"\n\nNaakkve replied reluctantly, \"Honorable Lord, there has been little kinship between him and us. And I don't think, my Lord, that it would benefit Mother's case if this man came to her defense. Erlend Eldjarn's lineage is not well liked here in the villages. Nothing harmed my father more in the eyes of the people than the fact that the Gjeslings had joined him in the plot that cost us Husaby, while they lost Sundbu.\"\n\n\"Yes, Erlend Eldjarn...\" The bishop laughed a little. \"Yes, he had a talent for disagreeing with people; he quarreled with all his kinsmen up here in the north. Your maternal grandfather, who was a pious man and not afraid to give in if it meant strengthening the peace and harmony among kin\u2014even he couldn't manage any better. He and Erlend Eldjarn were the bitterest of foes.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Naakkve couldn't help chuckling. \"And it wasn't over anything important either: two embroidered sheets and a blue-hemmed towel. Altogether they weren't worth more than two marks. But my grandmother had impressed upon her husband that he must make sure to acquire these things when her father's estate was settled, and Gudrun Ivarsdatter had also spoken of them to her own husband. Erlend Eldjarn finally seized them and hid them away in his traveling bag, but Lavrans took them out again. He felt he had the most right to these things, for it was Ragnfrid who had made them as a young maiden, while she was living at home at Sundbu. When Erlend became aware of this, he struck my grandfather in the face, and then Grandfather threw him to the floor three times and shook him like a pelt. After that they never spoke again, and it was all because of those scraps of fabric; Mother has them at home in her chest.\"\n\nThe bishop laughed heartily. He knew this story well, which had amused everyone greatly when it occurred: that the husbands of the daughters of Ivar should be so eager to please their wives. But he had achieved what he intended: The features of the young man's face had thawed into a smile, and the wary, anguished expression had been driven from his handsome blue-gray eyes for a moment. Then Lord Halvard laughed even louder.\n\n\"Oh yes, Nikulaus, they did speak to each other one more time, and I was present. It was in Oslo, at the Christmas banquet, the year before Queen Eufemia died. My blessed Lord King Haakon was talking to Lavrans; he had come south to bring his greetings to his lord and to pledge his loyal service. The king told him that this enmity between the husbands of two sisters was unchristian and the behavior of petty men. Lavrans went over to where Erlend Eldjarn was standing with several other royal retainers and asked him in a friendly manner to forgive him for losing his temper; he said he would send the things to Fru Gudrun with loving greetings from her brother and sister. Erlend replied that he would agree to reconcile if Lavrans would accept the blame before the men standing there and admit that he had acted like a thief and a robber with regard to the inheritance of their fatherin-law. Lavrans turned on his heel and walked away\u2014and that, I believe, was the last time Ivar Gjesling's sons-in-law ever met on this earth,\" concluded the bishop, laughing loudly.\n\n\"But listen to me, Nikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n,\" he said, placing the palms of his hands together. \"I don't know whether it would be wise to make such haste to bring your father here or to set this Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n free. It seems to me that your mother must clear her name since there has been so much talk that she has sinned. But as matters now stand, do you think it would be easy for Kristin to find the women willing to swear the oath along with her?\"\n\nNikulaus looked up at the bishop; his eyes grew uncertain and fearful.\n\n\"But wait a few days, Nikulaus! Your father and Ulf are strangers in the region and not well liked. Kristin and Jardtrud both are from here in the valley, but Jardtrud is from much farther south, while your mother is one of their own. And I've noticed that Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n has not been forgotten by the people. It looks as if they mostly had intended to chastise her because she seemed to them a bad daughter. And yet already I can see that many realize the father would be poorly served by raising such an outcry against his child. They are remorseful and repentant, and soon there will be nothing they wish for more than that Kristin should be able to clear her name. And perhaps Jardtrud will have scant evidence to present when she has a look inside her bag. But it's another matter if her husband goes around turning people against him.\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" said Naakkve, looking up at the bishop, \"forgive me for saying this, but I find this difficult to accept. That we should do nothing for our foster father and that we should not bring our father to stand at Mother's side.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, my son,\" said Bishop Halvard, \"I beg you to take my advice. Let us not hasten to summon Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n here. But I will write a letter to Sir Sigurd of Sundbu, asking him to come see me at once. What's that?\" He stood up and went out on the gallery.\n\nAgainst the wall of the building stood Gaute and Bj\u00f8rgulf Er lendss\u00f8n, and several of the bishop's men were threatening them with weapons. Bj\u00f8rgulf struck a man to the ground with a blow of his axe as the bishop and Naakkve came outside. Gaute defended himself with his sword. Some farmers seized hold of Ivar and Skule, while others led away the wounded man. Sira Solmund stood off to the side, bleeding from his mouth and nose.\n\n\"Halt!\" shouted Lord Halvard. \"Throw down your weapons, you sons of Erlend.\" He went down to the courtyard and approached the young men, who obeyed at once. \"What is the meaning of this?\"\n\nSira Solmund stepped forward, bowed, and said, \"I can tell you, Reverend Father, that Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n has broken the peace of the Sabbath and struck me, his parish priest, as you can see!\"\n\nThen a middle-aged farmer stepped forward, greeted the bishop, and said, \"Reverend Father, the boy was sorely provoked. This priest spoke of his mother in such a way that it would be difficult to expect Gaute to listen peaceably.\"\n\n\"Keep silent, priest. I cannot listen to more than one of you at a time,\" said Lord Halvard impatiently. \"Speak, Olav Trondss\u00f8n.\"\n\nOlav Trondss\u00f8n said, \"The priest tried to rankle the sons of Erlend, but Bj\u00f8rgulf and Gaute countered his words, calmly enough. Gaute also said what we all know is true: that Kristin was with her husband at Dovre for a time this past summer, and that's when he was conceived, the poor infant who has stirred up all this trouble. But then the priest said the people of J\u00f8rundgaard have always had so much book learning\u2014no doubt she knew the story of King David and Bathsheba\u2014but Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n might have been just as cunning as Uriah the knight.\"\n\nThe bishop's face turned as purple as his robes; his black eyes flashed. He looked at Sira Solmund for a moment, but he did not speak to him.\n\n\"Surely you must know, Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n, that with this deed you have brought the ban of the Church upon your head,\" he said. Then he ordered the sons of Erlend to be escorted home to J\u00f8rundgaard; he sent along two of his men and four farmers, whom the bishop selected from among the most honorable and sensible, to keep guard over them.\n\n\"You must go with them as well, Nikulaus,\" he told Naakkve. \"But stay calm. Your brothers have not helped your mother, but I realize they were sorely vexed.\"\n\nIn his heart the bishop of Hamar didn't think that Kristin's sons had harmed her case. He saw that there were already many who held a different opinion of the mistress of J\u00f8rundgaard than they had in the morning, when she caused the goblet to overflow by coming to church with Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n so that he might be godfather to her son. One of them was Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n, so Lord Halvard put him in charge of the guards.\n\nNaakkve was the first to enter the high loft where Kristin was sitting on the bed with Lavrans, holding Munan on her lap. He told her what had happened but put great weight on the fact that the bishop considered her innocent and also thought the younger brothers had been greatly provoked to react as violently as they had. He counseled his mother not to seek out the bishop herself.\n\nThen the four brothers were escorted into the room. Their mother stared at them; she was pale, with an odd look in her eye. In the midst of her deep despair and anguish, she felt again the strange swelling of her heart, as if it might burst. And yet she said calmly to Gaute, \"Ill advised was your behavior, son, and you brought little honor to the sword of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n by drawing it against a crowd of farmers who stood there gnawing on rumors.\"\n\n\"First I drew it against the bishop's armed men,\" said Gaute indignantly. \"But it's true it did little honor to our grandfather that we had to bear arms against anyone for such a reason.\"\n\nKristin looked at her son. Then she had to turn away. As much as his words pained her, she had to smile too\u2014like when a child bites his mother's nipple with his first teeth, she thought.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Naakkve, \"now I think it best if you go, and take Munan with you. You mustn't leave him alone even for a moment until he is calmer,\" he said quietly. \"Keep him indoors so he doesn't see that his brothers are under guard.\"\n\nKristin stood up. \"My sons, if you don't think me undeserving, then I would ask that you kiss me before I leave.\"\n\nNaakkve, Bj\u00f8rgulf, Ivar, and Skule went over and kissed her. The one who had been banned gave his mother a sorrowful look; when she held out her hand to him, he took a fold of her sleeve and kissed it. Kristin saw that all of them, except for Gaute, were now taller than she was. She straightened up Lavrans's bed a bit, and then she left with Munan.\n\nThere were four buildings with lofts at J\u00f8rundgaard: the high loft house, the new storeroom\u2014which had been the summer quarters during Kristin's childhood, before Lavrans built the large house\u2014the old storeroom, and the salt shed, which also had a loft. That's where the servingwomen slept in the summer.\n\nKristin went up to the loft above the new storeroom with Munan. The two of them had slept there ever since the death of the infant. She was pacing back and forth when Frida and Gunhild brought the evening porridge. Kristin asked Frida to see to it that the guardsmen were given ale and food. The maid replied that she had already done so\u2014at Naakkve's bidding\u2014but the men had said they would not accept anything from Kristin since they were at her manor for such a purpose. They had received food and drink from somewhere else.\n\n\"Even so, you must have a keg of foreign ale brought to them.\"\n\nGunhild, the younger maid, was red-eyed from weeping. \"None of the house servants believes this of you, Kristin Lavransdatter; surely you must know that. We always said that we knew it was a lie.\"\n\n\"So you have heard this gossip before?\" said her mistress. \"It would have been better if you had mentioned it to me.\"\n\n\"We didn't dare because of Ulf,\" said Frida.\n\nAnd Gunhild said as she wept, \"He warned us to keep it from you. I often thought that I should mention it and beg you to be more wary... when you would sit and talk to Ulf until late into the night.\"\n\n\"Ulf... so he has known about this?\" asked Kristin softly.\n\n\"Jardtrud has accused him of it for a long time; that was apparently always the reason that he struck her. One evening during Christmas, about the time when you were growing heavy, we were sitting and drinking with them in the foreman's house. Solveig and \u00d8ivind were there too, along with several people from south in the parish. Suddenly Jardtrud said that he was the one who had caused it. Ulf hit her with his belt so the buckle drew blood. Since then Jardtrud has gone around saying that Ulf did not deny it with a single word.\"\n\n\"And ever since people have been talking about this in the countryside?\" asked the mistress.\n\n\"Yes. But those of us who are your servants have always denied it,\" said Gunhild in tears.\n\nTo calm Munan, Kristin had to lie down next to the boy and take him in her arms, but she did not undress, and she did not sleep that night.\n\nIn the meantime, up in the high loft, young Lavrans had gotten out of bed and put on his clothes. Toward evening, when Naakkve went downstairs to help tend to the livestock, the boy went out to the stable. He saddled the red gelding that belonged to Gaute; it was the best horse except for the stallion, which he didn't trust himself to ride.\n\nSeveral of the men standing guard on the estate came out and asked the boy where he was headed.\n\n\"I didn't know that I was a prisoner too,\" replied young Lavrans. \"But I don't need to hide it from you. Surely you wouldn't refuse to allow me to ride to Sundbu to bring back the knight to defend his kinswoman.\"\n\n\"It will soon be dark, my boy,\" said Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n. \"We can't let this child ride across Vaage Gorge at night. We must speak to his mother.\"\n\n\"No, don't do that,\" said Lavrans. His lips quivered. \"The purpose of my journey is such that I will trust in God and the Virgin Mary to keep watch over me, if my mother is without blame. And if not, then it makes little difference\u2014\" He broke off, for he was close to tears.\n\nThe man stood in silence for a moment. Kolbein gazed at the handsome, fair-haired child. \"Go on then, and may God be with you, Lavrans Erlendss\u00f8n,\" he said, and was about to help the boy into the saddle.\n\nBut Lavrans led the horse forward so the men had to step aside. At the big boulder near the manor gate, he climbed up and then flung himself onto the back of Raud. Then he galloped westward, along the road to Vaagaa."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "Lavrans had ridden his horse into a lather by the time he reached the spot where he knew a path led up through the scree and steep cliffs that rise up everywhere on the north side of Silsaa valley. He knew he had to make it to the heights before dark. He didn't know these mountains between Vaagaa, Sil, and Dovre, but the gelding had grazed here one summer, and he had carried Gaute to Haugen many times, although along different paths. Young Lavrans leaned forward and patted the neck of his horse.\n\n\"You must find the way to Haugen, Raud, my son. You must carry me to Father tonight, my horse.\"\n\nAs soon as he reached the crest of the mountains and was once again sitting in the saddle, darkness fell quickly. He rode through a marshy hollow; an endless progression of narrow ridges was silhouetted against the ever-darkening sky. There were groves of birches on the valley slopes, and their trunks shone white. Wet clusters of leaves constantly brushed against the horse's chest and the boy's face. Stones were dislodged by the animal's hooves and rolled down into the creek at the bottom of the incline. Raud found his way in the dark, up and down the hillsides, and the trickling of the creek sounded first close and then far away. Once some beast bayed into the mountain night, but Lavrans couldn't tell what it was. And the wind rushed and sang, first stronger, then fainter.\n\nThe child held his spear along the neck of his horse, so that the tip pointed forward between the animal's ears. This was bear country, this valley here. He wondered when it would end. Very softly he began to hum into the darkness: \"Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison.\"\n\nRaud splashed through the shallow crossing of a mountain stream. The sky became even more star-strewn all around; the mountain peaks looked more distant against the blackness of the night, and the wind sang with a different tone in the vast space. The boy let the horse choose his own path as he hummed as much as he could remember of the hymn, \"Jesus Redemptor omnium\u2014Tu lumen et splendor patris,\" interspersed with \"Kyrie eleison.\" Now he could see by the stars that they were riding almost due south, but he didn't dare do anything but trust the horse and let him lead. They were riding over rocky slopes with reindeer moss gleaming palely on the stones beneath him. Raud paused for a moment, panting and peering into the night. Lavrans saw that the sky was growing lighter in the east; clouds were billowing up, edged with silver underneath. His horse moved on, now headed directly toward the rising moon. It must be about an hour before midnight, as far as the boy could tell.\n\nWhen the moon slipped free of the crests off in the distance, new snow gleamed atop the domes and rounded summits, and drifting wisps of fog turned the passes and peaks white. Lavrans recognized where he was in the mountians. He was on the mossy plateau beneath the Blue Domes.\n\nSoon afterward he found a path leading down into the valley. And three hours later Raud limped into the courtyard of Haugen, which was white with moonlight.\n\nWhen Erland opened the door, the boy collapsed on the floor of the gallery in a deep faint.\n\nSome time later Lavrans woke up in bed, lying between filthy, rank-smelling fur covers. Light shone from a pine torch that had been stuck in a crack in the wall nearby. His father was standing over him, moistening his face with something. His father was only half dressed, and the boy noticed in the flickering light that his hair was completely gray.\n\n\"Mother...\" said young Lavrans, looking up.\n\nErlend turned away so his son wouldn't see his face. \"Yes,\" he said after a moment, almost inaudibly. \"Is your mother\u2014has she... is your mother... ill?\"\n\n\"You must come home at once, Father, and save her. Now they're accusing her of the worst of things. They've taken Ulf and her and my brothers captive, Father!\"\n\nErlend touched the boy's hot face and hands; his fever had flared up again. \"What are you saying?\" But Lavrans sat up and gave a fairly coherent account of everything that had taken place back home the day before. His father listened in silence, but halfway through the boy's story he began to finish getting dressed. He pulled on his boots and fastened his spurs. Then he went to get some milk and food and brought them over to the child.\n\n\"But you can't stay here alone in this house, my son. I will take you over to Aslaug, north of here in Brekken, before I ride home.\"\n\n\"Father.\" Lavrans grabbed his arm. \"No, I want to go home with you.\"\n\n\"You're ill, little son,\" said Erlend, and the boy couldn't recall ever hearing such a tender tone in his father's voice.\n\n\"No, Father... I want to go home with you\u2014to Mother. I want to go home to my mother....\" Now he was weeping like a small child.\n\n\"But Raud is limping, my boy.\" Erlend took his son on his lap, but he could not console the child. \"And you're so tired....\" Finally he said, \"Well, well... Soten can surely carry both of us.\"\n\nAfter he had led out the stallion, put Raud inside, and tended to the animal, he said, \"You must make sure to remember that someone comes north to take care of your horse... and my things.\"\n\n\"Are you going to stay home now, Father?\" asked Lavrans joyfully.\n\nErlend gazed straight ahead. \"I don't know. But I have a feeling I won't be back here again.\"\n\n\"Shouldn't you be better armed, Father?\" the boy asked, for aside from his sword Erlend had picked up only a small, lightweight axe and was now about to leave the house. \"Aren't you even going to take your shield?\"\n\nErlend looked at his shield. The oxhide was so scratched and torn that the red lion against the white field had almost disappeared. He put it back down and spread the covers over it again.\n\n\"I'm armed well enough to drive a horde of farmers from my manor,\" he said. He went outside, closed the door to the house, mounted his horse, and helped the boy climb up behind him.\n\nThe sky was growing more and more overcast. By the time they had come partway down the slope, where the forest was quite dense, they were riding in darkness. Erlend noticed that his son was so tired that he could hardly hold on. Then he let Lavrans sit in front of him, and he held the boy in his arms. The young, fair-haired head rested against his chest; of all the children, Lavrans was most like his mother. Erlend kissed the top of his head as he straightened the hood on the boy's cape.\n\n\"Did your mother grieve greatly when the infant died this summer?\" he asked once, quite softly.\n\nYoung Lavrans replied, \"She didn't cry after he died. But she has gone up to the cemetery gate every night since. Gaute and Naakkve usually follow her when she leaves, but they haven't dared speak to her, and they don't dare let Mother see that they've been keeping watch over her.\"\n\nA little later Erlend said, \"She didn't cry? I remember back when your mother was young, and she wept as readily as the dew drips from goat willow reeds along the creek. She was so gentle and tender, Kristin, whenever she was with people whom she knew wished her well. Later on she had to learn to be harder, and most often I was the one to blame.\"\n\n\"Gunhild and Frida say that in all the days our youngest brother lived,\" continued Lavrans, \"she cried every minute when she thought no one would see her.\"\n\n\"May God help me,\" said Erlend in a low voice. \"I've been a foolish man.\"\n\nThey rode through the valley floor, with the curve of the river at their backs. Erlend wrapped his cape around the boy as best he could. Lavrans dozed and kept threatening to fall asleep. He sensed that his father's body smelled like that of a poor man. He had a vague memory from his early childhood, while they were living at Husaby, when his father would come from the bathhouse on Saturdays and he would have several little balls in his hands. They smelled so good, and the delicate, sweet scent would cling to his palms and to his clothing during the whole Sabbath.\n\nErlend rode steadily and briskly. Down on the moors it was pitch-dark. Without thinking about it, he knew at every moment where he was; he recognized the changing sound of the river's clamor, as the Laag rushed through rapids and plunged over falls. Their path took them across flat stretches, where the sparks flew from the horse's hooves. Soten ran with confidence and ease among the writhing roots of pine trees, where the road passed through thick forest; there was a soft gurgling and rushing sound as he raced across small green plains where a meandering rivulet from the mountains streamed across. By daybreak he would be home, and that would be a fitting hour.\n\nThe whole time Erlend was doubtless thinking about that moon-blue wintry night long ago when he drove a sleigh down through this very valley. Bj\u00f8rn Gunnarss\u00f8n sat in back, holding a dead woman in his arms. But the memory was pale and distant, just as everything the child had told him seemed distant and unreal: all that had happened down in the village and those mad rumors about Kristin. Somehow his mind refused to grasp it. After he arrived, there would surely be time enough to think about what he should do. Nothing seemed real except the feeling of strain and fear\u2014now that he would soon see Kristin.\n\nHe had waited and waited for her. He had never doubted that one day she would come to him\u2014up until he heard what name she had given the child.\n\nStepping out of the church into the gray light were those people who had been to early mass to hear one of the priests from Hamar preach. The ones who emerged first saw Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n ride past toward home, and they told the others. Some uneasiness and a great deal of talk arose; people headed down the slope and stood in groups at the place where the lane to J\u00f8rundgaard diverged from the main road.\n\nErlend rode into the courtyard as the waning moon sank behind the rim of clouds and the mountain ridge, pale in the dawn light.\n\nOutside the foreman's house stood a group of people: Jardtrud's kinsmen and her friends who had stayed with her overnight. At the sound of horse hooves in the courtyard the men who had been keeping guard in the room under the high loft came outside.\n\nErlend reined in his horse. He gazed down at the farmers and said in a loud, mocking voice, \"Is there a feast being held on my estate and I know nothing about it? Or why are you good folks gathered here at this early hour?\"\n\nAngry, dark looks met him from all sides. Erlend sat tall and slender astride the long-legged foreign stallion. Before, Soten's mane had been clipped short, but now it was thick and uncut. The horse was ungroomed and had gray hairs on his head, but his eyes glittered dangerously, and he stomped and shifted uneasily, laying his ears back and tossing his small, elegant head so that flecks of lather sprinkled his neck and shoulders and the rider. The harnesswork had once been red and the saddle inlaid with gold; now they were worn and broken and mended. And the man was dressed almost like a beggar. His hair, which billowed from under a simple black woolen hat, was grayish white; a gray stubble grew on his pale, furrowed face with the big nose. But he sat erect, and he was smiling arrogantly down at the crowd of farmers. He looked young, in spite of everything, and like a chieftain. Fierce hatred surged toward this outsider, who sat there, holding his head high and uncowed\u2014after all the grief and shame and misery he had brought upon those whom these people considered their own chieftains.\n\nAnd yet the farmer who was the first to answer Erlend spoke with restraint. \"I see you have found your son, Erlend, so I think you must know that we have not gathered here for any feast. And it seems strange you would jest about such a matter.\"\n\nErlend looked down at the child, who was still asleep. His voice grew more gentle.\n\n\"The boy is ill; surely you must see that. The news he brought me from here in the parish seemed so unbelievable that I thought he must be speaking in a feverish daze.\n\n\"And some of it is nonsense, after all, I see.\" Erlend frowned as he glanced at the stable door. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n and two other men\u2014one of them his brother-in-law\u2014were at that moment leading out several horses.\n\nUlf let go of his horse and strode swiftly toward his master.\n\n\"Have you finally come, Erlend? And there's the boy\u2014praise be to Christ and the Virgin Mary! His mother doesn't know he was missing. We were about to go out to look for him. The bishop released me on my sworn oath when he heard the child had set off alone for Vaagaa. How is Lavrans?\" he asked anxiously.\n\n\"Thank God you've found the boy,\" said Jardtrud, weeping. She had come out into the courtyard.\n\n\"Are you here, Jardtrud?\" said Erlend. \"That will be the first thing I see to: that you leave my estate, you and your cohorts. First we'll drive off this gossiping woman, and then anyone else who has spread lies about my wife will be fined.\"\n\n\"That cannot be done, Erlend,\" said Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. \"Jardtrud is my lawful wife. I don't think either she or I has any desire to stay together, but she will not leave my house until I have placed in the hands of my brothers-in-law her livestock, dowry, betrothal gifts, and wedding gifts.\"\n\n\"Am I not the master of this estate?\" asked Erlend, furious.\n\n\"You will have to ask Kristin Lavransdatter about that,\" said Ulf. \"Here she comes.\"\n\nThe mistress was standing on the gallery of the new storeroom. Now she slowly came down the stairs. Without thinking, she pulled her wimple forward\u2014it had slipped back off her head\u2014and she smoothed her church gown, which she had worn since the day before. But her face was as motionless as stone.\n\nErlend rode forward to meet her, at a walking pace. Bending down a bit, he stared with fearful confusion at his wife's gray, dead face.\n\n\"Kristin,\" he implored. \"My Kristin. I've come home to you.\"\n\nShe didn't seem to hear or see him. Then Lavrans, who was sitting in his father's arms and had gradually woken up, slid down to the ground. The moment his feet touched the grass, the boy collapsed and he lay in a heap.\n\nA tremor passed over his mother's face. She leaned down and lifted the big boy in her arms, pressing his head against her throat, as if he were a little child. But his long legs hung down limply in front of her.\n\n\"Kristin, my dearest love,\" begged Erlend in despair. \"Oh, Kristin, I know I've come to you much too late...\"\n\nAgain a tremor passed over his wife's face.\n\n\"It's not too late,\" she said, her voice low and harsh. She stared down at her son, who lay in a swoon in her arms. \"Our last child is already in the ground, and now it's Lavrans's turn. Gaute has been banished by the Church, and our other sons... But the two of us still own much that can be ruined, Erlend!\"\n\nShe turned away from him and began walking across the courtyard with the child. Erlend rode after her, keeping his horse at her side.\n\n\"Kristin\u2014Jesus, what can I do for you? Kristin, don't you want me to stay with you now?\"\n\n\"I don't need you to do anything more for me,\" said his wife in the same tone of voice. \"You cannot help me, whether you stay here or you throw yourself into the Laag.\"\n\nErlend's sons had come out onto the gallery of the high loft. Now Gaute ran down and raced toward his mother, trying to stop her.\n\n\"Mother,\" he begged. Then she gave him a look, and he halted in bewilderment.\n\nSeveral farmers were standing at the bottom of the loft stairs.\n\n\"Move aside, men,\" said the mistress, trying to pass them with her burden.\n\nSoten tossed his head and danced uneasily; Erlend turned the horse halfway around, and Kolbein Jonss\u00f8n grabbed the bridle. Kristin hadn't seen what was happening; now she turned to look over her shoulder.\n\n\"Let go of the horse, Kolbein. If he wants to ride off, then let him.\"\n\nKolbein took a firmer grip and replied, \"Don't you see, Kristin, that it's time for the master to stay home on his estate? You at least should realize it,\" he said to Erlend.\n\nBut Erlend struck the man over the hand and urged the stallion forward, so the old man fell. A couple of other men leaped forward.\n\nErlend shouted, \"Get away from here! You have nothing to do with matters concerning me or my wife\u2014and I'm not the master. I refuse to bind myself to a manor like a calf to the stall. I may not own this estate, but neither does this estate own me!\"\n\nKristin turned to face her husband and screamed, \"Go ahead and ride off! Ride, ride like the Devil to Hell. That's where you've driven me and cast off everything you've ever owned or been given\u2014\"\n\nWhat occurred next happened so fast that no one properly foresaw it or could prevent it. Tore Borghildss\u00f8n and another man grabbed her by the arms. \"Kristin, you mustn't speak that way to your husband.\"\n\nErlend rode up close to them.\n\n\"Do you dare to lay hands on my wife?\" He swung his axe and struck at Tore Borghildss\u00f8n. The blow fell between his shoulder blades, and the man sank to the ground. Erlend lifted his axe again, but as he raised up in the stirrups, a man ran a spear through him, and it pierced his groin. It was the son of Tore Borghildss\u00f8n who did this.\n\nSoten reared up and kicked with his front hooves. Erlend pressed his knees against the animal's sides and leaned forward as he pulled on the reins with his left hand and again raised his axe. But almost at once he lost one of his stirrups, and the blood gushed down over his left thigh. Several arrows and spears whistled across the courtyard. Ulf and Erlend's sons rushed into the throng with axes raised and swords drawn. Then a man stabbed the stallion Erlend was riding, and the animal fell to his knees, whinnying so wildly and shrilly that the horses in the stable replied.\n\nErlend stood up, his legs straddling the animal. He put his hand on Bj\u00f8rgulf's shoulder and stepped off. Gaute came up and grabbed his father under the other arm.\n\n\"Kill him,\" he said, meaning the horse, which had now rolled onto his side and lay with his neck stretched out, blood frothing around his jaw, and his mighty hooves flailing. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n complied.\n\nThe farmers had retreated. Two men carried Tore Borghildss\u00f8n over to the foreman's house, and one of the bishop's men led away his companion, who was wounded.\n\nKristin had put Lavrans down, since he had now regained his wits; they stood there, clinging to each other. She didn't seem to understand what had taken place; it had all happened so fast.\n\nHer sons began helping their father toward the high loft house, but Erlend said, \"I don't want to go in there. I don't want to die where Lavrans died.\"\n\nKristin ran forward and threw her arms around her husband's neck. Her frozen face shattered, contorted with sobs, the way ice is splintered when struck by a stone. \"Erlend, Erlend!\"\n\nErlend bent his head down so his cheek touched hers, and he stood in that manner for a moment.\n\n\"Help me up into the old storeroom, boys,\" he said. \"I want to lie down there.\"\n\nHastily Kristin and her sons made up the bed in the old loft and helped Erlend undress. Kristin bandaged his wounds. The blood was gushing in spurts from the gash of the spear in his groin, and he had an arrow wound on the lower left side of his chest, but it was not bleeding much.\n\nErlend stroked his wife's head. \"I'm afraid you won't be able to heal me, my Kristin.\"\n\nShe looked up, despairing. A great shudder passed through her body. She remembered that Simon had said the same thing, and this seemed to her the worst omen, that Erlend should speak the same words.\n\nHe lay in bed, supported with pillows and cushions, and with his left leg raised to stop the blood flowing from his groin wound. Kristin sat leaning over him. Then he took her hand. \"Do you remember the first night we slept together in this bed, my sweet? I didn't know then that you were already carrying a secret sorrow for which I was to blame. And that was not the first sorrow you had to bear for my sake, Kristin.\"\n\nShe held his hand in both of hers. His skin was cracked, with dirt ingrained around his small, grooved fingernails and in the creases of every joint of his long fingers. Kristin lifted his hand to her breast and then to her lips; her tears streamed over it.\n\n\"Your lips are so hot,\" said Erlend softly. \"I waited and waited for you... I longed so terribly... Finally I thought I should give in; I should come down here to you, but then I heard... I thought, when I heard that he had died, that now it would be too late for me to come to you.\"\n\nSobbing, Kristin replied, \"I was still waiting for you, Erlend. I thought that someday you would have to come to the boy's grave.\"\n\n\"But then you would not have welcomed me as your friend,\" said Erlend. \"And God knows you had no reason to do so either. As sweet and lovely as you are, my Kristin,\" he whispered, closing his eyes.\n\nShe sobbed quietly, in great distress.\n\n\"Now nothing remains,\" said her husband in the same tone as before, \"except for us to try to forgive each other as a Christian husband and wife, if you can...\"\n\n\"Erlend, Erlend...\" She leaned over him and kissed his white face. \"You shouldn't talk so much, my Erlend.\"\n\n\"I think I must make haste to say what I have to say,\" replied her husband. \"Where is Naakkve?\" he asked uneasily.\n\nHe was told that the night before, as soon as Naakkve heard that his younger brother was headed for Sundbu, he had set off after him as fast as his horse would go. He must be quite distraught by now, since he hadn't found the child. Erlend sighed, his hands fumbling restlessly on the coverlet.\n\nHis six sons stepped up to the bed.\n\n\"No, I haven't handled things well for you, my sons,\" said their father. He began to cough, in a strange and cautious manner. Bloody froth seeped out of his lips. Kristin wiped it away with her wimple.\n\nErlend lay quietly for a moment. \"Now you must forgive me, if you can. Never forget, my fine boys, that your mother has striven on your behalf every day, during all the years that she and I have lived together. Never has there been any enmity between us except that for which I was to blame because I paid too little mind to your well-being. But she has loved you more than her own life.\"\n\n\"We won't forget,\" replied Gaute, weeping, \"that you, Father, seemed to us all our days the most courageous of men and the noblest of chieftains. We were proud to be called your sons\u2014no less so when fortune forsook you than during your days of prosperity.\"\n\n\"You say this because you understand so little,\" said Erlend. He gave a brittle, sputtering laugh. \"But do not cause your mother the sorrow of taking after me; she has had enough to struggle with since she married me.\"\n\n\"Erlend, Erlend,\" sobbed Kristin.\n\nThe sons kissed their father's hand and cheek; weeping, they turned away and sat down against the wall. Gaute put his arm around Munan's shoulder and pulled the boy close; the twins sat hand in hand. Erlend again placed his hand in Kristin's. His was cold. Then she pulled the covers all the way up to his chin but sat holding his hand in her own under the blankets.\n\n\"Erlend,\" she said, weeping. \"May God have mercy on us\u2014we must send word to the priest for you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erlend faintly. \"Someone must ride up to Dovre to bring Sira Guttorm, my parish priest.\"\n\n\"Erlend, he won't get here in time,\" she said in horror.\n\n\"Yes, he will,\" said Erlend vehemently. \"If God will grant me... For I refuse to receive the last rites from that priest who has been spreading gossip about you.\"\n\n\"Erlend\u2014in the name of Jesus\u2014you must not talk that way.\"\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n stepped forward and bent over the dying man. \"I will ride to Dovre, Erlend.\"\n\n\"Do you remember, Ulf,\" said Erlend, his voice beginning to sound weak and confused, \"the time we left Hestnes, you and I?\" He laughed a bit. \"And I promised that all my days I would stand by you as your loyal kinsman... God save me, kinsman... Of the two of us, it was most often you and not I who showed the loyalty of kin, my friend Ulf. I give you... thanks... for that, kinsman.\"\n\nUlf leaned down and kissed the man's bloody lips. \"I thank you too, Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n.\"\n\nHe lit a candle, placed it near the deathbed, and left the room.\n\nErlend's eyes had closed again. Kristin sat staring at his white face; now and then she caressed it with her hand. She thought she could see that he was sinking toward death.\n\n\"Erlend,\" she implored him softly. \"In the name of Jesus, let us send word to Sira Solmund for you. God is God, no matter what priest brings Him to us.\"\n\n\"No!\" Her husband sat up in bed so that the covers slid down his naked, sallow body. The bandages across his breast and stomach were once again colored with bright red splotches from the fresh blood pouring out. \"I am a sinful man. May God bestow on me the grace of His mercy, as much as He will grant me, but I know...\" He fell back against the pillows and whispered almost inaudibly, \"I will not live long enough to be... so old... and so pious... that I can bear... to sit calmly in the same room with someone who has told lies about you.\"\n\n\"Erlend, Erlend\u2014think of your soul!\"\n\nThe man shook his head on the pillows. His eyelids had fallen shut again.\n\n\"Erlend!\" She clasped her hands; she screamed loudly, in the utmost distress. \"Erlend, don't you understand that after the way you have acted toward me, this has to be said!\"\n\nErlend opened his big eyes. His lips were pale blue, but a remnant of his youthful smile flickered across his ravaged face.\n\n\"Kiss me, Kristin,\" he whispered. There was a trace of laughter in his voice. \"Surely there has been too much else between you and me\u2014besides Christendom and marriage\u2014for it to be possible for us to... take leave of each other... as a Christian husband and wife.\"\n\nShe called and called his name, but he lay with closed eyes, his face as pale as newly split wood beneath his gray hair. A little blood seeped from the corners of his mouth; she wiped it away, whispering entreaties. When she moved, she could feel her clothes were cold and sticky, wet with the blood that had spattered her when she helped him inside and put him to bed. Now and then a faint gurgling came from Erlend's chest, and he seemed to have trouble breathing; but he did not move again, nor was he aware of anything more as he surely and steadily sank into the torpor of death.\n\nThe loft door was abruptly thrown open. Naakkve came rushing in; he flung himself down beside the bed and seized his father's hand as he called his name.\n\nBehind him came a tall, stout gentleman wearing a traveling cape. He bowed to Kristin.\n\n\"If I had known, my kinswoman, that you were in need of the help of your kin...\" Then he broke off as he saw that the man was dying. He crossed himself and went over to the farthest corner of the room. Quietly the Sundbu knight began saying the prayer for the dying, but Kristin seemed not to have even noticed Sir Sigurd's arrival.\n\nNaakkve was on his knees, bending over the bed. \"Father! Father! Don't you know me anymore, Father?\" He pressed his face against Erlend's hand, which Kristin was holding. The young man's tears and kisses showered the hands of both his parents.\n\nKristin pushed her son's head aside a little\u2014as if she were suddenly half awake.\n\n\"You're disturbing us,\" she said impatiently. \"Go away.\"\n\nNaakkve straightened up as he knelt there. \"Go? But, Mother...\"\n\n\"Yes. Go sit down with your brothers over there.\"\n\nNaakkve lifted his young face\u2014wet with tears, contorted with grief\u2014but his mother's eyes saw nothing. Then he went over to the bench where his six brothers were already sitting. Kristin paid no attention; she simply stared, with wild eyes, at Erlend's face, which now shone snow-white in the light of the candle.\n\nA short time later the door was opened again. Bearing candles and ringing a silver bell, deacons and a priest followed Bishop Halvard into the loft. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n entered last. Erlend's sons and Sir Sigurd stood up and then fell to their knees before the body of the Lord. But Kristin merely raised her head, and for a moment she turned her tear-filled eyes, seeing nothing, toward those who had arrived. Then she lay back down, the way she was before, stretched out across Erlend's corpse."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CROSS",
                "text": "All fires burn out sooner or later.\n\nThere came a time when these words spoken by Simon Darre resounded once more in Kristin's heart.\n\nIt was the summer of the fourth year after Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's death, and of the seven sons, only Gaute and Lavrans remained with their mother at J\u00f8rundgaard.\n\nTwo years before, the old smithy had burned down, and Gaute had built a new one north of the farm, up toward the main road. The old smithy had stood to the south of the buildings, down by the river in a low curve of land between J\u00f8rund's burial mound and several great heaps of rocks which had apparently been cleared from the fields long ago. Almost every year during the flood season the water would reach all the way up to the smithy.\n\nNow there was nothing left on the site but the heavy, fire-scorched stones that showed where the threshold had been and the brick fireplace. Soft, slender blades of pale green grass were now sprouting from the dark, charred floor.\n\nThis year Kristin Lavransdatter had sown a field of flax near the site of the old smithy; Gaute had wanted to put grain in the acres closer to the manor, where the mistresses of J\u00f8rundgaard, since ancient times, had always planted flax and cultivated onions. And so Kristin often went out to the far fields to see to her flax. On Thursday evenings she would carry a gift of ale and food to the farmer in the mound. On light summer evenings the lonely fireplace in the meadow looked at times like some ancient heathen altar as it was glimpsed through the grass, grayish white and streaked with soot. On hot summer days, under the baking sun, she would take her basket to the rock heaps at midday to pick raspberries or to gather the leaves of fireweed, which could be used to make cooling drinks for a fever.\n\nThe last notes of the church bells' noon greeting to the Mother of God died away in the lightsated air up among the peaks. The countryside seemed to be settling into sleep beneath the flood of white sunlight. Ever since the dew-soaked dawn, scythes had been ringing in the flowery meadows; the scrape of iron against whet-stones and the shouting of voices could be heard from every farm, near and far. Now all the sounds of busy toiling fell away; it was time for the midday rest. Kristin sat down on a pile of stones and listened. Only the roar of the river could be heard now, and a slight rustling of the leaves in the grove, along with the faint rubbing and soft buzzing of flies over the meadow, and the clinking bell of a solitary cow somewhere off in the distance. A bird flapped its way, swift and mute, along the edge of the alder thicket; another flew up from a meadow tussock and with a harsh cry perched atop a thistle.\n\nBut the drifting blue shadows on the hillsides, the fair-weather clouds billowing up over the mountain ridges and melting into the blue summer sky, the glitter of the Laag's water beyond the trees, the white glint of sunlight on all the leaves\u2014these things she noticed more as silent sounds, audible only to her inner ear, rather than as visible images. With her wimple pulled forward over her brow, Kristin sat and listened to the play of light and shadow across the valley.\n\nAll fires burn out sooner or later.\n\nIn the alder woods along the marshy riverbank, pockets of water sparkled in the darkness between the dense willow bushes. Star grass grew there, along with tufts of cotton grass and thick carpets of marshlocks with their dusty green, five-pointed leaves and reddish brown flowers. Kristin had picked an enormous pile of them. Many times she had pondered whether this herb might possess useful powers; she had dried it and boiled it and added it to ale and mead. But it didn't seem good for anything. And yet Kristin could never resist going out to the marsh and getting her shoes wet to gather the plant.\n\nNow she stripped all the leaves from the stalks and plaited a wreath from the dark flowers. They had the color of both red wine and brown mead, and in the center, under the knot of red filaments, they were as moist as honey. Sometimes Kristin would plait a wreath for the picture of the Virgin Mary up in the high loft; she had heard from priests who had been to the southern lands that this was the custom there.\n\nOtherwise she no longer had anyone to make wreaths for. Here in the valley the young men didn't wear wreaths on their heads when they went out to dance on the green. In some areas of Tr\u00f8ndelag the men who came home from the royal court had introduced the custom. Kristin thought this thick, dark red wreath would be well suited to Gaute's fair face and flaxen hair or Lavrans's nut-brown mane.\n\nIt was so long ago that she used to walk through the pasture above Husaby with the foster mothers and all her young sons on those long, fair-weather days in the summer. Then she and Frida couldn't make wreaths fast enough for all the impatient little children. She remembered when she still had Lavrans at her breast, but Ivar and Skule thought the infant should have a wreath too; the four-year-olds thought it should be made from very tiny flowers.\n\nNow she had only grownup children.\n\nYoung Lavrans was fifteen winters old; he couldn't yet be considered full-grown. But his mother had gradually realized that this son was in some ways more distant from her than all the other children. He didn't purposely shun her, as Bj\u00f8rgulf had done, and he wasn't aloof, nor did he seem particularly taciturn, the way the blind boy was. But he was apparently much quieter by nature, although no one had noticed this when all the brothers were home. He was bright and lively, always seemed happy and kind, and everyone was fond of the charming child without thinking about the fact that Lavrans nearly always went about in silence and alone.\n\nHe was considered the handsomest of all the handsome sons of Kristin of J\u00f8rundgaard. Their mother always thought that the one she happened to be thinking about at the moment was the most handsome, but she too could see there was a radiance about Lavrans Erlendss\u00f8n. His light brown hair and apple-fresh cheeks seemed gilded, sated with sunshine; his big dark gray eyes seemed to be strewn with tiny yellow sparks. He looked much the way she had looked when she was young, with her fair coloring burnished tan by the sun. And he was tall and strong for his age, capable and diligent at any task he was given, obedient to his mother and older brothers, merry, good-natured, and companionable. And yet there was this odd sense of reserve about the boy.\n\nDuring the winter evenings, when the servants gathered in the weaving room to pass the time with talk and banter as each person was occupied with some chore, Lavrans would sit there as if in a dream. Many a summer evening, when the daily work on the farm was done, Kristin would go out and sit with the boy as he lay on the green, chewing on a piece of resin or twirling a sprig of sorrel between his lips. She would look at his eyes as she spoke to him; he seemed to be shifting his attention back from far away. Then he would smile up at his mother's face and give her a proper and sensible reply. Often the two of them would sit together for hours on the hillside, talking comfortably and with ease. But as soon as she stood up to go inside, it seemed as if Lavrans would let his thoughts wander again.\n\nShe couldn't figure out what it was the boy was pondering so deeply. He was skilled enough in sports and the use of weapons, but he was much less zealous than her other sons had been about such things, and he never went out hunting alone, although he was pleased whenever Gaute asked him to go along on a hunt. And he never seemed to notice that women cast tender eyes on this fair young boy. He had no interest in book learning, and the youngest son paid little attention to all the older boys' talk of their plans to enter a monastery. Kristin couldn't see that the boy had given any thought to his future, other than that he would continue to stay there at home all his days and help Gaute with the farm work, as he did now.\n\nSometimes this strange, aloof creature reminded Kristin Lavransdatter a bit of his father. But Erlend's soft, languid manner had often given way to a boisterous wildness, and Lavrans had none of his father's quick, hot disposition. Erlend had never been far removed from what was going on around him.\n\nLavrans was now the youngest. Munan had long ago been laid to rest in the grave beside his father and little brother. He died early in the spring, the year after Erlend was killed.\n\nAfter her husband's death the widow had behaved as if she neither heard nor saw a thing. Stronger than pain or sorrow was the feeling she had of a numbing chill and a dull lassitude in both her body and soul, as if she herself were bleeding to death from his mortal wounds.\n\nHer whole life had resided in his arms ever since that thunder-laden midday hour in the barn at Skog when she gave herself to Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n for the first time. Back then she was so young and inexperienced; she understood so little about what she was doing but strove to hide that she was close to tears because he was hurting her. She smiled, for she thought she was giving her lover the most precious of gifts. And whether or not it was a good gift, she had given him herself, completely and forever. Her maidenly life, which God had mercifully adorned with beauty and health when He allowed her to be born into secure and honorable circumstances, which her parents had protected during all those years as they brought her up with the most loving strictness: With both hands she had given all this to Erlend, and ever since she had lived within his embrace.\n\nSo many times in the years that followed she had received his caresses, and stony and cold with anger, she had obediently complied with her husband's will, while she felt on the verge of collapse, ravaged by weariness. She had felt a sort of resentful pleasure when she looked at Erlend's lovely face and healthy, graceful body\u2014at least that could no longer blind her to the man's faults. Yes, he was just as young and just as handsome; he could still overwhelm her with caresses that were as ardent as they had been in the days when she too was young. But she had aged, she thought, feeling a rush of triumphant pride. It was easy for someone to stay young if he refused to learn, refused to adapt to his lot in life, and refused to fight to change his circumstances in accordance with his will.\n\nAnd yet even when she received his kisses with her lips pressed tight, when she turned her whole being away from him in order to fight for the future of her sons, she sensed that she threw herself into this effort with the same fiery passion this man had once ignited in her blood. She thought the years had cooled her ardor because she no longer felt desire whenever Erlend had that old glint in his eyes or that deep tone to his voice, which had made her swoon, helpless and powerless with joy, the first time she met him. But just as she had once longed to ease the heavy burden of separation and the anguish of her heart in her meetings with Erlend, she now felt a dull but fervent longing for a goal that would one day be reached when she, at long last, was a white-haired old woman and saw her sons well provided for and secure. Now it was for Erlend's sons that she endured the old fear of the uncertainty that lay ahead. And yet she was tormented with a longing that was like a hunger and a burning thirst\u2014she must see her sons flourish.\n\nAnd just as she had once given herself to Erlend, she later surrendered herself to the world that had sprung up around their life together. She threw herself into fulfilling every demand that had to be met; she lent a hand with every task that needed to be done in order to ensure the well-being of Erlend and his children. She began to understand that Erlend was always with her when she sat at Husaby and studied the documents in her husband's chest along with their priest, or when she talked to his leaseholders and laborers, or worked alongside her maids in the living quarters and cookhouse, or sat in the horse pasture with the foster mothers and kept an eye on her children on those lovely summer days. She came to realize that she turned her anger on Erlend whenever anything went wrong in the house and whenever the children disobeyed her will; but it was also toward him that her great joy streamed whenever they brought the hay in dry during the summer or had a good harvest of grain in the fall, or whenever her calves were thriving, and whenever she heard her boys shouting and laughing in the courtyard. The knowledge that she belonged to him blazed deep within her heart whenever she laid aside the last of the Sabbath clothes she had sewn for her seven sons and stood rejoicing over the pile of lovely, carefully stitched work she had done that winter. He was the one she was sick and tired of one spring evening when she walked home with her maids from the river. They had been washing wool from the last shearing, boiling water in a kettle on the shore and rinsing the wool in the current. And the mistress herself felt a great strain in her back, and her arms were coal-black with dung; the smell of sheep and dirty fat had soaked into her clothes until she thought her body would never be clean, even after three visits to the bathhouse.\n\nBut now that he was gone, it seemed to the widow that there was no purpose left to the restless toil of her life. He had been cut down, and so she had to die like a tree whose roots have been severed. The young shoots that had sprung up around her lap would now have to grow from their own roots. Each of them was old enough to decide his own fate. The thought flitted through Kristin's mind that if she had realized this before, back when Erlend mentioned it to her... Shadowy images of a life with Erlend up at his mountain farm passed through her mind: the two of them youthful again, with the little child between them. But she felt neither regret nor remorse. She had not been able to cut her life away from that of her sons; now death would soon separate them, for without Erlend she had no strength to live. All that had happened and would happen was meant to be. Everything happens as it is meant to be.\n\nHer hair and her skin turned gray; she took little interest in bathing or tending to her clothes properly. At night she would lie in bed thinking about her life with Erlend; in the daytime she would walk about as if in a dream, never speaking to anyone unless addressed first, not seeming to hear even when her young sons spoke to her. This diligent and alert woman did not raise a hand to do any work. Love had always been behind her toil with earthly matters. Erlend had never given her much thanks for that; it was not the way he wanted to be loved. But she couldn't help it; it was her nature to love with great toil and care.\n\nShe seemed to be slipping toward the torpor of death. Then the scourge came to the countryside, flinging her sons onto their sickbeds, and the mother woke up.\n\nThe sickness was more dangerous for grownups than for children. Ivar was struck so hard that no one expected him to live. The youth acquired enormous strength in his fevered state; he bellowed and wanted to get out of bed to take up arms. His father's death seemed to be weighing on his mind. With great difficulty Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf managed to hold him down. Then it was Bj\u00f8rgulf's turn to take to his bed. Lavrans lay with his face swollen beyond recognition with festering sores; his eyes glittered dully between narrow slits and looked as if they would be extinguished in a blaze of fever.\n\nKristin kept vigil in the loft with all three of them. Naakkve and Gaute had had the sickness as boys, and Skule was less ill than his brothers. Frida was taking care of him and Munan downstairs in the main room. No one thought there was any danger for Munan, but he had never been strong, and one evening when they thought he had already recovered, he suddenly fell into a faint. Frida had just enough time to warn his mother. Kristin ran downstairs, and a moment later Munan breathed his last in her arms.\n\nThe child's death aroused in her a new, wide-awake despair. Her wild grief over the infant who had died at his mother's breast had seemed red-tinged with the memory of all her crushed dreams of happiness. Back then the storm in her heart had kept her going. And the dire strain, which ended with her seeing her husband killed before her very eyes, left behind such a weariness in her soul that Kristin was convinced she would soon die of grief over Erlend. But that certainty had dulled the sharpness of her pain. She went about feeling the twilight and shadows growing all around her as she waited for the door to open for her in turn.\n\nOver Munan's little body his mother stood alert and gray. This lovely, sweet little boy had been her youngest child for so many years, the last of her sons whom she still dared caress and laugh at when she ought to have been stern and somber, chastising him for his little misdeeds and careless acts. And he had been so loving and attached to his mother. It cut into her living flesh. As bound to life as she still was, it wasn't possible for a woman to die as easily as she had thought, after she had poured her life's blood into so many new young hearts.\n\nIn cold, sober despair she moved between the child who lay on his bier and her ill sons. Munan was laid out in the old storeroom, where first the infant and then his father had lain. Three bodies on her manor in less than a year. Her heart was withered with anguish, but rigid and mute, she waited for the next one to die; she expected it, like an inevitable fate. She had never fully understood what she had been given when God bestowed on her so many children. The worst of it was that in some ways she had understood. But she had thought more about the troubles, the pain, the anguish, and the strife\u2014even though she had learned over and over again, from her yearning every time a child grew out of her arms, and from her joy every time a new one lay at her breast, that her happiness was inexpressibly greater than her struggles or pain. She had grumbled because the father of her children was such an unreliable man, who gave so little thought to the descendants who would come after him. She always forgot that he had been no different when she broke God's commandments and trampled on her own family in order to win him.\n\nNow he had fallen from her side. And now she expected to see her sons die, one after the other. Perhaps in the end she would be left all alone, a childless mother.\n\nThere were so many things she had seen before to which she had given little thought, back when she viewed the world as if through the veil of Erlend's and her love. No doubt she had noticed how Naakkve took it seriously that he was the firstborn son and should be the leader and chieftain of his brothers. No doubt she had also seen that he was very fond of Munan. And yet she was greatly shaken, as if by something unexpected, when she saw his terrible grief at the death of his youngest brother.\n\nBut her other sons regained their health, although it took a long time. On Easter Day she was able to go to church with four sons, but Bj\u00f8rgulf was still in bed, and Ivar was too weak to leave the house. Lavrans had grown quite tall while he was sick in bed, and in other ways it seemed as if the events of the past half year had carried him far beyond his years.\n\nKristin felt as if she were now an old woman. It seemed to her that a woman was young as long as she had little children sleeping in her arms at night, playing around her during the day, and demanding her care at all times. When a mother's children have grown away from her, then she becomes an old woman.\n\nHer new brother-in-law, Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n, said that the sons of Erlend were still quite young, and she herself was little more than forty years old. Surely she would soon decide to marry again; she needed a husband to help her manage her property and raise her younger sons. He mentioned several good men who he thought would be a noble match for Kristin; she should come to \u00c6lin for a visit in the fall, and then he would see to it that she met these men, and afterward they could discuss the matter at greater length.\n\nKristin smiled wanly. It was true that she wasn't more than forty years old. If she had heard about another woman who had been widowed at such a young age, with so many half-grown children, she would have said the same as Jamm\u00e6lt: The woman should marry again and seek support from a new husband; she might even give him more children. But she herself would not.\n\nIt was just after Easter that Jamm\u00e6lt of \u00c6lin came to J\u00f8rundgaard, and this was the second time that Kristin met her sister's new husband. She and her sons had not attended either the betrothal feast at Dyfrin or the wedding at \u00c6lin. The two banquets had been held within a short time of each other during the spring when she was carrying her last child. As soon as Jamm\u00e6lt heard of the death of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, he had rushed to Sil; in both word and deed he had helped his wife's sister and nephews. As best he could, he took care of everything that had to be done after the master's death, and he handled the case against the killers, since none of Erlend's sons had yet come of age. But back then Kristin had paid no heed to anything happening around her. Even the sentencing of Gudmund Toress\u00f8n, who was found to be the murderer of Erlend, seemed to make little impression on her.\n\nThis time she talked more with her brother-in-law, and he seemed to her a pleasant man. He was not young; he was the same age as Simon Darre. A calm and steadfast man, tall and stout, with a dark complexion and quite a handsome face, but rather stoop-shouldered. He and Gaute became good friends at once. Ever since their father's death Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf had grown closer to each other but had withdrawn from all the others. Ivar and Skule told their mother that they liked Jamm\u00e6lt, \"but it seems to us that Ramborg could have shown Simon more respect by staying a widow a little longer; this new husband of hers is not his equal.\" Kristin saw that these two unruly sons of hers still remembered Simon Andress\u00f8n. They had allowed him to admonish them both with sharp words and mild jests, even though the two impatient boys refused to hear a word of chastisement from their own parents except with eyes flashing with anger and hands clenched into fists.\n\nWhile Jamm\u00e6lt was at J\u00f8rundgaard, Munan Baards\u00f8n also paid a visit to Kristin. There was now little remaining of the former Sir Munan the Prancer. He had been a towering and imposing figure in the old days; back then he had carried his bulky body with some amount of grace, so that he seemed taller and more stately than he was. Now rheumatism had crippled him, and his flesh hung on his shriveled body; more than anything he resembled a little goblin, with a bald pate and a meager fringe of lank white hair at the back of his head. Once a thick blue-black beard had darkened his taut, full cheeks and jaw, but now an abundance of gray stubble grew in all the slack folds of his cheeks and throat, which he had a hard time shaving with his knife. He had grown bleary-eyed, he slobbered a bit, and he was terribly plagued by a weak stomach.\n\nHe had brought along his son Inge, whom people called Fluga, after his mother. He was already an old man. The father had offered this son a great deal of help in the world; he had found him a rich match and managed to get Bishop Halvard to take an interest in Inge. Munan had been married to the bishop's cousin Katrin. Lord Halvard wanted to help Inge become prosperous so that he wouldn't deplete the inheritance of Fru Katrin's children. The bishop had been given authority over the county of Hedemark, and he had then made Inge Munanss\u00f8n his envoy, so he now owned quite a few properties in Skaun and Ridabu. His mother had also bought a farm in those parts; she was now a most pious and charitable woman who had vowed to live a pure life until her death. \"Well, she is neither aged nor infirm,\" said Munan crossly when Kristin laughed. He had doubtless wanted to arrange things so that Brynhild would move in with him and manage his household at his estate in Hamar, but she had refused.\n\nHe had so little joy in his old age, Sir Munan complained. His children were full of rancor. Those siblings who had the same mother had joined forces against the others, quarreling and squabbling with their half siblings. Worst of all was his youngest daughter; she had been born to one of his paramours while he was a married man, so she could be given no share of the inheritance. For that reason, she was trying to glean from him all that she could while he was still alive. She was a widow and had settled at Skogheim, the estate which was Sir Munan's only real home. Neither her father nor her siblings could roust her from the place. Munan was deathly afraid of her, but whenever he tried to run off to live with one of his other children, they would torment him with complaints about the greed and dishonest behavior of their other siblings. He felt most comfortable with his youngest, lawfully born daughter, who was a nun at Gims\u00f8y. He liked to stay for a time in the convent's hostel, striving hard to better his soul with penances and prayers under the guidance of his daughter, but he didn't have the strength to stay there for long. Kristin wasn't convinced that Brynhild's sons were any kinder toward their father than his other children, but that was something that Munan Baards\u00f8n refused to admit; he loved them more than all his other offspring.\n\nAs pitiful as this kinsman of hers now was, it was during the time spent with him that Kristin's stony grief first began to thaw. Sir Munan talked about Erlend day and night. When he wasn't lamenting over his own trials, he could talk of nothing else but his dead cousin, boasting of Erlend's exploits\u2014particularly about his reckless youth. Erlend's wild boldness as soon as he made his way out into the world, away from his home at Husaby\u2014where Fru Magnhild went about raging over his father while his father raged over his elder son\u2014and away from Hestnes and Sir Baard, his pious, somber foster father. It might have seemed that Sir Munan's chatter would offer an odd sort of consolation for Erlend's grieving widow. But in his own way the knight had loved his young kinsman, and all his days he had thought Erlend surpassed every other man in appearance, courage\u2014yes, even in good sense, although he had never wanted to use it, said Munan earnestly. And even though Kristin had to recall that it surely was not in Erlend's best interest that he had joined the king's retainers at the age of sixteen, with this cousin as his mentor and guide, nevertheless she had to smile with tender sorrow at Munan Baards\u00f8n. He talked so that the spittle flew from his lips and the tears seeped from his old red-rimmed eyes, as he remembered Erlend's sparkling joy and spirit in those days of his youth, before he became tangled up in misfortune with Eline Ormsdatter and was branded for life.\n\nJamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n, who was having a serious conversation with Gaute and Naakkve, cast a wondering glance at his sister-in-law. She was sitting on the bench against the wall with that loathsome old man and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, who Jamm\u00e6lt thought looked so sinister, but she was smiling as she talked to them and served them ale. He hadn't seen her smile before, but it suited her, and her little, low laugh was like that of a young maiden.\n\nJamm\u00e6lt said that it would be impossible for all six brothers to continue living on their mother's estate. It was not expected that any wealthy man of equal birth would give one of his kinswomen to Nikulaus in marriage if his five brothers settled there with him and perhaps continued to take their food from the manor after they married. And they ought to see about finding a wife for the young man; he was already twenty winters old and seemed to have a hardy disposition. For this reason Jamm\u00e6lt wanted to take Ivar and Skule home with him when he returned south; he would find some way to ensure their future. After Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n had lost his life in such an unfortunate manner, it so happened that the great chieftains of the land suddenly remembered that the murdered man had been one of their peers\u2014by birth and blood meant to surpass most of them, charming and magnanimous in many ways, and in battle a daring chieftain and skilled swordsman. But he had not had fortune on his side. Measures of the utmost severity had been levied against those men who had taken part in the murder of the landowner in his own courtyard. And Jamm\u00e6lt could report that many had asked him about Erlend's sons. He had met the men of Sudrheim during Christmas, and they had mentioned that these young boys were their kinsmen. Sir Jon had asked him to bring his greetings and say that he would receive and treat the sons of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n as his kin if any of them wanted to join his household. Jon Haftorss\u00f8n was now about to marry the maiden Elin, who was Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n's youngest daughter, and the young bride had asked whether the sons looked like their father. She remembered that Erlend had visited them in Bj\u00f8rgvin when she was a child, and she had thought him to be the handsomest of men. And her brother, Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n, had said that anything he could do for Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's sons, he would do with the most heartfelt joy.\n\nKristin sat and looked at her twin sons as Jamm\u00e6lt talked. They looked more and more like their father: Silky, fine soot-black hair clung smoothly to their heads, although it curled a bit across their brows and down the back of their slender tan necks. They had thin faces with long, jutting noses and delicate, small mouths with a knot of muscle at each corner. But their chins were blunter and broader and their eyes were darker than Erlend's. And above all else, his eyes were what had made Erlend so astoundingly handsome, his wife now thought. When he opened them in that lean, dark face beneath the pitch-black hair, they were so unexpectedly clear and light blue.\n\nBut now there was a glint of steely blue in the eyes of the young boys when Skule replied to his uncle. He was the one who usually spoke for both twins.\n\n\"We thank you for this fine offer, kinsman. But we have already spoken with Sir Munan and Inge and sought the advice of our older brothers, and we have come to an agreement with Inge and his father. These men are our closest kin of Father's lineage; we will go south with Inge and intend to stay at his estate this summer and for some time to come.\"\n\nThat evening the boys came downstairs to the main room to speak to Kristin after she had gone to bed.\n\n\"We hope that you will understand, Mother,\" said Ivar Er lendss\u00f8n.\n\n\"We refuse to beg for the help and friendship of kin from those men who sat in silence and watched our father wrongly suffer,\" added Skule.\n\nTheir mother nodded.\n\nIt seemed to her that her sons had acted properly. She realized that Jamm\u00e6lt was a sensible and fair-minded man, and his offer had been well intended, but she was pleased the boys were loyal to their father. And yet she could never have imagined that her sons would one day come to serve the son of Brynhild Fluga.\n\nThe twins left with Inge Fluga as soon as Ivar was strong enough to ride. It was very quiet at the manor after they were gone. Their mother remembered that at this time the year before, she lay in bed in the weaving room with a newborn child; it seemed to her like a dream. Such a short time ago she had felt so young, with her soul stirred up by the yearnings and sorrows of a young woman, by hopes and hatreds and love. Now her flock had shrunk to four sons, and in her soul the only thing stirring was an uneasiness for the grown young men. In the silence that descended upon J\u00f8rundgaard after the departure of the twins, her fear for Bj\u00f8rgulf flared up with bright flames.\n\nWhen guests arrived, he and Naakkve moved to the old hearth house. Bj\u00f8rgulf would get out of bed in the daytime, but he had still not been outdoors. With deep fear Kristin noticed that Bj\u00f8rg ulf was always sitting in the same spot; he never walked around, he hardly moved at all when she came to see him. She knew that his eyes had grown worse during his last illness. Naakkve was terribly quiet, but he had been that way ever since his father's death, and he seemed to avoid his mother as much as he could.\n\nFinally one day she gathered her courage and asked her eldest son how things now stood with Bj\u00f8rgulf's eyesight. For a while Naakkve gave only evasive replies, but at last she demanded that her son tell her the truth.\n\nNaakkve said, \"He can still make out strong light\u2014\" All at once the young man's face lost all color; abruptly he turned away and left the room.\n\nMuch later that day, after Kristin had wept until she was so weary that she thought she could trust herself to speak calmly with her son, she went over to the old house.\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf was lying in bed. As soon as she came in and sat down on the edge of his bed, she could tell by his face that he knew she had spoken to Naakkve.\n\n\"Mother. You mustn't cry, Mother,\" he begged fearfully.\n\nWhat she most wanted to do was to fling herself at her son, gather him into her arms, and weep over him, grieving over his harsh fate. But she merely slipped her hand into his under the coverlet.\n\n\"God is sorely testing your manhood, my son,\" she said hoarsely.\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf's expression changed, becoming firm and resolute. But it took a moment before he could speak.\n\n\"I've known for a long time, Mother, that this was what I was destined to endure. Even back when we were at Tautra... Brother Aslak spoke to me about it and said that if things should go in such a way...\n\n\"The way our Lord Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, he said. He told me that the true wilderness for a Christian man's soul was when his sight and senses were blocked\u2014then he would follow the footsteps of the Lord out of the wilderness, even if his body was still with his brothers or kinsmen. He read to me from the books of Saint Bernard about such things. And when a soul realizes that God has chosen him for such a difficult test of his manhood, then he shouldn't be afraid that he won't have the strength. God knows my soul better than the soul knows itself.\"\n\nHe continued to talk to his mother in this manner, consoling her with a wisdom and strength of spirit that seemed far beyond his years.\n\nThat evening Naakkve came to Kristin and asked to speak with her alone. Then he told her that he and Bj\u00f8rgulf intended to enter the holy brotherhood and to take the vows of monks at Tautra.\n\nKristin was dismayed, but Naakkve kept on talking, quite calmly. They would wait until Gaute had come of age and could lawfully act on behalf of his mother and younger siblings. They wanted to enter the monastery with as much property as was befitting the sons of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n of Husaby, but they also wanted to ensure the welfare of their brothers. From their father the sons of Erlend had inherited nothing of value that was worth mentioning, but the three who were born before Gunnulf Niku lauss\u00f8n had entered the cloister owned several shares of estates in the north. He had made these gifts to his nephews when he dispersed his wealth, although most of what he hadn't given to the Church or for ecclesiastical use he had left to his brother. And since Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf would not demand their full share of the inheritance, it would be a great relief to Gaute, who would then become the head of the family and carry on the lineage, if the two of them were dead to the world, as Naakkve put it.\n\nKristin felt close to fainting. Never had she dreamed that Naakkve would consider a monk's life. But she did not protest; she was too overwhelmed. And she didn't dare try to dissuade her sons from such a noble and meaningful enterprise.\n\n\"Back when we were boys and were staying with the monks up there in the north, we promised each other that we would never be parted,\" said Naakkve.\n\nHis mother nodded; she knew that. But she had thought their intention was for Bj\u00f8rgulf to continue to live with Naakkve, even after the older boy was married.\n\nIt seemed to Kristin almost miraculous that Bj\u00f8rgulf, as young as he was, could bear his misfortune in such a manly fashion. Whenever she spoke to him of it, during that spring, she heard nothing but god-fearing and courageous words from his lips. It seemed to her incomprehensible, but it must be because he had realized for many years that this would be the outcome of his failing eyesight, and he must have been preparing his soul ever since the time he had stayed with the monks.\n\nBut then she had to consider what a terrible burden this unfortunate child of hers had endured\u2014while she had paid so little heed as she went about absorbed with her own concerns. Now, whenever she had a moment to herself, Kristin Lavransdatter would slip away and kneel down before the picture of the Virgin Mary up in the loft or before her altar in the north end of the church when it was open. Lamenting with all her heart, she would pray with humble tears for the Savior's gentle Mother to serve as Bj\u00f8rgulf's mother in her stead and to offer him all that his earthly mother had left undone.\n\nOne summer night Kristin lay awake in bed. Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rg ulf had moved back into the high loft room, but Gaute was sleeping downstairs with Lavrans because Naakkve had said that the older brothers wanted to practice keeping vigil and praying. She was just about to fall asleep at last when she was awakened by someone walking quietly along the gallery of the loft. She heard a stumbling on the stairs and recognized the blind man's gait.\n\nHe must be going out on some errand, she thought, but all the same she got up and began looking for her clothes. Then she heard a door flung open upstairs, and someone raced down the steps, taking them two or three at a time.\n\nKristin ran to the entryway and out the door. The fog was so thick outside that only the buildings directly across the courtyard could be glimpsed. Up by the manor gate Bj\u00f8rgulf was furiously struggling to free himself from his brother's grasp.\n\n\"Do you lose anything,\" cried the blind man, \"if you're rid of me? Then you'll be released from all your oaths... and you won't have to be dead to this world.\"\n\nKristin couldn't hear what Naakkve said in reply. She ran barefoot through the soaking wet grass. By this time Bj\u00f8rgulf had pulled free; suddenly, as if struck down, he fell upon the boulder by the gate and began beating it with his fists.\n\nNaakkve saw his mother and took a few swift steps in her direction. \"Go inside, Mother. I can handle this best alone. You must go inside, I tell you,\" he whispered urgently, and then he turned around and went back to lean over his brother.\n\nTheir mother remained standing some distance away. The grass was drenched with moisture, water was dripping from all the eaves, and drops were trickling from every leaf; it had rained all day, but now the clouds had descended as a thick white fog. When her sons headed back after a while\u2014Naakkve had taken Bj\u00f8rgulf by the arm and was leading him\u2014Kristin retreated to the entryway door.\n\nShe saw that Bj\u00f8rgulf's face was bleeding; he must have hit himself on the rock. Involuntarily Kristin pressed her hand to her lips and bit her own flesh.\n\nOn the stairs Bj\u00f8rgulf tried once more to pull away from Naakkve. He threw himself against the wall and shouted, \"I curse, I curse the day I was born!\"\n\nWhen she heard Naakkve shut the loft door behind them, Kristin crept upstairs and stood outside on the gallery. For a long time she could hear Bj\u00f8rgulf's voice inside. He raged and shouted and swore; a few of his vehement words she could understand. Every once in a while she would hear Naakkve talking to him, but his voice was only a subdued murmur. Finally Bj\u00f8rgulf began sobbing, loudly and as if his heart would break.\n\nKristin stood trembling with cold and anguish. She was wearing only a cloak over her shift; she stood there so long that her loose, flowing hair became wet with the raw night air. At last there was silence in the loft.\n\nEntering the main room downstairs, she went over to the bed where Gaute and Lavrans were sleeping. They hadn't heard anything. With tears streaming down her face, she reached out a hand in the dark and touched the two warm faces, listening to the boys' measured, healthy breathing. She now felt as if these two were all that she had left of her riches.\n\nShivering with cold, she climbed into her own bed. One of the dogs lying next to Gaute's bed came padding across the room and jumped up, circling around and then leaning against her feet. The dog was in the habit of doing this at night, and she didn't have the heart to chase him away, even though he was heavy and pressed on her legs so they would turn numb. But the dog had belonged to Erlend and was his favorite\u2014a shaggy coal-black old bearhound. Tonight, thought Kristin, it was good to have him lying there, warming her frozen feet.\n\nShe didn't see Naakkve the next morning until at the breakfast table. Then he came in and sat down in the high seat, which had been his place since his father's death.\n\nHe didn't say a word during the meal, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His mother followed him when he went back outside.\n\n\"How is Bj\u00f8rgulf now?\" she asked in a low voice.\n\nNaakkve continued to evade her eyes, but he replied in an equally low voice that Bj\u00f8rgulf was asleep.\n\n\"Has... has he been this way before?\" she whispered fearfully.\n\nNaakkve nodded, turned away from her, and went back upstairs to his brother.\n\nNaakkve watched over Bj\u00f8rgulf night and day, and kept his mother away from him as much as possible. But Kristin saw that the two young men spent many hours struggling with each other.\n\nIt was Nikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n who was supposed to be the master of J\u00f8rundgaard now, but he had no time to tend to the managing of the estate. He also seemed to have as little interest and ability as his father had had. And so Kristin and Gaute saw to everything, for that summer Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n had left her too.\n\nAfter the unfortunate events that ended with the killing of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, Ulf's wife had gone home with her brothers. Ulf stayed on at J\u00f8rundgaard; he said he wanted to show everyone that he couldn't be driven away by gossip and lies. But he hinted that he had lived long enough at J\u00f8rundgaard; he thought he might head north to his own estate in Skaun as soon as enough time had passed so that no one could say he was fleeing from the rumors.\n\nBut then the bishop's plenipotentiary began making inquiries into the matter, to determine whether Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n had unlawfully spurned his wife. And so Ulf made preparations to leave; he went to get Jardtrud, and they were now setting off together for the north, before the autumn weather made the road through the mountains impassable. He told Gaute that he wanted to join forces with his half sister's husband, who was a swordsmith in Nidaros, and live there, but he would settle Jardtrud at Skjoldvirkstad, which his nephew would continue to manage for him.\n\nOn his last evening Kristin drank a toast to him with the gold-chased silver goblet her father had inherited from his paternal grandfather, Sir Ketil the Swede. She asked him to accept the goblet as a keepsake to remember her by. Then she slipped onto his finger a gold ring that had belonged to Erlend; he was to have it in his memory.\n\nUlf gave her a kiss to thank her. \"It's customary among kinsmen,\" he said with a laugh. \"You probably never imagined, Kristin, when we first met, and I was the servant who came to get you to escort you to my master, that we would part in this way.\"\n\nKristin turned bright red, for he was smiling at her with that old, mocking smile, but she thought she could see in his eyes that he was sad. Then she said, \"All the same, Ulf, aren't you longing for Tr\u00f8ndelag\u2014you who were born and raised in the north? Many a time I too have longed for the fjord, and I lived there only a few years.\" Ulf laughed again, and then she added quietly, \"If I ever offended you in my youth, with my overbearing manner or... I didn't know that you were close kin, you and Erlend. But now you must forgive me!\"\n\n\"No... but Erlend was not the one who refused to acknowledge our kinship. I was so insolent in my youth; since my father had ousted me from his lineage, I refused to beg\u2014\" He stood up abruptly and went over to where Bj\u00f8rgulf was sitting on the bench. \"You see, Bj\u00f8rgulf, my foster son... your father... and Gunnulf, they treated me as a kinsman even back when we were boys\u2014just the opposite of how my brothers and sisters at Hestnes behaved. Afterward... to others I never presented myself as Erlend's kinsman because I saw that in that way I could serve him better... as well as his wife and all of you, my foster sons. Do you understand?\" he asked earnestly, placing his hand on Bj\u00f8rgulf's face, hiding the extinguished eyes.\n\n\"I understand.\" Bj\u00f8rgulf's reply was almost stifled behind the other man's fingers; he nodded under Ulf's hand.\n\n\"We understand, foster father.\" Nikulaus laid his hand heavily on Ulf's shoulder, and Gaute moved closer to the group.\n\nKristin felt strangely ill at ease. They seemed to be speaking of things that she could not comprehend. Then she too stepped over to the men as she said, \"Be assured, Ulf, my kinsman, that all of us understand. Never have Erlend and I had a more loyal friend than you. May God bless you!\"\n\nThe next day Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n set off for the north.\n\nOver the course of the winter Bj\u00f8rgulf seemed to settle down, as far as Kristin could tell. Once again he came to the table for meals with the servants of the house, he went with them to mass, and he willingly and gladly accepted the help and services that his mother so dearly wanted to offer him.\n\nAs time passed and Kristin never heard her sons make any mention of the monastery, she realized how unspeakably reluctant she was to give up her eldest son to the life of a monk.\n\nShe couldn't help admitting that a cloister would be the best place for Bj\u00f8rgulf. But she didn't see how she could bear to lose Naakkve in that way. It must be true, after all, that her firstborn was somehow bound closer to her heart than her other sons.\n\nNor could she see that Naakkve was suited to be a monk. He did have a talent for learned games and a fondness for devotional practices; nevertheless, his mother didn't think he was particularly disposed toward spiritual matters. He didn't attend the parish church with any special zeal. He often missed the services, giving some meager excuse, and she knew that neither he nor Bj\u00f8rgulf confessed to their parish priest anything but the most ordinary of sins. The new priest, Sira Dag Rolfss\u00f8n, was the son of Rolf of Blakarsarv, who had been married to Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter's cousin; for this reason he often visited his kinswoman's estate. He was a young man about thirty years old, well educated and a good cleric, but the two oldest sons never warmed to him. With Gaute, on the other hand, he soon became good friends.\n\nGaute was the only one of Erlend's sons who had made friends among the people of Sil. But none of the others had continued to be as much an outsider as Nikulaus was. He never had anything to do with the other youths. If he went to the places where young people gathered to dance or meet, he usually stood on the outskirts of the green to watch, asserting by his demeanor that he was too good to take part. But if he was so inclined, he might join in the games unasked, and then everyone saw that he was doing it to show off. He was vigorous, strong, and agile, and it was easy to provoke him to fight. But after he had defeated two or three of the most renowned opponents in the parish, people had to tolerate his presence. And if he wished to dance with a maiden, he paid no heed to her brothers or kinsmen but simply danced with the girl and walked and sat with her alone. No woman ever said no when Nikulaus Erlendss\u00f8n requested her company, which did not make people like him any better.\n\nAfter his brother had gone blind, Naakkve seldom left his side, but if he went out in the evening, he acted no differently from before. For the most part he also gave up his long hunting expeditions, but that fall he had bought himself an exceedingly costly white falcon from the sheriff, and he was as eager as ever to practice his bowmanship and prowess in sports. Bj\u00f8rgulf had taught himself to play chess blind, and the brothers would often spend an entire day at the chessboard; they were both the most zealous of players.\n\nThen Kristin heard people talking about Naakkve and a young maiden, Tordis Gunnarsdatter from Skjenne. The following summer she was staying up in the mountain pastures. Many times Naakkve was away from home at night. Kristin found out that he had been with Tordis.\n\nThe mother's heart trembled and twisted and turned like an aspen leaf on its stem. Tordis belonged to an old and respected family; she herself was a good and innocent child. Naakkve couldn't possibly mean to dishonor her. If the two young people forgot themselves, then he would have to make the girl his wife. Sick with anguish and shame, Kristin realized nevertheless that she would not be overly aggrieved if this should happen. Only two years ago she would never have stood for it if Tordis Gunnarsdatter were to succeed her as the mistress of J\u00f8rundgaard. The maiden's grandfather was still alive and lived on his estate with four married sons; she herself had many siblings. She would not be a wealthy bride. And every woman of that lineage had given birth to at least one witless child. The children were either exchanged at birth or possessed by the mountain spirits; no matter how they strove to protect the women in childbed, neither baptism nor sacred incantations seemed to help. There were now two old men at Skjenne whom Sira Eirik had judged to be changelings, as well as two children who were deaf and mute. And the wood nymph had bewitched Tordis's oldest brother when he was seventeen. Otherwise those belonging to the Skjenne lineage were a handsome lot, their livestock flourished, and good fortune followed them, but they were too numerous for their family to have any wealth.\n\nGod only knew whether Naakkve could have abandoned his resolve without sinning if he had already promised himself to the service of the Virgin Mary. But a man always had to spend one year as a young brother in the monastery before he was ordained; he could withdraw voluntarily if he realized that he was not meant to serve God in that way. And she had heard that the French countess who was the mother of the great doctor of theology, the friar Sir Thomas Aquinas, had locked her son in with a beautiful, wanton woman in order to shake his resolve when he wanted to retreat from the world. Kristin thought this was the vilest thing she had ever heard, and yet when the woman died, she had reconciled with God. So it must not be such a terrible sin if Kristin now imagined that she would open her arms to embrace Tordis of Skjenne as the wife of her son.\n\nIn the autumn Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n came to Formo, and he confirmed the rumors of great news that had also reached the valley. In consultation with the highest leaders of the Church and Norway's Council of knights and noblemen, King Magnus Eirikss\u00f8n had decided to divide his realms between the two sons he had fathered with his queen, Lady Blanche. At the meeting of nobles in Vardberg, he had given the younger son, Prince Haakon, the title of king of Norway. Both learned priests and laymen of the gentry had sworn sacred oaths to defend the land under his hand. He was supposed to be a handsome and promising three-year-old child, and he was to be brought up in Norway with four foster mothers, all the most highborn wives of knights, and with two spiritual and two worldly chieftains as his foster fathers when King Magnus and Queen Blanche were in Sweden. It was said that Sir Erling Vidkuns s\u00f8n and the bishops of Bj\u00f8rgvin and Oslo were behind this selection of a sovereign, and Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n had presented the matter to the king; Lord Magnus loved Bjarne above all his other Norwegian men. Everyone expected the greatest benefits for the realm of Norway now that they would once again have a king who was reared and lived among them, who would protect the laws and rights and interests of the country instead of squandering his time, energies, and the wealth of the kingdom on incursions in other lands.\n\nKristin had heard about the selection of a king, just as she had heard about the discord with the German merchants in Bj\u00f8rgvin and about the king's wars in Sweden and Denmark. But these events had touched her so little\u2014like the echo of thunder from the mountains after a storm had passed over the countryside and was far away. No doubt her sons had discussed these matters with each other. Jamm\u00e6lt's account threw the sons of Erlend into a state of violent agitation. Bj\u00f8rgulf sat with his forehead resting in his hand so he could hide his blind eyes. Gaute listened with his lips parted as his fingers tightly clenched the hilt of his dagger. Lavrans's breathing was swift and audible, and all of a sudden he turned away from his uncle and looked at Naakkve, sitting in the high seat. The oldest son's face was pale, and his eyes blazed.\n\n\"It has been the fate of many a man,\" said Naakkve, \"that those who were his fiercest opponents in life found success on the road he had pointed out to them\u2014but only after they had made him into fodder for the worms. After his mouth was stuffed with earth, the lesser men no longer shrank from affirming the truth of his words.\"\n\n\"That may well be, kinsman,\" said Jamm\u00e6lt in a placating tone. \"You may be right about that. Your father was the first of all men to think of this way out of the foreign lands\u2014with two brothers on the thrones, here and in Sweden. Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n was a deep-thinking, wise, and magnanimous man. I see that. But take care what you now say, Nikulaus. Surely you wouldn't want your words to be spread as gossip that might harm Skule.\"\n\n\"Skule didn't ask my permission to do what he did,\" said Naakkve sharply.\n\n\"No, he probably didn't remember that you had come of age by now,\" replied Jamm\u00e6lt in the same tone as before. \"And I didn't think about it either, so it was with my consent and blessing that he placed his hand on Bjarne's sword and swore allegiance.\"\n\n\"I think he did remember it, but the whelp knew I would never give my consent. And no doubt the Giske men needed this salve for their guilty consciences.\"\n\nSkule Erlendss\u00f8n had joined Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n as one of his loyal men. He had met the great chieftain when he was visiting his aunt at \u00c6lin during Christmas, and Bjarne had explained to the boy that it was largely due to the intercession of Sir Erling and himself that Erlend had been granted his life. Without their support Simon Andress\u00f8n would never have been able to accomplish his mission with King Magnus. Ivar was still with Inge Fluga.\n\nKristin knew that what Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n had said was not entirely untrue\u2014it was in accordance with Simon's own account of his journey to Tunsberg\u2014and yet during all these years she had always thought of Erling Vidkunss\u00f8n with great bitterness; it seemed to her that he should have been able to help her husband attain better terms if he had wished to do so. Bjarne hadn't been capable of much back then, as young as he was. But she wasn't pleased that Skule had joined up with this man, and in an odd way it took her breath away that the twins had acted on their own and had set off into the world. They were no more than children, she thought.\n\nAfter Jamm\u00e6lt's visit the uneasiness of her mind grew so great that she hardly dared think at all. If it was true what the men said\u2014that the prosperity and security of the people of the realm would increase beyond words if this small boy in Tunsberg Castle were now called Norway's king\u2014then they could have been enjoying this turn of events for almost ten years if Erlend hadn't... No! She refused to think about that when she thought about the dead. But she couldn't help it because she knew that in her sons' eyes their father was magnificent and perfect, the most splendid warrior and chieftain, without faults or flaws. And she herself had thought, during all these years, that Erlend had been betrayed by his peers and wealthy kinsmen; her husband had suffered great injustice. But Naakkve went too far when he said that they had made him into fodder for the worms. She too bore her own heavy share of the blame, but it was mostly Erlend's folly and his desperate obstinacy that had brought about his wretched death.\n\nBut no... all the same, she wasn't pleased that Skule was now in the service of Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n.\n\nWould she ever live to see the day when she was released from the ceaseless torment of anguish and unrest? Oh Jesus, remember the anguish and grief that your own mother bore for your sake; have mercy on me, a mother, and give me comfort!\n\nShe felt uneasy even about Gaute. The boy had the makings of the most capable of farmers, but he was so impetuous in his eagerness to restore prosperity to his lineage. Naakkve gave him free rein, and Gaute had his hands in so many enterprises. With several other men of the parish he had now started up the old iron-smelting sites in the mountains. And he sold off far too much; he sold not only the goods from the land leases but also part of the yield from his own estate. All her days Kristin had been used to seeing full storerooms and stalls on her farm, and she grew a little cross with Gaute when he frowned in disapproval at the rancid butter and made fun of the ten-year-old bacon she had hung up. But she wanted to know that on her manor there would never be a shortage of food; she would never have to turn a poor man away unaided if years of drought should strike the countryside. And there would be nothing lacking when the time came for weddings and christening feasts and banquets to be held once again on the old estate.\n\nHer ambitious hopes for her sons had been diminished. She would be content if they would settle down here in her parish. She could combine and exchange her properties in such a fashion that three of them could live on their own estates. And J\u00f8rundgaard, along with the portion of Laugarbru that lay on this side of the river, could feed three leaseholders. They might not be circumstances fit for noblemen, but they wouldn't be poor folk either. Peace reigned in the valley; here little was heard about all the unrest among chieftains of the land. If this should be perceived as a decline in the power and prestige of their lineage... well, God would be able to further the interests of their descendants if He saw that it would be to their benefit. But surely it would be vain of her to hope that she might see them all gathered around her in this manner. It was unlikely they would settle down so easily, these sons of hers who had Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n as their father.\n\nDuring this time her soul found peace and solace whenever she let her thoughts dwell on the two children she had laid to rest up in the cemetery.\n\nEvery day, over the ensuing years, she had thought of them; as she watched children of the same age grow and thrive, she would wonder how her own would have looked by now.\n\nAs she went about her daily chores, just as diligent and hardworking as ever, but reticent and preoccupied, her dead children were always with her. In her dreams they grew older and flourished, and they turned out, in every way, to be exactly as she had wished. Munan was as loyal to his kinsmen as Naakkve, but he was as cheerful and talkative with his mother as Gaute was, and he never worried her with unwise impulses. He was as gentle and thoughtful as Lavrans, but Munan would tell his mother all the strange things he was pondering. He was as clever as Bj\u00f8rgulf, but no misfortune clouded his way through life, so his wisdom held no bitterness. He was as self-reliant, strong, and bold as the twins, but not as unruly or stubborn.\n\nAnd she recalled once more all the sweet, merry memories of the loving charm of her children when they were small every time she thought about little Erlend. He stood on her lap, waiting to be dressed. She put her hands around his chubby, naked body, and he reached up with his small hands and face and his whole precious body toward her face and her caresses. She taught him to walk. She had placed a folded cloth across his chest and up under his arms; he hung in this harness, as heavy as a sack, vigorously fumbling backward with his feet. Then he laughed until he was wriggling like a worm from laughter. She carried him in her arms out to the farmyard to see the calves and lambs, and he shrieked with joy at the sow with all her piglets. He leaned his head back and gaped at the doves perched in the stable hayloft. He ran to her in the tall grass around the heaps of stones, crying out at each berry he saw and eating them out of her hand so avidly that her palm was wet from his greedy little mouth.\n\nAll the joys of her children she remembered and relived in this dream life with her two little sons, and all her sorrows she forgot.\n\nIt was spring for the third time since Erlend had been laid in his grave. Kristin heard no more about Tordis and Naakkve. Neither did she hear anything about the cloister. And her hope grew; she couldn't help it. She was so reluctant to sacrifice her eldest son to the life of a monk.\n\nRight before Saint Jon's Day, Ivar Erlendss\u00f8n came home to J\u00f8rundgaard. The twins had been young lads in their sixteenth year when they left home. Now Ivar was a grown man, almost eighteen years old, and his mother thought he had become so handsome and manly that she could hardly get her fill of looking at him.\n\nOn the first morning Kristin took breakfast up to Ivar as he lay in bed. Honey-baked wheat bread, lefse, and ale that she had tapped from the last keg of Christmas brew. She sat on the edge of his bed while he ate and drank, smiling at everything he said. She got up to look at his clothes, turning and fingering each garment; she rummaged through his traveling bag and weighed his new silver brooch in her slender reddish-brown hand; she drew his dagger out of its sheath and praised it, along with all his other possessions. Then she sat down on the bed again, looked at her son, and listened with a smile in her eyes and on her lips to everything the young man told her.\n\nThen Ivar said, \"I might as well tell you why I've come home, Mother. I've come to obtain Naakkve's consent for my marriage.\"\n\nOverwhelmed, Kristin clasped her hands together. \"My Ivar! As young as you are... Surely you haven't committed some folly!\"\n\nIvar begged his mother to listen. She was a young widow, Signe Gamalsdatter of Rognheim in Fauskar. The estate was worth six marks in land taxes, and most of it was her sole property, which she had inherited through her only child. But she had become embroiled in a lawsuit with her husband's kinsmen, and Inge Fluga had tried to acquire all manner of unlawful benefits for himself if he was to help the widow win justice. Ivar had become indignant and had taken up the woman's defense, accompanying her to the bishop himself, for Lord Halvard had always shown Ivar a fatherly goodwill every time they had met. Inge Munanss\u00f8n's actions in the county could not bear close scrutiny, but he had been wise enough to stay on friendly terms with the nobles of the countryside, frightening the peasants into their mouseholes. And he had thrown sand in the bishop's eyes with his great cleverness. It was doubtless for Munan's sake that Lord Halvard had refrained from being too stern. But now things did not look good for Inge, so the cousins had parted with the gravest enmity when Ivar took his horse and rode off from Inge Fluga's manor. Then he had decided to pay a visit at Rognheim, in the south, before he left the region. That was at Eastertime, and he had been staying with Signe ever since, helping her on the estate in the springtime. Now they had agreed that he would marry her. She didn't think that Ivar Er lendss\u00f8n was too young to be her husband and protect her interests. And the bishop, as he had said, looked on him with favor. He was still much too young and lacking in learning for Lord Halvard to appoint him to any position, but Ivar was convinced that he would do well if he settled at Rognheim as a married man.\n\nKristin sat fidgeting with her keys in her lap. This was sensible talk. And Inge Fluga certainly deserved no better. But she wondered what that poor old man, Munan Baards\u00f8n, would say about all this.\n\nAbout the bride she learned that Signe was thirty winters old, from a lowborn and impoverished family, but her first husband had acquired much wealth so that she was now comfortably situated, and she was an honorable, kind, and diligent woman.\n\nNikulaus and Gaute accompanied Ivar south to have a look at the widow, but Kristin wanted to stay home with Bj\u00f8rgulf. When her sons returned, Naakkve could tell his mother that Ivar was now betrothed to Signe Gamalsdatter. The wedding would be celebrated at Rognheim in the autumn.\n\nNot long after his arrival back home Naakkve came to see his mother one evening as she sat sewing in the weaving room. He barred the door. Then he said that now that Gaute was twenty years old and Ivar would also come of age by marrying, he and Bj\u00f8rgulf intended to journey north in the fall and ask to be accepted as novices at the monastery. Kristin said little; they spoke mainly about how they would arrange those things that her two oldest sons would want to take with them from their inheritance.\n\nBut a few days later men came to J\u00f8rundgaard with an invitation to a betrothal banquet: Aasmund of Skjenne was going to celebrate the betrothal of his daughter Tordis to a good farmer's son from Dovre.\n\nThat evening Naakkve came again to see his mother in the weaving room, and once again he barred the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the hearth, poking a twig into the embers. Kristin had lit a small fire since the nights were cold that summer.\n\n\"Nothing but feasts and carousing, my mother,\" he said with a little laugh. \"The betrothal banquet at Rognheim and the celebration at Skjenne and then Ivar's wedding. When Tordis rides in her wedding procession, I doubt I'll be riding along; by that time I will have donned cloister garb.\"\n\nKristin didn't reply at once. But then, without looking up from her sewing\u2014she was making a banquet tunic for Ivar\u2014she said, \"Many probably thought it would be a great sorrow for Tordis Gunnarsdatter if you became a monk.\"\n\n\"I once thought so myself,\" replied Naakkve.\n\nKristin let her sewing sink to her lap. She looked at her son; his face was impassive and calm. And he was so handsome. His dark hair brushed back from his white forehead, curling softly behind his ears and along the slender, tan stalk of his neck. His features were more regular than his father's; his face was broader and more solid, his nose not as big, and his mouth not as small. His clear blue eyes were lovely beneath the straight black brows. And yet he didn't seem as handsome as Erlend had been. It was his father's animal-like softness and languid charm, his air of inextinguishable youth that Naakkve did not possess.\n\nKristin picked up her work again, but she didn't go back to sewing. After a moment, as she looked down and tucked in a hem of the cloth with her needle, she said, \"Do you realize, Naakkve, that I haven't voiced a single word of objection to your godly plans? I wouldn't dare do so. But you're young, and you know quite well\u2014being more learned than I am\u2014that it is written somewhere that it ill suits a man to turn around and look over his shoulder once he has set his hand to the plow.\"\n\nNot a muscle moved in her son's face.\n\n\"I know that you've had these thoughts in mind for a long time,\" continued his mother. \"Ever since you were children. But back then you didn't understand what you would be giving up. Now that you've reached the age of a man... Don't you think it would be advisable if you waited a while longer to see if you have the calling? You were born to take over this estate and become the head of your lineage.\"\n\n\"You dare to advise me now?\" Naakkve took several deep breaths. He stood up. All of a sudden he slapped his hand to his breast and tore open his tunic and shirt so his mother could see his naked chest where his birthmark, the five little blood-red, fiery specks, shone amid the black hair.\n\n\"I suppose you thought I was too young to understand what you were sighing about with moans and tears whenever you kissed me here, back when I was a little lad. I may not have understood, but I could never forget the words you spoke.\n\n\"Mother, Mother... Have you forgotten that Father died the most wretched of deaths, unconfessed and unanointed? And you dare to dissuade us!\n\n\"I think Bj\u00f8rgulf and I know what we're turning away from. It doesn't seem to me such a great sacrifice to give up this estate and marriage\u2014or the kind of peace and happiness that you and Father had together during all the years I can remember.\"\n\nKristin put down her sewing. All that she and Erlend had lived through, both bad and good... A wealth of memories washed over her. This child understood so little what he was renouncing. With all his youthful fights, bold exploits, careless dealings, and games of love\u2014he was no more than an innocent child.\n\nNaakkve saw the tears well up in his mother's eyes; he shouted, \"Quid mihi et tibi est, mulier.\" Kristin cringed, but her son spoke with violent agitation. \"God did not say those words because he felt scorn for his mother. But he chastised her, that pure pearl without blemish or flaw, when she tried to counsel him on how to use the power that he had been given by his Father in Heaven and not by his mother's flesh. Mother, you must not advise me about this; do not venture to do so.\"\n\nKristin bent her head to her breast.\n\nAfter a moment Naakkve said in a low voice, \"Have you forgotten, Mother, that you pushed me away\u2014\" He paused, as if he didn't trust his own voice. But then he continued, \"I wanted to kneel beside you at my father's deathbed, but you told me to go away. Don't you realize my heart wails in my chest whenever I think about that?\"\n\nKristin whispered, almost inaudibly, \"Is that why you've been so... cold... toward me during all these years I've been a widow?\"\n\nHer son was silent.\n\n\"I begin to understand... You've never forgiven me for that, have you, Naakkve?\"\n\nNaakkve looked away. \"Sometimes... I have forgiven you, Mother,\" he said, his voice faint.\n\n\"But not very often... Oh, Naakkve, Naakkve!\" she cried bitterly. \"Do you think I loved Bj\u00f8rgulf any less than you? I'm his mother. I'm mother to both of you! It was cruel of you to keep closing the door between him and me!\"\n\nNaakkve's pale face turned even whiter. \"Yes, Mother, I closed the door. Cruel, you say. May Jesus comfort you, but you don't know...\" His voice faded to a whisper, as if the boy's strength were spent. \"I didn't think you should... We had to spare you.\"\n\nHe turned on his heel, went to the door, and unbarred it. But then he paused and stood there with his back to Kristin. Finally she softly called out his name. He came back and stood before her with his head bowed.\n\n\"Mother... I know this isn't... easy... for you.\"\n\nShe placed her hands on his shoulders. He hid his eyes from her gaze, but he bent down and kissed her on the wrist. Kristin recalled that his father had once done the same, but she couldn't remember when.\n\nShe stroked his sleeve, and then he lifted his hand and patted her on the cheek. They sat down again, both of them silent for a time.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Naakkve after a while, his voice steady and quiet, \"do you still have the cross that my brother Orm left to you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kristin. \"He made me promise never to part with it.\"\n\n\"I think if Orm had known about it, he would have consented to letting me have it. I too will now be without inheritance or lineage.\"\n\nKristin pulled the little silver cross from her bodice. Naakkve accepted it; it was warm from his mother's breast. Respectfully he kissed the reliquary in the center of the cross, fastened the thin chain around his neck, and hid the cross inside his clothing.\n\n\"Do you remember your brother Orm?\" asked his mother.\n\n\"I'm not sure. I think I do... but perhaps that's just because you always talked so much about him, back when I was little.\"\n\nNaakkve sat before his mother for a while longer. Then he stood up. \"Good night, Mother!\"\n\n\"May God bless you, Naakkve. Good night!\"\n\nHe left her. Kristin folded up the wedding tunic for Ivar, put away her sewing things, and covered the hearth.\n\n\"May God bless you, may God bless you, my Naakkve.\" Then she blew out the candle and left the old building.\n\nSome time later Kristin happened to meet Tordis at a manor on the outskirts of the parish. The people there had fallen ill and hadn't been able to bring in the hay, so the brothers and sisters of the Olav guild had gone to lend them a hand. That evening Kristin accompanied the girl part of the way home. She walked along slowly, as an old woman does, and chatted; little by little she turned the conversation so that Tordis found herself telling Naakkve's mother all about what there had been between the two of them.\n\nYes, she had met with him in the paddock at home, and the summer before, when she was staying up in their mountain pastures, he had come to see her several times at night. But he had never tried to be too bold with her. She knew what people said about Naakkve, but he had never offended her, in either word or deed. But he had lain beside her on top of the bedcovers a few times, and they had talked. She once asked him if it was his intention to court her. He replied that he couldn't; he had promised himself to the service of the Virgin Mary. He told her the same thing in the spring, when they happened to speak to each other. And then she decided that she would no longer resist the wishes of her grandfather and father.\n\n\"It would have brought great sorrow upon both of you if he had broken his promise and you had defied your kinsmen,\" said Kristin. She stood leaning on her rake and looked at the young maiden. The child had a gentle, lovely round face, and a thick braid of the most beautiful fair hair. \"God will surely bestow happiness on you, my Tordis. He seems a most intrepid and fine boy, your betrothed.\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm quite fond of Haavard,\" said the girl, and began to sob bitterly.\n\nKristin consoled her with words befitting the lips of an old and sensible woman. Inside, she moaned with longing; she so dearly wished she could have called this good, fresh child her daughter.\n\nAfter Ivar's wedding she stayed at Rognheim for a while. Signe Gamalsdatter was not beautiful and looked both weary and old, but she was kind and gentle. She seemed to have a deep love for her young husband, and she welcomed his mother and brothers as if she thought them to be so high above her that she couldn't possibly honor or serve them well enough. For Kristin it was a new experience to have this woman go out of her way to anticipate her wishes and tend to her comfort. Not even when she was the wealthy mistress of Husaby, commanding dozens of servants, did anyone ever serve Kristin in a way that showed they were thinking of the mistress's ease or well-being. She had never spared herself when she bore the brunt of the work for the benefit of the whole household, and no one else ever thought of sparing her either. Signe's obliging concern for the welfare of her motherin-law during the days she was at Rognheim did Kristin good. She soon grew so fond of Signe that almost as often as she prayed to God to grant Ivar happiness in his marriage, she also prayed that Signe might never have reason to regret that she had given herself and all her properties to such a young husband.\n\nRight after Michaelmas Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf headed north for Tr\u00f8ndelag. The only thing she had heard since then was that they had arrived safely in Nidaros and had been accepted as novices by the brotherhood at Tautra.\n\nAnd now Kristin had lived at J\u00f8rundgaard for almost a year with only two of her sons. But she was surprised it wasn't longer than that. On that day, the previous fall, when she had come riding past the church and looked down to see the slopes lying under a blanket of cold, raw fog so that she couldn't make out the buildings of her own estate\u2014she had accompanied her two oldest sons as far as Dovre\u2014then she had thought this was what someone must feel who is riding toward home and knows that the farm lying there is nothing but ashes and cold, charred timbers.\n\nNow, whenever she took the old path home past the site of the smithy\u2014and by now it was almost overgrown, with tufts of yellow bedstraw, bluebells, and sweet peas spilling over the borders of the lush meadow\u2014it seemed almost as if she were looking at a picture of her own life: the weatherbeaten, soot-covered old hearth that would never again be lit by a fire. The ground was strewn with bits of coal, but thin, short, gleaming tendrils of grass were springing up all over the abandoned site. And in the cracks of the old hearth blossomed fireweed, which sows its seeds everywhere, with its exquisite, long red tassels."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "Sometimes, after Kristin had gone to bed, she would be awakened by people entering the courtyard on horseback. There would be a pounding on the door to the loft, and she would hear Gaute greet his guests loudly and joyously. The servants would have to get up and go out. There was a clattering and stomping overhead; Kristin could hear Ingrid's cross voice. Yes, she was a good child, that young maid, and she didn't let anyone get too forward with her. A roar of laughing young voices would greet her sharp and lively words. Frida shrieked; the poor thing, she never grew any wiser. She was not much younger than Kristin, and yet at times her mistress had to keep an eye on her.\n\nThen Kristin would turn over in bed and go back to sleep.\n\nGaute was always up before dawn the next morning, as usual. He never stayed in bed any longer even if he had been up drinking ale the night before. But his guests wouldn't appear until breakfast time. Then they would stay at the manor all day; sometimes they had trade to discuss, sometimes it was merely a friendly visit. Gaute was most hospitable.\n\nKristin saw to it that Gaute's friends were offered the best of everything. She wasn't aware that she went about smiling quietly at the hum of youth and merry activity returning to her father's estate. But she seldom talked with the young men, and she saw little of them. What she did see was that Gaute was well liked and happy.\n\nGaute Erlendss\u00f8n was as much liked by commoners as by the wealthy landowners. The case against the men who killed Erlend had brought great misfortune upon their kin, and there were doubtless people on many manors and belonging to many lineages who vigilantly avoided meeting any of the Erlendss\u00f8ns, but Gaute himself had not a single foe.\n\nSir Sigurd of Sundbu had taken a keen liking to his young kinsman. This cousin of hers, whom Kristin had never met until fate led him to the deathbed of Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n, had shown her the greatest loyalty of a kinsman. He stayed at J\u00f8rundgaard almost until Christmas and did everything he could to help the widow and her fatherless young boys. The sons of Erlend displayed their gratitude in a noble and courteous manner, but only Gaute drew close to him and had spent a great deal of time at Sundbu since then.\n\nWhen this nephew of Ivar Gjesling eventually died, the estate would pass out of the hands of his lineage; he was childless, and the Haftorss\u00f8ns were his closest descendants. Sir Sigurd was already quite an old man, and he had endured a terrible fate when his young wife lost her wits during her first childbirth. For nearly forty years now he had been married to this madwoman, but he still went in almost daily to see how she was doing. She lived in one of the best houses at Sundbu and had many maids to look after her. \"Do you know me today, Gyrid?\" her husband would ask. Sometimes she didn't answer, but other times she said, \"I know you well. You're the prophet Isaiah who lives north at Brotveit, beneath Brotveit Peak.\" She always had a spindle at her side. When she was feeling good, she would spin a fine, even yarn, but when things were bad, she would unravel her own work and strew all over the room the wool that her maids had carded. After Gaute had told Kristin about this, she always welcomed her cousin with the most heartfelt kindness when he came to visit. But she declined to go to Sundbu; she hadn't been there since the day of her wedding.\n\nGaute Erlendss\u00f8n was much smaller in stature than Kristin's other sons. Between his tall mother and lanky brothers he looked almost short, but he was actually of average height. In general Gaute seemed to have grown larger in all respects now that his two older brothers and the twins, who were born after him, had left. Beside them he had always been a quiet figure. People in the region called him an exceedingly handsome man, and he did have a lovely face. With his flaxen yellow hair and big gray eyes so finely set beneath his brow, with his narrow, suitably full countenance, fresh complexion, and beautiful mouth, he looked much like his grandfather Lavrans. His head was handsomely set on his shoulders, and his hands, which were well shaped and rather large, were unusually strong. But the lower half of his body was a little too short, and he was quite bowlegged. For this reason he always wore his clothing long unless, for the sake of his work, he had to put on a short tunic\u2014although at the time it was more and more thought to be elegant and courtly for men to have their banquet attire cut shorter than in the past. The farmers learned of this fashion from traveling noblemen who passed through the valley. But whenever Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n arrived at church or at a feast wearing his ankle-length embroidered green Sabbath surcoat, the silver belt around his waist and the great cape with the squirrel-skin lining thrown back over his shoulders, the people of the parish would turn pleased and gentle eyes on the young master of J\u00f8rundgaard. Gaute always carried a magnificent silver-chased axe Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n had inherited from his fatherin-law, Ivar Gjesling. And everyone thought it splendid to see Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n following in the footsteps of his forefathers, even as young as he was, and keeping up the good farming traditions of the past, in his attire, demeanor, and the way he lived.\n\nOn horseback Gaute was the handsomest man anyone had ever seen. He was the boldest of riders, and people in the countryside boasted there wasn't a horse in all of Norway that Gaute couldn't manage to tame and ride. When he was in Bj\u00f8rgvin the year before, he had purportedly mastered a young stallion that no man had ever been able to handle or ride; under Gaute's hands he was so submissive that he could be ridden without a saddle and with a maiden's ribbons as reins. But when Kristin asked her son about this story, he merely laughed and refused to talk about it.\n\nKristin knew that Gaute was reckless in his dealings with women, and this did not please her, but she thought it was mostly because the women treated the handsome young man much too kindly, and Gaute had an open and charming manner. Surely it was largely banter and foolishness; he didn't take such matters seriously or go about concealing things the way Naakkve had. He came and told his mother himself when he had conceived a child with a young girl over at Sundbu; that had happened two years ago. Kristin heard from Sir Sigurd that Gaute had generously provided the mother with a good dowry, befitting her position, and he wanted to bring the child to J\u00f8rundgaard after she had been weaned from her mother's breast. He seemed to be quite fond of his little daughter; he always went to see her whenever he was at Vaagaa. She was the loveliest child, Gaute proudly reported, and he had had her baptized Magnhild. Kristin agreed that since the boy had sinned, it was best if he brought the child home and became her loyal father. She looked forward with joy to having little Magnhild live with them. But then she died, only a year old. Gaute was greatly distressed when he heard the news, and Kristin thought it sad that she had never seen her little granddaughter.\n\nKristin had always had a difficult time reprimanding Gaute. He had been so miserable when he was little, and later he had continued to cling to his mother more than the other children had. Then there was the fact that he resembled her father. And he had been so steadfast and trustworthy as a child; with his somber and grownup manner he had walked at her side and often lent her a well-intentioned helping hand that he, in his childish innocence, thought would be of the greatest benefit to his mother. No, she had never been able to be stern with Gaute; when he did something wrong out of thoughtlessness or the natural ignorance of his years, he never needed more than a few gentle, admonishing words, so sensible and wise the boy was.\n\nWhen Gaute was two years old, their house priest at Husaby, who had a particularly good understanding of childhood illnesses, advised that the boy be given mother's milk again, since no other measures had helped. The twins were newborns, and Frida, who was nursing Skule, had much more milk than the infant could consume. But the maid found the poor boy loathsome. Gaute looked terrible, with his big head and thin, wizened body; he could neither speak nor stand on his own. She was afraid he might be a changeling, even though the child had been healthy and fair-looking up until he fell ill at the age of ten months. All the same, Frida refused to put Gaute to her breast, and so Kristin had to nurse him herself, and he was allowed to suckle until he was four winters old.\n\nSince then Frida had never liked Gaute; she was always scolding him, as much as she dared for fear of his mother. Frida now sat next to her mistress on the women's bench and carried her keys whenever Kristin was away from home. She said whatever she liked to the mistress and her family; Kristin showed her great forbearance and found the woman amusing, even though she was often annoyed with her too. Nevertheless, she always tried to make amends and smooth things over whenever Frida had done something wrong or spoken too coarsely. Now the maid had a hard time accepting that Gaute sat in the high seat and was to be master of the estate. She seemed to consider him no more than a foolish boy; she boasted about his brothers, especially Bj\u00f8rgulf and Skule, whom she had nursed, while she mocked Gaute's short stature and crooked legs. Gaute took it with good humor.\n\n\"Well, you know, Frida, if I had nursed at your breast, I would have become a giant just like my brothers. But I had to be content with my mother's breast.\" And he smiled at Kristin.\n\nMother and son often went out walking in the evening. In many places the path across the fields was so narrow that Kristin had to walk behind Gaute. He would stroll along carrying the long-hafted axe, so manly that his mother had to smile behind his back. She had an impetuous, youthful desire to rush at him from behind and pull him to her, laughing and chattering with Gaute the way she had done occasionally when he was a child.\n\nSometimes they would go all the way down to the place on the riverbank where the washing was done and sit down to listen to the roar of the water rushing past, bright and roiling in the dusk. Usually they said very little to each other. But once in a while Gaute would ask his mother about the old days in the region and about her own lineage. Kristin would tell him what she had heard and seen in her childhood. His father and the years at Husaby were never mentioned on those nights.\n\n\"Mother, you're sitting here shivering,\" Gaute said one evening. \"It's cold tonight.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I've grown stiff from sitting on this stone.\" Kristin stood up. \"I'm getting to be an old woman, my Gaute!\"\n\nWalking back, she placed her hand on his shoulder for support.\n\nLavrans was sleeping like a rock in his bed. Kristin lit the little oil lamp; she felt like sitting up for a while to enjoy the sea calm in her own soul. And there was always some task to occupy her hands. Upstairs Gaute was clattering around with something; then she heard him climb into bed. Kristin straightened her back for a moment, smiling a bit at the tiny flame in the lamp. She moved her lips faintly, making the sign of the cross over her face and breast and in the air in front of her. Then she picked up her sewing again.\n\nBj\u00f8rn, the old dog, stood up and shook himself, stretching out his front paws full length as he yawned. He padded across the floor to his mistress. As soon as she started petting him, he placed his front paws on her lap. When she spoke to him gently, the dog eagerly licked her face and hands as he wagged his tail. Then Bj\u00f8rn slunk off again, turning his head to peer at Kristin. Guilt shone in his tiny eyes and was evident in his whole bulky, wiry-haired body, right down to the tip of his tail. Kristin smiled quietly and pretended not to notice; then the dog jumped up onto her bed and curled up at the foot.\n\nAfter a while she blew out the lamp, pinched the spark off the wick, and tossed it into the oil. The light of the summer night was rising outside the little windowpane. Kristin said her last prayers of the day, silently undressed, and slipped into bed. She tucked the pillows comfortably under her breast and shoulders, and the old dog settled against her back. A moment later she fell asleep.\n\nBishop Halvard had assigned Sira Dag to the cleric's position in the parish, and from him Gaute had purchased the bishop's tithes for three years hence. He had also traded for hides and food in the region, sending the goods over the winter roads to Raumsdal and from there by ship to Bj\u00f8rgvin in the spring. Kristin wasn't pleased with these ventures of her son; she herself had always sold her goods in Hamar, because both her father and Simon Andress\u00f8n had done so. But Gaute had formed some sort of trade partnership with his kinsman Gerlak Paus. And Gerlak was a clever merchant, with close ties to many of the richest German merchants in Bj\u00f8rgvin.\n\nErlend's daughter Margret and her husband had come to J\u00f8rundgaard during the summer after Erlend's death. They presented great gifts to the church for his soul. When Margret was a young maiden back home at Husaby, there had been scant friendship between her and her stepmother, and she had cared little for her small half brothers. Now she was thirty years old, with no children from her marriage; now she showed her handsome, grownup brothers the most loving sisterly affection. And she was the one who arranged the agreement between Gaute and her husband.\n\nMargret was still beautiful, but she had grown so big and fat that Kristin didn't think she had ever seen such a stout woman. But there was all the more room for silver links on her belt, while a silver brooch as large as a small shield fit nicely between her enormous breasts. Her heavy body was always adorned like an altar with the costliest of fabrics and gilded metals. Gerlak Tiede kenss\u00f8n seemed to have the greatest love for his wife.\n\nA year earlier Gaute had visited his sister and brother-in-law in Bj\u00f8rgvin during the spring meetings, and in the fall he traveled over the mountains with a herd of horses, which he sold in town. The journey turned out to be so profitable that Gaute swore he would do it again this autumn. Kristin thought he should be allowed to do as he wished. No doubt he had some of his father's lust for travel in his blood; surely he would settle down as he grew older. When his mother saw that he was aching to get away, she urged him to go. Last year he had been forced to come home through the mountains at the height of winter.\n\nHe set off on a beautiful sunny morning right after Saint Bartholomew's Day. It was the time for slaughtering the goats, and the whole manor smelled of cooked goat meat. Everyone had eaten his fill and was feeling content. All summer long they had tasted no fresh meat except on high holy days, but now they had their share of the pungent meat and the strong, fatty broth at both breakfast and supper for many days. Kristin was exhausted and elated after helping with the first big slaughtering of the year and making sausages. She stood on the main road and waved with a corner of her wimple at Gaute's entourage. It was a lovely sight: splendid horses and fresh young men riding along with glittering weapons and jangling harnesses. There was a great thundering as they rode across the high bridge. Gaute turned in his saddle and waved his hat, and Kristin waved back, giving a giddy little cry of joy and pride.\n\nJust after Winter Day rain and sleet swept in over the countryside, with storms and snow in the mountains. Kristin was a little uneasy, for Gaute had still not returned. But she was never as fearful for him as she had been for the others; she believed in the good fortune of this son.\n\nA week later Kristin was coming out of the cowshed late one evening when she caught sight of several horsemen up by the manor gate. The fog was billowing like white smoke around the lantern she carried; she began walking through the rain to meet the group of dark, fur-clad men. Could it be Gaute? It was unlikely that strangers would be arriving so late.\n\nThen she saw that the rider in front was Sigurd of Sundbu. With the slight stiffness of an old man, he dismounted from his horse.\n\n\"Yes, I bring you news from Gaute, Kristin,\" he said after they had greeted each other. \"He arrived at Sundbu yesterday.\"\n\nIt was so dark she couldn't make out his expression. But his voice sounded so strange. And when he walked toward the door of the main house, he told his men to go with Kristin's stableboy to the servants' quarters. She grew frightened when he said nothing more, but when they were alone in the room, she asked quite calmly, \"What news do you bring, kinsman? Is he ill, since he hasn't come home with you?\"\n\n\"No, Gaute is so well that I've never seen him look better. But his men were tired...\"\n\nHe blew at the foam on the ale bowl that Kristin handed to him, then took a swallow and praised the brew.\n\n\"Good ale should be given to the one who brings good news,\" said the mistress with a smile.\n\n\"Well, I wonder what you'll say when you've heard all of my news,\" he remarked rather diffidently. \"He did not return alone this time, your son...\"\n\nKristin stood there waiting.\n\n\"He has brought along... well, she's the daughter of Helge of Hovland. He has apparently taken this\u2014this maiden... taken her by force from her father.\"\n\nKristin still said nothing. But she sat down on the bench across from him. Her lips were narrow and pressed tight.\n\n\"Gaute asked me to come here; I suppose he was afraid you wouldn't be pleased. He asked me to tell you the news, and now I've done so,\" concluded Sir Sigurd faintly.\n\n\"You must tell me everything you know about this matter, Sigurd,\" said Kristin calmly.\n\nSir Sigurd did as she asked, in a vague and disjointed way, with a great deal of roundabout talk. He himself seemed to be quite horrified by Gaute's action. But from his account Kristin discerned that Gaute had met the maiden in Bj\u00f8rgvin the year before. Her name was Jofrid, and no, she had not been abducted. But Gaute had probably realized that it would do no good to speak to the maiden's kinsmen about marriage. Helge of Hovland was a very wealthy man and belonged to the lineage known as Duk, with estates all over Voss. And then the Devil had tempted the two young people.... Sir Sigurd tugged at his clothing and scratched his head, as if he were swarming with lice.\n\nThen, this past summer\u2014when Kristin thought that Gaute was at Sundbu and was going to accompany Sir Sigurd into the mountain pastures to hunt for two vicious bears\u2014he had actually journeyed over the heights and down to Sogn; Jofrid was staying there with a married sister. Helge had three daughters and no sons. Sigurd groaned in distress; yes, he had promised Gaute to keep silent about this. He knew the boy must be going to see a maiden, but he had never dreamed that Gaute was thinking of doing anything so foolish.\n\n\"Yes, my son is going to have to pay dearly for this,\" replied Kristin. Her face was impassive and calm.\n\nSigurd said that winter had now set in for good, and the roads were nearly impassable. After the men of Hovland had had time to think things over, perhaps they would see... It was best if Gaute won Jofrid with the consent of her kinsmen\u2014now that she was already his.\n\n\"But what if they don't see things that way? And demand revenge for abducting a woman?\"\n\nSir Sigurd squirmed and scratched even more.\n\n\"I suppose it's an unredeemable offense,\" he said quietly. \"I'm not quite certain...\"\n\nKristin did not reply.\n\nThen Sir Sigurd continued, his voice imploring, \"Gaute said... He expected that you would welcome them kindly. He said that surely you are not so old that you've forgotten... Well, he said that you won the husband you insisted on having\u2014do you understand?\"\n\nKristin nodded.\n\n\"She's the fairest child I have ever seen in my life, Kristin,\" said Sigurd fervently. Tears welled up in his eyes. \"It's terrible that the Devil has lured Gaute into this misdeed, but surely you will receive these two poor children with kindness, won't you?\"\n\nKristin nodded again.\n\nThe countryside was sodden the next day, pallid and black under torrents of rain when Gaute rode into the courtyard around mid afternoon prayers.\n\nKristin felt a cold sweat on her brow as she leaned against the doorway. There stood Gaute, lifting down from her horse a woman dressed in a hooded black cloak. She was small in build, barely reaching up to his shoulders. Gaute tried to take her hand to lead her forward, but she pushed him away and came to meet Kristin alone. Gaute busied himself talking to the servants and giving orders to the men who had accompanied him. Then he cast another glance at the two women standing in front of the door; Kristin was holding both hands of the newly arrived girl. Gaute rushed over to them with a joyful greeting on his lips. In the entryway Sir Sigurd put his arm around his shoulder and gave him a fatherly pat, huffing and puffing after the strain.\n\nKristin was taken by surprise when the girl lifted her face, so white and so lovely inside the drenched hood of her cloak. And she was so young and as small as a child.\n\nThen the girl said, \"I do not expect to be welcomed by you, Gaute's mother, but now all doors have been closed to me except this one. If you will tolerate my presence here on the manor, mistress, then I will never forget that I arrived here without property or honor, but with good intentions to serve you and Gaute, my lord.\"\n\nBefore she knew it, Kristin had taken the girl's hands and said, \"May God forgive my son for what he has brought upon you, my fair child. Come in, Jofrid. May God help both of you, just as I will help you as best I can!\"\n\nA moment later she realized that she had offered much too warm a welcome to this woman, whom she did not know. But by then Jofrid had taken off her outer garments. Her heavy winter gown, which was a pale blue woven homespun, was dripping wet at the hem, and the rain had soaked right through her cloak to her shoulders. There was a gentle, sorrowful dignity about this child-like girl. She kept her small head with its dark tresses gracefully bowed; two thick pitch-black braids fell past her waist. Kristin kindly took Jofrid's hand and led her to the warmest place on the bench next to the hearth. \"You must be freezing,\" she said.\n\nGaute came over and gave his mother a hearty embrace. \"Mother, things will happen as they must. Have you ever seen as beautiful a maiden as my Jofrid? I had to have her, whatever it may cost me. And you must treat her with kindness, my dearest mother....\"\n\nJofrid Helgesdatter was indeed beautiful; Kristin could not stop looking at her. She was rather short, with wide shoulders and hips, but a soft and charming figure. And her skin was so delicate and pure that she was lovely even though her face was quite pale. The features of her face were short and broad, but the expansive, strong arc of her cheeks and chin gave it beauty, and her wide mouth had thin, rosy lips with small, even teeth that looked like a child's first teeth. When she raised her heavy eyelids, her clear gray-green eyes were like shining stars beneath the long black eyelashes. Black hair, light-colored eyes\u2014Kristin had always thought that was the most beautiful combination, ever since she had seen Erlend for the first time. Most of her own handsome sons had that coloring.\n\nKristin showed Jofrid to a place on the women's bench next to her own. She sat there, graceful and shy, among all the servants she didn't know, eating little and blushing every time Gaute drank a toast to her during the meal.\n\nHe was bursting with pride and restless elation as he sat in the high seat. To honor her son's return home, Kristin had spread a cloth over the table that evening and set two wax tapers in the candlesticks made of gilded copper. Gaute and Sir Sigurd were constantly toasting each other, and the old gentleman grew more and more maudlin, putting his arm around Gaute's shoulder and promising to speak on his behalf to his wealthy kinsmen, yes, even to King Magnus himself. Surely he would be able to obtain for him reconciliation with the maiden's offended kin. Sigurd Eldjarn himself had not a single foe; it was his father's rancorous temperament and his own misfortune with his wife that had made him so alone.\n\nIn the end Gaute sprang to his feet with the drinking horn in his hand. How handsome he is, thought Kristin, and how like Father! Her father had been the same way when he was beginning to feel drunk\u2014so radiant with joy, straight-backed and lively.\n\n\"Things are now such between this woman, Jofrid Helgesdatter, and myself that today we celebrate our homecoming, and later we will celebrate our wedding, if God grants us such happiness. You, Sigurd, we thank for your steadfast kinship, and you, Mother, for welcoming us as I expected you would, with your loyal, motherly warmth. As we brothers have often discussed, you seem to us the most magnanimous of women and the most loving mother. Therefore I ask you to honor us by preparing our bridal bed in such a fine and beautiful manner that without shame I can invite Jofrid to sleep there beside me. And I ask you to accompany Jofrid up to the loft yourself, so that she might retire with as much seemliness as possible since she has neither a mother still alive nor any kinswomen here.\"\n\nSir Sigurd was now quite drunk, and he burst out laughing. \"You slept together in my loft; if I didn't know better... I thought the two of you had already shared a bed before.\"\n\nGaute shook his golden hair impatiently. \"Yes, kinsman, but this is the first night Jofrid will sleep in my arms on her own manor, God willing.\n\n\"But I beg you good people to drink and be merry tonight. Now you have seen the woman who will be my wife here at J\u00f8rundgaard. This woman and no other\u2014I swear this before God, our Lord, and on my Christian faith. I expect all of you to respect her, both servants and maids, and I expect you, my men, to help me keep and protect her in a seemly manner, my boys.\"\n\nDuring all the shouting and commotion that accompanied Gaute's speech, Kristin quietly left the table and whispered to Ingrid to follow her up to the loft.\n\nLavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n's magnificent loft room had fallen into disrepair over the years, after the sons of Erlend had moved in. Kristin hadn't wanted to give the reckless boys any but the coars est and most essential of bedclothes and pieces of furniture, and she seldom had the room cleaned, for it wasn't worth the effort. Gaute and his friends tracked in filth and manure as quickly as she swept it out. There was an ingrained smell from men coming in and flinging themselves onto the beds, soaked and sweaty and muddy from the woods and the farmyard\u2014a smell of the stables and leather garments and wet dogs.\n\nNow Kristin and her maid quickly swept and cleaned as best they could. The mistress brought in fine bed coverlets, blankets, and cushions and burned some juniper. On a little table which she moved close to the bed she placed a silver goblet filled with the last of the wine in the house, a loaf of wheat bread, and a candle in an iron holder. This was as elegant as she could make things on such short notice.\n\nWeapons hung on the timbered wall next to the alcove: Erlend's heavy two-handed sword and the smaller sword he used to carry, along with felling axes and broadaxes; Bj\u00f8rgulf's and Naakkve's axes still hung there too. And the two small axes that the boys seldom used because they considered them too lightweight. But these were the tools that her father had used to carve and shape all manner of objects with such skill and care that afterward he only had to do the fine polishing with his gouge and knife. Kristin carried the axes into the alcove and put them inside Erlend's chest, where his bloody shirt lay, along with the axe he was holding in his hand when he received the mortal wound.\n\nLaughing, Gaute invited Lavrans to light the way up to the loft for his bride. The boy was both embarrassed and proud. Kristin saw that Lavrans understood his brother's unlawful wedding was a dangerous game, but he was high-spirited and giddy from these strange events; with sparkling eyes he gazed at Gaute and his beautiful betrothed.\n\nOn the stairs up to the loft the candle went out. Jofrid said to Kristin, \"Gaute should not have asked you to do this, even though he was drunk. Don't come any farther with me, mistress. Have no fear that I might forget I'm a fallen woman, cut off from the counsel of my kin.\"\n\n\"I'm not too good to serve you,\" said Kristin, \"not until my son has atoned for his sin against you and you can rightly call me motherin-law. Sit down and I'll comb your hair. Your hair is beautiful beyond compare, child.\"\n\nBut after the servants were asleep and Kristin was lying in bed, she once again felt a certain uneasiness. Without thinking, she had told this Jofrid more than she meant to... yet. But she was so young, and she showed so clearly that she didn't expect to be regarded as any better than what she was: a child who had fled from honor and obedience.\n\nSo that's the way it looked... when people let the bridal procession and homeward journey come before the wedding. Kristin sighed. Once she too had been willing to risk the same for Erlend, but she didn't know whether she would have dared if his mother had been living at Husaby. No, no, she wouldn't make things any worse for the child upstairs.\n\nSir Sigurd was still staggering around the room; he was to sleep with Lavrans. In a mawkish way, but with sincere intentions, he talked about the two young people; he would spare nothing to help them find a good outcome to this reckless venture.\n\nThe next day Jofrid showed Gaute's mother what she had brought along to the manor: two leather sacks with clothes and a little chest made of walrus tusk in which she kept her jewelry. As if she had read Kristin's thoughts, Jofrid said that these possessions belonged to her; they had been given to her for her own use, as gifts and inherited items, mostly from her mother. She had taken nothing from her father.\n\nFull of sorrow, Kristin sat leaning her cheek on her hand. On that night, an eternity ago, when she had collected her gold in a chest to steal away from home... Most of what she had put inside were gifts from the parents she had secretly shamed and whom she was openly going to offend and distress.\n\nBut if these were Jofrid's own possessions and if her mother's inheritance was only jewelry, then she must come from an exceedingly wealthy home. Kristin estimated that the goods she saw before her were worth more than thirty marks in silver. The scarlet gown alone, with its white fur and silver clasps and the silk-lined hood that went with it, must have cost ten or twelve marks. It was all well and good if the maiden's father would agree to reconcile with Gaute, but her son could never be considered an equal match for this woman. And if Helge brought such harsh charges against Gaute, as he had the right and ability to do, things looked quite bleak indeed.\n\n\"My mother always wore this ring,\" said Jofrid. \"If you will accept it, mistress, then I'll know that you don't judge me as sternly as a good and highborn woman might be expected to do.\"\n\n\"Oh, but then I might be tempted to take the place of your mother,\" said Kristin with a smile, putting the ring on her finger. It was a little silver ring set with a lovely white agate, and Kristin thought the child must consider it especially precious because it reminded her of her mother. \"I expect I must give you a gift in return.\" She brought over her chest and took out the gold ring with sapphires. \"Gaute's father put this ring in my bed after I brought his son into the world.\"\n\nJofrid accepted the ring by kissing Kristin's hand. \"Otherwise I had thought of asking you for another gift... Mother....\" She smiled so charmingly. \"Don't be afraid that Gaute has brought home a lazy or incapable woman. But I own no proper work dress. Give me an old gown of yours and allow me to lend you a hand; perhaps then you will soon grow to like me better than it is reasonable for me to expect right now.\"\n\nAnd then Kristin had to show the young maiden everything she had in her chests, and Jofrid praised all of Kristin's lovely handiwork with such rapt attention that the older woman ended up giving her one thing after another: two linen sheets with silk-knotted embroidery, a blue-trimmed towel, a coverlet woven in four panels, and finally the long tapestry with the falcon hunt woven into it. \"I don't want these things to leave this manor, but with the help of God and the Virgin Mary, this house will someday be yours.\" Then they both went over to the storehouses and stayed there for many hours, enjoying each other's company.\n\nKristin wanted to give Jofrid her green homespun gown with the black tufts woven into the fabric, but Jofrid thought it much too fine for a work dress. Poor thing, she was just trying to flatter her husband's mother, thought Kristin, hiding a smile. At last they found an old brown dress Jofrid thought would be suitable if she cut it shorter and sewed patches under the arms and on the elbows. She asked to borrow a scissors and sewing things at once, and then she sat down to sew. Kristin took up some mending as well, and the two women were still sitting there together when Gaute and Sir Sigurd came in for the evening meal."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "Kristin had to admit with all her heart that Jofrid was a woman who knew how to use her hands. If things went well, then Gaute was certainly fortunate; he would have a wife who was as hardworking and diligent as she was rich and beautiful. Kristin herself could not have found a more capable woman to succeed her at J\u00f8rundgaard, not if she had searched through all of Norway. One day she said\u2014and afterward she wasn't sure what had happened to make the words spill from her lips\u2014that on the day Jofrid Helgesdatter became Gaute's lawful wife, she would give her keys to the young woman and move out to the old house with Lavrans.\n\nAfterward she thought she should have considered these words more carefully before she uttered them. There were already many instances when she had spoken of something too soon when she was talking with Jofrid.\n\nBut there was the fact that Jofrid was not well. Kristin had noticed it almost at once after the young girl arrived. And Kristin remembered the first winter she had spent at Husaby; she at least had been married, and her husband and father were bound by kinship, no matter what might happen to their friendship after the sin came to light. All the same, she had suffered so terribly from remorse and shame, and her heart had felt bitter toward Erlend. But she was already nineteen winters old back then, while Jofrid was barely seventeen. And here she was now, abducted and without rights, far from her home and among strangers, carrying Gaute's child under her heart. Kristin could not deny that Jofrid seemed to be stronger and braver than she herself had been.\n\nBut Jofrid hadn't breached the sanctity of the convent; she hadn't broken promises and betrothal vows; she hadn't betrayed her parents or lied to them or stolen their honor behind their backs. Even though these two young people had dared sin against the laws, constraints, and moral customs of the land, they needn't have such an anguished conscience. Kristin prayed fervently for a good outcome to Gaute's foolhardy deed, and she consoled herself that God, in His fairness, couldn't possibly deal Gaute and Jofrid any harsher circumstances than she and Erlend had been given. And they had been married; their child of sin had been born to share in a lawful inheritance from all his kinsmen.\n\nSince neither Gaute nor Jofrid spoke of the matter, Kristin didn't want to mention it either, although she longed to have a talk with the inexperienced young woman. Jofrid should spare herself and enjoy her morning rest instead of getting up before everyone else on the manor. Kristin saw that it was Jofrid's desire to rise before her motherin-law and to accomplish more than she did. But Jofrid was not the kind of person Kristin could offer either help or solicitude. The only thing she could do was silently take the heaviest work away from her and treat her as if she were the rightful young mistress on the estate, both when they were alone and in front of the servants.\n\nFrida was furious at having to relinquish her place next to her mistress and give it to Gaute's... She used an odious word to describe Jofrid one day when she and Kristin were together in the cookhouse. For once Kristin struck her maid.\n\n\"How splendid to hear such words from you, an old nag lusting after men as you do!\"\n\nFrida wiped the blood from her nose and mouth.\n\n\"Aren't you supposed to be better than a poor man's offspring, daughters of great chieftains such as yourself and this Jofrid? You know with certainty that a bridal bed with silken sheets awaits you. You're the ones who must be shameless and lusting after men if you can't wait but have to run off into the woods with young lads and end up with wayside bastards\u2014for shame, I say to you!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue now. Go out and wash yourself. You're standing there bleeding into the dough,\" said her mistress quite calmly.\n\nFrida met Jofrid in the doorway. Kristin saw from the young woman's face that she must have heard the conversation with the maid.\n\n\"The poor thing's chatter is as foolish as she is. I can't send her away; she has no place to go.\" Jofrid smiled scornfully. Then Kristin said, \"She was the foster mother for two of my sons.\"\n\n\"But she wasn't Gaute's foster mother,\" replied Jofrid. \"She reminds us both of that fact as often as she can. Can't you marry her off?\" she asked sharply.\n\nKristin had to laugh. \"Don't you think I've tried? But all it took was for the man to have a few words with his future bride....\"\n\nKristin thought she should seize the opportunity to talk with Jofrid, to let her know that here she would meet with only maternal goodwill. But Jofrid looked angry and defiant.\n\nIn the meantime it was now clearly evident that Jofrid was not walking alone. One day she was going to clean some feathers for new mattresses. Kristin advised her to tie back her hair so it wouldn't be covered with down. Jofrid bound a linen cloth around her head.\n\n\"No doubt this is now more fitting than going bareheaded,\" she said with a little laugh.\n\n\"That may well be,\" said Kristin curtly.\n\nAnd yet she wasn't pleased that Jofrid should jest about such a thing.\n\nA few days later Kristin came out of the cookhouse and saw Jofrid cutting open several black grouse; there was blood spattered all over her arms. Horror-stricken, Kristin pushed her aside.\n\n\"Child, you mustn't do this bloody work now. Don't you know better than that?\"\n\n\"Oh, surely you don't believe everything women say is true,\" said Jofrid skeptically.\n\nThen Kristin told her about the marks of fire that Naakkve had received on his chest. She purposely spoke of it in such a way that Jofrid would understand she was not yet married when she looked at the burning church.\n\n\"I suppose you hadn't thought such a thing of me,\" she said quietly.\n\n\"Oh yes, Gaute has already told me: Your father had promised you to Simon Andress\u00f8n, but you ran off with Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n to his aunt, and then Lavrans had to give his consent.\"\n\n\"It wasn't exactly like that; we didn't run off. Simon released me as soon as he realized that I was more fond of Erlend than of him, and then my father gave his consent\u2014unwillingly, but he placed my hand in Erlend's. I was betrothed for a year. Does that seem worse to you?\" asked Kristin, for Jofrid had turned bright red and gave her a look of horror.\n\nThe girl used her knife to scrape off the blood from her white arms.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said in a low but firm voice. \"I would not have squandered my good reputation and honor needlessly. But I won't say anything of this to Gaute,\" she said quickly. \"He thinks his father carried you off by force because he could not win you with entreaty.\"\n\nNo doubt what she said was true, thought Kristin.\n\nAs time passed and Kristin continued to ponder the matter, it seemed to her that the most honorable thing to do was for Gaute to send word to Helge of Hovland, to place his case in his hands and ask to be given Jofrid as his wife on such terms as her father decided to grant them. But whenever she spoke of this to Gaute, he would look dismayed and refuse to answer. Finally he asked his mother crossly whether she could get a letter over the mountains in the wintertime. No, she told him, but Sira Dag could surely send a letter to Nes and then onward along the coast; the priests always managed to get their letters through, even during the winter. Gaute said it would be too costly.\n\n\"Then it will not be with your wife that you have a child this spring,\" said his mother indignantly.\n\n\"Even so, the matter cannot be arranged so quickly,\" said Gaute. Kristin could see that he was quite angry.\n\nA terrible, dark fear seized hold of her as time went on. She couldn't help noticing that Gaute's first ardent joy over Jofrid had vanished completely; he went about looking sullen and ill tempered. From the very start this matter of Gaute abducting his bride had seemed as bad as it could be, but his mother thought it would be much worse if afterward the man turned cowardly. If the two young people regretted their sin, that was all well and good, but she had an ugly suspicion that there was more of an unmanly fear in Gaute toward the man he had offended than any god-fearing remorse. Gaute\u2014all her days she had thought the most highly of this son of hers; it couldn't be true what people said: that he was unreliable and dealt carelessly with women, that he was already tired of Jofrid, now that his bride had faded and grown heavy and the day was approaching when he would have to answer for his actions to her kinsmen.\n\nShe sought excuses for her son. If Jofrid had allowed herself to be seduced so easily... she who had never witnessed anything during her upbringing other than the seemly behavior of pious people... Kristin's sons had known from childhood that their own mother had sinned, that their father had conceived children with another man's wife during his youth, and that he had sinned with a married woman when they were nearly grown boys. Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, their foster father, and Frida's frivolous chatter... Oh, it wasn't so strange that these young men should be weak in that way. Gaute would have to marry Jofrid, if he could win the consent of her kinsmen, and be grateful for it. But it would be a shame for Jofrid if she should now see that Gaute married her reluctantly and without desire.\n\nOne day during Lent Kristin and Jofrid were preparing sacks of provisions for the woodcutters. They pounded dried fish thin and flat, pressed butter into containers, and filled wooden casks with ale and milk. Kristin saw that Jofrid now found it terribly difficult to stand or walk for very long, but she merely grew annoyed if Kristin told her to sit down and rest. To appease her a little, Kristin happened to mention the story about the stallion that Gaute had supposedly tamed with a maiden's hair ribbon. \"Surely it must have been yours?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jofrid crossly, turning crimson. But then she added, \"The ribbon belonged to Aasa, my sister.\" She laughed and said, \"Gaute courted her first, but when I came home, he couldn't decide which of us he liked best. But Aasa was the one he had expected to find visiting Dagrun last summer when he went to Sogn. And he was angry when I teased him about her; he swore by God and man that he was not the sort to come too close to the daughters of worthy men. He said there had been nothing between him and Aasa that would prevent him from sleeping without sin in my arms that night. I took him at his word.\" She laughed again. When she saw Kristin's expression, she nodded stubbornly.\n\n\"Yes, I want Gaute to be my husband, and he will be, you can count on that, Mother. I most often get what I want.\"\n\nKristin woke up to pitch-darkness. The cold bit at her cheeks and chin; when she pulled the blanket more snugly around her, she noticed there was frost on it from her breath. It had to be nearly morning, but she dreaded getting up and seeing the stars. She curled up under the covers to warm herself a little more. At that moment she remembered her dream.\n\nShe seemed to be lying in bed in the little house at Husaby, and she had just given birth to a child. She was holding him in her arms, wrapped in a lambskin, which had rolled up and fallen away from the infant's little dark red body. He was holding his tiny clenched hands over his face, with his knees tucked up to his belly and his feet crossed; now and then he would stir a bit. It didn't occur to her to wonder why the boy wasn't swaddled properly and why there were no other women with them in the room. Her heat was still enveloping the child as he lay close to her; through her arm she could feel a tug at the roots of her heart every time he stirred. Weariness and pain were still shrouding her like a darkness that was starting to fade as she lay there and gazed at her son, feeling her joy and love for him ceaselessly growing the way the rim of daylight grows brighter along the mountain crest.\n\nBut at the same time as she lay there in bed, she was also standing outside the house. Below her stretched the countryside, lit by the morning sun. It was an early spring day. She drank in the sharp, fresh air; the wind was icy cold, but it tasted of the faraway sea and of thawing snow. The ridges were bathed with morning sunlight on the opposite side of the valley, with snowless patches around the farms. Pale crusted snow shone like silver in all the clearings amid the dark green forests. The sky was swept clean, a bright yellow and pale blue with only a few dark, windblown clusters of clouds hovering high above. But it was cold. Where she was standing the snowdrift was still frozen hard after the night frost, and between the buildings lay cold shadows, for the sun was directly above the eastern ridge, behind the manor. And right in front of her, where the shadows ended, the morning wind was rippling through the pale year-old grass; it moved and shimmered, with clumps of ice shiny as steel still among the roots.\n\nOh... Oh... Against her will, a sigh of lament rose up from her breast. She still had Lavrans; she could hear the boy's even breathing from the other bed. And Gaute. He was asleep up in the loft with his paramour. Kristin sighed again, moved restlessly, and Erlend's old dog settled against her legs, which were tucked up underneath the bedclothes.\n\nNow she could hear that Jofrid was up and walking across the floor. Kristin quickly got out of bed and stuck her feet into her fur-lined boots, putting on her homespun dress and fur jacket. In the dark she fumbled her way over to the hearth, crouched down to stir the ashes and blow on them, but there was not the slightest spark; the fire had died out in the night.\n\nShe pulled her flint out of the pouch on her belt, but the tinder must have gotten wet and then froze. Finally she gave up trying, picked up the ember pan, and went upstairs to borrow some coals from Jofrid.\n\nA good fire was burning in the little fireplace, lighting up the room. In the glow of the flames Jofrid sat stitching the copper clasp more securely to Gaute's reindeer coat. Over in the dim light of the bed, Kristin caught a glimpse of the man's naked torso. Gaute slept without covers even in the most biting cold. He was sitting up and having something to eat in bed.\n\nJofrid got to her feet heavily, with a proprietary air. Wouldn't Mother like a drop of ale? She had heated up the morning drink for Gaute. And Mother should take along this pitcher for Lavrans; he was going out with Gaute to cut wood that day. It would be cold for the men.\n\nKristin involuntarily grimaced when she was back downstairs and lit the fire. Seeing Jofrid busy with domestic chores and Gaute sitting there, openly allowing his wife to serve him... and his paramour's concern for her unlawful husband\u2014all this seemed to Kristin so loathsome and immodest.\n\nLavrans stayed out in the forest, but Gaute came home that night, worn out and hungry. The women sat at the table after the servants had left, keeping the master company while he drank.\n\nKristin saw that Jofrid was not feeling well that evening. She kept letting her sewing sink to her lap as spasms of pain flickered across her face.\n\n\"Are you in pain, Jofrid?\" asked Kristin softly.\n\n\"Yes, a little. In my feet and legs,\" replied the girl. She had toiled all day long, as usual, refusing to spare herself. Now pain had overtaken her, and her legs had swollen up.\n\nSuddenly little tears spilled out from her lowered eyes. Kristin had never seen a woman cry in such a strange fashion; without a sound, her teeth clenched tight, she sat there weeping clear, round tears. Kristin thought they looked as hard as pearls, trickling down the haggard brown-flecked face. Jofrid looked angry that she was forced to surrender; reluctantly she allowed Kristin to help her over to the bed.\n\nGaute followed. \"Are you in pain, my Jofrid?\" he asked awkwardly. His face was fiery red from the cold, and he looked genuinely unhappy as he watched his mother helping Jofrid get settled, taking off her shoes and socks and tending to her swollen feet and legs. \"Are you in pain, my Jofrid?\" he kept asking.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jofrid, in a low voice, biting back her rage. \"Do you think I'd behave this way if I wasn't?\"\n\n\"Are you in pain, my Jofrid?\" he repeated.\n\n\"Surely you can see for yourself. Don't stand there moping like a foolish boy!\" Kristin turned to face her son, her eyes blazing. The dull knot of fear about how things would turn out, of impatience because she had to tolerate the disorderly life of these two on her estate, of gnawing doubt about her son's manliness\u2014all these things erupted in a ferocious rage: \"Are you such a simpleton that you think she might be feeling good? She can see that you're not man enough to venture over the mountains because it's windy and snowing. You know full well that soon she'll have to crawl on her knees, this poor woman, and writhe in the greatest of torments\u2014and her child will be called a bastard, because you don't dare go to her father. You sit here in the house warming the bench, not daring to lift a finger to protect the wife you have or your child soon to be born. Your father was not so afraid of my father that he didn't dare seek him out, or so fainthearted that he refused to ski through the mountains in the wintertime. Shame on you, Gaute, and pity me who must live to see the day when I call my son a timid man, one of the sons that Erlend gave me!\"\n\nGaute picked up the heavy carved chair with both hands and slammed it against the floor; he ran over to the table and swept everything off. Then he rushed to the door, giving one last kick to the chair. They heard him cursing as he climbed the stairs to the loft.\n\n\"Oh no, Mother. You were much too hard on Gaute.\" Jofrid propped herself up on her elbow. \"You can't reasonably expect him to risk his life going into the mountains in the winter in order to seek out my father and find out whether he'll be allowed to marry his seduced bride, with no dowry other than the shift I wore when he took me away, or else be driven from the land as an outlaw.\"\n\nWaves of anger were still washing through Kristin's heart. She replied proudly, \"And yet I don't believe my son would think that way!\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jofrid. \"If he didn't have me to think for him...\" When she saw Kristin's expression, laughter crept into her voice. \"Dear Mother, I've had trouble enough trying to restrain Gaute. I refuse to let him commit any more follies for my sake and cause our children to lose the riches that I can expect to inherit from my kinsmen if Gaute can come to an agreement that will be the best and most honorable one for all of us.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"I mean that when my kinsmen seek out Gaute, Sir Sigurd will meet them, so they will see that Gaute is not without kin. He will have to bear paying full restitution, but then Father will allow him to marry me, and I will regain my right to an inheritance along with my sisters.\"\n\n\"So you are partially to blame,\" said Kristin, \"for the child coming into the world before you are married?\"\n\n\"If I could run away with Gaute, then... Surely no one would believe that he has placed a sword blade in bed between us all these nights.\"\n\n\"Didn't he ever seek out your kinsmen to ask for your hand in marriage?\" asked Kristin.\n\n\"No, we knew it would have been futile, even if Gaute had been a much richer man than he is.\" Jofrid burst out laughing again. \"Don't you see, Mother? Father thinks he knows better than any man how to trade horses. But a person would have to be more alert than my father is if he wanted to fool Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n in an exchange of horses.\"\n\nKristin couldn't help smiling, in spite of her ill temper.\n\n\"I don't know the law very well in such cases,\" she said somberly. \"But I'm not certain, Jofrid, that it will be easy for Gaute to obtain what you would consider a good reconciliation. If Gaute is sentenced as an outlaw, and your father takes you back home and lets you suffer his wrath, or if he demands that you enter a convent to atone for your sins...\"\n\n\"He can't send me to a convent without sending splendid gifts along with me, and it will be less costly and more honorable if he reconciles with Gaute and demands restitution. You see, then he won't have to give up any cattle when he marries me off. And because of his dislike for Olav, my sister's husband, I think I will share in the inheritance with my sisters. If not, then my kinsmen will have to see to this child's welfare too. And I know Father would think twice before he tried to take me back home to Hovland with a bastard child, to let me suffer his wrath\u2014knowing me as he does.\n\n\"I don't know much about the law either, but I know Father, and I know Gaute. And now enough time has already passed that this proposal cannot be presented until I myself am delivered and healthy again. Then, Mother, you will not see me weeping! Oh no, I have no doubt that Gaute will have his reconciliation on such terms as\u2014\n\n\"No, Mother... Gaute, who is a descendant of highborn men and kings... And you, who come from the best of lineages in Norway... If you have had to endure seeing your sons sink below the rank that was their birthright, then you will see prosperity regained for your descendants in the children that Gaute and I shall have.\"\n\nKristin sat in silence. It was indeed conceivable that things might happen as Jofrid wished; she realized that she hadn't needed to worry so much on her behalf. The girl's face was now quite gaunt; the rounded softness of her cheeks had wasted away, and it was easier to see what a large, strong jaw she had.\n\nJofrid yawned, pushed herself up into a sitting position, and looked around for her shoes. Kristin helped her to put them on. Jofrid thanked her and said, \"Don't trouble Gaute anymore, Mother. He finds it hard to bear that we won't be married beforehand, but I refuse to make my child poor even before he's born.\"\n\nTwo weeks later Jofrid gave birth to a big, fair son, and Gaute sent word to Sundbu the very same day. Sir Sigurd came at once to J\u00f8rundgaard, and he held Erlend Gautess\u00f8n when the boy was baptized. But as happy as Kristin Lavransdatter was with her grandson, it still angered her that Erlend's name should be given for the first time to a paramour's child.\n\n\"Your father risked more to give his son his birthright,\" she told Gaute one evening as he sat in the weaving room and watched her get the boy ready for the night. Jofrid was already sleeping sweetly in her bed. \"His love for old Sir Nikulaus was somewhat strained, but even so, he would never have shown his father such disrespect as to name his son after him if he were not lawfully born.\"\n\n\"And Orm... he was named for his maternal grandfather, wasn't he?\" said Gaute. \"Yes, I know, Mother, those may not be the words most becoming a good son. But you should realize that my brothers and I all noticed that while our father was alive, you didn't think he was the proper example for us in many matters. And yet now you talk about him constantly, as if he had been a holy man, or close to it. You should know that we realize he wasn't. All of us would be proud if we ever attained Father's stature\u2014or even reached to his shoulders. We remember that he was noble and courageous, foremost among men in terms of those qualities that suit a man best. But you can't make us believe he was the most submissive or seemly of men in a woman's chamber or the most capable of farmers.\n\n\"And yet no one need wish anything better for you, my Erlend, than that you should take after him!\" He picked up his child, now properly swaddled, and touched his chin to the tiny red face framed by the light-colored wool cloth. \"This gifted and promising boy, Erlend Gautess\u00f8n of J\u00f8rundgaard\u2014you should tell your grandmother that you aren't afraid your father will fail you.\" He made the sign of the cross over the child and put him back in Kristin's arms, then went over to the bed and looked down at the slumbering young mother.\n\n\"My Jofrid is as well as she can be, you say? She looks pale, but I suppose you must know best. Sleep well in here, and may God's peace be with you.\"\n\nOne month after the birth of the boy, Gaute held a splendid christening feast, and his kinsmen came from far away to attend the celebration. Kristin assumed that Gaute had asked them to come in order to counsel him on his position; it was now spring, and he could soon expect to hear news from Jofrid's kin.\n\nKristin had the joy of seeing Ivar and Skule come home together. And her cousins came to J\u00f8rundgaard too: Sigurd Kyrning, who was married to her uncle's daughter from Skog, Ivar Gjesling of Ringheim, and Haavard Trondss\u00f8n. She hadn't seen the Trondss\u00f8ns since Erlend had brought misfortune down upon the men of Sundbu. Now they were older; they had always been carefree and reckless, but intrepid and magnanimous, and they hadn't changed much at all. They greeted the sons of Erlend and Sir Sigurd, who was their cousin and successor at Sundbu, with a free and open manner befitting kinsmen. The ale and mead flowed in rivers in honor of little Erlend. Gaute and Jofrid welcomed their guests as unrestrainedly as if they had been wed and the king himself had married them. Everyone was joyous, and no one seemed to consider that the honor of these two young people was still at stake. But Kristin learned that Jofrid had not forgotten.\n\n\"The more bold and swaggering they are when they meet my father, the more easily he will comply,\" she said. \"And Olav Piper could never hide the fact that he would be pleased to sit on the same bench as men from the ancient lineages.\"\n\nThe only one who did not seem to feel quite comfortable in this gathering of kin was Sir Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n. King Magnus had made him a knight at Christmas; Ramborg Lavransdatter was now the wife of a knight.\n\nThis time Sir Jamm\u00e6lt had brought his eldest son, Andres Si monss\u00f8n, along with him. Kristin had asked him to do so the last time Jamm\u00e6lt came north, for she had heard a rumor that there was supposedly something strange about the boy. Then she grew terribly frightened; she wondered whether some harm might have been done to his soul or body because of what she had done in his behalf when he was a child. But his stepfather said no, the boy was healthy and strong, as good as gold, and perhaps cleverer than most people. But it was true that he had second sight. Sometimes he seemed to drift away, and when he came back, he would often do peculiar things. Such as the year before. One day he took his silver spoon, the one Kristin had given to him at his birth, and a torn shirt that had belonged to his father, and he left the manor and went down to a bridge that stretches across the river along the main road near \u00c6lin. There he sat for many hours, waiting. Eventually three poor people came walking across the bridge: an old beggar and a young woman holding an infant. Andres went over and gave the things to them, and then asked if he might carry the child for the woman. Back home everyone was desperate with anguish when Andres didn't appear for meals or by nightfall. They went out looking for him, and at last Jamm\u00e6lt heard that Andres had been seen far north in the next parish, in the company of a couple known as Krepp and Kraaka; he was carrying their infant. When Jamm\u00e6lt finally found the boy on the following day, Andres explained that he had heard a voice during mass on the previous Sunday while he was looking at the images painted on the front of the altar. It showed the Mother of God and Saint Joseph leaving the land of Egypt and carrying a child, and he wished that he had lived back then, for he would have asked to accompany them and carry the child for the Virgin Mary. Then he heard a voice, the gen tlest and sweetest voice in the world, and it promised to show him a sign if he would go out to Bjerkheim Bridge on a certain day.\n\nOtherwise Andres was reluctant to speak of his visions, because their parish priest had said they were partly imagined and partly due to a confused and muddled state of mind, and he frightened his mother out of her wits with his strange ways. But he talked to an old servant woman, an exceedingly pious woman, and to a friar who used to wander through the countryside during Lent and Advent. The boy would doubtless choose the spiritual life, so Simon Simonss\u00f8n was sure to be the one who would settle at Formo when the time came. He was a healthy and lively child who looked a great deal like his father, and he was Ramborg's favorite.\n\nRamborg and Jamm\u00e6lt had not yet had a child of their own. Kristin had heard from those who had seen Ramborg at Raumarike that she had grown quite fat and lazy. She kept company with the wealthiest and mightiest people in the south, but she never wanted to make the trip to her home valley, and Kristin hadn't seen her only sister since they parted on that day at Formo. But Kristin was convinced that Ramborg's resentment toward her remained unchanged. She got on well with Jamm\u00e6lt, and he tended to the well-being of his stepchildren with loving care. If he should die with no children of his own, he had arranged for the eldest son of the man who would inherit most of his property to marry Ulvhild Simonsdatter; in that way at least the daughter of Simon Darre would have some benefit from his inheritance. Arngjerd had married Grunde of Eiken the year after her father's death; Gyrd Darre and Jamm\u00e6lt had provided her with a rich dowry, as they knew Simon would have wanted. And Jamm\u00e6lt said she was well. Grunde appeared to let his wife guide him in all manner of things, and they already had three handsome children.\n\nKristin was strangely moved when she saw Simon and Ramborg's oldest son again. He was the living image of Lavrans Bj\u00f8rg ulfs\u00f8n, even more than Gaute. And over the past few years Kristin had given up her belief that Gaute might be anything like her father in temperament.\n\nAndres Darre was now twelve years old, tall and slender, fair and lovely and rather quiet, although he seemed robust and cheerful enough, with good physical abilities and a hearty appetite, except that he refused to eat meat. There was something that set him apart from other boys, but Kristin couldn't say what it was, although she watched him closely. Andres became good friends with his aunt, but he never mentioned his visions, and he didn't have any of his spells while in Sil.\n\nThe four sons of Erlend seemed to enjoy being together on their mother's estate, but Kristin didn't manage to talk much with her sons. When they were discussing things among themselves, she felt as if their lives and well-being had now slipped beyond her view. The two who came from far away had left their childhood home behind, and the two who lived on the manor were on the verge of taking its management out of her hands. The gathering took place in the midst of the springtime shortages, and she saw that Gaute must have been making preparations for it by rationing the fodder more strictly than usual that winter; he had also borrowed fodder from Sir Sigurd. But he had done all these things without consulting her. And all the advice regarding Gaute's case was also presented without including her, even though she sat in the same room with the men.\n\nFor this reason she was not surprised when Ivar came to her one day and said that Lavrans would be leaving with him when he went back to Rognheim.\n\nIvar Erlendss\u00f8n also told his mother on another day that he thought she should move to Rognheim with him after Gaute was married. \"Signe is a more amenable daughter-in-law to live with, I think. And it can't possibly be easy for you to give up your charge of the household when you are used to running everything.\" But otherwise he seemed to be fond of Jofrid\u2014he and all the other men. Only Sir Jamm\u00e6lt seemed to regard her with some coolness.\n\nKristin sat with her little grandson on her lap, thinking that it wouldn't be easy no matter where she was. It was difficult getting old. It seemed such a short time ago that she herself was the young woman, when it was her fate that prompted the clamor of the men's counsel and strife. Now she had been pushed into the background. Not long ago her own sons had been just like this little boy. She recalled her dream about the newborn child. During this time the thought of her own mother often came to her; she couldn't remember her mother except as an aging and melancholy woman. But she too had once been young, when she lay and warmed herself with the heat of her own body; her mother's body and soul had also been marked in her youth by carrying and giving birth to her children. And doubtless she hadn't given it any more thought than Kristin had when she sat with the sweet young life at her breast\u2014that as long as they both should live, each day would take the child farther and farther away from her arms.\n\n\"After you had a child yourself, Kristin, I thought you would understand,\" her mother had once said. Now she realized that her mother's heart had been deeply etched with memories of her daughter, memories of her thoughts about the child from before she was born and from all the years the child could not remember, memories of fears and hopes and dreams that children would never know had been dreamed on their behalf, before it was their own turn to fear and hope and dream in secret.\n\nFinally the gathering of kinsmen split up, and some went to stay with Jamm\u00e6lt at Formo while others accompanied Sigurd over to Vaagaa. Then one day two of Gaute's leaseholders from the south of the valley came racing into the courtyard. The sheriff was on his way north to seek out Gaute at home, and the maiden's father and kinsmen were with him. Young Lavrans ran straight to the stable. The next evening it looked as if an army had gathered at J\u00f8rund gaard; all of Gaute's kinsmen were there along with their armed men, and his friends from the countryside had come as well.\n\nThen Helge of Hovland arrived in a great procession to demand his rights from the man who had abducted his daughter. Kristin caught a glimpse of Helge Duk as he rode into the courtyard alongside Sir Paal S\u00f8rkvess\u00f8n, the sheriff himself. Jofrid's father was an older, tall, and stoop-backed man who looked quite ill; it was evident that he limped when he got off his horse. Her sister's husband, Olav Piper, was short, wide, and thickset; both his face and hair were red.\n\nGaute stepped forward to meet them, his posture erect and dignified, and behind him he had an entire phalanx of kinsmen and friends. They stood in a semicircle in front of the stairs to the high loft; in the middle were the two older gentlemen holding the rank of knight: Sir Sigurd and Sir Jamm\u00e6lt. Kristin and Jofrid watched the meeting from the entryway to the weaving room, but they couldn't hear what was said.\n\nThe men went up to the loft, and the two women retreated inside the weaving room. Neither of them felt like talking. Kristin sat down near the hearth; Jofrid paced the floor, holding her child in her arms. They continued in this way for a while; then Jofrid wrapped a blanket around the boy and left the room with him. An hour later Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n came in to find his wife's sister sitting alone, and he told her what had happened.\n\nGaute had offered Helge Duk sixteen marks in gold for Jofrid's honor and for taking her by force. This was the same amount that Helge's brother had been given in restitution for the life of his son. Gaute would then wed Jofrid with her father's consent and provide all the proper betrothal and wedding gifts, but in return Helge would have to accept Gaute and Jofrid with full reconciliation so that she would be given the same dowry as her sisters and share with them in the inheritance. Sir Sigurd, on behalf of Gaute's kinsmen, offered a guarantee that he would keep to this agreement. Helge Duk seemed willing to accept this offer at once, but his sons-in-law\u2014Olav Piper and Nerid Kaaress\u00f8n, who was betrothed to Aasa\u2014voiced objections. They said Gaute must be the most arrogant of men if he dared to think he could set his own terms for his marriage to a maiden he had shamed while she was at her brother-in-law's manor and had then been taken by force. Or to demand that she be allowed to share the inheritance with her sisters.\n\nIt was easy to see, said Jamm\u00e6lt, that Gaute was not pleased he would have to haggle over the price for marrying a highborn maiden whom he had seduced and who had now given birth to his son. But it was also easy to see that he had learned his lessons and prayers by heart, so he didn't have to read them out of a book.\n\nIn the midst of the discussion, as friends on both sides attempted to mediate, Jofrid came into the room with the child in her arms. Then her father broke down and could no longer hold back his tears. And so the matter was decided as she wished.\n\nIt was clear that Gaute could never have paid such a fine, but Jofrid's dowry was set at the same amount, so things came out even. The result of the meeting was that Gaute won Jofrid but received little more than what she had brought in her sacks when she arrived at J\u00f8rundgaard. But he gave her documents for almost all that he owned as betrothal and wedding gifts, and his brothers gave their assent. One day he would acquire great riches from her\u2014provided their marriage was not childless, said Ivar Gjesling with a laugh, and the other men laughed too. But Kristin blushed crimson because Jamm\u00e6lt sat there listening to all the coarse jests that were uttered.\n\nThe next day Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n was betrothed to Jofrid Helgesdatter, and afterward she went to church for the first time after the birth, honored as if she had been a married woman. Sira Dag said she was entitled to this. Then she went to Sundbu with the child and remained under Sir Sigurd's protection until the wedding.\n\nIt took place a month later, just after Saint Jon's Day, and it was both beautiful and grand. The following morning Kristin Lavransdatter, with great ceremony, gave her keys to her son, and Gaute then fastened the ring to his wife's belt.\n\nAfterward Sir Sigurd Eldjarn held a great banquet at Sundbu, and there he and his cousins, the former Sundbu men, solemnly swore and sealed a vow of friendship. Sir Sigurd generously presented costly gifts from his estate, both to the Gjeslings and to all his guests, according to how close they were as kin or friends\u2014drinking horns, eating vessels, jewelry, weapons, furs, and horses. People then judged that Gaute Erlendss\u00f8n had brought this matter of abducting his bride to the most honorable of ends."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 70",
                "text": "One summer morning a year later Kristin was out on the gallery of the old hearth house, cleaning out several chests of tools that stood there. When she heard horses being led into the courtyard, she went to have a look, peering between the narrow pillars of the gallery. One of the servants was leading two horses, and Gaute had appeared in the stable doorway; the boy Erlend was sitting astride his father's shoulders. The bright little face looked over the top of the man's yellow hair, and Gaute was holding the boy's tiny hands clasped in his own big tan hands under his chin. He handed the child to a maid who came across the courtyard and then mounted his horse. But when Erlend screamed and reached for his father, Gaute took him back and set him in front of him on the saddle. At that moment Jofrid came out of the main house.\n\n\"Are you taking Erlend with you? Where are you headed?\"\n\nGaute replied that he was going up to the mill; the river was threatening to carry it away. \"And Erlend says he wants to go with his father.\"\n\n\"Have you lost your wits?\" She quickly pulled the boy down, and Gaute roared with laughter.\n\n\"I think you actually believed I was going to take him along!\"\n\n\"Yes.\" His wife laughed too. \"You're always taking the poor boy everywhere. I think you'd do the same as the lynx: eat your own young before you'd let anyone else take him.\"\n\nShe lifted the child's hand to wave to Gaute as he rode off from the estate. Then she put the boy down on the grass and squatted down next to him for a moment to talk to him a bit before she continued on her way over to the new storeroom and up to the loft.\n\nKristin stood where she was, gazing at her grandson. The morning sun shone so brightly on the little child dressed in red. Young Erlend twirled around in circles, staring down at the grass. Then he caught sight of a big pile of wood chips, and at once he busily began strewing them all around. Kristin laughed.\n\nHe was fifteen months old, but his parents thought he was ahead of his age, because he could walk and run and even say two or three words. Now he was heading straight for the little stream that ran through the lower part of the courtyard and became a gurgling creek whenever it rained in the mountains. Kristin ran over and picked him up in her arms.\n\n\"You mustn't. Your mother will be cross if you get wet.\"\n\nThe boy drew his lips into a pout; he was probably wondering whether to cry because he wasn't allowed to splash in the stream or to give in. Getting wet was quite a big sin for him. Jofrid was much too strict with him about such matters. But he looked so clever. Laughing, Kristin kissed the boy, put him down, and went back to the gallery. But she made little headway with her work; mostly she stood and looked out at the courtyard.\n\nThe morning sun glowed so gentle and lovely above the three storerooms across from her. Kristin felt as if she hadn't taken a good look at them for a long time. How splendid the buildings were with the pillars adorning their loft galleries and the elaborate carvings. The gilded weather vane on the crossed timbers of the gable of the new storeroom glittered against the blue haze covering the mountains in the distance. This year, after the wet spring, the grass was so fresh on the rooftops.\n\nKristin gave a little sigh, cast another glance at little Erlend, and then turned back to the chests.\n\nSuddenly the wailing cry of a child pierced the air behind her. She threw down everything she was holding and rushed outside. Erlend was shrieking as he looked back and forth from his finger to a half-dead wasp lying in the grass. When his grandmother lifted him up to soothe him, he screamed even louder. And when she, amid much crying and complaining, put some damp earth and a cold green leaf on the sting, his wailing became quite dreadful.\n\nHushing and caressing him, Kristin carried the boy into her house, but he screamed as if he were in deadly pain\u2014and then stopped short in the middle of a howl. He recognized the box and horn spoon that his grandmother was taking down from above the door. Kristin dipped pieces of lefse in honey and fed them to the child as she continued to soothe him, placing her cheek against his fair neck where the hair was still short and curly from the days when he lay in his cradle and rubbed his head against the pillow. And then Erlend forgot all about his sorrow and turned his face up toward Kristin, offering to pat and kiss her with sticky hands and lips.\n\nAs they sat there, Jofrid came into the room.\n\n\"Have you brought him indoors? You didn't need to do that, Mother. I was just upstairs in the loft.\"\n\nKristin mentioned what had happened to Erlend outside. \"Didn't you hear him scream?\"\n\nJofrid thanked her motherin-law. \"But now we won't trouble you anymore.\" And she picked up the child, who was now reaching out for his mother and wanted to go to her, and they left the room.\n\nKristin put away the honey box. Then she continued to sit there, with nothing to occupy her hands. The chests on the gallery could wait until Ingrid came in.\n\nIt had been intended that she would have Frida Styrkaarsdatter as her maid when she moved out to the old house. But then Frida married one of the servants who had come with Helge Duk, a lad young enough to be her son.\n\n\"It's the custom in our part of the country for our servants to listen to their masters when they're offered advice for their own good,\" said Jofrid when Kristin wondered how this marriage had come about.\n\n\"But here in this parish,\" said Kristin, \"the commoners aren't accustomed to obeying us if we're unreasonable, nor do they follow our advice unless it's of equal benefit to them and to us. I'm giving you good advice, Jofrid; you should keep it in mind.\"\n\n\"What Mother says is true,\" added Gaute, but his voice was quite meek.\n\nEven before he was married, Kristin had noticed that Gaute was very reluctant to speak against Jofrid. And he had become the most amenable of husbands.\n\nKristin didn't deny that Gaute could stand to listen to what his wife had to say about many things; she was more sensible, capable, and hardworking than most women. And she was no more loose in her ways than Kristin herself had been. She too had trampled on her duties as a daughter and sold her honor since she could not win the man she had set her heart on in any better way. After she had gotten what she wanted, she became the most honorable and faithful wife. Kristin could see that Jofrid had great love for her husband; she was proud of his handsome appearance and his esteemed lineage. Her sisters had married wealthy men, but it was best to look at their husbands at night, when the moon wasn't shining, and their ancestors weren't even worth mentioning, Jofrid said scornfully. She zealously tended to her husband's welfare and honor as she perceived it, and at home she indulged him as best she could. But if Gaute suggested that he might have a different opinion from his wife regarding even the smallest matter, Jofrid would first agree with such an expression that Gaute would begin to waver, and then she would bring him around to her point of view.\n\nBut Gaute was flourishing. No one could doubt that these two young people lived well together. Gaute loved his wife, and both of them were so proud of their son and loved him beyond all measure.\n\nSo everything should have been fine and good. If only Jofrid Helgesdatter hadn't been... well, she was stingy; Kristin couldn't find any other word for it. If she hadn't been stingy, Kristin wouldn't have felt annoyed that her daughter-in-law had such a desire to take charge.\n\nDuring the grain harvest that very first autumn, right after Jofrid had returned to the estate as a married woman, Kristin could see that the servants were already discontented, although they seldom said anything. But the old mistress noticed it just the same.\n\nSometimes it had also happened in Kristin's day that the servants were forced to eat herring that was sour, or bacon as yellow and rancid as a resinous pine torch, or spoiled meat. But then everyone knew that their mistress was bound to make up for it with something particularly good at another meal: milk porridge or fresh cheese or good ale out of season. And if there was food that was about to go bad and had to be eaten, everyone simply felt as if Kristin's full storerooms were overflowing. If people were in need, the abundance at J\u00f8rundgaard offered security for everyone. But now people were already uncertain whether Jofrid would prove to be generous with the food if there should be a shortage among the peasants.\n\nThis was what angered her motherin-law, for she felt it diminished the honor of the manor and its owner.\n\nIt didn't trouble her as much that she had discovered firsthand, over the course of the year, that her daughter-in-law always saved the best for her own. On Saint Bartholomew's Day she received two goat carcasses instead of the four she should have been given. It was true that wolverines had ravaged the smaller livestock in the mountains the previous summer, and yet Kristin thought it petty to hold back from slaughtering two more goats on such a large estate. But she held her tongue. It was the same way with everything she was supposed to be given from the farm: the autumn slaughtering, grain and flour, fodder for her four cows and two horses. She received either smaller amounts or poor-quality goods. She saw that Gaute was both embarrassed and ashamed by this, but he didn't dare do anything for fear of his wife, and so he pretended not to notice.\n\nGaute was just as magnanimous as all of Erlend's sons. In his brothers Kristin had called it extravagance. But Gaute was a toiler, and frugal in his own way. As long as he had the best horses and dogs and a few good falcons, he would have been content to live like the smallholders of the valley. But whenever visitors came to the estate, he was a gracious host to all his guests and a generous man toward beggars\u2014and thus a landowner after his mother's own heart. She felt this was the proper way of living for the gentry\u2014those nobles who resided on the ancestral estates in their home districts. They should produce goods and squander nothing needlessly, but neither should they spare anything whenever love of God and His poor, or concern for furthering the honor of their lineage, demanded that goods should be handed out.\n\nNow she saw that Jofrid liked Gaute's rich friends and highborn kinsmen best. And yet in this regard Gaute seemed less willing to comply with his wife's wishes; he tried to hold on to his old companions from his youth. His drinking cohorts, Jofrid called them, and Kristin now learned that Gaute had been much wilder than she knew. These friends never came to the manor uninvited after he was a married man. But as yet no poor supplicant had gone unaided by Gaute, although he gave fewer gifts if Jofrid was watching. Behind her back he dared to give more. But not much was allowed to take place behind her back.\n\nAnd Kristin realized that Jofrid was jealous of her. She had possessed Gaute's friendship and trust so completely during all the years since he was a poor little child who was neither fully alive nor dead. Now she noticed that Jofrid wasn't pleased if Gaute sat down beside his mother to ask her advice or got her to talk about the way things were in the past. If the man stayed for long in the old house with his mother, Jofrid was certain to find an excuse to come over.\n\nAnd she grew jealous if her motherin-law paid too much attention to little Erlend.\n\nAmid the short, trampled-down grass out in the courtyard grew several herbs with coarse, leathery dark leaves. Now, during the sunny days of midsummer, a little stalk had sprung up with tiny, delicate pale blue flowers in the center of each flattened rosette of leaves. Kristin thought the old outer leaves, scarred as they were by each time a servant's foot or a cow's hoof had crushed them, must love the sweet, bright blossoming shoot which sprang from its heart, just as she loved her son's son.\n\nHe seemed to her to be life from her life and flesh from her flesh, just as dear as her own children but even sweeter. Whenever she held him in her arms, she noticed that the boy's mother would keep a jealous eye on the two of them and would come to take him away as soon as she deemed it proper and then possessively put him to her breast, hugging him greedily. Then it occurred to Kristin Lavransdatter in a new way that the interpreters of God's words were right. Life on this earth was irredeemably tainted by strife; in this world, wherever people mingled, producing new descendants, allowing themselves to be drawn together by physical love and loving their own flesh, sorrows of the heart and broken expectations were bound to occur as surely as the frost appears in the autumn. Both life and death would separate friends in the end, as surely as the winter separates the tree from its leaves.\n\nOne evening, two weeks before Saint Olav's Day, a group of beggars happened to come to J\u00f8rundgaard and asked for lodgings for the night. Kristin was standing on the gallery of the old storeroom\u2014it was now under her charge\u2014and she heard Jofrid come out and tell the poor people that they would be given food, but she could not give them shelter. \"There are many of us on this manor, and my motherin-law lives here too; she owns half the buildings.\"\n\nAnger flared up in the former mistress. Never before had any wayfarers been refused a night's lodging at J\u00f8rundgaard, and the sun was already touching the crest of the mountains. She ran downstairs and went over to Jofrid and the beggars.\n\n\"They may take shelter in my house, Jofrid, and I might as well be the one to give them food too. Here on this manor we have never refused lodging to a fellow Christian if he asked for it in the name of God.\"\n\n\"You must do as you please, Mother,\" replied Jofrid, her face blazing red.\n\nWhen Kristin had a look at the beggars, she almost regretted her offer. It was not entirely without cause that the young wife had been unwilling to have these people on her estate overnight. Gaute and the servants had gone up to the hay meadows near Sil Lake and would not be home that evening. Jofrid was home alone with the parish's charity cases, two old people and two children, whose turn it was to stay at J\u00f8rundgaard, and Kristin had only her maid in the old house. Although Kristin was used to seeing all kinds of people among the wandering groups of beggars, she didn't like the looks of this lot. Four of them were big, strong young men; three of them had red hair and small, wild eyes. They seemed to be brothers. But the fourth one, whose nose had once been split open on both sides and who was missing his ears, sounded as if he might be a foreigner. There were also two old people. A short, bent old man with a greenish-yellow face, his hair and beard ravaged by dirt and age and his belly swollen as if with some illness. He walked on crutches, alongside an old woman wearing a wimple that was completely soaked with blood and pus, her neck and face covered with sores. Kristin shuddered at the thought of this woman getting near Erlend. All the same, for the sake of these two wretched old people, it was good that the group wouldn't have to wander through Hammer Ridge in the night.\n\nThe beggars behaved peaceably enough. Once the earless man tried to seize hold of Ingrid as she went back and forth to the table, but Bj\u00f8rn got to his feet at once, barking and growling. Otherwise the group seemed despondent and weary; they had struggled much and gleaned little, they said in reply to the mistress's questions. Surely things would be better in Nidaros. The old woman was pleased when Kristin gave her a goat horn containing a soothing salve made from the purest lamb oil and the water of an infant. But she declined when Kristin offered to soak her wimple with warm water and give her a clean linen cloth; well, she would agree to accept the cloth.\n\nNevertheless, Kristin had her young maid, Ingrid, sleep on the side of the bed next to the wall. Several times during the night Bj\u00f8rn growled, but otherwise everything was quiet. Shortly past midnight the dog ran over to the door and uttered a couple of short barks. Kristin heard horses in the courtyard and realized that Gaute had come home. She guessed that Jofrid must have sent word to him.\n\nThe next morning Kristin filled the sacks of the beggars generously, and they hadn't even passed the manor gate before she saw Jofrid and Gaute heading swiftly toward her house.\n\nKristin sat down and picked up her spindle. She greeted her children gently as they came in and asked Gaute about the hay. Jofrid sniffed; the guests had left a rank stench behind in the room. But her motherin-law pretended not to notice. Gaute shifted his feet uneasily and seemed to have trouble telling her what the purpose of their visit might be.\n\nThen Jofrid spoke. \"There's something I think it would be best for us to talk about, Mother. I know that you feel I'm more tight fisted than you deem proper for the mistress of J\u00f8rundgaard. I know that's what you think and that you also think I'm diminishing Gaute's honor by acting this way. Now I don't have to tell you I was fearful last night about taking in that lot because I was alone on the estate with my infant and a few charity cases; I saw that you realized this as soon as you had a look at your guests. But I've noticed before that you think I'm miserly with food and inhospitable toward the poor.\n\n\"That is not so, Mother, but J\u00f8rundgaard is no longer a grand estate belonging to a royal retainer and wealthy man as it was in the time of your father and mother. You were the child of a rich man and kept company with rich and powerful kinsmen; you made a wealthy marriage, and your husband took you away to even greater power and splendor than you had grown up with. No one can expect that you in your old age should fully understand how different Gaute's position is now, having lost his father's inheritance and sharing half of your father's wealth with many brothers. But I dare not forget that I brought little more to his estate than the child I carried under my bosom and a heavy debt for my friend to bear because I consented to his act of force against my kinsmen. Things may get better with time, but I'm obliged to pray to God that my father might have a long life. We are young, Gaute and I, and don't know how many children we are destined to have. You must believe, motherin-law, that I have no other thought behind my actions than what is best for my husband and our children.\"\n\n\"I believe you, Jofrid.\" Kristin gazed somberly at the flushed face of her son's wife. \"And I have never meddled in your charge of the household or denied that you're a capable woman and a good and loyal wife for my son. But you must let me manage my own affairs as I am used to doing. As you say, I'm an old woman and no longer able to learn new ways.\"\n\nThe young people saw that Kristin had no more to say to them, and a few minutes later they took their leave.\n\nAs usual, Kristin had to agree that Jofrid was right\u2014at first. But after she thought it over, it seemed to her... No, all the same, there was no use in comparing Gaute's alms with her father's. Gifts for the souls of the poor and strangers who had died in the parish, marriage contributions to fatherless maidens, banquets on the feast days of her father's favorite saints, stipends for sinners and those who were ill who wanted to seek out Saint Olav. Even if Gaute had been much richer than he was, no one would have expected him to pay for such expenses. Gaute gave no more thought to his Creator than was necessary. He was generous and kind-hearted, but Kristin had seen that her father had a reverence for the poor people he helped because Jesus had chosen the lot of a poor man when he assumed human form. And her father had loved hard toil and thought all handwork should be honored because Mary, the Mother of God, chose to do spinning to earn food for her family and herself, even though she was the daughter of rich parents and belonged to the lineage of kings and the foremost priests of the Holy Land.\n\nTwo days later, early in the morning, when Jofrid was only half dressed and Gaute was still in bed, Kristin came into their room. She was wearing a robe and cape of gray homespun, with a wide-brimmed black felt hat over her wimple and sturdy shoes on her feet. Gaute turned blood-red when he saw his mother dressed in such attire. Kristin said she wanted to go to Nidaros for the Feast of Saint Olav, and she asked her son to look after her chores while she was gone.\n\nGaute protested vigorously; she should at least borrow horses and men to escort her and take her maid along. But his words had little authority, as might be expected from a man lying naked in bed before his mother's eyes. Kristin felt such pity for his bewilderment that she came up with the idea that she had had a dream.\n\n\"And I long to see your brothers again\u2014\" But then she had to turn away. She had not yet dared express in her heart how much she yearned for and dreaded this reunion with her two oldest sons.\n\nGaute insisted on accompanying his mother part of the way. While he dressed and had something to eat, Kristin sat laughing and playing with little Erlend; he chattered on, alert and lively with the morning. She kissed Jofrid farewell, and she had never done that before. Out in the courtyard all the servants had gathered; Ingrid had told them that Mistress Kristin was going on a pilgrimage to Nidaros.\n\nKristin picked up the heavy iron-shod staff, and since she didn't want to ride, Gaute put her travel bag on his horse's back and let the animal walk on ahead.\n\nUp on the church hill Kristin turned around and looked down at her estate. How lovely it looked in the dewy, sun-drenched morning. The river shone white. The servants were still standing there; she could make out Jofrid's light-colored gown and wimple, and the child like a red speck in her arms. Gaute saw that his mother's face turned pale with emotion.\n\nThe road led up through the woods beneath the shadow of Hammer Ridge. Kristin walked as easily as a young maiden. She and her son said very little to each other. After they had walked for two hours, they reached the place where the road turns north under Rost Peak and the whole Dovre countryside stretches below, to the north. Then Kristin said that Gaute should go no farther with her, but first she wanted to sit down and rest for a while.\n\nBeneath them lay the valley with the pale green ribbon of the river cutting through it and the farms like small green patches on the forested slopes. But higher up, the moss-covered heights, brown and lichen-yellow, arched against the gray scree and bare peaks, flecked with snowdrifts. The shadows of the clouds drifted over the valley and plains, but in the north the mountains were so brightly lit; one mountainous shape after another had freed itself from the misty cloak and loomed blue, one beyond the other. And Kristin's yearning glided north with the cloud clusters to the long road she had before her and raced across the valley, in among the great barricading slopes and the steep, narrow paths through the wilds across the plateaus. A few more days and she would be on her way down through the beautiful green valleys of Tr\u00f8ndelag, following the current of the river toward the great fjord. She shuddered at the memory of the familiar villages along the sea, where she had spent her youth. Erlend's handsome figure appeared before her eyes, shifting in stance and demeanor, swift and indistinct, as if she were seeing him mirrored in a rippling stream. At last she would reach Feginsbrekka, at the marble cross, and Nidaros would be lying there at the mouth of the river, between the blue fjord and the green Strind: on the shore the magnificent light-colored church with its dizzying towers and golden weather vanes, with the blaze of the evening sun on the rose in the middle of its breast. And deep inside the fjord, beneath the blue peaks of Frosta, lay Tautra, low and dark like the back of a whale, with its church tower like a dorsal fin. Oh, Bj\u00f8rgulf... oh, Naakkve.\n\nBut when she looked back over her shoulder, she could still catch a glimpse of her home mountain beneath H\u00f8vringen. It lay in shadow, but with an accustomed eye she could see where the pasture path wound through the woods. She knew the gray domes that rose up over the carpet of forest; they surrounded the old meadows belonging to the people of Sil.\n\nThe sound of a lur echoed from the hills: several shrill tones that died away and then reappeared. It sounded as if children were practicing blowing the horn. A distant clanging of bells, the rush of the river fading lazily away, and the deep sighs of the forest in the quiet, warm day. Kristin's heart trembled anxiously in the silence.\n\nHomesickness urged her forward; homesickness drew her back toward the village and the manor. Pictures of everyday things teemed before her eyes: She saw herself leaping with the goats along the path through the sparse woods south of their mountain pasture. A cow had strayed into the marsh; the sun was shining brightly. When she paused for a moment to listen, she felt her own sweat stinging her skin. She saw the courtyard back home in swirling snow\u2014a dingy white, stormy day seething toward a wild winter night. She was almost blown back into the entryway when she opened the door; the blizzard took her breath away, but there they came, those two snow-covered bundles, men wearing long fur coats: Ivar and Skule had come home. The tips of their skis sank deep into the great snowdrift that always formed across the courtyard when the wind blew from the northwest. Then there were always huge drifts in two parts of the courtyard. All of a sudden she felt herself longing with love for those two drifts that she and all the manor servants had cursed each winter; she felt as if she were condemned never to see them again.\n\nFeelings of longing seemed to burst from her heart; they ran in all directions, like streams of blood, seeking out paths to all the places in the wide landscape where she had lived, to all her sons roaming through the world, to all her dead lying under the earth. She wondered: Had she turned cowardly? She had never felt this way before.\n\nThen she noticed that Gaute was staring at her. She gave him a fleeting, rueful smile. It was time now for them to say goodbye and for her to continue on.\n\nGaute called to his horse, which had been grazing across the green hillside. He ran to get him and then came back, and they said farewell. Kristin already had her travel bag over her shoulder and her son was putting his foot into the stirrup when he turned around and took a few steps toward her.\n\n\"Mother!\" For a moment she looked into the depths of his helpless, shame-filled eyes. \"You haven't been... no doubt you haven't been very pleased the last few years. Mother, Jofrid means well; she has great respect for you. Even so, I should have told her more about the kind of woman you are and have been all your days.\"\n\n\"Why do you happen to think about this now, my Gaute?\" His mother's voice was gentle and surprised. \"I'm quite aware that I'm no longer young, and old people are supposed to be difficult to please; all the same, I haven't aged so much that I don't have the wits to understand you or your wife. It would trouble me greatly if Jofrid should think that it has been a thankless struggle, after all she has done to spare me work and worry. Do not think, my son, that I fail to see your wife's virtues or your own loyal love for your mother. If I haven't shown it as much as you might have expected, you must have forbearance and remember that's the way old people are.\"\n\nGaute stared at his mother, open-mouthed. \"Mother...\" Then he burst into tears and leaned against his horse, shaking with sobs.\n\nBut Kristin stood her ground; her voice revealed nothing except amazement and maternal kindness.\n\n\"My Gaute, you are young, and you've been my little lamb all your days, as your father used to say. But you must not carry on like this, son. Now you're the master back home, and a grown man. If I were setting off for Romaborg or Jorsal, well... But it's unlikely that I will encounter any great dangers on this journey. I will find others to keep me company, you know; if not before, then when I reach Toftar. From there groups of pilgrims leave every morning during this time.\"\n\n\"Mother, Mother, don't leave us! Now that we've taken all power and authority out of your hands, pushed you aside into a corner...\"\n\nKristin shook her head with a little smile. \"I'm afraid my children seem to think I have an overbearing desire to take charge.\"\n\nGaute turned to face her. She took one of his hands in hers and placed her other hand on his shoulder as she implored him to believe that she was not ungrateful toward him or Jofrid; she asked God to be with him. Then she turned him toward his horse, and with a laugh she gave him a thump between his shoulders for good luck.\n\nShe stood gazing after him until he disappeared beneath the cliff. How handsome he looked riding the big blue-black horse.\n\nShe felt so strange. She sensed everything around her with such unusual clarity: the sunsated air, the hot fragrance of the pine forest, the chittering of tiny sparrows in the grass. At the same time she was looking inside herself, seeing pictures the way someone with a high fever may believe she is peering at inner images. Inside her there was an empty house, completely silent, dimly lit, and with a smell of desolation. The scene shifted: a tidal shore from which the sea had retreated far away; rounded, light-colored stones, heaps of dark, lifeless seaweed, all sorts of flotsam.\n\nThen she shifted her travel bag to a more comfortable position, picked up her staff, and set off down toward the valley. If she was not meant to come back, then it was God's will and useless to be frightened. But more likely it was because she was old.... She made the sign of the cross and strode faster, longing just the same to reach the hillside where the road passed among farms.\n\nOnly for one short section of the public road was it possible to see the buildings of Haugen high on the mountain crest. Her heart began hammering at the mere thought.\n\nAs she had predicted, she met more pilgrims when she reached Toftar late in the day. The next morning she was joined by several others as they all set off into the mountains.\n\nA priest and his servant, along with two women, his mother and sister, were on horseback, and they soon pulled far ahead of those on foot. Kristin felt a pang in her heart as she gazed after another woman riding between her two children.\n\nIn her group there were two older peasants from a little farm in Dovre. There were also two younger men from Oslo, laborers from the town, and a farmer with his daughter and son-in-law, both of them quite young. They were traveling with the young couple's child, a tiny maiden about eighteen months old, and they had a horse, which they took turns riding. These three were from a parish far to the south called Andabu; Kristin didn't know exactly where it lay. On the first evening Kristin offered to take a look at the child because she was incessantly crying and moaning; she looked so pitiful with her big, bald head and tiny, limp body. She couldn't yet talk or sit up on her own. The mother seemed ashamed of her daughter. The next morning when Kristin offered to carry the child for a while, she was left in her care, and the other woman strode on ahead; she seemed a most neglectful mother. But they were so young, both she and her husband, hardly more than eighteen years old, and she must be weary of carrying the heavy child, who was always whining and weeping. The grandfather was an ugly, sullen, and cross middle-aged man, but he was the one who had urged this journey to Nidaros with his granddaughter, so he seemed to have some affection for her. Kristin walked at the back of the group with him and the two Franciscan monks, and it vexed her that the man from Andabu never offered to let the monks borrow his horse. Anyone could see that the younger monk was terribly ill.\n\nThe older one, Brother Arngrim, was a rotund little man with a round, red, freckled face, alert brown eyes, and a fox-red fringe of hair around his skull. He talked incessantly, mostly about the poverty of their daily life\u2014the friars of Skidan. The order had recently acquired an estate in that town, but they were so impoverished that they were barely able to keep up the services, and the church they intended to erect would probably never be built. He placed the blame on the wealthy nuns in Gims\u00f8y, who persecuted the poor friars with rancor and malice, and they had now brought a lawsuit against them. He spoke effusively about all their worst traits. Kristin wasn't pleased to hear the monk talk in this manner, and she didn't believe his claims that the abbess had not been chosen in accordance with Church law or that the nuns slept through their daily prayers, gossiped, and carried on unseemly conversations at the table in the refectory. Yes, he even said bluntly that people thought one of the sisters had not remained pure. But Kristin saw that Brother Arngrim was otherwise a good-hearted and kindly man. He carried the ill child for long stretches of the way whenever he saw that Kristin's arms were growing weary. If the girl began to howl too fiercely, he would set off running across the plain, with his robes lifted high so the juniper bushes scratched his dark, hairy legs and the mud splashed up from the marshy hollows, shouting and hollering for the mother to stop because the child was thirsty. Then he would hurry back to the ill man, Brother Torgils; toward him he was the most tender and loving father.\n\nThe sick monk made it impossible to reach Hjerdkinn that night, but the two men from Dovre knew of a stone hut in a field a little to the south, near a lake, and so the pilgrims headed that way. The evening had turned cold. The shores of the lake were miry, and white mist swirled up from the marshes so the birch forest was dripping with dew. A slender crescent moon hung in the west above the mountain domes, almost as pale yellow and dull as the sky. More and more often Brother Torgils had to stop; he coughed so badly that it was terrible to hear. Brother Arngrim would support him and then wipe his face and mouth afterward, showing Kristin his hand with a shake of his head; it was bloody from the other man's spit.\n\nThey found the hut, but it had fallen in. Then they looked for a sheltered spot and made a fire. But the poor folks from the south hadn't expected that a night in the mountains would be so icy cold. Kristin pulled from her travel bag the cape Gaute had urged her to take because it was especially lightweight and warm, made from bought fabric and lined with beaver fur. When she wrapped it around Brother Torgils, he whispered\u2014he was so hoarse that he could barely manage to speak\u2014that the child should be allowed to lie next to him. And so she was placed beside him. She fretted, and the monk coughed, but now and then they both slept for a while.\n\nPart of the night Kristin kept watch and tended the fire along with one of the Dovre men and Brother Arngrim. The pale yellow glimmer moved northward\u2014the mountain lake lay white and still; fish rose up, rippling the surface\u2014but beneath the towering dome on the opposite side, the water mirrored a deep blackness. Once they heard a hideous snarling shriek from the far shore; the monk cringed and grabbed the other two by the arm. Kristin and the farmer thought it must be some beast; then they heard stones falling, as if someone were walking across the scree over there, and another cry, like the coarse voice of a man. The monk began praying loudly: \"Jesus Kristus, Soter,\" Kristin heard. And \"vicit leo de tribu Juda.\" Then they heard a door slam somewhere on the slope.\n\nThe gray light of dawn began rising. The scree on the other side and the clusters of birch trees emerged. Then the other Dovre farmer and the man from Oslo relieved them. The last thing Kristin thought about before she fell asleep next to the fire was that if they made such little progress during the day\u2014and she would have to give the friars a gift of money when they parted\u2014then she would soon have to beg food from the farms when they reached Gauldal.\n\nThe sun was already high and the morning wind was darkening the lake with small swells when the frozen pilgrims gathered around Brother Arngrim as he said the morning prayers. Brother Torgils sat huddled on the ground, his teeth chattering, and tried to keep from coughing while he murmured along. When Kristin looked at the two ash-gray monk's cowls lit by the morning sun, she remembered she had been dreaming of Brother Edvin. She couldn't recall what it was about, but she kissed the hands of the kneeling monks and asked them to bless her companions.\n\nBecause of the beaver fur cape, the other pilgrims realized that Kristin was not a commoner. And when she happened to mention that she had traveled the king's road over the Dovre Range twice before, she became a sort of guide for the group. The men from Dovre had never been farther north than Hjerdkinn, and those from Vikv\u00e6r did not know this region at all.\n\nThey reached Hjerdkinn just before vespers, and after the service in the chapel Kristin went out into the hills alone. She wanted to find the path she had taken with her father and the place beside the creek where she had sat with him. She didn't find the spot, but she thought she did find the slope she had climbed up in order to watch as he rode away. And yet the small, rocky hills along that stretch of path all looked much the same.\n\nShe knelt down among the bearberries at the top of the ridge. The light of the summer evening was fading. The birch-covered slopes of the lowlying hills, the gray scree, and the brown, marshy patches all melded together, but above the expanse of mountain plateaus arched the fathomless, clear bowl of the evening sky. It was mirrored white in all the puddles of water; scattered and paler was the mirrored shimmer of the sky in a little mountain stream, which raced briskly and restlessly over rocks and then trickled out onto the sandy bank of a small lake in the marsh.\n\nAgain it came upon her, that peculiar feverlike inner vision. The river seemed to be showing her a picture of her own life: She too had restlessly rushed through the wilderness of her earthly days, rising up with an agitated roar at every rock she had to pass over. Faint and scattered and pale was the only way the eternal light had been mirrored in her life. But it dimly occurred to the mother that in her anguish and sorrow and love, each time the fruit of sin had ripened to sorrow, that was when her earthbound and willful soul managed to capture a trace of the heavenly light.\n\nHail Mary, full of grace. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus, who gave his sweat and blood for our sake...\n\nAs she said five Ave Marias in memory of the painful mysteries of the Redemption, she felt that it was with her sorrows that she dared to seek shelter under the cloak of the Mother of God. With her grief over the children she had lost, with the heavier sorrows over all the fateful blows that had struck her sons without her being able to ward them off. Mary, the perfection of purity, of humility, of obedience to the will of her Father\u2014she had grieved more than any other mother, and her mercy would see the weak and pale glimmer in a sinful woman's heart, which had burned with a fiery and ravaging passion, and all the sins that belong to the nature of love: spite and defiance, hardened relentlessness, obstinacy, and pride. And yet it was still a mother's heart.\n\nKristin hid her face in her hands. For a moment it seemed more than she could bear: that now she had parted with all of them, all her sons.\n\nThen she said her last Pater noster. She remembered the leave-taking with her father in this place so many years in the past, and her leave-taking with Gaute only two days ago. Out of childish thoughtlessness her sons had offended her, and yet she knew that even if they had offended her as she had offended her father, with her sinful will, it would never have altered her heart toward them. It was easy to forgive her children.\n\nGloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto, she prayed, and kissed the cross she had once been given by her father, humbly grateful to feel that in spite of everything, in spite of her willfulness, her restless heart had managed to capture a pale glimpse of the love that she had seen mirrored in her father's soul, clear and still, just as the bright sky now shimmered in the great mountain lake in the distance.\n\nThe next day the weather was so overcast, with such a cold wind and fog and showers, that Kristin was reluctant to continue on with the ill child and Brother Torgils. But the monk was the most eager of them all; she saw that he was afraid he would die before he reached Nidaros. So they set off over the heights, but now and then the rain was so heavy that Kristin didn't dare head down the steep paths with the sheer cliffs both above and below, which she recalled lay all the way to the hostel at Drivdal. They made a fire when they had climbed to the top of the pass and settled in for the night. After evening prayers Brother Arngrim told a splendid saga about a ship in distress that was saved through the intercession of an abbess who prayed to the Virgin Mary, who made the morning star appear over the sea.\n\nThe monk seemed to have developed a fondness for Kristin. As she sat near the fire and rocked the child so the others could sleep, he moved closer to her and in a whisper began talking about himself. He was the son of a poor fisherman, and when he was fourteen years old, he lost his father and brother at sea one winter night, but he was rescued by another boat. This seemed to him a miracle, and besides, he had acquired a fear of the sea; that was how he happened to decide that he would become a monk. But for three more years he had to stay at home with his mother, and they toiled arduously and went hungry, and he was always afraid in the boat. Then his sister was wed, and her husband took over the house and share of the fishing boat, and he could go to the Minorites in Tunsberg. At first he was subjected to scorn for his low birth, but the guardian was kind and took him under his protection. And ever since Brother Torgils Olavss\u00f8n had entered the brotherhood, all the monks had become more pious and peaceful, for he was so pious and humble, even though he came from the best lineage of any of them, from a wealthy farming family over in Slagn. And his mother and sisters were very generous toward the monastery. But after they had come to Skidan, and after Brother Torgils had fallen ill, everything had once again become difficult. Brother Arngrim let Kristin understand that he wondered how Christ and the Virgin Mary could allow the road to be so full of stones for his poor brothers.\n\n\"They too chose poverty while they lived on this earth,\" said Kristin.\n\n\"That's easy for you to say, being the wealthy woman that you surely must be,\" replied the monk indignantly. \"You've never had to go without food....\" And Kristin had to agree that this was true.\n\nWhen they made their way down to the countryside and wandered through Updal and Soknadal, Brother Torgils was allowed to ride part of the way, but he grew weaker and weaker, and Kristin's companions changed steadily, as people left them and new pilgrims took their place. When she reached Staurin, no one remained from the group she had traveled across the mountain with except the two monks. And in the morning Brother Arngrim came to her, weeping, and said that Brother Torgils had coughed up a great deal of blood in the night; he could not go on. Now they would doubtless arrive in Nidaros too late to see the celebration.\n\nKristin thanked the brothers for their companionship, their spiritual guidance, and their help on her journey. Brother Arngrim seemed surprised by the richness of her farewell gift, for his face lit up. He wanted to give her something in return. He pulled from his bag a box containing several documents. Each of them was a lovely prayer followed by all the names of God; a space had been left on the parchment in which the supplicant's name could be printed.\n\nKristin realized that it was unreasonable to expect the monk to know anything about her: the name of her husband or his fate, even if she mentioned her family name. And so she simply asked him to write \"the widow Kristin.\"\n\nWalking down through Gauldal, she took the paths on the outskirts of the villages, for she thought if she met people from the large estates, it might turn out that they recognized the former mistress of Husaby. She didn't fully know why, but she was reluctant for this to happen. The following day she set off along the paths through the woods on the mountain ridge to the little church at Vatsfjeld, which had been consecrated to John the Baptist, although the people called it Saint Edvin's Church.\n\nThe chapel stood in a clearing in dense forest; both the building and the mountain behind were mirrored in a pond from which a curative spring flowed. A wooden cross stood near the creek, and all around lay crutches and walking sticks, and on the bushes hung shreds of old bandages.\n\nThere was a small fence around the church, but the gate was locked. Kristin knelt down outside and thought about the time she had sat inside with Gaute on her lap. Back then she was dressed in silk, one of the group of magnificently attired noblemen and women from the surrounding parishes. Sira Eiliv stood nearby, holding Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf firmly by the hand; among the crowd outside were her maids and servants. Then she had prayed so fervently that if this suffering child would be given his wits and health, she would ask for nothing more, not even to be freed from the terrible pain in her back which had plagued her ever since the birth of the twins.\n\nShe thought about Gaute, so stalwart and handsome he looked on his huge blue-black horse. And about herself. Not many women her age, now close to half a century, enjoyed such good health; that was something she had noticed on her way through the mountains. Lord, if only you would give me this and this and this, then I will thank you and ask for nothing more except for this and this and this....\n\nSurely she had never asked God for anything except that He should let her have her will. And every time she had been granted what she asked for\u2014for the most part. Now here she sat with a contrite heart\u2014not because she had sinned against God but because she was unhappy that she had been allowed to follow her will to the road's end.\n\nShe had not come to God with her wreath or with her sins and sorrows, not as long as the world still possessed a drop of sweetness to add to her goblet. But now she had come, after she had learned that the world is like an alehouse: The person who has no more to spend is thrown outside the door.\n\nShe felt no joy at her decision, but it seemed to Kristin that she herself had not made the choice. The poor beggars who had entered her house had come to invite her away. A will that was not her own had put her among that group of impoverished and ill people and invited her to go with them, away from the home she had managed as the mistress and ruled as the mother of men. And when she had consented without much protest, she knew that she did so because she saw that Gaute would thrive better if she left the estate. She had bent fate to her will; she had obtained the circumstances she wanted. Her sons she could not shape according to her will; they were the way God had created them, and their obstinacy drove them. With them she could never win. Gaute was a good farmer, a good husband, and a faithful father, a capable man and as honorable as most people. But he did not have the makings of a chieftain, nor did he have the inclination to long for what she had desired on his behalf. Yet he loved her enough to feel tormented because he knew she expected something else of him. That was why she now intended to beg for food and shelter, even though it hurt her pride to arrive so impoverished; she had nothing to give.\n\nBut she realized that she had to come. The spruce forest covering the slopes stood drinking in the seeping sunlight and swayed softly; the little church sat silent and closed, sweating an odor of tar. With longing Kristin thought about the dead monk who had taken her hand and led her into the light emanating from the cloak of God's love when she was an innocent child, who had reached out his hand to lead her home, time after time, from the paths on which she had strayed. Suddenly she remembered so clearly her dream about him the night before, up in the mountains:\n\nShe dreamed that she was standing in the sunshine in a courtyard of some grand estate, and Brother Edvin was walking toward her from the doorway to the main house. His hands were full of bread, and when he reached her, she saw that she had been forced to do as she envisioned, to ask for alms when she came to the villages. But somehow she had arrived in the company of Brother Edvin, and the two of them were traveling together and begging. But at the same time she knew that her dream had a double meaning; the estate was not merely a noble manor, but it seemed to her to signify a holy place, and Brother Edvin belonged to the servants there, and the bread which he offered her was not simply flatbread the way it looked; it signified the Host, panis angelorum, and she accepted the food of angels from his hand. And now she gave her promise into Brother Edvin's hands."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 71",
                "text": "Finally she had arrived. Kristin Lavransdatter sat and rested in a haystack on the road beneath Sion Castle. The sun was shining, and the wind was blowing; the part of the field that had not yet been cut undulated with blossoming straw, red and shiny like silk. Only the fields of Tr\u00f8ndelag were ever that color red. At the bottom of the slope she could see a glimpse of the fjord, dark blue and dotted with foam; fresh white sea swells crashed against the cliffs of the shore for as far as she could see below the green-forested promontory of the town.\n\nKristin let out a long breath. All the same, it was good to be back here, good even though it was also strange to know that she would never leave here again. The gray-clad sisters out at Rein followed the same rules, Saint Bernard's rules, as the brothers of Tautra. When she rose before dawn and went to church, she knew that Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rgulf would also be taking their places in the monks' choir. So she would end up living out her old age with some of her sons after all, although not in the way she might have imagined.\n\nShe took off her hose and shoes to wash her feet in the creek. She would walk to Nidaros barefoot.\n\nBehind her on the path leading up over the castle's summit several boys now appeared, gathering around the portal to see if they could find a way into the fortress ruins. When they caught sight of Kristin, they began shouting crude words at her while they laughed and hooted. She pretended not to hear until a small boy\u2014he couldn't have been more than eight\u2014happened to roll down the steep incline and nearly rammed into her, uttering several loathsome words he had boldly learned from the older ones.\n\nKristin turned around and said with a little laugh, \"You don't need to scream for me to know you're a troll child; I can see that by the tumbling pants that you're wearing.\"\n\nWhen the boys noticed the woman was speaking, they came bounding down, the whole pack of them. But they fell silent and grew shamefaced when they saw she was an older woman wearing pilgrim's garb. She didn't scold them for their coarse words but sat there looking at them with big, clear, calm eyes and a secretive smile on her lips. She had a round, thin face with a broad forehead and a small, curving chin. She was sunburned and had many wrinkles under her eyes, yet she didn't look particularly old.\n\nThen the most fearless of the boys started talking and asking questions in order to conceal the confusion of the others. Kristin felt so merry. These boys seemed to her much like her own daredevils, the twins, when they were small, although she hoped to God that her sons had never had such filthy mouths. These boys seemed to be the children of smallholders from town.\n\nWhen the moment came that she had longed for during the whole journey, when she stood beneath the cross on Feginsbrekka and looked down at Nidaros, she wasn't able to muster her soul for prayers and devotion. All the bells of the town began pealing at once, summoning everyone to vespers, and the boys all started talking at once, eager to point out to her everything in sight.\n\nShe couldn't see Tautra because a squall was blowing across the fjord toward Frosta, bringing fog and torrents of rain.\n\nSurrounded by the group of boys, she made her way down the steep paths through the Steinberg cliffs, as cowbells began ringing and herders shouted from all sides. The cows were heading home from the town pastures. At the gate in the town ramparts near Nidareid, Kristin and her young companions had to wait while the livestock was driven through. The herders hooted and yelled and scolded, the oxen butted, the cows jostled each other, and the boys told her who owned each and every bull. When they finally went through the gate and walked toward the fenced lanes, Kristin had more than enough to do watching where she set her bare feet between the cow dung in the churned-up track.\n\nWithout asking, a few of the boys followed her all the way to Christ Church. And when she stood amid the dim forest of pillars and looked toward the candles and gold of the choir, the boys kept tugging at Kristin to show her things: from the colored patches of light that the sun on the rose window cast through the arches, to the gravestones on the floor, to the canopies of costly cloth above the altars\u2014all things that were most likely to catch a child's eye. Kristin had no peace to collect her thoughts, but every word the boys uttered aroused a dull, deep longing in her heart: for her sons, above all else, but also for the manor, the houses, the outbuildings, the livestock. A mother's toil and a mother's domain.\n\nShe was still feeling reluctant to be recognized by people who might have been friends with Erlend or her in the past. They always used to spend the feast days at their town estate and have guests staying with them. She dreaded running into a whole entourage. She would have to seek out Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n, for he had been acting as her envoy with regard to the property shares she still owned up here in the north and that she now wanted to give to the Rein Convent in exchange for a corrody. But she knew that a man who had served as one of Erlend's guardsmen while he was sheriff was supposed to be living on a small farm out near Brat\u00f8r; he fished for white-sided dolphins and porpoises in the fjord and kept a hostel for seafarers.\n\nAll the lodgings were full, she was told, but then Aamunde, the owner himself, appeared and recognized her at once. It was strange to hear him call out her old name.\n\n\"If I'm not mistaken... aren't you Erlend Nikulauss\u00f8n's wife from Husaby? Greetings, Kristin. How is it that you've come to my house?\"\n\nHe was more than happy if she would accept such lodgings for the night as he could offer, and he promised that he himself would sail to Tautra with her on the day after the feast.\n\nLate into the night she sat outside in the courtyard, talking with her host, and she was greatly moved when she saw that Erlend's former subordinate still loved and esteemed the memory of his young chieftain. Aamunde used that word about him several times: young. They had heard from Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n about his unfortunate death, and Aamunde said that he never met any of his old companions from the Husaby days without drinking a toast to the memory of their intrepid master. Twice some of them had collected money and paid for a mass to be said for his soul on the anniversary of his death. Aamunde asked many questions about Erlend's sons, and Kristin in turn asked about old acquaintances. It was midnight before she went to bed, lying down beside Aamunde's wife. He had wanted both of them to give up their bed for her, and in the end she had to agree to take at least his half.\n\nThe next day was the Vigil of Saint Olav. Early in the morning Kristin went down to the skerries to watch the bustle along the wharves. Her heart began pounding when she saw the lord abbot of Tautra come ashore, but the monks who accompanied him were all older men.\n\nJust before midafternoon prayers the crowds began heading toward Christ Church, carrying and supporting the ill and the lame, to find room for them in the nave so they would be close to the shrine when it was carried past in procession the following day after high mass.\n\nWhen Kristin made her way up to the stalls that had been put up near the cemetery wall\u2014they were mostly selling food and drink, wax candles, and cushions woven from reeds or birch twigs to kneel on inside the church\u2014she happened to meet the people from Andabu again. Kristin held the child while the young mother went to get a drink of local ale. At that moment a procession of English pilgrims appeared, singing and carrying banners and lighted tapers. In the confusion that ensued as they passed through the great crowds around the stalls, Kristin lost sight of the people from Andabu, and afterward she couldn't find them.\n\nFor a long time she wandered back and forth on the outskirts of the throngs, hushing the screaming child. When she pressed the girl's face against her throat, caressing and consoling her, the child would put her lips to Kristin's skin and try to suckle. She could tell the child was thirsty, but she didn't know what to do. It would be futile to search for the mother; she would have to go into the streets and see if she could find some milk. But when she reached Upper Langstr\u00e6te and tried to turn north, there was again a great crush of people. An entourage of horsemen was coming from the south, and at the same time a procession of guardsmen from the king's palace had entered the square between the church and the residence of the Brothers of the Cross. Kristin was pressed back into the nearest alleyway, but there too people on horseback and on foot were streaming toward the church, and the crowds grew so fierce that she finally had to save herself by climbing up onto a stone wall.\n\nThe air above her was filled with the clanging of bells; from the cathedral the nona hora was rung. At the sound the child stopped screaming; she looked up at the sky, and a glimmer of understanding appeared in her dull eyes; she smiled a bit. Touched, the old mother bent down and kissed the poor little thing. Then she noticed that she was sitting on the stone wall surrounding the hops garden of Nikulaus Manor, their old town estate.\n\nShe should have recognized the brick chimney rising up from the sod roof, which was at the back of their house. Closest to her stood the buildings of the hospital, which had vexed Erlend so much because it had shared the rights to their garden.\n\nShe hugged the stranger's child to her breast, kissing her over and over. Then someone touched her knee.\n\nA monk wearing the white robes and black cowl of a friar. She looked down into the sallow, lined visage of an old man, with a thin, sunken mouth and two big amber eyes set deep in his face.\n\n\"Could it be... is that you, Kristin Lavransdatter?\" The monk placed his crossed arms atop the stone wall and buried his face in them. \"Are you here?\"\n\n\"Gunnulf!\"\n\nThen he moved his head so that he touched her knee as she sat there. \"Do you think it so strange that I should be here?\"\n\nShe remembered that she was sitting on the wall of the manor that had been his first home and later her own house, and she had to agree that it was rather odd after all.\n\n\"But what child is this you're holding on your knee? Surely this couldn't be Gaute's son?\"\n\n\"No...\" At the thought of little Erlend's healthy, sweet face and strong, well-formed body, she pressed the tiny child close, overcome with pity. \"This is the daughter of a woman who traveled with me over the mountains.\"\n\nBut then she suddenly recalled what Andres Simonss\u00f8n had said in his childish wisdom. Filled with reverence, she looked down at the pitiful creature who lay in her arms.\n\nNow the child was crying again, and the first thing Kristin had to do was ask the monk if he could tell her where she might find some milk. Gunnulf led her east, around the church to the friars' residence and brought her some milk in a bowl. While Kristin fed her foster child, they talked, but the conversation seemed to halt along rather strangely.\n\n\"So much time has passed and so much has happened since we last met,\" she said sadly. \"And no doubt the news was hard to bear when you heard about your brother.\"\n\n\"May God have mercy on his poor soul,\" whispered Brother Gunnulf, sounding shaken.\n\nNot until she asked about her sons at Tautra did Gunnulf become more talkative. With heartfelt joy the monastery had welcomed the two novices who belonged to one of the land's best lineages. Nikulaus seemed to have such splendid spiritual talents and made such progress in his learning and devotions that the abbot was reminded of his glorious ancestor, the gifted defender of the Church, Nikulaus Arness\u00f8n. That was in the beginning. But after the brothers had donned cloister attire, Nikulaus had started behaving quite badly, and he had caused great unrest in the monastery. Gunnulf wasn't sure of all the reasons, but one was that Abbot Johannes would not allow young brothers to become ordained as priests until they were thirty, and he refused to make an exception to this rule for Nikulaus. And because the venerable father thought that Nikulaus prayed and brooded more than he was spiritually prepared for and was thereby ruining his health with his pious exercises, he wanted to send the young man to one of the cloister's farms on the island of Inder; there, under the supervision of several older monks, he was to plant an apple orchard. Then Nikulaus had apparently openly disobeyed the abbot's orders, accusing his brothers of depleting the cloister's property through extravagant living, of indolence in their service to God, and of unseemly talk. Most of this incident was never reported beyond the monastery walls, Gunnulf said, but Nikulaus had evidently also rebelled against the brother appointed by the abbot to reprimand him. Gunnulf knew that for a period of time he had been locked in a cell, but at last he had been chastened when the abbot threatened to separate him from his brother Bj\u00f8rg ulf and send one of them to Munkabu; it was no doubt the blind brother who had urged him to do this. Then Nikulaus had grown contrite and meek.\n\n\"It's their father's temperament in them,\" said Gunnulf bitterly. \"Nothing else could have been expected but that my brother's sons would have a difficult time learning obedience and would show inconstancy in a godly endeavor.\"\n\n\"It could just as well be their mother's inheritance,\" replied Kristin sorrowfully. \"Disobedience is my gravest sin, Gunnulf, and I was inconstant too. All my days I have longed equally to travel the right road and to take my own errant path.\"\n\n\"Erlend's errant paths, you mean,\" said the monk gloomily. \"It was not just once that my brother led you astray, Kristin; I think he led you astray every day you lived with him. He made you forgetful, so you wouldn't notice when you had thoughts that should have made you blush, because from God the Almighty you could not hide what you were thinking.\"\n\nKristin stared straight ahead.\n\n\"I don't know whether you're right, Gunnulf. I don't know whether I've ever forgotten that God could see into my heart, and so my sin may be even greater. And yet it was not, as you might think, that I needed to blush the most over my shameful boldness or my weakness, but rather over my thoughts that my husband was many times more poisonous than the venom of snakes. But surely the latter has to follow the former. You were the one who once told me that those who have loved each other with the most ardent desire are the ones who will end up like two snakes, biting each other's tails.\n\n\"But it has been my consolation over these past few years, Gunnulf, that as often as I thought about Erlend meeting God's judgment, unconfessed and without receiving the sacraments, struck down with anger in his heart and blood on his hands, he never became what you said or what I myself became. He never held on to anger or injustice any more than he held on to anything else. Gunnulf, he was so handsome, and he looked at peace when I laid out his body. I'm certain that God the Almighty knows that Erlend never harbored rancor toward any man, for any reason.\"\n\nErlend's brother looked at her, his eyes wide. Then he nodded.\n\nAfter a moment the monk asked, \"Did you know that Eiliv Serkss\u00f8n is the priest and adviser for the nuns at Rein?\"\n\n\"No!\" exclaimed Kristin jubilantly.\n\n\"I thought that was why you had chosen to go there yourself,\" said Gunnulf. Soon afterward he said that he would have to go back to his cloister.\n\nThe first nocturn had begun as Kristin entered the church. In the nave and around all the altars there were great throngs of people. But a verger noticed that she was carrying a pitiful child in her arms, and he began pushing a path for her through the crowds so that she could make her way up to the front among the groups of those most crippled and ill, who occupied the middle of the church beneath the vault of the main tower, with a good view of the choir.\n\nMany hundreds of candles were burning inside the church. Vergers accepted the tapers of pilgrims and placed them on the small mound-shaped towers bedecked with spikes that had been set up throughout the church. As the daylight faded behind the colored panes of glass, the church grew warm with the smell of burning wax, but gradually it also filled with a sour stench from the rags worn by the sick and the poor.\n\nWhen the choral voices surged beneath the vaults, the organ swelled, and the flutes, drums, and stringed instruments resounded, Kristin understood why the church might be called a ship. In the mighty stone building all these people seemed to be on board a vessel, and the song was the roar of the sea on which it sailed. Now and then calm would settle over the ship, as if the waves had subsided, and the voice of a solitary man would carry the lessons out over the masses.\n\nFace after face, and they all grew paler and more weary as the vigil night wore on. Almost no one left between the services, at least none of those who had found places in the center of the church. In the pauses between nocturns they would doze or pray. The child slept nearly all night long; a couple of times Kristin had to rock her or give her milk from the wooden flask Gunnulf had brought her from the cloister.\n\nThe encounter with Erlend's brother had oddly distressed her, coming as it did after each step on the road north had led her closer and closer to the memory of her dead husband. She had given little thought to him over the past few years, as the toil for her growing sons had left her scant time to dwell on her own fate, and yet the thought of him had always seemed to be right behind her, but she simply never had a moment to turn around. Now she seemed to be looking back at her soul during those years: It had lived the way people live on farms during the busy summer half of the year, when everyone moves out of the main house and into the lofts over the storerooms. But they walk and run past the winter house all day long, never thinking of going inside, even though all it would take was a lift of the latch and a push on the door. Then one day, when someone finally has a reason to go inside, the house has turned strange and almost solemn because it has acquired the smell of solitude and silence.\n\nBut as she talked to the man who was the last remaining witness to the interplay of sowing and harvesting in her life together with her dead husband, then it seemed to her that she had come to view her life in a new way: like a person who clambers up to a ridge overlooking his home parish, to a place where he has never been before, and gazes down on his own valley. Each farm and fence, each thicket and creek bed are familiar to him, but he seems to see for the first time how everything is laid out on the surface of the earth that bears the lands. And with this new view she suddenly found words to release both her bitterness toward Erlend and her anguish for his soul, which had departed life so abruptly. He had never known rancor; she saw that now, and God had seen it always.\n\nShe had finally come so far that she seemed to be seeing her own life from the uppermost summit of a mountain pass. Now her path led down into the darkening valley, but first she had been allowed to see that in the solitude of the cloister and in the doorway of death someone was waiting for her who had always seen the lives of people the way villages look from a mountain crest. He had seen sin and sorrow, love and hatred in their hearts, the way the wealthy estates and poor hovels, the bountiful acres and the abandoned wastelands are all borne by the same earth. And he had come down among them, his feet had wandered among the lands, stood in castles and in huts, gathering the sorrows and sins of the rich and the poor, and lifting them high up with him on the cross. Not my happiness or my pride, but my sin and my sorrow, oh sweet Lord of mine. She looked up at the crucifix, where it hung high overhead, above the triumphal arch.\n\nThe morning sun lit the tall, colored panes of glass deep within the forest of pillars in the choir and a glow, as if from red and brown, green and blue gemstones, dimmed the candlelight from the altar and the gold shrine behind it. Kristin listened to the last vigil mass, matins. She knew that the lessons of this service were about God's miraculous healing powers as invested in His faithful knight, King Olav Haraldss\u00f8n. She lifted the ill child toward the choir and prayed for her.\n\nBut she was so cold that her teeth were chattering after the long hours spent in the chill of the church, and she felt weak from fasting. The stench of the crowds and the sickening breath of the ill and the poor blended with the reek of candle wax and settled, thick and damp and heavy, upon those kneeling on the floor, cold in the cold morning. A stout, kind, and cheerful peasant woman had been sitting and dozing at the foot of a pillar right behind them, with a bearskin under her and another one over her lame legs. Now she woke up and drew Kristin's weary head onto her spacious lap. \"Rest for a little while, sister. I think you must need to rest.\"\n\nKristin fell asleep in the woman's lap and dreamed:\n\nShe was stepping over the threshold into the old hearth room back home. She was young and unmarried, because she could see her own thick brown braids, which hung down in front of her shoulders. She was with Erlend, for he had just straightened up after ducking through the doorway ahead of her.\n\nNear the hearth sat her father, whittling arrows; his lap was covered with bundles of sinews, and on the bench on either side of him lay heaps of arrowpoints and pointed shafts. At the very moment they stepped inside, he was bending forward over the embers, about to pick up the little three-legged metal cup in which he always used to melt resin. Suddenly he pulled his hand back, shook it in the air, and then stuck his burned fingertips in his mouth, sucking on them as he turned his head toward her and Erlend and looked at them with a furrowed brow and a smile on his lips.\n\nThen she woke up, her face wet with tears.\n\nShe knelt during the high mass, when the archbishop himself performed the service before the main altar. Clouds of frankincense billowed through the intoning church, where the radiance of colored sunlight mingled with the glow of candles; the fresh, pungent scent of incense seeped over everyone, blunting the smell of poverty and illness. Her heart burst with a feeling of oneness with these destitute and suffering people, among whom God had placed her; she prayed in a surge of sisterly tenderness for all those who were poor as she was and who suffered as she herself had suffered.\n\n\"I will rise up and go home to my Father.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "The convent stood on a low ridge near the fjord, so that when the wind blew, the crash of the waves on the shore would usually drown out the rustling of the pine forest that covered the slopes to the north and west and hid any view of the sea.\n\nKristin had seen the church tower above the trees when she sailed past with Erlend, and he had said several times they ought to pay a visit to this convent, which his ancestor had founded, but nothing had ever come of it. She had never set foot in Rein Convent until she came there to stay.\n\nShe had imagined that life here would be similar to what she knew of life in the convents in Oslo or at Bakke, but things were quite different and much more quiet. Here the sisters were truly dead to the world. Fru Ragnhild, the abbess, was proud of the fact that it had been five years since she had been to Nidaros and just as long since any of her nuns had set foot outside the cloister walls.\n\nNo children were being raised there, and at the time Kristin came to Rein, there were no novices at the convent either. It had been so many years since any young maiden had sought admittance to the order that it was already six winters ago that the newest member, Sister Borghild Marcellina, had taken her vows. The youngest in years was Sister Turid, but she had been sent to Rein at the age of six by her grandfather, who was a priest at Saint Clement's Church and a very stern and somber man. The child's hands had been crippled from birth, and she was misshapen in other ways too, so she had taken the veil as soon as she reached the proper age. Now she was thirty years old and quite sickly, but she had a lovely face. From the first day Kristin arrived at the convent, she made a special attempt to serve Sister Turid, for the nun reminded her of her own little sister Ulvhild, who had died so young.\n\nSira Eiliv said that low birth should not be a hindrance for any maiden who came to serve God. And yet ever since the convent at Rein had been founded, it was usually only the daughters or widows of powerful and highborn men from Tr\u00f8ndelag who had sought refuge there. But during the wicked and turbulent times that had descended upon the realm after the death of blessed King Haakon Haalegg, piety seemed to have diminished greatly among the nobility. Now it was mostly the daughters of merchants and prosperous farmers who considered the life of a nun. And they were more likely to go to Bakke, where many of them had spent time learning their devotions and womanly skills and where more of the sisters came from families of lower standing. There the rule prohibiting venturing outside the convent was less strict, and the cloister was not as isolated.\n\nOtherwise Kristin seldom had the chance to speak with Sira Eiliv, but she soon realized that the priest's position at the convent was both a wearisome and troubled one. Although Rein was a wealthy cloister and the order included only half as many members as it could have supported, the nuns' money matters were in great disarray, and they had difficulty managing their expenses. The last three abbesses had been more pious than worldly women. Even so, they and their convent had vowed tooth and nail not to submit to the authority of the archbishop; their conviction was so strong that they also refused to accept any advice offered out of fatherly goodwill. And the brothers of their order from Tautra and Munkabu, who had been priests at their church, had all been old men so that no slanderous gossip might arise, but they had been only moderately successful at managing the convent's material welfare. When King Skule built the beautiful stone church and gave his ancestral estate to the cloister, the houses were first built of wood; they all had burned down thirty years ago. Fru Audhild, who was abbess at the time, began rebuilding with stone; in her day many improvements had been made to the church and the lovely convent hall. She had also made a journey to the general chapter at the mother cloister of the order, Tart in Burgundy. From that journey she had brought back the magnificent tower of ivory that stood in the choir near the high altar, a fitting receptacle for the body of the Lord, the most splendid adornment of the church, and the pride and cherished treasure of the nuns. Fru Audhild had died with the fairest of reputations for piety and virtue, but her ignorance in dealing with the builders and her imprudent property ventures had damaged the convent's well-being. And the abbesses who succeeded her had not been able to repair that damage.\n\nHow Sira Eiliv happened to come to Rein as priest and adviser, Kristin never knew, but this much she did know: From the very beginning the abbess and the sisters had received a secular priest with reluctance and suspicion. Sira Eiliv's position at Rein was such that he was the nuns' priest and spiritual adviser; he was also supposed to see about putting the estate back on its feet and restoring order to the convent's finances. All the while he was to acknowledge the supremacy of the abbess, the independence of the sisters, and the supervisory right of Tautra. He was also supposed to maintain a friendship with the other priest at the church, a monk from Tautra. Sira Eiliv's age and renown for unblemished moral conduct, humble devotion to God, and insight into both canonical laws and the laws of the land had certainly served him well, but he had to be constantly vigilant about everything he did. Along with the other priest and the vergers, he lived on a small manor that lay northeast of the convent. This also served as the lodgings for the monks who came from Tautra from time to time on various errands. When Nikulaus was eventually ordained as a priest, Kristin knew that if she lived long enough, she would also one day hear her eldest son say mass in the cloister church.\n\nKristin Lavransdatter was first accepted as a corrodian. Later she had promised Fru Ragnhild and the sisters, in the presence of Sira Eiliv and two monks from Tautra, to live a chaste life and obey the abbess and nuns. As a sign that she had renounced all command over earthly goods she had placed in Sira Eiliv's hands her seal, which he had broken in half. Then she was allowed to wear the same attire as the sisters: a grayish white woolen robe\u2014but without the scapular\u2014a white wimple, and a black veil. After some time had passed, the intention was for her to seek admittance into the order and to take the vows of a nun.\n\nBut it still was difficult for her to think too much about things of the past. For reading aloud during meals in the refectory, Sira Eiliv had translated into the Norwegian language a book about the life of Christ, which the learned and pious Doctor Bonaventura had written. While Kristin listened, her eyes would fill with tears whenever she thought about how blessed a person must be who could love Christ and his Mother, the cross and its torment, poverty and humility, in the way the book described. And then she couldn't help thinking about that day at Husaby when Gunnulf and Sira Eiliv had shown her the book in Latin from which this one had been copied. It was a thick little book written on such thin and dazzling white parchment that she never would have believed calfskin could be prepared so finely, and it had the most beautiful pictures and capital letters; the colors glowed like gemstones against gold. All the while Gunnulf had talked merrily\u2014and Sira Eiliv had nodded in agreement with his quiet smile\u2014about how the purchase of this book had made them penniless, so they had been forced to sell their clothes and take their meals with those receiving alms at a cloister until they received word of some Norwegian clerics who had come to Paris; from them they could borrow funds.\n\nAfter matins, when the sisters went back to the dormitory, Kristin always stayed behind in the church. On summer mornings it seemed to her sweet and lovely inside, but during the winter it was terribly cold, and she was afraid of the darkness among all the gravestones, even though she steadily fixed her eyes on the little lamp which always burned in front of the ivory tower containing the Host. But winter or summer, as she lingered in her corner of the nuns' choir, she always thought that now Naakkve and Bj\u00f8rg ulf must also be praying for their father's soul; it was Nikulaus who had asked her to say these prayers and psalms of penance as they did every morning after matins.\n\nAlways, always she would then picture the two of them as she had seen them on that gray, rainy day when she went out to the monastery. Nikulaus had suddenly appeared before her in the parlatory, looking oddly tall and unfamiliar in the grayish white monk's robes, with his hands hidden under his scapular\u2014her son\u2014and yet he had changed so little. It was mostly his resemblance to his father that seized her so strongly; it was like seeing Erlend in a monk's cowl.\n\nAs they sat and talked and she told him everything that had happened on the estate since he left home, she kept waiting and waiting. Finally she asked anxiously if Bj\u00f8rgulf would be coming soon.\n\n\"I don't know, Mother,\" replied her son. A moment later he added, \"It has been a hard struggle for Bj\u00f8rgulf to submit to his cross and serve God. And it seemed to worry him when he heard you were here, that too many thoughts might be torn open.\"\n\nAfterward she felt only deadly despair as she sat and looked at Nikulaus while he talked. His face was very sunburned, and his hands were worn with toil; he mentioned with a little smile that he had been forced to learn after all to guide a plow and use a sickle and scythe. She didn't sleep that night in the hostel, and she hurried to church when the bells rang for matins. But the monks were standing so that she could see only a few faces, and her sons were not among them.\n\nThe following day she walked in the garden with a lay brother who worked there, and he showed her all the rare plants and trees for which it was renowned. As they wandered, the clouds scattered, the sun emerged, and a fragrance of celery, onion, and thyme rose up; the large shrubs of yellow lilies and blue columbine that adorned the corners of the beds glittered, weighted down with raindrops. Then her sons appeared; both of them came out of the little arched doorway in the stone building. Kristin felt as if she had been given a foretaste of the joys of paradise when she saw the two tall brothers, dressed in light-colored attire, coming toward her along the path beneath the apple trees.\n\nBut they didn't talk much with each other; Bj\u00f8rgulf said almost nothing the entire time. He had become an enormous man, now that he was full-grown. And it was as if the long separation had sharpened Kristin's sight. For the first time she understood what this son of hers had had to struggle with and was doubtless still struggling with as he grew so big and strong in body, and his inner astuteness grew, but he felt his eyesight failing.\n\nOnce he asked about his foster mother, Frida Styrkaarsdatter. Kristin told him that she was now married.\n\n\"May God bless her,\" said the monk. \"She was a good woman; toward me she was a good and faithful foster mother.\"\n\n\"Yes, I think she was more of a mother to you than I was,\" said Kristin sadly. \"You felt little trace of my mother's heart when such harsh trials were placed upon you in your youth.\"\n\nBj\u00f8rgulf answered in a low voice, \"And yet I thank God that the Devil never managed to bend me to such unmanliness that I should test your mother's heart in such a manner, even though I was close to it.... But I saw that you were carrying much too heavy a burden, and aside from God it was Nikulaus here who saved me those times when I was about to fall to temptation.\"\n\nNo more was said about that, or about how they were faring at the monastery or that they had acted badly and brought disfavor upon themselves. But they seemed quite pleased when they heard of their mother's intention to join the convent at Rein.\n\nAfter her morning prayers, when Kristin walked back through the dormitory and looked at the sisters, sleeping on the beds, two to each straw mattress, and wearing their robes, which they never took off, she would think how unlike these women she must be, since from their youth they had devoted themselves solely to serving their Creator. The world was a master from whom it was difficult to flee once a person had submitted to its power. Surely she would not have fled either, but she had been cast out, the way a harsh master chases a used-up vassal out the door. Now she had been taken in here, the way a merciful master takes in an old servant and out of compassion gives her a little work while he houses and feeds the worn-out and friendless old soul.\n\nFrom the nuns' dormitory a covered gallery led to the weaving room. Kristin sat there alone, spinning. The sisters of Rein were famous for their flax. Those days during the summer and fall when all the sisters and lay sisters went out to work in the flax fields were like feast days at the convent, especially when they pulled up the ripe plants. Preparing, spinning, and weaving the flax and then sewing the cloth into clerical garments were the main activities of the nuns during their work hours. None of them copied or illustrated books as the sisters in Oslo had done with such great skill under the guidance of Fru Groa Guttormsdatter, nor did they practice much the artful work of embroidering with silk and gold threads.\n\nAfter some time Kristin was pleased to hear the sounds of the estate waking up. The lay sisters would go over to the cookhouse to prepare food for the servants; the nuns never touched food or drink until after the morning mass unless they were ill. When the bells rang for prime, Kristin would go over to the infirmary if anyone was sick, to relieve Sister Agata or one of the other nuns. Sister Turid, poor thing, often lay there.\n\nThen she would begin looking forward to breakfast, which was served after the third hour of prayer and the mass for the convent's servants. Each day, with equal joy, Kristin would look forward to this noble and solemn meal. The refectory was built of wood, but it was a handsome hall, and all the women of the convent ate there together. The nuns sat at the highest table, where the abbess occupied the high seat, along with the three old women besides Kristin who were corrodians. The lay sisters were seated farther down. When the prayer was over, food and drink were brought in and everyone ate and drank in silence, with quiet and proper manners. While one of the sisters read aloud from a book, Kristin would think that if people out in the world could enjoy their meals with such propriety, it would be much clearer to them that food and drink are gifts from God, and they would be more generous toward their fellow Christians and think less about hoarding things for themselves and their own. But she herself had felt quite different back when she set out food for her flock of spirited and boisterous men who laughed and roared, while the dogs sniffed around under the table, sticking up their snouts to receive bones or blows, depending on what humor the boys were in.\n\nVisitors seldom came to Rein. An occasional ship with people from the noble estates might put in when they were sailing into or out of the fjord, and then men and their wives, with children and youths, would walk up to the cloister to bring greetings to a kinswoman among the sisters. There were also the envoys from the convent's farms and fishing villages, and now and then messengers from Tautra. On the feast days that were celebrated with the most splendor\u2014the feast days of the Virgin Mary, Corpus Christi Day, and the Feast of the Apostle Saint Andreas\u2014people from the nearest villages on both sides of the fjord would come to the nuns' church. Otherwise only the convent's tenants and workers who lived close by would attend mass. They took up very little space in the vast church.\n\nAnd then there were the poor\u2014the regular charity cases who received ale and drink on specific days when masses were said for the souls of the dead, as provided for in the testaments of wealthy people\u2014and others who came up to Rein almost every day. They would sit against the cookhouse wall to eat and seek out the nuns when they came into the courtyard, telling the sisters about their sorrows and troubles. The ill, the crippled, and the leprous were always coming and going. There were many who suffered from leprosy, but Fru Ragnhild said that was always true of villages near the sea. Leaseholders came to ask for reductions or deferments in their payments, and then they always had much to report about setbacks and difficulties. The more wretched and unhappy the people were, the more openly and freely they talked to the sisters about their circumstances, although they usually gave others the blame for their misfortunes, and they spoke in the most pious of terms. It was no wonder that when the nuns rested or while they worked in the weaving room, their conversation should turn to the lives of these people. Yes, Sister Turid even told Kristin that when the nuns in the convent were supposed to deliberate about trade and the like, the discussion would often slip into talk about the people who were involved in the cases. Kristin could tell from the sisters' words that they knew little more about what they were discussing than what they had heard from the people themselves or from the lay servants who had been out in the parish. They were very trusting, whether their subordinates spoke well of themselves or ill of their neighbors. And then Kristin would think with indignation about all the times she had heard ungodly lay people, yes, even a mendicant monk such as Brother Arngrim, accuse the convents of being nests of gossip and the sisters of swallowing greedily all rumors and unseemly talk. Even the very people who came moaning to Fru Ragnhild or any of the sisters who would speak to them, filling their ears with gossip, would berate the nuns because they discussed the cries that reached them from the outside world, which they themselves had renounced. She thought it was the same thing with gossip about the comfortable life of convent women; it stemmed from people who had often received an early breakfast from the sisters' hands, while God's servants fasted, kept vigil, prayed, and worked before they all gathered for the first solemn meal in the refectory.\n\nKristin served the nuns with loving reverence during the time before her admittance to the order. She didn't think she would ever be a good nun\u2014she had squandered her abilities for edification and piety too much for that\u2014but she would be as humble and faithful as God would allow her to be. It was late in the summer of A.D. 1349, she had been at Rein Convent for two years, and she was to take the vows of a nun before Christmas. She received the joyous message that both her sons would come to her ordination as part of Abbot Johannes's entourage.\n\nBrother Bj\u00f8rgulf had said, when he heard of his mother's intention, \"Now my dream will be realized. I've dreamed twice this year that before Christmas we both would see her, although it won't be exactly as it was revealed to me, since in my dream I actually saw her.\"\n\nBrother Nikulaus was also overjoyed. But at the same time Kristin heard other news about him that was not as good. He had laid hands on several farmers over by Steinker; they were in the midst of a dispute with the monastery about some fishing rights. When the monks came upon them one night as they were proceeding to destroy the monastery's salmon pens, Brother Nikulaus had given one man a beating and thrown another into the river, at the same time sinning gravely with his cursing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "A few days later Kristin went to the spruce forest with several of the nuns and lay sisters to gather moss for green dye. This moss was rather rare, growing mostly on toppled trees and dry branches. The women soon scattered through the forest and lost sight of each other in the fog.\n\nThis strange weather had already lasted for several days: no wind, a thick haze with a peculiar leaden blue color that could be seen out over the sea and toward the mountains whenever it lifted enough so that a little of the countryside became visible. Now and then it would grow denser, becoming a downpour; now and then it would disperse so much that a whitish patch would appear where the sun hovered amid the shrouded peaks. But an odd heavy bathhouse heat hung on, quite unusual for that region down by the fjord and particularly at that time of year. It was two days before the Feast of the Birth of Mary. Everyone was talking about the weather and wondering what it could mean.\n\nKristin was sweating in the dead, damp heat, and the thought of the news she had heard about Naakkve was making her chest ache. She had reached the outskirts of the woods and come to the rough fence along the road to the sea; as she stood there, scraping moss off the rails, Sira Eiliv came riding toward home in the fog. He reined in his horse, said a few words about the weather, and they fell to talking. Then she asked the priest whether he knew anything about the incident with Naakkve, even though she knew it was futile. Sira Eiliv always pretended to know nothing about the private matters of the monastery at Tautra.\n\n\"I don't think you need to worry that he won't come to Rein this winter because of that, Kristin,\" said the priest. \"For surely that's what you fear?\"\n\n\"It's more than that, Sira Eiliv. I fear that Naakkve was never meant to be a monk.\"\n\n\"Do you mean you would presume to judge about such things?\" asked the priest with a frown. Then he got down from his horse, tied the reins to the fence, and bent down to slip under the railing as he gave the woman a steady, searching glance.\n\nKristin said, \"I fear that Naakkve finds it most difficult to submit to the discipline of the order. And he was so young when he entered the monastery; he didn't realize what he was giving up or know his own mind. But everything that happened during his youth\u2014losing his father's inheritance and the discord that he saw between his father and mother, which ended with Erlend's death\u2014all this caused him to lose his desire to live in this world. But I never noticed that it made him pious.\"\n\n\"You didn't? It may well be that Nikulaus has found it as difficult to submit to the discipline of the order as many a good monk has. He's hot-tempered and a young man, perhaps too young for him to have realized, before he turned away from this world, that the world is just as harsh a taskmaster as any other lord, and in the end it's a lord without mercy. Of that I think you yourself can judge, sister.\n\n\"And if it's true that Naakkve entered the monastery more for his brother's sake than out of love for his Creator... Even so, I don't think God will let it go unrewarded that he took up the cross on his brother's behalf. Mary, the Mother of God, whom I know Naakkve has honored and loved from the time he was a little boy, will doubtless show him clearly one day that her son came down to this earth to be his brother and to carry the cross for him.\n\n\"No...\" The horse snuffled against the priest's chest. He stroked the animal as he murmured, as if to himself, \"Ever since he was a child, my Nikulaus has had remarkable capacities for love and suffering; I think he has the makings of a fine priest.\n\n\"But you, Kristin,\" he said, turning toward her. \"It seems to me that you should have seen so much by now that you would put more trust in God the Almighty. Haven't you realized yet that He will hold up each soul as long as that soul clings to Him? Do you think\u2014child that you still are in your old age\u2014that God would punish the sin when you must reap sorrow and humiliation because you followed your desire and your pride along pathways God has forbidden His children to tread? Will you say that you punished your children if they scalded their hands when they picked up the boiling kettle you had forbidden them to touch? Or the slippery ice broke beneath them when you had warned them not to go out there? Haven't you noticed when the brittle ice broke beneath you? You were drawn under each time you let go of God's hand, and you were rescued from the depths each time you called out to Him. Even when you defied your father and set your willfulness against his will, wasn't the love that was the bond of flesh between you and your father consolation and balm for the heart when you had to reap the fruit of your disobedience to him?\n\n\"Haven't you realized yet, sister, that God has helped you each time you prayed, even when you prayed with half a heart or with little faith, and He gave you much more than you asked for. You loved God the way you loved your father: not as much as you loved your own will, but still enough that you always grieved when you had to part from him. And then you were blessed with having good grow from the bad which you had to reap from the seed of your stubborn will.\n\n\"Your sons... Two of them He took when they were innocent children; for them you need never fear. And the others have turned out well\u2014even if they haven't turned out the way you would have liked. No doubt Lavrans thought the same about you.\n\n\"And your husband, Kristin... May God protect his soul. I know you have chastised him in your heart both night and day because of his reckless folly. It seems to me that it must have been much harder for a proud woman to remember that Erlend Niku lauss\u00f8n had taken you with him through shame and betrayal and blood guilt if you had seen even once that the man could act with cold intent. And yet I believe it was because you were as faithful in anger and harshness as in love that you were able to hold on to Erlend as long as you both lived. For him it was out of sight, out of mind with everything except you. May God help Erlend. I fear he never had the wits to feel true remorse for his sins, but the sins that your husband committed against you\u2014those he did regret and grieve over. That was a lesson we dare to believe has served Erlend well after death.\"\n\nKristin stood motionless, without speaking, and Sira Eiliv said no more. He untied his reins and said, \"May peace be with you.\" Then he mounted his horse and rode away.\n\nLater, when Kristin arrived back at the convent, Sister Ingrid met her at the gate with the message that one of her sons had come to see her; he called himself Skule, and he was waiting at the speaking gate.\n\nHe was conversing with his fellow seamen but leaped to his feet when his mother came to the door. Oh, she recognized her son by his agile movements: his small head, held high on his broad shoulders, and his long-limbed, slender figure. Beaming, she stepped forward to greet him, but she stopped abruptly and caught her breath when she saw his face. Oh, who had done such a thing to her handsome son?\n\nHis upper lip was completely flattened; a blow must have crushed it, and then it had grown back flat and long and ruined, striped with shiny white scar tissue. It had pulled his mouth askew, so he looked as if he were always sneering scornfully. And his nose had been broken and then healed crooked. He lisped slightly when he spoke; he was missing a front tooth, and another one was blue-black and dead.\n\nSkule blushed under his mother's gaze. \"Could it be that you don't know me, Mother?\" He chuckled and touched a finger to his lip, not necessarily to point out his injury; it might simply have been an involuntary gesture.\n\n\"We haven't been parted so many years, my son, that your mother wouldn't recognize you,\" replied Kristin calmly, smiling without restraint.\n\nSkule Erlendss\u00f8n had arrived on a swift sailing ship from Bj\u00f8rgvin two days before with letters from Bjarne Erlingss\u00f8n for the archbishop and the royal treasurer in Nidaros. Later that day mother and son walked down to the garden beneath the apple trees, and when they could finally talk to each other alone, Skule told his mother news of his brothers.\n\nLavrans was still in Iceland; Kristin hadn't even known that he'd gone there. Oh yes, said Skule, he had met his youngest brother in Oslo the previous winter at a meeting of the nobles; he was there with Jamm\u00e6lt Halvardss\u00f8n. But the boy had always had a desire to go out and see the world, and so he had entered the service of the bishop of Skaalholt and left Norway.\n\nSkule himself had accompanied Sir Bjarne to Sweden and then on a war campaign to Russia. His mother silently shook her head; she hadn't known about that either! The life suited him, he said with a laugh. He had finally had a chance to meet all the old friends his father had talked so much about: Karelians, Ingrians, Russians. No, his splendid scar of honor had not been won in a war. He gave a chuckle. Yes, it was in a brawl; the fellow who gave it to him would never have need to beg for his bread again. Otherwise Skule seemed to have little interest in telling her any more about the incident or about the campaign. He was now the head of Sir Bjarne's guardsmen, and the knight had promised to regain for him several properties his father had once owned in Orkedal that were now in the possession of the Crown. But Kristin noticed that Skule's big steel-gray eyes had a strange look in them as he spoke of this.\n\n\"But you think that such a promise cannot be counted on?\" asked his mother.\n\n\"No, no.\" Skule shook his head. \"The documents are being drawn up at this very time. Sir Bjarne has always kept his promises, in all the days I've been in his service; he calls me kinsman and friend. My position on his estate is much like that of Ulf back home with us.\" He laughed. It didn't suit his damaged face.\n\nBut he was the handsomest of men in terms of bearing, now that he was full-grown. The clothing he wore was cut according to the new fashion, with close-fitting hose and a snug, short cote-hardi, which reached only to mid-thigh and was fastened with tiny brass buttons all the way down the front, revealing with almost unseemly boldness the supple power of his body. It looked as if he were wearing only undergarments, thought his mother. But his forehead and handsome eyes were unchanged.\n\n\"You look as if something were weighing on your heart, Skule,\" ventured his mother.\n\n\"No, no, no.\" It was just the weather, he said, giving himself a shake. There was a strange reddish brown sheen to the fog as the veiled sun set. The church towered above the treetops in the garden, eerie and dark and indistinct in a liver-red haze. They had been forced to row all the way into the fjord in the becalmed sea, said Skule. Then he shifted his clothes a bit and told her more about his brothers.\n\nHe had been sent on a mission by Sir Bjarne to southern Norway in the spring, so he could bring her recent news from Ivar and Gaute because he had traveled back north through the countryside and over the mountains from Vaagaa, home to Vestland. Ivar was well; he and his wife had two small sons at Rognheim, Erlend and Gamal, both handsome children. \"At J\u00f8rundgaard I arrived for a christening feast. And Jofrid and Gaute said that since you were now dead to the world, they would name their little maiden after you; Jofrid is so proud of the fact that you're her motherin-law. Yes, you may laugh, but now that the two of you don't have to live on the same manor, you can be sure that Jofrid thinks it splendid to speak of her motherin-law, Kristin Lavransdatter. And I gave Kristin Gautesdatter my best gold ring, for she has such lovely eyes that I think she will come to look much like you.\"\n\nKristin smiled sadly.\n\n\"Soon you'll have me believing, my Skule, that my sons thought I was as fine and grand as old people always become as soon as they're in their graves.\"\n\n\"Don't talk like that, Mother,\" said the man, his voice strangely vehement. Then he laughed a little. \"You know quite well that my brothers and I have always thought, ever since we wore our first pair of breeches, that you were the most splendid and magnanimous woman, even though you clutched us tightly under your wings so many times that we had to flap hard before we could escape the nest.\n\n\"But you were right that Gaute was the one with the makings of a chieftain among us brothers,\" he added, and he roared with laughter.\n\n\"You don't need to mock me about that, Skule,\" said Kristin, and Skule saw that his mother blushed, looking young and lovely.\n\nThen he laughed even harder. \"It's true, my mother. Gaute Er lendss\u00f8n of J\u00f8rundgaard has become a powerful man in the northern valleys. He won quite a reputation for himself by abducting his bride.\" Skule bellowed with laughter; it didn't suit his ruined mouth. \"People are singing a ballad about it; yes, they're even singing that he took the maiden with iron and steel and that he fought with her kinsmen for three long days up on the moors. And the banquet that Sir Sigurd held at Sundbu, making peace among kin with gold and silver: Gaute is given credit for that too in the ballad. But it doesn't seem to have caused any harm by being a lie. Gaute rules the entire parish and some distance beyond, and Jofrid rules Gaute.\"\n\nKristin shook her head with a sad little smile. But her face looked young as she gazed at Skule. Now she thought that he looked most like his father; this young soldier with the ravaged face had so much of Erlend's lively courage. And the fact that he had been forced to take his own fate into his hands early on had given him a cool and steadfast spirit, which brought an odd sense of comfort to his mother's heart. With the words Sira Eiliv had spoken the day before still in her mind, she suddenly realized that as fearful as she had been for her reckless sons and as sternly as she had often admonished them because she was tormented with anguish for their sakes, she would have been less content with her children if they had been meek and timid.\n\nThen she asked again and again about her grandson, little Erlend, but Skule had not seen much of him; yes, he was healthy and handsome and used to having his own way at all times.\n\nThe uncanny fog, tinged like clotted blood, had faded, and darkness began to fall. The church bells started ringing; Kristin and her son rose to their feet. Then Skule took her hand.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said in a low voice, \"do you remember that I once laid hands on you? I threw a wooden bat at you, and it struck you on the forehead. Do you remember? Mother, while we're alone, tell me that you've fully forgiven me for that!\"\n\nKristin let out a deep breath. Yes, she remembered. She had asked the twins to go up to the mountain pastures for her, but when she came out to the courtyard, she found their horse still there, grazing and wearing the pack saddle, and her sons were running about, batting a ball. When she reprimanded them sternly, Skule threw the bat at her in fierce anger. What she remembered most was walking around with her eyelid so swollen that it seemed to have grown shut; her other sons would look at her and then at Skule and shun the boy as if he were a leper. First Naakkve had beat him mercilessly. And Skule had wandered around, boiling with defiance and shame behind his stony, scornful expression. But that evening, as she was undressing in the dark, he came creeping into the room. Without saying a word, he took her hand and kissed it. When she touched his shoulder, he threw his arms around her neck and pressed his cheek to hers. His skin felt cool and soft and slightly rounded\u2014still a child's cheek, she realized. He was just a child, after all, this headstrong, quick-tempered boy.\n\n\"Yes, I have, Skule\u2014so completely, that God alone can understand, for I can't tell you how completely I've forgiven you, my son!\"\n\nFor a moment she stood with her hand on his shoulder. Then he seized her wrists and squeezed them so tight that she cried out; the next instant he put his arms around her, as tender and frightened and ashamed as he had been back then.\n\n\"My son... what is it?\" whispered his mother in alarm.\n\nIn the dark she could feel the man shaking his head. Then he let her go, and they walked back up to the church.\n\nDuring the mass Kristin happened to remember that she had once again forgotten about the cloak for the blind Fru Aasa when they were sitting on the bench outside the priest's door that morning. After the service she went around the church to get it.\n\nIn the archway stood Skule and Sira Eiliv, holding a lantern in his hand. \"He died when we put in at the wharf,\" she heard Skule say, his voice full of a peculiar, wild despair.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\nBoth men started violently when they saw her.\n\n\"One of my seamen,\" said Skule softly.\n\nKristin looked from one man to the other. In the glow of the lantern she caught sight of their faces, incomprehensibly strained, and she uttered a little involuntary cry of fear. The priest bit his lip; she saw that his chin was trembling faintly.\n\n\"It's just as well that you tell your mother, my son. It's better if we all prepare ourselves to bear it if it should be God's will for our people to be stricken with such a harsh\u2014\" But Skule merely moaned and refused to speak. Then the priest said, \"A sickness has come to Bj\u00f8rgvin, Kristin. The terrible pestilence we've heard rumors about, which is ravaging countries abroad.\"\n\n\"The black plague?\" whispered Kristin.\n\n\"It would do no good if I tried to tell you how things were in Bj\u00f8rgvin when I left there,\" said Skule. \"No one could imagine it who hasn't seen it for himself. Sir Bjarne took stern measures at first to put out the fire where it broke out in the buildings around Saint Jon's Monastery. He wanted to cut off all of Nordnes with guardsmen from the castle, even though the monks at Saint Michael's Monastery threatened him with excommunication. An English ship had arrived with sick men on board, and he refused to allow them to unload their cargo or leave the ship. Every single man on that vessel perished, and then he had it scuttled. But some of the goods had already been brought ashore, and some of the townsmen smuggled more off the ship one night, and the brothers of Saint Jon's Church demanded that the dying be given the last rites. When people started dying all over town, we realized it was hopeless. Now there's no one left in Bj\u00f8rgvin except for the men carrying the corpses. Everyone has fled the town who could, but the sickness follows them.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jesus Christus!\"\n\n\"Mother... Do you remember the last time there was a lemming year back home in Sil? The hordes that tumbled along all the roads and pathways... Do you remember how they lay dying in every bush, rotting and tainting every waterway with their stench and poison?\" He clenched his fists. His mother shuddered.\n\n\"Lord, have mercy on us all. Praise be to God and the Virgin Mary that you were sent up here, my Skule.\"\n\nThe man gnashed his teeth in the dark.\n\n\"That's what we said too, my men and I, the morning we hoisted sail and set off for Vaag. When we came north to Mold\u00f8 sund, the first one fell ill. We tied stones to his feet and put a cross on his breast when he died, promising him a mass for his soul when we reached Nidaros; then we threw his body into the sea. May God forgive us. With the next two, we put into shore and gave them the last rites and burial in a proper grave. It's not possible to flee from fate after all. The fourth one died as we rowed into the river, and the fifth one died last night.\"\n\n\"Do you have to go back to town?\" asked his mother a moment later. \"Can't you stay here?\"\n\nSkule shook his head and laughed without mirth. \"Oh, I think soon it won't matter where I am. It's useless to be frightened; fearful men are half dead already. But if only I was as old as you are, Mother!\"\n\n\"No one knows what he has been spared by dying in his youth,\" said his mother quietly.\n\n\"Silence, Mother! Think about the time when you yourself were twenty-three years old. Would you have wanted to lose all the years you've lived since then?\"\n\nFourteen days later Kristin saw for the first time someone who was ill with the plague. Rumors had reached Rissa that the scourge was laying waste to Nidaros and had spread to the countryside; how this had happened was difficult to say, for everyone was staying inside, and anyone who saw an unknown wayfarer on the road would flee into the woods or thickets. No one opened the door to strangers.\n\nBut one morning two fishermen came up to the convent, carrying between them a man in a sail. When they had gone down to their boats at dawn, they found an unfamiliar fishing vessel at the dock, and in the bottom lay this man, unconscious. He had managed to tie up his boat but could not climb out of it. The man had been born in a house belonging to the convent, but his family had since moved away from the region.\n\nThe dying man lay in the wet sail in the middle of the courtyard green; the fishermen stood at a distance, talking to Sira Eiliv. The lay sisters and servingwomen all had fled into the buildings, but the nuns\u2014a flock of trembling, terrified, and bewildered old women\u2014were clustered near the door to the convent hall.\n\nThen Fru Ragnhild stepped forward. She was a short, thin old woman with a wide, flat face and a little, round red nose that looked like a button. Her big light brown eyes were red-rimmed and always slightly teary.\n\n\"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,\" she said clearly, and then swallowed hard. \"Bring him to the guesthouse.\"\n\nSister Agata, the oldest of the nuns, elbowed her way through the others and, unbidden, followed the abbess and the fishermen who carried the sick man.\n\nKristin went over there that night with a potion she had prepared in the pantry, and Sister Agata asked if she would stay and tend the fire.\n\nShe thought she would have been hardened, familiar as she was with birth and death; she had seen worse sights than this. She tried to recall the very worst she had ever witnessed. The plague patient sat bolt upright, for he was about to choke on the bloody vomit he coughed up with every spasm. Sister Agata had strapped him up with a harness across his gaunt, sallow red-haired chest; his head hung limply, and his face was a leaden grayish blue. All of a sudden he would start shaking with cold. But Sister Agata sat calmly, saying her prayers. When the fits of coughing seized hold of him, she would stand up, put one arm around his head, and hold a cup under his mouth. The ill man bellowed with pain, rolling his eyes terribly, and finally thrust a blackened tongue all the way out of his mouth as his terrible cries ended in a pitiful groan. The nun emptied the cup into the fire. As Kristin added more juniper and the wet branches first filled the room with a sharp yellow smoke and then made the flames crackle, she watched Sister Agata straighten the pillows and comforters behind the sick man's back and shoulders, swab his face and crusted brown lips with vinegar water, and pull the soiled coverlet up around his body. It would soon be over, she told Kristin. He was already cold; in the beginning he had been as hot as an ember. But Sira Eiliv had prepared him for his leave-taking. Then she sat down beside his bed, pushed the calamus root back into her cheek with her tongue, and continued praying.\n\nKristin tried to conquer the ghastly horror she felt. She had seen people die a more difficult death. But it was all in vain. This was the plague\u2014God's punishment for the secret hardheartedness of every human being, which only God the Almighty could see. She felt dizzy, as if she were rocking on a sea where all the bitter and angry thoughts she had ever had in this world rose up like a single wave among thousands and broke into desperate anguish and lamenting. Lord, help us, we are perishing....\n\nSira Eiliv came in later that night. He reprimanded Sister Agata sharply for not following his advice to tie a linen cloth, dipped in vinegar, around her mouth and nose. She murmured crossly that it would do no good, but now both she and Kristin had to do as he ordered.\n\nThe calm and steadfast manner of the priest gave Kristin courage, or perhaps it aroused a sense of shame; she ventured out of the juniper smoke to lend Sister Agata a helping hand. There was a suffocating stench surrounding the sick man which the smoke could not mask: excrement, blood, sour sweat, and a rotten odor coming from his throat. She thought of Skule's words about the swarms of lemmings; she still had a dreadful urge to flee, even though she knew there was nowhere to flee from this. But after she had finally persuaded herself to touch the dying man, the worst was over, and she helped as much as she could until he breathed his last. By then his face had turned completely black.\n\nThe nuns walked in procession carrying reliquaries, crosses, and burning tapers around the church and convent hill, and everyone in the parish who could crawl or walk went with them. But a few days later a woman died over by Str\u00f8mmen, and then the pestilence broke out in earnest in every hamlet throughout the countryside.\n\nDeath and horror and suffering seemed to push people into a world without time. No more than a few weeks had passed, if the days were to be counted, and yet it already seemed as if the world that had existed before the plague and death began wandering naked through the land had disappeared from everyone's memory\u2014the way the coastline sinks away when a ship heads out to sea on a rushing wind. It was as if no living soul dared hold on to the memory that life and the progression of workdays had once seemed close, while death was far away; nor was anyone capable of imagining that things might be that way again, if all human beings did not perish. But \"we are all going to die,\" said the men who brought their motherless children to the convent. Some of them spoke with dull or harsh voices; some of them wept and moaned. They said the same thing when they came to get the priest for the dying; they said it again when they carried the bodies to the parish church at the foot of the hill and to the cemetery at the convent church. Often they had to dig the graves themselves. Sira Eiliv had sent the men who were left among the lay servants out to the convent fields to bring in the grain, and wherever he went in the parish, he urged everyone to harvest the crops and help each other tend to the livestock so that those who remained wouldn't suffer from hunger after the scourge had spent its fury.\n\nThe nuns at the convent met the first trials with a sense of desperate composure. They moved into the convent hall for good, kept a fire going day and night in the big brick fireplace, and ate and slept in there. Sira Eiliv advised everyone to keep great fires burning in the courtyards and in all the houses, but the sisters were afraid of fire. The oldest sisters had told them so often about the blaze thirty years before. Mealtimes and work regimens were no longer adhered to, and the duties of the various sisters were no longer kept separate as children began to arrive, asking for food and help. The sick were brought inside; they were mostly wealthy people who could pay for gravesites and masses for their souls in the convent, as well as those who were destitute and alone, who had no help at home. Those whose circumstances were somewhere in between stayed in their own beds and died at home. On some farms every single person perished. But in spite of everything, the nuns had still managed to keep to the schedule of prayers.\n\nThe first of the nuns to fall ill was Sister Inga, a woman Kristin's age, almost fifty, and yet she was so terrified of death that it was a horror to see and hear. The chills came over her in church during mass; shaking, her teeth chattering, she crawled on her hands and knees as she begged and implored God and the Virgin Mary to spare her life. A moment later she lay prostrate with a burning fever, in agony, with blood seeping out of her skin. Kristin's heart was filled with dread; no doubt she would be just as pitifully frightened when her turn came. It was not just the fact that death was certain, but it was the horrifying fear that accompanied death from the plague.\n\nThen Fru Ragnhild herself fell ill. Kristin had sometimes wondered how this woman had come to be chosen for the high position of abbess. She was a quiet, slightly morose old woman, uneducated and apparently without great spiritual gifts. And yet when death placed its hand on her, she showed that she was a true bride of Christ. In her the illness erupted in boils. She refused to allow her spiritual daughters to unclothe her old body, but the swelling finally grew as big as an apple under one arm, and she had boils under her chin; they turned hard and blood-red, becoming black in the end. She endured unbearable agony from them and burned with fever, but each time her mind would clear, she lay in bed like an example of holy patience\u2014sighing to God, asking forgiveness for her sins, and uttering beautiful, fervent prayers for her convent and her daughters, for all those who were sick and sorrowful, and for the peace of everyone's soul, who would now have to leave this life. Even Sira Eiliv wept after he had given her the viaticum; his steadfast and tireless zeal in the midst of all the misery had otherwise been a thing of wonder. Fru Ragnhild had already surrendered her soul into God's hands many times and prayed that He would take the nuns under His protection when the boils on her body began to split open. But this turned out to be a turn toward life, and later others experienced the same thing: Those who were stricken with boils gradually recovered, while those stricken with bloody vomiting all died.\n\nBecause of the example of the abbess and because they had witnessed a plague victim who did not die, the nuns seemed to find new courage. They now had to do the milking and chores in the cowshed themselves; they cooked their own food, and they brought back juniper and fresh evergreen branches for the cleansing smoke. Everyone did whatever task needed doing. They nursed the sick as best they could and handed out healing remedies: their supplies of theriac and calamus root were gone, but they doled out ginger, pepper, saffron, and vinegar against the sickness, along with milk and food. When the bread ran out, they baked at night; when the spices were gone, people had to chew on juniper berries and pine needles against the sickness. One by one the sisters succumbed and died. Night and day the bells for the dead rang from the convent church and from the parish church in the heavy air, for the unnatural fog hung on; there seemed to be a secret bond between the haze and the pestilence. Sometimes it became a frosty mist, drizzling down needles of ice and half-frozen sleet, covering the fields with rime. Then mild weather would set in, and the fog returned. People took it as an evil omen that all the seabirds had suddenly disappeared. They usually flocked by the thousands along the stream that flows through the countryside from the fjord and resembles a river in the low stretches of meadow but widens into a lake with salt water north of Rein Convent. In their place came ravens in unheard-of numbers. On every stone along the water sat the black birds in the fog, uttering their hideous shrill cries, while flocks of crows more numerous than anyone had ever seen before settled in all the forests and groves and flew with loathsome shrieks over the wretched land.\n\nOnce in a while Kristin would think of her own family\u2014her sons, who were spread so far and wide, the grandchildren she would never see; little Erlend's golden neck would hover before her eyes. But they seemed to grow distant and faded. Now it almost seemed as if all people were equally close and distant to each other in this time of great need. And she had her hands full all day long; it now served her well that she was used to all sorts of work. While she sat and did the milking, starving little children whom she had never seen before would suddenly appear beside her, and she seldom even thought to ask where they were from or how things were back home. She gave them food and took them into the chapter hall or some other room where a fire was lit or tucked them into bed in the dormitory.\n\nWith a feeling of wonder she noticed that in this time of great misfortune, when it was more necessary than ever for everyone to attend to their prayers with vigilance, she never had time to collect her thoughts to pray. She would sink to her knees in front of the tabernacle in the church whenever she had a free moment, but she could manage nothing more than wordless sighs and dully murmured Pater nosters and Ave Marias. She wasn't aware of it herself, but the nunlike demeanor and manners she had assumed over the past two years swiftly began to fall away; she again became like the mistress she had been in the past, as the flock of nuns diminished, the routines of the convent were abandoned, and the abbess still lay in bed, weak and with her tongue partially paralyzed. And the work mounted for the few who were left to tend to everything.\n\nOne day she happened to hear that Skule was still in Nidaros. The members of his crew had either died or fled, and he hadn't been able to find new men. He was well, but he had cast himself into a wild life, just as many young people, out of despair, had done. They said that whoever was afraid would be sure to die, and so they blunted their fear with carousing and drinking, playing cards, dancing, and carrying on with women. Even the wives of honorable townsmen and young daughters from the best of families ran off from their homes during these evil times. In the company of wanton women they would revel in the alehouses and taverns among the dissolute men. God forgive them, thought Kristin, but she felt as if her heart was too weary to grieve over these things properly.\n\nAnd apparently even in the villages there was plenty of sin and depravity. They heard little about it at the convent because there they had no time to waste on such talk. But Sira Eiliv, who went everywhere, ceaselessly and tirelessly tending to the sick and dying, told Kristin one day that the agony of people's souls was worse than that of their bodies.\n\nThen one evening they were sitting around the fireplace in the convent hall, the little group of people left alive at Rein Convent. Huddled around the fire were four nuns and two lay sisters, an old beggar and a half-grown boy, two women who received alms from the convent, and several children. On the high seat bench, above which a large crucifix could be glimpsed in the dusk hanging on the light-colored wall, lay the abbess with Sister Kristin and Sister Turid sitting at her head and feet.\n\nIt was nine days since the last death had occurred among the sisters and five days since anyone had died in the convent or the nearest houses. The plague seemed to be waning throughout the countryside as well, said Sira Eiliv. For the first time in three months a glimmer of peace and security and comfort fell over the silent, weary people sitting there. Old Sister Torunn Marta let her rosary sink into her lap and took the hand of the little girl standing at her knee.\n\n\"What do you think she could mean? Well, child, now we seem to be seeing that Mary, the Mother of God, never withdraws her mercy from her children for long.\"\n\n\"No, it's not the Virgin Mary, Sister Torunn. It's Hel. She'll leave the parish, taking her rakes and brooms, when they sacrifice an innocent man at the gate of the cemetery. By tomorrow she'll be far away.\"\n\n\"What can she mean?\" asked the nun, again uneasy. \"Shame on you, Magnhild, for spreading such loathsome, heathen gossip. You deserve to taste the rod for that....\"\n\n\"Tell us what you mean, Magnhild. Don't be afraid.\" Sister Kristin was standing behind them; her voice sounded strained. She had suddenly remembered that in her youth she had heard Fru Aashild talk about dreadful, unmentionably sinful measures which the Devil tempted desperate men to try.\n\nThe children had been down in the grove near the parish church at twilight, and some of the boys had wandered over to a sod hut that stood there; they had spied on several men who were making plans. It seemed that these men had captured a small boy named Tore, the son of Steinunn from down by the shore. That night they were going to sacrifice him to Hel, the plague giantess. The children began talking eagerly, proud to have sparked the attention of the grownups. It didn't seem to occur to them to feel pity for this poor Tore; he was a sort of outcast who roamed the countryside, begging, but never came near the convent. When Sira Eiliv or any of the abbess's envoys went looking for his mother, she would flee or refuse to talk to them, no matter whether they spoke to her kindly or sternly. She had spent ten years living in the alleyways of Nidaros, but then she acquired a sickness that disfigured her so badly that finally she could no longer earn a living in the manner she had before. And so she had come to the parish and lived in a hovel out on the shore. Occasionally a beggar or the like would move in and share her hut for a time. Who the father of her boy might be, she herself didn't know.\n\n\"We must go out there,\" said Kristin. \"We can't just sit here while Christian souls sell themselves to the Devil right on our doorstep.\"\n\nThe nuns whimpered. They were the worst men of the parish, coarse, ungodly fellows, and surely the latest calamity and despair must have turned them into regular demons. If only Sira Eiliv was home, they lamented. Ever since the onset of the plague, the priest's position had changed, and the sisters expected him to do everything.\n\nKristin wrung her hands. \"If I have to go alone... Mother, may I have your permission to go out there myself?\"\n\nThe abbess gripped her arm so tightly that she gave a little cry. The old woman, who was unable to speak, struggled to her feet; by gesturing she made them understand that she wanted to be dressed to go out. She demanded to be given the gold cross, the symbol of her office, and her staff. Then she held on to Kristin's arm since she was the youngest and strongest of the women. All the nuns stood up and followed.\n\nPassing through the door of the little room between the chapter hall and the church choir, they stepped out into the raw, cold winter night. Fru Ragnhild began shivering, and her teeth chattered. She still sweated incessantly from the illness, and the sores left by the plague boils were not fully healed; walking caused her great pain. But she snarled angrily and shook her head when the sisters implored her to turn around. She gripped Kristin's arm harder, and shaking with cold, she trudged ahead of them through the garden. As their eyes grew used to the dark, the women glimpsed light patches of withered leaves scattered beneath their feet and a pale scrap of cloudy sky above the bare crowns of the trees. Drops of cold water trickled down, and gusts of wind murmured faintly. Sluggish and heavy, the drone of the fjord sighed against the shore beyond the cliffs.\n\nAt the bottom of the garden was a small gate; the sisters shuddered at the shriek of the rusted iron bolt as Kristin struggled to shove it open. Then they crept onward through the grove, down toward the parish church. They caught a glimpse of the tarred timber shape, darker against the night, and they saw the roof and ridge turret with its animal-head carvings and cross on the top against the pale gleam of the clouds above the slopes on the other side of the fjord.\n\nYes, there were people in the cemetery; they sensed their presence rather than saw or heard anything. Now a low, faint gleam of light appeared, as if from a lantern standing on the ground. Something moved in the darkness nearby.\n\nThe nuns huddled together, whimpering faintly under their whispered prayers; they took several steps forward, stopped to listen, and moved forward again. They had almost reached the cemetery gate.\n\nThen out of the darkness they heard the shrill cry of a child's voice: \"Hey, stop, you're getting dirt on my bread!\"\n\nKristin let go of the abbess's arm and ran forward, through the churchyard gate. She pushed aside several shadowy men's backs, stumbled on piles of shoveled dirt, and came to the edge of the open grave. She fell to her knees, bent down, and pulled out the little boy who was standing in the bottom, still complaining because there was earth on the good piece of lefse he had been given for sitting still in the pit.\n\nThe men were frightened out of their wits and ready to flee. Several were stomping in place; Kristin could see their feet in the light from the lantern on the ground. Then she thought that one of them seemed about to leap at her. At that moment the grayish-white habits of the nuns came into view, and the group of men stood there, in confusion.\n\nKristin still held the boy in her arms; he was crying for his lefse. She set him down, picked up the bread, and brushed it off.\n\n\"Here, eat it. Now your bread is as good as ever. And you men should go on home.\" The quaver in her voice forced her to pause for a moment. \"Go home and thank God that you were saved before you committed an act you might never be able to atone for.\" Now she spoke the way a mistress speaks to her servants: kindly, but as if it would never occur to her that they might disobey. Without thinking, several of the men turned toward the gate.\n\nThen one of them shouted, \"Wait a minute, don't you see it's a matter of life itself, maybe even all we own? Now that these overstuffed monks' whores have stuck their noses in it, we can't let them leave here to talk about what went on!\"\n\nNone of the men moved, but Sister Agata began shrieking and yelling, with sobs in her voice, \"Oh, sweet Jesus, my bridegroom. I thank you for allowing us, your servant maidens, to die for the glory of your name!\"\n\nFru Ragnhild shoved her sternly aside, staggered forward, and picked up the lantern from the ground. No one raised a hand to stop her. When she lifted it up, the gold cross on her breast glittered. She stood leaning on her staff and slowly shone the light down the line, giving a slight nod to each man as she looked at him. Then she gestured to Kristin that she wished her to speak.\n\nKristin said, \"Go home in peace, dear brothers. Have faith that the worthy Mother and these good sisters will be as merciful as God and the honor of His Church will allow them to be. But move aside now so that we might take away this child, and then each of you should return to your own home.\"\n\nThe men stood there, irresolute. Then one of them shouted in the greatest agitation, \"Isn't it better to sacrifice one than for all of us to perish? This boy here, who belongs to no one\u2014\"\n\n\"He belongs to Christ. Better for all of us to perish than for us to harm one of his children.\"\n\nBut the man who had spoken first began yelling again. \"Stop saying words like that or I'll stuff them back into your mouth with this.\" He waved his knife in the air. \"Go home, go to bed, and ask your priest to comfort you, and keep silent about this\u2014or I swear by the name of Satan that you'll find out it was the worst thing you've ever done, trying to meddle in our affairs.\"\n\n\"You don't have to shout so loudly for the one you mentioned to hear you, Arntor. Be assured that he isn't far away,\" said Kristin calmly. Several of the men seemed to grow fearful and involuntarily crept closer to the abbess holding the lantern. \"The worst thing, for both us and for you, would have been if we had stayed home while you went about building your home in the hottest Hell.\"\n\nBut the man, Arntor, cursed and raged. Kristin knew that he hated the nuns because his father had mortgaged his farm to them in order to pay penalties for murder and blood guilt with his wife's niece. Now he continued slinging out the Fiend's most hateful lies about the sisters, accusing them of sins so black and unnatural that only the Devil himself could have put such thoughts into a man's mind.\n\nThe poor nuns, terrified and weeping, bowed under the vicious words, but they stood stalwartly around the old abbess, and she held the lantern in the air, shining it at the man and gazing calmly at his face as he raged.\n\nBut anger flared up inside Kristin like the flames of a newly lit fire.\n\n\"Silence! Have you lost your senses? Or has God struck you blind? Should we dare breathe a word under His admonishment? We who have seen His wedded brides stand up to the sword that was drawn for the sake of the world's sins? They kept vigil and prayed while we sinned and forgot our Creator every single day; they shut themselves inside the fortress of prayer while we roamed through the world, urged on by avarice for treasures, both great and small, for our own pleasure and our own anger. But they came out to us when the angel of death was sent among us; they gathered up the ill, the defenseless, and the poor. Twelve of our sisters have died from this sickness; all of you know this. Not one of them turned away, not one of them refused to pray for us all with sisterly love, until their tongues dried up in their mouths and their life blood ebbed out.\"\n\n\"How beautifully you speak about yourself and those like you\u2014\"\n\n\"I am like you,\" she screamed, beside herself. \"I'm not one of the holy sisters. I am one of you.\"\n\n\"How submissive you've become, woman,\" said Arntor derisively. \"I see that you're afraid. When the end comes, you'll be saying you're like her, the mother of that boy.\"\n\n\"God must be the judge of that; he died for her as well as for me, and he knows us both. Where is she? Where is Steinunn?\"\n\n\"Go out to her hovel, and I'm sure you'll find her there,\" replied Arntor.\n\n\"Yes, someone should send word to the poor woman that we have her boy here,\" said Kristin to the nuns. \"We can go out to see her tomorrow.\"\n\nArntor snickered, but another man shouted reluctantly, \"No, no... She's dead.\" He told Kristin, \"Fourteen days ago Bjarne went out to her place and bolted the door shut. She was lying there, close to death.\"\n\n\"She was lying there?\" Kristin gave the men a look of horror. \"Didn't anyone bring a priest to her? Is... the body... still lying there? And no one has had enough mercy to put her into consecrated ground? And her child you were going to...\"\n\nSeeing her horror seemed to make the men lose their wits from fear and shame; they began shouting all at once.\n\nAbove all the other voices, one man cried out, \"Go and get her yourself, sister!\"\n\n\"Yes! Which of you will go with me?\"\n\nNo one answered.\n\nArntor shouted, \"You'll have to go alone.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow, as soon as it's light, we will go to get her, Arntor. I myself will pay for her resting place and a mass for her soul.\"\n\n\"Go out there now. Go there tonight. Then I'll believe that you're all full of holiness and virtue.\"\n\nArntor had thrust his face close to hers. Kristin raised her clenched fist up before his eyes; she uttered a loud sob of fury and terror.\n\nFru Ragnhild came over and stood at Kristin's side; she struggled to speak. The nuns cried that the next day the dead woman would be brought to her grave.\n\nBut the Devil seemed to have robbed Arntor of all reason; he kept on screaming, \"Go now. Then we'll believe in the mercy of God.\"\n\nKristin straightened up; pale and rigid, she said, \"I will go.\"\n\nShe lifted up the child and put him into Sister Torunn's arms; she shoved the men aside and began running swiftly toward the gate, stumbling over hillocks and heaps of earth, as the wailing nuns raced after her and Sister Agata yelled that she would go with her. The abbess shook her fists to say that Kristin should stop, but she seemed completely beside herself.\n\nAt that moment there was a great commotion in the darkness over by the cemetery gate. In the next instant Sira Eiliv's voice asked: \"Who is holding a ting here?\" He stepped into the glow of the lantern; they saw that he was carrying an axe in his hand. The nuns crowded around him; the men made haste to disappear into the darkness, but at the gate they were met by a man holding a drawn sword in his hand. A tumult ensued, with the clang of weapons, and Sira Eiliv called out: \"Woe to any man who breaks the peace of the cemetery.\" Kristin heard someone say it was the mighty smith from Credoveit. A moment later a tall, broad-shouldered man with white hair appeared at her side. It was Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n.\n\nThe priest handed him the axe\u2014he had borrowed it from Ulf\u2014and then took the boy, Tore, from the nun as he said, \"It's already past midnight. All the same, it would be best if you all came back to the church. I want to tend to these matters tonight.\"\n\nNo one had any other thought but to comply. But when they reached the road, one of the pale gray figures slipped away from the flock of women and headed for the path leading into the woods. The priest shouted, ordering her to come with the others.\n\nKristin's voice replied from the dark; she was already a good way down the path: \"I can't come, Sira Eiliv, until I've kept my promise.\"\n\nThe priest and several others set off running. She was leaning against the fence when Sira Eiliv reached her. He raised the lantern. Her face was dreadfully white, but when he looked into her eyes, he realized that she had not gone mad, as he first had feared.\n\n\"Come home, Kristin,\" he said. \"Tomorrow we'll go with you, several men. I will go with you myself.\"\n\n\"I've given my word. I can't go home, Sira Eiliv, until I have done as I promised.\"\n\nThe priest stood in silence for a moment. Then he said softly, \"Perhaps you are right. Go then, sister, in God's name.\"\n\nStrangely shadowlike, Kristin slipped into the darkness, which swallowed up her gray-clad figure.\n\nWhen Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n appeared at her side, she said in a halting and vehement voice, \"Go back. I didn't ask you to come with me.\"\n\nUlf laughed quietly. \"Kristin, my mistress, haven't you learned yet that things can happen without your request or orders? And I see you still don't realize, no matter how many times you've witnessed it, that you can't always manage alone everything that you've taken on. But I will help you to undertake this burden.\"\n\nThere was a rushing sound in the pine forest all around them, and the roar of the waves out on the shore grew louder and then fainter, carried on the gusts of wind. They were walking in pitch-darkness.\n\nAfter a while Ulf said, \"I've accompanied you before, Kristin, when you went out at night. I thought I could be of some help if I came with you this time as well.\"\n\nShe was breathing hard in the dark. Once she stumbled over something, and Ulf grabbed hold of her. Then he took her hand and led the way. After a moment he noticed that she was weeping as she walked along, and he asked her what she was crying about.\n\n\"I'm crying because I was thinking that you've always been so kind and loyal toward us, Ulf. What can I say? I know that it was mostly for Erlend's sake, but I almost think, kinsman... you've always judged me less harshly than you had the right to, after what you first saw of my actions.\"\n\n\"I have always been fond of you, Kristin\u2014no less than I was of him.\" He fell silent. Kristin saw that he was overcome by great emotion. Then he continued, \"That's why it was so hard for me as I sailed over here today. I came to bring you news that I find difficult to tell you. May God give you strength, Kristin.\"\n\n\"Is it Skule?\" asked Kristin in a low voice after a moment. \"Is Skule dead?\"\n\n\"No, Skule was fine when I spoke to him yesterday, and now few people are dying in town. But I received news from Tautra this morning\u2014\" He heard her give a deep sigh, but she did not speak.\n\nAfter a moment he said, \"It's already been ten days since they died. But there are only four brothers left alive at the monastery, and the island is almost swept clean of people.\"\n\nThey had now reached the edge of the woods. Over the flat expanse of land before them came the roaring din of the wind and sea. Up ahead in the darkness shone a patch of white\u2014sea swells in a small inlet, with a steep pale sand dune above.\n\n\"That's where she lives,\" said Kristin. Ulf noticed that slow, fitful tremors passed over her. He gripped her hand hard.\n\n\"You've chosen to take this burden upon yourself. Keep that in mind, and don't lose your wits now.\"\n\nKristin said in an oddly thin, pure voice, which the wind seized and carried off, \"Now Bj\u00f8rgulf's dream will come true. I trust in the mercy of God and the Virgin Mary.\"\n\nUlf tried to see her face, but it was too dark. They walked across the tide flats; several places were so narrow beneath the cliff that a wave or two surged all the way up to their feet. They made their way over tangled seaweed and large rocks. After a while they glimpsed a bulky dark shape against the sand dune.\n\n\"Stay here,\" said Ulf curtly. He went over and threw himself against the door. She heard him hack away at the osier latches and then throw himself at the door again. She saw it fall inward, and he stepped inside the black cave.\n\nIt was not a particularly stormy night. But it was so dark that Kristin could see nothing but the sea, alive with tiny glints of foam rolling forward and then sliding back at once, and the gleam of the waves lapping along the shore of the inlet. She could also make out the dark shape against the hillside. She felt as if she were standing in a cavern of night, and it was the hiding place of death. The crash of the breaking waves and the trickle of water ebbing between the tidal rocks merged with the flush of blood inside her, although her body seemed to shatter, the way a keg splinters into slats. She had a throbbing in her breast, as if it would burst from within. Her head felt hollow and empty, as if it were leaking, and the gusts of wind swirled around her, blowing right through her. In a strangely listless way she realized that now she must be suffering from the plague herself\u2014but she seemed to be waiting for the darkness to be split by a light that would roar and drown out the crash of the sea, and then she would succumb to terror. She pulled up her hood, which had been blown back, drew the black nun's cloak closer, and then stood there with her arms crossed underneath, but it didn't occur to her to pray. Her soul had more than enough to do, working its way out of its collapsing house, and that was what made her breast ache as she breathed.\n\nShe saw a flame flare up inside the hovel. A moment later Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n called to her. \"You must come here and light the way for me, Kristin.\" He stood in the doorway and handed her a torch of charred wood.\n\nThe stench of the corpse nearly suffocated her, even though the hut was so drafty and the door was gone. Wide-eyed, with her lips parted\u2014and her jaw and lips felt as rigid as wood\u2014she looked for the dead woman. But she saw only a long bundle lying in the corner on the earthen floor. Wrapped around it was Ulf's cape.\n\nHe had pulled loose several long boards from somewhere and placed the door on top. As he cursed the clumsy tools, he made notches and holes with his axe and dagger and struggled to bind the door to the boards. Several times he cast a quick glance up at her, and each time his dark gray-bearded face grew stonier.\n\n\"I wonder how you thought you would manage to do this all alone,\" he said, bending over his work. He looked up, but the rigid, lifeless face in the red glow of the tarred torch remained unchanged\u2014the face of a dead woman or a mad creature. \"Can you tell me that, Kristin?\" He laughed harshly, but it did no good. \"I think it's about time for you to say a few prayers.\"\n\nIn the same stiff and listless tone she began to pray: \"Pater noster qui es in celis. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua sicut in celo et in terra.\" Then she came to a halt.\n\nUlf looked at her. Then he took up the prayer, \"Panum nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie...\" Swiftly and firmly he said the words of the Pater noster to the end, then went over and made the sign of the cross over the bundle; swiftly and firmly he picked it up and carried it over to the litter that he had made.\n\n\"You take the front,\" he said. \"It may be a little heavier, but you won't notice the stench as much. Throw the torch away; we'll see better without it. And don't stumble, Kristin; I would rather not have to touch this poor corpse again.\"\n\nThe raging pain in her breast seemed to rise up in protest when she lifted the poles of the litter over her shoulders; her chest refused to bear the weight. But she clenched her teeth. As long as they walked along the shore, where the wind blew, she hardly noticed the smell of the body.\n\n\"I'd better climb up first and pull the litter up after me,\" said Ulf when they reached the slope where they had come down.\n\n\"We can go a little farther,\" said Kristin. \"Over to the place where they bring down the seaweed sledges; it's not as steep.\"\n\nThe man could hear that her voice sounded calm and composed. And now that it was over, he started sweating and shivering; he had thought she was going to lose her wits that night.\n\nThey struggled onward over the sandy path that led across the clearing to the pine forest. The wind blew freely but not as strongly as it had on the shore, and as they walked farther and farther away from the roar of the tide flats, she felt as if it was a journey home from the uttermost terrors of darkness. The land was pale on both sides of the path\u2014a field of grain, but there had been no one to harvest it. The smell of the grain and the sight of the withering straw welcomed her back home, and her eyes filled with the tears of sisterly compassion. Out of her own desperate terror and need she had come home to the community of the living and the dead.\n\nFrom time to time the dreadful stink of decay would wash over her if the wind blew at her back, but it wasn't as foul as when she was standing inside the hut. Here the air was full of the fresh, wet, and cold purity of the breeze.\n\nAnd stronger than the feeling that she was carrying something gruesome on the litter behind her was the sense that Ulf Hal dorss\u00f8n was walking along, protecting her back against the living and black horror they had left behind; its crashing sound became fainter and fainter.\n\nWhen they reached the outskirts of the pine forest, they noticed lights. \"They're coming to meet us,\" said Ulf.\n\nA moment later they were met by an entire throng of men carrying torches, a couple of lanterns, and a bier covered with a shroud. Sira Eiliv was with them, and Kristin was surprised to see that the group included several men who had been in the cemetery earlier that night; many of them were weeping. When they lifted the burden from her shoulders, she nearly collapsed. Sira Eiliv was about to catch her when she said quickly, \"Don't touch me. Don't come near me. I can feel that I have the plague myself.\"\n\nBut Sira Eiliv put his hand under her arm all the same.\n\n\"Then it should be of comfort for you to remember, woman, what Our Lord has said: That which you have done unto one of my poorest brothers or sisters, you have also done unto me.\"\n\nKristin stared at the priest. Then she shifted her glance to the men, who were moving the body to the bier from the litter Ulf had made. Ulf's cape fell aside; the tip of a worn shoe gleamed, dark with rain in the light of the torches.\n\nKristin went over, knelt down between the poles of the litter, and kissed the shoe.\n\n\"May God bless you, sister. May God bathe your soul in His light. May God have mercy on all of us here in the darkness.\"\n\nThen she thought it was life itself working its way out of her\u2014an unthinkable, piercing pain as if something inside, firmly rooted to the utmost ends of her limbs, had been torn loose. All that was contained within her breast was ripped out; she felt it fill her throat. Her mouth filled with blood that tasted of salt and filthy copper; a moment later her entire robe was covered with glistening, dark wetness. Jesus, can there be so much blood in an old woman? she thought.\n\nUlf Haldorss\u00f8n lifted her up in his arms and carried her.\n\nIn the convent portal the nuns met the procession, carrying lighted tapers in their hands. Kristin no longer had her full wits about her, but she sensed that she was half carried, half supported through the doorway. The white-plastered vaulted room was filled with flickering light from yellow candle flames and red pinewood torches, and the stomping of feet roared like the sea\u2014but for the dying woman it was like a mirror of her own sinking life flame, and the footsteps on the flagstones seemed to be the crash of death's current, rising up toward her.\n\nThen the glow of light spread outward to a larger space; she was once again under a dark, open sky\u2014out in the courtyard. The light played over a gray stone wall with heavy pillars and tall windows: the church. Someone was carrying her\u2014it was Ulf again\u2014but now he became one with all those who had ever carried her. When she put her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his prickly bearded neck, she felt like a child again, with her father, but she also felt as if she were taking a child in her own arms. Behind his dark head there were red lights, and they seemed to be shining from the fire that nourishes all love.\n\nSome time later she opened her eyes and her mind was clear. She was sitting propped up in a bed in the dormitory; a nun stood leaning over her, wearing a linen cloth on the lower half of her face, and she noticed the smell of vinegar. It was Sister Agnes; she could tell by the eyes and the tiny red wart on her forehead. And it was daytime. A clear gray light entered the room through the little windowpane.\n\nShe was not suffering now, but she was soaked with sweat, terribly weak and tired, and she had a sharp, stabbing pain in her breast when she breathed. Greedily she drank a soothing potion that Sister Agnes held to her lips. But she was freezing.\n\nKristin leaned back against the pillows, and now she remembered everything that had happened the night before. The wild shimmer of a dream had vanished completely; she realized that she must have been slightly out of her wits. But it was good that she had done what she had: rescued the little boy and prevented those poor people from being burdened with such a misdeed. She knew she should be overjoyed that she had been fortunate enough to do this before she died, but she didn't have the strength to rejoice as she ought to. She had more a sense of contentment, the way she felt lying in bed back home at J\u00f8rundgaard, weary from a day's work well done. And she had to thank Ulf....\n\nShe had spoken his name, and he must have been sitting in the shadows near the door and heard her, for he crossed the room and stood before her bed. She stretched out her hand to him, and he took it, clasping it firmly and warmly in his.\n\nSuddenly the dying woman grew uneasy; her hands fumbled under the folds of bedclothes around her neck.\n\n\"What is it, Kristin?\" asked Ulf.\n\n\"The cross,\" she whispered, and pulled out her father's gilded cross. She recalled that she had promised the day before to offer a gift for the soul of poor Steinunn. But she had forgotten that she owned no more earthly possessions. She owned nothing more than this cross, which her father had given her, and her wedding ring. She still wore that on her finger.\n\nShe took it off and looked at it. It lay heavy in her hand, pure gold and set with large red stones. Erlend, she thought. And she realized that now she should give it away; she didn't know why, but she felt that she should. She closed her eyes in pain and handed the ring to Ulf.\n\n\"Who do you want to leave it to?\" he asked softly. When she didn't reply, he said, \"Should I give it to Skule?\"\n\nKristin shook her head, keeping her eyes closed tight.\n\n\"Steinunn... I promised... masses for her....\"\n\nShe opened her eyes and looked at the ring lying in the dark palm of the smith. And her tears burst forth in torrents, for she felt as if she had never before fully understood what it signified. The life to which this ring had married her, over which she had complained and grumbled, raged and rebelled. And yet she had loved it so, rejoicing over it, with both the bad and the good, so that there was not a single day she would have given back to God without lament or a single sorrow she would have relinquished without regret.\n\nUlf and the nun exchanged a few words that she couldn't hear, and he left the room. Kristin tried to lift her hand to wipe her eyes but didn't have the strength; her hand remained lying on her breast. It hurt so terribly inside, her hand seemed so heavy, and she felt as if the ring were still on her finger. Her mind was becoming confused again; she must see if it was true that the ring was gone, that she hadn't merely dreamed she'd given it away. She was also becoming uncertain. Everything that had happened in the night, the child in the grave, the black sea with the small, swift glimpses of the waves, the body she had carried... she didn't know whether she had dreamed it all or been awake. And she didn't have the strength to open her eyes.\n\n\"Sister,\" said the nun, \"you mustn't sleep yet. Ulf has gone to bring the priest to you.\"\n\nKristin woke up with a start and fixed her eyes on her hand. The gold ring was gone; that was certain enough. There was a shiny, worn mark where it had sat on her middle finger. On the brown, rough flesh it was quite clear\u2014like a scar of thin white skin. She thought she could even make out two round circles from the rubies on either side and a tiny scratch, an M from the center of the ring where the holy symbol of the Virgin Mary had been etched into the gold.\n\nThe last clear thought that took shape in her mind was that she was going to die before the mark had time to fade, and it made her happy. It seemed to her a mystery that she could not comprehend, but she was certain that God had held her firmly in a pact which had been made for her, without her knowing it, from a love that had been poured over her\u2014and in spite of her willfulness, in spite of her melancholy, earthbound heart, some of that love had stayed inside her, had worked on her like sun on the earth, had driven forth a crop that neither the fiercest fire of passion nor its stormi est anger could completely destroy. She had been a servant of God\u2014a stubborn, defiant maid, most often an eye-servant in her prayers and unfaithful in her heart, indolent and neglectful, impatient toward admonishments, inconstant in her deeds. And yet He had held her firmly in His service, and under the glittering gold ring a mark had been secretly impressed upon her, showing that she was His servant, owned by the Lord and King who would now come, borne on the consecrated hands of the priest, to give her release and salvation.\n\nAs soon as Sira Eiliv had anointed her with the last oil and viaticum, Kristin Lavransdatter again lost consciousness. She lay there, violently vomiting blood, with a blazing fever, and the priest who was sitting with her told the nuns that the end would come quickly.\n\nSeveral times the dying woman's mind cleared enough that she could recognize one face or another: Sira Eiliv or the sisters. Fru Ragnhild herself was there once, and she saw Ulf. She struggled to show that she knew them and that it was good they were with her and wished her well. But for those who stood at her bedside, it merely looked as if she were flailing her hands in the throes of death.\n\nOnce she saw Munan's face; her little son was peeking at her through a crack in the door. Then he pulled back his head, and his mother lay there, staring at the door to see if the boy would look through it again. Instead Fru Ragnhild appeared and wiped her face with a damp cloth, and that too felt good. Then everything disappeared in a dark red haze and a roar, which at first grew fearfully loud, but then the din gradually died away, and the red fog became thinner and lighter, and at last it was like a fine morning mist before the sun breaks through, and there was not a sound, and she knew that now she was dying.\n\nSira Eiliv and Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n left the deathbed together. In the doorway leading out to the convent courtyard, they stopped.\n\nSnow had fallen. None of them had noticed this as they sat with her and she struggled with death. The white sheen was strangely dazzling on the steep slant of the church roof opposite them; the tower was pale against the murky gray sky. The snow lay so fine and white on all the window frames and all the jutting gray stones of the church walls. And the two men seemed to hesitate, not wanting to mar the new snow in the courtyard with their footprints.\n\nThey breathed in the air. After the suffocating smell that always surrounded someone stricken with the plague, it tasted sweet and cool, a little empty and thin, but as if this snowfall had washed sickness and contagion out of the air; it was as good as fresh water.\n\nThe bell in the tower began ringing again; the two men looked up to the movement behind the sound holes. Tiny snowflakes were shaken loose, rolling down to become little balls; some of the black shingles could be seen underneath.\n\n\"This snow won't last,\" said Ulf.\n\n\"No, it will melt away before evening,\" replied the priest. There were pale golden rifts in the clouds, and a faint, tentative ray of sunshine fell across the snow.\n\nThe men stayed where they were. Then Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n said quietly, \"I've been thinking, Sira Eiliv... I want to give some land to this church... and a goblet she gave me that once belonged to Lavrans Bj\u00f8rgulfs\u00f8n... to establish a mass for her... and my foster sons... and for him, Erlend, my kinsman.\"\n\nThe priest's voice was equally quiet, and he did not look at the man. \"I think you might also mean that you want to show Him your gratitude for leading you here last night. You must be grateful that you were allowed to help her through this night.\"\n\n\"Yes, that was what I meant,\" said Ulf Haldorss\u00f8n. Then he laughed a little. \"And now I almost regret, priest, that I have been such a pious man\u2014toward her.\"\n\n\"It's useless to waste your time over such futile regrets,\" replied the priest.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean that it's only a man's sins that it does any good for him to regret.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"Because no one is good without God. And we can do nothing good without Him. So it's futile to regret a good deed, Ulf, for the good you have done cannot be taken back; even if all the mountains should fall, it would still stand.\"\n\n\"Well, well. That's not how I see things, my Sira. I'm tired...\"\n\n\"Yes... and you must be hungry too. Come with me over to the cookhouse, Ulf,\" said the priest.\n\n\"Thank you, but I have no wish to eat anything,\" said Ulf Hal dorss\u00f8n.\n\n\"All the same, you must come with me and have some food,\" said Sira Eiliv, placing his hand on Ulf's sleeve and pulling him along. They headed across the courtyard and over toward the cookhouse. Without thinking, they both walked as lightly and carefully as they could in the new snow."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The King's Justice",
        "author": "E. M. Powell",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "historical mystery",
            "1100s",
            "England",
            "Stanton & Barling"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The City of York, 12 June 1176",
                "text": "Pit or punishment: Hugo Stanton couldn't tell which excited the folk of these hot, crammed streets more.\n\nThree men accused of vicious murder but who would not confess. Innocent, they'd claimed to King Henry's travelling justices, sitting in the court in the high keep of the city's castle.\n\nThe men's claims mattered not.\n\nToday, under this cloudless early-summer sky, the water would judge them. Each would be lowered into the brimming pit in turn, as recounted by the very few who'd seen the ordeal before. Sinking would tell of a man's innocence. Floating would have him hauled out to the gallows to be strung up to die.\n\nEvery soul in the place wanted to witness the awesome power of the King's law for themselves. York's many inhabitants thronged every approach to the cathedral, where the ordeal pit had been dug next to its soaring height. People pushed, called out, their numbers swelled by the hundreds who'd arrived with the mighty royal court.\n\n'Move aside there!' came a yell from Nesbitt, staggering beside Stanton. His fellow messenger of the court liked ale as much as Stanton did. 'Make way for the King's men.'\n\nStanton's chest tightened as Nesbitt's drink-edged, curt orders worked with only the mention of Henry's name. People shuffled aside on the waste-clogged cobbles to make space as best they could.\n\nThe King's men.\n\nScant words for the huge retinue, led by the justices, that had arrived here two weeks ago, of which Stanton was but one lowly member. Henry had sent them across the land to make sure all followed his law. Those who didn't were being punished, and punished hard. His justices were making sure of it.\n\n'The King's men,' shouted Nesbitt again.\n\nThough a mere messenger, Stanton was indeed one of them. And to the very depths of his soul, he wished it were not so. His gaze met lowered looks of respect, of fear, on sweating faces as he passed by, and he silently cursed those who wore them for fools.\n\nNesbitt clapped him hard on the back, sending him into a stagger. 'Step on, young Stanton. We'll be late for the ordeal.'\n\n'Get off me.' Stanton steadied himself as much as he could with his ale legs. 'The accused men won't be going anywhere.'\n\n'Course they won't. But we want to see it all, eh?'\n\n'Don't care what I see today. All I care about is that I'm not sat in the court looking at the justices.' Stanton grimaced. 'Nor listening to them. Too much talk for me.'\n\nAnd what talk. The cases about land had had his head nodding as the three justices droned on and on in the packed, stuffy keep.\n\nThen had come a man, a grieving husband and father, to appeal the murders of his loved ones. With him, as Stanton had come to learn was needed by law, a jury of presentment: twelve men who swore before God that those suspected of the crimes were of wicked character. No one had seen the terrible deeds take place, but they could describe what had been found.\n\nStanton had tried, failed, to close his own ears.\n\nA young girl. Her mother. Ripped clothing. Knives. Throats. A silver ring brooch taken. The man wept as he gave his account of his discovery of the worst of horrors, which, mercifully, few would ever have to face.\n\nYet Stanton had. Only three short months before, when he'd seen the woman he'd loved lying slaughtered before him, murdered because of the King, God rot him. Stanton's tears might have dried, but his loss still burned hot and fierce within him.\n\nIn York's court, the justices paid no heed to the men's protests that they were innocent. The King's law would be followed, they announced. The ordeal by water would bring the necessary final proof of guilt or innocence. Proof with God's judgement.\n\nNow that day had arrived.\n\nNesbitt wheezed a laugh. 'There's a lot of talk with the law, Stanton. Not much else, if you ask me.' He shoved forward into the press of bodies again with another loud shout. 'King Henry's men. Make way, there.'\n\n'Make way.' Stanton added his call, though he'd have cut his drunken tongue out rather than use it for Henry's name.\n\n'Some flowers for you, good sir?'\n\nStanton halted at the young female voice beside him.\n\n'Flowers?' She held out a few thin bunches of blooms.\n\nThe way she boldly met his eye told him she wasn't just offering wilting petals. He'd sampled a good number of the city's many whores, though he'd not seen her before. He shook his head and set off again with stumbling steps. 'Not now.'\n\n'It wouldn't take long' \u2013 she fell in beside him with a sure tread, her sharp gaze still on him \u2013 'for a fine young servant of the King such as yourself to buy what I have to offer.'\n\n'I don't think so.'\n\n'Sir. Please.'\n\nHe caught a note of desperation in her terse reply.\n\nThe drooping blooms she held told him she'd been out for many hours already without much success, despite the crowds. While she looked clean enough, the girl's weak jaw made her plain, and her mud-coloured wool dress hung on a skinny frame. Her one beauty was plaited brown hair that lay thick as a rope over one shoulder.\n\nStanton fumbled his belt pouch open and the girl stared in naked want as he sought out a coin. 'Here.' He placed it on her ready palm, and her bitten-nailed fingers closed around it. 'Now be off with you.'\n\n'Thank you.' She flashed a smile that didn't reach her hard eyes. 'Sir.'\n\nThe bell from the looming cathedral boomed out a first solemn peal. A roar rose up in response.\n\n'Stanton!'\n\nHe hardly heard the shout over the noise. He looked over.\n\nNesbitt beckoned over a sea of heads. 'Move your backside, man.'\n\nForget this girl. It was time.\n\nTime for the pit."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "'Have they come out?' Stanton pushed into the gap created by Nesbitt's muscle in the heaving crush outside the cathedral.\n\n'Not yet,' replied Nesbitt. 'The doors are still closed.'\n\nPeople stood three or four deep in front, but now Stanton could see clean over the tonsured head of a squat monk.\n\n'God's eyes.' He pulled in a sharp breath at the sight of the ordeal pit before him. Guards edged the open space where it sat, keeping the crowd at bay. 'That's something, isn't it?'\n\n'It is.' Nesbitt grinned. 'Took many men many hours to dig and fill. And all for this one day.'\n\nStanton shook his head. 'It must be twenty feet wide.'\n\n'Aye,' said Nesbitt. 'And it'll be twelve feet deep.'\n\nA large wooden platform covered about one third of the huge pit, its planks fresh and pale and still smelling of sap. Despite the clear blue sky, the water beneath had no shine or sparkle. It sat muddy and dark and still.\n\n'Long way down, then.'\n\n'Aye,' said Nesbitt again. 'Better down than up, though.'\n\nSinking into that murk, unable to help yourself. Down and down as the water filled your mouth, your nose, your lungs. And that was the fate of the innocent? A shudder passed through Stanton. 'I suppose.'\n\nNesbitt stretched to his full height. 'The doors are open. They're coming out.'\n\nOthers took up his shout with yells, calls and whistles of their own.\n\nFolk surged in an excited wave at Stanton's back, the hot, sweating bodies of strangers ramming his ribs against the protesting monk in front.\n\n'Move back, curse you.' Nesbitt thrust out sharp elbows to loud swearing. 'You'll have us robbed of our life's breath.'\n\nStanton shoved back too, his pulse fast from the crush and what was about to happen.\n\nYork's Archbishop came into view and stepped slowly up on to the platform. Under his pointed mitre, his face shone scarlet from the heat of the day and the weight of his richly embroidered robes. Henry's three justices followed, familiar to Stanton from the court: the lofty Ranulf de Glanville, the shorter Robert de Vaux and the rounded Robert Pikenot. He'd hardly noticed their black robes in the gloom of the courtroom. Here, in the hot glare of the sun, they could be large crows looking for carrion.\n\nHands, fists, voices rose up with praise for them, for the King.\n\nThen came the loudest shouts yet. The accused were here.\n\n'By the name of the Virgin.' Stanton's mouth fell open. He'd seen these men in the court, standing before the justices. Tall men. Broad men. Hard-faced men all. Not poorly dressed but roughly dressed. The kind of men who it was easy to believe had robbed and killed an innocent woman and her daughter. But now? Now they filed on to the platform, heads down, one man sobbing in fear. And they were stripped naked, nothing except a loincloth keeping each man from shame.\n\n'Yes!' Nesbitt thumped Stanton on the shoulder. 'I've got a wager on all three being guilty. They look like it to me.'\n\n'Get off.' Stanton shoved his fist away. 'If you had fleas, you'd put money on which one jumped the highest.'\n\nNesbitt wheezed a laugh again, but cut it short as the Archbishop slowly raised his hands and held them wide apart.\n\nAll other voices dropped, the recent clamour a pounding echo in Stanton's ears in the sudden quiet. Only the prisoner's deep sobbing carried on.\n\nThe justices joined their hands and bowed their heads.\n\n'Lord, our God,' said the Archbishop, eyes aloft. 'You, who are the most righteous judge. You judge what is just and your right judgement transcends all others. We beseech you to bring your holy blessings down on this water. That if the man placed in it is innocent, it will receive him in your holy name. That if he is guilty, it will reject his sin.' He dropped his gaze to the dark water and moved his right hand in a sweeping blessing. 'In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.'\n\n'Amen,' chorused the justices and the crowd in a sombre rumble.\n\nStanton tried to join in and found his mouth had dried.\n\nThe Archbishop stepped back as de Glanville pointed to the first one. 'Bind him.'\n\nA huge roar met his words and the press of people at Stanton's back grew stronger as the guards moved in on the accused man.\n\n'First one going in.' Nesbitt's sight was locked on the platform. 'My luck's in, I can feel it.'\n\n'Don't think you feel much, Nesbitt.' Stanton's hoarse reply got no reaction as around him people yelled and prayed in equal measure.\n\nThe man was now trussed tightly on the ground, bent double, his arms crossed and wrists secured to his opposite ankles. More rope tied his feet together, while a last sturdy loop circled his waist.\n\nDe Glanville raised a hand for silence. He got it in an eye-blink, his clear voice addressing the man. 'You have a last chance to confess, to cleanse your soul. God already knows your heart.'\n\nThe man said nothing, made no sound except the panting of his breath, his air cut short no doubt by the twisted position of his body, and, Stanton was sure, by his fear of what was to come. Stanton's own heart thudded hard, fast. This man's must be about to leave his chest.\n\n'Very well.' De Glanville nodded to the guards.\n\nIn one swift movement, they dragged the bound prisoner to the edge of the platform.\n\nDe Glanville was saying something, but no silence this time, only a wall of noise as the guards did their work.\n\nA long rope threaded through the waist rope, attached to a wooden cross-beam. Hard hauls on the rope. The man rose in the air, a bundle of bound limbs, swinging high over the surface of the water, his loincloth soaking in abrupt terror.\n\nThen the rope ran loose. A low splash. And he was in. In.\n\nYet more people shoved to the front, frantic for a better view.\n\nStanton craned his neck to see through the heaving, clamouring throng before him. He didn't need to. The shouts, the screams told him.\n\n'He floats!'\n\n'God be praised!'\n\n'Guilty!'\n\nA shrieking woman lurched to one side and he could see. See the curved back of the bound man bobbing on the surface of the water, listing to one side, then to the other, whether caused by the man's struggle to breathe or attempts to sink, Stanton couldn't tell.\n\nAnother thump to his shoulder. Nesbitt again, jumping in glee.\n\nStanton didn't respond, couldn't take his gaze away from the hideous shape that still bobbed and span in the water.\n\nDe Glanville nodded to the guards. Swift, strong hauls on the rope again.\n\nAccused no longer, the guilty murderer broke the surface, muddy water streaming from his upended body, his mouth, his eyes bulging in wordless terror as the water continued to choke him. The guards lowered him hard on to the platform. More water spewed from him as he gasped and wriggled for air.\n\n'God's blessed water has rejected you.' De Glanville looked down at him from his imposing height. 'You are guilty of the two murders of which you are accused. You will hang today.'\n\nA fresh outburst greeted his words.\n\n'May you burn in hell!'\n\n'Praise the Almighty, praise him!'\n\n'Praise King Henry. God keep our holy King.'\n\n'Hail the King! Hail his justice!'\n\n'Hail him indeed.' Nesbitt gave Stanton a broad wink. 'His Grace's justice will be putting coin in my pocket.'\n\n'You're going to hell too, Nesbitt.' It would freeze over before Stanton shouted for the King and his justice. He'd seen it fail, and fail badly. And yet. His eyes went to the bereaved widower, the man who'd lost his wife, his daughter. The widower's hands were clasped in silent, reverent prayer. Prayers of thanks, no doubt.\n\nDe Glanville pointed to the second, sobbing prisoner. 'Bind him.'\n\nAs the guards moved in as one, the man broke into screams. 'No! No! I beg you!'\n\nYells and shouts filled the air as hundreds of voices raised as one.\n\nNow the man was fighting those who held him, his pale, naked limbs thrashing at the hands that grabbed him. 'Let go!'\n\nStanton shook his head as shouts and jeers spewed from those around him. Fighting was useless. The man was trying to fight the full might of the King's hand.\n\nA heavy blow from one of the guards had the man subdued enough so they could bring him under control.\n\nStanton palmed the sweat from his own face, his pulse still fast, faster still as the stunned man was bound, hoisted for the ordeal. He could no longer hear individual words, just wave upon wave of frenzy.\n\nOver the water. Still screaming. Screaming. Screams melting into those of the crowd in a piercing echo that made Stanton's head ring.\n\nThen the man was down. Into the pit. Gone.\n\nNow people surged harder than ever, desperate to see this new judgement of the water.\n\nStanton pushed back, fought for his own breath even as he knew that the man in the water would be fighting for his. The quiver of the rope told of that battle.\n\nBut. 'He's still down!' He grabbed at Nesbitt's sleeve. 'He must be innocent.'\n\nHis cry was echoed by others over and over.\n\nNesbitt spat in disgust. 'I know, curse him.'\n\nStill down. No sign. Stanton put his hands to his head, wordless shouts now coming from his throat. Judgement again. But innocence this time.\n\nA few huge bubbles broke the dirty surface. Nothing else. No sign of the man. The rope shuddered as if a heavy fish fought for its freedom.\n\nThen all movement stopped. Nothing. It was utterly still.\n\n'Bring him up.' De Glanville's order cut through the noise.\n\nThe guards hauled and hauled, and the motionless form of the man broke the surface, muddy water streaming from his body as it had from the first. But where the first man was still a coughing heap on the ground, the one now pulled from the water made no sound. His body landed on the soaked platform with a squelching thud, mouth wide, as it had been minutes before, yet silent now, eyes fixed and sightless.\n\nStanton's stomach dropped. The man was dead. An innocent man was dead.\n\nA chorus of shocked gasps and a buzz of questions joined the clamour of those still shouting and praying.\n\nUp on the platform, de Glanville exchanged a look with his fellow justices, then turned to murmur to both of them. As they did so, another dark-robed figure stepped up to join them.\n\nStanton recognised Aelred Barling, one of the senior clerks of the court.\n\n'What could Barling want?' said Nesbitt.\n\nStanton shrugged. He didn't know and didn't care. The officious, fussy clerk couldn't give life back to the innocent man who'd just lost it.\n\nAfter a terse exchange, Barling removed himself with a quick bow of his tonsured head.\n\nAll three justices exchanged nods, their faces sombre.\n\n'Good people.' De Glanville faced the crowd again and gestured with an open palm to the dead prisoner. 'This man had three days in which to prepare himself for the ordeal. He heard Mass with the appropriate liturgy. Fasted. For that is how one should face the ordeal. Prepared. Calm. Putting one's absolute trust in Almighty God. With steadfast faith.' De Glanville shook his head. 'Not with disbelief. Nor fear. This man's lack of faith let him down. But his innocence has been proved. If he is without other sin, God will welcome his soul into heaven. Justice has been done.'\n\nHuge cheers greeted his words.\n\nStanton didn't join in. Henry's justice. It hadn't changed. The blameless still perished. He clamped his jaw lest he shout his anger as the calls proclaiming Henry's greatness built once more.\n\nThen in the din came a different shout. 'I'm guilty! Guilty!' It came from the third prisoner, much burlier than the other two, his naked muscles glistening in the sun.\n\nThe noise of the crowd fell away and the faces of those surrounding Stanton could be his own: eyes wide, mouths open in surprise.\n\nNesbitt gave Stanton a huge grin. 'That's more like it.'\n\nStanton nudged him. 'Listen.'\n\n'Guilty, yes, I'm guilty.' The man tripped over his words in his haste to speak. 'Yes, my lord justices. But hear me, hear me, I beg you.'\n\nDe Glanville's face showed no emotion. Same with the other two justices. 'Go on.'\n\nThe man fell to his knees. 'I'm guilty, but guilty of being with him, nothing more.' He gestured at the live prisoner. 'He's a murderer, he is. Like the water says. The water's right. You're right, my lords. Me, the dead man. We were both there. But we committed no crime. We're both innocent. I'm confessing, confessing, see? I... I don't need to go in. Not in there.'\n\nDespite a few gasps and stifled cries, the quiet held. Nobody wanted to miss a word.\n\n'You are admitting to being present at the murders?' asked de Glanville.\n\n'Yes, my lord. Yes. I was there, at the house. When the woman and the girl...' The man shook his head. 'But that's all.'\n\n'All?'\n\n'Yes, my lord.'\n\n'I see.'\n\nSomething in de Glanville's tone made Stanton's neck prickle.\n\nThe justice went on. 'Only a short while ago, before you were led out from the cathedral, you and your fellow accused were stripped of your clothing as part of your preparation for the ordeal. One of my clerks carried out a thorough examination of those garments. He found this sewed into your cloak.' De Glanville drew a small object from his own wide sleeve and held it up.\n\nStanton pulled in a sharp breath. Now he knew why Barling had appeared.\n\nThe man looked as if somebody had struck him as the widower gave a cry of anguish.\n\nConfused questions filled the air.\n\nStanton didn't join in. He knew what de Glanville held, had heard of its theft in the court: a silver ring brooch.\n\n'This,' said de Glanville, 'is what you stole in the most violent of robberies, which took the life of this man's wife and daughter.'\n\nHowls of rage broke from those watching as the prisoner, bellowing, tried to lunge at the justice, while the guards grappled with him.\n\nDe Glanville stood like stone, raising his voice to echo over it all. 'You thought your false confession would spare you the water and so you would elude the King's justice. You have eluded nothing. Nothing. The punishment for your theft is the loss of that hand.' He pointed to the man's right hand. 'And that foot.' The left.\n\nStanton's stomach turned over as the rage became ugly, ugly cheers. He looked over at Nesbitt. 'Let's go. Time for more ale.'\n\nNesbitt shook his head, put his finger to his lips.\n\nDe Glanville still addressed the prisoner. 'The ordeal has established your guilt. You are guilty of robbery. And...' He looked at his fellow justices, who nodded. 'And guilty of murder. By the judgement of God, of King Henry, you will hang this day.'\n\nThe widower sank to the ground praising God, the justices, the King. His cries were taken up in a deafening roar.\n\n'But first you will pay the price for your theft.' De Glanville gave a signal and a guard approached the platform, a heavy axe to one shoulder.\n\nStanton had to get out of there. 'Think I've had enough.'\n\n'Not got the stomach for bloodshed, have you, young Stanton?' Nesbitt's wide grin mocked as much as his tone.\n\n'My stomach's all right. I'm ready for more ale, that's all.' And I know more about bloodshed than you ever will. He went to push back through the press of people.\n\n'See you later on, Iron Belly.' Nesbitt gave him a mocking salute.\n\nA hand tugged at his sleeve. He looked down.\n\nThe girl from before with the thick brown hair stared right at him. 'I have some fresh flowers if sir would like to see them.' Her lip twitched with her arch look.\n\nStanton summoned up a wink for Nesbitt. 'Enjoy yourself, I'm sure you will.' He forced a smile at the girl. 'I'm off for my sort of pleasure.'\n\nIn return, she slipped an arm through his and led him off through the baying crowd."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "'Why does your friend call you Iron Belly?' The girl had to raise her voice as she threaded through the yelling throng with nimble speed, Stanton tight in her grip.\n\nTruth be told, he was glad of her help. His legs felt as if he'd been running far and fast, all the ale he'd drunk mixing with the horror of the ordeal. From behind, piercing through every other noise, came a terrible thud and the shrillest scream.\n\nHe swallowed hard to bring spittle back to his dry throat. 'He's not my friend. We both serve the justices. As do the many men that have travelled with them. That's all.'\n\n'Oh.' She ducked into a shaded narrow alleyway to the side of a shuttered shop, so narrow the sun must never reach it. 'I thought all important men like you were friends.'\n\nHe coughed at the reek of the urine of cats and men. But the walls and low roofs made a welcome shield against the dreadful happenings nearby. 'I'm not that important.' His boots squelched on the damp, mossy muck underfoot.\n\n'Oh,' she said again. 'I think you are.' She pulled him into a broken-down rotting doorway, the better to shield them from any prying eyes.\n\nBetter for him as well \u2013 it gave him something to lean his drink-fuddled head against.\n\n'You serve the King. And a man as fair as you must be important.' She reached one hand up to rake her fingers through his hair. 'Such golden hair. Such blue eyes. I thought you must be a young prince or a brave warrior when I saw you.'\n\nWhores' flattery. He knew it well \u2013 yet her boldness made him smile. 'You could call me Prince Iron Belly. But I'm no warrior, no fighter.'\n\n'No?'\n\n'No. And the women I know like to call me Hugo.'\n\n'You know many women, do you?' Her other hand dropped to below his belt.\n\n'More women than warriors.' He slipped his hand under her coarse skirts, found warm, yielding flesh. 'Which I prefer.'\n\n'I'm glad you do.' She opened the fastening of his braies with practised ease. 'Hugo.'\n\n'And what shall I call you?'\n\nShe slid expert fingers around him. 'Daisy.'\n\nHe caught his breath at her touch. 'Daisy?'\n\n'Like the flower.'\n\n'Of course.' He gasped again. Saints be praised, this girl knew what to do. 'You're a flower seller.' He lowered his mouth to hers, and she parted her lips for him. He closed his eyes, tried to lose himself in his body's reaction to her hands on him, to how she felt under his touch. She wasn't his love, this wasn't love. His love, his Rosamund, was dead. But this girl, this plain whore who called herself Daisy, was here, was alive. Her skin was whole, soft against his. And there were no blades, no screams, no bloodshed, no gallows.\n\nShe stopped dead. Thrust herself from him.\n\nHe opened his eyes. 'What?'\n\n'Hugo.' Daisy pointed a trembling finger down the alley. 'There. A robber.'\n\nA ragged man lumbered towards them, club in one hand, his muscular bulk the width of the dank alley. 'Good day to you,' he said, showing broken teeth below a wide nose.\n\n'A plague on it.' Stanton fumbled his breeches shut with one hand, grabbing Daisy's arm with the other. 'Down the other end of the alley. Quick.' They made it less than five steps when another armed man filled the exit.\n\n'We're trapped,' came Daisy's anguished whisper.\n\nStanton stepped back to the doorway and pushed Daisy in behind him with a string of quiet oaths.\n\nThe first man reached them. 'Are you two fine folk deaf?' He gave his gap-toothed grin again. 'I said good day.'\n\n'Good day to you.' Stanton made his reply as firm as he could, tried not to sway on his feet.\n\n'And to you.' The second one was here now. He gave an exaggerated bow. 'Sir.'\n\n'Yet a solemn day,' said Stanton. 'With the ordeal. Where a robber is paying the price for his crime. The very highest price.'\n\nHe had a slim hope that calling on the nearby judgement would help. It didn't.\n\n'Solemn?' The man pointed his club at Stanton's belt. 'I'd say happy.' He raised the club level with Stanton's face. 'Happy for us that everyone is busy at the pit. While you hand over that full purse of yours.'\n\nStanton gave the slightest of nods. Any more and his nose would be on the knobbly wood. 'I willingly give it.' His hands sought out his purse tie, with a silent Daisy pressed behind him. He prayed she had the sense to stay that way. His purse contained her payment. But this was no time to protest. This was the time to stay in one piece. He placed the bag of coins in the robber's hand. 'There. Now I wish you a final good day.'\n\nThe man shoved the purse under his patched tunic. 'We'll have the girl too.'\n\nA soft gasp from Daisy.\n\nDamn it all. 'No.' Stanton squared his jaw and met the robber's gaze. 'She's with me for now.'\n\n'Don't, Hugo.' She tried to push past him. 'Don't.'\n\nBut he had to. Had to try. He stayed her with a hand. He'd failed the woman he loved; he couldn't, wouldn't fail another. 'You're welcome to my full purse, my friend. But leave this girl be.'\n\nThe robber put his head to one side. And lowered his club.\n\nStanton swallowed hard. 'Now, on your way.' He gave the man a civil nod, his shoulders and legs locked to try to keep steady.\n\nHe didn't even see the man's fist, caught a blur of movement, and then he was down on the filthy, stinking ground, doubled over with a burst of pain in his stomach and the wind driven from him. Fighting for breath, any breath, he looked up to see the robber hold his hand out to Daisy.\n\nShe stepped over Stanton without even a glance down. 'You took your time,' she said to the man.\n\nHe patted her face with one huge palm. 'Never far away, don't you worry. And we could tell you'd have no trouble with this fool.'\n\nStanton rolled to one side, hands clawing at the sticky mud, coughing, chest heaving, his breath returned but every one a sharp stab, as were the man's words. A fool. He managed to rise on one elbow.\n\nThe robber smirked down at him and jerked his head at his companion and the girl. 'Come on. Before someone sees. I want to keep all my limbs.'\n\n'Wait.' She dropped to her haunches and grasped Stanton's chin in her hand.\n\nHe tried to push her off, but he still had no strength.\n\n'Prince Iron Belly, you're so sweet, trying to defend me. Sweet.' She gave him a little shake. 'But stupid. Either of this pair could snap you in two. You're right when you say you're not a warrior.' She kissed him hard on the mouth. 'So keep that pretty face for the girls.' She stood up. 'That's my advice.'\n\n'As for paying the price,' said the leader of the robbers. 'A man's only guilty if he's caught.' He drew his boot back. 'We're not getting caught.'\n\nStanton ducked away. Not fast enough. And the boot hit the same spot as the fist. Then his face.\n\nHe would never get up again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Aelred Barling, clerk to the King's justices, checked the number of cases left to hear on this, the last day that the court would sit in York.\n\nThe hours of the evening and the night to come would see the many, many preparations needed for moving such a large assembly. Tomorrow the court would start its progress on to the next county. As ever, the numbers involved would mean it would not be swift. These visitations, these eyres, as demanded by the lord King, were an enormous undertaking. The court in which Barling now sat, headed by the justices de Glanville, de Vaux and Pikenot, covered the northern counties from Lancashire to Northumberland and beyond. The long hours of the fierce June sun would slow the pace even more. Barling did not look forward to the inevitable heat and discomfort.\n\nBut for now, around him in the keep of the castle, all was proceeding in the correct manner and order, despite the early hour. The court would finish its business here today as planned.\n\nThe justices sat above Barling on their raised dais immediately to the left of his desk, the pipe rolls and writs they would need arranged before them on the wide table. Many of the clerks had their heads down as they made careful notes on wax tablets. Others moved back and forth with quiet efficiency in their necessary, orderly tasks, with any discussions taking place in a low murmur. Those people appealing the next cases waited in awed silence, many clutching documents of their own. As their appeals were heard, they would be replaced by others.\n\nThe first case was under way, a straightforward land dispute where a tenant claimed he had been improperly ejected from his land. A jury of twelve lawful and free men were with the tenant to support his claim.\n\n'The plaintiff has been unjustly dispossessed,' said de Glanville, commencing his judgement.\n\nThe familiar rhythm of the wording in the quiet of the court brought Barling a satisfying calm. He allowed himself a small nod as he wiped his hands on a piece of linen before picking up his stylus. A perspiring hand made for an unsatisfactory grip. He began his letters, one ear still open for anything that the justices might require.\n\nWhile the demands of this court were very considerable and often without cease, Barling took on the burden of duty willingly, as he always did in his service of the King. Duty, however, did not always equate with enjoyment.\n\nHere in the stifling summer heat of York, he found it difficult to recall the piercing cold of London in January, when he had first heard the news from Northampton as he sat in the peace of the King's writing office.\n\nYet he had no difficulty remembering his disturbance. He had not shared the excitement of the news that had spread through his fellow clerks of the scriptorium. King Henry had been meeting with his barons. The method for bringing royal government and order to the people would be greatly improved. While the King had had justices travel his realm for some ten years, henceforth there would be six travelling courts, each headed by three justices on circuit. They would make judgements on the possession and inheritance of land. Equally importantly, they would hear cases of serious felony, such as murder, robbery, theft and arson. Punishment would be ruthless and effective. The justices would make sure of it in the name of their lord King.\n\nBarling had listened without comment as the clerks discussed at length the anticipation of many more opportunities to travel with the court, perhaps even the chance to serve as one of the King's itinerant justices. The idea had filled Barling with utter displeasure. He had no wish to venture from his desk and his books, which were his safety and his sanctuary. But his Grace had decreed that those responsible for his law should travel. And as his lord King demanded, so Barling would serve.\n\nAs so often with the brilliance of his Grace, the new system was breathtaking, not only in its ambition but also in its effectiveness. Not two days ago the ordeal had been a demonstration of the might of the King's power. No man or woman on this earth could have looked upon it and not quailed.\n\nBut as for becoming a justice, it held no attraction for Barling. He relished his reputation as a compiler and adviser, one who could devote his time and talents to detail. Just as he had at the ordeal on Saturday, when he'd checked the discarded clothing of the accused and found the hidden brooch. Yet he'd been perfectly content to leave the verdicts to the justices. He was not worthy of taking on the weight of final judgement.\n\nThe morning proceeded in a regular, steady order of case after case.\n\nBarling completed his writing and laid his pen down once more. After applying a neat wax seal to each one, he collected the letters that needed to be dispatched and slipped out quietly as yet another jury gave their evidence to the court. There were several clerks who could deal with anything the judges might require, and he would not be long. His next task was to hand over these letters to the messengers to make sure of their timely delivery.\n\nAs the doors closed behind him, the building heat of the morning met him. He descended the steps of the motte, squinting in the harsh sunlight. The messengers were assembled in the busy, spacious yard below, as they should be, awaiting his orders. Their horses were saddled and tethered nearby, the animals smartly groomed, as he insisted upon.\n\nA respectful chorus came from the men. 'Good morning, sir.'\n\n'Good morrow.' Barling ran his eye over each man and rapped out orders as he handed out his letters. 'Richmond: by sundown. Nothing later. Rievaulx Abbey: await a response from the abbot. Lancaster: fix your hat on straight, man.' And so on until he reached the end. The end where he had no letters left. But no messengers, either.\n\n'Who is missing?' he asked with a frown.\n\n'Cobb is still laid up with the flux, sir,' replied one.\n\n'I know that,' said Barling. 'I sent a query to his inn yesterday.' He took another look at the familiar faces before him and gave a sharp, short sigh. 'It is Hugo Stanton, is it not?'\n\n'Looks like it, sir.'\n\n'Look at the hour,' said Barling. 'Do any of you know where he might be?'\n\nThe shaking of heads met his question.\n\n'No, sir. No idea.'\n\n'No, sir.'\n\n'Perhaps he's ill as well, sir.' This came from the one called Nesbitt.\n\nBarling gave a short, sharp sigh. 'Well, I am not going to delay you any longer. You may go. Godspeed.'\n\nAs the messengers went to their animals, Barling caught a grin and a mutter from Nesbitt to another. 'I'll wager you that Stanton's still with that whore he left with on Saturday.'\n\n'Nesbitt.' Barling's crisp order had the man pause and look around.\n\n'Yes, sir?' His face fell at being overheard.\n\n'I expect a truthful answer when I ask a question. And if you know where Stanton is, then make sure you send him to me. At once. Whore or no whore. Do you hear me?'\n\n'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.' No longer grinning, Nesbitt continued on to his animal.\n\nBarling stood and watched as the messengers all rode out. If anything of importance arose in the court, he would be called for. In the meantime, he would wait for Stanton and make sure the man suffered repercussions for his distasteful tardiness.\n\nEnough was enough. It was not simply a problem of lateness with Stanton. It was so much else.\n\nFor a start, the young man had only joined the travelling court a month ago. De Glanville had informed Barling with a terse explanation that Stanton had been a good messenger in the rebellion and so was now joining the ranks of the court messengers. Nothing more. Barling had been perfectly satisfied with that, though it was an unusual occurrence. Nevertheless, it should have sufficed.\n\nThen young Stanton had arrived.\n\nOh, Stanton was a fast rider, no doubt about that. The fastest of all, should he choose to rouse himself. But he had a careless appearance that was never up to the standards of the court. A fondness for alehouses and, even worse, bawdy houses. An air about him that suggested he thought he was better than most men, though that suggestion had no evidence whatsoever to support it. That he could live his life as he pleased. Worst of all, a demeanour that showed no respect for authority.\n\nThe same demeanour that had Stanton, on this bright morn, sleeping in the arms of a whore when he should have been serving his King.\n\nBarling folded his arms, uncaring of the eye of the sun on his tonsured head.\n\nWhen Stanton arrived, he would have a suitable greeting ready for him.\n\nIt was time Hugo Stanton learned his true place in the world.\n\nAnd Aelred Barling would be the one to teach him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Stanton ran, one hand to his aching ribs to hold them steady.\n\nThe bells of Terce sounded from churches and monasteries as he hurried along the uneven cobbles, cursing at every jar to his bones.\n\nHe swore quietly to himself. He was late. So late. The amount of ale he'd drunk on the day of the ordeal would have made him sleepy enough. The thumping he'd had from that robber made his head even thicker.\n\nYet he was lucky to still have a skull that was in one piece. Another whore had led a man into the alley, screamed at what she saw and ran off along with her customer. But God had smiled on him, he reckoned. His attackers fled as well, leaving him to stagger back to his small airless room at an inn. He'd not said anything. A fool. The robber's word for him. Yes, he was. And it was nothing new.\n\nYesterday, the Lord's Day, he'd spent mostly in restless, uncomfortable dreams. Now Monday had dawned, he should be in his place at the back of the court, awaiting orders, not dodging past slow-walking traders laden with full baskets and swaying, rumbling carts that took up half the street.\n\nHe spied Nesbitt riding towards him at a brisk trot, his fellow messenger's lively horse clearing a ready path. Nesbitt saw him too, raising a hand in greeting before pulling to a halt beside him.\n\n'Barling's looking for you. And he's not happy.'\n\nStanton swore again.\n\nNesbitt grinned. 'Not seen you since the ordeal.' He pointed at Stanton's eye. 'Out scrapping, were you?'\n\n'Yes. No. I'd best be off.'\n\n'And me.' Nesbitt clicked to his horse. 'Good luck with Barling. You're going to need it.'\n\n'Barling? Luck won't help me with that pain in the backside. Godspeed, Nesbitt.'\n\nStanton set off again, faster this time. Forget his ribs.\n\nThe small, slight Aelred Barling might only be about a dozen years older than Stanton, but the clerk's nature, duller and drier than the piles of manuscripts he surrounded himself with, made him seem even more. While the man was meek and mild to all the justices, he was the opposite to those under his charge if they made a mistake. And that included late messengers.\n\nStanton made it to the busy castle bailey faster than he had any morning before. It didn't matter.\n\nHe could see Barling waiting for him by the steps that led up to the motte, dressed in his usual black robes, arms folded, for all the world like an angry bat.\n\nStanton hurried up to him, trying to bring his breathing under control.\n\n'Now here is Hugo Stanton.' Barling didn't raise his voice. He never did. 'The saints are smiling.' His smooth, pale face wasn't.\n\n'I'm sorry, sir. Very sorry I'm late.'\n\n'Yes, you are late, Stanton. Your apology does not cause the church bells to unring, nor the sun to unrise.'\n\n'You're right, sir.'\n\n'Of course I am right. As you are in the wrong.' Barling's slender nostrils pinched in his annoyance. 'Not only are you late, your appearance is a disgrace. Aside from your clothing looking like you plucked it from a washerwoman's basket, the injury to your eye would suggest that you have been brawling.'\n\n'I had too much ale, sir. I fell over. That's all.' He hated his own lie. But the shame of being duped and robbed by the gang was worse than lying.\n\n'That is all?' Barling drew out the all, eyebrows raised almost to his thin, dun hair.\n\n'Yes, sir. I mean, no...'\n\n'Stanton, I care not one whit about what you mean. What I care about is the efficient running of King Henry's court. The court that has been sitting while you lay abed on top of a whore in your ale-filled slumber. I have dispatched all the messengers already this morning. Had I others at my disposal, I would send you away until you are fit to be seen. However, I have no choice. I cannot risk disruption to the court because I have no messengers to hand.' Barling's thin lips pursed. 'Mark this: you are in the worst of trouble. I will deal with your unacceptable behaviour personally later. Is that clear?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Now get yourself up to the court,' said Barling. 'And ensure that you are placed where the justices cannot see you in your disgracefully dishevelled state.' He went to lead the climb up the steps.\n\n'You two. Stop there.'\n\nStanton turned along with Barling to see who'd uttered the slurred command.\n\nA richly dressed nobleman sat on a fine horse, his bulk swaying in his saddle. He was clearly very drunk, far more so than Stanton had been at the ordeal, and, Stanton guessed, used to being so. The man's deep red, meaty face told of many years of winebibbing.\n\n'I have come,' the nobleman went on, 'for the law. Bring me there. At once.'\n\n'Do you seek the King's justices, my lord?' Barling made his tone polite for this wealthy stranger.\n\n'That's what I said, man. Are you deaf as well as disobedient?'\n\nBarling's nostrils drew in again.\n\nStanton kept silent, not wanting to draw any ire.\n\n'You address one of the senior clerks to the justices, my lord,' said Barling. 'I will need to know your name as well as your appeal.'\n\n'I can tell the justices that. Not you.' The word ended on a stifled belch.\n\nStanton braced himself for a public scene. Barling was as irritated as the nobleman was drunk.\n\n'I respectfully request your name, my lord,' came Barling's clipped reply. 'Without it, I cannot allow your entry to the court of the King.'\n\n'If you must.' The man's glower matched his tone. 'My name is Sir Reginald Edgar. And I wish to appeal a brutal murder.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Stanton followed Barling and the stranger called Sir Reginald Edgar into the crowded castle keep, where the court was sitting.\n\nAs always, the warm, stuffy air smelled and felt musty: no breeze found its way in here. Neither did the light from the bright morning sun. Instead, scores of candles threw out yellowed light as well as heat and smoke. The many clerks had their tonsured heads bent to their scribbling, while the three dark-robed justices sat in their usual position on the raised dais.\n\nA jury of twelve men was assembled before them, brought in to make some sort of declaration or other.\n\nDe Glanville was addressing them and another two men, who stood to one side.\n\n'Sir Reginald,' whispered Barling, 'please remain here in silence until the justices have concluded this case. I will then inform them of your appeal.'\n\nEdgar grunted but did as asked.\n\nBarling's look went to Stanton. 'As for you,' he hissed, 'try and stay out of sight lest you attract displeasure.' He gave him a last warning nod, then made his way to his seat at the side of the dais, the very nearest to the judges, steps silent on the rush-covered stone floor.\n\nStanton let out a long breath, wincing as his ribs protested. He reckoned he'd attracted enough displeasure from Barling to last him a good while. He doubted de Glanville would care if he was missing an arm, let alone bother about a black eye. But if Henry's judge even glanced at him, let alone remarked on him, Barling would have Stanton pay for it for the rest of his days. He tried to melt into the stone wall at his back as de Glanville carried on with his judgement.\n\nAn inheritance case, guessed Stanton. Even he recognised many of the words by now. Plaintiff. Dispossession. Disseisin. What they meant, he still had little idea. Even less about what kind of men these justices were. To hang two men on a Saturday and drown another. Then to sit here again from the early morning on a Monday, calm, emotionless. Rested-looking. Despite the many hours he'd spent in bed, Stanton's own sleep had been fitful, broken, filled with throttled faces and dirty water and the thud of axe blade on limbs.\n\n'Let it be therefore judged that the tenant is the party with the greater rights on the land sought.'\n\nDe Glanville's conclusion seemed to make one of the men happy. He bowed many times, a huge smile on his face, while Barling gestured at him to stop.\n\nDe Glanville didn't even seem to notice. His attention, along with that of the other justices, was back on one of the manuscripts in front of him, the justice looking at what Stanton assumed should be the next case.\n\nAs winner, loser and jury mingled and filed out in a buzz of quiet chatter, Barling got up and slipped to de Glanville's side, head bent to the justice's ear the better to murmur into it.\n\nDe Glanville looked up with a frown, seeking out Edgar with the help of Barling's discreet point. He said a few brief words to Barling, who retook his own seat.\n\n'Sir Reginald Edgar.' De Glanville's call had the lord step forward with a grumpy 'Finally!' that the whole court must have heard in the newly settled quiet.\n\nStanton bit the inside of his own lip to hold in his grin at the look on Barling's face.\n\nAll three justices exchanged glances as Edgar shuffled forward with careful steps.\n\n'My lords.' Though Edgar had stopped, he stood with the steadiness of a man aboard a ship at sea. 'I thank you for your generosity in hearing my case this morning. Your wisdom is excelled only by your efficiency. My lords.' He gestured at the startled-looking clerks. 'And you. All of you.'\n\n'Sir Reginald,' said de Glanville, 'the King's court acknowledges your generous praise and thanks you in return. However, my fellow justices and I would be greatly assisted by your laying out what your appeal is in the briefest, simplest of terms.'\n\n'Well then, my lord.' Edgar raised a finger, which seemed to unsteady him even more. 'I cannot put it more briefly. Or simply. An outlaw has murdered my village's smith.'\n\n'Does your smith have a name?' asked de Glanville.\n\n'He did when he was alive, my lord.' Edgar's words landed on the right side of insolent. Barely.\n\n'And that was?' De Glanville's question had an edge that warned, same as the day of the ordeal.\n\nIf Edgar noticed, Stanton couldn't see it.\n\n'Geoffrey Smith,' said Edgar. 'A well-respected member of the community. Murdered by Nicholas Lindley, an outlaw who most definitely is not.'\n\n'How did he murder him?'\n\n'Lindley broke into Smith's forge. Late one night. Ten days ago.' Edgar swallowed hard and lost much of his high colour. 'He... he took Smith's own branding iron. He beat Geoffrey to death with it. Broke his skull clean open. Smashed the iron into Smith's face too.'\n\nA ripple of stifled disgust went through the room, matched by Stanton's own stomach turning over. His beloved uncle had worked the anvil, had had a forge.\n\nBarling bent to his tablet to make a note.\n\n'I see,' said de Glanville. 'You have brought your witnesses?'\n\n'Witnesses?' Edgar shook his head. 'Only one witness. It was Smith's daughter, Agnes. But the woman's still back in Claresham.'\n\n'Always problematic when a woman's accusation is involved.' De Vaux, the second, smaller judge, gave a sage nod.\n\n'Indeed,' came from Pikenot, the third, round-bodied judge, who hardly ever spoke.\n\n'Yet this Lindley did not harm her?' asked de Glanville.\n\n'No, my lords,' said Edgar. 'Agnes Smith wasn't there when it happened. But she found her father's body.' His thick lips pursed down. 'A horrible business. Horrible.'\n\nA shudder passed through Stanton. Not just a terrible end for Smith, but a terrible discovery for his daughter too.\n\nDe Glanville frowned. 'Then who did witness it?'\n\n'No one exactly, my lords.' Edgar's ruddy face glowed in the flickering light once more. 'But it's clear as day who did it. This Lindley fellow was living in the woods for about a week before he murdered Smith. A beggar, or so we thought.' He swayed a bit harder. 'A couple of folk had seen him on the side roads as well. Some food had gone missing from stores. Lindley had been living amongst us as a rat lives unseen in the walls. Until...' He broke off, shaking his head.\n\n'Terrible events, Sir Reginald, I have no doubt of that,' said de Glanville. 'But it would be of great help to the proceedings of this court if you were to ask your jury of presentment to come in so we can hear their full accusation.'\n\n'A jury?' Edgar blinked hard. 'I have no such resources to call on at the moment. Many, many souls on my estate have perished this last terrible winter past. Many.'\n\nDe Glanville gave a sympathetic nod. 'As they have over the whole land.'\n\n'If God is good, we will not see its like again,' said the second judge.\n\nA murmur of agreement met his words, Stanton joining it. Impossible to imagine now, in the warmth of June, the ice and snow that had buried houses and barns as high as the roofs for many months, making every road near impassable. Yet one thing had been able to move: a fever and a liquid cough that claimed lives with ease.\n\n'Amen, my lords,' said Edgar. 'But my fields need working with the greatest of urgency by the men I do have left. Bringing them here would have been a waste of time. A jury is not needed in this case.'\n\nBarling's head rose from his tablet as the faces of all three justices went rigid too in their surprise at being told the law.\n\nEdgar's clear drunkenness made him blind as he carried on. 'My lords, there has not been a murder in Claresham in living memory. It is a respectable, God-fearing place. The word of a nobleman is surely all that is needed in such an obvious case as this. I can go back and hang Lindley myself.'\n\nDe Glanville recovered first. 'The King's justice, sir, is what is needed. Not what you decide.'\n\nYet again Edgar spoke back. 'Lindley is an outlaw, my lords. I can hang him. All I need is your permission, as his Grace has decreed.' He grinned. 'I would not want to pay the fine imposed on me had I done so without such permission. Now I can\u2014'\n\n'Silence, sir!' De Glanville's anger was obvious now.\n\nStanton had to wonder if Edgar's drunkenness was accompanied by madness.\n\n'What you have presented,' said de Glanville, 'is a secret homicide. You have no witnesses to the actual deed. Your only familial accuser is a daughter. Such crimes require proper consideration by the court of his Grace. Such as we have had in this past week, when we had three other men accused of murder. When we had them prepare for the ordeal. When they purged themselves by the ordeal.' He leaned forward. 'When we \u2013 we \u2013 judged that the guilty should be executed. Not you.'\n\nEdgar opened his wide mouth.\n\n'I ordered silence.'\n\nHe closed it again.\n\n'Such consideration took a great deal of time, as is right and proper,' said de Glanville. 'Yet during said time, when you could have brought your case, you stayed on your estate, an accused man locked up in your gaol. And did nothing.'\n\nFinally, Edgar looked embarrassed. A bit. 'My apologies, my lords. But a severe flux kept me abed for many days. I will return and find a jury and\u2014'\n\n'No, Sir Reginald,' said de Glanville, 'you will not. Tomorrow this court moves on to the next city. You are too late.'\n\n'Then I can hang Lindley?' There was no mistaking the relish in his voice.\n\n'No, sir, you may not.' De Glanville shook his head. 'This case does not seem straightforward. You said yourself that this man Lindley arrived in your village as a beggar, not an outlaw. Not straightforward at all. It requires the hand of the King's justice.'\n\nHis fellow justices nodded.\n\n'This man here, Aelred Barling, is the court's most experienced clerk,' said de Glanville. 'He can oversee matters on our behalf. Barling, you will return to Claresham with Sir Reginald and administer that justice.'\n\nBarling's look of surprise instantly became a tight, if fixed, smile. 'Of course, my lord de Glanville. It would be the highest of honours.'\n\nStanton held in a cheer at his own unexpected reprieve. It looked like he'd got away with his tardiness and his bruises. Barling would be gone for days. His aching head and ribs felt better already. He might even manage a visit to an alehouse tonight. A later one to a whore, one that he knew. Better, one he trusted not to have robbing friends in tow.\n\nBut de Glanville was speaking again. 'Sir Reginald, you will provide Barling his accommodation and every courtesy of your hospitality.'\n\n'My lord.' Edgar nodded but had the look of one who'd been asked to clean out a privy.\n\n'Barling,' continued de Glanville, 'you have admirable knowledge of the law. I am sure you will not need to consult with me and my fellow justices. But in case you do, take a messenger with you.'\n\nA messenger? Oh no. Stanton fought the urge to make for the door.\n\nBarling was looking straight at him.\n\nStanton glanced right, left, in the vain hope that another messenger had returned. But no. It was just him.\n\nSo Barling was off to Claresham to investigate the murder of one Geoffrey Smith under the order of the King's court.\n\nAnd Stanton, God rot it, was going too."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "God has committed to the King the care of all his subjects alike.\n\nAelred Barling repeated this refrain to himself many, many times on the hot ride to the village of Claresham. More specifically, he revisited it every time Sir Reginald Edgar irritated him afresh. Which was several times every hour.\n\nHad it not been for this man, with his untimely appearance before the justices and his inebriated confusion about the law, Barling would not now be sat astride a sweating horse, his muscles cramped from many uncomfortable hours in the saddle. He would be in the shade and calm of the court, with its ordered rhythm of document, case, document, case, as soothing as a mother's heartbeat to an infant.\n\nTo add to Barling's annoyance, the thick-set Edgar, riding close beside him on an equally coarse-bodied horse while the messenger, Stanton, brought up the rear of their trio, was one of those individuals for whom the retelling of a tale was an equal pleasure to the first time. The man went over and round and back over the hideous murder of Geoffrey Smith and much besides: how it was a singular event in the whole time he had had control of his lands. How extensive his lands were. Yet even so, how he normally kept the best of order, with not even a turnip thief escaping retribution. How, in his experience, swift justice was the best justice. The man's rambling tongue was no doubt kept loose by the large leather bottle he drank from with great frequency.\n\n'Swift, sure, strong, Barling,' Edgar wittered on. 'That's what you need with the law. Men like Lindley: dispatch them. Show no mercy, show them none. None whatsoever.' And on.\n\nFortunately, the man shared that other feature of lovers of incessant speech: he did not seem at all concerned with checking if the listener had heard or cared. Debate was certainly not required.\n\n'Indeed.' Barling swatted at the flies that danced before his sweat-coated face, landing on his mouth and nose with a foul tickle. To no avail. They were back again the second he stopped. Under his neatly pinned cloak, his body perspired worse than his face. But he would not loosen any of his clothing to allow the benefit of the soft breeze. He was the representative of the King's rule of law. His appearance must reflect that at all times.\n\n'Do you not enjoy a draught of the good grape, Barling?' Edgar held up his depleted leather drinking bottle.\n\n'No, I have very simple tastes.' Barling's innards rebelled, not only at the trail of spittle attached to the neck of the vessel, but at the idea of what warm wine would do to his overheated body. 'I require water for my thirst. Nothing else.'\n\nFor once, his answer seemed to interest Edgar. 'I'll say that's simple.' Edgar took a sup from his own foul receptacle. 'And unusual. Men of the court like the best things that life has to offer.'\n\nBarling had no wish to respond further. 'Speaking of water, I have very little left. If we have much farther to travel, I will need to collect some.'\n\n'No need.' Edgar tipped his head back to take the last draughts, reminding Barling of a pig opening its mouth for an apple. 'We're almost at Claresham. You see that dip in the road up ahead? That's the start of my estate.'\n\n'Did you hear that, Stanton?' Barling looked back and his hands tightened on his reins in impatience. As if God were not testing him enough by sending him out into the disordered, violent world, He was sending the young Hugo Stanton along with Barling as a further trial.\n\n'Yes, sir.' Not only marked with his blackened eye, the young Hugo Stanton had flung his cloak back over his shoulders and undone the top of his undershirt. His hat rested on his saddle pommel and the wind had blown his hair about in a tangled mess.\n\n'In the name of the Virgin,' said Barling, 'tidy yourself up. You are here as a servant of his Grace, not a peasant on his way to the fields.'\n\n'Sorry, sir.' Stanton set about making himself look respectable with a visage that lacked even a hint of apology.\n\nEdgar gave a sharp whistle. 'You.'\n\nBarling looked to where a young boy collected kindling from under a stand of yews by the side of the road.\n\n'Fetch my nephew at once,' said Edgar. 'Tell him to meet me at my hall.'\n\n'Yes, my lord.' The boy darted off.\n\n'My nephew, William Osmond, is the rector of Claresham,' said Edgar. 'You can see the roof of his church from here. His house is next to it. My hall is over there, in those trees.'\n\nBarling followed his point to see where he meant, then gave another glance back. Stanton now looked as well presented as possible, which was not a great deal.\n\nThe village came into view, unremarkable in every way.\n\nA fair size, but nothing to compare to the teeming, tightly packed London streets that had always been his home, or even the busy city of York.\n\nThe wattle and daub houses and cottages built along the main thoroughfare were mostly modest, with one or two large ones and a handful wretched. A high-walled well stood about halfway along, and a family of ducks feasted on the thick grass which grew near to it. Floods seemed unlikely from the high-banked small river, which kept the mill wheel turning in a steady, splashing trundle. Much of the place still bore the scars of the terrible winter and stormy spring. A mighty fallen oak had crushed a small barn. Many damaged roofs still needed tending to even after so many months, while others had fresh thatch repairs. Fields stretching into the distance had sheep grazing or were busy with men making the best of the last of the good day. Smoke rising from roofs and the smell of cooking told of women preparing supper.\n\nBut nothing out of the ordinary was to be seen. Nothing to suggest this was a place where a stranger had cracked open the skull of the village smith in a vicious attack.\n\nThe clatter of the three sets of hooves on the road that led down into the village had caused raised heads in the fields, had brought curious faces to front doors.\n\n'My nephew will be surprised that you have come to join us for our meal,' said Edgar to Barling. 'I'm sure he'll be very interested in why you are here too.'\n\n'Sir Reginald, our meal can wait,' replied Barling. 'Where is the gaol?'\n\n'The gaol? It's down that way.' He pointed to a narrow track that led from the main street. 'But we have travelled for many hours, we\u2014'\n\n'Your prisoner is the reason for my travelling, Edgar. Not your repast,' said Barling. 'Do you have the keys?'\n\n'Of course,' said Edgar. 'As I have told you, I keep the best of order here.'\n\nBarling ignored the lord and nodded to Stanton instead. 'Stanton: the gaol. We need to be prompt.' Their arrival had already been noticed. It would not be long before the villagers gathered, he was certain of that.\n\n'Yes, sir.' His messenger set off at a swift trot that Barling struggled to match. Edgar still protested but followed along. They dismounted outside the gaol and tethered their horses.\n\nBarling's stiff, sore muscles felt like they belonged to another.\n\n'You can see our murderer isn't going anywhere, Barling,' said Edgar.\n\n'It certainly looks secure, sir,' said Stanton.\n\n'It does.' Unlike many of the other village buildings, the low-roofed gaol appeared to be in the best of repair. Thick stone walls and roof, a stout wooden door, the metal lock large and new. Behind it, the man who had to answer for this crime. Barling stepped up to the door. 'So that means Lindley is available to answer my questions.'\n\n'As he will be tomorrow,' said Edgar, 'when I have rested my backside from this journey.'\n\n'Unlock it, Edgar.'\n\n'Sir.' Stanton's brow creased in concern. 'Perhaps we should wait. The prisoner could be very dangerous.'\n\n'The only danger is to him,' said Barling. 'We are the law, and there are three of us.'\n\n'Uncle! You have returned.'\n\n'Four.' Barling corrected himself with a satisfied nod as a man hurried towards them, clad in priest's robes. Edgar's family blood flowed in the veins of the approaching young rector, no doubt about that. Barling saw much of an old boar in Edgar, and while the nephew was softer and pinker, the blunt nose and the small, angry eyes were the same.\n\n'I have, William,' replied Edgar. 'Though not with the news you hoped.'\n\n'What news would that be?'\n\nAs Edgar launched into a tangled explanation, Barling met the gaze of an uneasy-looking Stanton. 'Pull yourself together, man,' he muttered. 'To show doubt is to show weakness.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton nodded, but his expression did not alter.\n\n'And that, William, is why we have the King's men in our midst.' Edgar finished with his hands flung up in disbelief.\n\nThe King's men. Barling opened his mouth to correct the preposterous idea that a messenger could be included in his own authority.\n\nWilliam Osmond interrupted him. 'You needn't have troubled yourselves, good sirs. My uncle could have overseen the man's hanging while I will pray for his soul.' His eyes rose to heaven. 'Though to no avail, I fear.' He crossed himself with great extravagance.\n\n'It is not about need, sir priest,' said Barling. 'It is the law.' He could see that many of the villagers were hurrying along the street to the gaol. To be expected, but most undesirable. 'Edgar, no more delay. Please unlock the door.'\n\nEdgar exchanged a frown with his nephew, then hammered on the robust planks with a meaty fist. 'Lindley! Move away from the door!' He unlocked it as he spoke, then flung it open."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "A wave of foul, stale air met Barling. His stomach rebelled, but he refused to let his face change.\n\n'Hell's teeth,' said Stanton with a grimace.\n\nEdgar coughed and spat. 'Stinks like the animal he is.'\n\n'You speak the truth, Uncle.' Osmond's mouth turned down in revulsion.\n\n'Has the time come?' The call came from a sun-reddened young ploughman heading the approaching crowd of men and women of the village. 'Are we hanging the outlaw Lindley now?'\n\nRaised fists and angry yells met his words.\n\nBarling's ire grew in response. Edgar's people were as volatile as their lord. 'Sir priest,' he said, 'please remain out here and convey to the people that what is taking place is not of their concern.'\n\n'Yes, yes, of course.' Osmond nodded with vigour in his clear desire to remain outside the hot reek of Lindley's prison, pudgy cheeks wobbling. 'I will appeal for order.'\n\n'I would request that you keep it also. Edgar, Stanton: with me.' Barling squared his shoulders to carry out this latest grim duty and led the way inside, his shoes meeting filthy, damp straw as Osmond pulled the door to behind them.\n\nA scuffling noise came from the shadows of the far corner. Barling was unable to make anything out as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.\n\n'Oh, have mercy, have mercy,' came a young male voice, thick with sobs. 'I beg of you, have mercy.'\n\nTo Barling's surprise, the voice did not have the tones of the uncouth.\n\n'Show yourself, Lindley,' said Edgar. 'If you move so much as a hair's breadth without my say-so, I'll throw you out the door and let the villagers deal with you. They'll tear you apart with their hands.'\n\n'I won't, my lord. I swear to you.' The outlaw stood up into the shaft of evening light that came from the small, high window that was set with iron bars.\n\n'You are Nicholas Lindley?' asked Barling, aware at the edge of his vision that Stanton's hands had clenched into ready fists. Good. Barling had questioned many wrongdoers in his time but never in such unpredictable circumstances.\n\nEdgar scowled. 'Of course he is.'\n\n'Yes, sir. That is my name.' The man shook in terror, tears flowing over the high cheekbones of his filth-caked face.\n\n'My name is Aelred Barling.' Despite the threat this man might pose, this Lindley intrigued him. The outlaw's dark chestnut hair was matted and his clothes consisted of the most dreadful rags. His hair and beard straggled with sweat and dirt yet were not overlong, suggesting he had not always been so unkempt. And his boots also told an odd tale: horrible with mud and worse, but nevertheless appearing to be of the best leather. 'I am here from the court of King Henry.'\n\n'Brought here by me.' Edgar jabbed a finger at the outlaw. 'So that I may hang you according to the law.'\n\nA desperate whimper broke from Lindley. 'Please, my lords, no. Mercy, I beg of you, mercy.'\n\nBarling raised a hand. 'Sir Reginald, pray silence.' He reinforced his request with a glare. The lord had muddled things yet again. Barling would happily throw him out, but that would only leave the feckless Stanton to protect him should Lindley turn violent. Edgar at least had bulk. 'You too, Lindley.' They both obeyed.\n\nFrom outside, a chorus of angry voices filtered through. The villagers had arrived. Osmond's words sounded over them, his half-hearted demands for calm achieving little.\n\n'Now, Lindley,' said Barling, 'I want you to take no heed of what is being said out there and to answer my questions. First, did you kill Geoffrey Smith?'\n\n'No, sir. No. I swear to you, I did not.'\n\nA snort of disgust came from Edgar.\n\nBarling ignored him. 'Yet the good people of Claresham believe you did.'\n\n'Sir, again, on my life, I swear to you that I did not. I have been living in the woods, that is all.'\n\n'A weak response,' said Edgar.\n\n'All?' asked Barling.\n\nThe outlaw's gaze flicked to the glowering Edgar. And back. 'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Weak.' Edgar again.\n\n'Sir Reginald, please.' Barling held up a hand again. 'Lindley, why are you living in the woods?'\n\n'I have no home, sir.'\n\n'You must have come from somewhere. Where is that?'\n\nA sudden thud sounded against the wall.\n\nLindley started even as Barling kept his own reaction in check.\n\nAn angry yell. 'Bring the swine out!'\n\n'If it was me, I'd let them take you,' said Edgar.\n\nLindley said nothing, his panicked gaze on the entrance, breath fast, as if expecting the villagers to break through.\n\nBarling clicked his tongue in impatience. 'Stanton, go to the door. If anyone dares to try to enter, tell them they will have to face me too.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton did as ordered, still with a close eye on Lindley.\n\nBarling addressed Lindley once more. 'I ask again, where is your home?'\n\n'Far from here. It is my home no more. It matters not. All that matters is that I did not kill Geoffrey Smith.'\n\n'Liar.' Edgar ground out the word and took a step towards him, fist raised.\n\nLindley cowered from him with a cry.\n\nAnother thud on the wall. Another yell.\n\n'Uncle!' Osmond cracked open the door and Edgar halted.\n\nThe ugly sounds spilled in of people baying for Lindley's hanging, filling the small gaol and sending the prisoner into spasms of wordless terror.\n\nThis was intolerable. Barling turned. 'Stanton.'\n\nTo his relief, the young messenger stood steady in the gap. 'Hold, sir priest. You can't come in.'\n\n'What is it, William?' called Edgar.\n\n'Uncle, I can't persuade people to stay back much longer,' came the rector's panicked reply. 'They may take the law into their own hands at any moment.'\n\n'Sir.' Stanton looked over his shoulder at Barling. 'I fear that's the case.'\n\n'They have no need to enter,' replied Barling. Edgar had blabbed on about the good order in which he kept this sorry place. Nothing could be further from the truth. 'For we are coming out. With Lindley. Tell them.'\n\nAs Stanton did so, Lindley cowered afresh, his cries buried under Edgar's roar and those which came from outside.\n\n'About time!' He went to grab Lindley, a huge grin on his face.\n\n'Stop, Edgar.' Barling addressed Stanton once more. 'You take him.'\n\nEdgar swore loudly, shoving Lindley into Stanton's grasp.\n\nBarling's gaze flicked over both younger men. He did not have much faith in Stanton's physical prowess. But he had no choice. He walked to the door and gestured for Edgar to step out before him. 'You first, Sir Reginald.' Then he turned to Stanton with his prisoner. 'Proceed when I tell you.'\n\nStanton nodded, knuckles white with his grip on Lindley's clothing.\n\nThe uproar into which Barling stepped had his lips clamp in displeasure.\n\nAngry faces, pointing fingers, fists and sticks waving. All towards the gaol and the man still within it.\n\nEdgar appeared to pay his people no heed as he watched for Lindley, his nephew Osmond in similar thrall.\n\n'Silence!' Barling raised his own voice in a shout, a vulgar action for which he had the most intense dislike, though he could do it with skill. 'Silence!'\n\nThe response was immediate, as he knew it would be. Real authority had its own tone.\n\n'My name is Aelred Barling. I am here on the orders of the court of the King, so thereby on the orders of the King. The outlaw Nicholas Lindley is in my custody.'\n\n'God rot him!' came a peasant's curse.\n\nBarling met the man's eye as his wife shushed him, then continued. 'Lindley is therefore in the custody of the King.'\n\n'And the King can hang him just as well.' Edgar's mutter of delight to his nephew drew others.\n\n'Stanton.' Barling used the fresh interruption to look in at his messenger. 'Bring Lindley out.'\n\nThe two men emerged to howls of rage.\n\n'Hang him!'\n\n'Now! We've waited long enough!'\n\nAnd more. The clamour was not for the purity of justice. It was for the ugliness of vengeance.\n\nBarling kept his counsel, kept his own countenance composed as he waited for silence again. He wanted all to hear what he had to say. The yells died away under his gaze. 'As I have said, Lindley is in the custody of his Grace.'\n\nEdgar nodding. Grinning.\n\n'For now, that is all you need to know.' Barling was pleased to note that Edgar had stopped nodding. 'Now, Sir Reginald, I would request that you lead us and our charge to Geoffrey Smith's forge. With all haste, if you please.' Even better, the lord had stopped grinning too. Best of all, he was stunned into complete silence.\n\nBarling preferred him that way."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Clouds of dust rose up from the dry road under the many pairs of boots and shoes, making Stanton cough and his eyes water. But he didn't dare use a hand to wipe them. He held Lindley tight in his grasp, his own pulse fast in readiness for action. He knew what the outlaw was capable of. Knew too that the man might break from him, leave him standing like a ninny on the roadway to the forge with a handful of clothing, while it fell to Edgar or one of the angry villagers to contain him. And contain him they would. Or worse.\n\n'You'll burn in hell!' An older woman, grey hair escaping from her coif in her efforts to keep up with the crowd.\n\n'Hang him, I say!' A squat man's eyes almost left his head in rage.\n\n'Yes, hang him now.' The younger, wiry ploughman, who walked close alongside, but with half a wary eye on Barling ahead.\n\nThe clerk's pace matched Edgar's hard, quick steps, the lord's pace telling of his fury, as did the deep red of the back of his square neck. Osmond scurried along with them, casting many anxious looks back over his shoulder.\n\n'Hell!' The old woman screamed right in Lindley's face, causing the man to stagger.\n\n'Steady.' Stanton didn't know if he said it to himself or his prisoner as he shoved his own shoulder under the man's arm.\n\n'God help me.' The outlaw's eyes glazed as he stumbled on in terror, Stanton taking much of his weight now. 'God help me.'\n\nNo wonder. Being mobbed by folk shouting for his neck in a noose. Stanton pushed that thought away. Take a hold of yourself. Geoffrey Smith's death had been horrific. It needed to be punished.\n\nYet what Barling was up to with this grim parade to the forge, he'd no idea and didn't want to know. Being sent to serve Barling here had been the worst luck. Stanton cursed himself for it, as he had many times on the long journey to this place. Had he reached the court just a few minutes earlier, Nesbitt would have been here and not him.\n\n'Let me through!'\n\nA high-pitched scream above the many voices. A woman's scream.\n\n'Let me at him!'\n\nA scuffle came from the crowd to Stanton's right.\n\n'Agnes, no!' A man's ragged shout.\n\nBarling and the others in front halted, turned round at the commotion.\n\nThe crowd parted and a dark-haired young woman burst through. 'You bastard! I'll kill you myself.' She leapt at Lindley, kicking, hitting, clawing at his face and eyes.\n\n'Leave him.' Stanton let go of Lindley with one hand to try to fend her off as the outlaw ducked his head, his forearm raised against the attack.\n\n'My love, stop.' A hugely fat man was with her now, breathless in his useless efforts to pull her back.\n\n'Kill you!' Her nails rent Lindley's cheek.\n\n'What is going on?' Edgar's roar echoed out, Barling's pale face set in fury at the edge of Stanton's vision as he tried to wrest his prisoner free in a new chorus of yells.\n\nThe girl threw a punch at Lindley's face, half on target, her fist glancing off and catching Stanton on the side of the head in a ringing blow.\n\n'Agnes. No.' The ploughman put large, sinewy hands on her shoulders and hauled her off.\n\n'Let go of me, Simon.' She twisted in his hold, but he held her firm.\n\n'Agnes Smith! Desist!' Edgar stomped towards Stanton, Barling with him.\n\n'Not till I see Lindley in his grave.' She tried without success to break free from the ploughman's strong grasp, even as the obese man wheezed an anguished plea at her again.\n\n'My. Love. Stop.'\n\nStanton dragged Lindley back from her reach.\n\n'What on earth is going on here?' Somehow Barling's sharp question cut through the melee and brought a bit of order.\n\n'This... this malapert is Geoffrey Smith's daughter,' said Edgar.\n\n'I see. Perhaps you would explain your conduct, miss.' Barling's look carried a cartload of disapproval. Stanton knew it well.\n\nYet Agnes Smith didn't flinch. 'No explanation, sir.' Still in the ploughman's hold, her breath fast, she tossed her head to get the long, dark curls of her loose, uncovered hair off her face. 'This outlaw killed my father.' Head high, she kept her light brown gaze fixed on Barling. 'He must pay. I'll do it if no one else will.'\n\nStanton didn't doubt she would. Her voice had a venom in it that could melt a rock. What was more, she was a strapping woman, almost as tall as him. His head still smarted from her punch, indirect as it had been.\n\n'My love, please.' The fat man again.\n\n'Theaker.' Edgar addressed him. 'Have you no control over your betrothed?'\n\n'Of course, my lord.' The obese Theaker wrung his hands. 'She's just upset, that's all. Isn't that right, Agnes?'\n\nShe gave him a withering look. 'I'm not upset.' Her square jaw set. 'I want Nicholas Lindley to pay for what he did.'\n\nSecure in Stanton's hold again, Lindley shook his head in silence, slow beads of blood seeping from his rent cheek.\n\n'I would not in the usual circumstance repeat myself,' said Barling. 'But in acknowledgement of the death of your father, Agnes, I will do so this once. Lindley is in my custody and so therefore that of the King. If you do not agree to progress in peace, then you will be facing charges also. Do you understand?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\nThe wiry young ploughman, who held her, muttered something into her ear.\n\n'Sir,' she added through gritted teeth.\n\n'Good,' said Barling.\n\n'You can let go of me.' Agnes pried herself from the ploughman's hold.\n\n'All will be well, my love.' Theaker, her betrothed, lunged to grab her in a clumsy embrace, yet she shook him off without a glance.\n\nBarling went on. 'Now, there has been enough delay. I need to continue to the forge. Stanton, with me.' He set off, not bothering to ask anyone else to follow him, yet all present did, as if he'd issued an order.\n\n'Come on.' Stanton urged the unsteady Lindley forward the best he could. No doubt the outlaw dreaded seeing again the place where he'd taken Geoffrey Smith's life.\n\nTruth be told, Stanton was dreading it too."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "For Stanton, entering his uncle's forge had meant many things.\n\nSecurity, for one. His uncle, quiet like his late father, and with equally as kind a heart. Shoulders like a cross-beam and no time for fools or those who wanted to try their luck. Boredom, too. Put stoking the fire, Stanton as a small boy would whine that it was too hot. Put sweeping straw, he would sigh that it was too windy. Put standing and watching his uncle's sure strikes at the anvil, he would sway in long complaint that his legs were tired. Then one day: excitement. The day a horse came into the forge. Not just any horse. An animal utterly unlike the big, tired plough horses or placid rouncys. It was the finest palfrey, bursting with muscle, power and spirit. And speed. Oh, the speed. The rider who'd brought it in was a messenger, so impatient to be off and gone. And once the shoe was on, he took off at a gallop. Stanton had watched him go down the road and could only marvel that anything moved that fast. From that moment he knew he'd ride like that one day. He'd told his uncle, who'd simply nodded with his quiet smile in the warmth and orange light of the forge.\n\nNow, entering a forge meant looking at death.\n\n'Close the doors,' said Barling. 'I wish for privacy.'\n\nStanton stood with Lindley still firm in his grasp, as Edgar, the one other person Barling had allowed in here, swung the high doors shut.\n\nDead, cold ashes in the grate. The anvil, silent on its high mount, never to ring out from Geoffrey Smith's strike again. A stained floor splashed with what would have been an unspeakable red, now a terrible decaying brown, with bloated flies buzzing on, above and around it. The heavy stench could be that of a slaughterhouse, yet it was a man, not a beast, who'd died here.\n\nOutside, the calls had started again for Lindley's hanging, headed by Agnes Smith, with the rector, Osmond, trying without much success to start a prayer.\n\nEdgar jabbed a finger at Lindley. 'You see what this monster has done, Barling?'\n\nLindley gave a low moan, a sudden weight in Stanton's hands.\n\n'I can see what has been left behind.' Barling's gaze moved over the scene as he took measured, slow steps.\n\nEdgar snorted. 'Same thing.'\n\n'Lindley's losing his sense, sir.' Stanton's arms strained to keep him on his feet, but the man was becoming a dead weight.\n\nBarling looked over and tutted. 'Put him on the ground, then. At least for now. He will need to be revived.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' As Stanton lowered Lindley, Edgar moved in with a booted kick to the man's stomach, so hard it sent him sprawling down on the hammered-earth floor.\n\nStanton recovered his own balance to Edgar's grin.\n\n'That'll revive him,' said the lord.\n\n'Edgar.' No 'Sir Reginald'; Barling was clearly livid. 'This' \u2013 he gestured to the coughing, retching Lindley, who was trying to claw his way out of the reach of Edgar's boot \u2013 'is unhelpful and distracting. No more.' He nodded to Stanton, who moved to stand between Edgar and the cowering Lindley on the floor.\n\n'I didn't do it.' Lindley's pleas came through more coughs. 'I swear, I swear. You must believe me.'\n\nStanton folded his arms, refused to look down as Edgar moved his shoulders inside his own cloak as if preparing for a fist fight.\n\nTrouble was, Lindley's pleading sounded real. Just as three months ago Stanton had gone to visit an innocent man who faced the noose. The King had ordered it so. But Stanton had spoken up that day. Saved a life. He put the memory aside. No. He wouldn't become involved. The King's justice would do its own work. And yet. The pleas of the men in York who'd gone on to face the ordeal echoed in his head, along with Lindley's voice. And one of those had been innocent. He shook his head to himself. No.\n\n'Listen to the scum.' Edgar flung a hand out in disgust, then bent with a grunt of effort to the floor. 'This is what he says he didn't do.' Edgar straightened up, holding a long-handled branding iron.\n\nStanton blinked in a vain attempt to banish the sight. The head of the thing was in the shape of a letter \u2013 he didn't know which. But caught in the sharp angles of the metal, angles which should have been clean and smooth the better to make a clear brand, was a foul oozing clump. A clump that held a tuft of dark hair.\n\nBarling barely gave it a glance, now peering into the shadowed corners. 'It was indeed a vicious attack on Geoffrey Smith. It is still the case that no one saw what took place here.'\n\n'No, no one saw the deed,' said Edgar. 'But think of his poor daughter. You should have heard her piteous cries when she found him.'\n\nFrom outside came Agnes's continued shouts. 'String him from a tree. Now!'\n\n'Hardly piteous.' Barling raised his eyebrows.\n\n'But correct,' said Edgar. 'The sooner the better. Eh, Barling?'\n\nBarling ignored the lord, moving instead to look at the tools hanging from the walls.\n\n'Anybody with half an eye can see what has gone on here.' Edgar looked at Stanton, pointed at his bruised eye. 'Even you, man.' He laughed at his own weak joke, Barling still not responding.\n\nTrouble was, Stanton could see. See that something wasn't right. Same as the day an innocent man, a knight called Sir Benedict Palmer, was about to be hanged. The day Stanton picked up on a detail. A small, small detail. He'd spoken up, even when the King believed the accused man's guilt looked complete; even when Stanton knew it could have terrible consequences for himself.\n\n'I have seen all I need to here.' Barling moved to the door. 'Stanton, bring Lindley outside again. I need to address my remarks to everyone present.'\n\n'Finally,' said Edgar, following him. 'We can leave this putrid place.'\n\nBut Stanton didn't budge, instead blurted out, 'Sir Reginald, how tall was Geoffrey Smith?'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "Stanton braced himself as Barling stopped dead and glared at him.\n\n'I beg your pardon, Stanton?' The clerk's tone was one of utter disbelief.\n\nNo going back now. 'How tall was he, Sir Reginald?' repeated Stanton.\n\nEdgar had a ready scowl. 'He was tall.' He waved a hand three inches above his head. 'Broad. What of it?'\n\nHe'd been right. The height of the anvil on its mount. Agnes, the smith's daughter, tall too. 'Then how could this man here overpower him?' Stanton winced inside at the thunderstruck look on Barling's face but ploughed on. 'Lindley here' \u2013 he gestured to where the outlaw cowered on the floor \u2013 'is the height and build of regular men. Surely it wasn't possible for him to overpower Smith. Maybe Lindley speaks the truth.' He swallowed again as his heart hammered at the sight of the two faces before him.\n\nEdgar had gone puce. 'Barling, have you no control over your man's tongue?'\n\n'Of course I have.' Barling remained pale as ever, but his look worried Stanton far more than the blunt-nosed Edgar's.\n\n'Good! Then we need to get on with this pressing matter.' Edgar marched to the doors and hauled them open.\n\nGolden evening light flooded in, along with the sound of angry voices, scattering the cloud of feasting flies.\n\nBarling went to go out too. 'Pick Lindley up,' he ordered Stanton. 'Bring him out.' He took a quick glance at Edgar, who was busy shouting to his nephew. 'And, Stanton?' Barling's eye fixed back on him.\n\n'Yes, sir?'\n\n'Mark my words: I will deal with you later. Do you hear me?'\n\n'Yes, sir.' He doubted if Barling had even heard, as the clerk was now on his way out of the doors. 'Come on.' He hauled the quaking Lindley to his feet and marched him out, cursing himself for a fool. He'd only added to his troubles with Barling. He should've kept his mouth shut.\n\nThe glow of the setting sun fell on his face. A glorious evening, one for lying in the long grass with his lost, beautiful love. Not standing facing a circle of angry, shouting people, people who wanted to take a man's life. And wanted to take it now.\n\nBarling raised a hand. 'Pray silence.'\n\nAn uneasy quiet fell.\n\nStanton kept his grip on Lindley. This lot looked on the verge of ripping the man from him, Barling or no Barling.\n\n'Sir Reginald has appealed this man, Nicholas Lindley,' said Barling, 'of the murder of Geoffrey Smith.'\n\nCries broke out again.\n\n'Then he's guilty!'\n\n'Hang him, by God!'\n\nBarling raised his hand once more. 'But Sir Reginald has not provided me with a detailed and supported accusation. I have not established guilt.'\n\n'What?' Edgar's roar joined the shouts of those watching. He marched over to Stanton, his rage-filled face inches from the messenger's. 'This is your fault!'\n\nFine spittle dampened Stanton's face. He didn't dare wipe it. He had to keep hold of Lindley.\n\n'And yours!' Edgar stomped back to Barling. 'It was plain to see what happened in that forge! You said so yourself, Barling. Then this... this man of yours starts asking questions and you change your mind.'\n\nFury met his words in voices, in faces. And now that fury was aimed at Stanton too.\n\n'Me?' Stanton's gaze flew to Barling. 'No, I'm not\u2014'\n\n'Silence!' Barling's sharp order cut through the noise. 'I will remind you that my word is King Henry's word.' The King's name brought a tense silence. 'The King's.' His gaze moved over those present. Slow, precise. 'Would you consider shouting at his Grace?'\n\nOne or two dropped their gaze. Others stepped back in spite of themselves.\n\nBarling nodded. 'I did not think so. Hugo Stanton and I are here as his representatives. You would be well placed to remember that.'\n\nStanton kept his face still at Barling's reference to him. He wasn't Henry's representative. He was a lowly message boy. But his gut told him now was not the time to say anything. At all.\n\nBarling went on. 'I will be investigating the truth of the matter. I will be making various enquiries and interrogations, asking many questions, and Stanton will be assisting me in that endeavour.'\n\n'Questions?' Edgar's mouth hung open.\n\nStanton kept his own clamped shut. Just. If being talked of as Henry's representative was startling, his asking questions alongside Barling was even more so.\n\n'Is that all?' The agonised scream came from Agnes. 'What if there are no answers? How is that justice?' Her man Theaker tried to shush her, but she paid him no mind. 'How?'\n\n'I will assume that your grief for your late father makes you unaware of your behaviour.' Barling's clipped tone told of his annoyance. 'But I warn you, my patience is growing thin. I strongly suggest you keep your counsel.' He looked at Edgar. 'That everyone does.'\n\nThis time Agnes allowed herself to be hushed, though her stare at Barling resembled that of a cat at a mouse hole.\n\nEdgar's tiny eyes narrowed, almost lost in his fleshy face. But he said nothing.\n\n'And question we will,' said Barling.\n\nWe. Again. Stanton sucked in a deep breath.\n\nBarling went on. 'As many of you as we need to. And your answers will be truthful. Remember, God sees into the hearts and minds of all men and women, as well as their souls.' Barling looked over at Lindley.\n\n'Oh God, help me.'\n\nStanton barely caught his whisper.\n\n'Truth and truth only,' said Barling. 'That is what we seek on behalf of his Grace.'\n\nA loud snort came from Edgar. 'And what if your questions don't find the truth?' He almost spat the final word. 'What then?'\n\n'If,' said Barling, 'our every effort and enquiry fail to uncover the truth, then God has granted us a way to establish whether or not this outlaw is guilty.'\n\nStanton knew what was coming. He had witnessed it in York.\n\n'For which I have been granted full authority.' Barling's gaze went to Edgar. 'Full.' He folded his hands. 'Nicholas Lindley will be made to purge himself by the ordeal.'\n\nA low moan of despair came from Lindley as gasps and calls broke out and folk turned to each other in excited chatter.\n\n'The water!'\n\n'He'll face the water!'\n\n'By God, what a thing to see!'\n\nStanton held tight to his trembling prisoner and stared straight ahead. He could not, would not look at him. He knew his own face would betray what the ordeal meant.\n\n'However.' Barling's single word brought instant quiet. 'While the ordeal of water is the trial to which I would normally submit Lindley, in this case there is another which I believe to be far more fitting.'\n\nStanton's confusion was reflected in the many faces before him.\n\n'Geoffrey Smith was brutally murdered in his own forge,' said Barling. 'The place where he earned his respectable livelihood and met his heinous end. Therefore Lindley will not, if it is necessary, ultimately face the ordeal of water.' He paused.\n\nEvery face craned forward, rapt.\n\nBarling pointed at Lindley, shaking even harder now in Stanton's hold. 'It will be the ordeal of hot iron.'\n\nA great shout greeted his words, fell away again as people strained to hear.\n\n'This means, Nicholas Lindley,' said Barling, 'that an iron bar will be heated in a fire until it is red hot. Heated in Geoffrey Smith's own forge. You will take that iron in your hand.'\n\nScreams of excited horror broke from every gaping mouth and filled the air.\n\nBarling held up three fingers. 'Walk with the iron for three paces.'\n\nMore shouts as Stanton's guts turned over.\n\n'Your flesh will cook,' said Barling. 'You will have a wound. Deep, deep in your palm.'\n\nIf he hadn't had such a tight hold of Lindley, Stanton knew the man would fall to the ground in terror.\n\n'God be praised for the ordeal!' cried Osmond. 'The ordeal!'\n\nOthers took up the chant, their faces flushed in a baying chorus of vengeful joy, as Barling waited for silence. Got it.\n\n'That wound will be bandaged,' he said. 'Left for three days.' Three fingers raised again. 'It will then be uncovered. God will then give His judgement. If your flesh is uncorrupted, then God will have told us of your innocence. If corrupted, then He will have shown us your guilt.' He dropped his hand. 'And you, Nicholas Lindley, will hang.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "'I knew, Hugo Stanton, when I first saw you early this morn that you were not fit to serve his Grace.' The King's clerk hadn't raised his voice. He didn't need to.\n\nFor his part, Stanton already knew he was in the deepest of trouble. He had been expecting it ever since he and Barling had finally arrived at Edgar's spacious hall in the gathering dusk.\n\nThough a fine building once, it was in a state of decay and chaos similar to that of the nobleman. Edgar had sent many servants scuttling across the soiled floor rushes.\n\n'Food! And quickly! My belly is like an empty sack.' The lord was already guzzling from a dented goblet full of wine. 'And we have guests. Prepare rooms for the King's men.' More scuttling.\n\nStanton had been following a servant to his own accommodation when Barling's murmur came close to his ear. 'With me. Now.'\n\nSo here he stood, tired, hungry, thirsty, still in his sweaty, dusty clothes from the day's travel as the clerk's pale eyes bored into him.\n\n'Not. Fit.' Barling bit the words off.\n\n'No, sir. I'm not.' Stanton doubted his answer would do any good. It didn't.\n\n'I should have listened to my own counsel. To have had no messenger to hand would have been problematic. But not nearly so problematic as one that decides to interject in matters that do not in any way concern him.' Barling shook his head. 'May I ask why?'\n\n'Why \u2013 I mean, what, sir? I mean, I'm not sure\u2014'\n\n'May the Lord in His goodness grant me patience.' Barling rolled his eyes. 'Why you, a mere messenger, inserted yourself into my investigation. Why, at the forge, you suddenly took it upon yourself to enquire about the height of the late Geoffrey Smith.'\n\n'I don't know, sir.' But he did.\n\nAnd the clerk could tell. 'Yes, you do. Stanton, you are an appalling liar. Why did you ask about Smith?'\n\n'Sir, not long since I've witnessed innocent people punished for crimes they did not commit. For one of those people, I spoke up. Spoke up because I noticed something wasn't quite right. Like today. My uncle was a farrier. The anvil height, you see. It made me think. And Lindley sounded like he was telling the truth to me.' He knew he made little or no sense. Barling's look had him getting his words all mixed up. 'Before when I said something, it was almost too late. But because I said something an innocent man lived. And because of that others did as well.'\n\n'You are talking in utter riddles, man. Explain yourself. Properly.'\n\n'I'm afraid I can't, sir.'\n\n'Are you so boneheaded that you are unable to do so?'\n\n'No, sir. I mean that I can't explain fully because it all happened before I became a messenger with the travelling court.'\n\n'Stanton, you simply do not understand your place. I am a senior clerk of the court of King Henry. You will answer any question I ask of you.'\n\nStanton took a deep breath. He had to stop Barling from trying to dig any deeper \u2013 and stop him now. 'Then I shall answer you this, sir. I was a messenger elsewhere. I joined the travelling court with the approval of the lord justice de Glanville. That is all I am permitted to say. On my life.'\n\nHis answer worked.\n\n'I see.' Barling sniffed in displeasure but no more. 'And is your black eye also from defending the innocent? Or will you direct me to de Glanville to answer that also?'\n\n'No, sir. It was from unwise action.'\n\n'Action you perhaps should not have taken?'\n\nThe girl at the ordeal, leading him down the alley, him not having a clue. 'Yes, sir,' he muttered.\n\n'I thought so. Your behaviour is like that of so many young men.' Barling began to count out Stanton's flaws on the fingers of his raised hand. 'Rash, for one. Impetuous, two. Three: never stopping to consider the consequences of your actions.' He dropped his hands. 'Precisely as you acted in the forge, blabbing out your half-formed ideas. Not even half-formed! Lindley's height is of no consequence. The branding iron gives plenty of extra reach.' He sucked in a breath. 'And because you did so, you set Edgar off, with him challenging my competence before that outrageous assembly. You, Hugo Stanton, came dangerously close to making me look a fool.' He paused to draw breath.\n\nStanton didn't say a word. He didn't dare. Not with Barling like this.\n\n'Tell me, Stanton, if I look a fool, who does too?'\n\n'King Henry, sir.' God rot his Grace.\n\n'Precisely. His name, his law. All of it.' Barling's colourless fists clenched. 'A disaster. That is what would have happened had I not had the presence of mind to tell the people of Claresham that you are assisting me.'\n\n'I'm sorry, sir.'\n\nBarling held up a hand. 'An apology is no substitute for considered action.'\n\n'I know, sir. Thank you, sir, for thinking so quickly. I won't get in your way again, I swear to you.'\n\nBarling stared at him. 'But you are in the way, Stanton. You are in the way because you have put yourself there.'\n\nPut myself where? 'I'm sorry, sir, I don't quite understand.'\n\n'Stanton, it is clear that you do not understand at all.' Barling slowed his speech as if he spoke to a dullard. 'Permit me to make it as clear as I can for you. I have announced publicly that I will be investigating the circumstances of Geoffrey Smith's murder. That is the truth. I have also stated publicly that you will be assisting me in that endeavour. That was not true, at least not up to an hour ago. But now it is. I cannot make such a statement and then not act on it. In short, Stanton, I cannot lie. Nor can I be seen to be lying. Now do you understand?'\n\nStanton did. Damn it all to hell, he did. 'That I am to be your assistant, sir?'\n\n'At least in name, to make sure my authority stays intact.' He gave Stanton a pained look. 'I have every confidence that your questions, or the answers that you receive, will be of little use.'\n\nUseless. A failure. Again. Stanton clamped his jaw.\n\nBarling continued. 'I believe any such questioning to be futile because it is becoming abundantly clear that none of the villagers saw anything. Despite this, they have very much made up their minds about Lindley's guilt.' He sighed. 'What is of most use now is the power of the ordeal. You may find that the outlaw's lips are loosed by that power when you go to question him.'\n\n'When I go, sir?'\n\nBarling frowned. 'Yes, you, Stanton. Try not to look so appalled, man. I will of course be questioning Lindley too, and mine will be the one visit of any importance. But tomorrow I need to try and get sense out of Sir Reginald Edgar and write up a coherent account for the court of what he has done so far. I suspect it will take me a very long time.' He gestured to the solar. 'Not only is the man's home in disorder, his speech is as well. While he is occupied with me, you can go and speak to Lindley privately. At least you will not have Edgar barging around like a bull waiting to be released into a herd of cows.'\n\nStanton cleared his throat. 'I'm not very good at fighting, sir.'\n\n'Your eye tells the world that.' The corner of Barling's mouth twitched. 'Rest assured, I am not asking you to fight him, merely question him. I am also aware that Lindley potentially poses great risk, despite his supposedly meek appearance.' He shook his head. 'I have seen the mildest of men transformed into monsters when their wrath grows within them. You will of course need one of Edgar's men to come with you to unlock the gaol. Make sure he remains close by in case you need assistance.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton relaxed, but not by much. The idea of being cooped up alone with Lindley filled him with some alarm.\n\n'Once you are finished with Lindley, take yourself around the village and ask questions. Again, it matters little what those questions are. Make your presence obvious so people are reassured that the King's justice is being administered.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton kept his face still, unwilling to let Barling see his anger at being viewed as of so little worth.\n\n'In the meantime,' said Barling, 'my greatest hope for a confession is with the threat of the ordeal. Lindley is in dread of his hand being roasted. If he is guilty, he is likely to say so very soon. He knows his hand will suppurate from his foul crime. He will have no wish to add to his own agony.'\n\n'Yet he may not confess even so.' Stanton tried to put the idea of carrying a red-hot iron from his head. The pit, the water, entered it instead. 'Like at York.'\n\nBarling looked askance at him. 'I did not ask for your opinion, Stanton.'\n\n'No. Sorry, sir.'\n\n'But your point, surprisingly, is well made. Then justice is with God himself. Once Lindley has carried the iron, we wait to see what the Almighty decides. If the man is innocent, he has nothing to fear.'\n\nStanton flinched inside. Were he Nicholas Lindley, he'd be in absolute terror. But he said nothing. He'd already said enough.\n\n'Now, leave me to wash before my meal.' Barling clicked his tongue. 'I would say that the linen has been used to wipe away the cobwebs. But the cobwebs are very much still in place.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton gave a quick bow and made for the door. He couldn't wait to get out of there. He had not many hours left before he had to face Lindley and the villagers. Getting out from under Barling's eye for the first time on this longest of days would help. A few draughts of ale would as well.\n\n'And, Stanton?'\n\nOh, what now? 'Yes, sir?'\n\n'Make sure you do the same. Or at least try. You cannot come to Edgar's table in that filthy state.'\n\nStanton wasn't sure if he heard him right. 'Me at Edgar's table, sir?'\n\n'Of course, man. I have presented you as my assistant. That must be maintained.'\n\nSo Stanton was still in the company of the ever-watchful, prickly clerk. The bad-tempered bully Edgar too. 'Yes, sir.' He left with a bow, closing the door behind him.\n\nAnd let a string of silent curses loose in the empty passageway.\n\nHis step down from being a secret royal messenger to serving the travelling court had been a welcome one, the first step in a journey that would take him away from Henry's service altogether. Now he was being dragged back in, carrying out public duties in the name of the King. He hauled his hands through his hair and cursed once more.\n\nOne thing was sure: he would never, ever sleep late again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Finally, peace. Even better, solitude.\n\nBarling sat down at the scratched table he'd requested to be placed in his solar at Edgar's hall.\n\nThe spacious room should have had every comfort. Beeswax candles threw out a steady, pure light, for which he was grateful. But while a blessing for writing, the light had summoned several large brown moths through the tall window shutters, which stood open on this warm, airless night. The candlelight also served to show the state of the room and its sorry contents. Everything was in need of replacement or repair. The large bed's lumpy feather mattress smelled of damp. The linen and rich red wool coverings upon it would have been fine once but were eaten through in a multitude of tiny holes. The yellow curtains, thick with embroidered green leaves, that hung from the carved frame above it to keep light out and warmth in were in the same condition. No rushes covered the floor.\n\nYet Barling cared little. His rooms as a student in Paris, so many years before, had been worse. At least there were no rats to greet him. At least not yet.\n\nAnd the table before him contained every treasure he needed. His selection of pipe rolls, brought with him here for consulting on points of law. Fresh paper, a seal, red wax for any letters he would need to write. Precious vellum for his permanent record. His capped ink holder, the carved horn yellowed and worn smooth from many hundreds of hours of handling. His wooden writing tablet, its wax overlay smooth and pristine and awaiting his first notes. His collection of fine styluses and his sharpening knife. Last, a sealed document from the Archbishop at York.\n\nBarling picked up a stylus, stifling a yawn as he checked its point in the flickering light. Not quite sharp enough. He reached for his knife to bring it to the required standard. The hour was well past midnight and the bed summoned his tired bones. Yet he knew it did not do to delay in compiling one's notes. Especially not in this present situation, a situation brought about entirely by the intemperate, incompetent Sir Reginald Edgar.\n\nHad Edgar been a man worthy of his title, the lord would have brought the case before de Glanville and the other justices in York in the correct manner. And it would have been heard there. In the confines of the court. The correct location. Barling's pressure on his stylus snapped the point. He reached for another, frowning at his own tension.\n\nHe should not allow himself to be so annoyed by being sent here to Claresham. No matter how uncomfortable the journey, no matter how difficult it was to deal with Edgar, no matter what chaos engulfed this place, Barling's mission on behalf of King Henry was clear in Barling's heart: uniform rule of law and administration of this great land.\n\nThe law that allowed for the ordeal. His eyes went to the Archbishop's letter again. The authority, should it be needed, for an ordained priest to carry out the necessary blessings for the ordeal.\n\nThat priest would be Edgar's nephew, the unpleasant William Osmond. The rector had joined them at their meal earlier, his small eyes glittering at the prospect of the ordeal of hot iron. Yet Osmond seemed less concerned with the blessing of the iron, more with the detail.\n\n'Should it be red-hot, Barling? Or is it better that it is white-hot?'\n\nEdgar, quite drunk once more and the horribly better-humoured for it, had roared with laughter at the question, chewed beef visible in his open maw as he pressed his knife blade flat on to his own palm.\n\nBarling had tried to quell their unseemly eagerness. 'It may not even be needed, sir priest. Part of the ordeal's power lies in its anticipation. Remember, I also have much work to do before we move to the ordeal.'\n\n'Still.' Edgar shoved his knife flat on his nephew's hand. 'Hisssssss, eh?'\n\nThe two men had laughed until they cried.\n\nOpposite Barling, a silent Stanton had drunk a plentiful amount too, yet the wine did not draw any mirth from him. Sulking, no doubt, at being told a few truths about his disgraceful behaviour. As for his claims about being with the court with the approval of de Glanville, they were puzzling. De Glanville had indeed informed Barling of Stanton's arrival, but no more. Never mind. Barling would seek out a full explanation, but that was for another time. What he had was sufficient for now. There were far more pressing matters to address.\n\nHe placed the newly sharpened point of his stylus on to his tablet and began the first of his notes. Geoffrey Smith: Murdered. On the fourth day of June in the Year of Our Lord 1176.\n\nThe wine did not draw anything at all, in fact: the young messenger had remained quiet throughout.\n\nIn the village of Claresham, in the county of Yorkshire.\n\nMessenger? If only that were so. His pen moved on.\n\nBlacksmith. Secret Homicide.\n\nNow Stanton was his assistant, in the most unfortunate turn of events. Better fortune was that neither Edgar nor Osmond showed the slightest disbelief in his position. Barling did not think they had any cause to. He'd cast his mind back: he and Stanton outside the court, inside it, the journey here. Barling's story that Stanton was his assistant would hold.\n\nNo thanks to Stanton. 'Sir Reginald, how tall was Geoffrey Smith?' The messenger's question asked not once but twice in the foul atmosphere of the forge.\n\nBarling had wondered if his ears had deceived him as he'd stared at Stanton. His fingers tightened on his stylus in annoyance. He was in the middle \u2013 the middle \u2013 of examining the forge. That was the task in hand at that moment. To approach it with order. With method.\n\nMurder took place in Smith's own forge. No witnesses.\n\nThe examination of the forge. That should have been the one task at that moment, nothing else. But Stanton, taken hold of by a personal memory, had opened his mouth and immediately disrupted that order.\n\nDeath was by fracture of the skull. Branding iron caused fracture. Face also fractured with branding iron.\n\nAs so many others had done before. Barling had witnessed passions take over in matters of law on far too many occasions over many years, when facts and distance were needed. The law was based on consistent, sound judgement. That was how it worked. Emotion made for neither. And emotions indeed ran high here.\n\nBody was discovered by daughter, Agnes Smith.\n\nThe emotions of Agnes Smith in particular. Not only had she suffered the grievous loss of her father, she had made the terrible discovery of his body. Her strident boldness was another matter, however. He had not encountered very many young women who would be happy to hang a man.\n\nBody is buried in the churchyard \u2013 I have not viewed it.\n\nIn the confusion of the assembly outside the forge, he had wondered \u2013 feared, even \u2013 that Agnes would tear Lindley from Stanton's grasp and do it there and then. It would not have been difficult. Stanton was not a natural guard. Barling shook his head.\n\nAccused is Nicholas Lindley. An outlaw who had claimed to be a beggar.\n\nBarling could also understand the villagers' naked thirst for vengeance. Feelings always drove the ignorant and uneducated. They could not be expected to consider the proper administration of justice. It fell to Barling to make sure they did. A heavy burden, but one he was happy to shoulder for his King.\n\nLindley swears he is innocent.\n\nStanton's question about Smith's height came back to him and he sighed. Naturally, Barling had had the same question. He'd had it the second he saw Lindley. But he'd kept his counsel, which Stanton should also have done. Once Edgar had presented the branding iron, Lindley's height was no longer an important point. A smaller person of lesser strength could wreak havoc with such a weapon. Thoughts needed to be organised to be effective, not scattered hither and yon. One needed the whole picture.\n\nLindley is of middling height and build. He is not an especially strong-looking man.\n\nBarling's hand cramped and he stretched out his fingers, yawning again. He could do little more tonight. He had done what he always did: recorded line by line by line.\n\nAnd then he also did as always. He read back through what he'd written.\n\nAfter No witnesses, he inserted a question mark.\n\nThen he underlined looking: He is not a strong-looking man, inserted But branding iron was weapon.\n\nFinally, he wrote one more line:\n\nWhy would Nicholas Lindley want Geoffrey Smith dead?\n\nBarling laid down his pen in satisfaction. Order. Method. That would bring justice. Barling knew it always did.\n\nLine by line by line."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Hugo Stanton had thought that the previous morning in York was bad: sore and shamed from his beating, late to court, an angry Barling waiting for him.\n\nBut on this hot new day in Claresham, his first task was to be alone with a man accused of beating another to death in the most brutal way, and to ask him questions about that murder.\n\nAfter that, questions to all the villagers.\n\nAnd none of it mattered.\n\nBarling had sent him out here for appearances only, nothing more.\n\nHe went at a measured pace, as if that could somehow mean he never reached Claresham's gaol. But reach it he had.\n\nHe turned to the burly servant Edgar had provided on Barling's orders. 'Open it up, please.'\n\nThe man didn't answer, a look on his face of barely hidden contempt. Stanton had no doubt that Edgar's claim about Stanton interfering had spread far and wide.\n\n'Stand away from the door, Lindley.' The man pounded on it with his fist.\n\nStanton squared his shoulders. To have the rude servant in here with him would be better than no protection at all.\n\nBut when Stanton had been summoned by Barling earlier, before he left for the gaol, the clerk had been very definite. 'Make sure you speak to Lindley alone, Stanton. If Edgar's man is present, that means Edgar is as well. I do not want any further disorder of my enquiry. There was more than enough confusion yesterday. Do I make myself clear?'\n\nStanton had nodded, not daring to ask for the extra presence of the servant. Barling's look as the clerk had sat behind a large table set out with documents and papers had told him it was useless. It also told him who Barling blamed for causing the muddle.\n\nThe servant swung the door wide. 'There you go. Sir.' He cast Stanton a sour glance.\n\nStanton pulled in a deep breath, both to steady his nerves and to get a last gulp of clean air before he faced the reek of the prison. His ribs hurt less this morning than they had yesterday. That was about the only thing better about this new day.\n\n'Lindley?' His voice came out steadier than he felt as the door closed behind him. 'It's Hugo Stanton. The King's man.' He could bite his own tongue out for having to announce himself as such.\n\nThe early sun brought a bit of light to the wretched place.\n\nLindley stood at a safe distance away, hands clasped. 'Good morrow to you, sir.'\n\n'And to you.' It felt strange that this man called him 'sir' and not the other way round. Despite his rags and dirt, Lindley spoke well. Stanton had noted it yesterday. Noted also that the outlaw's filthy boots were of far finer leather than his own as he'd marched him along the roadway. A riddle, this man. But he wasn't the one with the skills to solve it. Barling couldn't have made it any clearer last night.\n\nLindley watched him expectantly, his large dark eyes troubled, his lanky, red-brown hair hanging in filthy strands to his bowed shoulders. His left cheek showed the deep marks of Agnes Smith's attack.\n\nThe man seemed harmless, hadn't shown any great strength when Stanton had contained him yesterday. But Barling's comment from last night pounded in his head: I have seen the mildest of men transformed into monsters when their wrath grows within them. Stanton knew what he meant: physical strength was not always needed for pure evil. He swallowed hard. Questions \u2013 he knew he had to ask questions. A waste of time, as Barling had made clear. Worse, a wrong query could set this man off. 'How, em, how does this morning find you?'\n\nThe outlaw smiled sadly. 'As every other morn these past ten days. I am locked in this place, God help me.'\n\n'I'm sure God will if you ask him.' Stanton hoped that sounded more truthful to Lindley than it did to his own ears.\n\n'Oh, I think He has, sir,' said Lindley. 'When I heard Sir Reginald at the door yesterday, when you all came in, I thought that was it. That you had come for me.' A tight sob came through his words. 'To hang me.'\n\nStanton couldn't reply. He'd never been one to inspire terror. Never wanted to. And now he had.\n\nLindley went on. 'But God listened to me, listened to my prayers.' He raised his clasped hands. 'I am still alive. And it is thanks to your blessed intervention, good sir.'\n\nStanton shook his head, embarrassed. 'I didn't make any decisions, Lindley.'\n\n'But you saw that I am not an especially strong man, sir. You guessed that Smith was a tall, broad man, and that guess was correct. I saw him a couple of times.' He gave a small laugh. 'When he was still alive, of course.'\n\nStanton fought the urge to call for Edgar's man. 'Always alive?'\n\n'Yes, sir. Not, not like in that forge.' Lindley brought a hand to his forehead. 'That terrible place. I dreamed of it last night. That poor man. In life, I saw him around his cottage, his forge. Perfectly hale.' He bit his lip. 'When I was living in the woods as a beggar. I would try and see if there were any food scraps around the village.'\n\n'You mean steal?'\n\n'Is it theft to raid a bird's nest in the Smiths' thatch, sir?' Lindley shrugged. 'But I did hear him arguing once with his daughter.' His hand slid to his cheek. 'Agnes. I couldn't quite hear what it was about, but they were both very angry.'\n\nStanton shook his head at the man's clumsy attempt to push suspicion on to Agnes. The girl's grief at her loss was in no doubt. 'Many people argue, Lindley, especially in their own homes. It's their own business and it should stay there. Folk don't expect somebody to be hanging off the roof, listening.'\n\nLindley's look darkened. 'No.'\n\nThe sudden shift in his demeanour had Stanton quickly glance at the door. Three paces. That was all.\n\nYet when he looked back, Lindley's face was earnest again. 'I mean, no, sir. As I keep saying, I know nothing of the murder. Nothing whatsoever. I've been begging here. That's all.'\n\nEarnest enough for Stanton to ask, 'Were you out looking for food the night Smith was killed? Is there anything you might have seen?'\n\n'No, sir. It was a miserable night. Pouring with rain on and off. I was in my little shelter in the woods, though I was soaked through. My shelter wasn't really much of one. But it didn't matter. I was going to move on from Claresham anyway. The very next day. There was nothing for me here, you see.' His voice dropped. 'And then the villagers came for me, howling that I'd killed Smith. Seized me from my shelter. Set upon me. Dragged me before Edgar.' Dropped more. 'I kept saying I was innocent. Innocent. But everyone said I was guilty. Everyone. Then Edgar too. And he told me I'd hang.' A whisper. 'I've been waiting ever since for my fate.' Sobs broke from him.\n\nStanton shook his head. He couldn't imagine what that must be like.\n\n'Then you came, sir.' To Stanton's mortification, Lindley fell to his knees. 'You were the first person to speak up for me.' He was sobbing harder now. 'The only one. You saw the truth, sir.' He raised clasped hands to Stanton. 'The truth, God bless you.'\n\n'Stop, Lindley. Please.' Stanton didn't want this. The time when it had really counted, when it was right in front of him, he'd not seen the truth at all. 'My opinion doesn't count. Barling's does.' And the ordeal. But he wouldn't remind this wretch of that now. The day of searing metal, of agony, and then a wait of three days. That day would come soon enough.\n\n'I'm sorry, sir. But you've given me hope.' Lindley sobbed on, his head bowed. 'Hope. God bless you.'\n\n'I'll take my leave now, Lindley.' He doubted he'd get any more from the outlaw, who seemed lost in his own upset now. As he went to walk out, he saw that the small pail which held drinking water for the prisoner was almost empty. He paused to add to it from his own leather bottle. The man might not have long to live. Being plagued by thirst in this heat seemed an extra cruelty.\n\nStanton hadn't, as predicted by Barling, got any real answers from the man, who was in peril of being hanged; just more protesting from Lindley of his innocence.\n\nNext, Stanton needed to try and find some from those who would do the hanging."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Stanton watched as the guard locked the prison door again, the sounds of Lindley's anguish now mercifully silenced by the thick walls.\n\nThe guard caught his eye. 'He's secure again. Sir.'\n\n'My thanks,' said Stanton.\n\nHe got no reply save for a stiff nod from the guard, who set immediately off back to Edgar's service without a backward glance.\n\nStanton started after him along the track that led to the main street. He wouldn't catch the man up, not with his long, fast strides. He didn't want to, either. The guard's look at him had been as pitying as that of the robber who'd stood over him as he lay in the mud in York: Fool. Stanton pushed the memory away. Barling had ordered him to question Lindley, which he'd done. Next were the villagers.\n\nAs he turned on to the main thoroughfare, an empty street stretched out before him, front doors shut. He'd been a while with Lindley. People would already have set off for the fields and elsewhere \u2013 another sunny day like this one couldn't be wasted. Still, he had to try.\n\nThe first four cottages he went to sat shut and silent, despite him knocking more than once.\n\nA dreadful tumbledown hovel came next. At least this door was ajar.\n\nStanton went up to it, rapped with his knuckles. 'Hello?'\n\nA quavering male voice answered. 'God ye keep.'\n\n'I've come to ask you a few questions. May I come in?'\n\n'God ye keep.'\n\nStanton peered round the door.\n\nAn ancient man, toothless and feeble, lay on a bed of dirty straw. 'God ye keep.'\n\n'Good morning to you,' said Stanton. 'I'm the King's man. I have a few questions for you. About Geoffrey Smith.'\n\nThe man's eyes roamed, vacant and unknowing. 'God ye keep.'\n\nNo point in bothering this fellow. Stanton pulled his head back out. And started.\n\nA high-pitched scream had rung out. A woman's. Not with an echo, like in the open air. But muffled, as if a woman cried out indoors. He looked left, right. Could see nothing.\n\nAnother scream.\n\n'Hello?' His breath caught on the call as his heart jumped.\n\nSilence answered him.\n\nNo. It couldn't be. Not again. He was too late, too late to help a woman in danger. 'Hello!'\n\nYet another scream. That went on and on.\n\n'Where are you?' He broke into a run, looking left, right at the closed buildings.\n\nLouder. It came from this one.\n\nStanton ran to the door. Pounded with his fist as hard as his heart banged in his chest. 'Open up, damn you! Open up!'\n\nThe door swung open.\n\nA furious middle-aged woman, her sleeves rolled high on her arms, sweat coating her badly pockmarked face, glared at him. 'What is it?' She saw who it was and checked herself. Barely. 'Sir?'\n\nBehind her, writhing on a straw bed, slumped a half-naked woman, huge belly quivering as she let out a scream as if from hell itself. 'Oh, God release me from this. Now!'\n\n'Nothing.' Stanton backed away, his face hot. 'My mistake. Sorry.'\n\n'Sir.' The midwife slammed the door in his face without waiting for an answer.\n\nStanton let out a long breath even as another shriek rose again from behind him. His foolishness would be all over the village by this evening, he'd no doubt of that. Another mistake to add to Barling's long list. He looked at the remaining cottages, tempted to turn his back on them and go and sit in Edgar's stables for the rest of the day with his beloved horse Morel. He might as well for all the good he was doing. At least Morel wouldn't laugh at him. But if Barling found him in there, it wouldn't be laughing he'd have to worry about.\n\nStanton squared his shoulders and went on to the next couple of doors. Still nothing.\n\nMorel and the stables beckoned again.\n\nHe came to the last home, one set back from the road, with a separate sizeable, windowless building in its tidy grounds. As he walked up to the door, he heard clacking and soft thumping sounds from inside. They stopped at his sharp knock.\n\nThe door opened, to another woman of a similar age to the midwife. A drawn, sour face sat under a tight coif, from which not a single hair dared to escape. 'God save you.' Her voice matched her look.\n\n'Good morrow, mistress.' He produced the smile he knew brought a flush to the cheeks of older women.\n\nNot this woman.\n\n'And you.' Her face didn't change.\n\nBehind her, a man of her age sat behind a large loom, hunched over the half-woven cloth stretched before him. 'Who is it, Margaret?' His hands continued their steady work, the loom making a soft thump as it tightened the cloth.\n\nStanton raised his voice. 'It's Hugo Stanton. The King's man.'\n\n'And what can we do for the King's man?' The man carried on with his work.\n\nHis wife folded her arms in a way that didn't suggest help, either.\n\n'I wanted to ask you some questions,' said Stanton. 'About the murder of Geoffrey Smith.' He made his tone as firm as he could. 'And I'll need to have your name.'\n\nThe thump of the loom stopped. 'It's Peter Webb, sir.' The weaver rose from his loom with a stretch \u2013 as much as his stooped shoulders would allow \u2013 and exchanged a glance with his wife.\n\nHer arms went tighter \u2013 her lips too.\n\nWebb came to her side. His unsmiling look could be a mirror of hers. 'And this is my wife, Margaret.' No invitation to cross their threshold. 'You have questions, we'll answer them.'\n\n'Did you see anything the night Geoffrey Smith was murdered?'\n\nBoth Webbs shook their heads as one.\n\n'Sir Reginald asked the same question of us,' said Peter. 'Over and over. Our answer is the same to you, sir. We saw nothing.'\n\n'Nothing at all?'\n\n'It happened late at night,' said Webb. 'We'd been up working since the dawn, as we are every single day. First we knew was Agnes Smith's screams.'\n\n'A different sort to usual, mind.' Margaret sniffed.\n\n'Do you mean like when she was calling for Lindley to hang, mistress?' asked Stanton.\n\n'No. I mean like when she's out with her latest man.' She shuddered. 'Worse than cats mating.'\n\n'I see,' said Stanton. Though he didn't. That the obese thatcher Theaker could bring his betrothed to screaming ecstasy came as a surprise.\n\nWebb gave a dour nod. 'A brazen, lustful girl. One that refused to contain her appetites. Geoffrey Smith would despair of her to me.'\n\nStanton didn't comment. Lindley had said he'd heard an argument between Agnes and her father. The outlaw must have spoken the truth about that.\n\n'May God keep poor Geoffrey's soul,' said Margaret.\n\nAnother nod from Peter. 'I ran to help when the hue and cry was raised. It was a terrible sight in that forge, I can tell you.' His grey eyes met Stanton's. 'If you'd seen what I'd seen, you wouldn't think twice about stringing Lindley up. Believe you me.'\n\nStanton couldn't imagine and didn't want to. Without Smith's ruined body, the scene was bad enough. With it, it would've been horrific.\n\n'Margaret!' A call came from up the street.\n\nStanton looked around. It was the midwife from earlier, looking worried.\n\nShe went on. 'I fear that the baby's turned. Can you come and help?'\n\n'May I, Peter?' Margaret asked her husband.\n\n'Have you finished with us, sir?' said Webb to Stanton.\n\n'Yes, thank you,' said Stanton.\n\n'Then you must do your duty to our neighbours, Margaret,' said Webb. 'Go and help Midwife Folkes.'\n\n'Give me a few moments, Hilda,' called Margaret.\n\nThe midwife waved and hurried back to her charge as Margaret set about grabbing a shawl and putting clean linen into a basket.\n\n'But I need to speak to others,' said Stanton. 'It's very quiet here in the village. Has everyone gone to the fields?'\n\n'Yes,' replied Webb. 'They're all about their work, as all honest folk are. You'll have to go to the quarry too.' He pointed past Stanton's shoulder. 'It's over yon.'\n\n'Excuse me.' Margaret stepped out past Stanton, then paused. 'Remember this: when you do find Agnes Smith, your questions won't get good answers. Like all whores, lies trip from her sinful tongue.' She didn't wait for a reply but started up the street.\n\n'If you'll excuse me as well, sir.' Webb gestured to his loom. 'I'm behind in my work as it is.'\n\n'Of course,' said Stanton. 'Good day to you.'\n\n'And you, sir.' Webb shut the door as he spoke.\n\nAbove the lintel, a bird flew from the damaged thatch, startled by the noise.\n\nStanton wondered if Lindley had secretly climbed this thatch, as he had the Smiths', in his search for nests with eggs. If Lindley had, Stanton suspected he wouldn't have heard arguments.\n\nAlong the street, Margaret Webb had almost reached the cottage where the birth was taking place, her spotless white coif gleaming in the sun above her rigid shoulders, small clouds of dust puffing up from every one of her steps as she marched along. From inside came the regular clack and thump of Webb at his loom.\n\nBoth Webbs were united in their hard work and their hard virtue.\n\nJust as they were united in their desire to hang Nicholas Lindley."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Stanton made his way along a deserted track that led back to the village from the farthest fields, the high bushes catching the heat of the afternoon sun but allowing little of the breeze to find its way down here. He shook his leather water bottle. Almost empty, curse it. He should have used Morel today, not done it all on foot. He'd had no idea that Sir Reginald Edgar's lands stretched so far.\n\nTrue, the lord had boasted about them to Barling on the slow, dull ride to Claresham, but Stanton hadn't believed a word by then. Edgar's long, long list of his own achievements had overtaken even the King's, and still the lord had yammered on.\n\nHad Stanton been a gambler like his fellow court messenger Nesbitt, he would have put money down that the bumbling bully Edgar's land claims were false.\n\nJust as well Stanton didn't like a bet. Well, not much. He palmed the sweat from his face.\n\nSo many miles he'd walked today, for so many hours, asking the same questions over and over. Barling had said his, Stanton's, questions wouldn't matter. The clerk had been right.\n\nDo you know anything about the murder of Geoffrey Smith? Did you see Nicholas Lindley that night? Did you see anything?\n\nAsked first of the lone man working in the small quarry.\n\n'No.' The stone hewer, a man who went by the name of Thomas Dene, with heavy muscles and sharp, handsome features that looked carved from stone too. 'No.' His answers were matched with a powerful strike of hammer on chisel, splitting a stone more easily than Stanton could split wood. 'No.'\n\nDust and powder filled the air, making Stanton's eyes sting and his lips and mouth dry. 'You're sure?'\n\n'Sure.' Another hard strike.\n\n'Did you hear anything that night?' The Webbs might have been long tucked up in bed. Maybe this man had still been awake.\n\n'No.'\n\n'Not even Agnes's screams?' Stanton frowned. 'Other folk in the village say she woke them up.'\n\n'Don't live in the village.' Dene straightened up from his work, his full height a head and a half above Stanton. He raised a forearm to wipe his face, smearing the stone powder coating it. 'Not from here. I'm from the town of Hartleton, over thirty miles away. This is where I lay my head for now.' He nodded to a neat hut nearby made from rough-hewn planks. A circle of rocks next to it held the smoking remains of a fire, above which a metal pot swung from a tripod. 'I'm only here for a few weeks. The rector wants new stone for his church floor and that's almost finished. Wants a new mantel carved in his hall as well. Once that's done I'm off.' He bent to his work again. 'Shame what happened to that man Smith.' A blow that opened the stone as if it were pages of a Bible. 'But I didn't know him.'\n\nNothing from the quarry. Then nothing from the fields, either.\n\nThe many, many fields. Many faces and voices: young, old, men, women. A number, like the young ploughman driving the pair of plodding oxen, he recognised from the angry crowds in the village. Almost all, to his huge relief, were polite, even friendly. He got a couple of unexpected smiles.\n\nThe one exception was the ploughman Simon Caldbeck, the one who'd contained Agnes as she railed in the street. The man didn't even halt as he followed his lumbering ox across the fallow field, his wiry strength making the guiding of his animal and the control of the heavy plough look easy. His pointed features reminded Stanton of a watchful weasel as he gave his surly replies.\n\n'No, I don't know what's going on here. And I don't care. I'm working to buy my release from this place.' He spat hard into the furrow next to him. 'The life of a poor villein is no life. Spending my life and my strength working Edgar's fields and putting food in the barn of that nephew of his. Soon as I get my chance, I'm off to a town. Have a real life.'\n\nStanton didn't respond. Though he wasn't here to hear Caldbeck's resentments, he could at least understand them. Stanton too was in the service of a man he despised. Instead, he asked about Geoffrey Smith. 'Did you hear or see anything the night he was killed?'\n\n'Nothing at all. It was a pity about Geoffrey Smith all right. But I was no friend of his. And we all have to leave this life sometime, don't we?'\n\nYes, Caldbeck's remarks had been unusual but still boiled down to the same thing. No matter how it was said or who said it, the answers were still the same: No. No. No.\n\nStanton opened his water bottle, tipped his head back to get the last warm mouthful.\n\n'Thirsty work, asking questions, is it?'\n\nHe looked round at the sound of the loud voice. Agnes Smith's voice.\n\nShe walked behind him on the sheltered path, long skirt moving with her strong stride. He didn't know how long she'd been there: the grassy path made her boots as silent as it did his.\n\n'You could say that,' he said.\n\n'I just did. Hugo.'\n\nNo 'sir' from her. He didn't expect it. 'You did.' He waited for her to catch him up.\n\n'And did you get your answers? The ones that told you Nicholas Lindley was pure as snow?' Her face was flushed from the sun, and her linen shift hung open at the neck, showing smooth, white skin that he knew would taste sweet and warm.\n\nSame as the skin on his beloved Rosamund's throat had the last time they'd lain together.\n\nStanton pushed the memory aside. And he wouldn't respond to Agnes's goad. 'I got answers.'\n\nShe walked beside him on the path now but didn't slow down, so he had to match her long stride. Her long hair fell without its usual springy curls and he could see that it was soaking wet. 'But not the ones you wanted. Good. I'll be right in front of Lindley when he's in the noose, watching until he takes his last cursed breath.'\n\nAs she turned to him with a humourless smile of triumph, her shift gaped more, and he glimpsed the swell of a breast. She saw his glance but made no move to close her clothing.\n\n'Like what you see, do you?' she said.\n\nHis body did, his flesh surging hard and unbidden. He held her gaze now. He had to. 'You're promised to another, Agnes.'\n\n'Promised with all my heart to another.' She gave an odd little sigh as she pulled her clothing to again. 'The man who killed my father is going to hang, isn't he? You can tell me.'\n\n'I can tell you nothing. My enquiries are for mine and Barling's ears. Nobody else.'\n\n'That fussy little clerk?' Agnes rolled her eyes. 'All robes and rolls and show. His mouth reminds me of my cat's rear end.'\n\nStanton tried to hold in his laugh. Couldn't. Her picture of Barling was too good. 'You can't say that about the King's clerk.' He shook his head. 'I've heard you were brazen. That's one correct answer I got.'\n\n'Oh?' Her dark brows arched and her full lips pursed. 'Who says that about me, Hugo?'\n\n'Never you mind.' She'd already wormed something out of him. He couldn't let her do it again.\n\n'It was Margaret Webb, wasn't it?'\n\n'No.' A relief to give this girl a truthful answer, though she'd come very close. Peter Webb had been the one to claim she was brazen.\n\n'I know it was.' Agnes tossed her damp hair. 'The sour-faced old witch. She called me brazen the other day for wearing my hair loose. Calls me a whore too. All the time. She hates me for being young and not a dried-up husk like her. Suits me. I despise her and her nasty tongue.'\n\nStanton opened his water bottle again. Nothing left. He stuck it back in his belt.\n\n'Looks like you're a dry one now as well, Hugo.'\n\nHe wouldn't bite. 'Have you got any water? I'm plagued with thirst.'\n\nShe shook her head. 'No. But there's the reed pond down this way. You can't drink from it, but you could use the water to cool off.'\n\n'I should get back. Barling will be waiting for me.'\n\n'Oh, not him again. Come on, Hugo. It'll only take a few minutes.' She ran her hand through her hair. 'I've been bathing. You'll feel much better if you can wet your face, if nothing else.'\n\n'Show me, then.'\n\nHe followed her down the side path, even more overgrown than the one they'd been on.\n\nUnder his feet the path got boggier, despite the heat, and buzzing, whining flies thickened the air.\n\nAhead, he glimpsed the dull gleam of the still pond through thick leaves. A wide area to the right of the path had been cleared, with cut reeds tied in tight bundles and neatly stacked to dry out in the sun until they were ready for thatching.\n\n'There you are.' Agnes held a hand out as she reached the edge of the pond. 'It's muddy. But it's cool and wet.'\n\nStanton didn't need telling twice. He knelt down at the pond edge, scooped water over his face and head. 'That's better.' He straightened up.\n\n'Hugo.' Agnes's voice dropped. Not brazen now. At all. 'What's that?'\n\nHe stood up, following the pointing of her shaking finger. At the next curve of the pond, half-buried in the tall weeds, was what looked like a large man. Lying down. But face down. Arms and hands down. In the water.\n\n'God's eyes.' Stanton set off at a run, Agnes behind him, a stupid idea in his head that he could save this fellow. But he knew, he already knew, from the stillness, the position, that this man was dead. Still, he had to try.\n\nHe dropped next to the body, breathing hard. The huge body. The obese body. He knew who it was. He looked up at Agnes.\n\nShe knew too. She stood there, eyes fixed on the corpse of her betrothed. Her hands went to her mouth.\n\n'Bartholomew,' she whispered. 'No.'\n\n'Wait, Agnes, wait.' A miracle, maybe a miracle. Stanton put his hands to the clothing that strained against the fat shoulders of Bartholomew Theaker and hauled. No good. He couldn't budge him. Not only was Theaker huge but his limbs had stiffened. He tugged at one shoulder instead, pulled, pushed, to turn the man's head over, to get his face out of the water.\n\nAgnes hunkered down beside him. 'Get him out. For God's sake, get him out.'\n\nTogether they tugged, pulled.\n\nAnd Theaker's body rolled, his face and one of his rigid arms out to the air.\n\n'Saints protect us.' Stanton staggered back to his feet as Agnes sat down hard on the boggy ground.\n\nTheaker's face might be out. But it was the face of one dead many hours, hours in which the blood had pooled into it as he lay head first in the water, his flabby rolls of skin now an obscene dark purple in colour.\n\n'Oh, Bartholomew.' Agnes's lips had turned white in shock. 'To drown alone like this? If only you'd had somebody with you.'\n\nStanton steadied his breathing and bent to put a hand to her shoulder. 'Agnes, I'm so sorry. We can't help Theaker now, but we need to move him.' Stanton helped her to her feet. 'And we can't do it by ourselves. We need to fetch others.'\n\n'You go. I'll stay with him.' Her voice was calm and her eyes held no tears.\n\nHer reaction disturbed him. A short while ago, she had been proclaiming such love for the man she was promised to. 'I don't think that's wise.'\n\n'You can think what you like.' She folded her arms. 'I'm staying. There's nothing for me to fear here.'\n\nStanton glanced down, looked away again, ashamed of his own revulsion. 'Then I'll be as quick as I can.'\n\nHe set off, forcing his tired legs to move as quickly as possible.\n\nBefore he turned the corner, he took a last glance back.\n\nAgnes stood, her back to the body of her betrothed, staring silently out over the pond.\n\nStanton shook his head. A horrible tragedy for her so soon after her father's murder.\n\nAt least Stanton had been with her. Otherwise, she'd have found the body on her own. Maybe his day hadn't been such a waste after all.\n\nHe needed to alert Barling. At once."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Barling had known that asking questions of Sir Reginald Edgar was going to be problematic. What he had not appreciated was precisely how problematic.\n\nFirst, the lord had not appeared out of bed for the entire morning. Nor the early afternoon.\n\nBarling's earliest enquiry of the servants as to what time their lord might arise had been met with the response 'Well past Terce,' a time Barling believed to be disgracefully late as it was.\n\nTheir reaction had been one of surprise \u2013 surprise that Barling would even consider seeing Sir Reginald at such an hour.\n\nFor, it would seem, Edgar loved his bed almost as much as he loved his wine. His love of wine being, quite literally, beyond measure meant that Edgar's attachment to his bed approximated that of a limpet to a rock.\n\nThe servants did not neglect Barling. Not in the least. But his irritation with them grew as the sun rose to its height in yet another cloudless sky. Grew still further as it began its long, slow descent once more and still Edgar had not appeared. He did not require bread, nor ale, nor cheese.\n\nWhat he required was Sir Reginald Edgar.\n\nHe was sorely tempted to ask the servants why, if they had so much spare time, the hall was in such disarray. Daylight had brought an even more unforgiving eye on the contents of the hall. Dirty rushes were scattered with bits of food and discarded bones. A torn tapestry hung off one wall. Knife marks scarred the tabletop. While the padded chair he sat in was reasonably comfortable, its tapestry cover was full of holes and shiny with grease.\n\nWith his papers spread before him, Barling whiled away the time by reading one of his law tracts. Under normal circumstances, this would have given him the greatest of pleasure. But in these circumstances it was not even tolerable. For the joy of reading the law was to lose oneself in it, to apply one's full concentration to its complexity, its detail. Thinking that every footstep, every door opening might be Edgar, breaking off to check and then find yet again it was not, meant Barling ended up rereading through the same few pages in frustrating repetition.\n\nWhen one of the finer points of inheritance claims was quite spoiled by an enquiry about an apple, Barling rose to his feet, about to go and sit in the lord's solar if need be.\n\nThen Edgar walked in, wearing a loose, grubby tunic over his linens. 'Barling,' he said. 'Sit, sit. No need to get up.' The lord already had a goblet in his hand.\n\nBarling sat back down. He should be pleased, or at least relieved, that Edgar had finally appeared. Not so. As well as the goblet, Edgar still wore the swollen face and high colour of last night's excess at the table. 'I trust you have slept well.'\n\nEdgar placed the goblet on the table and flung himself into a chair opposite Barling. 'As well as can be expected.' He stretched, grimaced. 'I swear that long journey yesterday made me ill.' He brought a hand to the top of his head. Grimaced again. 'The sun on my head all day. It beats like a drum. You know how it can be.'\n\n'Indeed I do.' Barling did, though he did not mean the sun. He'd not touched wine, the real source of Edgar's bad head, for many years, but he recalled full well how it could leave one pleading for dark and quiet. And more. 'Yet I hope that you are sufficiently well to answer my questions.'\n\nA couple of servants hurried in, slovenly as their lord, bearing trays of bread, fruit and meats. Another bore a large chipped jug of wine.\n\n'Questions about what?' Edgar rubbed his forehead with a meaty hand.\n\nThe servants set about laying their items in front of Edgar.\n\n'The murder of Geoffrey Smith. As I said I would do.'\n\nEdgar rolled his bloodshot eyes, ignoring the servants as they finished with quick bows and left. 'I already answered your friends in York, Barling.'\n\nBarling's mouth tightened at the casual description of the King's esteemed justices. He would not respond lest he get deflected. 'I fully appreciate that, Edgar. But' \u2013 he gestured to his papers \u2013 'I need to have the full record. For completeness.'\n\nEdgar grunted, stabbing at a large piece of venison with his eating knife. 'Go on, then.'\n\n'Firstly, I have already written up everything you said to the justices in York.'\n\n'When?' Edgar stared at him, chewing. 'On the back of the horse yesterday?'\n\n'No, last night. In my solar.'\n\n'That was a jest, Barling.' Edgar reached for his goblet.\n\n'Ah, of course it was.' Barling decided not to trouble himself with a laugh as Edgar drained his wine. 'So I have a record of what you said before de Glanville and his fellow justices.'\n\n'Good.' Edgar reached for the jug and poured a fresh cup.\n\n'Do you have any idea why Lindley would want Geoffrey Smith dead?'\n\n'No.' He drank deep.\n\n'What kind of a man was Geoffrey Smith?'\n\n'What do you think?' He filled another cup as he spoke. 'He worked the forge, shoed my horses. Made and mended my ploughshares and my tools and knives. Did the same for other people, rich and poor. We all need iron.' He belched. 'Even you. Like for your ordeal.'\n\nBarling itched to berate the lord for his rude, unhelpful reply. But it would not help matters. 'I mean more, what manner of a man was he?'\n\n'A freeman.' Edgar shrugged. 'Always paid his rent on time.' Drank again.\n\n'I mean rather his temperament. Was he a man who favoured strife? Or was he one that lived in harmony with his fellow man?'\n\n'He seemed pleasant enough. Not a troublemaker, at least not to me. I never heard that he was.' Edgar shrugged. 'Beyond that, who knows?'\n\n'Would Lindley have had any reason to attack him?'\n\n'How should I know what's in Timothy Lindley's head?'\n\n'Nicholas.'\n\n'Eh?'\n\n'The outlaw's name is Nicholas. Nicholas Lindley. Not Timothy.'\n\nEdgar rolled his eyes. 'Timothy, Nicholas. Whatever the man's name is.'\n\nBarling tried to get him back on track. 'Can you think of any reason why Lindley would murder your smith? And in so brutal a manner?'\n\n'It was brutal, you know.' Edgar sucked down another deep draught, then gave a sage nod.\n\nBarling's knuckles tightened. 'Yes, you said.'\n\nThe man rapidly was getting drunk again. If he ever truly sobered. Barling was beginning to understand only too clearly why the hall was in such poor order. Edgar had given himself over completely to the sin of gluttony, caring for wine and food and nothing else.\n\n'Brutal!' said Edgar. 'That's why we need to get rid of him soon as we can.' He reached for the jug again, much cheerier in his look. 'Like I said in York. Justice should be swift. Strong as well. I even think\u2014'\n\nA commotion came from the door.\n\n'What in God's blood is that?' said Edgar.\n\n'Barling, where's Barling?' came Stanton's voice, raised in his agitation. 'I need to find the King's clerk. Now.'\n\nHe appeared at the door, breathless, dishevelled.\n\nBarling frowned. 'Stanton, what on earth\u2014?'\n\n'Sir, there's been a horrible accident. Bartholomew Theaker has drowned.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "The progress to the reed bed was slower than Barling would have liked. He was only too aware that his own pace was nowhere as swift as Stanton's. And as always with those of younger years, Stanton seemed less bothered by the searing summer heat. Barling's entire body was coated with sweat, and he had to wipe at his face repeatedly with his kerchief.\n\nAt least his complete humiliation was saved by two things.\n\nFirst, a couple of servants accompanied them as well, leading a placid horse that drew a cart for transporting Theaker's body. The bumpy track limited their speed.\n\nSecond, Sir Reginald Edgar had climbed into the cart, loudly proclaiming he had to do so because of the heat.\n\nBarling doubted anyone would notice his own lack of pace in such circumstances. He had tried to leave the nuisance behind at the hall, but Edgar had insisted.\n\n'It's just here, sir.' Stanton pointed ahead.\n\nThey rounded the corner and the whole sorry tableau came into view, lit by the setting sun.\n\nTheaker, on the ground, his large limbs in the contortions of death.\n\nAgnes stood near the body. But not with it.\n\n'You have come for my betrothed,' said Agnes. 'Thank you.'\n\nDry-eyed, noted Barling. The girl would naturally be very shocked. Upset. Yet while her appearance would suggest the former, it did not convey the latter.\n\nThe servants with the cart stopped at a respectful distance, crossing themselves at the sight as Edgar clambered out in clumsy movements.\n\n'God's eyes.' Edgar stared at the corpse but made no move towards it. He clicked his fingers to the servants. 'Get Theaker on the cart.'\n\n'Wait.' Barling raised a hand, halting them. 'I wish to examine the body first.' He matched his steps with his actions, ignoring Edgar's stream of enquiries. He knelt down on the coarse, boggy grass. The flies had already found Theaker, and Barling swatted at them to no avail as he examined the blood-suffused face of the dead man.\n\nHe looked up to where Stanton stood nearby. 'You say he was face down in the water, Stanton?'\n\n'He was, yes. Right next to where he lies. Agnes and I moved him to see if we might have saved him, turned him over.' Stanton glanced over to the girl for confirmation, but she didn't respond. 'But it was far too late.'\n\n'I see.' Barling's gaze went to the pond's edge, then moved along the dead man, finishing at his feet. He beckoned to Stanton and the servants. 'Help me turn him over again.'\n\nThey did as ordered, though with expressions of surprise.\n\nEdgar hung back. 'Have you lost your mind, Barling?'\n\nBarling ignored him, concentrating on easing Theaker's hooded jerkin away from the back of his neck. And there he found what he suspected. So much for Edgar's prating on about how murder was the rarest occurrence in this place. 'Theaker's drowning has been no accident. He has been murdered.'\n\n'What?' Edgar's roar drowned out the other exclamations of shock. The lord marched over. 'What are you talking about? This is nonsense, utter nonsense.'\n\n'I offer you my sympathies, Agnes, on this terrible loss,' said Barling.\n\nShe had her hand to her mouth, staring. Still she had no tears.\n\n'Barling,' began Edgar, 'I suggest you explain your wild imaginings\u2014'\n\n'Look.' Barling indicated the row of bruises on the back of Theaker's neck. 'Finger marks. Somebody held him down in the water.'\n\n'Could those not be from before?' came Stanton's question. A considered one from the young man, surprising Barling.\n\n'A remote possibility,' replied Barling. 'But look at the ground around his feet. It is kicked up in new clods. If Theaker had simply fallen or collapsed, the ground would not be churned up so. Theaker was engaged in a mighty struggle with the hand that held him under the water.'\n\nStanton nodded, his gaze still travelling over the scene as described by Barling.\n\nBarling stood up, brushing off his hands from the unpleasant but necessary task.\n\nInteresting. Stanton was paying very close attention.\n\nEdgar was not. 'So who did this wicked act?' Questions, nonsense poured forth from the lord. 'Did anybody see it? God's eyes, this is an abomination! Was anybody here at the time? Theaker, imagine. Agnes, you'll be faint, won't you?'\n\nBarling did not think for one moment that Agnes looked faint. She was far calmer than Edgar, who was still going. 'Who would think to do such a thing? Unless it was an accident. Might easily have been\u2014'\n\n'Edgar, Bartholomew Theaker was the thatcher of this village, was he not?' asked Barling.\n\n'Why?' Edgar glowered at Barling. 'What's that got to do with anything?'\n\n'It has to do with order. I want to record that I have the correct name and the correct person.'\n\n'It's Theaker!' Edgar flung his hands up. 'My thatcher!'\n\n'But his murder is now under my area of authority,' said Barling. 'I want to make sure I have his details recorded properly.'\n\n'But you're here about Lindley, Barling. That's all!'\n\nBarling had to hold his tongue. At least for now. Edgar's knowledge and administration of matters of the law were an astonishingly incompetent tangle. If the man was representative of how the law was applied across the country, no wonder the King had decided to impose uniformity and order. 'Agnes, you need to stay with Sir Reginald's servants while they move the body and go back to the lord's hall with them.'\n\nShe opened her mouth to protest, but Barling cut across her. 'No arguments. It is not safe to stay out here on your own. Stanton, I need you with me.'\n\n'Yes, sir,' said Stanton.\n\n'Where are you going, Barling?' said Edgar.\n\n'I want to go to the gaol and speak to Nicholas Lindley.'\n\n'Lindley?' Edgar scowled anew. 'Why?'\n\n'Because he is already under suspicion for one murder. Now that there has been a second, a mere eleven days later, after none in living memory, there is the strongest possibility that the two are linked somehow.'\n\n'I have rarely heard such bilge water. We need to hunt for this new killer. Immediately!'\n\n'It is not bilge water.' He could not resist a small barb. 'It is how one investigates such matters, Edgar. Properly. Yet you are quite right about the hue and cry. Can I leave that in your capable hands?' A second barb.\n\nThe barbs landed. Edgar gave a snort of disgust. 'I still know more about this place than you, Barling. I am coming with you. I can spread the hue and cry as we go. Then lead me to my own gaol, why don't you?'\n\nBarling did not respond as he set off. The lord was a complete oaf. He would make it his business to instruct him in matters of law for as long as he remained here, though it would likely be a thankless and ultimately futile task. 'Now come, Stanton.'\n\nAs they walked through the village to the gaol, the cries and laments for the murdered Theaker filled the cooling evening air as Edgar spread the news. People hurried from door to door with the shocking tidings, some appealing to Edgar, who did not hesitate to confirm it over and over, giving his answers with apparent relish as his pace slackened.\n\nTo one man: 'It's true. Theaker's dead. Murdered! A terrible act.'\n\nTo another: 'No, I cannot stop. But yes, Theaker's been murdered.'\n\nTo a knot of gossiping women at the well: 'The King's man has important work to do. No, not at the reed pond. Theaker was murdered there. But I have to go to the gaol. On the orders of the King's man, you understand.'\n\nBarling would not slow a single step. 'Keep up, Stanton.'\n\n'Sir.' Stanton hurried alongside him.\n\nBarling would not respond to Edgar's crude public jibes, either. For they pleased him, showing him that Edgar was acknowledging his authority. Showing him also how annoyed the boorish Edgar was by that. Barling allowed himself a little smile. It was down to Edgar's lack of competence that he, Barling, had had to leave the court for the churn and chaos of Edgar's lands. Bringing Edgar to heel with order gave him a deep satisfaction.\n\nThey had reached the gaol.\n\n'The key please, Edgar,' said Barling. 'I pray your sun-sore head has not had you forget it.'\n\n'I haven't forgotten what a waste of time this is,' said Edgar, producing the key on a belt loop.\n\n'I hope you will see in due course, my lord, that an ordered approach is never a waste of time.' Barling nodded to Stanton. 'Be ready to escort Lindley elsewhere if need be.'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\nEdgar banged on the door. 'Back, Lindley! Stay away from the door.'\n\nBarling folded his hands, his first questions for the outlaw ready in his mind.\n\nEdgar unlocked the door and wrenched it open.\n\nStanton gasped.\n\nAnd every single question deserted Barling.\n\nFor the gaol sat empty. Deserted.\n\nNicholas Lindley was gone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "It can't be. It simply can't be.\n\nStanton willed the sight to change. The small window gaped, bare of its iron bars, the stone surround hacked in the fresh cuts that had freed them. But it didn't change. Broken stone, scattered metal. An empty gaol. And the bellow of rage from Edgar told him it wasn't going to.\n\n'What?' The lord's voice echoed in the small, stale room. 'What in the name of Christendom has happened?'\n\n'It would appear' \u2013 Barling moved to the window, his tone calm but clipped \u2013 'that Lindley has escaped.' He leaned out through the window.\n\n'I can see that!' Another roar. 'God's blood, I can see it!'\n\nBlood. Like the blood of Bartholomew Theaker, pooling in his dead face to give it a hideous, darkened hue. The heat of shame prickled every inch of Stanton's body. He'd been shocked when Barling had established that the luckless Theaker had been murdered. Yet relieved too. Relief that he, Stanton, had spoken up for a wrongly accused man, just as he had before. Lindley's pleas had been the truth. But now? Dread close to sickness gathered in his guts.\n\nBarling drew his head back from the damaged window and looked at him. 'Push that door open as wide as you can.'\n\nStanton went to comply, but Edgar shoved past him and booted the door so hard it bounced on its hinges. 'There! Is that open enough for you? Would you also like me to remove the roof?'\n\nBarling ignored him and hunkered down to peer at the floor beneath the window in the better light, sifting through the debris on the ground with his fingers.\n\n'I'll give you your link between the murders, Barling.' Edgar snorted in disgust. 'Lindley's done them both. He'll be miles away by now.' He eyeballed Stanton. 'Thanks to your foolishness, warbling on about Smith's height.'\n\n'I'm so sorry, Sir Reginald,' said Stanton. 'I swear to you I never\u2014'\n\n'Edgar, you need to guard your tongue.' Barling's reply came brittle as ice. 'Now. I remind you to whom you speak.' He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. 'I believe Lindley had help from outside. Most likely somebody from within your village.'\n\n'My village?' The veins stood out on Edgar's meaty face. 'You're saying Lindley had help from the folk who live here?'\n\n'Yes,' said Barling. 'Judging from the way that the stone and dust have fallen, it would appear that Lindley used a hammer or similar to work his way out. Somebody has passed such an implement in through the bars.'\n\nStanton expected Edgar to share his own surprise. But the man just laughed. Laughed. Then his smile dropped.\n\n'And what about the forge?' said Edgar.\n\n'What of the forge, Edgar?' said Barling.\n\n'Lindley ended up on the floor. This man here' \u2013 he jabbed a finger at Stanton \u2013 'your man, was gazing around him. Thinking about things that didn't matter. At all.' He raised a clenched fist.\n\nStanton stepped back in spite of himself.\n\nEdgar went on. 'Who's to say what Lindley did? That forge was full of tools scattered around after Geoffrey Smith's struggle. It would have been the work of a second for that evil man to conceal one in his clothing, then use it later.'\n\nStanton's chest tightened. No. 'No, my lord, I watched him, I swear.' His appeal was as much to himself as to the other two men. He'd missed something. Missed it. And an innocent life was lost. It has happened again.\n\nBarling's mouth became a thin line. 'Yours is a ridiculous assertion, Edgar.'\n\n'Oh, is it now?' said Edgar. 'Then explain to me how Nicholas Lindley was locked up in here for eleven days, completely secure. No friend' \u2013 he sneered the word \u2013 'appeared at his window to give him a tool that would allow him to break his way out.' His glower fixed on Stanton. 'Unless you, Stanton, were such a friend. You came to see him this morning. Alone! My servant told me, told me that he waited outside. Did you give Lindley the means to get out?'\n\n'My lord, I can only swear\u2014'\n\nBarling cut him off with a raised hand.\n\nStanton tensed, expecting the clerk's anger. But no. Barling rounded instead on the lord.\n\n'Edgar, that is enough,' said the clerk. 'I should not need to remind you that accusing Stanton, the King's man, of such an act is dangerous \u2013 dangerous for you.'\n\nBarling's defence of him surprised Stanton as much as it infuriated Edgar.\n\n'Then I bow to Hugo Stanton's greatness.' Edgar matched his mocking words with a rude bob of a bow. 'But I am in no danger by stating this: until you two set foot here, all was well. I was dealing with everything. Everything.'\n\n'I am not yet in a position to explain anything, Edgar,' said Barling. 'Stanton and I have many more enquiries to make, especially now that Lindley has escaped. I suggest that your priority is to hunt Lindley down.'\n\nOutside, the church bell began to toll.\n\n'I suggest that the priority for me and my people is to bury the unfortunate Bartholomew Theaker and pray for his soul. Lindley was in that gaol alone since early this morning. He'll be miles away by now. You make all the enquiries you want.' He marched to the door. 'You have released a monster. May it be forever on your conscience. Both of yours.' He kicked the door again on his way past.\n\nFor once even Barling was silenced.\n\nAs for Stanton, he couldn't trust speech, not at this moment.\n\nYou have released a monster."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Barling entered his solar, a very subdued-looking Stanton following him.\n\nThe quiet came as a merciful release after the commotion at the gaol, on the street, where Lindley's escape, Theaker's murder and Edgar's wild accusations against the King's men had all received loud, public airings. It was intolerable. One could not think in such circumstances. A clear mind was necessary to consider such a grave turn of events. Not that Barling would get much quiet until Stanton left.\n\n'On my life, sir.' Stanton didn't wait for Barling to give him permission to speak as he closed the door behind them, ensuring privacy. 'I don't know how Lindley got out. I didn't do anything. He was in there when I left. I swear to you.'\n\n'Calm yourself, Stanton.' Barling walked to his desk and sat down. 'You are beginning to sound like Edgar.'\n\n'Sorry, sir.' Stanton steadied his breath.\n\n'As I said in the gaol, it is clear Lindley had help. As I also said, I know full well that you had nothing to do with it. Now sit down and tell me what you have found so far in your enquiries. You and I have not yet had the chance to speak.' He picked up a stylus. 'Now is the time to start.'\n\n'I thought that my questions were useless, sir. For appearances only.'\n\nThough Stanton's was a sharp response, Barling almost smiled. He'd been correct in his recent observations of the messenger. The young man did have something between his ears, after all.\n\n'That is indeed what I said, Stanton. But it is clear from your remarks that you have more wits than you have ever bothered to use.' He pointed at the chair. 'Now sit. The facts that you have found, Stanton, please, and nothing more. Emotions add little and can cloud a proper examination.'\n\nStanton lowered himself into the chair, obviously glad to be off his feet, but he gave Barling a deeply wary look. 'When I found Theaker\u2014' he began.\n\n'Stop.'\n\n'I don't understand, sir. You told me to tell you what I've found.'\n\n'Start at the start of your account, Stanton. Always the start. To start in the middle means things get forgotten.' He tapped the stylus on his tablet. 'Overlooked. So, the start.'\n\n'From when I left you this morning, sir?'\n\n'That would be a good place, would it not?'\n\n'Well, I started with Lindley.' Stanton went through what he had asked Lindley and the man's answers, Barling asking him to be clearer at first, but Stanton quickly improving as he went on. 'And Lindley still said he was innocent, sir, crying, thanking me for believing him.' Stanton shook his head. 'He fooled me, sir. Completely fooled me.'\n\n'You could look at it a different way: that an accomplished liar practised his arts on you. Many men are skilled in it.'\n\n'And women, sir. Women too.' Stanton's abrupt, forceful reply took him by surprise. 'I'm sorry, sir.' Stanton rubbed at his eyes. 'I'm angry at myself. He... he seemed so genuine.' He gave a short, bitter laugh. 'I actually felt sorry for him. Not any more. Not after seeing Theaker.'\n\n'We shall come to Theaker in a moment. Where did you go after speaking to Lindley?'\n\n'Most cottages were deserted by then. People were at the fields. I found an old man without sense, a woman closed away in a birth. She had a midwife with her, name of Hilda Folkes.' He went red and would not meet Barling's eye for a second. 'I called there by mistake, but it wasn't really the time to ask questions.'\n\n'No.'\n\n'But then I went to the Webbs', sir.'\n\n'The Webbs?'\n\n'Yes, sir. Peter Webb's a weaver and his wife does spinning. They're both very respectable. Very stern. But it was just like Edgar told you. Both of the Webbs said they knew nothing about Geoffrey Smith's murder.'\n\n'So you gleaned nothing from them.'\n\n'No.'\n\n'You sound unsure.'\n\n'Nothing except that they don't like Agnes Smith. Especially Margaret. And, if you'll pardon me for going out of order, Agnes despises Margaret. She told me so herself. Right before we found Theaker's body.'\n\n'In what way do they not like each other?'\n\n'Peter Webb said Agnes was brazen. Margaret thinks Agnes is a whore. Agnes says Margaret is a dried-up old witch with a nasty tongue.'\n\n'Goodness.' Barling made another note.\n\n'Peter did help with one thing, though. He mentioned a quarry. I didn't know about it. I was only going to go to the fields to find people. There's a stonecutter, Thomas Dene, living and working there at the moment. He's not from the village. He usually lives in a town called Hartleton. About thirty miles away, he says. He's been here in Claresham doing work for the rector Osmond's church and hall.'\n\n'I know of Hartleton, though I have not personally visited it. A town of modest size and of good repute, I believe.' Barling made a note. 'And as Dene hails from there, it makes him another outsider. Does he have any passionate opinions about the Webbs or Agnes Smith, or they of him?'\n\nStanton shook his head. 'Not at all, sir. He was a man of very few words. But he was clear that he heard nothing of Geoffrey Smith's murder.'\n\n'Where did you go next?'\n\n'The fields. Nothing different from anybody there either. Except from Simon Caldbeck, the young ploughman. The man that brought Agnes under control in the street.'\n\n'Yes, I recall him.'\n\n'Well, he doesn't like Edgar or the rector Osmond. He's trying to get released from here.'\n\n'Hardly the picture Edgar painted of a harmonious Claresham.'\n\n'No. I was on my way back from the fields when I met Agnes.'\n\n'Had she not been out working in them?'\n\n'No, sir. She'd been off bathing somewhere. I was out of water in my bottle. She showed me where the reed pond was, where I could cool off.'\n\n'Did you discuss anything of importance?'\n\n'Um, no, sir.' Stanton's gaze flicked to Barling's mouth and away again in an instant. 'Not of any importance. A lot more from her about how Lindley should hang, same as she was saying when we brought Lindley to the forge. And then we got to the pond.' He swallowed. 'Found Theaker's body. Face down in the water. It was bad enough finding him like that, but at least I thought it was an accident. Then your finding out it was murder. God's eyes. And the worst part, I still feel it's my fault.' He looked sheepish. 'No, the worst part was I was relieved. A bit. I thought that it meant Lindley was innocent, after all. I was wrong. I thought about riding out tonight, trying to find him. But what good would that do? I wouldn't even know which direction to set off in.'\n\n'Precisely. Rushing around without a fixed plan helps nobody, Stanton. Again, you need to use your wits. But Lindley must be brought to justice, and it is my \u2013 indeed, our \u2013 responsibility to do so. That is what you must give your attention to. Lindley may have run from here. But everybody leaves a path. And exactly as with looking at events, it is the same with a path. We find its beginning and we follow it.'\n\n'We?' Stanton's appalled question matched his expression.\n\n'Yes, we. I have no intention of travelling in these woods alone, especially with the likes of Lindley potentially on the loose. Our path may have many turns and false lanes, but it will lead us to where we want to be. We will start our own search tomorrow. Start with Lindley's shelter in the woods. I want to view the reed pond again too. Now, go and get some sleep, Stanton. Remember to pray for Theaker's soul tonight.'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Stanton rose and went to the door. 'And if I may suggest it, we should do the search on horseback, as Edgar's lands stretch out a long way in every direction.'\n\nHorseback again. Barling sighed inside but nodded. 'Very well.'\n\n'Goodnight, sir.'\n\n'Goodnight.'\n\nAs the door closed behind Stanton, Barling stretched his arms and eased out his shoulders. A long day, but only one. So much had happened that it felt much longer.\n\nHe looked through the items he'd recorded, both from tonight as well as previously.\n\nTo Lindley swears he is innocent, Barling had added, Lindley also still swears he is innocent to H.S. Lindley \u2013 no proof of innocence \u2013 ordeal? He sighed as he added, Lindley has escaped. He was not Sir Reginald Edgar, so he did not write that a monster had been released by him, Barling, and Hugo Stanton.\n\nInstead he wrote, No witnesses. Again. At least, none that could be found.\n\nHis earlier note stared up at him.\n\nWhy would Nicholas Lindley want Geoffrey Smith dead?\n\nUnder it he wrote:\n\nWhy would Nicholas Lindley want Bartholomew Theaker dead?\n\nBarling shook his head. He did not think for one moment that he or Stanton was responsible for Lindley's escape. Lindley was: he was the one who had found a way out of the gaol. However, Edgar, as well as many people in Claresham, clearly believed the King's men were blameworthy. Were angry, upset and more.\n\nEmotion. Always emotion. He sighed again.\n\nTruth be told, he had been very surprised by the discovery of the empty gaol. Shocked to the core, in fact. But justice could not be done by having hysterics. Dispassionate enquiry always served the truth best. He poured himself a cup of water, warm as his own blood in the heat of the night. The burden of justice had become much heavier today. Like so much in his life, he would shoulder it without complaint.\n\nHe had no other path."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Though the day promised to again be very hot, the morning held a slight freshness, much to Barling's relief.\n\nBut as his horse broke into a fast trot to match Stanton's, he rapidly became overheated once again as he fought to keep his balance. 'I would like. To view the reed pond again, Stanton.' By the Virgin, his speech bounced as much as he did.\n\n'Of course, sir.'\n\nThe younger man might as well be sat on one of Edgar's padded chairs. He seemed so at home on a horse, unlike Barling. Given any say in the matter, Barling would prefer to walk, or ride in a litter, or take a barge, as he liked to do in his beloved London. All were steadier, more pleasing ways of getting about. Horses needed constant watching, were given to sudden fits of unpredictable behaviour. Yet sat astride a horse he was yet again.\n\n'The reed pond it is, sir.' Stanton pointed to a track that branched from the main street. 'It's down that way.'\n\n'Stanton, I am giving you permission to call me by my name.' Barling had thought about this for a good while after Stanton left last night. 'If you always call me \"sir\", then you will be viewed in less regard. I do not want people to view you as some sort of servant.'\n\nDismay would probably sum up Stanton's reaction. He nodded, looking as if he would rather never utter another word.\n\n'While we are making our way there,' said Barling, 'show me every place within Claresham that you now know of, or any of which you have heard.'\n\n'May I ask why, si\u2014 Barling?'\n\n'You heard me mention connections to Edgar, how the murders may be linked. When looking into a murder, into any crime, it is not only the people who are linked. Places often are too. One should look at all different elements together, separately and in combination. You have already been out and about more than me, so you can pass that knowledge on.'\n\n'I see.' Stanton raised a hand and began indicating the different homes and buildings and which patches of land were worked by whom.\n\nBarling nodded in approval at Stanton's sharp memory.\n\nThe younger man's pace slowed as they approached the reed pond, and his gaze darted everywhere.\n\n'Is there something amiss?' asked Barling.\n\n'I'm a bit bothered that Lindley might still be around. And I can't believe I left Agnes alone here yesterday. Anything could have happened to her.'\n\n'You did not know at the time that it was murder. There are two of us here, Stanton. We have fast horses at our disposal. Even if Lindley were here, those would be foolish odds. We shall remain vigilant. If there is any cause for concern, we ride away and raise the alarm.'\n\nThey dismounted, Stanton with ease and Barling taking great care not to end up in an undignified heap on the ground. He looked over the still pond, then led the way to where the body had lain.\n\nA few crushed plants. Patches of churned-up grass. Water lapping against a bit of the bank that had crumbled in. Nothing more to suggest this was where a man met his violent, untimely death.\n\n'Looking at it now,' said Stanton, 'I find it hard to believe it happened.' He shuddered. 'But it did.'\n\n'A peaceful place indeed. Or rather should be.' Barling's gaze swept around the pond.\n\n'But also a quiet place.' Stanton still appeared on edge. 'Maybe Lindley was hiding out here and Theaker disturbed him.'\n\n'Perhaps.'\n\nThe reeds that Theaker had cut over many weeks sat stacked a few yards away, drying in the sun.\n\n'We need to check over there, Stanton.' Barling led the way to them, his horse's reins firm in one hand. He did not expect to find anything. The stacks were low and tightly packed. Reeds did not have the softness, warmth or concealing qualities of hay.\n\n'All down to Theaker's hard work,' said Stanton. 'And now he'll know none of it. A shame.'\n\n'As he will never have his betrothed, Agnes, as his wife.'\n\n'I wonder how she is,' said Stanton. 'She seemed to go into a sort of walking faint yesterday.'\n\n'She did. Time to move on from here.' Barling put a foot in one stirrup, prepared to mount.\n\n'Her heart must be broken, mustn't it?' Stanton was already back in the saddle. 'First her father, now Theaker. Poor Agnes.'\n\n'You make a good point about Agnes Smith.' Barling was up too, though with a struggle that had him huffing with effort.\n\n'That she must be heartbroken?' replied Stanton. 'I think most folk would guess that.'\n\n'No, your good point is a link. Lindley may have some sort of a grudge against Agnes's family.'\n\nThey set off once more.\n\n'But Theaker wasn't Agnes's family,' said Stanton. 'At least, not yet.'\n\n'Links are not always the full answer. But they may lead to it. Now we must proceed to examine Lindley's shelter in the woods, the one he told you about.'\n\n'I'm not entirely sure where it is.'\n\n'Then once we find it,' said Barling, 'we will be.'\n\nStanton merely nodded.\n\n'And, in answer to the question that I know is on your lips,' said Barling, 'no, I do not believe for one moment that Lindley will still be there.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "'That must be the shelter.' Stanton kept his murmur low. 'There. Through the trees.'\n\n'There is no need to whisper, Stanton.' Barling rode past him in an unstable trot. 'Follow me.'\n\n'Yes, sir,' mouthed Stanton at his back. Barling's remarks about him, Stanton, having quick wits had been unexpected and pleased him to a depth that surprised him. But, God in heaven, why had Barling decided that Stanton should call him by his name? It was bad enough to have to do it, but the way Barling's face stiffened every time Stanton did so suggested the clerk disliked it as much as it made Stanton uneasy.\n\nStanton dismounted and secured Morel to a tree, with a quick pat to her sweating neck and a swipe at the worst flies that buzzed into her patient face.\n\nAhead, Barling climbed from his horse much as a man would climb down a flight of steep, icy stone steps: stiff, cautious movements and then a final awkward slide.\n\nStanton would bet Agnes would find it funny. He checked himself. She wouldn't be finding much amusing for a long time. It had been bad enough for him seeing Theaker's body. But he barely knew the man. For Agnes, Bartholomew Theaker was the man she'd been going to marry. Before the outlaw who'd lived in that shelter up ahead decided otherwise.\n\nHe joined Barling and they walked up to the shelter together, a sense that they were being watched tugging at him.\n\n'Lindley was telling the truth when he described his shelter,' said Stanton, voice low. 'He said it was poor.'\n\n'Poor does not even properly capture it,' replied Barling quietly. 'It is only a few green branches heaped together.'\n\nKeeping at a safe distance lest its murderous owner had returned, Stanton crouched down to look inside. 'There's a pile of dry leaves in there. A few rags. Eggshells.' He straightened up. 'It's wretched.'\n\n'Wretched indeed.' Barling's face changed. 'Did you hear that, Stanton?'\n\nHe did. His heart leapt into a fast beat.\n\nA rustle in the bushes. Steady, definite. Something was moving through them.\n\nOr someone.\n\nBarling gave a silent point, his pale face even paler. A nod. A gesture.\n\nStanton returned it, showed he understood that Barling wanted them to close in on it. He wished he didn't.\n\nHe fell in alongside Barling, sweat trickling down his back. Lindley had taken down the tall Smith, the obese Theaker. Barling might be able to scare at will, but he was a small man.\n\nThe movement in the bushes was closer now.\n\nStanton prayed for a deer, a fox. Even a wild boar. Just not Nicholas Lindley armed with an axe or a knife.\n\nThen came a sound. Short. Almost a bark. But human.\n\nStanton swapped a wordless, startled look with Barling.\n\nThen the sound again and again, and a creature burst forth from the bushes, the noise coming from an open mouth.\n\n'God's eyes!' Stanton recoiled, yanking Barling back with him.\n\nBut what a mouth. The lips were flabby, wet, and a large tongue lolled from it. The creature itself wasn't as tall as Barling, but heavily muscled, with a shock of dark hair. Yet it was no creature.\n\n'Saints preserve us, it's a wild man!'\n\nStanton saw it even as Barling said it. Yes, it was a man. Barefooted. Muddied face. Dressed in a worn, dirty jerkin. One dark eye was half turned in on itself, the other was big, half bulging from its socket.\n\nThe man made a sort of gargle. Peered at them as he swayed from foot to foot, his hands raised and tugging at his own hair.\n\n'I think he's going to attack.' Stanton gave a sharp whisper. 'We need to rush him first.' He wished so hard at that second that he was a competent fighting man.\n\nA horrified whisper back. 'Both?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Now?' Still horrified.\n\n'Now.' Stanton raced towards the wild man, yelling as he left his feet and crashed into the man's chest.\n\nThe man staggered back with a bellow and a swipe.\n\nBarling grabbed at his arm but was sent sprawling with a cry.\n\nStanton slammed into the man again, locking his double-handed grip on one powerful wrist and twisting it up behind the man's back to loud roars. The man landed a kick on Stanton's knee.\n\nPain shot through it and Stanton staggered, but he got one foot behind the wild man's legs, sending him to the ground. The man flailed and yelled, but Stanton was on his chest, pinning him down.\n\nA shaken Barling was back on his feet. 'My belt, here.' Barling had it looped at one end.\n\nThe man hollered still more as Stanton got his hands secure.\n\nStanton stood up and dragged him upright, the man's yells sending a spray of spit in his face from that loose, huge tongue.\n\n'Where to now, Barling?'\n\nIf Lindley had smelled bad from the gaol, their captive was much, much worse.\n\n'Back to Edgar's hall.' The King's clerk gave a tight nod. The sweat pebbling his face showed how unused he was to this. But Barling would never admit weakness of any kind. 'I want to hear Sir Reginald Edgar's excuse for not having this dangerous man in his gaol.' Barling paused to drag in a steadying breath. 'A man who may well have killed Geoffrey Smith and Bartholomew Theaker.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "'Not long to go now, Stanton.'\n\nThey'd cut through the woods to get to Edgar's hall, as it would get them there faster. They needed speed; the man wouldn't be contained much longer.\n\n'Just as well.' Shoulders straining, Stanton looked down from his horse.\n\nThe wild man stumbled and yelled alongside, secured to the saddle with a length of rope. Keeping Morel steady was a challenge. The noise and movement beside her made her nervous. If she bolted, the man would be dragged and trampled.\n\n'With me, Stanton.' Barling climbed from his horse, and Stanton did the same.\n\nHe released their prisoner from the saddle, leaving the man's hands bound, even as he twisted and fought in Stanton's grasp. The man's strange shouts could now be a bull locked in a barn.\n\nStanton cursed silently as he got another kick. He could do with Barling's help, but the clerk stayed well out of reach.\n\nAs they entered the hall, Edgar glanced up from his place at the head of his messy, laden midday table, his face a red mask even at this hour from plenty of wine. His mouth fell open.\n\n'What the devil's going on, Barling?'\n\n'What is going on, Edgar' \u2013 Barling had to raise his voice over the prisoner's noises as Stanton grappled with him \u2013 'is that I have spent a few short hours properly investigating matters. And in that time I have already managed to find and secure this unholy and dangerous creature.'\n\nEdgar bit at the large lump of meat on his eating knife, looked at the man, looked back at Barling. And smirked. 'What you and your assistant have managed to find, Barling, is John Webb.'\n\n'John Webb?' the clerk repeated.\n\nStanton felt sorry for Barling. Well, almost. Although Barling had started to grudgingly acknowledge that Stanton might have sharp wits, the clerk had made him feel boneheaded enough times. To see Barling in the same position was quite a sight.\n\n'The very one.' Edgar spat out a piece of gristle to join others strewn across the floor. 'Only son of Peter and Margaret Webb. He is likely possessed by the devil. I don't know what he's doing out. They usually keep him in. He's an imbecile, but he can work in their fulling shed, doing the wool treading. A fine job for him, if you ask me. Nobody in their senses wants to stand knee-deep in stale piss all day.' He drained his wine and got to his feet. 'You need to take him back.' He staggered from the table, headed for the door. 'I'm for my bed in this heat this afternoon.' He paused in front of them, Stanton now trying to untie a wriggling, groaning John as Barling glared at the lord, stock-still. 'What a find for the King's men, eh? What a find.' He got as far as the hall before his huge laugh broke out and carried on. And on.\n\nNow free, John Webb took off into a corner, crouching low on his bare feet as he kept his unmatched eyes on them, his moans quieter but constant.\n\nBarling turned to Stanton. 'An unfortunate error.' His face gave little away. But his pinched nostrils told Stanton that he was crosser than fifty sticks. 'Most unfortunate.' He brushed at the dirt and twigs stuck to his cloak from the struggles in the bushes with John. 'I did mention false alleys, did I not, Stanton?'\n\nStanton nodded, sure that any word from his mouth right now would be the wrong one.\n\n'And with false alleys, one simply turns around and comes back out.' Barling gestured at John. 'Please return the Webbs' son to them, Stanton. With all haste.' He brushed at his cloak again. 'I am going to my solar to remove the dirt of this morning. And, of course, to update my records.' He marched out without waiting for any reply.\n\nStanton let out a long breath. Easier said than done getting John Webb to his home. He moved a few steps towards him. 'John.' He made his tone as firm as he could. 'Come with me. Now.'\n\nJohn responded by slapping the side of his own head, then shuffled sideways, still crouching, away from Stanton.\n\n'Now. Or there'll be trouble.'\n\nNothing. The man wouldn't budge.\n\nThis wasn't going to work. The picture of Edgar, of Barling, returning to the hall later on and finding John still here came clear as the day outside in Stanton's mind. His life wouldn't be worth living.\n\nIf orders didn't work, he'd try a different approach. Even the best guard dogs could be tempted with meat.\n\nStanton went over to the table to see what Edgar had left. There should be something. While Edgar's home was a dirty jumble, his food and wine were always the best. Especially the wine. Stanton filled a goblet and downed it as he took a look. He needed it.\n\nBones picked clean didn't look very promising. Pottage, however tasty it looked, wouldn't work either. Then he saw what would: a plate of gingerbread. He picked up one of the small triangles, rich with honey as well as the delicious warmth of the spice. He broke it in two, threw one piece on the floor in front of John.\n\nThe wild man reached out a hand, pawed at it. Then he grabbed it, lifting it before his bulging eye, and sniffed hard at it. But he didn't eat. Instead, he shoved it into the folds of his own filthy clothing. But he'd calmed.\n\nStanton threw another piece.\n\nSame.\n\nHe repeated the action as John repeated his own, Stanton moving a bit closer each time.\n\nThen with a yell from John, Stanton had hold of a handful of his clothing. He pulled the flailing, shouting John to his feet.\n\nThis was going to be hard work.\n\nAnd it was. By the time Stanton got to the door of the Webbs' cottage, he was sweating.\n\nSweating as much from wrestling a loudly struggling John along the hot road as he was at the reaction he feared he was going to get from the Webbs. His luck was in, in that the street had been deserted. Otherwise, he'd have had a crowd with him by now.\n\nThe door flew open before he had a chance to knock. John's noise would have alerted them.\n\nMargaret stood there. 'God save us.' Her stunned expression puckered in a heartbeat into fury. 'What are you doing with John?'\n\n'I'm sorry, mistress\u2014'\n\n'John?' Webb's call from within. 'What do you mean?'\n\n'The King's man has him, Peter!'\n\nWebb was at the door now too. 'What has John done now?'\n\n'Nothing, nothing at all,' said Stanton. 'There's been a mistake.'\n\n'I'll say there has.' Margaret yanked John from Stanton's hold to her own, where he instantly quietened.\n\n'Do you mind telling us what sort of mistake?' asked Webb, his voice low and his grey eyes fixed on Stanton like stone.\n\n'I... I mean, we \u2013 the King's men that is \u2013 were out looking into the recent murders. We found John wandering in the woods earlier. Didn't know, of course, that he was your son. Sir Reginald Edgar told us when we brought John to the hall.'\n\n'He shouldn't be in any hall,' said Margaret. 'Shouldn't be anywhere except here.'\n\n'Here with us,' repeated Webb.\n\n'You should have left him be.' Margaret led a docile John over to the large shed Stanton had noticed before, which he now knew was the fulling shed. 'Like you should leave us all be.' She had the door to the shed open. 'All of us: leave us alone!' She slammed the door of the shed shut on her and John.\n\n'My apologies for my wife, sir. Like all women, she forgets her place when she's riled.'\n\n'No need, Webb. I'm the one who should be apologising. We didn't hurt your son. Not in any way. I think we alarmed him, that's all. But I'm very sorry that we did that too.'\n\n'That's very good of you to reassure me, sir. I hope to God he didn't hurt you or the King's clerk.'\n\n'No, a few bumps in the struggles, that's all.'\n\n'That's a relief to hear, sir. John, see, he can... lash out. We never know when. Or why.'\n\nHe is likely possessed by the devil. Edgar's view of John.\n\nWebb's stooped shoulders seemed to suddenly sag more under an unseen weight. 'It's hard, you know. With the boy. Hard.' Webb caught his breath. 'Thank you for bothering about him.' He glanced back at his loom.\n\n'I won't keep you any more, Webb. Good day to you.'\n\n'And you, sir.' Webb closed the door, and Stanton heard the steady rhythm of the loom start up again.\n\nA hard life indeed for the Webbs to have a son like that. He started on the road back to Edgar's.\n\nLike Barling, he also needed to get cleaned up.\n\nHe had the wake of Bartholomew Theaker to attend."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "The sun had left the sky, but the dusk kept the heat in a suffocating blanket of still air.\n\nStanton walked with Barling up to the late Bartholomew Theaker's cottage for the thatcher's laying out. He'd enjoyed his thorough wash only a short while ago, but the clean linen he'd put on was already soaked in sweat.\n\n'Like a baker's oven this evening,' he said to Barling.\n\nThe clerk didn't reply. Clad as always in his black robes, the man never seemed warm or had much colour in his smooth face.\n\nPeople were gathered outside, their numbers suggesting that all the village was here. The steady murmur of prayer for the dead man came on the air, led by the rector, Osmond, who spoke from the doorway, the better to include those inside the cottage as well as out. Some folk raised their eyes briefly, nudged those alongside.\n\nStanton and Barling paused to allow the prayer to finish.\n\n'Our arrival is noted, Stanton,' said Barling in a low tone. 'I did not expect otherwise.'\n\n'Me neither,' replied Stanton in the same way. 'I see Peter and Margaret Webb are here. That's them, over to my right. The stooped man and the woman with the tight coif. I'm sure everyone knows about what happened with John.' Stanton had filled Barling in on the way over here about the reception he'd had from the Webbs.\n\n'No doubt. But we must not let it concern us. To dwell on an error is never of benefit.'\n\nStanton shot him a glance. Barling's tone had changed abruptly, dropping with his last sentence. The clerk looked lost in his own thoughts, which was not at all like him.\n\n'Are you all right, Barling?'\n\nHis usual sharp gaze snapped back. 'Of course. Now tell me: who else is here whom you have spoken to?'\n\n'That man over there, the tall one. That's the stonecutter, Thomas Dene.'\n\n'I see him. A handsome fellow, as you described. And that wiry man is Caldbeck the ploughman, is he not?'\n\nStanton nodded.\n\nThe prayer finished with a full-voiced chorus of 'Amen,' and the large assembly of villagers broke up into smaller groups in a muted buzz of chatter. Over to one side, under a scented white-blossomed tree, a full ale barrel had been opened, and many made their way there to slake their thirst in the heat.\n\n'Ah! Good Aelred Barling, you have come to pay your respects.' Osmond hurried over with a loud greeting, his face blotchy in the heat. 'And Hugo Stanton too.'\n\n'We have, sir priest,' said Barling.\n\nStanton gave a brief bow to the rector.\n\nOsmond's echoing words had made sure that every ear in the place heard that the King's men were here. 'Good, good. Then would you like to do so now?'\n\n'Thank you, sir priest,' said Barling, Stanton also muttering his thanks.\n\nAs Osmond led them through to the door, Stanton caught bits of conversation. He didn't need to hear any more. He knew what everyone was talking about.\n\nThat devil Lindley.\n\nThe law. Always the excuse.\n\nA dreadful end, God rest him.\n\nHanging. The one answer to all this.\n\nThe stuffy heat in the cottage was even worse than outside. A low whisper of women weeping filled it.\n\n'Please.' Osmond stepped to one side, gesturing for Stanton to move in to where Barling stood at the feet of the huge mound of Theaker's shrouded body. Candles burned brightly at the head and feet.\n\nStanton crossed himself and joined his hands in silent prayer, as Barling was doing. To his right, lined up on a settle facing the body, sat four women. Two he didn't recognise. Two he did. One was Hilda Folkes, the scarred midwife he'd disturbed in her work. The other was Agnes Smith.\n\nBut where the other three women wept and sobbed, their white coifs and veils moving with their grief, the bare-headed Agnes did neither.\n\nShe sat bolt upright, long dark hair curling past her shoulders, fists in her lap, staring straight in front of her.\n\n'You can see that he is at peace now.' Osmond's loud whisper filled the room as he moved to the head of the body. 'Come and see.'\n\nAgnes gave a wordless exclamation and shot to her feet.\n\n'Agnes.' Hilda put a hand on her arm. 'Don't.'\n\n'Leave me be, Hilda.' Agnes brushed her off and walked out.\n\n'Very. Upset.' Osmond mouthed the words to Stanton and Barling.\n\nBarling held a hand up to Osmond and nodded to Stanton to leave too.\n\nThe other women carried on their mourning for the corpse, despite the interruption, as Stanton filed out with the two men.\n\nThe rector flapped his hand in front of his face. 'I would wager that Theaker's shroud is the only dry linen tonight. And what spotless linen it is.' He gave a long sigh. 'Hilda always does such excellent work with the laying out.'\n\n'It was indeed warm, Osmond,' said Barling. 'Now, if you will excuse us, Stanton and I have much to attend to back at your uncle's hall.' He shot Stanton a look.\n\n'That's right, sir priest,' said Stanton, taking the hint. 'Much.'\n\n'Then at least have a sup before you go on your way.'\n\nWar waged within Stanton. He'd love to get away from the accusing glances and half-heard words. But a long drink of ale would be a wonder in his dry throat.\n\n'I insist.' Osmond was already waving to someone by the barrel. 'A small token for the work of the King's men.'\n\n'Thank you, sir priest.' Barling hid his annoyance at the pointed remark. But Stanton could tell it a mile off by now.\n\n'Here we are.' Osmond accepted a foaming cup from the alewife as she handed over the other two.\n\n'To Theaker.' He raised his drink.\n\n'Theaker,' said Stanton and Barling.\n\nHe'd been right about the ale. He drained half the cup as Barling clutched his.\n\n'A good man,' said Osmond. 'Who liked a life where there was a good seat and a milk pudding and not too much thatch to mend. That priests and clerks could take such a relaxed approach to life, eh, Barling?'\n\n'Indeed.' Barling nodded politely.\n\n'Liked his betrothed as well.' Osmond gave a broad wink. 'Some say he liked Agnes even more than milk pudding.'\n\nStanton drained the other half of his ale lest he say something rude to the priest. Barling, he saw, kept his face still as always.\n\n'And where has Agnes gone, Osmond?' asked Barling. 'She left the cottage quite suddenly.'\n\nThe gossipy Osmond seized on the new topic fed to him by the clerk. 'Oh, she's very upset. Very.' He warbled on to Barling.\n\nStanton's cup was empty. Neither Osmond nor Barling were paying him any attention. He might as well have another cup of that good ale. He went over to the beer barrel to get it.\n\nHe arrived at the same time as Simon Caldbeck.\n\n'You first, sir.' The ploughman's angular face lifted in a smile that had no warmth. 'The King's man shouldn't have to wait, should he?'\n\n'It doesn't bother me, Caldbeck.'\n\n'You have to.' The smile was gone and the surly look was back. 'It's the way of things.'\n\nThe alewife served Stanton first, and he waited until Caldbeck had his. 'We should drink to Theaker, eh?'\n\n'Whatever you say.' Caldbeck downed his ale in one swift draught. 'There. Done.' He handed the empty cup back to the alewife and walked off without another word.\n\nStanton ignored the slight. Taking his full drink, he went and sat on the far side of the blossom tree, where he made himself comfortable on one of the big roots. The thickets that lined the edge of the dead thatcher's property were full of birds singing the hot day to sleep. The man should be here to enjoy this place, as he surely must have done on many an evening. Good rest to you, Theaker. He took another drink.\n\nThen paused. From the thickets, he heard fast, jagged breathing.\n\nNot the wild John Webb again. He shot to his feet, spilling his drink, all peace gone.\n\nHe looked around. Everyone stood a good couple of yards away.\n\nMore long, laboured breaths. Moving leaves and branches.\n\nHe frowned. It didn't sound like John. At all.\n\nBut somebody was definitely in there. Watching from a distance. Hidden. Watching mourners at a laying out. The laying out of a murdered man. Despite the heat, the hairs rose on Stanton's neck. Somebody was watching the results of their handiwork. Lindley. He'd not gone anywhere.\n\nHe filled his lungs to call out. Then caught his shout back.\n\nOut of the thicket came Thomas Dene, fastening up his braies. He stopped dead. 'What are you looking at?'\n\nStanton raised a hand. 'Sorry, my friend\u2014'\n\n'What did you say, Thomas?' A voice came from behind the stonecutter. A female voice. 'I can't hear you.' A flush-faced Agnes emerged from the thicket too. Her smile dropped. 'You.'\n\nStanton bent to pick up his cup. 'I was just going.' He matched his words with his actions.\n\n'I'll say you were going.' The powerful stonecutter marched up to Stanton, fell into step beside him. 'Were you following Agnes, is that it? I've met plenty men like you in my time.' His big fists clenched. 'Dealt with them and all.'\n\n'I was sat having a drink.' Stanton held up a hand. 'That's all.' Damn it to hell. He could see curious faces turning towards the fuss.\n\n'Thomas. Stop.' Agnes grasped at the stonecutter's arm, her voice also raised. 'I can fight my own battles.'\n\nThe stonecutter ignored her but halted his steps. 'Get off this property, Stanton. Do you hear me?'\n\nNow came pointing, calls to others from those who had seen to those who hadn't.\n\nStanton saw Barling thrust his ale into Osmond's hand. 'Good evening to you, sir priest.' The clerk moved quickly alongside Stanton as they walked away, back to Edgar's hall.\n\nThe chorus of gossip and loud comments could be arrows at Stanton's back.\n\n'Another public altercation blamed upon the King's men.' Barling's words came clipped, furious. 'Stanton, what were you thinking?'\n\n'Listen, Barling.' Stanton had had enough of being publicly humiliated for his mistakes. 'You're the one who says I have quick wits, so just listen. I could be wrong \u2013 no, I'm not wrong. Agnes and Thomas Dene were together. A few minutes ago. Either they were pretending to be dogs in the thickets, or they were lying together. Which is the more likely?'\n\nBarling's eyebrows went up. 'I see. Now, that is interesting. I did ask Osmond the question about where she had gone, a question to which you have provided the answer.'\n\n'Because I notice things. Me.' Stanton pushed his point. 'Even small things.'\n\n'What is small and what is important are not necessarily the same thing, Stanton.' He held a hand up as Stanton opened his mouth to argue. 'But yes, you do notice things. As for Agnes?' He frowned. 'Such fornication was not only a sinful act but one that is quite astonishing, given the circumstances. The girl's betrothed is not even in the ground.'\n\nThey were approaching Edgar's hall, the dusk moving into dark.\n\nBarling continued. 'It is behaviour that requires much closer scrutiny. I shall speak to both of them tomorrow. But separately. Go and fetch Dene from the quarry first thing. I will speak to Agnes alone after that. Also, am I correct in that Hilda Folkes, the woman with the scarred face, is the midwife you met?'\n\n'She is.'\n\n'Then I shall see her while you are fetching Dene. If, as Osmond says, she lays out all the bodies, she may have useful information for our enquiries.'\n\nStanton couldn't believe the clerk's next words as they walked in the door of the hall.\n\n'And well done, Stanton: a good evening's work.'\n\nBut he could believe the next.\n\n'Good,' continued Barling, 'for one who is so new to learning how to exercise their wits.' The clerk carried on to his solar.\n\nStanton mouthed a favourite swear word at Barling's retreating back.\n\nAnd for one who was supposedly limited in his wits, it was a fine, fine choice."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "'I'll answer anything you want to ask me, sir,' said Hilda Folkes to Barling.\n\nSat across from him at the table in Edgar's hall, the midwife looked at him with all necessary respect, respect which was matched with her humble tone.\n\n'Answer it truthfully too, I swear,' she went on. 'Though I'm not sure how the likes of me could be of any help to a man who is of the court of the lord King.'\n\nWith her clear eyes of a delicate blue, her good bearing and her neat coif and clothes, she should be a woman who carried her age well. But nothing could take from the ruin of her scarred face, the low morning sun casting a cruel light on her skin that picked out every one of the hollows in her flesh.\n\n'I can assure you that your assistance is important, Mistress Folkes,' said Barling. 'As I am sure your answers will be. Please be assured also that anything you tell me will not be for common gossip within the village.'\n\nShe sat up a little straighter. 'I have nothing to hide, sir. Nothing.'\n\nBarling gave a polite smile, as if he agreed, though he did not respond directly. His experience over the years was that those who made such claims very often did indeed have something they wished to conceal. 'Now, you are the midwife here in Claresham, are you not?'\n\n'Yes, sir. I delivered my latest not two days ago, was doing so when your man, Stanton, came knocking. I hope I wasn't rude to him, sir. But that birth was a real struggle. I had to call Margaret Webb. She wouldn't have been my first choice to help. Many people say she's cursed, because of her son, John. Yet I had no choice, with everyone out in the fields. Without a second pair of hands, I'd have lost both of them. And Margaret is deft and strong. Both mother and her baby son are hale. Another safe delivery to praise in the Virgin's name. Always a relief for me, even after so many years.'\n\n'I have no doubt,' said Barling. 'How many years have you carried out your services for the mothers and babies of this village?'\n\n'For the last twenty-three, sir. I learned many of my skills from my mother, who was the midwife before me. But she died of a sudden fever when I was not much over twenty, and then it was just me. I wasn't anything like as experienced as her, but over the years I've managed to become so.'\n\n'God chooses our path for us,' said Barling. 'Even though it is not always a path we would choose for ourselves.' He knew that well himself, as he could see did she.\n\nA shadow of sadness passed over her damaged features. 'No.'\n\n'Although you have birthed many who live here,' he said, 'you also carry out the washing of the dead before burial and dress them in their shroud. Is that correct?'\n\n'Yes, sir. Not only me, you understand. Usually the deceased's womenfolk as well. But as often happens, there may not be any if the person who has died is very old, or in times of a sickness or plague.' Her clear gaze met Barling's. 'I want them to be buried with dignity, sir.'\n\n'It is a laudable task you perform, mistress, and a holy one.' He consulted one of his notes before he asked his next question. 'May I ask if you washed Geoffrey Smith?'\n\n'Geoffrey? Of course.'\n\n'I appreciate that this may be a difficult question for you to answer, but can you describe his wounds?'\n\n'It's not difficult at all, sir.' Her gaze stayed steady. 'His head had been opened. I was able to make that right with a bandage. But his face? His face was smashed open. His jaw was broken. Teeth missing. His mouth ripped. I did what I could to make him presentable. It was hopeless.' Her voice wavered. 'He'd been a good-looking man.' She sucked in a deep breath. 'Such a terrible end at the hands of that devil Lindley.'\n\n'And if I may ask another delicate question, did you see any other wounds or marks on Smith's body?'\n\nHilda frowned. 'Other wounds, sir? May God keep him, do you not think he had enough?'\n\n'The body of one who has been murdered should be examined,' said Barling, 'especially if it is a secret homicide. Other wounds may help to give an indication of what has happened. I examined Bartholomew Theaker's body, for instance. But I have no means of examining that of Geoffrey Smith.'\n\nHer frown cleared. 'I see. Forgive my sharp response, sir. No, poor Geoffrey had no other wounds. Save those that killed him.'\n\n'There is no need to ask my forgiveness, mistress. Yours was a truly sad task.' Barling nodded in sympathy, though he wondered at the deep emotion that entered her voice whenever she said Smith's name. 'It must have been even more so for Agnes to carry out.'\n\n'Agnes?' Hilda shook her head. 'No, Agnes did not help.'\n\n'But I thought you said the womenfolk of the dead would help to prepare the body.'\n\nHilda shook her head again. 'Agnes didn't help. I asked her if she wanted to, but she said she couldn't bear it. It was she who had found Geoffrey's body, and the shock was terrible for her.'\n\n'With regard to the discovery of the body,' said Barling, 'did you witness anything on the night of the murder?'\n\n'No, sir. I was asleep in bed. I was roused by the hue and cry.'\n\n'And was your husband roused also, Mistress Folkes?'\n\n'My husband, sir?' She looked startled by his question. 'I have never been married.' She brought her fingers to her ruined face. 'I think you can see why.'\n\n'Not every man gives weight to looks. There are other qualities in a woman.'\n\n'There are.' She gave a rueful smile as she dropped her hands and folded them on the tabletop once more. 'But no, nobody ever asked for my hand. I live alone.'\n\n'Very well.' Barling made a note. Another dweller of this place with nothing to report about the night of the murder. Nothing seen, nothing heard. 'So you prepared Smith's body for his grave.'\n\n'Yes, and I did the work alone.' A flush rose in her pitted cheeks. 'I was happy to do so. Geoffrey and I were almost the same age. We'd grown up together, him and me and Isabel. We had been close friends all of our lives.'\n\n'Isabel?'\n\n'Isabel Smith, his late wife. Agnes's mother.'\n\n'I knew he was a widower, but I did not know his wife's name.' Barling made another note on his tablet. 'When did he lose her?'\n\n'As many years ago as Agnes has been alive.' Hilda's hands tightened. 'Isabel Smith died in childbirth, sir.'\n\n'Were you present at that birth?'\n\n'Yes, sir.' Now her knuckles were white. 'It was the very first birth I attended after my own mother had died. As I've told you, I was young myself and didn't have my mother's knowledge. You can see with your own eyes that Agnes is a strapping girl. She takes after Geoffrey, while her mother was very small-boned. I know it doesn't always follow with childbirth. The smallest women can bring them out as easy as a cat having kittens. But with poor Isabel?' She shook her head. 'Agnes got stuck. Nothing I tried worked. Her mother was dying in front of my eyes, which meant the babe was dying too. I got my knife out and did what was necessary.'\n\nBarling pulled in a long breath. 'A difficult task,' he said, aware of how inadequate his words were for the actions Hilda would have had to take.\n\n'Oh, I can see your face, sir. But birth, just like death, can be a messy, bloody business. Like I say, I got Agnes out. Thought she was gone as well. I slapped her hard. Then she filled her lungs with the loudest yells I'd ever heard from a newborn.' A smile flickered, went out. 'Poor Geoffrey. He had the deepest love for his wife. Like I said, we'd all grown up together. Isabel's pregnancy had been easy. She blossomed day to day, with Geoffrey the happiest man in Claresham.' Her look changed again. 'It's like that, you know. The carrying of a baby never tells what awaits the woman at the birth. When I told him the news, he was devastated. Because I lost her, Geoffrey lost her. It was so hard. I thought \u2013 everyone thought \u2013 he'd take another wife. He was still a young man, a fine-looking man, with a good living. But no.' She bit her lip. 'He never did, never looked at another woman. He raised Agnes on his own.' The regret was clear in her voice.\n\n'Not something many men would choose to do,' said Barling.\n\n'No. And Geoffrey should have had time to mourn, but he had a baby to attend to. Agnes was wet-nursed by a woman in the village who's long dead. That was the only thing Geoffrey would allow. He did everything else himself. Saints preserve us.' Hilda rolled her eyes. 'A baby crawling around in a forge, then as a little one toddling around. It's a wonder she didn't burn to death or get hit by the hammer.'\n\n'Then I suppose one could say that her father did a good job in raising Agnes.'\n\nHilda gave a sharp sigh. 'Geoffrey Smith, as much as I cared for him, was a fool with that girl. She could do as she pleased. He never chastised her. Ever.' Her mouth tightened. 'A must with any child. They need a firm hand. And if that doesn't work, they need the stick. They have to learn. But Agnes never did. She always got her own way, always got whatever she wanted. That's why she's as wild and brazen as she is.'\n\n'Some say even worse about her.' Barling did not wish to repeat the Webbs' label of Agnes as a whore.\n\n'I know, sir.' Hilda raised her eyes to the heavens again. 'And they wouldn't be entirely wrong. She came to me just a few months ago, worried about her belly.'\n\n'Her belly?'\n\n'She asked me if I could feel if she was with child, sir.'\n\n'Ah,' said Barling as if he understood, though such an occurrence was a complete mystery to him. 'And was she?'\n\nHilda shook her head. 'No. But I told her if she was worried she was, then she should stop what she was doing. If you see what I mean, sir.'\n\n'I do.' Barling paused a moment. Thomas Dene had been here in Claresham for a few weeks, nothing more. 'But you say she came to you a few months ago about this?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Then it would have been her betrothed, the late Bartholomew Theaker, that she had been lying with.'\n\n'Theaker? No.' Hilda shook her head. 'She told me it was Simon Caldbeck, the ploughman.'\n\nBarling felt his own brows raise. Perhaps the names flung at Agnes were not so ill-suited.\n\nHilda went on. 'As Agnes wouldn't listen to me, I took him aside and told him to have more sense. Told him Geoffrey would take a horsewhip to him as well.'\n\n'Did Caldbeck listen?'\n\n'I don't know, sir. Only he or Agnes could tell you for certain. All I know is that she hasn't come to me about anything since.' She glanced to the window, then looked back at Barling. 'Will that be all, sir? I've many tasks to see to today and the sun has already climbed.'\n\n'I think that will be all for now, mistress. You have been extremely helpful. My thanks for your time.'\n\n'I hope I have been of some help, sir. All I want is justice for Geoffrey. I hope you can get it for him. And Bartholomew too, of course.'\n\n'Of course. I can assure you I am doing everything I can, Mistress Folkes. Good day to you.'\n\n'Good day, sir.' Hilda rose to her feet and walked to the door, where she paused. 'One more thing, sir.'\n\n'Yes, mistress?'\n\n'When you find Lindley and string him up, I'll not wash his corpse. I can tell you that now. Send him straight to hell. Please.'\n\nWith that, she was gone.\n\nAs Barling went over his notes, parts of Hilda's account touched his heart again, just as they had as he listened to her. The woman had clearly had a deep love for Geoffrey Smith, a love that had never been returned, at least not in the way she wanted. Barling knew that torment only too well, and it was a wound that could reopen at any time. He pushed the memory down at once, as he had trained himself to do. He needed to concentrate on the business at hand.\n\nStanton had been going to walk to the quarry to fetch Thomas Dene but decided to ride instead. He reckoned the big stonecutter might be a bit less intimidating from the back of a horse. Four hooves would also get Stanton out of there a lot faster if the man refused to come with him, a refusal Stanton guessed might be emphasised with the man's big fists.\n\nHe'd been pleased when Barling had given him his instructions last night. The idea of Dene having to come back to the hall with him to face the clerk's enquiries had appealed to him.\n\nBut it had appealed to him after a decent bellyful of ale.\n\nThis morning, with the rising sun already a broiling disc in the sky, he wasn't so sure. He shifted in his saddle and patted Morel's neck. She'd get him out of there. No question.\n\nThe road down to the quarry was steep and the loose stones weren't good for iron-clad hooves.\n\nStanton dismounted and led Morel down. The quarry still lay in shadow, though it wouldn't be for long. Down below, he could see the thin plume of smoke that would be Dene's fire rise in a straight line in the windless air. Good. If the man had broken his fast, it might put him in better humour.\n\nHe half slid on a stone, Morel's reins saving him this time.\n\nFinally, they were down. 'And in one piece, eh?' He patted her dark brown neck, and she nuzzled his hand with her soft nose.\n\nStanton left her free to search the ground for the odd tuft of grass that had forced its way through the stones. She wouldn't run off from here.\n\nNow that the noise of hooves and feet scrabbling on stones had stopped, he realised he could hear no other sound. No ring of hammer on stone like there had been when he first came here. An efficient hammer as well. A row of fresh, raw slabs leaned against a big boulder.\n\n'Dene?' His voice sounded odd down here. Flat. Not much of an echo. 'It's Hugo Stanton.' He licked the stone dust that already coated his lips, so fine it was invisible to the eye but must fill the air.\n\nNo reply.\n\n'Aelred Barling, the King's clerk, requests your presence.'\n\nNothing.\n\nThe stonecutter must be in his wooden hut, next to which the fire burned. There was no other sign of him.\n\nAs Stanton made his way over to it, a rattle came from the side of the quarry. He paused and looked around. 'Dene?'\n\nNo. Only a loose rock that had lost its grip on the steep quarry side, rolling and bouncing down in little puffs of dust before it came to a rest.\n\nHe carried on to the hut, past the fire. To the doorway. The open doorway.\n\n'Dene?'\n\nAfter, he couldn't remember what he screamed. How loud. How long.\n\nAll he could remember was running, running for Morel, her back, her long legs that would take him, get him out of there.\n\nRemember too the sight in the shed, which would never leave him.\n\nThe body of Thomas Dene. On the floor. No sign of his head.\n\nJust one of his slabs where it should be as a mass of red, red, red oozed out from underneath it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "'You need to go out there, Barling.' Edgar jerked his thumb at the tightly shuttered window of the hall. 'Otherwise, people will either climb in here or burn my manor to the ground. Their fury at Nicholas Lindley is matched by that at Thomas Dene. The two outsiders, that's what they're saying. Dene, a man skilled with a hammer and possessing many of them, helping Lindley to break the stone wall of my gaol to escape. Lindley rewarding him with a crushed skull. And they're right, God's eyes, they're right!'\n\n'I will be going out to your courtyard, Edgar,' replied Barling. 'I am only too well aware of the current mood, given what we now know about Dene. But I have not finished questioning Stanton.'\n\nThe young messenger sat on a chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. 'I think I've told you all I can, Barling.'\n\n'May God protect us, it's enough.' The rector Osmond was pale as the linen kerchief knotted at his neck to catch his sweat in the stifling heat of the closed room.\n\n'But it might not be,' said Barling. 'Stanton has been met with the most terrible of sights this morning with his discovery of Dene's body. In such circumstances, it is easy to miss out something of importance. We will go out when I am ready.'\n\nA lone scream rose above the cacophony. The loudest yet. By far. A woman.\n\n'Who in God's name is that?' Osmond clutched his hands together.\n\nEdgar peered through the slats in the shutter again. 'It's Agnes Smith. And she's swinging a staff around.' He marched to the door. 'I'm going out there before she kills somebody with it.'\n\n'Come on, Barling.' Stanton got to his feet. 'We have to.'\n\nBarling followed Edgar, Stanton at his side.\n\nOsmond hung back, dithering in panic.\n\n'I will make the address short, Stanton,' murmured Barling. 'I can assure you of that.'\n\n'Do what has to be done, Barling. I'll be all right.'\n\nThey went to the front door, where Edgar was already standing, yelling at his servants and grooms. 'Grab that thing off her! Now! She's only a girl! If you won't, I will!'\n\nBarling emerged into a wall of noise and waving arms. It was no cooler outside. Heavy black clouds had rolled in to fill the sky, and the air quivered with the promise of a storm.\n\nIn the midst of the melee, Agnes had a long, stout stick in both hands, swiping it at anybody who tried to come near her, clearing a space around her.\n\n'Saints preserve us.' Osmond had found the courage to come out.\n\nOne of Edgar's grooms got a hand to her arm. She kneed him neatly in the groin and he doubled and dropped to roars and whistles.\n\nBarling collected himself. Took a deep, deep breath. And though he utterly despised doing so, let out his loudest, loudest shout. 'Enough!'\n\nIt worked. The sheer volume startled people into a few seconds' curious quiet. Even Edgar.\n\nAgnes broke it first. Her gaze lit on Stanton. 'Is it true, Hugo?'\n\nHe nodded. 'Yes, it is, Agnes. I'm sorry.'\n\n'No!' She brought the stick down on the cobbles with both hands. 'No!' Again. It shattered and she flung it away. 'No!'\n\nBefore Barling's eyes, in the sight of everyone there, she lost her reason as the news of Thomas Dene's death was confirmed to her. Her grief poured from her in a screaming, shrieking torrent as she beat her head with her fists. 'It can't, he can't. It can't be true! It can't!' Those present stared in open incomprehension at her. As far as they knew, Dene had taken it upon himself to help Lindley escape. But Barling understood only too well, thanks to Stanton.\n\nAnd then she screamed it, screamed it to the world. 'Thomas Dene was my lover! He was going to be my husband.' She sank to her knees, keening like a wounded animal, hands buried in her hair.\n\nAppalled roars, scandalised cries broke out.\n\n'Bartholomew Theaker's dead because of you!'\n\n'Dene let Lindley out!'\n\n'You whore, you whore, you whore!'\n\n'Let me through.' Hilda Folkes pushed out of the crowd and bent to Agnes, an arm across her shoulders. 'Up you get, my love. Come on.' She managed to get Agnes to rise.\n\n'I need you all to take note of what I have to say,' said Barling. 'As most of you already know, Thomas Dene, the stonecutter, has been found murdered this morning. My assistant, Hugo Stanton, made the discovery.'\n\n'It's that bastard Lindley!' A furious scream tore from a fat woman.\n\n'He'll slay us all in our beds!'\n\n'All of us!'\n\nBarling put his hand up for silence. Edgar, he noted, who wore a brooding look, was not joining in. For now.\n\n'Until Lindley is caught, it is important that you all take sensible precautions. All the men who have died at his hand have been alone. So stay in company, especially when you travel. Secure your doors at night. Make sure you have the means to defend yourselves.'\n\n'You mean like Geoffrey Smith would have had?' Edgar. Of course. 'Or Thomas Dene, another powerful man? Even Theaker. He may not have been a fighter, but he was huge.'\n\nA roar met his words.\n\nBut the lord hadn't finished. 'And I have grown tired of all this lack of action. Anyone who delivers Lindley's carcass to me will suffer no repercussions \u2013 I will reward them from my own purse!'\n\nA louder roar and many cheers met his words.\n\nA plague on the lord and his incontinent mouth. Barling summoned his shout again. 'Enough!' He brought his glare to as many watching eyes and angry faces as he could. 'Nicholas Lindley must be brought to justice, and it is my responsibility to do so. Lindley is to be held for trial by the King's justice. Mark my words: anyone who tries to administer their own will face trial too.' He finished on a look to Edgar. 'Anyone. The search for Lindley must be planned and orderly.' The lord glowered but stayed silent.\n\n'And now,' said Barling, 'I will be withdrawing with my assistant, and Sir Reginald and sir priest as well. We are doing so because we are taking action.' He beckoned. 'Agnes, please come inside with us. Alone.'\n\nHilda released her hold on Agnes and stood back.\n\nA loud rumble of thunder brought all eyes aloft. The first big raindrops plopped down, warm as blood.\n\nBarling took advantage of the distraction to get back inside, and the others followed him.\n\nOnce they were assembled, he began.\n\n'Agnes, you knew Thomas Dene the most intimately of anybody in Claresham. Does he have family in his home town of Hartleton?'\n\n'Yes, sir. A mother.' She swallowed hard. 'Widowed.'\n\n'Then we will arrange for her to be told as soon as possible,' said Barling. 'It is only right.'\n\n'I'll go, Barling,' said Stanton.\n\n'We can send another, Stanton. You are needed here.'\n\n'I want to go.'\n\n'You will also have to tell her that Dene was involved with helping an outlaw to escape.'\n\nStanton's jaw set and he began to reply, but Osmond cut him off.\n\n'Is that really necessary, Barling? The man's dead thanks to his own sin. I'll make sure he is buried properly in the churchyard with all the proper rites. That would be fitting, as he was doing God's work. The man has done wonderful stonework in my church.'\n\n'Sounds reasonable to me,' said Edgar.\n\n'No, Osmond.' Barling struggled to give a polite response to such a ridiculous opinion. 'Dene's mother should know the truth. What if she comes here to Claresham to visit his grave and hears it that way? Far worse. The truth is always better, no matter how painful it is.' A lesson he himself had learned though wished he could forget.\n\n'I suppose.' Osmond did not look at all convinced.\n\n'May I wash him?' Agnes broke in, her anguished eyes on Barling's.\n\n'Agnes,' said Stanton. 'No.'\n\n'Please.' She would not drop her gaze. 'I have heard how Lindley killed him. I don't care what he looks like. It will be the last thing I can do for him.'\n\n'If you insist,' said Barling.\n\n'I do.'\n\n'Very well.' The girl's attachment to the dead man knew no bounds. She had refused to wash her slain father's body but would do so for a lover whose skull had been completely crushed.\n\nStanton got to his feet. 'I need to make plans to go to Dene's home. I reckon it will take me about three days to complete the journey there and back. Where will I find Dene's mother, Agnes?'\n\n'Oh.' Her hand went to her mouth. 'I don't know. How can it be that I don't know that?'\n\n'Ask at the abbey, Stanton,' said Osmond. 'They'll know. They know all the widows in a place.'\n\nBarling stood up too. 'I shall help you prepare.' He wanted to check, with no other listening ears, that Stanton had told him everything.\n\n'How remiss,' said Edgar. 'I thought you'd got up to travel with him. Travel in company, like you told everyone else to do.' He reached for a wine jug and gave Barling an unpleasant grin. 'And as you've just shown me, Barling, you don't even believe it yourself. That's what\u2014'\n\nLightning lit the room for a second and thunder crashed so hard that Barling feared the roof had come off.\n\n'God save us!' shrieked Osmond.\n\nAfter a pause like an indrawn breath, the abrupt rattle of a torrential downpour began.\n\nShouts and cries from the courtyard told of people fleeing for their homes.\n\nBarling hesitated. 'Stanton, should you travel in this?'\n\n'Frightened of a bit of weather, are you?' sneered Edgar.\n\nStanton shrugged. 'I'll be fine.'\n\nThe unmistakable drip, drip, drip of leaking water sounded from the corner.\n\n'Not again. A festering plague on it.' Edgar slammed out, yelling for his servants.\n\n'I need to go, Barling,' said Stanton.\n\n'Let me help you prepare.' Barling gave a last glance back at the bereft Agnes as they walked out. Sinful she might be, but her heart was broken. He knew the same pain and he uttered a silent prayer for her, though he feared it would help little.\n\nOverhead, the thunder crashed again.\n\nAnd the rattling of the rain outside became a dull, unceasing roar."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Barling had hoped that the storm would bring relief from the heat. Instead, it had made it worse. He wiped his face yet again as he sat at the table in Edgar's hall, papers spread before him.\n\nThe thunder and lightning had stopped, but the rain continued to pour, bringing unpleasant moisture to every breath. Last night, he'd lain on his bed instead of in it as the sweat pooled on his body under his linens. He could only imagine what it must have been like for Stanton, riding through the storm.\n\nThe one consolation was that the torrential rainfall was keeping everyone indoors, including Edgar. All the lord's shouting about a search had ceased as the man's hall leaked like an old bucket and his privies overflowed.\n\n'This won't take long, will it?'\n\nBarling looked up at the sound of the young female voice from the door.\n\nBy all the saints, Agnes Smith had such an abrupt manner at times. But Barling refused to let his irritation show. It would not help matters. 'It is to be hoped it will not, Agnes. Thank you for responding to my request to come here this morning.' He indicated the chair opposite from him at the long table. 'Please, come and sit down.'\n\n'I can just as easily stand,' she said. 'I'm not tired.'\n\nThe pallor of her face and her sunken, red-rimmed eyes belied her words. Again, he would not challenge her, not when he needed to get her to speak to him. If he were to do so, in her current emotional state she might very well walk out. 'I am sure you are as resilient as ever, which is to your great credit. But a rest will help you to conserve your strength for... later.'\n\n'Later?' She marched to the chair and lowered herself into it. 'You mean the funeral? My Thomas's funeral? You can say it. I am able to hear the words, you know.'\n\nHer openly rude glare upon him had him wonder for a moment if he would have been better off riding out with Stanton to deliver the sad news to the mother of Thomas Dene. But no. Edgar could not be left alone with responsibility for the law in Claresham in its present state. 'I appreciate that you can be so open, Agnes. And I shall try not to take up too much of your time.' He consulted his notes. 'I know much of what I need to ask you about will be painful for you, and I apologise for that.'\n\n'More painful than death?'\n\nBarling accepted the barb without comment. 'Can you describe, Agnes, your relationship with your late father, Geoffrey Smith?'\n\n'With Pa?' She looked perplexed. 'I loved him. Loved him very, very much.'\n\n'Did you ever argue with him?'\n\n'Of course.' She shrugged. 'I argue with everyone,' she added, as if that somehow explained things.\n\n'Were these arguments with your father serious?' asked Barling.\n\n'I loved my father. He loved me.' She gave a firm nod. The suspicion of tears glittered in her eyes, though none fell. 'But he made me very angry by insisting that I marry Bartholomew. I wanted to marry Thomas. Nobody else.'\n\n'Not Simon Caldbeck?'\n\n'How did you...?' Her glare was back. 'No. Not Simon.'\n\n'But you had an earlier closeness with Simon.'\n\n'A fondness.' She shrugged again but would not meet his eye. 'Nothing more. Tongues been wagging about me, have they?'\n\nBarling did not respond but instead made a note. Either she was lying or Hilda Folkes had told an untruth. 'Then to return to your relationship with your father, and his denial of permission for you to marry Thomas Dene, did he ever deny you your wishes prior to that?'\n\nHer perplexed look returned. 'Why would he? My father and I wanted the same things.'\n\nNow it was Barling's turn to be confused. 'In what way?'\n\n'My mam died when I was born. I was used to being the one who shared Pa's life. The only one. And I loved it. I preferred the life a man led. Women always have to do what they're told. Cover their hair. Lower their gaze. Keep quiet. Not me, though it wasn't for want of other women and girls telling me I should. Pa didn't seem to mind. He was always proud of me. He showed me how to do tasks at the forge. I loved it in there.'\n\nHer features softened at the memory as the rain drummed down outside.\n\nBarling said nothing, not wanting to remind her of the current state of the forge, with its dreadful stains and the stench.\n\n'Loved it,' she repeated. 'It was more of a home to us than our cottage was. When I think back, it always seemed to be winter. No matter how cold outside, no matter how thick the ice or deep the snow, it was always warm and cosy in there. I'd sit on my special carved stool, well back from where he worked. Watch Pa take the plain grey iron, heat it to red-hot. It was like it would come alive in his hands. With his strength, he'd hammer it into something new. Something useful. Something beautiful. I wanted to be able to do that too. I couldn't think of anything better.' She pulled in a long, deep breath.\n\n'A life of such work is indeed a virtuous one.'\n\n'If you're allowed,' snapped Agnes, her look soft no more. 'When I was little, Pa would always play along. Showed me how to work the hammer, how to do little bits and pieces. Never told me I wouldn't be able to do it for a living. Deceived me, really. I suppose to him it was childish games.' Her jaw set. 'But I was deadly serious.'\n\n'I am sure of it.'\n\n'There was one time when he said I wouldn't be allowed to work the forge but that my husband would, which would be just as good. I raged for hours when he said that, couldn't be quietened. Pa was beside himself.'\n\nBarling summoned up a tight smile, privately agreeing with Hilda Folkes's judgement that Geoffrey Smith had spoiled his daughter. His own parents would not have hesitated to fetch the stick should he ever have behaved so. Not that he ever had.\n\n'But my fuss wasn't about being a smith,' she said. 'It was about the idea of taking a husband. In my young heart, I had Pa and he had me, and we would never need anybody else.' She sighed. 'Things really changed when I started to grow into womanhood. Pa stopped me working there one day. No warning. Nothing.' She scowled. 'He said I had to think about my future. I created an even bigger fuss. But this time Pa didn't try to bring me round. All I got was no, no, no. I couldn't work in the forge. I had to do what was expected of me. Expected of me as a woman.' Her scowl deepened. 'Such as agree to a husband.'\n\n'Yet you bowed to your father's wishes, did you not? You were promised to Theaker, God rest his soul.' Barling crossed himself in respect.\n\nHer glare fixed on him again. 'The idea of lying with Bartholomew Theaker made me want to throw up.' She passed a hand across her face with a sharp sigh. 'I'm sorry, that was wrong of me. Poor Bartholomew. He didn't deserve the end he got. But I didn't want him as my husband.' Her mouth tightened. 'He should never have asked.'\n\n'But you said yes.'\n\nShe slapped her hand on the table. 'I said no.' She leaned forward. 'I didn't want him, but Pa wouldn't listen. A good match, he'd say. Him and that old pig Edgar. Edgar was the one to give permission. He had to. Theaker was a villein, you see. Not a freeman. But he had plenty of money. And that makes him a good match \u2013 they kept saying it.' She sat back again. 'But that match was never going to happen. No matter what anyone said.'\n\n'Never?'\n\n'For I had given my love to another. Given it to my Thomas.' For the first time, her voice shook. 'Forever.'\n\n'What did your father say?'\n\n'I never told him about Thomas.' Her gaze slid away. 'Pa heard gossip and got very angry with me. But I denied it, denied it all. I could tell Pa didn't believe me, but I didn't care.' She looked at Barling again, leaned forward once more in her earnestness. 'Thomas and I had a deep love that was more powerful than any obstacles. We were going to be together always. You couldn't possibly understand our passion. Nobody could.'\n\nYet Barling could. He understood passion in its full, glorious, heartbreaking destruction. But he had put such feelings away. Forever. 'Yet you were still betrothed to Theaker, Agnes. How were you going to be with Dene?'\n\n'Yes, my betrothal prevented Thomas and I naming our love. He even said to me one day, \"How much happier our lives could have been without the hand of Sir Reginald Edgar.\" But we were going to be happy in spite of everything. You see, Thomas had it all planned. He told me that when he finished his work here in Claresham, he'd go to his home town and get everything set up for me and for our lives together. Then he would come back here and talk to my father, persuade him to allow us to be together. Thomas knew he'd be able to do so. Not only was he a freeman, he had plenty of money put aside.'\n\nBarling drew breath to comment, but she cut across him.\n\n'But do you know what?' Her face lit with her smile. 'I had a surprise for Thomas.'\n\n'Oh?'\n\nShe nodded hard. 'A delicious surprise. I had my things packed. I was ready to leave Claresham the moment he did. We would run away together, marry before anybody knew about it. My name would be ruined, but I didn't care. No matter who objected, it would be too late.' Her smile dropped. 'And now it is. Too late for everything. Lindley has taken it all from me.'\n\n'You have indeed suffered greatly,' said Barling as gently as he could. 'Do you have any idea why Nicholas Lindley would have wanted those close to you dead?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Again, I know this must be very painful for you, Agnes. But you discovered your father's body, did you not?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Thinking back to that night, did you see anything? Anything that might be important? Anything that might help us catch Lindley?'\n\nAgnes looked at her hands, suddenly quiet. Different.\n\n'Agnes?'\n\n'Something...' Her hands balled into fists. 'Something happened to me on the night Pa was killed.' She raised her eyes to Barling.\n\nTo his surprise, he saw a deep unease within them.\n\n'I haven't told a soul,' she said.\n\n'Then it's time that you did,' said Barling.\n\nShe hesitated.\n\n'Agnes?'\n\n'I haven't lied. About finding Pa. But I haven't told the whole truth.'\n\n'Go on.'\n\n'I wasn't at home in our cottage. I was out in the woods. Late. In the dark. Out meeting Thomas. We had a special place there. Not far from the stone quarry there's a little glade that has the prettiest waterfall, with a pool under it.' She wouldn't meet Barling's eye now. 'It's very private.'\n\nHe nodded his understanding.\n\nShe went on. 'We had parted for the night. Thomas had gone back to his hut in the quarry, and I was making my way back through the woods to my home. It started to rain, not like now, but still bad, which made everything even darker. I had to take my time, to take care. We had that terrible storm at Eastertide, where so many trees had come down. I went to climb over a big trunk when I heard a couple of twigs snapping.'\n\n'Thomas?'\n\nShe shook her head. 'Lindley. I thought it was my Thomas playing a joke. I called out to Tom. When I got no answer, I went to climb over the trunk. And a hand grabbed my leg. Grabbed it, yanked me down hard. I grabbed a branch to stop my fall and cracked my nose and chin.' She gave the sort of crooked smile that holds back tears. 'God help me, I still thought it was Tom, though I don't know why. I yelled at him to stop, that he was hurting me. Looked down.' A couple of tears broke through and her breath came faster. 'But it wasn't my love. It was a figure in a black cloak, face hidden in a dark wrap. I didn't know at the time it was Lindley. All I knew was that I had to get away. He grabbed hold of my other ankle. Pulling, pulling, pulling. But I got one foot free, kicked him as hard as I could.'\n\nThe ferocity with which she said it echoed in the room.\n\n'And then I was over the tree trunk,' she said. 'And I ran. Fell once in the mud. Thought he was on me. But then he fell as well. So I picked myself up and ran again. I'd lost one shoe, and stones and thorns tore my flesh. But I didn't care. I was headed for home. Quick as I could. Home. I had to get home. Home to Pa.'\n\nNow her tears fell in a steady, silent stream. But she made no attempt to wipe them away.\n\n'I broke from the trees on to the road. Saw the orange light of the forge. Where Pa was working late. I ran to the door, got in. Slammed it behind me. And there was my pa.' A deep sob broke from her. 'Flat on his back on the ground in a puddle of blood. I knew he was dead. His eyes were staring. And he had no mouth left. Not much nose. Just a gaping hole in his face. And then the door opened behind me.'\n\n'Lindley?' asked Barling with a frown.\n\n'No.' Agnes let out a long breath and uncurled her white-knuckled fists, laid her palms flat on the table. 'I thought it was him coming for me through the door.' She smiled sadly. 'It was Bartholomew. He'd come to see Pa, to talk about our marriage. What he got was me screaming. And Pa. I couldn't stop.'\n\n'You are indeed fortunate to have escaped his clutches, Agnes. Not only fortunate but courageous too. But why have you remained silent about this terrible attack?'\n\n'I did tell Thomas.' She scrubbed at her eyes, to little avail. 'But he said I couldn't tell anybody. Because if I did, then people would want to know why I was out in the woods. And then our love would come out, and Edgar would stop it. Everyone.'\n\n'Then why tell me today?'\n\n'Because now I see that Thomas somehow knew Lindley. He was trying to protect him, just like he did when he broke him out of the gaol.' Now she sobbed without cease. 'And because he didn't let me say anything, my Thomas, the love of my heart, is dead at the hand of Nicholas Lindley, the man he helped.'\n\n'And that is the whole truth of what happened to you in the woods?'\n\nAgnes held up one hand with three fingers extended. 'My pa. My betrothed. My love. All dead. All at Lindley's hand. Is that not enough?' She dropped her hand. 'I swear to you, I can take no more. No more.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Normally, the busyness of a market town would have Stanton more on alert. Who might be a pickpocket? Who might want to overcharge him for an inn? Who, after what happened to him in York, might want to rob him?\n\nBut now the world stood on its head. He welcomed the bustle and noise of these crowded streets as he rode along them, Morel tired but still strong beneath him. She'd been steady as a rock as they battled through the storm in the first hours of the ride, but he'd sensed her relief when they finally left it behind.\n\nHe felt far safer here than he did in the quiet of the small village of Claresham.\n\nNot that there was any quiet in that cursed place. Three men had been murdered brutally. And two of the murders were his fault, even if one man had helped to bring the fate on himself. He wanted to push his own blame away, banish it from his mind so he could close an eye at night.\n\nBut he couldn't. After his long ride of the best part of two days, with Dene's tools in a bag slung across his chest and every mile adding to his dread, he had to tell the stonecutter's mother that her son was dead.\n\nFollowing the rector Osmond's advice, he pulled up outside the abbey walls and went to the gatehouse. As Osmond had said, the monk there knew of the widow Dene.\n\n'You have brought sad news, my son?' said the monk, reading Stanton's look in a second.\n\n'The worst,' was the terse reply Stanton could manage, a sudden lump of sadness in his throat taking him by surprise.\n\nHis own mother, the still-beautiful Alys, was also a widow. 'I have everything I need from God,' he'd heard her say a hundred times. 'Everything my heart could want. I have my Hugo. My sweet Hugo. My angel of a boy, with his eyes like the summer sky and his golden locks.'\n\nThat he was an angel and not a dunderpate who couldn't keep his mouth shut.\n\nWhat if God were to rob his mother of her heart's love, as Dene's had been robbed of hers? Stanton knew the pain would feel like death to Alys Stanton, yet in the most cruel way it would not kill her, but instead she would feel its agony every day she had left on this earth.\n\nThe ride to the widow Dene's house was too quick.\n\nNow here it was, a neat, ordered dwelling and shop set on a narrow street of many others.\n\nBarrels in the swept, tidy yard. A yellow rose in flower growing across the door lintel. From the open shutters came the rich, malty smell of brewing ale.\n\nStanton dismounted and threw a coin to a tall boy who'd seen him arrive.\n\n'Watch my horse.' He thrust Morel's reins into his hand. 'There's another coin for you if you can get her fed and watered.'\n\n'Sir.' The boy led his horse to a nearby trough as Stanton went to the half-open door.\n\nHe knocked on it with a call. 'I have a message for the widow Dene.'\n\n'I am she.' An answering call from inside, along with the high-pitched bark of a small dog.\n\nThe woman stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron, one foot holding the jumping brindle dog back. He definitely had the right house. He could see the handsome murdered Thomas in this woman's face, her bearing. 'What can I do for you, sir? A drink on this hot morn?'\n\n'No. Thank you.' Stanton's stomach tightened. Her world would never be the same again. And he was the one to make it so. 'My name is Hugo Stanton. I've come from the village of Claresham with a message from its lord, Sir Reginald Edgar. May I come in, Mistress Dene? I have some private news for you.'\n\nThen she knew. He saw it in her eyes even as he saw her not wanting to. 'It's about my son, isn't it? What's happened?' Her hands locked on her apron. 'What's happened to Thomas?' Her voice rose.\n\nSo he told her. Wanted to tell her as gently as he could. But there were no gentle words for what had happened. Murder. Skull. Slab. Useless ones too. Sorry. Very, very sorry.\n\nMistress Dene gave a long, terrible wail, her knees buckling, clutching at the door frame as the dog ran past her to hop and yap at Stanton's boots.\n\n'Edith?' The call came from a concerned-looking shoemaker opposite. 'What's the matter?' He shot Stanton a wary look.\n\n'Fetch Katherine!' screamed Edith Dene. 'Quickly!'\n\nThe shoemaker ran off.\n\n'Let me help you inside, mistress.' Stanton put an unsure hand to Edith's arm, ready for her to strike him in her grief. He would have preferred it if she had. Instead, she let him, huge sobs breaking from her, the dog still hopping and yelping at their feet.\n\nHe steered her into the warm steam of her home, a large cauldron simmering on the fire, to an upright wooden settle, and she sank on to it. The dog sat at her feet, staring up at Stanton in a constant, rattling growl.\n\nAnd he still had to tell her that her son partly brought his fate on himself. He drew breath to do so but paused.\n\nFrom outside came the sound of running feet, and a breathless small-boned young woman came in, a swaddled sleeping baby in her arms. 'What's happened, Mother?'\n\nStanton stepped back as Edith opened her arms to her. 'Oh, Katherine, Katherine. He's dead! Thomas is dead!'\n\n'No.' The blood left Katherine's face. 'No.' She staggered to the older woman, lowered herself on to the seat next to her. 'No.'\n\n'It's true, my dear.' Edith could hardly speak through her tears. 'This man here has brought the news from where Thomas was working.'\n\nKatherine shot Stanton an anguished glance and he nodded. 'I'm sorry, but it is.'\n\nNow she also broke into dry, gasping sobs over the head of her still-sleeping infant.\n\n'Worse,' said Edith. 'He was murdered, Katherine.'\n\n'Murdered?' Katherine's appalled gaze flew to Stanton again.\n\nHe steeled himself to state his dreadful message once more. But Katherine's next words stunned him.\n\n'You're telling me my husband was murdered?'\n\nHusband? 'Your husband is \u2013 was \u2013 Thomas Dene?' He felt foolish as he said it. He'd heard 'Mother' and assumed. Wrongly. 'A stonecutter?'\n\n'Yes.' Tears left Katherine Dene's eyes in a steady, silent stream.\n\nA husband who'd also promised himself to Agnes Smith. Stanton wouldn't, couldn't tell her that now. 'I'm sorry.' The useless words again. 'Has he left a son or a daughter?'\n\n'A son,' she whispered, kissing the top of the baby's head.\n\n'And four more at home.' Edith shook her head.\n\n'Oh, Mother,' came Katherine's long, anguished cry. 'What's to become of us?'\n\n'Hush, girl, hush.' Despite her own grief, Edith pulled her son's young widow into her arms. 'We'll find a way.' She looked at Stanton over the top of Katherine's head as the younger woman sobbed without cease into her shoulder. 'Have you buried him?'\n\n'It was all in hand when I left. It happened two days ago.' Stanton didn't need to say any more. The heat of the summer day answered for him. 'The rector at Claresham also promised that Thomas would be buried properly in the churchyard.'\n\nEdith nodded, dry-eyed now, though her face looked to have aged ten years. 'And who did it? Who killed my son?'\n\n'An outlaw.' Stanton swallowed. 'He has also killed others in Claresham.'\n\nEdith crossed herself as Katherine sobbed on, lost in her grief. 'Then this outlaw will hang?'\n\n'The outlaw, a man called Nicholas Lindley, is on the run,' replied Stanton. 'He had already been captured but escaped from the village gaol.'\n\n'Then he must be found, devil take him!'\n\n'There's more.' Stanton held up a hand. Dropped it as he realised it was something Barling did. Barling, who'd ordered him to tell this heartbreaking truth to two women whose hearts were already broken. 'I hate to have to tell you this in your time of grief. But Thomas Dene helped the outlaw to escape.' As did I. But I'm still alive. 'The outlaw then killed him, we assume to cover his tracks.'\n\n'Never!' The angry scream took him by surprise. The baby too, waking with a loud squeal, and the little dog jumped up to bark again. But it wasn't Edith who'd called out.\n\nKatherine thrust the crying baby at Edith and stood up to face Stanton. 'Never. My husband was a good man.' She jabbed a finger at him. 'A fine man.' Again. 'An honest man. A godly man!'\n\nHonest? thought Stanton, but 'I'm sorry' was all he said.\n\n'Sorry?' Katherine's dark eyes flashed in her fury. 'You should be ashamed, speaking ill of the dead. Ashamed!' Her anger broke into tears again and she slumped back on to the settle.\n\nEdith rose to her feet, yelling baby in her arms.\n\nStanton hesitated. The truth is always better, no matter how painful it is. Barling's words to him before he came here.\n\n'I think you should leave, sir,' said Edith.\n\nBut Barling hadn't meant telling a newly bereaved widow that her dead husband had been committing adultery with another woman. And if he did, he could go to hell. Stanton wasn't going to do it. Not here, not now. It could wait for another day. 'I'll do that, mistress.'\n\nHe went to the door, Edith following with the baby. He took a last glance back.\n\nKatherine was doubled over now, rocking and moaning.\n\n'Mistress Dene,' he said to Edith, 'I wish that I had not had to come here today with such dreadful news. Please believe me.'\n\n'Believe me that I wish that too, sir.'\n\nStanton unhooked the heavy satchel containing the stonecutter's tools and laid it down at her feet. 'There's likely a hammer missing from this bag,' he said quietly.\n\nEdith blinked, nodded. Held the baby even tighter.\n\n'Is his pilgrim badge in there?' called Katherine to him.\n\n'Pilgrim badge?' replied Stanton. 'I'm sorry, I don't recall seeing one.'\n\n'He wore it around his neck,' said Katherine. 'Silver. From the shrine at Canterbury. We got it when we went there. It was in the shape of the head casket of Saint Thomas Becket.' Her tears started again. 'It was supposed to protect him on his travels. Saint Thomas protecting my beloved Tom.'\n\n'I'm sorry,' said Stanton again. 'But I haven't.'\n\nKatherine's tears fell harder.\n\n'Please leave, sir,' said Edith.\n\nHe went out, pushing his way through the knot of curious people that had gathered.\n\nHe needed to get back to Claresham as quick as he could.\n\nAnd break the heart of another woman."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "'You can see what a skilled stonemason Thomas Dene was, Barling.' The rector Osmond indicated the newly laid floor of the chancel in the empty church at Claresham.\n\nThe heavy rain echoed on the roof, but unlike Edgar's hall, not a drop found its way in.\n\n'Dene had a very good hand,' said Barling. 'I could not help but notice his work at his funeral yesterday. A cruel twist that his body lay above it.'\n\nOsmond pursed his lips and nodded, setting his chins wobbling. 'Cruel indeed. Though I must confess I noticed little at the funeral Mass yesterday, save the grief of Agnes Smith. It quite took over.'\n\n'It did, though I suppose it was to be expected. She has had to face so many deaths in such a short time.'\n\n'God sends us trials, Barling.' Osmond pulled a mournful face. 'And we know not why.' He crossed himself with great extravagance. 'Now, you said you would like to speak to me in private. Shall we retire to the rectory?'\n\n'We are alone here in your church, sir priest.'\n\n'Yes, quite.' Osmond set off for the door anyway. 'But we will have greater comfort in my home. We will be able to eat too.'\n\nBarling followed him with a last look at the floor. He knew that many stonemasons took pride in the fact that their work would outlast them, would exist to glorify the Lord long after their deaths. He offered up a brief prayer for Thomas Dene that it might be so for him.\n\nHe joined Osmond outside, sheltered in the porch from the pelting rain that pattered loudly on the full-leafed towering trees edging the churchyard and the rest of the rector's property.\n\nOsmond appeared much cheered again. 'A pleasure to have you visit my home. Over there you'll see my tithe barn. Filling nicely it is.'\n\n'A fine building, sir priest. As is your house.' Built of solid stone, the rectory had a costly slate roof.\n\nOsmond gave a wide smile. 'Then let us go there with all haste. I have no wish to change my clothes yet again.'\n\nThey hurried along the soaked, neatly gravelled path to the rectory, where the front door stood open, awaiting them.\n\n'Yet modest,' added Osmond. 'In keeping with my calling in life.'\n\nBarling did not reply as they entered, shaking rainwater from his robes.\n\nWhere Edgar's hall was far larger, the lord's manor was always in a state of dirt, disorganisation and decay. Not so the rectory lived in by his nephew.\n\nThe high-roofed main hall was dry and airy. The floor rushes looked recently laid and gave off a fresh scent. The plaster on the walls was picked out in an intricate design of red and yellow squares, with painted blue flowers in the centre of each. Over the huge fireplace a number of large panels were hung, depicting the lives of the saints. Gold glimmered from within the rich colours, as did a large crucifix hung as a centrepiece. A long, carved chest shone with hours of polishing and beeswax, reflecting a large pot that held bunches of scented pink roses. The chairs arranged around the table were padded in the finest tapestry. Osmond sank into one, gesturing for Barling to take another.\n\n'I declare this heat has my humours unbalanced.' The rector fanned himself hard. 'And no doubt that's what has laid my uncle low again.'\n\nBarling did not respond directly. He was used to Edgar's drunken sloth by now. 'It is warm indeed, sir priest. Despite this rain.' He eyed the contents of the table.\n\nNot only did it hold a huge selection of meats and cheeses and the best puddings and bread, every plate, dish, bowl and drinking vessel had the gleam of silver. The washing bowls had petals floating in them. Sir priest clearly liked the very finest things in life.\n\nAs both men rinsed their hands before eating, a servant hurried in, clad in neat russet tunic and braies.\n\nBarling bowed his head to say grace, Osmond joining him in a rapid mutter and finishing first.\n\nThe servant went to fill Barling's goblet with good wine, but he refused it.\n\n'I will have water,' said Barling with a nod to a large jug.\n\n'You do not have wine, do you, Barling?' The rector's eyes went even smaller in his fleshy face as he took a drink.\n\n'No, sir priest. But that is of no consequence.' Barling broke off a little bread and nodded in the direction of the servant. 'As I have said, I wish for us to speak in private.'\n\n'Leave us,' said Osmond to the servant, who withdrew at once with a bow. He went on: 'He's a good sort. Efficient. Reliable. And a solid man for keeping his master safe.' The solemn look was back. 'Of great importance in these dangerous times. I never thought I would see the day here in Claresham. Now, why is it that you want to speak to me alone? Is there something troubling you?'\n\n'No, sir priest. Simply that you may be able to shed some light on recent events here.'\n\n'Not I.' Osmond's eyes rounded as much as they were able. 'I am as shocked as anybody.'\n\n'I am sure you are,' said Barling. 'Nevertheless, I would value your esteemed opinions.'\n\nHis flattery worked.\n\nOsmond smiled in self-satisfaction. 'Of course, Barling. Ask away.'\n\n'Your uncle said in the court at York that murder had not happened before. Is that true?'\n\n'By the blood of the Virgin it is.' Osmond took a deep bite of the slice of gamey pie he had in one hand, adding the sheen of grease to that of sweat on his upper lip. 'I hope you're not calling him a liar.'\n\n'Not at all, sir priest,' said Barling. 'I merely like to remind myself of the facts. He chose his next words carefully. 'And your uncle is very fond of the grape.'\n\nOsmond shrugged. 'My uncle does indeed like his wine.' He raised his goblet to Barling. 'As do I.'\n\n'As do many men. For most, it causes them no bother. But for a few, it can cloud their recollections. Often quite badly.'\n\nOsmond waved a hand dismissively. 'My uncle is advancing in years. That can be even worse.'\n\n'Indeed. But to your knowledge, there have been no other murders here?'\n\n'Goodness, Barling.' Osmond fixed him with a stare. 'I hope you're not asking me to reveal what is discussed in the sanctity of the confessional.'\n\nBarling felt the colour leave his face in horror at the very idea. 'No, sir priest. Never.'\n\n'Good,' said Osmond with an unpleasant grin. 'Sometimes I wish I could share what I hear, for it would keep folk amazed for a year. Of course I cannot.' He bit off more of his pie. 'I can say that there is nobody who has confessed to a murder.' He chewed fast, hard. 'No one in the many years since my uncle set me up here as rector. And we have had no need of confessions. The murder of Geoffrey Smith marked the onset of Nicholas Lindley's carnage. I eagerly await his capture. Then I shall be pleased to hear his confession. Right before we hang him. Which we will do with all haste. Very convenient having you here, Barling.'\n\n'I am not sure I have ever been so described, sir priest.'\n\n'You know what I mean.' Osmond waved a hand. 'It is of course an honour too. I am a great admirer of King Henry's approach to the administration of the law. Excellent to see justice done with such great efficiency.' He wiped the grease from his fingers. 'I shall need his Grace's law myself one day, though I pray God is good and that it will not be for a long time.'\n\n'To which law do you refer, sir priest?' asked Barling, unsettled by Osmond's sudden appreciation for the King's law. 'Perhaps I can assist or advise you.'\n\n'I am referring to the assize of mort d'ancestor,' replied Osmond. 'For when my uncle dies, I shall be making a claim on his estate. My uncle has never been married and has no children of his own. I am compiling a solid appeal.' His small eyes met Barling's. 'Though of course I pray that I will not need it for many, many years. My uncle, the lord of Claresham, is still hale. If God is good, Sir Reginald Edgar won't be lying in my church any day soon.' He spooned a large helping of almond pudding into his mouth.\n\nThe rain on the roof gathered yet more strength.\n\nBarling frowned to himself. Wet journeys could mean longer journeys and much more hazardous ones. He hoped Stanton would not be further delayed. Oddly for Barling, he quite missed having the younger man by his side. Usually his own company was all he required.\n\n'My, that's good. I shall have some more.' Osmond licked his lips, then nodded at his fireplace and sighed. 'Dene was going to carve me a new mantel, you know. Now I shall have to seek another mason.' He sighed again. 'Dreadful times, Barling. Dreadful times.'\n\n'Dreadful,' said Barling. For it was dreadful indeed to witness the naked greed of William Osmond, rector of Claresham: greed that went far, far beyond another mound of wobbly pudding.\n\nRiding into Claresham for this, his second time, couldn't be any more different for Stanton.\n\nSix days ago he'd ridden in behind Edgar and Barling, half-asleep from the hot sunshine and the slow-paced ride. Folk had been out and about in the full light of day.\n\nNow he rode in late at night to silence, other than the wind in the tall, dripping trees that lined this stretch of road and the call and answer of owls. Although it had stopped, the rain in which he'd left Claresham must have carried on and on. Everything was soaked, and deep puddles sat in the fields as well as on the muddy road.\n\nThe fast pace of the splattering hooves of his lone animal echoed into the quiet.\n\nSix days ago he'd not yet laid eyes on the murderous liar Nicholas Lindley. Six days ago Bartholomew Theaker was alive. Thomas Dene as well. And Katherine Dene was a married woman. Just as Agnes Smith thought she was about to be.\n\nHe put a hand to his face to push the tiredness away and urged his exhausted Morel on.\n\nBarling needed to know about Dene's wife and children. He'd tell Barling first. No doubt the clerk would come down hard on him for not telling what was left of the Dene family. He didn't care. It would have been too much. Barling hadn't been there. Too much. Stanton would tell him tomorrow. First he had to sleep. He was tired, so tired. As was his animal. But he pushed, pushed. He patted the sweating neck of the surging horse. They were nearly there.\n\nAnd then Morel fell from under him.\n\nStanton went over her right shoulder, no time to react, the ground an agonising crack to his face, his bent arm and knee as he hit the wet, stony road.\n\nDamn it.\n\nHis wind was gone as well. He fought to get a breath into his lungs, rolled away from paddling, iron hooves even as it felt like a huge fist pressed on his chest. He lay on his back, the rustling trees above soaring into the cloudy sky.\n\nDamn it all to hell.\n\nBut it was his own stupid fault. He'd pushed his horse too hard for too long. The dark hid holes and furrows in the road. He should know better. He got some air in. Got a bit more. Rose to his good knee. He put a hand to his face and felt wet but no give of broken bone.\n\nAnd froze.\n\nMorel hadn't fallen from a misplaced hoof.\n\nA thick rope stretched tight across the road. Ready to bring an animal down. And the rider with it.\n\nRun. Now. He got to his feet. Held back a yelp of pain as he almost fell again, his knee folding under him. He couldn't. Couldn't run.\n\nAll he could do was hide. He took off into the woods, shambling, scrambling to get out of sight as thorns and branches caught on his clothing. A thick evergreen bush loomed up before him and he forced his way in, trying to be fast, be quiet, terrified he was neither. He peered out at his horse, still lying injured on the road. Her whinnies told him she was in agony. At least one of her legs must be broken.\n\nA fierce anger flashed through him. But he could do nothing, nothing except thank God his own neck hadn't snapped. Or that his knee wasn't broken. He tested it again. Still without strength, the pain pulsing through it. He was stuck in here.\n\nThink, Hugo, think.\n\nRight then. Stuck maybe. But at least hidden. Hidden was safe. He forced his breathing quiet. Quiet would keep him safe too. He'd hide out in here all night, wait until dawn broke and somebody else came along the road and\u2014\n\nOh, Jesu Christus.\n\nHe could see somebody else on the road all right. But a somebody who stepped from the woods. One wrapped in a long dark cloak, face behind a concealing wrap as well. Utterly silent. Looking right, left. Not looking at poor Morel, suffering on the ground.\n\nLooking for the rider, moving at a steady, fluid pace as Stanton strained to see in the gloom.\n\nThe figure's clothing made it a shadow amongst shadows, the clouds not helping.\n\nAnd then, with a gust of wind, they slipped past the small moon, bringing a poor light.\n\nBringing enough light for Stanton to see the figure standing over his injured horse, to see the figure raise a gloved hand.\n\nAnd that hand was closed around something, something that the figure slammed into Morel's skull in a blow so hard he could swear he felt it as well as heard it.\n\nLindley. Stanton shoved his fist into his mouth to stop his cry. No.\n\nMorel wasn't dead, not yet, the blows raining down on her again and again, until she was \u2013 after she was \u2013 in a savage, sickening slaughter.\n\nWhen it was over, Stanton felt a trickle of moisture on his hand. He realised he'd punctured his flesh, biting it so hard to stop his screams of horror.\n\nLindley straightened up. Threw the stone away.\n\nAnd now he was looking left, right again. Looking left, right, as if he sniffed the air. As if he could smell Stanton and his terror nearby.\n\nThen he was on the move again. Taking those fast, silent strides that made him seem a ghost.\n\nBut one that was back in the bushes. Only the odd snap of a tiny twig, only the odd sway of a branch as Stanton squinted, peered, trying to track where he was.\n\nWith a stiff gust of wind, the darkness swept in again, as if the moon closed her eyes to the horror on the road below her.\n\nA wave of sweat drenched Stanton. His hands went to the ground, searching as quickly, as quietly, as he dared for anything, anything at all, he could use as a weapon. He didn't dare drop his gaze.\n\nNot that he could see a thing.\n\nHis hands met twigs, damp leaves. Nothing. He had nothing. Nothing to use against the man who'd caved in the skull of a horse with just a rock and his own murderous strength.\n\nHe heard a snap of a twig. Definitely. A bit closer. He could swear it.\n\nHe wanted to laugh now at his own boneheaded plan to hide in here until morning.\n\nLindley was searching, searching for him now. And the man knew these woods, knew how to move among them in almost complete darkness.\n\nThink, Hugo, think.\n\nHiding was no good. He couldn't outrun Lindley on the road. Had he been in one piece, he might've stood a chance. He was fast, very fast, on a good surface. But not now, not with his knee like this.\n\nThink, Hugo, think.\n\nThe day when he was out with Barling. When Barling told him to look at the layout of the lands. Of the village.\n\nHe forced himself to picture it. The road looped round a number of long fields. But if he cut through the woods, he would reach the village's houses much, much sooner.\n\nAnother snap. This one sounded a bit further away.\n\nOr did it?\n\nNo matter. He had to do this now. Now.\n\nStanton took off, bent double, his knee a stab of agony at every step, half giving way every time he put his weight on it. But he didn't care.\n\nBranches lashed his face, tore his hands as he ran on blindly, his breath a huffing sob in his terror and pain.\n\nThen he heard it, through his own noise, somebody else crashing through, behind him, next to him, in front of him, he didn't know.\n\nAll he knew was that he had to get to a cottage, any cottage.\n\nAnd then he saw it.\n\nThe thatched roof against the trees, the shed next to it.\n\nIt was the Webbs', thank God, the Webbs'. Three souls lived there; Lindley couldn't kill them all.\n\nA louder crash, definitely louder.\n\nNow Stanton was yelling, running. He didn't care; the Webbs would hear him, they had to.\n\nAnd then he was stumbling across the yard, then screaming, hammering at the shut front door.\n\n'Let me in! For the love of God, let me in!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "'Please!' Stanton hammered again, his neck twisting back and forth as he tried to watch the woods, watch everywhere. Watch for the figure who killed men and animals with savage strength.\n\nThen a sound sent by the saints themselves.\n\nThe sound of a key in the lock. The door opening. A crack, no more.\n\n'Who is it?' Margaret Webb's voice. Afraid.\n\n'It's me, Hugo Stanton. Let me in, I beg you. Lindley's out here, he's here!'\n\nMargaret shrieked and yanked the door open, Stanton stumbling into the room.\n\n'Thank you, mistress.' He bent over to try and get his breath as she slammed the door and locked it with shaking hands.\n\nHe couldn't stop. 'Oh, thank you. Thank you.'\n\nShe trembled from head to foot. 'You have Peter to thank, sir.'\n\nStanton straightened up.\n\nTo see Peter Webb standing there as sweaty and breathless as him. Unlike Margaret, who wore her underskirt and shift, with a large shawl over them for modesty, Peter wasn't dressed for bed but for a day's work outdoors. 'You have found me out, sir.' His voice shook.\n\n'Found you out?' Stanton still couldn't get a full lungful of air. Couldn't understand either. 'What do you mean?'\n\n'I was out in the woods just now.' Peter swallowed hard and exchanged a look with Margaret, who put a hand to her forehead. 'I'd been out awhile. Then I heard the most terrible sounds. So I ran home. Fast as I could. Like the devil was chasing me.'\n\n'What you heard was Lindley ambushing me,' said Stanton. 'Then he killed my horse. And came after me.'\n\nMargaret gasped. 'So the devil was abroad.'\n\nPeter crossed himself with a look of horror, hands trembling. 'And so was I. May God help me.'\n\n'Did you see him, Webb?' asked Stanton.\n\n'No, sir.' Peter's hands were shaking still.\n\n'He was on the roadway.'\n\n'I... I wasn't on the roadway, sir. I was in the woods.' Another look to Margaret, who bowed her head. By contrast, Webb straightened as much as he could with his stoop. 'Where my traps are. I was out poaching.'\n\n'Poaching?' A surprise, despite the terrors of this night. 'Does Edgar know you do this?'\n\n'No, sir.' Webb's voice dropped. He looked at Margaret again. 'I need to tell the King's man everything.'\n\nShe nodded in a wordless reply.\n\nWebb made his way behind his loom and emerged with a closed sack. He opened it up and removed a glossy hare skin. 'You see this, sir? I can sell it at one of the market towns. This' \u2013 his hands tightened on the small hide \u2013 'this is the difference between us being able to pay the rent or not.'\n\n'Between eating or not.' Margaret's voice held despair.\n\n'There's only us two that can earn any kind of living,' said Webb. 'You've met John, sir.' He shook his head.\n\n'Where is he?' asked Stanton. In his panic, he'd not noticed John's absence.\n\n'Safe in our fulling shed, sir, I promise you,' said Margaret. 'I bolted the door myself.'\n\n'He likes it best in there,' said Peter. 'He stays calm. At least for some of the time.' He shook his head. 'With how he is, having to feed him is the least of our worries. Until now. If Sir Reginald finds out I've been poaching...' He trailed off, unable to form the words.\n\nStanton could guess. The bullying lord didn't have a merciful bone in his body. 'Put your skins away, Webb. You saved my life tonight. I wouldn't dream of repaying you by making such trouble for you.'\n\nWebb hauled in a deep breath. Let it out. Looked at his wife. 'I thank you, sir,' he said, 'from the bottom of my heart.' His own relieved smile lit up his worn, lined face. 'To your good one.'\n\n'The kindest one,' whispered Margaret, managing a watery smile.\n\nA shout came from outside.\n\nStanton knew his panicked look would be the same as those of both Webbs.\n\nThen came a loud hullo. Followed by more calls, different voices. His own name.\n\nMorel's carcass had been found."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "'Stanton! Thank God you are safe,' Barling called to him from further along the road.\n\nThe knot of people he stood with raised their voices too.\n\n'I was lucky, Barling,' said Stanton as he hurried up to them, Peter Webb beside him. Margaret had locked herself in the cottage until her husband returned. 'That's all.'\n\n'I would say very lucky.' Barling's pale face shone in the light of the lantern he carried, as did the faces of the many others who had come running, lights aloft. A lot of them held sticks as well as their lanterns. They grouped around Morel, exclaiming, clutching each other at what lay before them as well as Stanton's arrival.\n\n'A miracle.' Osmond's eyes looked ready to leave his head. 'Nothing less.' The priest had obviously been summoned from his bed. Like so many others, he had flung his cloak over his linens.\n\n'One that your horse wasn't blessed with, man.' Edgar pushed his way out from the midst of the huddle, fully dressed. His coarse visage could be the setting sun in this light.\n\n'What happened, Stanton?' asked Barling. 'All we know is from these men here.' He raised his lamp to show two white-faced men leaning against a cart. 'They were travelling back from a market, their own horse slow from a pulled leg. They saw the rope across the road, then your animal, and so raised the alarm.'\n\n'I wasn't riding slowly,' said Stanton. 'Morel hit the rope hard and I came off. I hid. And then I saw a hooded figure' \u2013 he swallowed \u2013 'kill my horse.'\n\n'Lindley!' cried Osmond. 'May God protect us.'\n\nHis cries were echoed by every one of the group, with people herding closer together on the dark road.\n\n'He chased me. But I ran,' said Stanton. 'And Peter Webb here saved me, along with his wife. They took me in. Otherwise...' He couldn't finish. Shrugged.\n\n'You have the gratitude of the King, Webb,' said Barling.\n\n'Thank you, sir,' replied Webb. 'I am honoured.'\n\n'Can we leave the niceties to one side?' Edgar. As usual. 'Barling, your own man has been attacked! A fine horse too.' He looked over at poor Morel.\n\nStanton couldn't do so.\n\n'I am fully aware, Edgar,' said Barling. 'I wanted to hear from Stanton's lips what happened, as that will help decide the next course of action.'\n\n'Which is?'\n\n'What's happened?' The call came from Agnes Smith as she ran towards the group. 'Tell me you've got the swine.'\n\n'Of course not, girl.' Edgar spat his words as she arrived, panting.\n\n'There has been another attack,' said Barling.\n\n'On the King's man no less.' Osmond pointed to Stanton.\n\n'Dear God.' Her free hand went to her mouth. 'Are you all right, Hugo?'\n\n'I'm fine.'\n\n'You should not be abroad on your own, Agnes,' said Barling. 'It is far too dangerous.'\n\nShe held up her other hand, into the light. 'I'm not afraid of Lindley.' She held a sturdy axe.\n\nStanton flinched as people moved back with a cry.\n\n'Agnes, lower that. At once,' came Barling's sharp order. 'Now give it to me.' He held out his hand.\n\nShe caught the full force of the Barling tone. Stanton knew its impact. Scowling, she placed the weapon handle first in his open palm to many sighs of relief. 'I will put it away safely.' He shook his head at Agnes. 'If you don't know how to use a weapon, it can be used against you. I will make sure that you are brought back home safely.'\n\n'I'll take her.' Simon Caldbeck stepped from the group, a stout stick in one hand.\n\n'No. Agnes needs to come to the hall with us, Barling,' said Stanton. He had to do this tonight, no matter what had happened. She needed to know the truth about Dene. 'Sir priest will also be needed.' To his relief, Barling didn't question him, though Edgar did. Agnes was louder, more insistent than them all.\n\nStanton raised his voice over them. 'It's about Thomas Dene.'\n\nThe questioning stopped. Dead.\n\n'Thomas?' Her face went white. 'What about him, Hugo?'\n\nStanton ignored her question. She would soon find out, God help her.\n\n'Then we shall make all haste, Stanton.' Barling turned to address the villagers. 'As for next steps, we need to start a search for Lindley. At first light.'\n\nHis words were met by some more cheers and quite a few anxious looks. Not Edgar.\n\n'God's eyes!' Edgar clenched a fist in anticipation. 'And I shall be the one to lead it, Barling.'\n\nStanton exchanged a look with Barling and the clerk read his urgency.\n\n'Go to your homes, good people. And pray for our success.'\n\nThat it would be so. But Stanton couldn't think about that just yet.\n\nFirst, Agnes."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "Telling Agnes the truth about the life of Thomas Dene had cost Stanton dear, Barling knew.\n\nSitting at the table once again in Edgar's hall, Barling had listened to his young messenger's account carefully and without comment while in his heart he offered fervent prayers of thanks. When he'd first seen Stanton's dead horse on the road, a gut-wrenching terror that his assistant had suffered the same fate had seized him. But God had smiled.\n\nStanton's account of what he had discovered about Dene came as a great surprise \u2013 Barling would be the first to admit that. But one thing the law had taught him was that people, far from being in the image of God, were capable of so much wrong.\n\nEdgar had remarked crudely and relentlessly and drank to match.\n\nOsmond had been a flurry of exclamations.\n\nAgnes herself had been disbelieving. The woman who calls herself Katherine Dene is lying. Thomas had no wife. She's lying.\n\nDistraught. My life is over. Over, do you hear me? Dear God, I missed his pilgrim badge when I washed him. How? How could I? But he was destroyed. Destroyed, my gorgeous Thomas.\n\nDisbelieving again. That woman is lying, lying. I don't know why. A thief of some sort, she has his tools now. That's it, a low, base thief. Never his wife. Never.\n\nThen, as she'd had her heart shattered into even smaller pieces by Stanton's account, Osmond decided that her soul was in peril also. He'd insisted, now he had found out she had been committing adultery, that she make a full and urgent confession to him.\n\nAgnes had fought it, but once Barling had also ordered her, she had gone to a private room with Osmond.\n\nEdgar had continued to blabber on, Barling throwing him the odd response as he, Barling, mulled over the latest findings.\n\nNo doubt utterly spent by now, Stanton had sat in silence, barely touching any food, preferring his wine, a poultice on his injured knee.\n\nNow the rector was back.\n\n'The baggage will confess nothing,' he said as he walked back in. 'Nothing.'\n\nEdgar snorted. 'Then she'll burn in hell.'\n\n'Give her time to examine her conscience,' said Barling. 'To reflect on her actions.'\n\n'Well, I am not going to waste any more time on her tonight,' said Osmond. 'Uncle, I'm off to my own bed. But I'm not walking there alone.' He shuddered. 'Think of what a prize a priest would be for Lindley.'\n\n'Take a couple of my servants with you,' said Edgar.\n\n'More than a couple, I'd say,' said Osmond. 'May God give us comfort after this dreadful night. And let us give every thanks for your merciful escape, Stanton.'\n\n'Thank you, sir priest,' replied Stanton.\n\nOsmond left with a wave.\n\n'Escape.' Edgar snorted in disgust. 'Escape. Too many bloody escapes, if you ask me. Too many. Should never have happened, Barling. Should all've been... been' \u2013 he waved a hand \u2013 'dealt with.' He belched. 'Long ago.'\n\nThe lord's obnoxious drunkenness was sorely trying Barling's patience now. 'Edgar, as I have said over and over, matters are being dealt with. I am dealing with them, under the authority of his Grace's justices. As for escapes, it was Thomas Dene who helped Lindley escape.'\n\n'And look what happened to Dene! His head caved in! For helping the swine!'\n\n'We do not know why\u2014'\n\n'But I helped the bastard!'\n\nBarling could see Stanton's stunned expression at the edge of his vision. He knew his own would not be far off.\n\nEdgar carried on. 'Before anything happened. No one was murdered. Nothing! I found Lindley hiding in one of my stables. It was the night before the one of Smith's murder. Chap was in a piteous state. I gave him some work to do. Rewarded him for it with charity. The boots off my own feet. My own feet! Said that was what he wanted. Not money. His feet were ruined from wandering for miles.'\n\n'Edgar, why on earth have you not told me this before?'\n\n'Because it was something of nothing. I'd helped the man. He had his boots. Should've been gone. On his way.' He got to his feet, swaying hard. 'Instead, he won't leave us alone. Bringing us all to hell.' He staggered out, cursing loud and long.\n\nStanton stared after him, then looked over at Barling. 'How could he not tell you this?'\n\n'Stanton, people keep secrets for all sorts of reasons.' The very best of reasons, as Barling knew only too well. 'This at least explains in part why Edgar is so quick to blame everybody for Lindley's escape. He had allowed it himself, and did it first, not bothering to enquire in any way about why a beggar might be roaming the land. Had he made such enquiries, who knows what he may have discovered?' He gave a sharp sigh. 'The man's approach to the law, to order, defies belief.'\n\n'At least his outburst explains the matter of Lindley's boots,' said Stanton. 'I did wonder how such a ragged man had such good ones.'\n\nBarling nodded. 'I had also noticed those but assumed he had stolen them from somewhere.'\n\n'As for secrets,' said Stanton, 'some I can understand more than others. Now that we're on our own, let me tell you about the Webbs'.' He provided Barling with a brief account.\n\nBarling sighed. 'Now we face a difficult dilemma. Edgar should really be told.'\n\n'No, he shouldn't. The Webbs saved my life, at risk to themselves. A few hares don't matter to Edgar. They do to the Webbs.' The younger man's words were forceful. Calm. Convincing.\n\n'Are you honestly trying to convince me that breaking the law should be rewarded, Stanton?'\n\n'In this case, yes.'\n\nBarling gave a small smile, which he knew surprised Stanton. 'Ah,' he said. 'You are indeed learning to think things through. Before long I believe you will be fit to hold another position with the court. Yes, you are no scribe, but I am sure we can find a better way for you to serve your King and\u2014'\n\n'No!' Stanton's face was a sudden mask of barely suppressed fury, shocking Barling as much as the loud interruption.\n\n'I believe that\u2014'\n\n'No.' Stanton cut him off again. 'I don't want it, never want it. Do you hear me?'\n\nBarling was rarely bewildered. He was now.\n\nStanton's visage, normally so easy to read, had become a closed, furious mask.\n\nBarling did know, however, when not to respond, when not to antagonise one who was greatly aroused. He held a hand up. 'Very well. I shall not suggest it again.'\n\nTo his relief, Stanton relaxed once more, the younger man's brow clearing as he swallowed hard. 'Thank you, Barling.'\n\n'Then we move on,' said Barling, forcing his own attention back to the matter at hand. 'I have a secret to share with you also. Another that relates to Agnes Smith. I will be brief.'\n\nStanton listened, his face now filled with growing horror as Barling related how Lindley had also set about Agnes on the night of her father's murder, stealing through the woods using concealing clothing in the same way.\n\nWhen he'd finished, Stanton looked as though he might be sick. 'Then Agnes was almost a victim of Lindley too.' He brought a hand to his neck. 'So many. Barling, why is he doing this? You have spent years hearing the crimes of killers. You must have some idea.'\n\n'I know this,' said Barling. 'There are many reasons why a man becomes an outlaw. An unfettered desire to kill is among them. It is rare. But Stanton, it is very, very real. Tomorrow we seek to end it.'\n\n'We will.' Stanton nodded. Hard.\n\nYet Barling still wondered, wondered what could have made this quick young man into someone who would be so angry at the idea of serving his lord King.\n\nBarling would find out. One day. He would make it his business to do so.\n\nAs for his own secrets, they were buried so deep they would never see the light of day.\n\nEver."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "A waste of time this. Waste.\n\nStanton sat on the horse lent to him by Edgar, sweat trickling down his back. He missed his poor dead Morel, with her pace like a fast-flowing river. Being astride this animal was more like sitting in the sticky mud that remained from the heavy rain. The sluggish horse plodded up a long, featureless hill, the gradual incline covered in poor grass and a few shrubs and without a single leaf or tree to cast any shade from the searing afternoon sun. The storm clouds had long disappeared and the heat was worse than ever.\n\nAhead, Edgar advanced on his huge palfrey, with loud snorts coming from the horse as he drove it on.\n\nBarling rode next to Stanton, a bit less awkwardly than usual. Perhaps the clerk was learning. As ever he wore his black robes, even on this stifling day.\n\nStanton's conscience nipped at him. Barling wasn't a bad fellow. The clerk had clearly thought that offering Stanton a chance to serve Henry was a wonderful gift. If only he knew the truth. But he didn't. Yet Stanton shouldn't have reacted with such anger. It wasn't fair on the man, no matter how annoying he could be.\n\n'What do you think Edgar hopes to find up here, Barling?'\n\nThe clerk turned at Stanton's question. 'That, Stanton, I do not know. But I can certainly guess that it will be precisely the same as what we have found up to now: nothing.'\n\n'But we shouldn't even be bothering with this stretch. Look.' Stanton gestured around, ahead, with one hand. 'There's nothing except miles of open land. Lindley would be easier to spot than a scarecrow on a ploughed field. And we've been at this since morning.'\n\n'I suppose we should give thanks that it is a new location,' said Barling dryly. 'There was that field we rode past three times.'\n\n'Fields that people should be working in.' Stanton glanced back at the line of villagers trudging along in the heat. 'Like Simon Caldbeck, the ploughman. And people like Peter Webb: he should be at his loom. The miller's out here as well.' He had to say it. 'You should never have allowed Edgar to lead the search, Barling.'\n\n'Of course I should.'\n\n'Admitting you're wrong isn't a sin, you know.'\n\n'I shall make allowances for your rudeness in this heat, Stanton.' Barling took a careful look round to make sure no one could overhear. 'It was no accident that I allowed Edgar to be in charge of this today. Edgar has done nothing except criticise and condemn how the law proceeds since we arrived here. He is responsible for undermining our efforts at all times, such as when he dared to try to lay the blame for Lindley's escape on you. It is often the case with those who stand and carp: once they are asked to carry out a task, they are unable to.'\n\n'Then all these hours have been to teach the lord a lesson.'\n\n'No,' said Barling. 'A man like Edgar is incapable of learning anything about himself by failure. That would require a degree of courage. What I am doing is making sure that, after today, Edgar's voice is much less influential. Without his constant obstacles, we will be able to make much better progress. And this conversation is, as always, only for our ears.'\n\n'Hah.' Stanton grinned at the picture of how furious Edgar would be if he knew. 'I just wish you'd told me your plan earlier.' He reached for his water bottle.\n\n'To be honest,' said Barling, 'I did not think for one second that he would last this long. When he came into the stable yard this morning, he could hardly walk. None of us had a great deal of sleep, but he looked to me like he had been up all night with his wine jug. He had had a copious amount throughout the day as well.'\n\n'People of Claresham!' Edgar pulled his horse up. 'Gather round. The King's men as well.'\n\n'Now what's he doing?' said Stanton.\n\n'Something foolish, I am sure,' murmured Barling as they arranged themselves in a group before Edgar with the sweating, exhausted folk of Claresham.\n\n'My lands have inspired me today on our search.' The scarlet-faced Edgar swayed in the saddle as he gave a wide gesture. 'Look at them. Far as the eye can see.' He stifled a hiccup.\n\nStanton saw many glances exchanged.\n\nEdgar went on. 'From here, you can see everything. Every. Thing. And that is what I want to do. Make sure I see everything.' He pointed a wavering finger at the group. 'That' \u2013 he gave a deep swallow \u2013 'you do. Some people say that I don't apply the law correctly.' Another swallow. 'After today, after seeing everything...' Another. 'I do. See. I will not tolerate any wrongdoing ever again.' A gulp. 'Or from before. All the wrongdoers. Ever. I will see them. Everybody will see them. Every. One.' He grimaced. Then vomited all over his horse. And fell off it.\n\nThe thud of his big body hitting the ground was met with more groans than gasps.\n\n'Oh, my lord.' A groom came rushing to Edgar's side to see to him.\n\nStanton saw Barling rise a little in his stirrups to take a look.\n\n'Out cold,' said the clerk to him with the barest twitch of a smile.\n\nBarling continued with his voice raised. 'Good people. You can see that your lord has been taken ill. Our first priority must be to return him to his hall.'\n\nSet looks met that announcement.\n\n'There will also be a new, orderly search for Nicholas Lindley tomorrow. This time I will lead it.'\n\nIf Barling had been expecting a better response, he didn't get it.\n\nThe set looks at the King's clerk didn't change.\n\nAnd on the ground, Edgar threw up all over his groom."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "Finally, Aelred Barling had lost his calm.\n\nStanton couldn't help a smile inside at the row that now raged in Edgar's hall, the lord locked in verbal combat with the King's clerk.\n\nWith a stab of his short eating knife, he brought the roasted pigeon to his mouth and took a bite. Delicious, as was all the other food laid out. He actually had an appetite on this warm evening. They hadn't had sight of Lindley, thanks to Edgar's wild search. But all had remained peaceful in Claresham today. Well, except for the hall at this moment.\n\nBarling had had his plan to fully take over the search. Edgar had decided to take no notice, despite having fallen off his horse in a drunken collapse.\n\n'These are my lands, Barling.' The scowling Edgar sat hunched at the head of the table, busy guzzling wine to replace what he'd spewed earlier. 'Mine. You have no right to take over as you did today.'\n\n'I did not take over, Edgar. I did what I was entitled to do.' Barling had his water from the spring and a furious look.\n\n'I think you invent what you are entitled to, Barling.'\n\nStanton reached for a piece of bread.\n\n'How dare you, sir,' said Barling. 'You know full well I consult the law every step of the way.'\n\n'Maybe you do. Or maybe you don't. Does he, Hugo?'\n\nStanton looked up, alarmed by Edgar's use of his name and, worse, by his attempt to draw him into the argument.\n\n'You leave my assistant out of this, Edgar.'\n\n'He can speak for himself, can't he?' Edgar grinned at Stanton. 'Or does the court not allow it?'\n\nBarling made an impatient noise and drank from his cup.\n\nStanton understood what was going on now. Edgar was starting to enjoy himself hugely. He'd succeeded in making Barling annoyed and he knew that gave him the upper hand. 'I'm not a big one for speeches, my lord.'\n\n'No.' Barling rose from the table. 'And neither should you be. I am going to retire now. I have much to see to tomorrow, and that ride of many miles has tired me out.' He went to the door. 'Unnecessary miles at that.' Then he was gone as fast as his stiff steps would allow.\n\n'I should go to my bed also, my lord.' Stanton rose to his feet, cursing silently that Barling had stormed off. So much good food sat in front of him.\n\n'Sit, sit.' Edgar waved a hand. 'Just because your master has gone off in a huff doesn't mean you have to as well.'\n\nHe didn't much want to stay here with Edgar. But he wanted to go to bed hungry even less. 'Thank you, my lord.'\n\nIt was a big mistake. He knew how much Edgar liked to talk. And talk he did, long past the time Stanton finished eating and the servants had cleared all the dishes of food away, leaving plentiful wine for Edgar.\n\nEdgar drank and talked and talked and drank, pressing Stanton into goblet after goblet too.\n\nEvery time Stanton thought Edgar had finished, the man would start again, with more blather and a full cup.\n\nDarkness had long fallen and the moon now hung in the open window.\n\nA huge yawn broke from Stanton, causing Edgar to pause.\n\n'You're ready to retire, are you, Hugo?'\n\n'If that's all right, my lord.'\n\n'Of course, of course.' Edgar waved a hand.\n\n'Thank you for your generous hospitality, my lord.' And thank the saints I'm going to bed. Stanton winced as he got to his feet. The room span a bit from all he'd drunk as well.\n\n'Something the matter?'\n\n'It's only my knee. Hurt it when Lindley sent me off my horse. Goodnight, my lord.' He started to limp off.\n\n'Let me have a look.' For a big man, Edgar could move very fast.\n\nHe stood in front of Stanton, bending over to put a large hand on his sore kneecap. 'Had an injury like this myself.' Squeezed it. Hard.\n\n'Ow.'\n\n'It'll mend.' Edgar straightened up.\n\nStill stood close. Very close. Close enough for Stanton to see every broken vein in the man's face, in his hooded eyes.\n\n'I'm sure it will, my lord.' He went to step past, but Edgar moved too.\n\n'Young joints always do.' He smiled, his rows of yellowed teeth inches away. 'Beautifully.'\n\nAnd then one of Edgar's big hands was on the back of his neck, the other fumbling for his crotch, the lord's wide, wet mouth closing on his.\n\nDamn it all. Stanton shoved him off. Hard.\n\nThe lord reeled back. 'Come on, Stanton.' No more smile. 'You need to pay for all that good wine.'\n\n'No, I don't.'\n\n'Don't you dare test me, boy.' Edgar lunged for him again.\n\nStanton was ready for him. He stepped smartly out of reach, sending the lord staggering.\n\nEdgar clutched at a chair back for balance, swearing hard.\n\nStanton had seen men like him plenty of times in the dark recesses of the worst bawdy houses \u2013 had had them try to corner him a few times as well. 'I'm sure your nephew has preached to you that sodomites go to hell. So stay away from me, Edgar. And you'll stay out of hell.'\n\nHis words worked like they always did.\n\n'Hell?' Edgar's tone was vicious as he flung the chair aside with a loud clatter. 'Hell? You can talk. You're Satan coming to tempt me again. Now get out of my sight.'\n\nStanton didn't wait, not while he had the chance to get away.\n\nHe always made sure he did that too."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Stanton's heart soared. Rosamund, his Rosamund. Astride Morel as he rode next to her on an unknown mount. Her golden hair streaming behind her, her cheeks a delicate pink in the sunshine, her lips parting as she gasped her delight. He held out his hand to grasp her smooth fingers, to feel her touch, to share her joy. But he couldn't reach; she rode faster than him. 'Hurry, Hugo, hurry!' He tried to respond to her laughing call. But he couldn't. She was fast, too fast. He couldn't reach, couldn't\u2014 'Sir, sir! Come, you must hurry!'\n\nStanton didn't recognise the voice that pulled him from his dream. He opened his eyes, squinting in the bright light of day.\n\nA frantic servant stood by the bed.\n\nStanton sat bolt upright with an oath. 'I'm late. Barling's waiting for me, isn't he?'\n\n'No, sir, no.' The servant's eyes were wild, terrified. 'It's Sir Reginald. Our lord has been murdered.'\n\n'What?' Stanton wasn't sure if he still dreamed.\n\n'In his solar. The King's clerk says to come at once.'\n\nNo dream. Stanton yanked on his clothes, ran through the hall past groups of sobbing servants to Edgar's solar.\n\nHe slowed as he approached the door. It would never be long enough, but this was too soon after Dene.\n\n'I'm here, Barling,' he called out, as much to prepare himself as the clerk.\n\n'Then come in, Stanton,' came the clerk's call in return. 'But be warned of what you are about to see.'\n\nStanton drew in a deep breath, as if he were to plunge into a deep pool of water. He was glad he did, as a sickly stench like that of a newly slaughtered pig met him.\n\n'God's eyes.' He put a hand to his mouth and nose. Blood, so much blood, obscene in the harsh sunlight that streamed in through an open window.\n\n'A scene from hell.' Barling shook his head. 'We use the words often, but I have never seen anything so close.' He blessed himself with a hand that looked to Stanton much less steady than usual. 'And I pray I never will.'\n\nEdgar lay on his bed, on his back with his arms out, his bed linen splashed with scarlet.\n\n'His throat has been slashed,' said Barling. 'A servant found him when they went to wake him. You can see the open shutter where Lindley must have entered and left.'\n\n'Lindley knew it, didn't he?' said Stanton. 'Because he'd been in the manor before. Like Edgar said.'\n\n'Indeed.' Barling gave a sombre nod. 'We need to question the household, of course. But I think we already have truth from poor Edgar's mouth.'\n\nEdgar's mouth. Closing on his. A few short hours ago. The same mouth that had accused Stanton of being the devil. Gaping wide in a silent scream now. And forever. Too much.\n\n'Are you all right, Stanton?'\n\n'I'm fine, Barling.' He pushed past the clerk.\n\nBut once the petrified servants were assembled in the hall, it was like all the other murders.\n\nStanton could hear the answers even before Barling asked the questions.\n\nNo one saw or heard anything. The manor was secure. But Lindley, 'the devil', must have found a way to get in through the window and slay their master.\n\n'And can you tell me,' asked Barling next of the servants, 'what work Lindley did for your lord?'\n\n'Work, sir?'\n\n'None.'\n\n'No work.'\n\nBarling pressed them as Stanton watched faces for any sign of a lie, but saw none.\n\n'I mean,' said the clerk, 'the work for which Edgar rewarded Lindley with a pair of boots. Here in the manor.'\n\n'Boots?'\n\n'Lindley was here?'\n\n'No, no, not here. Never.'\n\n'Oh, God save us.'\n\n'Very well,' said Barling to the servants. 'If you think of anything else, if you recall anything, you must inform me at once. In the meantime, convey the news immediately to the rector that his uncle is dead, and that he needs to come to administer the last rites. Make sure you move in pairs or more. Is that clear? I also need you to summon the men of the village with all haste, as this new outrage has made the search for Lindley all the more urgent. Also, tell the men to ensure that their womenfolk are locked away in safety.'\n\nThe servants left with a clatter, leaving Stanton alone with Barling.\n\n'Are you now going to tell me what the matter is, Stanton?'\n\n'There's a lot the matter this morning, Barling.'\n\n'Stanton, you are probably the worst liar I have ever met.'\n\nStanton pulled in a breath. 'I may be the last person to have seen Edgar alive. Last night. Here, in this hall.' He gave Barling his account, willing the clerk to disbelieve him.\n\nBarling let him speak.\n\nAngry shouts came from the courtyard, but still Barling didn't interrupt Stanton.\n\nWhen he'd finished, Barling nodded slowly. 'Ah. Then our outlaw did perform some work.'\n\n'But the servants said he didn't, Barling. They told you that a few minutes ago.'\n\n'Barling!' Osmond barrelled in, cutting off Barling's reply.\n\n'For the love of God, what has happened to my uncle?'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "'I will search the village first.' Barling's voice rose above the angry shouts and jeers of all of the men of the village assembled in the courtyard in the sun's stark light.\n\nStanton stood with him, mindful that the villagers might turn on them at any minute. He knew Osmond was in the solar with his uncle's body. If he had to, he'd run and get him. But summoning a priest from his administering of the sacraments was a last \u2013 a very last \u2013 choice. Neither did he want to leave Barling alone. The clerk might say the wrong thing at any second.\n\nHe kept an eye on the door, ready to haul Barling in if need be.\n\n'We've just come from the village!'\n\n'Our women are locked up in our homes. Should we search under their skirts?' This from a sneering Caldbeck.\n\nHoots, jeers greeted the ploughman's impudence.\n\n'Unlike the late Sir Reginald Edgar, I will do this in a methodical way.'\n\nStanton cringed. He'd guessed right about Barling's actions. Calling shame down on the murdered lord would do Barling no favours. The clerk was correct, but this was not the time to say it.\n\n'Our lord not good enough for you?'\n\n'Hell's teeth, sir!'\n\n'Have a bit of respect, man!'\n\n'God save Sir Reginald's soul!'\n\nBarling did not respond, or even flinch. Instead he carried on. 'And Stanton and I will look in every dwelling.'\n\nNow the jeers became howls of protest.\n\n'He questions our word!'\n\n'Lindley's not in our homes!'\n\n'While the real outlaw is still taking lives!'\n\nStanton got ready to pull Barling inside, put a hand on his arm.\n\nBut Barling shook him off to try to shout over the crowd again. 'Wild pursuit has not served us well up to now!'\n\n'For the love of God, compose yourselves!'\n\nStanton looked around as the rector walked out to face the crowd.\n\n'My uncle has been murdered. Lies dead in this hall. There should be prayers, not a riot.'\n\nHis words brought a simmering silence.\n\n'Thank you, sir priest,' said Barling. 'I shall conduct my search as I read the law. Not in fits and starts, but in order. Line by line by line. A proper search may well yield vital information. I am going to start now, Stanton with me.'\n\n'And me also,' said the rector. 'My uncle's soul is already in Paradise, I have no doubt of that.'\n\nStanton did.\n\nThe rector continued. 'Now I wish to find who sent him there.'\n\n'So if you are not coming with us,' said Barling to the villagers, 'go to your homes. It is one or the other.' His gaze met Stanton's. 'Are you ready, Stanton?'\n\nOsmond's demand for composure had worked at first but the quiet hadn't lasted long. Every stop at every home brought new calls of protest from the men outside and the women within.\n\nStanton also couldn't quite believe that they were wasting time like this, but he had no opportunity to try to talk Barling out of it.\n\nThe clerk had even brought one of his wax tablets with him to list names and dwellings, to more howls of derision every time he read from it or wrote on it.\n\nTheir checking of the empty home of Bartholomew Theaker brought the worst insults of all. The body of its owner had gone, but all else was the same, except the blossom tree, its petals now shed and lying on the ground like snow.\n\nThey moved on, from door to door, Osmond's insistence on blessing every home once they'd finished checking adding to their slow pace.\n\nStanton heard every word of barely muted insult. A few times his cheeks burned and he knew Barling must be able to hear it all too. Yet the King's clerk stayed as aloof as if he sat on the dais like the judges at York.\n\nThen they came to one house that Stanton knew well.\n\n'This is the Webbs', Barling,' he said.\n\n'Peter and Margaret Webb?' Barling looked at his list.\n\n'Correct.' Even Stanton was tempted to smack the tablet out of his hand. He knew who the Webbs were.\n\n'Knock on, Stanton.'\n\nStanton did as ordered, the warm planks in the sunshine and the noise so different from the dark and the quiet of the night he'd been pounding on it.\n\nNo answer. He frowned.\n\n'Sir!' Peter Webb's sombre face was one in the group of village men.\n\n'What is it, Webb?' asked Barling.\n\n'Margaret's with John in the fulling shed, sir. He was bad this morning, so we agreed she should stay in there.'\n\n'Very well.'\n\nStanton crossed the yard with Barling and Osmond, Webb following them. Webb opened the door to the shed to the sharp, foul stench of the stale urine used in the fulling work. Stanton coughed hard, Barling also recoiling, as the rector clapped his linen kerchief to his own nose.\n\nA loud report echoed out.\n\nJohn, of course, treading in the dark.\n\n'I can't see Margaret,' said Stanton to Barling.\n\n'You can't?' Webb frowned. 'Margaret!'\n\nNo answer.\n\nOnly John's steady steps and splashes, a creature in his own dark world with no understanding of what was going on.\n\n'Margaret!'\n\n'Check the cottage, Stanton. Now.'\n\nStanton ran the few yards back to the cottage, Webb behind him, older, slower, calling for his wife.\n\nHe hauled open the door.\n\nNo jeers, no catcalls now.\n\nFor on the floor of the Webbs' cottage was the still form of Margaret Webb, lying face down on a pile of newly woven cloth, her white coif a bloodied mess of scarlet."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "A stunned-looking Peter Webb staggered past Stanton to his wife, and then John was in too, hollering and crying.\n\nA wave of panicked yells came from outside as well, some men fleeing back to their own homes to check on their loved ones.\n\n'Stay calm, stay calm, good people!' came Osmond's useless call.\n\n'Margaret?' Webb stared at his wife's body, one hand clutching at his chest.\n\n'Stanton!' Barling's order rose above the din. 'Remove that wild boy. At once.'\n\nStanton looked to Webb to help. No use. The man appeared about to pass out.\n\nHe grabbed for John's jerkin, hanging on as the man twisted and yelled.\n\n'Get him out, Stanton.'\n\n'Out, come on.' Stanton went to wrestle John out, but the man flung himself back to his mother, breaking from Stanton's grasp and sending him to the floor.\n\nHe landed hard on one hip.\n\n'Stanton.' Barling's sharp rebuke.\n\nStanton went to clamber back up, grabbed for John again. Got him.\n\nThen he saw it. The tiniest twitch of one of Margaret's fingers.\n\n'Barling, she's still alive!' Stanton thrust John from him, pushed the suffocating wool down to give Margaret the best chance for air.\n\n'Oh, Margaret, Margaret!' Webb was on his knees next to him, still clutching his chest, his breathing ragged.\n\nJohn had retreated to the corner, slapping his own head hard, and carrying on his sudden shouts.\n\nAs Stanton did what he could, Barling's crisp orders came echoing in while Osmond loudly proclaimed a miracle.\n\n'Fetch somebody who can dress her wound. Then I want her taken back to the lord's manor under constant guard. I do not want her to be vulnerable to any further attack from Lindley.'\n\nStanton had done his best in freeing Margaret's mouth and nose. Doubt bit at him now. She hadn't moved since that one \u2013 that only \u2013 tiny twitch. Her eyes were still closed.\n\n'If you'll excuse me, sir.' He looked up to see the midwife, Hilda Folkes. 'I shall see to Margaret now.'\n\n'Of course.' He went outside, his legs like he'd been running far and fast.\n\nBarling gave him a firm nod as Webb came out behind him, the weaver's grip firm on a quieter but still moaning John.\n\n'What happens now, Barling?'\n\nA rude shout from the crowd. Caldbeck.\n\n'We carry on our search of every home,' Barling replied.\n\nSomething niggled at Stanton when he said that; he didn't know why.\n\n'Then may God protect us.' Osmond quailed and blessed himself.\n\nA storm of protest met his answer, with shouts that it was a waste of time, that it was useless.\n\nBarling wasn't having it. 'Do I really have to point out that Margaret Webb would be dead by now if we had not searched the village first? The search goes on.'\n\n'A lot of folk would still be alive if Nicholas Lindley had hanged!' Another rude shout from Caldbeck.\n\n'Sir, if I may.' Webb had got a little colour back in his lined face, much to Stanton's relief.\n\n'What is it?' asked Barling.\n\n'I, for one, want to continue to help hunt for the man who did this to my wife. Can my boy go with her, with Margaret, to the manor?'\n\n'Of course.' Barling signalled to a reluctant pair of the late Edgar's servants to escort John.\n\n'Thank you, sir.'\n\n'As I say, the search goes on,' said Barling.\n\n'If God wills it.' Osmond looked petrified.\n\nBarling started to list whose home would be next as the calls of protest went on.\n\n'Are the dead ones still on your list?' Caldbeck. Again.\n\nAnd then Stanton understood the niggle. Smoke. Homes with no one living in them, like Theaker's, had no smoke rising from the thatch. But the living did. Except one. No smoke rose from the roof of the Smith family's cottage. Dear God, Agnes could be at death's door too.\n\n'Barling!' He grabbed at the clerk's arm. 'Forget the list. There's one that's more urgent. I fear Agnes Smith has been set upon.'\n\n'What! Why?'\n\n'Come on.' He gabbled out his reasoning as they ran, Osmond huffing along with them as the crowd of village men surged behind in a shouting mass.\n\n'Agnes!' Stanton hammered on the door.\n\nSilence.\n\nHe tried to open it. 'It's locked!'\n\nBarling clicked his fingers at one of Edgar's men. 'Break it down. Now.'\n\nA couple of swift axe blows had it open.\n\n'Agnes!' Stanton forced his way in through the damaged planks. 'Agnes!'\n\nSilence. The hearth was dead. The floor mercifully empty. No Agnes lying there as Margaret had been.\n\n'She's not here, Barling.'\n\nBarling stepped in behind him, Osmond too, gasping from his run. 'We always need order.'\n\n'I'm sorry,' said Stanton. 'I should have followed your plan.'\n\nThe first angry shouts broke out.\n\n'What the devil is going on?'\n\nBarling sighed. 'Stanton, go out there and placate them, or at least as much as you can. Let Osmond and I continue.'\n\nStanton did as he was ordered, though he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He held up a hand to get silence. 'We are searching Agnes's cottage,' he began.\n\n'No, you're standing outside of it!'\n\nA roar of unpleasant laughter met the call from the ploughman.\n\n'You know what I mean, Caldbeck.' Stanton tried to be heard over the din. 'You all do.'\n\nHis words had no effect, with the mocking chorus continuing.\n\nBut then the laughs stopped dead. Turned to gasps of horror.\n\nStanton looked around to see Barling walk out with an ashen-faced Osmond.\n\nThe clerk held a long-bladed knife high in one hand, the metal dulled with the stain of dried blood. 'I found this hidden in the log basket.'\n\nStanton didn't follow. Nothing was making sense.\n\nBut Barling went straight up to one of Edgar's men. 'Do you recognise this?'\n\n'God save us.' The man nodded, his lips white. 'That's one of the knives from Sir Reginald's hall. His lordship always had Geoffrey Smith put a special stamp in the metal. Said it would stop people thieving.'\n\nThe weapon used to slay Edgar. Stanton closed his eyes as realisation began to dawn. Agnes. No. Opened them again.\n\n'I believe we have found our monster,' said Barling. 'But we were too late. Far too late. She has slipped away.'\n\nOsmond's mouth set in a thin line. 'Slipped away with her murdered father's hard-earned money. I know where Smith kept it from collecting the tithes and it is gone.' He shook his head. 'Such wickedness.'\n\n'Agnes Smith is an outlaw now,' said Barling. 'The King's reach extends over the whole of the land. She will be brought to justice and she will hang.'\n\nA huge roar met his words, every voice and face eager to witness justice at last.\n\n'And may God have mercy on her,' said Osmond. 'For no one else will.'\n\nStanton's gaze fell on a stunned-looking Caldbeck. For once, the loud-mouthed ploughman had nothing to say."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "'I trusted I would be lord of Claresham one day,' said Osmond. 'If God was good enough to spare me.'\n\nStanton sat to his right at the long table in Edgar's hall, Barling opposite, a lit candle holder on the table bringing light to their faces but leaving the rest of the hall in shadow.\n\nFrom outside came the clatter of hooves dying away in the distance, the last of the pairs of messengers dispatched by Barling with hastily scrawled letters to alert people for miles around.\n\nStanton wished he'd gone too. Anything was better than sitting here looking at what rested on the tabletop in front of them: a bundle of cloth containing the knife Barling had found in Agnes's cottage.\n\n'As I knew, it would take the sad death of my uncle for it to be so.' Osmond put his head in his hands. 'But I never thought it would be in such heinous circumstances.' His gaze went to the bundle and his mouth turned down in revulsion. 'For the love of God, take that thing out of my sight.'\n\n'Stanton, perhaps you could dispose of it.' Barling reached out and pushed it over to Stanton.\n\nStanton took it from him, the hairs on his neck rising from having in his hands the object that had taken the life of a man. As to what he should do with it, he had no idea. 'How best should I do that?'\n\nBarling glared at him. 'Not now,' he mouthed.\n\n'If the world had not gone mad,' said Osmond, 'you could ask Geoffrey Smith to melt it down. It was his hands that would have fashioned it, that had fashioned so much else. But you can't.' He gave a snort of disgust, for all the world like the late Edgar. 'Because he's dead.'\n\nStanton placed the bundle in his satchel, hoping Barling would tell him as soon as possible about what he should do with it. He hoped he could leave it wrapped when he did and not have to look at the sickeningly stained blade.\n\n'Murdered just like your unfortunate uncle, God rest him,' said Barling. 'And it was Geoffrey's own daughter who killed him.'\n\nOsmond shook his head. 'The she-devil. What drove her to such evil?'\n\n'Agnes Smith was something which is of more advantage to a killer,' said Barling. 'She was clever.'\n\n'Bold too.' Stanton had thought that desirable. Knowing what it truly meant now sickened him.\n\n'Indeed.' Barling nodded. 'Agnes claimed to me that she was attacked in the woods before she found her father's body. No one else saw either of those events, neither the attack nor her father's murder. Worse, she used those lies to put the blame on another. It was late at night. She had plenty of time and opportunity to kill her father with the branding iron.'\n\n'But why?' asked the rector. 'I mean, Geoffrey Smith was hardly a saint. Why, he confessed to me once that he\u2014'\n\n'Sir priest, you cannot be referring to what you have heard in the sanctity of the confessional.' Barling looked at him askance.\n\nOsmond raised a hand. 'Forgive me, I'm not thinking clearly in my shock.'\n\n'As to why Agnes would want to kill her father,' said Barling, 'her father had promised her in marriage to Bartholomew Theaker, a man who physically repulsed her. Agnes was the stonecutter Thomas Dene's devoted lover, and by killing Theaker she thought she was then free to marry Dene.'\n\nStanton nodded. 'Little did she know that he was already married, with a flock of children.'\n\n'Dene was merely taking advantage of her,' said Barling. 'He was happy to spin her any story to satisfy his lust. But for Agnes, it was more than lust. She had given her dark heart utterly to him. She told me how they were planning a life together. She was utterly consumed with passion for him. Dene, realising that with Theaker's death Agnes was now free to marry him, had to come clean about his existing marriage. Her murderous rage was now unleashed at the lover who had let her down.'\n\n'God's eyes,' said Osmond.\n\n'Ambushing and trying to kill Stanton was a futile attempt to keep the truth from coming out,' said Barling.\n\nThe rope. The road. His horse. Stanton stared into the moving light of the candle, trying to banish the images, the sounds from his head.\n\n'And,' Barling continued, 'I believe she had another purpose in attacking you, Stanton. It made her lie to me about being attacked by a hooded figure in the woods that much more credible.'\n\n'But could a woman have done what was done to my animal?' asked Stanton. 'The strength of...' He swallowed, didn't want to say the words. 'It all.'\n\n'From my experience in such matters over the years,' said Barling, 'pure rage, that most dangerous of emotions, gives a person, man or woman, strength way beyond what one might expect. It also makes a soul blind to the implications of committing a mortal sin.'\n\n'Surely Agnes did not love my uncle, Barling,' said Osmond. 'Why should she be driven to kill him of all people?'\n\n'As lord, Edgar had to agree to all marriages of villeins,' he replied. 'Geoffrey Smith was a freeman, so he could have given Agnes in marriage to another freeman. But Theaker, though comfortably off, was a villein and so needed the lord's permission to marry. Edgar clearly had given it, as Theaker and Agnes were betrothed.'\n\nThis explanation puzzled Stanton. 'But she had already found out that Thomas Dene was married, had killed him. Why would she have bothered to murder Edgar?'\n\n'A question well worth asking, Stanton,' said Barling. 'Remember, when I questioned Agnes, she said that Dene would use her betrothal to Theaker as a barrier to their being together. Dene even said to her one day how much happier our lives could have been without the hand of Sir Reginald Edgar. She acted upon that. I suspect she had already decided to do so. In her lust-fevered mind, he'd been a barrier to her happiness. Even if Dene was dead, in her twisted mind, Edgar still had to be punished for daring to deny her her desires.'\n\n'I suppose so.' Stanton could still hear the uncertainty in his own voice.\n\n'The throes of youth bring not only unstoppable passions,' said Barling, 'but passions which defy all logic. Again, I have seen it many times. It can make one blind to anything except the object of one's desire and its pursuit.'\n\nStanton fixed his gaze on the candle again. Barling could be looking into his own grieving heart.\n\nFortunately, the clerk was in full flow and seemed not to notice.\n\n'Thwarted,' he continued, 'it can lead to all kinds of madness. And Agnes was by this time thwarted beyond all reason and not in her senses. She had killed her father, her betrothed, her lover. Tried to kill you, Stanton.'\n\nStanton pulled his gaze from the candle, his horse's dying moments echoing in his head again. 'She did,' he said quietly.\n\n'She was possessed by Satan more like.' Osmond shuddered.\n\n'And she was in this manor,' said Barling. 'Knew its layout from the day she killed Theaker. She was here in the care of the servants. She was also here the night after she murdered Dene. When she confessed to you, Osmond.'\n\n'Yet she would confess nothing, the baggage.'\n\n'And as for Margaret Webb.' Barling gave a deep sigh. 'Had you not intervened, Stanton, she would have been another life lost at the hands of Agnes Smith.'\n\n'Peter's life would've been destroyed too.' Stanton shook his head. 'His grief when he thought his wife was dead will stay with me for a long time.'\n\n'Yet as Peter Webb himself pointed out, Margaret called Agnes a whore over and over,' said Osmond.\n\n'Yes,' said Stanton. 'Agnes said that to me the day we found Theaker's...' He stopped, shook his head as her actions all fell into place. 'The day she met me on the path. Her hair all wet. Said about having been bathing. And then she brought me to the reed pond. Where we found Theaker's body. He'd struggled with whoever held him down in the water.'\n\nBarling looked at him. 'Bold, remember?'\n\n'Wicked more like,' said Osmond.\n\n'But what of Lindley?' asked Stanton.\n\nBarling brought a hand across his face. Exhaustion was etched there now.\n\nStanton knew how he felt.\n\n'I have concluded only this,' said Barling. 'That Lindley was most likely a man wrongly accused all along. But Agnes helped him to escape, knowing in her cunning that he would take the blame for her.'\n\nStanton's spirits rose, despite his exhaustion, despite the awful happenings at every turn. Lindley. A man wrongly accused all along. 'So I was right? About Lindley?'\n\n'I said \"most likely\",' said Barling. 'Nothing more.'\n\nStanton didn't care that Barling found the energy to glare at him. He, Hugo Stanton, had seen the truth. When all others doubted him.\n\n'A terrible business this,' said Osmond. 'All of it. What is to happen now, Barling?'\n\n'As I said, Agnes Smith might have given us the slip, at least for now.' He got to his feet. 'The warnings about her have gone out. I shall go to my solar and start all the extra necessary work now, as well as updating my records.'\n\n'Then I shall leave you as I go to my bed.' Osmond rose to his feet with a wide yawn. 'I have to prepare for my uncle's funeral on the morrow. A sad task. I shall sleep here in the manor.' He shook his head. 'A sad task for a sad day.' He went out, muttering to himself.\n\n'You also look ready for rest, Stanton,' said Barling.\n\n'I am, but I think I'll sit with Margaret awhile. Had we seen this sooner, she would still be hale.'\n\nThey went to the door, where Barling paused. 'Had you not seen her moving, she would have simply perished on the floor. A life saved, Stanton.' He nodded and set off for his solar.\n\n'Goodnight, Barling.' Could that possibly have been a bit of acknowledgement from Barling? Who cared if it was. A middle-aged woman lay in a room nearby with the most terrible of injuries.\n\nHe picked up a large piece of gingerbread from the untouched selection of food on a side table and bit into it without tasting it. He wasn't hungry, but he needed a bit of nourishment to keep him going. He set off for Margaret's room.\n\nHe could sit with her awhile. It wasn't much.\n\nBut it was something."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Stanton went to the door of the solar, where he knew Margaret had been taken, shoving his half-eaten gingerbread in his belt pouch.\n\nOutside, two plainly dressed women sat on a settle, one dozing with her cheek on her hand.\n\nThe other was Hilda Folkes, who got to her feet as soon as she saw Stanton.\n\n'God keep you, sir,' she whispered. 'And your keen eye in saving Margaret's life.'\n\n'God keep you also.' He spoke quietly too. 'How is Mistress Webb?'\n\nHilda crossed herself. 'Very, very poorly, sir. Her wound has been bandaged, and I did what I could with my knowledge of herbs.' She grimaced. 'Margaret Webb is very lucky to be still alive. But she has not regained her senses. Who knows if she will survive such a savage attack? It will still be many hours before a physician can get here.' Her lips pursed. 'But I can tell you this much: hell is not hot enough for Agnes Smith.'\n\n'May I see Mistress Webb?' asked Stanton.\n\n'I would say certainly.' Hilda darted a nervous glance at the door. 'But her son, John, is still in there. He's like a restless bear. A smelly bear at that. He doesn't like anybody near her.' She nodded to where her friend slept on. 'That's why there's two of us. In case he leaps on us.'\n\n'I'll be on my guard,' said Stanton. 'Thank you.'\n\nHe stepped inside, closed the door behind him.\n\n'Huh.'\n\nAs the midwife had described, John paced the floor, wide awake, his lopsided sight on Stanton, his heavy brows drawn in a deep scowl.\n\nTrouble was, John's path was up and down between Stanton and the bed on which the wounded Margaret lay.\n\nWith a small candle lit next to her, she was utterly still, eyes closed. Her lifeless hands had been placed on her stomach. She could be a corpse.\n\nNext to the bed sat a low stool.\n\nStanton eyed it longingly. His weariness threatened to have him off his feet soon. He took a step towards it.\n\nJohn blocked him, stopping in front of Stanton.\n\n'Look, I've got something for you.' Stanton opened his hand to reveal a piece of the gingerbread, which had interested the wild man before.\n\nAnd did again. John's hand darted out, grabbed it. As before, he brought it right up to his good eye. Then sniffed hard at it. But this time he didn't shove it in his clothing. Instead, he went to Margaret's side and tried to put it in one of her hands, closing her fingers round it. They fell open again as if they were a soft, empty glove. He tried again, with the same result.\n\nStanton crossed himself, a deep sadness gripping him. He should go. He'd no business in here.\n\nThen his breath almost stopped.\n\nMargaret opened her eyes. A little. Looked right at him. One of her fingers moved, by the smallest movement. But it was there. Like he'd seen earlier in the cottage.\n\nHe went quickly to her side, keeping a wary watch on John.\n\n'Mistress Webb.' Stanton kept his voice low lest he cause her head to hurt even more. 'You're awake, praise God.'\n\nShe opened her mouth to speak. No sound came out.\n\nStanton could see from the tremor in her lip, from the panic in her eyes, that she was straining to form speech. But she couldn't.\n\n'Mistress, don't tire yourself out trying to talk,' he said. 'Rest as much as you can.'\n\nHer gaze moved to John instead.\n\nHer son bent towards her and she made a few movements with her hand, weak but definite.\n\nTo Stanton's shock, John responded with a nod. He reached a filthy, square hand out and grabbed Stanton by the arm.\n\nStanton flinched, jerked back, expecting a blow or similar.\n\nBut all he got was John's insistent pull towards the door.\n\nFrom the bed, Margaret let out a long, long ragged breath. Then her eyes slid half-closed again, the whites still showing. Damn it all, he hadn't saved her at all. The life was slipping from her even as he watched. Hilda. He had to get Hilda.\n\nStanton allowed John to drag him out so he could summon her.\n\nShe looked up in alarm at John as they emerged.\n\n'Come quick. Margaret's fading fast,' began Stanton.\n\nBut John let out a loud bellow, slapped at the wall.\n\n'God protect us.' Hilda ducked away, while her friend woke in a frightened shriek.\n\nJohn was already moving down the corridor, Stanton still in his grasp.\n\n'See to Margaret, Hilda. Please! Don't let her die alone.'\n\nStanton didn't catch her reply. John had quickened his pace.\n\nAnd they were headed for the front door."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "The Webb family home loomed ahead in the darkness.\n\nSweat covered Stanton the second he saw it. Nothing to do with the warm night. The sight of it brought back every panicked step he'd taken when Lindley had murdered his horse on the road and would have done the same to him.\n\nNot Lindley. Agnes.\n\nStanton tried to change their path to alert Peter Webb that he was there, but John would have none of it.\n\nHe dragged Stanton past the house and to the door of the fulling shed. Still with his grip firm, John opened the door with his free hand and stepped inside, bringing Stanton with him.\n\n'God above.' Stanton brought a hand over his mouth and nose.\n\nThe sharp stench made the air thick, made it hard to breathe.\n\nJohn didn't seem bothered. He let go of Stanton to go and light a grey tallow candle with clumsy movements of his stubby fingers. The tiny flame made little difference in the darkness of the high-beamed shed.\n\nStanton's mouth had filled with spittle in protest at the stink and he swallowed it down. Why on earth had Margaret sent him here with her son? The answer was, she hadn't. The twitching of her fingers would've been the same as the useless twitching of her mouth.\n\nMost likely John wanted to come back to where he spent his days and nights, unable to understand why his mother lay speechless in a bed at the lord's hall.\n\nBed. That was what Stanton wanted more than anything else right now. Bed and sleep for a week if he could.\n\nJohn peered over at Stanton, his big tongue moving and glistening in the poor light like an oversized slug.\n\n'It's too late for work, John.' He had no idea why he said it. He might as well have sung a bawdy tune to the witless John.\n\nJohn ignored him, which came as no surprise. But he didn't go to the fulling pit. Instead, he went to the far corner, piled with barrels, and gestured to Stanton.\n\nStanton drew in a deep breath to sigh in frustration, then coughed it right back out again. A deep breath in this place was a bad idea.\n\nBut John repeated his gesture.\n\n'I can't help you, John.' Stanton went over to him, his exhaustion almost complete now. 'I don't know your work.'\n\nJohn stood next to a large basket of what looked like dirty wool scraps; Stanton could hardly tell in the dim light.\n\n'Huh.' John bent to rummage in the basket and pulled something out.\n\nNot wool scraps. A boot. Stanton could only stare, stunned. Followed by another.\n\nStanton's heart felt like it was about to leave his chest.\n\nBoots of the same type as the ones Edgar wore. That Lindley had got from the lord. That Stanton had seen on Lindley's feet. Dirty boots. Not clean like Edgar's.\n\nA fresh wave of sweat broke over him.\n\nBut if the boots were here, then Lindley must still be here. Not fled. Hiding out in here. Stanton's question to Barling just an hour or so ago repeated in his head: But could a woman have done what was done to my animal? The strength of it all.\n\nAgnes had no need for such strength. She had a man. She had Lindley. Lindley hadn't run off; he was working with her, seduced by her too.\n\nStanton whipped round, peering into the darkness of the shed.\n\nLindley could be watching him from the shadows even now, waiting to pounce. Or Agnes.\n\nA flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye and he staggered back into the stack of barrels with a yell. 'No!'\n\nA huge sleek rat skittered across the floor, a flick of fur in the light before the dark swallowed it again.\n\nHe had to get out of here. Now. He made for the door.\n\nBut John was there before him, still clutching the boots, blocking the door with his powerful body and muscular arms.\n\n'Get out of my way, John.'\n\nJohn's answer was a hard shove to Stanton's chest, sending him sprawling to the floor.\n\nStanton struggled to his feet, gasping for breath. He didn't care about the stink any more. He was alone with this madman.\n\nThe madman who had the boots, crouching by the door, refusing to let Stanton past.\n\nA man of huge strength, the mind of a savage.\n\nCould John have been the killer all along?\n\nHave sense, man. That's what Barling would tell him. Stanton forced himself to steady.\n\nJohn had brought him here at a signal from Margaret. John had shown him the boots. There must be something else.\n\n'All right, John.' Stanton raised a hand in what he thought was a gesture of calm.\n\nJohn flinched. Yet he still didn't move from the door, still held the boots.\n\n'Sorry, fellow.' Stanton turned to go further back into the shed again, forcing himself to start to search in the shadows.\n\nBarrels mostly, all with loose lids. He lifted one and recoiled. Stale urine, stored there for use in the fulling. As was another. And another.\n\nHis foot met a soft, unknown pile. He squatted down to see what it could be, put a hand to it. His finger went through a rotting sheepskin, and another couple of rats shot past him in a sharp, shrill squeak. Stanton stifled a yell.\n\nStill at the door, John watched, boots in hand. The rats ran close to his feet, but he didn't move an inch.\n\nBaskets full of good wool were next. Still nothing.\n\nHis heart began to race less. A bit.\n\nMore barrels, many of these empty now.\n\nThen he came to the last one, right at the back. It looked just like the others. But he couldn't open the lid. He tugged, pulled. It wouldn't budge.\n\nStanton went over and grabbed the candle. He held it up over the stuck barrel and saw why it was so. It was nailed shut.\n\nJohn was still at his post, but his gaze was locked on Stanton and he breathed in a series of long, low moans.\n\nA quick look around showed Stanton a small, rusty pair of shears. Not great, but they'd do. Just about. By the time he'd levered out the nails, his hands were a mess of splinters and nicked skin. He prised the lid open. And a worse stench leaked out.\n\nHe wrenched the lid off and his stomach heaved. Not only because the stink engulfed him.\n\nBut because, crammed in the barrel, was a bloated, rotting body.\n\nThe body of the outlaw Nicholas Lindley."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Stanton fought his bile.\n\nThe thing in the barrel didn't look like Lindley. It didn't look like any man.\n\nPart of the skull was missing, caved in from a hard blow.\n\nThe face \u2013 what he could see of it \u2013 was swollen beyond recognition, greyish, mottled. The eyes...\n\nNo, he wouldn't look too closely at them. He wouldn't look at all. He didn't need to.\n\nHis bile rose again and he fought to contain it.\n\nHe knew it was Lindley. The ragged tunic on the shoulder. The straggly beard.\n\nAnd the hair. The dark chestnut hair, an unusual colour, striking when the man was alive, if it had been clean. And now? He straightened up, refused to look at the barrel's obscene contents any more.\n\nOver at the door, John's moans had increased and he rocked on his heels in rhythm to them.\n\nYet John knew about the boots. Had known where to find them. As had Margaret, as far as Stanton could tell: it was her actions that had sent her son to show them to Stanton. But what of Lindley's rotting corpse, hidden away in here as well?\n\nJohn hadn't come near. The wild fellow was getting more and more agitated, arms flailing.\n\nWas Lindley yet another victim of the deadly handiwork of Agnes Smith or somebody else helping her? But Margaret would never help Agnes. The two women despised each other.\n\nNothing made sense. Stanton needed to fetch Barling. Now.\n\nBut first Stanton had to get past John.\n\nJohn, who eyed him with the wary stare of a dog that was wondering whether to bite at an arm or a leg.\n\nStanton sickened further, not from the stink this time but from how John Webb had been pulled into all of this. John would have no idea why he'd been put to tasks like hiding a dead man's boots. Maybe even hiding a body. Guarding the door, to keep Stanton in.\n\nStanton knew he couldn't take John on in a fight. But all he needed to do was get him clear of the door.\n\nHis hands went to his belt pouch. This mightn't work. He had to try.\n\nStanton drew out another piece of gingerbread, made a great show of sniffing it.\n\nJohn's one-sided gaze was on it too.\n\nThe scent of ginger and honey mixed with the other foul reeks in the shed made him want to spew his guts. But he couldn't. With a careful eye on John, Stanton broke off a piece, made a great show of eating it.\n\nJohn's full attention was on it now. He even took a step away from the door.\n\nNow or not at all.\n\nStanton flung the rest of the sweetmeat at John's feet. The man bent to pick it up.\n\nThen Stanton was past him, out the door, slamming it shut on a roar from John.\n\nStanton thrust his left shoulder to the panels as John shoved hard against them, scrabbling for the iron bolt with his free hand. Got it.\n\nA harder shove from John, sending Stanton's hand slipping from the bolt.\n\nThe door opened a crack. John's power was winning.\n\nStanton locked his knees, forced his whole weight on to the wood.\n\nShut again.\n\nHe had the bolt, had the metal. But it wouldn't slide shut. The door was open a crack.\n\nSummoning the strength in every muscle he had, he gave a last heave, shot the bolt home.\n\nThe panels still shook against Stanton's body as John tried to open the door. But it held firm.\n\nStanton let out a long breath, went to step back.\n\nAnd a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "'Get off!' Stanton turned and struck out hard at the hand that gripped him.\n\nBut it was Aelred Barling he'd broken from and sent staggering.\n\n'God's eyes, Barling. I'm sorry. Are you all right?'\n\nBarling nodded, breathless and holding the limb Stanton had struck. 'I came as fast as I could, but I am not the youngest, nor the swiftest. I came down from my solar to enquire after Margaret, and Hilda was praying over the unfortunate woman.' He loosed his hand to cross himself.\n\nStanton matched him, relief surging through him that Barling was here and he could tell him of his hideous discovery.\n\nBarling continued. 'She is slipping fast from life, God keep her. Hilda told me that you had gone with John and that the wild man had hold of you.' Barling nodded at the door. The rattling had stopped, but a constant low moaning carried on. 'I see you have secured him there now. A wise move, given his shocking behaviour.'\n\n'It wasn't shocking. What I found was. A new murder victim, Barling. It's Lindley. Lindley's dead.'\n\n'What? Open that door at once.' Barling went to match his words with his actions, but Stanton halted him.\n\n'No. Don't. We can't go in, at least not now.' He told Barling of the night's events: Margaret's seeming to send John to bring Stanton. The discovery of Lindley's boots. Lindley. The barrel.\n\nBarling frowned. 'If Lindley's corpse is as you describe, then he is not a new victim but a hidden victim. Until now.' His frown deepened and he pointed over at the cottage. 'We urgently need to speak to Peter Webb. First his wife, now his son, his fulling shed \u2013 all have become part of this.'\n\n'Do you think the whole Webb family are somehow in league with Agnes?' Stanton asked as they hurried over.\n\n'As things stand, it is certainly looking that way,' replied Barling. 'Though why they would form such an unholy pact is beyond my comprehension.' He raised a hand as they arrived at the cottage door. Knocked. 'Webb. Open up. It is Aelred Barling.'\n\nSilence.\n\nKnocked again. 'Peter. Peter Webb.'\n\nStill nothing.\n\nA terrible thought occurred to Stanton. 'Barling, Margaret was attacked in this very cottage yesterday. What if Peter is lying there like she was?'\n\n'May God be good that it is not so. We must enter.' Barling nodded curtly. 'The window, Stanton.'\n\nStanton ran round to the side, Barling following after.\n\nHe forced the shutter of the small windows, hauled himself up on to the sill and climbed in, braced for whatever fresh horror he might find.\n\nHe let out a long, long breath of relief.\n\nThe cottage was empty. All was cosy and orderly, with a fire cover on and the smell of a tasty meal in the air, waiting for the owner to return.\n\nFrom outside came Barling's sharp order. 'The door, Stanton. The door.'\n\nStanton made his way over and opened up to let him in. 'Webb's not injured or dead. In fact, he's not here. He'll be out poaching in the woods, I'll wager.'\n\n'As is his habit as he disclosed to you.' Barling walked inside. 'Despite the hour, we will wait until he comes back here to his home. It is imperative that I question him.' The clerk settled himself on the low stool next to the fire, his back as straight as a rod. 'You may as well sit also.'\n\n'I'm not keen to sit. I'm keen to hear the answers.' Stanton paced the beaten-earth floor. 'Just not the ones about the barrel. When I searched that shed, I'd never have imagined that's what I would find.' He shuddered. 'A nightmare. I'm not sure... Barling, are you all right?\n\nThe clerk had gone even paler than usual. 'Yes.' He stood up. 'Yes, I am. But I have not been.'\n\nThe clerk spoke in riddles. 'In what way?'\n\n'The search.' Barling flung out an arm. 'I said I would search every home. Every single one. And I was doing so. In the most methodical order. But I have not searched this one.'\n\nMore nonsense now than riddles. 'We did search it. We found Margaret. Lying right there on the floor.'\n\n'Found Margaret, but in the shock and confusion saw to her and nothing else.'\n\n'Agreed. But surely we found what was most important.'\n\n'We only know what is important if and when we find it. And to find, we must seek. Fully. I missed a search. This cottage. We search it. Now.'\n\nBarling bent to a large pile of Webb's newly woven cloth. 'We need to search everywhere, Stanton. The knife in Agnes's cottage was hidden right in the bottom of the log basket. She had concealed it well.'\n\n'Then I'll start in there.' Stanton matched his words to his actions, lifting out each piece of wood. 'What if Webb walks in on us? He won't be pleased.'\n\n'He can be as pleased or displeased as he likes. Everyone else has had their homes searched.'\n\nStanton held up the poker. 'I'll keep this handy. Just in case.'\n\nBarling worked his way swiftly through the smooth cloth. 'Nothing in there.' He straightened up.\n\n'Same with the log basket.' Stanton stepped over to the shadows behind the loom.\n\nThe baskets beside it were Barling's next task. Margaret's spinning. Nothing more.\n\nA murmur of disgust came from Stanton.\n\n'What is it?' asked Barling.\n\n'I knew Webb kept his hare skins in a sack behind here. But there's another two sacks as well. One has his ropes and snare handles. But the other has a couple of fresh kills in it. There's a lot of blood.'\n\n'Regardless, make sure you search it.' Barling turned next for the neat and tidy bed behind the half screen.\n\nHe pulled off the covers, shook them out.\n\n'Nothing.' Stanton stepped from behind the loom.\n\n'Nothing here, either.' Barling threw the wool blanket back on the flattened straw of the bed.\n\n'What's that?' Stanton pointed to the corner, where the mattress met the wall.\n\n'What?' Barling squinted hard. 'I cannot see anything.'\n\n'The straw on one side. Near the top.'\n\nBarling shook his head. 'I cannot make it out. Not in this light.'\n\n'I can. It looks newer.' Stanton got on the bed, thrust a hand into the area he meant. 'And it's looser.' He rummaged around. Stopped. 'I've found something. Something wooden.'\n\n'Get it out, man.'\n\nStanton burrowed at the straw, then hauled up a stout wooden box with a grunt of effort. The unmistakable rattle of coins came from it.\n\n'Webb's own money, no doubt.' Barling could hear the disappointment in his own voice. 'As every hard-working man should have if he is prudent.'\n\n'But how much money?' said Stanton. 'It's really heavy. And locked, of course.' He shoved it across to Barling, who tested its weight.\n\n'By the name of the Virgin. I can scarcely lift it.' He looked at Stanton. 'This concerns me. I need to open it up. At once.'\n\n'Of course.' Stanton clambered from the straw and grabbed a small-headed kindling hatchet from beside the fire. 'Stand clear, Barling.'\n\nIn three sharp blows, he hacked off the lock.\n\nBarling opened up the lid and sucked in a long breath. 'No wonder it is so heavy. This is not the store of wealth I would ever expect to see saved by a weaver struggling to support a wife and a witless son. This is a hoard. A large hoard.'\n\n'And not only money.' Stanton shook his head.\n\n'No.' Barling took them out and placed them on the straw. A small silver cup. A carved ivory of the Virgin. Then a shiny object \u2013 shinier than the coins \u2013 caught Barling's eye. 'And what have we here?' He lifted it out.\n\n'Dear God,' said Stanton. 'I know whose that is.'\n\n'As do I,' said Barling. Oh, Agnes, I am so sorry.\n\nFor in the light, in the palm of his hand, sat a small silver pilgrim badge of the head shrine of Saint Thomas Becket. At the very top was a little hole where it would have hung from the neck of its dead owner.\n\nAnd that owner was a murdered stonecutter: the late Thomas Dene."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "Agnes Smith came to consciousness again, wondering why her bed was so hard, why she was so cold. Why she couldn't move her arms, her legs. Why breathing was so hard, swallowing was so hard. But the answers falling on her one by one in seconds almost crushed her.\n\nShe wasn't in her bed. She was still in this place of horror, where she'd been for so many hours \u2013 hours which she could no longer count.\n\nLast time in her bed, she'd woken to a figure from her nightmares over her, on her. The figure who had cut the air from her, sending her into oblivion. The figure who must have brought her here. Who had bound her arms and hands to her sides, her legs together, in tight bands. Who had fastened something on her neck that was still there, that meant she could hardly take a breath or swallow her own meagre spit. Her ears whined, her heart banged from lack of air, air that was cut off further by coarse sacking tied over her face and head.\n\nHalf smothered like this, she had sunk again and again into dreams, a few glorious, many hideous. But each one ended in terror, a terror that sharpened with every passing minute.\n\nShe tried to call out yet again, a useless, smothered noise that she knew couldn't be heard three yards away. Tried to move, but she could only wriggle, turn over. Cold, wet, gritty stone scraped against her hands. The figure had put her in a place where she wouldn't be found. Ever.\n\nThen she'd die here. Alone. Thirst would take her. But not for a couple of days. Days in which she'd lie helpless in her torment, her filth...\n\nNo. She would not die this way. Even if she choked herself trying to get free, try she would. She kicked out as best she could. There was stone is this place; she'd find a sharp edge, work at her bonds until\u2014\n\nFootsteps?\n\nShe froze.\n\nThen came a male voice. But not the relieved calls of a rescuer. Instead, a quiet hiss of evil.\n\n'Look at you, wriggling like a dying fish.'\n\nIt was muffled through the coarse material, but she knew it, dear God help her, she knew it. Whether that was worse, better, than a stranger's she didn't know.\n\n'I'm going to take the sack off your head now.' Hands at her neck. 'But if you make a sound, I'll throttle you again. Do you hear me, girl?'\n\nShe risked a nod, and the sack was gone, even the dim candlelight making her squint as she used her sight for the first time in hours to see that it was a cave she was in. And that Peter Webb was in here with her.\n\nHe dragged her to a sitting position against a damp boulder and hunkered down in front of her. 'Make no mistake, I'd love to rape you, whore.' He raised his calloused hands to each side of her face, then slid them down her throat to her breasts, his hard, filthy grasp bringing a stifled cry from her as she strained at her ties to break free. 'Shush now. I'd love to, but that wouldn't fit with what I'm going to do with you.' Now his hands had moved to her thighs, his thumbs sliding down between them.\n\nShe'd rather die. She wrenched her body to one side. 'Go to hell, Webb.' It was as much of a scream as she could get out.\n\nOne of his hands clamped over her mouth. 'Shut up.' The other back on her neck. 'Shut up. Shut up.' Tightening.\n\nHer air was gone. Webb's furious face in front of hers blurred.\n\n'Have you shut up, Agnes?'\n\nShe tried to nod. Breathe, she had to breathe.\n\nThen his hand was off her and she pulled in ragged, painful gasps.\n\n'Good.' He slid over to sit beside her. 'Listening is always better in a woman than talking, I find. Women might learn a thing or two if they only listened. Especially if they listened to a clever man like me. To be honest, all folk would. It's a shame they can't know of my cleverness, a shame. They'd be lost in admiration. Lost. But that's the beauty of where you and I are now, Agnes: I can tell you how clever I am, for you'll never breathe a word.'\n\nShe didn't dare respond. His big hand was idly stroking at her neck again.\n\n'Now, poaching, that's easy, see? Easy. I could even tell my stupid wife about that. But thieving? Now, that's another matter. It's one thing to take a small animal from the woods and kill it and skin it, another to take a good candlestick. People keep their valuables in much safer places \u2013 behind bolted doors, in locked chests. It takes such great skill. Cleverness. It's quite something.'\n\nHer teeth clenched. 'It's low.'\n\nHe tightened his hand more, making her gasp.\n\n'Not the way I do it, see?' He shook her by the throat. 'See?'\n\nA croak. 'Yes.'\n\n'They let me into their homes, me with my fine woven cloth in my hands, watching as they find their coins to pay me far less than my hard labour is worth. Same as you did in your home. But I spy a good pair of tongs, a fine pot. All the time they're asking after my health, my imbecile of a boy, smiling at me with pity, feeling sorry for me, I'm looking for what I will take later. Bits here, a couple of coins there: never a big haul. Folk tear their houses asunder looking for lost things, things that are in my fulling shed, safely hidden away. Ready for me to sell on whenever I go to a market town to sell my cloth.' He gave her a broad wink. 'Clever, see?'\n\nHis hand wandered down to her breast again. Though her stomach clenched, she didn't dare react.\n\n'But in the worst of luck for me,' said Webb, 'I got caught stealing. Just the once, see? Because I was clever.'\n\nStill caught. Agnes kept her contempt silent.\n\n'Bad luck, Agnes. That was all. Nothing more.' Webb wheezed a low laugh. 'It was actually that drunken dolt Edgar who caught me. Edgar. Of all people. Usually couldn't find his drunken cock in the dark, that one.' His look darkened in a deep, sudden anger.\n\nHer heart, already thudding in her chest, raced faster. His hard face could be another's now.\n\n'About three years ago I'm at his hall, urine barrel on my cart in his stable yard. I pick up a nice pair of shears I see lying around, put them under my cloak. Right at the second Edgar comes around a corner, heading to his horse to go out for a ride. He sees me, catches me. Right in the act. Of all people to catch me. But not through cleverness, mind. Only luck. You understand that, Agnes?'\n\nShe nodded, praying to God that He would send luck her way. She had nothing else to hold on to.\n\n'I knew you would. You're quite clever too. But I think fast.' He tapped the side of his head. 'Fast, fast, fast, that's me. I beg for mercy from Edgar, say I need the shears to cut my cloth as my own had broken. I bring a stream of quick tears from my eyes, cry over my useless son, say my poor, dear wife would be on the street, would starve if Edgar locks me up. And the old drunken fool gives in\u2014' Webb stopped, as if he heard a noise.\n\nHer heart pounded harder as she also listened out. But nothing.\n\nWebb went on. 'Says he'll let it pass. This time. But he threatens me. Me! He tells me that if it ever happens again, I'll be punished and lose my right hand. With my craft as a weaver, that would mean destitution and starvation for me. Think of that. Not only would I no longer be able to make honest money, my thieving and poaching would be over too. Also, my hidden money would become obvious if I couldn't work. My carefully built false life would fall to pieces. It couldn't be allowed to happen, Agnes. It just couldn't. And I think you can guess who almost brought me to ruin, can't you, Agnes?'\n\nShe could. But she wouldn't say it. Wouldn't give Webb the satisfaction.\n\n'I asked you a question.' His hand tight at her throat again. 'Answer me.' Squeezing.\n\n'My father,' she rasped out.\n\n'Good girl.' The pressure lessened. 'He was working in the forge. You were out whoring in the woods with Dene. A nice empty home with a good store of coin. I'm helping myself when your precious Pa walks in. Oh, he's angry at first. But I wheedle on at him about my son like I did to Edgar. But no, Geoffrey bloody Smith says no matter, it isn't for him to decide. He'll report my crime to Edgar, and I can plead for mercy to the lord. No matter what I say, Smith will have none of it. Says to me that he's sure the lord will be lenient with me, a law-abiding man otherwise. Tells me to go home, locks the cottage and goes back to the forge to carry on with his work. And then...' Webb sighed, shook his head, pulled his sleeve up to reveal a stained bandage. Unpeeled it layer by layer, releasing the foulest stink.\n\nHer bile rose at the sight that now wavered before her.\n\nA long, deep burn. A wound that had turned rotten, seeping, stinking.\n\n'Then your cursed father did this to me.'\n\nAgnes knew what was coming. She dug her fingernails deep into her palms to hold in the screams, the tears of grief, of rage that surged within her.\n\n'Did it in his precious forge. Him working at his anvil, the noise from his hammer nice and loud. Up I come behind him, grab for the branding iron leaning against the wall. Swing. Your pa turns, parries my blow with the hot metal he has in his tongs. It sears into my arm.' He smiled. 'It's the one strike he lands. The next is mine, straight at his head. Cracks it right open. He falls on to his side, down like a tree.' The smile dropped. 'Then I roll him over on to his back with my boot. He's still alive. Just. Looking up at me. I take the branding iron in both hands. Smash it into his open mouth again and again, the same gob that he was going to use to betray me to Edgar.'\n\nHer heart might stop now and she wouldn't care. Every word from Webb was a new wound in it, making her relive the horror she'd found that night in the forge, telling her exactly how he'd savaged her lovely, loving pa.\n\n'Food for thought, eh, Agnes?' Webb nodded. 'And I almost had you, when I spotted the fatty, Bartholomew Theaker, wheezing his way along to the forge to talk to your father.' He gasped a laugh. 'I'm surprised he couldn't smell Dene on you.'\n\nShe dug her nails deeper.\n\n'But I dodge home, wait a few minutes, until I hear the hue and cry. And then come running back out to help. I wanted to shake Nicholas Lindley by the hand when we caught him. Poor sap. Still, rather his head in the noose than mine. But there was no gallows. Instead, we get the King's men. That little shit of a fellow, that Stanton, comes into my house. Asking all sorts. Goes away with nothing except the solemn lies I tell him, swallowed whole.'\n\nOh, Hugo, why didn't you see more, ask more? screamed Agnes in her own head. Why?\n\n'And that was where your betrothed, the thatcher, gets in my way again. I needed my roof mending, went to the reed pond to find Theaker. Margaret didn't know; she'd been called away by that harridan Folkes to help some woman birthing. So there I come. Theaker's having trouble bending down to cut a tough bunch of reeds. His own huge belly's getting in the way. He makes a jest of it, his face all red, smiles at me, asks me to help. I roll up my sleeves without thinking.'\n\nAgnes let out a moan. Oh no, no, no.\n\nWebb gave a broad wink. 'You know what's coming, don't you, flower? You're not so daft, are you? Your Theaker notices my bandage, the one covering this cursed burn I got from your precious father. Theaker asks me about it, doesn't seem very convinced by my vague answer. I can tell by looking at him that the lardy oaf will say something to Stanton the second he sees him. So I shove your betrothed's head under the water, drown him in the reed pond to shut him up. He bubbles, flails, but with my hand on his neck and his own huge weight, he can't get free.'\n\nAgnes thought she might be sick with horror. Then Webb made it worse.\n\n'And it felt so very, very good to make sure he'd never rise again. I'd been itching to do it anyway. Theaker had stopped me getting hold of you the night I killed your father.' The darkness moved across his face again. 'See, this one was your fault, really. Trouble was, your dead fat thatcher gave me yet another problem.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Stanton looked at Barling, the younger man's face drained of all colour. 'Agnes swore to us she would never be parted from her lover's pendant if she'd found it on his body. Yet it's here. Hidden in the Webbs' house.'\n\n'While Webb is out. Out.' Barling said the words aloud to confirm his dreadful realisation. 'Out in the woods. In the dead of night.'\n\n'Like the night I was ambushed,' said Stanton. 'By a hooded figure. That killed my horse.'\n\n'Who we thought was Agnes.'\n\n'But not Agnes. Peter Webb. Not poaching. But trying to kill me.'\n\n'Just as Agnes said to me: that a hooded figure had attacked her on the night her father was murdered. And would surely have killed her too.' Barling pulled in a sharp breath. 'Yet the girl has been blamed for everything. By me. There is no pact between Agnes and the Webbs. It is all Peter Webb.'\n\n'Because Webb has made it so, damn him.' Stanton shot to his feet. 'Barling, you have to send out new orders. Straight away. Agnes is being hunted down as a murderess. If folk find her before we do, she'll be torn apart.' He shot to his feet.\n\n'We can do our best. But I fear we are too late.' Barling also stood, though more slowly, the weight of guilt pressing down on him. 'Stanton, she is probably dead already. Buried where we will never find her. Webb has used her to cover his tracks all along. Covered them so very, very well.'\n\n'But what if she's still alive, Barling? We have to try. We must!'\n\n'Alive where, Stanton? We have searched the entire village and she is not here.'\n\nStanton swore long and hard. 'I don't know.'\n\n'Precisely. Rather than rushing off in what will in all likelihood be the wrong direction, our best hope is with Peter Webb himself.'\n\n'Webb?'\n\n'Yes, Webb. The order of his home shows he fully intends to return here. Given that we are almost at daybreak, I am sure it will be soon.' Barling picked up the poker. 'I do not want to risk raising the alarm, for it might warn him and he would slip away.' He pointed to the kindling hatchet. 'You take that. We will be ready for him when he does appear. Get that rope you found ready to secure him.'\n\nStanton went back over behind the loom to get it. Stopped. 'Barling.'\n\n'What is it?' Barling dropped his voice. 'Have you heard something?'\n\n'No. But I've seen it.' He gestured to the sacks, the ropes, the snare handles. 'This is what Webb uses for poaching.'\n\nAnd Barling did see. 'And he does not have them with him. That means his business out there in the woods tonight is for another matter.'\n\n'God's eyes. It could be Agnes.' Stanton's anguished gaze met Barling's. 'Yet we have no idea where.'\n\n'But I think we do.' Barling pulled in a sharp breath. 'She told me about it. The glade. By the waterfall. Where she met her lover. And where Webb first attacked her.'\n\n'We could be wrong.' Stanton bent down and grabbed the axe. 'But I'm going, Barling.'\n\n'I'll come with you.' Barling gripped the poker tighter. 'But I don't have your youth, your speed. So you run, Stanton. Run. Fast as you can.'\n\n'I suppose you could call it a very large problem, eh, Agnes?' Webb sniggered.\n\nShe couldn't answer, her stomach still churning at the hideous end of poor Bartholomew. She hadn't loved him. But she should have been kinder to him.\n\n'I knew I had to do something about it, and quick. Clever, see? So I run back home, no one around. Luck's on my side; Margaret's still at that birth. I take my handcart with its empty barrel, get to the gaol fast. No one around still. Oh, and did I mention that I'd grabbed one of my good hammers and put it under my tunic?'\n\n'Oh, dear God.' The gaol. She knew what was coming now. The real fate of Nicholas Lindley, the man she'd held responsible for Pa's death. The man she'd wanted hanged, that she'd screamed to the world to do so.\n\n'God had nothing to do with it.' He grinned. 'Just me. I get to the window, call inside to Lindley. Offer him the hammer to break his way out through the bars. Didn't want to break them for him, mind. Otherwise, it'd be obvious they were done from the outside.' He tapped the side of his head, grin wider than ever. 'Always thinking, me.' His grin dropped again in an eye-blink. The darkness was back. 'But the bugger doesn't bite. At least not at first. Keeps whining on about the King's man, that Stanton, that Stanton has seen the truth and all would be well, saying he has faith in him. Faith in Stanton?' Webb spat hard in disgust. 'So I use Stanton's name. My one chance to get Lindley out. Tell him that Stanton has been to question me only a short while ago. That Stanton has said to me that Lindley's guilty. That he'll hang. No question.'\n\n'But he wasn't,' she croaked. 'He wasn't guilty.'\n\n'Nah. But Lindley, he starts to weep. Goes on and on about how he's innocent, but that there's no hope for him now. I'm looking around, still no one, but that can't last long. I have to get him out before Theaker's found. I tell him there is hope, that he can use my hammer to break out. He's still crying but not so hard, asks me why on earth I would help him. I tell him I don't care if he's telling the truth, that all I want is paying for getting him out, as I need the money. He's crying again, says he has no money. By now I'm sweating it. Then I see his good boots. Tell him \"I'll take those.\" All of a sudden he's happier, he's doing it. The hammer's in his hand, the bars are loosened and out, then he's out. I take the hammer from him, tell him \"Climb in the barrel.\" \"Wait,\" the bugger says, \"my boots.\" He slips them off, and I thank him. So in he gets. \"Crouch down,\" I say, \"so I can get the lid on.\" He looks up at me with those dopey dark eyes. \"Thank you,\" he says, and ducks his head. I bring the hammer down in one almighty strike.' Webb punched his fist into his open palm.\n\nHis broad, wet smile was worse than the darkness. For it was pure joy. A man's skull. Opened. That was his joy.\n\n'And next, of course, my cleverness again,' said Webb. 'Dene, the stonecutter, a man who worked with hammers all day every day. Do you see, Agnes, do you?'\n\n'Not Thomas as well.' Betray her, Thomas might have done. 'Not my Thomas.' But she'd loved him, loved him, loved him with all her heart.\n\n'Yes, I'm afraid so. He fitted my story too well. And he was your fault too. If you'd not been out whoring with him in the woods, if you'd stayed home in your cottage, then I wouldn't have come robbing. See? If you'd stayed home, your Thomas would still be alive, still have his handsome face in one piece.'\n\n'Stop it. Stop.' She shook her head, her heart shattering at the depraved logic that Webb spewed forth.\n\n'Thing is, Agnes, I really couldn't stop,' said Webb. 'Not by then and not now. Like I loved thieving more than poaching, now I love hunting more than thieving. Now I know why the wolf hunts the lambs. The fawns. Not only for food but for sport.'\n\n'Killing people is no sport.'\n\nWebb actually squeezed her like a lover.\n\n'Oh, but it is.' He planted a kiss on her cheek with his slack, wet lips.\n\nThat her hands, her fists were free. Not just to shove him from her, to land blows on him for his assault. But to wipe away the damp, revolting spittle that sat on her cheek, then block her ears so she wouldn't hear another word.\n\n'Dene's death should have satisfied everyone that Lindley had performed his last foul deed and was gone. Yet the King's men carried on poking their noses in. I'd had enough of them, especially that Stanton. All smiles at my wife, all swagger. Has the luck of the devil and all. He should have snapped his neck coming off that horse. That would have sent that whiny clerk scuttling back to where he came from; he'd never dare put a toe out alone. And then the fool Stanton sets off running to my door. I barely got there before him. But thanks to my quick thinking, I tell him a great story. The best, because it was partly true. That I'm a poacher. And the soft, soft ninny believes it all. Believes it because he's so grateful to me for saving his yellow hide.' He grinned again. 'Didn't save his horse, though, did he, Agnes?'\n\nShe wouldn't respond. He didn't seem to notice or care. Simply carried on.\n\n'Then I'm in another search party, being the loyal man that I am, near wetting myself laughing inside as that drunk Edgar leads us all in circles. But when Edgar makes that rambling speech about not tolerating any wrongdoing ever and naming all the wrongdoers he has on his lands, I'm not laughing any more. I know I'll be named for theft. I'd promised Edgar three years ago that I'd never do it again, on pain of losing a hand. And with Stanton now knowing about my poaching, they'd all start talking. I'd lose my hand; Edgar wouldn't think twice. And in carrying out the sentence, they'd see the filthy burn on my arm that I got from your father. Sir Reginald Edgar had to go.'\n\n'You've killed Edgar as well?' The question came out as a horrified whisper.\n\n'Course. I know the layout of the lord's hall very well from collecting urine for my fulling shed. From my thieving, I have a way of slipping in through a damaged wall out of sight at the back of the stables. Then inside I go through a broken kitchen shutter. I pick up a knife from the kitchen, slit Edgar's throat, then leave the solar window open as a false clue. Or should I say, you did, Agnes.'\n\n'What?' Maybe her mind was slipping.\n\nHe stood up abruptly and walked behind her. She couldn't see what he was doing.\n\n'I was in a bit of a tight spot by now.'\n\nStill she couldn't make out what he was doing.\n\n'After I killed Edgar, I ran to your cottage. Where you were sleeping so soundly. To be honest, I thought you'd be a better fighter. I got you here easy.'\n\nThe sound of his footsteps, and he was back before her once more, saying words that were taking her reason.\n\n'I needed to remove any doubt about who the killer is once and for all. I figured out that you had many reasons for carrying out the murders. The whole village knows about your temper too.' He sighed again. 'Yes, I'd love to rape you, whore.'\n\nAnd now her mind did start to slip, and a voice that could be hers but sounded more like an animal in pain ripped from her.\n\n'But I have to deny myself the pleasure. Because it should appear to all, Agnes Smith, the vicious murderess, that you have gone to hell from your own guilt.' He held up a perfectly knotted noose. 'Gone there by your own fair hand.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "'How do you like being the hooded figure in the woods, Agnes?' Peter's voice was close to the sack tight on her head.\n\nShe tried to get a curse out, but he'd silenced her with a cloth tight round her mouth.\n\nUnable to see, she stumbled as he forced her along, her legs free but her arms still tight by her sides.\n\nShe'd tried to be a dead weight, but his grip could be made from iron, each step bringing her closer to her own end, yet she could do nothing to stop him.\n\nA plea to God, a plea to the saints, a plea to her dead pa \u2013 she'd started them all. But she could finish none, as her terror scattered her wits and all she could think of was the life being throttled from her. A sob bubbled up in her constricted throat. She'd done nothing, nothing to deserve this end, save go and lie with the man she'd loved. She shouldn't leave this world hanged by the neck like the worst criminal.\n\nLike she'd screamed for Nicholas Lindley to be hanged by his. Her legs sagged again and Webb wrenched her forward.\n\n'Keep going.'\n\nBut her legs weren't weak from fear but from a wave of self-loathing, which threatened to crush her. She could see herself now, a harridan in the street, attacking the cowering Lindley, tearing at his face and screaming for him to die.\n\nAnd he'd done nothing to deserve it. Nothing. He'd spent days and nights waiting for his end, knowing that he was innocent of Pa's murder and no one would be coming to save him. Sobs racked through her now, stemmed by Webb's cruel bindings cloying her throat. All she could do was beg for Lindley's forgiveness over and over.\n\nWebb jerked her to a stop. 'We're here, Agnes.'\n\nShe knew they were. She could hear the constant splash of the little waterfall. A sound that had always been the music to her lovemaking with Thomas. At this dawn it signalled her death.\n\nHe tore the sack from her head with a smirk. 'In your special glade.' He looked at her and grinned. 'Tears, eh? Well, if you can't cry over your own death, then what can you cry over?' He held up the noose to her again. 'I'm going to put this up now.' He shoved her to her knees on the ground. 'Stay there. And don't move.'\n\nHe walked a few steps away, threw the noose up over a tree branch. He swore. It had tangled in a thick bunch of leaves.\n\nAgnes watched him, her pulse beating so fast it made her shake.\n\nThe dark leaves were turning pale green as the first light of dawn reached them. Birds were in full song.\n\nShe didn't want to die. And she wasn't going to.\n\nHer arms were bound by her side, her mouth was gagged, a tight band at her throat closed off most of her air. But her legs were free. She could run, outrun Webb as she had that night in the woods. She knew she could. She had to. It was her last chance. She raised one knee, swaying a bit, as she couldn't use her arms for balance.\n\nWebb was still busy with his rope, still cursing.\n\nShe was up, she was off, she was running. She was gone.\n\nLong, unsteady strides, branches whipping her face, but she was doing this, she was\u2014\n\nHer hair. Her chin snapped up, her head back as she was jerked to a painful halt by a hand behind her.\n\n'You stupid whore.' Webb slapped her face so hard she would have fallen had he not still had hold of her hair. 'Stupid. Stupid.' He yanked her back the few steps she'd gone, quickly securing her to a tree with another piece of knotted rope that he pulled from his bag.\n\nShe tried to draw in air through her nose, fill her lungs to get out a cry for help. But all she did was make muffled noises that were easily drowned out by the waking woods.\n\nWebb cleared the noose in a few deft twists.\n\nIt now hung free, just above a large tree trunk.\n\n'And now we're ready.' He lifted her up, sat her hard on the trunk. His face was level with hers. 'If you could see yourself, Agnes. You look exactly like the despairing sinner that I need you to be. All tear-stained and sorrowful. And definitely a woman who despaired enough to hang herself.'\n\nHis hand reached for her neck, and he freed the thin strap that had been round it for so many hours, keeping her short of breath and voice.\n\nShe pulled in deep, deep breaths through her nose, her last, she knew, her very last before the final tight embrace of the noose.\n\nHe held the strap up in front of her. 'Won't be needing this no more. It did its work in sending you senseless so I could take you from your bed. No one will notice its mark once you have the noose on top.' He tapped the side of his head. 'See? Always thinking, me.'\n\nThen he lifted the noose. Placed it over her head. The thick rope sat heavy on her shoulders. He closed it up, closed it so it was a light hold.\n\nHe ripped off the gag.\n\nShe opened her mouth, let out a scream.\n\nThe noose tightened. Choked it off. She could still breathe, barely. Kept her mouth open. But she could hear her pulse in her head.\n\n'I'll cut your arms free when you're dead,' he said. 'You won't have any marks on you from those linen bands. I made sure of that.' Webb walked over to where he had secured the rope. 'Best of all, when they find your swinging body, your face purple, your bowels and bladder voided, they won't even put you in the hallowed ground. You'll wander for all eternity, your name damned and a curse for all who say it. Thinking again, see?' He grinned at her with every one of his foul teeth. 'Now, my dear. Up you go.'\n\nHe gave a vicious yank on the rope.\n\nThe noose closed tighter. But the rope was so thick, she had a little air. Then he pulled and pulled and she was being lifted by her throat; her neck was taking all her weight. She couldn't breathe. And the pain. Dear God, the pain. The pain.\n\nWebb secured the rope in a solid knot, then came to stand before her.\n\nShe couldn't breathe, couldn't. But she had to, she had to. Her feet and legs kicked out. She wasn't moving them; they were moving themselves as if they tried to kick the rope away to get her some air.\n\n'A lovely dance, Agnes. Lovely.'\n\nHer sight was going. Black dots sprinkled over her vision. She couldn't breathe. One pointed toe glanced against the top of the tree trunk. She tried with the other. She could reach. Reach the trunk. With the tips, the very tips of her toes. Enough to give her the tiniest relief on her neck, give her the slightest of breaths.\n\nWebb swore hard. 'You're nothing but trouble.' He marched over to free the rope and haul it up further. But he'd tied it so tight, he couldn't get the knot undone. He set about it, swearing again.\n\nMad with pain, with terror, with death hovering near, she wanted to laugh and laugh. Her legs, her long, strong legs. Her legs had given her a few more precious moments of life. And had made Peter Webb furious.\n\nThen a noise came from the woods. Loud enough to be heard over the waterfall. The definite rustle and crack of somebody making their way through the undergrowth.\n\nShe glanced over at Webb, praying he'd been too busy with the rope to hear.\n\nBut hear he had. He was staring at the source of the noise, the darkness from within him stealing across his face.\n\nA call. 'Agnes!'\n\nPraise God, it was Hugo Stanton.\n\nAgain. 'Agnes!'\n\nAnd he was looking for her.\n\nShe tried to choke out a scream to warn him. Couldn't.\n\nWebb stepped back into the bushes. Hidden.\n\nAnother call. This one filled with horror. 'God's eyes! Agnes!'\n\nStanton had seen her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "'Agnes! Hold on!'\n\nHe'd been right, thank God, he'd been right. But he was almost too late.\n\nStanton tore through the last of the clawing branches, slashing them from him with the hatchet.\n\nAgnes. Bound. Choking. Only her straining toes on a fallen tree trunk keeping her alive.\n\nDown, he had to get her down.\n\nHe ran into the clearing. 'Hold on!'\n\nA strangled sound came out through her blue, swollen lips.\n\n'Save your breath!' He ran for the trunk. He'd make it in one leap, like he did on to horseback\u2014\n\nA slam to his side had him crashing to the ground, hatchet flying from his hand.\n\nPeter Webb stood over him. 'You're no fighter, boy.' A boot drove into his guts, once, twice.\n\nStanton tried to roll out of reach. No. No air, no strength.\n\nA third.\n\nNo.\n\n'Let me see to the Smith whore first,' said Webb. 'She's already a pretty sight, but her last moments will be the best. You can watch from down there.'\n\nAnother kick.\n\n'Then it's your turn.' Webb turned and walked back to the trunk. 'First you, Agnes.'\n\nStanton dragged air into his searing chest. Get up, get up, get up. You have to do this. He forced himself to his feet, feet that staggered under him.\n\nAgnes kicked out against a dead branch on the trunk, snapping it off to leave a long, sharp point.\n\nHe met her gaze. He had one last chance.\n\nWebb had seen it too. 'Is that your plan, girl? You and him? Him?' He glanced back at Stanton, then looked to Agnes again. 'My death with a sharpened stick.' He spat hard and snapped the branch off in his big hands. 'And now.' He went to grab her ankles, pull her feet off the trunk.\n\nAnd then Stanton was running at Webb's back, running, his hand pulling out what he had in his satchel.\n\nGripping it hard, then plunging, plunging it deep into Webb's back, just like wood \u2013 no, harder, different \u2013 but it was in, in, and there was so much blood, but he yanked it out, and he was up on the trunk and the rope, blood on the rope, but it was cut and she was down.\n\nAnd he had her. Had Agnes safe in his hold as she pulled in breath after hacking breath, unable to form words as Peter Webb lay dead beside them.\n\nAnd her eyes went to what he held in his hand and back to his, and he nodded: Yes.\n\nA blade. A good blade. With its special stamp in the middle. Forged by a skilled craftsman's hands.\n\nStanton tipped his head back.\n\nAbove him trees, the sky.\n\nLife.\n\nThe bed of heaven to you, Geoffrey Smith."
            },
            {
                "title": "One week later",
                "text": "'It is by the law of his Grace, King Henry, that this court assembles today.'\n\nAelred Barling addressed the packed crowd of villagers in front of him that had assembled in Edgar's hall. 'I arrived here sixteen days ago to investigate the murder of Geoffrey Smith, sent by the King's itinerant justices. The justices charged me with this great and proper responsibility because the late Sir Reginald Edgar, of this estate, had not provided the court with a detailed and supported accusation of the outlaw Nicholas Lindley. In short, Edgar had not established guilt.' His gaze roved over the room, resting for a moment on those who had been caught up in this dreadful onslaught of evil.\n\nHe nodded to where Stanton stood by the door, shoulders straight, cloak neat, hair combed. For once.\n\nBarling went on. 'We now know that it was not Nicholas Lindley who murdered Geoffrey Smith but Peter Webb, freeman and weaver of Claresham. Webb also tried to take the life of Agnes Smith, Geoffrey's daughter.' He gave a nod of sombre acknowledgement to where Agnes sat to one side.\n\n'He did, sir.' A hoarseness from the assault to her neck by Peter Webb still clogged her voice. Yet she sat straight, her long hair uncovered, not loose this time but scraped up into a neat bun.\n\nBarling knew why she had arranged it so.\n\nIt left the skin on her neck exposed, the deep welt from the rope Webb had tried to hang her with still an angry red on her smooth, white flesh. It told as much of her story as words could.\n\n'Webb even tried to kill my assistant, Hugo Stanton,' said Barling. 'Fortunately, Stanton was able to kill Webb first.' He folded his hands and looked around the room again. 'Mark my words, if Webb were still alive, he would be going to the gallows, and I would be sending him there without hesitation. I would be doing so according to the law of his Grace, according to the King's justice. But Webb is dead.' He observed more than a few nods, heard a number of whispers praising God. 'We have been fortunate in that God has spared Agnes Smith, whom Webb would otherwise have murdered. She owes her life not only to the quick thinking of Stanton, but also to his courageous actions. She is also a witness before God of what Webb did, as he told her in anticipation of trying to hang her. I will now give a summary.' Barling read steadily from his notes, keeping each account as brief as possible.\n\nHe was aware of shocked faces, hands to mouths and cheeks, murmured oaths and prayers.\n\n'In summary, then,' concluded Barling, 'Webb took the life of thatcher Bartholomew Theaker, Geoffrey Smith, stonecutter Thomas Dene and your lord, Sir Reginald Edgar. He took the life of Nicholas Lindley, a man who was in fact no outlaw but a friendless beggar, to whom he showed no mercy.' He allowed a few moments of quiet for all to remember the many lives taken, with hands raised to make the sign of the cross.\n\n'Yes, Webb is dead,' continued Barling. 'Many would say that is justice enough. However, justice also requires that we get at the truth. In order to understand that truth, we must have all the relevant facts, of which I now have a full record. But today I want to share an important part of that truth with you. I will address why Webb killed each of his victims, the reason he did so being of fundamental importance.'\n\nHe looked down at his notes. Line by line by line. 'And there is another witness, another whom Webb sought to slay.'\n\nMuted murmurs of conjecture and craned necks met his words.\n\nHe met Stanton's eye. 'All is ready?'\n\n'It is.' Stanton turned and opened the door.\n\nGasps and prayers broke out.\n\nHilda Folkes entered, an unsteady Margaret Webb leaning against her, Margaret's head still heavily bandaged.\n\nStanton stepped to take her weight on the other side, and he and Hilda helped Margaret into a high-backed chair to the right of Barling.\n\nShe was clearly very weak, her arms and hands resting on the carved chair handles for support. Stanton and Hilda remained next to her as agreed.\n\n'We offer thanks to God for your presence here, Mistress Webb,' said Barling.\n\nHis words were echoed through the whole room, though the open-mouthed stares told Barling that everyone believed she had perished.\n\n'Thank you, sir.' Her voice was not strong, a little slurred. But her words were clear.\n\nThe murmurs of astonishment came louder.\n\nHe addressed the court once more. 'Now, I mentioned having a record of all the facts. In order to achieve that, we need to understand who the murderous Peter Webb, a man who appeared to all the world to be a law-abiding freeman and hard-working weaver, really was.' He looked again to Margaret. 'Mistress Webb, I know that you are still grievously wounded, so I will try to be concise. Now, is it true that your husband was a skilled, prolific poacher for many years?'\n\n'Yes, sir. He was. I... I knew about the poaching.'\n\nA ripple of surprise went through the room.\n\n'May I ask, as I am sure many here are wondering, why you, a woman known for her high morals, went along with such dishonest behaviour?'\n\n'Sir, Peter always told me that we lived one step away from destitution.'\n\nNow the surprised whispers became ones of derisory disbelief.\n\n'Charged enough for his cloth, he did,' came an audible mutter from Caldbeck.\n\nBarling's gaze swept the room again. 'I would remind all present to listen and to listen without comment. Rushing to judgement has played a major part in getting us to this sorry day.' He could tell from the sceptical expressions that thoughts remained the same. Well, they would soon change. 'So, Mistress Webb, your husband claimed that your household was at risk of penury at all times.'\n\n'Yes, sir. He said he poached to help our income. That he had to.'\n\n'Because?'\n\n'Because we'd no one to help us, keep us as we got older or if we got sick.' Her voice tightened. 'Because I'd never been able to produce any healthy children, sir.'\n\n'But you had produced one healthy child.'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'And that child's name?'\n\n'John, sir. My son, John.'\n\nBarling looked out at the court. At perplexed expressions. 'Then tell us, Mistress Webb, about John.'\n\nEven in a life that was hell there could be heaven.\n\nSat on a low stool before the fire, Margaret Webb looked down at the little head against her full breast, her tiny boy drinking his fill for the fourth time that day. She put her work-roughened hand over his little smooth one, marvelling that anything could feel so soft. So perfect. She kissed the top of his downy skull, the life pulsing fast and strong in the small dip in the top.\n\nWith John steady in one hand, she stretched out with the other to poke the fire, over which the pot of pottage steamed, wincing as she did so.\n\nPeter had kicked her so hard in the ribs yesterday that she thought he'd broken them. Again. But she could breathe without pain, at least most of the time, so she was probably bruised and nothing worse.\n\nIt had been her own fault. She'd been slow to rise at cockcrow; John had had her up three times in the night.\n\nPeter was tired too, from all his disturbed sleep, so if he used his boot to rouse her, then so be it.\n\nAnd right at this moment he wasn't here. He was out trapping hares, an act that gave him pleasure, as much from taking something out from under Sir Reginald's nose as from strangling the creatures with sharp wire.\n\nPeter wasn't here and she was alone with her precious boy. Bliss. The one, the only baby she'd ever carried without loss, without Peter's punches and kicks pounding the child from within her. She put those thoughts away.\n\nBliss.\n\nJohn paused in his eager suckling. She lifted him from her breast, held him to her shoulder, where he belched like a proud old man.\n\n'Listen to you.' She slipped him from her shoulder, held him up before her, his dark pools of eyes gazing into hers as he gave a sleepy smile. A hiccup. As she kissed his tiny round nose, she froze.\n\nThe latch.\n\nShe gathered John in one arm, got to her feet, grabbing for the bowl.\n\nToo late.\n\nPeter was in, a full sack in one hand.\n\n'Good evening, Peter.'\n\nHis scowl said everything. 'Where's my supper?' He threw his sack on the ground.\n\n'It's ready,' she said. 'I'm just putting it in the bowl right now. I didn't want it to get cold\u2014'\n\nHe was on her in two steps, his fingers digging into her face on either side of her mouth, forcing her to look at him. 'It's not ready for me, is it?'\n\nHer baby in one arm, bowl in the hand of the other, the fire at her feet, her sore ribs. She didn't dare move. 'I'm sorry.'\n\n'You always are.' He didn't even raise his voice. He never did.\n\nBut his fist met the underside of her jaw \u2013 so hard, so fast \u2013 and her arms flew out with the blow, the pain, the bowl going one way, shattering, the baby \u2013 her baby, John \u2013 going the other as she landed on her back.\n\nPeter stood over her. 'Now you've broken a bowl.' His boot again.\n\nShe didn't care, didn't care. All she cared was that she couldn't see John, couldn't hear him.\n\n'You clumsy whore.' Peter took up another bowl, sat before the fire and started to help himself to the pottage.\n\nDon't sob, no noise. Peter doesn't like it. Margaret got to her hands and knees, crawled across to the little bundle that was John. Still, so still. No cry. He lay on the floor next to the sack, the head and glassy eyes of a dead hare lolling from it.\n\nPlease, God, oh please, sweet Jesus, oh please, please, please. Her hand reached him, touched him, then she could see his little face.\n\nAnd he blinked. Then hiccupped.\n\nOh, praise God, praise His holy name. She sat up on one hip, picked John up, holding in her agony. Held him to her.\n\nHe hiccupped again. Vomited all over her, once, twice. His eyes rolled.\n\nShe didn't scream, she couldn't. She didn't dare. All she could do was stare as the soft dip on the top of his head swelled red and angry and wrong.\n\nFrom behind her, Peter: 'I said you were a clumsy whore.'\n\nIt would be wrong to say that a silence followed as Margaret paused to gather her strength.\n\nIt was a quiet broken by weeping, by many stifled sobs. More than a few deep-voiced oaths.\n\nMargaret herself remained dry-eyed, though the knuckles of her fists gripping her chair had turned pure white as she began to speak again. 'John had that swelling on his head for days and days. And from that day on, he was never the same. His tongue. His right eye.' Her voice caught. 'He... he stopped turning his head to me when I talked to him.'\n\n'And how old was John when Peter did this?' Barling allowed no emotion in his words, his face. He could not. His calling was to bring out the truth.\n\n'Six weeks, sir.'\n\n'Did Peter ever express any remorse for what he did to John?'\n\n'No, sir.'\n\n'And did you ever bear any other children?'\n\n'No, sir. Though it wasn't for want of Peter... trying.'\n\nAngry hisses filled the room now, a louder rumble of curses.\n\nBarling waited for the reactions to settle as he consulted one of the pipe rolls before him, then addressed her once more. 'Mistress Webb, the King's court protects the life and limb of married women against the savagery of husbands, against such men who would maim or kill them. Moreover, if a woman is in fear of violence exceeding a reasonable chastisement, then such a husband could be bound with sureties to keep the peace. Did you approach your lord, Sir Reginald Edgar, about your rights under the law?'\n\n'Sir, I did consider it, but only consider it. Peter had always been sure not to damage my hands or my face very often, that his worst work would be hidden under my clothes or my coif.' The shadows below her eyes had deepened in her exhaustion. She paused for a long breath and pressed on. 'I hid everything from the world, the same as I did my distress over John. But like with everything, Peter could tell what I was thinking. So he warned me. He told me, with his hand to my throat, that if I ever, ever said a word to anybody about what had happened, he wouldn't kill me. But he would kill John. I was terrified for my son, sir. So I kept my silence. Did everything Peter said. I kept John safe.'\n\n'Mistress Webb, I can see you are growing very weary,' said Barling. 'I shall not press you for too much longer. But I need to ask you this: did you know that Peter had murdered Geoffrey Smith?'\n\n'No, sir. Nor anybody else.' She clutched the arms of her chair. 'I swear to you on my son's life.'\n\nUnder normal circumstances, Barling would correct her, remind her that her oath was to God. But he did not need to, nor even want to. The life of her son was everything to her.\n\n'Thank you, mistress,' he said. 'I commend your honesty and your great strength in coming here.' Barling looked at the assembled court. 'We now see Peter Webb for who he really was: a savage brute within his own home.' He let that sink in before he addressed Margaret again. 'I would next ask that you take up from the hours when your husband was out, as we now know, murdering Sir Reginald and abducting Agnes Smith.'\n\n'I swear to you that I did not know,' said Margaret. 'I assumed he was off poaching.'\n\n'Of course,' said Barling. 'Now, if you can give us your account.'\n\nMargaret's hands worked her spinning in her lap as she sat before the fire, sending the bobbin up, down, as the loose wool became a strong thread. Always a little bit of magic this, she often thought, one object changing its form to become another.\n\nNot that she ever said. Peter did not approve of magic.\n\nHer bobbin was almost empty, and she reached down to her basket to feed in another handful. Empty. She clicked to herself in impatience. She needed to get more done tonight and be ready to start at first light. Peter would have something to say if she didn't.\n\nShe got up, went outside and crossed the yard to the fulling shed, candle in hand, owls calling in the night air.\n\nMargaret opened the door to the shed, her patient, hard-working boy labouring away, left foot, right foot in the stinking fulling pit as always. His anxious face looked over as the door opened, relaxed into his heart-rending beam as he saw it was her and not Peter. He stepped from the pit and threw his arms around her in their special greeting, which was secret from Peter.\n\nShe returned John's hug, then crossed over to the baskets where the raw, sheared wool was stored.\n\nHer stomach lurched. Hardly any in there. It would be the same as her not filling her basket for spinning. Peter's work was up and down at the minute, with all the terrible events that had been happening too. But he wouldn't think that. He'd use his fist on her; her fault that work had stalled.\n\nJohn was beside her now, looking to where she looked; his way of helping, bless him.\n\nShe checked every basket again. Still not enough. Now she felt sick.\n\nStraightening up, she scanned the shed. Barrels. More barrels. One basket shoved in at the back of one, not in the usual place.\n\nGod be praised. Peter hadn't forgotten to refill, only misplaced one.\n\nShe hurried over to it, John with her. Pulling it from behind the barrel, she peered in. Her stomach lurched again. It was full of filthy scraps and ends of wool. But maybe, just maybe she could find usable bits in here. She dug a hand to search through.\n\nJohn stood next to her, idly chewing his tongue, no doubt enjoying his break from treading.\n\nTo her surprise, her fingers found leather. Good leather. She pulled out whatever the thing was.\n\nA boot. A good boot.\n\nShe dug in the basket again.\n\nAnother one. What on earth?\n\nWell, whatever they were, they were no concern of hers. Or John's. If Peter knew they'd been at them, they'd both receive a beating.\n\nBut something wasn't right: you couldn't really poach boots.\n\nJohn sighed loud and long, and she made her decision.\n\nNever mind. Boots weren't worth getting a beating for. She thrust them back into their hiding place.\n\n'So I left the boots,' said Margaret to an utterly silent court. 'Got as many scraps of wool as I could, kissed goodnight to my John. I did a bit more spinning and went to bed. When it was first light, I woke as always, and Peter was asleep beside me. I did all my jobs as usual. I was out sweeping the yard when the news about Sir Reginald came out.'\n\n'Such terrible news this morning, Mistress Webb.' A couple of Edgar's servants, pausing at the gate. 'Have you heard?'\n\nMargaret listened in revulsion at their breathless account of their lord's murder.\n\nHer hand went to her mouth. 'When will it all end? When will Lindley be caught?'\n\nThe taller of the servants shook his head. 'Not while that King's clerk, that Barling, is in charge.'\n\n'More of his daft questions from him just now,' said the other. 'Wanted to know about Sir Reginald, God rest him, giving Lindley a pair of boots or some such nonsense.'\n\nHer mouth dried. 'Boots. Are you sure?'\n\n'Course. Asked us hisself.' He spat in contempt. 'Silly bugger.'\n\nHis friend tugged at his sleeve. 'We'd best be off. A sad day, Mistress Webb.'\n\n'A sad day indeed.' She watched as they set off, both hands locked on her broom, unable to move.\n\nBoots. Hidden in her shed. That she knew nothing about. That the King's man enquired about, enquired about as he asked questions about the murdered Sir Reginald.\n\nShe had to get those boots to Barling. And she had to be quick, before Peter woke.\n\nHeart pounding, Margaret hurried over to the fulling shed, left her broom outside against the wall and went inside.\n\nJohn had already started his treading for the day and returned her quick hug.\n\nShe went past him to the basket behind the barrels, her hands trembling as she plunged them into the wool. Praise God, the boots were still in there. She shoved them under her apron; she could be back in no time at all.\n\nThen a voice from behind her.\n\n'Margaret, what are you doing?'\n\n'It was Peter, of course,' said Margaret. 'He ordered me to put the boots back and come with him to the cottage. He told me that if I didn't, he would drown John in the fulling pit. I went with him. What else could I do? I walked in. He was still behind me. And that's all I remember.'\n\n'It could well have been your last thought, Mistress Webb.' Barling gave a sober nod. 'That was certainly your husband's intent, striking you on the head with savagery and leaving you, as he believed, dead on the floor.' He addressed the court once more. 'Webb then calmly left his home and brazenly joined the search for Lindley. What was the next thing you remember?'\n\n'Lying in the room at Sir Reginald's hall. I didn't know how long I'd been there, but I saw John and my heart soared, for he was safe with me, at least for the time being. But it was the briefest of wakings. Then I heard Hugo Stanton enter.' She paused to give a grateful glance at Stanton. 'I managed to open my eyes, tried to tell him about the boots, about Peter. But I couldn't speak. I had the words in my mind but I could not get them out.'\n\n'A blow to the head often does such a thing, sometimes until the end of a person's days. Thank God you were spared that torment. But in torment you were, lying there with the vital information you had. And only one person could help you, is that not correct?'\n\n'It is, sir.'\n\n'And who was that person?'\n\n'My son, John.'\n\nBarling saw the looks of disbelief on the faces before him. 'Perhaps you could tell us how he did so.'\n\n'That I can. You see, the whole world has always seen my John as a witless fool.'\n\n'But you found out differently.'\n\n'By chance, one could say, when he was four years old,' said Margaret. 'But I always say God's hand guided me.'\n\nThe package of cloth was heavy on Margaret's shoulder. The walk to the monastery had taken longer than she thought, but she had to hurry. Peter was alone with John, and that always made her sick with fear.\n\nIf her little boy went near the fire, unable to see properly with his poor, turned right eye, Peter might not notice. Or care. Or would get John away from it with his usual slap or punch instead of a tap on the shoulder. The same would happen to John if Peter grew tired of his noises, his honks that to her could be a baby goose, his strange cackle, his half hiss, half spit with his tongue wagging out.\n\nYet they weren't merely noises. Margaret knew in her heart that John wanted to tell her things. She'd thought for a long while that Peter's assault had made her son a fool who knew nothing. Until John started to point at the pail of milk. And made a sound to her. Pointed at a cat. And made another sound to her. She'd tried so hard, so hard. Always when Peter was out poaching.\n\n'Milk, John. Fire, John.'\n\nNothing. Just wet kisses on her cheeks, arms around her neck with his little heh-heh laugh.\n\nNo laugh for Peter. Ever. Only cowering and wet britches.\n\nShe quickened her pace.\n\nThe fat, cheery monk at the gate let her in, pointed to where she had to deliver the cloth.\n\nThe scent of the most delicious roasted meat wafted from open shutters as she walked past. The monks' midday meal, no doubt. Her stomach growled as she glanced in. Such full tables. And\u2014\n\nShe stopped dead. Stared. Couldn't help herself.\n\nFor the room full of eating monks was alive with silent movement. Hands fluttered fast, fingers would make a shape for a second and then would make another and another.\n\nA monk caught her eye and she hurried away, dropping her cloth.\n\nOn her way out, she saw the red-cheeked monk was still there. Though this delayed her further, she had to know.\n\n'Good brother,' she said, 'if you'll pardon my rudeness, I saw some of the other monks a little while ago, in the refectory, behaving in a... strange way.'\n\nThe monk chuckled. 'Not strange at all, mistress. We follow the Rule of Saint Benedict, which insists on silence during our daily activities outside the Divine Office. Silence is indeed a virtue, but it is most impractical. So we, as so many monks have, devised a way of communicating without words.'\n\nMargaret looked at him, not daring to hope. 'Then you do not need your ears?'\n\n'Nor our tongues.' The monk gave a beaming smile. 'Yet we can ask for the soap in the bathhouse.' He moved his fingers. 'Or the butter at table.' Again, but differently. 'You see?'\n\n'I do, brother.' Her heart soared. She had hope now.\n\nHe chuckled again. 'And Saint Benedict is still satisfied.'\n\n'Then,' said Margaret, 'I went home. Tried out with John what the monk had described. It took a while. A long while. But we did it. We did it. I could understand John, and he me. It was our secret, our precious, precious secret. So, lying in Edgar's hall, I could not speak, but my fingers were able to tell John to take Stanton to our shed and show him the boots.'\n\nBarling saw different expressions in the court now as Margaret spoke on.\n\n'My son never had the devil in him. But my husband did. I hope he hears my words today from hell. And knows that my boy, John, my precious boy, helped to send him there.'\n\nBarling allowed a long silence before he spoke again. Her words demanded nothing less.\n\n'We have reached the conclusion of my record. Almost.' He held up a hand, careful to keep it completely steady. 'Agnes, I said at the beginning of this hearing that it would be about truth.' His mouth dried at what he was about to say. But he had to, no matter how much it cost him. 'In truth, I made a wrong accusation against you. I did not do so out of any malice, for my only interest is in serving the King and his rule of law. As one of the King's men, I made a mistake in the course of doing so and offer my apologies for it.' His voice sounded steady in his own ears, praise God. 'And now that is the end. I dismiss you all.'\n\nBarling rose to his feet, spent.\n\nAnd then came a call.\n\n'God save the King's justice!'\n\nOthers joined in, joined in until the hall echoed.\n\nBarling looked to Stanton, expecting to see pride in the young man's face.\n\nBut no. Merely a brief, unsmiling nod.\n\nAnd he wouldn't meet Barling's eye."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Hugo Stanton had finally got his wish.\n\nToday, on this perfect summer morning, with white, fluffy clouds in a blue sky and birdsong on a fresh, cool breeze that had sprung up overnight, he would leave the King's service forever.\n\nHe would return to the monastic posts, bringing letters from monastery to monastery. Ride far. Ride fast.\n\nAnd nothing else.\n\nOsmond had agreed to support this decision, delighted with Stanton's request to serve the church once more.\n\n'An excellent path to follow, my boy,' the rector had said. 'Perhaps one that will eventually lead you to take your holy vows, in complete service to the Almighty.' As Osmond was no longer only the rector but about to become the lord of Claresham on the death of his uncle, his word would carry great weight.\n\nBarling had known that too when Stanton presented him yesterday evening with Osmond's letter, laying out his case for leaving. It hadn't taken long. Barling had tried to change his mind, trying to persuade him that he should continue in the service of the law. To his credit, the clerk kept good on his word not to pry into why Stanton did not wish to serve the King directly.\n\n'You have a sharp eye, Stanton.'\n\n'Not sharp enough, Barling.'\n\n'You have great courage, Stanton.'\n\n'Fear more than courage, Barling.'\n\n'You speak up for the truth, Stanton.'\n\nHe had no argument against that, so he'd said nothing.\n\n'Very well.' Barling had reached for his own parchment. 'I will write to the justices and advise that you will be serving the church instead in a noble and worthwhile undertaking. The hour is late, but I will have it ready for you by the morning.'\n\nNow the morning was here.\n\nBarling's letter \u2013 a thin, neat roll closed with its red wax seal \u2013 had been brought to him by a servant.\n\nStanton had placed it in his satchel with Osmond's, then picked up his bundle. Went to the stables, mounted the fine horse given to him by Osmond.\n\nAnd ridden out of the courtyard without a backward glance.\n\nThe road lay before him. But he had one stop he wanted to make.\n\nHe pulled up outside the rectory, secured his horse and entered the graveyard next to the church.\n\nNothing more than the song of the birds and the breeze in the trees and bushes broke the silence as Stanton walked through slowly, stopping at every fresh mound to say a silent prayer.\n\nGeoffrey Smith.\n\nBartholomew Theaker.\n\nThomas Dene.\n\nStanton shook his head. He'd made the right choice to go. He could easily be lying under a mound of brown, drying soil as well.\n\nAnd last, Nicholas Lindley. Tucked away in a quiet corner. Utterly alone.\n\nStanton drew his hand across his face when he heard a voice behind him.\n\n'Without your intervention, there would be two more graves, you know.'\n\nBarling.\n\nStanton turned as the clerk walked up, clad in his neat black robes as ever.\n\n'With better intervention there'd be none.' Stanton looked over to where Peter Webb's mound was by a wall, at the farthest edge it could possibly be. 'Well, one would be good.'\n\n'Indeed.' Barling crossed himself as he stood next to Stanton at Lindley's grave.\n\n'But four is too many. Five, if you count Edgar.' He nodded to the church. 'He's in there, of course. In his great stone casket.' His gaze met the clerk's. 'Is that why you missed out a line in your account, Barling? Is Edgar too grand to have the whole truth told about him? Is it that you didn't want the whole of Claresham to hear that Sir Reginald Edgar liked to lie with men?'\n\n'Ah.' Barling gave the hint of a smile. 'You noticed.'\n\n'Yes, I noticed, Barling. So when you were there last night, going on at me about the truth, you might as well have been talking to one of these headstones. The truth didn't matter when it came to protecting Edgar. Line by line by line, Barling. Unless you don't approve of one of the lines.'\n\n'I did not miss a line to protect Edgar. I missed a line to protect somebody else.'\n\n'You mean me.' Stanton shook his head. 'Barling, I couldn't have cared less if the whole village heard Edgar wanted to lie with me. It was the truth.'\n\n'Not you.'\n\nStanton frowned. 'Then who?'\n\n'I missed a line to protect this man.' Barling's gaze went to the mound before them. 'Nicholas Lindley.'\n\n'Lindley? I don't understand.'\n\n'Do you remember what Edgar told us the night Webb ambushed you, about finding Lindley in his stables?'\n\n'Yes.' I found Lindley hiding in one of my stables. It was the night before the one of Smith's murder. Chap was in a piteous state. I gave him some work to do. Rewarded him for it with charity. The boots off my own feet. My own feet! Said that was what he wanted. Not money. His feet were ruined from wandering for miles. 'I thought it was a bit odd that Edgar hadn't mentioned it before. But Edgar was always fuddled from drink.'\n\n'Edgar may have been a drunk. But he knew perfectly well what he had done with Nicholas Lindley. The same as he wanted to do with you, Stanton.'\n\n'Oh.' Edgar's wet mouth on his. The lord's tongue strong, pushing past his teeth, hand at his groin before he shoved him off.\n\n'Oh indeed.' Barling shook his head. 'You were the King's man, of a status where you could repel Edgar's unwanted advance. But Nicholas Lindley was a penniless beggar. Alone and desperate. Found hiding by the lord on his property. He did whatever it was that Edgar wanted him to do. I sincerely doubt it was the first time for Edgar, given his behaviour with you. Edgar justified what he did by making a payment in the form of a pair of his boots, like he said Lindley had asked for. I am sure it salved Edgar's conscience. If he had one.'\n\n'And Lindley was about to move on from Claresham,' said Stanton. 'He told me that.'\n\n'I am sure he was,' said Barling. 'I cannot say definitely, but I would imagine that Edgar had told him to once he had finished with him. But before Lindley could leave Claresham...' He held up his hands, dropped them.\n\n'Webb murdered Geoffrey Smith.' Stanton tipped his head back with a long breath. 'And Lindley, the beggar, was blamed. Put in gaol, awaiting execution.'\n\n'Yes.' Barling gave a sober nod. 'Edgar might have been a drunk. But he was also a ruthless man who would not hesitate to act in a way that was best for him. As far as he was concerned, a murder had taken place. The villagers were convinced that Lindley was guilty. After all, he was an outsider. Not one of them. Edgar was also very possibly terrified that he'd forced a murderer into giving him his pleasure. That aside, he was happy to go ahead and hang Lindley. Not only would the villagers' demand for justice be satisfied, but more importantly for Edgar, Lindley, the man who knew that the lord was a predatory sodomite, would be silenced for good.'\n\n'Then why didn't Lindley tell me?' asked Stanton. 'I can understand why he didn't when you and Edgar were present. But I was alone with him.'\n\n'Oh, Stanton, Stanton. The sin of sodomy is among the gravest there is, with the worst acts the gravest of all. Had you had the opportunity to read the great writings of Saint Peter Damian, such as I have, you would know that.' Barling bent his head, spoke almost to himself. 'The devil's artful fraud devises these degrees of falling into ruin. The higher the level the unfortunate soul reaches in them, the deeper it sinks in the depths of hell's pit.' He raised his gaze to Stanton. 'The depths.'\n\nStanton frowned. He'd never seen Barling look like this before. The man appeared very troubled. No, haunted. But, wait \u2013 he had. Once. At Theaker's wake, when Barling said something about dwelling on mistakes. Then, as now, the clerk's strange, distracted appearance disappeared in a heartbeat.\n\nBarling snapped back to his usual self. 'Lindley would not have dared to tell you, a complete stranger, Stanton. The one confessor available was Osmond, Edgar's own nephew. So Lindley had to keep his silence, though he must have been in great torment, with the terrible injustices that had been done to him. It is no wonder that Webb was able to persuade him to break out of the gaol.'\n\n'Out, only to be slain and left to rot in a barrel.' Stanton shook his head. 'While we all blamed him, feared him. Hunted him.'\n\n'Except Edgar's hunting of him was always ineffectual,' said Barling. 'He dragged his heels over and over about searching for Lindley. I had assumed it was his drunkenness, his usual chaos. But Edgar, as I have said, was ruthless rather than evil, which Webb was. Once Lindley was gone, Edgar was happy. What Edgar really wanted all along, what he really needed, was Lindley's silence about what he had done.'\n\n'Which Webb had provided.' Stanton looked at the mound again. 'Poor Nicholas Lindley.'\n\n'Or whatever the man's name really was,' said Barling. 'Edgar referred to him as Timothy to me on the day you found Theaker's body. Edgar said it was merely a slip of his tongue. That may or not have been true.'\n\n'Who knows with Edgar?'\n\n'Indeed. But I am sure Lindley had a different life before he became a beggar,' said Barlow. 'He was well spoken. His hair and beard were not overlong, suggesting he had not always been so unkempt.'\n\n'But he has no life now.' Heartsick, Stanton glanced over at his horse. He needed to leave this place.\n\n'No,' said Barling. 'For which I am partly responsible.'\n\n'You?' Stanton stared at him, stunned by his response. 'How?'\n\n'The very first day, I was preoccupied with the correct following of the law. With making sure that the crime was properly dealt with in a uniform manner. I was adamant that nobody could look into the case more effectively than me. I should have listened more carefully to you, Hugo Stanton. You were so very clear that you believed Lindley was speaking the truth. I did not take heed of what you were saying, of the doubts you presented. And so I failed Lindley.'\n\nStanton had no words.\n\n'I can help him in the next life,' said Barling. 'I have paid Osmond for indulgences for his soul and will be praying for him every day. And yes, you are right. By leaving out this line, Edgar's reputation, such as it is, survives. But Edgar's willingness to send an innocent man to the gallows cost him his life, so he has paid the highest price. Nicholas Lindley, a totally innocent man, a victim of Edgar as much as Webb, paid it too.' He shook his head. 'The least I can do is keep his tragic story from the ears and tongues of those who would condemn him for eternity.'\n\n'Perhaps they wouldn't condemn him if they knew the whole story.'\n\n'But a story with no living witnesses, Stanton, save what Edgar did to you. A story about a lord and a beggar. The beggar lies dead, with nobody to speak for him. The lord leaves a nephew with a powerful voice, not merely the rector but the new lord of this place as well. Believe me, the condemnation of Lindley would fast drown out any of Edgar.'\n\n'I suppose you're right.'\n\n'Not always, remember?' Barling gave him a fleeting smile. 'But in this matter, rest assured that I am.' He gestured to Stanton's horse. 'I shall keep you no longer. Godspeed.'\n\n'Are you going back to the hall?' said Stanton. 'I can ride alongside you for a while if so.'\n\n'No, I shall stay here with Nicholas for a little longer.' He raised a hand.\n\n'Godspeed, Hugo Stanton,' he said again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "Stanton rode slowly away from the graveyard through the village of Claresham.\n\nThe sun climbed high now and the whole place had come to life.\n\nWomen at the well, full buckets of water in their hands, stopping to chatter and gossip, while a small boy chased a cat around their skirts. A peasant drove a plodding cow along the roadway, neither of them in any hurry. The warm smell of baked bread wafted on the air, along with that of brewing ale. Two girls stretched a newly washed linen sheet over a rosemary bush, giggling and blushing as Stanton nodded to them as he rode past.\n\nThen he was approaching the Webb cottage.\n\nMargaret sat outside on a low stool, her back leaning against the wall of the cottage, head still bandaged but with her spinning in her busy fingers. To his surprise, she wasn't alone.\n\nAgnes sat with her, winding wool from another basket as John swept the yard, dust puffing up from his wild, hard sweeps. At the top of a tall ladder, Caldbeck was laying fresh thatch on the damaged roof.\n\nMargaret raised a hand to stop him, saying a few quiet words to Agnes, who helped her to her feet.\n\nCaldbeck looked around and nodded. 'Stanton.'\n\nStanton nodded back. 'Good day to you.'\n\nCaldbeck returned to his task as both women made their way to the gate, where Stanton waited, Margaret leaning on Agnes's arm for support.\n\n'Thank you for stopping, sir,' said Margaret. 'I wanted to thank you with all my heart. You saved my life. And you saved my boy's. My precious boy's.'\n\nJohn swept on, lost in his own world, his heh-heh laugh telling how funny he thought this whole broom business was.\n\nStanton flushed. 'I did what I could, Mistress Webb. That's all.'\n\n'But if I had been gone,' said Margaret, 'Peter would have either worked John to the grave or beaten him there. You saw what no one else did. And your compassion, your good heart, brought you to my bedside. Thank you again, sir. From the bottom of my heart.'\n\nStanton shifted in his saddle. 'I would do it all again, mistress.' But he wouldn't. Because he couldn't. Because he was leaving it all behind.\n\n'You saved my life too, Hugo,' said Agnes. 'And brought justice for my father.' She swallowed hard. 'For my Thomas.'\n\n'I wish I could have saved him as well,' said Stanton. I wish I could have saved them all. 'I'm sorry I couldn't. It must all be so hard to bear.'\n\n'It is.' Agnes lifted her chin to him. 'But you brought us truth, you and the King's clerk. And while it may be hard, we are nothing without it. Nothing.'\n\n'Nothing,' echoed Margaret.\n\nThe noise of the broom stopped.\n\nJohn had spotted him. He gave Stanton a huge wave and an even bigger grin, then set about sweeping again.\n\n'Where to next for you, Hugo Stanton?' asked Agnes.\n\nStanton had made his decision. The letters were in his bag. He took a last look over his shoulder at the churchyard.\n\nThe black-robed Barling continued to pray, head down, hands joined, over the grave of Nicholas Lindley.\n\nSo Stanton made another decision.\n\n'Where to next?' he said. 'I'm not sure. But I go with the King's clerk.' Stanton gave both women a respectful bow. 'To bring justice to wherever we are needed.'\n\nHe pulled his horse's head around and clicked to his animal.\n\nNote from the author Readers of my Fifth Knight series will have already met Hugo Stanton in Book 2, The Blood of the Fifth Knight. For those who have not and who would like to find out the full story of Hugo and his murdered lover, the Fair Rosamund, you can find it here. (https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00LAE5DN4)."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Wolf of Wessex",
        "author": "Matthew Harffy",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "England"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "It had been a good morning until Dunston found the corpse.\n\nWhen he'd left the hut, there had been nothing to suggest the grisly secret that was hiding deep within the forest. The weather was fine. A misty haze lingered in the folds of the land and along the winding course of the River Frama. There was a crisp bite to the air, but Dunston knew from the experience of many years that the mist would burn off as the sun climbed into the summer sky.\n\nSparrows scattered, bursting forth from the bracken as Odin, Dunston's rangy merle hound, sped off into the undergrowth. To see the dog run always lifted Dunston's spirits. The dog was close to seven years old, but seemed to think it was still a pup, such was its vigour and energy.\n\nDunston stretched his right leg and grimaced. Straightening, he winced as his back popped and cracked. He wished he could forget that he was no longer a young man, but his body would allow him no such fantasy. He'd suffered too many injuries, pushed his frame to the limits of endurance too many times for his muscles and joints not to protest. He ran his thick fingers through his beard and sighed. Sometimes he almost forgot the passing of the years. Each day was similar to the countless days before. But then he would catch a glimpse of himself in the polished plate that Eawynn had hung on the wall of his home and he would see that where his beard had once been as black as a winter's night, now it was streaked with silver frost. And the hair that had grown so thick and wavy was now thinning, receding back from his weather-lined brow.\n\nStill, he was yet hale and strong and he strode off along the path, listening absently to the muffled crackle of Odin's passage through the leaf litter and undergrowth. After a few moments, silence fell on the forest and Dunston wondered whether the dog had picked up the scent of a deer. More than likely he would be rolling in some unspeakable dung. By God, if that dog returned covered in shit as he so often did, the stupid animal would be taking a dip in the river before heading home. And he'd be sleeping outside the hut until the stench abated. Christ alone knew what pleasure the hound took in lathering himself in excrement. Perhaps his instincts told him that in that way he would find it easier to stalk prey. Dunston thought it would be hard for any wild animal not to smell the dog's approach after he'd smeared himself liberally with manure. And yet, no matter how often he rebuked the beast, it never stopped him.\n\nDunston pursed his lips, meaning to whistle for Odin, but he paused before making a sound. Something was amiss.\n\nHe halted in a small glade, shaded beneath the surrounding trees and listened. He had lived with nobody but Odin for company for long enough to know better than to ignore his feelings. Breathing silently through his opened mouth, he noted his steaming breath billowing momentarily. There was no wind. He listened to the forest, straining to hear any indication of what might have unsettled him.\n\nSilence. As absolute as a tomb.\n\nGone was the sound of Odin's bounding gait through the wood. No trees rustled their leaves. The birds, usually filling the forest with their twittering songs, had all hushed. The stillness was disquieting.\n\nAlert now, Dunston moved stealthily into the brush beside the trail. With barely a glance he made out where Odin had passed. The fresh white wood of a broken twig. A bent fern. There, in the muddy earth between the boles of two gnarled oaks, a fresh paw print, claws dug in deeply where the dog had been running fast.\n\nWith scarcely a sound, the aches in his knee and back forgotten, Dunston followed Odin's trail. He stepped lithely and as quietly as a shade. He did not hurry, for to do so would be to make noise when he knew that the surprise of silence would serve him well against man and beast.\n\nThere were creatures that dwelt in these lands that it would do well to respect. He sometimes saw the spoor of bears and at times in winter, wolves would cause him trouble, ripping the flesh from the animals he snared. But he was not unduly concerned about bears or wolves. He was more worried that Odin might have stumbled upon one of the old boars that roamed the woodland. To face one openly could well spell death for a dog, no matter how strong. The larger boars had great, dagger-like tusks and he had seen hounds and once even an unlucky man, disembowelled by the furious wild pigs.\n\nDunston placed his hand on the large seax that was scabbarded at his belt. He had no spear, and if he was charged by a big boar, he knew the knife would do him little good. But the touch of its antler hilt reassured him. Barely breathing, he stalked forward, as silent as any woodland animal. He paused again, listening and sniffing the air. There was no sound. Surely if Odin had stumbled upon a boar, there would have been a cacophony of grunts and growls as the animals fought. Even the largest boar would not slay Odin without a fight. And yet, there was just the unnerving hush.\n\nLight sliced through the leafy canopy, dappling the loam and leaf mould. Dunston dropped to one knee, the joint letting out a sharp report. He winced at the sudden sound, loud in the unnatural stillness. He peered at the ground, unsure for a moment what it was he saw. And then, the shapes of the trampled leaves and the scuffed mark on the moss-covered rock by the root of a linden tree all made sense in an instant of clarity. Odin had passed this way, but so too had several men. Large, heavy men, to judge from their tracks. Three of them. No, four. They had been travelling northward. Dunston examined the tracks closely. They were fresh. He did not recognise them. These were not the prints left by any of the men who came to the wood from Briuuetone. He would never mistake the tracks of the charcoal burners, the woodsmen or the swineherd leading his pigs in search of mast under the trees. No, these were strangers, he was sure of it. But what would four men be doing creeping around in his forest? Perhaps they were wolf-heads; men outside of the law, whose oaths were worthless. Such men could be dangerous. They had nothing to lose.\n\nHe pushed himself up and before setting off once more after Odin, he listened again. There was a whisper of a sound and an instant later, the grey, white and black hound loped into the lancing sunlight.\n\nOdin, tongue lolling, panted. His chest heaved.\n\n\"Where have you been, boy?\" asked Dunston in a hushed hiss. His heart soared at the animal's safe return and he let out a pent up breath, surprised at his own worry for the hound. He reached out a hand and Odin nudged it with his snout, licking his fingers. The dog's nose was wet and cool. Dunston rubbed absently at the dog's ear and was surprised to see a smudge of crimson on the beast's fur.\n\nBlood.\n\nHe looked down at his hand and saw that it was slick with the stuff. Pushing Odin's head to one side so that it caught a ray of sunlight, he saw that the hound's mouth and muzzle were drenched in gore.\n\nBy Christ's bones, what had Odin discovered? Had he perhaps brought down a fawn? Odin was a good hunter and would often chase and slay animals. But somehow Dunston knew that this blood did not belong to any animal. The fresh prints of the men told him that much. That, and the unnerving quiet of the wood.\n\nFor the merest of instants Dunston considered turning away and walking back to his hut. A small voice whispered to him that he wanted no part of whatever it was Odin had found.\n\nLater, on more than one occasion, he would regret not listening to that voice.\n\nYet as surely as he knew he wanted nothing to do with the strangers that were in his forest, nor to discover where the blood had come from, so he understood that it was not in his nature to walk away.\n\nHe sighed, blowing out air slowly so that his breath billowed about him for a moment in the early morning cool.\n\n\"Stay close, boy,\" he whispered. \"Show me what you've found.\"\n\nOdin looked up at him, its one eye dark and thoughtful, bearded mouth red and straggled. And then the dog spun around and padded silently back into the undergrowth. Dunston hurried behind, less concerned now with remaining silent as with finding the source of that blood.\n\nIt was closer than he had imagined. A few heartbeats later, Odin led him into a clearing surrounded by densely leafed linden trees. In the centre of the glade lay a corpse. He did not need to approach the body to know the man was dead.\n\nThe clearing was awash with blood. The man had been slain atop a fallen oak, the wood long dead and crumbling. The tree trunk was slimed with gore. The delicate white flowers of the dog rose that grew along the edge of the rotting tree were splattered with crimson. The moss that clung to the wood glistened darkly. Blood had spattered and smeared much of the clearing's green carpet of snakeweed and ivy. The corpse had been stripped to the waist. Where his skin was not daubed with his lifeblood, it was pallid; the blue-tinge of death. Dunston could not see the dead man's face. He had been left face down on the log. His greying hair dangled down, lank and blood-streaked, brushing the earth beneath his hanging head.\n\nDunston had seen death before. But the savagery of this man's slaughter made his breath catch in his throat. This was more than a murder, or a robbery of an unlucky traveller. There was evil here.\n\nDunston shuddered.\n\nOdin padded forward into the glade.\n\n\"Stay,\" Dunston ordered, his voice harsh; a knife cut in the stillness of the forest.\n\nThe dog whimpered, but halted and sat on its haunches. Absently, Dunston reached out and placed a hand on the hound's head. The dog's warmth was comforting.\n\nDunston stroked the soft, warm fur behind Odin's ears, but all the while, his gaze remained fixed on the scene of slaughter before him.\n\nThe slain man's back had been split open. His ribs had been pried apart and his offal pulled from his flesh and splayed upon his back. Dunston did not need to get any closer to know that the bloody mess either side of the great wound in the centre of his back was made up of the man's lungs. They had been draped like crude, blood-drenched wings on the man's shoulder blades.\n\nDunston had heard of such things, but he had thought them the tales of scops to frighten children. Though why they felt the need to make the Norsemen any more terrifying than they were, he had never understood. In his experience, the men who came from the sea aboard the beast-prowed sea-dragons, oars beating as the wings of some giant bird, were fearsome enough. There was no need to invent stories of human sacrifice and ritual killings in the name of their one-eyed god.\n\nCould it be that the tales were true? Had raiders landed nearby in their sleek ships, on the Frama perhaps? Surely the river was not large enough here to carry fighting ships? Were Norsemen even now creeping through the forest in search of prey?\n\nAnd yet he had only seen the tracks of four men. And it was not the way of those heathen Norse to sneak around murdering men in the dark of the woodland. The people of the coast lived in constant fear of the coming of the dragon ships, he knew, but here? And why so few of them?\n\nWhatever the truth of it, the remains of the poor man told him one thing. Danger was close.\n\nDunston dragged his gaze from the gory spectacle and cast around the clearing. Clothing was strewn about. A tawny-coloured cape. A ripped kirtle, tattered and flecked with dark stains. A single leather shoe. Dunston flicked his gaze back to the dead man and noted his left foot was bare.\n\nAn unusual shadow caught his attention. There was something large just beyond the clearing. He took a couple of steps towards it. His hand rested on his seax handle and once again he was moving with the silent stealth of a woodland hunter. Two more steps and he was able to discern what the object was. A handcart. A simple, two-wheeled affair that could be pulled by one person. Walking to the cart, he tugged back the greased leather that covered its contents. He was surprised to find several sacks, a wooden box and a couple of small iron-hooped kegs, nestling safely and seemingly untouched beneath the cover. Teasing open one of the sacks he found long white goose feathers inside. A second, smaller bag held leather pouches. Each of the pouches was tightly tied, but they were not sealed well enough to disguise the heady aroma of pepper, cinnamon and mace. Dunston's head swam with the powerful scents of the spices. These were not the things that would bring Norse warriors battle-fame and have their names sung of in the halls of their northern lands, but the stuff was valuable enough. Pulling the leather back over the cart, he looked about him.\n\nA light wind rustled the leaves high above. The summer sun was warming the land. Somewhere far off a wood pigeon called. The forest was returning to normal, breathing once again after the sudden violence that had happened within its depths.\n\nDunston sighed. When he had awoken that morning, he had meant to check his snares, and then return to his hut and the forge. The knife he was making for Oswold, the leatherworker from Briuuetone, was taking shape and it would easily have been finished by midsummer's eve. But now that would have to wait. He could not leave the man here. The easiest thing would be to bury him and just keep what was on the cart. He could sell the items over time, and some of the things might be of use to him.\n\nShaking his head, he returned to the clearing. He knew he would do no such thing. He was no thief, and besides, there were killers on the loose. Perhaps even Norsemen. No, he would take the cart and the man down to Briuuetone. Let Rothulf decide what must be done. Perhaps the reeve would know who the corpse was. Maybe the dead man had kin.\n\nDunston took in a deep breath and spat, readying himself for the task of wrestling the man's gore-slick remains onto the small cart. He once more searched the ground, as much to put off the task as anything else.\n\nThe same four men. They had all been here. He could clearly see where they had confronted the man with the cart and then dragged him to the fallen oak. The spray of the man's blood showed Dunston where they had first tortured him and then, with a great gouting fountain of dark arterial blood, they had taken his life. Dunston reached out to touch a bramble, pulling a small red woollen thread from a thorn. His hand shook. He could almost hear the screams of the dying man, the laughter and shouts of the men who had butchered him. Dunston was no stranger to death and he was accustomed to slaughtering, gutting and skinning animals small and large. But this torn tragedy, a mass of ripped flesh and offal, this was no way for a man to die.\n\nTwisting the piece of wool between his forefinger and thumb, Dunston steeled himself for what he needed to do. But just as he pushed himself up, he noticed the slightest of prints in the soft earth in the shade of the dog rose. This was something else. No, someone else. Judging from the size and depth of the track, this belonged to a child or perhaps a woman. Had the four men taken her?\n\nDunston's heart pounded. Was there even now a defenceless child at the mercy of the brutes who had committed this act of savagery? He searched frantically about the glade for more sign, but the area was trampled. Flies and insects droned and hummed now about the corpse, gorging themselves on its blood and cooling flesh.\n\nHe could find no more tracks. Perhaps he should follow the clear trail of the killers in order to see whether they had carried the child off with them. He did not like the prospect. There were four of them and he wanted nothing to do with men capable of such atrocities. And yet, without a backward glance, he hitched up his belt and walked into the forest after them. He would have to come back for the poor man's body later.\n\nJust as he stepped into the gloom beneath the linden trees, Odin let out a piercing bark. By the rood and all the saints, the stupid dog would get him killed. Dunston hissed at the hound for silence, but Odin ignored him, raising his snout as if scenting something on the breeze, and then bounding off into the undergrowth in the opposite direction to the killers' tracks.\n\nUnsure for a moment, Dunston hesitated. Then, with a curse, he turned and ran after the dog."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Aedwen tried not to breathe. She strained to hear any sign that the men had returned. But the wood was silent now. Gone was the terrible screaming. Before the inhuman shrieking that had come later, she had been able to recognise the sound of her father's voice. He had spoken in that infuriatingly calm manner of his; the tone that mother had said drove her mad.\n\nWalking back from the stream, Aedwen had paused for a moment when she'd heard him speaking, wondering whether he was calling something to her. But then she had heard the other voices, hard and jagged, as different from father's tone as a flint is to silk. Absently wondering who the voices belonged to, she had started up the trail again. The bucket she carried was full and heavy, and she had wanted to relinquish its weight.\n\nThat was when the shouting had started. It had quickly been followed by screaming. For a moment she had stood there on the path, the forest still cold and gloomy in the dawn. The chill water from the bucket sloshed her hand, starting her into motion. She heard several coarse voices, and laughter.\n\nAnd her father had let out a piteous wailing cry. Tears flooded down her cheeks at the sound, but she knew what he would have wanted her to do. They had talked about what to do if they were ever attacked by brigands on the road.\n\n\"If you can get away, you run, girl,\" he had said to her, as he had stirred the pot of stew over the smoking fire. That was on the first day after they had left the home she had known all her life. When this was still an adventure.\n\nFather had often berated Aedwen for not obeying him, but that morning she did as she had been told. She spun on her heel and sprinted away. She had run without thought for her destination or direction. Branches whipped at her face, snagging her dress. Brambles scratched at her skin. All the while, father's screams echoed around the wood. His dying cries followed her until she was panting and breathless, sweat plastering her hair to her scalp.\n\nAt last, his screams ceased. Aedwen flung herself down in the lee of a broad-trunked old tree. She lay there, chest heaving and her face awash with great sheets of tears. She wondered whether she had merely run far enough not to hear him any longer, but deep down she knew the reason for his silence.\n\nShe tried to remember that first night when father had told her to run in the event of an attack. What had he said she should do after that? She could not recall any more of the conversation. The memory of his smile was clear though, his teeth shining in the firelight. Like all of his plans and schemes, there had been no thought to what happened next. By the Blessed Virgin, how she wished they had never embarked on this foolish escapade. But father had seemed so sure of himself. Wasn't he always?\n\nIf only she could have talked him out of it. But he was so assured, so convincing. Mother would have put a stop to his madness. She always did.\n\nAedwen sniffed and her tears fell as great sobs shook her body. How she missed her. And now she would miss him too.\n\nAedwen allowed herself to weep for a while, before wiping her nose and face on her sleeve. She was alone now. She needed to think. Holding the face of her mother in her mind's eye, she took stock. All she had with her were her clothes, the eating knife that hung from her belt, and the bucket that she yet gripped tightly. Most of the water had spilt from it as she had sprinted through the forest, but there were a couple of mouthfuls yet swilling at the bottom. She upended the pail and drank.\n\nShe had no idea who the men were who had attacked father, but everyone knew the forests were filled with those cast out from the law: wolf-heads. Men and women who had fled justice and could never return to their homes. They had no qualms in slaying innocent travellers. Their lives were already forfeit, and they could be killed like animals. And so they became as animals, savaging those who passed through their wooded home, eking out a living from robbery and murder.\n\nIf such men had killed her father, they might already be coming for her. She forced herself to breathe shallowly, listening intently for any sound of pursuit. But the forest was silent and calm once more. A bird cooed somewhere in the depth of the forest. The sound startled her.\n\nIt's just a bird, she told herself.\n\nThink!\n\nCould her father yet live? She scarcely believed that it could be so. Surely those screams were those of a dying man. And yet she could not flee, leaving him to God knew what fate. Perhaps even now, the outlaws had stolen the goods from their cart and had abandoned her father, allowing him to bleed to death, slowly succumbing to his wounds. The thought filled her with horror. Could he truly be lying in the clearing in need of her help?\n\nShe would have to find out. And if she found him alive, how could she help him? She was no healer. Perhaps with the help of the cart she could get him back to Briuuetone, the last village they had passed through. If she could find the clearing where they had camped, she thought she would be able to trace their steps back from there to the road and the village.\n\nBut what if the men were still there? She shuddered. Aedwen was no fool. She knew what would befall her at the hands of such brigands. Once more she listened. The sun had risen higher into the sky and spears of light stabbed through the leaf canopy. A wind whispered through the trees, sighing and making the branches shiver. The green-tinged light danced and dappled the earth around her. Far away the bird called again. But there was no sound of pursuit. No yelling and snapping of twigs and rustle of undergrowth. She let out her breath and drew in a great lungful of air. The woodland was redolent of growth, verdant and vigorous. Summer had brought bountiful life to the land. And yet, she feared that in a small glade surrounded by pale-leafed trees her only kin lay dead.\n\nShe had to know for sure.\n\nShe would creep back towards the glade where she had left her father. If she suspected the men who had attacked him were approaching, she would hide and slip away. She was fleet of foot and fast. She trembled, the light from the sun offered little warmth down here under the trees. And the ground was yet cold and wet from the rain that had fallen these last weeks. They had slept without a fire last night, cold and shivering, huddled together for warmth, as the woods creaked and murmured about them. She pulled her thin cloak about her shoulders. The wool was old and fraying and the garment offered little protection. Whether her father lived or not, she would need to find shelter before nightfall.\n\nMuch of the morning had already passed and the sun would soon be at its zenith. There was no time to waste. She would be cautious, but she must move.\n\nAedwen pushed herself to her feet, brushing ineffectually at the leaves and mud that clung to her dress. After a moment's hesitation she decided to carry the bucket. It could prove useful and she was not sure she would ever be able to find this spot in the forest again. Taking another deep breath of the heavy, rich air, she started north.\n\nScarcely had she taken five paces, than a dog's piercing bark sliced through the sylvan stillness. Aedwen stifled a cry of fear, but was unable to prevent her feet from carrying her back at a run to the bole of the tree where she had been hidden until moments before. She pressed her back against the rough bark, her breath coming as ragged and fast as when she had first arrived here after running for a long while.\n\nAnother bark. Was that a man's voice she heard too? She could not be certain. Sounds of passage through the brush grew louder.\n\n\"Nal Wes \u00f0u, Maria, mid gyfe gefylled, Drihten mid\u00f0e. \u00d0u eart gebletso\u00f0 on wifum and gebletsod \u00f0ines inno\u00f0es w\u00e6stm, se N\u00e6land.\"\n\nShe began to whisper the words of the prayer urgently. All her brave ideas of returning to help her father, or fleeing from any pursuit, had vanished like smoke on the wind. She could not move. Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, then fell unnoticed down her already streaked cheeks.\n\n\"Nalige Maria, Godes modor gebide for us synfullum, nu and on p\u00e6re tide ures for\u00f0si\u00f0es. Amen.\"\n\nThe movements in the forest were growing louder. There was no more barking, but she was sure that at least one hound and several men were crashing through the ferns and brambles, unerringly closing in on her.\n\nWhat should she do? What could she do?\n\nHer mind raced, the words of the prayer blurring into nonsense as her fear engulfed her.\n\nShe must move. Run or perhaps climb a tree. But she did nothing; paralysed by fear and the fresh memories of her father's echoing death-wails.\n\nA huge mottled hound rounded the trunk of a tree. It halted, straight-legged, tongue flopping and hackles raised. Its teeth were white and very large. The dog fixed her with a baleful stare and she noticed it only had one eye. Was this a strange creature of the forest? Some devil hound of the Wild Hunt perhaps? It looked more wolf than dog, and its size was terrifying. It looked at her for a moment, as if it was as surprised as she was, and then it let out a peal of barking howls.\n\nSomeway off, Aedwen heard renewed sounds of people approaching. She could barely breathe now. The hound was still barking, but it had not attacked her yet. Her hand fell to the tiny eating knife at her belt. Perhaps, she would be able to halt the beast with the small blade. It only had one eye, so maybe she could blind it.\n\nShe pulled the knife from its worn leather sheath. The blade was scarcely the length of her finger. Still, it would take an eye out, if she could find her mark. She readied herself for the animal to launch at her. Gripping the knife tightly, she pressed her back to the tree's bark and prepared for the attack.\n\nBefore the beast could pounce, a man strode into sight. He was not tall, but he was broad of shoulder and there was a presence about him. He wore simple clothes of wool and leather. His hair was black streaked with silver like the wings of a jackdaw. His beard was a jutting white and black thatch. He looked ancient to her young eyes, much older than her father. But he was no wizened greybeard. No gum-sucking old man, who sat staring out to sea on long summer evenings. This man was powerful, the way a waterfall or the sea in a gale has power. The instant he entered the clearing, the dog fell silent.\n\nThe man's cool gaze took in everything in an instant. He must have been running to keep up with the dog, but he appeared to be barely out of breath.\n\n\"Well, girl,\" he said, his voice gruff and clipped, \"who are you?\"\n\nAedwen could not speak. She opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came.\n\n\"You'll not be needing that knife,\" the man said, indicating the blade in her trembling hand. \"I think you would just anger him, if you prodded him with it anyway.\"\n\nSeeming to sense her distress, the massive dog, quiet now, edged forward. She let out a whimper of alarm.\n\n\"Odin,\" snapped the man. \"To me.\" His tone was commanding, but the dog ignored him and padded closer to Aedwen. She tried to push herself away from him, but the tree prevented her from moving further. She was crying uncontrollably now, tears flowing, mouth open and panting in terror.\n\nThe man frowned.\n\n\"Do not fear,\" he said. \"Odin won't hurt you. Will you, boy?\"\n\nAs if in answer, the dog licked her hand. Looking down, she saw the knife still clutched there. The dog looked up at her with its one, deep brown eye. It nuzzled its snout into her, inviting her to stroke it perhaps. Shakily, she sheathed the knife and reached out to caress the soft fur of the dog's ears. Odin sat down contentedly and once again nudged her with his head, encouraging her to continue.\n\nCould the man be one of the heathen Norsemen to have named his dog thus? she wondered.\n\n\"By Christ's bones,\" said the man. \"Disobedient and soft.\"\n\nShe noticed then that he had in his large hand a long seax. The blade of the knife glimmered dully as he moved. For an instant, her fear returned with a sudden icy chill. But as she watched, he slid the weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt.\n\n\"Now,\" the old man said, \"who are you and what are you doing in my forest?\"\n\n\"I\u2014\" she stammered, her voice catching, \"I am Aedwen, Lytelman's daughter.\"\n\n\"And where were you headed?\"\n\n\"To find my father\u2026\" she swallowed, not wishing to put words to what had occurred. \"He\u2014 He was attacked.\"\n\nThe man ran a callused hand over his face and beard. His eyes glittered, chips of ice in the crags of his face. She wondered if he ever smiled. His was a hard face, unyielding and unsmiling, so unlike her father's. He always appeared content with his lot in life. She recalled his screams and shuddered.\n\n\"You will come with me and Odin. My home is not far. We will rest there and then, tomorrow, we will go to Briuuetone.\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied, \"I must go to my father. He might need me.\"\n\n\"He does not need you now, child,\" said the man, his voice as cold and hard as granite. \"Your father is dead.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Dunston stretched his feet out towards the fire. The flames had died, leaving writhing red embers that lit the small hut with a ruddy flickering glow. By Christ, he was tired. And yet he knew he would not sleep for a long while. He sipped the strong mead directly from the leather costrel. It was soothing, and he felt his shoulders relaxing.\n\nHe looked over the coals of the fire to where the girl lay. She was exhausted and he had needed to halt frequently on the journey through the woods. He wasn't sure how old she was, he hadn't thought to ask, but she was somewhere in that awkward time between a girl and woman. Something about her reminded him of Eawynn. Perhaps it was her determination. She had shown great strength when he had led her to the site of her father's murder.\n\n\"You do not wish to see your father as he is,\" he had told her.\n\nShe had argued, but he had been adamant, sending her to the cart to find something they could use to cover the man's corpse. He'd ended up using the man's cloak and the leather cover that had been on the cart. He had made her wait with Odin by the handcart and had set about tending to the girl's father. It was a terrible task, as he had known it would be, and after a time he was covered in sticky gore.\n\nAedwen's eyes had widened when she saw him step from the glade, arms and hands besmeared in blood. He had led her with him to the stream, where he had washed himself as best he could in the bitterly cold water, picking up handfuls of sand and rubbing away the grime. Then he had filled the girl's bucket and carried it back to the glade.\n\n\"Wait a short while more,\" he had said when she asked if now she could see her father.\n\nHe had wrapped the butchered man tightly in the leather and cloth, shrouding his body from view. He left his face visible, using a scrap of the man's kirtle dipped in the bucket to wipe his cheeks, chin and forehead clean. Then he cut a long strip of woollen cloth from the cloak and bound it about his head, over the crown and beneath the chin to hold the mouth shut.\n\nOnly then, when he was sure he had done all he could to make Aedwen's father look at peace, had Dunston heaved the man's corpse up and carried him to the cart. They had cleared the bed of the cart and Dunston had laid the man down as softly as he was able. The girl had gazed at her father's face for a long while.\n\nDunston had been nervous, peering into the forest and listening for any sign that the men who had done this thing might be returning. But they had disappeared and now that he had found the girl, he did not regret letting them be on their way. Nothing he did would bring Aedwen's father back. And men capable of this kind of violence would meet a bloody end themselves one day, of that he was certain. Sweat-drenched and breathless from his exertions, Dunston drank cool water from the bucket while Aedwen cried silently.\n\nThey had piled the goods from the cart around Lytelman's corpse, even placing a couple of sacks, one of feathers and one of smoked mackerel, on his chest. Dunston had said they could leave the contents of the cart hidden and return for it, but Aedwen would not hear of it.\n\n\"This is all that is left of my father's dreams,\" she had said, sniffing. \"I will not leave it or throw it away.\"\n\nDunston had not replied, merely helping her to arrange the sacks. The cart creaked and groaned and was difficult to coax along the root-snarled paths to his hut, but Dunston understood Aedwen's anxiety at leaving the things untended in the wood. He had asked about her kin and found she had none. She was an orphan now, and this was all she owned. It was not much, but it was better than nothing at all.\n\nTaking another swig of mead, he looked down at the girl where she slept in the fire-glow. In sleep, her face was soft, trouble-free. How would such a young child survive in this world? Well, that was no concern of his. He would do his duty and take her to Briuuetone. Let Rothulf there find a home for the orphan. Not for the first time, Dunston wished he had not left his hut that morning. Nothing but trouble had come his way. Everything had changed when he'd stumbled upon the blood-soaked corpse of the girl's father. Well, as Guthlaf had so often told him over the years, there were only two things you could ever be sure of in life: the passage of time and the unexpected. Today, he had been reminded of both. He twisted his head around and his neck gave an audible click. He grunted, feeling his age of close to fifty summers.\n\nOdin let out a suppressed growling bark, dreaming of the shade of some woodland creature no doubt. His legs twitched as he ran in his slumber. The animal was stretched out beside Aedwen and one of his huge paws rested on her arm. Dunston snorted and sipped again from the costrel. He had never seen the hound take to someone in this way. The dog was friendly enough with him, and fiercely loyal, but he usually slept alone beside the fire, or curled up close to the door. He never came close to Dunston's bed at the rear of the hut.\n\nThe foolish beast would miss the girl when they left her at Briuuetone. All the more reason to be done with it. At first light they would set out. He could not have the poor girl weeping and complaining around the place."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Dunston awoke with a start. He yet sat in the high-backed chair he had carved many years ago. He made to rise and his spine cried out in agony at having rested so long against the hard oak of the seat. The half-full flask of mead toppled from where it had perched atop his belly. Cursing, he lunged for the falling costrel, sending fresh stabs of pain down his back and neck. Too slow, his fingers brushed the leather and it fell to the packed earth floor.\n\n\"By all that is holy,\" shouted Dunston, angrily heaving himself to his feet and snatching up the flask before all the mead had been spilt.\n\nLight streamed in through the hut's open door and at the sound of his voice, Odin padded inside to gaze up quizzically at his master. The sun had risen long ago and Dunston could scarcely believe how long he had slept. The exertions of the day before must have taken their toll on his body more than he had imagined. Thank you, Lord, for yet another reminder of how old he was becoming.\n\nBeside the hearth knelt Aedwen. She had rekindled the flames and was now placing oatcakes on a griddle. The smell of cooking brought saliva rushing into his mouth. They had been too tired to prepare food when they had arrived the previous night and his stomach grumbled now at the prospect of eating.\n\nOdin nudged Dunston's hand with his cold wet snout. To Dunston, it looked as though the dog was grinning at him.\n\n\"What are you looking at, fool of a dog?\" he growled.\n\nAedwen looked up from where she was cooking. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sparkling. Dunston noticed that she had brushed her hair, and it shimmered in the morning sunlight from the doorway.\n\n\"You're awake,\" she said. \"The oatcakes are almost ready.\"\n\n\"You should have woken me,\" Dunston said, pushing himself up from the chair and stretching. He winced as his body protested. \"I wanted to be gone long before now.\"\n\n\"You looked tired.\"\n\n\"There's strength enough in these old bones to get you and your father to Briuuetone.\"\n\nShe cast her gaze down to the griddle, poking at the cakes with a stick to check whether they were done.\n\n\"Well, I thought it best if I fed you first. Neither of us ate yesterday, and you'll need to keep that strength up.\" She decided that the cake closest to the flames was ready and prised it from the metal and scooped it onto a wooden platter. Dunston recognised the plate as one he had made. She handed it to him and, after a slight hesitation, he accepted it. The oat cake smelt good. He broke a piece of it off and the warm fragrance wafted up to him. He tested it with his tongue. It was hot, but his hunger got the better of him and he popped it into his mouth. The crisp outer shell broke under his bite, exposing the steaming soft centre. Gasping, he breathed through his mouth, waving his hand to indicate he was burning.\n\nAedwen smirked and handed him a wooden cup of ale.\n\nHe filled his mouth with the cool liquid, sighing as it lessened the scalding and dissolved the mouthful of oat cake.\n\n\"You've certainly made yourself at home,\" he said, frowning.\n\n\"I thought you would be happy for me to cook. It is the least I can do. You have been kind to me.\"\n\nDunston grunted and took another bite of the cake.\n\n\"These are good,\" he said grudgingly, taking a second draught of ale.\n\n\"My mother taught me,\" said Aedwen, before falling silent. She busied herself with the griddle, flicking more of the oatcakes onto another plate.\n\n\"I'll have another,\" Dunston said, suddenly awkward. \"And I thank you.\"\n\nAedwen beamed and slid two more cakes onto his plate. Then she nibbled one herself and nodded, seemingly content with her handiwork.\n\n\"Do you live here alone?\" she asked.\n\nDunston nodded.\n\n\"Just me and Odin.\" At the sound of his name, Odin raised his head. Dunston glowered at the dog for a moment, before breaking one of the cakes in two and tossing half to the hound. Odin caught the offering and in a heartbeat the food had vanished.\n\nAedwen watched the dog, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the horror and loss she had suffered.\n\n\"You have no kin?\"\n\nFor a moment, Dunston chewed in silence. He glanced over to where the girl had laid out the cooking utensils neatly beside the hearth. Everything was just so, ordered and tidy. How long had it been since a woman had been in this hut? It seemed like a lifetime. His gaze flicked to Eawynn's silver plate, hanging on the far wall, where it reflected the light from the fire.\n\n\"I have a brother,\" Dunston replied at last. \"But I have not seen him since Michaelmas this past year.\"\n\n\"Nobody else?\"\n\n\"No. No one else, damn your nosiness, girl.\" He crammed the rest of the oat cake into his mouth and chewed sullenly. The girl said nothing, but her eyes brimmed with tears as she finished her food and set about clearing the things away.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" Dunston said. \"You are right, I was tired. And hungry.\"\n\n\"It is no matter. Father was always ill-tempered in the morning before he broke his fast.\"\n\n\"Ill-tempered, am I?\" he said, unable to keep the smile from his face. \"I suppose I am at that. I am not used to having company.\" He wiped his hands through his beard. \"And what of you, do you have kin\u2026\" he hesitated, \"\u2026 beyond your father?\"\n\nThe girl's face crumpled, her lower lip quivering. She stood, picking up the soiled cooking things.\n\nHe felt a pang of guilt at her reaction. Damn his clumsiness. He understood as well as anyone the anguish of grief.\n\n\"I do not wish to cause you more pain,\" he said, stumbling over the words, unsure of himself. \"I have never been good with words.\" He held up his hands. They were thick-fingered and callused. \"I only have skill with these,\" he said. \"It has ever been so. Whenever I speak, I cause offence.\"\n\n\"What do you make?\" Aedwen said, her voice small.\n\nDunston was confused. He grunted, leaning his head to one side. Surprisingly, Aedwen grinned.\n\n\"What is so funny, girl?\" Dunston said, suddenly annoyed once more.\n\nAedwen bit her lip.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, it is just\u2026\" her voice trailed off.\n\n\"Just what?\"\n\nWhen she did not reply immediately, he continued. \"You had better tell me. One thing I like worse than waking up late are secrets.\"\n\nAedwen took a deep breath, but still she hesitated.\n\n\"Well?\" he said, his voice taking on an edge of iron.\n\nWith a sigh, Aedwen said, \"The way you looked at me just then, with your head to one side, you looked just like Odin.\"\n\nFor a long while Dunston stared at the girl. To his surprise and her credit she held his gaze, until at last, he allowed himself to smile.\n\n\"Like Odin, you say?\" The hound looked up at him and cocked its head at an angle. Dunston let out a guffaw and he was pleased to see that Aedwen was laughing too. \"Well,\" he said, through his chuckles, \"it would seem I have been too long in the company of this hound. As we walk to Briuuetone you will have to teach me once again the ways of mankind.\"\n\nThey laughed together as they cleaned the plates with some of the water from a barrel by the door. For a moment it was almost as though the previous day, with its blood and terror, had never happened. But when they returned to the hut, they both looked upon the shadowed shape of Aedwen's father, wrapped in the makeshift shroud.\n\n\"Have you any inkling of who the attackers were?\" he asked, unable to avoid returning to the dark subject of her father's murder.\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"I thought they must be wolf-heads.\"\n\nDunston nodded, saying nothing of the cart laden with goods that had been left behind.\n\n\"But I have been thinking about that,\" she continued. \"Men living outside the law would be desperate for anything of value. They would never leave the cart.\"\n\nDunston said nothing. The girl impressed him. She was sharp and thoughtful.\n\n\"In answer to your question,\" she said, \"I have no close kin. My father had two sisters, but they married and moved away before I was born. I know nothing of my mother's family. She never talked of them.\"\n\n\"It seems we are both alone,\" he said, feeling a stab of pity. It was one thing for a man of his age to look at a future devoid of companionship and family, but for one so young\u2026 Aedwen must be terrified of what her life would be now.\n\n\"You are not alone,\" she said. \"You have Odin.\"\n\nDunston grunted.\n\n\"And I am not truly alone,\" she said. \"While I was hiding in the forest, I prayed.\" Aedwen's voice grew wistful. \"I prayed to the Blessed Virgin.\" Her eyes burnt with a new passion. \"And the Mother of God answered me. She sent me you.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that, girl,\" said Dunston, uneasy at the thought of being part of some sacred plan.\n\n\"The Virgin Mary sent you to help me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, lifting up one of the sacks that belonged to Aedwen and carrying it out to the waiting handcart, \"I am happy to help you to reach Briuuetone. You will not be alone there. The reeve will know what to do with you. His wife is kindly and he has daughters too. Perhaps you can stay with them.\"\n\nShe followed him out into the warming daylight.\n\n\"I do not wish to go to Briuuetone. I have been praying and I believe you were sent to me for a purpose.\"\n\nDunston did not like the sound of this, or the direction that the conversation was headed. He returned inside for another sack. Aedwen followed him.\n\n\"And what purpose would that be?\" he asked, unsure that he wanted to hear what this child would answer.\n\n\"You are adept at following tracks in the forest, are you not?\"\n\nHe dropped the sack into the bed of the cart and its timbers creaked.\n\n\"I am a hunter. I can see where beasts or men have trod,\" he allowed.\n\n\"And you are clearly a strong man. A warrior.\"\n\nDunston bridled, not liking one bit the turn this morning had taken.\n\n\"I am no warrior,\" he spat and stalked back inside.\n\nAedwen ignored his protestations.\n\n\"I think you are,\" she said, \"and I think the Virgin answered my pleas by sending you, and in the night, while you slept, I understood what we should do next.\"\n\n\"We?\" he said, his tone incredulous. \"There is no 'we', girl. I will take you to the reeve at Briuuetone and then you can pray to the Virgin all you want. But whatever you pray for, think not that I will be part of your prayers.\"\n\n\"I do not believe you are a man who would allow something like the brutal murder of my father to go unpunished.\"\n\n\"It is not my place to seek justice. I am not the reeve and I am no warrior.\"\n\n\"And yet you have not denied my words. You would see the men who killed my father punished.\"\n\nAnger began to bubble within Dunston. The girl's words raked through the embers of his ire at seeing her father's ripped and savaged corpse.\n\nHe bent to lift the heavy form of the dead man onto his shoulder. He noticed how blood had soaked through the cloak. The burden was cumbersome and his back once again cried in pain, but he wrestled the corpse up and walked stiffly towards the sunlight and the cart.\n\n\"Of course I would have the men who did this thing brought before the moot and tried,\" he gasped, breathless from the exertion. \"But I am but one old man.\" The words threatened to catch in his throat, but he knew the truth of them. He knew that years before, he would have swung the corpse up and onto his back with barely a thought. Now his bones and joints screamed out in protest. \"What would you have me do?\"\n\nAedwen placed a small hand on his burly forearm. He halted and looked into her limpid eyes.\n\n\"I would have you track the savages who did this to my father. You say you are a hunter. I want you to hunt them. And when you find them, I want you to kill them all.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "They walked in sullen silence.\n\nAedwen watched as Odin bounded before them, flitting into the trees and then returning sometime later, tongue flopping, tail held high. She wished she could be as carefree. It would be wonderful to be content to run through the forest, in and out of the pools of sunshine that dotted the path beneath the trees. But her mind was a turmoil of emotions. After the initial fear and horror of her father's death, she had set to thinking and praying. She had awoken deep in the darkest part of the night and had been sure she had the solution. She had lain there and listened to Dunston's snoring, comforted by the sound that reminded her of her father. She had tried to turn her thoughts away from her father's body, shrouded, still and stiff in the hut, but no matter how hard she prayed, her mind kept on going back to her father's corpse. She had cried then, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in the darkness, but when the first light of dawn drew a grey line beneath the door of the hut, she had been resolved. She knew what she must do and she had been certain that the grey-bearded man who had found her would accept her challenge.\n\nHow wrong she had been.\n\nThey had barely spoken since his refusal to seek out her father's killers. He had said that her idea was foolish. He would stick to his plan to take her and her father to Briuuetone and then he would leave. She had felt the fury building within her, like the tension in the air before a thunderstorm. She had been about to scream her anger at Dunston, but something in the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow, gave her pause. She recalled the last time she had raised her voice to father. She could barely remember what she had been angry about, but her ire had been sudden and terrible. When she had calmed down, father had said something she would never forget, and she thought on those words now.\n\n\"I am your father, and I love you. But make no mistake, if you speak to others the way you have spoken to me today, things will go badly for you. Only kin will put up with that kind of foolish rudeness and even then, a father's patience has its limits.\"\n\nAnd so, rather than scream and yell at Dunston, she had fallen into step behind him, sour and bitter resentment washing off her like a stink. For his part, he had seemed to be pleased not to speak, conserving his energy for pulling the heavy cart that creaked and groaned over the rutted ground.\n\nMore than once, she had needed to help him, lending her small weight to his considerable bulk to heave the cart over a thick tree root, or around a boulder jutting into their path. Not once did she say a word to him, instead doing what was necessary, and then resuming her brooding; an ill-tempered shadow trudging in his wake.\n\nThey saw nobody else all that morning. The forest was teeming with wildlife. Magpies chattered and wood pigeons cooed in the canopy and once Odin frightened a partridge from where it rested in the bracken. The bird burst from the undergrowth in a fluster of beating wings and narrowly avoided becoming the hound's meal. But despite the numerous animal denizens of the woods, no humans crossed their path.\n\nDunston led them unerringly through barely visible deer tracks until they eventually reached the road. Aedwen began to understand how lucky she was that Dunston had found her. Without his aid she would have surely been lost forever in this dense world of twisted trees and clinging brambles. Again she thanked the Virgin for sending him to her, and like someone going back to scratch at an annoying nettle rash, she once more pondered how to have the man do her bidding.\n\nThe sun was high in the sky when they came to a fast-flowing brook that the road crossed over by way of a simple timber bridge. The cart clattered over the mossy boards of the bridge and on the far side, Dunston eased the cart's shafts down and stretched, reaching his hands to the small of his back. He grunted as he massaged at his aches and he winced as he bent his right knee to sit with his back to the cart wheel. His forehead was beaded with sweat, but he seemed hale enough. She produced the remainder of the oatcakes from where she had stored them in a bag and handed him one.\n\nHe nodded his thanks, broke off a piece and chewed for a time before washing it down with water from a leathern flask. She ate in silence, and accepted the flask from him. The day was warm, and she was thirsty.\n\nOdin gnawed contentedly at a bone he had found somewhere in the depths of the wood.\n\n\"I understand that you are filled with anger at the men who did this to your father,\" Dunston said, breaking the hush that had fallen over them. \"But it would be madness to chase after them as you wish.\" He took back the water bottle from her and drew another deep draught.\n\n\"I cannot bear the thought of those men roaming free.\"\n\n\"If I could track them, what then? A girl and an old man against four men.\"\n\n\"You are not so old,\" she said, a glimmer of mischief in her eye. \"You look like you would be able to defend yourself in a fight.\"\n\nWas that a slight smile nestled within his beard? He snorted.\n\n\"Defend, perhaps. But to seek out a fight with men like that would be foolhardy. As I said, I am no longer young and I am no warrior.\"\n\nShe had been watching him closely all that morning, the way he carried himself. Walking lightly on the balls of his feet, his blue eyes never missing anything. She had noticed that his muscled forearms bore many scars, a pale cross-hatching of lines against the tanned skin. She tried to imagine how he might have come across such wounds and could only conclude they were from cuts delivered by enemies standing against him in a shieldwall. Then there was the large axe he had picked up and placed into the cart before they had left his hut. It was a broad-headed, wicked-looking thing; a weapon more than a tool used by a woodsman, she thought. The axe's dark iron head was swirled with intricate patterns of silver, which had been cunningly forged into the metal, and the long ash haft was carved with runes and symbols. The lower end of the shaft was tightly bound in old, worn leather.\n\nHe had said nothing when he had fetched it from a trunk. It had seemed almost as an afterthought. But he handled the hefty weapon as if it weighed nothing and as he had strode from his hut, axe-head gleaming in the morning sun, a sudden chill had run through her. He was certainly not young, but he looked like a warrior to her.\n\nMore than that, he looked like a killer.\n\nShe reached out her hand for the water flask again and he tipped it up to show her it was empty. Pushing herself up, she made her way down to the water's edge. It was cool in the shade of the bridge and the water was clear and cold. Silver daces darted and snaked languidly beneath the surface. She plunged the flask's neck into the water and watched the stream of silver bubbles gurgle up from the opening.\n\n\"I understand,\" she called back to Dunston. \"This is not your fight. Why would you put yourself at risk for me\u2026\"\n\n\"Do not besmirch me as a craven, girl,\" the old man growled. \"To what end would we hunt these men? To slay them, you say. Even if we could do such a thing, you will find no peace from revenge.\" He heaved himself to his feet with a grunted groan of pain. He tested his knee, flexing it and grimacing at what he felt. \"Trust me on this. No,\" he said, once more lifting the shafts of the cart and setting off again southward. \"We will go to Rothulf, the reeve. He is a friend and a wiser man than me. He'll know what to do. Besides, justice is his job.\"\n\nAedwen drank deeply, the cold water doing nothing to dampen the anger she felt. Refilling the flask, she hammered the stopper back in place with the heel of her hand and followed behind Dunston, once more too upset and disappointed to speak."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "They barely spoke for the rest of the day and the sun was low in the sky when finally they saw the cluster of houses known as Briuuetone. They had followed the course of the River Briw as it wound its way towards the settlement. As it progressed downhill, the river grew ever faster, its water changing from a burbling stream to a churning torrent. The Briw was ever fast-flowing, but after the recent rains, it was a raging, white-frothed deluge by the time it reached Briuuetone.\n\nA few times during the afternoon Dunston glanced at Aedwen and was unsurprised to see her face set, her lips pressed tightly together in an expression of disapproving anger. If her situation had not been so dire, her childish rage might have amused him. As it was, he was saddened. He understood her desire for vengeance. She must feel lost and impotent in a world that had suddenly become frightening and more violent than she had ever known. But he was sure of his decision. To chase after the men who had slain her father would have been madness and almost certainly would have spelt his and Aedwen's deaths.\n\nFor his part, he did not mind walking in silence. The path grew smoother as they approached the village, but it was still hard work to push the cart over the rutted track and he had little inclination to talk. Besides, he was accustomed to the hushed voice of the forest. The creak of tall linden and oak when the wind caught their highest boughs. A far-off cry of a sparrow hawk. The chatter of sparrows and finches. Odin's panting breath when he ran past, flitting in and out of the undergrowth. All of the natural sounds of woodland life calmed him, giving him time to listen to his own thoughts. He pondered again who might have done this thing. He was convinced now that it could not have been Norsemen. It made no sense for such a small band to be here, deep within the kingdom of Wessex. But then why mutilate the man's body in such a horrific fashion? What sort of men committed such an act if it were not in the name of their heathen gods?\n\nDunston walked on, brooding on that, his mind filled with dark memories of blood and screams. He knew all too well what sort of man took pleasure from torture and killing. He had believed he would never again need to face such men. Well, after he'd got the girl and her unlucky father to Rothulf, he would return to his home and try to forget this fresh horror he had witnessed. He knew Aedwen's father's blood-slathered and broken body would plague his dreams, just as so many other corpses did. Each pallid face of the dead had its own place in his nightmares. Lytelman was another innocent to join their ranks.\n\nAedwen stumbled. She was tired. It had been a long, hard day.\n\n\"We are almost there,\" he said, making his tone soft.\n\nThe girl glared at him, still refusing to speak. With a flick of her hair, she turned away and strode with renewed determination down towards the smoke-wreathed settlement.\n\nDespite himself, Dunston smiled. Eawynn would have liked the girl. They were both haughty and stubborn as mules when angered. With a grunt of effort, Dunston set the cart to moving faster to keep up with her. He thought about calling for her to slow her pace, but thought better of it. He would have to shout over the roaring rush of the river that flowed alongside the path. And anyway, she was heading in the right direction.\n\nThe road twisted around an outcrop of rock up ahead. Without looking back, Aedwen disappeared from view. Dunston felt an unexpected twinge of anxiety. Foolishness, he told himself. They were almost in the shadow of the thatched houses of Briuuetone. He could smell the woodsmoke from the haze of cooking fires. These were Rothulf's folk. Good people. Nothing could befall the girl here. Surely.\n\nAs if he too felt nervous to have lost sight of the girl, Odin burst from the brush beside the path and sped past Dunston, running around the bend in Aedwen's wake.\n\nThe Briw, fast and deep, churned and crashed over boulders. Dunston could hear nothing over the river's rocky roar.\n\nThe cart's left wheel caught on a protruding chunk of flint. Aedwen's father's shrouded body began to slip. Dunston lashed out a strong hand, hauling the corpse back onto the bed of the cart, where it nestled amongst all of Aedwen's possessions. Dunston spied the leather-wrapped haft of Dea\u00deangenga and briefly he placed his hand upon it. He wondered what had made him pick up the great axe. He had scarcely touched it since Eawynn's passing. Whenever he saw the weapon, it reminded him of why he had never been good enough for her.\n\n\"In love with your king and killing,\" she had said to him once. He'd argued with her, unable to accept her words. But now, looking back across the dark frontier of time, he admitted she had been right.\n\nHe frowned. Pushing aside his memories, he turned his attention once more to the cart and with a great heave it was over the stone that had impeded its movements and was once again trundling on.\n\nAt last he rounded the bend in the road and brought the cart up short. It was quieter here, the outcrop and its encompassing blanket of sedge, nettles and butter dock muting the river sound to a rumble. Before him, several stocky kine were lumbering down the lane. The cattle lowed and rolled their huge bovine eyes at Odin, but the hound seemed oblivious to their unease, and he trotted along beside them, ignoring their baleful stares.\n\nBehind the cows walked a slender man with a hazel switch that he used to goad the beasts forward. Aedwen walked close by and it appeared the two of them were deep in conversation.\n\n\"Hail, Ceolwald,\" said Dunston, raising his voice more than he'd intended.\n\nThe slim drover turned and stared at Dunston. Placing his hands on his hips, he halted, waiting for him to catch up. The cart was cumbersome and it took Dunston some time to reach them. Neither Aedwen nor Ceolwald offered to help him.\n\n\"It's early in the season for you to be down this way, Dunston,\" said Ceolwald. \"It's not even St Vitus' Day yet.\"\n\n\"I know what day it is, and what day it isn't,\" growled Dunston.\n\nThe drover nodded, as if that explained everything.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"this young lady tells me she is walking to Briuuetone. I was just saying as to how she has just about reached there. We don't often get visitors unless it's a holy day. Funny you are walking that way too. I suppose we might as well all walk together.\" He looked disappointed.\n\n\"The girl and I are travelling together,\" said Dunston.\n\n\"Oh.\" Ceolwald looked from Aedwen to Dunston and back again, as if he were trying to understand something unfathomable. After a moment, his gaze settled on the cart and its gruesome burden. His eyes widened, and he snatched off the woollen cap he wore, wringing it in his hands. \"What's this then?\" he asked.\n\n\"The girl's father.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" the drover said and made the sign of the cross. \"You taking him to Godrum for a proper burial?\" Before Dunston could reply, Ceolwald looked over his shoulder at the cows that were now some distance away. \"Whoa there, girls,\" he called, but the animals ignored him and continued trudging along the muddy path.\n\nShaking his head, Ceolwald said, \"They know the way to the Bartons right enough. If we stand here dillydallying they'll be there long before me and they won't be happy. This time of year they need milking before they're put out for the night. They'll make a devil of a noise if they don't get milked sharpish.\"\n\nHe set off to hurry after the beasts. Dunston sighed and pushed his weight into the cart, getting it rolling again. His knee ached and a fresh pain lanced down his back. He grimaced, but said nothing. He would be there soon and he could be done with this burden and the troublesome child. Let her talk to the idiot drover all she liked.\n\nBut Ceolwald had only walked a few paces when he halted and came back to Dunston.\n\n\"Let me help you with that,\" he said. \"Otherwise, you'll still be pushing it down the path come nightfall and all the kine've been milked.\"\n\nAnd you would have missed the gossip about the dead man and his daughter, thought Dunston. He offered the drover a thin smile of thanks and moved to one side to allow him room to add his weight behind the cart. With the two men shoving the creaking cart along, the going was much smoother and Dunston was pleased for the easing of the pressure on his joints.\n\nAfter a brief spell, Ceolwald asked, \"Well, are you?\"\n\n\"Am I what?\"\n\n\"Taking him,\" he indicated with his chin at the shrouded corpse on the cart, \"to Godrum? It's a good time for a burial. The ground is soft and easily dug.\"\n\nDunston glanced over at Aedwen and noted her downcast gaze. Her eyes shone.\n\n\"Have care with your words,\" he snapped. \"You are talking about the child's father.\"\n\n\"I beg pardon,\" Ceolwald replied, bobbing his head and swallowing. \"Well, are you?\"\n\nDunston sighed. He rarely visited Briuuetone and when he did he barely spoke to its inhabitants. Save for Rothulf and his family, he had no friends in the village. They liked him well enough to accept his furs and knives in trade, but he didn't think they missed him when he went back to his solitary life in the forest. At times, when the winter wind bit the skin, and food was scarce; when the nights were long and the days short and brittle with ice and snow, Dunston would ask himself if he had chosen the right path for his life. Wouldn't he have been better off finding a new wife to tend to his needs? At moments like that he yearned for the company of others. Now, listening to Ceolwald's inane and incessant chatter, he was sure he had chosen wisely when he had made his home amongst the trees of Sealhwudu.\n\nThey pushed the cart along and Dunston did not reply. Perhaps it would have been better to have pushed the cart alone.\n\n\"Well?\" Ceolwald asked again.\n\nAt last, Dunston capitulated.\n\n\"He will need a Christian burial,\" he said, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Ceolwald nodded, as though he had been proven right in his answer to a particularly twisted riddle. \"But,\" continued Dunston, finding himself increasingly irritated by the drover's demeanour, \"I do not plan to take him to the church first.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll not be burying him anywhere else than in holy ground,\" he laughed at the idea, before growing suddenly grave. \"Or is he such a sinner that he cannot be laid to rest with the good folk of Briuuetone?\"\n\n\"My father was a sinner, like all men,\" said Aedwen, wheeling on the drover, her eyes ablaze. \"But he was a good man and he will be given a Christian burial.\"\n\nCeolwald swallowed, unable to meet Aedwen's glare. Again Dunston thought how the girl reminded him of Eawynn.\n\n\"Of course, maid,\" Ceolwald said, \"I meant nothing by it.\" They walked along in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. \"So what is it you plan for him?\"\n\n\"I am taking both Aedwen and her father to Rothulf, that he may determine the correct course of action. The girl is without kin now, and her father was slain most cruelly. The killers will need to be caught and brought before the moot.\"\n\nCeolwald was looking at him with a strange expression. He opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut once more.\n\n\"What is it, man?\" asked Dunston.\n\nAgain the drover made as if to speak, but then hesitated.\n\n\"Speak, man,\" growled Dunston. \"You want to say something, so say it. God knows until now nothing has stopped you from uttering the first thing that pops into your thought-cage.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ceolwald, his voice uncertain now, sweat beading his brow, \"it's just that you won't be taking him to Rothulf.\"\n\nDunston gave the man a sharp look. He felt a scratch of unease down his spine.\n\n\"Why is that?\" he asked.\n\nCeolwald's throat bobbed as he swallowed.\n\n\"He is dead. That's why.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Aedwen could see the tidings of the reeve's death had rocked Dunston. Tears welled in her own eyes. She was angry that he had not chosen to do her bidding and seek revenge on her father's killers, but in that very act of defiance to her, Dunston had shown her he was in control. He had a plan and she had fallen into step with him, allowing him to lead. She had argued at first and then shown him her displeasure with her stubborn silence, and yet she had been comforted by his commanding presence. In response to her ill temper, the old man had ignored her, marking a fast pace through the forest without offering her a word. She could cope with his brooding silence. But now, she saw his face contorted in confusion and grief and this show of weakness frightened her.\n\nThe sun was touching the top of the trees across the river now. The thatch of the buildings was aglow with the golden light, stark shadows heightening the details in everything in the last rays of the day.\n\n\"How?\" Dunston asked.\n\n\"It was the damnedest thing,\" Ceolwald said, seemingly torn between the need to maintain a dour expression at the dire news he was imparting, and wishing to grin at bearing that most compelling of gossip: a death. \"He was drowned.\"\n\n\"Drowned?\" asked Dunston, his tone incredulous.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Ceolwald said, again tugging off his cap and screwing it up in his bony hands. \"They found him in the river, down by the mill. White as a fish, he was. Nobody saw what happened, but there had been a frost that morning. It seems he must have slipped, maybe banged his head. Still, when God calls your name, it's your time, and that's that.\"\n\nDunston frowned and Aedwen could see him thinking hard, pushing the dismay at his friend's death to one side and fighting to understand what had happened; regaining control.\n\n\"When did this happen?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not two months ago.\"\n\n\"And he was alone? Nobody saw him fall?\"\n\n\"No. But it was just his time. Bad luck, that's all. We held a hall-moot with the new reeve and all these questions were asked, and answered.\"\n\n\"New reeve?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Lord \u00c6lfgar appointed one not a week after Rutholf's passing. Can't be long without someone to uphold the law, he said.\"\n\nDunston, face devoid of emotion now, started pushing the cart again. After a moment, Ceolwald joined him and they continued along the path in the last warm rays of sunshine.\n\nAedwen was silent. Odin padded close to her and she placed a hand on his head, running her fingers through the warm fur of his neck and ears. Despite the warmth of the sun on her skin, and the peaceful gold-licked beauty of the village before them, she pulled her cloak about her and shivered. The river flowed deep and fast beside the road. Its dark waters were high, lapping halfway up the trunks of some sallows that grew on the river's banks. In the distance she could make out a watermill, its great wheel still now, but able to revolve with the power of the water alone. To think that those same chill waters could grind corn for life-giving bread and also drown a man, pulling him down away from the air and the light until he was forced to take in great lungfuls of liquid, slaying him as surely as a knife to the heart. For a moment, she fancied that she had been caught in the swirl of some invisible river's flow. Her life had careened away from all she had known and now, here she was, in a village she barely knew, surrounded by strangers.\n\n\"What of Rutholf's goodwife, Gytha?\" Dunston enquired. \"And the children?\"\n\n\"They are back at Gytha's family's farm. Up Ceorleah Hill way.\"\n\nDunston nodded absently.\n\n\"The new reeve has taken up in the hall then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" They were almost at the first buildings of Briuuetone now. As Ceolwald had predicted, his cattle knew the way and they were trotting towards a gap between two thatched houses. Beyond the houses, cloaked in the smoke of the cooking fires, loomed the shingled roof of a stone building. A crucifix projected from the apex of the roof. A group of horsemen came into sight, trotting their mounts between the cows.\n\n\"There were many in the village,\" Ceolwald went on, \"who were not happy with the treatment of Widow Gytha and her daughters. Rothulf was barely in the ground and they were turfed out and sent packing to make way for the new reeve and his household.\"\n\nDunston said nothing. He stopped pushing the cart, and stepped to the left, all the while watching the approaching riders with his cool blue eyes. Aedwen noted that his right hand rested on the haft of the great axe that was hidden beside her father's body amongst the sacks on the cart. Ceolwald watched Dunston in confusion for a moment before following his gaze and finally noticing the riders. He gripped his cap tightly before him, fidgeting uncomfortably.\n\nThe horsemen had almost reached them now. There were five of them. They came on fine horses, the animals' Harnesses clanking and jangling, gleaming in the fiery light of the setting sun. The men wore colourful, expensive clothes and boots of supple leather. Their jackets were trimmed with intricate embroidery and their cloaks were held in place with large silver brooches. At the head of the band rode a young, handsome man. His cheeks were shaven and his fair hair was brushed so that it glimmered in the ruddy sunlight like metal heated on a forge. His mouth was partially hidden by a lustrous moustache. He reined in his mount, a well-muscled, dappled grey stallion, and stared down at them for a moment.\n\nOdin growled, low and deep, like distant thunder.\n\n\"Odin, hush,\" said Dunston, his tone quiet but firm. The hound grew silent, and sat protectively beside Aedwen.\n\nThe lead rider raised an eyebrow at the dog's name.\n\n\"So, what have we here, Ceolwald?\" he asked, his voice smooth and friendly.\n\n\"This\u2026 this is Dunston,\" stammered Ceolwald. \"He lives nearabouts. I was just bringing my cows down from the pasture for milking when I came across them on the road.\" After a pause he added, \"We are not together.\" He looked longingly to where the last of the cattle had disappeared between the buildings. Their lowing came to them faintly on the breeze. \"I really must be after the foolish beasts. They will make a terrible fuss if they are not milked soon.\" The rider looked down at the drover imperiously. \"If it please you, lord,\" Ceolwald said, dipping his head and twisting his hat so much Aedwen thought he might rip it. The horseman waved his hand. Without looking back, Ceolwald scampered past the riders and ran after his cows.\n\n\"Well, well, well,\" said the horseman, shifting his attention to Dunston, \"so you are the famous Dunston.\"\n\n\"Dunston is my name,\" the old man said. He stood, legs apart and shoulders set. His hand yet rested in the cart's bed. Aedwen did not think she had seen him standing so tall and straight since she had met him.\n\nTo Aedwen's eyes there was more communication going on between the men than the words spoken. They were weighing each other up, assessing and gauging the threat posed by the other.\n\n\"You are modest,\" the rider said, smiling beneath his moustache. \"Are you not the one known as Dunston the Bold?\"\n\n\"I have not been called that for many years.\"\n\n\"No. I can see many years have passed since you were a bold man. Not so much bold now, as old, eh?\"\n\nOne of his men, a swarthy-skinned fellow, gaudy in blue jacket and red breeches, laughed. The others took up the laughter dutifully. Dunston did not laugh.\n\n\"Well, you have me at a loss,\" Dunston said, his voice cutting through the riders' mirth like an axe through soft flesh. \"You know my name, and I know not yours.\"\n\nThe rider's nostrils flared and he glowered down at Dunston for a moment before replying.\n\n\"Ah, yes. I am Hunfrith, and I am the new reeve of the Briuuetone Hundred.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "\"It is not right, Hunfrith,\" said Dunston, his voice raising in anger. \"I will not allow it.\"\n\nJust when Dunston thought this day could get no worse, now the fool of a new reeve was demanding to see Aedwen's father's corpse.\n\n\"You will show me the body,\" said Hunfrith. \"I would witness with my own eyes the truth of what you say.\" He had dismounted and handed his steed's reins to the dark-bearded rider in the garish attire. The reeve strode towards Dunston. He was tall, a head or more taller than Dunston. The man's youth and height only served to further anger Dunston.\n\nThe sun had set now, and the sky was a deep pink. The shadows of the buildings grew deeper and cooler. Soon it would be dark.\n\n\"Listen,\" Dunston said, softening his voice with a force of will. \"I will show you the corpse, but not in front of the girl.\" He stepped close to the reeve and lowered his voice to a whisper. \"I went to much effort to conceal the true nature of her father's wounds from her. The man was butchered.\"\n\nHunfrith glanced back at the mounted men behind him, as if assuring himself he had the strength of numbers to push his demands.\n\n\"Conceal the truth, you say?\"\n\n\"Only from the child. His passing must have been awful.\"\n\nHunfrith waved his hand, swatting Dunston's words away.\n\n\"I would see the wounds you mean to hide from the girl.\"\n\n\"By the love of God, no!\" For an instant, Dunston imagined leaping back to the cart for Dea\u00deangenga. In a past life, when he had been known as bold, he might have done so. But it would have been folly then, as it would be foolish now. He had nothing to hide, and this man was the reeve. He had a right to see the crime that had been committed.\n\nSighing, Dunston walked slowly back to the cart.\n\n\"Quickly, man,\" said Hunfrith. \"While there is still light.\"\n\nDunston ignored him.\n\n\"Aedwen,\" he said, staring into the girl's eyes. They were wide and dark. \"Do not look.\"\n\nShe held his gaze for several heartbeats before nodding and turning her back on the cart.\n\nSatisfied that she would not see the destruction of her father's body, Dunston turned to the task of unwinding the shroud. He could not risk Aedwen's father slipping to the ground so, taking a deep breath, he pulled the corpse half out of the cart and onto his shoulder. His back screamed at him, but he did not acknowledge the pain. As carefully as he could, he lowered the shrouded figure to the grass that grew at the verge of the path.\n\nUnwrapping the corpse was not easy. It was stiff now, and the cloak and leather he had used to swaddle the body were sticky and rigid from blood and ichor. Dunston suppressed a shudder as his fingers brushed the man's face, revealing the blotchy pallor of the cheeks that he had wiped clean in the clearing where he had been murdered. The poor man's eyes were open, staring accusingly at Dunston in blind reproach for disturbing him.\n\n\"Turn him over.\"\n\nDunston flinched. He had not noticed Hunfrith coming so close. The young reeve leaned over the cadaver, eyes gleaming, mouth open with expectation. A couple of his men had also dismounted and crowded around to witness the grisly spectacle.\n\nDunston drew in a deep breath. This was wrong. The man should be left in peace, not stripped and uncovered for men to gawp at.\n\n\"Do it,\" snapped Hunfrith.\n\nDunston sighed. There was nothing for it. Perhaps when they saw the terrible wounds the man had suffered, they would feel compelled to seek justice.\n\nReaching out, Dunston gingerly rolled the man's corpse over onto his front. One of the men gasped at the horror of Lytelman's back. Dunston had made no effort to close the wounds, but he had bound the shroud tightly about him, and now, released from the constraining material, the split ribs yawned open slowly, like the maw of some unspeakable beast of hell. The butchered lungs and innards oozed and seemed to writhe as the body settled. Someone let out a nervous laugh. Another swore, turning away to spit.\n\nDunston gazed down at the ruin of the girl's father and felt anew his anger at the man's killers being allowed to roam the land after committing such an atrocity. It had been folly to think of pursuing them with the girl, but perhaps he could help Hunfrith and his men to track them. He had wished to return directly to his hut and be done with the girl and her troubles, but looking down at her father's corpse he knew that he could never turn his back on Aedwen. He could almost hear the sound of Eawynn's shade laughing at him for even considering such a thing. She had always known him better than he knew himself. And she had always seen the best in him.\n\n\"By God,\" said Hunfrith, his voice breathy, \"you truly did a job on the poor bastard, didn't you?\"\n\n\"I did my best to shroud him with what I had to hand. I knew not what else to do.\"\n\n\"Shroud him?\" replied Hunfrith, taking a step away from the gore-smeared corpse. \"Oh, I am sure your wrapping of his corpse was good enough. I was talking about the blood-eagle. To rip the man's lungs out like that. You must be a true savage.\"\n\nDunston's mind reeled.\n\n\"I did not do this thing to him,\" he said, his tone flat and shocked.\n\n\"What murderer admits his crime?\"\n\n\"I am no murderer!\" Dunston took a step towards the cart. Two of the reeve's men blocked his way. Their hands rested on the hilts of their seaxes. He halted. \"Why would I do such a thing? It is madness.\"\n\n\"Most would call this madness, it is true,\" replied Hunfrith. \"But what about one who worships the heathen gods? Would not a man who names his own beasts after the father of the old gods also require blood sacrifice? And look, the man is killed in the manner of the Norse.\"\n\nDunston looked at the shadowed faces of the men around him. Was this some form of jest? How could they think he had done this? But their faces were sombre and serious, with no sign of humour.\n\n\"I did not do this,\" he said, and he was angered to hear the note of panic in his own voice. \"Ask the girl.\" He looked over to where Aedwen yet stood beside Odin. She had turned to face them and her features were pale in the gathering gloaming. Dunston was pleased to see that the cart blocked her view of her father's corpse. That was something at least.\n\n\"Well, child,\" said Hunfrith, walking towards Aedwen, his countenance and voice soft with compassion. \"Did you see your father's killers?\"\n\nFor a long while Aedwen looked from Hunfrith to Dunston.\n\n\"Tell me the truth, child,\" Hunfrith encouraged her. \"Did you witness your father's slaying?\"\n\n\"No,\" she answered at last.\n\nDunston let out a breath.\n\n\"And so it could have been this man who killed him, could it not?\"\n\nTears trickled down her cheeks.\n\n\"But he helped me. It makes no sense.\"\n\nHunfrith stepped close to her. Odin snarled, his hackles raised.\n\n\"Odin, no,\" said Dunston, acutely aware of how his use of the name would sound to the listeners. \"Lie down, boy.\"\n\nThe dog grumbled and growled, but slouched down to lie beside Aedwen.\n\n\"You are safe now, child,\" Hunfrith said, reaching a hand out to touch the girl's shoulder.\n\n\"Do not fear, Aedwen,\" said Dunston. The look of abject dismay on her face filled him with sadness. \"All will be well. You know I did not do this.\"\n\n\"But it seems she really knows no such thing,\" said Hunfrith.\n\n\"Well, I know it, and there are many here who will vouch for me; who know me to be a man of my word. Men will swear oaths for me.\"\n\n\"Good. I hope for your sake things are as you say. But you will need to appear before the moot and there you can explain how it is you came to have the butchered sacrifice to a heathen god on a stolen cart.\"\n\nDunston's rage boiled up within him. His eyes narrowed as he took in the positions of the men around him. He could disarm the man closest to him, taking his seax and then moving on to the next. From there, he could snatch up Dea\u00deangenga and lay about him. With only a small amount of luck he would put an end to this madness and be done with it. But after that? What then? He would become a wulfesh\u00e9afod, a wolf-head, cast out from the law, to be hunted and shunned for the rest of his life.\n\nMany years ago, he had been one of the feared Wulfas Westseaxna. He could become a Wolf of Wessex once more; dispatch these fools and be gone into the forest. But why do such a thing? To not stand before the men of Briuuetone and declare his innocence? Surely enough men would come forward to swear oaths to his good character. There was no plaintiff after all. Nobody could speak against him and his word was respected. All he had to do was attend the moot and declare his innocence and all would be well.\n\nBut what if he were made to face the ordeals? He had seen enough of them in his time to know they did not rest in any divine power. A chill ran through him.\n\nHunfrith, perhaps sensing Dunston's building anger, put his arm about Aedwen's shoulders. Dunston noted how the reeve's other hand dropped to rest on the handle of his seax. The threat was clear.\n\n\"I cannot have you free to flee from justice or to commit any further acts of violence, Dunston,\" Hunfrith said, almost apologetically. \"You understand that, I am sure. So will you surrender your weapons and yourself without causing trouble?\"\n\nDunston glowered at the man, for an instant imagining how easily Dea\u00deangenga would split his pretty skull. And yet he knew he would not risk Aedwen's life, even if he wished to risk his own. Besides, what of the promises he had sworn to Eawynn? He could not throw away his oaths so easily. He let his shoulders slump. Pulling his sharp seax from its scabbard, he tossed it without warning at the closest man. Caught unawares, the man fumbled the catch, dropping the blade to the ground with a curse. As the man stooped to retrieve the knife, he sucked at a finger where the blade had nicked him. Dunston smiled grimly at the small victory.\n\n\"I will go with you, Hunfrith, but this is wrong. While you waste your time with me, the real killers are free and surely travelling further from Briuuetone as we speak.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said Hunfrith. \"We shall see.\"\n\nAnd with that, the reeve went to his horse and swung effortlessly into the saddle.\n\nDunston left it to Hunfrith's men to deal with the cart and the corpse and in the closing gloom of dusk he looked to Aedwen. She walked along behind the horses. Her head was lowered and she moved like a beaten cur, defeated and broken of spirit. He knew how she felt.\n\nShe did not look at back at him.\n\n\"Do not fear, girl,\" Dunston called to her, as the men herded him towards the village. \"All will be well.\"\n\nThe wind picked up, whispering secrets in the trees and Dunston shuddered. He wished he could believe his own words."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Aedwen lay in the absolute darkness and listened to the night sounds of the house as it settled its wooden bones. There was rustling in the thatch somewhere above her and she wondered whether there were mice dwelling in the roof. She was warm, but she found herself shivering beneath the blankets Gytha had placed over her and the other girls. Either side of her, Gytha's two daughters, Maethild and Godgifu, had finally fallen asleep. They were friendly and had welcomed her into their home and even their bed, and Aedwen had basked in the warmth brought by unexpected kindness. The world was a place filled with evil and despair, and yet, here were complete strangers treating her as one of their own family.\n\nWhen the reeve's man had brought her to the widow's door, the woman had been wary, fearful of what might bring one of Hunfrith's bullies out to the farm after nightfall, but when she had heard the girl's tale and seen Aedwen standing there, pale and trembling from shock and exhaustion, she had shooed the man away and pulled the girl into the cosy interior of the cottage.\n\nDespite the shroud of sadness that wrapped about her, Aedwen smiled to recall the meal that had followed.\n\n\"Where are you from?\" Godgifu, the younger of the widow's daughters had asked, watching with wide eyes as Aedwen hungrily spooned the pottage into her mouth. Despite everything, she was ravenous and the stew, thick with onion, cabbage and peas and seasoned with parsley and sage, was deliciously warming and hearty.\n\n\"Let the poor girl eat,\" Gytha said.\n\n\"I don't mind,\" Aedwen said, dipping some dark bread into the dregs in the bowl and mopping up the last drops. \"I am from Langtun.\"\n\n\"Where is that?\" asked Godgifu.\n\n\"You don't know anything,\" snapped Maethild, who must have been the same age as Aedwen.\n\n\"Well, if you're so clever, where is it then?\"\n\nMaethild frowned at having been caught out by her younger sibling and Aedwen smiled at the bickering rivalry between them. She would have liked to have had a sister, she thought, someone who had always known her, and she had always known. If she had a sister, she wouldn't be alone now.\n\nGodgifu was taunting her sister though, making Aedwen quickly re-evaluate her idea.\n\n\"You don't know! You don't know!\" sang Godgifu, twisting her face into the contorted features of a simpleton.\n\n\"Girls! Enough,\" said Gytha in a tone that brooked no argument. \"Aedwen has been through enough, without having to listen to your silliness.\" The girls fell quiet as Gytha fixed them with a stern stare. \"You both know what it is to lose your father,\" she said softly. \"Remember, Aedwen's father was killed only yesterday morning. Think about how you felt when you heard the news about father.\" The girls looked aghast and Godgifu sniffed, tears welling in her bright eyes.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, mother,\" muttered Maethild.\n\n\"It is not from me that you need to seek pardon,\" replied Gytha.\n\nMaethild sat in dejected silence for a time, but Godgifu seemed to forget her self-pity soon enough.\n\n\"Is it true that old Dunston found you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aedwen. Her mind had been in turmoil ever since Hunfrith had accused Dunston of her father's murder. It was true that she had not seen the killers, but she was sure she had heard many of them. And if it had been Dunston, why would he then tend to her father's corpse, feed her and bring her here? No, there was no sense to it, and she was certain that Hunfrith knew as much.\n\nWhen she had seen the reeve, a tremor of fear had run through her. She could not say why, but the man frightened her. And the strangest thing was that she had recognised him. When they had passed through Briuuetone, her father had sought him out. It had been drizzling and she had been tired and so, as she had often done before, she had curled up to snooze beneath the leather cover of the handcart. Her father must have believed she had drifted off to sleep and so he had not disturbed her when he had approached the reeve. From beneath the leather sheet, she had watched as her father had asked to speak to the reeve. She'd heard him say he had urgent tidings for him. From her hidden vantage point in the cart, she had seen the handsome face of the reeve when he came to the door of his hall to listen to her father's words, though what he'd had to say, she could not imagine. Her father was but a poor peddler after all. Perhaps this was one of his schemes, a new way to get rich quick, she'd thought. But she'd never found out. With a glance back at the cart, her father, seemingly content that she was dry beneath the cover, had entered the hall. The steady drumming of the rain had lulled her to sleep then, and she'd awoken to the movement of the cart as her father pushed it up the hill out of the village.\n\nWhen the reeve had approached her and Dunston she had recognised the man immediately. And yet, she was equally certain he did not know her. Indeed he seemed to have no knowledge of her existence. She had thought it strange that he had not mentioned to Dunston that he had known her father, that they had conversed at length just a couple of days before. And something had made her keep silent about what she had witnessed. But the more she thought about the events of the last days, her certainty grew that her father's death was not a random savage act perpetrated by wolf-heads. And after seeing Hunfrith, and hearing the man so quickly accuse Dunston of murder, she was sure the reeve had some part in it. But what, and why, she had no idea.\n\n\"They say he eats raw flesh,\" said Godgifu, voice filled with terrified wonder. \"That he chews on children's bones in the forest.\"\n\n\"Who says such things?\" asked Gytha, her disapproval clear in her tone.\n\n\"Everyone. Wulfwyn's mother told her that if she didn't go to sleep when she was told, old Dunston would come down from his forest lair and eat her!\"\n\nGytha shook her head.\n\n\"Wulfwyn's mother was always a foolish girl. Dunston is no monster of the woods. He has never been anything but good to us. He was your father's friend.\"\n\n\"His dog scares me,\" said Maethild.\n\nAt the mention of Odin, Aedwen had begun to weep.\n\nNow, lying in the hushed darkness, with the body warmth of Maethild and Godgifu pressing either side of her, tears rolled down her cheeks again as she remembered what had befallen the merle hound. The dog had padded beside her, every now and then glancing over its shoulder at its master. Dunston, flanked by a couple of the reeve's men, had trudged along head down and silent. They had been some way behind the mounted Hunfrith.\n\nThey passed houses, their shadows puddled cold around them like dark skirts. Ceolwald's cattle lowed from the animal pens she could just make out in the gloom. The village had the mingled scent of cow dung, woodsmoke, roasting meat and boiling vegetables.\n\nUpon reaching a grand hall, Hunfrith had dismounted, throwing the reins to one of his men. Aedwen had needed to trot to keep up with the reeve and she was puffing. Odin matched her pace, mouth agape and tongue dangling between sharp white teeth.\n\n\"We cannot have the girl stay here, Raegnold,\" Hunfrith said to his mounted companion. \"I don't want my rest interrupted by her snivelling. Take her to Widow Gytha. She will take the child in.\" He looked sidelong at Aedwen. \"Until we get to the bottom of all this.\"\n\nRaegnold, the tallest of the riders, with hair of crow black and a face as sharp as a seax, dismounted. He shot a furious look at Hunfrith's back, but quickly seemed to resign himself to becoming the child's escort. Snatching up a spear that stood propped by the hall's entrance, he set off southward, using the spear's haft as a walking staff.\n\nAedwen, dazed and shocked at the recent revelations, mutely followed the tall man up the hill as the dark drew the night about them. Odin seemed to have decided he would be her protector, and he shadowed them as they walked past gloomed houses and the silent mill, leaving the silhouette of the church and the moaning of the cows behind them.\n\n\"Get away,\" Raegnold shouted at the dog, angered by the animal's attention or perhaps taking out his annoyance at Hunfrith on the dumb beast. Odin flinched, turning its head askance to better see with his one eye. After a moment, the dog continued to follow them.\n\nThe man grew angrier and scooped up pebbles from the road. He flung one at Odin, but the stone missed, skittering away into the shadows. His second stone found its mark, hitting the dog squarely on the snout. Odin cried out in anguish, shaking his head against the sudden pain. But he was soon once more walking in their wake.\n\n\"I said get away,\" shouted the man, throwing another stone, which made Odin jump back a pace, wary now.\n\nAedwen could not bear to see the beast hurt any more.\n\n\"Go home, Odin,\" she said. At the sound of her voice, the dog cocked its head to one side, gazing at her with its one deep thoughtful eye.\n\nThe man used the moment of distraction to leap forward, lunging with his spear. The thrust would have spitted the hound, had it not been for the speed of its instincts. Odin jumped to the side and the sharp blade tore a gash down his flank. The animal yelped and snarled, snapping its jaws towards the spear that had caused him such pain. Blood ran down its side and soaked its fur black in the dusk.\n\n\"Odin!\" Aedwen cried out.\n\nThe dog locked its great maw on the spear's ash haft and shook its head with all the strength of its muscled neck. The man clung onto the spear with difficulty, unable to dislodge the animal.\n\n\"Odin, no!\" Aedwen screamed. \"Run, boy! Run!\"\n\nFor the merest moment, the dog's eye looked directly at her. And then, as if it understood her words, it heaved the spear out of the man's grasp. An instant later it dropped the weapon with a clatter and darted into the shadows of the trees that grew further up the slope. The hound did not look back and it ran effortlessly, as though it were the start of a new day; as if it had not been wounded. It did not cry out as it ran, and Aedwen began to wonder if the cut was shallower than she'd imagined. Surely it had just been a scratch.\n\nBut when Raegnold retrieved his spear from the ground the blade was smeared dark and Aedwen had seen splashes of blood in the mud of the path.\n\nThe house grumbled its timbered thoughts around her and Maethild muttered something in her sleep, rolling over and then becoming still. Aedwen's tears soaked into the blanket the way Odin's blood had soaked into his fur. By the Blessed Virgin, she prayed the dog was safe; that it had found its way back to its home in the forest.\n\nBut what of the dog's master? The last she had seen of Dunston, they had been leading him to a barn near the cattle pens. What would become of him? She could not dispel the image of his bearded face from her mind. He had taken care of her since her father's death and she was sure he was not his killer. And what was Hunfrith's part in all this? What did he gain from locking Dunston away and bringing him before the moot?\n\nHer confused thoughts beat inside her head, as ever-changing as a murmuration of starlings. She wiped away the tears that had grown cold on her face.\n\nFor a long while she lay there, hoping that sleep would claim her. Perhaps she would awaken and find it had all been a nightmare. But the warmth and the soft sounds of the night did not lull her to slumber. She could not escape the terror of having to face the morning alone once more. Her mother and father had both been so cruelly snatched from her. And now, when she had found someone to guide and protect her, he too had been taken away. Gytha and her daughters had been good to her, but Aedwen knew she could not stay here. She could work for her keep, but even if they were able to spare the food, would she just begin a new life with these strangers?\n\nWhy not? What else could she do? She was young and alone. If Gytha would have her, to live here in Briuuetone on this steading would be better than almost anything she could have imagined.\n\nAnd yet her thoughts kept on returning to Hunfrith. What had her father told him? And why had he kept his knowledge of Lytelman silent? And what did he hope to gain by accusing Dunston of this crime?\n\nAt last, resigning herself to a night of wakefulness, she rolled out of the bed, careful not to wake the girls who yet slept peacefully.\n\nThe cottage was cool now that the fire had died down and Aedwen picked up her cloak from where she had left it. Wrapping it about her shoulders, she tiptoed towards the hearth, hoping to glean some heat from the embers. As she neared the fire, small flames flowered and the coals glowed as someone blew life into them. The light flickered red on Gytha's face where she sat at the edge of the hearth, a blanket wrapped about her shoulders.\n\n\"You couldn't sleep either?\" the widow asked in a whisper. The shadows from the flames contorted her features. Aedwen could not make out whether she was smiling or scowling in the gloom. \"Come, sit,\" Gytha continued, patting the stool near her. Aedwen sat.\n\n\"I am not surprised you are unable to find peace,\" Gytha muttered. \"You have been through so many trials these past days. Poor child.\"\n\n\"I cannot stop my thoughts,\" replied Aedwen. Her voice threatened to choke her, and she fought back the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes.\n\nGytha smiled sadly.\n\n\"Whosoever could do such a thing as keep themselves from thinking would be able to find peace indeed,\" she said.\n\nAedwen frowned in the darkness. It seemed to her only death would release her from the burden of her thoughts and fears. But she had no desire to join her parents.\n\n\"I keep asking myself questions. Questions about the reeve. About my father's murder. About Dunston. Questions that I cannot hope to answer.\"\n\nGytha gazed at her in the darkness, unspeaking for a long while, her flame-lit face haggard.\n\n\"I too have been pondering how all of this makes sense. Something is not right. I feel like the world shifted when my Rothulf died and now I do not stand on steady ground.\" Gytha's voice cracked and Aedwen realised they were not so different. Separated by many years of age, but they both grieved and the two of them were sitting awake and confused in the dark marches of the night.\n\nAedwen took a deep breath then and told Gytha about her father's meeting with Hunfrith and how the reeve had kept the meeting secret.\n\nGytha stared at her, the embers reflecting red in her dark eyes. After what seemed a long while, she spoke.\n\n\"We need to talk,\" she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Dunston tried to make himself comfortable. But no matter how much he stretched and turned, he could not find a position that would allow him to rest. His back was stiff and despite the hay and straw he had piled up to lay upon, his spine cried out if he lay flat on his back. When he turned on his side, his knee was agony, twisting if he bent it, and seizing up if he straightened it. In the dark of the barn he sighed to himself, a grim smile playing on his lips at the irony of his predicament.\n\nHe could almost hear the voice of Guthlaf speaking to him through the veil of time.\n\n\"The best trait of any warrior is to be able to sleep anywhere and anytime,\" the grizzled warrior had said to him. \"You, Dunston, are deadly with a blade, but your ability to sleep in an instant makes you a truly great warrior.\" They had been resting beside a cracked old Roman road. They'd marched for two days already and Dunston had been exhausted. It had seemed as nothing to sleep on the verge, even as rain fell and thunder rolled over them.\n\nNow, despite the relative comfort of the straw beneath him and the shelter provided by the barn's roof and walls, he was unable to find the relief of sleep. Guthlaf would have not thought him such a great warrior if he could see him now. But Guthlaf was long in his grave, and it had been many years since Dunston had considered himself to be a warrior.\n\nHe had never thought of himself as great.\n\nSighing, he rolled over onto his back, staring up into the blackness of the roof space.\n\nAgain he regretted finding the corpse and the girl. If only he had chosen a different path, he would now be asleep in his hut, far from here and the machinations of men. And yet, would he truly wish for Aedwen to have been left, alone and defenceless in the great forest of Sealhwudu? She might have survived, he supposed. Perhaps she would have even found her way back here, to Briuuetone. But then what? What would have become of her?\n\nHe snorted in the darkness. What had become of her anyway? Yes, he had seen her safely here, but she had been taken away and here he was, locked inside a barn, with no prospect of freedom for at least three weeks.\n\nThree weeks!\n\nHe ground his teeth in the gloom as he recalled Hunfrith's words.\n\n\"You will remain in my care until the next meeting of the Hundred-moot,\" he'd said.\n\n\"When will that be?\" asked Dunston.\n\n\"The next meeting will be on the feast of Saint John the Baptist.\"\n\n\"But that is nearly a month from now,\" Dunston had raged.\n\n\"Indeed. Do not fear, you will be fed. No harm will befall you.\"\n\nDismissing him then, Hunfrith had left three of his retinue to lead Dunston to this barn. They had opened the door and ushered him inside, and after a moment's hesitation, he had entered without further complaint.\n\nHe had already begun to think of ways in which he could prove his innocence. Who would swear oaths for him before the moot? Would Aedwen speak out in his favour? Would anyone listen to her. She was a stranger and a child. If he was found guilty, he would need to face the trials by ordeal. Which did he believe he might survive? He had shuddered to recall others tried by the ordeal of iron, forced to grip a rod of glowing hot metal. This was then wrapped and, if after three days the wound was not healing well, the tried man was found to be guilty. Dunston was a smith of some renown and worked his forge on most days, so he had suffered many burns. But he doubted there was justice to be had from seeing how quickly such wounds healed or whether they became elf-shot.\n\nStill, fire and iron he could face. The ordeal of cold water, where the accused was thrown into the river after drinking holy water, terrified him beyond anything he had ever confronted. If the accused floated, he was deemed to be guilty. If he sank, he was found innocent. Dunston was no swimmer. He imagined the cold water washing over his face, his breath running out and his lungs burning, while he prayed frantically that he would be dragged from the water and saved.\n\nNo, he must prove his innocence. He was no coward, but the thought of facing the ordeals filled him with dread.\n\nLeft alone in the dark, Dunston's mind had turned to Hunfrith's last words to him. He had not thought that he was in any immediate danger; that he had weeks to think of the means to secure his release and prove his innocence. That was until he heard those words. Now he was not so sure.\n\n\"No harm will befall you.\"\n\nWhy say such a thing? Unless\u2026\n\nBy the bones of Christ. Three weeks cooped up in here. And what of Odin? The dog had gone with Aedwen. Dunston hoped she would feed him. Still, the hound could take care of himself. He was a good hunter. But what would happen to Wudug\u00e1t, his goat? He had left the poor creature tethered. There was plenty of food and water for her for the time being, but he had never intended to be gone for more than a couple of days at most. Dunston's mind turned then to the snares left untended in the forest. His heart twisted to think of the animals that would be caught, only to die lingering deaths and then have their carcasses consumed by foxes and other carrion feeders. What a waste of good skins.\n\nDunston shifted again in the straw and groaned at the ache between his shoulder blades. The pain was in just the place where Lytelman had been hacked open.\n\nWhat was happening here? Dunston felt like a child watching a game of tafl being played. He knew strategies were in place, could feel the shift and slide of the pieces, but he did not understand the rules of the game.\n\nThere was some dark contest afoot here, something that he was not aware of. Nothing else made any sense. The manner of Lytelman's slaying, and then Hunfrith's instant accusation. And what of Rothulf? Was his death somehow connected to all this? Perhaps there was no link. Dunston could certainly see none. But he was sure that the recent events he had become embroiled in held some dark secret.\n\nHe could barely believe that Rothulf was no longer alive. The old reeve would have known how to approach this problem. He was an astute man, able to unravel the most tangled of problems. Dunston sighed. By God, he would miss him. He had looked forward to their meetings. They would sit up late into the night drinking and talking of the past. And yet, while much of their chatter had been reminiscing over years gone by, they often spoke of the present and the future. Rothulf travelled widely and he listened wherever he went. And so he had become Dunston's only source of tidings of the lands beyond Briuuetone and Sealhwudu. Dunston had chosen to hide himself away from the day-to-day life of Wessex, but it would not do to completely shut himself off from the world.\n\nHe wondered now at the state of the kingdom. He had heard from Rothulf of the increasing frequency of raids from the Norsemen in their dragon-prowed ships. As the king's ally in Frankia, King Louis, had become embroiled in a vicious civil war with his sons, so the Frankish ships had ceased to patrol the waters that surrounded Britain. This had soon led to the Norse becoming emboldened, and not a year went by without some of their number striking along the coast, snatching what treasures and slaves they could, and then fleeing before the fyrd could be assembled and brought to the defence of the realm.\n\nOnly two years previously, Rothulf had recounted to Dunston how thirty-five Vikingr ships had landed at Carrum. The king had gathered his hearth warriors and the fyrds of the local hundreds and set upon them. The men of Wessex had been crushed, the king fleeing westward leaving the heathens to sack the lands there about with impunity.\n\nDunston had been saddened by the tale. Could this be the same King Ecgberht who had defeated the Mercians at Ellandun? The proud and wise man who had expanded Wessex to encompass the people of the Centingas, \u00c9astseaxe, S\u00fa\u00fer\u00edeg and S\u00fapseaxe. Who had even taken the oath of Eanred, king of the Northumbrians, making Ecgberht the ruler of all of the Anglisc?\n\nDunston pulled up his knee and massaged it, wincing as his probing fingers pressed into the joint. No man remained young for ever. Even kings grew old.\n\nEven warriors who once basked in battle-fame and were renowned as being bold.\n\nFrom outside the door, came the muffled sound of voices. Earlier, one of the reeve's men had brought him a bowl of pottage and a hunk of dark, gritty bread. Perhaps he had been just outside ever since and was now, halfway through the night, being relieved of his duty.\n\nThe barn was stoutly built from planks of oak and the door was barred from without. But it seemed Hunfrith had taken the extra precaution of having his men guard the exit. Dunston thought on his situation for a moment. Would he attempt to flee if he could? Again his mind turned to the trials he might face, and the uncertainty of being judged by this new reeve and the people of Briuuetone without the guiding hand of Rutholf who was not only wise, but as honest as any man Dunston had known. Yes, Hunfrith was probably right to guard against his escape. Dunston knew he could survive in the forest for the rest of his days, he was not so sure of the outcome of the moot.\n\nPerhaps his chance to run had already passed; the moment when he could have yet fought his way out, standing face to face with the reeve and his men. He was old and stiff, it was true, but armed he was still dangerous. He could have slain them and fled, he was certain. But Aedwen had watched on and she might have been hurt.\n\nAnd he was innocent.\n\nHe had only ever fought his king's enemies. He was, or had been, a warrior, not a murderer. No, he would face the justice of the moot and pray that the people of Briuuetone would vouch for him.\n\nThe voices outside became louder. One laughed, a jagged harsh sound in the stillness of the night. Dunston strained to hear what was being said.\n\n\"\u2026 sliced the great bastard open like a\u2026\" The voices became muffled once more, then louder again. \"\u2026 almost bit me\u2026 got my spear instead. Jaws like iron.\" Dunston didn't breathe, waiting for confirmation of what he was hearing. After a few more words that he was unable to make out, the louder of the two said, \"No. The one-eyed beast was as fast as the Devil. It ran off, but I cut it good.\"\n\nThey must have moved further from the door then, for their words became unintelligible.\n\nDunston lay in the darkness and thought of interpretations of the words he had heard. He could think of none save that the bastards had cut Odin, and badly from the sound of it. He wondered whether the dog had attacked them. Had he been trying to protect Aedwen?\n\nFor a long time Dunston imagined the many ways he would hurt the man who had struck Odin. Whatever secrets were being hidden by the death of the peddler, and no matter the outcome of the moot, Dunston swore a silent oath in the darkness that he would make the man pay for hurting his dog.\n\nAt long last, with thoughts of vengeance spiralling in his mind, the fatigue from the day finally took its toll, pulling him down towards the welcome respite of sleep. His eyes closed and he was beginning to snore, when a sudden loud shouting woke him with a jolt.\n\n\"Fire!\" screamed a woman's voice, splintering the still of the night.\n\nDunston pushed himself up with a groan. Through the cracks between the planks that made up the barn's door, the crimson flicker of flames was clear."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "\"I cannot believe Dunston is a killer,\" said Aedwen. Her voice quavered as once more the pain of her father's death washed over her.\n\nGytha gently placed a small log onto the fire, careful not to disturb the embers. The fire-glow painted her features the hue of fresh blood.\n\n\"Oh, he is a killer all right.\" She sat back in her chair and gazed at the tongues of flame that licked hungrily at the dry wood. \"Or he was.\"\n\n\"He was a warrior?\" asked Aedwen.\n\n\"One of the deadliest ever to walk the earth, Rothulf used to say. Though my husband was prone to exaggeration and he loved Dunston like a brother.\" Gytha fell silent for a time, perhaps thinking of the husband she had lost. \"Still, Rothulf had seen the old man fight, years ago. They stood together in the shieldwall at Ellandun and Rothulf always said he had never seen a man so destined to slay others as Dunston. As men do when they are in their cups, he had boasted of how the corpses of the Mercians lay heaped before Dunston that day. How his axe had scythed through their ranks as if they were so many ripe heads of barley. To listen to Rothulf you would think nobody else had fought that day. But many brave men gave their lives on both sides.\"\n\nGytha looked wistfully into the fire, lost in the past and the sadness of remembered loss.\n\nThe flames and embers swam before Aedwen, and she cuffed angrily at the tears that brimmed in her eyes. It was as she had surmised when she'd seen Dunston standing beside the cart with his hand on his axe. If he was a great warrior, a slayer of countless foe-men, then surely he could have killed her father without a thought. She shuddered. Had she been so wrong?\n\nAs if the girl's movement had awoken Gytha from a dream, the widow started and turned her attention to Aedwen.\n\n\"Dunston may not have been the hero my Rothulf liked to brag about, but he was a killer. Of that there is no doubt.\"\n\nAedwen sighed.\n\n\"But make no mistake, child,\" Gytha continued. \"I do not believe for one moment that Dunston slew your father. Woe betide any man who crosses him, even now, but the old man is no murderer.\"\n\nAedwen sighed again, but now with relief, not despair.\n\n\"Who do you think killed him?\" she asked.\n\n\"I know not. But I think you are right to question Hunfrith's part in this. I fear that what your father spoke of with the new reeve was what led to him being killed.\"\n\n\"But what could they have talked about? My father knew nobody in these parts. This is the first time we have travelled this way.\" Aedwen didn't mention how she had argued against the trip. How she had warned her father against the folly of this new scheme of his. If only she had been more persuasive. But nothing could change the past.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Gytha rubbing her fingers distractedly against her temples. \"But I can only think that their meeting and his murder are connected in some way.\"\n\n\"Could it be that Hunfrith ordered my father to be slain?\" Aedwen whispered, scared to voice her fear.\n\nGytha thought for a moment.\n\n\"I do not know,\" she repeated. \"But Briuuetone has changed these past months. Nothing is as it was. It no longer feels safe.\"\n\n\"Why? What has happened?\"\n\n\"Two things. First my husband drowned and then Hunfrith moved in as the new reeve.\"\n\nAedwen stared at the widow, sensing a deeper meaning in her words.\n\n\"You think Hunfrith murdered your husband,\" she said.\n\n\"Quiet, girl,\" Gytha hissed, as if the very sound of the words stung her. For a time, they were both silent. Aedwen watched as Gytha composed herself, smoothing her dress over her thighs. At last, Gytha nodded, the movement barely visible in the dim light from the embers. \"I have no proof, and I have not spoken of this to anyone.\" She let out a long breath. \"I fear for my girls.\"\n\n\"Why do you think Hunfrith would do such a thing? He is the reeve.\"\n\nGytha sighed.\n\n\"I have long thought on these matters. It is like a riddle that I cannot unravel.\" She looked down at her hands. She was rubbing them as if seeking to rid them of dirt. \"Something had made Rothulf anxious, and he was not a nervous man. I asked him about it, but he said he would not talk of it until he had spoken to Lord \u00c6lfgar.\"\n\nAedwen frowned.\n\n\"What tidings were so unsettling, so important?\" she asked. \"And why not tell you?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" replied Gytha, her voice catching in her throat. \"I like to think he was protecting us. He travelled to \u00c6lfgar's hall, and then\u2026 I never saw him alive again.\"\n\nAedwen understood.\n\n\"You think his death was no accident?\"\n\nGytha drew in a deep breath, as if girding herself for what she was about to say.\n\n\"I fear he was murdered.\" She sighed and smoothed her dress over her thighs. \"There, I have said it.\"\n\n\"But why? What could Rothulf have said to \u00c6lfgar that would have got him killed?\"\n\nFor a moment, Gytha was silent, perhaps thinking whether she should continue.\n\n\"I have heard rumours,\" she said at last.\n\n\"Rumours?\"\n\n\"That Hunfrith was born out of wedlock.\"\n\n\"I do not understand.\"\n\n\"Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar appointed Hunfrith to be reeve of this hundred. Hunfrith is very young for such a post. He has no experience.\"\n\nAedwen thought for a moment, trying to deduce the meaning of what Gytha was saying.\n\n\"\u00c6lfgar is his father?\"\n\nThe widow nodded.\n\n\"That is what some say.\"\n\n\"You think Rothulf heard this rumour. That it was these tidings that he took to \u00c6lfgar?\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" She sighed. \"But it makes no sense. Such a thing is not uncommon. There must be dozens of bastards in every hundred in every shire in the kingdom.\"\n\n\"But why then kill Rothulf?\"\n\nGytha shrugged.\n\n\"All I know is that my husband went to \u00c6lfgar with some news that had troubled him. The next day, he was dead. And then, Hunfrith came.\"\n\n\"What do you think Hunfrith will do with Dunston?\"\n\n\"I know not, but I do not believe he means him well. Perhaps he will put him before the moot, as he says. But without you as a plaintiff, I see no point.\"\n\n\"But if Hunfrith killed Rothulf and my father. He could mean to slay Dunston too.\" The thought terrified her. Was it possible that a reeve could be so evil, so corrupt? A man trusted to dispatch justice by the lord of the shire and, through him, by the king himself.\n\n\"We have not one jot of evidence that Hunfrith had anything to do with my husband's or your father's deaths.\"\n\n\"But why not say that he knew my father then? Why keep that secret?\"\n\nGytha shook her head in the gloom.\n\n\"And why,\" Aedwen went on, anger tinging her words, \"lock up Dunston when he has shown me nothing but kindness?\"\n\nThey went around and around these questions, circling and herding their thoughts the way dogs round up wayward sheep until there was nowhere else for them to go.\n\nAfter a time, they grew silent and listened to the soft night-time hush. The crackle of the fire; the quiet snoring of one of the girls; the creaking of the timbers as a gust of wind shook the house.\n\nGytha got up and walked silently to a chest that rested beside the small table where they had eaten. She opened it and brought something out and returned to Aedwen beside the fire. She carried a flask and two wooden cups. She handed a cup to Aedwen, unstopped the flask and poured liquid into each vessel.\n\nAedwen sniffed the contents and was surprised to smell the pungent bite of strong mead. She had only sipped mead before, at the end of the Cr\u00edstesm\u00e6sse fast.\n\n\"I do not like mead,\" she said quietly, not wishing to appear rude to her hostess.\n\n\"Neither do I,\" replied Gytha with a bleak smirk. \"But I think we could both use some fortification if we are going to do what I think we must. So drink it down, and let us get on with preparations, before I change my mind.\"\n\nWith that, the widow tossed the liquid into her mouth and swallowed it down with a grimace.\n\nConfused, Aedwen raised the cup slowly up to her own lips and hesitated, unsure of whether to sip it, or just to swallow it quickly as the older woman had done.\n\n\"But what is it we are going to do?\" she asked.\n\n\"It seems we have convinced ourselves of Dunston's innocence and Hunfrith's guilt, at least in keeping a secret, and at worst of having a hand in my husband's death and your father's murder.\"\n\n\"But what are we to do about that?\" Aedwen asked, tentatively sipping a tiny amount of mead into her mouth. It was sweet and she was surprised to find it not unpleasant. It was warm as it trickled down her throat.\n\n\"Why, we are going to free Dunston, of course,\" said Gytha."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Dunston snapped instantly awake. He pushed himself to his feet, his aches and pains forgotten as the sounds of alarm from outside grew more intense and increasingly insistent. A hollow clangour echoed in the village as someone beat on something, an empty barrel perhaps. Shouts and yells of anguish drifted to where Dunston stood. He bunched his hands into fists, forcing himself to remain calm, despite the blood rushing through his veins. He recognised the sensation of his skin tingling, his limbs thrumming with tension. This was how he had always felt before battle.\n\nBut was there a battle taking place outside? Or was this something less dire? An abandoned rush light, or a stray ember tumbled from a hearth on the dry rushes of a floor perhaps. He breathed deeply, taking in the night-cool air that smelt of straw and dust and the animals that had previously inhabited the barn. Underlying these scents, he half-imagined he could detect the slightest trace of smoke.\n\nJust outside the barn door, his guard called out to someone.\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\nDunston could not make out the reply muffled as it was by distance, the barn's timber walls and the noise of many people hollering in the night.\n\nCould it be that the village was under attack from the Norsemen? Was it possible that the blood-eagling of Aedwen's father had presaged the arrival of the sea wolves this far inland? Were the people of Briuuetone even now being slaughtered by savage heathens? By Christ, if that were so, what would befall Aedwen? And Gytha and her daughters?\n\nDunston trembled. How he wished he had hold of Dea\u00deangenga. The axe's sharp blade would make short work of this wooden gaol.\n\n\"What is happening out there?\" he bellowed. No answer came to him.\n\nHe stumbled to the door in the gloom and placed his ear to its rough-hewn oak. Men and women shouted. Dogs barked, loud and insistent in the night. For a fleeting, sad moment he thought of Odin. There was no clash of metal on metal. The constant echoing drum beat had ceased.\n\nHe knelt and peered through a knot hole in the planking. Shadows flitted before the light of flickering flames. But he was unable to make out any details of the events beyond the door.\n\nStanding, he beat on the door with a fist.\n\n\"Hey! Let me out of here. I can help.\"\n\nHe paused to listen for a reply.\n\nTo his amazement, he heard the bar being removed with a clatter. The door swung open, letting in the noise and light of the night. The cold air was redolent of smoke. Dunston blinked, trying to make sense of what he saw. Some distance away, in the Bartons, the alleys that led to the animal enclosures, a fire was raging. Long, dark shadows danced from the men and women who had flocked about the flames and were doing their best to douse them.\n\nIn the doorway, shadowed by the distant conflagration, stood two figures. After a moment, their shapes became clearer to him, their features limned by the silvery light of the full moon.\n\n\"Aedwen?\" he said, bewilderment in his voice. \"Gytha? What is this?\"\n\n\"There is no time to talk,\" said Gytha. Despite the obvious urgency, Dunston could not help but notice how the woman had aged. She was, as ever, a handsome woman, and yet she looked as though a decade had passed since last they had met, rather than a few months. \"You must flee,\" she said. \"You are not safe here.\"\n\n\"What? Why?\" Dunston felt stupid, unable to understand the meaning behind her simple words. The flames behind her seemed to be under control now, the shrillness of the voices in the darkness replaced with determined shouts and commands.\n\n\"There's no time, Dunston. You must run.\"\n\n\"I've done nothing wrong.\"\n\n\"I know that, but Hunfrith is keeping things secret. We think he means you harm.\"\n\n\"But why? I have done nothing.\" Dunston repeated the sentiment of his innocence, but even as he spoke, he could hear the shallowness of his words. Did he truly believe justice would be done here? He was being held for a crime he did not commit, by a man who would not listen to reason. And here was a girl and woman who had risked much to see him freed.\n\nGytha placed a hand upon his shoulder.\n\n\"That fire will not burn for long, Dunston. I must be gone from here and home with my girls before anyone suspects my involvement.\" She gripped his arm tightly for a moment. Her face was shadowed, but he could sense her terror of being found here. \"You are a good man,\" she said, her voice hissing in the dark. \"But you must go. Now. Godspeed.\" Without awaiting a reply, she turned and ran into the night, away from the now waning blaze. In an eye-blink she was swallowed by the darkness.\n\nAn instant later, his mind was made up. He trusted Rothulf's widow. She was a clever woman, honest and true, and if she had taken this action, there must be good reason. Casting about for his belongings, he saw none. That could not be helped. He would have to make do with what the forest provided. He wished he had a knife at least, but he would manage. He began to make his way around the barn, away from the noise and tumult surrounding the fire. Aedwen followed at his side.\n\nWheeling on her, he hissed, \"You cannot come with me, child. Go after Gytha. You will be safe with her.\" He made to turn, but her small hand gripped his arm, pulling him back.\n\n\"No. I will go with you.\"\n\n\"By Christ's bone's, girl, do what you are bidden.\" He felt exposed out here. If someone should look in this direction they would see him arguing with Aedwen, lit up against the side of the barn by the dying flames of the fire.\n\n\"No,\" replied Aedwen.\n\nBy God, the girl was infuriating.\n\nDunston was about to snap an angry retort, when a large figure loomed in the darkness. It was a tall man, easily a head taller than Dunston, with a dark shock of hair and a mordant, angular face.\n\nWithout thinking, Dunston shoved Aedwen behind him. She was light and his strength flung her against the barn with a clatter.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the newcomer. \"If it isn't Dunston, the famous warrior. You don't look so bold now.\" He sneered, raising the weapon he held in both hands. The far-off fire gleamed from the familiar silver-threaded axe-head.\n\nDea\u00deangenga.\n\nHis eyes flicked towards Aedwen, who was pushing herself to her feet from where she had fallen. \"Oh,\" he leered, \"after I've cut you up, perhaps I can have some fun with the filly. I like them slim and tight.\"\n\nIf the reeve's man had expected Dunston to respond to his taunts, he was quickly disappointed.\n\nWithout a word, Dunston closed with the man. The man's eyes widened, but he was young and quick. He stepped backward and raised the great axe, just as Dunston had known he would. Dunston did not stop, instead he increased his speed, forcing the man to react. Dunston knew that most men will think twice before dealing a killing blow, especially against an unarmed man. He hoped to keep him off balance, but his adversary was no peasant and it seemed had no qualms about striking an opponent who bore no weapon.\n\nHe raised Dea\u00deangenga high in the air and swung a huge blow downward aimed at Dunston's head. If the axe had connected it would have killed the older man as quickly as lightning striking from a summer storm. But, Dunston was a veteran of many battles, and, unlike his enemy, he had used Dea\u00deangenga, the long hafted axe, in combat so often that he knew its heft intimately. He knew that such a powerful swing would slay any man, but he also understood that if it were to miss, the wielder would be unable to halt the weapon's progress.\n\nBelying his advanced years, Dunston skipped backward, allowing the axe to slice the air a hand's breadth before him. His attacker was unbalanced. He stumbled as the axe-head struck the earth, burying itself deeply into the mud, Dunston sprang forward. Placing his left hand atop Dea\u00deangenga's haft, he drove his meaty right fist into his assailant's face. The man relinquished his grip on the axe's handle and staggered back, arms flailing. Dunston had struck him with all his weight behind the blow and was surprised that the man did not fall to the ground. He was a tough one, of that there was no doubt.\n\nShouts from the Bartons told of how others had seen the men fighting by the barn. There was no more time.\n\nTugging the axe out of the ground, Dunston swung it in a vicious arc, connecting with the blunt side of the iron head with a thudding crunch into the man's jaw. He dropped without uttering another sound.\n\nDunston scanned the gloom. His senses were sharpened now, the battle-fire flooding his body. He felt younger than he had in years. Several figures were approaching cautiously from where the fire was now almost completely extinguished.\n\nLooking grimly at the collapsed man, Dunston prayed he would live. He had not meant to kill him, but perhaps he had hit him harder than needed. There was nothing for it now. His life was in Christ's hands.\n\nDea\u00deangenga was warm and comforting in Dunston's grip. Bending to the man's immobile body, he tugged the seax from the scabbard that hung from his belt. As he rose, his eye caught on a leather flask that was propped against the side of the barn. No doubt it held ale or mead that his guard had been drinking before the night exploded into fire and chaos. Without hesitation, Dunston snatched up the container.\n\nSomeone shouted out.\n\n\"Hey, you there!\"\n\nQuickly, Dunston decided which way he would run. He knew this land well and the night held no fear for him. He would make his way quickly down to the river's edge where the water's rush would mask any noise he made. Then he would head south for a time, away from his hut. In the opposite direction to that which the people of Briuuetone would likely expect. The thought of the tithing-men coming after him turned his stomach. The tithing-men would be simple folk of Briuuetone, doing their duty, as they saw it. Helping to bring a miscreant to justice. The villagers were known to him. He had no quarrel with them and did not wish to face them. He would flee deep into the forest where they would never be able to find him.\n\nHe sprinted into the darkness, the shouts of pursuers growing louder behind him. A moment later, he became aware of the slender shape of Aedwen, running along beside him. He halted and turned on the girl.\n\n\"You cannot come with me. It is too dangerous. You will become a wolf-head.\"\n\n\"I know you do not want me with you,\" she said, her voice high and trembling. \"But think. The reeve's man saw me. If I stay, they will say I freed you. If I go, they will believe I acted alone and Gytha and her girls will be safe.\"\n\nNew voices had joined the shouting now. The crowd had found the fallen guard and from the sound of the yells and insults in the dark, the man's friends were not happy.\n\nDunston stared at Aedwen for a moment, her eyes glittered. She looked like Eawynn when he had first met her.\n\n\"Over there!\" came the cry from one of the pursuers.\n\nDunston growled. There was no time to argue.\n\n\"Very well then,\" he said. \"Try to keep up.\"\n\nAnd with that, he sped into the black of the night and the willow-slender form of Aedwen followed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Dawn was not even tinging the eastern horizon and Aedwen's breath was ragged and wheezing. She was utterly exhausted, but she vowed not to admit weakness to Dunston. The grey-bearded man seemed not to feel fatigue as they trudged on into the night. Twice, soon after they had left Briuuetone, he had grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down, indicating for her to be silent. The first time he had done this, they had hunkered down beside the bole of a beech tree, hidden in the moon shadow beneath its boughs. They had remained there for a long time, but Aedwen was unsure of who it was that Dunston believed would hear them. The night was silent save for the breeze-whisper in the trees and the burble of the river, which ran broader and more slowly now they had moved south from Briuuetone. After a time, the light from the moon dimmed and, looking up through the branches, she had seen the darkness swallow up half of the great orb in the sky. She had trembled and when Dunston had followed her gaze, he had frowned.\n\n\"What is it?\" she'd whispered, but Dunston had shaken his head and held a finger to his lips.\n\nMoments later, the night had brightened once more and the moon was whole again.\n\nThey had waited so long like that, hushed and cramped beneath the beech that her limbs had become stiff and Aedwen had begun to fall into a doze. But then Dunston had pulled her roughly to her feet and was once again setting such a fast pace that she was barely able to keep up. Her legs were numb from the lack of movement and tingled unpleasantly as the blood flowed back into her abused muscles.\n\nDunston had appeared oblivious or uncaring of her discomfort.\n\nThe second time he had caught hold of her, guiding her into the lee of a stand of alder. She had shaken off his touch.\n\n\"What now?\" she'd hissed, not wishing to again crouch in the cold and damp while her legs seized up. \"And what happened to the moon?\"\n\nHe had pulled her down roughly with an unyielding strength.\n\nShe opened her mouth to complain at his treatment, but before she could utter a sound, he clamped a large harsh hand over her mouth. She squirmed, but he held her tightly. She had been contemplating trying to bite his hand when she heard them. They must have been only ten paces from Dunston and Aedwen's hiding place.\n\nSeveral men walked quietly past. From time to time one of them would whisper something, but they were travelling quietly, stealthily.\n\nAfter a while, Dunston had released her, and they had both sat in silence for a very long time. Eventually, Dunston had been sure that their pursuers had moved on and he stood.\n\n\"Sorry,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Don't be sorry,\" he had replied, his voice the hiss of a blade being drawn from a scabbard. \"Be obedient. Do what I say without hesitation and we both might live.\"\n\nShe had swallowed back a reply and merely nodded, unsure whether he could see her movement in the dark.\n\nFor the rest of the night they had walked in silence and had no further encounters.\n\nAedwen could not tell how Dunston was navigating. They were not walking on any roads or paths she could discern in the dark, and yet he appeared to be leading them with unerring conviction. Though to where, she had no idea.\n\nShe stumbled, her toe stubbing a root that ran across the track they followed. Dunston reached out with uncanny speed, grabbing the back of her dress and righting her. She could scarcely believe what she had witnessed in Briuuetone. Perhaps Gytha's husband had not been spinning tall tales about Dunston's prowess in battle. He had dispatched the younger, armed Raegnold in a heartbeat and it had all happened so quickly, she was hardly certain of what had occurred. One moment the tall man had been threatening them, the next he was slumped on the earth unconscious or dead. Dunston seemed to care not which.\n\n\"We will rest soon,\" he whispered in the darkness. She noticed with a start that she could make out his features. Dawn was not far off and the wolf-light that came before the sun was beginning to colour the land. Dunston had led them out of the dense woods and across some open grassland. It was colder here, the sky clear of clouds.\n\nAedwen's senses swam. Her legs ached as she climbed up an incline. She was barely awake and had been walking in a daze. Now, she was suddenly afraid.\n\n\"Will they find us?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not where I am taking us,\" he replied. His voice was soft now, gentle. She nodded in the pre-dawn dark and stumbled along behind him. She believed him.\n\nHe led them to a cave. The entrance was scarcely wide enough for them to squeeze inside, and she felt a tremor of fear at being trapped in the earth. But she was too tired now to worry and so she followed Dunston in to the black gloom. She sensed him moving, as he sat down, propping his back against the wall.\n\n\"You will be safe here, Aedwen,\" he said, his voice echoing quietly in the darkness. \"Lie down and rest. Nothing will befall you here.\"\n\nHis voice was soothing, and the solidity of his presence comforting. She wrapped her cloak about her and sat down on the hard floor of the cave.\n\n\"You can rest your head on me,\" Dunston whispered. Without thinking, Aedwen did just that. She lowered herself down and placed her head on the old warrior's outstretched legs.\n\nHe patted her arm gently. She shivered.\n\nAedwen's mind was filled with visions of fire and blood and a moon being consumed by darkness. The face of her mother came to her as sleep embraced her, and in her dreams she was sure she could feel the warmth of Odin the hound stretched out beside her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Dunston opened his eyes slowly, as if he were scared that the lids would ache like the rest of his body. Light lanced through the open doorway of the mound. He had not meant to sleep, but he supposed it had been foolish pride to think he would be able to stay awake for the whole night. Gone were those days of youth when he could ignore the desire for sleep and still be fresh and alert the next day.\n\nDuring the night, he had sat for a time, the warm weight of Aedwen's head against his leg, and his mind running ceaselessly over recent events. Like Aedwen, he had been shocked at the moon partially vanishing in the sky above them. He had seen similar before, but had never understood the meaning of such things. Omens, he supposed. But of what, who could tell? Unable to answer any of the questions swarming in his mind, he had, at last, drifted into a deep sleep.\n\nHe looked down at where Aedwen slept. She had curled up on her side, resting her head on her arm now rather than his thigh. Her face was serene. Dirt smudged her cheek and her hair was dishevelled, but she slept with the carefree abandon of the young. At some point in the night she had placed her faith in him completely. He knew that she looked to him for protection and he felt acutely the weight of that responsibility. She should have stayed with Gytha. By Christ's teeth, what had Rothulf's widow been thinking? Now both he and the girl were outlawed. He would never be able to return to Briuuetone. Still, he supposed there was not much for him there now that Rothulf was gone. He could find a new place to live, somewhere in the forest where nobody would find him. He would be content to live alone, with Odin for company.\n\nWith a pang of pain, he remembered that Odin was gone. He had wished to ask Aedwen about the hound the night before, but he had pushed the thought away. It was not the moment to converse. There would be time enough in the daylight for speaking, and waiting a while longer for tidings of Odin's fate would change nothing.\n\nAedwen stirred, mumbling something under her breath before growing still once more.\n\nWith an effort, Dunston pushed himself to his feet. His knee was a burning agony and his back popped and clicked painfully as he stood. To think that for a moment in the night he had thought he'd felt young again, able to fight and wield Dea\u00deangenga as though the last twenty summers had not passed. By God, who was he trying to fool? He gazed down for a moment at the sleeping girl. He had forced them to walk fast all night and she had done well, keeping up without complaint. Now, as his joints cracked and his muscles throbbed, he wished he had not pushed them so hard. If he was not careful, he would be the one unable to keep up the pace.\n\nHe snorted, looking to his side for where Odin usually stood. He stopped his hand as he reached for where the dog's head would have been. Stupid old man. It would take him some time to grow accustomed to living without the company of the dog.\n\nShaking his head, he moved silently to the entrance. He glanced back at Aedwen before he stepped out into the daylight. What was he to do with the girl? Perhaps he could take her to her distant kin. But where did the aunts she had mentioned live? And would they take her in if he found them?\n\nFrowning, he held his hand over his eyes and scanned the horizon. The sun was high in the sky and the day was blessedly warm and dry. Thin trails of smoke rose in the distance to the north, but there were no other signs of men.\n\nSetting off down the hill, he checked that the seax he had taken was still tucked in his belt. In his left hand he carried Dea\u00deangenga. His body's pains began to lessen as he walked. He would have to give some thought about what their next steps should be, but first, they needed water and something to eat. There was nothing to be gained from worrying about the problems of tomorrow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "Aedwen awoke to the smell of woodsmoke and for an instant she was back in Briuuetone in the dark, the fire Maethild and Godgifu had lit in the handcart spouting flames and billowing clouds of thick smoke. She sat up quickly, staring about her in fear. Where was she? It was dark, but sufficient light washed in from the entrance of the cave that she could make out the details of her surroundings well enough.\n\nThe walls and ceiling were too straight to be a cave. This was no natural cavern, gouged from the rock by aeons of rainfall and the flow of underground streams. The stone surrounding her was smooth, fashioned by man.\n\nShe saw Dunston then, looking much less like a warrior of legend and more like the old greybeards who sat hunched over their hearths in the long winter months. He was leaning over a small fire, feeding the flames with twigs.\n\nGlancing over at her, he smiled. He looked tired, eyes dark-rimmed and skin wan.\n\n\"Ah, you're awake at last,\" he said. \"We have much to talk about. But first, you should eat and drink. It isn't much, but better than nothing.\" He nodded to where a handful of cowberries glistened on a large leaf.\n\n\"How?\" she asked, looking from the fire, to the berries, and finally to the trout Dunston was now skewering on a slender branch, which he had sharpened for the purpose.\n\n\"The land provides much, if you know where to look,\" he replied, with a twisted smile. \"Everything seems better with a fire, and some food in your belly. It will be even better once this fish is cooked.\" He positioned the fish over the smoking fire and sat back, looking at her through the haze of smoke. \"Drink,\" he said, handing her the leather flask he had taken from Raegnold at Briuuetone.\n\nShe unstopped it and sipped. It was water, with the faint tang of mead and leather. Aedwen suddenly realised how thirsty she was. She took several gulps of the cool liquid before handing the vessel back to Dunston.\n\n\"Eat,\" he said, nudging the leaf with the cowberries towards her.\n\nShe picked up a small red berry, nibbling it. It was good. Her stomach grumbled. The smell of the cooking fish made her mouth flood with saliva.\n\nAfter she had eaten a few of the berries and Dunston had done likewise, he wiped his beard with his hand and looked at her with those penetrating ice blue eyes of his.\n\n\"First thing first,\" he said, \"what happened to Odin?\"\n\nShe told him of how Hunfrith's man had attacked the dog. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall as she spoke.\n\nDunston sighed. Picking up a stick, he busied himself poking and prodding the fire. Not wishing to intrude on the man's grief, Aedwen looked down at the berries. They were the red of blood.\n\nAfter a time, Dunston looked up. His eyes shone in the firelight.\n\n\"Now, why did you and Gytha see fit to rescue me from that barn?\"\n\nAedwen recounted the conversation she had had with the widow; about her father meeting with Hunfrith but the reeve not mentioning it to anyone. She told him that Gytha believed Rothulf had been murdered, that he had unearthed something that had led to his death. She described how they had worried at the possibilities, going around the different reasons for the reeve's secrecy, Rothulf's drowning and her father's murder until they had become convinced that Hunfrith was somehow involved and, if that were the case, Dunston would not be safe in his custody.\n\nDunston turned the trout, holding the branch so that the other side of the fish would cook.\n\n\"So you think Hunfrith ordered your father murdered? And that he might have killed Rothulf too?\"\n\n\"We don't know, but it seemed possible.\" Aedwen felt foolish, as if Dunston were judging her words and finding them wanting. It had all seemed so plausible in the black of night.\n\nDunston stared into the flames for a long time, his eyes pinched, looking beyond the fire. At last he nodded.\n\n\"I agree. It would make sense. But why? What did Rothulf and your father know? Even if the rumours Gytha spoke of are true, why kill for that? Bastards are as common as ticks on sheep.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" Aedwen said. It always came back to this. What reason could Hunfrith have for killing the old reeve and her father? \"Father was but a peddler.\"\n\n\"Peddlers travel widely,\" said Dunston, his voice trailing off, perhaps lost in his thoughts. \"Who did he trade with?\" he asked after a pause. \"Did you go to the houses of any ealdormen or thegns?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"No. We had only been on the road for a couple of weeks. Father had little idea of how to make money at the best of times. But he was a freeman and proud. And he had always wanted to travel.\" She wanted to say that she wished he had not been so proud. That he had been a fool to lead them north on dangerous roads with all of their goods on one small handcart. She longed to tell him of how she wished her mother had not died; that if she yet lived, her father would never have put his plan into practice and he would still be alive. But she said none of these things. Instead, she said, \"He knew nobody of import. He was not important. A nobody.\" She felt ashamed at the words. Disloyal. He had been her nobody. Her voice cracked.\n\n\"You say he had not always been a peddler?\" Dunston asked.\n\n\"No, until recently, he had worked the land.\"\n\nDunston nodded.\n\n\"An admirable labour. What changed?\"\n\n\"My mother. She died.\" Aedwen could hear the tremor in her voice as the memory of her mother's passing rushed back, the pain as raw and sudden as a scab ripped off a graze.\n\nDunston turned the fish again, before adding a few fresh twigs to the small blaze. His firelit face did not give away his thoughts.\n\n\"I can only think of two ways to find out what your father spoke of to Hunfrith,\" he said after a time. \"One would be to go back to Briuuetone and ask Hunfrith, but I think we can agree, that is not where we wish to be headed right now.\"\n\n\"And the other?\"\n\n\"When you lose something, the best way to find it is to go back over the ground you have covered. I say we travel the route you took with your father and we speak with those he traded with. Perhaps one of the people he spoke to will give us the information we need to unravel this riddle.\"\n\nAedwen could think of no better suggestion.\n\n\"And then what?\" she asked, wondering what Dunston hoped to do if he got to the bottom of the mystery of her father's murder.\n\nDunston squinted at her through the wafting smoke.\n\n\"If we find out why your father was killed our way will be clear,\" he said.\n\n\"Clear?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" he said, lifting the trout and examining it to ascertain whether it was cooked. \"I would rather not live out the rest of my days as a wulfesh\u00e9afod. I say we find your father's killers, and bring them to justice.\"\n\nAedwen stared at Dunston. Was he like her father? A dreamer. It was easy to have ideas, but quite another to see them through. She could see from the stern set of his jaw that he spoke in earnest. And this greybeard was not her father. She had seen Dunston fight, and he had brought them here to safety, finding food where they had none. No, Dunston was nothing like her father. And yet this was madness. How could an old man and a girl find the truth of all this? They scarcely knew where to start and they were outlaws, probably hunted even as they sat here in this cave. She looked about her again at the cut stone of the walls.\n\n\"Where is this place?\" she asked. \"I thought it was a cave, but these walls are shaped by man, not God.\"\n\nDunston busied himself with the fish that he had replaced over the fire.\n\n\"We are safe here,\" he said. \"We'll rest for the remainder of the day, then set off south once again at dusk. I do not wish to meet travellers on the roads.\"\n\n\"But where are we?\"\n\n\"Do you trust me?\" Dunston asked, looking her squarely in the eye.\n\nShe thought for a moment. He was dour and irascible, but he was strong and honest, and she was certain he meant her no harm.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered at last.\n\n\"Then trust me when I say we are safe.\"\n\n\"Very well, I believe you. But what is this place, if not a cavern?\"\n\nDunston let out a long breath.\n\n\"It is a barrow.\"\n\n\"A barrow\u2026\" she repeated, the word not making sense for a moment. And then, cold claws of dread scratched down her spine and she sprang to her feet. \"We cannot stay here any longer,\" she said in a hushed whisper, as if the sound of her voice might awaken the dead that slept deep within the crevices of the ancient burial chambers.\n\n\"Hush, Aedwen,\" Dunston said, but she noted that he did not move to impede her should she wish to leave. \"I assure you that we are safer here than we would be out in the open. The day is bright and if anyone should be looking for us, they would likely find us up here on the hills.\"\n\n\"But the dead\u2026\" she stammered.\n\n\"Are long gone and still resting. They mean us no harm and I have oft slept in these places. No harm has ever befallen me.\"\n\nAedwen thought of his solitary existence, with only a dog for company, a dog that was quite probably dead. How he had been imprisoned by Hunfrith and was now a wolf-head, to be shunned by all men as outside the law.\n\nHe raised an eyebrow, perhaps reading the thoughts on her face.\n\n\"I have slept safely many times in barrows and the dead have never disturbed me. Now, sit, the trout is done.\"\n\nShe sat down slowly, unable to hide the fear that had now gripped her. She peered into the dark depths of the barrow, but she could not penetrate the gloom. She imagined the corpses of long dead kings lying there, listening to the echoes of the voices of the living, feeling the warmth from the fire. Smelling with dried cadaverous nostrils the delicious aroma of the sizzling fish. Did they miss being in the world of the living? Would they come crawling out of their ancient tomb, reaching for her young flesh with their skeletal, grasping fingers?\n\nShe shivered, and shifted her position so that she was closer to the fire and angled to be looking into the barrow and not towards the light. She would rather one of the tithing-men of Briuuetone found her than some nameless horror from the black interior of the barrow.\n\nDunston did not speak, and if he noticed it, he ignored her trembling fear. He placed the fish on a slab of wood he had cut to act as a trencher. With deft actions, he used the seax he had taken to pull the fish's meat from the thin bones. He offered her a piece of the trout. It was soft and succulent and tasted earthy and wholesome. The warmth of the food seeped through her, even as her skin prickled, the hairs on her arms rising as if she were cold. She could not shake the feeling that the dead were watching them, lying in wait for them to let their guard down.\n\n\"Are we truly safe here?\" she asked.\n\n\"From the dead?\" he asked.\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"They will not disturb us,\" he said. \"You know, the first time I stayed in one of these old burial mounds I was frightened too.\"\n\n\"So why did you go inside?\"\n\n\"That is easy,\" he said with a shrug. \"To remain outside would have meant my death. I had been caught in a terrible blizzard,\" he explained. \"I was younger then, and less wise to the ways of the wild. I should have seen the signs in the sky, but by the time I realised the storm was going to catch me, it was too late to get home. Night was drawing in and the snow came down so thick I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I'd noticed one of the sacred mounds before the weather closed in, so I headed for it. They are dotted all over the land on the hills and the plains, but I'd never ventured into one before. I'd been too scared. But I knew enough about cold to know that if I stayed outside all night, I would not live to see the sunrise, so I swallowed my fear and I went inside.\"\n\nShe watched him as she savoured the fish. He prodded the fire and the flames jumped and danced.\n\n\"I trembled like a child,\" he said. He stared into the fire, lost to his memories. \"As much from the fear of the ghosts that might inhabit the place as from the cold. And yet there was nothing for it. If I stayed outside, I would perish, so I entered the dark belly of the mound, praying all the while that the Lord would protect me.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\" He laughed, looking up from the flames. \"Eventually, I grew too tired to worry and I slept. When I awoke, the snow had stopped falling and it was day. The shelter of that barrow had saved my life and the dead did not seem to mind my intrusion.\" He scratched at his beard. \"No evil befell me that night, but when I left, I made sure to place a silver penny in the barrow and I offered a prayer of thanks to the spirits of those who lived in this land long before you or I were born.\"\n\n\"You prayed to the spirits? Is that not blasphemy?\" she asked.\n\n\"Maybe, but I don't think it does any harm to be respectful. Just in case. Whenever I've stayed in one of these old caves, I have always left a gift. And the spirits have never troubled me.\" He offered her a lopsided smile.\n\nDid the dead truly live on in some way, she wondered? Her mother had been dead for nearly a year, and sometimes she could almost sense her touch or hear her voice. And yet she knew that her body lay deep in the earth, wearing her favourite blue dress and the necklace her father had given her as her morgengifu. Aedwen had placed the pendant around her cold pale neck herself.\n\n\"What will they do with my father?\" she asked suddenly.\n\nDunston handed her another slice of fish and pondered for a moment.\n\n\"I daresay they will give him a Christian burial. They are good people in Briuuetone.\"\n\nAedwen thought of Gytha and her girls, but just as quickly recalled Raegnold lashing out at Odin, and then attacking them as they fled from the barn. She was not so sure.\n\n\"Godrum is a good man,\" said Dunston. \"He will see to your father.\"\n\nChewing the fish she prayed to the Blessed Virgin that Dunston was right. Her father had been foolhardy and unsuited to the life of a peddler. And he had never been a good farmer, his mind was always on something else, far off in some half-imagined fantasy of his. But despite his faults he was not a bad man and he deserved to be buried correctly. A sudden searing anger ripped through her. She was taken aback by the ferocity of the rage that engulfed her. Her father deserved a decent burial, but more than that, he had done nothing to deserve torture and death in a lonely forest glade.\n\n\"I don't know how we can do it,\" she said, her voice trembling with the force of her emotion, \"but you are right.\"\n\nDunston returned her gaze, sombre and unblinking.\n\n\"Right?\"\n\n\"We must retrace our steps and try to find the truth.\"\n\nDunston's face was grim.\n\n\"Whatever your father knew, someone thought it was worth killing for,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Aedwen said, calm now that she had made up her mind, \"and we must find out what that was and who his killers were. And then\u2026\" She faltered, unsure of the words she wanted to say.\n\n\"And then?\"\n\nAedwen drew in a deep breath, conjuring up her father's guileless face in her mind's eye.\n\n\"And then,\" she said, staring directly into Dunston's icy eyes, \"we make the bastards pay.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Dunston dozed by the barrow's entrance as the sun slid into the west. Aedwen had curled up once more, resting her head on her forearm. For a time she had turned and fidgeted, unable to sleep, casting furtive glances into the shadows at the back of the barrow, but Dunston had whispered that she was safe and eventually she had found sleep again.\n\nClouds had gathered all that afternoon, so as dusk ap-proached, darkness was already creeping over the land. Within the barrow it was dark when Dunston woke Aedwen. He had only ventured out of the barrow to relieve himself and to find some more food. He didn't wish to risk discovery, so he had not returned to the river to fish, instead limiting himself to foraging for some more berries in a thick stand of alder and hawthorn.\n\nHe had also cut some linden bark and withies with which he fashioned a bag for any food they might pick up along the way. Into this bag he placed the leather flask.\n\nNear the entrance to the barrow, Dunston pulled up some long grass. This, along with the fire-making materials that he had made earlier in the day, he wrapped in some of the linden bark and slipped the parcel inside his kirtle.\n\nFinally, he had found a stout branch of oak, which he had cut to length and smoothed.\n\nHe handed the meagre handful of berries to Aedwen, who took them bleary-eyed and yawning.\n\n\"We will follow the road,\" he said. \"We will make better time that way and it should be safe enough. Nobody will be abroad at night, save for outlaws and brigands.\" He smiled without humour.\n\nHe passed her the oak staff he had made.\n\n\"It will help with the walking,\" he said. \"And, if we do run into any wolf-heads, that staff is thick enough to break a skull.\"\n\nShe accepted it without comment and together they walked into the gloaming.\n\nAs the night before, Dunston set a brisk pace, but he was careful not to push them too hard. His knee throbbed and he was already favouring his left leg, limping slightly. He would be of no use to Aedwen if he could not walk.\n\nThey stomped down the hill, through long damp grass, leaving the yawning black opening of the barrow behind them. Aedwen crossed herself as they looked back. Dunston had nothing to leave the spirits that dwelt there, but he vowed that if he were able to return, he would give them a small offering as a token of his thanks. Soon, the mound on the hill and the dark doorway were lost in the gloom of dusk.\n\nWhen they reached the road, it was full dark and the rising gibbous moon cast but a dull glow through the roiling clouds.\n\nStaring up, face pale in the moonlight, Aedwen whispered, \"What happened to the moon last night? It looked as though it was being eaten.\" She shivered.\n\n\"I have thought long about what we saw,\" he replied. \"But I have no answers.\"\n\n\"Could it be an omen?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but of what, I know not.\"\n\nThey walked on for a time. The stones of the road were cracked and pitted, ravaged by centuries of passing seasons. But the path was easy enough to follow, even in the darkness.\n\nWithout warning, Dunston broke the silence.\n\n\"Whatever the sign meant, the moon is whole again now, as it should be. It seems that if it was being eaten, it was quickly spat out again.\" She glanced up, perhaps to check that his words were true. \"Put thoughts of the moon from your mind. We have more pressing matters to be concerned about.\"\n\nA light rain began to fall, making the road slick and treacherous underfoot. They trudged on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Now that they had decided on a course, Dunston was calm and less concerned with what might happen to him. He could fend for himself and defend himself, and, if things went badly and the tithing-men came after them and caught them, he would be taken before the moot. Was that so bad? Even if they found him to be guilty of murder, the only thing he truly valued that would be lost would be his honour, and that was his alone. Should they take his life, that would not be so terrible. He was content enough with his existence of hunting, trapping and forging. But he had not been truly happy for many years. Not since Eawynn. No, the idea of death did not concern him. He had walked with death for so many years when he had served his king, it held no fear for him now.\n\nBut what of the girl? She was innocent in all this. As he had sat in the barrow during the quiet calm of the summer afternoon, his hands nimbly bending and softening the withies to tie up the edges of the bark bag, his mind had turned to Aedwen's father. For a moment he could only picture him as he had seen him, bloodied and broken, fish-pallid skin splattered with gore. But then he began to imagine the man Aedwen had talked about with such a mixture of emotions \u2013 grief, longing, sadness, exasperation, pity, but above all, love. And he had started to see Lytelman as he must have been in life. A man with desires and dreams, weaknesses and strengths, and with the responsibility for the life of a young girl. It seemed to Dunston that when he had stumbled upon the man's corpse, when he had looked into those unseeing, staring, horrified eyes, he had somehow taken on that responsibility. And he was not one to shirk from his duty.\n\n\"Very well, Lytelman,\" he whispered into the night, \"I will keep her safe, or I will give my life trying. You can ask no more of me than that.\"\n\nThe rain fell heavily then in a squalling gust of wind that shook the boughs of the oaks that grew at either side of the road. Dunston shuddered before nodding at the dark sky. Aedwen glanced at him, peering through the darkness and the sheets of rain. Had she heard him? He could not tell, but if she had, she said nothing, merely pulling her cloak about her, lowering her head against the chill of the rain and trudging on.\n\nHe decided to make camp well before dawn. They were both wet, cold and miserable. Despite her cloak, Aedwen was shivering and Dunston had only his kirtle for warmth. It provided none, as it was sopping and plastered against his skin.\n\nIn spite of the season and the warmth of the previous day, the nights were cool, and the rain fell relentlessly, soaking them and leaching the heat from their bodies. Cold was a killer, Dunston knew. They needed a fire and shelter.\n\nLeading Aedwen away from the road and beneath the dense canopy of the forest Dunston cast about in the gloom until he saw the familiar shape of a young sallow. The moon was high in the sky now, and some of its silver light filtered through the clouds and rain.\n\n\"We will make camp there,\" he said, pointing.\n\nAedwen did not reply. She was stooped against the cold, arms wrapped tightly around her in an effort to ward off the chill. Reaching the tree, Dunston pointed to its trunk, beneath the thickest foliage.\n\n\"Sit there. I'll make a shelter.\"\n\nHe went about constructing a rough shelter as quickly as he was able. First he used Dea\u00deangenga to cut several branches from the sallow. These he then piled up at an angle around the bole of the tree, using the branches there for support. In this way, very quickly he had a steep roof of branches and leaves, that whilst not affording complete protection from the rain, prevented most of it from reaching Aedwen where she sat against the tree's trunk.\n\n\"Now, help me collect bracken,\" he said, offering his hand and, when she grasped it, pulling her up to her feet.\n\nBracken grew thick around them and it didn't take them long to pull up an armful each of the stuff.\n\n\"Pile it up under the shelter,\" he said. \"It will be our bed, so make it thick enough to keep us off the ground.\" She did as she was told. He looked at the small mound of bracken for a moment. \"Fetch some more, while I start on a fire.\"\n\n\"Fire?\" she asked, incredulous. \"But how? Everything is so wet and we have nothing to provide a spark.\"\n\n\"It won't be easy in this weather,\" he said, \"that's for sure, but with a bit of luck, I'll get a fire lit.\" I had better, he thought. Without the warming heat of a fire, they would get colder as their wet clothes drew the heat from their limbs.\n\nShe set to ripping up more of the ferns, while he took up his axe and quickly chopped into the lichen-covered trunk of a fallen alder. Within moments he had cut a few sizeable logs, splitting the trunk to get at the dry heartwood. Snatching up a couple of the branches he had cut for the shelter, he set to work on them with his stolen seax. It was not as sharp as he would have liked, but it would serve. His hands were numb with wet and cold, and in the dark it was clumsy work at best, but he worked with care. He knew that to rush would be to risk cutting himself, and so he went slowly, slicing into the wood of the branches and cutting along its length. Long curls of wood wound up from the seax blade. When he was close to the end of the branch, where the sliver of wood would be separated from the limb, he stopped, leaving the thin spiral of sap-rich wood exposed. He repeated the process several times until he had created something that resembled a wooden feather which would burn fast and well to get the fire going.\n\nAedwen carried over more bracken and placed it in the shelter. And then she sat on the leaves, out of the wind and rain and watched him. It was dark and he could not see her face, but her eyes glimmered in the moonlight.\n\nPositioning himself in the wind shadow and partially under the sheltering branches, he reached inside his kirtle for where he had stored his fire-making items, wrapped in linden bark against the wet. He prayed they were dry enough. It would be nigh impossible to create a flame with wet tinder and wood.\n\nCarefully opening the small packet, he withdrew the firelighting utensils he had fashioned the previous morning. He placed a sliver of wood on the ground and atop that, a larger flat piece of linden that would serve as the hearth. Then he took up a straight stick, as thick as his thumb and cut to a rounded point. He knelt, using his body to further protect the wood that would hopefully give them a fire. Holding the wooden board on the ground with one of his feet, he placed the dowel in the darkened groove that was already there from where he had created an ember to light the fire the previous day while Aedwen had slept. Placing the stick between the palms of his straight-fingered hands he began to rotate it rapidly. Rubbing his hands together with the stick between them, he pushed downward, forcing the dowel into the darkened depression.\n\nThe stick rotated against the wooden board as his hands descended. When they reached the bottom of the stick, Dunston quickly pulled his hands to the top and repeated the motion. Before long, his palms were warm. He carried on, more vigorously.\n\nWas that smoke he smelt?\n\nHe knew not to stop too soon. This was a delicate process and on such a night as this, he could easily lose the precious ember after all his efforts. He continued until he was sure. A tendril of smoke rose from the depression where wood dust had accumulated and he detected a tiny glow, like a ruby in a distant cave. Quickly, careful not to lose it, he lifted the hearth block, discarded the stick and picked up the sliver of wood and its glowing ember and smouldering wood dust. With the utmost care, he gently tipped the ember onto the grass and lichen he had carried within the bark parcel.\n\nTenderly, he wrapped the tinder about the ember, like a father swaddling a tiny baby. Raising it to his lips, as if he were going to kiss it, he blew gently. Softly, he breathed life into the ember, blowing and then pulling the tinder ball away from his face. Then, blowing again, and a third time. The ball smoked profusely now and he knew the instant the flame would come.\n\nAfter the fifth lungful of air that he offered the spark enshrouded in its grass and lichen, the ball of tinder burst into flaming life. The flames lit Aedwen's pale face. Her eyes flickered, reflecting bright tongues of fire. With haste he placed the burning tinder on the earth, positioning the first of the feather sticks over it. He held the stick delicately, dangling the wooden feathers into the hottest part of the new flame. They smouldered and blackened and for a sinking moment Dunston thought that perhaps the wood was too damp, that the tinder would not burn for long enough for the larger feathers of wood to catch. And then, just as it looked as though the tinder flame was about to die, a sudden brightness leapt up from the feathered wood. The flames crackled, giving off varied hues as the sap caught.\n\nDunston let out a long breath. By Christ, how a fire lifted the spirits.\n\nHe placed the second feather stick on top of the first, feeding the newborn fire's insatiable appetite. When it was burning hot, he carefully added some twigs and slivers of wood from the boughs he had cut down, before finally adding one of the logs. The fire was not large, but it was burning well now, and it would not be extinguished easily, as long as he continued to feed it.\n\nRising, he stretched, working out the aches from his back and rubbing his fingers into his stiff right knee. Being careful not to disturb the fire or to topple into the shelter's sloping roof branches, he slid in beside Aedwen. She was half asleep, but she moved enough to make room for him, and then rested her head on his shoulder.\n\nWarmth from the fire washed over him. He had sat thus, enjoying the heat from a campfire in the wilderness countless times before, but it was something that always filled him with pleasure and wonder. To conjure the flames from nothing was a special magic and when it was cold a fire was not only a balm for strained nerves, it was life-giving warmth.\n\nThey sat in silence for a long while, staring into the ever-changing dancing tongues of flame.\n\nAedwen's shivering slowly abated.\n\n\"I am glad you know how to make fire from nothing,\" she said, her voice thick with sleep.\n\nHe gazed into the flames, enjoying the movement and randomness of them. Their vitality.\n\n\"So am I,\" he said at last. He recalled sitting in just such a shelter as this so many years before that he was uncertain whether he truly recalled it, or if he had created the story for himself, to think of on lonely nights. Still, the memory was vivid and it always pleased him. He remembered sitting beside a thickset man. Dunston had been a child then, and the man had placed his arm about his thin shoulders. They had sat in pleasant silence and watched the flames that the boy-Dunston had kindled. The man of his memories was grey-bearded and broad-shouldered; old, but wise and still powerful. Dunston smiled. He must look the same to Aedwen.\n\n\"My grandfather taught me how to kindle a fire,\" he said. He sighed, stretching out his hands to capture the warmth from the flames. Christ, he had loved that old man. \"I could teach you, if you'd like.\"\n\nAedwen did not reply. After a moment he looked down at her and smiled ruefully. The firelight gave the girl's face a ruddy glow. Her eyes were closed and she was sleeping peacefully.\n\nAround them, beyond the glow from the small fire, the night was impenetrable. The forest whispered and rustled out there in the dark. Somewhere far off, a vixen shrieked. A tawny owl lent its haunting voice to the forest music. Leaning forward he placed a fresh log on the flames and settled back next to Aedwen.\n\nHe was sure that nobody would be on the road now, and the glow from the fire would not be visible. But he knew that the smell of the smoke would be noticeable from quite some distance. Still, there was nothing for it. The fire would keep them alive. Tiredness engulfed him with its heavy, silent cloak and Dunston's eyelids drooped. He rested his right hand on Dea\u00deangenga's haft and offered up a prayer that nobody would stumble on them while they slept. Then, placing another chunk of wood onto the fire, he allowed sleep to overcome him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Aedwen awoke when the sun was high in the sky. She stretched and was surprised to find she was warm. She had become so cold in the long wet miserable night she had thought she might perish. Her teeth had begun to chatter and her head had ached by the time Dunston had made the shelter in the shadow of the sallow tree.\n\nShe opened her eyes and saw that the fire was still burning and there were more logs piled nearby. There was no sign of Dunston. For an instant she felt panic rise within her. What would she do if he had left her? But just as quickly as the fear of being abandoned had come upon her, so it fled; dispelled by the warmth from the small campfire. She sat up and found that Dunston had covered her with a thick layer of bracken. The old man was surly at times, and he scared her, but no, she was certain he would not leave her to her fate alone in the forest.\n\nThe fire was burning low, so she took one of the logs and placed it carefully onto the embers. The rain had ceased falling but the sky was heavy and overcast. The day was hushed and the woodland dripped and murmured.\n\nAedwen's stomach grumbled. She hoped Dunston had gone in search of something to eat. He seemed to be able to find food anywhere. She picked up a twig and poked at the fire. She frowned to think of the cold nights she had spent with her father on the road. If only they'd had Dunston for a travelling companion, they would never have been hungry or without warmth. She thought of his huge axe and how quickly he had felled the man in Briuuetone. If Dunston had travelled with them, she thought, her father would probably still be alive. The questions around why he had been killed still plagued her thoughts, but she pushed them aside with an effort. She could not bear to spend the day gnawing on the same bones of ideas. They had plucked all the meat from them and they would glean no further information by chewing over them again. She hoped they would learn some useful piece of information when they spoke to those who had traded with her father as they had made their way northward. Until then, she vowed to try to think of happier things than her father's murder.\n\nRunning her fingers through her hair, she felt tangles and knots. When was the last time she had given it a proper brush? Could it be only the night before last? Maethild and Godgifu had both combed her long tresses, each plaiting her hair into long braids. Aedwen had revelled in the soft touch from the sisters' delicate hands, missing her mother terribly with each pull of the antler comb. At some point in the nights and day since then, the leather thongs they had used to tie her hair up had worked loose and she had lost them. The hair fell around her shoulders now in an unruly mess. She dreaded to think of how she must look.\n\nShe smiled to herself. Her mother had always despaired at Aedwen's lack of care with her hair and appearance in general. She would fuss about her, rubbing Aedwen's face with a cloth until her cheeks were red and smarting. And when she had finished with her hair and face, she would go to work on her hands and nails. Aedwen had always complained, trying to escape her mother's clutches at the first opportunity, to flee out into the fields, or woods, or to run along the beach, where she would quickly undo her mother's work.\n\nShe sniffed at her kirtle. It stank of woodsmoke, sweat and fear.\n\nHow she longed for a bowl of hot water and a linen cloth with which to clean herself. And how she missed her mother.\n\nA quiet rustle in the trees made her think that a breeze was picking up. But a heartbeat later, Dunston stepped into the clearing. She noted that his limp seemed less pronounced than the day before. He carried his axe in one hand and in his other there dangled the carcass of a squirrel.\n\nHe smiled at her through his wiry silver-streaked beard.\n\n\"Awake at last, I see,\" he said. \"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"thanks to you. I don't know what I would have done without you.\"\n\nHe shrugged, but said nothing. Pulling the seax from his belt he set about skinning and gutting the squirrel.\n\n\"You have brought us food again,\" she said, her voice filled with awe. \"I do not know how you do it.\"\n\n\"I have learnt the ways of the forest. She will feed you well enough, if you know where to look.\"\n\n\"How did you catch the squirrel?\"\n\nHe grunted as he pulled the skin from the animal, as though it were a tight-fitting jacket. The flesh that was left looked long and scrawny, but Aedwen's stomach groaned at the thought of roasted meat.\n\n\"I found where the animals travel and I placed a snare there. I did not have to wait for long.\"\n\nWorking deftly and with the alacrity that comes from many years of experience, Dunston tugged the entrails from the game and began threading the animal onto a spit of wood. Aedwen watched carefully, trying to remember everything.\n\n\"After we've eaten, we should carry on to Spercheforde,\" Dunston said. \"I have been up to the road and know where we are. We will be able to reach the settlement before dusk.\"\n\n\"Do you think someone there will be able to help us?\" she asked.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Dunston, placing the spitted squirrel over the fire's embers. \"But you said you and your father had travelled through, so someone might have spoken to him. Perhaps the meeting with Hunfrith was not the only thing he kept from you.\"\n\nHis words held no reproach or judgement and yet Aedwen felt a keen stab of an emotion she could not define. There was no doubt that her father had been holding a secret from her. A secret that might have got him killed. And the fact he had not told her hurt her more than she cared to admit, even to herself.\n\nDunston stood and inspected his handiwork.\n\n\"There is a stream down there, if you would like to drink or wash.\" He pointed beyond a copse of alder. \"I'll keep an eye on this.\"\n\nShe must indeed look terrible if the old man who lived alone in the forest thought she should wash.\n\n\"Is it far?\" she asked, anxiety gripping her.\n\n\"No, Aedwen,\" he replied, his voice softening, \"it is not far. And that way is away from the road. You will encounter nobody.\"\n\nShe let out a breath and nodded.\n\nAedwen shook off the rest of the bracken that covered her legs and made her way past the alders. The stream was nearby. Fast-flowing, clear water flowed over a bed of shiny pebbles. She drank and the water was sweet and fresh. Then, scooping up handfuls of water, she scrubbed her face and did her best to wash the grime from her hands and arms.\n\nWhen she returned to their camp, the smell of cooking meat was strong. Her stomach complained at its emptiness once more, and she swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth.\n\n\"The meat will be ready soon,\" Dunston said. \"Better?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" she said. \"I can scarcely believe I slept so well in such a shelter.\"\n\n\"The body does not need much to be happy,\" Dunston said. \"But it is the things we do not need that cause us most pain.\"\n\nShe pondered his words.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" she asked, at last.\n\nHe turned the squirrel. Its flesh was dark now, sizzling and bubbling fat dropped into the embers making them flare and flash.\n\n\"Men always strive for what they do not have. But to reach the object of their desire does not make them content. When a man attains his goals, he merely looks further to the horizon, for the next prize. It is why men will never be happy and why we will never know peace.\"\n\nAedwen's brow furrowed. Dunston's bleak words made her sad.\n\n\"Do you truly believe that?\"\n\nDunston nodded.\n\n\"The Norsemen see our lands and come to steal our riches, and so we fight.\"\n\n\"But they are pagans. They know not the love of the Lord. I pray that one day the Norse will become followers of Christ, and then surely we will know peace.\"\n\nDunston snorted and his amusement at her words angered her.\n\n\"Does not the Christian king of Wessex seek to control Mercia?\" he said. \"Do not the Christian W\u00e9alas fight us Anglisc for our land and our livestock? No, the priests may say that Christ is the God of love, but He does not make men content with their lot in life. Perhaps one day the Norse will worship Him too, but if they do and even if they live in peace with us, others will come, seeking what the Vikingr once sought \u2013 land and riches. Just as our forebears came to these lands to take the land from the W\u00e9alas.\"\n\nHe lifted the squirrel from the fire and cut a small sliver of meat. He proffered it to her, skewered on the tip of the seax. She took it, blew to cool it and then placed it in her mouth.\n\n\"It is good,\" she said, speaking around the food. She was glad of the change of topic away from Dunston's dark vision of the world. She could not believe in such a grim future, where nobody was ever contented and war would constantly ravage the land. She needed to cling to the hope that Christ and His mother, the Blessed Virgin, would bring happiness and tranquillity to all mankind.\n\nThey ate quietly. Dunston cut up the squirrel and shared out the pieces between them. The outside of the meat was dark and crisp, but parts of the flesh near the bone were almost raw, pink and still dripping blood. This was no matter to Aedwen. She had been ravenous and chewed the meat until the bones were clean. Then she sucked the marrow from the thicker ones.\n\nThey talked little as they struck camp. There was not much to do apart from see that the fire was safely extinguished. Very soon, with the sun beginning its downward journey into the west, they clambered up through the dense woodland and back onto the road.\n\nAedwen held the staff Dunston had given her. It already felt natural in her hand and she walked along beside him with purpose. Despite the cold and wet of the previous night, they were both rested and filled with renewed vigour.\n\n\"If we hear horses on the road, we will hide,\" Dunston said.\n\nAedwen said nothing, but nodded.\n\n\"Horses,\" Dunston explained, \"can only mean trouble for us as far as I see it, so it is not worth taking any chances.\"\n\nAedwen nodded again and they walked on in silence beneath the canopy of beech and oak.\n\nAs it turned out, they neither heard nor saw any horses, or indeed anybody at all, until they left the shadow of the wood. The sun was well into the west now, but still high enough in the sky for them to have ample light left to reach Spercheforde.\n\nThe road led them down between ploughed fields and hedgerows. Strips of farmland stretched out before them. In the distance, a man was busy plucking weeds from between the rows of a crop of wheat.\n\nA cluster of houses, barns and a small timber church nestled in the valley.\n\n\"I am known here,\" said Dunston, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. \"I sometimes trade pelts and knives with the folk. We should have no trouble.\"\n\nDespite his words, Aedwen noted how he seemed to grow in stature and how his gaze darted about, as if looking for threats.\n\nThe man halted his weeding, shading his hands to better see who approached the village. Then, he slung his weed hook and stick over his shoulder and set a course that would intercept theirs as they reached the houses. Dunston did not slow his pace.\n\nFor a time the man was lost from sight behind a hedgerow that was a-chatter with sparrows. Then, just as the path sloped down into the shallows of the river, he stepped from a break in the hedge.\n\nAedwen held her breath, ready to flee, but Dunston halted, lowering his axe's patterned iron head to rest on the earth.\n\nThe man was slender and wore a wide-brimmed hat woven from straw like a basket. His sinewy arms were bare, weather-beaten and smeared with mud.\n\n\"Well met, Snell,\" said Dunston.\n\nThe man peered at him and then at Aedwen from under the shade of his hat. He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand under his nose.\n\n\"I did not know you had any children,\" Snell said, nodding in Aedwen's direction.\n\n\"She is not my daughter,\" replied Dunston.\n\n\"New wife, is she? Got tired of cooking your own pottage? You must get lonely out in Sealhwudu.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Dunston, an edge of annoyance in his tone.\n\n\"Thrall then?\"\n\n\"She is not my child, my wife or my slave, Snell. Her father was killed. She has nobody.\"\n\nSnell removed his hat and scratched his thatch of curly, greying hair.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" he said, replacing the hat and examining something he had found on his scalp, \"I heard about that.\" He squeezed the nails of his thumb and forefinger together. He grunted, evidently content with the fate he had delivered to the louse.\n\n\"Heard what?\" asked Dunston.\n\n\"That you killed a girl's father and then stole her away and fled justice.\"\n\nDunston stepped back slightly, perhaps to better swing his axe should it come to that, thought Aedwen.\n\n\"What you have heard is not true.\"\n\n\"P'rhaps,\" said Snell, looking askance at Aedwen, \"but here you are, with the girl they spoke of.\"\n\n\"Dunston did not kill my father,\" Aedwen said.\n\nSnell stared at her for several heartbeats, rubbing his chin. He sniffed again.\n\n\"P'rhaps,\" he said at last. \"Mayhap he did, mayhap he didn't. Those that came here seemed to think he did.\" He turned his attention back to Dunston. \"They had nothing good to say of you.\"\n\nDunston snorted and Aedwen was surprised to see Snell smirk.\n\n\"Who were they?\" Dunston asked.\n\n\"Well, I didn't get all of their names, but they were a rum-looking lot. Said they were sent by the new reeve of Briuuetone. One of them had really been in the wars, looked like he'd fought a Mercian warband and lost. His face was a state \u2013 blue and black like a stormy day in January. Swollen too. Though it wasn't he who did the talking, seems someone broke his jaw when they were escaping.\"\n\n\"How many were there and when did they come through?\"\n\n\"Five of them rode up this morning asking if I'd seen you and the girl.\"\n\n\"And what did you tell them?\"\n\n\"Said I hadn't seen you since before Cr\u00edstesm\u00e6sse.\"\n\n\"Good man,\" said Dunston.\n\n\"Well, it was the truth.\" Snell seemed awkward all of a sudden. He craned his neck, scanning the hills and woodlands surrounding the settlement, as if he expected the riders to return at any moment. \"What shall I tell them if they come back?\"\n\n\"You can tell them what you wish, but you have known me for many years, Snell and I tell you I am innocent of this crime. All we seek now is to find out who slew this poor girl's father.\"\n\n\"Well, I am sure it weren't nobody from Spercheforde. The closest to a killer you'll find here is Herelufu. Her ale is so strong you feel like death after drinking more than a cupful.\"\n\nDunston snorted.\n\n\"I do not think the man's murderer is from here.\"\n\n\"So what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"We are looking for anyone he might have spoken to. We are hoping we might be able to find some indication of why he was killed.\"\n\nSnell removed his hat again and scratched frantically at his head. He peered at Aedwen. He seemed agitated.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I remember the girl and her father now. They came through here a few days ago, but he had nothing that the likes of me or Herelufu needed, and so we sent him up to Beornmod's hall at Cantmael.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Aedwen. \"I remember the hall at Cantmael.\" It had been the last time she had felt safe. \"It was warm and they let me sleep in the bed chamber with the womenfolk. Father stayed up late drinking. He sold a bolt of linen, but he drank too much of the ale. The next day he was pale and we had to stop several times for him to rest.\"\n\n\"We will go and speak to Beornmod and see what he can tell us.\"\n\n\"You had best tread with care, Dunston.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"The reeve's men asked the same questions as you. Asked who the girl's father had spoken to. I sent them to Beornmod's hall.\"\n\nDunston frowned.\n\n\"The hall is not far from here, and they are mounted. With any luck, they will be gone by now.\"\n\n\"I've been in the field all day and no riders have come back down the road.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "Dunston knew something was amiss before they could see the hall. The sky was a flat, iron grey, but behind the clouds the sun was low in the sky. Long shadows trailed out from the ash trees that lined the path and the hill that dominated the skyline was huge and foreboding. Some long-forgotten men had sculpted out steps into the hillside, creating terraces in the grass and lending the mound a strange, unnatural quality.\n\nCantmael was not far from Spercheforde and so they had not tarried long there. There had still been enough light in the day for them to reach Beornmod's hall and so, after convincing Snell to give them a bowl of the pottage that he had left simmering over the embers on his hearth, they had set off once more.\n\nNow, as they approached the steading in the lee of the looming, stepped hill, Dunston halted and held up his hand for Aedwen to do likewise. He shrugged off the hemp bag he now carried slung over his shoulder. He had persuaded Snell to part with it and also an earthenware pot in exchange for the promise of forging him a knife when all this was done.\n\nSnell had smiled grimly, clearly wondering how likely Dunston was to be able to fulfil his promise, but he had agreed without quibbling. Dunston had thanked him. He knew it was no small thing to trust a man at his word, and he was grateful to the wiry ceorl.\n\nIn the cool shade of the great hill at Cantmael, Dunston sniffed the air. Smoke and manure, and rain somewhere far off. Nothing untoward. And yet\u2026\n\nHe took a few more steps towards their destination. The hall and its outbuildings would be visible when they rounded the next bend in the path he knew. He halted again, listening, straining to hear anything that might suggest to him what to expect at Beornmod's hall. He crouched in the path, examining the furrows and tracks in the mud, turning his head this way and that in order to pick out anything unusual in the churned surface.\n\nSeveral horses had come this way recently, and earlier in the day, oxen had pulled a cart with a wobble in the rear left wheel. There were prints from the shoes of ceorls going to and from the fields. He could clearly discern where the men had jumped over the numerous puddles, where they had placed their feet close to tussocks of grass, trying to keep dry. Two dogs, large ones, had padded along the path too, but unlike the men, they had cared nothing about muddying their paws.\n\nHe saw no indication of the horsemen returning along this path.\n\nWithout a word he handed the bag to Aedwen.\n\n\"Go there,\" he indicated a hawthorn that was flanked by huddled downy willows, \"and hide. Wait for me to call or to come for you.\"\n\n\"What if you don't come back?\" she whispered, terror in her voice.\n\nFor an instant he was going to lie to her, to tell her that of course he would be back. But then he thought of the girl's father, and all of the man's broken promises. He pictured Lytelman's back split open like a butchered boar. He would not lie to Aedwen.\n\n\"If I do not return, wait till nightfall and then make your way back to Snell. He is a good man and he would help you.\"\n\nHe could see she did not much care for his answer, but she merely nodded and scampered away into the undergrowth. After a moment, she was hidden from sight.\n\nGlancing down at the muddy path once more, he saw again the indentations made from the clawed, padded paws of the two hounds. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment, he thought one of the dogs might be Odin. He bent to get a closer look and realised his mistake. These were not the tracks of his dog. Odin was surely dead somewhere in the forest where he had run after being injured.\n\nDunston set his jaw and, gripping Dea\u00deangenga tightly, he walked down the incline and around the bend in the path. The shapes of the buildings came into view. All was still and with a jolt Dunston realised what had alerted him that something was not right. This was the end of the day, when thralls and servants would be bustling about the steading, preparing for the evening meal. The last chores of the day should be under way. The small hall, barn and two outbuildings should be abustle with activity.\n\nAnd yet there was no sound. No movement at all.\n\nA crow croaked from where it was perched, dark and brooding, in the grizzled old oak that gave shadow to the ground between the buildings. It was the first bird he had heard or seen since arriving here, and its doleful call made his skin prickle.\n\nAnd then he saw what the crow was resting upon.\n\nTwo men in simple clothing dangled from a high branch of the oak. Ropes had been thrown over the bough and secured around the bole. The men's faces were mottled, dark swollen tongues protruding from fish-pale lips. Their breeches were stained where they had soiled themselves in death. Dunston sighed and spat. Would he never be free from death and killing? He yearned to be left alone, to live out his days in peace.\n\nThe crow cried out again and to Dunston it sounded like a harsh bark of laughter.\n\nThe moment he had found Lytelman, his chance of a straw death, growing old and dying in his bed, had fled. Everywhere he turned now, he stumbled on more blood and murder. He felt his anger brimming within him. He fought to keep it in check, but he recognised the call of the old beast. It had been sleeping within him for such a long time that he had thought it was gone, but it seemed all it had been waiting for was the right food to give it strength once more.\n\nStrength and purpose.\n\nSkirting the hanging men, he moved stealthily towards the hall. There were no sounds from within. No smoke drifted from the hole cut into the thatch. The stillness was unnatural. This was the pure quiet of a tomb. All he might find here were ghosts.\n\nClose to the hall's open doorway lay the corpse of a large tan-coloured dog. Its head had been almost severed from its neck, its mouth pulled back in a defiant snarl from its white, dagger-like fangs.\n\nHefting Dea\u00deangenga, Dunston took a deep breath and stepped through the dark maw of the hall's door. Inside was gloom-laden, the air stale. Cold soot, sour beer, the acrid scent of shit and, beneath it all, the metallic tang of blood.\n\nSquinting and blinking against the darkness, he looked around the hall. It was a modest building, with a high table that would sit four and enough room at the benches for perhaps twenty men in total.\n\nThree women and an elderly man lay dead on the floor near the cold hearth. They had been cut down by swords or long seaxes. Great gashes had opened their flesh and their blood had soaked the rushes black.\n\nThe other dog was dead beneath its master's feet. It must have tried to defend Beornmod, but it had been pierced by spears and then hacked into a mess of muscle, bone, sinew and fur. And blood, so much blood. The huge pools of the stuff mingled with the gore that had run from the board where Beornmod's corpse was draped.\n\nDunston instantly recognised the handiwork of Lytelman's murderer. Beornmod lay face down on the board, blood-splattered arms hanging down, flaccid and mottled in death. The man's kirtle had been torn asunder and it was the sight of his back that brought the gorge rising in Dunston's throat. The ribs had been shattered and wrenched apart and the man's entrails and lungs draped on his back, like wings of offal.\n\nHe turned away from the corpse. Beornmod would tell them nothing. They had come to this hall hoping for answers and instead they had found more death.\n\n\"Is that how my father was slain?\" said a voice. It was small and empty-sounding, but it was loud in the complete still of the hall. Despite himself, Dunston started, letting out a tiny sound of alarm.\n\n\"I told you to stay hidden,\" he said, his voice harsh and as brittle as slate. \"God, girl, you promised to do as I said.\" He grabbed hold of her shoulders, spun her round and shoved her out of the doorway, away from the mutilated remains of Beornmod. \"It could have been dangerous.\"\n\nOutside, she turned to face him. Finding an outlet for his anger now, his ire bubbled up and he jabbed a finger into Aedwen's sternum. She staggered backwards with the force of his stabbing blows. He was only using his thick forefinger, and yet she was unable to hold her ground.\n\n\"What if the men who did this were still here?\" he asked, his finger prodding out the beat of the words.\n\nAedwen's eyes filled with tears, and they started to roll down her cheeks. She let out a sob, and as quickly as they had been kindled, so the flames of his anger were doused. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled the girl close to him with his left hand. In his right he held his great axe and all the while he scanned the other buildings for signs of danger. Aedwen shook and trembled against him.\n\n\"I need to know you are safe,\" he whispered to her, \"or else I will not be able to protect you.\"\n\nShe sobbed and sniffed, and at last she pulled away from him. She swiped at her face, brushing away her tears.\n\nShe mumbled something under her breath. He could not make out the words. Perhaps she was apologising, but his anger still simmered.\n\n\"If you mean to say sorry,\" he hissed, \"save your words. I need to know you will obey me. When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No arguing. You just do it! Understand?\"\n\nAedwen nodded, her face a mask of misery.\n\n\"Well, you have chosen to defy me, and now there is nothing for it. I did not want you to see such things, but maybe it is for the best that you do. Perhaps then you will comprehend what it is we are dealing with.\"\n\nAedwen's gaze flicked to the oak and its dangling corpses, then she peered, wide-eyed, into the darkness of the hall, as if she wished to see the mutilated corpse in more detail.\n\n\"You think the men who did this were the ones who killed my father?\" she asked. Her voice was so quiet it was almost lost beneath the cawing of the crow.\n\n\"Who else?\" Dunston replied. \"Now, stay close and keep your eyes open.\"\n\nThey moved through the steading, searching every building, but the men who had massacred Beornmod's folk had left. They found two more bodies. A young man, and a girl. The man seemed to have come running from the fields. There was a hoe and two weed hooks near his corpse, but if he had tried to use them as weapons he had clearly been no match for the horsemen. Spear points had pierced his chest, and he had been left to wail and bleed out his lifeblood into the soil.\n\nThe girl had been dragged into one of the storerooms. Her clothes were ripped, exposing pallid skin. Beneath her dark staring eyes, her throat had been opened in a terrible wound. Dunston read what had happened inside the small shed as clearly as if he had been there to witness the atrocious last moments of the poor girl's life. After the men had done with her, they had cut her like a pig for slaughter. Blood had fountained, gushing and pumping as her heart fought to keep her alive. She had been young and vital and now she was no more than a carcass, cold meat on the packed earthen floor of a storeroom.\n\nDunston turned away, closing the door of the hut behind him. He sighed. Christ, to think he had hoped to be done with death.\n\nAedwen had grown very quiet and he noted the pallor of her skin. He placed a hand on her shoulder and for a heartbeat, he thought she was going to run from him. But then she trembled, letting out a strangled sob.\n\n\"Sorry,\" she said.\n\n\"Come,\" he said, ushering her towards one of the buildings that was devoid of corpses. \"I'll light a fire and we can eat and rest.\"\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"It will soon be dark and I don't think the men who did this will be back.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"I cannot be certain, but the tracks of their horses lead south and west. If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am when it comes to reading sign, they are in pursuit of something. Or someone. They were riding hard, pushing the horses.\"\n\nHe led her into a small house. Like the hall its walls were whitewashed daub and its roof was thatched. Inside it was comfortably furnished. The small hearth was circled by stools and chairs. Chests lined the walls and ham and sausages hung from the rafters. To the rear, a curtain hung to separate the sleeping quarters from the main space. Thankfully nobody had been slain inside this abode and the riders had not plundered its contents.\n\nIndicating to Aedwen to sit on one of the carved chairs, Dunston set about kindling a fire on the hearthstone. The ashes were still warm and there was dry wood in a basket. Dunston found a flint and steel in a small wooden box beside the basket of logs and in moments, he had a small blaze burning.\n\nHe placed the tinder box in the bag Snell had given him.\n\nIt was dark within the house, but the flickering light from the fire showed Aedwen's frown well enough.\n\n\"That is not yours,\" she said.\n\n\"You are right, of course, but we have more need of it than Beornmod's folk now, don't you think?\"\n\nAedwen scowled, but said nothing.\n\n\"Make no mistake, Aedwen,\" Dunston said, \"I am no thief. But I will take from these poor people whatever I can to help us. I think that is what they would have wanted. I know I would not begrudge someone taking my things after my death. Especially if they were hunting my killers.\"\n\n\"Is that what we are doing now then? Hunting these killers?\"\n\nFor a while Dunston did not reply. He picked up a split log and placed it carefully on the flames. The truth of the matter was he did not know what they should do next. He was but an old man and Aedwen was a child. What could they do in the face of such ruthless barbarity? But what alternative did they have? If they could somehow unearth the reason for these murders and unmask the perpetrators, perhaps he could return to his life in Sealhwudu. Far from the evil of men. He had seen enough of that for a lifetime and more.\n\n\"What else can we do?\" he said at last. \"I would wager these are the same men who killed your father, and they are clearly searching for something. I think we will need to follow them. And, with luck, we can find out what they are about before they kill again.\"\n\n\"They told Snell they were the reeve's men,\" Aedwen said. \"Surely that cannot be true. The reeve's men would not kill all of these people.\"\n\nDunston had been thinking about this, and he had his suspicions about what had happened here. He ran his fingers over his thick beard.\n\n\"Perhaps they lied to Snell, or mayhap they are Hunfrith's men.\"\n\n\"But how could that be so? To kill so many\u2026\"\n\n\"Maybe the first kill was an accident. But after that first one, the only way to avoid justice would be to kill everyone. I think that is what happened. From the marks in the mud outside, I believe the workers were speared first, then the horsemen, reeve's men or not, moved on to the others.\"\n\n\"And the girl?\"\n\n\"Once such men are on the course of blood and killing, they would think nothing of taking their pleasure with an innocent.\"\n\nDunston glanced at Aedwen and saw she was staring into the flames.\n\n\"Why didn't they burn the hall with the people inside?\" she asked after a time. \"Surely that would have hidden the nature of their crimes. And people might have believed it to have been an accident. Fires happen all the time.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Dunston, strangely proud of the girl for looking at the situation and analysing the possibilities. \"But the smoke would have drawn neighbours, and they might have been caught here and found they needed to answer difficult questions. In this way, they must have hoped that when the bodies were found, nobody would be able to say who had done these foul acts.\"\n\n\"Just like my father, killed deep in the forest.\"\n\n\"Yes, Aedwen. If there are no witnesses to a crime, it is much more difficult to prove who did it.\"\n\nNow it was Aedwen's turn to fall silent, as she pondered his words. After a time, she nodded, her face pale and doleful in the firelight.\n\n\"We should bury Beornmod's people,\" she said. \"Before we go. We cannot leave them like that.\" She shuddered, and Dunston could imagine her thinking of the girl lying cold and alone in the store. The men, dark tongues poking from blue-tinged lips, swinging stiffly from the oak. The other corpses, brutally cut down by savage men. The bloody, mutilated butchered remains of Beornmod himself.\n\n\"There is no time for that,\" he said. \"If we remain here, we will lose the men who did this. Worse, others will come and blame us for what has happened.\" He glowered in the gloom, recalling the madness of being accused of Lytelman's murder. But without witnesses or those to swear oaths for him, who knew what men would make of him being found in Cantmael surrounded by corpses?\n\n\"But it is not right to leave them\u2026\" she hesitated. \"To leave them like that.\"\n\nBefore Dunston could reply, a mournful moan came to them from outside in the gloaming. It was a doleful sound, full of pain and torment.\n\nAedwen stiffened and horror filled her eyes.\n\nBut Dunston smiled.\n\n\"Do not fear, child,\" he said. \"That is not a bad sound to hear. Listen.\"\n\nAgain came the droning moan and as Dunston saw the truth dawning on Aedwen's features, he stood and said, \"Bring that bucket,\" indicating a wooden pail that rested in the corner.\n\nOutside in the gathering dusk, the sound was louder and clearer. They followed it to its source, Aedwen trotting along beside Dunston. By the door of one of the barns they found the creature that was lowing pitifully as darkness draped the land.\n\nIt was a large cow with twisted horns and distended udders painfully full of milk. Inside the barn, Dunston found a stool and another bucket. He tethered the beast, and set down the stool.\n\n\"We will have fresh warm milk tonight,\" he said, smiling in the gloom.\n\nHe could not make out Aedwen's expression, but he was pleased when she sat and proceeded to milk the cow effortlessly, sending warm streams of liquid squirting unerringly into the bucket. It didn't take long until the first bucket was full. Dunston passed Aedwen the second pail.\n\n\"Poor girl,\" he said, patting the cow's shoulder. The beast had stopped lowing now, and was content to be milked, relieving the pressure from her udders. \"Looks like we'll have more milk than we can drink,\" he said.\n\n\"Perhaps you could spare some for me then,\" said a voice from the darkness behind him.\n\nAedwen leapt up, overturning the stool and spilling the milk from the half-filled bucket.\n\nDunston spun around, dropping his hand to the small seax he yet carried in his belt. By God, how could he have been so foolish as to leave Dea\u00deangenga back in the house next to the fire? Pushing himself in front of Aedwen, he tried to discern the features of the newcomer.\n\nThe figure stepped closer and Dunston's eyes widened in surprise."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Aedwen sipped at the still-warm milk. Its creamy richness coated her mouth and throat. The flavour was comforting and she could feel her body relaxing in the glow of the hearth fire.\n\nAcross from Aedwen, face lit from beneath by the flames, sat a girl not much older than her. When she had approached them in the milk shed, Aedwen had been terrified that the men who had murdered the residents of the farmstead had returned. Dunston had pushed himself forward, crowding the girl who had stepped from the gloom and Aedwen had thought how lucky the girl had been that he had not thought to carry his huge axe with him. He was as taut as a bowstring and Aedwen wondered whether he would have been able to prevent himself from killing the girl where she stood, if he had borne the weapon in his hand. As it was, he soon realised this was no killer striding from the dusk, rather a timid, slender and frightened young woman. Her hair was dark and her face had angular cheeks and a pointed chin that reminded Aedwen of a fox. Her skin was smeared with mud and grime.\n\nNothgyth was her name and she said she was one of Beornmod's house thralls. They had made their way back to the house, where Dunston placed more wood on the fire. Aedwen noted how he positioned himself beside the door, but not with his back to the opening. He placed his silver-threaded axe within easy reach.\n\nNothgyth had quickly produced wooden trenchers, some cheese, hard bread and some ale from the shadows in the hut. She unhooked the ham from where it hung from a beam and sliced off thick slabs of salty, greasy meat. She clearly knew where things were kept and soon the three of them were seated around the fire, eating food that until that day had been destined for Beornmod's folk's bellies.\n\nDunston drained his cup of milk and then refilled it with ale. He took a deep draught, grimaced, and then emptied the cup again before pouring yet more ale. He sat back, stretching his legs out before him. He winced slightly as he straightened his right knee.\n\n\"So, Nothgyth,\" he said. \"What happened here? How is it that you alone survived?\"\n\nNothgyth stared into the fire for a time, chewing a morsel of bread which eventually she washed down with a mouthful of milk. Dunston waited patiently for her to answer, but Aedwen had begun to wonder whether the woman had heard the question by the time the thrall spoke at last.\n\n\"I hid. Under the store.\" The store shed where they had found the murdered girl was raised from the earth on wooden posts in an effort to keep rats away from the grain and food stored within. \"I was round the back picking some fresh summer s\u00e6therie when I heard them come. The number of them and how they came on horses frightened me. I've never seen so many riders before in one place.\" She gazed wistfully into the flames. Her eyes glimmered.\n\n\"So you hid,\" prompted Dunston.\n\n\"Not at first,\" she replied, as if he'd awoken her from a dream. \"I just stood there listening to start with. Wanted to hear who they were. Thought they must have been the king's men. Perhaps the king himself had come to the master's hall.\"\n\n\"There were so many of them?\" asked Dunston.\n\n\"Oh, many riders. Must have been five at least.\"\n\nDunston frowned, but nodded.\n\n\"So what happened?\"\n\n\"They talked for a moment to Frithstan. I couldn't hear what they said. Something about a peddler. It made no sense.\" She grew silent then. She nibbled on her bread, lost in her memories of that afternoon's chaos and violence.\n\n\"What happened next?\" Aedwen asked.\n\n\"The men spotted Wynflaed. And they said things about her. Bad things. Frithstan grew angry and shouted at them, and one of them struck him. That is when Eohric and Tilwulf came back from the lower field. Eohric told the men to be gone\u2026\" Nothgyth's voice trailed off, as she relived the moment. \"One of them speared him, without a word. As if Eohric was an animal. He didn't even have time to scream. He just fell into the mud and was dead. One of them laughed then, even though the others were angry with him.\"\n\n\"Angry?\" asked Dunston.\n\n\"Yes. They said they weren't supposed to kill them. I couldn't hear much of what they said then though, because Wynflaed was screaming. A couple of them pushed her inside the store. For later, they said.\" Nothgyth's voice caught in her throat. \"They bound her and left her there while they went to the hall. That is when I hid. I could see their feet and the hooves of their horses, and I heard how they hanged Tilwulf and Frithstan and the screams from the hall were so loud. But all the while I could hear Wynflaed crying just above me. I should have helped her,\" a sudden sob racked her. \"I just hid there. Even while they\u2026\" Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks.\n\n\"No, girl,\" said Dunston, his deep voice soothing in the darkness. \"You did what you needed to do. You could not have saved her and what good would it have done for you to suffer her fate too?\"\n\n\"Perhaps God kept you safe for a reason,\" said Aedwen.\n\n\"Truly?\" asked Nothgyth, her tone pleading and desperate.\n\n\"Truly,\" replied Aedwen. Surely God and the Virgin must have some purpose in all this. To think otherwise was too much to contemplate. \"We mean to find these men,\" she continued, \"and see they are brought to justice. God must have spared you so that you can help us.\"\n\n\"Help you?\" Nothgyth looked terrified. \"How could I do that?\"\n\n\"You can tell us all you know about them,\" said Dunston, leaning forward, so that his jutting beard shadowed his face from the firelight. His eyes shone in the gloom.\n\n\"I know nothing,\" she wailed. \"I was hiding.\"\n\n\"Think, tell us all you heard. Did you hear any of their names?\"\n\nNothgyth furrowed her brow and took another sip of milk. Slowly, she shook her head.\n\n\"I don't know. I just heard them shouting at my master. And then I heard them laughing while Wynflaed screamed.\" She shuddered.\n\n\"If I am able, Nothgyth,\" Dunston rumbled in the dark, \"I will see these men killed for what they have done. Men who do such things do not deserve to live. Now,\" he reached over and gripped her arm. She flinched, but he held firm, looking directly into her eyes. \"What can you tell us about who they were or what they were looking for.\"\n\nAnd then, her eyes widened as a fresh memory came to her.\n\n\"I don't know who they are, but I know where they are going.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" Dunston said, his voice cold and hard.\n\n\"They have gone after Ithamar.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Dunston forced himself to loosen his grip on Nothgyth's arm. The girl was frightened enough without her fearing him too.\n\n\"Who is Ithamar?\" he asked.\n\n\"A monk,\" Nothgyth said, her tone implying that everybody knew who Ithamar was.\n\nDunston frowned.\n\n\"And what did these men want with a monk?\"\n\n\"I don't know. One of them was shouting at my master over and over. They were both yelling, but I didn't really understand what they spoke of.\"\n\n\"What were they saying?\" Dunston asked, willing his tone to remain calm.\n\nNothgyth took a sip from her cup of milk, lifting it to her lips with trembling hands.\n\n\"They were asking about the peddler.\"\n\nDunston glanced at Aedwen. Her eyes were shadowed, but she was staring intently at Nothgyth.\n\n\"What about the peddler?\" Aedwen asked, her voice rasping in her throat.\n\n\"I couldn't hear. I don't know.\" Nothgyth hesitated and Dunston began to wonder whether they would learn anything of value from this poor, frightened girl. \"It made no sense to me,\" she went on. \"They just kept asking him how the peddler had known.\"\n\n\"Known?\" said Dunston. \"Known what?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" exclaimed Nothgyth. \"I told you, it made no sense to me.\"\n\nFor a time they sat in silence, each thinking of what they had witnessed that day and of Nothgyth's tale of torture and murder. A log shifted on the embers and sparks drifted upwards to wink out amongst the rafters and the hanging meat.\n\nAfter a time Aedwen spoke.\n\n\"And Beornmod told them that Ithamar was the one they sought?\"\n\n\"I think he just wanted them to stop,\" Nothgyth hesitated, unsure now. \"To stop what they were doing and he shouted that the monk had carried a message.\"\n\n\"A message?\" Dunston asked.\n\nBut before Nothgyth could respond, Aedwen said, \"I remember the monk. He too had stopped here at the hall for rest. He'd only meant to stay one night, but there was a sick traveller and Ithamar was tending to him. My father and the monk spoke together long into the night, after I had gone to sleep.\"\n\n\"That traveller died in the end,\" Nothgyth said, crossing herself. \"We were all frightened it was the pestilence. The Lady had been terrified his illness would kill us all. She had me and Wynflaed burn all his belongings and Tilwulf and Frithstan buried him right out by the great elm in the top field. Far from the house.\" She sniffed. \"It weren't the pestilence that got them in the end though. Goes to show.\"\n\nDunston thought on what the girl had said. Could it be that Ithamar and Lytelman had learnt some terrible secret from this sickly traveller?\n\nNothgyth was peering at Aedwen in the firelight.\n\n\"I remember you now,\" she said. \"The Lady let you sleep with us in the back of the hall.\" And then her eyes widened. \"Your father is the peddler they spoke of.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Aedwen. \"He was.\"\n\n\"I thought this one was your father,\" said Nothgyth, nodding towards Dunston.\n\n\"No. My father's dead.\"\n\n\"Killed by the same men?\"\n\n\"We think so,\" Aedwen said.\n\n\"But why?\" asked Nothgyth.\n\n\"We do not know, child,\" said Dunston. \"But we mean to find out. And when we do, we will make them pay.\" She was no fool this one, Dunston thought, and he could see her thoughts clearly on her face. First confusion, then inquisitiveness and then, finally, a sudden dawning fear.\n\n\"If they find that I am alive and I saw the things that happened here, they will return and slay me.\" She spoke in a matter-of-fact monotone. And there could be no arguing with the sense of her words.\n\n\"You must be gone from this place at first light,\" said Dunston. \"And never speak of what you have seen here.\"\n\n\"But where will I go?\"\n\n\"Do you have kin?\" he asked.\n\nTears tumbled down her dirt-smeared face and she sniffed.\n\n\"These were my kin,\" she said, her voice desolate. \"I have no others.\"\n\n\"Take what you can of value and head east. Make your way towards Witanceastre. The land is safer there and a clever girl like you will find a way.\"\n\nNothgyth stared at him, frowning in the ember glow of the fire. She swiped at the tears on her face with the back of her hands.\n\n\"And what of you?\" she asked.\n\nDunston drained the ale from his cup and stood. His knee ached and his back was stiff. But he would walk around the settlement before he slept. He was sure the riders would not return and yet he could not shake the feeling that despite hunting these men, he too was their prey. Who would be first to bring their quarry to ground he could not tell. But of one thing he was sure. There would be more blood spilt before the end.\n\n\"We will continue with our quest to find the truth,\" he said.\n\n\"And how will you do that?\"\n\n\"We must try and find this Ithamar before the others.\"\n\nAnd with that he picked up his axe and stepped out into the cool darkness of the night, leaving the two grieving girls alone in the flickering firelight of the house."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Aedwen was surprised that she slept so well. As she had lain in the quiet warmth of the hut the night before, her mind had thronged with the horrors she had seen. She had fought against sleep, fearing that her dreams would be filled with the swollen faces of the hanged men, the blood-streaked corpses of the bondsmen in the yard, the pale skin of the dead in the hall and the mutilated, butchered body of Beornmod. But worse than all of these fearful apparitions in her mind had been the sightless eyes of the girl in the storeroom, throat gaping like a hideous, monstrous, impossibly wide grin.\n\nAedwen had prayed to the Blessed Virgin for the girl's soul. And she had prayed for Nothgyth, that the girl would find a safe haven, far from all this tragedy. Somewhere she might find people she could call her kin once more. And, as Dunston had returned from his patrol of the steading, she had prayed for herself. She asked the Virgin that She might help them find her father's killers so that they would be able to avenge him and the poor people of Cantmael. Aedwen was not sure that the prayer was worthy of the Virgin, for surely the Mother of Christ would frown upon one of her own seeking vengeance instead of spreading love and forgiveness. But Aedwen could find no space in her heart for love. Her thoughts were dark and twisted, and so, she had thought, would be her dreams.\n\nBut she had dreamt of a warm summer's day. In her dream her mother, fit and hale and full of life, had embraced her and brushed her hair. Aedwen had awoken refreshed and relaxed. For a time she had lain silently with her eyes closed, clinging to the feeling of her mother's warmth against her. She could hear Dunston quietly rekindling the fire and moving about the house. But she did not wish to open her eyes, for when she did she knew that the world would be as it had been the day before, her mother would yet be dead, as would her father. And she was sure that her future would not be warm and full of light, but dark and filled with death.\n\nThe illusion of lying in her mother's embrace was shattered when Nothgyth, who had slept beside her and had wrapped her arms about her in the night, awoke and rose to her feet, coughing.\n\nAs much as Aedwen felt rested, so Dunston seemed all the more tired. The skin beneath his eyes was dark and bruised-looking and despite his broad shoulders and muscled arms, she thought his face looked slimmer, his cheekbones more pronounced.\n\nHe looked old.\n\nDunston had been up early and had already milked the cow, so they had fresh milk and the remainder of the bread and some cheese to break their fast.\n\n\"You must take the cow with you,\" Dunston said to Nothgyth. When she protested, saying she was no thief, he had raised up his hands and told her that without her to milk it the cow would grow ill. \"You said the people here were your kin, or as good as.\" Nothgyth nodded. \"So then,\" Dunston continued, \"you are merely taking what your kin have left you. They would want you to do well with your life and I'm sure they would not want the cow to go un-milked and abandoned. That animal has been well-loved and cared for.\" Nothgyth acquiesced in the end and they waved her farewell as she forlornly led the beast along the path back towards Spercheforde.\n\nAedwen noted that the corpses no longer hung from the tree in the yard. And the farmhand who had lain in the mud in a pool of congealing blood was gone. It seemed that Dunston had done more than merely tend to the cow that morning. He said nothing of the dead and so Aedwen did not speak of them either. But she was thankful that she did not have to face the staring eyes of the corpses in the bright summer sun.\n\nThere were only the merest wisps of cloud in the eggshell blue of the sky as they set off following the path to the southwest. Dunston had picked up a few things from the house, stuffing them into his hemp bag, and he had told Aedwen to fill a sack with food from the house. From somewhere he had found a good seax, complete with a tooled red leather scabbard, and a belt, which he fastened around his waist. For Aedwen he produced a small eating knife. It had a polished antler handle and when she pulled it from its plain leather sheath, she saw that the blade had been sharpened many times. It was a short blade, but it was wickedly sharp and even though Aedwen had no idea what she would do with it in a fight, wearing it from her belt made her feel somehow safer.\n\nWhen they had walked a short way from the steading Dunston knelt over the path, gazing at the mud and grass that grew there. After a long while he rose to his feet and set off with a determined stride.\n\nAedwen trotted to keep up.\n\n\"What do you see in the ground?\" she asked.\n\n\"The signs are confused,\" he said, a tinge of annoyance in his tone. \"The horses went this way, but I had hoped to be able to see the sign of the monk. But I was unable to discern anything for certain.\"\n\n\"Well, Nothgyth did say that Ithamar left two days ago,\" said Aedwen.\n\n\"And it has rained,\" he said. \"It would be much to ask that I would find his tracks easily on such a busy path.\"\n\nAs they walked along the track, leaving the looming hill of Cantmael and Beornmod's hall behind them, Aedwen watched as Dunston continued to survey the ground. Sparrows and finches twittered in the bushes to their left and a crow flapped lazily overhead. Dunston glanced at the birds, nodding as if they too spoke to him, telling him what they saw from their lofty positions.\n\n\"How did you learn?\" she asked.\n\n\"Learn?\"\n\n\"To read the tracks of men and animals.\"\n\n\"My grandfather taught me first,\" he said. \"And after him my father.\" They walked on for a time without speaking and when Aedwen looked at Dunston she saw a wistful glint in his eye. She supposed his grandfather and father must have died many years before. She wondered what it would be like for her as she grew old, when her parents would be nothing but a distant memory, half-forgotten ghosts that had at one time been her whole world.\n\nReaching the brow of a rise Dunston halted and lowered himself down onto his left knee with a grunt. His pale ice blue eyes were surrounded by wrinkled skin and yet they were clear and bright, showing no sign of age. They flickered as his gaze took in the hidden details strewn before him in the muck.\n\n\"There,\" he pointed to a twig that had been snapped and pressed into the soft earth of the track. \"See,\" he said, \"I'd wager that's Ithamar's print. A soft leather sole. See how the horse's hoof snapped the twig when the riders passed yesterday?\" He touched the print softly, rubbing a pinch of soil between thumb and forefinger. \"It is as the girl said. The monk is two days ahead of the riders. But he is on foot and he does not know he is being pursued. If he sticks to the path, or if they have a woodsman in their number, one who can read sign, they will run him to ground before we can reach them.\"\n\nHe heaved himself to his feet and set off once more.\n\n\"Much of what I have learnt, the forest has taught me,\" he said after a pause. \"You can learn much if you watch and listen. With patience and time the woodland will give up its secrets. All learning comes from being patient and thinking what you can glean of use from what is around you.\"\n\n\"It is as though you can see things in the ground that nobody else can see,\" said Aedwen.\n\n\"Anyone can learn the things I know. Would you like to learn?\"\n\n\"Would you teach me?\"\n\nAfter a brief hesitation, Dunston said, \"I will if you would like. We cannot tarry if we mean to find these men, but I can tell you some things as we go. Would you like that?\"\n\nAedwen thought for a moment. She tried to remember the last time her father had taught her anything of value. Nothing came to mind.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"I think I'd like that very much.\"\n\nAnd so as they walked briskly southwest, Dunston began to point out things of interest. They passed a thicket of linden trees and he told her of how the bark could be used to fashion containers and the inner bark produced good string. Spotting a fallen beech just off the path, Dunston led her to the rotting wood and showed her where dark, smooth lumps of fungus grew. He collected some, telling her how the charcoal-like fungus could be used to hold an ember when lighting a fire. He pulled a tuft of straggly lichen from a branch, explaining that it would easily catch fire with the merest of sparks. He plucked leaves from a sorrel and nibbled at them.\n\n\"These are good eating at this time of year,\" he said, passing a handful of the leaves to her.\n\nShe sniffed them. They smelt green and fresh.\n\n\"Go on,\" he said. \"Try one.\"\n\nTaking a deep breath, she bit off part of the leaf and chewed. It tasted sharp and sour, but pleasant and refreshing. She smiled.\n\nEvery now and then, when tracks joined the path they followed, Dunston paused and checked for sign of the monk and his hunters. But now, instead of silently scanning the ground, he explained to Aedwen what he saw. The depth of a print. The tiny prints of insects, rodents or birds could show the age of the impressions in the earth left by man and horse. There were many details that later she could not remember, but in this way, the long tiring day passed quickly and she had little time to dwell on the evil that had been done to her father and to the people of Cantmael.\n\nDuring the morning they saw nobody save for some shepherds, glimpsed through a stand of hazel far in the distance on the slope of a hill. But sometime after midday the track they followed joined a larger road that ran north and south. The sky was clear, the day was warm and it seemed that many had decided to take advantage of the fair weather to travel and so in the afternoon, they crossed the path of drovers, shepherds and several individuals walking about their business that took them onto the roads of Wessex. They even passed a waggon that was escorted by four mounted warriors in byrnies of iron. The cart was well appointed, covered with a frame from which hung patterned curtains. Aedwen imagined it must have carried a noble woman, hidden behind the fine drapes. She was desperate to know the identity of the lady who rode within the covered waggon, but Dunston hushed her and pushed her into the long grass and nettles that grew in a tangle on the verge. The nettles stung Aedwen's legs and she rubbed at the rash as they carried on their way.\n\nDunston grew tense and taciturn with each traveller they passed.\n\n\"I don't like it,\" he grumbled. \"Too many people have seen us. We are not a pair to be easily forgotten. And travellers talk.\"\n\nFor a while she did not reply. Her legs itched and she scratched at them, until he plucked a large dock leaf and handed it to her.\n\n\"Rub this on where it stings,\" he said. \"It will help.\"\n\nShe did as he said.\n\nHe was right, of course. They would be remembered. The young girl accompanied by the hulking brute of a man with a bushy greying beard, a great battle-axe resting on his shoulder. As if he was not memorable enough, the iron head of his axe, embellished with whorls and symbols in silver inlay, certainly drew attention as it glinted in the afternoon sunlight.\n\n\"At least there is something good that comes of being on this road,\" she said with a grin. Her legs were feeling better already.\n\n\"And what is that?\" he growled.\n\n\"We can travel faster.\"\n\n\"And how do you propose we do that?\" he said, frowning. \"Unless I'm not mistaken, our legs have not grown since this morning. And I do not believe either of us are ready to run.\"\n\nShe chuckled.\n\n\"No, that is true. But we can still move more quickly.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"By not needing to stop to look for sign,\" she said. And then, when she saw the blank look on his face, she continued: \"We can ask the people on the road whether they have seen a group of riders. They may even have seen Ithamar, if they have been travelling for a few days.\"\n\nFor a moment, Dunston did not reply and then he smirked, his smile twisted behind his beard.\n\n\"I am glad you have been paying attention to my teaching,\" he said.\n\n\"But you have been telling me about tracks, fungus and eating leaves.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is so. But the most important lesson of all was the first one I taught you this morning. That you can always learn new ways of doing things, if you listen and pay attention to what is around you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "During the rest of that long warm day, they did as Aedwen had suggested and spoke to some of the travellers they passed. One man, who was leading a heavily laden cart drawn by two oxen, seemed pleased at the chance to stop and talk. He was accompanied by two thickset men who looked like brothers, or maybe cousins. They both had the same small piggy eyes and massive shoulders almost as broad as the oxen. Each of them carried a stout cudgel and Dunston thought they would be deterrent enough against all but the most determined brigands. When the carter halted, the two guards slumped into the grass at the edge of the path. They said nothing, but their gaze did not waver from Aedwen and Dunston.\n\nThe carter offered Dunston a drink of ale from a costrel which he took from the bed of the cart. He didn't offer any to his escorts, who just glowered from the shade of the verge. It was good ale, fresh and cool and despite his reservations about being seen on the road, Dunston found he trusted the carter implicitly. Unlike the cudgel-bearing louts, the man had an open face, a quick smile and guileless eyes.\n\nHe was taking a load of salt and smoked fish to Bathum and had been on the road for two days already. When asked whether he'd seen a large group of riders he answered immediately.\n\n\"I saw the king himself riding out to hunt with his nobles. A fine sight it was, all those horses trotting high-hoofed in the sunlight.\" He looked wistful at the memory. \"Like something out of a song.\"\n\n\"The king, you say?\" Dunston asked. \"When was this?\"\n\n\"That was on the morning I left Exanceaster. The king arrived a week ago with so many hearth warriors and thegns, they must have eaten all the meat in the city by now. Perhaps that's why they went hunting.\" He laughed.\n\n\"Have you seen any other riders more recently? A band of them?\"\n\nThe carter took back the costrel from Dunston with a nod.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" he said, taking a draught of the ale. \"A group of horsemen galloped past and I called out to them. Asked them whither they were headed in such a hurry. I didn't really expect a reply. They looked a rough sort, if you know what I mean. But the last one shouted out to me as he passed. He looked even more vicious than the rest. I'll never forget what he said.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"He said, 'Just be thankful we're not looking for you.' Then he laughed. It sent a chill right through me, I can tell you. I pity whoever it is they are after. They looked fit to murder someone.\"\n\nDunston didn't tell the carter how right he was. Instead he asked him about the men.\n\n\"I can't tell you much,\" he answered, lifting the cap he wore and scratching beneath it at his sweaty hair. \"They were driving those horses fast and they were past us in a flash.\" He thought for a moment and took a swig of ale. \"All I can remember really is that they carried spears and I'm sure at least a couple of them had swords. I wondered whether the fyrd had been called, I've heard nothing. Have you?\"\n\nDunston told the man he did not believe that the levies had been called to arms.\n\n\"May God be praised,\" the carter said finally, pushing the stopper into the mouth of his flask. \"I was worried that perhaps the heathens had attacked again.\" The man crossed himself then and the talk of Norsemen had spoilt his good humour. \"Well,\" he said, \"Godspeed to you and your granddaughter. I'd best be getting on my way. Come along, you two.\"\n\nGrumbling, his guards climbed to their feet.\n\nAs the red-faced carter goaded his oxen forward once more Dunston called after him.\n\n\"Have you seen by chance a monk travelling south on the road?\"\n\n\"A monk?\" the man replied. \"No, I can't say that I have. Good day to you both now.\"\n\nDunston pondered over the information the carter had given them as they had walked southward.\n\n\"Perhaps Ithamar has already reached his destination,\" Aedwen said.\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\nThey trudged on through the heat of the afternoon. When they passed settlements and steadings Dunston could see the longing for rest in Aedwen's eyes. But he felt too exposed to stop. It was too dangerous and so they pressed on, hurrying past hamlets and thorpes that Dunston did not recognise. He had seldom travelled this way before and he'd been alone in his forest home for many years.\n\nThey had just left a small settlement behind them and Dunston could sense the reproach from Aedwen. The sun was lowering in the sky and by not seeking shelter at the farm, he had consigned them to another night in the forest.\n\n\"Where do you think Ithamar is?\" Aedwen asked suddenly.\n\nDunston sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.\n\n\"If nobody has seen him on the road, I don't know.\"\n\n\"Can't you track him?\" she asked.\n\nHe snorted.\n\n\"I can read sign better than most,\" he said. \"But I'm not a miracle worker. Ithamar is two days ahead of us and this road is too well-travelled to find tracks. No, unless we find something to lead us to him, all I can think of is to continue following the horsemen.\" Even as he said the words the idea sounded mad to him. Five armed warriors on horseback. Even if he was able to catch up with them, what then? What good could come of catching this mounted, murderous quarry?\n\nThey walked on without speaking. Dunston brooded. This was madness. If only he had never found Lytelman. He could have been sitting back in his hut, resting after a day of forging or hunting, Odin sleeping at his feet. Now Odin was gone and as likely as not he would be dead soon too. He glanced at Aedwen and for a moment, the shape of her nose, the sunlight picking out the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, reminded him of Eawynn when they had first met all those summers ago. She had been not much older than Aedwen he realised with a start. He sighed. God's teeth, he had been young then too. How quickly the years washed by, sweeping away loved ones and youth and leaving only fading memories.\n\nHe shook his head and cursed silently at his own foolishness. Not because of the course they now followed, but at his dwelling on the past and bemoaning his decisions. There was no changing the past, just as there was no holding back the water in a raging river.\n\nThe path sloped down into a shaded vale. Alders encroached on the road to either side and it seemed as though a mist hung in the still air. There was nobody on the road now. Nobody apart from the two of them. Anyone with any sense had already sought shelter for the night or had made camp, he thought, with a rueful smile. They should get off the road and find a place to make a fire. He looked up at the sky and the shreds of cloud that floated high, tinged with the pink of sunset. It looked to be a clear night, it would be cold, but they had brought blankets and cloaks from Beornmod's hall, so they should be comfortable enough.\n\nThey entered the shadows beneath the alders and Dunston wondered about the mist. Could it be so cold down here? Perhaps there was a stream running through the woodland. Mist often formed over cool water, though not on sunny afternoons. He frowned and sniffed the air.\n\nHis mouth slowly stretched into a grin. By the rood and all the saints, he must be tired not to have realised what it was that he saw in the valley.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Aedwen.\n\n\"If my nose does not deceive me, we will not be cold this night and we will not camp alone.\"\n\nAedwen lifted her head and scented the hazy air.\n\n\"Smoke? Do you think it is safe for us to camp with other travellers?\"\n\n\"That is smoke,\" he replied, with a broad smile. \"But not from a traveller's campfire. Now, there should be a path somewhere into the wood. Come. Quickly, before it is too dark.\"\n\nHe led her on at a faster pace. The gloom under the trees grew thicker, as did the haze of smoke. It drifted across the road in a fug.\n\n\"Here,\" Dunston said at last, peering down at the ground and looking at the tracks in the mud where a path led off from the road into the shadows of the forest. He stood, with a slight frown on his face. Could that print of a soft leather shoe be from the same wearer as the track he had seen at Cantmael? Possibly. But it was getting dark and he could not be sure. He stepped over the muddy patch.\n\n\"Careful,\" he said, \"don't step there.\"\n\n\"Where are we going?\" asked Aedwen.\n\n\"Quiet now,\" he said, holding a finger to his lips. He held Dea\u00deangenga before him, just in case he was wrong. \"Stay behind me,\" he whispered. \"And with luck we will soon enough have warmth and company for the night.\"\n\nHe saw her questioning look in the gathering dark, but chose to say no more. He turned and walked silently into the woods, towards the source of the billowing smoke that now stung their eyes, and filled their throats."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "Aedwen followed Dunston further into the forest. The boles of the trees loomed in the smoke-hazed darkness like giants. She hardly dared to breathe as she walked behind the old man. He moved without a sound, like a wraith flitting through mist. Despite her youth and slender form, she felt clumsy. With each step she snapped a branch or her cloak snagged on a bramble.\n\nIt was dark under the trees, and a feeling of dread seeped into her as they crept stealthily away from the road. If only at that last steading they'd passed they had asked the goodwife for some food and a warm place to sleep for the night. The portly woman had been friendly and had waved to Aedwen as they passed. She had been taking in the clothes she had left to dry on the bushes outside her neat, thatched house. Aedwen thought they could have been cosy by her hearth for the night. But no, Dunston had made them carry on and now it was dusk and they were deep in the forest, surrounded by smoke. She had no idea where it came from. For a moment, she thought of a great wyrm, coiled and waiting in a forest glade, breathing out acrid clouds of smoke, its feral eyes gleaming in the darkness as it lay in wait for its prey to come to him, lured from the road with promises of warmth and shelter.\n\nA sound came to her then. A strange sound, that for a time, she could not fathom. A lilting warble accompanied by a rumbling thrum. The noise rose and fell and seemed to echo all about them, as if it emanated from the very smoke itself.\n\nDunston had almost been swallowed up by the haze and the gloom and with a start she realised she had stopped walking. Quickly, she sped after him, uncaring now whether she made a noise or not. The thought of being alone and lost in this smoky darkness, surrounded by the eerie music, filled her with terror.\n\nMusic.\n\nYes, that is what it was. She suddenly understood the sounds, and all at once she could hear more than one voice. And there were words too. Words of love and loss. She caught up with Dunston. He turned to her with a grin.\n\n\"Listen,\" he whispered.\n\nThey stood still and silent there in the forest and listened to the song. She did not recognise the melody, but it was achingly beautiful, as if the forest itself was singing of its loneliness. There were deep, bass tones, and higher counterpoints, but against it all, there was the throb of a chanted song of lovers, destined to be ever apart and only united in death.\n\nWhen the singing ended, she found her face was wet with tears. Dunston cuffed at his cheeks, and placed a hand on her shoulder, leading her forward. It was almost full dark now, but she fancied she could make out a glow between the trees ahead.\n\n\"Hail, the camp,\" said Dunston in a low voice.\n\nAfter a brief moment of silence, a voice came to them.\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"Friends,\" replied Dunston. \"Just me and my granddaughter.\" Aedwen glanced at him, but he did not return her gaze. \"We heard your singing. One of my favourites. I have always loved the lay of Eowa and Cyneburg. We seek shelter for the night.\"\n\n\"Not many know our songs or would spend time with us,\" replied the voice. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"My name is Dunston, son of Wilnoth.\"\n\nWhispers in the darkness.\n\n\"Approach,\" said the voice.\n\nThey walked towards the glow. As they stepped from the forest path into a wide, open glade, Aedwen saw that the light came from a small fire, upon which hung a metal pot from a wooden tripod. The fire was much too small to have created all this smoke. Around the fire were several figures. Beyond them were five huge shadowy mounds and for a fleeting instant she thought again of the great coiled dragon lurking, awaiting its prey. Perhaps the creatures around the fire were the dragon's servants. Nihtgengas, night-walkers, for surely they could not be men.\n\nThey were black-garbed and black-skinned. Their eyes and teeth flashed bright in the dark. She shuddered, a terrible fear gripping her. What were these beasts? Why had Dunston brought her here? Was he in league with these goblins of the forest?\n\nDunston stepped forward and offered his hand to the nearest of the dark-skinned creatures, who was standing before the fire. His teeth showed as he smiled and gripped Dunston's forearm in the warrior grip.\n\nThe firelight fell on the goblin's smiling features and, in an instant, she felt her face flush at her own stupidity. These were no monsters. They were but men, blackened and grimed with soot and ash. The glade was thick with smoke that oozed from the mounds and she finally understood. These men were charcoal burners, outcasts from the world. They lived together, in their hot, smoke-filled world, tending the charcoal piles. Charcoal burners had the reputation of being devils, stinking of smoke and living surrounded by fire, as if in their own personal hell on earth. She had never seen any charcoal men before, and she felt trepidation at being here at night, surrounded by them.\n\nBut Dunston was smiling and slapping the man on the back.\n\n\"You are well come to our glade,\" the black-smeared man was saying. \"We have cheese and we have ham.\"\n\n\"Smoked!\" shouted one of the others, receiving a roar of laughter from all of the men. Aedwen could not believe this was the first time they had made this jest, but they laughed uproariously and she could not help but chuckle too, feeling the tension draining from her.\n\n\"We don't get many visitors here,\" the leader of the charcoal burners continued, \"and then we have two in as many days. If this continues, we will have to send someone in search of more food.\"\n\n\"Or start charging for the pleasure of sleeping here!\" shouted the jester, again receiving riotous guffaws in response.\n\n\"We share our camp and our food freely, Dearlaf,\" said the leader, with a scowl of reproach. \"Come, sit with us, and tell us your tale. We are ever hungry for tidings of the world.\"\n\n\"We thank you,\" said Dunston. \"We carry a small amount of provender and will gladly share what we have. Tidings too.\"\n\nThe men shuffled apart, making space for them by the fire and Aedwen sat beside Dunston. Grubby hands passed them food and a cup was thrust into her grasp. She sniffed at the liquid, but could smell nothing over the all-pervading stench of charcoal smoke. She drank and found it to be ale, bitter, and with an unsurprisingly smoky flavour. It was good.\n\nAfter they had eaten some of the offered food, Dunston said, \"You said you had a visitor a couple of days ago? That wouldn't have been a monk, by any chance, would it?\"\n\nThe leader of the charcoal burners, whose name was Smoca, gaped at Dunston, eyes wide and bright.\n\n\"How did you know? And how is it you know of our songs and are unafraid to sit, eat and drink with us?\"\n\nSmoca was wary now, as though he was afraid he had allowed a predator into a flock of sheep.\n\nDunston swallowed a mouthful of the smoked cheese. Aedwen had thought the charcoal man to be jesting about all the food being smoked, but it seemed he had been in earnest.\n\n\"Those are two different questions,\" Dunston said, after he had washed the food down with a mouthful of ale. \"In answer to the second question, I have often spent time with the charcoal men in Sealhwudu, where I live to the north of here. They have ever been kind and have never seemed like devils to me.\" He gave a wry smile. \"I know many consider you less than them, as you are blackened by your fires, but I know that beneath the soot you are but men. And I need what you produce for my work.\"\n\n\"You are a smith?\"\n\n\"I have a forge, yes. I produce blades and tools for the folk around Briuuetone.\"\n\nSmoca nodded at Dunston's rune-decorated axe, where it rested on the earth by his right hand. The firelight glimmered on the silver threads that ran through its head.\n\n\"Your work?\" he asked.\n\n\"Alas, no,\" replied Dunston. \"I took her from the dead hand of a Norse warrior.\"\n\n\"So you are a warrior, as well as a smith?\"\n\n\"I was, once.\"\n\n\"What do the carvings mean?\" Smoca asked, gazing in wonder at the intricate runes and sigils on the haft.\n\nDunston shrugged.\n\n\"I do not know and I didn't think to ask the original owner before I sent him on his way.\" He lifted the axe and Smoca tensed. Dunston smiled and patted the weapon. \"I cannot read the runes, but I named this beauty, Dea\u00deangenga.\"\n\nSmoca swallowed. His eyes never left the blade as Dunston turned it to catch the flickering light.\n\n\"An apt name,\" the charcoal burner said. \"I am sure death never walks far from that axe.\"\n\nOne of the other charcoal burners, a cadaverous man with a bald head and skin as wrinkled and tough-looking as leather, leaned forward, peering at Dunston through the dancing flames of the fire.\n\n\"Are you the Dunston? The one they called 'The Bold'?\"\n\n\"I have been called that,\" Dunston replied, with a sigh. \"Long ago.\"\n\n\"You don't look so bold now,\" said one of the other men. He was much stockier than the rest, and younger. He was the loud one who seemed always quick to jest. This time none of the men laughed.\n\nBut Dunston let out a bark of laughter.\n\n\"No, I don't suppose I do,\" he said. \"If I am honest, I am not sure I ever truly warranted the name. But once a name is given to you, it often sticks and is impossible to shake off.\"\n\n\"How did you come by it?\" the jester asked.\n\n\"Ah, that is a long story. Perhaps I will tell it later.\"\n\nThe young charcoal burner looked set to press Dunston for an answer, but the old man glowered at him, his eyes shining from beneath his heavy brows and the man clamped his mouth shut.\n\nFor an awkward moment, they all stared into the fire. One of the men leaned forward and added a log to the embers. Another coughed. Out in the forest, a vixen shrieked.\n\n\"You knew our song. You must have spent a lot of time with our kind to hear them sing.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have spent many nights over the years with them. I consider them my friends.\" He fell silent and took another sip of ale. Aedwen thought he would offer no more about his time with the charcoal burners when he said in a quiet voice, \"I owe them much. They gave me my best friend.\"\n\n\"Your best friend is one of us?\" asked Smoca.\n\n\"No,\" replied Dunston, offering the man a sad smile. \"He is \u2013 no \u2013 was, a hound. I called him Odin.\" A couple of the men crossed themselves and Aedwen thought it strange that people thought of these men as heathen devils.\n\n\"Odin?\"\n\n\"He only had one eye, you see. Like the god of the Norsemen. He was the runt of a litter, a tiny thing. Somehow he had scratched one of his eyes and it had grown putrid, full of pus. His mother had left him to die. And he would have done, had it not been for the charcoal men. They nursed him and tended to his eye. One of them walked for a day to my hut to ask for milk from my goat.\" He smiled at the memory. \"By God, we all loved that pup. We fed him milk from the corner of a cloth dipped in the fresh milk. He was so small, we never thought he would live, but there was something about him, a look in his good eye. We just refused to let him die. And in a few days he began to put on weight and grow strong. When I eventually made my way back home, he followed me.\" Dunston held out his cup and one of the men filled it with ale. \"I hadn't known it, but I was lonely, and Odin made a wonderful companion. He grew strong and spirited. A great hunter and a faithful friend.\"\n\nDunston fell silent, gazing into the flames as he drank from his cup.\n\n\"He sounds like a worthy companion for Dunston the Bold,\" said the jester, his tone now reverential.\n\nAedwen thought of the rangy one-eyed hound, and could scarcely believe he had once been a sickly puppy. Looking at the taciturn, gruff old man who had led her southward these last days, she also found it difficult to imagine him tending to a defenceless animal. And yet, had he not done the same with her? Like Odin, she had been alone and in need of succour. It seemed that Dunston, beneath his hard shell, would not turn away from a lost orphan.\n\n\"He was the best of dogs,\" she blurted out, surprised that she had spoken. The black faces of the gathered men turned to her. \"He tried to protect me, but was cut down by a bad man.\"\n\n\"Which brings me to the answer to your other question,\" said Dunston, not waiting for a response to Aedwen's comment.\n\n\"The monk who stayed with us killed your dog?\" asked Smoca.\n\n\"No, but we believe he is being pursued by the same men who struck down Odin.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"He has information that they seek.\"\n\n\"What information.\"\n\n\"We do not know.\"\n\n\"And you are looking for him too?\"\n\n\"We are. This girl's father was slain in order to keep secret what this monk knows. They tortured and killed the inhabitants of Beornmod's steading to find out where her father had learnt of the tidings that got him killed.\" Smoca was clearly shocked by these tidings of murder. His mouth hung agape for a moment. He seemed poised to ask something, but Dunston did not pause. \"They found that the monk, Ithamar, carried a message.\" He held up his hand to halt the query on Smoca's lips. \"We do not know to whom, or what the message says, but we are sure they mean to hunt him and slay him. We hope to find him first, if we are able.\"\n\nSmoca drew in a deep breath and pondered Dunston's words for a long time. A log popped in the fire. The vixen called again in the night. Aedwen tried to hear Dunston's words as they would sound to these men. It was hard to make sense of what had happened. Would they believe him? There were so many uncertainties in his story. And yet he spoke with conviction.\n\n\"How did you know the monk had sheltered with us?\" Smoca said at last.\n\n\"I saw the print of his shoe on the path that led from the road.\"\n\nSmoca nodded.\n\n\"A smith, a warrior and a woodsman,\" he said, raising his eyebrows. \"And you say these killers are on his trail? How far ahead of you are they? We have seen nobody else since Ithamar came to us.\"\n\n\"We are a day behind them, but we are on foot, they have mounts.\" Dunston thought for a moment, running his thick fingers over his beard. \"If Ithamar was here, and you have not seen his pursuers, all I can think is that they missed his tracks turning off the road. It was only by chance that I noticed the print of his foot, and from horseback, it would be easy to miss the path to your encampment.\"\n\nSmoca nodded thoughtfully.\n\n\"Ithamar was scared of being seen on the road, busy as it is. We just thought it was because he travelled alone and was fearful of brigands and robbers. There are wolf-heads that will even stoop to attacking a man of the cloth.\"\n\n\"When a man has nothing to lose, he is as dangerous as a savage animal,\" said Dunston, his face grim. Aedwen wondered if he was referring to himself or to the brigands who preyed on travellers.\n\nSomething in Dunston's tone made Smoca hesitate.\n\n\"How do we know you do not mean the monk harm?\" he said. \"Perhaps he was running from you. He was good to us. Puttoc had a carbuncle and Ithamar lanced it for him and prayed over him. He prayed with all of us.\" He squinted at Dunston, trying to weigh him up.\n\n\"I can offer you no more than my word that we mean him no harm,\" Dunston said. \"But the word of Dunston the Bold has never been doubted before.\"\n\nSmoca met his gaze for several heartbeats, before finally nodding.\n\n\"Anyone who knows the song of Eowa and Cyneburg and breaks bread with charcoalers cannot be too bad. If you are right about the riders that hunt for Ithamar, and they have lost his trail on the road, they must have ridden for Exanceaster.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dunston. \"That seems most likely.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Smoca, with a glimmer in his eyes, \"we know that he was not headed towards Exanceaster.\"\n\nDunston leaned forward eagerly.\n\n\"Where was he going?\" he asked.\n\n\"He was making his way to Tantun.\"\n\n\"But this road leads to Exanceaster.\"\n\n\"That it surely does,\" said Smoca with a grin. \"But we set him right. We put him on a path that leads through the woods. It joins a road to Tantun not far from here. If he has walked fast, he might be there already.\"\n\n\"Do you know why he was heading for Tantun?\"\n\n\"As a matter of fact, I do. He said he wished to see the priest there. Come to think of it, he said he had a message for him.\"\n\nAedwen wondered whether the Blessed Virgin had heard her prayers. To bring them to this glade and now to be put on the trail of the monk, the Mother of Christ must be smiling upon them.\n\n\"Will you show us the path to Tantun?\" asked Dunston.\n\n\"In the morning, I will take you there myself,\" said Smoca. \"But first, rest. You look like you could use the sleep. One of us is awake all the night watching that the mounds burn well. No harm will befall you.\"\n\nDunston gave the man his thanks, and rolled up in his cloak and a blanket beside the fire and was soon snoring.\n\nAedwen lay down beside him and stared into the coruscating embers. Dunston seemed to trust these soot-smeared men, but she could not shake the lingering terror that the forest was the home of a sleeping dragon, the charcoal men its servants and she and Dunston its prey.\n\nFor a long while she fought against sleep, despite the tiredness of her limbs and mind. A light breeze whispered through the forest. A night bird screeched in the distance. And then, all around her, the black-faced men began to sing again, softly this time, their voices calming and achingly beautiful in the smoke-filled darkness. The melody washed over her, soothing her, allaying her fears, and soon, her eyelids drooped and closed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "Dunston awoke with the first lightening of the sky. The air of the clearing was hazed with the smoke that oozed and drifted from the mounds. Beside him, Aedwen slept, her childlike face soft and peaceful.\n\nPushing himself to his feet, he stretched. His back popped like a pine cone thrown onto a fire and his knee was stiff as he straightened it. But he felt rested and when Smoca offered him a cup of water, he took it gratefully with a muttered word of thanks. He swilled some of the cool liquid around his mouth and spat into the long grass that grew at the edge of the clearing. His mouth was dry and tasted of ash and woodsmoke. The flavour reminded him acutely of the time he had spent with the charcoal burners near his home when Odin had been a tiny pup. He looked down at Aedwen, half-expecting to see the hound stretched out beside her. He snorted at his foolish sentimentality.\n\nThe girl stirred and looked up at him with a smile. Dunston grunted and walked away from the charcoal mounds to piss.\n\nHe was glad his instinct about the charcoal men had proven to be accurate. The truth was he had been too tired to stay awake. They had been on the run now for three days and when they had sat beside the fire the night before he had been exhausted.\n\nBut now he felt rested and, despite the aches of his ageing body, he was ready to recommence the hunt. He allowed himself a small moment of hope. It appeared they had stumbled upon Ithamar's path, while the horsemen had carried on towards Exanceaster. With some luck, it was possible they might even find the monk before the hunters did. Perhaps then, they would be able to discover once and for all, why so many people had been killed. What could be so valuable?\n\nHe wondered what they would do if they found the monk, but then dismissed the idea. There was no point in thinking so far ahead. First they must find the man, and then they could decide on their next move.\n\nThey ate a few mouthfuls of fresh oatcakes that had been cooked on a griddle by the campfire. Like all the food the charcoal men gave them, these too tasted of smoke, but they were warm and wholesome.\n\nAedwen walked about the clearing, studying the charcoal piles and even asking the men about their work. She seemed much more animated than the previous night. There was colour in her cheeks and her eyes were bright. Dunston was pleased.\n\nHe picked up his scant belongings, calling out to her to do the same.\n\nSmoca was waiting to lead them to the path that Ithamar had taken. Dunston thanked all the men for their hospitality and promised he would return one day, if he could, in better times. The charcoal burners nodded back at them, faces dark and serious, as they followed Smoca out of the smoke-thick camp.\n\nHe led them through dense forest, past hazel, ash and beech. The foliage was so snarled and the path so infrequently travelled that Dunston did not believe he would have found it on his own. But after a time, he began to notice signs of Ithamar's passing. Broken twigs, a scratch on the bark of a wych-elm, a print in the soft loam of a hollow were rainwater had puddled. He recognised the shape and weight of the tread and paused a moment to point out the sign to Aedwen.\n\nShe was a good student and he'd discovered that he enjoyed imparting his knowledge to her. He recalled words that his grandfather and father had spoken to him and he heard his own voice echoing theirs all these years later. It was as if they talked through him and he wondered whether their spirits were somehow present in this forest, in the dappled shade beneath the canopy of linden and oak.\n\nThey picked their way along the overgrown path until quite suddenly, as Smoca led them past a dense tangled mass of brambles, they came out onto a more clearly defined path. It was by no means a main thoroughfare. The trees and shrubs that lined its verges were packed close and grew tall and overhanging in places. The ground was bare earth. Dotted along the track were knotted roots that, along with the low branches of some of the trees that encroached on the path, would make it difficult for anyone attempting to travel the path on horseback.\n\n\"So this leads all the way to Tantun?\" he asked, signalling to their left, westward.\n\n\"It comes out onto the road from Exanceaster,\" replied Smoca. \"You'll be able to see Tantun's church tower from there.\"\n\n\"How far?\"\n\nSmoca thought for a moment.\n\n\"The best part of two days walking,\" he said, gazing up at the clear blue sky through the gaps in the boughs that stretched over the track. \"But the weather looks set to hold fair. You two take care.\"\n\n\"We will,\" Dunston replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. \"And thank you.\"\n\nSmoca nodded in acknowledgement, but did not reply. He turned and made his way back into the thicket, disappearing quickly from view. For a moment, they listened to him retreating through the woodland, and then they were alone once more, the only sounds the wind rustling through the leaves and the twitter of the birds.\n\nDunston dropped to one knee and was pleased when Aedwen did the same without comment. Together they surveyed the earth of the track.\n\n\"There,\" said Aedwen, pointing to a small indentation in a soft, shadowed portion of the path. \"Is that Ithamar's tread?\"\n\nDunston moved closer with a grunt as his knee made an audible cracking sound. He peered at the soil for a moment.\n\n\"Good,\" he said, forcing himself to smile for the girl's benefit, despite his misgivings about their quest. \"You have a good eye. It is as Smoca told us. Ithamar passed this way a couple of days ago.\"\n\nThey set out westward, pausing only occasionally when one of them noted a print of interest in the earth. Aedwen was growing in confidence and had a keen eye for the details that most people would miss. When they stopped at a stream to refill their skins, she found the tracks and spoor of deer and boar.\n\n\"Are they fresh?\" she asked, taking a sip of water. The day was warm, even under the shade of the trees and Dunston could feel sweat trickling down his back. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.\n\n\"Three deer and a family of boar all stopped to drink here this morning,\" he said.\n\nAedwen grinned, clearly pleased with herself. He returned her smile. He remembered how excited he had been when he had first begun to understand the sign left by the forest's animal denizens.\n\nA little later, Aedwen called him over to inspect another set of prints in the mud.\n\n\"Are these from a dog?\" she asked. There was a catch in her voice and he knew she was thinking of Odin. He was touched by her tenderness. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he glanced at the marks in the earth.\n\n\"No,\" he said, straightening his back, \"these are not from any dog.\"\n\n\"What are they then?\"\n\n\"These are from the paws of wolves.\" He saw her eyes widen. \"Don't be afraid,\" he said. \"They will not bother us.\" But he thought of the deer and the boar that roamed the forest, and pictured the pack of wolves that stalked them. And his mind turned to the men who pursued Ithamar. They were also after him and the girl and now those killers were behind them. As they walked on through the dappled light of that clammy afternoon, Dunston could not shake the feeling that they had become prey to a hunting pack of wolves that slathered and bayed at their heels.\n\nThey saw no other people throughout that long day, and it was plain from his footprints that Ithamar had continued following the path that Smoca had set him upon. They found an area of flattened grass, some crumbs of dark bread and a thin rind from a slice of cheese, where the monk had sat and eaten.\n\nThey were making good progress and Dunston could imagine the monk walking the path before them at a more leisurely pace. His confidence grew that they might be able to close with him even before he reached Tantun.\n\nAnd then, as they were passing a huge oak with a twisted trunk, Dunston held up a hand for Aedwen to halt.\n\n\"What?\" she asked. He hushed her with a sharp hiss and a cutting gesture with his hand.\n\nThe hair on the back of his neck prickled. What had unnerved him? He could hear nothing untoward. He sniffed the air. It was rich with leaf mould and loam, but there was no hint of smoke. He knew not what had unsettled him, but Dunston had lived for too long in the forest not to pay heed to his intuition. Grabbing Aedwen by the arm, he pulled her away from the track and dragged her behind the massive, gnarled bole of the oak.\n\n\"What is it?\" she hissed.\n\nHe did not reply, but held a finger to his lips.\n\nHe strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. The murmur of the wind, high in the leafy canopy. The chatter of magpies someway off. Then the sudden, panicked flapping of a flock of wood pigeons, flying up from their roosts into the cloud-flecked sky.\n\nA heartbeat later, the first of the horsemen rounded the corner on the path. Dunston pushed Aedwen against the rough bark of the oak. He did not risk looking, instead he listened carefully. They came from the east and were leading their horses.\n\n\"Are you sure this is the way?\" one said, his voice tired and irritable.\n\n\"Do you really think he would have lied to me?\" answered another, tone harsh, an edge of cruel laughter tinging his words.\n\nThe first man did not answer. Dunston counted the horses passing until five horsemen had led their mounts past the oak. Dunston stared into Aedwen's eyes and saw terror there. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and his right hand gripped Dea\u00deangenga's haft so tightly that his knuckles ached.\n\nOff to the west, the lead rider called out.\n\n\"The path opens out here. We can ride for a while.\"\n\nSounds of men climbing into saddles. The creak of leather and the jingle of harness. Then the thrum of hoof beats on the soft earth of the track, as the men cantered into the west towards the lowering sun that slanted through the limbs of the forest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Aedwen could not be certain, but she thought she recognised the voice of one of the horsemen as that of Raegnold, the tall man who had taken her to Gytha's house. The man who had stabbed Odin and then attacked them as they were escaping from Briuuetone.\n\nHis voice was muffled and muted, the injury he'd suffered at Dunston's hands evidently making speech difficult. But the sound of his voice had filled her with dread, bringing back the terrible sadness she had felt at seeing Dunston's dog hurt, the bleak terror of witnessing Dunston, the man who had led her safely from the forest, locked up. And, even though she had not heard Raegnold's voice before that evening in Briuuetone, somehow, the sound of it sent her mind reeling back to that morning in the forest when she had lost her father. When she had sprinted blindly into the woods, fleeing from his attackers and his screams.\n\nPerhaps, she wondered, as Dunston led her back to the path, she had heard his voice amongst her father's screams for mercy. Maybe there was something in his tone that her memory was able to latch on to. Whether she had heard him or not all those days ago, there was no doubt now in her mind that he had been there when her father was killed. Her rage at the thought threatened to consume her. Her fear of the man and the rest of Hunfrith's men turned her stomach. Oh, that she were a man! That she could take up a weapon and strike down these monsters who had caused so much misery.\n\nLooking down at the earth, she could easily make out the five sets of horse's hooves and the heavy, booted feet of the five riders who had been walking beside their steeds. Dunston touched her arm and she flinched.\n\n\"They are gone,\" he said. \"They are not aware we are on their trail. They are solely focused on Ithamar.\"\n\n\"What will\u2026\" she had been about to ask what they would do to him when they caught up with the monk, but bit back the question. It was foolish. She knew all too well what lay in store for him if the horsemen ran him to ground. \"What are we to do?\" she asked instead.\n\n\"They are ahead of us now, so we must be wary. But they are travelling quickly, and I doubt they will suspect anyone is following them. Perhaps in their haste they will miss Ithamar. Or maybe he has already reached the priest and delivered his message. If he has, they will be able to do nothing to prevent it. I say we press on.\" He lifted his axe so that the sunlight caught its sharp edge. \"With caution.\"\n\nAedwen took a slow calming breath and nodded. Her hands were shaking, but she grasped the staff Dunston had given her and set off in the wake of the riders.\n\nThey walked on in silence with none of the relaxed companionship they had enjoyed earlier that day. They were wary now, uninterested in the tracks of animals. All they cared about was that they were on the correct path and that they did not stumble upon Hunfrith's men.\n\nThe sun was low, glaring in sudden flashes from between the trees, when Aedwen saw the track. She might not have noticed it, if not for the angle of the sunlight. All that afternoon they had followed the fresh, deep prints of the horses, and there had been no other sign to follow. Any impression Ithamar's light tread might have made in the earth was trampled and obliterated by the passing of the five horsemen.\n\nBut just as they reached the top of a steep incline, where a lightning-shattered elm stood, she saw a strange shadow in the corner of her vision.\n\n\"Dunston,\" she whispered, still afraid to speak out loud, lest the horsemen might hear. She knew it was foolish, as they were surely far away by now, but fear had gripped her since the men had passed them. The old man halted and returned to her. \"Is that Ithamar's print?\" she asked, pointing at the slightest of marks in the mud.\n\nDunston squinted at the ground and then whistled quietly.\n\n\"You will be a better tracker than I soon enough,\" he said with a twisted smile. \"The lowness of the sun has cast a shadow in it. I doubt either one of us would have noticed this at any other time.\" She wondered at that, and thought fleetingly again about the Blessed Virgin and her prayers.\n\n\"Look there,\" Dunston said, pointing at something on the elm. He plucked at the splintered trunk and showed her a thin thread. She took it and held it up to the light. Wool. And it was dark, like a monk's habit.\n\n\"It looks as though our friend left the path here,\" Dunston said, the thrill of the chase colouring his tone with excitement. \"Let us see what he was about.\"\n\nThey followed the monk's tracks to a clearing some way from the path, but still within sight of the lightning-felled tree. Away from the churned mud of the track it was much easier to see where Ithamar had been. The snakeweed that grew thick on the floor of the glade had been crushed by his feet. Most of the leaves had sprung back, but his path was still clear to Aedwen, now that she had trained her eyes to look for any sign of disturbance on the ground.\n\nDunston cast about the clearing.\n\n\"Look, here,\" he said. \"Ithamar did not leave this glade and go further into the forest. He retraced his steps back to the path.\"\n\nAedwen saw the tracks that Dunston was pointing out. She nodded, as she gazed about the clearing absently, unsure what it was she was looking for.\n\n\"Could he have come here to\u2026 you know?\" she asked.\n\n\"To take a piss?\" asked Dunston. \"Or a shit?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot.\n\nDunston circled the clearing, sniffing and scrutinising the ground all around.\n\n\"There is no evidence he did anything here apart from walk about. And then go back to the track.\" He frowned, again moving about the clearing until he stood before a tree. There was nothing remarkable about it, as far as Aedwen could tell, and yet Dunston was staring at it.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked.\n\n\"An oak,\" Dunston replied, with a smirk, and despite herself, Aedwen laughed. Some of the tension ebbed from her. \"He stopped here for a time,\" Dunston said.\n\nShe looked down at the ground, but she could not decipher the slight markings there that told Dunston that Ithamar had paused by this tree. And yet something did call out to her, snagging on her sight the way the unusual shadow had back at the path. Stooping down, she stared at the ground where the oak's roots rose from the earth. There was a large stone there, lichen-covered and almost buried in the loam. But some of the lichen had been scratched from its surface. The bright scrape of bare stone is what had caught her attention.\n\nBending down, she placed her fingers under the edges of the stone and tugged. It was heavy, but it came away from the ground easily. Much more easily than it should have, if it had not been prised from the earth recently.\n\nAedwen set aside the stone and Dunston dipped his hand into the insect-crawling space where the rock had been. He stood, holding something in his hands and turned to Aedwen.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked.\n\nHe showed her. It was a rolled up piece of thin calf's leather. The material had been scraped and stretched until it was smooth and thin enough to be written upon. It was tied up with a cord. Dunston untied it, letting the vellum fall open, exposing line after line of densely crabbed writing, scratched into the skin with the nib of a quill.\n\n\"What does it say?\" asked Aedwen. The priest back in Langtun had taught her the letters that spelt out her name, but that was the sum of her knowledge of writing and reading.\n\nDunston looked back at her, bemused.\n\n\"I know not, child,\" he said. \"I cannot read. I was a warrior in my youth, not a clergyman.\"\n\nFor a moment, they were both silent, gazing at one another. And then, despite the gravity of their situation and the blood-soaked journey they had travelled, they began to laugh. Deep belly-shaking guffaws racked Dunston and he bent over, resting his palms on his knees as he struggled for breath. Aedwen's eyes streamed with tears of mirth and she too found herself gasping for air, such was her merriment.\n\nWhen at last, their laughter subsided, Dunston wiped his face with his hands.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"whatever is written here, I suppose this must be the message that has got so many people killed.\"\n\nHis words were sobering and Aedwen stared at the sheet of vellum and wondered what on earth the words etched there might say.\n\nBut before she could reply to Dunston, a new sound came to them on the late afternoon breeze. All of their good humour was leached from them by the noise. It was a chilling sound that she had heard before. She had hoped never to hear its like again.\n\nFrom the west, through the snarled undergrowth and moss-clad trunks of linden and oak, came the anguished, agonised wails of a man being tortured."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "Dunston's breath rasped in his throat. Crouching behind the broad bole of an ancient oak, he tried to breathe silently, but was all too aware of his wheezing panting.\n\nA howling scream. Loud. Harsh. Terrible. The forest was still all around them, as if it had been shocked into silence by the poor monk's pained cries.\n\nGruff laughter followed the piteous wail. Voices, but the words were muffled by distance and the woodland.\n\nDunston signalled for Aedwen to join him in the lee of the oak. Pale-faced and wide-eyed, she hunkered down beside him. She was trembling, but her mouth was a thin line, jaw set. She was not out of breath.\n\nWith a start, Dunston understood that his own laboured breathing was not from exertion, but from the horror of what he was hearing. The horrific sounds of the dying man's last moments conjured up dark memories. Often the faces of fallen enemies would come to him in his dreams. At such times, he would stoke up the fire in his hut until the flames burnt away the darkness. He would gulp down strong mead until at last he could no longer remember the faces of those he had seen die; no longer recall their screams and pleas for mercy.\n\nBut here, there was no escape from the cacophony of Ithamar's agony.\n\nWith an effort, Dunston slowed his breathing, taking long, drawn out breaths of the warm loamy air. It tasted verdant and full of the life of the forest.\n\nSomeone shouted. This time, the words were clear.\n\n\"Where is it?\"\n\nA pause. A sob. A mumbled answer. Then, another excruciating scream of pain.\n\nDunston wished Aedwen and he had not come closer. They should have run into the forest in the opposite direction, away from these murderers. But Aedwen had grasped his hand and stared up at him, eyes brimming with tears and compassion.\n\n\"We must help him,\" she had said.\n\nAnd so, even though he knew there was nothing they could do for the monk, Dunston had led her through the dense foliage towards the sounds of torture. If only Ithamar had fallen silent in death before they had come so close. Then it would have been an easier matter to lead the girl away. And yet it seemed the man's tormentors had some skill in inflicting pain without causing death. For the monk yet lived, though there was no doubt in Dunston's mind he would join Lytelman, Beornmod and the rest in death as soon as he had given his torturers what they wanted.\n\nThe man he assumed was Ithamar screamed, and then groaned a reply. Louder now, more emphatic.\n\n\"Hidden!\" he said, his voice rising into a shout. \"Hidden, you sons of Satan!\"\n\nHis angry answer was cut off by his renewed screaming, as one of his captors performed some unspeakable act of cruelty on the poor man.\n\nDunston half rose to his feet, hefting Dea\u00deangenga. By Christ's bones, he could stand this no longer. He would creep to where they were torturing the wretched monk and he would slay them all. He could not bear to hear the man suffer further. Aedwen gazed up at him as he stood. Her eyes were bright, her face expectant.\n\n\"Will you rescue him?\" she asked.\n\nIn the distance, the monk's cries had dwindled to sobs and coughing. Harsh laughter echoed in the forest.\n\nSlowly, Dunston lowered himself back down beside the girl. He placed a hand on her shoulder.\n\n\"I cannot,\" he whispered, fearful that any sound they made might be overheard in the preternaturally silent woodland. She open her mouth to reply and he held up a hand to silence her. \"There are too many of them.\" As he said the words he heard the truth in them. There were five of them and he was but one old man. He might be able to kill a couple of the bastards, three with luck and surprise. If he had been alone, he would have taken his chances. It would not be a bad death to die trying to free an innocent monk from five murderers. It would be a death he would be proud of. Eawynn would have been proud of him too, he thought, despite the oath he had made to her long ago.\n\n\"I love that you always seek to defend the weak,\" she had told him once.\n\nBut as he looked at Aedwen's youthful, terrified face, he knew that his path had already been set. He would not rescue the monk. For if he fell in the attempt, what fate then would await Aedwen?\n\n\"Who else knew of the message?\" came the sudden, furious shout from one of the torturers. \"Who knew?\"\n\n\"Nobody! Only the peddler\u2026\" Ithamar's words trailed off and were lost for a time. And then, with vehemence he cried out. \"Forgive me, oh Lord, for speaking to the man, for his death is on my hands!\"\n\n\"We cannot leave him at the mercy of these people,\" hissed Aedwen. Tears streamed down her face now, but she seemed oblivious to them. \"We cannot.\"\n\nWhen Dunston made no move to stand, Aedwen started to rise. He gripped her arm and yanked her down to the ground again. He longed to be able to act, to save the poor monk, but it would be folly.\n\n\"We must,\" he whispered. \"We should never have come here. But now we know enough. We must take the message to someone able to read it.\"\n\nAedwen's expression changed from anguish to anger in a flash. She tried to shake off his grasp, but he was too strong.\n\n\"Let me go,\" she hissed, more loudly now. \"We have to do something even if you are too craven!\"\n\nHer words stung, but he held her firm and would not allow her to move.\n\nFrom the distant site of Ithamar's torment there came a strangely calm voice. After a moment, the words became clear.\n\n\"F\u00e6der ure \u00feu \u00fee eart on heofonum; Si \u00fein nama gehalgod\u2026\"\n\nThe voice must belong to Ithamar, but gone was his crying wail of pain, instead replaced with a tranquillity Dunston could scarcely believe. And he was reciting the prayer to the Lord. The man must have been incredibly strong of will.\n\n\"Stop that!\" came a screeching scream and anger. \"Answer me. Where is the message? Where have you hidden it?\"\n\nBut the Lord's Prayer droned on and Ithamar did not miss a word.\n\n\"\u2026 to becume \u00fein rice, gewur\u00fee \u00f0in willa, on eor\u00f0an swa swa on heofonum.\"\n\nIt seemed the monk was done speaking to the men who had cut and tortured him. He had commended his soul to God and would pray until his demise.\n\nAedwen shuddered in Dunston's grasp. Sobs racked her frame and her face was wet with tears.\n\n\"Coward,\" she cried, her weeping making her voice catch in her throat. \"Coward,\" she repeated and Dunston knew there was nothing he could say that would change her mind.\n\n\"Quiet,\" he hissed, shaking her. \"Would you have us both killed too, foolish girl?\"\n\nHis tone was sharp, and his words cut through her distraught anguish, for she bit back a retort and he could see her forcibly seeking to control her crying.\n\nShe stared into his eyes, unspeaking and unblinking, as they both listened to Ithamar's last moments of life.\n\n\"\u2026 and forgyf us ure gyltas, swa swa we forgyfa\u00f0 urum gyltendum\u2026\"\n\nIthamar continued chanting the words of the prayer, ex-horting God to forgive him as he would those who did him ill. But before he could complete the prayer, his words were cut off.\n\n\"If you will not speak,\" came the coarse voice of Ithamar's tormentor, \"then I will make you sing the song of the blood-eagle. Sing, you bastard. Sing!\"\n\nWhatever savagery was being dealt to Ithamar's body became too much for him to bear then, and he let out a moaning, keening squeal of pure agony.\n\nThis was a man they had known by name only. Hearing his howling cry cut off in a strangled gasp, Dunston knew they would never know the monk in this life. And yet in a short time of hearing him facing his attackers Dunston knew Ithamar was a brave man. He had been defiant till the end and had died as a true, devout follower of God.\n\nAedwen gazed up at him, her face contorted with fear, grief, anger. He shook her again, more gently this time.\n\n\"We must flee,\" he said in a hushed murmur, his mouth close to her ear. \"We cannot have Ithamar's death be for nought.\" He touched the vellum that lay in the bag slung over his shoulder. \"He gave his life for this message, we must carry it now.\"\n\n\"What can we do?\" she said, her voice terribly loud in the stillness of the wood. \"These men are monsters.\"\n\n\"Quiet, Aedwen,\" he whispered. \"They might hear you.\"\n\nAedwen's eyes widened in sudden, abject terror and she pulled back from his grip, as though she thought he might be about to strike her. For a heartbeat, he was confused. Then he followed her gaze. She was no longer looking at him, but over his shoulder. Dunston's skin prickled as he heard a twig snap behind him.\n\n\"Too late,\" said a deep, husky voice. It held an edge of cruel humour. \"One of them has already heard you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Aedwen could not pull her gaze from the man's face. She recognised him as one of those who rode with Hunfrith. He was young, with a wispy beard and cheeks marked with the memory of the pox. But what caught her attention and would not allow her to look away, was the line of dots that ran all the way across his neck, chin, cheek and forehead.\n\nThe points were bright, red and glistening in the last light of the sun that filtered through the forest.\n\nHer stomach lurched as she understood what she was seeing. Blood. Ithamar's lifeblood that must have sprayed up in a spatter of droplets as this man and his companions tortured and murdered him.\n\nAt last, she cast her eyes down, following the blood-splatter down the man's chest. In his right fist he held a long sword. The blade was clean; polished and deadly. The metal of the blade caught the sunlight. It glimmered with the patterns of a serpent's skin or the ripples of waves on the sea.\n\nHe gestured with the blade, twitching it, so that the point lifted.\n\n\"Well, old man,\" he said. \"We've been looking for you and the girl for days. You've led us quite a merry dance.\"\n\nDunston did not reply. He fixed Aedwen with a steady look and gave the slightest of nods. She saw his hand tighten its grip on his great axe. The weapon was hidden from the swordsman's view.\n\n\"Come on, greybeard,\" the man said, stepping closer. \"On your feet.\"\n\nWithout hesitation and with a speed that belied both his age and his bulk, Dunston surged to his feet and spun around in one fluid motion. At the same instant he swung his axe, flinging it at the young man's face. The axe was heavy and sharp and the throw was true. If it had connected it would have surely killed or mortally wounded the man. But the swordsman was fast and stood a few paces distant from Dunston. Moving nimbly to the side, he batted away the spinning axe with the flat of his sword.\n\nBut Dunston had never intended for the axe to slay the man. Using the momentum from turning around and standing, he threw himself forward, pulling Beornmod's seax from the scabbard at his waist.\n\nThe swordsman had not anticipated the old man's speed or his second attack. He was caught off balance, with his sword pointing to one side. Dunston did not slow his advance. He clattered into the slimmer man, knocking him from his feet. They landed heavily. The man grunted. Dunston made no sound as he plunged the seax into the man's guts. The blade came up bloody, droplets of gore flying from the wound. Again he hammered the seax into the man's stomach.\n\nAedwen watched on in amazement as Dunston grasped the man's throat in his meaty left hand. Dunston squeezed and the man's eyes bulged. Fighting for air, he struggled against the old man's grasp. In his panic and agony, he dropped his sword and fumbled at Dunston's wrist. It was like watching someone trying to prise the roots of a tree out of frost-hard ground. Dunston's grip was too strong. His fingers squeezed tighter. Two more times he drove the blood-drenched seax into the man's body.\n\nWith a juddering sigh, the light fled the man's eyes, and he grew limp. Blood bubbled and pumped from the savage rips in his midriff.\n\nDunston let out a long breath and he rose to his feet. Blood now flecked his face and stained his beard.\n\n\"Come, we must be gone from here,\" he hissed. \"Now.\"\n\nHe retrieved his axe and the man's sword. Tugging off the dead man's belt, Dunston quickly fastened it about his own waist. He sheathed the sword, and spun to Aedwen once more.\n\nShe had not moved. She stared at him, eyes wide. She was not breathing. He had killed the man. It was all over so quickly, she could barely take in what she had seen. Her whole body trembled. She felt her gorge rising and feared she would puke.\n\n\"Come,\" he said again. \"There is no time to waste.\" He reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.\n\nShe stared at the hand. It was large; thick fingers and callused palms. And it was covered in the brilliant crimson of the man's hot blood. She could not bear the thought of touching it. It would be warm and sticky, she knew. The scent of it was everywhere in the glade now. Metallic and hot on the back of her tongue.\n\n\"Come on!\" Dunston implored. The sudden sounds of men calling out for their dead companion made Dunston rush forward, reaching for her with his huge hand. \"We must flee!\"\n\nThe sound of the monk's murderers' voices and Dunston's movement broke her moment of inaction. She did not wish to touch his blood-soaked hand, so she pushed herself to her feet.\n\n\"Follow me,\" Dunston said. \"We need to be fast and silent.\"\n\nShe nodded, swallowing back her terror and the bile that burnt her throat.\n\nClose by, on the path, the horsemen were approaching.\n\n\"Osulf,\" they called. \"Where are you?\"\n\nWithout waiting for her to reply, Dunston turned and ran southward, away from the path and deeper into the woods. For an instant, Aedwen glanced down at the dead man. Blood pooled in the gashes in his body. His mouth hung open in shocked silence. His unseeing eyes stared upwards into the canopy of the trees.\n\nThe men on the path were nearer now, their calls more urgent.\n\nLeaving the bloody corpse of the young man behind her, Aedwen rushed into the forest following Dunston into the failing light.\n\nIt would be night soon."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "The night was quiet, the forest hushed, wrapped in the night-time cloak of darkness. Dunston was a shadow within the shadows; his footfalls silent on the leaf litter.\n\nThrough the trees, a campfire flickered, its light brilliant in the near absolute darkness of the forest. Even without the light to guide him, Dunston would have had no difficulty locating the men. They were whispering, their sibilant hisses strident in the stillness of the night. Despite not being able to make out the words, Dunston could hear the anxiety in their tone. The death of their comrade had unnerved them.\n\nHe smiled grimly.\n\nThese men had pursued them for some time as the sun went down. They had shouted and hollered, screaming abuse and threats after them as he had dragged Aedwen through bramble-choked gullies and bracken-thick ditches. There had been no time to cover their tracks or to attempt silence, and so he had decided his only option was to make their path impossible for horses, and difficult for men, to follow.\n\nThorns had scratched and snagged at their clothing. Nettles had stung them. For a time, their hunters had sounded very close behind and Dunston had feared he might need to stand and fight. But night had finally fallen and the forest was plunged into a darkness that reminded him of the depths of the barrow. They had stumbled on for some time, but when they had finally paused for breath, they could no longer hear the men.\n\nAedwen's face had been pallid, her eyes glistening in the gloom. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Awkwardly, he had reached for her, meaning to offer her comfort. The girl must have been terrified after what they had heard and witnessing his killing of the man who had found their hiding place. Aedwen had shied away from his touch and Dunston had been shocked at the strength of emotion her reaction had caused in him. He felt powerless in the face of her sorrow. And her judgement.\n\nHe recognised the fear and revulsion Aedwen felt at seeing what he was capable of. Eawynn too had been terrified of the man he became when going into battle. Before her passing, he had promised her that he would die a peaceful death in their forest home. She had closed her eyes as he'd gripped her emaciated hand. He knew she worried that when she had gone, he would take up his axe and return to the ranks of the warriors who defended Wessex. She'd been scared that the darkness that brooded within him would engulf him, burying the light that had come from their love for each other. As he'd looked down at the once-beautiful face, Dunston had been filled with an all-encompassing feeling of terror. Perhaps if he swore the oath she wanted from him, promising to leave Dea\u00deangenga in the chest where he had hidden it, to never fight again, to not become the killer that frightened her so \u2013 perhaps then she would recover from the sickness that cruelly ate away the flesh from her bones. And so he had babbled pledges of peace to her, as tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into his thick beard.\n\nShe had died the following morning.\n\nBut he had kept his oaths to her. All these long years.\n\nUntil now.\n\nWhen they had recovered from their headlong run through the forest, he had pulled out from his bag a piece of cheese that Smoca had given them and a hunk of the ham they'd taken from Beornmod's hall. They had eaten in silence, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.\n\nNow, with Aedwen secure in the dark sanctuary of the forest, Dunston crept closer towards his enemy's camp, threading his way wraith-like and silent between the ghostly shades of the trees. The men had camped close to the path, and he could make out the silhouettes of their mounts where they had tethered them in a widening of the track.\n\nIt had taken him a long time to make his way back here and he hoped that Aedwen would be all right where he had left her. She should be safe, he told himself. She was wrapped in their cloaks and blankets and covered by a layer of bracken. There could be no fire for them that night, but she would be warm enough. He had given her strict instructions not to move from where he had placed her.\n\nHe had explained what he planned to do, and all the while she had said nothing. But she had grabbed at his sleeve as he'd made to leave. Her touch had brought him up short.\n\n\"Promise me you will return to me,\" she had said then, her voice small, tremulous.\n\n\"I will return,\" he had said, and a chill had run down his spine. He knew he could not make such a promise. He recalled again his oaths to Eawynn. He would break at least one promise in the darkness that night, it seemed. Why then was he heading out into the night? Would it not be safer for them both to rest and then to press on away from the men who pursued them? He had thought much on this as he had stalked through the night and he had convinced himself that this was a sound course of action. If he could weaken the men further, they would be less of a threat to Aedwen. This is what he told himself, but if he was truthful, he did not believe this was his main reason for seeking out their camp.\n\nWhat he had heard of Ithamar's last moments of life had filled him with a terrible rage. He thought about Lytelman's mutilated corpse. The man was just a peddler, a man of no consequence, but he had been Aedwen's father and not a bad man from what she had spoken of him. Then Dunston recalled the butchered inhabitants of Cantmael and the tale of rape and murder told by Nothgyth.\n\nPerhaps it was true that to weaken the force that followed them would prove useful, but more than that, Dunston knew that now, despite his words to Aedwen and his promises to Eawynn, he sought revenge for what these men had done. With their acts of savagery they had awoken something in him he had believed long banished, and the realisation filled him with dismay.\n\nHe wanted to make them pay.\n\nOne of the men coughed and a horse stamped a hoof and snorted. The night air was cool on his cheeks. The flickering firelight and the sounds of the night brought back memories from long ago. For a moment, he could almost have believed he was a young man surrounded by his brother warriors, Guthlaf and the rest. Wulfas Westseaxna, Wolves of Wessex, they had called themselves. Many times they had sneaked up to enemy encampments, as silent as ghosts. He could not count how many men they had slain over the years. Norse, W\u00e9alas, Mercians, Eastseaxna. Wherever their king had sent them, the Wolves would hunt. They had become feared by all of the enemies of Wessex. Some had thought them Nihtgengas, night-walkers, creatures of legend. Others had scoffed at the idea, saying they were but men. But wherever they were mentioned, people would cross themselves, and make the sign to ward off the evil eye, for the Wulfas Westseaxna, just like the hungry wolves in winter, would descend upon their prey and leave only bloody, ripped carcasses behind them.\n\nDunston drew in a deep breath of the forest air, tasting the smoke and the faint coppery tang of blood, whether from the man he had killed, or from Ithamar, or both, he could not tell.\n\nHe was the last of the Wolves now. But this Wolf, grey though its beard might be, still had teeth.\n\nStealthily moving closer to the fire, careful to avoid making any sound to give himself away, Dunston pushed all thoughts of Aedwen, Eawynn and his past out of his mind. The girl would be safe, and if she was not, worrying about her would do him no good. He took a deep breath, offering a silent prayer for Eawynn's forgiveness. He must not be distracted. He was a wolf stalking its quarry and he sensed that the moment to strike would be upon him soon.\n\nHe was very near to the fire now. So close that he could smell the dusty coat of the horses and the leather of the beasts' harness. He stood for a moment, pressed against the trunk of an oak, listening and watching. In his right hand was the familiar weight of Dea\u00deangenga. He had smeared mud from the bank of a stream over its silver-decorated head. He had rubbed more of the dark muck over his face and into his beard. If anyone had looked in his direction, they would have seen nothing but a shaded tree.\n\nFor a long while he stood thus; silently observing the men. Their whispers were loud in the night, but his hearing was not what it once had been and he could not discern their conversations. His right knee was stiff and when he shifted his posture, he was surprised to notice that his right elbow ached. He must have jarred it when stabbing the man, or perhaps when throwing Dea\u00deangenga. But these pains were as nothing to him. He had once fought with a spear jutting from his shoulder and still managed to take down four foe-men. The aches of old age would not slow him enough to blunt this Wolf's bite. This grey Wolf would still kill.\n\nThree men sat close to the blaze. One threw a branch onto the fire and sparks flew high into the night sky before winking out. The sudden flash of light picked out the shape of the fourth man. He was some way off, outside of the fire's glow. He stood closer to the tethered horses and Dunston assumed he was supposed to be guarding them.\n\nDunston bared his teeth and, as silent as thought, drifted towards the guard. He propped Dea\u00deangenga against a wych-elm. And covered the last dozen paces to the unsuspecting man. Dunston was so close that he could smell the man's sweat and the sour stink of ale on his breath. It seemed that this Wolf still knew how to move silently in the night.\n\nClamping a hand over the man's mouth, Dunston plunged his seax into the small of his back. The steel penetrated the man's kidney and he went rigid in Dunston's grasp. He clung to him tightly. The man struggled as Dunston pulled out the seax, then shuddered when he slid the seax blade effortlessly into the man's throat. After a few moments of trembling, he at last grew limp. Dunston lowered the man to the ground and glanced over at the campfire. The three men still sat there, whispering and chuckling over some jest.\n\nDunston made his way to the horses. They stamped and blew at his approach. One whinnied. The smell of fresh blood always spooked horses. The element of surprise would soon be lost, so Dunston flitted quickly between the animals, using the bloody seax to slice through the ropes and reins with which they'd been tied to the trees that lined the path.\n\nOne of the horses, a large black stallion, tried to bite him, its white teeth snapping close to Dunston's face as he pulled back from it. Regaining his balance, he punched the steed hard on the snout and the animal shied away, whinnying angrily.\n\n\"Hey, Eadwig,\" came a voice from the fire, \"what in the name of Christ are you doing?\"\n\nThere was no time for anything more now. Dunston hurried back towards the wych-elm where he had left Dea\u00deangenga. As he passed the jittery horses, he prodded them with the sharp tip of his seax. They reared and kicked and the night was filled with their cries of pain and fear. In an instant, the path was a chaos of furious horseflesh.\n\nOne mare skittered in a circle, blocking Dunston's way. He slapped it hard on the rump, jabbing it with the seax for good measure, and the animal bounded away, galloping eastwards along the path.\n\nThe men from the camp were on their feet now, lending their shouts and calls to the madness that had descended on the small glade. All was confusion and Dunston grinned to himself in the darkness as he snatched up Dea\u00deangenga from where it lay. He watched for a moment as they tried to calm the horses, shouting insults at the man who had been set the task of watching the beasts.\n\nHe listened to them calling to each other in the darkness, as he slid back into the night. He did not worry about making noise now and he hurried away, sure-footed despite the black beneath the forest canopy. He heard their voices raised in fear and alarm as they found their fallen companion, and he grinned despite himself. For too long these men had believed themselves above justice, able to torture and kill as they pleased. And for what? A sheet of vellum that bore Christ knew what message.\n\nTheir voices receded and as he made his way unerringly back to where he had left Aedwen, Dunston was unable to suppress the warm feeling that flowed through him. What would Eawynn have thought of his actions? he wondered. She never understood him or the sheer joy and exhilaration that fighting could bring. But she had understood that sometimes the strong must stand up to defend the weak. And in killing one of their pursuers and scattering their horses, he had evened the odds against Aedwen and him.\n\nThat was so, but as he retraced his steps through the dense undergrowth of the wood towards the girl, there was one thing that troubled him. And he knew that it was this, more than the breaking of any vow, that would truly have upset Eawynn.\n\nIt had felt good to allow the long-sleeping Wolf out of its cage to kill once more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "The forest whispered and murmured around Aedwen in the darkness. From where she lay under the thick blanket of cloaks and bracken she could make out a small patch of sky through the boughs of the great linden tree that spread its limbs above her. The light from the quarter moon silvered the leaves as they waved in the light breeze. Far beyond the tree, in the infinite expanse of the sky, the spray of stars was bright against the deep purple of the night's shroud.\n\nStaring up at the moon, she wondered whether she would see it swallowed up before her eyes, as she had when they had fled from Briuuetone. But its light remained constant and cold in the sky.\n\nAn owl hooted far off. Aedwen half-imagined she heard the plaintive call of a wolf on the wind, but perhaps it was just a dog in a farmstead somewhere nearby. She recalled the prints that Dunston had told her belonged to a wolf and shuddered, despite feeling snug in her hiding place.\n\nSomething rattled and cracked out in the blackness of the woodland and she started, clutching tightly the small knife Dunston had given her. She shook her head. What use would such a weapon be should a wolf come upon her in the darkness? The thought of slavering jaws, full of drool-dripping sharp teeth filled her with terror.\n\nShe tried to push the thoughts away. No wild animal would attack her. No, she thought, it should not be the animals that frightened her. There were worse things in the woods that night.\n\nShe had watched in rapt silence as Dunston had daubed mud over his shiny axe and rubbed the mire on his face and beard. She knew he had once been a warrior, and she had watched him fight at Briuuetone, but now she had seen the true nature of the man. He had killed without thought, and then, painting his face so that he seemed more beast than man, he had slunk off into the night to kill again.\n\nThe sounds of Ithamar's torture had ripped at her soul, terrified her. After witnessing the aftermath of these men's tortures in Cantmael, she could well imagine what they had been doing to the monk.\n\nWhen she had finally found the courage to ask Dunston what he meant to do, he had turned to her and she was sure there had been a savage gleam of hunger in his eyes.\n\n\"I am going to even the odds,\" he had said.\n\nHe had promised to return, but as she lay there in the darkness, she trembled to think of him coming back for her drenched in blood and stinking of death.\n\nShe tried to push such thoughts from her mind. It was unfair of her, she knew. He had shown her nothing but kindness and he was risking his life for her. And yet there had been something in his gaze since he had slain the man that unnerved her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "She awoke, surprised that she had slept at all. She was more shocked to find that the grey tinge of dawn illuminated the clearing. The clouds that drifted high in the sky above the linden were painted pink by the rising sun.\n\nA rustling movement made her reach for her knife.\n\n\"Hush, Aedwen,\" said Dunston. \"It is I. Here, drink some water.\" He handed her a flask. \"We must be away from this place.\"\n\nGone was the blood and mud from his face and hands. He must have scrubbed himself clean in one of the many streams that trickled through the woods. His kirtle was stained. She chose not to wonder what substance had made the dark marks on the wool.\n\nShoving into her hand a piece of the hard cheese the charcoal burners had given them, Dunston rose and busied himself picking up their few belongings. She watched him as she chewed on the smoky cheese. He was moving with none of the grace and fluidity she had seen when he had faced their enemy. He grimaced as he bent to pick up his bag, pushing his hands into the small of his back and groaning as he straightened. With the grime and blood removed from his face his skin appeared sallow, his eyes bruised and tired. She could scarcely believe she had been so fearful of this old man.\n\nShe swallowed the cheese and drank the water. He turned to her as she sat up and his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the dawn. For a heartbeat she could not breathe under the force of that cold glare. She rose, mumbling that she needed to relieve herself. He did not move, merely nodding.\n\n\"Hurry,\" he said, his voice rasping like a blade drawn along a whetstone.\n\nNo, she had not imagined the savage fire that had consumed Dunston the night before.\n\nWhen she returned, she had made up her mind about him. Dunston frightened her, but he had treated her well and she could think of nobody she would rather have at her side as they fled from Hunfrith's murderous men.\n\n\"How did you do? In the night?\" she asked.\n\n\"Well enough,\" he replied, heading into the dense forest. She could not be certain, but she believed they were heading away from the path that led towards Tantun.\n\n\"Did you\u2026\" she hesitated. \"Did you kill any of them?\"\n\n\"One more,\" he answered without pause, as if slaying a man meant nothing to him. \"And I dispersed their horses. It should take them a while to be after us. If we keep off the roads and paths I doubt they will find us.\"\n\n\"Did you sleep at all?\" she asked.\n\n\"I closed my eyes for a few moments. I will sleep when we reach Exanceaster.\"\n\nShe had been right; they were heading south. She felt a flush of pride at keeping her sense of direction despite the rush in the darkness through the trees and foliage.\n\n\"Exanceaster?\" she said. \"Why should we go there?\" She had never been to the place, but knew it to be the seat of power of Defnascire.\n\nDunston paused at the foot of a steep rise, peering upward into the dawn dark. The earth beneath the slope was boggy and clogged with sweet gale. A thin mist hung there, like webs of forgotten dreams. Evidently having made up his mind as to the best way to ascend, Dunston set off up the incline, using the slender trunks of birch saplings to pull himself up.\n\n\"Whatever is written on the vellum,\" he said, his breath ragged from the exertion of the climb, \"it is something worth killing for.\" His foot slipped in the leaf mould and he cursed under his breath, catching hold of a sapling and hauling himself up. When he reached the summit, he turned and reached out his hand to her. She gripped it without hesitation and he pulled her slim form up to him easily.\n\n\"What do you mean to do with the message in Exanceaster? Tantun is closer and there would be priests and monks there who could read it.\"\n\n\"That is true, but those bastards know that Ithamar was heading to Tantun, and maybe they will believe we mean to carry it in the same direction. Besides, we must see that it gets into the hands of someone not only able to read, but also to see justice done.\"\n\nThey pushed on through a more sparsely forested area of sallow and elder. Aedwen welcomed the sense of openness, of air between the widely spaced trunks. To her left, the rising sun shone its rays deep under the leafy forest roof. She turned to the east, revelling in the warmth of the day on her face.\n\n\"You seek the king's reeve then?\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" said Dunston. He let out a sigh and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. \"I seek the king.\"\n\n\"The king?\" she blurted out, unable to hide her incredulity. \"Even if we could get to speak to him, why would he listen to us?\" The thought of even seeing the king of Wessex seemed like madness to her. She glanced at Dunston, to see whether he was jesting. Perhaps this was his misguided way of trying to lift her spirits.\n\n\"He wouldn't listen to you,\" he said, raising an eyebrow. \"But by God, he'll listen to me.\"\n\nHe picked up his pace and for a moment she looked at him, her head full of questions. She wanted to call after him, to ask him how he could be so sure that the king would grant him an audience. But as she opened her mouth to shout, the thought of the horsemen on their trail came to her. Her voice would carry far in the quiet dawn, cutting through the chorus of birdsong and leading their enemies to them, if they were near. She clamped her mouth shut and ran after Dunston."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "They made good progress as they trudged southward. Dunston had for a time contemplated setting snares and traps for their pursuers to stumble upon. He could rig traps that would injure them with sharpened stakes and sprung branches whipping forward when triggered by a clumsy footfall. But he quickly dismissed the idea as a waste of effort. To fashion such traps would take time and there was no way of knowing whether the men who followed would encounter them. He had seen nothing that made him believe they knew how to track them through the forest. And, encumbered by their valuable mounts, which would impede their progress through the foliage, he believed they would more than likely head to the main north\u2013south road.\n\nFor a long while, Aedwen had walked beside him in silence. Whenever he glanced at her he saw her face set in a determined mask. Something had changed between them, he knew, but he could do nothing to alter that. He thought of Eawynn and how she had always said he was a better man than others saw.\n\n\"They see the great warrior,\" she had said. \"I see the true man who hides behind his axe and fearsome face.\"\n\nHe smiled to himself at the memory.\n\n\"Fearsome am I?\" he'd laughed, grabbing hold of her. She'd squirmed, pliant curves soft under his firm grip.\n\nGiggling, she had kissed him.\n\n\"I do not see what frightens others,\" she'd said. \"I only see my lovely bear of a man.\"\n\nAs always when he thought of Eawynn, the memory of her stirred and warmed him, but all too soon, the bitterness of her loss returned and he frowned.\n\nAedwen had seen in him what others had always seen. The warrior. The killer. The Wolf. He wondered whether the girl would ever believe that there was another side to his nature that only Eawynn had been able to coax from him.\n\n\"Do you think they are close behind us?\" Aedwen asked, breaking the silence between them and bringing him back to the present.\n\nThey had walked for a long while. Dunston looked up at the sky that was visible between the limbs of the trees. The clouds had thickened and the warmth that the day had promised with the dawn had fled, replaced with a greying light and the scent of rain.\n\n\"They might be,\" he replied, \"but I do not believe so. They won't be able to bring their horses this deep into the woods and they will not wish to leave them.\" He paused, listening to the sounds of the forest. There was no indication they were being followed. \"No. I think they will have gone on towards Tantun, or at least the road that leads from Exanceaster to Bathum.\"\n\n\"If they have not followed us into the forest, how can they think to catch us?\" she asked, hope of escape colouring her tone.\n\n\"They might send men along the road in both directions, hoping to hear news of our passing or to spy us when we leave the woodland.\" He set off once again, wincing at the constant ache in his knee. It hurt more when he was still, but all the same, he longed to sit and stretch out before a fire. Not much chance of that any time soon. Aedwen trotted along beside him, her youthful energy bringing the hint of a wistful smirk to his lips. By God, he missed being young.\n\n\"Won't they head towards Tantun?\" she asked.\n\n\"They may well do that. But I think that they will soon fathom out that we have gone south and there is only one reasonable destination for us in this direction. After all, they must know we either have the message or know of it, so we need to take it somewhere. Knowledge is useless if it is not shared.\"\n\n\"And so we just plan to walk to Exanceaster and pray for the best?\"\n\nHe shrugged.\n\n\"I would rather trust to our wits than rely on God to see us safe. We should head south of the town until we reach the River Exe. Then we can follow the river back to the walls of Exanceaster. In that way, with a bit of luck, we can avoid any prying eyes on the road.\"\n\nThey walked on for a time, following the course of a small river until it widened into a broad expanse of water. Aedwen held her oaken staff as if she had been born with it in her hand and Dunston smiled as he watched her halt for a moment to casually inspect the tracks of an animal in the mud beside the lake. Days ago she would not have noticed the small marks. She turned to him, eyes bright and inquisitive.\n\n\"What are these tracks?\"\n\n\"Look about you,\" he answered. \"What animal do you think might have made them?\"\n\nShe gazed around her, forgetting about the men pursuing them, focusing solely on the matter at hand. Dunston lowered himself down, leaning his back against the trunk of a sallow. He turned his head this way and that, grunting as his neck popped. They needed to rest for a while and this place was as good as any. He pulled the ham and cheese from his bag, cutting off a slice and watching Aedwen as she thought.\n\nShe knelt on the earth and inspected the tracks carefully and methodically, before looking back at him.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said. \"I've never seen anything like this before. It looks as though a creature has dragged something behind it through the mud.\"\n\nHe grinned and took a drink from his leather flask.\n\n\"And so it has.\"\n\n\"But what?\" she asked, confused.\n\n\"Animals do not only leave their prints in the earth,\" he said. \"Look about you and take the time to really see. Think carefully and you will find the answer.\"\n\nShe got up and went close to the pool. A dense tangle of spearwort grew at its edge, the yellow flowers bright against the green of the leaves.\n\n\"Careful not to touch that plant,\" he called. \"It will cause your skin to blister.\"\n\nMoving warily past the flowering spearwort, Aedwen looked about her.\n\nA large alder had fallen and its leafy boughs trailed into the still waters. Dunston broke the last of the smoked cheese into two pieces and ate his half. He was enjoying watching the girl discover the truth for herself. She moved to the toppled tree and touched the bright, fresh wood where its trunk had been split. Then she gazed out at the water, at last taking in that which Dunston had seen immediately.\n\nShe turned, pointing to a mound of branches that rose from the water.\n\n\"Is that where it lives?\" she asked. Her face glowed with childish excitement.\n\n\"It is,\" he said, returning her smile. \"So what left the tracks?\"\n\n\"It is a beaver,\" she said. \"The thing it is dragging behind is its tail.\"\n\nWhen he nodded, she clapped her hands with delight.\n\nAfter they had eaten, they continued on, leaving the beaver's dam and lodge behind them. Aedwen had been pleased with herself and Dunston had revelled in her simple pleasure. But their spirits were soon dampened when the rain that had been threatening to fall all morning finally began to waft down from the sky in a light, yet soaking drizzle. For a time, the tree cover kept them dry, but soon, the water trickled down to drench them. All about them the forest was dank, gloomy and wet. The birds that had filled the morning with song and cheer fell quiet and the only sound was that of the rain, pattering and dripping from leaf and limb. Where there were patches of open ground, the earth squelched underfoot.\n\nThere was still no sign they were being followed, but their conversation of that morning nagged at Dunston. They had followed the course of the river for a time, but now they had left it behind. Dunston pointed to a hill in the distance.\n\n\"Let us take a look at the land about from up there,\" he said, wiping the rain from his eyebrows and forehead.\n\nThe hill was bare, save for a stand of yew on its crown. If he judged rightly, the Bathum to Exanceaster road would lie someway off to the west.\n\n\"If we approach the rise from the east and head to the trees,\" he said, \"we should get a good view of the road and the land to the north. Careful now, let us not be out in the open for too long.\"\n\nIt was steeper than it had looked and they both slipped and slid on the wet grass. All the while he worried that they might be seen. He felt exposed and began to question his decision to climb up here. Too late for that now. There was nothing for it but to press on. As they got higher and could see the rain-swept wooded hills of Somers\u00e6te rolling away to the north, he was relieved to see no movement.\n\nTheir clothes were sodden by the time they reached the shelter of the trees. After the exposed slopes of the hill, it felt almost warm beneath the branches.\n\n\"We will rest here awhile,\" he said, panting from the struggle up the hill.\n\nThey settled down under an old yew, beside the twisted skeletal remnants of a dead juniper bush. Old, brown needles crunched beneath them. They were wonderfully dry and it was good to be out of the rain even if only for a short time.\n\nBelow them, they could make out the unnatural straight line of the road, a shadow like a spear haft plunged through the undulating verdant curves of the forest. They sipped at the water from their flasks and watched, each silent and anxious. As if to speak would somehow give away their presence on the hill.\n\nThin trails of mist formed over parts of the woodland, like wisps of lamb's wool caught on thorns. Dunston drew in a deep breath, finally allowing himself to relax. He was rummaging in his bag, looking for the last of the ham, when Aedwen touched his arm. He followed her pointing finger. Far in the distance, where the road ran between two steep-sided hills, a great flock of birds was flapping into the misty sky, pale against the dark of the rain-slick leaves of the wood. His eyes were not as good as they had once been, but he thought the flock was a mixture of wood pigeons and doves.\n\nAs he watched, he noticed that the air was clearer now, making it easier to pick out details from afar. The rain had stopped and the wet land shone in a sudden blaze of golden afternoon light.\n\nA croaking cry split the silence of the hill as half a dozen crows flapped into the sky from where they had been roosting on the branches of the yew trees.\n\nCursing silently, Dunston peered up and saw that the clouds had parted, sending brilliant sunlight down upon the trees and hills of Wessex. A flash of silver, as bright and flickering as distant lightning, drew his gaze back down to the road. He squinted.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked.\n\nFor a moment, Aedwen did not speak.\n\n\"I'm not sure how many,\" she replied at last, \"but there are at least two horsemen down there on the road. The sun caught their horses' harness, I think.\"\n\nDunston spat.\n\n\"Riding south?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Aedwen said without hesitation.\n\nBy Christ's bones, he should not have brought them up here. He reached for her arm and pulled her back into the shade beneath the trees.\n\n\"Come, we must leave this place.\"\n\nHe led her through the copse, and then they proceeded to slip and slide down the southern slope, putting the hill between them and the riders on the road.\n\n\"You think they saw us?\" she asked, her breath coming in ragged gasps.\n\n\"I do not know,\" he said. But he could not believe anyone could have missed the black-feathered crows that had taken to the wing above their vantage point. He hoped they were more foolish than he thought, but they would not have to be woodsmen to understand that something or someone had disturbed the birds from the trees.\n\nHe glanced at Aedwen and could see from the set of her jaw that she was thinking the same thing. She did not protest when he urged them into a trotting run southward, away from the hill and back under the canopy of the forest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "They ran into the humid shade of the trees. They were both out of breath, but Dunston did not slow until they were deep within the woods once more, sheltered from the hill and the road by dense thickets of hazel and hawthorns. They pressed on. When Aedwen tried to speak with him, Dunston merely grunted. She wanted to say that it had not been his fault. He could not have known the men would ride into view at that moment, or that the crows would take wing, giving away their position. But after a time she kept quiet. Her words would not change how he felt. He was tense and irritable and clearly angry at himself for leading them up to the hilltop.\n\nAnd so they walked in silence, and soon her sweat mingled with the damp from the rain as she struggled to keep up with him.\n\nSuch was the pace he set that soon her legs were burning and a blister on her left heel had burst, stabbing her with a jolt of pain at every step. She was on the verge of asking Dunston for a rest when he held up his hand, signalling her to be silent. He dropped into a crouch. She copied him, her aches and pains forgotten momentarily.\n\nFor a long while they remained thus, hunkered down on their haunches. She was about to ask him what was happening, but one glower from his blue eyes and she snapped her mouth shut.\n\nA moment later, a skinny, dirt-smeared man stepped into the clearing. Aedwen had not heard him approach until the instant before he walked into sight. How Dunston knew he was coming, she had no idea.\n\nOver his shoulder, the man carried a brace of pigeons and a plump hare. He held a bow in his hand, and a sheaf of white goose feather fletched arrows were thrust into his belt.\n\nDunston stepped from their hiding place. The man started, dropping the game to the leaf mould and snatching an arrow from his belt.\n\nBefore he nocked the arrow, Dunston stepped close.\n\n\"You'll not be needing that,\" he said, his voice deep and rumbling like far-off thunder. The man's eyes were wide and shining in the forest shadows, but Dunston moved back a pace, placing his axe on the ground. \"I mean you no harm.\"\n\nFor a moment, Aedwen thought the man might run, but then he seemed to relax. Glancing past Dunston, he grinned at her, his teeth bright and surprisingly whole in his weathered and begrimed face.\n\nDunston asked him whether he had seen anyone else in the forest.\n\n\"Not since I left home yesterday morn,\" the man said, flicking his attention back to Dunston. \"Not a soul. The only folk I ever see in these woods are wolf-heads.\" He looked at them askance then, and Dunston fixed him with his icy stare.\n\n\"Wolf-heads, you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, but not today. Nobody today. Just the animals and me.\"\n\n\"And you have not seen us,\" said Dunston.\n\nThe man swallowed.\n\n\"Well, I have now,\" he stammered.\n\nDunston bent down and lifted his huge, besilvered axe. He swung it to rest upon his shoulder where the blade caught a ray of sunlight that lanced through the trees.\n\n\"You have not seen us,\" he repeated, his words slow and pointed.\n\nThe hunter's throat bobbed. He could not pull his gaze from the massive head of the long hafted axe. At last, he nodded.\n\n\"I haven't seen you.\"\n\nDunston waved his hand and the hunter snatched up the pigeons and the hare and hurried on, his shadow stretching out before him as he headed towards his home somewhere to the east.\n\nWhen the man had disappeared and they could no longer hear his footfalls, Dunston strode off into the forest once more. Aedwen stumbled after him, her blistered foot squelching and rubbing with raw agony. She longed to be able to halt, to pull off her shoes, perhaps to bathe her feet in a cool stream. And yet she remained silent, not wishing to further anger Dunston.\n\nThe meeting with the hunter had done nothing to quell his nerves.\n\nThey walked along a barely perceptible path that had been made by some woodland creature. For a moment she paused, trying to discern what creatures' passing had worn this trail, but Dunston did not slow. Fearing she would be left behind, she abandoned her search for sign and limped after him. The track led south and east and Dunston seemed content to follow it as the sun fell. The shadows grew darker and colder, the light that filtered through the boles of the trees golden and blinding. The sun would soon set and they would be plunged into darkness. Aedwen shuddered. Her foot screamed in silent anguish.\n\n\"We should make camp soon,\" she offered.\n\nDunston ignored her. His pace did not falter. Aedwen did not like the thought of spending another night in the forest with no fire. She hurried after him, wincing and hobbling on her bleeding foot.\n\n\"Did you hear me?\" she asked, raising her voice. \"We should make\u2014\"\n\nDunston spun to face her, raising his hand. For the merest instant she thought he meant to strike her, such was the anger in his eyes. She flinched. Dunston's features softened and he pulled her in close and whispered.\n\n\"We cannot halt here. We are being stalked. Keep your eyes open and,\" he shook her shoulder, staring directly into her eyes, \"no matter what happens, do exactly as I say.\"\n\nWithout waiting for an answer, he turned and continued along the path. She rushed after him, panicked thoughts tumbling in her mind. What did he mean? Who was stalking them? She had seen nobody.\n\nThey walked on without speaking. With every tree they passed, Aedwen found herself peering into the shadows, staring into tangles of brambles. They passed a holly tree, its leaves glistening in the sunset. A breeze shook the branches as the travellers drew near and Aedwen jumped back, certain that an unseen assailant was about to leap upon them from the mass of spiny leaves. Nobody sprang out of the undergrowth and Dunston did not slow. With her breath ragged from the exertion and the building fear, Aedwen ran after him.\n\nWhen the men who hunted them finally showed themselves, they did not come crashing out of the foliage, but seemed to materialise from the shadows, like wraiths. The sun must have still been just above the horizon, but here, deep within the forest, little of its light penetrated. Without warning, Dunston halted and Aedwen almost collided with his broad back. Her eyes widened and panic rose in her throat as she saw three men had stepped into the glade before them. Glancing behind, she spotted the shadowy forms of three more.\n\nHer breath came in short gasps and the blood pounded in her ears. How had their pursuers managed to follow them here, into the darkest part of the forest? Her stomach twisted as she thought what the men would do to them both. They would be furious at the old man. He had killed two of their own. And these men had tortured and slain for much less. Would they rip Dunston's lungs from his back? She trembled. Would they torture her too? Her mouth was dry and she felt faint.\n\n\"I told you before,\" said Dunston, \"you do not need your bow.\"\n\nThe central man before them stepped into the failing light and she immediately realised her mistake. These were not the horsemen who had killed her father, raped and murdered the people of Cantmael and tortured to death the monk, Ithamar. The man confronting Dunston was the thin hunter. Relief flooded through her. They were safe. They would not be tortured and killed. The dirt-streaked hunter grinned at her with his unusually white teeth. There was something feral and disquieting in that smile. In his hands he held his bow, an arrow on the string. The wicked point of the hunting arrow was aimed squarely at Dunston's chest. As quickly as the relief had come, so it was washed away on a fresh tide of fear. There was no welcome in this man's eyes, only the wild hunger of a man who has nothing to lose.\n\n\"I suppose it is not surprising that you said you only saw wolf-heads in the forest,\" said Dunston, \"as you are a wulfesh\u00e9afod yourself.\"\n\n\"You know nothing of me, or my friends of the greenwood,\" snarled the hunter.\n\n\"Well, that is not so, is it?\" asked Dunston, taking a step towards the men who blocked their path.\n\n\"What do you mean, old man? You do not know me.\"\n\nDunston nodded and took another pace forward.\n\n\"I do not know your name, but I know much about you.\"\n\nThe archer raised his bow, pulling back on the string so that the yew wood creaked.\n\n\"Not another step,\" he hissed. Dunston halted. Swinging his axe down from where it rested on his shoulder, he grasped it in both hands, holding it across his body. The dying light of the sun made the silver threads in the blade glow in the gloaming.\n\n\"What is it that you think you know?\" asked the archer.\n\n\"Why, I know that you are a wolf-head. Outside the law. I could kill you as I would a wolf and nobody would seek to take me to a moot. There would be no weregild to pay. Your life has no price.\"\n\n\"You know nothing of what I have done,\" said the archer, a cunning gleam in his eye. \"Being a wulfesh\u00e9afod is a curse, but it is a blade that cuts both ways. My life has no worth to freemen or reeves, so I have nothing to lose. I could slay you where you stand, old man.\"\n\n\"You could try,\" growled Dunston, raising his great axe menacingly. \"Do you truly believe your puny arrow could slay me before I could bury Dea\u00deangenga here in your skull?\"\n\nAedwen could scarcely believe Dunston's words. Terror gripped her in its icy fist. She could barely move and yet Dunston seemed not only unafraid of these men, he appeared to be goading them into a fight. As she watched, she saw the bowman's gaze flit to the weapon in Dunston's massive hands and she realised she was not the only one frightened. Glancing past Dunston, the leather-faced wolf-head met her eyes for a heartbeat. Gone was the quick smile of before.\n\n\"Drop your axe,\" said the archer, \"or we shall see just how deadly my arrows are.\" He tensed the string once more, the arrowhead aiming unerringly at Dunston's heart.\n\nDunston did not move.\n\n\"I will say this only once, boy,\" he said, his voice low and rasping. \"Walk away now. Lead your friends away back to wherever you call home. If you threaten me or the girl again, you will regret it.\" He paused, glowering under his grey brows, his blue eyes flashing like chips of ice. \"But not for long.\"\n\n\"Why not let them go, Str\u00e6lbora?\" said the man to the archer's left. Younger than the bowman, he was just as dishevelled, with the gaunt, wary look of a stray dog about him. \"They have nothing of worth. They are probably fleeing from tithe-men. Perhaps they are being followed. It will be just our luck to have them bring the reeve down onto us.\"\n\n\"Silence, Wynstan,\" snapped the archer. \"That axe of his is worth something. And when was the last time the camp had a young girl? That is worth more than a little.\"\n\nWynstan looked at Aedwen and licked his lips. She shuddered. She was sure this was how the hare must have felt before the man's arrow pierced its flesh.\n\n\"Drop the axe,\" repeated Str\u00e6lbora, his tone harsh.\n\nDunston's shoulders slumped and with a sigh, he let the huge weapon fall to the loam at his feet.\n\nWith a smile of triumph, Str\u00e6lbora said, \"Wynstan, fetch that axe.\"\n\nAfter a moment's hesitation, Wynstan scurried forward. Dunston stood, head down as if in defeat. Aedwen wanted to scream. These men would surely kill him and after that\u2026 She could not bear to think of what would become of her.\n\nWynstan bent quickly to lift the axe, clearly meaning to hurry back to Str\u00e6lbora's side. But in the instant when he took his eyes from Dunston to retrieve the weapon, the grey-bearded warrior pounced. If she had not witnessed it with her own eyes, Aedwen would never have believed one so old could move with such speed. Like a striking serpent, Dunston's right hand lashed out and grabbed Wynstan by the neck of his grimy kirtle. Surging forward and stooping, he gripped the man's groin with his left hand. Wynstan let out a pitiful yelp.\n\nFor a heartbeat, nobody seemed able to move. Apart from Dunston. He hoisted Wynstan off the ground at the same moment that the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed sang out in the shadowed glade. The arrow thudded into flesh and for a terrible instant Aedwen believed Dunston had been struck. And yet it was Wynstan who howled in pain. Str\u00e6lbora had let fly his arrow into his friend's back, and now, using the man's body as a shield, Dunston surged forward. He did not attempt to pick up his axe, instead he ran towards Str\u00e6lbora, holding Wynstan as if he weighed little more than a child.\n\nSuddenly, the clearing was filled with chaos. Men yelled and shouted. Somebody grabbed Aedwen roughly from behind, a strong arm encircled her chest and the stench of stale sweat and woodsmoke enveloped her.\n\nDespite the horror that threatened to overwhelm her, Aedwen could not tear her gaze away from Dunston. He flung Wynstan's injured body at Str\u00e6lbora. The archer was trying to free another arrow from his belt, and Wynstan clattered into him, sending him reeling backwards. Both men collapsed in a heap on the forest floor. Dunston did not slow his advance, instead speeding into the man who had been standing to Str\u00e6lbora's right. The man had pulled a rusty knife, but Dunston seemed unperturbed by the blade. Catching the man's wrist in his left hand, he thundered a right hook into his jaw. The man fell to the ground as if dead. Perhaps he was, Aedwen thought, such was the power behind that punch.\n\n\"Halt!\" shouted the man who held Aedwen. As if to reinforce his command, he shook her and pressed a cold blade against her throat. Aedwen felt her strength leaving her. She could barely breathe. Her legs trembled and she feared she might fall. \"I'll kill her!\" yelled the man, his voice hoarse and ugly. His warm breath, sour and stale, wafted against her cheek. His left hand was clamped over her chest. His touch made her want to squirm away, but even if she could have summoned the courage to move, his wiry strength would have held her firm.\n\nDunston showed no sign of hearing the man's threats. He did not turn or falter, instead he flung himself onto Wynstan and Str\u00e6lbora. Wynstan screamed as the arrow was pushed further into his body before snapping from the pressure of Dunston's bulk. Str\u00e6lbora was pinned beneath his injured comrade.\n\n\"You whoreson!\" he bellowed, trying in vain to pull himself out from under Wynstan's stricken form and Dunston's considerable weight. \"I will cut your eyes out and piss in your skull! I will cut off your manhood and\u2014\"\n\nDunston hammered a punch into his face, silencing him. Str\u00e6lbora's head snapped back against the loam, his eyes vacant and unfocused. His mouth opened and closed like a beached trout, but no sound came. Dunston looked down at him for a moment, before thundering another blow into his nose. Blood blossomed, bubbling and flowing into Str\u00e6lbora's dirty beard. His eyes rolled back and he lay still.\n\nWith a sigh, Dunston shoved himself up from the earth and the tangled forms of the wolf-heads. He rose to his feet with a grimace and turned to Aedwen and the three remaining outlaws.\n\nAs if remembering his role in this confrontation, the man who held her tightened his grip. The knife pressed against her throat and she gasped.\n\n\"I'll kill her,\" he said. Did she hear an edge of panic in his tone now?\n\nDunston ignored the man. He moved to his axe and lifted it from the earth.\n\n\"I will!\" shouted the man, desperation in his voice now. Aedwen readied herself for the pain of the cut. How quickly would she die? She had seen plenty of pigs killed with their throats slit and they didn't seem to suffer for long after their initial squealing terror. Without being aware of what she was doing, she began to recite the prayer to Maria, Mother of God.\n\n\"If you harm her,\" said Dunston, his voice as cold and menacing as the huge axe in his grasp, \"it will be the last thing you do on this earth. Even if you think you could kill me, I promise you I will take you with me. Death holds no fear for me. What about you, boy? Do you truly wish to stand before God in judgement of your sins before this day is out?\"\n\nBehind Dunston, Wynstan whimpered and panted.\n\nFor a long, drawn out moment, nobody spoke. Aedwen was aware of the man who held her wavering. She could almost hear his thoughts as he looked at the grey-bearded axe man and his three incapacitated companions sprawled on the forest floor. Could the three wolf-heads who remained standing defeat the old warrior? Was the prize worth the risk?\n\nDunston did not move. His cool eyes were unblinking as he glowered at the wolf-head. There was no doubt in Aedwen's mind that this was no idle threat. Dunston was prepared to kill them all, even if he died in the battle.\n\nThe tight grasp around her chest loosened. The wolf-head, it seemed, had decided to release her. Aedwen let out a ragged breath. Without warning, the blade was removed from her throat and the man pushed her away with such force that she stumbled and fell.\n\n\"Kill him!\" he screamed.\n\nThe three wolf-heads surged forward, and Dunston widened his stance, swinging his war axe up to meet their attack.\n\nAedwen watched in horror from where she lay on the damp leaf mould. Death was in the late afternoon air and all that remained to be seen was who would survive. Surely Dunston could not hope to stand before the three outlaws and live.\n\nThe instant before the men met, a new voice rang out in the clearing.\n\n\"Halt! Put up your weapons!\" the voice bellowed. It was loud and clear and carried the power of command in its tone. Aedwen could not see who it was who spoke. The voice came from the shadows beneath the trees.\n\nThe wolf-heads evidently recognised the voice, for they responded by stepping back and lowering their blades. Dunston did not step after them, instead he lowered his axe and peered into the gloom of the forest, a quizzical expression on his face.\n\n\"Aculf?\" he asked, his tone incredulous. \"Is that you?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "\"Time has caught up with you, I see,\" said Aculf. He sat across the fire from Dunston, the flames lighting his face with a ruddy glow. It was full dark now, the forest black, the grey boles of the trees surrounding the camp crowding about the gathered band of wolf-heads.\n\nDunston offered a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes.\n\n\"Time is the hunter that always catches its prey,\" he said.\n\nBeside him Aedwen leaned against his shoulder. The eyes of the outlaws glimmered in the gloom. All of the men were dirty and thin, with skin ravaged by the weather and years of living outside. Off to one side, Str\u00e6lbora glowered at him. Huddled around the archer were the rest of the men Dunston had fought. Aculf, who had always been skilled with the ways of healing, had removed the arrow from Wynstan's back and now the injured man lay in a feverish doze. He had cried out like a child when Aculf had drawn the arrow point from his flesh, but despite the man's complaints, Aculf said he would more than likely live.\n\nStr\u00e6lbora's nose was broken, his eyes dark-ringed and bruised. The other man Dunston had punched had lost one of the few teeth he had left. The five of them did not cease to glare at Dunston and Aedwen, and he wondered whether he would be able to sleep that night.\n\n\"You may be old, but you are still as strong as an ox,\" said Aculf with a grin. \"I cannot imagine any other man lifting Wynstan the way you did.\"\n\nDunston grunted. He did not feel strong. His back ached terribly and the pain in his elbow was worse than ever. You are not young any more, he rebuked himself after the fight. Lifting Wynstan was foolish. The moment he pulled him from his feet, Dunston had regretted it. His back screamed with the effort, but what else could he have done? He would not stand by while they raped Aedwen. You should have just killed them, a small, dark voice whispered deep within him. Perhaps he should have. They were outlaws, men who had lost their place in society. Why not simply strike them down with Dea\u00deangenga? It would have been faster and the chances were that if he had killed a couple, the others would have run. And yet he recalled slaying the man by the horses in the night, and how the thrill of the kill had coursed through him. He had made a solemn promise to Eawynn, he did not wish to forsake that vow. He had clung onto it for too long. He did not wish to admit to himself that he would resort to killing so effortlessly, as if the promise had never been made. Or that it meant nothing to him.\n\nLooking over the fire at Aculf, Dunston felt his world shift about him. For a moment it was as if he had stepped back into his past. So easily had he returned to a life he'd believed gone forever, and now, to add to his discomfort and unease, ghosts were returning to the land of the living.\n\nAculf was thinner than he remembered him, his forehead bore a long scar Dunston did not recall, and his beard was dusted with frost, but the power of the man's character still shone in his dark eyes.\n\n\"I thought you long dead,\" said Dunston.\n\n\"I have come close,\" replied Aculf. \"And now,\" he waved a hand to encompass their surroundings and the couple of dozen wolf-heads that were dotted about the clearing, \"I am as good as dead to all but those outside of the law.\"\n\n\"What happened?\" asked Dunston, accepting a leather flask from one of the other men sitting nearby. He took a tentative sip and was surprised to discover it was mead. Good sweet mead. He filled his mouth and passed the skin to Aedwen who took a small gulp, grimaced and handed it back, shaking her head.\n\n\"What always happens,\" said Aculf. The shadows from the flames danced and writhed about his features. His eyes were black in the darkness. \"Bad luck. War. And the accursed Norsemen.\"\n\nDunston took another mouthful of the mead, feeling his body relax and the warmth of the liquid sliding into his tired and aching limbs. Handing the flask back to the wolf-head with a nod of thanks, Dunston waited for Aculf to continue.\n\nAedwen moved to rest her head in his lap. Her eyes were closed. She was exhausted. Aculf had given his word that no ill would befall either of them in the camp that night, but did Dunston truly know him? It must have been close to a score of years since he had last seen the man. They had been brothers in the Wulfas Westseaxna then. They had stood shoulder to shoulder in the shieldwall and they had walked together into the darkest of nights where the only certainty was death. Dunston remembered Aculf as a formidable swordsman and a man of honour. To find him here, outcast and living amongst brigands in the forest, filled him with pity. He snorted. Was he too not a wulfesh\u00e9afod? Who was he to judge this man he had long ago considered to be his friend? He would have trusted his life to Aculf once, he at least owed him the benefit of hearing his story.\n\n\"How is your woman?\" Aculf asked. \"Eawynn, isn't it?\"\n\nDunston sighed. He did not wish to speak of Eawynn; of his loss. His expression must have been answer enough, for Aculf held up a hand. \"I am sorry, my friend. How many children?\"\n\nDunston shook his head.\n\n\"We were not so blessed.\"\n\nAculf raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the sleeping girl.\n\n\"I thought she was yours.\" He gave a twisted smirk. \"Or your granddaughter, perhaps.\"\n\nDunston shook his head.\n\n\"She is not my kin, but I will not let any harm come to her.\"\n\nAculf nodded.\n\n\"You were always a good man,\" he said.\n\nDunston frowned, thinking of all the men he had killed. Had all of those men deserved death?\n\nAculf picked up a stick and prodded the embers of the fire.\n\n\"We had three, Inga and me,\" he said. \"Two girls and a boy.\" His voice had taken on a distant, haunted tone. He poked at the fire and sparks drifted into the darkness. \"All gone now.\"\n\n\"It is a terrible thing to lose loved ones.\"\n\nAculf sighed and threw another log onto the fire in a spray of embers and winking motes.\n\n\"I found my boy and Inga,\" Aculf said. \"They had fought as best they could.\" He stared into the fire for a moment, his mind walking along the shadowed paths of memories. \"I should have been there. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had been.\"\n\nDunston did not know the full tale of what had befallen Aculf's family, but he knew the folly and pain of such thoughts.\n\n\"You cannot change the past, old friend,\" he said, his voice barely a whisper. \"To rake over those old coals will only cause you pain.\"\n\n\"You sound like Guthlaf,\" said Aculf. \"He would always tell me how to think.\"\n\n\"I meant no harm.\"\n\n\"I know it. The pain is there whether you speak of it or not. I will never be rid of it, I fear.\"\n\nDunston said nothing.\n\nAculf sniffed, then reached out for the flask of mead.\n\n\"I never found my daughters,\" he said. He took a long draught from the skin and wiped his mouth with his hand. \"I wonder if they are still alive somewhere. In Denemearc or \u00cdraland. Perhaps they married strong Norsemen.\"\n\nDunston watched his old friend, but said nothing.\n\nAs if his memories had been held within a cask that had now been split, allowing its contents to pour forth, so Aculf's tale rushed out then. He spoke in a soft, distant voice of how he had been chopping timber in the woodland near Cernemude, the village where he had settled with his family, when he had seen smoke rising above the settlement. He had sprinted back through the trees, leading the other young men who had been with him. All of them desperate, all terrified of what they would find when they reached their homes. The Norsemen had left nothing behind except corpses and burning buildings.\n\nHe was not the only man bereaved that day. But the other men had not been of the Wulfas Westseaxna. They had wept and buried their dead and slowly rebuilt their homes and lives as best they could. Not Aculf. He had been filled with an all-consuming rage and a feeling of such helplessness that he had not been able to remain there, living the life of a farmer where all that remained for him were the memories of his dead wife and son and the daughters who had been snatched and borne away on the sleek sea-dragons of the Vikingr.\n\n\"We had become soft,\" said Aculf, his voice beginning to slur from the mead. \"It had been years since the Norsemen had raided the coast. But when the Frankish ships stopped sailing the Narrow Sea, it was only a matter of time before the bastard Vikingrs returned. It was my bad luck that some of them spied Cernemude from the sea.\"\n\nDunston watched him through the flickering flames. He could hear the despair in Aculf's words. He recognised the feeling of impotence he felt at losing his family. For a man used to fighting, to cutting his way through the obstacles before him, it was a terrible thing to be powerless to protect those you loved. Dunston had sat and watched as sickness consumed Eawynn. The memories plagued him and he recalled the anger that had filled him after her death. But where should he direct his ire? At God? At the disease that had destroyed his beautiful wife? Such thoughts were foolish. Aculf knew there was an enemy responsible for his pain. He would never have been able to return to a life of peace while those men still lived.\n\nAculf continued with his tale and Dunston noted that many of the wolf-heads had fallen quiet, listening intently, their eyes glimmering in the dark as they watched their leader speak. He wondered whether this was a story he seldom told. Perhaps they had never heard it before. But now that he had started, he did not appear inclined to stop.\n\nUnable to rest, and filled with the burning need for vengeance and the desperate hope of finding his daughters, Aculf joined the crew of a ship bound for \u00cdraland. When they were attacked by a band of Norsemen aboard a dragon-prowed wave-steed, he had revelled in the fight, cutting them down and screaming the names of his daughters at them. But none of them knew of the attack on Cernemude, so they had been killed and thrown overboard. It was after that first trip that he began to realise that the men he travelled with were no better than the Vikingr he hated. They would set upon smaller vessels, killing the occupants and stealing their cargo.\n\n\"I was a fool,\" Aculf whispered. \"I thought I could find my girls and bring them back. In the end, I knew I would never find them.\" He spat into the embers of the fire. \"If I did, they would not recognise the man I had become.\" He sighed and took another drink of mead. He could not meet Dunston's gaze. \"I left the ship, but on land I fared little better. Soon I had to come here, into the forest. Any reeve in the land would see me hanged for what I have done, so this is my life now.\"\n\nDunston stared at him for a long time.\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\nAculf shook his head and waved his hand, dismissing the question.\n\n\"Bad luck,\" he said. \"And not always just for me.\" He met Dunston's gaze for a moment and his meaning was clear. \"I do not wish to speak of it any further. I am here, and this is my family now.\" A murmur came from the listeners. Str\u00e6lbora and his knot of friends glowered at Dunston. \"Now, Dunston, you must tell us how it is you have come to spend the night in our humble encampment.\"\n\nDunston sighed. He reached out and someone handed him the mead. He took a mouthful. Swallowing the liquid slowly, he pondered how much to tell. He cleared his throat, unable to think of a good reason not to tell Aculf everything. They were at his mercy after all. Dunston might have been able to kill three more in the fight that afternoon, but he could not hope to stand against two dozen.\n\nAnd so he told them the whole story, leaving nothing out. At the mention of how Lytelman had been killed, Aculf glanced over at Str\u00e6lbora, but it wasn't until Dunston described finding Beornmod's blood-eagled corpse and then how they had heard Ithamar tortured in the same way, that Aculf spoke.\n\n\"This sounds like the work of Bealowin, don't you think, Str\u00e6lbora?\"\n\n\"You know him?\" asked Dunston.\n\nStr\u00e6lbora nodded, still scowling at Dunston.\n\n\"An evil whoreson,\" he said.\n\n\"With a taste for torture and inflicting pain,\" said Aculf. \"You know the type.\"\n\nDunston nodded. Every group of fighting men attracted those who enjoyed the act of killing. Some such men became monsters, worse than any warrior they would have to face in battle.\n\n\"Bealowin travelled with us for a time,\" Aculf said. \"I never knew his story, he would not speak of it. But his love for the ritual of the blood-eagle was unholy. Unnatural.\" Aculf stared into the flames and seemed to suppress a shudder. \"We are wolf-heads, not animals. There are things even we will not abide.\"\n\n\"You turned him out?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Aculf said, smiling. \"I can be quite persuasive, you know? I thought he would have got himself killed years ago, but if he yet lives, he is as deadly as a snake.\" He traced a finger along the puckered scar that ran across his forehead. \"If you meet him, perhaps you could repay him for this.\"\n\nDunston thought of all the suffering the man had inflicted.\n\n\"He owes many for what he has done. I will collect the blood-price for what he did to you and much more besides.\"\n\nAculf stared at him for a moment and then laughed.\n\n\"I believe you will at that!\" He chuckled. \"This is Dunston the Bold, men! And he is even more persuasive than me!\"\n\nThey spoke little of anything of import as the fire died down to embers. They reminisced over past battles and escapades and, despite their situation, Dunston found himself enjoying Aculf's company. It had been so many years and it was good to speak to one who had shared much of his youthful days of strength and battle-fame. Their mood seemed infectious, and soon, even Str\u00e6lbora was smiling.\n\nAs the thin archer laid out his blanket on the ground, preparing for sleep, Dunston called out to him.\n\n\"There is no bad blood between us?\"\n\nStr\u00e6lbora's face was dark in the ember glow. His eyes glinted and then his white teeth shone as he grinned.\n\n\"Very well, axe man,\" he said. \"You can sleep easy.\"\n\n\"Good,\" replied Dunston. \"I would hate to have to kill you before I break my fast.\"\n\nSome of the men laughed.\n\n\"You have my word that no harm will befall you in my camp,\" slurred Aculf. \"If any one of you touches him or the girl, and Dunston does not kill you, I will. Understand?\" A rumble of assent. Dunston ached and was tired beyond anything he had felt for years. He hoped Aculf held sway over these outlaws, for he was sure they could slit his throat without him even waking.\n\nWrapping himself in his blanket, close to the fire and beside Aedwen's slumbering form, Dunston could feel sleep descending on him quickly.\n\n\"You seek the king tomorrow then?\" asked Aculf, dragging Dunston from the welcoming embrace of sleep.\n\n\"I do,\" he replied, propping himself up on his right elbow and instantly regretting it, as it stabbed with pain. \"I hope he will remember me and know what to do about all of this.\"\n\n\"Ecgberht will remember you, Dunston. Of that there is no doubt. We will see you safely to the edge of the forest. From there, it is a short walk to Exanceaster.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" Dunston said, lying back.\n\n\"You have done no wrong,\" whispered Aculf in the darkness. \"Perhaps old Ecgberht might pardon you.\"\n\nDunston had not thought so far ahead. He just wished to deliver the message and Aedwen safely to Exanceaster.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he said, his voice softened by approaching sleep.\n\n\"Give me your word you will not speak of me,\" hissed Aculf, his whispering voice tinged with urgency. \"Of us, here.\"\n\n\"Speak of you?\" answered Dunston, confused with drink and tiredness. \"In what way?\"\n\n\"I know you could track a mouse across the forest. You could lead them to us.\"\n\n\"I would not do that. You have aided us. You are my friend.\"\n\n\"We were friends, weren't we? Long ago, in a different life.\"\n\n\"We each only have one life, Aculf. Perhaps I could speak of how you have helped us. The king would remember your service.\" A thought came to him. \"He might pardon you.\"\n\n\"No!\" hissed Aculf. \"Promise me you will not speak to him of me. I would that he remembers me as the great warrior I once was.\"\n\nDunston sighed in the darkness, wondering what atrocities Aculf had committed in his past. But he knew he would not ask. He too would prefer to remember him as he had once been, full of power and honour.\n\n\"You have my word,\" he said.\n\nAculf said no more and soon the sounds of snoring and the soft whispers of the forest pulled Dunston into a deep and dreamless sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "\"Look at that,\" said Aedwen, awe in her voice.\n\nThe River Exe was a wide thread of silver before them. Wherries and cogs dotted the water as fishermen and merchants plied their trades. To either side of the river were broad flat meadows of lush grass and summer flowers. Butterflies and insects fluttered and droned in the air. Nearer the water, the muddy banks were festooned with birds. Dunlins, sandpipers and redshanks dipped their slender bills into the dark muck in search of food. In the distance, to the northwest of their position, reared the walls of Exanceaster. They were crumbling in places, having been built many centuries ago by the long-vanished Romans, but the city was still an imposing sight to behold. And yet this was not what had excited Aedwen so. The sky above Exanceaster was a muddle of grey clouds, still heavy with rain, and before that drab backdrop, in a brilliant display of God's power, there arced a perfect rainbow. It reached high into the sky with one end seeming to touch the ground within the city's walls.\n\nDunston paused for a moment, but seemed unimpressed by the spectacle. He took the opportunity to scan the horizon for sign of any of their pursuers. Across the river, on the hills that rose there, sheep and goats grazed the slopes. All appeared calm. Aedwen sighed.\n\n\"It must be a sign that God is watching over us,\" Aedwen said, gazing raptly at the rainbow. It was so beautiful. After all the ugliness of these last days, it almost hurt to look at it. Her eyes prickled with tears and the vision of the vibrant colours swam.\n\nDunston grunted, he pressed on, walking determinedly along the meadow, the wet grasses soaking his leg bindings.\n\nThey had started the day dry. The rain had held off for much of the night and after her initial fear of the wolf-heads, Dunston's presence, the warmth from the outlaws' fire, and the drone of voices as the men spoke had lulled her to sleep. She had thought she would never be able to rest, with the hungry gaze of Str\u00e6lbora and the others on her, but to her surprise sleep had found her quickly enough. As she had closed her eyes, her head resting on Dunston's thigh, Aedwen had begun to feel less frightened of what the future might hold. The rumble of his voice soothed her nerves. The way he had fought the wolf-heads filled her with awe. Dunston still frightened her, but she knew he would do anything, even risk his own life, to protect her.\n\nShe had awoken with a sense of wellbeing she had not felt for days. But that was as nothing when compared to the rapturous feeling she had now, looking upon the colourful arch of light in the sky.\n\nAedwen hurried to keep up with Dunston. She knew that he was nervous, more so now that they had left the cover of the forest and their destination was so close. The outlaws had led them to the river and then, with the briefest of farewells, they had vanished back into the gloom of the forest, like so much smoke.\n\nFear still scratched its fingers along her back and neck when she thought of the men who chased them, but she could not believe that the rainbow was not a good omen.\n\n\"The tale of Noah is my favourite story,\" she said. \"Father Osbern told it often and he told it well.\"\n\nDunston said nothing.\n\n\"I always liked to think of all those animals in that great ship,\" she said. \"I would picture the horses, cows, dogs, cats, chickens and such, but Osbern also spoke of other creatures. Lions and camels and other things I can't recall. Do you know what they look like?\"\n\nDunston shook his head.\n\n\"I've never seen a lion or a camel,\" he answered gruffly.\n\nThey walked on. The clouds had once again drifted over the sun and the land was suddenly darker and cooler. Aedwen shivered.\n\n\"You know what the best part of the story is?\" she asked.\n\nAgain, Dunston shook his head. His attention was elsewhere, and he reminded her of a sheepdog watching the land about its flock for wolves.\n\n\"It's when God placed a rainbow in the sky and promised never to send another great flood to kill His people.\"\n\n\"There are many other ways to die,\" Dunston said, his tone flat.\n\nShe did not know what to say to that. The old man had grown morose and looked more tired than ever.\n\n\"You know what the Norse call the rainbow?\" he asked.\n\nNow it was her turn to shake her head.\n\n\"I spoke to a captured raider once,\" he said. \"I don't remember his name now.\" He snorted derisively at his bad memory. \"How can I not remember his name? Anyway, it is no matter. Most of the Norse we captured shouted and spat at us until they were beaten senseless. This one, a great red-bearded giant of a man, was talkative. He'd sailed from Dyfelin with two shiploads of Vikingrs. They made the mistake of landing at Tweoxneam.\"\n\nHe fell silent for a moment, clearly remembering the events of years past.\n\n\"Mistake?\" she said.\n\n\"Well, Tweoxneam is a rich port, with a wealthy church, so it was a good place to attack. But what the red-bearded bastard and his crews didn't know is that the king was there with his hearth warriors to celebrate the wedding of the son of Tweoxneam's ealdorman. Bad luck for the Norsemen. Good luck for the king.\"\n\n\"Or perhaps God helped the Christian king of Wessex to defend the land against the heathen.\"\n\nDunston gave her a strange look that she could not interpret.\n\n\"We met them on the beach, shieldwall to shieldwall.\" He grimaced at the memory. \"It was a bloody business.\"\n\n\"You were in the shieldwall?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I was there all right. Got this scar on that beach.\" He pulled back the stained sleeve of his kirtle to show a long, thin white line running down the corded muscle of his right forearm. \"It bled like a stuck pig,\" he said. \"Looked worse than it was really. It stung like the Devil himself though. Funny that I can remember that so clearly but still cannot recall the name of that Norseman.\"\n\nHe scratched at his head, as if that might help him to remember. They were covering the ground leading to Exanceaster more quickly than she had expected. After the days of threading around trees, brambles and bushes, to walk in the open, with the wind and sun on her face, was a relief.\n\n\"Was Aculf there too?\"\n\nDunston shook his head.\n\n\"No, he had left us before that.\" He paused, turning to face her. \"When we reach Exanceaster, you are not to mention Aculf or the others. I gave my word.\" As if he needed to explain himself, he added, \"We were friends, once.\"\n\nShe nodded, uncertain of what had been said in the night; what bonds connected the two old warriors.\n\n\"You have my word too,\" she said. Whatever Aculf had done to see him cast out from the law, he had helped them and he was a friend to Dunston. She thought he probably didn't have many. He held her gaze for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, he continued walking through the long wet grass.\n\n\"Tell me of the Vikingr and the rainbow,\" she said.\n\nDunston looked up at the colourful arch of light against the rain-laden clouds, adjusting his huge axe on his shoulder.\n\n\"We drank ale together the night after that battle, that red-bearded warrior and I. As the sun went down, there was a rainbow over the Narrow Sea and he told me that his people called it Bifr\u00f6st.\" Dunston let out a guffaw. \"By God, I can remember that! What was the man's name? I should remember. Ah, it will come to me, I'm sure. I haven't thought of him for years. He said that Bifr\u00f6st was the bridge that led to the afterlife, or to the kingdom of their gods, or some such nonsense.\"\n\nThey walked on, and Aedwen noted that Dunston had grown grim once more.\n\n\"He said that seeing the bridge was an omen that he would die and that his spirit would depart and travel to the feasting hall of the gods.\"\n\n\"What happened to him?\"\n\nDunston sighed.\n\n\"The following morning, the king came to where we held the captives.\" Dunston stared up at the sky.\n\n\"What did the king do to the Vikingrs?\" she asked, unsure whether she truly wished to hear the answer.\n\n\"He ordered them all hanged.\" Dunston spat. \"They begged to be allowed to hold a weapon as they were killed. They said otherwise they would not go to the feasting hall of Valhalla.\"\n\n\"Did the king allow them their request?\"\n\nDunston glanced at her.\n\n\"No,\" he said.\n\nShe pondered what he had told her as they continued across the meadow.\n\nThe men the king had ordered to be killed had attacked Wessex, had sailed intent on murder and theft. Was it not right they should be hanged? And yet she could sense Dunston's sadness at the memory of the death of the red-bearded Norseman and his Vikingr crews.\n\nThe rainbow had gone now, vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She watched Dunston stomping across the meadow, his great axe on his shoulder and his beard bristling from his jutting jaw. He looked more marauding Norseman than Christian. She would never look upon a rainbow with unbridled happiness again.\n\nIn the distance, a flock of green plovers burst from the grassland, filling the sky with flapping and squawking cries.\n\nDunston halted, raising his hand to shade his eyes, peering to see what had disturbed the birds.\n\nAnd then, beneath the angry screeches of the birds, she heard something deep and resonant, like a far off peel of thunder. But this thunder did not dissipate, it grew until it was a thrumming rumble. She could feel it in her feet. The earth was shaking.\n\nDunston grabbed her shoulder.\n\n\"Run!\" he shouted.\n\nShe could not make sense of what was happening. And then, in an instant of crashing terror, she saw what was making the thunderous roar. From beneath the swarming birds in flight came a line of some ten horsemen. Her eyes were young and keen and she picked out the glint of buckles on the mounts' bridles, the shine of sword blades slicing through the air. They came at a gallop and great clods of soft earth flew up behind them as they trampled the flowers and grass of the meadow. In an instant she recognised Raegnold, his sharp face mottled and swollen from where Dunston's axe had smashed into his jaw. At the sight of him she knew these men had only one purpose: to slay them; to silence them before they could deliver the message and its secrets to Exanceaster.\n\nDunston was shaking her, pointing away from the river. A copse of alder stood a spear's throw away.\n\n\"Run!\" he repeated, thrusting his bag into her hands and shoving her towards the trees. \"Climb a tree. I will fight these bastards.\"\n\n\"But\u2026 they are so many.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" he bellowed and the strength of his voice alone spurred her into action. \"Do as I say, or it has all been for nought.\"\n\nShe sprinted towards the trees, not looking back until she was in the shade beneath them. Her blood roared in her ears. As she ran she slung Dunston's bag over her shoulder. When she reached the trees, she leapt for the first low branch she saw and swung herself up. She could not carry her staff, so she let it fall. She still had the knife at her belt though. She prayed the horsemen did not have bows, and climbed as fast as she could, scrambling higher and higher. Her hands were raw and cut from scrabbling at the rough bark. Lichen and moss stained her pale soft skin.\n\nWhen she was more than two men's height above the ground, she looked back at the meadow. She stifled a scream at what she saw.\n\nThe wall of horsemen were almost upon Dunston. They had not slowed and they bore down on him with weapons raised. Some carried spears, others swords, two wielded axes. The men screamed and shouted.\n\nBefore them, alone in the meadow, damp grass hiding his feet, stood Dunston. As immobile and resolute as a rock awaiting the incoming tide. His legs were set apart and in his strong hands he held Dea\u00deangenga. How could one old man stand before so many mounted warriors? It was folly. But what else could he do?\n\nShe offered up a prayer to the Blessed Virgin.\n\n\"Mother of God, please protect him,\" she implored.\n\nAnd then the riders were upon him with bone-crunching force and Aedwen's tears prevented her from seeing clearly any more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Dunston felt no fear as the riders charged towards him. There were too many of them for him to defeat alone, of that he had no doubt and he felt a pang of terrible sadness as he thought what they would do to Aedwen once they had finished with him. Hefting Dea\u00deangenga before him, he rolled his head, causing his neck to pop and crack. He would make them pay dearly for his life. Perhaps she would find a way to escape if he could hold them long enough. He knew that the idea was foolish, but he clung to it. He could not think of what might befall the girl. All he could do now was to kill as many of these bastards as he was able.\n\nGlowering at the horsemen as they galloped towards him, he was filled with rage. Fury at his failure to protect Aedwen. Ire at the atrocities these men had performed on innocents. And anger at having to break his oath.\n\nThey were nearly upon him now, and he had already chosen the man he would kill first. A broad-shouldered man with blue cloak and a long, deadly spear. The spears were the most dangerous weapons in that first pass, so he would slay the largest spearman first.\n\n\"I am sorry, my love,\" he whispered, wondering whether Eawynn's shade could hear him. Well, they would be together soon. \"I know that I promised, but I must break my oath to you once more, for it seems I will die fighting.\"\n\nHe thought she would have understood. What else could he do? He had to try and defend the girl. Surely that is what Eawynn had seen in him all those years before; what set him apart from other killers of men.\n\nThere was no more time for thinking. The thunder of the horses' hooves enveloped him. He stared into the eyes of the beast that carried his first target. It was a roan stallion, muscled and strong, but this was no warhorse. Its eyes were white-rimmed with terror as its rider urged it forward. The men screamed abuse at Dunston, but he ignored them all. There was nothing now save for the stallion and its rider. The man's spear dipped towards Dunston. In a heartbeat he would be skewered on the sharp steel point of the weapon. But in the last instant, he stepped to the right and raised Dea\u00deangenga high. The spear whistled harmlessly past his face, and the rider was powerless to adjust his aim. Even if he had been fast enough to do so, the horse's head and neck were in the way.\n\nWith a great roar that caused the horse beside the spearman to shy away from the axeman, Dunston swung Dea\u00deangenga in a great downward arc. Its silver-threaded head bit deeply into the roan's neck, splattering gore in the summer air. The animal let out a pitiful scream and collapsed, turning over itself in a flail of legs, hooves and mud. The rider was thrown.\n\nBut Dunston did not pause to see how the spearman tumbled into the long grass. Instead, he used the momentum from his great axe's swing to spin around and, crouching to avoid any strikes from the horsemen, he swung Dea\u00deangenga low. With a sickening splintering, and a jarring force that almost knocked the axe from his hands, Dea\u00deangenga's blade hacked into a second horse's forelegs. Bones shattered and the beast added its cries to those of the first animal. It ran on awkwardly for several paces, before toppling forward into the earth. Its rider leapt from the saddle, landing badly and sprawling on the ground.\n\nThe remainder of the horses rushed past, with no blow coming near Dunston.\n\nIn the time it took the horsemen to wheel their steeds around, Dunston ran past the first dying horse. The spearman was rising, half-dazed, from the long grass. Dunston's axe hammered into his neck. Blood fountained and the man fell back, to lie almost hidden from view in the meadow.\n\nThe second rider fared momentarily better. He clambered to his feet, sword in hand and advanced on Dunston. Perhaps he expected to be able to take the older man easily, while Dunston fought his comrade, but the axeman spun to face him a heartbeat later. Bright gore dripped from Dea\u00deangenga, and the man hesitated.\n\nDunston did not.\n\n\"Now you die, boy,\" he hissed and he sprang at his assailant.\n\nThe young warrior raised his sword, but Dunston batted it away with his axe before burying the blade into his opponent's chest. The young man collapsed to his knees and his eyes filled with tears. His face took on a look Dunston had seen countless times before: a dreadful mixture of despair and disbelief at how quickly death had come when moments before life had pumped hot and vibrant in his veins.\n\nDunston tugged his axe, but it was held fast between the man's ribs. The man keened. Wrenching harder, Dea\u00deangenga made an obscene sucking sound as it came free. Dunston kicked the man over and turned to face the rest of his attackers.\n\nThe riders had regained control of their mounts and were gathering for another charge now. But Dunston did not wait for them to come. He sprinted towards them, giving them no time to gain any momentum. Several of the riders' horses turned away, refusing to attack. Perhaps they were frightened by the screaming man rushing towards them, or maybe from the smell of fresh blood in the air. Dunston cared not, all he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep killing. To give them a moment to organise themselves would spell his doom.\n\nThree of the men managed to spur their mounts forward. Dunston ran straight towards them. Only one, the man on his right, had a spear, the other two brandished swords. They built up speed, but they only reached a fast trot before Dunston was upon them. He laughed, filled with the glee of blood-letting, all thought of his broken oath now forgotten. The Wolf was no longer the hunted. This is what he had been born to do.\n\nFeinting towards the spearman, Dunston swerved to the left, making it impossible for the man to bring the spear to bear without fear of striking his companions or their horses.\n\nOne of the swordsmen swiped at him, but Dunston dodged the blade easily. Reaching for the man with his left hand, he grabbed hold of his kirtle and hauled him from the saddle. The man's left foot caught in the stirrup and he was pulled away from Dunston. The horse, scared and confused by the unusual burden, bucked and shied, dragging the man away from the fight.\n\nThe second swordsman was evidently an accomplished rider, for he spun his mount around and aimed a strike at Dunston's neck. Dunston caught the sword's blade on Dea\u00deangenga's iron bit. The two weapons clanged together and Dunston half-expected the sword's blade to shatter. But despite the terrible blow against the axe's head, the sword was well-forged. Its patterned blade sang from the impact, but it did not break.\n\nThe man's steed reared, pawing the air with its hooves. Dunston jumped back and was surprised to see his assailant sliding from the saddle. He smacked his mount on the rump and the horse bounded away, happy to be distanced from the battling men.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" called a heavy-set man on a splendid grey mare. He was richly dressed in fine linen and wool. A garnet-studded clasp held his cerulean cloak and a golden chain hung at his throat. He was older than the rest of the men and Dunston took him for their leader and clearly a man of worth. Dunston did not recognise him.\n\nThe dismounted warrior however was known to him. The man had been with Hunfrith at Briuuetone. It was impossible not to recall those ridiculous red breeches. The man swung his sword before him and grinned, his teeth white in his swarthy face and black beard.\n\n\"Just kill him and be done with it, Bealowin,\" shouted the leader. \"We cannot tarry here. We are too close to Exanceaster.\"\n\nSo this was Bealowin. The torturer. The defiler. The murderer.\n\nThe swordsman was stepping lightly through the long grass and Dunston circled to follow his movement, unwilling to take his eyes off him for even a moment.\n\n\"I will slay him soon enough, lord,\" Bealowin said. \"But this bastard has taken too many of my men. His life is mine. You would not deny me vengeance, would you?\" He smirked at Dunston then, as if they were both party to some secret jest. The leader of the men was silent.\n\nFrom the edge of his vision, Dunston could still make out the lord and the clump of horsemen gathered about him. He would have to hope that the man who had been pulled along by his stirrup had been dragged too far away to pose a threat.\n\nDunston took in a deep breath and swung Dea\u00deangenga in a wide arc, flexing the bunched muscles of his shoulders. Droplets of blood, as brilliant and red as the garnets in the lord's brooch, sprayed up in the sunlight. Sweat trickled down Dunston's forehead and stung his left eye.\n\n\"Feeling your age, Dunston the Old?\" sneered Bealowin.\n\n\"At least I have grown old, boy. Just like Aculf. We both yet live. You must ask yourself how that is so.\"\n\nIf the mention of the wolf-head registered, Bealowin did not show it on his face. Without warning, he leapt forward and lashed out with his sword. He was fast and Dunston was barely able to step back from the attack. He felt the wind from the passing blade on his face. He recovered quickly. Taking advantage of Bealowin's lunge, he swiped across the man's chest. Bealowin's speed and agility saved him, and he danced away from Dunston, giggling.\n\n\"You are so slow,\" he chortled. \"Just like Aculf. How you managed to kill so many of my men, I will never know. They say you were once one of the fabled Wolves of Wessex, but I cannot believe it. You are so very old now.\"\n\nDunston was out of breath, but willed himself to appear calm and poised. He could feel the sweat running in rivulets down his back.\n\n\"You will find out soon enough how easily I can kill,\" he said. \"I am Dunston the Bold. Son of Wilnoth. I am yet a Wolf of Wessex, boy. And I will take your life.\"\n\n\"God,\" said Bealowin, stifling his laughter with difficulty, \"how I wish I could have more time with you, old man. Your bleating amuses me. I would have liked to make you sing a merry song beneath the blood-eagle.\"\n\nDunston said nothing. The time for words was over.\n\nThis was the man who had performed the atrocious acts of butchery on Lytelman, Beornmod and Ithamar. Dunston thought of Nothgyth and the corpses at Cantmael. Who knew how many others Bealowin had tortured or killed? Dunston had met his kind before. Bealowin was one who took pleasure from the pain of others. And Dunston knew something with absolute certainty: Bealowin would die here today. Whatever the cost, Dunston would not allow the man who had inflicted such pain and misery to live.\n\nAs the thought hardened like tempered steel in his mind, Bealowin's expression changed, as if he too had come to the chilling notion that he might die here.\n\nWithout a sound, Bealowin sprang forward once more, slashing and scything his sword in a frenzied attack. It was all Dunston could do to parry and dodge the blows. All the while he was pushed back. Sweat drenched him now. His eyes smarted and his breath came in gasping wheezes. Step after step, Dunston retreated. Dea\u00deangenga was heavy in his grip now, and with each parry he seemed to be growing weaker and slower. Damn Bealowin. He had the one thing that Dunston could never regain: his youth.\n\nA savage swing at his head made Dunston stagger, barely catching the sword's blade on his axe haft. Splinters flew from the rune-carved wood. The watching men let out a ragged cheer. But Dunston saw an opening in Bealowin's defences. The young man had over-stretched, leaving himself open to attack. Shifting his weight, Dunston sliced Dea\u00deangenga towards Bealowin's unprotected midriff.\n\nToo late he saw the gleam of triumph in Bealowin's eyes. Dunston cursed himself for a fool. His mind must be growing as old and slow as his body to have fallen for such a ruse. For, in the instant that the axe swung towards Bealowin, the swordsman, clearly anticipating the attack, parried the blow, and then followed up with a vicious riposte. His sharp patterned blade scored a deep cut along Dunston's arm, following almost exactly the scar that a raiding Norseman had given him all those years before on the beach of Tweoxneam.\n\nDunston staggered back. His sleeve was in tatters and blood welled in the long cut.\n\nBealowin laughed.\n\n\"Finish him now, man,\" shouted the mounted lord.\n\nThe gathered horsemen jeered at Dunston, taunting him. They could see his death looming; imminent.\n\nDunston shook the sweat from his eyes. He could feel his strength sapping from him as the blood pumped from the wound. His arm throbbed with each beat of his heart.\n\n\"Come and finish it then, boy,\" he said to Bealowin. He opened his arms wide, holding Dea\u00deangenga out to the side in his bloody hand. This had to end now, he could not afford to grow any weaker. \"You think you could make me sing? See if you can make me scream like those you tortured, you worm,\" he goaded. \"Is that the only way you can make someone moan with your blade? To tie them up and cut them? Not man enough to make a woman moan with the weapon between your legs?\"\n\nWith a bellow of anger at the old man's insults, Bealowin rushed in, lunging, jabbing, slicing with his blade. Dunston gritted his teeth against the burning pain in his arm and parried and dodged as Bealowin pressed his attack. Dunston's right hand was slick with blood and he could feel his axe slipping in his grasp. This could not go on much longer, and so, grasping the haft in both hands, Dunston smashed Bealowin's sword away and then followed with a powerful downward arc. If it had connected, it would have surely cut Bealowin from the crown of his head to his belly. But the blow did not make contact. Instead, Bealowin stepped back and Dunston's axe bit deeply into the soft earth.\n\nAgain the gleam of victory was in Bealowin's eyes. His foe was unarmed, his great axe embedded in the loam of the meadow. Bealowin roared and sprang at Dunston. He lunged with his deadly blade, meaning to spit the axeman on his sword.\n\nBut Dunston had not survived all these years and countless battles by strength alone. He knew when to bludgeon and batter an opponent, but sometimes guile was the way to win a fight.\n\nDunston released Dea\u00deangenga's haft, leaving the axe buried in the soil, as he had known it would when he'd made the swing, inviting Bealowin to believe him defenceless. Dunston spun, with the speed of a man half his age and Bealowin's sword did not plunge into his guts to deliver a death blow. And yet Dunston did not avoid the sword's bite altogether. The sharp blade ripped open his kirtle. Blood instantly streamed, hot and stinging, from a long slicing cut.\n\nDunston ignored the pain of the cut. It was not a killing wound. He gripped Bealowin's right wrist in his left hand, tugging him forward. At the same moment he pulled Beornmod's seax from the scabbard at his belt and drove it into Bealowin's stomach. He felt the younger man tremble in his grasp and he twisted the blade, pulling it out of the sucking wound and plunging it back into his flesh. Again he stabbed, and again, all the while watching the comprehension dawn in Bealowin's dimming eyes.\n\nThe man's blood gushed over Dunston's hand, mingling with his own that pumped from the wound on his forearm.\n\n\"Aculf sends you greetings,\" whispered Dunston, his face close to Bealowin's. \"And now you understand.\"\n\n\"What?\" the dying man gasped, lost confusion on his face.\n\n\"How I killed your men. Even an old wolf has fangs.\"\n\nBealowin let out a rattling, rasping breath and slumped. Dunston released him and let him fall to the ground.\n\nBlinking away the sweat from his eyes, Dunston turned to face the horsemen. His kirtle was sodden with blood now, his stomach and arm a stinging agony.\n\n\"Who's next?\" he shouted at the gathered men, disappointed that his voice cracked in his throat.\n\n\"What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you all?\" screamed the gold-chained lord. \"He is but one old man!\"\n\nDunston spat. He wished he had some water, but his flask was in the bag he had given to Aedwen.\n\n\"I would find some new men if I were you,\" he said, grinning despite the pain in his arm and stomach. \"These ones are more like lambs than warriors.\"\n\n\"Kill him now!\" yelled the men's leader. Spittle flew from his lips and his horse flinched at its rider's strident voice.\n\nFor a heartbeat, Dunston thought the man was giving the order to the riders around him. But then the thrumming of hooves reached his ears and penetrated through the rushing sound of his blood. The lord was not looking at Dunston, but behind him.\n\nDunston spun to face the new danger that came from his rear.\n\nAll was a blur. The glittering tip of a spear blade flickered towards Dunston. Instinctively, he leaned backward, allowing the steel to pass a hand's breadth from his face. But he was too slow to avoid the charging horse. The spearman who had passed him earlier spurred his steed onward and it hit Dunston with the force of a storm wave buffeting against a cliff.\n\nDunston was thrown into the waving grass. He tumbled over until he lay on his back. For a moment, he could not draw breath. He barely knew what had happened. The sky above him was grey. Was it growing darker? Sounds of a horse and a man shouting, muffled, as if from a great distance.\n\nWith a huge effort, Dunston finally sucked in a deep breath of the earthy air. His chest screamed out. A sharp stabbing agony made him groan, as he slowly climbed to his feet. He attempted another breath. The same searing pain engulfed him. The spearman had dismounted and was coming towards him. For a moment, Dunston's vision blurred and he thought he might faint. Then the man's features became clearer. It was Raegnold, the man he had fought outside the barn in Briuuetone. Raegnold's face was swollen and bruised.\n\nClenching his jaw against the pain, Dunston reached down and retrieved Dea\u00deangenga from the grass. Tears pricked his eyes from the pain. He could barely stand. Had his ribs pierced his lungs?\n\nRaegnold was almost on him now. None of the other men came to aid him to dispatch Dunston. He was not surprised. He must have looked as though he might die soon anyway, soaked in blood and mud, and barely able to rise to his feet. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Judging from the intensity of the pain, he might well succumb with no further injuries, if he was given time. But Raegnold was clearly not going to allow that to happen.\n\n\"Come to let me finish what I started back in Briuuetone?\" Dunston asked. His voice rasped, his breath scratched in his chest.\n\n\"You're dead, old man,\" hissed Raegnold through gritted teeth, unable to open his mouth any wider due to his broken jaw.\n\nDunston willed himself to stand upright.\n\n\"Speak up, I can barely hear you,\" he taunted. But he had heard the words well enough. And what was worse, he knew them to be true. He would die here, now. His body was aflame with pain and even if by some miracle he was able to defeat Raegnold, there were still six men here, hale and strong. He could not survive against them all.\n\nRaegnold pulled his sword from its scabbard, but did not reply. Evidently speaking hurt too much. Dunston understood that feeling.\n\n\"Well, Eawynn, I will be with you soon,\" he whispered. \"I hope I did not disappoint you too much by breaking my promises.\"\n\nHe hoped that Aedwen had run from her hiding place. Perhaps she would be able to reach the safety of Exanceaster before these brutes could capture her. He prayed it was so. For there was no more that he could do now.\n\n\"Come on then,\" he said, lifting his great axe in both hands. \"Let's see if I can't improve that ugly face of yours.\"\n\nRaegnold growled and rushed forward.\n\nDunston moved on leaden legs to meet him.\n\nTo meet him, and to die."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "Aedwen clung to the branch and watched Dunston's stand against the riders with a mixture of awe and horror. She cuffed away bitter tears, smearing her cheeks with the green of lichen and moss. Despite the terror that she was about to witness the old man's death, she could not look away.\n\nMore than once she was certain that Dunston would be struck down, but each time he had emerged from the press of horses and weapon-wielding men. She watched in a daze of disbelief as the grey-bearded woodsman killed two of the riders in that first attack and left two mounts screaming and kicking in the grass. The sound of the animals' distress scratched at her nerves, echoing her own anguish. But she did not scream. She gripped the alder tightly until her muscles cramped while she willed Dunston on.\n\nSurely he could not hope to face so many foe-men and survive. And yet, as some of the horses wheeled about, she gasped. The old man was rushing at them! His bellowing cry reached her and she shuddered. He pulled one rider from his saddle and the man was sent careening away over the meadow towards Exanceaster, dragged from his stirrup.\n\nAnd then one of the horsemen dismounted. His sword flickered in the sunlight as he circled Dunston. The man was young and fast and Aedwen was certain that she was about to see the death of the man who had kept her alive these last days. She felt a hollow emptiness; was unable to think. She knew she should take advantage of the fact that all of the remaining men were watching the duel. She could slip down from the tree and sprint to the path that ran alongside the river. With luck, she could be at the woods the other side of the path before anyone noticed her. Perhaps then she would be able to make her way carefully and invisibly to Exanceaster. She patted the bag that was slung over her shoulder. The message was yet there. And surely that is why Dunston fought, so that she might have time to escape. He could not hope to live. She must flee. She knew it.\n\nAnd yet she did not move. She shifted her position slightly so that she might see more clearly through the tree's leaves and she watched.\n\nThe two warriors, young and old, were speaking, but she could not hear the words from this distance. She held her breath as the dark-bearded warrior leapt at Dunston without warning. The clash of their blades reached her a moment later and she was shocked to see Dunston had avoided the man's attack.\n\nAlong with all of the riders, she watched raptly, unable to turn away as the two men fought. She let out a whimper when Dunston was cut, and wept with relief when finally he slew his younger and faster assailant.\n\nBut Dunston was wounded now, bleeding and struggling. She could barely imagine the fatigue and exhaustion he must feel, and yet she saw it in his gait, in the droop of his head and the slump of his shoulders.\n\nAgainst all the odds, Dunston remained upright and Aedwen cursed herself for not running. He had bought her this time with his blood and his suffering. And, she was sure, with his death, which must come soon enough. And yet still she did not climb down from her vantage point.\n\nShe screamed out a warning when she saw the horse bearing down on him from behind. Perhaps this was how she repaid him, by saving him from a craven attack from the rear.\n\nDunston turned, but too slow and she could not stop her tears now as the horse clattered into him, sending him tumbling and sprawling to the soft earth of the meadow.\n\nShe sobbed, willing him to rise. And when he did, pushing himself painfully and slowly to his feet, her heart clenched. He was barely able to stand, his body broken and clearly in agony. The horseman who had hit Dunston dismounted. Despite the distance, she recognised him instantly and cursed at the cruelty of it. That the man who had slain Odin would now kill the dog's master.\n\nThe circle of horsemen watched on, anticipating the end of the great Dunston the Bold. Expecting to see his lifeblood pumping into the meadow grass here, beneath the crumbling walls of Exanceaster.\n\nAedwen watched too. Like the riders, she was entranced, unable to turn away. But from her lofty position in the alder she caught a movement in the corner of her vision. A stealthy rippling in the long grass. A grey shadow, slipping between the waving sedge and golden marigolds of the meadow.\n\nRaegnold was close to Dunston now. The old man, holding himself awkwardly against the pain, said something to the advancing man, but she could not hear what it was.\n\nHer blood rushed in her ears and she looked back for the approaching shadow in the grass, thinking she must have imagined it.\n\nIt was still there, creeping ever closer. Could it be a wolf? Her mind could make no sense of it.\n\nAnd then, in an instant, all became clear.\n\nFor, at the moment that Raegnold rushed at Dunston, ready to hack him down, the grey shape sprang forward, abandoning stealth for speed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "Dunston blinked, unsure for a moment what he was witnessing. Had he lost his senses? His body screamed at him, his chest a burning agony with each breath, hot blood running in rivers down his arm and belly. He had seen men lose their minds at the end, delirious from the pain as their spirits fought to cling to life for just a few more heartbeats.\n\nHe shook his head to clear it.\n\nHe was not dead yet. His vision was clear.\n\nAnd now there could be no doubt. The grey shape that had leapt from the tall grass was Odin, his great merle hound. The dog's snarling jaws snapped onto Raegnold's wrist and the tall man, completely taken by surprise, let out a wail of fear and pain and fell into the grass. Odin was a frenzy of snarling and growling. Raegnold screamed as the two of them rolled, half-hidden by the foliage.\n\nRegaining his wits, Dunston staggered forward. He would not allow the bastard to kill his dog. Evidently he had not slain Odin in Briuuetone, Dunston was not about to let him now.\n\nHe had only taken a couple of steps, when Raegnold's screams abated suddenly. Odin rose, panting, chest heaving. Raegnold was still. The dog's tongue lolled and its maw was stained crimson. Dunston almost laughed to see the dog's grin, but then he saw the long, blackened wound that ran the length of Odin's body and his stomach tightened. No hair grew along the cut that appeared to have been stitched and then burnt to staunch the bleeding. Someone had tended to the dog's injury, but Dunston feared the mystery healer's work would be undone soon.\n\nThe leader of the riders was the colour of a ripe rosehip now, as he screamed at his remaining men.\n\n\"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him, you incompetent fools!\"\n\nGoaded on thus by their master, the men spurred their horses forward. Dunston saw fear in some of their faces. Much blood had been spilt in a matter of moments, and the old wolf still stood. And yet, there was resolve in his enemies' expressions too. The warriors urged their mounts closer. Their eyes were hard and their weapons' steel glimmered dully in the sunlight.\n\nA light rain began to fall and Dunston welcomed its cooling touch on his brow.\n\n\"To me, Odin,\" he called.\n\nThe hound padded to his side. Dunston's hand dropped to the dog's head and scratched behind his ears affectionately. It was good to see the old boy one last time, though how he had come to this place Dunston could not guess.\n\nThe riders were hesitating now, unsure how to proceed. They were grim-faced and determined, and yet it seemed they had not contended with the prospect of attacking an armed killer and his huge hound, both covered in the blood of their fallen comrades.\n\n\"What are you waiting for?\" yelled their leader. Dunston noticed that despite his anger at his men's ineffectiveness, he did not ride forward with them.\n\nA horse snorted and stamped. Its rider sawed at the reins, struggling to keep the beast from galloping away.\n\nDunston scanned the men's faces. Their jaws were set and they still had the benefit of overwhelming numbers. They would attack soon enough, goaded on by their lord.\n\n\"Just you and me again, old friend,\" he whispered and patted Odin's head. The fur was wiry and wet. Odin gazed up at his master with his one eye and licked his hand.\n\nAbove the riders, a rainbow appeared in the cloud-embroiled sky. Dunston smiled, wondering at the sign. He drew in a deep breath. By Christ, his ribs hurt.\n\nWell, whether the rainbow was God's promise or an omen from the Norse gods, he would find out soon enough.\n\nHefting Dea\u00deangenga before him, Dunston raised himself up to his full height. His teeth ground together and he winced at the pain. But he would not let it show on his face. He would meet these murderers standing tall, not cowed and broken like some old washer woman.\n\n\"Come on then, if you are coming, you cowardly whoresons,\" he bellowed without warning. The steeds shied at the volume of his voice. He grinned, his teeth flashing wolfishly. \"Or are you too craven to kill an old man and his dog?\"\n\nHe would die now, he knew, but he had resigned himself to that reality and had made peace with breaking his oaths to Eawynn. The thought of death held no fear for him.\n\n\"Come on then, you curs,\" he yelled, ignoring the agony in his chest and raising Dea\u00deangenga into the air so that the sun caught its silver-threaded blade. And at last, their leader's commands and Dunston's taunts made the men move. As if at some unspoken signal, they all touched their spurs to their horses' flanks as one, and approached him and Odin with a deep-throated growl rather than a roar of defiance.\n\nDunston lifted his axe and prepared to take as many of them with him before death claimed him.\n\n\"Goodbye, Odin, old friend,\" he said.\n\nThe riders were almost upon them when a sound cut through their ire-filled shouts and the thrum of their horses' hooves. It was a piercing wail of a hunting horn and it came from the direction of Exanceaster. The riders reined in their mounts, clearly pleased for an excuse not to attack the blood-soaked greybeard, with his death-dealing axe and his fanged companion.\n\nThey halted a few paces from Dunston and turned towards the sound of the horn.\n\nRiding from the town, sending up more angry green plovers into the sky, came a large group of men. Their cloaks were bright and polished metal glittered from their clothing, weapons and horses' harness.\n\nOne of the men who had been about to attack Dunston cursed and spat. He wheeled his horse about and trotted back to his lord. A moment later, the other horsemen followed him.\n\nThe golden-chained lord who led Dunston's assailants had lost all of his bluster. He was pale now where he had been crimson with rage moments before.\n\nDunston placed his hand on Odin's head once more and let Dea\u00deangenga's blade rest on the earth. Smiling, he looked up at the many-coloured arc of the rainbow that still hung in the air. He wondered again at its meaning. Whichever god had sent it into the heavens, it would seem it was a good omen for him.\n\nHe leaned on Dea\u00deangenga and patted Odin as the new group of horsemen approached. The horses splashed through puddles, sending up showers of tiny rainbows into the air. He counted close to thirty men coming from Exanceaster. They rode good horses, and the men wore colourful cloaks. Spear-tips glinted. Silver and gold glistened at throats, shoulders and fingers. Dunston noted that several of the men bore bows. None were armoured.\n\nDunston watched as his erstwhile attackers drew together. They were agitated and there was much hushed conversation. Dunston could not hear what was said and he did not much care. His body screamed at him with every breath. He longed to slump down, to rest in the long wet grass. And yet he willed himself to remain upright. He did not know who these newcomers were and he would not face a potential enemy sitting down, not while he yet lived.\n\nThey came at a canter and once again the horn sounded, piercing and loud. Moments later, the large band of riders was reining in around them. Dunston met the gaze of the men who looked down from their well-groomed mounts. Most were young, fresh-faced and arrogant, with combed and trimmed beards and moustaches. Their expressions of disdain withered under the glare of his ice blue stare.\n\nOne of the riders, an old man, with full, grey beard and wolf fur trimming his cloak, despite the warmth of the day, nudged his steed forward. Two dour-faced, younger men, with swords at their belts, pushed forward to accompany him.\n\n\"So,\" said the old man, taking in the dead and dying men and horses scattered about the meadow, \"this is what prevented you from joining me for the hunt, \u00c6lfgar.\"\n\nThe gold-chained leader spurred his steed forward.\n\n\"My lord king,\" he said, \"I thought you were planning on hunting to the north.\"\n\n\"I was drawn to the commotion to the south. I may be old, but I yet have eyes in my head and great flocks of birds taking to the wing seemed like good prospect for hunting.\" He paused, casting his gaze about, taking in each of the bloody corpses strewn about. With each passing moment, his expression grew darker. For several heartbeats, his eyes lingered on Dunston, blood-streaked, wounded and leaning on his gore-slick axe. \"By all that is holy,\" the king raged suddenly at the ealdorman, causing the horses to stamp and blow. \"What is the meaning of this?\"\n\n\"My lord king,\" said \u00c6lfgar, raising himself up proudly in his saddle. \"This man fled imprisonment. He has broken your peace, as you can see.\" He waved a hand about him as evidence of Dunston's wrongdoing. \"He has slain several of my men.\" Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar's voice trembled with barely contained emotion. \"He is a killer and he must be punished.\"\n\nThe king shifted in his saddle. The leather creaked. He narrowed his eyes beneath his bushy brows and held Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar in his stare. For a long while, he did not move. Men jostled and shuffled. Someone coughed. The ealdorman swallowed and, after a moment's hesitation, dropped his gaze. Seemingly satisfied, Ecgberht turned his attention to Dunston.\n\nHe peered down at him for a time. With an effort, Dunston stood straighter and met the king's gaze. Ecgberht nodded.\n\n\"Well,\" he said as last, \"I know that this man is a killer.\"\n\nRelief washed over \u00c6lfgar's face.\n\n\"You are wise, lord king. Have your men take him and we will have him hanged forthwith.\"\n\n\"Do not presume to give your king orders, \u00c6lfgar.\" Ecgberht's tone was as hard and sharp as a blade.\n\n\"No, lord,\" stammered \u00c6lfgar, \"of course not, I merely meant\u2014\"\n\nEcgberht cut him off.\n\n\"I said that I know this man is a killer,\" he said. \u00c6lfgar nodded, uncertainly, waiting now for the king to elaborate. \"But I have never known this man to slay any but the enemies of Wessex,\" the king continued. \"What do you say on the matter, Dunston, son of Wilnoth?\"\n\n\"But lord\u2026!\" blurted out \u00c6lfgar. \"The man is a murderer.\"\n\n\"Silence, \u00c6lfgar,\" snapped Ecgberht and, despite the pain that racked him, Dunston could not help but smile thinly to hear the steel in the king's tone. The man had grown old, but this was the same Ecgberht who had led Wessex to so many victories over the years. Age had not diminished his spirit.\n\nThe ealdorman seemed about to continue to protest, but another glower from the king silenced him.\n\n\"I would hear the telling of this tale from the mouth of one I trust,\" Ecgberht said. \"Dunston, speak.\"\n\nAnd so, in spite of the pain throbbing in his arm and the burning agony stabbing his chest with each intake of breath, Dunston told the tale as best he could. When he mentioned Hunfrith the reeve, one of \u00c6lfgar's sworn men, the ealdorman could keep himself silent no longer.\n\n\"Lord king, you cannot listen to any more of this wolf-head's lies. He is outside the law. He has no voice.\"\n\nEcgberht turned to the granite-faced man to his right.\n\n\"If the ealdorman speaks again without my permission, you are to bind and gag him.\"\n\nThe guard nodded.\n\n\"With pleasure, lord king.\"\n\n\"Continue, Dunston.\"\n\nDunston did his best to tell the story of how they had fled from Briuuetone, their plan to find out why Aedwen's father had been murdered, discovering the slaughter at Cantmael. He did not mention Nothgyth, instead saying he had picked up the tracks of the riders and followed them. He told of the torture of the monk and how they had found the message and decided to head for Exanceaster in the hope of finding the king.\n\n\"I thought that only you could bring justice, lord,\" Dunston said. \"I am but a simple woodsman, but it seemed clear to me there was more to this whole affair than banditry and wanton thirst for blood.\"\n\n\"Indeed. If what you say is even half-true, then there is the stink of conspiracy and treason about it. Though to what end, I cannot fathom. Where now is the message? Without it, your word is pitted against that of the ealdorman's.\"\n\n\"The girl, Aedwen, has it.\"\n\n\"And where is she?\"\n\n\"I sent her to hide in those trees,\" Dunston said. \"I do not know if she remains there.\"\n\n\"Well, call her hither, man, and let us see if we can put an end to this.\"\n\nDunston raised his arm, wincing at the pain and waved towards the stand of trees. For a long while there was no movement and he began to think Aedwen must have fled, as he had hoped she would only moments before.\n\nHe waved again.\n\n\"Aedwen,\" he called, his chest screaming from the effort. \"Come, all is well.\"\n\nStill no sign of her. He sighed. His mouth was dry. The gathered men were growing impatient, no doubt imagining that his whole tale had been nothing but lies.\n\n\"Where are you, girl?\" Dunston whispered. Sweat mingled with the blood staining his kirtle.\n\nHe raised his hand for a third time and was about to shout once more, when the slender figure of the girl stepped silently from the shadow of the trees.\n\nAt the sight of the girl, \u00c6lfgar tensed. He seemed ready to ride away, but the king's stony-jawed guard rode forward and grabbed the ealdorman's reins.\n\nAedwen walked slowly towards them. Her eyes were wide as she scanned the mass of mounted men.\n\n\"Do not fear, child,\" said Dunston. \"This is the king.\" Her eyes widened yet further.\n\n\"And you are Aedwen, daughter of Lytelman, I take it?\" asked Ecgberht.\n\nShe nodded, but seemed unable to speak.\n\n\"I am sorry for the loss of your father,\" Ecgberht said. \"Do you have the letter that Dunston has been telling us about?\"\n\nShe nodded again.\n\n\"Yes, lord,\" she managed at last.\n\n\"I would read it,\" said Ecgberht, holding out his hand expectantly and clicking his fingers.\n\nOne of the young men jumped from his horse and moved to Aedwen's side. She glanced at Dunston.\n\n\"It's all right, lassie,\" he said. \"The king must read it.\"\n\nShe rummaged in the bag and pulled out the rolled up vellum. She handed it to the man, who in turn carried it to the king.\n\nSwaying on his feet from the effort of standing, Dunston shook his head. He blinked against the blurring of his vision and clutched tightly to Dea\u00deangenga's haft. The carved patterns and runes in the wood dug into his palms. He watched as Ecgberht read from the flimsy sheet of stretched calf hide. As the king's gaze drifted over the scratched markings, his face grew dark and thundery. Nobody spoke as he read. Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar fidgeted uncomfortably in his saddle, glaring at the man holding his reins.\n\nWhen he had finished reading, the king frowned and handed it to one of his retinue, a hawk-nosed man, with a prominent brow. The man read it more quickly than the king. On finishing, he lowered the vellum and looked with incredulity and scorn at Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar. Without a word, he handed the note back to his king.\n\n\"Well,\" Ecgberht said, shaking the sheet of writing so that it flapped and snapped like a banner, \"now I understand why you chose not to ride on the hunt with me. Retrieving this message was much more important.\" He shook his head sadly. \"What a fool you are! For surely only a fool would commit treason and then have scribes put quill to vellum setting out that very treachery in ink for anyone able to see.\"\n\nWithout warning, \u00c6lfgar tugged his reins free of Ecgberht's man's grip. Kicking his heels into his mount's flanks, he sought to gallop away. But, the grim-faced warrior had only been momentarily surprised and before \u00c6lfgar could pull away from him, he reached out and took a firm grip of the ealdorman's cloak. The lord's horse bounded away from under him and he tumbled backwards, landing hard on the soft earth. As quick as a diving kingfisher, the warrior leapt from his own saddle and was beside the ealdorman, deadly long seax unsheathed and at his throat.\n\nEcgberht sighed.\n\n\"You really are a fool,\" he said, still shaking his head. \"The rest of you,\" he said, looking at the face of each of the ealdorman's men, \"drop your weapons. You will be judged in accordance with the dooms of Wessex and, if you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.\" Two of the men tossed their swords into the grass and held out their hands. The remaining three evidently did not think much of their chances of being found innocent. They swung their horses' heads to the south and spurred them into a gallop.\n\nThe hawk-faced man barked orders and several of the huntsmen galloped after them.\n\n\"Lord king,\" said \u00c6lfgar, his tone pleading. \"Show me clemency, I beseech you.\"\n\n\"Clemency?\" spat Ecgberht. \"I would no more offer mercy to an adder. You sought to conspire with my enemies, to see me slain and the kingdom invaded. And for what?\" Spittle flew from the king's lips, and his face was crimson, such was his sudden fury. \"For wealth? For power? What riches did the Westwalas promise you in exchange for your treachery?\"\n\n\"Lord,\" whimpered \u00c6lfgar, \"let me explain.\"\n\n\"Silence him,\" commanded the king and his man cuffed the ealdorman about the head. Hard. \"Gag him, I would hear no more of his villainy. I have enough here, in writing and his guilt is plain on his face for all to see.\"\n\nThe warrior who held \u00c6lfgar pulled off the noble's belt, shoved it in his mouth and tightened it, so that the man could do nothing more than grunt and moan.\n\nEcgberht turned away from the scene as if it disgusted him. Slowly, with the careful movements of the old, he swung his leg over the back of his horse and slid to the ground. Dunston's head spun. How young he had been when he had first met Ecgberht. The king had seemed old to him then. God, he must have been close to Dunston's age now. By Christ, the man must feel tired and stiff. It didn't seem all that long ago, since they had ridden into battle side by side, both strong and full of life. Hungry for glory and battle-fame. Not long ago. But a lifetime had come and gone since then. Many lifetimes. He thought of Eawynn. She had never liked Ecgberht. She had been overjoyed when he had left the king's service.\n\nStrange that now, all these years later, he should be with Ecgberht once more, and Eawynn long gone.\n\n\"It's been a long time, old friend,\" Ecgberht said. He took in the blood that soaked Dunston's clothes, the tatters of his sleeve. \"You look terrible.\"\n\nDunston laughed.\n\n\"I only came back for the compliments,\" he said, wincing as the pain in his chest intensified.\n\nThe king laughed too.\n\n\"By Christ, it is good to see you, even if you have grown old.\"\n\n\"We all grow old, lord king,\" replied Dunston. \"At least I will always be younger than you. You must be over sixty summers now!\"\n\n\"I don't need you to remind me of that.\" The king smiled ruefully and Dunston chuckled. His laughter promptly turned into a cough that sent paroxysms of pain through his chest. Ecgberht placed an arm about his shoulders until the coughing subsided.\n\n\"It seems,\" he said, \"that as is usual with you, you come to my aid when I most need it. You know,\" Ecgberht said, shaking his head, \"I had thought you dead long ago.\"\n\nDunston grimaced with each stabbing breath. His vision darkened. Ecgberht's voice sounded distant, echoing and strange, as though he were in a great cavern. Dunston tried to focus on the king's face, but he could not see him clearly.\n\nBehind Ecgberht, the rainbow was still bright and vibrant in the grey sky.\n\n\"I'm not dead yet,\" Dunston said, and collapsed into the long, lush meadow grass."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "Aedwen looked down at Dunston and whispered another prayer to the Blessed Virgin. Dunston's skin was grey and his cheeks hollow. The wounds he had sustained in the fight beneath the walls of Exanceaster had taken a cruel toll on his body.\n\n\"He is not a young man,\" Abbess Bebbe had told Aedwen when Dunston had been carried to the monastery and placed under her care. The abbess was a tiny woman, with a bird-like air of fragility about her. And yet she brimmed with energy and bustled about the wounded man, cleaning and binding his cuts, tying tight strips of linen about his ribs and probing with her twig-like fingers to ascertain how deep the damage was. Like Dunston, she was not young and to Aedwen, she seemed as old as the crumbling Roman walls of the town. But the woman was kindly and had set up a pallet for the girl in the room beside Dunston's. Aedwen had asked whether she might be allowed to sleep in the cell with the old man. She felt safe when she was near him and she could not bear the thought that he might die. At the suggestion, the abbess had tutted and shaken her head so vigorously that Aedwen had thought her wimple might fall off.\n\n\"That would not do,\" the elderly woman had said. \"No, no, no. You are not even of his blood. It is not seemly.\"\n\nThe morning after they had arrived at Exanceaster, Aedwen had woken at dawn. She had gone outside to the courtyard where the nuns and monks were going about their tasks, trudging through the mud in a thick, drenching drizzle that fell relentlessly from an iron sky. Gone were the bursts of rainbow-bringing sunshine of the day before, replaced with this incessant, dreary downpour. Odin had been curled up in a doorway, half-sheltered from the rain, but wet and cold all the same. He'd stood on stiff legs and shaken himself, gazing up at her with his single brown eye. Abbess Bebbe had forbidden the hound's entry into the monastery, but Aedwen could not allow the animal to remain outside in the rain. He had been lost for so many days, alone and hurt. Yet he had still found them. Her eyes filled with tears whenever she looked at his blackened, cauterised wound, and the pain he must have felt. She wondered whether they would ever know who had saved him and tended to his wound.\n\nAedwen had brought the hound inside and led him to Dunston's bedside. There they had sat vigil together. The abbess had found them there and had shooed them out of the room.\n\n\"That beast cannot be in here,\" she had complained, but it seemed to Aedwen without much conviction. And the old woman seemed to have forgotten her own rule about the dog when she had changed Dunston's bandages and Odin was lying patiently outside the room beside Aedwen, waiting to be allowed back in to sit with his master. The old woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but later, when one of the young novice nuns, a pinched-looking girl called Agnes, whose nose reminded Aedwen of a weasel's, brought Aedwen some soup and bread, she also carried a ham bone that she tossed onto the rushes by Odin's paws.\n\nThat was four days ago and each day had passed in the same way. Aedwen had sat with Odin watching over Dunston, searching for some sign of improvement in his condition. Each day the abbess would come to clean the old warrior's wounds and to bind them with fresh linen. Every day the old nun would usher the girl and the dog out of the small cell, impatiently clapping her hands for them to hurry. And every day when Aedwen and Odin returned to Dunston's side, Aedwen would enquire about his state.\n\nFor the first three days, the abbess had shaken her head.\n\n\"He is not young, but he is strong. If it is God's will, he will live.\"\n\nBut to Aedwen's eye, with each passing day Dunston had looked more feeble, older, more fragile.\n\nCloser to death.\n\nShe clung to Bebbe's words, taking comfort from the scant encouragement in them. Surely such a godly woman would only speak the truth. So Aedwen prayed and dozed. And when she slept, her dreams were filled with visions of death; the screams of horses, thrashing in long grass; Ithamar's heart-rending wails of agony in a forest glade. She longed to see the soft, smiling face of her mother in her dreams, but it seemed as though the horrors she had witnessed had burnt her mother's memory from her mind.\n\nOn the fourth day, something had changed in the atmosphere of the monastery and for a moment Aedwen lay on the straw-filled mattress and listened, trying to ascertain what was different. Bright light streamed through the small window, spearing the gloom of the room, the lance of light illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air.\n\nThat was the change: it had stopped raining. The day had dawned bright with the promise of warmth and sun. She felt her spirits lift. But, just as she was rising from the pallet, she heard sobbing from a nearby cell. Such sounds were not uncommon here. Many of the young novices were homesick and sad, and weeping was often heard, especially at night. But now, the sounds of sadness struck Aedwen like an ill omen.\n\nShe rose, crossing herself and whispering the words of the prayer to Maria, Mother of God, under her breath. She hurried to the courtyard, to allow Odin in to the building. Abbess Bebbe's good nature had not stretched so far that she would permit the animal to sleep in the monastery overnight. Odin was not where he usually waited for her. She whistled, but he did not appear. Her unease grew. Could it be that he had fled, or been hurt somehow? Perhaps one of the monks or the city guards had beaten him, or worse, killed him. She had seen the corpse of a small dog in the river on the day they had arrived and ever since, she had worried that Odin might meet the same sad end.\n\nPanic rising in her chest, she whistled again and called the dog's name, ever more urgently. After several heartbeats, the hound came bounding into the courtyard. His tongue dangled from the side of his huge maw and her fear disappeared in an instant. She laughed at his expression, for he seemed to be grinning. The warmth and sun must have pleased him. The beast seemed full of puppy-like energy.\n\nShe was still chuckling and scratching Odin's ears when they arrived at Dunston's cell. Unusually for this time of day, the abbess was there, and the slender woman's bleak expression sent a chill through Aedwen.\n\n\"Is he\u2026?\" she could not bring herself to voice her fear.\n\nBebbe shook her head and took one of Aedwen's hands in hers. The old woman's skin was cool and dry.\n\n\"He yet lives,\" she said. \"But you must prepare for the worst, child. There is nothing more I can do for him. He is in the Lord's hands now.\"\n\nAedwen bit her lip and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she thanked the abbess and entered the room.\n\nShe immediately sensed the change. The air was dank and Dunston's skin seemed to glow in the shadowed cell. She sat beside him, taking his huge hand in hers. His skin was hot. Odin sniffed at Dunston's face and licked his cheek, before whimpering and curling up on the rush-strewn floor.\n\nTaking a clean piece of linen, Aedwen dipped it in a bowl of water. She used the wet cloth to drip cool water on Dunston's lips, then, wringing out the linen, she moistened his brow. He made no movement. Her heart lurched, suddenly certain that this was one fight too many for the old man, that he had given in to his wounds and left this world.\n\nAnd yet his skin still burnt and, when she looked closely, she could see his chest slowly rising and falling.\n\nShe prayed to the Virgin, Christ and all His Saints, that they might spare Dunston. She babbled in her prayers, caring not for the words. She clutched his hand tightly and wept. Tears streamed down her cheeks and soaked into the blanket that covered Dunston.\n\n\"You cannot die,\" she sobbed. \"You got me safely here, but it is not enough. I am alone. Would you just leave now? Leaving me alone to my fate? I do not wish to be a nun.\" She sobbed, uncaring that her words were unfair. Her anger swelled within her and she let it burst forth in an outpouring of ire directed at this frail, dying man. She was furious at her mother for her sickness, for leaving her alone with her father. Enraged at her father for leading her into peril and for allowing himself to be killed. For his inquisitiveness that had led him to discover the plot against the king and then for his sense of duty that had seen him tell the secret to one of the conspirators. Tears washed down her face and the words tumbled from her in a cataract of anguish and anger.\n\n\"I want to see the forest and learn your skills. You said you would teach me. Would you die now and break your promise to me? You are no different from my father. All promises that you never meant to keep.\" She sobbed, dragging in ragged lungfuls of air.\n\nDunston's leathery fingers pressed against her slim hands. She started, sniffing back the tears and the rage that had consumed her.\n\n\"Dunston?\" she whispered, terrified now that this was his body's last convulsive movement before his spirit departed. Would the last words he heard in this life be hers rebuking him for having the temerity of succumbing to his wounds?\n\n\"I\u2014\" his voice croaked in his throat. She could barely hear him.\n\n\"What?\" she asked, leaning forward, placing her ear over his mouth. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"I have broken enough promises,\" he whispered. \"I will not break this one. Stop your crying and let me sleep, girl. I need to rest.\"\n\nScarcely believing her ears, she sat back and looked at him, but he was quiet once more. She stared for a long while at his chest. Was his breathing deeper than a moment ago? Yes, she was sure of it.\n\nLeaning forward, she placed a soft kiss upon his brow. He was warm, but the feverish glow of sickness had fled.\n\nHe slept.\n\nIt seemed he would keep his promise to her after all.\n\nWhen Agnes brought a bowl of pottage sometime after Terce, she found Aedwen standing by the window and looking out to the trees and the wide, silvered waters of the river. Aedwen turned to greet the young nun and saw that her face was blotched, her eyes puffy. Had she been the one weeping that morning?\n\nAedwen took the bowl from her with a broad smile. For the first time in many days, she felt as though she had come out of the darkness and chill of a cave, stepping from the cool, black shadows of a barrow and into the bright sunshine of a summer's day.\n\n\"Do not be sad, Agnes,\" she said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Dunston awoke slowly. With each passing moment, as he clawed his way back to consciousness, he wished that death had claimed him. For as his senses returned, so did the pain. His chest was a dull throb, then stabbing in agony with each breath. He raised his arm to touch gingerly at his ribs and found them bound tightly. His arm, too, was bandaged, and the sharp pain there as the skin stretched reminded him of the deep cut he had received from Bealowin. He let his arm drop back to the bed. He was so weak. That one motion made him gasp with the effort, sending fresh waves of pain through his chest.\n\nTurning his head slightly, he observed his surroundings. He was in a small, plain room. The walls were whitewashed and blue sky gleamed through a single narrow window. Sitting on a stool by his bed was Aedwen. Despite the torment of his body, Dunston smiled. The girl's head was slumped forward to lean on her arms which rested on the mattress beside him. Her hair tumbled over her face and arms, leaving only one smooth, pale cheek visible. Relief and a strange calm came over him at the sight of her. So young. So alone. Brave and resourceful. He fought the urge to reach out and caress her face.\n\nWith a stifled grunt, he shifted his position a little and saw the shape of Odin, stretched out on the floor beside the bed.\n\nDunston sighed, as the memories of the journey south and then the confrontation on the water meadows came back to him. Images and thoughts flooded his mind and, as he lay there, staring at the pale sky outside the window, he tried to make sense of what had transpired. But his thoughts were muddled and all he knew for certain was that he had not broken his promise to Eawynn. And he had seen Aedwen to safety. With those thoughts bringing a contented smile to his lips, sleep engulfed him once more.\n\nWhen he next awoke, the room was darker and the sky outside was the hue of fresh blood.\n\n\"Thank the Virgin and her holy son,\" breathed Aedwen, as Dunston opened his eyes. \"I had started to think you would not live.\"\n\nDunston offered her a smile.\n\n\"It takes more than a dozen mounted men to slay me,\" he said. His words rasped, dry and cracking in his throat.\n\n\"There were but ten of them, I recall,\" Aedwen answered with a smirk.\n\nHe chuckled, but quickly his laughter changed to coughing. He grimaced at the pain as each cough felt as though a seax was being thrust between his ribs.\n\n\"Sorry,\" said Aedwen, lifting his head and offering him some water. He drank a few sips. The cool water tasted better than the finest wine, such was his thirst. The liquid trickled down his throat and he could feel it running down inside him, replenishing him like rainfall soaking into a field of barley after a drought.\n\n\"How long have I been here?\" he whispered. He didn't attempt speaking normally for fear of starting the cough again.\n\n\"Four days.\" Aedwen offered him more water, and he drank again. \"Not too much,\" Aedwen said after he had taken several mouthfuls. \"Abbess Bebbe says you must drink and eat sparingly to build up the balance of your humours.\"\n\n\"We are in a nunnery?\"\n\nAedwen nodded.\n\n\"The monastery in Exanceaster. Both nuns and monks live and worship here. The abbess has tended to your wounds. She is very skilled.\"\n\nDunston touched the wrappings about his chest and winced.\n\n\"I must thank her,\" he said. He knew he owed his life to this Abbess Bebbe whom Aedwen spoke of and yet all he wanted was to be whole again, to leave Exanceaster and return to his home. He was as weak as a newborn lamb, but he longed to be able to stride away up the path and into the forest. He was done with the lies and conspiracies of nobles. He frowned. He had ever been thus. Eawynn had said he was a dreadful patient, always keen to undo what those nursing him had done to make him well. He supposed some things never changed. Just like the mendacity of some ealdormen and the ever-present plots that swirled around kings.\n\n\"You can thank the abbess soon enough,\" said Aedwen. \"I will fetch her and bring you some broth too. You must be terribly hungry.\"\n\nOdin rose from the rushes, stretched with a whining yawn, then nuzzled at Dunston's face. Dunston pushed Odin's snout away and scratched the hound's ears.\n\n\"I missed you too, boy,\" he said.\n\nDunston's stomach grumbled and he realised that he was ravenous. His belly felt drawn and painfully empty.\n\n\"Food would be good,\" he said, but, as Aedwen made to leave the room, he called her back. \"But first, I would know of the message. What was in it, and what has our lord, King Ecgberht, done in these four days I have been abed? We carried that message for so long without knowing its meaning, and so many died to keep it secret, I must know. I wonder if I didn't die so that I wouldn't go to my grave without discovering the truth.\"\n\nAedwen's expression darkened, but she sat once more on the stool.\n\n\"It would seem that the message was from one Ealhstan to Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar.\"\n\n\"The Ealhstan? Bishop of Scirburne?\"\n\n\"The same.\"\n\nDunston whistled softly.\n\n\"But what of the message itself? What did it say?\"\n\n\"I do not know exactly, but from what I have heard from the novices and the guards at the gate, the bishop and the ealdorman were discussing ways in which Ecgberht could be distracted away from the southwest of the kingdom.\"\n\n\"To what end?\"\n\n\"So that a combined attacked between Norsemen and W\u00e9alas could strike from Cornwalum.\"\n\n\"The Westwalas of Cornwalum have allied with the Norse?\" Dunston asked, amazement in his tone.\n\nAedwen nodded.\n\n\"Such a thing goes against God,\" she said. \"I know the Westwalas are our enemies, but I believed they were good Christian folk all the same.\"\n\n\"Greed has no honour and prays to no god. Both the Norse and the Westwalas are our enemies and they have their eyes set on the rich lands of Wessex. Together, a well-organised host could take Defnascire and Somers\u00e6te, especially if the king's forces were weakened in some way.\"\n\nHe scratched at his beard. It felt greasy and matted.\n\n\"Where is the king now?\" he asked.\n\n\"Gone. He gathered his hearth warriors and the warbands of the ealdormen from these parts and sent out riders to call the fyrd. They have ridden west into Defnascire. The letter gave the date of the attack as the feast of Saint John the Baptist.\" When she saw Dunston's blank expression, she added, \"Only a week ago.\"\n\nDunston's head was spinning. Ecgberht had been right. The men must have been fools to write such treason.\n\n\"What of Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar?\"\n\n\"Imprisoned, along with his men. They will face the king's justice when he returns.\"\n\nIf he returns, thought Dunston, but he merely nodded. Even now the king and his men might be facing a horde of Norsemen and W\u00e9alas. Dunston could well imagine the scene, the fluttering banners and standards, the thickets of spears. He could almost hear the screams of anger and pain and the clash of the boards in the shieldwall. Men would be slaughtered and their blood would turn the earth to a quagmire, and for what? If the bishop and the ealdorman had succeeded in their treachery, the host of Wessex's enemies would have marched into the land unimpeded, plunging them into war and chaos. And all in the name of greed. For surely it must have been gold and power that they had been promised should Wessex fall and a new Norse or W\u00e9alas king be seated on the throne of Witanceastre. Dunston sighed. Sadly, the men's avarice did not surprise him, but their lack of guile did. Ecgberht had governed Wessex for well over thirty years. He had expanded the borders of the kingdom and repelled enemies from all sides. While he lived, Wessex would remain strong. But even as he thought this, he recalled hearing of Ecgberht's defeat at Carrum two years previously. And the king was old now. He had seen as much with his own eyes. And an old, weakened king opened the doors to plots and emboldened the kingdom's enemies.\n\nThe room had grown silent, and with a start, Dunston opened his eyes. Slumber had sneaked up on him, stealthy as any hunter.\n\nThe sky was dark now, and the room was lit with guttering rush lights. The warm glow caught in Aedwen's eyes, softened the lines of worry that had formed on her brow. She smiled to see him awake once more.\n\n\"I have some soup. It will be cold now, but I did not wish to wake you. The abbess said it was best to let you rest. She is pleased with your progress.\"\n\n\"I will have to thank her tomorrow, it seems,\" he said, returning her smile.\n\nHe longed to snatch the spoon from her hand, to sit up and feed himself, but he allowed her to prop pillows beneath his head and then to spoon the cold broth into his mouth. It was thin, with the vaguest taste of meat and a hint of salt, but he could feel it restoring his strength by moments.\n\nWhen the bowl was empty, Dunston belched and was glad that action did not hurt his ribs.\n\n\"Where is Odin?\" he asked, noticing that the dog was not at his side.\n\n\"The abbess does not allow him to sleep inside at night.\"\n\nHe raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"How is he?\" he said. \"His wound had been tended by someone. Stitched and burnt, it looked to me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and he noticed her eyes gleaming as tears welled there. \"He seems well enough. Though he will be scarred there forever, and no hair grows now around the wound.\"\n\n\"Poor boy,\" said Dunston. \"It must have been agony. I can think of few people Odin would allow near him when injured and fewer still he would let treat him so. And two of them are in this room.\" He felt his own eyes prickle with the threat of tears at the thought of the dog's suffering. He blinked them back. \"Perhaps one day we will find out who patched him up. I would like to reward them somehow. Kindness is all too often accepted and not repaid. Whoever they were, they might not have done a pretty job, but they did a good one. The boy can still hunt.\" Dunston grinned wolfishly, recalling how Odin had leapt out of the grass and slain Raegnold. \"And he can fight.\"\n\nFor a time, they were quiet, each lost in their memories. Finally, the pressure in his bladder made Dunston break the silence.\n\n\"I need a pot,\" he said.\n\nAedwen looked embarrassed.\n\n\"There is one beneath the bed,\" she said. She rose. \"I'll leave you to relieve yourself.\"\n\n\"Aedwen, I do not think I can climb from the bed unaided.\"\n\nShe hesitated, then moved to help him up. He groaned as his ribs twisted, but he thought the pain was less than it had been earlier that day. After a few moments, he had his feet on the floor. Aedwen pulled out the earthenware pot and placed it beside the bed.\n\n\"Can you manage?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, Aedwen,\" he answered, and smiled at her sigh of relief. \"Thank you. I will call you when I am done.\"\n\nShe left the room and Dunston soon realised he was not certain he could cope unaided. His body ached and he felt so weak he was worried that he might fall. Grunting with the effort, he was at last able to position himself in such a way that he could piss into the bowl while half-sitting on the bed. The liquid gushed from him, foul-smelling and dark, and he wondered how he could have so much piss in him when he had barely drunk in four days. When he was done, he fell back into the bed, too tired to worry about the jolt to his ribs.\n\n\"I am finished,\" he called out. His voice was feeble, the weakness of it filled him with dismay and shame. He might be younger than the king, but by God, he was old and weak.\n\nAedwen came in and took the bowl away without comment.\n\n\"Sorry,\" he muttered as she carried it carefully from the room. Though what he was sorry for, he was not sure.\n\nWhen she returned a short while later, replacing the empty bowl beneath his bed, Dunston had regained his breath and was as comfortable as he could be.\n\n\"You never told me you knew the king,\" Aedwen said, as she sat on the stool once more.\n\n\"You never asked,\" he said.\n\n\"He likes you.\"\n\nDunston grunted.\n\n\"I don't know if I would go that far.\"\n\n\"Was it the king who gave you the name of 'Bold'?\"\n\nDunston cast his thoughts back all those years. He could barely remember the events that had led to the title he was famous for. The tale had been told so many times, first by those who were there, and later by men who claimed to have been there, and then just by anyone wanting to tell a good yarn. He himself had heard the story many times and with each telling the story was different. And as the years went by, his memories became blurred and confused, as if the weft of the truth had been woven with the warp of the fanciful tales, so that it was impossible to tell which was which.\n\n\"I never liked the name. I was just a warrior, like any other. I did my duty, nothing more.\"\n\n\"But for the king to name you 'Dunston the Bold',\" she said, her tone full of awe. \"It is an honour.\"\n\n\"It does not feel like an honour.\" He gazed at the flickering flame of the rush light. Sometimes, the name the king had given him that day, all those long years before, felt more like a curse.\n\n\"But why did he call you that?\" she asked. \"What did you do?\"\n\nDunston remembered the man he had been: strong, reckless, hungry for battle-glory and fame. And then he recalled how, moments before, he had trembled and moaned to fill a pot with stinking piss.\n\n\"Perhaps you should ask the king,\" he said. \"I am tired now. I must sleep.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she replied, and the sound of her disappointment stung him.\n\nHe closed his eyes and listened to her blow out the flame of one of the rush lights and then, carrying the other for guidance, leaving the room. With Aedwen gone, the room felt cold and lonely and Dunston lay awake for a long while, looking at the darkening sky outside the small window.\n\nHe listened to the sounds of the town and the monastery that came to him through the window. A dog barked from the distance, and he wondered whether it might be Odin. Somewhere far off a baby wailed. A bell rang and soon after came the thin voices of the holy men and women of the monastery singing Compline.\n\nDunston lay there, willing himself to find the solace and peace of sleep, but it refused to come for a long time. He thought of Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar and Bishop Ealhstan, of Hunfrith, Raegnold and Bealowin, who had tortured and slain all those people. Who would bring themselves to do such things? To betray their people for greed, to torture and kill? What manner of men were they?\n\nAnd a small voice within him whispered a question that had often kept him awake in the darkest reaches of so many nights throughout his life.\n\nWhat manner of man was he?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "Aedwen went down to Exanceaster's western gate to watch the king and the fyrd return. She hadn't really wanted to, but Agnes had begged her to go.\n\nEver since she had shown the girl some kindness, the novice nun would often seek her out, sneaking into her room long after she was supposed to be asleep. There, hidden beneath the blankets, the two girls would whisper and share their secrets and fears. Agnes was sad most of the time. She missed her brothers and sisters and felt so lonely in the monastery. When she had heard that the king had called the fyrd to arms she had grown certain that her brothers would join the defence of the realm. Her family's steading lay to the southwest and so, as the two were old enough to bear shield and spear, it seemed likely they would join the levies of their hundred and march to stop the Norse and W\u00e9alas force.\n\nShe had become convinced that they would either be dead or return in glory, basking in the favour of the king, and so had begged Aedwen to look out for them when the men came back to the city.\n\nAedwen had pointed out that she did not know what Agnes's brothers looked like and also that they would more than likely have returned to the family farm, as they would pass it on the way back to Exanceaster, but Agnes would hear none of it.\n\n\"The abbess does not permit any of us to leave the monastery,\" she had whispered, her breath hot against Aedwen's cheek in the cool dark of the room. \"So you must be my eyes. Twicga looks just like me, but taller, and a boy, of course.\" Agnes giggled. \"Leofwig is broader and shorter and looks more like my father.\"\n\nWhen Aedwen had commented that she had no inkling of Agnes's father's appearance, Agnes had waved her hands in annoyance.\n\n\"You will recognise Twicga sure enough,\" she'd said. \"We are like two beans from the same husk. And Leofwig will be with him.\"\n\nAedwen had been very doubtful she would see the young men, or even that they would enter Exanceaster, but Agnes had been so insistent, that in the end, she had relented and joined the crowds awaiting the fyrd's triumphal homecoming.\n\nIt was a warm day and the sun was high in the sky when the mounted nobles and their hearth guards splashed across the wide expanse of the Exe. The people had gathered, awaiting the moment when the tide would make the crossing possible, and now the horses sent up great sheets of spray as the thegns and ealdormen trotted their mounts through the shallow river. They rode up the dry slope and clattered between the stone columns of the gate into the city. The streets were thronged with people. Tidings of Ecgberht's victory over Wessex's enemies had reached Exanceaster two days previously and the town had been abuzz with thankful chatter and bustling with preparations for the fyrd's return.\n\nThe smells of cooking and brewing hung over the settlement like a cloud, and now the women who lined the streets held out bread, cakes and pies to the men who had defended their land. Young women smiled and looked through their lashes at the dashing thegns, bedecked in iron-knit shirts, riding proudly in the king's retinue. Many of the warriors returned the smiles of the girls and called out to them suggestions of how they might repay their bravery in battle. Flirtatious laughter rippled amongst the young women.\n\nAedwen did not understand the attraction of these men. They had the hard faces of the horsemen who had attacked Dunston. They were younger versions of Dunston himself, she thought. Tough, unyielding, dour and steadfast.\n\nThese past few days, the old warrior had regained much of his strength. He was able to rise and walk for short distances. He revelled in the fresh air and had taken to walking around the walls with Odin. Each day he managed to go a little further before he grew tired and needed to rest. The abbess had been dismayed at his stubbornness, telling Aedwen that she needed to ensure that Dunston did not overexert himself. One grey drizzled day, Dunston had set out to walk with his dog and the abbess had confronted him.\n\n\"Would you undo that which the Lord has repaired?\" she had asked. \"You will catch cold. If it goes to your chest, then what?\"\n\n\"Then the Lord will have to heal me again,\" Dunston had said. The abbess had trembled and it seemed as though the old lady might scream with fury, but Dunston had placed a hand on her shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. His ice-chip blue eyes glinted. \"Lady Abbess,\" he'd said, holding her gaze. \"Bebbe. You know that I am indebted to you for healing me. But I will surely die if I am not allowed to feel the fresh wind on my face or the rain in my hair. I will be well.\"\n\nHe had stepped out into the rain, wrapping his cloak about him.\n\nThe abbess had wheeled on Aedwen, as if Dunston's behaviour were her fault.\n\n\"The man is insufferable!\" she hissed. She was flustered and smoothed her habit with nervous strokes of her bony hands. \"You must talk sense into him. If he grows sick and dies, I will not be held responsible. But I would not be sorry to see the end of the cantankerous fool.\"\n\nBut Aedwen had noted the frequency of the abbess's visits to check on Dunston. She had seen how the old lady's face lit up when he spoke to her. Once, Aedwen had even heard Bebbe giggling at something Dunston had said, like one of the girls who mooned over the returning thegns. No, Aedwen thought, the abbess would be very sorry if anything were to happen to Dunston. And yet, despite her warnings that he would fall ill once again, Dunston did not cease in his activities, and with each passing day, his strength grew. He would be ready to leave soon, she knew, and a shiver of anxiety ran through her at the thought. She was alone now, and did not know what the future would hold for her. The thought of losing Dunston terrified her. He may be an ill-tempered old man, but he had protected her and had proven himself a man of honour.\n\nCarts and waggons, pulled by oxen and mules, were trundling into the town now. The mood of the crowds altered. These were the wounded; those too badly hurt to ride or walk. The onlookers grew sombre. Many wept at the sight of so many injured men. As the waggons passed, Aedwen glimpsed pallid skin, blood-soaked linen, vacant, staring eyes.\n\nOne woman, her eyes dark and cheeks flushed, rushed forward, calling out the name of her man. The carters shook their heads and waved her away. After a moment, another woman pulled her back, away from the wounded. The first woman sobbed, clearly convinced her husband had been slain. Aedwen scanned the faces of the other women gathered there. All were pinched and guarded. Some wept, but most held on to their hope with dignity.\n\nAfter some time, the fyrdmen, bedraggled, dirt-smeared, wet-legged from their crossing of the river and leaning tiredly on their spears, made their way into the city. Soon the air rang with the happy laughter and joyful weeping of women being reunited with their loved ones. Aedwen watched as the woman who had been inconsolable moments before now laughed with abandon, clinging to an embarrassed-looking man who patted her head awkwardly. Aedwen looked away, suddenly angry with the woman. She had someone to worry about, a man to hold and to fuss over.\n\nNearby, a plump woman called out to a warrior she clearly recognised.\n\n\"Hey, Bumoth. What of Edgar?\"\n\nBumoth's face was ashen and he would not meet the woman's gaze. He looked down at the worn Roman cobbles of the street and shook his head. His meaning was clear, and the woman wailed, her face crumpling in grief as tears washed over her cheeks.\n\nAedwen turned away. It was too much. She didn't know what she had expected when she came to witness the return of the Wessex fyrd, but she had not been prepared for this outpouring of emotions. She had her own grief and sorrow that weighed on her heavily enough without watching others learn of the deaths of their kin.\n\nPushing through the crowds, she wandered the shadowed streets, her head teeming with dark thoughts. The sounds of the people at the gate receded and she found much of Exanceaster quiet and strangely peaceful. Most of the populace had gone to welcome the triumphant men home. She gave little thought to where she walked, but after some time, she found her way back to the monastery.\n\nShe could hear the sound of singing coming from the chapel and she prayed that Agnes was at Vespers. Aedwen could imagine how she would react when she told the novice she had not seen her brothers. She could not face the girl and her weeping.\n\nAedwen's stomach growled and she wished she had asked one of the goodwives for a pie or some bread. She could have shared it with Dunston. Perhaps they could find some food and eat together. She would like nothing more now than to sit quietly with the old man and his dog. She felt safe when she was with them. Perhaps the time had come to broach the subject of her future.\n\nBut when she arrived at Dunston's small cell, she knew she would find no peace any time soon. Two grim-faced warriors, cloaks and boots still muddy from the road, stood in the room. Their bulk all but filled the space.\n\n\"Ah, Aedwen,\" said Dunston, noticing her. \"It is good that you have come.\"\n\nAedwen said nothing, but she knew her expression must have been one of anxiety. Her nerves had become as taut as a bowstring.\n\n\"It is nothing to fear,\" the old woodsman said. \"The king has returned, victorious from Defnascire. And we are summoned.\"\n\n\"Summoned?\"\n\n\"To an audience with the king. We are to attend him at the great hall.\"\n\nThe thought of an audience with Ecgberht and his nobles in the grand hall filled her with dread. In the silence, her stomach grumbled noisily.\n\nDunston smiled.\n\n\"I am sure the king will be hungry too after his journey. There will be food in the hall, no doubt. Come, let us go. The sooner we have spoken to the king, the sooner we can be gone from this place.\"\n\nThe warriors led the way out of the cell and Aedwen followed behind Dunston. She knew he was keen to be gone, to return to the forest and his old life. But what of her?\n\nWalking behind the two broad-shouldered guards, she wondered for how much longer she could avoid confronting her next steps."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Dunston looked over to where Aedwen sat surrounded by young women of the court. These were the daughters and wives of the king's retinue. Aedwen's features were tight, skin pale with flourishes of colour high on her cheeks. A beautiful raven-haired girl tittered at something. She was about the same age as Aedwen, but with silver pins glinting in her coiled plaits and a silken girdle of the deepest red around her slender waist. Aedwen smiled, but Dunston could see she was even more uncomfortable than he felt.\n\nHe had thought nothing of the girl's clothes and hair as they had been led to the hall. Aedwen was clean enough and wore a simple dress of drab brown that Bebbe had given her. But when they had entered the hall, which was lively with rushing servants and already filling rapidly with men and women come to celebrate the king's victory, Dunston had felt a needling of guilt. He could almost hear Eawynn rebuking his thoughtlessness, bringing a girl to a royal celebration without seeing that she had something finer than coarse-spun wool to wear.\n\nHe sighed. There was nothing for it now. He thought longingly of the peace of Sealhwudu. The forest was simpler. The trees and the animals cared nought for what clothes people wore. Nevertheless, he recalled that Eawynn had always brushed her hair until it shone and had adorned her clothes with trinkets and jewels, even though they rarely entertained anyone in their woodland home. He had never understood why she wasted time on such things, though he could not deny that he enjoyed to gaze upon her when he came home from a day's work.\n\nPushing his fists into the small of his back, Dunston stretched. He winced. His chest still troubled him, but less so with each passing day. His daily walks were restoring his strength and the constant aches of the knitting bones and mottled bruises were receding. It was when he was sitting that his healing ribs bothered him the most. And he had been seated now for a long while. He reached for the cup before him. A servant, a comely, round-faced woman, had just refilled it with a delicious Frankish red wine. Dunston did not miss his previous life in service to the king. He was not made for great halls, small talk, speeches and the conniving plots of court. No, he thought, taking a sip of the rich, spicy wine. He did not regret living his simple life in the forest, but he did miss the wine.\n\nWith a thin smile playing on his lips, he looked about the great hall of Exanceaster. It rang with the hubbub of celebration. Conversations, laughter, the clatter of trenchers and cups. It was a large hall, roofed in wooden shingles, and painted in bright patterns without. Inside, it was spacious and well-appointed. Embroidered tapestries hung along the walls, depicting scenes of hunting and what Dunston supposed were stories of Christ's life and miracles. Most of the images he did not recognise, but one in particular was clear. A figure, head crowned in light, walking on the blue threads of a sea, while a sinking man reached out pitifully from the waves.\n\nIt had been many years since he had sat at the board in such a fine hall. From the awe in Aedwen's eyes as they had entered the building, he presumed the girl had never been in such a grand place and again he felt the stab of guilt at not having thought of her comfort. It could have been worse, he told himself, taking another warming mouthful of wine. They could have been in Witanceastre. Now there was a lavish hall that would have truly intimidated Aedwen, with its paintings, carvings and stone-flagged flooring. Even the seats there were finely carved with the intertwining images of animals and plants. He had never been in a finer hall than that of Witanceastre, and he had been in many halls. Several had been larger and richer than this one. He thought of the hall of Baldred of the Centingas. And the long, dark hall of Sigered of \u00c9astseaxe. He shivered, pushing those distant memories from his mind and signalling to a passing servant to replenish his cup.\n\nYes, he had been in many halls over the years, and they all had some things in common. They were always filled with too many people and too much noise. And no matter how high the rafters, or how long the benches of a hall, it always felt to Dunston that the walls were slowly pushing in on him. The pretty servant returned to him and poured fresh wine into the cup he held out for her. She smiled. He muttered his thanks and she was gone.\n\nHe sipped at the wine. He must be careful not to drink too much too soon. If he was not mistaken, this feast would go on for some time. But despite his good intentions, the afternoon slipped into evening and Dunston's cup was rarely empty. The servant seemed to have taken a shine to him, and saw that he had food and drink aplenty throughout the long feast.\n\nDunston had been seated at a linen-covered board near to the high table, where the king sat with his closest ealdormen and thegns. Ecgberht had raised a hand to him in welcome when he'd noticed him, but other than that brief recognition, Dunston began to wonder why he had been ordered to attend the feast. The wine was wonderful, it was true, but he would rather have taken a jug of that back to his room and drunk it by himself. Instead, here he was surrounded by loud-voiced men and women he did not know. He shifted uncomfortably, attempting to relieve the pressure on his bound ribs. However he sat, he could not get comfortable.\n\nBy his feet, Odin stretched out onto his back, opening his rear legs in an undignified display of absolute relaxation. It seemed the hound was quicker to adapt than his master. Dunston reached down to stroke the dog and immediately regretted the movement.\n\n\"Your wounds yet trouble you?\" said the man to his left. They had spoken but briefly before when the younger man, a thegn of Somers\u00e6te called Osgood had sat beside him and introduced himself. Since then, Osgood, perhaps sensing that Dunston did not wish to talk, had directed his conversation at other diners.\n\nDunston winced and straightened. Frowning, he turned slowly to the man. Osgood was fair-haired, with clear skin and an honest face. His shoulders were broad, hands strong and Dunston had noted the grace of his movements when he had slipped down onto the bench beside him.\n\n\"Well, I am getting no younger,\" Dunston said, his tone gruff.\n\nOsgood smiled.\n\n\"I fear that even the mighty Dunston cannot turn back the tide of time.\"\n\nDunston stiffened. Was the thegn making fun of him? He took another swig of wine. Perhaps he was at that, but the man's grin was open and seemed to hold no malice.\n\nDunston snorted and returned the smirk.\n\n\"I certainly do not feel mighty.\"\n\n\"But bold perhaps?\"\n\nDunston groaned.\n\n\"Not really. I don't think I have ever understood why the king named me thus.\"\n\n\"Like most men, I have heard the tales,\" replied Osgood. \"If they are even half-true, then you were bold indeed.\"\n\nDunston shrugged.\n\n\"Perhaps I was once. Long ago.\"\n\n\"The man I saw surrounded by the corpses of his enemies a few days ago looked bold to me.\"\n\n\"You were there? With the king?\"\n\n\"Yes, and I think if you do not like to be known as bold, you must stop acting quite so boldly.\"\n\nDunston laughed. His chest tightened and he willed himself not to cough.\n\n\"That sounds like fair advice.\" Still smiling, pleased that the wine had softened his anxiety at being here, surrounded by strangers and the oppressive walls of the hall, Dunston asked, \"You fought with the king?\"\n\n\"I did,\" Osgood replied, and his gaze shifted, took on the glaze of memory.\n\n\"Tell me,\" said Dunston.\n\nAnd so Osgood told him of how they had waylaid the approaching host of Westwalas and Norsemen at a place called Hengestd\u016bn.\n\n\"Our scouts had come back with tidings of their movements and so we were able to position the fyrd across the path between the hills. Ecgberht ordered those of us who were mounted to conceal ourselves in the forest on the slopes overlooking the road.\"\n\nDunston nodded. When he had been in the king's warband, they had used a similar tactic on more than one occasion and it had served them well.\n\n\"How many were they?\"\n\n\"There must have been well over a score of crews of Norsemen joined by the same number of W\u00e9alas.\"\n\nDunston blew out.\n\n\"A war host indeed,\" he said, picturing in his mind the size of such a force, how they would sound, the crash and thunder of their shields, the roar of their battle cries.\n\n\"Yes, but they were poorly organised. They faced our fyrd, but before they could summon up the courage to act, Ecgberht ordered the Wessex men to attack. And the moment after the shieldwalls clashed, we galloped down from the woods and hit them hard.\"\n\nOsgood grew quiet and took a long draught of ale. Dunston knew what it was to relive battles and so did not press the younger man for more detail.\n\nAfter a time, as though he felt he owed Dunston further explanation, Osgood continued.\n\n\"We slaughtered many of them,\" he said, and his pale face and set jaw told Dunston much. \"And then they scattered. We chased them, riding after them and cutting them down. When the sun set, we had killed more than half their number and the rest had fled like whipped curs.\"\n\nDunston patted Osgood on the shoulder.\n\n\"You did what was needed of you. They were marching to kill our people, to steal our land and riches.\"\n\nOsgood nodded, but his eyes were dark and clouded.\n\nThey grew silent then, allowing the waves of the celebration to wash over them.\n\n\"Does it get any easier?\" Osgood asked, suddenly.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The killing,\" said Osgood, his voice lowered to not much more than a whisper.\n\nDunston looked at him sharply.\n\n\"This was your first battle?\"\n\nOsgood nodded.\n\nDunston swallowed, casting his mind back to the first time he had faced armed foe-men. The first time he had plunged his blade into the flesh of a living man, watched the life ebb from him, as the hot blood pumped into the mud. He sometimes saw that man's pleading eyes in his dreams, heard his desperate wails for mercy.\n\n\"The taking of a life should never be easy.\" He thought of the ripped and rent corpses of Bealowin's victims, Ithamar's screams. \"Killing in the defence of the weak is honourable, but it should never be taken lightly. And an honourable man must never seek to inflict pain and suffering, for that is the way of the weakly coward. But to answer your question, killing can become easy, but you will have to live with the memories of your actions forever. And God will surely judge you for them when you stand before Him, so make sure you are acting for the right reasons.\"\n\nOsgood stared at him for a long while, his expression grave. At last, he nodded and raised his cup.\n\n\"I thank you for your honesty, Dunston,\" he said.\n\n\"It is all I have,\" he replied with a thin smile, lifting his own cup and tapping it against Osgood's. \"Now,\" he said, \"let us talk of happier things. This is supposed to be a celebration.\"\n\nAnd so the evening passed more pleasantly than Dunston had expected. To his surprise he found Osgood to be good company and they talked of all manner of things. From time to time Dunston glanced over at Aedwen and was pleased to see her seeming to relax. Perhaps she too had drunk the wine, he thought and smiled. One thing that had been worrying her was soon dealt with when plentiful dishes of all types of delicacy were carried into the hall. There was roasted hare, succulent mackerel, glutinous stews and freshly baked bread. Dunston saw that Aedwen, whether she felt embarrassed or shy in the company of these rich nobles, had decided to eat her fill. Her trencher was heaped with food and at one point in the evening, as the lowering sun cast golden rays through the hall's unshuttered windows, Aedwen grinned at him, her mouth full of meat. To see her thus, smiling and contented, warmed him and he felt as though an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Whether from this lightening of his burden or the dulling effects of the wine, his ribs pained him less as the sun set.\n\nCandles were lit and the feast continued, increasingly raucous, as the ale, wine and mead flowed. Laughter stabbed through the general hubbub from time to time, like flashes of sunlight through thick cloud.\n\nDunston rose stiffly with a groan and a grimace. His belly was full and so was his bladder. On his way outside, he passed Aedwen. She looked up at him.\n\n\"All well?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"At least I am not hungry now.\" She smiled, but he could see there was more she wanted to say. He patted her arm. Now was not the time or place. They could speak about whatever was troubling her later, or on the morrow.\n\nWhen he returned from the midden, he made his way to his place beside Osgood, who welcomed him back with a broad grin and a refilled cup of wine. The atmosphere in the hall had changed. Dunston looked to the high table.\n\nEcgberht, resplendent in a gold-trimmed purple gown, stood and surveyed those gathered in the hall. Slowly, a hush fell over the room.\n\n\"Friends,\" he said, his voice strong and carrying. \"Countrymen. Folk of Wessex. As you know, we have returned victorious from battle with a host of W\u00e9alas and Norse.\"\n\n\"Praise the Lord,\" exclaimed a dark-robed priest who sat to Ecgberht's right.\n\nThe king glanced at the priest slowly and pointedly. His meaning was clear. Interruptions were not something he tolerated.\n\n\"The brave men of Wessex fought with the strength of wild boars. Many gave their lives, but it would have been much, much worse for us if we had not been forewarned of the treachery that had festered in our midst. There will be time for gift-giving soon. You know that I am a generous king and I reward those who stand by my side.\"\n\nThis received a loud roar of approval and the gathered men, intoxicated on drink and life, pounded the boards with their fists and stamped their feet on the ground until the hall reverberated as if with thunder.\n\nEcgberht smiled, seemingly happy with this interruption. The small priest pursed his lips and swept his gaze about the room, as if he were judging all those gathered there.\n\nWhen the cheering abated, Ecgberht nodded.\n\n\"Yes, there will be gifts soon for my trusty thegns and ealdormen. But first I must give my everlasting thanks to one man, without whom we might well have been doomed.\" He held his hand out to indicate Dunston. All eyes turned to him and he glowered back. He could feel the men weighing the worth of him. They might well know his name, but to see him, old and grey, must surely have rankled some, who would begrudge him the king's praise. \"You have my undying gratitude, Dunston the Bold,\" the king said. \"Without the boldness of your actions, it is likely our enemies would have prevailed. Because of your warning, we were able to lie in wait and ambush them at Hengestd\u016bn. If not for you, Dunston, \u00c6lfgar and Ealhstan might very well at this moment have been accepting your new Norse or Westwalas king with open arms.\" The king's face was dark now. \"And for what? Some extra land and gold? Am I not generous enough?\"\n\nThe hall again echoed with the acclamation of their king's generosity, but Ecgberht did not seem to pay them heed. Instead he was staring fixedly at the figure seated to his left. A timber pillar had been blocking the man from Dunston's view but now he shifted to see who had so caught Ecgberht's attention. He started when he recognised the man. It was \u00c6lfgar, grim-faced and dismal, but dressed in expensive linen and silks, with his gold chain at his throat.\n\nThe hall grew silent.\n\n\"Well,\" Ecgberht said, his voice dripping with venom, \"was I not a generous enough lord for you, \u00c6lfgar?\"\n\n\u00c6lfgar said nothing.\n\n\"Answer your king,\" screamed Ecgberht, fury bursting from him.\n\n\"You have always been generous, lord king,\" \u00c6lfgar said, his voice tiny in the silence of the hall.\n\n\"And yet this is how you repay me,\" said the king. \"And now I expect you would seek mercy from me.\"\n\nHope lit \u00c6lfgar's face.\n\n\"Lord king,\" he said, his tone pleading. \"You have always been the best of lords. Wrathful in battle. Just and merciful in victory.\"\n\n\"Was it mercy you would have offered me when the Norse and Westwalas marched over the Exe?\"\n\n\"Lord\u2014\"\n\n\"Shut your treacherous mouth,\" Ecgberht snapped. \"Dunston, what would you do with \u00c6lfgar?\"\n\nDunston's mouth felt suddenly as dry as dust.\n\n\"Lord, it is not for me to say,\" he said. \"He should stand trial.\"\n\n\"He is before the king. And we know of his guilt. Do you deny it, \u00c6lfgar?\"\n\nThe ealdorman looked from the king to Dunston, two old men with grey beards and piercing stares. He swallowed.\n\n\"I do not,\" he said.\n\n\"There you have it, Dunston,\" Ecgberht continued, his voice as cold and hard as iron. \"He is guilty. What would you have me do with him?\"\n\nDunston sighed. He met Ecgberht's gaze and saw the rage there. He had known the king for many years and knew there was one thing he despised above all else: disloyalty.\n\n\"I would have him put to death, lord king,\" he said at last.\n\nEcgberht grinned and nodded.\n\n\"Quite so,\" he said. \"I hope you have enjoyed the feast, \u00c6lfgar. For it will be your last.\"\n\n\u00c6lfgar had grown very pale, but he did not weep or whimper. He held himself rigid and listened as his king pronounced sentence over him.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" Ecgberht said, his voice loud and clear, \"Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar will be hanged and his body left for all my subjects to see. It must be known that infamy and betrayal of one's king brings nothing but death.\"\n\n\u00c6lfgar lowered his head, but remained silent.\n\n\"His family,\" the king continued, \"will be stripped of all titles and lands and they will be exiled from Wessex. If they should ever be found in the kingdom, they are to be treated as traitors and slain. Take him out of my sight.\"\n\nTwo guards, who had clearly been awaiting the order, stepped forward. The ealdorman stood and offered the slightest of nods to the king before he was led from the hall.\n\n\"What of Bishop Ealhstan?\" asked Dunston.\n\nEcgberht turned to the priest who sat at his side.\n\n\"Yes, that is a good question, is it not, Inwona?\" he asked. \"The Church would not have the king try one of their number, Dunston. A matter for God, it would seem.\" The priest squirmed beneath the king's glare. \"But I sent men to fetch him anyway. I would have liked to look the weasel in the eye. But alas, it seems that news travels faster than a horse can carry a man, for when my men arrived at Scirburne, the good bishop had fled. To Frankia, if one is to believe what Inwona here says, isn't that right?\"\n\nThe diminutive cleric looked up. Dunston was shocked to see a glint of defiance in the man's eyes.\n\n\"That is so, lord king,\" Inwona said. \"I have sent word that he is to be detained and he will receive the justice meted out by the Holy Father of Rome himself.\"\n\n\"I would rather a noose about his neck,\" grumbled Ecgberht, \"but no matter. I shall have to bow to the wisdom of the Pope in this matter. So,\" he said, suddenly jovial, \"what of you, Dunston?\"\n\n\"Me, lord?\"\n\n\"Your reward. I owe you my kingdom and perhaps my life.\"\n\n\"Seeing you hale and triumphant over our enemies is reward enough. I want nothing but to return to my home in Sealhwudu.\"\n\nEcgberht shook his head. Dunston was aware that every person in the hall was staring at him. Many would be thinking of what they would ask of their king should they be in the same position. But he had spoken the truth, all he wanted was to go home.\n\n\"No, Dunston,\" said the king. \"I cannot allow you to go unrewarded. What would the people think?\"\n\n\"I want for nothing, lord king. I merely wish to live out the rest of my days in peace.\"\n\n\"Ah, peace. Yes, that would be nice. But I fear we will not be so lucky, old friend. With Frankia forgetting her allies, our enemies are circling Wessex like flies around horse dung.\"\n\nThe thought of more enemies attacking Wessex, and warfare becoming ever more commonplace, filled Dunston with dread. If only he could return to Sealhwudu, he could be free of fighting, leaving the shieldwalls to younger men such as Osgood. He had played his part in the defence of the realm.\n\n\"I need no reward,\" he said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge what he knew to be true. Ecgberht was determined and intractable. He was also the king. Dunston recognised the jut of Ecgberht's jaw and knew that when the king was in this frame of mind, it was impossible to dissuade him.\n\n\"Nonsense, man,\" the king said, laughing, as if he knew what Dunston had been thinking. \"I have a gift for you, which I insist you will accept.\"\n\nDunston nodded.\n\n\"Very well, lord king,\" he said with a sigh. \"What is this gift you would give me?\"\n\nGrinning, King Ecgberht told him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Aedwen breathed in deeply, taking in the warm summer scent of the land. The sun had shone these past days and the air was redolent of lush life, verdant and brimming with energy. She'd felt it herself, the summer heat seeping into her body as they'd ridden northward. The dark days of pursuit, fear and death had vanished, replaced with a comforting sensation of safety and contentment. On the light breeze she could make out the distant lowing of the cattle that were being led down the path on the other side of the valley. There was a figure walking with the animals, too far to discern the features, but she thought it must surely be Ceolwald, leading the cows down to the Bartons for their evening milking.\n\nThe houses of Briuuetone were peaceful and inviting as the golden light of the late sunshine gilded the thatched roofs and hazed the smoke that drifted from dozens of cooking fires. The hint of woodsmoke reached her and Aedwen's smile faltered. For a moment, she recalled the last time she had been in this place. The night had been aflame and filled with screams. Raegnold had attacked Dunston and threatened her. The men of the village had chased them out into the night. A tremor of trepidation rippled along her spine. She shuddered. Perhaps she was wrong to have come back here.\n\nReining in her horse, a small, placid mare from the steward of Exanceaster's own stable, she glanced back along the road. Dunston raised his hand in friendly greeting. His presence settled her nerves somewhat. She knew he was not overly happy with the gift that the king had bestowed upon him. But the tension he had carried in his every movement seemed to uncoil the further they rode from Exanceaster. He spoke little as they travelled, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When they halted to rest and when they made camp at night, he had resumed his teaching of her. He pointed out the signs of animals and set her challenges. Could she find leaves of sorrel? What about burdock? And each night he had insisted that she build and light the fire, while their escort looked on impatiently waiting for her to kindle a spark that would catch.\n\nShe returned Dunston's wave with a smile. He was a good man. If he was ready to bring her back to Briuuetone, it must be safe. He would not allow any harm to befall her.\n\nOut of the bushes that grew in a jumble beside the road, bounded Odin. His sudden appearance caused one of the king's hearth warriors' mounts to shy and stamp. The rider, a stern-faced warrior by the name of Eadric, cursed.\n\n\"Keep your damned hound under control,\" he shouted, tugging at his reins in an effort to control his startled steed.\n\n\"Learn to control a horse,\" said Dunston. \"After all, you are riding it. I am not seated on a saddle atop Odin's back.\"\n\nEadric scowled and the other men laughed. This was a long-running feud between the two men and it was well-meaning enough. The escort of six horsemen had been forced upon them by the king.\n\n\"We do not need to be protected,\" Dunston had said.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" Ecgberht had replied. \"I will not have you set upon by brigands on the road. No, Eadric will go with you to Briuuetone, and that is the end of the matter.\"\n\nAedwen had seen the resignation on his face, and Dunston had not argued. He knew the king well, it seemed. They had an easy camaraderie when they spoke that told of many shared years of campaigning in the past. And what good would arguing do anyway? No man could challenge the king's will. But as they had ridden along the north road, Aedwen began to wonder whether the king had truly had their safety in mind when he sent the armed men to accompany them.\n\nAt night, when the moon rose and the land grew dark and still, Aedwen would look at Dunston and see him staring into the flames of the fire. The shadows danced and writhed about his face, his eyes glinting and haunted in the darkness. When she awoke in the cool of the mornings, Dunston would have risen before the dawn and be gone from the camp.\n\nThe first time this happened Eadric had grown anxious, pacing around the rekindled fire as his men cooked oatcakes. As the sun had risen high into the cloud-free sky, he had cursed Dunston.\n\n\"We'll never find him now,\" he'd said. \"The king warned me he might do this.\"\n\n\"Do what?\" asked Dunston, stepping from the shadow of the lindens and oaks of the forest, Odin at his side. Over his shoulder, Dunston carried a hare. The cut along its stomach showed where it had been gutted. \"I thought I would catch us some meat for tonight's meal.\"\n\n\"We have been waiting for you for what seems an eternity,\" Eadric said. \"By the nails of the rood, man, we have wasted most of the morning.\"\n\n\"I have wasted nothing,\" Dunston said, flopping the plump animal over the rump of his horse, where he secured it with a leather thong. \"And you have rested. We are in no hurry to reach Briuuetone, are we? We will be there soon enough.\"\n\nDunston had called many stops on the journey.\n\n\"I am an old man, and I need to rest,\" he would say, with a wink to Aedwen. \"And my wounds are not yet fully healed.\"\n\nShe was sure that his ribs still pained him, but she was equally certain that he was more than strong enough to ride without so many halts, that he was merely slowing their progress, prolonging the moment when they would arrive here, at the settlement on the River Briw.\n\nShe did not mind that the journey had taken them a day longer than Eadric had anticipated. She had enjoyed the sensation of riding, even though at the end of the first day her backside and thighs had ached terribly. She found the gait of the mare soothing, and the sure-footed steed needed little guidance, allowing Aedwen to stare out at the rolling hills and woodland that they rode through. She also relished the time spent with Dunston learning further secrets of the forest. After they reached their destination, she did not know how often she might be able to have his undivided attention.\n\nThe lowering sun glimmered on the fast-flowing waters of the Briw. Dunston caught up with her and turned his horse's head to the left, away from the river and along a narrow path leading uphill. Aedwen's mare did not wait to be steered in the same way. The beast fell into step beside Dunston's mount and together, with the armed escort riding at their rear, they approached the small steading that nestled at the knap of the hill. The sun was in their eyes as they rode up, the front of the hut shaded, and cool after the warmth of the afternoon.\n\nDunston was swinging himself down from the saddle when the door opened and Gytha emerged, wiping her hands on a rag and smoothing her apron over her thighs. Behind her, Aedwen could see the pale faces of Maethild and Godgifu. Godgifu waved at Aedwen, beaming.\n\nAedwen smiled back, but she could not halt the roiling sensation of anxiety in her gut. She had thought that she had been contented and relaxed as they had travelled from Exanceaster, but now she realised that in her own way she too had been dreading arriving here, at this door.\n\nGytha took in the mounted warriors with a glance. She held her face still, unsure of what was happening here. Aedwen thought back to the night she had fled from Briuuetone with Dunston. Gytha must live in fear of a visit from the reeve for her involvement in the woodsman's escape. Despite her anxiety, Aedwen let out a sharp bark of laughter.\n\nBoth Dunston and Gytha stared at her. She felt her cheeks grow hot. She dismounted to cover her embarrassment.\n\nGytha stepped towards Dunston, placing her hands on her hips and meeting his gaze.\n\n\"What brings you to my door, Dunston, son of Wilnoth?\" she asked, her tone flat.\n\n\"I come bearing a gift and a request.\"\n\n\"Do you indeed?\" she asked, glancing at the warriors who remained mounted behind the grey-bearded man. \"The last I heard, you were a wulfesh\u00e9afod, having escaped from the reeve's custody, injuring one of his men in the process.\"\n\n\"That was a dark day,\" Dunston said. \"When Rothulf died, justice died in this hundred. But I am no longer an outlaw.\"\n\nGytha looked thoughtfully at him, weighing the meaning in his words.\n\n\"So these men are not your guards?\"\n\nDunston gave a crooked smile.\n\n\"Perhaps they are, in one manner of speaking. But I have been pardoned by the king himself.\"\n\nGytha could not hide her astonishment at this pronouncement. Such was the confusion on her face that Aedwen was unable to stifle another burst of laughter. For a moment, Gytha said nothing, and then, seeming to have made up her mind, she said, \"In that case, you must come inside and tell us all of your tidings. It seems much has happened in these last weeks. You men,\" she indicated the mounted guards, \"will need to stay without the house. There is not enough room for all of you inside. But if you wait for a moment, I will bring out some ale, bread and cheese for you.\"\n\nWithout awaiting a reply, she walked back into the house.\n\nIt was not long before they were sitting at the small table with plates of cheese, bread and some good ham in front of them. Godgifu and Maethild sat either side of Aedwen and for a moment she remembered the warmth of their bodies pressed against her comfortingly when she had shared the girls' bed. While their mother had prepared food, the two girls had chattered like finches fluttering around a bramble hedge in autumn, bombarding Aedwen with questions. She had told them of the journey to Exanceaster, deciding to leave out much of the story, but giving enough for Gytha's daughters to gaze at her, awestruck, as they heard tales of sleeping in a barrow, spending a night in the charcoal burners' camp and another with dangerous wolf-heads and then meeting the king himself in the great hall of Exanceaster.\n\nAll the while Dunston talked in hushed tones with Gytha and Aedwen noticed that the woman's gaze flicked in her direction several times. What she was thinking though, Aedwen could not tell.\n\nAs they had sat at the table, the girls had fallen silent. Godgifu stared with undisguised fear at Dunston until Gytha snapped her fingers.\n\n\"Dunston is a guest under our roof, girls,\" she said. \"Show some respect.\"\n\nGodgifu lowered her gaze and Maethild sniggered at her discomfort.\n\n\"Girls,\" Gytha said, after they had eaten in silence for a few moments. \"I have some tidings.\" She paused, and looked at Aedwen for a moment. Aedwen's stomach clenched, but Gytha smiled at her and she quickly remembered the warmth of the widow's welcome when she had first come to this small house, lost and terrified in the dark of night. Gytha nodded in reassurance and turned to her daughters. \"Aedwen is going to stay with us.\"\n\nWith the words spoken, Aedwen's eyes blurred. Her heart hammered and she feared she might weep. What would Gytha's daughters think of this turn of events?\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" said Maethild, \"that is wonderful. Finally, I can have a sensible sister to talk to.\"\n\nGodgifu leaned across and pinched her older sister, who slapped her hand in return.\n\n\"Girls!\" Gytha's tone cut through their spot. \"Aedwen will be treated as kin, and I will have no fighting. You must all learn to get along, or I will bang your heads together until you see sense. Is that clear?\"\n\nGytha glowered at them in turn, and each girl nodded and bowed her head. Aedwen wondered for the briefest of moments whether she would have been better off with Dunston, but then, as if the two girls could sense her disquiet, each of them reached for her hands under the board. She grasped their hands and blinked at the tears that threatened to fall.\n\n\"Well, this is a gift indeed,\" said Gytha. \"A new daughter.\"\n\n\"She is a good girl,\" replied Dunston. \"But to accept Aedwen into your care was the request I had for you.\"\n\n\"And the gift then? What would that be?\"\n\n\"Ecgberht has offered a gift of coin for Aedwen's upkeep. You will want for nothing.\"\n\nGytha was rendered speechless. This news was clearly a surprise and such was the look of amazement on her face, that the three girls burst out laughing.\n\nGytha wiped her eyes and then drank some ale.\n\nAedwen's hands trembled with the force of emotions that ran through her. Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. She wished to dry her face, but did not want to relinquish the hold on the girls' hands. So she gripped them tightly, sniffing and blinking.\n\n\"Well,\" said Gytha, laughing. \"What a fine to do. Now we are all crying. But still we do not know how it is that you both have returned to us. And not only free, but with the king's favour.\"\n\nDunston drained his cup of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his rough hand. And in the warm gloom of the house, with the hearth fire and rush lights providing scant, flickering light, he told their tale. The womenfolk watched on, wide-eyed, as they heard tell of the pursuit through the forest and the hardships Aedwen and Dunston had been forced to endure. Dunston was no scop, not a poet from a lord's hall, but his words spun a stark picture of the terrible days they had spent in the forest. Unlike a tale-spinner, who sought to shock his audience, Dunston did not dwell on the moments when they had found corpses, or when he had stood and fought against their attackers. But somehow, the sparseness and simple nature of the telling made the tale more captivating. Gytha had grown pale. Godgifu and Maethild clung to Aedwen.\n\nShe shuddered as Dunston's words brought back the horrors they had faced. It was strange, she thought, that even though she had lived through the events he described, she found herself moved by the story, as one who is hearing it for the first time. Again she felt the bitter sting of the loss of her father. The terror of being caught by the savage men on the road. And then the breathless anxiety of seeing Dunston facing a line of charging, mounted men, as they threw up great clods of mud and sprays of water from the meadow. Dunston did not mention the rainbow that had shone in the darkened, clouded sky above Exanceaster, but she recalled its colours vividly and how the red of blood had been both darker and brighter than God's promise in the heavens.\n\nAt the end of the telling her face was again wet with tears. The girls at her side were snivelling and tears also streaked Gytha's face.\n\nThe widow reached out a hand and gently touched Dunston's shoulder. He started, as if woken from a reverie.\n\n\"You are a brave man, Dunston,\" she said, her voice quiet.\n\nHe grunted.\n\n\"Aedwen owes you her life, and it seems the king owes you his kingdom.\" Dunston picked up his cup to hide his embarrassment and found it empty. Gytha lifted the pitcher and filled it, smiling. \"Perhaps we all owe you our lives. For who knows what would have happened if the king had not learnt of the ealdorman's treachery?\"\n\n\"I merely did my duty,\" he said, his tone gruff.\n\nIt was clear that the praise was making him feel awkward, so Gytha rose and fetched a small wooden box, which she placed upon the table. She lifted the lid and inside there was a parcel wrapped in linen.\n\n\"Would you care for a honey cake?\"\n\nHer daughters, tears forgotten now, sat up expectantly.\n\n\"Dunston?\" Gytha said, peeling back the linen and proffering the box to him.\n\nDunston peered inside and plucked out one of the small cakes. Sniffing it, he grinned.\n\n\"Better than the fare from the king's own board,\" he said and took a bite. \"And certainly better company.\" A few crumbs sprayed out of his mouth and he quickly rubbed at his beard, abashed.\n\nBut Gytha beamed at the praise and offered the cakes to the girls. They each took one. Maethild and Godgifu made short work of theirs, but Aedwen savoured hers. It was sweet and chewy and perhaps the nicest thing she had ever eaten. She thought then of her mother, and how she would sometimes bake honey cakes. They were not as good as Gytha's, she thought guiltily, and once more tears threatened to fall.\n\n\"So, Dunston,\" Gytha said after she had finished her own cake. \"I suppose you will go back now to your home in Sealhwudu?\"\n\nWas there a hint of sorrow in Gytha's tone?\n\nDunston washed down the last of his cake with a swig of ale and stifled a belch.\n\n\"I would like nothing more,\" he said. Did Gytha frown at his words? \"But it seems my days of peace in the forest are over.\"\n\n\"But you said that Ecgberht King offered you a gift. Surely with gold you can live comfortably any way you please.\"\n\nDunston scratched his beard and looked sidelong at Aedwen.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, a rueful expression on his face, \"but it was not gold or silver that our lord king gave to me.\"\n\n\"No?\" replied Gytha, surprised. \"What then?\"\n\n\"Why, for my sins he has made me his reeve of the Briuuetone Hundred.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "Sweat dripped into Dunston's eyes. It was a hot day and he had set a fast pace along the familiar forest paths. Sunlight slanted down through the summer-heavy canopy, dappling the hard, root-twisted ground before him. Taking out his water skin, he took a long pull. The cool water soothed his parched mouth. By Christ's bones, how he'd missed being out in the woods, free from the troubles of the folk of Briuuetone, away from the concerns of upholding Ecgberht's many laws. Who would have ever thought there would be so many disputes over the boundaries between men's plots of land? Dunston longed to return to the life he had known before, where he was able to hunt, forage and forge as the whim took him.\n\nHe smiled at the irony of the king's \"gift\". The position of reeve was one of standing, which came with a stipend and status, and Ecgberht had also rewarded him handsomely with a bag of silver scillings so large that he doubted he would ever be able to spend all the money. And yet the very thing that had been gifted to him prevented him from leading the life he craved.\n\nBut he was a man of honour, and he had long ago sworn his oath to Ecgberht. So while the king yet lived, his word was his bond. And Dunston knew that, though he would rather not be given the task of upholding the law, the king's choice had merit. Dunston was diligent and honest. The people of Briuuetone and the surrounding hundred could rest easy that he would do the job to the best of his ability.\n\nBut how he pined for the quiet of the forest. The wind rustled the leaves of the lindens above his head and he drew in a deep breath of the heavy, loamy air. He was almost at his destination. Just past that fallen beech, then a short way until the mossy outcrop on the left and the clearing he had called home for so many years would open in front of him. His back was hot and drenched in sweat beneath the empty pack he carried there. Now, as he drew close to his old home, he wished he had brought a cart. There was so much he would like to carry back to his new house in Briuuetone. Well, there was nothing for that now. He would have to make do with just taking a few small items; Eawynn's plate, his favourite hammer, the small seax he had been working on for Oswold, perhaps a couple of the cheeses he had stored, if the mice hadn't got to them. He had worried that Wudug\u00e1t, his goat, would have come to harm. He had left the poor girl tethered and had hoped she would have managed to chew through the rope easily enough. And yet, he had still fretted. There were wolves out here, and he had assumed the worst.\n\nHe still could barely believe he had found her hale and whole that morning roaming a small enclosure on the edge of the charcoal burners' encampment. These were the men who had helped him to raise Odin when he was a pup and they welcomed Dunston like a long lost son. They had slapped him on the back, which made him wince, as his ribs were still tender. They laughed to see him, their blackened, soot-smeared faces lined and wrinkled with their happiness. When Dunston had enquired about the effusive nature of their welcome, the response they gave him answered a quandary that had been bothering him for some time.\n\n\"We thought you were dead,\" said the oldest of the men. \"Thought you'd gone the way of all things, these many weeks past.\"\n\nDunston had shaken his head, confused.\n\n\"People often make the mistake of thinking I am dead it seems,\" he'd said, with a crooked smile. \"But what made you think such a thing?\"\n\n\"Why, when old Odin limped in here with half his back hanging off and covered in blood, we thought perhaps a boar had got you and him. You weren't with him, so we figured as like you were mouldering in the forest somewhere. Botulf sewed up the cut on Odin and burnt the flesh so that the rot wouldn't set in. That hound is as tough as they come. He barely whimpered and didn't snap at Botulf, not one bit. I thought he'd as likely bite his hand off, but it was like he understood that Botulf was just trying to help.\"\n\n\"Botulf,\" Dunston called to a younger man. \"I thank you for saving my dog. If you had not done so, I might be dead after all.\"\n\n\"Odin lives yet then?\" asked Botulf. \"I thought he must have surely died by now. For when we woke the next morning, he had run off into the forest and no matter how much we called, he did not return. Gone off to die in peace, we thought.\"\n\n\"He lives, all right. He is out hunting with a new friend. A girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, a girl,\" said Botulf, with a wink. \"About time you took a wife again, if you ask me.\"\n\n\"I didn't ask you,\" replied Dunston. \"And she is not my wife. She is not much more than a child.\"\n\nHe had told the charcoal burners of their adventures then. They thirsted for knowledge of the world beyond their smoke-wreathed clearings and it seemed the least he could do after they had tended to Odin. It transpired that, after Odin had vanished, fearing for Dunston, they had gone to his hut to see if he might be there and in need of help. Instead, they found Wudug\u00e1t. Realising she would perish if left alone, they brought the goat back to their camp.\n\n\"She has been well looked after,\" said Botulf, \"and we have been glad of the milk, I can tell you. But, of course, you must take her with you now.\"\n\n\"No. Wudug\u00e1t is yours,\" Dunston had said. \"You saved my dog and in doing so, you saved me and maybe the kingdom, so I would have you supplied with fresh milk.\"\n\nHe smiled to himself as he remembered the charcoal burners' delight at first finding him alive, and then learning that Odin was well. And after that, they were even more pleased that they could keep the goat when they had thought they would have to give her back. It is the simple things that bring the most pleasure, he thought.\n\nPushing the stopper back into his flask, he set off on the last stretch of the path that would lead him to his hut in the clearing.\n\nHe had looked forward to getting away from Briuuetone for several days now. He was staying in the hall that Rothulf had built. It was comfortable and spacious; much too large for his needs apart from one day each month when the hall-moot was held there. On the day of the moot, it became the centre of life of the people of the village and the surrounding area of the hundred. He had been prepared for the busy nature of the day, but had found himself unable to sleep the night before. His mind kept jolting him awake with dark thoughts that he might need to preside over a suit involving murder. He knew he could face an armed man in combat and take his life in an eye-blink, but to have someone stand before him, to speak with them, to listen to the charges made against them, and then to mete out justice, took a different type of bravery.\n\nAs it turned out, his first moot at Briuuetone was a tedious affair, with the most arduous of the suits being that in which Eappa had struck Cuthbald over some drunken squabble. Eappa had broken Cuthbald's nose, and Cuthbald demanded restitution. Dunston had conferred with Godrum, the priest, who had read through the dooms and informed him of the weregild that must be paid. Eappa had grumbled and complained when he was told to pay Cuthbald three scillings, but Dunston had stood up, and glared at him until he had meekly nodded and left the hall. The rest of the day had been filled with petty disputes over land rights and some minor thefts. Dunston relied on Godrum to provide him with good counsel and to pore over the vellum sheets of dooms. He found the priest to be methodical and patient and, despite the tedium of the day, his initial fears had been misplaced. He was sure his concerns had been due in no small part to having witnessed the trial of the traitors in Exanceaster just a few weeks previously.\n\nBy God, that had been harrowing, and Dunston was glad that he did not have to deal with anything as dire as treachery and murder.\n\nAfter \u00c6lfgar had been hanged unceremoniously from the east gate of the city walls, Ecgberht had ordered the men who had ridden with the ealdorman to be brought before him. The king had insisted that Dunston attend the trial, as he was a witness to many of the acts the men stood accused of.\n\nMost of the accused, certain of their fate, were sullen and refused to speak. But one, a lank-haired man with stooped shoulders, by the name of Lutan, had seemed convinced that he could escape his punishment by telling everything he knew of what they had done. The others glowered at him, and one spat in his direction and swore he would seek him out in the afterlife and cut out his tongue. A guard had beaten the man into silence, and the greasy-haired Lutan had been allowed to speak.\n\nThe king nodded and urged Lutan to tell them all he knew.\n\n\"If you tell me the truth, man,\" the king said in a quiet voice, \"I will see to it that you are treated better than your comrades in arms.\"\n\nLutan had dipped his head, swallowing and grovelling pitifully, while his companions looked on. Hatred burnt in their eyes at his betrayal.\n\nPrompted by questions from Ecgberht, Lutan told of more than the incidents Dunston knew of. Much of what he told, Dunston had already deduced. Lytelman had somehow learnt of the message from Ithamar and then sought to bring the news of treason to one in power. He visited the reeve of Briuuetone. But, unbeknown to Aedwen's father, Hunfrith was party to the plans of Ealdorman \u00c6lfgar and so had ordered the peddler silenced.\n\n\"Why was Hunfrith involved?\" Dunston had asked, interrupting Lutan's snivelling whine. \"Surely \u00c6lfgar did not take lowly reeves into his confidence.\"\n\nLutan had stared at him for a moment, a sly expression on his ugly face.\n\n\"You do not know?\" he asked incredulously.\n\n\"Know what?\"\n\n\"Hunfrith is \u00c6lfgar's son. A bastard from a milkmaid in Wincaletone. When \u00c6lfgar learnt of Rothulf's meddling, he sent Hunfrith to take care of it. If you know what I mean.\"\n\nHe had smirked then at Dunston, and it had been hard not to rush at the man and knock him to the ground. Dunston had clenched his fists at his side, holding himself rigidly still. So, the rumours Gytha had heard were true, but it was not this knowledge that had led to Rothulf's murder.\n\n\"Meddling?\" Dunston had asked. \"How so?\"\n\nLutan's eyes had darted about as his mind worked, seeking some advantage for himself from his knowledge. At last he turned to the king.\n\n\"If I tell you of more crimes, it will go easier for me?\" he asked.\n\nEcgberht inclined his head slowly.\n\n\"I give you my word.\"\n\nLutan licked his lips.\n\n\"Rothulf had somehow heard tell of the plans to attack Wessex,\" he said. \"I don't know how. But just after Easter he came to see \u00c6lfgar and told him what he knew. \u00c6lfgar thanked him and sent him back to Briuuetone. But no sooner had he gone than he sent Hunfrith, me and the others after him. It was Hunfrith's idea to drown him. Wouldn't look like a murder that way, he said. Once he was dead, Hunfrith took over as reeve. That way he could help stop any more rumours. And we would all share in the spoils once war came.\"\n\nDunston had grown cold at hearing Lutan's words.\n\n\"So Hunfrith murdered Rothulf?\" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but heard by all in the great hall of Exanceaster.\n\n\"He did,\" Lutan answered. He sounded somehow pleased with himself.\n\n\"Where is this Hunfrith now?\" asked the king.\n\n\"The last we saw him, he was still at Briuuetone,\" replied Dunston.\n\nThe king ordered riders to go with all haste to Briuuetone and to seek out Hunfrith.\n\n\"He must be held accountable for his crimes,\" he said, and his face was thunder. \"Rothulf was a good man.\"\n\nBut when the riders returned a few days later, it was to tell the king that there was no sign of Hunfrith at Briuuetone. It seemed he had fled when word had reached him of his father's capture. The news had weighed heavily on Dunston. He had not truly expected Hunfrith to still be in his hall, awaiting his fate, but the idea that the man had evaded justice after committing such foul crimes was almost more than he could bear. He had told Aedwen that vengeance did not bring happiness, but since Hunfrith's involvement in Rothulf's death had been confirmed, he had prayed that the man would be found and that he might witness his death, for there could be no other sentence for such as him.\n\nBut Hunfrith had run and now he would never have to pay for Rothulf's murder, for ordering the slaying of Lytelman, for abetting his father's treachery.\n\nDunston had resigned himself to taking some consolation in the downfall of \u00c6lfgar and his men. And yet, witnessing their deaths by hanging, their tongues swollen and black as they danced on the end of a rope, had left him feeling as empty as if he had watched animals being slaughtered before winter.\n\nHe had felt something akin to a twinge of grim amusement as Lutan met his fate. True to his word, the king had made the man's sentence easier than that of his cohort of traitors; instead of hanging, which could be long and painful, Ecgberht had ordered the man beheaded. There had been a twisted sense of justice at hearing Lutan's anguished cries as he was forced to watch his friends pulled, choking, kicking and strangling into the air, before he met his own, mercifully quick ending.\n\nBut none of the killing had provided Dunston with any release. He had brought Gytha the news that Rothulf had indeed been murdered, but Hunfrith had vanished, leaving Dunston bitter and angry. He now wished that he had not told Gytha the truth. She had suspected, but in time she would have made peace with her husband's death. Learning of the certainty of his murder and the lack of justice for his killer had sowed dark seeds of despair in her soul. Dunston felt responsible for Gytha's new sorrow, though he knew in truth he was not to blame; he had loved Rothulf as a brother.\n\nThere had been many dark days since they had returned to Briuuetone. The summer days were bright and warm, but the shadow of recent events still hung over them, as if a storm cloud had drifted before the sun. And yet, there was much to celebrate in his new life. He had invited Gytha, her daughters and Aedwen to live in the hall with him. He needed someone to run the place and Gytha had been the lady of the hall until recently. And, though sometimes he found the noise of the girls' chatter grated on his nerves, he thought the time for silence in the forest was over for him. Better to be surrounded by the laughter of youth than the silence of approaching decrepitude and death.\n\nAnd yet, when the opportunity to head into the forest had arisen, he had not hesitated. Dunston knew that he would settle in well enough over time, but some days the constant companionship of Gytha, the girls and the ever-present folk of Briuuetone became too much and he longed for the peace of nature to embrace him.\n\nStepping out into the glade where he had built the stout house he had shared happily with Eawynn, Dunston paused to take in the scene. The grass was faded and dried as it often became in late summer. The ground was parched, and he noted how fissures and cracks had opened up in the earth due to the long dry spell. The lindens that overshadowed the house were thick with leaf and heavy with fragrant yellow blossom. The trees whispered, as if in greeting and their voice was as familiar as his own breath. Dunston sniffed the air. The summer would be on the turn soon and those glossy green leaves would become ochre and russet. They would fall, forming a thick blanket on the ground. The nights would grow longer. It was then, he knew, when he would most miss this place. Every year the summers seemed shorter and winter's icy fingers scratched over the land more quickly. With each passing year, time seemed to flow faster, and with a maudlin frown, Dunston wondered how many more passing seasons he would witness.\n\nShaking his head at such thoughts, he moved to the forge that stood under a lean-to timber shelter beside the hut. He looked about the grimy surfaces, the charcoal that nestled cold and grey in the fire pit. His gaze fell on a scrap of leather on the anvil. He could scarcely believe it was still there, but other than the charcoal men, who else would have come here? Picking up the greased leather, he let it fall open to expose what was wrapped within. He smiled. It was just as he remembered it, not even a spot of rust. It was the fine blade and tang of the knife he had been working on for Oswold. There was still some fine hammering to do, it was not sharp and was still a piece of iron without a handle, but it would be beautiful when it was finished. He had left it out here on the morning when he had found Lytelman and Aedwen, meaning to work on it when he returned from checking his traps and snares. He would take it back to Briuuetone and finish the knife there. He had just the right piece of antler that would serve as a handle. Wrapping the blade back in the leather, he tucked it into his belt and with a last longing look at the forge, he turned to the house.\n\nHe opened the oak door that he had fashioned what seemed a lifetime before. It creaked on the leather straps that held it in place. He had often contemplated forging iron hinges, but had never been able to justify the extravagance. He snorted. Now he had enough silver not to worry about such things, but he would no longer be living here to care about the door's hinges.\n\nThe instant that Dunston walked into the hut, he knew something was wrong. At first he was uncertain what had alerted him that all was not well. The air was not as still as it should be, the house less quiet somehow, though when he paused by the door to listen, there was no sound. He took a slow breath and then it struck him. A faint scent of sweat, wool, leather and sour mead. Someone had been there.\n\nHe moved to the hearth, holding his hand over the thick layer of grey ash. Still hot. How had he not smelt the smoke before? He had been too distracted reminiscing about the past to notice. Cursing himself for a fool, he stood, his senses sharp and alert once more. He had grown soft in just a few weeks living in luxury in a warm hall. This was still wild land. There were beasts that could kill a man in Sealhwudu, and as he well knew, there were outlaws who would not think twice about killing him to take the clothes from his corpse. His hand dropped to the seax sheathed at his belt and he regretted bitterly not bringing Dea\u00deangenga. But he had come to hunt and to visit his old home, not to battle. He was done with fighting and killing. It was time to keep his oath to Eawynn.\n\nA rustle outside gave him an instant's warning, but when the door swung open with a rasp, Dunston started. The sound was loud in the small hut.\n\nWithout turning, Dunston looked up at Eawynn's silver plate where it hung on the far wall. Within the burnished metal he saw the reflection of the shadowed figure that hesitated in the doorway. It was a tall man, but Dunston could not make out his features with the light from outside behind him.\n\n\"Well, come in, if you are going to,\" Dunston said. \"It seems you have made yourself quite at home in my house, so there is no point being shy now.\"\n\nFor a moment, the man did not move, then he stepped quickly into the hut. The light from the open door fell on his face and Dunston's breath caught in his throat.\n\n\"You!\" he said, turning to face the man. For the second time he regretted not bringing his axe. It seemed even now it was not his wyrd to fulfil his oath to Eawynn and lay down his weapons. For sure as the leaves would fall from the trees in the autumn, there would be a fight here today.\n\nHunfrith, thinner and with sharper cheekbones than Dunston remembered, slowly pulled his long sword from the scabbard at his side.\n\n\"I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you come down the path,\" he said. His sword glimmered in the sunlight spilling in through the doorway. The metal was clean and polished. It appeared that Hunfrith had at least not forgotten to tend to his weapon. His clothing was a different matter. His cloak was threadbare and ripped, stained with mud and lichen. The kirtle he wore was streaked and filthy. His moustache and beard, once so well-tended and clipped, were now an unruly and straggled thatch. His eyes held a febrile glint. His smell was overpowering in the small confines of the hut and again Dunston could not believe he had failed to notice the man's presence earlier.\n\nHolding his sword menacingly before him, Hunfrith took a step towards Dunston.\n\n\"You ruined everything, old man,\" he spat.\n\nDunston kept his hands loose at his sides, ready to react in an instant. He only had the seax he had taken from Beornmod. It would be difficult to fight against a sword, but he had no other weapon to hand.\n\n\"I did nothing, Hunfrith, save see a young girl to safety after you ordered her father murdered.\"\n\nHunfrith's eyes narrowed and Dunston knew that he would strike soon.\n\n\"I should have killed you when I had the chance,\" Hunfrith said.\n\n\"We all live with regrets,\" Dunston replied, edging around the hearth and away from Hunfrith.\n\nHunfrith sneered.\n\n\"Your time for living is over, old man.\"\n\nHe swung his sword at Dunston's head. Dunston ducked and, scooping up a stool from beside the fireplace, flung it at Hunfrith. The stool's leg's tangled with Hunfrith's blade and Dunston rushed out of the open doorway and into the bright light of the summer afternoon.\n\nBlinking against the sunlight, he ran as fast as he could across the clearing. His ribs, still not fully healed, were already paining him. He could not keep this up. Besides, even without his recent wounds, Hunfrith was younger and taller and would catch him soon enough.\n\nBehind him, Hunfrith roared and sped out of the hut.\n\nDunston slid to a halt only a dozen paces away. There was nothing to be gained from running. All that would happen is that he would be out of breath and struggling when he had to confront Hunfrith's sword. Better to stand now while he was fresh and had some small chance of victory.\n\nTurning to face the younger man, Dunston slid his seax from its sheath. Hunfrith sped towards him, the long blade of his sword gleaming. Dunston could see instantly that the younger man was no novice with a blade. Facing a skilled swordsman, without a shield and with only a seax, Dunston's only chance would come from luck. Or a cool head, if he could only make his adversary lose his.\n\n\"Your father's corpse is decorating the gate at Exanceaster,\" Dunston shouted. \"All his men are dead too. Some I slew, others were hanged by the king. You are the last one left. The pathetic bastard who doesn't know when he is defeated.\"\n\nDunston had hoped to goad Hunfrith into a reckless attack, but the erstwhile reeve slowed his charging pace before reaching Dunston. Crouching into the warrior stance, he spat.\n\n\"They may be dead, but you will join them soon enough. You may think me pathetic, old man, but like you say, I don't know I am defeated, because I am yet standing and I have a sword in my hand. That doesn't feel like defeat to me.\"\n\nWithout warning, and with none of the tell-tale signs Dunston had grown to expect from warriors who faced him, Hunfrith leapt forward. He feinted at Dunston's head, and as the old warrior brought up the short blade of his seax to parry the blow, Hunfrith altered the trajectory of his blade. Unarmoured as he was, the sword would have disembowelled Dunston, if it had connected. But at the last instant, Dunston threw himself backwards to avoid the blow. His foot sank into one of the deep clefts in the earth caused by the recent lack of rain and he tumbled to the hard earth of the clearing. Dunston grunted with the pain as the fall jarred his ribs.\n\nSensing victory, Hunfrith pressed forward, swinging his sword down. Dunston threw his seax up with nothing but instinct to guide his hand. He parried the strike, and sparks flew. His hand throbbed at the force of the collision and his fingers grew numb. He could not survive more than a few heartbeats, but he could see no way of saving himself. He scrabbled back in the dirt, and Hunfrith came on, grinning at the sight of his foe lying prostrate before him.\n\n\"Now you will die, cowering in the muck. Not so bold now, are you, old man? Who's the pathetic bastard now?\"\n\nLeering, he sliced his sword down at Dunston's exposed legs. Dunston twisted away from the attack and his ribs screamed from the effort. Hunfrith's blade bit into the earth. Dunston tried to regain his feet, but he was too slow; his old injured frame not as lithe as it had once been. Before he was able to rise, Hunfrith had recovered his balance and his wickedly fast sword flickered down again.\n\nAgain Dunston managed to intercept the swing with his seax, but as the two blades clanged together, the weight of the heavier sword sent a wave of shock up his wrist, numbing his hand completely and Beornmod's seax skittered out of his grasp. It fell in the grass a few paces away, but it might as well have been in Exanceaster, for all the help it would do him now.\n\nHunfrith raised his sword. Dunston could only watch in dismay. He was not afraid of death, but to be killed by this treacherous cur rankled. By Christ's bones, how he wished he had brought Dea\u00deangenga with him. No matter his promise to Eawynn, he had never truly believed he would die without a weapon in his hand.\n\n\"Now you die, old man!\" screamed Hunfrith.\n\nA flash of inspiration came to Dunston then, as Hunfrith's blade glittered in the afternoon sun. With numb fingers, Dunston scrabbled at the leather-wrapped knife at his belt. He would yet die with a blade in his grasp.\n\nHunfrith's sword sang through the air as it sliced downward. Dunston roared and surged up, ramming Oswold's unfinished blade into Hunfrith's groin. The knife was unquenched and blunt, but it still had a point. Hunfrith's eyes opened wide as hot blood drenched Dunston's fist. With his left hand, Dunston grabbed Hunfrith's quickly weakening sword arm.\n\nAghast, Hunfrith stared down in confusion and disbelief as his blood pumped over Dunston's arm.\n\nDunston rose to his feet, grinding the bones in Hunfrith's right wrist in his powerful left fist. He shoved the younger man away from him and Hunfrith staggered, but did not fall.\n\n\"What?\" said Hunfrith, stupidly. His eyes followed Dunston's movements, but he seemed incapable of action.\n\nDunston snatched up the fallen seax from the grass and advanced towards Hunfrith. At last, Hunfrith understood the threat and shook off his shock. He attempted to defend himself, to lift his sword. He stumbled back, away from Dunston. His face crumpled in agony; Oswold's knife yet jutted from his body. Again, he tried to raise his sword, but once more the effort proved too much. His breath was coming in wheezing gasps now. Blood gushed down his legs soaking his breeches.\n\nTaking three quick steps forward, Dunston batted the sword away, slapping the flat of the blade with the palm of his left hand. His right fist punched forward and Hunfrith's eyes widened in horror. Dunston twisted the seax blade. It snagged on one of Hunfrith's ribs. The man juddered. Savagely, Dunston withdrew the steel from his flesh and then, without pause, drove it in again, probing with the point until it penetrated Hunfrith's heart. The man's stench filled his nostrils. Hunfrith let out a moaning, rattling breath, fetid with old mead and meat, and sagged against Dunston.\n\nStepping back, Dunston let his foe slump to the earth. Blood pumped from his wounds, staining the grass and the clover. Dunston was breathing heavily. His ribs ached and his hands shook. Looking down at Hunfrith's bleeding corpse, he thought absently how the grass would grow lush there, fed with the man's lifeblood.\n\nThe feeling slowly returned to his numbed right hand. His breathing came fast and ragged for a time and he slumped down in the grass, content to allow the afternoon breeze to cool the sweat on his brow. Eventually, his breathing slowed and he looked at the corpse in the grass. He could not tarry. Aedwen would be here soon. He had not been sure about letting her hunt alone, but in the end she had convinced him.\n\n\"Odin will protect me, won't you, boy?\" she'd said, stroking the hound's ears.\n\nGazing at Hunfrith's crumpled form, Dunston felt a cold fear grip him. The forest was too dangerous for Aedwen alone, even with the dog. He would never allow such folly again. He stood with a groaning wince.\n\nDunston knew what he should do, but for a moment, he was filled with unease and uncertainty. He was the reeve now. It was his duty to uphold the law. Should he not take Hunfrith's body back to Briuuetone? Surely it was not right to merely leave him out here for the foxes, wolves and the woodland creatures to feast upon.\n\nDunston looked at his old house and remembered the day, only weeks earlier when he had set out one morning to check his snares and had instead found a mutilated corpse in a glade. He thought of how taking Lytelman's body to the village had sparked the dreadful events that followed. Of course, had he not found the man's body and taken it to Briuuetone, Wessex might now be overrun by Norsemen and W\u00e9alas.\n\nHe sighed.\n\nIf there was a doom in Godrum's books forbidding what he meant to do, he did not know of it. Besides, Hunfrith was a wolf-head, his life forfeit. He would not be missed.\n\nHunfrith was a large man, and Dunston's ribs throbbed terribly as he dragged the corpse into the forest, far from the house.\n\nLater, when he returned to the glade, smoke drifted from the hut's thatch and the smell of roasting game wafted to him on the warm summer breeze. As he drew near, he could hear Aedwen humming a tune to herself and relief flooded through him.\n\nShe was safe.\n\nHer singing reminded him of Eawynn. Unbidden, tears filled his eyes. He stood there for some time, listening to her. The summer sun soaked into his skin and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine, just for a moment, that the years had not passed. That he was not now an old man. That Eawynn yet lived.\n\nThen, Odin barked and came bounding out of the hut. Dunston smiled at the hound and cuffed away the tears from his cheeks.\n\nStepping into the smoky darkness of the hut, he said, \"Is that partridge I smell? Let's eat and then, let's go home. We have hunted enough for one day.\""
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Lord Edward's Archer",
        "author": "Griff Hosker",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Lord Edward's Archer"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The Welsh border during the reign of Henry III",
                "text": "\"Gruffyd, watch the horses!\"\n\nI nodded. I was the youngest archer in the company. I had seen more than seventeen summers, or so I had been told, but I was still a new archer. I was the one designated for every task deemed to be unworthy of the older archers. I was also the youngest warrior, and so the sergeants at arms also put upon me. My father warned me that this would happen. He said it was inevitable and would make both a man and an archer of me. My father had been an archer. He had served King Henry, the son of King John, and he had prepared me for such things. He had told me to watch and to learn. He had told me to keep my head down. I listened to my father. He was not only my father; he had been a captain of archers and men had deferred to him.\n\nWe served in a border castle. We guarded Chester against the Welsh. We had left Denbigh eight days since and crossed into the area controlled by the Welsh. Baron Henry of Clwyd was Norman and wanted both cattle and captives. He was running short of money. He was not with us and remained in the castle; his lordship rarely came to raid or to war. He had good men to do that for him. The baron enjoyed hunting and wenching. I had been told that he had fought. That had been many years since. Now he sent us to do his fighting for him.\n\nThere were twenty-five of us: ten archers and fifteen sergeants at arms. We were led by Hugh of Rhuddlan. He was a grizzled greybeard who had fought as a sword for hire until he tired of lords dying and failing to pay him. He was Welsh, but he fought for pay, not honour. He would fight any foe so long as he was paid. He had chosen Sir Henry. Sir Henry was not warlike, and it suited him to pay Hugh to do his fighting for him. Hugh ruled us with an iron fist. He was the only one with a hauberk. The other men at arms had helmets and they had shields and swords, but Hugh of Rhuddlan was the one who looked like a warrior. Half of us were Welsh and the other half English; these were the borderlands. Disputed and debated land. We raided the Welsh and they raided us. My mother had been Welsh and my father half Welsh. It was said he was the bastard son of a Norman archer who came north with Henry FitzEmpress. Who knew the truth of such matters? My grandmother had died and kept the secret of his birth from him.\n\nI took the reins of the four horses we had brought and watched as the archers and men at arms made their way up the slope towards the hall. The Welsh lord who lived there, Iago ap Mordaf, was little better than a brigand. He stole from his neighbours as much as he stole from the English. He had many sons and brothers. They were more like a clan than anything; with thirty men and boys, he had warriors he could call upon. They lived in a rambling old hall with a single wooden tower. That was why Hugh of Rhuddlan had chosen this approach. He and the men were scrambling up the side of the stream. It was rocky and difficult to climb, but it had the advantage that the hall hid us from the tower, which watched the valley.\n\nI tied the reins to the branches of the willows which hung over the stream. I chose the thicker ones - I would be beaten if any of the horses broke free. That done, I strung my bow.\n\nThis was my first raid. It was why I was guarding the horses and not protecting the sergeants like the other archers. Gerald One Arrow, my father, had drilled into me that an archer had to be ready at all times.\n\nWhile I was waiting, I chose my best arrow. My father had taught me how to fletch, and I had made all of my arrows. I had stained one of the goose feathers in each arrow red with cochineal. I used that to identify my own arrows and to help me aim. Some of the other archers did not fletch. They bought them from a fletcher. I was happier knowing that each arrow I used would be true. I chose the first one I had made, and I nocked it.\n\nAlthough young, I was large for my age. Most of my comrades were squat and broad. I was tall and powerful. Perhaps that was the mix of Norman and Welsh. However, I was able to move silently any time I chose.\n\nOne of the horses raised her head and pricked her ears. That might have meant nothing. Horses can be sensitive creatures, but I was curious and I cocked an ear and listened. There was a noise. It was above me. I did not think it was our men. I sniffed the air. My father was a good huntsman - he had taught me to use my nose. I smelled sweat, and I smelled mutton fat. There were Welshmen, and they were above me. I used the rocks to step silently up the bank. Further up lay ferns and bracken. I would be able to use those for cover. My brown leather jerkin was old and dull, it would blend in. My face, also, was tanned and not white. I was rarely indoors.\n\nAs I neared the top, I dropped to my knees. As much as I wanted to be able to send an arrow at any Welshmen I spied, I needed to know their numbers and their position. I had seen the footprints in the mud by the side of the stream when we had ascended. I had been suspicious, but as no one else had said anything I had remained silent. I now saw that had been a mistake. The Welshmen had been waiting for us. They were going to turn the ambush around.\n\nI lifted my head above the bracken and edged forward. It was not easy, holding a nocked arrow and a bow. Forty paces from me, I saw the line of twenty Welshmen, crouched and ready to strike. Some had helmets and some had shields. All held a weapon. I was relieved to see that none of them held bows. I could not see our men. I guessed they were edging towards the hall. Should I shout to warn them? Would I be punished by Hugh of Rhuddlan if I did so? My decision was made for me as I saw one of the Welshmen, with a helmet, a shield and a war axe, stand and raise his arm. They were going to attack.\n\nI stood and brought my bow up in one swift motion. I drew back the string. I had trained for ten years, and it was as natural an action as scratching my ear. I aimed at the leader. As my arrow flew, straight and true, I heard him begin to shout. I was drawing and nocking another arrow as he fell dead. Fortune favoured me, or perhaps it was God, for the men looked, not at me, but at their dead leader. I sent another arrow at the man next to him. Then they saw me.\n\nFrom behind them I heard a shout and the clash of metal. I drew another arrow and, as four of them ran at me, I sent it towards the nearest man. It hit him in the chest. This was a test. How fast could I nock and release? There were three of them now. My next arrow hit one in the throat. Two remained, but they were just ten paces from me. The next Welshman to die was so close to me that I could smell his breath. My arrow went through his screaming mouth and out of the back of his head. It was his body that saved me, for the last of the men could not get at me directly. I flung aside the bow and pushed the dying man at the Welshman with the sword and shield. As he fell, I took my dagger from my left boot and grabbed the sword which had fallen from the last man I had slain. I knew how to use a war bow. A sword was a different matter.\n\nThe Welshman grinned. \"Boy, I am going to hamstring you first and then have my fun with you! You have killed my brother and you will pay. Your man\u2013sacks will adorn my wall!\"\n\nThere was a temptation to shout something back at him, but I was terrified. He was my size. He had a leather helmet and a long sword. His round shield had a boss. I would have no chance against him. My father had taught me to look for weaknesses. That applied to animals when hunting, or men when killing. This man was overconfident. He came towards me and I backed through the bracken. He laughed and swung his sword at my head. My descending the slope meant he was above me. I jerked my head back. The sword seemed to hum as it whipped past my face. I knew that if I looked down I was dead. I had to move slowly and feel each footstep before I took it.\n\nBehind him I could hear the battle raging. I had my own battle here on this slippery slope which lead to the stream and the horses. Fate took a hand and my left leg slipped on a rock. The Welshman saw his chance and he raised his sword. Even as I hit the ground I saw the blade coming for me. I am no swordsman, but I am strong. To me the sword was just an iron bar. I held mine above me and the Welshman's sword rang into it. He looked surprised, for he had not beaten me down. I lifted my dagger and rammed it into his foot. He screamed and made the mistake of pulling his injured foot back; my dagger was embedded in the earth from the strength of my blow . He tore my dagger through his foot. Blood spurted. As he fell backwards, I jumped to my feet and brought the iron bar that was my sword across his head. The skull split and I saw brains within.\n\nI put my dagger back in my boot and rammed the sword into my belt. I ran up the slope. At the top, I picked up my bow and I ran past the dead men I had killed. When I reached the flat ground, I saw that the battle was finely balanced. I drew an arrow. Even as I aimed at one of the two Welshmen fighting Hugh of Rhuddlan, I wondered why our archers were not doing as I was. My arrow hit one of the Welshman in the back. I saw the other glance to the side, and, in that moment, Hugh of Rhuddlan slashed him across the middle with his own sword.\n\nI nocked another arrow and saw that seven of my comrades, archers all, lay dead or dying. The other three were having to use their short swords. I aimed at the men the three archers were fighting. As my arrow took the first one, I saw Ralph raise his arm in acknowledgement as he grabbed the bow which lay on the ground. He ran to me. I took another arrow and aimed at the massive Welshman who looked as though he was about to smash his war hammer into Harry Warbow's head. My arrow went through his neck. It did not kill him immediately. He seemed frozen. Harry took his sword and hacked it down on the Welshman's skull. He picked up his bow, and he too ran to me. Even as I took another arrow to help David ap Llewellyn, the Welshman he was fighting skewered him.\n\nNow that Ralph and Harry joined me we had three bows. I sent another arrow into the man who had slain David. I heard Hugh of Rhuddlan shout, \"Shield wall!\"\n\nSuddenly Harry fell with an arrow in his leg. They had archers. I reached for an arrow as Ralph sent one towards the archer who was in the tower of the hall. I nocked the arrow and aimed at a head I could see peering out from the tower. Even while my arrow was in the air, I saw the head rise and a second archer raise his weapon. My arrow hit him in the chest and he plummeted to the ground.\n\nRalph said, \"I think that is the last of the archers. We have to help Hugh of Rhuddlan. He is outnumbered. How many arrows remain?\"\n\nI looked in my quiver. \"Eight.\"\n\n\"Then use them wisely.\"\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan had just seven men with him, and there were still thirteen Welshmen left alive. I saw one of the sergeants fall to a billhook. The Welshman hooked the sergeant's shield and pulled it towards him. Then he rammed the pointed end into the sergeant's throat. My arrow struck him in the shoulder. Ralph sent his next arrow into the thigh of the next Welshman, whose shield prevented a kill. As the Welshman faltered, I saw a gap between his helmet and his shoulder. My arrow went into the tiny space. It was now six against eleven. Suddenly, Ralph went down as though poleaxed. He appeared to have no wound, and then I saw the boy whirling his sling. I had an arrow nocked, and as I saw the sling release, I dropped to my knee and sent an arrow into the boy. A second boy ran towards me with his sling ready. I nocked and sent another arrow. I plucked him from the air. The two boys had seen fewer than ten summers.\n\nIn the time it had taken me to kill the boys, we had lost another man at arms. I grabbed one of Ralph's arrows and sent it into the back of a Welshman. I was now beginning to tire. I had to grit my teeth. I took another of Ralph's arrows and ended the life of the Welshman with the axe, who was about to finish off John of Chester. The sergeant at arms lay on the ground. I had to get closer. I nocked an arrow as I ran. I made sure that I had stopped when I released. My arrow hit another Welshman in the side. I was fewer than twenty paces from him; I could not have missed. Some of these men had mail but that did not stop my arrows. I slew another two before Hugh of Rhuddlan killed Iago ap Mordaf. The five sergeants slaughtered the rest of the Welshmen. They did not give quarter. We had lost too many of our band for that.\n\nWith one of my last arrows nocked, and watching for danger, I walked towards Hugh of Rhuddlan.\n\n\"I thought I told you to watch those horses!\"\n\nI turned to look at him. \"Sorry, Sergeant!\"\n\nHe was grinning. \"I will let you off just this once, but don't make a habit of it, archer!\"\n\nRalph sat up. I thought he was dead, but he had a thick skull. He grinned at me when he saw the sword in my hand. \"An archer with a sword! Who would have thought! I hope you killed that little bastard who hit me with the stone.\"\n\n\"I did!\"\n\n\"Good! For that, I shall buy you an ale.\"\n\nWe headed back to the castle, purses filled with the captured coins, the cattle, swine, grain and horses from the farm and with the war gear we had taken from the dead Welsh clan. We did not bother with slaves. Hugh was angry at having lost men, and the women and children had fled. The baron would be unhappy. The church now frowned upon the taking of slaves, but I knew that the women and the children who were left would struggle to survive the winter. Life was hard here in the borderlands."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "That one battle made me what I became. I was now not only an archer but also a warrior. It had been a costly raid our lord had sent us on, but it had shown me and the men with whom I fought that I could kill. It showed me that I could hold my own with archers such as Harry and Ralph. I was no longer the untried novice. I had used a sword to kill a man. I felt like a veteran. Even Hugh of Rhuddlan began to show me a little respect. I would still receive a cuff and a blow when I displeased him, but I had saved his life, and, for that at least, he was grateful.\n\nLife was not easy in the castle. We had sentry duty and archery practice. The only day we were not working was Sunday; at least one Sunday in four was allowed for ourselves. On that one Sunday in four we went to church and then had the afternoon off. On each of these Sundays I ran, after church, the twelve miles to my father's smallholding. It was not a farm. He had a cottage garden which grew leeks and greens. He fished and he hunted. He gathered. I called him foolish, for he would often hunt, fish and gather in the land of the Welsh. We were just over the border. He had laughed at me and told me that he was too good a scout to be caught.\n\nHe lived alone. My mother had me and then left when I was eight summers old. She ran off with a man purporting to be a doctor selling cures. My father was away, and in those days my grandmother lived with us. When my grandmother died, I lived alone when my father was on campaign. That was one reason he had left the service of the Earl of Chester. He wanted to raise me as an archer.\n\nI headed to his home. It was not far from the castle. I took the woodland way. The woods were his lordship's personal hunting ground. My father's home was in the land just beyond his lordship's. I passed Ada's cottage. Ada lived with her two sisters. All three of them were widows. Some said that they were witches. They were not. They were just three women who had outlived their husbands. With children fled the nest, they now had a comfortable life, raising goats and making cheese. They had offered to help my father, but he was an obstinate man. He liked his isolated existence. However, each time I passed, I always bought some goat's cheese and milk. Ada's cheese was the best in the valley. She used some flavours and ingredients which were a secret. I knew that my father liked the taste.\n\n\"How is he these days, Gammer Ada?\"\n\n\"The same as ever, young Gruffyd. I know why your mother left him. Some men cannot abide the company of women. Your father is one such. I think he spent too long at the wars.\" She handed me the milk in the jug and the cheese wrapped in dock leaves. I gave her the silver pennies. \"But I confess that I like him. He is independent. Still, you will not end like him. You could have any girl in the valley!\"\n\nI blushed, \"I have time enough for that, Gammer.\"\n\nShe smiled an enigmatic smile. \"You will not end your life with a girl from this valley. There is greatness in your future.\"\n\nFather was not in the hut when I arrived. He had chickens and fowls in a pen. There was a female goat he used for milk and butter. Inside the hut was a simple bed. There was a log he used as a table and two small logs for chairs. The hut was conical, and there was no chimney such as the great halls had. There was a fire, which he kept burning in the centre all year around. The smoke kept the wildlife from the thatch. It was a simple existence, but my father enjoyed it, or, at the very least, he did not complain.\n\nI had bought a flagon of ale from the alewife in the town, and I placed it on the table, along with the cheese and the milk. I would have two empty jugs to take back with me. I knew that he struggled to get bread so I had bought him a four-pound loaf. Even when it went stale he would still eat it. Stale bread in the broth he made each day was nourishing. It had been how I had lived while he was away. With little coin and the nearest bakers twelve miles away, bread became a luxury. There were wild greens and trapped animals which made healthy stews. To hunt game on a lord's estate could result in death. A lenient lord could take a limb or a nose; perhaps an ear. I knew that my father risked such punishments, but he could outfox the gamekeepers used by Sir Henry. I too had been forced to poach on many occasions. I think it honed my skills as a hunter and a scout. I had learned to move silently and avoid those who hunted me.\n\nI took the leather pail and marched down to the stream to fetch water. As I arrived I heard my father. He was approaching through the woods. Most men would have had no idea that he was there, but I heard the most minute of sounds. Even though I expected it to be my father, my hand went to my newly acquired sword.\n\nHe grunted when he spied me. He had with him his old dog, Wolf. There had been a time when Wolf had been a fierce wolfhound. Now he was like my father, old and watching life drift by. \"I smelled you half a mile away. How many times have I told you to make your clothes smell of animals?\"\n\nI laughed. \"The other archers in my lord's hall would object, I think. Good to see you Father.\"\n\n\"Then they are tosspots! A good archer cares not what his bow brothers smell like, so long as they are accurate. Tell them Gerald ap Llewellyn told them so.\"\n\nI saw that he had a pair of rabbits over his shoulder. \"They are not from his lordship's land, are they?\"\n\n\"He only eats them in winter! Two rabbits will hardly bother him.\"\n\nI shook my head as we headed to his hut. \"I know not why you sent me to him. He is about as much use as a three-legged horse!\"\n\n\"I told you. The Earl of Chester is not a good master. He cares not for archers. But at least you are close to home if you serve the master of Denbigh.\" He put his arm around me. \"Remember, my son, that an archer is born and not made. You have archer's blood and I have made you work hard to become an even better archer. I am good, but you shall be great.\"\n\nI laughed as we entered the hut. \"Whoever heard of a great archer? Knights; yes, even men at arms, but archers? We do not move the thrones of this world.\"\n\n\"Then you shall be the first. Our ancestor came north with Henry FitzEmpress and each generation has been stronger. Come. I have talked enough and I have an appetite. Skin the coneys. I will put the water on to boil. If we have ale first, then I will have them so tender that I can suck the meat from the bones!\"\n\n\"Your teeth are bothering you again!\"\n\n\"I am old. It is to be expected. Surely you do not mind tender rabbit?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"You need a woman to watch over you.\"\n\n\"I tried a woman once and she left me.\"\n\n\"That was my mother!\"\n\n\"Aye!\"\n\nMy father was gruff and could be taciturn, but we got on well together. He would never praise me. A nod was the most fulsome acknowledgement. However, he had taught me well.\n\nHe saw the sword at my side. \"That is new.\"\n\n\"I took it from the Welshman who tried to skewer me with it.\"\n\nI handed it to him. He felt its balance. \"Not a bad sword. It is shorter than most, but it will do.\" He felt the edge and then flexed it against his thigh. \"It is made of good steel. It looks like it had a jewel on the pommel at one time. I bet the thieving Welshman you took it from sold it. When you have time, polish a river stone and place it there. It will improve the balance. You need a scabbard. If you do not then it will rust and become dull. You do not want to be ever sharpening and cleaning it. Come, while the rabbit cooks we will make one.\"\n\nI was intrigued. I had never seen a scabbard made before. I wondered how my father knew to do so. He seemed to read my thoughts.\n\n\"When we were on campaign, I watched Old Edward, the earl's bodyguard, when he showed the earl's squire how to make one.\"\n\nBehind the hut were lengths of willow. They were cut and were being seasoned. He found one log, slightly longer than the sword. He took a metal spike and, using the back of his wood axe, split the log in two. He split one half in two, and then the next, until he had two thin lengths of rough wood. He talked as he worked. \"People asked me why I chose this spot for a hut. The Earl of Chester offered me larger plots than this one. It was the woods and the stream. I can hunt in this wood, for I have the earl's permission. I have water and I have willow. Willow is a very accommodating timber.\"\n\nHe took his adze and began to smooth the two lengths. If he had not been an archer, then he could have been a carpenter. He knew how to work wood.\n\n\"While I do this, take the cured skins from the hut. They will make the lining. I have some deer hide to bind it.\"\n\nBy the time I had found the seasoned skins, he had finished the wood. He placed the sword between them to make sure it fitted. He took his pot of glue and placed it by the fire. He used the hooves of any dead animals he found to make the glue. Taking his sharp knife, he cut the rabbit skins so that they were smaller than the sword. As soon as the glue bubbled, he coated the wood with it and then placed the skins on the wood. Putting them fur to fur, he laid them on the ground and put two logs onto the top. Over time, the rabbit's fur would flatten. At first, the sword would be hard to draw.\n\nAs he passed the pot with the rabbit cooking, he stirred it and then took a length of deer hide. \"I was going to discard this. It is an awkward width, but I think it will just do for you.\" The deer hide had been scraped and tanned. It was flexible and it was tough. He handed it to me. \"Here, make holes a thumbs' width apart. I will get us bowls. The rabbit is almost ready. We can finish the scabbard when we have eaten.\"\n\nMy hard, calloused hands and my powerful shoulders make short work of the holes. I knew what would be needed next, and I took my knife and slit a length of hide from the edge. It would bind the scabbard together.\n\n\"Come, get your food.\"\n\nMy father was a good cook. Wild garlic and rosemary infused the stew, along with wild greens. He cut a hunk of bread for each of us and we ate. We did not eat all of the stew. We each ate a saddle of the rabbits. It would last my father three or four days. By adding more water and greens each day he would have a thin soup left on the fifth day. He would use it to soak the stale bread. When next I returned I would bring him more. It meant he had bread once a month, at least. We washed the stew down with half of the ale. The rest would be eked out over the next two days.\n\n\"Now then. Let us finish the task.\" He put the sword between the two fur-lined boards and then began to bind them together with the length of hide I had cut. We were both strong and the bindings were tight. He fashioned a loop for my belt, and he positioned the sword on my left hip.\n\n\"Draw the sword.\" It did not come out easily. \"Good, it is a tight fit. Over time, it will become easier. You are an archer. You should not need to draw a sword. If you do, then it means you have run out of arrows.\"\n\nI slid the sword back into the scabbard. It was plain and unadorned, but it would do. I took the piece of deer hide which remained. \"I will use this to make a sheath for my dagger.\"\n\nHe nodded, \"Aye, I never liked the idea of jamming it in your boot. It asks for trouble.\"\n\nI stayed until dusk and then departed. \"I shall see you again in four weeks.\" I handed him three silver pennies. \"Buy yourself more bread.\" He was going to refuse. He was a proud man, and he liked not the idea of charity, even from his son. \"I took the coins from the dead Welshmen I slew. I have more. Buy bread.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"In that case, I will.\" He held out his arm and I clasped it. \"One more thing, my son. Call it advice if you will. I wasted much of my life. I served others. I should have served myself. If you find an honourable man then serve him. I thought Sir Henry honourable. I know that I was wrong. You swore an oath to him, and until he is dead, you cannot break it, but watch out for yourself.\"\n\n\"I will.\" Wolf came and nuzzled my hand. I ruffled his fur and left.\n\nI loped off through the woods. The sword, in its scabbard, rested easily against my leg. On my way there it had banged. My father was right. He always was. I wondered about the stone. I had seen the hole and wondered what should have been in it. I would find a stone from the Clwyd."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "I had found and begun to polish the black and white stone when we were ordered north. As usual, his lordship was not with us. We were joining the men of the Earl of Chester. Hugh of Rhuddlan gathered us together. There were just four archers and ten sergeants.\n\n\"Well, my lucky lads, you get to ride this time! We don't need to march! You will need your blankets; we will be sleeping under the stars for the next week or so!\"\n\nRalph asked, \"Where to this time?\"\n\nGarth, one of the men at arms, said, \"You can bet that his lordship will not be shifting off his arse anywhere.\"\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan brought his mighty hand to smack Garth on the back of the head. \"Watch your mouth! Scots have raided south of Carlisle. The earl wishes to scour the land between Chester and Carlisle of the vermin who infest us. That is why we need horses. Now get your war gear and get mounted.\"\n\nThey were not horses we rode. These were ponies. Hugh of Rhuddlan had a palfrey. He towered over us. The ponies were hardy and they would be able to keep up with the rest of the mounted men. They were as wide as a sumpter but your feet almost scraped the ground. One advantage of raiding the Welsh was that they always had plenty of ponies.\n\nWe headed north for Chester. Our path took us through Delamere forest. This was where outlaws lurked. Periodically, the earl would send his men to hunt down those who lived outside the law. There were many such men. If you offended the lord of the manor, or one of his priests, then you had to find somewhere to live. The forest offered a home. We rode warily through it. Sometimes there would be enough outlaws to take on a small band such as ours. When we emerged, I breathed a sigh of relief.\n\nThe Earl of Chester was also the Prince of Wales, Edward Longshanks. I ventured, \"Sergeant, will the Earl of Chester be leading us?\"\n\n\"No, for he is in France. Sir Ranulf de Kevelioc will be in command.\"\n\nI had heard of him. My father had served under him. When my father had been one of the earl's archers, the Earl of Chester had been John of Scotland. He had been dead for some years.\n\nWhile we waited for the other knights to join us, I finished polishing my stone and fitted it in the pommel of the sword. My father was right, it had a better balance. Just as importantly, it looked right. I felt like a warrior with it at my side.\n\nIt was a motley band which left the city of Chester to head north on the old Roman road. Sir Ranulf led ten knights. There were thirty sergeants and just fifteen archers. We were tucked at the rear with the servants and baggage.\n\nRalph turned to me. \"Now I see why they needed us. We make up over a quarter of the archers. If there are Scots, then you need archers.\"\n\nOne of the other archers, riding a sumpter, spat, \"Don't get ideas above your station! We are the earl's own archers! You lot will just be here to clean up horseshit.\" The earl's archers wore a distinctive livery. They rode palfreys.\n\nRalph was not a man to suffer insults. \"When we stop, friend, then you and I will have words and perhaps a blow or two. There may just be four of us but this young warrior next to me slew twelve Welshmen in one battle. When was the last time you popinjays did anything other than strut the walls of Chester?\"\n\nThey had leggings with stripes and a colourful tunic. We looked like poor relations by comparison.\n\n\"He does not look old enough to have killed any. Has he begun to shave yet?\"\n\nThat made them all laugh. I smiled at Ralph. These days, I was more confident. I was not afraid of this loudmouth archer. \"He reminds me of that last Welshman I gutted with my dagger. He squealed just before he died.\" I turned to look at the archer. \"I would watch a man fight before I insulted him, friend.\"\n\nThe captain of archers, riding at the front of our column, shouted, \"John of Warrington, shut your mouth. If you annoy me, it will be you who cleans up the horseshit!\"\n\nThat made the four of us laugh.\n\nWe rode hard that first day. I enjoyed every moment of it, for Ralph and Harry told me of battles in which they had fought. They told me how an archer could use a pavise and outwit a crossbowman. They gave me tips on how to make a bow and a bowstring. For my part, I gave them my father's tips on how to fletch. We stopped after a long day's ride and we camped by the River Ribble. Hugh of Rhuddlan organised our tents. \"Gruffyd, son of Gerald, and Harry Long Stride, you two will be guarding Sir Ranulf's tent.\"\n\nHarry moaned, \"Why us? What is wrong with his own archers?\"\n\n\"Just do what you are told. His own archers are leaving before dawn. They have horses and are going to scout out the Forest of Bowland. Ralph and Alan of Denbigh, you get to watch the horses. Don't let his lordship down!\"\n\nIt was on the tip of my tongue to say that Baron Henry let himself down all the time, but it would have been wasted and put me in Hugh of Rhuddlan's bad books.\n\nThe sentry duty meant that one of us would have to be awake at all times. We led our horses to the horse lines. Ralph and Alan had an easier duty. They could just tie a piece of cord to the end of the horse lines and would be woken if the horses moved. One of us would have to stand outside the tent and make sure that no one entered while the knights slept. We would alternate.\n\nWe ate with the other archers. I kept a wary eye on John of Warrington. I was bigger than he was but he had the look of a treacherous man. When Ralph went to make water, I saw John of Warrington follow him. I was about to rise when Harry said, \"Just sit. Ralph can handle himself.\"\n\nThey both seemed to be away for a long time. Darkness descended. Captain Jack looked up as Ralph appeared. His knuckles were bloody and his lip was bleeding. He sat down and winked at me. John of Warrington appeared a short while later. His face looked a mess and he was slightly doubled over, as though he was in pain. Captain Jack said, \"Have you got the shits or something?\"\n\nHe mumbled, \"Something like that, Captain.\"\n\nRalph drank some of the ale Harry offered him. \"He is all mouth! I wouldn't want to rely on him if the Scots get close. He will find it hard to ride tomorrow!\" Harry gave him a sideways look. \"I kicked him between the legs. You didn't think he really had the shits, did you?\"\n\nHugh shouted, \"Right you two, duty time!\"\n\nWe picked up our bows and our blankets and headed to the tent. The knights were seated around their own fire. Their servants and squires were tending to them. Sir Ranulf pointed to their tent. \"One can sleep behind. The other stand by the door.\" The door was just a flap. Harry and I had tossed a coin. I would have the first shift and the middle watch. He took my blanket. We would be more comfortable than the others; we would use one blanket as a bed and cover ourselves with the other. My bow was not strung and I laid it down in its cover, where it would not be stepped upon. I moved back into the shadows. I could still hear the knights as they spoke.\n\n\"When do we get a real war, that's what I want to know?\"\n\n\"And where is Lord Edward these days?\"\n\nSir Ranulf hissed, \"Stop moaning. Lord Edward is in France, as you know, and we are preparing for war. It will come. Regard this as practice, Raymond.\"\n\n\"Chasing Scots? There is no honour in killing them. They do not even bring knights south anymore. They are more like bandits!\"\n\nAnother saw me and said, \"And what of Henry of Denbigh? He sends a handful of men and does not come himself!\"\n\nThe one called Raymond, laughed, \"Better without him. He is fit for hunting and that is all. He is so fat that he needs a warhorse to hunt!\" I smiled at that. It was true that our lord was excessively fat. He liked his food, there was no denying it.\n\nSir Ranulf raised his voice as though to silence them. \"Do not speak ill of a brother knight. Without Baron Henry, we would have Welshmen to deal with as well as Scots. When was the last time the Welsh raided your lands, Sir Roger?\"\n\n\"You are right, but I am not sure that the baron dirties his own hands. I have heard that his captain, Hugh of Rhuddlan, is the real warrior.\"\n\n\"Then be grateful that we have him! Now it is time we retired. Our archers will find the Scots on the morrow and then we can deal with them and return to Chester.\"\n\n\"I hope your information was correct, Sir Ranulf. If they have headed north into the old Viking lands, then we shall need more than this handful of men to flush them out.\"\n\n\"Fear not, the abbot of the White Friars monastery was the one who reported their presence. They will be in the forest. The Scots think that it will hide them. Captain Jack will find them.\"\n\nMy watches were uneventful. In those days, I was young enough to go without sleep and the lack of it did not bother me. When I awoke, the rest of the archers had gone. The Baron of Denbigh's archers were the only ones left to protect the knights, squires and sergeants. We headed upstream to cross the Ribble by the old bridge. The forest of Bowland lay to the north. It was the hunting ground of the Earl of Chester. As such, it was free from bandits and brigands. The forest lay just below the high ground. It was what made it such a fertile hunting ground. All types of beasts lay within its eaves. Ahead, I saw birds flocking. I knew birds. These were crows and magpies. They were feasting on flesh. I wondered if I should say anything. Surely someone else would know what the flocking birds meant? I watched the banners of the knights at the head of the column as they entered the forest. Suddenly, Hugh of Rhuddlan spurred his horse and galloped to the head of the column. When he reached his lordship, we all stopped.\n\nRalph chuckled, \"Our captain will be in trouble. I don't think his lordship will take kindly to being stopped by a sergeant at arms, even one as experienced as Captain Hugh!\"\n\nTo our surprise, Hugh of Rhuddlan stood in his saddle, turned and waved at us. \"Archers!\"\n\nWe galloped forward. Ralph was our leader and replied, \"Yes, my lord.\"\n\nSir Ranulf pointed ahead. \"Hugh of Rhuddlan is not happy about those birds in the distance. Investigate them.\"\n\nWe dismounted. We were archers and not horsemen. We took our bows from their canvas sleeves and draped the sleeves over our saddles. We strung our bows and slipped our wrist-guards on. Nocking an arrow each, we prepared to move. Ralph led us at a lope, and we did not enter the forest on the trail but ran through the trees. We were not armoured men. We could move easily. We were light-footed and did not trip over roots nor step into rabbit holes. We formed a diamond. Ralph led, Henry and Alan followed and I brought up the rear. Compared with these three, I was the novice still.\n\nWhen we had covered four hundred paces and were hidden by the trees and undergrowth, Ralph held up his hand. We stopped. We were far enough from the horsemen to be able to hear the forest. There was silence. That in itself was a warning. There should have been noise. Animals should have been skittering through the dead material on the ground, and there was nothing. Ralph waved to the west and we began to move towards the trail. Alan and Henry moved further apart. I scanned the ground. It had rained recently, and I saw footprints in the mud. Someone with bare feet had been over the ground. We wore boots. Often the Scots went barefoot.\n\nAs we neared the trail Ralph stopped us again. This time we heard a noise. It was the sound of squabbling birds. From the sounds, they were magpies. It was the fluttering wings of a pair of the birds that alerted me. They were pecking at a dead archer. I saw his leggings with the black and white stripes. They were now besmeared with blood. They were his lordship's archers. Ralph saw them at the same time. He gave a low whistle and waved for Alan and Henry to keep watch and then gestured me forward.\n\nThere were seven dead archers. Of their horses, there was no sign. I saw that John of Warrington would insult us no more. From the blood at his groin, I guessed what had happened to him after he had died. It begged the question, where were the others, and where were the horses? I headed towards the trail and saw signs of a struggle. The bracken and the grass had been flattened and was bloody. I saw hoofprints that led north and west. I pointed to them.\n\nRalph nodded. \"The Scots are gone. Go back and fetch the column.\"\n\nI nodded, and putting my arrow back in my quiver, slipped my bow over my back. It made running easier.\n\n\"My lord, there has been an ambush. We have found seven dead archers. The captain, the others and the horses are not there.\"\n\nHe nodded and turned to the men at arms and knights. \"Follow me.\"\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan said, \"Fetch the ponies.\"\n\nI mounted my horse, and taking the reins of the others, rode after the column. This was a disaster. We had had pitifully few archers to begin with. Now that the Scots knew we were coming we would find the task even harder. I guessed they had taken the four archers either as hostages or to extract information.\n\nWhen we reached the scene of the ambush I saw that Ralph was examining the ground. He was a good tracker. \"They have headed deeper into the forest, lord.\"\n\nSir Ranulf looked at Hugh of Rhuddlan. \"What think you, Captain, a trap?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"They would draw us deeper into the forest. Your horses make much noise, lord, as does your mail.\"\n\n\"We have been sent to rid the forest of these raiders. I cannot let them wander at will.\"\n\n\"No, lord, but the path we were on comes out close to Craven, and there it splits into two. The Scots could go to Lancaster or head north towards Carlisle. I would wager it to be Carlisle. If we head up the road, then we can wait at the crossroads and turn the ambush onto them.\" He pointed to us archers. \"These four can track and trail the Scots.\"\n\n\"They are our only archers!\"\n\nHugh shrugged. \"Then if we lose them, we have lost but four men. Better that than we end up like John of Warrington here!\"\n\nThe baron nodded. He pointed to Ralph. \"Can you find them?\"\n\nRalph nodded.\n\n\"Then find them, and meet us at the crossroads with news of their whereabouts.\"\n\nAs the men at arms and knights moved off, we slung our bows over our backs and prepared to move off. Harry grumbled, \"So it is fine for us to die, eh? I have a good mind to join the outlaws in Delamere!\"\n\nRalph hissed, \"I know that you are fooling, Harry, but words like that could cost you your eyes. We will not end up like John of Warrington. We are used to the forest. Gruffyd, you have the youngest ears and eyes. Even a blind man can follow this trail. You lead. If you sense danger then drop to a knee. No heroics!\"\n\n\"No, Ralph!\"\n\nI jammed my hat into my belt. I needed to see, hear and feel as I ran through the forest. Ralph was correct. The trail was easy to follow. They had taken horses. Horse tracks are the easiest to follow. I ran but I did not run recklessly. I did not want to be out of breath, and I did not want to stumble into an ambush. After half a mile I stopped. I smelled something ahead. I left my sword in my scabbard and drew my knife. I crept towards the bole of a large elm and crouched. I saw a foot. As soon as I saw the black and white legging, I knew it was another archer from Chester. I stepped around the tree and saw the body of Alan Red Fletch. He had a wound in his leg and his throat had been cut. He must have been slowing them down.\n\nRalph appeared behind me. I pointed. He nodded and gestured for me to carry on. Captain Jack now had just two archers with him. Would they survive? Had they been taken, and if so why? After another half a mile I became aware that the Scots were now following a wider trail than before. They must have known where it was. This had been part of Scotland for some years. It was only in the time of King Henry that it had reverted to England. The trail was a hunter's trail. I moved a little faster. I saw ahead of me a stinking pile of horse manure. It was steaming. The horse that had dropped it had to be less than half a mile ahead of me. I was getting close and I slowed, waving Ralph forward. I pointed to the horse muck and he nodded. He waved Harry and Alan forward.\n\nHe slipped his bow from his back and nocked an arrow. We did the same. He pointed to me and Harry and then to his right. Then he tapped Alan's chest and led him to the left. We moved through the forest now and avoided the trail. It was obvious where the trail was going. I began to hear voices. It was the Scots. A horse neighed and I heard a slap as someone struck the beast to silence it. Harry and I crept. The sound of the neigh and the voices gave us an indication of where they were. Harry nodded towards the trail. We were now thirty paces from it. We moved diagonally so that we were closing alongside the trail but still moving in the forest. I caught the flash of black and white. It was an archer.\n\nOnce I saw the archer's leg I stopped and moved my eyes slowly upwards. I caught sight of bare flesh. Often Scots warriors did not bother with anything above the waist. It was, to them, a sign of their courage. Once I had seen this glimpse of flesh I soon saw others. It seemed the Scots had stopped to rest. Without looking at the sun I could not work out the exact time, but I guessed it was shortly after noon. They must have thought that they had lost us. I realised that there were many footprints surrounding the horse's dung. They had waited. They would have been listening for pursuit. Men on horses make a noise; perhaps they had also been listening out when they had slain Alan Red Fletch.\n\nI looked at Harry. What could four of us do against an unknown number of Scots? He must have read my thoughts. He pointed further down the trail. Up ahead Sir Ranulf was waiting with forty men. Our job was just to keep watch. We continued to creep and I heard the voices of the Scots. Their words were unclear, for they were speaking quietly. The horses stamped their feet. I heard them tearing grass from beneath the trees. I caught the sound of a man making water against a tree. We moved another few paces and then Harry froze. Suddenly we saw men. We had reached the head of the Scottish column. I could see a mailed warrior and he was astride a horse. Harry squatted and I copied him. We waited. Archers are patient creatures. Most of us are hunters and know how to stalk. We were now stalking humans. It was no different.\n\nThey did not stop long. I heard the warrior in the hauberk snap, \"Move, we have fifteen more miles yet to travel.\" I heard grumbling. \"Scouts out!\" I saw three half-naked men lope off to the north.\n\nThey were not going to Lancaster. They were heading for the valley which led up past Coningeston. They could not possibly reach Coningeston. I knew they must be heading to a camp which was north of the Lancaster road. We moved as they moved. Acutely aware that sudden movements would make it easier for them to see us, we used the trees for cover. Only one of us moved at a time. Each time I moved I watched the column of men and animals. I spied Captain Jack. He had been beaten. He had a bloodied head. I marked him and the two men who guarded him. I did not see the other two, but I suspected they would keep their three prisoners separate. No one had told me what we were going to do if it came to a fight, but saving the three archers would be a priority for the four of us. The knights and men at arms could deal with the others.\n\nNot knowing these woods, nor the distance we had to travel was unnerving. We had been told to follow, to track and trail. We had done that. What next? As the trees began to thin, I had my answer. There was a cry from the far side of the Scots. One of the mailed men was thrown from his horse. He shouted as he fell and his horse bolted towards the thinner trees. Suddenly every back was turned to us as the Scots faced this threat. I raised my bow, ready to end the life of any Scot who came within range, but Harry restrained me and nodded for me to follow him. He was my senior and I did as he instructed.\n\nRalph and Alan were using their arrows well. Men fell and the Scots had to lift their shields to protect themselves. I heard the warrior shout, \"After them! There cannot be many!\" The numbers before us thinned as the Scots scattered. I saw that the prisoners were bound, but they had now brought the three of them them together. Tim and Walther looked as bloody as Captain Jack. Three men guarded them. I now knew what Harry intended.\n\nWe moved silently. I saw Harry slip his bow over his back and take out his short sword. When we were just ten feet from the column of Scots, he pointed for me to guard his back. Harry was a killer and he was the toughest man I knew. He crept close to the Scot on the right and, in one motion, pulled back his head and slit his throat. I sent an arrow into the back of the one on the left, and even as the middle one turned to stab at Harry, I had drawn a second arrow, nocked it and sent it through the side of his head. Harry cut the bonds of the three archers. I had an arrow ready. There was too much noise for the three deaths to be noticed.\n\nCaptain Jack and his two archers grabbed weapons from the dead Scots and moved back towards me. They were seen.\n\n\"The prisoners! This is a trick!\"\n\n[ Harry had his bow out, and the two of us ended the lives of the first two heroes who ran at us. Captain Jack led his two men deeper into the forest. They were not moving quickly, for they were wounded. I was pulling and nocking arrows as fast I could, but the Scots were now using the trees and their superior numbers. Had it just been Harry and me, we could have melted away, but the three wounded men would slow us down. Ultimately, they might just get us killed ]\n\nHarry and I had been moving closer together as we moved back. Once we used our last arrows we would have to fight together with our swords. I sensed a movement to my left and I spun and loosed, almost without thinking. One of the Scots had sneaked around and was just ten feet from me. My arrow ripped into his chest, only the feathers protruded. Even so, he continued to run at me. I took an arrow from my quiver. I had no time to nock it, and so I rammed it through his eye and into his skull. The arrow broke but he died. I was down to three arrows.\n\nThen I heard a cry, \"England!\" It was Sir Ranulf, the knights and the men at arms approaching. We were still in danger. The men who pursued us had lost friends. Just as we would have done, so did they seek vengeance.\n\n\"Back to us!\" I heard Captain Jack's voice. I sent another arrow towards the advancing men. My arrow hit one in the shoulder. He broke it off and continued to charge. These men were hard. I flicked a glance over my shoulder and saw that Captain Jack and his two men were between two oaks. They had their captured weapons ready and were making a stand. I used my penultimate arrow to end the life of the wounded Scot and ran back.\n\n\"Get behind us.\"\n\n\"I have but one arrow left!\"\n\n\"Then use it well!\"\n\nI stood behind them and saw the ten Scots who advanced towards us. Most were not mailed. They wore no helmets and most were bare-chested with wildly tattooed bodies. In their left hands they held small bucklers, whilst in their right, they held weapons ranging from axes to swords, clubs to small hammers. These were not warriors, but they were killers. One had a mail vest and I used my last arrow on him. At a range of ten paces my arrow would not be stopped by mail. He looked down as the arrow struck him in the chest. The strike must have hit something vital for he fell backwards, as though poleaxed.\n\nI dropped my bow and drew my sword and my hunting knife. It was sharp enough to shave with. I stood next to Tim. He gave a wan smile. \"Nice arrows, archer!\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" The fact that I was complimented by his lordship's archer made me swell with pride.\n\n\"I hope you are as good with that sword or it could all be in vain.\"\n\nHarry had also used his last arrows and he stood next to Walther. There were seven of them and five of us. The fact that we had three injured men, and that my lack of beard made me look like a boy, must have given them encouragement, for they raced at us, swinging their weapons wildly. Had I not fought with a sword before I might have been intimidated. Because I was on the outside, two men came at me. One was ahead of the other. I had been taught to take the closest target first. The other would only be a heartbeat behind his companion. The first Scot had an axe held in two hands, while the one behind had a buckler and a short sword.\n\nI must have appeared like a frightened rabbit to the Scot with the axe, for as he swung and I didn't move, he shouted, \"Are ye filling yer breeks, Englishman?\"\n\nIn answer, I dropped to one knee, and as the axe cracked into the bole of a tree, rather than my head, I drove my hunting knife up between his legs and into his guts. I had gutted wild boar. This was easier. With the axe embedded, his hands went to his stomach. I stood and used my powerful shoulders to drive his body into the swordsman behind him. The dying man fell backwards and I slashed my sword sideways. It was more in hope than expectation, but the swordsman's buckler was ineffective. His dying companion lay against it. My sword struck the swordsman's thigh and, as I pulled it backwards, I saw that it was slick with blood.\n\nI was learning that, in a battle, you concentrated upon your own fight and didn't worry about others. I heard screams and shouts from behind me but I ignored them. The man I had wounded could still fight. I had seen wild pigs, stuck with boar spears. They had still eviscerated an unwary hunter. The Scot seemed enraged that I had hurt his leg. Blood was pouring from the wound. It was not mortal, but it needed attention. He tried to strike me in the face with his buckler. His left leg did not give him the support he needed, and the blow was easily blocked by my knife. He swung his sword at me, thinking that my sword could not reach him. He was right, but he didn't realise how strong I was. I hooked my left leg around his right, and as he swung, I pushed. With a weakened left leg, he tumbled to the ground. As I lay prostrate, I hacked my sword across his neck. It was a powerful blow and the head rolled away.\n\n\"Gruffyd!\"\n\nI turned in time to see Tim's butchered body and both Harry and Captain Jack fighting two men each. I ran, screaming. It distracted one man who was fighting Captain Jack. He turned, but he turned too late. I swung my sword hard across his middle. Scraping off his ribs, it hacked deep into his body. He was dead, even as I withdrew my sword. I stabbed the other Scot in the arm, and that allowed Captain Jack to ram his sword deep into his body. Harry was struck, just as I turned to go to his aid. I saw my friend fall. He had been hit by a small war hammer. I stabbed with both knife and sword at the two men who had fought him. Both found flesh and made the men turn. Captain Jack's sword hacked across the face of one man. That left one other . I had stabbed his left arm. He was bleeding but he was not willing to die.\n\nSwinging his sword from on high, he attempted to bring it down and split my head in two. Instinctively, I brought up my own sword. I was an archer. I had muscles as thick as young oaks. Our swords jarred together. My father had told me that it was a good sword, and the clash of steel proved it. The Scot's sword bent. He looked up in surprise as I drove my dagger up between his ribs. As it scraped off bone I twisted. His eyes glazed over and blood oozed from his mouth.\n\nI looked around for more enemies. The battle at the path still raged, but we were now an island of the dead. Walther was lying, like Harry, unconscious. They had both been struck in the head by the small war hammer. I knelt to see to Harry and Captain Jack did the same for Walther. As he did so I heard him say, \"Jack of Warrington could not have been more wrong about you, Gruffyd son of Gerald. I would offer you the chance to fight for his lordship.\"\n\nI was too busy looking at the wound of my friend to take in the offer. I often wondered what would have happened if I had accepted. I just dismissed it. \"Thank you, Captain, but I will serve Sir Henry a little while longer.\"\n\nHarry groaned. Captain Jack said, \"Your friend must have a harder head than poor Walther here. My archer, like Tim and the others, is dead.\"\n\nI took Harry's water skin and forced some between his lips. He coughed and said, with his eyes still closed, \"Are you trying to poison me? You give a wounded man wine, or, at the very least, beer.\"\n\nCaptain Jack said, \"He will survive. Now look lively and arm yourself. We are not out of danger yet.\"\n\nAs it turned out we were. Ralph and Alan came racing through the woods with swords drawn. Alan had a bandage around his head and a bloody face. They had fought hard too. Ralph grinned when he saw us both alive. \"I thought to find two butchered bodies here. I am right pleased you live. And you too, Captain Jack. Come, the Scots are dead. Let us see what offerings these miserable vermin hold.\"\n\nCaptain Jack said, \"Whatever is here goes to these two archers. But for them, I would be dead. They could not save my two archers, but this young Ajax slew four and wounded one. They deserve it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "We did not do badly from the bodies. They had coins. They had raided some churches and some farms. They had known where the farmers hid their gold, and we shared it between us. We collected their weapons and took back the two dead archers. The wildlife would feast well on the Scots carrion. Sir Ranulf had not emerged unscathed. There was one dead knight, Sir Giles, and eight dead men at arms. The Scots had fought hard. The animals they had captured were not to be found, and Sir Ranulf assumed that there were more Scots ahead of us. He ignored us, but was fulsome in his praise of Captain Jack.\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan came up to the four of us. \"You four did well. Ralph, tell me what happened while the high and mighty decide what we do next.\"\n\n\"We tracked them, and I knew that you would be close, Captain. I gambled. I thought that if we loosed arrows and killed a few men, then they would shout and cry when they died, and you would hear. What I did not expect was that Harry and Gruffyd would have the sense to rescue the archers. I know two died, but I had thought that all three were dead men walking.\"\n\nHugh looked at the two of us. \"I can see that you two have a future.\"\n\nI know not why I said it, but I did. \"Captain Jack asked me to join his archers.\"\n\nAlan was aghast. \"And you refused?\" He began to feel my head, \"I thought it was me who had a blow to the skull. If you serve Sir Ranulf, then you live in Chester Castle. You do not have to seek out wild Welshmen who wish to feed your bollocks to the dogs, and you are paid!\" He shook his head. \"Just when I thought you had something about you, then you do this!\"\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan put his arm around me. \"Do not listen to him. I admire your loyalty and it will be rewarded. When I tell Sir Henry what you have done for his lordship there will be coin for you.\"\n\nSir Ranulf shouted, \"Hugh of Rhuddlan, yours are the only archers now. North of here lies a castle; Hornby. The knight is Richard fitz Meldred. Take your horses and see if the way to it is clear. We will follow.\"\n\nHugh said, \"You heard.\"\n\nWe mounted our ponies and headed north. \"Not so much as a kiss my arse there! I tell you, Ralph of Appleby, I like not this duty. You would have thought we did nought.\" Harry was not happy.\n\n\"We are the only archers now.\"\n\nAlan said, \"Aye, but even if all of Captain Jack's men had survived, we would still have drawn this duty. It is not as though Sir Henry values us. We are paid less than any other archers in the county.\"\n\nRalph was silent. He was torn. Even I could see that, and I was new. He was loyal to his lord, but he saw the injustice. When he spoke, it was measured. \"Look, I am not saying you are wrong, but I am not agreeing either. I will speak with Hugh of Rhuddlan when we return.\"\n\nHarry was like a dog with a bone. \"I have heard that English and Welsh archers are prized in France. They are paid well.\"\n\nRalph turned in his saddle, \"You would serve the French?\"\n\nHarry shrugged. \"Longshanks is in France now. He has relatives there. French, Norman, English \u2013 it is all the same to the likes of us. What has the crown ever done for me?\"\n\n\"You would leave his lordship's service?\"\n\nHarry laughed. \"You are a fine archer, Ralph, and a good captain, but you are a fool. Of course I would. There is no reason for me to continue to serve a lord who does not value me.\" He turned to me. \"When this is over, Gruffyd, come with me. You are handy in a fight. I owe my life to you and I would take you with me.\"\n\n\"You are stepping onto a dangerous road, Harry!\"\n\n\"If Gruffyd and I turned our ponies and headed east, there is none to stop us, Ralph. I am not saying that is what we will do, but do not push our friendship. I almost died today, and for what? What thanks did I get? None!\"\n\nWe rode north in an acrimonious silence. I had not said a word. I would not leave with Harry, but much of what he had said made sense. I began to wonder as we neared Hornby and its castle. We told the castellan of the arrival of the conroi and I was sent back to tell the others that it was safe. I was still the youngest and I still drew those duties. We slept in the stable. It was warm and it was dry. The food was porridge. My father ate better.\n\nThe next day we were the scouts who sought the enemy. The difference was that Captain Jack rode with us and so all disloyal talk was silenced. He did praise us and tried to persuade all of us to join his lordship. I knew that Ralph and Alan were tempted, but Harry had spoken to me in the stable. He was ready to run.\n\n\"When this is over and we return home, let us leave the rest near to Chester and let us head east. We can be at York and take ship for France. We are both good at hiding. They will not find us.\"\n\nI had been tempted but I remembered my father. I could not leave without saying goodbye to him. \"Let us wait until we are back at the castle. It will be just as easy to leave from there, and besides, his lordship may reward us.\"\n\n\"And I may grow a pair of tits and become a wet nurse! You are too trusting, Gruffyd. It will be the undoing of you.\"\n\nIt seemed we had killed the clever ones. We found the Scots just north of Uluereston. They had raided the town and were grazing their captured animals by the river. With sentries watching clouds, and not for enemies, they were surprised by us when we attacked from the north.\n\nEven though we had only a handful of archers, we were able to slay those who threatened our knights and men at arms as they rode to slaughter the raiders. They could have all been captured, for we had better horses, but Sir Ranulf wished to make an example of them. Sir Ranulf had all of the Scots who surrendered maimed. Most lost their left hand. It was a harsh lesson for them. They would learn not to raid England. It took six days for us to return most of the animals and slaves. Some of the animals' owners were now dead. They became the property of Sir Ranulf. He had payment for his dead archers.\n\nHarry was not happy as we headed south. We had gained coin and some weapons, but others had done better. I knew that he brooded upon the injustice of Sir Ranulf. The spoils from the last attack were given to his men at arms and knights. We had none. It seemed to confirm his opinion of our betters. We stayed at the estate of Sir Richard Molyneaux. It was in the village of Euxton and was just a day's ride from Chester. We were relegated to the stable once more. Harry came to me and asked, \"I would take the coins we took and ride east. Come with me Gruffyd. We will serve together and make our fortunes fighting for the French. What say you?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I will not, Harry. I would like to, but I need to speak with my father first.\"\n\n\"I have no time to wait. When I flee I will ride hard.\"\n\nI shook my head. He held out his hand. \"Then this is goodbye Gruffyd. Watch out for yourself, and trust no man!\"\n\nHe took a palfrey and a sumpter. There were no guards, for all were in the hall, drinking. He took a bag of coins and he walked the horses away. He simply disappeared into the undergrowth. I watched him go and felt regret. For all his gruffness, I had liked Harry. I desperately wished to go with him but I was afraid. Harry was now an outlaw.\n\nThe next morning, when the theft was discovered, the three of us were interrogated thoroughly. Sir Ranulf could not believe that we knew nothing about the flight of our comrade. I kept a deadpan face. I had sworn no oath to Sir Ranulf. I owed him nothing. Had he treated Harry better then he would not have run. Captain Jack scrutinised my face. Sir Ranulf sent four men at arms south to try to apprehend him. Harry was heading east. He would evade them.\n\nAs we rode south, Captain Jack rode next to me. \"I know that you know more than you are saying, and I understand both your loyalty to your friend and the reason for his flight. Reconsider my offer and you will be treated better.\"\n\n\"I will speak with my father first, Captain, and I thank you for the kind offer.\"\n\n\"That is a fair comment. He will advise you to join me. Of that, I have no doubt.\"\n\nWe reached Chester and spent a night there. Sir Ranulf came, with Captain Jack, to see us in the warrior hall where we were enjoying a feast. \"You three archers have shown that you are worthy to serve under me. I know that Captain Jack asked you before, and now I will make it a formal offer. Will you serve under me?\"\n\nRalph said, \"I am the captain of Sir Henry's archers, lord. I cannot.\"\n\nAlan said, \"I will gladly take the offer, lord.\" Then he looked at me and nodded.\n\nI shook my head. \"I will not give my answer yet, lord. I will first speak with my father. It was he who advised me to serve Sir Henry. I cannot, in all conscience, make such a decision without speaking with him.\"\n\nSir Ranulf shrugged. \"Let me know within this sennight.\" He turned and left, obviously displeased with my words.\n\nCaptain Jack smiled. \"You are a man of principles. I doubt not that your father will advise you to join us, for I know his reputation. Gerald ap Llewellyn was known to be a mighty archer and a man of honour.\"\n\nHugh of Rhuddlan was less than happy that one of his best archers had been poached. He rode with Ralph and me. With dead men at arms we now had palfreys to ride rather than ponies. We led our ponies with our baggage. \"I know that you think Captain Jack and Sir Ranulf offer more for you than Sir Henry, but let me speak with the baron. I am certain he will see fit to reward you two for your service.\"\n\nRalph shook his head, \"He has lost two archers and there are four fewer men at arms. He has nothing to show for his fealty to the Earl of Chester. I will wager that we will receive shorter shrift than before.\"\n\n\"Then why did you not choose to go with Captain Jack?\"\n\n\"I told you. I swore an oath.\" He looked at Hugh. \"What say you, Captain? Can we not reward Gruffyd by allowing him to visit with his father?\"\n\nHugh reined in his horse. We were riding at the rear. \"You would return? You would not do as Harry did and run?\"\n\n\"I swear that, no matter what my father says, I will return to his lordship. I would not be a man otherwise.\"\n\n\"Then go, and return on the morrow. I will answer to the baron for your absence. I owe you that at least, for you did noble service, and I appreciate it even if Sir Ranulf did not.\"\n\nI left them at the baron's forest. I had no bread nor ale to take to him, but I would call at Ada's and buy some cheese and milk. It had been well over a month since last I had seen him. We had been on campaign for almost eighteen days. Much could have happened in that time. Ada and her sister Gurtha were outside cleaning out the goat pen as I rode up. I should have known something was amiss from their faces. Ada normally had a warm welcome for me. Instead she began wringing her hands. I wondered if something had happened to Seara, the third sister.\n\nI dismounted. \"What is amiss?\"\n\nThe two of them threw their arms around me and began to weep. I put my arms around them in return. Seara must have died. They lived alone and my father and I were the only ones they saw. Ada stepped back. \"His lordship would not let us tend to the body! We had to leave him where he is.\"\n\nA shiver ran down my spine. \"He?\"\n\n\"Your father is dead. His body swings from a tree outside the remains of his hut.\"\n\nI forced myself to be strong and to make these two upset and overwrought women tell me exactly what had happened. When I knew all, then I could act. \"Tell me all and tell me slowly. I need to know.\"\n\nAda nodded. \"Aye, for you are a man now. Your father was always proud of you. He said you were the best thing to come from the time he spent with your mother.\"\n\nI said, patiently, \"What happened?\"\n\n\"Eight days since, Sir Henry and his friends were hunting. They were using dogs and they had been drinking. They caught no animals. They stopped near to your father's hut. Old Wolf stood and growled, or so the beaters told us, and Sir Henry's dogs tore it to pieces. Your father went berserk. He took his axe and slew six of them before his lordship had him taken. He had him blinded and then hanged for damaging his property. He forbade any to touch the body. He wanted it kept as a reminder that his property is sacrosanct. He had your father's hut destroyed.\"\n\nI nodded. I was numb, but I reached into my purse and took out a silver sixpence. \"Here, take this for your kindness to my father.\" In my head I was already planning what I would do. I would join Harry, but first, there was something else I had to do. It was something so terrible, even thinking it made me shiver.\n\nAda took it and said, \"What will you do?\"\n\n\"I will bury my father and Wolf.\"\n\n\"And that is all?\"\n\n\"Farewell ladies. I fear I will see you no more. I thank you for all your kindnesses. Think well of me, no matter what you hear.\" I mounted and rode away, ignoring their protestations. I knew what I would do. I could see now that I was meant to come back. It was not to seek my father's advice, it was to do him one final service.\n\nI saw that the birds had feasted on my father's flesh. Flies buzzed around his body. Of Wolf, there was little left. His bones had been picked over. I noticed that his lord's hounds had been taken. I tied up my horse and climbed the tree. I cut the rope. My father was old and had not been heavy. I lowered his body to the ground. I saw that although the hut had been destroyed, nothing had been taken, save the axe he had used to kill the hounds. It had been thrown around as though by wild animals. I found a mattock and his wooden shovel. I went to the vegetable plot. My father had been happy tending it. He would now spend eternity there. I dug a grave. I made it deep. I found the cloak he had worn when he had served the Earl of Chester, and I wrapped his body in it. I laid Wolf's remains at his feet. I placed stones along the two bodies, and then I piled back the soft earth. I neatened the sides and then fashioned a cross.\n\nIt was coming onto dark and I lit a fire. I needed neither food nor warmth but I needed the fire. When it was hot, I used pieces of metal and my knife to carve in the cross, Gerald the Archer. The hot knife would burn the wood and make the letters stand out. That done, I planted the cross at the head of the grave, and then I spoke to my dead father.\n\n\"Forgive me father, for I was not here to protect you. Had I been here, then you might still be alive. I swear that your death will be avenged. I cannot serve a man like Sir Henry. I fear I must become an outlaw. Do not be ashamed of me in the hereafter. There is honour involved. When I leave here, I will no longer be Gruffyd, son of Gerald. I will be Gerald the Archer. I will take the name Gerald War Bow and begin my life anew. Perhaps that is what you meant when last you spoke with me.\"\n\nI sat before the fire and stared into the flames. There were so many things I wished I had asked him before he had died. It was too late now. When I had done what had to be done, then I would head east. Perhaps it was not too late to find Harry. He might not wish an outlaw with him. Then I remembered that he, too, was an outlaw.\n\nI did not sleep well. I was not haunted by the dead. My mind was filled with plans. I knew what I had to do but I did not wish to die. After some time of tossing and turning I rose and watched dawn break. I searched the discarded detritus of my father's world. He had little in his life, but there were items of value. I found his bow. It was a good one and would be my spare. I found his bowstrings. I found the spare food he had buried underground to keep it from scavengers. There was a salted leg of venison. It was not a large one, but it would do. One of his most valued possessions was the bag of salt. I took that. I also dug up the arrows he had stored. I had but eight remaining. He had fifty. They were good arrows. Half of them were hunting arrows with a barbed tip, but the other half were knight killers. They had needlepoint bodkins at the end. He had dyed the feathers green. It was an affectation so that he would know who or what he had killed. I used red. I took his water skin. A spare was always handy. That was all that remained. It was not much to show for a life.\n\nAfter packing the pony with my arrows I mounted the palfrey and rode towards the castle. I left the pony tied to an elder tree in the forest, two miles from the castle. When I left I would be in a hurry.\n\nThis time, as I approached the castle, I took careful note of all that I saw. It was Alf and John who were the sentries. This was their duty now, to watch the gate. They were both old and slow. They would not be an obstacle.\n\n\"You are up early, young Gruffyd.\" They were smiling. They did not know what had happened to my father. I wondered if others knew.\n\n\"I promised Hugh I would return, and I am a man of my word. If I say I will do something then I will.\"\n\nOnce inside the inner bailey, I tied my horse next to the water trough to allow him to drink. I strung my bow and held two green fletched arrows next to it.\n\nThere were horses with beaters holding them, ready for the knights to ride forth and go hunting. There were no dogs. I smiled grimly. His lordship was going hunting. I saw Hugh of Rhuddlan speaking with Ralph. I walked over to them. Ralph frowned when he saw the stringed bow. He was an archer and knew that an archer did not do that. He said nothing. My face must have shown what was in my heart, for Hugh of Rhuddlan said, \"What ails you, Gruffyd? Did you have words with your father?\"\n\nThey did not know. \"That would have been difficult, Captain. My father was blinded and hanged by Sir Henry. I buried him last night.\"\n\nHugh said, \"I am sorry for your loss, but I am certain Sir Henry had good reason. Had your father been poaching?\"\n\nHugh was clutching at straws. I forced a smile. \"I will ask him that.\"\n\n\"Be careful, Gruffyd. Do not upset his lordship.\"\n\nI nodded. Luckily, I did not have to say more, for Sir Henry, his squire and two other knights emerged. He saw me and shouted, \"You, archer! Hugh of Rhuddlan overstepped himself when he allowed you to spend a night away from the castle. You will forego your monthly day off.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Tell me, my lord, why did you hang my father?\"\n\nHe took ten steps towards me so that he was but five paces from me. \"You insolent wretch! I answer not to you. I will have you whipped for that. Hugh of Rhuddlan, bind him!\"\n\nIn an instant I had an arrow nocked, and I aimed it at Hugh. \"One step towards me, Captain, and you will die!\"\n\nHe shook his head sadly as he backed away. He had seen me at work and knew my skill. \"I had high hopes for you.\"\n\n\"Back off, Captain, and you too, Ralph. Lower your swords to the ground, or by God I will end your lives here and now. You know I can do so.\"\n\nThey complied.\n\nSir Henry drew his sword. \"Am I surrounded by cowards? I will end your wretched life myself.\" I loosed one arrow and it went through his leg and into the ground. He squealed like a stuck pig. He could not move without tearing the arrow out. \"You will die for this!\"\n\nI had another arrow ready. I saw his squire and the two knights reaching for their swords. \"If you wish to die, then draw your swords. On your knees and you shall live. I have twenty arrows, and I am the fastest archer in this castle.\" The squire hesitated, and my arrow smacked into his left arm. I had another nocked before the scream had died. I began to back towards my horse. I think that Sir Henry thought he was going to live. He was not.\n\n\"Sir Henry, you are a coward. You let others fight for you. You are ungrateful and do not deserve the men who follow you. I swore an oath to fight for you so long as you live. I am no oath breaker. My oath ends now!\"\n\nI do not think any expected what I did. My arrow struck the knight between the eyes. He died instantly. I was already leaping onto the back of my horse as Hugh of Rhuddlan shouted, \"Close the gates!\"\n\nIt was too late. Alf and John were old and slow. As I galloped over the wooden bridge they hurled themselves into the dry ditch to save being trampled. As I rode towards the wood and my hidden pony, I wondered just how long I would survive. I had cast the bones. I was now an outlaw."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "I knew I would be pursued. There were horses ready, but those horses belonged to the two knights. Hugh and Ralph would never dare ride his lordship's horse. They would have to saddle their mounts and then follow me. Hugh and Ralph might have caught me. The knights would not. I had time. I did not thrash my horse. I knew that the two knights would. They would be affronted by the audacity of an archer slaying one of their own. I was a peasant and they were nobility. The road which led to the forest was straight for a mile or so. I turned in the saddle and saw them hurtling after me. Neither was wearing mail. They were equipped for hunting. They had boar spears and swords. I recognised both of them. One was Sir William Fitz Mortimer, and the other, his younger brother, Sir Richard Fitz Mortimer. Both were wastrels who just spent their days hunting, drinking and carousing with Sir Henry. I had taken away their livelihood. They would seek vengeance.\n\nOnce the road turned, I stopped and dismounted. I tied the horse to a tree and drew two arrows. I could hear their horses and I drew my bow. As Sir William rounded the bend I sent an arrow deliberately into his leg. It went through and into the horse. The horse fell and knocked over Sir Richard. I saw his head strike the ground hard as he crashed to it. He did not move. I replaced the arrow and mounted my horse. I tore through some nearby branches and made my horse turn before diving into the forest. As soon as I found the path I joined it and rode more carefully. Ralph was a good tracker. I wanted him to follow me into the forest. I knew this forest well. There was an area of stone not far from the path. When I reached it I rode my horse along it, and then took him back through the forest. I avoided breaking branches. They would find my trail, but by then I would be long gone. Of course, if they knew me well, they would ignore the trail through the forest and they would be waiting on the road where I had left the pony. Then I would be hanged!\n\nI reached my pony and saw no one. Leading the animal, I galloped down the road. I needed to put as much distance between myself and my pursuers as possible. I planned on heading for Delamere forest. It was known as a refuge for outlaws and even Sir Ranulf was wary of entering. That was a good thirty-five miles away. I could not reach it in one journey. If I tried, I risked losing one of my animals. In a perfect world I needed all three animals. That way, I could have changed horses and outrun pursuit. Had I been on foot I would have been as good as dead. I planned on reaching the Dee by nightfall and hiding in the woods that lay along the river. I would swim the horses across just before dawn. From the River Dee it was just ten miles to the distant forest.\n\nHowever, I had two problems. One was Chester and Sir Ranulf. The other was Congleton and the powerful baron, Sir Roger de Lacy. I had to cross the river between the boundaries of their estates.\n\nI left the road just before it crossed the River Alyn and I swam my horse and pony. It was a narrow river, but it showed me that they could swim. I then made my way through an unknown wooded area. I was many miles from my home. I relied on the skills my father had given me. I used the sun and the moss to guide me as near to north and west as I could get. Each time I smelled woodsmoke I took a detour. I wanted to avoid people. It was not that they might harm me, but they would be able to identify me. I wanted to disappear. I knew that I had committed a crime. It would be called murder. I called it justice. I called it an eye for an eye, but I was just an archer. I had no powerful lord to support me. I would have to leave England, but first I had to find sanctuary.\n\nIt was getting on for dusk. I wanted to find the river before darkness fell. It was my horse and pony who found it. Their ears pricked up and they hurried to get to the water. I dismounted and walked them, for I knew that the Dee had ships which used it. I was still trying to remain hidden. The bank was overgrown. There was no path, and that suited me for it meant that I would not be disturbed. I let my animals drink and I filled my water skin. I led them away from the river and found a bower where willows overhung the river and wild hawthorn and elder trees screened us. I risked no fire. I hobbled the animals where they were grazing. I sliced some hunks off the venison and grabbed handfuls of the sour elderberries. I spied a bramble bush and found some ripe blackberries. It was hardly a feast, but it would keep me going. By the time I had eaten and drunk it was pitch black. Darkness was my friend. I had not slept the night before and I was exhausted. I was asleep almost instantly.\n\nArchers know when to wake up. I know not why. Perhaps because we are in the woods so much that we are like the animals, and nature courses through our veins. Whatever the reason I woke before dawn. It was not long off sunrise and I saddled the horse and pony and led them to the river. When I had looked the previous night, it had appeared to be about thirty paces across. The Alyn had been barely eight paces. This was a faster river, and wider. I held onto the pony's reins and led the horse to the river. We walked in. I allowed them to drink while I slipped my hand under the saddle of the horse. I clicked my tongue and they both walked into deeper water. We made it easily to about a third of the way across. Then they began swimming. As I had expected we were taken downstream. I was a strong youth and I held the pony's reins tightly. The horse was a strong swimmer and the pony a game one. When their hooves touched the river bed we were just eight paces from the shore. I took my hand from beneath the saddle and grabbed the reins. I was across the Dee.\n\nAfter tightening the horse's girths, I mounted him and began to ride, as the sun rose in the sky, north-west towards the forest. I saw it as it spread out ahead of me. It was ten miles away, and yet it seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. Once again I was entering unknown territory. There was no assurance that the bandits and outlaws would accept me as one of their own. Every man would be my enemy. It was a daunting prospect.\n\nI halted half a mile or so from the forest. I saw a road enter the trees. That would not be the route I would take. I turned my horse to the north and rode across a recently harvested field. If there was a farmer nearby and he saw me, then so be it. I was close to my destination. If he reported it then it would not change my circumstance. I would lie low in the forest for a couple of days and then I would head east.\n\nAs I neared the forest, I saw that its eaves had fewer trees than deeper within. I spied a stream coming from the woodland. It was heading towards the Dee and I decided to follow the other way towards the forest. It did not look deep and would be a safe, if noisy, way to enter the hideout of the brigands. Within a few hundred paces the light disappeared and the forest became a gloomy and threatening place. The trees all strove for height and I saw that the ground was free of obstacles. I clambered from the stream. I stopped frequently, and I listened. There were no animal noises. That meant I was being watched and probably tracked. It was always easier to track someone than discover where your trackers were.\n\nI saw a lighter part of the forest and I headed for it. When I reached it I dismounted and, standing between the pony and the horse, shouted, \"I seek sanctuary with the bandits of Delamere Forest. I am an archer, and I have skills. I would talk with your leader.\" It felt foolish to be shouting thus, but I knew that there were men around. I could feel their presence. I allowed the horse and pony to graze, for there was a little grass, and I drank from my water skin. It seemed an age, and then I sensed movement. I hung the skin from the saddle and looked into the forest. I saw a pair of eyes peering between two branches. I scanned the trees and saw at least four others.\n\nI stepped from between the animals and laughed. \"Are you so afraid of one archer that you have to hide in the trees? I have yet to reach for my bow.\"\n\nA man as tall as I was stepped out. He had a bow in his hand. He wore a leather jerkin studded with iron. He must have once been a warrior. He smiled at me. \"We were just wondering if you had a death wish to enter the forest of Delamere. Few men do so and live. What makes you think that you will be welcome here? The forest is a harsh place to live.\"\n\nI now saw that there were five men. It was hardly a huge band. I had been led to believe that the forest teemed with bandits.\n\n\"Perhaps I had no choice. In truth, I am passing through. My friend went to fight in France and I am following him.\"\n\n\"And you chose this route because you have committed a crime.\"\n\nI hesitated. If I told them, they might turn me in.\n\n\"Come, friend, I like you. You have courage, do not turn that to something else. You wish us to trust you, then trust us.\"\n\n\"I killed my lord, for he blinded and hanged my father.\"\n\n\"And who was your father?\"\n\n\"Gerald ap Llewellyn.\"\n\n\"The archer? I thought him dead years ago.\"\n\n\"You knew him?\"\n\n\"I knew of him. I served the Earl of Derby, we campaigned against the Welsh together. I heard he was a fine archer. You slew your lord?\"\n\n\"Baron Henry of Clwyd.\"\n\n\"I know not the name. It seems that you have all the qualifications you need to join us, save one.\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"The price of membership. The horse.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I need the horse to get to the east. That is too high a price.\"\n\n\"You have courage, for we could kill you and take them both.\"\n\n\"You could, but in doing so, at least two of you would die and your band would be even smaller.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Better and better. The pony then.\"\n\nI put my hand out. \"My pony it is!\"\n\n\"I am Roger of Talacre.\"\n\nThere was the slightest hesitation, and then I said, \"And I am Gerald War Bow.\"\n\n\"Which is not your name, of course, but it is good that you honour your father by taking his name. Come, let us go to our camp.\" He took the pony's reins. \"If you killed a knight then they will not rest until they have you. I know that the Clwyd is forty or so miles away but they will seek you out.\"\n\n\"By that time I will be gone, and you can tell them where I have gone. Once I am on the other side of the mountains they will never find me.\"\n\n\"You are confident for one so young. I look forward to talking to you. Do you have food?\"\n\n\"Salted venison.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nThis was not what I had expected. I had expected larger numbers who hunted where they chose and ate well. I was glad I was not staying long. They led me to a dell. It was well chosen. The trees hid it until the last moment and then it was revealed. There was a pond or small lake, and I saw that they had a sort of vegetable plot. There were eight lean-to huts. I looked at Roger of Talacre questioningly. He shrugged. \"Men come and men go. This life is not for all men.\"\n\n\"I can see that.\"\n\n\"Those three to the left are empty. Choose one. Wilfred of Eaton farts when he sleeps. I would choose one at the end, away from him.\"\n\nI nodded and led my horse towards the last dwelling. I unpacked the horse and then returned to unpack the pony. Roger of Talacre helped me unload my arrows. \"You are a true archer. These are well-fletched arrows.\"\n\n\"These were my father's. Mine had red flights, but you are right. I know arrows. I am not boasting; I am a good archer.\"\n\nRoger nodded and leaned in to me. \"I know. Your arms and your chest speak as much. The others are bandits. You and I are the archers. It is why you live.\"\n\nI looked at him in surprise. \"You would have slain me?\"\n\n\"For a horse and a pony? In an instant and without even thinking, but I saw that you kept your bows in canvas sheaths. I saw your arms and knew that you were an archer. I told the others to refrain from slaying you.\"\n\n\"You know that at the first flight I would have drawn my bow and three, at least, would have died.\"\n\nHe laughed, albeit quietly. \"That, too, influenced my judgement.\" He put his arm around my shoulders. It was not an easy task. \"Come, I have a feeling that you have been sent here for a purpose. I fear that you bring doom and destruction upon us. I will live with that. Your salted venison will be the best food we have had in a while. Where is it?\"\n\nI took it from my saddlebag.\n\n\"This will feed us tonight, and, with greens and some of the beans we grow, will give us soup for two more days.\"\n\nThis was not the paradise I had expected. It seemed I was their saviour and not the other way around. As I took the venison to the pot of water I noticed seven mounds. One had freshly turned earth. \"What are they?\"\n\n\"Our dead. The last was Will Green Legs. He was the leader of the men of Delamere. We were hunted by knights from Chester, some two moons since. We lost four men, captured or killed. Will had a wound we thought had healed, but it had not. He wasted away from inside and died eight days ago. Two others left to find somewhere easier to live.\"\n\n\"It is not what I expected.\" I hacked the meat from the bone.\n\n\"No one chooses the life of an outlaw. All of us here suffered because of some lord or other. This is our punishment. This is our prison.\"\n\nI dropped the bone into the water. \"Then I shall leave sooner rather than later.\"\n\n\"I thought you might.\"\n\n\"What is your story?\"\n\nThe other four had been gathering greens and they began dividing them out onto four rough wooden platters. I did the same with the venison. What might have lasted me a few days would now be gone in one night. We sat by the fire on a hewn log.\n\n\"Not as noble as yours, I am afraid. As I said, I served the Earl of Derby as a man at arms. I quarrelled with the sergeant at arms. It was over a woman. She was his and I thought she preferred me. It came to blows and should have ended there, but he pulled a knife, as did I. I was stronger and he died. I fled for my life. That was seven moons ago. I reached here after forty days and nights of hiding and stealing. I should have headed to Sherwood. There they are more organised, but this was closer.\"\n\n\"Why do you not hunt?\"\n\nHe pointed to my bows. \"We are not archers. Oh, we can draw a hunting bow, but we are poor fletchers. When we do hunt we have to keep an ear out for the men of his lordship. Two months ago we hunted a fine stag. It would have lasted a long time. We brought it down, and before we could even begin to gut it, riders disturbed us, and we disappeared into the forest.\"\n\n\"Then before I leave I will hunt with you. I will need food for my journey and a forest this size must teem with game.\"\n\nI heard the others' stories as we ate what was, for them, a feast. I examined them as we talked. They were all emaciated. James, son of John, had been whipped for failing to attend church. He had waited until dark and slit the throat of the man who had whipped him. Will Three Fingers had been a farmer. When he had lost two fingers and was unable to work his fields, the lord of the manor had taken his land and given it to another. Iago of Pwellhi had killed a man in Gwynedd. That was all he would say. The last, Peter of Euxton, was also the youngest. His family had died of the plague. He had survived, but the other villagers had burned his home and driven him hence. All their stories were sad, as were their mean lives. It made me all the more determined to find Harry and join him. Living outside the law was no life at all.\n\nThe next morning I strung my bow and took some of my father's hunting arrows. Roger of Talacre and the others might not be good at hunting, but they had lived in the forest long enough to know where the animals were to be found. I used them as beaters. I waited downwind and sent the five of them upwind to drive the herd of deer towards me. I readied my bow. I had two more arrows held next to my bow, and as I heard the thunder of hooves, I drew back. I could smell them as they approached. There were eight in the herd. I ignored the stag. A good hunter did not take the leader. He would sire more young animals. Instead I aimed at the older doe, which ran close to him. My arrow struck her chest and I switched to one at the rear of the herd. It appeared to be tiring. My arrow struck its head and, at twenty paces, was driven deep into her skull to kill her instantly.\n\nRoger had had the men prepare sharpened stakes. They ran up and rammed one through the deer which lay close to me. I retrieved my arrow. I would not reuse it, but it would be good enough for the others once I had gone. I turned and ran after the herd. The first deer I had struck had struggled on for forty paces. I knelt and put her out of her pain. I took out my arrow. Will and Iago brought the stake and, after they had the deer secured, picked it up.\n\n\"Quickly, back to the camp!\" Roger led, and I brought up the rear. We were a good mile and a half from our camp. Roger had told me that just killing an animal was not the end of it. They had to evade the gamekeepers who rode the trails. I had asked him why they did not ambush the gamekeepers. He had told me, quietly, that the men he led were better at slitting throats than combat. The two of us were the only ones who had fought. I began to see myself in a different light in those few days I spent in Delamere.\n\nWe were lucky. We reached our camp unseen and then began to make the most of the hunt. We gutted the deer first and put the heart, liver, kidneys and brains to cook. They would not keep. If we discarded them then they would attract vermin. We skinned them. I was the better skinner and my hide was less butchered than the one skinned by Iago. Roger of Talacre proved to be a good butcher and he jointed the animals. They only had a little salt and I was forced to use some of mine. We cooked one animal and salted the other.\n\nThat night we gorged on offal and the soup made from my venison bone. The other bones were hacked open and we ate the marrow before putting them in water for more soup.\n\n\"Tell me, Roger, how did you happen to find me?\"\n\n\"Normally we head to the road each day to see if there are any on the road we might rob. Peter of Euxton has good eyes, and he can scamper up a tree like a squirrel. He spied you from afar when you crossed the fields.\"\n\nI had been wondering how they had found me, and now that I knew I was relieved, but it was a warning too. I had been careless and allowed others to see me. Riding across a field had marked me as a suspicious character. I wondered if the farmer had seen me. If he had and told his lord, then we were all in danger.\n\n\"I think I will leave on the morrow, Roger. This is not as safe a haven as I had thought. I will take my share of the meat and one of the hides.\"\n\n\"That is fair, but cannot we persuade you to stay?\"\n\n\"Roger of Talacre, you do not wish to stay, do you?\" He shook his head and I lowered my voice. \"You do it because you feel responsible for these four fellows.\"\n\nHe looked startled. \"Do you read my mind?\"\n\nI smiled. \"No. I have been here but a couple of days, and I feel a little responsible. If I stayed longer then it would be hard for me to leave.\" I was thinking of the men I had left on the Clwyd. Had I not been forced to leave then, I would have found it hard to desert them.\n\n\"Well, then I thank you. We have food now, that may last until the leaves begin to fall. And we now have two good arrows.\" Although one had struck bone, it could be sharpened and beaten to make it deadly once more. The shaft and the feathers were undamaged and that was what made them good.\n\n\"I will leave you ten more hunting arrows. I can make more, but the ones I leave with you are the best of arrows. Do not be wasteful of them.\"\n\nI stayed one more day. The hide would not be tanned. I still had work to do, but it was in a good condition to transport. I had taken enough of the venison to see me to the east coast. If I was to stay hidden, then the journey might take four or even five days. I now just had my horse. I had given my word to leave the pony with Roger of Talacre. I would have to ride easier and slower. I left at dawn.\n\n\"Farewell, Gerald War Bow. I wish that I was coming with you, but we are in a better condition now than we were. We can hunt and we have food. May God ride at your side.\"\n\n\"And I thank you Roger of Talacre. If the fates allow, then I hope that one day we will fight side by side.\"\n\nI walked Harry, for so I had named the horse, to the north-east. I would conserve him as best I could. I was sad at leaving Roger. I liked him. Sometimes you made a bond with another warrior and there was no reason to it. Thus it was with Roger. He was a man at arms and I an archer, yet I felt as though I could fight happily alongside him.\n\nThe forest was large. Roger had told me that there were others who eked out a living in the woods. He did not fear for me as I had great skills. He had recognised that. I had not thought of them much before. I had never met with my father's approval. He always criticised me. Now I saw the reason for that. Since I had tracked the Scots, I had realised that I was good at what I did.\n\nAt noon, I reached the edge of the woods and I rested. I planned on staying to the south of the Maeresea. I was heading for the Woodhead pass. I had not decided from which port I would leave England. York still had ships which headed east and it would be a shorter land journey. It was, however, a busier port than most. I had decided to seek a smaller one, like the one at the mouth of the Humber which was used by the monks to send their wool abroad. Even Grimsby was quieter than York. After I had eaten and given my horse water I headed along the path by the river. I risked riding him. The ground was flat, but there would be harder paths ahead. He now had to carry my blankets, arrows, water and food, not to mention my two bows.\n\nI reached Thelw\u00e6l in the middle of the afternoon. It had a wooden wall around the village but I spied no standard. I risked a stop. I had seen no armed men, and if the four outlaws I had met were anything to judge ordinary men by, then I had nothing to fear from those I met. There was a water trough in the centre of the village. I dismounted and asked a pair of men who were talking, \"Is it acceptable for me to water my horse?\"\n\nThey looked at each other. \"Aye, it is. Are you a soldier?\"\n\nThere was no point in trying to deny it. I had a sword and there were quivers of arrows. \"I am. I am heading for Lincoln. I thought to seek employment with the sheriff there.\"\n\nThe other said, \"Did you come through Delamere?\"\n\nThis time it was a test. I had to have come through Delamere to reach this village. \"I did, but I saw no outlaws. I must have been lucky eh?\"\n\n\"There are fewer of them these days. Sir Robert of Lymm has been scouring the forest for them. He came here yesterday for the dogs and our hunters. I am surprised you did not meet him and his men.\"\n\n\"No, I saw no one. You are the first I have seen. Tell me, do you have a baker here? I have not eaten bread for some days. I have coin.\"\n\n\"No bakers, but if you go to the end cottage then Gammer Lucy might sell you a loaf. She uses the town oven. She is a widow and can always use coin.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sirs. You have made a weary and hungry traveller happy.\"\n\nI walked Harry to the rude hut. I could smell the bread. I shouted, \"Gammer Lucy?\"\n\nA toothless old woman came out. She looked like an older version of Ada. \"I am Gammer Lucy. Do I know you?\"\n\n\"No, Gammer, but I am a traveller who has coin to buy bread.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Is it just bread? I make a fine cheese from goat's milk if you are not averse to that beast. I know some who think it is the devil's own animal. For myself, I find that a foolish thought.\"\n\n\"I like goat's cheese and milk.\"\n\n\"Then six silver pennies will buy you a loaf, some cheese and a drink of milk to go with it.\"\n\n\"That seems expensive.\"\n\nShe gave me a sly look. \"I am a widow and you look like a well-paid archer. That is a fine palfrey and your clothes are well made. You can afford it.\"\n\nI laughed. \"Aye, I suppose I can.\"\n\nShe went inside and brought me out a wooden beaker which she filled. \"You can have more. I have no larger beakers.\" The milk was good and I had two beakers. She brought me the cheese. It was hard and wrapped in a dock leaf. The bread was a two-pound loaf. She laughed as I sniffed it. \"And I wager that you have nibbled the end before you are out of sight of my home!\"\n\n\"And there you are wrong. I have had short rations before, and I will wait until I eat. I just want the smell of the fresh bread to keep me going some more miles.\"\n\nI put the cheese and the bread in the net I had hung from the saddle that my father had made from old lengths of rope. It worked.\n\nI rode another six miles before I stopped. I had come far enough and I found a good camp site close to the river. I had a tree for shelter above me. I had water and grass for my horse and there was enough driftwood on the bank to give me a fire. I did not need to hide. I got the fire going and made myself a bed under the tree. I took off my sword and placed it close to hand. After hobbling Harry I washed my face and hands. I intended to enjoy my food. I cut the loaf in two. I would have the second half in the morning. I divided the cheese in two also and then took out some of the venison. I had just begun to eat when I heard a noise.\n\nIt was Harry who alerted me. His ears pricked and he snorted. I reached out and drew my sword from its scabbard. I stood and hid behind the tree. I heard the sound of hooves. Someone was coming down the river trail. They might have been an innocent traveller but I was not willing to take any chances. A mounted shadow appeared.\n\nA voice shouted, \"War Bow! Are you there?\"\n\nIt was Roger of Talacre. Was this a trap? I neither moved nor responded. I looked beyond the shadow. Nothing else was moving. He was alone. I stepped out as he came into the light.\n\n\"What brings you here?\"\n\n\"I am wounded!\"\n\nHe fell from the pony. The pony looked all in too. I took the beast to the river to allow it to drink and to bring some water back in my metal cooking pot. Roger had fallen close to the fire. I moved his cloak and saw that he had a bloody side. I undid the leather metal-studded jerkin. The leather had prevented the blade from penetrating too deeply but the skin had been scored and he had bled for some time. I used the river water to clean it and then went to my saddlebag. I had a medical kit. Every archer did. It was simple enough. I had a leather skin of vinegar and a pot of honey. Neither would ever go off and both could be used for a huge range of tasks. I returned to him and laid them down. I went to the north side of the tree and scraped off some moss with my knife.\n\nHe was coming to when I returned. \"Don't speak. Let me bind the wound, then we will get some food inside you, and then you can talk.\"\n\nHe nodded and closed his eyes. I used the vinegar to clean the wound. He winced but said nothing. He was a man at arms, and I guessed he had endured such as this before. Then I smeared honey into the wound to seal it. It also seemed to help the healing. Finally I packed the moss along the wound. I went to my saddlebag and took out my oldest shirt. It was already torn and I ripped it up to make a bandage. I needed something to hold the honey and moss in place.\n\nWhen that was done I sat him up and gave him some of the bread with cheese upon it. \"Eat while I see to your poor beast.\" I went to the pony and took off the saddle. I rubbed it down with its saddle cloth and then led it to the grass, where Harry still grazed. I had spied a crab apple tree a few paces from the river and I went and picked five or six of them. I laid them on the ground for the pony.\n\nWhen I returned to Roger he looked happier. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"Knights came hunting for us. I was riding the pony, or I too would have been slain like the other four. I heard the screams and the shouts. From a hidden vantage point I saw them butchering the four of them. There was nothing I could do. I fled. They had men all over. I managed to kill one of them, but his horse galloped off, and I could not catch it. The horse alerted others. Two of the men chased me. I killed one but the second stabbed me. I just managed to knock him from his horse and escape. I headed for the river. I rode hard. I think I lost them. I followed your trail and the old lady in Thelw\u00e6l told me that you had passed through.\"\n\n\"Then we will need to leave before dawn.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"If she told you, then she will tell Sir Robert of Lymm, for it was he and his men who hunted you. His castle is not far away. He will follow in the morning. We will have to cross the river.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Roger did not sleep well. The wound was hurting. I woke before dawn and saddled the horse and pony. I roused Roger and we shared the last of the bread and the cheese. Neither would survive the dousing they were about to receive. Roger looked at me. \"I will slow you down.\"\n\n\"Aye, you will, but I will not leave you here to be butchered like your friends. Now the pony is a practised swimmer. Hang onto the saddle and kick with your feet. Do not worry if we are swept a little downstream. Just so long as we cross. Come. Let us go.\"\n\nI led Harry by his reins and patted his flank. \"Come, this is the third time you have done this. We will show Roger of Talacre how it is to be done.\" I turned. \"Follow me and be brave.\"\n\nI found it easier than the first two times I had done this. I had no pony to distract me. I held onto the saddle and kicked. We were across in a few heartbeats. As Harry scrambled up the bank I turned and watched Roger. The sun had not fully risen yet. The grey light was sufficient for me to see close by. The pony was not as strong and he was being taken downstream. I walked down the bank and, jumping into the shallows, pulled the man at arms from the pony and to the shore. Freed from the weight, the pony scrambled lithely onto the bank.\n\n\"Quickly, mount your pony and let us ride. We need to be well hidden before the Lord of Lymm seeks us.\"\n\nAs we headed away from the river my original plan was in tatters. The Warre family had a castle at Mamucium. That lay at the junction of the Irk and the Irwell rivers. We would have to travel further north. I knew there was a high pass over the hills at Saddleworth. We would head there. I knew that the weather would soon be turning. We had no furs with us. I was confident I could survive the high ground but I was uncertain about Roger of Talacre. When I had tended his wound I had seen his ribs. He was not well fed.\n\nWe rode hard, skirting every village and settlement we saw. I could not risk buying bread any longer. I questioned Roger as we rode. \"The men who hunted you, what was their livery?\"\n\n\"White surcoats with green stripes. Why?\"\n\n\"We look for those. We might be able to bluff our way past others, but the ones in those tunics will be seeking us.\"\n\nWe rode for twenty miles without stopping, the ground steadily rising. I knew that we would have to rest our animals. We skirted a village, and I was about to stop when I saw a castle rising to the south of us. I took us up a sheep track. It dropped down into a sheltered dell. It would have to do. It was noon when we stopped. Roger fell asleep after we had eaten a frugal meal of venison and drunk some water. I left him, and taking my bow, quiver and three water skins, headed to find fresh water. I descended the slope. The water would be lower down. I used the terrain to guide me, and when I heard the bubbling water, I knew that I had found it.\n\nThe water had white bubbles. I looked upstream. There were no dead animals. It was good to drink. I filled all three skins. I worked out that there was a more direct route back to Roger. I strung my bow and took out a hunting arrow in case I spied a rabbit. Fresh meat was always welcome.\n\nI heard horses. I knew the noises Harry and the pony made. These were different, and there were three of them. I switched the hunting arrow for a bodkin. I crept and used the ground to shelter me. I heard voices.\n\n\"Outlaw where is your companion? Where is the man with the horse? The old lady told us he was an archer.\" I heard something, but it was incoherent. Then I heard a slap and a cry. \"I will happily take your bollocks from you to make you speak. You are a dead man. But I can make your end quick.\"\n\nI risked looking over the top and I saw three men with their backs to me. They wore the white and green tunics Roger had told me of. I dropped my head down and took out two more bodkin arrows. I jammed them in the earth and then I stood and drew. The men were just thirty paces from me. I could not miss. The question was how many would I hit before they could get to me? I sent the first one into the back of the man who had just struck Roger. He seemed to me to be the leader. He fell face down on Roger. Seeing the arrow the other two turned to face me. That gave me the chance to nock another arrow and send it into the chest of the second man. Roger pushed the dead man from him and tried to rise.\n\nEven as I took my third arrow the last man grabbed Roger and held him before him. His sword was at Roger's throat. Only half of his face was visible. \"Drop your bow or he dies!\"\n\nI nodded and lowered my bow. I saw his hand relax a little and I pulled the bow up and released in one motion. The arrow plunged into his eye and he fell dead. I raced across the ground with another arrow nocked, though I knew it would not be needed; all three were dead. Even as I ran I knew that, although we now had three horses and would be able to travel faster, the three dead men at arms would point Sir Robert in our direction.\n\nRoger looked up. His wound was bleeding. \"I owe you my life again!\"\n\n\"Thank me later. See if they have coin and if their swords are better than yours. I will gather the horses.\" I walked slowly towards the skittish horses. Blood always made horses anxious, though I had a way with them and gathered the three of them. Harry was a better horse, but they were all much more useful than the pony. I was already working out that we would be able to cover another thirty miles before nightfall. If one animal became lamed we would still have spares. We had to outrun our pursuers.\n\nRoger had taken one of the swords. \"This is a good one. They had coin.\"\n\n\"Keep it. We need to move. Choose the best horse and mount it. I will tie the others and lead them.\"\n\n\"I can lead one!\"\n\n\"You are as weak as a newborn calf. You will do your share when you are fitter. Now mount.\" I was younger, but Roger of Talacre had been an outlaw for six months. He had lost his warrior skills. If we were to go to France then he needed to regain them. I mounted one of the captured horses and tied Harry and then the pony to it. I led the other horse. I would change after fifteen miles or so. The land undulated and then the road dropped into a valley. We had done the hard part. We had negotiated the high pass of Saddleworth.\n\nAs we descended I was able to spy out the settlements. I left the road before we came to each of them. Roger was in pain. He needed his wound tending but we dared not stop. Sir Robert had obviously sent men on both sides of the Maeresea. When the three did not return he would seek them out. As we headed east I knew that soon I would have decisions to make. When we approached Loidis I would have to decide if we were to go to York or head due east to Hull. Both involved risk. Which was the lesser?\n\nNightfall made our decision. I dared not ride further in the dark so we stopped in a hollow, half a mile from the road. There was a spring, but we were so exhausted that any place which was not exposed would have done. I did not risk lighting a fire and tended Roger's wound by moonlight. He had burst the dressing and I had to use my honey again to repair the damage. One horse had become lame and I let her go. We ate because we had to and we drank from the spring. I knew that I should have kept watch, but I was just too tired. I slept and relied on Harry's ears.\n\nWhen I awoke, in the dark, it was to the sound of a tolling bell. There was a monastery close by. I had been saved from making a major mistake. I might have ridden on and been discovered. I would not kill priests, but they would have happily reported seeing two men with three horses and a pony. Roger slept on. I was awake and so I saw to the horses. I gave them water and I made sure that they grazed. I roused Roger when I saw silver in the east.\n\nAfter more venison we headed east and passed the monastery. That determined our route. The road to York passed by the huge monastery so I took us along the stream which skirted it. Our course was set. We would go to Hull and seek help from the monks who traded wool there. The forty miles we rode took us all day. Roger was still not fully fit, although he was better than he had been. When we neared the monastery, I said, \"Let me do the talking. Remain silent.\"\n\nThe monks of Meaux Abbey were clever men. They used their farms to raise sheep and export the wool to France and the Low Countries. The revenue helped them to become one of the richer orders. I had heard of them through Hugh of Rhuddlan, who had travelled through the port when he served with the Earl of Chester. Knowing that, I was able to appeal to their mercenary side.\n\nThe monk who spoke to me was a senior one. \"Brother, I wish to travel to Flanders. You have ships which ply the seas. I would trade our horses and ponies. We seek passage on one of your ships. We could act as guards for the crossing.\"\n\nThe monk's eyes flashed as he saw the profit. \"How much would you want for the animals?\"\n\n\"You are an honest man. You tell me.\"\n\nThe price he paid was well below their value, but the animals had cost us nothing and his silence was assured. It was a buyer's market and we agreed the price. We spent three days in the abbey awaiting the ship. The monks tended to Roger's wound. I was sad to lose Harry, but he had served me well, and he would have a better life with the monks. He would be away from war.\n\nWhile we waited we met a merchant. We could see he was a merchant by his dress, but he carried a short sword and he had sharp, inquisitive eyes. I would have said he was the same age as Roger of Talacre. Dickon of Doncaster was a plain-speaking man, and he walked up to us as we sat on the wood quay awaiting a ship. \"You two look like likely lads. I see swords, war bows and arrows. Are you archers?\"\n\nI nodded. \"I am. Roger here was a man at arms.\"\n\nAs I learned later, Dickon was a shrewd and perceptive man. \"You are leaving England, and I am guessing in something of a hurry.\"\n\nI was startled. Roger was quicker to hide his face. He smiled. \"We are in no hurry, sir. We await a ship.\"\n\nThe merchant nodded. \"It will be here tomorrow. It is my ship. Yet you sold your horses for much less than they are worth. From your clothes, Roger the man at arms, I would say that you have seen better days, and yet you owned three horses and a pony.\"\n\nWe had a dilemma. His words were becoming uncomfortably close to the truth, and yet if we wished to sail, we had to use his ship. My world was one of hunting and the woods. This was a world of deception we had entered, and I was ill prepared.\n\nDickon of Doncaster smiled. \"I care not for your past. It is your future which interests me. Where are you bound?\"\n\nI was on firmer ground now. \"France. We hear they pay archers and men at arms well.\"\n\n\"They do. You two, however, have first to pay for a berth on my ship or, if you choose to wait another six days, for another ship. I have to tell you that the money you were paid for your horses will barely cover your berths and leave you without the means to buy horses in France.\"\n\nI frowned. \"How do you know this?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"You did not think I came here early just to watch the waves break upon the shore, did you? I was here to negotiate the cost of carrying the monk's cargo to France. They are keen to help me, and they volunteered the information about you two.\" He lowered his voice. \"They think you are fleeing some crime. Your friend's wound was made by a sword.\"\n\nFor a brief moment I thought to return to the monks and demand that they sell us back our horses, but I knew that would be rejected. They had made profit from us.\n\n\"So will you hear my proposition?\"\n\nI looked at Roger who shrugged. What had we to lose?\n\n\"I take that as a yes. You two need to get to Gascony. As it happens, that suits me. I have need of guards for both my ship and for my wagons when we get to France. We will land at Honfleur and travel across Aquitaine to Poitiers. I have carters to drive my wagons, but I need men to guard them. I will feed you and mount you. I will give you berths on my ship. When we reach Poitiers, then I will give you the horses. What say you to that? Gascony and the conflict you seek is but a day or two south of Poitiers.\"\n\nRoger said, \"Would we be paid too?\"\n\nDickon laughed. \"You will be fed, given a bed and a horse. What more payment can you expect?\"\n\nIt was better than I had hoped. I nodded. \"I am your man.\" I glanced at Roger who nodded. \"As is Roger of Talacre.\"\n\n\"And what is your name, archer?\"\n\n\"Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nAnd so a new part of my life began. It did not begin with a lie but, like much in life, a half-truth. I discovered, as we waited for the ship, that Dickon transported a wide range of goods. When we were finished in Poitiers, he would travel down to Bordeaux, where he would meet his ship and take wine back to England. He had a family in Doncaster. There, he kept his valuables and his family well guarded. I learned that he did not surround himself with armed men, for that attracted attention. He rarely carried coin with him. There was a group of men who did business with each other. They used paper instead of coin. It meant that if they were robbed, the paper was useless and they had lost nothing. It explained why we would not be paid in coin. He had none to give us.\n\nThe ship arrived on the evening tide. The Maid of Beverley was larger than I had expected and had a small forecastle as well as an aftcastle. The forecastle would only have accommodated three men, but, as we discovered, it also doubled as sleeping quarters. James of Whitby was the captain. He was a big man, and he ruled his crew with his ham-like fists. He reminded me of Harry. He had his crew load the wool so quickly that I knew they had done this many times before. It was practised. It was done so quickly that we left the river lit by the setting sun behind us. The dark sea awaited us.\n\nDickon of Doncaster seemed to forget about us once we set sail. The first mate, James of Whitby's son, took us to the forecastle. \"This is where you will sleep. There is an old piece of canvas there. If you rig it over the top it will give you protection from the sea.\" He smiled. \"Unless we hit a storm, and then nothing will stop a soaking!\"\n\nWe had been fed by the monks before we left. Dickon had influence. It looked like that would be our last meal until the next morning, and so we made ourselves as comfortable as we could. We stored our weapons, arrows and saddlebags between the ribs of the forecastle. That left us just enough space to curl up and sleep. The canvas above us shut out all light, but as we left the river and the larger waves struck us, we were glad of it. The water broke over the bows, and we heard it splatter onto the canvas.\n\nI found the motion quite restful and I was soon asleep. I was disturbed twice by Roger of Talacre. He proved to have a weaker stomach. We woke to a grey day with a wind which was not doing what the captain wished. We had to tack back and forth. Roger and I were soon taught how to help the sailors. I found it easier than Roger. Hauling on sheets and stays was nothing for someone who had been trained as an archer. It took twelve days to reach Honfleur. By the time we got to the river we had both picked up skills and got to know the crew. They taught us some words that would stand us in good stead. They mainly involved paying for wine or women.\n\nWe were used to help unload the ship. The merchant was getting his money's worth from us. There were wagons waiting for us, and we loaded them while Dickon went to hire drivers. The crew helped us to protect his cargo. It was not just wool. There were also blanks which would be made into swords. We saw many shifty looking characters who hung around the port.\n\nRoger pointed to two such men. \"I will wager they have accomplices. Unless I miss my guess, our skills will be needed on the road. I am glad that my wound is healed.\"\n\nHe did look much stronger. The food on the ship, whilst it had not been particularly exciting, had been both plentiful and filling. He had regained his strength. He would need it. On the voyage he had made a second scabbard for the sword taken from the dead man at arms. He wore them across his back. He could use both hands to fight. That was unusual for it meant he did not use a shield. He had regretted not taking the helmet from the dead men at arms. Archers did not like them but I knew that a good helmet could stop a blow to the head.\n\nDickon returned with the six drivers who would accompany us. He also brought three horses. His was a palfrey and ours were sumpters. It made sense. They were the same horses as the ones which pulled the wagons. Our job was to stay as close to the wagons as we could. After giving instructions to James of Whitby, we set off and headed south towards Aquitaine.\n\n\"You two stay close to me and, Gerald War Bow, keep your bow strung. There were greedy eyes at the port. We may soon discover if you are as skilful as your name suggests.\"\n\nI did not like to keep my bow strung but I had a spare bow and bowstrings. This was my new world and I had to embrace it. I had spent part of the voyage making my father's green arrows red. I was not disrespecting my father's memory. I needed the comfort of my familiar red fletch.\n\nIt became clear that Dickon had done this before. The length of our ride was dictated by villages and inns. Dickon liked his comfort. We slept with the wagons but he slept in a bed. However, it meant that we would be safe from robbers at night. It would be during the day when we might be set upon.\n\nOur first stop was at Lisieux. The twenty miles we had ridden had been nerve-wracking for me. The smells of the land were not what I was used to. The words of those we met were foreign. I was glad when, as dusk approached, we reached the safety of the town. We unloaded some of the sword blanks. I saw no money changing hands but Dickon of Doncaster seemed happy with the paper he received.\n\nIt was Roger's outlaw eyes which spied the men we had seen in Honfleur. As soon as the two men realised they had been spotted they disappeared, but Roger had seen them. He came to me to tell me and we reported to Dickon. He did not seem put out. He merely nodded. \"Good, my investment begins to pay off. Tomorrow the road passes through a forest. I suspect the men you saw may try something there.\" He smiled. \"They are Normans and they know not what a good bow can do. You are fast?\" I nodded. \"Good.\"\n\n\"But I cannot loose from a horse, and if they ambush us I will need to have a solid platform.\"\n\n\"Good, you are a thinker. Then on the morrow, you ride next to Alain who drives the lead wagon. Will that be solid enough?\"\n\n\"Aye, so long as it does not jerk too much.\"\n\n\"And you, Roger of Talacre, must make them fear you!\"\n\nRoger laughed. \"That they will do!\"\n\nI placed the quiver of red-fletched arrows in the well of the wagon, along with my sword. I wore my cloak to disguise my frame and I hunched over. Alain spoke a few words of English. \"You wish me to stop the wagon if we are attacked?\"\n\n\"Aye. Will we be attacked?\"\n\n\"Three times in the last year we have been attacked in these woods. The lords who live close by try to protect the road, but the men who will try to take our goods know the woods and the road well. They can move around. Last time my brother was slain. Do not show these rats any mercy.\"\n\n\"I will not.\"\n\nI had begun to think that Alain and Dickon of Doncaster were wrong, for we were almost through the woods when the eight men burst from hiding. They had swords and spears. One of them shouted, \"You are surrounded. Surrender and you live.\"\n\nEven as he was speaking I was nocking an arrow, which I sent directly into his chest. My second and third took the two men next to him before they had even realised what was going on. Dickon and Roger charged some others, and I nocked another arrow and sought one of the men behind us. There were four men remaining and they had knocked the driver of the last wagon to the ground. My first arrow hit the man who sought to replace him, and my second hit the one who tried to climb up. The other drivers had dismounted and, along with Alain, raced to attack the last two. I turned and nocked an arrow. A brigand swung an axe at Dickon's horse. My arrow went through his arm and into his neck. The last man fled.\n\nI heard a scream from the last wagon as Alain and the other drivers butchered the last man. Dickon rode up to me. \"You did not exaggerate, Gerald War Bow. Those arrows were both fast and accurate. I owe you my life.\" He turned. \"Roger, see if they have anything of value and then push their bodies into the ditch. We have wasted enough time.\"\n\nAlain returned. \"Serge is a little groggy but he will live. Thank you, archer. We are indebted to you.\"\n\nI mounted my horse and rode at the head of the column with Dickon and Roger. Dickon nodded to Roger. \"You two may share what coins and weapons they had. You too impressed me, Roger of Talacre. If you choose not to find another lord, I would employ you all the time.\"\n\nI looked at Roger and shook my head, \"No master. We have set our course and we will follow it where 'e'er it leads.\"\n\nBy the time we reached Poitiers we had both picked up a little Norman and a little French. I knew that we would need it. We had coins in our pockets. Some was from the sale of the animals in England, some from the dead brigands. As we parted with Dickon he gave us twelve silver sixpences each. \"Call it a bonus. If ever you need work, then find me. I am to be found in Bordeaux or Honfleur. All know me.\" He pointed south and west. \"There are small wars being fought there. If you seek work, then travel on the road towards Toulouse; you will find a master who needs your skills.\"\n\nWe spent one night at an inn. We would be sleeping rough for the foreseeable future. Our horses were not in the best state and so I bought a bag of grain. Winter was coming and the grazing would not be as nutritious as we might have liked. I also spent some of my money on a better cloak. I decided to head for Agen. We had heard, at the inn, that Gaston de B\u00e9arn was fighting against the English lords of Gascony. This struck both of us as a perfect opportunity to earn coin and still serve England. We were both Englishmen at heart. It was rumoured that Edward Longshanks, known as Lord Edward, was campaigning south of Agen. Given that he would be the next king of England, we hoped he would wish to hire two warriors such as we.\n\nLooking back, it was such a vague idea that I am amazed we even contemplated heading south with such flimsy evidence of employment. I believe that had we not met Dickon of Doncaster, we might have ended up on the borders of Normandy and might even have fought against the English. We headed south, keenly aware that we were seen as the enemy by many Frenchmen. Officially our two countries were not at war, but it would not have taken much to spark one. Our French was improving day by day, but we would never be taken for Frenchmen. My longbow clearly marked me as an archer and therefore English.\n\nThe road to Gascony was not a quiet one. There were others such as ourselves, warriors seeking paymasters. We were the only Englishmen, although there were some Normans and Angevin. They had been part of the Empire of King John until that foolish king had lost them. We fell in with six Angevin men at arms. They were happy to have an archer with them.\n\n\"What do you know of this land to which we go?\"\n\nGaston was a grizzled old veteran. The others deferred to him and it was he who answered. \"De Montfort ruled Gascony for a while, until he was found to be taking coin. I think King Henry did not like his ideas. It did not help that the Lord Edward, Edward Longshanks was a friend of De Montfort. The prince is there now, trying to exert his authority over the men of Bearn.\"\n\nOne of the younger men at arms, Jean, added, \"He married well, or at least his father married him off to a Spanish bride. He now has Castile backing him.\"\n\n\"I take it we try to fight with Prince Edward?\"\n\nGaston leaned in to speak to Roger and me, \"Timing is all. If the English prince loses a battle, then he will be more inclined to need to hire men, and he will not worry about the cost. Gascony is well endowed with coin and goods and the prince is rich.\"\n\n\"You would have him lose?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"This is not England. The battles are more like skirmishes. You will be much sought after, for if there are enough archers on the battlefield then that can often decide the outcome. Knights do not like to risk expensive warhorses in charges. Princes and dukes are happy to pay a few coins for the likes of us, but paying pounds for lost horses is a different matter. Here, men fight for coin and not flags.\"\n\nThe eight of us stayed together for we could negotiate better prices for food, and we watched out for each other. One of us would stand guard if there were Frenchmen close to our camp. It took eight days to reach Agen. It was a border town with a fine castle and it was filled with French. Roger and I remained silent and let Gaston and the others do the talking. I had asked everyone about Harry but no one knew of an English archer recently arrived. I guessed he had stayed in the north. In the end we were too desperate to await news of a battle. The Angevin had coin. Ours was limited. We heard of an English lord across the river from Aiguillon. It was sixteen miles away and guarded two rivers, the Lot and the Garonne. There was a bridge to the south of Aiguillon. We would cross into Gascony and hope that the Englishman who lived there would pay us.\n\nGaston thought it foolish. \"There will be a skirmish or a battle. Edward is young and inexperienced. He will lose. Just be patient.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your advice, but we have had a long journey from England. I am losing my touch!\"\n\nIt was lonely riding the river road but our journey was almost at an end. When we reached the bridge I saw that it was a rickety, wooden affair. We dared not risk riding our horses across it. I walked mine across first. If it held me then it would easily hold Roger. I was relieved when we reached the other side. I saw a huge forest stretching before us. We had been told that the castle of Sir John Woodville lay twenty miles on the other side of the forest at Saint Justin. We decided to camp at the edge of the forest and ride through in daylight. It did not do to chance an unknown forest in a strange land at night.\n\nWe risked a fire. We had bought food, and a warm fire would make our camp seem more comfortable and less lonely. When we had eaten and we had rolled in our cloaks, we talked. This was the first time since Hull that we had been able to do so. We had become firm friends. We could ride for hours without speaking and not feel uncomfortable. Now we both wanted to speak.\n\n\"This time tomorrow we may have a lord to serve.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I still have a worry, my friend. What if they have heard of me? It has been weeks since I slew Sir Henry. Word may have travelled here.\"\n\n\"How would they know it was you? You are an archer. You do not have a Welsh accent. Your name is not an uncommon one. Men will be seeking Gruffyd who was an archer on the Welsh border. They will not be looking for Gerald War Bow who served Dickon of Doncaster.\"\n\n\"I am certain he knew my story. He kept giving me strange looks.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he did, but thanks to him, others now accept you as an archer seeking his fortune and not a murderer.\"\n\n\"Listen, Roger, if I am recognised then disown me. Tell them you knew nothing of my story. I would not have you suffer for my foolishness.\"\n\n\"We are friends and I will not desert you.\" He stretched. \"I tell you one thing. The forests of Gascony are warmer and more welcoming than Delamere. A man could easily live in the forests here.\"\n\n\"Aye, it is pleasant. It does not smell like an English forest. The birds are different too. I have seen birds I thought I knew, but they have different calls here. I have much to learn.\"\n\nWe slept well, until our horses woke us as they grazed close to our heads. After finishing off the food, we mounted and headed into the forest. We did not follow the main trail. It was wide and almost like a road. We took the hunters' trails. I felt safer doing so. Roger just followed my lead. He deferred to me on many things. Using the small hunters' trails meant we made less noise than on the hard-packed earth.\n\nI heard the sound of metal on metal in the distance. I strung my bow and took out three bodkin arrows. I slipped my cloak over my horse's neck, nodded to Roger and dug my heels into my horse's sides. I headed towards the fight. Perhaps this was Sir John Woodville. We might have a chance to aid him and win a place in his household. I did not gallop. The sound of drumming hooves would attract attention. I saw a flash of colour ahead. I stopped my horse. I could not fight mounted, but Roger could.\n\nTying my horse to a tree, I began to make my way through the undergrowth to reach the fight. Roger would follow my lead. I was looking for a sign which would tell me that this was Sir John Woodville. I had been told he had a wild boar as his standard. I heard Roger draw both of his swords. I concentrated on my own approach, using the trees to move closer. I could hear steel on steel and the cries of men as they were struck. I heard the neighs and whinnies of horses. I saw a surcoat. It was yellow with two horned cows. I had been told that was the symbol of Gaston of B\u00e9arn. I had identified one side. I saw that there were others dressed as he was. This was a mounted battle, and I saw that the men of B\u00e9arn were winning. These had to be my enemies, and so I approached to within thirty paces and knelt. I sent an arrow at the nearest man. It struck him so hard that it came out of his chest. His companion looked around and my arrow struck him in the chest and threw him from his horse.\n\nThey knew there was an archer present and eight of the men at arms turned. I saw that there were at least seven others who were fighting. Just then, I heard a cheer and the sound of galloping hooves. It was Roger coming to my aid. It was brave, but it was foolish. I had not identified the men who were being attacked. I sent another arrow at the warrior in the centre. Roger would distract the two nearest him. I took my fourth arrow and the man at arms held his shield up. It saved his life, but the arrow struck so hard that he fell from his saddle. There were still three men racing towards me. I did not panic. I drew and sent an arrow through the ventail into the neck of another man at arms. The two to my left were fewer than ten paces from me. I heard the sound of Roger fighting his foes. I could not allow myself to be distracted. I would be able to release one more arrow only. I did not manage a full draw, but my arrow still hit the thigh of the nearest man at arms. I dropped my bow and, spinning around behind a tree, I drew my sword and dagger.\n\nAs I spun I saw Roger fall from his horse. One of his foes remained.\n\nI was the hunted now. One man at arms had an arrow in the thigh, but the other was fully fit and desperate for vengeance. He had a spear and he spurred his horse and lunged at me. The temptation was to try to strike upwards at him. That would have been foolish. Instead I used my dagger to flick up his spear. I dropped to one knee and swung my sword into the back of the hindquarters of the horse. The other man at arms galloped at me. He was wounded. My arrow had pinned his leg to his horse. Both were in pain. Whilst his companion was trying to save himself as his horse crashed to the ground, the wounded man came directly at me and I saw him raise his sword. He intended to strike at my head. He jerked his horse so that his right side faced me. He pulled back on his reins to allow the full force of the blow to strike me. I held up my sword and lunged with my dagger at the same time. Our swords rang and sparks flew. My dagger went inside his mail chausses and into his groin. I twisted and pulled.\n\nI was aware that the fallen man at arms had risen. He was unsteadied. I rammed my sword into the ground and picked up my bow. I had an arrow nocked before he had taken two steps, and by the third step, he was dead.\n\nI turned and, picking up my sword, ran towards Roger, who lay prostrate on the ground. That was when I made my mistake. The man whom I had stabbed in the groin had hobbled from his horse and he slashed at my leg. I felt it bite into the calf. I turned and, raising my sword, brought it down so hard that it took his head from his shoulders.\n\nThe sounds of battle had faded as I knelt next to Roger. He was barely alive. I saw that he had a stomach wound. Blood oozed from his mouth.\n\n\"Well, my friend, it was a short adventure, but I thank you for it. This is a better end than I might have had in Delamere. Take my gold and swords. In return, give me a warrior's death. I would not die slowly.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I will not for\u2026\" I got no further. His head lolled to the side and my friend was dead.\n\nI heard a voice behind me. \"Archer, you have done Lord Edward a great service, as has your friend. Rise and tell me the name of the man who saved my squire and me.\"\n\nI turned and saw the three lions passant. It was Prince Edward. With his long legs and lazy eye, he was unmistakable. I dropped to my knee. \"My lord.\"\n\nHis squire said, \"Lord Edward. He is wounded.\"\n\nThe prince dismounted and said, \"Lie down. I will staunch the bleeding. You and your friend drove them off, but they have done for my men. Barely six remain alive. Had you not come when you did, then I fear we would have been captured.\" He tore a piece of cloth from the surcoat of a dead man at arms and bound my calf.\n\nHis squire said, \"I have a horse for him.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I have one tied up in the woods.\"\n\n\"I will fetch him.\"\n\n\"My lord, if you give me your arm.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"I need to see to my friend. We were brothers in arms. He asked me to take his weapons and his coin.\" I shrugged. \"We were poor warriors seeking a master. I fear he has served his last lord.\"\n\n\"What is your name, archer?\"\n\n\"Gerald War Bow.\"\n\n\"Then I offer you the chance to become my Captain of Archers.\"\n\n\"That is a great honour, but I am young. What will the other archers think?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Very little, for I have none. But having seen what one man can do, I intend to raise a company of them, and you shall be the man to choose them. What say you?\"\n\n\"I say aye.\"\n\n\"Good, then you will be the first of Lord Edward's archers. We will take our dead back to Sir John's castle. I have much I need to say to him.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "His squire could not believe that I eschewed the palfrey he had offered and that I chose to ride a sumpter. I patted the sumpter affectionately on the neck. \"I am sorry, lord, but we have ridden a long way together. He is my last companion. I could not leave him in the woods.\"\n\nLord Edward said, \"I can see that you are loyal. That is a rare trait in many men.\" He gave a strange look to his squire. They seemed to have an understanding which needed no words. It was the squire who organised the men, shouting orders and instructions.\n\nHis surviving men led horses carrying the bodies of Lord Edward's dead. I led Roger's horse. As Lord Edward waved his arm for the column to move, I waited to take my place at the rear of the short line of men. \"No, Gerald War Bow, I would have you ride behind John and myself.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord.\"\n\nAs we moved, they began to speak, and I could not help but overhear their conversation. The squire, John, appeared to be roughly my age and little younger than his master. They spoke easily together as though friends, rather than knight and squire.\n\n\"That was a trap, John.\"\n\n\"Aye, lord, but was Sir John in on it? If he was, then we are putting ourselves in an even worse position. With this single archer, we still do not number ten.\"\n\nLord Edward turned in his saddle, \"I fear you have joined us, archer, when we are surrounded by enemies and men we cannot trust. Had I not seen the evidence of your loyalty by the red-fletched arrows sticking from the bodies of my enemies, I might have mistrusted you too.\"\n\nThere was little I could say. I was just surprised that the heir to the throne should have been placed in such a parlous position. His face invited conversation. Lords did not usually speak to me. Sir Ranulf and Sir Henry had barely noticed me when I had followed their banners, and here was a future king of England speaking with a low-born archer.\n\n\"Lord, your squire and your men address you as Lord Edward, but you are Prince Edward are you not?\"\n\n\"I am, but I fell out with my father a while ago. I can see now that it was a mistake. I took the title of lord to insult him. It was an error, but we are used to that form of address now. Do you get on with your father, archer?\"\n\n\"I did, Lord Edward, but he is dead now.\" I hesitated.\n\nLord Edward turned in his saddle. As I discovered, he was a very perceptive man. His father, King Henry, was a pious and studious man, who was more at home with books. His son was not only a warrior but someone who could divine men's thoughts.\n\n\"Speak archer. I like honesty above all things. I meet it so rarely. Everyone seems to have plots and plans of their own.\"\n\n\"I was just going to say, Lord Edward, that although I got on well with my father when he was alive, I did not speak with him enough. Now that he is dead, I can never ask him that which is in my heart and mind.\"\n\n\"For one so young you offer sage advice. I will give you your first task when we reach the castle of Sir John Woodville.\"\n\n\"Of course, Lord Edward. I am yours to command.\"\n\n\"Ah, Gerald War Bow, but with some men, that does not mean the commands will be obeyed as they were intended, but I feel I can trust you. You will be housed in the warrior hall when we reach the castle. Keep your ears open. Men talk, and if they are in their cups, then their lips become looser. I would know if Sir John had a hand in this.\"\n\nI nodded and was silent for a moment. \"I fear your squire is right, Lord Edward. If he is, then when we stay in his castle are you not in danger?\"\n\n\"I would be if I did not suspect a trap. We will drink little and listen much. The sooner I am in the castle at Bordeaux, the better.\"\n\nI wondered if I would see Dickon of Doncaster there. Thinking of Dickon made me realise that I still had the problem of my past to haunt me. If I stayed with the prince, then the odds were that I would come into contact with someone who knew my story. That was especially true as Lord Edward was Earl of Chester. Sir Ranulf would remember me. So long as we stayed in France I could remain silent, but if we left for England I would have two choices. I could run or I could confess. If I confessed, would I be signing my own death warrant?\n\nWe reached the castle at Saint Justin in the early afternoon. It was a strongly built stone castle which used the river along one side as a moat. Sir John must have been warned of our arrival as he awaited us in the outer bailey. I was close enough to hear the conversation.\n\n\"Lord Edward, what has happened?\"\n\nI dismounted. I knew of Lord Edward's suspicions, and yet his voice did not betray his thoughts. He was a clever man. He was much taller than Sir John, and he had to stoop a little. \"We were ambushed by men from B\u00e9arn. They were waiting for us just south of the Garonne.\"\n\n\"I knew nothing of this, you must believe me, my liege! You cannot think that I had aught to do with this.\"\n\n\"Did you, Sir John?\"\n\nI could not see Lord Edward's face but I saw the fear on Sir John's face. He was not a young man and he paled under the baleful glare of the future king of England. \"No, lord. I passed the message on from Lord Henry.\"\n\n\"Montfort?\"\n\n\"Aye, lord. He told me that he had heard the men of B\u00e9arn were gathering in the south and threatened the border. He said he was returning to England to be with his brother.\"\n\n\"Then it is Henry de Montfort who must account for his words.\"\n\n\"He may have been speaking the truth. The men of B\u00e9arn are gathering, Lord Edward. That is true. We have had reports this past month of men assembling. Tarbes was threatened, and we assembled men to send there. My son, Sir Richard, led them six days since.\"\n\nLord Edward put his arm around the old knight. \"Then we will stay the night, before I head south.\"\n\nHis squire said, \"We do not go to Bordeaux?\"\n\n\"No, John. We have a snake to quash first. Sir John, we have dead to bury.\"\n\n\"I will fetch my priest.\"\n\nRoger of Talacre was buried with honour in the small graveyard of the church at Saint Justin. He would be in heaven. The rest of our past companions, Iago and his company, would be wandering between worlds. I doubted that Sir Robert of Lymm would have had their bodies buried. They would have been left for the creatures of the night. I said a silent prayer for my friend.\n\nAfter my wound was tended by the healer in the castle I joined the rest of Lord Edward's men in the warrior hall. I received accolades from the six who had survived. They regaled the men of the castle with the tale of my arrows. They exaggerated. When I tried to have the truth told, it was put down to modesty. However, the consequence was that they all spoke freely before me. It became apparent that Sir John had spoken the truth. Either that, or he had deceived his men, too.\n\nI was not privy to the conversation between Sir John and Prince Edward, but the next day half of the garrison marched south with us. John, Lord Edward's squire, had persuaded me to ride a palfrey and use my sumpter for my arrows and belongings. It made sense. It meant we could travel faster. Sir John had given us six servants to lead the horses with the baggage. Lord Edward's squire rode off soon after he had given me my instructions. I was to ride next to Lord Edward. I felt honoured and a little intimidated. How did I speak to such a high-born noble?\n\nI knew Prince Edward for many years. There was much about him to dislike. He could be cruel, and he could be treacherous. Others found that to their cost. He bore grudges. Yet, with me, he was always the same. He never played me false, nor did he abuse my loyalty. You cannot change a man's nature. His line had come to power in Normandy and England. Through marriage and conquest, they had built an empire. That does not come from being pious and noble. You need to be ruthless, and Lord Edward was the most ruthless man I ever met.\n\n\"We have a long way to ride this day. Tell me how you came to be here in Gascony? There are few English archers who make the journey and even fewer with connections to Wales.\"\n\nI felt a chill. How did he know of my connections? I had to tread carefully and that was not in my nature. I was naturally an honest and plain-spoken man. I told a version of the truth which did not involve a lie. \"My lord was killed and I sought a new one. A man I served with told me that there was coin to be made in France, and we came here seeking our fortune.\"\n\n\"And your friend's fortune was six feet of earth in Gascony. A high price to pay.\"\n\n\"War is the only trade that Roger and I knew, Lord Edward.\"\n\n\"I meant what I said. When we find the men led by Sir Richard, we shall see if there are any archers. I would have you form them into a company of archers. Are you an exceptional archer?\"\n\n\"My lord?\"\n\n\"Can others release as many arrows as quickly as you? Can they kill as efficiently?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but yesterday is not an example of what archers do best, Lord Edward. You need fast hands and reflexes to be able to kill a man who is fewer than twenty paces from you. There is little skill. Anyone could hit a target at that range.\"\n\n\"What do they do best?\"\n\nI could tell from his tone that he was genuinely interested. I reached behind me and took out an arrow. \"This tip can penetrate mail, Lord Edward. If I had ten archers, then we could send such a shower of these, that every warrior you lead this day could be slaughtered before they could close on us. A good archer can send an arrow more than two hundred paces. How long would it take mounted horsemen to cover such a distance?\" I saw him calculating. \"We could send six flights over before they closed on us. The arrows that did not hit men might hit horses. It matters not how you stop a horseman, just so long as you stop him.\"\n\n\"And if the men were on foot?\"\n\n\"Then they would all die. A man on foot in mail does not move swiftly, Lord Edward. Archers fear horsemen. If we are caught close to them we are in great danger. That is how I came to suffer my wound. It is why Roger of Talacre sacrificed himself. He knew, better than any, the danger I was in.\"\n\n\"Yet you used your sword and dagger well. Ralph, my sergeant at arms, watched you as you took on those two mounted men. He was impressed by your courage.\"\n\n\"I am strong. I may not have much skill with a sword, but I know how to win. I have learned that is what is important.\"\n\n\"Then I can see that God sent you to me. He wishes me to regain all that my grandfather lost. When time allows, we will see that you are properly attired and rewarded.\"\n\nWe talked as we rode. He seemed happy to confide in me. It had been the same with Roger of Talacre. There had been a bond between us before we had spoken, and so it was with Lord Edward. We headed for Auch. It was the capital of Gascony with, as I discovered, a fine cathedral, city walls and a castle. Lord Edward confided, as we rode, that he hoped to pick up more men there. \"Tarbes is a strong city with six castles close by each other. Even if one has fallen I would hope that the remainder have held out.\"\n\nRoderigo of Auch ruled the town for King Henry. He was a big, bluff soldier. He needed a warhorse just to carry his weight, but his men adored him. He drank as hard as they did and did not know the meaning of defeat. He welcomed Lord Edward. I saw John, Lord Edward's squire. Now I understood why he had ridden off early. Lord Edward was not about to allow the grass to grow beneath his feet. He would strike quickly. We might have fewer men than the enemy, but he would take them on. I admired that. I did not see Gaston and the others. They would still be waiting in Agen. Nor did I see Harry. I kept hoping that I would run into my old friend.\n\nNow that we were in a castle, I was relegated to the warrior hall with the other men at arms and crossbowmen. I appeared to be the only archer.\n\nMatthew, Lord Edward's sergeant at arms, explained why. Sir Richard of Saint Justin had taken all the archers he could find. As rare as hens' teeth in Gascony, they had hired twenty. \"They will be with Sir Richard, but what I cannot understand is why he did not come here first. Everyone knows that Roderigo of Auch hates the men of B\u00e9arn and would happily have joined him.\"\n\nOne of Roderigo's men, who had had to move his bed to accommodate us, said, \"I heard it was because Sir Richard wanted the glory of destroying Lord Edward's great foe. He thought he had enough men.\"\n\nI had rearranged my arrows and stored some. I asked, \"Did he?\" He nodded. \"He had archers?\"\n\nThe man at arms seemed to see me for the first time. \"Perhaps. I know that the long war bow you use is a powerful weapon, but Gaston de B\u00e9arn is a cunning commander. If he hides behind his walls what can archers do?\"\n\nI smiled. I had heard this argument before. \"More than you might think, but they need to be led well. What kind of leader is this Sir Richard? Is he reckless or thoughtful?\"\n\n\"I am not sure. He is fierce and he lays clever traps.\"\n\n\"Men have to stand on walls to defend them. The difference between a crossbow and a bow is that we archers can stand safely behind a pavise or large shield and send arrows inside castle walls. If he is a reckless leader, then he may sally forth to destroy the archers who hide within.\"\n\nMatthew said, \"You look young, and yet you know much. Have you seen much fighting?\"\n\n\"Enough, and I served with archers who passed their wisdom on to me. I listen.\" He nodded. I turned to Roderigo's man. \"Tell me, were there many archers who rode with Sir Richard?\"\n\n\"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five. He picked up a couple who had come here seeking work.\"\n\n\"Was there one, a big archer with fists like shovels? Went by the name of Harry Long Stride?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"There was an Englishman who sounds like your chap, but his name was Ralph.\"\n\nI smiled. That was Harry. Just as I had changed my name to protect myself, so had he. I felt much better knowing that he was ahead of me. I would soon have my old companion at my side. I would take him on as the first of Lord Edward's archers.\n\nThe next day we began to move just after dawn. We had fifty miles to go. Had we all been mounted we could have made it in one long day, but we were men who fought on foot. I did not have the luxury of riding at the head of the column with Lord Edward this time. We now had thirty knights and I was relegated to the rear of the mounted men. I was ahead of the foot which included crossbowmen. Crossbowmen and archers do not get on. I had heard of violence between them if drink was involved. I was alone, and so I ignored their jibes and their banter. To be truthful, I was anticipating a meeting with Harry. I would tell him of my adventures, and, I had no doubt, his would be as interesting.\n\nWe had stopped once to water and feed the horses and were on our second march, just after noon, when we halted once more. It was unusual. Word rippled down the column. I had no doubt that by the time the message reached me it would have changed beyond all recognition. Surprisingly it had not. It was simple and it was black. Sir Richard and his column had been attacked, and more than half their number were either captured or killed. Sir Richard had been badly wounded and it was feared he would never fight again. We rode just another two miles after the halt, and we camped by a small town which had a solitary tower for defence.\n\nMatthew and Lord Edward's men at arms had taken me under their wing and I camped with them. They were led by Captain William, and I liked him. He was bluff and he was honest. I was anxious to find out more about Harry and his fate. I made my way to the camp of the survivors. It was close to Lord Edward's. He and his knights were in deep conference. No one had expected Sir Richard to defeat Gaston de B\u00e9arn, but to have lost more than half his men was a disaster. When I reached the survivors I saw the scale of the disaster. Half of the men I saw had wounds.\n\nThe archers, there were six of them, were seated together. That was the way with archers. None of them was Harry, and my heart sank. They looked up at my approach. One of them, a surly looking man, who appeared to have a permanent sneer on his face beneath a recently broken nose, said, \"Where have you sneaked from? Managed to miss the battle, eh? Still sucking on your mammy's titty?\"\n\nI stared at him. He was obviously overwrought, but no man suffered insults without responding. \"Friend, curb your tongue, lest I remove it for my peace of mind. I came to ask of a friend I believe served with you.\"\n\nThe surly fellow leapt to his feet and his hand came towards me. He was making to punch me. I wrapped my right hand around it and began to squeeze. I saw his face twist in pain. I hooked my right leg behind his left and pushed. He tumbled backwards. My sword was out and pricked his neck before he knew it.\n\nBefore it could escalate further, John, Lord Edward's squire, came racing over. \"What is this, Gerald War Bow? A sword drawn in our camp? Lord Edward asks you to curb your temper.\" He gave the slightest of winks. \"This is not the behaviour he expects from his captain of archers.\"\n\nI sheathed my sword. \"I am sorry, lord. It will not happen again. I was just getting to know this archer. We are now acquainted.\" John nodded and left. I put my hand out to help the archer to his feet. \"And he knows better now than to insult a man he has only just met.\"\n\nHe stood and pushed my hand away. He held his hand to his neck and it came away bloody. He pushed past me.\n\nThe others stood. One of them grinned and held out his hand. \"I wouldn't worry about Guy of Sheffield. He could start an argument in an empty room. No one likes him. We lost many good archers the other day. It is a pity that he was not one of them. I am John of Nottingham.\" He pointed to each archer as he named them. \"Peter Crookback. Do not worry about the hunch. He is still a powerful bowman. David the Welshman, a fair archer but tends to wander off if there are sheep about.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman laughed and smacked John of Nottingham's calf with an arrow, \"That is because the sheep are prettier than any English woman I have ever seen!\"\n\n\"The last two are Stephen Green Feathers and Robin of Barnsley.\"\n\nI nodded. \"My father favoured green flights.\"\n\n\"Was his name Gerald ap Llewellyn?\"\n\n\"It was, did you know him?\"\n\n\"No, my father served under him when he was Captain of Archers. He adopted green flights in his honour. This is a small world and no mistake. Sit friend, and tell us your tale. Did we hear aright, that you are Lord Edward's captain of archers?\"\n\n\"I am.\" I squatted on the ground with them.\n\nJohn of Nottingham, the eldest of the men, said, \"Do not take offence, Captain, but you are young for such a title.\"\n\n\"I take no offence, and you are right, but Lord Edward seems to think I can do this. If any of you wish to serve Lord Edward, I would happily lead you. I will not be offended if you decline.\"\n\n\"I for one will serve. That was a neat trick with Guy and you must be strong. Had you not tripped him you would have broken his hand.\"\n\n\"I am strong. I was trained by the best: my father.\"\n\nThe others all offered to serve. Robin of Barnsley said, \"Any paymaster is welcome. I doubt that Sir Richard will fight again. There will be little pay from him.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Tell me, was there an archer with you by the name of Ralph? He would be a big man.\" I smiled, \"If he was my friend, I am guessing he would have had a run-in with Guy of Sheffield.\"\n\nThat set them all to laughing. \"That was Ralph, but that was not his real name. He said it was Harry, but he wished to be known as Ralph for he had run. He was the one who broke Guy's nose.\"\n\n\"He helped to train me.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"I have bad news then. He was taken prisoner.\"\n\n\"Harry was taken prisoner?\"\n\n\"Believe me, he fought well. He used all his arrows and fought on with his sword. He was laid low by a mace. I do not think he died. We were fleeing. The six of us, and two others, were lucky enough to capture horses. We escaped. The rest did not.\"\n\nI had gone from the joy of believing that my friend was alive, to the despair of knowing that he was a prisoner."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "I was heading back to Lord Edward's men at arms' camp when John found me. \"Lord Edward would like a word with you before you retire.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" I wondered if I was about to be reprimanded for my actions.\n\nHe was seated on a chest, which had contained salted meat, and was staring into the fire. \"I am afraid you will not have many archers when we ride to Tarbes tomorrow. Can you do anything with the handful of men you have?\"\n\n\"That depends upon the target.\"\n\n\"I have sent Sir Richard home. He will never be a knight again. He has lost the use of his left arm. He told me, before he left, that Gaston de B\u00e9arn has captured Bourg Neuf. It is one of the six citadels at Tarbes. It has its own wall. How the fool of a castellan lost it is beyond me.\"\n\n\"You say that there are five others, lord. Are any close to it?\"\n\n\"Yes, Gerald, Bourg Crab\u00e9. They even share some walls.\"\n\n\"Then my archers can use the walls of this Bourg Crab\u00e9 to rain arrows onto their walls. We can clear them as crossbows cannot. If they hide behind embrasures, then still our arrows will be able to hit them.\"\n\n\"But there are only seven of you.\"\n\n\"Actually Lord Edward there are only six. I am not certain how reliable Guy of Sheffield is. It matters not. We do not have to send them over quickly, just so long as it is a constant shower. It is like the drip which hits the same spot on the stone. Eventually it wears down. Men are not stone and they break quicker.\"\n\nLord Edward still looked dubious.\n\n\"And we can send fire arrows over at night. They would work as effectively during the day, but there is something terrifying about fire at night.\"\n\n\"I need something. I am loath to lose men storming the walls. I just need to defeat Gaston de B\u00e9arn. I am needed in England. The de Montfort brothers are causing trouble. This attack by Gaston de B\u00e9arn is to keep me here.\" He lifted his head. \"John.\"\n\nHis squire came over and took out a purse. He counted out ten gold coins. Each was the equivalent of three months wages for an archer. \"Lord Edward would have you bind the archers with these coins. One for each of the six and four for you.\"\n\n\"It is too much, Lord Edward.\"\n\nLord Edward laughed. \"A modest man. Take it Gerald. If nothing else, it pays for the lives of the men at arms you saved. Tomorrow we will encircle Bourg Neuf and you and your archers can find somewhere within Bourg Crab\u00e9.\"\n\nI returned to the archers. Guy of Sheffield was not there. I cocked my head to one side. John of Nottingham shrugged. \"He ran.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Then more fool him, although I would not have wished him to be part of our company.\" I gave each of them a gold coin. \"This is the payment to secure your services. You receive the same each month.\" Their faces showed their joy. I took out another of them. \"This one is for whichever of you manages to set the castle alight tomorrow night.\"\n\n\"Castle?\"\n\nI told them what Lord Edward had planned. It pleased me that none appeared discomfited by the thought.\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"And we will call you Captain. David, fetch the captain's war gear from the other camp. It is right that the company of archers stays together. We are now a band of brothers.\"\n\nThey made me feel welcome. I know it was not just because I had given them a gold coin. We were few in number, and, David apart, we were all English. More than that, they now served the future king of England. When my gear arrived, we worked out exactly how six of us would do what an army could not. Reduce a castle.\n\nWhen we marched towards Tarbes, the whole army went prepared for war. We had a vanguard made up of armoured knights. Our baggage was protected by the crossbows. Our numbers had been swollen by the survivors from the ill-fated expedition. I asked John of Nottingham, as we rode, \"If there are five other castles, why could their garrisons not reduce the one they did capture?\"\n\n\"Numbers. They keep small garrison here, Captain. I think there must have been treachery, else Bourg Neuf would never have fallen. I know you are confident in what we can achieve, but Gaston de B\u00e9arn has large numbers of men behind his walls.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Do you gamble, John?\"\n\n\"I have been known to wager.\"\n\nI took out a silver sixpence. \"I will wager this, that Gaston de B\u00e9arn is not inside Bourg Neuf.\"\n\n\"A bold statement, Captain, what makes you think thus?\"\n\n\"Last night, you all said that he was cunning and that he was thoughtful rather than reckless. Why trap himself inside a castle, where he could be captured and end his war? That is why I am confident. It will not be their leader. It will be some bold warrior who seeks to make a name for himself, and when we begin to kill his men, he will want to strike back. You have seen these two castles. How far apart are they?\"\n\n\"A hundred paces at the most. They share a wall.\"\n\n\"And if we hide behind the crenulations can their crossbows hit us?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But we can hit them. The secret will be to keep up a steady rate. When we stop, I want them to think we have run out of arrows. We will not. We will just be resting.\"\n\nWhen we reached Tarbes I saw why they had the defences that they did. Nestling in the foothills of the Pyrenees, the six towers formed an east\u2013west axis with the centre resting on the cathedral. The walls were not ridiculously high, but they would need ladders to scale them. However, when we finally saw Bourg Neuf, I became almost numb with anger. The heads and genitals of the men who had been captured were on the top of spears. I looked down the line of heads. Some were unrecognisable as men. This would be my fate if I was captured. Then I saw one that was familiar. For some reason the face had not been disfigured. I saw Harry. My friend was dead. My archers also saw friends who had been killed. Their anger was obvious.\n\nLord Edward took off his helmet and rode with Roderigo and John to within hailing distance of the walls. \"I come to demand the surrender of my castle. My father is the rightful ruler of Gascony and I am here to see that his property is returned to him.\"\n\nTheir leader laughed. \"I am Count Alfonso of Valencia! The heads of your men show what I think of you. When my lord brings all of his forces here, then we will rid Gascony of all Normans and Angevins once and for all.\"\n\nLord Edward was remarkably calm. \"Is that your last word?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Then hear my terms.\" He raised his voice. \"I speak so that all may hear my words. You have one hour to surrender. Any enemies of Gascony who remain after that time will be given no quarter.\" He said nothing more and silence swept over the castle. He rode back and conferred with his knights. They began to organise their men and he came to me. \"Come, Gerald, bring your archers into Bourg Crab\u00e9. We will see if your plan can succeed. For now, I see my enemy's.\"\n\nJohn, his squire, asked, \"Which is?\"\n\nI had seen it too. \"They wish to make us waste our men on the walls while Gaston de B\u00e9arn brings more men here.\" Lord Edward pointed to the Pyrenees. \"They will come from that direction, and it will negate our horsemen. We need to reduce this castle and then make him break upon these walls.\"\n\nEach of the castles had their own entrance so that they were self-contained. They were small. Whoever had built them had thought that they would be able to mutually defend each other. This had failed, but I was now even more convinced that there had been treachery involved. If I was Lord Edward, I would be looking for a traitor when we took the Bourg Neuf.\n\nThe castellan was an old Gascon. He recognised the three lions and bowed and scraped. Lord Edward was annoyed with the burghers of Tarbes. He was short with him. \"These archers are here to help destroy the Bourg Neuf. You will assist them in any way they wish. You obey Captain Gerald's commands. Is that clear?\"\n\nHe looked at me and opened his mouth to say something. It would probably have been that I was too young, but he thought better of it. Lord Edward's tone was warning enough. \"Aye, lord.\"\n\n\"How many men do you have?\"\n\n\"There are four men with crossbows and six others.\"\n\nEleven men to guard a castle. It was no wonder that the other had been taken so easily.\n\nLord Edward recognised that too. \"Is there no knight who commands here?\"\n\n\"Lord Gilbert prefers life on his estate, lord.\"\n\n\"Then we will have to see Lord Gilbert when this is over.\"\n\nI had learned that each of the castles was supposed to be manned by a knight as part of his fealty. It was a good system. It provided a good garrison. However, the system depended upon knights doing their duty.\n\nLord Edward turned to me. \"It is in your hands now. Begin when you are ready, and have a man come to tell me when you think the castle is ready to fall.\"\n\nAbruptly he left and I turned to the castellan. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Juan, Captain.\"\n\n\"Well Juan, I need a number of things from you. Do you have tables in here?\"\n\n\"Tables?\"\n\n\"Where do you eat?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Captain, we have tables.\"\n\n\"Then I need them all on the fighting platform, but first tell me, are all the castles built to the same design?\"\n\n\"Exactly, Captain.\"\n\n\"And where is the highest part?\"\n\n\"That would be Tower Crab\u00e9. I will take you.\" He led us through a narrow door and up a spiral staircase. The more I saw, the more I wondered how the castle could have fallen. The narrow entrance would have made the keep a death-trap for any who tried to enter. My shoulders barely fitted through the door and I had to duck my head. When we reached the fighting platform I saw the men crouching beneath the crenulations. As I stepped out with my bow, behind Juan the castellan, I saw a crossbowman about to say something. When John and the others followed me, he thought better of it. The Tower Crab\u00e9 was square. It rose to the height of seven men. We entered another narrow door and this time we ascended a ladder to the square top. There were just two men there.\n\n\"Juan, I want the tables brought up here.\"\n\n\"Here?\"\n\nI silenced the question simply. \"Lord Edward told you to obey my orders. Do it, and we will not need these men here. I will send them their instructions when we are ready.\"\n\nI laid down my bow and went to the embrasure. The tower at the Bourg Neuf was just two hundred and twenty paces from us. Each tower appeared to be to the west of the main entrance. Even as I stood there, a bolt flew at me from the walls of Bourg Neuf. It clattered off the stone and flew into the air. I saw men on the other tower pointing at me. That was where the danger lay. I would use our crossbows to keep down the heads of their men on the walls. The men in the tower had a flat trajectory. They could reach us.\n\nJohn said, \"That is why you want the tables.\"\n\n\"Aye, if the enemy is coming here then we need to clear their tower quickly and we do not have time to make some pavise.\" I risked another glance over the top. The gate of the Bourg Neuf lay fifteen paces below us. I could see a large number of men on the fighting platform above the gate. Lord Edward would never be able to enter through the narrow gate. He would have to use ladders. I saw smoke rising from the Bourg Neuf. They were preparing pig fat or water. Lord Edward might take the outer wall quickly but not the tower.\n\nI turned to John. \"See if you can count how many men are at the gate.\"\n\n\"Captain.\"\n\n\"David, go and tell the crossbowmen to use their bolts against the enemy crossbows.\"\n\n\"I have to talk to crossbowmen?\"\n\nStephen Green Feathers said, \"Pretend they are sheep!\"\n\nHe descended, grumbling. John of Nottingham said, \"I counted twenty men in mail and another twenty besides. They have vats of something bubbling, Captain. I would wager boiling water.\"\n\nDavid returned. \"They weren't happy, but they are doing so.\"\n\nI heard the sound of a cry from the walls of Bourg Neuf. The bolts were flying and they would keep the defenders occupied. Our danger lay in the tower. Once they realised we were archers then every crossbow would be brought there. They would be able to stop us releasing our arrows.\n\n\"Gather round.\" They joined me. \"We have one chance to surprise them. One hundred and twenty paces below us is their gatehouse. When I give the word, we rise and kill as many of their mailed men as we can. When they realise what we are doing and send crossbows to their tower, we will stop until we can erect our improvised pavise. After that, we will be sending arrows blind, so mark where they are.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nI saw each of them select what they deemed to be their best six arrows. We had climbed the ladder and knew how long we had. A crossbow was unwieldy to carry. It would take them longer to load and send the bolts. Once they reached the top of the tower, then the stone embrasure would give the crossbow support. They would be accurate. They would be slow but accurate. I hoped that by having our own crossbows engaging theirs, it would delay them reaching the top of the tower.\n\n\"Ready?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain!\"\n\n\"Then let them know they have archers to contend with!\"\n\nI rose and aimed at a knight who was exhorting his men on the outer wall. At a hundred and twenty paces and from a lofty perch I could not miss. My bodkin-tipped arrow penetrated deep into his back and flung him forward. Five others in mail fell. The defenders were disorientated. They looked to our walls first, and in that heartbeat, we sent another six arrows, and another six men in mail fell. We released a third before I heard an order given, and shields came up. For four of their men it was too late. We each chose another target and sent arrows towards them. One man at arms did not have a good helmet. Stephen Green Feathers' arrow penetrated the metal and the man died. I saw a shield wall. While they had a shield wall, they could not defend against Lord Edward and his men. They could no longer support those defending the outer walls.\n\n\"Switch to the tower! Aim for the crossbows.\"\n\nI chose a good arrow. It was one of my father's that I had dyed red. I aimed at an empty embrasure. This was a longer range, but I was confident. I did not make a full pull. That would tire me. I quarter pulled and I waited. When I saw a head I pulled back, and, as the crossbow appeared, I released and nocked another. The crossbow fell to shatter in the inner bailey as the crossbowman died. I nocked another arrow and sent it towards the crossbow which rose above the wall. My arrow hit the crossbow and then spiralled into the air. The crossbow was knocked from the crossbowman's hands, and it fell to the bailey. An archer always had a spare bow. A crossbowman could not afford a spare.\n\nSuddenly a bolt cracked into the wall. \"Down!\" We had done enough until the pavise came.\n\nJuan and his men at arms huffed and puffed as they struggled up the ladder with the tables. They were six feet by three feet and perfect. \"Take them from them. You know what to do!\"\n\nMy men took them and lifted them easily from the Gascons. They held them before them and jammed them into the gaps between the stones of the crenulations. Even as they placed them there, bolts like angry hornets cracked into them. The crossbows' first bolts had been ranging ones. Now they had the range. The could send their bolts on the same trajectory all day if necessary. We were now protected, and I knew from my father that crossbows were prone to damage with repeated use. The more bolts they sent, the sooner they would break and require repair.\n\nFive of us lined up behind the protection of the tables. Robin of Barnsley was our first spotter. He crouched and peered around a table. The angle meant that crossbow bolts could not reach him, and yet he still had a view of the gatehouse. He nodded, and we all pulled as one. We raised our bows together, and when we released it was a single crack. It was so loud that I knew the enemy would hear it. We waited.\n\nRobin said, \"Short.\"\n\nWe all adjusted our aim and I ordered, \"Release!\"\n\nThe five arrows flew, and this time, after the crack I heard cries.\n\n\"Perfect!\"\n\nWe nocked, pulled and released steadily until we had each sent ten arrows towards the enemy. Then Robin took the place of Peter Crookback. We sent another ten missiles. Gradually, we were all relieved until Robin returned to his duty. When that happened, I said, \"Robin, find Lord Edward, tell him now is the time to strike, for they are weakened.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\n\"Eat, drink, you did well.\" We had all spotted. Our plunging arrows had thinned their ranks. Not every arrow found mail or flesh. Some hit shields and some found good helmets. One arrow had managed to smash into the vat of boiling water. Its contents had spilled along the fighting platform. It did not kill, but it did make the defenders move, and arrows found men who were trying to avoid boiling water.\n\nJohn of Nottingham drank from his ale skin. My archers preferred ale when they could get it. When this was gone, it would be a long time until they got more. \"They will think we are out of arrows! They are in for a shock.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman said, \"We have forty more each and that is all, Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nI tore off a piece of bread and smeared it with the goats' cheese. \"And that will have to be enough.\"\n\nWe waited until Robin returned. We needed a spotter. \"They have taken the outer wall. Lord Edward is waiting for you before he begins the assault.\"\n\n\"Then let us begin.\"\n\nMy arms and shoulders were aching. This was the most prolonged period of releasing arrows I could remember. I had practised for longer, but then I had not had the cacophony of crossbow bolts striking the wood just three feet from my head. The rain of bolts had slowed, but they were still there.\n\n\"Short, but you still hit one knight!\"\n\nWe adjusted and again heard cries. The cries of the enemy dying were augmented by the sound of the men of Gascony and England assaulting the walls. We were down to our last four arrows when Peter Crookback shouted, \"I see Lord Edward on the walls!\"\n\n\"Cease!\" I noticed that the bolts had stopped hitting the pavise. \"Take down the tables, let us see if we can help.\"\n\nWe dared not risk sending arrows blindly when our own men were attacking but we could still make a difference. I nocked an arrow, aware that I was down to a handful. I saw that Lord Edward and John were leading men towards the Count Alphonso. I levelled my bow and half pulled. I did not have a clear line. Suddenly I saw Lord Edward slip on blood, or guts; it was hard to see. Count Alphonso raised his sword to end the life of my new lord. I now had a target, and my arrow struck him in the neck. It tore through his ventail and entered his shoulder. He slid to the side and that heralded the end. Men threw down their swords. I saw John help Lord Edward to his feet, and Lord Edward looked at the arrow. He raised his sword in salute. We had won.\n\nJohn of Nottingham laughed and handed over sixpence. \"Here Captain \u2014 you were right. Gaston de B\u00e9arn was not within the walls, and I believe that it is you who have earned your gold coin!\" He raised his bow and cheered, \"And we did not need to use fire arrows, let us hear it for Captain Gerald!\" My men joined in the cheers. It was a victory and I enjoyed the sound of it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "The first act that we did was to remove the heads of our dead from the spears on the walls. Some had been damaged in the fighting and that made us even angrier. The defenders who had surrendered cowered as we passed. Lord Edward had promised death to the defenders. They would do nothing to remind him of his promise. There were just sixteen survivors. No knights survived, and of the others, only six were unwounded. Once we had seen to our dead we retrieved as many arrows as we could. Only a few were totally usable, but the heads on some, the fletch on others and some of the shafts could be made into arrows again. We would need them for the attack which we knew was coming.\n\nAs we were collecting them Lord Edward's squire found me. \"Lord Edward is pleased with you, archer. Once again, you saved his life. His gold is reaping a fine investment. He would have you and your men in the centre castle, by the cathedral. That will be the point of the enemy attack.\"\n\nI was curious as to how he knew. \"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"One of the prisoners agreed to talk in exchange for his life.\" Even as he spoke I heard the snap of ropes as the others, wounded and whole, were hanged.\n\n\"What if he lies?\"\n\nJohn gave a cruel smile. \"Matthew watches him. If the attack does not happen as he has told us, then he will be emasculated, hanged, drawn and finally quartered. I do not think he lies. Besides which, the centre castle lies close to the cathedral and has the best approach for engines of war.\"\n\n\"If he thought we would still be attacking Bourg Neuf then he would not need siege engines.\"\n\n\"Lord Edward is like you, archer, he is young but he is clever. On the morrow, he leads the knights out to find Gaston de B\u00e9arn. He will draw him to the walls.\"\n\nI nodded. \"It seems a good plan.\" I turned to my men and shouted, \"When you have your arrows, come to me. We have a new place to defend.\"\n\nI knew why there was a delay. While they were retrieving arrows, my men were also relieving the dead of anything they had which was of value. When they eventually arrived I led them back to our horses. It would be better if they were with us in the castle. The castle was the count's castle and had two towers and higher walls than the surrounding ones. There were stables and we would use them. I now had a scabbard for my saddle. With Roger's two swords and scabbards across my back, the one on my horse became a spare. I still had my packs on my sumpter, and so we walked our animals to the stables.\n\nThe count was meeting with Lord Edward and the other leaders. The sergeant at arms was expecting us. \"You are fine archers. We saw your fall of arrows. I thought there were more of you.\"\n\n\"There will be, eventually.\"\n\nThe sergeant seemed an affable man, and as he led us to the fighting platform we chatted. \"Tell me, sergeant, how did the enemy take Bourg Neuf so easily, and why did the rest of the garrisons not attempt to retake it? I mean no offence but we retook it easily enough.\"\n\n\"None taken. There were many of us as angry as you. A message came from Guy de Montfort, telling us that the men of B\u00e9arn were racing for Bayonne. The count took men and knights from the castles to thwart them. Guy de Montfort agreed to stay and watch our town. It was he and his men who allowed Count Alphonso to sneak in. When Sir Richard arrived they were ambushed. We tried to help, but with only a dozen or so men in each castle\u2026\"\n\nThe de Montforts reared their heads again. Simon de Montfort was bitter about the loss of his governorship. I could see why Lord Edward wished to return to England with all haste. The two had been close friends, but now they were moving towards a hatred which would consume England.\n\nThis time we had the fighting platform above the gate. There was a tower on each side. We would not need pavise. If they had crossbows, we would have the crenulations to protect us. They would be below us. A crossbow worked best when it had elevation. It made it a good weapon to use in a castle. We were now using arrows which had been kept at Tarbes. They were not as good as the ones we made ourselves, but until we had access to some good wood and a blacksmith and could find the right goose feathers, we would have to make do. It was all a matter of confidence.\n\nThat night we ate at a table and we slept in beds. To an archer used to campaigning it was luxury. The others were interested in my swords.\n\nJohn of Nottingham asked, \"Why two swords, and why are all your swords longswords? Most archers use a short sword. It is good enough for us.\"\n\nI told them the story of how I had come into the possession of my first sword. I showed them the scabbard my father had made. \"When my friend died, he asked me to take his weapons and his coins. I did as my brother asked me.\" I held up my purse. \"It is no secret that I hold a large purse of gold. If I die then, as I have no one else in my life, I ask my brother archers to share it equitably.\"\n\nPeter was the most thoughtful of my men. He said, quietly, \"If Guy of Sheffield was here, then you would wake with a second throat.\"\n\nI smiled. \"I choose my brother archers carefully! Lord Edward wants a whole company. You are the first. The others will have to match your standards. When we return to England, we will be attired in a livery.\"\n\n\"We return?\"\n\nI nodded, \"Aye, we do.\" I said it with a smile, but my heart was heavy. I would have to speak to Lord Edward before we left Gascony. I would not leave with a lie between us.\n\nWe heard the knights ride out in the early morning. Lord Edward had forty knights and squires with him. They were not all the knights; we had twenty more in the castles. In addition, every castle was well garrisoned with men at arms and crossbowmen. We then waited. I had taken to wearing my hat again. This time it was not for the cold, as it was in England, but for the sun, which burned down. David had fair skin and he wore a brimmed straw hat to keep off the sun. We were almost in the land of the Moors, Spain, and although winter approached, it was still hotter than an English summer's day. While we waited I went to the blacksmith and used his wheel to sharpen my two swords and my dagger. Roger had made a good scabbard. I barely felt the weight, and they were easy to draw over my shoulders. I would only need them when I was close to an enemy or had run out of arrows. I knew that I would need to practise with both of them. If I did not use a shield, I would have to compensate by using a sword.\n\nNoon arrived, and we ate at the fighting platform on the wall walk. My men were vigilant. They enjoyed being well paid, and more importantly, they enjoyed the honour they had been given. We had the most dangerous position to hold.\n\nRobin of Barnsley had good eyes, and it was he who spotted the banners of the knights as they galloped down the road from the mountains. He shouted, \"Ware the gate! Riders approaching.\"\n\nRoger de Mortimer, one of Lord Edward's closest friends, was at the gate nearest to our castle with the best knights and men at arms. They would hold the gates while Lord Edward and his men entered. They would then defend the outer wall. We would be able to send arrows over the heads of our men. Crossbows could not do that. Crossbows lined the lower wall, along with men at arms. I wondered if the ruse had worked. Was Gaston de B\u00e9arn coming to take Tarbes from Lord Edward?\n\n\"Robin, can you see who pursues?\"\n\nHe had no fear of heights, and he stood on top of the crenulation and peered south. \"There are riders and many men on foot, Captain. They wear bright clothes, that is for certain.\" He jumped down.\n\n\"Then perhaps Lord Edward has drawn them here. Remember, we aim for their knights and their mailed men. Choose your targets carefully.\"\n\nWaiting was always hard for me. I did not mind the wait of the hunt when you stalked your prey. This waiting was different. You could see your enemy. He grew in numbers, and he grew in the threat he posed. The unknown became known. When you hunted, you looked at the tracks and knew what you would find. When I had spoken with the sergeant of the castle, I had asked him of our enemies.\n\n\"The worst are the Basques! They are not Moor and they are not Spaniard. They are neither French nor Gascon. They are like some mongrel who squats in the corner of this land. They are fierce fighters and they are tough fighters. If you defeat them, Captain, make sure they are dead. And watch out for their trick of jumping! They are like fleas. In their mountain country, they can jump from rock to rock like mountain goats. I have seen good warriors die to their jumping tricks. The others are those you may have fought before; knights, men at arms and Arabs.\"\n\n\"I have never fought Arabs.\"\n\n\"You did not crusade?\" I shook my head. \"Do not be deceived by the flimsy clothes they wear. Their cloaks, they call them bisht, have many layers and are almost as good as mail at preventing wounds.\"\n\n\"Our arrows can penetrate mail.\"\n\n\"Aye, but your swords, should you have to use them, are a different matter. Go for any flesh you see. It matters not if it is a hand or a finger. They are an easier place to hurt than the body or the head. They wear fine helmets beneath their garments.\"\n\nIt would be new and unknown warriors we fought. I wished we had more arrows.\n\nI saw the gates open and the knights and squires rode in. I saw that some were wounded. They did not stop in the outer bailey but carried on beneath our gate. Lord Edward lowered his ventail and raised his arm to me. The seven of us had an important job to do. We all hoped that the knights with Roger de Mortimer would stop the men of B\u00e9arn, but we all knew that it was unlikely. Robin of Barnsley said, \"I see ladders. They are well prepared, Captain!\"\n\n\"So are we.\"\n\nI nocked an arrow and waited. The outer wall was just a hundred paces from us. We could see men who were one hundred and fifty paces, but we had too few arrows to waste. When they scaled the walls, then we would make it a killing ground. I was able to watch the men with crossbows. They were a powerful weapon, but once they had released it seemed to take an age to reload them. While the crossbowmen did so they had to stand upright, and I saw some struck by lead balls as the enemy slingers hurled their deadly missiles. The men of B\u00e9arn also had archers and crossbows. Their bows were not as good as ours and their arrows were more like hunting arrows, yet they could still hurt a warrior who did not wear mail. The knights were safe, and most of the sergeants and men at arms, but the others began to fall.\n\nI saw ladders raised and knew that the crossbows had failed to halt the enemy. That was confirmed when the crossbowmen left the outer wall and sought sanctuary within the main castle. I saw a black-faced warrior stand on top of the wall. He had a mail shirt on. I released. The arrow threw him from the wall. It seemed to be the signal for the enemy to leap over in even greater numbers and for my archers to pick their targets. We kept the wall around Roger de Mortimer clear of enemies. The longer he and the other household knights held out, the more of the enemy would die. He and the other knights slew many who tumbled over the battlements, but further along the wall men were cleared.\n\nLord Edward appeared next to me with John. \"John, sound the fallback!\"\n\n\"Yes, Lord Edward!\" He sounded the horn three times.\n\n\"Captain, I rely on you to ensure that my household knights survive.\"\n\n\"They will.\"\n\nThat was easier said than done. As the knights began to descend, the walls were filled with a mass of men. We could no longer pick and choose enemy knights to kill. We had to kill those closest to our knights. We could not miss, but there were only six of us. Sending an arrow every few heartbeats, we soon made the enemy respect our arrows. They slowed and used their shields for protection. David and Peter concentrated their arrows on the men attempting to open the gates to allow in the rest of their army. Twelve men died before they managed to do so. By then, Roger de Mortimer and the other knights had entered the gates safely, which were slammed behind them.\n\nLord Edward clapped me on the back. \"Nobly done! I will go and speak with my knights.\"\n\nI shouted, \"Choose your targets now! Our men are safe!\"\n\nI heeded my own words. I ignored the half-naked warriors who raced ahead of those with shields and mail. I aimed at the gap between the ventail and helmet of the warrior who had a red shield with a blue cross. He fell dead. My men did the same to other targets. They were fewer than fifty paces from us. To archers using the long war bow, this was almost point-blank range. As I aimed at the next knight who had a ventail, I could have chosen an eye and still managed to hit my target. Another fell dead. I saw another knight wearing a full helm. There was no ventail and no gap. John of Nottingham sent an arrow through the mail of his shoulder. As he dropped his shield, Robin of Barnsley sent one into his chest. A full-face helmet meant he was a rich knight and had experience. It was worth two arrows to end his threat.\n\nI heard shouts from below as the men who had just reached us were sent to the walls. Lord Edward, his squire and ten knights and squires joined us at the gatehouse. Already the enemy was bringing its ladders to try to take our walls. We were higher at the gatehouse. Their ladders would not reach us, but they could reach the walls which joined ours. As I sent arrow after arrow into mail that was just thirty paces from me, I saw the sea which threatened to engulf us. Had Lord Edward made a mistake by spreading his men out in seven castles? Our enemies were concentrating everything at us. Had he gambled and lost?\n\nI put my negative thoughts from my head and continued to send my arrows into the mailed bodies. I reached for an arrow but there were none. I looked around and saw that only Stephen Green Feathers had any remaining.\n\n\"Lord Edward, we are out of arrows.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I have been counting. There are almost a hundred and fifty men who are dead thanks to you. If we lose this battle it will not be your fault.\"\n\nI could not help but think that it would not make a deal of difference to us. Our heads would be on top of spears and Lord Edward would be ransomed back to his father. Henry might lose Gascony, but his son would live. I would die a rich archer. My father had died a poor archer, but he had lived his life. I had yet to do so. I had not even planted seed!\n\n\"Archers, we fight as men at arms today!\" Of course, we had no mail. We had no helmets and we had no shields. All that we did have were a pair of quick hands and a mind to match. They would have to do.\n\nI drew my two swords and moved towards the door which led from the walls below. That would be where the enemy would emerge. I saw that now our arrows had ended their rain it was left to the few remaining crossbows, and they too soon fell silent. The men to our sides would be at arms on the fighting platform. It was wide enough for three men to walk along but only two to fight upon. With a fall to the inner bailey, if you slipped, there was no mercy to be found on the wall. We had the luxury of a rectangular floor. It was eight paces by six paces. Would the extra room suit the attackers or us?\n\nIt was then that I saw a chance. I had never fought on a wall before. I saw that the men who came along to fight us had their shields on their left arms. Their right arms were next to the walls. They would find it harder to swing their swords. It was a small advantage, but an archer learned to use any he had.\n\nLord Stephen and his squire stood to block the enemy who came through the door. They slew the first three, then I saw a pair of spears jab through and strike them both in the calf. The spears were twisted and the two men fell to the inner bailey. Although Sir Walther and Sir Ralph ran to seal the breach, they were too late. A veritable flood of men ran towards us. I was no hero, but I charged at the half-naked man who ran next to the wall. I saw blood on his sword and on his shield. His helmet, which had a nasal, was also spattered with blood. This warrior had killed this day. Even though he had a long sword and a shield I thought I had a chance to defeat him. I was wrong about the wall. It did nothing to stop him swinging. It just meant his sword came down across my body. My strength came to my aid. I used the sword in my left arm to block the blow. I saw the surprise on his face when his sword did not strike flesh but, instead, sparked off steel. I lunged with my right hand at his head. His shield came up to deflect the blow.\n\nAs our bodies closed I saw his head begin to move backwards. I knew what was coming; a headbutt. I had suffered them in fights before, but this warrior had a helmet. We were so close that neither of us could use the edge of our swords. I turned my head as I punched at his head with the hilt of my sword. I knocked his head to the side and the pressure was released. As we both stepped back, I stopped thinking as a man at arms and began to think as an archer. I looked for the flesh. I brought my right hand from on high. Still reeling from my punch, he brought up his shield again. I stabbed upwards, under his shield, with my left hand. He was naked from the waist up. I guessed he was a Basque. I remembered the sergeant's words. My sword travelled diagonally through the ribs on his left side. I kept pushing and twisting until I saw the tip emerge at his shoulder. Then I tore the sword from his body. He was dead, and his bleeding body fell to block the fighting walkway.\n\nBehind me, I heard Lord Edward shout, \"John, make the signal!\"\n\nA horn sounded four times. I had no idea what it meant. More men ran towards us. I ran towards them. I would use my speed and agility. I jumped the dead man to run at the next warrior. I was aware of my archers and knights to the side and behind me. It was a maelstrom of swords, shields and bodies. An Arab faced me. Enclosed in cloth he looked an easy target, but I harked back to the advice I had been given. His hood was down and he wore a pointed helmet with an aventail. He had, however, no ventail. I could see his face. I could see his hands. His armour was beneath the cloak and bisht. His shield was smaller than the ones our warriors used and his sword thinner. I was under no illusions. The smiths of Spain made the best of steel. His sword would not bend.\n\nHe initiated the fight with a stab at my head. I could see why. I had no helmet and no armour. Once again, I deflected it with my left hand, and this time, did the unexpected. He anticipated a blow to his head and his shield flicked up. I brought the sword in my right hand over and chopped off his right hand. His sword and hand tumbled to the outer bailey. He looked at me in surprise and I backhanded him across the face with my sword. The blade smashed across his face. It tore deep into the flesh and the bone. The power of the blow knocked him across others, who were hurrying to get to us. With his spurting blood, he made the platform slick. He was going to be a dead man. His lifeblood pumped from his severed arm.\n\nSome of the enemy slipped. I heard Lord Edward shout, \"Now, at them!\"\n\nThe knights rallied behind Lord Edward, and, with shields held before them, they began to march towards the enemy. There were Basques amongst them, and they tried to run and jump at Lord Edward. It was a mistake, for the blood and the gore made them slip. They were hacked and chopped as they lay writhing like beached fish.\n\nThen I heard a cheer from my left. I was next to the wall and I risked a glance. The men from the other castles had been summoned, and they were slaughtering the men who were trying to climb our walls. The signal from Lord Edward had been to initiate his trap. It was not over. Thanks to Roger de Mortimer and his knights, who had guarded the gate, none had gained entry, but we had our gatehouse to clear and then the fighting platforms. I fell in behind Lord Edward and his knights. I had realised that I was out of my depth, and my luck might not last.\n\nI found myself behind John, Lord Edward's squire. I saw the advantage of his mail when a sword came from nowhere to hack at his shoulder. The mail held. As we closed with the door, the press became tighter. It was hard for either side to swing their weapons. Our own castle walls were working against us. It held them. I saw that John was face to face with a bearded Spaniard. I insinuated my sword between John's body and Lord Edward's. I angled it upwards and then I pushed. I saw the bearded face as my sword bit into him. His eyes widened and then blood came from his mouth. I pulled out the sword and his body went limp.\n\nJohn shouted, \"Gerald, reach in and pull his body away!\"\n\nI sheathed my right-hand sword and put my hand between Lord Edward and his squire. I found sticky blood and a baldric. I pulled. John and Lord Edward turned their bodies slightly, and the Spaniard popped out like a cork from a jug. I fell backwards with his body on top of me. That allowed the two of them to stab the man in the door, and they were through and onto the fighting platform. Pushing the corpse from me, I stood. In the moments that had passed, the knights and the squires, along with the sergeants, had left the gatehouse to pursue the survivors. There were just my archers, the wounded, dead and the dying left on the charnel house that was the gate.\n\nI saw that John of Nottingham knelt by Peter Crookback. I hurried over to them. I could see that Peter was dying. I could see his stomach laid open. He gave me a wan smile. \"I did not get to serve you long, Captain. I envy John and the others. They will become famous.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"Hush, Peter. They have healers.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Do not lie to a dying man, John of Nottingham. You are a good friend, and I have served alongside you these two years. Watch over the captain. He is a good man to follow, and give my\u2026\"\n\nHe said no more. The light left his eyes and my first archer had died. John closed the lids on his eyes. \"He was a quiet man but there were none better.\"\n\n\"Captain, come, Stephen Green Feathers needs help.\"\n\nI hurried to Robin's side. Stephen had a wound to the leg. He had lost blood and already he was pale. I went to the Arab I had killed and hacked a long piece from his bisht. I ran back and made a tourniquet above the wound. My honey and vinegar were in my quarters. \"Robin, carry him. We will find the healers. John, take charge here. You know what you must do.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\" The enemy wounded would be given a warrior's death and their bodies searched. It was what archers did. I went first with drawn sword. The sound of fighting had moved towards the outer walls as Lord Edward led our men to eliminate all opposition. My caution was rewarded. As I stepped off the last stone step, a Basque ran and leapt at me. He had been feigning death. My hunting experience came to my aid. I had once been helping Sir Henry as a beater when a wild boar had leapt at us. I had dropped to my knee and held the boar spear before me. The boar had impaled himself. I did the same with the Basque. I held my sword above me with two hands and it entered his groin and his own weight drove it deep within him. I then used his weight to throw the body over my shoulder. It cracked into the wall of the gatehouse but he was already dead. I rose and led Robin to the cathedral. There were healers in there.\n\nThere were many men being tended to. The priests all looked busy. I shouted, \"Aid, I have a wounded man!\" Robin faithfully followed me.\n\nThe nearest priest looked up and, seeing that we were archers, turned back to his ministrations. \"You can wait until your betters are healed.\"\n\nI know he was a priest but I was tempted to use the flat of my sword, which I still held, to teach him a lesson. However, it was not necessary for I heard Lord Edward's squire John say, \"You will tend to him priest, or I will whip you myself. Those archers are the reason we won!\"\n\n\"Yes, lord!\" The priest hurried over to Stephen.\n\nI walked to John, who lay on the floor. He too had a bandaged leg. He shook his head. \"It was a lucky blow. I had felled a Basque, but the man was not dead and he stabbed me as I passed. It will hurt in the winter for he nicked the bone.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I was told to kill the Basques twice. It is good advice. We lost an archer.\"\n\n\"Then that is a grievous loss. You and your men broke the back of the attack. Lord Edward said that you would. In fact, he relied on it so that he could draw them to the gatehouse and then launch the surprise attack.\"\n\n\"It worked.\"\n\n\"Aye, and now we return to England. It may be a month or so before we leave, but we will be going home, and then you will have to find more archers. Lord Edward has seen their worth, and he wants twenty.\"\n\nI nodded. I now had a dilemma. How did I go back to England without telling Lord Edward what I had done?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "In the end I decided to tell Lord Edward myself. I waited until we were at Bayonne, preparing to take ship. That way, if it went badly, I could leave quickly and head north to France. Both my archer, Stephen, and John, Lord Edward's squire, had healed while we had awaited ship. I had been trying to find an appropriate time to catch the prince alone. This was not the sort of news to speak in a public place. However, there were other matters which prevented a meeting. They were nothing to do with me. Other lords came to Bayonne to speak with my master. I learned much through John the squire. Whenever he was sent on errands to the camp he always passed our tents and spoke with us. From him we learned that not all was well. Lord Edward had allies who had promised funds for his campaign. The money had not been forthcoming. I knew nothing of Lord Edward before I had helped to rescue him, but from John, I learned that he had played a dangerous game. He had allied himself with his father's enemies. Now it had come to a head. Those enemies wanted him to join them in taking power from his father, King Henry.\n\nMy chance to speak came when Lord Edward and John rode into our camp. My men were in the town. I had given them the afternoon to enjoy themselves. I was alone, sharpening my sword when they approached.\n\n\"Gerald War Bow, are your men healed and ready?\"\n\n\"Aye, lord, whom do we fight?\"\n\n\"No one yet, but I have had enough of this treacherous place and the intrigues. We sail home for England, two days hence. Sell your horses, for we have no room for them on the ships. We will buy new, if we need them, in England.\"\n\nI nodded.\n\nHe frowned at my lack of enthusiasm. \"What is wrong Gerald? I had thought you would have been delighted to leave this disease-ridden, pestilential hole!\"\n\nI approached and dropped to a knee, \"Lord Edward, I have a confession to make.\"\n\nThe young prince laughed. \"I am no priest. God's blood but I have committed more sins than enough myself. Rise, you look ridiculous on your knee!\"\n\nI rose and forced myself to speak. I had committed the crime, and I had to take responsibility. \"Lord, before I came to France I killed the knight I served.\"\n\nThe smile left his face and even John looked shocked. \"An accident, Gerald?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No John. I wounded him with one arrow and slew him with a second.\"\n\nLord Edward's eyes narrowed. \"You do not appear to drink too much, so you were not drunk. Was it murder?\"\n\n\"No, lord, it was justice. He had hanged my father for no good reason. My father had killed his hunting hounds. The hounds killed his dog and threatened him. He did what he did to protect himself, and I did what the law should have done but did not.\"\n\n\"And who was this lord?\"\n\n\"Henry of Clwyd.\"\n\nJohn said, \"He serves under Sir Ranulf. He is a knight of Chester.\"\n\nI saw something akin to relief on Lord Edward's face. \"I know this Sir Henry. He was a lout of a man, and as far as I can recall, averse to fighting.\" He picked up the sword I had been sharpening. \"You have given me a problem.\" He balanced the sword in his hand. \"If Sir Henry had been a lord anywhere else in England, then I would have had to take you back to stand trial for murder. You would be hanged.\"\n\nI spied hope in his words.\n\n\"As he was one of my lords, then, as Earl of Chester, it is for me to mete out justice. Tell me, was the baron unarmed?\"\n\n\"No, lord, he had his sword drawn and was advancing on me.\"\n\n\"Then it seems to me that it was self-defence. Your punishment for that crime is to make pilgrimage on foot from London to Canterbury. You must beg forgiveness at the tomb of Thomas Becket.\" He gave a grim smile. \"If my ancestor King Henry had to do so, then so can you.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Thank you, lord.\"\n\n\"What would you have done if I had had you arrested?\"\n\nI looked him in the eyes. \"I would have escaped and run, lord.\"\n\nHe stared at me and then burst out laughing. \"God's blood, but I bet you would! You are an honest fellow, I will give you that. I am guessing that Gerald is not the name with which you were baptised.\" I shook my head. \"Grow yourself a beard. You have been forgiven, and there is no longer a crime for which you have to answer, but I would not have you upset my knights when we return home.\"\n\nThey left, and I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was as though I could breathe once more. When my men returned, I gave them the news that we would be going home. \"Sell your horses and anything else that you cannot carry. From Lord Edward's words, space will be limited on the ships.\"\n\nSome of the men were sad. They had become attached to their horses. That was especially true of me. My own horse had served me well and I felt guilty about leaving him, although, in truth, I had little choice in the matter. As luck would have it, we were able to sell them in the camp. There were other mercenaries there. They were part of the retinue of William de Valance, Lord Edward's uncle. They were about to leave and needed horses. John of Nottingham discovered this and arranged for them to come to inspect the animals. We knew we had to sell them, but the men of de Valance did not.\n\n\"These are fine animals. You must be desperate for money. Are you sure you do not want to hold onto them? We will all need them when we head north to fight in Aquitaine.\"\n\n\"Aquitaine?\"\n\n\"Did you not know? Our lord is going to take some of King Henry's castles. There will be coin for everyone.\"\n\nI looked at John of Nottingham and gave a slight shake of the head. \"We did not know. We will still sell them. Silver is silver.\"\n\nWe agreed a price, and John and I shared the money equally between our men. We purchased that which we needed for the voyage and moved into the port. We bought supplies. We were all warriors for the working day. Who knew when food might be in short supply? We bought a ham and some of the spicy sausages that came from Spain. We found some hard cheese which would last the voyage and some of the oranges which could be bought at the local market. Finally, we bought two jugs of wine. We shared them out in our bags.\n\nThe coins meant we could afford a night in an inn. Thus it was that we witnessed, on the quayside, the argument between Lord Edward and his uncle. We were too far away to hear the words but it was acrimonious. I could tell that from Lord Edward's red face. His uncle and his knights stormed through the streets, scattering market stalls in their wake.\n\nCaptain William, the leader of Lord Edward's men at arms, followed them. He approached our table. He was grinning. \"Well Gerald War Bow, you had best get your men and their war gear to the quay. It seems we are no longer welcome here, and we sail for England. Yon cog, Maid of Portsmouth is your vessel. I should get aboard and find the best berths. It will be a crowded ship!\"\n\nI nodded. \"Thank you, Captain. I am grateful.\" As he hurried off I said, \"John, get our gear. I will pay our bill.\" We had been ready to move at a moment's notice. Our bow staves were in their cases, as were our arrows. The spare clothes we had were in canvas bags. By the time I had paid the innkeeper my men had carried our war gear to the quay.\n\nWhen I got to the ship there was a large sailor blocking the gangplank. John of Nottingham was arguing with him.\n\n\"What is amiss, John of Nottingham?\"\n\nHe jerked his head in the direction of the sailor. \"This no-neck lowlife says that we must pay to board.\"\n\nI used a reasonable voice, for I thought that the sailor had misunderstood. \"We are Lord Edward's men. His captain, William, told us that we had berths on this ship.\"\n\nHe smiled. I noticed that his front teeth were missing. That was a sure sign that he was a brawler. He had the knotted arms of a sailor and the gut of a drinker. \"I don't give a tinker's curse who you serve. Captain Alfred sails the ship, but I, Guthrum of Akethorpe, am the man who is in charge of the ship. You want an easy voyage, then you pay me.\"\n\nI walked a little closer to him so that I could speak quieter. \"Friend, we are coming aboard this ship, and if you try to bar our way, you will taste the sea! We are warriors, and we are not men to be crossed.\"\n\n\"You are mercenaries with pockets full of gold! Pay! One way or another you will pay me!\"\n\n\"You will get out of my way, now!\" I had pulled my dagger from my belt and I held it to his groin.\n\nHe looked down as I pushed it a little harder. He stepped out of the way. He spat into the sea. \"One way or another, you will pay!\"\n\nWhen we reached the deck there were two men waiting for us. They must have seen what had happened and yet they said nothing. \"I am Captain Alfred. My first mate, Jack of Lothnwistoft, will show you where you can stow your gear. It will be crowded. The men at arms of Captain William will be joining you.\"\n\nAs we followed the young sailor he said, \"You should not have crossed Guthrum. He is an evil man.\"\n\n\"The captain saw what occurred?\"\n\nHe nodded as we ducked below a small door and climbed down a ladder. \"Guthrum keeps the crew in order. He is the captain's cousin.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"If he tries anything with us, he will regret it.\"\n\nI saw that we were in the hold of the ship. It had carried sheep, for there were still droppings on the deck. The sailor said, \"Guthrum would have had this swept if you had paid him.\"\n\nI laughed. \"I think we can sweep a few sheep turds away!\" I looked around the hold. The worst berth would be by the ladder. Men would be using it constantly to make water and to go on deck. There was a bulkhead at the bow end. \"We will use here. Right boys, let us get rid of the sheep turds and make ourselves comfortable.\" I heard raised voices from the quay.\n\nJack of Lothnwistoft grinned. \"I think your comrades have met Guthrum.\"\n\nIt did not take us long to clean the area of deck which was close to us. We used our bags with our war gear to create our own area. Our bow staves and arrows were placed close to the bulkhead where they were safe. I heard footsteps above us and then heard feet coming down the ladder. I recognised Ralph Dickson; he was, like Matthew, a sergeant at arms, and he was Captain William's lieutenant. As he came down I saw him wiping blood from his nose.\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"This looks like it will be an interesting voyage.\"\n\nI had to walk with a bent back to reach Ralph, for the deck was low. \"I am afraid there is sheep shit all over the deck. We have to clean.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I would like to clean it with that big bastard. He asked for money!\"\n\n\"He asked us too. You did not pay him, did you?\"\n\n\"No, and I have a bloody nose for my pains. He had better watch out.\"\n\n\"I think that the crew are afraid of him. We will watch out for each other, eh? How many of you are there?\"\n\n\"Twenty. The captain sails with Lord Edward and the knights.\"\n\n\"There are just two ships then?\"\n\n\"Aye. He paid off the rest of the men.\"\n\nI pointed to the ladder. \"We had best keep a clear passage to the upper deck. We may have to move in a hurry.\"\n\nWhile the men sorted themselves out, we headed for the deck. This would be our last view of land until we struck England. Captain William was on the quay. Guthrum was glowering at him. I strode down the gangplank. For one moment, I thought the sailor would try to stop me leaving, then he thought better of it and stepped aside.\n\nAs soon as I stepped ashore, Guthrum strode back up the gangplank. Captain William was an old warrior. He had served with King Henry before following his son. He frowned. \"Trouble? I saw he had a bloody knuckle.\"\n\n\"He seemed to think we had to pay to sail this ship. He struck Ralph Dickson.\"\n\n\"That is not good. Perhaps I should sail with you.\"\n\nI smiled. \"If you have a berth with Prince Edward, then I would say take it. This one is overcrowded as it is. It stinks of sheep.\"\n\n\"Aah. Then it will be a long voyage.\"\n\n\"Where do we land?\"\n\n\"Lord Edward wishes to get to his father as soon as he can. We will sail up the Thames to Windsor. That may be why you had trouble. There is not as much profit for them. There will be no trade for them at Windsor. But Lord Edward has paid them well.\"\n\n\"It is not the captain who is the problem, just someone who thinks he can bully us. Fear not, we have faced worse in this campaign than a handful of sailors!\"\n\nHe clasped my arm. \"Fare you well. I will see you in Windsor. We will be at the castle for a while.\" He leaned in. \"I think the son goes to make peace with his father.\"\n\nI nodded. My thoughts were with my own father. I had not had the opportunity to say farewell to him.\n\nWe were ready to sail long before the other ship. I saw more supplies being taken aboard the larger ship, commissioned by Lord Edward. Jack of Lothnwistoft was walking by as I joined John of Nottingham at the ship's waist. \"What about food on this ship?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham asked, \"And ale?\"\n\nThe sailor looked around to see if Guthrum was close by. \"It is cold rations. We have ship's biscuits. We call it 'hardtack'. We have oats, and there is water to make a cold porridge. We have two barrels of water and one of ale.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"That is it? No meat? No hot food?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Fire is dangerous on a wooden ship, and you did not pay Guthrum.\" He grinned. \"A little tip before you eat the hardtack. Tap it on the deck. There are little weevils that live within it.\"\n\nHe went off and I called, \"Robin of Barnsley, watch our gear. Come, John, let us go ashore.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"We will buy bread. Even stale bread will be better than the hardtack he spoke of.\"\n\nWe found a bakery close to the port. I knew its prices would be higher than those in the town. They relied on people such as we, who had to buy bread for the voyage. We bought ten four-pound loaves. It cost far more than it should, but it would last us for at least a sennight. Even when stale, we could dunk it in the ale and soften it. As we stepped aboard, Ralph Dickson and his men at arms were taking the air. They looked at the bread.\n\n\"Do we not get fed?\"\n\nI nodded towards a grinning Guthrum. \"It is cold porridge and hard biscuits we eat. This was not cheap but\u2026\"\n\n\"I hear what you are saying, Captain of Archers.\" He waved to two of his men. \"Come, let us copy the archers.\"\n\nIt was after dark when we sailed. We followed our larger consort. Lord Edward's standard, with the two lions on the red background, fluttered from his masthead. It told the world that the heir to the throne was aboard. We stayed on deck, where the salt spray made it unpleasant. The sea became even choppier, and we soon retired below deck. With the hold filled with men and their war gear, it was crowded and it was dark. We had a candle but it was secured in a box, which kept it safe. It was a glow rather than a light. During the day some light had drifted down through the door, which we left open, but at night\u2026\n\nTwo ship's boys brought our food. It was cold porridge and water. There were no beakers and no platters. My archers all had their own. We had made them from wood when we had been in the camp. It had passed the time, and now we were grateful. Some of the men at arms had their own, but half did not, and they had to either share or do as I saw two men do: use their helmets.\n\nWe declined the porridge. We had supplies, and we would only eat it when those ran out. We took the water for it would eke out our wine. As we ate Ralph Dickson came over. \"I can see we have much to learn from you archers.\"\n\nI nodded and sliced a piece of sausage for him. \"Aye, I am guessing that Guthrum and that baker work together, but at least we all have bread. We will not starve.\"\n\nRalph pointed to his men. \"We did not bring as many loaves as you. This voyage cannot be over soon enough for me.\"\n\nThe first night was, in many ways, the worst. Some of the men at arms had been in Gascony all of their lives and had never sailed. The night was filled with the sound of footsteps racing up the ladder and then men emptying the contents of their stomachs over the side. I did not get much sleep.\n\nWhen dawn broke I went on deck. The seas were rough. The other cog disappeared in troughs and then rose on waves as we ploughed north. I saw that the helmsman was the grinning Guthrum. He had cost us money but he had not beaten us. When my men awoke they joined me. \"Let us eat up here. Some of the men at arms did not make the ladder last night. Until they clean it, this will be the sweeter place to eat.\"\n\nWe broke our fast beneath grey skies and on a deck which canted and rolled in the grey seas of Biscay. I had endured worse conditions in Wales. At least it was not raining! The men at arms joined us but many did not eat. That would be a mistake. The ship's boys brought round the porridge and the water again. I tried the porridge. A man would have to be desperate to eat it.\n\nArchers need to exercise their arms each day, and after we had eaten, we fetched our bows and drew them. We each had our own regimen. Mine was to pull the string all the way to my ear and hold it for a count of twenty. I would release and then count ten. I did this action thirty times. Then I would unstring my bow and restring it. By the time I had used all six bowstrings, my muscles burned, and I knew that I had exercised. After two days the men at arms joined us. They had the wooden staves they used to carry their war gear. They practised with those. It was to stop boredom more than anything else. When we were not practising, we spoke of our lives before our service with the prince. We came to know each other better. There were still secrets. They knew about Delamere forest and that I had been an outlaw but not the crime. I would tell them one day.\n\nSix days into our journey, we had a break from our boring routine. Our consort stopped. Our captain reefed his sails so that we did not career into her stern. I wondered if there was a problem. Then I saw a ship approaching. I could not make out the standard, but if Lord Edward had stopped, then it was a friend and not a foe. The two ships bobbed at hailing distance and we endured the uncomfortable motion as our cog rose and fell. We were smaller than the other two ships and the motion more accentuated. I was relieved when we were able to lower our sails and continue our journey.\n\nAs we neared the coast of England our supplies of bread finally ran out. We had shared our last two loaves, our ham and cheese with the men at arms. Some had been so ill in the first half of the journey that we feared they might not survive without real food. It meant that, for the last two days, we ate porridge and drank stale water. I thought, when we began to sail down the Thames, that our ordeal was over, but it was not. We tacked back and forth up the twisting, turning Thames. Ironically, we could have sailed the river faster, for we were smaller, but we had to sail behind our consort. It added to the agony of the four men at arms who had suffered the most.\n\nWe passed the White Tower. No standard flew. The king was not there. Then we left the city that was London and sailed the last few miles to Windsor. It was King Henry's favourite castle and he had done much to make it a palace. For myself, I just wanted to be off the cog. We had to wait, for there was only space for one ship at a time, and Prince Edward had priority. Now that we were in England we would call him \"Prince\". Captain William had told us that before we left Bayonne.\n\nWhen it was our turn, we were all ready waiting with our war gear. Ralph and I had agreed that the four sick men at arms could leave first. We waited at the waist while the ship was tied to the quay and then the gangplank lowered. The prince, the knights and their servants had departed by the time we were ready to disembark. Only Captain William stood waiting for us.\n\nGuthrum stood at the gangplank. Whenever he had had the chance he had made our lives hard. It was not just the food. He had had his sailors leave ropes and handspikes lying to trip the unwary going to make water in the dark of night. He had not caught my archers, but two of the younger men at arms, who had been the most unwell, had fallen and suffered sprains as a result. His leering face invited a fist. As the four most in need left, he put out a foot and, after tripping the third, pushed the fourth, so that all four tumbled down the gangplank. Their war gear fell into the river. I had had enough. I was bigger than Ralph, and I was a captain of archers. Handing my gear to John of Nottingham, I strode up to the laughing Guthrum.\n\n\"Go to the river and fetch their war gear.\"\n\nHis face darkened, \"Puppy, you may order these arse lickers about but not me. Go to hell and fetch them yourself!\"\n\nHe stood belligerently with fists bunched. I half-turned to Ralph, \"I tried, Ralph!\" Before he knew it, I had swung and hit him in the gut with all the power in my left arm. It was a mighty blow and he doubled up. I brought back my right arm and smashed it up into his face. I heard his nose break. His head jerked back and he flew over the side of the cog. There was a splash as he hit the water. Our men cheered.\n\nI turned to the captain who was standing by the stern and I shouted, \"Captain Alfred, you are a piss-poor captain. You were paid good money by Prince Edward. We were treated worse than slaves. If I ever see you again, pirate, you will receive worse than Guthrum.\"\n\n\"You threaten me on my own ship!\"\n\nI was angry. This was the culmination of the privations of the voyage. Before I could race to him, Ralph and four of his men had run the length of the ship. They picked him up and dumped him over the stern.\n\nI glared at the rest of the crew. \"Anyone else wish to voice a complaint?\"\n\nJack of Lothnwistoft shook his head. \"No archer. I think the lesson has been learned.\"\n\nWe stepped off the ship. The four men had retrieved their war gear when it had caught on the bank. Guthrum was pulling himself one-handed up the bank. His other hand lay at an awkward angle. It had broken in the fall.\n\nThe captain also pulled himself ashore. He stood dripping and waved a hand at us all. \"You will pay for this!\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham walked up to him and said, quietly, \"Do you really wish to make enemies of us?\" He took out his dagger. \"Your Guthrum might frighten your sailors, but believe me, if we wished you harm\u2026\"\n\nHe left the rest unsaid. We strode along the road towards Captain William. He had a bemused look upon his face. \"I can see that you have taught my men at arms some bad habits.\"\n\nI smiled. \"It is never a bad habit to punish bullies and thieves. That is what they are. You, Captain you ate well?\" He nodded. I pointed to the four men who had come down the gangplank first. \"Let us hope that we do not need these men to fight anytime soon. They are in no condition, and the rest of us will need time to recover.\"\n\nHe leaned in to me. \"You may be prescient, Gerald War Bow. When we stopped in the channel, the ship brought news that Simon de Montfort and his allies are back in England, and they are stirring trouble against the king.\"\n\nI remembered what the men at arms, to whom we had sold our horses, had said. Was this the same plot? \"And the prince? You know him better than I do.\"\n\nHe looked around to make sure that we were not being overheard. \"There are some who think that the prince sides with the king's enemies. For myself, I do not believe it. When he was growing up, he was led astray by uncles and cousins, who sought to use him against his father. I have seen a change. I have served them both. Prince Edward is the better warrior. If he turned against the king\u2026\" He looked up at me. \"You saved his life, and his squire says that he likes you. What do you think?\"\n\nI rubbed my chin. My beard had grown and it still felt uncomfortable. \"I do not think he is a traitor. He would fight for the king. Will he have to?\"\n\n\"De Montfort is a good leader. He is ambitious. We will have to fight them.\" He turned and waved his men forward. \"Come, we shall sleep under a roof this night.\" Then to me he said, \"Keep this counsel, eh Gerald? One warrior to another.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nThe castle was most impressive. Built for William, it had been added to by successive kings. Now that Henry had made it a palace, it would be the preferred home for the royal family. It was away from the unpredictable mob that was London. They could be bought and bribed. The people of London did not care about England. They cared about themselves first and London second. I thought that the king had been wise to make this choice.\n\nWe had quarters in the lower ward. The king and his knights were in the upper ward. We settled into a routine while we awaited orders. I had butts set up in the lower ward and we practised each day. Better fed, we soon recovered from the voyage, and I saw that our skills and strength had not diminished. It was ten days after our return that Prince Edward and John, his squire, came into the lower ward. Captain William and his men at arms were practising too. The prince called over the captain and me.\n\n\"I am pleased to see that you are practising. We may need your skills soon enough.\" He glanced at me. \"It seems that when I am not there to watch you, then you get into trouble.\"\n\n\"Trouble, my lord?\"\n\n\"Breaking a sailor's jaw and arm do not constitute trouble?\"\n\nThere was little point in explaining and so I just bowed my head. \"Sorry, my lord.\"\n\nWhen I looked up I saw the hint of a smile on his face. \"Good, we understand one another. We have been set a task. We are to go to Wales. Llywelyn ap Gruffudd needs to be taught a lesson. Each summer the Welsh raid for six weeks. It is, apparently, a tribal tradition. They have laid waste to parts of the land around the Conway.\" He looked at me. \"You know the area, I believe?\"\n\nI shifted uncomfortably. \"Yes, lord. I was raised there.\"\n\n\"Then you have one month to hire another fifteen archers. I would have twenty archers and twenty men at arms in my retinue.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Do you care where they are from, lord?\"\n\nI saw Captain William cock his head to one side and the prince frowned. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Do you want good archers?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Then I shall seek them in the forests of Yorkshire and Nottingham.\"\n\nHis squire, John, said, \"Outlaws?\"\n\n\"I was an outlaw in Delamere Forest. I have not asked, but I would guess that John of Nottingham and Robin of Barnsley would know of good archers who live in the forest, even if they were not outlaws themselves.\"\n\nI saw Prince Edward taking the prospect in. \"When you saved my life it came at a price, archer! Very well. They must swear to be honest men; on a Bible. I will have John fetch one along with a warrant. You are on my business. Come to the stables on the morrow and get horses.\" He turned and left.\n\nI shook my head. \"A month only!\"\n\nCaptain William said, \"Aye, and if they are men who live beyond the law, why should they choose to serve the next king?\"\n\n\"Because the life of an outlaw is not a good one. All of the outlaws I joined are now dead. Life is short in the greenwood. Do not believe all the songs from troubadours.\" I nodded. \"At least we have something to do. All of this practice dulls my men's fighting edge. A trip into the dangerous world of outlaws may be just what we need.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "We headed up the Roman Road which led to the north. My guess had been accurate. Both John of Nottingham and Robin of Barnsley had served in outlaw bands. They had both been very young, and, like me, their time with them had been brief. The prince had only sent money for the journey. He had not sent coin to hire archers. I thought that a bad idea. I had brought some of my own coins with me. It would be a good investment. We travelled light, with just one spare sumpter. Any men we hired would have to walk back to Windsor, where we were mustering the army which would march to Wales.\n\n\"Where is the best place to begin, John of Nottingham? The forest?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"From what you told us of your time in Delamere forest, Captain, that would be the worst place to start. There is a tavern built into the stone upon which Nottingham castle sits. They brew fine ale there.\"\n\n\"We have a month! The less time we spend drinking, the better.\"\n\n\"You misunderstand me, Captain. It is an alehouse which is frequented by those who know the outlaws. Outlaws cannot exist for long without help. They are outlaws, but they are also men, and that is how we will find them. I know not who they are now, but the alehouse will be a good place to begin.\"\n\nAs we now wore the livery of Prince Edward, we did not look like ruffians. It meant that we were not closely questioned as we rode through the towns which had walls and gates. Our bows and swords did not attract attention. However, they were the only benefits. Prices for food and ale were higher, as traders thought we could afford it. The feed and stables cost us more too. England is an expensive country.\n\nWhen we reached Leicester we were in de Montfort land. Simon de Montfort was Earl of Leicester. We were within half a day's ride of Nottingham. We found an inn with a stable and were enjoying a meal when we were approached. I did not recognise the livery. It was a rampant white lion on a red background. I learned later that it was the sign of Simon De Montfort. The oak-like arms of the man and his broad chest told me that he was an archer. He wore a wrist-guard which confirmed it. He had a jug of ale with him.\n\n\"May I offer you lads a drink? I too am an archer; Wilfred of Melton.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I have never yet refused ale. I am Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nHe smiled as he topped up our beakers. \"I have heard of you. I am Hugh of Bolsover. I am captain of the earl's archers. You serve Lord Edward?\"\n\n\"Prince Edward.\"\n\n\"My mistake. I forgot he was in England. The Earl of Leicester is also in England. I would make you an offer. Serve my lord and I will double whatever the prince is paying you.\"\n\n\"You know not what we are paid. We could make up a figure.\"\n\nHe supped his ale and shrugged. \"Whatever you say, we will pay. I can see that you are all experienced archers. You look young, Gerald War Bow, but I have heard of your reputation. The earl was in Gascony, and your exploits were told around our campfires.\"\n\n\"Then you know that we are Prince Edward's men. I thank you for your offer, but we must decline.\"\n\nHe looked at the others. \"Does your captain make all your decisions?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham nodded. \"He does. But know this, Captain of Archers, we agree with all of them!\"\n\nThe captain snatched up the jug and stormed off.\n\n\"We have made another friend, Captain.\"\n\n\"I know, Robin.\" I had watched the man as he had spoken. I did not like his face, which looked shifty. \"I think that he just wanted us away from Prince Edward. There is a war coming, and this Earl of Leicester seeks to make the board suit his pieces. It is even more urgent that we hire archers now.\"\n\nIt took three days to reach Nottingham. In the days of King John it had been a much more important castle than it was now. Even so, it was as busy a place as I had seen. We arrived on market day and there were many people in the city. For the first time we were able to eat cheaply. We found a stable not far from the alehouse. It was called \"The Saddle\". An old saddle hung above the door. We did not go in. With our bows in their cases, we walked the markets. That was my idea. I wanted other archers to see the five of us wearing livery and with our bows. When we spread the word it would travel quicker. We visited the stalls and spent a few copper coins. Though the food that we were able to buy was cheaper than that in the inns, it was of dubious quality. The rabbit we ate looked remarkably like rat to me! We found a room for the five of us. It was next to the stables. For that reason it was cheaper than the others, for it was a large stable and there were many horses. The smell filled our room.\n\nIt was getting on for dusk when we headed back to the alehouse. The market had finished and traders were heading home. We had spied cutpurses and charlatans at the market and they now headed for the alehouses and taverns to spend their gains. They would steer clear of five archers. We had swords and muscles. There were easier targets than us.\n\nThe alehouse had food. It was not the best food we had ever eaten. It was pea and ham soup with barley bread. I suspect they had shown the soup the ham bone, for I could find precious little evidence of ham in the soup. It was, however, filling. The ale was better. The brewhouse also served the castle and was in the sandstone rocks behind the alehouse. That first night was a scouting expedition. We were looking for signs of our prey: archers. We saw none, but the lures we laid would, hopefully, reap rewards. We asked if there were any archers who were seeking work. We could not afford to spend more than a couple of days in Nottingham. If this failed then we would move further north, to Sheffield. Each mile we travelled further north made our journey home that much longer.\n\nAs we walked back to our inn we were followed. If we had turned around we would not have seen anyone, but an archer who is a hunter has a sense of such things. Once we were in the room we would share, David the Welshman confirmed that we were being followed. \"There were two of them trailing us. I didn't see them but\u2026\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham seemed satisfied. \"That is what I thought too, Captain. They probably suspected we are from the castle and the sheriff's men. Tomorrow we will see if the fishes bite.\"\n\nEven though I was not worried we took precautions. Robin of Barnsley slept behind the door. No one was getting in without waking him.\n\nThe next morning we went to see to the horses and then we split into two groups. I went with Robin of Barnsley. The other two went with John. I thought it more likely that we might be approached if we were in a smaller group. It took until the middle of the afternoon. We had been to the centre and waited outside the church. Pilgrims had been entering and leaving for most of the day. It was often that way after a market day. Those who travelled a long way frequently stayed the night and then visited the church before leaving for home. When you lived close to the mighty forest, then God's help, and whatever saint you could summon, was always welcome.\n\nWe were about to turn when two cloaked figures approached. Both had the build of an archer, albeit an underfed archer. They kept their voices low, and as I looked them up and down, I saw daggers beneath their cloaks; they were pointed at us. I saw that there were few people around. They had chosen their moment well. I liked that. One was a taller man, almost my height. I could not see his face, for he was hooded. The other was slightly shorter, but I could see that his nose had been split by a blade. It looked deliberate. It was normally the punishment for poaching rabbits.\n\n\"Do not move suddenly or summon help. If you do, then you are both dead men.\" It was the hooded man who spoke.\n\nI smiled. \"Why would we run? We have been seeking archers, and you have found us. Besides, if we wished it, then we would have those daggers and you would be our prisoners.\"\n\nThey both started at that. \"Cocky! And a Welshman too!\"\n\nI feigned outrage. \"Do not insult us! I am Gerald War Bow and I am English. This is Robin of Barnsley. We come here looking for archers to serve Prince Edward.\"\n\n\"How do we know that you are not the sheriff's men?\"\n\n\"Firstly, we wear the livery of Prince Edward, and secondly, you followed us last night and know where we slept. We would not pay for lodgings when we could sleep in the castle. I am Gerald War Bow and I am the captain of Prince Edward's archers.\"\n\nThe one with the split nose said, \"It sounds right, Peter.\"\n\n\"I told you, no names! I do not trust them.\"\n\nI smiled. \"Then let us go our separate ways. You are obviously too fearful for us. You would rather hide in the wood and eat short rations. You prefer a damp greenwood to a roof and a bed. You would rather make your own clothes than have the money to buy them. I am sorry to have wasted your time, Peter, although, as you accosted us, I suspect that there is an interest in our offer.\"\n\nSplit Nose smiled. He pushed his hood back and I saw that he was an older man. He was losing his hair. \"Peter is the suspicious type. The sheriff hanged his brother for poaching two years since.\" He put his dagger in his belt. \"I am Jack of Lincoln. We would get paid?\"\n\n\"You would.\"\n\n\"But we are outlaws.\"\n\n\"As was I. You would swear to be honest.\" I took out the warrant. I doubted that they could read, but the seal would impress them. \"This is my warrant. Now I need an answer. I seek more than one man.\" I looked pointedly at Peter. \"And we would be gone from here by tomorrow.\"\n\nPeter said, \"That could be true. Your eyes do not lie and you are no coward. I wondered at the sheriff sending one so young. His killers are older men.\" He sheathed his dagger. \"You need more archers?\"\n\n\"We do.\"\n\n\"Then we may be able to help you, but not here in Nottingham. The sheriff has his spies. If you say you head home tomorrow, where would home be?\"\n\n\"The prince's army musters at Windsor, so it would be south.\"\n\n\"Then we will meet you on the road to Leicester.\"\n\nI took two coins from my purse. \"Then here is the metal to seal the agreement.\"\n\n\"We could run and never see you again.\"\n\n\"Then I would have lost a couple of coins, and you would have lost the chance for a new life, free and clear.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"Until the morrow.\"\n\nWe headed back to the alehouse, where we had said we would meet the others. \"Two is not fifteen, Captain.\"\n\n\"No, and I do not think that we will find the number we need on the morrow. We will have to seek the rest elsewhere. It is a start. If we are heading for the land of the Clwyd and the Conway, then we might get some from there.\"\n\n\"The prince wants them now, Captain.\"\n\n\"Then he should have given us longer.\"\n\nThe others had had no success. I said, quietly, \"There are spies of the sheriff watching us. See if you can see them, and do not talk of our quest until we are in our room.\"\n\nJohn answered me straight away. \"There were two men by the door. I saw them yesterday. They drink little and they watch everyone. When you and Robin entered, then one left. Do you want us to do anything about them?\"\n\n\"No. It will not serve us. Let them watch. We leave in the morning.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman cocked an eye. \"When we are in the room, then all will be revealed.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham nodded. \"We spent the day enjoying the delights of Nottingham. David here must have a woman he has an eye on. He bought some lace in the town. He paid a pretty price too!\"\n\nNottingham was famous for its lace, but it was not cheap.\n\nDavid shook his head. \"You are a fool, John of Nottingham, it is for a woman, but it is for my mother.\"\n\nStephen Green Feathers remarked, \"Your mother!\"\n\n\"You say 'mother' like you think I was hatched from beneath a rock! Of course I have a mother, and if we going to the land around Conway, then we will be passing close by Wrechcessham. My mother lives there.\"\n\n\"Wrechcessham is in Powys. We lost that land twenty years since.\"\n\n\"Unless Prince Edward plans on a longer march north into the land around Nantwich, then he will have to pass by Wrechcessham. I have not seen her this twenty years.\"\n\nStephen said, quietly, voicing what we all thought, \"Then she may be dead.\"\n\nEqually quietly Stephen said, \"Then I will leave the lace upon her grave.\"\n\nWe left the alehouse after some more of their food, with its dubious meat. Once in the room I told them all about our latest recruits.\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"This Jack of Lincoln, did he have a split nose?\"\n\n\"Aye, he did.\"\n\n\"I know of him. I never met him, but it is said he led the outlaws for a time.\" John shrugged at our questioning looks. \"I told you, I ran with outlaws for a while. We were not the same band, but he was said to be a fine archer. He had his nose split by the Constable of Lincoln when he was but seven summers old. He had poached rabbits to feed his family. When they died he joined the outlaws. If he is considering leaving the forest then these must be desperate times.\"\n\nI felt more hopeful. We paid our bill and saddled our horses. I had Robin buy plenty of food for the journey and we made sure that our ale skins were full. We headed out of town, using the south gate. I knew that we would be followed by the sheriff's men. I did not wish to alarm our would-be archers, and so I had David the Welshman leave us at the first crossroads. We made an act of saying farewell. We rode another half mile and then stopped at a small wood. The road had bent around the wood, and we were able to shelter in its eaves. We heard the hooves of the sheriff's men's horses as they hurried to catch us. With arrows nocked, the four of us stepped out. We took them by surprise. One tumbled from his horse and the other tried to whip his horse's head around to make his escape. David the Welshman had his sword at his throat before he had travelled twenty paces.\n\n\"Whom do you work for, and why do you follow us?\" They were silent. I looked up and down the empty road, exaggerating my movements as I did so. \"This is an empty road. You have two horses and, I have no doubt, fat purses. What is to stop us cutting your throats and taking what you have?\"\n\nTo emphasise my point David pricked the skin of one of them and blood dripped down. It had the desired effect.\n\n\"We are the sheriff's men and if you kill us you will be hunted. He knows that Prince Edward's men were in the town.\"\n\nI realised then that this was something bigger than just curiosity. \"Answer this question, and we will let you live.\" They both nodded. \"Were the Earl of Leicester's men in Nottingham in the last month?\"\n\nThe one with the pricked neck said, \"Aye, the earl himself led them! How did you know?\"\n\nI tapped my nose. \"Get you back and tell the sheriff that treachery comes at a price. Now turn and ride back. If you follow us then you will die.\"\n\nThey needed no urging and they left. John asked, \"What was that about, Captain?\"\n\n\"There is a plot here. The Earl of Leicester returns to England at the same time as the prince. He has had a falling out with the prince. It is known that the Earl of Leicester is no friend to King Henry. I see a conspiracy. This is de Montfort land. We must tread carefully. We will avoid Leicester. We were seen heading north to Nottingham. Wilfred of Melton will be waiting for us.\"\n\nThe outlaws were good. We neither saw nor smelled them. They just seemed to materialise from the scrubby, overgrown hedgerow by the dilapidated hut. There were ten of them. Jack of Lincoln was the oldest. There were some who were younger than I was. One looked to be barely fourteen summers but he already had an archer's chest. Five bows were aimed at us.\n\nI spread my hands. \"We are here, Jack of Lincoln. There is no need to aim arrows at us unless your intention is to rob us.\"\n\n\"Just being careful, Gerald War Bow.\"\n\nA man appeared behind us; eleven. He shouted, \"No one following, Jack.\" His voice was heavy with suspicion. It was as though he did not believe us.\n\n\"How did you get out without the sheriff's men following you?\" Jack asked.\n\n\"They did follow us,\" I smiled. \"We discouraged them.\" He nodded and waved his hands so that the bows were lowered. \"Have you thought about our offer?\"\n\n\"The ones you see here are willing to think about it, Captain, but not all are convinced. For myself, I am getting too old to sleep on soggy leaves. I have joints which now ache in the cold. I will swear on your Bible. As for the others, they are here. They will listen.\"\n\nI slipped from my saddle and took out the Bible. I handed it to John, who nodded. I turned to the others. \"It is simple, lads. If you will swear on the Bible to give up your brigandage, then I will give you a coin, and you will join my company of archers. We fight for two things: Prince Edward and for ourselves. Whatever we take from the battlefield we share equally. If one of us dies then the others share his coin. It is no more complicated than that. Prince Edward will clothe you, feed you, house you and I will pay you.\" I spread my arms. \"Decide now. If you wish to follow, then welcome, and if not, then fare ye well.\"\n\nThey looked at each other. I heard Jack of Lincoln as he swore.\n\nTurning to my men, I said, \"Let us take off our livery and don cloaks. I fear that the next part of the journey may be hazardous.\"\n\nThey dismounted and did as I did, slipping off my surcoat and rolling it up. With just our old cloaks we would be anonymous.\n\nJack of Lincoln laughed and pointed at the others. \"You wait? Where is another offer? Peter of Wakefield, you spoke with this captain. Did he strike you as dishonest?\"\n\nThe suspicious man we had met shook his head and nodded. \"I will swear. Like Jack of Lincoln, I have had enough of a life without bread.\"\n\nIt was like a dam being broken. The others all joined him. I pointed to the sumpter. \"I thank you Jack of Lincoln. You can ride the sumpter.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"You think me old and I will slow you down.\"\n\n\"I will not lie; that was my thinking.\"\n\n\"You may be right. Tell me, Captain. How did you become a captain when so young? I mean no offence.\"\n\n\"And none is taken. I saved the life of Prince Edward. My companion, who was also an outlaw, died. The men who follow me were chosen by me.\"\n\nHe gave me a shrewd look. \"And if we do not meet your standards?\"\n\n\"Those who are not made of the right wood will be paid off. They will have more money than they do now.\"\n\n\"That is reasonable. And our route?\"\n\n\"We will head south and west to avoid Leicester. Such a large body of men will be noticed on the Great Road. We will head through the back roads south of the Trent. It is quieter there and the roads frequented less.\"\n\n\"Six days then.\"\n\n\"To get to Windsor?\" He nodded. \"With men walking, aye.\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"They are all sworn, Captain.\"\n\n\"Then give them all some food, for our journey is a long one. Stephen Green Feathers, take us down the road to Ashby. David, ride a mile behind us.\"\n\nJack had a hunk of bread in his hand and a piece of cheese. \"You are a careful man.\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\nWe made good time and travelled almost thirty miles. We camped in the woods north of the small town of Hinckley. We were still deep in the heart of de Montfort country, and we made a defensive camp in a dell, deep in the wood. There was a stream and enough wild brambles for us to cut and make a barrier which would warn us of any danger.\n\nI watched my new and old men get to know one another. John spoke at length with Jack of Lincoln. Jack did not remember him, but they had acquaintances in common. This was how bonds between warriors were made. We had done the same with the men at arms when we had been aboard the ship. When we fought, it would be fighting for more than the lions upon our chests. We would fight for the men with whom we had shared ale and bread.\n\nI set sentries; I would have the middle shift. I was about to roll into my blanket when Jack of Lincoln came over. \"You did not tell us the whole truth, Captain.\"\n\n\"I did not lie.\"\n\n\"No, but you did not tell us the scale of your deeds. Your youth made me doubt you, but I can see now that your fresh beard hides more than a youthful face. The men I brought will not let you down. Even Dick, son of Robin, the youngest of our band, is a reliable warrior.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I never doubted it, but as we both know, Jack of Lincoln, the proof will come not on a ride through England but when we face men on horses who try to kill us.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Good night, Captain.\"\n\nTrouble found us the next day. John of Nottingham and Ralph, son of Richard, were the scouts. They hurried back to us when we were north of the village of Rocheberie. I had been contemplating buying food there, for we were short on supplies. The arrival of my scouts drove that thought from me.\n\n\"Captain, there are men waiting for us. Some are in the village and others hide in the woods along the trail we would take if we wished to avoid the village.\"\n\n\"Are they hiding in the village?\"\n\n\"No, Captain, the six men there are openly walking about. The ten in the woods are hiding. They have an ambush prepared. I saw, beneath the cloak of one of them, the livery of de Montfort.\"\n\nWe had a dilemma. If we turned back or tried to head east we risked running into more of them. If the sheriff had been one of de Montfort's men, he would have sent a message to his master. The captain of archers already knew of us. My reputation and my name had brought us into danger.\n\n\"We need to set off this trap. Jack of Lincoln, remember that of which we spoke last night?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\n\"These men know not of you. They are waiting for five archers and six horses. We will give them that. I wish you and your men to get ahead of us and ambush the ambushers.\"\n\n\"You trust us to save you?\"\n\n\"When we fight in the wars, Jack of Lincoln, we will do that each time we fight. Our lives are in your hands.\"\n\nHe dismounted. \"We will not let you down. Give us to the count of two hundred, Captain.\"\n\nAs they trotted off, I said, \"We will use swords. Ride in twos. Stephen, drop the sumpter when we are attacked.\"\n\nAs we set off I slipped my sword in and out of its scabbard. It was sharp. John pointed at the trail and we left the road and entered the wood. It was a mixture of elm, rowan and oak. There were hawthorn, elder and blackberry bushes. It was perfect ambush country. The trail twisted and turned. If these were archers we faced then that helped us. They would have to wait until a straight part of the trail before they could attack. The trail was barely wide enough for two horses. That meant John and I were a big target. The waiting made me nervous. I was waiting for the sound of a twang which would tell me I was about to die. When the twang came it just told me where they were. Twenty paces from me one of my men cried out and fell to the ground with an arrow in his back. I dug my heels in and jerked my reins. I went to the right of the trail and John the left.\n\nMy sudden movement took one of the ambushers who was armed with a sword and shield by surprise. He looked at his comrade for help. I swept the sword from behind me. I was not a skilled swordsman. I did not need to be. With my powerful arms and the speed of my horse, I smashed the shield into the air and the edge of my sword tore through the man's face. I wheeled left and rode at the archer who was trying to aim at me. Behind me, I heard John's horse and then the cry of the man I had wounded as Robin despatched him. The archer released but it was hurried, and I was already jinking to the side. He had no shield and I brought my sword down on his unprotected head. My arm jarred as I split his skull.\n\nIn the distance I heard the sound of men fleeing. I whirled around, but all I could hear around me were the moans of dying men. I reined in. \"Is anyone hurt?\"\n\nMy archers, old and new, called out their names. We had caught them by surprise. Already the bodies were being stripped. David and Stephen led four horses. \"We have their mounts.\"\n\nI nodded. A plan was forming in my mind. \"Dick, son of Robin, head towards the village and watch for the rest of de Montfort's men. David, take the five spare horses down the trail. Do not worry about making noise. I do not need you to be hidden. Halt when you reach the edge of the woods.\"\n\nThey looked at me quizzically but they did not argue. I dismounted and picked up the body of the archer I had slain. My men had already taken his arrows, dagger and coins. I saw that he had de Montfort's livery beneath his cloak. I lifted him up and draped his arms through the branches of the elder before me. I put his bow in his hands.\n\n\"Put the other bodies like this one and then hide. I want them to attack their own dead when they come.\"\n\nPeter of Wakefield said, \"You think they will come?\"\n\nJohn of Nottingham laughed. \"Do as he says. You will learn to trust his senses.\"\n\nThere were six bodies, laid in the trees by the trail. Dick, son of Robin, ran in. \"They are coming. Four horsemen and the rest on foot.\"\n\nI slapped my horse and it galloped off behind me. It was a good horse, and when its reins fell, it would stop. I drew my sword and stood behind the body of the archer I had killed. The men of Leicester were loud as they hurtled through the woods. They still thought there were but five of us. An arrow thudded into the body before me. It must have touched the bow the corpse held, for the weapon fell to the ground.\n\nA voice shouted, \"They are waiting here! No quarter!\"\n\nA rider galloped towards what he thought was a corpse. It was, but it was a corpse with a sword behind it. As the rider rode past the dead archer, I stepped out and swung my sword two-handed into the rider's back. He had no mail and my sword hacked through to his spine. Arrows flew, and two other riders fell from their horses. A figure suddenly leapt into the air and knocked the last rider from his horse. Peter of Wakefield drew his dagger and slit the horseman's throat. With the riders dead, the rest fled. This time they would not stop running until they reached Leicester, and that would be after dark.\n\nI lifted the cloak of the rider. He was one of de Montfort's men. He had a healthy purse, and his leather boots suggested that this was a sergeant at arms. I took his dagger and his sword. Jack of Lincoln approached. I threw him the sword and the belt. \"Here, I am guessing you know how to use this.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. That was as neat an ambush as I have ever seen. You know the greenwood.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I do.\"\n\nWe quickly recovered our horses. We now had nine. With men riding double we could make better time. David the Welshman was waiting at the edge of the road. The road from the village passed nearby.\n\n\"Come, let us ride. I want as much distance as we can twixt us and Leicester. If we ride the road our trail will go cold.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "We reached Windsor three days later. Riding the horses along the road had helped, and then we had taken to the trails through the woods. I had sent John of Nottingham into Aylesbury to buy food. We had fewer than forty miles to go but we needed nourishment. It was dark when we entered the lower ward. We knew the guards. They had been on the ship with us from Bayonne.\n\nTall Alan cocked his head to one side. He took in the new men and the horses. \"I can see there will be a tale over the table this night, Captain.\"\n\n\"There will indeed.\" I turned to John of Nottingham. \"Take the horses to the stables and then the men to the guard room. I will go and inform the prince that we have more men.\"\n\nThe sentry said, \"Begging your pardon sir, but Lord Edward is not here. Captain William went with him and half the men to London.\" He leaned in conspiratorially. \"From what I heard, Captain, some of the barons are getting above themselves. They are challenging the king. The prince went to sort them out.\"\n\nIt sounded like gossip but there could be a nugget of truth in it. It seemed I had arrived back just in time. I went to the upper ward to speak with the constable. Sir Hugh D'Avranches was an old knight. He had been wounded in one of King Henry's campaigns in Wales. He was now the castellan. I liked him. He reminded me of my father. He had been a warrior all of his life. Like my father, he had expected to die on the battlefield. He was at the entrance to the upper ward and he saw me approach. He frowned when he saw that I was not wearing my livery.\n\n\"Captain Gerald, where is your surcoat?\"\n\n\"I am sorry, my lord. When we were in Leicester we were attacked by the Earl of Leicester's men. It seemed a good idea to hide our identity.\"\n\nHe stared at me as though I had spoken a foreign language. \"Come, I would hear more of this.\" He led me to an anteroom by the Great Hall. He nodded to the sentry. \"We will not be disturbed.\"\n\nI told him all, including the attempt to recruit the four of us. \"I know the prince asked for fifteen archers, but it seemed better to come with what I had, rather than lose them all.\"\n\n\"You made the right decision. I confess I worried that appointing such a young captain of archers was a mistake. Perhaps I was wrong. And you have eight horses too?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord. The prince wants us to be mounted archers.\"\n\n\"A good idea. I will find another two for you and send over the surcoats and breeks for the new men. You will be needed by the end of the month.\"\n\n\"It is getting onto autumn, lord. I lived in that part of the world. It is hard enough campaigning in summer. In autumn and winter it is almost impossible.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, Prince Edward is determined to show his mettle. For myself, I approve the change wrought in him. Something in Gascony changed him.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it was his brush with death, lord. Near death can have that effect.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Wise too. I shall watch you, young Gerald. Next time, change into your surcoats before you enter the castle. Make an old curmudgeon happy, eh?\"\n\nMy new men had all been allocated a bed. The rest of the garrison was eating in the refectory. John of Nottingham looked at the new recruits and said, \"Welcome to your new home. You will all be issued new clothes.\" He looked at me and I nodded. \"I have lived in the woods and know what it is like. Without meaning offence, you lads need to bathe! We are lucky here, there is somewhere for us to sluice down.\"\n\nA few of the new men glowered belligerently at him. I wondered if he had gone too far. Jack of Lincoln said, \"And I for one am grateful, brother. Come, let us bathe. It will be like a baptism and we will be reborn anew!\"\n\nWhen they had gone I said, \"The castellan said there would be surcoats and breeks for them, go and fetch them eh? It wouldn't to do have them put on their stinking old clothes!\"\n\nI did not have my own quarters, but I had a bed which had more room around it. I also had a chest with my war gear. I took out the coins we had collected. The men had handed them over to me. I divided them into sixteen equal piles. I placed them on the table we had in the middle. There had been little else I had wanted from the dead. The new men had taken swords and daggers. One had taken a silver cross he had found on one of the bodies. I had enough money for myself. I had barely spent a tenth of that which I had been paid by the prince.\n\nI felt dirty and sweaty. I went down to the room with the water trough and the rough, homemade soap. I took an old, clean cloak that I used to dry myself down. The new men were all there in various stages of undress. Some of the younger ones looked a little embarrassed. I just stripped off and stepped into one of the troughs. Others had been in there before me but it would be emptied at the end of the night and refilled in the morning. I rubbed the soap all over and then sluiced the water off me. I stepped out and began to dry myself.\n\nJack of Lincoln nodded. \"It must be twenty years since I had soap to wash myself. We must have stunk, Captain.\"\n\n\"Don't worry, we all stink worse than this normally. Riding horses, blood and sweat are a combination of smells which tell others we are coming.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"And we ride horses?\"\n\n\"We do. We are Prince Edward's retinue. He has twenty-one men at arms and us. We have to move at his speed. If you are not horsemen yet, then you soon will be. The horses we brought today are ours, and we have two more coming tomorrow. I noticed that you have few arrows.\"\n\n\"We can all fletch, but staying alive in the forest is a greater priority than making arrows.\"\n\n\"We have a good supply here, but my men prefer to make their own.\"\n\n\"As do we.\"\n\nWe were both dressed and we headed back to the barrack room.\n\nI gestured behind me with my thumb. \"Will they all adjust to such an ordered life?\"\n\n\"They will, Captain. None of us chose the life of an outlaw. Some lord or the sheriff forced us into it. I had a family. My wife died and then my sons were taken and hanged for poaching.\" He shook his head. \"The bastard who murdered them is dead, but I ended up an outlaw. I do not regret my actions but I wonder what life I might have had. The others all have similar stories. You have given us a chance.\"\n\n\"When first we met you let Peter do all the talking.\"\n\n\"That way I could watch you and seek the lie in your eyes. There was none. I do not think we have made a poor choice.\"\n\nThe castellan had ordered the kitchen keep us some hot food. To the new men it was the first real meal they had had in years. It was not the best meal, for it was largely what the rest of the garrison had left, but as they sat, in their new surcoats and breeches, drinking ale and eating hot food, it confirmed that we now had a company of archers. I had fewer than fourteen nights to make them fight as one.\n\nWe began the next morning. I brought the practice arrows and we set the butts up outside the walls. The knights were with the king and his son in London. No one was hunting in the park. It was perfect.\n\nI spread the four senior archers amongst them. The outlaws were raw clay. They needed moulding. They had not had discipline. They would need it now. I remembered every lesson my father and Ralph had given me.\n\n\"There are many differences between your life in the forest and your life here. The main difference is that you obey orders. When I say 'draw' then you do so at once. When I say 'release' then you release and nock another arrow. We do not worry about how many arrows we carry. We might each send twenty arrows in as many heartbeats. You may not have the strength yet, but by the time we march to Wales, you will.\"\n\nWe spent all morning sending arrows into the targets. I was impressed with their accuracy but not their rate. John of Nottingham saw me becoming agitated. \"Captain, this is all new to them. Give them time. Their fingers are bleeding.\"\n\n\"Aye, you are right.\"\n\nWe broke for food. We ate in the hunting park. I continued my lessons as we did so. \"I notice you all have just one bow. You need at least two spares. You need six spare bowstrings. We will have just thirteen more nights to prepare. When we leave here, we will be living on the backs of horses and we will be carrying enough arrows to slay a thousand Welshmen.\"\n\nThe older archers such as Peter and Jack nodded. The younger ones like Dick, son of Robin, looked a little overawed. It was at that moment that I truly appreciated my father. I had been younger than these and yet I had had more awareness of what was expected of me.\n\nThe afternoon was spent practising with the swords they had acquired or been given. Every archer had the strength to wield a sword and to hit it hard, but few of these had the skills they would need. Jack and Peter apart, the rest had no idea at all how to fight with a sword. I asked some men at arms to help me to teach them. By the end of the afternoon we had made progress, but all of us were tired.\n\nAfter two more days I could see clear progress. That proved to be all that we had. The prince returned with his father, the king. We were in the hunting park when they arrived. It was not yet time to finish but we did, for I knew that the prince would wish to see those whom I had brought.\n\nThe army did not follow the prince and the king into the ward. They began to erect tents. My new men noticed. \"They do not have the roof we do?\"\n\n\"No, William of Derby. They are the retinue of knights who serve the prince. There will be many more than this waiting for us at Chester. These knights will hope that we have success and that they can win a manor. That manor will come at the cost of a dead Welshman.\"\n\n\"Each banner is a knight?\"\n\n\"It is, Hugh. Some of these knights will have a squire and twenty men to follow them. They will not have horses. They will be marching. It is a long way from here to Wales. Two hundred or more miles. The last part will be through land which the Welsh call their own. Think yourself lucky that we have horses and we ride.\"\n\nThe prince did not come to see me until after we had eaten. I had begun to think that we had been forgotten. He had with him his squire John, and there were two young warriors with him. Both seemed to be my age.\n\nThe prince smiled when he entered the barracks. My men all stood and bowed. Edward seemed pleased. He nodded and then waved them down. \"You have done well, Captain Gerald. The constable has told me what you did. I approve, and it proves that de Montfort is up to something. The army I brought today will leave on the morrow for the Dee. Sir Roger de Mortimer will lead them. We leave in five days' time. Are your men ready?\"\n\n\"Another seven days would be useful, my lord, but they will do.\"\n\n\"They had better. Along with Captain William and his men, you will be my only protection.\"\n\nJohn said, \"There will be us as well, my liege.\"\n\n\"There will indeed, Sir John.\" I must have shown my surprise. \"Yes, Captain, Sir John has won his spurs. Geoffrey is my new squire. Richard is Sir John's. You will be seeing much of them for they will be passing commands to you.\" He dropped a purse on the table. \"Here is your pay for this month. I have added extra for the horses you captured. That was clever.\" He turned to the squires. \"I would watch yourselves around these men! Most of them were outlaws!\"\n\nThe two young sons of nobles almost recoiled and Prince Edward laughed. Sir John said, \"Fear not. They appear to be honest a bunch of men as you will ever meet. I would put my life in their hands any day.\"\n\nI nodded my thanks for the compliment.\n\nThe training and the practice were forgotten as we threw ourselves into the task of preparing for the campaign. The knights and their retinues, who had arrived with the prince, left. The bulk of our forces would come from Chester and the land around the Welsh border. I was not looking forward to that. Sir Ranulf was still there. Would he recognise me? Worse, Hugh of Rhuddlan would most definitely recognise me, and he had a grudge to bear. My saving of his life would be forgotten.\n\nThe prince would be taking servants with him. They would erect the tents when necessary and cook the food. We, along with Sir William's men, would be responsible for our own spare arms. In our case that was not too onerous. Two sumpters could carry the arrows and one the bow staves. The rest of our war gear would be on our horses. The new men had been amazed to be issued blankets and cooking pots. We had one pot for every four men. To men used to eking out a living in the woods, it was luxury.\n\nSir John seemed to be taking over as a sort of quartermaster for the prince, who spent hours these days closeted with his father. I had learned that this had not always been the case, and it confirmed Sir Hugh's view that the last months in Gascony had changed the prince from feckless to loyal. Richard sought out me and Captain William. \"My lord wishes conference with you in the Great Hall.\"\n\nAs we followed the young squire, Captain William said, \"I have much to tell you when time allows. London proved a most interesting experience.\"\n\nI nodded. We did not know Richard yet. Until we did, we would be wary loosing our lips in his vicinity. Sir John had with him a map on the table. \"Our journey north will be relatively easy until we reach Wrechcessham. You know it, Gerald?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"The Clwyd, that I know. The Welsh hills which abut it were as familiar as my bow stave but\u2026\" I hesitated, \"when I served in that area, I had no cause to venture there. I know that the castle was built in the conquest but the Welsh hold it.\"\n\n\"Thank you for an honest answer. Then we will be giving it a wide berth. Once we are close to that stronghold and the borders, then you and your archers will form a screen before us and act as scouts. That means that you, Captain William, will have to guard us, our servants and our baggage.\"\n\nHe looked at the map. \"We could go further east, where there would be less danger.\"\n\nShaking his head, Sir John said, \"The prince is keen to get north and to quickly deal with this threat from the Welsh. We have work here in the south which is also important. First, we travel north to Wales. We have to secure the land around Chester.\"\n\nI knew the Welsh. They were tough warriors, especially in their mountain stronghold. \"I would not expect this to be swift, lord. The Welsh are cunning fighters.\"\n\nSir John smiled. \"We have over a hundred knights. There are two hundred men at arms. I think we can deal with the barbarians who inhabit those hills. They are not the French, nor are they our own rebellious people. We will be back here within two months.\"\n\nI thought about speaking again but knew that it would be a waste of time. I merely nodded my compliance. As we headed back across the wards Captain William said, \"You did not agree with Sir John.\"\n\n\"It is not horse country. The Welsh have archers who are the best I have ever seen. I think my men are their equal, but there are but sixteen of us. They will have hundreds. They will not risk an open battle. They will ambush. They will lay traps, and they will hamstring animals. In short, they will wear us down and bleed us to death.\"\n\nWe stopped. We were in the middle of the lower ward, and we were alone. \"Tell me of your time in the Marches.\" I hesitated. \"Gerald, be honest with me. You and I are the prince's protectors. I know there is a secret. I know the prince knows of it. Do not let it be a wall between us.\"\n\nPart of me wanted to keep the secret safe, but another part knew that I had to tell him. I had no doubt that the secret would be revealed as soon as Chester's men joined with us. I nodded. \"I served Baron Henry of Clwyd. He had my father hanged for no good reason, so I killed him. I was an outlaw. Prince Edward knows of this.\"\n\n\"A heavy burden. I have known many barons who deserved such punishment. You are the first to have meted it out. I thank you for sharing. Know you that your secret will remain locked within me. I can tell you a little more of what I learned in London. Our master plays a dangerous game. He met with Henry de Montfort while in London. He knows him well. They were childhood friends. I was not privy to that meeting, but both seemed pleased with how it went.\"\n\n\"That should be a good thing. Simon de Montfort is King Henry's implacable foe. The prince is making allies of a potential enemy.\"\n\nWilliam shook his head. \"Henry de Montfort is loyal to his brother. I fear our master is playing a dangerous game and we are caught in the middle. Keep your ears and eyes open. You and I must share that which we discover. There will be civil war. Of that, I have no doubt. What I fear is treachery whilst we are on campaign.\"\n\n\"We have good men who serve us. No matter what our betters do, we are brothers in arms.\"\n\nForewarned is forearmed, and although I had no one to confide in, I was able to prepare better. Now that I knew what was expected of me, I would plan accordingly.\n\nKing Henry himself came to say goodbye to his son. The embrace told me that they were now close. My father had never embraced me that way. It had not been in his nature. I thought back to all of the goodbyes I had had, and I regretted not saying more. Sir John carried the prince's standard but it remained furled. It would be unfurled when we fought, and so long as it flew, none would retreat. For many men, that unfurled standard would be like a death warrant. We were Prince Edward's protectors. He might use us in battle, but ultimately, we were there to guard his person.\n\nWe rode faster than I had expected. We stayed at the king's subject's castles as we progressed along the Roman road north and west. I listened to the men who manned those castles and learned that barons were taking sides. The castles in which we stayed were loyal to King Henry. That made me wonder about the ones we passed. Were they foes?\n\nWe stopped at the border town of Oswald's Cross. It had a wall around the town but no castle. Prince Edward sought me out. \"Tomorrow we will close with Wrechcessham. We will have to leave the road. You must find us a safe way around it.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\n\"I would make Chester in one day.\"\n\nI did not know Wrechcessham well, but I had an idea of the land to the north of it. As I went back to my men, I tried to form a mental picture of it. The River Dee was a barrier. It was the old border. The Normans might have captured large swathes of it, but they had had to cling onto it. Any knights would now be gathering in Chester. I intended to cross us at Bangor on the Dee. As I remembered, it was an uncontested crossing, and the road thence was a good one. I gathered my men and gave them their instructions.\n\n\"Tomorrow, we ride early. We will leave before the main body. David the Welshman and Dick, son of Robin, will accompany me. John of Nottingham, you will lead the archers, and you will be half a mile before the prince. We will head for the Dee. Dick will act as messenger. If you do not see him then all is well. If he comes, then we have deviated. You will ride with a strung bow. I care not if the string is ruined, but I want you to be ready to dismount and send arrows at an enemy.\"\n\n\"Yes, Captain.\" We had not been a company for long, but they were becoming one, and I had confidence in them.\n\nI told the prince and Captain William my plans and left before they did. I wanted to ride slowly and cautiously. If there were enemies about, then this would be the perfect opportunity to harm the king's cause. The road was a local one. It had stone, but it was not the well-tamped roads which the Romans had built. Nor was it straight. It twisted and turned. Parts of it were hedgerow and parts were open. Some farms and houses we passed had frontage along the road.\n\nWhen the sun rose, we were just two miles from the Dee crossing. We had ridden with the sun to the south of us. We would soon find a crossing point. My men and I could have forded it but princes preferred bridges. Four villeins trudged along the road ahead of us. They were going to work in the fields. At the sound of our hooves, they stopped. Horsemen rarely brought joy. They knew that flight was impossible and so they crowded to the side, beneath an old elm tree. I could manage a few words of Welsh, but we needed accuracy and so I deferred to David.\n\nHe rattled off a mouthful of Welsh. The only words I caught were \"soldiers\" and \"bridge\". The rest was too fast for me to understand. They talked amongst themselves and David listened. While they did so, I was able to examine them a little more closely. They had wooden-soled shoes and homespun breeks and tops. They wore a hat woven from straw. They looked emaciated. These were the poorest of villeins. They would have been given a few ploughs of land. In return, they would give half of their crop to their lord. It was a parlous existence. Grain for bread would be ground by hand and eked out. I had known many such men when I was growing up. My father had been an archer. He always had coin. We ate simply but we were always well fed.\n\nDavid turned to me. \"Captain, they say that there are Welsh warriors at the bridge. The bridge is fewer than two miles from here. The warriors came there two days since. They arrived the day after an army marched north across the bridge.\"\n\n\"They would be the men who left us days ago. How many men?\"\n\n\"He says there are six.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Give them some bread.\" I reached into my purse and brought out four silver pennies. They had been taken from de Montfort's men. I tossed them to the men. \"Tell them thank you.\"\n\nThe four men knuckled their heads gratefully.\n\n\"Dick, ride back. Tell John of Nottingham I need half the men, and then ride to Sir John and tell him that the bridge is held, but I will clear it.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\" He dug his heels into his horse and galloped back. As we waited for my men, I watched the four of them divide up first the money and then the bread. I knew, even without speaking to them, that they would have shared the work on their ploughs. I heard hooves. The four men looked up at me and I nodded. They scurried away.\n\nMy men, led by Jack of Lincoln, comprised of five archers. He said, \"John of Nottingham thought you might like to see us in action.\"\n\nI nodded. \"We will ride a little closer.\" I looked at the five archers. Ronan was the youngest, although not by much. \"Ronan, you will watch the horses when we stop.\" He looked disappointed. \"I will whistle when you are to bring them up. Can you manage eight horses?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nWe did not gallop, but walked our horses the next three quarters of a mile. When I saw the smoke of the huts and the cross on the top of the church, I stopped. We dismounted and took our bows. Ronan took the reins, and I waved my arm to signal my men forward. They showed their skill by finding cover and moving from bush to bush, tree to tree. I dropped into the drainage ditch and walked along it.\n\nI heard the men before I saw them. Their sing-song voices carried across the bridge and the river. I nocked an arrow. Looking around, I saw that my archers each had one nocked already. I nodded, and we moved forward. I stepped from the ditch when I was a hundred paces from the bridge. The bridge itself was just forty paces long and three paces wide. As I pulled back, I saw the Welshmen. They were at the far end of the bridge and oblivious to our presence. I released my arrow and then dropped my bow. Drawing my sword, I ran. There were seven other archers who could rain death upon them. I wanted to make certain that none escaped the arrows. The stone and timber bridge had places to hide, and just twenty paces from the bridge was an inn. There might be horses there.\n\nAs I ran, I saw that my arrow had struck a Welshman. It had not been a clean kill. He was writhing around on the ground. My arrow had entered his shoulder and emerged above his ribs. He would die. The others appeared mesmerised. A second and a third fell, even as I broke cover. One turned to run towards me, and a white-fletched arrow \u2013 David the Welshman used those \u2013 struck him in the chest. The others turned to run, but it was too late. One fell with two arrows. By the time I reached them, they were all dead. The one I had slain was surrounded by an ever-widening pool of blood.\n\nI turned to whistle and then ran across. I reached the stables just as a seventh Welsh warrior mounted his horse and tried to leave. He saw me and tried to ride me down. It was not a big horse. It was one of the large ponies the Welsh favoured. I had no hesitation. I swung my sword, two-handed, at the pony's chest. As my blade bit into the animal the warrior tried to pull its head away from me. All that he succeeded in doing was pulling his wounded pony over, and that allowed my sword to slice deep into his thigh. Blood spattered and showered me. He gave a scream, and as he fell off, his head cracked into the door frame. It gave him a quicker death. I ran out and saw people emerging from the inn. Others peered out from their huts and houses. They saw me with my bloody sword. I shouted, in Welsh, \"Get back inside!\" I was not certain I had used the exact words, but the sense was clear, and when horses galloped across the bridge, they disappeared.\n\nRonan and Peder were searching the bodies of the dead. I heard splashes as they threw the corpses into the water. David the Welshman nodded. \"Quick thinking, Captain.\"\n\n\"I do not think any escaped, but go and question some of those in the village.\" He nodded and left. I waved over Jack of Lincoln. \"There is a wounded pony. Put it out of its misery. See if there is a haunch we might cook.\"\n\nHe slung his bow. \"You are no slouch, Captain. That was as pretty a piece of killing as I have ever seen.\"\n\nHe left, and I went to the dead Welshman. I cleaned my sword on his kyrtle and then took his purse and his short sword. Ronan brought my horse, and I tossed him the sword. \"Here, Ronan, for your trouble. Next time, you shall come with us and someone else will watch the horses.\" I examined the rest of the stables. There were six other ponies.\n\nBy the time I had finished, Prince Edward and the rest of my men were arriving. \"Did any escape?\"\n\nDavid appeared as the prince spoke. He shook his head. \"No, my liege. These were the only ones. From what I can gather, the Welsh were alerted when our men marched north.\"\n\nSir John said, \"I know not why they were here. What could a handful of men do?\"\n\n\"Warn whoever placed them here. Their job was not to stop us, my lord; it was to bring men and attack us in numbers.\"\n\n\"Then we had better move. We are close enough to Chester now so that I can almost smell it.\" The prince leaned down from his saddle. \"Perhaps it might be better if you and your archers did not enter Chester. I would rather explain your presence to Sir Ranulf before he sees you.\"\n\nI had thought he had forgotten my confession. It had seemed a lifetime ago. \"As you wish, my liege, and where would you have us go?\"\n\n\"Once you have escorted us to the castle, then cross the Dee. Mold castle has fallen to Llywelyn ap Gruffudd. They took it from the Montalt family two years since. From what I hear, he has made it something of a royal residence. It will be the first place that I intend to attack. It will make a statement. I need you and your archers to scout it out. You have a good eye for these things. Find us somewhere we can camp. If you can come up with any ideas to take it then so much the better.\"\n\nAs we were now in what was supposed to be English territory, we stayed closer to the rest of the column. When we spied Chester in the distance I prepared to leave the prince. \"When will you be arriving, my liege?\"\n\n\"I speak with my knights tonight, and we leave tomorrow at noon. We will be with you soon after.\"\n\n\"That is not long, my lord!\"\n\nHe gave me a thin smile. \"Then you had better move now, archer!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "We skirted the castle and crossed the bridge. The gatehouse could have sent crossbow bolts and arrows our way had we been foes, but this was Prince Edward's castle, and we wore his livery. We clattered over the wooden bridge. There was still a stone Roman one, but this was closer. I waved David the Welshman forward. As we rode, we spoke.\n\n\"What do you know of Mold?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Captain. I thought that you would know it better. You lived around here. I lived further south.\" He was right. As we had passed within ten miles of his own home, I had allowed him to visit his mother and give her the lace he had bought. It was he who had brought us news of Welsh forces gathering there.\n\nI nodded. \"The lord I served did not get on with the Montalt family. I have never seen it close up. That will make our task harder. Take Ronan, he seems keen enough. Ride to the castle and find us somewhere to camp this night. Tomorrow, we will begin to examine it more closely.\"\n\nI rode alone, at the head of the column. John and Jack must have realised I wished to be alone, for they rode behind me, chatting about Nottingham and some of the characters they had known. I thought back to the killing of Sir Henry. I knew now that I had thrown a stone into a pond, and that the ripples went further than I might have expected. I wondered if my killing of Sir Henry had allowed the Welsh to take Mold. A sudden fear filled me; what of Denbigh? Had that fallen too? I had not asked. Denbigh and Mold, along with St Asaph and Ruthin, controlled the Clwyd valley. Mold was the gateway. Once Mold was captured, then there was a high ridge and the three castles spread along the valley. Now I understood the reason for this campaign. King Henry had lost all of the land to the west of Chester. The Welsh raids had done more than yield food and treasure. They had gained land. What I did know about Mold was that the river, the Alyn, was small. The castle was not near to it. It relied on its position above the road from Chester; that was where its importance lay.\n\nA whistle alerted us to Ronan and David. We had not yet reached the river. In fact, I could see it just a hundred paces from us. We entered the wood. I saw that my two archers had dismounted. I followed suit. \"John, take charge. This looks a likely place to camp. I will go with David.\"\n\nI followed David, and he went along a hunter's trail through the woods. When the trail headed west, he took out his short sword and cut us a path through the wild blackberry bushes. I saw why when we reached the riverbank. There, just over five hundred paces from us, stood the castle. The Montalt family had used an existing piece of high ground and built a motte and bailey castle. The Welsh king's standard fluttered from its keep. I walked up and down the riverbank to examine the walls from the safety of the undergrowth. There was a curtain wall with a strong gatehouse. A ditch ran around the walls. When I had seen enough, I headed back to the others.\n\nThe horses were tethered. We would take them to the river for water after dark. There was grass for them to eat and we had grain to supplement it. I waved them around. \"Tonight we explore the houses and the castle. We do not get caught! Examine the ditch. Are there traps within? How many men are on the walls? How many are in the houses? I will go with Robin of Barnsley and David the Welshman. We will scout out the roads which lead to the castle.\" They nodded. \"We eat first and then leave when it is dark. Dick and Peder, you guard the camp and the horses.\"\n\nJack of Lincoln had brought the haunch of pony. He rubbed salt on it and then put it into a large pot with some river water and wild garlic. When the main army arrived we would cook it. The salt would tenderise and the garlic would flavour it.\n\nAs we left the camp we did not take our bows. At night the advantage of a bow is lost. We carried our swords and our daggers. The bridge was in darkness, and we slipped across. The river was so narrow and shallow that we could have crossed it if we had needed to, but dry feet and clothes were always preferable. We slipped around the back of the huts. The three of us had the longest journey. The rest would be back in camp long before we were. We kept well away from the walls of the castle. Others would investigate those, but I saw from the burning brands that they had sentries at the gate, and it was barred. I wondered if they had a second?\n\nOnce clear of the castle we made speed on the road. This was well worn. Horses and men would make the short journey to Ruthin. Half a mile down the road I had seen all that we needed to see. There had been no paths or tracks leading from it. A relieving army would have to come down this road. Rather than walk back to the castle, I led us north, across the ploughed fields. They were the sorts of fields the men we had met had farmed. The barley was just knee high. It would get higher. We found the road which headed north-west. We had only gone four hundred paces down it when I recognised it. This was the road to Denbigh. We were just a few miles from my home. It was strange that I had not visited a place so close.\n\nI circled my hand and led the other two back. Prince Edward just needed to seal off the two roads and Mold would be surrounded. A motte and bailey castle could be quickly reduced or even left alone. We could push on to Ruthin and then Denbigh.\n\nAs we neared the road from the west I heard the sound of hooves. They were coming along the road from the west. The castle was a mile away, and we ran to the road junction. There was the crossroads sign. I saw Robin of Barnsley make the sign of the cross. Suicides were often buried beneath a crossroads with the post through their heart. It was supposed to stop their restless spirits wandering.\n\nI pointed to the other side of the low wall on the far side of the road. David the Welshman nodded and went behind it. I pointed to the other walls and Robin did the same. After taking out my sword and putting it beneath me, I lay down close to the crossroads sign. A rider would slow down and, more importantly, his horse would baulk at a man lying on the ground. I heard the hooves slowing as the rider approached the crossroads. It had to be a Welshman, for he was coming from the west. It had to be a warrior, and he had to be going to the castle.\n\nThe horse slowed to a walk, and I heard a voice say something in Welsh. I did not recognise the words. Suddenly, I heard his horse neigh, and I knew my two men had leapt from cover. I jumped up and grabbed the horse's reins. The rider lost his balance. He tumbled from its back, and I heard his head crack against the stone wall. Robin ran to him and then shook his head.\n\n\"Search him. He may be a messenger. Then throw his body over the wall. We will take his horse back with us.\"\n\nWhile Robin searched him, David the Welshman calmed his horse. \"Through the village?\"\n\n\"We might as well. The prince will be here by noon tomorrow. It is a gamble, but it is worth it if we can find out information.\"\n\nWe led the horse. It made less noise that way. Once we neared the castle it would be heard, but the sentries would not be able to leave their post. By the time someone was summoned, we would be over the bridge. The only danger lay in a villager coming out. We walked with drawn swords. As we passed through, I heard a door creak, but whoever opened it merely peered out. No alarm was given. Perhaps the sight of the swords made them wary. As we crossed the bridge, and the hooves clattered on the wood, I heard a shout from the castle walls. We hurried down the road and Robin led the horse down the trail. David the Welshman and I quickly climbed two oaks which lay just three paces inside the wood. We waited.\n\nI heard feet on the bridge and Welsh voices. I could not make out what they said. I hoped that David would. Then I saw them. There were eight men at arms. They passed us and walked down the road. Their voices faded and then they returned. When they neared the trail, they halted, and a debate went on. They were arguing. Suddenly one of them struck one of the others. There was silence. It was when he spoke that I felt shivers down my spine. A shaft of moonlight illuminated his face as he spoke. It was Hugh of Rhuddlan. He had changed sides!\n\nThe blow had ended the debate, and they headed back across the bridge.\n\nI waited until I had heard them cross the wooden bridge before I descended. When David joined me, I said, \"What did they say?\"\n\n\"They were confused, Captain. They heard the horse, but they could not understand why it crossed the bridge. One of the men said it might have gone into the woods and the man who was in charge told him to stop being stupid. The horse had thrown its rider. He was sending them back up the Ruthin road to find him.\"\n\n\"That means that when they do they will come back down here. Let's get to the camp.\"\n\nWith men watching for us we could not afford a light. John of Nottingham had searched the horse and discovered the leather message pouch. There was a message, but it was in Latin and we could not read it anyway. Even had we had that skill, the light was too poor. I had a dilemma. The prince needed the information that was in the pouch, but if I sent a rider with it, we risked the garrison finding it. The rewards outweighed the risks.\n\nI asked my men, \"What did you discover?\"\n\n\"There is but one main gate. They have a sally port, but it is on the north wall. A horse and rider could get out, but it would take time to evacuate the whole garrison.\"\n\n\"There are no traps in the ditch. It is steep, but a man could climb it.\"\n\n\"Dick, son of Robin, saddle your horse. I want you to ride to Chester and give this to either the prince or Sir John. Tell him that there is one gate and a sally port and no traps in the ditch. The rest of you, we will go to the edge of the woods. Bring your bows.\"\n\nBy the time he was ready we had strung our bows. He walked his horse to the edge. I whispered, \"Walk him for half a mile and then ride as though the devil himself was after you. If you hear fighting, ignore it. The message must get through.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. I will not let you down.\"\n\nI thought the hooves of his horse sounded loud, but I knew that they were not. Then I heard a cry from the north. They had discovered the body of the messenger. Perhaps we should have dropped it in the river.\n\n\"Move back into the woods. They may come here.\"\n\nJack of Lincoln laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. \"Then if they do they will never leave. A forest at night is where we do our best work, Captain.\"\n\n\"I believe you. If they come here, then we lead them away from the horses.\"\n\nRoger Peterson said, \"And kill them?\"\n\n\"Of course we kill them.\"\n\nI had an arrow nocked, as did the others. I knew that we could not be seen, but we would be able to see our foes for they would be on the road. I heard hooves clattering over the bridge. \"We stop them following Dick! If you have to then kill the horses.\"\n\nI did not know how many horses they had, but if Hugh of Rhuddlan was leading them, then the men at arms would know how to ride. The hooves drew closer. I could not see them yet, but I estimated it to be no more than six riders. I pulled back. The road was just thirty paces from me, and I had a clear line between the trees. I saw the first horse and waited a heartbeat. Then I released as the rider passed between the two trees. He was not wearing mail, but it would have made no difference. My arrow went through his neck and knocked him from his horse. The horse galloped off. I heard the thwack of arrows as another three hit their mark.\n\nI heard Hugh of Rhuddlan's voice. He shouted, in Welsh, \"Back!\" Then he shouted something I did not understand.\n\nDavid the Welshman exclaimed, \"He is calling out the guard!\"\n\n\"We have stopped the pursuit. Let us fall back and wait for them to come closer.\"\n\nJack of Lincoln said, \"Captain, this is knife work.\"\n\nI slung my bow. He was right. We could only see two or three paces before us in the dark woods. We could hide and use the trees for cover. They would have no idea how many of us were hiding in the woods. We would come as a shock to them. We heard their feet as they clattered over the bridge.\n\nWhen they came this time, they came on foot and in numbers. They did not have one point of entry but many. I saw that they had brought shields. That was a mistake. We would not be sending arrows at them. I stood behind a mighty oak. It was wider than me. I had my hood covering my head, and its shadow left my face in darkness. I had a dagger in my left hand and my sword in my right. I saw the Welshman. He had a metal coif instead of a helmet, a leather jerkin, a short sword and shield. He was walking carefully and not making a sound. That made no difference, for I had seen him.\n\nI slid around the side of the tree as he walked on the other side. I stepped out behind him. I brought my dagger up under his left arm. His head turned at the last moment, and I put my sword hand across his mouth. I struck something vital and hot blood gushed over my hand. I lowered his body to the ground. A movement behind me made me turn. There was a man at arms four paces from me. He ran at me. A voice shouted something in Welsh. He pulled his shield up. I used my dagger to pull the shield forward and rammed my sword into his throat. He tried, as I did, to swing his sword in an arc. That is a mistake in a wood. He died with his sword embedded in the oak.\n\nI turned and parted from the two bodies. I headed deeper into the woods. I could hear more shouts and cries now. The shouts were in Welsh and my men were silent. I moved quickly into the forest. I heard another scream and then a gurgled shout. Hugh of Rhuddlan's voice boomed out, \"Back to the castle!\" There was another cry, and then I heard the sound of flight as the survivors crashed through the woods.\n\nI turned and slowly made my way back to the place I had killed the two men. I took their swords, mail hoods and purses. When I reached the road I risked peering out. I saw two men being helped towards the bridge. They were beaten. Would they return in the morning? That bridge would have to be crossed. We had done our job, and if we had to, then we could evade them. I made my way through the woods. I found Rafe Oak Arms, one of my new recruits, stripping a body of weapons and valuables. He was laughing. \"Something amuses you?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. When I did this in Sherwood, I was breaking the law. Here, the heir to the throne is paying me. It is a strange world.\"\n\nAs we headed back to camp we picked up others, and all were in high spirits. The mood changed when we reached the camp. Jack of Lincoln was kneeling over the corpse of Peder. We had lost someone.\n\n\"Is anyone else hurt?\"\n\nJack looked around and shook his head. \"The big old bastard did this. The one who was shouting the orders.\"\n\n\"Hugh of Rhuddlan.\"\n\n\"You know him?\"\n\n\"Knew him. He was my sergeant at arms. Peder stood no chance.\"\n\nJack nodded. \"Then this has become personal. Peder was my brother's son. I am now the last of my family.\"\n\nWe set guards and then we buried Peder. A woodland grave was all an outlaw would have expected. He was buried by those who had come from Sherwood. My senior archers stood a watch while we dug the hole, buried the young warrior and then piled stones on the body to stop foxes digging it up. I could not sleep, and so I took a long watch, along with Jack of Lincoln. It was just after dawn when we heard the hooves, but this time they were coming from Chester.\n\n\"Sounds like one horse, Captain.\"\n\nI nodded. I stood and stretched. This would be a long day. I knew that later I would regret my long watch. Jack and I had spoken during the night watch. If Peder had been an older archer, one who had lived a little, then it might not be so bad. He had seen sixteen summers. He had not had time to begin to live.\n\nDick, on a fresh horse, galloped into the camp. \"The prince is following me, Captain. That letter, it told the men in the castle that the Welsh king is coming. He will be here within the week! The prince was delighted.\" He showed us the gold coin he held in his hand. \"This is my reward! Wait until I show Peder!\" He, Peder and Ronan had been close.\n\n\"Peder was killed last night, Dick.\"\n\nThe young archer went from ecstasy to agony in a heartbeat. It brought home just how parlous our lives were."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Now that the enemy knew we were close, there was no point in hiding. We lit a fire and put the salted horsemeat on to cook. I took eight of my archers and we rode to the bridge. I peered ahead to the crossroads, just beyond the huddle of huts which constituted the hamlet. The ground close to the crossroads was perfect as a camp. It effectively cut off the castle, and it was flat. The fields had walls. The walls would help to divide up the camp. I had learned, in Gascony, that was important. The horses had to be kept separate and the knights preferred to be away from the common soldiers. The three roads would allow that.\n\nI had restrung my bow and carried it with me. Leaving our horses at the south end of the bridge, we crossed to the north. As soon as we did, we heard the alarm in the castle. A horn sounded and men ran to the walls. To my surprise, those who lived in the huts, house and farms of the village suddenly ran towards the castle. I saw them clutching that which they thought was valuable. There was just a handful of us, but they had taken us for the advance guard of an army.\n\nI turned. \"Stephen Green Feathers, take Will Yew Tree and Matty Straw Hair; fetch your horses and ride to the crossroads. Stop any who try to leave.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain. Come on you pair. We will see how fast you can ride.\"\n\nI knew that those in the castle would send for help, but it took time to saddle a horse. They had lost some the previous night. A couple had run off, and at least two had been struck. I nocked an arrow. My three men galloped over the bridge and, lying low in the saddle, galloped through the village towards the crossroads, half a mile away. The castle was three hundred paces from the village and the road. Even so, the men behind the walls had crossbows, which they used to try to hit my riders. It was a forlorn hope though. Crossbows were powerful, and if an enemy was approaching in numbers, they could be deadly. But at extreme range and against a moving target, they were wasting bolts and making it more likely that their crossbows would fail when they needed them.\n\nThe three riders passed the castle when I heard the gates open. Was this an attempt to move us from the bridge or to seek help? When the riders turned to head north to Ruthin, I had my answer.\n\nHugh, son of Hugh, another of the former outlaws, stood with me. \"Will they get by our men?\"\n\n\"Will and Matty are your fellows. What do you think?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"Then they are doomed Welshmen, Captain.\"\n\nI turned to the others. \"Peter of Wakefield, take Ronan and Tom. Search the houses. They may have left items we can use. I saw no animals with them. See if they have left fowl there. We can augment our rations eh?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nThe crossroads was beyond our sight but not our hearing. I heard the neighs and cries as the three riders were intercepted. A short while later, one Welsh rider and one horse returned to the castle. They had learned that the English had archers too.\n\nHugh frowned. \"Where are the Welsh archers, Captain? If they are as good as you have told us, then why did they not send arrows at our men?\"\n\nI had not thought of that. I nodded. \"You are right, Hugh. That is a puzzle.\"\n\nShortly, Peter of Wakefield and my men returned. They each had a brace of hens with them. \"Peter, take these men back to the camp. The others can stand a shift and you can eat.\"\n\n\"What about you, Captain?\"\n\n\"I will eat when the prince arrives. He will expect me to tell him the situation. Now go!\"\n\nThus it was that I was alone on the bridge when I heard the clatter of hooves and the jingle of mail behind me. Captain William led the men at arms towards me. He reined in.\n\n\"Guarding the bridge on your own, Captain Gerald?\"\n\nI pointed to the distant crossroads. \"Some of my men hold the crossroads. That is the best place to camp. The village is emptied. They have left their homes. None has escaped with news of our arrival.\"\n\n\"Good. The prince is pleased with your actions. He follows. He sent us ahead, for he feared for your safety. I told him that you would be safe.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"We lost one archer.\"\n\n\"We are warriors and that is the risk we take.\"\n\nHe led his men across the bridge. I walked back to retrieve my horse. As I mounted, I saw the banners of the army as it approached. Prince Edward was surrounded by those knights who would, over the next years, become his trusted companions: Sir Roger Mortimer, John de Warenne, William de Valence and Sir Ranulf. As they reined in I saw Sir Ranulf glaring at me. He had been told of my presence and was not happy.\n\nPrince Edward, in contrast, was delighted to see me. \"The news you sent has given us the chance to end this quickly. How goes it Gerald War Bow?\"\n\n\"The crossroads will be the best place to camp, lord. My men and Captain William hold it. The village is empty. They fled to the castle. No one rode for help. My men are camped in the woods and watch the castle.\"\n\n\"Then you have done well.\"\n\nI watched the army as it passed. At first I was happy. I counted over a hundred knights and then fifty men at arms. Then I saw that the men who marched were just the ordinary men of Cheshire. They had no mail and few had helmets. Worse, I only counted twenty bows. Where were the archers? When the baggage train arrived, I saw that it was escorted by men on horses. I recognised them. They were the archers led by Captain Jack. He reined in and waved the baggage train forward. I saw my old comrade, Alan of Denbigh. He stared at me as though I was a ghost.\n\nCaptain Jack dismounted. \"I heard that the prince had a fine captain of archers. I wondered who it could be for I had never heard of a Gerald War Bow. Now I see, and his lordship's ire becomes apparent. You slew your lord.\"\n\nHe said it simply and there was no point in denying it. His lord knew, and that meant soon it would be common knowledge. I had braced myself for the storm that would follow. The knights who served with the prince would not be happy, for a commoner killing a knight was unheard of. Certainly, a commoner killing a knight and living was something which had never yet happened.\n\nI nodded. \"He had my father killed for no good reason. The law would have done nothing. I did. The prince knows, and when I have made pilgrimage, I will be forgiven.\"\n\nHe looked at me, scrutinising my features. \"I have known many bad lords who deserved to die, and certainly Henry of Denbigh was a poor excuse for a man, but I should warn you\u2026\" he smiled, \"Gerald War Bow, there are men who will seek your death.\"\n\nI pointed to the castle. \"Hugh of Rhuddlan now serves the Welsh.\"\n\nHis eyes narrowed. \"It is worse than that. He allowed the Welsh to take Denbigh without a fight. He opened the gate and let them in. The men you knew were killed by the Welsh. There are just three men left from the garrison: you, Hugh of Rhuddlan and Alan of Denbigh. I fear the castle was cursed.\" He looked to the north-west and then turned back to me. He held out his arm. \"You are a good archer and you are a captain. We have the only archers in this army. We must, perforce, be friends.\"\n\nI took his arm. \"I was never anything else.\"\n\nAs I rode back to my men I wondered if the lack of archers might come to hurt us. We had fewer than thirty-five good archers, and I had seen perhaps twenty or thirty bowmen. I had no doubt that we could take their castles, but how would we drive the Welsh king back beyond the Conway?\n\nI met my men in the woods. I circled my hand above my head. \"Back to the camp. The army is here. We are now needed. Dick, go to the crossroads and fetch our men. This camp will do us. If the prince needs us close by, then we will move.\"\n\nI sat by the fire while John of Nottingham ladled some of the horse stew into clay bowls. I looked up at him questioningly. He nodded towards Peter of Wakefield. \"When they searched the houses he found them. They will break before long, but until they do then we will enjoy eating from them.\" He handed me some day-old bread. \"And he found bread too. We eat like kings!\"\n\nI was hungry and the stew was hot. Tom handed me a beaker of ale. \"God smiles on us, we found ale, Captain.\"\n\nStephen Green Feathers smiled. \"The rest of the army will not be happy that we have plundered before them.\"\n\n\"They had a night in a castle. They would have been well supplied. We took the risks; we take the reward.\"\n\nGeoffrey, the new squire, came for us in the middle of the afternoon. \"The prince would like you camped by him, Captain.\" He hesitated. \"He is not happy that you tarried here.\"\n\nI gave him what I hoped was an innocent look. \"We were awaiting orders, my lord.\"\n\nWhen we crossed the bridge, we saw the siege works. The levy was already labouring. Men were cutting down trees. The prince had to strike quickly and take Mold before the Welsh arrived with their army. He did not want to be trapped between a relieving army and a castle.\n\nCaptain William waved to me as we approached the prince's standard. \"We have saved a piece of ground for you yonder. Sir John wishes to speak with us when you can.\"\n\n\"That means now.\"\n\nHe laughed, \"Aye, you are learning. We wait on our betters, but they demand instant obedience.\"\n\nI dismounted and handed my reins to Tom. I also gave him my bow staves and arrows. \"Put them somewhere safe.\"\n\nThe tents were already erected, and Sir John and his squire were there with a map. \"Well done, Captain. This is a perfect camp and chosen with a good eye.\" I nodded. \"We begin our attack this afternoon. We need fire arrows. Captain Jack and his men are preparing theirs. This afternoon we rain arrows on their walls and this night we turn them to fire. Our men at arms will storm the walls.\" I glanced at Captain William who shrugged. Sir John saw my look and sighed. \"Captain Gerald, we need to save our knights for the time we meet the Welsh in the field. It will be our knights who win this land back.\"\n\nI knew he was wrong, but I could not argue with him, \"You are right, my lord. Sorry!\"\n\n\"As soon as the castle is reduced, then you and your archers will scout out Ruthin and give us notice of the advance of the Welsh.\"\n\nI looked at the map. Had I not known the area, then it would all have been squiggles and colours. I recognised, however, the blue line that must have been the Clwyd. The red little squares with the flags had to be the castles. I pointed to a line of brown. \"Lord, this is high, rough ground. It is perfect ambush country. I know it, for I have hunted Welsh brigands there before. Their archers can rain death upon the road.\"\n\nHe looked at the map. \"It does not look high to me.\"\n\n\"It may not be high, lord, but it is covered in trees, bushes and rocks. We were unable to use our horses there. We had to go afoot and winkle them out one by one.\"\n\n\"I will tell the prince, but I do not think it will be a problem. Once we have met the Welsh, shield to shield, then they will sue for peace, and we can return south and deal with a more serious problem.\" He looked up from the map and smiled. \"Fire arrows then, and you, Captain William, had better prepare ladders.\"\n\nWe both bowed and left. I looked at Captain William, \"A night attack?\"\n\n\"It might work.\" He did not sound convinced. \"And fire arrows? Do they work?\"\n\n\"They are a waste of a good arrow. We cannot send them far, and to be certain that they work, we need to send many into the castle. They will, however, distract the defenders. I was in a garrison at Denbigh, and we were always fearful of fire.\"\n\n\"Then I pray that you and your archers make our attack unnecessary.\"\n\nI did not think that would happen, but I set the men to making fire arrows. We chose the arrows that were not our best. It galled me that we would have to leave the valuable arrowheads on them. They had to stick in the timber in order to burn. I had each man choose twenty such arrows. We mainly used the ones which we had not made or we had captured. We gathered cloth taken from the huts and oil and soaked the cloth in it. The oil-soaked cloth was wrapped around the end of each arrow. Then each bundle of arrows was left in a pot of oil. That way the oil would seep into the wood. We needed something which would burn for as long as possible. The walls were stone, but the buildings each had a roof which was not, and there were many wooden buildings within.\n\nCaptain Jack wandered over. He had with him Alan of Denbigh. The captain saw what we were doing and nodded. \"I see you have had to make fire arrows too.\"\n\nI stood. \"If we could be certain that they would work, I would not mind, but in my experience, they often fail to ignite the buildings.\"\n\nThe captain gestured to Alan. \"My archer wished to speak with you. Do not keep him long, we have much to do before the attack this afternoon.\"\n\nHe wandered away and Alan approached me. He seemed nervous. \"I thought you dead! When we heard what you had done, and that you were hunted as an outlaw, I felt certain that your life had been ended.\"\n\n\"No, Alan. It seems that someone or something has plans for me. Harry is dead. He died in Gascony.\"\n\n\"And you are now a captain.\"\n\n\"As I said, I have been lucky.\" I gestured at the walls behind me. \"When we attack, watch out. Hugh of Rhuddlan is within those walls.\"\n\n\"He owes you a life.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"That ended when I slew Sir Henry.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I had better go. I wanted to know that it was still well between us. I am glad that you are alive. You are the best archer I know.\"\n\nI had little time to dwell on his words. Captain William and his men arrived. They had broken down some of the palisade around one of the buildings in the village. They had made large shields. \"It is time, Captain Gerald, to begin the assault.\"\n\nI had made all of my arrows. One or two of the outlaws had yet to finish theirs. \"Leave the ones you have not yet made. We begin our attack.\" I pointed to the shields being carried by the men at arms. \"Use the shields. Nock your arrows when standing behind them. Stand and release. Duck back behind the shield again. They have archers and crossbows. Rely on speed. We are trying to thin their numbers so that our brothers in arms can assault the walls tonight.\" I had already spoken to Peter and Jack, as well as my senior archers. They would each watch over one or two of the less experienced archers.\n\nWe followed them to within a hundred and fifty paces of the walls. Arrows and bolts were already thudding into them. The men at arms had made a bracing arm for the shields. They took their own shields from their backs and held them aloft too. We would have some protection. Just on the other side of the gate, the men at arms and archers of Chester were doing the same.\n\nI pulled out an arrow and nocked it. I shouted, without raising my head, \"Ready?\"\n\nA chorus of \"Aye, Captain!\" was reassuring.\n\nI pulled back and shouted, \"Draw!\" You could hear the sound as the bows creaked. \"Release!\"\n\nI stood and released an arrow before dropping down. Next to me, Ronan was almost too slow. An arrow from the walls took the cap from his head.\n\n\"You cannot dawdle. That could have been your head.\"\n\nHe looked behind us where the arrow had pinned the cap to the ground. \"These Welshmen are good.\"\n\nI pulled back and shouted, \"Draw!\" I rose. \"Release!\"\n\nThis time there was a ripple of cracks as the enemy sent arrows at us, anticipating our action. Ronan was quicker this time and came to no harm. We continued for twenty more flights. It was infuriating. We could not see the effect our arrows were having. We had to rely on Prince Edward and the knights who were watching it like some sort of show. They were beyond bow and bolt range.\n\nAfter twenty flights we stopped. I laid down my bow, unstrung it and wound and stored the string. I took another bow. I picked out a fresh string and strung the new bow. I could see that the men at arms were confused. I said, \"We need a rest after twenty flights, and a fresh bow and string will be more effective. It also helps to unnerve those we are aiming at. They wait for the next flight.\"\n\nThe two men at arms who were near to me nodded. Part of the mystery of the archer was gone. We sent, in all, eighty arrows each. I then called a halt. If we were to send arrows again at night, we needed a rest. \"Time to go back to the camp.\" I stored my bows in their covers.\n\nCaptain William asked, \"Are you ready?\" We had to get back to the camp without being hit by arrows and bolts from the walls.\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\" We now had the difficult task of running out of range with a man at arms protecting us. Our time on the ship came to the fore. The men at arms knew us. We trusted them, and we made it back to our lines unhurt. The men of Chester were not so lucky. One archer was slain and a man at arms had a bolt sent through his leg.\n\n\"Thank you, Captain William.\"\n\n\"You can repay us by setting fire to their castle.\"\n\n\"We will do our best.\" I turned to my men. \"Those who still have fire arrows to make, finish them. The rest of you, let us eat and then get some rest.\" The muscles in my upper back and my arms were burning from the exertion. The night attack would be even harder. We might not have as many arrows coming in our direction, but when our own arrow was ignited, we would not have long to release it. More than half of our men had never used one before.\n\nSir John came over to speak with me. He had his squire, Richard, with him. \"The archers did well. We think you slew or hit at least twenty men.\"\n\nI gave him a wry smile. \"And it cost us almost a thousand arrows.\"\n\nRichard said, \"You can always get more!\"\n\nI shook my head. The squire was young. \"We have to make them, young master. We need ash and we need goose feathers. We need metal for the tips. We can fight or we can make arrows. We cannot do both.\" I pointed at the castle. \"If we can take this castle, then we might be able to salvage some shafts and arrowheads. If we are really lucky, then we might find a cache of arrows in the castle. Unless, of course, we are too good and burn it down!\"\n\nThe young noble looked crestfallen.\n\nSir John smiled. \"Watch these men, Richard, and you will learn much. They may be base-born but they know their trade and that trade is war. They wear a little leather armour studded with metal. They have neither shield nor helmet, yet they can defeat knights on horses!\"\n\nI saw his squire looking at us as though for the first time.\n\nSir John asked, \"Tell me, Gerald War Bow, what think you of our chances this night?\"\n\nI stood and licked my finger. I held it up in the air. \"The wind is behind us and that will help. If Prince Edward wishes truth then this is it: we can keep the Welsh distracted and fighting fires; of that I am certain. If we manage to fire the buildings then the Good Lord favours our enterprise.\"\n\nHe patted my broad back. \"Then that is all we can ask.\" He was about to leave when he said, \"Do you require supplies? I am aware that you have had to live off the land.\"\n\nI smiled, knowing we had the six fowl we had collected the night before. With the stock from the horsemeat and some greens David the Welshman had foraged, we would eat well. \"We have enough supplies, lord.\"\n\nI saw Jack of Lincoln and Peter of Wakefield as they approached. They stopped and stood together as the two nobles left. They knuckled their foreheads. Sir John smiled, bemused. When he had gone, they turned and lifted the barrel of ale that they had managed to liberate.\n\n\"Where did you get this?\"\n\nJack adopted an innocent look. \"I have to say, Captain, that it came into our possession somewhat fortuitously.\"\n\n\"You stole it.\"\n\n\"Not exactly, Captain. It was by the tents of some Cheshire knights, that much is true, but it looked lonely and lost. We thought it empty and took it to use it for our water. Imagine our surprise when we found it still had some inside.\"\n\n\"You stole it!\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Captain, if you will hire outlaws, then what do you expect?\"\n\nI suppose if I had asked Sir John, he would have provided us with ale. I confess that this was better. Something stolen was much better than something given. Something given implied a return gift. We ate well, and we drank well. An archer always had an unquenchable thirst.\n\nWhen darkness fell we made our way to the shields unaccompanied. The enemy could not see us and it was less dangerous. Captain William and his men were there already. I had no doubt that the men on the walls would know something was afoot. They would hear the fyrd and the men at arms milling about. We had pots of burning coals. John of Nottingham had come up with this method. He had used it before in Gascony. An archer nocked an arrow. He dipped the arrow into the fire and in one motion, lifted, drew and released. I had never tried it, but John assured me that it minimised the risk of burning your own hand. I could see that the younger archers were both fascinated and worried in equal measure.\n\nCaptain William checked that his men were ready and then came over to me. He was leading his own men at arms, twenty from the men of Cheshire and fifty of the levy, the fyrd. They would follow. He had confided in me that the fyrd was not reliable. They would only follow if the walls were taken. Their numbers would merely swell the ranks of those within. \"Whenever you are ready, Captain!\"\n\n\"Godspeed, my friend.\" As they slipped into the dark to wait close to the ditch in the darkness, I called, \"Ready!\" Once I gave the first order, my men would not wait for me. They would send arrow after arrow until their supply was exhausted. \"Draw and release!\" I leaned forward and dipped the oil-soaked arrow in the fire. Alarmingly, it flamed immediately, and I saw tongues of fire begin to eat up the shaft. When I pulled back my fingers were scorched by the burning arrow. I released and watched it arc. It sailed over the wall, and I saw it hit the roof of the keep. It was a lucky strike, for that was the hardest place for the Welsh to extinguish the flames. I saw more arrows from my right as Captain Jack and his men sent theirs. One or two of my men had not reached as far as me and their arrows had struck the wall.\n\nI learned from my first. I dipped my next arrow quickly and trusted the oil to make it burn. Consequently the fire did not lick down the shaft. My second arrow followed the arc of the first and joined it amongst another four which had lodged there. Even as I looked I saw the flames taking hold. From within the keep came cries as men left the walls to extinguish the fire. I saw that the men at arms were scaling the walls and there appeared to be little opposition. The wind from behind us fanned the flames. The flames caught and the fire grew. I switched my aim. I sent my next arrow deeper into the castle. This time I did not see where it landed, for it arced over the wall. There were buildings there, and there were men. As I sent my last arrow over I saw that the gatehouse was on fire, and flames were leaping into the air from around the north-west corner of the castle. Captain Jack and his men had done that.\n\nWe had done what we had been ordered. \"Well done archers. Let us head to the horses. We have to move north.\"\n\nOur camp and our horses were close to the road and close to the sally port. Sharp-eyed Ronan shouted, \"Captain! Riders at the sally port.\"\n\nThey were fewer than two hundred paces from us, but it was night. \"Kill them!\" We did not want word of our attack reaching the Welsh king. I had three arrows left. In the dark I stood little chance of hitting a man and so I aimed at the leading horse. I hit it but, as with all horses, it staggered on. As my archers sent their arrows towards the men who were leaving, I sent a second. It hit another horse. My last one struck a horse in the rump. It might run for a long way. I dropped my bow and drew my sword. \"Dick, get your horse and catch any who escape us.\" Dick was our best rider. Others had heard the commotion, and men began to filter from those attacking the walls. The Welsh closed the gate, and I saw that there was just the one rider who had evaded us. Dick would catch him, but there were twelve men who had escaped the walls.\n\nAs I ran, I saw that there were not twelve. Three had been hit by arrows. Those three were either wounded or dying. The men we would be facing were either knights or men at arms. We needed knights, but ours were busy watching the walls. It was up to us. Some of our levy had been closer than us. They had been standing by the wall and waiting to ascend. Ten of them ran at the fallen men. We were close, and they thought themselves supported. I saw that Hugh of Rhuddlan was one of those who had escaped. I wanted to shout to the farmers and labourers to flee but my voice would have been lost. The men at arms used their swords with wicked efficiency. Only one of the nine men at arms who survived fell, and the levy was butchered.\n\nTheir sacrifice enabled us to close with the Welshmen. I was aware that I had young archers with little experience and no sword skill. I shouted, \"Ronan, Tom, Matty Straw Hair and Roger Peterson, guard our backs!\" I saw them look at me, and then they nodded. The blood had rushed to their heads but my words had calmed them. \"These are cunning bastards! Watch for tricks and kill them! The old one is mine!\"\n\nI approached Hugh of Rhuddlan. I surreptitiously drew my dagger. I would still have a spare sword across my back if I needed it, but Hugh of Rhuddlan was a wily old wolf.\n\nI saw him laugh. \"The murderer returns! I will enjoy killing you; you cost me a good lifestyle! Sir Henry was a waste of skin but he made me coin. You will die, and I will reappear somewhere else.\"\n\nI said nothing. I would need all of my strength and my skill just to survive, but I could not allow one of my men to face this killer. I heard the clash of steel as my experienced warriors closed with the Welsh. Some would be fighting two on one. If they won then the odds would swing in our favour. That might come too late for me. The man I faced was a traitor. He had changed sides. That gave me both heart and hope.\n\nI did not charge in. That would have been a mistake. I was much younger than he was. The longer it went on, the more chance I had. More of my men could come to my aid. I saw his grin. He had seen me fight and thought he knew me. I had improved since we had last met. I had killed men with my sword and with my dagger. I was not afraid of him. I feared his skill, but that was different.\n\nHe feinted at me with his sword. He had his hand behind his back, and I knew that he held a dagger in it. I did not fall into the trap of blocking the blow and then being gutted. I saw him frown. There was a cry behind me in Welsh. One of his men had been killed. Each Welshman who died meant more who would come to my aid. I saw that he was not as confident as he had been. I had fought good warriors before. I had slain Sir Henry, but this was a sergeant at arms I was fighting. He was a grizzled veteran. I might not have the skill. He suddenly launched himself at me. He used his dagger and sword so quickly that they were a blur. I simply reacted, unaware of taking a decision. My body took over, and I blocked sword and dagger with my own weapons. I felt blood trickling down my chin. He had slashed my cheek. I saw the look of joy on his face.\n\nI had not spoken yet, but I did then. \"If you think a cut on the cheek means victory, then you should have given up war years ago!\"\n\nHe came at me again. I suddenly realised that I had a strength which he did not possess. When he launched himself at me, I spun around suddenly and brought my sword across the back of his mail hauberk. I had limited skill, but I had strength, and my blade tore through his mail, his gambeson and came away bloody. He cried out. It was not in pain but in anger. He whipped around and I lunged with my dagger. He was quicker than I was expecting. My dagger merely tore across the back of his right hand. Blood spurted. I was close to him, and I slipped my right leg behind his and pushed. He began to tumble backwards. As he sprawled I swung my sword. It sliced across his thigh, which had no mail to protect it. Blood gushed. I stepped forward and swung my dagger, almost blindly, up and under his arm. I saw the tip protrude from the top. He tore away and I lost my dagger. I used two hands, raised my sword and brought it down. I hacked through his coif and into his skull.\n\nI slew Hugh of Rhuddlan.\n\nI found myself out of breath. I looked around and found my men were cheering. We had stopped them escaping. I turned around and saw Dick, son of Robin, galloping up. In his right hand he held a skull. We had done our duty. We had contained the Welsh."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "We collected the mail, swords and coins from the dead men at arms. We would divide it later. We left the bodies where they lay. The delay had not been of our making, but Prince Edward would want us to complete the task he had given us. We would have to scout out the road to Ruthin. We could leave nothing at the camp. We would be needed to fight the next battle. Even as we were packing the horses, we heard the cries of victory from within the walls. The night attack had worked. I wondered how many of Captain William's men had fallen. It was almost dawn by the time we headed along the road to Ruthin.\n\nPeter of Wakefield and Dick, son of Robin, rode ahead of us. They were unencumbered. We had spare horses with our supplies and what we had taken. We had had to leave the barrel of ale. There was little left in it anyway. The high rough ground, which I had said was ambush country, was just four miles from Mold. My scouts examined the ground carefully before they waved us forward. The sun was climbing in the sky. It would be a hot day.\n\nSometimes things happen which you cannot explain. Rafe Oak Arms was a good archer, but he was not the most careful of men. He was leading one of the horses with our spare arrows and he had not secured them. As the horse slipped on a stone, the arrows shifted and spilled. They would take some time to recover.\n\nJohn of Nottingham rounded on him. \"You useless excuse for an archer! We will need those arrows before long. Sorry, Captain.\"\n\nI, too, was annoyed. \"John of Nottingham, make sure that all of the sumpters have secure loads. Drink. I will ride ahead with Peter and Dick. Wait here until I return.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nThe road twisted and turned through scrubby undergrowth and untidy clumps of trees. We were just coming to the edge when something glinted ahead. I stopped. Hunting men was just like hunting animals. You needed to be patient, and you needed to be still. I saw the glint again and I shaded my eyes against the sunlight. Dick, son of Robin, had even better eyes. \"I see them, Captain. There are knights and mailed men. If I were to hazard a guess I would say it was the Welsh. I count more than a hundred banners.\"\n\nAs my eyes narrowed I saw that he was right. I spied the banners as the army snaked along the road from Ruthin. They were coming to the aid of Mold. Had another message been sent, or had this always been planned? It mattered not. \"Dick, ride to the prince or Sir John. Tell them that the Welsh army is six miles away.\"\n\n\"Yes, Captain.\" He turned and galloped off.\n\n\"Come, Peter.\" We rode back. John of Nottingham had secured the packhorses. \"Each of you, take a spare quiver. Rafe, lead the packhorses back to Mold. We have a Welsh army heading down the road. We will try to delay them while the prince makes his dispositions.\" Rafe and the other three archers leading the sumpters turned around and rode after Dick.\n\nJohn of Nottingham said, \"There was a likely place just back there, Captain. The road rises and twists. We can hit them there.\"\n\n\"Good. Take half the men and go to the south side of the road. I will go to the north. Do not risk the men. When we have stopped their scouts, we mount and ride a mile or so. We will ambush them again.\"\n\nI led my men back up the road and we divided. We rode our horses up into the scrub and tethered them. As we went back down, I shouted, \"Hide yourselves in the undergrowth, and wait for my first arrow! Did you hear, John of Nottingham?\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain! We will await your orders!\"\n\nI chose a spot between two young ash trees and a hawthorn bush. The bush would hide me and I could send my arrow beneath the lower branches of the ash. My trajectory would be a flat one. I would aim at one of the knights. Knights did not ride with shields protecting their sides; they hung from their cantles. Their mail might stop an ordinary arrow but not ours. We would be releasing at fewer than fifty paces. Nothing could stop our arrows at that range. I could hear the horses and their riders as they ascended the slight slope. It was dead ground and we could not see them. That also meant that they could not see us. The first they would know would be when they began to die.\n\nI saw the banners first and then the heads of the riders. This was the vanguard. From my experience, I knew there would be eight or ten knights and men at arms with their squires. Their task would be to spot an ambush. We used my archers for such a task, and we were better. I saw that some wore helmets while others hung them from their cantles. I waited until the knights were just twenty paces from me. I aimed at a large knight in the second group. He had a full-face helmet. There were holes to help him breathe as well as eye holes. A sword would not be able to harm him, but a well-struck arrow could easily pierce the eyehole. The Welsh used hunting arrows, and they were not as effective against our knights.\n\nMany men at arms and knights believe that the bow is a silent weapon. That is not true. Some bows creak when you draw them, but all make a sound as the arrow is released. There is a thrum from the string and then, almost a hiss, as the wind whistles through the feathers. My men heard those sounds, and their arrows were released before mine drove through the eyehole and into the skull of the large knight. His head was driven back, and he fell from the back of his horse. My second arrow was sent at the knight who wore no helmet; he was twenty paces from me. He had drawn his sword, but it would avail him nothing. My arrow drove up through his neck and into his skull. The knight fell dead. Eighteen had been hit by our arrows, and it was only then that a horn sounded. My arrow struck his mouth, went into his skull and came out of the back. Pieces of bone showered the squires behind. The survivors turned and rode back to the main body. I had no doubt that Welsh archers were already hurrying up the road to deal with us.\n\n\"Horses!\"\n\nThat was all I needed to say. I joined my men in hurrying back to our horses. Welsh archers went to war on foot. They would be running to reach us and we would be gone. I was buying time for Prince Edward.\n\nI mounted my horse and turned to head north-east once more. I saw that none of my men had been hurt. We had surprised them. I saw two of the Welsh horses galloping along the road. If I could, then I would take them. As the ground descended slightly towards the farmland, I halted and tethered my horse. \"Here is a likely spot.\" It was the last place we could hide before the open farmland began. I nocked an arrow as I hurried through the scrubby undergrowth to the road. This time we would not wait as close to the road. I found a steeper part where we could send our arrows down and they would find it harder to get back at us. I also waved my men to echelon to the right. This time we had to cover the woods as well as the road. We had told them that we had archers. They would know the danger was coming. I found a hawthorn which overhung slightly. It would not impair my arrow and would afford me some cover. I waited. As I did so, I glanced around and saw my archers, each choosing the best vantage point that they could.\n\nI knew that we would not hear horses this time. They would have archers scurrying through the woods and the undergrowth to find us. The ones who came along the road would be the lighter horsemen from Ireland: muntator. These rode smaller horses than knights and men at arms. Their mail shirts just covered the upper parts of their bodies and they were not noble. Many of them were wild Irishmen and were not to be underestimated.\n\nRobin of Barnsley killed the first Welsh archer. It was such a good strike that it killed him instantly. Both sets of archers heard the arrow but the Welsh had no idea whence it had come. I left my men on the slight slope to deal with the Welsh archers. Most were ex-outlaws. They knew the terrain better than any. I heard hooves and readied my bow. The horsemen were looking at the side of the road. My arrow drove into the neck and then the body of the leading rider. The one next to him was thrown from his saddle by an arrow from John of Nottingham's men. These men did not run. They charged up, through the undergrowth towards us.\n\nI nocked another arrow and it struck a man who was just twenty paces from me. I hit him in the chest and threw him backwards over his saddle. His horse came at me, and I flapped my bow before it and drove it south and west to clatter and crash through the trees and undergrowth. It would put off the Welsh archers. I just managed to nock and release another arrow as a second rider tried to get at me. It was a hurried strike, but the arrow went through his thigh and into his small horse. The horse reared in pain. The man was thrown from the saddle and the arrow tore open his leg. It was a mortal wound.\n\n\"Horses!\" We had managed to slow them down again, and now was the time for discretion. As I was running to my horse, I saw a Welsh archer aiming at me. I was drawing an arrow and looked for cover even as he tracked my movement. I saw a beech tree. It would afford some protection. I lifted my bow and released just before I dropped to the ground. The Welshman's arrow hit the tree. I nocked an arrow. I was listening for movement. I spied a rock. Picking it up, I threw it high to my left. As it clattered, I stepped to the right. The archer had crept to within ten paces of me. His head was looking to his right when my arrow went through his back. I had been lucky. I made my horse and mounted. I nocked another arrow. The rest of my men were at their horses, all except Hugh, son of Hugh.\n\n\"Where is Hugh, Matty?\"\n\n\"Dead, Captain. The Welshman you just slew did for him.\"\n\n\"Fetch his horse.\" When this was over we would come back and find his body. We would bury it. It would not be left for the carrion.\n\nThe steep slope we rode led to a field which had been planted with winter barley. We rode through it towards the road. We waited for a few moments while John of Nottingham led the rest of my men.\n\n\"We have done enough. Let us find the prince.\"\n\nAs we rode down the road towards Mold, I saw Captain Jack leading his archers. Dick, Rafe and my other archers were with them. Prince Edward had reacted quickly and decisively. The Welsh would not catch us unawares. Hugh had not died in vain.\n\nI reined in and pointed behind me. \"The Welsh are coming. We slowed them down. What are the prince's plans?\"\n\nCaptain Jack shrugged. \"I know not. He was organising the men as we left. He only has knights and the levy left to fight. The men at arms suffered wounded and dead in the assault. The castle is ours, but we do not have the army we would have hoped for. The good news is that we found a great store of arrows. Why they did not use them, I do not know. We can afford to use them without worrying about replacing them.\"\n\n\"And our orders?\"\n\nHe smiled and dismounted. \"Slow them down!\" He turned in the saddle. \"Horse holders!\"\n\nI dismounted too. \"The wounded can hold the horses.\"\n\nI saw that Roger Peterson and Matty Straw Hair had wounds. It would be better not to risk them. Between us we had thirty-six archers. It was not a large number, but we were the best. We had shown that already. We spread out in a long line. We all had an arrow ready. It would be nocked only when we had a target. It took some time for the Welsh to come, and when they did, it was the light horsemen again. They had spears, and these men wore the aketon: the padded jacket. There were thirty of them, and when they saw us they stopped. They might be fearless Irishmen, but even they would not willingly charge archers. They halted four hundred paces from us. They respected our range.\n\nI saw one turn and shout something. A short while later, fifty or so Welsh archers ran from the undergrowth. They began to move forward. It would be a duel of archers. This would be a test of our skill and our bows. I believed we had a longer range, for we used a slightly longer bow stave. Captain Jack knew how far I could send an arrow. As the Welshmen moved towards us he said, \"Try to hit one at your maximum range. I want them worried that we can all send an arrow as far as you.\"\n\nI nodded and nocked one. The Welshmen were running now. They had run hard. Even at three hundred paces, I could see them huffing and puffing. At that range, and with them moving, I would be lucky to be able to choose a target. Instead, I aimed at the knot of men running down the road. I pulled the bow back as far as I could. Even as it soared into the air I had another nocked, and I sent that after it, then a third. I had just released my third when my first arrow plunged down and hit an archer in the shoulder. My second went through the shin of another and pinned his leg. The third hit one of the horsemen, who had moved a little closer. He was also hit in the shoulder.\n\nThe Welsh archers stopped. The three wounded men crawled away. Captain Jack shouted, \"Draw! Release!\" The Welsh sent their arrows at exactly the same time. We were both finding the range. One of Captain Jack's men was hit in the leg by an arrow. The rest fell short. Eight Welshmen were hit. Two of the hits were fatal.\n\n\"Keep releasing!\"\n\nWe could afford to waste arrows. I sent arrow after arrow at the Welshmen. They had realised that we outranged them and were trying to move closer. As they did so, they came within range of more of our arrows. Even more began to die. Once they were close enough they sent their own arrows at us. It was hard to say who might have won the contest, had the light horsemen not divided in two and attempted to outflank us.\n\n\"Mount! We have done enough! Fetch the wounded and the dead!\"\n\nWe did not want our dead abused by the Welsh. As it turned out, none of my men had been killed, but Peter Wakefield was bleeding, as was Ronan. I could not assess the damage. When we ran to the horses we did not run in a straight line. That was a sure way to end up with an arrow in your back! We reached our horse holders. The light horsemen were galloping towards us. I mounted mine first and slung my bow. I drew my sword and turned my horse to gallop towards the advancing horsemen. I was trying to make them turn. I managed to take them by surprise. What I didn't realise, until we were close to each other, was that I was much bigger than they were. They had shields and swords, and I just had a sword, but I had a longer reach. When I saw them rein in a little I turned to my left and swung my sword, more in hope than expectation, across their chests. I struck none, but I had stopped them. I dug my heels in and followed my men.\n\nCaptain Jack had his bow ready and an arrow nocked as I galloped towards him. To some who were not archers, it might have appeared that he sent the arrow at me. But I knew that he was aiming at the horsemen galloping after me. I heard a scream and knew that his arrow had hit a man. Captain Jack gave a satisfied nod. \"Between us, we have slowed them down. Well done, but that was reckless.\"\n\nI could not help grinning. I felt excited. \"I thought they might slow up. I did not expect them to stop.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"You and your men ride big horses, and every archer has a chest like an oak tree. You terrified them. I just hope that the prince uses the time we have bought him wisely.\"\n\nWe did not have far to travel to discover what was happening. There was now a barrier of men. The fyrd had moved up and was now in a three-deep line. There were two large woods, and between them there were farms and then the road. In all, the barrier of men was about twelve hundred paces across. As a barrier, it was hardly substantial, but the Welsh archers and the muntators would not charge them. They would wait for the men at arms and knights.\n\nSir John and his squire were ahead of the levy. Sir John was smiling. \"That was well done by both of you. How many are coming?\"\n\nHe meant, of course, knights. \"We saw a hundred banners. They were strung out along the road.\"\n\n\"Arrange your men behind the levy. Our knights will deal with this.\"\n\nCaptain Jack looked at me and then Sir John. \"My lord, Captain Gerald did well, but if he slew more than thirty archers it is still but a small part of the force of archers they can bring to bear.\"\n\n\"Then you will have to make sure that you kill more of them when the battle begins. Lord Edward is counting on you!\"\n\nWe were dismissed. Sir John waved his arm and the levy opened up to allow us through. Once we were out of earshot Captain Jack said, \"I do not envy you your master. At least Sir Ranulf values his archers. He would not expect us to do the impossible. We will lose archers.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I have fought these archers more than enough. They are good, but because they are shorter, their arrows do not travel as far, and they like to target knights. They will send their arrows to the prince and his nobles. They will die.\"\n\n\"Are you certain?\"\n\n\"There are many things of which I am ignorant, but Welsh archery is not one of them. My father taught me well.\"\n\nCaptain Jack raised his arm. \"Dismount. Take the horses back to the crossroads. Fetch more arrows. We have our work cut out for us this day!\"\n\nAs the horses were led back I began to assess the best place to stand. We were taller than the fyrd, but when the horses and knights came our view would be compromised. I pointed to the wall by the side of the road. \"I will have my men on that side.\"\n\nCaptain Jack stroked his beard. \"You will use the wall to let you see over the horseman.\" I nodded. \"Good.\"\n\nJust then, we heard the clatter of hooves, the creaking of leather and the jingle of mail, as Prince Edward led his knights. Sir Roger Mortimer, John de Warenne, William de Valence and Sir Ranulf followed the prince, and then there were another two hundred banners and bannerets. All wore the round helmet which completely covered the head. I knew that underneath would be an arming cap, coif and ventail. Their heads would be protected, but their vision would be impaired. The exception was Prince Edward. He had a bascinet with a small crown around it. As he passed me he slowed down. \"You earned your pay today. Destroy the Welsh archers and I shall double it!\"\n\n\"We will do our best, lord.\"\n\nAs they passed I clambered up onto the wall. I could see the Welsh. They were arraying for the fight. I saw that they had three battles. Two were of knights, and the third was men at arms, led by a knight. Before the horsemen were the archers and the levy. I counted at least two hundred archers. Their levy was the same size as our fyrd. The Welsh had put the muntators in two groups on the flanks. They would be able to filter through the woods and outflank us. Had we had the men at arms who were now in Mold Castle, then we would have had parity of numbers. As it was, the Welsh had the advantage. The archers and their light horses would decide this battle.\n\nPrince Edward had his knights in three battles too, but they would be outnumbered by the enemy horses. He was relying on the great skill of the English knights. I was more worried about the Welsh archers. I saw that they were fewer than three hundred paces from our knights. They could send two thousand arrows at our knights before they would be able to close with them. The Welsh king was sacrificing his levy. His archers would run behind the knights at the last minute. The levy would break up the attack of our knights and the Welsh would destroy them.\n\nI jumped down from the wall and ran to Captain Jack. \"We are doing no good here! We are too far away.\"\n\n\"You are right. We need to be closer to the knights.\" He turned to the levy archers. \"Follow us, and stand behind us!\"\n\n\"Yes, Captain.\"\n\nCaptain Jack slipped his bow over his back. \"These are men of Cheshire. They have to obey me. Archers, follow us. Levy, let us through!\"\n\nMy men hurried behind me. We each had three spare bundles of arrows. We were burdened, but it would be worth it. As we passed Sir John he shouted, \"You were ordered to stay behind the levy!\"\n\n\"We have no targets, lord!\"\n\nSir John did not know Captain Jack, but he knew me. \"I hope you know your business.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nThe two sets of knights were still weighing each other up. When they charged it would be too late. I knew that the Welsh archers would already be preparing to send their arrows into our knights. We would have to run after the knights and begin to send our arrows ahead of them. We would be releasing blindly, but the Welsh archers would not see us. If we could kill a quarter of their men, it would give our mounted soldiers a chance.\n\nThe squires at the rear of our lines looked over their shoulders at us. They each had a spare horse for their lord. I think they were surprised by our appearance. I heard our horns sound. I could not see it, but I knew that the banner now flew, and so long as it did we were honour bound to stay on the battlefield. I felt the ground shake as the horses moved. We ran and actually began to overtake the squires. They were struggling to keep their spare warhorses under control. As soon as we had covered one hundred paces, we stopped. I nocked an arrow and I pulled back. \"Draw!\"\n\nI heard Captain Jack give the same command.\n\nI shouted, \"Release!\" We would only have time for four flights. After that we risked hitting our own knights. I heard cries and screams from the front of the charging knights. The squires had a better view than we did, and when I saw eight of them gallop off, I knew that they had seen their lords unhorsed by Welsh archers and were racing to help them. Just then Tom shouted, \"Captain! Horsemen!\" He pointed to our flank. It was what I had feared: the light horsemen were charging us.\n\n\"Turn to face the threat! Kill their horses!\" We needed to make the horses and their riders a barrier. There were too few of us to hold them. We did not want to be ridden down by stampeding, riderless horses. I nocked an arrow, drew back and released. The mass of horsemen was a big target. We were no longer fighting as one band; we were each in our own rhythm. However, because we had fought together so often, our training took over and our arrows soared at the same time. I heard the screams of wounded and dying horses. I saw horses and riders tumble over, and yet still they came. The secret was not to panic. We had to believe that we could slay them all. Nock, draw release; all the years of training had brought us to this point and the muntators died. Their horses were slain.\n\nInevitably some survived, and the closer they came to us, the more chance they had of killing us. One had been protected by whatever charm or cross he wore around his neck. As I drew another arrow, I saw him fewer than twenty paces from me. I nocked, and he was fifteen paces from me. I drew, and he was ten paces away. I could almost feel the breath of his small horse. I released. At five paces he was almost upon me. My arrow hit him so hard in the chest that he was thrown from his horse. His dead hand clung to the reins and the horse's head jerked to the side. Its tail flicked my face as it fell to the ground. I drew another arrow but the wild horsemen had had enough. The survivors were fleeing. I sent an arrow into the back of one. I saw the bodies of archers. Some would be the archers of Cheshire who had fought with us, but some would be my men. I forced myself to ignore that thought. The battle still raged.\n\nI turned and looked at the knights. They were closely engaged. If we sent our arrows towards them then we might hit our own. Captain Jack came over to me. \"That was close, Gerald!\"\n\nI looked at the dead man I had just slain and the horse whose neck had been broken in the fall. \"You are right. And now we cannot help our lords.\"\n\nCaptain Jack turned to look at the battle ahead of us. The horses were no longer tightly packed. There was a melee. It was hard to see where one side began and another ended. All of our men wore a red cross on their surcoats. That was the only way to differentiate. The captain echoed my thoughts, \"They are all closely engaged but we have arrows enough. We can go amongst them. What say you?\"\n\nI laughed, \"I am game! Prince Edward's archers, rally on me!\" My men surrounded me. There were ten of them. We would bury our dead when all was over. \"We have some sport this day! Let us go amongst the men on horses and see what mischief we can make. Take no risks, just Welsh lives!\"\n\nI ran towards the thin line of squires waiting with remounts. If my men chose not to follow me then I would understand. What we were about to do was unheard of. I ran with an arrow nocked. Captain Jack had been right, there was room in which to move. I just needed to have quick reactions. Those reactions saved Sir Ranulf, for I saw a Welsh archer draw back his bow. The Welsh were doing as we were. My arrow hit him even as he began to release. Sir Ranulf did not know his saviour. I did, and that was enough. I nocked another and ran. I used the bodies of archers and horses to protect me. Their archers were more dangerous to our knights, and so I hunted Welshmen. It was almost too easy. They were trying to slay knights and did not see the winged death of my red-fletched arrows.\n\nHorses and knights were becoming exhausted. My shoulders burned. Both commanders decided that they had had enough. Almost by mutual consent, horns sounded and both sides disengaged. I kept an arrow nocked. As our horses trudged back towards me, I saw a Welsh archer pull back. I released. My arrow flew so close to Prince Edward that he turned to look. My arrow struck the Welshman between the eyes. He fell back, as though struck by a war hammer. I nocked another and watched for more such treachery.\n\n\"Thank you, Gerald War Bow. Once again, I am indebted to you. I am pleased that you disobeyed orders. Your arrows, few though they were, thinned out some of the archers. Next time we will keep you closer.\"\n\n\"I am your captain of archers, lord.\"\n\nI moved forward and began to search the dead who lay on the field. I kept my eye open for any enemy who might do the same. I took the good arrows from the dead Welsh archers and the purses from all the dead. I saw that the knights who had died had fallen to Welsh arrows. Their squires and their men were already taking them back to our lines. Many of the Welsh levy had been slaughtered, but they had little on them. I did not venture too close to the Welsh, and when I was burdened enough, I turned and went back to my men. I saw that some of them had profited too.\n\nI reached the dead muntator I had slayed and his horse. My men wearily joined me. I looked at Jack of Lincoln. \"Who was lost?\"\n\n\"Roger Peterson, Rafe Oak Arms and Peter of Wakefield.\"\n\nI looked up. Peter had been one of Jack of Lincoln's oldest companions. \"I am sorry, Jack.\"\n\n\"Do not be, Captain. Since we joined you our life has had purpose. We are no longer just surviving day to day. We have lived. There is ale and there is food. There have been women and, occasionally, a comfortable bed. We would not have survived much longer in the forest. It was good that you found us. We will bury them.\"\n\nWe searched the bodies and collected the purses of the horsemen we had slain. We hacked a haunch of dead horse for that would be our meal. We trudged back to our camp. It was a sombre camp. Captain Jack brought his archers to join us. He too had lost men. He nodded towards the camp of the knights. Prince Edward had not gone inside the castle. He was wise enough to know that sharing his men's privations endeared him to them.\n\nWhile the haunch was cooking, we collected and then divided the purses we had taken. We shared our dead comrades' goods too. We were a company. I had a leather sack for mine. It was quite heavy. Some of the others had less than I, for they had spent it. In the case of the ones who had been outlaws, it was goods which the rest of us took for granted: decent boots, a better cloak, a fine dagger. John of Nottingham brought over the ale skin and filled my beaker. \"What do you plan for your treasure, Captain?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"I need for nothing yet. However, I do not like carrying it around. When we return to Windsor or somewhere civilised, I will bury it. If our camp had been taken we would have lost it all.\" I swallowed the ale. \"There will come a time when I am no longer needed. It happened to my father. I would do as he did and buy some land. The difference is, I hope to have more coin and buy a better piece of earth.\"\n\n\"Men envy good land. You might have to fight to keep it.\"\n\n\"Then I will sire sons to help me.\"\n\n\"Sire sons! First, Captain, you must find a woman, and the last time I looked there were few on the battlefield.\" He stood. \"We will take the mail and swords we found and see if Captain William and his men wish to buy them. If not, there are other men at arms who may wish to be safer in battle.\"\n\nCaptain Jack came over and our men gave us some privacy. \"There will be a truce and the prince will speak with the Welsh king. Their archers killed too many of our knights.\"\n\n\"Then all of this was in vain?\"\n\n\"No, my young friend. We keep what we have taken. Mold is ours and we will have Denbigh returned to us. We may have lost knights and squires, but our men at arms were untouched. Many Welsh archers were killed. Winter draws on, and the Welsh cannot afford their men away from their fields. They have animals to bring in for the winter.\"\n\nI was disappointed. \"I hoped for a better conclusion. This was ill done.\"\n\n\"You will get used to it. Prince Edward did better than many lords. His father is less decisive. It bodes well. You know that the prince dallied with those like Montfort, who challenged the king?\"\n\n\"I had heard.\"\n\n\"When we are done here, you will be returning to Windsor, for Prince Edward goes to the aid of his father. Things will come to a head. De Montfort has the backing of London and the Midlands. I fear that we will have to stay here to guard the Welsh border, but you my friend, will be in the thick of it.\"\n\n\"And I have lost archers. The prince seems to think that an archer is like a man at arms, they can be found anywhere. But I am well aware of the skills of my men.\"\n\n\"And that is why you watch over them. You are wise.\"\n\nHe was right; I did watch over my men. We left five days later. Ransoms had been paid for the knights we had captured and the two castles were garrisoned. We had shared out the money from the sale of the mail and swords. We had spare horses now, as we had lost men, and we carried all of the arrows we had taken from the castle with us. If war was coming then we would be prepared."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "We did not go to Windsor. King Henry was at Oxford Castle. Since the time of the war between Stephen and Matilda, the west of the land had been loyal to the king. The nearer to London lay the greatest discontent, and London itself was a hotbed of rebellion. There the people were self-serving and greedy. That was where the de Montfort clan had the greatest support. In the Midlands, the land around Northampton, Nottingham and Leicester, lay the wealth of the de Montfort faction. By choosing Oxford, King Henry was showing just how astute he was. He could reach those castles quicker than the de Montforts travelling from London. There was no war yet. I heard a rumour, begun by Captain William, who had been close to a conversation between Prince Edward and de Warenne, that King Henry had sent an embassy to the pope. He wished to be absolved from the Provisions. I had not heard of them and so I asked Sir John when we camped one night.\n\nHis face darkened. \"Five years ago, the barons forced the king to accept a council of nine barons who would advise him and ensure that he ruled fairly. Over the intervening years, the de Montforts have taken control of this council. Do not worry Gerald War Bow, the pope has agreed to dissolve it.\"\n\nWhat he meant was that we would have God on our side and the pope would instruct his bishops and archbishops to excommunicate the king's enemies. We would be absolved from sin. We spent much of our time close to death. That was a reassurance which we needed. If we died, we would go to heaven. It was the end of autumn when we reached Oxford. It was an armed camp. Neither my archers nor Captain William's men at arms could be accommodated within the walls of the castle, and we had to make other arrangements. We had coin and so we used it. I found a mean inn on the outskirts of the town. It was not in the best condition, but it had stables, and more importantly, it had three rooms which we could use. The owner, Dickon of Downholme, was more than happy for us to rent rooms and stalls. We did not pay an exorbitant rate, for he knew the value of helping the future king of England. His wife and daughter proved to be good cooks and we ate well.\n\nPrince Edward seemed to forget his archers and his men at arms. Captain William and I had to visit the castle once a week to remind him to pay us. It was not deliberate. It was an oversight. When we visited the castle, we learned more upon each visit. Although we were in a haven of peace, all around was dissent. Prince Edward had not only left a strong army in the north of Wales, his father had left one around the Severn. There was no open war, but there were raids. Individuals who supported the barons' cause were ousted in royal areas, and royalists suffered the same fate in baronial England. It was like a pot on the fire. It was bubbling but had yet to boil over. That day would come.\n\nConsequently, even though it was becoming colder and the days shorter, we practised each and every day. We had fought enough times to get to know each other. That made the releasing of arrows easier. We could get into the rhythm quicker. We gradually increased the distance we could send arrows. I confess that much of that was my doing. I had the greatest range and so the others watched my technique and emulated me. My frame and my build were the biggest assets I possessed, but by improving technique we were all able to send arrows further by Christmas.\n\nI then pressed Captain William and his men to help train us to use swords. The attack of the muntator had worried me. That could have ended disastrously. All of my men now had a good sword. None was as long as mine, but they were well made. They all copied the way I wore my swords. They had theirs across their backs. Our belts were for our arrows.\n\nIt was Candlemas when I was summoned, along with Captain William, to the castle. There we were met by Sir John. He now had a title: Baron of Mold. His part in that victory had been recognised. He also commanded a conroi of knights, nine of them. Richard his squire was there, along with three of his knights. Sir John was no longer the young squire we had first met in France. He was now a seasoned and respected warrior. I wondered what the meeting would bring.\n\nThere was wine, bread and cheese on the table. We were the last to arrive, and I could see that the knights had already made inroads into the food and wine. \"Now that our two captains are here, we can begin. The Earl of Derby, Robert de Ferrers, has been raiding Prince Edward's estates in Gloucester. We have suffered enough at his hands, and the prince has instructed me to lead a chevauch\u00e9e into his lands in Derbyshire. Our aim is simple. We are to take as much plunder as we can. The prince wants de Ferrers punished for his audacity.\"\n\n\"It is a cold and harsh time of year to be raiding Derbyshire.\"\n\n\"I know, Sir James. I did not say it would be easy. Peveril Castle is subject to attacks from the garrisons of de Ferrers' castles. By raiding de Ferrers' lands, we ease the pressure on Prince Edward's castle.\"\n\nThe knights began to debate the military strategy involved. Captain William turned to me. \"This is to provoke war.\"\n\n\"Truly?\"\n\n\"If the barons allow the prince to do this, then they are accepting that the king has won. I cannot see de Montfort allowing that to happen. Why else do you think that the king has gathered his army at Oxford? These nobles can argue for the rest of time, but it will not change what we have to do. You have spare horses?\"\n\n\"Aye, we have enough to carry our war gear and four remounts. And you?\"\n\n\"We do not yet have enough. When we begin this chevauch\u00e9e, the first thing we will need to do is capture more horses. Winter is terrible hard on horses. We need to strike and strike quickly. It is good that you have had your men practising with swords. They will need them.\"\n\n\"You are right. If it is wet then bowstrings do not send our arrows as far, and if there is fog we cannot see.\"\n\nWe were suddenly aware that the others had stopped talking and Sir John was giving me a wry smile. \"It seems Prince Edward's captains do not need to hear our plans.\"\n\nCaptain William smiled back and then answered, \"I am guessing, my lord, that we will be at the front, watching for foes, and Captain Gerald will be at the rear, guarding the baggage. As for where we will go first? I am guessing close to Peveril Castle. Makeslesfeld? Chesterfield?\"\n\n\"Chesterfield. And thence the lands close by. Sheffield might be too large a castle, but we will see. Captain Gerald, you and your archers need to be familiar with the land. It may prove useful later.\" He nodded. \"Very perceptive Captain William, for we will be based at Peveril Castle. At the moment, the garrison is ten old men. There should be plenty of room for us!\"\n\nWith those enigmatic comments ringing in my ears, we left. We had two days to prepare. While we had been in the inn, we had become familiar with the innkeeper, Dickon, and his family. Dick, son of Robin, had become even more familiar with his daughter, Mary. There was a liaison there that promised something more than a quick dalliance in the stable. As a result, I had decided to bury my coin in the stables. When we returned from the meeting I set my men to prepare, and I took my leather bag. I took out enough coins for my needs and then buried the rest in the stable. I cleared away the hay and dug a deep hole. I used a stone to cover the bag and then filled in the hole with soil. When I returned, I would know where my bag was when I found the stone. I covered it with hay. Gratifyingly, as I led my horse back into the stall, it deposited some dung there. The stables were as safe a place as any.\n\nDavid the Welshman had been on a chevauch\u00e9e, and when we ate that night in our lodgings, he explained in more detail what was entailed. He was more than happy to do so. He had enjoyed the experience. It had been profitable.\n\n\"The idea is to annoy your neighbours. You say we will be based in a castle?\"\n\n\"That is what Sir John said.\"\n\n\"Then so much the better. A chevauch\u00e9e takes any animal which moves; kills any man; burns the huts and houses of all that they see and, hopefully, entices the enemy to send out their knights to stop you.\"\n\nIt all made sense now. \"Sir Robert de Ferrers is busy around Gloucester and so his better knights should be there. I can see now why the prince does this, but I am guessing that it is we and the men at arms who will be doing the raiding.\"\n\nDavid the Welshman rubbed his hands together. \"And that means we get first pick of any weapons and coin. The people we are raiding will be poor, but they will have coins buried for their taxes.\"\n\nI could not help glancing towards the stables. To cover my guilty look I stood. \"It will be cold there. Snow may linger. Make sure you have warm cloaks and sealskin capes.\"\n\nIt was a long ride to the bleak, high land of Derbyshire, but Sir John had planned well. We were to stay halfway along our journey at Ashby de la Zouch with Sir Alan la Zouche. He was an old knight, but his family had served King Henry II and were loyal to the crown. We headed up the Great North Road. There were almost a hundred of us. The knights had brought servants and squires. Each had a small retinue of men at arms but I led the remaining archers. The men at arms who served the nine knights wore no mail, and their horses were not the best. I realised how lucky we were to have such a patron as Prince Edward.\n\nWe rode at the front, as William had predicted. We were not, however, scouting. We rode the main road, and we were a strong company. It would have taken a brave or perhaps foolish man indeed to challenge us. We wore the livery of the son of the king of England. We went with banners furled. Cloaked against the cold, we would look like what we were: ordinary men at arms and archers. Sir John wished the presence of the knights a secret.\n\nThe castle at Ashby was a wooden one. It was a motte and bailey. It had been expanded beyond the one built just before the civil war. The knights and squires were accommodated in the hall, but we had to make do with the stables. With so many horses we were overcrowded.\n\nPeveril Castle had a commanding view. I could see why King John had liked it so much. The land around it fell away. It was sheltered by a huge rocky outcrop, and the road which reached it wound up the steep slope. An enemy would be subject to missile attack all the way up. I could see nowhere that could accommodate a war machine capable of reducing the walls. It was triangular, with a huge keep at the narrow end, furthest from the gate. The stairs to the entrance of the keep were outside of it, meaning it could be defended. Inside, however, it was run down. It showed neglect. It had been a royal castle since before the reign of King John, but following the death of that most unhappy of kings, it had fallen into disrepair. The castellan, and that was a grand title for someone who was, in essence, a caretaker, was an old sergeant at arms. Miles Beauchamp. He was older than even my father had been. He had rheumy eyes and had run to fat. He gave his quarters to Sir John, and he and the rest of the garrison joined us in the barracks. Despite his age he had a good sense of humour and, even more importantly, knew the land around.\n\nMiles was not a noble and spoke easily with Captain William and I. \"The de Ferrers family are nothing more than robber barons! They are both grasping and cruel. It is time someone took them on! I wish I was young enough to ride with you.\"\n\n\"What can you tell us about the castles around here?\"\n\n\"Badequelle is the closest of the de Ferrers' manors. It has a small castle there and a church. Then there is Matlac. That is a rich manor. They have a fortified hall there. It is rich farmland. South of us is Buxton, which has a wooden castle. One knight is lord of the manor there, and he has twenty men serving him.\" He shook his head. \"Piss-poor lot they are. They are only fit for raiding farms!\"\n\n\"Is that it?\"\n\n\"The land all about is de Ferrers' land. There are many farms, and there is much livestock. Sheffield, which is his, is the big castle on the other side of Stanage Edge. That is held by Thomas de Furnival. He supports King Henry, but he is away fighting with his cousin in the Marches.\"\n\nI wondered why Prince Edward had not asked de Furnival to join this raid. Then I realised that it was a game they played and too complicated for a humble archer. We would just do what we had been asked. We were obeying our lawful lords and could not be held accountable for any wrongdoing. The pope himself had blessed King Henry's endeavours. Simon de Montfort and his allies, like de Ferrers, were trying to upset the natural balance and questioning the God-given right of the king to rule.\n\nWith our war gear stored and our horses stabled we prepared for our raid. Sir John had also spoken with Miles and knew almost as much as we did. I suspect Miles' language had been a little more flowery for the young noble. Captain William and I knew the calibre of men we would be dealing with. They were absolved outlaws! Sir John told us that we would be attacking the land around Matlac first. He had grown since I had first met him. I dare say I had too, but he now thought a little more about things.\n\n\"I want you two captains to take your men and raid Matlac. To get to it, you will have to pass Badequelle. There is a castle there. Just pass it on your way to Matlac. I want them to think that you are all that we have and that you are afraid of taking on their castle. With luck, they will send a rider to fetch men from Derby, Leicester or Nottingham; perhaps even Tutbury, which is Earl Ferrer's favourite castle. After Matlac we will take Badequelle, but I hope that we can keep the presence of so many knights hidden. When that is reduced we will head to Buxton, and our work should be done.\"\n\nCaptain William was more outspoken than I was. \"With respect, my lord, you are asking a lot from us.\"\n\nHe stiffened. \"These orders come from Prince Edward!\"\n\nI spread my arms. \"What Captain William is saying, lord, is that while I can see why we should keep the knights and squires hidden, there are men at arms who could swell our ranks.\" I was talking about those who served the other knights.\n\nI saw him relax a little. \"You may be right. They do not look as smart as you, and if they accompanied you it would make you look less suspicious. After we take Buxton, then we take Chesterfield. We want de Ferrers' land to be a wasteland and draw him back from Gloucester.\"\n\nThe men we were to take with us were a mixed band. Some were solidly dependable men. We had spoken to those on the way north. Others were not. They were more like the men Miles had told us about \u2013 \"piss-poor warriors\". None were archers and so it would be Captain William who had to keep them under control.\n\nWe left after dawn. It was a grey day. Dark clouds threatened rain and the wind was in our faces, from the north-east. It was a lazy wind. It did not go around you, it went straight through you. Such a wind did not suit archers. It made hands numb, and archery was about touch and feel. Miles Beauchamp had told us where the king's land ended and that of de Ferrers began. The first farm we saw had a small field which was being used for crops. It was winter and none were growing but there were two pigs rooting in the soil. In another field there were two dozen sheep and a couple of cows. As farms went it was poor and I felt guilty. I saw the farmer and his family look up at the sound of our approach. They did the right thing. They ran.\n\nDaniel of Tilbury laughed. \"Right lads, let's have some sport! Who wants the women?\"\n\nWilliam's voice was commanding. \"Hold! Let them go. We are here for the animals and anything of value on this farm.\"\n\nThe man at arms, who served Sir Richard of Deal, laughed. \"The most valuable things on this farm are those two pigs and that tasty young lass!\"\n\nCaptain William drew next to the man at arms. \"Let us get one thing clear. I give the orders. One more word from you and you will be sent back to Peveril!\"\n\n\"Suits me! I did not know we were raiding with a bunch of priests!\"\n\nCaptain William nodded. \"I warned you! Back to the castle.\"\n\n\"But\u2026\"\n\nCaptain William turned his horse around. \"I have wasted enough time with you. Go!\"\n\nDaniel of Tilbury's hand went to his sword but my hand was quicker and my dagger was pressed against his neck before the sword was halfway out. \"Do as the captain says,\" I smiled. \"Just to please me, eh?\"\n\nHe jerked his horse's head around and galloped off.\n\nThere was precious little on the farm. The owner was a poor farmer. He was obviously a freeman. His lord and master, de Ferrers, must not have treated his tenant well. William sent two of his men and two others back with the animals, and we rode on to the next place. This time it was a small village. Eight houses and huts made up Badequelle. The castle was a small one, but the church was made of stone. As we approached, the villagers fled across the ditch and into the castle, driving their animals before them.\n\nIt was annoying to ride past the castle. It was poorly maintained. I could see the palisades showed wear and tear from the harsh weather of the region. I dug my heels into my horse's flanks and joined Captain William. \"We could take that!\"\n\n\"I know, but to be fair to Sir John, this is the right plan. We can take Matlac easily. Whoever is in that castle will send a rider for help. The message will say that a warband of men rode past the castle. It will not mention knights. That gives us the element of surprise.\"\n\nIn fact, Matlac gave William a surprise. It was just a fortified manor house, but it was defended. As we galloped towards it, men left the fields to flee inside the hall. Women grabbed their children and quickly followed. William sent the men at arms he did not know to watch the rear of the hall. We dismounted and he said, \"We will use our men for this. Then whatever we find inside is ours.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Archers, string your bows.\" We tied our horses to the fence, which penned in the village pigs. It would be too far to drive them back to Peveril. We would slaughter them. Carcasses were more manageable. \"How do we do this?\"\n\n\"You and your archers keep your heads down. There looks to be just one entrance. There are steps up to it, but the cross-slits above might cause us a problem.\"\n\nI nodded and waved my men to me. \"We cover the men at arms. Hit anything that moves.\"\n\nI saw the end of a crossbow appear from one of the cross-slits below the upper wall. A hand emerged to place a bolt. I aimed at the middle of the cross. It was only sixty paces from me and not a difficult strike. The crossbow disappeared. I had no idea if I had killed the crossbowman, but I had deterred them. I saw that there was a sort of balustrade close to the roof. I realised there must be a trapdoor when I saw a helmet moving along it.\n\n\"Look to the roof!\" I nocked another arrow. My eyes had been tracking the helmet. As soon as I saw it rise, I released. At the same time John of Nottingham sent an arrow towards one of the cross-slits. My arrow struck the defender in the chest as he cleared the balustrade. He and his bow fell over the side.\n\nCaptain William and his men had wasted no time. They were already assaulting the door with axes. Robin of Barnsley sent an arrow towards a seemingly unoccupied cross-slit. Even above the sound of axes striking wood, I heard the scream. He nocked another arrow. \"I saw a flash of something. I have used one of those arrow slits before. It is possible to use a bow if you stand well back. I took a chance!\"\n\nThe blows on the doors intensified. My men sent more arrows towards the balustrade and the cross-slits. We had plenty of arrows, and when we captured the hall there would be some we could recover. A crash followed by a cheer told me that we had gained entry to the hall. Our work was done, and we moved a little closer to the hall. Screams, shouts and the clash of weapons told us the story of the battle for the hall. It would be an unequal battle. Captain William and his men at arms were seasoned warriors.\n\nAfter a short time the sergeant at arms, Ralph Dickson, emerged. The other sergeant at arms, Matthew, had died at Mold. Ralph waved me over. \"It is ours, Captain. Captain William asked that you slaughter the pigs and prepare to leave. I will go and fetch the others.\"\n\n\"Did we lose any?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"No! They had courage but no skill. Three of their warriors lie dead but the captain spared the rest. We are not butchers.\"\n\nWe had slaughtered the pigs and put them on the backs of the horses we had found by the time the villagers had been ejected from the village and sent on their way. They trudged north-east to Chesterfield. We fired the hall and the village, and with the cows and sheep, along with chests from the hall, we headed home. I rode with Captain William.\n\n\"He was a rich one, I will say that. I found a chest of coins.\" He winked at me. \"I have them safe. We will divide them between our men at Peveril.\"\n\n\"Yours did the hard work.\"\n\n\"We are all Prince Edward's men! Besides, you and your archers slew as many men as we did. You did your part.\"\n\nThe village of Badequelle was still empty when we passed through it. The gates of the castle were still barred. The sight of us driving animals and with laden horses would ensure that the villagers would still be inside the castle the next day. They would not risk returning home while we were raiding. Miles Beauchamp looked happy as we dismounted. \"Pigs! I hope you found salt, my lads!\"\n\nCaptain William laughed. \"This is not our first raid! Of course we did, and I hope you have someone who can do justice to these fine beasts! We would enjoy one this night.\"\n\n\"And this is not the first pig I will have roasted! We have the last of the windfall apples in store. I can promise that we will have a feast in the barracks this night!\" Captain William went with Miles to choose the pig we would eat. It would be the biggest, and after another had been selected for the knights, we would have the rest salted and preserved.\n\nSir John emerged with Geoffrey as we began to unpack the horses. \"A good raid.\"\n\nI nodded. \"See for yourself, my lord. Captain William set the hall and houses afire. The castle at Badequelle is barred, with the villagers within. It is all as you commanded.\"\n\n\"Good.\" He looked over at Captain William, who was leading a horse, along with Miles, towards the kitchens. \"What of this man at arms? He said Captain William threatened him.\"\n\n\"No, lord, Captain William just sent him back. It was I who threatened him when he thought to draw sword against the captain. He wanted to use and abuse the girls and women from the first farm. We do not do that.\"\n\n\"He did not say that.\"\n\nI laughed. \"Of course he did not, lord. He ran bleating to his master, who came bleating to you. When you run with a pack of dogs, you must expect that not all are the beasts you would choose.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"And the castle at Badequelle?\"\n\n\"It is not well made, lord.\"\n\n\"Are the men able to ride again on the morrow?\"\n\n\"They could ride again now. It was only Captain William's men who did any real work. The ones we ejected will be at Chesterfield soon, lord. They will probably bring more men to reinforce the castle at Badequelle. If we do not attack and reduce Badequelle soon, then it will be reinforced and our task will be twice as hard.\"\n\nRichard seemed outraged at my impertinence. \"Archer it is not your place to advise Sir John!\"\n\n\"Nor is it yours to defend me! Captain Gerald is quite right. I was given a task, and if I am to complete it then I must be decisive.\"\n\nMy conversation had meant that the horses had all been unpacked by the time I led mine to the stable. Captain William was waiting for me. He handed me a bag of coins. \"Here is the share for your archers. I did not count it, I weighed it.\"\n\nI nodded. \"It matters not. We did little.\" I put the bag in my tunic and we headed back to the barracks. \"We attack Badequelle tomorrow.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I like not this way of war. I am a warrior and would prefer to make war on another warrior. These are poor people we fight.\"\n\n\"The lord we killed today was not poor, but you are right. It is winter and the people we sent north will suffer. We are just doing what our lord tells us. We have committed no sin.\"\n\nI told him of Daniel of Tilbury's complaint. \"Then I will have to lay down the law. We cannot have such divisions.\"\n\nAs we walked into the barracks we knew that something had happened. Daniel of Tilbury was rising from the floor. Two of his friends were helping him. His nose was spread across his face. I saw Jack of Lincoln with bruised knuckles and it did not take much imagination to picture what had happened.\n\nJohn of Nottingham came over to speak to us. \"That Daniel of Tilbury made threats against your lives. Jack has a short temper.\"\n\nI nodded. Captain William shouted, \"Listen to me! I command the men at arms here. All of the men at arms! You may serve a lord, but until this chevauch\u00e9e is ended, if you have complaints then bring them to me.\" He glared at Daniel of Tilbury. \"If you be men, then act like it. Tomorrow we go to take a castle. It will be the men in this barracks who have the task of taking those walls. We will all be shield brothers. There will be no more talk of vengeance. Is that clear?\"\n\nThere was a murmur of approval. \"I cannot hear you!\"\n\n\"Yes, Captain!\" they roared.\n\n\"And you, what happened to you?\" He pointed at Daniel of Tilbury.\n\n\"I had too much ale and fell over going for a piss.\"\n\n\"Good.\" He took a silver penny from his purse and tossed it to him. \"Here, this is for your troubles.\"\n\nDaniel nodded.\n\nI would not share the coin we had taken in front of the others. I would wait until we were alone. There was enough bad feeling without aggravating it.\n\nWhen we rode forth the next day we had knights and squires with us. This time, we had my archers as scouts. Heading out first allowed me to share out the coins as I'd planned. It was an incentive for them to repeat what we had done the previous day.\n\nWe did not ride along the road. I divided my men and we rode across the fields and used as much cover as we could. Sir John would lead the main body along the road. He knew that if there was any danger then we would warn him. This way we would get close to Badequelle without being seen.\n\nAs we approached Badequelle I saw that men were in the fields. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I drew my sword and dug my heels into my horse's flanks. We galloped over the recently ploughed field. The hooves stuck a little in the sticky morass but that made our approach less noisy. We were two hundred paces from them before they saw us. A cry went up and women grabbed children and ran for the bridge over the ditch. The men ran too, but they found the muddy fields more difficult than we did. I did not wish to kill them. Using the flat of my sword I smacked it into the back of the head of the first villager I reached. He fell face down in the mud. Jack of Lincoln used his fist in the face of the man he followed, for the man he chased turned around. Five of the villagers were felled in a similar manner.\n\n\"Robin of Barnsley, secure the men! John of Nottingham, search the houses. The rest of you, to the bridge.\" We had caught them unawares. They had been forced to leave the bridge in place, for Matty Straw Hair had dismounted, and as one of the garrison tried to raise the bridge, Matty slew him with an arrow. The other three ran back into the gate, which slammed shut.\n\nThe castle was an old-fashioned motte and bailey. There was just one entrance, which we soon commanded. Once the rest of my men reached us they dismounted and, like us, nocked an arrow. The men in the castle had been too busy closing the gates to man the walls, but now they did so. The hall and inner ward were too far away from the gate to be able to support the men on the walls, and the men who would defend the walls ran through the outer ward. As heads appeared we sent arrows towards them. Matty hit one but it was hard to see if it was a killing blow or not.\n\nI heard hooves coming down the road and saw Sir John leading the rest of the men. We had the upper hand. Had there been archers on their walls, or even crossbows, they could have made life difficult for us. As it was, we had eight bows aimed at the gate and the walls, which were adjacent. My men were the best. I doubted that the men inside the castle had practised, other than on a Sunday after church.\n\n\"Well done, Captain. You managed to secure the bridge.\"\n\n\"That was Matty, lord, he has quick reactions.\"\n\nSir John turned in his saddle. \"Captain William. You may begin your assault.\" Sir John raised his arm and led his nine knights and squires down the Matlac road. Captain William organised his men into two columns. One was led by his sergeant at arms, Ralph, and was made up of the prince's men, for they were mailed. He led the rest. He looked over at me and shouted, \"Whenever you are ready!\"\n\n\"Just go, and we will cover you.\"\n\nWith shields held before them they tramped over the bridge. The defenders raised their heads. The first four did not live long enough to regret it, as they were plucked from the walls. Realising that we had made the walls a death-trap, they resorted to throwing stones over the top of the palisade. It did not work. The odd stone which hit its target was deflected by a shield. I heard a trumpet and wondered what it meant.\n\nThe axes of the front four of our men began to hack at the gate. They made short work of it, and when the gates burst asunder and they ran in, we saw the defenders fleeing across the outer ward towards the keep. Taking the keep would be harder, as they would have archers on the walls of the palisade, which protected it. This was also a higher wall. However, Ralph and the men at arms were in close pursuit, and there was little likelihood that the defenders would be able to raise the bridge over the ditch.\n\nAs soon as Ralph and his men had crossed, I led my archers the same way. Without armour we would be faster than Captain William and his men. Already Ralph's men had taken casualties. He had a shield wall, but sheltering behind it were two wounded men. Bolts or arrows had struck them in their legs.\n\nI shouted, \"Use the shields for cover and then clear those walls.\"\n\nThe men sending their arrows and bolts at us were part-time warriors. We were professionals. We did this every day. More importantly than that, all of us were highly skilled. I was pulling an arrow as we neared the men at arms. I nocked it and looked for a target. I saw an archer swivel, and I ducked. The arrow flew over my head. In an instant I had risen and sent an arrow back at him. Perhaps he thought he had hit me for he did not move and my arrow struck him in the face. His body hung over the palisade. We would have to eliminate them one by one. Captain William would use the other men at arms to break down the gates. They were fresher. We had to stop them being struck.\n\nAll of my men had joined me. The men I had sent to search the village had finished their task. We now had more archers and more arrows. It would only be a matter of time. It became a game of cat and mouse. We looked for movement, whilst they tried to catch us making a mistake. We made none. When the axes began to hack at the gate it became easier, for their archers tried to lean over the side of the palisade to hit the men at arms. As soon as they did so they signed their own death warrant.\n\nThe end, when it came, was dramatic. The gates burst open and every man at arms raced through. We cleared the walls and Captain William and his men hurried to the keep. This was not a stone one. It was wood and we had fire. Even as we hurried through the gate, I heard Captain William shout, \"Surrender or burn!\"\n\nBefore he could be answered Geoffrey galloped through the outer gate. \"Captain, his lordship needs you. Enemy horsemen are approaching. He needs support.\"\n\n\"Archers, with me.\" As I passed one of the wounded men at arms, Tom, John's Son, I said, \"Tell Captain William there are horsemen approaching. He should man the walls.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "When we reached the village I saw the small group of knights and squires preparing to charge the approaching horsemen. They were outnumbered. I counted four banners. That meant four knights led them. They would have retinues. I estimated between eight and twelve men to a knight. There could be fifty men fighting the eighteen that Sir John was leading. They were over four hundred paces from us and I cursed Sir John. He should have drawn them onto our bows. This way, we would have to run to reach them, and by then they would be engaged.\n\nWe were just a hundred paces from them when we heard the crack of spears shattering on shields. Horses neighed and screamed and then there was the clash of steel.\n\n\"We have to get amongst them. Remember our men wear the red cross. Any with a white cross is a foe.\"\n\nI saw a man at arms ride around the rear of the squires. I nocked and released in one motion. The men at arms were not as well armoured as the knights. Their mail was of poorer quality. My arrow drove through his left arm and into his body. He slumped but then turned his horse to gallop away. I did not care. It was one less foe. There was no point in sending arrows overhead. We had no idea who we might hit. This was risky, but I gambled that the knights and squires would be seen as more attractive targets than mere archers.\n\nAlready my men were having success. When an archer releases an arrow from thirty paces or so, it is almost impossible to miss, and there is no mail yet made which could stop our arrows. I released another, and my arrow hit a man at arms in the middle of his skull. The arrow came out of the back of his helmet. Some of my men had sent arrows into enemy horses. That was a clever tactic. The maddened beasts bucked and kicked. They caused more damage to the other horses. We stayed behind our squires.\n\nOne of the knights must have seen us. I saw him stand in his stirrups to shout an order. He was too tempting a target. My arrow hit him in the right shoulder as he raised his sword. His squire took his reins and led him away from the fray.\n\nHaving noticed, a dozen men at arms rode at us with lances poised to slaughter us. I shouted, \"Turn and release!\" Even though they were just thirty paces from us when we turned, they were doomed. In the time it took to close with us, I could send three arrows at them. Each of my men could send two. All twelve horsemen were hit. As one of the horses galloped at me I swiped it across the muzzle with my bow to make it turn. It did so. With half the men at arms dead, one knight and squire fled while the other three knights yielded. Only one of Sir John's knights had been wounded. That was the way when knight fought knight. It was rarely to the death. Often archers and men at arms were discouraged from killing them as they were worth more alive and ransomed.\n\nI saw that Robin of Barnsley had been knocked over by a careering horse. He stood, somewhat groggily. \"Bloody stupid horse!\" He pointed to one whose throat had just been cut by Tom to put it out of its misery, \"I shall enjoy eating that one tonight!\"\n\nSir John took off his helmet and rode over to us. \"Thank you, Captain, that was timely indeed. Did we take the castle?\"\n\n\"We did, my lord.\"\n\n\"Good, then burn the village and have Captain William burn the castle. It will not be used by de Ferrers again!\"\n\nThe next days were much of the same. We burned everything connected with the de Ferrers family. We all became richer. Even Daniel of Tilbury had realised the benefits of obeying Captain William. We ate and slept well. But it was too good to last, and when a messenger in Prince Edward's livery arrived, we knew that the chevauch\u00e9e was ended. The weather was improving and we were needed elsewhere.\n\nSir John sent for me first. \"Gerald, we have been ordered back to Oxford, but Prince Edward wishes you to scout out Northampton on the way back.\"\n\n\"Northampton, my lord?\"\n\n\"The younger de Montfort, Simon, and Peter de Montfort are there. King Henry hopes to draw de Montfort north. Do not take risks. The prince wants a way in. We both know the castle, but I confess that neither of us took much notice of the town itself. If we are to take it then we need to know how the town is defended. We know the garrison of the castle and are familiar with its layout. How many men will you need?\"\n\n\"Just one, my lord. I will take Jack of Lincoln.\"\n\nI gave Jack of Lincoln instructions and sought out Miles Beauchamp. He gave us two old cloaks. I thought it prudent to go in disguise if we were riding in the heart of the land of the de Montforts. We had almost a hundred miles to travel so we left before dawn. Thanks to our chevauchee we had plenty of food. Our ale skins were full and we even had grain for our horses. Spring was almost upon us and green shoots were sprouting everywhere. However, this was England, and that still meant rain and driving winds. We rode in silence through the de Montfort land.\n\nOne effect of our raids had been to make the manors we attacked better defended. That left the wilder places empty and we used those. We were both men who were comfortable in such places. We avoided any towns. De Montfort's manor at Tutbury and his castle at Derby would be well garrisoned, as would Leicester.\n\nWe stopped our weary horses in an oak wood some forty miles north of Northampton. There was water for our horses and just enough new grass to feed them. We did not risk a fire. We had eaten hot food for many days, and a few days of bread, salted meat and cheese would do us no harm.\n\nAs we curled up in our blankets Jack said, \"Since Peter died, I have thought of nights like this, when we slept in the greenwood. They were hard times, but I miss them.\"\n\n\"You would go back to being an outlaw?\"\n\nHe laughed. \"I am no fool, Captain. This life is better. No man hunts us. We have food in our bellies and clothes on our backs. It is just that there are things about this new life I do not like.\"\n\n\"The chevauch\u00e9e?\"\n\n\"Aye, you knew?\"\n\n\"I did not like hurting the poor people. The nobles for whom we fight do not see them as people. You and I have been poor. We have eked out a living. Given a choice, I would not have done it.\"\n\n\"What we do, is it right?\"\n\n\"We serve the future king of England. God put his father on the throne and we are duty-bound to fight for him. At heart Prince Edward is a good man. If there were not rebels we would not have raided. I console myself with that. They are to blame. If they did not rebel, then we would not need to raid.\"\n\nHe was silent for a while. \"You are a clever man, Captain. For one so young you appear to have wisdom. Your words have comforted me. I still do not like what we did, but you cannot undo that which you have done.\"\n\n\"And know this, Jack of Lincoln, when next you draw your bow, it will be against warriors. War is coming. We will be doing the king's and God's will. We will be fighting rebels.\"\n\nNorthampton was protected on one side by the River Nene. We knew that much from speaking with Sir John, who described the town for us. He had been there with Prince Edward when Prince Edward had been an ally and friend of Peter de Montfort. The town was walled, and the castle was situated in the south-west corner, where the river turned. We arrived after dark and camped across the river, close to the north-west corner. We would take the next day to scout out the walls.\n\nWe were woken in the early hours by the sound of chanting. There was a church close by. Once awake, I decided to begin our task early. We left our bows and went to the river. It was still dark, and it was a risk, but we forded the river. At one point it came up to our chests, but it was not wide.\n\nWe scrambled up the bank. There was a ditch before the wall. I think it was there as a drainage feature, for whilst deep, it was not broad. When we had arrived we had noticed the wall, but once we were close up to it we realised that it was not as substantial as we had thought. The mortar between the stones needed replacing. I took a risk and picked one of the stones up. It was not attached. The wall at this priory was rotten. We could hear the watch of the castle walls, some two hundred and fifty paces south of us. There was little point in risking discovery there. The prince knew of the castle. He had stayed there. It was the town with which he was unfamiliar. Instead, we headed north, back along the wall of the town, with the river next to us.\n\nAs we walked around the unguarded walls, we could hear the sound of the monks in the priory as they chanted their prayers. As we headed east along the wall we saw the sky begin to lighten. The town walls ran towards the south-east. The ditch, which was supposed to protect it, had fallen into disrepair. De Montfort thought this town was safe. As we approached the road from the north the sky became much lighter. I decided to cross the road away from the castle and the north gate. We made it unseen, although from the north I heard the sound of carts. It would be a market day, and traders were coming to sell. The gates would be open at dawn. We moved along the fields to the east of the walls. It was a risk, for any who manned the walls would see us. As dawn broke it became clear that they did not keep a watch on the town walls. Emboldened, we moved closer to them.\n\nWe spied a church ahead and saw that there were three gates in the walls. The church was outside the gates. Roads with a steady stream of people came from the east to enter the town. We looked out of place and so I headed for the church. As I expected, it was open. We went in and knelt. It would do no harm to pray, and we did so. An archer always needed God's help.\n\nWhen we left the church I saw that the wall began to curve around. I decided to take a chance. I nodded towards the east gate. Jack and I joined the throng of people heading to the market. Our swords were hidden by our cloaks, but it mattered not. The two men of the town watch were too busy talking to each other to notice us.\n\nOnce inside, we followed the rest of the people to the marketplace and All Saints' Church. There we could disappear. The first thing I noticed was the castle, which dominated the town. It was on a high piece of ground, whether a natural feature or man-made I was not certain. There was a curtain wall which ran around it and another gate. The town might be taken but the castle would remain a problem. However, as I examined it, I saw that the towers were roofless and some of the stonework was crumbling. It was not maintained.\n\nIf we had attempted to leave the town it would have looked suspicious, and so we returned to the market. We spent a few coins. I bought a narrow-bladed dagger and scabbard. It would fit inside my boot. Then we went to an inn for ale and food. We chose a busy one to hide us and to allow us to listen to the conversations.\n\nIt proved a productive time. We used some of our coin to eat and drink well. We stayed for a couple of hours and the innkeeper proved to be a useful source of information. We were good customers and spending more than most. By the time we left, in the middle of the afternoon, we were best friends! We also had knowledge which had been worth the outlay of silver. The two de Montforts were in residence, and there was a garrison. It seemed that there were more than fifty knights in the town, castle and surrounding manors. The innkeeper told us that most preferred their manors to the crumbling castle. He happily furnished that information. He made money from guests and it helped to make him a rich man. However, the innkeeper had been less than impressed with the young Simon de Montfort. He saw him as reckless, whereas his father was well respected. He confirmed that no watch was kept on the walls at night. He had laughed when we questioned the laxity. \"Why do we need to? Our castle is the strongest north of London, and every man in the town knows how to use a weapon. If any tried to capture it they would have the town to fight.\"\n\nWe left by the south gate. We crossed the bridge and I noted the number, position and arms of the guards. We carried on south to cross the river and then headed first west and then east to return to our camp and our horses. It was late afternoon when we reached them. As we had headed deep into the land, we had been aware of the brooding presence of the castle. The keep dominated that side of the town.\n\nIt was still light, we were well fed and our horses were rested. We mounted and headed west. We would make camp in the night and try to make Oxford in a day. We had done that which the prince had commanded.\n\nOxford was a massive armed camp when we arrived. King Henry himself was there, as well as Prince Edward's brother, Richard of Cornwall. I looked at Jack as we approached. \"I have a feeling that as soon as we give our report, we will be moving. When we enter I will find Sir John. You had better go and warn the men.\"\n\n\"Aye. At least this will be a battle worth fighting. It will be men we face.\"\n\nAlthough it was evening and the evening food was ready, I was ushered into the presence of not only Sir John but Prince Edward, Richard of Cornwall and the king himself. They were definitely eager for my news. I was not certain which of them to address. It must have shown on my face for Prince Edward smiled and said, \"Captain Gerald, you are my archer. Tell me all and what you think.\" I saw his father give him a sharp, disapproving look. \"My liege, I trust this humble archer. He may look young, indeed he is, but he has saved my life on more than one occasion, and he seems to have an understanding of war.\"\n\nThe king nodded. \"Proceed.\"\n\nI told them what I had discovered. At first I was nervous, but once I began I gained in confidence. When I had finished Prince Edward said, \"And where would an archer attack?\"\n\nAgain, his father and his brother looked surprised.\n\n\"The priory has a weakened wall. If you sent a few men over at night-time, they could remove some of the stones. Horsemen could ride across the river easily. It is not deep. The priory grounds are extensive.\"\n\nKing Henry spoke. \"My son might be right. There is more to you than meets the eye. Tell me, archer, the south gate. Did it have a double gate?\"\n\n\"No, your majesty.\"\n\n\"And you say the ditch is in a state of ill repair?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nHe looked at his sons. \"Then we will attack the southern gate. A dawn attack might well catch them asleep. We can use the bridge over the Nene to bring all of our men to the attack.\"\n\n\"But my captain's idea is a good one.\"\n\n\"It is, and I commend your choice of archer. Nonetheless, an attack on the priory wall would necessitate fording the river, and there is no guarantee of success.\" He smiled and took out a golden mark. \"You have done well. This is for your trouble, and I will watch you when we go to war.\"\n\nI bowed and left. A short while later Sir John hurried out after me. \"Well done, Gerald, that cannot have been easy. I think the prince likes your plan. Come to his quarters on the morrow, and bring Captain William with you.\"\n\nAt that meeting we formulated a plan to attack the priory. Our master was confident he could persuade his father to go along with his idea.\n\nWe left for Northampton on the third day of April. We rode behind the dragon standard, which I was told meant that no quarter would be given. Captain William did not think that meant much. \"It is to terrify the rank and file. King Henry hopes that they will flee when we are near.\"\n\nWe camped on the Friday night so that we could be in a position to attack the town on the morning of Saturday, the fifth day of April. We would not be attacking with the rest of the army. Prince Edward had persuaded his father to allow us to make a diversionary attack on the walls. His father had liked the idea of drawing defenders to the north-west of the town and allowing his men to use ladders to scale the southern defences. I knew that he would lose more men there than Prince Edward would. However, I had a great responsibility. I had told the prince that we could remove the stones and gain entry for our knights. I had to do as I had promised.\n\nPrince Edward himself came to speak to Captain William and me. \"When we fight tomorrow, do not slay the knights! They are worth coin to us. Demand that they surrender. Wound them if you must, but do not slay them. They are worthless if you do. Alive, they can be used to bargain.\"\n\nAfter he had left us I said, \"He puts men's lives at risk. What if they do not surrender? Do we let them slay us?\"\n\n\"Did you not hear him? Wound them. Your archers are good enough to put an arrow where they will be incapacitated and not dead.\" He was right, and I nodded.\n\nIt was impossible to move such a large army through the land and remain hidden. We knew that Simon de Montfort would be summoning his men to London so that he could march north and meet us in the field. Attacking Northampton was a declaration of war. We camped separately from the rest of the army. We would be assaulting the wall with just five hundred men. Half would be the local levy, and the rest would be knights and professional soldiers. It would be Prince Edward's own men who would break down the wall and hold it until the knights could enter the priory and thence the town. A fifth of our band had fought together in the chevauch\u00e9e. We knew each other. All enmity had been forgotten. We had all profited from the chevauch\u00e9e. More than that, we had all fought alongside one another. We were fast becoming a band of brothers.\n\nThe next morning we headed for Northampton. In one way, King Henry's strategy was a good one. His attack would be on the main road from London. If relief was coming, they would have to get through our forces. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon. Camp was made. Those inside the town knew we were there but could do nothing about it. They were needed on the walls, and our attack had negated their numbers. Richard of Cornwall was sent to the east gates to prevent those being used. As soon as it was dark, we left.\n\nJack and I led. We had ridden this route in daylight and knew it. The trees and the undergrowth around the river disguised our movement, although I have no doubt that the sentries on the walls would have heard us. We halted in the place where Jack and I had left our horses on the scouting expedition. We did not speak. Prince Edward and Sir John, along with Captain William, joined us. I pointed to the wall. Prince Edward had asked us to demolish a section, forty horse-lengths wide. Captain William's men would aid us. Leaving our bows on the west bank, Jack and I led the two bands across the river. The ditch was slightly wider than I remembered. I hoped that the others would think to put the stones we removed into the ditch.\n\nWe worked silently. The monks were in their church, for we could hear them chanting. The smell of incense drifted over to us. I was working with my men, and they emulated me, laying the stones into the ditch so that the horses would be able to cross. It was slow and painstaking work. The archers were stronger, and I could see that we were demolishing the wall faster than the men at arms. The hint of dawn was in the sky when we heard the shout from the south gate. King Henry had launched his attack. It was early in the day, and he would lose men as a result. The idea had been that we would launch a surprise attack from within the town, rendering the defence of the south gate irrelevant. That was when I realised that Prince Edward was a better leader than his father. We worked on urgently. We removed our section, and I sent half of our men back to fetch the bows and tell the prince we were almost ready to attack.\n\nI was just stringing my bow, the sun visible in the sky, when there was a shout. Men ran towards us.\n\nCaptain William shouted, \"Stand to!\"\n\nI looked across the river. The prince was not yet ready. His father's premature attack had caught him out. It was men from the town who ran at us first. Our arrows found flesh, for they wore no mail. None came even close to the men at arms. Then I heard a shout and saw three riders approach. There was a warhorse ridden by a knight. The other two were a squire and a sergeant at arms. My men would leave the knight and squire alone. Six arrows struck the unfortunate sergeant at arms. The squire wisely reined in, but the knight dropped his reins and bravely charged towards us. I dropped my bow and drew my sword. I could not risk him falling from his horse and breaking his neck. His horse took the decision for him. My waving arm and sword made it swerve. It baulked at the partly demolished wall, close by Captain William's men. The knight soared over his horse's head, cleared the wall and landed in the ditch.\n\nI ran directly to him. I hoped he was not dead, for we might be blamed. Already the prince and his men were fording the river. The knight's helmet had fallen from his head and he looked up at me. I shouted at him, \"Surrender, my lord, or die!\" He did not know that I would not kill him. Behind me was Jack of Lincoln, and with his split nose we looked like bandits rather than members of Prince Edward's retinue.\n\nHe held out his hand, \"I yield, bowman!\"\n\nI pulled him out as Prince Edward arrived. The prince was grinning, \"Well done, Captain, you have captured Simon de Montfort the Younger.\" He turned in his saddle, \"Sir Aubrey, escort him to safety!\" Then he stood in his stirrups, unsheathed his sword and shouted, \"God and King Henry! On my warriors!\" The horsemen clambered over the half-demolished wall. I sheathed my sword and picked up my bow. We followed the horsemen.\n\nWe had slain some of the townsfolk, but others were racing to try to send us back from whence we came. The horsemen were terrifying enough, but when our arrows began to fall amongst them they surrendered. They were forced to ride down the streets of the town, but we were able to go through the gates of the Black Friar's monastery, which was next to St Andrew's Priory. We saw the men on the castle walls. Amazingly, I saw that part of the wall had fallen and been hurriedly repaired with wood. The turrets had no wooden roof to protect them. We had the opportunity to end this battle quickly.\n\n\"Dick, son of Robin, find Captain William and bring him hence. We have a God-given chance to enter the castle without casualties.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain!\"\n\nThere was no ditch, and the curtain wall was undefended. Part of King Henry's plan had succeeded. The attention was on the south and the east. The north and west were deserted. We were fewer than thirty paces from the inner wall and keep when I saw the first soldiers run to the fighting platform on the wall walk. All three of them were hit by a shower of arrows.\n\n\"Start to pull down the wooden repairs! Quickly! The first in will have the first choice!\"\n\nMy men set to. While half watched, the other half began to tear at the wood. Some of my men had hatchets which we used to cut kindling. They began to use them to make holes in the wood. Ralph Dickson was the first to reach us.\n\n\"A stroke of luck, Gerald!\"\n\n\"Aye, let us not waste it.\"\n\nThe men at arms had axe-armed warriors amongst them and made short work of the wood. With an arrow nocked, I led my men through the breach. The gate to the keep was open. Captain William arrived and shouted, \"Hold the keep, Captain Gerald, and I will secure the gate! We have them!\"\n\nI saw a man running from the main gate. He spied us and shouted a warning. My arrow struck him in mid-stride. I dropped my bow and drew my sword, \"Archers, follow me.\" I ran to the door, which remained enticingly open. I could hear shouts from within as they saw Captain William and his men running to the defenders at the main gate and into the inner ward. I saw a hand gripping the edge of the door, and I swung my sword, slicing through the fingers. I hauled it open. A man at arms stood there. He was fully mailed, with helmet and shield. He raised his sword. I was a dead man. Two arrows flew from behind me and he fell dead.\n\n\"Robin, you and Matty hold the gate. Keep it open. The rest of you, with me.\"\n\nThe interior was in as bad a state of repair as the outside. Men at arms ran down the stairs towards us. At such close range my men could not miss. With the ground level cleared I hurried to the stairs. John of Nottingham had also discarded his bow, and we moved up the stairs with Jack of Lincoln and Dick, son of Robin, behind, with bows drawn. The others were ensuring that no defenders remained hidden to ambush us. The keep had an open wooden staircase. I had my dagger out, as well as my sword. As with all castles it was designed to favour the defender. As I turned the corner of the keep, a pair of men at arms suddenly leapt from the door. They had the space to swing their swords. Even as I lifted my dagger to block the first sword, two arrows flew to end their lives. The door ahead of us slammed shut.\n\nBelow me I heard the sound of feet running in, as Captain William led a handful of his men into the keep. \"Come, you lazy lummoxes! The archers will have all the treasure.\"\n\nThe ill-repair of the castle was shown when John of Nottingham and I hit the door with our shoulders. Instead of remaining unmoved, there was a definite creak, and powder came from the hinges. The door had not been well made and the mortar was deteriorating. Captain William and four of his men appeared on the step below us.\n\n\"This needs men with mail.\" We moved down the wall to allow the four of them to charge the door. \"On three. One, two, three!\"\n\nJohn and I had weakened it, and when they hit the door it collapsed inwards, taking them with it. We ran over their prostrate bodies and into the chamber. It was the main hall, and there was a table, chairs and wall hangings. More importantly, there were twenty men. I saw two knights with their squires. The rest were men at arms and fair game. My two archers had followed us, and they sent two arrows into the nearest men at arms. John and I moved closer together. Neither of us were as good with swords as the men at arms.\n\nFour enemy men at arms ran at us. I was dimly aware of Captain William and his four men at arms getting to their feet. Two of the men trying to get at us were slain by my archers. The other two realised that their best chance of avoiding an arrow was to close with us. They rushed us. Like John and I, they were armed with sword and dagger. The difference was that they knew how to use them. I reacted. I blocked the sword strike with my dagger. Had I not been as strong as I was, then I would not have held it.\n\nCaptain William and his men at arms were carving their way into the enemy. My two archers had less chance of hitting anyone, for the room was crowded, but all that I was trying to do was stay alive. I swung my sword somewhat clumsily at the man I was fighting and he flicked it away with his dagger. I saw him twist the dagger and begin to bring it back to stab me. I had to resort to street fighting and brute strength. As the blade came up, I hooked my right leg behind his left and pushed with my shoulder. We tumbled to the ground. His sword arm dragged me down. As we landed he gave a soft sigh. I felt blood in my hand. As I stood I saw that my body weight had forced the dagger into his body. I rose and turned in time to see the other man at arms with his sword ready to skewer John of Nottingham. I brought my sword around with such force that it cut through his mail and into his body. He fell, dying.\n\n\"I owe you a life, Captain! I was a dead man for sure!\"\n\n\"We are brothers in arms, John, we owe each other nothing.\"\n\nThe two knights and squires stood before the remaining ten men at arms. It was a stand-off. Captain William shouted, \"Yield, Sir Peter!\"\n\n\"To a man at arms? Never! We will die first!\"\n\nCaptain William was hamstrung. We could not kill them. I said, \"Jack of Lincoln. Choose a squire and pin his foot to the floor.\"\n\nThe squires heard me, but the speed of Jack was such that the arrow buried itself up to its fletch and pinned the foot of one of them to the floorboards before either of them could react.\n\n\"Sir Peter, there are worse things than death. My archers are so accurate that I could have named a toe. Prince Edward and the king will be here soon, and then you will surrender. Save the lives of your men at arms. Yield to Captain William!\"\n\nThe whimpering squire ensured that they obeyed. They sheathed their swords. It would not do to hand them over to a commoner, but the men at arms handed over their swords. Two bows, with arrows aimed at them, ensured their compliance. Captain William escorted the two knights and the squires downstairs. Ralph Dickon bound the foot of the squire, who glowered murderously at us as he left.\n\nBefore the nobles came, we made sure that we took all that there was to take from the dead and the purses of the men at arms. They allowed us to do so. There was an understanding. We were all men of war. Had the roles been reversed, then we would have expected the same treatment. We would share with Captain William and his men later. After escorting the prisoners to the inner ward, we ransacked the upper floors. To the victor goes the spoils. I had heard the phrase, and it was now that I truly understood it. We had taken the risks and our chances, and we had been rewarded.\n\nWe used two chests to carry our booty down the stairs. The inner ward was filled with horses, knights, prisoners and, of course, the king and his son. John of Nottingham and my men slipped out through the hole in the wall we had made, carrying the chests. Our horses were still across the river by the priory.\n\nPrince Edward was speaking with Sir John and Captain William. King Henry nodded to me and said, somewhat grudgingly, \"It seems your archer has ideas, my son. I am surprised. I did not think that the common man had the wit for such thoughts. Perhaps, in the past, some lord laid with one of his ancestors. Still, if he comes up with such devices, perhaps you are well advised to keep him around you.\"\n\nSir John felt honour bound to defend me, \"My liege, Captain Gerald captured Simon de Montfort and he and Captain William captured Peter de Montfort! Had they been knights, then they would both be rich men.\"\n\nKing Henry gave a reptilian smile and said, \"But as they are commoners, then the crown will benefit from their capture. Sir John, have the keep searched. There must be valuables inside! Let us profit from its capture, eh?\"\n\n\"Aye, my lord.\"\n\nI gave a wry smile to Captain William. They would be disappointed. I might be Prince Edward's archer, but I knew enough about nobility to be my own man. Gone was the innocent who had followed a faithless knight. Now I followed a future king, but I would always watch out for myself."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Agincourt",
        "author": "Bernard Cornwell",
        "genres": [
            "medieval",
            "France"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "On a winter's day in 1413, just before Christmas, Nicholas Hook decided to commit murder.\n\nIt was a cold day. There had been a hard frost overnight and the midday sun had failed to melt the white from the grass. There was no wind so the whole world was pale, frozen and still when Hook saw Tom Perrill in the sunken lane that led from the high woods to the mill pastures.\n\nNick Hook, nineteen years old, moved like a ghost. He was a forester and even on a day when the slightest footfall could sound like cracking ice he moved silently. Now he went upwind of the sunken lane where Perrill had one of Lord Slayton's draft horses harnessed to the felled trunk of an elm. Perrill was dragging the tree to the mill so he could make new blades for the water wheel. He was alone and that was unusual because Tom Perrill rarely went far from home without his brother or some other companion, and Hook had never seen Tom Perrill this far from the village without his bow slung on his shoulder.\n\nNick Hook stopped at the edge of the trees in a place where holly bushes hid him. He was one hundred paces from Perrill, who was cursing because the ruts in the lane had frozen hard and the great elm trunk kept catching on the jagged track and the horse was balking. Perrill had beaten the animal bloody, but the whipping had not helped and Perrill was just standing now, switch in hand, swearing at the unhappy beast.\n\nHook took an arrow from the bag hanging at his side and checked that it was the one he wanted. It was a broadhead, deep-tanged, with a blade designed to cut through a deer's body, an arrow made to slash open arteries so that the animal would bleed to death if Hook missed the heart, though he rarely did miss. At eighteen years old he had won the three counties' match, beating older archers famed across half England, and at one hundred paces he never missed.\n\nHe laid the arrow across the bowstave. He was watching Perrill because he did not need to look at the arrow or the bow. His left thumb trapped the arrow, and his right hand slightly stretched the cord so that it engaged in the small horn-reinforced nock at the arrow's feathered end. He raised the stave, his eyes still on the miller's eldest son.\n\nHe hauled back the cord with no apparent effort though most men who were not archers could not have pulled the bowstring halfway. He drew the cord all the way to his right ear.\n\nPerrill had turned to stare across the mill pastures where the river was a winding streak of silver under the winter-bare willows. He was wearing boots, breeches, a jerkin, and a deerskin coat and he had no idea that his death was a few heartbeats away.\n\nHook released. It was a smooth release, the hemp cord leaving his thumb and two fingers without so much as a tremor.\n\nThe arrow flew true. Hook tracked the gray feathers, watching as the steel-tipped tapered ash shaft sped toward Perrill's heart. He had sharpened the wedge-shaped blade and knew it would slice through deerskin as if it were cobweb.\n\nNick Hook hated the Perrill family, just as the Perrills hated the Hooks. The feud went back two generations, to when Tom Perrill's grandfather had killed Hook's grandfather in the village tavern by stabbing him through the eye with a poker. The old Lord Slayton had declared it a fair fight and refused to punish the miller, and ever since the Hooks had tried to get revenge.\n\nThey never had. Hook's father had been kicked to death in the yearly football match and no one had ever discovered who had killed him, though everyone knew it must have been the Perrills. The ball had been kicked into the rushes beyond the manor orchard and a dozen men had chased after it, but only eleven came out. The new Lord Slayton had laughed at the idea of calling the death murder. \"If you hanged a man for killing in a game of football,\" he had said, \"then you'll hang half England!\"\n\nHook's father had been a shepherd. He left a pregnant widow and two sons, and the widow died within two months of her husband's death as she gave birth to a stillborn daughter. She died on the feast day of Saint Nicholas, which was Nick Hook's thirteenth birthday, and his grandmother said the coincidence proved that Nick was cursed. She tried to lift the curse with her own magic. She stabbed him with an arrow, driving the point deep into his thigh, then told him to kill a deer with the arrow and the curse would go away. Hook had poached one of Lord Slayton's hinds, killing it with the bloodstained arrow, but the curse had remained. The Perrills lived and the feud went on. A fine apple tree in the garden of Hook's grandmother had died, and she insisted it had been old mother Perrill who had blighted the fruit. \"The Perrills always have been putrid turd-sucking bastards,\" his grandmother said. She put the evil eye on Tom Perrill and on his younger brother, Robert, but old mother Perrill must have used a counter-spell because neither fell ill. The two goats that Hook kept on the common disappeared, and the village reckoned it had to be wolves, but Hook knew it was the Perrills. He killed their cow in revenge, but it was not the same as killing them. \"It's your job to kill them,\" his grandmother insisted to Nick, but he had never found the opportunity. \"May the devil make you spit shit,\" she cursed him, \"and then take you to hell.\" She threw him from her home when he was sixteen. \"Go and starve, you bastard,\" she snarled. She was going mad by then and there was no arguing with her, so Nick Hook left home and might well have starved except that was the year he came first in the six villages' competition, putting arrow after arrow into the distant mark.\n\nLord Slayton made Nick a forester, which meant he had to keep his lordship's table heavy with venison. \"Better you kill them legally,\" Lord Slayton had remarked, \"than be hanged for poaching.\"\n\nNow, on Saint Winebald's Day, just before Christmas, Nick Hook watched his arrow fly toward Tom Perrill.\n\nIt would kill, he knew it.\n\nThe arrow flew true, dipping slightly between the high, frost-bright hedges. Tom Perrill had no idea it was coming. Nick Hook smiled.\n\nThen the arrow fluttered.\n\nA fledging had come loose, its glue and binding must have given way and the arrow veered leftward to slice down the horse's flank and lodge in its shoulder. The horse whinnied, reared and lunged forward, jerking the great elm trunk loose from the frozen ruts.\n\nTom Perrill turned and stared up at the high wood, then understood a second arrow could follow the first and so turned again and ran after the horse.\n\nNick Hook had failed again. He was cursed.\n\nLord Slayton slumped in his chair. He was in his forties, a bitter man who had been crippled at Shrewsbury by a sword thrust in the spine and so would never fight another battle. He stared sourly at Nick Hook. \"Where were you on Saint Winebald's Day?\"\n\n\"When was that, my lord?\" Hook asked with apparent innocence.\n\n\"Bastard,\" Lord Slayton spat, and the steward struck Hook from behind with the bone handle of a horsewhip.\n\n\"Don't know which day that was, my lord,\" Hook said stubbornly.\n\n\"Two days ago,\" Sir Martin said. He was Lord Slayton's brother-in-law and priest to the manor and village. He was no more a knight than Hook was, but Lord Slayton insisted he was called \"Sir\" Martin in recognition of his high birth.\n\n\"Oh!\" Hook pretended a sudden enlightenment. \"I was coppicing the ash under Beggar's Hill, my lord.\"\n\n\"Liar,\" Lord Slayton said flatly. William Snoball, steward and chief archer to his lordship, struck Hook again, slashing the whip's butt hard across the back of the forester's skull. Blood trickled down Hook's scalp.\n\n\"On my honor, lord,\" Hook lied earnestly.\n\n\"The honor of the Hook family,\" Lord Slayton said drily before looking at Hook's younger brother, Michael, who was seventeen. \"Where were you?\"\n\n\"I was thatching the church porch, my lord,\" Michael said.\n\n\"He was,\" Sir Martin confirmed. The priest, lanky and gangling in his stained black robe, bestowed a grimace that was supposed to be a smile on Nick Hook's younger brother. Everyone liked Michael. Even the Perrills seemed to exempt him from the hatred they felt for the rest of the Hook tribe. Michael was fair while his brother was dark, and his disposition was sunny while Nick Hook was saturnine.\n\nThe Perrill brothers stood next to the Hook brothers. Thomas and Robert were tall, thin and loose-jointed with deep sunk eyes, long noses, and jutting chins. Their resemblance to Sir Martin the priest was unmistakable and the village, with the deference due to a gentry-born churchman, accepted the pretense that they were the miller's sons while still treating them with respect. The Perrill family had unspoken privileges because everyone understood that the brothers could call on Sir Martin's help whenever they felt threatened.\n\nAnd Tom Perrill had not just been threatened, he had almost been killed. The gray-fledged arrow had missed him by a hand's breadth and that arrow now lay on the table in the manor hall. Lord Slayton pointed at the arrow and nodded to his steward who crossed to the table. \"It's not one of ours, my lord,\" William Snoball said after examining the arrow.\n\n\"The gray feathers, you mean?\" Lord Slayton asked.\n\n\"No one near here uses gray-goose,\" Snoball said reluctantly, with a churlish glance at Nick Hook, \"not for fledging. Not for anything!\"\n\nLord Slayton gazed at Nick Hook. He knew the truth. Everyone in the hall knew the truth, except perhaps Michael who was a trusting soul. \"Whip him,\" Sir Martin suggested.\n\nHook stared at the tapestry hanging beneath the hall's gallery. It showed a hunter thrusting a spear into a boar's guts. A woman, wearing nothing but a wisp of translucent cloth, was watching the hunter, who was dressed in a loincloth and a helmet. The oak beams supporting the gallery had been turned black by a hundred years of smoke.\n\n\"Whip him,\" the priest said again, \"or cut off his ears.\"\n\nHook lowered his eyes to look at Lord Slayton and wondered, for the thousandth time, whether he was looking at his own father. Hook had the strong-boned Slayton face, the same heavy forehead, the same wide mouth, the same black hair, and the same dark eyes. He had the same height, the same bodily strength that had been his lordship's before the rebel sword had twisted in his back and forced him to use the leather-padded crutches leaning on his chair. His lordship returned the gaze, betraying nothing. \"This feud will end,\" he finally said, still staring at Hook. \"You understand me? There will be no more killing.\" He pointed at Hook. \"If any of the Perrill family dies, Hook, then I will kill you and your brother. Do you understand me?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord.\"\n\n\"And if a Hook dies,\" his lordship turned his gaze on Tom Perrill, \"then you and your brother will hang from the oak.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" Perrill said.\n\n\"Murder would need to be proven,\" Sir Martin interjected. He spoke suddenly, his voice indignant. The gangling priest often seemed to be living in another world, his thoughts far away, then he would jerk his attention back to wherever he was and his words would blurt out as if catching up with lost time. \"Proven,\" he said again, \"proven.\"\n\n\"No!\" Lord Slayton contradicted his brother-in-law, and to emphasize it he slapped the wooden arm of his chair. \"If any one of you four dies I'll hang the rest of you! I don't care! If one of you slips into the mill's leet and drowns I'll call it murder. You understand me? I will not have this feud one moment longer!\"\n\n\"There'll be no murder, my lord,\" Tom Perrill said humbly.\n\nLord Slayton looked back to Hook, waiting for the same assurance, but Nick Hook said nothing. \"A whipping will teach him obedience, my lord,\" Snoball suggested.\n\n\"He's been whipped!\" Lord Slayton said. \"When was the last time, Hook?\"\n\n\"Last Michaelmas, my lord.\"\n\n\"And what did you learn from that?\"\n\n\"That Master Snoball's arm is weakening, lord,\" Hook said.\n\nA stifled snigger made Hook look upward to see her ladyship was watching from the shadows of the gallery. She was childless. Her brother, the priest, whelped one bastard after another, while Lady Slayton was bitter and barren. Hook knew she had secretly visited his grandmother in search of a remedy, but for once the old woman's sorcery had failed to produce a baby.\n\nSnoball had growled angrily at Hook's impudence, but Lord Slayton had betrayed his amusement with a sudden grin. \"Out!\" he commanded now, \"all of you! Get out, except for you, Hook. You stay.\"\n\nLady Slayton watched as the men left the hall, then turned and vanished into whatever chamber lay beyond the gallery. Her husband stared at Nick Hook without speaking until, at last, he gestured at the gray-feathered arrow on the oak table. \"Where did you get it, Hook?\"\n\n\"Never seen it before, my lord.\"\n\n\"You're a liar, Hook. You're a liar, a thief, a rogue, and a bastard, and I've no doubt you're a murderer too. Snoball's right. I should whip you till your bones are bare. Or maybe I should just hang you. That would make the world a better place, a Hookless world.\"\n\nHook said nothing. He just looked at Lord Slayton. A log cracked in the fire, showering sparks.\n\n\"But you're also the best goddamned archer I've ever seen,\" Lord Slayton went on grudgingly. \"Give me the arrow.\"\n\nHook fetched the gray-fledged arrow and gave it to his lordship. \"The fledging came loose in flight?\" Lord Slayton asked.\n\n\"Looks like it, my lord.\"\n\n\"You're not an arrow-maker, are you, Hook?\"\n\n\"Well I make them, lord, but not as well as I should. I can't get the shafts to taper properly.\"\n\n\"You need a good drawknife for that,\" Lord Slayton said, tugging at the fledging. \"So where did you get the arrow,\" he asked, \"from a poacher?\"\n\n\"I killed one last week, lord,\" Hook said carefully.\n\n\"You're not supposed to kill them, Hook, you're supposed to bring them to the manor court so I can kill them.\"\n\n\"Bastard had shot a hind in the Thrush Wood,\" Hook explained, \"and he ran away so I put a broadhead in his back and buried him up beyond Cassell's Hill.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"A vagabond, my lord. I reckon he was just wandering through, and he didn't have anything on him except his bow.\"\n\n\"A bow and a bag filled with gray-fledged arrows,\" his lordship said. \"You're lucky the horse didn't die. I'd have hung you for that.\"\n\n\"Caesar was barely scratched, my lord,\" Hook said dismissively, \"nothing but a tear in his hide.\"\n\n\"And how would you know if you weren't there?\"\n\n\"I hear things in the village, my lord,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I hear things too, Hook,\" Lord Slayton said, \"and you're to leave the Perrills alone! You hear me? Leave them alone!\"\n\nHook did not believe in much, but he had somehow persuaded himself that the curse that lay on his life would be lifted if only he could kill the Perrills. He was not quite sure what the curse was, unless it was the uncomfortable suspicion that life must hold more than the manor offered. Yet when he thought of escaping Lord Slayton's service he was assailed by a gloomy foreboding that some unseen and incomprehensible disaster awaited him. That was the tenuous shape of the curse and he did not know how to lift it other than by murder, but nevertheless he nodded obediently. \"I hear you, my lord.\"\n\n\"You hear and you obey,\" his lordship said. He tossed the arrow onto the fire where it lay for a moment, then burst into bright flame. A waste of a good broadhead, Hook thought. \"Sir Martin doesn't like you, Hook,\" Lord Slayton said in a lower voice. He rolled his eyes upward and Hook understood that his lordship was asking whether his wife was still in the gallery. Hook gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. \"You know why he hates you?\" his lordship asked.\n\n\"Not sure he likes many people, lord,\" Hook answered evasively.\n\nLord Slayton stared at Hook broodingly. \"And you're right about Will Snoball,\" he finally said, \"he's weakening. We all get old, Hook, and I'll be needing a new centenar. You understand me?\"\n\nA centenar was the man who commanded a company of archers and William Snoball had held the job for as long as Hook remembered. Snoball was also the manor's steward, and the two offices had made him the richest of all Lord Slayton's men. Hook nodded. \"I understand, lord,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Sir Martin believes Tom Perrill should be my next centenar. And he fears I'll appoint you, Hook. I can't imagine why he would think that, can you?\"\n\nHook looked into his lordship's face. He was tempted to ask about his mother and how well his lordship had known her, but he resisted. \"No, lord,\" he said humbly instead.\n\n\"So when you go to London, Hook, tread carefully. Sir Martin will accompany you.\"\n\n\"London!\"\n\n\"I have a summons,\" Lord Slayton explained. \"I'm required to send my archers to London. Ever been to London?\"\n\n\"No, my lord.\"\n\n\"Well, you're going. I don't know why, the summons doesn't say. But my archers are going because the king commands it. And maybe it's war? I don't know. But if it is war, Hook, then I don't want my men killing each other. For God's sake, Hook, don't make me hang you.\"\n\n\"I'll try not, my lord.\"\n\n\"Now go. Tell Snoball to come in. Go.\"\n\nHook went.\n\nIt was a January day. It was still cold. The sky was low and twilight dark, though it was only mid-morning. At dawn there had been flurries of snow, but it had not settled. There was frost on the thatched roofs and skins of cat ice on the few puddles that had not been trampled into mud. Nick Hook, long-legged and broad-chested and dark-haired and scowling, sat outside the tavern with seven companions, including his brother and the two Perrill brothers. Hook wore knee-high boots with spurs, two pairs of breeches to keep out the cold, a woollen shirt, a padded leather jerkin, and a short linen tunic, which was blazoned with Lord Slayton's golden crescent moon and three golden stars. All eight men wore leather belts with pouches, long daggers and swords, and all wore the same livery, though a stranger would need to look hard to discern the moon and stars because the colors had faded and the tunics were dirty.\n\nNo one did look hard, because armed men in livery meant trouble. And these eight men were archers. They carried neither bows nor arrow bags, but the breadth of their chests showed these were men who could draw the cord of a war bow a full yard back and make it look easy. They were bowmen, and they were one cause of the fear that pervaded London's streets. The fear was as pungent as the stench of sewage, as prevalent as the smell of woodsmoke. House doors were closed. Even the beggars had vanished, and the few folk who walked the city were among those who had provoked the fear, yet even they chose to pass on the farther side of the street from the eight archers.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus Christ,\" Nick Hook broke the silence.\n\n\"Go to church if you want to say prayers, you bastard,\" Tom Perrill said.\n\n\"I'll shit in your mother's face first,\" Hook snarled.\n\n\"Quiet, you two,\" William Snoball intervened.\n\n\"We shouldn't be here,\" Hook growled. \"London's not our place!\"\n\n\"Well, you are here,\" Snoball said, \"so stop bleating.\"\n\nThe tavern stood on a corner where a narrow street led into a wide market square. The inn's sign, a carved and painted model of a bull, hung from a massive beam that was anchored in the tavern's gable and reached out to a stout post sunk in the marketplace. Other archers were visible around the square, men in different liveries, all fetched to London by their lords, though where those lords were no one knew. Two priests carrying bundles of parchments hurried by on the street's far side. Somewhere deeper in the city a bell started to toll. One of the priests glanced at the archers wearing the moon and stars, then almost tripped as Tom Perrill spat.\n\n\"What in Christ's name are we doing here?\" Robert Perrill asked.\n\n\"Christ is not telling us,\" Snoball answered sourly, \"but I am assured we do His work.\"\n\nChrist's work consisted of guarding the corner where the street joined the marketplace, and the archers had been ordered to let no man or woman pass them by, either into the market square or out of it. That command did not apply to priests, nor to mounted gentry, but only to the common folk, and those common folk possessed the wisdom to stay indoors. Seven hand-drawn carts had come down the street, pulled by ragged men and loaded with firewood, barrels, stones, and long timbers, but the carts had been accompanied by mounted men-at-arms who wore the royal livery and the archers had stayed still and silent while they passed.\n\nA plump girl with a scarred face brought a jug of ale from the tavern. She filled the archers' pots and her face showed nothing as Snoball groped beneath her heavy skirts. She waited till he had finished, then held out a hand.\n\n\"No, no, darling,\" Snoball said, \"I did you a favor so you should reward me.\" The girl turned and went indoors. Michael, Hook's younger brother, stared at the table and Tom Perrill sneered at the young man's embarrassment, but said nothing. There was little joy to be had in provoking Michael, who was too good-hearted to take offense.\n\nHook watched the royal men-at-arms who had stopped the handcarts in the center of the marketplace where two long stakes were stood upright in two big barrels. The stakes were being fixed in place by packing the barrels with stones and gravel. A man-at-arms tested one of the stakes, trying to tip or dislodge it, but the work had evidently been well done, for he could not shift the tall timber. He jumped down and the laborers began stacking bundles of firewood around the twin barrels.\n\n\"Royal firewood,\" Snoball said, \"burns brighter.\"\n\n\"Does it really?\" Michael Hook asked. He tended to believe everything he was told and waited eagerly for an answer, but the other archers ignored his question.\n\n\"At last,\" Tom Perrill said instead, and Hook saw a small crowd emerging from a church at the far side of the marketplace. The crowd was composed of ordinary-looking folk, but it was surrounded by soldiers, monks, and priests, and one of those priests now headed toward the tavern called the Bull.\n\n\"Here's Sir Martin,\" Snoball said, as if his companions would not recognize the priest who, as he drew nearer, grinned. Hook felt a tremor of hatred as he saw the eel-thin Sir Martin with his loping stride, lopsided face, and his strange, intense eyes that some thought looked beyond this world to the next, though opinion varied whether Sir Martin gazed at hell or heaven. Hook's grandmother had no doubts. \"He was bitten by the devil's dog,\" she liked to say, \"and if he hadn't been born gentry he'd have been hanged by now.\"\n\nThe archers stood with grudging respect as the priest drew near. \"God's work waits on you, boys,\" Sir Martin greeted them. His dark hair was gray at the sides and thin on top. He had not shaved for some days and his long chin was covered in white stubble that reminded Hook of frost. \"We need a ladder,\" Sir Martin said, \"and Sir Edward's bringing the ropes. Nice to see the gentry working, isn't it? We need a long ladder. There has to be one somewhere.\"\n\n\"A ladder,\" Will Snoball said, as if he had never heard of such a thing.\n\n\"A long one,\" Sir Martin said, \"long enough to reach that beam.\" He jerked his head at the sign of the bull over their heads. \"Long, long.\" He said the last words distractedly, as if he were already forgetting what business he was about.\n\n\"Look for a ladder,\" Will Snoball told two of the archers, \"a long one.\"\n\n\"No short ladders for God's work,\" Sir Martin said, snapping his attention back to the archers. He rubbed his thin hands together and grimaced at Hook. \"You look ill, Hook,\" he added happily, as if hoping Nick Hook were dying.\n\n\"The ale tastes funny,\" Hook said.\n\n\"That's because it's Friday,\" the priest said, \"and you should abstain from ale on Wednesdays and Fridays. Your name-saint, the blessed Nicholas, rejected his mother's teats on Wednesdays and Fridays, and there's a lesson in that! There can be no pleasures for you, Hook, on Wednesdays and Fridays. No ale, no joy, and no tits, that is your fate forever. And why, Hook, why?\" Sir Martin paused and his long face twisted in a malevolent grin. \"Because you have supped on the sagging tits of evil! I will not have mercy on her children, the scriptures say, because their mother hath played the harlot!\"\n\nTom Perrill sniggered. \"What are we doing, father?\" Will Snoball asked tiredly.\n\n\"God's work, Master Snoball, God's holy work. Go to it.\"\n\nA ladder was found as Sir Edward Derwent crossed the market square with four ropes looped about his broad shoulders. Sir Edward was a man-at-arms and wore the same livery as the archers, though his jupon was cleaner and its colors were brighter. He was a squat, thick-chested man with a face disfigured at the battle of Shrewsbury where a poleax had ripped open his helmet, crushed a cheekbone and sliced off an ear. \"Bell ropes,\" he explained, tossing the heavy coils onto the ground. \"Need them tied to the beam, and I'm not climbing any ladder.\" Sir Edward commanded Lord Slayton's men-at-arms and he was as respected as he was feared. \"Hook, you do it,\" Sir Edward ordered.\n\nHook climbed the ladder and tied the bell ropes to the beam. He used the knot with which he would have looped a hempen cord about a bowstave's nock, though the ropes, being thicker, were much harder to manipulate. When he was done he shinned down the last rope to show that it was tied securely.\n\n\"Let's get this done and over,\" Sir Edward said sourly, \"and then maybe we can leave this goddamned place. Whose ale is this?\"\n\n\"Mine, Sir Edward,\" Robert Perrill said.\n\n\"Mine now,\" Sir Edward said, and drained the pot. He was dressed in a mail coat over a leather jerkin, all of it covered with the starry jupon. A sword hung at his waist. There was nothing elaborate about the weapon. The blade, Hook knew, was undecorated, the hilt was plain steel, and the handle was two grips of walnut bolted to the tang. The sword was a tool of Sir Edward's trade, and he had used it to batter down the rebel whose poleax had taken half his face.\n\nThe small crowd had been herded by soldiers and priests into the center of the marketplace where most of them knelt and prayed. There were maybe sixty of them, men and women, young and old. \"Can't burn them all,\" Sir Martin said regretfully, \"so we're sending most to hell at the rope's end.\"\n\n\"If they're heretics,\" Sir Edward grumbled, \"they should all be burned.\"\n\n\"If God wished that,\" Sir Martin said with some asperity, \"then God would have provided sufficient firewood.\"\n\nMore people were appearing now. Fear still pervaded the city, but folk somehow sensed that the greatest moment of danger was over, and so they came to the marketplace and Sir Martin ordered the archers to let them pass. \"They should see this for themselves,\" the priest explained. There was a sullenness in the gathering crowd, their sympathies plainly aligned with the prisoners and not the guards, though here and there a priest or friar preached an extemporary sermon to justify the day's events. The doomed, the preachers explained, were enemies of Christ. They were weeds among the righteous wheat. They had been given a chance to repent, but had refused that mercy and so must face their eternal fate.\n\n\"Who are they anyway?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Lollards,\" Sir Edward said.\n\n\"What's a Lollard?\"\n\n\"A heretic, you piece of slime,\" Snoball said happily, \"and the bastards were supposed to gather here and start a rebellion against our gracious king, but instead they're going to hell.\"\n\n\"They don't look like rebels,\" Hook said. Most of the prisoners were middle-aged, some were old, while a handful was very young. There were women and girls among them.\n\n\"Doesn't matter what they look like,\" Snoball said, \"they're heretics and they have to die.\"\n\n\"It's God's will,\" Sir Martin snarled.\n\n\"But what makes them heretics?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Oh, we are curious today,\" Sir Martin said sourly.\n\n\"I'd like to know that too,\" Michael said.\n\n\"Because the church says they're heretics,\" Sir Martin snapped, then appeared to relent of his tone. \"Do you believe, Michael Hook, that when I raise the host it turns into the most holy and beloved and mystical flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ?\"\n\n\"Yes, father, of course!\"\n\n\"Well, they don't believe that,\" the priest said, jerking his head at the Lollards kneeling in the mud, \"they believe the bread stays bread, which makes them turds-for-brains piss-shits. And do you believe that our blessed father the Pope is God's vicar on earth?\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" Michael said.\n\n\"Thank Christ for that, or else I'd have to burn you.\"\n\n\"I thought there were two popes?\" Snoball put in.\n\nSir Martin ignored that. \"Ever seen a sinner burn, Michael Hook?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, father.\"\n\nSir Martin grinned lasciviously. \"They scream, young Hook, like a boar being gelded. They do scream so!\" He turned suddenly and thrust a long bony finger into Nick Hook's chest. \"And you should listen to those screams, Nicholas Hook, for they are the liturgy of hell. And you,\" he prodded Hook's chest again, \"are hell-bound.\" The priest whirled around, arms suddenly outspread, so that he reminded Hook of a great dark-winged bird. \"Avoid hell, boys!\" he called enthusiastically, \"avoid it! No tits on Wednesdays and Fridays, and do God's work diligently every day!\"\n\nMore ropes had been slung from other signposts about the marketplace, and now soldiers roughly divided the prisoners into groups that were pushed toward the makeshift gallows. One man began shouting to his friends, telling them to have faith in God and that they would all meet in heaven before this day was over, and he went on shouting till a soldier in royal livery broke his jaw with a mail-shod fist. The broken-jawed man was one of the two selected for the fires and Hook, standing apart from his comrades, watched as the man was hoisted onto the stone-and gravel-filled barrel and tied to the stake. More firewood was piled around his feet.\n\n\"Come on, Hook, don't dream,\" Snoball grumbled.\n\nThe growing crowd was still sullen. There were a few folk who seemed pleased, but most watched resentfully, ignoring the priests who preached at them and turning their backs on a group of brown-robed monks who chanted a song of praise for the day's happy events.\n\n\"Hoist the old man up,\" Snoball said to Hook. \"We've got ten to kill, so let's get the work done!\"\n\nOne of the empty handcarts that had brought the firewood was parked beneath the beam and Hook was needed to lift a man onto the cart's bed. The other six prisoners, four men and two women, waited. One of the women clung to her husband, while the second had her back turned and was on her knees, praying. All four prisoners on the cart were men, one of them old enough to be Hook's grandfather. \"I forgive you, son,\" the old man said as Hook twisted the thick rope around his neck. \"You're an archer, aren't you?\" the Lollard asked and still Hook did not answer. \"I was on the hill at Homildon,\" Hook's victim said, looking up at the gray clouds as Hook tightened the rope, \"where I shot a bow for my king. I sent shaft after shaft, boy, deep into the Scots. I drew long and I loosed sharp, and God forgive me, but I was good that day.\" He looked into Hook's eyes. \"I was an archer.\"\n\nHook held few things dear beyond his brother and whatever affection he felt for whichever girl was in his arms, yet archers were special. Archers were Hook's heroes. England, for Hook, was not protected by men in shining armor, mounted on trapper-decked horses, but by archers. By ordinary men who built and plowed and made, and who could draw the yew war bow and send an arrow two hundred paces to strike a mark the size of a man's hand. So Hook looked into the old man's eyes and he saw, not a heretic, but the pride and strength of an archer. He saw himself. He suddenly knew he would like this old man and that realization checked his hands.\n\n\"Nothing you can do about it, boy,\" the man said gently. \"I fought for the old king and his son wants me dead, so draw the rope tight, boy, draw it tight. And when I'm gone, boy, do something for me.\"\n\nHook gave the curtest of nods. It could either have been an acknowledgment that he had heard the request, or perhaps it was an agreement to do whatever favor the man might request.\n\n\"You see the girl praying?\" the old man asked. \"She's my granddaughter. Sarah, she's called, Sarah. Take her away for me. She doesn't deserve heaven yet, so take her away. You're young, boy, you're strong, you can take her away for me.\"\n\nHow? Hook thought, and he savagely pulled the rope's bitter end so that the loop constricted about the old man's neck, and then he jumped off the cart and half slipped in the mud. Snoball and Robert Perrill, who had tied the other nooses, were already off the cart.\n\n\"Simple folk, they are,\" Sir Martin was saying, \"just simple folk, but they think they know better than Mother Church, and so a lesson must be taught so that other simple folk don't follow them into error. Have no pity for them, because it's God's mercy we're administering! God's unbounded mercy!\"\n\nGod's unbounded mercy was administered by pulling the cart sharply out from under the four men's feet. They dropped slightly, then jerked and twisted. Hook watched the old man, seeing the broad barrel chest of an archer. The man was choking as his legs drew up, as they trembled and straightened then drew up again, but even in his dying agony he looked with bulging eyes at Hook as though expecting the younger man to snatch his Sarah out of the marketplace. \"Do we wait for them to die,\" Will Snoball asked Sir Edward, \"or pull on their ankles?\" Sir Edward seemed not to hear the question. He was distracted again, his eyes unfocused, though he appeared to be staring fixedly at the nearest man tied to the stake. A priest was haranguing the broken-jawed Lollard while a man-at-arms, his face deep shadowed by a helmet, held a flaming torch ready. \"I'll let them swing then, sir,\" Snoball said and still got no answer.\n\n\"Oh my,\" Sir Martin appeared to wake up suddenly and his voice was reverent, the same tone he used in the parish church when he said the mass, \"oh my, oh my, oh my. Oh my, just look at that little beauty.\" The priest was gazing at Sarah, who had risen from her knees and was staring with a horrified expression at her grandfather's struggles. \"Oh my, God is good,\" the priest said reverently.\n\nNicholas Hook had often wondered what angels looked like. There was a painting of angels on the wall of the village church, but it was a clumsy picture because the angels had blobs for faces and their robes and wings had become yellowed and streaked by the damp that seeped through the nave's plaster, yet nevertheless Hook understood that angels were creatures of unearthly beauty. He thought their wings must be like a heron's wings, only much larger, and made of feathers that would shine like the sun glowing through the morning mist. He suspected angels had golden hair and long, very clean robes of the whitest linen. He knew they were special creatures, holy beings, but in his dreams they were also beautiful girls that could haunt a boy's thoughts. They were loveliness on gleaming wings, they were angels.\n\nAnd this Lollard girl was as beautiful as Hook's imagined angels. She had no wings, of course, and her smock was muddied and her face was distorted into a rictus by the horror she watched and by the knowledge that she too must hang, but she was still lovely. She was blue-eyed and fair-haired, had high cheekbones and skin untouched by the pox. She was a girl to haunt a boy's dreams, or a priest's thoughts for that matter. \"See that gate, Michael Hook?\" Sir Martin asked flatly. The priest had looked for the Perrill brothers to do his bidding, but they were out of earshot and so he chose the nearest archer. \"Take her through the gate and keep her in the stable there.\"\n\nNick Hook's younger brother looked puzzled. \"Take her?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not take her! Not you, you cloth-brained shit-puddling idiot! Just take that girl to the tavern stables! I want to pray with her.\"\n\n\"Oh! You want to pray!\" Michael said, smiling.\n\n\"You want to pray with her, father?\" Snoball asked with a snide chuckle.\n\n\"If she repents,\" Sir Martin said piously, \"she can live.\" The priest was shivering and Hook did not think it was the cold. \"Christ in His loving mercy allows that,\" Sir Martin said, his eyes darting from the girl to Snoball, \"so let us see if we can make her repent? Sir Edward?\"\n\n\"Father?\"\n\n\"I shall pray with the girl!\" Sir Martin called, and Sir Edward did not answer. He was still gazing at the nearest unlit pyre where the Lollard leader was ignoring the priest's words and looking up at the sky.\n\n\"Take her, young Hook,\" Sir Martin ordered.\n\nNick Hook watched his brother take the girl's elbow. Michael was almost as strong as Nick, yet he had a gentleness and a sincerity that reached past the girl's terror. \"Come on, lass,\" he said softly, \"the good father wants to pray with you. So let me take you. No one's going to hurt you.\"\n\nSnoball sniggered as Michael led the unresisting girl through the yard gate and into the stable where the archers' horses were tethered. The space was cold, dusty, and smelled of straw and dung. Nick Hook followed the pair. He told himself he followed so he could protect his brother, but in truth he had been prompted by the dying archer's words, and when he reached the stable door he looked up to see a window in the far gable and suddenly, out of nowhere, a voice sounded in his head. \"Take her away,\" the voice said. It was a man's voice, but not one that Nick Hook recognized. \"Take her away,\" the voice said again, \"and heaven will be yours.\"\n\n\"Heaven?\" Nick Hook said aloud.\n\n\"Nick?\" Michael, still holding the girl's elbow, turned to his elder brother, but Nick Hook was gazing at that high bright window.\n\n\"Just save the girl,\" the voice said, and there was no one in the stable except the brothers and Sarah, but the voice was real, and Hook was shaking. If he could just save the girl. If he could take her away. He had never felt anything like this before. He had always thought himself cursed, hated even by his own name-saint, but suddenly he knew that if he could save this girl then God would love him and God would forgive whatever had made Saint Nicholas hate him. Hook was being offered salvation. It was there, beyond the window, and it promised him a new life. No more of being the cursed Nick Hook. He knew it, yet he did not know how to take it.\n\n\"What in God's name are you doing here?\" Sir Martin snarled at Hook.\n\nHe did not answer. He was staring at the clouds beyond the window. His horse, a gray, stirred and thumped a hoof. Whose voice had he heard?\n\nSir Martin pushed past Nick Hook to stare at the girl. The priest smiled. \"Hello, little lady,\" he said, his voice hoarse, then he turned to Michael. \"Strip her,\" he ordered curtly.\n\n\"Strip her?\" Michael asked, frowning.\n\n\"She must appear naked before her God,\" the priest explained, \"so our Lord and Savior can judge her as she truly is. In nakedness is truth. That's what the scripture says, in nakedness is our truth.\" Nowhere did the scriptures say that, but Sir Martin had often found the invented quote useful.\n\n\"But\u2026\" Michael was still frowning. Nick's younger brother was notoriously slow in understanding, but even he knew that something was wrong in the winter stable.\n\n\"Do it!\" the priest snarled at him.\n\n\"It's not right,\" Michael said stubbornly.\n\n\"Oh, for Christ's sake,\" Sir Martin said angrily and he pushed Michael out of the way and grabbed the girl's collar. She gave a short, desperate yelp that was not quite a scream, and she tried to pull away. Michael was just watching, horrified, but the echo of a mysterious voice and a vision of heaven were still in Nick Hook's head and so he stepped one quick pace forward and drove his fist into the priest's belly with such strength that Sir Martin folded over with a sound of half pain and half surprise.\n\n\"Nick!\" Michael said, aghast at what his brother had done.\n\nHook had taken the girl's elbow and half turned toward that far window. \"Help!\" Sir Martin shouted, his voice rasping from breathlessness and pain, \"help!\" Hook turned back to silence him, but Michael stepped between him and the priest.\n\n\"Nick!\" Michael said again, and just then both the Perrill brothers came running.\n\n\"He hit me!\" Father Martin said, sounding astonished. Tom Perrill grinned, while his younger brother Robert looked as confused as Michael. \"Hold him!\" the priest demanded, straightening with a look of pain on his long face, \"just hold the bastard!\" His voice was a half-strangled croak as he struggled for breath. \"Take him outside!\" he panted, \"and hold him.\"\n\nHook let himself be led into the stable yard. His brother followed and stood unhappily staring at the hanged men just beyond the open gate where a thin cold rain had begun to slant across the sky. Nick Hook was suddenly drained. He had hit a priest, a well-born priest, a man of the gentry, Lord Slayton's own kin. The Perrill brothers were mocking him, but Hook did not hear their words, instead he heard Sarah's smock being torn and heard her scream and heard the scream stifled and he heard the rustling of straw and he heard Sir Martin grunting and Sarah whimpering, and Hook gazed at the low clouds and at the woodsmoke that lay over the city as thick as any cloud and he knew that he was failing God. All his life Nick Hook had been told he was cursed and then, in a place of death, God had asked him to do just one thing and he had failed. He heard a great sigh go up from the marketplace and he guessed that one of the fires had been lit to usher a heretic down to the greater fires of hell, and he feared he would be going to hell himself because he had done nothing to rescue a blue-eyed angel from a black-souled priest, but then he told himself the girl was a heretic and he wondered if it had been the devil who spoke in his head. The girl was gasping now, and the gasps turned to sobs and Hook raised his face to the wind and the spitting rain.\n\nSir Martin, grinning like a fed stoat, came out of the stable. He had tucked his robe high about his waist, but now let it fall. \"There,\" he said, \"that didn't take long. You want her, Tom?\" he spoke to the older Perrill brother, \"she's yours if you want her. Juicy little thing she is, too! Just slit her throat when you're done.\"\n\n\"Not hang her, father?\" Tom Perrill asked.\n\n\"Just kill the bitch,\" the priest said. \"I'd do it myself, but the church doesn't kill people. We hand them over to the lay power, and that's you, Tom. So go and hump the heretic bitch then open her throat. And you, Robert, you hold Hook. Michael, go away! You've nothing to do with this, go!\"\n\nMichael hesitated. \"Go,\" Nick Hook told his brother wearily, \"just go.\"\n\nRobert Perrill held Hook's arms behind his back. Hook could have pulled away easily enough, but he was still shaken by the voice he had heard and by his stupidity in striking Sir Martin. That was a hanging offense, yet Sir Martin wanted more than just his death and, as Robert Perrill held Hook, Sir Martin began hitting him. The priest was not strong, he did not have the great muscles of an archer, but he possessed spite and he had sharp bony knuckles that he drove viciously into Hook's face. \"You piece of bitch-spawned shit,\" Sir Martin spat, and hit again, trying to pulp Hook's eyes. \"You're a dead man, Hook,\" the priest shouted. \"I'll have you looking like that!\" Sir Martin pointed at the nearest fire. Smoke was thick around the stake, but flames were bright at the pile's base and, through the gray smoke, a figure could be seen straining like a bent bow. \"You bastard!\" Sir Martin said, hitting Hook again, \"your mother was an open-legged whore and she shat you like the whore she was.\" He hit Hook again and then a flare of fire streaked in the pyre's smoke and a scream sounded in the marketplace like the squeal of a boar being gelded.\n\n\"What in God's name is happening?\" Sir Edward had heard the priest's anger and had come into the stable yard to discover its cause.\n\nThe priest shuddered. His knuckles were bloody. He had managed to cut Hook's lips and start blood from Hook's nose, but little else. His eyes were wide open, full of anger and indignation, but Hook thought he saw the devil-madness deep inside them. \"Hook hit me,\" Sir Martin explained, \"and he's to be killed.\"\n\nSir Edward looked from the snarling priest to the bloodied archer. \"That's for Lord Slayton to decide,\" Sir Edward said.\n\n\"Then he'll decide to hang him, won't he?\" Sir Martin snapped.\n\n\"Did you hit Sir Martin?\" Sir Edward asked Hook.\n\nHook just nodded. Was it God who had spoken to him in the stable, he wondered, or the devil?\n\n\"He hit me,\" Sir Martin said and then, with a sudden spasm, he ripped Hook's jupon clean down its center, parting the moon from the stars. \"He's not worthy of that badge,\" the priest said, throwing the torn surcoat into the mud. \"Find some rope,\" he ordered Robert Perrill, \"rope or bowcord, then tie his hands! And take his sword!\"\n\n\"I'll take it,\" Sir Edward said. He pulled Hook's sword that belonged to Lord Slayton from its scabbard. \"Give him to me, Perrill,\" he ordered, then drew Hook into the yard's gateway. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"He was going to rape the girl, Sir Edward,\" Hook said, \"he did rape her!\"\n\n\"Well of course he raped her,\" Sir Edward said impatiently, \"it's what the reverend Sir Martin does.\"\n\n\"And God spoke to me,\" Hook blurted out.\n\n\"He what?\" Sir Edward stared at Hook as if the archer had just claimed that the sky had turned to buttermilk.\n\n\"God spoke to me,\" Hook said miserably. He did not sound at all convincing.\n\nSir Edward said nothing. He stared at Hook a brief while longer, then turned to gaze at the marketplace where the burning man had stopped screaming. Instead he hung from the stake and his hair flared sudden and bright. The ropes that held him burned through and the body collapsed in a gout of flame. Two men-at-arms used pitchforks to thrust the sizzling corpse back into the heart of the fire.\n\n\"I heard a voice,\" Hook said stubbornly.\n\nSir Edward nodded dismissively, as though acknowledging he had heard Hook's words, but wanted to hear no more. \"Where's your bow?\" he asked suddenly, still looking at the burning figure in the smoke.\n\n\"In the tavern taproom, Sir Edward, with the others.\"\n\nSir Edward turned to the inn yard's gate where Tom Perrill, grinning and with one hand stained with blood, had just appeared. \"I'm sending you to the taproom,\" Sir Edward said quietly, \"and you'll wait there. You'll wait there so we can tie your wrists and take you home and arraign you in the manor court and then hang you from the oak outside the smithy.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir Edward,\" Hook said in sullen obedience.\n\n\"What you will not do,\" Sir Edward said, still in a soft voice, but more forcefully, \"is walk out of the tavern's front door. You will not walk into the heart of the city, Hook, and you will not find a street called Cheapside or look for an inn called the Two Cranes. And you will not go into the Two Cranes and enquire after a man called Henry of Calais. Are you listening to me, Hook?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir Edward.\"\n\n\"Henry of Calais is recruiting archers,\" Sir Edward said. A man in royal livery was carrying a burning log toward the second pyre where the other Lollard leader was tied to the tall stake. \"They need archers in Picardy,\" Sir Edward said, \"and they pay good money.\"\n\n\"Picardy,\" Hook repeated the name dully. He thought it must be a town somewhere else in England.\n\n\"Earn yourself some money in Picardy, Hook,\" Sir Edward said, \"because God knows you'll need it.\"\n\nHook hesitated. \"I'm an outlaw?\" he asked nervously.\n\n\"You're a dead man, Hook,\" Sir Edward said, \"and dead men are outside the law. You're a dead man because my orders are that you're to wait in the tavern and then be taken back to the judgment of the manor court, and Lord Slayton will have no choice but to hang you. So go and do what I just said.\"\n\nBut before Hook could obey there was a shout from the next corner. \"Hats off!\" men called abruptly, \"hats off!\" The shout and a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of a score of horsemen who swept into the wide square where their horses fanned out, pranced, and then stood with breath smoking from their nostrils, and hooves pawing the mud. Men and women were clawing off their hats and kneeling in the mud.\n\n\"Down, boy,\" Sir Edward said to Hook.\n\nThe leading horseman was young, not much older than Hook, but his long-nosed face showed a serene certainty as he swept his cold gaze across the marketplace. His face was narrow, his eyes were dark, and his mouth thin-lipped and grim. He was clean-shaven, and the razor seemed to have abraded his skin so that it looked raw-scraped. He rode a black horse that was richly bridled with polished leather and glittering silver. He had black boots, black breeches, a black tunic, and a fleece-lined cloak of dark purple cloth. His hat was black velvet and sported a black feather, while at his side hung a black-scabbarded sword. He looked all around the marketplace, then urged the horse forward to watch the one woman and three men who now jerked and twisted from the bell ropes hanging from the Bull's beam. A vagary of wind gusted spark-laden smoke at his stallion, which whinnied and shied away. The rider soothed it by patting its neck with a black-gloved hand, and Hook saw that the man wore jeweled rings over his gloves. \"They were given a chance to repent?\" the horseman demanded.\n\n\"Many chances, sire,\" Sir Martin answered unctuously. The priest had hurried out of the tavern yard and was down on one knee. He made the sign of the cross and his haggard face looked almost saintly, as though he suffered for his Lord God. He could appear that way, his devil-dog-bitten eyes suddenly full of pain and tenderness and compassion.\n\n\"Then their deaths,\" the young man said harshly, \"are pleasing to God and they are pleasing to me. England will be rid of heresy!\" His eyes, brown and intelligent, rested briefly on Nick Hook, who immediately dropped his gaze and stared at the mud until the black-dressed horseman spurred away toward the second fire, which had just been lit. But, in the moment before Hook had looked away, he had seen the scar on the young man's face. It was a battle scar, showing where an arrow had slashed into the corner between nose and eye. It should have killed, yet God had decreed that the man should live.\n\n\"You know who that is, Hook?\" Sir Edward asked quietly.\n\nHook did not know for sure, but nor was it hard to guess that he was seeing, for the first time in his life, the Earl of Chester, the Duke of Aquitaine and the Lord of Ireland. He was seeing Henry, by the grace of God, the King of England.\n\nAnd, according to all who claimed to understand the tangled webs of royal ancestry, the King of France too.\n\nThe flames reached the second man and he screamed. Henry, the fifth King of England to carry that name, calmly watched the Lollard's soul go to hell.\n\n\"Go, Hook,\" Sir Edward said quietly.\n\n\"Why, Sir Edward?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Because Lord Slayton doesn't want you dead,\" Sir Edward said, \"and perhaps God did speak to you, and because we all need His grace. Especially today. So just go.\"\n\nAnd Nicholas Hook, archer and outlaw, went."
            },
            {
                "title": "Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian",
                "text": "The River Aisne swirled slow through a wide valley edged with low wooded hills. It was spring and the new leaves were a startling green. Long weeds swayed in the river where it looped around the city of Soissons.\n\nThe city had walls, a cathedral, and a castle. It was a fortress that guarded the Flanders road, which led north from Paris, and now it was held by the enemies of France. The garrison wore the jagged red cross of Burgundy and above the castle flew the gaudy flag of Burgundy's duke, a flag that quartered the royal arms of France with blue and yellow stripes, all of it badged with a rampant lion.\n\nThe rampant lion was at war with the lilies of France, and Nicholas Hook understood none of it. \"You don't need to understand it,\" Henry of Calais had told him in London, \"on account of it not being your goddam business. It's the goddam French falling out amongst themselves, that's all you need to know, and one side is paying us money to fight, and I hire archers and I send them to kill whoever they're told to kill. Can you shoot?\"\n\n\"I can shoot.\"\n\n\"We'll see, won't we?\"\n\nNicholas Hook could shoot, and so he was in Soissons, beneath the flag with its stripes, lion, and lilies. He had no idea where Burgundy was, he knew only that it had a duke called John the Fearless, and that the duke was first cousin to the King of France.\n\n\"And he's mad, the French king is,\" Henry of Calais had told Hook in England. \"He's mad as a spavined polecat, the stupid bastard thinks he's made of glass. He's frightened that someone will give him a smart tap and he'll break into a thousand pieces. The truth is he's got turnips for brains, he does, and he's fighting against the duke who isn't mad. He's got brains for brains.\"\n\n\"Why are they fighting?\" Hook had asked.\n\n\"How in God's name would I know? Or care? What I care about, son, is that the duke's money comes from the bankers. There.\" He had slapped some silver on the tavern table. Earlier that day Hook had gone to the Spital Fields beyond London's Bishop's Gate and there he had loosed sixteen arrows at a straw-filled sack hanging from a dead tree a hundred and fifty paces away. He had loosed very fast, scarce time for a man to count to five between each shaft, and twelve of his sixteen arrows had slashed into the sack while the other four had just grazed it. \"You'll do,\" Henry of Calais had said grudgingly when he was told of the feat.\n\nThe silver went before Hook had left London. He had never been so lonely or so far from his home village and so his coins went on ale, tavern whores, and on a pair of tall boots that fell apart long before he reached Soissons. He had seen the sea for the first time on that journey, and he had scarce believed what he saw, and he still sometimes tried to remember what it looked like. He imagined a lake in his head, only a lake that never ended and was angrier than any water he had ever seen before. He had traveled with twelve other archers and they had been met in Calais by a dozen men-at-arms who wore the livery of Burgundy and Hook remembered thinking they must be English because the yellow lilies on their coats were like those he had seen on the king's men in London, but these men-at-arms spoke a strange tongue that neither Hook nor his companions understood. After that they had walked all the way to Soissons because there was no money to buy the horses that every archer expected to receive from his lord in England. Two horse-drawn carts had accompanied their march, the carts loaded with spare bowstaves and thick, rattling sheaves of arrows.\n\nThey were a strange group of archers. Some were old men, a few limped from ancient wounds, and most were drunkards.\n\n\"I scrape the barrel,\" Henry of Calais had told Hook before they had left England, \"but you look fresh, boy. So what did you do wrong?\"\n\n\"Wrong?\"\n\n\"You're here, aren't you? Are you outlaw?\"\n\nHook nodded. \"I think so.\"\n\n\"Think so! You either are or you aren't. So what did you do wrong?\"\n\n\"I hit a priest.\"\n\n\"You did?\" Henry, a stout man with a bitter, closed face and a bald head, had looked interested for a moment, then shrugged. \"You want to be careful about the church these days, boy. The black crows are in a burning mood. So is the king. Tough little bastard, our Henry. Have you ever seen him?\"\n\n\"Once,\" Hook said.\n\n\"See that scar on his face? Took an arrow there, smack in the cheek and it didn't kill him! And ever since he's been convinced that God is his best friend and now he's set on burning God's enemies. Right, tomorrow you're going to help fetch arrows from the Tower, then you'll sail to Calais.\"\n\nAnd so Nicholas Hook, outlaw and archer, had traveled to Soissons where he wore the jagged red cross of Burgundy and walked the high city wall. He was part of an English contingent hired by the Duke of Burgundy and commanded by a supercilious man-at-arms named Sir Roger Pallaire. Hook rarely saw Pallaire, taking his orders instead from a centenar named Smithson who spent his time in a tavern called L'Oie, the Goose. \"They all hate us,\" Smithson had greeted his newest troops, \"so don't walk the city at night on your own. Not unless you want a knife in your back.\"\n\nThe garrison was Burgundian, but the citizens of Soissons were loyal to their imbecile king, Charles VI of France. Hook, even after three months in the fortress-city, still did not understand why the Burgundians and the French so loathed each other, for they seemed indistinguishable to him. They spoke the same language and, he was told, the Duke of Burgundy was not only the mad king's cousin, but also father-in-law to the French dauphin. \"Family quarrel, lad,\" John Wilkinson told him, \"worst kind of quarrel there is.\"\n\nWilkinson was an old man, of at least forty years, who served as bowyer, fletcher, and arrow-maker to the English archers hired by the garrison. He lived in a stable at the Goose where his files, saws, drawknives, chisels, and adzes hung neatly on the wall. He had asked Smithson for an assistant and Hook, the youngest newcomer, was chosen. \"And at least you're competent,\" Wilkinson offered Hook the grudging compliment, \"it's mostly rubbish that arrives here. Men and weapons, both rubbish. They call themselves archers, but half of them can't hit a barrel at fifty paces. And as for Sir Roger?\" The old man spat. \"He's here for the money. Lost everything at home. I hear he has debts of over five hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds! Can you even imagine that?\" Wilkinson picked up an arrow and shook his gray head. \"And we have to fight for Sir Richard with this rubbish.\"\n\n\"The arrows came from the king,\" Hook said defensively. He had helped carry the sheaves from the Tower's undercroft.\n\nWilkinson grinned. \"What the king did, God save his soul, is find some arrows from old King Edward's reign. I know what I'll do, he said to himself, I'll sell these useless arrows to Burgundy!\" Wilkinson tossed the arrow to Hook. \"Look at that!\"\n\nThe arrow, made of ash and longer than Hook's arm, was bent. \"Bent,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Bent as a bishop! Can't shoot with that! Be shooting around corners!\"\n\nIt was hot in Wilkinson's stable. The old man had a fire burning in a round brick oven on top of which a cauldron of water steamed. He took the bent arrow from Hook and laid it with a dozen others across the cauldron's top, then carefully placed a thick pad of folded cloth over the ash shafts and weighted the cloth's center with a stone. \"I steam them, boy,\" Wilkinson explained, \"then I weights them, and with any luck I straightens them, and then the fledging falls off because of the steam. Half aren't fledged anyway!\"\n\nA brazier burned beneath a second smaller cauldron that stank of hoof glue. Wilkinson used the glue to replace the goose feathers that fledged the arrows. \"And there's no silk,\" he grumbled, \"so I'm having to use sinew.\" The sinew bound the slit feathers to the arrow's tail, reinforcing the glue. \"But sinew's no good,\" Wilkinson complained, \"it dries out, it shrinks and it goes brittle. I've told Sir Roger we need silk thread, but he don't understand. He thinks an arrow is just an arrow, but it isn't.\" He tied a knot in the sinew, then turned the arrow to inspect the nock, which would lie on the string when the arrow was shot. The nock was reinforced by a sliver of horn that prevented the bow's cord from splitting the ash shaft. The horn resisted Wilkinson's attempt to dislodge it and he grunted with reluctant satisfaction before taking another arrow from its leather discs. A pair of the stiff discs, which had indented edges, held two dozen arrows apiece, holding them apart so that the fragile goose-feather fledgings would not get crushed while the arrows were transported. \"Feathers and horn, ash and silk, steel and varnish,\" Wilkinson said softly. \"You can have a bow good as you like and an archer to match it, but if you don't have feathers and ash and horn and silk and steel and varnish you might as well spit at your enemy. Ever killed a man, Hook?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWilkinson heard the belligerent tone and grinned. \"Murder? Battle? Have you ever killed a man in battle?\"\n\n\"No,\" Hook confessed.\n\n\"Ever killed a man with your bow?\"\n\n\"One, a poacher.\"\n\n\"Did he shoot at you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then you're not an archer, are you? Kill a man in battle, Hook, and you can call yourself an archer. How did you kill your last man?\"\n\n\"I hanged him.\"\n\n\"And why did you do that?\"\n\n\"Because he was a heretic,\" Hook explained.\n\nWilkinson pushed a hand through his thinning gray hair. He was thin as a weasel with a lugubrious face and sharp eyes that now stared belligerently at Hook. \"You hanged a heretic?\" he asked. \"Short of firewood, are they, in England these days? And when was this brave act done?\"\n\n\"Last winter.\"\n\n\"A Lollard, was he?\" Wilkinson asked, then smirked when Hook nodded. \"So you hanged a man because he disagreed with the church about a morsel of bread? 'I'm the living bread come from heaven,' says the Lord, and the Lord said nothing about being dead bread on a priest's platter, did He? He didn't say He was moldy bread, did He? No, He said He was the living bread, son, but no doubt you knew better than Him what you were doing.\"\n\nHook recognized the challenge in the old man's words, but he did not feel capable of meeting it and so he said nothing. He had never cared much for religion or for God, not till he heard the voice in his head, and now he sometimes wondered if he really had heard that voice. He remembered the girl in the stable of the London tavern, and how her eyes had pleaded with him and how he had failed her. He remembered the stench of burning flesh, the smoke dipping low in the small wind to whirl about the lilies and leopards of England's badge. He remembered the face of the young king, scarred and unforgiving.\n\n\"This one,\" Wilkinson said, picking up an arrow with a warped tip, \"we can make into a proper killer. Something to send a gentry's soul to hell.\" He put the arrow on a wooden block and selected a knife that he tested for sharpness against his thumbnail. He sliced off the top six inches of the arrow with one quick cut, then tossed it to Hook. \"Make yourself useful, lad, get the bodkin off.\"\n\nThe arrow's head was a narrow piece of steel a fraction longer than Hook's middle finger. It was three sided and sharpened to a point. There were no barbs. The bodkin was heavier than most arrowheads because it had been made to pierce armor and, at close range, when shot from one of the great bows that only a man muscled like Hercules could draw, it would slice through the finest plate. It was a knight-killer, and Hook twisted the head until the glue inside the socket gave way and the bodkin came loose.\n\n\"You know how they harden those points?\" Wilkinson asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nWilkinson was bending over the stump of the arrow. He was using a fine saw, its blade no longer than his little finger, to make a deep wedge-shaped notch in the cut end. \"What they do,\" he said, staring at his work as he spoke, \"is throw bones on the fire when they make the iron. Bones, boy, bones. Dry bones, dead bones. Now why would dead bones in burning charcoal turn iron into steel?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Nor do I, but it does. Bones and charcoal,\" Wilkinson said. He held the notched arrow up, blew some sawdust from the cut, and nodded in satisfaction. \"I knew a fellow in Kent who used human bones. He reckoned the skull of a child made the best steel, and perhaps he was right. The bastard used to dig them up from graveyards, break them into fragments, and burn them on his furnace. Babies' skulls and charcoal! Oh, he was a rotten turd of a man, but his arrows could kill. Oh, they could kill. They didn't punch through armor, they whispered through!\" Wilkinson had selected a six-inch shaft of oak while he spoke. One end had already been sharpened into a wedge that he fitted into the notched ash of the cut arrow. \"Look at that,\" he said proudly, holding up the scarfed joint, \"a perfect fit. I've been doing this too long!\" He held out his hand for the bodkin, which he slipped onto the head of the oak. \"I'll glue it all together,\" he said, \"and you can kill someone with it.\" He admired the arrow. The oak made the head even heavier, so the weight of steel and wood would help punch the arrow through plate armor. \"Believe me, boy,\" the old man went on grimly, \"you'll be killing soon.\"\n\n\"I will?\"\n\nWilkinson gave a brief, humorless laugh. \"The King of France might be mad, but he's not going to let the Duke of Burgundy hold on to Soissons. We're too close to Paris! The king's men will be here soon enough, and if they get into the town, boy, you go to the castle, and if they get into the castle, you kill yourself. The French don't like the English and they hate English archers, and if they capture you, boy, you'll die screaming.\" He looked up at Hook. \"I'm serious, young Hook. Better to cut your own throat than be caught by a Frenchman.\"\n\n\"If they come we'll fight them off,\" Hook said.\n\n\"We will, will we?\" Wilkinson asked with a harsh laugh. \"Pray that the duke's army comes first, because if the French come, young Hook, we'll be trapped in Soissons like rats in a butter churn.\"\n\nAnd so every morning Hook would stand above the gate and stare at the road that led beside the Aisne toward Compi\u00e8gne. He spent even more time gazing down into the yard of one of the many houses built outside the wall. It was a dyer's house standing next to the town ditch and every day a girl with red hair would hang the newly colored cloths to dry on a long line, and sometimes she would look up and wave at Hook or the other archers, who would whistle back at her. One day an older woman saw the girl wave and slapped her hard for being friendly with the hated foreign soldiers, but next day the redhead was again wiggling her rump for her audience's pleasure. And when the girl was not visible Hook watched the road for the glint of sunlight on armor or the sudden appearance of bright banners that would announce the arrival of the duke's army or, worse, the enemy army, but the only soldiers he saw were Burgundians from the city's garrison bringing food back to the city. Sometimes the English archers rode with those foraging parties, but they saw no enemy except the folk whose grain and livestock they stole. The country folk took refuge in the woods when the Burgundians came, but the citizens of Soissons could not hide when the soldiers ransacked their houses for hoarded food. Sire Enguerrand de Bournonville, the Burgundian commander, expected his French enemies to arrive in the early summer and he was planning to endure a long siege, and so he piled grain and salted meat in the cathedral to feed the garrison and townsfolk.\n\nNick Hook helped pile the food in the cathedral, which soon smelled of grain, though beneath that rich aroma was always the tang of cured leather because Soissons was famous for its cobblers and saddlers and tanners. The tanning pits were south of the town and the stench of the urine in which the hides were steeped made the air foul when the wind blew warm. Hook often wandered the cathedral, staring at the painted walls or at the rich altars decorated with silver, gold, enamel, and finely embroidered silks and linens. He had never been inside a cathedral before and the size of it, the shadows far away in the high roof, the silence of the stones, all gave him an uneasy feeling that there must be more to life than a bow, an arrow, and the muscles to use them. He did not know what that something was, but the knowledge of it had started in London when an old man, an archer, had spoken to him and when the voice had sounded in his head. One day, feeling awkward, he knelt before a statue of the Virgin Mary and he asked her forgiveness for what he had failed to do in London. He gazed up at her slightly sad face and he thought her eyes, made bright with blue and white paint, were fixed on him and in those eyes he saw reproof. Talk to me, he prayed, but there was no voice in his head. No forgiveness for Sarah's death, he thought. He had failed God. He was cursed.\n\n\"Think she can help you?\" a sour voice interrupted his prayers. Hook turned and saw John Wilkinson.\n\n\"If she can't,\" Hook asked, \"who can?\"\n\n\"Her son?\" Wilkinson suggested caustically. The old man looked furtively around him. There were a half-dozen priests saying masses at side altars, but otherwise the only other folk in the cathedral were nuns who were hurrying across the wide nave, shepherded and guarded by priests. \"Poor girls,\" Wilkinson said.\n\n\"Poor?\"\n\n\"You think they want to be nuns? Their parents put them here to keep them from trouble. They're bastards of the rich, boy, locked away so they can't have bastards of their own. Come here, I want to show you something.\" He did not wait for a response, but stumped toward the cathedral's high altar that reared golden bright beneath the astonishing arches that stood, row above row, in a semicircle at the building's eastern end. Wilkinson knelt beside the altar and dropped his head reverently. \"Take a look in the boxes, boy,\" he ordered Hook.\n\nHook climbed to the altar where silver and gold boxes stood on either side of a gold crucifix. Most of the boxes had crystal faces and, through those distorting windows, Hook saw scraps of leather. \"What are they?\" he asked.\n\n\"Shoes, boy,\" Wilkinson said, his head still bowed and his voice muffled.\n\n\"Shoes?\"\n\n\"You put them on your feet, young Hook, to keep the mud from getting between your toes.\"\n\nThe leather looked old, dark and shrunken. One reliquary held a shriveled shoe so small that Hook decided it had to be a piece of child's footwear. \"Why shoes?\" he asked.\n\n\"You've heard of Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Patron saints of cobblers, boy, and of leather-workers. They made those shoes, or so we're told, and they lived here and were probably killed here. Martyred, boy, like that old man you burned in London.\"\n\n\"He was a\u2026\"\n\n\"Heretic, I know. You said. But every martyr was killed because someone stronger disagreed with what he believed. Or what she believed. Christ on His cross, boy, Jesus Himself was crucified for heresy! Why the hell else do you think they nailed Him up? Did you kill women too?\"\n\n\"I didn't,\" Hook said uncomfortably.\n\n\"But there were women?\" Wilkinson asked, looking at Hook. He saw the answer in Hook's face and grimaced. \"Oh, I'm sure God was delighted with that day's work!\" The old man shook his head in disgust before reaching into a purse hanging from his belt. He took out a handful of what Hook presumed were coins and dropped them into the huge copper jar that stood by the altar to receive the tribute of pilgrims. A priest had been watching the two English archers suspiciously, but visibly relaxed when he heard the sound of metal falling onto metal in the big jar. \"Arrowheads,\" Wilkinson explained with a grin. \"Old rusted broadheads that are no good any more. Now why don't you kneel and say a prayer to Crispin and Crispinian?\"\n\nHook hesitated. God, he was sure, would have seen Wilkinson drop valueless arrowheads into the jar instead of coins, and the threat of hell's fires suddenly seemed very close and so Hook hurriedly took a coin from his own pouch and dropped it into the copper jar. \"Good lad,\" Wilkinson said, \"the bishop will be right glad of that. It'll pay for a sup of his ale, won't it?\"\n\n\"Why pray to Crispin and Crispinian?\" Hook asked Wilkinson.\n\n\"Because they're the local saints, boy. That's their job, to listen to prayers from Soissons, so they're the best saints to pray to here.\"\n\nSo Hook went to his knees and prayed to Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian that they would beg forgiveness for his sin in London, and he prayed that they would keep him safe in this their town of martyrdom and send him home unscathed to England. The prayer did not feel as powerful as those he had addressed to the mother of Christ, but it made sense, he decided, to pray to the two saints because this was their town and they would surely keep a special watch on those who prayed to them in Soissons.\n\n\"I'm done, lad,\" Wilkinson announced briskly. He was pushing something into his pocket and Hook, moving to the altar's flank, saw that the frontal's end, where it hung down to the floor, was frayed and ragged because a great square had been crudely cut away. The old man grinned. \"Silk, lad, silk. I need silk thread for arrows, so I just stole it.\"\n\n\"From God?\"\n\n\"If God can't afford a few threads of silk, boy, then He's in dire trouble. And you should be glad. You want to kill Frenchmen, young Hook? Pray that I have enough silk thread to tie up your arrows.\"\n\nBut Hook had no chance to pray because, next day, under the rising sun, the French came.\n\nThe garrison had known they were coming. News had reached Soissons of the surrender of Compi\u00e8gne, another town that had been captured by the Burgundians, and Soissons was now the only fortress that barred the French advance into Flanders where the main Burgundian army lay, and the French army was reported to be coming east along the Aisne.\n\nAnd then, suddenly, on a bright summer morning, they were there.\n\nHook watched their arrival from the western ramparts. Horsemen came first. They wore armor and had bright surcoats, and some galloped close to the town as if daring the bowmen on the walls to shoot. Some crossbowmen loosed bolts, but no horseman or horse was hit. \"Save your arrows,\" Smithson, the centenar, ordered his English archers. He flicked a careless finger at Hook's strung bow. \"Don't use it, lad,\" he said. \"Don't waste an arrow.\" The centenar had come from his tavern, the Goose, and now blinked at the cavorting horsemen, who were shouting inaudibly at the ramparts where men were hanging the Burgundian standard alongside the personal standard of the garrison's commander, the Sire de Bournonville. Some townsfolk had also come to the walls and they too gazed at the newly arrived horsemen. \"Look at the bastards,\" Smithson grumbled, gesturing at the townsfolk, \"they'd like to betray us. We should have killed every last one of them. We should have slit their goddam French throats.\" He spat. \"Nothing will happen for a day. Might as well drink ale while it's still available.\" He stumped away, leaving Hook and a half-dozen other English archers on the wall.\n\nAll day the French came. Most were on foot, and those men surrounded Soissons and chopped down trees on the low hills to the south. Tents were erected on the cleared land, and beside the tents were the bright standards of the French nobility, a riot of red, blue, gold, and silver flags. Barges came up the river, propelled by giant sweeps, and the barges carried four mangonels, huge machines that could hurl rocks at the city walls. Only one of the massive catapults was brought ashore that day, and Enguerrand de Bournonville, thinking to tip it back into the river, led two hundred mounted men-at-arms on a sally from the western gate, but the French had expected the attack and sent twice as many horsemen to oppose the Burgundians. The two sides reined in, lances upright, and after a while the Burgundians wheeled back, pursued by French jeers. That afternoon smoke began to thicken as the besieging French burned the houses just outside Soissons's walls. Hook watched the redheaded girl carry a bundle toward the new French encampment. None of the fugitives asked to be admitted to the city, instead they went toward the enemy lines. The girl turned in the thickening smoke to wave farewell to the archers. The first enemy crossbowmen appeared in that smoke, each archer protected by a companion holding a thick pavise, a shield large enough to hide a man as he laboriously re-cranked the crossbow after each bolt was loosed. The heavy bolts thumped into the walls or whistled overhead to fall somewhere in the city.\n\nThen, as the sun began to sink toward the monstrous catapult on the river's bank, a trumpet sounded. It called three times, its notes clear and sharp in the smoke-hazed air, and as the last blast faded, so the crossbowmen ceased shooting. There was a sudden surge of sparks as a thatched roof collapsed into a burning house and the smoke whirled thick along the Compi\u00e8gne road where Hook saw two horsemen appear.\n\nNeither horseman was in armor. Both men, instead, wore bright colored surcoats, and their only weapons were slender white wands that they held aloft as their horses high-stepped delicately on the rutted road. The Sire de Bournonville must have expected them because the west gate opened and the town's commander rode out with a single companion to meet the approaching riders.\n\n\"Heralds,\" Jack Dancy said. Dancy was from Herefordshire and was a few years older than Hook. He had volunteered for service under the Burgundian flag because he had been caught stealing at home. \"It was either be hanged there or be killed here,\" he had told Hook one night. \"What those heralds are doing,\" he said now, \"is telling us to surrender, and let's hope we do.\"\n\n\"And be captured by the French?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"No, no. He's a good fellow,\" Dancy nodded at de Bournonville, \"he'll make sure we're safe. If we surrender they'll let us march away.\"\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"Wherever they want us to be,\" Dancy said vaguely.\n\nThe heralds, who had been followed at a distance by two standard-bearers and a trumpeter, had met de Bournonville not far from the gate. Hook watched as the men bowed to each other from their saddles. This was the first time he had seen heralds, but he knew they were never to be attacked. A herald was an observer, a man who watched for his lord and reported what he saw, and an enemy's herald was to be treated with respect. Heralds also spoke for their lords, and these men must have spoken for the King of France for one of their flags was the French royal banner, a great square of blue silk on which three gold lilies were emblazoned. The other flag was purple with a white cross and Dancy told him that was the banner of Saint Denis who was France's patron saint, and Hook wondered whether Denis had more influence in heaven than Crispin and Crispinian. Did they argue their cases before God, he wondered, like two pleaders in a manor court? He touched the wooden cross hanging about his neck.\n\nThe men spoke for a brief while, then bowed to each other again before the two royal heralds turned their gray horses and rode away. The Sire de Bournonville watched them for a moment, then wheeled his own horse. He galloped back to the city, curbing beside the dyer's burning house from where he shouted up at the wall. He spoke French, of which Hook had learned little, but then added some words in English. \"We fight! We do not give France this citadel! We fight and we will defeat them!\"\n\nThat ringing announcement was greeted by silence as Burgundian and English alike let the words die away without echoing their commander's defiance. Dancy sighed, but said nothing, and then a crossbow bolt whirred overhead to clatter into a nearby street. De Bournonville had waited for a response from his men on the walls, but, receiving none, spurred through the gate and Hook heard the squeal of its huge hinges, the crash as the timbers closed and the heavy thump as the locking bar was dropped into its brackets.\n\nThe sun was hazed now, shining red gold and bright through the diffusing smoke beneath which a party of enemy horsemen rode parallel to the city wall. They were men-at-arms, armored and helmeted, and one of them, mounted on a great black horse, carried a strange banner that streamed behind him. The banner bore no badge, it was simply a long pennon of the brightest red cloth, a rippling streak of silken blood made almost transparent by the vapor-wrapped sun behind, but the sight of it caused men on the wall to make the sign of the cross.\n\n\"The oriflamme,\" Dancy said quietly.\n\n\"Oriflamme?\"\n\n\"The French war-banner,\" Dancy said. He touched his middle finger to his tongue, then crossed himself again. \"It means no prisoners,\" he said bleakly. \"It means they want to kill us all.\" He fell backward.\n\nFor a heartbeat Hook did not know what had happened, then he thought Dancy must have tripped and he instinctively held out a hand to pull him up, and it was then he saw the leather-fledged crossbow bolt jutting from Dancy's forehead. There was very little blood. A few droplets had spattered Dancy's face, which otherwise looked peaceful, and Hook went to one knee and stared at the thick-shafted bolt. Less than a hand's breadth protruded, the rest was deep in the Herefordshire man's brain and Dancy had died without a sound, except for the meat-axe noise of the bolt striking home. \"Jack?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"No good talking to him, Nick,\" one of the other archers said, \"he's chatting to the devil now.\"\n\nHook stood and turned. Later he had little memory of what happened or even why it happened. It was not as though Jack Dancy had been a close friend, for Hook had no such friends in Soissons except, perhaps, John Wilkinson. Yet there was a sudden anger in Hook. Dancy was an Englishman, and in Soissons the English felt beleaguered as much by their own side as by the enemy, and now Dancy was dead and so Hook took a varnished arrow from his white linen arrow bag that hung on his right side.\n\nHe turned and lowered his bow so that it lay horizontally in front of him and he laid the arrow across the stave and trapped the shaft with his left thumb as he engaged the cord. He swung the long bow upright as his right hand took the arrow's fledged end and drew it back with the cord.\n\n\"We're not to shoot,\" one of the archers said.\n\n\"Don't waste an arrow!\" another put in.\n\nThe cord was at Hook's right ear. His eyes searched the smoke-shrouded ground outside the town and he saw a crossbowman step from behind a pavise decorated with the symbol of crossed axes.\n\n\"You can't shoot as far as they can,\" the first archer warned him.\n\nBut Hook had learned the bow from childhood. He had strengthened himself until he could pull the cord of the largest war bows, and he had taught himself that a man did not aim with the eye, but with the mind. You saw, and then you willed the arrow, and the hands instinctively twitched to point the bow, and the crossbowman was bringing up his heavy weapon as two bolts seared the evening air close to Hook's head.\n\nHe was oblivious. It was like the moment in the greenwood when the deer showed for an instant between the leaves, and the arrow would fly without the archer knowing he had even loosed the string. \"The skill is all between your ears, boy,\" a villager had told him years before, \"all between your ears. You don't aim a bow. You think where the arrow will go, and it goes.\" Hook released.\n\n\"You goddam fool,\" an archer said, and Hook watched the white goose feathers flicker in the white-hazed air and saw the arrow fall faster than a stooping hawk. Steel-tipped, silk-bound, ash-shafted, feathered death flying in the evening's quiet.\n\n\"Good God,\" the first archer said quietly.\n\nThe crossbowman did not die as easily as Dancy. Hook's arrow pierced his throat and the man twisted around and the crossbow released itself so that the bolt spun crazily into the sky as the man fell backward, still twisting as he fell, then he thrashed on the ground, hands scrabbling at his throat where the pain was like liquid fire, and above him the sky was red now, a smoke-hazed blood-red sky lit by fires and glowing with the sun's daily death.\n\nThat, Hook, thought, had been a good arrow. Straight-shafted and properly fledged with its feathers all plucked from the same goose-wing. It had flown true. It had gone where he willed it, and he had killed a man in battle. He could, at last, call himself an archer.\n\nOn the evening of the siege's second day Hook thought the world had ended.\n\nIt was an evening of warm and limpid light. The air was pale-bright and the river slid gently between its flowery banks where willows and alders grew. The French banners hung motionless above their tents. Some smoke still sifted from the burned houses to rise soft into the evening air until it faded high in the cloudless sky. Martins and swallows hunted beside the city's wall, swooping and twisting.\n\nNicholas Hook leaned on the ramparts. His unstrung bow was propped beside him as his thoughts drifted back to England, to the manor, to the fields behind the long barn where the hay would be almost ready for cutting. There would be hares in the long grass, trout in the stream, and larks in the twilight. He thought about the decaying cattle byre in the field called Shortmead, the byre with rotting thatch and a screen of honeysuckle behind which William Snoball's young wife Nell would meet him and make silent, desperate love. He wondered who was coppicing the Three Button wood and, for the thousandth time, how the wood had got its name. The tavern in the village was called the Three Buttons and no one knew why, not even Lord Slayton, who sometimes limped on crutches beneath the tavern's lintel and put silver on the serving hatch to buy all present an ale. Then Hook thought of the Perrills, malevolent and ever-present. He could not go home now, not ever, because he was an outlaw. The Perrills could kill him and it would not be murder, not even manslaughter, because an outlaw was beyond the law's help. He remembered the window in the London stable, and knew God had told him to take the Lollard girl through that window, but he had failed and he thought he must be cut off from the heavenly light beyond that window forever. Sarah. He often murmured her name aloud as though the repetition could bring forgiveness.\n\nThe evening peace vanished in noise.\n\nBut first there was light. Dark light, Hook thought later, a stab of dark light, flame-black red light that licked like a hell-serpent's tongue from an earthwork the French had dug close to one of their gaunt catapults. That tongue of wicked fire was visible for an instant before it was obliterated in a thunder-cloud of dense black smoke that billowed sudden, and then the noise came, an ear-punching blow of sound that shook the heavens to be followed by another crack, almost as loud, as something struck the city wall.\n\nThe wall shook. Hook's bow toppled and clattered onto the stones. Birds were screaming as they flew from the flame, smoke and lingering noise. The sun was gone, hidden by the black cloud, and Hook stared and was convinced, at least for a moment, that a crack had opened in the earth and that the fires of hell had vomited their way to the surface.\n\n\"Sweet bloody Christ!\" an archer said in awe.\n\n\"Was wondering when that would happen,\" another archer said in disgust. \"A gun,\" he explained to the first man, \"have you never seen a gun?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"You'll see them now,\" the second man said grimly.\n\nHook had never seen a gun either, and he flinched when a second one fired to add its filthy smoke to the summer sky. Next day another four cannons added their fire and the six French guns did far more damage than the four big wooden machines. The catapults were inaccurate and their jagged boulders often missed the ramparts and dropped into the city to crush houses that started burning as their kitchen fires were scattered, but the gun-stones ate steadily at the city wall, which was already in bad repair. It took only two days for the outer face of the wall to crumble into the wide fetid ditch, and then the gunners systematically widened the breach as the Burgundians countered by making a semicircular barricade behind the disintegrating wall.\n\nEach gun fired three times a day, their shots as regular as the bells of a monastery calling men to prayer. The Burgundians had their own gun, which had been mounted on a southern bastion in the expectation that the French would attack from the Paris road, and it took two days to drag the weapon to the western ramparts where it was slung up onto the roof of the gate-tower. Hook was fascinated by its tube, which was twice as long as his bowstave and hooped like an ale-pot. The tube and its bindings were made of dark pitted iron and rested on a squat wooden carriage. The gunners were Dutchmen who spent a long time watching the enemy guns and finally aimed their tube at one of those French cannon and then set about the laborious task of loading their machine. Gunpowder was put into the barrel with a long-handled ladle, then tamped tight with a cloth-wrapped rammer. Soft loam was added next. The loam was puddled in a wide wooden pail, rammed onto the powder, then left to dry as the gunners sat in a circle and played dice. The gun-stone, a boulder chipped into a crude ball, waited beside the tube until the chief gunner, a portly man with a forked beard, decided the loam was dry enough, and only then was the stone pushed down the long hooped barrel. A wooden wedge was shoved after it and hammered into place to keep the shaped boulder tight against the loam and powder. A priest sprinkled holy water on the gun and said a prayer as the Dutchmen used long levers to make a final small adjustment to the tube's aim.\n\n\"Stand back, boy,\" Sergeant Smithson told Hook. The centenar had deigned to leave the Goose tavern to watch the Dutchmen fire their weapon. A score of other men had also arrived, including the Sire de Bournonville who called encouragement to the gunners. None of the spectators stood close to the gun, but instead watched as if the black tube were a wild beast that could not be trusted. \"Good morning, Sir Roger,\" Smithson said, knuckling his forehead toward a tall, arrow-thin man. Sir Roger Pallaire, commander of the English contingent, ignored the greeting. He had a narrow, beak-nosed face with a lantern jaw, dark hair and, in the company of his archers, the expression of a man forced to endure the stench of a latrine.\n\nThe portly Dutchman waited till the priest had finished his prayer, then he pushed a stripped quill into a small hole that had been drilled into the gun's breech. He used a copper funnel to fill the quill with powder, squinted one more time down the length of the barrel, then stepped to one side and held out a hand for a long, burning taper. The priest, the only man other than the artillerymen to be close to the weapon, made the sign of the cross and spoke a quick blessing, then the chief gunner touched the flame to the powder-filled quill.\n\nThe gun exploded.\n\nInstead of sending its stone ball screaming across to the French siege-works the cannon vanished in a welter of smoke, flying metal, and shredded flesh. The five gunners and the priest were killed instantly, turned to blood-red mist and ribboned meat. A man-at-arms screamed and writhed as red-hot metal sliced into his belly. Sir Roger, who had been standing next to the screaming man, stepped fastidiously away and grimaced at the blood that had spattered across the badge on his surcoat. That badge showed three hawks on a green field. \"Tonight, Smithson,\" Sir Roger spoke amidst the blood-reeking smoke that writhed about the rampart, \"you will meet me after sundown in Saint Antoine-le-Petit's church. You and your whole company.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, yes,\" Smithson said faintly, \"of course, Sir Roger.\" The sergeant was staring at the ruined cannon. The first ten feet of the shattered barrel lay canted and ripped open, while the breech had been torn into jagged shards of smoking metal. Part of a hoop and a man's hand lay by Hook's feet while the gunners, hired at great expense, were nothing but eviscerated carcasses. The Sire de Bournonville, his jupon spattered with blood and scraps of flesh, made the sign of the cross, while derisive jeers sounded from the French siege lines.\n\n\"We must plan for the assault,\" Sir Roger said, apparently oblivious to the wet horror a few paces away.\n\n\"Very good, Sir Roger,\" Smithson said. The centenar scooped a jellied mess from his belt. \"A Dutchman's goddam brains,\" he said in disgust, flicking the gob toward Sir Roger who had turned and now strode away.\n\nSir Roger, with three men-at-arms all wearing his badge of the three hawks, met the English and Welsh archers of the Soissons garrison in the church of Saint Antoine-le-Petit just after sunset. Sir Roger's surcoat had been washed, though the bloodstains were still faintly visible on the green linen. He stood in front of the altar, lit by guttering rushlights that burned feebly in brackets mounted on the church's pillars, and his face still bore the distant look of a man pained to be in his present company. \"Your job,\" he said, without any preamble once the eighty-nine archers had settled on the floor of the nave, \"will be to defend the breach. I cannot tell you when the enemy will assault, but I can assure you it will be soon. I trust you will repel any such assault.\"\n\n\"Oh we will, Sir Roger,\" Smithson put in helpfully, \"rely on it, sir!\"\n\nSir Roger's long face shuddered at the comment. Rumor in the English contingent said that he had borrowed money from Italian bankers in expectation of inheriting an estate from an uncle, but the land had passed to a cousin and Sir Roger had been left owing a fortune to unforgiving Lombards. The only hope of paying the debt was to capture and ransom a rich French knight, which was presumably why he had sold his services to the Duke of Burgundy. \"In the event,\" he said, \"that you fail to keep the enemy out of the city, you are to gather here, in this church.\" Those words caused a stir as men frowned and looked at each other. If they failed to defend the breach and lost the new defenses behind it, then they expected to retreat to the castle.\n\n\"Sir Roger?\" Smithson ventured hesitantly.\n\n\"I had not invited questions,\" Sir Roger said.\n\n\"Of your goodness, Sir Roger,\" Smithson persevered, knuckling his forehead as he spoke, \"but wouldn't we be safer in the castle?\"\n\n\"You will assemble here, in this church!\" Sir Roger said firmly.\n\n\"Why not the castle?\" an archer near Hook demanded belligerently.\n\nSir Roger paused, searching the dim nave for whoever had spoken. He could not discover the questioner, but deigned to offer an answer anyway. \"The townspeople,\" he finally spoke, \"detest us. If you attempt to reach the castle you will be assaulted in the streets. This place is much closer to the breach, so come here.\" He paused again. \"I shall endeavor to arrange a truce for you.\"\n\nThere was an uncomfortable silence. Sir Roger's explanation made some sense. The archers knew that most folk in Soissons hated them. The townspeople were French, they supported their king and hated the Burgundians, but they hated the English even more, and so it was more than likely that they would assault the archers retreating toward the castle. \"A truce,\" Smithson said dubiously.\n\n\"The French quarrel is with Burgundy,\" Sir Roger said, \"not with us.\"\n\n\"Will you be joining us here, Sir Roger?\" an archer called out.\n\n\"Of course,\" Sir Roger said. He paused, but no one spoke. \"Fight well,\" he said distantly, \"and remember you are Englishmen!\"\n\n\"Welshmen,\" someone intervened.\n\nSir Roger visibly flinched at that and then, without another word, led his three men-at-arms from the church. A chorus of protests sounded as he left. The church of Saint Antoine-le-Petit was stone-built and defensible, but not nearly so safe as the castle, though it was true the castle was at the other end of the town and Hook wondered how difficult it would be to reach that refuge if townsfolk were blocking the streets and French men-at-arms were howling through the breached ramparts. He looked up at the painted wall that showed men, women and children tumbling into hell. There were priests and even bishops among the doomed souls who fell in a screaming cascade to a lake of fire where black devils waited with leering grins and triple-barbed eel-spears. \"You'll wish you were in hell if the Frenchies capture you,\" Smithson said, noticing where Hook was looking. \"You'll all be begging for the comforts of hell if those French bastards catch you. So remember! We fight at the barricade and then, if it all goes to shit, we come here.\"\n\n\"Why here?\" a man called out.\n\n\"Because Sir Roger knows what he's doing,\" Smithson said, sounding anything but certain, \"and if you've got sweethearts here,\" he went on with a leer, \"make certain the little darlings come with you.\" He began thrusting his meaty hips backward and forward. \"Don't want our sweethearts left in the streets to be humped by half the French army, do we?\"\n\nNext morning, as he did each morning, Hook gazed north across the Aisne to the low wooded hills where the beleaguered garrison hoped to see a Burgundian relief force. None came. The great gun-stones whirred across the ashes of the burned houses and bit into the crumbling wall to start up their clouds of dust that settled on the river to drift seaward like pale gray stains on the water. Hook rose early every morning, before it was light, and went to the cathedral where he knelt and prayed. He had been warned not to walk the streets by himself, but the people of Soissons left him alone, perhaps scared of his height and size, or perhaps because they knew he was the one archer who prayed regularly and so tolerated him. He had abandoned praying to Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian because he reckoned they cared more about the townsfolk, their own folk, and so he prayed instead to the mother of Christ because his own mother had been called Mary and he begged the blessed Virgin for forgiveness because of the girl who had died in London. On one such morning a priest knelt beside him. Hook ignored the man.\n\n\"You're the Englishman who prays,\" the priest said in English, stumbling over the unfamiliar language. Hook said nothing. \"They wonder why you pray,\" the priest went on, jerking his head to indicate the women who knelt before other statues and altars.\n\nHook's instinct was to go on ignoring the man, but the priest had a friendly face and a kindly voice. \"I'm just praying,\" he said, sounding surly.\n\n\"Are you praying for yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hook admitted. He prayed so that God would forgive him and lift the curse that he was certain blighted his life.\n\n\"Then ask something for someone else,\" the priest suggested gently. \"God listens to those prayers more readily, I think, and if you pray for someone else then He will grant your own request too.\" He smiled, stood, and lightly touched Hook's shoulder. \"And pray to our saints, Crispin and Crispinian. I think they are less busy than the blessed Virgin. God watch over you, Englishman.\"\n\nThe priest walked away and Hook decided to take his advice and pray again to the two local saints and so he went to an altar beneath a painting of the two martyrs and there he prayed for the soul of Sarah, whose life he had failed to save in London. He stared up at the painting as he prayed. The two saints stood in a green field scattered with golden stars on a hill high above a white-walled city. They looked gravely and a little sadly toward Hook. They did not look like shoemakers. They were dressed in white robes and Crispin carried a shepherd's crook while Crispinian held a wicker tray of apples and pears. Their names were painted beneath each man and Hook, though he could not read, could tell which saint was which because one name was longer than the other. Crispinian looked much the friendlier man. He had a rounder face and blue eyes and a half-smile of great kindliness, while Saint Crispin appeared much sterner and was half turned away, as though he had no time for an onlooker and was about to walk down the hill and into the city, and so Hook fell into the habit of praying to Crispinian each morning, though he always acknowledged Crispin too. He dropped two pennies in the jar each time he prayed.\n\n\"To look at you,\" John Wilkinson said one evening, \"I wouldn't take you for a man of prayer.\"\n\n\"I wasn't,\" Hook said, \"till now.\"\n\n\"Frightened for your soul?\" the old archer asked.\n\nHook hesitated. He was binding arrow fledging with the silk stolen from the cathedral's altar frontal. \"I heard a voice,\" he blurted out suddenly.\n\n\"A voice?\" Wilkinson asked. Hook said nothing. \"God's voice?\" the older man asked.\n\n\"It was in London,\" Hook said.\n\nHe felt foolish for his admission, but Wilkinson took it seriously. He stared at Hook for a long time, then nodded abruptly. \"You're a lucky man, Nicholas Hook.\"\n\n\"I am?\"\n\n\"If God spoke to you then He must have a purpose for you. That means you might survive this siege.\"\n\n\"If it was God who spoke to me,\" Hook said, embarrassed.\n\n\"Why shouldn't He? He needs to speak to people, on account that the church don't listen to Him.\"\n\n\"It doesn't?\"\n\nWilkinson spat. \"The church is about money, lad, money. Priests are supposed to be shepherds, aren't they? They're meant to be looking after the flock, but they're all in the manor hall stuffing their faces with pastries, so the sheep have to look after themselves.\" He pointed an arrow at Hook. \"And if the French break into the town, Hook, don't go to Saint Anthony the Lesser! Go to the castle.\"\n\n\"Sir Roger\u2026\" Hook began.\n\n\"Wants us dead!\" Wilkinson said angrily.\n\n\"Why would he want that?\"\n\n\"Because he's got no money and a heap of debt, boy, so the man with the biggest purse can buy him. And because he's not a real Englishman. His family came to England with the Normans and he hates you and me because we're Saxons. And because he's crammed to the throat with Norman shit, that's why. You go to the castle, lad! That's what you do.\"\n\nThe next few nights were dark, and the waning moon was a sliver like a cutthroat's blade. The Sire de Bournonville feared a night attack and ordered dogs to be tethered out in the wasteland where the houses had been burned. If the dogs barked, he said, the warning bell on the western gate was to be rung, and the dogs did bark and the bell was rung, but no Frenchmen assaulted the breach. Instead, as the dawn mist shimmered above the river, the besiegers catapulted the dogs' corpses into the town. The animals had been gelded and had their throats cut as a warning of the fate that awaited the defiant garrison.\n\nThe feast of Saint Abdus passed, and no relief force arrived, and then Saint Possidius's feast came and went, and next day was the feast of the seven holy virgins, and Hook prayed to each one, and in the next dawn he sent a plea to Saint Dunstan, the Englishman, on his feast day, and the day after that to Saint Ethelbert, who had been a king of England, and all the time he also prayed to Crispinian and to Crispin, begging their protection, and on the very next day, on the feast of Saint Hospitius, he received his answer.\n\nWhen the French, who had been praying to Saint Denis, attacked Soissons."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "The first Hook knew of the assault was the sound of the city's church bells clanging in frantic haste and jangling disorder. It was dark and he was momentarily confused. He slept on straw at the back of John Wilkinson's workshop and he woke to the glare of flames leaping high as the old man threw wood on the brazier to provide light. \"Don't lie there like a pregnant sow, boy,\" Wilkinson said, \"they're here.\"\n\n\"Mary, mother of God.\" Hook felt the surge of panic like icy water seething through his body.\n\n\"I've an inkling she don't care one way or the other,\" Wilkinson said. He was pulling on a mail coat, struggling to get the heavy links over his head. \"There's an arrow bag by the door,\" he went on, his voice now muffled by the coat, \"full of straight ones. Left it for you. Go, boy, kill some bastards.\"\n\n\"What about you?\" Hook asked. He was tugging on his boots, new boots made by a skilled cobbler of Soissons.\n\n\"I'll catch up with you! String your bow, son, and go!\"\n\nHook buckled his sword belt, strung his bow, snatched his arrow bag, then took the second bag from beside the door and ran into the tavern yard. He could hear shouting and screams, but where they came from he could not tell. Archers were pouring into the yard and he instinctively followed them toward the new defenses behind the breach. The church bells were hammering the night sky with jangling noise. Dogs barked and howled.\n\nHook had no armor except for an ancient helmet that Wilkinson had given him and which sat on his head like a bowl. He had a padded jacket that might stop a feeble sword swing, but that was his only protection. Other archers had short mail coats and close-fitting helmets, but they all wore Burgundy's brief surcoat blazoned with the jagged red cross and Hook saw those liveries lining the new wall that was made of wicker baskets filled with earth. None of the archers was drawing a cord yet, instead they just looked toward the breach that flared with sudden light as Burgundian men-at-arms threw pitch-soaked torches into the gap of the gun-ravaged wall.\n\nThere were close to fifty men-at-arms at the new wall, but no enemy in the breach. Yet the bells still rang frantically to announce a French attack, and Hook swung around to see a glow in the sky above the city's southern rooftops, a glow that flickered lurid on the cathedral's tower as evidence that buildings burned somewhere near the Paris gate. Was that where the French attacked? The Paris gate was commanded by Sir Roger Pallaire and defended by the English men-at-arms and Hook wondered, not for the first time, why Sir Roger had not demanded that the English archers join that gate's garrison.\n\nInstead the archers waited by the western breach where still no enemy appeared. Smithson, the centenar, was nervous. He kept fingering the silver chain that denoted his rank and glancing toward the glow of the southern fires, then back to the breach. \"Devil's turd,\" he said of no one in particular.\n\n\"What's happening?\" an archer demanded.\n\n\"How in God's name would I know?\" Smithson snarled.\n\n\"I think they're already inside the city,\" John Wilkinson said mildly. He had brought a dozen sheaves of spare arrows that he now dropped behind the archers. The sound of screams came from somewhere in the city and a troop of Burgundian crossbowmen ran past Hook, abandoning the breach and heading toward the Paris gate. Some of the men-at-arms followed them.\n\n\"If they're inside the town,\" Smithson said uncertainly, \"then we should go to the church.\"\n\n\"Not to the castle?\" a man demanded.\n\n\"We go to the church, I think,\" Smithson said, \"as Sir Roger says. He's gentry, isn't he? He must know what he's doing.\"\n\n\"Aye, and the Pope lays eggs,\" Wilkinson commented.\n\n\"Now?\" a man asked, \"we go now?\" but Smithson said nothing. He just tugged at the silver chain and looked left and right.\n\nHook was staring at the breach. His heart was beating hard, his breathing was shallow and his right leg trembled. \"Help me, God,\" he prayed, \"sweet Jesu protect me,\" but he got no comfort from the prayer. All he could think of was that the enemy was in Soissons, or attacking Soissons and he did not know what was happening and he felt vulnerable and helpless. The bells banged inside his head, confusing him. The wide breach was dark except for the feeble flicker of dying flames from the torches, but slowly Hook became aware of other lights moving there, of shifting silver-gray lights, lights like smoke in moonlight or like the ghosts who came to earth on Allhallows Eve. The lights, Hook thought, were beautiful; they were filmy and vaporous in the darkness. He stared, wondering what the glowing shapes were, and then the silver-gray wraiths turned to red and he realized, with a start of fear, that the shifting shapes were men. He was seeing the light of the torches reflected from plate armor. \"Sergeant!\" he shouted.\n\n\"What is it?\" Smithson snapped back.\n\n\"The bastards are here!\" Hook called, and so they were. The bastards were coming through the breach. Their plate armor was scoured bright enough to reflect the firelight and they were advancing beneath a banner of blue on which golden lilies blossomed. Their visors were closed and their long swords flashed back the flame-light. They were no longer vaporous, now they resembled men of burning metal, phantoms from the dreams of hell, death coming through the dark to Soissons. Hook could not count them, they were so many.\n\n\"Oh my God's shit,\" Smithson said in panic, \"stop them!\"\n\nHook did what he was told. He stepped back to the barricade, plucked an arrow from the linen bag, and laid it on the bow's stave. The fear was suddenly gone, or else had been pushed aside by the certain knowledge of what needed to be done. Hook needed to haul back the bow's cord.\n\nMost grown men in the prime of their strength could not pull a war bow's cord back to the ear. Most men-at-arms, despite being toughened by war and hardened by constant sword exercises, could only draw the hemp cord halfway, but Hook made it look easy. His arm flowed back, his eyes sought a mark for the arrow's bright head, and he did not even think as he released. He was already reaching for the second arrow as the first, a shaft-weighted bodkin, slapped through a breastplate of shining steel and threw the man back onto the French standard-bearer.\n\nAnd Hook loosed again, not thinking, only knowing that he had been told to stop this attack. He loosed shaft after shaft. He drew the cord to his right ear and was not aware of the tiny shifts his left hand made to send the white-feathered arrows on their short journey from cord to victim. He was not aware of the deaths he caused or the injuries he gave or of the arrows that glanced off armor to spin uselessly away. Most were not useless. The long bodkin heads could easily punch through armor at this close range and Hook was stronger than most archers, who were stronger than most men, and his bow was heavy. John Wilkinson, when he had first met Hook, had drawn the younger man's bow and failed to get the cord past his chin, and he had given Hook a glance of respect, and now that long, thick-bellied bow cut from the trunk of a yew in far-off Savoy, was sending death through the bell-ringing dark, except that Hook was only seeing the enemy who came across the breach where the guttering torches burned, and he did not notice the dark floods of men who surged at either edge of the wall's gap and who were already tugging at the wicker baskets. Then part of the barricade collapsed and the noise made Hook turn to see that he was the only archer left at the defenses. The breach, despite the dead who lay there and the injured who crawled there, was filled with howling men. The night was lit by fire, flame red, riddled with smoke and loud with war-shouts. Hook realized then that John Wilkinson had shouted at him to run, but in the moment's excitement, the warning had not lodged in Hook's mind.\n\nBut now it did. He plucked up the arrow bag and ran.\n\nMen howled behind him as the barricade fell and the French swarmed across its remnants and into the city.\n\nHook understood then how the deer felt when the hounds were in every thicket and men were beating the undergrowth and arrows were whickering through the leaves. He had often wondered if an animal could know what death was. They knew fear, and they knew defiance, but beyond fear and defiance came the gut-emptying panic, the last moments of life as the hunters close in and the heart races and the mind slithers frantically. Hook felt that panic and ran. At first he just ran. The bells were still crashing, dogs were howling, men were roaring war-shouts, and horns were calling. He ran into a small square, a space where leather merchants usually displayed their hides, and it was oddly deserted, but then he heard the sounds of bolts being shot and he understood that folk were hiding in their houses and barring their doors. Crashes announced where soldiers were kicking or beating those locked doors down. Go to the castle, he thought, and he ran that way, but turned a corner to see the wide space in front of the cathedral filled with men in unfamiliar liveries, their surcoats lit by the torches they carried, and he doubled back like a deer recoiling from hounds. He decided to go to Saint Antoine-le-Petit's church and sprinted down an alley, twisted into another, ran across the open space in front of the city's biggest nunnery, then turned down the street where the Goose tavern stood and saw still more men in their strange liveries, and those men blocked his way to the church. They spotted him and a growl sounded, and the growl turned into a triumphant howl as they ran toward him, and Hook, desperate as any doomed animal, bolted into an alley, leaped at the wall that blocked the end, sprawled over into a small yard that stank of sewage, scrambled across a second wall and then, surrounded by shouts and quivering with fear he sank into a dark corner and waited for the end.\n\nA hunted deer would do that. When it saw no escape it would freeze, shiver and wait for the death it must sense. Now Hook shivered. Better to kill yourself, John Wilkinson had said, than be caught by the French and so Hook felt for his knife, but he could not draw it. He could not kill himself, and so he waited to be killed.\n\nThen he realized his pursuers had evidently abandoned the chase. There was so much plunder for them in Soissons and so many victims, that one fugitive did not interest them and Hook, slowly recovering his senses, realized he had found a temporary refuge. He was in one of the Goose's back yards, a place where the brewery barrels were washed and repaired. A door of the tavern suddenly opened and a flaming torch illuminated the trestles and staves and tuns. A man peered into the yard, said something dismissive, and went back into the tavern where a woman screamed.\n\nHook stayed where he was. He dared not move. The city was full of women screaming now, full of hoarse male laughter and full of crying children. A cat stalked past him. The church bells had long ceased their clangor. He knew he could not stay where he was. Dawn would reveal him. Oh God, oh God, oh God, he prayed, unaware that he prayed. Be with me now and at the hour of my death. He shivered. Hooves sounded in the street beyond the brewery yard wall, a man laughed. A woman whimpered. Clouds scurried across the moon's face and for some reason Hook thought of the badgers on Beggar's Hill, and that homely thought calmed the panic.\n\nHe stood. Perhaps there was a chance he could reach the church? It was much closer than the castle, and Sir Roger had promised to make an attempt to save the archers' lives, and, though it seemed a slender hope, it was all Hook could think of doing and so he pulled himself up the yard's wall to peer over the top. The Goose's stables were next door. No noise came from them and so he climbed onto the wall and from there he could step onto the stable roof that trembled under his weight, but by staying on the rooftop, where the ridge beam ran, he could shuffle until he reached the farther gable where he dropped into a dark alley. He was shaking again, knowing he was more vulnerable here. He moved silently, slowly, until he could peer about the alley's corner to where the church lay.\n\nAnd he saw there was no escape.\n\nThe church of Saint Antoine-le-Petit was guarded by enemies. There were over thirty men-at-arms and a dozen crossbowmen in the open space in front of the church steps, all in liveries that Hook had not seen before. If Smithson and the archers were inside the church then they were safe enough, for they could defend the door, but it seemed plain to Hook that the enemy must be there to prevent any archer escaping and, he assumed, they would stop any stray archer trying to approach the church. He thought of running for the doorway, but guessed it would be locked and that, while he was beating on the heavy timber, the crossbowmen would use him for a target.\n\nThe enemy was not just guarding the church. They had fetched barrels from some tavern and were drinking, and they had stripped two girls naked and tied them across the two barrels with their legs spread wide, and now the men took it in turns to hitch up their mail coats and rape the girls who lay silent as if they had been emptied of moans and tears. The city was loud with women screaming, and the sound scored across Hook's conscience like an arrowhead scraping on slate, and perhaps that was why he did not move, but instead stood at the corner like an animal that had no place to run or hide. Hook wondered if the girls were dead, they were so still, but then the nearest turned her head and Hook remembered Sarah and flinched with guilt. The girl, who looked no older than twelve or thirteen, stared dully into the dark as a man jerked and grunted at her.\n\nThen a door opened onto the alley and a flood of light washed across Hook who turned to see a man-at-arms stagger into the mud. The man wore a surcoat showing a silver wheat-sheaf on a green field. The man fell to his knees and vomited as a second man, in the same livery, came to the door and laughed. It was that second man who saw Hook and recognized the great war bow, and so put his hand on his sword's hilt.\n\nHook reacted in panic. He thrust the bow at the man with the sword. In his head he was screaming, unable to think, but the lunge had all his archer's strength in it and the horn nock of the bow's tip pierced the man-at-arms's throat before his sword was even half drawn. Blood misted black and still Hook thrust so that the bow ripped clean through windpipe and muscle, skin and sinew to strike the doorjamb. The kneeling man was roaring, spraying vomit as he clawed at Hook who, still in panic, made a mewing noise of utter despair as he let go of the bow and thrust his hands at his new assailant. He felt his fingers crush eyeballs and the man began to scream, and Hook was dimly aware that the rapists outside the church were coming for him and he scrambled through the door, half tripping on the first man who lay trying to pull the bow from his ruptured throat as Hook ran across a room, burst through another door, down a passage, a third door, and he was in a yard, still not thinking, over a wall, a second wall, and there were shouts behind him and screams around him and he was in absolute terror now. He had lost his great yew bow, and had dropped the arrow bags, though he still had the sword every archer was expected to wear. He had never used it. He still wore the ragged red cross of Burgundy too, and he began to tear at the surcoat, trying to rid himself of the symbol as he looked desperately for an escape, any escape, then he scrambled over a stone wall into an alley shadowed by the overhanging houses, but in the dark he saw an open door and ran to it.\n\nThe door led into a large empty room where a guttering lantern showed a dead man sprawled across a cushioned wooden bench. The man's blood had sheeted across the flagstones. A tapestry hung on one wall and there were cupboards and a long table holding an abacus and sheets of parchment that were speared on a tall spike. Hook reckoned the dead man must have been a merchant. In one corner a ladder climbed to a higher floor and Hook went up quickly to find a plastered chamber that held a wooden bed with a pallet and blankets. A second ladder led into the attic and he clambered up and pulled the ladder into the space beneath the rafters and cursed himself for not having done the same with the first ladder. Too late now. He dared not drop back into the house and so he crouched in the bat droppings beneath the thatch. He was still shaking. Men were shouting in the houses beneath him, and for a time it seemed he must be discovered, and that discovery seemed imminent when someone climbed into the room where the bed stood, but the man only glanced briefly about before leaving, and the rest of the searchers grew bored or else found other quarry, for after a while their excited shouting died. The screaming went on, indeed the screaming became louder and it seemed to Hook, listening in puzzlement, that a whole group of women were just outside the house, all shrieking, and he flinched at the sound. He thought of Sarah in London, of Sir Martin the priest, and of the men he had just seen who had looked so bored as they raped their two silent victims.\n\nThe screaming turned into sobbing, broken only by men's laughter. Hook was shivering, not with cold, but with fear and guilt, and then he shrank into the small space under the sloping rafters because the room beneath was suddenly lit by a lantern. The light leaked through the attic's crude floorboards that were loosely laid over untrimmed beams. A man had climbed into the room and was shouting down the ladder to other men, and then a woman cried and there was the sound of a slap.\n\n\"You're a pretty one,\" the man said, and Hook was so frightened that he did not even notice that the man spoke English.\n\n\"Non,\" the woman whimpered.\n\n\"Too pretty to share. You're all mine, girl.\"\n\nHook peered through a crack in the boards. He could see a wide-brimmed helmet that half obscured the man's shoulders, and then he saw that the woman was a white-robed nun who crouched in a corner of the room. She was whimpering. \"J\u00e9sus,\" she cried, \"Marie, m\u00e8re de Dieu!\" And the last word turned into a scream as the man drew a knife. \"Non!\" she shouted. \"Non! Non! Non!\" and the helmeted man slapped her hard enough to silence her as he pulled her upright. He put the knife at her neck, then slashed so that her habit was sliced down the front. He ripped the blade further and, despite her struggles, tore the white robe away from her and then cut at her undergarments. He threw her ruined clothes down to the lower floor and, when she was naked, pushed her onto the pallet where she curled into a ball and sobbed.\n\n\"Oh, I'm sure God was delighted with that day's work!\" the voice said, though no one spoke aloud because the voice was in Hook's head. The words were those John Wilkinson had used to Hook in the cathedral, but the voice did not belong to the old archer. It was a richer, deeper voice, full of warmth, and Hook had a sudden vision of a white-robed man, smiling and carrying a tray heaped with pears and apples. It was Crispinian, the saint to whom he had addressed most of his prayers in Soissons, and now those prayers were being answered in Hook's head, and in Hook's head Crispinian looked sadly at him, and Hook understood that heaven had given him a chance to make amends. The nun in the room below had cried to Christ's mother, and the Virgin must have spoken to the saints of Soissons who now spoke to Hook, but Hook was frightened. He was hearing voices again. He did not know it, but he was kneeling. And no wonder. God was speaking to him through Saint Crispinian.\n\nAnd Nicholas Hook, outlaw and archer, did not know what to do when God spoke to him. He was filled with terror.\n\nThe man in the room below threw down his helmet. He unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it aside, then he growled something at the girl before starting to haul his mail coat and its covering surcoat over his head. Hook, peering between the crude floorboards, recognized the badge on the surcoat as Sir Roger Pallaire's three hawks on a green field. What was that badge doing here? It was the victorious besiegers, not the defeated garrison, who were raping and ransacking the city, yet the three hawks were unmistakably Sir Roger's arms.\n\n\"Now,\" Saint Crispinian said.\n\nHook did not move.\n\n\"Now!\" Saint Crispin snarled in Hook's head. Saint Crispin was not as friendly as Crispinian and Hook flinched when the saint snapped the word.\n\nThe man, Hook was not sure whether it was Sir Roger himself or one of his men-at-arms, was struggling with the heavy leather-lined mail coat that was half over his head and constricting his arms.\n\n\"For God's sake!\" Crispinian appealed to Hook.\n\n\"Do it, boy,\" Saint Crispin said harshly.\n\n\"Save your soul, Nicholas,\" Crispinian said gently.\n\nAnd Hook saved his soul.\n\nHe dropped through the hole in the attic floor. He forgot his sword, instead drawing the thick-bladed knife that he had once used to eviscerate deer carcasses. He fell just behind the man who could not see because his mail coat was over his head, but he heard Hook's arrival and he turned just as Hook's blade ripped across his belly. Nicholas Hook gutted the man. The strength of an archer's right arm was in the cut and the blade went deep and the guts slithered out like wet eels sliding from a slit sack as the man gave a strangulated cry that was muffled by the heavy coat shrouding his head, and he cried again as the knife gave a second cut, upward this time as Hook pushed his knife hand deep into the man's ruined belly to drive the blade up under the ribcage to find and puncture the would-be rapist's heart.\n\nThe man dropped back onto the bed and was dead before he hit the pallet.\n\nAnd Hook, blood-wet to his elbow, stared down at his victim.\n\nHe realized later that the down-filled pallet had saved his life for it soaked up the blood that otherwise would have dripped through the floorboards to alarm the men beneath. There were two of them, both wearing Sir Roger's livery, but Hook, standing in fear over his victim, noticed that the dead man's surcoat was made of finely woven linen, much finer than the usual cheap surcoat. He moved away from the hatch in the floor. The two men were ransacking a store cupboard and seemed oblivious of the killing that had just occurred above their heads.\n\nThe dead man's mail coat was tight-linked and polished, studded with the buckles that had anchored his plate armor. Hook crouched and tugged the coat clear of the man's head and saw that he had killed Sir Roger Pallaire. Sir Roger, ostensibly a Burgundian ally, had been left alive to rape and steal, which surely meant that Sir Roger had been secretly on the side of the French. Hook tried to comprehend that betrayal, while the naked girl stared at him with eyes and mouth wide open. She looked scared and Hook feared she was about to scream and so he put a finger to his lips, but she shook her head and suddenly began to make small desperate noises, half moans, half gasps, and Hook frowned at first, then understood that silence was more suspicious than the noise of her distress. That was clever of her, he thought. He nodded at her, then cut away a blood-drenched purse attached to Sir Roger's belt. He also pulled Sir Roger's surcoat clear of the mail coat and tossed it with the purse into the attic, then reached up and gripped one of the beams. He pulled himself into the roof space, then stretched his right arm for the girl.\n\nShe turned away and Hook hissed at her to come with him, but the girl knew what she wanted. She spat at Sir Roger's corpse, then spat a second time before giving Hook her hand. He pulled her up as easily as he hauled back a bowstring. He gestured at the surcoat and purse and she scooped them up, then followed him along the attic. He pushed through the flimsy wattle screen that divided the roof space and so led her into the neighboring attic. He trod carefully as the light diminished. He went to the very end, three houses down from where he had killed Sir Roger, and he gestured at the girl again, motioning her to crouch by the gable wall, and then, working slowly so as to make as little noise as possible, he pulled down the roof thatch.\n\nIt took maybe an hour. He not only dragged down the thatch, but forced some pegged rafters off the ridge timber, and when he had finished he reckoned it looked as though the roof had collapsed and he and the girl crept under the straw and timbers and huddled there. He had made a hiding place.\n\nAnd all he could do was wait. The girl sometimes spoke, but Hook had learned little French during his stay in Soissons and he did not understand what she said. He hushed her, and after a while she leaned against him and fell asleep, though sometimes she would whimper and Hook awkwardly tried to soothe her. She was wearing Sir Roger's surcoat, still damp with his blood. Hook untied the purse's strings and saw coins, gold and silver; the price, he suspected, of betrayal.\n\nDawn was smoky gray. Sir Roger's gutted corpse was found before the sun came up and there was a great hue and cry and Hook heard the men ransacking the row of houses beneath him, but his hiding place was cunningly made and no one thought to look in the tangle of straw and timber. The girl woke then and Hook laid a finger on her lips and she shivered as she clung to him. Hook's fear was still there, but it had settled into a resignation, and somehow the company of the girl gave him a hope that had not been in his soul the night before. Or perhaps, he thought, the twin saints of Soissons were protecting him and he made the sign of the cross and sent a prayer of gratitude to Crispin and Crispinian. They were silent now, but he had done what they had told him to do, and then he wondered if it had been Crispinian who had spoken to him in London. That seemed unlikely, but who had it been? God? Yet that question was unimportant against his realization that he had done what he had failed to do in London and so hope flickered inside him. Hope of redemption and survival. It was a feeble hope, small as a candle's flame in a high wind, but it was there.\n\nThe city had become quieter as the dawn approached, but as the sun rose over the cathedral the noise began again. There were screams and moans and cries. There was a gap in the ragged collapsed thatch and Hook could see down into the small square in front of the church of Saint Antoine-le-Petit. The two girls who had been tied to the barrels were gone, though the crossbowmen and men-at-arms were still there. A brindled dog sniffed at the corpse of a nun who lay with her head in a pool of black blood and with her habit pulled up above her waist. A man-at-arms rode through the square, a naked girl draped belly down across the saddle in front of him. He slapped her rump two-handed, as though he played a drum, and the watching men laughed.\n\nHook waited. He needed to piss badly, but dared not move, so he wet his breeches and the girl smelled it and grimaced, but had to pee herself a moment later. She began to cry softly and Hook held her close until her tears stopped. She murmured to him, and he murmured back, and neither understood the other, but both were comforted.\n\nThen the sound of more hooves made Hook twist around to peer through a gap in the straw. He could see down into the square where a score or more of horsemen had arrived in front of the church. One man carried a banner of golden lilies on a blue field, the whole surrounded by a red border blazoned with white dots. The horsemen were in armor, though none wore a helmet, and they were followed by armored men-at-arms who came on foot.\n\nOne of the newly arrived riders wore a surcoat that showed three hawks on a green field and Hook realized the horseman must be an Englishman who had been in Sir Roger's service, and it was that man who spurred his horse to the church and, leaning from the saddle, pounded a shortened lance against the door. He shouted something, though Hook was too far away to hear, but it must have been words of reassurance because, a moment later, the church door opened and Sergeant Smithson peered out.\n\nThe two men talked, then Smithson went back into the church, and there was a long pause. Hook watched, wondering what was happening, then the church door swung open again and the English archers filed warily into the sunlight. It seemed that Sir Roger had kept his word and Hook, watching from the ravaged gable, wondered if there was any chance of joining the bowmen who now gathered in front of the Englishman's horse. Sir Roger must have agreed that the archers would be spared, for the French appeared to be welcoming them. Smithson's men piled their bows, arrow bags, and swords by the church door and then, one by one, knelt to a horseman whose stallion was gaudy with the golden lilies on their blue cloth. The rider wore a gold coronet and bright polished armor and he raised a hand in what appeared to be a kindly benediction. Only John Wilkinson hung back close to the church.\n\nIf I can reach the street, Hook thought, then I can run to join my countrymen. \"No,\" Saint Crispinian whispered in Hook's head, startling him. The girl was clutching him.\n\n\"No?\" Hook whispered aloud.\n\n\"No,\" Saint Crispinian said again, very firmly.\n\nThe girl asked Hook something and he hushed her. \"Wasn't talking to you, lass,\" he whispered.\n\nThe blue and gold horseman held his mailed fist high for a few heartbeats, then abruptly dropped his hand.\n\nAnd the massacre began.\n\nThe dismounted men-at-arms drew swords and attacked the kneeling archers. The first of the bowmen died swiftly because they were unprepared, but others had time to draw their short knives and fight back, but the Frenchmen were in plate armor and they carried the longer blades and they came at the archers from every side. Sir Roger's man-at-arms watched. John Wilkinson snatched up a sword from the pile by the church door, but a man-at-arms ran him through with a shortened lance, and a second Frenchman cut down through his neck so that Wilkinson's blood sprayed high on the door's stone archway, which was carved with angels and fishes. Some archers were taken alive, bludgeoned back to the ground and guarded there by the grinning men-at-arms.\n\nThe man in the golden coronet turned and rode away, followed by his standard-bearer, his squire, his page, and his mounted followers. The Englishman wearing the badge of the three hawks rode with them, turning his back on the surviving archers who called out for mercy. But there was no mercy.\n\nThe French had long memories of defeat and they hated the men who drew the long war bow. At Cr\u00e9cy the French had outnumbered the English and had trapped them, and the French had charged across the low valley to rid the world of the impudent invaders, and it had been the archers who had defeated them by filling the sky with goose-fledged death and so cut down noble knights with their long-nosed arrows. Then, at Poitiers, the archers had ripped apart the chivalry of France and at that day's end the King of France was a prisoner, and all those insults still rankled, and so there was no mercy.\n\nHook and the girl listened. There were thirty or forty archers still alive and the French first chopped two fingers from each man's right hand so they could never again draw a bow. A big-bellied, wide-grinned Frenchman took the fingers with a mallet and chisel, and some of the archers took the agony in silence, while others had to be dragged protesting to the barrel on which their hands were spread. Hook thought the revenge would end there, but it had only begun. The French wanted more than fingers, they wanted pain and death.\n\nA tall man, mounted on a high horse, watched the archers' deaths. The man had long black hair that fell below his armored shoulders and Hook, who had the eyesight of a hawk, could clearly see the man's handsome, sun-darkened face. He had a sword-blade of a nose, a wide mouth, and a long jaw shadowed by stubble. Over his armor he wore a bright surcoat that showed a golden sun from which rays snaked and shot, and on the bright sun was an eagle's head. The girl did not see the man. She had her face buried in Hook's arms. She could hear the screams, but she would not watch. She whimpered whenever a man screamed under the exquisite pain that the French exacted as revenge.\n\nHook watched. He reckoned the tall man who wore the eagle and the sun could have stopped the torture and murder, but the man did nothing. He sat in his saddle and watched impassively as the French stripped the surviving archers naked, then took their eyes with the points of long knives. The men-at-arms taunted the newly blinded archers and scoured out their sockets with sharp blades. One Frenchman pretended to eat an eyeball, and the others laughed. The long-haired man did not laugh, he just observed, and his face showed nothing as the blinded men were laid flat on the cobbles to be castrated. Their screams filled the city that was already filled with screaming. It was only when the last blind Englishman had been gelded that the handsome man on the handsome warhorse left the square and the archers were left to bleed to death, sightless under a summer sky. Death took a long time, and Hook shivered even though the air was warm. Saint Crispinian was silent. A naked woman, her breasts cut off and her body red with blood, collapsed amidst the dying archers and wept there until a Frenchman, tired of her tears, casually stove in her skull with a battle-ax. Dogs sniffed the dying.\n\nThe sack of the city continued all day. The cathedral and the parish churches and the nunnery and the priories were all plundered. Women and children were raped and raped again, and their menfolk were murdered and God turned His face away from Soissons. The Sire de Bournonville was executed, and he was fortunate because he died without being tortured first. The castle, supposedly a refuge, had fallen without a fight as the French, permitted into the town by the treachery of Sir Roger, found its gate open and its portcullis raised. The Burgundians died, and only Sir Roger's men, complicit in their dead leader's betrayal, had been allowed to live as the city was put to the sword. The citizens had resented their Burgundian garrison and had never abandoned their loyalty to the King of France, but now, in a welter of blood, rape, and theft, the French rewarded that loyalty with massacre.\n\n\"Je suis Melisande,\" the girl said over and over, and Hook did not understand at first, but at last realized she was saying her name.\n\n\"Melisande?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oui,\" she said.\n\n\"Nicholas.\"\n\n\"Nicholas,\" she repeated.\n\n\"Just Nick,\" he said.\n\n\"Jusnick?\"\n\n\"Nick.\"\n\n\"Nick.\" They spoke in whispers, they waited, they listened to the sound of a city screaming, and they smelled the ale and the blood.\n\n\"I don't know how we get out of this place,\" Hook said to Melisande, who did not understand. She nodded anyway, then fell asleep under the straw with her head on his shoulder and Hook closed his eyes and prayed to Crispinian. Help us out of the city, he begged the saint, and help me get home. Except, he thought with sudden despair, an outlaw has no home.\n\n\"You will reach home,\" Saint Crispinian said to him.\n\nHook paused, wondering how a saint could speak to him. Had he imagined the voice? Yet it seemed real, as real as the screams that had marked the death of archers. Then he wondered how he could escape the city because the French would surely have sentries on all the gates.\n\n\"Then use the breach,\" Saint Crispinian suggested gently.\n\n\"We'll go out through the breach,\" Hook said to Melisande, but she was still asleep.\n\nAs night fell Hook watched pigs, evidently released from their sties behind the city's houses, feasting on the dead archers. Soissons was quieter now, the victors' appetites slaked on bodies, ale, and wine. The moon rose, but God sent high clouds that first misted the silver, then hid it, and in the darkness Hook and Melisande made their way downstairs, and out into the reeking street. It was the middle of the night and men snored in broken houses. No one guarded the breach. Melisande, swathed in Sir Roger's bloody surcoat, held Hook's hand as they clambered over the wall's rubble, and then as they crossed the low ground where the tanning pits stank and walked uphill past the abandoned besiegers' camp and so into the higher woods where no blood reeked and no corpses rotted.\n\nSoissons was dead.\n\nBut Hook and Melisande lived.\n\n\"The saints talk to me,\" he told her in the dawn. \"Crispinian does, anyway. The other fellow is grimmer. He sometimes speaks, but he doesn't say much.\"\n\n\"Crispinian,\" Melisande repeated, and seemed pleased that she understood one thing he said.\n\n\"He seems nice,\" Hook said, \"and he's looking after me. Looking after you too, now, I reckon!\" He smiled at her, suddenly confident. \"We must get you some proper clothes, lass. You look right strange in that coat.\"\n\nThough, if Melisande looked strange, she was also lovely. Hook did not notice that until the first dawn in the high woods when the sun shot a million lances of green-shimmering gold through leaves and branches to light a slender, high-boned face wreathed in hair as black as night. She had gray eyes, pale as moonlight, a long nose, and a stubborn cast to her chin, which, as Hook was to learn, reflected her character. She was pitifully thin, but had a sinewy strength and a scorn of weakness. Her mouth was wide, expressive and talkative. Hook was eventually to discover that she had been a novice in a house of nuns who were forbidden to speak, and in those first days it seemed Melisande needed to compensate for months of enforced silence. He understood nothing, yet he listened entranced as the girl chattered on.\n\nThey stayed the first day in the woods. From time to time horsemen appeared in the valley below the beeches. They were the victors of the siege of Soissons, but they were not dressed for war. Some were hawking, others seemed to be riding for the pleasure of it, and none interfered with the few fugitives who had apparently escaped Soissons and were now walking southward, yet still Hook did not want to risk an encounter with a Frenchman and so he stayed hidden until nightfall. He had decided to head westward, toward England, though being an outlaw meant that England was as dangerous as France, but he did not know where else he could go. He and Melisande traveled by night, their way lit by the moon. Their food was stolen, usually a lamb Hook took in the darkness. He feared the dogs that guarded the flocks, but perhaps it was Saint Crispin with his shepherd's crook who protected him, for the dogs never stirred as Hook cut an animal's throat. He would carry the small carcass back to the deep woods where he would make a fire and cook the flesh. \"You can go away on your own,\" he told Melisande one morning.\n\n\"Go?\" she asked, frowning, not understanding him.\n\n\"If you want, lass. You can go!\" He waved vaguely southward and was rewarded with a scowl and a burst of incomprehensible French, which he took to mean that Melisande would stay with him. She did stay, and her presence was both a comfort and a worry. Hook was not sure if he could escape the French countryside, and if he did he could see no future. He prayed to Saint Crispinian, and hoped the martyr could help him once he reached England, if he reached England, but Saint Crispinian was silent.\n\nYet if Saint Crispinian said nothing, he did send Hook and Melisande a priest who was the cur\u00e9 of a parish close to the River Oise and the priest found the two fugitives sleeping under a fallen willow among a thick stand of alders, and he took them to his home where his woman fed them. Father Michel was embittered and morose, yet he took pity on them. He spoke some English that he had learned when he had been chaplain to a French lord who had held an English prisoner in his manor. That experience of being a chaplain had left Father Michel hating everyone in authority, whether it was king, bishop, or lord, and that hatred was sufficient to let him help an English archer. \"You will go to Calais,\" he told Hook.\n\n\"I'm an outlaw, father.\"\n\n\"Outlaw?\" Eventually the priest understood, but dismissed the fear. \"Proscrit, eh? But England is home. A large place, yes? You go home and you stay far from where you sinned. What was your sin?\"\n\n\"I hit a priest.\"\n\nFather Michel laughed and clapped Hook on the back. \"That was well done! I hope it was a bishop?\"\n\n\"Just a priest.\"\n\n\"Next time hit a bishop, eh?\"\n\nHook paid for his stay. He chopped firewood, cleared ditches, and helped Father Michel rethatch a cow byre, while Melisande assisted the housekeeper to cook, wash, and mend. \"The villagers will not betray you,\" the priest assured Hook.\n\n\"Why not, father?\"\n\n\"Because they fear me. I can send them to hell,\" the priest said grimly. He liked to talk with Hook as a way of improving his English and one day, as Hook trimmed the pear trees behind the house, he listened as Hook haltingly admitted to hearing voices. Father Michel crossed himself. \"It could be the devil's voice?\" he suggested.\n\n\"That worries me,\" Hook admitted.\n\n\"But I think not,\" Father Michel said gently. \"You take a lot from that tree!\"\n\n\"This tree's a mess, father. You should have cut her back last winter, but this won't hurt her. You want some pears? You can't let her grow wild. Trust me. Cut and cut! And when you think you've cut too much, cut the same amount again!\"\n\n\"Cut and cut, eh? If I have no pears next year I will know you are the devil's man.\"\n\n\"It's Saint Crispinian who talks to me,\" Hook said, lopping another branch.\n\n\"But only if God lets him,\" the priest said and made the sign of the cross, \"which means God talks to you. I am glad no saints talk to me.\"\n\n\"You're glad?\"\n\n\"I think those who hear voices? Either they are saints themselves or they are for burning.\"\n\n\"I'm no saint,\" Hook said.\n\n\"But God has chosen you. He makes very strange choices,\" Father Michel said, then laughed.\n\nP\u00e8re Michel also talked with Melisande and so Hook learned something about the girl. Her father was a lord, the priest said, a lord called le Seigneur d'Enfer, and her mother had been a servant girl. \"So your Melisande is another nobleman's bastard,\" Father Michel said, \"born to trouble.\" Her noble father had arranged for Melisande to enter the nunnery in Soissons as a novice and to be a kitchen maid to the nuns. \"That is how lords hide their sins,\" Father Michel explained bitterly, \"by putting their bastards in prison.\"\n\n\"Prison?\"\n\n\"She did not want to be a nun. You know what her name is?\"\n\n\"Melisande.\"\n\n\"Melisande was a Queen of Jerusalem,\" P\u00e8re Michel said, smiling. \"And this Melisande loves you.\" Hook said nothing to that. \"Take care of her,\" P\u00e8re Michel said sternly on the day they left.\n\nThey went in disguise. It was difficult to hide Hook's stature, but Father Michel gave him a white penitent's robe and a leper's clapper, which was a piece of wood to which two others were attached by leather strips, and Melisande, also in a penitent's robe and with her black hair chopped raggedly short, led him north and west. They were pilgrims, it appeared, seeking a cure for Hook's disease. They lived off alms tossed by folk who did not want to go near Hook, who announced his contagious presence by rattling the clapper loudly. They still moved circumspectly, skirting the larger villages and making a wide detour to avoid the smear of smoke that marked the city of Amiens. They slept in the woods, or in cattle byres, or in haystacks, and the rain soaked them and the sun warmed them and one day, beside the River Canche, they became lovers. Melisande was silent afterward, but she clung to Hook and he said a prayer of thanks to Saint Crispinian, who ignored him.\n\nThe next day they walked north, following a road that led across a wide field between two woods, and off to the west was a small castle half hidden by a stand of trees. They rested in the eastern woods close to a tumbledown forester's cottage with a moss-thick thatch. Barley grew in the wide field, the ears rippling prettily under the breeze. Larks tumbled above them, their song another ripple, and both Hook and Melisande dozed in the late summer's warmth.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" a harsh voice demanded. A horseman, dressed richly and with a hooded hawk on his wrist, was watching them from the wood's edge.\n\nMelisande knelt in submission and lowered her head. \"I take my brother to Saint-Omer, lord,\" she said.\n\nThe horseman, who may or may not have been a lord, took note of Hook's clapper and edged his horse away. \"What do you seek there?\" he demanded.\n\n\"The blessing of Saint Audomar, lord,\" Melisande said. Father Michel had told them Saint-Omer was near Calais, and that many folk sought cures from Saint Audomar's shrine in the town. Father Michel had also said it was much safer to say they were travelling to Saint-Omer than to admit they were headed for the English enclave around Calais.\n\n\"God give you a safe journey,\" the horseman said grudgingly and tossed a coin into the leaf mold.\n\n\"Lord?\" Melisande asked.\n\nThe rider turned his horse back. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Where are we, lord? And how far to Saint-Omer?\"\n\n\"A very long day's walk,\" the man said, gathering his reins, \"and why would you care what this place is called? You won't have heard of it.\"\n\n\"No, lord,\" Melisande said.\n\nThe man gazed at her for a heartbeat, then shrugged. \"That castle?\" he said, nodding to the battlements showing above the western trees, \"is called Agincourt. I hope your brother is cured.\" He gathered his reins and spurred his horse into the barley.\n\nIt was four more days before they reached the marshes about Calais. They moved cautiously, avoiding the French patrols that circled the English-held town. It was night when they reached the Nieulay bridge that led onto the causeway that approached the town. Sentries challenged them. \"I'm English!\" Hook shouted and then, holding Melisande's hand, stepped cautiously into the flare of torchlight illuminating the bridge's gate.\n\n\"Where are you from, lad?\" a gray-bearded man in a close-fitting helmet asked.\n\n\"We've come from Soissons,\" Hook said.\n\n\"You've come from\u2026\" the man took a step forward to peer at Hook and his companion. \"Sweet Jesus Christ. Come on through.\"\n\nSo Hook stepped through the small gate built into the larger one, and thus he and Melisande crossed into England where he was an outlaw.\n\nBut Saint Crispinian had kept his word and Hook had come home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Even in summer the hall of Calais Castle was chilly. The thick stone walls kept the warmth at bay and so a great fire crackled in the hearth, and in front of the stone fireplace was a wide rug on which two couches stood and six hounds slept. The rest of the room was stone-flagged. Swords were racked along one wall, and iron-tipped lances rested on trestles. Sparrows flitted among the beams. The shutters at the western end of the hall were open and Hook could hear the endless stirring of the sea.\n\nThe garrison commander and his elegant lady sat on one couch. Hook had been told their names, but the words had slithered through his head and so he did not know who they were. Six men-at-arms stood behind the couch, all watching Hook and Melisande with skeptical and hostile eyes, while a priest stood at the rug's edge, looking down at the two fugitives who knelt on the stone flags. \"I do not understand,\" the priest said in a nasally unpleasant voice, \"why you left Lord Slayton's service.\"\n\n\"Because I refused to kill a girl, father,\" Hook explained.\n\n\"And Lord Slayton wished her dead?\"\n\n\"His priest did, sir.\"\n\n\"Sir Giles Fallowby's son,\" the man on the couch put in, and his voice suggested he did not like Sir Martin.\n\n\"So a man of God wished her dead,\" the priest ignored the garrison commander's tone, \"yet you knew better?\" His voice was dangerous with menace.\n\n\"She was only a girl,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It was through woman,\" the priest pounced fiercely on Hook's answer, \"that sin entered the world.\"\n\nThe elegant lady put a long pale hand over her mouth as if to hide a yawn. There was a tiny dog on her lap, a little bundle of white fur studded with pugnacious eyes, and she stroked its head. \"I am bored,\" she said, speaking to no one in particular.\n\nThere was a long silence. One of the hounds whimpered in its sleep and the garrison commander leaned forward to pat its head. He was a heavyset, black-bearded man who now gestured impatiently toward Hook. \"Ask him about Soissons, father,\" he ordered.\n\n\"I was coming to that, Sir William,\" the priest said.\n\n\"Then come to it quickly,\" the woman said coldly.\n\n\"Are you outlawed?\" the priest asked instead and, when the archer did not answer, he repeated the question more loudly and still Hook did not answer.\n\n\"Answer him,\" Sir William growled.\n\n\"I would have thought his silence was eloquence itself,\" the lady said. \"Ask him about Soissons.\"\n\nThe priest grimaced at her commanding tone, but obeyed. \"Tell us what happened in Soissons,\" he demanded, and Hook told the tale again, how the French had entered the town by the southern gate and how they had raped and killed, and how Sir Roger Pallaire had betrayed the English archers.\n\n\"And you alone escaped?\" the priest asked sourly.\n\n\"Saint Crispinian helped me,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Oh! Saint Crispinian did?\" the priest asked, raising an eyebrow. \"How very obliging of him.\" There was a snort of half-suppressed laughter from one of the men-at-arms, while the others just stared with distaste at the kneeling archer. Disbelief hung in the castle's great hall like the woodsmoke that leaked around the wide hearth's opening. Another of the men-at-arms was staring fixedly at Melisande and now leaned close to his neighbor and whispered something that made the other man laugh. \"Or did the French let you go?\" the priest demanded sharply.\n\n\"No, sir!\" Hook said.\n\n\"Perhaps they let you go for a reason!\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Even a humble archer can count men,\" the priest said, \"and if our lord the king collects an army, then the French will wish to know numbers.\"\n\n\"No, sir!\" Hook said again.\n\n\"So they let you go, and bribed you with a whore?\" the priest suggested.\n\n\"She's no whore!\" Hook protested and the men-at-arms sniggered.\n\nMelisande had not yet spoken. She had seemed overawed by the big men in their mail coats and by the supercilious priest and by the languorous woman who sprawled on the cushioned couch, but now Melisande found her tongue. She might not have understood the priest's insult, but she recognized his tone, and she suddenly straightened her back and spoke fast and defiantly. She spoke French, and spoke it so quickly that Hook did not understand one word in a hundred, but everyone else in the room spoke the language and they all listened. She spoke passionately, indignantly, and neither the garrison commander nor the priest interrupted her. Hook knew she was telling the tale of Soissons's fall, and after a while tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks and her voice rose as she hammered the priest with her story. She ran out of words, gestured at Hook and her head dropped as she began to sob.\n\nThere was silence for a few heartbeats. A sergeant in a mail coat noisily opened the hall door, saw that the room was occupied, and left just as loudly. Sir William looked judiciously at Hook. \"You murdered Sir Roger Pallaire?\" he asked harshly.\n\n\"I killed him, sir.\"\n\n\"A good deed from an outlaw,\" Sir William's wife said firmly, \"if what the girl says is true.\"\n\n\"If,\" the priest said.\n\n\"I believe her,\" the woman said, then rose from the couch, tucked the little dog into one arm, and walked to the rug's edge where she stooped and raised Melisande by the elbow. She spoke to her in soft French, then led her toward the hall's far end and so through a curtained opening.\n\nSir William waited till his wife was gone, then stood. \"I believe he's telling the truth, father,\" he said firmly.\n\n\"He might be,\" the priest conceded.\n\n\"I believe he is,\" Sir William insisted.\n\n\"We could put him to the test?\" the priest suggested with scarcely concealed eagerness.\n\n\"You would torture him?\" Sir William asked, shocked.\n\n\"The truth is sacred, my lord,\" the priest said, bowing slightly. \"Et cognoscetis veritatem,\" he declaimed, \"et veritas liberabit vos!\" He made the sign of the cross. \"You will know the truth, my lord,\" he translated, \"and the truth will set you free.\"\n\n\"I am free,\" the black-bearded man snarled, \"and it is not our duty to rack the truth out of some poor archer. We shall leave that to others.\"\n\n\"Of course, my lord,\" the priest said, barely hiding his disappointment.\n\n\"Then you know where he must go.\"\n\n\"Indeed, my lord.\"\n\n\"So arrange it,\" Sir William said before crossing to Hook and indicating that the archer should stand. \"Did you kill any of them?\" he demanded.\n\n\"A lot, my lord,\" Hook said, remembering the arrows flying into the half-lit breach.\n\n\"Good,\" Sir William said implacably, \"but you also killed Sir Roger Pallaire. That makes you either a hero or a murderer.\"\n\n\"I'm an archer,\" Hook said stubbornly.\n\n\"And an archer whose tale must be heard across the water,\" Sir William said, then handed Hook a silver coin. \"We've heard tales of Soissons,\" he went on grimly, \"but you are the first to bring confirmation.\"\n\n\"If he was there,\" the priest remarked snidely.\n\n\"You heard the girl,\" Sir William snarled at the priest who bridled at the admonition. Sir William turned back to Hook. \"Tell your tale in England.\"\n\n\"I'm outlawed,\" Hook said uncertainly.\n\n\"You'll do what you're told to do,\" Sir William snapped, \"and you're going to England.\"\n\nAnd so Hook and Melisande were taken aboard a ship that sailed to England. They then traveled with a courier who carried messages to London and also had money that paid for ale and food on the journey. Melisande was dressed in decent clothes now, provided by Lady Bardolf, Sir William's wife, and she rode a small mare that the courier had demanded from the stables in Dover Castle. She was saddle-sore by the time they reached London where, having crossed the bridge, they surrendered their horses to the grooms in the Tower. \"You will wait here,\" the courier commanded them, and would not tell Hook more, and so he and Melisande found a place to sleep in the cow byre, and no one in the great fortress seemed to know why they had been summoned there.\n\n\"You're not prisoners,\" a sergeant of archers told them.\n\n\"But we're not allowed out,\" Hook said.\n\n\"No, you're not allowed out,\" the ventenar conceded, \"but you're not prisoners.\" He grinned. \"If you were prisoners, lad, you wouldn't be cuddling that little lass every night. Where's your bow?\"\n\n\"Lost it in France.\"\n\n\"Then let's find you a new one,\" the ventenar said. He was called Venables and he had fought for the old king at Shrewsbury where he had taken an arrow in the leg that had left him with a limp. He led Hook to an undercroft of the great keep where there were wide wooden racks holding hundreds of newly made bows. \"Pick one,\" Venables said.\n\nIt was dim in the undercroft where the bowstaves, each longer than a tall man, lay close together. None was strung, though all were tipped with horn nocks ready to take their cords. Hook pulled them out one by one and ran a hand across their thick bellies. The bows, he decided, had been well made. Some were knobbly where the bowyer had let a knot stand proud rather than weaken the wood, and most had a faintly greasy feel because they had been painted with a mix of wax and tallow. A few bows were unpainted, the wood still seasoning, but those bows were not yet ready for the cord and Hook ignored them. \"They're mostly made in Kent,\" Venables said, \"but a few come from London. They don't make good archers in this part of the world, boy, but they do make good bows.\"\n\n\"They do,\" Hook agreed. He had pulled one of the longest staves from the rack. The timber swelled to a thick belly that he gripped in his left hand as he flexed the upper limb a small amount. He took the bow to a place where sunlight shone through a rusted grating.\n\nThe stave was a thing of beauty, he thought. The yew had been cut in a southern country where the sun shone brighter, and this bow had been carved from the tree's trunk. It was close-grained and had no knots. Hook ran his hand down the wood, feeling its swell and fingering the small ridges left by the bowyer's float, the drawknife that shaped the weapon. The stave was new because the sapwood, which formed the back of the bow, was almost white. In time, he knew, it would turn to the color of honey, but for now the bow's back, which would be farthest from him when he hauled the cord, was the shade of Melisande's breasts. The belly of the bow, made from the trunk's heartwood, was dark brown, the color of Melisande's face, so that the bow seemed to be made of two strips of wood, one white and one brown, which were perfectly married, though in truth the stave was one single shaft of beautifully smoothed timber cut from where the heartwood and sapwood met in the yew's trunk.\n\nGod made the bow, a priest had once said in Hook's village church, as God made man and woman. The visiting priest had meant that God had married heartwood and sapwood, and it was this marriage that made the great war bow so lethal. The dark heartwood of the bow's belly was stiff and unyielding. It resisted bending, while the light-colored sapwood of the bow's spine did not mind being pulled into a curve, yet, like the heartwood, it wanted to straighten and it possessed a springiness that, released from pressure, whipped the stave back to its normal shape. So the flexible spine pulled and the stiff belly pushed, and so the long arrow flew.\n\n\"Have to be strong to pull that one,\" Venables said dubiously. \"God knows what that bowyer was thinking! Maybe he thought Goliath needed a stave, eh?\"\n\n\"He didn't want to cut the stave,\" Hook suggested, \"because it's perfect.\"\n\n\"If you think you can draw it, lad, it's yours. Help yourself to a bracer,\" Venables said, gesturing to a pile of horn bracers, \"and to a cord.\" He waved toward a barrel of strings.\n\nThe cords had a faintly sticky feel because the hemp had been coated with hoof glue to protect the strings from damp. Hook found a couple of long cords and tied a loop-knot in the end of one that he hooked over the notched horn-tip of the bow's lower limb. Then, using all his strength, he flexed the bow to judge the length of cord needed, made a loop in the other end of the string and, again exerting every scrap of muscle power, bent the bow and slipped the new loop over the top horn nock. The center of the cord, where it would lie on the horn-sliver in an arrow's nock, had been whipped with more hemp to strengthen the string where it notched into the arrows.\n\n\"Shoot it in,\" Venables suggested. He was a middle-aged man in the service of the Tower's constable and he was a friendly soul, liking to spend his day chattering to anyone who would listen to his stories of battles long ago. He carried an arrow bag up to the stretch of mud and grass outside the keep and dropped it with a clatter. Hook put the bracer on his left forearm, tying its strings so the slip of horn lay on the inside of his wrist to protect his skin from the bowstring's lash. A scream sounded and was cut off. \"That's Brother Bailey,\" Venables said in explanation.\n\n\"Brother Bailey?\"\n\n\"Brother Bailey is a Benedictine,\" Venables said, \"and the king's chief torturer. He's getting the truth out of some poor bastard.\"\n\n\"They wanted to torture me in Calais,\" Hook said.\n\n\"They did?\"\n\n\"A priest did.\"\n\n\"They're always eager to twist the rack, aren't they? I never did understand that! They tell you God loves you, then they kick the shit out of you. Well, if they do question you, lad, tell them the truth.\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"Mind you, that doesn't always help,\" Venables said. The scream sounded again and he jerked his head toward the muffled noise. \"That poor bastard probably did tell the truth, but Brother Bailey does like to be certain, he does. Let's see how that stave shoots, shall we?\"\n\nHook planted a score of arrows point down in the soil. A faded and much punctured target was propped in front of a stack of rotting hay at the top of the stretch of grass. The range was short, no more than a hundred paces, and the target was twice as wide as a man and Hook would have expected to hit that easy mark every time, but he suspected his first arrows would fly wild.\n\nThe bow was under tension, but now he had to teach it to bend. He drew it only a short way the first time and the arrow scarcely reached the target. He drew it a little further, then again, each time bringing the cord closer to his face, yet never drawing the bow to its full curve. He shot arrow after arrow, and all the time he was learning the bow's idiosyncrasies and the bow was learning to yield to his pressure, and it was an hour before he pulled the cord back to his ear and loosed the first arrow with the stave's full power.\n\nHe did not know it, but he was smiling. There was a beauty there, a beauty of yew and hemp, of silk and feathers, of steel and ash, of man and weapon, of pure power, of the bow's vicious tension that, released through fingers rubbed raw by the coarse hemp, shot the arrow to hiss in its flight and thump as it struck home. The last arrow went clean through the riddled target's center and buried itself to its feathers in the hay. \"You've done this before,\" Venables said with a grin.\n\n\"I have,\" Hook agreed, \"but I've been away too long. Fingers are sore!\"\n\n\"They'll harden fast, lad,\" Venables said, \"and if they don't torture and kill you, then you might think of joining us! Not a bad life at the Tower. Good food, plenty of it, and not much in the way of duties.\"\n\n\"I'd like that,\" Hook said absent-mindedly. He was concentrating on the bow. He had thought that the weeks of travel might have diminished his strength and eroded his skill, but he was pulling easily, loosing smoothly, and aiming true. There was a slight ache in his shoulder and back, and his two fingertips were scraped raw, but that was all. And he was happy, he suddenly realized. That thought checked him, made him stare in wonder at the target. Saint Crispinian had guided him into a sunlit place and had given him Melisande, and then the happiness soured as he remembered he was still an outlaw. If Sir Martin or Lord Slayton discovered that Nicholas Hook was alive and in England they would demand him and would probably hang him.\n\n\"Let's see how quick you are,\" Venables suggested.\n\nHook pushed another handful of arrows into the turf and remembered the night of smoke and screams when the glimmering metal-clad men had come through the breach of Soissons and he had shot again and again, not thinking, not aiming, just letting the bow do its work. This new bow was stronger, more lethal, but just as quick. He did not think, he just loosed, picked a new arrow and laid it over the bow, raised the stave, hauled the cord and loosed again. A dozen arrows whickered over the turf and struck the target one after the other. If a man's spread hand had been over the central mark then each arrow would have struck it.\n\n\"Twelve,\" a cheerful voice said behind him, \"one arrow for each disciple.\" Hook turned to see a priest watching him. The man, who had a round, merry face framed by wispy white hair, was carrying a great leather bag in one hand and had Melisande's elbow firmly clutched in the other. \"You must be Master Hook!\" the priest said, \"of course you are! I'm Father Ralph, may I try?\" He put down the bag, released Melisande's arm, and reached for Hook's bow. \"Do allow me,\" he pleaded, \"I used to draw the bow in my youth!\"\n\nHook surrendered the bow and watched as Father Ralph tried to pull the cord. The priest was a well-built man, though grown rather portly from good living, but even so he only managed to pull the cord back about a hand's breadth before the stave began quivering with the effort. Father Ralph shook his head. \"I'm not the man I was!\" he said, then gave the bow back and watched as Hook, apparently effortlessly, bent the long stave to unhook the string. \"It is time we all talked,\" Father Ralph said very cheerfully. \"A most excellent day to you, Sergeant Venables, how are you?\"\n\n\"I'm well, father, very well!\" Venables grinned, bobbed his head, and knuckled his forehead. \"Leg doesn't hurt much, father, not if the wind ain't in the east.\"\n\n\"Then I shall pray God to send you nothing but west winds!\" Father Ralph said happily, \"nothing but westerlies! Come, Master Hook! Shed light upon my darkness! Illuminate me!\"\n\nThe priest, again clutching his bag, led Hook and Melisande to rooms built against the Tower's curtain wall. The chamber he chose, which was small and paneled with carved timber, had two chairs and a table and Father Ralph insisted on finding a third chair. \"Sit yourselves,\" he said, \"sit, sit!\"\n\nHe wished to know the full story of Soissons and so, in English and French, Hook and Melisande told their tale again. They described the assault, the rapes and the murders, and Father Ralph's pen never stopped scratching. His bag contained sheets of parchment, an ink flask and quills, and he wrote unceasingly, occasionally throwing in a question. Melisande spoke the most, her voice sounding indignant as she recounted the night's horrors. \"Tell me about the nuns,\" Father Ralph said, then made a fluttery gesture as if he had been a fool and repeated the question in French. Melisande sounded ever more indignant, staring wide-eyed at Father Ralph when he motioned her to silence so his pen could catch up with her flood of words.\n\nHoofbeats sounded outside and, a few moments later, there was the clangor of swords striking each other. Hook, as Melisande told her story, looked through the open window to see men-at-arms practicing on the ground where his arrows had flown. They were all dressed in full plate armor that made a dull sound if a blade struck. One man, distinctive because his armor was black, was being attacked by two others and he was defending himself skillfully, though Hook had the impression that the two men were not trying as hard as they might. A score of other men applauded the contest. \"Et gladius diaboli,\" Father Ralph read aloud slowly as he finished writing a sentence, \"repletus est sanguine. Good! Oh, that is most excellent!\"\n\n\"Is that Latin, father?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"It is, yes! Yes, indeed! Latin! The language of God! Or perhaps He speaks Hebrew? I suppose that's more likely and it will make things rather awkward in heaven, won't it? Will we all have to learn Hebrew? Or maybe we shall find ourselves gloriously voluble in that language when we reach the heavenly pastures. I was saying how the devil's sword was slaked with blood!\" Father Ralph chuckled at that sentiment, then motioned for Melisande to continue. He wrote again, his pen flying over the parchment. The sound of confident male laughter sounded from the turf outside where two other men-at-arms now fought, their swords quick in the sunlight. \"You wonder,\" Father Ralph asked when he had finished yet another page, \"why I transcribe your tale into Latin?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"So all Christendom will know what sanguinary devils the French are! We shall copy this tale a hundred times and send it to every bishop, every abbot, every king, and every prince in Christendom. Let them know the truth of Soissons! Let them know how the French treat their own people! Let them know that Satan's dwelling place is in France, eh?\" He smiled.\n\n\"Satan does live there,\" a harsh voice spoke behind Hook, \"and he must be driven out!\" Hook twisted in his chair to see that the black-armored man-at-arms was standing in the doorway. He had taken off his helmet and his brown hair was plastered down by sweat in which an impression of his helmet liner remained. He was a young man who looked familiar, though Hook could not place him, but then Hook saw the deep scar beside the long nose and he almost knocked the chair over as he scrambled to kneel before his king. His heart was beating fast and the terror was as great as when he had waited by the breach at Soissons. The king. That was all he could think of, this was the king.\n\nHenry made an irritable gesture that Hook should rise, an order Hook was too nervous to obey. The king edged between the table and the wall to look at what Father Ralph had written. \"My Latin is not what it should be,\" he said, \"but the gist is clear enough.\"\n\n\"It confirms all the rumors we heard, sire,\" Father Ralph said.\n\n\"Sir Roger Pallaire?\"\n\n\"Killed by this young man, sire,\" Father Ralph said, gesturing at Hook.\n\n\"He was a traitor,\" the king said coldly, \"our agents in France have confirmed that.\"\n\n\"He screams in hell now, sire,\" Father Ralph said, \"and his screams shall not end with time itself.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Henry said curtly and sifted the pages. \"Nuns? Surely not?\"\n\n\"Indeed, sire,\" Father Ralph said. \"The brides of Christ were violated and murdered. They were dragged from their prayers to become playthings, sire. We had heard of it and we had scarce dared to believe it, but this young lady confirms it.\"\n\nThe king rested his gaze on Melisande, who, like Hook, had dropped to her knees where, like Hook, she quivered with nervousness. \"Get up,\" the king said to her, then looked at a crucifix hanging on the wall. He frowned and bit his lower lip. \"Why did God allow it, father?\" he asked after a while, and there was both pain and puzzlement in his voice. \"Nuns? God should have protected them, surely? He should have sent angels to guard them!\"\n\n\"Perhaps God wanted their fate to be a sign,\" Father Ralph suggested.\n\n\"A sign?\"\n\n\"Of the wickedness of the French, sire, and thus the righteousness of your claim to that unhappy realm's crown.\"\n\n\"My task, then, is to avenge the nuns,\" Henry said.\n\n\"You have many tasks, sire,\" Father Ralph said humbly, \"but that is certainly one.\"\n\nHenry looked at Hook and Melisande, his armored fingers tapping on the table. Hook dared to look up once and saw the anxiety on the king's narrow face. That surprised him. He would have guessed that a king was above worry and aloof to questions of right or wrong, but it was clear that this king was pained by his need to discover God's will. \"So these two,\" Henry said, still watching Hook and Melisande, \"are telling the truth?\"\n\n\"I would swear to it, sire,\" Father Ralph said warmly.\n\nThe king gazed at Melisande, his face betraying no emotion, then the cold eyes slid to Hook. \"Why did you alone survive?\" he asked in a suddenly hard voice.\n\n\"I prayed, sire,\" Hook said humbly.\n\n\"The others didn't pray?\" the king asked sharply.\n\n\"Some did, sire.\"\n\n\"But God chose to answer your prayers?\"\n\n\"I prayed to Saint Crispinian, sire,\" Hook said, paused, then plunged on with his answer, \"and he spoke to me.\"\n\nSilence again. A raven cawed outside and the clash of swords echoed from the Tower's keep. Then the King of England reached out his gauntleted hand and tipped Hook's face up so he could look into the archer's eyes. \"He spoke to you?\" the king asked.\n\nHook hesitated. He felt as though his heart was beating at the base of his throat. Then he decided to tell the whole truth, however unlikely it sounded. \"Saint Crispinian spoke to me, sire,\" he said, \"in my head.\"\n\nThe king just stared at Hook. Father Ralph opened his mouth as though he were about to speak, but a mailed royal hand cautioned the priest to silence and Henry, King of England, went on staring so that Hook felt fear creep up his spine like a cold snake. \"It's warm in here,\" the king said suddenly, \"you will talk with me outside.\"\n\nFor a heartbeat Hook thought he must have been speaking to Father Ralph, but it was Hook the king wanted, and so Nicholas Hook went into the afternoon sunshine and walked beside his king. Henry's armor squeaked slightly as it rubbed against the greased leather beneath. His men-at-arms had instinctively approached as he appeared, but he waved them away. \"Tell me,\" Henry said, \"how Crispinian spoke to you.\"\n\nHook told how both saints had appeared to him, and how both had spoken to him, but that it was Crispinian who had been the friendly voice. He felt embarrassed to describe the conversations, but Henry took it seriously. He stopped and faced Hook. He was half a head shorter than the archer, so he had to look up to judge Hook's face, but it appeared he was more than satisfied by what he saw. \"You are blessed,\" he said. \"I would wish the saints would speak to me,\" he said wistfully. \"You have been spared for a purpose,\" he added firmly.\n\n\"I'm just a forester, sire,\" Hook said awkwardly. For a heartbeat he was tempted to tell the further truth, that he was an outlaw too, but caution checked his tongue.\n\n\"No, you are an archer,\" the king insisted, \"and it was in our realm of France that the saints assisted you. You are God's instrument.\"\n\nHook did not know what to say and so said nothing.\n\n\"God granted me the thrones of England and of France,\" the king said harshly, \"and if it is His will, we shall take the throne of France back.\" His mailed right fist clenched suddenly. \"If we do so decide,\" he went on, \"I shall want men favored by the saints of France. Are you a good archer?\"\n\n\"I think so, sire,\" Hook said diffidently.\n\n\"Venables!\" the king called and the ventenar limped hurriedly across the turf and fell to his knees. \"Can he shoot?\" Henry asked.\n\nVenables grinned. \"As good as any man I ever did see, sire. As good as the man who put that arrow into your face.\"\n\nThe king evidently liked Venables for he smiled at the slight insolence, then touched an iron-sheathed finger to the deep scar beside his nose. \"If he'd shot harder, Venables, you would have another king now.\"\n\n\"Then God did a good deed that day, sire, in preserving you, and God be thanked for that great mercy.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" Henry said. He offered Hook a swift smile. \"The arrow glanced off a helmet,\" he explained, \"and that took the force from it, but it still went deep.\"\n\n\"You should have had your visor closed, sire,\" Venables said reprovingly.\n\n\"Men should see a prince's face in battle,\" Henry said firmly, then looked back to Hook. \"We shall find you a lord.\"\n\n\"I'm outlawed, lord,\" Hook blurted out, unable to conceal the truth any longer. \"I'm sorry, sire.\"\n\n\"Outlawed?\" the king asked harshly, \"for what crime?\"\n\nHook had dropped to his knees again. \"For hitting a priest, sire.\"\n\nThe king was silent and Hook dared not look up. He expected punishment, but instead, to his astonishment, the king chuckled. \"It seems that Saint Crispinian has forgiven you that grievous error, so who am I to condemn you? And in this realm,\" Henry went on, his voice harder now, \"a man is what I say he is, and I say you are an archer and we shall find you a lord.\" Henry, without another word, walked back to his companions and Hook let out a long breath.\n\nSergeant Venables climbed to his feet, flinching from the pain in his wounded leg. \"Chatted to you, did he?\"\n\n\"Yes, sergeant.\"\n\n\"He likes doing that. His father didn't. His father was all gloomy, but our Hal is never too grand to say a word or two to a common bastard like you or me.\" Venables spoke warmly. \"So, he's finding you a new lord?\"\n\n\"So he said.\"\n\n\"Well, let's hope it's not Sir John.\"\n\n\"Sir John?\"\n\n\"Mad bastard he is,\" Venables said, \"mad and bad. Sir John will have you killed in no time at all!\" Venables chuckled, then nodded to the houses built against the curtain wall. \"Father Ralph is looking for you.\"\n\nFather Ralph was beckoning from the doorway. So Hook went to finish his tale.\n\n\"Jesus weeping Christ, you spavined fart! Cross it! Cross it! Don't flap it like a wet cock! Cross it! Then close me!\" Sir John Cornewaille snarled at Hook.\n\nThe sword came again, slashing at Hook's waist, and this time Hook managed to cross his own blade to parry the blow and, as he did so, pushed forward, only to be thumped back by a thrust of Sir John's mailed fist. \"Keep coming,\" Sir John urged him, \"crowd me, get me down on the ground, then finish me!\" Instead Hook stepped back and brought up his sword to deflect the next swing of Sir John's blade. \"What in Christ's name is the matter with you?\" Sir John shouted in rage. \"Have you been weakened by that French whore of yours? By that titless streak of scabby French gristle? Christ's bones, man, find a real woman! Goddington!\" Sir John glanced at his centenar, \"why don't you spread that scabby whore's skinny legs and see if she can even be humped?\"\n\nHook felt the sudden anger then, a red mist of rage that drove him onto Sir John's blade, but the older man stepped lithely aside and flicked his sword so that the blade's flat rapped the back of Hook's skull. Hook turned, his own sword scything at Sir John, who parried easily. Sir John was in full armor, yet moved as lightly as a dancer. He lunged at Hook, and this time Hook remembered the advice and he swept the lunge aside and threw himself on his opponent, using all his weight and height to unbalance the older man, and he knew he was going to hammer Sir John onto the ground where he would beat him to a pulp, but instead he felt a thumping smack on the back of his skull, his vision went dark, the world reeled, and a second crashing blow with the heavy pommel of Sir John's sword threw him face down into the early winter stubble.\n\nHe did not hear much of what Sir John said in the next few minutes. Hook's head was painful and spinning, but as he gradually recovered his senses he heard some of the snarled peroration. \"You can feel anger before a fight! But in the fight? Keep your goddam wits about you! Anger will get you killed.\" Sir John wheeled on Hook. \"Get up. Your mail's filthy. Clean it. And there's rust on the sword blade. I'll have you whipped if it's still there at sundown.\"\n\n\"He won't whip you,\" Goddington, the centenar, told Hook that evening. \"He'll thump you and cut you and maybe break your bones, but it'll be in a fair fight.\"\n\n\"I'll break his bones,\" Hook said vengefully.\n\nGoddington laughed. \"One man, Hook, just one man has held Sir John to a drawn fight in the last ten years. He's won every tournament in Europe. You won't beat him, you won't even come close. He's a fighter.\"\n\n\"He's a bastard!\" Hook said. The back of his head was matted with blood. Melisande was cleaning his mail and Hook was scrubbing at the rust on his sword blade with a stone. Both sword and mail had been supplied by Sir John Cornewaille.\n\n\"He was goading you, boy, he meant nothing,\" Goddington said to Hook. \"He insults everyone, but if you're his man, and you will be, he'll fight for you too. And he'll fight for your woman.\"\n\nNext day Hook watched as Sir John put archer after archer onto the ground. When his own turn came to face Sir John he managed to trade a dozen blows before being turned, tripped, and thrown down. Sir John backed away from him, scorn on his scarred face, and that scorn drove Hook to his feet and to a wild, savage charge and a searing cut with the sword that Sir John contemptuously flicked away before tripping Hook again. \"Anger, Hook,\" Sir John growled, \"if you don't control it, it'll kill you, and a dead archer's no good to me. Fight cold, man. Fight cold and hard. Fight clever!\" To Hook's surprise he reached out a hand and pulled Hook to his feet. \"But you're quick, Hook,\" Sir John said, \"you're quick! And that's good.\"\n\nSir John looked to be close on forty years old, but he was still the most feared tournament fighter in Europe. He was a squat, thick-chested man, bowlegged from years spent on horseback. He had the brightest blue eyes Hook had ever seen, while his flat, broken-nosed face showed the scars of battles, whether fought against rebels, Frenchmen, tavern brawlers, or tournament opponents. Now, in anticipation of war with France, he was raising a company of archers and another of men-at-arms, though in Sir John's eyes, there was no great difference between the two. \"We are a company!\" he shouted at the archers, \"archers and men-at-arms together! We fight for each other! No one hurts one of us and goes unhurt!\" He turned and poked a metal finger into Hook's chest. \"You'll do, Hook. Give him his coat, Goddington.\"\n\nPeter Goddington brought Hook a surcoat of white linen that showed Sir John's badge: a red rampant lion with a golden star on its shoulder and a golden crown on its snarling head.\n\n\"Welcome to the company,\" Sir John said, \"and to your new duties. What are your new duties, Hook?\"\n\n\"To serve you, Sir John.\"\n\n\"No! I've got servants who do that! Your job, Hook, is to rid the world of anyone I don't like! What is it?\"\n\n\"To rid the world of anyone you don't like, Sir John.\"\n\nAnd that was liable to be a large part of the world. Sir John Cornewaille loved his king, he worshipped his older wife who was the king's aunt, he adored the women on whom he fathered bastards, and he was devoted to his men, but the rest of the world were nearly all goddam scum who deserved to die. He tolerated his fellow Englishmen, but the Welsh were cabbage-farting dwarves, the Scots were scabby arse-suckers, and the French were shriveled turds. \"You know what you do with shriveled turds, Hook?\"\n\n\"You kill them, Sir John.\"\n\n\"You get up close and kill them,\" Sir John said. \"You let them smell your breath as they die. You let them see you grinning as you disembowel them. You hurt them, Hook, and then you kill them. Isn't that right, father?\"\n\n\"You speak with the tongue of angels, Sir John,\" Father Christopher said blandly. He was Sir John's confessor and, like the company of archers gathered in the field, wore a mail coat, tall boots, and a close-fitting helmet. There was nothing about him to suggest he was a priest, but if there had been any such evidence then he would not have been in Sir John's employment. Sir John wanted soldiers.\n\n\"You're not archers,\" Sir John growled at the bowmen in the winter field. \"You shoot arrows till the putrid bastards are on top of you, and then you kill them like men-at-arms! You're no good to me if you can only shoot! I want you so close you can smell their dying farts! Ever killed a man so close you could have kissed him, Hook?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\nSir John grinned. \"Tell me about the last one? How did you do it?\"\n\n\"With a knife, Sir John.\"\n\n\"How! Not what with! How?\"\n\n\"Ripped his belly, Sir John,\" Hook said, \"straight up.\"\n\n\"Did you get your hand wet, Hook?\"\n\n\"Drenched, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Wet with a Frenchman's blood, eh?\"\n\n\"He was an English knight, Sir John.\"\n\n\"God damn your bollocks, Hook, but I love you!\" Sir John exclaimed. \"That's how you do it!\" he shouted at the archers, \"you rip their bellies open, shove blades in their eyes, slice their throats, cut off their bollocks, drive swords up their arses, tear out their gullets, gouge their livers, skewer their kidneys, I don't care how you do it, so long as you kill them! Isn't that right, Father Christopher?\"\n\n\"Our Lord and Savior could not have expressed the sentiment more eloquently, Sir John.\"\n\n\"And next year,\" Sir John said, glowering at his archers, \"we might be going to war! Our king, God bless him, is the rightful King of France, but the French deny him his throne, and if God is doing what He's supposed to do then He'll let us invade France! And if that happens, we will be ready!\"\n\nNo one was certain if war was coming or not. The French sent ambassadors to King Henry who sent emissaries back to France, and rumors swept England like the winter rains that seethed on the west wind. Sir John, though, was confident there would be war and he made a contract with the king as scores of other men were doing. The contract obliged Sir John to bring thirty men-at-arms and ninety archers to serve the king for twelve months, and in turn the king promised to pay wages to Sir John and his soldiers. The contract had been written in London and Hook was among the ten men who rode to Westminster when Sir John added his signature and pressed his lion seal into a blob of wax. The clerk waited for the wax to harden, then carefully cut the parchment into two unequal parts, not neatly, but zigzagging his blade randomly down the document's length. He put one ragged part into a white linen bag, and gave the other to Sir John. Now, if anyone doubted the document's provenance, the two uneven parts could be matched and neither party to the contract could forge the document and expect the forgery to go undiscovered. \"The exchequer will advance you monies, Sir John,\" the clerk said.\n\nThe king was raising money by taxes, by loans, and by pawning his jewels. Sir John received a bag of coins and a second bag that contained loose jewels, a golden brooch, and a heavy silver box. It was not enough to allow Sir John to raise the extra men and to buy the weapons and horses he needed, and so he borrowed more money from an Italian banker in London.\n\nMen, horses, armor, and weapons had to be purchased. Sir John, his pages, squires, and servants needed over fifty horses between them. Each man-at-arms was expected to own at least three horses, including a properly trained destrier for fighting, while Sir John undertook to supply every archer with a riding horse. Hay was needed to feed all the horses and had to be purchased until the spring rains greened the pastures. The men-at-arms provided their own armor and weapons, though Sir John did order a hundred short lances for use by men fighting on foot. He had also equipped his ninety archers with mail coats, helmets, good boots, and a weapon to use in the close-quarter fighting when their bows were no longer useful. \"Swords won't help you much in battle,\" he told his archers. \"Your enemies will be in plate armor and you can't cut plate armor with a sword. Use a poleax! Beat the bastards down! Then kneel on the arse-sucking scabs, lift their visors, and put a knife into one of their filthy eyes.\"\n\n\"Unless they are wealthy,\" Father Christopher put in mildly. The priest was the oldest man in Sir John's company, over forty years old, with a round, cheerful face, a twisted smile, gray hair, and eyes that were both curious and mischievous.\n\n\"Unless the arse-licking scab is wealthy,\" Sir John agreed, \"in which case you take him prisoner and so make me rich!\"\n\nSir John ordered a hundred poleaxes made for his archers. Hook, who knew how to shape wood, helped carve the long ash handles, while blacksmiths forged the heads. One side of each head was a heavy hammer, weighted with lead, which could be used to crush plate armor or, at the very least, knock an armored man off balance. The opposing side was an ax that, in the hands of an archer, could split a helmet as though it were made of parchment, while the head of the ax was a spike thin enough to pierce the slits of a knight's visor. The upper shaft of each ax was sheathed in iron so an opponent could not cut through the handle. \"Beautiful,\" Sir John said when the first weapons were delivered. He stroked the iron-clad handle as though it were a woman's flank. \"Just beautiful.\"\n\nBy late spring the news came that God had done His duty by persuading the king to make an invasion of France and so Sir John's company marched south on roads lined with the white blossom of hawthorn hedges. Sir John was cheerful, animated by the prospect of war. He rode ahead, followed by his pages, his squire, and a standard-bearer who carried the flag of the crowned red lion with its golden star. Three carts bore provisions, short lances, armor, spare bowstaves, and sheaves of arrows. The road south led through woods that were thickly hazed with bluebells and past fields where the year's first hay had already been cut and was laid to dry in long rows. Newly shorn sheep looked naked and thin in the meadows. More bands of men joined the road, all horsemen, all in strange livery, and all going toward the south coast where the king had summoned the men who had signed his jaggedly cut contracts. Most of the horsemen, Hook noted, were archers, outnumbering the men-at-arms by three to one. The long bows were stored in leather cases that were slung over their owners' shoulders.\n\nHook was happy. Sir John's men were his companions now. Peter Goddington, the centenar, was a fair man, tough with laggards, but warm in his approval of the men who shared his dream of creating the best company of archers in England. Thomas Evelgold was next in command and he, like Goddington, was an older man, almost thirty. He was a morose man, slower thinking than the centenar, but he was grudgingly helpful to the younger archers among whom Hook found his particular friends. There were the twins, Thomas and Matthew Scarlet, both a year younger than Hook, and Will of the Dale who could reduce the company to helpless laughter with his imitations of Sir John. The four drank together, ate together, laughed together, and competed against each other, though it was recognized among all the archers that none could outshoot Nicholas Hook. They had practiced with weapons all winter and now France was ahead and God was on their side. Father Christopher had assured them of that in a sermon preached the day before they rode. \"Our lord the king's quarrel with the French is just,\" Father Christopher had said with unusual seriousness, \"and our God will not abandon him. We go to right a wrong, and the forces of heaven will march with us!\" Hook did not understand the quarrel except that somewhere in the king's ancestry was a marriage that led Henry to the French throne, and perhaps he was the rightful king and perhaps he was not, but Hook did not care. He was just happy to wear the Cornewaille lion and star.\n\nAnd he was happy that Melisande was one of the women chosen to ride with the company. She had a small, fine-boned mare that belonged to Sir John's wife, the sister of the late king, and she rode it well. \"We must take women with us,\" Sir John had explained.\n\n\"God is merciful,\" Father Christopher had murmured.\n\n\"We can't wash our own clothes!\" Sir John had said. \"We can't sew! We can't cook! We must have women! Useful things, women. We don't want to be like the French! Humping each other when a sheep isn't available, so we'll take women!\" He liked Melisande to ride alongside him and chatted away to her in French, making her laugh.\n\n\"He does not really hate the French,\" Melisande told Hook on the evening that they arrived near a town with a large abbey. The abbey bell was summoning the faithful to prayer, but Hook did not move. He and Melisande were sitting beside a small river that flowed placidly through lush water meadows. Across the river, two fields away, another company of men-at-arms and archers was making camp. The fires of Sir John's men were already burning, hazing the trees and the distant abbey tower with smoke. \"He just likes to be rude about the French,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"About everyone.\"\n\n\"He is kind inside,\" Melisande said, then leaned back to rest her head on his chest. When standing she barely reached his shoulder. Hook loved the fragility of her looks, though he knew that apparent frailty was deceptive for he had learned that Melisande had the supple strength of a bowstave and, like a bow that had followed the string and so been bent into a permanent curve even when unstrung, she possessed fiercely held opinions. He loved that in her. He also feared for her.\n\n\"Maybe you shouldn't come,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Why? Because it is dangerous?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nMelisande shrugged. \"It is safer to be French in France than to be English, I think. If they capture Alice or Matilda then they will be raped.\" Alice and Matilda were her particular friends.\n\n\"And you won't be?\" Hook asked.\n\nMelisande said nothing for a while, perhaps thinking of Soissons. \"I want to come,\" she finally said.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"To be with you,\" she said, as though the answer were obvious. \"What's a centenar?\"\n\n\"Like Peter Goddington? Just a man who leads archers.\"\n\n\"And a ventenar?\"\n\n\"Well, a centenar leads a whole lot of archers, maybe a hundred? And a ventenar is in charge of perhaps twenty of them. They're all sergeants.\"\n\nMelisande thought about that for a few seconds. \"You should be a ventenar, Nick.\"\n\nHook smiled, but said nothing. The river was crystal clear as it flowed over a sandy bed where water crowsfoot and cress waved languidly. Mayflies were dancing and, every now and then, a splash betrayed a feeding trout. Two swans and four cygnets swam beside the far bank and, as Hook watched them, he saw a shadow stir in the water beneath. \"Don't move,\" he warned Melisande and, moving very slowly, took the cased bow from his shoulder.\n\n\"Sir John knows my father,\" Melisande said suddenly.\n\n\"He does?\" Hook asked, surprised. He unlaced the leather case and gently slid the bow free.\n\n\"Ghillebert,\" Melisande said the name slowly, as if it was unfamiliar, \"the Seigneur de Lanferelle.\"\n\nFather Michel, in France, had said Melisande's father was the Seigneur d'Enfer, but Hook supposed he had misheard. \"He's a lord, eh?\" he remarked.\n\n\"Lords have many children,\" Melisande said, \"et je suis une b\u00e2tarde.\"\n\nHook said nothing. He braced the bowstave against the bole of an ash tree and bent the yew to loop the string over the upper nock.\n\n\"I am a bastard,\" Melisande said bitterly. \"That is why he put me in the nunnery.\"\n\n\"To hide you.\"\n\n\"And protect me, I think,\" Melisande said. \"He paid money to the abbess. He paid for my food and bed. He said I would be safe there.\"\n\n\"Safe to be a servant girl?\"\n\n\"My mother was a servant girl. Why not me? And I would have become a nun one day.\"\n\n\"You're not a servant girl,\" Hook said, \"you're a lord's daughter.\" He took an arrow from his bag, choosing a bodkin with its long, sharp, and heavy head. He was holding the bow horizontally on his lap and now laid the arrow on the stave and notched the feathered end on the string. The shadow stirred. \"How well do you know your father?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"I have only met him twice,\" Melisande said. \"Once when I was small, and I do not remember that well, and then before I went to the nunnery. I liked him.\" She paused, searching for the right English words. \"In the beginning, I liked him.\"\n\n\"Did he like you?\" Hook asked carelessly, concentrating on the shadow rather than on Melisande. He was drawing the bow now, still holding it horizontally and unwilling to raise it vertically in case the movement sent the shadow fast upstream.\n\n\"He was so,\" she paused, looking for the word, \"beau. He was tall. And he has a beautiful badge. He wears a great yellow sun with golden rays. And on the sun there is the head of\u2026\"\n\n\"An eagle,\" Hook interrupted.\n\n\"Un faucon,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"A falcon then,\" Hook said, and remembered the long-haired man who had watched the archers being murdered in front of the church of Saint Antoine-le-Petit. \"He was in Soissons,\" he said harshly. He had paused with the bow partially drawn. The shadow drifted in the water and Hook thought it would vanish downstream, then it flicked its tail and was back under the far bank.\n\nMelisande was staring up at Hook. \"He was there?\"\n\n\"Long black hair,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I did not see him!\"\n\n\"You had your head buried in my shoulder most of the time,\" Hook said. \"You didn't want to look. They were torturing men. Taking their eyes. Cutting them.\"\n\nMelisande was silent a long time. Hook raised the bow slightly, then she spoke again, but in a smaller voice. \"My father is called something else,\" she said, \"le Seigneur d'Enfer.\"\n\n\"That's the name I heard,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Le Seigneur d'Enfer,\" Melisande said again. \"The lord of hell. It is because Lanferelle sounds like l'enfer, and l'enfer is hell, but maybe because he is so fierce in a fight. He has sent many men to hell, I think. And some to heaven too.\"\n\nSwallows flickered fast over the river and, from the corner of his eye, Hook saw the brilliant blue flash of a kingfisher's flight. The shadow was unmoving again. He drew the cord further back, unable to pull it to the full extent because Melisande's slender body obstructed him, but even at half draw the great war bow was a dreadful weapon.\n\n\"He is not a bad man,\" Melisande said as though she tried to persuade herself of that fact.\n\n\"You don't sound very certain,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He is my father.\"\n\n\"Who put you in a nunnery.\"\n\n\"I did not want to go!\" she said fiercely. \"I told him! No! No!\"\n\nHook smiled. \"You didn't want to be a nun, eh?\"\n\n\"I knew the sisters. My mother would take me to visit them. We gave them,\" she paused, looking for the English words and failing to find them, \"les prunes de damas, abricots et coings.\" She shrugged. \"I do not know what those things are. Fruit? We gave the sisters fruit, but they were never kind to us. They were horrid.\"\n\n\"But your father sent you there anyway,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He said I should pray for him. That was my duty. But you know what I prayed for instead? I prayed he would come for me one day,\" she said wistfully, \"that he would ride on his great horse through the convent gate and take me away.\"\n\n\"Is that why you want to go to France?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I want to be with you.\"\n\n\"Your father won't like me.\"\n\nShe dismissed that with a shrug. \"Why should he ever see us again?\"\n\nHook aimed just beneath the shadow, though he was not thinking about his aim. Instead he was thinking about a tall man with long black hair who did nothing to stop torture and agony. He was thinking about the lord of hell. \"Supper,\" he said harshly, and released the cord.\n\nThe arrow leaped off the string, its white feathers bright in the sinking sun. It slashed into the water and there was a sudden thrashing, a churning turmoil that sent trout exploding upstream, and the thrashing went on as Hook jumped into the river.\n\nThe pike had been spitted by the arrow that had pinned it to the river's far bank, and Hook had to pull hard to yank the shaft free. He carried the fish back. It twisted on the arrow and tried to bite him, but once on the western bank he rapped its skull with the hilt of his knife and the huge fish died instantly. It was almost as long as his bow, a great dark hunter with savage teeth.\n\n\"Un brochet!\" Melisande said with delight.\n\n\"A pike,\" Hook said, \"and there's good eating on a pike.\" He gutted the fish on the bank, spilling the offal back into the river.\n\nNext day Sir John led a contingent of men-at-arms and archers westward to buy grain, dried peas, and smoked meat, and Sir John gave Hook the easy duty, which was to stay in a village under a fold of the hills and to guard the sacks and barrels that were being piled on a wagon, which stood outside a tavern called the Mouse and Cheese. The wagon's two draft horses were picketed on the village green. Hook's bow, unstrung, lay on an outside table beside the pot of ale that the tavern keeper had given him, but Hook was up on the wagon bed, pounding flour into a barrel. Father Christopher, dressed in shirt, breeches, and boots, wandered aimlessly, peering into the cottages, petting cats, and teasing the women who washed clothes in the stream that edged the village's one street. He finally came back to the Mouse and Cheese and dropped a small bag of silver coins onto the table. It was the priest's job to pay for any food that a farmer or villager might wish to sell. \"Why are you hitting the flour, young Hook?\" the priest asked.\n\n\"I'm packing it down tight, father. Salt, hazel, and flour!\"\n\nFather Christopher gave an exaggerated grimace of distaste. \"You're salting the flour?\"\n\n\"There's a layer of salt at the bottom of the barrel,\" Hook explained, \"to stop the flour getting damp, and I add the hazel to keep it fresh.\" He showed Father Christopher some hazel wands he had plucked from a hedge and stripped of their leaves.\n\n\"And that works?\" the priest asked.\n\n\"Of course it does! Did you never fetch flour from a mill?\"\n\n\"Hook!\" the priest protested, \"I'm a man of God. We don't actually work!\" He laughed.\n\nHook thrust another pair of wands into the barrel, then stood back and dusted his hands. \"Aye, well that's a good piece of work,\" he said, nodding at the flour.\n\nFather Christopher smiled benignly, then leaned back and gazed at the sunlit woods climbing the hills above the thatched roofs. \"God, I love England,\" he said, \"and God knows why young Hal wants France.\"\n\n\"Because he's the King of France,\" Hook said.\n\nFather Christopher shrugged. \"He's got a claim, Hook, but so do others. If I were King of England I'd stay here. Is this your ale?\"\n\n\"It is, father.\"\n\n\"Be a Christian and give me some.\" Father Christopher said, then raised the pot in Hook's direction and drank from it. \"But to France we go, and doubtless we'll win!\"\n\n\"We will?\"\n\n\"Only God knows the answer to that, Hook,\" Father Christopher said, suddenly thoughtful. \"There's a powerful lot of Frenchmen! And if they stop quarreling among themselves and turn on us? Still, we have these things,\" he slapped Hook's bow, \"and they don't.\"\n\n\"Can I ask you something, father?\" Hook said, climbing down from the wagon and sitting beside the priest.\n\n\"Oh, for Christ's blessed sake don't ask me which side God is on.\"\n\n\"You told us He was on our side!\"\n\n\"True, Hook, I did, and there are thousands of French priests saying the same thing to the French!\" Father Christopher grinned. \"Let me give you some priestly advice, Hook. Put your trust in the yew bow, my boy, and not in any priest's words.\"\n\nHook touched the bow, feeling the slick tallow he had rubbed into the wood. \"What do you know about Saint Crispinian, father?\"\n\n\"Oh, a theological inquiry,\" Father Christopher said. He drank the rest of Hook's ale, then rapped the pot on the table as a signal that he needed more. \"Not sure I remember much! I didn't really study as I should at Oxford. There were too many girls I liked.\" He smiled for a moment. \"There was a brothel there, Hook, where all the girls dressed as nuns. You could hardly get inside the house because of priests! I met the Bishop of Oxford there at least half a dozen times. Happy days.\" He sighed and gave Hook a sideways grin. \"So, what do I know? Well, Crispinian had a brother called Crispin, though not everyone says they were brothers. Some say they were noblemen, and some say they weren't. They might have been shoemakers, which doesn't sound like a nobleman's occupation, does it? They were certainly Romans. They lived about a thousand years ago, Hook, and of course they were martyred.\"\n\n\"So Crispinian's in heaven,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He and his brother live on the right hand of God,\" Father Christopher confirmed, \"where I hope they get quicker service than I do!\" He rapped the table again, and a girl came running from the tavern door to be greeted with a wide priestly smile. \"More ale, my lovely darling,\" Father Christopher said, and rolled one of Sir John's coins down the table. \"Two pots, my sweet,\" he smiled again, then sighed when the girl had gone. \"Oh, I wish I were young again.\"\n\n\"You are young, father.\"\n\n\"Dear God, I'm forty-three! I'll be dead soon! I'll be as dead as Crispinian, but he was a hard man to kill.\"\n\n\"He was?\"\n\nFather Christopher frowned. \"I'm trying to remember. He and Crispin were tortured because they were Christians. They were racked, and they had nails driven under their fingernails, and strips of flesh cut out of them, but none of that killed them! They were singing God's praises to the torturers all the time! Not sure I could be that brave.\" He made the sign of the cross, then smiled as the girl put down the ale. He waved off the coins she offered as change.\n\n\"So there they were,\" he went on, enjoying his tale, \"and the man who was torturing them decided to finish them off quickly, maybe because he was tired of hearing them sing, so he tied millstones around their necks and threw them into a river. But that didn't work either because the millstones floated! So the torturer had them pulled out of the river and threw them onto a fire! And even that didn't kill them. They went on singing and the fire wouldn't touch them, and God filled the torturer with despair and the wretched man threw himself on the fire instead. He burned, but the two saints lived.\"\n\nA small group of horsemen appeared at the end of the village street. Hook glanced at them, but none was wearing Sir John Cornewaille's livery, so he turned back to the priest.\n\n\"God had saved the brothers from the torture and from the drowning and from the fire,\" Father Christopher said, \"but for some reason He let them die anyway. They had their heads chopped off by the emperor, and that stopped them singing. It would, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"But it was still a miracle,\" Hook said in wonderment.\n\n\"It was a miracle they survived so long,\" Father Christopher agreed. \"But why are you so interested in Crispinian? He's really a French saint, not ours. He and his brother went to France, see? To do their work.\"\n\nHook hesitated, not sure whether he wanted to confess that a headless saint talked to him, but before he could decide either way a voice sneered. \"God's belly!\" the voice said, \"look who we have here! Master Nicholas Hook!\"\n\nHook looked up to see Sir Martin leering triumphantly from his horse. There were eight horsemen and all but Sir Martin were wearing Lord Slayton's moon and stars. Thomas Perrill and his brother Robert were among the riders, as was Lord Slayton's centenar, William Snoball. Hook knew them all.\n\n\"Friends of yours?\" Father Christopher asked.\n\n\"I thought you were dead, Hook,\" Sir Martin said. He was in a priest's robe that was tucked up so his skinny legs could straddle the horse and, though priests were forbidden to carry edged weapons, he wore an old-fashioned sword with a wide crosspiece on the hilt. \"I hoped you were dead,\" he added, \"doomed, damned and dead.\" His long face grimaced in what might have been a smile.\n\n\"I live,\" Hook said curtly.\n\n\"And you wear another man's livery,\" Sir Martin said, \"which is not right, Hook, not right at all. It defies law and the scriptures, and Lord Slayton will not like it. Is this yours?\" He pointed to the wagon.\n\n\"It is ours,\" Father Christopher answered pleasantly.\n\nSir Martin appeared to notice Father Christopher for the first time. He peered intensely at the gray-haired man for a few heartbeats, then shook his head. \"I don't know you,\" he said, \"and I don't need to know you. I need food. That's why we came, and there,\" he pointed a bony finger at the wagon, \"is food. Manna from heaven. As God sent ravens to feed Elijah the Tishbite, so He has sent us Hook.\" He found that amusing and laughed to himself, and in the laughter was the cackle of madness.\n\n\"But that food is ours,\" Father Christopher said as though he spoke to a small child.\n\n\"But he,\" Sir Martin sneered, pointing at Hook, \"he, he, he,\" and with each repetition he stabbed his finger toward Hook, \"that piece of shit beside you, is Lord Slayton's man. And he is an outlaw.\"\n\nFather Christopher turned a surprised face on Hook. \"Are you?\" he asked.\n\nHook nodded, said nothing.\n\n\"Well, well,\" Father Christopher said mildly.\n\n\"An outlaw can possess nothing,\" Sir Martin rasped, \"which is the commandment of the scriptures, so that food is ours.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" Father Christopher replied calmly, smiling.\n\n\"You may think what you like,\" Sir Martin said with a sudden vehemence, \"because we'll take it anyway, and we'll take him.\" He pointed to Hook.\n\n\"You know the livery?\" Father Christopher asked gently, gesturing at Hook's surcoat.\n\n\"An outlaw can wear no livery,\" Sir Martin said. He looked happy as he anticipated the pleasure of Hook's death. \"Tom?\" he twisted in the saddle to look at the older Perrill brother, \"rip that surcoat off him, tie his hands tight and bring him.\"\n\nWilliam Snoball had an arrow on his string. The rest of Sir Martin's archers followed his example so that half a dozen arrows were pointed at Hook as Tom Perrill slid from the saddle. \"Been waiting to do this,\" Perrill said. His face, long-nosed and lantern-jawed like Sir Martin's, was lit by a grin. \"Do we hang him here, Sir Martin?\"\n\n\"It would save Lord Slayton the trouble of a trial, wouldn't it?\" the priest said. \"And remove from his lordship the temptation of mercy.\" He cackled again.\n\nFather Christopher held up a slim hand in warning, but Tom Perrill ignored the gesture. He came around the table and was just reaching for Hook when he was stopped by the sound of a sword scraping through a scabbard's throat.\n\nSir Martin turned.\n\nA single horseman watched the scene from the edge of the village. There were more horsemen behind him, but they had evidently been ordered to wait.\n\n\"I really would advise you,\" Father Christopher said very mildly, \"to take those arrows off their strings.\"\n\nNone of the archers followed his advice. They glanced nervously at Sir Martin, but Sir Martin seemed not to know what to do, and just then the lone horseman touched his spurs to his stallion's flanks.\n\n\"Sir Martin!\" William Snoball appealed for orders.\n\nBut Sir Martin said nothing. He merely watched as the man-at-arms spurred toward him, the stallion's hooves spewing puffs of dust as it cantered, and the rider drew back his sword arm and then, as he galloped past, swept once.\n\nThe flat of the blade smacked across Robert Perrill's skull. The archer, whose selection had been random, toppled slowly from the saddle to drop heavily onto the street. The arrow, released by his nerveless hand, thumped into the tavern's wall, half drilling through it. It had missed Hook by inches. Tom Perrill turned to help his brother, who stirred groggily in the dust, then went still as Sir John Cornewaille wheeled his horse. Sir John spurred again, and now Sir Martin's archers hurriedly took the arrows off their strings. Sir John slowed the stallion, then curbed it.\n\n\"Greetings, Sir John,\" Father Christopher said happily.\n\n\"What's happening?\" Sir John asked harshly.\n\nRobert Perrill staggered to his feet, the right side of his head sheeted with blood. Tom Perrill was unmoving now, his eyes fixed on the sword that had struck his brother.\n\nFather Christopher drank some ale, then wiped his lips. \"These men, Sir John,\" he waved at Sir Martin and his archers, \"expressed a desire to take our food. I did advise them against such a course, but they insisted the food was theirs because it was under the protection of young Hook here and, according to this holy priest, Hook is an outlaw.\"\n\n\"He is,\" Sir Martin found his voice, \"deemed so by law and doomed thereby!\"\n\n\"I know he's an outlaw,\" Sir John said flatly, \"and so did the king when he gave Hook to me. Are you saying the king made a mistake?\"\n\nSir Martin glanced at Hook with surprise, but held his ground. \"He is an outlaw,\" he insisted, \"and Lord Slayton's man.\"\n\n\"He is my man,\" Sir John said.\n\n\"He is\u2026\" Sir Martin began, then faltered under Sir John's gaze.\n\n\"He is my man,\" Sir John said again, his voice dangerous now, \"he fights for me, and that means I fight for him. You know who I am?\" Sir John waited for an acknowledgment from the priest, but Sir Martin's gaze had dissolved into vagueness and he was now staring into the sky as though he were communing with angels. \"Tell his lordship,\" Sir John went on, \"to discuss the matter with me.\"\n\n\"We will, sir, we will,\" William Snoball answered after glancing at Sir Martin.\n\n\"Elijah the Tishbite,\" Sir Martin spoke suddenly, \"ate bread and flesh by the brook Cherith. Did you know that?\" This question was asked earnestly of Sir John who merely looked bemused. \"The brook Cherith,\" Sir Martin said as though he imparted a great secret, \"is where a man may hide himself.\"\n\n\"Jesus wept,\" Sir John said.\n\n\"And no wonder,\" Father Christopher sighed. Then he gently lifted Hook's bow and slammed it hard down onto the table and the abrupt noise made the horses twitch and snapped Sir Martin's eyes into comprehension. \"I forgot to mention,\" Father Christopher said, smiling seraphically at Sir Martin, \"that I am also a priest. So let me offer you a blessing.\" He pulled out a golden crucifix that had been hidden beneath his shirt and held it toward Lord Slayton's men. \"May the peace and love of our Lord Jesus Christ,\" he said, \"comfort and sustain you while you take your farting mouths and your turd-reeking presence out of our sight.\" He waved a sketchy cross toward the horsemen. \"And thus farewell.\"\n\nTom Perrill stared at Hook. For a moment it seemed his hatred might conquer his caution, but then he twisted away and helped his brother remount. Sir Martin, his face dreamy again, allowed William Snoball to lead him away. The other horsemen followed.\n\nSir John dropped from his saddle, took Hook's ale, and drained it. \"Remind me why you were outlawed, Hook?\"\n\n\"Because I hit a priest, Sir John,\" Hook admitted.\n\n\"That priest?\" Sir John asked, jerking a thumb toward the retreating horsemen.\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\nSir John shook his head. \"You did wrong, Hook, you did very wrong. You shouldn't have hit him.\"\n\n\"No, Sir John,\" Hook said humbly.\n\n\"You should have slit the goddam bastard's putrid bowels open and ripped his heart out through his stinking arse,\" Sir John said, looking at Father Christopher as if hoping his words might offend the priest, but Father Christopher merely smiled. \"Is the bastard mad?\" Sir John demanded.\n\n\"Famously,\" Father Christopher said, \"but so were half the saints and most of the prophets. I can't think you'd want to go hawking with Jeremiah, Sir John?\"\n\n\"Damn Jeremiah,\" Sir John said, \"and damn London. I'm summoned there again, father. The king demands it.\"\n\n\"May God bless your going forth, Sir John, and your returning hence.\"\n\n\"And if King Harry doesn't make peace,\" Sir John said, \"I'll be back soon. Very soon.\"\n\n\"There'll be no peace,\" Father Christopher said confidently. \"The bow is drawn and the arrow yearns to fly.\"\n\n\"Let's hope it does. I need the money a good war will bring.\"\n\n\"I shall pray for war, then,\" Father Christopher said lightly.\n\n\"For months now,\" Sir John said, \"I've prayed for nothing else.\"\n\nAnd now, Hook thought, Sir John's prayers were being answered. Because soon, very soon, they would be sailing to war. They would sail to play the devil's game. They would sail to France. They were going to fight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Normandy",
                "text": "[ Harfleur ]\n\nNick Hook could scarce believe the world held so many ships. He first saw the fleet when Sir John's men mustered on the shore of Southampton Water so that the king's officers could count the company. Sir John had contracted to supply ninety archers and thirty men-at-arms and the king had agreed to pay Sir John the balance of the money owed for those men when the army embarked, but first the numbers and condition of Sir John's company had to be approved. Hook, standing in line with his companions, gazed in awe at the fleet. There were anchored ships as far as he could see; so many ships that their hulls hid the water. Peter Goddington, the centenar, had claimed there were fifteen hundred vessels waiting to transport the army, and Hook had not believed so many ships could exist, yet there they were.\n\nThe king's inspector, an elderly and round-faced monk with ink-stained hands, walked down the line of soldiers to make sure that Sir John had hired no cripples, boys, or old men. He was accompanied by a grim-faced knight wearing the royal coat of arms, whose task was to inspect the company's weapons. He found nothing amiss, but nor did he expect to discover any shortcomings in Sir John Cornewaille's preparations. \"Sir John's indenture specifies ninety archers,\" the monk said reprovingly when he reached the line's end.\n\n\"It does indeed,\" Father Christopher agreed cheerfully. Sir John was in London with the king, and Father Christopher was in charge of the company's administration during Sir John's absence.\n\n\"Yet there are ninety-two archers!\" the monk spoke with mock severity.\n\n\"Sir John will throw the two weakest overboard,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"That will serve! That will serve!\" the monk said. He glanced at his grim-faced companion, who nodded approval of what he had seen. \"The money will be brought to you this afternoon,\" the monk assured Father Christopher. \"God bless you one and all,\" he added as he mounted his horse so he could ride to where other companies were waiting for inspection. His clerks, clutching linen bags filled with parchments, scurried after him.\n\nHook's ship, the Heron, was a squat, round-bottomed merchant ship with a bluff bow, a square stern, and a thick mast from which Sir John Cornewaille's lion banner flew. Close by, and looming above the Heron, was the king's own ship, the Trinity Royal, which was the size of an abbey and made even bigger by the towering wooden castles added to her bows and stern. The castles, which were painted red, blue, and gold and hung with royal banners, made the Trinity Royal look top heavy, like a farm wagon piled too high with harvest sheaves. Her rails had been decorated with white shields on which red crosses were painted, while aloft she flew three vast flags. At her bows, on a short mast that sprang from her jaunty bowsprit, was a red banner decorated with four white circles joined by black-lettered strips. \"That flag on the bow, Hook,\" Father Christopher explained, making the sign of the cross, \"is the flag of the Holy Trinity.\"\n\nHook stared, said nothing.\n\n\"You might have thought,\" Father Christopher went on slyly, \"that the Holy Trinity would require three flags, but modesty reigns in heaven and one suffices. You know the significance of the flag, Hook?\"\n\n\"No, father.\"\n\n\"Then I shall repair your ignorance. The outer circles are the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost and they're joined by strips on which are written non est. You know what non est is, Hook?\"\n\n\"Is not,\" Melisande said quickly.\n\n\"Oh my God, she's as clever as she's beautiful,\" Father Christopher said happily. He gave Melisande a slow and appreciative look that started at her face and finished at her feet. She was wearing a dress of thin linen decorated with Sir John's crest of the red lion, though the priest was hardly examining the heraldry. \"So,\" he said slowly, looking back up her body, \"the Father is not the Son, who is not the Holy Ghost, who is not the Father, yet all those outer circles connect to the inner, which is God, and on the strips connecting to God's circle is the word est. So the Father is God, and the Son is God and the Holy Spirit is God, but they're not each other. It's really very simple.\"\n\nHook frowned. \"I don't think it's simple.\"\n\nFather Christopher grinned. \"Of course it's not simple! I don't think anyone understands the Holy Trinity, except maybe the pope, but which pope, eh? We've got two of them now, and we're only supposed to have one! Gregory non est Benedict and Benedict non est Gregory, so let's just hope God knows which one est which. God, you're a pretty thing, Melisande. Wasted on Hook, you are.\"\n\nMelisande made a face at the priest who laughed, kissed his fingertips, and blew the kiss to her. \"Look after her, Hook,\" he said.\n\n\"I do, father.\"\n\nFather Christopher managed to tear his gaze from Melisande and stare across the water at the Trinity Royal, which was being nuzzled by a dozen small launches nosing into her flank like piglets suckling on a sow. Great bundles were being slung from those smaller boats into the larger. At the Trinity Royal's stern, on another short mast, flew the flag of England, the red cross of Saint George on its white field. Every man in Henry's army had been given two red linen crosses, which had to be sewn on the front and back of their jupons, defacing the badge of their lord. In battle, Sir John had explained, there were too many badges, too many beasts and birds and colors, but if all the English wore one badge, Saint George's badge, then in the chaos of killing they might recognize their own compatriots.\n\nThe Trinity Royal's tall mast carried the largest flag, the king's flag, the great quartered banner that twice displayed the golden leopards of England and twice the golden lilies of France. Henry claimed to be king of both countries, which was why his banner showed both, and the great fleet that filled Southampton Water would carry an army to make the banner's boast come true. It was an army, Sir John Cornewaille had told his men the night before he left for London, like no other army that had ever sailed from England. \"Our king has done it right!\" he had said proudly. \"We're good!\" He had grinned wolfishly. \"Our lord the king has spent money! He's pawned his royal jewels! He's bought the best army we've ever had, and we're part of it. And we're not just any part, we're the best part of it! We will not let our king down! God is on our side, isn't that right, Father?\"\n\n\"Oh, God detests the French,\" Father Christopher had put in confidently, as though he were intimate with God's mind.\n\n\"That's because God is no fool,\" Sir John went on, \"but the Almighty knows He made a mistake when He created the French! So He's sending us to correct it! We're God's army, and we're going to gut those devil-spawned bastards!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "\"They won't fight us, though,\" one of Sir John's men-at-arms said. He had overheard the priest's comment.\n\n\"They don't like fighting us,\" Father Christopher agreed. The priest was wearing a haubergeon and had a sword hanging at his waist. \"It's not like the good old days.\"\n\nThe man-at-arms, young and round-faced, grinned. \"Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers?\"\n\n\"That would have been grand!\" Father Christopher said wistfully. \"Can you imagine being at Poitiers? Capturing the French king! It won't happen this time.\"\n\n\"It won't, father?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"They've learned about our archers, Hook. They stay away from us. They lock themselves up in their towns and castles and wait till we get bored. We can march around France a dozen times and they won't come out to fight, but if we can't get into their castles, what use is marching around France?\"\n\n\"Then why don't they have archers?\" Hook asked, but he already knew the answer because he was the answer himself. It had taken ten years to turn Nicholas Hook into an archer. He had started at seven years old with a small bow which his father had insisted he practice every day, and every year until his father died the bows got bigger and were strung more tightly, and the young Hook had learned to draw the bow with his full body, not just his arms. \"Lay into the bow, you little bastard,\" his father would say again and again, and each time strike him across the back with his big bowstave, and so Hook learned to lay into the bow and thus grew stronger and stronger. On his father's death he had taken the big bow and practiced with that, shooting arrow after arrow at the butts in the church field. The arrowheads were sharpened on a post of the lych gate and the constant scraping had worn deep grooves in the stone. Nick Hook had poured his anger into those arrows, sometimes shooting till it was almost too dark to see. \"Don't snatch at the string,\" Pearce the blacksmith had told him again and again, and Hook had learned the whispering release that let the string slip through his fingers, which hardened to thick leather pads. And as he drew and released, drew and released, year after year, the muscles of his back, his chest, and his arms grew massive. That was one requirement, the huge muscles needed to draw the bow, while the other, which was harder to acquire, was to forget the eye.\n\nWhen he first started as a boy Hook would draw the cord to his cheek and look down the arrow's length to aim, but that cheated the bow of its full power. If a bodkin was to shear through plate armor it needed all the power of the yew, and that meant drawing the cord to the ear, and then the arrow slanted across the eye, and it had taken Hook years to learn how to think his arrow to the target. He could not explain it, but no archer could. He only knew that when he drew the cord he looked at the target and the arrow flew there because he wanted it to, not because he had lined eye, arrow, and target. That was why the French had no archers other than a few huntsmen, because they had no men who had spent years learning to make a length of yew and a cord of hemp into a part of themselves.\n\nNorth of the Heron, somewhere among the tangle of moored ships, a vessel burned, sending a thick plume of smoke across the summer sky. Rumor said there had been a rebellion against the king and that the rebels had planned to burn the fleet. Father Christopher had curtly acknowledged that there had indeed been some rebels, lords all of them, but they were now dead. \"Beheaded,\" he said. The burning ship, he thought, was probably an accident. \"No one will burn the Heron,\" he had reassured the archers, and no one did. Also north of the Heron was the Lady of Falmouth and she was being loaded with horses that were swum out to the ship's side and then hoisted aboard in great leather slings. The horses rose dripping, legs dangling limp and eyes rolling white with fear, then were slowly lowered into padded stalls in the Lady of Falmouth's hold. Hook saw his black gelding, Raker, lifted dripping from the sea, then Melisande's small piebald mare, Dell. Men swam among the horses, deftly fixing the slings. Sir John's great destrier, a black stallion called Lucifer, glared about him as he was lifted from the sea.\n\nNext day Sir John Cornewaille arrived from London with the king. The French, it seemed, had sent a last embassy, but their terms had been rejected and so the fleet would sail. Sir John was rowed to the Heron in a small boat and he bellowed orders and greetings as he clambered over the side. A moment later trumpets sounded from the Trinity Royal as a barge, painted blue and gold, and with white-shafted oars, carried the king to the great ship's side. Henry was in full plate armor, burnished and polished and scoured until it reflected the sun in white flashes of dazzling light, yet he climbed the ladder as nimbly as a ship's cabin boy as the trumpeters in the stern castle raised their instruments and blew another fanfare. Cheers sounded from the Trinity Royal, then other ships took up the acclaim, which spread through the fleet of fifteen hundred vessels.\n\nThat afternoon, as the wind blew steady from the west, a pair of swans flew through the fleet, their wingbeats loud in the warm air. The swans flew south and Sir John, seeing them, thumped the ship's rail and gave a cheer.\n\n\"The swan,\" Father Christopher announced to the bemused archers, \"is our king's private badge! The swans are leading us to victory!\"\n\nAnd the king must have seen the omen for himself, because, just after the swans had beaten their way past his ship, the sail of the Trinity Royal was hauled up the mast. The sail was painted with the royal arms; red, gold, and blue. It reached halfway and the wind billowed it from its long yard, and the sound of its thrashing reached the Heron before, suddenly, it dropped again. It was the signal to leave and, one by one the ships hauled their anchors and set their sails. The wind was fair for France.\n\nA wind to carry England to war.\n\nNo one knew where in France they were going to war. Some men suggested the fleet would go south to Aquitaine, others thought it would be Calais, and most had no idea at all. A few did not care, but just leaned over the side and retched.\n\nThe fleet sailed for two days and two nights beneath skies of small white clouds that scurried eastward and beneath stars as bright as jewels. Father Christopher told stories on board the Heron and Hook was enthralled by the tale of Jonah and the whale, and he searched the sun-glinting sea for a sight of another such monster, but he saw none. He saw only the endless ships scattered across the heaving waters like a flock released to summer pastures.\n\nOn the second dawn Hook was standing as far forward as the ship's cramped bows permitted and he was watching the sea, hoping to find a man-swallowing fish, when Sir John silently joined him. Hook hastily knuckled his forehead and Sir John nodded companionably. Melisande was sleeping on deck, sheltered by stacks of barrels and wrapped in Hook's cloak, and Sir John smiled toward her. \"A good girl, Hook,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\n\"And doubtless we'll bring a score of other good French girls home! New wives. See those clouds?\" Sir John was staring straight ahead to where a cloud bank lay across the horizon. \"That's Normandy, Hook.\"\n\nHook gazed, but could see nothing beneath the clouds except the foremost ships of the fleet. \"Sir John?\" he asked tentatively and received an encouraging look. \"What do you know about,\" he paused, \"the Seigneur d'Enfer,\" he struggled with the French words.\n\n\"Lanferelle? Melisande's father?\" Sir John asked.\n\n\"She told you about him?\" Hook asked, surprised.\n\n\"Oh, she did,\" Sir John said, smiling, \"indeed she did. Why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"I'm curious,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Worried because she's a lord's daughter?\" Sir John asked shrewdly.\n\n\"Yes,\" Hook admitted.\n\nSir John smiled, then pointed over the Heron's bows. \"See those small sails?\" Far ahead of the English fleet was another spread of ships, far fewer and all much smaller, nothing but a scatter of tiny brown sails. \"French fishermen,\" Sir John said grimly, \"taking news of us to their home ports. Let's pray the bastards won't guess where we're coming ashore, because that's their chance to kill us, Hook! As we go ashore. They know we're coming! And all they need do is have two hundred men-at-arms waiting on the beach and we'll never manage a landing.\"\n\nHook watched the tiny sails that did not appear to be moving against the sea's immensity. The western sky was still dark, the east was glowing. He wondered how the sailors of the English fleet knew where they were going. He wondered whether Saint Crispinian would ever speak to him again.\n\n\"There,\" Sir John said softly. It seemed he had decided to ignore Hook's question about the Sire of Lanferelle and was instead pointing straight ahead.\n\nAnd there it was. The coast of Normandy. It was nothing but a shadowed speck for now, a scrap of dark solidity where the clouds and the sea met.\n\n\"I talked to Lord Slayton,\" Sir John said. Hook stayed silent. \"He can't travel to France, of course, not crippled as he is, but he was in London to wish the king well. He says you're a good man in a fight.\"\n\nHook said nothing. The only fights that Lord Slayton would have known about were tavern brawls. They could be murderous, but it was not the same as battle.\n\n\"Lord Slayton was a good fighter too,\" Sir John said, \"before he got wounded in the back. He was a bit slow on the down-stroke parry, I remember. It's always dangerous to raise a sword above your shoulder, Hook.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John,\" Hook said dutifully.\n\n\"And he did declare you outlawed,\" Sir John went on, \"but that doesn't matter now. You're going to France, Hook, and you're no outlaw there. Whatever crimes you're accused of in England don't count in France, and even that doesn't matter because you're my man now.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John,\" Hook said again.\n\n\"You're my man,\" Sir John said firmly, \"and Lord Slayton agreed that you are. But you've still got a quarrel. That priest wants you dead, and Lord Slayton said there were others who'd happily fillet you.\"\n\nHook thought of the Perrill brothers. \"There are,\" he admitted.\n\n\"And Lord Slayton told me other things about you,\" Sir John went on. \"He said you're a murderer, a thief, and a liar.\"\n\nHook felt the old flare of anger, but it died instantly like the spume of the waves. \"I was those things,\" he said defensively.\n\n\"And that you're competent,\" Sir John said, \"and what you are, Hook, is what le Seigneur d'Enfer is. Ghillebert, Lord of Lanferelle, is competent. He's a rogue, and he's also charming, clever and sly. He speaks English!\" He said the last three words as though that were a very strange accomplishment. \"He was taken prisoner in Aquitaine,\" he explained, \"and held in Suffolk till his ransom was paid. That took three years. He was released ten years ago and I dare say there are plenty of small children with his long nose growing up in Suffolk. He's the only man I never beat in a tournament.\"\n\n\"They say you never lost!\" Hook said fiercely.\n\n\"He didn't beat me either,\" Sir John said, smiling. \"We fought till we had no strength to fight more. I told you, he's good. I did put him down, though.\"\n\n\"You did?\" Hook asked, intrigued.\n\n\"I think he slipped. So I stepped back and gave him time to get up.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Hook asked.\n\nSir John laughed. \"In a tournament, Hook, you must display chivalry. Good manners are as important as fighting in a tournament, but not in battle. So if you see Lanferelle in battle, leave him to me.\"\n\n\"Or to an arrow,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He can afford the best armor, Hook. He'll have Milanese plate and your arrow will like as not get blunted. Then he'll kill you without even knowing he fought you. Leave him to me.\"\n\nHook heard something close to admiration in Sir John's tone. \"You like him?\"\n\nSir John nodded. \"I like him, but that won't stop me killing him. And as for him being Melisande's father, so what? He must have littered half France with his bastards. My bastards aren't lords, Hook, and nor are his.\"\n\nHook nodded, frowning. \"At Soissons,\" he began, and paused.\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"He just watched as archers were tortured!\" Hook said indignantly.\n\nSir John leaned on the rail. \"We talk about chivalry, Hook, we're even chivalrous! We salute our enemies, we take their surrenders gallantly, we dress our hostility in silks and fine linen, we are the chivalry of Christendom.\" He spoke wryly, then turned his extraordinarily bright blue eyes on Hook. \"But in battle, Hook, it's blood and anger and savagery and killing. God hides His face in battle.\"\n\n\"This was after the battle,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Battle anger is like being drunk. It doesn't go away quickly. Your girl's father is an enemy, an enemy of charm, but he's as dangerous as I am.\" Sir John grinned and lightly punched Hook's shoulder. \"Leave him to me, Hook. I'll kill him. I'll hang his skull in my hall.\"\n\nThe sun rose in splendor and the shadows fled and the coast of Normandy grew to reveal a line of white cliffs topped with green. All day the fleet beat southward, helped by a shift of wind that flicked the tops of the waves white and filled the sails. Sir John was impatient. He spent the day staring at the distant coast and insisting that the shipmaster get closer.\n\n\"Rocks, my lord,\" the shipmaster said laconically.\n\n\"No rocks here! Get closer! Get closer!\" He was looking for some evidence that the enemy was tracking the fleet from the clifftops, but there was no sign of horsemen riding south to keep pace with the fleet's slow progress. Fishing boats still scattered ahead of the English ships that, one by one, rounded a vast headland of white chalk and entered a bay where they turned into the wind and anchored.\n\nThe bay was wide and not well sheltered. The big waves heaved from the west to roll the Heron and make her snub at her anchor. The shore was close here, scarce two bowshots distant, but there was little to be seen other than a beach where the waves broke white, a stretch of marsh and a steep thick-wooded hill behind. Someone said they were in the mouth of the Seine, a river that ran deep into France, but Hook could see no sign of any river. Far off to the south was another shore, too distant to be seen clearly. More ships, the laggards, rounded the great headland and gradually the bay became thick with the anchored vessels.\n\n\"Normandie,\" Melisande said, staring at the land.\n\n\"France,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Normandie,\" Melisande insisted, as though the distinction were important.\n\nHook was watching the trees, wondering when a French force would appear there. It seemed clear that the English army was going to land in this bay, which was little more than a shingled cove, so why were the French not trying to stop the invasion on the beach? Yet no men or horses showed at the treeline. A hawk spiraled up the face of the hill and gulls wheeled over the breaking waves. Hook saw Sir John being rowed in a small boat to the Trinity Royal where sailors were busy decorating the rails with the white shields painted with the cross of Saint George. Other boats were converging on the king's ship, carrying the great lords to a council of war.\n\n\"What will happen to us?\" Melisande asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Hook admitted, but nor did he care much. He was going to war in a company he had come to love, and he had Melisande, whom he loved, though he wondered if she would leave him now she was back in her own country. \"You're going home,\" he said, wanting her to deny it.\n\nFor a long time she said nothing, just gazed at the trees and beach and marsh. \"Maman was home,\" she said finally. \"I do not know where home is now.\"\n\n\"With me,\" Hook said awkwardly.\n\n\"Home is where you feel safe,\" Melisande said. Her eyes were gray as the heron that glided above the shingle to land in the low ground beyond. Pages were kneeling on the Heron's deck where they scoured the men-at-arms' plate armor. Each piece was scrubbed with sand and vinegar to burnish the steel to a rustless shine, then wiped with lanolin. Peter Goddington ordered a pot of beeswax opened and the archers smeared woolen cloths with the wax and rubbed it into their bowstaves.\n\n\"Was your mother cruel to you?\" Hook asked Melisande as he waxed the huge bow.\n\n\"Cruel?\" she seemed puzzled. \"Why would she be cruel?\"\n\n\"Some mothers are,\" Hook said, thinking of his grandmother.\n\n\"She was lovely,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"My father was cruel,\" he said.\n\n\"Then you must not be,\" Melisande said. She frowned, evidently thinking.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"When I went to the nunnery? Before?\" She stopped.\n\n\"Go on,\" Hook said.\n\n\"My father? He called me to him. I was thirteen? Perhaps fourteen?\" She had lowered her voice. \"He made me take off all my clothes,\" she stared at Hook as she spoke, \"and I stood there for him, nue. He walked around me and he said no man could have me.\" She paused. \"I thought he was going to\u2026\"\n\n\"But he didn't?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said quickly. \"He stroked my \u00e9paule,\" she hesitated, finding the English word, \"shoulder. He was, how do you say? Frissonnant?\" she held out her hands and shook them.\n\n\"Shivering?\" Hook suggested.\n\nShe nodded abruptly. \"Then he sent me away to the nuns. I begged him not to. I said I hated the sisters, but he said I must pray for him. That was my duty, to work hard and to pray for him.\"\n\n\"And did you?\"\n\n\"Every day,\" she said, \"and I prayed he would come for me, but he never did.\"\n\nThe sun was sinking when Sir John returned to the Heron. There was still no sign of any French soldiers on the shore, but the trees beyond the beach could have hidden an army. Smoke rose from the hill to the east of the cove, evidence that someone was on that height, but who or how many was impossible to say. Sir John clambered aboard and walked around the deck, sometimes thrusting a finger at a man-at-arms or archer. He pointed at Hook. \"You,\" he said, then walked on. \"Everyone I pointed to,\" he turned and shouted, \"will be going ashore with me. We go tonight! After dark. The rest of you? Be ready at dawn. If we're still alive you'll join us. And those of you going ashore? Armor! Weapons! We're not going to dance with the bastards! We're going to kill them!\"\n\nThat night there was a three-quarters moon silvering the sea. The shadows on land were black and stark as Hook dressed for war. He had his long boots, leather breeches, a leather jerkin, a mail coat, and a helmet. He wore his archer's horn bracer on his left forearm, not so much to protect his arm against the string's lash because the mail would do that, but rather to stop the string fraying on the armor's links. He had a short sword hanging from his belt, a poleax slung on his back, and a linen arrow bag at his right side with the feathers of twenty-four arrows poking from the opening. Five men-at-arms and twelve archers were going ashore with Sir John and they all climbed down into an open boat that sailors rowed toward the surf. Other boats from other ships were also heading for the shore. No one spoke, though now and then a voice called soft from an anchored ship, wishing them luck. If the French were in the trees, Hook thought, then they would see the boats coming. Maybe even now the French were drawing swords and winding the thick strings of their steel-shafted crossbows.\n\nThe boat began to heave in short sharp lurches as the waves steepened near the shore. The sound of the surf became louder and more ominous. The sailors were digging their blades deep in the water, trying to outrace the curling, breaking waves, but suddenly the boat seemed to surge ahead and the sea was moonlit white, shattered and violent all about them, and then the boat dropped like a stone and there was a scraping sound as its keel dragged on the shingle. The boat slewed around and the water seethed about the hull before being sucked back to sea. \"Out!\" Sir John hissed, \"out!\"\n\nOther boats slammed into the beach and men leaped out and trudged up the shingle bank with drawn swords. They gathered above the thick line of weed and driftwood that marked the high tide line. Huge boulders littered the beach, their moon-shadowed sides black. Hook had expected Sir John to be in charge of this first landing, but instead it was a much younger man who waited till all the boats had discharged their passengers. The sailors shoved their launches off the beach and held them just beyond the breaking waves. If the French were waiting and awake then the boats could come to pick up the landing party, but Hook doubted many would escape. There would be blood in the sucking shingle instead. \"We stay together,\" the young man said in a low voice, \"archers to the right!\"\n\n\"You heard Sir John!\" Sir John Cornewaille hissed. The young man was Sir John Holland, nephew to the king and Sir John Cornewaille's stepson. \"Goddington?\"\n\n\"Sir John?\"\n\n\"Take your archers far enough out to give us flanking cover!\"\n\nIt seemed the older Sir John was really in charge, merely yielding the appearance of command to his stepson. \"Forward!\" the younger Sir John called, and the line of men, forty men-at-arms on the left and forty archers on the right, advanced farther up the beach.\n\nTo find defenses.\n\nAt first Hook thought he was approaching a great ridge of earth at the top of the shingle, but as he drew closer he saw that the ridge was man-made and had a ditch in front of it. It was a bank thrown up to serve as a rampart, and not only was it ditched, but there were bastions jutting out onto the shingle from which crossbowmen could shoot into the flanks of any attacker advancing up the beach. The ramparts, which had hardly been eroded by wind or rain, stretched the width of the cove and Hook imagined how hard it would be to fight up their front with men-at-arms hacking down from the summit and crossbow bolts slashing from the sides, but all he could do was imagine, because the rampart, that must have taken days to make, was entirely deserted.\n\n\"Been busy little farts, haven't they?\" Sir John Cornewaille remarked caustically. He kicked the rampart's summit. \"What's the point of making defenses and then abandoning them?\"\n\n\"They knew we'd land here?\" Sir John Holland suggested cautiously.\n\n\"Then why aren't they here to greet us?\" Sir John asked. \"They probably built ramparts like these on every beach in Normandy! Bastards are pissing in their breeches and digging walls. Archers! You can all whistle, can't you?\"\n\nThe archers said nothing. Most were too surprised by the question to make any response.\n\n\"You can all whistle?\" Sir John asked again. \"Good! And you all know the tune of 'Robin Hood's Lament'?\"\n\nEvery archer knew that tune. It would have been astonishing had they not, for Robin Hood was the archers' hero, the bowman who had stood up against the lords and princes and sheriffs of England. \"Right!\" Sir John announced. \"We're going up the hill! Men-at-arms on the track and archers into the woods! Explore to the top of the hill! If you hear or see someone then come and find me! But whistle 'Robin Hood's Lament' so I know it's an Englishman coming and not some prick-sucking Frenchman! Let's go!\"\n\nBefore they could climb the hill they needed to cross a sullen stretch of moon-glossed marsh that lay behind the beach's thick bank of earth and shingle. There was a path of sorts that doglegged its way over the swampy ground, but Sir John Cornewaille insisted the archers spread either side of the track so that, if an ambush was sprung, they could shoot their arrows in from the flanks. Peter Goddington cursed as he waded between the tussocks. \"He'll have us killed,\" he grumbled as newly woken birds screeched up from the marsh, their sudden wingbeats loud in the night. The surf fell and sucked on the beach.\n\nThe marsh was a bowshot wide, a little more than two hundred paces. Hook could shoot further, but so could every crossbowman in France and, as he splashed toward the dark woods that grew almost to the marsh's edge, he watched the black shadows in fear of a sudden noise that would betray the release of a bolt. The French had known the English were coming. They would have had spies counting the shipping in Southampton Water and the fishermen would have brought news that the great fleet was off the coast. And the French had taken the trouble to defend even this small cove with an elaborate earthwork, so why were they not manning it? Because, Hook thought, they were waiting in the woods. Because they wanted to kill this advance party as it crossed the marsh.\n\n\"Hook! Tom and Matt! Dale! Go right!\" Goddington waved the four men toward the eastern side of the marsh. \"Head on up the hill!\"\n\nHook splashed off to his right, followed by the twins and by William of the Dale. Behind them the men-at-arms were grouped on the track. Every man, whether lord or archer, was wearing the badge of Saint George on his surcoat. The legs of the men-at-arms were cased in plate armor that reflected the moon white and bright, while their drawn swords looked like streaks of purest silver. No crossbow bolts flew from the woods. If the French were waiting then they must be higher up the slope.\n\nHook climbed a short bank of crumbling earth at the marsh's northern edge. He turned to see the fleet on the moon-glittered sea, its few lanterns dull red and its masts a forest. The stars were brilliant. He turned back to the wood's edge that was black as the pit. \"Bows are no good in the trees,\" he told his companions. He unstrung the stave and slipped it into the horsehide case that had been folded and tucked in his belt. Leave a bow strung too long and it followed the cord to become permanently curved and so lost its power. It was better to store the stave straight and so he slung the case's leather loop over his shoulder and drew his short sword. His three companions did the same and then followed Hook into the trees.\n\nNo Frenchman waited. No sudden sword blow greeted Hook, no crossbow bolt whipped from the dark. There was nothing but the sound of the sea and the blackness under the leaves and the small sounds of a wood at night.\n\nHook was at home in the trees, even among these foreign trees. Thomas and Matthew Scarlet were fuller's sons, reared to a mill where great water-driven beams thumped clay into cloth to release the wool's grease. William of the Dale was a carpenter, but Hook was a forester and a huntsman and he instinctively took the lead. He could hear men off to his left and, not wanting them to mistake him for a Frenchman, headed further to his right. He could smell a boar, and remembered a winter dawn when he had put five man-killing arrows into a great tusked male that had still charged him, arrows clattering in its side, anger fierce in its small eyes, and Hook had only escaped by scrambling up an oak. The boar had died eventually, its hooves stirring the blood-soaked leaf mold as its life drained away.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" Thomas Scarlet asked.\n\n\"Top of the hill,\" Hook answered curtly.\n\n\"What do we do there?\"\n\n\"We wait,\" Hook said. He did not know the answer. He could smell woodsmoke now, the pungent scent betraying that folk were nearby. He wondered if there was a charcoal-making camp in the woods because that would explain the smell, or perhaps the unseen fire warmed crossbowmen who waited for their targets to appear on the hilltop.\n\n\"We're going to kill the turd-sucking bastards,\" William of the Dale said in his uncanny imitation of Sir John. Matt Scarlet laughed.\n\n\"Quiet,\" Hook said sharply, \"and go faster!\" If crossbowmen were waiting then it was better to move quickly rather than present an easy target, but his instincts were telling him that there was no enemy in these trees. The wood felt deserted. When he had hunted deer-poachers on Lord Slayton's land he had always felt their presence, a knowledge that came from beyond sight, smell, or hearing; an instinct. Hook reckoned these woods were empty, yet there was still that smell of woodsmoke. Instinct could be wrong.\n\nThe slope flattened and the trees became sparser. Hook was still leading his companions to the east, anxious to stay well away from a nervous English archer. Then, suddenly, he had reached the summit and the trees ended to reveal a sunken road running along the ridge. \"Bows,\" he told his companions, though he did not unsheathe his own stave. He had heard something off to his left, some noise that could not have been made by any of Sir John's men. It was the thump of a hoof.\n\nThe four archers crouched in the trees above the road. The hoofbeats sounded louder, but nothing could be seen. It was one horse, Hook thought, judging from the sound, and then, suddenly, the horse and its rider were visible, riding eastward. The rider was swathed in darkness as if he wore a cloak, but Hook could see no weapons. \"Don't shoot,\" he told his companions, \"he's mine.\"\n\nHook waited till the horseman was nearly opposite his hiding place, then leaped down the bank and snatched at the bridle. The horse slewed and reared. Hook reached up with his free hand, grasped a handful of the rider's cloak and hauled downward. The horse whinnied, but obeyed Hook's touch, while the rider gasped as he thumped hard onto the road. The man tried to scramble away, but Hook kicked him hard in the belly, and then Thomas, Matthew, and William were at his side, hauling the prisoner to his feet.\n\n\"He's a monk!\" William of the Dale said.\n\n\"He was riding to fetch help,\" Hook said. That was a guess, but hardly a difficult surmise.\n\nThe monk began to protest, speaking too quickly for Hook to understand any of his words. He spoke loudly too. \"Shut your face,\" Hook said, and the monk, as if in response, began to shout his protests, so Hook hit him once and the monk's head snapped back and blood sprang from his nose, and he went instantly quiet. He was a young man who now looked very scared.\n\n\"I told you to shut your face,\" Hook said. \"You three, whistle! Whistle loud!\"\n\nWilliam, Matthew, and Thomas whistled \"Robin Hood's Lament\" as Hook led the prisoner and horse back along the road that lay sunken between two tree-shrouded banks. The track curved to the left to reveal a great stone building with a tower. It looked like a church. \"Une \u00e9glise?\" he asked the monk.\n\n\"Un monast\u00e8re,\" the monk said sullenly.\n\n\"Keep whistling,\" Hook said.\n\n\"What did he say?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"He said it's a monastery. Now whistle!\"\n\nSmoke came from a chimney of the monastery, explaining the smell that had haunted Hook as they climbed the hill. No one else from the landing party was in sight yet, but as Hook led his small party toward the building a gate opened and a wash of lantern light revealed a group of monks standing in the gateway. \"Arrows on strings,\" Hook said, \"and keep goddam whistling, for God's sake.\"\n\nA tall, thin, gray-haired man, robed in black, advanced down the track. \"Je suis le prieur,\" he announced himself.\n\n\"What did he say?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"He says he's the prior,\" Hook said, \"just keep whistling.\"\n\nThe prior reached out a hand as if to take the bloodied monk, but Hook turned on him and the tall man stepped hastily back. The other monks began to protest, but then more archers came from the woods and Sir John Holland and his stepfather appeared around the priory's edge with the men-at-arms.\n\n\"Well done, Hook!\" Sir John Cornewaille shouted, \"got yourself a horse!\"\n\n\"And a monk, Sir John,\" Hook said. \"He was riding for help, leastways I think he was.\"\n\nSir John strode to Hook's side. The prior made the sign of the cross as the men-at-arms filled the road in front of the monastery, then stepped toward Sir John and made a voluble complaint that involved frequent gestures at Hook and at the bleeding monk. Sir John tipped up the wounded man's face to inspect the broken nose by moonlight. \"They must have sent a warning of our arrival yesterday,\" he said, \"so this man was plainly sent to tell someone we were landing. Did you hit him, Hook?\"\n\n\"Hit him, Sir John?\" Hook asked, playing dumb while he thought what answer would serve him best.\n\n\"The prior says you hit him,\" Sir John said accusingly.\n\nHook's instinct was to lie, just as he had always lied when faced with such accusations, but he did not want to sour his service to Sir John with untruths so he nodded. \"I did, Sir John,\" he said.\n\nSir John's face showed a hint of a smile. \"That's a pity, Hook. Our king has said he'll hang any man who hurts a priest, a nun, or a monk. He's very pious is our Henry, so I want you to think very carefully about your answer. Did you hit him, Hook?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Sir John,\" Hook said. \"I wouldn't dream of doing that.\"\n\n\"Of course you wouldn't,\" Sir John said, \"he just tumbled out of his saddle, didn't he? And he fell right onto his nose.\" He blandly offered that explanation to the prior before pushing the bloody-nosed monk toward his brethren. \"Archers,\" Sir John said, turning to his men, \"I want you all on the skyline, there,\" he pointed eastward, \"and stay on the road. I'll take the horse, Hook.\"\n\nThe archers waited on the road, which fell away in front of them before rising to another tree-covered crest. The stars were fading as the dawn smeared the east. Peter Goddington gave permission for some men to sleep as others kept watch and Hook made a bed on a mossy bank and must have slept an hour before more hoofbeats woke him. It was full light now and the sun was streaming through green leaves. A dozen horsemen were on the road, one of them Sir John Cornewaille. The horses were shivering and skittish and Hook guessed they had just been swum ashore and were still uncertain of their footing. \"On to the next ridge!\" Sir John shouted at the archers and Hook hastily picked up his arrow bag and cased bow. He followed the archers eastward, and the men-at-arms, in no apparent hurry, walked their horses behind.\n\nThe view from the farther ridge was astonishing. To Hook's right the sea narrowed toward the Seine's mouth. The river's southern bank was all low wooded hills. To the north were more hills, but in front of Hook, glinting under the morning sun, the road fell away through woods and fields to a town and its harbor. The harbor was small, crammed with ships, and protected by the town walls that were built clear around the port, leaving only a narrow entrance leading to a slender channel that twisted to the sea. Behind the port was the town itself, all roofs and churches ringed by a great stone wall that was obscured in places by houses that had been built outside its perimeter. The houses, which spread out on all sides of the town, could not hide the great towers that studded the wall. Hook counted the towers. Twenty-four. Banners hung from the towers and from the walls in between. The archers were much too far away to see the flags, but the message of the banners was obvious: the town knew the English had landed and was proclaiming its defiance.\n\n\"Harfleur,\" Sir John Cornewaille announced to the archers. \"A nest of goddamned pirates! They're villains who live there, boys! They raid our shipping, raid our coast, and we're going to scour them out of that town like rats out of a granary!\"\n\nHook could see more now. He could see a river looping through fields to Harfleur's north. The river evidently ran clear through the town, entering under a great arch and flowing through the houses to empty itself in the walled harbor. But the citizens of Harfleur, warned the previous day of the coming of the English, must have dammed the archway so that the river was now flooding to spread a great lake about the town's northern and western sides. Harfleur, under that morning sun, looked like a walled island.\n\nA crossbow bolt seared overhead. Hook had seen the flicker of its first appearance, down and to his left, meaning that whoever had shot the bolt was in the woods north of the road. The bolt landed somewhere in the trees behind.\n\n\"Someone doesn't like us,\" one of the mounted men-at-arms said lightly.\n\n\"Anyone see where it came from?\" another rider demanded sharply.\n\nHook and a half-dozen other archers all pointed to the same patch of dense trees and undergrowth. The road dropped in front of them, then ran level for a hundred paces to the lip of a shelf before falling again toward the flood-besieged town, and the crossbowman was somewhere on that wide wooded ledge.\n\n\"I don't suppose he'll go away,\" Sir John Cornewaille remarked mildly.\n\n\"There may be more than one?\" someone else suggested.\n\n\"Just one, I think,\" Sir John said. \"Hook? You want to fetch the wretched man for me?\"\n\nHook ran to his left, plunged into the trees, then turned down the short slope. He reached the wide ledge and there went more slowly, picking his way carefully to keep from making a noise. He had strung his bow. In thick trees the bow was a dubious weapon, but he did not want to encounter a crossbowman without having an arrow on the string.\n\nThe wood was oak, ash, and a few maples. The undergrowth was hawthorn and holly, and there was mistletoe growing high in the oaks, something Hook noted for he rarely saw it sprouting from oak in England. His grandmother had valued oak mistletoe, using it in a score of medicines she had made for the villagers, and even for Lord Slayton when the ague struck him. Her chief use for the mistletoe had been the treatment of barren women for which she had pounded the small berries with mangrove root, the whole moistened with the urine of a mother. There had been a fecund woman in the village, Mary Carter, who had given birth to fifteen healthy children, and Hook had often been sent with a pot to request her urine, and once he had been beaten by his grandmother for coming back with the pot empty because she had refused to believe that Mary Carter was away from home. The next time Hook had pissed in the pot himself and his grandmother had never noticed the difference.\n\nHe was thinking about that, and wondering whether Melisande would become pregnant, when he heard the fierce, quick sound of a crossbow being shot. The noise was close. He crouched, crept forward, and suddenly saw the shooter. It was a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, who was grunting slightly as he worked the crank to span his weapon. The head of the bow had a stirrup in which the boy had placed his foot, and at its butt was the socket where he had fitted the two handles that turned to wind back the cord. It was hard work and the boy was grimacing with the effort of inching the thick cord up the weapon's stock. He was concentrating so hard that he did not notice Hook until the archer picked him up by the scruff of his coat. The boy beat at Hook, then yelped as he was slapped around the head.\n\n\"You're a rich one, aren't you?\" Hook said. The boy's coat, which Hook was holding by the collar, was of finely woven woolen cloth. His breeches and shoes were expensive, and his crossbow, which Hook scooped up with his right hand, looked as though it had been made specially for the boy because it was much smaller than a man's bow. The stock was walnut and beautifully inlaid with silver and ivory chasings that depicted a deer hunt in a forest. \"They'll probably hang you, boy,\" Hook said cheerfully, and walked out to the road with the boy tucked under his left arm and his own bow and the valuable crossbow held in his right. He climbed back up the hill to where grinning archers lined the ridge and mounted men-at-arms blocked the road. \"Here's the enemy, Sir John!\" Hook said cheerfully, dropping the boy beside Sir John's horse.\n\n\"A brave enemy,\" a horseman said admiringly and Hook looked up to see the king. Henry was in plate armor and wore a surcoat showing his royal arms. He wore a helmet ringed with a golden crown, though his visor was lifted to reveal his long-nosed face with its deep dark pit of a scar. Hook dropped to his knees and dragged the boy down with him.\n\n\"Votre nom?\" the king demanded of the boy, who did not answer, but just glared up at Henry. Hook cuffed him around the head again.\n\n\"Philippe,\" the boy said sullenly.\n\n\"Philippe?\" Henry asked, \"just Philippe?\"\n\n\"Philippe de Rouelles,\" the boy answered, defiant now.\n\n\"It seems that Master Philippe is the only man in France who dares face us!\" the king said loudly enough for everyone on the hilltop to hear. \"He shoots two crossbow bolts at us! You try to kill your own king, boy,\" Henry went on, speaking French again, \"and I am king here. I am King of Normandy, King of Aquitaine, King of Picardy, and King of France. I am your king.\" He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the grass. A squire spurred forward to take the reins of the king's horse as Henry took two steps to stand above Philippe de Rouelles. \"You tried to kill your king,\" he said, and drew his sword. The blade made a hissing noise as it scraped through the scabbard's throat. \"What do you do with a boy who tries to kill a king?\" Henry demanded loudly.\n\n\"You kill him, sire,\" a horseman growled.\n\nThe king's blade rose. Philippe was shaking and his eyes were tear-bright, but his face was still stubbornly defiant. Then he flinched as the blade flashed down.\n\nIt stopped an inch above his shoulder. Henry smiled. He tapped the blade once, then tapped it again on the boy's other shoulder. \"You're a brave subject,\" he said lightly. \"Rise, Sir Philippe.\" The horsemen laughed as Hook hauled the wide-eyed boy to his feet.\n\nHenry was wearing a golden chain about his neck from which hung a thick ivory pendant decorated with an antelope made of jet. The antelope was another of his personal badges, though Hook, seeing the badge, neither knew what the beast was nor that it was the king's private insignia. Henry now lifted the chain from his neck and draped it over Philippe's head. \"A keepsake of a day on which you should have died, boy,\" Henry said. Philippe said nothing, but just looked from the rich gift to the man who had given it to him. \"Your father is the Sire of Rouelles?\" the king asked.\n\n\"Yes, lord,\" Philippe said in a voice scarce more than a whisper.\n\n\"Then tell your father his rightful king has come and that his king is merciful. Now go, Sir Philippe.\" Henry dropped his sword back into its black scabbard. The boy glanced at the crossbow in Hook's hand. \"No, no,\" the king said, \"we keep your bow. Your punishment will be whatever your father deems appropriate for its loss. Let him go,\" the king ordered Hook. He appeared not to recognize the archer with whom he had spoken in the Tower.\n\nHenry watched the boy run down the slope, then climbed back into his saddle. \"The French send a lad to do their work,\" he said sourly.\n\n\"And when he grows, sire,\" Sir John said equally sourly, \"we'll have to kill him.\"\n\n\"He is our subject,\" the king said loudly, \"and this is our land! These people are ours!\" He stared at Harfleur for a long time. The town might be his by right, but the folk inside had a different opinion. Their gates were shut, their walls were hung with defiant banners, and their valley was flooded. Harfleur, it seemed, was determined to fight.\n\n\"Let's get the army ashore,\" Henry said.\n\nAnd the fight for France had begun.\n\nThe army began to come ashore on Thursday, August fifteenth, the feast of Saint Alipius, and it took till Saturday, the feast of Saint Agapetus, until the last man, horse, gun, and cargo had been brought to the boulder-strewn beach. The horses staggered when they were swum ashore. They whinnied and cavorted, eyes white, until grooms calmed them. Archers cut a wider road up from the beach to the monastery where the king had his quarters. Henry spent hours on the beach, encouraging and chivvying the work, or else he rode to the crest where Philippe de Rouelles had tried to kill him and from there he stared eastward at Harfleur. Sir John Cornewaille's men guarded the ridge, but no French came to drive the English back into the sea. A few horsemen rode from the town, but they stayed well out of bowshot, content to gaze at the enemy on the skyline.\n\nThe flood waters spread about Harfleur. Some of the houses built outside the walls were flooded so that only their rooftops showed above the water, but two wide stretches of dry ground remained in the base of the bowl where the town sat. The nearer stretch led to one of Harfleur's three gates and, from his aerie high on the hill, Hook could see the enemy making the finishing touches to a huge bastion that protected that gate. The bastion was like a small castle blocking the road, so that any attack on the gate would first have to take that new and massive fortification.\n\nOn the Friday afternoon, the feast of Saint Hyacinth, Hook and a dozen men were sent to retrieve Sir John's last horses, which were swum ashore from the Lady of Falmouth. The animals floundered on the shingle and the archers ran ropes through their bridles to keep them together. Melisande had come with Hook and she stroked the nose of Dell, her small piebald mare that had been a gift from Sir John's wife. She murmured soothing words to the mare. \"That horse don't speak French, Melisande!\" Matthew Scarlet said, \"she's an English mare!\"\n\n\"She's learning French,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"Language of the devil,\" William of the Dale said in his imitation of Sir John, and the other archers laughed. Matthew Scarlet, one of the twins, was leading Lucifer, Sir John's big battle-charger, who now lunged away from him. One of Sir John's grooms ran to help. Hook had a leading rein with eight horses attached and he pulled them toward Melisande, intending to add Dell to his string. He called her name, but Melisande was staring up the beach, frowning, and Hook looked to see where she was gazing.\n\nA group of men-at-arms was kneeling on the stones as a priest prayed and for a moment he thought that was what had caught her eye, then he saw a second priest just beyond one of the great boulders. It was Sir Martin, and with him were the Perrill brothers, and the three men were looking at Melisande, and Hook had the impression, no more, that they had made obscene gestures. \"Melisande,\" he said, and she turned to him.\n\nSir Martin grinned. He was gazing at Hook now and he slowly lifted his right hand and folded back his fingers so that only the longest finger protruded, and then, still slowly, he slipped his left fist over that one finger and, holding his hands together, made the sign of the cross toward Hook and Melisande. \"Bastard,\" Hook said softly.\n\n\"Who is it?\" Melisande asked.\n\n\"They're enemies,\" Hook said. The Perrill brothers were laughing.\n\nTom and Matthew Scarlet came to stand with Hook. \"You know them?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"I know them.\"\n\nSir Martin again made the sign of the cross before turning away in response to a shout. \"He's a priest?\" Tom Scarlet asked in a tone of disbelief.\n\n\"A priest,\" Hook said, \"a rapist and gentry born. But he was bitten by the devil's dog and he's dangerous.\"\n\n\"And you know him?\"\n\n\"I know him,\" Hook said, then turned on the twins. \"You all look after Melisande,\" he said fiercely.\n\n\"We do,\" Matthew Scarlet said, \"you know that.\"\n\n\"What did he want?\" Melisande asked.\n\n\"You,\" Hook said, and that night he gave her the small crossbow and its bag of bolts. \"Practice with it,\" he said.\n\nNext day, on the feast of Saint Agapetus, the eight great guns were hauled up from the beach. One gun, which was named the King's Daughter, needed two wagons for its massive hooped barrel which was longer than three bowstaves and had a gaping mouth large enough to take a barrel of ale. The other cannon were smaller, but all needed teams of over twenty horses to drag them to the hilltop.\n\nPatrols rode north, bringing back supplies and commandeering farm wagons that would carry the provisions and tents and arrows and newly felled oaks, which would be trimmed and shaped to make the catapults that would add their missiles to the shaped gun-stones that all had to be carried up the hill by yet more wagons. But, at last, the whole army and all its horses and all its supplies was ashore, and under a bright afternoon sun the cumbersome wagons were lined on the road beside the monastery and the army of England, banners flying, assembled around them. There were nine thousand archers and three thousand men-at-arms, all of them mounted, and there were pages and squires and women and servants and priests and yet more spare horses, and the flags snapped bright in the midday wind as the king, mounted on a snow-white gelding, rode along his red-crossed army. The sun glinted from the crown that surmounted his helmet. He reached the skyline above the town and he stared for a few minutes, then nodded to Sir John Holland who would have the honor of leading the vanguard. \"With God's blessing, Sir John!\" the king called, \"on to Harfleur!\"\n\nTrumpets sounded, drums beat, and the horsemen of England spilled over the edge of the hill. They wore the cross of Saint George and above their helmeted heads their lords' banners were gold and red and blue and yellow and green and to anyone watching from Harfleur's walls it must have seemed as though the hills were pouring an armored mass toward their town.\n\n\"How many people live in the town?\" Melisande asked Hook. She rode beside him, and hanging by her saddle was the ivory and silver inlaid crossbow Hook had given her.\n\n\"Sir John reckons they've only got about a hundred soldiers in the town,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"But they have the townsfolk as well,\" Hook said, \"and there must be two thousand of them? Maybe three thousand!\"\n\n\"But all these men!\" Melisande said and twisted in her saddle to look at the long lines of horsemen who filled the space on either side of the road. Mounted drummers beat on their instruments, making a noise to warn the citizens of Harfleur that their rightful king was coming in wrath.\n\nYet Henry of England was not the only person approaching the town. Even as the English spilled down the slope toward the dry ground to Harfleur's west, another cavalcade was riding from the east. They were a long way off, but clearly visible: a column of men-at-arms and wagons, a long line of reinforcements riding toward the ramparts. \"That,\" Sir John Cornewaille said, watching the distant men, \"is a pity.\"\n\n\"They're bringing guns,\" Peter Goddington remarked.\n\n\"As I said,\" Sir John said with surprising mildness, \"it is a pity.\" He spurred Lucifer to the head of the column and other lords, all wanting the honor of being the first to face the defiant town, raced after him. Hook watched the riders gallop down the hill and onto the flat ground, then saw the great blossom of black smoke billow and grow from Harfleur's wall. A few seconds later the sound of the gun punched the summer air, a flat crack that seemed to linger in the bowl of the hills in which the port was built. The gun-stone struck the meadows where the horsemen rode, ricocheted upward in a flurry of turf, then plunged harmlessly into the trees beyond.\n\nAnd Harfleur was under siege."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "It seemed to Hook that he never stopped digging in the first few days of the siege. It was midden trenches first. \"Our ma fell into a shit-pit once,\" Tom Scarlet said, \"she was drunk. She dropped some beads in it and then tried to fish them out with a rake.\"\n\n\"They were nice beads,\" Matthew Scarlet put in, \"bits of old silver, weren't they?\"\n\n\"Coins,\" his twin said, \"which our dad found in a buried jar. He bored them through and hung them on a scrap of bowstring.\"\n\n\"Which broke,\" Matt said.\n\n\"So ma tried to fish them out with a rake,\" Tom picked up the tale, \"and fell right in, head first!\"\n\n\"She got the beads back,\" Matt said.\n\n\"She sobered up quick enough,\" Tom Scarlet went on, \"but she couldn't stop laughing. Our dad took her down the duck pond and pushed her in. He made her take all her clothes off and then the ducks all flew away. They would, wouldn't they? A naked woman splashing about and laughing. Whole village was laughing!\"\n\nThe first thing the king had ordered was the burning of the houses outside the town's walls so that nothing would stand between the ramparts and his guns. The job was done at night, so that the flames burst into the darkness to light the defiant banners on Harfleur's pale walls, and all next day the smoke of the smoldering buildings lingered in the flooded bowl of hills that cradled the port and reminded Hook of the smoke that had veiled the land around Soissons.\n\n\"Of course the priest wasn't happy,\" Matthew Scarlet continued his brother's story, \"but our parish priest always was a rank piece of piss. He had our mother up in front of the manor court! Breaking the peace, he said, but his lordship gave her three shillings to buy cloth for new clothes and a kiss for being happy. He said she could go swimming in his shit any time she wanted.\"\n\n\"Did she ever?\" Peter Scoyle asked. Scoyle was a rarity, a bowman born and bred in London. He had been a combmaker's apprentice and had been convicted of causing a murderous affray, but had been pardoned on condition that he served in the king's army.\n\n\"She never did,\" Tom Scarlet said, \"she always said that one bath in shit was enough for a lifetime.\"\n\n\"One bath is enough for any lifetime!\" Father Christopher had evidently heard the twins telling their tale. \"Beware of cleanliness, boys! The blessed Saint Jerome warns us that a clean body means an unclean soul, and the holy Saint Agnes was proud of never having washed in her life.\"\n\n\"Melisande won't approve,\" Hook said, \"she likes being clean.\"\n\n\"Warn her!\" Father Christopher said seriously, \"the physicians all agree, Hook, that washing weakens the skin. It lets in disease!\"\n\nThen, when the pits were dug, Hook and a hundred other archers rode north up the valley of the River L\u00e9zarde and dug again, this time making a great dam across the valley. They demolished a dozen half-timbered houses in a village and used the beams to strengthen the huge earthen bank that stopped up the river. The L\u00e9zarde was small and the summer had been dry, but it still took four days of hard digging to make a barrier high enough to divert most of the river water westward. By the time Hook and his companions went back to Harfleur the flood waters had partly subsided, though the ground about the town was still waterlogged and the river itself still spilled over its banks to make a wide lake north of the town.\n\nNext they dug pits for guns. Two cannon, one called Londoner because the citizens of London had paid for it, were already in place and their gun-stones were biting at the huge bastion the defenders had built outside the Leure Gate. The Duke of Clarence, who was the king's brother, had marched clear around the town and his forces, which were a third of the English army, were attacking Harfleur's eastern side. They had their own guns that had been fortuitously captured from a supply convoy making for Harfleur. The Dutch gunners, hired to defend Harfleur from its English enemies, happily took English coin and turned their cannon against the town's defenders. Harfleur was surrounded now. No more reinforcements could reach the town unless they fought their way past the English army or sailed past the fleet of royal warships that guarded the harbor entrance.\n\nOn the day that the gun-pits were finished Hook and forty other archers climbed the hill to the west of the encampment, following the road by which the army had approached Harfleur. Huge oaks lined the nearest crest, and they were ordered to fell those trees and lop off the straightest limbs, which were to be sawn to the length of a bowstave and loaded onto wagons. The day was hot. A half-dozen archers stayed by the road with the huge two-handled saws while the rest spread along the crest. Peter Goddington marked the trees he wanted felled, and assigned a pair of archers to each. Hook and Will of the Dale were almost the farthest south, with only the Scarlet twins closer to the sea. Melisande was with Hook. Her hands were raw from washing clothes and there were still more clothes to be boiled and scrubbed back in the encampment, but Sir John's steward had let her accompany Hook. She carried the small crossbow on her back and never left Sir John's company without the weapon. \"I will shoot that priest if he touches me,\" she had told Hook, \"and I'll shoot his friends.\" Hook had nodded, but said nothing. She might, he thought, shoot one of them, but the weapon took so long to reload that she had no chance of defending herself against more than one man.\n\nThe trees muffled the occasional sound of a cannon firing and dulled the crash of the gun-stones striking home on Harfleur's walls. The axes were loud. \"Why did we come so far from the camp?\" Melisande asked.\n\n\"Because we've chopped down all the big trees that are closer,\" Hook said. He was stripped to the waist, his huge muscles driving the ax deep into an oak's trunk so that the chips flew.\n\n\"And we're not that far away from the camp,\" Will of the Dale added. He was standing back, letting Hook do the work and Hook did not mind. He was used to wielding a forester's ax.\n\nMelisande spanned the crossbow. She found it hard work, but she would not let Hook or Will help her crank the twin handles. She was sweating by the time the pawl clicked to hold the cord under its full tension. She laid a bolt in the groove, then aimed at a tree no more than ten paces away. She frowned, bit her lower lip, then pulled the trigger and watched as the bolt flew a yard wide to skitter through the undergrowth beyond. \"Don't laugh,\" she said before either man had any chance to laugh.\n\n\"I'm not laughing,\" Hook said, grinning at Will.\n\n\"I wouldn't dare,\" Will said.\n\n\"I will learn,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"You'll learn better if you keep your eyes open,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It's hard,\" she said.\n\n\"Look down the arrow,\" Will advised her, \"hold the bow firm and pull the trigger nice and slowly. And may God bless you when you shoot,\" he added the last words in Father Christopher's sly voice.\n\nShe nodded, then cranked the bow again. It took a long time before it clicked, then instead of shooting it she laid the weapon on the leaf mold and just watched Hook and she thought how he made felling a great oak look easy, just as he made shooting a bow seem simple.\n\n\"I'll see if the twins need help,\" Will of the Dale said, \"because you don't, Nick.\"\n\n\"I don't,\" Hook agreed, \"so go and help them. They're fuller's sons which means they've never done a proper day's work in their lives.\"\n\nWill picked up his ax, his arrow bag, and his cased bow and disappeared among the southern trees. Melisande watched him go, then looked down at the cocked crossbow as though she had never seen such a thing before. \"Father Christopher was talking to me,\" she said quietly.\n\n\"Was he?\" Hook asked. He looked up at the tree, then back to the cut he had made. \"This great thing will fall in a minute,\" he warned her. He went to the back side of the trunk and buried the ax in the wood. He wrenched the blade free. \"So what did Father Christopher want?\"\n\n\"He wanted to know if we would marry.\"\n\n\"Us? Marry?\" The ax chopped again and a wedge of wood came away when Hook pulled the blade back. Any moment now, he thought. He could sense the tension in the oak, the silent tearing of the timber that preceded the tree's death. He stepped away to stand beside Melisande who was well clear of the trunk. He noticed the crossbow was still cocked and almost told her that she would weaken the weapon by leaving the shank stressed, but then decided that might not be a bad thing. A weakened shank would make it easier for her to span. \"Marry?\" he asked again.\n\n\"That's what he said.\"\n\n\"What did you say?\"\n\n\"I didn't know,\" she said, staring at the ground, \"maybe?\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" Hook echoed her, and just then the timber cracked and ripped and the huge oak fell, slowly at first, then faster as it crashed through leaves and branches to shudder down. Birds shrieked. For a moment the woods were full of alarm, then all that was left was the ringing sound of the other axes along the ridge. \"I think, maybe,\" Hook said slowly, \"that it's a good idea.\"\n\n\"You do?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I do.\"\n\nShe looked at him, said nothing for a while, then picked up the crossbow. \"I look down the arrow,\" she said, \"and hold the bow tight?\"\n\n\"And you squeeze gently,\" he said. \"Hold your breath while you squeeze, and don't look at the bolt, just look at the place where you want the bolt to go.\"\n\nShe nodded, laid a bolt in the groove, and aimed at the same tree she had missed before. It was a couple of paces closer now. Hook watched her, saw the concentration on her face and saw her flinch in anticipation of the weapon's kick. She held her breath, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger and the bolt flashed past the tree's edge and vanished down the gentle farther slope. Melisande stared forlorn at where it had gone.\n\n\"You haven't got that many bolts,\" Hook said, \"and those are special.\"\n\n\"Special?\"\n\n\"They're smaller than most,\" he said, \"they're made specially to fit that bow.\"\n\n\"I should find the ones I shot?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"I'll chop off a couple of these boughs, and you should find those two bolts.\"\n\n\"I have nine left.\"\n\n\"Eleven would be better.\"\n\nShe laid the crossbow on the ground and picked her way down the slope to vanish in the sunlit green of the undergrowth. Hook cocked the crossbow, winding the cord back easily, hoping that the continual stress would weaken the stave and so help Melisande, then he went back to lopping branches. He wondered why the king had demanded so many pieces of straight timber the height of a bowstave. Not his business, he decided. He made short work of a second branch, then a third. The great trunk would be sawn eventually, but for the moment he would leave it where it had fallen. He lopped off more of the smaller branches, and heard the long collapse of another tree somewhere along the ridge. Pigeons clattered through the leaves. He thought he might have to go and help Melisande find the bolts because she had been gone far too long, but just as he had that thought she came running back, her face alarmed and her eyes wide. She pointed down the westward slope. \"There are men!\" she said.\n\n\"Course there are men,\" Hook said, and sliced off a limb the size of a man's arm with a one-handed stroke of the ax. \"We're all over the place.\"\n\n\"Men-at-arms,\" Melisande hissed, \"chevaliers!\"\n\n\"Probably our fellows,\" Hook said. Mounted men-at-arms patrolled the surrounding countryside every day, looking for supplies and watching for the French army that everyone expected would come to Harfleur's relief.\n\n\"They are French!\" Melisande hissed.\n\nHook doubted it, but he swung the ax to bury its blade in the fallen trunk, then jumped down and took her arm. \"Let's have a look.\"\n\nThere were indeed men. There were horsemen in a fern-thick gully that twisted through the high wood. Hook could see a dozen of them in single file, following a track through the trees, but he sensed there were more riders behind them. And he saw, too, that Melisande was right. The horsemen were not wearing the cross of Saint George. They had surcoats, but none of the badges was familiar, and the riders were armored in plate and all wore helmets. They had their visors raised and Hook could see the leading horseman's eyes glitter in the steel's shadow. The man held up his hand to check the column, then stared intently up the slope, trying to discover exactly where the sound of ax blows came from, and as he stared, so more horsemen appeared from the far trees.\n\n\"French,\" Melisande whispered.\n\n\"They are,\" Hook said softly. Most of the horsemen carried drawn swords.\n\n\"What do you do?\" Melisande asked, still whispering, \"hide?\"\n\n\"No,\" Hook said, because he knew what he must do. The knowledge was instinctive and he did not doubt it, nor did he hesitate. He led her back to the felled tree, snatched up the cocked crossbow, then ran along the ridge. \"The French!\" he shouted. \"They're coming! Get back to the wagons! Fast!\" He shouted it over and over. \"Back to the wagons!\" He first ran to his right, away from the wagons, to find Tom Scarlet and Will of the Dale standing and staring. \"Will,\" Hook said, \"use Sir John's voice. Tell them the French are here, and get everyone back to the wagons.\"\n\nWill of the Dale just gaped at him.\n\n\"Use Sir John's voice!\" Hook said harshly, shaking the carpenter by the shoulders. \"The goddam French are coming! Now go! Where's Matt?\" he asked the last question of Tom Scarlet, who mutely pointed southward.\n\nWill of the Dale was obeying Hook. He was hurrying back along the crest and using his imitation of Sir John's harsh voice to pull the archers back to where the big wagons waited on the road. Peter Goddington, confused by the mimicry, searched for Sir John and found Hook, Melisande, and Tom Scarlet instead. \"What in God's name is happening?\" Goddington demanded angrily.\n\n\"French, sergeant,\" Hook said, pointing down the western slope.\n\n\"Don't be daft, Hook,\" Goddington said, \"there are no goddam French here.\"\n\n\"I saw them,\" Hook said. \"Men-at-arms. They're in armor and carrying swords.\"\n\n\"They were our men, you fool,\" Goddington insisted. \"Probably a forage party.\"\n\nThe centenar was so sure of himself that Hook was beginning to doubt what he had seen, and his uncertainty was increased because the horsemen, though they must have heard the shouting on the crest, had not reacted. He had expected the men-at-arms to spur up the slope and burst through the trees, but none had appeared. Yet he stuck to his story. \"There were about twenty of them,\" he told Goddington, \"armored, and with strange livery. Melisande saw them too.\"\n\nThe sergeant glanced at Melisande and decided her opinion was worthless. \"I'll have a look,\" he said grudgingly. \"Where did you say they were?\"\n\n\"In the trees down that slope,\" Hook said, pointing. \"They're not on the road. They're in the trees, like they didn't want to be seen.\"\n\n\"You'd better not be dreaming,\" the centenar grumbled and went down the slope.\n\n\"Where's Matt?\" Hook asked Tom Scarlet again.\n\n\"He went to look at the sea,\" Tom Scarlet answered.\n\n\"Matt!\" Hook bellowed, cupping his hands.\n\nThere was no answer. The warm wind sighed in the branches and chaffinches made a busy noise somewhere down the eastern slope. A gun sounded from the siege lines, the echo rumbling in the bowl of the hills and melding with the crash of the stone's impact. Hook could not hear the clink of bridles or the thump of hooves and he wondered if he had imagined the horsemen. The shouting on the crest had ended, suggesting that the bemused archers must have assembled back at the wagons.\n\n\"We'd never seen the sea before,\" Tom Scarlet said nervously, \"not before we sailed here. Matt wanted to look again.\"\n\n\"Matt!\" Hook shouted again, but again there was no answer.\n\nPeter Goddington had vanished over the crest's lip. Hook gave the crossbow to Melisande and then uncased his bow, strung it, and put an arrow across the stave. He walked to the gully's lip and gazed down into the ferns. Peter Goddington was alone in the gully. There was not a horseman in sight and the centenar looked up and gave Hook a glance of pure disgust. \"Nothing here, you fool,\" he shouted, and just then Hook saw the two horsemen come from the trees on the right.\n\n\"Behind you!\" he shouted, and Goddington began to run up the slope as Hook raised the bow, hauled the cord back and loosed just as the man-at-arms nearest the centenar swerved left. The arrow, a bodkin, glanced off the espalier that armored the man's shoulder. The sword chopped down and Hook, as he pulled another arrow from the bag, saw blood bright and sudden in the glowing green woodland, he saw Peter Goddington's head turn red, saw him stumble as the second Frenchman, his sword held rigid as a lance, took the centenar in the back. Goddington fell.\n\nHook loosed again. The white feathers streaked through shadow and sunlight and the bodkin head, shafted with oak, slammed through the second man's breastplate and hurled him back in his tall saddle. More horsemen were coming now, spurring from the thick trees to put their horses at the slope, and Tom Scarlet was tugging at Hook's arm. \"Nick! Nick!\"\n\nAnd suddenly it was panic because there were more riders to their left, between them and the sea, and Hook seized Melisande's sleeve and dragged her back. He had not seen that southernmost column, and Hook realized the French had come in at least two parties and he had seen only one, and he ran desperately, hearing the hooves loud and getting louder, and he dragged Melisande fast to one side, dodging like a hare pursued by hounds, but then a horseman galloped in front of him and slewed about in a slithering flurry of leaf mold. Hook twisted to his left to find refuge by the bole of a great hollow oak. It was really no refuge at all, because he was cornered now, and still more horsemen came and a rider laughed from his saddle as the men-at-arms surrounded Melisande and the two archers.\n\n\"Matt!\" Tom said, and Hook saw that Matthew Scarlet was already a prisoner. A Frenchman in blue and green livery had him by his jacket's collar, dragging him alongside his horse.\n\n\"Archers,\" a horseman said. The word was the same in French and English, and there was no mistaking the pleasure with which the man spoke.\n\n\"P\u00e8re!\" Melisande gasped. \"P\u00e8re?\"\n\nAnd that was when Hook saw the falcon stooping against the sun. The livery was newly embroidered and bright, almost as bright as the sword blade that reached toward him. The blade came within a hand's breadth of his throat, then suddenly stopped. The rider, sitting straight-legged in his destrier's saddle, stared down at Hook. The haunch of a roe deer, newly killed, hung from his saddle's pommel and its blood had dripped onto the scale-armored foot of the horseman, who was Ghillebert, Seigneur de Lanferelle, the lord of hell.\n\nHe was a lord in splendor, mounted on a magnificent stallion and wearing plate armor that shone like the sun. He alone among the horsemen was bareheaded so that his long black hair hung sleek almost to his waist. His face was like polished metal, hard edged, bronze dark, with a hawk's nose and hooded eyes that showed amusement as he stared first at Hook who was trapped by the sword blade, then at Melisande who had raised the cocked crossbow. If Lanferelle was astonished at discovering his daughter in a high Norman wood he did not show it. He offered her a flicker of a wry smile, then said something in French and the girl fumbled in the pouch and took out a bolt that she laid in the weapon's groove. Ghillebert, Lord of Lanferelle, could easily have stopped her, but he merely smiled again as the now loaded weapon was raised once more to point at his face. He spoke, much too fast for Hook to understand, and Melisande answered just as fast, but passionately.\n\nThere was a shout from behind Hook, far behind, from where the road dropped to the English camp. The Lord of Lanferelle gestured to his men, gave an order, and they rode toward the shout. Half of the men, who numbered eighteen, wore the livery of the hawk and sun, the rest had the same blue and green livery as the man holding Matt Scarlet prisoner, and that man, together with a squire wearing Lanferelle's badge were the only ones who stayed with le Seigneur d'Enfer.\n\n\"Three English archers,\" Lanferelle spoke in English suddenly, and Hook remembered how this Frenchman had learned English when he was a prisoner waiting for his ransom to be collected, \"three goddam archers, and I give gold to my men for bringing me the fingers of goddam archers.\" Lanferelle grinned suddenly, his teeth very white against his sun-darkened skin. \"There are fingerless peasants all across Normandy and Picardy because my men cheat.\" He seemed proud of that, because he gave a sudden braying laugh. \"You know she is my daughter?\"\n\n\"I know,\" Hook said.\n\n\"She's the prettiest of them! I have nine that I know of, but only one from my wife. But this one,\" he looked at Melisande who still held the crossbow on him, \"this one I thought to protect from the world.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Hook said again.\n\n\"She was supposed to pray for my soul,\" Lanferelle said, \"but it seems I must breed other daughters if my soul is to be saved.\"\n\nMelisande spat some fast words that only made Lanferelle smile more. \"I put you in the convent,\" he said, still speaking English, \"because you were too pretty to be humped by some sweaty peasant and too ill-born to be married to a gentleman. But now it seems you found the peasant anyway,\" he gave Hook a derisive glance, \"and the fruit is picked, eh? But picked or not,\" he said, \"you are still my possession.\"\n\n\"She's mine,\" Hook said, and was ignored.\n\n\"So what shall I do? Take you back to the nunnery?\" Lanferelle asked, then grinned delightedly when Melisande raised the crossbow an inch higher. \"You won't shoot,\" he said.\n\n\"I will,\" Hook said, but it was a barren threat for he had no arrow on his string and knew he would be given no time to pull one from the bag.\n\n\"Who do you serve?\" Lanferelle asked.\n\n\"Sir John Cornewaille,\" Hook said proudly.\n\nLanferelle was pleased. \"Sir John! Ah, there's a man. His mother must have slept with a Frenchman! Sir John! I like Sir John,\" he smiled. \"But what of Melisande, eh? What of my little novice?\"\n\n\"I hated the convent,\" she spat at him, using English.\n\nLanferelle frowned as though her sudden outburst puzzled him. \"You were safe there,\" he said, \"and your soul was safe.\"\n\n\"Safe!\" Melisande protested, \"in Soissons? Every nun was raped or killed!\"\n\n\"You were raped?\" Lanferelle asked, his voice dangerous.\n\n\"Nicholas stopped him,\" she said, gesturing at Hook, \"he killed him first.\"\n\nThe dark eyes brooded on Hook for an instant, then returned to Melisande. \"So what do you want?\" he asked, almost angrily. \"You want a husband? Someone to look after you? How about him?\" Lanferelle jerked his head toward his squire. \"Maybe you should marry him? He's gently born, but not too gently. His mother was a saddler's daughter.\" The squire, who plainly did not understand a word that was being said, stared dumbly at Melisande. He wore no helmet, but had an aventail instead, a hood of chain mail that framed a sweaty face scarred by childhood pox. His nose had been flattened in some fight and he had thick, wet-looking lips. Melisande grimaced and spoke urgently in French, so urgently that Hook only understood part of what she said. She was scornful and tearful at the same time, and her words appeared to amuse her father. \"She says she will stay with you,\" Lanferelle translated for Hook, \"but that depends upon my wishes. It depends on whether I let you live.\"\n\nHook was thinking that he could lunge upward with the bowstave and drive the horn-nocked tip into Lanferelle's throat, or else into the soft tissue under his chin and keep driving the shaft so that it pierced the Frenchman's brain.\n\n\"No,\" the voice spoke in his head. It was almost a whisper, but unmistakably the voice of Saint Crispinian who had been silent for so long. \"No,\" the saint said again.\n\nHook almost fell to his knees in gratitude. His saint had returned. Lanferelle was smiling. \"Were you thinking to attack me, Englishman?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hook admitted.\n\n\"And I would have killed you,\" Lanferelle said, \"and maybe I will anyway?\" He stared toward the place where the wagons waited beside the road. Those wagons were hidden by the thick summer foliage, but shouts were loud and Hook could hear the sharp sound of bowstrings being loosed. \"How many of you are there?\" Lanferelle asked.\n\nHook thought about lying, but decided Lanferelle would discover the truth soon enough. \"Forty archers,\" he admitted.\n\n\"No men-at-arms?\"\n\n\"None,\" Hook said.\n\nLanferelle shrugged as if the information were not that important. \"So, you capture Harfleur, and what then? Do you march on Paris? On Rouen? You don't know. But I know. You will march somewhere. Your Henry has not spent all that money to capture one little harbor! He wants more. And when you march, Englishman, we shall be around you and in front of you and behind you, and you will die in ones and twos until there are only a few of you left, and then we shall close on you like wolves on a flock. And will my daughter die because you will be too weak to protect her?\"\n\n\"I protected her in Soissons,\" Hook said, \"you didn't.\"\n\nA tremor of anger showed on Lanferelle's face. The sword tip quivered, but there was also an uncertainty in the Frenchman's eyes. \"I looked for her,\" he said. He sounded defensive.\n\n\"Not well enough,\" Hook responded fiercely, \"and I found her.\"\n\n\"God led him to me,\" Melisande spoke in English for the first time.\n\n\"Oh! God?\" Lanferelle had recovered his poise and sounded amused. \"You think God is on your side, Englishman?\"\n\n\"I know He is,\" Hook said stoutly.\n\n\"And you know what they call me?\"\n\n\"The Lord of Hell,\" Hook said.\n\nLanferelle nodded. \"It is a name, Englishman, just a name to frighten the ignorant. But despite that name I want my soul in heaven when I die, and for that I need people to pray for me. I need masses said, I need prayers chanted, and I need nuns and priests on their knees.\" He nodded at Melisande. \"Why should she not pray for me?\"\n\n\"I do,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"But will God listen to her prayers?\" Lanferelle asked. \"She deserted God for you, and that is her choice, but let us see what God wants, Englishman. Hold up your hand.\" He paused and Hook did not move. \"You want to live?\" Lanferelle snarled. \"Hold up your hand! Not that one!\" He wanted Hook's right hand, the hand with the fingertips hardened to calluses by the friction of the bow's cord.\n\nHook held up his right hand.\n\n\"Spread your fingers,\" Lanferelle ordered and moved his sword slowly so that the blade's tip just touched Hook's palm. \"I could kill you,\" Lanferelle said, \"but my daughter likes you and I have an affection for her. But you took her blood without my permission, and blood demands blood.\" He moved his wrist, only his wrist, but so deftly and so strongly that the blade's tip moved an arrow's length in the air, and moved so fast that Hook had no chance to evade before the blade sliced off his smallest finger. The blood welled and ran. Melisande screamed, but did not pull the crossbow's trigger. Hook felt no pain for a heartbeat, then the agony streaked through his arm.\n\n\"There,\" Lanferelle said, amused, \"I leave you the fingers for the string, yes? For her sake. But when the wolves close on you, Englishman, you and I shall play our game. If you win, you keep her, but if you lose, she goes to his marriage bed,\" he jerked his head at his slack-mouthed squire. \"It's a stinking bed and he ruts like a boar. He grunts. Do you agree to our game?\"\n\n\"God will give us victory,\" Hook said. His hand was all pain, but he had kept the hurt from showing on his face.\n\n\"Let me tell you something,\" Lanferelle said, leaning from his saddle. \"God does not give a cow's wet turd about your king or mine. Do you agree to our game? We fight for Melisande, yes?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Then put your arrows down,\" Lanferelle said, \"and throw your bows away.\"\n\nHook understood that the Frenchman did not want an arrow in his back as he rode away, and so he and Tom Scarlet threw their bowstaves into the tangled leaves of the felled oak, then dropped their arrow bags.\n\nLanferelle smiled. \"We have an agreement, Englishman! The prize is Melisande, but we must seal it with blood, yes?\"\n\n\"It is sealed,\" Hook said, holding up his blood-soaked hand.\n\n\"We are playing for a life,\" Lanferelle said, \"not for blood,\" and with that he touched a knee to his stallion, which turned obediently and the Lord of Hell swept his sword with the swiveling horse and the blade's tip ripped through Matt Scarlet's throat to fill the greenwood with a spray of red and a jet of blood, and Tom Scarlet cried aloud and Lanferelle laughed as he spurred eastward followed by his two men.\n\n\"Matt!\" Tom Scarlet dropped to his knees beside his twin brother, but Matthew Scarlet was dying as fast as the blood that pumped from his torn and bubbling throat.\n\nThe hoofbeats faded. There was no more shouting from where the wagons were parked. Melisande was crying.\n\nHook fetched the bows. The French had gone. He used an ax to make a grave under an oak tree, a wide grave, wide enough for Matt Scarlet and Peter Goddington to lie together on the ridge above the sea.\n\nAbove Harfleur, where the guns tore the walls into rubble.\n\nIt was hard and ceaseless work. Hook and the archers cut timber and split timber and sawed timber to shore up the gun-pits and trenches. New gun-pits were made, closer to the town, but the precious weapons had to be protected from Harfleur's defenders and so the archers constructed thick screens of wooden balks that stood in front of the cannons' mouths. Each screen was made from oak trunks thick as a girl's waist, and they were sloped backward so that they would deflect the enemy's missiles skyward. The cleverest thing about the screens, Hook thought, was how they were mounted on frames so that they could swivel. An order was given when a gun was at last ready to fire and men would turn a great windlass that hauled down the top of the screen and so raised the lower edge to expose the cannon's blackened muzzle. The gun would fire and the world would vanish in a sickening, stinking, thick cloud of smoke that smelled exactly like rotted eggs, and the sound of the gun-stone striking the wall would be lost in the echo of the great cannon's bellow, and then the windlass would be released and the screen would thump down to protect the gun and its Dutch gunners again.\n\nThe enemy had learned to watch for the opening screens and would wait for that moment before shooting their own guns and springolts, so the English guns were also protected by enormous wicker baskets filled with earth and by more timber balks, and sometimes a screen would be raised even though a gun was not ready to be fired, just to trick the enemy into loosing their missiles, which would thump harmlessly into the baskets and oak trunks. Then, when the gun was ready, the wicker basket immediately in front of the barrel was rolled clear, the screen was raised, and the noise could be heard far up the L\u00e9zarde's flooded valley.\n\nThe enemy also possessed cannon, but their guns were much smaller, firing a stone no bigger than an apple and lacking the weight to smash through the heavy screens. Their springolts, giant crossbows that shot thick bolts, had even less power. Hook, delivering a wagon of timber to reinforce the trenches, had a springolt bolt hit one of his horses plumb on the chest. The missile buried itself in the horse's body, ripping through lungs, heart, and belly so that the beast simply collapsed, feet spreading in a sudden pool of blood. The heat shimmered off the blood and off the flooded land and off the marshes beside the wide glittering sea.\n\nTrenches defended the besiegers from the enemy's guns and springolts, though there was small defense against the ballista that hurled stones high in the air so that they fell almost vertically. The English had their own catapults, made from the timber cut on the slopes above the port, and those machines rained both stones and festering animal corpses into Harfleur. From the hill Hook could see shattered roofs and two broken church towers. He could see the wall broken open so that the rubble spilled into the ditch, and he could see the giant bastion defending the gate being ripped and frayed and broken and battered. That bastion had been constructed from earth and timber, and the English gun-stones chopped and gnawed at its two towers, which flanked a short, thick curtain wall.\n\n\"We'll be making a sow next,\" Sir John told his archers, \"our lord the king is in a hurry!\"\n\n\"There's a great hole in their town wall, Sir John,\" Thomas Evelgold remarked. He had replaced Peter Goddington as the centenar.\n\n\"And behind that gap is a new wall,\" Sir John said, \"and to attack it we'd have to get past their barbican.\" The barbican was the twin-towered bastion protecting the Leure Gate. \"You want their bastard crossbowmen shooting at you from the side? That barbican has to go, so we'll be making a sow. We'll have to fell more trees! Hook, I want you.\"\n\nThe other archers watched as Sir John took Hook aside. \"There'll be no more French men-at-arms in the hills,\" Sir John said, \"we've got our own men out there now, and we've got more men watching for a relief force, but they're seeing nothing.\" That was a puzzle. August was ending and still the French had sent no army to relieve the besieged town. English horsemen rode every day to scout the roads from the north and the east, but the country stayed empty. Sometimes a small force of French men-at-arms challenged the patrols, but there was no cloud of dust to betray a marching army. \"So tell me what you did on the ridge,\" Sir John said, \"the day poor Peter Goddington died.\"\n\n\"I just warned our fellows,\" Hook said.\n\n\"No, you didn't. You told them to get back to the wagons, is that right?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Sir John asked belligerently.\n\nHook frowned as he remembered. At the time it had seemed an obvious precaution, but he had not thought why it was so obvious. \"Our bows were no good in the trees,\" he now said slowly, \"but if they were back at the wagons they could shoot. They needed space to shoot.\"\n\n\"Which is just what happened,\" Sir John said. The archers, gathering at the wagons, had driven the raiders away with two volleys. \"So you did the right thing, Hook. The bastards only came to make mischief. They wanted to kill a few men and have a look at what progress we were making, and you saw them off!\"\n\n\"I wasn't there, Sir John,\" Hook said, \"it was the other archers what drove them off.\"\n\n\"You were with the Sire of Lanferelle, I know. And he let you live.\" Sir John gave Hook an appraising look. \"Why?\"\n\n\"He wants to kill me later,\" Hook said, not sure that was the right answer, \"or maybe it's because of Melisande?\"\n\n\"He's a cat,\" Sir John said, \"and you're his mouse. A wounded mouse,\" he glanced at Hook's right hand, which was still bandaged. \"You can still shoot?\"\n\n\"Good as ever, Sir John.\"\n\n\"So I'm making you a ventenar. Which means I'm doubling your pay.\"\n\n\"Me!\" Hook stared at Sir John.\n\nSir John did not answer straightaway. He had turned a critical eye on his men-at-arms, who were practicing sword strokes against tree trunks. Practice, practice, practice was one of Sir John's constant refrains. He claimed to strike a thousand blows a day in never-ending practice and he demanded the same of his men. \"Put some muscle into it, Ralph,\" he shouted at one man, then turned back to Hook. \"Did you think about what to do when you saw the French?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"That's why I'm making you a sergeant. I don't want men who have to think about what to do, but just do it. Tom Evelgold's now your centenar, so you can take his company. I tell him what to do, he tells you what to do, and you tell your archers what to do. If they don't do it, you thump the bastards, and if they still don't do it, I thump you.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\nSir John's battered face grinned. \"You're good, young Hook, and you're something else.\" He pointed at Hook's bandaged hand. \"You're lucky. Here,\" he took a thin silver chain from a pouch and dropped it into Hook's hand. \"Your badge of office. And tomorrow you build a sow.\"\n\n\"What's a sow, Sir John?\"\n\n\"It's a pig to build, I'll tell you that much,\" Sir John said, \"a goddam pig!\"\n\nIt began to rain that night. The rain came from the sea, carried on a cold west wind. It began softly, pattering on the besiegers' tents, and then the wind rose to tear at the banners on their makeshift poles and the rain hardened and came at an angle and drenched the ground into a morass of mud. The flood waters, which had largely subsided, began to rise again and the midden overflowed. The gunners cursed and raised awnings over their weapons, while every archer carefully hid his bowstrings from the soaking rain.\n\nThere was no need for Hook to carry a bow. His job was to raise the sow and it was, as Sir John had promised, a pig of a job. It was not intricate work, not even skilled, but it needed strength and it had to be done in full view of the defenders and within range of their cannons, springolts, catapults, and crossbows.\n\nThe sow was a giant shield, shaped like the toe of a shoe, behind and beneath which men could work safe from enemy missiles, and it would have to be built strong enough to withstand the repeated strike of gun-stones.\n\nA white-haired Welshman, Dafydd ap Traharn, supervised the work. \"I come from Pontygwaith,\" he told the archers, \"and in Pontygwaith we know more about building things than all you miserable English bastards put together!\" He had planned to run two wagons loaded with earth and stones to the place where the sow would be built and use the wagons to protect the archers from enemy missiles, but the rain had softened the ground and the wagons had become bogged down. \"We'll have to dig,\" he said with the relish of a man who knew he would not have to wield a spade himself. \"We know about digging in Pontygwaith, know more than all you English fart-makers put together!\"\n\n\"That's because you were digging graves for all the Welshmen we killed,\" Will of the Dale retorted.\n\n\"Burying you sais, we were,\" Dafydd ap Traharn replied happily. Later, as he chatted with Hook, he cheerfully admitted he had been a rebel against the English king just fifteen years before. \"Now that Owain Glyn Dwr,\" he said warmly, \"what a man!\"\n\n\"What happened to him?\"\n\n\"He's still alive, boy!\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"still alive!\" Glyn Dwr's rebellion had burned for over a decade, giving young Henry, Prince of Wales and now King of England, a long education in warfare. The revolt had been defeated and some of the Welsh leaders had been dragged on hurdles through London to their executions, but Owain Glyn Dwr himself had never been captured. \"We have magicians in Wales,\" Dafydd ap Traharn lowered his voice and leaned close to Hook as he spoke, \"and they can turn a man invisible!\"\n\n\"I'd like to see that,\" Hook said wistfully.\n\n\"Well, you can't, can you? That's the whole thing about being invisible, you can't see them! Why, Owain Glyn Dwr could be here right now and you couldn't see him! And that's what has happened to him, see? He's living in luxury, boy, with women and apples, but if an Englishman gets within a mile of him, he turns invisible!\"\n\n\"So what's a rebel Welshman doing with this army?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"A man has to live,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"and eating an enemy's loaf of bread is better than staring into an empty oven. There's dozens of Glyn Dwr's men in this army, boy, and we'll fight as hard for Henry as we ever did for Owain.\" He grinned. \"Mind you, there are a few of Owain Glyn Dwr's men in France as well, and they'll fight against us.\"\n\n\"Archers?\"\n\n\"God be praised, no. Archers can't afford to run away to France, can they now? No, it's the gentry who lost their land who went to France, not the archers. Have you ever faced an archer in battle?\"\n\n\"God be praised, no,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It is not what I would call a happy experience,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said grimly. \"My God, boy, but we Welsh don't take fright easily, but when Henry's archers shot at Shrewsbury it was death from the sky. Like hail, it was, only hail with steel points, and hail that never stopped, and men were dying all around me and their screams were like tortured gulls on a black shore. An archer is a terrible thing.\"\n\n\"I'm an archer.\"\n\n\"You're a digger now, boy,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, grinning, \"so dig.\"\n\nThey dug a trench away from a gun-pit, digging it toward the walls of Harfleur, and the defenders saw the trench being made and rained crossbow bolts and gun-stones on the work. The defenders' catapults tried to lob stones onto the new trench, but the missiles went wide, landing in showers of splattering mud. After thirty paces of new trench had been made Dafydd ap Traharn declared himself satisfied and ordered a new pit to be excavated. It had to be big, square and deep, and so the archers hacked and shoveled till they reached a layer of chalk. The new pit's side seeped water so that they slopped about in muck as they raised a parapet of tree trunks on three sides of the pit, only leaving the rear that led to the English camp unprotected. They laid the trunks flat, four abreast, and piled more on top, so that a man could stand upright in the pit and be invisible to the enemy on Harfleur's walls. \"Tonight,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"we'll make a roof and our lovely sow will be finished.\"\n\nThey made the roof at night because the pit was close enough to the walls to be within easy range of a crossbow, but the enemy must have guessed what was happening and they shot blind through the rain-soaked darkness and three men were wounded by the short, sharp bolts that spat from the night. It took all that night to lay long trunks over the pit and then to cover those timbers with a thick layer of earth and chalk rubble before adding a final covering of more tree trunks. \"And now the real work begins,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"which means we have to use Welshmen.\"\n\n\"The real work?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"We're going to make a mine, lad. We're going to dig deep.\"\n\nThe rain ended at dawn. A chill wind came from the west and the rain slid away across France and the sun fought against cloud as the enemy gunners hammered the newly made sow with gun-stones that wasted their power on the thick log parapet. Hook and his archers slept, sheltering under the crude cabins they had made from tree boughs, earth, and ferns. When Hook woke he found Melisande scrubbing his mail coat with sand and vinegar. \"Rouille,\" she said in explanation.\n\n\"Rust?\"\n\n\"That's what I said.\"\n\n\"You can polish my coat, darling,\" Will of the Dale said as he crawled from his shelter.\n\n\"Do your own, William,\" Melisande said. \"I cleaned Tom's, though.\"\n\n\"Well done,\" Hook said. All the archers were worried about Thomas Scarlet whose customary cheerfulness had been buried with his twin brother. Scarlet scowled these days, or else sat by himself, brooding. \"All he wants,\" Hook said quietly, \"is to meet your father again.\"\n\n\"Then Thomas will die,\" Melisande said bleakly.\n\n\"He loves you,\" Hook said.\n\n\"My father?\"\n\n\"He let you live. He let you stay with me.\"\n\n\"He let you live too,\" she said, almost resentfully.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nShe paused. Her gray eyes watched Harfleur, which was ringed with gunsmoke like a sea fog shrouding a cliff. Hook put his wet boots to dry beside the campfire. The burning wood spat and shot sparks. It was willow, and willow always protested against burning. \"He loved my mother, I think,\" Melisande said wistfully.\n\n\"Did he?\"\n\n\"She was beautiful,\" Melisande said, \"and she loved him. She said he was so beautiful too. A beautiful man.\"\n\n\"Handsome,\" Hook allowed.\n\n\"Beautiful,\" Melisande insisted.\n\n\"When you met him in the trees,\" Hook asked, \"did you want him to take you away?\"\n\nShe gave an abrupt shake of her head. \"No,\" she said, \"I think he is a bad angel. And I think he is in my head like the saint is in yours,\" she turned to look at him, \"and I wish he would go away.\"\n\n\"You think about him? Is that it?\"\n\n\"I always wanted him to love me,\" she said harshly, and started scouring the mail again.\n\n\"As he loved your mother?\"\n\n\"No! Non!\" She was angry, and for a while she said nothing, then relented. \"Life is hard, Nicholas, you know that. It is work and work and work and worry where the food will come from and it is more work, and a lord, any lord, can stop all that. They can wave their hand and there is no more work, no more worry, just facile.\"\n\n\"Easy?\"\n\n\"And I wanted that.\"\n\n\"Tell him you want that.\"\n\n\"He is beautiful,\" Melisande said, \"but he is not kind. I know that. And I love you. Je t'aime.\" She said the last words decidedly, without apparent affection, but Hook was struck dumb by them. He watched archers bringing firewood to the camp. Melisande grimaced with the effort of scrubbing the sand on the mail coat. \"You know of Sir Robert Knolles?\" she asked suddenly.\n\n\"Of course I do,\" Hook said. Every archer knew of Sir Robert, who had died rich not many years before.\n\n\"He was an archer once,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"That's how he started,\" Hook agreed, wondering how Melisande knew of the legendary Sir Robert.\n\n\"And he became a knight,\" Melisande said, \"he led armies! And now Sir John has made you a ventenar.\"\n\n\"A ventenar isn't a knight,\" Hook said, smiling.\n\n\"But Sir Robert was a ventenar once!\" Melisande said fiercely, \"and then he became a centenar, and then a man-at-arms, and after that a knight! Alice told me. And if he could do it, why not you?\"\n\nThat vision was so astonishing that Hook could only stare at her for a moment. \"Me? A man-at-arms?\" he finally said.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I'm not born to that!\"\n\n\"Nor was Sir Robert.\"\n\n\"Well, it does happen,\" Hook said dubiously. He knew of other archers who had led companies and become rich. Sir Robert was the most famous, but archers also remembered Thomas of Hookton who had died as lord of a thousand acres. \"But it doesn't happen often,\" Hook went on, \"and it takes money.\"\n\n\"And what is war to you men but money? They talk without end of prisoners? Of ransoms?\" Melisande pointed her brush at him and grinned mischievously. \"Capture my father. We'll ransom him. We'll take his money.\"\n\n\"You'd like that, would you?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said vengefully, \"I would like that.\"\n\nHook tried to imagine being rich. Of receiving a ransom that would be more than most men could earn in a lifetime, and then he forgot that dream as John Fletcher, who was one of the older archers and a man who had shown some resentment at Hook's promotion, suddenly flinched and ran toward the midden trench. Fletcher's face looked pale. \"Fletch is ill,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And poor Alice was horribly sick this morning,\" Melisande said, wrinkling her nose in distaste, \"la diarrh\u00e9e!\"\n\nHook decided he did not want to know more about Alice Godewyne's sickness, and he was saved from further details by Sir John Cornewaille's arrival. \"Are we awake?\" the knight bellowed, \"are we awake and breathing?\"\n\n\"We are now, Sir John,\" Hook answered for the archers.\n\n\"Then down to the trenches! Down to the trenches! Let's get this goddam siege done!\"\n\nHook donned his damp boots and half-scrubbed mail, pulled on his helmet and surcoat, then went to the trenches. The siege went on."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "The sow shuddered each time a gun-stone struck its sloping face. The logs that formed the face were battered, split, and bristling with springolt bolts, but the enemy's missiles had failed to break the heavy shield or even weaken it, and beneath the layers of timber and earth the Welsh miners went to work.\n\nOther shafts were being driven on Harfleur's eastern side where the Duke of Clarence's forces were camped, and from both east and west the guns roared and the stones clawed at the walls, the mangonels and trebuchets dropped boulders into the town, smoke and dust erupted and plumed from the narrow streets while the mines crept toward the ramparts. The eastern shafts were being driven under the walls where great caverns, shored with timber, would be clawed out of the chalk and, when the time came, the timber supports would be burned away so that the caverns would collapse and bring down the ramparts above. The western mine, its entrance guarded by the sow Hook had helped make, was intended to tunnel under the vast battered bastion that protected the Leure Gate. Bring that barbican down and the English army could attack the breach beside the gate without any danger of being assaulted on their flank by the barbican's garrison. So the Welshmen dug and the archers guarded their sow and the town suffered.\n\nThe barbican had been made from great oak trunks that had been sunk into the earth and then hooped with iron. The trunks had formed the outline of two squat round towers joined by a brief curtain wall, and their interior had been rammed with earth and rubble, the whole protected by a flooded ditch facing the besiegers. The English guns had splintered the nearest timbers so that the earth had spilled out to make a steep unstable ramp that filled one part of the ditch, yet still the bastion resisted. Its ruin was manned by crossbowmen and men-at-arms, and its banners hung defiantly from what remained of its wooden ramparts. Each night, when the English guns ceased fire, the defenders made repairs and the dawn would reveal a new timber palisade and the guns would have to begin their slow work of demolition again. Other guns fired at the town itself.\n\nWhen Hook had first seen Harfleur it had looked almost magical to him: a town of tight roofs and church steeples all girdled by a white, tower-studded wall that had glowed in the August sun. It had looked like the painted town in the picture of Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian in Soissons Cathedral, the picture he had stared at for so long as he said his prayers.\n\nNow the painted town was a battered heap of stones, mud, smoke, and shattered houses. Long stretches of the walls still stood and still flaunted their derisive banners that displayed the badges of the garrison's leaders, images of the saints and invocations to God, but eight of the towers had been collapsed into the town ditch, and one long length of rampart had been beaten into wreckage close to the Leure Gate. The great missiles lobbed into the town by the catapults smashed houses and started fires so that a pall of smoke hung constantly above the besieged town. A church steeple had fallen, taking its bells in a mighty cacophony, and still the boulders and gun-stones hammered at the already hammered town.\n\nAnd still the defenders fought back. Each dawn Hook led men into the pits that defended the English guns and in every dawn he saw where the garrison had been working. They were making a new wall behind the broken rampart and they shored up the collapsing barbican with new timbers. English heralds, holding their white wands and gaudy in their colored coats, rode to the enemy walls to offer terms, but the enemy commanders rebuffed the heralds each time. \"What they're hoping,\" Father Christopher told Hook one early September morning, \"is that their king will lead an army to their rescue.\"\n\n\"I thought the French king was mad?\"\n\n\"Oh, so he is! He believes he is made of glass!\" Father Christopher said mockingly. The priest visited the trenches every morning, offering blessings and jests to the archers. \"It's true! He thinks he's made of glass and will shatter if he falls. He also chews rugs and tells his troubles to the moon.\"\n\n\"So he won't be leading any army here, father,\" Hook said, smiling.\n\n\"But the mad king has sons, Hook, and they're all blood-thirsty little scum. Any one of them would love to grind our bones to powder.\"\n\n\"Will they try?\"\n\n\"God knows, Hook, God alone knows and He isn't telling me. But I do know there's an army gathering at Rouen.\"\n\n\"Is that far?\"\n\n\"See that road?\" The priest pointed to the faint remains of a road that had once led from the Leure Gate, but which was now only a scar in a muddy, missile-battered landscape. \"Follow that,\" Father Christopher said, \"and turn right when it reaches the hill and keep going, and after fifty miles you'll find a great bridge and a huge city. That's Rouen, Hook. Fifty miles? An army can march that in three days!\"\n\n\"So they come,\" Hook said, \"and we'll kill them.\"\n\n\"King Harold said much the same just before Hastings,\" Father Christopher said gently.\n\n\"Did Harold have archers?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Just men-at-arms, I think.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" Hook said and grinned.\n\nThe priest raised his head to peer at Harfleur. \"We should have captured the place by now,\" he said wistfully. \"It's taking much too long.\" He turned because a passing man-at-arms had greeted him cheerfully. Father Christopher returned the greeting and made a sketchy sign of blessing toward the hurrying man. \"You know who that was, Hook?\"\n\nHook looked at the retreating figure who wore a bright surcoat of red and white. \"No, father, no idea.\"\n\n\"Geoffrey Chaucer's son,\" the priest said proudly.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"You've not heard of Geoffrey Chaucer?\" Father Christopher asked. \"The poet?\"\n\n\"Oh, I thought he might be someone useful,\" Hook said, then slammed a hand onto the priest's shoulder and so forced him to crouch. A heartbeat later a crossbow bolt slapped into the muddy back of the trench where Father Christopher had been standing. \"That's Catface,\" Hook explained, \"he's useful.\"\n\n\"Catface?\"\n\n\"A bastard on the barbican, father. He's got a face like a polecat. I can see him raise his bow.\"\n\n\"You can't shoot him?\"\n\n\"Twenty paces too far off, father,\" Hook said, and peered between two battered wicker baskets filled with disintegrating earth that formed the parapet. He waved, and a figure on the bastion waved back. \"I always let him know I'm still living.\"\n\n\"Polecat,\" Father Christopher said musingly. \"You know Rob Pole is ill?\"\n\n\"So's Fletch. And Dick Godewyne's wife.\"\n\n\"Alice? Is she sick too?\"\n\n\"Horrible, I hear.\"\n\n\"Rob Pole can't stop shitting,\" the priest said, \"and nothing but blood and mucky water comes out.\"\n\n\"God help us,\" Hook said, \"Fletch is the same.\"\n\n\"I'd better start praying,\" Father Christopher said earnestly, \"we can't lose men to sickness. Are you feeling well?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"God be praised for that. And your hand? How's your hand?\"\n\n\"It throbs, father,\" Hook said, holding up his right hand, which was still bandaged. Melisande had covered the wound with honey, then wrapped it.\n\n\"Throbbing is a good sign,\" the priest said. He leaned forward and sniffed at the bandage, \"and it smells good! Well, it stinks of mud, sweat, and shit, but so do we all. It doesn't smell rotten, and that's the important thing. How's your piss? Is it cloudy? Strong-colored? Feeble?\"\n\n\"Just normal, father.\"\n\n\"That's grand, Hook. We can't lose you!\"\n\nAnd strange to tell, Hook thought, but he reckoned the priest was telling the truth because he knew he was doing his ventenar's job well. He had expected to be embarrassed by the small authority, and had feared that some of the older men would deliberately ignore his orders, but if there was any resentment it was muted and his commands were obeyed readily enough. He wore the silver chain with pride.\n\nThe weather had turned hot again, baking the mud into a crust that crumbled into fine dust with every footstep. Harfleur crumbled too, yet still the garrison defied the besiegers. The king would come to the archers' pits four or five times a day and stare at the ramparts. At the beginning of the siege he had chatted with the archers, but now his face was drawn and his lips thin and the archers gave him and his small entourage space. They watched him stare and they could read from his scarred face that he did not think an assault could break through the new inner walls. Any such attack would have to stumble over the ruins of the burned houses, suffer the bolts spitting from the barbican, then cross the great town ditch before climbing the wreckage of the gun-shattered wall and all the time the crossbow bolts would slash in from the flanks, and once across the wall's ruins the attackers would be faced with the new inner wall that was made from thick baskets of earth, and from balks of timber and stones fetched from the fallen buildings inside the town. \"We need another length of wall down,\" Hook overheard the king say, \"and then we attack instantly into the new breach.\"\n\n\"Can't be done, sire,\" Sir John Cornewaille said grimly. \"This is the only dry approach we've got.\" The flood waters had receded, but they still ringed much of the town, restricting the English attacks to the two places where the mine shafts were being hacked toward the town.\n\n\"Then bring down the barbican,\" the king insisted, \"and beat the gate beyond into splinters.\" He stared, long-nosed and grim-faced, at the stubborn barbican, then suddenly became aware of the anxious archers and men-at-arms watching him. \"God didn't bring us this far to fail!\" he shouted confidently. \"The town will be ours, fellows, and soon! There will be ale and good food! It will all be ours soon!\"\n\nAll day the chalk and soil was dragged from the mine shaft while the timbers, cut to a bowstave's length, were carried inside to support the tunnel. The guns kept up their fire, shrouding the besiegers' lines with smoke, punching their eardrums with noise, and pounding the already pounded defenses.\n\n\"How are your ears?\" Sir John greeted Hook on an early September morning.\n\n\"My ears, Sir John?\"\n\n\"Those ugly things on the sides of your head.\"\n\n\"Nothing wrong with them, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Then come with me.\"\n\nSir John, his fine armor and surcoat covered in dust, led Hook back through a trench and so to the mine's entrance beneath the sow. The shaft sloped sharply down for fifteen paces, then the tunnel leveled. It was two paces wide and as high as a bowstave. Rushlights burned from small brackets nailed to the timber supports, but as Hook followed Sir John he noted how the small flames grew feebler the deeper they went. Every few paces Sir John stopped and flattened himself against the tunnel's side and Hook did the same to let some miner pass with a load of excavated chalk. Dust hung in the air, while the floor was a slurry of water and chalk dust. \"All right, boys,\" Sir John said when he reached the tunnel's end, \"time to rest. Everyone stay still and silent!\"\n\nThe far end of the tunnel was lit by horn-shielded lanterns hanging from the last beam to be propped into place. Two miners had been using pickaxes on the tunnel's face and they gratefully put down their tools and sank to the floor as Dafydd ap Traharn, supervising the work, nodded a greeting to Hook. Sir John crouched near the gray-haired Welshman and motioned for Hook to squat. \"Listen,\" Sir John hissed.\n\nHook listened. A miner coughed. \"Shh,\" Sir John said.\n\nSometimes, in the long woods that fell from Lord Slayton's pastures to the river, Hook would stand quite motionless, just listening. He knew every sound of those trees, whether it was a deer's hoof-fall, a boar snuffling, a woodpecker drumming, the clack of a raven's bill as it preened its feathers or just the wind in the leaves, and from those sounds his ear would find the discordant note, the signal that told him a trespasser was prowling the undergrowth. Now he listened in just the same way, ignoring the breathing of the half-dozen men, letting his mind wander, just allowing the silence to fill his head and so alert him to the smallest disturbance. He listened a long time.\n\n\"My ears ring all the time,\" Sir John whispered, \"I think because I've got beaten on the helmet with blades too much and\u2026\" Hook held up an impatient hand, unaware that he was ordering a Knight of the Garter to silence. Sir John obeyed anyway. Hook listened, heard something and then heard it again. \"Someone's digging,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, the bastards,\" Sir John said quietly. \"Are you sure?\"\n\nNow that he had identified the sound Hook was surprised no one else could hear the rhythmic thunk of picks striking chalk. The garrison was making a counter-mine, driving their own tunnel toward the besiegers in hope of intercepting the English tunnel before it could be finished. \"Maybe two tunnels,\" Hook said. The sound was slightly irregular, as if two mismatched rhythms were mixing.\n\n\"That's what I thought,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"but I wasn't sure. The ears play tricks underground, they do.\"\n\n\"Busy little bastards, aren't they?\" Sir John said vengefully. He looked at Dafydd ap Traharn. \"How far to go?\"\n\n\"Twenty paces, Sir John, say two days. Another two to make the chamber. One to fill it with incendiaries.\"\n\n\"They're still a long way off,\" Sir John said. \"Maybe they won't find this tunnel?\"\n\n\"They'll be listening too, Sir John. And the closer they get the clearer they hear us.\"\n\n\"Putrid stinking prickless rancid bastards,\" Sir John said to no one in particular. He nodded at Hook. \"I still can't hear them.\"\n\n\"They're there,\" Hook said confidently. They spoke in whispers, shrouded by a darkness scarce relieved by the rushlight lanterns flickering in the foul air.\n\nOne of the miners spoke in Welsh. Dafydd ap Traharn silenced him with a cautionary hand. \"He's worried what happens if the enemy breaks into the tunnel, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Make a chamber here,\" Sir John said, \"big enough for six or seven men. We'll have archers and men-at-arms standing guard here. Have your own weapons at hand, but for the moment, keep digging. Let's bring that bastard barbican down.\" The mine shaft was aiming for the northernmost tower of the obstinate bastion in hope of tumbling it to fill the flooded ditch. A cavern would be made beneath the tower, a cavern supported by timber balks that would be burned away so that the roof would collapse and, with it, the tower. Sir John slapped the miners on their shoulders. \"Well done, boys,\" he said, \"God is with you.\" He beckoned to Hook and the two of them went back toward the sow. \"I hope to God He is with us,\" Sir John grumbled, then stopped and frowned as he contemplated the tunnel's entrance. \"We'll have to put some defenses here,\" he said.\n\n\"In the sow?\"\n\n\"If the bastards break into our tunnel, Hook, they'll come swarming out of that hole like rats smelling a free breakfast. We'll put a wall here and garrison it with archers.\"\n\nHook watched two men carry pit supports into the tunnel. \"A wall here will slow the work, Sir John,\" he said.\n\n\"God damn you, Hook, I know that!\" Sir John snapped, then gazed at the tunnel's mouth. \"We need to end this siege! It's gone on too long. Men are getting sick. We need to be away from this stinking place.\"\n\n\"Barrels?\" Hook suggested.\n\n\"Barrels?\" Sir John echoed with another snarl.\n\n\"Fill three or four barrels with stones and soil,\" Hook said patiently, \"and if the French come, just roll the barrels into the entrance and stand them upright. Half a dozen archers can take care of any bastard that tries to get past them.\"\n\nSir John stared at the entrance for a few heartbeats, then nodded. \"Your mother wasn't wasting her time when she spread her thighs, Hook. Good man. I want the barrels in place by sundown.\"\n\nThe barrels were in place by dusk. Hook, waiting to be relieved, went to the trench beside the sow and watched the broken walls that were lit red by the sun sinking beyond the tree-stripped hills. Behind him, in the English camp, a man played a flute plaintively, repeating the same phrase over and over as though trying to get it right. Hook was tired. He wanted to eat and sleep, nothing more, and he paid small attention as a man-at-arms came to stand beside him at the parapet. The man was wearing a close-fitting helmet that half shadowed his face, but otherwise had no armor, just a leather jerkin, but his muddied boots were well made and a golden chain at his neck denoted his high status. \"Is that a dead dog?\" the man asked, nodding toward a furry corpse lying halfway between the English forward trench and the French barbican. Three ravens were pecking at the dead beast.\n\n\"The French shoot them,\" Hook said. \"The dogs run out of our lines and the crossbowmen shoot them. Then they vanish in the night.\"\n\n\"The dogs?\"\n\n\"They're food for the French,\" Hook explained curtly. \"Fresh meat.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course,\" the man said. He watched the ravens for a while. \"I've never eaten dog.\"\n\n\"Tastes a bit like hare,\" Hook said, \"but stringier.\" Then he glanced at the man and saw the deep-pitted scar beside the long nose. \"Sire,\" he added hastily, and dropped to one knee.\n\n\"Stand up, stand up,\" the king said. He stared at the barbican, which now resembled little more than a heap of earth with a wall of battered tree trunks rammed into its crumbling forward slope. \"We must take that barbican,\" he said absently, speaking to himself. Hook was watching the bastion, looking for the telltale flicker of movement that would warn him of a crossbowman taking aim, but he reckoned the king was safe enough because the French usually went quiet as the sun sank beneath the western horizon, and this evening was no different. The guns and catapults of both sides were silent. \"I remember the first day of the siege,\" the king said, sounding almost puzzled, \"and the church bells were always ringing in the town. I thought they were being defiant, then I realized they were burying their dead. But they don't ring any more.\"\n\n\"Too many dead, sire,\" Hook said awkwardly, \"or maybe there's no bells left.\" There was something about talking to a king that made his thoughts stumble.\n\n\"It must be ended quickly,\" the king said earnestly, then stepped back from the parapet. \"Does the saint still speak to you?\" he asked, and Hook was so astonished that the king remembered him that he said nothing, just nodded hastily. \"That's good,\" Henry said, \"because if God is on our side then nothing can prevail against us. Remember that!\" He gave Hook a half smile. \"And we will prevail,\" Henry added softly, almost as though he spoke to himself. Then he walked down the trench leading back to the sow where a dozen men waited for him.\n\nHook went to bed.\n\nNext morning, when a gun fired, the earth trembled.\n\nHook was in the mine, down at the lowest level where Sir John had led him to listen again, and suddenly the earth shuddered and the rushlights flickered dark.\n\nEveryone crouched in the half dark, listening. A miner began coughing wetly and Hook waited until the echo of the cough had died away. Listening. Listening for death, listening.\n\nA second gun fired and the earth seemed to quiver as the tiny flames spluttered again and dust jarred from the roof and gobbets of earth spattered down to splash in the tunnel's slurry. The rumble of the gun's noise seemed to last forever, then there was a moaning sound, a creaking, as though the oaken supports were bending under the weight of the earth they carried.\n\n\"Hook?\" Sir John asked.\n\nThere was a scratching noise, so faint that Hook wondered if he imagined it, but then there was a muffled crack followed by silence. After a while the scratching started again, and this time Hook was sure he heard it. The men in the tunnel watched him anxiously. He crossed to the farther wall and pressed an ear against the chalk.\n\nScratching. Hook looked at Dafydd ap Traharn. \"How are you digging now, sir?\" he asked.\n\n\"The way we always do,\" the Welshman said, puzzled.\n\n\"Show me, sir?\"\n\nThe Welshman took a pick and went to the tunnel's face where, instead of swinging the pick to bury its blade in the soft rock, he dragged it down a natural cleft. He dragged it again, deepening the cleft, and then pushed the blade into the hole and tried to lever out a chunk of stone, but the hole was not deep enough and so he scratched the steel point down the groove again. He scratched it. He was working quietly, trying not to alert the French as the tunnel went closer to the ravaged walls, and Hook realized that was the sound he was hearing. Both teams of tunnelers were trying to work silently.\n\n\"They're very close,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Cymorth ni, O Arglwydd,\" a miner muttered and crossed himself.\n\n\"How close?\" Sir John demanded, ignoring the plea for God's help.\n\n\"Can't tell, Sir John.\"\n\n\"God damn the goddam bastards,\" Sir John spat.\n\n\"They may be above us,\" Dafydd ap Traharn suggested, \"or below.\"\n\n\"You'll know when they're really close,\" Hook said, \"you'll hear the scratching loud.\"\n\n\"Scratching?\" the Welshman asked.\n\n\"It's what I hear, sir.\"\n\n\"They'll hack their way through the last few feet,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said grimly, \"and come on us like demons.\"\n\n\"We have our own demons waiting for them,\" Sir John said. \"We're not abandoning this tunnel! We need it! We'll fight the bastards underground. It will save us digging them graves, won't it?\"\n\nThe war bows were too long to use in the tunnel and so at midday Sir John brought a half-dozen crossbows. \"If they break in,\" he told Hook, \"greet them with these. Then use your poleaxes.\"\n\nThe scratching was louder, so loud that Dafydd ap Traharn decided there was no longer any purpose in trying to be silent and so his men began to swing their pickaxes, filling the tunnel's end with noise and a fine choking dust. Every now and then a blade struck flint and a spark would fly fierce and bright across the gloomy shaft. The sparks looked like shooting stars and Hook remembered his grandmother crossing herself whenever she saw such a star, then she would say a prayer and she claimed such prayers, carried by the hurrying stars, were more effective. He closed his eyes when the sparks flew and prayed for Melisande and for Father Christopher and for his brother, Michael. Michael, at least, was in England, far from the Perrill brothers and their mad priest father. \"Another day's work,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, interrupting Hook's thoughts of home, \"and we can start making the cavern. Then we'll bring down their tower like the walls of Jericho!\"\n\nThe men-at-arms and the archers sat at the tunnel's edge, drawing in their feet to let the laborers carry out the excavated spoil and bring in the new timbers to support the roof. They listened to the sounds of the French miners. Those noises were louder, inescapable and ominous. They came from the north where the enemy had to be driving a counter-mine to intercept the English work and, in the dust-shrouded light of the small flames, Hook constantly watched the far wall, expecting to see a great hole appear through which an armored enemy would erupt. Sir John spent much of the afternoon in the tunnel, his sword drawn and face shadowed. \"We have to fight them back into their hole,\" he said, \"and then collapse their work. Jesus, it smells like a midden down here!\"\n\n\"It is a midden,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said. Some of the laborers had fallen ill and constantly fouled the wet slurry underfoot.\n\nSir John left late in the day and, an hour later, sent other men to relieve the mine's guards. Those new men came stooping down the tunnel, their shadows flickering monstrously in the half darkness. \"Christ on his cross,\" a voice grumbled, \"can't breathe this air.\"\n\n\"You have crossbows for us?\" another voice demanded.\n\n\"We've got them,\" Hook acknowledged, \"and they're cocked.\"\n\n\"Leave them for us,\" the man said, then peered at the archers he was relieving. \"Hook? Is that you?\"\n\n\"Sir Edward!\" Hook said. He laid the crossbow on the floor and stood, smiling.\n\n\"It is you!\" Sir Edward Derwent, Lord Slayton's man who, in London, had saved Hook from the manor court and its inevitable punishment, was smiling back in the dirty light. \"I heard you were here,\" he said, \"how are you?\"\n\n\"Still alive, Sir Edward,\" Hook said, grinning.\n\n\"God be praised for that, though God knows how anyone survives down here.\" Sir Edward, his scar-ravaged face half hidden by his helmet, listened to the ominous noises. \"They sound close!\"\n\n\"We think they are,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It's deceptive,\" Dafydd ap Traharn put in. \"They could be ten paces away still. It's hard to tell with sounds underground.\"\n\n\"So they could be a hand's breadth away?\" Sir Edward inquired sourly.\n\n\"Oh, they could be!\" the Welshman said dourly.\n\nSir Edward looked at the drawn crossbows. \"And the idea is to welcome them with bolts?\" he asked, \"then kill the bastards?\"\n\n\"The idea is to keep me alive,\" Dafydd ap Traharn said, \"and you're blocking the tunnel, you are! There are too many of you! There's work to be done.\"\n\nSir John's men-at-arms had already gone, and now Hook sent his archers after them. He lingered a moment. \"I wish you a quiet night,\" he said to Sir Edward.\n\n\"Dear God, I echo that prayer,\" Sir Edward said. He grinned. \"It's good to see you, Hook.\"\n\n\"A pleasure to see you, sir,\" Hook said, \"and thank you.\"\n\n\"Go and rest, man,\" Sir Edward said.\n\nHook nodded. He hefted his poleax and, with a farewell nod to Dafydd ap Traharn, edged past Sir Edward's men, one of whom tried to trip him and Hook saw the lantern jaw and sunken eyes and, for a moment, in the half darkness, he thought it was Sir Martin, then realized it was the priest's elder son, Tom Perrill. Both brothers were there, stooping under the beams, but Hook ignored them, knowing that neither would attack him while Sir Edward was present.\n\nHe trudged up the tunnel toward the fading daylight far ahead. He was thinking of Melisande, of the stew she would have ready, and of songs around the campfire when the world shattered.\n\nNoise thudded about his ears. It started as a thunderous growl that billowed just behind him, then there was a rending noise as though the earth itself was splitting apart, and he turned to see dust boiling toward him, a dark cloud of dust rolling in the shaft's dark light, and men like monstrous shadows were lumbering in that darkness. There was shouting, the sound of steel on armor, and a scream. The first scream.\n\nThe French had broken through.\n\nHook instinctively started back toward the fighting, then remembered the barrels and wondered if he should block the tunnel's entrance. He hesitated. A man was screeching from the dark, a horrible noise, like the sound of a clumsily gelded beast. There was another rumbling and Hook had a glimpse of more men dropping from the tunnel's roof, then more dust surged toward him, obliterating his sight, but in the dust a figure lurched toward him. It was a man-at-arms, sword drawn. His visor was closed, he held his sword two-handed, and somehow the dust and half-light made him look like some enormous earth-giant come from nightmare's bowels. His plate armor was coated in chalk and earth, and Hook stared, petrified by the unnatural vision, but then the man bellowed and that sound startled Hook to reality just as the man-at-arms lunged the sword at his belly. Hook twisted to one side and rammed the poleax straight at the steel-shrouded face. The spear point slid off the pig-snouted visor, but the top edge of the heavy hammer cracked into the helmet, crushing the metal. Hook had used all his archer's strength in that blow and the earth-giant reeled backward, blood welling from his visor's holes, and Hook remembered all those lessons in Sir John's meadows and closed on the man fast, getting inside the sword's reach so the enemy could not swing the blade, and he rammed the poleax like a quarterstaff, driving the man down onto the floor. Hook had no room to swing the poleax, but strength made up for that and he slammed the ax blade onto the man's sword elbow, breaking it, then slid the spear point into the gap between the enemy's helmet and breastplate. The Frenchman wore an aventail, a mail hood, to protect that gap, but the steel spike ripped easily through the links and gouged into the man's throat, and then more men were coming toward Hook as the earth-giant, shrunken to normal size now, writhed on the mine floor where his blood spilled into the chalk, black draining into white.\n\nThe men coming up the tunnel were fighting each other. Hook dragged the blade free of the dying earth-giant and rammed the spear point at a man in a strange surcoat. The blade glanced off plate armor, ripping the coat and the man turned, beast-faced visor pointing at Hook, and brought his sword around, but it caught on one of the mine's timber supports and Hook lunged again with the poleax, this time hooking the ax blade around the man's ankle and then pulling hard so that the Frenchman lost his balance. A Welsh miner staggered toward Hook, guts spilling from an opened belly. Hook shouldered him aside and pushed the spear point under the fallen man's breastplate, the gap just visible through the torn linen. He pushed and twisted the long haft, trying to drive the blade up into the man's stomach and chest, but something blocked the blade, and then another rush of men pushed him backward. They were Lord Slayton's men, retreating from the French, though a handful of the enemy was among them. Men wrestled in the dark, tripped over the dead and the dying, and slipped in sewage. Two men-at-arms forced Hook back against the side of the tunnel and he again thrust the poleax like a quarterstaff, two-handed, but a rush of men pushed his enemies aside as archers and miners fled to the sow.\n\n\"Hold them!\" Sir Edward's voice bellowed from farther down the mine.\n\nThe barrels. Hook, momentarily free of enemies, turned and ran toward the mine entrance. He made it to where the shaft sloped gently up toward the surface, but there a foot tripped him and he sprawled heavily onto the chalk. He twisted aside and tried to climb to his feet, but a boot kicked him in the belly. Hook twisted again to see Tom and Robert Perrill standing over him.\n\n\"Quick,\" Tom Perrill shouted at his brother.\n\nRobert lifted a sword, point downward, aimed at Hook's throat.\n\n\"I'll have your woman,\" Tom Perrill said, though Hook could scarcely hear him over the shouts and screams echoing up the tunnel. More shouts sounded from the sow where attackers fought a bitter sudden battle against startled defenders. Then Robert Perrill's sword came down and Hook rolled again, throwing himself against his enemies' feet and he heaved up so that Robert Perrill tumbled against the far wall and the poleax was still in Hook's hand as he scrambled to his feet and turned on Thomas Perrill, who simply ran away.\n\n\"Coward!\" Hook shouted, and looked down to Robert who was flailing the sword uselessly and screaming, screaming, and Hook suddenly understood why. The earth was quivering as another scream, thin as a blade, sounded in Hook's ears.\n\n\"Down!\" Saint Crispinian said.\n\nAnd the earth was shaking now, and the thin scream was lost in thunder, only the thunder was not from the sky, but from the earth, and Hook obeyed the saint, crouching down beside Robert Perrill as the tunnel roof collapsed.\n\nIt seemed to last forever. Timbers cracked, the noise groaned and boomed, and the earth fell.\n\nHook closed his eyes. The thin scream was back, but it was inside his head. It was fear, his own scream, his terror of death. He was breathing dust. At the last day, he knew, the dead would rise from the earth. They would come from their graves, the earth making way for their flesh and bones, and they would face east toward the shining holy city of Jerusalem, and the sky in the east would be brighter than the sun and a great terror would swamp the newly resurrected dead as they stood in their winding sheets. There would be screaming and crying, folk flinching from the sudden dazzle of new light, but all the dead priests of the parish would have been buried with their feet toward the west so that when they rose from their tombs they would face their frightened congregations and could call out reassurance. And for some reason, as the earth collapsed to make Hook's grave, he thought of Sir Martin, and wondered whether that twisted, sour, long-jawed face would be the first he would see on the last day when trumpets filled the heavens and God came in glory to take His people.\n\nA roof timber slammed down, and the earth fell and Hook was crouched and the thunder was all around him and the scream in his head died to a whimper.\n\nAnd then there was silence.\n\nSudden, utter, black silence.\n\nHook breathed.\n\n\"Oh, God,\" Robert Perrill moaned.\n\nSomething pressed on Hook's back. It was heavy, and seemed immovable, but it was not crushing him. The darkness was absolute.\n\n\"Oh, God, please,\" Perrill said.\n\nThe earth shuddered again and there was a muffled bang. A gun, Hook thought, and now he could even hear voices, but they were very far off. His mouth was full of grit. He spat.\n\nThe poleax was still in Hook's right hand, but he could not move it. The weapon was trapped by something. He let go of it and felt around him, conscious that he was in a small, tight space. His fingers groped across Perrill's head. \"Help me,\" Perrill said.\n\nHook said nothing.\n\nHe felt behind him and realized a roof timber had half fallen and somehow left this small space where he crouched and breathed. The timber slanted down and it was that rough oak that was pressing into his spine. \"What do I do?\" he asked aloud.\n\n\"You're not far from the surface,\" Saint Crispinian said.\n\n\"You must help me,\" Perrill said.\n\nIf I move I die, Hook thought.\n\n\"Nick! Help me,\" Perrill said, \"please!\"\n\n\"Just push up,\" Saint Crispinian said.\n\n\"Show some courage,\" Saint Crispin said in his harsher voice.\n\n\"For God's sake, help me,\" Perrill moaned.\n\n\"Move to your right,\" Saint Crispinian said, \"and don't be frightened.\"\n\nHook moved slowly. Earth fell.\n\n\"Now dig your way out,\" Saint Crispinian said, \"like a mole.\"\n\n\"Moles die,\" Hook said, and he wanted to explain how they trapped moles by blocking their tunnels and then digging out the frightened animals, but the saint did not want to listen.\n\n\"You're not going to die,\" the saint said impatiently, \"not if you dig.\"\n\nSo Hook pushed upward, scrabbling at the earth with both hands, and the soil caved in, filling his mouth and he wanted to scream, but he could not scream, and he pushed with his legs, using all the strength in his body, and the earth collapsed around him and he was certain he would die here, except that suddenly, quite suddenly, he was breathing clean air. His grave had been very shallow, nothing but a shroud of fallen soil and he was half standing in open air and was astonished to discover that full night had not yet fallen. It seemed to be raining, except the sky was clear, and then he realized the French were shooting crossbow bolts from the barbican and from the half-wrecked walls. They were not shooting at him, but at men peering from the English trenches and around the edges of the sow.\n\nHook was up to his waist in earth. He reached down beside his right leg and took hold of Robert Perrill's leather jerkin. He pulled, and the earth was loose enough to let him drag the choking archer up into the last of the daylight. A crossbow bolt thumped into the soil a few inches from Hook and he went very still.\n\nHe was in what looked like a crude trench and the high sides of the trench gave him some protection from the French bolts. The town's defenders were cheering. They had seen the tunnel's collapse and they saw the English trying to rescue anyone who might have survived the catastrophe and so they were filling the twilight with crossbow bolts to drive those rescuers back.\n\n\"Oh, God,\" Robert Perrill sighed.\n\n\"You're alive,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Nick?\"\n\n\"We have to wait,\" Hook said.\n\nRobert Perrill choked and spat out earth. \"Wait?\"\n\n\"Can't move till dark,\" Hook said, \"they're shooting at us.\"\n\n\"My brother!\"\n\n\"He ran away,\" Hook said. He wondered what had happened to Sir Edward. Had that deeper part of the mine collapsed? Or had the French killed all the men in the tunnel? The enemy had driven their own shaft above the English excavation and then dropped into the tunnel and Hook imagined the sudden fight, the death in the darkness, and the pain of dying in the ready-made grave. \"You were going to kill me,\" he said to Robert Perrill.\n\nPerrill said nothing. He was half lying on the trench floor, but his legs were still buried. He had lost his sword.\n\n\"You were going to kill me,\" Hook said again.\n\n\"My brother was.\"\n\n\"You held the sword,\" Hook said.\n\nPerrill wiped dirt from his face. \"I'm sorry, Nick,\" he said.\n\nHook snorted, said nothing.\n\n\"Sir Martin said he'd pay us,\" Perrill admitted.\n\n\"Your father?\" Hook sneered.\n\nPerrill hesitated, then nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Because he hates me?\"\n\n\"Your mother rejected him,\" Perrill said.\n\nHook laughed. \"And your mother whored herself,\" he said flatly.\n\n\"He told her she'd go to heaven,\" Perrill said, \"that if you do it with a priest you go to heaven. That's what he said.\"\n\n\"He's mad,\" Hook said flatly, \"moon-touched mad.\"\n\nPerrill ignored that. \"He gave her money, he still does, and he'll give us money.\"\n\n\"To kill me?\" Hook asked, though the French were trying hard enough to save Sir Martin the trouble. The crossbow bolts were thudding and spitting, some tumbling end over end down the crude trench made by the collapsed tunnel.\n\n\"He wants your woman,\" Robert Perrill said.\n\n\"How much is he paying you?\"\n\n\"A mark each,\" Perrill said, eager to help Hook now.\n\nA mark. One hundred and sixty pennies, or three hundred and twenty pence if both brothers were paid. Fifty-three days' pay for an archer. The price of Hook's life and Melisande's misery. \"So you have to kill me?\" Hook asked, \"then take my girl?\"\n\n\"He wants that.\"\n\n\"He's an evil mad bastard,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He can be kind,\" Perrill said pathetically. \"Do you remember John Luttock's daughter?\"\n\n\"Of course I remember her.\"\n\n\"He took her away, but he paid John in the end, gave him the girl's dowry.\"\n\n\"A hundred and sixty pennies for raping her?\"\n\n\"No!\" Perrill was puzzled by the question. \"I think it was two pounds, might have been more. John was happy.\"\n\nThe light was fading fast now. The French had saved their loaded guns for the moment when their counter-mine pierced the English tunnel and now they fired shot after shot from Harfleur's walls. The smoke billowed like thunderclouds to darken the already dark sky as the gun-stones bounced and thudded off the sow's stout flanks.\n\n\"Robert!\" a voice shouted from the sow.\n\n\"That's Tom!\" Robert Perrill said, recognizing his brother's voice. He took a breath to call back, but Hook stopped his mouth with a hand.\n\n\"Keep quiet,\" Hook snarled. A crossbow bolt tumbled down the trench and smacked into Hook's mail. It had lost its force and bounced away as another bolt struck sparks from a lump of flint nearby. \"What happens now?\" Hook asked, taking his hand away from Robert Perrill's mouth.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I take you back and you try and kill me again.\"\n\n\"No!\" Perrill said. \"Get me out of here, Nick! I can't move!\"\n\n\"So what happens now?\" Hook asked again. Crossbow bolts were cracking into the sow so frequently that it sounded like hail on a timber roof.\n\n\"I won't kill you,\" Perrill said.\n\n\"What should I do?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Pull me out, Nick, please,\" Perrill said.\n\n\"I wasn't talking to you. What should I do?\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" Saint Crispin, the harsher brother, said in a mocking voice.\n\n\"It's murder,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I won't kill you!\" Perrill insisted.\n\n\"You think we saved the girl so she could be raped?\" Saint Crispinian asked.\n\n\"Get me out of this muck,\" Perrill said, \"please!\"\n\nInstead Hook reached out and found one of the spent crossbow bolts. It was as long as his forearm, as thick as two thumbs, and fledged with stiff leather vanes. The point was rusted, but still sharp.\n\nHe killed Perrill the easiest way. He smacked him hard around the head, and while the archer was still recovering from the blow, drove the bolt down through one eye. It went in easily, glancing off the socket, and Hook kept driving the thick shaft into Perrill's brain until the rusted point scraped against the back of Perrill's skull. The archer twisted and jerked, choked and quivered, but he died quickly enough.\n\n\"Robert!\" Tom Perrill shouted from the sow.\n\nA springolt bolt struck a masonry chimney breast left standing in the scorched remains of a burned house. The bolt spun into the falling darkness, end over end, soaring over the English trenches to fall far beyond. Hook wiped his wounded right hand on Robert Perrill's tunic, cleaning off the muck that had spurted from the dead man's eye, then heaved himself free of the soil. It was very nearly night and the smoke of the gunshots still shrouded what little light remained. He stepped over Perrill and staggered toward the sow, his legs slow to find their strength again. Crossbow bolts flicked past him, but their aim was wild now and Hook reached the sow safely. He held on to its flank as he walked, then dropped into the safety of the trench. Lanterns lit his dirt-crusted face and men stared at him.\n\n\"How many others survived?\" a man-at-arms asked.\n\n\"Don't know,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Here,\" a priest brought him a pot and Hook drank. He had not realized how thirsty he was until he tasted the ale.\n\n\"My brother?\" Thomas Perrill was among the men staring at Hook.\n\n\"Killed by a crossbow bolt,\" Hook said curtly and stared up into Perrill's long face. \"Straight through the eye,\" he added brutally. Perrill stared at him, and then Sir John Cornewaille pushed through the small crowd in the sow's pit.\n\n\"Hook!\"\n\n\"I'm alive, Sir John.\"\n\n\"You don't look it. Come.\" Sir John grasped Hook's arm and led him toward the camp. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"They came from above,\" Hook said. \"I was on my way out when the roof fell in.\"\n\n\"It fell on you?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Someone loves you, Hook.\"\n\n\"Saint Crispinian does,\" Hook said, then he saw Melisande in the light of a campfire and went to her embrace.\n\nAnd afterward, in the darkness, had nightmares.\n\nSir John's men started dying next morning. A man-at-arms and two archers, all three of them struck by the sickness that turned bowels into sewers of filthy water. Alice Godewyne died. A dozen other men-at-arms were sick, as were at least twenty archers. The army was being ravaged by the plague and the stench of shit hung over the camp, and the French built their walls higher every night and in the dawn men struggled to the gun-pits and trenches where they vomited and voided their bowels.\n\nFather Christopher caught the sickness. Melisande found him shivering in his tent, face pale, lying in his own filth and too weak to move. \"I ate some nuts,\" he told her.\n\n\"Nuts?\"\n\n\"Les noix,\" he explained in a voice that was like a breathless groan. \"I didn't know.\"\n\n\"Didn't know?\"\n\n\"The doctors tell me now that you shouldn't eat nuts or cabbage. Not with the sickness about. I ate nuts.\"\n\nMelisande washed him. \"You'll make me sicker,\" he complained, but was too weak to prevent her from cleaning him. She found him a blanket, though Father Christopher threw it off when the day's warmth became insufferable. Much of the low land in which Harfleur stood was still flooded and the heat seemed to shimmer off the shallow water and made the air thick as steam. The guns still fired, but less frequently because the Dutch gunners had also been struck by the murrain. No one was spared. Men in the king's household fell ill, great lords were struck down, and the angels of death hovered on dark wings above the English camp.\n\nMelisande found blackberries and begged some barley from Sir John's cooks. She boiled the berries and barley to reduce the liquid that she then sweetened with honey and spooned into Father Christopher's mouth. \"I'm going to die,\" he told her weakly.\n\n\"No,\" she said decisively, \"you are not.\"\n\nThe king's own physician, Master Colnet, came to Father Christopher's tent. He was a young, serious man with a pale face and a small nose with which he smelled Father Christopher's feces. He offered no judgment on what he had determined from the odors, instead he briskly opened a vein in the priest's arm and bled him copiously. \"The girl's ministrations will do no harm,\" he said.\n\n\"God bless her,\" Father Christopher said weakly.\n\n\"The king sent you wine,\" Master Colnet said.\n\n\"Thank his majesty for me.\"\n\n\"It's excellent wine,\" Colnet said, binding the cut arm with practiced skill, \"though it didn't help the bishop.\"\n\n\"Bangor's dead?\"\n\n\"Not Bangor, Norwich. He died yesterday.\"\n\n\"Dear God,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"I bled him too,\" Master Colnet said, \"and thought he would live, but God decreed otherwise. I shall come back tomorrow.\"\n\nThe Bishop of Norwich's body was cut into quarters, then boiled in a giant cauldron to flense the flesh from the bones. The filthy steaming liquid was poured away and the bones were wrapped in linen and nailed in a coffin that was carried to the shore so the bishop could be taken home to be buried in the diocese he had taken such care to avoid in life. Most of the dead were simply dropped into pits dug wherever there was a patch of ground high enough to hold an unflooded grave, but as more men died the grave-pits were abandoned and the corpses were carried to the tidal flats and thrown into the shallow creeks where they were at the mercy of wild dogs, gulls, and eternity. The stench of the dead and the stink of shit and the reek of smoldering fires filled the encampment.\n\nTwo mornings after Hook had stumbled away from the fallen mine there was a sudden flurry of gunshots from the walls of Harfleur. The garrison had loaded their cannon and now fired them all at the same time so that the battered town was edged with smoke. Defenders cheered from the walls and waved derisive flags.\n\n\"A ship got through to them,\" Sir John explained.\n\n\"A ship?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"For Christ's sake, you know what a ship is!\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Our goddam fleet was asleep, that's how! Now the goddam bastards have got food. God damn the bastards.\" It seemed God had changed sides, for the defenses of Harfleur, though battered and broken, were constantly replenished and rebuilt. New walls backed the broken old, and every night the garrison deepened the defensive ditch and raised new obstacles in the shattered breaches. The intensity of the crossbow bolts did not let up, proof that the town had been well stocked, or else that the ship that had evaded the blockade had brought a new supply. The English, meanwhile, grew more ill. Sir John ducked into Father Christopher's tent and stared at the priest. \"How is he?\" he asked Melisande.\n\nShe shrugged. As far as Hook could tell the priest was already dead, for he lay unmoving on his back, his mouth slackly open and his skin grayish pale.\n\n\"Is he breathing?\" Sir John demanded.\n\nMelisande nodded.\n\n\"God help us,\" Sir John said and backed out of the tent, \"God help us,\" he said again, and stared at the town. It should have fallen two weeks ago, yet there it lay, defiant still, the wreckage of its wall and towers protecting the new barricades that had been built behind.\n\nThere was some good news. Sir Edward Derwent was a prisoner in Harfleur, as was Dafydd ap Traharn. The heralds, returning from another vain attempt to persuade the garrison to surrender, told how the men trapped in the mine's far end had surrendered. The collapsed mine had been abandoned, though on Harfleur's eastern side, where the king's brother led the siege, other shafts were still being driven toward the walls. The best news was that the French were making no effort to relieve the town. English patrols were riding far into the countryside to find grain, and there was no sign of an enemy army coming to strike at the disease-weakened English. Harfleur, it seemed, had been left to rot, though it appeared now that the besiegers would be destroyed first.\n\n\"All that money,\" Sir John said bleakly, \"and all we've done is march a couple of miles to become lords of graves and shit-pits.\"\n\n\"So why don't we just leave it?\" Hook asked. \"Just march away?\"\n\n\"A goddam stupid question,\" Sir John said. \"The place might surrender tomorrow! And all Christendom is watching. If we abandon the siege we look weak. And besides, even if we did march inland we won't necessarily find the French. They've learned to fear English armies and they know the quickest way to get rid of us is to hide themselves in fortresses. So we might just abandon this siege to start another. No, we have to take this goddam town.\"\n\n\"Then why don't we attack?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Because we'll lose too many men,\" Sir John said. \"Imagine it, Hook. Crossbows, springolts, guns, all tearing into us as we advance, killing us while we fill the ditch, and then we get over the wall's rubble to find a new ditch, a new wall, and more crossbows, more guns, more catapults. We can't afford to lose a hundred dead and four hundred crippled. We came here to conquer France, not die in this rancid shit-hole.\" He kicked at the hard ground, then stared at the sea where six English ships lay at anchor off the harbor entrance. \"If I commanded Harfleur's garrison,\" he said ruefully, \"I know just what I'd do now.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Attack,\" Sir John said. \"Kick us while we're half crippled. We speak of chivalry, Hook, and we are chivalrous. We fight so politely! Yet you know how to win a battle?\"\n\n\"Fight dirty, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Fight filthy, Hook. Fight like the devil and send chivalry to hell. He's no fool.\"\n\n\"The devil?\"\n\nSir John shook his head. \"No, Raoul de Gaucourt. He commands the garrison.\" Sir John nodded toward Harfleur. \"He's a gentleman, Hook, but he's also a fighter. And he's no fool. And if I were Raoul de Gaucourt I'd kick the shit out of us right now.\"\n\nAnd next day Raoul de Gaucourt did."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "\"Wake up, Nick!\" It was Thomas Evelgold bellowing at him. The centenar slapped Hook's shelter, shaking it so hard that scraps of dead leaves and pieces of turf fell onto Hook and Melisande. \"God damn you, wake up!\" Evelgold shouted again.\n\nHook opened his eyes to darkness. \"Tom?\" he called, but Evelgold had already moved on to wake other archers.\n\nA second voice was shouting for the men to assemble. \"Armor! Weapons! Hurry! Goddam now! I want you all here, now! Now!\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Melisande asked.\n\n\"Don't know,\" Hook said. He fumbled to find his mail coat. The stink of the leather lining was overpowering as pulled it over his head. He forced the unwieldy garment down his chest. \"Sword belt?\"\n\n\"Here,\" Melisande was kneeling. The campfires were being revived and their flames reflected red from her wide open eyes.\n\nHook put on the short surcoat with its cross of Saint George, the badge that every man was required to wear in the siege-works. He pulled on his boots, the once good boots that he had bought in Soissons but which were now coming apart at the seams. He strapped on his belt, slid the bow from its cover, and snatched up an arrow bag. He had tied a long leather strap to the poleax and he slung that over his shoulder, then ducked into the night. \"I'll be back,\" he called to Melisande.\n\n\"Casque!\" she shouted after him. \"Casque!\" He reached back and took the helmet from her. He felt a sudden urge to tell her he loved her, but Melisande had disappeared back into the shelter and Hook said nothing. He sensed the night was ending. The stars were pale, which meant dawn would soon stain the sky above the obstinate city, but ahead of him there was tumult. The flames in the siege-works leaped higher, casting grotesque shadows across the broken ground.\n\n\"Come to me! Come to me!\" Sir John was shouting beside the largest campfire. The archers were gathering quickly, but the men-at-arms, who needed more time to buckle on their plate armor, were slower to arrive. Sir John had chosen to forgo his expensive plate armor and was dressed like the archers in mail coat and jupon. \"Evelgold! Hook! Magot! Candeler! Brutte!\" Sir John called. Walter Magot, Piers Candeler, and Thomas Brutte were the other three ventenars.\n\n\"Here, Sir John!\" Evelgold responded.\n\n\"Bastards have made a sally,\" Sir John said urgently. That explained the shouting and the sound of steel clashing with steel that came from the forward trenches. Harfleur's garrison had sallied out to attack the sow and gun-pits. \"We have to kill the bastards,\" Sir John said. \"We're going to attack straight down to the sow. Some of us are, but not you, Hook! You know the Savage?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John,\" Hook said, adjusting the buckle of his sword belt. The Savage was a catapult, a great wooden beast that hurled stones into Harfleur and, of all the siege engines, it lay closest to the sea at the right-hand end of the English lines.\n\n\"Take your men there,\" Sir John said, \"and work your way in toward the sow, got that?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John,\" Hook said again. He strung the bow by bracing one end on the ground and looping the cord over the upper nock.\n\n\"Then go! Go now!\" Sir John snarled, \"and kill the bastards!\" He turned. \"Where's my banner! I want my banner! Bring me my goddamned banner!\"\n\nHook led sixteen men now. It should have been twenty-three, but seven were either dead or ill. He wondered how seventeen men were supposed to fight their way along trenches and gun-pits swarming with an enemy who had sallied from the Leure Gate. It was evident the French had captured large stretches of the siege-works because, as Hook led his men down the southward track, he could see more fires springing up in the English gun-pits and the shapes of men scurrying in front of those flames. Groups of men-at-arms and archers crossed Hook's path, all going toward the fighting. Hook could hear the clash of blades now.\n\n\"What do we do, Nick?\" Will of the Dale asked.\n\n\"You heard Sir John. Start at the Savage, work our way in,\" Hook said, and was surprised that he sounded confident. Sir John's orders had been vague and given hurriedly, and Hook had simply obeyed by leading his men toward the Savage, but only now was he trying to work out what he was supposed to do. Sir John was assembling his men-at-arms and had kept most of the archers, presumably for an attack on the sow that seemed to have fallen into the enemy's possession, but why detach Hook? Because, Hook decided, Sir John needed flank protection. Sir John and his men were the beaters and they would drive the game across Hook's front where the archers could cut them down. Hook, recognizing the plan's simplicity, felt a surge of pride. Sir John could have sent his centenar Tom Evelgold or any of the other ventenars, all of whom were older and more senior, but Sir John had chosen Hook.\n\nFires burned at the Savage, but they had not been set by the French. They were the campfires of the men who guarded the pit in which the catapult sat, and their flames lit the monstrously gaunt beams of the giant engine. A dozen archers, the sentries who guarded the machine through the night, waited with strung bows and, as they saw men coming down the slope, turned those bows toward Hook. \"Saint George!\" Hook bellowed, \"Saint George!\"\n\nThe bows dropped. The sentries were nervous. \"What's happening?\" one of them demanded of Hook.\n\n\"French are out.\"\n\n\"I know, but what's happening?\"\n\n\"I don't know!\" Hook snapped, then turned to count his men. He did it in the old way of the country, like a shepherd counting his flock, just as his father had taught him. Yain, tain, eddero, he counted and got to bumfit, which was fifteen, and looked for the extra man and saw two. Tain-o-bumfit? Then he saw that the seventeenth man was short and slight and carried a crossbow. \"For God's sake, girl, go back,\" he called, and then he forgot Melisande because Tom Scarlet shouted a warning and Hook whipped around to see a band of men running toward the Savage down the wide trench that snaked to the catapult from the nearest gun-pit. Some of the approaching men carried torches that streamed sparks and the bright flames reflected from helmets, swords, and axes.\n\n\"No crosses!\" Tom Scarlet warned, meaning that none of the men in the trench was wearing the cross of Saint George. They were French and, seeing the archers outlined by the fires burning in the Savage's pit, they began shouting their challenge. \"Saint Denis! Harfleur!\"\n\n\"Bows!\" Hook shouted, and his men instinctively spread out. \"Kill them!\" he shouted.\n\nThe range was short, less than fifty paces, and the attackers made themselves into an easy target because they were constricted by the trench's walls. The first arrows drilled into them and the thuds of the heads striking home instantly silenced the enemy's shouting. The sound of the bows was sharp, each release of the string followed by the briefest fluttering rush as the feathers caught the air. In the darkness those feathers made small white flickers that stopped abruptly as the arrows slapped home. To Hook it seemed as if time had slowed. He was plucking arrows from his bag, laying them over the stave, bringing up the bow, hauling the cord, releasing, and he felt no excitement, no fear, and no exhilaration. He knew exactly where each arrow would go before he even pulled it from the bag. He aimed at the approaching men's bellies and, in the flame-light, he saw those men doubling over as his arrows struck.\n\nThe enemy's charge ended as surely as though they had run into a stone wall. The trench was wide enough for six men to walk abreast and all the leading Frenchmen were on the ground, spitted by arrows, and the men behind tripped on them and, in their turn, were hit by arrows. Some glanced off plate armor, but others sliced straight through the metal, and even an arrow that failed to pierce the plate had sufficient force to knock a man backward. If the enemy could have spread out they might have reached the Savage, but the trench walls constricted them and the feathered bodkins ripped in from the dark and so the attacking party turned and ran back, leaving a dark mass behind, not all of it motionless. \"Denton! Furnays! Cobbold!\" Hook called, \"make sure those bastards are dead 'uns. The rest of you, after me!\"\n\nThe three men jumped into the trench, drew their swords, and approached the wounded enemy. Hook meanwhile stayed above the trench, advancing beside it with an arrow on his cord. He could see men fighting around the distant sow and in the wide pit where the biggest gun, the great bombard called the King's Daughter, was dug in. Fire burned bright there, but it was none of Hook's business. His job was to be on Sir John's flank.\n\nThe ground was rough, churned up by digging and by the strike of French missiles. The boulders slung by the big catapults in Harfleur littered the path, as did the remnants of the houses that had been burned when the siege began, but the dawn was now seeping a faint light in the east, just enough to cast shadows from the obstacles. A crossbow bolt whipped past Hook's head and he sensed it had come from the nearest gun-pit where a cannon called the Redeemer was emplaced. \"Will! Keep those bastards busy.\"\n\n\"What bastards?\"\n\n\"The ones who've captured the Redeemer!\" Hook said, and grabbed Will of the Dale's arm and turned him toward the gun-pit, which was a black shadow twenty paces beyond the trench. It had been protected from the springolts and guns of Harfleur by one of the ingenious wooden screens that loomed high in the darkness, but the tilting screen had not kept the enemy from capturing the cannon. \"Put as many arrows into the pit as you can,\" Hook told Will, \"but stop shooting when we reach the gun.\" Hook pushed six men toward Will. \"You obey Will,\" he told them, \"and you look after Melisande,\" he added to Will, for she was still with the group. \"The rest of you, after me.\"\n\nAnother crossbow bolt hissed close by, but Hook's men were moving fast now. Will of the Dale and his half-dozen men were moving eastward to shoot their arrows through the opening at the back of the pit, while Hook was running to the Redeemer's flank. He jumped down into the wide trench and waited for his six men to join him. \"No bows from now on,\" he told them.\n\n\"No bows? We're archers!\" Will Sclate grumbled. Will Sclate always grumbled. He was not a popular man, too morose to be easy company and too slow-witted to join in the incessant chatter among the archers, but he was big and hugely strong. He had grown up on one of Sir John's estates, a laborer's son who might have expected to work the fields his whole life, but Sir John had seen the boy's strength and insisted he learn the longbow. Now, as an archer, he earned far more than any laborer, but he was as slow and stubborn as the clay fields he had once worked with hoe and beetle.\n\n\"You're a soldier,\" Hook snapped at him, \"and you're going to use hand weapons.\"\n\n\"What are we doing?\" Geoffrey Horrocks asked. He was the youngest of Sir John's archers, just seventeen, the son of a falconer.\n\n\"We're going to kill some bastards,\" Hook said. He slung the bow across his body and hefted the poleax instead. \"And we go fast! After me! Now!\"\n\nHe scrambled up the face of the trench and over the wreckage of the soil-filled wicker baskets that formed the trench's parapet. He could see flame-light in the Redeemer's pit and he could hear the sharp thin noise of bowstrings being released from his left where Will of the Dale's men were lined beside the stone stump of a wrecked chimney. A shout came from the pit, then another, then a screech as an arrowhead scraped against the cannon's flank. Seven archers were shooting into the pit. In one minute they could easily loose sixty or seventy arrows, and those arrows were flickering through the half-light, filling the gun-pit with hissing death and forcing the French to crouch for protection.\n\nThen Hook and his men came at them from the flank. The Frenchmen did not see him because the arrows were whistling and thumping around them, and they were crouching to find what little protection the pit offered. The massive wooden screen gave splendid protection on the face that looked toward Harfleur, but the pit had never been designed to protect men being attacked from the rear and Will's arrows were streaking down the trench and through the wide gap. Then Hook leaped across the parapet at the pit's side and he prayed the arrows would stop.\n\nThey must have stopped because none of his men was struck by an arrow. The archers were shouting a challenge as they followed Hook over the wicker baskets, and still shouting as they started the killing. Hook was swinging the poleax as he landed and its lead-weighted hammer head crashed into a crouching Frenchman's helmet and Hook sensed rather than saw the metal crumpling under the massive blow that collapsed metal, skull, and brain. A man reared up to his right, but Sclate hurled him back with contemptuous ease as Hook sprawled on the far side of the cannon. He had leaped clean across the Redeemer's barrel.\n\nHe hit the far side of the pit hard, lost his footing, and fell heavily. A surge of fear flared cold in his veins. The biggest fear was that he was on the ground and vulnerable, another that he might have damaged the bow slung on his back, but later, when he remembered the fight, he realized he had also felt elation. In memory it was all a blur of screaming men, bright blades, and ringing metal, but in that welter of impressions there was a cold hard center in which Nick Hook regained his feet and saw a man-at-arms at the front of the pit. The man was wearing plate armor half covered by a surcoat that displayed a red heart pierced by a burning lance. He was holding a sword. His visor was raised and his eyes reflected the small flames of the fallen torches and Hook saw fear in those eyes, and Hook felt no pity because of that fear. Kill or be killed, Sir John always said, and Hook ran at the man, poleax leveled, the haft held in both his hands, and he ignored the feeble defensive sword-swing the man offered and lunged the spear point at the Frenchman's midriff. The blade scraped off the bottom rim of the breastplate and jarred on the faulds, the plate strips worn on a leather skirt designed to stop a sword thrust into the lower belly. But no fauld could resist a poleax thrust and Hook saw the man's terrified eyes open wide, and saw his mouth make a great hole as the spear point ripped through steel, leather, mail undershirt, skin, muscle, and guts to ram against the Frenchman's spine. The man made a mewing noise and Hook was bellowing a challenge as the thrust pushed his victim back against the gun-pit's face. Hook hauled the poleax back, and the flailing man came with it, his flesh trapping the point, and Hook put his boot into the mess of blood and armor, braced his leg and tugged till the blade came free. He lunged it forward again, but checked the blow as the man fell to his knees. Hook whipped around, ready to defend himself, but the fight was already over. There had only been eight men in the pit. They must have been left there by the larger French party advancing toward the Savage and, when that party had been thrown back by arrows, these eight had been forgotten. Their job had been to wreck the cannon, a job they had been trying to do with a huge ax that lay abandoned beside the windlass that tilted the heavy protective screen on its massive axle. They had managed to chop the windlass into splinters, but now all but one of them was dead.\n\n\"Can't hurt a cannon with an ax!\" Tom Scarlet said derisively. The one living Frenchman moaned.\n\n\"Anyone hurt?\" Hook demanded.\n\n\"I twisted my ankle,\" Horrocks said. He was panting and his eyes were wide with astonishment or fear.\n\n\"You'll mend,\" Hook said abruptly. \"Are we all here?\" His men were all present, and Will of the Dale was running up the trench with Melisande and his six archers. The wounded Frenchman whimpered and drew his legs up. He had been wearing no armor except a padded haubergeon and Will Sclate had driven an ax deep into his chest so that the linen padding had spilled out and was now soaked with blood. Hook could see a mess of lungs and splintered ribs. Blood bubbled black from the man's mouth as he moaned again. \"Put him out of his misery,\" Hook demanded, but his archers just stared at him. \"Oh, for Christ's sake,\" Hook said. He stepped over a corpse, put the poleax's spike at the man's neck, lunged once, and so did the job himself.\n\nWill of the Dale stared at the carnage in the pit. \"Last time the silly bastards do that!\" he said. He tried to speak lightly, imitating Sir John, but there was a squawk in his voice and horror in his eyes.\n\nMelisande was close behind Will. She stared dumbly at the dead Frenchmen, next at the blood dripping thick from Hook's poleax, then up into his eyes. \"You shouldn't be here,\" he told her harshly.\n\n\"I can't stay in the camp,\" she said, \"that priest might come.\"\n\n\"We'll look after her, Nick,\" Will of the Dale said, his voice still strained. He took a step forward and lifted one of the fallen torches, though there was enough light in the east now to make the flames unnecessary. \"Look what they did,\" he said.\n\nThe Frenchmen had used their big ax to chop through the iron bands that hooped the Redeemer's barrel. Hook had not noticed the damage before, but now he saw that two of the metal rings had been hacked clean through, which meant the gun was probably useless because, if it was fired, the barrel would expand, split, and kill every man in the pit. That was none of Hook's business. \"Search the bastards,\" he ordered his men. The three archers who had plundered the bodies of the first French casualties had found silver chains, coins, brooches, and a dagger with a jeweled hilt. Those valuables were all in an arrow bag to which new riches were now added. \"We'll share it out later,\" Hook decreed. \"Now come on, get out of here! Bows!\"\n\nHis bow had been undamaged by his fall. He took it in his left hand, slung the poleax on his shoulder, and laid an arrow on the cord. He climbed the pit's side into a gray dawn streaked by dark smoke.\n\nIn front of him a battle raged around the sow and around the pit that held the King's Daughter. The French had captured both, but the English had streamed from their camp and now outnumbered the raiding party, which was being forced inexorably back. Trumpets blew, the signal for the French to break off their fight and retreat to Harfleur. Flames licked at the sow's heavy timbers and at the swinging screen sheltering the bombard. Men-at-arms were hacking at each other, blades flashing reflected light as they slashed and thrust. Hook looked for Sir John's rampant lion banner and saw it to his left. He saw too that Sir John's men were fighting across the main trench, driving back the large group of French who now formed the attackers' left wing. \"Bows!\" Hook called.\n\nHe hauled the cord back, drawing it to his right ear. The French had been summoned back to the town, but they dared not turn and run for fear of the close English pursuit, and so they were fighting hard, trying to drive Sir John's men back into the trench. They were half facing away from Hook and had no idea that he was on their flank. \"Aim true,\" Hook shouted, wanting none of his arrows to fall on Englishmen, then he released, took another bodkin and that new arrow was only half drawn as the first drove into an enemy's back. Hook drew full again, saw a Frenchman turn toward the new threat, released, and the arrow slapped into the man's face, and suddenly the enemy was running, defeated by the unexpected attack from their flank.\n\nA crossbow bolt flashed in front of Hook. A springolt bolt, much larger, churned up a spout of earth as a gun fired from Harfleur's wall. The stone banged into the ground just behind the archers as yet more bolts flickered through the smoke. The crossbow bolts made a fluttering noise and Hook reckoned their leather fledgings were twisted out of shape, perhaps because they had been badly stored. The bolts were not flying true, but they were still coming too close. Hook glanced at the barbican and saw the enemy crossbowmen taking aim from its summit. He turned and sped an arrow toward them, then called to his men. \"Stop shooting! Get to the trench!\"\n\nThe French were retreating fast now, but they had done what they had set out to do, which was to damage the siege-works. Three of the cannon, including the King's Daughter, would never fire again, and all along the trenches parapets had been thrown down and men killed. And now, from the broken ramparts, the defenders jeered at the English as the returning raiding party negotiated the deep ditch in front of the broken barbican. Arrows still followed the French and some men were struck and slid into the ditch's bottom, but the sally had been a success. The English works burned and the garrison's insults stung.\n\n\"Bastards,\" Sir John was saying repeatedly. \"They caught us sleeping, the bastards!\"\n\n\"The Savage isn't touched,\" Hook reported stoically, \"but they broke the Redeemer.\"\n\n\"We'll break them, the goddam bastards!\" Sir John said.\n\n\"And none of us was hurt,\" Hook added.\n\n\"We'll hurt them, by Christ,\" Sir John vowed. His face was twisted by anger. The siege was already bogged down, but now the enemy had delivered another hard blow to the English hopes. Sir John shuddered as an enemy man-at-arms, taken prisoner, was ushered down the trench. For a heartbeat it looked as though Sir John would unleash his fury on the hapless man, but then he saw Melisande and released his frustration on her instead. \"What in the name of suffering Christ is she doing here?\" he demanded of Hook. \"Jesus Christ on the cross, are you turd-witted? Can't be without your woman for a goddamned minute?\"\n\n\"It was not Nick!\" Melisande called defiantly. She was holding the crossbow, though she had not shot with it. \"It was not Nick,\" she said again, \"and he did tell me to go away.\"\n\nSir John's courtesy toward women overcame his anger. He grunted what might have been an apology, and then Melisande was explaining herself, talking in fast French, gesturing toward the camp, and as she spoke Sir John's face showed a renewed anger. He turned on Hook. \"Why didn't you tell me?\"\n\n\"Tell you what, Sir John?\"\n\n\"That a bastard priest has threatened her?\"\n\n\"I fight my own battles,\" Hook said sullenly.\n\n\"No!\" Sir John thrust a gauntleted hand to strike Hook's shoulder. \"You fight my battles, Hook,\" he punched Hook's shoulder again, \"that's what I pay you for. But if you fight mine, then I fight yours, you understand? We are a company!\" Sir John shouted the last four words so loudly that men fifty yards down the trench turned to watch him. \"We are a company! No one threatens any one of us without threatening all of us! Your girl should be able to walk naked through the whole army and not a man will dare touch her because she belongs to us! She belongs to our company! By Christ I'll kill the holy bastard for this! I'll rip the spine out of his goddam throat and feed his shriveled prick to the dogs! No one threatens us, no one!\"\n\nSir John, with his real enemies safely back behind their smoke-rimmed ramparts, was looking for a fight. And Hook had just given him one.\n\nHook watched as Melisande spooned honey into Father Christopher's mouth. The priest was sitting, his back supported by a barrel that had come from England filled with smoked herrings. He was skeletally thin, his face was pale and tired and he was plainly as weak as a fledgling, but he was alive.\n\n\"Cobbett's dead,\" Hook said, \"and Robert Fletcher.\"\n\n\"Poor Robert,\" Father Christopher said, \"how's his brother?\"\n\n\"Still alive,\" Hook said, \"but he's sick.\"\n\n\"Who else?\"\n\n\"Pearson's dead, Hull is, Borrow and John Taylor.\"\n\n\"God have mercy on them all,\" the priest said and made the sign of the cross. \"The men-at-arms?\"\n\n\"John Gaffney, Peter Dance, Sir Thomas Peters,\" Hook said, \"all dead.\"\n\n\"God has turned His face from us,\" Father Christopher said bleakly. \"Does your saint still speak to you?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" Hook admitted.\n\nFather Christopher sighed. He closed his eyes momentarily. \"We have sinned,\" he said grimly.\n\n\"We were told God was on our side,\" Hook said stubbornly.\n\n\"We believed that,\" the priest said, \"we surely believed that, and we came here with that assurance in our hearts, but the French will believe the same thing. And now God is revealing Himself. We should not have come here.\"\n\n\"You should not,\" Melisande said firmly.\n\n\"Harfleur will fall,\" Hook insisted.\n\n\"It probably will,\" Father Christopher allowed, then paused as Melisande wiped a trickle of honey from his chin. \"If the French don't march to its relief? Yes, it will fall eventually, but what then? How much of the army is left?\"\n\n\"Enough,\" Hook said.\n\nFather Christopher offered a tired smile. \"Enough to do what? To march on Rouen and make another siege? To capture Paris? We'll scarce be able to defend ourselves if the French do come here! So what will we do? We'll go into Harfleur and remake its walls, and then sail home. We've failed, Hook. We've failed.\"\n\nHook sat in silence. One of the remaining English cannons fired, the sound flat and lingering in the warm air. Somewhere in the camp a man sang. \"We can't just go home,\" he said after a while.\n\n\"We can,\" Father Christopher said, \"and we most certainly will. All this money for nothing! For Harfleur, maybe. And what will it cost to rebuild those walls?\" He shrugged.\n\n\"Maybe we should abandon the siege,\" Hook suggested morosely.\n\nThe priest shook his head. \"Henry will never do that. He has to win! That way he proves God's favor, and besides, abandoning the siege makes him look weak.\" He was silent for a while, then frowned. \"His father took the throne by force, and Henry fears others might do the same if he shows weakness.\"\n\n\"Eat, don't talk,\" Melisande said briskly.\n\n\"I've eaten enough, my dear,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"You should eat more.\"\n\n\"I will. This evening. Merci.\"\n\n\"God's sparing you, father,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Perhaps He doesn't want me in heaven?\" Father Christopher suggested with a wan smile, \"or perhaps He is giving me time to become a better priest.\"\n\n\"You are a good priest,\" Hook said warmly.\n\n\"I shall tell Saint Peter that when he asks if I deserve to be in heaven. Ask Nick Hook, I shall say. And Saint Peter will ask me, who is Nick Hook? Oh, I shall say, he's a thief, a rogue, and probably a murderer, but ask him anyway.\"\n\nHook grinned. \"I'm honest now, father.\"\n\n\"Thou art not far from the kingdom of heaven, young Hook, but let us hope it's many a long day before we meet there. And at least we'll be spared Sir Martin's company.\"\n\nMelisande sneered. \"He is a coward. Un poltron!\"\n\n\"Most men are cowards when they meet Sir John,\" Father Christopher said mildly.\n\n\"He had nothing to say!\" Melisande said.\n\nSir John had gone to the shelters where Lord Slayton's men were camped. He had taken Hook and Melisande with him, and he had bellowed that any man who wished to kill Hook could do so right there and then. \"Come and take his woman,\" Sir John had shouted. \"Who wants her?\"\n\nLord Slayton's archers, his men-at-arms, and his camp followers had been cleaning armor, preparing food, or just resting, but all had turned to watch the show. They watched in silence.\n\n\"Come and take her!\" Sir John shouted. \"She's yours! You can take turns like dogs rutting a bitch! Come on! She's a pretty thing! You want to hump her? She's yours!\" He waited, but not one of Lord Slayton's men moved. Then Sir John had pointed at Hook. \"You can all have her! But first you have to kill my ventenar!\"\n\nStill no one moved. No one even met Sir John's eyes.\n\n\"Which man is being paid to kill you?\" Sir John had asked Hook.\n\n\"That one,\" Hook said, pointing at Tom Perrill.\n\n\"Then come here,\" Sir John had invited Perrill, \"come and kill him. I'll give you his woman if you do.\" Perrill had not moved. He was half hiding behind William Snoball who, as Lord Slayton's steward, had some small authority, but Snoball dared not confront Sir John Cornewaille. \"There is just one thing,\" Sir John had added, \"which is that you have to kill both Hook and me before you get the woman. So come on! Fight me first!\" He had drawn his sword and waited.\n\nNo one had moved, no one had spoken. Sir Martin had been watching from behind some men-at-arms. \"Is that the priest?\" Sir John had demanded of Hook.\n\n\"That's him.\"\n\n\"My name is John Cornewaille,\" Sir John had shouted, \"and some of you know who I am. And Hook is my man. He is my man! He is under my protection, as is this girl!\" He had put his free arm around Melisande's shoulders, then pointed his sword blade at Sir Martin. \"You, priest, come here.\"\n\nSir Martin had not moved.\n\n\"You can come here,\" Sir John said, \"or I can come and fetch you.\"\n\nSir Martin, long face twitching, had sidled away from the protective men-at-arms. He looked around as if seeking a place to run, but Sir John had snarled at him to come closer and he had obeyed. \"He's a priest!\" Sir John had called, \"so he's a witness to this oath. I swear by this sword and by the bones of Saint Credan, that if a hair of Hook's head is touched, if he is attacked, if he is wounded, if he is killed, then I shall find you and I shall kill you.\"\n\nSir Martin had been peering at Sir John as though he were a curious specimen in a fairground display; a five-legged cow, perhaps, or a woman with a beard. Now, still with a puzzled expression, the priest raised both hands to heaven. \"Forgive him, Lord, forgive him!\" he called.\n\n\"Priest,\" Sir John began.\n\n\"Knight!\" Sir Martin had retorted with surprising force. \"The devil rides one horse and Christ the other. You know what that means?\"\n\n\"I know what this means,\" Sir John had held his sword blade toward the priest's throat, \"it means that if one of you cabbage-shitting rat-humping turds touches Hook or his woman then he will have to reckon with me. And I will tear your farting bowels out of your putrid arses with my bare hands, I will make you die screaming, I will send your shit-ridden souls to hell, I will kill you!\"\n\nSilence. Sir John had sheathed his sword, the hilt thumping loud onto the scabbard's throat. He stared at Sir Martin, daring the priest to challenge him, but Sir Martin had drifted away into one of his reveries. \"Let's go,\" Sir John had said and, when they were out of earshot of the shelters, he had laughed. \"That's settled that.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Melisande had said, her relief obvious.\n\n\"Thank me? I enjoyed that, lass.\"\n\n\"He probably did enjoy it,\" Father Christopher said when the tale was told to him, \"but he'd have enjoyed it more if one of them had offered a fight. He does love a fight.\"\n\n\"Who's Saint Credan?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"He was a Saxon,\" Father Christopher said, \"and when the Normans came they reckoned he shouldn't be a saint at all because he was a Saxon peasant like you, Hook, so they burned his bones, but the bones turned to gold. Sir John likes him, I have no idea why.\" He frowned. \"He's not as simple as he likes to pretend.\"\n\n\"He's a good man,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He probably is,\" Father Christopher agreed, \"but don't let him hear you say that.\"\n\n\"And you're recovering, father.\"\n\n\"Thanks to God and to your woman, Hook, yes, I am.\" The priest reached out and took Melisande's hand. \"And it's time you made an honest woman of her, Hook.\"\n\n\"I am honest,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"Then it's time you tamed Master Hook,\" Father Christopher said. Melisande looked at Hook and for a moment her face betrayed nothing, then she nodded. \"Maybe that's why God spared me,\" Father Christopher said, \"to marry the two of you. We shall do the deed, young Hook, before we leave France.\"\n\nAnd it seemed that must be soon because Harfleur stood undefeated, the army of England was dying of disease, and the year was inexorably passing. It was already September. In a few weeks the autumn rains would come, and the cold would come, and the harvest would be safely gathered behind fortress walls, and so the campaign season would end. Time was running out.\n\nEngland had gone to war. And she was losing.\n\nThat evening Thomas Evelgold tossed a big sack to Hook. Hook jerked aside, thinking the sack would flatten him, but it was surprisingly light and merely rolled off his shoulder. \"Tow,\" Evelgold said in explanation.\n\n\"Tow?\"\n\n\"Tow,\" Evelgold said, \"for fire arrows. One sheaf of arrows for each archer. Sir John wants it done by midnight, and we're to be down in the trench before dawn. Belly's boiling pitch for us.\" Belly was Andrew Belcher, Sir John's steward who supervised the kitchen servants and sumpters. \"Have you ever made a fire arrow?\" Evelgold asked.\n\n\"Never,\" Hook confessed.\n\n\"Use the broadheads, tie a fistful of tow up by the head, dip it in pitch and aim high. We need two dozen apiece.\" Evelgold carried more sacks to the other groups while Hook pulled out handfuls of the greasy tow, which was simply clumps of unwashed fleece straight off the sheep's back. A flea jumped from the wool and vanished up his sleeve.\n\nHe divided the tow into seventeen equal sections and each of his archers divided their share into twenty-four, one lump of fleece for each arrow. Hook cut up some spare bowstrings and his men used the lengths of cord to bind the bouquets of dirty wool to the arrowheads, then they lined up by Belly's cauldron to dip the tow into the boiling pitch. They propped the arrows upright against tree stumps or barrels to let the sticky pitch solidify. \"What's happening in the dawn?\" Hook asked Evelgold.\n\n\"The French kicked our arses this morning,\" Evelgold said grimly, \"so we have to kick theirs tomorrow morning.\" He shrugged as if he did not expect to achieve much. \"You lose any more men today?\"\n\n\"Cobbett and Fletch. Matson can't last long.\"\n\nEvelgold swore. \"Good men,\" he said grimly, \"and dying, for what?\" He spat toward a campfire. \"When the pitch is dry,\" he went on, \"tease it out a bit. It lets it catch the fire easier.\"\n\nThe camp was restless all night. Men were carrying faggots to the forward trench nearest to the enemy's barbican. The faggots were great bundles of wood, bound with rope, and the sight of them made it clear enough what was intended at dawn. A flooded ditch protected the barbican and it would need to be filled if men were to cross and assault the battered fortress.\n\nSir John's men-at-arms were ordered to put on full armor. Thirty men-at-arms had sailed from Southampton Water on the day the swans had flown low through the fleet to signify good fortune, but only nineteen were now fit to serve. Six had died, the other five were vomiting and shitting and shivering. The fit men-at-arms were being helped by squires and pages who buckled plates of armor over padded leather jerkins that had been wiped with grease so the shrouding metal would move easily. Sword belts were strapped over jupons, though most men-at-arms chose to carry poleaxes or shortened lances. A priest from Sir William Porter's household heard confessions and gave blessings. Sir William was Sir John's closest friend and also his brother-in-arms, which meant they fought side by side and had sworn to protect each other, to ransom each other if, by misfortune, either were taken prisoner, and to protect the other man's widow if either were to die. Sir William was a studious-looking man, thin-faced and pale-eyed. His hair, before he hid it with a snout-visored helm, was thinning. He seemed out of place in armor, as though his natural home was a library or perhaps a courtroom, but he was Sir John's chosen battle companion and that spoke volumes about his courage. He adjusted his helmet and pushed up the visor before nodding a nervous greeting to Sir John's archers.\n\nThose archers were armored and armed. Most men, like Hook, wore a padded haubergeon sewn with metal plates over a mail coat. They had helmets and a few had aventails, the hood of mail that was worn beneath the helmet and fell across the shoulders. Their bow arms were protected by bracers, they wore swords and carried three arrow bags, two of which contained the tow-headed fire arrows. Some chose to carry an ax as well as a bow, but most, like Hook, preferred the poleax. All the men, whether lords, knights, men-at-arms, or archers, wore the red cross of Saint George on their jupons.\n\n\"God be with you,\" Sir William saluted the archers, who murmured a dutiful response.\n\n\"And the devil take the French!\" Sir John called as he strode from his tent. He was in a high mood, the prospect of action giving his eyes a gleam. \"It's a simple enough job this morning!\" he said dismissively. \"We just have to take the barbican away from the bastards! Let's do it before breakfast!\"\n\nMelisande had given Hook a lump cut from a flitch of bacon and a piece of bread, which he ate as Sir John's company filed downhill toward the siege-works. It was still dark. The wind was brisk and cool from the east, bringing the scent of the salt marshes to cut the cloying smell of the dead. The arrows clattered in their bags as the archers followed the winding paths. Fires glowed in the siege lines, and on the defenses of Harfleur where, Hook knew, the garrison would be repairing the damage done during the previous day. \"God bless you,\" a priest called as the bowmen filed past, \"God be with you! God preserve you!\"\n\nThe French must have sensed something evil was brewing for they used a pair of catapults to lob two light carcasses across the ramparts. The carcasses were great balls of cloth and tinder soaked in pitch and sulfur and they wheeled and sparked as they arced through the night sky, then fell in a great gout of flame that burst bright when the wicker-strapped balls landed. The firelight reflected off helmets in the English trenches and those gleams provoked the crossbowmen on the walls to start shooting. The bolts whispered overhead or thumped into the parapets. Insults were shouted from the walls, but the shouts were half-hearted, as though the garrison was tired and uncertain.\n\nThe English trench was crowded. The archers with the fire arrows were ordered to the front, and behind them more archers waited with bundles of faggots. Sir John Holland, the king's nephew, was in charge of the attack, though again, as when he had led the scouting party ashore before the invasion, he was accompanied by his stepfather, Sir John Cornewaille. \"When I give the command,\" the younger Sir John said, \"the archers will loose fire arrows at the barbican. We want to set it alight!\"\n\nIron braziers had been placed every few yards along the trench. They were heaped with burning sea-coal that gave off pungent fumes.\n\n\"Drown them with fire!\" Sir John Holland urged the archers, \"smoke them out like rats! And when they're blinded by smoke we fill in the ditch and take the barbican by assault!\" He made it sound easy.\n\nThe remaining English guns had been loaded with stones coated with pitch. The Dutch gunners waited, their linstocks glowing. Dawn seemed to take forever. The defenders got tired of shooting crossbow bolts and their insults, with their bolts, faded away. Both sides waited. A cockerel crowed in the camp and soon a score of birds was calling. Pageboys carrying spare sheaves of arrows waited in the saps behind the trench where priests were saying mass and hearing confessions. Men took it in turns to kneel and receive the wafers along with God's blessing. \"Your sins are forgiven,\" a priest murmured to Hook, who hoped it was true. He had not confessed to Robert Perrill's murder and, as he took the host, he wondered if that deception would condemn him. He almost blurted out his guilt, but the priest was already gesturing the next man forward so Hook stood and moved away. The wafer stuck to his palate and he said a sudden, silent prayer to Saint Crispinian. Did Harfleur have a guardian saint, he wondered, and was that saint beseeching God to kill the English?\n\nA stir in the trench made Hook turn to see the king edging through the crowded ranks. He wore full battle armor, though he had yet to pull on his helmet. His breast and back plates were covered with a surcoat on which the royal arms were blazoned bright, crossed by the red of Saint George. The king carried a broad-bladed war-ax as well as his sheathed sword. He had no shield, but nor did any other knight or man-at-arms. Their plate armor was protection enough and iron-bound shields were a relic of olden days. The king nodded companionably to the archers. \"Take the barbican,\" he said as he walked along the trench, \"and the city must surely fall. God be with you.\" He repeated the phrases as he worked his way along the trench, followed by a squire and two men-at-arms. \"I shall go with you,\" he said as he neared Hook. \"If God wants me to rule France then He will protect us! God be with you! And keep me company, fellows, as we take back what is rightfully ours!\"\n\n\"String your bows,\" Sir John Holland said when the king had gone past. \"Won't be long now!\" Hook braced one end of his big bow against his right foot and bent it so that he could loop the string about the upper nock.\n\n\"Shoot high with the fire arrows!\" Thomas Evelgold growled. \"You can't do a full draw or you'll scorch your hand! So shoot high! And make sure the pitch is well alight before you loose!\"\n\nThe gray light seeped brighter. Hook, gazing between two gabions of the battered parapet, could see that the barbican was a wreck. Its great iron-bound timbers that had once formed such a formidable wall had been broken and driven in by gunfire, yet the enemy had patched the gaps with more timbers so that the whole outlying fort now resembled an ugly hill studded with wooden balks. The summit, which had once stood close to forty feet high, was half that now, yet it was still a formidable obstacle. The face was steep, the ditch deep, and there was room at the top for forty or fifty crossbowmen and men-at-arms. Banners hung down the ruined face, displaying saints and coats of arms. Once in a while a helmeted face would peer past a timber as the men on the ragged top watched for the expected assault.\n\n\"You start shooting your fire arrows when the guns fire!\" Sir John Cornewaille reminded his men. \"That's the signal!\n\nShoot steadily! If you see a man trying to extinguish the fires, kill the bastard!\"\n\nThe coals in the nearest brazier shifted, provoking a spurt of light and a galaxy of sparks. A page crouched beside the iron basket with a handful of kindling that he would pile on the coals to make the flames to light the pitch-soaked arrows. Gulls wheeled and flocked above the salt marsh where the bodies of the dead were thrown into the tidal creeks. The gulls of Normandy were getting fat on English dead. The wafer was still stuck in Hook's dry mouth.\n\n\"Any moment now,\" Sir William Porter said as though that would be a comfort to the waiting men.\n\nThere was a creaking sound and Hook looked to his left to see men turning the windlass that lifted the tilting screen in front of the nearest gun. The French saw it too and a springolt bolt whipped from the ramparts to thump into the lifting screen. A gunner pulled a gabion away from the cannon's black mouth.\n\nAnd the gun fired.\n\nThe pitch that coated the stone had caught fire from the powder's explosion so that the gun-stone looked like a sear of dull light as it whipped from the smoke to flash across the broken ground and crash into the barbican.\n\n\"Now!\" Sir John Holland called and the page piled the kindling onto the coals so that bright flames burst from the brazier. \"Don't let the arrows touch each other,\" Evelgold advised as the archers held the first missiles in the newly roused fire. More guns fired. A timber on the barbican shattered and a spill of earth scumbled down the steep face. Hook waited till his pitch bouquet was well alight, then placed the arrow on the string. He feared the ash shaft would burn through, so he hauled fast, winced as the flames burned his left hand, aimed high and released quickly. Other fire arrows were already arcing toward the barbican, their flight slow and awkward. His own arrow leaped off the string and trailed sparks as it fluttered. It fell short. Other arrows were thumping into the splintered timbers of the barbican. The cannon smoke drifted like a screen between the archers and their target.\n\n\"Keep shooting,\" Sir John Holland called.\n\nHook took the rag he used to wax his bow from a pouch and wrapped it about his left hand to protect himself from the flames. His second arrow flew true, striking one of the broken balks of wood. The burning missiles curved through the early light in showers of fire, and the barbican was already dotted with small flames as more and more arrows fell. Hook saw defenders moving on the makeshift rampart and guessed they were pouring water or earth down the barbican's face and so he took a broadhead and shot it fast and true. Then he loosed his last fire arrow and saw that the flames were spreading and smoke was writhing from the broken barbican in a hundred places. One of the banners was alight, its linen flaring sudden and bright. He loosed three more broadheads at the ramparts, and just then a trumpet called from a few yards down the trench and the men carrying the bundled faggots pushed past him, climbed the parapet, and ran forward.\n\n\"After them!\" Sir John Holland shouted, \"give them arrows!\"\n\nThe archers and men-at-arms scrambled from the trench. Now Hook could shoot over the heads of the men in front, aiming at the crossbowmen who suddenly crowded the barbican's smoke-wreathed parapet. \"Arrows,\" he bellowed, and a page brought him a fresh bag. He was shooting instinctively now, sending bodkin after bodkin at the defenders who were little more than shadows in the thickening smoke. There were shouts from the ditch's edge. Men were dying there, but their faggots were filling the deep hole.\n\n\"For Harry and Saint George!\" Sir John Cornewaille bellowed. \"Standard-bearer!\"\n\n\"I'm here!\" a squire, given the task of carrying Sir John's banner, called back.\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\nThe men-at-arms went with Sir John, shouting as they advanced over the uneven, broken and scorched ground. The archers came behind. The trumpet still sounded. Other men were advancing to the left and right. The bowmen who had filled the ditch had run to either side and were now shooting arrows up at the rampart. Crossbow bolts smacked into men. One of Sir John's men opened his mouth suddenly, clutched his belly and, without a sound, doubled over and fell. Another man-at-arms, the son of an earl, had blood dripping from his helmet and a bolt sticking from his open visor. He staggered, then fell to his knees. He shook off Hook's helping hand and, with the bolt still in his shattered face, managed to stand and run forward again.\n\n\"Shout louder, you bastards!\" Sir John called, and the attackers gave a ragged cry of Saint George. \"Louder!\"\n\nA gun punched rancid smoke from the town's walls and its stone slashed diagonally across the rough ground where the attackers advanced. A man-at-arms was struck on the thigh and he spun around, blood splashing high on his jupon, and the gun-stone kept going, disemboweling a page and still it flew, blood drops trailing, to vanish somewhere over the marshes. An archer's bow snapped at the full draw and he cursed. \"Don't give the bastards time! Kill them!\" Sir John Cornewaille bellowed as he jumped down onto the faggots that filled the ditch.\n\nAnd now the shouting was constant as the first attackers staggered on the uneven faggots that did not entirely fill the moat. Crossbow bolts hissed down, and the defenders added stones and lengths of timber that they hurled from the barbican's high rampart. Two more guns fired from the town walls, belching smoke, their stones slashing harmlessly behind the attackers. Trumpets were calling in Harfleur and the crossbows were shooting from the walls. So long as the attackers were close to the barbican they were safe from the missiles loosed from the town, but some men were trying to clamber up the bastion's eroded flanks and there they were in full sight of Harfleur's defenders.\n\nHook emptied his arrow bag at the men on the barbican's summit, then looked around for a page with more arrows, but could see none. \"Horrocks,\" he shouted at his youngest archer, \"go and find arrows!\" He saw a wounded archer, not one of his men, sitting a few paces away and he took a handful of arrows from the man's bag and trapped one between his thumb and the bowstave. The English banners were at the foot of the barbican and most of the men-at-arms were on its lower slopes, trying to climb between the flames that burned fiercely to blind the defenders with smoke. It was like trying to scramble up the face of a crumbling bluff, but a bluff in which fires burned and smoke writhed. The French were bellowing defiance. Their best weapons now were the stones they hurled down the face and Hook saw a man-at-arms tumble back, his helmet half crushed by a boulder. The king was there, or at least his standard was bright against the smoke and Hook wondered if the king had been the man he saw falling with a crushed helmet. What would happen if the king died? But at least he was there, in the fight, and Hook felt a surge of pride that England had a fighting king and not some half-mad monarch who circled his body with straps because he believed he was made of glass.\n\nSir John's banner was on the right now, joined there by the three bells on Sir William Porter's flag. Hook shouted at his men to follow as he ran to the ditch's edge. He jumped in, landing on the corpse of a man in plate armor. A crossbow bolt had pierced the man's aventail, spreading blood from his ravaged throat. Someone had already stripped the body of sword and helmet. Hook negotiated the uncertain faggots and hauled himself up the far side where the smoke was thick. He loosed three arrows, then put his last one across the bowstave. The flames were growing stronger as they fed on the barbican's broken timbers and those fires, designed to blind the defenders, were now a barrier to the attackers. Arrows hissed overhead, evidence that the pages had found more and brought them to the archers, but Hook was too committed to the attack now to go back and replenish his arrow bag. He ran to his right, dodging bodies, unaware of the crossbow bolts that struck around him. He saw Sir John precariously perched on top of some iron-bound timbers from where he stared upward at the men who taunted the attackers. One of those defenders appeared briefly and hoisted a boulder over his head, ready to hurl it down at Sir John, and Hook paused, drew, released, and his arrow caught the man in his armpit so that he turned slowly and fell back out of sight.\n\nA gust of the east wind swirled the smoke away from the barbican's right-hand flank and Hook saw an opening there, a cave in the half-collapsed tower that had defended the seaward side. He slung the bow and took the poleax off his shoulder. He shouted incoherently as he ran, then as he jumped up the barbican's face and scrabbled for a foothold in the steep rubble slope. He was at the right-hand edge of the broken fort and he could see down the southern face of Harfleur where the harbor lay. Defenders on the walls could also see him, and their crossbow bolts thumped into the barbican, but Hook had rolled into the cave that was a ledge of rubble sheltered by collapsed timbers. There was scarce room to move in the space that was little more than a wild dog's den. Now what? Hook wondered. The crossbow bolts were hissing just beyond his shallow refuge. He could hear men shouting and it seemed to Hook that the French shouted louder, evidence they believed they were winning. He leaned slightly outward trying to get a glimpse of Sir John, but just then an eddy of wind blew a great gout of smoke to shroud Hook's aerie.\n\nYet just to his right, toward the face of the barbican, he saw the metal hoops that strapped three great tree trunks together, and the hoops, he thought, made a ladder upward and the smoke was hiding him and so he leaped across and clung to the timbers with his left hand while his boots found a small foothold on another of the iron rings. He reached up with the poleax and hooked it over the top ring and hauled himself up, up, and he was nearly at the top and the French had not seen him because of the smoke and because they were watching the howling mass of Englishmen who were trying to clamber up the barbican's center where the slope was the least precipitous. Bolts, stones, and broken timbers rained down on them, while the English arrows flitted through the smoke in answer.\n\n\"Hook!\" a voice roared beneath him. \"Hook, you bastard! Pull me up!\"\n\nIt was Sir John Cornewaille. Hook lowered the poleax, let Sir John grip the hammer head, and then hauled him across to the timbers.\n\n\"You don't get ahead of me, Hook,\" Sir John growled, \"and what in Christ's name are you doing here? You're meant to be shooting arrows.\"\n\n\"I wanted to see what was on the other side of this ruin,\" Hook said. Flames crept up the timbers, getting closer to Sir John's feet.\n\n\"You wanted to see\u2026\" Sir John began, then gave a bark of laughter. \"I'm getting goddam roasted. Pull me up more.\" Hook again used the poleax to lift Sir John, this time to the top of the timbers. The two of them were like flies on a broken, burning pillar, perched just below the makeshift parapet, but still unseen by the defenders. \"Sweet Jesus Christ and all his piss-drinking saints, but this seems a good enough place to die,\" Sir John said, and slipped the sling of his battle-ax off his shoulder. \"Are you going to die with me, Hook?\"\n\n\"Looks like it, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Good man. Push me up first, then join me, and let's die well, Hook, let's die very well.\"\n\nHook took hold of the back of Sir John's sword belt and, when he got the nod, heaved. Sir John vanished upward, tumbled over the wall, and gave his war-shout. \"Harry and Saint George!\" And for Harry, Saint George, and Saint Crispinian, Hook followed.\n\nAnd screamed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "\"You won't die here,\" Saint Crispinian said.\n\nHook hardly heard the voice because he was screaming a battle cry that was part terror and part exhilaration.\n\nHook and Sir John had reached the top of the barbican where the remnants of the fighting platform lay. The English bombardment had shattered the barbican's face so that the earth and rubble filling had spilled out and what had once been the fighting platform was now a crude lumpy space. The rearward wall, looking toward the city's Leure Gate, was much less damaged and served as a screen to hide what happened on the broken, rough summit from the defenders of Harfleur's walls. That summit was now a treacherous heap of earth, stones, and burning timbers, which was crammed with crossbowmen and men-at-arms. Hook and Sir John had come from their left flank, and now Sir John attacked the enemy like the avenging angel.\n\nHe was fast. That was why he was the most feared tournament fighter in Christendom. In the time it took a man to strike a blow, Sir John gave two. Hook saw it because, once again, it seemed to him that time itself had slowed. He was moving to Sir John's right, aware suddenly that Saint Crispinian had broken his silence and feeling a great surge of relief that the saint was still his patron. Hook lunged with his poleax as Sir John used his double-bladed battle-ax in short brutal strokes. The first smashed the roundel protecting a man-at-arms's knee, the second, a rising slash, gutted a crossbowman, and the third felled the man-at-arms whose knee had been broken. Another man-at-arms turned to drive a sword at Sir John, but Hook's poleax sliced into his side, piercing the edge of his breastplate and throwing him back on the men behind. Hook just kept ramming, driving the man back, crushing him into his comrades, and Sir John was making a whooping noise, a sound of pure joy. Hook was screaming, though he was not aware of it, and using his huge archer's strength to push the enemy back while Sir John was taking advantage of their confusion to chop, wound, and kill.\n\nHook wrenched the poleax back, but the spear point was trapped in the man's armor. \"Take this!\" Sir John said sharply, thrusting the ax at Hook, and later, much later when the fight was over, Hook marveled at Sir John's utter calm in the middle of a fight. Sir John had seen Hook's predicament and solved it, even though he was under attack himself. He gave Hook the ax and, in the time it took Hook to take it, Sir John drew his sword. It was Sir John's favorite sword, the one he called Darling, and it was a heavier blade than most, strong enough to survive hard lunges into steel plate. Sir John used it to keep the enemy off balance, letting Hook do the killing now. Hook's first blow drove the ax into a helmet, wrenching the whole visor loose so it hung askew. \"Cheap steel!\" Sir John said, and his sword flickered at men's faces, making them retreat, and Hook drove the blade into an armored belly and saw the blood well out bright and fast. \"Flag!\" Sir John bellowed. \"Bring me my goddam flag!\"\n\nHook was standing with his feet apart, driving the ax at men who were hardly fighting back. They were hampered by the bodies at their feet and cowed by Sir John's sheer skill and ferocity. A determined man could have attacked into Sir John's sword and Hook's ax, but instead the defenders tried to back away from the blades while the Frenchmen behind pushed them forward. \"Trois!\" Sir John was counting the men he had wounded or killed, \"quatre! Come on, you goddam bastards! I'm hungry!\" Hook's ax was the more dangerous weapon because of its power. The blade crumpled armor like parchment or chopped into flesh like a slaughterman's cleaver, and Hook was grimacing as he swung and the enemy thought he was smiling, and that smile was more frightening than the blade. The sheer press of Frenchmen made it impossible for their crossbowmen to take aim, while the surviving rear wall and the obscuring smoke hid the fight from the bowmen on the towers of the Leure Gate. Sir John was shouting and Hook was keening a mad noise and their blades were red. Hook was not trying to kill now, he was just thrusting the enemy back and putting men on the ground to make a barrier. A fallen man-at-arms made an upward cut with his sword, but Hook saw the lunge coming, took a half-step to one side, slammed the ax down hard onto the man's visor, heard the gurgling noise as the heavy blade crushed steel into flesh, swung the ax back to dent a man's breastplate, and then rammed the weapon forward to push a third man backward.\n\n\"My flag!\" Sir John shouted again, \"I want these bastards to know who's killing them!\"\n\nHis standard-bearer suddenly tumbled over the wall behind, and with him came more men-at-arms wearing Sir John's lion. \"Kill the bastards!\" Sir John screamed, but the bastards had taken enough. They were spilling through a gap in the rearward wall of the barbican and scrambling down a ladder or hurling themselves at a steep slope of spilled rubble before running through the smoke for the town's gate. The rising sun was lighting that smoke. Screaming Englishmen were killing the last defenders who could not reach the gap in time. One man held out his glove in token of surrender, but an archer beat him down with a long-hafted hammer and another skewered him with a poleax.\n\n\"Enough!\" a voice shouted. \"Enough! Enough!\"\n\n\"Hold your blows!\" Sir John called. \"Hold it, I said!\"\n\n\"God be thanked!\" the man who had first called to end the killing said, and Hook saw it was the king who, sword in hand, suddenly knelt on the rubble and crossed himself. The king's surcoat, its bright badge crossed by Saint George's red, was scorched. A springolt bolt thumped into one of the timbers facing the town, making the wall quiver. \"Extinguish the flames!\" the king called, getting to his feet. He pulled off his helmet and its leather liner so that his thick cropped hair stuck up in small, sweat-dark clumps. \"And someone have pity on that man!\" He gestured at the Frenchman who had tried to surrender, and who now writhed and moaned as blood soaked the faulds just beneath his breastplate. The poleax was still embedded in his belly. A man-at-arms drew a knife, felt for the gap in the armor protecting the dying man's throat, and stabbed home once before working the blade around inside the gullet. The man convulsed, blood bubbled from the holes in his dented visor, then he gave a spasm and was still. \"God be thanked,\" the king said again. An archer suddenly fell to his knees and Hook thought the man was praying, but instead he vomited. Crossbow bolts were striking the barbican's rear wall, their strikes sounding like flails beating on a threshing floor. The king's banner was flying from the barbican now and the heavy cloth twitched as the bolts ripped and tore at the weave. \"Sir John,\" the king said, \"I must thank you.\"\n\n\"For doing my duty, sire?\" Sir John asked, going to one knee, \"and this man helped,\" he added, gesturing at Hook.\n\nHook also dropped to one knee. The king gave him a glance, but showed no recognition. \"My thanks to you all,\" Henry said curtly, then turned away. \"Send heralds!\" he ordered one of his entourage, \"and tell them to yield the town! And bring water for the flames!\"\n\nWater was poured on the flames, but the fire had penetrated deep into the barbican's shattered timbers and they smoldered on, seeping a constant and choking smoke about the captured bastion. Its ragged summit was garrisoned by archers now, and that night they manhandled the Messenger, one of the smaller cannon, up to its summit, and that gun splintered the timbers of the Leure Gate with its first shot.\n\nThe heralds had ridden to that gate after the barbican's capture, and they had patiently explained that the English would now demolish the great gate and its towers and that the fall of Harfleur was thus inevitable, and that the garrison should therefore do the sensible, even the honorable, thing and surrender before more men died. If they refused to surrender, the heralds declared, then the law of God decreed that every man, woman, and child in Harfleur would be given to the pleasure of the English. \"Think of your pretty daughters,\" a herald called to the garrison's commanders, \"and for their sake, yield!\"\n\nBut the garrison would not surrender, and so the English dug new gun-pits closer to the town, and they hammered the exposed Leure Gate, demolishing the towers on either side and bringing down its stone arch, yet still the defenders fought back.\n\nAnd the first chill wind of summer's end brought rain.\n\nAnd the sickness did not end and Henry's army died in blood, vomit, and watery shit.\n\nAnd Harfleur remained French.\n\nIt all had to be done again. Another assault, this time on the wreckage of the Leure Gate and, to make sure the defenders could not concentrate their men on that southwestern corner of the ramparts, the forces of the Duke of Clarence would assault the Montivilliers Gate on the town's far side.\n\nThis time, Sir John said, they were going into the town. \"The goddam bastards won't surrender! So you know what you can do with the bastards! If it's got a prick, you kill it, if it's got tits, you hump it! Everything in that town is yours! Every coin, every ale-pot, every woman! They're yours! Now go and get them!\"\n\nAnd so the twin assaults streamed across the filled-in ditches and the arrows rained from the sky and the trumpets blared a challenge to the uncaring sun and the killing began again. And again it was Sir John Holland who led, which meant that Sir John Cornewaille's men were in the front of the attack that swiftly captured the ruins of the Leure Gate and there, abruptly, were stopped.\n\nThe gate had once led into a closely-packed street of overhanging houses, but the garrison had pulled those buildings down to clear a killing space, behind which they had made a new barricade that had been mostly protected from the English gun-stones by the remnants of the old wall and gate. The Messenger, mounted on the barbican's summit, had managed to shoot some stones at the fresh work, but it could only manage three shots a day and the French repaired the damage between each shot. The new wall was built from masonry blocks, roof timbers, and rubble-filled baskets, and behind it were crossbowmen, and as soon as the English men-at-arms appeared across the ruin of the Leure Gate the bolts began to fly.\n\nArchers shot back, but the French had been cunning. The new wall had been made with chinks and holes through which the crossbowmen could shoot, and which were small enough to defeat the aim of most arrows. Hook, crouching in the rubble of the old gate, reckoned that for every crossbowman shooting there were another three or four men spanning spare bows so that the bolts never stopped. Most crossbowmen were lucky to shoot two bolts a minute, but the bolts were coming from the loopholes far more frequently and still more missiles spat from the high windows of the half-ruined houses behind the wall. This, Hook knew, was how Soissons should have been defended.\n\n\"We'll have to bring up a gun,\" Sir John snarled from another place in the ruined wall, but instead led a charge against the barricade, shouting at his archers to smother it in arrows. They did, but the crossbow bolts kept coming and even if the bolts failed to pierce armor they threw a man back by sheer force and when, at last, a half-dozen men managed to reach the wall and tried to pull down its timbers and stones, a cauldron was tipped over its coping and a stream of boiling fish oil spilled down onto the attackers. They ran and limped back, some gasping from the pain of the scalding, and Sir John, his armor slick with the oil, came back with them and dropped into the gate's rubble and let loose a stream of impotent curses. The French were cheering. They waved taunting flags above their new low wall. A smoky haze shimmered behind the new rampart, promising that more heated oil would greet any new attack. The English catapults were trying to drop stones on the new wall, but most of the missiles flew long to crash down among the already shattered houses.\n\nThe sun climbed. The late summer's heat had returned and both attackers and defenders roasted in their armor. Boys brought water and ale. Men-at-arms, resting in the shelter of the Leure Gate's ruins, took off their helmets. Their hair was matted flat and their faces running with sweat. The archers crouched in the stones, sometimes shooting if a man showed himself, but for long periods neither side would loose an arrow or a bolt, but just wait for a target.\n\n\"Bastards,\" Sir John spat at the enemy.\n\nHook saw two defenders struggling to remove an earth-filled basket from a section of the new wall. He half stood and loosed an arrow, just as a dozen other archers did the same. The two men fell back, each struck by arrows, but the basket fell with them and Hook saw a cannon barrel, squat and low, and he flattened himself in the gate's ruins just as the cannon fired. The air whistled and screamed, stone chips were whipping in smoke, and a man gave a terrible long cry that turned to a whimper as the space in front of the wall was obscured by the thick smoke. \"Oh, my God,\" Will of the Dale said.\n\n\"You hurt, Will?\"\n\n\"No. Just tired of this place.\"\n\nThe French had loaded their cannon with a mass of small stones that had flayed the attackers. A man-at-arms was dead, a small hole punched clean through the top of his helmet. An archer staggered back toward the barbican, one hand clamped over an empty, bloody eye socket.\n\n\"We're all going to die here,\" Will said.\n\n\"No,\" Hook said fiercely, though he did not believe his protest. The gun smoke cleared slowly and Hook saw that the earth-filled basket was back in its embrasure.\n\n\"Bastards,\" Sir John spat again.\n\n\"We're not giving up!\" the king was shouting. He wanted to assemble a mass of men-at-arms and attempt to overwhelm the wall with numbers and his men were carrying orders to the Englishmen scattered in the old wall's ruins. \"Archers to the flanks!\" a man shouted, \"to the flanks!\"\n\nA French trumpeter began playing a short sharp melody. It was three notes, rising and falling, repeated over and over. There was something taunting in the sound.\n\n\"Kill that bastard!\" Sir John shouted, but the bastard was hidden behind the wall.\n\n\"Move!\" the king shouted.\n\nHook took a deep breath, then scrambled to his right. No crossbow bolts spat from the defenses. The garrison was waiting, he thought. Perhaps they were running short of bolts and so they were keeping what they had to greet the next assault. He sheltered by a stub of broken wall and just then the French trumpeter stood on the new rampart and raised his instrument to his lips, and Hook stood too, and the cord came back to his right ear, he loosed, and the string whipped his bracer and the goose-fledged arrow flew true and the bodkin point took the trumpeter in the throat and drove clean through his neck so that it stood proud at his nape. The braying trumpet screeched horribly and then ended abruptly as the man fell backward. More English arrows flitted above him as he disappeared behind the wall, leaving a fading spray of misted blood and the dying echo of the trumpet's truncated call.\n\n\"Well done, that archer!\" Sir John shouted.\n\nHook waited. The day became still hotter under a sun that was a great furnace in a sky clouded only by the shreds of smoke from the beleaguered city. The French had stopped shooting altogether, which only convinced Hook that they were saving their missiles for the assault they knew was coming. Priests picked their way among the ruins of the old wall, shriving the dead and the dying, while behind the wall, in the space between the ruined Leure Gate and the shattered barbican, the men-at-arms assembled under their lords' banners. That force, at least four hundred strong, was easily visible to the defenders, but still they did not shoot.\n\nOne of Sir John's pages, a boy of ten or eleven with a shock of bright blond hair and wide blue eyes, brought two skins of water to the archers. \"We need arrows, boy,\" Hook told him.\n\n\"I'll bring some,\" the boy said.\n\nHook tipped the skin to his mouth. \"Why aren't the men-at-arms moving?\" he asked no one in particular. The king had assembled his assault force and the archers were in place, but a curious lassitude had settled over the attackers.\n\n\"A messenger came,\" the page said nervously. He was a high-born lad, sent to Sir John's household to learn a warrior's ways, and in time he would doubtless be a great lord in shining armor mounted on a caparisoned horse, but for now he was nervous of the hard-faced archers who would one day be under his command.\n\n\"A messenger?\"\n\n\"From the Duke of Clarence,\" the page said, taking back the water-skin.\n\nThe duke, camped on the far side of Harfleur, was also attacking the city, though no sounds betrayed any fighting from that far-off gate. \"So what did the messenger tell us?\" Hook asked the page.\n\n\"That the attack failed,\" the boy said.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" Hook said in disgust. So now, he reckoned, the king was waiting until his brother could mount another assault, and then the English would make one last effort, from both east and west, to overwhelm the stubborn defenders. And so Hook and his archers waited. If the king had sent new orders to his brother then they would take at least two hours to reach him, for the messenger had to ride far around the city's north side and cross the flooded river by boat.\n\n\"What's happening?\" Sclate, the slow-witted laborer with a giant's strength, asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Hook confessed. Sweat trickled down his face and stung his eyes. The air seemed to be filled with dust that coated his throat and made him thirsty again. The light, reflecting from the shattered chalk of the broken walls, was dazzling. He was tired. He unstrung the bow to take the tension from the stave.\n\n\"Are we attacking again?\" Sclate asked.\n\n\"I reckon we attack when the duke assaults the far side,\" Hook suggested. \"Be a couple of hours yet.\"\n\n\"They'll be ready for us,\" Sclate said gloomily.\n\nThe garrison would be ready. Ready with cannons and crossbows and springolts and boiling oil. That was what waited for the men wearing the red cross. The men-at-arms were sitting now, resting before they were ordered into the killing ground. The bright banners hung slack from their poles and a strange silence wrapped Harfleur. Waiting. Waiting.\n\n\"When we attack!\" Sir John's voice broke the silence. He was striding along the front of the sheltering archers, careless that he was fully exposed to the enemy, but the French crossbowmen, doubtless under orders to conserve their bolts, ignored him. \"When we attack,\" he called again, \"you advance! You keep shooting! But you keep going forward! When we go over the wall I want archers with us! We're going to have to hunt these bastards through their goddam streets! I want you all there! And good hunting! This is a day to kill our king's enemies, so kill them!\"\n\nAnd when the killing was done, Hook wondered, how many English would be left? The army that had sailed from Southampton Water had been small enough, but now? Now, he reckoned, there would just be half an army, many of them sick men, crammed into the ruins of Harfleur as the French army at last stirred itself to fight. Rumors said that enemy army was vast, a horde of men eager to wipe out the impudent English invaders, though God seemed to be doing that already by sickness.\n\n\"Let's get it over with,\" Will of the Dale grumbled.\n\n\"Or let them keep the goddam town,\" Tom Scarlet suggested, \"it's a shit-heap now.\"\n\nAnd what if the assault failed? Hook wondered. What if Harfleur did not fall? Then the remnants of Henry's army would sail back to England, defeated. The campaign had begun so well, with all the panoply of banners and hope, and now it was blood and feces and despair.\n\nAnother trumpeter began playing the same mocking notes from the city. Sir John, stalking back past his archers, turned and snarled toward the defenders. \"I want that prick-sucking bastard killed! I want him killed!\" The last four words were screamed at the wall, loud enough for any Frenchmen to hear.\n\nThen, unexpectedly, a man clambered onto the wall's top. He was not the trumpeter, who still blew from his place behind the wall. The man on the wall was unarmed, and he stood and waved both hands at the English.\n\nArchers stood, began to draw.\n\n\"No!\" Sir John bellowed. \"No! No! No! Bows down! Bows down! Bows down!\"\n\nThe trumpet note wavered, faded and stopped.\n\nThe man on the wall held his empty hands high above his head.\n\nAnd, miraculously, suddenly, astonishingly, it was all over.\n\nThe soldiers of Harfleur's garrison did not want to surrender, but the townspeople had suffered enough. They were hungry. Their houses had been crushed and burned by English missiles, disease was spreading, they saw an inevitable defeat and knew that vengeful enemies would rape their daughters. The town council insisted that the city yield and, without the support of the men of Harfleur who shot crossbows from the walls and without the food prepared by the women, the garrison could not prolong the fight.\n\nThe Sire de Gaucourt, who had led the defense, asked for a three-day truce in which he could send a messenger to the French king to discover whether or not a relief force was coming to the city's help. If not, then he would surrender on condition that the English army did not sack and rape the town. Henry agreed, and so priests and nobles gathered at the breach by the Leure Gate, and the leading men came from the town, and they all swore solemn oaths to abide by the terms of the truce. Afterward, and after Henry had taken hostages to ensure that the garrison kept its word, a herald rode close under the walls and shouted up at the townsfolk who had watched the ceremony. He called in French. \"You have nothing to fear! The King of England has not come to destroy you! We are good Christians and Harfleur is not Soissons! You have nothing to fear!\"\n\nSmoke drifted from the city to haze the late summer sky. It seemed strange that no guns fired, that no trebuchets thumped as they launched their missiles, and that the fighting had stopped. The dying did not stop. The corpses were still carried to the creeks and thrown to the gulls, and it seemed there would be no end to the sickness.\n\nAnd there was no French relief force.\n\nThe French army was gathering to the east, but the message came back that it would not march to relieve Harfleur and so, on the next Sunday, the feast of Saint Vincent, the city surrendered.\n\nA pavilion was erected on the hillside behind the English encampment and a throne was placed under the canopy and draped with cloth of gold. English banners flanked the pavilion, which was filled with the high nobility in their finest clothes. A man held aloft the king's great helm, which was ringed with a golden crown, while archers lined a long path that led across the rubble of the siege-works to the ruined gate that had resisted so many attacks. Behind the archers were the rest of Henry's army, spectators to the day's drama.\n\nThe King of England, crowned with a simple circlet of gold and wearing a surcoat blazoned with the French royal coat of arms, sat enthroned in silence. He was watching and waiting, and perhaps wondering what he must do next. He had come to Normandy and won this surrender, but that victory had cost him half his army.\n\nHook was at the Leure Gate where Sir John commanded a force of ten men-at-arms and forty archers. Sir John, clad in plate armor that had been scoured to a shine, was mounted on his great destrier, Lucifer, who had been draped in a dazzling linen trapper resplendent with Sir John's crest, and the same lion was modeled in painted wood to rear savagely from the crest of Sir John's helmet. The men-at-arms were also in armor, but the archers were in leather jerkins and stained breeches. All the bowmen carried halters of rough rope, the kind that a peasant might use to lead a cow to market. \"Treat them courteously,\" Sir John told his bowmen, \"they fought well! They're men!\"\n\n\"I thought they were all scum-sucking cabbage shitters,\" Will of the Dale said quietly, but not quietly enough.\n\nSir John turned Lucifer. \"They are that!\" he said, \"but they fought like Englishmen! So treat them like Englishmen!\"\n\nA section of the new wall had been demolished and, just after Sir John spoke, some three dozen men emerged from the gap. They had been ordered to approach the King of England barefoot and in plain linen shirts and hose. Now, nervous and apprehensive, they walked slowly and cautiously toward the waiting archers.\n\n\"Nooses!\" Sir John ordered.\n\nHook and the other archers tied nooses in the ropes. Sir John beckoned a squire and handed his reins to the man, then slid out of his tall saddle. He patted Lucifer on the nose, then walked toward the approaching Frenchmen.\n\nHe singled out one man, a tall man with a hooked nose and a short black beard. The man was pale, and Hook guessed he was sick, but he was forcing himself to lead the Frenchmen out of the town and to keep what small dignity he had left. The bearded man beckoned to his companions to pause while he approached Sir John alone. The two men stopped a pace apart, the Englishman glorious in armor and heraldry, his sword hilt polished, his armor gleaming, while the Frenchman was in the common, ill-fitting clothes decreed by King Henry. Sir John, his visor raised, said something that Hook did not catch, then the two men embraced.\n\nSir John left his right arm about the Frenchman's shoulders as he led him toward the archers. \"This is the Sire de Gaucourt,\" he announced, \"the leader of our enemies these last five weeks, and he has fought bravely! He deserves better than this, but our king commands and we must obey. Hook, give me the noose!\"\n\nHook held out the halter. The Frenchman gave him an appraising look and Hook felt compelled to nod his head in respectful acknowledgment.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" Sir John said in French.\n\n\"It is necessary,\" Raoul de Gaucourt said harshly.\n\n\"Is it?\" Sir John asked.\n\n\"We must be humiliated so that the rest of France knows what fate waits for them if they resist your king,\" de Gaucourt said. He gave a wan smile then cast an appraising eye over the English army that waited to watch his humiliating walk to the king's throne. \"Though I doubt your king has the power to frighten France any more,\" he went on. \"You call this a victory, Sir John?\" he asked, beckoning at the battered walls he had defended so bravely. Sir John did not answer. Instead he lifted the noose to place it about de Gaucourt's head, but the Frenchman took it from him. \"Allow me,\" he said, and put the rope about his own neck.\n\nThe other Frenchmen had ropes placed about their necks, and then Sir John, satisfied, pulled himself back into Lucifer's saddle. He nodded to de Gaucourt, then spurred his horse along the path made between the watching English soldiers.\n\nThe Frenchmen walked the path in silence. Some, the merchants, were old men, while others, mostly soldiers, were young and strong. They were the knights and burgesses, the men who had defied the King of England, and the nooses about their necks proclaimed that their lives were now at Henry's mercy. They climbed the hillside, then knelt humbly before the throne canopied in cloth of gold. Henry gazed at them a long time. The wind lifted the silk banners and drifted smoke from the city's ruins. The assembled English nobles waited, expecting the king to announce the death sentence on the kneeling men. \"I am the rightful king of this realm,\" Henry said, \"and your resistance was treason.\"\n\nA look of pain showed briefly on de Gaucourt's face. He ignored the accusation of treason and instead held out a thick bunch of heavy keys. \"The keys of Harfleur, sire,\" he said, \"which are yours.\"\n\nThe king did not take the offered keys. \"Your defiance,\" he said sternly, \"was contrary to man's law and to God's law.\" Some of the older merchants were shaking in fear and one had tears running down his face. \"But God,\" Henry went on loftily, \"is merciful.\" He lifted the keys at last, \"and we shall be merciful. Your lives are not forfeit.\"\n\nA cheer sounded from the English army when the cross of Saint George was hoisted over the town. Next day Henry of England walked barefoot to the church of Saint Martin to give thanks to God for a victory, yet many who watched his humble pilgrimage reckoned that his triumph was a virtual defeat. He had wasted so much time before Harfleur's walls and the sickness had torn his army apart, and the campaign season was almost over.\n\nThe English army moved inside the walls. They burned their encampment and dragged catapults and cannon through the ruined gate. Sir John's men quartered themselves in a row of houses, taverns, and warehouses beside the wall-enclosed harbor where Hook found space in the attic of a tavern called Le Paon. \"Le paon is a bird,\" Melisande had explained, \"with a big tail!\" She had spread her arms wide.\n\n\"No bird's got a tail that big!\" Hook said.\n\n\"Le paon does,\" she insisted.\n\n\"Must be a French bird then,\" Hook said, \"not an English one.\"\n\nHarfleur was now English. The cross of Saint George flew from the ruined stump of Saint Martin's tower, and the people of the city, who had suffered so much, were now given more suffering.\n\nThey were expelled. The city, the king declared, would be resettled by English people, just as Calais had been, and to make room for those new inhabitants over two thousand men, women, and children were driven from the city. The sick were taken in carts, the rest walked, and two hundred mounted Englishmen guarded the sad column's progress along the north bank of the Seine. The English soldiers were there to protect the refugees from their own countrymen who would otherwise have robbed and raped. Men-at-arms led the procession and archers flanked it.\n\nHook was one of the archers. He had been reunited with his black gelding, Raker, who was fretful and needed constant curbing. Hook's surcoat was washed clean, though the red cross of Saint George had faded to a dull pink. Beneath the surcoat he wore a coat of good mail that he had taken from a French corpse and an aventail that Sir John had given him, and over the aventail's hood he now had a bascinet that was another gift from a corpse. The bascinet was a helmet with a wide brim designed to deflect a downward blade, though like other archers Hook had hacked off the brim on the right side to make a space for his bow's cord when he drew it to the full. His sword hung at his side, his cased bow was slung across his shoulder, while his arrow bag hung from the saddle's cantle. To his right, beyond the refugees, the narrowing river rippled sun-bright, while to the left were meadows stripped of livestock by English forage parties and, beyond those pastures, gentle wooded hills still heavy in their full summer leaf. Melisande had stayed in Harfleur, but Father Christopher had insisted on accompanying the refugees. He was mounted on Sir John's great destrier, Lucifer. Sir John wanted the horse exercised, and Father Christopher was happy to oblige. \"You shouldn't have come, father,\" Hook told him.\n\n\"You're a doctor of medicine now, Hook?\"\n\n\"You're supposed to rest, father.\"\n\n\"There'll be rest enough in heaven,\" Father Christopher said happily. He was still pale, but he was eating again. He was wearing a priest's robe, something he had done more frequently since his recovery. \"I learned something during that illness,\" the priest said in apparent seriousness.\n\n\"Aye? What was that?\"\n\n\"In heaven, Hook, there will be no shitting.\"\n\nHook laughed. \"But will there be women, father?\"\n\n\"In abundance, young Hook, but what if they're all good women?\"\n\n\"You mean the bad ones will all be in the devil's cellar, father?\"\n\n\"That is a worry,\" Father Christopher said with a smile, \"but I trust God to make suitable arrangements.\" He grinned, happy to be alive and riding under a September sun beside a hedge thick with blackberries. A corncrake's grating cry echoed from the hills. Just after dawn, when the protesting refugees had been forced out of Harfleur, a stag had appeared on the Rouen road resplendent in his new antlers. Hook had taken it as a good omen, but Father Christopher, looking up at the dark branches of a dead elm tree, now found a gloomy one. \"The swallows are gathering early,\" he said.\n\n\"A bad winter then,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It means summer's end, Hook, and with it go our hopes. Like those swallows, we will disappear.\"\n\n\"Back to England?\"\n\n\"And to disappointment,\" the priest said sadly. \"The king has debts to pay, and he can't pay them. If he had carried home a victory then it wouldn't matter.\"\n\n\"We won, father,\" Hook said, \"we captured Harfleur.\"\n\n\"We used a pack of wolfhounds to kill a hare,\" Father Christopher said, \"and out there,\" he nodded eastward, \"there's a much larger pack of hounds gathering.\"\n\nSome of that larger pack appeared at midday. The front of the long column of refugees had stopped in some meadows beside the river and now the tail of the column crowded in behind them. What had checked their progress was a band of enemy horsemen who barred the road where it led through the gate of a walled town. The townsfolk watched from the walls. The enemy had a single banner, a great white flag on which a red and double-headed eagle spread its long talons. The French men-at-arms were dressed for battle, their polished armor gleaming beneath bright surcoats, but few wore helmets and those who did had their visors raised, a clear sign that they expected no fighting. Hook guessed there were a hundred enemy and they were here under an arranged truce to receive the refugees, who were to be taken to Rouen in a fleet of barges that was moored on the river's northern bank. \"Dear God,\" Father Christopher said, staring at the eagle banner, which lifted and fell in the wind that drove ripples across the river. \"That's the marshal,\" Father Christopher explained, making the sign of the cross.\n\n\"The marshal?\"\n\n\"Jean de Maingre, Lord of Boucicault, Marshal of France,\" Father Christopher said the name and titles slowly, his voice betraying admiration for the man who wore the badge of the double-headed eagle.\n\n\"Never heard of him, father,\" Hook said cheerfully.\n\n\"France is ruled by a madman,\" the priest said, \"and the royal dukes are young and headstrong, but our enemies do have the marshal, and the marshal is a man to fear.\"\n\nSir William Porter, Sir John Cornewaille's brother-in-arms, led the English contingent and he now rode bareheaded to greet the marshal who, in turn, spurred his destrier toward Sir William. The Frenchman, who was a big man on a tall horse, towered over the Englishman as the two spoke, and Hook, watching from a distance, thought they laughed together. Then, invited by a gesture from the courtly Sir William, the Marshal of France kicked his horse toward the English troops. He ignored the French civilians and instead rode slowly down the ragged line of men-at-arms and archers.\n\nThe marshal wore no helmet. His hair was dark brown, cut bluntly short and graying at the temples, and it framed a face of such ferocity that Hook was taken aback. It was a square, blunt face, scarred and broken, beaten by battle and by life, but undefeated. A hard face, a man's face, a warrior's face, with keen dark eyes that searched men and horses for clues to their condition. His mouth was set in a grim line, but suddenly smiled when he saw Father Christopher, and in the smile Hook saw a man who might inspire other men to great loyalty and victory. \"A priest on a destrier!\" the marshal said, amused. \"We mount our priests on knackered mares, not on war chargers!\"\n\n\"We English have so many destriers, sire,\" Father Christopher answered, \"that we can spare them for men of God.\"\n\nThe marshal looked appraisingly at Lucifer. \"A good horse,\" he said, \"whose is it?\"\n\n\"Sir John Cornewaille's,\" the priest answered.\n\n\"Ah!\" the marshal was pleased. \"You will give the good Sir John my compliments! Tell him I am glad he has visited France and that I hope he will carry fond memories of it back to England. And that he will carry them very soon.\" The marshal smiled at Father Christopher, then looked at Hook with apparent interest, taking in the archer's weapons and armor, before holding out a steel-gauntleted hand. \"Do me the honor,\" he said, \"and lend me your bow.\"\n\nFather Christopher translated for Hook who had understood anyway, but had not responded because he was not certain quite what he should do. \"Let him have the bow, Hook,\" Father Christopher said, \"and string it first.\"\n\nHook uncased the great stave, placed its lower end in his left stirrup, and looped the noose about the upper nock. He could feel the raw power in the tensed yew stave. It sometimes seemed to him that the wood came alive when he strung the bow. It seemed to quiver in anticipation. The marshal was still holding out his hand and Hook stretched the bow toward him.\n\n\"It is a large bow,\" Boucicault said in very careful English.\n\n\"One of the largest I've seen,\" Father Christopher said, \"and it's carried by a very strong archer.\"\n\nA dozen French men-at-arms had followed the marshal and they watched from a few paces away as he held the stave in his left hand and tentatively pulled on the string with his right. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the effort it took, and he gave Hook an appreciative glance. He looked back to the bow, hesitated, then raised it as though there were an imaginary arrow on the string. He took a breath, then pulled.\n\nEnglish archers watched, half smiling, knowing that only a trained archer could pull such a bow to the full draw. The cord went back halfway and stopped, then Boucicault hauled again and the string kept going back, back until it had reached his mouth, and Hook could see the strain showing on the Frenchman's face, but Boucicault was not finished. He gave a small grimace, pulled again, and the cord went all the way to his right ear, and he held it there at the full draw and looked at Hook with a raised eyebrow.\n\nHook could not help it. He laughed, and suddenly the English archers were cheering the French marshal, whose face showed pure delight as he slowly relaxed his grip and handed the bow back to Hook. Hook, grinning, took the stave and half bowed in his saddle. \"Englishman,\" Boucicault called, \"here!\" he tossed Hook a coin and, still smiling delightedly, rode on down the line of applauding archers.\n\n\"I told you,\" Father Christopher said, smiling, \"he's a man.\"\n\n\"A generous man,\" Hook said, staring at the coin. It was gold, the size of a shilling, and he guessed it was worth a year's wages. He pushed the gold into his pouch, which held spare arrowheads and three spare cords.\n\n\"A good and generous man,\" Father Christopher agreed, \"but not a man to be your enemy.\"\n\n\"Nor am I,\" a voice intruded, and Hook twisted in his saddle to see that one of the men-at-arms who had followed the marshal was the Sire de Lanferelle who now leaned on his saddle's pommel to stare at Hook. He looked down at Hook's missing finger and a suggestion of a smile showed on his face. \"Are you my son-in-law yet?\"\n\n\"No, sire,\" Hook said and named Lanferelle to Father Christopher.\n\nThe Frenchman looked speculatively at the priest. \"You've been ill, father.\"\n\n\"I have,\" Father Christopher agreed.\n\n\"Is this a judgment of God? Did He in His mercy strike your army as a punishment for your king's wickedness?\"\n\n\"Wickedness?\" Father Christopher asked gently.\n\n\"In coming to France,\" Lanferelle said, then straightened in his saddle. His hair was oiled so that it hung sleek, raven black and shining to his waist, which was encircled by a silver-plated sword belt. His face, so strikingly handsome, was even darker after a summer in the sun, making his eyes seem unnaturally bright. \"Yet I hope you stay in France, father.\"\n\n\"Is that an invitation?\"\n\n\"It is!\" Lanferelle smiled, showing very white teeth. \"How many men do you have now?\"\n\n\"We are counted as the grains of sand on the seashore,\" the priest answered blithely, \"and are as numerous as the multitudinous stars of the firmament, and are as many as the biting fleas in a French whore's crotch.\"\n\n\"And just about as dangerous,\" Lanferelle said, unbitten by the priest's defiant words. \"You number what? Fewer than ten thousand now? And I hear your king is sending the sick men home?\"\n\n\"He sends men home,\" Father Christopher said, \"because we have enough to do whatever must be done.\"\n\nHook wondered how Lanferelle knew that the sick were being sent home, then supposed that French spies must be watching Harfleur from the surrounding hills and would have seen the litters being carried onto the English ships that could at last come right into the walled harbor.\n\n\"And your king brings in reinforcements,\" Lanferelle said, \"but how many of his men must he leave in Harfleur to protect its broken walls? A thousand?\" He smiled again. \"It is such a little army, father.\"\n\n\"But at least it fights,\" Father Christopher said, \"whereas your army slumbers in Rouen.\"\n\n\"But our army,\" Lanferelle said, his voice suddenly harsh, truly does number as the fleas in a Parisian whore's crotch.\" He gathered his reins. \"I do hope you stay, father, and come to where the fleas can feed on English blood.\" He nodded to Hook. \"Give Melisande my compliments. And give her something else.\" He turned in his saddle. \"Jean! Venez!\" The same dull-faced squire who had gazed at Melisande in the woods above Harfleur spurred to his master and, on Lanferelle's orders, fumbled his jupon over his head. The Sire de Lanferelle took the gaudy garment with its bright sun and proud falcon and folded it into a square that he threw at Hook. \"If it comes to a battle,\" he said, \"tell Melisande to wear that. It might be sufficient to protect her. I would regret her death. Good day to you both.\" And with that he rode on after the marshal.\n\nClouds gathered the next day, piling above the sea and slowly drifting to make a pall over Harfleur. The archers were busy making temporary repairs to the breached walls, building timber palisades that must serve as a defense until masons came from England to remake the ramparts properly. Men were still falling ill and the battered streets stank of sewage that oozed into the River L\u00e9zarde that once again ran free through a stone channel bisecting the town, and thence into the tight harbor that smelled like a cesspit.\n\nThe king sent a challenge to the dauphin, offering to fight him face-to-face and the winner would inherit the crown of France from the mad King Charles. \"He won't accept,\" Sir John Cornewaille said. Sir John had come to watch the archers pound stakes into the ground to support the new palisade. \"The dauphin's a fat, lazy bastard, and our Henry is a warrior. It would be like a wolf fighting a piglet.\"\n\n\"And if the dauphin doesn't agree to fight, Sir John?\" Thomas Evelgold asked.\n\n\"We'll go home, I suppose,\" Sir John said unhappily. That was the opinion throughout the army. The days were shortening and becoming colder, and soon the autumn rains would arrive and that would mean the end of the campaign season. And even if Henry had wanted to continue the campaign his army was too small and the French army was too big, and sensible men, experienced men, declared that only a fool would dare defy those odds. \"If we had another six or seven thousand men,\" Sir John said, \"I dare say we could bloody their goddam noses, but we won't. We'll leave a garrison to hold this shit-hole and the rest of us will sail home.\"\n\nReinforcements still arrived, but they were not many, not nearly enough to make up the numbers who had died or who were sick, but the boats brought them into the stinking harbor and the uncertain newcomers came down the gangplanks to stare wide-eyed at the broken roofs and the shattered churches and the scorched rubble. \"Most of us will be going home soon,\" Sir John told his men, \"and the newcomers can defend Harfleur.\" He spoke sourly. The capture of Harfleur was not enough to compensate for the money spent and the lives lost. Sir John wanted more, as rumor said the king did, but every other great lord, the royal dukes, the earls, the bishops, the captains, all advised the king to go home.\n\n\"There's no choice,\" Thomas Evelgold told Hook one evening. The great lords were at a council of war, meeting the king in an attempt to beat sense into his ambitious head, and the army waited on the council's decision. It was a beautiful evening, a sinking sun casting shadows long over the harbor. Hook and Evelgold were sitting at a table outside Le Paon, drinking ale that had been brought from England because the breweries of Harfleur had all been destroyed. \"We have to go home,\" Evelgold said, evidently thinking of the heated discussion that was doubtless being waged in the guild hall beside Saint Martin's church.\n\n\"Maybe we stay as part of the garrison?\" Hook suggested.\n\n\"Christ, no!\" Evelgold said harshly, then crossed himself. \"That goddam great army of the French? They'll take this town back with no trouble! They'll beat down our palisades in three days, then kill every man here.\"\n\nHook said nothing. He was watching the harbor's narrow entrance where an arriving ship was being propelled by huge sweeps because the wind had fallen to a whisper. Gulls wheeled above the ship's single mast and over her high, richly gilded castles. \"The Holy Ghost,\" Evelgold said, nodding at the ship.\n\nThe Holy Ghost was a new ship, built with the king's money to support his invading army, but now she was chiefly employed in taking diseased men home to England. She crept closer and closer to the quay. Hook could see men on her deck, but they were not nearly as many as the ship had brought on her previous voyage and he guessed these might be the last reinforcements to arrive.\n\n\"Fifteen hundred ships brought us here,\" Evelgold said, \"but we won't need that many to take us home.\" He laughed bitterly. \"What a waste of a goddamned summer.\" The sun glinted reflections from the gilding on the Holy Ghost's two castles. The passengers on board stared at the shore. \"Welcome to Normandy,\" Evelgold said. \"Will your woman go back to England?\"\n\n\"She will.\"\n\n\"Thought you were getting married?\"\n\n\"I think we are.\"\n\n\"Do it in England, Hook.\"\n\n\"Why England?\"\n\n\"Because it's God's country, not like this goddam place.\"\n\nCentenars and men-at-arms had come to the quay to discover if any of the newcomers belonged to their companies. Lord Slayton's centenar, William Snoball, was one of them, and he greeted Hook civilly. \"I'm surprised to see you here, Master Snoball,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Who's stewarding while you're here?\"\n\n\"John Willetts. He can manage well enough without me. And his lordship wanted me to come.\"\n\n\"Because you've got experience,\" Evelgold put in.\n\n\"Aye there's that,\" Snoball agreed, \"and his lordship wanted me to keep an eye on,\" he hesitated, \"well, you know.\"\n\n\"Sir Martin?\" Hook asked. \"And why in God's name did he send him?\"\n\n\"Why do you think?\" Snoball answered harshly.\n\nHook mimed drawing a knife across his throat. \"Is that what he hopes?\"\n\n\"He hopes Sir Martin will minister to our souls,\" Snoball said distantly and then, perhaps thinking he had betrayed too much, walked some distance down the wharf.\n\nHook watched the Holy Ghost creep closer. \"Are we expecting any new men?\" he asked.\n\n\"None that I know of, Sir John hasn't said anything.\"\n\n\"He's not happy,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Because he's crazy, moon-touched. Daft as a hare.\" Thomas Evelgold brooded for a moment. \"He wants to march into France! Man's daft! He wants us all dead! But it's all right for him, isn't it?\"\n\n\"All right?\"\n\n\"He won't be killed, will he? What happens if we march into France to find a battle? The gentry don't get killed, Hook, they get taken prisoner! But no one will ransom you and me. We get slaughtered, Hook, while their lordships go off to some comfortable castle and get fed and given whores. Sir John don't care. He just wants a fight! But he knows he'll like as not live through a battle. He should give a thought to us.\" Evelgold drained his ale. \"Still, won't happen. We'll all be home by Saint Martin's feast day.\"\n\n\"The king wants to march,\" Hook said.\n\n\"The king can count as well as you and me,\" Evelgold said dismissively, \"and he won't march.\"\n\nLines were hurled from the Holy Ghost to be caught by men ashore, and slowly, laboriously, the great ship was hauled in to the quay. Gangplanks were lowered and then the newcomers, looking unnaturally clean, were chivvied ashore. There were around sixty archers, all carrying cased bows, arrow bags, and bundles. The red crosses of Saint George on their jupons looked very bright. A priest came down the nearer gangplank, fell to his knees on the wharf, and made the sign of the cross. Behind him were four archers wearing the Slayton moon and stars and one of them had springy gold hair sticking wildly from beneath his helmet's brim. For a heartbeat Hook did not believe what he saw, then he stood and shouted. \"Michael! Michael!\"\n\nIt was his younger brother. Michael saw him and grinned. \"My brother,\" Hook explained to Evelgold, then strode to meet Michael. They embraced. \"My God, it is you,\" Hook said.\n\nWilliam Snoball called Michael's name, but Hook turned on the steward. \"He'll come when he's ready, Master Snoball. Where are you quartered?\"\n\nSnoball grudgingly told him and Hook promised to bring his brother, then took Michael to the table and poured a pot of ale. Thomas Evelgold left them alone. \"What in God's name are you doing here?\" Hook demanded.\n\n\"Lord Slayton sent his last archers,\" Michael said, grinning, \"he reckoned you all needed help. I didn't even know you were here!\"\n\nThen there was a catching up of news. Hook said that Robert Perrill had been killed in the siege, though he did not say how, and Michael told how their grandmother had died, a fact that did not trouble Hook in the least. \"She was a bitter old bitch,\" he said.\n\n\"She looked after us, though,\" Michael said.\n\n\"She looked after you, not me.\"\n\nThen Melisande came from the tavern and she was introduced, and Hook felt a sudden, wild and unfamiliar happiness. The two people he loved most were with him, and he had money in his pockets, and all seemed well with the world. The campaign in France might be over, and over before it had gained any great victory, but he was still happy. \"I'll ask Sir John if you can join us,\" he told Michael.\n\n\"I don't think Lord Slayton will allow that,\" Michael said.\n\n\"Aye, well, we can only ask.\"\n\n\"So what's going to happen here?\" Michael wanted to know.\n\n\"I reckon some poor bastards will be left here to defend this town,\" Hook said, \"and the rest of us will go home.\"\n\n\"Go home?\" Michael frowned. \"But we just got here!\"\n\n\"That's what folk are saying. The lords are trying to make the decision now, but it's too late in the year to go marching inland and, besides, the French army's too big. We'll be going home.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" Michael said. He grinned. \"I didn't come this far to go home again. I want to fight.\"\n\n\"No, you don't,\" Hook said, and surprised himself by saying it. Melisande was also surprised, looking at him curiously.\n\n\"I don't?\"\n\n\"It's blood,\" Hook said, \"and men crying for their mothers, and too much screaming, and pain and bastards in metal trying to kill you.\"\n\nMichael was taken aback. \"They say we just shoot arrows at them,\" he said falteringly.\n\n\"Aye, you do, but in the end, brother, you have to get close. Close enough to see their eyes. Close enough to kill them.\"\n\n\"And Nicholas is good at that,\" Melisande said flatly.\n\n\"Not every man is,\" Hook said, suspecting that Michael, with his generous and trusting nature, lacked the ruthlessness to get close and commit slaughter.\n\n\"Maybe just one battle,\" Michael said wistfully, \"not a very big one.\"\n\nHook took Michael through the town at sundown. Lord Slayton's men had found houses close to the Montivilliers Gate and Hook led his brother there and so into the yard of a merchant's house where the archers were quartered. His old companions went silent as the Hook brothers appeared. There was no sign of Sir Martin, but Tom Perrill, dark and brooding, was sitting against a wall, and he stared expressionless at the two Hooks. William Snoball sensed trouble and stood up.\n\n\"Michael's joining you,\" Hook announced loudly, \"and Sir John Cornewaille wants you to know that my brother is under his protection.\" Sir John had said no such thing, but none of Lord Slayton's men would know that.\n\nTom Perrill gave a mocking laugh, but said nothing. William Snoball confronted Hook. \"There'll be no trouble,\" he agreed.\n\n\"There will indeed be no trouble!\" A voice echoed the statement and Hook turned to see Sir Edward Derwent, Lord Slayton's captain who had been captured in the mine, standing in the courtyard entrance. Sir Edward had been freed when the town surrendered, and Hook reckoned he must have been at the council of war because he was dressed in his finest clothes. Sir Edward now strode to the courtyard's center. \"There will be no trouble!\" he said again. \"None of you will fight each other, because your job is to fight the French!\"\n\n\"I thought we were going home,\" Snoball said, puzzled.\n\n\"Well, you're not,\" Sir Edward said. \"The king wants more, and what the king wants, he gets.\"\n\n\"We're staying here?\" Hook asked, incredulous. \"In Harfleur?\"\n\n\"No, Hook,\" Sir Edward said, \"we're marching.\" He sounded grim, as though he disapproved of the decision. But Henry was king and, as Sir Edward had said, what the king wanted the king got.\n\nAnd what Henry wanted was more war.\n\nAnd so the army would march into France."
            },
            {
                "title": "To the River of Swords",
                "text": "There were to be no heavy wagons taken on the march. Instead the baggage would be carried by men, packhorses, and light carts. \"We have to travel fast,\" Sir John explained.\n\n\"It's pride,\" Father Christopher told Hook later, \"nothing but pride.\"\n\n\"Pride?\"\n\n\"The king can't just crawl back to England with nothing but Harfleur to show for his money! He has to do more than merely kick the French dog, he feels a need to pull its tail as well.\"\n\nThe French dog did appear to be sleeping. Reports said the enemy army grew ever larger, but it showed no sign of stirring from around Rouen, and so the King of England had decided he would show Christendom that he could march from Harfleur to Calais with impunity. \"It isn't that far,\" Sir John told his men, \"maybe a week's march.\"\n\n\"And what do we gain from a week's march through France?\" Hook asked Father Christopher.\n\n\"Nothing,\" the priest said bluntly.\n\n\"So why do it?\"\n\n\"To show that we can. To show that the French are helpless.\"\n\n\"And we travel without the big wagons?\"\n\nFather Christopher grinned. \"We don't want the helpless French to catch us, do we? That would be a disaster, young Hook! So we can't take two hundred heavy wains with us, that would slow us down far too much, so it will be horses, spurs and the devil take the hindmost.\"\n\n\"This is important!\" Sir John had told his men. He had stormed into the Paon's taproom and hammered one of the barrels with the hilt of his sword. \"Are you awake? Are you listening? You take food for eight days! And all the arrows you can carry! You take weapons, armor, arrows, and food, and nothing else! If I see any man carrying anything other than weapons, armor, arrows, and food I'll shove that useless baggage down his goddam gullet and pull it out of his goddam arse! We have to travel fast!\"\n\n\"It all happened before,\" Father Christopher told Hook next morning.\n\n\"Before?\"\n\n\"You don't know your history, Hook?\"\n\n\"I know my grandfather was murdered, and my father too.\"\n\n\"I do so love a happy family,\" the priest said, \"but think back to your great-grandfather's time, when Edward was king. The third Edward. He was here in Normandy and decided to make a quick march to Calais, only he got trapped halfway.\"\n\n\"And died?\"\n\n\"Oh, good God, no, he beat the French! You've surely heard of Cr\u00e9cy?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've heard of Cr\u00e9cy!\" Hook said. Every archer knew of Cr\u00e9cy, the battle where the bowmen of England had cut down the nobility of France.\n\n\"So you know it was a glorious battle, Hook, in which God favored the English, but God's favor is a fickle thing.\"\n\n\"Are you telling me He's not on our side?\"\n\n\"I'm telling you that God is on the side of whoever wins, Hook.\"\n\nHook considered that for a moment. He was sharpening arrowheads, slithering the bodkins and broadheads against a stone. He thought of all the tales he had heard as a child when old men had spoken of the arrow-storms of Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers, then flourished a bodkin at Father Christopher. \"If we meet the French,\" he said stoutly, \"we'll win. We'll punch these through their armor, father.\"\n\n\"I have a grievous suspicion that the king agrees with you,\" the priest said gently. \"He really does believe God is on his side, but his brother evidently does not.\"\n\n\"Which brother?\" Hook asked. The Duke of Clarence and the Duke of Gloucester were both with the army.\n\n\"Clarence,\" Father Christopher said. \"He's sailing home.\"\n\nHook frowned at that news. The duke, according to some men, was an even better soldier than his older brother. Hook inspected a bodkin. Most of the long narrow head was dark with rust, but the point was now shining metal and wickedly sharp. He tested it by pricking the ball of his hand, then wet his fingers and smoothed out the fledging. \"Why's he going?\"\n\n\"I suspect he disapproves of his brother's decision,\" Father Christopher said blandly. \"Officially, of course, the duke is ill, but he looked remarkably well for an ailing man. And, of course, if Henry is killed, God forbid, Clarence will become King Thomas.\"\n\n\"Our Harry won't die,\" Hook said fiercely.\n\n\"He very well might if the French catch us,\" the priest said tartly, \"but even our Henry has listened to advice. He was told to go home, he wanted to march to Paris, but he's settled for Calais instead. And with God's help, Hook, we should reach Calais long before the French can reach us.\"\n\n\"You make it sound as if we're running away.\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" the priest said, \"but almost. Think of your lovely Melisande.\"\n\nHook frowned, puzzled. \"Melisande?\"\n\n\"The French are gathered at her bellybutton, Hook, and we are perched on her right nipple. What we plan to do is run to her left nipple and hope to God the French don't make it to her cleavage before us.\"\n\n\"And if they do?\"\n\n\"Then the cleavage will become the valley of the shadow of death,\" Father Christopher said, \"so pray that we march fast and that the French go on sleeping.\"\n\n\"You can't be fussy!\" Sir John had told his archers in the taproom. \"We can't pack arrows in barrels, we don't have the carts to carry barrels! And you can't use discs! So bundle them, bundle them tight!\"\n\nBundled arrows suffered from crushed fledgings, and crushed fledgings made arrows inaccurate, but there was no choice but to bind the arrows in tight sheaves that could be hung from a saddle or across a packhorse's back. It took two days to tie the sheaves, for the king was demanding that every available arrow be carried on the journey and that meant carrying hundreds of thousands of arrows. As many as possible were heaped on the light farm carts that would accompany the army, but there were not enough such vehicles, so even men-at-arms were ordered to tie the bundles behind their saddles. There were just five thousand archers marching to Calais and in one minute those men were capable of shooting sixty or seventy thousand arrows, and no battle was ever won in a minute. \"If we take every arrow we've got, there still won't be enough,\" Thomas Evelgold grumbled, \"and then we'll be throwing rocks at the bastards.\"\n\nA garrison was left at Harfleur. It was a strong force of over three hundred men-at-arms and almost a thousand archers, though it was short of horses because the king demanded that the garrison give up every beast except the knights' war-trained destriers. The horses were needed to carry arrows. The new defenders of Harfleur were left perilously short of arrows themselves, but new ones were expected to arrive any day from England where foresters cut ash shafts, blacksmiths forged bodkins and broadheads, and fledgers bound on the goose feathers.\n\n\"We will march swiftly!\" a priest with a booming voice shouted. It was the day before the army marched and the priest was visiting every street in Harfleur with a parchment on which the king's orders had been written. The priest's job was to make certain every man understood the king's commands. \"There will be no straggling! Above all, the property of the church is sacred! Any man who plunders church property will be hanged! God is with us, and we march to show that by His grace we are the masters of France!\"\n\n\"You heard him!\" Sir John shouted as the priest walked on. \"Keep your thieving hands off church property! Don't rape nuns! God doesn't like it, and nor do I!\"\n\nThat night, in the church of Saint Martin, Father Christopher made Hook and Melisande man and wife. Melisande cried and Hook, as he knelt and gazed at the candles guttering on the altar, wished Saint Crispinian would speak to him, but the saint said nothing. He wished he had thought to summon his brother to the church, but there had been no opportunity. Father Christopher had simply insisted that it was time Hook made Melisande his wife and so had taken them to the broken-spired church. \"God be with you,\" the priest said when the brief ceremony was done.\n\n\"He has been,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"Then pray that He stays with you, because we need God's help now.\" The priest turned and bowed to the altar. \"By God we need it,\" he added ominously, \"the Burgundians have marched.\"\n\n\"To help us?\" Hook asked. It seemed so long ago that he had worn the ragged red cross of Burgundy and watched as the troops of France had massacred a city.\n\n\"No,\" Father Christopher said, \"to help France.\"\n\n\"But\u2026\" Hook began, then his voice trailed away.\n\n\"They have made up their family quarrel,\" Father Christopher said, \"and so turned against us.\"\n\n\"And we're still going to march?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"The king insists,\" Father Christopher said bleakly. \"We are a small army at the edge of a great land,\" he went on, \"but at least you two are joined now for all time. Even death cannot separate you.\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God,\" Melisande said, and made the sign of the cross.\n\nNext day, the eighth day of October, a Tuesday, the feast day of Saint Benedicta, under a clear sky, the army marched.\n\nThey went north, following the coastline, and Hook felt the army's spirits rise as they rode away from the smell of shit and death. Men grinned for no apparent reason, friends teased each other cheerfully, and some put spurs to horses and just galloped for the sheer joy of being in open country again.\n\nSir John Cornewaille commanded the army's vanguard, and his own men were in the van of the van and so rode at the very front of the column. Sir John's banner flew between the cross of Saint George and the flag of the Holy Trinity, the three standards guarded by Sir John's men-at-arms and followed by four mounted drummers who beat incessantly. The archers rode ahead, scouting the path, and watching for an enemy whose first appearance was an ambush, though none of Sir John's men was involved. The French had waited until the well-armed and vigilant vanguard had gone by, then had sallied from Montivilliers, a walled town close to the road. Crossbowmen shot from the woods and a group of men-at-arms charged the column and there was a flurry of fighting before the attackers, who numbered fewer than fifty men, were beaten off, though not before they had managed to take a half-dozen prisoners and leave two English dead.\n\nThat skirmish occurred on the first day, but thereafter the French seemed to fall back into sleep and so the English men-at-arms rode unarmored, their mail and plate carried by the sumpter horses. The riders' different colored jerkins gave the mounted column a holiday appearance, enhanced by the banners flying at the head of every contingent. The women, pages and, servants rode behind the men-at-arms, leading packhorses loaded with armor, food, and the great bundles of arrows. Sir John's company had two light carts, one loaded with food and plate armor, the other heaped with arrows. When Hook turned in his saddle he saw a filmy cloud of dust pluming over the low hills and heavy woods. The dust marked the trail of England's army as it twisted through the small valleys leading toward the River Somme, and to Hook it appeared to be a large army, but in truth it was a defiant band of fewer than ten thousand men, and only looked larger because there were over twenty thousand horses.\n\nOn the Sunday they dropped out of the small, tight hills into a more open and flatter countryside. Sir John had suggested that this was the day they should reach the Somme, and had added that the Somme was the only major obstacle on their journey. Cross that river and they would have a mere three days' marching to Calais. \"So there won't be a battle?\" Michael Hook asked his brother. Lord Slayton's men were also in the vanguard, though Sir Martin and Thomas Perrill stayed well clear of Sir John and his men.\n\n\"They say no,\" Hook said, \"but who knows?\"\n\n\"The French won't stop us?\"\n\n\"They don't seem to be trying, do they?\" Hook said, nodding at the empty country ahead. He and the rest of Sir John's archers were a half-mile in front of the column, leading the way to the river. \"Maybe the French are happy to see us go?\" he suggested. \"They're just leaving us be, perhaps?\"\n\n\"You've been to Calais,\" Michael said, impressed that his elder brother had traveled so far and seen so much since last they were together.\n\n\"Strange little town, it is,\" Hook said, \"a vast wall and a great castle and a huddle of houses. But it's the way home, Michael, the way home!\"\n\n\"I just got here,\" Michael said ruefully.\n\n\"Maybe we'll come back next year,\" Hook said, \"and finish the job. Look!\" He pointed far ahead to where, in the smudges of brown, golden and yellow leaves, a sheen of light glittered. \"That might be the river.\"\n\n\"Or a lake,\" Michael suggested.\n\n\"We're looking for a place called Blanchetaque,\" Hook said.\n\n\"They have the funniest names,\" Michael said, grinning.\n\n\"There's a ford at Blanchetaque,\" Hook said. \"We cross that and we're as good as home.\"\n\nHe turned as hooves sounded loud behind and saw Sir John and a half-dozen men-at-arms galloping toward him. Sir John, bareheaded and wearing mail, slowed Lucifer. He was looking off to the left where the sea showed beyond a low ridge. \"See that, Hook?\" he asked cheerfully.\n\n\"Sir John?\"\n\nSir John pointed to a tiny white lump on the sea's horizon. \"Gris-Nez! The Gray Nose, Hook.\"\n\n\"What's that, Sir John?\"\n\n\"A headland, Hook, just a half-day's ride from Calais! See how close we are?\"\n\n\"Three days' ride?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Two days on a horse like Lucifer,\" Sir John said, smoothing the destrier's mane. He turned to look at the nearer countryside. \"Is that the river?\"\n\n\"I think so, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Then Blanchetaque can't be far! That's where the third Edward crossed the Somme on his way to Cr\u00e9cy! Maybe your great-grandfather was with him, Hook.\"\n\n\"He was a shepherd, Sir John, never drew a bow in his life.\"\n\n\"He used a sling,\" Michael said, sounding nervous because he spoke to Sir John.\n\n\"Like David and Goliath, eh?\" Sir John said, still gazing at the distant headland. \"I hear you got church married, Hook!\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Women do like that,\" Sir John said, sounding gloomy, \"and we like women!\" He cheered up. \"She's a good girl, Hook.\" He stared at the land ahead. \"Not a goddam Frenchman in sight.\"\n\n\"There's a horseman down there,\" Michael said very diffidently.\n\n\"There's a what?\" Sir John snapped.\n\n\"Down there,\" Michael said, pointing to a stand of trees a mile ahead, \"a horseman, sir.\"\n\nSir John stared and saw nothing, but Hook could now see the man who was motionless on his horse in the deep shade of the full-leafed wood. \"He's there, Sir John,\" Hook confirmed.\n\n\"Bastard's watching us. Can you flush him out, Hook? He might know whether the goddam French are guarding the ford. Don't chase him away, I want him driven to us.\"\n\nHook looked at the land to his right, searching for the dead ground that would let him circle behind the horseman unseen. \"I reckon so, Sir John,\" he said.\n\n\"Do it, man.\"\n\nHook took his brother, Scoyle the Londoner, and Tom Scarlet, and he rode away from the half-hidden horseman, going back toward the approaching army and then down a slight incline that took him from the man's sight. After that he turned east off the road and kicked Raker's flanks to gallop across a stretch of grassland. They were still hidden from their quarry. Ahead of the four horsemen were copses and thickets. The fields here had no hedges, only ditches, and the horses jumped them easily. The land was nearly flat, but had just enough swell and dip to hide the four archers as Hook turned north again. Off to his right a man was plowing a field. His two oxen were struggling to drag the big plow that was set low because winter wheat was always sown deeper. \"He needs some rain!\" Michael shouted.\n\n\"It would help!\" Hook answered.\n\nThe horses thumped up an almost imperceptible rise and the landscape that Hook had held in his head revealed itself. He did not turn to the wood where the horseman was hidden, but kept going northward to cut the man off from the Somme. Perhaps the man had already ridden away? In all likelihood he was simply some local gentleman who wanted to watch the enemy pass, but the gentry knew more of what happened in their neighboring regions than the peasantry and that was why Sir John wanted to question the man.\n\nRaker was tiring, blowing and fractious, and Hook curbed the horse. \"Bows,\" he said, uncasing his own and stringing it by supporting one end in his bucket stirrup.\n\n\"Thought we weren't supposed to kill him,\" Tom Scarlet said.\n\n\"If the bastard's a gentleman,\" Hook said, and he supposed the man was because he was mounted on horseback, \"then he'll be sword trained. If you come at him with a blade he'll like as not slash your head off. But he won't like facing an arrow, will he?\" He locked an arrow on the stave with his left thumb.\n\nHe patted Raker's neck, then kicked the horse forward again. Now they were coming at the wood from the road's far side. He could see that Sir John had stayed on the slight crest, not wanting to spring the man out of his hiding place, but the lone Frenchman had scented trouble, or else he had simply watched for the approaching English long enough, because he suddenly broke cover and spurred his horse north toward the river. \"God damn him,\" Hook said.\n\nSir John saw the man ride away and immediately spurred forward with his men-at-arms, but the English horses were tired and the Frenchman's mount was well rested. \"They've no chance of catching him,\" Scoyle said.\n\nHook ignored that pessimism. Instead he turned Raker and banged his heels back. The Frenchman was following the road that curved to the right and Hook could gallop across the chord of that curve. He knew he could not out-gallop the man and so stood no chance of catching him, but he did have a chance of getting close enough to use the bow. The man turned in his saddle and saw Hook and his men and slashed his spurs back, and Hook kicked as well and the hooves hammered the hard ground and Hook saw that the fugitive would be hidden by trees in a moment and so he hauled on Raker's reins, pulled his feet from the stirrups, and threw himself out of the saddle. He stumbled, fell to one knee, and the bow was already rising in his left hand and he caught the string, nocked the arrow and pulled back.\n\n\"Too far,\" Scoyle said, reining in his horse, \"don't waste a good arrow.\"\n\n\"Much too far,\" Michael agreed.\n\nBut the bow was huge and Hook did not think about his aim. He just watched the distant horseman, willed where he wanted the arrow to go, then hauled and released and the cord twanged and slashed against his unprotected wrist and the arrow fluttered a heartbeat before its fledging caught the air and tautened its flight.\n\n\"Tuppence says you'll miss by twenty paces,\" Tom Scarlet said.\n\nThe arrow drew its curve in the sky, its white fledging a diminishing flicker in the autumn light. The far horseman galloped, unaware of the broadhead that flew high before starting its hissing descent. It fell fast, plunging, losing its momentum, and the horseman turned again to watch for his pursuers and as he did so the barbed arrow slapped into his horse's belly and sliced into blood and flesh. The horse twisted hard and sudden with the awful pain and Hook saw the man lose his balance and fall from the saddle.\n\n\"Sweet Jesu!\" Michael said in pure admiration.\n\n\"Come on!\" Hook gathered Raker's reins and hauled himself into the saddle and kicked back before he had found the stirrups and for a moment he thought he would fall off himself, but he managed to thrust his right boot into the bucket and saw the Frenchman was remounting his horse. Hook had wounded the horse, not killed it, but the animal was bleeding because the broadhead was designed to rip and tear through flesh, and the harder the Frenchman rode the beast the more blood it would lose.\n\nThe horseman spurred his wounded mount to vanish among the trees and a moment later Hook was on the road and among the same trees and he saw the Frenchman was a hundred paces ahead and his horse was faltering, leaving a trail of blood. The man saw his pursuers and slid out of his saddle because his horse could go no farther. He turned to run into the woods and Hook shouted, \"Non!\"\n\nHe let Raker slow to a stop. Hook's bow was drawn and there was another arrow on the string, and this arrow was aimed at the horseman who gave a resigned nod. He wore a sword, but no armor. His clothes, as Hook drew nearer, looked to be of fine quality; good broadcloth and a tight-woven linen shirt and expensive boots. He was a fine-looking man, perhaps thirty years old, with a wide face and a trimmed beard and pale green eyes that were fixed on the arrow's head. \"Just stay where you are,\" Hook said. The man might not speak English, but he understood the message of the tensioned bow and its bodkin arrow, and so he obeyed, caressing the nose of his dying horse. The horse gave a pathetic whinny, then its forelegs crumpled and it fell onto the track. The man crouched and stroked, speaking softly to the dying beast.\n\n\"You almost let him get away, Hook!\" Sir John shouted as he arrived.\n\n\"Nearly, Sir John.\"\n\n\"So let's see what the bastard knows,\" Sir John said, and slid out of his saddle. \"Someone kill that poor horse!\" he demanded. \"Put the animal out of its misery!\"\n\nThe job was done with a poleax blow to the horse's forehead, then Sir John talked with the prisoner. He treated the man with an exquisite politeness, and the Frenchman, in turn, was loquacious, but there was no denying that whatever he revealed was causing Sir John dismay. \"I want a horse for Sir Jules,\" Sir John turned on the archers with that demand. \"He's going to meet the king.\"\n\nSir Jules was taken to the king and the army stopped.\n\nThe vanguard was only five miles from the ford at Blanchetaque, and Calais was just three days' march north of that ford. In three days' time, eight days after they had left Harfleur, the army should have marched through the gates of Calais and Henry would have been able to claim, if not a victory, at least a humiliation of the French. But that humiliation depended on crossing the wide tidal ford of Blanchetaque.\n\nAnd the French were already there. Charles d'Albret, the Constable of France, was on the Somme's northern bank, and the prisoner, who was in the constable's service, described how the ford had been planted with sharpened stakes, and how six thousand men were waiting on the further bank to stop the English crossing.\n\n\"It can't be done,\" Sir John said bleakly that evening. \"The bastards are there.\"\n\nThe bastards had blocked the river and, as night fell, the clouded sky reflected the campfires of the French force that guarded the Blanchetaque ford. \"The ford's only crossable when the tide's low,\" Sir John explained, \"and even then we can only advance twenty men abreast. And twenty men can't fight off six thousand.\"\n\nNo one spoke for a while, then Father Christopher asked the question that every man in Sir John's company wanted to ask even though they dreaded the answer. \"So what do we do, Sir John?\"\n\n\"Find another ford, of course.\"\n\n\"Where, pray?\"\n\n\"Inland,\" Sir John said grimly.\n\n\"We march toward the belly button,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"We do what?\" Sir John asked, staring as though the priest were mad.\n\n\"Nothing, Sir John, nothing!\" Father Christopher said.\n\nSo now England's army, with only enough food for three more days, must march deep into France to cross a river. And if they could not cross the river they would die, and if they did cross the river they might still die because going inland would take time, and time would give the French army the opportunity to wake from its slumber and march. The dash up the coast had failed and now Henry and his little army must plunge into France.\n\nAnd next morning, under a heavy gray sky, they headed east.\n\nHope had sustained the army, but now despair crept in. Disease returned. Men were forever dismounting, running to one side and dropping their breeches so that the rearguard rode through the stink of shit. Men rode silently and sullenly. Rain came in bands from the ocean, sweeping inland, leaving the column wet and dripping.\n\nEvery ford across the Somme was staked and guarded. The bridges had been destroyed, and a French army now shadowed the English. It was not the main army, not the great assembly of men-at-arms and crossbowmen that had gathered in Rouen, but a smaller force that was more than adequate to block any attempted crossing of a barricaded ford. They were in sight every day, men-at-arms and crossbowmen, all of them mounted, riding along the river's northern bank to keep pace with the English on the southern. More than once Sir John led archers and men-at-arms in a headlong gallop to try and seize a ford before the French reached it, but the French were always waiting. They had put garrisons at every crossing.\n\nFood became scarce, though the small unwalled towns grudgingly yielded baskets of bread, cheese, and smoked fish rather than be attacked and burned. And each day the army became hungrier and marched deeper into enemy country.\n\n\"Why don't we just go back to Harfleur?\" Thomas Evelgold grumbled.\n\n\"Because that would be running away,\" Hook said.\n\n\"That's better than dying,\" Evelgold said.\n\nThere were also enemies on the English side of the river. French men-at-arms watched the passing column from low hilltops to the south. They were usually in small bands, perhaps six or seven men, and if a force of English knights rode toward them they would invariably draw away, though once in a while an enemy might raise his lance as a signal that he was offering single combat. Then, perhaps, an Englishman would respond and the two men would gallop together, there would be a clatter of iron-shod lances on armor and one man would topple slowly from his horse. Once two men skewered each other and both died, each impaled on his enemy's lance. Sometimes a band of French would charge together, as many as forty or fifty men-at-arms, attacking a weak point in the marching column to kill a few men before galloping away.\n\nOther Frenchmen were busy ahead of the column, taking away the harvest to leave nothing for the invaders. The food, collected from barns and granaries, was taken to Amiens, a city the English skirted on the day they should have arrived in Calais. The bags that had held food were now empty. Hook, riding in a thin drizzle, had stared at the distant white vision of Amiens Cathedral towering above the city and he had thought of all the food inside the walls. He was hungry. They were all hungry.\n\nNext day they camped near a castle that stood atop a white chalk cliff. Sir John's men-at-arms had captured a pair of enemy knights who had strayed too close to the vanguard and the prisoners had boasted how the French would defeat Henry's small army. They had even repeated the boasts to Henry himself, and Sir John brought his archers orders from the king. He stood amidst their campfires. \"Tomorrow morning,\" he said, \"every man is to cut a stake as long as a bowstave. Longer if you can! Cut a stake as thick as your arm and sharpen both ends.\"\n\nRain hissed in the fire. Hook's archers had eaten poorly on a hare that Tom Scarlet had killed with an arrow and that Melisande had roasted over the fire, which was surrounded by flat stones on which she had made flat cakes from a mix of oats and acorns. They had a few nuts and some hard green apples. There was no ale left, no wine either, so they took water from a stream. Melisande was now swathed in Hook's enormous mail coat and huddled beside him.\n\n\"Stakes?\" Thomas Evelgold inquired cautiously.\n\n\"The French, may they rot in hell,\" Sir John said as he walked closer to the biggest fire, \"have decided how to beat you. You! The archers! They fear you! Are you all listening to me?\"\n\nThe archers watched him in silence. Sir John was wearing a leather hat and a thick leather coat. Rainwater dripped from the brim and hems. He carried a shortened lance, one cut down so that a man-at-arms could use it on foot. \"We're listening, Sir John,\" Evelgold growled.\n\n\"Instructions have been sent from Rouen!\" Sir John announced. \"The Marshal of France has a plan! And the plan is to kill you, the archers, first, then kill the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Take the gentry prisoner, you mean,\" Evelgold said, but too quietly for Sir John to hear.\n\n\"They're assembling knights on well-armored horses,\" Sir John said, \"and the riders will have the best armor they can find! Milanese armor! And you all know about Milanese armor.\"\n\nHook knew that the armor made in Milan, wherever that was, had the reputation of being the best in Christendom. It was said that Milanese plate would resist the heaviest bodkin, but luckily such armor was rare because it was so expensive. Hook had been told that a complete suit of Milanese plate would cost close to a hundred pounds, over ten years' pay for an archer, and a heavy outlay for most men-at-arms, who thought themselves rich if they had forty pounds a year.\n\n\"So they'll armor their horses and wear Milanese plate,\" Sir John went on, \"and charge you, the archers! They want to get in among you with swords and maces.\" The archers were listening intently now, imagining the big horses with steel faces and padded flanks wheeling and rearing among their panicked ranks. \"If they send a thousand horsemen you'll be lucky to stop a hundred of them! And the rest will just slaughter you, except they won't, because you'll have stakes!\" He lifted the shortened lance to show what he meant, then thrust its butt end onto the leaf mold and slanted the shaft so that the iron-tipped point was about breast height. \"That's how you'll drive the stake into the ground,\" he told them. \"If a horse charges home onto that it'll get impaled, and that's how you stop a man in Milanese armor! So tomorrow morning you all cut a stake. One man, one stake, and you sharpen both ends.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow, Sir John?\" Evelgold asked. He sounded skeptical. \"Are they that close?\"\n\n\"They could be anywhere,\" Sir John said. \"From tomorrow's dawn you ride in mail and leather, you wear helmets, you keep your strings dry, and you carry a stake.\"\n\nNext morning Hook cut a bough from an oak and sharpened the green wood with his poleax blade. \"When we left England,\" Will of the Dale said ruefully, \"they said we were the best army ever gathered! Now we're down to wet strings, acorn cakes, and stakes! Goddamned stakes!\"\n\nThe long oak stake was awkward to carry on horseback. The horses were tired, wet, and hungry, and the rain came again, harder, blowing from behind and pattering the river's surface into a myriad dimples. The French were on the far bank. They were always on the far bank.\n\nThen new orders came from the king and the vanguard turned away from the river to climb a long damp slope that led to a wide plateau of wet, featureless land. \"Where are we going now?\" Hook asked as the river disappeared from sight.\n\n\"God knows,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"And He's not telling you, father?\"\n\n\"Does your saint tell you anything?\"\n\n\"Not a word.\"\n\n\"So God alone knows where we are,\" Father Christopher said, \"but only God.\" The plateau had clay soil and the road was soon churned into a morass of mud on which the rain fell incessantly. It was growing colder, and the plateau had few trees, which meant fuel for fires was scarce. Some archers in another company burned their sharpened stakes for warmth at night and the army paused to watch those men being whipped. Their ventenar had his ears cut off.\n\nThe French horsemen sensed the despair in Henry's army. They rode just to the south, tracking the army, and the English men-at-arms were too tired and their horses too hungry to accept the implied challenge of the raised lances, and so the French grew bolder, riding ever closer. \"Don't waste your arrows!\" Sir John told his archers.\n\n\"One less Frenchman to kill in a battle,\" Hook suggested.\n\nSir John smiled tiredly. \"It's a matter of honor, Hook.\" He nodded toward a Frenchman who trotted less than a quarter-mile away. The man was quite alone and rode with an upright lance as an invitation for some Englishman to fight him. \"He's sworn to do some deed of great valor,\" Sir John explained, \"like killing me or another knight, and that's a noble ambition.\"\n\n\"It saves him from an arrow?\" Hook responded dourly.\n\n\"Yes, Hook, it does. Let him live. He's a brave man.\"\n\nMore brave men approached that afternoon, but still no Englishmen responded, and so the Frenchmen became still bolder, riding close enough to recognize men they had met in tournaments across Europe. They chatted. There were maybe a dozen such French knights visible at any one time, and one of them, mounted on a tall and sprightly black horse that took the heavy soil with a high-stepping energy, spurred his way to the vanguard's front. \"Sir John!\" the rider called. He was the Sire de Lanferelle, his long hair wet and lank.\n\n\"Lanferelle!\"\n\n\"If I give you oats for your horse, you'll match my lance?\"\n\n\"If you give me oats,\" Sir John called back, \"my archers will eat!\"\n\nLanferelle laughed. Sir John veered away from the road to ride beside the Frenchman and the two talked amicably. \"They look like friends,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"Maybe they are,\" Hook suggested.\n\n\"And they will kill each other in battle?\"\n\n\"Englishman!\" It was Lanferelle who called to Hook and who now rode toward the archers. \"Sir John says you married my daughter!\"\n\n\"I did,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And without my blessing,\" Lanferelle said, sounding amused. He looked at Melisande. \"You have the jupon I gave you?\"\n\n\"Oui,\" she said.\n\n\"Wear it,\" her father said harshly, \"if there's a battle, wear it.\"\n\n\"Because it will save me?\" she asked bitterly. \"The novice's robe didn't protect me in Soissons.\"\n\n\"Damn Soissons, girl,\" Lanferelle said, \"and what happened there will happen to these men. They're doomed!\" He swept his arm to indicate the muddy, slow column. \"The goddams are all doomed! I will take pleasure in saving you.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"For whatever choice I make for you,\" Lanferelle said. \"You've tasted your freedom, and look where it has led you!\" He smiled, his teeth surprisingly white. \"You can come now? I shall take you away before we slaughter this army.\"\n\n\"I stay with Nicholas,\" she said.\n\n\"Then stay with the goddams,\" Lanferelle said harshly, \"and when your Nicholas is dead I shall take you away.\" He wheeled his horse and, after a few more words with Sir John, rode south.\n\n\"The goddams?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"It's what the French call you English,\" she said, then looked at Sir John. \"Are we doomed?\" she asked.\n\nSir John smiled ruefully. \"It depends on whether their army catches us, and if it catches us, whether it can beat us. We're still alive!\"\n\n\"Will it catch us?\" Melisande asked.\n\nSir John pointed north. \"There was a small French army on the river's northern bank,\" he explained, \"and they were keeping pace with us. They were making sure we couldn't cross. They were driving us toward their bigger army. But here, my dear, the river curves north. A great curve! We're cutting across country, but that smaller army has to ride all the way around and it will take them three or four days, and tomorrow we'll be at the river and there'll be no small army on the other side and if we find a ford or, God willing, a bridge, we'll be across the Somme and riding for the taverns of Calais! We'll go home!\"\n\nYet each day they covered less ground. There was no grazing for the horses, and no oats, and every day more men dismounted to lead their weakening, tiring mounts. In the first week of the march the towns had given food to the passing army, but now the few small walled towns shut their gates and refused to offer any help. They knew the English could not spare the time to assault their ramparts, however decrepit, and so they watched the disconsolate column pass by and offered prayers that God would utterly destroy the weakened invaders.\n\nAnd God's displeasure was the last thing Henry dared risk, so that, on their last day on the plateau, the day before they would ride down into the valley of the Somme again, when a priest came to complain that an Englishman had stolen his church's pyx, the king ordered the whole column to halt. Centenars and ventenars were commanded to search their men. The missing pyx, which was a copper-gilt box in which consecrated wafers were held, was evidently of little value, but the king was determined to find it. \"Some poor bastard probably stole it to get the wafers,\" Tom Scarlet suggested, \"he ate the wafers and threw the pyx away.\"\n\n\"Well, Hook?\" Sir John demanded.\n\n\"None of us has it, Sir John.\"\n\n\"One goddam pyx,\" Sir John snarled, \"a pox on the pyx, father!\"\n\n\"If you say so, Sir John,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"Give the French a chance to catch us because of one goddam pyx!\"\n\n\"God will reward us if we discover the item,\" Father Christopher suggested, \"indeed, He has already lifted the rain!\" It was true. Since the search had begun the rain had ended and a weak sun was struggling to clear the clouds and shine on the waterlogged land.\n\nAnd then the pyx was found.\n\nIt had been hidden in the sleeve of an archer's jerkin, a spare jerkin that he had evidently kept wrapped and tied to his horse's pommel, though the archer himself claimed that he had seen neither jerkin nor pyx before. \"They all claim innocence,\" a royal chaplain told the king, \"just hang him, sire.\"\n\n\"We will hang him,\" the king agreed vigorously, \"and we'll let every man see him hanged! This is what happens when you sin against God! Hang him!\"\n\n\"No!\" Hook protested.\n\nBecause the man being dragged to the tree where the king and his entourage waited was his brother Michael.\n\nFor whom the rope waited.\n\nThe king's men dragged Michael to the base of the elm tree where Henry and his courtiers waited on horseback beside the country priest who had first complained about the theft of his pyx. The army, commanded to attend, was gathered in a vast circle, though few except those in the foremost ranks could see what happened. Two soldiers in mail coats half covered by the royal coat-of-arms had pinioned Michael Hook's arms and were half pulling and half pushing him toward the king. They hardly needed to use force for Michael was going willingly enough. He just looked bemused.\n\n\"No!\" Hook shouted.\n\n\"Shut your mouth,\" Thomas Evelgold growled.\n\nIf the king heard Hook's protest he showed no sign of it. His face was unmoving, hard-planed, shaven raw, implacable.\n\n\"He\u2026\" Hook began, intending to say his brother had not, could not, have stolen a pyx, but Evelgold turned fast and slammed his fist into Hook's stomach, driving the wind from him.\n\n\"Next time, I break your jaw,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"My brother,\" Hook panted, suddenly straining to draw breath.\n\n\"Quiet!\" Sir John snarled from in front of his company.\n\n\"You offend God, you risk our whole campaign!\" the king spoke to Michael, his voice like gravel. \"How can we expect God to be on our side if we offend Him? You have put England itself at risk.\"\n\n\"I didn't steal it!\" Michael pleaded.\n\n\"Whose company is he?\" the king demanded.\n\nSir Edward Derwent stepped forward. \"One of Lord Slayton's archers, sire,\" he said, bowing his graying head, \"and I doubt, sire, that he is a thief.\"\n\n\"The pyx was in his keeping?\"\n\n\"It was found in his belongings, sire,\" Sir Edward said carefully.\n\n\"The jerkin wasn't mine, lord!\" Michael said.\n\n\"You are certain the pyx was in his baggage?\" the king asked Sir Edward, ignoring the fair-haired young archer who had dropped to his knees.\n\n\"It was, sire, though how it arrived there, I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Who discovered it?\"\n\n\"Sire, me, sire,\" Sir Martin, his priest's robe discolored by clay, stepped out of the crowd. \"It was me, sire,\" he said, dropping to one knee. \"And he's a good boy, sire, he's a Christian boy, sire.\"\n\nSir Edward might have protested Michael's innocence all day and not moved the king to doubt, but a priest's word carried far more weight. Henry gathered his reins and leaned forward in his saddle. \"Are you saying he did not take the pyx?\"\n\n\"He\u2026\" Hook began, and Evelgold hit him so hard in the belly that Hook doubled over.\n\n\"The pyx was found in his baggage, sire,\" Sir Martin said.\n\n\"Then?\" the king started, then checked. He looked puzzled. One moment the priest had suggested Michael's innocence, now he suggested the opposite.\n\n\"It is incontrovertible, sire,\" Sir Martin said, managing to sound mournful, \"that the pyx was among his belongings. It saddens me, sire, it galls my heart.\"\n\n\"It angers me,\" the king shouted, \"and it angers God! We risk His displeasure, His wrath, for a copper box! Hang him!\"\n\n\"Sire!\" Michael called, but there was no pity, no appeal, and no hope. The rope was already tied about a branch, the noose was pushed over Michael's head, and two men hauled on the bitter end to hoist him into the air.\n\nHook's brother made a choking noise as he thrashed desperately, his legs jerking and thrusting, and slowly, very slowly the thrashing turned to spasms, to quivers, and the choking noise became short harsh gasps and finally faded to nothing. It took twenty minutes, and the king watched every twitch, and only when he was satisfied that the thief was dead did he take his eyes from the body. He dismounted then and, in front of his army, went on one knee to the astonished country priest. \"We beg your forgiveness,\" he said loudly and speaking in English, a language the priest did not understand, \"and the forgiveness of Almighty God.\" He held out the pyx in both hands and the priest, frightened by what he had seen, took it nervously, then a look of astonishment came to his face because the little box was much heavier than it had ever been before. The King of England had filled it with coin.\n\n\"Leave the body there!\" Henry commanded, getting to his feet. \"And march! Let us march!\" He took his horse's reins, put a foot into the stirrup, and swung himself lithely into the saddle. He rode away, followed by his entourage, and Hook moved toward the tree where his brother's body hung.\n\n\"Where the hell are you going?\" Sir John asked harshly.\n\n\"I'll bury him,\" Hook said.\n\n\"You're a goddamned fool, Hook,\" Sir John said, then hit Hook's face with a mailed hand, \"what are you?\"\n\n\"He didn't do it!\" Hook protested.\n\nSir John struck him again, much harder, gouging scratches of blood into Hook's cheek. \"It doesn't matter that he didn't do it,\" he snarled. \"God needed a sacrifice, and He got one. Maybe we'll live because your brother died.\"\n\n\"He didn't steal, he's never stolen, he's honest!\" Hook said.\n\nThe gloved hand hammered Hook's other cheek. \"And you do not protest at the decisions of our king,\" Sir John said, \"and you do not bury him because the king doesn't want him buried! You are lucky, Hook, not to be hanging beside your brother with piss running down your goddam leg. Now get on your horse and ride.\"\n\n\"The priest lied!\"\n\n\"That is your business,\" Sir John said, \"not mine, and it is certainly not the king's business. Get on your horse or I'll have your goddam ears cut off.\"\n\nHook got on his horse. The other archers avoided him, sensing his ill-luck. Only Melisande rode with him.\n\nSir John's men were first on the road. Hook, bitter and dazed, was unaware that he was passing Lord Slayton's men until Melisande hissed, and only then did he notice the archers who had once been his comrades. Thomas Perrill was grinning triumphantly and pointing to his eye, a reminder of his suspicion that Hook had murdered his brother, while Sir Martin stared at Melisande, then glanced at Hook and could not resist a smile when he saw the archer's tears.\n\n\"You will kill them all,\" Melisande promised him.\n\nIf the French did not do the job for him, Hook thought. They rode on downhill, going now toward the Somme and toward the army's only hope; an unguarded ford or bridge.\n\nIt started to rain again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "There was not one ford across the Somme, but two, and, better still, neither was guarded. The shadowing French army on the river's north bank had still not marched the full distance about the great looping curve and the English, arriving at the edge of a vast marsh that bordered the Somme, could see nothing but empty countryside beyond the river.\n\nThe first scouts to explore the fords reported that the river was flowing high because of the rain, but not so high as to make the fords impassable, yet to reach the crossings the army had to negotiate two causeways that ran arrow-straight across the wide marsh. Those causeways were over a mile long; twin roads that had been raised above the mire by embankments, and the French had broken both so that at the center of each was a great gap where the causeways had been demolished to leave a morass of treacherous, sucking ground. The scouts had crossed those stretches of bog, but reported that their horses had sunk over their knees, and that none of the army's wagons could hope to negotiate the terrain. \"Then we remake the causeways,\" the king ordered.\n\nIt took the best part of a day. Much of the army was ordered to dismantle a nearby village so that the beams, rafters, and joists could be used as foundations for the repairs. Bundled thatch, faggots, and earth were then thrown on top of the timbers to make new embankments while the men of the rearguard formed a battle line to protect the work against any surprise attack from the south. There was no such attack. French horsemen watched from a distance, but those enemy riders were few and made no attempt to interfere.\n\nHook took no part in the work because the vanguard had been ordered to cross the river before any repairs were made. They left their horses behind, walked to the causeway's gap, and jumped down into the bog where they struggled across to the causeway's next stretch, which led to the river bank. They waded the Somme, the archers holding bows and arrow bags above their heads. Hook shivered as he went further into the river. He could not swim and he felt tremors of fear as the water crept over his waist and up to his chest, but then, as he pushed against the slow pressure of the current, the riverbed began to rise again. The footing was firm enough, though a few men slipped and one man-at-arms was swept downstream, his cries fading fast as his mail coat dragged him under. Then Hook was wading through reeds and climbing a short muddy bluff to reach the northern bank. The first men were across the Somme.\n\nSir John ordered his archers to go a half-mile north to where a straggling hedge and ditch snaked between two wide pastures. \"If the goddam French come,\" Sir John said bleakly, \"just kill them.\"\n\n\"You expecting their army, Sir John?\" Thomas Evelgold asked.\n\n\"The one that was tracking us along the river?\" Sir John asked, \"those bastards will get here soon enough. But their larger army? God only knows. Let's hope they think we're still south of the river.\"\n\nAnd even if it was only the smaller army that came, Hook thought, these few archers of the vanguard could not hope to stop it. He sat by a stretch of flooded ditch, beneath a dead alder, staring north, his mind wandering. He had been a bad brother, he decided. He had never looked after Michael properly and, if he was truthful with himself, he would admit that his brother's trusting character and unending optimism had grated on him. He gave a nod when Thomas Scarlet, who had lost his own twin brother to Lanferelle's sword, squatted beside him. \"I'm sorry about Michael,\" Scarlet said awkwardly, \"he was a good lad.\"\n\n\"He was,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Matt was too.\"\n\n\"Aye, he was. A good archer.\"\n\n\"He was,\" Scarlet said, \"he was.\"\n\nThey looked north in silence. Sir John had said that the first evidence of a French force would be mounted scouts, but no horsemen were visible.\n\n\"Michael always snatched at the string,\" Hook said. \"I tried to teach him, but he couldn't stop it. He always snatched. Spoiled his aim, it did.\"\n\n\"It does,\" Scarlet said.\n\n\"He never learned,\" Hook said, \"and he didn't steal that goddamned box either.\"\n\n\"He didn't seem like a thief.\"\n\n\"He wasn't! But I know who did steal it, and I'll cut his goddam throat.\"\n\n\"Don't hang for it, Nick.\"\n\nHook grimaced. \"If the French catch us, it won't matter, will it? I'll either be hanged or chopped down.\" Hook had a sudden vision of the archers dying in their tortured agony in front of the little church in Soissons. He shivered.\n\n\"But we've crossed the river,\" Scarlet said firmly, \"and that's good. How far now?\"\n\n\"Father Christopher says it's a week's marching from here, maybe a day or two longer.\"\n\n\"That's what they said a couple of weeks ago,\" Scarlet said ruefully, \"but doesn't matter. We can go hungry for a week.\"\n\nGeoffrey Horrocks, the youngest archer, brought a helmet filled with hazelnuts. \"Found them up the hedge,\" he said, \"you want to share them out, sergeant?\" he asked Hook.\n\n\"You do it, lad. Tell them it's supper.\"\n\n\"And tomorrow's breakfast,\" Scarlet said.\n\n\"If I had a net we could catch some sparrows,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Sparrow pie,\" Scarlet said wistfully.\n\nThey fell silent. The rain had stopped, though the keen wind was chilling the wet archers to the bone. A flock of black starlings, so thick that they looked like a writhing cloud, rose and fell two fields away. Behind Hook, far across the river, men labored to remake the causeways.\n\n\"He was a grown man, you know.\"\n\n\"What did you say, Tom?\" Hook asked, startled from half-waking thoughts.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Scarlet said, \"I was falling asleep till you woke me.\"\n\n\"He was a very good man,\" the voice said quietly, \"and he's resting in heaven now.\"\n\nSaint Crispinian, Hook thought, and his view of the country was misted by tears. You're still with me, he wanted to say.\n\n\"In heaven there are no tears,\" the saint went on, \"and no sickness. There's no dying and no masters. There's no hunger. Michael is in joy.\"\n\n\"You all right, Nick?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"I'm all right,\" Hook said, and thought that Crispinian knew all about brothers. He had suffered and died with his own brother, Crispin, and they were both with Michael now, and somehow that seemed good.\n\nIt took the best part of the day to restore the two causeways and then the army began to cross in two long lines of horses and wagons and archers and servants and women. The king, resplendent in armor and crown, galloped past Hook's ditch. He was followed by a score of nobles who curbed their horses and, like Hook, gazed northward. But the French army that had been keeping pace along the river's northern bank had fallen far behind and there was no enemy in sight. The English were across the river and now had entered territory claimed by the Duke of Burgundy, though it was still France. But between the army and England there were now no major obstacles unless the French army intervened.\n\n\"We march on,\" Henry told his commanders.\n\nThey would march north again, north and west. They would march toward Calais, toward England and to safety. They marched.\n\nThey left the wide River Somme behind, but next day, because the army was footsore, sick, and hungry, the king ordered a halt. The rain had cleared and the sun shone through wispy clouds. The army was now in well-wooded country so there was fuel for fires and the encampment took on a holiday air as men hung their clothes to dry on makeshift hurdles. Sentries were set, but it seemed as though England's army was all alone in the vastness of France. Not one Frenchman appeared. Men scavenged the woods for nuts, mushrooms, and berries. Hook hoped to find a deer or a boar, but the animals, like the enemy, were nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"We might just have escaped,\" Father Christopher greeted Hook on his return from his abortive hunt.\n\n\"The king must think so,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Giving us a day's halt?\"\n\n\"Our gracious king,\" the priest said, \"is so mad that he might just be hoping the French will catch us.\"\n\n\"Mad? Like the French king?\"\n\n\"The French king is really mad,\" Father Christopher said, \"no, our king is just convinced of God's favor.\"\n\n\"Is that madness?\"\n\nFather Christopher paused as Melisande came to join them. She leaned on Hook, saying nothing. She was thinner than Hook had ever seen her, but the whole army was thin now; thin, hungry, and ill. Somehow Hook and his wife had both avoided the bowel-emptying sickness, though many others had caught the disease and the camp stank of it. Hook put his arm about her, holding her close and thinking suddenly that she had become the most precious thing in all his world. \"I hope to God we have escaped,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And our king half hopes that,\" Father Christopher said, \"and half hopes that he can prove God's favor.\"\n\n\"And that's his madness?\"\n\n\"Beware of certainty. There are men in the French army, Hook, who are as convinced as Henry that God is on their side. They're good men too. They pray, they give alms, they confess their sins, and they vow never to sin again. They are very good men. Can they be wrong in their conviction?\"\n\n\"You tell me, father,\" Hook said.\n\nFather Christopher sighed. \"If I understood God, Hook, I would understand everything because God is everything. He is the stars and the sand, the wind and the calm, the sparrow and the sparrowhawk. He knows everything, He knows my fate and He knows your fate, and if I understood all that, what would I be?\"\n\n\"You would be God,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"And that I cannot be,\" Father Christopher said, \"because we cannot comprehend everything. Only God does that, so beware of a man who says he knows God's will. He is like a horse that believes it controls its rider.\"\n\n\"And our king believes that?\"\n\n\"He believes he is God's favorite,\" Father Christopher said, \"and perhaps he is. He is a king, after all, anointed and blessed.\"\n\n\"God made him a king,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"His father's sword made him a king,\" Father Christopher said tartly, \"but, of course, God could have guided that sword.\" He made the sign of the cross. \"Yet there are those,\" he spoke softly now, \"who say his father had no right to the throne. And the sins of the fathers are visited on their sons.\"\n\n\"You're saying\u2026\" Hook began, then checked his tongue because the conversation was veering dangerously close to treason.\n\n\"I'm saying,\" Father Christopher said firmly, \"that I pray we get home to England before the French find us.\"\n\n\"They've lost us, father,\" Hook said, hoping he was right.\n\nFather Christopher smiled gently. \"They may not know where we are, Hook, but they know where we're going. So they don't need to find us, do they? All they need do is get ahead of us and let us find them.\"\n\n\"And we're resting for the day,\" Hook said grimly.\n\n\"So we are,\" the priest said, \"which means we must pray that our enemy is at least two days' march behind us.\"\n\nNext day they rode on. Hook was one of the scouts who ranged two miles ahead of the vanguard and looked for the enemy. He liked being a scout. It meant he could put his sharpened stake on a wagon and ride free in front of the army. The clouds were thickening again and the wind was cold. There had been a frost whitening the grass when the camp stirred, though it had vanished quickly enough. The beech leaves had turned to a dull red-gold and the oaks to the color of bronze, while some trees had already shed their foliage. The lower pastures were half flooded from the recent rain, while the fields that had been deep-plowed for winter wheat showed long streaks of silvery water between the ridges left by the plowshare. Hook's men were following a drover's path that led past villages, but the hovels were all empty. There was no livestock and no grain. Someone, he thought, knew the English were on this road and had stripped the countryside bare, but whoever had organized that deprivation had vanished. There was no sign of an enemy.\n\nIt began to rain again at midday. It was just a drizzle, but it penetrated every gap in Hook's clothing. Raker, his horse, went slowly. The whole army was going slowly, incapable of speed. They passed a town and Hook, so dulled now to what he saw, scarce looked at the walls with their brightly defiant banners. He just rode on, following the road, leaving the town and its battlements behind until, quite suddenly, Hook knew they were doomed.\n\nHe and his men had breasted a small rise and in front of them was a wide grassy valley, its far side rising gently to the horizon where there was a church tower and a spread of woods. The valley was pastureland, empty of life now, but scarred across the valley floor was the evidence of their approaching doom.\n\nHook curbed Raker and stared.\n\nBecause right across his front, stretching from east to west, was a smear of mud, a great wide scar of churned land where every blade of grass had vanished. Water glinted from the myriad holes left by the hooves of horses. The ground was a mess, churned and rutted and broken and pitted, because an army had marched through the valley.\n\nIt must have been a great army, Hook thought. Thousands of horses had left the tracks that were newly made. He rode to the edge of the scar and saw the clarity of the hoofprints so distinctly that in places he could see the marks left by the horseshoe nails. He stared westward, to where that vanished army had gone, but he saw nothing, only the path by which the thousands of men had traveled. The scarred earth turned north at the valley's end.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" Tom Scarlet said in awe, \"there must be thousands of the bastards.\"\n\n\"Ride back,\" Hook told Peter Scoyle, \"find Sir John, tell him about this.\"\n\n\"Tell him about what?\" Scoyle asked.\n\nHook remembered Scoyle was a Londoner. \"What do you think that is?\" He pointed at the scarred earth.\n\n\"A muddy mess,\" Scoyle said.\n\n\"Tell Sir John the enemy was here within the last day.\"\n\n\"They were?\"\n\n\"Go!\" Hook said impatiently, then turned back to stare at the myriad hoofprints. There were thousands upon thousands, so many they had trampled the valley into a quagmire. He had seen the drovers' roads in England after the vast herds of cattle had been driven down to their slaughter in London, and as a boy he had been amazed by the size of the herds, but these tracks were far greater than any left by those doomed animals. Every man in France, he thought, and maybe every man in Burgundy, had ridden across this valley, and they had passed within the last day. So somewhere to the west or north, somewhere between this place and Calais, that great host waited.\n\n\"They have to be watching us,\" he said.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" Tom Scarlet said again, and made the sign of the cross. Both archers looked at the farther woods, but no glint of reflected sunlight betrayed a man in armor. Yet Hook was sure the enemy must have scouts who were shadowing England's tired army.\n\nSir John arrived with a dozen men-at-arms. He said nothing as he stared at the tracks and then, as Hook had done, he looked westward and then northward. \"So they're here,\" he finally said, sounding resigned.\n\n\"That's not the small army that was following us along the river,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Of course it goddam well isn't,\" Sir John said, looking at the rutted fields. \"That's the might of France, Hook,\" he said sarcastically.\n\n\"And they must be watching us, Sir John,\" Hook said.\n\n\"You need a shave, Hook,\" Sir John said harshly. \"You look like a goddamned vagabond.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir John.\"\n\n\"And of course the cabbage-shitting farts are watching us. So fly the banners! And damn them! Damn them, damn them, damn them!\" He shouted the mild curses, startling Lucifer who flicked back his ears. \"Damn them and keep going!\" Sir John said.\n\nBecause there was no choice. And next day, though there was still no sign of the enemy army, there came proof that the French knew exactly where the English were because three heralds waited on the road. They were in their bright liveries, carrying the long white wands of their office, and Hook greeted them politely and sent for Sir John again, and Sir John took the three heralds to the king.\n\n\"What did those fancy bastards want?\" Will of the Dale asked.\n\n\"They wanted to invite us all to breakfast,\" Hook said. \"Bacon, bread, fried goose liver, pease pudding, good ale.\"\n\nWill grinned. \"I'd strangle my own mother for a bowl of beans now, just plain beans.\"\n\n\"Beans, bread, and bacon,\" Hook said wistfully.\n\n\"Roast ox,\" Will said, \"with juices dripping.\"\n\n\"Just a lump of bread would do,\" Hook said. He knew the three Frenchmen would learn much from their visit. Heralds were supposed to be above faction, mere observers and messengers, but the three men would surely tell the French commanders of the English troops scurrying off the road to lower their breeches and void their bowels, of the sagging horses, of the bedraggled, silent army that traveled north and west so slowly.\n\n\"They challenged us to battle,\" Father Christopher said after the heralds had left. The chaplain, inevitably, knew what had happened when the three French emissaries met the king. \"It was all exceedingly polite,\" he told Hook and his archers, \"everyone bowed very prettily, exchanged charming compliments, agreed the weather was most inclement, and then our guests issued their challenge.\"\n\n\"Nice of them,\" Hook said sarcastically.\n\n\"The niceties are important,\" the priest said chidingly, \"you don't dance with a woman without asking her first, not in polite society, so now the Constable of France and the Duke of Bourbon and the Duke of Orleans are inviting us to dance.\"\n\n\"Who are they?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"The constable is Charles d'Albret, and pray he doesn't dance face to face with you, Tom, and the dukes are great men. The Duke of Bourbon is an old friend of yours, Hook.\"\n\n\"Of mine?\"\n\n\"He led the army that ruined Soissons.\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" Hook said, and again thought of the blind archers bleeding to death on the cobblestones.\n\n\"And each of the dukes,\" Father Christopher went on, \"probably leads a contingent greater than our whole army.\"\n\n\"And the king accepted their invitation?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Oh willingly!\" Father Christopher said. \"He loves to dance, though he declined to name a place for the dance. He said the French would doubtless have no trouble finding us.\"\n\nAnd now, because he knew the French would have no such trouble, and because his army might have to fight at any moment, the king ordered every man to ride in full panoply. They were to wear armor and surcoats, though most armor and jupons were now so stained or rusted and ragged that they would hardly impress an enemy, let alone overawe one. And still no enemy appeared.\n\nNo enemy showed on the feast day of Saint Cordula, the British virgin who had been slaughtered by pagans, nor the next day, the feast of Saint Felix who had been beheaded for refusing to yield the holy scriptures in his possession. The army had been marching for more than two weeks, and the next day was the feast of Saint Raphael who Father Christopher said was one of the seven archangels who stand before the throne of God. \"And you know what tomorrow is?\" Father Christopher asked Hook on Saint Raphael's Day.\n\nHook had to think about his answer which, when it came, was uncertain. \"Is it a Wednesday?\"\n\n\"No,\" Father Christopher said, smiling, \"tomorrow is a Friday.\"\n\n\"Then I know tomorrow's Friday,\" Hook said, grinning, \"and you'll make us all eat fish, father. Maybe a nice fat trout? Or an eel?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" Father Christopher said gently, \"is the feast day of Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear God,\" Hook said, and felt as though cold water had suddenly washed his heart, though he could not tell whether that was fear or the sudden certitude that such a day presaged a real and beneficial significance.\n\n\"And it might be a good day to say your prayers,\" the priest suggested.\n\n\"I will, father,\" Hook promised, and he began praying that very moment. Let us reach your day, he prayed to Saint Crispinian, without seeing the French, and I will know we are safe. Let us escape, he prayed, and take us safe home. Blind the French to our presence, he begged, and he added that prayer to Saint Raphael who was the patron saint of the blind. Just take us safe home, he prayed, and he vowed to Saint Crispinian that he would make a pilgrimage to Soissons if the saint took him home and he would put money into a jar in the cathedral, enough money to pay for the altar frontal that John Wilkinson had torn apart so long ago. Just take us home, he prayed, take us all home and make us safe.\n\nAnd that day, Saint Raphael's Day, Thursday the twenty-fourth of October, 1415, Hook's prayers were answered.\n\nThey were riding through a region of small, steep hills and fast-flowing streams, guided by a local man, a fuller, who knew the tangle of bewildering tracks that laced the countryside. He led Hook and the vanguard's scouts along a wagon path that twisted beneath trees. The road to Calais was some distance to the west, but it could not be followed because it led to Hesdin, a walled town on the bank of a small river, and the bridge there was guarded by a barbican, and so the guide took them toward another crossing. \"You go north after the river,\" the man said, \"just go north and you find the road again. You understand?\" He was frightened of the archers and even more scared of the men-at-arms in royal livery who rode just behind and made the decisions about whether the fuller could be trusted.\n\n\"I understand,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Just go north,\" the man insisted. The path dropped into a valley where a village lay on the southern bank of a river. \"La Rivi\u00e8re Ternoise,\" the man said, then pointed to the far bank where the hills climbed steeply. \"You go up there,\" he said, \"and find the road to Saint-Omer.\"\n\n\"Saint-Omer?\"\n\n\"Oui!\" the guide said and Hook remembered his journey with Melisande when Saint-Omer had been their goal and Calais had lain not far beyond. So close, he thought. The nervous fuller said something else and Hook only half heard and asked him to say it again.' The local people,\" the man said, \"call the Ternoise the River of Swords.\"\n\nThat name sent a shiver through Hook. \"Why?\"\n\nThe man shrugged. \"They are all mad,\" he said, \"it's just a river.\"\n\nThe river was shallow despite the recent rain and the knight commanding the men-at-arms ordered Hook to take his archers across the ford and up the farther slope. \"Wait at the crest,\" he said and Hook obediently kicked Raker down to the River of Swords. His archers followed him, splashing through water that barely reached their horses' bellies. The slope beyond the river was steep and he and his men climbed it slowly on their tired horses. The rain had stopped, though every now and then a spatter of drizzle would sweep from a sky that grew ever darker. The clouds were low, almost black, and the air above the eastern horizon was the color of soot. \"It's going to fairly piss down,\" Hook said to Will of the Dale.\n\n\"Looks like it,\" Will answered apprehensively. The air was oppressive, thick, full of a strange menace.\n\nHook was scarcely halfway up the slope before a whole band of men-at-arms splashed through the river and spurred up the hill behind him. Hook turned in the saddle and saw the column closing up on the Ternoise's far bank as though a sudden sense of urgency had overtaken the army. Sir John, his standard-bearer close behind, thumped past Hook, riding for the crest that was outlined against the slate-dark sky and a moment later the king himself galloped up the slope on a horse the color of night. \"What's happening?\" Tom Scarlet asked.\n\n\"God knows,\" Hook said. The king, his companions, and every other man-at-arms had curbed their horses at the hill's crest from where they now gazed northward.\n\nThen Hook himself reached the skyline and he too stared.\n\nAhead of him the ground fell away to a village that lay in a small green valley. A road climbed from the village, leading onto a wide reach of land that was bare earth beneath the glowering sky. That bare plateau had been plowed, and on either side of the newly cut furrows were thick woods. The battlements of a small castle just showed above the trees to the west. A banner flew from the castellated tower, but it was too far away to see what badge it showed.\n\nSomething about the lay of the land was familiar, then Hook remembered it. \"I've been here before,\" he said to no one in particular. \"Me and Melisande, we were here.\"\n\n\"You were?\" Tom Scarlet answered, but he was not really paying attention.\n\n\"We met a horseman here,\" Hook said, staring north in a daze, \"and he told us the name of the place, but I can't remember it.\"\n\n\"Must have a name, I suppose,\" Scarlet said absently.\n\nMore Englishmen reached the crest and stopped there to stare. No one spoke much and many made the sign of the cross.\n\nBecause in front of them, and as numerous as the sands on the shore or as the stars in the sky, was the enemy. The forces of France and Burgundy were at the plowland's far end and they were a multitude. Their bright banners boasted of their numbers and their banners were uncountable.\n\nThe might of France blocked the road to Calais and the English were trapped.\n\nHenry, Earl of Chester, Duke of Aquitaine, Lord of Ireland, and King of England, was given a new and savage energy by the sight of the enemy. \"Form battle!\" he shouted. \"Form battle!\" He galloped his horse across the face of his gathering army. \"Obey your leaders! They know where you should be, form on their standards! By the grace of God we fight this day! Form battle!\"\n\nThe sun was low behind the lowering clouds and the French army was still gathering under banners as thick as trees. \"If every banner is a lord,\" Thomas Evelgold said, \"and if every lord leads ten men, how many men is that?\"\n\n\"Goddam thousands,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And ten's a low number,\" the centenar said, \"very low. More like a hundred men for every banner, maybe two hundred!\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" Hook said and tried counting the enemy flags, but they were too many. All he knew was that the enemy was vast and England's army was small. \"God help us,\" he could not resist saying, and once again he had the shivering recollection of the blood and screams in Soissons.\n\n\"Someone has to help us,\" Evelgold said briskly, then turned to his archers. \"We're on the right. Dismount! Stakes and bows! Look lively now! I want boys for the horses! Come on, don't dawdle! Move your goddam bones! We've got some dying to do!\"\n\nThe horses were left in the pastures beside the village as the army climbed the shallow slope to the plateau. The enemy could not be seen from the small valley, but as Hook breasted the rise onto the plowland the French were visible again and he felt his fears crawl back. What he saw was a proper army. Not a sickly, disheveled band of fugitives, but a proud, massed army come to punish the men who had dared invade France.\n\nThe English vanguard was on the right now, and its archers were farthest to the right where they were joined by half the archers who had formed the army's center. The other half joined the rearguard who now formed on the left. So the wings of the army were each a mass of archers who flanked the men-at-arms who made a line between them.\n\n\"Sweet Christ,\" Tom Scarlet said, \"I've seen more men at a horse fair.\"\n\nHe was pointing to the English men-at-arms. There were fewer than a thousand of them and they made a pathetically small line at the center of the array. The archers were far more numerous. Over two thousand were now assembled on each flank. \"Stakes!\" A knight wearing a green surcoat galloped along the face of the archers, \"plant your stakes, lads!\"\n\nSir John, who had formed with the men-at-arms in the line's center, walked to where the archers readied their stakes. \"We wait to see if they attack,\" he explained, \"and if not we'll fight them in the morning!\"\n\n\"Why don't we just run away in the dark?\" a man asked.\n\n\"I didn't hear that question!\" Sir John shouted, then went on down the line, telling men to be ready for a French assault.\n\nThe archers were not in close array like the men-at-arms who waited shoulder to armored shoulder in a line four men deep. The bowmen, instead, needed room to pull their long bowstaves and, in response to shouted orders, had moved some paces ahead of the men-at-arms where they scattered, each man finding a space. Hook was at the very front with the rest of Sir John's men. He reckoned around two hundred archers were in line with him, the rest were behind in a dozen loose ranks where they now hammered their stakes so that the points faced toward the French. Once the stakes were in place the exposed point needed re-sharpening after the hammering it had received. \"Stand in front of your stake!\" the green-surcoated man shouted. \"Don't let the enemy see it!\"\n\n\"Bastards aren't blind,\" Will of the Dale grumbled, \"they must have seen what we were doing.\"\n\nThe French were watching. They were a half-mile away, still arriving, a mass of color on horseback beneath banners brighter than the sky, which was becoming ever darker as the clouds thickened. Most of the French were milling around the skyline where tents were being erected, but hundreds rode southward to gaze at England's army.\n\n\"I bet the bastards are laughing at us,\" Tom Scarlet said. \"They're probably pissing themselves with laughter.\"\n\nThe nearest enemy horsemen were just a quarter-mile away, standing or walking their horses in the plowland, and just gazing at the small army that faced them. To left and right the woods looked black in the fading evening light. Some archers, their stakes hammered home, were going into those woods to empty their bowels in the thick undergrowth of hawthorn, holly, and hazel, but most archers just stared back at the enemy and Hook reckoned Tom Scarlet was right. The French had to be laughing. They already had at least four or five men for every Englishman, and their forces were still arriving at the northern end of the field. Hook dropped to one knee on the wet ground, made the sign of the cross, and prayed to Saint Crispinian. He was not the only archer who prayed. Dozens of men were on their knees, as were some men-at-arms. Priests were walking among the doomed army, offering blessings, while the French walked their horses across the plowland, and Hook, opening his eyes, imagined their laughter, their scorn at this pathetic army that had defied them, had tried to escape them and now was trapped by them. \"Save us,\" he prayed to Saint Crispinian, but the saint said nothing in reply and Hook thought his prayer must have been lost in the great dark emptiness beyond the ominous clouds.\n\nIt began to rain properly. It was a cold, heavy rain and, as the wind dropped, the drops fell with a malevolent intensity that made the archers hurriedly unstring their bows and coil the cords into their hats and helmets to keep them from being soaked. The English heralds had ridden ahead of the array to be met by their French colleagues, and Hook saw the men bow to each other from their saddles. After a while the English heralds rode back, their gray horses spattered with mud from hooves to belly.\n\n\"No fight tonight, boys!\" Sir John brought that news to the archers. \"We stay where we are! No fires up here! You're to stay silent! The enemy will do us the honor of fighting tomorrow, so try and sleep! No fight tonight!\" He rode on down the archers' line, his voice fading in the seethe of the hard rain.\n\nHook was still on one knee. \"I will fight on your day,\" he told the saint, \"on your feast day. Look after us. Keep Melisande safe. Keep us all safe. I beg you. In the name of the Father, I beg you. Take us safe home.\"\n\nThere was no answer, just the intense hiss of rain and a distant grumble of thunder.\n\n\"On your knees, Hook?\" It was Tom Perrill who sneered the words.\n\nHook stood and turned to face his enemy, but Tom Evelgold had already placed himself between the two archers. \"You want words with Hook?\" the centenar challenged Perrill.\n\n\"I hope you live through tomorrow, Hook,\" Perrill said, ignoring Evelgold.\n\n\"I hope we all live through tomorrow,\" Hook said. He felt a terrible hatred of Perrill, but had no energy to make a fight of it in this wet dusk.\n\n\"Because we're not finished,\" Perrill said.\n\n\"Nor are we,\" Hook agreed.\n\n\"And you murdered my brother,\" Perrill said, staring at Hook. \"You say you didn't, but you did, and your brother's death makes nothing even. I promised my mother something and you know what that promise was.\" Rain dripped from the rim of his helmet.\n\n\"You should forgive each other,\" Evelgold said. \"If we're fighting tomorrow we should be friends. We have enemies enough.\"\n\n\"I have a promise to keep,\" Perrill said stubbornly.\n\n\"To your mother?\" Hook asked. \"Does a promise to a whore count?\" He could not resist the jibe.\n\nPerrill grimaced, but kept his temper. \"She hates your family and she wants it dead. And you're the last one.\"\n\n\"The French will like as not make your mother happy,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"One of us will,\" Perrill said, \"me or them,\" he nodded to the enemy army, though kept his eyes on Hook, \"but I'll not kill you while they fight us. That's what I came to tell you. You're frightened enough,\" he sneered, \"without watching your back.\"\n\n\"You've said your words,\" Evelgold said, \"now go.\"\n\n\"So a truce,\" Perrill suggested, ignoring the centenar, \"till this is over.\"\n\n\"I'll not kill you while they fight us,\" Hook agreed.\n\n\"Nor tonight,\" Perrill demanded.\n\n\"Nor tonight,\" Hook said.\n\n\"So sleep well, Hook. It might be your last night on earth,\" Perrill said, then walked away.\n\n\"Why does he hate you?\" Evelgold asked.\n\n\"It goes back to my grandfather. We just hate each other. The Hooks and the Perrills, they just hate each other.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll both be dead by this time tomorrow,\" Evelgold said heavily, \"we all will be. So make your confession and take mass before the fight. And your men are sentries tonight. Walter's men take first watch, you take second. You're to go halfway up the field,\" he nodded at the plowland, \"and you're not to make any noise. No one is. No shouting, no singing, no music.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"How the goddam hell would I know? If a gentleman makes a noise the king will take away his horse and harness, and if an archer squeals he'll have his ears cut off. King's orders. So you stand watch, and God help you if the French come.\"\n\n\"They won't, will they? Not at night?\"\n\n\"Sir John doesn't think so. But he still wants sentries.\" Evelgold shrugged as if to suggest that sentries would do no good, then, with nothing more to say, he walked away.\n\nMore French came to see their enemy before the night hid them. Rain swept across the plow, the sound of it drowning any laughter from the enemy. Tomorrow was Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian's Day, and Hook reckoned it would be his last.\n\nIt rained through the night. A hard cold rain. Sir John Cornewaille ran through that rain to the cottage in Maisoncelles where the king had his quarters, but though the king's youngest brother, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and Thomas, Duke of York, were in the tiny smoke-filled room, neither knew where the king of England had gone.\n\n\"Probably praying, Sir John,\" the Duke of York said.\n\n\"God's ears are getting a battering tonight, your grace,\" Sir John said dourly.\n\n\"Add your voice to the cacophony,\" the duke said. He was the grandson of the third Edward and had been cousin to the second Richard whose throne had been usurped by the king's father, but he had proved his loyalty to the usurper's son and, because his piety matched the king's, he was deep in Henry's confidence. \"I believe his majesty is testing the temper of the men,\" the duke said.\n\n\"The men will do,\" Sir John said. He was uncomfortable with the duke whose learning and sanctity lent him an aloof distant air. \"They're cold,\" he went on, \"they're sour, they're wet, they're hungry, they're sick, but they'll fight like mad dogs tomorrow. I wouldn't want to fight them.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't advise,\" Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester began, then hesitated and decided to say no more. Sir John knew what question had gone unsaid. Would he advise the king to slip away in the night? No, he would not, but he did not voice that opinion. The king would not run, not now. The king believed God was his supporter, and in the morning God would be required to prove that with a miracle.\n\n\"I'll leave your graces to arm,\" Sir John said.\n\n\"You have a message for his majesty?\" the Duke of York asked.\n\n\"Only to wish him God's blessings,\" Sir John said. In truth he had gone to test the king's temper, though he did not really doubt Henry's resolve. He said his farewells and went back to the cowshed that was his own quarters. It was a miserable stinking hovel, but Sir John knew he was fortunate to have found it on a night when most men would be exposed to thunder, lightning, rain, and wintry cold.\n\nRain beat on the fragile roof, leaked through the thatch and puddled on the floor where a paltry fire gave off more smoke than light. Richard Cartwright, Sir John's armorer, was waiting. He looked more priestlike than any priest, with a grave, dignified face and a quaint, fluttering courtesy. \"Now, Sir John?\" he asked.\n\n\"Now,\" Sir John said, and dropped his wet cloak beside the fire.\n\nHe had taken off the armor he had worn during the day and Cartwright had dried it, scoured it for rust, and polished it. Now he used cloths he had kept dry in a horsehide bag to wipe dry the leather breeches and jerkin that Sir John wore. The leather was supple deerhide, and the two expensive garments had been made by a tailor in London so that they fitted Sir John like a second skin. Cartwright said nothing as he wiped handfuls of lanolin onto the deerhide.\n\nSir John was lost in his own thoughts. He had done this so often, stood with his hands outstretched as Cartwright made the leather arms and legs slippery so that the armor above would move easily. He thought back to tournaments and battles, to the excitement that always accompanied the anticipation of those contests, but he sensed no excitement tonight. The rain hammered, the cold wind gusted drops through the cowshed door, and Sir John thought of the thousands of Frenchmen whose armorers were also readying them for battle. So many thousands, he thought. Too many.\n\n\"You spoke, Sir John?\" Cartwright said.\n\n\"Did I?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I misheard, Sir John. Raise your arms, please.\" Cartwright dropped a mail haubergeon over Sir John's head. The chain mail was close-linked, sleeveless and dropped to Sir John's groin. The armholes were wide, so that Sir John would not be hampered by its constriction. \"Forgive me, Sir John,\" Cartwright murmured as he always did when he knelt in front of his master and laced the front and back hems of the haubergeon between Sir John's legs. Sir John said nothing.\n\nCartwright also kept silent as he buckled the cuisses to Sir John's thighs. The front ones slightly overlapped the back ones, and Sir John flexed his legs to make sure the steel plates moved smoothly against each other. He did not ask for any adjustment because Cartwright knew precisely what he was doing. Next came the greaves to protect Sir John's calves, and the roundels for his knees, and the plate-covered boots that were buckled to the greaves.\n\nCartwright stood and strapped the skirt into place. The skirt was leather, covered with mail and then plated with overlapping strips of steel to protect Sir John's groin. Sir John was thinking of his archers trying to sleep in the driving rain. They would be tired, wet and cold in the morning, but he did not doubt they would fight. He heard stones scraping on blades. Arrows, swords, and axes were being sharpened.\n\nThe breastplate and backplate came next, the heaviest pieces, made of Bordeaux steel like the rest of the plate, and Cartwright deftly secured the buckles, then strapped on the rerebraces that covered Sir John's upper arms, the vambraces for his forearms, more roundels for the elbows, and then, with a bow, offered Sir John the plate-covered gauntlets that had their leather palms cut out so Sir John could feel his weapons' hilts with bare hands. Espaliers covered the vulnerable place where breastplate and backplate joined, then Cartwright strapped the hinged bevor about Sir John's neck. Some men wore a chain aventail to cover the space between helmet and breastplate, but the finely shaped steel bevor was better than any mail, though Sir John frowned irritably when he tried to turn his head.\n\n\"Should I loosen the straps, Sir John?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" Sir John said.\n\n\"Your arms, Sir John?\" Cartwright hinted gently, and then pulled the surcoat over his master's head, helped Sir John's arms into the wide sleeves, then smoothed the linen that was embroidered with the crowned lion and blazoned with the cross of Saint George. Cartwright buckled the sword belt into place and hung the big sword, Darling, which was Sir John's favorite, from its studs. \"You will entrust the scabbard with me, Sir John, in the morning?\" Cartwright asked.\n\n\"Of course.\" Sir John always discarded his scabbard before a fight because a scabbard could tangle a man's legs. When battle was close Darling would rest in a leather loop, her blade bare.\n\nA leather hood was laced over Sir John's head, and it was done. The hood would help cushion the helmet which Sir John took, then handed back to Cartwright. \"Take the visor off,\" he ordered.\n\n\"But\u2026\"\n\n\"Take it off!\"\n\nOnce, in a tournament in Lyons, Sir John had managed to knock closed the visor of an opposing swordsman and the man's subsequent half-blindness had made him easy to defeat. Tomorrow, he thought, an Englishman would need every small advantage he could find.\n\n\"I believe the enemy have crossbows,\" Cartwright said humbly.\n\n\"Take it off.\"\n\nThe visor was removed and Cartwright, with a small bow, handed the helmet back to Sir John. Sir John would put it on later and Cartwright would buckle the helm to the espaliers, but for now Sir John was ready.\n\nIt rained. Out in the dark a horse whinnied and thunder sounded. Sir John picked up the strip of purple and white silk that was his wife's favor and kissed it before stuffing the silk into the narrow space between bevor and breastplate. Some men tied their women's favors about their necks and Sir John, off balance, had once grabbed such a favor and so pulled an enemy off his horse and then killed him. If, tomorrow, an enemy seized the purple and white it would come free easily and not topple Sir John. Every small advantage. Sir John flexed his arms and found everything satisfactory, and so gave a grim smile. \"Thank you, Cartwright,\" he said.\n\nCartwright bowed his head and spoke the words he had always spoken, right from the very first time he had armored his master. \"Sir John,\" he said, \"you are dressed to kill.\"\n\nAs were thirty thousand Frenchmen.\n\n\"What you should do,\" Hook told Melisande, \"is go away. Go tonight. Take all our coins, whatever you can carry, and go.\"\n\n\"Go where?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Find your father,\" Hook said. They were talking in the English encampment, which lay in the lower ground south of the long plowed field. The small cottages of the village had been taken by lords, and Hook could hear the sound of hammers on steel as the armorers made the last adjustments to expensive plate. The sound was sharp, drowned by the seethe of the unending rain. To the east of the village the army's wagons were parked, their spoked wheels lit by the few fires that struggled to survive the downpour. The French army was out of sight from the low ground, but their presence was betrayed by the dull glow of their campfires reflecting from the underside of the dark clouds. Those clouds were suddenly thrown into clear view by a fork of lightning that zigzagged into the eastern woods. A moment later a clap of thunder filled the universe like the sound of some monstrous cannon.\n\n\"I chose to be with you,\" Melisande said stubbornly.\n\n\"We're going to die,\" Hook said.\n\n\"No,\" she protested, but without much conviction.\n\n\"You talked to Father Christopher,\" Hook said remorselessly, \"and he talked to the heralds. He reckons there are thirty thousand Frenchmen. We've got six thousand men.\"\n\nMelisande huddled closer to Hook, trying to find shelter under the cloak they shared. They had their backs to an oak tree, but it offered small protection against the rain. \"Melisande was married to a king of Jerusalem,\" she said. Hook said nothing, letting her say whatever it was she needed to say. \"And the king died,\" she went on, \"and all the men said she must go to a convent and say prayers, but she didn't! She made herself queen, and she was a great queen!\"\n\n\"You're my queen,\" Hook said.\n\nMelisande ignored the clumsy compliment. \"And when I was in the convent? I had one friend. She was older, much older, Sister Beatrice, and she told me to go away. She told me I had to find my own life, and I didn't think I could, but then you came. Now I shall do what Queen Melisande did. I shall do what I want.\" She shivered. \"I will stay with you.\"\n\n\"I'm an archer,\" Hook said bleakly, \"just an archer.\"\n\n\"No, you are a ventenar! Tomorrow, who knows, maybe a centenar? And one day you will have land. We will have land.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow is Saint Crispinian's Day,\" Hook said, unable to imagine owning land.\n\n\"And he has not forgotten you! Tomorrow he will be with you,\" Melisande said.\n\nHook hoped that was true. \"Do one thing for me,\" he said, \"wear your father's jupon.\"\n\nShe hesitated, then he felt her nod. \"I will,\" she promised.\n\n\"Hook!\" Thomas Evelgold's voice barked from the darkness. \"Time to take your boys forward!\" Tom Evelgold paused, waiting for a response, and Melisande clutched Hook. \"Hook!\" Evelgold shouted again.\n\n\"I'm coming!\"\n\n\"I'll see you again,\" Melisande said, \"before\u2026\" her voice trailed away.\n\n\"You'll see me again,\" Hook said, and he kissed her fiercely before relinquishing the cloak to her. \"I'm coming!\" he shouted to Tom Evelgold again.\n\nNone of his archers had been sleeping because none could sleep in the drenching rain beneath the thunder. They grumbled as they followed Hook up the gentle slope to the great stretch of black plowland where, for a long while, they blundered around searching for the picquet they were to relieve. Hook finally discovered Walter Magot and his men a hundred paces ahead of where the sharpened stakes were still positioned. \"Tell me you left me a big fire and a pot of broth,\" Magot greeted him.\n\n\"Thick broth, Walter, barley, beef and parsnips. Couple of turnips in it as well.\"\n\n\"You'll hear the French,\" Magot said. \"They're walking their horses. If they get too close you sing out and they go away.\"\n\nHook peered northward. The fires in the French camp were bright despite the rain, their flames reflected in rain-driven flickers from the water standing in the furrows and the same distant firelight outlined men leading horses in the field. \"They want the horses warm for the morning,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Bastards want to charge us, don't they?\" Magot said. \"Come morning, all those big men on big goddam horses.\"\n\n\"So pray it stops raining,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Christ, pray it does,\" Magot said fervently. In rain like this the bowstrings would get wet and feeble, stealing power from the arrows. \"Stay warm, Nick,\" Magot said, then led his men away to the dubious comforts of the encampment.\n\nHook crouched under the lash of wind and rain. Lightning staggered across the sky to stab down in the valley beyond the vast French camp and in its sudden light he had a vision of tents and banners. So many tents, so many banners, so many men come to the killing place. A horse whinnied. Scores of horses were being walked in the plowland and Hook, when they came close, could hear their big hooves sucking in the wet soil. A couple of men came too close and both times he called out and the French servants veered away. The rain slackened from time to time, lifting its veil of noise so Hook could clearly hear the sound of laughter and singing from the enemy camp. The English camp was silent. Hook doubted many men on either side would be sleeping. It was not just the weather that would keep them awake, but the knowledge that in the morning they must fight. Armorers would be sharpening weapons and Hook felt a shiver in his heart as he thought of what the dawn must bring. \"Be with us,\" he prayed to Saint Crispinian, then he remembered the advice of the priest in Soissons Cathedral, that heaven paid closer attention to those prayers that asked for blessings on others, and so he prayed for Melisande and for Father Christopher, that they would live through the next day's turmoil.\n\nLightning staggered across the clouds, stark and white, and the thunder cracked overhead and the rain settled into a new and venomous intensity, falling so thick that the lights of the French camp faded. \"Who goes there?\" Tom Scarlet suddenly shouted.\n\n\"Friend!\" a man called back.\n\nAnother flicker of lightning revealed a man-at-arms approaching from the English encampment. He was wearing a mail coat and plate leggings and the sudden lightning lasted long enough for Hook to see the man had no surcoat and, instead of a helmet, wore a wide-brimmed leather hat. \"Who are you?\" Hook demanded.\n\n\"Swan,\" the man said, \"John Swan. Whose men are you?\"\n\n\"Sir John Cornewaille's,\" Hook answered.\n\n\"If every man in the army was like Sir John,\" Swan said, \"then the French would be wise to run away!\" He almost had to shout to make himself heard above the rain's malevolence. None of the archers responded. \"Are your bows strung?\" Swan asked.\n\n\"In this weather, sir? No!\" Hook answered.\n\n\"What if it rains like this in the morning?\"\n\nHook shrugged. \"We'll shorten strings, sir, and shoot away, but the cords will stretch.\"\n\n\"And eventually they'll break,\" Will of the Dale added.\n\n\"They unravel,\" Tom Scarlet said in explanation.\n\n\"So what will happen in the morning?\" Swan asked. He had crouched near the archers who were clearly uncomfortable in the presence of this stranger.\n\n\"You tell us, sir,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I want to know what you think,\" Swan said forcibly. There was an embarrassed silence because none of the archers wanted to share his fears. A gust of laughter and cheering sounded from the French camp. \"In the morning,\" Swan said, \"many of the French will be drunk. We'll be sober.\"\n\n\"Aye, only because we've got no ale,\" Tom Scarlet said.\n\n\"So what do you think will happen?\" Swan insisted.\n\nThere was another silence. \"Drunken goddam bastards will attack us,\" Hook finally said.\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then we kill the goddam drunken bastards,\" Tom Scarlet said.\n\n\"And so win the battle?\" Swan asked.\n\nAgain no one answered. Hook wondered why Swan had sought them out to have this forced conversation. Eventually, as none of his men spoke, Hook did. \"That's up to God, sir,\" he said awkwardly.\n\n\"God is on our side,\" Swan said very forcefully.\n\n\"We do hope that, sir,\" Tom Scarlet said dubiously.\n\n\"Amen,\" Will of the Dale put in.\n\n\"God is on our side,\" Swan said even more forcefully, \"because our king's cause is just. If the gates of hell were opened in tomorrow's dawn and Satan's legions come to attack us, we shall still win. God is with us.\"\n\nAnd Hook remembered that far-off sunlit day in Southampton Water when the two swans had beaten past the waiting fleet and he remembered, too, that the swan was one of the badges of Henry, King of England.\n\n\"You believe that?\" Swan asked, \"that our king's cause is just?\"\n\nNone of the other archers answered, but Hook recognized the voice now. \"I don't know if the king's cause is just,\" he said harshly.\n\nThere was a silence for a few heartbeats and Hook sensed the man who called himself Swan stiffen with indignation. \"Why should it not be?\" Swan asked, his voice dangerously cold.\n\n\"Because on the day before we crossed the Somme,\" Hook said, \"the king hanged a man for theft.\"\n\n\"The man stole from the church,\" Swan said dismissively, \"so of course he had to die.\"\n\n\"But he never stole the box,\" Hook said.\n\n\"He didn't,\" Tom Scarlet added.\n\n\"He never stole that box,\" Hook said harshly, \"yet the king hanged him. And hanging an innocent man is a sin. So why should God be on the side of a sinner? Tell me that, sir? Tell me why God would favor a king who murders an innocent man?\"\n\nThere was another silence. The rain had eased a little and Hook could hear music coming from the French camp, then a burst of laughter. There had to be lamps inside the enemy's tents because their canvas glowed yellow. The man called Swan shifted slightly, his plate leggings creaking. \"If the man was innocent,\" Swan said in a low voice, \"then the king did wrong.\"\n\n\"He was innocent,\" Hook said stubbornly, \"and I'd stake my life on that.\" He paused, wondering if he dared go further, then decided to take the risk. \"Hell, sir, I'd wager the king's life on that!\"\n\nThere was a hiss as the man called Swan took a sudden inward breath, but he said nothing.\n\n\"He was a good boy,\" Will of the Dale said.\n\n\"And he never even got a trial!\" Tom Scarlet said indignantly. \"At home, sir, at least we get to say our piece at the manor court before they hang us!\"\n\n\"Aye! We're Englishmen,\" Will of the Dale said, \"and we have rights!\"\n\n\"You know the man's name?\" Swan asked after a pause.\n\n\"Michael Hook,\" Hook said.\n\n\"If he was innocent,\" Swan said slowly, as if he were thinking about his response even as he spoke it, \"then the king will have masses sung for his soul, he will endow a chantry for him, and he will pray himself every day for the soul of Michael Hook.\"\n\nAnother sharp fork of lightning stabbed the earth and Hook saw the dark scar beside the king's nose where a bodkin arrow had hit him at Shrewsbury. \"He was innocent, sir,\" Hook said, \"and the priest who said otherwise lied. It was a family quarrel.\"\n\n\"Then the masses will be sung, the chantry will be endowed, and Michael Hook will go to heaven with a king's prayers,\" the king promised, \"and tomorrow, by God's grace, we will fight those Frenchmen and teach them that God and Englishmen are not to be mocked. We will win. Here,\" he thrust something at Hook, who took it and found it was a full leather bottle. \"Wine,\" the king said, \"to warm you through the rest of the night.\" He walked away, his armored feet squelching in the thick soil.\n\n\"He was a weird goddam fellow,\" Geoffrey Horrocks said when the man called Swan was well out of earshot.\n\n\"I just hope he's goddam right,\" Tom Scarlet put in.\n\n\"Goddam rain,\" Will of the Dale grumbled. \"Sweet Jesus, I hate this goddam rain.\"\n\n\"How can we win tomorrow?\" Scarlet asked.\n\n\"You shoot well, Tom, and you hope God loves you,\" Hook said, and he wished Saint Crispinian would break his silence, but the saint said nothing.\n\n\"If the goddamned French do get in among us tomorrow,\" Tom Scarlet said, then faltered.\n\n\"What, Tom?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Say it!\"\n\n\"I was going to say I'd kill you and you could kill me before they torture us, but that would be difficult, wouldn't it? I mean you'd be dead and you'd find it really hard to kill me if you were dead.\" Scarlet had sounded serious, but then began to laugh and suddenly they were all laughing helplessly, though none really knew why. Dead men laughing, but that, Hook thought, was better than weeping.\n\nThey shared the wine, which did nothing to warm them, and slowly, gray as mail, the dawn relieved the dark. Hook went into the eastern woods to empty his bowels and saw a small village just beyond the trees. French men-at-arms had quartered themselves in the hovels and now were mounting horses and riding toward the main encampment. Back on the plateau Hook watched the French forming their battles under their damp standards.\n\nAnd the English did the same. Nine hundred men-at-arms and five thousand archers came to the field of Agincourt in the dawn, and across from them, across the furrows that had been deep plowed to receive the winter wheat, thirty thousand Frenchmen waited.\n\nTo do battle on Saint Crispin's Day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Saint Crispin's Day",
                "text": "[ Agincourt ]\n\nDawn was cold and gray. A few spatters of rain blew fitfully across the plowed field, but Hook sensed the night's downpours had ended. Small patches of mist clung to the furrows and lingered in the dripping trees.\n\nThe drummers behind the center of the English line were beating a quick rhythm that was punctuated by the flaring sound of trumpets. The musicians were massed where the king's banner, the largest in the army, was flanked by the cross of Saint George, by the banner of Edward the Confessor, and by the flag of the Holy Trinity. That quartet of banners, all flown from extra-long poles, was in the middle of the center battle, while the flanking battles, the rearguard and vanguard, were similarly dominated by their leaders' standards. There were at least fifty other flags flying in the damp air above Henry's men-at-arms, but those English standards were as nothing to the array of silk and linen that was flaunted by the French. \"Count the banners,\" Thomas Evelgold had suggested as a way of estimating the French numbers, \"and reckon every flag is a lord with twenty men.\" Some French lords would have fewer men-at-arms and most would have far more, but Tom Evelgold was certain his method would yield an approximation of the enemy's numbers, except that even Hook, with his good eyesight, could not distinguish the separate flags. There were simply too many. \"There are thousands of the bastards,\" Evelgold said unhappily, \"and look at all those goddam crossbowmen!\" The French archers were on the enemy's flanks, but some way behind the leading men-at-arms.\n\n\"You wait!\" an elderly man-at-arms, gray-haired and mounted on a mud-spattered gelding, shouted at the archers. He was just one of the numerous men who had come to offer advice or orders. \"You wait,\" he called again, \"till I throw my baton in the air!\" The man held up a short, thick staff that was wrapped in green cloth and surmounted by golden finials. \"That's the signal to shoot arrows! No one is to shoot before that! You watch for my baton!\"\n\n\"Who's that?\" Hook asked Evelgold.\n\n\"Sir Thomas Erpingham.\"\n\n\"Who's he?\"\n\n\"The man who throws the baton,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"I shall throw it high!\" Sir Thomas shouted, \"like this!\" He threw the baton vigorously so that it circled high in the rain above him. He lunged to catch it as it fell, but missed. Hook wondered if that was a bad omen.\n\n\"Fetch it, Horrocks,\" Evelgold said, \"and look lively, lad!\" Horrocks could not run, the furrows and ridges were too thick with mud and so his feet sank up to his ankles, but he retrieved the green stick and held it to the gray-haired knight. Sir Thomas thanked him, then moved down the line of archers to shout his orders again. Hook noticed how Sir Thomas's horse struggled in the plowed land. \"They must have set the share deep,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"Winter wheat,\" Hook said.\n\n\"What's that got to do with it?\"\n\n\"Always plow deeper for winter wheat,\" Hook explained.\n\n\"I never had to plow,\" Evelgold said. He had been a tanner before he was appointed as a ventenar to Sir John.\n\n\"Plow deep in autumn and shallow in spring,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I suppose it'll save the bastards from digging us graves,\" Evelgold said dourly, \"they can just roll us into those big furrows and kick the soil over us.\"\n\n\"Sky's clearing,\" Hook said. Off to the west, above the ramparts of the small castle of Agincourt that just showed above the woodland, the light was brightening.\n\n\"At least the bowstrings will be dry,\" Evelgold remarked, \"which means we might kill a few of the goddam bastards before they slaughter us.\"\n\nThe enemy flew more banners and they also had more musicians. The English trumpeters were playing brief series of defiant notes, then pausing to let the drummers beat their sharp, insistent rhythm, but the French trumpets never stopped. They clawed at English ears, a braying sound that rose and fell on the cold wind. Most of the French army was on foot, like the English, but on either wing Hook could see masses of mounted knights. The horses wore long linen trappers embroidered with coats of arms. Their riders were trying to keep the beasts warm by walking them up and down. Lances pricked the sky. \"The goddam bastards will come soon,\" Tom Scarlet said.\n\n\"Maybe,\" Hook said, \"maybe not.\" He half wished the French would come and get the ordeal over, and he half wished he was safely back in England, abed.\n\n\"Don't string up till they move,\" Evelgold called to Sir John's archers. He had offered the advice at least six times already, but none of the bowmen seemed to notice. They shivered and watched the enemy. \"Shit!\" Evelgold added.\n\n\"What?\" Hook asked, alarmed.\n\n\"I just stepped in some.\"\n\n\"That's supposed to bring you luck,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Then I'd better dance in the goddam stuff.\"\n\nPriests were saying mass among the archers and, one by one, the men went to receive the bread of life and have their sins forgiven. The king was ostentatiously kneeling bareheaded before one of his chaplains out in front of the center battle. He had ridden the line once, mounted on a small white horse, and the gilded crown that circled his battle-helm had looked unnaturally bright in the morning's gloom. He had chivvied men into position and leaned out of his saddle to tug at an archer's stake to ensure it was well bedded in the soil. \"God is with us, fellows!\" he had called to the archers. The bowmen had started to kneel in deference, but he had waved them up. \"God is on our side! Be confident!\"\n\n\"Wish God has sent more Englishmen,\" a voice had dared to call from among the bowmen.\n\n\"Never wish that!\" the king had sounded cheerful. \"God's providence is sufficient! We are enough to do His work!\"\n\nHook hoped to God the king was right as he went back to kneel before Father Christopher who was dressed in a black priestly robe over which he wore a mud-spattered chasuble embroidered with white doves, green crosses, and the Cornewaille red lions. \"I've sinned, father,\" Hook said, and he made a confession he had never made before; that he had murdered Robert Perrill and still planned to murder both Thomas Perrill and Sir Martin. It was hard to say the words, but Hook was driven to it by the thought, almost a certainty, that this was his last day on earth.\n\nFather Christopher's hands tightened on Hook's head. \"Why did you commit murder?\" he asked.\n\n\"The Perrills murdered my grandfather, my father, and my brother,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And now you have murdered one of them,\" Father Christopher said sternly. \"Nick, it must finish.\"\n\n\"I hate them, father.\"\n\n\"It's a day of battle,\" Father Christopher said, \"and you should go to your enemies and beg their forgiveness and make your peace.\" The priest paused, but Hook said nothing. \"Other men are doing that,\" Father Christopher went on. \"They're seeking out their enemies and making their peace. You should do the same.\"\n\n\"I promised not to kill him in the battle,\" Hook said.\n\n\"That's not enough, Nick. You want to go to God's judgment with hatred in your heart?\"\n\n\"I can't make peace with them,\" Hook said, \"not after they killed Michael.\"\n\n\"Christ forgave His enemies, Nick, and we are to be like Christ.\"\n\n\"I'm not Christ, father. I'm Nick Hook.\"\n\n\"And God loves you,\" Father Christopher sighed, then made the sign of the cross on Nick's head. \"You will not murder either man, Nick. That is a command from God. You understand me? You will not go into this battle with hatred in your heart. That way God will look gently on you. Promise me you will think no murder, Nick.\"\n\nIt was a struggle. Hook was silent for a while, then he nodded abruptly. \"I won't kill them, father,\" he said unhappily.\n\n\"Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. You swear that?\"\n\nThere was another pause. Hook was thinking of the long years, of the embedded hatred, of the loathing he felt for Sir Martin and for Tom Perrill, and then he thought of what he had to face this day and he knew that if he were to go to heaven then he must give Father Christopher the solemn promise. He nodded abruptly. \"I swear it,\" he said.\n\nFather Christopher's hands tightened on Hook's bare scalp again. \"Your penance is to shoot well this day, Nicholas Hook. Shoot well for God and your king. Te absolvo,\" he said. \"Your sins are forgiven. Now look up at me.\"\n\nHook looked up. The rain had finally stopped. He stared into Father Christopher's eyes as the priest took a sliver of charcoal and carefully wrote on Hook's forehead. \"There,\" he said when he was finished.\n\n\"What's that, father?\"\n\nFather Christopher smiled, \"I've written IHC Nazar on your forehead. Some folk believe it protects a man from sudden death.\"\n\n\"What does it mean, father?\"\n\n\"It's the name of Christ, the Nazarene.\"\n\n\"Write it on Melisande's forehead, father.\"\n\n\"I will, Hook, of course I will. Now ready yourself for the body of Christ.\" Hook received the sacrament and then, as other men were doing and as the king had done, he took a pinch of wet earth and swallowed it with the wafer to show he was ready for death. The gesture proclaimed he was prepared to receive the earth as the earth might have to receive him. \"God bless you, Nick,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"I hope we meet when it's over, father,\" Hook said, pulling the helmet over his aventail.\n\n\"I pray that too,\" the priest said.\n\n\"The shit-eating bastards must come soon,\" Will of the Dale grumbled when Hook rejoined his men, yet the French showed no sign of wanting to attack. They waited, their deep ranks almost filling the wide space between the woods. The English heralds, resplendent in their liveries and holding their long white wands, had ridden halfway to the enemy's line where they had been met by French and Burgundian heralds and now they all made a bright group that sat on their horses at the edge of the trees beside a tumbledown hovel with a mossy roof. They would observe the battle together and at its end they would decree the winner.\n\n\"Come on, you goddam bastards,\" a man grumbled.\n\nBut the goddam bastards did not come. Their trumpets howled, but the long steel ranks showed no sign of being ready to advance. They waited. The trapper-bright horses milled about to hide the crossbowmen behind. A brief ray of sunlight shone on the center of their line and Hook saw the oriflamme, the red forked pennant that announced to the French that they were to take no prisoners. Kill everyone.\n\n\"Evelgold! Hook! Magot! Candeler!\" Now it was Sir John Cornewaille's turn to pace in front of the archers. \"Come here! The four of you!\"\n\nHook joined the other three sergeants. It was extraordinarily hard to walk through the deep plow because the clay soil had turned to a viscous reddish mud that clung to his boots. It was even harder for Sir John who was wearing full plate armor, sixty pounds of steel, so that he lurched as he walked, forced to drag each steel-plated foot out of the earth's sucking grip. Sir John struggled to a place some forty or fifty paces ahead of the archers and there waited for his sergeants. \"You always want to look at your own army,\" he greeted them, \"to see it as the enemy does. Have a look.\"\n\nHook turned to stare at a mud-spattered, rusted and bedraggled army. His army. The center of the line was made of three battles, each of around three hundred men-at-arms. The central battle was commanded by the king, the one on the far right by Lord Camoys, while the left-hand battle was led by the Duke of York. Between the three battles were two small groups of archers, while on either flank were the much larger contingents of bowmen. Those two flanking groups, with their stakes, were angled ahead of the line's center so that their arrows could fly in from the sides. \"So what do the French do?\" Sir John demanded.\n\n\"Attack,\" Evelgold said dourly.\n\n\"Attack what and why?\" Sir John asked harshly. None of the four archers answered, instead they gazed at their own small army and wondered what reply Sir John wanted. \"Think!\" Sir John growled, his bright blue eyes darting between his sergeants. \"You're a Frenchman! You live in some shit-spattered manor with rats in the damp walls and mice dancing in the roof. What do you want?\"\n\n\"Money,\" Hook suggested.\n\n\"So what do you attack?\"\n\n\"The flags,\" Thomas Evelgold said.\n\n\"Because that's where the money is,\" Sir John said. \"The goddamned bastards are flying the oriflamme,\" he went on, \"but that means nothing. They want prisoners. They want rich prisoners. They want the king, the Duke of York, the Duke of Gloucester, they want me, they want ransoms! There's no profit in slaughtering archers, so the bastards will attack the men-at-arms. They'll attack the flags, but some might come for you so drive them into the center with arrows. That's what you do! Drive their flanks into the center. Because that's where I can kill them.\"\n\n\"If we've got enough arrows,\" Evelgold said doubtfully.\n\n\"Save enough!\" Sir John said forcibly, \"because if you run out of arrows you're going to have to fight them hand to hand and they're trained to that, you're not.\"\n\n\"You trained us, Sir John,\" Hook said, remembering the winter of practice with swords and axes.\n\n\"You're half-trained, but the other archers?\" Sir John asked derisively, and Hook, looking at the waiting men, knew they were no match for French men-at-arms. The archers were tailors and cordwainers, fullers and carpenters, millers and butchers. They were tradesmen who possessed a superb skill, the ability to draw the cord of a yew bow to their ear and send the arrow on its deathward journey. They were killers, but they were not men hardened to war by tournaments and trained from childhood in the discipline of blades. Many of them had no armor other than a padded jacket, and some did not even possess that small protection. \"God keep the French from getting among them!\" Sir John said.\n\nNone of the sergeants responded. They were thinking of what would happen when French men-at-arms, clad in steel, came to kill them. Hook shivered, then was distracted by the sight of five horsemen riding under the English royal banner toward the waiting French army. \"What are they doing, Sir John?\" Evelgold asked.\n\n\"The king has sent them to make an appeal for peace,\" Sir John said, \"they'll demand that the French yield the crown to Henry, and then we'll agree not to slaughter them.\"\n\nEvelgold just stared at Sir John as if he did not believe what he had heard. Hook suppressed a laugh and Sir John shrugged. \"So they won't accept the terms,\" he said, \"and that means we fight, but it doesn't mean that they'll attack us.\"\n\n\"They won't?\" Magot asked.\n\n\"We have to get past them to reach Calais, so maybe we'll have to cut our way through them.\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" Evelgold muttered.\n\n\"They want us to attack them, Sir John?\" Magot asked.\n\n\"I would, if I were them!\" Sir John turned to stare at the enemy. \"They don't want to cross this ground any more than we do, but they don't need to cross it. We do. We have to reach Calais or we die here of starvation. So if they don't attack us, we have to attack them.\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" Evelgold said again, and Hook tried to imagine the effort that would be needed to cross that half-mile of sucking, slippery, clinging mud. Let the French attack, he thought, and suddenly shivered violently. He was cold, he was hungry, he was tired. The fear came in waves and was turning his bowels to water. He was not the only one, lots of men were slipping into the woods to empty their bowels.\n\n\"I need to go to the woods,\" he said.\n\n\"If you need to shit, do it here,\" Sir John said harshly, then shouted at the massed archers. \"No one's to use the woods!\" He feared that men, losing courage, would hide in the trees. \"You're to shit where you stand!\"\n\n\"Shit and die,\" Tom Evelgold said.\n\n\"And go to hell with fouled breeches,\" Sir John snarled, \"who cares?\" He looked at each of his sergeants in turn, then spoke with a quiet intensity. \"This battle's not lost. Remember, we have archers, they don't.\"\n\n\"But we don't have enough arrows,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"Then make each one count,\" Sir John said, impatient with his centenar's pessimism, then scowled at Hook. \"Jesus, man, can't you do that upwind of me?\"\n\n\"Sorry, Sir John.\"\n\nSir John grinned. \"At least you can take a shit. Try doing that in full armor. I tell you, we're not going to smell like lilies by the time we've finished our work today.\" He gazed at the enemy, his bright eyes looking at the oriflamme. \"And one last thing,\" he said forcefully, \"no one's to start taking prisoners until we give the order that it's safe to capture instead of kill.\"\n\n\"You think we'll take prisoners?\" Evelgold asked with astonished disbelief.\n\n\"If men try to take prisoners too soon they weaken the line,\" Sir John said, ignoring the question. \"You have to fight and kill until the bastards can fight no more, and only then can you set about finding ransoms.\" He clapped Evelgold on a mail-clad shoulder. \"Tell your lads we'll be feasting on captured French provisions tonight.\"\n\nEither that, Hook thought, or eating hell's rations. He struggled back to his men who each stood by a stake. Those stakes, over two thousand of them on this right flank of the English army, made a dense thicket of sharpened points. Men could move among them easily enough, but no warhorse could maneuver about them.\n\n\"What did Sir John want?\" Will of the Dale asked.\n\n\"To tell you that we'll be eating French rations tonight.\"\n\n\"He thinks they'll take us prisoner?\" Will asked skeptically.\n\n\"No, he thinks we'll win.\"\n\nThat prompted some bitter laughter. Hook ignored it and watched the enemy. The front rank of their dismounted men-at-arms stretched across the skyline, thick with the metal points of shortened lances. Still they did not move and still the English waited. French horsemen went on exercising their destriers and, because the horses disliked the thick furrows, many of the knights went to the grassy pastures beyond the woods. The sun climbed higher behind the thinning clouds. The king's emissaries, sent to make an offer of peace, had met with a similar group of Frenchmen and now rode back across the plowland and, moments later, a rumor spread that the French had agreed to let the English pass, then the rumor was denied. \"If they don't want to fight,\" Tom Scarlet said, \"then perhaps they'll just stand there all day!\"\n\n\"We have to get past them, Tom.\"\n\n\"Jesus, we could sneak off tonight! Go back to Harfleur.\"\n\n\"The king won't do that.\"\n\n\"Why not for God's sake? He wants to die?\"\n\n\"He's got God on his side,\" Hook said.\n\nTom shivered. \"God might have sent us a decent breakfast.\"\n\nWomen brought what little food they had hoarded against this day. Melisande gave Hook an oatcake. \"We share it,\" Hook said.\n\n\"It's for you,\" she insisted. There was mold on the oats, but Hook ate half anyway and gave Melisande the other half. There was no ale, just water from a stream that Melisande brought in an old leather wine bottle. The water tasted rank. Melisande stood beside him and stared at the French. \"So many,\" she said quietly.\n\n\"They're not moving,\" Hook said.\n\n\"So what will happen?\"\n\n\"We'll have to attack them.\"\n\nShe shivered. \"You think my father's there?\"\n\n\"I'm sure of it.\"\n\nShe said nothing. They waited. Waited. The trumpets and drums still sounded, but the musicians were tiring and the music was less exuberant. Hook could hear robins singing fitfully among the trees, some of which had already lost their leaves so that their branches were gaunt as scaffolds against the gray sky. The glistening wet plowland between the waiting armies was flitting with fieldfares and redwings that sought worms in the furrows. Hook thought of home, of the cows being milked, the sound of rutting stags in the woods, the shortening evenings and firelight in the cottages.\n\nThen there was a stir and Hook, startled back to reality, saw that the king, mounted once again on the small white horse and accompanied only by his standard-bearer, had ridden out ahead of the army. He was coming toward the archers on the right flank and his horse, troubled by the uncertain footing, was lifting its hooves high. The king had taken off his crowned helm and the small wind tousled his short brown hair, making him look younger than his twenty-eight years. He curbed the horse a few paces in front of the foremost stakes and the centenars shouted at their men to take off their helmets and kneel. This time the king accepted the obeisance, waiting until all two and a half thousand archers were on their knees.\n\n\"Bowmen of England!\" the king called, then was silent as the men shuffled closer to hear him. Cased bows and poleaxes were slung on their shoulders. Some men were armed with foresters' axes or lead-weighted mallets. Most had a sword, though some carried nothing except a bow and a knife. Those with helmets had taken off their bascinets and others clawed back their mail hoods as they stared at their bareheaded king.\n\n\"Bowmen of England!\" Henry called again, and there was a catch in his voice, so that he paused again. The wind stirred the mane of his horse. \"We fight today because of my quarrel!\" the king shouted, his voice clear and confident now. \"Our enemy deny me the crown that God has granted me! Today they believe they will humble us! Today they believe they will drag me as a prisoner before the crowds in Paris!\" He paused as a murmur of protest went through the hundreds of bowmen. \"Our enemy,\" the king went on, \"have threatened to cut off the fingers of every Englishman who draws a bow!\" The murmur was louder now, a growl of indignation, and Hook remembered the square in Soissons where the cutting off of fingers had just been the start of the horror. \"Of every Welshman who draws a bow!\" the king added, and a ripple of cheers sounded from among the archers' ranks.\n\n\"All that they believe,\" the king called, \"yet they have forgotten God's will. They are blind to Saint George and to Saint Edward who watch over us, and it is not just those saints who offer us their protection! This day is the feast of Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian, and those saints want vengeance for the evils done to them at Soissons.\" He paused again, but no murmur sounded. To most of the archers Soissons was a name that meant nothing, but they were still listening intently. \"It has fallen to us,\" the king said, \"to wreak that vengeance and you must know, as certainly as I know, that we are God's instruments this day! God is in your bows, God is in your arrows, God is in your weapons, God is in your hearts, and God is in your souls. God will preserve us and God will destroy our enemies!\" He paused again as another low murmur sounded among the archers. \"With your help!\" the king shouted loud now, \"with your strength! We will win today!\" There was a heartbeat of silence, then the archers cheered. The king waited for the sound to die away. \"I have offered peace to our foe! Grant me my rights, I said to them, and we shall have peace, but there is neither peace in their hearts nor mercy in their souls, and so we have come to this place of judgment!\" Here, for the first time, the king took his eyes from the throng of kneeling archers and turned to look at the clay furrows that lay between the armies.\n\nHe looked back to his audience. \"I have brought you to this place,\" he said, his voice lower now, but intense, \"to this field in France, but I will not leave you here! I am, by the grace of God, your king,\" his voice rose, \"but this day I am no more than you and I am no less than you. This day I fight for you and I pledge you my life!\" The king had to pause because the bowmen were cheering him again. He raised a gauntleted hand and waited for silence. \"If you die here, I die here! I will not be taken captive!\" Again the archers cheered, and again the king raised a hand and waited till the sound stopped. He smiled then, a confiding smile. \"But I do not expect to be taken captive nor will I be killed, because all that I ask is that you fight for me this day as I will fight for you!\" He thrust his right hand toward the archers, sweeping his fingers around to encompass them all. His horse capered sideways in the mud and the king calmed it expertly. \"Today I fight for your homes, for your wives, for your sweethearts, for your mothers, for your fathers, for your children, for your lives, for your England!\" The cheer that greeted those words must have been heard at the field's far end where the French still waited beneath their bright banners. \"Today we are brothers! We were born in England, we were born in Wales, and I swear on the lance of Saint George and on the dove of Saint David that I shall take you home to England, home to Wales, with new glories to our name! Fight as Englishmen! That is all I ask of you! And I promise that I will fight beside you and for you! I am your king, but this day I am your brother, and I swear on my immortal soul that I will not forsake my brothers! God save you, my brothers!\" And with those words the king wheeled his horse and rode to give the same speech to the men-at-arms, leaving the archers on the right flank cheering him.\n\n\"By God,\" Will of the Dale said, \"but he really thinks we'll win!\"\n\nAnd at the field's far end the gusting wind lifted the red silk of the oriflamme so that it rippled above the enemy's lance points. No prisoners.\n\nAnd still the French did not move. The archers were sitting now, despite the damp ground. Some even slept, snoring in the mud. The priests still offered absolution. Father Christopher used his stub of charcoal to write the talismanic name of Jesus on Melisande's forehead. \"You will stay with the baggage train,\" he told her.\n\n\"I will, father.\"\n\n\"And keep your horse saddled,\" the priest advised.\n\n\"To run away?\" she asked.\n\n\"To run away,\" he agreed.\n\n\"And wear your father's jupon,\" Hook added.\n\n\"I will,\" she promised. She had the surcoat in a sack that held her worldly possessions, and now she took out the fine linen and unfolded it. \"Give me your knife, Nick.\"\n\nHe gave her his archer's dagger and she used it to cut a sliver of material from the bottom hem of the jupon. She gave it to him. \"There,\" she said.\n\n\"I wear it?\" Hook asked.\n\n\"Of course you do,\" Father Christopher said. \"That's what a soldier does. He wears his lady's colors.\" He gestured toward the English men-at-arms, most of whom wore a silken handkerchief or favor around their necks. Hook looped his own strip about his neck, then took Melisande into his arms.\n\n\"You heard the king,\" he told her, \"God is on our side.\"\n\n\"I hope God knows that,\" she said.\n\n\"I pray so too,\" Father Christopher said.\n\nThen, suddenly, there was movement. Not from the French who showed no sign of wanting to attack, but from a group of English men-at-arms who had mounted horses and now rode along the army's front. \"We're to advance!\" the man who came to the right wing shouted. \"Pick up your stakes! We're to advance!\"\n\n\"Fellows!\" It was the king himself who had gone a few paces ahead of the line and now stood in his stirrups and waved his arms to encompass all his countrymen. \"Fellows! Let's go!\"\n\n\"Oh, my God, my God,\" Melisande said.\n\n\"Go back to the baggage,\" Hook told her, then began wrestling his thick stake out of the clinging earth. \"Go on, love,\" he said, \"I'll be all right. There's not a Frenchman who can kill me.\" He did not believe that, but he forced a smile for her sake. He felt his stomach lurch. Fear was making him cold. He felt fragile, weak, shaking, but somehow he dragged the stake free and laid it over his shoulder.\n\nHe did not look back at Melisande. He started walking, struggling in the thick mud, and all along the English line men were doing the same. They moved pitifully slowly, dragging their feet out of the wet, clinging soil, and going pace by difficult pace toward the French.\n\nAnd the French watched them. Just watched. \"If the bastards had any sense they'd attack us now,\" Evelgold said.\n\n\"Maybe they will,\" Hook said. He watched the distant enemy. Some horsemen who had been exercising their destriers were walking them back toward the flanks of the army, but there appeared to be no urgency in their actions. The trumpets did not change their tune. The French seemed content to let the English march the length of the plowland, and Hook felt his mind skittering like a hare in the spring grass. Had it really been the king who came to the archers in the night? He had forgotten to whip the center of one of his spare bowstrings where the cord engaged an arrow's nock. Would the king really pray for Michael? Would death be quick? Piers Candeler suddenly loosed a string of oaths and kicked off both boots to negotiate the plow barefoot. Hook remembered the archer he had hanged in London and wondered if that man had felt just this same fear when he watched the Scottish army come to fight on Homildon's green hill, and then he thought of all the other Englishmen who had carried a war bow for their king. They had fought the Scots, the Welsh, each other, and always, always, they had fought the French, and still these French did not move. Their immobility was scaring Hook. They seemed content to wait, knowing that the small English army must throw itself on their blades.\n\nHook's left foot was trapped in the soil's suction so he did what other archers were doing, let the boot go. He pulled off the other boot and went barefoot, finding it easier. \"If they move,\" Evelgold shouted in warning, \"we stop, string bows, and plant stakes.\"\n\nYet the French did not move. Hook could see still more men joining their army, most coming from the east. The mounted men-at-arms on either flank were watching the English, but not spurring the big warhorses, which had armored faces and padded cloths over their chests and rumps. The riders' long lances were held upright. Some of the steel-tipped, ash-shafted lances had pennons attached. The horsemen had their helmets' visors open and Hook could see steel-framed faces. He was cold even though he was sweating. He wore a padded haubergeon over his leather-lined mail coat, and that armor might stop a sword swing, but it would easily be pierced by a lance. He tried to imagine dodging a spear's thrust in this thick mud and knew it would be impossible.\n\n\"Slow down!\" a voice ordered. The archers were getting too far ahead of the English men-at-arms who, encumbered by their armor, were making hard work of the waterlogged plowland. Yet, step by step, they advanced steadily, and the woods on either side drew closer so that the English line now filled the space between the trees. The bright group of heralds, French, English, and Burgundian, were walking their horses closer to the French, holding a position halfway between the two armies.\n\n\"Christ on His goddam cross,\" Evelgold grumbled, \"but how close does he want us?\"\n\nThen a voice bellowed at the archers to replant their stakes. The enemy was close now, only a little more than two hundred paces away, and that was no farther than the most distant marks at an archery contest, and Hook remembered those summer days with jugglers and dancing bears and free ale and the crowds cheering as the archers drew and loosed. \"Stakes!\" a man shouted, \"plant them firm!\"\n\nHook's stake slid easily enough into the soft ground. He glanced at the enemy, saw that they were still not moving, and so unslung his poleax and gave the stake's sharpened tip three hard blows that blunted the wood even as it drove the stake deeper into the ground. He used his knife to shave away the crushed wood and thus sharpen the replanted stake, and then, at last, he uncased the bow from its horsehide sheath. All around him archers were fixing stakes or stringing bows. Hook braced his bow against the stake's lower end and bent the yew to slip the cord's noose over the upper nock. He took both arrow bags from his shoulder. He pulled the arrows free and pushed them point down into the soil, bodkins to the left and the half-dozen broadheads to the right. He kissed the bow's belly, where the dark wood met the light. Dear God, he prayed, and then he prayed to Saint Crispinian, and his heart felt like a trapped bird and his mouth was dry and his right leg shivered, and still the French were motionless and Saint Crispinian made no answer to Hook's prayer.\n\nThe archers were spread out. Their stakes did not make a solid line facing the French, but instead were sunk in scattered lines, filling a space as wide and deep as the marketplace where Henry had burned and hanged the Lollards. There were a couple of paces between stakes, space enough for a man to move, but too tight for any horse to maneuver freely. The archers' crude ranks stretched back so that the men in the rear could not see the enemy because of the archers in front of them, but that did not matter yet because at two hundred paces they would need to shoot high in the air if their arrows were to reach the French. Hook was in the foremost rank and he turned to see Thomas Perrill hammering in his stake some paces behind and to his right. There was no sign of Sir Martin and Hook wondered if the priest had gone back to the camp. That thought made him shiver for Melisande's safety, but there was no time to worry about that because Tom Evelgold was shouting at his men to face front.\n\nHook thought the enemy was at last advancing, but the French were not stirring. Their center was a long thick line of dismounted men-at-arms in bright surcoats and polished armor, while their flanks were two masses of horsemen armed with lances. The flags were silken-bright against the gray sky and, in the very center of the French line, where the banners were thickest, the oriflamme was a red streak of wind-driven ripples telling the English that the enemy would show them no mercy.\n\nHook tried to find the Sire de Lanferelle in the enemy ranks, but could not see him. Instead he saw the weapons. He saw swords, lances, poleaxes, falcon-beaks, mauls, battleaxes, and maces. Some of the maces had spiked heads. He laid a broadhead across the bow's thick-bellied stave and suddenly wanted to empty his bowels again. He closed his eyes for an instant and said another fervent prayer to Saint Crispinian, then planted his bare feet in the slimy earth. He braced himself.\n\n\"Sweet Jesus Christ,\" Thomas Scarlet said.\n\n\"Oh God, oh God,\" Will of the Dale muttered.\n\nSir Thomas Erpingham, gray-haired and bareheaded, had mounted his small horse and ridden a few paces ahead of the English line. The horse picked its feet high, unhappy with the sticky soil. Behind Sir Thomas the English men-at-arms waited. The nine hundred were arrayed four deep, with the king, resplendent in shining armor and with a jeweled crown of gold ringing his battle-helm, standing in their center. Sir Thomas, in a green surcoat blazoned with the red cross of Saint George, turned the horse so that his back was toward the French. He waited a few heartbeats.\n\n\"Be with me now,\" Hook prayed aloud to Saint Crispinian.\n\nHe wished the saint would talk to him, but Crispinian was still silent.\n\n\"Draw!\" Thomas Evelgold ordered in a low voice.\n\nHook lifted the bow. He drew the hemp-string all the way to his ear and felt the savage power in the bent wood. He aimed at a horse directly ahead of him, but knew it would be luck if the arrow struck where he aimed. If the French had been fifty paces closer he would have picked his targets and been sure of hitting each one, but at extreme bowshot he would be lucky to land the arrow within four or five feet of his target. He held the string back and his right arm quivered.\n\nFive thousand archers had drawn their bows. Five thousand arrows were held on five thousand strings.\n\nA flock of starlings flew up beyond the Tramecourt woods, their wingbeats sudden and loud. They resembled a swirl of dark smoke above the trees and then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they went. All along the French line the visors were being dropped. Hook had seen faces, but now could see only faceless steel.\n\n\"God be with us,\" an archer muttered as Sir Thomas stood in his saddle.\n\nSir Thomas Erpingham threw the green baton high so that it circled in the damp air. There was silence above the field of Agincourt, a silence in which the green baton flew, its golden finials bright against the dull sky. \"Now,\" Sir Thomas shouted, \"strike!\"\n\nThe baton fell.\n\nHook released.\n\nThe arrows flew.\n\nThe first sound was the bowstrings, the snap of five thousand hemp cords being tightened by stressed yew, and that sound was like the devil's harpstrings being plucked. Then there was the arrow sound, the sigh of air over feathers, but multiplied, so that it was like the rushing of a wind. That sound diminished as two clouds of arrows, thick as any flock of starlings, climbed into the gray sky. Hook, reaching for another broadhead, marveled at the sight of five thousand arrows in two sky-shadowing groups. The two storms seemed to hover for a heart's beat at the height of their trajectory, and then the missiles fell.\n\nIt was Saint Crispin's Day in Picardy.\n\nFor an instant there was silence.\n\nThen the arrows struck.\n\nIt was the sound of steel on steel. A clatter, like Satan's hailstorm.\n\nAnd the day's noise of pain began. It was a scream from a horse that reared with a broadhead deep in its rump. The horse bolted forward, jerking its steel-clad rider in his high saddle, and the motion of the wounded horse served as a signal so that more horses followed, then all the riders spurred and the whole French line gave a great shout as their cavalry began their charge. \"Saint Denis! Montjoie!\"\n\n\"Saint George!\" someone shouted in the English line, and the shout was taken up by the small army. \"Saint George!\" The men-at-arms taunted the French with hunting calls, and the noise grew to a clamor as the trumpets screamed at the sky.\n\nWhere Hook's second broadhead was on its way.\n\nGhillebert, Seigneur de Lanferelle, was in the front rank of the French army. He was one of over eight thousand dismounted men-at-arms who formed the first of the three French battles. He wore polished plate armor beneath his surcoat of the sun and falcon, though the armor's leg pieces were now spattered with mud. At his side hung a long battle-sword, across his shoulder was a lead-weighted mace studded with spikes, while in his hands was an ash-shafted lance shortened to seven feet and tipped with a steel spike. His head was enclosed in a leather hood that was laced beneath his chin and beneath which his long hair was coiled. Over the hood he wore a chain-mail aventail that covered his head and shoulders, and above the aventail, completely encasing his skull, was an Italian battle-helm. The helm's visor was pushed up so he could see the English and see, too, that their army was risibly small.\n\nThe French were ebullient. Henry of England had dared to march his pathetic army from Normandy to Picardy, thinking he could shame his enemy by parading his insolent banners across French territory, and now he was trapped. Lanferelle, watching the enemy since dawn, had reckoned that there were only a thousand men-at-arms in their line, and that figure had seemed so ridiculously small that he had checked again and again by dividing the line into quarters, counting heads and multiplying by four, and each time he arrived at the same total. Maybe one thousand men-at-arms who were faced by three successive French battles, each with at least eight thousand men-at-arms, but there were also the two wings of the English.\n\nArchers.\n\nThousands of archers, too many to count, though the French scouts had reported figures as various as four thousand to eight thousand. And those archers, Lanferelle knew, carried the long yew bows and had bags of steel-tipped arrows that, at close range, could slash through the best armor in Christendom. That was why all Lanferelle's armor was shaped and curved so that the arrows would be deflected, yet even so he knew an unlucky hit could find lodgment. And so Ghillebert, the Lord of Hell, Sire of Lanferelle, did not share his compatriots' ebullience. He did not doubt for a second that the French men-at-arms could slaughter the English men-at-arms, but to reach that paltry battle-line they would have to endure the arrows.\n\nIn the night, as other men drank, the Sire of Lanferelle had gone to an astrologer, a famous man from Paris who was reputed to see the future, and Lanferelle had joined the long line waiting to consult the seer. The man, bearded, grave, and swathed in a fur-edged black cloak, had taken Lanferelle's gold and then, after much groaning and sighing, had declared he saw nothing but glory in the future. \"You will kill, my lord,\" the astrologer had said, \"you will kill and kill, and gain both glory and riches.\" Afterward, standing outside the astrologer's tent in the seething rain, Lanferelle had felt hollow.\n\nHe would kill and kill, of that he was certain, but the ambition was not to slaughter the English, but to capture them, and at the very center of the enemy line, beneath the tallest banners, was the King of England. Take Henry captive and the English nation would spend years raising the ransom. Frenchmen were relishing that prospect. There were also royal dukes in the English line, and great lords, and any one of them could make a man rich beyond his wildest dream.\n\nBut between the dream and the reality were the archers.\n\nAnd Ghillebert, Seigneur de Lanferelle, understood the power of the yew bow.\n\nWhich was why, when the English had begun their long, laborious advance across the plow-ruined field between Tramecourt and Agincourt, Lanferelle had called to the constable that it was time to attack. The English, as they struggled forward, had lost their cohesion. Instead of being an army in battle formation they were suddenly a mud-spattered rabble trudging across the treacherous furrows, and Lanferelle had seen the archers in disarray and had called again to Marshal Boucicault and to the constable, d'Albret. \"Let the horsemen go now!\"\n\nThe horsemen were on either French wing, big men on big horses, the stallions with armored faces and thick padding covering their chests, and their job was to charge into the archers on the wings and slaughter them mercilessly, but many of the horsemen had ridden away to exercise their destriers on the grassy meadows beyond the woods to keep the animals warm and the remaining horsemen merely watched the English.\n\n\"The decision isn't mine,\" Marshal Boucicault answered Lanferelle.\n\n\"Then whose is it?\"\n\n\"Not mine,\" Boucicault said curtly and grimly, and Lanferelle understood that Boucicault shared his fear of the archers' abilities.\n\n\"For the love of Christ!\" Lanferelle said when still no order was given for the horsemen to charge. Instead they stood their big destriers and watched as the English struggled ever closer.\n\n\"Who leads us? For Christ's sake, who leads us?\" Lanferelle asked loudly. No one had given the French a rousing speech before the battle, though Lanferelle had seen the English king ride and pause along the enemy line and he had guessed Henry was rousing his men to slaughter.\n\nYet who spoke for France? Neither the constable nor the marshal commanded the vast army. That honor seemed to lie with the Duke of Brabant, or perhaps it was the young Duke of Orleans who had only just arrived on the field and was now watching the English advance and doubtless counting the ransoms to be made. The duke seemed content to let the enemy struggle toward their slaughter and so no order was given to the horsemen on either French wing.\n\nLanferelle watched, incredulous, as the English were allowed to come within long bowshot. The French had crossbowmen, they even had a handful of men who could shoot the yew bow, and they possessed some small cannons that were ready and loaded, but the waiting horsemen masked both the guns and the bowmen. The crossbow had a longer range than the yew bow, but the crossbowmen could not shoot and so the enemy archers pounded in their stakes unmolested. Dear God, Lanferelle thought, but this was madness. The archers should have been scattered and slaughtered by now, but instead they had been allowed to come within their bows' range and to pound their stakes into the soft ground as a deterrent to horsemen. He watched as they strung their bows, doing it all within crossbow range yet staying entirely undisturbed. \"Jesus,\" he said to no one in particular, \"she comes in, takes off her clothes, lies on the bed, spreads her legs, and we do nothing.\"\n\n\"Sire?\" his squire asked.\n\nLanferelle ignored the question. \"Visors!\" he shouted at his men. He led sixteen men-at-arms and he turned to make certain they had closed their visors before pulling down his own with a metallic thud.\n\nHe was instantly engulfed in darkness. A moment before he had been able to see the enemy clearly. He had even seen the glitter of gold circling Henry of England's helmet, but now there was a steel shutter in front of his eyes and the shutter was pierced by twenty small holes, none wide enough to admit even a bodkin arrow's narrow point, and to see anything through those holes Lanferelle had to move his head from side to side, and even then he could make out little of what happened.\n\nYet he did see the lone horseman ride from the center of the English line.\n\nAnd he saw the baton thrown into the air.\n\nAnd he heard the words. \"Now, strike!\"\n\nHe lowered his head as if he struggled into a fierce wind and he heard the rising rush of arrows and he flinched, teeth grinding together, and then the missiles struck.\n\nThere was a terrible noise as thousands of steel arrowheads plunged onto steel armor, and a man called out in sudden pain, and Lanferelle felt a thumping blow on his right shoulder, and even though the arrow was deflected it lurched him to one side with the sheer force of its blow. A second arrow quivered in his lance, though he could not see it. Some fool in the rear rank had left his visor open and was making a gargling noise around an arrow that had fallen from the sky to pierce his mouth and drive down into his windpipe. The man slowly sank to his knees and coughed a stream of thick blood. Other arrows plunged into the soil, or else glanced off armor. A horse whinnied and reared to Lanferelle's left.\n\n\"Saint Denis! Montjoie!\" the French shouted and Lanferelle, jerking his head so that he could make some sense of what the small holes in his visor revealed, saw the horsemen at last start forward. Then another shout to advance came from the center of the French line, where the oriflamme flew, and all the first battle lurched toward the enemy.\n\n\"Montjoie!\" they shouted, the sound of their voices huge and deafening inside their helmets, and Lanferelle could hardly move because his armored feet were stuck in the mud, but he jerked his right leg free and so began the advance. Men of mud and steel, no flesh in sight, lumbering toward the waiting English. And the English were howling hunting cries like rabid devils pursuing Christian souls.\n\nAnd the second arrow-storm fell.\n\nAnd the devil's hail rattled and more men screamed.\n\nAs the French, at last, attacked.\n\nThe horsemen came first. Hook saw one horse rearing, saw the rider topple backward as his pennanted lance scraped a circle against the sky, and then that horse was swallowed by the charge. Knights roweled back their spurs, lowered their lances and called their battle cry, and Hook saw great clods of earth being thrown up behind the monstrous hooves. The stallions tossed their armor-weighted heads, hating the uneven ground, and the spurs struck back again and the charge took shape as the horses gained speed.\n\nThe skill of a mounted charge was to start slow, the riders knee to knee, and to advance in that close formation so that the whole line of heavy horses struck the enemy together. Only at the last minute should a man kick his destrier into a gallop, but the plowland was so soft and the arrow fall so sudden that men spurred impulsively forward to escape both. No one had ordered the charge, rather it was the sting of the first arrow-storm that prompted it, and now, on both flanks, the horsemen charged as fast as their big horses could carry them. Three hundred horsemen attacked the English right wing, and even fewer assaulted the left. There were supposed to be a thousand horsemen on either flank, but the other riders were missing, still exercising their destriers.\n\nAnd the archers drew and loosed.\n\nHook used broadheads. They were useless against armor, but they could pierce the padded cloths protecting the horses' chests and, as the range shortened, so the arrows flew at a lower and lower trajectory, none wasting their force on the upper air, but searing straight into the charging animals, and for a moment Hook thought the arrows were having no effect, but then a horse stumbled and went down in a great flurry of mud, man, lance, and harness. The horse screamed and its rider, trapped by the rolling body, screamed with it and the horse behind struck the rolling beast in front and Hook saw the second rider being pitched forward over his horse's head. He drew again, picking a big horse with shaggy fetlocks and drove an arrow into its side, just in front of the saddle's girth and the horse swerved away, colliding with another, and Hook's next arrow thumped into a padded chest to bury itself to the fledging and the world was hoofbeats and screams and the sound of bow cords and at least a dozen horses were on the ground, some struggling to get up, others splashing mud with frantic hooves as their lives drained away through sliced arteries. Will of the Dale put a bodkin into a rider's throat and the man jerked back under the arrow's strike, then rebounded forward from his saddle's high cantle and his lance buried its point in a furrow and so lifted the man out of his saddle as his horse galloped on, eyes white and visible through the holes in its face armor, and the man was dragged along by the stirrup as the horse took an arrow in the eye and veered to one side and so brought down two more horses.\n\nThe archers were shooting fast. The horsemen did not have far to charge, but the ground slowed them and in the minute it took the three hundred to reach the archers on the English right they were the target of over four thousand arrows. Only the bowmen in the front two ranks were shooting at the horses, the other archers, their view of the charge obscured by those front ranks, were still hoisting arrows high so that they fell among the dismounted French.\n\nA maddened horse, blood spurting from a ripped belly, twisted away and charged at the French men-at-arms in the field's center. Others followed it. Some horsemen, balked by the corpses and by the dying horses to their front, pulled up, and then they were easy targets and the arrows whipped into them, each one striking a horse with the sound of a butcher's cleaver, and the horses were screaming and men were trying to control them.\n\nYet still some horses reached the English line.\n\n\"Back!\" centenars shouted, \"back!\"\n\nThe front ranks of archers stepped backward to leave their stakes facing the enemy. They still shot. Hook had taken a handful of bodkin arrows and he let one fly at less than twenty paces and saw the heavy, oak-weighted point glance off a manat-arm's armor. He drew again, this time plunging the arrow into the horse's chest.\n\nThen the charge struck home.\n\nBut the riders had their visors down and could see nothing through the small slits or holes, while the horses, wearing their steel chamfrons, were almost as blinkered as the men. The charge struck home, but struck onto the stakes and a horse whimpered pitifully, a stake deep in its rib-shattered chest and blood bubbling from its open mouth. The stallion's rider flailed his lance at empty air. Arrows drove into him and both man and horse were twisting and screaming. Another destrier made it past the first stakes and somehow saw the second row and veered aside to lose its footing in the slick mud. Horse and rider fell in a crash of steel and ash lance. \"Mine!\" Thomas Evelgold shouted and ran the few paces forward with his poleax. He swung it once, thumping the lead-weighted hammer onto the man-at-arms's helmet, then he knelt, hauled up the stunned man's visor, and ran a knife through an exposed eye. The man-at-arms quivered and was still. The horse tried to struggle to its feet, but Evelgold stunned it with his poleax, then struck again with the ax blade that pierced the chamfron and cracked open the beast's skull.\n\n\"See them off!\" Evelgold shouted.\n\nThe charge had ended at the stakes and the first French attack had ended in failure. The horsemen had been supposed to scatter the archers, but the arrows had done their wicked work and the stakes had stopped the survivors from getting among the bowmen. Some men-at-arms were already riding away, pursued by arrows, while riderless horses, crazed with pain, charged back at their own lines. One man, braver than brave, had dropped his lance to draw his sword and now tried to steer his destrier between the stakes, but the arrows whipped into his horse, which went to its knees, and a bodkin, shot at less than ten paces, drove through the rider's breastplate, killing him, and he sat there, a head-drooping corpse on a dying horse, and the English archers jeered him.\n\nIt was strange, Hook thought, that the fear had gone. Now, instead, an excitement sang in his veins and a thin shrill voice keened in his head. He went back to his stake and plucked up a bodkin. The horsemen were gone, defeated by arrows, but the main French attack still advanced. They came on foot, because armored men on foot were less vulnerable to arrows than horses, and they came beneath bright banners, but their ranks had been churned to chaos by the wounded, riderless horses that had fled in blind panic to charge through the advancing French. Men went down under the heavy hooves, and other men tried to straighten the ragged line that stumbled across the deep furrows toward the English king and his men-at-arms. Hook picked his targets. He drew, the cord flowing back with deceptive ease, and he loosed arrow after arrow. Other archers crowded him, all jostling forward to pour their shafts at the French.\n\nWho still came on. Their ranks had been broken by the panicked horses, and men were falling as arrows found their marks, but still they advanced. All France's high aristocracy was in the leading battle and they came beneath proud banners. Eight thousand dismounted men-at-arms attacking nine hundred.\n\nThen a French gun fired.\n\nMelisande was praying. It was not a conscious prayer, more a desperate and silent and unending cry for help aimed at a gray sky, which offered her no comfort.\n\nThe baggage had been supposed to follow the army up onto the plateau, but most had stayed around the village of Maisoncelles where the king had spent much of the night. The royal baggage wagons were parked there, guarded by ten men-at-arms and twenty archers, all of them reckoned too sick or lame to stand in the main line of battle. Father Christopher had led Melisande there, saying she would be safer than with the few packhorses that had been led up onto the high plowland where the two armies met. The priest had written his mysterious letters on her forehead. IHC Nazar. \"It will preserve your life,\" he had promised her.\n\n\"Write it on your own face,\" Melisande had told him.\n\nFather Christopher had smiled. \"God has me in the palm of His hand, my dear,\" he said, then made the sign of the cross, \"and He will preserve you. But you must stay here. You will be safer here.\" He had placed her with the other archers' wives between two empty wagons that had brought arrows to Agincourt, made sure that her horse was nearby and that the mare was saddled, and then Father Christopher had taken one of Sir John's horses and ridden up the slope toward the place where the armies waited. Melisande had watched him until he vanished over the crest of the hill, and that was when she had begun to pray. The other wives of Sir John's archers prayed too.\n\nMelisande's prayer took shape slowly. It had begun as an incoherent cry for help, but she forced herself to choose her words carefully as she prayed to the Virgin. Nick is a good man, she told the Mother of Christ, and a strong one, but he can be angry and sour, so help him now to be strong and alive. Let him live. That was the prayer, to let her man live.\n\n\"What do we do if the French come?\" Matilda Cobbold asked.\n\n\"Run,\" one of the other women said, and just then there was a roar from the hidden high ground beyond the skyline. They had heard the war-shout of Saint George, but the women were too far away to hear the saint's name, only the great bellow of sound that told them something must be happening beyond the skyline.\n\n\"God help us,\" Matilda said.\n\nMelisande opened the sack that contained her worldly belongings. She wanted the jupon her father had sent her, but the sack also contained the ivory-stocked crossbow that Nick had given her almost three months before. She pulled it out.\n\n\"You'll fight them on your own?\" Matilda asked.\n\nMelisande smiled, but found it hard to speak. She was so nervous, so frightened, knowing that what happened beyond the high horizon would decide her life's course and that it was all beyond her control. She could only pray.\n\n\"Go up there, love,\" Nell Candeler said, \"and shoot some of the bastards.\"\n\n\"It's still cocked,\" Melisande said in wonderment.\n\n\"What is?\" Matilda asked.\n\n\"The bow,\" Melisande said. \"I never released it.\" She stared at the crossbow, remembering the day Matt Scarlet had died, the day she had pointed the crossbow at her father. Ever since that day the bow had been cocked, its steel-shanked stave under the thick cord's strain, and she had never noticed. She almost pulled the trigger, then impulsively thrust the bow back into her sack and pulled out the folded jupon. She stared at the bright cloth, half tempted to pull it over her head, but she suddenly knew she could not wear an enemy's badge while Nick was fighting, and then another certainty overtook her, the knowledge that she would never see Nick again so long as she was tempted to wear her father's jupon. It had to be thrown away. \"I'm going to the river,\" she said.\n\n\"You can piss here,\" Nell Candeler said.\n\n\"I want to walk,\" Melisande said, and she picked up her heavy sack and went south, away from the armies on the plateau and away from the baggage. She walked through the army's sumpters that cropped the autumn grass, her feet soaked by the damp. She had an idea to throw the jupon into the Ternoise and watch it float downstream, but the River of Swords was too far away and so she settled for a stream that ran high and fast from the night's rain. The stream flowed through the tangle of small fields and woods that lay just south of the village and she crouched on its bank where the leaves of the alders and willows had turned yellow and gold and there she dropped the sack, closed her eyes, and held the jupon in both hands as if it were an offering.\n\n\"Look after Nick,\" she prayed, \"let him live,\" and with those words she threw her father's jupon into the stream and watched it being carried fast away. The farther it went, she thought, the safer Nick would be.\n\nThen the French gun fired, and that sound was loud enough to reverberate all through the valley behind the battlefield, loud enough to make Melisande turn and stare north.\n\nTo see Sir Martin, grinning and lanky, his gray hair slicked close against his narrow skull.\n\n\"Hello, little lady,\" he said hungrily.\n\nAnd there was no one for Melisande to ask for help.\n\nShe was alone.\n\nA cloud of smoke rose above the horizon, marking the distant place where the gun had fired.\n\n\"All alonely,\" Sir Martin said, \"just you and me.\" He made a gurgling sound that might have been laughter, hitched up his robes, and came for her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "The gun fired, belching smoke above the left flank of the French army.\n\nHook saw the gun-stone and did not recognize what it was, but for an instant there was a dark object rising and falling above the plowland and it seemed as if the thing, it was just a dark flicker, was coming straight for him and then the gun's noise splintered the sky and birds rose screeching from the trees as the gun-stone struck an archer's head a few paces from Hook.\n\nThe man's skull was obliterated in an instant spray of blood and shattered skull. The stone kept flying, leaving a feathered trail of misted blood until it slapped into the mud two hundred paces behind the English line. It narrowly missed the destriers of the men-at-arms that were empty-saddled and under the guard of pageboys.\n\n\"Jesus,\" Tom Scarlet said in disgust. There were jellied scraps of brain trickling down his bow's shaft.\n\n\"Just keep shooting,\" Hook said.\n\n\"Did you see that?\" Scarlet asked in indignant amazement.\n\nWhat Hook saw was dead and dying horses, dead riders, and beyond them a mass of dismounted men-at-arms advancing toward him. Crossbow bolts whirred close, but there were very few enemy bowmen who had a clear sight of the English. The French crossbowmen were aligned with the rearmost battle, too far to be sure of their aim, and most could not even see their enemy. Then, as the first French battle advanced to fill the space between the woodlands of Tramecourt and Agincourt, the French bowmen lost sight of the English altogether and the missiles stopped flying.\n\nThe first French battle was spread across the wide plowed field between the trees, but, because those woods funneled ever closer together, the line of armored men was being squeezed inward. Their ranks were already ragged, torn apart by the panicked horses that had bolted through them, but now they were jostling for space as the field contracted and all the while the arrows drove into them.\n\nHook was shooting steadily. He had already gone through one sheaf of arrows and had shouted for more. Boys were dumping fresh bundles among the archers, but hundreds of thousands were needed. Five thousand archers could easily shoot sixty thousand arrows in a minute and, when the cavalry had charged, they had shot even faster. Some men were still drawing and releasing as quickly as they could, but Hook slowed down. The closer the enemy came, the more lethal each arrow would be, so for now he was content to use broadheads against the advancing French.\n\nThe broadheads could never hope to pierce plate armor, but the blow of their strike was sufficient to knock a man backward, and each man Hook knocked back caused a ripple of chaos, slowing the French, and the enemy were struggling, not just with mud, but with the incessant arrow strikes. He could hear the arrows cracking against steel, a weird noise, never-ending, and the French men-at-arms, who were still a hundred and fifty paces away, looked as though they bent into the face of a gale, but a gale that was bringing steel hail.\n\nThomas Brutte cursed when his bow cord snapped to send an arrow spinning crazily into the air. He took a spare string from his pouch and restrung the bow. Hook saw how each of the enemy banners had a dozen or more arrows caught in their weave. He aimed at a man in a bright yellow surcoat, loosed, and his arrow threw the man backward. A horse lay on its side in front of the advancing French. The stallion's death throes made it thrash its head and beat its hooves and the French line became even more disordered as men tried to avoid the animal. Bowstrings made their dull quick noise all around Hook. The sky was dark with arrows. Most archers were shooting at the men-at-arms who directly threatened them and, to avoid that arrow-storm, the foremost ranks of the French crowded still further inward, and that shrinking of the French line became more marked as the rearmost English archers, their aim frustrated by the men to their front, went into the thick briar underbrush of the Tramecourt woods and lined the edge of the trees from where they poured bodkins into the French flank.\n\nThe bravest of the French struggled to reach the English quickly, while the more prudent fell behind to gain the protection of the bolder men in front, and Hook saw how the French men-at-arms, who had begun their advance in a long straight line, were now coalescing into three crude wedges that were aimed at the flags waving in the center of each of the three English battles. It would be man-at-arms against man-at-arms, and the French, Hook supposed, were hoping to punch three bloody holes through the English line. And once that line of nine hundred men broke there would be chaos and death. He spared a glance north, worried that the narrowing of the French battle would give their crossbowmen a chance to shoot past the attackers' flank, but those French archers seemed to have gone backward, almost as though they had lost interest in the fighting.\n\nHe picked up a bodkin and found the man in the yellow surcoat again. He drew, released, and was plucking up another arrow when he saw the yellow-clad man fall to his knees. So the bodkins were piercing, and Hook shot again and again, punching arrows into the slow-moving mass of men. He aimed at the leading rank and not all his arrows pierced their armor, but some struck plumb and tore their way through. Frenchmen were falling, tripping the ranks behind, yet still the great armored crowd struggled on.\n\n\"I need arrows!\" a man shouted.\n\n\"Bring us goddamned arrows!\" another shouted.\n\nHook still had a dozen. The enemy was close now, less than a hundred paces from the English line, but the arrow-storm was weakening as archers ran out of shafts. Hook drew long, picked a victim in a black surcoat, released and saw his arrow slap through the side of the pot-helm and the man seemed to totter in a circle, the arrow protruding from his brain as his lance knocked over another knight before the dying man dropped to his knees and fell full length in the mud. The next arrow glanced off a breastplate. Hook shot again, close enough now to see the details of his target's livery. He saw a man in blue and green who had what appeared to be a gilded coronet around his helmet and Hook shot at him, then cursed himself because such a man could afford the finest armor and sure enough the arrow was deflected by the plate, though the man did stagger and was only rescued by his standard-bearer who pushed him back upright. Hook loosed again, shooting his arrow in a low trajectory that ended in a Frenchman's thigh, and then there was only one arrow left. He held it on the stave, watching. It seemed to Hook that all the thousands of arrows had done surprisingly little damage to the enemy. Many Frenchmen were down and their bodies impeded the rest, but still the plowland seemed filled with living, mud-plastered, armored Frenchmen carrying their lances, swords, maces, and axes to the thin English line. They lumbered closer, each step an effort in the cloying earth, and Hook selected a man who seemed more eager than the rest and he sent his final arrow into that tall man's chest. The bodkin point struck through steel plate and punctured a rib to pierce a lung and so fill the man's helmet with a rush of blood that bubbled from his mouth and spilled from his visor's holes.\n\n\"Arrows!\" Hook bellowed, but there were none except the few remaining in the hands of the rearmost archers, and those men saved their missiles. The archers were spectators now. They stood among their stakes, a few yards from the nearest French wedge that was just paces from the English vanguard.\n\nThe archers had done their job. Now it was England's men-at-arms who would have to fight.\n\nWhile the French, spared the arrows at last, gave a hoarse shout and lunged to the kill.\n\nThe Sire de Lanferelle could vault onto the back of his horse while wearing a full suit of plate armor, he even danced in armor sometimes, not just because women adored a man dressed for killing, but to demonstrate that he was more elegant and lithe in armor than most men were without. Yet now he could hardly move. Each step was a fight against the soil's suction. In places he sank to mid-calf and could find no purchase to drag his feet free, yet step by step he managed to keep going, sometimes leaning on his neighbor so he could wrench an armored foot out of the clinging earth. He tried to step in the furrows where water lay, because those furrows had the firmest bottoms, but he could scarce see the ground through the tight holes of his closed visor. Nor did he dare open the helmet, because the arrows were clattering and clashing and banging all around him. He was hit on the forehead by a bodkin that snapped his head back and almost toppled him, except that one of his men pushed him upright. Another arrow struck his breastplate, tearing a long rip in his jupon and scraping across the steel with a high-pitched squeal. His armor resisted both blows, though other men were not so fortunate. Every few heartbeats, in the middle of the metallic rain of arrows, a man would gasp or scream or call for help. Lanferelle did not see them fall, only hear them, and he was aware that the attack was losing its cohesion because men were crushing in from his left where most of the arrows came from, and those men squeezed the formation. Armor plate clanged against armor plate. Lanferelle himself was pushed so tight against his right-hand neighbor that he could not move his arm holding the lance and he bellowed a protest and made a huge effort to get a step ahead of the man. He was sweeping his head from side to side, trying to make sense of the blur of gray ahead. The English, he noticed, had their visors raised. They were not threatened by arrows and so could see to kill, but Lanferelle dared not lift his own visor because a handful of archers were posted between the English battles straight ahead and those men would thank God for the target of an unvisored French face.\n\nHis breathing was hoarse inside the helmet. He reckoned himself to be a strong man, yet he was gasping as he waded through the thick soil. Sweat streamed down his face. His left foot slipped in a patch of slick mud and he sank to his right knee, but managed to heave himself upright and stagger onward. Then he tripped on something and sprawled again, this time falling beside the corpse of an unhorsed man-at-arms. Two of his men pulled him to his feet. He was sheeted in mud now. Some of the holes in his visor were blocked by mud and he pawed at them with his left hand, but the armored gauntlet could not clear the thick wet earth. Just get close, he told himself, just get close and the killing could start and Lanferelle was confident of his ability to kill. He might not be a mud-wader, but he was a killer, and so he made another huge effort, trying to get ahead of the crush so he would have room to use his weapons. He turned his head again, scanning through the visor's remaining holes, and saw, straight ahead, a great banner showing the royal arms of England with their impudent appropriation of the French lily. The royal arms on the flag were defaced with three white bars, each bar with three red balls, and he recognized the badge as that of Edward, Duke of York. He would serve as a prisoner, Lanferelle thought. The ransom for an English royal duke would make Lanferelle rich, and that prospect seemed to give his tired legs a new strength. He was growling now, though quite unaware of it. The English line was close. \"Are you with me, Jean?\" he shouted, and his squire shouted yes. Lanferelle intended to strike the English line with his lance and then, as the enemy recoiled from that blow, drop the cumbersome weapon and use the mace that was slung on his shoulder, and if the mace broke he would take one of the spare weapons carried by his squire. Lanferelle felt a sudden elation. He had lived this long, he had survived the arrow-storm and he was taking his lance to the enemy, but just then a bodkin point ripped from the flank and struck plumb in one of the visor's holes and sudden light flooded Lanferelle's eyes as the arrow peeled back the steel and sliced a savage cut in the bridge of his nose. His head was wrenched painfully to one side as the arrow missed his right eyeball by a hair's breadth and scored across his cheekbone to lodge in his helmet.\n\nHe could see suddenly. He could see through the ragged hole torn by the arrow that he wrenched free with his left hand. He could not see much, but a sudden noise to his left made him turn to see a tall man pitch forward with blood bubbling from his visor's holes, and then Lanferelle looked back to his front and the Duke of York was only a few paces away and so he dropped his left hand to brace the lance, took a deep breath, and shouted his war cry. He was still shouting as he charged, or rather as he churned his way through the last paces of muddy plowland. The shout mingled anger and elation. Anger at this impudent enemy and elation that he had survived the archers.\n\nAnd he had come to the killing place.\n\nSir John Cornewaille was also angry.\n\nSince the day the army had landed in France he had been one of the commanders of the vanguard. He had led the short march to Harfleur, been in the first rank of the men who had assaulted that stubborn city, and he had led the march north from the Seine to this muddy field in Picardy, yet now the king's relative, the Duke of York, had been given command of the vanguard, and the pious duke, in Sir John's view, was an uninspiring leader.\n\nYet the duke commanded and Sir John, a few places to the duke's right, could only submit to the appointment, but that did not mean he could not tell the men of the right-hand battle what they should do when the French came. He was watching the enemy men-at-arms approach, and he was seeing how they struggled in the mud, and he was awed by the thickness of the arrow-storms that converged from left and right to pierce and wound and kill. Not one French visor was open, so they were half blinded by steel and almost crippled by the mud, and Sir John was waiting for them with lance, poleax, and sword. \"Are you listening!\" he shouted. Ostensibly he was calling to his own men-at-arms, but only a fool would not heed Sir John Cornewaille's words when it came to a fight. \"Listen!\" he bellowed through his unvisored helmet. \"When they reach us they're going to rush the last few paces! They want to hit us hard! They want the fight over! When I give the word we all step back three paces. You hear me? We step back three paces!\"\n\nHis own men, he knew, would obey him, as would Sir William Porter's men-at-arms. Sir John had trained his men in the brief maneuver. The enemy would come at a rush and expect to lunge their shortened lances straight at English groins or faces, and if the English were suddenly to step back then those first energetic blows would be wasted on air. That was the moment Sir John would counterattack, when the enemy was off balance. \"You wait for my command!\" he shouted, and felt a brief moment of concern. Perhaps it was dangerous to step backward in such treacherous ground, but he reckoned the enemy was more likely to slip and fall than his own men. Those men were arrayed in three crude ranks that swelled to six where the Duke of York's big company was arrayed around their lord. The duke, anxious face showing through his open helm, had not turned to look when Sir John shouted. Instead he had stared straight ahead while the tip of his sword, made of the best Bordeaux steel, rested lightly on the furrows. \"When they come to strike!\" Sir John bellowed, watching to see if the duke showed any response. \"Cheat their blow! Step back! And when they falter, attack!\" The duke did not acknowledge the advice, he still stared at the French horde that was losing its order. The flanks were crushing inward to escape the arrows, and the leading men were skewing what was left of the French formation by deliberately advancing on those places in the English line where the banners proclaimed the position of high nobility who might expect to pay extravagant ransoms. Yet, disorganized though the French were, this first battle was still a horde. It outnumbered the English men-at-arms by eight to one; it was an armored herd spiked with lances, thick with blades, a grinding wave of steel that seemed to shrug off the arrows as a bull might ignore the stings of swarming horseflies. Some Frenchmen fell, and whenever a man was put down by a bodkin point he would trip the men behind, and Sir John saw the crowding and jostling, the pushing and shoving. Some men were struggling to be in the front rank, wanting to win renown, others were reluctant to be the first to strike, yet all, he knew, were anticipating ransoms and riches and rejoicing.\n\n\"God be with you, John,\" Sir William Porter said nervously. He had moved to be next to his friend.\n\n\"I think God will let us win,\" Sir John said loudly.\n\n\"I wish God had sent us a thousand more English men-at-arms,\" Sir William said.\n\n\"You heard what our king said,\" Sir John shouted in response, \"don't wish for another man on our side! Why share the victory? We're English! If we were only half our number we would be enough to slaughter these turd-sucking sons of rancid whores!\"\n\n\"God help us,\" Sir William said softly.\n\n\"Do what I say, William,\" Sir John said quietly. \"Let them come at you, step back, then strike. Once you have the first man down you've made an obstacle for the second. You understand me?\"\n\nSir William nodded. The two sides were now close enough for men on either side to recognize each other by their jupons, except the surcoats of the French were so spattered with mud that some were hard to read and nearly every surcoat had two or more arrows caught in its folds.\n\n\"Then kill the second man,\" Sir John went on. \"Don't use your sword. A sword's no good in this fight. Hammer the bastards down with a poleax. Stun them, break their legs, crack their skulls. Put the second man down, William, and the third can't reach you without stumbling over two corpses.\"\n\n\"I'd rather use a lance,\" Sir William said diffidently.\n\n\"Then stab at their visors,\" Sir John said. \"That's the weakest point in armor. Ram it home, William, and make the goddam bastards suffer.\" The French were fewer than fifty paces away. The arrow strikes had almost stopped, though a few bodkins still streaked across the face of the advancing enemy to strike from the flank. The archers posted between the battles were readying to file back between the men-at-arms so that the English line of fully-armored men would be continuous. Those archers still had a few arrows left and were shooting them fast before they were ordered to the rear. More Frenchmen went down. One, an arrow deep in his belly, knelt and then opened his visor to vomit a mix of puke and blood before the men behind trod him into the furrows.\n\n\"We're three ranks deep,\" Sir John said, \"and they're at least twenty ranks deep. The men behind will push the men in front and so they're going to be forced onto our blades.\" He grinned suddenly. \"And we're sober, William. We ran out of wine so we're fighting sober, but I'll wager half their army is soaked in wine. God is with us, William.\"\n\n\"You believe that?\"\n\n\"Believe it?\" Sir John laughed. \"I know it! Now brace yourselves!\"\n\nThe noise was rising as the enemy shouted their war cries. Off to Sir John's left where a thick crowd of Frenchmen was advancing on the king's banner, he could see the oriflamme, red and wicked, high on its pole, and then he forgot that symbol because the enemy in front had summoned a last great effort. They were shouting, they were even trying to run, they were coming to take their victory.\n\nTheir lances were poised to strike. They were screaming. \"Saint Denis! Montjoie! Montjoie!\" and the English were howling like huntsmen closing on their prey.\n\n\"Now!\" Sir John bellowed. \"Now!\"\n\nSir Martin shoved Melisande down, planting his hand between her breasts and thrusting hard and quickly so that she fell back between the trees on the stream's bank. \"There,\" he said, \"you just stay there like a good little girl. No!\" he held up a hand as she tried to scramble away. There was a terrible threat in that raised hand and Melisande went still again, making Sir Martin smile. He had yellowed stumps for teeth. \"I've got a knife somewhere,\" he told her, \"I know I do.\" He fumbled in a pouch at his belt. \"A good knife, too. Oh! Here it is!\" He smiled as he showed her the short blade. \"Put a knife to thy throat, the holy book says, if thou art a man of appetite, and I am, I am, but I don't want to cut your pretty throat, girl. It does spoil matters if you're scrambling about in blood. So just be good and lie there like a nice little girl and it'll soon be over.\" He laughed at that, then knelt over her, his knees either side of her belly. \"But I do think we want you naked. Naked is blessed, girl. In nakedness lies truth. Those are the words of our Lord and Savior.\" He had invented the text, but in his mind it still had the ring of scriptural truth. He planted his left hand on her breasts, making her whimper. He was grinning, and in his deepset eyes Melisande saw the glints of madness. She hardly moved, she hardly dared move because the knife was coming toward her throat, but she groped to find the neck of her sack and slowly pulled it toward her.\n\n\"And what shall divide us from the love of Christ?\" Sir Martin asked her in a hoarse voice, \"tell me that, eh?\" He grinned still, reaching for the neck of her dress with his left hand. \"That's what the holy scriptures ask us, girl, they ask us what shall divide us from Christ's love! What shall divide you and me, eh? Not tribulation, the word of the Lord says, nor distress, nor persecution, nor hunger, are you listening to me?\"\n\nMelisande nodded. The sack inched toward her and she felt for its opening.\n\n\"The words of God, little girl,\" Sir Martin said, this time relying on genuine words of scripture, \"written for our comfort by the blessed Saint Paul himself. Neither danger nor the sword shall keep us from Christ's love, and nor, the apostle says, will nakedness!\" And with that he slashed at her dress with the short knife and, with a twitching grimace, ripped the cloth down so that her breasts were exposed.\n\n\"Oh my,\" Sir Martin said reverently, \"oh my, oh my, oh my. Nakedness will not keep you from Christ's love, my child, that is the promise of the scripture. You should be glad of my coming. You should rejoice in it.\" He no longer straddled her, but knelt beside her as he tore the linen dress down to its lower hem and then he stared with awed reverence at her pale body. Melisande lay still, her right hand inside the sack now, but not moving.\n\n\"We went naked, girl, before woman brought sin into the world,\" Sir Martin said, \"and it is only meet and just that woman should be punished for that first sin. Don't you agree?\" A vagary of the wind brought the sound of shouting from the high plateau and the priest turned and looked at the distant crest for an instant. Melisande thrust her hand deeper into the sack, fumbling for one of the short leather-fledged bolts. She went still again as Sir Martin looked back to her. \"They're having their games up there,\" he said. \"They do like to fight, they do, but the Frenchies will win this one! There's thousands of the bastards! Your Nick will go down, girl. Down to a Frenchie's sword. Cos you're a Frenchie, aren't you? A pretty little Frenchie. I'm just sorry your Nick will never know I've punished you for your sins. Woman brought sin into the world and woman must be punished. I'd like your Nick to die knowing I'd punished you, but he won't, and so it is, so it falls out, so the good Lord disposes. My Thomas will probably die too, and that's a pity, cos I do like my Thomas, but I've other sons. Maybe you'll have one for me?\" He smiled at that idea as he fumbled to hitch up his robe. \"I won't die. The Frenchies won't kill a priest cos they really don't want to go to hell. And if you're nice to me, little girl, you won't die either. You can live and have my little baby. Maybe we'll call him Thomas? Right! Get those pretty legs apart.\"\n\nMelisande did not move, but the priest kicked at her knees, then kicked harder and so forced his foot between her thighs. \"Our Henry has led his men into the devil's shit-pot, hasn't he?\" he said. \"And now they're all going to be dead. They're all going to be dead and there'll just be you and me, little girl, just you and me, so you might as well be nice to me.\" He pulled the black robe above his waist and grinned at her. \"Handsome, isn't he? Now, little one, make him welcome.\"\n\nHe forced his knees between her legs.\n\n\"I've been wanting to do this,\" he said, kneeling above her, \"forever such a long time.\" He gave a spasm, then leaned forward, propping himself on his left hand while still holding the knife to her throat with his right. A second pouch was about his neck, tied next to a wooden crucifix with a leather cord, and both cross and pouch swung free, annoying the priest. \"Don't need those, do we?\" he asked. \"They just gets in the way, girl.\" He used his knife hand to take the pouch and crucifix from his neck. The pouch clinked as he dropped it on the stream's bank and the sound made him grin. \"That's Frenchie gold, little girl, gold that I found in Harfleur, and if you're nice to me I'll give you a groat or two. You are going to be nice, aren't you? All quiet and nice like a good little girl?\"\n\nMelisande pushed her hand deeper into the sack and found what she wanted.\n\n\"I shall be nice,\" she said in a frightened voice.\n\n\"Oh you will,\" Sir Martin said hoarsely, putting the knife back to her throat, \"you surely will.\"\n\nSir John stepped back. Two paces were sufficient. At first he thought he had called the command too soon, then feared it was too late because his feet were stuck in the mud, but he wrenched them free and stumbled back two paces and the opposing Frenchmen gave a shout, thinking the English were trying to run away, then their lances thrust into empty air and the momentum of the lunges unbalanced them, and that was when Sir John struck. \"Now!\" he bellowed. \"Strike!\" and he rammed his own lance forward, spearing the iron-tipped point into the groin of the closest enemy. The English lances, like the French, had been cut down, but the French had cut their shafts shorter and so did not have the reach of the English weapons. Sir John's lance slammed into metal and he leaned into the blow and saw the enemy fold over the point, and he pulled the lance back, watching the man fall, then struck it forward again.\n\nThe French, wasting their first blows on air, were stumbling. They were tired and could not pull their feet out of the sticky furrows and the force of the English lance blows was toppling them. To Sir John's left and right there were men on their knees, and he slammed the lance hard into the visored face of a man in the second rank to throw him backward. Then he hurled the lance down and reached behind with his right hand. \"Poleax!\"\n\nHis squire gave him the weapon.\n\nAnd the killing could start.\n\nA lance struck Sir John's head. His visor was missing and the Frenchman had tried to skewer Sir John's eyes, but the blow glanced off his helmet and Sir John pushed a step forward and swung the poleax in a short cut that smacked on the man's helmet, crushing it, and so another man was down in the mud. A whole rank of men had stumbled, and Sir John made certain they stayed down by cracking the lead-weighted hammer on their helmets. The man who had folded around Sir John's lance was trying to rise again and Sir John chopped the ax blade hard against his backplate, then shouted at his squire to finish the man off. \"Open his visor,\" he shouted, \"kill him!\" Then Sir John planted his feet and began picking his enemies.\n\nThose enemies were already encumbered. The first rank of Frenchmen was mostly on the ground where they were bleeding in a tangle of bodies and discarded lances, and the following ranks had to stumble over those obstacles and as they tried so they were met with ax blades, mace heads, and lance points. It might not have mattered if the French had been able to negotiate the obstacles in their own time, but they were pushed onto them by the press of men behind and so they stumbled haplessly into the English blades. \"Kill them!\" Sir John bellowed. \"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!\" That was when the battle joy came to him, the pure joy of being a warlord, armored and armed, dangerous and invincible. He used the poleax's hammerhead to beat down armored enemies. The hammer did not need to pierce armor, few weapons could, but the weight alone could stun a man and one blow was usually sufficient to put a man down or cripple him.\n\nThe French, it seemed to Sir John, moved with a painful slowness, while he was endowed with a godlike speed. He was grinning and he was watching three or four enemies at once, picking which one to attack first and already knowing how the second and third would be destroyed. They came to him and he sensed their panic. The rearward ranks of the French carried short weapons, maces or swords or axes, but they had no time to use them as they were forced onto the bodies of the fallen. They tripped into the blows of Sir John and his men, and so many were put down that Sir John had to negotiate the dead himself. Now the English were carrying the fight to the French. Nine hundred men were attacking eight thousand, but the nine hundred could take care where they stepped without fear of being pushed from behind.\n\nA Frenchman in mud-spattered armor that had been scoured until it shone like silver, lunged a sword at Sir John who let the weapon waste its force against the cuisse protecting his left thigh. The man to Sir John's left battered the polished helmet with a poleax hammer, and the Frenchman collapsed like a felled ox as Sir John rammed his pole's spike into the face of a man wearing the livery of a wheatsheaf. The spike mangled visor, teeth, and palate, jerking the man's head back as his body was pushed forward. Sir John let his neighbor crack a hammer against the fallen man's helmet as he back-swung his poleax into a pot-helm surmounted by a plume of feathers. \"Come on, you bastards! I want you!\" Sir John shouted. He was laughing. At that moment it never once occurred to him that some Frenchmen were eager for the renown that would follow the death or capture of Sir John Cornewaille. They came and they fell, victims of the wet ground and of the obstacles they could not see through their closed visors, and they came to the short, hard blows of a poleax that made more obstacles.\n\n\"Stay tight, stay tight!\" Sir John bellowed, making sure there was a man to his left and Sir William to his right. You fought shoulder to shoulder to give the enemy no room to pierce the line, and Sir John's men-at-arms were fighting as he had trained them to fight. They had stepped over the first fallen Frenchmen and the second line of English were lifting enemy visors and sliding knives into the eyes or mouths of the wounded to stop them from striking up from the ground. Frenchmen screamed when they saw the blade coming, they twisted in the mud to escape the quick stabs, they died in spasms, and still more came to be hammered or chopped or crushed. Some Frenchmen, reckoning themselves safe from arrows, had lifted their visors and Sir John slammed the poleax's spike into a man's face, twisting it as it pierced the eye socket, dragging it back jellied and bloodied, watching as the man, in frantic dying pain, flailed and impeded more Frenchmen. Sir William Porter was stabbing his lance at men's faces. One blow was usually enough to unbalance an enemy and Sir William's other neighbor would finish the job with a hammer blow. Sir William, usually a quiet and studious man, was growling and snarling as he picked his victims. \"God's blood, William,\" Sir John shouted, \"but this is joy!\"\n\nThe noise was unending. Steel on steel, screams, war-shouts. Enough Frenchmen had fallen to stop the ponderous charge, and the men behind could not negotiate the piled bodies without stumbling into the English blades. There was blood in the furrows. Sir John stepped on a wounded Frenchman's helmet, unaware that he did so, but conscious that his right foot had found firm standing, and his weight drove the man's visor into the mud that seeped through the visor holes and slowly stifled him. He drowned in mud, choking for breath as Sir John taunted the French, begged them to come to him, then stepped forward again, hungry for more death. \"Kill them!\" he screamed. \"Kill them!\" He felt a burst of energy and used it to crash into the French line, opening it so his men could follow, stabbing and lunging with the speed of Christendom's most feared tournament fighter. He crippled men with the spike, driving it through the faulds covering their groins, and as they doubled in screaming pain he would crash the hammer or ax onto their helmets and leave it to the men behind to give the fallen enemy the mercy of death. Sir John took blows on his armor, but they were feeble until a Frenchman managed a hard swing with a poleax and Sir John was only saved because the enemy's shaft broke and Sir John screamed in challenge and swung his own ax at the man's legs, driving the blade through a roundel to chop into a knee. The man went down and lunged with his weapon's broken shaft, and Sir John smashed the hammerhead onto the enemy's helmet with such force that the steel collapsed and bloody ooze spurted from the visor. Sir John and his men-at-arms were hacking a deep hole in the crammed French ranks, killing again to make new corpses to trip the enemy.\n\nTo his left, unseen by Sir John, the Duke of York died.\n\nThe French attack had struck the English vanguard first. A hundred men were dead in that fight before the oriflamme reached King Henry's men, and in the front of the foremost men was Ghillebert, Seigneur de Lanferelle, and he was half aware that the English to his left had stepped back as the charge crashed home, but the Duke of York and his men had stayed put, thrusting with lances, and Lanferelle had twisted aside, letting a lance slide off his breastplate's flank, then ramming his own lance into an unvisored face. \"Lanferelle!\" he shouted, \"Lanferelle!\" He wanted the English to know whom they faced, and he fended off a lance with his own then unslung his mace and started to hack. This was no place for the subtle graces of a tournament field, no place to show a swordsman's skills, this was a place to hack and kill, chop and wound, to fill an enemy with fear, and Lanferelle drove the spiked mace down into a man wearing the duke's livery and wrenched the bloody spikes out of the split helmet and skull and thumped it forward into another man, hurling him back and he could see the duke clearly now, just to his right, but first he had to kill a man to his left, which he did with the heavy mace in a blow that rang up his arm. \"Yield!\" he shouted at the duke who had dropped his visor, and the duke's response was to swing his sword that clanged on Lanferelle's plate and Lanferelle dropped the mace head over the duke's shoulder and pulled so that the tall man stumbled forward, lost his footing, and fell full length. \"He's mine!\" Lanferelle shouted, \"the bastard's mine,\" and that was when the battle joy came to Lanferelle, the exultation of a fighter who dominated his foes.\n\nHe stood over the duke, one foot on the fallen man's spine, and killed any man who tried a rescue. Four of his own men-at-arms flanked him with poleaxes and they shouted insults at the English before killing them. \"I want the standard!\" Lanferelle shouted. He thought the duke's great flag would be a welcome decoration in his manor hall where it could hang from the smoke-darkened beams beneath the musicians' gallery and the duke, a prisoner in Lanferelle's keeping, would be forced to see that standard every day. \"Come and die!\" Lanferelle shouted at the standard-bearer, but English men-at-arms pushed the man back out of immediate danger and closed on Lanferelle and he parried their blows, thrusting back hard, depending on the weight of his mace to throw his opponents off balance, and all the while he shouted at his men in the second rank to defend his back. They had to keep the crush of Frenchmen from crowding him, and they did it by threatening their own ranks, giving Lanferelle room to slash the mace at any man who dared oppose him. His four men were using their poleaxes to hack at the English line that was so thin Lanferelle reckoned he could fight through it and lead a mass of Frenchmen to the rear of the English center. Why not capture a king as well as a duke? \"Forward!\" he bellowed.' Forward!\" but when he tried to go forward he half tripped on the bodies that had fallen across the Duke of York's legs. Lanferelle tried to kick the dead men out of his path, but a lance thrust from an Englishman hammered his breastplate and threw him back. \"Bastard!\" Lanferelle shouted, driving the mace's bloody spikes toward the snarling face, then a shout of warning made him glance to his left and he saw that the English were driving into the French ranks and threatening to fight around to his rear. He reckoned there was still time to break the enemy line and he tried to go forward again and once more was checked by the dead men, and a sudden rush of Englishmen came to oppose him, their lances, poleaxes, and maces battering his armor and he had no choice but to step back. His chance to cleave the line was gone for the moment.\n\nHe backed away, leaving the Duke of York face down in the mud. The duke, stunned and trampled, had drowned in a blood-drenched puddle and now the English advanced across his corpse, coming for Lanferelle and for his standard of the sun and falcon, and Lanferelle held them at bay with swift hard strokes. He did not know the duke was dead, only regretted that he had temporarily lost him, but then he saw another standard to his left, a standard deep in the French ranks that showed a rearing lion blazoned with a crown and he reckoned Sir John Cornewaille's ransom would make him rich enough. \"With me!\" he bellowed, and he rammed and shoved and fought his way toward Sir John.\n\nAway to Lanferelle's right a furious battle raged around the king's four standards. Scores of Frenchmen wanted the honor of capturing England's king, but they faced the same horrors that dogged the rest of the French attackers. Their front rank had gone down fast, its men exhausted by the mud and wounded by the arrow-storm, and the king's bodyguard had killed them with axes, maces, and mauls. Now the attackers tripped on bodies and were met by ax strokes, yet still they pushed forward and a French lance pierced the faulds of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, the king's younger brother, and the blow to the groin drove him down into the furrows. Frenchmen surged to take the fallen man prisoner, but Henry stood over his injured brother and used his sword two-handed to hack at the enemy. He fought with a sword because he regarded that as a royal weapon, and if it put him at a disadvantage against men armed with poleaxes and maces, then Henry did not acknowledge it, because he knew God was with him. He could feel God in his heart, he sensed God giving him strength, and even when a French poleax rang on his crowned helmet with a sudden blinding force, God protected him. A golden fleuret was chopped from the crown and his helmet was dented, but the steel was not broken and the leather liner soaked some of the blow's force and Henry stayed conscious as he lunged the sword into the axman's armpit and screamed his war cry. \"Saint George!\"\n\nHenry of England was filled by a God-given joy. Never, in all his life, had he felt closer to God, and he almost pitied the men who came to be killed for they were being killed by God. Henry's bodyguard flanked him and, one by one, they killed eighteen Frenchmen who, only the night before, had sworn a solemn oath to kill or capture the King of England. The eighteen had been bound together by their oath and they had advanced together and now they died together. Their bodies lay tangled and bloody to impede the men who still wanted the fame of capturing a king. A Frenchman bellowed his challenge, stumbling forward, spiked mace thrashing at the king, and the king slammed the sword hard forward to lodge the point in the slit of the Frenchman's visor, and the mace struck a man next to the king, who staggered, and another Englishman drove his poleax spike into the Frenchman's throat so that blood ran down the ax's iron-sheathed handle. The man sank to his knees, and the king rammed the blade into the visor's slit, butchering the man's lips and tongue. Blood welled at the slit, a poleax slammed onto the man's helmet, driving in the steel and opening the skull to spray the king with blood as he ripped his sword free and parried a lance thrust. \"Saint George!\" he shouted and felt the divine power thrill through his veins. The Frenchman with the lance had an open visor and Henry saw fear in the man's eyes, then a mute appeal for mercy as his lance was wrenched from his hands, but God did not want mercy for Henry's enemies and so the king cut his sword across the man's face to slice open both his eyeballs. One of the royal bodyguard cracked the blinded man's helmet with a maul, and so another body was added to the heap of French dead that protected the English line.\n\nAnd the English line held. In places it had been driven back by the weight of attacking men-at-arms, but the line did not break, and now it was protected by ramparts of dead and wounded Frenchmen, and in places the line bulged forward as the English counterattacked into the French formation. And the French, unable to march straight ahead, began to spread to their flanks.\n\nWhere the archers had no arrows.\n\n\"You can die, or you can fight.\" The voice was distant and amused, as though the speaker did not care what Nicholas Hook's fate would be.\n\n\"God's holy shit, Nick, they're coming for us,\" Tom Scarlet said nervously. The archers had pulled back behind the foremost stakes and then watched the French men-at-arms crash into the English line. There had been loud cheers from the archers when that perilously thin line stopped the enemy, but now that enemy was spreading toward the stakes.\n\n\"We can fight or die,\" Hook said. He threw down his bow. It was useless without arrows, and there were no arrows.\n\n\"So fight,\" the voice spoke again, and Hook knew it was Saint Crispin, the harsher saint, who was talking to him.\n\n\"You're here!\" he said aloud in relief and wonderment.\n\n\"I'm here, Nick,\" Scarlet said, \"don't want to be, but I am.\"\n\n\"Of course we're here!\" Saint Crispin said harshly. \"We're here to get revenge! So fight them, you bastard! What are you waiting for?\"\n\nHook had paused to watch the French. He sensed they were not trying to outflank the English men-at-arms, but rather to escape the killing that was so loud to his left, but soon, he thought, some Frenchman would decide to attack the lightly armored archers and thus reach the rear of the king's line.\n\n\"What are you waiting for?\" the saint again demanded angrily. \"Do God's work, for Christ's sake! Just kill the goddamned bastards!\"\n\nHook felt a tremor of fear. A Frenchman staggered closer to the stakes. His left arm was hanging limply from his shoulder where an espalier was split and bloody.\n\n\"What do we do, Nick?\" Scarlet asked.\n\nHook took the poleax from his shoulder. \"Kill them!\" he roared. \"Kill the goddamned bastards! Saint Crispin! Kill!\"\n\nThe shout released the archers, who suddenly gave a great shout of defiance and streamed between their stakes to attack the French flank. The bowmen were armed with poleaxes, swords, or mallets. Most were barefoot, none had leg armor and few could afford a breastplate, but in the mud they could move much faster than the French. \"Kill them!\" Evelgold bellowed, and still more archers took up the shout. There was a wildness in the gray air, a sudden and savage desire to kill the men who had promised to chop off archers' fingers, and so Welshmen and Englishmen, their arms hardened by years of archery, went to massacre the gentry of France.\n\nHook ignored the wounded man and instead attacked a giant in a bright red surcoat. His first blow was a wild swing that would have earned Sir John's scorn had he seen it, and the Frenchman swayed back to make it miss and then lunged with his shortened lance, but Hook's momentum had carried him past the man and, as the tall Frenchman turned to follow Hook, so Will of the Dale hammered the back of the man's helmet with a mallet and the enemy toppled into the mud. Geoffrey Horrocks knelt on him, lifted the visor, and stabbed into an eye with a long, thin-bladed knife. Hook drove his poleax at a man in a black and white striped surcoat, thrusting him so hard in the breastplate that the enemy fell backward, and then the hammerhead swung to crash into a man's sword arm, and another archer was there to swing a lead-weighted maul onto that man's helmet. The French, their feet trapped by the mud's suction, could not move to avoid the blows, and their own strokes and lunges were being wasted on air as the nimble archers dodged. The enemy, safe from arrows, was fighting with raised visors now and Hook discovered it was easy to stab the poleax's spike at their eyes, forcing them to twist aside when one of his companions would follow up with a hammer blow. It was the poleaxes, hammers, and the mauls that were doing the damage, lead-weighted hammerheads wielded by archers' arms, and the hammers crushed helmets and shattered armor-encased bones. Archers without hammers picked up enemy poleaxes or maces. They were suddenly scenting easy pickings as still more bowmen came from the stakes to join the brawl.\n\nIt was a brawl. It was tavern fighting. It was like the Christmas football game when the men of two villages met to punch and trip and kick, only this game was played with lead, iron, and steel. Two or three archers would attack one man, tripping him or striking him down with a hammer, then one would stoop to finish the enemy with a knife into the face. The quickest way was straight through an eye, and the Frenchmen screamed for mercy when they saw the blade approaching, then there was a slight, instantly released pressure as the knife tip pierced the eyeball before the screaming would fade as the blade slipped into the brain. Not much blood from such wounds, and all the time the English trumpets were braying and there was the steel on steel sound of men-at-arms fighting in the field's center, and the shouts of archers who were slaughtering the enemy's flanks.\n\nThis was revenge. Hook fought with the memory of Soissons. He knew the two saints were with him. This was their feast day, and today they would repay France for what France had done to their town. Hook stabbed the ax point at men's faces and, when they twisted to evade the blow, he would hook the blade over a shoulder and tug until the enemy, his feet caught in the mire, stumbled forward and the hammerhead would crash into his helmet and another Frenchman was finished. Hundreds of archers were doing the same so that the deep-plowed field, filling the space between the woods, had become one wide killing ground. The furrows, newly sown with winter wheat, were filling with blood.\n\nThere were so many dead and injured Frenchmen that Hook had to clamber over their bodies to reach the enemy. Tom Scarlet, big Will Sclate, and Will of the Dale came with him, and other archers were doing the same, all yelling like demons. A sword slammed into Hook, but the blade's force was stopped by his haubergeon and mail, and Sclate, huge and glowering, hammered the swordsman down with his ax. Hook dropped another Frenchman with a lunge, and Will of the Dale drove his ax into the fallen man's thigh, splitting the cuisse so that thick blood welled out of the jagged rip. An archer was stoving in helmets with a maul, one blow sufficient to collapse steel, skull, and life. A Frenchman with a hammer-broken leg was on his knees and shouting that he yielded, that he could pay ransom, but no one heard and he died when an archer slid a knife into an eye socket. Hook was screaming, unaware that he screamed, fighting with a desperate fury. The archers were mud-smeared, blood-spattered and bare-legged as they howled and killed. Their fear was all released into fury.\n\nA French knight, glorious in a surcoat woven from cloth of gold, parried Tom Scarlet's swing and drew back his mace to crush the insolent archer's skull and Hook's ax head took the man in the back of his neck, powering through a steel bevor, and the man fell as Hook ripped the blade free and stabbed the spike into another man's waist. Sclate, the country-bred giant, swung a hammer between the man's legs and the resultant scream seared clear across Agincourt's blood-wet field.\n\nThen a Frenchman in mud-spattered bright mail, with a blue silk ribbon about his neck and a silver lion crowning his helmet, dropped to one knee and took off his right gauntlet, which he held toward Hook. Hook was still four or five paces away and was planning to slam the hammer onto that glittering lion, but he suddenly understood what the Frenchman wanted. \"Prisoners!\" he shouted. \"Prisoners!\" He snatched the gauntlet from the Frenchman. \"Take your helmet off,\" he ordered the man. No one had yet given the order to capture prisoners, and Sir John, before the fight, had stressed that none was to be taken until the king had deemed the battle won, but Hook did not care. The French were surrendering now.\n\nMore and more Frenchmen were holding out their gauntlets. Their helmets were left in the mud as their captors hauled them back from the fight. \"What do we do with the bastards?\" Will of the Dale asked.\n\n\"Tie their hands,\" Hook suggested. \"Use bow cords!\"\n\nThe first French battle was retreating now. Too many had died and the living had no stomach for a fight that had spilled so much blood into the furrows. Hook leaned on his poleax and watched an archer in a blue, blood-darkened surcoat cackling among the wounded enemy. The man had discovered a falcon-beak, a weapon that was half hammer and half claw, and he was killing the wounded by piercing their helmets with the curved beak, which was mounted on a long shaft. The wedge-shaped point easily drove through steel to shatter the skulls beneath. \"Like cracking eggs!\" he called to no one in particular, and cracked another. \"Bastards,\" he kept shouting, \"bastards!\" He killed again and again. Injured men pleaded for mercy, but the beaked hammer would still fall. Hook had no energy to intervene. The man seemed oblivious of everything except the need to kill, and when he struck a wounded man he would do it repeatedly, long after the man was dead. A mastiff was standing over the body of its wounded master, barking at the English, and the archer killed the dog with the falcon-beak, then killed the dog's owner. \"You'd cut off my fingers!\" he screamed at the man, swinging the beak to mangle the corpse's already crumpled helmet, \"I'll cut off your goddamned prick!\" He suddenly raised his two string fingers at the corpses he had made and jerked the fingers up and down. \"Cut these off, would you? You bastards!\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus,\" Tom Scarlet said. His face was covered in French blood, his haubergeon was red, his legs, bare beneath his short hose, were mud-covered. \"Sweet Jesus,\" he said again.\n\nThe farthest point of the French advance was marked by a long heap of bodies, and the first battle had retreated from that horror and the English did not follow. Men were exhausted, slaked by the killing. Prisoners were being taken behind the line where Englishmen and Welshmen stared at each other as if astonished to be alive.\n\nThen more trumpets called, and Hook looked northward to see that the second French battle, every bit as large as the first, was coming.\n\nSo the battle must start again.\n\n\"They'll all be dying up there,\" Sir Martin said, \"dying in their scores! You're probably a widow by now.\" He grinned with yellow teeth. \"I heard you got married. Why, girl, why? Marriage is for the respectable folk, not for common pottage-eaters like Hook, but it doesn't matter now. You're a widow, girl! And oh my, but you are a beautiful widow! Now stay still, girl! Stay still! 'The master of every woman is the man!' That's what the holy scripture, the blessed word of the Lord says, so you're to obey me!\" He frowned suddenly. \"What's that mucky stuff on your forehead?\"\n\n\"A blessing,\" Melisande said. She had at last found a bolt and was fumbling to fit it in the crossbow's groove, but the crossbow was inside the sack and it was hard to feel its mechanism, let alone be certain the bolt was properly in place. Sir Martin was kneeling between her legs and leaning over her, propped on his left hand and using his right to grope between her thighs. A small stream of spittle swayed from his mouth.\n\n\"I don't like it,\" Sir Martin said and took his right hand away from her groin to rub at the charcoal lettering. \"Don't like your blessing. You should look pretty for me! You're not staying still, girl! You want me to hit you?\"\n\n\"I am still,\" Melisande said, though in truth she was shifting desperately, heaving up as she tried to dislodge the awful weight that pressed on her. Sir Martin abandoned his attempt to clean her forehead and put his hand back between her legs. Melisande screamed at his touch and the sound made the priest grin.\n\n\"The woman is the glory of the man,\" he said, \"which is the holy word of Almighty God. So let's make a baby, shall we?\"\n\nShe thought the bolt was in the groove, she was not sure, but nor could she wait to be sure, and so she wrenched the crossbow around, dragging the whole sack with it as Sir Martin raised himself, ready to plunge down. \"Ave Maria,\" he said, \"ave Maria,\" and Melisande thrust the sack into the space between her belly and his, then pulled the trigger.\n\nNothing happened.\n\nThe crossbow had been lying untended and fully cocked in her sack and the trigger mechanism must have rusted. She screamed. Sir Martin's spittle fell and slapped across her face and she jerked her finger again and this time the pawl gave way to release the cord, the steel-shanked span made its vicious sound and the short, thick, iron bolt ripped through the sacking.\n\nSir Martin seemed to be lifted off her. He stared at her, wide-eyed, his mouth shaped into a horrified circle.\n\nThen he bellowed like a boar being gelded. Blood spurted from his groin to pour warm and sudden on Melisande's thighs. The leather fledging of the bolt protruded from his bladder while the rusted point was protruding between his legs, and Melisande twisted away, scrambling desperately, and Sir Martin's clawing hands caught hold of her torn dress and held on. He was screaming now, clutching the linen as though it could save him, and Melisande tore herself away from him, abandoning the dress, and he curled up on the wet ground, whimpering and gasping, thrusting the torn linen into his ravaged groin.\n\n\"You'll die,\" Melisande said. \"You will bleed to death.\" She stooped beside him and his bloodshot eyes looked up at her desperately. \"And I shall laugh as you die,\" she added.\n\nAnother scream sounded. It came from the village and Melisande saw strangers among the baggage. She saw more people running toward the wagons and other folk coming along the stream's bank. They were local people, bringing hoes and axes and cleavers, peasants who wanted plunder. A man had spotted her and was heading toward her with the same hungry expression she had seen on Sir Martin's face.\n\nMelisande was naked.\n\nThen she remembered the jupon.\n\nShe took one last look at Sir Martin, who was dying in agony, snatched up her sack and his leather purse of coins, then jumped into the stream."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "The Sire de Lanferelle spat curses. A man at his feet, his visor dented and sheeted with blood, moaned and gasped. The whole of the man's lower right leg had been lopped off and the blood pulsed slow and thick onto the corpse beneath him. \"A priest,\" the man gasped, \"for the love of God, a priest.\"\n\n\"There are no priests,\" Lanferelle said angrily. He had thrown away his mace, deciding that a poleax would be a more vicious weapon, and viciousness was what he needed if he were to pull a victory from this apparent disaster. Lanferelle understood well enough what had happened. The French, exhausted by their slog through the mud and half blinded by their closed visors, had been easy victims for the English men-at-arms, but he also understood that those men-at-arms could not stretch their thin line to fill the whole space between the two woods. The ends of the line were manned by archers, and the archers, so far as he could tell, had no arrows. He snapped up his ripped visor, forcing the split metal over the rim of his helmet. \"We're going left,\" he said.\n\nNone of his men answered him. The first French battle had pulled back a score of paces and the English, as if by agreement, had not followed. Both sides were tired. Men leaned on their weapons to draw breath. Between the two armies was a long heap of armor-encased bodies, some dead, some injured, many piled on top of others. The fallen men's plate, polished in the night to a bright sheen, was jagged with rips, plastered with mud, and streaked with blood. Banners had fallen among the casualties, and a few Englishmen dragged those proud flags free and passed them back to where the French prisoners were being gathered. The oriflamme, which had proclaimed its merciless purpose above the French center, had vanished.\n\nThe English were passing skins of water or wine from man to man and Lanferelle suddenly felt parched. \"Where's the wine?\" he asked his squire.\n\n\"I don't have any, sire. You didn't tell me to bring any.\"\n\n\"Do I have to order you to piss? Jesus, you stink like a midden. Did you shit yourself?\"\n\nThe squire nodded miserably. He was not the only man whose bowels had loosened in terror, but he quailed under Lanferelle's scorn. \"We're going left!\" Lanferelle called again. He had tried and failed to reach Sir John, so now he planned to lead his men to attack the lightly armored archers instead. He could see the bowmen were carrying maces and poleaxes, but that was better than having them armed with yew bows and ash arrows. He would cut the bastards down and lead Frenchmen through the stakes so they could turn the flank of the English men-at-arms. \"This battle isn't lost,\" he told his followers, \"it hasn't even begun! They have no arrows left! So now we can kill the bastards! You hear me? We kill them!\"\n\nTrumpets sounded from the northern end of the field. The second French battle, its armor still gleaming and its banners untorn by arrows, was advancing on foot through the morass of plowland churned deep by horses and by the eight thousand Frenchmen of the first attack. That second battle was passing the small group of heralds, English, French, and Burgundian, who watched the battle together from the edge of the Tramecourt woods and the reinforcements, another eight thousand men-at-arms, would reach the killing place in another minute. Lanferelle, not wanting to be caught by the crush of the new arrivals, worked his way toward the flank of the French men-at-arms. He had eleven men with him now, and he reckoned they were enough to cut their way through the archers. And if the twelve led, other men would follow. \"Those goddam archers aren't trained to arms,\" he told his men. \"They're tradesmen! They're nothing but tailors and basket-weavers! They're just hacking with those axes. So don't attack them first. Let them hack, then you parry and kill, you understand me?\"\n\nMen nodded. They understood, but the field reeked of blood, the oriflamme was gone, and a dozen great lords of France were dead or missing, and Lanferelle knew that victory would only come when men began to believe in victory. So he would give that belief to them. He would fight his way through the English line and he would give France a triumph.\n\nEnglishmen saw the second attack closing and they straightened and hoisted weapons. The second French battle had reached the first and the newcomers gave a huge shout. \"Saint Denis! Montjoie! Montjoie!\"\n\n\"Saint George!\" the English responded, and the hunting howls started again, the mocking sound of men inviting their quarry to come and die.\n\nBut the second battle could not reach the English because the survivors of the first were in their way, and they could only push those survivors forward, and so they churned through the mud, lances leveled, driving tired men onto the heaps of dead and onto the English blades beyond. The noise rose, the clash of steel and the screams of the dying and the desperate blare of trumpets as eight thousand new French men-at-arms went to the killing ground.\n\nAnd Lanferelle went for the archers.\n\nThe women and servants fled from the English baggage, running uphill toward the embattled army while behind them serfs and peasants scrambled over the English wagons in search of easy plunder.\n\nMelisande was in the stream that ran fast, full, cold and muddy, fed by the torrential rain of the last few days. She floundered in the water, pushing past low-growing branches until she saw the jupon snagged on a willow bough. She unhooked it, then forced her way through the briars and nettles that grew on the stream's bank. She pulled the jupon over her head. The wet linen clung cold and clammy, but it covered her and she crept slowly northward through brambles and hazel scrub until she saw the horsemen.\n\nThere were fifty or sixty riders who were standing their horses to the west of the village and just watching the English encampment. They had no banner, and even if they had flown a flag Melisande doubted she would have recognized its badge, but she was certain that the small English army could never have spared so many horsemen to linger behind their line. That meant these riders were French, and Melisande, though she was French herself, now thought of the horsemen as her enemy and so she crouched in the bushes, hiding her bright surcoat behind a thornbush.\n\nThen a new anxiety struck her. The surcoat covered her, but it also gnawed at her soul. \"Forgive me,\" she prayed to the Virgin, \"for wearing the jupon. Let Nick live.\"\n\nShe sensed no answer. There was just silence in her head.\n\nShe had sworn not to wear the jupon, believing that wearing her father's badge would doom Nick to death in the high plowland, but now she was wearing the badge of the sun and the falcon, and the Virgin had given her no answer, and she knew she was breaking her bargain with heaven. She shivered, cold and wet, and suddenly trembled.\n\nNick would die, she was sure of it.\n\nSo she took the jupon off so that Nick might live.\n\nAnd she crouched. She was praying, naked, cold and frightened. And from the north, beyond the horsemen and beyond the village and beyond the skyline, the sound of battle rose again.\n\n\"We killed them before,\" Thomas Evelgold yelled, \"and we can kill them again! Kill for England!\"\n\n\"For Wales!\" a man shouted.\n\n\"For Saint George!\" another man called.\n\n\"For Saint David!\" the Welshman responded and on that battle cry the archers surged forward to attack the new enemy. They had already savaged the first French battle, and some men reckoned they would become rich from the prisoners they had taken. Those prisoners, without helmets and with their hands tied with spare bow cords, were behind the stakes, guarded there by a handful of wounded archers. Now the bowmen went to make new corpses and take new prisoners.\n\nThey went in a rush, and by now they knew how to take down men-at-arms who could not move in the thick mud, and so the archers crashed into the flank of the French and they hammered their enemy to make a new line of dead men, most stabbed through an eye by an archer's knife after they had been felled by a hammer blow. The screams were unending. The plateau seethed with mud-spattered steel-clad men who lumbered toward the archers, pushed onto them by the thick ranks of men behind, and the clumsy men tripped on bodies, were smashed on their helmets, were murdered with knives, and still they came. Some wore gold or silver chains around their necks, or wore armor that, by its magnificence, proclaimed the wearer's wealth or position, and those men the archers tried to capture. They would kill the rich man's companions and, like deerhounds about a bayed stag, would taunt and threaten the man until he pulled off his gauntlet.\n\n\"Come on, you bastard!\" Tom Scarlet jeered at a man whose white surcoat bore the badge of a red swan. \"Come on!\" The Frenchman was watching him, blue eyes visible through a raised visor. His helmet was chased with silver swirls and his red velvet sword belt was studded with golden lozenges. He picked his way among the corpses, lunged with his lance at Scarlet's belly, and Scarlet swatted the lance away with his poleax. A second Frenchman, wearing the same swan insignia, slashed a broad-bladed sword at the poleax, but the steel bounced off the iron-sheathed staff. Scarlet drove the ax hard forward, cracking its spike against the swan-badged belly armor and the man staggered back. The swordsman struck again and Scarlet just managed to block the cut with the ax shaft, then Will Sclate was beside him and grunted as he swung his poleax, which crushed the swordsman's helmet as though it were made of parchment. The helmet collapsed, bursting at its seams in a spray of blood and brains, and Sclate, huge and vicious, drew the hammerhead back.\n\n\"We want him, Will! Bastard's rich!\" Tom Scarlet shouted and he slammed the poleax into the rich man again, and the lord, Scarlet was sure he opposed a nobleman, struck with his lance and this time Scarlet seized the lance one-handed and tugged hard. The man stumbled forward, tripping, and Scarlet gripped the bottom rim of the man's helmet and dragged him out of the killing line. Will Sclate was hammering down more men, helped by a dozen of Sir John's archers, as Scarlet turned his prisoner over. He crouched and grinned into the man's face. \"Rich, are you?\"\n\nThe man stared back with hatred, so Scarlet drew his knife. He held the point just over the man's left eyeball. \"If you're rich,\" he said, \"you live, and if you're poor, you die.\"\n\n\"Je suis le comte de Pavilly,\" the man said, \"je me rends! Je me rends!\"\n\n\"Does that mean you're rich?\" Scarlet asked.\n\n\"Behind you, Tom!\" Hook's voice bellowed, and Tom Scarlet turned to see Frenchmen coming toward him, and at that moment the Count of Pavilly drove his own knife up into Tom Scarlet's groin. Scarlet screeched, the count heaved up from the mud, and stabbed again, this time into Tom Scarlet's belly, ripping and cutting, and then Will Sclate's poleax swung in a hay-cutting slash and the ax blade tore into the Count of Pavilly's face, breaking his remaining teeth and driving their fragments to the back of his skull. His blood mingled with Tom Scarlet's. The two bodies, rich man and poor man, were lying together as Sclate ripped his blade from the snagging tangle of steel and bone before being driven back by the sudden rush of Frenchmen.\n\nAnd Hook was also being driven back.\n\nA wedge of Frenchmen was crashing into the archers. So far the archers had been winning because they attacked and because they were more mobile than their enemy, but at last the French had found a way to carry the fight back to the bowmen. They came shoulder to shoulder and they let the archers waste their blows by parrying instead of cutting back, and if an archer slipped, or swung too hard and was slow to recover his balance, a blade would flicker and an Englishman would sink into the mud to be hammered with a mace. \"Just kill them!\" the Sire de Lanferelle shouted as he led the wedge. \"One at a time! God will give us time to kill them all! Saint Denis! Montjoie!\" He sensed victory now. Up to this moment the French had panicked and had allowed themselves to be driven like cattle to the winter slaughter, but Lanferelle was calm, he was deadly and he was confident, and more and more Frenchmen came to follow him, sensing at last that someone had taken command of their destiny.\n\nHook saw the falcon in its sunlit splendor.\n\n\"Behind you, Tom!\" he had shouted at Scarlet, and then he had seen the Frenchman in the red and white jupon suddenly heave up, but he had no time to see more because Lanferelle was ahead of him, and Hook was forced to step back as Lanferelle's poleax stabbed at him. It was not meant as a killing thrust, but rather to unbalance Hook who had to step back a second time to avoid the spike and he might have tripped in the furrows except the small of his back struck one of the slanting stakes that held him upright. He swept his own poleax at Lanferelle's weapon, but the Frenchman somehow flicked Hook's cut aside and lunged again, and Hook had to twist around the stake, but the sharpened point caught in his haubergeon and he could not move. Panic blinded him. \"Get close,\" Saint Crispin said, and Hook rammed his poleax hard forward, struggling in the mud to find good footing, and Lanferelle was so surprised at the sudden counterattack that he checked his next thrust. Hook's blade glanced off Lanferelle's armor, but the thrust had released the haubergeon and Hook could step back just before a blow from one of Lanferelle's men would have crushed his hand where it held the pole.\n\n\"I hoped we would meet,\" Lanferelle said.\n\n\"You wanted to die?\" Hook snarled. The panic still rippled in his body, but there was also a relief that he had survived, then he had to parry desperately as two blades darted toward his unarmored legs. Tom Evelgold came to his help, as did Will of the Dale.\n\n\"Tom's dead,\" Will said, then swept his big ax around to knock a lance aside.\n\n\"How's Melisande?\" Lanferelle asked.\n\n\"So far as I know,\" Hook said, \"she lives.\" He thrust again and had the ax knocked aside again, but he had not put all his strength into the blow and recovered fast to sweep the lead-weighted head back to hit Lanferelle's arm, but still without sufficient force and the Frenchman scarce seemed to notice.\n\nLanferelle smiled. \"She lives,\" he said, \"and you die.\" He began stabbing his weapon in short, very controlled strokes that came fast, sometimes low, sometimes high, and Hook, unable to parry and without time to counter-strike, could only retreat. Lanferelle had crusted blood beside one eye, but his face was strangely calm, and that calmness scared Hook. The Frenchman watched Hook's eyes all the time, and Hook knew he would die unless he could somehow get past that flickering blade. Tom Evelgold had the same idea and he managed to shove a lance to one side and push past the blade so that he was on Lanferelle's right, and the centenar, holding his poleax two-handed like a leveled lance, screamed a curse as he rammed the blade forward with its spike aimed at the Frenchman's faulds. The spike would go through the plates, through the mail, through the leather to rip open Lanferelle's lower belly, except at the last moment Lanferelle raised the butt end of his pole to deflect the lunge and so take its huge force on his breastplate. The Milanese steel withstood the blow and threw it off, then Lanferelle jerked his head forward, smashing his raised visor hard into Tom Evelgold's face as another Frenchman skewered a sword into the Englishman's thigh and twisted it. Evelgold staggered, blood pouring down his leg and spreading from his crushed nose. He had been blinded by the head butt and so did not see the poleax spike that drove into his face. He made a high-pitched whining noise as he fell, and another ax chopped into his belly, cleaving haubergeon and mail, opening his guts, and then the Frenchmen were past him, treading deliberately and carefully, driving deeper through the stakes and so ever closer to the English rear.\n\n\"Get close,\" Saint Crispin shouted at Hook.\n\n\"I can't,\" Hook said.\n\nTom Evelgold shuddered. A French man-at-arms slid a sword point into his gullet and there was a thick gush of blood and then the centenar was still. More and more Frenchmen were following Lanferelle, thickening his wedge, and though archers fought them, the enemy was at last driving forward. The stakes helped by giving them something firm to lean on in the treacherous ground and the archers were being outfought. Hook tried to rally them, but they did not have the armor to stand against trained men-at-arms and so they retreated. They had not broken, not yet, but they were being pushed farther and farther back.\n\nHook tried to stand. He traded blows with Lanferelle, but knew he could not beat the Frenchman. Lanferelle was too fast. He did not have Hook's strength, but he was much quicker with his weapons. \"I am sorry for Melisande,\" Lanferelle said, \"because she will grieve for you.\"\n\n\"Bastard,\" Hook said, and rammed the poleax forward, had the lunge deflected, and he pulled the weapon back and this time the ax head caught on Lanferelle's ax head, and Hook hauled back hard and for the first time saw a look of surprise on the Frenchman's face, but Lanferelle simply let go of the shaft and Hook almost tumbled backward.\n\n\"But women recover from grief,\" Lanferelle said, \"by finding another man.\" He stooped and picked up a fallen poleax, and did it so quickly that Hook had no chance to attack while he was down, and by the time Hook saw his chance it was too late. \"Or perhaps I will put her back in a nunnery,\" Lanferelle said, \"and make her a proper bride of Christ.\" Lanferelle grinned at Hook, then the new poleax started its relentless stabbing.\n\n\"Get out of the way,\" Saint Crispin snapped.\n\n\"I'll fight him,\" Hook shouted back. He wanted to kill Lanferelle. He suddenly hated him. \"I'll kill him!\" he shouted, and tried to step forward, but was checked by the Frenchman's whip-fast blade.\n\n\"Get out of the goddamned way!\" the voice roared, but this was not Saint Crispin shouting, and Hook felt himself thrust unceremoniously away as Sir John Cornewaille threw him to one side. Sir John brought men-at-arms who crashed their lances into the French, steel points against plate armor, and Hook staggered to where Will Sclate was hacking at Lanferelle's followers. Lanferelle responded with a bellowed challenge and a charge at Sir John, and the other Frenchmen surged forward through the clay-thick mud. A poleax slammed onto Hook's helmet and, because he was already unbalanced, he fell. The ax blow had not been given with full force, but it still rang in Hook's head and the blade glanced off the helmet to cut through his haubergeon and almost slashed the mail on his shoulder open. He saw the Frenchman draw back the pole, ready to slide the spike into his belly or chest and Hook desperately slashed up with his own blade, a wild blow that drove the ax head into the man-at-arms's groin. Like the blow that had felled him, it was not given with full force, but it was hard enough to make the Frenchman double over in sudden, body-crippling pain, and then Will of the Dale hauled Hook upright and Hook found his feet and slammed his spike forward, shouting as he thrust, and the spike rammed into the enemy's upper chest, piercing the aventail and sliding over the breastplate's top edge. Hook rammed and shook the pole, grinding the blade deep into the enemy's ribcage, and he watched the lower part of the man's helmet fill with blood that spilled from the visor opening. A sword smacked Hook from his right, but his mail stopped it, and he swept his weapon that way, dragging his victim with it to throw the swordsman off balance, and then Hook charged.\n\nHe used the dying man as a battering ram. He thrust him into the French ranks and Sclate and Will of the Dale followed, and both of them were shouting. \"Saint George!\"\n\n\"Saint Crispin!\" Hook bellowed. He was pushing the dying man into the French ranks, thrusting his body against other men. The wounded man splattered blood from his mouth as Hook tried to disengage the spike. Another man stabbed a pike at Hook, but Geoffrey Horrocks had followed Hook and hit the man's helmet with a mallet, and the strike of the lead-weighted iron thumped dully as the man's head snapped back. He dropped into the mud. The wounded man at last fell from the poleax and Hook, the weight released, began to scream wildly and swing the weapon from side to side as he thrust into the Frenchmen. \"Just kill the bastards, just kill the bastards!\" he was shouting. Archers were following him, their anger released by the relief of Sir John's arrival.\n\nSir John was fighting Lanferelle, both men so fast with weapons that it was difficult to see thrust, cut or parry, while the other English men-at-arms attacked on either side with such sudden savagery that Lanferelle's followers instinctively stepped back, intent on defending themselves against the newly arrived men, and as they went back so some tripped on the bodies lying on the ground behind them. They fell and the English came at them, pole-spikes stabbing, axes splitting armor, faces grimacing with the effort of killing, and the sudden slaughter took the spirit from the remaining French who tried to back away and found archers on their flanks. Men began to shout that they yielded. They dragged off gauntlets and shouted their surrenders in desperate panic. \"Too late,\" Will of the Dale sneered at one man and chopped down with his ax to split an espalier and slice the blade down through shoulder blade and upper ribs. Another Frenchman in a ripped surcoat crawled on hands and knees, blood drooling from his mouth, weeping from sightless eyes, blundering through mud till an archer kicked him down and casually killed him with a knife thrust in the mouth. Young Horrocks was beating a count to death, slamming a poleax again and again into the fallen man's backplate and screaming insults as the blade tore into steel and spine.\n\nLanferelle was left, still fighting Sir John, and by some unspoken agreement the other English men-at-arms did not intervene. Neither man spoke. They had their feet planted in the mud and they cut, lunged, and feinted, yet both were so skilled and so quick that neither could find an advantage. They were the tournament champions of Christendom, one French, one English, and they were accustomed to the silken glories of the lists; the admiring women, the bright flags, the courtesy of chivalry, yet now they fought among corpses, amidst the moans and whimpers of the dying, on a field reeking of blood and shit.\n\nThe end came by accident. Lanferelle feinted a lunge to Sir John's left, recovered with astonishing speed, cut, and so forced Sir John to step to his right and his foot landed on the hoof of a dead destrier and the hoof rolled under the weight and Sir John slipped and fell onto one knee and Lanferelle, fast as a snake, whipped the poleax around and struck Sir John's helmet a ringing blow and Sir John fell full length onto the horse's bloody belly where he floundered, trying to find his balance and so get to his feet, and Lanferelle raised the poleax for the killing blow.\n\nAnd thrust.\n\nThe French second battle had forced the survivors of the first back to the killing ground where the English waited behind a rampart of dead and dying Frenchmen. So many of the high nobility of France were already dead or bleeding; their bones shattered, their guts torn, their brains spilling from mangled helmets, their eyes gouged and bellies ripped. Men were weeping, some calling for God or for their wives or for their mothers, but neither God nor any woman was there to offer comfort.\n\nThe King of England was going forward now. He had pulled one corpse from atop two others to make a passage through the heaped dead and he carried his sword to an enemy who had dared defy God's choice for France's throne. His men-at-arms advanced with him, cutting their axes and grinding their maces and chopping their sharp-curved falcon-beaks into a demoralized and mud-wearied enemy. They made new piles of dead, new blood-laced corpses, and more cripples whose cries for help went unanswered. Henry led them, despite the shouts of men who wanted him to protect himself. His helmet was dented and scarred, a fleuret of gold had been severed from the bright crown, but England's king was replete with a righteous and holy joy because he saw in the enemy's suffering the proof of divine providence. Underfoot the plowland's ridges and furrows had been trampled into a flat morass that was the color of blood. Men waded in a slurry of mud, blood, and shit, they struggled and died, and Henry's soul soared. God was with him and, in that assurance, he found new strength and went on killing.\n\nLanferelle thrust hard and vicious just as a poleax blade hooked about his left espalier and hauled him back hard and fast. The Frenchman's blow fell short of Sir John, but Lanferelle, miraculously keeping his footing, turned on his new enemy and then stopped.\n\nThe poleax had pulled him away from Sir John and denied him his kill, and now its spike was in his face, its point mashing his lip against his teeth and Lanferelle found himself staring into Hook's face.\n\n\"When you fought him before,\" Hook said, \"he let you stand up. You wouldn't do the same for him?\"\n\n\"This is battle,\" Lanferelle said, his voice distorted by the spike's pressure, \"and that was a tournament.\"\n\n\"Then if this is battle,\" Hook asked, \"why shouldn't I kill you?\"\n\nSir John stood, but did not intervene. He just watched.\n\n\"Because Melisande would never forgive you,\" Lanferelle said, and he saw the hesitation on Hook's face and he tensed, ready to bring up his own poleax, but then the steel spike ground into his mouth, ripping his upper gum.\n\n\"Go on,\" Hook said, \"try.\"\n\nSir John still watched.\n\n\"Just try,\" Hook begged. He kept his eyes on Lanferelle's face. \"You want him, Sir John?\"\n\n\"He's yours, Hook.\"\n\n\"You're mine,\" Hook said to Lanferelle.\n\n\"Je me rends,\" Lanferelle said, and he released his poleax shaft so the weapon thumped into the mud.\n\n\"Take your helmet off,\" Hook ordered, drawing back the blood-tipped poleax.\n\nLanferelle took off his helmet, then his aventail and the leather hood beneath, so releasing his long black hair. He gave Hook his right gauntlet and Hook, triumphant, took his prisoner back to where the other French captives were under guard. The Sire de Lanferelle looked tired suddenly, tired and distraught. \"Don't tie my hands,\" he begged.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I have honor, Nicholas Hook. I have surrendered and I give you my word I will not try to fight again, nor will I try to escape.\"\n\n\"Then wait here,\" Hook said.\n\n\"I will wait,\" Lanferelle promised.\n\nHook shouted at a pageboy to bring the Frenchman some water and then went back to the battle that was once again dying. The second French battle had done no better than the first. They had added more bodies to the heaps of the dead, and now the survivors struggled back through the mud, leaving corpses, injured men, and prisoners behind. Hundreds of prisoners. Dukes and counts and lords and men-at-arms, all in surcoats streaked with mud and sodden with blood, all now standing behind the English line and watching, in disbelief, as the remnants of the two French battles limped away.\n\nThe third French battle remained. Its flags flew and all along that line men were climbing into saddles and calling on their squires to bring their long lances. \"Arrows,\" Saint Crispinian spoke in Hook's head, \"you need arrows.\"\n\nThe day's work was not over.\n\nMelisande watched.\n\nThe English baggage was in the village of Maisoncelles and in the wet pastures around it, and some was halfway up the hill as pages and servants led packhorses toward the protection of the English army beyond the skyline, if indeed there was an English army anymore. Melisande did not know. She had watched men spill over that horizon into the valley where Maisoncelles lay, but those men were few and, by their movements, she guessed they were wounded soldiers, and after a while other men had come, but slowly, not in panicked flight, and she had not understood that they were prisoners being taken toward the village. The lack of panic suggested the English army still held their line on the plateau, but she half expected and half feared to see it come spilling over the edge pursued by the vengeful French.\n\nInstead the French horsemen had come from the west, and now they spurred into the village and Melisande watched as they cut down pages and then dismounted to start pillaging the English baggage.\n\nThe horsemen drove away the peasants who had arrived first. A handful of English men-at-arms and wounded archers had been left to guard the encampment, but they only numbered thirty and they had spent their arrows on the serfs and those men now retreated uphill. The women of the army went with them as the horsemen found the English king's quarters. A priest and two pages had stayed with the king's treasures, and those three were quickly slaughtered and the plunder began.\n\nMelisande watched. She saw a man parade in a fur-trimmed red robe and with a crown on his head, making his companions laugh. She did not understand what was happening. She could only pray that Nick lived, and so she shut her eyes, crouched low, and prayed.\n\nHook lived.\n\nThe two French battles had retreated, struggling back over the plowland and leaving the space in front of the English thick with bodies in mud-smeared armor. The third French battle was mounted now. It was the smallest of the three French battles, yet it still outnumbered the English. The riders' lances were upright, some flaunted pennants. Trumpets sounded. The third battle could not charge yet for so many dismounted Frenchmen were in front of them, but they moved their horses a few paces forward before stopping again.\n\n\"Arrows!\" Hook shouted at his men.\n\n\"We don't have any!\" Will of the Dale called back.\n\n\"Yes we do,\" Hook said. He found his bow, slung it on his shoulder and led his men out into the field where the French bodies lay, and all around those fallen men were spent arrows. Some, because they had struck good armor head on, were now useless because their bodkin points had bent or crumpled, but many were in fine condition. Hook found some undamaged points on arrows that had splintered shafts and he pulled those bodkins free and married them to good shafts. He also pillaged the French bodies. He found a silver chain about one man's neck and he thrust that into his arrow bag. Men-at-arms were also searching among the heaped French casualties, hauling the corpses away from the living, killing men too injured to survive or too poor to be worth ransoming, and rescuing the wealthy. Hook picked up a gray-fledged arrow trapped in the surcoat of a man lying on his back, and the man suddenly moved. Hook had thought he was dead, but the man groaned and turned his visored face toward the archer. Hook lifted the visor and saw scared eyes. \"Aidez moi,\" the man said, half choking. Hook could see no wound, no puncture in the armor, but the man screamed when Hook tried to lift him. The Frenchman was in such pain that he lost consciousness and Hook let him fall again. He took the arrow and moved on. A dog barked at him. It was standing over a corpse in a blood-soaked surcoat. Hook left the dog alone, skirting it to pick up a dozen more arrows that he thrust into his arrow bag.\n\n\"Nick!\" Will of the Dale called, and Hook looked up to see a lone French horseman had ridden through the retreating fugitives of the first two battles. The rider was short and slightly built, and the only weapon he carried was a scabbarded sword. He wore plate armor, but he was not mounted on an armored destrier, instead he rode a small piebald mare. His white linen jupon was decorated with two red axes above which was the glimmer of gold from a heavy chain that hung around his neck. His helmet's visor was raised and he seemed to be searching among the bodies, but checked his horse when he realized the archers were staring at him.\n\n\"Bastard wants trouble,\" Will said.\n\n\"No, he's just looking at us,\" Hook said, \"and he's only a little fellow. Let him be.\" He picked up a broadhead, then another bodkin, and glanced again at the horseman who had suddenly drawn his sword and kicked his horse forward. \"Maybe he does want trouble,\" Hook said and he took the bow off his shoulder, braced it on a corpse's breastplate, and looped its string about the upper nock.\n\nThe horseman stopped again, this time to gaze down into a tangle of armor and bodies. The dead lay on top of each other and the man seemed fascinated by the sight. He stared for a long time, now no more than twenty paces from the archers and then, abruptly, he screamed a high-pitched challenge and kicked his piebald horse straight at Hook. The mare responded, flailing its hooves in the mud to throw up great clods of earth.\n\n\"Stupid bastard,\" Hook said angrily. He laid a bodkin over the string and raised the bow, just as a dozen other archers did the same. Hook thought the man must swerve away, but instead the rider lowered his sword to spear the blade at Hook who drew the cord to his right ear and did not even think about what he did. It was all instinctive. The cord came back, he watched the horseman rise and fall with the piebald's motion, saw the open visor and the unnaturally bright eyes, and loosed.\n\nHis arrow went clean through the rider's right eye and the force of it snapped the man's head hard back. The sword dropped and the mare slowed and then, puzzled, stopped a short lance's length away from Hook. No other archer had loosed.\n\nA cheer went up from the English line as the dead rider fell slowly from the saddle. He took a long time to fall, slipping gently sideways and then suddenly collapsing in a clatter of armor. \"Get his horse,\" Hook told Horrocks.\n\nHook went to the corpse. He tugged the arrow free from the ruined eye so he could pull the thick golden chain over the dead man's head, and then his hand stopped because there was a pendant hanging from the chain. It was a thick pendant, carved from white ivory, and mounted on that silver-rimmed disc was an antelope cut from jet.\n\n\"You stupid little bastard,\" Hook said, and he lifted off the boy's helmet that was too big for him and looked down into the ruined face of Sir Philippe de Rouelles.\n\n\"He's just a boy,\" Horrocks said in surprise.\n\n\"A stupid little bastard is what he is,\" Hook said.\n\n\"What was he doing?\"\n\n\"He was being goddam brave,\" Hook said. He pulled off the heavy golden chain and walked the few paces to where the boy had stared down at the heaped dead, and there, lying on top of two other men, was a corpse in a surcoat that was so soaked in blood that at first Hook had difficulty making out the badge, but then he saw the outline of two red axes in the redder cloth. The dead man's helmet had come off and his throat had been cut to the spine. \"He came to find his father,\" Hook told Horrocks.\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I just know,\" Hook said, \"the poor little bastard. He was just looking for his father.\" He thrust the pendant into the arrow bag, picked up another bodkin, and turned toward the English line.\n\nWhere the king, wearing his scarred helmet and with his surcoat torn by enemy blades, had mounted his small white horse to see the enemy more clearly. He saw the survivors of the slaughter struggling north, and beyond them was the third battle with its raised lances and he knew his archers had few or no arrows.\n\nThen a messenger arrived to say the French were in the baggage camp, and the king twisted in the saddle to see that hundreds of his men were now guarding French prisoners. God knows how many prisoners there were, but they far outnumbered his men-at-arms. He glanced left and right. He had started with nine hundred men-at-arms and now the line was much thinner because so many men had taken prisoners and were guarding them. The archers had done the same. A few were out in the field, collecting arrows, and the king approved of that, but knew they could never collect enough arrows to kill the horses of the third battle. He watched some foolish Frenchman charge the archers and grimaced when his men cheered the brave fool's death, then looked again at his army.\n\nIt was disordered. Henry knew that the line would form again when the final French battle charged, but now there were hundreds of prisoners behind that line and those captured men could still fight. They had no helmets and their weapons had been taken, but they could still assault the rear of his line. Most had their hands tied, but not all, and the unpinioned men could free the others to throw themselves on the perilously thin English line. Then there was the threat of the Frenchmen pillaging his baggage, but that could wait. The vital thing now was to hold off the third French charge, and to do that he needed every blade in his small army. The advancing horses would be hampered by the hundreds of corpses, yet they would eventually get past those bodies and then the long lances would stab into his line. He needed men.\n\nAnd men stared up at the king. They saw him close his eyes and knew he was praying to his stern God, the God who had spared his army so far this day, and Henry prayed that God's mercy would continue and, as his lips moved in the prayer, so the answer came to him. The answer was so astonishing that for a moment he did nothing, then he told himself God had spoken to him and so he opened his eyes.\n\n\"Kill the prisoners,\" he ordered.\n\nOne of his household men-at-arms stared up at him. He was not sure he had heard right. \"Sire?\"\n\n\"Kill the prisoners!\"\n\nThat way the prisoners could not fight again and the men guarding them would be forced back into the battle line.\n\n\"Kill them all!\" Henry shouted. He pointed a gauntleted hand at the captives. One of his men-at-arms had made a swift count and reckoned over two thousand Frenchmen had been taken and Henry's gesture encompassed them all. \"Kill them!\" Henry commanded.\n\nThe French had flaunted the oriflamme, promising no quarter, so now no quarter would be given.\n\nThe prisoners would die.\n\nThe Sire de Lanferelle wandered bleakly behind the English line. He saw the English king in a battle-scarred helmet sitting on horseback, then was shocked to see that the Duke of Orleans, the French king's nephew, was a prisoner. He was just a young man, charming and witty, yet now, in a blood-spattered surcoat and with his arm gripped by an archer in English royal livery, he looked dazed, stricken and ill. \"Sire,\" Lanferelle said, dropping to one knee.\n\n\"What happened?\" Orleans asked.\n\n\"Mud,\" Lanferelle said, standing again.\n\n\"My God,\" the duke said. He flinched, not from pain for he was hardly wounded, but out of shame. \"Alen\u00e7on's dead,\" he went on, \"and so are Bar and Brabant. Sens died too.\"\n\n\"The archbishop?\" Lanferelle asked, somehow more shocked that a prince of the church was dead than that three of France's noblest dukes should have been killed.\n\n\"They gutted him, Lanferelle,\" the duke said, \"they just gutted him. And d'Albret's dead too.\"\n\n\"The constable?\"\n\n\"Dead,\" Orleans said, \"and Bourbon's captured.\"\n\n\"Dear sweet God,\" Lanferelle said, not because the Constable of France was dead or because the Duke of Bourbon, the victor of Soissons, was a prisoner, but because Marshal Boucicault, reckoned the toughest man in France, was now being led to join the Duke of Orleans.\n\nBoucicault stared at Lanferelle, then at the royal duke, then shook his grizzled head. \"It seems we're all doomed to English hospitality,\" he growled.\n\n\"They treated me well enough when I was a prisoner,\" Lanferelle said.\n\n\"Jesus Christ, you have to find a second ransom?\" Boucicault asked. His white surcoat with its red badge of a two-headed eagle was ripped and bloodstained. His armor, that had been polished through the night to a dazzling sheen, was scarred by blades and streaked with mud. He turned a bitter gaze on the other prisoners. \"What's it like over there?\" he asked.\n\n\"Sour wine and good ale,\" Lanferelle said, \"and rain, of course.\"\n\n\"Rain,\" Boucicault said bitterly, \"that was our undoing. Rain and mud.\" He had advised against fighting Henry's army at all, rain or no rain, fearing what the English archers could do. Better, he had said, to let them straggle dispiritedly into Calais and to concentrate France's forces on the recapture of Harfleur, but the hot-headed royal dukes, like young Orleans, had insisted that the battle be fought. Boucicault felt a surge of bile, a temptation to spit an accusation at the duke, but he resisted it. \"Damp England,\" he said instead. \"Tell me the women are damp too?\"\n\n\"Oh, they are,\" Lanferelle said.\n\n\"I'll need women,\" the Marshal of France said, staring up at the gray sky. \"I doubt France can raise our ransoms, which means we'll all probably die in England, and we'll need something to pass the time.\"\n\nLanferelle wondered where Melisande was. He suddenly wanted to see her, to talk to her, but the only women in sight were a handful who brought water to wounded men. Priests were offering other men the final rites, while doctors knelt beside the injured. They cut armor buckles, pulled mangled steel from pulverized flesh, and held men down as they thrashed in agony. Lanferelle saw one of his own men and, leaving Orleans and the marshal to their guards, went to crouch beside the man and flinched at the mangled ruin of his left leg that had been half severed by ax blows. Someone had tied a bow cord around the man's thigh, but blood still seeped in thick pulses from the ragged wound. \"I'm sorry, Jules,\" Lanferelle said.\n\nJules could say nothing. He twisted his head from side to side. He had bitten his lower lip so hard that blood trickled down his chin.\n\n\"You'll live, Jules,\" Lanferelle said, doubting he spoke the truth, and then he twisted as he heard a bellow of anger.\n\nHe stared, incredulous. English archers were murdering the prisoners. For a moment Lanferelle thought the archers must be mad, then he saw that a man-at-arms in royal livery commanded them. French prisoners, their hands tied, tried to run away, but the archers caught them, turned them and slashed long knives across their throats. Blood was spraying from the cuts to soak the grinning archers, and more bowmen were hurrying to the slaughter with drawn blades. Some English men-at-arms were dragging prisoners away, evidently intent on preserving their prospects of ransoms, while the noblest and most valuable captives, like Marshal Boucicault and the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, were being guarded against the massacre, but the rest were being ruthlessly killed. Lanferelle understood then. The King of England was frightened of the prisoners attacking the rear of his line when the last French battle made its assault and to prevent that he was killing the captives, and though that made sense it still astonished Lanferelle. Then he saw archers coming toward him and he patted Jules's shoulder. \"Pretend to be dead, Jules,\" he said. He could think of no other way of preventing the man's killing for he could not defend him without weapons, and so he hurried away in search of Sir John. Sir John, he was sure, would protect him, and if he could not find Sir John he would try to reach the Tramecourt woods and hide in its briar thickets.\n\nSome prisoners tried to fight back, but they were unarmed and the archers felled them with poleaxes. The bowmen moved deftly in the mud, killing with a horrible efficiency. The English destriers, almost a thousand saddled stallions, were at the southern end of the field and a handful of prisoners tried to reach them, but some of the pageboys who guarded the horses mounted and drove the fugitives back to where the archers killed. There was panic and blood and screams as men died and as others were herded toward the slaughter-men. More archers came to the killing, and the prisoners blundered through the thick plow in search of an escape that did not exist. It did not exist for Lanferelle either. He reached the right flank of the English line where a small forester's cottage stood at the treeline. It was burning, and he heard the screams of dying men coming from the flames and thick smoke. The archers who had set the cottage ablaze saw Lanferelle and headed toward him and he swerved northward, but only to see more archers between him and the English line where Sir John's standard flew. Then, to his relief, he recognized the tall figure and dark face of Nicholas Hook.\n\n\"Hook!\" he shouted, but Hook did not hear him. \"Melisande!\" He called his daughter's name in hope that it would pierce the turmoil of screaming. Trumpets were playing again, summoning Englishmen to their standards. \"Hook!\" he bellowed in desperation.\n\n\"What do you want with Hook?\" a man asked, and Lanferelle turned to see four archers facing him. The man who had spoken was tall and gaunt with a lantern jaw and held a bloodied poleax. \"You know Hook?\" the man asked.\n\nLanferelle backed away.\n\n\"I asked you a question,\" the man said, following Lanferelle. He was grinning, enjoying the fear on the Frenchman's face. \"Rich, are you? Cos if you're rich then we might let you live. But you've got to be very rich.\" He slashed the poleax at Lanferelle's legs, hoping to cut into a knee and topple the Frenchman, but Lanferelle managed to step back without tripping and so avoided the blow. He staggered for balance in the mud.\n\n\"I'm rich,\" he said desperately, \"very rich.\"\n\n\"He speaks English,\" the archer said to his companions, \"he's rich and he speaks English.\" He lunged with the poleax and the spike rammed against Lanferelle's left cuisse, but the armor held and the point slid off Lanferelle's thigh. \"So why were you shouting for Hook?\" the man asked, drawing the poleax back for another thrust.\n\nLanferelle raised his hands in a placatory gesture. \"I am his prisoner,\" he said.\n\nThe tall man laughed. \"Our Nick? Got a rich prisoner, has he? That will never do.\" He lunged with the poleax, striking the point onto Lanferelle's breastplate and Lanferelle staggered backward, but again was not tripped. He glanced around desperately, hoping to see a fallen weapon and the tall English archer grinned at the fear on the Frenchman's bloodied face. The archer was wearing a haubergeon over a mail coat, and the padded jacket had been slashed so that the wool stuffing hung in tattered blood-crusted clumps. His red cross of Saint George had run in the rain so that his short surcoat, patterned with moon and stars, looked blood red. \"We can't have Nick Hook being rich,\" the man said, and raised the poleax ready to bring it down on Lanferelle's unprotected head.\n\nAnd just then Lanferelle saw the sword. It was a short and clumsy sword, a cheap sword, and it was turning in the air and for a heartbeat he thought it had been thrown at him, then realized it was being thrown to him. The blade circled, came over the tall archer's shoulder, and Lanferelle snatched at it and somehow caught the hilt, but the ax was already falling, driven with an archer's huge strength and Lanferelle had no time to parry, only to throw himself forward, inside the blade's swing, and he drove his armored weight into the archer's chest to throw him backward. The ax shaft struck his left arm and Lanferelle brought up the sword, but with no strength in the cut that wasted itself on the man's arrow bag. One of the other archers struck with a poleax, but Lanferelle had recovered now and threw the lunge off with his blade that he flicked back with his extraordinary speed to slash across the second man's face. That man reeled away, blood flowing from a shattered nose and split cheek as Lanferelle stepped back again, sword ready for the tall man.\n\nThree archers faced Lanferelle now, but two had no stomach for the fight, which left the tall man alone. He glanced around to see Hook approaching. \"Bastard,\" he spat at Hook, \"you gave him that sword!\"\n\n\"He's my prisoner,\" Hook said.\n\n\"And the king said to kill the prisoners!\"\n\n\"Then kill him, Tom,\" Hook said, amused. \"Kill him!\"\n\nTom Perrill looked back to the Frenchman. He saw the feral look in Lanferelle's eyes, remembered the speed with which the man had evaded and parried and so he lowered the poleax. \"You kill him, Hook,\" he sneered.\n\n\"My lord,\" Hook spoke to Lanferelle now, \"this man was offered money to rape your daughter. He failed, but so long as he lives your Melisande is in danger.\"\n\n\"Then kill him,\" Lanferelle said.\n\n\"I promised God I wouldn't.\"\n\n\"But I made no promise to God,\" Lanferelle said and flicked the cheap sword at Tom Perrill's face, forcing the archer back. Perrill glanced wide-eyed at Hook, unable to hide his fear and astonishment, then turned back to Lanferelle, who was smiling. The Frenchman's weapon was puny and cheap, far outranged by the poleax, but Lanferelle showed a blithe confidence as he stepped forward.\n\n\"Kill him!\" Perrill shouted at his companions, but neither of them moved, and Perrill thrust the ax forward in a desperate stab at Lanferelle's midriff and the Frenchman swept the blade aside with contemptuous ease, then simply raised the sword and gave one lunge.\n\nThe blade sliced into Perrill's gullet, starting a gush of blood. The archer stared at his killer, his tongue slowly pushed out and blood ran from it to pour thick and silent down the sword to soak Lanferelle's ungauntleted hand. For a heartbeat the two men were motionless, then Perrill dropped and Lanferelle wrenched the blade loose and tossed it to Hook.\n\n\"Enough! Enough!\" A man-at-arms in royal livery was riding behind the line and shouting at the archers. \"Enough! Stop the killing! Hold! Enough!\"\n\nHook walked back to the English line.\n\nHe saw gray clouds covering the plowland of Agincourt.\n\nAnd he saw, in front of the English army, a field of dead and dying men. More dead, Hook thought, than the number of men the king had led to this wet slaughteryard. They lay tangled and bloody, countless dead, sprawled and bloodstained, armored corpses, ripped and stabbed and crushed. There were men and horses. There were abandoned weapons, fallen flags, and dead hopes. A field sown with winter wheat had yielded a harvest of blood.\n\nAnd at the end of that field, beyond the dead, beyond the dying and the weeping, the third French battle was turning away.\n\nThe might of France was turning away and men were heading north, leaving Agincourt, riding to escape the risibly small army that had turned their world to horror.\n\nIt was over.\n\n[ Epilogue ]\n\nIt was a November day, sky-bright and cold, filled with the sounds of church bells, cheers, and singing.\n\nHook had never seen such crowds. London was celebrating its king and his victory. The water towers had been filled with wine, mock castles erected at street corners, and choirs of boys costumed as angels, old men disguised as prophets, and girls masquerading as virgins sang paeans of praise, and through it all the king rode in modest dress, without crown or scepter. The noblest of the French and Burgundian prisoners followed the king; Charles, Duke of Orleans, the Duke of Bourbon, the Marshal of France, still more dukes and countless counts, all exposed to the crowd's good-natured jeers. Small boys ran alongside the horses of the mounted archers who guarded the prisoners and reached up to touch cased bows and scabbarded swords. \"Were you there?\" they asked. \"Were you there?\"\n\n\"I was there,\" Hook answered, though he had left the procession and the cheers and the singing and the white doves circling.\n\nHe had ridden with four companions into the little streets that lay north of Cheapside. Father Christopher led them, taking the group into smaller and smaller alleys, alleys so tight that they had to ride single-file and constantly duck so their heads would not strike the overhanging stories of the timber-framed houses. Hook wore a mail coat, two pairs of breeches to keep out the cold, a padded haubergeon for warmth, boots taken from a dead count at Agincourt, and over it all a new surcoat blazoned with Sir John's proud lion. Around his neck was a chain of gold, the symbol of his rank; centenar to Sir John Cornewaille. His helmet, of Milanese steel and only slightly scarred from an ax strike, hung from his saddle's pommel. His sword had been made in Bordeaux and its hilt was decorated with a carved horse, the badge of the Frenchman who had once owned both sword and helmet. \"I was there,\" he told a small ragged boy, \"we were all there,\" he added, then he followed Father Christopher around a corner, ducked beneath a hanging bush, the sign of a wineshop, and entered a small square that stank of the sewage flowing through its open gutters. A church stood on the square's northern side. It was a miserable church, its walls made of wattle and daub and its sorry excuse for a tower built from wood. A single bell hung in the tower. The bell was being tolled so that its cracked note could join the cacophony of noise that rejoiced in England's victory. \"That's it,\" Father Christopher said, gesturing at the little church.\n\nHook dismounted. He cuffed away another curious boy, then helped Melisande from her horse. She was in a dress of blue velvet, given to her in Calais by Lady Bardolf, the governor's wife. Over it she wore a cloak of white linen, padded with wool and hemmed with fox-fur. A beggar on wood-sheathed stumps lurched toward her and she dropped a coin into his outstretched hand before following Hook and Father Christopher into the church. \"Were you there?\" a boy asked the last man to dismount.\n\n\"I was there,\" Lanferelle said. The Frenchman paused before entering the church to give a coin to Will of the Dale who stayed outside to guard the horses.\n\nThe church floor was rush-covered earth. Only the choir was paved. It was dark inside because the surrounding buildings stopped any light coming through the unglazed windows. A priest had been tolling the bell, but he stopped when he saw the three men and the richly dressed woman come into his tiny sanctuary. The priest was nervous of the strangers, but then recognized Father Christopher in his rich black robes. \"You've come again, father,\" he said, sounding surprised.\n\n\"I told you I would,\" Father Christopher said gently.\n\n\"Then you are all welcome,\" the priest said.\n\nThe main altar was a wooden table covered with a shabby linen cloth on which stood a copper-gilt crucifix and two empty candlesticks. Behind the altar was a leather hanging on which a bad painter had depicted two angels kneeling to God. The four visitors all made a brief genuflection and the sign of the cross, then Father Christopher plucked Hook's elbow toward the southern side of the church where a second altar stood. This second shrine was even less impressive than the first, being nothing but a battered table without any covering, and with a wooden crucifix and no candlesticks. One of Christ's legs had broken off so He hung on His cross one-legged. Above Him was a painted leather picture of a woman in a white dress, though the white had peeled and faded, and her yellow halo had mostly flaked away.\n\nHook stared at the woman. Her face, what could be seen of it in the dim light and through the cracked paint, was long and sad. \"How did you know she was here?\" he asked Father Christopher.\n\n\"I asked,\" the priest said, smiling. \"There's always someone who knows about the oddities of London. I found that man and I asked him.\"\n\n\"An oddity?\" the Sire de Lanferelle asked.\n\n\"I'm assured this is the only shrine to Saint Sarah in the whole city,\" Father Christopher said.\n\n\"It is,\" the parish priest said. He was a ragged man, shivering in a threadbare robe. His face had been scarred by the pox.\n\nLanferelle gave a brief smile. \"Sarah? A French saint?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Father Christopher said. \"Some say she was Mary Magdalene's servant, some say she gave refuge to the Magdalene in her house in France. I don't know.\"\n\n\"She was a martyr,\" Hook interrupted harshly. \"She died not far from here, murdered by an evil man. And I didn't save her life.\" He nodded to Melisande who went to the altar, knelt there, and took a leather purse from beneath her cloak. She laid the purse on the altar.\n\n\"For Sarah, father,\" she told the priest.\n\nThe priest took the purse and unlaced it. His eyes widened and he looked at Melisande almost in fear, as though he suspected she might have second thoughts and take back the gold.\n\n\"I took them,\" she said, \"from the man who raped Sarah.\"\n\nThe priest dropped to his knees and made the sign of the cross. He was called Roger and Father Christopher had spoken with him the day before and afterward had assured Hook that Father Roger was a good man. \"A good man and a fool, of course,\" Father Christopher had said.\n\n\"A fool?\" Hook had asked.\n\n\"He believes the meek will inherit the earth. He believes the church's task is to comfort the sick, to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked. You know I found your wife stark naked?\"\n\n\"You always were a lucky man,\" Hook had said. \"So what is the church's task?\"\n\n\"To comfort the rich, feed the fat, and clothe the bishops in finery, of course, but Father Roger still clings to a vision of Christ the Redeemer. As I said, he is a fool,\" he had spoken gently.\n\nHook now tapped the fool on the shoulder. \"Father Roger?\"\n\n\"Lord?\"\n\n\"I'm no lord, just an archer,\" Hook said, \"and you will have this.\" He held out the thick gold chain with its pendant badge of the antelope. \"And with the money you make from its sale,\" Hook went on, \"you will make an altar to Saints Crispin and Crispinian.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Father Roger said, then frowned because Hook had not let go of the fabulous chain.\n\n\"And every day,\" Hook said, \"you will say a mass for the soul of Sarah, who died.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the priest said, and still Hook did not let go of the chain.\n\n\"And a prayer for your brother?\" Melisande suggested.\n\n\"A king is praying for Michael,\" Hook said, \"and he needs no more. A daily mass for Sarah, father.\"\n\n\"It will be done,\" Father Roger said.\n\n\"She was a Lollard,\" Hook said, testing the priest.\n\nFather Roger gave a quick and secret smile. \"Then I shall recite a mass for her twice every day,\" he promised, and so Hook let go of the gold.\n\nThe bells rang. Te Deums were being sung in the city's abbeys, churches, and cathedral. They gave thanks to God because England had sailed to Normandy and England had been harried into a corner of Picardy and there England had been faced with the almost certain death of its king and of his army.\n\nBut then the arrows flew.\n\nHook and Melisande took the westward road. They were going home.\n\n[ Historical Note ]\n\nThe battle of Agincourt (Azincourt was and remains the French spelling) was one of the most remarkable events of medieval Europe, a battle whose reputation far outranked its importance. In the long history of Anglo-French rivalry only Hastings, Waterloo, Trafalgar, and Cr\u00e9cy share Agincourt's renown. It is arguable that Poitiers was a more significant battle and an even more complete victory, or that Verneuil was just as astonishing a triumph, and it's certain that Hastings, Blenheim, Victoria, Trafalgar, and Waterloo were more influential on the course of history, yet Agincourt still holds its extraordinary place in English legend. Something quite remarkable happened on 25 October 1415 (Agincourt was fought long before Christendom's conversion to the new-style calendar, so the modern anniversary should be on 4 November). It was something so remarkable that its fame persists almost six hundred years later.\n\nAgincourt's fame could just be an accident, a quirk of history reinforced by Shakespeare's genius, but the evidence suggests it really was a battle that sent a shock wave through Europe. For years afterward the French called 25 October 1415 la malheureuse journ\u00e9e (the unfortunate day). Even after they had expelled the English from France they remembered la malheureuse journ\u00e9e with sadness. It had been a disaster.\n\nYet it was so nearly a disaster for Henry V and his small, but well-equipped army. That army had sailed from Southampton Water with high hopes, the chief of which was the swift capture of Harfleur, which would be followed by a foray into the French heartland in hope, presumably, of bringing the French to battle. A victory in that battle would demonstrate, at least in the pious Henry's mind, God's support of his claim to the French throne, and might even propel him onto that throne. Such hopes were not vain when his army was intact, but the siege of Harfleur took much longer than expected and Henry's army was almost ruined by dysentery.\n\nThe tale of the siege in the novel is, by and large, accurate, though I did take one great liberty, which was to sink a mineshaft opposite the Leure Gate. There was no such shaft, the ground would not allow it, and all the real mines were dug by the Duke of Clarence's forces that were assailing the eastern side of Harfleur. The French counter-mines defeated those diggings, but I wanted to give a flavor, however inadequately, of the horrors men faced in fighting beneath the earth. The defense of Harfleur was magnificent, for which much of the praise must go to Raoul de Gaucourt, one of the garrison's leaders. His defiance, and the long days of the siege, gave the French a chance to raise a much larger army than any they might have fielded against Henry if the siege had ended, say, in early September.\n\nHarfleur did finally surrender and was spared the sack and the horrors that had followed the fall of Soissons in 1414. This was another event that shocked Europe, though in the case of Soissons it was the barbaric behavior of the French army toward its own citizens that provoked the shock. There is a rumor that English mercenaries took money to betray the city, which explains the actions of the fictional Sir Roger Pallaire, but in the context of the Agincourt campaign the significance of Soissons was its patron saints, Crispin and Crispinian, whose feast day was, indeed, 25 October. For many in Europe the events of Saint Crispin's Day in 1415 demonstrated a heavenly revenge for the horrors of the sack of Soissons in 1414.\n\nCommon sense suggests that Henry should have abandoned any thoughts of further campaigning after Harfleur's surrender. He could have just garrisoned the newly captured port and sailed home for England, but such a course would have amounted to a virtual defeat. To have spent all that money and, in return, gained nothing more than a Norman harbor would have looked like a paltry achievement and, damaged as French interests were by the loss of Harfleur, the possession of the city gave Henry very little bargaining power. True it was now English (and would remain so for another twenty years), but its capture had wasted precious time and the necessity of garrisoning the damaged city took still more men from Henry's army so that, by the time the English launched their foray into France, only about half of their army was able to march. Yet Henry did decide to march. He rejected the good advice to abandon the campaign and instead set his small, sickly army the task of marching from Harfleur to Calais.\n\nThis was not, on the face of it, an enormous challenge. The distance is about 120 miles and the army, all of it mounted on horseback, might expect to make that journey in about eight days. The march was not undertaken for plunder, Henry had neither the equipment nor the time to lay siege to the walled towns and castles (into which anything valuable would have been taken as the English approached) that lay on the route, nor was it a classic chevauch\u00e9e, one of those destructive progresses through France whereby English armies laid waste to everything in their path in hope of provoking the French to battle. I doubt that Henry did hope to provoke the French to battle because, despite his fervent belief in God's support, he must have realized the weakness of his army. If he had wanted battle it would have made more sense to march directly inland, but instead he skirted the coastline. It seems to me he was \"cocking a snook.\" At the end of an unsatisfactory siege, and facing the humiliation of returning to England with no great achievement, he merely wished to humiliate the French by demonstrating that he could march through their country with impunity.\n\nThat demonstration would have worked well if the fords at Blanchetaque had not been guarded. To reach Calais in eight days he needed to cross the Somme quickly, but the French had blocked the fords and so Henry was driven inland in search of another crossing, and the days stretched from eight to eighteen (or sixteen, the chroniclers are maddeningly vague about which day the army left Harfleur) and the food ran out, and the French at last concentrated their army and moved to trap the hapless English.\n\nAnd so Henry's risibly small army met its enemy on the plateau of Agincourt on Crispin's Day, 1415. Without knowing it, that army had just marched into legend.\n\nIn 1976, when Sir John Keegan wrote his magnificent book, The Face of Battle, he was able to write of Agincourt \"the events of the Agincourt campaign are, for the military historian, gratifyingly straightforward\u2026there is less than the usual wild uncertainty over the numbers engaged on either side.\"\n\nAlas, that confidence has vanished, if not for the events, at least for the numbers engaged. In 2005 Professor Anne Curry, who is among the most respected authorities on the Hundred Years' War, published her book Agincourt: A New History, in which, after detailed argument, she proposed that the numbers engaged on either side were much closer than history has ever allowed. The usual consensus is that about 6,000 English faced around 30,000 French and Dr. Curry amended those figures to 9,000 English and 12,000 French. If true, then the battle is an impostor, for its fame surely rests on the gross imbalance between the two sides. Shakespeare could hardly be justified in writing \"we few, we happy few\" if the French were very nearly as few.\n\nNow Sir John Keegan was right in describing any attempt to assess numbers engaged in a medieval battle as beset by \"wild uncertainty.\" We are fortunate that a number of eyewitnesses wrote descriptions of the battle, and we have other sources from writers who left accounts shortly after, but their estimates of the numbers vary enormously. English chroniclers assess the French forces as anything from 60,000 to 150,000, while French and Burgundian sources offer anything from 8,000 to 50,000. The best eyewitnesses cite French numbers as 30,000, 36,000, and 50,000, all contributing to the wild uncertainty that Dr. Curry made even wilder. In the end I decided that the generally accepted figure was correct, and that around 6,000 English faced approximately 30,000 French. This was not, I must stress, the result of close academic study on my part, but rather a gut instinct that the contemporary reaction to the battle reflected that something astonishing had taken place, and what is most astonishing about the various accounts of Agincourt is that disparity of numbers. An English chaplain, present at the battle, estimated that disparity as thirty Frenchmen for every Englishman, an obvious exaggeration, yet strong support for the traditional view that it was the sheer numerical inequality of the engaged forces that persuaded folk that Agincourt was truly extraordinary. Still, I am no scholar, and rejecting Dr. Curry's conclusions seemed foolhardy.\n\nThen, in the same year that Dr. Curry's history appeared, Juliet Barker's book, Agincourt, was published and proved to be a vivid, comprehensive, and compelling account of the campaign and the battle. Juliet Barker acknowledges Dr. Curry's conclusions, yet courteously and firmly disagrees with them, and as Juliet Barker is as fine a scholar as she is a writer, and as, like Dr. Curry, she had done her research among the French and English archives, I felt more than justified in following my instinct. Any reader who wishes to know more about the campaign and battle would do well to read all three of the books I have mentioned: The Face of Battle by John Keegan, Agincourt: A New History by Anne Curry, and Agincourt by Juliet Barker. I should also acknowledge that, although I used many many sources to write this novel, the one book to which I turned again and again, and always with pleasure, was Juliet Barker's Agincourt.\n\nWhat is beyond contention is the disparity within the English army. It was primarily an army of archers who, when they left England, outnumbered the men-at-arms by about three to one, but by St. Crispin's Day had a preponderance of nearly six to one. You can find still more argument, endless argument, about how those archers were deployed, whether they were all on the flanks of the English army, or were arrayed between or in front of the men-at-arms. I cannot believe archers were placed in front, simply because of the difficulty of extricating them through the ranks before the hand-to-hand fighting began, and believe that the vast majority were indeed on the left and right of the main line of battle. A good discussion of archery in battle can be found in Robert Hardy's terrific book, Longbow: A Social and Military History.\n\nI have tried, as far as possible, to follow the real events that took place on that damp Saint Crispin's Day in France. In brief it seems certain that the English advanced first (and it seems Henry really did say \"let's go, fellows!\") and re-established their line within extreme bowshot of the French army, and that the French, foolishly, left that maneuver uncontested. The archers then provoked the first French attack with a volley of arrows. That first assault was by mounted men-at-arms who were supposed to scatter and so defeat the feared archers, but those attacks failed, partly because horses, even wearing armor, were fatally vulnerable to arrows, and because of the stakes that formed enough of an obstacle to take any impetus out of the charge. Some of the retreating French horses, maddened by arrows, appear to have galloped into the first advancing French battle, causing chaos in its close-packed ranks.\n\nThat first battle, probably consisting of about 8,000 men-at-arms, already had severe problems. The fields of Agincourt had recently been plowed for winter wheat and it is true, as Nicholas Hook says, that you plow deeper for winter wheat than for spring wheat. It had also rained torrentially the previous night, and so the French were trudging through sticky clay soil. It must have been a nightmare. No one could hurry, and all the while the arrows were striking and, the closer the French came to the English line, the more lethal those arrow strikes were. There is more argument about the effect of arrows, with some scholars claiming that even the heaviest bodkin, shot from the strongest yew bow, could not pierce plate armor. Yet why else would Henry have so many archers? The arrows could pierce plate, though the strike had to be plumb, and undoubtedly the best plate, such as that made by the Milanese, was better able to resist. If nothing else the arrow-storm forced the French to advance with closed visors, severely restricting their vision.\n\nA good archer could shoot fifteen accurate arrows in a minute (I've seen it done with a bow that had a draw-weight of 110 pounds, some twenty to thirty pounds lighter than the bows carried at Agincourt, but far heavier than any modern competition bow). Assume that the archers at Agincourt averaged a mere twelve a minute and that there were 5,000 bowmen; that means in one minute 60,000 arrows struck the French, a thousand arrows a second. It also means that in ten minutes the archers would have shot 600,000 arrows and the conclusion is that they must have run out of arrows fairly quickly. Yet what that storm of arrows achieved was to drive the flanks of the disordered French advance inward, onto the waiting English men-at-arms. That shrinking of the French line must have exposed the flanks of the English army, both composed of archers, to the French crossbowmen, but there is no evidence that the French seized the opportunity. Apart from a few volleys at the very beginning of the battle the French archers appear to have taken no part, a fatal error that must be ascribed to the abysmal lack of leadership on the French side.\n\nThe battle lasted between three and four hours, yet it was probably as good as over in the very first minutes when the leading French battle struck home. The French men-at-arms were weary, half blinded, disordered, and mud-crippled. What seems to have happened is that their leading ranks went down quickly and so formed a barrier to the men behind who, in turn, were being pushed onto that barrier by the rearmost men. So the French stumbled into the English weapons and the English (with some Welsh and a few Gascons) had more freedom to fight and to kill. That first French battle had contained most of France's high nobility, and so it went to the slaughter and the great names fell; the Duke of Alen\u00e7on, the Duke of Bar, the Duke of Brabant, the Archbishop of Sens, the Constable of France, and at least eight counts. Others, like the Duke of Orleans, the Duke of Bourbon, and the Marshal of France, were captured. The English did not have it all their own way; the Duke of York was killed, as was the Earl of Suffolk (his father had died of dysentery at Harfleur), but English casualties seem to have been remarkably slight. Henry undoubtedly fought in the front rank of the English and all eighteen Frenchmen who had sworn an oath of brotherhood to kill him were killed instead. Henry's brother Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, was badly wounded in the fight and it is said that Henry stood over him and fought off the Frenchmen trying to drag the injured duke away.\n\nThe second French battle went to reinforce the first, but by now the French were trying to fight across a barrier of dead and dying men, and they were also fighting the English archers who had abandoned their bows and were now wielding poleaxes, swords, and mallets. The advantage the English archers possessed was maneuverability; unencumbered by sixty pounds of mud-weighted armor they must have been lethal in their attacks. I cannot confirm that the British two-fingered salute began at Agincourt as a taunt to the defeated French, demonstrating that the archers still possessed their string fingers despite French threats to sever them, but it seems a likely tale.\n\nSometime after the advance of the second French battle a small force of horsemen, led by the Sire of Agincourt, attacked the English baggage. This event, and the apparent readiness of the remaining Frenchmen to attack, persuaded Henry to issue his order to kill the prisoners. That order appals us today, yet the contemporary chroniclers do not condemn it. By that stage there were around two thousand French prisoners close behind the English line that was half expecting an attack by another eight thousand, so far unengaged, Frenchmen. Those prisoners could well have swung the battle by assailing Henry's rear, and so the order was given to the evident displeasure of many English men-at-arms (who were losing valuable ransoms). Henry sent a squire and two hundred archers to do the killing instead, though it was evidently stopped fairly quickly when it became apparent that the raid on the baggage did not presage an attack from the rear, and that the threat of the third French battle had evaporated. The French had taken enough, their survivors began to leave the battlefield, and Henry had won the extraordinary victory of Agincourt. Wild uncertainty surrounds the casualties, but undoubtedly the French suffered dreadful losses. An English eyewitness, a priest, recorded ninety-eight dead from the French nobility, around 1,500 French knights killed, and between four and five thousand men-at-arms. French losses were in the thousands, and might well have been as high as 5,000, while English losses were most likely as small as 200 (including one archer, Roger Hunt, killed by a gun). The battle was a slaughter that, like the sack of Soissons, shocked Christendom. It was an age inured to violence. Henry did burn and hang the Lollards in London, and he executed an archer for stealing the copper-gilt pyx during the march to Agincourt, but those events were commonplace. Soissons and Agincourt, uncannily linked by Saints Crispin and Crispinian, were thought extraordinary.\n\nExcept for Thomas Perrill, I took all the names of the archers at Agincourt from the muster rolls of Henry's army, which still exist in the National Archives (readers wanting a more accessible source can find the names printed in Anne Curry's appendices). There really was a Nicholas Hook at Agincourt, though he did not serve Sir John Cornewaille, who was indeed the tournament champion of Europe. His name is often spelled Cornwell, a slight embarrassment, as he is no relation.\n\nThe field of Agincourt is remarkably unchanged, though the flanking woods have shrunk somewhat and the small castle that gave the battle its name has long disappeared. There is a splendid little museum in the village, and a memorial and battle-map at nearby Maisoncelles, which was where the English baggage was raided (much of Henry's lost treasure was later recovered). A calvary on the battlefield marks the supposed spot of one of the grave-pits where the French buried their dead. Harfleur has vanished, subsumed into the greater city of Le Havre, though traces of the medieval town do still exist. Petrochemical works now stretch where the English fleet landed.\n\nHenry V's leadership was an undoubted contribution to the unlikely victory. He went on fighting in France and eventually forced the French to yield to his demands that he was the rightful king, and it was agreed that he would be crowned on the death of the mad King Charles, but Henry was to die first. His son was crowned King of France instead, but the French would recover to expel the English from their territory. Marshal Boucicault, a great soldier, was to die in English captivity, while Charles, Duke of Orleans, was to spend twenty-five years as a prisoner, not being released until 1440. He wrote much poetry during those years and Juliet Barker, in Agincourt, translates a verse he wrote during his time in England, a verse that can bring an end to this story of a battle long ago:\n\n\u2002Peace is a treasure which one cannot praise too highly.\n\n\u2002I hate war. It should never be prized;\n\n\u2002For a long time it has prevented me, rightly or wrongly,\n\n\u2002From seeing France which my heart must love."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "An Ancient Evil",
        "author": "Paul Doherty",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Stories Told on Pilgrimage from London to Canterbury"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "The warm April showers had done little to clean the dirty cobbles and mud-packed runnels of Southwark. Nevertheless, the heavy rain was sweet to those who tended apple orchards, flower banks, herb gardens or just grass for grazing; the shower had also kept travellers safe as it confined the night hawks to mere grumbling in the taprooms of the shabby ale-houses that stood at the mouth of every street and alleyway in Southwark. The black, long-tailed rats, however, knew the rain had softened the mounds of refuse piled high in the sewers and now, their red eyes gleaming, were busily foraging for tender scraps. A cat keeping in the shadows of an alley wall also hunted, though it suddenly stopped, ears cocked, one leg raised, outside the cobbled yard of the Tabard inn which lay across the street from the Abbot of Hyde's manor. The cat stared across the deserted stable yard, quickly noting that the doors were all locked and barred; no chance there to catch the soft mice shuffling among the straw or greedily filling their small bellies in the bins of bran, oats and other feeds. Instead the cat looked amber-eyed at the light and listened to the raised voices and laughter that poured through the glass of the great mullioned bay window at the front of the tavern. Above the cat, the Tabard's sign creaked and groaned in the soft April breeze. Somewhere a horse neighed; a sleepy-eyed ostler opened the small barn door to ensure all was well and so the cat slunk on.\n\nInside the cavernous taproom of the Tabard, mine host Harry sat at the top of the great, long table and studied his twenty-nine customers and fellow pilgrims, his hands itching at the thought of the profit he would make both tonight and on their return from Canterbury. Harry picked up his great blackjack of ale, its froth bubbling round his mouth and nose while his wide, popping eyes once more surveyed his companions. Early tomorrow morning, before even cock-crow, they would start their long journey down the Rochester road to pray before the blessed bones of St Thomas \u00e0 Becket in Canterbury. By the cock, Harry thought, a motley crew. On his left was the knight, his steel-grey hair falling to his shoulders, his face marked by lines of severity, his dark hooded eyes half-closed as he loosened his belt after a meal of partridge, quail and golden plover turned on the spit until the flesh became succulent white. The knight had said little; he had drunk and eaten sparingly, as had his son who sat next to him \u2013 a curly blond-haired squire, with face and manners as pretty as any maid's. He had talked even less than his father but had hung on the knight's every word, now and again stretching across with his knife to carve and dice his father's meal. A dutiful squire as well as a son, mine host Harry thought, and one who knows full well the rules of courtesy at table.\n\nThe knight's other companion, the cropped-headed, sun-browned yeoman in his coat of green, was listening patiently to the merchant on his left \u2013 a large braggart of a man with a proud face and forked beard under a large Flemish beaver hat which he refused to doff even when eating. Across the table, on Harry's right, the crafty-eyed lawyer was describing to the wealthy franklin a meal served to him at the Inns of Court. This lover of good food, with his daisy-white beard, listened carefully, licking his lips at the lawyer's description of the baked meats, fattened peacock and tangy fish sauces. Harry grinned to himself. He was glad he was not sitting next to the tousle-haired cook, who boasted he could prepare the sweetest blancmange. As the cook had sat down, thrusting one leg over the bench, Harry had glimpsed the open sore on the man's bare ankle. 'He will prepare no blancmange for me,' Harry quietly vowed to his old friend the shipman.\n\nThe host was also keeping an eye on the summoner with his fiery red face, black scabby brows and scanty beard. The man was covered with pustules, white and red, and his nose was fiery as a coal from Hell. He had, since his arrival at the Tabard, downed as much strong drink as all the other pilgrims put together. The summoner did not care a whit but, like the god Bacchus, wore a garland on his head. Nevertheless, he was still a man to watch for; Harry had twice glimpsed him trying to lift the trinket bag of silk that dangled from the franklin's belt. The other pilgrims were just as mixed. The lean-visaged pardoner, with his pouches full of rubbish to sell as relics, was a veritable scarecrow with his long yellow hair falling lank as a piece of flax around his shoulders. Beside the pardoner sat a reeve, thin as the pole he carried, hot-eyed, red spots of anger ever present on his high-boned cheeks. The miller was next \u2013 built like a battering ram, he was bald as an egg though his beard was red and long as a tongued flame. Harry looked once more at the miller and closed his eyes. He only hoped the loud-mouthed bastard would not pick up his bagpipes and start playing again. This would surely scandalize Dame Eglantine the prioress, who talked only in nasal French as she sat fingering the love locket around her neck or feeding slops of milk to the lapdog she carried everywhere.\n\n'You are quiet, Master Harry?'\n\nThe taverner looked down at the monk and friar, bald-headed, brown as berries, their faces glistening with good living; Harry would not trust either of them as far as he could spit.\n\n'I was thinking,' the landlord replied.\n\n'About what?' demanded Alice, the broad, red-faced wife of Bath. 'Come on, sir, what were you thinking about?' She turned and winked lasciviously at Dame Eglantine's soft-faced chaplain.\n\n'I was thinking how pretty you were,' Harry laughed.\n\nThe wife of Bath clapped her hands and her face broke into a gap-toothed grin. 'I have danced with five husbands, I am always prepared to step out with a sixth!' She moved her bottom, broad as a buckler, on the bench and flirtatiously adjusted the embroidered cloth around her shoulders.\n\nHarry just stared down the table.\n\n'I was thinking,' he said, 'how we have agreed that each should tell at least two tales. One will be for the day, but what about the nights?'\n\n'I can keep you busy enough there.' The wife of Bath simpered to the laughs and catcalls from the others.\n\n'No! No!' Harry banged on the top of the table and unhitched a small bag of coins from his belt. 'There's good silver in here and, by the cock, if any man disputes it I'll break his head with a quarterstaff! So, when we move out tomorrow to St Thomas's watering hole, let us tell a merry tale to instruct or amuse. But, at night,' his voice fell, 'let it be different.' He stared around the now quiet company. 'Let us tell a tale of mystery that will chill the blood, halt the heart and curl the locks upon our heads.' He looked slyly at the miller. 'Or, if you wish, your beard. The winner, the best tale, will receive this purse!'\n\nThe assembled pilgrims murmured quietly, now fascinated by their host's change of mood.\n\n'Yes! Yes!' The pardoner's shrill voice broke the silence. 'Let us tell a tale of murder and death and let it not be too fanciful but spring from the heart, the life-blood, of each one of us!'\n\nThe rest of the pilgrims, full of hot food and strong wine, heartily agreed, eager to experience a tale of mystery as they sat, well fed, before the roaring fire of this or any other tavern on their way to Canterbury.\n\n'So,' Harry asked, getting to his feet, 'who shall begin?' He glanced to his left where, throughout the conversation, the knight had hardly stirred but only gazed heavy-lidded into the darkness. Harry hoped the knight would tell the first tale tomorrow morning as they took the road out of Southwark; perhaps etiquette dictated that he should also be the first to tell a night story.\n\n'Sir knight!' Harry exclaimed. 'Do you agree?'\n\nThe knight looked up, stroking his iron-grey beard. He wiped away the crumbs from his jerkin, which was still stained from the armour he had worn. He glanced sideways at his blue-eyed, fresh-faced son.\n\n'I agree,' he replied quietly. 'And I shall speak first!'\n\nHarry waved him to his own chair at the top of the table.\n\n'Then, sir, of your kindness, take my seat and I shall serve you this tavern's best, a deep-bowled cup of the richest claret from Bordeaux.'\n\nThe knight obliged, moving silently as a cat. He sat in Harry's great high-backed chair, his elbows resting on its arms.\n\n'I will tell you,' he began, 'a tale of terror and of mystery.' His voice rose. 'Of evil greater than that which prowls in the mid-day heat. About an ancient evil, spawned by the Lord Satan himself, which had its roots during a time of war when Saturn ruled the stars and loosed his son, red-armoured Mars, to stalk the green meadows of England. A time of terror when even Pluto himself, Lord of the Underworld, paled at the horrors that entered the affairs of men.' The knight leaned back in the chair. 'My tale begins hundreds of years ago, just after the great Conqueror came here. So, gentles all, your attention as I describe these horrors sprung from the very pit of Hell.' And he began."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Knight's Tale",
                "text": "The cruel-beaked ravens were gorged with human flesh, their silken jet plumage tinged with scarlet as they soared and dipped above the bleak battlefield. The ravens' usual resting place, the great donjon that soared into the sky above the river, was now engulfed in flames which roared fiercely up to the sullen clouds. Around the blazing fortress the dead lay thick as weeds. The huge siege towers that had been rolled against the donjon wall had also caught fire, their stout beams blackening and cracking into fiery cinders. The corpses lying there turned to bubbling fat and filled the air with the stench of burning flesh. In the nearby woods, an old hag-faced witch leaned against a tree; her spindly legs shook with terror, wispy tendrils of hair brushed her face as she stared at the great black cloud of smoke above the trees.\n\n'They're burning the damned!' she screeched. 'They're sending the demons back to their master!'\n\nThe birds in the trees on the edge of the clearing heard her cracked speech and cowered on the branches as if they sensed what was happening. The villagers for miles around also hid, terrified at this day of wrath, this awful day of reckoning. They cowered in their mean huts but, pulling back the ox-skin coverings, they saw how the shapeless bracken was turning red, how even the great oaks standing in their ploughed fields seemed to bend and twist under a wicked wind that blew the smoke and stench of battle towards them.\n\nSir Hugo Mortimer, Lord of Oxford, knelt helmetless with his commanders in a circle and intoned David's psalm of praise and triumph over God's enemies. The prayer finished, Mortimer stood, his hatchet warrior face surveying the battlefield, and felt his elation marred by black despair at the cost of his victory.\n\n'The widows will mourn for months,' he whispered, 'but at least their children are safe.' He gazed at the great keep, now hidden by sheets of roaring flames. He turned to his squire. 'How many did we lose, Stephen?'\n\n'On the siege tower, my lord, at least sixty. In the keep well over two hundred.' Stephen wiped the bloody sweat from his face. 'Outside, amongst the peasant levies, God knows! Perhaps three, four hundred!'\n\nBeside Sir Hugo an old, grey-garbed Benedictine monk stood, watching transfixed a dark-hooded figure bound in chains under the outstretched branches of a great oak tree.\n\n'We should burn him, Sir Hugo,' the monk murmured. 'He comes from the bowels of Hell. He should go back there!'\n\nSir Hugo studied the ascetic, saintly face of the exorcist.\n\n'That would be too simple, Father. He deserves a slower death.'\n\n'No!' the exorcist protested.\n\nHe looked at that dreadful, silent figure fettered in chains, surrounded by Sir Hugo's best mercenaries. The soldiers had their loaded crossbows pointed at the prisoner as if daring him to move.\n\n'Satan walks here,' the exorcist murmured. 'Not with snaky hair, bloated torso, spewing mouth and glowing eyes, but in this Strigoi.' He pointed a bony finger at the prisoner. 'He is the living dead. He came here under false pretences with smiling eyes and honeyed mouth to drink the blood of humans and wreak his fury on God's innocent children!'\n\nSir Hugo half heard the exorcist while staring blankly at the prisoner. He had captured him at last. His men had stormed the tower and forced this Strigoi, this devil incarnate, to the top of his terrible tower and given him a choice: to surrender to Norman justice or be burnt alive. The Strigoi had fought on, displaying incredible strength, seemingly impervious to any weapon except the most holy relics the exorcist had brought, which now lay in their chest in the cart guarded by several household knights. The rest of the coven had died in the flames, but the leader had surrendered, to be covered in chains from neck to toe, his face hooded lest he use his power against his captors. Now Sir Hugh had to decide what had to be done. King William had been most explicit: this diabolical stranger and his coven were to be wiped out root and branch, his terrorization of the countryside halted, his fortress burnt and a monastery built as reparation and as thanksgiving for God's good justice. As a reward, William the Norman had given Sir Hugo the surrounding land with its woods, fields, pastures, rivers and hunting rights, a fertile domain among the forests north of London.\n\nHugo blinked as the wind blew acrid smoke towards him. He coughed and turned his back, still unaware that the exorcist waited for a response. The king had also wanted to know how this stranger had come to England and Hugo marvelled at what he'd learnt: apparently this devil incarnate had travelled from Wallachia in the Balkans pretending to be a man dedicated to the service of God. He had taken over the old keep and rebuilt it, posing as a servant of God dedicated to Christ's work. At first he and his followers had been respected, even loved, by the petty knights, small landowners and villagers in the surrounding hamlets and villages. Then the terrors had begun; cadavers drained of blood were found in lonely copses, on the banks of streams or even on the king's highway. Children who went out to play never returned. Lonely merchants, tinkers and pedlars who had tried to push their journey one mile further as the day died and darkness fell and the inhabitants of small farms or lonely homesteads would be found as corpses, their faces white as wax, throats slashed from ear to ear, and their flesh drained of every drop of blood. Petitions had been sent to the great council in London and the king's justices dispatched with warrants to investigate. These, together with their clerks, chaplains and retainers had also been massacred, only a few miles from where Sir Hugo now stood. The king, however, had persisted, even sending his own son, William Rufus, and the cause of the depredation had been discovered, the bloody trail leading back to this awesome keep. So, the king, uttering great oaths and swearing vengeance, had granted Hugo Mortimer this wide domain and sent him to wage bloody war against these demons in human flesh. The saintly Anselm, abbot of Bec, had advised the use of England's most holy exorcist as well as sacred relics from the king's new abbey at Westminster.\n\nThe Strigoi, or living dead, had been trapped and now awaited punishment.\n\n'Sir Hugo, what are you going to do?'\n\nMortimer looked at the exorcist.\n\n'I am going to dispense the king's justice,' he replied.\n\nAnd, cradling his helmet under his arm, Mortimer walked over to where the prisoner stood. The Strigoi's very silence and immobility increased the aura of terror around him and even the hardened Brabantine mercenaries were nervous and cowed despite their huge crossbows.\n\n'You have decided, Sir Hugo?' The voice of the hooded prisoner was both gentle and mocking. 'You are a knight, Sir Hugo, you gave your word I would not die by fire.'\n\n'Burn him!' The shout came from the exorcist standing beside Mortimer. 'Burn him now!'\n\n'You gave your word, Sir Hugo. To die by fire or surrender to Norman justice.'\n\nOne of Mortimer's squires ran up. 'The cart has arrived,' he gasped. 'The casket is ready.'\n\nHugo Mortimer smiled bleakly. He drew his sword and grasped it under the hilt as if it were a cross.\n\n'I gave my word,' he announced loudly, 'and now I pronounce the king's judgement. I, Hugo Mortimer, baron and king's justice in the shire of Oxford, pronounce judgement on you, a rebel, devil-worshipper, murderer and traitor caught in arms against your sovereign lord. You are to remain chained and be buried alive in the tunnels beneath your blood-soaked keep. The tower will be razed and a monastery built on this spot, to make it holy and offer reparation to our good Seigneur the Lord Jesus.'\n\nEven the Brabantine mercenaries who heard this awful judgement gave a gasp of horror. The chained figure moved restlessly, the links of his steel bonds grating, clinking in the silence. The exorcist fell to his knees, hands clasped.\n\n'He must burn,' he murmured. 'For God's sake, Sir Hugo, he must die by fire!'\n\n'He will die a suffocating death beneath his own tower,' Mortimer replied. 'His body will remain manacled and it will be placed in a lead-lined casket also chained. It will then be placed in one of the tunnels beneath that\u2014' Mortimer pointed to the still-burning keep, 'and the tunnel bricked up. Let him die slowly. Let him remember his evil deeds and the innocent blood he and his followers have spilt!'\n\n'Sir Hugo!' The voice spoke up, lilting, almost happy. 'I do not acknowledge your king or he whom you described as Le Bon Seigneur. I shall return!'\n\nSir Hugh sheathed his sword and shook his head. 'When the fires have died,' he ordered, 'let the punishment begin!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "'By the cock!' Harry the landlord growled. 'This is a bloody tale, sir knight.'\n\n'More of the devil than of human kind,' the poorly garbed village parson commented.\n\n'Yet he speaks the truth,' the wife of Bath exclaimed. 'In my pilgrimage to Cologne, as we went through the great forest, we were warned against those demons who suffer from blood madness, told how they worship the Lord Satan and spend the daylight hours in Hell but prowl the night looking for prey.'\n\n'Succubi,' the pardoner interrupted. 'They are succubi, devils in human flesh.'\n\n'They are as old as time itself,' the clerk from Oxford explained, eager to show his learning. 'The Greeks spoke of beautiful women called the Lami\u00e6...' His voice trailed away and he peered at the knight. 'Yes, such beings could be amongst us now,' he murmured. 'I have heard a strange story...'\n\nHarry the taverner looked at him curiously; the clerk, so bookish and withdrawn, now appeared frightened as if the knight had reminded him of something.\n\n'No more, gentle sirs, please,' Harry quickly intervened. 'Sir knight, continue your tale and give us every detail of this great mystery!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "The riders reined in their horses and peered through the pouring rain. Above them the sky was overcast, the clouds thick and heavy as palls of smoke from which the rain fell in cold, drenching sheets. A crash of thunder and jagged lightning, flashing brilliantly against the skyline like a falling angel, made their horses skitter and whinny. The riders pulled their hoods closer about their heads but the effort was futile for the drenching rain had soaked their clothes clear through to the skin. The taller of the two wiped the water from his face and turned to his companion.\n\n'Oxford at last, eh, Alexander?'\n\nThe younger, smaller man grinned despite the rain. The smile made his olive-smooth face boyish.\n\n'Dry, Sir Godfrey!' he exclaimed. 'Soon we'll be dry! Yet, for soldiers like you, such weather must be an accepted part of life.'\n\nNow the knight grinned as he stared down at the red-tiled roofs and yellow sandstone buildings of Oxford. At first he had resented the presence of the clerk, with his smooth hands, boyish face and constant good humour, but on their journey up from London Sir Godfrey had, in a rare happening in his life, discovered he genuinely liked another man. Alexander was no ordinary clerk. The illegitimate son of a northern knight and some lovelorn lady he had met while campaigning in Scotland, Alexander looked upon the world with amused eyes. He was an excellent mimic and a teller of droll stories and, despite his education in the halls of Cambridge, he always deferred to Sir Godfrey, though the knight often caught a flicker of mockery in the clerk's dark green eyes.\n\n'Have you been here before?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'On one or two occasions,' Alexander replied. He stretched out a hand, ignoring the water that ran down his sleeve. 'To the east,' he explained, 'lies the castle. You can see it through the rain.'\n\nSir Godfrey followed his companion's pointed finger and glimpsed the high turrets of the castle.\n\n'And there,' Alexander continued, 'are St Frideswyde's and St Mary's churches and the spire of the Trinitarian friary.'\n\n'It looks so peaceful,' Godfrey murmured.\n\n'So it should be. A centre for learning, the home of clerks, scribes and scholars.' The clerk flinched at the driving rain. 'Oh, for God's sake, Sir Godfrey, are we to go down or sit here until we catch the ague?' The clerk pulled back his hood. 'Mind you, what's the use?' he muttered. 'I'm as wet as a fish already.'\n\nGodfrey stared at him. The clerk's black hair was now a wet soggy mess and his eyes were red-rimmed, for they had ridden hard through the storm. The knight pulled back his hood and scratched close-cropped hair.\n\n'You should keep your hair cut,' he advised. 'In a fight it gives little for your opponent to hang on to and, in the rain, too little to soak.'\n\nAlexander leaned forward. 'Aye, Sir Godfrey, but in winter my head's warm!'\n\nThe knight laughed and spurred his horse forward. 'We should have taken that tavern keeper's advice and stayed another day,' he remarked.\n\n'Never!' Alexander shouted, coming up behind him. 'Did you see the size of the fleas in that bed? Give me God's clean rain any time.'\n\nThe knight spurred his horse on, but the smile died on his lips and his leather-skinned face became harder. He did not wish to show it but he was frightened. Oh, he had seen battles, the storming of gates and the terrible hand-to-hand combat in the blood-drenched fields of Normandy. Nevertheless, what awaited them in Oxford was something totally different. On their journey up from London he had hardly spoken to Alexander about it but he knew the clerk had similar fear; the terrors that awaited them lay like some invisible sword between them. Sir Godfrey wiped the water from his eyes and rubbed his smooth-shaven chin. He was scarcely past his twenty-fifth year, yet he felt like an old man; recalling the sights he had seen and the blood he had spilt, he wished he could have at least some of his companion's innocence. Alexander McBain was only a few years younger but he was a scholar, a clerk, skilled in parchment, cipher and the courtly hand, so what did he know about the real darkness of the human heart? How men could kill, stab and hack without a second thought? Or of others, more steeped in wickedness, who called on the Lord Satan and used magical arts to achieve their evil ends?\n\nSir Godfrey could hardly believe what the king's chancellor had told him in London. At first he had laughed, but the chancellor's wizened face had remained impassive as he described the terrible murders occurring in the king's own city of Oxford. Yet worse was to follow. The chancellor, closeted in his secret chamber at Westminster, had whispered about the origin of these murders \u2013 about secret rites and ancient evils that had once again surfaced to play their part in the lives of men. Sir Godfrey's blood had turned cold and, at first, he had refused to believe but the chancellor had been persistent.\n\n'I need you in Oxford, Sir Godfrey,' he had insisted. 'The abbess, the king's own kinswoman, has asked for your presence and the king himself has now demanded it. In this matter we trust no other. However, you will have a companion, my young clerk, the Scotsman Alexander McBain. He will be your eyes and ears. Alexander is skilled in dealing with the subtleties and stratagems with which our good scholars in Oxford might try and trap you. Trust him. Trust him completely!'\n\nSir Godfrey cursed and patted his horse's neck. After that the chancellor had refused to elaborate, simply giving him two purses of silver and a fistful of letters and warrants declaring how 'the King's trusted servant, Sir Godfrey Evesden, and Master Alexander McBain, clerk, had been commissioned by royal authority to investigate certain brutal and bloody murders perpetrated in the King's city of Oxford'.\n\n'There will be further help in Oxford,' the chancellor murmured, flexing vein-streaked hands over a charcoal brazier. 'The lady abbess will tell you more; she can be trusted. And the exorcist Dame Edith Mohun will be there to assist you.'\n\n'An exorcist!' Sir Godfrey had exclaimed. 'How can an exorcist help?'\n\nThe chancellor's rheumy eyes stared back at him. 'You'd best be gone, sir. You are to be in Oxford by tomorrow nightfall.'\n\nGodfrey wiped the rain and sweat from his face and dismounted as they reached the trackway leading into the city. Alexander did likewise.\n\n'What's the matter, knight?'\n\nGodfrey shrugged and grinned. 'An old soldier's trick!' he shouted back through the rain. 'Never enter a city by the main gate, you never know who is waiting for you!'\n\nThey skirted the city walls and entered Oxford by a postern door, then went by St Budoc's church and on into Freren Street, which stretched into the heart of the city.\n\nThe houses on either side of the street were so densely packed that their gables met to block out the rain; the roofs of the great mansions were drenched with water, while the huts of the poor artisans, patched with reeds, straw or shingles, had turned to a soggy mess. Godfrey wrapped the reins of his horse round his wrist and stared about him; despite the heavy downpour, the market stalls against the outside of the houses were laid out, forcing him and others into the middle of the street past the sodden piles of refuse that blocked the central sewer. Behind him Alexander lifted one boot and groaned. The mud and dirt were ankle deep and the clerk looked pityingly at a group of young urchins who, despite the weather, were playing in mud which crept half-way up their legs. He would have roared his annoyance at the stolid knight trudging ahead of him, but the noise was deafening. Students, either ragged-arsed commoners or bachelors in their dark shabby gowns, thronged the streets, shouting raucously at each other over the cries of traders.\n\nIn the short distance he walked, Alexander realized that Oxford, like Cambridge, was no common town for he heard a variety of tongues \u2013 Welsh, German, Flemish, Spanish, Italian and even those of visitors from farther east. At last Sir Godfrey turned off the trackway and led his horse into the yard of the Silver Tabard tavern. Alexander joyously threw his reins to the surly ostler, who cursed quietly at being dragged out into the rain.\n\n'Something to drink and something hot to eat,' Alexander murmured, 'would be heaven on earth.'\n\n'Not now,' Sir Godfrey muttered and, ignoring his companion's protests and the warm cloying smell from the taproom, the knight wrapped his cloak about him and slouched back out of the yard.\n\n'Why?' Alexander shouted, coming up beside him.\n\n'I hate cities,' Godfrey replied. 'I feel fenced in like a horse in a stable.' He glared at the clerk. 'Soon others will know we are here. They'll mark our faces and perhaps plot our footsteps. You know what we are going to deal with here, Alexander? Skilful, bloody murderers who appear like will-o'-the-wisps at night. They know the lanes, the gateways, the alleyways and the traps. Well, now's our chance to learn. Who knows, our lives may depend on it.'\n\nThe knight, with Alexander trailing behind, trudged through Carfax and along Catte Street, passing the sellers of illuminated parchments, most of whom had given up trying to do a day's business and had removed their precious wares into the front rooms of their houses. Suddenly the rain began to ease. They paused for a while at the Saracen's Head. Godfrey ordered cups of wine for both of them but then stood at the door drinking quickly, urging the clerk to do likewise, until Alexander felt his usual good humour strained to the point of breaking.\n\nThey went back into the streets, past the low, timbered halls that served as hostelries for students \u2013 the Eagle, the Falcon, the Wyvern and the Sparrow. They continued up School Street past the university church of St Mary's and into the High Street, pushing their way through the Straw Market until they reached All Saints' church. Sir Godfrey felt pleased and ignored his companion's black looks. At first the knight had dismissed Oxford as just a ragged warren of lanes, a labyrinth of dark runnels. Now he realized that Oxford was a city made up of small villages. The villages were the halls or colleges; each, enclosed by its high curtain wall, contained a hall as well as a library, refectory, dorters, workshops, forges and stables. Godfrey wiped the rain from his face and stared up at the looming spire of All Saints' church. Very snug, very close, Godfrey thought, but a death trap for anyone fleeing from the law or being pursued by some red-handed murderer.\n\nThey both stood aside as the church door opened and scholars in shabby tabards, tied around the waist by cords and leather straps, came out from the noonday mass. The students jostled and pushed each other, shouting raucously, and some sang blasphemous parodies of the hymns they had previously chanted.\n\n'Sir Godfrey,' Alexander appealed, 'must we die here of the cold?'\n\nThe knight clapped his hands. 'You have earned your meal.' Grasping the clerk by the arm, he pushed him into the dry warmth of the Swindlestock tavern, shouting at the landlord for onion soup, freshly baked bread and dry bacon. They sat squelching in their clothes, both men eating hungrily from the hard-baked platters before leaning back licking their fingers and sighing with relief.\n\n'Where to next, knight?' Alexander teased, his good humour now fully restored.\n\n'To she who awaits us, the abbess of St Anne's.' The knight drained his tankard. 'You know why we are here?'\n\n'A little. There have been terrible murders.'\n\n'Not just that,' Godfrey replied. 'Oh, yes, the deaths have happened, and more. Did the chancellor give you any details?'\n\nAlexander shook his head.\n\n'At first,' Godfrey said, leaning back, 'the occasional student disappeared and their anxious relatives made enquiries but, of course, such cases were dismissed out of hand.' Godfrey grinned wryly. 'After all, it's not uncommon for students and clerks to go on pilgrimages or become involved in some mischief more attractive than their studies. Nevertheless,' he continued, 'these disappearances became more frequent and none of the students was ever found. Then, three months ago, the murders began. The first was dismissed as the work of house-breakers, but now there have been three incidents, all of the same pattern. A house is broken into late at night, though there are no signs of entry. The entire family is killed-father, mother, children and servants. Their throats are cut and the bodies hoisted up on to the beams by their ankles, as a butcher would hang slaughtered pigs, to allow their blood to drain.'\n\nAlexander blanched and gripped his stomach, hoping it would not betray him.\n\n'The sheriff and the university proctors have all tried to reason it out but have been unable to discover anything. What has perplexed them,' Godfrey looked squarely at the clerk, 'is that each of the corpses has been drained of blood but there's no sign of this in the house.'\n\n'So, what was behind these murders?'\n\n'Not profit or gain; it's believed the murders are connected to some ancient rite involving the drinking of the victim's blood.'\n\nAlexander gagged and the knight leaned over and picked up his tankard.\n\n'You'd best drink,' he said softly. 'It will calm your stomach.'\n\n'And why the abbess of St Anne's?' Alexander gasped, pushing the tankard away.\n\n'She's the king's kinswoman and both the sheriff and the university proctors appealed to her for assistance. Apparently,' Godfrey played with the ring on his finger, 'the lady abbess is a scholar and knows something of the history of these parts. She believes the murders are somehow linked to terrible crimes that occurred in and around Oxford hundreds of years ago. She not only asked His Grace the King for help but sent pleas to the Archbishop of Canterbury as well as to the chancellor. They put their heads together and have sent an exorcist to St Anne's convent, an anchorite named Dame Edith Mohun. Our task,' Sir Godfrey continued gruffly, 'is to search out the murderers and hang them. There are to be no trials or public outcry.'\n\n'Is that why they sent you?'\n\nGodfrey grinned. 'Now and again there are cases discovered by the justices in eyre or the king's commissioners that cannot be dealt with in open court. Yes, I carry out judgement against them.'\n\n'But this is different?'\n\n'Oh, yes, master clerk. This time we deal with murderers who do not kill for profit or revenge but because they believe in ancient rites. These are the lords of the gibbet, the black masters of the graveyard, who reject the cross of Christ and put their trust in the Prince of Darkness.'\n\nThe clerk's face paled.\n\n'So,' the knight went on, 'this is no mundane task of the chancery, some bill drawn up for a court. Your task will be to collect and sift the evidence, be my eyes and ears in this city of subtle knowledge. But enough, I have told you what I know. We'd best continue our journey.'\n\nGodfrey led Alexander out of the tavern, up Northgate, past St Peter's church and into Buddicot Lane, where the stinking town gaol stood. Godfrey stopped and studied this for a while, intrigued by the soldiers wearing the sodden but colourful livery of the city standing on guard. A little farther along, at the end of the gaol wall, loomed a stark set of gallows with a rotting, bird-pecked cadaver gibbeted in its cage of iron bars.\n\n'I have seen enough,' Alexander moaned.\n\n'This time I agree,' Godfrey replied and took him back to the Silver Tabard where they collected their horses. They rode along the city wall to the convent of St Anne. A porter let them in, grooms running up to take their horses while a wizened old lay sister, casting disapproving glances at their rain-drenched garments, led them through the dank cloisters past the chapel and up to the abbess's chamber.\n\nThe lay sister knocked, then pushed open the door, ushering the two men into a warm, sweet-smelling chamber before withdrawing.\n\n'What is it?'\n\nDespite her age, the woman behind the desk rose quickly. She was dressed in a brown habit, her dark-blue wimple edged with gold filigree. She moved from the high-backed chair near the fire where she had been conversing softly with two men whose faces were hidden in the shadows.\n\nHer face was narrow; it would have been saintly had it not been for the piercing dark eyes and hooked nose. Her lips were thin and bloodless. 'I am Lady Constance, abbess of this convent,' she said imperiously, though the words were accompanied by a generous smile. 'Sir Godfrey Evesden, and you must be Alexander McBain.' She allowed first the knight then the clerk to raise her vein-streaked hand to their lips.\n\n'My lady,' Godfrey muttered, 'we apologise for our appearance but that is due to an act of God.'\n\nThe abbess shook her head and stepped backwards.\n\n'You are most welcome, sirs, and come highly recommended by the king and the chancellor.'\n\nLady Constance stared at the two young men. Alexander she summed up as no more than a youth, exuberant, ever-smiling, full of the joys of spring. The knight was different. She saw the furrows around his mouth and the pain in his eyes.\n\n'Master McBain, the chancellor says you are the most resourceful of his clerks and, Sir Godfrey, your feats in battle as well as in the tournament are widely known. I am,' she stammered, 'I am sorry about the recent death of your wife.'\n\nGodfrey shrugged and looked away.\n\n'Master McBain, the chancellor says you are a rogue,' she quipped, trying to lighten the mood. 'Well, are you?'\n\n'If that's the same as resourceful, my lady, then yes I am.'\n\nThe abbess threw her head back and laughed like a young girl, clapping her hands softly. 'Yes, yes, resourceful, that's how he described you.' Her face grew serious and she cocked her head sideways. 'You are going to need all your skill and resourcefulness,' she murmured. 'Dreadful things happen here in Oxford. Believe me, sirs, you have entered the Valley of Shadows and Satan and all his fallen angels are camped about us.'\n\nThe abbess stared at them sadly and Godfrey sensed that when, or if, they left Oxford, their lives would have been changed by what had happened here. Lady Constance looked over her shoulder at the two men sitting silently before the fire and her lips moved as if she was talking to herself. She turned back and forced a smile.\n\n'Matters will wait, you look cold and damp. Where are your saddle bags?'\n\n'With our horses.'\n\n'Oh, that can't do!' Lady Constance murmured. 'That can't do!'\n\nShe went back to her desk and, picking up a small bell, rang it vigorously so that it echoed around the stone-flagged room.\n\n'Our visitors will stay in the guest house,' she told the lay sister who came in response to the bell's summons. 'Have their bags brought round.' She went over to the fire, murmured something to the two men sitting there and then returned. 'Come, I will take you.'\n\nThe abbess, walking forcefully, head erect, her shoulders straight as a knight's, went down the steps and into the cloisters. Godfrey looked up and saw the clouds were dispersing and already the sun was struggling to break through. Some of the nuns had come out to sit on benches along the cloister wall, awaiting the warmth of the strengthening sun while watching a host of small birds plunder the soft turf of the cloister garth for grubs and worms. They were almost out of the cloister when Godfrey and Alexander glimpsed a young woman seated by herself bent over a piece of embroidery. She looked up as they approached and both the knight and the clerk stopped and stared.\n\n'A veritable Venus!' Alexander murmured.\n\nGodfrey could only nod in open-mouthed agreement. The girl must have been seventeen or eighteen summers old. Her hair was not fair but golden and fell in rich cascades down her back, bound in place only by a dark purple headband with a spray of diamonds in the centre. Her gown was dark green, fringed at the cuff and neck with silver filigree. Godfrey noted the swell of her breasts, her slim waist and her delicate hands but it was her face that made his heart lurch and thrill with pleasure. It was oval-shaped, the complexion a dusty gold, with eyes as blue as the summer's sky and lips soft, red and full. The abbess had also stopped and looked back in annoyance, then she followed the direction of their glance and smiled faintly.\n\n'Lady Emily,' she called out softly. 'Do these gentlemen know you?'\n\nThe girl rose shyly, her cheeks tinted with a blush; her eyes had the look of a gentle fawn.\n\n'Lady Constance,' she stammered, her voice soft yet musical, 'I have no knowledge of them.'\n\nAlexander swaggered forward. 'Accept my apologies, my lady.' He bowed to the girl. 'We did not mean to stare, it's just that we did not expect in a convent...'\n\n'To find someone so young and comely,' Lady Constance broke in tartly, 'amongst us old sticks!'\n\n'My lady,' Alexander replied quietly, 'beauty is a passing thing and has many forms. In you it takes one shape, in my lady Emily another.'\n\nBoth ladies smiled at the smooth, swift compliment. Godfrey could only stand and stare hungrily, making Emily blush even more deeply. The abbess reasserted herself.\n\n'Lady Emily de Vere, may I present the king's commissioners in Oxford, Sir Godfrey Evesden and the clerk Alexander McBain.'\n\nBoth men paid their courtesies. Alexander, chattering like a magpie, made the young girl laugh so much she blushed and hid her face behind her hand as the clerk's stream of subtle compliments hit their mark like well-aimed arrows.\n\n'Enough!' Lady Constance cried and led both men away.\n\nAlexander looked over his shoulder and winked slyly at Emily, which only made her blush grow pinker.\n\n'A true rose,' Alexander murmured.\n\nGodfrey glared at him to hide his own confusion; he was always the same, he could wield an axe or ride a horse but any beautiful woman would tie his tongue in knots. Alexander jostled him.\n\n'Come, sir knight! Have you ever seen such beauty?'\n\n'Lady Constance,' Godfrey called out, trying to hide his embarrassment, 'is the young girl one of your novices?'\n\n'Oh, no, she's one of the king's wards, the owner of three manors and lush fields within a day's ride from Oxford. Her marriage is in the king's hands.'\n\n'Most fortunate,' Alexander whispered.\n\nGodfrey just walked on as Lady Constance took them across the rain-soaked grass to a two-storied sandstone building.\n\n'The guest house is empty,' she explained. 'You will be the only visitors staying in it.' She showed them round the small buttery and the refectory where they would eat and introduced them to a red-cheeked lay servant.\n\n'Mathilda will look after you,' she said. 'Of course, you cannot join us in our refectory, but your food will be sent across.' She touched Godfrey's wet cloak. 'Your chambers are upstairs. You can change your clothing, then I will bring my other guests across.'\n\n'Has the exorcist arrived?'\n\n'Oh, yes, we have given her a small cell built into the wall of the church near the sanctuary. She said she is happy there.'\n\nThe Prioress took her leave and Mathilda, a hearty cheerful matron of indeterminate years, showed them up to their sparse but comfortable chambers.\n\nThe soldier was running for his life, his tunic torn by the cruel, sharp-edged branches that leaned down to block his passage and claw his skin. All around him the wind moaning through the trees mocked his actions. He stopped, frozen, hands on his knees as he fought for breath. Was he safe? He had to be safe. He stood up, gulping in the fresh forest air. He wished he hadn't left the castle. Perhaps he should go back, take the relic and inform the sheriff of what he knew. Yet, what could he say? He was a thief and now Satan was rising from his throne to drag him to the deep pit where scorpions would gnaw at his innards for all eternity. After all, he had violated his oath; he was a soldier of a Hospitaller order, yet he had forsaken his vows, stolen a relic and fled west. He had hoped to reach Lundy Island and seek passage abroad; the princes of the Rhine, the archbishops of Mainz and Cologne, would pay richly for the relic he had filched from the high altar of his church in London.\n\nNow all had changed. He had gone down to the village to deliver a message to the miller and was returning to Oxford, whistling a song recalling warmer, brighter days in the wine-rich province where he had been born. He had been half-way across the simple bridge, above the cold, swirling waters of the river, when he had looked over and glimpsed the terrible scene on the far bank. A dark creature knelt over the body of a young girl, some country wench, her skirts pushed up revealing naked, brown legs. Disturbed by his approach, the hooded figure half turned and snarled, revealing the young girl's body soaked in blood, an awful, gaping wound in her throat. The creature had risen even as the soldier turned to run back along the bridge, his heart skipping with terror as he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps behind him.\n\nThe soldier had fled like the wind, his heart pounding fit to burst, his breath coming in short burning gasps until he had to stop. Surely, he thought, his terrible pursuer must have given up the chase? The Hospitaller froze. He heard a twig snap and realized all the birdsong in the forest had died. He drew his dagger and staggered on. He heard a chilling laugh behind him. He stopped, turned and whimpered in terror as he glimpsed the black-garbed figure skipping over logs, racing like a greyhound towards him. The Hospitaller fled on, his heart beating furiously in these, his last moments of life. Would he get back to the castle? The Hospitaller looked round. No sign of any pursuer. So he paused, gasped for breath and, still grasping his dagger in his sweat-soaked hands, hurried on, ignoring the branches that tore at his face and the harsh, coarse bracken that stung his legs and impeded his progress. He caught a blur out of the corners of his eyes. Was the creature racing alongside him? The man moaned in fear of death. A terrible notion occurred to him. The creature, whoever it was, seemed to be playing with him and the Hospitaller was now sure that he had been ambushed. Had this demon been waiting for him? Where could it have come from? The friary? Those priests so sly and secretive? What dreadful mysteries did they hide?\n\nThe soldier staggered into a glade; at the far end a small waterfall gushed beside a track snaking between two trees. He ran towards this, but a hooded figure moved out to block his path. The soldier turned, his sweat-beaded lips curling and snarling, but another creature was behind him. Blind with fear, the man ran into the small stream and waded towards the waterfall. He was nearly there. His mind, twisted by fear, seemed to be saying he would be safe amidst the falling water. He tripped and fell against a rock. He flailed, trying to rise, and saw the hooded figure above him \u2013 the smiling face, the lips parted as if to give the sweetest of kisses. Another joined it. He was hoisted out of the water, held up and shaken like a landed fish. He threw his head back and screamed as one of his pursuers bit deep into his soft, fleshy throat."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "The Trinitarian friary stood on the outskirts of Oxford, its sprawling buildings bounded by a grey ragstone curtain wall. Beyond this, the land fell away in a sheer slope down to foul swamps and marshes which the friars, despite all their labours, could not drain. The marshes, covered in a treacherous green slime and straggling bramble bushes, stretched to the edge of a dark forest where the trees clustered so densely together that any who wished to challenge the forest's sinister reputation would find it difficult to penetrate. Edmund, prior of the friary, stood by the window of his high-vaulted cell and stared sorrowfully down at this silent, green darkness. He gently fingered the knots on the tassel of the cord tied around his waist, three in all, standing for the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Edmund had never questioned these vows. He was a scholar, an ascetic, happier amid the vellum, parchment and leather of the library than running a religious house, especially with his knowledge of the dreadful secrets it held.\n\nEdmund had been a friar for thirty years. As a young postulant, he had heard the stories and legends of this place. The novices used to scare each other by lying awake at night and whispering all sorts of ghostly and ghastly stories. Edmund had always ignored these. His responsibilities had grown to include the care of these novices, the running of the infirmary and, above all, the care of the scriptorium where the brothers painted, in breath-taking colours, beautiful books of hours or copied the writings of Chrysostom, Eusebius, Athananasius and the other great fathers of the church. The supervision of the friary, the administration of its estates, the discipline among the brethren and the spiritual welfare of the community had always been in the firm hands of the abbot. Now the brutal and sudden death of Abbot Samson had shattered all this.\n\nEdmund had been harshly reminded that these legends and stories were now a very grim reality and he did not know how to cope. Naturally, he had done his best. He had brought in an old hag from the forest to wash Samson's body and dress it for burial and had informed the rest of the community that the abbot had died of a sudden seizure brought on by some morbid disease. The sooner the requiem mass was sung and the corpse buried before the high altar, he had suggested, the better. The brothers had accepted this, except for the ancient ones such as Lanfranc, who worked in the archives, and Matthew the librarian. They had their suspicions. During chapter meetings, their rheumy old eyes would challenge Edmund, as if daring him to announce that the ancient evil over which the friary had been built was free to exert its baleful influence again.\n\nEdmund closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer. The old ones would keep their vows of silence, but for how long? No one really knew the secrets of the friary. These were only handed over to each new abbot, who swore a solemn oath never to divulge them. Edmund was supposed to have no knowledge of them. He did not want to act as abbot and yet it would be months before the mother house in France authorized the election of a successor to Samson. Edmund wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. He had sent letters under secret seal across the Channel but all he had received was the strict instruction to keep silent. Edmund glared once more at the green marshes; time was running out. The litany of horrific deaths in the area was growing by the month. Men, women and children were being barbarously murdered and there seemed to be little anyone could do to stop it.\n\nThe prior wove his long fingers together nervously. Why, oh why, he wondered, had Abbot Samson broken his vow and unlocked the iron-bound door leading to the vaults? No abbot was supposed to do that but Samson, ever headstrong, had not only opened the vaults but disturbed the chain-bound coffer. And someone had been with him \u2013 a stranger who had slipped into the friary as silent and deadly as some bat. Abbot Samson had personally met the shadowy figure at the gate and taken him to his own quarters, where they had stayed until the rest of the community had retired. Prior Edmund had glimpsed these strange happenings but ignored them till he woke late at night soaked in sweat and shaking from horrible nightmares. Edmund had hurried down into the vaults to find the abbot dead, no mark upon his body but his face convulsed in a terrible grimace, mouth gaping, eyes open. There was no sign of the mysterious visitor. Edmund had stepped into that grey, evil-filled vault and looked at the coffer, now disturbed, the rusty padlock forced, the chains cast back, the lid slightly shifted to one side. Edmund had moved the lid back and brought down a new padlock, fastening it securely.\n\nHe had kept his eyes turned away, but even he had been shocked by what he had glimpsed: the uncorrupted body of a handsome youth, eyes closed as if in a deep, peaceful sleep. Edmund had stared around that vault. He was sure the coffer had been ransacked, but he could not tarry. He had removed the hammer and crowbar Samson had used and dragged the abbot's body out, re-locking and re-sealing the door to the vaults. He had pulled the corpse out of the tunnel and, under the cover of darkness, carried the heavy-boned body to the abbot's study, where a servitor found it the following morning. Why, Edmund moaned, had the Abbot opened the vault? What had happened to him? What had he seen? What had he done? Were those marshes at the foot of the hill responsible? Had Samson been looking for gold, new-found wealth to drain the marshes and turn them into fertile pasturelands? Who was his mysterious visitor? Edmund turned his back on the window and glared at the locked door of his cell. He must stop this; he kept hiding from the rest of the community and already they were beginning to sense something was wrong. He picked up his crucifix from the prie-dieu beside him and clutched it to his chest. The sheriff had said help was coming, but what would happen when it arrived? Abbot Samson's death and the horrific murders were terrifying, but so might be these royal commissioners with their power to question and threaten.\n\nThe prior leaned against the prie-dieu, half listening to the birds who rustled their wings in the eaves of the friary roof. Perhaps he should take matters into his own hands? Confront Lanfranc and Matthew and demand to see the secret chronicle? He tapped his fingers on the wood, remembering that secret doorway, the awesome, slimy, rat-filled passageway beyond and that lonely coffer. Prior Edmund was a good but weak man; he shivered and, bowing his head, begged God for help against the powers of darkness.\n\nThe friar's anxieties and fears would have turned to heart-throbbing terror if he had known of the meeting being held in the depths of the forest just beyond the friary. The sombre, cowled figures had entered it by secret paths, not stopping till they had reached a glade surrounded and darkened by great oak trees. In the centre of the clearing were oblong stone plinths ravaged by age and covered with moss. Once these had formed a great altar used by the Druids, who had slaughtered their victims there before hanging them from the branches of a nearby oak as an offering to the gods they worshipped. The group of black-cowled figures now used the stones as benches, sitting there in silence, merging with the darkness. In the faint daylight seeping through the trees they looked like monks coming together to worship in some ancient cathedral. Indeed, they regarded this place as a church, calling it their field of blood, for it was protected by ancient evils and reeked of terrible sins. They were safe here, wrapped in the darkness, away from prying eyes and straining ears. They sat silent as the weak sun, dipping in the west, was hidden by clouds. Their leader sighed-the only noise to break the silence, for no animal ever went near the glade. Its green, sinister silence was never broken by the chant of birdsong. The leader sighed again.\n\n'We have come,' he intoned. 'We are assembled here in order to draw strength and plot our course. I have news. The king's men will be here soon. We cannot stop their journey any more than we can resist the power of the so-called sacred relic.'\n\n'We should have destroyed that!' One of his companions spoke up.\n\n'We cannot. It's too powerful and, if displayed in our midst, might unveil our true natures.'\n\n'Then what shall we do?'\n\n'First, we leave the relic. Second, we pretend. Let the king's men chase their moonbeams and will-o'-the-wisps. They will soon tire and their master will grow weary. They will be recalled; this kingdom is at war with France and the king needs every man. Yet, while they're here we must be careful.' He paused and took a deep breath. 'The spirit of our Master is now free,' he continued, 'and the rumour of his return has gone out. Our existence is known in Paris, in the great cities along the Rhine and in the villages beyond the Danube. Soon, those from where our Master came will hear of us.' The leader looked round the ancient circle. 'We shall re-open the sacred groves and take strength from our enemies, for their blood is our food.' The leader stopped and waited until the thin rays of daylight died among the trees. 'Light the torches!' he ordered. 'The Dark Lord awaits us!'\n\nA tinder was struck and each lit the flambeau he carried. They all stood and moved in procession to stand in a circle around the great oak tree, whose branches thrust up like dark fingers towards the sky. The tree had always been twisted and, in the natural hollow of its branches, the Druids had once placed the wicker baskets containing their human sacrifices. Now it bore its own grisly burden: the corpse of the Hospitaller.\n\nAt the convent, Godfrey had unpacked his bags, stripped, washed and made himself as comfortable as possible on the small cot bed. He stared around the cell, stark and austere, and was wondering how long it would be his home when he drifted into sleep. He was roughly woken by a grinning Alexander.\n\n'Come on, soldier,' the clerk jibed. 'Food is served.'\n\nGodfrey sat up, sniffed the savoury odours and went downstairs to find a bustling Mathilda had laid out cups of wine, some cheese, pure flour bread and two bowls of steaming hot broth. Both men wolfed the food down and had hardly finished when Dame Constance returned with the two strangers Godfrey had glimpsed in her chamber. One was short, with the rosy red cheeks of a maid, tufts of blond hair pressed down over his thinning scalp. He waddled rather than walked and, with his protuberant belly and stuck-out chest, Sir Oswald Beauchamp, sheriff of Oxford, reminded Alexander of a very fat pigeon he had once owned as a pet. Nevertheless, despite his bland features, the sheriff was a shrewd, calculating man with restless eyes and a mouth as thin as a miser's purse. He had the irritating habit of scratching the point of his nose until the skin had begun to peel off. His companion, Nicholas Ormiston, proctor of the university, was an oldish-young man; although of no more than thirty summers, his thin face was already lined, his hair fast receding and his shoulders stooped after years of study. Nevertheless, his quick, dark eyes were friendly and welcoming.\n\nDame Constance finished the introductions and shooed Mathilda back to the convent kitchen, closing the door firmly behind her.\n\n'You have eaten and drunk well?' she asked, coming back to sit at the head of the small table. 'Good! Good!' she continued, not waiting for an answer, and carefully folded back the sleeves of her gown. 'What you are about to learn, as king's commissioners, is both bloody and sinister. Terrible murders have been perpetrated in Oxford and we think more will occur. Sir Oswald?'\n\n'Yes, yes,' the small man muttered officiously and, plucking a small piece of parchment from his wallet, tossed it on to the table.\n\nAlexander picked it up and studied the six names on it.\n\n'Who are these?'\n\n'The names of students from Stapleton Hall in the Turl who have disappeared over the last few months.'\n\n'Disappeared?' Alexander clicked his fingers. 'Like a mist? No trace?'\n\n'None whatsoever.' The proctor intervened in a deep mellow voice. 'They took their belongings, what few they had. One or two of them were glimpsed walking along the High Street before they vanished. They came from different parts of the kingdom except for one, Guido, who was a Fleming. Their families are anxious for they too have neither seen nor heard of them.'\n\n'But there's more isn't there,' Godfrey interrupted, 'than the disappearance of these six young men?'\n\n'Yes, yes, there is. In the city, over the last few months, houses have been broken into,' the sheriff replied. 'Though I use that term wrongly, there was no sign of violence against doors or windows. Different households,' he murmured as if talking to himself, 'each time with the same result. Every man, woman and child in that house is killed, their throats cut and the bodies drained of blood. Yet the assassins disappear as quietly and mysteriously as they came.'\n\n'There is no connection,' Godfrey asked, 'between any of the families killed?'\n\n'None whatsoever.'\n\n'And are the houses plundered?'\n\n'Coins are taken, gold, silver but nothing else.'\n\n'And is there any sign of resistance?'\n\nBeauchamp shook his head. 'That's what's terrifying. The rooms are awash with blood but there's no mark of violence, no sign of a fight, never once are the neighbours aroused. It's as if\u2014' The sheriff nervously rubbed the end of his nose. 'It's as if some demon can move through walls and doors, quietly kill, drink the blood and disappear.'\n\n'Are the victims old?' Godfrey asked. 'Surely a young man would put up some form of resistance?'\n\n'One family had two young sons,' the proctor replied, 'one fifteen summers old, the other seventeen. They died like the rest.'\n\n'And the streets are patrolled at night?' Godfrey asked.\n\n'We have beadles, officials from the university and some soldiers from the castle,' Beauchamp snapped. 'They are now too terrified to venture out at night and what is the use, Sir Godfrey? Not even a beggar or the occasional whore has glimpsed anything amiss.'\n\n'Some witches' coven is responsible,' Dame Constance intervened. 'A group of Satan worshippers who have studied the legends.'\n\nThe sheriff shook his head in exasperation. 'Lady, lady, we have heard these stories before, nothing but legends.'\n\nAlexander moved his wine cup aside and rested his elbows on the table. 'I collect legends,' he smiled, 'my own people's stories of Oengus and his war dog.'\n\n'These are different,' the abbess responded curtly. She drew in her breath. 'Many years ago,' she began, 'shortly after the Conqueror subjugated this country, a young man arrived in what was then the small village of Oxford. He came from the east. No, not a Saracen or a Turk, but from the countries north of Greece hemmed in by wild mountains and dark forests. He was apparently a kindly man much given to the service of God and the rendering of good works. He drew others to himself. They took over a derelict keep and, digging stones from the local quarry, rebuilt and refurbished it.' Dame Constance sighed. 'England was in turmoil at the time and many such strangers arrived. At first, the local people welcomed this stranger and his companions who prayed so much and did such good work among the poor, especially tending to travellers on the road going up to the northern shires or to those who took barges along the river. They even built a bridge across the Cherwell. However, within a year of the stranger's arrival, strange deaths began to occur; men, women and children were found with their throats cut, their bodies drained of blood.' Dame Constance smoothed the top of the table with her fingers. 'To cut a long but brutal story short, after months of such horrible crimes the blame was squarely laid at the feet of the stranger and the mysterious order he had founded at the keep in which they dwelt.' She licked her lips. 'Appeals were made to London. The king sent soldiers north and, after a vicious and bloody battle, they burnt the keep and either killed or hanged whoever lived there.' She fell silent and stared down.\n\n'And the stranger?' Alexander asked.\n\n'According to the legend, Sir Hugo Mortimer, the Norman commander whose descendants still own land hereabouts, burnt the keep to the ground. Underneath it Mortimer found secret tunnels and passageways, so he had this wicked stranger placed in a lead-lined coffin, bound with chains and buried alive.'\n\nThe abbess paused. Godfrey realized how quiet the guest house had become, the only sound being the water dripping from the eaves outside. Alexander sat fascinated, the other two men looked subdued.\n\n'What are you saying, Lady?' Godfrey asked.\n\n'I haven't finished. According to the legends, a monastery, later taken over by the Trinitarian friars, was built on that site. The centuries passed and the old sins, reeking of an ancient evil, were laid to rest by masses and prayers.'\n\n'But now you say the curse has returned?' Alexander queried.\n\n'Yes.' She smiled faintly. 'I study the stars and their different constellations. Oh, I know the church condemns astrology, but the planets have moved into some deadly configuration and the spirit of that accursed stranger has come back amongst us.'\n\n'What proof do you have of that?' Godfrey asked.\n\n'Nothing, except the series of bloody deaths which evokes an evil past and, God knows how, perhaps the death of Abbot Samson at the Trinitarian friary.' She licked her dry lips. 'Although a healthy man, Samson died suddenly and, rather mysteriously, his body was coffined immediately and laid to rest before the high altar.' She shrugged. 'Both I and the sheriff attended the funeral mass. There is something sinister at that friary.'\n\n'And these disappearances?' McBain spoke up. 'Surely the Master and fellows of Stapleton Hall have investigated?'\n\n'Yes, they have and, no, they know nothing,' Ormiston replied.\n\n'Sir Oswald,' Godfrey said, 'as we came into the city we noticed the town gaol heavily guarded. Why is that?'\n\n'Last night,' the sheriff replied, 'another household was attacked \u2013 a spinster and her two sisters, seamstresses from the parish of St Thomas \u00e0 Becket.'\n\n'What happened?'\n\n'Nearby was found a student, Eudo Lascalle, a Brabanter by birth. He was found deep in his cups lying in an alleyway, unarmed, unscathed, but covered from head to toe in someone else's blood. He has been lodged in the town gaol because, ostensibly, he is another riotous clerk.'\n\n'And has he confessed?'\n\n'To nothing but drinking too deeply of new ale in the Cock and Hoop tavern.'\n\n'And the house?'\n\n'Boarded up and guarded. You see,' the sheriff continued, 'so far there are rumours, whispers in the city, but nothing else. If this story came out it would fester old grievances, particularly between the townspeople and the university.' He shrugged. 'There would be riots and neither the city nor the university authorities want that.' Sir Oswald heaved himself up from the table. 'We have done everything.' His voice quavered. 'Guards, officials, street patrols but, as I have said, they too are frightened out of their wits.'\n\n'And how did our lady abbess get involved?' Alexander smiled dazzlingly at Dame Constance.\n\nThe abbess flushed slightly, like some young maid accepting a compliment.\n\n'I am a lonely woman and Sir Oswald and Master Nicholas often do me the honour of dining with me. At first, I thought the deaths were part of the bloody business of living but, as they continued, I remembered the legends and the university kindly allowed me to consult certain manuscripts kept in St Mary's church. Only then did I suspect.' She swallowed hard. 'I wrote to the king and the archbishop.' She spread her fingers. 'The rest you know.'\n\n'This house, have the corpses been removed?' Godfrey asked.\n\n'No,' Sir Oswald replied. 'The corpses were discovered by a journeyman trying to sell trinkets. Until tomorrow he, too, is cooling his heels in the town gaol. As usual, we will wait until nightfall to have the corpses removed.'\n\nGodfrey rose to his feet. 'In which case, let us see them now.'\n\nThe proctor shook his head. 'I cannot go with you,' he whispered. 'So much blood, so many deaths.'\n\n'I'll go,' Sir Oswald said. He looked warningly at them. 'I hope you have the stomach for it.'\n\nThey said their farewells to the abbess and went to collect their horses from the convent stables and rode back into the city. The murdered women had lived in an alleyway just behind a row of houses near Carfax. Two soldiers wearing the livery of the city stood on guard outside the door. They looked nervous and pale, but were pleased to see the sheriff and his companions. They immediately broke off their whispered conversation with the dark, gowned priest standing in the shadows.\n\n'Must we stay?' one of the guards whined as the other gathered the reins of the horses.\n\nSir Oswald kicked aside the dirt and refuse of the alleyway.\n\n'For God's sake!' the sheriff snapped. 'The dead can't hurt you!'\n\n'No,' the fellow retorted, 'but those who hunt in the darkness can.'\n\n'Guard the horses!' Sir Godfrey ordered curtly.\n\n'Father Andrew!' Sir Oswald exclaimed. 'You have heard the news?'\n\nThe priest stepped out of the shadows. He was of medium height, pleasant-faced, youngish, though his black hair was prematurely grey. Godfrey noticed his tired eyes but also the laughter lines around the firm mouth and chin.\n\n'Yes, yes, I have,' the priest replied. He stared at Godfrey and Alexander and his eyes became watchful.\n\nSir Oswald introduced them.\n\n'You are most welcome,' Father Andrew murmured. He sketched a blessing in the air. 'As St Peter says \"Be on your guard: Satan has come into this city and leaves his mark all around\".'\n\nSir Oswald grunted and, pushing by, drew his dagger and cut the wrapped seals on the lintel. He then took a key from his pouch, unlocked the door and pushed it open.\n\nGodfrey and Alexander, Father Andrew following, entered the musty darkness. Alexander felt the hair on the nape of his neck curl and sensed a dreadful presence even before Sir Oswald struck a tinder, making an oil lamp splutter against the gloom. A pitch torch in its iron bracket also flared into life. Alexander looked round and nearly fainted. The room was simple \u2013 an earthen floor, a table, some shelves built against lime-washed walls, a small hearth, a cooking pot over the white ashes and a wire basket of bread which had been hauled up into the rafters away from foraging mice. Some jars, a clay dish, a pewter pot, knives and skewers hung above the hearth. All these simple things only enhanced Alexander's terror, for the walls were splattered with blood, the table glistened with gore and on the floor the corpses of the women lay like hunks of meat, their heads thrown back, gaping wounds like second mouths in their throats and the bodices of their simple dresses caked with blood. One look at the bluish-white faces and Alexander could stand no more; catching his mouth in his hand, he followed the priest, equally shocked, back into the gloomy alleyway. In the room of death the sheriff turned to stare at Sir Godfrey. He, too, was pale and, although he had seen such horrors before, his lean face glistened with sweat and fear had enlarged his eyes. He leaned against the wall, not caring about it being blood-stained, and closed his eyes.\n\n'Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.' He breathed the words of the mass, 'Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.'\n\nAt last he opened his eyes and stared up at the rafters and the three pieces of hacked rope which still hung there. Then he looked at the victims' feet, noticing how the ankles were still bound with cord. He grasped Sir Oswald by the shoulder.\n\n'Is that how you found them?' he asked.\n\n'Yes, strung up like pullets. The rest is as you see.'\n\n'Nothing else?'\n\n'Nothing, nothing taken, nothing disturbed. The upstairs chamber is like a thousand others.' The sheriff jerked his head. 'Only this abomination.'\n\n'And the neighbours heard nothing?'\n\n'Before God, Sir Godfrey, nothing at all!'\n\n'And the student Lascalle?'\n\n'He was found at the mouth of the alleyway sodden with drink.'\n\nSir Godfrey turned and went back outside, breathing in the evening air as if trying to cleanse his mind as well as his lungs of the sights he had seen. The sheriff came out, locking the door behind him.\n\n'You have seen enough?'\n\nAlexander still leaned against the wall retching, Father Andrew gently patting him on the back.\n\n'Oh, Christ Jesus,' the Scotsman breathed. 'I pray never to see the like again. Sir Godfrey?'\n\nThe knight closed his eyes. 'I have seen cities taken by storm,' he said, 'towns put to the torch after pillage and rape, but, before God, there is something evil in that room. So orderly, so neat, except for those three bodies and the blood-spattered walls.'\n\n'Did you examine the corpses, Sir Oswald?'\n\n'My physician, Gilbert Tanner, inspected them. There were no marks or bruises on their bodies, though their mouths were gagged before they died.'\n\n'God have mercy on us,' Father Andrew whispered. 'Sirs, I must return. Master Sheriff, if there is anything I can do...'\n\nThe priest walked back up the alleyway. The knight watched him go. 'A good man, Sir Oswald?'\n\n'Yes, he is parish priest of St Peter's, a church very near the castle. He has been here for five years and tends the poor. He, too, believes this is the work of darker forces.'\n\nThey walked up to where the soldiers had taken their horses, far enough away that it seemed as if they wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and that blood-soaked, two-storied house. They remounted. Sir Oswald curtly reminded the soldiers of their duties, and they returned in gloomy silence to the convent. At the main gates the sheriff gathered the reins of his horse and warmly clasped first Sir Godfrey and then Alexander by the hand.\n\n'Tomorrow, sirs, I shall return. But enough has been done. I believe you are to meet the exorcist tonight. God keep you.'\n\nGodfrey and Alexander shouted their farewells and rode into the darkened courtyard of the convent.\n\n'Something to eat?' the knight queried as the groom led their horses away.\n\nAlexander stopped, his ears straining into the darkness.\n\n'Can you hear it, Sir Godfrey?' he asked, ignoring the question. 'The nuns are at vespers.' He smiled weakly. 'Perhaps we can gain a glimpse of the fair Emily.' He pulled his face straight. 'I want to go to church tonight. If what we saw at that house is what we face then we need God's protection.'\n\nSir Godfrey shrugged and followed him along the winding, cobbled path towards the convent church where a lay sister let them in. The nave was dark except for one torch spluttering feebly against the darkness. The lay sister led them past the shadowy columns to a bench before the rood screen. In the sanctuary beyond, the high altar was ablaze with lighted candles, the nuns in their choir stalls on either side sweetly chanting David's psalms. Alexander searched the pews, his eyes hungry for a sight of Emily, and he smiled as he glimpsed her sitting beside the abbess, the sheen of her blonde hair covered with a light blue wimple. The girl looked up quickly, caught his glance and smiled, making Alexander's heart leap with joy. Then he looked at the other dark cowled figures and his fear returned. He glanced sideways and saw Sir Godfrey's eyes were closed and his lips moving. As he caught a verse chanted by the nuns, Alexander, too, closed his eyes.\n\n'From the evil one,' he whispered, 'and from the terror which stalks at mid-day, Lord deliver us!'\n\nIn the anchorite cell built into the wall of the convent church, the exorcist Dame Edith Mohun was also reflecting upon her arrival in Oxford. It had been strange, she thought, to leave her little, stone-walled cell, the sanctity of her London church and the daily routine of prayer, meagre meals, meditation and sleep. Edith knelt upon the beaten earth floor and confessed her own pride and cowardice. She had been safe there; she was always protected against those terrible visions, those horrific nightmares in which demons appeared to her with great heads, long necks, lean visages, sallow skin, savage eyes and flame-vomiting gullets. Now she would hear their voices again, dark and dreadful, as she once more looked upon the wickedness of man. Edith sensed the evil of the coming confrontation. Something hideously vile was awaiting her in the dark, fetid streets of Oxford, something she had met before \u2013 but this time it could be more real, more threatening. This would not be some poor boy or girl possessed by demons but a more terrifying reality, that dreadful alliance between man's free will and the power of evil. What the abbess had told her had evoked Edith's memories of the dark forests and lonely, haunted valleys of Wallachia and Moldavia, places unused to the cross or the real power of Christ. She had experienced real evil there and it had pursued her. But how could this evil be destroyed? By just three people \u2013 a knight, a clerk and a recluse who had lost her sight, her very eyelids being sewn together to block out the sun?\n\nEdith crouched on the cold floor. What form would this evil take? Where did it hide? Edith had in her youth seen the popular carvings, the pictures in which Satan was depicted as some monstrous beast with hooked nose and curling serpent hair. But she knew differently. Satan was a beautiful young man with a silver tongue who would always appear to be most pleasing. She must not forget that; appearances were deceptive. Satan himself could quote the Scriptures and she would have to be on her guard. She touched the wooden cross at her throat and muttered her disbelief at what Dame Constance had told her. She knew all about the Strigoi, the living dead, but she could hardly believe that they were here in England, a country sanctified, covered in churches, where the cross had replaced the sacred oak, the Druids' magic and the sacrificial ring of stones. Perhaps, she concluded, evil never disappeared but just sank beneath the surface, biding its time. Then she looked up as she heard the insistent knocking on the wooden door to her cell.\n\n'So it begins!' she whispered. 'So it begins!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Sir Godfrey and Alexander were finishing their evening meal of beef broth, cheese and bread when there was a knock on the door and the abbess swept in. Alexander and Godfrey rose to their feet.\n\n'I have a visitor,' the abbess said. 'Dame Edith Mohun!'\n\nThe grey-garbed woman came out of the darkness and moved quietly into the room. Alexander could only gape. The blind exorcist was of medium height. She was dressed in a simple grey robe, her snow-white hair hung free to her shoulders. A dark blue bandage covering her eyes emphasized her skin, creamy soft and smooth as a maid's.\n\n'Must you stand and gape at me like yokels?' the blind woman asked, smilingly. She turned. 'Especially you, Sir Godfrey Evesden, the king's champion and most intimate counsellor. I have heard of your bravery.'\n\nThe knight wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he stammered his own greeting back. Dame Edith walked closer as the abbess left the guest house, closing the door softly behind her. Dame Edith grasped the knight's hand.\n\n'I was only teasing. I did not mean to embarrass you, sir.' She turned towards Alexander. 'Master McBain, Scotsman and king's clerk, student from the halls of Cambridge, if I had a coin for every time you have been in love\u2014' Her smile widened. 'I could feed the poor of London.' She walked towards the clerk and extended her hands. Alexander knelt and kissed the soft, warm skin. The exorcist gently stroked his face. 'You are brave,' she whispered, 'and you'll need all your courage, both of you, in the dreadful evil we face here. But come, let me share your meal.'\n\nShe walked to the top of the table. Alexander hastily brought her a stool, watching her curiously; despite her lack of sight, the exorcist was unerring in her movements.\n\n'What are you staring at, Scotsman?' she asked.\n\n'My lady,' Alexander stammered. 'You can see?'\n\nThe exorcist smiled. 'In a way, yes, I can. If you picture something in your mind and refuse to accept the darkness, it's wonderful what you can do.' She gripped the goblet of wine Alexander pushed towards her. 'Except read, read, read!' she whispered. 'I miss the world of books. When this is all over, will you read to me, Alexander?'\n\n'From what, my lady?'\n\n'Oh, the manuscripts you collect. The stories about your great heroes, Macbeth, Malcolm Canmore?'\n\n'Of course,' Alexander replied. 'I will read to you.'\n\nDame Edith nodded. 'And do you know what we face here?' she asked abruptly.\n\n'I do,' Sir Godfrey answered hastily, 'but the clerk knows little. Well, not as yet.'\n\nDame Edith turned back to Alexander. 'The sheriff and proctor know but, although they are here and listen, they do not accept the evil that is in this city. They are like us all, they have faith only in what they can see, hear, touch, taste and smell. Many years ago,' she continued softly, 'as the lady abbess has told you, before this place of learning with its halls, schools, castles and proctors was built, a great evil crossed the seas and took up residence here. It was vanquished but not destroyed, driven away but not burnt out. Now an evil that is not destroyed is like smoke; it may be trapped but, when it discovers a crevice or crack, it will pour through.' She paused. 'Are you frightened, Alexander McBain, of what you can't see?'\n\n'Lady, I never think of it.'\n\n'And what do you see?' she insisted.\n\n'Perhaps only half of what I should,' Alexander jokingly replied.\n\n'No, be serious,' Dame Edith breathed. 'What happens if there is more to our reality than what we see. We are like a fly, Alexander, which lands on a piece of bread and thinks that only what it can see and taste exists. We are like that, Alexander. We are small creatures in God's cosmos and we reach the arrogant conclusion that only what we see actually exists.' The exorcist's voice rose. 'Now as Christians we know different. We believe our reality is only part of a greater one and that beyond the veil exist spiritual beings who, like us, are in a state of conflict. The Apostle himself says that we do not fight against flesh and blood but against all the forces of Hell.'\n\n'The Church also teaches,' Alexander interrupted, 'that Christ is always with us and that his strength will suffice.'\n\n'Oh, in the end it always will, but we must draw a distinction between the battle and the inevitable victory. Now we tend to think of all evil as man-made \u2013 the robber, the adulterer, the ravisher and the murderer \u2013 but there is another dimension and within that the evil we see forms a pact with the evil we can't.' Dame Edith patted Alexander's hand gently. 'I do not mean to preach, but what you saw in Oxford tonight gave you a glimpse of what I witnessed.' Edith paused, her sightless eyes staring into the night, summoning up the shadows from her own past. 'Once upon a time,' she began, 'I was young and comely.'\n\n'Domina, you still are!'\n\nEdith smiled. 'Flattery is the sweetest wine, Scotsman. I was a young girl,' she continued, 'the only child of a doting father, a widower. He was a humble knight who owned some lands that stretched down to the shoreline in Northumberland. I was caressed and I was spoilt, I was given a fine education at the local convent. One day, when I was fifteen, my father visited me. Stephen Mohun came with him.' She laughed sweetly. 'I would have taken him on the spot, for I loved him dearly and I would not be brooked.' She turned her blind face towards Sir Godfrey. 'Within a year I was out of the convent and Stephen Mohun's wife. He was the youngest son of a great family. We lived with my father, who named Stephen his heir. Now, my Uncle Simon was a Hospitaller in a local commanderie.' Dame Edith shook her head. 'Golden days. We fed ourselves on meals of glory, the great feats of Charlemagne's paladins and, when Pope John and others began to preach a crusade, we answered. My father raised loans on his land and we joined a Hospitaller expedition to aid the Franks in Greece.' She shook her head. 'The foolishness of youth. We became mercenaries, fighting alongside our small Hospitaller troop as it made its way into Wallachia to protect the Christian communities there. Do you know the country?'\n\nAlexander shook his head.\n\n'Always dark, mountains black as night, slashed with precipitous gorges, covered in sombre forests and watered by treacherous, rushing rivers.' The exorcist stopped speaking, lifting her head as if straining to hear something. 'Even now,' she murmured, 'I dream I am back there. A terrible demon-filled place.' Her mouth fell slack, open. 'I can't describe what happened, but the convoy I was with was ambushed, massacred almost to a man. I and one other escaped, but he soon died of terrible wounds to his neck.'\n\nShe paused. Alexander and Sir Godfrey sensed, from her quick breathing, how she did not want to describe the terrors of losing her family. The exorcist shook herself free from her reverie.\n\n'For a while I wandered like some beast in the forest. At first I thought the only dangers were the Turks, the wild bears and savage wolves but they were mere childish fantasies against the real terrors that existed.' She stopped and laughed. 'I was arrogant. In my earlier studies, I had learnt the Greek myths and the story of the Lamiae, ghastly women who lured handsome youths to drink their blood and eat their flesh. In those dark forests of Wallachia, I learnt such dreams were part of our reality. One day I was in a village begging for food and drink. I was invited to attend the funeral of a young man who had fallen from a tree; his body was laid out and I was asked to join the funeral banquet prepared around the corpse. I ate and drank everything I could. The body was buried in a small graveyard next to the church. I went back to the forest and thought nothing of it. I kept clear of the village because a troop of Turkish Spahis\u2014' Dame Edith gazed blindly at Sir Godfrey, 'Turkish cavalry entered the area. One night I was sitting by myself before a small fire when a dark figure appeared between the trees, walking towards me. I could not see the glint of any weapon and the man's hands were outstretched in a gesture of peace. I invited him closer, telling him to warm himself by the fire.' Dame Edith paused. 'The figure moved soundlessly towards me. His features were shadowed but, when he sat down, the fire flared and I went cold with terror. His face was white, the eyes red-rimmed and dark-shadowed; it was the same man whose funeral I had attended the previous week. He just sat watching me and I could do nothing. I was frozen with terror. He grinned, baring his teeth like a wolf, rose and slipped silently back into the forest.'\n\nAlexander stirred uneasily, for the woman's story awakened fresh memories of his own nightmarish experiences in the city.\n\n'At first,' Dame Edith continued as if talking to herself, 'I dismissed it as a phantasm, but the next morning I noticed that the area at the other side of the fire still bore the imprint of where he had sat. I went back to the village headman, thinking perhaps that the young man had not really died but had been buried by mistake.' The exorcist chewed her lip. 'Sometimes that happens \u2013 the victim falls into a deep swoon, with no trace of a heart beat, and is declared dead. He is buried in a shallow grave, revives and digs himself out.' Dame Edith paused, listening to the night sounds. Alexander, sitting beside her, struggled to control his own fears.\n\n'Continue, domina,' he whispered.\n\n'The village elder listened carefully to what I described and his terror was apparent. He immediately ordered the men back from the fields and imposed a curfew at night. He told me that the young man, who had been excommunicated by the local priest, had become a Strigoi, one of the living dead.' Dame Edith wetted her now dry lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'Of course, I dismissed it as peasant superstition, so the headman told me to wait. He sent for others from the village council and, with the priest's permission, the young man's grave was reopened. I'll never forget the sight. The corpse was still warm, flesh-coloured with no greenish tinge of corruption. The limbs were pliable, not stiff, the head turned to one side rather than facing the sky. The elder pronounced himself satisfied, a stake was brought and driven straight into the young man's heart.' The exorcist's mouth opened and closed. 'I will never forget his scream. It was horrible, soul-chilling.' Dame Edith sighed. 'The corpse was later burnt. I never discovered whether the man I had seen was a ghost or a demon. A few days later the Turks captured me.' Her voice hardened. 'They discovered I was a woman and tried to abuse me. I fought back savagely, so they thrust a red-hot iron bar against my eyes, turning them to water and blinding me for life.' Edith abruptly paused. 'Do you hear them?' she asked softly.\n\nAlexander and Sir Godfrey, absorbed by her story, looked up.\n\n'No, what is it, domina?' the knight asked.\n\nEdith raised a finger to her lips. 'Listen!'\n\nThey strained their ears and heard a faint squeaking from the darkness outside.\n\n'Bats,' Sir Godfrey said. 'They probably nest under the eaves.'\n\n'I wonder?' the exorcist replied. 'In Wallachia the peasants claimed that bats were the emissaries and heralds of the Strigoi, the blood-drinking night stalkers.'\n\nAlexander shook his head. 'Domina, the next thing you will be saying is that those bats were also sent.'\n\n'They could have been.'\n\n'Then by whom? Are you saying these Strigoi, these night stalkers, are lurking near here? If so, we'll hunt them down and kill them as your village elder did in Wallachia.'\n\n'I have only told you half my story, McBain!' Dame Edith snapped. 'There's worse to come. I was captured, blinded, my eyelids sewn up. I became a slave in the fields, to all intents and purposes a peasant in Wallachia. Believe me, Alexander, there's none lower under Heaven than these peasants. At first I dismissed them as ignorant, crude and unlettered, but they taught me more than I had learnt in any school or in the libraries of our monasteries.\n\n'Four years into my captivity, the village I lived in was attacked by greater demons. Three cruel, evil men, real sons of Satan, had been executed. The village priest, a holy man, urged that the corpses of all three malefactors be burnt. The Turkish commander just laughed and the bodies were left to hang.' Edith paused and shook her head. 'The first attack came within a week. A young girl was found, her throat ripped from ear to ear, her body drained of blood. Attack followed attack, each more gruesome than the last. The Turks moved soldiers in to the area, Spahis and even a crack troop of janissaries. They scoured the countryside but could find no trace of these mysterious attackers.' Dame Edith grasped Alexander's hand. 'Listen!' she hissed. 'One day I was in the wood picking berries \u2013 I did such things to train my mind and overcome my blindness. A young lad from the village had led me there. Suddenly he tugged at my cloak and begged me to crouch behind a bush. I did so and the boy whispered that he had seen a Spahi coming towards us but that there were attackers waiting for him in the trees. I heard the sound of commotion, the neighing of a horse followed by the most heart-rending scream. The boy beside me eventually fainted away in a dead swoon.' The exorcist pressed Alexander's hand as a child would his father's. 'I stayed by that boy for over an hour, lost in a blind hell and listening to the most dreadful sounds.' Dame Edith stopped talking and stared at her companions.\n\n'What is it?' Alexander asked.\n\n'The young boy revived. I half carried him back to the village. For two days he cowered in his hut, unable to speak. Then he told us what he had seen. The Spahi had been attacked by a family of woodcutters, a husband and wife and their son, a young man of no more than seventeen summers. They looked, the boy said, no different from other humans, but the speed and strength of their attack was unbelievable. They sprang at the Spahi bringing both horse and rider to the ground. The son ripped the soldier's throat with one awful bite, like a fox with a chicken or a weasel with a rabbit. They then strung the poor man up and drained the corpse of blood. Before he fainted, the boy saw them begin to drink the blood.'\n\nAlexander stared at the exorcist, then at Sir Godfrey. He would have dismissed the tale as fanciful, if it hadn't been for the stark terror on the woman's face and the beads of perspiration that ran down to soak the bandage across her eyes. Sir Godfrey had seen fear affect many, but he could remember nothing to equal the sheer terror that now gripped this usually serene woman.\n\n'At first no one believed the boy, but a watch was set upon the woodcutter's hut. The woodcutter, his wife and son acted as normal. They looked no different, their attacks were not governed by any change in season, by the sun or the moon. Only one thing was noticed. The local priest declared that, although the woodcutter and his family came to church, they had stopped taking the sacrament and always seemed to position themselves so they did not have to look directly at the altar whilst mass was being celebrated.' Dame Edith's grip on Alexander's hand tightened. 'Remember that, and you, Sir Godfrey. Forget the old wives' tales about crosses or spells or any talismans such as garlic or plants.'\n\n'What happened?' Alexander insisted. The chill from the woman's hands seemed to spread into his own body.\n\n'A new Turkish commander was appointed. A wise, old man. He ordered the corpses of the three malefactors to be burnt and the immediate destruction of the woodcutter and his family. They were to be taken at dawn, killed, their bodies destroyed, their house razed to the ground.'\n\n'And the order was carried out?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'Yes, the attack was launched but the woodcutter and his family fought like demons. They seemed to possess superhuman strength, speed and agility. The village elder who witnessed it reported that before the young man was killed eight janissaries lay dead.' The exorcist let out a sigh. 'And that's when the real terror began. You're a soldier, Sir Godfrey, when your enemy falls you forget him.'\n\n'And these revived?'\n\n'Oh, no, worse than that! One of the janissary officers suddenly turned on his own men and began to kill them. The Turks realized they were not fighting flesh and blood but spirits that moved from one body to another, like someone moving out of a destroyed house to a more fitting abode.'\n\nSir Godfrey shook his head. 'Domina, that's impossible!'\n\n'Is it? Read the gospels. Do you remember when Christ exorcized the man, the demon inside begged for a place to be sent to? I have conducted many an exorcism, the procedure is always the same. You ask the demon to name itself and then you begin the solemn ritual. The demon will usually shriek for a place to go and the exorcist's answer is always the same: \"To Hell's dark abyss\". But what I witnessed in Wallachia was different. These spirits were lords of Hell, having the power to move from a corpse to a living body. That is why the peasants call them Strigoi; they are spirit walkers, the living dead.'\n\n'But why the blood-letting?'\n\nEdith thumbed the crucifix at her throat. 'The Strigoi demon inhabits a man's body and turns him into a killer, the blood-letting is what they want. They draw strength from it.'\n\n'What happened in that village?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'The Turkish commander did a brave thing. He broke off the attack and asked the priest to bring down the ciborium bearing a consecrated host. The priest did this, holding the ciborium aloft as the soldiers launched a second attack. Only this time, when they eventually killed the woodcutter and his wife, they used Greek fire and the bodies were burnt immediately. Apparently, if this is done quickly, the exorcism is complete and the demons must return to their dark pit.'\n\nThe exorcist's voice faded away and Alexander stared into the blackness of the night.\n\n'Is that what we face here, domina?'\n\n'Yes, Alexander. We do not fight flesh and blood but the very lords of Hell.'\n\n'And there is no way of detecting these possessed creatures?'\n\n'No, there is not. They will speak, they will sing, they will cry, they will eat and they will drink. They act as normal people, be they villeins or lords. But one thing I know is that they cannot take the sacrament during mass. If they are exposed, and that is difficult, they will soon show their true natures.'\n\n'How many could there be?' Alexander asked.\n\n'I don't know. There could be one, there could be six, ten, twenty, thirty or forty.'\n\n'Can the number grow?'\n\n'No, apparently not, but unless the body inhabited by a Strigoi is killed and burnt the demon passes to someone new. It's like some terrible plague that kills and passes on.'\n\nAlexander closed his eyes and muttered a prayer for strength.\n\nHe shivered as he remembered the ghastly scenes in that house. 'Surely not,' he murmured. 'Perhaps it could be something else? How do you know the creatures responsible for the deaths we've heard about are Strigoi?'\n\n'For two reasons. First, the university has great archives and libraries. In one there is a chronicle written by a monk of Osney. Now, it's full of strange stones \u2013 of apparitions, miraculous cures and dreadful events. The monk wrote about fifty years after the Conquest and in this chronicle, which the abbess read out to me, there is a reference to a strange order which landed on the coast of Kent, then moved to Oxfordshire. They took over and repaired an old, disused keep in the wilds of the countryside. This group posed as religious men and women, pilgrims carrying out some solemn vow \u2013 until the grisly killings began.'\n\n'These were Strigoi?' Alexander interrupted.\n\n'Yes, they came from Wallachia or a place close to it, Moldavia, one of the Balkan principalities. William, the first Norman king, destroyed the entire tower...'\n\n'And the Strigoi?'\n\n'God knows, but I suspect that not all their bodies were destroyed.'\n\n'Why do you say that, domina?'\n\n'I suspect that the leader of these Strigoi, the ones whom William the Norman destroyed, was imprisoned in some vault. That resting place may have been disturbed and the Strigoi's spirit is now free to roam where it wishes.'\n\n'So,' Sir Godfrey intervened, 'there might only be one?'\n\n'Yes, but he's a prince amongst them and has summoned his vassals to his aid.'\n\n'Why cannot we destroy his resting place?' Alexander asked.\n\nDame Edith smiled. 'But where is it? And the real damage has already been done: the spirit is free. Perhaps even the body.'\n\n'How do the Strigoi select those they'll possess?'\n\nThe exorcist smiled. 'People think that only the evil can attract such demons. Sometimes they do, but the spiritually weak, those not prepared, those who do not take the sacrament regularly are all vulnerable to attack.'\n\nSir Godfrey leaned over. 'Your story isn't finished, is it, domina?'\n\nAlexander felt the exorcist's body tremble with fright.\n\n'Because I had been instrumental in tracking down the killers, the Turkish commander allowed me to be ransomed by the Hospitallers and returned to England. Now, before I left, this man, a good Muslim, told me something very strange.' Dame Edith eased the bandage round her eyes.\n\n'Which is?'\n\n'He told me that just before the last Strigoi was destroyed in the bloody carnage around the woodcutter's house, he shrieked out a terrible prophecy.' The exorcist crossed her arms and bent over as if in pain.\n\n'Domina, you must tell me!'\n\n'The Strigoi shrieked, \"Tell the blind one we shall all meet again. She will be older and be in the company of a king's son!\"'\n\nAlexander gasped in terror.\n\n'Oh, don't you see,' Edith whispered, 'the terrible deaths in Oxford and your name, McBain, which means \"son of a king\". When the news of the murders reached London and the chancellor asked who should go with me, I learnt about you and knew for certain what demons awaited me in Oxford.'\n\nAlexander stirred restlessly to hide his own panic.\n\n'So, the Strigoi knew me before I was born?'\n\n'No, but they prophesied that one day you would be their enemy.'\n\n'But there's a flaw. How can these Strigoi from Wallachia be the same as those prowling the streets of Oxford?'\n\n'I shall tell you, McBain. You asked if the Strigoi could possibly multiply themselves. They cannot. But regard them as an enemy force that crosses a great river and establishes a bridgehead to allow others to follow.' The exorcist pushed her face close up to Alexander's. 'If we do not destroy the Strigoi here, they will extend their power and others will come.' She gripped the clerk's wrist. 'Alexander, believe me! Days of terror are upon us!'\n\nDame Edith rose and slipped out into the darkness, leaving Alexander and Sir Godfrey numb and more frightened than they had ever been in their lives. Alexander drew a deep breath, rose, went to the window and gazed up at the stars.\n\n'In God I put my trust,' he muttered and began to chant the great prayer of St Patrick: 'Christ be beside me, Christ be before me, Christ be within me.'\n\nSir Godfrey joined in, then the knight stood up, genuflected to the east, crossed himself and quietly went up to his chamber. For a while Alexander just sat by the fire and watched the sparks jump like miniature imps in their own small Hell.\n\n'Alexander, my boy,' he whispered, 'you have seen the days!' He smiled to himself. 'You will be a hero, Alexander. Say your prayers, boy, and keep your sword arm strong!'\n\nFor a while Alexander hummed to himself but, just as he began to feel drowsy, he recalled the words of a great Gaelic epic: 'Those who fight monsters must be careful not to become monsters and remember, when you stare into the Pit of Hell, the Pit of Hell glares back!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The next morning Sir Godfrey and Alexander broke their fast in the small refectory. The merry-faced Mathilda served them manchet loaves, jugs of ale and cheese made from ewe's milk which tasted tart and spicy. Sir Godfrey had already said his prayers, kneeling beside his bed, dedicating all his actions to the five wounds of Christ and asking for the Blessed Virgin's protection. Alexander, more practical, had prayed as he dressed. Now both men sat chewing the bread and cheese and reflecting on what the exorcist had told them the previous evening. Alexander picked up one of the small, white loaves and broke the silence.\n\n'I eat only this,' he said. 'A Jewish physician from Salerno told me that rye bread not only turns your bowels to water but gives you strange dreams.'\n\n'We don't need strange dreams,' Sir Godfrey growled. 'We are living in a nightmare. Those corpses, that silent, dreadful house and Dame Edith. What do you think of her, Alexander?'\n\n'I studied in the halls of Cambridge, Sir Godfrey. I was lectured in logic and the subjects of the quadrivium and trivium. I move in a world which depends on touch and taste but,' the young clerk scratched his tousled head, 'St Paul says we not only fight flesh and blood but legions of infernal beings, those lords of the air who wander through God's creation, ever ready to destroy the work of Le Bon Seigneur.'\n\nSir Godfrey grumbled to himself.\n\n'Did you say something?' Alexander leaned across.\n\n'I fight flesh and blood,' the knight replied. 'Last night we saw the work of flesh and blood.'\n\nAlexander shook his head. 'Sic et non, as the great Abelard would say. Yes and no, Sir Godfrey. What happens if the people who perpetrated those horrible murders either are possessed by demons or really believe they are something else?'\n\n'What do you mean?' the knight asked brusquely.\n\n'Well, in Cambridge there was a man whom people dismissed as an idiot. He lived in the cellars of a tavern on the road out of Trumpington. He really believed he was the Angel Gabriel and nothing anyone could say would persuade him differently.'\n\n'And?'\n\nAlexander grinned. 'What happens if he really was?'\n\nSir Godfrey just popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and ignored Alexander's wink. The young clerk drained his jug of ale.\n\n'Sir Godfrey, whoever the killers are, we are about to enter the Valley of Death but,' Alexander couldn't resist gentle banter, 'we have your sword, my brains and the prayers of Dame Edith.'\n\n'I think we might need more than that.'\n\nThe knight and clerk looked round in surprise at the exorcist standing in the doorway. Both men rose in embarrassment. Alexander noted that Dame Edith was dressed as a lady; she had changed her grey gown for one of dark blue trimmed with silver piping and a veil and wimple of the same colour covered her head. Once more Alexander was struck by how, despite the blindfold across her eyes and the snow-white hair peeping from underneath the wimple, Dame Edith's face was soft and comely as a young girl's, her lips full and red.\n\n'God does not intend us to be miserable!' she exclaimed, walking forward.\n\nAlexander bit his lip and blushed, for the exorcist seemed to read his mind. He was also fascinated at how she could walk with such a firm step and stately poise. She sat down at the head of the table with as much grace as one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Her hand went out.\n\n'You have eaten well?' She took a small loaf and broke it in her hand.\n\n'The freshest bread and cheese, domina,' Sir Godfrey replied. 'And ale, richly brewed; what more could a man ask?'\n\nThe exorcist laughed merrily. 'Aye, what more, Sir Godfrey? You should fortify yourselves. The devil can use an empty stomach and a weak spirit to his best advantage. You have said your prayers?' she asked quietly.\n\n'Yes, domina.'\n\n'And you have planned what to do?'\n\nBoth men looked at each other in concern.\n\n'If you are to enter a maze,' the exorcist said, 'it's best if you feel for the wall. What do you know already?'\n\nAlexander pushed his trencher away. 'You want some ale, domina?'\n\n'A little, a small cup.'\n\nAlexander rose and went into the buttery. He came back, filled the cup to the brim and put it gently into the exorcist's slender fingers.\n\n'Your hands are warm.' The exorcist smiled. 'The blood runs hot in your veins, Alexander McBain, and that's good. But my question?'\n\n'What we know is very little,' Sir Godfrey replied, watching the exorcist intently. He could almost swear she could see every movement they made.\n\n'And yet?' she asked sharply.\n\n'And yet, domina, there are a few loose threads. First, those students who disappeared from Stapleton Hall in the Turl. We should go there. Secondly, this strange business at the Trinitarian friary, that too should be visited.'\n\nThe exorcist nodded.\n\n'After all,' Sir Godfrey continued, 'the friary is built on the site where the Strigoi's tower once stood and there is the matter of the sudden and mysterious death of Abbot Samson. We should also visit the Mortimer family.' Sir Godfrey looked at Alexander. 'Where is their manor?'\n\n'Between here and Woodstock.'\n\n'And, finally,' Sir Godfrey concluded, 'we should interrogate that student imprisoned in the town gaol. He may have something useful to tell us.'\n\n'Then,' Domina Edith said, wiping her fingers on the napkin, 'we should begin immediately.'\n\nThe men looked at each other in surprise.\n\n'I am coming with you,' the exorcist added defiantly. 'I may be blind\u2014' She chuckled merrily. 'But it will be good to be out in the world again and listen to the affairs of men.' Her face grew solemn. 'I may be of some assistance.' She stood and gently touched Alexander's ears. 'You can listen with them and you can listen with the soul.' She held up her hand in mock imitation of a vow. 'You have my word, if I am a hindrance I will stay here, but I would love to come.'\n\nAlexander glanced at Sir Godfrey, who just shrugged and spread his hands.\n\n'Of course, domina,' the knight replied as Alexander pulled a face at him. 'But you must put yourself in no danger.'\n\n'Danger?' The exorcist put her head back and laughed. 'Sir knight, I have lived in danger all my life!'\n\nThe conversation ceased at a loud knocking on the door. The abbess entered, leading a rather dishevelled soldier; his boots were caked in mud and there were flecks of dirt on his shabby tabard. The fellow bowed at all three of them, but Alexander could see he was fascinated by the exorcist. The abbess, standing behind him, scowled, her face showing her disdain for the man, who smelt of horse sweat and kept wiping a runny nose on the back of his hand.\n\n'He's from the sheriff,' she announced.\n\n'Well, man?'\n\n'Sir Oswald,' the messenger closed his eyes, 'Sir Oswald sends his, sends his...'\n\n'Compliments,' Sir Godfrey suggested testily.\n\n'No, sir, his greetings. He desires your presence in the castle immediately.'\n\n'Why?' Alexander asked.\n\nThe fellow opened his eyes. 'God knows, master, but they did bring a body in this morning. All blood and gore seeping through a sheet. It was still dripping when Sir Oswald ordered it to be taken down to one of the cellars.'\n\n'Another death,' the exorcist murmured. 'Perhaps we should start at the castle.'\n\nThe messenger was dismissed and Godfrey and Alexander collected their sword belts and cloaks. The exorcist remained to exchange pleasantries with the abbess, who was anxious to learn what Dame Edith might require.\n\n'Only a horse,' the exorcist said, as both men came back down the stairs. 'Something gentle but strong. A sweet-natured palfrey.'\n\nThe abbess agreed and led them to the stables. As they passed the rain-soaked gardens they heard a young girl singing. Alexander stopped.\n\n'That's a French song, isn't it? \"La Belle Dame sans Merci\", \"The Lady without Pity\".'\n\nAnd, without being invited, Alexander walked through a gap in the privet hedge that shielded the singer. His face softened as he glimpsed the Lady Emily standing next to a small fountain, a brilliantly white dove resting on her gloved hand. She was stroking its breast gently, singing to it, completely absorbed in what she was doing.\n\nSir Godfrey joined him. Both men stood in speechless admiration, for the early morning sun caught the young woman's unbraided hair and created a golden aureole around it. In her long dress of murrey, bound at the waist by a silver cord, she reminded Alexander of a fairy princess he had glimpsed in a Book of Legends in a wooden-panelled library at Cambridge.\n\n'A vision!' he murmured.\n\nThe girl kept singing. Godfrey could only stare, wondering why his heart skipped a beat, his pulse and blood raced and his stomach tingled with excitement.\n\nBy the rood! he thought, I have only met her twice and I stand like some lovelorn squire!\n\nThe two women also joined them. The dove fluttered. Emily stopped singing as she realized she had an audience. She placed the bird gently on the ground and coyly looked at them from under her eyelashes.\n\n'Good morning, sirs,' she murmured.\n\nAlexander took a step forward, his boots crunching on the gravel path. The dove fluttered its wings and rose, soaring into the air to circle above the girl. Alexander sketched the most courteous of bows.\n\n'Mistress, I apologize, but that song, I have never heard it sung so beautifully.'\n\n'My mother taught it to me.'\n\nAlexander looked up at the circling bird. 'Is that a pet?'\n\n'Of sorts.'\n\nAlexander watched the bird circle, a flurry of white against the early morning sky.\n\n'Then, mistress, it is the most fortunate of doves!'\n\n'Why, sir?' Lady Emily's eyelashes fluttered as she glanced straight at him.\n\nGodfrey felt a pang of envy, for the girl was struggling to hide her laughter.\n\n'Mistress, to be held by you!'\n\nNow the girl blushed. Dame Constance noisily cleared her throat but the exorcist laughed, as if echoing the young girl's merriment.\n\n'You have met Dame Edith?' Sir Godfrey found his voice, louder than he intended.\n\nDame Constance bustled in and made the introductions. Emily swept forward to exchange the kiss of peace, her red lips gently brushing the cheeks of the exorcist.\n\n'You are beautiful,' Dame Edith whispered, stepping away. 'And a fine singer.' She looked in Alexander's direction. 'Do you really know that song?' she queried.\n\nAlexander, eager to seize every second, thrust one leg forward, head back, arms on his hips, taking up the pose of a professional jongleur.\n\n'If the lady Emily will accompany me. How does the first verse go?\n\n'La nuit devient trop tard.'\n\nAlexander's rich tenor voice broke into song, Emily joining him on the third line. They sang a duet as sweet as any Sir Godfrey had heard. By the time they had finished, even Dame Constance's severe face was lit by a smile. The exorcist clapped her hands, but Sir Godfrey could only stare, torn between envy at Alexander's easy gallantry and the sheer vivacity of the girl.\n\n'This will not do! This will not do!' Dame Constance declared in mock severity. 'Master McBain, the sheriff awaits you.'\n\nAlexander caught Emily's hand, raised it to his lips and pressed his mouth against her long, cool fingers. Revelling in their smooth silkiness, he allowed his lips to linger while he glanced cheekily at the girl from under his eyebrows. For her part Emily acted the perfect coquette, reluctantly withdrawing her hand when etiquette and Dame Constance's grim look demanded it.\n\n'Mistress,' Alexander murmured, 'you should sing again.'\n\n'A perfect accompaniment,' Emily softly replied.\n\nAlexander stepped back and once again bowed but, instead of turning, walked backwards as if he found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Emily collapsed in giggles. Dame Constance strode on, while the exorcist gripped Alexander's hand.\n\n'Come, sir,' she whispered. 'You have the abbess's tolerance, even acceptance. Do not push matters further.'\n\nSir Godfrey, however, did not move and waited until his companions had gone back beyond the privet hedge that cordoned off this small pleasance. He then walked forward. He tried to smile but found it false so kept his face straight. Emily looked at him strangely; she saw the passion in his face and fire in his eyes and realized this man did not believe in dalliance. She folded her hands across her stomach.\n\n'Sir Godfrey, you tarry?'\n\nThe knight put his hand out and Emily placed her fingers gently within his. The knight then brought her hand up to his lips, brushed it gently and let it fall away.\n\n'Lady, in all things I am your servant.'\n\nEmily blushed, but this time not from coyness but at the passion in Sir Godfrey's face. She opened her mouth to speak but Sir Godfrey turned on his heel and strode away to join the rest at the stables. The servants had led out a small grey palfrey and Alexander was gently assisting the exorcist into the saddle. She turned her face towards Sir Godfrey.\n\n'I know what you are thinking, Sir Godfrey,' she called out briskly. 'I may be blind, but I am not helpless. I can ride a horse as well as a babe suckles its mother's tits.' She tapped the wooden hilt of the long dagger she usually carried under her cloak, which was now lashed in its sheath to the saddle horn. 'And, if it comes to battle, I can deal as good a blow as I get.' The exorcist grinned. 'But make sure you don't come too close. Sometimes it's hard to tell friend from foe.'\n\nAlexander bellowed with laughter at her short speech as he and the knight mounted.\n\n'Sir Godfrey!' the abbess called, 'the clerk tells me you wish to seek out the Mortimer family?'\n\n'Yes. I believe they have a manor between the city and Woodstock?'\n\nThe abbess shook her head. 'No Mortimers live there now. I am sorry, I should have told you before; their only descendant is Sir Oswald Beauchamp, the sheriff. I thought you knew that?'\n\nSir Godfrey shook his head. 'No, I didn't,' he muttered, 'but I won't forget it.'\n\nThey rode together out of the convent buildings, Alexander leading the exorcist's horse by the bridle. They had to pull aside as the town bailiffs trundled by with a cart carrying the body of a suicide to Eastgate to be buried in the city ditch. Then they made their way up the High Street towards the castle. After the yesterday's rain, the thoroughfare was muddy and the rain had swollen the sewer in the centre of the street to overflowing. Nevertheless, the prospect of a better day, as well as the chimes of the bells of different churches and the cries of the apprentices, had brought the crowds out. Benedictine monks in their black habits, Carmelites in white, friars in black and grey and throngs of students \u2013 some in gaudy attire, others ragged, yellow-faced, with bitter faces and hands constantly resting on their daggers \u2013 shouldered their way through the streets. Servants trotted by, carrying books to the schools. A priest, preceded by a silver cross, mumbled prayers for the repose of the soul of the corpse bobbing up and down in a cart behind him. Now and again Alexander spied the different professors: the doctors in their mantles of crimson cloth, the fur-lined hoods of the theologians and the brilliant white caps of the Masters of Arts.\n\nThere was a purposeful air in most of the crowd as they hurried in and out of the many halls that lined the High Street or pushed into the cookshops to break their fast, attracted by the savoury beef and onion smells that hung heavy in the morning air. Peasants in their wooden clogs and brown and green hoods jostled wealthy burgesses in wool-lined cloaks. Busy serving girls hurried along the stalls with their baskets, quietly mouthing the things they had to buy. Alexander watched them all, noting particularly the hostility when town and gown met. Here a group of students forced a trader out of their path, almost pushing him into the stinking sewer. A burgess half drew his sword as he heard salacious whispers directed at his young daughter, whose pretty face peeped out from a damask-covered hood. All the time students talked in loud raucous voices as they prepared for a day's learning in the schools and Alexander caught snatches of their songs. City beadles and university officials kept an eye on the busy throng. All were armed with staves but, as one moved, Alexander glimpsed the pommel of a sword beneath his cloak. Sir Godfrey, too, had noticed this; he leaned back in his saddle.\n\n'There's a tension here,' he declared. 'It reminds me of a barnyard full of fighting cocks.'\n\n'There's always tension,' Alexander sourly observed. 'The students hate the citizens, the citizens hate the students. It was the same in Cambridge.'\n\nNo, Sir Godfrey thought, looking around, this is different. He wondered if the mysterious murders had intensified the curdling dislike between the university and the town. They cleared the High Street and went past St Martin's and on to St Peter's church. Here they stopped and stared curiously: the church, set in its own grounds a few paces from the High Street, was now boarded up, its windows shuttered, the main entrance door firmly padlocked, though the small hall beside the church was busy enough. Sir Godfrey looked at the ragged men and women who thronged outside its doorway chattering to the priest they had met the previous evening. He had set up a small stall at the entrance to the hall and was serving the poor or, indeed, any caller, bowls of hot pottage and small loaves of bread. Father Andrew saw them and grinned. He handed the ladle to a tousle-haired young man and came forward to greet them.\n\n'Good morrow, sirs.' The priest stared around Alexander at the exorcist, sitting absorbed in her own thoughts.\n\n'Father Andrew.' Alexander clasped the man's hands and stared at his saintly face. 'May I present Dame Edith Mohun.'\n\n'The exorcist?'\n\n'Yes,' Alexander replied. 'You have heard of her?'\n\nThe priest approached, took the exorcist's hand and kissed it gently.\n\n'I was born in Whitby in the north but served as a curate at St Dunstan's-in-the-Fields. Your reputation was known even then.'\n\n'Reputation for what?' Dame Edith tartly asked. 'Hiding away from everyone?'\n\nFather Andrew laughed and stepped back. 'For your prayers and good works.'\n\nSir Godfrey pointed to the table, the steaming cauldron and the poor people thronging about it. 'Like yourself, Father Andrew.'\n\n'It's the least we can do,' the priest replied. 'So many people come to Oxford. The price of a bed or a loaf of bread would tax even the wealthy. It's good to use the revenues of the Church for such matters.'\n\nSir Godfrey nodded. He had seen such sights before, wandering labourers, poor students, even entire families. He recalled the debates at the great council held by the king last Easter; how the roads were being thronged as the lords used their fields and arable pastures to grow sheep and grow fat on the profits of wool while the poor were turned out of their homes. The exorcist, who had smelt the savoury odours from the cooking pot, pushed her palfrey forward.\n\n'You do good for the body, sir priest. But I hear no bell for mass or the creak of anyone going through your door.'\n\nFather Andrew laughed.\n\n'Domina, you can see as well as any person with keen eyesight. The church is barred because the roof inside has grown weak, the beams are cracking.' Father Andrew laughed again. 'I know the Church is supposed to be the gate of heaven but we should not take that too literally.'\n\nThey laughed at the priest's sally, made their farewells and continued along the streets, across the drawbridge and up into the castle. Servants took their horses and a busy-eyed steward led them up to a comfortable solar on the second floor where Sir Oswald Beauchamp and the lanky, dark-faced proctor, Nicholas Ormiston, were waiting for them. Introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged as a servant took round a tray of goblets of sweet white wine and a plate of figs dried and sugared. As they all sat around the small table in the far corner of the solar, Alexander seized the initiative.\n\n'Sir Oswald, you are a descendant of the Mortimers, of the lord who first challenged and destroyed the Strigoi?'\n\nSir Oswald shuffled his feet and stared down to hide his embarrassment.\n\n'It's something I don't like to mention,' he muttered. 'My mother was the last of the Mortimers and she was only too pleased to take my father's name.'\n\n'Don't be too hard on Sir Oswald,' the proctor intervened. 'Were you also told, master clerk, that I, too, am a relative of the Mortimers?' He grinned sideways at the sheriff. 'Albeit the link is a weak one.'\n\nDame Edith just sat listening attentively, her head slightly cocked to one side. Alexander glanced at her in puzzlement. She was old and yet young, distant even holy. She could talk like a trooper but had a sharp practical mind. Father Andrew was right, she could see better than even the most sharp-eyed. The exorcist turned to Alexander and smiled. The clerk noticed how white and even her teeth were.\n\n'I am listening, master clerk, and I am fascinated. Tell me, Sir Oswald, did your family have any legends about the Strigoi?'\n\nBeauchamp shrugged. 'Nothing was written down,' he replied slowly. 'Just legends and folklore passed by mouth from one generation to the next. Sir Hugo was seen as a great champion of both Crown and Church.'\n\n'Where is he buried?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'He was of Norman blood and owned lands on both sides of the Channel. He lies buried under the high altar at Caen in Normandy.'\n\nDame Edith whispered something under her breath. Alexander was sure it was 'Then at least he's safe'.\n\n'What other legends were passed down?' Dame Edith abruptly asked.\n\nSir Oswald leaned his elbows on the chair and stared up at the heavy-beamed roof, his embarrassment apparent to all.\n\n'There wasn't much,' he replied haltingly. 'More like a nightmare you can only faintly remember. Oh, we knew about the legends of the Strigoi and Hugo's destruction of his tower. Sometimes the stories were just rejected as legends but at other times there was a feeling of unease that the Strigoi curse might return to take its vengeance.'\n\n'There is one story.' The proctor spoke up, looking quizzically at his distant kinsman. 'You remember, Sir Oswald?'\n\n'Oh, yes!' The sheriff closed his eyes, chewing his lip as he tried to remember. 'An old saying in the Mortimer family,' he murmured. 'Ah, I remember now, that's how it goes.' He opened his eyes. 'Mortimer, beware when the devil from the old keep comes to the rock near the new keep!' He shrugged. 'That's it!'\n\n'What does it mean?' Alexander asked.\n\nThe sheriff shrugged. 'God knows, I'd tell you if I did.'\n\nThe exorcist had now turned in the direction of the proctor as if studying him intently.\n\n'You, sir, you are a Doctor of Theology?'\n\n'Yes, domina.'\n\n'Skilled in philosophy and logic?'\n\nOrmiston laughed like a young boy. 'Well, so they say. I have those who praise me and others who criticize me. There is a great deal of learning at Oxford but very little charity. Why do you ask?'\n\nNow the exorcist smiled. 'You must find it hard to believe in devils and Strigoi, people who shift their shape and feast on human blood.'\n\nOrmiston shook his head. 'When I was younger, yes,' he replied slowly. 'But I believe in the powers of darkness. Go out into the countryside, domina, you'll find those going to church on Sunday who, the night before, have danced in moonlit glades offering sacrifice to Cernunnos, the horned god.' Ormiston shifted on his seat. 'Three years ago, in this very city, I presided at the trial of a student who had fashioned an image of a rival from the fat of a hanged man then scored it with pins.'\n\n'Such things are common,' Alexander jibed.\n\nOrmiston looked bleakly at the clerk.\n\n'Oh, no, he wasn't tried for that. What the court wanted to know was why the image's legs were broken on the very morning, master clerk, when his rival's legs were crushed by a cart in Carfax.'\n\nThe proctor leaned forward. He pushed his face towards the exorcist as if he believed she could really see from behind her blindfold.\n\n'Oh, I believe in evil, Dame Edith. Satan can walk the alleys of Oxford as he can any moonlit glade.'\n\nDame Edith now looked straight at Beauchamp.\n\n'Do you have doubts, Sir Oswald?'\n\nThe sheriff squirmed in embarrassment. 'Dame Edith, I am an officer of the crown. I hunt down outlaws. I trap felons and hang murderers. I don't know what you mean by Strigoi, devil-worshippers.' His hands flailed out. 'To me they are just filthy murderers.'\n\nAlexander stared obliquely at the exorcist. He, too, had the same doubts as the sheriff and was intrigued that the knight, his more practical companion, had not questioned what the exorcist had told them the previous evening.\n\n'All I can say,' Dame Edith replied, 'is that we do deal with murderers but, whether you believe it or not, they act on the authority of higher, darker powers. They believe that human sacrifice and the drinking of human blood strengthens their cause. These are the Strigoi, shape-shifters, what others would call vampires.'\n\nSir Oswald got to his feet.\n\n'Well, whatever they are,' he muttered, 'they have killed again. You'd best come and see.'\n\nAnd, taking two of the sconce torches from the wall, he gave one to Sir Godfrey and, with Dame Edith resting on Alexander's arm, he led them out of the solar down a narrow, spiral staircase and into the cellars of the castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "The sheriff dismissed the two soldiers on guard outside the rusting dungeon door. He inserted a key and led them into the high-ceilinged, fetid cell. The place had been swept clean; two oblong boxes lay next to each other on the flag-stoned floor. Dame Edith whimpered and stayed near the door; Alexander caught her sense of dread. The sheriff, turning his face away, pulled back the lids of the two makeshift coffins. The human remains in each were disgusting. Ormiston immediately left the cell. Alexander closed his eyes, trying hard to control his stomach. Sir Godfrey pushed forward and stared down. The girl's throat looked as if it had been bitten out, her body drained of every drop of blood. She looked grey and ghastly in the flickering torch-light. The man had been mutilated beyond belief; his throat, too, had been slit but his body bore strange marks, crude carvings in the flesh, as if someone had tried to sculpt the antlers of a deer on his chest and arms.\n\n'We've seen enough,' Sir Oswald muttered. 'For God's sake, man!'\n\nSir Godfrey simply stared. He'd seen worse in the ditches and battlefields of Normandy but this was different. He had no difficulty in accepting what Dame Edith had said. He'd met evil before, in all its forms, but this was something new \u2013 a purposeful, deliberate malice, murder carried out in the name of some ancient rite.\n\n'Close them up!' Sir Godfrey ordered. He stared at Alexander's white face. 'Not here,' he said. 'We can't talk here.'\n\nSir Oswald had the dungeon locked and took them back to the solar, where he testily ordered a servant to fill their goblets.\n\nOrmiston and Alexander looked as if they wished to retch. Sir Oswald's hand shook as he handed out the wine cups. Dame Edith sat as if carved out of stone, her lips, thin and bloodless, pressed tightly together.\n\n'What makes you think the two we have just seen were murdered like the rest?' Alexander asked. 'I take it they were not found in the city?'\n\n'No,' the sheriff replied, 'in the woods to the north. The girl was found near a ford. The same party of hunters discovered the soldier's body placed like an animal's carcass in the branches of an oak tree.'\n\n'Is there anything special about the places where they were found?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'The ford is used by many people, but the glade? Well, there are legends that it was once used by pagan priests, long before the Romans came.'\n\n'So, how did the hunters find it?'\n\n'They didn't, their dogs did. They caught the smell of blood and led them straight to it.'\n\n'You say he was a soldier,' Alexander commented. 'The man was as naked as the day he was born. Did you know him, Sir Oswald?'\n\n'Yes, I did,' the sheriff replied, leaning back in his chair, 'or, at least, I think I did. He came to the castle here and gave his name as Reginald Bouilang. He was wandering the countryside, offering his sword to the highest bidder. He claimed to have served in the retinue of some great lord in France. I offered him a bed and the normal wage of a serjeant and he accepted.' Beauchamp shrugged and looked at the knight. 'You know the sort, Sir Godfrey? The roads and lanes are full of them. They go from castle to castle offering their services. He seemed able enough, quiet and industrious. He mingled with the rest of the garrison as if he had been born here and they never gave him a second thought. Yesterday he was sent to one of the millers in the local village to find the price of corn and flour.'\n\n'You said you thought you knew him?' Sir Godfrey intervened.\n\n'Yes, yes, I did.' The sheriff plucked a small scroll of parchment from his wallet. 'At about the same time as his corpse was brought back here with that of the girl, I received this proclamation from the sheriff of London about an outlaw, Jean Mabille.' He waved the parchment. 'According to this Mabille was a serjeant in the Hospitaller order based at Clerkenwell just outside London. He apparently absconded from there with a purse of gold and, more importantly, a precious reliquary containing a piece of the true cross. The description of Mabille fits that of the dead Bouilang.'\n\nSir Godfrey sighed and slumped back in his chair.\n\n'I suppose you've searched the man's possessions?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Yes, yes, I have and it didn't take long. A battered saddle bag full of bric-\u00e0-brac, a change of clothing, two stilettos and an empty purse \u2013 but no gold or reliquary.'\n\n'Could he have hidden them anywhere?'\n\nSir Oswald shook his head. 'I have thought of that. No one saw the dead man act suspiciously and I have searched the castle myself. I know every brick of this place. He could have buried them anywhere: in a field or beneath some tree in the forest.' The sheriff threw the piece of parchment on the table. 'I'll write back and tell them that Ivlabille's dead and the gold and reliquary have disappeared.'\n\n'Wait! Wait!' Dame Edith raised one white hand. She leaned forward. 'We have two deaths here. The girl was taken near a ford. Has that ever happened before, Sir Oswald?'\n\n'No, never. All the deaths have occurred within the city.'\n\n'But the soldier,' Dame Edith continued, 'was not only murdered outside the city but used as a victim in some sort of sacrifice.' She paused, lacing her fingers together.\n\n'What are you implying, Dame Edith?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Oh, clerk, use your logic. First, none of these murders has occurred beyond the city walls and, yet, now we have two. Secondly, a soldier who has stolen a precious relic \u2013 and I suspect the relic is genuine, not one of those traded by pardoners up and down the kingdom \u2013 is killed in the same wood as the girl. Thirdly, he was a fighting man, he would not have given up his life cheaply. Ergo, I believe the soldier was ambushed; these Strigoi, these murderers, were waiting for him. The poor girl was just unfortunate. She wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.'\n\n'Do you think the soldier was killed for the reliquary?'\n\nDame Edith laughed sourly and shook her head.\n\n'These Strigoi would be frightened of such a relic, as they are of the sacrament. Oh no, if the soldier had had it on his person he would have been safe. They would never have approached him. I think that, somehow or other, this soldier, and the reliquary he carried, caused grave inconvenience and distress to these murderers and they punished him with death.' She shook her head. 'I don't know why, how or when. But we should find out where the poor man hid the reliquary and that might lead us to his murderers. Sir Oswald, do you have any clue?'\n\n'One thing,' the sheriff replied. 'Mabille slept in the guard house with a number of others. As I said, his possessions were few and I have been through them. But, above his pallet bed, he had scrawled some words on the wall as if to remind himself. \"Le chevalier outre mer\", the knight from across the sea.' Sir Oswald shrugged. 'But, what it means is a mystery. Now...'\n\nHe rose, went to the door and whispered to the captain of the guard and then came back.\n\n'I have one final thing to show you,' he declared, 'the imprisoned clerk, a Brabanter called Lascalle. He was the student found near the house when those women were massacred. He was covered in blood but protests that all he is guilty of was drinking too much ale in the Sparrow's Heart tavern.'\n\n'And what do you think, Sir Oswald?' the knight asked.\n\n'I have been to Lascalle's hall,' the proctor interrupted. 'He is not the most industrious scholar in Oxford. He is a toper, a roaring boy who neglects his studies and is more often drunk than he is sober. He hails from Dordrecht and enjoys the patronage of one of the queen's knights, but he lives a conventional life, nothing remarkable.'\n\n'He should hang!' Sir Oswald snapped. 'He cannot remember anything. He was found near the house, his dagger was missing and he was covered in blood.'\n\n'Sir Oswald, as sheriff you have no authority over him,' the proctor insisted. 'He should either be tried by the university or by the Church. He is a clerk in minor orders.'\n\nThe sheriff made a rude noise with his mouth but Alexander could see he was not prepared to push matters further. In any case, the conversation ended when the door was flung open and two guards pushed the hapless Lascalle, his ankles and wrists loaded down with chains, into the room.\n\nHe was not a pretty sight. His florid, wart-covered face was unshaven and dirty, his eyes were red-rimmed through lack of sleep and his hair, smeared with mud, was dishevelled and spiky. His tattered gown still carried blood-stains mingled with his own vomit and the dirt of much of the dungeon he had lain in. He stared speechlessly at the sheriff's grim face and fell to his knees, arms clasped, as he whimpered for mercy in a patois Alexander found difficult to understand.\n\n'You can speak English!' Ormiston insisted. 'Master Lascalle, you stand accused of the most horrible murders.'\n\n'Innocent I am!' the clerk wailed. 'Innocent I am! I will take any oath! I will purge my innocence!'\n\nAlexander got up, stood over the prisoner and grasped him by the elbow.\n\n'Courage!' he whispered. 'For God's sake, man, get on your feet and answer the questions.'\n\n'This is my court!' the sheriff snapped.\n\n'No, it is not,' Sir Godfrey quietly intervened. 'We hold the king's commission in this matter.'\n\nWhen Lascalle heard this he began to shake and would have fallen on his knees again if Alexander, wrinkling his nose at the foul stench of the man's body, hadn't held him firmly by the arm. Sir Godfrey got to his feet and poked Lascalle in the chest.\n\n'I will listen to you,' he said softly. 'You will tell me the truth and, at the end, if I believe you are innocent, you might walk from this castle a free man. If you lie? Well, I couldn't care if you were related to all the cardinals in Rome, you'll hang from the castle walls.' He seized the man's unshaven chin between his fingers and squeezed it gently. 'Now, the truth!'\n\nLascalle drew in a deep breath. 'Two nights ago, I went to the Sparrow's Heart tavern. There's a servant wench there, Roseanna, who likes young students.' Lascalle licked his lips. 'Free with her favours she is. But that night she would have nothing to do with me \u2013 one of your young lords was passing through Oxford. So I sat by myself and began to drink. I was joined by another student, very well dressed he was, with a purse full of silver, and one pot of ale followed another. I remember going outside, vomiting in the cesspit and coming back for more.' His voice faltered.\n\n'And then what?'\n\n'The next minute I was being kicked in my ribs by the watch, dragged to my feet, my hands bound. I was slung into the Bocardo and accused of some murder. God knows why! My dagger's gone.' Lascalle blinked and stared round. 'I never killed anyone,' he whimpered. 'As God is my witness, I don't know where this blood came from!'\n\n'Who was this student, your drinking partner?' the exorcist gently asked.\n\nLascalle stared at her. If that hawk-faced knight frightened him, this woman with her bound eyes, quiet face and snow-white hair terrified him out of his wits.\n\n'What is all this?' he wailed. He stared beseechingly at the proctor. 'Who are these people? Why should I be questioned by the king's commissioners?'\n\nSir Godfrey tapped him gently on the cheek.\n\n'Just answer the questions,' he persisted.\n\n'I don't know the student. He was short, russet-haired, clean-shaven.'\n\n'Which could be said of a thousand other students,' Alexander remarked dryly.\n\n'Well,' Sir Oswald barked, 'shall we hang him?'\n\n'Wait!' Dame Edith got up and, without any help, went and stood in front of the prisoner and touched his face. 'Sir Oswald,' she said, 'you have a chapel here?'\n\n'Of course!'\n\n'And the blessed sacrament is kept there?'\n\n'Of course!'\n\n'Tell your chaplain to bring a host.'\n\nSir Oswald was about to protest, but Sir Godfrey nodded, so he hurried off.\n\nThe group in the solar remained silent. Lascalle, moving now and again, looked everywhere except at this strange, blindfolded woman. She stood like a statue, not even flinching as Lascalle moved his arms and legs in gusts of stale sweat. At last Sir Oswald returned, followed by a priest, a cope across his shoulders, in his hands a small pyx.\n\n'Now, Lascalle,' Dame Edith said, 'are you prepared to take the sacrament and swear on it that you are innocent?'\n\nThe young clerk nodded. The priest approached, opened the pyx and held up the small, white wafer.\n\n'Ecce Corpus Christi,' he intoned. 'Behold the body of Christ.'\n\nLascalle closed his eyes, head back, and opened his mouth. The priest had almost laid the wafer on his tongue.\n\n'Stop!' Dame Edith seized the priest's wrist. 'I am sorry, Father, I meant no blasphemy. But Lascalle here is not perhaps in a proper state to receive the sacrament.'\n\nThe priest put the host back in the pyx, covered it with the end of his cope and stood back. Sir Oswald whispered that he could go.\n\n'Why did you do all that?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nDame Edith tapped the manacles around Lascalle's wrists.\n\n'He's no Strigoi,' she murmured, 'nor a murderer. Sir Oswald, let him bathe and change, give him a hot meal for charity's sake and let him go.'\n\nSir Godfrey concurred with this and Lascalle, gabbling his thanks and vowing he would light a thousand candles for Dame Edith, was hustled out of the chamber.\n\n'If he was one of those we are hunting,' Dame Edith explained before anyone could question her further, 'he could not have taken that sacrament. Believe me, sirs, you would have seen a man in a frenzy such as you've never witnessed before. Anything holy, really powerful, weakens their strength.'\n\n'I don't believe it,' Ormiston murmured.\n\nDame Edith laughed. 'Don't you? Tell me, if you had committed some terrible crime could you take the oath and the sacrament and still say you were innocent?' She shook her head and walked back to the chair. 'Or have you seen Christians bait Jews with a piece of pork? Or Christians being forced to renounce the cross of Christ? No, no,' she whispered, tapping the side of her head, 'in here, according to your state, angels or demons work.'\n\n'What are we to do?' the sheriff snapped. 'Order everyone in Oxford to take the sacrament publicly?'\n\nThe exorcist gazed in his direction. 'It may well come to that, Sir Oswald. Believe me, when you consider what we face, it may well come to that.'\n\nA short while later Sir Godfrey and Alexander, with Dame Edith comfortably ensconced in the saddle of her palfrey, left Oxford castle. They went through the Great Bailey and then into Newington Hall Street. Outside Trillok's inn, where the street widened, Sir Godfrey stopped.\n\n'We could talk about what we've just seen,' he murmured. He waved a hand at the students, scholars and tradespeople pushing by him. 'But God knows who could be listening. So where to now, eh?'\n\nAlexander felt tired and rubbed the side of his face. He would like to go back to the convent of St Anne's, not just for some food, refreshment and rest, but to see the lady Emily. As Sir Godfrey solicitously asked the exorcist if there was anything she needed, Alexander stared at the half-timbered walls of St Mary's College farther down the street. The building brought back memories of his own hall at Cambridge and his exuberant, happy days there.\n\nI do not like this business, he thought to himself, God be my witness, I don't! He wistfully recalled his days in the royal chancery, riding around London, meeting friends at a riverside tavern, being party to important decisions, enjoying the power of being so close to the high and mighty in the kingdom. He felt homesick for his tidy chambers above a shop near St Paul's, his books, his manuscripts, the easy pace and routine of his life \u2013 mass in the morning, breakfast in one of the cookshops, a hard but rewarding day drafting letters or sealing documents. In the evening he would visit friends, perhaps take a barge down river to one of the palaces where they could use their status as clerks to dine and feast at their own leisure. Or, if the mood took him, join the choir at St Paul's in their polished wooden stalls as they sang Salve Regina. A beggar whining for alms caught his attention. The man's face was covered in rotting sores, he limped along the side of the houses, using a crude staff as an awkward replacement for his leg, which had been sheered off just under the knee. The beggar's face was raw with pain, he whimpered for alms, one skeletal hand thrust forward. Alexander walked over and tossed a penny at the man.\n\n'Is that all?' the beggar asked spitefully.\n\nAlexander gave him another coin and the man hopped off without a thank-you or a backward glance.\n\nIt's all dirt, Alexander thought, horrible murders, devil-worshippers, the world's gone mad.\n\n'Alexander!'\n\nThe clerk started and gazed around. Sir Godfrey, holding the reins of their horses, was staring at him strangely.\n\n'Alexander, are you well?'\n\nDon't you care? Alexander thought, gazing at the knight's handsome but hard face. Aren't you frightened? Don't you have a home, loved ones?\n\nThe knight stared grimly back. 'Alexander McBain, have you lost your wits? We have to move on. Dame Edith says we should visit Stapleton Hall. The students who disappeared from there...' The knight angrily waved Alexander over. 'Come on!' he rasped. 'You are daydreaming like some milkmaid!'\n\nThe clerk bit back his angry reply. The exorcist leaned down from her palfrey and gently tousled his hair, a soft warm caress like a mother's.\n\n'Don't be angry, Alexander,' Dame Edith murmured. 'We are all tired. We are all frightened and the sooner this business is done the sooner we can go home!'\n\nAlexander nodded and grasped the reins of her palfrey. With Sir Godfrey leading, they entered Cheyne Lane, turned left at Peter Hall and went down towards Stapleton. They entered the hall by a side entrance. A porter called grooms to stable their horses, then took them across the grassy quadrangle, round by the chapel and library, to the provost's chambers in Palmer's Tower. No one was there. A servant told them the provost was in the library, so they were taken farther up the narrow, wooden stairs. The day had become overcast, the clouds threatening rain, so the long library chamber had been lit by candles placed on the rim of a wheel and hoisted up by pulleys. A table, with benches on either side, ran down the centre of the chamber. The walls were lined with cupboards, their doors open to show books, bound in leather and dark-coloured vellum, securely held in place by stout chains. The servant left them there, closing the door behind them. Dame Edith sat on a stool, Sir Godfrey standing beside her, as Alexander walked down the dusty, eerie chamber.\n\n'You like our library?'\n\nAlexander's heart skipped a beat as a dark, hooded figure shuffled out from the shadows. A claw-like hand pulled back the hood, revealing iron-grey hair swept back from a high, domed forehead, the muddy skin of a face enlivened by green eyes and with a sharp, bird-like nose above thin, bloodless lips. The man stretched out his hand.\n\n'Thomas Wakeham,' he announced, 'provost and treasurer of Stapleton Hall.'\n\nAlexander forced a smile and introduced himself and his companions. The provost stared curiously at Dame Edith. He dismissed Sir Godfrey with a flicker of contempt, as if any man who bore arms was beneath his notice, and turned his back on the knight, a sour smile on his face.\n\n'Master McBain, we expected you. Proctor Ormiston explained why you were coming. You,' he flickered a glance over his shoulder, 'and your companions.'\n\nSir Godfrey patted Dame Edith's hand. 'Stay quiet,' he murmured.\n\n'I need no second bidding,' she whispered back.\n\nSir Godfrey strode across the library floor and gently pushed Wakeham round.\n\n'Yes, you should have been expecting us. I bear the king's commission.'\n\nWakeham stepped back, some of the arrogance draining from his face.\n\n'And our questions are simple,' Sir Godfrey continued. 'A number of scholars who have lived and studied at this hall have disappeared without explanation or trace. Why?'\n\n'I don't know,' Wakeham replied petulantly. 'We have conducted our own searches. We sought the advice of both the sheriff and the proctor.' He wriggled his bony shoulders. 'They have gone.'\n\nSir Godfrey was sure the man was about to turn his back on him again.\n\n'Master Wakeham!' he exclaimed, 'I appreciate you are busy, but so am I. We take our authority from the king, so you will stand and answer our questions!'\n\nWakeham looked slyly at Alexander, licked his lips and decided discretion was the better part of valour. He pushed his bottom up against a table and folded his arms.\n\n'Yes, sir, scholars from this hall have disappeared. We have found no trace of them but there was a connection between them. They belonged to a secret society who called themselves the Luminosi \u2013 the Enlightened Ones,' he translated patronizingly. He waved bony fingers at Alexander. 'As Master McBain knows, Oxford and Cambridge are riddled with such societies. Young men in pursuit of secret knowledge: the philosopher's stone, the mysterious alchemy, the cabbalistic writings of men like Roger Bacon. I could name at least thirty such societies in both universities at the present time.' He pushed his bottom farther on the table. 'I am correct am I not, Master McBain?'\n\n'Aye, you are,' Alexander grinned. 'When I was at Cambridge I belonged to a group called the Scelerati, or the Sinners. We were in pursuit of a different type of knowledge.'\n\n'Surely,' Sir Godfrey persisted, 'members of this group, friends of the missing students, still study here.'\n\n'I wish you were correct,' Wakeham replied. 'But, no, they were a small, self-contained group, quite isolated. They attended lectures in the schools, disputations here in the hall. They did not roister or get drunk, so they were left alone.'\n\n'And their belongings?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Nothing much,' Wakeham replied, 'quills, the occasional book, clothing, rosary beads. And all these have now been sent back to their families.'\n\n'Did you find anything remarkable?'\n\n'Yes, I did. Each had letters, small strips of vellum issued by the sheriff and by Proctor Ormiston. The one from the sheriff allowed them passes out of the city gates after curfew.'\n\n'And the one from Proctor Ormiston?'\n\n'Licence to study at the university library in the church of St Mary.'\n\nSir Godfrey glanced at Alexander.\n\n'Strange.' Dame Edith spoke up abruptly. 'Neither the sheriff nor the proctor told us this.'\n\n'Well,' Wakeham clutched the voluminous sleeves of his gown. 'I can tell you no more, sirs.' He stood, lips pursed.\n\nSir Godfrey and Alexander thanked him as courteously as they could, helped Dame Edith to her feet, walked out of the library and across the wet grass towards the main gate. The sky had grown darker, the day was drawing on. A cold biting wind stung their faces and chilled their fingers as they stamped their feet, waiting for the porter to bring out their horses.\n\n'Are all scholars so welcoming?' Sir Godfrey grumbled. 'By the rood, Alexander, you'd think we were the Inquisition!'\n\n'To men like Wakeham you are,' Dame Edith replied tartly. 'This is Oxford, sir knight, where they do not take kindly to outside interference.'\n\nGrooms brought their horses and they went out through the gateway into the street. They were about to move off when the tousle-haired porter who had taken them to Palmer's Tower suddenly slipped through the gate and caught the hem of Alexander's coat.\n\n'Please!' he hissed, his red-rimmed eyes large and tearful. 'Those scholars who disappeared. I was their servant. I know nothing except this...'\n\n'Except what?' Alexander asked, stepping closer.\n\n'Go to the Mitre tavern. Ask for a servant girl there, Laetitia. She knew the Brabanter. She may know more.'\n\nAnd, before Alexander could question him further, the man turned and fled back into the hall.\n\n'Strange upon strange,' Sir Godfrey commented, leading them off down the darkened Turl. 'The Mitre is in Carfax, isn't it?' He looked over his shoulder at Alexander.\n\nThe clerk nodded.\n\n'Well, we'll go there. And let's hope it doesn't rain.'\n\nThey forced their way up the street, unaware of the cowled figure staring down at them from the top casement of one of the overhanging houses. The man pushed open the rickety, wooden window, covered with thin greased parchment. He strained his neck to glimpse the two men, Dame Edith riding behind them, making their way through the evening crowd towards the High Street. The man's eyes, dark as bat's wings, were cold and hard. He watched, as a hunting snake would eye its quarry, his lips pressed close together, humming the tune of a jig he had heard in one of the taverns.\n\n'They are moving on,' he murmured to a second cowled figure seated on a stool in the far corner of the empty, musty room. 'They have talked to Wakeham, but he's so ignorant and arrogant he'll have told them nothing. But the servant, he may have been useful. Shall we kill him?'\n\n'No,' the other replied gently. 'Why pursue minnows when we have such fat pike in the pond?'\n\n'Are they dangerous?' the figure at the window asked.\n\n'Yes, they are. The knight is a killer, one of the king's best swordsmen. He is ruthless, with a sense of duty found in few others.'\n\n'And McBain?'\n\n'A court fop, a dandy. Or so he pretends. But his brain is razor-sharp. He's like the knight but, perhaps, lacks his courage.'\n\nThe man closed the window and stared across at his black-masked master. 'It's the woman, isn't it?'\n\nThe seated man nodded.\n\n'A canting, dangerous bitch!' he spat out. 'Sooner or later, and it will be sooner rather than later, she'll smell something wrong \u2013 the relic, the soldier's death. She'll marry them together.'\n\n'What shall we do?'\n\nThe master sucked in his breath through the slits of his mask.\n\n'Our leader will soon join us. So, for a while, let's avoid them. If they keep coming on, we'll kill them all!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "The taproom of the Mitre was thronged with students and tradesmen. The rushes underfoot had turned to a muddy mess as sweating scullions and serving girls brought platters of red meat from the kitchens and hot pies from a nearby cookshop. Potboys rushed around serving jugs, blackjacks and flagons of frothing ale or deep-bowled cups of wine. In one corner five scholars practised a carol. Alexander smiled when he listened to the words for, though the song was in Latin, the scholars were really singing a salacious ditty about the mayor of Oxford's daughter with wide generalizations about the morals of Oxford women. Thankfully, the traders seated around didn't realize the insults the grinning scholars were bellowing out; they were intent on filling their bellies and discussing the day's trade. Beggars hopped around \u2013 Alexander glimpsed the one he had seen earlier in the day. Two tired-looking whores touted for business, but their faces were so raddled with paint and their fixed grins showed such blackened teeth that they would find little custom that night. Alexander smiled at them and tossed each a coin. They grasped the coins without a word of thanks and fought their way to the great tuns of beer where the landlord stood taking orders for the strips of beef roasting behind him in the kitchen. Jostled on every side, Dame Edith between them, Alexander could see Sir Godfrey was fast losing his temper \u2013 his hand was already on his sword. The clerk grabbed one of the serving wenches.\n\n'Laetitia?' he bawled in her face.\n\nThe girl shook her head.\n\n'Not here yet!' she yelled back. 'Not till the bell sounds for vespers. She has other things to do.'\n\n'Oh, for the love of God!' Godfrey shouted at Alexander above the hubbub. 'Hire a chamber.'\n\nAlexander did and the sweaty, greasy-aproned landlord led them up some rather shaky wooden stairs to a small, white-washed chamber above the taproom. It was a bare, gaunt room, and none too clean, but at least they were quiet and the raucous noise of the taproom merely a constant hum. They ordered ale, bread and some dried, cooked meat with a dish of onions. Dame Edith picked at her food, but Sir Godfrey and Alexander ate with gusto.\n\n'There's nothing like tramping the streets of Oxford,' Sir Godfrey said sourly, 'to give a man an appetite.'\n\n'But was it worth it?' Alexander asked. 'Dame Edith, are you tired?'\n\n'Confused,' she smiled, 'very confused. So, let's see, master clerk, what we do know. First, there are legends that hundreds of years ago a Strigoi leader built a keep and terrorized the countryside. He and his coven were destroyed by Sir Hugo Mortimer, an ancestor of our good sheriff Sir Oswald Beauchamp. Moreover, if we believe what we heard this morning, Proctor Ormiston has some Mortimer blood in him as well. Secondly, the Strigoi leader seems to have reappeared, formed a coven and perpetrated terrible murders here in the city. What else?'\n\n'There are the students,' Sir Godfrey remarked, taking the tankard away from his lips.\n\n'Ah, yes, thirdly, a group of students from Stapleton Hall, who call themselves the Luminosi, disappear without trace. No one ever discovers any sign of them. What's even stranger,' Dame Edith continued, 'is that this group vanished one by one but none of their group lodged any objection or complaint with the authorities.'\n\n'We are not too sure of that,' Sir Godfrey intervened. 'Provost Wakeham was hardly helpful and Ormiston and Beauchamp could have been more forthcoming. Surely they thought it was strange that all the students who disappeared applied for licences to avoid the curfew and visit the university library? I intend to question them on that.' He grinned his apology. 'But, Dame Edith, you were saying?'\n\n'Fourthly,' the exorcist continued, 'these killers strike at night. They can massacre an entire household without rousing the neighbourhood or being detected by the watch and, according to appearances, it looks as if they were invited. Master McBain, who would you invite into your lodgings at the dead of night?'\n\n'A nun!'\n\nDame Edith laughed. 'But what would she or her ilk be doing in the narrow lanes of Oxford after the curfew?'\n\n'An official,' Sir Godfrey suggested. 'A person with a warrant. Someone who had every right to enter a house.'\n\n'Perhaps,' Dame Edith replied. 'But what else do we know?'\n\n'Well, fifthly,' Alexander said, 'we have the strange business at the Trinitarian friary. We have yet to visit there.'\n\n'Yes, we should,' Dame Edith murmured. 'There is the matter of abbot Samson's sudden mysterious death and we must not forget that the friary is built over the site of the Strigoi's keep.'\n\n'Sixthly,' Sir Godfrey added, 'we have the strange case of the Hospitaller fugitive. Why was he killed? Deliberately ambushed in those woods outside the city? Where did he hide his famous relic? And what do the words \"Le chevalier outr\u00e9 mere\" mean?'\n\n'Hush!' Dame Edith sat up straight. She felt her heart skip a beat, a tingle of fear shivered the nape of her neck.\n\n'Dame Edith, what's the matter?'\n\nThe woman trembled and put her arms across her chest. She felt her throat constrict and her mouth went dry.\n\n'I heard a sound.' She grasped Alexander's wrist. 'Master McBain, indulge an old woman, look outside!'\n\nAlexander stared at the wooden shutters, straining his ears for any noise above the rumble from the taproom below.\n\n'There's nothing,' he whispered. 'The wind's picking up, that's all.'\n\nSir Godfrey got up and strode to the window. He opened the shutters and stared down at the dirty, cobbled street in front of the tavern. He glimpsed the light peeping from the half-open door and the huge, cracked sign creaking gently on its chains. He glanced to the left and right. The cold breeze caught his face, ruffling his hair.\n\n'Nothing there,' he announced, but he, too, was apprehensive. He felt the same flutter of excitement in his stomach, the same tension in his neck and shoulders, that he had experienced in France when he had gone out at night to spy out the position of the French and knew their scouts were hunting him in the darkness. He looked down again. Two students rounded the corner, drunkenly singing a song. They stopped and waved up at him. Sir Godfrey sighed and closed the shutters. In the street below the two scholars quickly sobered up and slipped into the darkness, while above, on the sloping tavern roof, the black-cowled figure smiled at his narrow escape. He padded softly along the ledge and, skilfully as any cat, jumped the gap on to the roof of the adjoining house.\n\nInside the chamber Dame Edith relaxed.\n\n'Whatever it was,' she whispered, 'it's gone.'\n\n'Tell me, domina,' Alexander said, 'you are a woman of considerable spiritual power. You see with your soul?'\n\n'No, Alexander,' she replied, 'that's only what people say. I am just a hair on God's hand. What I do, I do for him.'\n\nAlexander grimaced. 'What I am asking,' he continued haltingly, 'is that you claim these Strigoi are flesh and blood?'\n\nThe exorcist nodded.\n\n'But they can be weakened by powerful relics, killed by the sword and destroyed by fire?'\n\n'Yes, it must be fire,' she said. 'Remember, Alexander, what I have told you. If you kill them, their spirits simply enter their companions' bodies and make them stronger. They must be plucked up like dead twigs and thrust into the heart of a fire. But, I'm sorry, you have another question?'\n\n'Yes, and I'll put it bluntly. Could you sense one of these Strigoi? Could you, moving amongst a crowd, stop and recognize one?'\n\n'No, they are well disguised but, once they are discovered, perhaps I could. I remember once,' she continued, 'being in a town in France, I forget its name. A convicted murderer was being led across the town square to be executed at the same time as I passed. I experienced a deep terror, so violent I swooned.'\n\n'Are you saying,' Sir Godfrey asked curiously, 'that these Strigoi wander throughout Europe?'\n\n'Oh, yes, Sir Godfrey, there are different types of diabolical possession and this is the worst. I am sure the malefactor who died in that square was a Strigoi. Sometimes they exist by themselves, although they are more powerful if they group into a coven under a master. You see, one by himself can be discovered, but a group, cunningly led, masquerading under some pleasant guise, protecting each other, can live undetected for years.' Dame Edith sighed and rubbed her hands together. 'Yes, sometimes I can sense the malevolence of the Strigoi, but first they must reveal themselves.' She smiled. 'I have no secret power. Any man of goodwill would become uneasy in their presence.' She paused at a loud knock on the door and the red-faced taverner waddled in, clutching a thin-faced girl by the wrist.\n\n'This is Laetitia,' he announced. 'But she can't stay up here talking for long.' He winked at Sir Godfrey. 'My, it's a bit cold, who has had the shutters open?'\n\nSir Godfrey pointed to the big, thick, tallow candle. 'I did. That creates a rather nasty stench.'\n\n'What's the matter with it?' the taverner asked. 'It's good pig fat.' He gestured towards the casement window at the far end of the room, unshuttered but sheeted in small squares of glass. 'There's not many taverns can boast glass windows. You didn't try to open that one, did you?'\n\nSir Godfrey wearily shook his head.\n\n'Good!' the taverner grumbled, 'because it might fall out.'\n\nAlexander took a coin from his purse and, smiling, pressed it into the taverner's hand. 'Thank you, my host,' he said. 'Leave Laetitia here.' His smile widened as he looked at Laetitia's thin, anxious face. 'Don't worry,' he told her gently. He pulled a stool across.\n\nThe taverner clumped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Laetitia sat and stared; the clerk looked friendly but she was frightened of the grim-faced knight and the strange old woman with her white hair and the bandage around her eyes.\n\n'What do you want?' Laetitia blinked furiously to hide her fear.\n\nAlexander touched her hand gently. 'Just a few questions.'\n\n'I've done nothing wrong,' she protested. 'I'm a good girl. I work hard.'\n\n'What about the Brabanter?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Oh, he's gone.'\n\n'We know that,' Alexander persisted gently, 'but he was sweet on you.'\n\nThe girl pulled at a loose thread on her thin smock then gently patted her greasy brown hair.\n\n'He bought me trinkets,' she said shyly. She looked up under her eyelashes. 'Do you want to know where he's gone?' She shook her head. 'I don't know.'\n\n'No. We want to know about his companions. They called themselves the Luminosi. Wasn't Eudo upset when they disappeared?'\n\n'Oh, no. He said that they had been sent to different parts of the country on some mysterious secret errand. He claimed he might have to go too.'\n\n'Who was sending them?'\n\n'Oh, someone they called the Gar...'\n\n'The guard?'\n\n'No, something like that, Gardia?'\n\n'Guardian?' Dame Edith suggested softly.\n\n'Yes, that's it!' The girl clapped her hands as if she had solved a word game. 'The Guardian was sending them.'\n\n'And who was the Guardian?'\n\nLaetitia licked her lips and rammed her hands in her lap. 'I am a poor girl,' she added archly.\n\nAlexander pressed a coin into her fingers. The girl looked up. She glimpsed the white face pressed against the casement window behind her three interrogators. She didn't blink, she just stared; the face was white, the eyes large dark pools of murderous malice. A finger came up to the face's lips as a sign for silence. Laetitia's jaw dropped. She blinked and, when she looked again, the face had disappeared. Dame Edith felt a thudding in her head. She stared in the direction of the window.\n\n'What is it?' she exclaimed, grasping Alexander's wrist.\n\nShe felt a pang of terror as Laetitia jumped up, sending the stool behind her crashing to the floor.\n\n'I've got to go!' the girl gabbled. 'I have to go down now!'\n\nAlexander, caught between Dame Edith's reaction and the girl's sudden outburst, stared at Sir Godfrey, who simply shrugged.\n\n'Girl, come back!'\n\nLaetitia had reached the door, her hand on the latch.\n\n'No!' No!\" she hissed. 'Touch me and I'll scream! I'll scream and say you tried to do things to me!'\n\n'Hush!' Alexander said, getting to his feet.\n\nThe girl opened her mouth.\n\n'No, no,' Alexander exclaimed hurriedly. 'You can go, but what's frightened you?'\n\nLaetitia shook her head. Alexander stared over her shoulder at the window, but saw only the darkness outside. He looked back at the girl.\n\n'Listen,' he offered, 'go now, but if you wish to see me again come to the convent of St Anne's and ask for Alexander the clerk. I'll give you a gold coin.'\n\nThe girl nodded and fled out of the room.\n\n'What got into her?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nAlexander pulled a face.\n\n'She was frightened,' Dame Edith replied, crossing her arms. 'As I am. Sir Godfrey, Master McBain, I swear we are being watched. The Strigoi know you are in Oxford. At first they will use fear to weaken our defences but be on your guard, for they'll strike as swiftly and deadly as vipers!'\n\nWith the exorcist's sombre warning blighting their moods, Sir Godfrey led his companions out of the tavern and through the darkening streets, ill lit by the occasional lamp over a door post. They crossed the city and did not relax until they reached the ivy-covered walls of St Anne's convent, where a cheery, garrulous porter let them through the postern gate.\n\n'The abbess is waiting for you,' the fellow said. 'She has been waiting all day.'\n\nHe would have launched into a longer speech but Sir Godfrey told him to be quiet and tossed the reins of their horses at him. Dame Edith said she was tired and wished to rest. A lay sister led her away to the church while another took Sir Godfrey and Alexander up to the abbess's parlour. Dame Constance was busy sealing a number of letters and lecturing a whey-faced novice on how to melt the wax and fold the parchment so it didn't crack. As soon as Sir Godfrey and Alexander were announced the abbess dismissed the girl, who fled with a look of relief. The abbess pushed her chair up to the pine-log fire. She served them mulled wine, using a cloth to take the hot jug out of the inglenook and fill their goblets to the brim. She then sat down between them, stretching her thin, long fingers out towards the blaze.\n\n'You had a fruitful day?' she asked.\n\nSir Godfrey gave her a brief description of the day's events. The abbess nodded.\n\n'Lady,' Alexander said, seizing upon a silence in the conversation, 'your porter said you had been waiting for us all day.'\n\n'Yes, I wanted to see you,' Dame Constance replied. 'Not about the matters in hand but about Lady Emily de Vere. I will choose my words most carefully. Lady Emily is not what she appears to be.' Dame Constance watched a log snap in a splutter of red sparks. 'She is an orphan, the king's own ward, a wealthy heiress, but she is not as naive and helpless as she may appear. Behind that pretty face is a brain that would be the envy of any chancery clerk as well as a determined will. She can be not only stubborn but wilfully obstinate, as I have found to my cost. She chose this convent because it is near her estates. She insists on regular visits and accounts from her stewards. She even has the king himself wrapped around her little finger-though, I concede, that would not be hard. Our noble Edward, God bless him, can resist anything but a pretty face.' Dame Constance paused and sipped from her goblet. 'For a young woman of such tender years, Lady Emily has won herself powerful concessions. She will not only acquire her estates when she comes of age but she has the king's own vow that she will be allowed to marry for love and not made to enter into any arranged contract.' Dame Constance coughed. 'She is shy, but that is her buckler or shield against the world. You see, her mother died young and she watched her father being killed at a bloody tournament near Osney. He was dragged from his horse and, by the time the physicians got to him, he was a living wound from head to toe. He died in the most terrible agonies, which Lady Emily witnessed. I believe this, too, has saddened her soul.'\n\n'Thank you for telling us this,' Sir Godfrey said. 'But,' he grinned sheepishly at Alexander, 'how does it concern us?'\n\n'Because, sir knight,' Dame Constance snapped, 'I may be a virgin consecrated to God, innocent when it comes to the cravings of the flesh and the lures of the world, but, sometimes, I do enjoy the cunning of the serpent.' She laughed. 'Let us not beat about the bush, or play cat's-cradle with each other. Lady Emily is a lovely young woman. You are both smitten by her, are you not?'\n\nBoth men stared, embarrassed into the fire.\n\n'Lord save us, you men!' she breathed. 'So valiant in war, little doves in love.'\n\n'You are most forthright!' Sir Godfrey growled. 'Any man would be taken by Lady Emily.'\n\n'Ah!' Dame Constance moved the sleeves of her gown. 'But let's bite into the core of the apple. You see, Lady Emily is smitten by both of you. That marks a radical difference in her affairs!'\n\n'Has she said as much?' Sir Godfrey silently cursed himself, aware that he sounded like some lovelorn squire.\n\nThe abbess smiled primly. 'Not directly. However, from the little I have seen and the few words she's said, you don't have to be a wise woman to detect the signs.'\n\nAlexander squirmed in pleasure, smiling to himself as he looked into the fire. He hated this business in Oxford but, if and when it was finished, how could he keep the attention of Lady Emily? His face darkened as he recalled the abbess's words. He stared across the fire at Sir Godfrey and was shocked to see the hard, calculating look in the knight's eyes. We are rivals, Alexander thought. God knows how this will end.\n\nSir Godfrey was thinking much the same thoughts. He regretted that his friendship with this dry-humoured, sardonic clerk might end in a bitter feud but he was equally determined. He, who thought all love had died in him, loved the Lady Emily passionately.\n\n'I can read your thoughts,' the abbess murmured. She took the silver chain from around her neck and held it out towards the two men. 'Swear!' she urged, 'swear by this cross you will not feud over Lady Emily. At least,' she added, 'not until this business is finished!'\n\nBoth men stared at her. Dame Constance's face became severe. She felt like threatening to send the young woman away, but what was the use of an oath sworn under duress? Her face softened.\n\n'Please,' she said. 'For the love of Christ! For my sake! For the sake of those killed by these terrible murderers! On your loyalty to the king and to the Church, I beg you swear!'\n\nBoth men's hands went out to touch the crucifix.\n\n'You have my oath,' Sir Godfrey declared.\n\n'And mine,' Alexander added.\n\nThen Dame Constance put the chain back around her neck.\n\n'Good, then tonight you will be my guests at high table. You, Dame Edith, and, of course, the lady Emily.'\n\nIn her cell in the convent church Dame Edith carefully washed the dust from her face and hands. She rebound the silken blindfold around her eyes and knelt before the crucifix.\n\n'I have met them again,' she whispered. 'They were there, Lord, tonight. Somewhere near that tavern.' She shivered and stared sightlessly at the tortured face of her Saviour. 'But there was something else? What was it, Lord?' She leaned back on her heels and let her mind float like a feather on the breeze. She allowed the distractions to flood in \u2013 the noise and stench of the city, the sweet smell of parchment at Stapleton Hall library, the sense of terror in the small chamber at the tavern, the premonition... Her heart skipped a beat. She clambered to her feet, biting her lower lip in anxiety.\n\n'Oh, Lord!' she prayed. 'Oh, no!' She had recalled the premonition, lasting only a few seconds, she had had when Laetitia had refused to talk any further.\n\n'I put my hand down\u2014' Dame Edith spoke to the gaunt, whitewashed walls. 'I put my hand down. I touched McBain's. His hands are usually warm, soft and supple but, for those few seconds\u2014' She raised her finger to her lips. 'For those few seconds,' she whispered, 'McBain's hand was as cold and as hard as ice.'\n\nIn the abbess's parlour Dame Constance was insisting on refilling her guests' cups to celebrate the oath they had sworn when suddenly a lay sister, veil flying, bustled into the room without knocking.\n\n'Oh, mother abbess! Mother abbess! You must come now! You must come now!'\n\nDame Constance rose to her feet.\n\n'For God's sake, woman!' she snapped. 'What is the matter? Have the French landed? Has the king arrived? Dame Veronica! Why aren't you working in the infirmary?'\n\n'I was,' the white-faced nun gasped. 'And then I visited the cemetery to lay flowers on Dame Richolda's grave.' She paused, mouth gaping. 'I can't say,' she spluttered. 'You must come! Mother, you must come \u2013 and your guests, please!'\n\nDame Constance collected her cloak and coolly lit two tapers. She gave one to the infirmarian and, followed by the knight and clerk, walked out of the convent, through the cold darkness, around the church and into the cemetery. The graveyard was bleak. A night breeze rustled the yew trees and sent the dry leaves of autumn fluttering across the wet grass, while the wooden grave crosses creaked and moved in their beds of earth.\n\nAlexander looked around and shivered. He cursed as an owl flew down, almost skimming their heads as it pursued some small night animal into the corner of the graveyard. He saw the ghostly wings flutter a little, the bird swooped, there was a thin scream and the bird of night rose and disappeared into the dark branches of a tree. Dame Veronica hurried before him and stopped in the middle of the cemetery, which was dominated by a great wooden cross carved in the Celtic fashion. A small stone altar lay beneath it and, in front of the altar, Alexander glimpsed three upturned crosses. Dame Veronica pointed, then turned away. Sir Godfrey took one of the tapers and squatted down, Alexander standing behind him. They stared, hearts chilling at the sights that greeted them, trying to ignore the gasps and cries of the abbess.\n\n'Who could have done that?' Dame Constance hissed. 'Some macabre joke!'\n\n'Three crosses,' Sir Godfrey said thoughtfully.\n\nHe pulled one out of the ground and placed it flat on the earth. He drew his dagger and prised loose the dead bat that had been pinned to the centre of the crosspiece. He gouged the cross where his name had been crudely scrawled.\n\n'Three crosses,' he murmured. 'Each with a bat nailed through it and our names carved beneath: Sir Godfrey Evesden, Alexander McBain and Dame Edith Mohun.'\n\nHe got to his feet and kicked down the other two crosses, then, trying to control his fury, he stacked the three crosses on top of each other.\n\n'Dame Constance?'\n\n'Yes, Sir Godfrey?'\n\n'Have oil poured over these and burn them immediately.'\n\nThe abbess nodded at the infirmarian. 'Do it!' she ordered quietly. 'And do it now! Get a scullion from the kitchen to help you!'\n\nDame Constance then led her guests back to the warm cosiness of her parlour.\n\n'Who did that?' she asked, slamming the door behind her. 'Is it some scholar's joke?'\n\n'No.' Sir Godfrey leaned against the fireplace, sipping from his wine as he stared into the fire. He looked over his shoulder at the white-faced clerk. 'It's beginning,' he said. 'We have learnt the tune, we have memorized the steps and now the dance of death is about to begin. Dame Edith is right: the Strigoi know we are in Oxford and they have sent us our first warning.'\n\nBoth men returned to their rooms, promising themselves and Dame Constance that they would not mention this matter to anyone. They washed and changed, each taking great care with his toilet, until a lay servant came to invite them down to the abbess's comfortable refectory \u2013 a small hall with a raised platform under a blue and gold canopy. Dame Constance sat in the centre, with Dame Edith on her right and Lady Emily on her left. The two men sat opposite. At first the conversation was stilted and Alexander became convinced that the exorcist knew something was wrong. However, both men had eyes only for Emily, who looked ravishing in a white veil bound by a gold circlet and a blue and silver gown lined with costly sable fur. Her every movement was delicate and both men caught her exquisite perfume, a deep musk mingled with some sweet herbs. She looked at them coyly and Dame Edith found it difficult to conceal her smile. She is a minx, she thought, pure steel hidden in the softest velvet; she has a deep fondness for both of these men and intends playing them like a fish. Dame Edith half listened to the courtly conversation. She hoped this beautiful maiden would not provoke any jealousy between the two men whom Dame Edith also had a secret fondness for. They are good men, she thought, they have their passions and their weaknesses but they are pure at heart, good-willed, strong and courageous.\n\nAlexander noticed how the exorcist was hardly eating but simply playing with the small, white loaf she had broken up on the silver salver before her. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Emily.\n\n'Dame Edith,' he said, 'you are very quiet.'\n\n'Master clerk, my apologies, but I was thinking.'\n\n'About what?' Alexander teased, revelling in Emily's sweet smile. 'Your visit to Oxford or perhaps your journeys elsewhere? You have travelled more than any person here.'\n\nDame Edith caught the hint and launched into a vigorous comparison of the University of Oxford with those at Padua and Genoa in northern Italy. Dame Constance, who had now overcome her shock at the blasphemy she had seen in the graveyard, breathed a sigh of relief and raised her hand as a sign for the steward to serve the splendid meal she had ordered. She made sure both the knight's and the clerk's wine cups were regularly filled and watched the wine, the good food, the presence of a beautiful woman and the marvellous anecdotes of the exorcist work their magic and ease the terrors of the day. The meal was a sumptuous one: swan cooked in chaudron, beef steaks roasted in a sauce of brown sugar, black pepper, ginger and cinnamon; salads garnished with pot herbs, green porrey made out of a mixture of vegetables; small, white loaves, lamb cooked in garlic and rosemary; peas and onions with civets and, to follow, honey toasted over pine nuts.\n\nDame Constance looked around at her guests, pleased that the meal was a success and, at an opportune time, declared she would retire. She left her guests chattering away. Even Dame Edith was laughing at McBain's descriptions of trying to write in invisible ink. Dame Constance thanked her cook and kitchen retainers and went back to her own chamber. A servant had built up the fire and refilled the jug of wine warming in the inglenook. Dame Constance knelt at her prie-dieu, lit the two great candles fixed in iron spigots on either end and began her prayers. She softly chanted the psalm and thought she was dreaming when she heard her name called.\n\n'Constance! Constance! Oh, Constance, open the window!'\n\nThe abbess stood, one hand going to her mouth. It had been so many years since anyone had called her simply by that name, not since she had been a girl in her father's manor and other children had come to invite her out to play.\n\n'Constance! Constance!'\n\nThe abbess hastened to the window, pulled back the shutters and looked out into the darkness. A cresset torch flickered near the entrance way, shedding some light, but not enough for the abbess to catch a glimpse of the caller.\n\n'Constance!'\n\nThe voice was much closer. She felt the ivy shift and move around her. She looked first to the right, then, immediately beneath her, she saw the figures, dressed completely in black, with dark-rimmed eyes and grinning mouths in pallid faces. It was a nightmare, she thought, and averted her eyes. But when she looked again they were still there \u2013 four, five figures clinging like black bats to the ivy, all grinning up at her. Dame Constance closed the shutters with a bang and ran screaming for the door."
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "'By the cock!' Harry the taverner declared, staring at the expectant faces of the pilgrims grouped around the great table of the taproom of the Tabard tavern. 'By the cock!' he repeated, 'a nightmare story, sir knight. Please go on.'\n\nThe knight shook his head and pointed to the candle.\n\n'The hour's growing late. Enough for one night. There is always tomorrow. Perhaps, after supper tomorrow, I can continue.'\n\n'But who are these killers?' the fiery-faced summoner demanded. 'Oh, come, sir knight, do not play such tricks or devices.'\n\n'No,' Harry the taverner intervened. 'The rules are set, the principles firmly laid down; each pilgrim is to tell his tale without carping interruptions.'\n\n'But do such creatures exist?' the pardoner asked, flicking his lank, yellow hair back from his thin, cadaverous face. 'Strigoi, night-walkers, creatures from Hell? Sir knight, this is nonsense!'\n\nA chorus of agreement greeted his words.\n\n'I am not too sure,' the clerk of Oxford interrupted. 'Sir knight, your story has woken memories \u2013 anecdotes, tales I have heard. Your description of the university is correct in all its forms. I do know there was a provost at Exeter Hall called Wakeham and, in the rolls of the city, Sir Oswald Beauchamp was the king's sheriff.' The Oxford clerk paused. 'But was he not killed in a fire? And Proctor Ormiston? A strange fellow, whose disappearance from the university was cloaked in mystery.'\n\nThe clerk caught the knight's unspoken plea for silence.\n\n'Why?' the portly friar interrupted. 'Are you saying this tale is true?'\n\n'I, too, recognize names,' the poor parson declared, crouching next to this dirt-stained brother, the ploughman. He leaned forward, clutching the cord of the purse slung round his neck.\n\n'Whom do you know, Father?' the knight asked.\n\n'Why the priest at St Peter's, Father Andrew. In my younger years, when he served as a curate at a church in London. A holy man much given to works of charity.'\n\n'Ah, yes,' the irrepressible Oxford clerk declared, one bony finger pointing to the ceiling. 'St Peter's has now been renovated. Father Andrew is dead \u2013 I have seen his tomb before the high altar. He was much revered for his good works.'\n\n'So, this story's true?' the franklin asked, scratching his snow-white beard.\n\n'I haven't said that,' the knight replied, glancing quickly at his son, who sat looking at him strangely.\n\n'But do such things exist?' the hard-faced lawyer persisted.\n\n'I have told you,' the wife of Bath trumpeted, 'when I was on pilgrimage to the tomb of the Blessed Virgin at Cologne...'\n\n'More like looking for another husband,' the monk snickered.\n\n'Well, even if I was, I certainly wouldn't choose someone like you!' the wife of Bath replied tartly. 'I have heard about the Strigoi, the living dead.' She adjusted her wimple, her podgy white hands flickering in the air. 'No, no, listen, all of you. According to what I know, Strigoi are men and women possessed by evil spirits and these spirits make them live on human blood, which strengthens their bodies as well as the demons within.'\n\nThe wife of Bath drained her cup.\n\n'Whilst at a village just outside Cologne, I heard such a story about a young man called Ulrich, a tiller of the soil. Though physically strong and rarely ill, Ulrich began to have difficulty in breathing.' The wife of Bath leaned her elbows on the table and beamed at her fellow pilgrims, pleased that she was now the centre of attention. 'This began after a quarrel with his brother over a piece of land. Ulrich became weak and began to spit blood. He died and his body was buried in the local graveyard. Sixteen years later he reappeared in the village, claiming he had not died at all but had been dug out of his grave and revitalized by one of these Strigoi masters.'\n\n'What happened to him?' the prioress asked, her large eyes rounded in fear.\n\n'Oh, he was burnt as a witch. But the important thing is that it confirms the knight's story: these Strigoi are controlled by a hierarchy of masters and they never die unless destroyed by fire. What is more,' the wife of Bath added warningly, 'these Strigoi masters can appear as angels of light, lawyers, summoners, even pardoners.'\n\n'Who knows\u2014?' The nun's priest spoke up in a thin, reedy voice. 'Who knows, one of us could be a Strigoi.'\n\n'Is that possible?' The cook, still chewing on a piece of dried meat, bawled down the table at the knight. 'Sirrah, is that possible?'\n\nThe knight's eyes never left the monk's face. 'Oh, yes,' he replied quietly. 'As my story says, such beings only reveal themselves either when they choose to do so or if, unwittingly, the sacrament or some great, holy relic is brought into their presence. Even then they will try to escape, gabble some excuse but, if they cannot\u2014' The knight paused and leaned back in his chair.\n\nThe pilgrims shivered as the great tavern creaked and groaned around them.\n\n'Go on!' the shipman urged.\n\n'If they cannot,' the knight continued, 'they will reveal their true natures and it is the most terrible sight.'\n\nThe monk, now digging his berry-brown face into the largest tankard of ale Harry the taverner could provide, coughed, spluttering with laughter, and slammed the tankard down on to the table.\n\n'Nonsense!' he declared in his rich, sonorous voice. 'Tiddle-piddle stories to frighten children!'\n\n'Why do you say that?' the knight gently asked.\n\n'Well, I have been with the Trinitarian friars in Oxford,' the monk replied. 'I have stayed in their guest house. I never heard of any legends about the Strigoi, tunnels or empty tombs. I am sure the good brothers would have informed me of them. Indeed, I studied a history of the house and I read no such legend there. So, it's all fiddlesticks!'\n\nThe knight shrugged and smiled. 'I never said it was true,' he pointed out. 'Mine host asked me to tell a tale. Whether you believe it or not...' He spread his hands and pushed the chair back. 'But now, good sirs, ladies, I must retire. I bid you good night.'\n\n'You'll finish the tale tomorrow?' the cook shouted.\n\n'Oh, yes,' the knight promised. 'Tomorrow my tale will be told!'\n\nHis son dutifully followed him out of the room and up to the chamber they had rented above the taproom. The squire lit the candles on the table and helped his father divest himself of his leather jerkin, taking from the saddle bag a clean nightshirt and fresh woollen leggings for the morrow. As he had on countless occasions, the squire watched his father stand beside the lavarium and wash his naked body. He felt the usual care tinged with fear at the horrible scars and wounds that marked the knight's body from neck to toe. He had long stopped asking his father where such wounds were inflicted for, when he did, the same reply was given: 'In the service of God and for the glory of the Church.'\n\n'Father?'\n\n'Yes,' the knight answered wearily, towelling his body roughly and slipping the nightshirt over his head.\n\n'Father, is your story true?'\n\n'What do you think?'\n\nThe squire stared back and the knight grinned.\n\n'Then get some sleep, son. Tomorrow is another day and I have a different tale to tell.'\n\nThe squire undressed and lay on the pallet bed as the knight began the ceremony he performed every night. He pulled his great sword from its sheath, pressing its tip to the floor, and knelt before it, his hands on the crosspiece. He blessed himself and began to pray. The rite never changed: one paternoster, three aves and a special prayer the knight had memorized asking Christ to deliver him from all evils. After that the knight re-sheathed his sword, took a small leather bottle of holy water and blessed both their beds, making the sign of the cross above them. He then kissed the precious reliquary at his throat and climbed into bed.\n\nThe squire watched his father close his eyes.\n\n'Father?'\n\n'Yes, my son?'\n\n'What was Mother like?'\n\n'Beautiful as the night,' the knight replied. 'Dark raven hair, skin like silk, lustrous blue eyes and a smile you'd never forget.'\n\n'And she died giving birth to me?' The squire always asked the same question.\n\nThe knight looked over, his eyes crinkled in a smile.\n\n'Don't tax yourself. She caught a fever, weakened and died. I mourned her passing, but her soul is with God and her spirit comes back to watch over both of us.'\n\n'Is that why you left England?'\n\n'I am on my own crusade. I am searching for something and, when I find it, you will know.'\n\n'What do you think of our companions?' the squire asked abruptly, propping himself up on an elbow. 'The other pilgrims?'\n\n'A mixed crowd,' his father replied. 'The good, the bad and the indifferent. But a word of warning \u2013 keep well away from that monk!'\n\n'Why, Father? He likes hunting and I noticed he flirts with the prioress, but what harm can he do?'\n\n'Keep well away,' the knight repeated. 'Now, go to sleep. The hour is late and tomorrow our journey begins.'\n\n'One final question, Father?'\n\n'Ask it.'\n\n'Why are we going to Canterbury? I mean, to give thanks to the Blessed Martyr?'\n\n'To give thanks,' the knight replied, 'and to ask for his blessing.'\n\n'Will you make your confession there?' the squire persisted. 'And ask to be shriven?'\n\nThe knight laughed and propped himself up. 'What do you know about my sins?'\n\n'Nothing.' The squire quietly cursed himself. 'It is just that before we left Minster Lovell, you killed a man down on the banks of the Windrush.'\n\n'He drew his sword and challenged me,' his father replied. 'I had no choice. I reported his death to the sheriff and my yeoman took an oath that I killed in self-defence. Now,' he pulled the blanket up over his face, 'go to sleep!'\n\nThe squire lay there, eyes staring into the darkness. Yes, he had heard about his father slaying the man near the river, as he had about other men his father had killed. But why? the squire sleepily wondered. Why did his father on certain occasions always ensure that the corpses of the men he killed be burned immediately?\n\nThey woke early the next morning, the taverner's trumpeting voice rousing them from their slumbers. They joined the rest of the heavy-eyed pilgrims in the taproom to break their fast on bread, cheese, cold bacon and watered ale. After that, they collected their baggage and stood in the great cobbled yard as grooms and ostlers brought out their horses. There was a great deal of confusion, shouts, the neighing of horses and the jingle of harness. At last they were all mounted and Harry the taverner led them out on to the High Street of Southwark, past St George's church and on to the old Roman road of Watling Street which would lead them south-east to Canterbury.\n\nThe day proved a fine one. At first there was unease as they entered the open countryside; they had heard about the outlaws and wolfsheads who plagued such deserted areas and preyed upon hapless pilgrims. Harry the taverner, however, soon mollified them, pointing out that the knight was armed and there was a goodly number of robust fellows in their company who would frighten off any outlaw.\n\nThey rode through the bright spring sunshine past great open fields where the green, rain-drenched shoots were beginning to appear. The knight began his tale for the day. It was about the Theban knights Arcite and Palamon and their rivalry for the hand of the beautiful sister of the queen of the Amazons. He had finished the story by the time they reached St Thomas's watering hole. Here they had to pause for a while. The miller was as deep in his cups as the night before and had continued to sup from a wineskin ever since they had left the Tabard. Harry the taverner tried to reason with him.\n\n'No, by God's soul!' the miller cried. 'I will not keep quiet. I insist on telling my tale now and, if I am drunk, blame it on Southwark ale. However, hearing our knight talk about Oxford, I'll tell you a tale of a different ilk! About a stingy carpenter who lived in that city and his weasel-slim wife Alison, who was as hot for bed sports as any woman could be.'\n\nThe reeve, a carpenter by trade, heard this and immediately a great quarrel broke out between the two which lasted until they'd finished their journey for the day. No one really paid much attention to the miller. He had been drunk since the day he joined them and, by the time they had finished supper, he was snoring in a corner, one arm around his bagpipes. They waited until the servants had withdrawn from the room they had hired then begged the knight to continue his tale.\n\nHe was standing by the window staring out into the darkness, watching the shadows in the trees across the road from where the tavern stood.\n\n'Come on, sir knight,' Harry called cheerfully. 'For pity's sake, sir, you began a tale last night which terrified us all. We won't rest secure in our beds until you have finished it once and for all!'\n\nThe knight stared into the darkness. He was sure he was being closely studied, either by someone trailing the pilgrims along the Watling Way or by one of his travelling companions. He did not know, but kept a watchful eye upon the monk. He sensed the man's cheery bonhomie hid deeper, darker waters. Harry the taverner repeated his request, the knight smiled and came back to the head of the table.\n\n'I shall finish my tale,' he declared. 'Now listen well!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "Dame Constance's screams at what she had seen roused the convent and brought Sir Godfrey and Alexander running from the refectory. They gathered in the abbess's parlour and, for a while, Dame Constance could hardly speak but sat quivering with fear. Only when Alexander carefully forced a cup of wine between her lips did she relax and describe, in halting phrases, the nightmarish scene she had glimpsed from her window.\n\nSir Godfrey immediately ordered all doors and windows to be locked. He hurried across to the guest house, Alexander accompanying him. He donned his hauberk and great sword belt and strode out into the darkness, sword in one hand, dirk in the other. Alexander, similarly armed, followed him around the convent buildings yet they could discover nothing amiss. Only the nightbirds chattering in the trees, the occasional howl of a dog and faint noises from the light-filled windows of the convent broke the silence. They searched the grounds until Sir Godfrey became concerned that the men Dame Constance had glimpsed might have entered the building by some postern door or open window.\n\n'You go back there, Alexander,' he ordered. 'I'll finish searching here.'\n\nSir Godfrey walked to the far side of the convent away from the church and into the large orchard that stretched down to the boundary walls. He caught the sweet-sour smell of rotting apples underfoot but, as he entered the trees, he sensed there was something awry and cursed the wine that had fuddled his wits. Holding his knife and sword before him, he strode through the orchard into a small glade and realized what was wrong. A deathly stillness had fallen; not even the chattering of a nightjar, the hoot of an owl or the rustling of night animals in the overgrown grass disturbed the silence. The knight walked into the centre of the glade. The clouds had broken and the trees were bathed in the silvery light of a hunter's moon. Sir Godfrey paused. He listened to the sound of his own heavy breathing, then gave a strangled cry as five figures detached themselves from the trees and walked towards him. Dressed completely in black, they blended into the darkness. Their faces were hidden by masks, so that Sir Godfrey could glimpse only the glint of an eye, the faint patch of skin above a mouth. He adopted a fighting stance, resisting the urge to flee back to the convent.\n\n'We mean you no harm, Sir Godfrey Evesden,' the central figure declared. His words, though, were followed by a snigger that turned a solemn reassurance into a menacing threat. 'Well, we mean you no harm for the present. What happens in the future is a matter for you to decide.'\n\nSir Godfrey stepped back; the figures stayed still.\n\n'Who are you?' the knight challenged. 'Why are you here? What do you want with me? Why frighten a poor old abbess in the dead of night?'\n\n'Come, come, Sir Godfrey,' the voice replied. 'We know why you are here and the commission you carry. Go back to your masters in London and take the snooping clerk and that blind-eyed bitch with you. Tell the king this is no matter for you, no conspiracy against the crown, silent treason or the corruption of officials. And lower your sword. If we wanted your life we could have taken it.'\n\n'So, what do you want?' Sir Godfrey snapped.\n\n'To finish our work here.'\n\n'Which is?'\n\n'None of your business, knight!'\n\n'Then how will you finish it?' Sir Godfrey persisted. 'By murder? By shedding the blood of innocents? By terrible crimes perpetrated in the dead of night? By slitting the throats of innocents and drinking their blood?'\n\n'No different from what you do, Sir Godfrey,' the voice replied. 'Have you not fought on the battlefields of France where the dead are piled waist-high or taken a barge along the river Thames and seen the corpses bobbing like bits of refuse? Human life is cheap, Sir Godfrey. So easily,' the voice chuckled, 'and so pleasurably replaced.'\n\n'You are devil-possessed assassins!' the knight retorted.\n\n'We all have our different lords, Sir Godfrey, but enough is enough. We have frightened that old bitch the abbess. She should not have brought you here and we have delivered our warning to you. Be out of Oxford within three days!'\n\n'And if not?'\n\n'Then we shall meet again.'\n\nThe figure stepped back, retreating within the trees, and disappeared. Sir Godfrey sheathed his sword and dagger and leaned against the cold bark of a tree. He waited until the tremors racking his body ceased and then walked back to the convent building.\n\nAlexander was waiting for him just within the entrance. He took one look at Sir Godfrey's face.\n\n'You've seen a ghost, sir knight?'\n\n'Worse, clerk, I've seen the devil himself!'\n\nAnd Sir Godfrey gave Alexander a curt description of the meeting in the orchard. The knight sat on a bench and leaned his head against the lime-washed wall, staring up at a gaunt, black crucifix.\n\n'They came to frighten,' he murmured, 'and to warn.' He glanced at the clerk. 'If they knew what little progress we are making, they would not have bothered.'\n\n'Everything hinges,' McBain replied, 'upon one fact.'\n\n'Which is?'\n\n'How, in sweet God's name, do they get into these houses without any hue or cry or disturbing the neighbours?'\n\nAlexander went back into the refectory and brought back two goblets of wine. He handed one to the knight and grinned.\n\n'Dame Constance has retired. Dame Edith is praying in the church and I have given my personal assurance\u2014' His grin widened. 'My personal assurance that Lady Emily is safe.' He paused. 'We could do one thing, Sir Godfrey.'\n\nThe knight looked at him quizzically.\n\n'We know the Strigoi are in Oxford this evening. Perhaps they plan to make another visit elsewhere. Let us walk the city \u2013 see what does happen at the dead of night in the alleys and streets of Oxford, who does prowl around.'\n\nSir Godfrey felt tired, still slightly fuddled after the meal of rich food and heavy drink. However, he accepted the wisdom of the clerk's words and, within the hour, booted, cloaked and wearing their weapons, they left the convent and began their journey around the sleeping city of Oxford.\n\nThey went along the streets, covering their noses at the stench of the refuse piled in the ditch near Holywell, past Smithgate, along Bocardo Lane, under the silent, dark mass of St Michael's in Northgate and down into Fish Street. At first they thought the streets were empty but, now and again, they would meet a group of students slipping along the alleyways, whispering excitedly and laughing at their exploits in breaking free of their halls' regulations. Near St Aldate's they met the city watch, a huddle of rather frightened men warming their hands over a glowing brazier. Their leader stopped them but, when Sir Godfrey explained who they were, allowed them to pass without further hindrance. Beggars were everywhere, with their thin, skeletal arms, whining cries and beseeching calls for alms or food. Now and again dark shadows would flit across an alley, but Sir Godfrey dismissed these as the usual city night hawks \u2013 a footpad looking for easy prey, some student deep in his cups or a citizen hurrying home from a night's roistering in a tavern.\n\n'Nothing,' Sir Godfrey murmured as they turned their horses back in the direction of the convent.\n\n'Nothing, yet something,' Alexander replied.\n\n'What do you mean?'\n\n'Well, the streets aren't as deserted as perhaps we thought. It's possible that one of these groups we met\u2014' Alexander cleared his throat. 'Let me phrase it more correctly. It's possible that the murderers could pose as any of the groups we met. A group of roistering students asking for directions, two burgesses seeking shelter from a pursuing footpad. Think, Sir Godfrey, think again. What sort of person would you open your door to in the dead of night?'\n\nAs the knight and the clerk returned to St Anne's, the Cotterills, a family of tinkers, were just finishing their evening meal in their house in an alleyway just off Bocardo Lane. The occasion had hardly been a cordial one. Isolda, Raoul's wife, had sat tight-lipped throughout, hardly touching her earthenware bowl of soup made from onions and mushrooms. She glared at her daughter Caterina with her dark lustrous hair, creamy complexion and brown merry eyes. She noted how her daughter's ample bosom strained against her threadbare woollen smock and attracted surreptitious glances from her second husband Raoul. Isolda had cause for concern. Earlier in the day, just after Raoul had pushed his hand-cart back from the market, Isolda had caught both of them in the small garden plot behind the house, sharing an embrace hardly fitting between a father and step-daughter. After all, Caterina was her one and only child by Alexander who now lay buried under the old, gnarled yew trees in the corner of St Peter's graveyard.\n\nIsolda's six-year-old son by Raoul, red-haired, freckle-faced Robert, sensed the tensions at the table and, seeing his mother's attention was diverted, slipped upstairs to continue his favourite game. Robert had found a small room, no more than a cupboard in the wall, reached through a small trapdoor concealed behind the iron-bound copper chest in the small passageway outside his mother's room. He had found that by squeezing over the chest and raising the trapdoor he could crawl into his secret chamber, where he could play his favourite game of dragons and monsters. As he lifted the trapdoor his father called his name, but it was too late. Robert crawled in and closed the trapdoor behind him. He took the tinder he had filched from his father's store and lit the old tallow candle standing on the floor in the centre of the room. The little boy watched the candle-flame grow. He giggled softly to himself as he used his hands and arms to make shadows dance against the far wall.\n\n'Here be a dragon,' he murmured, clenching his little fist and holding it up. He watched the shadows flicker ominously on the wall. Then he held up his three little fingers. 'And here be the knight on his horse, come to fight the dragon.'\n\nRobert paused; he heard a knock on the door downstairs, his mother laughing, a scraping of stools, and his father going along the hallway.\n\n'Visitors!' the boy whispered. He strained his ears, but could hear only one voice. 'Just one!' he murmured and went back to his shadow playing. He heard his mother call, 'Robert, come down!' But the little boy sat with his back to the wall and continued his game. He must have dozed for a few minutes. He was awakened by what he thought was a scream, slight, muted. Downstairs the door opened again and Robert heard more people coming into the house. Or were his parents leaving? He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs; that must be Father, he thought, going up to the garret to get a tun of his best ale.\n\nDoors opened and shut. Someone was outside in the passageway, breathing heavily. Suddenly the little boy became frightened. Without thinking, he leaned over and doused the candle and sat crouched in the darkness. Terror tingled every fibre of his body. His legs shook. His hands felt heavy and cold, like the great block of ice he'd helped his father bring in from the river last Yuletide. Something terrible was outside the room. A grotesque creature from one of his worse nightmares was standing on the other side of the wall. The boy crouched, frozen like a rabbit. He allowed the terrible sense of evil to waft around him and ruffle the back of his neck with its cold fingers. Robert dare not move. The devil had come into his house and all boyish games were ended."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Sir Godfrey and Alexander were up early the next morning, their hearts gladdened by the bright blue sky and the flashes of weak sunlight. They joined Dame Edith in the convent church. They knelt on their prie-dieus in front of the rood screen, listening to the nuns sing divine office, followed by a mass celebrated by the convent chaplain. The priest was dressed in vestments of red and gold, a beautiful white dove made of silk embroidered on the back of his chasuble. Sir Godfrey prayed devoutly, watching every movement of the priest, as he followed the rhythm of the mass through the epistle, the gospel and the offering of the bread and wine.\n\nDame Edith tried to pray. In her mind's eye, she tried to enter the great column of fire, the entrance to God's kingdom. She didn't know why, but every time she prayed or thought of God she imagined a sea of fire, pure love, which warmed, nourished and strengthened but never burnt. She realized why Dame Constance had asked for this mass to be said; it was a petition to God that he would send his Holy Spirit to guard and protect the convent community after the terrible events of the night before. The exorcist knew the Strigoi had been here; even as she had crouched in her cold, dark cell she'd sensed their malevolence and corrupt influence wafting through the place like the sour stench from a midden heap.\n\nShe turned her head to watch McBain, kneeling now in prayer, and had to hide her smile. The young clerk was devout enough, she was sure, but he was more intent on staring at the lovely Emily than on praying for God's guidance. She was right. Alexander said his prayers but every so often he would stare at Emily, sitting so demurely in her stall beside Dame Constance. Alexander stared until he caught her attention and, when he did, pulled a face. The girl smiled and lowered her head. Alexander continued to stare, Emily looked coyly from beneath her eyelashes. Alexander grimaced and rolled his eyes. The girl began to giggle but, when Dame Constance looked up sharply, Alexander's face was fashioned into that of some great mystic, head to one side, eyes intent on the altar, his face and posture as devout as any monk.\n\nAfter mass, Dame Constance joined the knight and clerk as they breakfasted on ale, oatmeal and bread and cheese in the small parlour of the guest house. She came in, with Dame Edith on her arm, as severe in demeanour as before, but both men knew that the events of the previous evening had deeply frightened her. They all exchanged the kiss of peace. Mathilda set fresh places for the two women. Dame Constance said grace, Godfrey and Alexander looking ruefully at each other, for they had forgotten that. Alexander complimented the abbess on the mass, particularly on the singing of the nuns. Dame Constance smiled thinly and came swiftly to the point.\n\n'Are we in danger here?'\n\n'You mean after the events of last night?' Alexander asked.\n\nSir Godfrey shook his head. 'I don't think so.' He looked at the exorcist. 'What do you think, domina?'\n\nDame Edith sipped gently from the horn spoon, wafting her fingers across her mouth, for the oatmeal was hot.\n\n'The Strigoi are demons,' she began, 'evil creatures who love to play games and relish the fear they provoke. They came to frighten you last night, Dame Constance, as well as to warn Sir Godfrey and Master McBain to leave Oxford.'\n\n'Why?' Alexander asked. 'Why didn't they just kill Sir Godfrey?'\n\n'They might not have found that easy,' the knight said grimly.\n\nThe clerk gently touched the knight on the back of his hand as a sign of apology. The exorcist put her horn spoon back on the table and pushed away the hot bowl of oatmeal.\n\n'The Strigoi are evil but not foolish. They know you carry the king's commission. An attack upon you is an attack upon the crown. They do not want every house guarded by royal soldiers and royal judges probing into every gutter, sewer and midden heap in Oxford, but that is what would happen if the king's commissioners were murdered. However,' she sighed, 'it's best to be safe. Lady abbess, ask the sheriff for some soldiers to be sent here. Organize a curfew just before dark. Issue instructions that when the bell is rung all doors are to be locked, all windows sealed, the gateways and postern doors barred and bolted. No one is to leave or enter without your special permission.'\n\nSir Godfrey drummed his fingers on the table top.\n\n'What,' he wondered, 'is their business in Oxford?'\n\n'God knows!' Dame Edith replied. 'But what can we do to discover and prevent it?'\n\n'Well,' Sir Godfrey replied, 'we do have two more places to visit. We would, Dame Constance, like to study the chronicle you've read, the one in the university library at St Mary's church.'\n\n'It will be there,' the abbess replied. 'I have carefully marked, with black crosses, the sections that are relevant. And the second place?'\n\n'The Trinitarian friary?'\n\n'That will be hard. They are an enclosed order, reluctant to accept visitors and even more unwilling to talk about the legends of the place.'\n\nGodfrey pulled his commission out of his wallet. 'This is the king's own warrant. Our good brothers at the Trinitarian friary will certainly speak to me.'\n\nDame Constance wished them well and left. Dame Edith said she was ready to leave, but warned both men to arm themselves with swords and daggers. She asked Sir Godfrey if he had a crossbow.\n\n'We have two,' he replied.\n\n'Then bring them,' the exorcist advised. 'Don't go anywhere unarmed.'\n\n'So these Strigoi can be killed?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Yes, Master McBain, I have told you so. But they must not only be killed; their corpses must be burnt.'\n\n'Why don't we use relics?' Alexander asked, pushing his stool back.\n\nDame Edith laughed softly. 'I wish we could. But, first, most genuine relics are now sealed beneath the stones of many altars. Secondly, how do we know a relic is genuine? I have seen enough pieces of the true cross to build a warship and still have enough wood left for a manor house.'\n\nSir Godfrey laughed and drained his tankard.\n\n'Dame Edith speaks the truth,' he declared. 'Just think, Alexander, of the rubbish that is sold. A piece of Jesus's vest, a hair from St Joseph's beard, a feather from the wing of the Holy Spirit!'\n\n'Then why not use the sacrament?' Alexander asked testily.\n\n'How?' Dame Edith asked. 'Make everyone in Oxford receive the eucharist?'\n\n'Well, we could carry it around,' Alexander suggested, 'perhaps in a small pyx?'\n\n'Nonsense!' Dame Edith retorted. 'You saw how we interrogated Lascalle. The host, like the relic, must be held very close against the Strigoi.'\n\nMuttering and cursing, Alexander followed Sir Godfrey up to their chamber where they collected their belongings before escorting Dame Edith to the stable. Grooms prepared their horses and soon they were out of the convent, winding their way through the early-morning streets to the centre of Oxford. The day was just beginning. Traders were setting out their stalls. Apprentices ran hither and thither. The morning air was heavy with the odour of horse-dung and the smell from the sewers mingled with more fragrant odours from the cookshops and taverns. A group of roisterers, now doused with water, their hands tied behind their backs, were being escorted towards the town gaol. A forger screamed and beat his hands against the stocks that imprisoned him as the city executioner, a glowing iron in his hand, burned the incriminating 'F' on his cheek. Farther along, two blasphemers who had shouted drunken abuse during mass stood in barrels of horse-piss while raucous-voiced beadles piled manure on their heads. A whore, found touting for business in the wrong place, stood next to them. She was having her hair shaved before being paraded through the town behind a bagpiper to be mocked and jeered at until she reached the city gates, where she would be expelled.\n\n'Business as usual,' Sir Godfrey murmured.\n\nAlexander smiled, but this time he caught the tension the knight had earlier remarked on. Some students, the food still in their hands, were being driven out of a cookshop by a group of burly labourers. A doctor of philosophy had to scamper quickly through the porchway of one of the halls when some apprentices began to hurl abuse at him, followed by the usual fistfuls of mud.\n\nAlexander grumbled about the unrest as they stabled their horses in a tavern and made their way through the crowds towards the university church of St Mary.\n\n'Is it always like this?' he asked.\n\n'No,' Dame Edith murmured, pressing his elbow. 'This is different. I think the news of the dreadful murders is seeping out to excite and stir up old hatreds and animosities. The Strigoi love that. They thrive in an atmosphere of hatred. They commit their crimes beneath the veil of local animosity. Time and again others are executed for the crimes they have committed.'\n\nThey entered St Mary's through a small door and went up the nave. A clerk, trimming the candles on the high altar, came down the sanctuary steps and took them through the sacristy into the great chapter house where the library was kept. The archivist, Simon Neopham, a tired-looking, dusty-faced cleric, greeted them cordially enough. He was eager to show them around the shelves and cupboards that lined the walls, all packed high with leather \u2013 or calfskin-bound volumes; the coffers where parchment was kept; and the great carved bookstands, with their thick folios chained to the wall, in the small study carrels at the far end of the room. Neopham looked at Dame Edith intently, then glimpsed the swords and daggers beneath Sir Godfrey's and Alexander's cloaks.\n\n'But you are not here to look around, are you?' he said dryly.\n\n'No, sir.' Alexander smiled dazzlingly. 'I believe you have a secret chronicle, the Annales Oxonienses?'\n\n'The Oxford Chronicle?' Neopham looked puzzled. 'There's no secret about that.' He smiled, offering a display of yellow, ragged stumps of teeth. 'Ah! The chronicle Dame Constance studied.' He waved vein-streaked hands. 'It's not really secret,' he said, 'except Dame Constance noticed a change in pattern, certain items that repeated themselves. Come! Come! I'll show you.'\n\nHe made them sit at the long, polished table that ran down the centre of the room and lit the eight-branched candelabra. He then scurried off and returned, huffing and puffing, carrying a thick, leather-bound folio. Alexander stared around the room and shivered. The chapter house was long and dark. He looked up at the rafters and noticed how the candlelight created flickering, dancing shapes. Alexander also caught unease from the exorcist, who pushed her hands up the sleeves of her gown as if she was cold. She kept moving, turning around, listening.\n\n'There's evil here,' she murmured. 'Perhaps it's the record of their wrong-doing!'\n\nNeopham, chattering like a squirrel, pushed the leather-bound volume towards Alexander and began to point out the sections in the centuries-old chronicle that were marked by Dame Constance's black crosses. Alexander thanked the archivist and assured him that all was well, but asked if they could be left alone to study the texts. The clerk then sat, turning over the pages, scrutinizing the sections the abbess had marked.\n\n'What's it all about?' Sir Godfrey asked crossly, peering over his companion's shoulder. Dame Edith drummed her fingers on the table, impatient for Alexander to comment.\n\n'Well,' Alexander replied, 'the chronicle is full of the usual rather boring items of information. Who was sheriff; how the weather affected crops; the doings of the city council; the fortunes of the university. But, occasionally, about once every twenty or thirty years, each individual chronicler has narrated some terrible story.'\n\n'Such as?' Sir Godfrey asked impatiently.\n\n'Well, stories about men who died but who later came back to life.'\n\nBeside him Dame Edith stiffened.\n\n'What stories?' she whispered. She touched the clerk gently on the hand. 'Tell us, Alexander.'\n\nAlexander sighed, blew his cheeks out and turned a page.\n\n'Well, here's an entry for year 1297. According to the chronicler, a certain merchant of depraved, dishonest life, either through fear of the law or to avoid the vengeance of his enemies, moved from Herefordshire and bought himself a large house at Parismead in Oxford. He didn't change his ways but busied himself in lewd traffic.' Alexander looked up and grinned. 'And I will not describe what it was. However, according to the chronicler, this man persevered in his evil ways, fearing neither God nor man. He married the daughter of a local official, a beautiful woman whom he treated most evilly.'\n\n'Does it say how?' Sir Godfrey interrupted him.\n\n'No, but the merchant travelled abroad. Anyway, on his return, people began to whisper wanton stories about his spouse, firing the merchant with the hot flames of jealousy.' Alexander went back to the chronicle. 'Restless and full of anxiety to know whether the charges were true, the merchant told his wife he was going on a long journey to London and would not return for several days. However, he stole back that very evening and was secretly admitted into his wife's bed chamber by a serving wench who used to pleasure him in his bachelor days and was privy to his designs.' Alexander looked up in mock horror. 'Dame Edith, should you be listening to this? It's more like one of Master Boccaccio's stories about ladies who are hot and whose husbands like to pry.'\n\nDame Edith tapped him on the hand as if he was some errant little boy.\n\n'The lures of the flesh,' she assured him, 'hold no attraction for me.' Then she grinned. 'More's the pity! Continue, Alexander.'\n\n'Well, once the husband was in the room he hid away and that night saw his wife being well served by a lusty youth. So angry did he become that he fell from his hiding place. The young cuckolder beat a hasty retreat as the husband lay unconscious on the floor.'\n\n'A bawdy story,' Sir Godfrey interrupted. 'I have heard the likes in many a camp, with a bit more spice and certainly more sauce.'\n\nAlexander waved his hand. 'No, no listen to this! The husband had struck his head against an iron bar. He became very ill. A priest came and told him he was near to death's door and that he should be shriven and receive the blessed sacrament. But the husband refused, he died in his sins and was buried.' Alexander moved his fingers farther down the page. 'According to this, the wicked husband used to come out of his tomb at night, wandering through the streets, prowling round the houses, causing the dogs to howl and yelp. His appearance was grotesque and, if he met anyone, he grievously harmed them whilst the air became foul and tainted with his fetid, corrupting body.' Alexander moved his fingers down the page. 'Eventually, the people of North Oxford, losing all patience, went out to the grave and began to dig. They thought they would have to delve deep but, suddenly, came upon the corpse covered only with a thin layer of earth.' Alexander pulled a face. 'The chronicle describes the body as being gorged and swollen with a frightful corpulence, a face florid and tubby with huge puffed cheeks. The clothes and shroud of the corpse were soiled and torn. One of the townspeople immediately dealt the corpse a sharp blow with the keen edge of the spade and a stream of warm, red gore gushed out. So, before nightfall, they dragged the corpse to Parismead, quickly built a large pyre and set the body alight.'\n\n'Nonsense!' grumbled Sir Godfrey. 'Such stories are commonplace. You can find them in chronicles and manuscripts up and down the kingdom.'\n\nThe exorcist just shook her head, while Alexander turned more pages over.\n\n'No, no, there are other stories!' he exclaimed. 'Dame Constance has marked them with her black cross and they are all of the same ilk. Here's one from 1322 which occurred during the civil war between the present king's father and his barons.' He turned the pages. 'Another from 1340. All the same. Individuals, notorious for the wickedness of their life, coming back to life and wandering the streets until the authorities intervene and the corpse is burnt.'\n\n'Is there any time pattern?' Dame Edith asked.\n\nAlexander turned the pages back. 'Yes,' he replied, 'every twenty or thirty years the same story occurs.' He studied the manuscript and tapped the table top as he emphasized the points. 'First, the notorious sinner dies; secondly, he comes back; thirdly, he commits terrible crimes, horrible murders; finally he is destroyed.'\n\n'Is that what's happening now?' Sir Godfrey asked, grasping the exorcist's hand. He could tell by the set of her mouth that she was puzzled.\n\n'No,' she replied, 'what's happening now is quite different. These stories are only precursors of a great event. Mere shadows of the horrors now occurring.'\n\n'But what causes them?' Alexander persisted, closing the book.\n\n'God knows. Perhaps the escape of some baleful influence. It's like a woodland pond, clear and bright on the surface but, if you thrust in a pole and stir the murky depths, all the dirt and filth rise to the top.' She rubbed her mouth with the back of her fingers. 'What was recently stirred has caused these terrible murders to begin.' She got slowly to her feet. 'But I have heard enough. Let's leave.'\n\nThey thanked the librarian, who had been secretly watching them from the other end of the library. Although he was a lover of books, Alexander was relieved when they left the church and could feel the cold breeziness of the High Street, where the raucous shouts of the hawkers and sellers were a welcome relief from the baleful silence of the library. They were pushing their way through the throng when Sir Godfrey heard his name called and glimpsed Father Andrew, merry-eyed and bright-cheeked, walking through the crowds, a basket slung over his arm.\n\n'Good day, Sir Godfrey, Master McBain, Dame Edith.' The priest's eyes became serious. 'You are making good progress?'\n\nSir Godfrey walked on, the priest beside him.\n\n'No, Father, we are not,' the knight replied. 'Indeed, very little. But, thanks be to God, no more murders have occurred.'\n\n'Is there anything I can do?' Father Andrew asked.\n\nSir Godfrey stopped to allow Alexander to help Dame Edith on to her palfrey.\n\n'Such as what?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nThe priest shrugged and pointed to his basket. 'I am buying bread and vegetables for the poor we feed outside St Peter's church. I listen to the gossip of the city. I could ask questions.'\n\nSir Godfrey patted the man on the shoulder. 'Anything you can do, Father, will be appreciated.'\n\n'And I pray for you,' the priest said, 'every morning at mass that this evil ends.'\n\nAgain the knight thanked him. The priest sketched a blessing in the air and slipped back into the crowds milling around the stalls.\n\nSir Godfrey and his companions paused for something to eat at the Saracen's Head then continued along the High Street, into Eastgate and through the postern gate of the Trinitarian friary. The buildings were large and forbidding, with soaring walls, crenellations, turrets and gables. The ugly-faced gargoyles made Alexander shiver; he noticed that Dame Edith, too, had become quite agitated.\n\n'God forgive me!' she whispered. 'This is a house of God, but I feel uneasy.'\n\nA lay brother hurried over to ask their business. Sir Godfrey nearly asked for Abbot Samson but caught himself just in time and demanded, on the king's authority, to see Prior Edmund. The lay brother shrugged and called for ostlers to look after their horses. He then led them through the cloisters, where the brothers were crouched in their study carrels, making use of the good light to copy or illuminate manuscripts. They went up a wide flight of stone stairs and, knocking on an iron-studded door, were ushered in to where a highly nervous Prior Edmund was waiting.\n\n'You have been expecting us, Father?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nThe prior hopped from foot to foot, his mouth opening and closing.\n\n'Yes, yes,' he muttered. Suddenly he remembered his manners and waved them to seats before the weak fire. He pulled up a small stool for himself, crouching there like a mannikin, his thin worried face betraying deep anxiety, even fear, at their presence.\n\nAlexander studied the prior's pallid face and noticed that his grey robes were stained and unkempt.\n\nWhat's he frightened of? Alexander thought. And why has Dame Edith become so restless?\n\nSir Godfrey, however, was more matter-of-fact. He curtly refused the prior's offer of refreshment and came abruptly to the point.\n\n'Father, you have heard of the ghastly murders in the city?'\n\n'Yes.' The prior tried to force a smile of sympathy, but his blinking became more furious as he constantly wetted his thin, dry lips.\n\n'And you've heard of the legends behind them?'\n\n'There are many legends,' the prior replied hoarsely, 'legends about this house, about the city.'\n\n'Father,' Sir Godfrey dryly asked, 'why are you so nervous?'\n\nThe prior bowed his head and plucked at a blob of wax on his robe. 'Sir Godfrey, I am only the prior,' he muttered. 'I have heard about the horrifying murders, but tragedy has occurred here. Abbot Samson is dead.' He looked up, brushing away bits of dried wax. 'I find it difficult to cope. The order should appoint someone else.'\n\n'How did Abbot Samson die?' the exorcist interrupted harshly.\n\nThe prior swallowed hard. Of all his three visitors he seemed most fearful of this blind woman, small, white-haired but with a commanding presence.\n\n'He was found dead in his chamber!'\n\n'And the cause?'\n\n'God knows, I am no physician. A sudden stop to his heart, a rush of blood to his brain, an imbalance of humours.'\n\n'But he was a healthy man?'\n\n'Many young, healthy men die unexpectedly,' Father Edmund protested.\n\n'Father prior,' Alexander tactfully intervened, 'we are not here to accuse or to pry but to ask certain questions. We have heard the legends and read the chronicles. This house is supposedly built over secret tunnels and passageways. In one of these, in some antique chamber, lies the corpse of a very evil man who lived in these parts many hundreds of years ago, a Strigoi.'\n\nThe prior looked up, his face ashen. 'I have never heard the like,' he whispered. 'What is a Strigoi?'\n\n'A man who has died spiritually and whose soul is possessed by an evil spirit from Hell.'\n\nPrior Edmund picked up an iron poker and jabbed furiously at the small log fire, causing a splutter of sparks and a sudden surge of warmth.\n\n'Old wives' tales,' he muttered.\n\n'So, no such tunnels exist?'\n\n'They may have done,' Prior Edmund replied, throwing the poker down. 'But I have never heard of any. This is a house of God, a community dedicated to the service of Christ.'\n\n'Did Abbot Samson ever talk of such matters?' Alexander persisted.\n\n'Never.'\n\n'And you know nothing of these at all?'\n\nPrior Edmund stood up, pushing his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his gown. 'I have told you what I know!' he snapped. 'You carry the king's commission. You may go where you wish, speak to whomever you want. I cannot stop you. However, I am a busy man and, unless you have further questions...?'\n\nHe walked towards the door and opened it. Sir Godfrey shrugged. Alexander helped Dame Edith to her feet and the lay brother, who had been waiting outside, took them back to the stables. As they went down the galleries and outside across the cloister, Alexander stared around. The friary seemed no different from the other religious houses he had visited. The smell of good food mingled with that of polish and soap. Brothers and their lay staff bustled about. The infirmarian carried a stack of crisp linen sheets for the laundry room; servitors noisily laid out the refectory for the evening meal. The sounds were normal \u2013 a hum of conversation from the study carrels as scholars worked, the ringing of bells, the clatter of noise from the outhouses. Nevertheless, Alexander detected something amiss. It was as if everyone was busily acting out a part as they surreptitiously watched these three strangers to their house.\n\nThey had to wait for a while in the stable yard. The lay brother apologized.\n\n'I thought you'd stay longer,' he explained cheerfully, 'so I removed the saddles. It won't take long.'\n\nSir Godfrey nodded and stared back at the friary buildings. 'Everything is in order here,' he declared, 'but...'\n\n'I know what you mean,' Alexander said.\n\n'This is a place of prayer and worship,' Dame Edith murmured, 'but there's something else here.' She shook her head. 'It reminds me of a battlefield where the dead have been buried and masses sung for the repose of their souls. However, if you stand long enough, you can smell the blood and slaughter in the air and experience a deep desolation.' She shifted her head like a hunting dog sniffing the air. 'This place should be burnt,' she continued, 'exorcised by fire, cleansed and purged.'\n\nShe stopped speaking as a monk, white-haired and bent with age, walked slowly towards them, his ash cane tapping the cobbles. He didn't stop until he was almost touching Sir Godfrey, then he looked up, his blue eyes rheumy with age.\n\n'My name is Lanfranc,' he wheezed, dabbing the white phlegm at the corner of his mouth. 'I am the historian of this\u2014' He waved a brown-spotted, vein-streaked hand back towards the friary. His eyes darted first to McBain then to the exorcist.\n\n'You have come at last,' he continued hoarsely. He waved a finger at Dame Edith. 'My sight is going, but my hearing is good. Yes, this place should be burnt, cleansed by fire, the tunnels opened and the evil within destroyed.'\n\nSir Godfrey caught the man's bony wrist.\n\n'You know where such tunnels exist?'\n\n'No,' the old man replied, 'and, if I did, I couldn't show you them \u2013 I am bound by a vow of obedience to that fool Edmund. But Samson's death was not an accident. Samson was courageous but headstrong.' He lifted his head and dabbed at his dripping nose. 'He went to places he shouldn't have done, God rest his soul, and it's all the fault of the stranger.'\n\n'Which stranger?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'Come back,' Lanfranc replied, 'come back tomorrow with the sheriff's men. Bring dogs. I will show you the secret manuscripts.'\n\n'You mean the legends?'\n\n'Aye.'\n\n'Why wait till tomorrow?' Dame Edith retorted. 'Sir Godfrey, you carry the king's warrant.'\n\nThe old man wheezed with laughter and tapped his cane on the cobbles. 'Aye, that's the way,' he chortled.\n\nSir Godfrey looked at McBain, who stood tight-lipped.\n\n'What shall we do?'\n\n'We can't very well force our way in,' Alexander replied slowly, 'but the prior did lie.'\n\nSir Godfrey's hand fell to the hilt of his sword and he was about to shout an order to the ostler when another lay brother came running into the yard, hands flailing.\n\n'Sir! Sir!' he cried. 'You must return to the convent!'\n\nAlexander gripped the lay brother's arm.\n\n'Why?'\n\n'I don't know, sir, but the sheriffs man was most insistent. Sir Oswald Beauchamp demands your presence there.' The man's voice fell to a whisper. 'He did say something about another killing!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Sir Oswald and Proctor Ormiston were waiting in Dame Constance's parlour, an anxious Father Andrew with them. Dame Constance had lost some of her hauteur since her nightmarish fright the previous evening; she sat at her desk pretending to study a book of accounts. Sir Oswald could scarcely contain his impatience.\n\n'More deaths,' he brusquely announced, hardly waiting for Sir Godfrey and his companions to sit down. 'A man, his wife and young daughter brutally slain last night.'\n\n'Where was this?'\n\n'In Bocardo Lane,' Father Andrew interrupted.\n\n'And the corpses?'\n\n'They have already been removed, but they died like the rest \u2013 throats gashed, blood drained, no sign of any forced entry.'\n\n'Couldn't this have waited?' Sir Godfrey snapped.\n\n'This one's different.' The ashen-faced proctor spoke up.\n\n'How?'\n\n'First, the corpses were discovered by neighbours and the news is pouring oil on a flame of rumour spreading through the city. You have been in the market place and witnessed the tension. Rumour piles upon rumour and gossip fans the flames. The students blame the townspeople, the townspeople whisper about satanic covens amongst the scholars.'\n\n'And what else?'\n\nFather Andrew turned to Dame Constance. 'May I bring him in?'\n\nThe abbess nodded and rang the small bell on her desk; a lay sister answered and was ordered to bring 'the child' up. A short while later a boy, his face as white as chalk, eyes large dark pools of fear, entered the room. He clutched the lay sister's hand and sucked noisily on the thumb of his free hand. He stared round-eyed at the people assembled in the room and hid in the lay sister's skirts. Father Andrew crouched down, arms extended.\n\n'Come on, Robert,' he said gently. 'Come to me. Come here, Robert!'\n\nThe boy ran forward and the priest stood up, one arm protectively around the boy's shoulders.\n\n'This is Robert Cotterill,' he announced. 'When his father, mother and sister died, he was playing a game by himself. He was hiding in a secret chamber. The neighbours discovered him only when they heard his crying.'\n\nSir Godfrey strode forward and knelt before the lad. He unhitched his sword and, ignoring the gasps from the others, pushed the leather scabbard into the boy's unresisting hand.\n\n'We have come to help you, Robert,' he said softly. 'Will you stay here and look after this for me?'\n\nThe boy nodded solemnly.\n\n'If you do,' the knight continued, 'I will give you some sweetmeats and we'll find another home for you. However, as long as you hold that sword, because it's sacred, no one can hurt you.'\n\nThe boy's face creased into a smile, his thumb came out of his mouth and he touched the knight gently on the cheek. Sir Godfrey looked at Dame Constance.\n\n'The boy is suffering from deep shock,' he murmured. 'I have seen the same before amongst children in towns taken by storm. They can slip into a sleep from which they never wake, or become violently ill. He must be given warm wine and allowed to sleep. He must never be alone. If these Strigoi, these night-walkers, know there is a survivor...' His voice trailed off. He tousled the boy's hair and glanced warningly at the abbess.\n\n'He will stay in the infirmary,' Dame Constance declared, nodding at the lay sister, 'in full view of our infirmarian. Ask her to give him a sleeping draught.'\n\n'Has he said anything?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Nothing,' Father Andrew replied. 'I brought him straight here with the neighbours who found him. They left us at the gate.'\n\nThe boy trotted off with the lay sister, Sir Godfrey's great sword sheathed in its scabbard clasped in his small hand. The knight grinned sourly at the sheriff.\n\n'If I could borrow yours, Sir Oswald?'\n\nThe sheriff unhitched his and handed it over.\n\n'You did right,' the exorcist declared from where she sat on a stool warming her hands by the fire. 'The boy will sleep and then he will talk, though I doubt if he saw or heard much. Sheriff Beauchamp, you must take precautions.'\n\n'I have already done that!' Beauchamp snapped. 'Every available soldier is now walking the streets. The town council has its own bailiffs and beadles, and Proctor Ormiston has guaranteed the full support of the university.'\n\n'And I have finished here,' Father Andrew said. 'Sirs, if you will excuse me, I must go back to my parish.' He sketched a bow in the direction of the abbess and walked out of the room.\n\nThe proctor made to follow, but Alexander restrained him gently.\n\n'We still have questions to ask,' he insisted.\n\n'The students who disappeared,' he went on, 'don't you think it's strange that the last one, the Brabanter, asked you, Proctor Ormiston, for permission to study in the library at St Mary's church?'\n\nOrmiston shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands.\n\n'Such licences are common,' he snapped. 'Many students ask for such permission. What are you implying, master clerk?'\n\nAlexander smiled. 'Nothing, sir, I just remark upon a coincidence which may interest you.'\n\n'Many things interest me,' Ormiston retorted. 'But, at the moment, my hands are full with other matters.'\n\nThe pilgrims watched expectantly as the knight paused in his tale to refill his wine cup. When it was brimful he picked it up and silently toasted the crop-headed yeoman sitting next to him. For the first time the pilgrims saw the yeoman's stony face break into a slight smile. Their surprise deepened as the yeoman raised his hand and wiped away the tears brimming in his eyes.\n\n'What is going on here?' the franklin whispered to the lawyer.\n\n'Only the sweet Lord knows.'\n\n'Sir knight,' the lawyer called. 'Your tale, you will continue?'\n\nThe knight nodded. The yeoman suddenly got up, went round the table and whispered to the knight, then quietly walked out of the taproom. The lawyer turned and looked through the mullioned glass; in the light of a flickering lamp, he saw the yeoman standing in the yard, his face looking up at the starlit sky. The knight whispered something to the squire, who followed the yeoman out. Then the knight took up his tale again.\n\nLaetitia, the servant girl from the tavern, hurried through the darkening alleys of Oxford to the convent gate of St Anne's.\n\n'I must see the knight,' she whispered to herself. 'Perhaps what I will tell him will be of use. I owe that to Eudo.' She stopped at the corner of a street to catch her breath, coughing to clear her throat. She pulled a shawl closer around her thin shoulders. She had to be careful of that cough, sometimes it hurt, the pain spreading into her throat and, more frightening, she would spit blood as well as phlegm. She recalled Eudo's happy face and laughter-filled eyes. Deep in her heart the girl knew that the scholar was dead. She owed his memory something and, above all, she owed herself. The clerk had kindly eyes, was a just and honest man. He had not frightened her, but promised her a gold coin if she told him what she knew. Laetitia sucked in a deep breath. Well, she would! She would tell him everything and show him the metal disc Eudo had given her which she had secreted under the heel of her cork shoe.\n\nLaetitia hurried on. She turned a corner where the alleyway became as narrow as a needle, but she glimpsed the walls of the convent and her stomach tingled with excitement. She had almost reached the mouth of the alleyway when the dark shapes suddenly appeared out of a doorway to block her path. They were all cowled and masked. Laetitia stopped, heart pounding. She turned to go back but another figure stepped out, blocking her way. Laetitia whirled round, hands clutched to her chest.\n\n'I am only a poor serving girl,' she whispered. 'I have nothing of value.'\n\nThe dark, sinister figures just leaned against the wall.\n\n'What do you want?' she wailed.\n\nThe figures began to push her gently back up the alleyway.\n\n'Oh, please don't!' Laetitia looked wildly about. In the poor light she caught a glimpse of an eye, the white of skin between lip and mask. She crouched against the urine-stained wall.\n\n'I am no whore,' she pleaded. 'What do you want?'\n\n'We want nothing, Laetitia,' one of the dark figures whispered. He waved his hand. 'You may run on!'\n\nLaetitia moved forward.\n\n'No, Laetitia, hold your head high. You may be a servant girl but you have every right to be proud.'\n\nLaetitia relaxed, forcing a smile. Perhaps these were only scholars, she thought, out to play some prank. She cursed herself. She wished she had followed the order, so recently issued by the sheriff, instructing all householders to keep within doors and to allow access to no one.\n\n'Can I go?' she asked.\n\n'Of course you can, Laetitia,' the voice mocked, 'on one condition. You may walk, you may run, but hold your head high!'\n\nThe figure stepped aside. Laetitia made to run, but her shoulder was seized in a vice-like grip.\n\n'Only if you hold your head high, Laetitia!'\n\nThe girl heard a snigger from one of the others which made her flesh creep.\n\n'Go on, Laetitia, run!'\n\nLaetitia needed no second bidding but sped down the alleyway. She stopped, looking over her shoulder to see if there was any sign of pursuit. The dark shapes stayed huddled together.\n\n'Run, Laetitia!' the voice mocked. 'Run proudly!'\n\nLaetitia sped on. She reached the end of the alleyway, her head held high, and the razor-sharp wire strung between the buildings cruelly tore at her throat. The girl staggered back, the blood splashing out. She opened her mouth to scream then tipped over gently, crumpling on to the mud-stained cobbles.\n\nEarly next morning, Sir Oswald Beauchamp with Proctor Ormiston and a posse of soldiers rode into the convent of St Anne's, the sheriff bellowing that he had to see the king's commissioner immediately. Sir Godfrey, Alexander McBain and Dame Edith were breaking their fast in the guest house. Sir Oswald flung the door open and stormed in, Ormiston following like a shadow.\n\n'By Satan's cock!' the sheriff bellowed, his face purple with rage. 'It's started, Sir Godfrey, and now we are in a worse pickle than before.'\n\nThe knight covered Dame Edith's hand.\n\n'Sheriff Beauchamp, there is a lady present and your language hardly becomes you and certainly offends her.'\n\nThe sheriff glowered at him and McBain found it difficult to control his laughter at the sheriffs puce face and popping eyes.\n\n'I apologize,' the sheriff said heavily. 'Lady Edith, I meant no offence.'\n\n'None taken,' she returned. 'I have heard worse.'\n\n'Sir Oswald, Proctor Ormiston,' McBain got to his feet and pushed two stools closer to the table. 'For Heaven's sake, sit down.'\n\nThe sheriff mumbled his thanks. He sat down with all the grace of a falling sack and put his face into his hands. McBain, raising his eyes at Sir Godfrey, went to the buttery and brought back two cups half-filled with wine and placed them in front of their guests. Beauchamp dropped his hands.\n\n'God forgive me,' he said hoarsely, 'but the devil himself seems to have arrived in Oxford. Tell me, Sir Godfrey, did you know a servant girl called Laetitia? A slattern from the Mitre tavern?'\n\nSir Godfrey nodded.\n\n'Well, she's a dead slattern,' Sir Oswald told him. 'Late last night the poor girl had her throat slashed in an alleyway not far from here. I think she was coming to see you. You apparently tried to question her?'\n\n'Yes,' McBain replied. 'She was sweet on one of the students who disappeared. Do you think she was killed by the Strigoi?'\n\n'Oh, yes, but not like the others. They put a razor wire across the mouth of an alleyway and probably panicked her into running headlong into it.'\n\n'You are sure she was coming here?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Oh, yes. She told the taverner at the Mitre where she was going \u2013 to see the gentlemen and the blind woman who tried to talk to her a few days previously.'\n\n'Did she have anything on her person?'\n\n'Nothing. Not a scrip, not a wallet,' Sir Oswald replied. 'Except, when they removed her body to the death house near Eastgate, they found this in the heel of her shoe.' He tossed a black, metal disc, no bigger than a penny, on to the table. Both Sir Godfrey and McBain examined it carefully. It meant nothing to either of them.\n\n'They must have been watching her,' Alexander declared. 'Somehow, when we met her, they silenced her by fear but the lure of gold brought her out.' He shrugged. 'Now she's dead and we know nothing.'\n\n'But you've come about more than that haven't you?' Dame Edith asked the sheriff.\n\nBeauchamp sighed. 'You probably can't hear them from here?'\n\n'Hear what?' Alexander asked.\n\n'I heard bells ringing earlier,' Dame Constance said. 'Not the tolling for prayer or divine office but a wild, frenetic clanging.'\n\nBeauchamp pulled a face. 'The news of the girl's death has spread into the city and that, together with the rumours about the murders, has caused the deep antagonism in the city to overspill. Not just between the students themselves, the usual rivalry between the northerners and the southerners but, more seriously, between the scholars and the townspeople. To put it briefly, a riot has broken out and it looks as if it's spreading.'\n\n'It began this morning,' Proctor Ormiston interrupted, 'when a scholar from Sparrow Hall posted a bill in the Swindlestock tavern seeking a beadsman to pray for the souls of townspeople who were not yet dead but who soon would be, because of their \"crimes\".' Ormiston rubbed his tired face. 'As usual one thing led to another. A citizen read this bill, tore it down and said that the scholars were nothing but putrid murderers. Knives were drawn and a brawl broke out which then spread. The great bell of St Martin's was tolled, ox horns blown and both sides took to the streets. In one hall Fulke, rector of Piglesthorne, poured a cauldron of boiling water over a group of citizens who, in turn, stormed into the hall, setting fire to its gates.' Ormiston looked at Beauchamp. 'The riot's spreading,' he repeated. 'And there's little we can do about it.'\n\n'The Strigoi are behind this,' Dame Edith declared. 'They provoke violence and blood and exploit it to veil their own murderous activities.'\n\nBeauchamp looked pleadingly at Sir Godfrey. 'We need your help. We have to restore order. God knows what terrible crimes will be committed. Sir Godfrey, you are the king's fighting man. All I have are rustic levies, with a few serjeants to strengthen them.'\n\n'I'll come too.' Alexander spoke up before even Sir Godfrey could reply.\n\nA short while later they left the convent, the sheriff's soldiers encircling them, and rode down the High Street. It was apparent that the riots were getting out of hand. No stalls were open and gangs of students and townspeople fought in the streets. At the entrance to one hall a man had been hanged by his ankles and a fire lit beneath his head. On a dung hill near Carfax a young scholar, his robes all torn, lay bleeding. In the alleys and runnels that ran off the main thoroughfares the crash of broken glass mingled with shrieks of rage and fear. Columns of smoke were beginning to pour up, hanging above the roofs. No one approached the sheriff or his armed men but, on a number of occasions, arrows and stones whistled above their heads.\n\nSir Oswald led his group through the city and up to the castle, where he collected reinforcements. He divided them into two parties, one under himself, the other under Sir Godfrey and McBain. It was then a matter of moving from street to street. They tore down the black banners of rebellion, released prisoners, knocked rioters on the head and broke up roving gangs whether of scholars or citizens. Water carriers and bailiffs were organized to douse fires and arrest any looters. McBain admired the knight's ruthlessly cold methods; a street would be cleared, order imposed and a guard left.\n\nSometimes a group of rioters put up a token resistance, but usually they fled in a flurry of catcalls and jeers. Only once were Sir Godfrey and McBain really threatened. Four scholars in ragged hoods, with leather masks over their faces, appeared at the windows of a hall and fired crossbows, injuring two of Beauchamp's soldiers, one mortally. Sir Godfrey dismounted and with a small party stormed the hall, arrested the malefactors, established who had shot the fatal bow and immediately hanged him before the main gates. Alexander McBain did not interfere; he believed such ruthlessness was necessary. He had seen similar riots in Cambridge; if they were not controlled, arson, pillage and the death of innocent women and children would become the norm. As dusk fell, peace was restored and Sir Godfrey and McBain met up with Beauchamp, who had taken his party to the other section of the city, north of the High Street.\n\nOpposite the Saracen's Head, they all took a respite for they were exhausted, their faces black and streaked with sweat, marked by a myriad of minor cuts and bruises. Then they made one final sweep through the city. By the time they reached the castle, congregating outside Trillocks inn, the sheriff's party and Sir Godfrey's had between them arrested over four dozen rioters. Some of these were herded into the castle dungeons, others led off, roped together, to cool their heels in the Bocardo gaol.\n\n'A good day's work,' Beauchamp breathed, mopping his brow. 'Sir Godfrey, you will join us for some wine?'\n\nThe knight shook his head, nursing a wrist where a rioter had struck him with a metal bar.\n\n'Sir Oswald, I thank you, but one day's work is enough. If I dismounted and drank, I'd fall asleep on the ground. What do you say, McBain?'\n\nAlexander nodded. He was saddle-sore, cold and hungry. Above all, he was fearful of what might have happened while he, Sir Godfrey and the city authorities were busily quelling the riots.\n\nThey made their farewells and rode back through the now quiet streets of Oxford. Soldiers, bailiffs and men hired by the university stood at the corner of each street and at the mouth of every alleyway. Criers, armed with bells, loudly proclaimed the curfew, threatening dire punishment on any found wandering the streets that night. They reached St Anne's and left their horses to the grooms. Sir Godfrey ordered the gates to be locked and barred and they both returned to the guest house to shave, wash and eat. The exorcist came over and quietly listened as Sir Godfrey, between mouthfuls of bread and meat, explained what had happened. She nodded, now and again interrupting with a question. Alexander watched her intently.\n\n'You think the riot was a veil for something else don't you?' he asked.\n\nDame Edith adjusted the blindfold over her eyes and smiled thinly.\n\n'In any village or town,' she replied, 'there are always latent jealousies, hatred and rivalries. The Strigoi love these. In Wallachia there was the hatred between the inhabitants and the Turks, the clash between cultures, countries and religions. Oxford's really no different. Northerner hates southerner. Welshman hates Scot. Frenchman detests Spaniard. Scholars detest the townspeople. And so on.' She picked up a small loaf of bread from a platter and broke it into small pieces. 'I just wonder who spread those rumours?'\n\nHer question went unanswered because of a loud knocking at the door.\n\n'Come in!' Sir Godfrey shouted.\n\nA dirty, bedraggled soldier from the castle entered.\n\n'Messages from Sir Oswald,' he gabbled.\n\n'Why?' Alexander asked, half rising from his seat. 'What has happened?'\n\n'Oh, nothing, sir,' the soldier replied. He closed his eyes to remember the message. 'But Sir Oswald says this: \"the black metal disc he found on the girl's body\"\u2014' He opened his eyes. 'Does that make sense?'\n\n'Yes, it does,' Alexander replied.\n\n'Well,' the soldier continued, closing his eyes again. 'Sir Oswald says that when he went through the belongings of the Hospitaller, the one murdered in the woods, he found a similar one in the pocket of his jerkin.'\n\n'Is that all?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'Oh yes, sir. That's all he said. Except thank you for today.'\n\nSir Godfrey nodded and tossed a penny to the messenger, who left as hurriedly as he had entered.\n\n'Black metal discs,' Alexander said. 'What do they mean?'\n\nSir Godfrey blew his cheeks out and drained his wine goblet.\n\n'God knows, master clerk. Dame Edith, you must excuse me. I find it difficult to keep my eyes open, so I bid you good night.'\n\nHe tramped up the stairs. McBain sat down opposite the exorcist, who made no move to leave.\n\n'You must be tired,' she murmured.\n\n'Yes and no,' Alexander replied. 'Tired, yes, but the brain still whirls, the blood beats strong.'\n\n'Get the boy,' Dame Edith said abruptly.\n\n'The boy?'\n\n'Yes, young Robert, whose family were murdered. I understand he rarely sleeps. You have some sweet comfits or marchpane?'\n\nAlexander nodded.\n\n'Then bring them here.'\n\nAlexander had his hand on the latch when the exorcist called out.\n\n'McBain!' Dame Edith controlled the shiver she felt. 'Go nowhere without your sword!'\n\nAlexander was about to argue, but the exorcist had turned her face towards him as if willing him to obey her.\n\n'Please!' she pleaded. 'Do what I say!'\n\nAlexander shrugged, went up to his chamber and fastened his sword belt around his waist. He left the guest house and walked across the dark, silent grounds of the convent towards the infirmary. He found the boy in a small, white-washed cubicle off the main dormitory. He was sitting on the bed, half-heartedly playing counters with the aged and rather forbidding-looking infirmarian. He smiled as Alexander entered and, when the clerk told him to come, leapt from the bed, slipping his little hand into McBain's. The clerk, embarrassed by such tenderness, half muttered an explanation to the infirmarian and took the boy downstairs.\n\n'Are we going home?' Robert asked. 'Are Mother and Father coming back?'\n\n'No,' McBain replied gently. 'But I have some sweetmeats for you, and perhaps I can show you how to cheat the infirmarian at counters.'\n\nThe boy gave a little skip. McBain stopped and looked down at him. The gesture probably saved his life for, as he turned, he glimpsed the dark, cloaked figure swooping out of the blackness, softly rushing across the grass, sword raised. McBain pushed the boy away, ducking sideways as the sword blade hissed by his head and struck the earth. McBain, light as a cat, pulled out both sword and dagger, but the attacker swerved from him and, sword half-raised, ran towards the little boy who lay sprawled wide-eyed on the ground.\n\n'Au secours! Au secours!' Alexander shouted, rushing towards the attacker.\n\nHis assailant turned. In the bright moonlight Alexander glimpsed eyes dancing with malice behind the black mask. The assassin sprang back, his sword snaking out to catch McBain's. Then they parted. McBain dropped his dagger and gripped the hilt of his sword with two hands. He moved to the left, then to the right, trying to draw the cowled, masked figure away from the boy. The attacker advanced, sword high, and suddenly dipped low, aiming for McBain's belly. The clerk blocked the stroke and their swords scraped together before breaking loose. They separated. Again the assailant moved in, light as a dancer on the balls of his feet. The silent yet killing speed of his attacker disconcerted McBain, who could only block his blows. His heart hammered with fear and his stomach curdled; he was no match for this assailant. Sensing this, the attacker closed again. This time the sword came in short, sharp jabs towards Alexander's face. McBain stepped back, praying he would not trip over any obstacle.\n\n'Go, boy!' he screamed. 'Run!'\n\nThe attacker paused. McBain moved in, but the man blocked his clumsy stroke. Robert needed no second bidding, he rose but, to McBain's dismay, did not run towards the guest house but back to the infirmary. Again the assailant closed, sweeping his sword, a deadly swathe of steel, aiming for the soft part of McBain's neck. The clerk parried, their blades clashing in a shrill scream of steel. Again the clerk retreated, chest heaving. Sooner or later his assailant would recognize his weakness and close in for the kill.\n\n'Take him now!' McBain shouted. 'Now, Sir Godfrey!'\n\nThe black garbed figure turned, though only for a few seconds before he sensed the trick. He swung back, but it was too late. McBain rushed in, moving slightly to his assailant's right. The man's sword thrust was hampered. McBain lunged with all his might and felt the throbbing thud as his sword bit into the sinew and muscle of his assailant's neck. The man staggered back. He tried to lift his sword but it slipped from his bloodied hands. He slumped to his knees, then sideways to the ground; the rich red blood spurted from his deep neck wound. McBain felt its hot splashes on the back of his hand before he, too, fell to his knees, digging the point of his sword into the soft, wet grass. He knelt, sobbing for breath, now and again muttering a prayer or a curse at his narrow escape. His body was coated in sweat, which began to chill in the cold night air. He heard voices, the sound of running footsteps, Dame Edith's voice, strident with fear, asking what had happened and Sir Godfrey's gruff replies. Then the knight prised Alexander's fingers loose from the sword hilt and helped him to his feet. McBain could only point, hand quivering, at the fallen man. Sir Godfrey took his misericorde dagger from its sheath and drove it into the fallen man's chest. As he pulled it out with a loud, sucking noise, McBain turned away, vomiting and retching.\n\n'Are you all right?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nMcBain nodded. He felt the exorcist's thin arm around his shoulders, a damp cloth wiping away the spittle and vomit from his mouth.\n\n'Shush!' Dame Edith rocked him gently. 'You are a good man, McBain, a fierce fighter.'\n\n'Aye, you killed the bastard!' Sir Godfrey murmured. 'His head's almost taken from his shoulders.'\n\nHe pulled back the cowl and peeled the mask from the dead man's face. Some of the nuns came out.\n\n'Go back!' Sir Godfrey ordered.\n\nThe nuns retreated. Sir Godfrey pulled the mask off and stared down at the ashen face of a young man, his black hair clammy with sweat. The lips were full and red.\n\n'Have you ever seen him before?'\n\nSir Godfrey looked over his shoulder at Alexander, who blessed himself hastily and shook his head.\n\n'You are to burn the corpse,' Dame Edith interrupted. 'Burn it now!'\n\n'For God's sake, lady!' Sir Godfrey snarled, 'this man could be just some hired assassin.'\n\nDame Edith crossed her arms and shook her head. 'He's one of them,' she whispered. 'Lift his lip.'\n\nSir Godfrey stared at Alexander.\n\n'Do as I say!' Dame Edith ordered. 'Lift his upper lip!'\n\nSir Godfrey did so carefully and flinched as he saw the sharp dogteeth on either side of the man's mouth.\n\n'You see what I mean, Sir Godfrey? Even though I have no sight, I know the Strigoi. His body must be burnt before the spirit leaves the corpse, recognizes itself and wanders the earth.'\n\n'Children's nightmares,' Sir Godfrey murmured. 'Dame Edith, I must summon both the sheriff and the proctor, they may recognize this man. This corpse may provide some evidence about who the Strigoi are and where they hide.'\n\n'Then do it quickly!' Dame Edith hissed. 'Now, within the hour! Before the devil comes to claim his own!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Sir Godfrey pulled the corpse by the legs towards the guest house. He asked Dame Edith to tend the clerk and went back through the darkness to assure Dame Constance and the nuns that all was in hand. He also sent a sleepy-eyed ostler to summon both the sheriff and the proctor, then kept his own vigil over the corpse until both officials arrived. They looked dishevelled and unshaven, but their anger at being so rudely disturbed soon disappeared when Sir Godfrey told them what had happened. They both carefully examined the dead man's features and shook their heads.\n\n'I have never seen him before,' Ormiston declared, 'nor has the sheriff. And he carries nothing on his person to identify him. Perhaps if we stripped him and thew him on the steps of a church someone might recognize him?'\n\n'No! No!' Dame Edith vigorously interrupted. 'The corpse is to be burnt now. I insist on it or I will return to London!'\n\nSir Godfrey looked in surprise at this defiant little woman, noticing the beads of sweat running down her cheeks. He realized that, in her state of agitation, she would not be mollified so he agreed to her demand. The sheriff and Ormiston left. Alexander, after bathing his hands and face and drinking a cup of claret, declared himself fit and well. He went across to ensure that little Robert Cotterill was well and found him fast asleep after being given a mild sleeping potion.\n\nOn his return he found Sir Godfrey in the courtyard, fastening the corpse across a sumpter pony which neighed and whinnied, nervous at the strange burden it carried. Dame Edith insisted on going with him and Sir Godfrey was too tired to object, so they left the convent building together. Sir Godfrey led the pony, Dame Edith rode on a palfrey and Alexander walked beside her, carrying a large jar of oil taken from the convent stores. At one of the city's postern gates they woke a guard who, after seeing Sir Godfrey's warrant, allowed them through. They threaded their way along the narrow pathways that snaked out of the city into the night-shrouded countryside. An eerie journey. The stars shimmered like gems and a hunter's moon slipped between the clouds. The fields on either side were quiet. Now and again the mournful hoot of an owl or the bloody hunt of night creatures in the bracken along the ditches broke the silence. No one spoke; Alexander was still revelling in his narrow escape and Sir Godfrey was too aware of the evil menace that seemed to emanate from the corpse, even though it was swung across the pony like a sack of grain. Dame Edith prayed, time and again repeating the paternoster, emphasizing the phrase Sed libera nos a malo, 'but deliver us from evil'.\n\nThey followed the pathway over the brow of a small hill and down to a small copse of trees near a thin, silvery stream. In a moonlit glade Sir Godfrey stopped and stared around, then moved into the darkness, ordering the clerk to collect dry twigs and branches. They built a small pyre and the knight laid the corpse on top, dousing it with oil, and struck a tinder, lighting the small bundles of kindling beneath the branches. At first the wood seemed impervious to the flames and Alexander shivered.\n\nWas the corpse resisting? But then, as if in answer to a prayer, tongues of fire caught the oil and, within minutes, the pyre was covered in a sheet of flame which roared up towards the starlit sky. Sir Godfrey threw on more branches, the fire grew, lighting up the entire glade. Alexander felt as if he was in Hell, watching a soul being burnt, as the fire greedily devoured the corpse of the Strigoi. Dame Edith kept up her prayers.\n\nThey stood for at least an hour and a half. Only when the flames began to die and a light breeze wafted the acrid smoke towards them, did they go back among the trees where they had left their horses. For a while they stood there; only when Sir Godfrey was satisfied that the raging inferno had reduced the corpse to black ash and yellowing bone did he order their return to the convent. For a while the stench of the fire seemed to follow them, like some evil spirit moving through the cold night air, and Alexander was relieved to slip back through the postern gate into the city. A heavy-eyed porter let them into the convent and took their horses. Dame Edith, lost in her own thoughts, was about to make her way towards the Galilee porch of the convent church when Alexander caught her by the arm.\n\n'Dame Edith, why has the corpse to be burnt so quickly?'\n\nShe turned and, linking her arm through the clerk's, walked back to where Sir Godfrey stood watching them.\n\n'I don't know the real reason. But, remember, a Strigoi is a Shape-shifter and if the corpse remains, so does the spirit. This in turn will wait, seeking out a fresh house, another body to dwell in.'\n\n'You mean these men are possessed?'\n\n'Oh, of course.'\n\n'And the sharpened dog's teeth?'\n\nShe shrugged. 'One of the signs.'\n\nAlexander wiped his mouth on his sleeve.\n\n'And do such men actually drink human blood?'\n\n'In a trance they will. Such practices are not uncommon amongst the heathen. I have heard of tribes in the wildest parts of Scythia who will eat a brave man's heart to gain courage.'\n\n'But does it make them stronger?' Sir Godfrey retorted. 'How can the drinking of blood make any man more skilful or stronger?'\n\nDame Edith tapped the side of her head. 'Sir Godfrey, you are a soldier. You, of all people, should realize that a man is what he thinks he is. What causes one man to be a coward and another be a hero? After all, they may be the same flesh and blood. They may even be brothers from the same womb. It's what they think. Have you not met knights who thought they were invincible?'\n\nSir Godfrey agreed.\n\n'And did it not make them more powerful?'\n\nAgain he murmured his assent.\n\n'And have you not seen soldiers carry out extraordinary feats?'\n\n'True,' he muttered.\n\n'I have seen ordinary people,' Dame Edith continued, 'perform extraordinary feats in the most difficult situations. In London once a cart toppled over, pinning a young boy to the ground. Burly men couldn't shift the cart but his mother came running out of the house, lifted the cart as easily as if it was a basket and so freed her son. So it is with these Strigoi, these Shape-shifters. They practise their dark rituals. They sacrifice their bloody offerings, make their invocations to the Dark Lord and believe nothing on earth can withstand them.' She patted Alexander gently on the arm. 'Our clerk is most fortunate. He used his brain to escape. If he had depended solely on brawn he'd be dead and so would that boy.' She leaned over, gently kissed Alexander on the cheek and walked quietly off into the darkness.\n\nIn the dark woods beneath the Trinitarian friary the hooded, masked figures looked up at the pinpricks of light from the friary. They stood like hounds of Hell watching their prey. Their leader crouched and moved forward, sniffing the night air, ears straining into the darkness. Then beneath the mask his face contorted into a rictus of rage as he looked over his shoulder at his followers.\n\n'Our companion will not join us,' he hissed. 'We must go now.'\n\nThey caught the note of triumph in his voice.\n\n'Tonight, you will see what I promised. One of the great ones kept prisoner for so long will be released from his bonds. You have your orders \u2013 no killing, no violence, unless it is necessary.' He looked back towards the friary and smiled in the darkness. 'Let's give our mumbling prior something to pray about.'\n\nThey slipped up the hill, long, dark shadows in the moonlight, moving like bats towards the friary wall. At the appointed place they stopped and took the small scaling ladder they had concealed there earlier. Once on to the parapet wall, they spread out, the last one pulling the ladder up behind him and placing it gently against the wall. They edged quietly along to the steps and down into the grounds. They moved quickly, keeping to the shadows, well away from the pools of light thrown by the cresset torches Prior Edmund had ordered to be lit in case the turbulence in the city should spill into the friary. A few lay brothers were supposed to be on guard but they were sleeping and proved no obstacle as the intruders climbed walls, going deeper into the friary. They reached the steps leading to the prior's chamber and flitted like ghosts to the top. The leader checked to ensure that the gallery was empty, then knocked softly at the prior's door.\n\nPrior Edmund heard the gentle rapping, rubbed his face and got up from the prie-dieu where he had been praying. Heavy with sleep, he turned the key in the lock and without thinking lifted the latch and pulled the door open. He wanted to scream but a black, leather glove squeezed his mouth and pushed him back into the room. Edmund's heart thudded with terror. The four intruders, clothed in black from head to toe, looked like night crows. He half expected that if they spread their cloaks they would be able to drift like bats across the room. For a moment he imagined he had died and was in Hell, then the hand on his mouth tightened and pushed him up against the wall.\n\n'I will release my hand,' the voice grated. 'But if you scream or raise any alarm, believe me, you will die!'\n\nThe hand was released.\n\n'Well, mumbler, do you wish to live or die?'\n\nEdmund was not the stuff that martyrs are made of.\n\n'Live!' he whispered through bruised lips.\n\n'The secret tunnels and passages?'\n\n'There are no such.'\n\nHe received a stinging blow across his face.\n\n'Please, mumbler. The secret passageways and tunnels beneath this place.' The man drew back his hand, but Edmund nodded. 'We wish to be taken there. You will show us the secret entrances and take us into the chamber where our master lies. We will move behind you. If we meet anyone, you will not stop or talk but use your authority to protect us. You understand?'\n\nPrior Edmund could only agree. The black-garbed figure grasped him by the shoulder and pushed him towards the door. From outside came a faint rumble of thunder. The leader turned towards the lead-paned glass of the window and smiled.\n\n'Fitting,' he whispered. 'Fitting indeed.'\n\nHe bundled Edmund out into the deserted gallery and the prior, sweat-soaked, his heart hammering, stomach churning, legs feeling strangely stiff, led them down the stairs and across the grounds. They entered another building, the oldest part of the friary. This housed the library on the upper floor and a long council chamber, rarely used, on the ground floor. The prior, with shaking hands, inserted his key into the lock and entered the musty darkness, his heart jumping as the black-clad figures slipped behind him. The door slammed shut. Candles were produced and lit. Edmund pushed farther forward.\n\n'Show us!' the leader hissed.\n\nStumbling and shaking with fright, the prior led them across the rush-strewn floor towards the far end of the chamber, stopping just in front of the wooden wainscoting.\n\n'I can't see,' he muttered.\n\nThe candle was pushed closer and he felt a vice-like grip on the back of his neck.\n\n'Find it!'\n\nEdmund moaned with fear. He would have prayed had the grip on his neck not tightened.\n\n'No prattling or mumbling!' the voice hissed.\n\nEdmund's sweat-soaked hands feverishly felt the wooden panelling. He tugged at the hold on his neck.\n\n'Please,' he said. 'Let me go. I can't...'\n\nThe grip was released. Edmund took a deep breath and stared at the pool of light thrown against the carved panelling. Then he saw the knot of wood on the corner of one of the panels. He pressed it and the panel swung loose. Edmund pulled it open, put his hand inside, drew back a bolt, lifted a latch and pushed against the wooden wainscoting. The entire section of the wall moved silently back on its carefully contrived hinges.\n\n'Go down!' the voice ordered.\n\nA candle was thrust into his hand. Edmund gulped and led his captors down the steep stone steps. At the bottom, unbidden, he lit a huge cresset torch and the ancient chamber flared into light. The leader of the group sighed with pleasure as he glimpsed the great steel-bound coffin placed in the centre of the room.\n\n'So, it is here!'\n\nHe snapped his fingers and his companions raced forward and began to prise loose the lid. Edmund, thinking he had been forgotten, edged towards the steps. He thought he would escape. He heard the lid crash off, a cry of delighted surprise, then his shoulder was gripped and, even before he knew it, his throat was slit from ear to ear.\n\nThe next morning Sir Godfrey and Alexander slept late. They were roused by a red-cheeked Mathilda, who said that Dame Edith was waiting in the parlour below and would they like to break their fast? Alexander slipped out of his bed, recalled the events of the previous evening and put his face in his hands.\n\n'When will this business be finished?' he groaned to himself. 'When can we go home?'\n\nHe shook himself alert, stripped, shaved, washed and put on fresh garments. This time he needed no reminder to clasp the sword belt around his waist. Downstairs, Sir Godfrey was already breaking his fast on bread, fish and watered wine and questioning Dame Edith further on the Strigoi. Alexander made his greetings and joined them as the exorcist described the night-wanderers or herlethingi.\n\n'That's the Saxon word for the night-wanderers,' she explained. 'They are mentioned by Walter Mapp in his chronicle, De nugis curialium.'\n\n'Do they really exist?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Well, Mapp says that they have been seen in Brittany \u2013 people supposed to be long dead who reappear as living beings and wander the face of the earth in caravans of horses, men and carts. The theologian Peter Le Bois, in his fourteenth epistle, says that in the reign of our Henry II armies of these night-wanderers rambled about in their mad vagrancy, making no sound. They were seen tramping along the marches of Hereford and Wales with carts and beasts of burden, pack-saddles, provender, baskets, birds and dogs, a mixed multitude of men and women.'\n\n'Are they Strigoi as well?' Alexander asked, breaking up a small manchet loaf.\n\n'They might be, though the point I was making to Sir Godfrey is that reality is not what it appears to be; the dead make their presence felt.' She smiled as she put a small piece of fish into her mouth and chewed it carefully. 'What we now face, however, is different; I feel these Strigoi are waiting for something.'\n\n'Such as?'\n\n'A leader, one of their Dark Lords who has been undead for many years.'\n\nAlexander shivered. The exorcist's words brought back the terrors of the previous evening, so he excused himself, saying he needed some fresh air. Once outside the guest house he walked directly to the garden where he had last seen Emily and his heart leapt with pleasure as he rounded a small privet hedge and saw her sitting there. She was clothed in a cream-coloured, fur-lined cloak, jabbing a needle in a piece of tapestry and singing softly under her breath. Alexander coughed. Emily looked up and Alexander's heart leapt again at the beauty of those splendid blue eyes.\n\n'My lady, good morning.'\n\nEmily smiled, stuck the needle into the piece of tapestry and indicated that Alexander should sit on the turf seat beside her. Alexander thrilled with the sheer warmth and pleasure of being so close. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume and marvelled at the golden roundness of her face.\n\n'You are well, my lady?'\n\nShe moved her hand closer to his. 'I am, sir, though I am afeared.'\n\n'Of what?'\n\n'Dame Constance told me what happened last night.' Her blue eyes swept up to meet his. 'You were brave,' she sighed, 'so very brave in protecting the boy.' A small pink tip of tongue wetted her lips. 'Dame Constance says you are in Oxford to hunt down evil men. You must be frightened.'\n\n'If I have your favour, my lady\u2014' Alexander moved his hand closer to hers, 'then I would go down to meet Satan himself.'\n\nHe half turned to face her squarely. 'And the more I see of you, the closer I come to you, the braver I become.'\n\n'Does that please you?' she whispered, slipping her small, hand in his.\n\n'My lady, my world stops at your gentleness.'\n\nLady Emily half smiled as she began the courteous, graceful dance of chivalrous flirtation.\n\n'You think of me often, sir?'\n\n'No, my lady, I think of you always.'\n\nEmily pressed his hand and moved in a little closer.\n\n'I am a maid,' she murmured, 'unspoken for and not betrothed.'\n\n'My lady, I could change that.'\n\n'Are you noble born?'\n\n'Aye and of noble heart.'\n\n'Do you easily fall in love?'\n\n'My lady, only once.'\n\nShe blinked those beautiful eyes. 'And do you miss her?'\n\nNow Alexander pressed her hand. 'My lady, how can I, when I am sitting so close to her?'\n\nEmily moved her face, turning her cheek slightly away.\n\n'You must capture many hearts?'\n\n'Why many, my lady, when, for me, there's only one.'\n\nEmily looked into the clerk's merry eyes. She felt guilty for she thought of Sir Godfrey with his face of stone and burning looks.\n\n'Do you love me, sir?'\n\n'My lady, you have said it.'\n\n'But, when you are gone?' she whispered.\n\nAlexander slipped off the seat and fell on to one knee, holding her hand and gazing adoringly up at her angelic face.\n\n'Can a man forget his right hand? Can a man ignore the beating of his heart?'\n\nLady Emily was about to reply when she heard a sound and turned. Sir Godfrey stood there and, by the stricken look on his face and the sheer passion in his eyes, she knew the knight truly loved her. If she was honest, she would have preferred him, proud as an eagle, to be the one kneeling before her.\n\n'Sir Godfrey,' she called. 'Good morrow to you!'\n\nAlexander rose hastily to his feet.\n\n'Sir,' he blustered, 'you come unannounced.'\n\n'Sir,' Sir Godfrey replied sardonically, 'if I thought I needed a herald I would have hired one. Sir Oswald and Proctor Ormiston are in the great house, they demand our presence.'\n\nBut Sir Godfrey's eyes were for Lady Emily. She stared coolly back. For God's sake, she thought, make a move, declare yourself. Sir Godfrey, however, turned on his heel and walked back behind the hedge. Alexander sighed, took Emily's hand and raised it to her lips.\n\n'My lady, another time.'\n\nThen he hastily followed, leaving Emily to fume at Sir Godfrey's abrupt departure.\n\n'Sir Godfrey!' Alexander called.\n\nThe knight turned and Alexander glimpsed the fury in his face.\n\n'Sir,' Alexander declared, 'you lack manners.'\n\nSir Godfrey stepped closer, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.\n\n'You bloody clerk!' he snarled. 'With your glib phrases and flattering words!'\n\nAlexander smiled. So, you have a heart, he thought. Blood does beat in your brains and send fiery messages coursing through your veins.\n\nSir Godfrey moved closer. 'Do you find me amusing?'\n\nAlexander stepped back, his hand going to his sword.\n\n'Sir Godfrey, I respect you.'\n\n'Don't play with me!'\n\nThe knight's hands moved quickly and the sword seemed to leap from his scabbard. Alexander followed suit, stepping back, raising his own sword to cross that of the knight.\n\n'Why?' Alexander pleaded.\n\n'Because, sir, you insult me.'\n\n'Before Heaven, I do not!'\n\nSir Godfrey took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lowered his sword.\n\n'No, sir, you do not.'\n\nHe sheathed his weapon, Alexander did likewise and the knight stretched out his hand.\n\n'I find it difficult,' he muttered. 'I am not well versed in words.'\n\nAlexander grinned, took the knight's hand and shook it vigorously.\n\n'Words are nothing.'\n\n'Don't quarrel!'\n\nSir Godfrey whirled around. Dame Edith stood nearby under the overhanging branches of an elm.\n\n'Don't quarrel!' she repeated. She flailed her hands at her side. 'Why do you men always have to fight for love? You see a pretty face and you become like bucks on heat. You, Sir Godfrey, are a knight. And you, Alexander McBain, are his trusted clerk. You have a task to do. So, finish it! And, afterwards I shall judge between you.' She half smiled. 'I will be your Queen of Love!' She beckoned them forward as if they were recalcitrant boys. 'I know how the heart hungers,' she whispered. 'We crave for love, the human heart is an inexhaustible hunter for it. But let it wait, your visitors expect you.'\n\nThe two men sheepishly followed the exorcist back to the guest house, where Sir Oswald Beauchamp and Proctor Ormiston impatiently awaited them.\n\n'God's teeth!' the sheriff snarled. 'Sir Godfrey, you must come with us. Last night the Trinitarian friary was attacked. Prior Edmund is dead. They say a secret chamber has been violated.'\n\n'And what else?' Dame Edith spoke.\n\n'A coffin was emptied,' Ormiston blurted out. 'Why did they kill for a corpse?'\n\n'Oh, sweet Lord!' Dame Edith murmured and sat down on one of the stools. 'That fool of a prior!' She shook her head. 'So, it's happened.'\n\n'What has?' Alexander asked.\n\n'They must have released their Dark Lord,' Dame Edith replied. 'The Strigoi Sir Hugh Mortimer imprisoned there so many hundreds of years ago.'\n\n'Folderol!' McBain snapped. 'Oh, Dame Edith, I accept your night-walkers, your drinkers of blood, your Strigoi, your Shape-shifters! But how can a man survive in a coffin for hundreds of years?'\n\nDame Edith rapped the top of the table.\n\n'Have you not listened?' she snapped. 'The Strigoi never die! If their corpses survive, they merely sleep!'\n\n'In which case,' the knight intervened, 'why doesn't this Dark Lord just rise from his coffin and walk?'\n\n'He has to be summoned,' Dame Edith replied wearily. 'He has to be invited back. He has to have the blood sacrifice poured over him, then he comes to life.' She looked in the direction of the four men and quietly cursed their uncertainty. 'What is so original about that?' she cried. 'McBain, do you pray?'\n\nThe clerk nodded.\n\n'Sir Godfrey?'\n\n'Of course!'\n\n'And you, Sheriff Beauchamp, Proctor Ormiston?'\n\nBoth men agreed.\n\n'And when you pray,' Dame Edith exclaimed, 'you call upon Christ to come to you or invoke the favour of your patron saint, yes?'\n\nThe men nodded their heads in agreement.\n\n'The Strigoi are no different,' she declared. 'They believe that, if they call, the forces of Hell will answer.' She got to her feet, pushing the bench aside. 'Let us go to the friary. You'll see!' she rasped. 'Before the week is out, you will see the powers of their Dark Lord.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "The knight paused in his story-telling and looked around the taproom. He particularly watched the monk, whose eyes never left him. Then he turned towards his golden-haired son, the squire, who stood in the doorway with the yeoman beside him. 'Are you well, Robert?' the knight asked.\n\n'Aye, sir. But memory can be a sharp prick and the soul never forgets.'\n\nThe knight smiled and gestured his son and the yeoman to sit down, pushing the wine jug towards their empty cups.\n\n'Let's finish the tale, sir knight!' the wife of Bath, half-way down the table, leaned forward, her face beaming in a gap-toothed smile. 'Sir knight, you play with us, you tell us about this beautiful Lady Emily and in your tale today, the one about Arcite and Palamon, the lady is also called Emily.'\n\nThe knight raised his eyebrows. 'So?'\n\nThe wife of Bath wagged a finger at him.\n\n'In your tale about ancient Thebes all your names are Greek \u2013 Arcite, Palamon and so forth. Why, in both tales, the one you tell now and the one you told today, are your heroines called Emily?'\n\nThe knight smiled faintly but the wife of Bath was not easy to discourage.\n\n'Tell me the name of your wife,' she demanded.\n\n'I've been married twice,' the knight replied. 'Once to a lady called Katerina.'\n\n'And the second time?'\n\nThe knight shrugged. 'Let me finish my tale.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "They found the Trinitarian friary in uproar. The sub-prior, a young man called Roger, met them in the small guest house. He was full of panic, constantly muttering, 'What can I do? What can I do?'\n\n'You can keep your courage,' Sir Godfrey grated. 'Now, tell me what happened?'\n\n'The bell sounded for matins this morning,' the sub-prior replied. 'We assembled in the choir to sing divine office. Only then did I notice Prior Edmund was missing. I thought he was ill, but the lay brothers I sent to look for him came back to report that his room was empty and the door half-open. So I ordered a search. You'd best come with me.'\n\nHe led them across the grounds and into the musty council chamber. Dame Edith, however, stopped just outside the door. She moved her head from side to side. McBain could see how her hands trembled, so he took her arm.\n\n'Dame Edith, you are well?'\n\n'Such evil,' she murmured. 'It has gone, but the stink remains, the stench of corruption. The perfume of wickedness hangs heavy in the air.'\n\n'What's she chattering about?' the sub-prior asked anxiously.\n\n'She's not chattering!' McBain snarled. 'For God's sake, haven't you heard the legends about this place?'\n\nThe sub-prior mumbled an apology. 'I thought they were stories for children. We have heard of the secret passageways and chambers but, until this morning...'\n\nHis voice trailed off as he gestured towards the end of the hall where the secret door was still open. Half-way down the hall he stopped to light some candles, then he led them down the steps to the secret chamber. At the bottom Sir Godfrey drew his sword, for even he felt the hostility of that stark, empty chamber. The sub-prior's hesitancy increased and McBain had an overwhelming desire to run back up the steps away from this dreadful room. Dame Edith, however, recovered her poise.\n\n'The evil has gone,' she murmured. 'Sir Godfrey, there is a coffin, yes? Lead me across to it.'\n\nThey went across to the lead-lined oaken casket in the middle of the floor. On either side broken chains hung and the samite on which the corpse had lain was lying rumpled on the floor.\n\n'Describe it to me,' Dame Edith commanded.\n\nSir Godfrey did so, breaking off at intervals to stare into the corners of the room, fearful that some malignant presence lurked there waiting to attack him.\n\n'Nothing's corrupted?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'Nothing, my lady.'\n\n'It proves what I said,' she cried. 'The person buried here was one of the undead, a Strigoi lord. Now he has been released. We will have to hunt him down.'\n\nThe sub-prior, Roger, listened round-eyed.\n\n'Who is she?' he asked, mystified.\n\n'Never you mind,' Sir Godfrey snapped. He produced a small scroll from his wallet. 'Do you recognize the seal?'\n\nThe sub-prior examined the warrant in the light of the flickering candle.\n\n'Why, yes, it is the king's seal.'\n\n'And what does the letter say?'\n\n'What the bearer of this letter orders to be done is to be done immediately and without question.'\n\n'Good!' Sir Godfrey continued. 'You have read it. You understand it, you have seen the seal on it. Now, this is my order. I want the library on the top storey cleared of all possessions, moveables, manuscripts, books.'\n\n'And then what?' the sub-prior whimpered.\n\n'This chamber cleansed by fire and the entire building razed to the ground. Once this is done, the bricks and the timber are to be soaked in oil and purged by fire. What rubble is left is to be thrown into a deep pit.'\n\n'That's impossible.'\n\nSir Godfrey grabbed the monk by the front of his habit.\n\n'I mean,' the sub-prior pleaded, 'I need the permission of my superiors.'\n\n'And I act on the authority of the king,' Sir Godfrey whispered hoarsely. 'And, if you don't do it, I'll come back, arrest you for high treason and burn the whole bloody place to the ground! If your stupid prior had been honest and co-operative in the first place, this tragedy might not have happened! Now, promise me that by tomorrow evening the work will have been done!'\n\n'It must be done,' Dame Edith insisted.\n\nThe sub-prior nodded. The knight released his grip.\n\n'Now, let's get out of this hell-hole,' he said.\n\n'Don't you wish to see Prior Edmund's body?'\n\n'He is dead?' McBain asked.\n\n'Of course, his throat has been slit.'\n\n'Then he is in God's hands, not ours. So, what can we do?'\n\nOutside in the grounds Brother Lanfranc, the archivist, was waiting for them.\n\n'Sir knight, the evil has gone?'\n\n'Yes and now this place must be razed.'\n\nThe old man's rheumy eyes crinkled and he cackled with laughter.\n\n'I always said it should be. But my books and manuscripts will be safe?'\n\n'Of course.'\n\nThe rheumy eyes lit with pleasure. He looked contemptuously at the young sub-prior. 'Then I will show you something kept in my possession, a journal.'\n\nRoger made to protest but Sir Godfrey told him to be silent and go about his business. They followed the ancient one up a steep flight of stairs and into the long library, very similar to the one they had visited at St Mary's church. Lanfranc lit the candles under their protective metal caps and, wheezing and muttering, opened a huge, iron-bound coffer secured by five locks. He rummaged among the contents and brought out a thin, calf-bound ledger which he invited McBain to inspect. The clerk studied it curiously \u2013 first the title page, then the different entries \u2013 turning the pages over quickly.\n\n'What is it?' Dame Edith asked impatiently.\n\n'It's a secret journal,' Alexander explained. 'The secrets of this house were passed from abbot to abbot. They had a duty every so often to inspect the crypt and ensure all was well.' He tapped the title page. 'They were admonished not to tamper with the coffin and, on their oath of obedience to God, enter each visitation in this ledger.' He smiled wryly. 'But I suspect that though some abbots faithfully followed this instruction others were overcome by curiosity. Years ago one of them actually opened the coffin. Nothing happened, so different successors followed suit.'\n\n'But it would have an effect,' Dame Edith insisted.\n\n'And it did,' Alexander replied. 'Do you remember those incidents mentioned in the manuscripts at the university library?'\n\n'Yes,' Sir Godfrey said. 'How certain people in the city who had an evil reputation later came back from the dead.'\n\n'Well,' Alexander continued, turning to one page, 'we now have the reason. Remember, I described an incident in the summer of 1297? In that same year, according to this journal, the abbot visited the secret room. I suspect he broke his oath and peeped into the coffin.'\n\n'So,' Sir Godfrey declared, 'every time that coffin was interfered with, some evil escaped to wreak its effect in the city?'\n\n'Of course,' Dame Edith interrupted. 'If you put this journal next to the chronicle you would see a correlation. Every time an abbot broke his oath and tampered with that coffin, the evil influence of the Strigoi made its presence felt.' Dame Edith sat down on a stool. 'We must not forget,' she continued, 'that evil is no different from anything else. As the Blessed Aquinas says, following Plato, what is natural only mirrors the supernatural. If you open an oven, heat escapes; unstop a jar of perfume or a flask of wine and the fragrance rises in the air. Every time that coffin was opened some of its evil seeped out to make its presence felt. Now the cause of that evil has escaped and may God help us all.'\n\n'What do you mean?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'This Strigoi lord,' Dame Edith explained, 'will use the coven that rescued him to gather others around him, in this kingdom and across the seas.'\n\n'So all must be destroyed?'\n\nDame Edith licked her dry lips. She sensed that the confrontation with this evil was not far off.\n\n'We must destroy either the Strigoi lord or his followers; he would be powerless without a coven to sustain and nourish him. But it must be done, and done quickly!' She snaked her hand out and caught McBain's wrist. 'Look at the last entries. What do you find?'\n\nAlexander turned the yellowing pages.\n\n'Oh, sweet Lord!' he breathed, 'over the last year the deceased Abbot Samson went at least a dozen times into that crypt.'\n\n'I thought so,' Lanfranc chortled. 'I thought so. I knew he was up to mischief, he kept asking for the journal. On one occasion I objected but he over-ruled me.'\n\n'What was he after?' Alexander asked.\n\n'He was pig-headed,' Lanfranc hissed bitterly. 'This house has never prospered. He thought the crypt contained the key to secret wealth, which he could use to drain the fens and bogs. But I tell you this, sir knight, forget that runny-nosed sub-prior. I leave this friary tomorrow. I am journeying to the mother house in France. I will go down on my knees and beg my superiors in Christ to burn this place to the ground.'\n\nMcBain went back to the journal. 'There's one final entry,' he said, 'not written in the abbot's hand.'\n\n'Ah, that would be that fool Prior Edmund.'\n\n'What is it?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'It just says that in the dead of night Abbot Samson and another went into the crypt. Abbot Samson never left alive.'\n\n'Typical!' Lanfranc jeered. 'Samson lacked the wisdom to consult with me or anyone else. Edmund thought he would clear his conscience by making the entry.'\n\n'How did Samson die?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Fear, fright, poison,' Dame Edith answered. 'But the fool is dead, God rest him!'\n\n'But the other isn't,' Sir Godfrey added. 'I wonder who this Strigoi was?'\n\n'May I keep this?' Alexander asked, tapping the journal with his fingers.\n\nLanfranc nodded. 'Of course, it won't be needed again, will it?'\n\nThey collected their horses from the stables and rode back to the convent of St Anne's. Just as they entered the main gate, Dame Edith pulled in her reins and gestured at both men to draw close.\n\n'No more running about,' she whispered. 'There could be other attacks, other murders. But, terrible as they are, they are just moonbeams, mere shadows of the substance we seek. You, master clerk, have all the evidence you need. You know now what we face, so use that brain of yours! Discover who this \"other\" is, who joined Abbot Samson in that crypt, and we'll find the Strigoi lord.'\n\nAlexander smiled, dismounted and returned to the guest house. Once he had washed and eaten he collected the journal, with all the other notes and memoranda he had written since arriving at Oxford, and went to sit in one of the study carrels of the convent's scriptorium. At first he was restless, finding it difficult to concentrate. He was horrified by what he had seen at the priory yet he was also distracted by Emily's fair face and the hurt he had seen in the knight's eyes. He sighed, drew a piece of parchment over, carefully wrote out what he wanted and, using his charm, asked one of the lay sisters to take it to the lady Emily. Alexander then returned to his labours but found it difficult to make any sense of what they had learnt. He remembered Robert Cotterill and, leaving his quill and manuscripts, went across to the infirmary, where he found the boy playing marbles in the centre of the floor. Alexander crouched and watched him and, when invited, joined in.\n\n'You are good at this aren't you?' the boy said. 'You are good at everything. You can read and write and you can use a sword. You are even better than that knight who never speaks.'\n\nAlexander smiled. 'I used to be very good at skittles,' he said. 'Have you ever played that, Robert?'\n\nThe boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and shook his head.\n\n'You have ten polished pins of wood,' Alexander explained. He took hold of the marbles. 'And you set them up like this and then try to knock them down with a ball. If you are really clever, really good, you can do it with one throw.'\n\n'I'd like that game,' the boy said.\n\n'And I'll buy you it,' Alexander promised. 'But, look, Robert, I need your help, though it may cause you pain. Can you tell me what happened? What you heard or saw the night your sister and parents died?'\n\nHe saw fear and pain cloud the young boy's eyes. He would have liked to have given Robert a hug and tell him to forget his question. But, surely, Alexander thought, the boy knew something.\n\n'Please, Robert, try,' he pleaded. 'If you do that, I can bring a very evil man to justice.'\n\nThe boy crouched down on his heels and closed his eyes.\n\n'I was playing a game,' he intoned. 'I was playing in my secret chamber. Mother was cross with Father so I thought I would stay there. I was happy watching the candle-flame flicker. I heard a knock on the door. Mummy laughed as someone came in.'\n\n'Did you hear anything?'\n\n'Yes, I thought about that. I heard a man saying \"ditch\".'\n\n'Ditch?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Then what happened?'\n\n'Mother went into the kitchen, there was a clatter of pots, then she came back. I thought the visitor was a neighbour so I dozed for a while. When I woke up\u2014' The boy's lower lip began to quiver. 'When I woke up I knew something terrible had happened. I stayed still. I heard someone move outside, then they were gone.' The boy crept closer and Alexander put his arm around him.\n\n'Shush!' he said, patting him gently. 'Are you sure there is nothing else?'\n\n'No,' the boy mumbled.\n\nAlexander comforted him for a while, slipped a piece of marchpane into his hand and went back to the scriptorium. He took a piece of parchment, smoothing it out, holding the four corners down with metal weights, and began to list all that he knew. The strange deaths, men and women dying with no sign of forced entry, no commotion or alarm, yet the corpses left drained of blood. The opening of the crypt by Abbot Samson and the attack on Prior Edmund. The death of the Hospitaller in the forest. The disappearance of the relic. The phrase 'Le chevalier outr\u00e9 mer' above the dead Hospitaller's bed in the castle. The death of Laetitia, the tavern maid. The metal discs found on her and the dead Hospitaller. The old legend about the devil returning to 'the rock near the new keep'. Little Robert Cotterill's description and the use of that strange word 'ditch'. Finally, who was the person who had accompanied Abbot Samson, the 'other' \u2013 Prior Edmund had used the Latin word 'alius' \u2013 of the journal? Alexander half dozed for a while, different thoughts teeming in his mind, then he shook himself awake. Prior Edmund would have had a classical education. Why did he use the word 'alius'? Shouldn't he have used 'alter', meaning 'the other of two'? Why did 'alius' seem significant? Where had he read it? Alexander suddenly went cold as he remembered. 'Christus alius', 'another Christ'!\n\n'Oh, my God!' he exclaimed. 'Of course! Oh, my God!'\n\nHe ran back towards the infirmary. Robert was still playing marbles with one of the lay sisters, laughing and clapping his hands at her lack of skill.\n\n'Robert! Are you sure that the visitor to your house said \"ditch\"? Or did he say \"benedicite\"?'\n\nRobert stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded. Alexander gripped him by the arms.\n\n'Robert, did he say \"benedicite\"? You must answer me!'\n\nThe thumb popped out.\n\n'Yes, he did. \"Benedicite\".' The little boy stammered over the syllables.\n\nAlexander glared at the surprised lay sister.\n\n'Go!' he ordered. 'Tell Sir Godfrey, Dame Edith and Dame Constance I must see them! Tell the lady abbess a messenger must be sent immediately to the sheriff and to Proctor Ormiston. I will meet them all in the guest house. Go on!' he urged. He turned back to the boy. 'Robert! You stay here!' He pointed to where the infirmarian was working, further down the dormitory. 'Never leave her side!'\n\nAlexander went back to the scriptorium, where he began to write hurriedly. Sir Godfrey came storming over to ask what was the matter, but McBain waved him away. He stayed for at least an hour and, by the time he reached the guest house, everyone was waiting in the small refectory. Beauchamp and Ormiston looked furious. Dame Constance sat imperiously tapping the top of the table with her long, slender fingers. Sir Godfrey walked up and down like some hunting dog. Only Dame Edith seemed composed.\n\n'I know who the Strigoi master is,' Alexander declared as they all took their seats, Dame Constance serving her guests goblets of white wine.\n\n'I have no proof, as yet, but logic and commonsense dictate the truth.'\n\n'Who is it?'\n\n'Father Andrew, priest of St Peter's near the castle.'\n\n'Nonsense!' Beauchamp snarled, half rising to his feet. 'How dare you malign such a good priest?'\n\nSir Godfrey drew his dagger and banged its pommel on the table top.\n\n'You will hear the clerk out!'\n\nAlexander got to his feet, finding it difficult to contain his excitement.\n\n'First,' he declared, 'we have killers who can gain access to a house in the dead of night, murder their victims and escape scot-free without causing any tumult or commotion. Who better than a priest? He could slip along the streets and alleyways of Oxford unchallenged by the watch. He could even pretend to be carrying a host. He knocks on the door and enters saying \"benedicite\", a blessing on you all.'\n\n'Father Andrew may be a youngish, fairly strong man,' Proctor Ormiston interrupted, 'but could he kill so many people?'\n\n'Ah!' Alexander picked up his wine cup. 'What happens if he brought some wine, a gift? Robert Cotterill heard the \"benedicite\" but, being a child, he only caught the second syllable, the one anyone emphasizes, \"\u2014dicite\". He also heard his mother go into the kitchen for cups or goblets. The wine is poured and drunk but it contains some sleeping powder \u2013 crushed poppy seeds or valerian. In a few minutes the householders are drugged.' Alexander put his wine cup down. 'And, if there were young people in the house, Father Andrew might allow them to sip from his goblet. He made sure he never drank any.'\n\n'So, he killed them all himself?'\n\n'Oh, no. He opened the door to allow others in.'\n\n'But my guards,' Beauchamp objected. 'The city watch, they never apprehended anyone.'\n\n'Sir Godfrey,' Alexander asked, 'when we rode the streets of Oxford that night, whom did we see?'\n\n'No one.'\n\n'No, think again.'\n\n'A few beggars.' The knight's jaw dropped. 'Of course!' he breathed. 'Who could dream that some beggar pretending to be maimed, covered in dirt and clothed in rags, was the killer?'\n\n'Of course,' Alexander continued. 'The beggars are always with us. We pass them by, treat them with contempt. Now, what happens if four or five of these beggars are really Father Andrew's accomplices? Some of those young men who help him at the church, giving bread and meat to the poor. A fact I'll return to in a minute. These young men, using their beggarly disguise and the cloak of night, take up position outside a house like the Cotterills'. Once the family are drugged, Father Andrew lets his accomplices in. They slit their victims' throats, perpetrate their abominable practices and slip back into the night.' Alexander paused. 'Never once are they disturbed, except when they came across that drunken student you later arrested, Sir Oswald. They knew of our coming here so they daubed the student with blood to mislead us and passed on.'\n\n'What other proof do you have?' Dame Edith asked quietly.\n\n'Well, both the Hospitaller and the dead slattern from the Mitre carried black metal discs. These are probably counters given out by Father Andrew and his helpers so the poor can claim their bowl of pottage and loaf of bread. Don't you remember when we passed him outside his church?'\n\nSir Godfrey nodded.\n\n'But why kill those two?' Proctor Ormiston asked.\n\n'Well, I think Laetitia was bringing the counter to us as some proof of the link between her dead sweetheart, Eudo, and Father Andrew. And in the Hospitaller's case\u2014' Alexander smiled sourly and sat down. 'Don't forget he was a fugitive from the law. He arrived in Oxford hungry and thirsty and what does he do? Where can he get free food?'\n\n'Of course!' The doubt ebbed from the sheriffs face. 'He would join the other beggars outside St Peter's church. That's why he had a counter.'\n\n'Ah, he did more than that. He was carrying a precious relic with him. I suspect he went into the church and hid that somewhere. Sir Oswald, or you, Dame Constance, you know Oxford well. In St Peter's church is there the tomb of a crusader?'\n\n'A \"chevalier outr\u00e9 mer\"!' Ormiston breathed.\n\n'Exactly,' Alexander confirmed. 'A knight who had gone across the sea.'\n\n'Yes, there is,' Beauchamp replied. 'A large tomb in one of the transepts. The effigy of a knight lies on top, legs crossed at the ankles as a sign that he had served in the Crusades.'\n\n'If we go there, I'm sure we'll find the reliquary. Now, Father Andrew was a demon priest. He may have pretended to say mass but he never actually consecrated the bread or wine. He may have pretended to keep the blessed sacrament reserved in the tabernacle but, in reality, he didn't. Accordingly, the church posed no threat to him. However, the presence of a powerful reliquary, if Dame Edith is to be believed, would disturb the wickedness of himself and his followers. Therefore the church was closed on the pretence that the roof needed repair. In reality, the Strigoi, Father Andrew, would have an excuse not to be anywhere near the relic. The Hospitaller, of course, had to die for his crime.'\n\n'What other proof is there?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'Ah well, now we come to the opening of the crypt at the Trinitarian friary by Abbot Samson. You may remember that Abbot Samson was visited by someone who accompanied him there. Prior Edmund described him as \"alius\", \"another\". However, Edmund was an educated man, he should have used \"alter\". I was intrigued. But when I spoke to little Robert and heard about \"benedicite\", I understood. Dame Edith, what is a name sometimes given to a priest?'\n\n'Christus alius,' she replied. 'Another Christ.'\n\n'I think that is what Edmund meant. Samson and another priest went to the crypt. Somehow or other Father Andrew convinced Samson that his presence there was necessary, playing on the abbot's desire for wealth, the means to enrich his monastery.' Alexander shrugged. 'Father Andrew really wanted to ensure that the Strigoi lord, buried alive centuries earlier by Sir Hugo Mortimer, still lay there.' Alexander toyed with the cup in his hand. 'There are other pieces of evidence: the attack on me, when the Strigoi were really trying to kill young Robert. And who knew he was here except Father Andrew and the people in this room?'\n\n'What about the students who disappeared?' Ormiston said.\n\n'Ah, that's one piece in the puzzle that is difficult to fit. But, don't forget, they disappeared before the attacks in the city itself. Somehow or other Father Andrew got to know the Luminosi, he exploited their secrecy and used them to gain access to the library archives so as to study the manuscripts, then he killed them. But there are limits to the victims he could choose; when he and his coven wanted fresh blood, they began their attacks in the city.'\n\n'Why didn't they just kill the poor they served?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\n'Perhaps they did,' Alexander replied. 'One or two. Such poor creatures would never be missed but Father Andrew wished to protect his public reputation. Moreover, if the poor began to die, someone might suspect.'\n\nSir Oswald Beauchamp heaved himself to his feet, his podgy, white face a mixture of trust and disbelief.\n\n'What you say, Master McBain, could be the truth.' He pointed at Dame Edith. 'But why didn't she recognize him? Why didn't she sense the evil?'\n\n'Even Satan can appear as an angel of light,' Dame Edith replied. 'You are a law officer, Sir Oswald, you have experience of crime. Can you tell a criminal just because you are in his presence?' She shrugged. 'Then neither could I tell this demon-possessed priest. Unless he made a mistake, let the mask slip, and he was very careful not to do that.'\n\n'Why did they need so much blood?' Ormiston asked, as if talking to himself.\n\n'To refresh themselves,' Dame Edith answered. 'To practise their rites, to drink, to revive the body of their Strigoi lord.'\n\nBeauchamp walked towards the door.\n\n'Sir Oswald, where are you going?' the knight asked.\n\n'We,' the sheriff emphasized, 'we, everyone in this room, with the exception of Dame Constance, will go to the church of St Peter. We'll find the proof there.'\n\n'The proof is there.' Alexander smiled faintly. 'You told us about the ancient legends, when \"the devil from the old keep comes to the rock near the new keep\".'\n\n'What do you mean?' Sir Oswald snapped.\n\n'Peter is \"rock\" in Latin,' Alexander explained, 'and St Peter's is near the keep of your castle. The old keep is now the site of the Trinitarian friary.'\n\nSir Oswald just shook his head. 'Perhaps you tell the truth, clerk, but let's see for ourselves.'\n\nThey found the church cloaked in darkness, nor was any light showing from the priest's house. Sir Oswald's soldiers forced the door and, as soon as they were inside, Dame Edith said she felt faint.\n\n'Great evil has been here,' she whispered as Alexander helped her on to a stood in the small kitchen, while one of Sir Oswald's soldiers began to light candles. The knight looked around the clean, gaunt, white-washed chamber.\n\n'Nothing remarkable,' he observed, yet he too felt the fear tightening his jaw and curling the hair on the nape of his neck.\n\n'So clean,' Alexander murmured. 'Too clean. And, have you noticed? No crucifix. Nothing to indicate he is a priest.' He sniffed. 'And that smell, stale as rotting food!'\n\nSir Godfrey drew his sword and climbed the rickety steps up to the small loft that served as a bedroom. He called for a candle and one was passed up.\n\n'Alexander McBain!' he shouted. 'Come!'\n\nThe clerk followed. At first he could see nothing wrong \u2013 just a simple chest, a bed and two battered coffers. Sir Godfrey lifted the candle higher and Alexander's stomach lurched. On the far wall a crucifix stood upside down. The corpse of a rat had been nailed to it and, on either side, a red eye had been painted. In the flickering candle-light it looked as if some baleful face was watching them. Alexander cursed, walked over and knocked the blasphemy from the wall.\n\n'He's fled!' Sir Godfrey said, 'and he left that as his farewell!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "They went back downstairs. Sir Oswald, Ormiston and the soldiers clustered near the door like frightened children.\n\n'Don't eat or drink anything!' the knight ordered. 'Anything at all!'\n\nSir Godfrey was about to lead them out when he noticed, in the far corner near the hearth, a small iron ring. He went over, kicking the rushes aside to reveal a wooden trapdoor. Sir Godfrey hacked the padlock off with an axe lying near the wall, pulled up the trapdoor and went down. Immediately he caught the stench of corruption, of stale blood. It reminded him of battlefields, when the fighting is done and the corpses have to be buried.\n\n'Lord!' he breathed, looking up at Alexander, who handed down a candle. 'What horrors here!'\n\nMcBain followed him down, covering his nose and mouth with his cloak. At first they thought it was just an ordinary cellar, though it stank like a slaughterhouse. Above them they could hear the cries and exclamations of the rest as the stench seeped out into the kitchen.\n\nSir Godfrey edged his way forward. As the flame of the candle grew stronger, he saw that a pit, about three feet deep and ten feet square, had been dug in the middle of the cellar. Sir Godfrey fought back the inclination to gag, went to the edge of the pit and looked down. It seemed to be covered in some sort of drape and he tested this with his dagger. He held the candle closer to discover it was ox-hide, large pieces sewn together and laid across each other to cover the entire pit. He leant down and scraped his dagger along the leather. He then examined his dagger point in the full glow of the candle-light.\n\n'Blood!' he exclaimed. 'Like some rotten wine vat. Oh, my God!'\n\nHe looked over his shoulder at the clerk, but McBain was now leaning against the wall retching violently.\n\n'They brought the blood here!' Sir Godfrey whispered to himself. 'They drained their victims and brought the blood here, probably using wineskins, turning this into some sort of horrible vat!'\n\nThe knight could stand no more so he helped McBain up into the kitchen. The sheriff and proctor had already left. Only Dame Edith sat slumped on a stool, her head forward, mouth gaping.\n\n'Take me from here!' she whispered. 'Get me out of this damned hell-hole!'\n\nMcBain wiped his eyes and face on the edge of his cloak and gently led her out. Sir Godfrey dropped the burning candle on to the dry rushes and slammed the door behind him. McBain stood, sucking in the clean, night air, with Dame Edith resting on his arm. The knight walked over to inform Sir Oswald and Ormiston of what they had found. Proctor Ormiston could stand no more. He glared speechlessly at the sheriff, gathered up his robe and fled into the darkness. The sheriff himself had lost all his usual bombast and bonhomie. He was a mere shadow of his former self, while his soldiers muttered among themselves that they had no business here. Sir Oswald dismissed them as the knight shouted, 'Send them back to the castle!'\n\nThe sheriff walked over to the men. 'You are to tell no one!' he declared.\n\n'Don't worry about that, sir!' one of them replied, mounting his horse. He tugged the tabard over his head and flung it on the ground. His companions did likewise.\n\n'God damn you, Sir Oswald, for bringing us here! And I say a fig for your orders!'\n\nThe soldier glanced at the fire now burning the priest's house and pushed his grizzled face down towards the knight.\n\n'We are country lads, sir, not your hardened mercenaries. Our homes lie in the villages miles from here. We intend to go back there. This city is cursed. Let the likes of Sir Oswald tend to this business!'\n\nHe turned and he and his three companions cantered off into the darkness.\n\nSir Oswald was about to shout after them, but the knight stopped him.\n\n'Let them go,' he muttered. 'No need to swear them to silence. We will not see them in Oxford again.'\n\n'What about Ormiston?' the sheriff asked.\n\n'I suppose he'll go back to his hall and drink himself stupid. God knows, I don't blame him. Such sights would break a lesser man.'\n\n'I have had my fill, too,' Beauchamp said wearily. 'Oh, don't worry, Sir Godfrey, I'll see this matter through but, when it's done and you have gone, so will I. I'll go back to my manor, marry some sweet-faced wench, settle down and till my soil. Never again will I work in royal service.' He turned, hawked and spat into the darkness. 'I became a sheriff to maintain the king's peace, to hunt down, arrest and punish felons, not to cross swords with the powers of darkness. Are we finished here?'\n\n'One more thing,' the knight replied. 'McBain, you stay with Dame Edith. Sir Oswald, come with me!'\n\nThey walked round to the front of the church. They removed the bars, hacking off the padlocks, and entered the musty darkness. Sir Oswald handed the knight a spluttering pitch torch and they walked cautiously up the deserted nave. Both men fought to control their panic, prompted by their own shadows flickering and dancing in the torch-light.\n\n'The tomb's over there,' the sheriff indicated.\n\nThey walked into the transept. Sir Godfrey held the torch up as they carefully made their way forward. At last they reached a huge marble tomb with the life-sized effigy of a knight on top. The figure was clothed in chain mail, legs crossed at the ankles and resting on a small dog, both hands clasped on the hilt of a sword. Sir Godfrey took the torch, ignoring the strange sounds and creaking noises from the church. At last he found a small aperture just beneath the neck of the effigy. He put his hand in and drew out a small case about three inches wide. Its sides and back were made of gold and small precious jewels encrusted the rim around the glass front. In the centre, resting on white samite, was a small piece of wood.\n\n'The relic!' Sir Oswald breathed. 'The Hospitaller must have hidden it there. Come on, man!' he pleaded, peering over his shoulder into the darkness of the church. 'We have the relic, the devil priest has gone. We can do no more tonight.'\n\nSir Godfrey agreed and they went to join McBain, who was talking quietly to Dame Edith beneath an outspread yew tree. The knight gave her the reliquary and Dame Edith clasped it reverently and pressed it against her cheek.\n\n'Now we have something,' she whispered. She raised her head as if staring up into the starlit sky.\n\nShe gripped McBain's wrist with one hand and Sir Godfrey's with the other.\n\n'They have brought their Dark Lord back to life,' she whispered, 'and we must hunt them down. Kill them for what they are. Send them, body and soul, back to Hell!'\n\nSir Oswald, exhausted, agreed but said such matters would have to wait until morning.\n\n'Then tonight,' Sir Godfrey ordered, 'when you go back to the castle, tell no one of what has happened here. Send your swiftest courier to the chancellor in London, asking for all ports on the south coast to be sealed.'\n\nThe sheriff nodded.\n\n'Use only your mercenaries,' Sir Godfrey continued. 'Have this place cordoned off. Tomorrow morning, at first light, search the cemetery!'\n\nThe knight, the clerk and Dame Edith rode back through the darkness to St Anne's. A porter let them in and took their horses. Dame Edith joined her two companions in the guest house for some bread and wine. Sir Godfrey could hardly keep awake. McBain found he was trembling and gulped greedily at the wine. Only Dame Edith seemed composed. She shook Sir Godfrey gently.\n\n'We must,' she insisted, 'make plans for the morrow.'\n\nThe knight rubbed his eyes wearily. 'I am tired, my lady. My orders were to root this evil out of Oxford and I have done that.'\n\n'Nonsense!' the exorcist retorted. 'We must pursue them now. They are devil-worshippers, felons, traitors and plan more murderous mischief!'\n\n'What more can we do?' Alexander murmured. 'Sir Godfrey has asked for all the southern ports to be sealed.'\n\n'Of course he won't use those!' Dame Edith replied. 'The priest is no fool.' She nibbled on a morsel of bread and took a small sip of wine. 'When we met the priest at the church, he said he hailed from a town in the north.'\n\n'Whitby,' Sir Godfrey said wearily. 'A small fishing port between the Tees and the Humber.'\n\n'I know it well,' Dame Edith continued smilingly. 'You forget I hail from those parts. A small harbour overlooked by a steep hill with an abbey on top. Ah, yes, the abbey of St Hilda's.'\n\n'Why should he go there?' Alexander asked.\n\n'Oh, master clerk, apply your logic. He knows the southern ports have been sealed, yet he has to escape from England. So, where can he go? To France where English armies roam at will? To Holland and Zeeland full of English merchants? No, he will try to get back to Moldavia or Wallachia, those wild countries where I spent years as a prisoner. And what better route than through the northern lands, vast open spaces where he will not be recognized, free of any official or inquisitive church clerk.'\n\nSir Godfrey rubbed his eyes. 'I agree,' he said, 'and Whitby is the best port for such destinations. Moreover, the priest knows the routes well and will have a good two days' start on us. The rains are stopping. The roads will be hard and he will carry little baggage.'\n\nMcBain got to his feet and bowed to Dame Edith. 'Sir Godfrey, my lady, I must sleep.' He smiled. 'Or at least think. I bid you good night.'\n\n'Wait! Wait!' Sir Godfrey went over to stand at the window and stared into the darkness. McBain paused, one hand on the door latch, Dame Edith glanced in the direction of the knight.\n\n'What is it?' she murmured.\n\n'All my life,' the knight began slowly, 'I have fought against flesh and blood: in the lists, on the tourney ground, in battles such at Poitiers where I helped to break the French advance. I have fought with dagger and sword either in blood-filled drenches before the towns of Normandy or against French scouts in some desolate, rain-soaked glade. But this,' Sir Godfrey shook his head. 'Corpses being revived after hundreds of years, blood sacrifices, demon-priests.' He breathed out noisily.\n\n'And yet,' McBain interrupted, 'you go to mass, Sir Godfrey? You take the sacrament. You believe a wafer of bread and a cup of wine are, substantially, the body and blood of Christ?'\n\n'Yes.' The knight turned around, rubbing the side of his face. 'But that's religion, a matter of faith. Different from...' his voice trailed away.\n\n'From reality?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'Yes, yes, from reality!'\n\nDame Edith pushed the sleeves of her gown back. 'But what happens, Sir Godfrey, if there's no difference? If everything is only part of the one reality. And, as the great Aristotle says, we only draw dividing lines to make things appear more reasonable?'\n\n'What do you mean?' the knight snapped.\n\n'What she means,' McBain declared curtly, 'is often debated in the schools of Oxford and Cambridge.'\n\nThe knight made a rude sound with his lips.\n\n'No, listen,' McBain explained patiently. He walked over to the window and pointed to the shutter where a small insect was crawling. 'Do you think this flea, or whatever it may be, is aware that we are in this room? Even better, Sir Godfrey, do you think that insect understands the concept of this room or our existence?'\n\nThe knight shook his head.\n\n'But,' McBain pressed the point, 'just because that insect isn't aware of our existence, surely it does not mean that we don't exist?'\n\nThe knight shrugged.\n\n'The clerk is right,' Dame Edith chuckled softly. 'Like the insect, we define our reality, Sir Godfrey, by what we see, touch, feel and understand.'\n\n'But the Strigoi?' Sir Godfrey exclaimed. 'With their sharpened teeth and blood sacrifices? Your story, Domina, about the spirit of one Strigoi being able to leave a corpse and take up residence in another body?'\n\n'Have you seen the effects of the plague?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'Yes.' The knight answered softly. 'My first wife died of it.'\n\n'I am sorry, sir knight. Yet can you explain how the plague moved from one person to her? Or from her to someone else?'\n\nThe knight shook his head.\n\n'The same is true of the Strigoi moving from one body to another,' Dame Edith continued. 'To put it bluntly, Sir Godfrey, just because I can't explain it, doesn't mean it can't happen.' She sighed and spread her hands. 'The sharpened teeth, well that is a small matter, teeth can be filed down. Some may have it, some do not.'\n\n'But the spirit of the Strigoi?' Sir Godfrey persisted.\n\n'Sir Godfrey, you fought at Poitiers, you helped break the French advance?'\n\nThe knight nodded.\n\n'You became tired? Weary?'\n\n'Aye, Domina, to the point of death.'\n\n'But brother knights, comrades in arms, were cut down?'\n\n'Aye they were, God assoil them!'\n\n'And what effect did their deaths have on you?'\n\nSir Godfrey raised his eyebrows. 'I fought all the harder as if given a new lease of life.'\n\nDame Edith leaned forward. 'But how do you know that the spirits of your dead comrades did not strengthen you?'\n\nThe knight smiled thinly and walked back to the table.\n\n'Everything,' Dame Edith explained, 'everything under the sun has an explanation. As I've said, just because we can't find one doesn't mean it doesn't exist.'\n\n'But the Strigoi Lord?' McBain asked, sitting down next to Sir Godfrey. 'A corpse which can survive uncorrupted for hundreds of years and then be revived.'\n\nDame Edith shrugged. 'All I can say, Alexander, is that there must be an explanation.' The exorcist rubbed her face in her hands. 'When I was a prisoner in Wallachia, I heard stories from the east, strange tales about men who could sleep for years, appear as dead. In Wallachia there were similar stories about the Strigoi. Now, the peasants there have a name for the Devil. They call him the \"Great Dragon\" or \"Dracul\" and claim these Strigoi lords are his sons.' Dame Edith tapped the side of her head. 'God knows the power of the human mind. Its goodness is eternal and so is its malice. The good Lord said that if we have enough faith or power we can ask a tree to uproot and plant itself into the sea. Why can't the Lords of Darkness have similar powers, if their malice is thick or deep enough? We live in a world of signs and symbols. I shake your hands, that means we are comrades. I put my hand on the book of the gospels to make a promise and I am bound by oath.' She shrugged. 'The demons of the air and their retainers on earth also have their sinister, dark ceremonies.'\n\nAlexander stretched forward, grasped the exorcist's thin hand and gently squeezed.\n\n'A scholar as well as a fighter,' he teased gently. 'Sir Godfrey, Dame Edith is right. If you read the history of Eusebius you'll find a story, well documented, about seven young brothers who, in the reign of one of the Roman emperors, hid and slept for centuries in a cave outside Ephesius.'\n\n'Yes, yes,' Sir Godfrey interrupted. 'I have heard of that tale.'\n\n'And go to churches,' Alexander persisted. 'Why is it the bodies of certain holy men and women never corrupt, such as those of Saint Philomena or Saint Lucy?'\n\nSir Godfrey stretched. 'Perhaps you're right but,' he added abruptly, 'this Strigoi Lord. Now we must hunt this son of the devil down and kill him!'\n\n'Exterminate him!' Dame Edith declared harshly. 'Extinguish all sign of him and his followers from the face of the earth. We must give him no resting place under the sun. Believe me, there is a tie between the Strigoi Lord and this kingdom. One day he will return, coming back along the same route by which he left. He'll either come alone or with his followers but he will return to wreak great evil!'\n\nBoth men sat quietly for a few moments, chilled by the passion in Dame Edith's words. Then the exorcist quietly excused herself and walked out of the guest house, politely refusing both Sir Godfrey's and McBain's offer to accompany her. She walked unerringly through the darkness, moving her face gently, remembering the different paths and obstacles. She paused for a while, feeling the breeze on her cheeks. She choked back a sob as she recalled her youth in Northumberland, walking along the parapets of her father's castle, letting her hair be tossed and whipped by the wind. The dead thronged about her but she felt comforted not frightened by their presence. They were only friends standing on the other side of a river, patiently waiting for her to cross.\n\n'Soon,' she murmured. 'Soon I'll be with you. No more pain. No more terror. No more darkness.'\n\nDame Edith walked along the gravelled path. She hoped McBain and Sir Godfrey would stay with her. 'Good men and true. Christ strengthen their arms and sharpen their wits.' Then she stopped. She remembered McBain's hand in the upper room at the tavern, ice cold! Was that a warning of things to come? She hurried along to the church. A lay sister, just inside the postern gate, led her back to the cell. Dame Edith closed the door behind her and lay down on the simple cot bed, chanting her prayers, asking for God's mercy, not for herself, but for her companions. Dame Edith thought of tomorrow's journey and raised her head.\n\n'Oh, God have mercy!' she whispered. In her mind's eye, Dame Edith glimpsed the Strigoi Lord and his party galloping along the deserted roads, cloaks flapping, like ravens speeding to their nests.\n\n'They'll need strength,' she murmured. 'Oh, God have mercy, they'll need strength! Oh, sweet Lord, bless all travellers on this terrible night!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "'By pig's bones!' Harry the taverner exclaimed, stretching his hands out towards the candle-light. 'An eerie tale, sirrah.'\n\nThe knight sipped from his wine goblet and stared down the table at the monk who had now pulled his cowl well over his head.\n\n'Is this possible?' the nun's priest asked in his rich, mellow voice. 'Do such things happen?'\n\n'I have seen them!' the wife of Bath explained.\n\n'Seen what?' the cook shrilled.\n\n'I have seen the uncorrupted bodies of holy men.' The wife crossed her arms. 'And if the good Lord looks after his own, so does Satan.'\n\n'Where are the corpses?' the Manciple interrupted harshly.\n\n'What bodies?' Harry the taverner asked.\n\n'The bodies?' the Manciple persisted. 'Those of the students killed by the Strigoi?'\n\nThe knight dabbed his lips with a napkin. 'My tale is not yet finished,' he declared quietly. 'Listen to the truth...'\n\n'Truth?' the summoner sneered. 'Nightmares to frighten children!'\n\nThe knight shrugged eloquently. 'Sir, I was asked to tell a tale and that's what I am doing.'\n\n'It is true!'\n\nThe shipman sprang to his feet, knocking his stool over. He pointed down the table. 'St Anne and all God's holy angels be my witness. You mentioned Whitby, Sir?'\n\nThe knight nodded.\n\nThe shipman now seized the wine jug and filled his own cup. 'Sir,' the shipman lifted his cup, 'I salute...'\n\n'Sit down!' the knight ordered. 'And, as I have said, I'll finish my tale!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "The carts and caravans of the Moon people trundled along the moorland path under forbidding, iron-grey skies. The rain had stopped falling but the gorse and brambles on either side were still heavy with water and the cobbled trackway had turned to a soggy morass. The painted sheets of the wagons had begun to run, the dye streaming down the sides of the four-wheeled carts. Even the horses seemed dispirited, raising their hooves lacklustrely, heads down against the cold, biting wind. The drivers and carters, huddled in their shabby cloaks, cursed the elements and the driving rain which had forced them to shelter in caves for most of the day. They'd never reach the next village by nightfall and would have to camp out on the open heathland.\n\nImelda, the dancing girl, trailed behind one of the carts, her jet-black hair hidden by a shabby cowl; her voluptuous, sinuous body was covered in an old blanket with a hole cut in the middle, her only protection against the icy rain. Every so often, cheap bracelets jangling on her wrists, Imelda would wipe the rain from her face and trudge on, mindful to stay at least a yard behind the cart, away from the mud and dirt flung up by the iron-rimmed wheels. She heard her mother, lying on a bed in the cart, moan and groan. Imelda closed her eyes. Her mother groaned again.\n\n'Oh, shut up!' Imelda whispered to herself. 'There's nothing wrong with you!'\n\nThere never was but, whenever any journey became arduous or difficult, Imelda's mother immediately became ill.\n\n'I am too tired!' she would wail. 'Too sick to walk!' And she would climb into the gaudily painted wagon to take her ease as if she was the queen or some great lady.\n\nA curlew, braving the driving wind, swooped and shrieked eerily across the lowering sky. Imelda looked up. She saw the flash of its wing and wished she could fly. She'd flee from here! Far from the cold, the poverty, the pennies flung at her in some tavern or ale-house, the hot-eyed glances of the men, their greedy pawing and the jealous glares of the womenfolk. Her father had similar dreams which, she knew, he would repeat tonight as they gathered round the camp fire.\n\n'This is not our land,' he'd begin. 'We are of an ancient and noble people, driven from their lands after the Romans came.'\n\nRaquerel, her father, would then begin to describe strange lands, dark forests, lush river valleys and rich meadows, a land on which the sun always smiled. Imelda wondered if such a country did exist and, if it did, whether her father was telling the truth. Her grandmother, who now sat beside the driver of the cart in front, wrapped in her dark-blue cloak with strange symbols painted on it, told a different story. How the forests of that country sheltered demons and strange beings called Draculs lurked in fortresses built by devils on top of lonely crags. Imelda smiled. What did it matter? She was cold, soaked to the skin, and her feet, protected only by loose-thonged sandals, were beginning to turn to blocks of ice.\n\n'Will you dance tonight, Imelda?'\n\nThe girl turned and glared at the thickset man who suddenly appeared beside her and, as usual, drew close until their shoulders brushed. Imelda wrinkled her nose in distaste at the man's sour breath. She didn't like Osbert. He wasn't one of her people. A juggler, a mountebank, Osbert had joined their caravan two or three months earlier. Father had taken him in; Osbert was strong, he earned some pennies and provided good protection on the lonely roads. Nevertheless, Imelda disliked him, not just his wart-covered face and hairy nostrils, but his thick fingers always ready to touch her.\n\n'Will you dance tonight?' Osbert repeated, drawing even closer.\n\n'No,' Imelda replied through clenched teeth. 'All I want is to be warm.'\n\n'I'll keep you warm,' Osbert whispered.\n\n'Have you ever seen my trick?' Imelda demanded.\n\nOsbert drew back. 'What trick?'\n\n'I can make a knife appear between any man's ribs?'\n\nThe mountebank opened his mouth to reply when they both heard a shout behind them.\n\n'Riders on the road! Coming fast!'\n\nImelda heard the drum of hooves. The carters began to pull aside. Her father was always subservient, every ready to concede the road to haughty noblemen and their well-armed bully-boy retainers or to merchants, so self important, for whom every second counted. As the cart in front lurched to one side, Imelda climbed into it.\n\n'What is it, girl?' her mother whined.\n\n'Shush!' Imelda replied. 'It's only riders!'\n\nShe looked out through the mist. The horsemen had slowed to a canter.\n\n'How many are there?'\n\n'Four, no five!'\n\nImelda peered. 'They are dressed in black, cloaked and cowled but their horses are fine. Perhaps they are a group of black monks, Benedictines.'\n\nThe riders drew close. Imelda shivered. The strangers now clustered together. She could glimpse no weapons or glint of steel but they had a quiet, sinister purpose. They looked neither to the left nor the right. Imelda heard her grandmother gasp and begin to chant something in that strange tongue Imelda could only barely understand.\n\n'Silence, Grandmother!' she hissed.\n\nBut the old one continued her chant, an ancient verse against the evil one. The riders approached, the leader pulled back his cowl and smiled. Imelda relaxed. The man had a serene, smiling face, soft and gentle and, as he bowed his head in greeting, she glimpsed the tonsure.\n\n'Good morrow, Father!'\n\n'And greetings to you, my girl.' The priest pushed his horse closer to the back of the cart. 'How far to the next village?'\n\n'A few miles.' Imelda smiled back. 'You'll reach it before us, sir, though you're welcome to stay with us tonight.'\n\nThe priest smiled and shook his head. 'We are expected,' he said. 'And time is short but I thank you for your offer.'\n\nOsbert came round the side of the cart and glimpsed the priest.\n\n'Father Andrew!' he cried.\n\nThe smile on the priest's face faded. His eyes became hard and Imelda shivered with fear as the other horsemen, their faces concealed by the cowls, urged their horses forward as if Osbert's greeting posed some threat. The mountebank, however, impervious to this, grasped the priest's bridle.\n\n'Father Andrew, don't you remember me, Osbert? I stopped at your church in Oxford some months ago. You were most kind to me.'\n\nThe priest shook the bridle loose and pulled the cowl back over his head.\n\n'I think you are mistaken!' he snapped and, giving his reins an abrupt tug, led his party off at a gallop, the sharp hooves of their horses scattering mud and pebbles in every direction.\n\nOsbert watched them disappear into the darkness.\n\n'Strange,' he mused. 'I am sure it was Father Andrew. And yet he was so kind. He and his helpers.'\n\n'I didn't know you were ever in Oxford?' Imelda scoffed. 'Are you a scholar, Osbert?'\n\nThe man scowled up at her. 'I have been to places,' he muttered, 'and seen sights you'll never see, Imelda!' And he stomped off.\n\nImelda poked her tongue out at his retreating back and made her mother comfortable. She climbed off the cart and they continued their dreary journey. Grandmother was still chanting her ancient prayers. Every so often Imelda heard her break off and ask the carter: 'Have those riders gone? Have those riders gone?'\n\n'Of course they have!' the man growled back. 'Why, what do you expect, more custom for tonight, eh?' He cackled with laughter but Grandmother went back to her prayers.\n\nNow the carts and wagons were back on the road, Imelda wondered what Osbert was doing in Oxford. She would like to go there and see the sights. Perhaps even glimpse a book, like the one she had seen at that monastery two summers ago. She could have cried at the brilliance of the pictures and the fine strokes of the pen. She'd called it beautiful and tried to stroke the pages but the novice master had just gently closed it. Imelda bit her lip; her father would never go to Oxford. She'd noticed that, how, in their peregrinations up and down the kingdom, he stayed well away from the valley of the Thames and the area around Oxford. Others claimed it was a good source of income. Raquerel just shook his head and murmured about great evil and ancient legends. Imelda smiled to herself, father was full of such tales. She looked up. Darkness was beginning to fall. She watched an eagle owl soar above the gorse, talons outstretched only to be mobbed by a group of raucous crows.\n\nAt last her father gave the order to leave the track. They would not reach the village that night: instead they would camp in a small copse where the trees would afford them some shelter against the rain and driving wind. The carts and wagons were pulled in a circle, kindling collected and dried and soon a huge fire roared in the centre. Imelda sat between her father and mother, the latter still moaning at the knocks and jars of the journey. The dozing girl stretched out her hands and revelled in the warmth. She closed her eyes and slept for a short while. When she woke, her father and brothers had set up a huge spit on either side of the fire ready to roast the pheasant and quail they had brought down by slingshot. They had slashed the birds' throats then hidden them beneath the cart lest they were stopped by some sharp-eyed bailiff or manor steward.\n\n'Get some more kindling, Imelda!' her father ordered.\n\n'I'll help,' Osbert cried.\n\nImelda tossed her head, her long black hair flowing around her. 'There's no need.' Imelda's lower lip came forward. 'There's no need, Osbert.'\n\nThe man just laughed. Father was still shouting so Imelda had no choice but to walk into the dark ring of trees and sift beneath the wet fern and brambles for the dry bracken and kindling which lay there. Osbert, too, was busy, chattering away. Imelda heard him gasp but she refused to look up.\n\n'Don't play your games, Osbert.' She moved deeper into the trees and straightened up. 'It's so silent,' she murmured and looked back towards the encampment, the welcoming glow of the fire, the dancing flames, the chatter of her kinsfolk. Here it was so dark and cold.\n\n'Osbert?' She stared around but the man had disappeared. She heard the branches above her swish. Imelda looked up and her throat constricted in terror at the dark cowled, pallid face grinning maliciously down at her.\n\nThe next morning McBain was aroused by a now alert and vigorous Sir Godfrey.\n\n'Come on, clerk!' the knight shouted. 'The sun's up, I have packed my saddle bags. I suggest you do the same. Dame Edith insists on joining us. We will leave for London within the hour.'\n\n'Why London?' McBain sleepily asked, swinging his legs off the bed and softly cursing the knight's boisterous cheerfulness.\n\n'I have already sent one of Dame Constance's couriers to the Admiral of the East Coast based at Queenshithe. I have asked for a war cog, the fastest ship in the Thames, to take us north to Whitby. We can either blockade the port or, if necessary, go in pursuit.'\n\nAlexander agreed and stripped and shaved, teeth chattering at the coldness of his chamber. He dressed carefully in vest, shirt, woollen jerkin, hose and his special fur-lined travelling boots. He threw his belongings into the saddle bag, including the journal he had taken from the Trinitarian friary, and went downstairs to break his fast. Dame Edith had already been across and then left with Sir Godfrey to prepare their horses at the stables. Alexander ate hungrily and stared around the small, white-washed guest house. He knew he was finished here. He had a feeling he would never return and this made him uncomfortable as he remembered Emily's golden ringlets, blue sparkling eyes and the warm silken sheen of her hand. He leaned against the table and thought of the last tumultuous days \u2013 his arrival in Oxford during the rain, the dreadful scenes he had witnessed, the apparent holiness of Father Andrew, the growing silence of Dame Constance and the utter collapse of Proctor Ormiston. He sighed, finished his tankard of warm ale, blessed himself and went out to join the rest.\n\nThe horses were being saddled. Dame Constance had agreed to lend her own palfrey, a gentle but sturdy cob, to Dame Edith, and two of her stable boys would ride with them until they entered London. Saddle bags were thrown on to the backs of the sumpter ponies, girths, stirrups and reins checked. All three took their leave. The abbess seemed relieved that her convent would now be free from the strange guests and the wicked business they had been investigating. Although neither admitted it, both Sir Godfrey and McBain hoped that the lady Emily would appear and the knight was about to ask Dame Constance for her permission to say farewell to her when an exhausted-looking Beauchamp rode into the convent. The sheriff almost fell out of the saddle. His once rubicund face was now white and drawn and great black shadows ringed his eyes. He looked a man who could do no more. He walked slowly towards them, rubbing his thighs and quietly groaning at the pain of spending so much time in the saddle.\n\n'You are leaving?' he asked abruptly.\n\n'For London,' Sir Godfrey replied. 'We intend to pursue Father Andrew, his coven and the nightmare creature they took from the crypt.'\n\n'Then I wish you well.'\n\nBeauchamp put both hands in the small of his back and stretched, then rubbed his unshaven face.\n\n'I sealed off the church,' he said, 'claiming that the whole edifice is now unsafe. My soldiers, the few mercenaries I lead, have already dug up corpses from the cemetery. I believe they are the missing students.'\n\nThe sheriff turned and, not bothering about Dame Constance's presence, hawked and spat.\n\n'They are not a pretty sight,' he added hoarsely. 'They are like the rest, throats slit from ear to ear, bodies drained of blood. Some are already rotten. They were slaughtered like pigs and buried in shallow graves.'\n\n'And Proctor Ormiston?' Alexander asked.\n\nThe sheriff tapped the side of his head. 'Proctor Ormiston is witless, with a sickness of the mind. He sits in his chamber mumbling to himself, moving the papers on his desk. He is terrified of leaving, even to relieve himself. His days of scholarship are over. God send him good fortune!' Sir Oswald's red-rimmed eyes stared at the knight.\n\n'Wickedness!' the sheriff breathed. 'Sheer wickedness! I tell you this, sir knight\u2014' His eyes moved to McBain and Dame Edith. '\u2014and you others, I have been in the Valley of Death.' He licked his lips. 'Another courier is already on his way to London. If God wills, and the king agrees, I will be out of Oxford within the week.' He clasped the knight's hand and that of McBain, then gently kissed Dame Edith's fingers. 'God speed and farewell!'\n\nHe went back to his horse, mounted, grabbed the reins in his hand and looked once more at them. 'Farewell, I hope we do not meet again.' And, turning his horse's head, he galloped out of the convent gates.\n\nSir Godfrey and his party finished their farewells. They were almost level with the gate when Dame Constance reappeared, her arms linked through that of Lady Emily, who looked as fresh as a summer-filled May morning. Alexander made the usual courtesies, stretching down to kiss her hand, which he held a little longer than he should have done. Lady Emily then went to stand beside Sir Godfrey. She put her hands gently on his muscle-hard thigh and stared at the knight's face, made all the more forbidding by his chain-mail coif.\n\n'Sir Godfrey,' she whispered, 'you will return?'\n\nThe knight grasped her hand awkwardly. 'Aye, perhaps.'\n\n'Thank you.' She smiled. 'Thank you for the lovely poem.'\n\nSir Godfrey drew his eyebrows together.\n\n'The poem,' she insisted. 'The one you composed and asked Master McBain to write out.' She shook her head slightly. 'It was beautiful.'\n\nSir Godfrey looked up across her head at Alexander, who smiled, winked and shrugged. Sir Godfrey stared back at the young woman, grasped her hand, stooped down and kissed her passionately on the cheek.\n\n'God willing,' he whispered hoarsely, 'I shall return.'\n\nThe girl stood back and Sir Godfrey led his small party out into the winding lanes of Oxford. Within the hour they were free of the city and deep in the countryside, following the ancient Roman routes back to the capital. The sky was cloud-free, the air cold but the roads were good and hard. Dame Edith proved to be a skilled horsewoman and posed no hindrance to their progress. By nightfall they had reached Bishopsgate, where they thanked and dismissed Dame Constance's porters. Sir Godfrey then insisted that they must ride on through the city, to the admiral's quarters in the Vintry, just north of Queenshithe docks.\n\nAdmiral Sir Clement Chaucer had already received their message. A small, portly man with a weather-beaten face and light blue eyes, he was an old acquaintance of Sir Godfrey's. He greeted him cordially and his two companions without question.\n\n'I have already received orders from the chancellor,' he boomed, leading them into a small dining hall on the ground floor of his three-storeyed house.\n\n'I have a ship ready for you. The Star of the Sea, a three-masted war cog, under a good captain, Humphrey Grandison. You will sail at first light. But now you must break your journey. Some good food, eh? Beef roasted in pepper and mustard, wine and the softest bread? And feather-filled mattresses?'\n\nSir Godfrey and Alexander could not object and Sir Clement proved to be an excellent host. He chattered about the sea, hardly asking them any questions, while paying Dame Edith the courtesies due to any lady. All three ate their fill. Sir Godfrey fell asleep at the table and had to be aroused by servants. Alexander saw Dame Edith to her own quarters at the back of the house and, within minutes of his head touching the bolster in the chamber he shared with Sir Godfrey, he was fast asleep, snoring as loudly as Sir Godfrey beside him.\n\nServants woke them just before dawn and they broke their fast. Sir Clement promised to look after their horses before leading them through the still dark streets and down to the quayside of Queenshithe. The river was full of shipping \u2013 small skiffs, barges, cogs and the huge, heavy-bottomed stems of Hanseatic merchantmen. Already the quayside was busy as ships prepared to catch the early-morning tide. Small cranes were depositing barrels, chests and huge leather bags in ships' holds. There was a confusion of sound, strange oaths, cries and orders. Sir Clement paid no heed, leading his small party along the quayside, ordering people aside and ignoring the catcalls and oaths that followed him.\n\nEventually they found the Star of the Sea, a large ship with a bluff hull and darting bowsprit, its sides rising high above the quayside, its stern crowned by crenellated fighting platforms to protect archers and soldiers during battle. Sir Clement hailed the ship and a broad, greasy gangplank was lowered. Sir Clement went first. Alexander helped Dame Edith, who stoutly refused Sir Godfrey's half-hearted invitation to remain behind, and the knight brought up the rear. On board, bare-foot sailors moved about, jostling each other; some stopped and watched Dame Edith curiously. Sir Godfrey heard their muttered curses and dire warnings about a woman being on board ship.\n\n'Just ignore them,' Sir Clement whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 'Sailors love any excuse for dark prophecies. It's another matter when it comes to bringing their whores on board!'\n\nThe ship moved slightly and Alexander's stomach heaved as he looked up at the soaring rigging and towering masts. He stared around the deck, full of coils of rope and leather buckets. Under canvas sheeting stood two large catapults. Beside one of them, Alexander glimpsed a patch of dried blood. He guessed the ship must have been in one of the many skirmishes that took place at sea; beyond the mouth of the Thames, the ships of various nations, Norway, Denmark, England, Scotland and France fought a long and bloody war.\n\nA young, red-haired man dressed simply in a leather jerkin, dark hose and boots came up and introduced himself as Humphrey Grandison, captain of the ship. Sir Clement made the introductions and handed the captain a small leather packet. 'These are your orders, sir,' he said tersely. 'You are in command of the ship but under the direct orders of Sir Godfrey. You are to sail north to Whitby and act on Sir Godfrey's instructions.'\n\nThe captain nodded, then, rolling his tongue round his mouth, he pointed at Alexander.\n\n'I can see Sir Godfrey's been at sea,' he declared in a broad, flat accent. 'But the clerk'll be sick before we clear the Thames. And who is she?'\n\n'My name is Dame Edith Mohun,' the exorcist tartly replied. 'And I have been on more ships than I care to count. In northern waters and the Middle seas. I was bobbing on the waves when you were dangling on your mother's knee, young man!'\n\nThe captain stared speechlessly at her, stroked his sparse beard then burst into laughter which drowned all the clamour from the ship. The captain glared round and, in a stream of filthy oaths, told the sailors to continue with their work. He then took Dame Edith's hand and raised it gallantly to his lips.\n\n'Madam, no offence.'\n\n'Sir, none taken.'\n\nSir Clement took his leave and Grandison began to issue orders. Quayside ropes were released, the decks were cleared of all impedimenta. Sailors climbed like monkeys up the rigging, unfurling the great sails. The ship turned and lurched. Alexander was sent sprawling, much to the amusement of the sailors. Grandison helped him to his feet, grinning from ear to ear.\n\n'You'd best get out of here.'\n\nHe took the three of them down to a small cabin under the forecastle, a small, dingy room smelling of tar and salt containing a simple cot bed, a table and a number of stools.\n\nAlexander, unused to the gentle rocking of the ship, banged his head as he straightened up. The pain was intense and, though the captain laughed at his discomfort, he offered McBain and his companions cups of surprisingly good wine to ease the pain and 'strengthen their stomachs' for the coming voyage.\n\n'Dame Edith can stay here,' Grandison explained. 'But, gentlemen, I'm afraid you've got to share below decks with the rest.'\n\nAnd, whistling merrily under his breath, Grandison left them to their own devices.\n\nWithin the hour the Star of the Sea had cleared the river and was sailing north by north-east through a cold, choppy sea. The pain in Alexander's head subsided, only to be replaced by a growing sense of nausea as the ship rolled in the water.\n\nSir Godfrey sat, amused by the poor clerk's discomfort, until McBain's face took on a greenish tinge.\n\n'Come on, Alexander,' he said jovially. 'Dame Edith, stay here. If our clerk is going to be sick, it's best if he did it elsewhere.'\n\nAlexander, muttering curses, followed Sir Godfrey up the ladder and on to the deck. The sails billowed and snapped in a strong southerly wind. Grandison came up, hanging on to the halyards.\n\n'Do you feel sick, clerk?'\n\nAlexander nodded.\n\n'Then let me give you some advice. Try not to think about the motion of the ship but busy yourself.'\n\nAlexander grimaced, then promptly fled to the side to vomit his breakfast into the choppy, grey sea. He felt better afterwards and leaned against the rail, drawing in deep breaths and staring out at the receding land, listening to the smack of the sails and the creak of timbers.\n\nGrandison glimpsed the pleasure in the clerk's face.\n\n'Aye, she's a bonny ship!' he shouted. 'Goes straight and true as an arrow.'\n\nHe dug inside his jerkin and brought out a brown roll of parchment. He unrolled this, spreading his legs to steady himself against the roll of the ship. The captain pointed with a stubby finger at the crudely drawn map.\n\n'We should reach Whitby by tomorrow evening,' he said. 'And then what?'\n\n'We are hunting for four fugitives, possibly five,' Sir Godfrey explained. 'They will take ship from Whitby.'\n\n'And what then?'\n\n'If they haven't left we will blockade the port.'\n\n'And if they have?'\n\n'Pursue them with all speed.'\n\n'And?'\n\n'Destroy them utterly.'\n\nSir Godfrey pointed to the large catapults farther down the deck under their canvas covering.\n\n'At my orders, Master Grandison, they are to be loaded and fired. No prisoners are to be taken.'\n\nGrandison pointed to a group of men dressed in brown leather jackets lounging on the starboard side of the ship, just near the forecastle.\n\n'They'll be useful too,' he said. 'They are Cheshire archers, master bowmen.'\n\nSir Godfrey smiled and said that was enough and, leaving Alexander to regain his sea legs, went below decks to converse with Dame Edith.\n\nThe Star of the Sea proved to be a fine craft and Grandison a most skilful sailor. By dusk the following evening, they had sighted Whitby's soaring cliffs and the large abbey on its summit. At Sir Godfrey's request, three officers and two of the archers took a dinghy and rowed into the harbour. Returning two hours later they whispered to their captain, who took Sir Godfrey and Mcbain down to Dame Edith's cabin.\n\n'Bad news, I'm afraid,' Grandison began, leaning against the door and watching the simple leather lantern swing on its hook. 'Your fugitives have been seen. In fact one of them is well known in these parts \u2013 Andrew Melbray, a priest. He was with five others, one a dark hooded stranger who never showed his face. They did business in the taverns along Whitby's quayside and hired a fishing smack with a crew of four to take them across the northern sea. They left early this afternoon.'\n\n'You'll pursue them?' Dame Edith asked.\n\n'I'll pursue them,' Grandison replied, 'but the weather's changing.'\n\n'You mean storms?'\n\n'No, not storms, fog. It's already thickening. We have to go carefully. There are hidden sandbanks in these waters and we are pursuing a craft manned by people who know this sea and its cruel tricks.' Grandison paused. 'These aren't common criminals, are they? I mean, for you to commandeer a king's warship?'\n\n'No, they are not,' Sir Godfrey declared. 'And, Master Grandison, you may see things that chill your blood. But do your best, not only on your loyalty to the king, but for the good of your eternal soul!'\n\nGrandison looked surprised, but merely shrugged and went back on deck. They heard him shout orders. The anchor was raised and the ship moved slowly out to sea.\n\nAlexander went up on deck, drawing his cloak tightly about him. Tendrils of mist were seeping across the ship, giving it a ghostly, eerie aspect. Alexander shivered. He was confident that they would catch up with the Strigoi and he felt, deep in his heart, that all his life had been a preparation for that dreadful meeting. He went below decks, gagging and retching at the fetid, sour smell but lay down, closed his eyes and said his prayers until he fell asleep. Sir Godfrey shook him awake with a bowl of hot oats and a cup of strong wine. After that he joined the knight on deck and felt a thrill of apprehension as he saw the ship prepared for battle: the catapults were being uncovered and archers stood ready on the sterncastle, in the rigging and on the forecastle. Look-outs were high on all three masts.\n\nDaylight came as full as it could in the mist, which boiled thick as steam from a cauldron. Alexander was about to go back down to Dame Edith's cabin when he heard one of the look-outs shout.\n\n'Sail! To the north-east! Not far!'\n\n'How can you tell?' Grandison shouted back through his speaking trumpet.\n\n'The mist cleared, captain, just for a while, but there's a fishing smack! It's not moving!'\n\n'What do you mean?' Grandison shouted back.\n\n'I can't see!' the look-out roared. 'Yes, yes, I can! The fog's cleared again! It's gone aground on one of the sandbanks!'\n\nGrandison turned and grinned at the clerk.\n\n'I've found your quarry!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "The captain rapped out orders; somewhere a drum began to sound, beating to quarters. Sailors rushed around, their bare feet slapping the wet decks, jostling and shoving Sir Godfrey and McBain aside. Dame Edith heard the excitement and came to the top of the steps leading from her cabin. Surprisingly, the mist began to break. Sir Godfrey went below and brought up his and the clerk's weapons.\n\n'Come on, Alexander!' he said. 'We have to fight the good fight. These sailors cannot go on board that ship. We must!'\n\nThe Star of the Sea edged forward. Now and again the mist would break and they would catch a glimpse of the sea, even of faint sunlight, then it would close in again like a curtain, leaving Grandison and his officers to curse. Dame Edith leaned against the rail, hands clasped, staring into the fog banks. Alexander could see she was fervently praying. Then, as if in answer to her prayer, the mist cleared. They were in open sea and, half a mile away, a low-slung fishing smack, its one sail furled, bobbed and turned as if trapped by some giant underwater hand.\n\nSir Godfrey and McBain joined Dame Edith at the rail. Grandison came up behind them.\n\n'Can't you get any closer?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nGrandison shrugged. 'I dare not, sir. The fishing smack could easily break free but a ship of this size might be trapped and then pounded to pieces by the sea.' Grandison turned and hailed the look-out. 'What can you see?'\n\n'Nothing, sir. It looks deserted.'\n\n'Oh, Lord, no!' Dame Edith breathed. 'Don't say they have abandoned it. Perhaps they met another ship out at sea?'\n\n'The boat's gone!' the look-out shouted down.\n\n'What do you want me to do?' Grandison asked.\n\n'Burn the fishing boat!' Dame Edith snapped.\n\n'No!' Sir Godfrey breathed. 'We can't do that. God knows, there may be innocents on board and we have to make sure. Captain, I want your boat launched!'\n\n'I'll come with you!' Grandison declared.\n\n'No, sir, you won't. The boat can only take six people. I want one of your best archers and two seamen to row us across.'\n\n'Are you all going?' Grandison asked quietly.\n\n'Yes,' Dame Edith replied before the knight could open his mouth. 'All three of us began this, all three of us must be in at the end.'\n\nGrandison shrugged, clapped his hands and shouted his orders. The boat was lowered and a rope ladder dropped down the ship's side. Two sailors clambered down into the boat. Sir Godfrey went next then Dame Edith, carrying a flask of oil, assisted by Alexander. They were followed down by a wiry little man, his monkey face sun-tanned, his toothless mouth gaping in a grin. He reminded Alexander of a court jester; nevertheless, the longbow the fellow carried, the quiver of goose-feather-tipped arrows and the leather wrist brace proclaimed him to be a bowman. The small boat bobbed on the waves. Alexander's stomach heaved. He wanted to retch; the sea rose on either side and the Star of the Sea now seemed like a haven of comfort.\n\n'God be with you!' Grandison shouted, his words snatched away by the wind.\n\nSir Godfrey, sitting in the prow, nodded acknowledgement.\n\n'Pull!' he ordered.\n\nThe two oarsmen began to row, the muscles of their shoulders and necks rippling as they leaned over the oars, chanting some doggerel verse to maintain the rhythm of their dipping oars. Alexander sat in the stern and put his arm around the exorcist. She felt so thin and frail, yet the tension thrilled in her body. The monkey-faced archer watched both of them curiously. He must have caught their fear for, by the time they reached the trapped fishing smack, his seemingly perpetual smile was beginning to fade.\n\nThe fishing boat, a narrow, swift-looking craft with a jutting prow and small stem, was low in the water. Sir Godfrey noticed that the sail was neatly furled but there seemed to be no sign of life on deck, empty except for mounds of canvas. The oarsmen brought their boat alongside, bobbing and crashing against the fishing smack. Alexander looked down and, through the swirling waters, saw faint traces of the sandbank.\n\n'We can't stay here!' one of the oarsmen shouted over the grinding of wood against wood and the noise of the wind-whipped waves. 'The sandbank will trap us and the waves batter us against the smack.'\n\n'Don't worry,' Sir Godfrey shouted back, his eyes now bright with the light of battle. 'Put me on deck, then stand off!'\n\n'No, you won't!' Alexander roared. 'I'm coming with you!'\n\n'And so am I!' Dame Edith stood up, swaying perilously in the boat. 'Either I go on board or into the sea!'\n\nThe sailors were now shouting at them to hurry. Sir Godfrey shrugged and clambered over the side of the fishing smack, making sure his sword did not obstruct his movements. He leaned over and helped Dame Edith, then the monkey-faced archer gave a hand to Alexander and all three were aboard. They were soaked, their faces whipped by the wind, gasping for breath as the boat pulled away leaving them to stare around the silent deck of the fishing boat. They saw heaps of canvas, pieces of rope, lobster pots made out of wicker and leather buckets full of brine, but nothing seemed out of place.\n\n'Nothing,' Sir Godfrey growled, drawing his sword. 'Let's go below!'\n\nThey edged their way forward. The fishing boat moved slightly, creaking as the waves lapped against its timbers. Now and again it gave a judder as if trying to break free from the ensnaring sandbank. Sir Godfrey started down the ladder that led to the tiny cabin. He wrinkled his nose at the sour, fetid smell that came up to him. But there was something else \u2013 a foulness that caught at his throat. He felt his way down the slippery steps. The light was poor but he glimpsed a fat, tallow candle on an iron spigot in the centre of a table bolted to the deck. He took a tinder and struck it a number of times until the flame caught and the candle flared into life. By this time Alexander and Dame Edith had followed him down.\n\n'God have mercy!' Alexander breathed.\n\nHe stared at the corpses of the four fishermen, their throats slashed from ear to ear, eyes half-open, mouths gaping. They had been thrown like refuse, sprawling in grotesque positions, their blood giving the swilling sea water a scarlet froth.\n\n'Murder again!' Dame Edith whispered. 'I can feel the horror in the air. More innocent lives!'\n\nSir Godfrey held up his hand. The ship suddenly creaked and they heard the faint shouts of the oarsmen who had brought them over. Dame Edith cocked her head slightly and shivered.\n\n'Someone's on deck!' she said hoarsely. She wrapped her arms around the flask of oil she had taken from the cog. 'We are not alone.'\n\nSir Godfrey uttered an oath and sprang up the ladder. Alexander, behind him, stared in horror. The canvas sheets had been cast aside and, in the prow of the ship, swords and daggers drawn, black cloaks swirling about them, stood the priest and his followers. Sir Godfrey had faced the charge of armoured knights but had known nothing as fearsome as these sinister individuals standing, legs apart, at the far end of that gently heaving deck. They were clad from head to toe in black, which emphasized the stark whiteness of their faces. With their haunted eyes they looked like demons from Hell, ghouls spat out from the heart of darkness. The priest stood silently forward of his companions, the fury in his eyes and the drawn whiteness of his face belying the cunning smirk that twisted his lips.\n\n'Is he here?' Dame Edith asked huskily. 'The Strigoi lord?'\n\n'He's gone!' the priest shouted, pointing into the mist. 'Gone, but we have stayed to protect his departure and wreak vengeance on those who should have left matters well alone!'\n\nAlexander drew his sword and dagger and stood shoulder to shoulder with Sir Godfrey. He glanced quickly over the side and saw the small boat bobbing on the waves. The archer, his bow unslung, was shouting at them, uncertain what to do. The Star of the Sea, under Grandison's skilful direction, was attempting to draw close.\n\nDame Edith began to pray. 'Jesu Misere!' She was half-way through when the priest and his companions closed with Sir Godfrey and McBain. Alexander fought with all his skill. He was conscious of the deck heaving beneath him, white ghostly faces, black swirling cloaks and the jar and shatter of steel. His attackers retreated. Sir Godfrey and Alexander stepped back, Dame Edith behind them. The sides of the ladder leading down to the small cabin jutted up and afforded them some protection. The priest and one of his companions returned to the attack in a whirling arc of steel. McBain and Sir Godfrey parried their thrusts. Father Andrew stood away. Another took his place and the fight continued. What McBain lacked in skill he made up in fury. Sir Godfrey suddenly lurched forward. He knocked his assailant aside and, with a quick swooping movement, drove his dagger straight into the man's belly. His writhing body blocked the path of another dark-clad figure who moved forward to take his place. Sir Godfrey then turned and with two hands drove his sword straight into the side of McBain's opponent. The blood gushed out, carried by the sea water lapping around their feet down the steps towards Dame Edith.\n\n'God save us!' the exorcist shouted. 'They must be burnt!'\n\nBut the priest's remaining companions were edging, like two great black spiders, towards them. Alexander heard an arrow whirl across the deck and plunge into the sea on the other side; the archer had begun to fire. But now the two Strigoi closed in, and they were more skilled and more cautious than the two who now lay dead. McBain began to tire and he realized that both he and Sir Godfrey were being forced back to the ladder behind them. Sir Godfrey lunged forward, pushing his assailant back and, as he did so, the archer shot again; this time his arrow flew true and took one Strigoi full in the neck. His companion fell back, not one whit less determined. He even smiled at the Strigoi priest, his black-garbed master.\n\n'They are ready to die,' Sir Godfrey whispered, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. 'They are here to die! To kill us and protect their master's going.'\n\nAlexander opened his mouth to reply and, as he did so, caught the priest's throwing knife full in the belly. He turned, face drawn in surprise; the pain was so intense he dropped his sword, falling back on the exorcist. Both of them tumbled to the bottom of the ladder. Dame Edith sprawled in the darkness.\n\n'McBain!'\n\nThe clerk could only groan, conscious of the searing, hot fire in his belly, the sudden weakness in his arms and legs. He flailed around and caught the exorcist's thin wrist.\n\n'The oil?' he muttered. 'You have the oil?'\n\nHe felt further. The exorcist was now scrabbling in the darkness around him.\n\n'I have it!' she whispered.\n\nAlexander made one last effort.\n\n'I have it!' she repeated. 'But the steps. Where are they?'\n\nAlexander pulled her across him until one of her hands, stretching out, caught the bottom rung.\n\n'Climb!' he whispered. 'For the love of God, climb!'\n\nDame Edith did so, trying to ignore the bruising to her chest and legs caused by her sudden fall. She made her way slowly up. Above her Sir Godfrey was fighting for his life against two assailants, aware of the clamour and destruction behind him. He tried to pray but couldn't. Dame Edith pulled the relic which she wore on a cord around her neck and flung it in the direction of the deck above her. The small gold casket hit the priest in the face. He screamed as if burnt and staggered back, dropping his sword. Sir Godfrey turned and, taking the second attacker by surprise, drove his sword straight through the man's neck.\n\nThe priest staggered, his face now drained of its arrogant smirk. Sir Godfrey leapt towards him.\n\n'You bastard whoreson!' he snarled. Then he slipped. He knew he was falling but couldn't stop. He dropped his sword, the fishing smack rolled and the sword slipped farther away. Sir Godfrey looked anxiously over the rail. The Star of the Sea was closer but of little help. The archer was still firing, but the arrows whirled futilely through the air. He glimpsed a dark shape. He tried to roll, but the movement of the ship sent him sprawling. Then the priest staggered back as Dame Edith blindly flung herself at him. He shrugged her aside, sword raised, but Sir Godfrey was back on his feet. The priest turned, mouth snarling. Again they clashed, a scrape of steel, the stamp of boots. The knight knew something was wrong. The priest had not wearied but seemed stronger and more alert and the knight remembered the exorcist's warning about how the spirits of the dead Strigoi can enter the bodies of others. He began to pray.\n\n'De profundis... Out of the depths I have cried unto you, O Lord, Lord hear my voice.'\n\nThe priest grinned, his lips curling like those of a dog. He wielded his sword in scything cuts that Sir Godfrey could barely fend off. The knight was soaked in sweat, his arms felt like lead, his legs weak from the strain and shock of combat.\n\n'Die!' the priest hissed. 'Die! In the name of darkness, die!'\n\nSir Godfrey could only retreat further, even as he was aware of faint shouts from the Star of the Sea. He took one step back and went sprawling over one of the corpses. He looked up, the priest nicked his chest with the point of his sword, about to push the killing blow. Sir Godfrey closed his eyes.\n\n'Jesu Misere!' he whispered.\n\nThen he heard a scream and looked up. Dame Edith had launched herself at the Strigoi, her pathetic, slight body wrapped around his, dragging him away from Sir Godfrey. The priest roared with rage as Dame Edith blindly struck at his face with her nails. He pulled a dagger from the top of his boot and struck her once, twice, but she hung like a leech. Again and again he plunged the dagger. Dame Edith, screaming prayers, dragged him over, turning his body so that his back was turned to the prostrate knight. As if in answer to a prayer, the deck heaved and both fell, the Strigoi still stabbing relentlessly. At last the exorcist groaned and lay still. The Strigoi rose, just as Sir Godfrey, at a half-crouch, swung his sword back for the killing blow. The Strigoi opened his mouth but the knight's blade sheered through his neck and sent his head bouncing across the deck. The blood shot up, a crimson fountain of gore. Sir Godfrey cursed, gave the decapitated torso a kick with his boot and fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He looked around. The decks were awash with blood, flowing backwards and forwards as the fishing smack rocked on the sandy bank. Sir Godfrey crawled to where Dame Edith lay, a huddle of bloody rags beneath the rail of the ship. He picked her bleeding body up in his arms and staggered across to lay her against the mast. The bandage slipped from her eyes and Sir Godfrey thought how peaceful she looked. He saw her lips move and pressed his ear close to her mouth.\n\n'Dying!' she whispered. 'Thank God, dying at last! In Paradise I'll see again!'\n\nThen she slid sideways. Sir Godfrey felt for the pulse in her neck but there was none. He stopped, waved with both hands towards the Star of the Sea, then staggered across, down the ladder to where McBain lay. He saw the red bubble on the clerk's lips and could have wept at the sheer waste of it all. McBain opened his eyes.\n\n'Dying?' he asked faintly.\n\nSir Godfrey nodded.\n\n'And Dame Edith?'\n\n'She's gone.'\n\nThe clerk forced a smile. 'Then she'll wait for me!'\n\nHis eyes fluttered. 'And the Strigoi lord?'\n\n'Fled!' Sir Godfrey replied.\n\n'You must hunt him down. Promise me!'\n\n'I promise.'\n\nThe clerk smiled. 'You are a hard man, knight.'\n\n'And you are a good one, McBain.'\n\nAlexander tried to laugh, the blood dribbling between his lips.\n\n'I thought you'd never say that,' he whispered. Then he shuddered. The knight thought he said 'Edith!' McBain's head fell to one side, eyes open in death. Sir Godfrey laid him gently on the floor, checking his blood-soaked neck for any sign of life, but there was none. The knight whispered a prayer that Christ would welcome these two brave souls and glared fiercely into the darkness.\n\n'And damn those hell-hounds into the pit of blackness!'\n\nThe knight struggled up the steps. He collected his sword and dagger from the deck. He picked up the relic from where it had fallen, kissed it and put it carefully around his neck. He stared once more around the fishing smack, which looked and smelled like a butcher's yard. Dame Edith lay by the mast, small and pathetic, and from under the far rail the priest's decapitated head glared back at him through half-closed, heavy-lidded eyes. Sir Godfrey felt a spurt of rage. He walked across, picked the head up by the hair and tied it to a loose rope so that it swung in the wind like some rotten fruit. He then clambered over the rails into the waiting boat and, sitting in the stern, kept his eyes fixed on that grotesque head as the oarsmen rowed him back.\n\nGrandison helped him up the rope ladder and back on to the deck of the Star of the Sea. All the ship's company were assembled \u2013 soldiers, archers, even the cooks. They stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the corpses littering the little fishing smack, the deck awash with blood. The bodies appeared to have an eerie life of their own as they moved on the sea-washed decks, black cloaks flapping, at the motion of the waves.\n\n'God save us, sir knight!' Grandison exclaimed. 'What terrible tale is all that?'\n\n'Woven in hell and told by demons,' the knight replied.\n\n'What happens now?'\n\n'We burn it!'\n\nGrandison rapped out orders. Charcoal blaziers were lit on deck. The catapults were loaded with balls of fiery pitch. The archers strung their bows and waited to catch a flame from the braziers.\n\n'Wait!' Sir Godfrey shouted.\n\nHe grasped the rigging and climbed on to the ship's rail. He held his drawn sword in his free hand, blade down, like a cross.\n\n'Alexander McBain!' he shouted above the noisy wind. 'I salute you! Dame Edith, a woman with a crusader's heart, I salute you! By the cross, I swear my sword will not rest until the Strigoi lord is dead!'\n\nThe wind caught the words. The knight crossed himself and climbed down. He nodded at the captain, who raised his gauntleted hand.\n\n'Prepare!'\n\nSir Godfrey heard the crack of the catapults and the shouted orders of the master of archers. Grandison's hand dropped.\n\n'Loose!'\n\nFiery arcs sped towards the fishing smack, some dropped, hissing, into the sea, others landed on deck.\n\n'Again!'\n\nThe archers loosed a shower of fiery arrows. The catapults twanged and, again, a thin wall of fire fell upon the fishing boat.\n\n'Again!'\n\nOnce more the fire, like God's vengeance, dropped from the skies. Sir Godfrey glimpsed a ball of burning pitch go through the small cabin door. Tongues of flame began to appear. There was a large tearing sound as the fire reached the oil and the fishing smack and all on it were enveloped in a sheet of flames. Grandison would have stopped but Sir Godfrey insisted that the shooting continue. He stood for an hour until every shred of the fishing smack was reduced to blackened timbers which the sea lapped gently before pushing away.\n\nAmen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "The knight finished his tale and stared into the flames of the taproom fire.\n\n'What happened?' the wife of Bath breathlessly asked.\n\nNow the knight smiled. He shrugged.\n\n'My tale is ended.'\n\n'And the Strigoi lord?'\n\n'He lives still.'\n\n'Is it a tale?' the man of law shouted. 'Fable or fact, sir knight?'\n\n'It's the truth, isn't it?' The shipman was now standing on his feet, eyes staring as he pointed at the knight. 'It's true isn't it?' he whispered. 'I was there. I was on the Star of the Sea.'\n\nThe knight just stared back.\n\n'But, if it's the truth,' the man of law continued remorselessly, 'there is some explaining to be done. You, sir,' he looked at the poor priest, 'said Father Andrew was much respected. And you, the Oxford clerk, said St Peter's church housed his remains. And you, sir monk, said that the Trinitarian friary has no knowledge of such legends?'\n\n'No, I know what happened,' the quiet manciple intervened. 'Sir Oswald Beauchamp retired. Proctor Ormiston is witless. Sir Godfrey achieved his task and the Church and crown drew a veil over this. The friars were laid under a solemn vow of silence and Father Andrew will be remembered as a much-loved priest. I am correct am I not, sir knight?'\n\nThe knight shrugged, rose to his feet and stretched. He glanced at the host.\n\n'My tale is done, sir.'\n\n'And a good one, too,' Harry asserted vigorously. 'Hell's teeth! I'll not sleep easy in my bed tonight!'\n\nThe knight yawned, looked quickly at the monk and walked to the door.\n\n'Sir knight?'\n\nHe looked round where the prioress sat, coyly fingering her brooch with Amor Vincit Omnia inscribed on it.\n\n'Monsieur,' she pleaded. 'Excusez moi. La belle dame Emily?'\n\n'Oh, she married the love of her life.'\n\nThe knight smiled and went out into the night air. He walked across the yard, sat on the edge of a stone wall and stared up at the starlit sky.\n\n'Father!'\n\nThe knight turned and looked at his son.\n\n'Yes, Alexander?'\n\n'You were the knight?'\n\n'Of course!' The knight smiled through the darkness. 'Emily was your mother. I returned to Oxford and wooed her with all my strength and power. She loved me and bore you, the noblest son any man could ask for. But,' the knight looked sadly at his son, 'until the day she died, there was a small corner of her heart, an enclosed shrine, a memorial to Alexander McBain.'\n\n'And that makes you sad?'\n\n'No, it does not. I am a lucky man, Alexander. Throughout my life, I have served Christ and his holy mother. I have loved and been loved. My first wife, the Lady Emily, Alexander McBain and Dame Edith Mohun.' The knight looked over his son's shoulder and saw a movement in the darkness. 'And you, Robert Cotterill, who, ever since I took you from Oxford, have served me loyally.'\n\nThe yeoman emerged from out of the darkness and drew close.\n\n'But the hunt will go on?' Robert asked.\n\n'Oh, yes,' said the knight. 'I have dedicated my life to hunting the Strigoi lord down. I pursued him to Alexandria, to Algeria, Wallachia, Prussia, Spain, Asia Minor. One day I will catch him, take his head and send his soul back to Hell!'\n\n'But I thought you had?' the squire declared softly.\n\nThe knight clasped his son's hand. 'No, but I give him no rest. I do not allow him to stay and build up his strength or gather a new coven around him. Now and again, I do catch one of his followers when he sends one of his ilk against me. It always ends in their deaths.'\n\n'And you always burn their corpses?'\n\n'Yes, and now you know why.'\n\n'But not in Canterbury?'\n\nThe knight smiled and rose to his feet. He spread his arms, put one round his squire, the other round the yeoman and hugged them close.\n\n'No, not in Canterbury. I go there to give thanks and beg for the help of the Blessed Martyr Thomas. Now, come, one cup of claret and a good night's sleep.' He dropped his arms and fingered the relic still hanging from his neck. 'I've told my tale and tomorrow let's give our buxom wife of Bath a fair hearing.'\n\nLaughing and talking they walked back into the taproom.\n\nIn the darkness a shadow, deeper than the rest, moved. The eyes, half-hidden in a hooded cowl, glittered maliciously through the darkness and the lips curled in a grin like that of a hunting dog."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The King's Assassin",
        "author": "Angus Donald",
        "genres": [
            "adventure",
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "war",
            "The Outlaw Chronicles"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "I, Brother Anthony of Newstead, take up this quill, this parchment and ink-pot at the behest of my brother in Christ, Alan Dale, in the winter of the Year of Our Lord twelve hundred and forty-five, meaning to set down the tale of his deeds and those of his companions long ago in the time of King John. The words are entirely Brother Alan's, who for ten years has been the senior monk of our scriptorium here at Newstead Priory and a venerable ornament to our godly fellowship, and I only attempt to transcribe them as faithfully as I can. His fingers can no longer securely grip a goose quill, and his health grows ever more feeble, which is natural at his great age \u2013 he is now three-score years and ten, he tells me proudly \u2013 and lately his eyes have grown foggy after years of labouring over our precious books and scrolls.\n\nBrother Alan keeps to his cell most days, particularly when the ground is frozen to iron, and he is mostly abed save for a few hours each day, when I lead him out into the garden to allow him to smell the wind and feel the pale sun on his withered cheeks. It was Brother Alan who taught me to make my letters when I first came to Newstead as a novice nine years ago and it is no great hardship for me to take down his testament for posterity, indeed I see it as a debt that I owe him. We work at night, mostly, when my duties in the abbey are done, with Brother Alan speaking slowly from in his cot, swathed in blankets \u2013 for he feels the cold in his limbs and his many old wounds ache in this harsh weather \u2013 and myself faithfully copying down his words. We manage a few sheets every night before he falls asleep and I pray that his strength will hold out until his tale is done.\n\nThis is not entirely for unselfish reasons on my part. Brother Alan's words are a window on a time before I was born and, although many of the events he relates are shocking to me, I must confess that I feel a most unchristian thrill at these stirring tales of battle and bloodshed, of brave men and bold deeds. It is, indeed, an honour to have even such a small part in their transmission from his memory to this page.\n\nBrother Alan is very near to death now, I fear. He has been sickening these past three years and yet some force, some strange and powerful energy, keeps the flame of life alight in his body long beyond the time when in another man it would have been extinguished. Prior William, our lord and master, says Brother Alan's longevity is a miracle and has graciously given his blessing to this undertaking, this recording of his long life. I believe he too enjoys the tales as he insists on reading my manuscripts almost as soon as the ink is dry.\n\nLike the Prior, I too long to hear more of these adventures that Brother Alan relates, particularly the tales of his lord, his friend, his brother-in-arms, the Earl of Locksley. For this story is about him as much as Brother Alan \u2013 about the former woodland outlaw who used the law to give justice to an unjust land; the rebel who brought a King of England to a table at Runnymede and made him submit to the will of the people, the fighting man who fought for peace, the nobleman that the common folk loved \u2013 and feared \u2013 in equal parts. The man they called Robin Hood."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "The coast of Flanders was a black line across the horizon, the dividing barrier between deep-blue sea and paler sky. I sat in the prow of the snake boat, my sun-scorched face lightly kissed from time to time by cool dashes of spray, and fiddled with a loose silver wire on the handle of my long-sword Fidelity. We had been nearly two days in that damn boat; two days of the sun beating down mercilessly on our heads, the plank boards digging into our buttocks hour after hour, the crack of canvas sails above, the wild cry of wind in the rigging, the rush of live water against the wooden sides. Two days of eating stale bread and leathery salt pork; two days of drinking fishy-smelling ale, pissing, shitting \u2013 and vomiting, in rough swell \u2013 over the side. But God had been good to us; there had been no great storms to drench us, nor vast waves to dash the ship to pieces and drag our iron-clad bodies down into the deep.\n\nAnd neither were we alone. On either side of the vessel as far as the eye could see were hundreds of ships like ours: long, low, lean, single-masted vessels crammed with fighting men, weapons, shields, food and stores, as well as bigger craft \u2013 galleys and busses, cogs and even a river sailing barge or two making the perilous crossing to the low lands across the German Sea from England. There were nearly five hundred vessels in all, I had been told, and some seven hundred knights, as well as many hundreds more men-at-arms, archers, crossbowmen, servants and squires \u2013 even a few women, hardy young trulls and big matrons with forearms like farriers, who followed a host wherever it went and provided the services that fighting men always require: cooked food, clean clothes and a willing body to warm the blankets.\n\nWe were a seaborne army. An armada. And we were going into battle.\n\nI was in fear. I must admit it: indeed, I was terrified. This was not my first time going into the storm of battle, nor yet my twentieth, but the fear had come down on me that bright morning like a vile fog, like an invisible plague drawn inside me with my breath that was now eating away at my guts, gnawing away the strength of my bones. I was convinced that I would be butchered in the coming conflict. I could clearly see the sword cut that would smash through my guard, cut through helm and arming cap and crush my skull; I could feel the prick of the spear as it thrust into my chest, bursting apart ribs, crushing my organs. I could taste the searing pain, the gush of blood, the weakness and wrongness of it all, and the cold, slow, slide into black.\n\nI shook my head, trying to banish these visions of bloody disaster. I was a brave man, I told myself: be brave. But I had never had it as bad as this, never, not in all my long years of soldiering. I had fought many times, I'd won and lost, I'd been wounded and captured, I'd been tortured and condemned to certain death: but I had never felt as plain, ordinary, brown-your-braies frightened as I did that bright May morning off the coast of Flanders as we approached the estuary of the Zwin river and the port of Damme in the year of Our Lord twelve hundred and thirteen.\n\nIt must be my age, I thought. For I was no callow lad, I was a seasoned man-at-arms of eight and thirty summers, wise in war and versed in the ways of men \u2013 a knight, indeed, with a manor to my name, a dozen fine scars and the beginnings of a belly \u2013 not some green sprig going into his first skirmish. I had called upon St Michael, my personal protecting angel, in half a hundred fights, and he had almost always warded me with his long white wings. But where was he this sunny morning? Where was my holy guardian that day as the wind swept us remorselessly across the flat blue sea towards our enemies, the mighty legions of Philip Augustus, the King of France? My spine ached, my belly felt cold and sickly, my left hand trembled, and I had to make a fist to mask the shameful physical manifestation of my cowardice.\n\nI looked to my left at the nearest snake boat, some thirty yards northwards, and took a little comfort in the sight of a huge red-faced man with fat blond plaits on either cheek standing by the mast, one massive arm curled around it. He looked invincible. He wore a knee-length mail hauberk that seemed a little too tight across his vast chest, leather boots and gauntlets reinforced with strips of iron, a long dagger hung horizontally at his waist and a gleaming double-headed axe rested on one brawny shoulder. He saw me looking and cupped a hand to his mouth.\n\n'We'll soon be amongst them, Alan, don't you worry,' shouted Little John, his words reaching me easily from the neighbouring ship over the howl of wind and sea. 'It's going to be a rare brawl,' he bellowed. 'Nice and bloody, you mark my words!'\n\nI wrenched up a suitably carefree grin, as befits a man of war, and waved cheerily at him \u2013 but my guts were churning and I had to look away from his honest red face. How did John do it, in battle after battle, how did he find such joy in death? He had taken appalling wounds in his time; he had felt the Devil's stinking breath on the back of his neck. How could he still see this bloody business as a jolly game?\n\nIn that brief moment, I hated my old and trusted friend. I wanted to see him humbled; laid as low as I by fear and weakness. Immediately, I chided myself for that ignoble thought. John was John, and in the m\u00eal\u00e9e I knew he would take a sword blow meant for me \u2013 just as I would for him. If only I could master my fear. I glanced behind me and my eye alighted on a youth who was going into his first battle. It must be ten times worse for him, I thought, as he knew not what to expect. But, if he was as afeared as me, he was doing a far better job than I was in concealing it.\n\nHe was a handsome lad of eighteen or so, with light-brown hair and a long, lean face. He was dressed in an expensive hauberk of the finest mail and a domed helmet with golden crosses incised into the steel. His weapons, too, long-sword and dagger, were of the finest quality. And his shield bore the fierce depiction of a snarling wolf in gold on an azure field. But it was his face that made me pause every time I looked into it. But for his eyes, which were a rich dark blue, he was the spitting image of his father Robert Odo, Earl of Locksley, the man who was my own lord and master and who had persuaded me to undertake this very voyage into battle.\n\nMiles Odo looked entirely unconcerned about facing mortal combat for the first time. True, he had been trained by some of the best swordsmen and masters-at-arms in Europe, former Knights Templar for the most part, since he was old enough to lift a sword tip off the ground. But, as far as I knew, he had never faced an opponent who was genuinely seeking to kill or maim him; nor had he ever faced a storm of arrows and crossbow bolts that plucked away the lives of the comrades all around you at the whim of Chance. A half-smile adorned his smooth young face, his brow was unwrinkled, though a dimple crinkled his cheek when he saw me watching him; he looked like a carefree young blade on a pleasure cruise \u2013 in pursuit of wine and women, not pain and slaughter \u2013 and by that placid cast of face I knew that he was as petrified as I was, or perhaps even more so. For he wore exactly the same expression his father had always donned when things were at their worst.\n\nRobin's nonchalant words to me at the quayside at Dover, before we parted and he made his way to his own ship, echoed in my ears: 'Keep an eye on Miles, will you, Alan. Marie-Anne would be most upset if anything were to go amiss\u2026'\n\nIt might have sounded as if Robin was unconcerned about the safety of his second son. But I knew him better than that. He had been commending Miles into my care, asking without asking that I watch over him like a mother hen in the coming storm of steel. And I would, fear or no fear. For the debts of honour I owed to Robin, and the love I bore for him, were bigger than all the terrors of the world. We had fought together on more than a dozen battlefields from the Holy Land to the fields outside his home castle of Kirkton in Yorkshire. He had saved my hide so many times I could not count them. I would look out for his younger son as if he were my own.\n\nMiles's elder brother Hugh, who was Robin's heir to the Locksley lands, was in the lead ship, a proud high-ended cog, with his father and William Longsword, the Earl of Salisbury, the leader of this seaborne expedition.\n\nHugh was a very different man to Miles. Where Miles was tall, fair and willowy, Hugh was shorter, dark and strongly built. While Miles was whimsical, dreamy and prone to laziness, though a dazzling fighter with sword or dagger; Hugh was studious and level-headed, a talented horseman and a dogged if unimaginative swordsman. Although they were separated in age by four years, they were very close, devoted to each other, and to insult or injure one was to bring down the wrath of the other.\n\nI swung my legs over the bench so that I was facing back down the ship and face to face with Miles.\n\n'Here, lad,' I said proffering the hilt of Fidelity. 'See if your young fingers can fix this loose bit of silver wire. Can you tuck it under there, under that loop\u2026'\n\nMiles bent his head over the weapon for a few moments, his nimble fingers tucking and tugging. The ship's captain altered course slightly, the sail cracked like a breaking branch, a rogue wave slapped the ship's side and a salty packet of water leapt up and dashed itself against the shield on my back and over my neck, sending freezing trickles down my back under my iron mail. I tried not to shiver.\n\n'It is a truly wonderful sword, Sir Alan,' said the lad, handing it back to me, the loose end of wire neatly out of sight. He was right: a blue sapphire set into a ring of silver made the pommel, the long silver wire-wrapped grip allowed it to be wielded with one hand or two, the cross-guard was thick squared steel ending in two sharp points, which I used as a weapon almost as much as the yard-long shining steel blade.\n\n'It's certainly an old one,' I said. 'I killed an evil man for it before you were born. But it has served me well over the years. Very well.'\n\nThere was a silence between us, as we both admired the play of light on the naked steel. Then the young man cleared his throat a little unnaturally.\n\n'Sir Alan,' he said, 'is it true what Father says about you, that you have killed many, many men?'\n\nI squinted at him in the bright sunlight, shrugged and said nothing.\n\nHe had the grace to colour at this gaucherie.\n\n'I mean no disrespect, Sir Alan,' he said. 'Nor do I mean to pry into your affairs. I merely wanted to ask \u2026 I just wondered what it feels like, you know, to kill a man. To take everything he has \u2013 and will ever have.'\n\nI thought for a moment. Facing battle, he deserved to hear the truth.\n\n'It is hard,' I said truthfully. 'It is very hard the first time.' My mind went back to a woodland glade in England more than two dozen years earlier, and a dead knight on the ground by my feet, a boy not much older than I was then, with his neck broken by my blade. 'It feels wrong,' I said. 'Like the worst sin imaginable. But it does get easier each time you do it. Much easier. Then it becomes no more than something that you have to do, a task, a labour, something that must be accomplished.'\n\nHe looked me straight in the eyes, his deep-blue eyes in his father's face.\n\nI said: 'There will be killing aplenty today, lad, and we will do our part. But I want to ask a favour of you, a boon, if you will. When we go in, I want you as my shield-man. Will you do that for me? Sir Thomas Blood will be on my right, as usual,' I nodded over to the far side of the boat where a short, dark-eyed warrior in full mail was putting a final edge on his sword with a whetstone. 'But I want you on my left. In the thick of battle, I want to know I've got a good man on my shield-side. Will you do that for me? Stick by me; guard my flank?'\n\nMiles nodded and gave me a beautiful, beaming smile. 'I am deeply honoured, Sir Alan. You can rely on me. To the death!'\n\nI nodded and swung my legs back over the bench to face forward again. I wondered how soon he would realise that the 'favour' I had asked of him \u2013 that he stay close by me on my left-hand side \u2013 was in fact no more than a ruse to ensure that he was under the protection of my shield in the coming fight.\n\nAnd I wondered what he would say when he did find out.\n\nNo matter. There was grim work ahead and no time for niceties. And I would not be able to look Robin in the eye \u2013 or Marie-Anne \u2013 if their son was killed under my protection. I'd see him safely through this blood-bath or die trying.\n\nThe land had jumped a little closer and I stood up from the bench and looked out under a hand. There were sandbars visible, patches of lighter blue amid the turquoise, and I felt the snake boat shift direction slightly as the captain, a dour man called Harold, guided our vessels between two of the larger ones. But I could also make out the spindly masts of ships ahead by the smear of coast. Many, many ships spread right across the wide mouth of the estuary, with more concentrated at the centre where the river debouched brown from the muddy flatlands. As we came closer, I could make out the masts and rigging of hundreds, no, maybe more than a thousand ships, seemingly stacked against each other. In the late afternoon sun they looked like a great tangled forest in winter, the trunks and limbs bare of their leaves. My God, I thought, this is the whole enemy invasion fleet. Right here. All of it. King Philip's whole force is spread out before us, riding at anchor, or drawn up and beached on the sandy shore as carelessly as if they were in the port of Harfleur.\n\nOur lead ship, a big cog with a high castle-like fighting platform at each end, and which flew the lions of England from the mast, was signalling to the fleet. I though I could make out Robin on the deck of the vessel with his back to me, conversing with a knight in glittering mail. Robin's long green cloak fluttered behind him in the north-westerly breeze. He was pointing upwards to where coloured pennants, tiny at a distance, were being hauled up the mast. A hundred yards behind the lead ship, I followed the line of his pointing finger, and could easily make out the message the flags revealed. We knew our orders, we'd been thoroughly drilled in the flag codes and, as they fluttered cheerfully in the salt-tanged air, their daunting instructions were startlingly clear.\n\nI turned back to the body of the snake boat and addressed the score of men-at-arms sitting eagerly on the benches \u2013 men in mail and leather, bowmen, spearmen, swordsmen, helmeted and helmless \u2013 and said: 'It seems, lads, that we are not going to waste any time. No scouting, no hesitation, no parley. We go straight into the attack this afternoon. We are going in to take, burn or sink any French ships that we can. Lace up, men, and draw steel. Battle is upon us. May God Almighty go with us!'\n\nI fumbled for my gauntlets, which were tucked into my belt, and in doing so I looked down at my naked left hand. The shaking had completely stopped.\n\nMy hand was as steady as a stone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "As I pulled on my stiff gauntlets, reinforced with fat strips of iron sewn into pouches in the thick leather, and flexed my fingers vigorously to try to loosen them, I remembered the last time I had worn them, not much more than a month ago, and wished I had taken the time to dry and oil them properly before they'd been put away.\n\nI had trotted up to the gates of my estate of Westbury in the dusk of a Sunday in mid-April, having ridden hard from Portsmouth the morning before. I was greeted at the wide-flung gates of the manor compound by Baldwin my steward and, to my delight, by Robert my son, a tall, shy, and strikingly handsome boy of eleven. I had pulled off the heavy war-gloves, tossed them to Baldwin with a warm smile as he gathered the reins of my horse, and scooped the surprised boy up in a vast bear hug.\n\nAfter a long absence, I was home.\n\nThe subsequent evening had been one of merriment. Robert, once he had overcome his diffidence, had been keen to tell me everything that had happened to him since I had left for the south of France some years before and to show me his new treasures: a hunting dog called Vixen, an over-excited lurcher puppy in truth, woefully lacking in discipline; a new hunting knife that one of the few Westbury men-at-arms had made for him; a rock that glittered like gold; a phoenix's feather, or so he claimed; and a genuine unicorn's horn, which on closer inspection I recognised as once belonging to a mountain goat \u2013 despite Robert's fanciful insistence that he had seen the legendary beast with his own eyes and hunted it to death with Vixen.\n\nI partook of a delightful supper with my son and heir, served by Alice, Baldwin's younger sister, a plain, competent unmarried woman of thirty or so years who ran the manor household with her brother with a silent competence and grace. We ate a thin venison stew and bean pottage and a sallet of wild leaves \u2013 a rather meagre feast for a returning lord, I remember thinking \u2013 and for an hour or so afterwards he and I had made not-very-tuneful but perfectly joyful music together \u2013 he on the shawm, a flute-like instrument that he had learnt to play, after a fashion, in my absence, and I on my old vielle. Then Baldwin, on the pretence of bringing me a cup of hot, spiced wine, interrupted our play and tugged me away. He insisted on speaking to me about the manor accounts. It was late for such a task and I had only been home for a few hours, so I was more than a little puzzled by his insistence. I could tell that something was amiss and so I packed Robert off to bed and he went, reluctantly, after extracting a promise from me to go riding with him in the morn.\n\nAs Baldwin and I burned a cheap tallow candle and pored over the rolls, the gauntlets lay on a window sill in the hall where my steward had left them and that, I recall clearly, was the last I saw of them before packing for the voyage across the sea.\n\nFor the news that Baldwin had for me drove everything else from my head.\n\nI had been away from Westbury, from England, for some years, involved in that bloody carbuncle on the honour of Christendom, the hounding to death of the Cathars of Toulouse and the pillaging and destruction of their lands, but even in the far south of France I had been dimly aware of events in England during this period.\n\nBaldwin filled in the close details: King John's sheriffs had been rapacious in their quest for silver for their royal master, and none less so than Philip Marc, the current High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests, who had dominion over a huge swathe of central England. Marc was a mercenary, a low-born Frenchman from Touraine who had risen in King John's service over the past ten years through his utter loyalty to the King and his savagery in dealing with the King's enemies. And among that number were included those landowners who the King claimed owed him money. I knew Marc slightly from my days in Normandy, and liked him even less. The number of the King's 'enemies' had, I gathered, risen greatly in the years I had been away. After the loss of Normandy some nine years before, John had made increasing demands on any man of even moderate wealth. Tax after tax, relief after relief, as these demands for silver were known. And these extortions \u2013 there is no better word for it \u2013 were backed up by the full force of the local officers of the law. Indeed, no fewer than six times had the King declared 'scutage', an arbitrary levy on men of knightly rank and above, in the time that I had been away, and not a week before my return a full conroi of the sheriff of Nottinghamshire's mounted men had come to Westbury in mail and helm, swords drawn, and had demanded a payment of fifty marks from Baldwin.\n\nFifty marks! In a good year, the revenues of Westbury in total might have amounted to fifteen. Under good King Richard \u2013 and he was no sluggard at milking the country for money for his wars \u2013 I had paid two or at most three marks each year. Fifty marks was a veritable fortune.\n\nMy poor steward, with only a handful of men-at-arms to protect the manor, was outnumbered and overawed. When the knight in command, some fat-faced deputy sheriff, backed by a dark-skinned mountain of a sergeant \u2013 a demon, if Baldwin was to be believed \u2013 had threatened to burn the place to the ground if some payment in silver were not made immediately, Baldwin had believed it was his duty to protect the manor as best he could and had surrendered all the coin that Westbury possessed to the King's enforcers: a matter of twenty-six marks, more than three hundred silver pennies, a couple of small barrels full. The sheriff's men had taken the silver and ridden away \u2013 but they swore that they would be back for the balance in due course.\n\n'I am so sorry, Sir Alan,' he said. 'But I did not know what to do. With you away \u2026 It was not their first visit, nor yet their second or third. And each time they take something and their demands increase. I did not know what else to do, sir.'\n\nI soothed him with the best words I could find, but my head was reeling. I had sent that silver to Westbury, as and when I could, and I had received occasional reports from the manor about Robert's progress and a tally of the rents and so forth. But nothing for many months. I had believed that all was well, that I might return to Westbury to find the place moderately well stocked with produce and with a goodly store of cash to tide us over lean times. I'd been wrong.\n\nBaldwin showed me on the big parchment rolls that in the past year the sheriff's taxmen had requisitioned from me six milk cows; a dozen black pigs; a pair of oxen; two riding horses; eighteen bushels of wheat; twelve bushels of barley; three of rye; five big round yellow cheeses, and, of course, twenty-six marks of sterling silver. As the rolls proclaimed, Westbury was near destitute. Almost its entire portable wealth was now in the sheriff's hands \u2013 and still, Baldwin told me, he was demanding more.\n\nI had heard, even down in the war-torn County of Toulouse, that the King was squeezing the country like a ripe plum in his greedy fist, and I had even expected that, as a knight, I might have to pay a small amount to the crown for my lands. But I had not foreseen this pillaging of my goods and chattels.\n\nBaldwin tried to give me comfort. 'Sir, you are not alone. Most of the knights in the north \u2013 even the great barons \u2013 have suffered in the same way. I dare say all over the country there are good men doing as we are and looking with dismay at their rolls and wondering how they shall maintain their dignity over the coming year.'\n\nIt was not much comfort, to be honest. Westbury was penniless, I was near enough a beggar for all my title and lands, and the sheriff wanted more.\n\nBaldwin looked as if he would weep at any moment, so I hid my growing anger.\n\n'Calm yourself, Baldwin,' I said. 'If the sheriff's men return we will defy them. Tomorrow or the next day, Sir Thomas Blood will be arriving with two dozen good fighting men and the carts and baggage. Once they are installed at Westbury, we will shut the gates in their faces and dare them to attack. My men have fought halfway across Europe; they will not be cowed by a few Nottingham Castle braggarts. I'll warrant that if needs must we can hold this place against them till Judgement Day.'\n\nThe look of relief on Baldwin's face warmed my soul.\n\n'They have only preyed on us because all the fighting men were away,' I said, slapping the old fellow on his thin shoulder. 'They thought we were weak. Maybe we were. We are not now. I'm here to stay and I swear that they shall not have another penny, not a slice of bread from me, not a cup of stale ale. Rest easy, old friend.'\n\n'But in the meantime, sir, how shall we eat\u2026'\n\n'Sir Thomas is bringing stores with him \u2013 rough-and-ready travelling fare, twice-baked bread, hard cheese and some wine. It will serve for now, and Thomas has silver, too. Enough to replace the farm beasts, at the very least. We shall not starve, Baldwin, never you fear. And I will ride to Kirkton tomorrow to consult with my lord of Locksley. He will know what to do.'\n\nI rode north with young Robert the next morning. It was a fine fair spring day, sunny but brisk, with a blue sky garlanded with wisps of cloud. Robert was in a fine tearing mood, galloping ahead of me on the dry road, causing his horse to rear, then circling back to urge me to greater speed. He was proud of his riding skills, as well he might be, for they were excellent for a lad his age. But we took our time, walking the horses often to rest them and discoursing happily in the saddle about my adventures in the south and Robert's fancies and dreams. It was approaching dusk as we rode up the steep track from the Locksley Valley to the castle of Kirkton high above.\n\nWe rode past the church of St Nicholas and I nodded courteously at the ancient priest, half-dozing on a bench in the evening sunshine on the south side of the house of God, which overlooked the valley. The old man lifted a hand in blessing but did not move, and Robert and I made our way quietly past him through to the little graveyard and up the gentle slope to the castle's wooden walls. We were admitted without fanfare by the porters, who seemed uninterested in the two dusty arrivals. Once inside the gates, I saw that we had arrived in the middle of a celebration.\n\nAlmost the whole population of the castle, and a goodly number of the folk from the village that sprawled beneath its walls, had assembled in the courtyard \u2013 several hundred people in a rough circle around the edges with a large space in the centre. It seemed that they had been there some time, perhaps all day, for stalls had been set up offering sweetmeats, cakes and ale around the inside of the castle walls, and the crowd displayed a jolly holiday mood. On the walls of the keep, a squat tower at the rear of the courtyard, a dozen bright flags flew proudly from the battlements, and a gaggle of nobility in silks and furs stood on the parapet watching the space below.\n\nTwo men in full mail stood in the centre of that space, both armed with sword and shield. Their faces were partially obscured by their helms, which were plain steel domes, with cheek guards and nasals. One was short and stocky, the other tall and thin: by the springiness of their steps as they circled each other warily I could tell that both were young and extremely fit.\n\nI stepped down from my horse and quickly lashed the reins to a post, and then Robert and I pushed our way to the front of the crowd to watch the bout.\n\nThe taller one attacked first, and by God he was fast. He took two steps, feinted a lunge at his opponent's head, and whipped the sword down to strike at his foeman's forward thigh. The stockier fellow made a slow high lateral block, to counter the feint, realised his mistake and just got his shield down in time to stop the blade cutting deep into his thigh. He was given no time to recover, for the tall fellow was already striking again, a diagonal cut at the head followed up by a thrusting pommel strike that rang off the side of the stocky man's helmet like a church bell. It was a move I had never seen before; utterly original and devastatingly effective.\n\nThe shorter man staggered comically away from the blow, which must have partially stunned him; and the slender fellow let out a peal of boyish laughter.\n\nIt was then that I realised that the two men sparring in the courtyard were Robin's sons: Miles and Hugh. I glanced at my own boy, standing beside me; his eyes were shining with excitement, his two fists clenched white as bone as if he too might shortly be called upon to defend himself.\n\nThe crowd were cheering, calling out advice: some of it helpful, some absurd, some of it quite obscene. Robin was standing with both hands on the parapet of the keep, flanked by two men I did not recognise, and looking down impassively as his two boys battered away at each other. Hugh had recovered himself by then, which was just as well, for young Miles was subjecting him to a blizzard of strikes, each as fast as a darting kingfisher, a dazzling display of his sword-skill. Metal flashed in the spring sunlight, white chips of wood flew from Hugh's shield, and the sword clanged once more against his brother's helmet as it skimmed its pointed dome. But Hugh did not go down. He hunched himself under the onslaught, and his blocks and parries were exactly precise, a classic defence \u2013 standard, tried-and-tested moves and would have filled any master-at-arms's heart with joy. Miles struck fast and hard, often in the most unexpected combinations, but Hugh's bulwark was solid; every time Miles's sword licked out, there was Hugh's battered shield ready to take the blow, or his blade to make the block.\n\nAnd I could see that Miles was tiring.\n\nFor any man, no matter how strong and fit, tires after only a short while in the fury of combat. No one can fight at full pitch for long; and wiser, older warriors know that if they can survive the initial onslaught, their enemy will be weakened, and they will surely have their chance. Hugh was no grey-beard, he was in his twenty-fifth year, but he had the patience and wisdom of a man twice his age.\n\nMiles's sword strikes were still coming fast as a viper's tongue, and equally as deadly, but they were met with a stolid determination that smothered all his energy and flair. And slowly, gradually, Hugh began to show his dominance. He stopped a lightning vertical cut at his head and stepped in, turning his ringing block into a half-decent lunge at his opponent's eyes. Miles, utterly surprised, only just managed to jerk his head out of the path of the blade.\n\nAnd the tables were turned.\n\nHugh attacked: a strike on the right with sword, a punch forward on the left with shield; a feint at the head, a slash at the ankles. They were all well-worn, proven manoeuvres, the kind of moves that were drummed into all fighting men from the first moment we entered the practice-ground. They were utterly predictable. I could hear the echo down the long years of my own first sword-master, a grizzled outlaw called Thangbrand, bellowing out the numbers of the sequence. And yet, they were drummed into us all because they were effective; they were taught to generation after generation because they worked. Miles might affect a young man's contempt for the traditional combinations, but he had his hands full trying to counter them. Hugh bored on, stubborn as an ass; pushing Miles back and back across the courtyard with his dull, age-old technique, until, as perhaps Hugh had hoped, Miles made a mistake.\n\nThe taller boy took a gamble. Instead of stopping Hugh's sword blow to his left shoulder dead with his shield, absorbing the impact of the blade, and counter-attacking with his own sword \u2013 which would have been the usual response \u2013 he closed in and tried to shield-punch his brother's fist as it grasped the hilt of the swinging sword, down and away. The idea clearly being to make him drop his sword or at the least to open his older brother's body, and leave it defenceless against a wicked lunge to the belly.\n\nBut Miles mistimed it; he came in too close and moved too fast. The very top of his shield struck Hugh's hand, rather than the centre. Hugh kept his grip. And while his sword was indeed pushed wide, he was not forced off balance. Miles, on the other hand, was \u2013 he stumbled slightly and the older boy merely pushed forward with his own shield, trapping his younger brother's sword against his own chest, and then gave a hard shove, knocking him to the ground with a clatter of wood and metal equipment. An instant later, Hugh stood over his brother as he lay in the dirt of the courtyard, sword tickling his chin, and Miles was forced to yield.\n\nMiles looked stunned as he lay there, then for a fraction of a moment, insanely angry. Then the fit passed and his face creased into a smile and he began to chuckle ruefully as his older brother held out a hand to help him to his feet.\n\nHugh's expression showed not one scintilla of triumph at his victory. He even looked bored as he pulled his brother up and gently slapped the dust from his back.\n\nThe crowd of holiday folk cheered wildly, most of them, though I heard one or two curse God and the saints in a most vulgar manner, and I noticed many crossly handing over coins and even purses to their neighbours. Robin strode across the courtyard, in a rich dark green robe with fur as the collar and cuffs, and jaunty feathered hat atop his handsome head. His face a beam of pure happiness.\n\n'My friends, the hour is late, and we have seen some fine sport this long day. Our fighting men have spent themselves giving us all such fine exhibitions of their prowess, and now it is time for the revels of the day: for feasting and music and dance. More wine, ale and mead will be served, the cooks are roasting two whole oxen over the pits in the long meadow as we speak, and there will be food and drink for all far into the night. But before we give ourselves over to pleasure, I ask you to show your appreciation for my two sons and their skill at arms. Give me a cheer for Miles Odo, a gallant warrior\u2026' The crowd dutifully cheered, but not with excessive heartiness \u2026 'and for the victor in today's final match, Hugh Odo, whose birth day this is, and in whose honour all this revelry is named. Eat, drink and be merry, my friends, and raise a cup to my heir while you do so.' The cheer this time was an unforced genuine roar of approval which rolled around inside of the wooden castle walls like thunder. I had not realised till then that Hugh was so much liked.\n\nWe started to push our way through the throng towards the great hall.\n\n'Why does Hugh get a celebration for the day of his birth, Father?' asked Robert. He scratched his cropped hair. 'Why don't I get a feast on my birth day?'\n\n'We always celebrate your birth on St Robert's day\u2026'\n\n'Which was two weeks ago,' said Robert. 'You were still in France. Baldwin took me to church, we had pease pottage and boiled turnips for dinner, no more.'\n\n'Pease pottage is a fine dish. Many a boy would be happy to have it.'\n\nRobert went quiet, and I was stabbed by a shaft of hot guilt. I had not, indeed, been a very attentive father. Too often away, too long away.\n\n'I was thinking that it was about time that you had a decent sword\u2026' I said.\n\n'Oh, Father,' said Robert, his face opening like a flower, 'that would be so wonderful. One like Fidelity? A hand-and-a-half with a jewel set on the pommel?'\n\n'Well, perhaps not quite like Fidelity\u2026' I said.\n\nAnd saw his face fall.\n\n'I mean one that is not quite so old and battered,' I said quickly. 'But a new sword, yes! \u2013 a proper blade for a promising young squire.'\n\nWhile Robert fizzed with happiness, I cursed my own weakness. After the sheriff's depredations, money was tight enough at Westbury without me promising to spend a fortune on a sword for a boy whose voice had not yet broken. But a promise is a promise and I made a private vow that I would visit a cutler's shop in Nottingham in the next few days where the proprietor was an old boyhood friend of mine \u2013 and not quite an out-and-out rogue \u2013 to see what could be managed.\n\nI also decided that Robert must have some proper training at last. Seeing the skills that Miles and Hugh displayed reminded me of how remiss I had been with my own son's martial education. He must be trained as a squire by the best, the very best. He must be sent to a great household, the household of a knight famous for his prowess, where he would learn all the skills of a fighting man and proper conduct in war and out of it. And I thought I knew just the right man for the task.\n\nI found Robin in the great hall of Kirkton surrounded by a throng of knights and men-at-arms from the surrounding area and their ladies and elder children. I knew most of them reasonably well and it took Robert and I a good deal of time to work our way through the crowd, nodding, smiling, clasping a hand here and there, offering a few words of greeting. Finally we reached Robin, who welcomed me with evident joy.\n\n'Sir Alan, I thought I spotted you in the crowd,' he said loudly, in a somewhat artificial voice, 'what a pleasant surprise.'\n\nHis odd tone indicated that he wished to give me some message. I had been with him at Portsmouth not a sennight before and yet he was treating me as if I was a comparative stranger. Something was wrong. Robin continued in his faux-jolly voice: 'Come take a cup of wine with me and my friends. You have come to wish Hugh joy on the day of his birth, I make no doubt.'\n\nI said I had. And I offered my congratulations to Robin's oldest son, who was standing beside him, wishing the young man all the happiness of the day.\n\n'Glad you're here, Alan,' Robin said quietly in my ear. 'Something has come up. Something \u2013 ah \u2013 very foolish. But I need you to help me quash it.'\n\n'Hugh, perhaps you would be kind enough to take Robert to the tables in the upper field,' said the Earl of Locksley loudly, 'and show him where to get something to eat. You might swing by the stables, on your way and show off your birth-day gift.'\n\n'A horse?' I asked Robin.\n\n'A destrier,' he replied, 'it cost me a king's ransom. But you should have seen the way Hugh smiled when he saw the beast for the first time. Worth every penny.'\n\nThe two youngsters departed through the crowded hall, chatting in a friendly familiar fashion, Hugh's brawny arm over Robert's thin shoulders, for they had known each other all their lives and I knew Robert looked upon Miles and Hugh as something akin to cousins, perhaps even elder brothers. I looked beyond the two young men and found my eye alighting on two mature knights who stood out from the rest of the revellers in the solemnity of their mien. They were dressed as for a celebration in fine-cut cloth, but standing slightly apart from the multitudes in the hall, by the wall, each attended by a pair of armed servants. Alone out of the hordes in Robin's hall they seemed serious, guarded and watchful, aloof from the revelling.\n\nOne of the men, a tall, dark-haired man in a crimson-and-white cloak, with a long bony nose and bright blue eyes, saw me looking at him and inclined his head in greeting. He did not smile but I knew that I had seen him somewhere before and so I favoured him with a courteous bow. His companion, in a glorious golden cloak, saw where his fellow was looking and also greeted me with a cautious nod, before whispering in his friend's ear. I had the feeling that I was being discussed by these two solemn, yet gaudy fellows, a most disagreeable sensation, and I was just about to go over and interrupt their private discourse when Robin beat me to it. He plucked at my elbow and led me over to the two men.\n\n'Sir Alan, you know Eustace de Vesci, of course, lord of Alnwick Castle, who fought so valiantly with us during in the Great Pilgrimage,' my lord said, indicating the dark man in the crimson cloak.\n\nAs Robin said it, I did dimly remember the man from those long-ago struggles in the Holy Land. He had been an indifferent warrior, I recalled, but proud as Lucifer. He had snubbed me once in Robin's company, I think, called me an upstart or some such. But then I had not yet been knighted by King Richard and was just a common man-at-arms, so I supposed I must forgive him. But there was another reason why his name was familiar to me, and I found myself looking at him strangely.\n\n'Lord de Vesci,' I said, 'what an honour to make your acquaintance again,' and I bowed once more.\n\n'And you must know Lord Fitzwalter, constable of Baynard Castle in London,' Robin continued.\n\n'Ha!' said the second man; a ruddy, square-set knight with brownish-golden hair. 'Constable of a charred ruin. Didn't you hear, Locksley? King John had it burnt to the ground in January and slighted its walls for good measure. It's just a heap of blackened rubble now. They say the smell of smoke still lingers, months later. Not that I'd know, of course\u2026' Fitzwalter tailed off awkwardly.\n\nFitzwalter and de Vesci. I knew their names. Even in the far south of France I had heard their infamous names.\n\n'Ah, yes, Lord Fitzwalter, what a pleasure,' I said, staring at the man.\n\n'Is there somewhere we could talk privately, my lord?' said Eustace de Vesci to Robin. He rolled his eyes towards me. It was clear that he did not wish a guttersnipe such as me to be privy to their elevated conversations.\n\n'Certainly, let us talk in my solar,' said Robin, pointing to a door set in the wall at the far end of the hall. 'Join us, would you, Sir Alan, I want you to hear what these gentlemen have to say.'\n\nDe Vesci scowled but he began to walk in the direction that Robin had indicated. Fitzwalter smiled blandly and began to follow his friend.\n\nI halted Robin with a hand on his arm.\n\n'What is all this about?' I said. 'What do these two villains want?'\n\n'They want me to kill the King,' said Robin.\n\nI stopped dead in my tracks.\n\n'Come along, Alan, we should not keep two such desperate cut-throats waiting, should we?' said my lord."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "The solar was empty \u2013 but for a large bed on one side of the room and a small table at the other at which a tray with a jug of purple wine, cups and a bowl of fruit had been laid. Robin had clearly been expecting to entertain here.\n\nWhile de Vesci and Fitzwalter pulled up stools to the low table and, at Robin's urging, poured themselves wine, I pondered what I had heard of these two men.\n\nEustace de Vesci was from an old Norman family that had been a power in the north-east of England for generations. He had married the illegitimate daughter of the King of Scotland, a woman of surpassing beauty called Margaret, and ruled his wide lands from Alnwick Castle, a great stronghold north of the Tyne. Like many of the barons of England he disliked and distrusted King John, but last year he had been accused of being involved in a plot to murder him. The plot had been betrayed and de Vesci had fled north to take refuge with his wife's kin in Scotland. He had been dispossessed of his lands by the King, and if John had been able to get his hands on him he would have been a dead man. Indeed, if John knew that Robin was now sheltering him in Kirkton, Robin's situation would be precarious, too.\n\nI knew less about the second man. Robert Fitzwalter, once constable of Baynard Castle by the Thames, and still a power in London and in Essex, had also been named as one of the conspirators and he had fled to France to save his skin. Now, evidently, both were back in England.\n\nLord Fitzwalter crunched into an apple and jerked his chin at de Vesci. 'Go on, Eustace, no need to be coy. Set out your stall,' he said through a mouthful of mush.\n\nEustace de Vesci took a swallow of dark wine, looked from Robin to me and back again, and began.\n\n'You know King John well, Locksley, I think. You were very close to him in Normandy, in the last days there. And before that, too, as I recall. And so I would ask you a question, which I hope you will answer in all honesty, as God is your witness.'\n\nRobin said nothing. I helped myself to a cup of wine. The silence stretched like soft dough in a baker's floury hands. To my surprise, Robin broke it.\n\n'Ask, then,' he said.\n\nDe Vesci looked down at his hands. 'Before God, my lord, do you think that John is a good king?'\n\n'No,' said Robin. A short flat statement.\n\n'Is he a decent, honourable, fair man, a man worthy of respect and loyalty from the ancient nobility of England?'\n\nRobin didn't deign to answer that; he just gave a soft snort of contempt.\n\n'Is John a man who will protect and guard his people, and give them justice as he vowed to do at his coronation?'\n\nFitzwalter interrupted his friend: 'We all know he is not. Get on with it, man!' And earned himself a scowl from his dark-haired companion.\n\n'Very well, I must ask you then, Lord Locksley: is John a fit and proper King of England?'\n\nRobin shrugged.\n\nDe Vesci leaned forward: 'You heard about William de Braose and his family?' he asked but did not wait for an answer. 'He was a good man; you knew him and liked him, I think. Well \u2026 our good William is now dead, hounded into an early grave by a vengeful King. And for why? They had been close, as close as brothers, the King and de Braose, but his wife Maud, a silly woman, gossiped that John had had young Duke Arthur murdered in Rouen, which is something that a great many people have been saying recently. And the King, when he heard, was very, very angry. He responded by claiming that de Braose owed him a vast sum of money, some say as much as a hundred thousand marks, a payment for the grant of his lands and fiefdoms. He must pay up, said the King, or forfeit all of them. When de Braose pleaded that couldn't pay such a price, the King sent knights to take his castles and seize his person.'\n\nRobin stared at him impassively but said nothing.\n\n'William fled to Ireland,' de Vesci continued, 'but the King pursued him there, sending a small army of knights after him. But de Braose was a wily fox \u2013 and William the Marshal and other good men gave him shelter for a while \u2013 and he evaded the searches of the King's men and came back to Wales dressed as a filthy beggar. But he was betrayed soon enough and the King's men followed him there, too, swearing that if he would not surrender to them immediately they would find him and slaughter him in his stinking rags. Finally the poor man escaped to France; he got out of the country with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and he died there in Paris \u2013 sick, alone and in penury. Some say he died of a broken heart.'\n\nDe Vesci leaned forward and grasped Robin's forearm, which was resting on the table. 'Yet still John was not satisfied,' he said, his voice trembling with emotion. 'He seized all his lands, all his manors and castles. He even managed to capture his wife, Maud, whose blather was the cause of all this trouble, and their son. That woman, brave in extremis, it must be said, demanded a trial; she demanded to know what crime she was accused of. She asked to be allowed to speak her defence to the barons of England, and vowed she would accept their judgement if they found that she was guilty of any crime whatsoever. But the King refused and had her imprisoned, quietly tucked away in Corfe Castle in the deepest dungeon. He gave orders that they were to receive no visitors \u2013 and no food.\n\n'She and her son lingered for weeks, but eventually they both died. The son, it seems, in his desperate starveling state gnawed on his mother's corpse before the gaolers dragged it away. Ate his own mother's decaying flesh \u2013 can you imagine what would bring you to that pass? He died soon afterwards, anyway. God rest them both.'\n\nThere was an awkward silence in the solar after de Vesci's impassioned speech. Robin looked down at his tightly gripped forearm. The dark man released Robin's limb but tried to lock eyes with my lord. Robin met his gaze but remained silent.\n\nI had heard rumours of the de Braose family's sad fate, but I was thinking mostly about Duke Arthur and his miserable death at his uncle King John's hands. I had witnessed it personally in the dungeon at Rouen Castle. So had Robin.\n\nHe knew as well as anyone what a murderous creature the King was. But, to my surprise, my lord of Locksley merely said: 'So \u2026 John is not a perfect, stainless monarch. Name one that ever was?'\n\n'Not perfect?' de Vesci exploded. 'The man is a disgrace. He is a cowardly murderer of women and children! Almost anyone would make a better king!'\n\n'Tell me,' said Robin, 'how come you to be in England? I had heard that the King had exiled you both on pain of death after the last \u2026 uh \u2026 incident.'\n\nDe Vesci was taken aback, quite surprised by this turn in the conversation. By 'last incident', Robin clearly meant the last plot to kill the King. De Vesci had been leaning forward and speaking passionately; now he recoiled from Robin, scowled and fortified himself with a sip of wine. It was Lord Fitzwalter who answered for him.\n\n'It is all due to the graciousness of his Holiness the Pope,' he said.\n\nIt was my turn to be bemused.\n\nRobin said: 'I see. So John is prepared to submit to the Pope, and the price is your return, and something else \u2026 what else? The French invasion?'\n\n'What?' I said. This was all moving too fast for me.\n\nFitzwalter smiled tightly: 'I had heard that you were a sharp one, Locksley. Very well. I shall tell you. But this must go no further for the time being.'\n\nThe blond man looked at me. I shrugged, then nodded my acceptance.\n\n'You know that John is excommunicate, and England lies under an interdict,' Fitzwalter said, still looking at me.\n\n'All Christendom knows that,' I replied, stung. 'But John cares little for the Church and its threats of damnation. He once told me, when he was drunk, that he doubted the existence of the Devil. I believe that he only just stopped short of telling me, the court, the world \u2026 that he doubted the existence of God!'\n\nDe Vesci crossed himself but kept his mouth shut.\n\n'What you may not know, Sir Alan,' said Fitzwalter, 'is that the Pope has given Philip Augustus his consent and permission to invade England in the name of the Holy Roman Catholic Church and claim the throne for himself \u2013 and for Christ, of course. The French have raised a huge army, tens of thousands of men, two thousand ships, too, and they have the good opinion, not just of the Pope, but of much of Europe in their plans to cross the sea and remove King John by force.'\n\n'Some people might imagine that you would welcome that,' said Robin.\n\nFitzwalter shot him an angry look. 'We would not welcome that, my lord. We would not welcome an invading foreign army on to these shores, laying waste, burning farms, despoiling the land, slaughtering the people. We would not welcome subjugation by France \u2013 England becoming the plaything of a capricious French monarch. We are English patriots, not traitors to our land. We had all that wanton destruction when the Conqueror came over in our great-great-grandfathers' day. The north was a wasteland for two generations. Who would welcome that carnage again? That \u2013 my lord \u2013 is what we are trying to prevent.'\n\n'You have not yet explained how you come to be in this country, returned so soon from exile,' I said quietly.\n\n'Yes, I was coming to that,' said Fitzwalter. He smiled ruefully at me, embarrassed to have lost himself in his passion. 'So the French are poised to invade, and they have the blessing of the Pope. But King John, seeking as always to outmanoeuvre Philip, sent an envoy to the Pope some months back offering His Holiness the Kingdom of England as a papal fief. He is handing the country to the Pope as a gift, as long as he is allowed to remain king. The Pope has accepted, of course. And John will do homage for England to the papal legate in a week's time.'\n\nI must admit I was speechless with outrage. King John was throwing away the country, handing it over lock, stock and barrel to a fat prelate in faraway Rome.\n\nRobin clearly saw my consternation. 'It doesn't change anything significantly in England, Alan,' he said. 'Everything continues as normal \u2013 all that changes is that John now has an overlord\u2026'\n\nFitzwalter interrupted him: 'And the French have been told that, on pain of excommunication, they must not invade the Pope's new territory\u2026'\n\n'As I said, nothing significant is changed,' Robin cut through his guest's words. 'The French have not abandoned their plans to invade. I have today received a message from William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, summoning me and all my knights to a general muster to combat this invasion. The French are still coming.'\n\n'What has changed,' Fitzwalter said sharply, 'is that as part of the arrangement with His Holiness, my lord de Vesci and I have been pardoned and restored to our lands and fortunes. We find that most significant.'\n\nRobin got to his feet. 'I must return to my guests,' he said curtly. It was a barely courteous dismissal of the two rebels. 'If you have anything further to say to me, I suggest you say it now. I want you gone from this castle first thing in the morning.'\n\nDe Vesci drew a big, sharp breath. But Fitzwalter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Fitzwalter said: 'You are a man who has lived outside the law. You have done evil things, do not trouble to deny it \u2026 Now we ask you to do something evil again, but for a noble cause. For the cause of this country and her people, we ask you, quite simply, will you help us kill the King?'\n\n'No,' said Robin, without hesitation. 'Putting aside the fact that I do not trust either of you, nor like you, I will not kill the King, nor be party to any plot against his life. And for one simple reason. I swore a sacred oath that I would be his man for ever. And I will add something else for you to consider. It is a relatively simple matter to kill a king, but you cannot kill the idea of kingship. If you kill this king, another will take his place. And will he be any better than John? Who knows? He will certainly be more distrustful, knowing that his predecessor was murdered by his own barons. If you kill John, another will be anointed, perhaps a far worse man\u2026'\n\n'But as his counsellors, we would guide the new king,' said de Vesci.\n\n'I suspect you would seek to rule through him,' answered Robin.\n\nDe Vesci's face flushed. 'We would never presume\u2026'\n\nBut once again, Fitzwalter stopped him. 'We have had our answer, Eustace.' Then to Robin: 'May I have your word that you will not betray us?'\n\n'You have it,' said Robin. 'I want as little as possible to do with either side in this matter. But I will thank you not to come uninvited to my home again.'\n\nFitzwalter nodded. De Vesci offered my lord a sneer. And Robin turned on his heel and walked out of the solar and back into the hall.\n\nThe two men were making their way to the door of the solar when I stepped in front of them and stopped them with a palm held out flat.\n\nDe Vesci looked so angry I thought he might try to strike me.\n\n'I'll do it,' I said.\n\n'What?' snapped de Vesci.\n\n'I'll kill the King for you.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "As the snake boat approached the flat brown coast of Flanders, I stood in the prow with the wind at my mailed back and rehearsed in my memory the reasons why King John deserved to die. I had to do something to take my mind off the fear that gripped my body and was causing my legs to tremble like those of a man with the palsy. Foremost in my mind was Arthur, Duke of Brittany, who had been my prisoner and later my friend in Normandy. He had been cruelly murdered within my sight in the dungeon of Rouen Castle by two henchmen of John's, while the King looked on and laughed. I had executed the two henchmen years ago, but I felt that I owed it to the shade of my murdered friend to complete the sentence of death I had pronounced in my mind on all three of them that awful night.\n\nThis was the most noble unselfish reason for the murder, I felt. But there were other equally compelling arguments for the King's death. In my youth, John had tried several times to have me killed. Years later, at Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard, despite his promises to relieve the castle, the King had callously left us all to die \u2013 and many hundreds of good men, including some very close to me, had perished in that protracted and pointless bloodbath. Their souls must be avenged, too. And lastly, apart from his many crimes, there was the man himself: cruel, weak, lecherous, cowardly, suspicious of everyone, close-fisted even to his loyal men, a ravening beast to any who opposed him. If any man deserved to die, I thought, it was him.\n\nI could feel the eagerness of the thirty men behind me in the snake boat. It was like the tension in a newly strung bow-cord. We were inside the jaws of the estuary by then. To the north, the empty mudflats and low sand dunes stretched away into eternity, with barely a living creature to be seen but for a few white storks flapping lazily across the empty brown marshland. The estuary was about a mile wide at that point and the southern shore could not have been more different to the opposite bank. The French ships were clustered in their hundreds along the shoreline, the ones nearest the land tethered to stout posts hammered into the mud, the outer vessels moored to the landward ships.\n\nThe nearest French craft were less than a hundred paces away by now, and the alarm had been raised by the enemy long since. They knew we were coming. How could they not? Our white-sailed fleet filled the estuary like a flock of sheep moving slowly down a narrow valley. But there was something curious about the activity aboard the enemy decks: there was too little of it. There seemed to be far too few men aboard for such a huge mass of shipping. I guessed that there might be as many as a thousand ships all crammed along the southern shoreline that led towards the quay at Damme itself, a couple of miles further upstream. And at the quay, I could see that the ships were five or six deep against the wooden platform. I could just make out, beyond the crush of shipping, the tall thin houses that lined the narrow streets of Damme and a single spire of a church. However, despite the mass of sea-going craft, there were no more than a few hundred unarmed sailors in sight \u2013 and no sign at all of the French troops. Where were their knights? Could they be hiding?\n\nSome of the smaller vessels, the furthest from the quay at the mouth of the estuary, were cutting their ties, hauling up sail and attempting to escape, but the wind was still north-westerly, coming directly off the water on to the land, and the majority of the shipping was pinned there by it. A few, those smaller vessels on the very edges of the fleet that we had already passed by, were managing to slide away out to sea \u2013 with a good deal of furious oar-work. But soon enough our own fast, light ships, the ones we called sparrow-hawks, were lancing out after them, grappling, boarding and swiftly subduing their panicked crews.\n\nWe were now only fifty yards from the quay, the centre of the compact mass of enemy shipping. I was standing in the prow of the snake boat, with Miles at my left shoulder, Sir Thomas Blood at my right, and I pulled Fidelity from its scabbard, and hefted my shield. It was eerily quiet, beyond the creak of rope and the splash of sea on wood. Even the sharp cries of the French sailors seemed strangely muted.\n\nI had been in several water-borne assaults before, and by now the air should have been thick with crossbow bolts and arrows, the enemy fighting men packed inside the ship's walls, but I saw only one lone missile flying out towards us as the fleet bore down remorselessly upon the enemy moored against the grey land. Even that single quarrel, loosed by a single crossbowman in the forecastle of a big round-bellied cog to my left, fell short and splashed into the water before the lead ship.\n\nI looked left at the neighbouring snake boat and caught Little John's eye. My huge friend too was standing at the prow, round shield in one hand, axe in the other. He was evidently as puzzled as I was by the absence of our enemies. He gave one vast shrug and spread his arms in the age-old sign for 'I don't know'.\n\n'Where are they all?' asked Miles from behind me. 'I can barely see a single man-at-arms. They are all just common sailors, no shields, armour, nary a sword between them.' I thought I detected a certain amount of relief in his voice.\n\n'Don't let your guard down, youngster,' I said. 'It could be a trap of some sort. The knights may be concealed below decks.'\n\nBut I did not believe it myself, and my head felt dizzy from the reprieve. For I could see that the French sailors were to a man abandoning their ships, hundreds of nut-brown bare-legged men in baggy, dirty white smocks were fleeing, bounding across the decks of the closely moored vessels, leaping from ship to ship, streaming away over the wooden quay and disappearing into the town of Damme behind it. Our lead vessel, the Earl of Salisbury's flagship, had a dozen men aloft reefing its sails and the tillermen were turning the prow to spill their wind, and as I watched, it arced gracefully, slowed and came to rest with only the gentlest of bumps against the round-bellied French cog that seemed now to be utterly deserted. There was no sign even of the lone crossbowman who had loosed at us.\n\nThe scores of English fighting men crowding the Earl's ship gave a roar that came clearly to me across the water, and they surged on to the enemy deck, brandishing swords and axes, their steel glittering in the sunlight to be met by \u2026 nothing at all. The English men-at-arms flooded the enemy deck, the blue and gold fleur-de-lys was swiftly hauled down, and I caught a glimpse of Robin leaping up on to the quarterdeck, his sword in his hand, not a foe in sight and a piratical grin on his handsome face. Behind me I heard the cries of Harold, our ship's captain, to his crew, and, as our own little boat turned into the wind, lost almost all headway and glided up to kiss against the side of a low flat barge, I saw that our enemy vessel too was devoid of Frenchmen.\n\nWe tumbled aboard, laughing, for the only living thing to greet us was a one-eyed tabby cat that wound its way around my shins in the hope of a free meal. Trying not to squash it with a careless foot, heavy as I was in my mail and war gear, I led my men across the deserted deck and to the next vessel, a cog with higher sides than the barge, which was lashed to its landward side. We clambered up the steep sides with the aid of netting that seemed set there for that very purpose, and rolled over the top on to the deck of the higher ship, swords drawn.\n\nAnd once again we found a not a soul.\n\nIn the absence of their fighting men, the enemy sailors had all fled their vessels by now \u2013 indeed, I could see the last of them disappearing into the streets of the town some fifty paces away \u2013 and wisely in my opinion. Why risk slaughter or capture? Their role was to sail these craft, or guard them against thieves in harbour. It was not their task to die fighting a vast host of heavily armoured enemy knights.\n\nI felt the blood in my veins cool and slow. There was no fight to be had today. I was light-headed with relief. No fight; nothing but hundreds of empty ships.\n\nBut they were not empty.\n\n'Sir Alan,' a voice called from the doorway of the cog's cabin, interrupting my thoughts, and I looked and saw Sir Thomas emerge, his dark face split by a smile.\n\n'The knucklebones have rolled in our favour,' he said, and I saw that he was holding a pair of silver wine jugs in his gauntleted hands, a golden chain was around his neck. 'Chance smiles upon us for once!'\n\nHe lightly tapped the two silver jugs together to produce a musical chime. 'This ship was the property of a rich man, some baron or count. There is a big chest of coin below, a box of jewels, too \u2013 a treasury! Oh, the nights of pleasure I could have with all this! And there's fine bed linen, armour, weapons, a dozen barrels of wine, too.'\n\nI looked down at the sailing barge tied below the cog and saw that a couple of my men were pulling back the oiled sheet that covered the hold in the centre of the vessel, and wrestling out huge sacks of grain. It came to me then, like a short hard slap, that we had just captured the entire enemy invasion fleet, with all its stores and provisions, all its wine and grain and cheese and meat and flour, and all the personal possessions of much of the nobility of France \u2013 and all without losing a single man. It was a genuine miracle. I could feel the Hand of God beyond a shadow of a doubt.\n\n'Be a good fellow and take that off, Thomas,' I said, pointing at his golden chain glinting on his chest. 'And set a guard on the coin chest and the jewels as soon as you can. A reliable man. No, two reliable men, so they may watch each other. And keep an eye on the wine barrels, too. Nobody is to get drunk, Thomas. Not now. Later we can be as drunk as bishops \u2013 as drunk as the Devil on Good Friday. But not now. Understand? Good man. I must away and seek orders.'\n\nI scrambled down the netting on the side of the cog, and jumped the last two yards to land with a puff of dust on the huge pile of mounded grain sacks in the hold.\n\nI looked through the rigging of our snake boat, now empty save for Harold the captain, who sat grinning at the tiller, and saw beyond, skimming across the brown water, a little fishing gig, manned by six oarsmen, approaching rapidly from further up the estuary where the bulk of our ships were now inextricably mingled with the deserted French vessels. And I saw that Robin was seated in the bow, looking as happy as a hungry child with his own bowl of sweetmeats.\n\nAs I helped the Earl of Locksley to clamber aboard our snake boat, he was already talking, half-laughing, jabbering at me excitedly: 'I need crews, Alan, crews. Anyone who has ever crewed a ship, anyone who has ever been to sea, or sailed a river, or fished from a coracle on a mill pond \u2013 damn it, anyone who has ever got his feet wet when it wasn't bath day. Ha-ha! Salisbury's orders. We are to get these enemy ships to sea. As many as we can. Right now. Minimum crews; three or four men, whatever it takes. We must get these captured boats to sea \u2013 with all their cargo, oh yes, and get them back to England. There is not a moment to waste.'\n\n'So we are all going home?' I said.\n\n'Not all of us, not yet. First we get these French vessels to sea. The weather is perfect, not a cloud in the sky, they can be home by tomorrow morning \u2013 and we are all, all of us, considerably richer. But first we've got to burn that town yonder. Salisbury wants to make his mark. \"We are not thieves,\" he says to me, the impudent devil. \"We are not all Sherwood riff-raff out to steal the possessions of gentlemen. We are soldiers at war taking lawful booty from the noble pursuit of arms!\" As if that ever made the slightest difference! The fool. Still, we are under his orders, and they are: get all these ships crewed and sailing back across the Channel, quick-smart; and then I'm to take my company and torch the town. It will teach them a lesson, Salisbury says. The half-royal idiot.'\n\nDespite Robin's harsh words about our commander the Earl of Salisbury, the King's own half-brother, I could see that my lord of Locksley was in high spirits. As usual, nothing cheered him so much as a fat profit. It was slowly dawning on me that we had taken possession of more wealth in the past hour than many a man might gather in a lifetime.\n\nI picked out the few of my men who I knew had experience of sailing the rivers of England at least and put them under the charge of John Halfpenny, a runtish fellow with wispy grey hair and a squashed-in brown face who had been a fisherman and had later served on the merchant ships that plied from Bordeaux to Portsmouth, bringing wine to our shores. They were to sail the captured cog home, and its valuable cargo, with all possible speed. He was a diminutive man-at-arms but utterly ferocious in battle. He wielded two hand axes with deadly skill, and threw knives for sport, too, when the devil was in him. But he was a good man at heart and I knew that many of the others were a little scared of him. I took him aside, gave him his orders and told him the names of the eight men who would be his crew, and added I would personally flay him and nail his carcass to the mast if a drop of the wine in hold was drunk before it was handed over to the King's men in Dover. He nodded soberly. 'Aye, Sir Alan, I'll keep those thieving drunken bastards in line, never you worry.'\n\n'I mean it, Halfpenny,' I said. 'You deliver that craft to England safe and sound, cargo intact, or it's your ugly head on a spike.'\n\nThe little man hurried away, brimming with good cheer, and bawling to his comrades to get aboard right now or face the fucking consequences.\n\nHarold, the snake-boat captain, assured me that the barge we had captured, which was full of wheat and barley, could be crewed by only three men, and I gave him two young men-at-arms who claimed they'd been to sea before and bade him God speed.\n\nAll across the Zwin estuary, Englishmen were clambering over their new ships, tugging ropes, loosing sails, hallooing excitedly to their fellows, capering in the rigging for the sheer fun of it. In less than an hour, some of the ships were already under sail and were making their unsteady way under their unfamiliar crews out of the mouth of the harbour and into the broad blue ocean beyond.\n\nWe slept in the customs house at Damme that night; Sir Thomas, Miles and myself, along with our depleted squad of a dozen men-at-arms. I allowed a small barrel of wine to be broached with which to celebrate our new wealth, for Robin's company had captured and dispatched to England seventeen vessels of varying size. There were still hundreds of abandoned French ships in the harbour at Damme, but we simply did not have the crews to sail them home. But, you may be certain, we had made sure that we sent off the biggest ones that were filled with the richest cargoes. By my calculations, each of the dozen men now curled and snoring in his blankets around me was worth at least ten pounds of sterling silver \u2013 roughly what a working man might earn, with luck, in ten years. A fortune, in other words. So we had drunk wine in good cheer, more enlivened by our new wealth than the liquor, and feasted on a barrel of oysters one of the men had found and barley bread and fat smoked hams and peaches preserved in honey. The younger men, some of my own Westbury folk, talked of setting up as freemen with their own strips of land, and humbly asked if they might clear woodland on my demesne to begin this new life. I happily agreed. Others thought it might be more pleasurable and profitable to own an alehouse in Nottingham or some other town or port. Another thought the life of a travelling pedlar, a chapman, selling silk thread and ribbons, pins and needles from hamlet to hamlet, would be filled with adventure and the chance to meet willing women. So we passed the evening in delightful contemplation of our new lives as well-to-do men.\n\nMy last thoughts as I fell asleep were of Robert's sweet boyish face. I had packed him off before we departed for Dover to Pembroke Castle in Wales, the seat of William the Marshal, one of the finest knights I had ever known and an old friend of mine. It had wrung my heart to send him away, after we had been so long apart, but I knew it was the correct thing to do. Robert must train as a squire in a great man's household, and while I knew that William himself would not often be there, I also knew that his wife Isabel would care for the lad and that he would receive a first-class education in the arts of war from the Marshal's well-trained knights and men-at-arms. Still I worried about the boy and missed him sorely, and the thought of him afraid and alone in a strange castle kept me from slumber.\n\nOur parting had been tearful with Robert pleading that I not send him away. I was firm, however, explaining that he must learn the ways of a knight and asking if he did not wish to be as brave and skilful as Miles or Hugh. Then I told him harshly that it was unmanly to snivel quite so much at his age. He must dry his tears. Try to be a man. It was for his own good, I said, hating myself.\n\nTo soften the blow, I had paid a visit to my cutler friend in Nottingham to purchase a new hand-and-a-half sword, a fine light blade of Damascus steel in a tooled leather scabbard. When I presented the new weapon to Robert on the day before his departure, telling him that as a squire in the Marshal household he would need a good blade, his eyes opened so wide that they nearly fell out of his head. He rushed at me and crushed me in a hug so strong I genuinely thought he would crack my ribs \u2013 my gift, I believed, had partially reconciled him to his fate. Yet, as sleep finally pulled me down, I wished with all my heart that it could have been I who tutored him in its proper use.\n\nThe next morning, we hefted shields, helms and spears, struggled into mail coats, those that had them, or leather armour or quilted gambesons, and mustered on the quay with the rest of Robin's men. We had set out from England with a company, or battle as it was more properly known, of two hundred men, but fewer than a hundred souls mustered on the quay that morning on the last day of May. We had sent off more than half our number with the captured ships.\n\nMy lord of Locksley addressed the remaining men: 'My friends,' he began, 'we had a good day yesterday.' His remark was met with raucous cheers. 'And we will have a better day, today. Our scouts have reported that the French army is some thirty miles away, besieging the town of Ghent, which is held by the forces of our ally the noble Count Ferrand of Flanders. This town of Damme is near deserted. It is at our mercy. The denizens, men-at-arms and townsmen alike, have fled.'\n\nMore cheers.\n\n'Our sector is the south of Damme, the merchant's quarter, and we have orders from the Earl of Salisbury to disperse any enemy force we see and to burn that part of the town to the ground. However, before that, before we set the torches, we may lawfully confiscate any of the enemy's possessions and claim them as our own.'\n\nThe cheers were now deafening. Robin had just given his men-at-arms, many of them former Sherwood outlaws, permission to loot the wealthiest part of Damme.\n\nWe formed up in a double file, the men happily jabbering to each other, eager faces alive with joy and anticipation, men boasting of the riches they would take and the destruction they would wreak. As we set off through the warren of narrow streets in the north of the city, passing churches, chapels, abandoned shops and houses already ravaged by our compatriots, and marched over the big wooden bridge that crossed the wide slow river that divided Damme north and south, singing broke out in the ranks. I sang too, and lustily.\n\nWe had an empty town to pillage and burn."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "After so many years of warfare, as you might expect, I have picked up a thing or two. And here is one thing I have learnt: there are two baneful elements that always go hand in hand with armies and fighting men \u2013 disease and fire. I have noticed that more people are killed by disease on campaign than by the swords of the enemy, although, of course, you remember the men who died violently more clearly than those who merely slipped away from life in the infirmary or staggered off the road on the march to die in the fields. The second thing is that the most destruction caused by an army is not done directly by the men in its ranks \u2013 despite their most valiant efforts \u2013 it is done by fire. In enemy territory, a soldier sets fires by instinct; he steals, he pillages, he takes everything he can get his hands on \u2013 then he burns whatever he cannot carry away. There is a sound military logic to this: by destroying goods and crops and houses and shops, he is denying the enemy the comfort of food and shelter and he is directly attacking the power of the lord who holds the land. But there is more to it than logic. There is a wild destructive magic to fire that appeals to the soldier, perhaps to all men. I have never seen soldiers so gleeful as when they have orders to torch a town. Normally steady sober fellows \u2013 dutiful fathers, loyal husbands, obedient sons \u2013 all become devils with a firebrand in their fists. Their features contort; their hearts are hardened, they set alight homes much like their own with a hearty disregard for the owners, men not too unlike themselves; they fire ripe fields of crops, knowing themselves what an appalling curse a failed harvest is, and that the bite of famine will mean a slow and painful end for the common men who planted the seed. But they burn anyway, with a dreadful, savage joy.\n\nAnd so it was in Damme.\n\nAfter we had crossed the bridge to the southern part of town, we looted every house and shop to our hearts' content, and men emerged from these largely deserted buildings grinning, bearing bolts of cloth, chains of onions, live chickens, silver goblets, even a golden crucifix from a rich merchant's house \u2026 whatever took their fancy. One fellow, a big veteran archer called Peter the Vintenar, who had been with Robin and I at Chalus when King Richard had been mortally wounded, carried a huge carved wooden chair, almost a throne, with him, humping it from house to house as he pillaged the interiors and set his torch to the eaves. I heard one of his mates ask him what he planned to do with the unwieldy item, which must have weighed a hundred pounds at least.\n\n'Never had no chair growin' up,' he said. 'Just two stools and a bench in our house, and Ma had fourteen children. Sat on the dirt floor until I was twelve and big enough to fight for a place on the bench. When I get back home, I'm going to set this big ol' bastard by my hearth and sit down and never stir again.'\n\nWhen the house or workshop was emptied of all valuables, the straw thatch was put to the torch, or fires were set in mounds of broken furniture, and we moved on, carrying our booty and singing as we went.\n\nThe wind had veered overnight and now came directly out of the north, and in such dry weather \u2013 it was another glorious spring morning \u2013 we had to work quickly, for one burning house set fire to its neighbour and so on. The heat soon became infernal. The smoke rolled thick and black through the streets; the flames danced orange in the heat-shimmering air. The men's faces around me were brick-red and greased with sweat from the inferno and from their own joyous exertions.\n\nWe met a few of the 'enemy', desperate householders and their servants who had not had the wit to flee and who foolishly tried to defend their own hearths with butcher's knives and long roasting spits against Robin's well-armed ruffians. They all died; some swiftly, some in terrible lingering pain. The Sherwood men dispatched them as soon as they emerged from their hidey-holes, chopping them down with their short swords or sticking them through with spears. The men and boys all died; I did not enquire too closely into what happened to their womenfolk.\n\nSuch is war.\n\nI kept Miles close by me during the ravaging of Damme, partly to prevent any accident befalling him \u2013 the last thing I wanted was for some desperate householder to leap out from behind a door and brain him with an iron skillet \u2013 partly to prevent him witnessing anything too horrific.\n\nIt was he who first spotted the knight.\n\nWe were advancing up a narrow cobbled street on the edge of the town, Miles and I, with three or four of my Westbury men-at-arms. Miles tugged at my hauberk and pointed. There was a lone rider, none too rich by the look of him, but fully armed with serviceable shield, sword and lance. Our street ended in a crossroads, and the knight crossed perpendicular to our line. His horse's linen trapper, a bright-blue cloth that covered the animal from neck to haunch, was thickly spattered with mud and the horse's head was drooping with tiredness. It had been ridden hard and far.\n\nI knew he was French for the simple reason that he had to be. By the Earl of Salisbury's decree we had brought no horses with us in the ships from England. Even the grandest English knight was to fight on his own two feet in this expedition.\n\nSo, if my first thought was he's French, my second was, he's not alone.\n\nThe knight stopped his horse at the centre of the crossroads. He looked directly at us for half a dozen heartbeats, then he whirled his mount, with great skill and speed, and made off the way he had come.\n\nA scout.\n\nI was already shouting for the men to assemble by the time his horse's haunches disappeared from view. 'The French are here! On me, on me! The enemy are upon us!' I dispatched Miles to spread the word that all men were to rally by the big bridge in the centre of the town on the southern side. Now.\n\nI sprinted up to the end of the street to look after the departing knight.\n\nThe street the knight had taken led directly to the town's southern gate, some hundred paces distant. I could just make out the blue mud-spattered trapper of the horse as he cantered through it, and beyond the gate, across the fields outside the town, moving shades of dun and grey, splashes of colour here and there, greens and violets, reds and yellows, and the glint of metal in the sunlight. Thousands of men.\n\nAn army on the march.\n\nWe hurried back to the bridge in the centre of Damme. I was pulling men out of houses almost every step of the way, bawling that the enemy were coming, and we were dead men unless we could assemble to protect ourselves before the French cavalry arrived. But a soldier in mid-pillage is slow to take orders. One grey-haired fellow, a tall, one-eyed veteran mercenary in Robin's service called Claes, who was plunging away half-naked on a woman with her skirts around her waist, had the temerity to snarl and swing a fist at me as I pulled him off his paramour. I dodged the blow, stepped back, put a hand on my sword hilt and he was instantly sheepish and obedient \u2013 he was a good soldier, Claes, at heart, and we had known each other for many years. He was still tying his belt as I pushed him out of the door of the house, which I noticed as I left was already filling with greasy, pungent smoke.\n\nThe word had got out by now among our men that the enemy were coming and as I jogged into the open space before the bridge, some sort of marketplace with rows of upturned carts stacked against the walls of the tall thin houses, I could see dozens of our fellows already there by the riverbank and scores more come streaming in to join them from the surrounding streets.\n\nWe formed up on the southern side of the bridge, with our flanks secured on both sides by the wide slow river. Robin appeared, as if by magic, with Hugh, both grim and grey-mailed head to toe, and between the three of us we got the men into a reasonable shield wall, two ranks thick, forty men wide, with Sir Thomas at one end and Sir Roger of Sheffield, a middle-aged knight, at the other.\n\n'Our scouts report the French in huge number to the south,' Robin said to me, tersely. 'Thousands of them. That's the bad news. But they must have marched all night to get here from Ghent. So they will be tired. That's the good news.'\n\nRobin put a hand on my shoulder. I knew what he would say and I dreaded it.\n\n'I need some time, Alan,' he said. 'I need time to get all our men, Salisbury's and the others, out of the town and back to the ships. There are hundreds of them scattered all over Damme and the harbour. And I need to use my rank to get the other knights to obey me.' He meant that they would not heed my orders. 'The only practical way across the river for a mile either way is at this point, this bridge,' Robin said. 'So Alan, my friend, can you give me an hour? Can you hold them off for me?'\n\nI swallowed. 'Give me the archers, and I'll \u2026 I'll hold them as long as I can.'\n\n'I'll give you ten archers.'\n\n'God damn it, Robin. Give me every single one of the fucking archers or you can hold this fucking bridge yourself against the whole fucking French army!'\n\nRobin looked at me oddly. 'All right, Alan, you can have all the archers. And Little John, Sir Thomas and Sir Roger \u2013 and forty men-at-arms. Hold them as long as you can, then retreat \u2013 fast. Don't get killed. Don't do anything stupid. Keep Miles close to you. Ward him well. I'll see there is a ship waiting for you at the harbour.'\n\nThen he was away, running across the bridge, shouting for his squires, with a stern-faced Hugh running at his elbow, and a dozen men at his back. Miles was standing beside me. His arms drooping under the weight of his heavy shield and drawn sword. For an instant, his expression was unguarded, eyes wide with fear and hurt. He looked forlorn and abandoned. I felt the same. I looked down at my own left hand. It was shaking again \u2013 indeed, it was jumping like a leaf in a gale.\n\nWe made a tight, slightly bowed wall of men half a dozen yards from the southern side of the bridge. Two men deep; shields locked in the front, spears protruding in a bristling line of sharp steel; the shields of the second rank hard up against the backs of the first row. I grouped the archers, perhaps forty seasoned men, many of them former Nottinghamshire outlaws and men from the wild Welsh mountains, on the bridge itself. The structure rose slightly, perhaps a yard higher than the cobbles at its central point, which made it easier for the bowmen to shoot flat over the heads of their comrades. There was a space before the bridge about fifty yards wide by forty, and three roads leading in from the southern part of the town. Gusts of smoke billowed down these empty streets from the burning houses, cinders swirled in the air, and a light fog was forming that obscured sight further than sixty or so yards.\n\nBut I could hear the rattle of iron shoes on stone, and the cries of many men and neighing of horses, and I knew that the enemy cavalry was not far away.\n\nLittle John was strolling up and down the front of the shield wall. He was magnificently relaxed, the great double-headed axe propped casually on his shoulder, a thick round oaken shield held loosely in his huge left hand.\n\n'Not a step backwards, lads, not one step without I give the order,' he was saying in a conversational tone. 'I swear \u2013 by Christ's big fat swinging cock \u2013 that I'll chew the bollocks off any man who breaks this wall. Bite them clean off, by God, and swallow them like sweet grapes. Is that clear, you miserable pig-fuckers?'\n\nThen he pushed himself into the centre of the line, in the second row, and rammed his shield against the back of the centre man in the first line. 'Nice and cosy,' he said. 'We stay here nice and cosy and see off these nasty Frenchmen. We hold this bridge till Sir Alan gives the word. Then, it's home to England and a life of luxury. We're rich, boys, and once we've done this little bit of bloody business, it will be honey cakes, whores and hogsheads of ale for the rest of our lives.'\n\nThere was a cheer, but it was half-hearted. I could smell the fear-sweat on the handful of men in the pathetically thin line. Many, I knew, must wish themselves already in England. The enemy were coming, and in far greater numbers than we had. And our friends and comrades were even now embarking on to the ships and heading for home and safety. But we were here, and we had to hold the damn bridge.\n\nI pulled Miles towards me, and Claes, the tall, one-eyed rogue, and three other seasoned men from the second line. 'You are the plug,' I said. 'Claes, you know the drill. If the line breaks, you are to come forward and fill the gap. You're in command of this squad. I'll help you if I can.'\n\nAnd to Miles: 'Stay close to Claes; do exactly what he says. And keep your shield up, head down at all times. Don't try anything foolish.'\n\nClaes nodded his grizzled head: 'We'll keep 'em out, sir, don't you worry. Right, boys, on me\u2026' and he led his little section away and into a huddle.\n\nI walked the few yards up on to the bridge where the archers were stringing their bows, strapping on wrist-guards, and inspecting their shafts for warping.\n\n'Nice day for it,' said Mastin, the leader of Robin's bowmen, a sly thief from Cheshire who I'd known since I was a boy. He was a short, square, hairy man, as bald as a monk on top but furred like a monkey from his beard downwards.\n\nI looked up at the sky. It was almost completely obscured by swirling grey smoke. The heat was monstrous. It felt as if we were baking in a vast oven.\n\n'Well,' said Mastin, seeing my incredulous look, 'it could be raining. The wet plays merry hell with my bow-cord.'\n\nI gave a grating cough that might almost have passed for a laugh, and slapped the older man on his brawny shoulder.\n\n'No fancy business now, Mastin,' I said, 'just kill anyone who comes out of those streets and into the square, all right? We'll hold them off and you kill them. Clear?'\n\nBut Mastin was already drawing his long, very powerful yew bow, a yard-long, wicked-tipped arrow already nocked. I jerked around and saw a score or so of men-at-arms in boiled leather armour come dashing out of the smoke from the easternmost street that fed into the space before the bridge.\n\nThe arrow whirred by my ear and over the heads of our shield wall; one of the enemy men-at-arms was instantly skewered through the chest. At that distance, no more than fifty yards, the arrow easily punched through his leather cuirass and slammed him back against the white-plastered wall of a house, pinning him there. His legs kicked as he wriggled and tugged at the wand of ash that nailed him to the wall.\n\nHis comrades faltered, hesitated, some taking a few steps forward, others stopping and beginning to edge back. Some turned, shouted incomprehensibly into the thick smoke behind them.\n\n'Feather 'em, lads,' said Mastin quietly. 'Don't be shy.'\n\nThere was a creaking sound like an old oak door opening, as forty yew bows were drawn. A cloud of arrows fizzed over our heads like a flock of lethal birds. They lanced into the French men-at-arms; seven or eight dropped immediately, some struck several times. Another volley sped overhead, five more men dropped, and the rest of the enemy sprinted back into the smoke-filled lane behind them and disappeared.\n\n'That the sort of thing you were looking for, sir?' said Mastin.\n\n'Just so,' I said. And this time my laughter was genuine.\n\nI walked down the short slope of the bridge to the shield wall and strode along behind the second rank: 'See how it's done, lads?' I bellowed so that every man in the line could hear me. 'All you have to do is hold tight. Keep the enemy off this bridge, maintain the line and let the archers do the killing for us. We've got the easy job. Just stand firm here for a little while and then it's home to England and\u2014'\n\nI stopped abruptly as out of the smoke curtain across the eastern road entrance, a mass of horsemen erupted like steel-clad monsters belching from the mouth of Hell.\n\nIt was only a conroi of French knights and sergeants \u2013 about thirty men \u2013 but they seemed like a ravening horde a thousand strong. They were all in mail, mounted on big destriers, with twelve-foot steel-tipped lances couched. They came straight at us as the gallop, their iron hooves clanging against the cobbles, their war cries echoing eerily loud through the hot, close air.\n\n'Stand fast,' I shouted, hauling Fidelity from its scabbard. 'Stand fast, men.'\n\nOver our heads the arrows were hissing again. They smacked into horse flesh and punched through mail, emptying saddles, causing the horses to rear and scream in pain and fear. A company of horses will not charge a firmly held shield wall \u2013 a truth that has been the saviour of men-at-arms on foot since our great-great-grandfathers' day. No horse will impale himself upon a palisade of spears. Not willingly.\n\nThe arrow flocks flew, again and again, the thrumming sound beating our ears. The carnage was appalling. The French horsemen died as they charged, plucked from their saddles by the wicked missiles, their blood-splashed mounts impaled by shaft after shaft and crazed with pain and fright, bucking and kicking their lives away. But that attack was not stopped. The lead horse of the conroi, a grey stallion, his rider long since swept away by the arrow storm, and dying on its churning hooves, kept on coming at us, impelled by the sheer force of its own charge. Dying, dead, its chest stuck deep with a dozen shafts, the huge beast collapsed five yards away from the shield wall, tumbled over its own forelegs and carried on forward \u2013 smashing into the two-deep wall of men, snapping spears like twigs and battering through, creating utter disarray in our lines and a three-man-wide hole in our defence.\n\nA rider directly behind the dead horse, miraculously unscathed by the barrage, put spurs to his mount and leapt the beast's corpse \u2013 and he was in behind our wall.\n\nThe Sherwood men began to die.\n\nThe Frenchman lunged with his lance and transfixed two men, running them both through as if spitting capons. Then, urging his mount further into the press of men, he began to lay about him with a mace, smashing skulls and dropping our spearmen like alehouse skittles. Brave Sir Roger broke out from the end of the line, charging him on foot, snarling, his long sword gleaming \u2013 and died. His skull was caved in by the swinging mace like a spoon tapping a boiled egg. Another knight was coming in behind that first Frenchman, threading his horse through the bodies; now he was through, chopping down men on the right of the hole in the shieldwall, widening it with great sweeps of his sword.\n\nThe air was filled with stinging cinders and veils of grey smoke like silken drapes. I could barely make out the burning houses of the far side of the square. The two enemy horsemen towered over us, huge and immediate. I ran forward, Fidelity in both hands, swung and cut the blade deeply into the thickly muscled throat of the mace-wielding sergeant's horse. The blood exploded, splashing like soup across my face, but even as the animal dropped, screaming and spraying, the man on his back was swiping at my skull with his weapon. By the grace of God, I ducked just in time, the mace's sharp flange merely tinging across the dome of my helmet. But it was enough to drive me to my knees. I cuffed the hot blood from my face with my mailed sleeve, looked up at the sergeant as he loomed above me on his dying horse, his lethal mace raised at full stretch above him \u2013 and a bow shaft smacked deep into his throat, punching into the flesh, knocking him back and away.\n\nThe second rider was down, too, the horse bristling with shafts, a trio of our men hacking and stabbing at his prone body.\n\nAnd suddenly there were no cavalry left to menace us \u2013 broken mailed men and bloody arrow-stuck horses were writhing, screaming, dying all across the open space before us \u2013 but our defensive line was in ruins, and Frenchmen on foot, dozens of them, were now once again pouring out of the smoke, running towards our shattered shield wall. Indeed, we had no wall left to speak of, just a few scattered dazed-looking men-at-arms and two loose clumps of terrified men huddling together \u2013 a gap of at least ten yards between the separate groups.\n\nI heard someone cry 'Locksley!' and snatched a glance to my right.\n\nMiles and Claes and the men of the plug had formed a meagre five-man wall and were marching forward in step into the gap between the clumps of survivors of the cavalry charge, their shields locked together, stepping over the corpses of men and beasts. Miles, in the centre of the plug, was shouting, 'For Locksley, for Locksley!' His face was as pale as whey, blue eyes glittering like wet sapphires.\n\nThe short bar of five men, as fragile as a sheep hurdle, came into position between the two loose groups of our spearmen, almost filling the gap just moments before the French footmen struck. I was bawling at the men, hauling them bodily into position, shoving them back into the wall, urging them to link up, lock shields with their comrades and brace themselves.\n\nA huge blond figure in grey mail leapt out from the centre of our wavering wall and, howling defiance like a madman, he rushed out alone to meet the first wave of oncoming French infantry, his axe swinging, a shining smear across the smoky air.\n\nLittle John barged straight into the mass of advancing French infantry, cutting the leading man completely in half, the double-headed axe carving through guts, ribs and spine in a burst of scarlet. His backswing decapitated a second man, the severed head leaping high over our coalescing shield wall and bouncing away and into the river. Spears jabbed at John, swords thwacked against his mail, but the big man was a whirlwind of flashing steel and gouting blood \u2013 he stopped the enemy charge against the feeble centre of the wall, stopped it dead entirely with his own heroic ferocity. His foes cowered back in fright, or went around him, and space opened up, a hole in the battle an axe-swing distant from Little John. The time he gave us with his lunatic bravery was just enough for me to re-knit the shield wall together.\n\nBut he was only one man.\n\nAway from the giant and his gory sweeping axe, to the left and the right, iron mail shining in the orange light of the burning town, the French infantry came on, a hundred men at least in that one charge. They crashed into our wall, batting away our wavering spearpoints and hurling themselves at the line, lunging with swords over the top of the shield rims, stabbing at the faces of our terrified men. I saw Miles duck and take a sword thrust on his helmet, but his head came up swiftly and he killed the man with a beautiful overhand lunge that skewered the hollow of his neck below his Adam's apple and pushed the blade a foot out the other side. Two of our men fell, faces gashed, at the weak join between the five-man plug and the left hand part of the wall, and once more our line was breached. I took two steps forward, shieldless, into the open space and hacked Fidelity double-handed into the shoulder of a mail-clad man-at-arms who was surging forward with an axe, and felt the jar of steel on bone all the way up my arms. He staggered, the mail split and bloody. I kicked him in the belly, shoving him off my sword and he dropped. I killed another behind him with a straight lunge to the chest; and lopped the left forearm off yet another fellow beside him, his shield hitting the cobbles with a clatter. But my desperate attack had taken me beyond the line of the wall now and there were enemies all around me. Indeed, such was the ferocity of the French charge that the wall was broken again \u2013 no more than a chain of knots of struggling men, French and English, shoving, slicing, hacking, slipping on the blood-slick cobbles, screaming and dying.\n\nThis was the m\u00eal\u00e9e, pure and simple, every man for himself. And with their superior numbers they must prevail.\n\n'Back,' I shouted, 'back to the bridge. John, John, get them back. Now!'\n\nOver the heads of the struggling men, I saw more French footmen coming out of the fire-lit smoke, another two score, massing on the far side of the open space. John was heedless of me: he was surrounded by at least a dozen men-at-arms and he seemed to be fighting them all at once. I felt rather than saw Sir Thomas hurtle past me, and charge into the pack around the big man, reaping lives like a man possessed, and in two heartbeats I was there too, dodging a looping backswing from John's axe and dropping the nearest French man-at-arms with a cut to the hamstrings.\n\n'John,' I shouted. 'We must get back! John!'\n\nInstead we went forward. With Sir Thomas on his right and myself on the big man's left, we waded into the enemy, three men against a multitude. Chopping, hacking, slashing \u2013 killing and killing again. We ploughed into the French infantry, cutting into their ranks like an axe through a rotten tree stump. But I remember little of the details: screaming faces, the slap of blood, the jar of steel sword against iron mail. Then suddenly the press around us had melted away, and I was left panting with Little John and Sir Thomas in an empty space. The enemy, by some miracle, was pulling back. My huge friend was covered in gore and filth from head to toe, his eyes were bright as pine torches and a white line of spittle lined his gaping mouth. But he finally seemed to recognise me and to grasp what I wanted him to do. Turning his broad back on his foes, now glaring at us over their shield rims thirty feet away, he helped Thomas and me herd our living men-at-arms back to the foot of the bridge.\n\nThe French were milling around the open ends of the streets that led into the square; summoning the courage for another charge or awaiting the order. And our bowmen were still killing them. A man or two dropping every few heartbeats.\n\nWe got our men back, about twenty survivors, to the foot of the bridge, and I formed them huddled in a jostling mass between the wooden railings, shields up, spears forward, our archers \u2013 as yet untouched \u2013 at the rear. We were packed in tight as fish in a net, but we still held the bridge.\n\nThe French were still denied the crossing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The cobbles in the open space before the bridge were covered with dead, wounded and dying; French and English jumbled in the ultimate comradeship of pain and blood. The red carpet of agony writhed like a single beast, here and there an arm flailing towards the sky, or a man lurching upright and staggering a few yards before collapsing again. The unending screams and moans of beasts and men scoured the air. I felt a shaft of fear lance through my guts. But for the grace of God, that could well be me out there, sitting in a pool of my own filth, mewling for a swift merciful death. But I could not indulge my terrors while there was still a task at hand. The enemy had not departed the field and we still had a bridge to hold.\n\nIndeed, the French were again massing in the shadows on the far side of the square \u2013 ghostly figures through the greasy fog, their ranks massively swelled to several hundred footmen at least, by my reckoning. The tall shapes of formed bodies of horsemen behind. They feared our arrows, for sure, but it was only a matter of time before they roused themselves to charge. Then we were finished.\n\nMiles had a bleeding cut on his face, just below the cheekbone, but apart from that he appeared unscathed. His eyes shone blue and his whole body was thrumming with a violent, nervous energy. 'We held them, Sir Alan, we held them.' He was almost jabbering at me. 'I killed him, I did it. I killed my man. He's dead as a stone!'\n\n'Yes, lad, you did well, very well,' I said kindly. But I could give him only half my attention. Mastin was beside me.\n\n'Well, that was most gratifying,' he said, and grinned at me through his wiry beard, 'but my lads are down to their last arrows. Thought you should know.'\n\nI nodded dumbly. And my eye was caught by movement upstream, along the riverbank that led towards the great trading town of Bruges half a dozen miles away.\n\n'When the shafts are spent,' Mastin was saying, 'we'll muck in with the rest, but our swordplay isn't much and the boys have no armour to speak of\u2026'\n\n'No, no,' I said, still not looking at him. 'You've done enough, Mastin. And I thank you. We've all done enough for today.'\n\nMy eyes were fixed on the riverbank a hundred yards downstream, where I could see a mass of knights and footmen, perhaps several hundreds, slipping into the river, some holding the tails of their swimming horses, others just taking the plunge and splashing their way across to the far side. On the bank, other men still in the saddle were urging horses down into the flow as well.\n\nWe were about to be flanked.\n\n'It's time to go,' I said. 'Mastin, on my command, I want every arrow you have loosed at the enemy, then we'll all go together fast as we can.' I raised my voice: 'You hear that, lads: we will be taking our leave very shortly. On the command, \"Retreat\", you have my permission to run like greyhounds for the harbour.'\n\nThe cheer was more like a groan of exhaustion but I could see chins lifting with the thought of the harbour, ships and home.\n\nSir Thomas Blood was beside me. His face was a mask of splashed gore and his long-sword dripped. But he seemed unhurt. 'You are to lead them, Thomas,' I said. 'Get them to the harbour when I give the word. Oh, and well done, by the way.'\n\nThe young man smiled. 'Lady Luck was with us, Sir Alan \u2013 this time!' he said and began to push his way through the archers to the rear of the bridge.\n\n'God's great dangling ball-sack, Alan, surely we can hold them a little longer. I've hardly got into my stride\u2026' Little John actually looked aggrieved that we were going to quit this place of blood, suffering and death.\n\n'If we don't go now, we will never get out alive,' I said, and pointed upstream where a few sodden French men-at-arms were already on the north side of the river. 'If they get behind us, we're done for. And I'm not going to die for no reason. Robin said hold as long as we can. We've done that.'\n\n'I could take care of those half-drowned pip-squeaks all on my lonesome,' said John, jerking his chin at the French across the river. 'Just let me\u2014'\n\n'No, John.' I put my hand on his brawny forearm. 'It's time to go.'\n\n'Mastin,' I said to the hairy bow-master, 'give them a fond farewell \u2026 Now!'\n\nThe bows creaked one more time and the arrows flew and were swallowed by the smoke. But I could hear the chink of steel tips on iron mail, hear shouts of anger and pain and make out the shapes of men writhing and falling.\n\nI gave the order. Sir Thomas led the men across the bridge, pell-mell, sixty or so surviving Englishmen only an inch away from panic, sprinting across the cobbles on the far side of the river, plunging into the maze of streets, heading north towards the sea. Little John and I were the last two men off the bridge.\n\nAnd Miles.\n\nRobin's son was still consumed by the soaring triumph of his kill, and his white, grinning, bleeding face was close by my left shoulder. It was clear that he took my command for him to stay close to me seriously. As the last of our men disappeared into the smouldering town, the three of us took one final look at the French cavalry moving forward at last in the smoke-filled square and then we, too, turned our backs and sprinted over the bridge after our comrades.\n\nWe ran for our lives. I could clearly hear the shouting of the horsemen behind us, the rage of fighting men denied their revenge, and the terrifying clatter of horses' hooves on the wooden slats of the bridge. For a moment, I thought we had left it too late and we would be ridden down. We flew down a wide street with tall timbered houses on either side, and shops, looted and abandoned, gaping open at street level.\n\nA bald man in a bloody apron flew out of a doorway to my right, a butcher's cleaver in his right hand, a snarl on his lips. God knows how long he had been hiding, awaiting his chance. I had no time for thought, Fidelity licked out and plunged straight into his belly. The man was brought up short, impaled on my weapon. His face twitched in surprise and pain. His cleaver rang out sharply as it hit the cobbles. But I did not stop; I tugged Fidelity free from his falling body even as we charged onwards. I could still hear the rattle of hooves behind, and that if nothing else gave our feet wings.\n\nWe dodged into a smaller street at right angles to the main thoroughfare, and immediately turned left into another even smaller lane, then bundled into the doorway of a large merchant's house, and stood there, our backs pressed against the wood of the door, stifling our wild gasps for air to listen out for our pursuers. A short thunder of hooves from the lane, the sharp cries of men, and then silence.\n\nIt seemed we had lost them.\n\nThe inferno had crossed the river at some point in the last hour and here, too, the air was thick with smoke. It was difficult to see more than a dozen yards in any direction. I gave thanks to God, for that smoke would serve to shield us from enemy eyes. We ran past a church in a small square, where a priest and two young clerics in black robes stood at the door. The priest pointed and shouted angrily at us in French but we paid no heed and hurried onwards. Dead men lay on the cobbles, and a beautiful pure white horse stood miserably with its head drooping, slick red and purple entrails hanging from its belly, dangling to the earth. Clearly there had been hard fighting in this part of Damme, too. Now I saw that there were mailed men ahead of us \u2013 French, I had no doubt \u2013 although where they had come from I had no idea. We turned right into a street of fishmongers \u2013 although no living men could be seen, the stink of their wares was in the air and slim silver bodies were scattered across the cobbles like discarded ingots.\n\nFishmongers must be near the sea, I reasoned. They must be.\n\nWe turned again, darting into a narrow lane, following the sound of seagulls and my own instincts as to where the harbour must be \u2013 and after a hundred yards found ourselves at a dead end. The lane ended in a high house wall, plastered and whitewashed, but unpunctuated by door or window. We skidded to a halt, turned and began to retrace our steps, running back up the lane with a sense of dread ballooning in my gorge. I was right to feel the fear, for an instant later a knot of horsemen appeared like wraiths out the smoke at the mouth of the street. They blocked the road.\n\nWe were trapped.\n\nOne of the horsemen was decked in a blue surcoat, two in identical red and white; the three behind in black. The knights saw us, the blue horseman gave a shout in French: 'We have you at last, you English rats! There is nowhere to scurry to now.'\n\nI felt Little John bristling beside me, hefting his axe, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. It was six horsemen against three men on foot: no contest.\n\nNevertheless, I hauled out Fidelity and took a stance beside John and a double grip on the hilt. We would go down fighting; take as many of them as we could.\n\nThe lances of the six knights came down as one. The blue knight shouted: 'Vive le Roi! St Denis!' and the other five took up the cry. 'St Denis! St Denis!'\n\nThey put back their spurs and charged.\n\n'Sir Alan, Sir Alan,' Miles was shouting at me. I took my eyes off the oncoming foe for a mere instant and saw Robin's son beckoning me with huge sweeps of his arm. He was standing beside a big square window set shoulder-high into the right-hand wall of the lane, opening into a house; the wooden shutter was wide open.\n\nI shouted 'John!' sheathed Fidelity and took two quick steps to the wall. As I boosted Miles through the open window, I could hear the ominous clatter of hooves on stone behind me. I shouted to the big man again: 'John, over here!'\n\nLittle John glanced over at me, irritation written all over his battered red face. He was readying himself to take on the six knights, who were even now bearing down on him a scant thirty yards away.\n\nHe was readying himself for death.\n\n'Come on, you great jackanape!' I shouted behind me and, with the help of Miles's reaching arms, I made an undignified scramble up the lime-washed wall through the open square and into a dim, low room. Once inside, I turned and looked out the window into the light at my huge friend \u2013 and I thought then, not for the first time, that John must harbour a death wish. For the blond giant still stood in the middle of the lane, axe cocked above his head, with the line of horsemen almost upon him.\n\nJohn gave an enormous roar, like a wild bear untimely ripped from his winter slumber, and he began to run.\n\nBut he did not charge the line of galloping Frenchmen. Little John turned towards me, towards the black square of the window. He ran full tilt, bellowing 'Out. My. Road.'\n\nI just had time to shove Miles away from the window, and duck below the lintel myself, as Little John sprinted to the wall of the lane and dived up and through the square space, two hundred and fifty pounds of warrior hurtling into the small room that sheltered Miles and me, and crashing down on a small rickety wooden table in the centre of the room like a trebuchet ball.\n\nI bobbed up, hauled the shutter closed, and slammed down the stout locking bar.\n\nLeaving the three of us in utter darkness.\n\nThe sound of metal blades hacking against the exterior of the wooden shutter began only a few moments later. But John's curses and groans were louder still as he struggled to his feet in the wreckage of the table.\n\n'God's great pus-filled bladder. All we do today is run away!'\n\nAlready there were chinks of pale light gleaming through the shutter, where the swords and axes of the French cavalry outside were splintering the wood. I could clearly hear their excited cries. I grabbed Miles by the collar of his mail coat and hauled him towards the far side of the small room, scrabbling for the door latch. And we tumbled through into another chamber, far larger than the first, filled with smoke and a grey sickly light. A hearth smouldered with an iron soup pot suspended above it. Platters and pans hung from the walls. A huge mounded fishing net sat in one corner. A few stools were pushed back against the wall next to a trestle table filled with dirty bowls, cups and half a loaf of rye bread. The door stood ajar and light spilled inwards and beside it stood a man.\n\nHe was old and frail, his body emaciated, his eyes huge with fear in his wrinkled face. He was dressed in the rags of a grimy once-white smock of the kind that the seamen of this land wore aboard their open vessels. It flapped about his white skinny bare legs. He held an old bread knife in his shaking hand.\n\n'Go away! Go away, English killers!' he said in French in a quavering, reedy voice. The knife was whittled down to a thin, curved strip of iron from years of sharpening. He could barely hold it still in his trembling hand.\n\nMiles gave a shrill cry; his long sword was in his hand. He raised it, rushed at the man and hacked downwards, the blade chunking deeply into the old fellow's skull. The ancient crumpled to the floor.\n\nAs Miles levered the bloody blade out of the grip of the dead man's crown, he caught my eye. His face was shining with battle joy, glowing in the gloomy shack.\n\n'Another kill, Sir Alan! I killed another of the French rascals,' he said, his young voice barely lower than a girlish shriek.\n\nI frowned at him. There had been no need to destroy the old man. A hearty shove would have got him out of our path, perhaps even a word of command. I had no time to contemplate that now. Little John was at the door of the hovel, his wide shoulders filling the frame as he peered into the smoke-filled street.\n\n'All clear,' he said.\n\nWe bundled out the door and found ourselves in another lane, almost identical to the last, except that \u2013 praise God \u2013 it was empty of enemies. And looking to my right I saw above the smoke blue sky and fleecy clouds \u2013 and through the murk the wooden walls and soaring masts of moored ships.\n\nWe ran, coughing in the ash-heavy air, down the lane, and there we were at last at the quay of the harbour. The muddy water of the estuary had never looked so inviting. I could see ships, a long line of them, each one crammed with our men making their slow progress away and out towards the sea. The lions of England flapped proudly from the masts. And fifty-odd burning vessels right across the sweep of water roaring like funeral pyres. Smoke from the burning town rolled across the bay in thick black banks. The quay itself was splashed with blood and strewn with dead men and broken weapons. There had been a hard fight here, too, it seemed.\n\nIt also seemed there would soon be another. A dozen French men-at-arms, a hundred yards distant, boiled out of a side street that opened on the far end of the quay. They saw us and began to shout and point.\n\nThere was no sign of Robin.\n\nThere was no boat to take us away to safety.\n\nI scanned the wide quay. Burning boats, dead men and empty brown water. There was loot scattered all over the wooden planks of the quay: silver ewers, copper pans, legs of mutton, bolts of cloth, smashed barrels of ale. A huge throne-like wooden chair sat forlornly a dozen yards from me, and I saw the body of the big archer Peter the Vintenar lolling in it, his belly a mass of black blood, his eyes staring sightlessly. Our living men were all gone, that was clear, embarked on the last ships to leave the harbour of Damme. And Robin had gone with them.\n\nThere was to be no escape. No salvation.\n\nI could see more horsemen now, too, a fresh conroi of cavalry in sky-blue surcoats, lances high. And more men-at-arms, this time a score of crossbowmen in green and red particoloured tunics.\n\nThe cavalry began to trot forward, lances dipping. I saw that the crossbowmen were busily spanning their bows. And then a low voice behind me, below me, from the brown water said: 'Alan, over here!'\n\nThere at the harbour's edge, in a tiny fishing smack, just coming into sight around the prow of a burning warship, was Robin, standing beside a wizened little sailor in the bow working the steering oar who was plainly terrified out of his wits.\n\n'Ah, there you are, Alan,' said my lord. 'Where on earth have you been? This is no time for standing around gawping at the enemy. You've surely seen a few angry Frenchmen before. Quickly now. Jump aboard. It's time we took our leave.'\n\nWe watched the town of Damme burn from the quarterdeck of a slow fat cog that was so laden with looted treasure it could barely swim. Robin, Miles, Little John and I sipped goblets of delicious sea-cooled red wine as the ship wallowed out towards the ever-widening green-blue ocean, looking back at the destruction we had wrought. The death of a town is a terrible and strangely beautiful sight: the roiling black and grey banks of smoke, licked by blasts and gouts of yellow-orange flame; burning red embers riding paths through the air like fireflies; the taller buildings roaring like vast torches, the wall of flames reaching up to the dark shifting heavens. A holocaust of houses, a conflagration of the citizens' hopes and dreams, even houses of God merrily ablaze; whole streets sheeted with wave upon wave of dancing crimson destruction.\n\nThere was no sign now of the French troops. I presumed that the army and anything that could still move had retreated to the safety of the surrounding countryside as the whole town howled, billowed and burned.\n\n'\u2026and then I killed him, Father. Overhand lunge, a blow as deadly as any Templar's, and down he went like a wet sack of sand. I did it, Father! I killed him.'\n\nI closed my ears to Miles's excited prattle and sipped my cool wine. I recalled the feeble old man with the bread knife in the fisherman's hovel needlessly cut down by this eager boy. But I said nothing either to the lad or to his proud father.\n\nSuch is war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Although William Longsword, the Earl of Salisbury, was half-brother to King John and in many ways resembled him, he had an entirely different and far more pleasing character: he was open-handed, honest, fair and brave, if perhaps not as bright as he might have been. Every man, even the lowliest camp servant, who survived the attack on Damme was well rewarded for the success of the raid. And, in truth, they were a depleted number, for our losses had been grievous: five hundred or so men killed in the whole army and a thousand injured and wounded. King Philip's response to our unexpected attack on Damme had been swift. His army had abandoned the siege of Ghent the moment he had heard that our ships were approaching Damme, and his men had ridden and marched all night to confront us at the port that morning. Our little action at the bridge had been a mere skirmish compared with the main fighting to the east and south-east of Damme, where the Earl of Salisbury's men had been caught completely by surprise by the French. The casualties, I'd been told, had been horrendous, as vengeful knights rode down the drunken, loot-happy English men-at-arms, killing at will. It had been a massacre. Our Sherwood men, it seemed, had got off lightly. Indeed, in later years I heard young Frenchmen saying that the battle of Damme had been a victory for Philip's brave knights who successfully drove the cowardly English into the sea.\n\nThat is a lie. The honours of battle must surely rest with our arms. We came upon the enemy by surprise; we seized the town and everything valuable in it \u2013 then we destroyed it; and we either captured, or burnt Philip's entire invasion fleet to the waterline. It would take months or even years for Philip to muster such a force again.\n\nEngland was safe.\n\nAs our ships made landfall at Dover, and the exhausted army disembarked, the Earl had his stewards set out a trestle table on the very quayside and each man who came down the gangplank was given a handful of captured silver pennies there and then. And there would be more to come, the Earl promised, when the goods and captured ships were valued and sold. But the soldiers' satisfaction was palpable. The alehouses of Dover were thronged for three days and the sturdy whores of the old port, reinforced by their sisters from all over the south-east of England, had never seen such a time of plenty. My own share of the booty from the raid on Damme, which was paid over to me not at the quayside but within a month or two of my return to England by a clerk of William Longsword's household, was twenty-five pounds sixteen shillings and sixpence. My fortunes were repaired overnight. But I did not debauch myself in Dover, much as I was tempted to. For it was there that Robin received the news from the north.\n\nA messenger, filthy with sweat and dust from the road, found Robin not long after dawn in one of the stables of Dover Castle, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital. My lord had been visiting some of his wounded men, bringing them wine and soup and dispensing the victuals along with lavish praise for their courage at Damme. I was a dozen yards away speaking to a Westbury man who had a broken leg, and I clearly heard the messenger's words.\n\n'My lord, it is my duty to report that Kirkton has been attacked.'\n\nRobin's face went white as bone.\n\n'Has Marie-Anne been harmed?' He seized the man by the shoulders and looked hard into his face. I saw the messenger wince at the power of Robin's grip.\n\n'The Countess has not been harmed, but the attackers have done considerable damage to the castle and some men-at-arms have been killed and injured,' he said.\n\n'Tell me the rest on the road,' Robin said, releasing the man. Then: 'Alan, find Miles, Hugh, Sir Thomas and Little John, and gather a dozen fit men-at-arms. I want them all dressed, sober and in the saddle within the hour.'\n\nWe were on the old Roman road, pelting towards London long before noon. By nightfall we were in sight of London's bridge, and turning left off the road on to the south bank of the river. Robin announced himself at the shut gates of the Priory of St Mary's in Southwark and demanded entrance. He was immediately granted it, despite the lateness of the hour, and as we stepped down from our horses, a very fat little man in a black robe and tonsure came hurrying out of the refectory to greet us.\n\nI knew who he was, even though I had never met him before. It was Henry Odo, a distant relative of Robin's, some sort of cousin, and my lord's prot\u00e9g\u00e9. Robin had mentioned Henry to me several times and it seemed that the young man was a clever fellow but with little money and few prospects. I knew that my lord had sponsored him during his clerical studies at the University at Oxford, and had subsequently arranged for his position as sub-prior in the Southwark priory. I also knew that Robin had corresponded with him regularly during the years we were in the south. Henry had supplied Robin with news and gossip about London and the country as a whole; Robin, on his part, gave Henry a generous stipend that allowed him to enjoy his vast appetites to his heart's content.\n\nRobin embraced Henry briefly but that was as far as his courtesy extended. 'What news of Kirkton?' my lord said brusquely.\n\n'Welcome to St Mary's, my lord,' said the fat man. 'I have prepared some refreshments in the refectory, some fine Surrey ale, a rather wonderful Somerset cheese, delicate\u2026'\n\n'Come on, Henry, tell me what you know.'\n\nHenry looked crestfallen and he glanced at the armed horsemen milling about the dark priory courtyard. 'We'll talk inside,' he said.\n\nRobin said: 'Alan, if you would be so kind \u2013 get the men and horses fed, watered and bedded down and then join me in there.' He pointed to a large building to the left of the courtyard. I merely nodded at my orders and watched as my lord strode away with fat little Henry bobbing along beside him.\n\nIt was not far off midnight before I had arranged the comforts of the men and horses, and I was able to join Robin in the refectory. He was waiting for me at a long table with a jug of ale and a plate of bread and cheese. There was no sign of Henry. Little John had disappeared with Sir Thomas off into the stews of Southwark and I sat down alone with my lord.\n\n'Have you ever noticed how even-handed Fate is?' my lord asked.\n\nI knew that I was not expected to answer this question. So I merely poured some of the nut-brown Surrey ale into my cup and gave a sympathetic grunt.\n\n'Fate gives with one hand \u2013 our great victory at Damme, for example, all the rich booty, our escape \u2013 then She takes with the other.'\n\n'Do you know any more about what happened at Kirkton?' I said.\n\n'I have discovered little more than we had from the messenger in Dover \u2013 that there were about thirty fellows, who came over the walls at dead of night. Thieves, by the sound of it. They killed three sentries and broke into the hall. Marie-Anne, mercifully, got herself into the keep in time, and with her man Sarlic they held the men off from the battlements. Killing more than a few, apparently. But the thieves ransacked the hall, tore it apart, Cousin Henry says, and pillaged the solar where we sleep, and they went through Marie-Anne's private chapel, too. Boxes smashed, floorboards prised up, mattress slit and rummaged, cushions ripped open, all the plates and bowls and boxes smashed to pieces\u2026' He emptied his cup.\n\n'But it is a strange kind of crime, Alan. And they were strange thieves, indeed.' He stopped, silenced by thought. I filled his cup from the jug.\n\nA trio of monks came into the refectory, yawning and rubbing their eyes. They helped themselves to a flagon of ale from the barrel and slices of bread from the board, and seated themselves at a table on the far side of the big room, giving us no more than a brief nod of greeting. I realised that it must be nearly time for the nocturnal service of Matins.\n\n'Why do you think them strange?' I said. 'Half of England must know that you were going to sea with the Earl of Salisbury to fight the French. You were away with almost all your men. Kirkton was but lightly held. There were clearly enough of them to take the walls and they were bold, adventurous fellows, and no mistake.'\n\nI was thinking that it was the kind of madcap escapade that Robin himself might have indulged in in his younger days. Tweaking the nose of a mighty but absent earl, young blades stealing the chattels of a rich man in the dead of night.\n\n'No, Alan, it is not right. It does not feel right. Do not forget that I know half the thieves in the north \u2013 some of them are my oldest, dearest friends. And those that are not my former comrades, surely they must know my reputation, surely they must understand that I will track them down and have my vengeance\u2026'\n\n'We have been away a goodly length of time, Robin,' I said. 'Maybe with the passing of years\u2026' I just stopped myself from suggesting that perhaps the common people no longer feared him, that a new generation had risen without respect for his ferocity.\n\nRobin twinkled at me as if he could read my thoughts, as I sometimes believed he could. 'I know that I have neglected my monstrous side of late, Alan. I haven't flayed a crippled beggar for, oh, many years, nor burnt alive a helpless starveling child in an age, but I did not expect to be chided for it, even silently, by you!'\n\nI smiled coolly at him. We had had a number of clashes over the years, mostly about his cruelty or indifference to the suffering of others. But what he said was true \u2013 in truth he had become a little more mellow, kinder, even, in his middle years.\n\n'We'll make a decent Christian of you yet,' I murmured.\n\nRobin scowled at me. 'You would fail to pass for a court jester \u2013 even of the meanest sort,' he said icily. 'But I might take you into my service as a fool \u2013 purely out of pity at your lack of anything even resembling wits!'\n\n'And I would serve you, my lord, for the same pitiful reason.'\n\nHe gave me a half-smile. He had never had any love for the Church, and never would. But we'd known each other too long for these word-jousts to have much bite.\n\nHe looked solemn once more. 'Alan, to return to the matter at hand: this business at Kirkton. If you will forgive my vanity, I am troubled by the fact that these villains clearly had no fear of me. Moreover, they did not act like true thieves. There were objects of value \u2013 a silver crucifix from Marie-Anne's little chapel, for instance \u2013 that they did not take when they left. What thief would do that? And Cousin Henry said something else that made me think. He says I have an enemy.'\n\n'So what!' I said. Robin had always had enemies \u2013 what powerful man does not? I could think of a dozen men who'd be happy to see him humiliated or dead.\n\n'Henry says I have a secret foe who hides in the shadows plotting my doom. He does not say who he is, he does not know, but it is someone with power, or access to power. But ill words are spoken about me, poison dripped in the ears of the mighty; Henry says whispers abound, although he claims not to know what they are.'\n\nI still could not take my lord's concerns seriously. 'Do you think this all-powerful secret enemy is the one who broke into Kirkton and tore up your best cushions, ripped the curtains, smashed all the earthenware cups and plates?'\n\nI started to laugh.\n\n'It's not beyond the realm of possibility,' my lord said, but he was chuckling.\n\n'Perhaps he is a hungry potter who seeks to sell you new crockery!' I said.\n\n'Or an ambitious cushion-maker\u2026' he countered.\n\nWe were both roaring by now and it took a good while for our mirth to subside. The monks on the far table were frowning at us.\n\n'I knew you would make me feel better, my friend,' he said, wiping his eyes.\n\nI finished my ale and got to my feet.\n\n'We will know more when we get to Kirkton,' I said, yawning, for the drink had fogged my mind and suddenly I yearned for my dormitory bed.\n\n'No doubt,' Robin said. 'Unless some enterprising cabinet-maker has burnt the castle to the ground before we get there.'\n\nThe castle of Kirkton was miraculously intact when we arrived on the third morning after our late-night drink in the Southwark priory. We had ridden hard and fast but somehow news of our arrival had gone before us and Marie-Anne was waiting at the wide-flung gates to greet her returning husband and her two sons. She must have been in her mid-forties then, but she was still a troublingly beautiful woman and although there was a thread or two of silver in her chestnut hair, her blue eyes were still bright and shrewd and her waist was as slender as a young girl's. While she embraced Robin, then Hugh and Miles, and asked about their journey, I stood back and admired her. Once, long ago, I had believed myself in love with her but that feeling had softened into a warm and benevolent regard and affection, a love of some kind, no doubt, but no longer the fiery ardour of a young swain.\n\nFor a woman who had been attacked so recently in her own home she seemed remarkably calm and self-possessed. And despite all our merry-making at the expense of the unknown attackers it must have been a terrifying experience for the mistress of the castle to find armed men in her home at the dead of night.\n\nWhen she came over to embrace me and welcome me to the castle, I looked into her eyes and asked her how it had been for her. She looked around quickly. Robin was deep in conversation with Sarlic, a tough former outlaw who was Marie-Anne's personal bodyguard. His arm was bandaged and hung in a sling across his chest. Robin's two sons had disappeared into the stables with the horses, and Little John had made straight for the big barrel of ale on the far side of the courtyard set up by the pantry and was filling himself a vast wooden mug.\n\n'It was awful,' Marie-Anne said. 'They were all in black clothes, and the night was dark, and they swarmed, Alan, they swarmed like rats over the walls and across the courtyard. Like a black tide of vermin. I have never been so frightened \u2013 I have not felt fear like that since I was a girl, since Murdac took me\u2026'\n\nSir Ralph Murdac, may he rot in Hell, once High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, had captured Marie-Anne a lifetime ago, held her at Nottingham and raped her. Indeed, though no man dared speak of it in public, Robin's eldest son Hugh was a product of that forced coupling. I had not thought of Murdac, that vile lavender-scented creature, in years. But for Marie-Anne, clearly, he lived on in her nightmares.\n\n'Sarlic behaved quite superbly, of course,' Marie-Anne said. 'He was up and armed and ready to fight in a couple of heartbeats. He and his men cut us a bloody path right through them from the hall into the keep, and we got inside there safely and barricaded the door\u2026'\n\nI looked behind her at the big round tower that dominated the western side of the castle. I could see marks of scorching on the wooden walls.\n\n'\u2026and we kept them out without too much trouble. Sarlic's bowmen killed or wounded a dozen attackers. Any they could see in the darkness they killed. But they were all over the place. They completely ruined my hall and my solar. Our bed is in tatters, Alan, it has been ripped to pieces, the curtains, pillows, even the mattress \u2026 I don't know what Robin will say when he sees the damage they have done.'\n\n'He will simply be happy that you are not hurt,' I said.\n\nRobin had been right, there was something strange about the attack. Marie-Anne had said that these attackers wore black \u2013 it was the most expensive colour of cloth, worn by rich noblemen and some wealthier members of the clergy. To dye a woollen cloak a deep black meant that you needed to spend time and money on the repeated dyeings with expensive ingredients. Very poor people did not bother with dyeing their cloth at all or wore cheap brown russet garb.\n\nThese 'thieves' were rich men, I thought, or were in the service of a rich man.\n\nI strolled over to where Robin and Sarlic were talking and the bodyguard nodded a brisk but cool greeting to me. For some reason, Sarlic did not care for me overmuch. I did not know why, but I had never let it trouble my sleep.\n\nAt a pause in their conversation, I said: 'These men, Sarlic, these attackers \u2013 did they seem to you to be well trained?'\n\nHe gave a short nod.\n\n'To the level of a knight's skill?' I persisted.\n\nThe bowman looked unsure. 'Perhaps,' he said. 'Perhaps not. It is hard to say. But they had at least the skills of a decent man-at-arms, or a good squire.'\n\n'What did you do with the corpses?' I asked. 'Are they already in the ground?'\n\nSarlic frowned at me. 'No, Sir Alan, it is a most curious thing. When we drove them off, in the darkness in the heat of battle, they stopped and made sure that they gathered all their dead and wounded and took them with them when they retreated.'\n\n'What do you think their intention was, Sarlic; what did it feel like to you?'\n\nThe old warrior looked at me steadily for a long while: 'I would say \u2013' he turned to Robin \u2013 'and begging your pardon, my lord, for I know you have suffered a valuable loss of goods and chattels \u2013 that these men did not come to rob you.'\n\n'What did they come here for then?' said Robin. 'Tell me, Sarlic \u2013 give me your true and honest answer.'\n\n'I would say that their intention was to cause fear. I would say that the intention of these men was to frighten my lady, the Countess of Locksley.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "I had sent word to Baldwin at Westbury that I would be a few days in Yorkshire with Robin and the very next day a rider from my manor appeared with a letter for me. It was a summons to a summer celebration at Alnwick Castle.\n\n'To Sir Alan Dale, the knight of Westbury in the county of Nottinghamshire, greetings\u2026' it began, and it continued, in the most flowery language to praise my skill as a trouv\u00e8re and prowess as a noble (ha!) knight. The letter took a dozen lines of closely written parchment to invite me to an outdoor feast to be held at the end of the second week of July on St Swithun's day and implored me to bring my vielle and to treat my fellow guests to a display of musical virtuosity. The missive finished with the words: 'I hope very much that we will find the time amid the revelries to discuss an important matter of mutual interest.'\n\nIt was signed Eustace de Vesci.\n\nI had not forgotten my promise to help de Vesci and Fitzwalter to kill the King. Nor had I changed my mind. I had merely been pondering how I might do it. For some reason, I had it fixed in my head that I must look the King in the eye as I killed him \u2013 some tangled notion about the sanctity of kingship or perhaps to soften the terrible crime of regicide in some way. I was not clear in my mind, to be perfectly honest. I would have liked most of all to have challenged him to a duel and killed him fair and square like a man, but that was clearly not possible. He was a damned coward but, more importantly, he was also the King of England and if he even knew I harboured thoughts about his death he would have me snuffed out like a cheap tallow candle. But if I could manage the task in any other way, I would rather not murder him like a thief in the night, creep into his bedchamber and cut his throat while he slept. I wanted to do it in daylight, for him to see my face as he died, and for me to say the words I had prepared in my mind for all the world to hear:\n\n'This death is made in the memory of Arthur, Duke of Brittany, whose murder at your orders I witnessed with my own eyes. Arthur, thou art avenged!'\n\nThere was one other very significant factor in planning the death of King John. I wanted to survive the event myself. At John's court there were always dozens of knights and barons present, mostly armed, as well as scores of royal guards, bachelors of John's household, mercenaries loyal to him and other warlike men who were likely, at the first cry of 'Assassin', to cut me down in an instant.\n\nIt was no easy task, I may assure you, and in the days after I received the summoning letter to Alnwick, I gave the matter some serious thought.\n\nRobin's mind, meanwhile, was preoccupied with the well-trained, richly clad 'thieves' who had apparently tried to frighten his lady.\n\nOne morning he took me with him, me alone, and we rode south into the northern reaches of Sherwood forest. He had told me not to wear anything too rich and gaudy but to be well armed. We rode fast all morning, with Robin leading me down narrow secret paths that even I, who had lived in the region for many years, did not know. Noon found us in a sun-lit clearing, apparently empty of life. And Robin stopped his horse, pulled a horn from his belt and gave two sharp blasts on the instrument. There was no response and, after a while, Robin put the horn to his lips once more. But before he could wind, I put a hand on his arm and stopped him.\n\nMy spine was crawling with a thousand invisible insects. For somehow I knew that we were no longer alone. I scanned the foliage around the edges of the clearing and although I could see nothing in the gloom of the woods except shapes and shadows, I was aware that many eyes were upon me.\n\n'Do not touch your sword, Alan, or any weapon,' said Robin quietly.\n\n'You all know me,' he said more loudly, his voice echoing around the open space. 'You know my name; you know my reputation. Show yourselves.'\n\nAnd, accompanied by a rustling from all around us, a dozen armed men stepped out into the clearing. At least half of them carried rough ash bows with arrows nocked, but the rest had rusty swords, long knives, wood axes, even makeshift pikes, fashioned from old blades strapped to long staves.\n\n'My lord of Locksley,' said a tall, very thin man, his face drawn with pain and his right arm swathed in a filthy bandage, 'you honour us with your presence. Put up your weapons, lads \u2013 it is Robin Hood himself, returned to us at long last.'\n\nRobin got down from his horse walked across the space to the tall man and enfolded him in a warm embrace.\n\n'Godric, it warms my heart to see you,' said my lord. 'You know my friend Alan Dale, of course.'\n\nI dismounted into a sea of smiling, grimy and oddly familiar faces \u2013 although I was certain I had never met any of them before in my life. It struck me then that I was looking at faces from my youth, the faces of the outlaws of my first terrifying days with Robin when I was no more than a penniless cutpurse on the run from the law.\n\nGodric and his band welcomed us, and feasted us, after a fashion, on a thin stew made from a brace of wild hares, which in truth was mostly water and wild herbs. Robin had brought a sack of bread with him and a skin of wine, and the men \u2013 and now women and children, who appeared shyly from the undergrowth to join the throng \u2013 passed the skin around drinking greedily and fell on the loaves, tearing them apart and using the crusts to wipe their bowls clean of the last drops of the stew.\n\nThen we all sat carelessly upon the grass of the clearing, while Robin questioned Godric about his doings, gently interrogating him about the possible identity of the 'thieves' who had broken into Kirkton. But it quickly became clear that neither Godric nor any of his people had the slightest idea about who could have been behind the so-called robbery. They had heard nothing and could offer no information at all about the identity of the attackers.\n\nThey were a poor, raggedy lot, lousy, very dirty and none too bright, but I could see that Robin felt completely at home with them. Indeed, his whole face seemed to change when he was talking with them, he seemed to become less careworn, less taut, and by some trick of the forest light a good ten years younger. Nevertheless, this band of outlaws did not seem either a very happy or healthy crew. Their skins were tight against their bones, their limbs were meagre and their eyes huge with habitual hunger; the children were for the most part stunted and sick.\n\nRobin asked to see the wound on Godric's arm, and at first the man refused. But after a good deal of coaxing, Robin got the fellow to unwrap the filthy bandage from around his right arm. Uncovered, it was a fearful sight: the hand had been crudely cut off at the wrist some weeks ago, by the look of it, and although the end of the limb had been cauterised with fire, the wound was an ugly greenish-purple colour, oozing fluid and I could see maggots writhing under the skin. The smell alone revealed the dire state of the infection.\n\n'How did you lose it?' asked Robin. He took the last of the wine, added it to a bowl of boiling water and began very gently to wash the wound. Although Godric did his best to hide it, it was clear that even Robin's light touch was excruciating.\n\n'I was careless,' Godric said through gritted teeth. 'It was in the deep woods near Mansfield and I had just run down a plump young hind with my two dogs. I thought I was alone and was beginning to gralloch the beast when I looked up and saw a Nottinghamshire deputy sheriff and a dozen of his men all around me on their horses. I suppose I must count myself lucky \u2013 caught red-handed with a King's deer, I could have been hanged on the spot under the King's damned forest laws. As it was, the deputy sheriff, a cruel bastard called Benedict, killed my dogs outright. He had his men slit their throats, Rollo and Blackie, right there and then. I had no chance to say goodbye or nothing. Rollo was wagging his tail right to the end.'\n\nThere were tears in the man's eyes but I did not think they were a result of the pain he was enduring.\n\n'They took my hand, too. Held me down over a fallen tree and hacked it off with a sword. Said it was a lesson for me not to despoil the King's lands. Said they were upholding the King's law. But that Benedict, he was enjoying himself. Bastard.'\n\nGodric had evidently finished his tale and Robin grunted sympathetically. But I was fascinated by the raw, handless limb. There but for the grace of God, I thought \u2013 once upon a time, I might have been this wretch with his putrefying stump.\n\n'The wound is bad, my friend, as you no doubt know,' said Robin. 'It must be cared for properly if you wish to live. I want you to go to Kirklees, to the priory a few miles north of Huddersfield \u2013 do you know it?'\n\nGodric nodded. 'But they will have no charity for the likes of me,' he said.\n\n'They will. And the nuns there are some of the best healers in the country. Tell them that I sent you. Tell the Prioress Anna that you come in my name and I warrant that she will do her best for you.'\n\nKirklees. That was a name I had not heard for an age. And I had not been there for nearly ten years. I had thought I loved a woman, a radiant creature named Tilda who had newly joined the priory, and in the madness of my love I had asked her to be my wife. But I came to her with the blood of her father on my hands and she had scorned my offer and had sent me away with her insults ringing in my ears. Matilda Giffard \u2013 how I remembered her beauty: skin so pure and white it seemed almost like the palest duck-egg blue, glossy black hair, a heart-shaped face, wide mouth, small nose and blue-grey eyes. And her low, delicious, smoky laugh would arouse a dead man. I wondered if she still lived and if so whether the years had been kind to her. She would be nearly thirty now, and surely the bloom of her looks was long gone and she was now a dried-out nun, stern, severe, godly. A true bride of Christ.\n\nIt was time to go, but Robin seemed strangely loath to leave. He spoke with each of the men in the band, listening to their grievances, offering his solemn respect for the harshness of their lives, sometimes making a jest to raise a smile. As we collected our horses and made to leave, Robin slipped Godric a purse of silver pennies and told him that any man in his band, if necessity pressed him, might take a deer or two from his lands without fear of harm. Then he offered to take any able-bodied brave young man who sought adventure into his service as a man-at-arms.\n\nGodric thanked him but demurred. 'We are people of these woods, my lord,' he said, embracing Robin once more, 'we are not warriors. We'd be sorely out of place in a fine castle. This is home; we shall not leave it unless the sheriff forces us out.'\n\nAs we rode back to Kirkton, both Robin and I were quiet, cantering easily side by side through the gathering darkness. My lord spoke only once. 'We have travelled a long, long road, Alan, you and I,' he said as we reined in to look up at the cheery lights of the castle on the crest of the hill. 'We can never truly go back down it.'\n\nThree days after that afternoon with Godric's band, Robin asked me to accompany him again when he went hawking with his son Hugh. We had a good day's sport \u2013 a brace of mallards and a fat roebuck \u2013 but I could not help thinking of the hungry folk of the woods and that dampened my pleasure a good deal.\n\nWe were walking our tired horses down in the Locksley Valley by the river, heading west back towards Kirkton with the hunt servants, the dogs, the equipment and the silent hooded hunting birds trailing behind us, when Robin opened his mind to me.\n\n'I cannot understand it, Alan,' he said, 'Godric and his friends have made enquiries from Derby to Doncaster and they report that everyone claims utter ignorance of the men who attacked us. I've even offered a reward. Nobody knows anything. I am at a complete loss.'\n\nI too had been pondering the mystery.\n\n'Have I told you about the sheriff of Nottinghamshire's depredations on Westbury?' I said. 'His men stripped the place almost bare while we were away. His armed men forced their way in and took my livestock, grain, my silver\u2026'\n\n'You did tell me, Alan, and I am sorry for it, but could we discuss that later.'\n\n'No, no, you misunderstand me, my lord. I can deal with it perfectly well on my own. I meant only to say that Philip Marc has been ordered by the King to raise money by any and all means in Nottinghamshire \u2013 by force, if necessary. I was merely going to ask you how things stood with you and the sheriff of Yorkshire.'\n\nRobin stared at me in astonishment.\n\n'You think \u2026 You think these were the sheriff's men?'\n\n'I don't know,' I said. 'But it is a possibility, isn't it?'\n\n'I used to get on fine with Roger de Lacy, when he held the office. Remember him from Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard, Alan?'\n\n'How could I forget,' I said. Robin and I had taken part in the bloody siege of Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard some ten years ago, and Roger de Lacy had been the mule-stubborn but somewhat heroic castellan of the castle, under whose banner we had fought.\n\n'Well, de Lacy went off to quell the Welsh a few years back. Then we had another fellow in the post, FitzReinfrid, who was harmless enough. But he was removed \u2013 corruption I think, or incompetence, or maybe he just fell foul of the King. I don't know the new man. I've been away too much in recent years. He's a Percy, I'm told; Richard, or Roger, I think, and he was appointed a few months ago.'\n\n'His name is Robert de Percy, Father,' said a voice from behind us.\n\nHugh moved his mud-spattered horse up between Robin's mount and mine and the boy continued in his quiet confident voice: 'He is a young fellow, eager to make his mark on the world, and he has a good reason to hate us \u2013 or at least hate Mother.'\n\n'What is this?' Robin had gone pale. 'Why would anyone hate your mother?'\n\n'It might be nothing at all,' said Hugh. 'I am merely following up Sir Alan's thought that these villains who attacked us might be the King's men. De Percy came to Kirkton some months back \u2013 you were away in France \u2013 with a royal demand for tallage. Mother let him in the castle, and Miles and I entertained him as best we could. We gave him meat and wine, looked after his horses, housed and fed his men \u2013 and then Mother examined the demand for tax in close detail.'\n\n'Why am I only hearing about this now?' said Robin.\n\n'We thought it of little account,' said Hugh. 'The demand was for a preposterous amount, ten thousand marks, and Mother spoke to the sheriff quite sternly. She said that we had already paid our taxes for that year. And we had paid an additional amount in scutage for your absence from the King's host. And she said she had even made a voluntary loan to the King of several hundred pounds in silver. Then she showed him the receipts she had obtained from the clerks of the King's exchequer for all these payments and told him that his demands were outrageous, even criminal, and that he ought to be ashamed of himself coming to her home in this way and badgering a poor defenceless old lady while her husband is away at war.'\n\nRobin smiled. 'Your mother is a fine woman, Hugh,' he said, 'never forget it.'\n\n'I was very proud of her, Father. She sent him off with his face glowing with shame. And, just to be certain, Sarlic and his bowmen lined up on the castle walls as the sheriff was leaving, with a few of our local village boys kitted out with spare bow staves to swell the numbers a bit. Miles and I put on full armour and exercised with a dozen lads in borrowed hauberks in the courtyard. It wasn't a subtle message to the sheriff \u2013 but it was a perfectly clear one. We will meet any force with force.'\n\n'He has not returned since?' Robin said.\n\n'No, but word of his humiliation has spread,' Hugh said. 'I heard a jongleur in an alehouse in Sheffield singing a rude ditty about the affair. It describes Robert de Percy as a naughty schoolboy being scolded by a great lady for his greed. He will have heard it, too, no doubt, and I doubt he loves Mother much as a result.'\n\nI was impressed by Hugh's tale. I could easily imagine Marie-Anne standing up to the young Robert de Percy, her blue eyes flashing as she scolded him like an errant child, finally dismissing him and sending him forth from the castle empty-handed, with his tail between his legs. For a brief moment, I wished that Baldwin had shown a similar strength of character at Westbury when the sheriff's men came to call.\n\n'What do you think, Alan?' said Robin.\n\n'I think she's a magnificent woman.'\n\n'Yes,' said Robin drily, 'but if you could tear your thoughts away from my wife's magnificence, do you think this Percy creature could be behind the attack?'\n\n'I think it's quite possible, even probable,' I said. 'He might hope to intimidate Marie-Anne into paying up, and at the same time have seized a few valuables as a compensation for his hurt pride. But there is no way of knowing for sure.'\n\n'There is,' said Robin quietly. 'I shall pay him a visit with Little John. And I will discover whether this is the man who thinks he can bully my wife.'\n\nThere was something about Robin's tone that sent a shiver down my spine.\n\n'Would you like to come with us, Alan?' he asked.\n\nI looked at my lord and saw that his eyes were the colour of wet slate.\n\n'I cannot come with you, my lord,' I said. Although what I truly meant was that I did not wish to. I did not wish to see Little John tear the skin from this ambitious lordling or rip out his fingernails in an attempt to get at the truth.\n\nI said: 'I'm sorry, but I must return to Westbury to prepare myself for Alnwick.'\n\nThe moment I said these words I regretted them. I had said nothing of my invitation to Eustace de Vesci's castle, and nothing of my vow to commit regicide.\n\n'Alnwick?' he said. 'Alnwick \u2013 oh, Alan, what have you done?' My lord was nothing if not quick off the mark. 'You have become entangled with de Vesci and those other fools, haven't you? What does he want of you?'\n\n'Ah, ah \u2026 I am to play music at a feast there. That is all. A little poetry for his guests.' I'm not a natural deceiver and Robin, who was, shook his head in disgust.\n\n'You are lying to me,' he said, not angry but rather sad. 'I think I know why. You have accepted the commission they offered me, concerning the King.'\n\nHe glanced behind him to see that the servants were out of earshot. 'Alan, do not be a fool. Do not do this thing. These people would use you. They will make you their tool and then allow you to shoulder the full blame for the crime. Do not do this deed, I beg you. You will bring disaster on us all.'\n\n'I am simply going to Alnwick to make music,' I said stiffly. But even to my own ears the falseness of my words was horribly obvious.\n\nRobin and I did not speak again for the rest of the ride home and, as my lies had made things uncomfortable between me and my lord, that evening I made up my mind to return to Westbury.\n\n'Alan, may I speak with you?' said Marie-Anne that last night. We had finished our awkward supper, Robin had retired to bed and I was sitting by the hall fire with a cup of wine by my boot thinking how pleasant it would be to return to my own hearth.\n\nThe Countess of Locksley pulled up a stool and sat down next to me. She lifted an iron poker from the stand and poked at the logs ablaze in the hearth, causing a shower of sparks to rise and new flames to dance merrily. In the firelight, she looked even more beautiful than in the glare of day.\n\n'I have never thanked you for Damme,' she said. 'For warding Miles during the fighting, and bringing him home to me safely.'\n\nI grunted a less than gracious reply.\n\n'As a father, Alan, you know what anguish can come even from contemplating the death of a loved one, a husband or child. How would you feel, for instance, if in a few years' time Robin was to take your Robert off to war and return without him?'\n\nHer shaft struck home. Even at the thought of such a distant tragedy, my blood ran cold. I squirmed on my stool. I could see where she was leading me.\n\n'Your father is dead, Alan, and your mother, too \u2013 may God keep their immortal souls \u2013 and I have often wondered if the reason you are so careless of your own life is because you believe there is no one who would mourn you if you fell. Is that the case? Is that why you are so brave?'\n\n'I have never thought about it. I just do what is required of me, I do my duty to my lord as best I can. It is certainly not bravery\u2026'\n\n'I think it is, so does Robin. You must know that we both care for you very much \u2013 in all the years we have known you, you and Robert have become as much a part of our family as Hugh and Miles. You must know that we love you. You must know that we would be heartbroken if you were to perish. Do you know it? Do you?'\n\nI mumbled some form of assent. I knew it. I could not deny it. I loved them too.\n\n'And this is why, Alan, you must give up this foolish plan to murder the King. Even if you succeed you will bring war, death and destruction down on all of us who love you: myself, Robin, Miles and Hugh \u2013 and especially your Robert \u2026 If you fail you will die miserably in the worst kind of pain, but I expect you would risk that. But know this: if you fail, the King will also have his vengeance on all of us.'\n\nI had to get away from her and her softly spoken good sense. I could feel my resolve to undertake this killing weakening, melting like a candle too close to the fire.\n\nI lurched to my feet and bid my lady good night. As I stumbled away from the hearth, I found that my cheeks were damp with tears."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "On my return to Westbury the next day, I applied myself to a host of different tasks that demanded my attention. I bought a large quantity of new animal stock in the market at Nottingham \u2013 horses, cattle, pigs and sheep \u2013 to replace those appropriated from me by Sheriff Marc, I consulted with Baldwin about some repairs and new buildings to be constructed in the compound, and busied myself over the next few days setting the manor in order.\n\nIn late June, the weather turned foul and Westbury was lashed for several days with a series of prodigious thunderstorms. I kept to the hall, mostly, poring with Baldwin over the manor accounts and looking for ways to make the prize money I had gained in Damme go as far as possible. I seemed to have spent a good deal of it already and the bad weather was threatening to ruin the harvest \u2013 something I dreaded more than anything else. For even a man such as myself, a knight with lands and livestock, the threat of hunger was very real, and one bad harvest could have me tightening my belt. For the common people of Westbury it could mean death by starvation, although I would not allow that to happen while I still had any means at all. This was why the sheriff's outrageous demands for tax-money hurt even the King's wealthier subjects: we all had hundreds of hungry mouths to feed apart from our own families. That is not to say that we landowners would feed our starving peasants purely out of Christian charity: the tenants who worked our lands were the ones who made our living possible, their rents and services kept us. A dead villein harvests no barley, as the saying went. We needed them alive and well and working our lands.\n\nI was standing in the hall doorway one evening and looking out over the sheets of grey rain as they pounded my lands and battered the crops, when I heard a cry from the sentry above the gatehouse and saw two of my men-at-arms hurrying forward to swing open the double gates of the compound. To my utter astonishment, a slight bedraggled figure on a magnificent destrier cantered through the opening gates, and slipped, almost fell, from the horse's back.\n\nIt was Robert.\n\nI walked out through the pouring rain to greet my son with my brain bubbling with questions: what was he doing back at Westbury? It had been less than a month since I sent him off to Pembroke Castle to begin his training as a squire \u2013 why had he returned so soon? Had disaster befallen him? Where had he got such a fine horse?\n\nI managed to curb my curiosity until I had the boy inside the hall, stripped of his sodden clothes, wrapped in warm blankets by the hearth fire and sipping on a cup of hot, spiced wine and munching a honey-cake. But something was clearly very wrong. All the while that Baldwin and I were ministering to his comfort and health, bearing away his dripping tunic and hose, swathing him in fresh dry coverings, Robert did not speak; worse, he did not respond to my cheery prattle about the foulness of the weather. Neither did he look me in the eye at any time. He showed few signs of life at all except when Baldwin tried to remove his damp braies, the linen undershorts that guarded his modesty, and then he snarled at my steward \u2013 a kindly old man who had cared for him since he was a baby \u2013 and slapped his hand away with something akin to ferocity.\n\nFinally, with Robert cocooned in blankets and when the hot wine had put some colour back into his pale cheeks, I asked him what was amiss.\n\n'I did not care for Pembroke,' he said sullenly. 'There are beastly people there. I want to stay here at Westbury \u2013 with you, Father \u2013 I want to stay at home.'\n\n'Tell me, what happened?'\n\nRobert said nothing, he sat there sipping his wine and staring blankly into the flames. I asked him again, feeling my own anger beginning to stir.\n\nOnce more, my question was met by silence.\n\n'Tell me at least where you got the horse.'\n\n'I did not want to go to Pembroke,' Robert said. 'I told you so from the beginning; I did not want to go and you sent me anyway. This is all your fault.'\n\n'The horse, Robert; who does it belong to?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'I had to get out of there. It was there, already saddled and bridled in the stables, so \u2026 I took it.'\n\n'You stole a destrier from the Earl of Pembroke? You robbed your host?'\n\nRobert again relapsed into silence. And realising I was likely to get no more out of him that night, I sent him to bed.\n\nI stayed up late thinking. Part of me was intensely proud of my son. He had ridden across the country, hundreds of miles alone on a strange and powerful beast through lands populated by enemies, brigands, rapacious men of all kinds, and made it home all the way from Wales safely. Part of me was appalled at what he had done. I had asked England's most renowned warrior William the Marshal to take my son into his household as a favour and to train him as a squire and ultimately make him a knight, and he had repaid the Earl of Pembroke's kindness with the theft of a valuable animal and desertion from his post. I did not know what had happened to Robert but, whatever it was, it could not have been so bad as to warrant this disgraceful display of churlish behaviour.\n\nThe next day I beat Robert.\n\nIt tore my heart to do it but I beat him hard on the bare buttocks in my solar with an ash rod no thicker than my finger, and I was pleased to see that he tried his hardest not to show the pain. When it was over I felt a great wave of shame and disgust at my actions \u2013 who was I to punish a boy for thievery? \u2013 but I knew I had fulfilled my duty as a father. However, when I told Robert he had to return to Pembroke with the horse, he absolutely refused. He defied me with his face blazing.\n\n'I would rather die than return to Pembroke,' he said, his face blotched with tears. 'I will cut my own throat before I ever set foot in that foul place again.'\n\nAnd like a weakling, I gave in to his threat.\n\nI sent the war horse back myself with a pair of Westbury men-at-arms, and a message to the Earl of Pembroke containing a humble apology for my son's behaviour. Robert stayed out of my way for several days, but within a week things had assumed a more normal state of affairs and harmony was restored between us.\n\nAlthough Robert never gave me a full account of what had happened at Pembroke, as he relaxed into life at home, I did gather scraps of information about his experience there. He had not got on well with the other boys there \u2013 they had teased and taunted him for his fantastical tales of unicorns, phoenixes and other legendary creatures, and mocked his lack of skill as a warrior. Well, they were boys. And it seemed that the man responsible for training the squires, a Templar knight called Brother Geoffrey, who was also the Marshal's almoner, had been a hard task-master. It was evident that he had not been as kindly as he might have been to Robert \u2013 for the boy could barely speak his name without grimacing. This Brother Geoffrey, I guessed, had not been satisfied with Robert's efforts and had singled him out for punishment on several occasions, forcing him to labour harder and longer than the other boys. This was hardly surprising \u2013 the Templars had high standards, they were after all the finest warriors in Christendom, and I knew that their training routines were famously gruelling. Moreover, it was, in a way, my fault. I had been neglectful of Robert's military education \u2013 he was eleven, and in a few years he might be expected to fight in battle, and I had scarcely prepared him for that trial.\n\nI determined that I would remedy my mistake and, ten days after Robert's return to Westbury, I introduced him to his new sword-master.\n\nSir Thomas Blood was Robin's man, sworn to his service. But he was also an old and trusted comrade of mine. At one time he had been my squire \u2013 and he had proved superlative in that role: quietly competent, caring for my war gear and anticipating my needs like the very best of servants. He was an extraordinary man, to my mind: brave as a lion and a talented warrior with sword, dagger and lance. Indeed, he had even invented a kind of unarmed combat, a set of throws and strikes, locks and holds, that made him almost as dangerous without weapons as he was with a blade in his hands. Robert could scarcely have a better mentor to teach him how to be the perfect squire and from whom to learn the deadly arts of the knight.\n\nSir Thomas was not, however, without his flaws. He had agreed to take a temporary leave of absence from Robin's service (with my lord's blessing) and come to live with me at Westbury not only out of friendship but also for the promise of a stipend in silver every month. This was not because he was a greedy man, in love with lucre for its own sake, but because he had a weakness for gaming and had been rather unwise. He loved to play knucklebones, the various games of chance that were ruled by the rolling of dice, and he would play whenever he got the opportunity with whomsoever would wager with him. And he seemed to lose all moderation when in the grip of his passion for the 'bones', as he called them; I had known him to wager as much as a hundred marks on a single throw. Thomas had had a long streak of bad luck with the dice since his return to England \u2013 so much so that he had been forced to pledge money that he did not have. Ashamed of his foolishness, rather than going to Robin to humbly ask for the money, he had borrowed from the brothers of the Temple in London, some of the richest men in England, who were always ready to extend credit to impecunious knights. He hoped to use the silver that I would pay him for tutoring Robert to make good these Templar loans.\n\nRobert seemed wary of Sir Thomas when I brought them together and told my son that his military education would now be in the dark-haired knight's hands. He eyed Sir Thomas suspiciously, almost fearfully, and Thomas made no effort at all to ingratiate himself with the boy. He told him brusquely to arm himself and show him in the courtyard what he had mastered so far.\n\nRobert's first lesson was far from gentle. Within moments my son was on his back in the dust of the courtyard, with Thomas standing over him coldly ordering him to get back on his feet. I began to feel the creep of misgiving. Robert was a sensitive boy \u2013 was this dour fighting man the right person to form him?\n\nMy misgivings increased a few days later. I had given Thomas a fat purse of silver on his arrival, at his request \u2013 he said he wished to make the first payment to the Templars \u2013 but the next night, a Saturday, he disappeared, and when he was absent at Mass in the village church on Sunday morning, I truly began to worry.\n\nI asked Baldwin if he knew where Thomas had gone and he said he had last been seen heading for Nottingham, where he intended to pay over his stipend to the Templars' representatives in the town.\n\nI found Thomas without too much difficulty in a filthy tavern at the base of the castle. He did not notice me at first as I came to stand beside him and three ill-looking fellows who were crouched over a square, high-sided tray, the dice rattling merrily inside its wooden walls. The leather purse that I had given him the day before was flaccid and empty beside him, and three silver pennies sat in a tiny stack before his place. Thomas threw the bones and immediately blasphemed in a surprisingly fluent and extravagant manner for someone normally so taciturn. His cackling neighbour, a balding rascal in a dirty scarlet tunic, leaned over and scooped up the little pile of silver in the blink of an eye.\n\nThomas was still cursing, a foul cascade of the filthiest language I had heard in an age, when he looked up and recognised me.\n\n'Sir Alan,' he said, 'for the love of God, can you give me an advance on next month's wages? I beg you.' His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and there was a pitiful wheedling tone in his voice that I did not care for at all.\n\n'Get up,' I said. 'We are going back to Westbury right now. Our dinner awaits.'\n\n'But, Alan, I have these fellows. I can feel it. I just need one more throw\u2014'\n\n'Sir Thomas, you forget yourself,' I said. 'Come on, now.'\n\nAs Thomas stood up, the bald fellow in the red tunic said: 'Care for a throw, sir? You have the look of good fortune about you.'\n\nI ignored the man and pulled Thomas towards the door.\n\n'He owes us money,' said a second man, a tall, hulking fellow with a purple-and-white nose very like a turnip. All three of Thomas's companions were now on their feet. The foul air in the tavern seemed to chill as if night had suddenly fallen.\n\nI put my hand on Fidelity's hilt. I looked at all three men, one after the other, squarely in the eye. 'You have taken all that he has,' I said. 'So I cannot think that he owes you any more. And we are taking our leave now.'\n\n'He owes us another sixpence,' said turnip-nose. He too had a hand on his hilt, a long dagger stuck in his broad leather belt.\n\n'I say he does not.' I knew I was a hair's breadth away from bloody carnage.\n\n'Er, Sir Alan, I do actually owe them sixpence.' Thomas looked shamefaced, but also quite determined. 'I gave them my word.'\n\nI looked at him in surprise. I had been expecting him to back me in this dispute without question. 'Let us go back to Westbury,' I said, 'we can discuss it there.'\n\n'No,' said Thomas quietly and firmly. 'It is a matter of honour.' And to the fellow in the scarlet tunic: 'Will you accept my boots and cloak as payment?'\n\n'Throw in your chemise, too,' said the man, smirking.\n\n'Oh for God's sake,' I said, and fumbled for my purse. I counted out six silver pennies and tossed them with a tinny clatter on to the square tray.\n\nOn the ride home, I told Thomas that I would be deducting the sixpence from his monthly stipend, and also that I would pay him his fee at the end of his time with us at Westbury, or if he preferred I would pay it directly to the Templars in his name.\n\n'You think me a fool, Alan,' he said. 'But I do not always lose, you know.'\n\nI shrugged. 'You are a free man, I cannot tell you what to do with your money. But if you ever take Robert to a place like that, you will answer for it to me.'\n\nWe rode the rest of the way in silence."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "At the end of the first week in July, I set off on the nearly two-hundred-mile journey from Westbury to Alnwick. Marie-Anne's words a few weeks previously had struck a blow at my heart, but I had accepted de Vesci's invitation to his summer feast. And I believed that I owed it to the lord of Alnwick and his friend Lord Fitzwalter to at least meet and discuss the issue of the King's removal face to face.\n\nI rode north from Westbury alone, leaving Robert in the care of Baldwin and a now chastened Thomas \u2013 and I told no one where I was going, not even them. The fewer people who had knowledge of this plot, even if it came to naught, the better.\n\nI crossed the Tyne at the New Castle on the eve of St Swithun's Day with my mind a little clearer as to my purpose. I would talk with de Vesci and Fitzwalter, I would entertain their guests with my poetry and music, and if we could come up with a plan together that seemed to offer reasonably good odds of dispatching John and allowing me to escape unscathed, I would agree to do the deed.\n\nThat night I was received by the monks at Newminster Abbey near the town of Morpeth and at Vespers in the abbey church I prayed earnestly for guidance from the Lord of Hosts. On my knees in the cold gloom of the church, I closed my eyes and whispered: 'O Lord my God, guide me in my indecision. I know that red murder is a sin against your Holy Name, and that my closest friends are urging me to give up this bloody task, but my heart tells me that I must do this deed in the name of vengeance. For Arthur and all the men who have died at the King's hand. Help me, O Lord, send me a sign, tell me if I should take this sin upon myself or pursue the path of peace that your son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, has taught us. Amen.'\n\nThe next day, as I was riding the last few miles through the lush green pastures towards Alnwick Castle, I received the sign that I had begged for.\n\nI was cantering along the sunken road and came around a blind corner and reined in sharply as I saw a big, well-muscled man in peasant's garb with a long knife in his hands standing by the side of the road. Beside him was a dog, a huge beast with its hair on end, its mouth gaping in a savage snarl, and a white froth of saliva garlanding its long yellow teeth. I stopped a good twenty paces from the man and beast but still my mount began to bridle and cavort in fear at the barking animal. My heart was pounding too and I had my hand on Fidelity's hilt, ready to draw and fight \u2013 but the peasant made no move to attack me and I could see now that the beast, although it was growling and shaking its large head, was securely roped to a tree.\n\n'Good day to you, sir,' said the man respectfully, and he tugged off his shapeless woollen hat. 'Don't be afeared of Betsy, sir, she's well secured.'\n\n'What is wrong with her?' I asked, dismounting and tying my horse to a clump of alder bushes a goodly distance away on the far side of the road. The dog was still thrashing about on the end of the rope snapping her jaws and seemingly trying to bite the man. I came cautiously closer, hand still on my hilt. 'She looks like she has a demon inside her \u2013 or the Devil himself.'\n\n'I don't know about that, sir,' said the man. 'I'm not a learned man, like a priest or monk \u2013 or a gentleman such as yourself. But I do know that Betsy's run mad, sir. You see, a while back she was bit by another bitch, who was just the same way as she is now, all frothy and snapping like a wolf, terrible afeared of water, too, and a month or so later she took the madness herself. There's no hope for Betsy, sir, it grieves mightily me to say. No hope at all.'\n\n'What will you do with her?' I asked, keeping a respectful distance from the animal's teeth.\n\n'Well, sir, I was aiming to end her with this here knife. But I can't get close enough without I risk getting bit. And if she bites me, I'm Hell-bound, too. But, well, you see, sir, she was a good and faithful dog, before all this, and to be honest I can't bear to leave her here all tied up to die of thirst\u2026'\n\nThe man paused and looked at me imploringly. 'She was a good dog, sir. Loyal, faithful as anything. Would you help me, sir, of your mercy, would you help me to do the necessary with Betsy? If I distract her, perhaps you could \u2026 with your sword? You would be doing me \u2013 and her, I reckon \u2013 a great service\u2026'\n\nI agreed, and as the fellow dodged about just out of reach of the brute's jaws on the one side, calling her name, I came at the dog from the other. I swung with Fidelity once and took her head off with one fast sweep of the blade.\n\nThe fellow was absurdly grateful. As I cleaned my weapon on a clump of long grass, he said: 'You are a saint, sir, and I have no doubt God will bless you in all your endeavours.' I merely nodded at him, for I was thinking hard. 'I owe you a great debt of gratitude for old Betsy,' he continued. 'And although I cannot repay you\u2026'\n\n'Nonsense,' I said, 'you owe me nothing. In fact, I believe I owe you something for showing me the truth,' and reached into my pouch for a penny to give him.\n\nFor God had given me the sign I had asked for. King John was the mad dog and I had been called upon by the common people of England to release him from life.\n\nThe day of the feast was one of blazing sunshine and, as it was St Swithun's Day, the country folk said it boded well for the rest of that summer. After the rainstorms of June, I was pleased, for it now seemed that the harvest at Westbury and all across the land would be a bountiful one. I took the opportunity of good weather to dress myself in my finest clothes for the celebration: a new tunic of fine sky-blue wool, close fitting above the waist but with the new style of long, wide drooping sleeves and long flowing skirts slit in the front to thigh level to expose my new yellow-and-red stripped hose. My hose came with thin leather soles already attached so there was no need for me to wear boots or shoes, and showed off admirably, I thought, the muscular length of my legs. I had a new hat for the occasion, too, a smart black piece, shaped like a cone with a rounded point and a rolled brim. For once, I felt that I was dressed in an appropriate fashion for a feast.\n\nAn area of gently sloping sheep pasture to the south of the castle walls had been set aside for the festivities, and once I had changed my clothes in the castle and had a brief wash, I strolled through a makeshift town of brightly coloured pavilions and gaudy tents with my vielle slung on my back. My mood was light, buoyant even, the 'streets' of this tent-town were thronging with men and women, mostly dressed as extravagantly as myself, and I bowed and smiled at the gentlefolk I encountered.\n\nThere were tumblers, jugglers, pipers and dancing dwarfs to amuse the knights and their ladies as they strolled about between the tents, and men and maids with trays of hot pies and sweetmeats, sliced fruit and honeyed nuts, and servants with huge trays bearing cups of light red wine from Bordeaux offered refreshments to the multitude. I recognised some of the revellers, with a Yorkshireman here and there, though not many, since these knightly people were mostly from Northumbria and Cumberland, with a scattering of nobles from the Scottish lowlands. For a moment I felt very far from home. But not for long. I took a cup of wine and an almond custard cake from a passing servant, and sipped and chewed as I passed among the peacock-coloured tents. I felt the sunshine on my face and a sense of well-being, merriment occupied my mind in that hour, not murder.\n\nAt a space between the tents I saw that tables and chairs had been laid out and a small crowd of ladies had gathered around a well-dressed, fair-haired man who was singing sweetly and playing a vielle rather well. I lingered to listen as he came to the end of a canso about a great lady who was loved by a lowly knight, a retainer of her lord. Their love could never be, he sang, and the knight eventually threw himself off a bridge into the river out of love for her. A charming piece, if rather silly, I thought, but well performed by this musician.\n\nI applauded with the rest of them and then caught the eye of the fair, ruddy-faced man who was performing it. It was Robert Fitzwalter, I saw, and among the crowd, almost at the same time, I spied my host Eustace de Vesci, lord of Alnwick.\n\nFitzwalter was an instinctively courteous man, as I had noticed when we met at Kirkton. He made some adjustments to the strings of his vielle and then silenced the chattering assembly with the words: 'This next work is played with greatest humility as a homage to a far greater musician than I, and in memory of a noble king\u2026'\n\nAnd to my astonishment he began to sing:\n\n\u2003My joy summons me\n\n\u2003To sing in this sweet season\n\n\u2003And my generous heart replies\n\n\u2003That it is right to feel this way.\n\nIt was a canso that I had written long ago with King Richard of England. It had enjoyed a brief popularity many years ago, when Richard was freshly returned from captivity in Germany, and it had had a topical flavour, but I had not heard the tune for many and many a year. Lord Fitzwalter sang:\n\n\u2003My heart commands me\n\n\u2003To love my sweet mistress,\n\n\u2003And my joy in doing so\n\n\u2003Is a generous reward in itself.\n\nI had already swept my own vielle off my back, praising God that I had thought to put the strings in tune the day before, and together we sang the last two verses of my work, with myself playing and singing a slightly different version of the tune that twined around with Fitzwalter's lines to give a pleasing effect on the listener's ear.\n\nWe sang:\n\n\u2003A lord has one obligation\n\n\u2003Greater than love itself\n\n\u2003Which is to reward most generously\n\n\u2003The knight who serves him well.\n\nAnd then:\n\n\u2003A knight who sings so sweetly\n\n\u2003Of obligation to his noble lord\n\n\u2003Should consider the great virtue\n\n\u2003Of courtly manners not discord.\n\nThere was much happy applause from the gathered ladies, and several of them crowded around me with pretty compliments and cooing noises of admiration, and I felt my face begin to grow red at all the attention. Someone brought me another cup of wine and I allowed myself to be persuaded to play one more piece for the assembled crowd.\n\nI gave them 'Lancelot and Guinevere', and had the ladies sighing; then 'Le Chanson de Roland', which made more than a few of them weep, and then 'The Fox Lord and the Lady Rabbit' \u2013 a ribald tale of vulpine lust and woodland virtue \u2013 which made them all roar with laughter. Then I pleaded a sore throat and summoned another cup of wine, promising to play again after sunset in the great hall of the castle. And all the while, as I played my vielle and sang and flirted with the ladies, I could feel the eyes of my lords de Vesci and Fitzwalter upon me, weighing me, or so it seemed.\n\nAfter I retired from the field of combat, a young man with long curled hair leapt up and began to play a small shrill flute while his legs kicked out in some sort of manic new dance. I gathered up my vielle and bow and sauntered away from the crowds, mostly to get away from the young man and his screeching instrument, but also because I knew that Fitzwalter and de Vesci would surely follow me.\n\nAnd so they did."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "A short while later, I found myself sitting on a gold-painted X-shaped stool in a rather hot and stuffy cloth-of-gold pavilion on the outskirts of the tent-town, quite close to the southern postern gate of the castle, being offered yet another cup of wine \u2013 but this one iced and of far better quality that the common swill I'd had before.\n\nThe wine-bearing servant disappeared and de Vesci, Fitzwalter and I were alone in the pavilion with just the shadows of the two men-at-arms outside staining the silken door flap to let us know that we were guarded.\n\n'May I cordially welcome you to Alnwick Castle,' said Fitzwalter, raising his cup of wine to me.\n\n'Thank you, my lord,' I said.\n\n'It is my castle and I will do any welcoming,' snapped de Vesci.\n\n'Very well,' said Fitzwalter soothingly. 'Bid our guest a warm welcome.'\n\nDe Vesci seemed to realise the absurdity of welcoming me for a second time and so he said nothing, merely sat there on his stool and stared sulkily into his wine cup.\n\nFitzwalter sighed at his companion's gracelessness and he leaned forward and asked how my journey from Westbury had been and whether all was well with my household. He asked after young Robert by name \u2013 which made me sit up, for I had never discussed my family with him before, and I realised what I should have grasped long before when he began playing 'My Joy Summons Me' \u2013 that Fitzwalter had made thorough investigations into my background and circumstances.\n\nAnd he did not wish to conceal the fact.\n\nI was not unduly perturbed that these two rebels had made enquiries about me. It was a sensible thing to do if we were to embark on such a dangerous enterprise. Indeed, I would not have believed that they were truly in earnest if they had not.\n\nDe Vesci stayed silent, fidgeting on his stool, but Fitzwalter made a few more sallies about the crops in Nottinghamshire, and we were discussing the blissfully fine weather like a pair of old gossips when de Vesci blurted out: 'So \u2013 will you do it?'\n\nI caught Fitzwalter's eye and we both winced at de Vesci's crassness.\n\nAnd so, partly out of playful cruelty, I said: 'That remains to be seen.'\n\n'You gave us your word at Kirkton,' said de Vesci. 'Do you not intend to honour it? Have you lost your nerve?'\n\n'Hold up, Eustace,' said Fitzwalter, putting a hand on de Vesci's arm, 'let us not put the cart before the horse.'\n\nHe looked at me: 'Since the subject has been broached, why don't we let Sir Alan tell us what he thinks of this perilous affair and then we can all say what is on our minds. Then we can proceed in an orderly manner. What say you, Sir Alan?'\n\nI smiled at Fitzwalter: 'Thank you, my lord.' I took a deep breath. 'I have given this matter some thought and it is clearer than ever to me that King John must die. And I am prepared, for reasons of personal honour, for vengeance and for the good of the whole country, to do the deed myself.'\n\nI tried to banish from my thoughts Marie-Anne's concerned face and continued: 'There are, however, to my mind two obstacles to achieving this. Firstly, since we must assume that the King is well guarded, we must consider how I might approach him with a drawn weapon in my hand and strike him down. The second obstacle to achieving this task is \u2026 well, that I do not wish to throw away my life in this or any other cause. I am prepared to take a risk, but I do not wish to be a martyr. You asked before, my lord, about my son Robert. I will not die and leave him at the mercy of a country torn by civil war. And the death of the King will, I believe, have that result.'\n\nI paused and looked at my co-conspirators.\n\nLord Fitzwalter said: 'Let me say this \u2013 I will personally guarantee your son's safety if you die in this cause. I will ensure that he is educated and trained to the highest level and that he inherits your lands and has the strength and support to hold them. I swear that I would guard him and guide him as if he were my own son.'\n\n'Thank you, my lord,' I said. 'That is most generous.' And I was indeed touched by the man's words. 'But I fully intend to survive this affair and look after Robert myself, if it is all the same to you.'\n\n'We could poison him,' said de Vesci. And for a fraction of an instant I thought he meant my son. Then reason returned.\n\nThe dark man continued: 'I know an apothecary who would make us a fine tasteless powder. You add it to wine or food and the King would die some days later. The signs of the poison working are similar to the bloody flux \u2013 the constant flow from the bowels, the feverishness, the wasting away. If you were to administer the poison, no one would know it was you who had laid him low.'\n\nBoth Fitzwalter and I were silent at this. I did not like the idea of poison \u2013 but I could not exactly say why. Perhaps it was the lingering death, the secrecy of it, the underhanded devilry of the method. I would not be able to make my speech about Duke Arthur, I could not look into John's eyes and tell him why he was dying. And why he deserved to die. But poison, in truth, would achieve our ends admirably.\n\n'I can see that Sir Alan does not favour this method of killing,' said Fitzwalter. 'And I am with him on this matter. Poison is a woman's weapon and not something that a man of honour would ever contemplate using.'\n\n'A woman's weapon, pshaw!' said de Vesci. He looked quite offended by his friend's words. 'If Sir Alan is so concerned about risking his precious neck, then poison is the obvious answer. He can slip into the kitchens, sprinkle a little of the power on some of the serving platters\u2026'\n\n'And how many others would die?' I asked. 'The King does not eat from one platter alone. All share. He offers the choicest cuts to his favoured men. Would you see them dead, too?' De Vesci shrugged. That made up my mind. 'I will not use poison,' I said. 'I will kill him with cold steel, face to face, and I will put my trust in God to guard me afterwards.'\n\n'I have had a couple of thoughts that may be valuable,' said Fitzwalter.\n\nHe got up from the stool and went over to a chest on the far side of the pavilion; he bent, lifted the lid and extracted something.\n\n'Give me your left arm, Sir Alan,' said Fitzwalter. I saw that he was holding something that resembled an archer's bracer, the sleeve of leather laced to the left forearm of a bowman to reduce the lash of the bow-cord against the soft skin in the inside of the arm. But this was no ordinary bracer. It was bigger for a start and I could see that something long, thin and black was attached to the surface of the leather cuff.\n\nI stood up and extended my left arm, and Fitzwalter pushed back the wide, bell-shaped drooping sleeves of my tunic and slipped the object on to my forearm, pulling the laces tight to secure it in place. Now, strapped firmly to my left forearm was a narrow leather sheath containing a slim steel killing dagger: a misericorde.\n\nIt was the weapon of an assassin.\n\nThe misericorde was a long, black, cross-shaped weapon made entirely out of steel with a slim blade about ten inches in length. It was a beautiful thing to behold despite its sinister purpose. It was used in battle to give a merciful death to a badly wounded knight by punching the blade through the hollow between collarbone and neck, and down into the heart. It was a weapon designed to slide in between the joins in a man's mail or, if used with sufficient force, to punch straight through the iron links and into the flesh beyond. It was a deadly tool designed with one purpose \u2013 to kill quickly, quietly and with minimum effort. I had once owned one and used it for many years, but mine had been made of iron with a wooden handle fitted on the tang and the metal had become old and weakened over the years. It had broken in a duel ten years ago, causing me to be slightly wounded. I had not replaced it.\n\nRather unnervingly, Lord Fitzwalter seemed to know all about this: 'This weapon will never break in combat, Sir Alan; it is the finest blackened steel made by the Moors of Toledo with all their heathen magic, skill and cunning. I do not believe there is a blade of equal strength in Christendom \u2013 and there are few in the Muslim lands either. It is my gift to you \u2013 take it with my blessings, whether you decide to join us or not. Here, draw the blade and try the fit of it in your hand.'\n\nThe grip of the misericorde was made of linked cubes of black steel with rounded edges, like a row of Thomas's dice, and finished with a large spherical steel pommel. The handle extended beyond the sheath on the inside of my wrist and the pommel seemed to nestle in the palm of my left hand; the fingers curled naturally around it. When I dropped my arm, my sleeve completely covered the bracer, blade and pommel, and when I pulled the handle with my right hand the wicked black steel slipped effortlessly out of the sheath. It was the perfect implement for the task at hand. I knew that I could approach King John, seemingly unarmed, and then pull the blade at the last moment and plunge it into his cruel heart in an instant. I could not imagine a better way to bring a blade to within killing distance of my foe.\n\nThe drawn misericorde fitted comfortably in my right hand. The handle felt warm and silky to the touch and light as a feather. It was so beautiful that I could hardly take my eyes off it \u2013 the black oiled steel, the holy cruciform shape, the elegant lines of the long blade. I tested the edge with my thumb. It was as keen as a razor.\n\nLord Fitzwalter had been watching my face intently. I saw that he was pleased with my reaction to his gift. He said: 'I have also had an idea about where and when you might do this deed \u2013 that is, if you choose to \u2013 and also how you might reasonably expect to escape with your life.'\n\nI slid the misericorde back into its snug sheath, dropped my arm back down to my side and tried to pay attention to what Fitzwalter was saying.\n\n'You know the King wishes to give his realm, our England, to the Pope?'\n\nI nodded. I had an almost overwhelming urge to draw the misericorde again, just to see if it was still as beautiful as before, but I controlled myself and looked into Fitzwalter's honest ruddy face. He was still speaking of his regicidal plans.\n\n'The King means to ratify his homage for England to the papal legate, one Master Pandulf, and he means to do this in three months' time on the ides of October in London at St Paul's Cathedral. All the barons of England have been summoned to attend the ceremony. It will be a great event, a charter sealed with a golden bull. Even those barons who do not love John will attend with their knights and servants to witness the affair. Eustace and I will be there, of course. At a great feast, the King will try to placate his enemies with fair words and promises, and perhaps to cow us with his pomp and majesty, and also to make a public demonstration of the Pope's support for him at the same time. Are you following me, Sir Alan?'\n\n'St Paul's, London, ides of October \u2026 yes, I follow you,' I said. But, in truth, I was distracted by the gentle weight on my left forearm.\n\n'The charter is to be sealed and witnessed in the courtyard outside the cathedral. Imagine the scene: there will be great men and their entourages everywhere, the King will graciously pass among us, a word of praise here, a smile of acknowledgement there. He will be confident, secure of his victory. The Pope, and therefore God, is on his side. And all must see this. In the crowd of milling barons and knights, it should be relatively simple for you to come close to the royal person. Then, without warning, a commotion breaks out on the far side of the courtyard \u2013 some of Eustace's men will cause a loud disturbance, a fight, men cursing and struggling. All eyes will be drawn to them. And you, you strike, swift as a snake \u2026 A body of my men will be right behind you, seven or eight big knights in mail bearing shields, we think that is sufficient, for the task. You approach the King \u2013 attention is drawn away by the diversion, you strike, he falls, and you immediately turn around and pass though the crowd of our mailed knights, and away. If any man sees you kill the King, and seeks to follow you, our men will block their path with their bodies, their shields, they will trip them, stumble and knock them to the ground, cause even more confusion. We think seven men, eight or nine to be sure, will be sufficient unto the task. More would seem like a threat and might draw the eyes of the King's loyal men on to us. A waiting horse and groom will be just round the corner, there is a stables owned by a former servant of mine within fifty yards. He is a good man and he will see you saddled and on the road north as quick as thought. What do you say?'\n\nHe had my full attention by now. I could see his stratagem playing out in my mind. I would whisper to the King my message about Arthur just before the blade slid home. I could imagine John's astonished and then terrified face as my steel dug into his flesh and found his heart. Then I would turn, push through the gang of Fitzwalter's armed men, and they would obstruct any pursuit while I slipped away.\n\n'Well, my lords, I think that\u2014'\n\nDe Vesci interrupted me: 'Remember: the first act of any new King would be, of course, to ennoble you, Sir Alan,' he said. 'And, grant you great wealth. And, should you wish it, he would give you the hand of a suitable heiress, a royal ward, very young and beautiful, rich as a queen\u2026' He was smirking at me in a most unpleasant way. 'I hear that you are without a wife at the present time. How would you like a wrigglesome bed-warmer, just fourteen and in the prime of her looks? How would you like to be Lord Westbury, perhaps even the Earl of Westbury?'\n\nI did not like his tone. And clearly neither did Fitzwalter. He glared at de Vesci and said: 'Sir Alan does not do this grave thing for gain, Eustace. He does it purely in the name of his personal honour and for the good of his country. Although, naturally, there would be advancement for all good men under the new rule.'\n\nI had in fact been almost ready to agree to their plans, until de Vesci's crude attempt at bribery. Instead, to irritate him, I said: 'I will have to think on this.'\n\nDe Vesci's face was black as a crow's wing. 'While you think on it, Sir Alan, remember this \u2013 if we are successful in removing the King and replacing him with a more suitable monarch, and you have not helped us, or you have hindered us, or even, God forbid, you have betrayed us, there will be dire consequences. Think on this, Sir Alan: you are either with us or you are against us!'\n\n'Consequences?' I said. 'Oh, no! Please, spare me from any consequences.' And I began to laugh. Great gales of mirth erupted and I laughed right in his thin ugly face. This fellow with his vague bribes and his silly attempt at bullying had sailed straight past offending me and beyond into the calm seas of the ridiculous.\n\n'Get out, get out this instant!' Fitzwalter had de Vesci by the shoulders and he was hustling him towards the tent flap. 'Get out, you cloth-brained imbecile.'\n\n'But, Robert, this is my pavilion. This is my land, by God's bones!'\n\nI was almost doubled over with merriment by now. Mainly because de Vesci was resisting Fitzwalter's force, digging his heels into the turf beneath his feet and pushing at the other man's chest with his palms. But Fitzwalter was stronger. He knocked de Vesci's arms aside and wrapped his own around his friend's chest.\n\n'Get out, you cretin, before I take my sword to you!' And Fitzwalter bodily lifted de Vesci off his feet and shoved the protesting lord of Alnwick Castle out of his own tent and into the arms of the two men-at-arms beyond the flap.\n\nAs I struggled to compose myself, wiping the tears of laughter from my cheeks, and Fitzwalter got his breath back from his brief struggle with our host, a servant nervously poked his head through the tent flap.\n\n'More wine,' growled Fitzwalter to the man. 'And be quick about it.'\n\n'I can only apologise for that boorish fellow,' Lord Fitzwalter said a few moments later. 'We cannot always choose with whom we must ally ourselves.' We had resumed out seats in the gold-painted stools and were enjoying yet more delicious cooled wine. 'To think that a man like you would be swayed by the offer of a title and a wealthy marriage; or even moved by de Vesci's silly threats. It is quite absurd.'\n\n'I think if you tried hard enough I could be persuaded to accept the burden of great riches and a grand title,' I said.\n\nFitzwalter and I caught each other's eyes and smiled.\n\n'And, it is true, my wife is dead and I would welcome another \u2013 if she were pretty and to my liking and if she freely chose me and were not forced to marry against her will. I could be persuaded to undertake that burden, too, I believe.'\n\nFitzwalter chuckled. 'You will be handsomely rewarded, my friend, do not concern yourself on that issue. Money, land, titles, whatever you desire. But may we get to the business; how do you see the plan? Would it work, do you think?'\n\nAs I rode south the next morning, I realised that I had not in fact agreed to undertake the murder of King John. It had merely been assumed between Lord Fitzwalter and myself that I would do the deed. And I would do it \u2013 not for titles and a rich heiress but as Fitzwalter had said: for my honour, for the memory of dead friends, for justice, and for the good of the country. Also, by the time I left Alnwick Castle, I had been convinced that I could kill John and get away free and clear. I had made one change to Fitzwalter's plan. I had insisted that de Vesci's men play no part in the distraction that was to draw attention away from the King at the moment I was to strike. I insisted that Fitzwalter's men organise the distraction, which was to be a cat-fight between two hired prostitutes, as well as providing the blocking force to cover my escape \u2013 I did not trust de Vesci. That is not to say that I thought he would betray me. It was his competence that I did not trust. His crude bullying and cajolery marked him out to my mind as a man of low acuity, not someone to whom I would care to entrust my life. He was a blunderer. If he or his men got the timing of the disturbance wrong \u2013 as I feared he would \u2013 or if it was not loud enough or compelling enough to draw all the eyes of the crowd, I might be left facing the King with a drawn blade in my hand and all the armed knights in the service of the King of England looking on. If that happened, I was a corpse. So Fitzwalter had finally agreed that de Vesci would have no part of the affair beyond providing the money for any expenses that might be incurred \u2013 the man was, it seemed, extraordinarily rich and used to having his own way, which might account for his graceless manner. Indeed, as I bade my sullen host farewell the next morning before setting out on my journey, after a little prodding by Fitzwalter, de Vesci handed over a heavy purse of silver for any expenditure I might make on the journey home, which was generous, and he did his best to wish me a good fortune and God's blessing until we met again in London in three months' time."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "I spent the rest of the summer busily engaged in the affairs of Westbury. Baldwin and I embarked on a series of building works. With the help of the men of the village, when the crops had been harvested and were drying in my barns \u2013 it was indeed a bountiful harvest, praise God \u2013 we improved the fortifications of Westbury, strengthening the main gate with new oak cross-timbers, and reinforcing the wooden walls around the whole compound, with laths of ash and hazel. But the greatest project of all was a tower that I began to build of stone in the north-west corner of the courtyard, abutting the wooden palisade. It was not much to begin with, merely a grey box of granite twelve foot by twelve with a small iron-bound wooden door but no windows on the ground floor. The master mason that I employed to undertake this task assured me that at a future date (when I could afford it) I could extend the keep upwards and make it a properly impressive fortification. But just the first two storeys took two months to build and when they were finished, the season was late, and the weather was becoming too wet and cold to set mortar, and I called a halt to the work. That was my excuse; indeed, the true reason was that the fearsome cost of men and materials had far exceeded my expectations and I did not want to reduce Westbury to beggary just before the winter. However, when it was finished, though I scarcely had a penny left to my name, I did feel like a proper knight with a proper stone keep. It looked just like a miniature castle, in fact, squat and strong, imposing. I filled it with a month's supply of dried food, barrels of water and wine, boxes of clothes, tools and firewood, and a collection of weapons and armour.\n\nSir Thomas Blood truly began to earn his keep that summer too. He made no more visits to Nottingham alehouses to gamble, as far as I knew, and he dedicated himself to Robert's education. Every day just after dawn he took my son out into the courtyard, rain or shine, and began to tutor him in the arts of shield and sword. Robert was not a complete novice. He had received some training from myself and from other passing knights, friends of mine who were kind enough to spare a few hours in his instruction, but for a boy of eleven he was well behind other lads of his age and class, and I could see why they had teased him so unmercifully in his brief time at Pembroke Castle.\n\nSir Thomas began with the basics, teaching the boy to step and cut, to block and parry with sword and shield, and I watched them sometimes after breakfast as they fought their mock battles, with fond memories of my own long-ago education in the skill of arms. Occasionally, when I was not engaged in the rebuilding of the palisade or getting in the way of the masons at their work on the tower, I would take an old dull blade and put the boy through his paces.\n\nGod knows that I loved my son with all my heart and soul, but I cannot lie to you and tell you that he was a gifted soldier. He lacked the aggression necessary to make a fighter. When I urged him to attack me, his blows were weak, even limp. I was puzzled by this at first and when I questioned him he said that it was because he was afraid of hurting me. When I dared him to try, and knocked him down to make him angry, he responded, not as I had hoped with a spirited attack but with childish tears and a refusal to spar any longer with me.\n\nSir Thomas was made of sterner stuff than I. If Robert made a mistake or displeased him in some way, he punished the boy by making him run in full armour (an old cut-down suit of my mail) with sword, helm and shield and a sack filled with sand on his back around and around the courtyard sometimes until the boy was sick with exhaustion. It would be fair to say that Robert hated Sir Thomas. Loathed him. But Sir Thomas was implacable, and when the knight gave an order, my son jumped to obey it. One afternoon, when Thomas was working the boy very hard \u2013 he was learning unarmed methods of disabling an armed man, as I recall \u2013 the teacher knocked his pupil down one time too many and Robert curled into a ball on the ground and began to bawl his eyes out. I had been watching and leapt to my feet, feeling that I should comfort the lad \u2013 but almost immediately I sat back down. The boy needed, most of all, to be tougher. Mollycoddling him would never answer. Though I may tell you that standing by and watching your only son being repeatedly hurt and humiliated \u2013 even in a righteous cause \u2013 is a trial that is hard to match.\n\nSir Thomas calmly ordered the lad to stop his caterwauling and get up and fight like a man. And to my surprise, after a moment, Robert did shamble to his feet, wipe the tears and snot from his face and adopt the crouched fighting stance that Thomas had taught him. It occurred to me that, if not a great warrior, perhaps we might make a decent man of Robert yet.\n\nAnd if my son did not shine as a fighting man, he did have other qualities that I discovered with great pleasure over the next few months. We played chess a few times that summer. And at first I barely concentrated on my moves, having so many other thing to occupy my mind. The first time he beat me, I thought it must have been luck. Second time, I thought I must have made a serious blunder. But when he began to beat me easily, every time without fail, even when I tried my hardest, I knew that without a doubt he was my master at this game. It is a strange feeling for a father, to be bested by his son: and not altogether unpleasant. He was, I soon realised, as quick-witted as any boy I had ever known; but he also had a facility for invention, for thinking things that other boys \u2013 even other men \u2013 could never imagine in a lifetime.\n\nIt happened that Little John was passing through Westbury, returning from some errand of Robin's in the south, and he dropped in to give us his news and to find out how we were faring.\n\nOver a mug or three of ale, Little John told me that the King was more determined than ever to recover Normandy. But the King knew he could not defeat the French on his own. His strategy was, in fact, not a bad one, Little John admitted. The King planned to mount an expedition to Poitou and attack Philip's men along the line of the River Loire. This would force the French King to come south from Paris and defend the territory he had captured from the Angevins, and then the second blow would come from the north. From King John's allies. He had been sending barrels of silver and military help to the counts of Boulogne and Flanders all year and supporting his nephew Otto, the Holy Roman Emperor, in his struggles against rival claimants to the title, too.\n\n'He might have bought himself some support in Flanders and Germany,' chuckled Little John, 'he's sorely lacking in aid from home. Hardly any bugger heeded him when he called for English fighting men for the Poitou expedition.'\n\n'Are they not sworn to aid him?' asked Robert, who was serving us the ale.\n\n'They may have sworn a mighty oath, youngster,' said Little John, 'but that doesn't mean they'll honour it.'\n\nAnd Little John was right. He told us that a group of northern barons, led by my new friends the lords de Vesci and Fitzwalter, had issued a joint proclamation declaring that though they held their lands from the King of England, and duly owed him military service for it, they had no obligation to fight in his wars outside his kingdom.\n\n'But that's nonsense,' said Robert. 'English knights have been fighting abroad for their kings since the days of the Conqueror!'\n\n'Quite right, youngster,' said Little John, looking at Robert in surprise at his shrewdness. 'But the barons are like anyone else. They like to back a winner.'\n\nWhile he was with us, I asked Little John to give Robert the benefit of his years of combat experience and, with Sir Thomas's permission, the big man and my little son spent an afternoon in the courtyard working on ways in which a man on foot could defeat a mounted knight. I did not witness the display \u2013 I was on the far side of my lands helping to pull a ewe out of a patch of marshy ground in which she had been mired \u2013 but that evening over supper Little John surprised me by saying: 'He's a rare boy, your Robert.'\n\nI asked him what he meant \u2013 bracing myself for John to say something derogatory about my son's lack of martial skills.\n\n'He can't fight worth a damn,' said the big man, 'but you know that already. But he does have a wise head on his shoulders for one so young. I was showing him how a spearman can dismount a knight, the old leg-heave method, when he said something extraordinary. He said: \"Instead of pushing him off the horse, Uncle John, why don't you pull him down? If you had the right sort of hook, you could pull him down like a bundle of hay off a wain.\"'\n\n'You can't go into battle with a hay-hook,' I said. 'You'd look ridiculous, and you couldn't really harm the knight when he was down. Are you sure he understood what he was talking about? He is very young, after all.'\n\n'Oh, he grasped it completely. And it's certainly worth thinking about.'\n\nI merely shrugged and then our talk turned to other matters.\n\nTwo days after Little John's departure, the alarm was raised by the lookout on the new tower. It was now the highest point in Westbury and gave a view of the surrounding flattish countryside for miles. The man-at-arms spotted a column of horsemen approaching on the road and immediately rang the big hand bell attached to the flagpole to alert the people in the courtyard below.\n\nI was pleased by the way Westbury reacted to the alarm. The big wooden gates in the front of the courtyard were speedily closed and double-barred with thick oak beams that lay snugly in iron brackets on either side of the portal. Every man-at-arms was rousted from their barracks or from the hall and mustered on the walls and on the roof of the tower. Our bowmen \u2013 a dozen men, sadly, no more \u2013 filed up on the right and left of the gatehouse, and strung their staves. A score or so of men-at-arms \u2013 mostly veterans, but also a handful of recruits from Westbury and the surrounding villages \u2013 manned the walls all around the palisade, while ten spearmen with heavy shields massed in the centre of the courtyard prepared to repel the attackers if the gate was breached. Baldwin marshalled the servants by the base of the tower; he was ready, if I ordered it, to start filling the keep with extra food, blankets and provisions and to get everybody inside in the time it takes to say an Our Father.\n\nAll this happened smoothly, with the minimum of fuss, and for that I had Sir Thomas to thank. He was captain of the guard at Westbury as well as Robert's tutor, and he had insisted on running drills for all the fighting men at least once a week from the very first day he had arrived. He was well liked by the men, many of whom had fought with him in the south. And those who did not like him feared him enough to obey his orders without hesitation.\n\nI was standing atop the walkway above the gatehouse, with Robert beside me, both of us in mail and helm, when Sir Thomas arrived beside me to report: 'The full garrison is turned out, sir, forty-four men and all ready for action. Orders, sir?'\n\n'Let's see who they are first and what they want, agreed?'\n\nI put a hand on Robert's shoulder and looked down at my son. He was beaming with joy to be there with me, mailed, sword on his hip, ready for battle as my squire. I had forgotten how exciting an armed confrontation like this could be for the young.\n\nI opened my mouth and roared: 'No one is to loose an arrow, launch a spear, throw an axe or make any other move unless I command it. Do you hear me?'\n\nAnd the men of Westbury gave me a cheer of assent in return.\n\nThe column of horsemen was fifty paces away by now and I could see banners borne by some of the leading horsemen and the gaudy surcoats of the riders. They came armed for war, there was no doubt about that, and I had a fairly good idea who they were and what they desired.\n\nA herald trotted forward of the pack and stopped in front of the palisade: 'These gates are to be opened immediately by order of His Royal Highness John, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, Count of Anjou, Poitou, Maine, Touraine and Mortain, loyal and most Christian servant of his Holiness Pope Innocent III\u2014'\n\n'I see no king among this company. Who usurps the King's name?' I bellowed.\n\nThere is a ritual, a formula to these encounters. Meaningless, of course, but I did not see any reason to deviate from it. I was counting their spears, judging the quality of their men and their mounts. A hundred and four, I made it. I was impressed.\n\n'I do,' shouted a commanding voice from the mass of horsemen now a stone's throw from my gates, and a big imposing man in full mail with a black-and-gold surcoat astride a pure white horse rode forward. He had short-cropped grey hair, a strong square face and his left eye was blind and milky and a scar ran down from it almost to his jaw. His right eye was a fierce pale blue, and he stared up at me without a shadow of trepidation or doubt.\n\n'I am Philip Marc, High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests, and I serve King John, who is lord of all in this realm.'\n\nI knew who he was, of course. Two men had emerged from the lines of cavalry behind him and took up positions either side of the sheriff. One man I also knew, a fat knight of good family and bad character; the other I had never seen before. He was a veritable giant. An enormous fellow, with dark skin the colour of old saddle leather, broad flat nostrils above a huge red mouth and black hair that curled in a hundred tight whorls on his head. The man was taller even than Little John and a good deal wider, too, with small, mean button eyes glowing in the rolls of fat on his angry-looking brown face. His horse was no destrier or palfrey \u2013 it was a heavy carthorse, as high as a man at the shoulder and perhaps twice the size of a normal horse. I knew this man-mountain, too, by reputation at least: he was the demon that had so frightened Baldwin. And yet he was truly no demon. He was just a man, albeit a vast man, from the forests of Africa to the south of the desert lands of the Moors. I had seen many men like him, although none so big, in the Holy Land and in Spain on the way home from the Great Pilgrimage.\n\n'What can I do for you, my lord?' I said to the sheriff, still looking over his companions.\n\n'You can open these God-damned gates, sir, and you can open them this instant, or you may call yourself a traitor to King and country.'\n\n'You come here with men arrayed for war and demand that I open my gates, sheriff. But I shall not do that. The last time you King's men came inside my walls you stripped it bare of food and livestock and silver. You shall not enter. I defy you.'\n\n'You can fight us, sir \u2013 if you feel inclined to test your luck \u2013 but I would advise against it,' said Sir Thomas, in a calm, powerful voice. 'I would suggest that you take yourselves away from these gates with all possible haste \u2013 because, if you do not, in about twenty heartbeats, I am going to begin the slaughter of your men.'\n\nSir Thomas made a hand signal and the archers, almost at the same time, all nocked arrows and drew back their cords to the ear.\n\nPhilip Marc smiled, a crooked little grin. He seemed not the slightest bit dismayed. 'Hold hard there, my good man,' he said. 'Let us not be hasty.'\n\nHe grinned insolently up at me. 'There is another choice, Sir Alan,' he said.\n\n'And what would that be?' I said.\n\n'We could talk,' said the sheriff. 'We could behave like Christians.'\n\nI made Marc send his cavalry back a good half-mile before I opened the gates. And then, under an agreement of truce, I allowed him and his two companions to enter the courtyard, before slamming shut the gate and barring it securely again.\n\nHowever, I could see no reason to be churlish. For all that the sheriff had come to me in force he was still the lawful representative of the crown and I was not, at least not yet, an outlaw. It crossed my mind that my plot with de Vesci and Fitzwalter to kill the King might have been betrayed, but while I watched carefully, I saw no sign of it on the faces of my guests. I had Baldwin organise a trestle table and benches to be set up in the courtyard and I told Robert to bring out ale and bread and cheese. Nothing too fancy, but not insultingly mean either. Philip Marc sat down, entirely at his ease, took a piece of bread and accepted the cup of ale poured by my son. The dark-skinned man-mountain ate and drank nothing and chose to stand at the south end of the table, and I was glad of it. I did not think the bench would have taken his colossal weight, and his height and bulk created some welcome shade.\n\nThe fat knight sat down opposite Philip Marc, next to Sir Thomas and, as he cut himself a huge chunk of cheese, I said: 'Well, well, Benedict, I have not seen your ugly face for a long while \u2013 but I see you have not lost your appetite.'\n\nSir Benedict Malet glared at me. I knew him for a glutton who put his own greed ahead of the needs of his men \u2013 I had discovered it when we had been at Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard together ten years before. I also knew him for a coward and traitor.\n\n'Very true, Sir Alan,' he responded through a mouthful of cheese crumbs. 'I believe I have not seen you since the day you murdered my friend Sir Joscelyn Giffard, the lord of Avranches.'\n\n'It was a fair fight,' I said hotly, 'a duel. He spilled my blood that day, too.'\n\n'He did not choose to fight you \u2013 yet you killed him. That is cold-blooded murder,' said Sir Benedict, cramming a hunk of bread into his mouth.\n\nI put my hand on my hilt, snarling. Truce or no truce, I would not be called a murderer in my own manor. Not by the likes of Benedict.\n\n'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said Philip Marc, 'a little decorum. We are here to talk business, not to cut each other to pieces. We can do that later, if it proves necessary.'\n\nSir Benedict carried on chewing but his stare was poison.\n\n'I see you have already met my esteemed deputy sheriff, Sir Benedict Malet. And that big fellow over there is Boot, he is my \u2026 let us say my factotum.'\n\nI was in no mood for pleasantries.\n\n'Tell me what you want here, sheriff,' I said brusquely.\n\n'I should have thought that was obvious \u2013 I want what most men want. I want money. Your money, to be exact. Benedict has a bit of parchment somewhere \u2013 it is your bill of accounting. I expect he will show it to you if you ask him prettily\u2026'\n\nBenedict made no move and I said nothing.\n\n'No? Not interested in the details?' said Marc. I could tell he was enjoying himself. 'Well, from my memory there is the matter of twenty marks or so outstanding for this year's taxes. And the King declares a further scutage of \u2013 oh, let us say fifteen marks \u2013 no, I feel generous, we'll call it ten marks.'\n\nI stared at the sheriff in silence. Sir Thomas shifted on his part of the bench. I saw that he was staring up at Boot with an expression close to awe in his eyes.\n\nNo one spoke. So Marc said: 'Well, if you would like to hand over the thirty marks \u2013 or twenty pounds, if you prefer \u2013 then we will be on our way and there will be no need for any further unpleasantness.'\n\n'That's it?' I said. 'You are demanding thirty marks \u2013 an outrageous sum which you know I cannot give you \u2013 and that's all you wanted to talk about? You could have shouted that up from outside the walls and saved everyone a deal of time and trouble. If you think you can take this manor \u2013 go ahead and try. I have powerful friends who will come to my aid. I wager we can hold you off till they come. And so \u2026 oh, just get out, will you, get out and take your fat friend and your factotum with you. Go!'\n\nI got up and shouted for the servants to open up the gates.\n\n'Oh dear, oh dearie, dearie me, I am becoming so absent-minded in my riper years,' said Philip Marc.\n\nThe doors of the castle had swung open and my grooms brought over the three horses of our guests.\n\n'There was one rather important point I forgot to mention\u2026'\n\nPhilip Marc swung up on to his horse.\n\n'Is that your boy there? A pretty lad. He serves at table well: neat and quiet. I like that. You must be proud of him.'\n\nI said nothing. Robert took a step closer to me. I could feel his presence behind my left shoulder.\n\nThe sheriff said: 'Well, here is the thing. The King must have his money. He is adamant. And I am empowered by him to use any means \u2013 I say any means at all \u2013 to raise it. So here it is: if you do not pay thirty marks in silver to the crown within the month, I will have my large friend Boot here tear your son's head from his shoulders. Boot! Show the gentlemen!'\n\nI looked up at the sheriff with the blood draining from my face. He was sitting there smiling down at me from the back of his horse. Had he really just threatened my son's life? In my own home? I turned to look at Boot. He had not moved from his position standing by the table. But he had grasped the edge of the trestle board with one vast hand. The top surface was an inch thick of seasoned oak. He squeezed the wood and seemed to rip it sideways as if it were no more solid than a loaf of rye bread, and before my very eyes that huge dark man tore a chunk the size of a trencher from my table.\n\nThe giant tossed the piece of wood at my feet, turned and lumbered over to his carthorse. As the three of them rode out of the gate, I looked down at the object at my feet. I could see the impressions of Boot's broad fingers indented in the wood.\n\nI did not pay the sheriff. I could have done, I suppose. I could have sold everything we had at Westbury and gone to the Templars or the Jews to raise the rest of the money. But I decided I would not give way to menaces, no matter what. Besides, it could have been no more than an empty threat. The King's chief officer in Nottinghamshire must surely balk at murdering an innocent child. The other great men of the county would not stand for it. I decided that the sheriff must have been testing my mettle, trying to put fear into me, and I determined that I would continue to defy him. Nevertheless, it is a hard thing to hazard your only son's neck and I did not sleep much in the next few weeks.\n\nI kept lookouts stationed on the tower night and day. And Robert never left Westbury without a guard of at least half a dozen armed men. But I did not wreck myself and Westbury to pay over the sheriff's spurious tax demand. As the weeks and then the months slid by I heard nothing more from Philip Marc and his minions. And with the passing of time, my mind grew easier.\n\nI did hear that the King had summoned his mercenaries and ridden north with a host determined to confront the northern barons over their refusal to serve him in Poitou, but on the road from London the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, a godly man, I had heard, and an honest one, had persuaded him that force was not the answer and King John had turned around and headed back south. I took that as a good sign. I heard nothing from Robin either that summer and I was loath to contact him as we had parted on less than cordial terms. That was bad, but I knew that if I saw him he would try to persuade me to abandon my plans for the King's removal.\n\nThe day of the ceremony at St Paul's drew closer and I grew more and more skittish. I practised drawing and stabbing with my misericorde for hour after hour until the sweet black blade seemed to leap into my hand \u2013 I had decided that I would make a frontal attack, plunging the blade into John's belly from the fore and then forcing it upwards to slice into the heart and lungs. It was a sure way of killing a man, I knew from long experience, and if I kept my body close to the King's while the steel went in and I shoved it upwards, I would be shielding my blow from many eyes.\n\nIn the week before the ceremony \u2013 in the drizzly, dreary start of October \u2013 I practised the blow so many times by day that I dreamt about the strike at night. On one occasion I caught sight of Thomas watching me seize the blade and mime the cut, but he said nothing and merely smiled, nodded approvingly and walked away. At the beginning of the second week of October, I handed over responsibility for the protection of young Robert and Westbury to Sir Thomas and his men-at-arms. Baldwin helped me to pack a satchel of fine clothes \u2013 I would need to fit in with the nobility of all England at the ceremony \u2013 and another of food and drink. I hung my sword from my saddle, strapped the misericorde to my left forearm, donned cloak and hood and, once again without squire or servant, I set off south on the road to London.\n\nI had a King to kill."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "I write these lines in haste and in secret. Disaster has befallen us. Prior William has been reading these pages eagerly, collecting them from me as soon as I have finished them and burning the candle half the night to read them in his private apartments. But when he summoned me not an hour ago, his rage was as mighty as a winter storm at sea: an assault of sound and fury on all the senses. He said that he'd had no knowledge that Brother Alan was so deeply involved in the plot to murder King John, our own dear monarch Henry of Winchester's esteemed father, and he has forbidden both Brother Alan and myself to continue with our task lest we give encouragement to others who seek to lay rough hands on royalty. I think I understand why. Prior William has hopes that our good King Henry will make him a bishop one day \u2013 he has long had his eye on the diocese of Durham \u2013 and he fears that tales of regicidal plots emanating from Newstead will not win him royal favour. I pleaded complete ignorance of the conspiracy against King John, as well I might, for this came to me, too, as a revelation. Although in truth, from what I have heard of the character of Henry's royal father \u2013 by all accounts a most cruel and evil man \u2013 I cannot condemn Brother Alan for his long-ago actions.\n\nPrior William went to see Brother Alan in his cell and berated him for a host of crimes, including l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9, treason and the sacrilege of regicide. He told Brother Alan that unless he showed the proper contrition, and did penance for it, he would burn in Hell. I know because I happened to be just outside the door of the cell with the dinner tray when it occurred and I heard every intemperate word.\n\nHowever, despite Brother Alan's advanced decrepitude, great courage yet burns within his papery, skeletal frame. He told the Prior that he would be judged for his actions on the Earth by God alone, and not by some easily outraged pipsqueak of a churchman. And Prior William near had a fit of apoplexy. He threatened to turn Brother Alan out of this House of God, tonight, to freeze his old bones in the snows \u2013 but my old scriptorium teacher would not be intimidated. He told the Prior that at his advanced age, and having lived the life that he has, he no longer feared death, even in the slightest degree \u2013 and if the Prior wished to have his ancient carcass expelled from the monastery for some episode long in the past that he knew nothing about, well, that was his privilege, but that he must thereafter look to his own conscience.\n\nGod will judge you, too, he said.\n\nDespite this provocation, Prior William stopped short at taking this extreme step, and contented himself with damning the old man and all his works, and in forbidding me to continue with my scribblings. Brother Alan's tale must remain untold, he thundered, until the Heavens fall and the seas turn to blood, and for my part in this disgraceful affair I am to be allowed no more than bread and water for my sustenance for one whole month.\n\nI am a man of God, I do so long to be His obedient servant, and to serve my lord Prior to the best of my ability and with an honest heart. And so I will accept his punishment and humbly restrict myself to bread and cold water for a month. But I am a disobedient man, too, a weak and foolish fellow, for I cannot rest until I have heard the rest of Brother Alan's tale. And so I visit my old friend in secret, when I know the Prior is in conclave with others, and when Brother Alan tells me of his deeds, I fix his words in my memory, with only a few notes on a small slate, and commit them to parchment afterwards in the privacy of my own cell.\n\nGod will no doubt judge me, too, for my wickedness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "I arrived in London the day before the ceremony in which King John would do homage for the kingdom of England to the Pope's representative, Master Pandulf, the papal legate. I had been to St Paul's Cathedral before, of course \u2013 what visitor to London hasn't? \u2013 but I wanted to do a thorough reconnaissance of the cathedral and the surrounding area to get a feel for the ground.\n\nI could not be certain where John would be at any particular time, except that it was likely that the King would spend some time greeting the gathered lords and bishops in the courtyard after the service of thanksgiving inside the cathedral \u2013 it would be dangerously rude not to acknowledge them, as many would have come from the furthest reaches of the country to witness this grave event.\n\nAs I strolled around the courtyard, which rang merrily to the sound of hammers as workmen erected a huge purple-canvas-covered wooden dais on the south-eastern side of the space where the actual ceremony of homage would take place, the enormity of what I was contemplating weighed on my mind. This man John, though a murderous coward and a treacherous snake, was God's anointed representative on Earth. He was the King of England! The Lord God Almighty had decreed that this man should rule over all of us, and who was I to flout His law? On the other hand, if God did allow me to slay the King, then God must approve of my actions. John was evil, he surely deserved to die. God must know this. Mayhap the Lord of Hosts guided my steps. I was in His hands, I told myself, and took some comfort from that.\n\nNevertheless, I went inside the cathedral to pray for guidance and ask God if the course I had chosen truly had His blessing.\n\nI was just getting up from my knees, when my eye was drawn to a pair of women by the shrine of St Earconwald. In truth, it was only one of the women who attracted my eye: she was tall, slender and graceful, and I could tell without even seeing her face that she was lovely. The second woman was shorter, stout and a good deal older, but both were dressed alike in white robes with a black surcoat over the top and a square black headdress. They were Cistercian nuns.\n\nThe shorter woman turned towards me; she was hanging on to the crook of the taller woman's right arm as if she were an invalid and needed the younger woman's support, but when she saw me and the direction of my gaze, she glared at me \u2013 a look of such ferocity that I was taken aback. The older woman immediately released her hold on the younger and turned full face to me, like a warrior facing an attacker \u2013 her countenance was leathery and square, almost manly, with a sharp hooked nose, a dark hairy shadow on her upper lip and small, brightly burning black eyes. The hatred blazed from her: if she had been a man I would have braced myself for a blow.\n\nThen the tall woman looked directly at me for the first time and I could see that I had been right \u2013 she was almost impossibly beautiful: glossy sable hair, a pure white heart-shaped face, wide red lips and happy blue-grey eyes.\n\n'Greetings, Sir Alan,' Tilda said, 'how lovely to see you again.'\n\nAt the sound of her voice, low, rich and smoky, my stomach dissolved.\n\nI strolled with Matilda Giffard down the long nave of St Paul's Cathedral. Behind us walked the short, angry-looking nun \u2013 who was revealed to be Anna, Prioress of Kirklees \u2013 craning her neck forward and desperately trying to hear what was said between Matilda and myself.\n\nAnna of Kirklees had thawed a little towards me when Tilda told her my name and that I served the Earl of Locksley. I knew that the previous earls had been generous to Kirklees and that Robin had continued the practice of patronage to that particular religious house. I asked after Godric, the outlaw Robin had sent to her, and the prioress told me that they had had to amputate a large part of his suppurating arm but they had managed to save his life. I thanked her on behalf of Robin and she managed a grim smile \u2013 but it was clear that she did not trust me with her beautiful companion and, as we walked slowly arm-in-arm down the length of the cathedral, she watched over our intercourse as a hawk watches a field mouse.\n\nIt was Tilda who suggested that we take a wander together to admire the beauty of the most famous cathedral in England and, to be honest, I was surprised by her friendliness. The last time we had met \u2013 at Kirklees Priory some ten years ago \u2013 the air had been thick with insults and imprecations. But it seemed that I had been forgiven. I asked Tilda what she was doing in London.\n\n'Oh, the prioress has been invited by the King to witness his homage to the Pope. All the heads of the great religious houses \u2013 bishops, abbots, priors \u2026 oh, everyone \u2013 will be coming. Anna asked me to be her travelling companion and I was happy to accede to her wishes. It is exciting, isn't it? All the nobility of England coming here. And for such a good reason, too. I feel sure, now the Pope is our overlord, that must bring England closer to God. Don't you agree, Alan?'\n\nI mumbled something.\n\nShe laughed. 'Why, Sir Alan, you seem shy all of a sudden. Surely you cannot have been thinking of our last meeting, when I behaved so abominably. You must allow me to apologise for all the vile and stupid things I said. I was angry with you over the death of my father \u2013 I was angry at the whole world in those days. But I have found true contentment now in the love of Christ. I hope we can put all that unpleasantness behind us, Alan, and be good friends again. Just like we used to be. Do you think you could be my friend?'\n\nWhen a gorgeous woman gazes into your eyes and asks if they can be your good friend, I defy any red-blooded man to say no. I certainly could not. Tilda might have been a bride of Christ, but I was floundering in her lovely blue-grey stare and, I confess, my thoughts were turning in an altogether unholy direction. I'd had her \u2013 once. And, by God, nun or no, I wanted her again.\n\nWe strolled along the aisle of the nave, and enjoyed the hurly-burly of the London crowds \u2013 for St Paul's was as much a public meeting place and market as it was a House of God \u2013 and I told Tilda what I had been doing over the past few years, my adventures in the south, and she seemed most impressed. I told her about young Robert's progress as a squire, and about my plans for Westbury and the tower I was building there. I even told her of my tax problems with Sheriff Marc. As we reached the end of the aisle, where workmen, making a terrible din and filling the air with white dust, were engaged in the construction of another bay on the end of the nave, we turned and began to head back east towards the choir.\n\nTilda said: 'I believe you have grown up, Sir Alan, all this talk of your son's education and building works in your home \u2013 and taxes! God save us all from taxes and the sheriff's boundless greed.'\n\n'You have had your own problems with these demands for money?' I asked.\n\n'By Heaven, we have,' said Tilda with a flash of anger in her eyes. 'Robert de Percy, the sheriff of Yorkshire, is a veritable beast in human form. He and his men thunder into the priory on horseback, issue dire threats and, although we try to accommodate them as best we can, times are hard. We give them what silver we can spare and they thunder away \u2013 only to be back a few months later with a fresh demand for an even greater sum. The prioress,' Tilda jerked her head backwards to the lady stumping along at our heels, 'my lady Anna, is at her wits' end. We have no more money put by; indeed, we were hoping to ask the Earl of Locksley if he would be so good as to make us a loan, just to keep the sheriff from the door.'\n\nI was suddenly seized by a quiet rage. I thought about the 'thieves' who had broken into Kirkton, sheriff's men trying to intimidate Marie-Anne; and the same violent fellows terrorising Kirklees Priory and the good and holy women there as well. I thought about Philip Marc, our Nottinghamshire sheriff, threatening to have his monster tear off my son's head if I refused to pay. I ground my back teeth. The same story was repeated again and again, all across that land. And the source of all of this intimidation and injustice was one man \u2013 the King. The King who exhorted his sheriffs to gather increasing quantities of silver from a land already groaning under the weight of his demands.\n\nI was now more certain than ever that the King must be removed. Once again God had answered me.\n\n'I dare say Robin will help you,' I said. 'And, as I am to dine with him today, I will mention your request and press the issue with him. But you may also find that, after tomorrow, Robert de Percy and all the other sheriffs and royal bullies will no longer be the blight on this land that they have become. I am sworn to secrecy and cannot say more,' I said, 'but, trust me when I say your troubles may suddenly, and very soon, be over.' I gave her a significant look and tapped the hilt of my sword.\n\nTilda told me I was a courageous man, she even kissed me lightly on the cheek and said that, if ever I happened to find myself in the vicinity of Kirklees, I must be sure to visit the priory. 'It has changed quite a bit since you were last there, Sir Alan,' said Tilda. 'We have extended the herb gardens to almost twice the original size. And the new infirmary \u2013 almost as big as the church and stone-built \u2013 is the wonder of the county. We do God's healing work there\u2026'\n\n'Sir Alan Dale,' said a deep male voice behind me, 'is that you?'\n\nI had heard that St Paul's was the heart of London, the place to meet people and exchange gossip. I had heard that you would hear all the news of England if you spent enough time there and would run into everyone who was anyone if you idled long enough in its precincts, but I had not seriously believed it. Yet here was another old acquaintance met by chance that same morning.\n\n'Sir Aymeric de St Maur, God's blessing on you,' I said to the tall, elderly, broad-shouldered man standing a yard away. 'You're in good health, I trust?'\n\n'As good as Our Lord and this pestilential city will allow me,' said Sir Aymeric. 'Yourself? You look fit, Alan \u2013 heard you were consorting with Cathars and heretics and other undesirables. But you are back, I see, and apparently unharmed.'\n\nDespite his words, Sir Aymeric de St Maur was smiling at me. We had had a number of run-ins in the past, and he had at times been friend and foe, but I respected the man, and admired him, for all that we did on occasion end up on opposite ends of the battlefield. Indeed, I liked him and I suspected that he liked me.\n\n'I have heard that your many talents, my lord, have at last been recognised by your blessed brethren,' I said. 'I hear that you are now the Master of the English Temple and lord of all the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ in this land. How does all that wealth and power sit with you? You seem none the worse for it.'\n\n'Ha! You are pleased to jest, Sir Alan. I have far less power than you might imagine and recently a lot less wealth: King John has twice this year demanded that the Knights of the Temple make generous loans to him \u2026 But enough of my tedious affairs. What brings you to London, my friend?'\n\n'The same as everybody, I would imagine,' I lied, waving a hand about at the crowds of well-dressed folk wandering up and down the nave, 'the King's homage to the papal legate tomorrow. But let me introduce you to my companions\u2026'\n\nThe meeting dissolved into pleasantries. Sir Aymeric was courteous to the two Cistercian ladies, praising the healing work of Kirklees, but he seemed rather too distracted to give them their proper due. Eventually, when he was about to take his leave of us, he drew me aside.\n\n'Would you give my lord of Locksley a private message from me, Sir Alan,' he said, looking grave. I agreed, and he said this: 'Tell Locksley that I wish to speak to him while he is in London about a most urgent matter. If he would care to call by the Temple at his earliest convenience, I would be most grateful. And be sure to tell him this \u2013 it would be to his great disadvantage to make it later rather than sooner.'\n\nIt was a summons from the Templars.\n\nAnd, for a courteous man, it was couched in none too courteous terms.\n\nI was due to dine with Robin that day but it was almost noon when I took my leave of the ladies and made my way down towards Queen's Hythe, where Robin was staying with a wine merchant friend of his.\n\nThe wine that was served with dinner was magnificent but my welcome into the presence of my lord was not. There were a dozen other noblemen at the feast, including William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, and William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, the King's half-brother who had led us to victory at Damme. There were also several of the grander merchants of London. I noticed that all the noblemen gathered there were staunch supporters of the King \u2013 none of the discontented northern barons were present. Had Robin chosen a side? Had he chosen to take the King's part?\n\nI must admit that we feasted royally: roasted venison and wild boar, and spitted hares and dripping capons, great baskets of bread, bowls of freshly picked sallet leaves, crayfish stew, lamprey pies, cheese, fruit, puddings, nuts and wine \u2013 and more wine. I ate and drank with the rest of my lord's guests, but I was placed as far away from Robin as was possible given my rank as a senior knight. Indeed, whereas I had once frequently sat at his right hand, I now occupied a place far down the table among the lesser men-at-arms. My lord was angry with me. That much was clear.\n\n'He knows what you are up to, Alan,' Little John told me in a loud whisper, when I stopped the big man after the feast and asked him why I was being treated so coldly. 'He doesn't like it. It would be best if you abandoned your little plot.'\n\n'Not you as well, John,' I protested. 'Surely you know why I'm doing this; surely you agree that the man is a royal turd who must be washed down the chute.'\n\n'Oh, aye,' the big man said, 'I have no problem with you taking out the King. And I'm sure you can do it. But I have a problem with you going against orders to do it. Robin is my lord \u2013 and yours \u2013 and he says no to this. Now, I won't stand in your way, for the sake of our friendship, but don't ask for my help either.'\n\nRobin was cold and formal when I finally got to speak to him alone, long after all his guests had left. After the dinner he had been closeted with some of the greater barons and merchants for several hours and by the time I was admitted to his chambers, it was growing dark. Robin looked ill-tempered and out of sorts. I repeated the Master of the Templars message word for word so as to convey its rudeness and urgency. But Robin merely grunted and looked at me with apparent distaste.\n\n'So now you are mixed up with the Templars, too, are you?' he said.\n\nI frowned. 'I am not mixed up \u2013 as you put it \u2013 with the Templars. I am merely delivering the message of the Master, who is an old friend of mine. And I am offering to take a reply back to the Temple tonight, if you desire it.'\n\n'I have no reply for them.'\n\n'Do you know what they want?' I asked.\n\n'No, and I don't care. I have had enough of Templars to last me a lifetime. The last time I went to the Temple, if you remember, they put me on trial for my life.'\n\n'They will think you churlish if you don't reply.'\n\n'God damn you, Alan. Why must you always seek to tell me what to do? I will have nothing to do with the Templars and their plots and politics \u2013 I have enough on my mind as it is \u2013 and if you were a wiser man, you would have nothing to do with them either. And nothing to do with those other cowardly schemers, de Vesci and Fitzwalter. Can't you see that they are merely using you? You are acting like a fool!'\n\nI lost my control then. My anger had been simmering ever since the humiliation of dinner and the long wait to see him, and it boiled over in that instant.\n\n'You call Fitzwalter a coward \u2013 and yet he at least has the courage to strike at the tyrant. You, apparently, do not. Perhaps it is not he but you who is the coward!'\n\nRobin's face was white as salt.\n\n'Get out!' he said quietly. 'Get out of this house before I do something I regret.'\n\nI was already wishing my words back in my mouth. I had called my lord a coward to his face. I wanted to say that I did not mean it. I wanted to apologise to him and ask for his forgiveness, but before I could speak, Robin, for the third time, even more quietly and infinitely more menacingly, said: 'Get out, Alan. Now!'\n\nI found my legs moving as if under the control of another man, taking me out of the chamber and towards the front door.\n\nI must have walked back to my lodgings in Friday Street, a house owned by Lord Fitzwalter, but I have no recollection of it. I must have taken myself up to the garret at the top of the house where I was staying and washed and undressed and rolled into my cot. I must have fallen asleep. The next day, I rose late, long after dawn, with a double sense of dread, and washed and dressed myself in my finest clothes: the striped hose with the leather soles, the sky-blue wide-sleeved tunic and black hat. I do not think I have ever felt quite so alone. I strapped the misericorde to my left wrist and checked that it could not be seen when my arm was lowered. I drew it once and practised the killing stroke: a thrust, and twist upwards of the blade to find the heart.\n\nMy own heart was beating like a tambour. I felt the fear of what I was about to do weigh like lead upon my soul. My palms were wet, my hands shook. I felt sick to my stomach. God give me strength, I prayed. Do not let me prove to be a coward today, of all days. But despite my milksop quaking and the terrible deed that lay before me, half of my mind was on what I had said to Robin the night before. I wanted to rush directly round to the merchant's house in Queen's Hythe and throw myself on his mercy, beg for a reconciliation, tell him that I must have been drunk or mad to say such a thing. But I could not do it. Apart from pride or my dignity or anything of that nature, I had not the time.\n\nThe killing hour was upon me."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "As I arrived at St Paul's Churchyard, I could hear the glorious singing of the monks from the cathedral spilling from the arched windows and the great open door in the south transept. It steadied me somewhat, that holy music, and I wiped my damp palms on my tunic and willed myself to be calm. God is here, I told myself. He sees me, He loves me. He will guide my arm this day. He is my strength and my shield.\n\nI waited with the mass of people south of the cathedral, twenty yards from the dais and its gaudy purple awning where the ceremony would take place. It seemed as if the whole world was gathered in that courtyard to catch a glimpse of the King: apprentices with glowing faces, joyful with youth and at having a day of leisure; poor knights perhaps hoping for a chance to impress the court; big London goodwives angling for a touch of the King's mantle or a blessing for a sick child, merchants, shopkeepers, butchers, barbers, sailors at liberty from their ships, country folk in white smocks and floppy straw hats, children, dogs and horses. The great nobles and their retinues were already inside the church but I looked closely at the sea of faces and saw to my relief a captain of Fitzwalter's guards, bold in a gorgeous golden cloak with half a dozen men-at-arms at his back and a pair of slatternly women giggling beside him, there on the far side of the dais. He saw me looking at him from thirty yards away and gave me a small discreet nod of acknowledgement.\n\nBe calm, I told myself. You know why you do this. For poor murdered Arthur, Duke of Brittany, for my son Robert, so that he may grow up and prosper in a just and fair land not under the yoke of a tyranny, for England and all her people \u2026\n\nAnd yet \u2026 And yet. He was the King. And what I was about to do would echo throughout England, throughout the world. God Himself had set King John over us, and I was presuming to know the mind of the Almighty, to know that He willed this King's life to be cut short by my hand. For a moment I contemplated walking away, pushing through the crowds and out into the vastness of London. I would find a tavern and drink until I knew no more. I was no assassin. What had I been thinking? I was a knight \u2013 I hoped a man of honour \u2013 and here I was, contemplating this foul murder of the highest in the land. My back was slick with sweat, my knees were trembling, I could not seem to stop swallowing my own spit. And where, where was the King? The singing had long ceased in that vast House of God. Why was he not coming out of the cathedral? Had he changed his plans; had he somehow got wind of the plot? Was he toying with me? For an instant I stepped out of my body and contemplated the sweaty, trembling wretch I had become, his gaudy holiday clothes covering his black assassin's heart, one evil man in a crowd of happy innocent folk. Enough, Alan, I told myself. Be a man, for the love of God. Do not think; just do!\n\nAnd, at last, they were coming out. A blast of trumpets. A blaze of bright colour. A file of Flemish crossbowmen wearing the lions of England on their red surcoats were shoving the crowds back. And there was the King of England, John, son of King Henry, brother of lionhearted Richard, a sallow figure, short, stooped, with greying once-bright hair but eyes as dark as his soul. He was dressed in a long purple cloak with white ermine at the shoulders and a thin circlet of gold around his brow. The crowd gave a vast roar \u2013 Love? Joy? Hatred? Contempt? Who could say?\n\nThe Flemish men-at-arms cleared a path for the King, brutally forcing the people back with their big wooden crossbows, using the heavy T-shaped weapons like cudgels and leaving more than a few bloodied faces in their wake.\n\nJohn strolled into the centre of the courtyard, in an area of empty space, serene, yet with a slight supercilious smile playing over his lips. Behind him, out of the church door in a flood, came the other nobles, dazzling in blood red and leaf green, sea blue and silvery white, black fur and pale silk, jewels on every hand and at the neck, glinting in the sunlight.\n\nI saw Fitzwalter's captain of guards in gold and scarlet scanning the crowd for me, finding my face and starting to push his way towards me. There was Robin, too, in dark forest green, bareheaded and standing beside the papal legate, Master Pandulf, an austere figure in black with touches of wine-red at neck and cuff, and Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Robin saw me, I know he did, but his eyes moved over me as if we were strangers. Then he turned his back and began speaking to the legate. Fitzwalter's captain was at my shoulder by then. A comforting golden presence with eight mailed men forming a dense wedge behind him.\n\n'Ready, sir?' he said.\n\nI could not speak. My tongue and throat had become knotted. I managed a curt nod. The King was ten paces from me moving slowly towards the dais inside a loose ring of crossbowmen. John deigned to speak to a few of the men in the crowd; smiled and waved at others; a woman threw a rose at him that landed on the royal chest before slipping to the ground and I saw him flinch, for a moment, utterly terrified. William the Marshal called out a greeting to the King and was rewarded with a raised hand and a wave. The King was five paces from me, almost at the steps of the dais.\n\n'Now!' said the captain in my ear.\n\nDon't think, Alan, just do! Do it, now.\n\nI moved jerkily towards the King, my eyes fixed on his face. I heard the sound of women shouting far behind him and away to my left; felt a wave of movement in the crowd. A burly crossbowman stood before me, a bearded man, reeking of garlic, but his head was twisted away, searching for the source of the commotion.\n\nThe women's screams had doubled in volume. I saw the red-haired wench seize a handful of the other woman's hair. A slap rang out. Men-at-arms were moving in to separate the women. More screams and harsh male shouts.\n\nThe Flemish crossbowman was distracted; his eyes fixed on the struggling women and the knot of soldiers around them. I slipped easily past his shoulder. The King was a mere three paces from me, with nothing between us but air.\n\nI ran over in my mind the words I planned to say to the King at the moment the misericorde plunged into his belly: 'This death is made in the memory of Arthur, Duke of Brittany, whose murder at your orders I witnessed with my own eyes. Arthur thou art avenged!'\n\nI realised that my lips had been moving to the words in my head.\n\nDon't think, Alan; just do!\n\nThe King's gaze flashed to my face. He opened his mouth. I took a step forward.\n\n'There, Stevin, there. It's Dale. The assassin! Take him, man, take him.'\n\nMy right hand was at my left sleeve; I was a yard away from the target.\n\nBut before I could even touch the handle of the weapon a force like a charging bull slammed into my back and hurled me sprawling to the ground. I saw a garlic-stinking bearded face snarling above mine and smashed my right fist into it. I lifted my head, my belly and upper legs pinned by the dead weight of the crossbowman and another fellow crashed down on top of my head and torso, flattening me back to the earth. I kicked and punched, writhed, squirmed and tried to reach my blade, but in an instant both my hands were held fast. Then my ankles were seized. There were booted legs all around. I felt a kick smash into my ribs. The pinning body suddenly lifted from my head and I stretched out my neck, teeth snapping, trying to bite anything within reach, and saw the shadow of a black, wooden T-shaped object swinging towards me. It crashed into the side of my head and I knew no more.\n\nI have been knocked out of the world before, God knows, more times than I care to count, and mostly I recovered soon enough without serious hurt after a little rest and quiet. This time it was different. Perhaps it was my advancing age. Perhaps the savage blow from the crossbow stock to my head shook up my brains in some unusual way. Perhaps it was because over the next few days the beatings never seemed to cease and I was never allowed to properly recover my senses. In any case, I cannot fully recall the next section of my life.\n\nI know that I was bound, hand and foot, and stripped naked of my holiday finery, like a hog ready for slaughter, that every passing man-at-arms seemed to take a delight in kicking my bruised and roaring head. I was blindfolded, too, for a while, or maybe I just became blind for a period for I remember blackness and noise and pain \u2013 an ocean of pain. The beatings continued and I think I was in a church at some point \u2013 perhaps the cathedral itself, although it seemed a far smaller building. I smelled incense and wax and for some strange reason frying bacon and orange blossom.\n\nTime passed and I heard voices raised in anger. The King's, Aymeric de St Maur and William the Marshal, too. And that of Tilda as well, soft and comforting, and her cool hand on my brow \u2013 but dreams and reality could not be easily parted. I thought I was at Westbury, at one point, with young Robert weeping over my dead body, saying 'Don't leave me, Father, don't leave me at the mercy of that man.' I was back in the Holy Land with the blazing sun beating on my face. I was in Sherwood, still little more than a child, and Little John was crushing my head between his massive hands, the pressure tightening and tightening like a vice, and he was saying: 'God's fat greasy bollocks, Alan, you've drunk up all the ale again. You must be punished.'\n\nI was in a cage, a wooden box on wheels with oak slats for bars, jolting over ruts in the road, and the sound and smells of horses, a sharp golden light in my eyes and rough hands pulling me from a slick of my own blood and vomit and the garlic-loving crossbowman punching me again and again before allowing me to slump down to the green turf. And blackness, sweet night and the blessed absence of light and noise.\n\nI came to my senses in blackness. I truly believed that I might be dead and in some limbo state between Heaven and Hell. I opened my left eye. The other seemed to be glued shut. The blackness was the same with that eye open or closed. But my hands and legs were free and I reached up and touched my face and felt wetness and rough scabbing, and what seemed like vast hard lumps and bags of swollen tissue all over my face. I had no idea where I was or how long it had been since the day of the ceremony of papal homage. My hands roamed all over my body, feeling the tenderness in every inch of skin, the cuts and grazes, the pulpy ache of bruises no longer fresh. But I did not seem to have any broken bones: that in itself was a mercy, or perhaps in the afterlife all limbs were made whole. I was cold, deathly cold. Shivering like a man with an ague. I realised I was naked as a baby. And wet all over. I did not know whether the dampness came from sweat or blood or my own piss \u2013 my swollen nose was blocked solid and incapable of doing its duty. My questing fingers groped about my body and I felt cloth. Hallelujah! A blanket, by the feel of it. Furry with mould, torn and damp, but good English wool. I pulled it around my shoulders and sat up. My head reeled \u2013 streaks of red and yellow and silver exploding behind my eyes. My empty stomach heaved and I had to lower my head or I felt that I would die. I lay down and pulled the blanket over my shoulders and left the world once more.\n\nI believe it was thirst that awakened me, my tongue dry and swollen twice its size and rough as oak bark. But I was still in the same dark place on a hard floor with a mouldy blanket over me and nothing more to cover my body. I could only conclude that I was alive. I was too aware of the aches and pains of my body to have left it behind on the mortal earth. Cautiously, I got to my feet. Every inch of my body hurt from my poor beaten head down to my bruised toes. I felt a wall on my left-hand side, rough, unplastered stone. Using my fingertips as eyes in the inky void, I began to explore my new world. It was a cold, barren place: four rock walls, a smooth stone floor and a ceiling about a foot above my head. I found a big, cool earthenware jug of water and a small wedge of rye bread, old and hard as hatred. Nothing more except a small wooden door set into the wall near one corner, on which I could feel the cold iron bands and studs that fortified it.\n\nI drank half the water and used a cupful of it to soften the bread and get it down my throat. Using a strip of the blanket dipped in the jug I managed to unstick my right eye, though it was still swollen and tender and I could see no more in the blackness than before. I sat back down on the blanket and began to think.\n\nI was a prisoner of the King, that much was clear. But where was I? Still in London? I thought not. I had been on a journey in that hellish stinking wooden cage, at least a day and a night. I reckoned that had been real. Though I had no idea where I had been taken or even in which direction. I thought about the King's words before his guards had wrestled me to the ground.\n\nThey were the last thing I remember clearly: 'There, Stevin, there. It's Dale. The assassin! Take him, man, take him.'\n\nThe King had called me an 'assassin' and named me. He clearly knew what I had intended to do before I even attempted it. Which begged the question: why was I still alive? If the King knew I had meant to murder him, why had he not had me hanged out of hand? Or had my throat cut and my body dumped in the Thames. He had done something similar to Arthur of Brittany and on far less provocation.\n\nMy bladder required my attention. I groped around the black space once more, feeling with my fingertips at ground level and especially in the corners, and found what I was searching for. A round hole about six inches wide that dropped straight down below the floor for at least the length of my forearm. It was a drain. And this, I reasoned, meant that this was certainly a prison cell. Probably in the guts of a castle. The drain was to allow the noisome effluent produced by the prisoners to be swilled away by the guards. I used it for its intended purpose. Then sat back down on the blanket.\n\nHow long had I been in here, I wondered. I felt my chin and upper lip. There was a good deal of bristle beneath the scabs and filth \u2013 four days? Five? I had been shaved clean by a chatty London barber the day before the ceremony of homage. The ceremony had been held on Sunday, the saint day of Edward the Confessor, the thirteenth day of October. I had spent at least one night on the road, beaten unconscious by \u2013 what was that smelly brute's name? Stevin? So we might assume two days' travelling. In a slow cart two days might mean fifty miles. Had I imagined it, or had I seen the sun getting lower between the pair of horses that pulled my wooden cage along the road? If so, we had been heading west. I was probably about fifty miles west of London. As I was King John's prisoner, it was likely that I was being held in the dungeon of a royal castle, or one held by his staunchest allies. I thought of the royal strongholds that I knew of fifty miles west of London. Oxford? No, too far. Windsor? No, too close to London. Then I knew it: Wallingford. A small but strong royal fortress a dozen or so miles south-east of Oxford.\n\nI was in Wallingford Castle. And judging by my beard, it was Thursday, the seventeenth day of October. Or possibly Friday.\n\nI cannot tell you how cheered I was by my reckonings. I believed that I knew where I was and the day of the week. Paltry foundations on which to build your courage, you might think. But they made a new man of me.\n\nI got up and hammered on the door with my fists \u2013 hurting myself in the process; even my hands were torn and bruised, and I knew that I must have fought my abusers and landed some blows. I called out as loudly as I could for a guard. My voice was weak, little more than a croak. There was no response. The silence mocked me. A wave of raw despair closed over my head once more.\n\nI drank more water. I slept some more, too, and dreamt that I was free and happy and back at Westbury with Robert. We were riding, racing each other, in fact, on horseback across a wide open meadow, with spring flowers crushed under our horses' hooves scenting the air and the sunlight in our faces, hot sunlight \u2026\n\nI opened my eyes into a blaze of light. The cell door was wide open and a squat figure holding a burning pine torch stood in the doorway. The light burnt my eyes, and I had to shield them with a hand. The figure advanced and I saw it was holding a long, thick club in its right hand. Without a word, the gaoler came forward and struck at my head, hard. I got my shoulder and forearm up in time to stop the blow smashing into my skull \u2013 luckily, for I think it might have killed me. As it was, the blow thumped across my shoulder and clipped the top of my head and set off a hellish screaming inside my skull. I was immediately knocked flat on to my back, sprawled helpless on my blanket.\n\n'Want another?' The creature raised the club over me. The voice was light, boyish, but I confess I cowered. On another day I might have taken that club away and forced it far up the fellow's fundament. But I was weak, hurting and my whole left arm felt numb and leaden.\n\n'You behave yourself, like a good little boy, and you'll get a nice, hot bowl of soup later, when we get ours. You give me trouble\u2026' The shape lifted the club.\n\n'Who are you?' I said. 'Where am I?'\n\nThe gaoler swung the club but I twisted away as fast as I could and the blow cracked agonisingly against my spine.\n\n'Bein' a good boy means you don't ask no questions. That vexes me, see?'\n\nI said nothing. The pain was making it hard for me to breathe.\n\n'Now, you get up, up now, and you stand still.'\n\nThe guard prodded me with the club.\n\nI thought: I swear I will pay you out for that, you whoreson bastard. But I did not dare say a word aloud, not a word. I hauled my battered body with considerable difficulty into a standing position.\n\nIt hurt even to stand.\n\n'Now be still. Just there. Don't move a muscle.'\n\nThe squat gaoler disappeared through the open doorway. My eyes were a little more used to the light by now and I could see into the room outside my cell. It was slightly bigger than my chamber but similar in its stark lack of decoration and almost as empty. Stone walls, a table and a stool. The gaoler, I saw to my surprise, was a strongly built woman of middle years with long grey hair tied in a horse's tail at the back and clad in a sleeveless leather coat. A vast sagging bosom protruded from the front of the coat, hanging over her belly. A filthy skirt hung to her ankles. She had her back three-quarters turned to me, had put her club on the table and was filling a small, iron-banded wooden bucket with a rope handle from a wooden butt on the far side of the room.\n\nShe came back to the door of the cell and flung a bucket of icy water directly in my face. I flinched from the shock and took one pace back.\n\nThe gaoler screamed: 'Don't you move! Don't you fuckin' move!'\n\nThen she seemed to gather herself and she said more quietly. 'Don't you vex me, Sir Knight. Get back on that spot there and stay deadly still! I'm to clean you up, they said. Clean you up nice and make you presentable. You've got a visitor, they say. So don't you vex me.'\n\nI returned to the spot by the door that she had indicated, the water steaming down my face and naked body. The gaoler returned to her butt and refilled the bucket.\n\nI stood quite still.\n\nThe gaoler drew back her arms to hurl the water. I braced myself. The cold water flashed towards me. I reached out my left hand, pushing it straight into the deluge, seized the rim of the bucket, more by luck than skill, for the flying water had blinded me, and hauled back.\n\nThe gaoler, still holding the rope handle of the bucket and utterly surprised, shot forward, and I punched her as hard as I could with my right fist.\n\nIt was not the best punch I have ever thrown. I was weak, dizzy, my body was battered and bruised in a hundred places, but it was a half-decent strike and \u2013 much as I hate to hit a woman \u2013 I felt a flare of bright joy as my knuckles crunched into her hard jaw and I felt the snap of bone. The gaoler staggered against the side of the cell, her legs wobbling beneath her. The empty bucket clattered against the stone floor at my feet. She shouted: 'Alarm! Alarm!' \u2013 a feeble cry, but it spurred me to action.\n\nI stooped, picked up the bucket by the rope handle, and as the gaoler recovered slightly and straightened up, I swung it and the iron-banded weight smashed into the side of her head. The bucket disintegrated into a mess of metal hoops, splinters and kindling. She fell like a dropped stone.\n\nI slipped out of the open door like a weasel. I had the club in my hand and came back into the cell to see that the woman was still alive, even conscious, and was struggling to get to her feet, blood streaming from her ear. She was a hard-headed bitch, I'll give her that.\n\nI killed her, God forgive me, with one chopping blow of the club to the crown of her head, putting a dent the size of an apple in her skull. Then I stripped the long leather coat from her corpse. Wrapping the mouldy blanket around my loins \u2013 it was light green, I discovered \u2013 and club still in hand, I limped to the door of the outer room. I was but one pace from the door when it swung open of its own accord. A crossbowman, a big bearded fellow, stepped into the room. His weapon was held to his right shoulder, it was spanned, a black quarrel in the groove, and pointed directly at my heart. I saw that it was my old garlic-eating friend Stevin \u2013 and behind him I could see four or five other crossbowmen, and beyond them a pair of men with long spears.\n\nStevin said: 'Put the club down this very instant or you die.'\n\nI could see his right hand tightening on the lever that would release the cord and drive the quarrel through two yards of air and deep into my chest. At that range, it would have punched a hole straight through and out the other side.\n\nThe club clattered to the ground.\n\n'Over there, sit on your hands,' said Stevin, motioning me with the crossbow to the wall of the chamber. The other guards flooded into the room, jostling and gaping at me. I sat against the stone, my poor bruised hands under my poor bruised thighs.\n\n'Sweet Jesu, he's killed Jessie!' said one of the crossbowmen, peering into the cell at the gaoler's corpse, his face pale as milk.\n\nStevin said, over his shoulder: 'He is as vicious as they say. Tricksy, too, by all accounts. And not above murdering anyone in his path. I want men with bows on him all the time, every instant when he is not in the cell. Am I clear? Jan, Willi \u2013 you keep your weapons spanned and on him all the time.'\n\nAnd to me: 'I would as soon kill you now, assassin. But you have a visitor who wishes to speak to you, so I shall forgo the pleasure. Now, get on your feet. You walk three paces ahead of me. If you walk too fast, I kill you; if you run, I kill you; if you slow down, I kill you. Am I clear? If you make any sudden move, I kill you. Yes?'\n\nI was marched down the long corridor outside the cell and its anteroom with three quarrel points making my back itch. I walked as well as I was able, a decent speed, neither too fast nor too slow \u2013 but not from fear at Stevin's threat.\n\nIt seemed to me that I was a dead man already and it could only be an hour or two at most before I was in my grave."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "I was marched along the corridor, and glancing right and left through open doors, I saw that there were at least four other cells with antechambers just like mine. Through one door I saw a larger room with a brazier glowing a dull red and manacles hanging from the walls. An emaciated wretch was strapped to a table in there, pale as a frog's belly, except where the irons had blistered his skin purple. His eyes were closed and I prayed that he had found his eternal rest. This was clearly a prison, designed specifically for holding men, punishing them, absorbing their screams. And, oddly, I was a little cheered by this. I had heard tell of such a place: known as Brien's Close after a fierce nobleman in the days of war between King Stephen and Empress Matilda, or the 'Anarchy', as that period of lawlessness is now called. And it was inside Wallingford Castle. I had been correct in my calculations. I would know where I was to meet my death.\n\nWe went up a set of stone steps and along another corridor: guardrooms on this floor, and kitchens, by the smell of it. Onion soup cooking. Then we came out of the building into the grey light of an October day and I found myself in a large courtyard perhaps a hundred and twenty yards wide. It was surrounded on all side by high stone walls, with towers set into them. To my right was a vast mound of packed earth a hundred feet high and atop it a curtain wall beyond which I could make out a strong square tower, the motte. Directly in front of me was, of all things, a vegetable garden: a rounded square filled with neat rows of leeks and onions, herbs and medicinal plants; a section of apple trees and trellises of plums. For some reason, Tilda and the new herb garden at Kirklees sprang into my mind. I had never seen it and I never would. I would have liked to have seen Tilda one more time, too, before the end. But that was clearly not to be.\n\nThe crossbowmen closed up around me as we crossed the courtyard and the people walking about in that space, men-at-arms, servants, a monk or two, stopped at the sight of me and gawped. I felt painfully conscious of how I must have looked: a prisoner, filthy and bloody, bruised and cut, dressed in a dead woman's leather coat with a mouldy blanket wrapped around my middle. A drunken pair of knights guffawed at my state and pointed, slapping their sides with mirth; a passing priest closed his eyes and began to pray as I shambled past awkwardly barefoot with my cloud of watchful guards.\n\nI was herded, not towards the motte and the high tower at its summit, but to the far side of the courtyard, towards the open gate through which I could just glimpse a broad expanse of water \u2013 the Thames, I assumed. I thought for a moment about trying to run. The main gate was wide open, and if I could slip my wardens I might find a boat \u2026 But I knew it was futile. I would not get ten yards before I was skewered by a trio of lethal quarrels. And I did not want to die. Not yet. The perennial prayer of the condemned man: Dear Lord, not now, I beg you, not now.\n\nMy captors took me to a large hall on the far side of the courtyard, and bustled me inside. It was half-filled with folk \u2013 castle servants, men-at-arms, countrymen and women, dogs and even a couple of hawkers with their birds on their arms \u2013 and I was shoved roughly to the floor by the wall and told to sit quietly and wait. While Jan and Willi stood over me with their bows \u2013 I was gratified to see that they were very tense and seemingly much afraid of me \u2013 I rested my head back against the wattle-and-daub wall and closed my eyes.\n\n'Good Lord, you look a mess,' said a voice. I opened my eyes and looked up at a tall man with cropped iron-grey hair, dressed in a rich scarlet-coloured ankle-length tunic. He had a long sword at his waist and an ivory crucifix on a golden chain around his neck.\n\nIt was Aymeric de St Maur, Master of the English Templars.\n\nThe Templar began issuing orders: 'Get this man a stool, now, and a cup of ale \u2013 for the love of God. And something to eat.'\n\nStevin and the others had disappeared, but Jan and Willi looked at each other, hesitating.\n\n'Get on with it, you fools. Now!' Sir Aymeric's words cracked like a whip. 'I'll watch him. He will not run, I promise you.'\n\nAs Jan unspanned his bow, tucked his quarrel in his belt and hurried away to obey the words of command, Willi looked sick with fear, but he held his ground and kept his crossbow pointed unwaveringly at my head like a good soldier.\n\n'Well, you've really done it now, Sir Alan,' said Aymeric in a kindly tone. 'They say you were all ready to cut the King's head clean off. Is that right?'\n\nI said nothing and closed my eyes again.\n\n'Answer me, man, we don't have much time. Were you trying to kill the King?'\n\nI was spared from answering by the arrival of a pair of servants with a stool and a jug of ale. I drank it greedily and set it between my feet as someone handed me a bowl of oat porridge with a handful of raisins stirred into it. I sat on the stool and slurped the food and washed it down with the ale, and Aymeric de St Maur looked down at me with a silent compassion.\n\nWhen I had finished he said: 'Alan, I know you are a good son of the Church, and if you are to be executed, I know that you will want to die in a state of grace. I can shrive you of your sins, I can guarantee you a place in the Heavenly Kingdom, and I would do it \u2013 but if you care for your soul, you must answer this question.'\n\nI remained mute.\n\n'Where is it, Sir Alan?'\n\nI goggled at the man. What on earth was he talking about?\n\n'Where is it? Tell me, Alan, and I will save your soul.'\n\n'What?' I stammered. 'I don't know\u2026'\n\nJust then Stevin returned with Jan and a trio of crossbowmen. He snarled and kicked the porridge bowl out of my hands, then he and another guard hauled me roughly to my feet and began to march me to the end of the hall.\n\n'Tell me where it is, Sir Alan, I beg of you. There is no time. Tell me and I will save you\u2014'\n\nI heard Sir Aymeric's words clearly as I was hustled away, three big angry men pushing and shoving me onwards, nigh on lifting me towards a big carved chair on a dais at the far end of the building.\n\nAnd there was the King.\n\nJohn looked old. His face was pouchy and grey, his red-gold hair was streaked with silver, his belly had thickened and slumped around his middle like a wide belt of flesh. Apart from those few brief instants outside St Paul's I had not seen him close up for many years \u2013 and those years had not been kind. He looked at me as if he could taste something disgusting on the tip of his tongue.\n\n'I should have you hanged, drawn and quartered,' he said. 'I should have torn out your innards and fed them to my dogs long since. You have been a stone in my shoe, Alan Dale; a mosquito that I have been too soft-hearted to swat; a beetle that I have neglected for too long to squash.' His voice rose to the ugly croaking that I remembered well. 'This is how you repay my extraordinary leniency? With this?'\n\nThe King held up the black misericorde attached to the archer's bracer that Fitzwalter had given me. He was shouting by now, quite purple in the face. 'You murderous, gutter-born turd. You presume to lay hands on me!'\n\nI let the royal fury wash over me. I would die, for sure, and I only prayed that it would be swift. It would be soon, I knew. I prayed that I would be reunited with my love, my dead wife Godifa, in Heaven.\n\n'I would tear the flesh from you with red-hot pincers \u2013' flecks of royal spittle rained down on my face \u2013 'I would have you trampled by wild bulls and thrown still breathing to the lions of my menagerie\u2026'\n\nSuddenly the King's fury seemed to be spent.\n\n'But your friends' \u2013 he spat the word \u2013 'your friends at court tell me I cannot kill you without the risk of the whole of England rising in rebellion. They say there is no proof of your intent and that you are innocent of any crime. I say they are wrong. What say you?'\n\nI had almost lost the wits to speak. Almost.\n\nIf I were a truly brave man, I would have spoken the truth and damned him for a foul and murderous tyrant who richly deserved death at my hands. But I did not. And in such moments as these the mark of a man is revealed. I played the craven \u2013 I was craven. I did not actually beg for my life but I did the next best thing.\n\n'Sire,' I said, 'I am innocent of any crime. I did not strike at you or harm you. At St Paul's I merely wished to ask you a boon, to crave your royal grace's blessing on a private matter. There is no proof of my crime because \u2026 because I am truly innocent.'\n\nI am damned as a coward. And a liar, too.\n\n'No proof?' shouted the King. 'I say this is proof enough!' And he waved the misericorde in front of his face.\n\n'Give me that blade and I will gladly prove my innocence with my body against any man you care to name.'\n\n'Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you? Oh yes. You have a name as a cold-blooded killer. No doubt you would like to add one more corpse to the black tally on your soul. But I will not risk one of my good men against you. No, no, no!'\n\nThe King looked at me. He seemed to be thinking.\n\n'Was it Fitzwalter? Or Lord de Vesci? Or both of them. You were seen at Alnwick Castle not three months ago. Did you hatch your little plot with them? Tell me? Do you think we do not watch them \u2013 those creeping northern reptiles?'\n\nI shrugged. 'I am innocent, sire.'\n\n'You lie \u2013 and yet I have given my word to your friends' \u2013 again that word \u2013 'that I will not harm you without sufficient proof. And I am a man of my word. So I shall not harm so much as a hair on your head.'\n\nI looked at the King, unbelieving. Was this truly a reprieve? Then I saw that a horrible smirk was twitching at his wine-red lips. He repeated: 'I swore that I would not harm you \u2013 and I will not.'\n\nHe gave a little chuckle that froze my blood.\n\n'Take him away,' he said.\n\nI was marched back across the courtyard with my head spinning from the encounter. What did he mean when he said that he would not harm me? And why did this uncharacteristic clemency seem to amuse him so much? As we entered Brien's Close, down the stone steps, through the corridors, and back to my black stone cell, the awful answer began to form in my mind. I was shoved roughly into my prison and before the door was slammed shut, I noticed something that chilled me more than I can say: the corpse of the woman gaoler was gone and in its place someone had set the big water butt from the antechamber. It had been filled to the brim. The door banged behind me and, a few moments later, to my horror I heard the slap of planks and the sound of eager hammers driving nails deep into wood. And, as the blackness wrapped itself around me once again, I had the answer to the riddle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "I wept. I confess it. Unmanly as it must seem to all. I wept like a baby \u2013 for I knew how I would die in those hours after I was nailed securely into my dark and silent tomb. I had water \u2013 many gallons, enough to last me for weeks. But apart from the few spoonfuls of porridge in my belly, I knew I would receive no more nourishment in this life. I thought of Maud, the brave and foolish lady of William de Braose, and her son who were imprisoned in Corfe Castle until they expired of hunger; not killed directly by the King's men, but just as dead nonetheless. King John would not harm me, just as he had said, but nor would he give me my liberty until I was a lifeless husk.\n\nSo I wept. I prayed. I wept again. And I slept once more, wrapped in a dead woman's coat and a mouldy green blanket.\n\nWhat can I say about the hideous lifetime I spent alone in the darkness in that cell? It was a small freezing hell, lacking in all comfort save the water barrel \u2013 and believe me I drank my fill. I also washed myself from head to foot and dried myself on the blanket. I cautiously stretched my body and loosened my bruised and aching muscles as well as I could.\n\nOver the next few days, I searched the cell with my fingertips, every bump, every crevice, every fold in the rock walls. There was nothing in there but myself, my blanket, my sleeveless coat, the water butt and the drain. And not a sound to be heard nor a sight to be seen. Most of the time I sat on my blanket and thought \u2013 I thought about, well, I thought about nearly everything.\n\nMy musings first turned to Robin. My lord. How bitterly I regretted our last words to each other. I had been a fool to have abused him so. I had called him a coward to his face, perhaps the worst insult one could throw at a fighting man. I knew Robin had been hurt \u2013 angry, too. After our estrangement over my foolish attempt to take down the King \u2013 how could I have been so bone-headed as to think I would succeed? \u2013 and my gross behaviour, I knew I could not expect him to come to my aid. Indeed, I knew no one was coming to my aid. I believed that he might have had words with the King on my behalf \u2013 he and perhaps the Master of the Templars, and perhaps William the Marshal, too, were my 'friends', as the King had so scathingly called them. I believed that they and Robin might have warned the King not to harm me. But my lord could do nothing, even if he were so inclined, to extricate me from my tomb. I was in one of the strongest prisons in the country, inside a powerful fortress. Even with a mighty army Robin could not ride to my rescue, and to raise the force required to take Wallingford Castle, Robin would have to openly side with the rebel cause \u2013 something I knew he would not do. But even if he did, even if he overcame his doubts about rebellion, why would he sacrifice his soldiers to take a stronghold just to free one man \u2013 a man who had so insulted him? He would not. Robin was not coming for me. Nobody was coming for me.\n\nIn my weakness and self-pity, I wept again.\n\nA day or so passed. Even so soon, I began to lose my grip upon the surface of the world. My belly was soon empty, and I drank water, pints of it, to give it the illusion of satiation. I worked on my aching body some more, losing myself in the strengthening routines that all soldiers know. I lay full length on my back and pulled myself into a sitting position, time and time again until I fell back exhausted. I lay on my front and, keeping my body stiff, I pumped my full weight up and down using only the strength of my arms. I paced that tiny cell corner to corner to keep my legs from becoming weak: one, two, three, four paces, then turn, and one, two, three, four back to the far corner. I walked for hours, until sheer exhaustion, and a knowledge of the futility of my actions, led me to cower miserably under the damp blanket and seek the solace of sleep.\n\nHow we take our daily bread for granted! I dreamed of food at the beginning, I thought of it every waking minute, too, as my belly shrank and whimpered and ached. After four or five days, when my gut was calling piteously, I hunted insects and beetles, which must have come up through that stinking drain \u2013 and ate them, crunching them up or swallowing them down still wriggling. But soon they disappeared, or were all eaten up, and there was only my empty insides shrieking at me for nourishment. I retreated into the land of dreams, for there I could eat my fill: I must have recalled every feast I had ever attended, I relived every pie, every dripping roast, every fragrant bowl of creamy pudding. I tormented myself with thoughts of the meals I would never enjoy again. I made up lists of what I would eat in Heaven \u2013 roast pork was the centrepiece of the feast, a whole gleaming piglet with rich wine gravy and the crackling, crisp and salty. But there would be fresh baked bread too with a slathering of yellow butter and soft crumbly white cheese and crunchy apples. And nuts and wine and singing and laughter.\n\nBut all pain eventually comes to an end. My hunger raged like a furnace for some days, perhaps a week, and then, as if burnt out, it subsided to a vague cold feeling of loss, an emptiness that was always present but duller than the agony of before. I began to die. And also to think clearly without the distraction of my belly.\n\nI thought about Goody, my beautiful dead wife, with whom I longed to be reunited in paradise \u2013 but not yet; I thought about Tilda, and our one night together long ago in Normandy. I thought about Robert, about his sweet face screwed up in concentration over the chessboard. Then I thought about Westbury. I wished once more to be riding free on my own lands, with my hounds and huntsmen, with Robert and perhaps Robin and his sons for company. If I ever emerged from this dark place, I vowed to myself, I would never take the feel of sunshine on my face for granted again, nor the feel of a running horse between my legs and the wind in my hair.\n\nI thought about Lord Fitzwalter and wondered if he, too, and Eustace de Vesci as well, were sitting somewhere in the darkness, with an echoing belly and nothing ahead of him except madness, despair and death. I doubted it. Robin had been right. I had been used by him and de Vesci. They had gulled me like a child into this mad scheme that, now that I truly considered it, had had scant chance of success.\n\nI thought, too, about King John's words before I was taken: how he had called me assassin before I had even drawn the misericorde. And in the clarity of my own head, in the silence of the cell, and in the deepest part of my soul I knew I'd been betrayed. Someone had informed on me to the King. Someone had told him that I was planning his murder and told him when I would strike \u2013 for the King had been expecting me. He had surrounded himself with his Flemish crossbowmen, Stevin and his mercenary ilk, and they had been primed to locate and intercept me.\n\nBut who could it be?\n\nFitzwalter and de Vesci knew of the plan \u2013 but why would they betray me? They wanted me to succeed. And the only other person who knew that I meant to kill the King was Robin. But he would never inform on me to the King. Would he?\n\nI believe that my soul left my body in that deep dark place. The days passed with no marking them, no day, no night. I drank the water. I hunted anything that scuttled in the darkness and I dreamed: of food and revenge, or the smell of sweet flowers; of the taste of Goody's kisses. My beard grew in fuller, my skin became loose. And my soul left me for hours at a time. I found myself at one point looking down on my sleeping body from above. The cell was filled with a weird blue light and I could see every inch of that square stone box with absolute clarity.\n\nI had ceased to exercise my body by then. I had not the strength to force my muscles to work. And when my soul rose out of me, I looked down at the wasted body, the bearded head pillowed on the rolled leather coat, my bony shoulders almost poking through the green blanket. I wanted to be gone. I was tired of the cold and the darkness. I was tired of being alone. I heard the Voice of God calling me, calling me by name, and looked upwards towards a great, warm golden light \u2026\n\n'Christ's foul flapping foreskin \u2013 the stench in here would stun a bull,' said a deep and familiar voice. Then an enormous sneeze. And there was light. A harsh, burning dazzle that seared my eyeballs and made me whimper in fear and pain.\n\n'Just get him out of there, John,' said another voice, equally familiar. 'Gently now. You'd best pick him up and carry him.'\n\nI was lifted from the hard floor and borne out of that cell by powerful arms. I knew I was dreaming. I heard the second voice, close to my ear, saying: 'Alan Dale, I swear you're the most inconvenient, ungrateful, insolent, mutton-headed oaf that I have ever had the misfortune to take into my service.'\n\nI ate soup, nothing more, for three days. And not too much of that. There was no roast pork with crisp crackling and wine-gravy. Robin knew, as I did, that to feed a starving man rich food will kill him as quickly as the hunger itself. After three days, I began to drink milk and took my first piece of bread.\n\nRobin and Little John had taken me out of Brien's Close and installed me in a small shed \u2013 an abandoned blacksmith's forge to be accurate \u2013 on the south side of the castle. There was no subterfuge, none of the cunning tricks that Robin was so well-versed in. No ruse at all. It was not bribery, nor yet force of arms. Robin had arrived with a small escort of thirty Sherwood bowmen and a royal warrant ordering the constable of the castle to surrender my person immediately to the bearer of the parchment without delay. Then he insisted that suitable accommodation be found for my recovery under the rough care of Little John.\n\nI was only dimly aware of what was happening. I was sleeping half the day and all the night, but when I did manage to rise and stagger to the door of the stable and look out one afternoon, I was amazed to see the whole place was filled with men-at-arms in different coloured surcoats swaggering about the courtyard as if they owned it. On the far side of the castle, high on the square keep atop the motte, I could see two dozen flags flapping in the grey air. A gathering was in place. Beside the royal standard, the lions of England, I could see the banners of a handful of barons whose arms I recognised: William the Marshal, the Earl of Salisbury, the earls of Norfolk, Essex, Oxford and Hereford, Lord Fitzwalter and de Vesci were there too \u2013 even a white banner with a black wolf's mask on it, which was Robin's own device.\n\nLittle John, who was about some business of his own in the castle that day, returned at dusk. The big man was carrying a heavy sack that clanked as he walked. 'You'd best get your rest tonight, Alan,' he said, and gave a sneeze like a trumpet blast. 'For there will be some hellish noise tomorrow.'\n\n'From the gathering?' I asked. 'There seems to be some sort of conclave in the castle of all the great men of England.'\n\n'No, not from all those high and mighty folk up in the keep \u2013 from me,' said the blond giant with a smile. And he emptied out the sack he was carrying on the straw of the floor and began to sort through the twisted lumps of iron that it had contained.\n\nI had not the strength to ask what he was about. My incarceration had left me with a fever and a hacking cough, and I returned to a pile of straw with a cup of mead, and after I had drunk it I coughed myself to sleep. I awoke late in the night, or rather very early in the morning, to find that Little John had built a huge fire in the abandoned forge and seemed to be piling shovel after shovel of black charcoal on to the flames. I thought he was trying to be sure that I was warm enough, and I was grateful for his solicitousness, for the nights were cold and damp and it seemed to me that I was getting sicker rather than stronger.\n\nI found out what he was really doing the next day. He had set up an anvil and found a set of hammers and tongs from somewhere, and not long after first light he began heating various pieces of metal in the cherry-red fire, hauling them out when they glowed, and beating them with powerful strokes that seemed to drive a spike through my temples.\n\n'Told you there'd be some noise,' he said, grinning over his shoulder.\n\n'Do you have to do that?' I shouted to the big man.\n\n'Have to. Got to beat it while it's the right heat. Can't wait around for it to cool. Why don't you go and stretch your legs? Robin's in the stable just now.'\n\nLittle John turned back to his hellish hammering.\n\nI got down another cup of mead and ate a piece of bread with a sliver of cheese. It had been five days since my release and I was a little shocked at how feeble I still was. I pulled on the clothes that Robin had left for me and, shivering like an ancient and coughing like a Cornish tin miner, I ventured out into the drizzle of the courtyard.\n\nI found my lord of Locksley in the stable about a hundred and fifty yards from the forge on the extreme far side of the courtyard. Once again, as I staggered across the open space, I received a barrage of looks of astonishment and contempt. 'God damn, you all,' I thought. 'When I am well, if any of you dares to look at me like that, I will cut you a new shit-hole.'\n\nI was exhausted by the time I arrived at the stables to find Robin overseeing the shoeing of his favourite horse, a blood-red mare called Eva.\n\nRobin took one look at me and said: 'Damn it, Alan, what are you doing out of bed? You need to rest and sleep and take some soup. This is no time for gallivanting about the castle. Get back to bed.'\n\n'Couldn't sleep,' I said, and gave a cackling laugh.\n\n'Well, sit down here and have a sup of ale at least. Are you hungry?'\n\nI shook my head but gratefully sat down by the water butt. I happened to catch my reflection in the surface of the water and nearly expired of shock. An evil old man stared back at me. My hair, which I usually kept cropped short anyway, appeared to have disappeared from large patches of my head, the bald skin showing cleanly through. My beard, normally a lightish brown, which I had not yet had the strength to shave off, was streaked with lines of white. My face was that of a grandfather \u2013 but covered with scabs, old yellow-brown bruises, half-healed cuts and fresh pink scars.\n\nNo wonder the men-at-arms in the courtyard had stared at me. I was, at that time, not far off forty and I looked double that age.\n\nI turned away from the reflection.\n\n'Tell me what is going on at the castle,' I asked my lord.\n\nHe was peering at his horse's off hind foot, which the farrier had lifted and held between his two legs.\n\n'What?' said Robin. 'Oh, everyone is here. We were summoned, all the great and the good \u2013 and the bad, too, for that matter. It's the same go-around as at St Paul's last month, of course \u2013 but you won't know about that. My apologies. The northern barons are here, the rebels, the undecided, the malcontents and the genuinely aggrieved, along with the King and the men who are still loyal to him, or who desperately need him; and the bishops and archbishops, the whole merry cavalcade. All the nobility of England, more or less, is here at Wallingford. That's why you're sleeping in a forge.'\n\n'But what are they here for?'\n\n'They are here to try to prevent the whole country falling into another Anarchy,' Robin said grimly. He murmured something to the farrier, pointing to a curl of yellow hoof that required clipping.\n\n'More, please,' I said holding out my cup.\n\n'Yes, I'm sorry,' said Robin, straightening up and bringing the jug over to me. He filled my cup and said: 'It's the same old thing at the root of it, Alan. Put simply, the King wants to get back his lands in Normandy and France. To do that he needs the barons to go to war, he also needs money to pay for the war. In raising the money for his wars, he has taxed the country until it is bled white, and then asked for more. The barons resent this \u2013 my God do they resent it \u2013 and that is fair enough; you and I both know what it is like to have a sheriff constantly hounding you for silver.'\n\nI thought of Philip Marc's visit to Westbury and his threat to have his huge monster tear the living head from my son.\n\nMy thoughts must have been written on my face, for Robin suddenly said: 'Last week, Alan, I sent Hugh to Westbury with twenty Sherwood men. And I hear that Sir Thomas Blood has been drilling your own folk like a moon-crazed sergeant-at-arms. You can set your mind at rest. Between the two of them they will keep Robert safe.'\n\n'Thank you!' I would have said more but I was cut off by a vicious fit of coughing. It took an age for me to recover myself.\n\nRobin waited patiently until I was still again and quiet. 'Where was I? Oh yes, the King wants the barons to fight for him in France. As you know, many of them refused his call to arms. So the King can fight them, or he can talk to them and try to persuade them to follow his banner abroad. The barons want an end to harsh taxation, to the practice of mulcting every man at every available opportunity, of putting men into debt with arbitrary fees and taxes and then imprisoning them till they pay up or die. And a host of other things besides. They want their grievances addressed before they will consent to fight.'\n\n'But how can they trust the King?' I said. 'He will say one thing today and another tomorrow when the battle is fought.'\n\nRobin frowned. 'I don't want to burden you with the details now, Alan, I can see that you do not have your full strength yet. But suffice it to say, an agreement has been struck and many of the barons have now agreed to take part in the King's expedition to Poitou after Christmas and to fight at his side to help him recover his lands and titles in France. Other men have agreed to go to the Low Countries under the Earl of Salisbury and to fight there.'\n\n'Who in their right mind would volunteer to fight for this King anywhere in Christendom?' I said. 'What sort of idiot would trust John to keep his word?'\n\n'This sort of idiot,' said Robin quietly. 'I have agreed to follow Salisbury to Flanders again. And you are coming with me. I'm to take a strong force of spearmen and bowmen and we are to attack France and win Normandy back for King John.'\n\n'For God's sake \u2013 why?' I was near exploding. Instead I coughed like a dying man. 'Have we not served the wretched fellow long enough? Have you forgotten Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard and the men who were uselessly slaughtered there? Why, Robin, why?'\n\n'Because,' said my lord slowly, 'among other things, that was the price demanded by the King for your freedom.'\n\nI was speechless.\n\n'So you, my old friend, had better rest and eat and get back your full strength. We have another war to fight in the spring.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "I did not become stronger that winter. I became more and more sickly. Something in that experience of incarceration had got hold of my soul and seemed determined to drag me down into the pit. Perhaps the Devil felt that I owed him a soul because I had escaped certain death in that dank cell. In any case, when Robin, Little John and the Sherwood men left Wallingford Castle two days later they had to bear me in a covered cart pulled by two horses. Beside me on the bed of the cart, as I shivered and coughed and slipped off for hours at a time into a hellish delirium, lay my weapons, my sword Fidelity and the misericorde that King John's men had taken from me. Quite how Robin had recovered them from King John, I never discovered \u2013 perhaps they had merely agreed that I would need them in Flanders \u2013 but I was grateful that my lord had been so thoughtful. As well as my personal weapons, I lay beside a bundle of long oak staves with sharp and curious iron attachments at both ends: the fruits of Little John's noisy work in the forge.\n\nBefore we left, as I lay coughing on a bed of straw, Little John demonstrated his new poleaxe: the inch-thick oak staff was eight foot long, two foot taller than I, and at the top was socketed a one-foot spear blade. Below the spear part was welded a single axe blade on one side and a curving hook on the other. At the other end was a sharp iron butt-spike.\n\n'This is the perfect weapon for the foot soldier,' Little John told me. 'And I have your boy Robert to thank for the idea. Do you remember when he suggested some sort of hook to pull a knight off his horse? Well, with a few modifications, this is the result of his thinking. It is very cheap to make, simple to keep and use, and is devastating against enemy cavalry\u2026'\n\nThe big man demonstrated that the poleaxe could be used as an ordinary quarterstaff, blocking sword blows, keeping the enemy at bay, and striking with enough force to brain a man; then he demonstrated how it could be used as a spear \u2013 both ends being sharp enough to punch through mail; and then, after leaping about the forge with the poleaxe, whirling the weapon about his body, he showed me how it could be used as an axe, cutting at a man eight feet away, say a French knight.\n\n'This is the part that Robert can take credit for,' said Little John. 'The hook!' He mimed gaffing a knight's mail with the hook behind the axe-head and hauling him down from the back of his mount before dispatching him with the butt-spike.\n\nI'll admit I was impressed. Footmen hate cavalry and are most often terrified of them. An armoured man high up on the back of a horse is frequently out of reach of the man on the earth and can rain down blows that are very difficult to answer. But once a knight was pulled down to the ground in the thick of battle he was easy meat for even poorly armed infantry to engulf and destroy.\n\n'When you are back on your feet, Alan,' said John, bringing me a bowl of hot leek soup and a cup of wine, and tucking the blankets in around my wasted body, 'I'll give you a few lessons. You'll get the hang of it in no time.'\n\nIt was nearly the end of November when we left, a season of wet and cold, a bad season to be travelling, for the roads had quickly become quagmires in the autumn rains and the wheels of the cart that carried me became stuck in holes and ruts at least three or four times a day and had to be lifted out by strong backs. I discovered from Robin that I had been in that starvation cell for seventeen days. That might not seem so much, a little over two weeks, but the toll on my body had been enormous. Despite several days of care and hot food, I was as frail as I had ever been, my arms and legs like sticks, the skin falling in loose folds over my belly, I had lost much of my hair and several teeth. But it was the damage to my insides that I feared the most. Something evil had got into my lungs and I often seemed to be drowning in phlegm. My chest hurt and I found myself panting like a hound. When I was not in the fever-lands of the dark night, I coughed almost continuously.\n\nRobin, Little John and the Sherwood bowmen left me at Westbury, with Baldwin fussing about me, but I don't remember much of our parting. My lord was returning to Kirkton to begin planning the spring campaign and to start raising and training troops for the expedition. Hugh said that he was happy to remain at Westbury until I was fully recovered, and he and Sir Thomas had plainly been working hard on the training of my men.\n\nRobert was pleased to see me but dismayed to find me so weak and ill. So I forced myself to get out of bed to watch a demonstration of his prowess in the courtyard. He and Sir Thomas Blood went at it with sword and shield, around and around, and while I could see that there had been considerable improvement, I could also see that he was still far from a warrior. I applauded him lavishly nonetheless and the boy seemed pleased to have gained my admiration.\n\nRobert asked if I would care to go hunting hares with him and his favourite hound \u2013 a long, lean, wire-haired black lurcher bitch \u2013 but I declined and asked Hugh to take the boy out in my stead. Merely sitting on a stool and watching his swordplay for an hour had exhausted me. I slept for a whole day and a night afterwards.\n\nAt the beginning of December, a letter arrived from Lord Fitzwalter. I read it alone in my chamber by the light of a brazier. It began with the usual flowery greeting, and some compliments about my courage and a hope that my health and strength were recovering. And then it said: 'It grieves me to tell you, my friend, that you were betrayed in the matter that took place at St Paul's. We have discovered a spy amongst Lord de Vesci's men-at-arms who is in the pay of the King.'\n\nNone of this surprised me. I had known since my capture and incarceration that I had been betrayed. And at Wallingford the King had admitted that he had spies in de Vesci's castle. The letter continued: 'The wretch is even now screaming under the knives of de Vesci's gaolers and we will have the whole truth out of him. But you may assure yourself that he is guilty. We caught him listening at the door of de Vesci's chamber and found a sack of the King's silver under his pallet. Your sufferings will be avenged, my friend, and I hope that will be a comfort to you.'\n\nIn fact, despite what he had done to me, a part of me shuddered to think of the poor man on the rack in some godforsaken dungeon in the bowels of Alnwick Castle. I hoped his end would be swift.\n\nFitzwalter concluded his letter with an invitation to come to Alnwick again as soon as I felt stronger so that I could be suitably rewarded for my pains and to discuss our future plans for the good of the kingdom.\n\n'By God,' I actually said out loud. 'He means to have me try again!'\n\nI screwed the letter into a ball and hurled it into the brazier. I had no intention of ever having anything to do with Fitzwalter and de Vesci and their plots again. Neither did I bother even to reply to his invitation.\n\nA couple of weeks later, and with my lungs no better, I roused myself again for the Christmas festivities. It was a wet feast, and somewhat subdued. The rain had been falling for weeks by the day of Our Saviour's nativity, and I had hardly the strength to preside at the long table in the hall sipping watered wine while my household and the tenants from the village of Westbury made merry, singing the traditional songs and playing the old games while gorging on roast goose and smoked ham and drinking themselves insensible on vats of strong Christmas ale.\n\nIn January the snows came and blanketed the countryside, making it as pristine as a freshly laundered nun's habit. And still I languished, coughing weakly, sleeping for most of the day and night, eating little, sweating pints despite the winter cold.\n\nI was dying. I was sure of it. And red anger burned in my breast at the knowledge. Had I survived the horror of the cell in Brien's Close only to cough myself into the grave at home in Westbury? I would not allow that to happen. This would not be the way I would meet my Maker. I was determined to will myself better.\n\nI forced myself to rise each day at dawn. I took a large cup of wine with breakfast and forced down meat and bread, though I had no desire for it at all. Indeed, I would often vomit it back up again a few moments later. But I persisted. I walked the courtyard swathed in furs, and on one occasion tried rather ineffectually to swing the poleaxe that Little John had left for me. I was quickly exhausted and, trembling with fatigue, I ordered hot broth for dinner that noon with raw eggs beaten into it.\n\nBaldwin's sister Alice was an invaluable nursemaid to me at this time. She brought me strengthening possets of herbs, oats and wine of her own devising. She wiped the night sweat from my body and changed the stained linen sheets of the bed. She sat with me for hours as I raved and saw visions, and when I was lucid, told me of the doings of the manor and the gossip of the village. But, comforting as it was, it was not her womanly presence that I craved. I had another woman in my mind, and I could not shake the image of her from before my eyes. I wanted Tilda.\n\nIn March, when the weather was milder and a weak sun had at last emerged from behind the iron wall of clouds, I determined to act. I rose, dressed warmly, strapped Fidelity to my waist and my misericorde on my left arm and ordered a horse to be saddled for me. As Hugh, Baldwin and Alice looked on, full of anguished concern, and with a pair of young, strong Westbury men-at-arms for company and protection, I rode out of the gates of the compound and set out north on the road to Kirklees Priory.\n\nIt was a foolish thing to do. By mid-morning on the first day I was so weak that I nearly slipped from the back of my horse. My two men had to ride on either side of me with a hand ready to steady me in the saddle. I had told Baldwin and Hugh, as my reason for the journey, that I had heard good things said of the healing powers of the nuns of Kirklees and particularly the prioress Anna, and I told them that I was certain that I could only recover from my long illness at her hands.\n\nThe truth was that I wanted to see Tilda. But that journey in the brisk March wind nearly did for me. Not that I remember it all that well. I slipped in and out of consciousness for three days on horseback \u2013 for we travelled almost as slowly as men on foot \u2013 and by the time we reached the mill at the furthest part of the Kirklees lands I was tied to my horse, sagging in the saddle and three parts lost to the world.\n\nThe next I knew I was in a small cot in a bright room with linen sheets and blankets over my body, and a pretty nun, a stranger, was sitting beside the bed. Seeing me awake, she gave a squeak of surprise and rushed away to fetch a superior.\n\nI looked about me. It was a clean, whitewashed room with a large crucifix on the wall opposite my bed. I lifted my head and felt \u2013 strange. I was weak, yes, and still thin as a weed. But the pains in my chest had gone. I gave an experimental cough and hacked a big ball of yellow-brown phlegm into the earthenware bowl beside the bed. I could hardly believe it. I felt \u2013 better. It was surely a miracle, a blessed miracle. I said a quick prayer of thanks to the carved figure of Our Lord in his Passion on the wall opposite. Then Prioress Anna was standing beside my bed, giving me a grim smile and putting a hand on my brow to feel for heat.\n\n'We are very pleased with you, Sir Alan. By the grace of Our Lord and the skill of my nuns, I think we have got the better of your illness. How do you feel?'\n\nI sat up fully in the bed. Apart from a slight dizziness, I felt wonderfully well.\n\n'How long have I been here, Mother? I said.\n\n'You came here a little over two weeks ago, Sir Alan, and you were, I would say, about a slender half-inch away from death. But the sisters and I have worked night and day physicking you with infusions and purges and \u2026 well, here you are, and we are all pleased with your recovery. I was sure, at one point, that you would be gathered unto God. Absolutely certain. But you have a great healing strength in you, sir. I congratulate you on it.'\n\n'I can only say, from the bottom of my heart, that I thank you, Mother Anna. I would like to thank Tilda, too, if I might.'\n\nThe prioress frowned at me. 'Tilda? Our Matilda? The sub-prioress is not here. She had been in Canterbury at a convocation with the archbishop. She is representing our house \u2013 I am far too busy to travel to these silly affairs. She will be returning soon, though, I devoutly hope and pray. Now you must rest yourself and in a little while I will ask the sisters to bring you some barley gruel.'\n\nI was somewhat deflated to discover that Tilda was away and had had nothing to do with my cure, but I was pleased to hear that she was doing well in her vocation and had been entrusted with such an important task. And the joy in finding myself alive and nearly well was an ample compensation. I drank cold spring water and ate with pleasure for the first time in months. I attended Vespers in the priory church and gave thanks to God, once again, for my recovery. The next day I ventured out of the infirmary and walked for an hour in the famous herb garden. Two days after that I even took my horse out for a short canter over the priory lands.\n\nThere was still no sign of Tilda and I began to think of returning to Westbury. I was stronger and while I knew the journey would be tiring I believed I was fit enough to endure it. So I gathered up my clothes and weapons, and tracked down my two men-at-arms. They had been enjoying the company of the young nuns a little too much, as far as I could see, for there was a good deal of whispering, giggling and sighing from the circle of novices around them when I found them at last in the chapter house and told them they must take their leave. Rather sulkily they agreed to return with me to Westbury.\n\nWe saddled the horses and said our goodbyes to the prioress and the sisters. Just as I was thanking the lady for the kindness she had shown me, and about to mount my horse, a party of a dozen riders cantered into the courtyard, and there, a little travel-stained and flushed, and yet just as radiant as ever, was the woman whose angelic face I had spent so many hours contemplating.\n\nTilda stepped off her horse and immediately came over to greet me.\n\n'Why, Sir Alan,' she said, 'you look so pale.' She grasped my hands in her warm ones. 'And you're so thin. What ails you?'\n\nI began to tell her of my long illness and her eyes clouded with worry.\n\n'But you are well again now?' she asked.\n\n'Welcome home, my dear,' said Anna, from my shoulder. 'The sisters and I \u2013 we have all missed you.' And there was something about the older woman's voice that made me turn and look at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes were glittering as if she were containing a rage that was on the verge of being unleashed.\n\n'Mother Anna, how wonderful it is to be home again,' said Tilda flashing her beautiful smile at the older woman. 'I am so happy to see you.'\n\nShe turned her beam on me: 'And to see you again, too, Sir Alan.'\n\n'Sir Alan and his men are leaving, Tilda, so I am afraid you must bid him farewell. He doubtless has many affairs at home that he would like to attend to.'\n\nI was about to say that I would be happy to spend more time at the priory, recovering my strength, when I caught the prioress's red-hot glare and stopped.\n\n'Sir Alan, you cannot leave until I have given you something,' said Tilda. 'Do say you will not go until I have had time to fetch it. I will not be long! Do wait!'\n\nShe rushed away into the chapter house without another word.\n\nThe prioress leaned into me and said quietly but with an air of finality that brooked no arguments. 'Sir Alan, I think it is high time that you left us.'\n\nShe tried for a friendly smile, but the fixity of her face made the expression a hideous grimace. 'Having the presence of your young men here at Kirklees has caused some disruption among the younger sisters, and I would be most grateful now that you are well if you would take them from our precincts. I'm sure you understand. It has been a pleasure having you as our guest \u2013 but it is time to go.'\n\nThere was not much I could say to that. I was being ejected. While we waited in silence, I fiddled unnecessarily with the buckles on my saddle, scratched my head and patted my horse's neck. By God Tilda was taking an age!\n\nI remarked on the weather to the prioress. It was, I said, very spring-like.\n\n'It is spring, Sir Alan. Doubtless in your delirium you have failed to notice it.'\n\nI could think of nothing further to say and ordered my men to mount up, before climbing a little stiffly into the saddle myself.\n\nAt last, Tilda emerged from the priory's main door. She was holding an object wrapped in a length of linen cloth. It was something hot. I could see wisps of steam leaking between the folds of the covering.\n\n'To help you regain your strength, Sir Alan. You must eat plenty of meat, as much as you possibly can. This pasty is filled with good fat pork and healing spices \u2013 and has just come out of the cookhouse oven. Eat it all up and you will soon be as strong and brave as ever.'\n\nI thanked Tilda for her gift and shoved it into the saddlebag. Now I too was eager to be away. The prioress's glare was making my spine itch. So, giving a wave to all the nuns, and myself giving Tilda what I hoped was a meaningful look of love, the three of us took our horses in hand and galloped out of the priory gates."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "On leaving the priory, I rode south directly to Robin's castle, pausing only twice to attend to calls of nature, for my body was still weak and my bowels were in a fearfully loose state. It was a journey of perhaps a little under twenty miles, a gentle day's ride when I was fully fit, but I arrived at Kirkton feeling almost as wretched and fatigued as I had been when I left Westbury. I slid off my horse and stumbled into Miles, who had come out to greet me.\n\n'Drunk, Sir Alan? At this time of day? I like a cup or two of wine myself, it cannot be denied, but never when I'm out riding.'\n\nI growled a curse at the boy, pretended to cuff his head \u2013 then hugged him. It was a pleasure to see the cheeky imp, if the truth be told, and his handsome, cheerful face was tonic to my soul.\n\n'I'm here for the night, Miles, and two men-at-arms \u2013 you'd better tell your father to deck the halls with garlands of roses and prepare the fatted calf,' I said.\n\n'He's out with the troops on exercise \u2013 but he'll be back at nightfall, I'm fairly sure. I'll tell Mother you're here.'\n\nMarie-Anne greeted me in the hall and, sensing my weakness, immediately guided me to Robin's chair \u2013 a vast throne-like object that would have suited a king more than a moderately wealthy northern earl. She sat down in the only slightly smaller one beside it. I was grateful to be seated, though, and happy to talk to one of my favourite women in the world over a cup of wine. I told her about my illness and how I had been cured at Kirklees. I may have mentioned Tilda's name once or twice.\n\n'Oh, Alan,' she said, 'surely you are not getting any ideas about that one.'\n\nI told her I did not know what she could possibly be talking about. But I felt my cheeks glow red anyway.\n\n'She is a bride of Christ \u2013 not for the touch of lustful man,' my lady reminded me sternly. 'And after what happened last time when you asked her to marry you, you can't be making the same mistake again?'\n\n'Matilda and I are just friends,' I said stiffly. 'We share a mutual fondness and regard for each other, nothing more.' I shifted uncomfortably in Robin's hard chair. 'I would never encourage her to break her sacred vows of chastity,' I lied.\n\n'Hmm,' said Marie-Anne. 'Kirklees is not so far away from Kirkton, and you know, Alan, I hear strange things from there. I hear that among the sisters, at least, chastity is not as strictly enforced, nor as highly valued, as discretion.'\n\nI looked at her blankly. It was Marie-Anne's turn to blush.\n\n'Never mind about that, Alan. My advice would be to put Tilda from your mind. She is far too beautiful \u2013 dangerously beautiful. Find yourself a nice, plain country girl. A good soul, hard-working. It doesn't need to be anybody grand. Take her to your bed, get married, have another child. It would do you good.'\n\nI did not much care for the thought of some plain-faced country besom. She would be all rough hands, meaty thighs and ale-breath \u2013 and would likely get with child as quick as a wink and seek to claim the lord of Westbury as her husband.\n\nMercifully, our frank discussion was interrupted at that point by the arrival of Robin. He strode in, mud-bespattered and glowing with health, and cried out a merry greeting to me before pouring himself a cup of ale from the sideboard and downing the drink in one gulp.\n\n'You are up and about, then, Alan,' said my lord. 'And clearly feeling strong enough to try and usurp my place.'\n\nI realised then that I was sitting in Robin's throne next to his beautiful wife. I levered myself to my feet, apologising profusely.\n\n'Sit down, Alan, I am only teasing. Sit down before you fall down. You look as if a strong puff of wind could carry you away.'\n\nWe shared an amiable supper together: Robin, Marie-Anne, Miles and Little John. Wine and laughter, good company and good food. Robin and Little John between them related how their preparations for the war were proceeding.\n\n'We've got but a handful of cavalry,' Robin said. 'Twenty men, is all, and very few of them proper knights. I can't afford the extra horses and armour, to be honest. Some of the troopers are just men-at-arms learning to ride for the first time. But I am trying to get them into some sort of shape. We go out most days and practise our manoeuvres. But they are still quite raw.'\n\nHe turned to Miles. 'And where were you at reveille this morning? I checked your bed and you hadn't slept in it.'\n\n'Ah, I had some business in Sheffield last night and I stopped there with, ah, a friend.'\n\n'And which friend was that?' said Robin, looking at his son.\n\n'I would be most shocked if you knew her, Father,' said Miles with a grin.\n\nThere was a short silence. Then Little John made a strangled snorting noise, a badly smothered guffaw.\n\n'When we go out on troop exercise,' said Robin, 'I expect you to be present, correctly armoured and stone-cold sober. You're supposed to be a file leader, you're supposed to be setting an example to the other men. How do you expect men to follow you if you cannot be bothered to show your face at training? Next time, you will be there when you are called. Is that clear? Whether you have some unsavoury \"business\" in Sheffield or not.'\n\n'Yes, Father,' Miles was outwardly meek. But I caught him giving Little John a sly wink when Robin's head was turned away.\n\n'Is that it?' I asked. 'Twenty half-trained cavalry? It's not much of an army.'\n\nLittle John said: 'It's hardly worth counting the cavalry. But luckily we do have sixty archers, good men, old hands \u2013 you'll know a fair few of them from Damme and elsewhere; and I've got a hundred and twenty well-trained footmen, half of them armed with Robert's poleaxes, the other half with wicked long pikes.'\n\n'That's more like it,' I said. 'The war really is on, then?'\n\n'The King left for La Rochelle last month with a respectable force,' said Robin. 'A few of the barons went with him out of loyalty, and a large number of poor knights from the shires went, too, looking to make their fortune in ransoms. For our part, we're supposed to be ready by June. The Earl of Salisbury's taking us to Calais and there we are to link up with the dukes of Brabant and Lorraine, the counts of Flanders and Boulogne, and a strong German contingent under the King's nephew, Emperor Otto. If you want to know what all the tax silver John has collected has been spent on, it has gone to these princes. For months, years even, treasure has been pouring into Boulogne, Flanders, Lorraine and Brabant \u2013 and even into the Holy Roman Emperor's coffers \u2013 to ensure that they will join us in this fight against Philip. You know the overall strategy, of course?'\n\nI nodded. 'It's the same as in the old days, isn't it? We squeeze Philip between two forces, one coming from the north, the men of the Low Countries and us, and the King coming in from the south-west from Poitou and Anjou. It's Richard's old plan.'\n\n'Exactly,' said Robin. 'It all depends on King John doing his part in the west. If he can succeed in dividing Philip's forces, drawing at least half on to him, we can crash through from the north \u2013 maybe even take Paris. But I promise you this, Alan, if the King fails to rally support in Poitou, if he fails to win his battles, we will not be boarding those ships to Calais. If the King fails, and we are advancing down from the Low Countries, we will face the full might of Philip of France as he comes surging north. And that, my friend, will be the end of us all.'\n\n'So all will depend on the courage and competence of King John as a warrior?' I said. 'How could that possibly go wrong?'\n\nRobin looked less than amused. 'If the King fails, we will not sail, Alan, I promise you. We will not leave these shores.'\n\nThe next morning I found myself in the courtyard of Kirkton just after dawn with a poleaxe in my hand and Little John excitedly demonstrating the blows, blocks and parries. The poleaxe felt as heavy as if the entire eight-foot length were crafted from iron, but I was determined not to show John my weakness. I had just, after several attempts, managed to complete a mimed hooking-and-stabbing manoeuvre to John's satisfaction, when we were interrupted by a rider, travel-stained and brimming with urgency, who rode into the castle and demanded to see Robin.\n\nHalf an hour later, I learnt the news: 'I've had a troubling message, Alan, from Cousin Henry in London,' Robin told me. 'The King has sent word to all his sheriffs that they are to double their efforts to raise money from all the shires.'\n\n'The King needs more money \u2013 already?' I said.\n\n'Yes, he has succeeded in bribing the Lusignans to come over to his side \u2013 all of them except Geoffrey, who hates him more than he loves money. The campaign is going well, apparently: he has taken Mil\u00e9cu, a small castle but a tough one near La Rochelle, and the Poitevin barons are now flocking in to do homage to him. But, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Alan, the bad news is that your friend Philip Marc has boasted that he will raise an extra thousand pounds from Nottinghamshire alone by the summer to send to the King.'\n\nI froze. To be honest, I had put the sheriff of Nottinghamshire and his threats to the back of my mind in recent months. Now my stomach felt like a hollow wine keg. A horrible premonition was forming in my mind.\n\n'I have to go,' I said. 'I have to get back to Westbury immediately.' And without waiting for Robin's permission, I rushed out of the hall and went to find my two men. We were packed and saddled in no time, and as we sat on our horses before the gate, I bawled to the gate guards to open it and allow us out.\n\n'My lord says no,' said the gatekeeper, looking up at me sullenly from where he stood holding my horse's head.\n\n'Open the gate, man, and don't play the fool,' I said.\n\n'I have orders from the earl not to allow you to leave, Sir Alan,' said this oaf.\n\n'What! I must be away. Open the damn gate or it will be the worse for you.'\n\n'All in good time, Alan, all in good time,' said a voice from behind me.\n\nI turned in the saddle and saw Robin emerging from the hall in full mail, clad in iron links from head to toe. And behind him was Little John in an iron hauberk, with a long poleaxe in his right hand, and a stout kite-shaped shield in his left.\n\n'You are far too old to be this impetuous, Alan,' said Robin.\n\nI glowered at him. 'Open the gate, Robin,' I said, now beginning to warm with anger. 'Tell your men to open it now.'\n\n'Did you really think I would let you go off to battle the sheriff of Nottinghamshire all on your own? Look at you \u2013 still weak as a kitten. You haven't even got a shield.'\n\n'I'll manage well enough,' I said gruffly.\n\n'If there is going to be a good fight, Alan, it's not fair for you to hog all the fun,' said Little John. 'Don't be so selfish!'\n\nHe handed the big, kite-shaped shield up to me.\n\n'We're coming with you,' said Robin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Robin took his whole troop of cavalry with him when we rode south for Westbury a quarter of an hour later, along with Miles and Little John. He said it would be a good field exercise for everyone, and indeed, he set them on a battle routine, riding in a double column with scouts on each flank and a pair of riders before and behind. They did not seem such bad soldiers to me, although some were clearly still uncomfortable in the saddle, and I had yet to see how they fared in a battle.\n\nOnce again I had been moved by Robin's generosity. He had his faults \u2013 God knows he could be self-serving, ruthless and cruel \u2013 but he was always, always loyal to his familia, those chosen few in his inner circle. I vowed to remember that, above all else about my lord. But I had bigger things on my mind than Robin's character flaws: the sheriff's threat to have his monster rip Robert's head off was paramount among them. Philip Marc and his loathsome toady Sir Benedict Malet wanted my money \u2013 I had refused it to them \u2013 and so far I had heard nothing more of the matter for several months. Indeed, I had not thought of it in weeks. But now it seemed blindingly clear that they would be bound to act: I had defied them, insulted them, and no man likes to take that humiliation without seeking revenge at some point. I only prayed that I would reach Westbury in time.\n\nRobin drove his men hard, and I felt my weakness as a kind of constant guilt as we thundered along \u2013 if I had not been so ill, I would have been at Westbury preparing it for whatever lay ahead. If I had not involved myself in the plot against the King, I would not have become so weak. And I was still very feeble. I struggled to keep up with the other riders, even the novice horsemen, but the image of a headless Robert spurred my body onwards, forced it to conquer its frailty.\n\nWe reached the woods around Alfreton, a handful of miles from Westbury, at sunset and Robin called a halt for the night. I said that we should push on and reach the manor that night, but Robin stopped me.\n\n'We need to know what the situation is before we go charging in,' my lord said. 'Hugh is there and Sir Thomas \u2013 and they will not let anything happen to Robert. Calm yourself, Alan, this is no time for recklessness. We sleep here and let the scouts do their work.'\n\nIn truth I was almost destroyed with fatigue. So after making a fireless camp in the deep woods and eating well from a basket of luxurious provisions that Marie-Anne had provided for us, I rolled myself in my cloak in a deep drift of leaves and slept like a dead man for eight hours. Robin woke me three hours before dawn with a cup of wine, a piece of buttered bread and a lump of cheese.\n\n'They are there, Alan,' he said, before I had even scraped the sleep-sand from my eyes. 'I don't know who they are, but there is an armed camp halfway around Westbury. Maybe a hundred fighting men: knights and men-at-arms, mostly. But the scouts think they have not been there long, and the gates are still firmly closed to them. Westbury has not fallen, Alan.'\n\nI sat up and immediately began to struggle into a borrowed hauberk that Robin had found me in his armoury the day before.\n\nRobin said: 'This is what I think we should do\u2026'\n\nThe Earl of Locksley's plan was simple but contained his usual measure of cunning. We could not hope to destroy a company of nearly five times our number, but we could sow confusion and panic and allow those two time-honoured military forces to even the balance. We were in the deep woods to the north-west of Westbury, near Alfreton, and the main enemy encampment, bar a few pickets, was spread out in a wide crescent shape to the south of the roughly circular walled compound that was my home, on the slope below its main gate. Little John and five dismounted men \u2013 the least skilled riders in the troop \u2013 would approach on foot as stealthily as they could and attack the western end of the enemy crescent. Their orders were to run into the camp, hopefully without being seen by the pickets, and to begin killing quickly and silently, slaughtering the sleeping men, and moving generally towards the centre of the camp. The alarm would surely be raised as soon as they began their bloody work and when the camp was astir, they would split up and fight their way to the main gate of Westbury where they should receive protection against their enraged enemies from the bowmen on the walls. Little John was big and ugly enough to be easily recognised by Sir Thomas or Hugh or any of the men inside the manor \u2013 even in the half-light of dawn \u2013 and so they should not be mistaken for attackers. But I was aware that the big man and his section were playing the most dangerous part in this operation \u2013 six men on foot attacking an armed camp of a hundred or so enemies. We could only hope that having six killers loose in the camp would make the direction of our attack hard to locate and so create shock and fear among the enemy troops.\n\nMeanwhile Robin, Miles, myself and the remaining fifteen cavalrymen would circle round to the east of Westbury on horseback and when we heard the noises of alarm and Little John's fight begin in earnest, we would blow trumpets, make our war cries and attack as noisily as we could from the east. Robin hoped that the enemy \u2013 terrorised by assassins within the camp and faced with a disciplined cavalry charge from the outside \u2013 and whatever assistance the Westbury garrison could afford us \u2013 would flee the field.\n\n'That is our objective,' said Robin, as we gathered in a loose group in the dark woods for a final conference before the attack. 'We want them to run south as fast as they can. Westbury is to their north, Little John comes in from the west; the cavalry from the east \u2013 we want them to run south. This is not about trying to slaughter every single one of the enemy \u2013' I heard a muted cry of 'Spoilsport!' from Little John, which Robin ignored \u2013 'this is about driving them away. Does everybody understand? Do not drift to the south, that is their exit route. Do not get between the enemy and the sheep pastures to the south by the river. We want them to run. If they don't, and it goes badly, head for the main gate. If the attack fails to drive them away, we need to be able to get inside the walls as quick as we can.'\n\nOur movements shrouded by the grey blanket of the hour before dawn, I led the cavalrymen around the north side of Westbury, keeping a good three-quarters of a mile from the compound and travelling as quietly as we could. Little John and his section of men had departed a good half-hour earlier, as they were taking the shorter route round the west. I was glad that we were moving over my land, land that I had walked and ridden over for nearly twenty years, for I was able to select the quieter paths through the many thickets of vast bramble and along the tracks through the woodland that I had hunted since I was not much more than a stripling. Before long we were in place on the banks of the river, a mere two hundred yards from Westbury itself but hidden in a fold of land underneath a stand of beech trees. It was a favoured place to fatten the pigs and the beech mast was thick on the ground, muffling our horses' hooves. I stopped the troop, got down from my horse and squirmed forward on my belly ten paces to the top of a small rise from where I could see the Westbury compound and the pasture lands before it. Behind me the pinkish stain on the horizon signalled the coming of the sun. But I shivered in the chill air.\n\nI had been feeling the usual stomach-clenching fear before action, a dryness in my mouth and a tremble in my hands, as we walked our horses around the back of my home \u2013 but now that I could clearly see Westbury and the great smear of canvas tents staining the land in front of my gates, my trepidation was for the main part displaced by raw anger. How dare these men come to my home and threaten those whom I loved? I would hit them with all my strength; they would pay with their lives.\n\nI made my way back to Robin and the troop and reported: 'Their horse lines are to the south, and I'd say, yes, there are at least a hundred men, maybe more, plus camp followers and servants. A few are awake, I can see half a dozen campfires alight, and there is a pair of alert sentries about fifty yards beyond the rise. But I see no reason not to ride straight over them.'\n\nA hair-raising scream ripped through the air, the last agonised cry of a man departing this world. It was the awful music of a battle begun.\n\nI could now make out Robin's handsome face in the half-light: 'I believe Little John has already begun the party,' he said. 'Let us join him in his revels.'\n\nWe came over the top of the dip at the canter, in a tight wedge, with Robin at its point and Miles and I directly behind him. Behind us came the rest of the troop; each man armed with helmet, shield and hauberk and a twelve-foot lance. I had no lance, of course, I would not have had the strength to wield it effectively, but I had the borrowed shield on my left arm, a steel cap on my head, and Fidelity's shining naked blade in my right hand. The two sentries between us and the enemy took one look at the pack of cavalry that appeared, thundering towards them, as if from nowhere, and immediately ran yelling in two separate directions. We let them go and moments later we smashed into the camp with our formation intact.\n\nWe shouted our war cries with all our might \u2013 myself bellowing 'Westbury!' \u2013 and came crashing in through a space between two big grubby white tents, our horses' hooves ripping the guy-ropes and their pegs from the ground. As the tents collapsed behind us, Robin drew first blood, his lance leaping forward to skewer a sleepy man-at-arms in a black surcoat who was standing by a fire rubbing his face in astonishment. He abandoned the lance in the man's body and drew his sword, and by then the troopers were in among the enemy killing and screaming like devils. I saw Miles put his horse at a pair of dismounted knights, one with an axe, the other half-dressed but holding a sword. The boy took the axeman beautifully, hitting him plumb centre and lifting him off his feet with the force of the spear, and the other jumped aside as the horse came past and slashed at Robin's son with his sword. Miles took the blow harmlessly on his shield, turned his horse as neatly as a dancer and without even bothering to draw his sword, rode the man down, crushing him with the weight of his destrier, shouting 'Locksley! Locksley for ever!'\n\nA young man came blundering out of his tent, dressed in hauberk and helm and carrying a long spear, and I slashed at him with Fidelity, catching his helmet with my blade and knocking him flat on his back. Between my horse's ears I caught a glimpse of Little John, his feet planted in the centre of the camp, whirling the poleaxe to devastating effect, keeping three armed men at bay, and then stepping in and disembowelling one of them with the axe-head, then, when a second man ran at him from behind, smashing the butt-spike full into his face with no more than a casual glance over his shoulder. I lost sight of him as my horse ran between two large black pavilions with scarlet trimmings. A long-haired fellow ran across my path, a knife in his hand, and I cut him down as I passed with a looping side-blow that sliced the top off his scalp like a boiled egg.\n\nThe camp was in disarray by now, tents collapsed, horses running free, men scrambling to get away from the deadly lances of our men. But these were well-trained troops and their recovery from the twin attacks was admirably swift. I found myself coming round the side of a tent to see three mounted men in black-and-white surcoats, two with long lances, one wielding only mace and a shield. They saw me and immediately spurred their horses to meet me. Three knights against one in my weakened condition \u2013 indeed, had I been in any condition \u2013 was no more than a form of suicide. Still, it was too late to play the coward and I took a firmer grip on my shield and spurred in to meet them.\n\nThey were but ten paces from me when, from an alley between the tents to my left, one of our troopers came galloping. He was a good man, brave as a lion \u2013 for, as far as he knew, he was taking on three knights on his own. His horse came charging in from the side, he shouted something and plunged his lance deep in the side of the leftmost knight, just under the armpit, almost certainly killing him immediately. His horse carried him forward and the second enemy knight, moving slightly out of his path, chopped his mace into my bold comrade's spine as he passed. I heard the snap of bone like a dead branch breaking.\n\nThe third knight, his horse pushed out of line by the attack on his flank, came at me, his spear flicking out towards my belly. I twisted in the saddle, my horse sidestepped and I felt the hard impact of the lance head as it skimmed past my hauberk and slammed into my mount's hindquarters. With my horse dying under me, I cut hard at the knight's neck as he passed, the blade crunching against mail. Then the mace-wielder was on me from the other side and I took a pounding blow on my shield, and ducked as another whistled over my head. I got the horse, just, to turn and face the two men, but she was staggering, jelly-limbed, and I recognised that she was finished. The lance-man's head was flopping loosely on his torso; I had broken his neck. He slid slowly, almost gracefully, from the saddle. But the fellow with the mace had turned his mount and was back and coming in on my right-hand side. I pounded my spurs into my horse's flanks and she gave a last lurch forward towards my attacker. Fidelity flicked out, a straight lunge to his chest, and the man on the charging warhorse impaled himself on my blade, the combined impetus of our two converging horses driving the blade through his mail, through his ribs and deep into the cavity beyond. I felt the force of my blow rocket up my arm, slamming me back against the cantle of my saddle, and I lost my grip on the hilt as his momentum carried him past me. His horse charged on for a dozen paces and then came to a halt, confused, the man on his back, his master, dead in the saddle with Fidelity stuck halfway through his torso.\n\nMy own horse collapsed at that point, and I had to be quick, kicking my feet out of the stirrups, not to be tumbled to the turf or trapped under his falling body. I managed not to crash to the earth, landed on two feet and staggered towards the dead knight and his forlorn destrier. I had no sword, only a shield, and I wanted Fidelity back in my hand a soon as possible.\n\nI could hear the battle raging around me: screams and yells and the crack of metal on wood. That was bad. The enemy was supposed to be running by now. Instead they were fighting back.\n\nA tall bearded man ran at me \u2013 I never saw where he came from \u2013 wearing nothing but a chemise and braies, but he had a long hand-and-a-half sword held in both fists. He attacked immediately. I took a heavy double-handed blow on my shield that had me staggering backwards, but I had no sword with which to respond. He cut at me again, a pounding chop that, while I managed to catch it safely on my shield, felt like a strike from a battering ram. A third strike skimmed across the surface of my shield and clanged off my steel cap, and I felt my legs fail me. Down on one knee and cowering under the shield, I endured a storm of blows aimed at my head and shoulders. I could see his bare legs clearly on the green turf before me.\n\nI pulled the misericorde from its sheath on my left forearm, the black steel slipping willingly into my hand. I surged up with the shield, pushing his weapon aside, and punched forward with the blade, plunging it into the meat of his upper thigh. He gave a noiseless gasp and, looking at him over my shield rim, I saw that he was white as bleached wool with shock. I stepped in, knocking the sword away and plunged the misericorde deep into his naked belly, cutting the blade sideways to slice through his intestines.\n\nHe fell to his knees, dying, with a look of astonishment written across his face.\n\nI left him to die, slid the misericorde, still wet, back into its sheath, and went to recover Fidelity. By chance, our duel had taken us near to the horse and the dead knight, and I quickly pulled his corpse from the saddle and recovered my beloved blade. I had meant to take possession of the horse too, but the animal, perhaps spooked by so much death and blood, cantered away in a shower of earth-clods before I could grasp its bridle.\n\nI looked about me and saw the shapes of men-at-arms on foot converging on me, left and right. The enemy were certainly not fleeing, and were closing in to finish us. I looked ahead and saw the familiar wooden walls of Westbury.\n\nI hurled my battered shield away and ran towards them.\n\nI would not have made it to the main gate of Westbury but for the skill and courage of the men inside. For I was chased like a deer the hundred or so yards from the enemy encampment by a dozen howling men on foot and a-horse. And I was not the only man running for cover. I saw two of Robin's troopers cutting their way clear of a mass of furious black-clad infantry; Little John surrounded by a sea of foes, slicing at them like a reaper, using his poleaxe like a scythe, and at last surging his way through a spray of gore and towards the gate and safety. There was Robin just by the main gate, with a handful of our troops; the gate was opening, men were slipping inside. Merciful God be praised.\n\nWestbury had not been insensible of the battle taking place beyond the walls. The palisade was lined with archers and it was these men who really saved me. I was conscious of a dozen arrows fizzing over my head as I ran helter-skelter from my enemies up the slight hill towards the gates, dodging left and right and, occasionally snatching a glance behind me, I saw my pursuers staggering, smacked in the chest or leg by yard-long shafts of wood, falling away \u2013 and I was clear.\n\nThe main gate was opening wider now.\n\nI had expected some form of sortie from Westbury, the cavalry sallying forth to drive the attackers away from the gates. What happened instead left me gaping in shock. The gate was wide open now, and instead of a swarm of Westbury cavalry only two horsemen emerged, clearly recognisable as Thomas and Hugh. They were in full armour, sword and shield, and mounted on big strong horses, but they were not charging pell-mell into the enemy ranks, they were pulling a huge hay-wagon, piled high with wood and straw, doused in oil and burning like the fires of Hell.\n\nI stood by the gate with my mouth open and watched as the huge burning wagon, pushed by a dozen men-at-arms from inside the gates as well as pulled by Thomas and Hugh outside, rumbled forward, found its own momentum and rolled ponderously down the slope into the heart of the enemy camp. When the wagon was trundling forward, picking up speed, the two men cut the ropes that attached their frightened horses to the burning mass, and circled back to the gates.\n\nThere they were joined by the rest of the Westbury horsemen, and as many of Robin's men as were still in the saddle, and now they all charged, pouring out of the gates in a compact mass in the wake of the rumbling, spark-spitting, unstoppable inferno that was cutting a fiery swath through the enemy encampment.\n\nThat fire-wagon probably killed or injured no more than a dozen men who were unable to get out of its path in time, and Thomas's cavalry charge contained fewer than a score of riders, but the combination of the two, added to the arrows of the archers on the palisade, was enough. Confusion and panic had come to our aid at last.\n\nThe enemy ran.\n\nThey streamed away to the south, scores of men-at-arms and camp servants, knights, too, abandoning their tents, provisions, weapons and stores to get as far away from the chaos of the burning camp as fast as they could.\n\nWestbury was saved."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "A little before mid-morning, I stood on the walls of Westbury in my borrowed hauberk with Robin beside me, and watched as the last of our foes disappeared into the woods beyond the pastures on the far south of my land.\n\nOf all the joys of life, there is nothing like victory. And for the first time in months, I felt as happy and light-headed as a schoolboy released from his lessons. Westbury was largely unscathed and happily our casualties had been light \u2013 although only two of Little John's five footmen got back into the castle alive, and Robin's troop of twenty was now reduced to sixteen men.\n\nI learnt from Sir Thomas later that day that the enemy had arrived the day before, and a knight who had identified himself only as Nicholas of Hainaut had demanded that the gates be opened to him. He intended to conduct a thorough search of the manor, he had said, and Westbury should submit or face the consequences.\n\nSir Thomas had immediately ordered the Westbury archers to loose, and the knight had been cut down in front of the gate by a blizzard of shafts. My dark-haired friend was not a man to waste time when battle was at hand: and he was perfectly justified in his actions, as the knight had come arrayed for war to his gates and had issued threats. There had been no formal or even informal truce agreement in place. However, the enemy, furious at the precipitate slaughter of their envoy, had made a concerted attack on the walls, fifty men-at-arms with ladders, supported by a score of dismounted knights, but they had been driven back without too much difficulty by the defenders. The money I had paid out to strengthen the palisade had been well spent, I considered. Hugh had distinguished himself in the defence of the western wall, where the main attack had fallen, slaying the enemy in droves and casting the ladders loose wherever they landed on the battlements.\n\nI thanked Hugh and Thomas with tears in my eyes for defending my home. But Hugh surprised me by saying that he and Sir Thomas could not take the full credit for the success of their defence.\n\n'You have Robert to thank for that,' Hugh said. 'It was his idea to use the fire-wagon, and I would say that that was the move that tipped the scales.'\n\nRobert had been dispensing ale to the thirsty men-at-arms from a large jug \u2013 and the men were drinking deep. And he seemed strangely shy when I summoned him over to confirm Hugh's words.\n\n'Is it true, Robert, that the burning wagon was your idea?'\n\n'Yes, Father. I hope you do not mind the loss of the wagon. I chose the oldest one we had, the one I felt we could most afford to lose.'\n\nI hugged him, then, too choked with pride to speak.\n\nAs we sat down to dinner that day, just after noon, Robert brought round the water ewer, bowl and towels to allow the guests to wash their hands, and I saw that he managed this ordinary task with aplomb. He had just taken part in his first siege, he had very likely saved Westbury with his quick thinking, and now he was fulfilling his duties as a squire, in a fresh tunic, hair combed, nails clean, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His hand did not tremble as he poured the wine; he carved the meat \u2013 we were eating fat roast pork with crispy crackling, at my insistence \u2013 in neat, thin, even slices like a master butcher.\n\nMy heart swelled with love at the sight of him: so what if he was not the world's finest swordsman? He would make a fine knight, a fine man, one day.\n\nWhen we had eaten, I rested for several hours \u2013 although I had not been wounded the battle had taken its toll on my still weak body and I found I could barely stand. But the next morning I rose early and went out to survey the battlefield and join in the clean-up. The whole of Westbury was already there, picking over the leavings of the enemy: villagers scooping up discarded items of clothing, searching for a forgotten purse or a silver buckle; even the dogs of the manor and the village were out, scouting for any scraps of bread and meat that had been left behind.\n\nAlthough I was sure that they came from the sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I was more than curious to discover exactly who the enemy had been, for the name Nicholas of Hainault meant nothing to me. It seemed they had left behind some evidence of their identity: a particular kind of wooden overshoe found in the Low Countries, some thick, waxy cheese rind discarded in the midden, a broken shield painted with a device derived from one I had seen on a knight from Leuven.\n\nWe concluded that they were Flemings.\n\n'Mercenaries,' said Robin without a hint of condemnation. He could not very well sneer, as he had been one more than once, and so had I.\n\n'The sheriff of Nottinghamshire is hiring mercenaries to collect his taxes, is that not self-defeating?' I said. 'Any money he gets will go to pay his soldiers.'\n\nRobert's lurcher bitch Vixen was sniffing my shoes. I ruffled her behind the ears.\n\n'Not necessarily. They may well be already bought and paid for by the King, who is lending them out to his sheriffs while they await orders for the continental campaign. It is actually quite a good use for men who might otherwise be idle.'\n\n'You sound as though you approve of the King's tax-collecting methods,' I said.\n\n'I don't object to taxes, per se,' said Robin. 'Do I not charge my tenants rent? Do not you charge yours? What your friends, my lords Fitzwalter and de Vesci, propose is an end to taxation \u2013 and that is absurd. They would have a pauper king, weak and easily controlled by men such as them. What I would end is the arbitrary use of force by the King to seize whatever money he wishes, whenever he wishes it, as if he were a greedy child. But the only thing that can truly check him, de Vesci and Fitzwalter would say, is armed force. Armies, battles, civil war. They want to use the ultimate force against the King. I would do things quite differently.'\n\nI hung my head. I knew I'd been unwise and that Robin, at great cost, had saved me from the consequences of my foolish plotting with de Vesci and Fitzwalter. I was glad I had burned Fitzwalter's letter now and resolved never to have anything to do with either man again.\n\nI found the corpse of my horse that afternoon, and spent a moment or two in mourning for that noble beast who had taken the lance blow meant for me. The knight's spear had plunged straight through the saddlebag and deep into the horse's lower bowels. I had seen men die from that kind of wound and knew that it was both painful and foul, as faecal matter from the lower gut mixes with the blood and spreads all over the wound and the outer body.\n\nI have seen some men-at-arms take five days to die from such a wound and in agony for all that time. It is in God's hands, of course. But I was glad that it had been swift for my equine friend.\n\nI glanced inside the saddlebag to check for valuables and came across the pasty that Tilda had given me, fat pork and healthy spices in pastry. It had smelled delicious when she had given it to me in the courtyard of Kirklees Priory, but now, sadly, it was the very opposite. The lance had ripped it apart and the glorious pasty was covered in blood and the half-digested contents of the horse's belly. I dug out the sticky pieces from the torn saddlebag and threw them away.\n\nI looked over the enemy's former encampment and into the pastures beyond and saw Robert playing with his lurcher. Throwing sticks for Vixen to chase and bring back to the boy. Yesterday he endured a siege and today he plays like a child, I mused. I was almost overwhelmed by a feeling of love for him. We had fought here on this ground to protect him, and lost comrades in that struggle. We had won, yes, but I had risked his life over a little money. How would I have felt if Robin had not helped me, if Sir Thomas and Hugh had not been so staunch, if Westbury had been overrun and Robert was taken, and God forbid, torn apart by the sheriff's ogre?\n\nI found Robin later in the courtyard of Westbury, examining the new tower.\n\n'It needs to be higher,' he said. 'You need to put a couple more storeys on top, and that way you will have the height to\u2014'\n\nI interrupted him: 'I can't afford it. I can't afford anything. I have almost no silver left and I've decided to promise to pay the sheriff what he wants, even if I have to mire myself in debt to do so.'\n\nRobin looked at me. 'I cannot help you, Alan. The cost of arming and outfitting for the Flanders expedition has hit hard. I'd like to help, but thirty marks\u2026'\n\n'No, no, my lord,' I said. 'I do not ask it of you. I will borrow from the Jews or come to some arrangement with the sheriff.'\n\nRobin said: 'Are you sure? We've taught him a lesson, I'd say. He should keep his distance.'\n\n'I cannot allow myself to be permanently at war with the sheriff of this county. I would be made an outlaw \u2013 I may be one already \u2013 and I cannot hide my entire household in the forest for the rest of my life. I must live here, I mean to grow old here, and they will always know where to find me, where to find Robert. If we are to go to the Low Countries this summer, I would be leaving Westbury to the mercy of Philip Marc and Sir Benedict Malet. I must come to an accommodation with them, and as soon as possible \u2013 I will ride to Nottinghamshire tomorrow.'\n\n'Do you want me to come with you? We could show a little force, it might help your negotiations.'\n\n'No, I will go alone. I must appear humble, a penitent.'\n\n'Very well,' said Robin. 'But keep this in mind as you wrangle with the sheriff. We depart for Flanders soon \u2013 and that expedition may well prove as lucrative as the attack on Damme. I make no promises, but your fortunes could well be restored by battle. One rich French knight captured and the ransom could change everything. Anyway, something to think on. If you are sure you know your mind, we will take our leave of you this afternoon. But, if you will permit me, I will send a message to Nottingham Castle, reminding the sheriff that you are under my protection and that if any harm comes to you they must answer to me.'\n\n'Thank you, my lord,' I said, and gripped his arm.\n\nRobin's departure with Little John, Hugh, Miles and all his men left Westbury much diminished. But the place appeared bigger, too, and seemed to echo with its new emptiness. Sir Thomas had disappeared after the battle \u2013 I suspected that I knew where. But I could not blame him for seeking his pleasures after facing the storm of battle and I pretended not to notice his absence. So we were an even further depleted company when we sat down to dinner: Robert, Baldwin and myself, with Alice serving the repast. Baldwin made an attempt to lift my spirits with toasts to our triumph and stirring tales of the attack on the walls which Hugh and his men had so bravely fought off. But I was in no mood for the traditional self-congratulations of victory. It felt more like a defeat. Tomorrow I would go with penitence and promises to try to appease the wrath of my enemies."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "When I reached the gates of the town the next day, I was half expecting to see the walls lined with armed men. And I halted long out of bowshot to try to gauge what sort of reception I would receive. As well as Robin's messenger, I had sent a man from Westbury to herald my coming. I had asked for an audience with the sheriff at noon, and I had added that I came under a flag of truce. I did not seek to be shot down as Sir Thomas had slain the Flemish mercenary Nicholas of Hainaut.\n\nNottingham seemed entirely normal. There were a few bored crossbowmen on the town walls, who ignored me, and I was stopped by only two sergeants-at-arms at the town gates who asked my business. I sensed no danger at all.\n\nI was wearing no mail \u2013 just a blue tunic, black hose and riding boots, covered with a long grey cloak, but Fidelity was at my waist and I had the misericorde strapped to my left wrist. The sergeants did not attempt to disarm me, they merely summoned an escort of half a dozen men from the guardroom and gave them orders to escort me to the great hall where the sheriff was holding court.\n\nI felt no qualms until I reached the inner bailey of the castle itself. And there, the first thing I saw, over by the old alehouse, was a square-built structure, a platform on four legs as wide as a cottage, with a high beam suspended above it, the whole business newly constructed of green elm beams.\n\nIt was a gallows.\n\nThe sheriff received me in the great hall of Nottingham Castle. I knew that hall well but that day it seemed different. The space was filled with men-at-arms, mostly French mercenaries, like their lord, but I also heard the English-sounding words of Flemish being spoken by more than a few of the mailed men who stood around, laughing and joking, swigging ale or wine, and pinching the backsides of the prettier women servants. The hall had the atmosphere of a campaign tent or a barracks: drunken familiarity and sweaty male camaraderie. It was a far cry from the stiff formality and hushed awe of the place when King John was in residence \u2013 but then this sheriff, this Frenchman, was a stranger in this land: he was an occupier, sent here by the King to prey on the people and strip as much wealth as he could from the English. As a foreigner, the sheriff must feel unsure, perhaps even unsafe, which was why he kept himself surrounded by his armed men.\n\nNot all the men there were foreigners. I was greeted, if that is the word, at the door of the hall by Sir Benedict Malet. He treated me with his usual contempt: 'So you are here at last. Hope you brought cash,' was all he said before leading me through the throng to meet Philip Marc, who was standing at the rear of the hall surrounded by a pack of guffawing French men-at-arms.\n\nIt crossed my mind, briefly, that it would be a service to mankind if I were to draw my misericorde and shove it hard into Benedict's kidneys, but I restrained myself.\n\n'Ah, it is the noble Sir Alan Dale. You have come to pay me the money you owe, I make no doubt.'\n\nThe half-dozen men-at-arms in the pack around the sheriff had spread out in a half-circle. They listened to our conversation and from the smirks and nudges that they gave each other, I had the feeling that they were expecting some entertainment.\n\n'I have come to discuss the scutage demanded by the King.'\n\n'It is the same. Thirty marks, I believe it was that we agreed. You have it?'\n\n'As I said, I mean to discuss it with you. Like a Christian.'\n\n'Good, let's discuss like Christians. But I am afraid I have some bad news for you, my friend. The King has decided \u2013' Marc looked sideways at the men around him, and they sniggered like naughty children \u2013 'I say the King has decided that thirty marks will not do. Oh, no, when we last spoke the price was thirty. Now it is fifty marks. Yes, fifty. As I'm sure you know, he is quite an insatiable man.'\n\nI dug the nails of my hands into my palms but said nothing. My face must have been a picture, for the men-at-arms fell about laughing when they saw my response to their master's words.\n\n'Tell me, Sir Alan, how is your charming son \u2013 Robert, is it not? He is in good health, I trust?'\n\n'He is well \u2026 well guarded,' I said through my teeth, 'as I believe we proved to you not two days hence.'\n\n'Yes, I heard you had a little affray at Westbury. Attacked by masterless thieves and evil men from Sherwood, I hear. An outrage, by my faith. And you saw them off. Very good, Sir Alan. I am pleased for you. But you must be fatigued after all your exertions. Pray, rest a little, take your ease. I will discuss the fifty marks you owe me later this afternoon.'\n\n'I am quite ready to talk now,' I said.\n\n'No, not now. I have a little business of my own that I must conclude before I can satisfy you, some business of the law. That is ever my burden as sheriff. But before we get to that, I am told you are a singer, is this so? Yes? Then, if you are not tired you must sing for me and my men. We sadly lack for entertainment here at the castle. A few passing jongleurs, and most too frightened to perform. Sing well and maybe, just maybe, the King will see fit to reduce your debts, eh?'\n\n'I should prefer to discuss the tax money now, sir,' I said, hanging on to my temper with all my strength.\n\n'No, sir, you will sing. You will sing now. I have a great love of music, I am a most cultured man. You will indulge me and then, perhaps, I will indulge you, eh?'\n\n'I have no vielle, sir. My instrument is at Westbury. I cannot sing without it. Perhaps if we were first to discuss the money\u2026'\n\n'I know where I can find a vielle,' said Benedict unhelpfully. 'There is a fellow in the alehouse below the castle who plays tunes for flagons of ale. He cuts a very amusing caper, too, while he plays. Perhaps Sir Alan would also care to dance while he plays. Should I fetch it, Sir Philip?'\n\nI wished then that I had sliced up the fat bastard's kidneys. But it was too late. Benedict Malet was already pushing through the throng to fetch the instrument, and Philip Marc was clapping his hands and announcing to the whole hall that the famous trouv\u00e8re Sir Alan Dale would entertain us with his celebrated music. Furious as I was, I knew that I had to do it: if I could please him \u2013 and God how I hated the weakness of my position that forced me to do that \u2013 then I might perhaps succeed in reducing the debt. But I felt no better than a whore.\n\nThe vielle was a poor specimen, old, warped and unvarnished, and the bow was worse, the horse-hairs split and bunched at the top. However, I believe I managed to produce a passable sound. I did not dance. But I did sing. Judging my audience of mercenaries, most three parts drunk, I sang the great lays of France: of Charlemagne; of Roland and Oliver; stirring tales of battle and death, of self-sacrifice and tragedy. I swear that even those rough foreign men-at-arms were moved. I saw the dark bulk of Boot in the back of the hall staring at me with his huge red mouth open like a fish.\n\nTo finish off, just for the sheer devilry of it, I told them I would play a canso that I had written with King Richard the Lionheart \u2013 the finest monarch I had ever had the pleasure of serving. I gave them 'My Joy Summons Me' \u2013 and I put my heart and soul into it. The hall was absolutely silent when I had finished.\n\nI tossed the old vielle to Sir Benedict, who was gazing at me with mixed hatred and awe, and strode over to Philip Marc.\n\n'Now, sir, I should like to speak about my debts,' I said.\n\nThe man was actually weeping. 'No, no, Sir Alan, we cannot talk of such sordid matters now,' said Marc, wiping the tears from his cheeks. 'I have a task in the bailey that I must oversee. But your music was \u2026 it was magnificent. And I thank you, thank you, Sir Alan. You made me feel \u2026 ah, but forgive my nonsense. We will certainly talk afterwards, we will talk in an hour or two, my friend.'\n\nI followed the herd as it streamed out of the hall and into the inner bailey. More than a few of the tough mercenaries pounded me on the back as they passed and offered me words of praise and, despite everything, I was warmed by their pleasure.\n\nThe crowd gathered around the huge gallows that I had noticed in the bailey. It was no longer empty. Six men were now upon it. Five of them were bound fast with ropes and ties and were secured to five wooden stools on the plank surface. I knew not one of the five bound men \u2013 but the sixth was Boot. He wore a black leather jerkin and a cloth hood that covered his face save for two eye-holes and a gap for his mouth, but there was no mistaking his size and the copper-brown skin of his bare arms. A priest also dressed in black climbed up the steps and on to the gallows platform, followed by Philip Marc and his lumbering hound Sir Benedict Malet. The priest began to pray aloud for the souls of the five men, but his mumbled words were drowned out by Sir Benedict, who produced a roll of parchment and began to read a list of five names and professions: they were townsfolk, shopkeepers, merchants, artisans, all citizens of the middle rank, some I gathered of not inconsiderable estate.\n\n'You men have all been found guilty of evading the King's taxes, lawfully levied upon your properties, and by this contumelious action you have forfeited the right to the King's protection. In the name of the law, I sentence you all to death, may God have mercy upon your souls.'\n\nI saw that Philip Marc was looking directly at me. Good God, had this crude display been arranged solely for my benefit? I broke my gaze from the sheriff. The priest had ceased his mumbling. Boot strode to the first victim \u2013 and I realised belatedly that there were no ropes attached to the beam above their heads.\n\nThis was to be no hanging, no commonplace execution.\n\nBoot grasped the head of the first man. The crowd fell silent; I could hear a strange sound emanating from the huge man's red lips, it was high-pitched, eerie, but I could clearly recognise a tune. The monster was singing. Stranger still, I recognised that tune. He was singing 'My Joy Summons Me'. I felt sick. What cruel mockery was this?\n\nBoot's fingers closed around the first man's skull, his huge arms gave one swift wrench, and the man's spine snapped like twig. The victim uttered not a sound \u2013 but the weird singing coming from the huge red mouth never ceased \u2013 the man's head lolled on his chest, the neck unmistakably broken. I felt fingers of ice crawl up my spine. The huge executioner stepped over to the second man, grasped his head and twisted, and once again snapped his backbone as easily as if he were a chicken for the pot. And so he progressed through all the condemned men, dispatching each in an instant, coldly, efficiently, like a man arranging a row of melons in some eastern market.\n\nAnd all the while, in his high, whining voice, he sang my song.\n\nI admit that I was shocked, and a little unnerved, by the execution. I have seen death many times, and a dozen executions or more \u2013 I watched my own father hanged by the neck as a child \u2013 but few have chilled me like that cruel display.\n\nIn something of a daze, I found myself in the hall with Philip Marc an hour later. The sheriff seemed to me to be in a fine, happy mood. He cut himself a thick slice of mutton from a joint on the sideboard, and munching it, he said: 'So, Sir Alan, to business \u2013 I am at your disposal. I hope our little display of justice in the courtyard has shown you the consequences of refusal to pay the King's taxes.'\n\nI had planned to flatter and wrangle, to cajole and reason with the sheriff. But the sight of those five men meeting their Maker in such a brutal fashion drove all my soft words from my head.\n\nInstead, I said: 'I cannot pay you. I do not have the money. Truly I do not.'\n\n'No?' said Philip Marc, cocking an eyebrow at me. 'No, I see that you do not. But perhaps you can get the money for me, eh? Perhaps if I give you some more encouragement. With more incentive, as my clerks say, you might find it.'\n\nI was perplexed by his words and frowned at the man. The sheriff gave a chuckle. 'But I must not be so obtuse,' he said. 'Malet!' he suddenly roared. 'Benedict, where are you, my plump gosling?'\n\nFrom a door at the far end of the hall, Benedict Malet emerged, smirking nastily. Directly behind him came two men-at-arms, and between them I saw with mounting horror that they held the writhing body of a small boy. It was Robert.\n\nI was on my feet and heading for the trio in an instant, when Marc stopped me with a few words. 'Take another step, Sir Alan, and the boy dies.'\n\nI saw that one of the men-at-arms holding my son had a blade at his jugular, ready to slice deep.\n\n'What is the meaning of this!' I roared at the sheriff. 'I came here under a flag of truce, on the promise that no harm would come to me\u2026'\n\n'And no harm shall come to you, my dear Alan, as long as you behave yourself. No harm shall be done to your son, either. On exactly the same conditions.'\n\nI looked at Robert. His eyes were huge with fear. 'They tricked me, Father. It was a dirty trick. I got a message from you saying that I was to ride immediately to Nottingham, and to come without telling anyone at Westbury. It said you urgently needed my help. Oh, Father, I truly thought it was from you. I am so, so sorry.'\n\n'It doesn't matter, Robert,' I said. 'It really is no matter.'\n\n'I am afraid that I have indulged in a ruse de guerre,' said Sheriff Marc. 'I am afraid that I delayed you for a little while until you and Robert could be united here. I do hope you will forgive me, but I was not certain that you would clearly see the importance of paying your debts if we did not apply a mite of pressure.'\n\n'I will forgive you the moment you release my son,' I said, trying to remain calm. 'I will pay the full amount as soon as I can, but only if you release him now.'\n\n'Alas\u2026' said the sheriff, 'I'm sure you can understand my position. I know that I would sleep more easily if I knew that young Robert was snug in a cell in my own keep. Guards, you may take the prisoner away.'\n\n'Wait,' I said. 'Allow me to speak with him for a moment.'\n\nThe sheriff shrugged. As I walked towards my son, I saw that Robert was weeping freely and it was only with difficulty that I kept my own eyes dry.\n\n'Be strong, Robert. Be brave and patient. I will get you out of this place as soon as I can. Dry your tears, son. You know that I love you. You must be a man, for me.'\n\nI embraced him, then held him at arm's length to look into his face.\n\n'Be brave and be patient,' I said. 'And I swear I will fetch you home.'\n\nBut the tears were still running down his beautiful face. 'Vixen died,' he said. 'She was a good dog; never hurt anybody. She fell sick and died this afternoon.'\n\nI was not physically restrained. The sheriff's men did not even take my weapons from me. Yet, despite my longing to cut out his cruel heart, I knew that I could make not the slightest move against the sheriff or any of his men while he held my son in his power. Our negotiations were swiftly dealt with. I agreed to pay the sheriff ten marks of silver within the week. I agreed that I would pay him another ten marks at Lammas, the festival of the harvest at the beginning of August, and the third and final payment of the thirty marks at Christmas \u2013 the sheriff's teasing talk of fifty marks having been dismissed early in the discussions. I told the sheriff with all the firmness I could muster that I would not tolerate Robert suffering any harm or even discomfort. And if he wished to receive these payments this must be clearly understood from the beginning. I also told him, and Benedict Malet, quite calmly, that if Robert did come to any harm, I would spend my life in the pursuit of bloody vengeance on them both.\n\n'My dear Sir Alan,' said the sheriff, smiling kindly at me. 'Why should I damage your boy? You have kindly agreed to contribute to my coffers. As long as you pay what you have promised, not a hair on the boy's head shall be harmed.' Then his look changed, darkened: 'But if you play me false, sir, if you miss your payments, even by one month, one week even \u2026 well, you have seen what Boot can do.'\n\n'Snap!' said Benedict, clicking his fingers. 'Oh, poor little Robert.'\n\nI rode back to Westbury in the lengthening shadows with my soul on the rack. The only crumb of comfort I could find was the sheriff's eagerness to acquire wealth. I believed he would spare my son while I was providing him with coin for his coffers. He would not kill the goose that laid golden eggs. But my most immediate problem was how to raise the ten marks I had promised by the end of the week. I did not have it. But I would get it somehow. The thought of Boot's big hands around my son's skull made me feel sick and shaky.\n\nIn the event, Robin came to my aid, as I had known he would. He sent me five marks in silver, eight hundred silver pennies in a stout leather sack. I sold two of my horses and with what I had left in my counting house \u2026 I was still a good way short of the ten marks that I had promised. My salvation came from an unexpected source.\n\nSir Thomas came to me as I was sitting at the long table in my hall, once again going over the rolls with Baldwin and looking for a way in which we could raise the remaining money from the estate. Without a word Thomas dumped two heavy linen sacks on the table before us. They chinked.\n\n'As I told you before, Sir Alan,' Thomas said with not a hint of a self-satisfied smile. 'I do not always lose.'\n\nI was overwhelmed by his gesture. 'How much is it?' I said, lifting one of the bags and feeling the weight of the coins though the linen.\n\n'It is a little over two marks,' he said. 'And it is my gift to you.'\n\n'I can't take your money, Thomas,' I said, trying to mean it.\n\n'Yes, you can. And you will. I feel that I was partly to blame for Robert being deceived by the sheriff's message. He is in my charge and if I had been here rather than in the stews of Nottingham when it came, I hope I would have seen through it. It's my fault, and so I should make amends. Take it, my friend, with my blessing. I'd only lose it again next time, most probably.'\n\nI was extremely moved by Thomas's contribution and extremely relieved. It meant that I now had enough to make the first payment to Philip Marc, and the next day I returned to Nottingham to fulfil my commitment.\n\nI did not see either the sheriff or his deputy Benedict, for which small mercy I was glad. But I paid over the moneys to the sheriff's clerk and received a receipt for the payment. Then I demanded to see Robert.\n\nAfter a good deal of argument, in which I made various threats that I could not truly back up, I was allowed by an under-sheriff, a blackguardly fellow who I had seen before in the circle of smirking mercenaries around Marc, to visit my son for a few moments to verify that he was indeed whole and hale. He was being kept in a cell in the depths of the castle, the door warded by two men-at-arms, and the corridor manned by half a dozen men-at-arms. Even the stairs leading down to the prison block were guarded by a pair of Flemish knights. With a sinking heart, I knew that even if I had the military strength, which I did not, there was absolutely no chance that I could break into the castle and free Robert by force.\n\nHowever, I was relieved to see that the boy was cheerful and moderately well cared for. He had candles for light (an expense for the sheriff to bear) and a towel, water jug and a piece of lard soap for washing, and regular if rather dull food twice a day. The boy had made himself a chessboard, with squares scratched on the stone floor, and the pieces fashioned out of lumps of candle wax, and he told me that he spent the time thinking, praying and playing chess with himself, left hand against the right.\n\n'I am being patient and brave, Father,' he said. 'I know you will get me home as soon as you can.'\n\nI was not allowed to stay with him long, but as I was departing, chivvied rudely out of the cell by the Flemish under-sheriff, Robert said something a little strange. 'Can you give Sir Thomas a message, Father? It concerns a small matter that he and I have been arguing over for some weeks now.'\n\nI said that I would.\n\n'Tell him that I have solved the inherent weakness of the hollow phalanx: each side of the square must be made up of four blocks of men, each a discreet command with their own captain, so they can open and close individually like doors to let the cavalry out without the whole of one side being left open to the enemy.'\n\nI had no idea what he meant but I promised to deliver the message word for word. And when I did later that day at Westbury, Thomas merely said: 'Yes, that should work, I think. He's a smart boy, your Robert, you should be proud of him.'\n\nWell, I was, of course, even though I had no notion, in this instance, of exactly why I should be so proud. I was also relieved that Robert was safe and being well treated. For the moment. But I had scant idea how I would be able to find the next ten marks, which would fall due on Lammas day at the beginning of August.\n\nThe late spring that year of Our Lord twelve hundred and fourteen was a fine one: days of brilliant sunshine and only the occasional shower to make the country seem fresh and alive. I was still weak and bone-thin but I set my mind to improving my body with a will. I joined Sir Thomas Blood in the courtyard every day at dawn and we exercised with sword and shield until mid-morning. Robert might be languishing in a prison cell but I had to make myself hard so that I could fight to free him. For I knew that the only chance I had of raising the money to make the next payment, and perhaps with luck to make the full payment to the sheriff, was to win riches in battle and, with God's help, perhaps take a rich French knight prisoner. For the enormous amount of money that I needed could only come from a fat ransom.\n\nI exercised with Sir Thomas every day. I also made sure that I ate like a wolf, taking Tilda's advice and having meat and fish with almost every meal. My coffers might be empty but there was still plentiful game on my lands and the rivers were full of trout. To strengthen my arms I began a routine devised by Sir Thomas which involved lifting round river boulders above my head and setting them down on the ground again, before repeating the exercise over and over. Sometimes I would sit on the ground of the courtyard manoeuvring theses boulders around my body, shifting the weight from the left side to the right, and then back again. It does not sound like much but my stomach muscles ached for days afterwards and my arms burned. After a few weeks I could see the rounded swell of muscles returning to my upper arms, chest and legs, and I began to feel strong again.\n\nI trained hard for two months with Sir Thomas and the garrison of Westbury and by the time Robin arrived in early June with nearly two hundred marching men, I was almost as fit as I had been before my illness.\n\nMy first thought when seeing this host was to gauge whether it was powerful enough to take Nottingham Castle. I said something along those lines to Robin.\n\n'It grieves me to tell you that I do not think so, Alan,' said Robin. 'There must be a thousand men-at-arms in the castle now and the sheriff's spies are everywhere. They would be forewarned and we would fail. Then we would be outlawed \u2013 both of us \u2013 the very fate you said you wanted to avoid by making this accommodation with Philip Marc. But I will risk it if you ask it of me. For Robert and for our friendship.'\n\nI realised then that I was being foolish. Selfish, even.\n\n'Is Robert well?' asked Robin, with genuine concern in his eyes.\n\n'Yes, he is in good health and spirits,' I said heavily. 'And safe enough, I believe, for the moment. But I would have him by my side.'\n\n'We will make things right when we come back from the war,' Robin said. 'Just keep your eyes out for a plump French count or a wealthy baron or two.'\n\nOver a cup of wine in my hall with Sir Thomas and Little John, Robin gave me the news from France: 'Try not to fall off your stool with surprise, Alan, but it seems that the King has been victorious in Poitou.'\n\nI managed to keep my seat but I was considerably astonished.\n\n'By all accounts, the King has been quite brilliant in his operations,' Robin continued. 'He has taken his army down the Charente and back, and across through Angoul\u00eame and the Limousin. He has quelled the Lusignans, even Geoffrey, and taken castle after castle. The local barons have surrendered to him, all of them, and begged to pay homage in exchange for keeping their lands. Most of them served him in the past, or Richard before him, or their father Henry \u2013 he is in his ancestral lands, of course, playing the hero king, the noble lord returned to claim his own.'\n\n'It hardly seems credible,' I said.\n\n'Oh, it is true all right, I had the news from Cousin Henry in London. The bells are ringing out for victory all over the city, he informs me.'\n\n'Where is the King now?'\n\n'Having settled Poitou, he turned north in triumph; he marched straight through Anjou and has seized the castle of Ancennis on the border with Brittany. He stands poised to capture Nantes and threaten the whole of Brittany. It's a brave and clever move: if he takes the city he will have another port as well as La Rochelle from which to resupply his growing forces.'\n\n'And what of Philip?' I asked. 'Surely he has not been idle?'\n\n'That is the best news of all. Philip has summoned his knights, called up the militia of Paris and the lands around and all his nobles of Burgundy, Champagne and Normandy and \u2013 we think \u2013 is making ready to march south-west to confront John. William des Roches \u2013 remember him from Normandy? He's Philip's seneschal now of course \u2013 well, he is trying to hold back the King. But our John has the bit between his teeth. Des Roches is outnumbered, and it seems he has been outgeneralled, too.'\n\nI remembered William des Roches, an aggressive knight with fiery red hair who, with Robin, had been instrumental in capturing Mirabeau a decade before. He had become quickly disgusted with John and had given his allegiance to King Philip, one of many barons who had done so before the fall of Normandy.\n\n'Philip must march to support des Roches in the south-west,' said Robin, 'or send a significant part of his army to do the same \u2013 or he will lose not only Poitou but Anjou, Maine, maybe even Normandy. John, believe it or not, is actually winning!'\n\n'Take a stone to Fidelity's edge, Alan,' said Little John, 'we're going to war!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "My sin has been found out; my wickedness uncovered. Prior William has learnt that, against his express orders, I have been continuing with the transcription of Brother Alan's tale. Another brother, and I shall not sully these pages with the wretch's name, saw me writing upon my parchments, asked what I was about and informed on me to the Prior. And so our master under God summoned both Brother Alan and myself to the chapter house and in the presence of a dozen other senior monks of Newstead he pronounced his sentence.\n\nWe are both to be banished from the abbey. But first we are to do penance for our crimes. I am to be stripped and given forty lashes in the courtyard in front of all the other members of our house. It seems a harsh sentence for such a slight crime, but I must not complain. It is God's will, after all and Prior William says I must be taught humility before I leave these precincts, so that my time here should not have been completely wasted. And I will try to be humble and accept my punishment and my fate. But I must confess I greatly fear the loss of my home and my place in the world. I do not know how I will live outside these walls. I am young, however, not yet thirty, and so there is time for me to find another path in this world. It is far, far worse for Brother Alan. He will not be beaten, at least. At his age and in his state of health, forty lashes \u2013 even four lashes \u2013 would most certainly kill him, and Prior William does not wish to have his death on his conscience. But he is to be immured in his cell for a month on bread and water, and then expelled from the monastery. And I think that may be the death of him. But even in the face of the Prior's wrath, Brother Alan showed no fear. He stood as straight as his weak legs allowed him and damned the Prior as a coward and a bully when he heard the sentence. 'I have survived worse prisons,' he said. 'And suffered under worse tyrants than you.' Then he turned his back on William and limped back to his cell on his own two feet to begin the punishment. I know he has also sent a message to his grandson, who is also called Alan, requesting a corner of his old manor of Westbury in which to live out his last days. But he has had scant contact with his family for some years and I suspect that that relative may not look kindly on the former lord of the manor returning to his hall. God preserve him.\n\nMy beating is set for dawn tomorrow morning. And I earnestly pray that I shall have the strength to endure it. May God be with me, too, now and for ever. Amen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "We marched south in the morning, heading for Dover and the grand fleet under the command of William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, which was assembled there. I was loath to leave Robert in the hands of the sheriff, but I knew I had no choice. The only way I could acquire the money to free him was through battle. But it felt terribly wrong to be leaving the country at his time of need.\n\n'Whether you are in Flanders or at Westbury,' said Robin, somewhat brutally, 'you still will not have Robert by your side. He will be safe enough until we return with the money to claim him. Come now, Alan, I need you to train your mind solely on the campaign. I need you now, Alan, and I need all of you.'\n\nThat was all very well for Robin to say. He was accompanied by both his sons. Miles and Hugh were to act as Robin's aides, relaying orders to the different components of his army. He also had with him a dozen light cavalry \u2013 to be used mainly for scouting \u2013 and not quite two hundred infantry, sixty archers, and the rest men-at-arms equipped with swords, shields and long pikes or Little John's new poleaxes. There were also a dozen squires and pages, the sons of Robin's noble friends, and a handful of unarmed servants to ensure our comforts on the march.\n\nWe embarked at Dover and made the short journey to Calais in less than a day. The sea was mild as milk and the grand fleet \u2013 many of them former French ships that had been captured at Damme \u2013 took William of Salisbury and a thousand men, a goodly number of them Flemish mercenaries under their captain Hugh de Boves, across with not a ship nor a man lost. We also took with us a deal of money, tens of thousands of marks in stout wooden barrels, under heavy guard, for silver was the glue that would bind this alliance of English, Flemish and German armies and give us the collective strength to smash the French.\n\nWe had more news at Calais: King John was again triumphant in the south. He had taken Nantes in a brisk fight and had captured Peter of Dreux, the Count of Brittany, whose wife was the sister of the murdered Duke Arthur. Better yet, the knights of Angers had opened their gates to him without a fight and the King was once more in the capital of Anjou, the home of his forebears. Philip and his son Prince Louis were marching south from Paris with a large army \u2013 and, praise God, the north was now unguarded.\n\nRobin was quietly pleased with the way that things seemed to be going. 'The way to Paris is open, Alan,' he told me in his tent a week after our arrival in France. 'For once, John has not made a total mess of things. All we need now is for the Germans to join us and we can plunge into the heartlands of France at will.'\n\nWe were bivouacked about twenty miles south-east of Calais, in thickly wooded countryside near the hamlet of Saint-Omer. William Longsword, the Earl of Salisbury, had distributed his forces across the countryside with orders to ravage the lands to the south. These rich farms and manors on the flat, wheat-growing plains had once been the lands of the Count of Boulogne but Philip had annexed the territory two years before and declared them part of the loyal county of Artois. Renauld of Boulogne \u2013 a tall, powerful, black-haired man, with a reputation for reckless courage \u2013 was now our staunchest ally, having been granted lands in England and awarded an annual pension from King John. He and Longsword were very close, hunting together by day and drinking themselves into a stupor at night. Renauld, who had a personal grudge against the Dreux family over some disputed lands, was particularly pleased that Peter of Brittany had been taken.\n\n'That'll serve the bugger right,' I overheard him say to Salisbury on the march from Calais. 'Nothing like some time in gaol to teach a fellow to mend his wicked ways.'\n\nI could not but agree. I now looked back on the actions that had led me to my time in Brien's Close with a shudder. I had given my trust to two men \u2013 de Vesci and Fitzwalter \u2013 who had not lifted a finger to save me when our plot had gone awry. They and many other English nobles were conspicuous by their absence on this campaign, despite the assurances that had been given to the King at Wallingford. Indeed, among the more powerful barons of the land, only Robin had honoured his commitment to come to Flanders and fight for the King.\n\nThe news was not all good, however. I had just returned from leading a patrol south, foraging for food \u2013 which in truth meant descending on a farm with a score of armed men and carrying away chickens, pigs, sacks of corn, anything edible, to the dismay of the owners \u2013 when I heard loud voices coming from Robin's tent. When I pushed open the flaps, I found Robin and Hugh in the midst of a quarrel.\n\n'We cannot go off piecemeal,' Hugh was saying. 'Our strength is in our unity. It is madness not to wait for the Emperor. We must all go to Paris together.'\n\n'It is madness not to attack now, while Philip is busy in the south,' said Robin. His voice was louder than usual, for he was not used to being contradicted. 'We will miss our opportunity while Otto enjoys the charms of his new bride.'\n\n'What is amiss?' I asked.\n\nIt was Miles who answered me. He was lolling in the corner of the tent on a camp-stool sipping a cup of wine. 'It seems the mighty Emperor is more of a lover than a fighter,' said Robin's younger son. 'He married his beautiful bride at Maastricht a few weeks ago and now he is refusing to march until he has spent a few weeks in her delightful company. He's childless, of course, and they say he hopes to secure an heir before committing himself to the perils of battle.'\n\n'He is going to lose us this war unless he pulls his finger out,' said Robin.\n\n'It's not his finger he needs to pull out,' said Miles with a dirty chuckle.\n\nRobin ignored the remark. 'I say we should march now, with the forces we have at our disposal \u2013 with the counts of Boulogne and Flanders and our own men we must have nearly three thousand; if we go hard and fast we could be in Paris in a week.'\n\n'Emperor Otto, together with the Duke of Brabant and the German barons, represents two-thirds of our full strength,' said Hugh slowly, with irritating calmness; he might have been speaking to a particularly stupid child, not his famous father. 'We dare not risk proceeding without them. We must wait.'\n\n'War is risk,' snapped Robin. 'And war is about taking your opportunity when it presents itself. Now is the time to strike, our weakness will be irrelevant if we're swift. What say you, Alan?'\n\nI needed a little time to think so I walked over to the wine jug and filled a cup. The prospect of invading France with fewer than three thousand men appalled me. But Robin was one of the finest strategists I had ever known, his instinct for a bold, successful move was almost as sure as the Lionheart's had been.\n\n'I will follow you, my lord, whatever you decide,' I said. 'But surely it is up to Longsword. What does the Earl of Salisbury say?'\n\nRobin sighed. 'Longsword says we must wait for Otto,' said my lord grumpily. It was clear he did not relish losing a debate with his elder son.\n\nAnd there the discussion was closed.\n\nIn the following weeks, we ravaged the former lands of the Count of Boulogne, with his enthusiastic encouragement. There was no sign of a French army, we avoided the small castles garrisoned by Philip's men and his allies, and took out our wrath on the countryside. We burnt farms, we ransacked mills and barns for grain; we herded sheep and cattle back to the army, which was spread across southern Flanders from Calais to Lille. And we waited for Emperor Otto to sire an heir on his new bride.\n\nI rode out mostly with a force of a dozen mounted Westbury men and Robin's few cavalry, and Little John, who was in unusually high spirits in those days.\n\n'There is nothing finer than having a juicy county to pillage,' said John to me on a bright and beautiful evening in early July. We were sitting in an abandoned barn about ten miles north of the city of Amiens, and as it was too far for us to ride back to the camp that day, we were roasting a stolen sheep and preparing to bed down for the night where we were. The men were tired: they had been riding and raiding all day. Many were already asleep, curled in the old straw like dogs. At noon that day we had come across a strong French militia patrol \u2013 levies probably recruited from Amiens itself \u2013 and we had fought a bloody battle with them and lost two men before they retreated. Although we had been outnumbered and surprised by the enemy, Little John had charged his horse straight into their packed ranks without hesitation and had begun laying about them with his poleaxe with such ferocity that the enemy had shrunk back, disordered, dismayed. And when Sir Thomas and myself had spurred forward and joined John in the heart of the fray the French had broken and run.\n\n'Unless it is a nice bloody battle,' said John, grinning like a village simpleton.\n\nI could not agree with him. These days I seemed to be more terrified than I had ever been before by the prospect of violence and every time I was called to fight I had to force myself to ride into battle. I feared that one day my nerve would break altogether, like those unfortunate French militia today, and I would shy away from a m\u00eal\u00e9e or even run like a coward. I hoped that on the outside I still appeared to be a valiant knight, but on the inside, in truth, I was quaking.\n\n'Do you ever feel the fear, John?' I asked. 'I mean, on the eve of battle or in the cold hours before the fight, not when the blood runs hot in action.'\n\nLittle John frowned at me. 'Of course I do, only a madman has no fear,' he said, surprising me. 'But the fear is the fun part. The fear is how you know you are still alive, Alan. Your heart beats strongly, you feel every fibre, bone and muscle of your body. You think: maybe this time, just maybe this time will be the last day of my life. I see more clearly, I feel the fresh wind on my face, I can smell the odours around me as if for the first time: crushed grass, the sweat of my horse, old leather polished to a shine. The wood of my axe handle feels smooth and fine, like some costly fabric. I am alive. I am in fear \u2013 but I am more alive than at any other time.'\n\n'But do you not fear the coming pain, or death itself?'\n\n'No one likes pain, sure enough. But pain is part of life too. If I were a peasant labouring in the fields would I not too feel pain, in my back, in my limbs at the end of a hard day? I would feel the pain of hunger in times of famine and, worse, the pain of humiliation after a long, slow trudge of an uneventful life. Or, were I the kind of man to marry and have children, I would most likely feel the pain of witnessing the death of a child, or a wife in childbirth. There is no escape from pain on this earth, whatever path you choose. I choose the joy of battle; the comradeship of men of courage. That is an ample compensation for a little pain now and then. I fear pain and death, of course, and I want to live, Alan, but I want to live like a man \u2013 until I die!'\n\n'The afterlife does not trouble you, then? The risk of Hell for the terrible things we have done in this life?' The last gleams of sunlight were lancing through holes in the barn roof and I could see the dancing motes of hay caught in the golden beams.\n\n'The priests tell us we must suffer Hell for our sins. I have done evil things, sure, plenty of them. But I have remained true to my lord, and I have followed his orders without fail. I have lived the life of a warrior, never shirking my duty, never abandoning my comrades. And I think God must understand the way that a soldier lives, the things that he must do. If He made us as we are, He must see a purpose in our brutality, in the killing and the pain that we inflict. I remember old Tuck telling me that God always had a plan. I believe it. I believe I am God's instrument, though I do not know His purpose. And I have been a true man, all my long life. I have remained true to my purpose, to my lord. If God is just, He will understand that.'\n\nI had never heard Little John speak so, and I was more than a little moved by his simple code, his faith in a just God. I had hoped to speak to him of my fears and to take some comfort from him for my own unmanly feelings, but I could not.\n\n'I do not want to die,' was all I could say on the matter. 'I love life too much to see death as anything but a terrible sorrow: I want to feel the sun on my face, a horse between my legs, to take a lamb, warm and slippery from its mother's womb, to eat and drink and laugh with friends, to feel a woman bucking in joy beneath me again, to see my son grow tall. I feel that I must live, I must survive, not just for myself but for Robert, for Westbury \u2026 and perhaps for Tilda.'\n\n'The rumours are true then,' said John, grinning at me. 'I heard you had been mooning after her again! Do you love her?'\n\nI blushed a little. 'I don't know,' I said. 'I think I do. I think about her more than I should. She is a bride of Christ and has forsaken the love of men.'\n\n'If you don't know, then you do not truly love her,' he said. 'And I do not think she is the right woman for you. Not because she is a nun \u2013 you could take her away from that if you chose, but because \u2026 I don't know. She is just wrong, somehow.'\n\nI frowned at the man. Tilda was as close to an angel as any woman I knew, she had clearly forgiven me for the death of her father and now even seemed more than a little fond of me. I did not care to have her disparaged, even by him. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could speak \u2026\n\n'I have loved but once,' my friend said \u2013 and stopped. I knew what he was about to say. Little John had loved a man, a beautiful youth, in fact, called Gavin, who had died in battle in the south. It was a sinful coupling, the Church would have insisted, the priests claimed that congress between two men was a foul abomination, and yet neither Robin nor I had felt any need to condemn John for his choice of lover. I had been surprised, to be sure, to discover that this huge brute had tender feelings for a handsome young lad half his age, but once I had got over the shock and seen the real deep affection between them I could not see anything truly evil in the matter.\n\nLittle John was staring at the ground between his spread knees. I knew that he was avoiding my eye.\n\nI said: 'Gavin was a fine man, we all liked and respected him, and we all grieved when he fell.'\n\n'Grief\u2026' said Little John. 'We spoke of pain before, Alan, and I have never felt the pain of a wound as hard as the agony of his loss. He was so perfect, so strong, so alive \u2026 Gavin. Even his name breaks my heart in two.'\n\nI saw that John was weeping then. Fat, oily tears were rolling down his lowered face and dripping from his big battered nose. I was at a loss. I'd never seen my friend so lacking in composure. I shuffled next to him and put an arm clumsily around his shoulders.\n\n'I would give my life right now,' said John, between racking sobs, 'to spend one more day, just one more hour with him.'\n\nI patted his vast back, not knowing what to say.\n\n'You shall see him in Heaven,' I said. 'I am sure that he waits for you there.'\n\nLittle John looked up at me. His big shapeless face was wet and oddly patched here and there with white. He gave an enormous sniff, and cuffed his running nose.\n\n'I think so too,' he said. 'Heaven \u2013 or the other place, I care not. Gavin waits for me to join him. I shall be happy again.'\n\nAfter a little while, John recovered himself. He shrugged off my arm and stood tall, a dark giant in the fading light."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "We returned to the camp the next day, driving a mixed herd of beasts before us: a dozen sheep, goats and pigs, even a lone ox we had found grazing placidly in a meadow. An army eats a great deal and I knew they would all be in our soldiers' bellies before the week was out. Robin rode out to meet us as we approached the wood that was our camping ground.\n\nMy lord congratulated us on our successful raiding and then said: 'When you have eaten and rested, Alan, get your men together and all their kit. We are moving out tomorrow morning.'\n\nHe did not look happy about it.\n\n'What news?' I said.\n\n'Otto is finally on the march \u2013 and we are to rendezvous with him and the rest of the German contingent at Nivelles.'\n\n'So we are to head south \u2013 to Paris?'\n\n'That is the plan. I just hope we have not left it too late.'\n\n'Too late?'\n\n'You might as well know, Alan. It is bad news, I'm afraid. King John has failed us. He was besieging a fortress called Roche-au-Moine, a few miles from Angers, when the French army arrived. It seems they squared up for a pitched battle: John had the superior numbers and I believe he could have won the day. But on the eve of the fight, his Poitevin barons deserted him, those who had paid homage weeks before. Ran away. Still John could have fought, and won, with a little determination, I think: Richard would have done so. But no, King John turned and ran too and scurried back to La Rochelle, his tail between his legs.'\n\n'But he is still there with an army; he is still a threat to the French.'\n\n'Yes,' said Robin heavily, 'you and I might very well think so. But Philip doesn't. He has left his son Prince Louis and a few hundred knights to keep the King occupied and Philip has now turned north with all rest of his forces and he is coming up to face us as fast as he can. He is raising men as he marches, every town and commune must contribute its militia, poorly trained pikemen for the most part, but the French barons are rallying to his banner, too, and in numbers. They smell victory.'\n\n'We have lost, then,' I said. 'Our strategy was to divide Philip's strength between the south and the north. If he ignores John in the south and comes at us with all his might, we cannot stand against him. Surely we must flee. Surely we must make for Calais and home.' I admit I felt a wash of relief at the thought, although the moment I felt it I realised that no battle meant no ransoms, and no hope for Robert.\n\n'Flee?' said Robin, looking at me sideways. 'No, Alan. There is still a chance we can beat him \u2013 we shall beat him. Longsword is determined to fight, and so is the Count of Flanders. Otto will surely lose his throne if he does not beat Philip, so he is ready for a battle, after a fashion. The odds against us are worse, for sure. Philip will be stronger now, but with the Germans we are still more or less evenly matched. If we all play our parts well, we can still win. Never fear, my friend, you will still have the chance to capture your prize.'\n\nTwo days later, at Nivelles, I felt a little better at the thought of impending battle. A mighty force was assembled in the fields outside the town \u2013 a vast army of some nine thousand fighting men, plus all the usual accompanying non-combatants, priests, whores, servants and itinerant peddlers, many thousands of them. It was three weeks into July, by then, and a fine unbroken sunny spell made all the banners of the assembled knights and colours of their surcoats seem even more brilliant than usual. Gorgeous blues, pinks and oranges, vibrant reds and greens, bright gold and silver, iridescent silks and satins; everywhere was the glint of sunshine on steel and the confident bellow of big men's voices. Perhaps, I thought, despite King John's failure to keep the bulk of Philip's forces from us, we did still have the strength to overwhelm him. The German soldiers of Emperor Otto's retinue were particularly impressive: their knights' armour was of the very best quality, glittering links of polished iron that covered them from top to toe; magnificent soaring helms, set with bright ostrich feather plumes, sharp spikes or even spreading antlers; big kite-shaped wooden shields of oak rimmed with hammered steel, huge two-handed longswords, and sumptuous velvet cloaks in all the colours of the rainbow. The Emperor's picked Saxon bodyguard was even more awe-inspiring: huge, blond, muscle-padded men, some even of a size with Little John, with great shining war axes, long daggers at their waists, domed helmets with heavy nasal guards, inlaid with silver and gold, ruddy, English-looking faces, swinging plaits and beards as thick as briar hedges. Beside them Robin's men seemed puny beggarmen in their dull cloaks and patched hauberks, with their roughly made poleaxes and unwieldy pikes.\n\nI had command of our little cavalry contingent, with Sir Thomas and Hugh as my lieutenants and Miles grinning insolently from the ranks. We numbered thirty-two men mounted on lean, fast horses and were lightly armoured compared with the grand knights of Germany and Flanders. In their heavy mail, elaborate helms and long steel-tipped lances, and mounted on their huge, aggressive mail-clad destriers, they looked the very epitome of arrogant lords of war, which of course they were \u2013 and I was glad I would not have to face them in battle.\n\nOur duties were to scout out the land before the advance of the main force and to run messages between the disparate components of the allied army. And therein lay our greatest weakness: Otto's five thousand men were a disciplined group, his proud knights and the mighty Saxon guard taking their orders directly from him, but the rest of the army was composed of small groups of minor barons and their men \u2013 companies of no more than a few hundred knights and mounted men-at-arms under the count of this place or the lord of that town. Flemish men-at-arms from Brabant and Holland, from the towns of Ghent, Namur, Dortmund and Leuven, marched with French-speakers from Lorraine, Calais and Boulogne, plus a few Norman knights too, who had lost their lands to King Philip, and our few Englishmen, of course, as well. It was not even clear who was in overall command. Otto, the Holy Roman Emperor, held the highest rank, but the Earl of Salisbury controlled the purse strings \u2013 King John's silver jingled in every baron's pouch; the Count of Flanders claimed command on the basis that it was his county we were to be fighting in. The Count of Boulogne claimed the honour since he was clearly the knight of greatest prowess, and he offered to prove it with sword and lance to any man who denied it.\n\nRobin's contingent of two hundred men made him one of the middle-ranking barons \u2013 no match in strength for Emperor Otto or the Earl of Salisbury, of course, but more powerful than some of the Flemish companies. Despite this, my lord wisely remained largely silent when the bickering began at the council meetings.\n\nFor three days at Nivelles, the commanders of the various forces argued about what was to be done. I attended Robin at these meetings, though I was too lowly to speak before the great men. Philip was somewhere in the north already, that was all that we knew for certain; he was rumoured to be at P\u00e9ronne with a vast host, as many as thirty thousand men.\n\nHe was heading north-west for Calais, to slaughter the garrison and burn the English ships in the harbour and cut off any hope of retreat for us \u2026\n\nNo, he was heading due north for Tournai to ravage and destroy the Flemish heartlands \u2026\n\nNo, he was making straight for us at Nivelles, making a lunge north-east for the rich merchant city of Brussels.\n\nIn the end it was the Emperor's reedy voice that prevailed. He was a slight man, handsome in a girlish way with his reddish-brown hair curled into ringlets and dangling around his pallid cheeks. He was King John's nephew, and I thought I detected a certain family resemblance in the soft, voluptuous line of his mouth and weakness of his jaw. But he was the greatest lord of the German lands and he threatened to take his army and retreat all the way back to Maastricht if he was not obeyed without question and thus was opposition to his plans muted, if not completely silenced. So we marched for Valenciennes, where Otto planned to take up a position across the road to Brussels. There we would await the French attack.\n\nAs the army lumbered south-west on the road from Nivelles, my men and I ranged out far and wide hoping to catch a glimpse of the enemy. We saw nothing of him. At Valenciennes, we had news from the constable of the town's fortress. Philip had passed us in the night. He was now at Tournai, twenty miles behind us.\n\nOnce again angry voices were raised in council. The Earl of Salisbury suggested that we simply ignore Philip and his army and make a lunge south for Paris, which was now undefended. Robin backed him to the hilt. But the barons of the Low Countries were adamant that we could not leave Philip with a free hand to pillage their territories \u2013 there would not be a manor or market town unburnt from Bruges to Beringen. Robin pointed out that if we marched to Paris, Philip would be bound to follow us or lose his ancestral capital, but my lord was swiftly shouted down.\n\nOtto made the decision again. We turned the army around and began to march north following the trail of destruction left by Philip's advancing host.\n\nI stopped at the little hamlet of Cysoing at a local tavern with about fifteen of my men, while the rest ranged out in pairs ahead to the north and on either side, east and west, searching for the enemy. On the road behind us, stretched out over several miles, was the allied army, more than ten thousand souls in all. Robin and his footmen were in the vanguard of the main force with the knights of Count Ferrand of Flanders a mile or two behind us.\n\nThe terrified man and woman who owned the tavern willingly brought out five loaves of bread, some lengths of dried pork sausage and a barrel of wine for me and my men, and I promised them a silver penny if they could tell me anything of the French. They were a stupid couple, I thought, made more stupid by fear of the armed men watering their horses at their trough and munching their bread and sausage, and they spoke only Flemish, which I did not readily understand, but they seemed to be telling me that there were soldiers in the wood yonder, about five hundred paces from their door.\n\nIt seemed unlikely since we had heard or seen nothing, but I flipped them the silver coin and, not a moment after the tavern-keeper had snatched it out of the air, I heard the drumming of hooves and saw Miles and his scouting partner John Halfpenny come pounding hell for leather down the road from the wood towards me.\n\nMiles reined in sharply and slid lithely off his sweating horse. The boy was in a lather of excitement himself. 'They are there, Sir Alan, just up ahead in those woods. French knights, hundreds of them, maybe thousands.'\n\nI still could not quite believe the youngster. He was a good lad but a little prone to exaggeration and, like his father, very fond of a producing a grand flourish. I could hear nothing, see no sign of movement ahead. I raised an eyebrow at John Halfpenny, a runtish, ugly fellow but a good and reliable soldier. 'It's true, sir. Horsemen, most likely French knights, in numbers. I saw a dozen of the buggers myself.'\n\n'Mount up,' I called. 'We shall go and see what we shall see.'\n\nI sent John Halfpenny back down the road with a message for Robin, and sent another man east to find Sir Thomas and Hugh and bring them up into the wood. Then my men and I saddled up and headed at the trot up the road towards the trees. I turned my head from my position at the front of the troop and shouted: 'We are scouts, just scouts \u2013 remember that. We look, we see and then we report back. No trying to be a hero, no trying for ransoms. We're merely having a look. Understand?'\n\nFrom my shoulder I heard Miles grumbling: 'Told you, Alan, it's the French army. They're up there. Don't you believe me?'\n\nI gave him a sharp look: 'I believe you, Miles, but I want to see for myself. What would I tell your father? That I heard the enemy was there from one of my troopers but did not bother to check for myself?' I gave the signal and the whole company rose as one to the canter.\n\nThe woods were thick, tangled and dim even at noon on a bright sunny day. The road dwindled to a muddy track. Beyond it, I could see no more than a few yards through the dense trees and undergrowth on either side. There was no sign of the enemy, not a horse, not a lone man-at-arms, and I would have doubted Miles's and Halfpenny's account but for the fact that the track beneath us was churned by the passing of many hooves. Horsemen had been here, perhaps twenty riders, but no more. We pushed onwards into the wood. I gave the order for silence and we slowed to a walk. The trees were thinning now, it was becoming lighter and I could see patches of green pasture beyond the treeline. And then we were out the other side and looking at a broad expanse of green field stretching out to the northern horizon and a wide highway cutting across it from left the right, east to west, which I knew must be the main road from Tournai to Lille.\n\nThe road was filled with men, horses and carts.\n\nThousands of them.\n\nI took in the scene in one long sweeping glance. The track we were on led out of the woods and then north-west across the pasture to join the main road at a substantial bridge by a tiny settlement \u2013 a few huts and a small wooden chapel beside a stand of ash trees. The bridge crossed a wide sluggish river \u2013 from my briefings with Robin and the Flemish commanders who knew this area well, I knew it had to be the River Marque and the hamlet of Bouvines. To my left, I could see detachments of knights, some mounted, some off their beasts allowing them to graze on the lush grass. And a group of perhaps fifty crossbowmen were sitting or standing, distinctive because of their huge shields. The river had burst its low banks here south of the bridge and beyond the resting enemy bowmen was treacherous boggy ground. On the far side of the bridge, about half a mile away, I could make out banners and thick marching columns of footmen, many thousands, tramping towards Lille. The bridge itself was packed with men on horseback, and I thought I could make out the golden lilies of France on an azure field, King Philip's own royal banner, in the middle of the throng. Tailing back along the road east was the rest of the French cavalry.\n\nThe first thought in my head was: we have them! More than half, perhaps two-thirds of the enemy, was on the other side of the bridge; on this side of the water, strung out along the road back to Tournai, was the rearguard, picked knights looking to defend the army from an attack from the east. If we could come up now with all our force and assault them before they finished crossing the river, we could destroy the rearguard \u2013 Philip's best knights \u2013 before the infantry could recross the bridge and come to their aid.\n\nMy second thought was never properly formed. I heard Miles cry out: ''Ware right!' I twisted my head and saw a mass of horsemen galloping at us from the east, along the edge of the wood. French knights, a dozen men, lances couched, charged into us without the slightest warning.\n\nA fellow with a green oak tree emblem on his black shield was yards away from me, his lance reaching out for my guts. I got my horse moving just in time. His lance-head crashed into my shield with shocking force, rocking me back painfully against my cantle, but the angle of the shield was such that the steel head merely sliced across its face. He shouted something to me as he thundered past, an insult, no doubt. But I had better things to worry about. I hauled out Fidelity with the speed of sheer panic, and managed to bat away the next rider's spear with the blade as it came at me out of nowhere. Others behind me were not so fortunate. I could hear screams, howls and the clash of steel on wood. A knight came at me swinging an axe; I caught the blow on my cross-guard, pushed it aside and punched my mailed fist straight into his roaring face. And they were all past me. I yanked my horse's head around and saw that our lightly armoured scouts were beset by a swarm of furious knights, chopping with swords, and stabbing with their lances. At least three saddles were empty and I could see the huddled forms of my men on the ground.\n\nMiles had a French knight on either side of him and the lad was fending off savage blows from both left and right with his sword and shield. I spurred my mount forward a dozen paces and crashed into the rump of the knight nearest to me. The impact jolted the man, unbalancing him, and I saw Miles's sword flicker out and plunge deep into his eye. The second knight rode directly at me and I took his sword cut on my shield and returned the blow, cracking my blade laterally across his face, smashing into the nasal guard of his helmet and stunning the man. He reeled in the saddle and I smashed his spine with a roundhouse chop to the back of his mailed neck, striking an inch below the line of his helm.\n\nI took an instant to look around me. We were only a dozen yards from the line where the pasture ended and the woods began. At least half my men were down, dead or mortally wounded. I saw one knight stop his horse and lunge downward with his lance at one of my scouts who was curled like a baby on the ground. Miles was at my elbow, grinning like a demon. Together we spurred at the bastard, yelling our cries, I cut at his arm, the one now holding the lance buried in my trooper's guts, a full-strength blow with Fidelity, and had the pleasure of seeing my sharp steel cleave his limb off at the elbow. The arm fell, still grasping the lance. Miles slashed him deeply across the mouth with his sword as he rode past and the man toppled, screaming, spitting teeth and gore, to the turf. The rest of the knights, half a dozen men, seemed to have drawn off, about thirty paces towards the river, but they were not down, not defeated \u2013 they were regrouping. Worse, I could see beyond them the grazing horses being mounted and at least twenty fresh men-at-arms gathering up the reins and cantering towards us.\n\n'Back,' I shouted, 'back into the woods.'\n\nThere was nothing else for it but to run: we were scouts, not heavy cavalry, and we would be slaughtered if we stayed to hold our ground.\n\nI gathered my stunned and battered men \u2013 those that still retained their saddles \u2013 and led them back into the shelter of the trees. Turning in the saddle as we entered the dark, dense woods, I saw knights peeling off the main road to our north and trotting down across the open pasture towards us. An icy fist gripped my bowels. We would be cut to pieces if we did not retreat.\n\nAnd suddenly there was Robin and Little John and Sir Thomas and Hugh and a dozen other riders coming towards us along the path through the trees. Robin rode straight past me and up to the edge of the wood and looked out at the flattish green field, now littered with a dozen bodies, and half a dozen riderless mounts standing forlornly with their reins trailing. The French cavalry had formed up in a big conroi of perhaps three dozen men fifty yards away and they were staring at us over their horses' ears. They looked to be readying themselves for a charge against the treeline.\n\n'I see you've started without the rest of us, Alan,' said my lord.\n\nHe turned to one of his riders, a one-eyed veteran of a dozen battles. 'Claes, get back to the main column, sharpish. Give my compliments to my lord of Flanders and tell him the enemy is here. Tell Ferrand that if he hurries himself we can smash them, here, now. Then find Mastin and tell him to get the archers up here at the double! They cannot come too quickly.'\n\nRobin's presence calmed me, I must admit, for I had been feeling the first tremors of panic. He had grasped the situation at once \u2013 and was instantly in control of it. My stomach relaxed, my courage flickered and flared like a fire with fresh kindling thrown upon it. But the next thing he said plunged my heart back into my boots. 'Right, the wedge! Form on me. Quickly now. We're going to teach those cavalry the proper respect for English arms.'\n\nRobin's men made up in the cavalry configuration known as the wedge in under a dozen heartbeats, with my lord at the point, Little John and myself directly behind him, Hugh, Sir Thomas and Miles behind us, and the rest of the dozen or so of riders behind them. A trumpet sounded, and we were off, galloping up the slight rise towards the formed French cavalry about fifty yards away.\n\nIt was an extraordinary tactic, against all the rules of horse-warfare. We were charging uphill towards a formed enemy that outnumbered us two to one. We should have retreated into the wood and waited for the enemy charge. Only Robin \u2013 and perhaps the Lionheart \u2013 would have attempted it, but it worked, by God! Mainly, I think, because of the total surprise. I could see the astonishment on the faces of the French conroi as we barrelled forward in the wedge and crashed into their standing ranks. Robin's lance took a knight in the middle of the conroi plumb in the centre of his chest, hurling him from the saddle, and then we were in among them, hacking, stabbing, slicing with sword and spear. I lunged at a red-faced knight with Fidelity and he parried with his sword and punched at me with his shield, hitting me painfully on the shoulder and chest. But the move left his defences wide open and Hugh, who was right behind me, buried his lance in his guts. I lanced a second man straight through his shouting mouth with Fidelity, my sword-point bursting right out the back of his head in a shower of red. And suddenly I was through the conroi and out the other side in open space. The enemy was shaken but we had barely dented their numbers. However, we had cut right through their ranks and utterly destroyed their cohesion. Little knots of men were now fighting all over the southern part of the field. Little John's horse was killed under him by a lance to the chest \u2013 but the big man kicked free of his stirrups and leapt from its falling body and began to wreak havoc with his poleaxe. He was a whirlwind of sheer fury, smashing at riders with his axe, skewering them with the long spear-point. I saw him hook one knight with the curved claw on the other side of the pole from the axe-head, and haul the fellow with main strength from his saddle, and when the knight was sprawled on the ground, stamp once with his right boot, with all his weight behind it, on the man's mailed head, splitting the skull.\n\nSir Thomas laid about him with a cold and deadly precision, felling knights, it seemed, with every blow. Robin's face was flecked with blood, and as he killed his opponent with a lunge to the throat, he seemed deliberately to wipe the spattered gore from his cheeks as he pulled his sword arm back from the blow.\n\nAnd then it was over. The French ran. At least half of them completely unscathed but utterly unnerved by our savage and unexpected attack. We cheered ourselves hoarse. For the southern part of the field was ours.\n\nFor now."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "We pulled back to the edge of the woods again and tended to our wounds and our weapons. The battle was not over \u2013 not by a long, hot summer's day. Word of our arrival had clearly been reported to the main column, and the crowds of men at the Bouvines bridge seethed with activity, like a wasps' nest smelling sweet wine. It seemed as if they could not decide whether to carry on with the march to Lille or stay and fight. I saw that King Philip's golden lilies were now on this side of the river by the little chapel. The road was still clogged with traffic. But the French had not forgotten us. Three fresh conrois of cavalry were forming up about halfway between us and the bridge \u2013 perhaps a hundred knights. And they would certainly not be scattered by another mad uphill charge from the handful of Robin's men still in the saddle.\n\nWorse, the crossbowmen by the marshes had transformed into a disciplined column and were marching down the track towards the treeline. These bowmen stopped a bare seventy paces from us, they stuck their huge shields into the turf and, working in pairs, they began to loose their deadly quarrels into the trees; one would shoot, while the other reloaded his weapon behind the safety of the man-sized shield. As our men began to fall, we pulled back further into the trees, while the horses were led even further back into safety. Robin ordered every man to take cover behind thick trunks or fallen logs, but to hold his ground. The black bolts whipped and cracked through the leaves, an awful sound, and now and then an unwary man would cry out in pain.\n\n'Where the devil is Mastin?' said Robin to me. We were crouching down behind a great fallen oak, peering over the mossy rim as the crossbowmen pelted us with their barrage. The French cavalry were now coming towards us at a slow, steady pace, walking their mounts, keeping their dressing, three hundred yards away and closing.\n\nVery soon they would charge into the wood and we would be hunted from tree to tree and slaughtered like vermin.\n\n'Here, sir,' said a Cheshire accent not ten yards behind us. And I turned to see the short, bald, burly shape of Mastin, captain of Robin's archers, and behind him scores of men with long black bowstaves wearing dark-green cloaks and brown tunics that melded them perfectly into the woodland behind.\n\n'Good man,' said Robin. 'Get your men either side of the track in cover. Half on each flank. Don't be seen. Don't loose until I give the command. Don't pay any mind to the crossbows for now. I want the cavalry. Hit them when they charge. Yes?'\n\n'Oh yes,' said Mastin. 'I understand you perfectly, my lord. And you should know that his honour the Count of Flanders is right on our tail, sir, with hundreds of his knights. Eager as a boy in his first brothel.' He gave a low chuckle and was gone again.\n\nAs I watched the cavalry slowly walk their horses towards us, flinching involuntarily as the occasional crossbow quarrel rattled the branches above us, I was aware, without having to look, of dozens of stealthy men taking up positions in the trees behind us. A comforting sensation, the feeling of comrades at your back.\n\nThe French cavalry stopped a hundred paces away, three conrois still neat and squared, bold and bright with the colours of their surcoats, each lance upright and bearing a fluttering pennant. I could see the captains riding along the front face of the ranks, bawling encouragement and issuing last orders to their knights.\n\nA trumpet blew, shockingly loud and close, and the central conroi was suddenly at the canter, heading straight down the track towards the wood, their banners flapping in the wind, the horses' hooves shaking the ground. Behind them the other two companies were following on, surging down the track after the lead conroi.\n\n'Now, Mastin, now's your time,' shouted Robin.\n\nAnd I heard the archer captain mutter, 'As if I didn't fucking know\u2026' before his words were drowned out by the whirr of sixty shafts slicing through the summer air as one.\n\nThe arrow storm smashed into the front rank of the leading conroi, and all but one saddle was immediately emptied. The second rank too was almost entirely destroyed. And in the third only half the men remained in control of their mounts. The charging French knights went from a bold display of perfectly arrayed charging horsemen, the very flower of French chivalry, to a blood-drenched shambles in the space of a couple of heartbeats. Horses, punctured by many arrows, sheeted with blood, staggered sideways and crashed into their fellows, mad with pain, the big destriers biting and kicking, throwing the entire formation into chaos. Other mounts collapsed or cartwheeled forward, creating obstacles for the mounted men behind.\n\nA second volley from Mastin's men scythed into the survivors, with no less awful results. It was as if a giant invisible hand had punched into the company. The first conroi was utterly ruined now, a lone French horseman charging into the trees, the only man left out of thirty brave knights. He was screaming, 'St Denis! Vive le Roi!' and then was abruptly silenced. I did not see how he died.\n\nThe archers were still nocking, drawing and loosing death into the second and third conrois with an awful humming rhythm. By the sixth or seventh volley \u2013 I had lost count by then \u2013 the French formation was no more than a collection of scattered clumps of horsemen desperately trying to control their terrified mounts, only a handful of men still coming gamely at us. The ground was slick with blood and filth, and writhing, staggering, wounded men and horses were everywhere. Screaming flooded the air.\n\nAnd into this carnage, into this bloody hell on earth, the Count of Flanders and his knights made their charge.\n\nA thick column of knights at full gallop \u2013 some two hundred men and horses, perhaps, it was difficult to tell as they went by so speedily \u2013 poured up the track through the wood, pounded past us and burst out into the fields beyond. They swept the remaining French before them like a vast broom, slaughtering those who were not swift in their escape. The knights of Flanders smashed the last clumps of resistance with ease, cutting down the enemy with sometimes as many as three knights against one. The French died \u2013 or ran. There were few who were lucky enough to surrender. And, still drunk with the joy of battle, the Flemish knights turned themselves loose on the crossbowmen. They crashed through the thicket of huge shields, slaying the footmen with great bloody sweeps of their swords, riding down others who tried to run. More than one courageous bowman turned and faced his attacker and managed to spit his mounted enemy with a swiftly loosed quarrel, before he was hacked into bloody chunks by the vengeful comrades of the bolt-struck Flemish knight.\n\nIt was soon over. And the men of Flanders roamed the field south of the bridge and the road, red blades in hand, victorious.\n\nThe Count of Flanders, wily Ferrand, was no amateur at war. His trumpets sounded the recall and, eyeing the bulk of French cavalry \u2013 untouched by this skirmish and still many thousands strong massing by the bridge for a counter-attack \u2013 his men trotted their blown horses to the treeline, where we cheered them again and again for their valour.\n\nThe wood behind me was now thick with our men. Robin was with the Earl of Salisbury, who had our infantry and the remainder of our knights. As I came up to him, I heard Longsword say: 'Otto is coming up, Locksley, round to the east, he's trying to find a place to ford a stream over there. But he is coming and we can beat them here. If we are quick about it.'\n\nI looked out through the trees. The majority of the French infantry were still on the far side of the bridge, but I could see that they were turning and beginning to recross back to this side. And the French cavalry had quit the main road and were now arrayed in three neat blocks under rippling banners, south of the bridge, half a mile away, their mail and arms glittering in the bright sunlight. I looked to my left, along the treeline, and could see the first units of the Emperor's Saxon guard appearing at the edge of the woods, with scores of magnificent German horsemen before and behind them.\n\nSalisbury was still speaking to Robin and pointing out at the field: 'We will make our line here, north\u2013south, parallel to the river. The Count of Flanders and his cavalry, and the footmen of Hainaut, will form our left flank, just here, anchored on this treeline. They should be able to keep those French horsemen at bay for a while so we can form up. Otto and his Germans will take the centre \u2013 he insisted, of course \u2013 opposite the bridge and the chapel of Bouvines; and we will form the army's right, the northern flank: the Count of Boulogne, your fellows, and mine. Get your men ready, we will curl round behind Otto and his troops, when they are in place, and take our positions up there beyond the road.'\n\nFerrand of Flanders had his men well in hand after their superb charge and they began to move out of the trees and form up in ranks about three hundred yards from the French cavalry. Some of them were a little bloodied from their victory over the arrow-shattered French, but they were jaunty, confident in their prowess and their numbers. They sang psalms as they walked their horses into position. And behind them came the men of Hainaut \u2013 big peasants in leather jerkins and steel caps and carrying the long pikes that made them so feared by cavalry.\n\nOtto's men were flooding on to the field, and I saw the famous standard of the Emperor, an eagle mounted on a dragon and borne by a golden chariot, in the midst of a knot of horsemen. The German horsemen swarmed forward to take up their positions opposite the bridge, a little untidily, perhaps \u2013 they could not match the neat ranks of the cavalry of Flanders. But they seemed eager for the fight, and I knew as well that the Saxons who formed the core of Otto's force, coming up on the heels of the horsemen, were serious warriors who had sworn an oath to die, if necessary, for their Emperor.\n\nRobin had most of his pike and poleaxe men out of the woods by now, as well as the cavalry we had left, and as they began to march behind the jostling masses of Otto's troops and up towards the road, I lingered to rally our stragglers, as Robin had asked me to. I took a moment then to stand in the saddle and observe the French lines as they were coalescing to our west.\n\nTheir right wing contained the cream of their cavalry, their boldest knights. These men had formed the elite rearguard that I had seen marching on the main road \u2013 was it only an hour ago? The hot July sun, high above us told me so. It seemed like several days past. A thin haze of dust, stirred by the feet of marching men and the hooves of thousands of horses, hung in the air all across the field. But further north, in the French lines by the bridge, in the centre of their position, I could still make out the King of France himself, a tiny figure in mail with a silver helm, surrounded by no more than a hundred knights and a company of spearmen, but above him flapped the long red-gold standard, the sacred Oriflamme unfurled only in times of greatest danger.\n\nTheir centre was thin, but hundreds of their footmen were now surging back over the bridge to swell their ranks. As I rode north with my handful of stragglers, we passed the last of the Germans, still pushing and shoving each other into their places, and crossed the main road, which was now churned to a mire by the passage of hooves. I saw that the French footmen from the bridge had begun to spill out northwards from the main road and sprawl out into the fields beyond opposite our position.\n\nThe Count of Boulogne, who was out ahead of the main body of our troops with the Earl of Salisbury, began ordering our formation. He had few cavalry left \u2013 perhaps fifty knights in all \u2013 but some two thousand foot, mostly pikemen, including Robin's poleaxe men and archers. I saw that Robin was with them, and Sir Thomas, too, and they seemed to be arguing with Boulogne and Salisbury.\n\nI spurred my horse towards them and as I approached I saw that William Longsword was nodding his head at something Robin was saying and that Boulogne was frowning but did not seem too unhappy.\n\nAs I came nearer, I saw that something strange was happening to the troops: the infantry seemed to be fragmenting into companies of about a hundred men. Sir Thomas came up, intercepting my line before I came within a hundred yards of the commanders. He was grinning like a monkey \u2013 a most unusual expression.\n\n'Robin wanted to surprise you,' he said. 'He said it would cheer you no end. But in the event it took a little while to convince those dull-brained old stick-in-the-muds Boulogne and Salisbury. Anyway, what do you think?'\n\nI had no idea what Thomas was talking about and so I held my tongue and looked on dumbfounded as, with only a small amount of confusion, the infantry formed itself into a gigantic square, with five separate companies on each side, north, south, east and west, coming together to make an impenetrable wall of men. The strangest thing of all was that the cavalry, which might ordinarily be on either flank of a solid block of infantry or behind it, was placed in the centre of the square, with the archers and the commanders protected on all four sides by thick ranks of pike or poleaxe-wielding footmen.\n\n'I thought you would be proud of him,' Thomas said, a little smugly.\n\n'Robin?' I said.\n\nThomas looked at me as if I were mad. 'No, young Robert. This new formation: it's all his idea. Well, I helped him smooth out a few wrinkles, but it's mostly his idea. This is the hollow phalanx. He must have mentioned it to you. What do you think?'\n\nI had no idea what to say. Robert had never said anything to me about a hollow phalanx, except to ask me to pass on that strange message to Thomas from his prison cell. But I would be damned to Hell before I admitted that my son did not talk to me.\n\n'It looks, ah, nice \u2026 very nice,' I said. 'Very efficient.'\n\nI was still trying to digest the idea that our formation in this life-and-death struggle had been determined by a twelve-year-old boy, when Thomas broke into my thoughts.\n\n'Yes, efficient is exactly the right word. We have very few cavalry and they could easily be scattered by a larger force of horsemen, but now they are protected, along with the archers, within the hollow phalanx. When our cavalry wish to attack, the phalanx opens, one of the companies of infantry swings out like a door, and the cavalry make their sortie, slaughter the foe, then return to the safety of the phalanx.'\n\nThomas and I had reached the huge square by then, and just as he said the words, the company of Sherwood men on the southern side of the hollow phalanx did indeed swing outwards as if on a hinge, shuffling in their ranks with minimal pushing and shoving for former outlaws, to allow us to enter.\n\nOnce inside, I did feel the swellings of pride for Robert and his extraordinary idea. It was the perfect defensive position, near-impregnable, to my eye. And I realised that God had smiled on me when I had appointed Thomas as Robert's tutor: the knight was always open to new ideas \u2013 had he not invented his own form of unarmed fighting? And when it came to military tactics, he had clearly nurtured Robert's talent for original ways of thought.\n\nWhile I was silently congratulating my son and his tutor, I rode to the front of the phalanx, the west wall, and looked out over the field of battle.\n\nThe first thing that I noticed was that the French infantry facing us across three hundred yards of empty grassy space was growing in strength. Indeed, all along the French line the numbers had swelled and I felt the first twinges of a deep unease about the hours ahead.\n\nIt seemed to me that our commanders, in their desire to fight a traditional battle, with the two sides lined up parallel with each other, had missed a vital opportunity. When we had arrived at the battlefield, more than half the French had been on the far side of the bridge. If we had attacked then, immediately, we might have fallen on the French rearguard and destroyed it and chased the rest of the French army all the way to Lille. I could clearly imagine how King Richard would have managed it: an immediate assault on the bridge and to Hell with the paucity of our numbers. But the Lionheart was dead. Now, all but a handful of the French were across the River Marque, and we were facing the full might of Philip's forces.\n\nI chided myself for my cowardly thoughts. We were at least a match for the French in numbers \u2013 and perhaps we even had a slight advantage. And looking behind me I could see that units of the German Emperor's army were still straggling on to the field. I thought I could make out the flags of the burghers of Ghent a mile or two away and several others beyond them. We would soon be reinforced, I told myself. It's just another engagement, like so many you have seen. Be a man. Do not show the world your fear.\n\nI remembered quite suddenly that it was a Sunday. God's holy day. I crossed myself and murmured a prayer to St Michael, begging him to come to our aid. I was sure that God would not wish his mortal creations to spill their blood on his holy day, and yet it was us who had chosen to fight here, not the French.\n\nFar down in the south of the field a shrill trumpet sounded. Then another. I shivered despite the heat of that blazing day.\n\nFor bloody battle was upon us.\n\nAnd God alone would decide who triumphed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Ferrand, the irascible Count of Flanders, had been waiting patiently for more than an hour at the far south of our line for his allies to align themselves correctly. The Germans were still in disarray, groups of knights moving about the centre, arguing over who should have precedence; proud noblemen from Cologne and Aachen disputing with wealthy burghers from the Flemish lands.\n\nFerrand evidently believed he had waited long enough. Without consulting any of his allies, he unleashed his knights in a full-scale charge against the enemy lines on the southern flank.\n\nI must admit it was a magnificent sight. More than five hundred mailed knights in gorgeous surcoats, the pennants on their lances fluttering gaily as they rode, and a similar number of mounted men-at-arms, exploded from our left flank and charged across the three hundred yards that separated them from the enemy. At the last possible moment they lowered their lances to the horizontal, gave a huge shout and crashed into the enemy lines. Standing in my stirrups, half a mile to the north, I watched in awe, the hair bristling on my nape, as these superb warriors crunched through the first line of the French, the spearpoints plucking men from their saddles, their huge horses crashing into the enemy mounts and sweeping all away before them. Their charge utterly destroyed the first line and carried them right up to the lance-points of the second.\n\nI thought for a moment that Ferrand's men must drive the French to their destruction into the boggy ground behind them \u2013 but the French, too, were fighting men of the first water, and miraculously, it seemed, they held against the rampaging men of Flanders, absorbed the power of their charge, and sprang back to engage them in a furious m\u00eal\u00e9e. I was too far to see much of the individual combats but I received an impression of a bulging, shifting line of men and horses, rippling like a trout-filled stream, banners flapping, flashes of silvery steel, and surcoats and horse's trappers, all the colours of the rainbow; yet I could clearly hear the clang of metal on metal and the screams and shouts of the battling sides.\n\nThen, in an instant, it seemed that the French had broken \u2013 scores of horsemen, hundreds perhaps, were running from the fight heading north to the bridge and the wide banners of the King and his men. Others ran south for the woods, horsemen spurring into the trees pursued by howling foes; an unlucky few were pushed back into the marsh and floundered there, helpless until they were cut down. I saw Ferrand himself, with only his standard-bearer and a trumpeter, his sword lofted high, in the place where the French first line had been, shouting for his men to re-form, the trumpet echoing his command. His bold knights, who were by now spread all across the southern half of the battlefield, dutifully rallied to his call; they left off their pursuit of the beaten French and trotted to his banner in their hundreds. Ferrand turned, his bannerman lifted his standard, and the Count led his knights, swords bloodied, horses spent, and more than half their number dead or lying wounded on the field, back to their original positions on our left flank.\n\nIt's time, I thought, time for Otto to attack in the centre. The whole French right had been savaged by the Flemings \u2013 if only the Germans would attack the centre with one great crushing advance, we'd have victory in our grasp.\n\nThe Germans did nothing. Unbelievably they were still dressing their ranks. The Saxon guard had now been granted the honour of the right of the line, and were making their way forward in a block, to claim their new position. It was almost as if they had not noticed Ferrand's dashing assault to their front and left.\n\nI rode over to Robin, who was chatting with his two sons in the centre of our hollow square, as unconcerned as if he were on a family picnic. 'Should we not attack as well, my lord?' I said. 'Count Ferrand has done well in the south \u2013 the enemy are reeling, scattered \u2013 we should finish the job.'\n\n'You know very well, Alan, that I get my orders from Salisbury,' he said, pointing to Longsword who was sitting his horse a dozen yards away eating an apple. 'He gets his from Otto. We've been told to hold this ground. That is why we are in Robert's magnificent defensive formation \u2013 you do like it, don't you?'\n\nI said that I did.\n\n'Well, you should do, the trouble I had convincing Salisbury to make it. Anyway, he's been told by Otto to hold this ground and that is what we are doing. When Otto calls for a general advance, then we will all go in together.'\n\nI had been thinking about the prospects of capturing a rich man for ransom; I knew that my best chance of that would come once the enemy was smashed. And I also knew that the time to smash them was now.\n\n'But that is plain stupid, Robin,' I said, hotly. 'We must attack now. Time is crucial. They are on the edge of panic, almost ready to flee. I can feel it. One big push and they'll quit the field, cross over the bridge and run like hares for Lille.'\n\n'I agree with you, Alan, I'm not blind. I know what Ferrand achieved down there \u2013 but orders are orders. I cannot attack the King of France all on my own. Moreover, I cannot take my own men forward and break up this position. We must all fight together or we are sunk\u2014' He suddenly broke off. 'Look, Alan, look!'\n\nMy lord was pointing south-west at the bridge of Bouvines. I could see horsemen, many hundreds moving southwards, the French King's household knights, barons from Blois and Champagne, and the refugees from the mauling given to them by Ferrand streaming south to retake the positions they had been driven from no more than a quarter of an hour before.\n\nI muttered some foul oath and commented on the waste of an opportunity.\n\n'No, no, Alan, look at the bridge,' said Robin.\n\nI looked. Tendrils of smoke were rising from the wide wooden structure. Now thickening to great black plumes. And here and there the orange flash of flame, columns of shining sparks rising in the still summer air.\n\n'They are burning the bridge,' I said incredulously. 'They are destroying their only means of escape.'\n\n'King Philip is giving a message to his men,' said Robin grimly. 'Do or die. Death or glory. They do not mean to leave this field alive unless they are victorious.'\n\nThe French cavalry were now back in their positions on their right flank. They were fewer in number, and their lines were a little ragged but, apart from that, and the strewn bodies of horses and men that littered the field around them, one could hardly tell that Ferrand had struck them a blow at all. All that courage and blood \u2013 all expended for nothing. Then my heart skipped a beat. They were advancing. My God, the French on their right flank were actually advancing. Their cavalry were moving forward in three long lines of horsemen. The French were going to attack Ferrand!\n\nI craned over to look at the cavalry of Flanders on our left flank. It was in utter disarray \u2013 believing they had vanquished their foes, perhaps even thinking that their part in the battle was over, Count Ferrand's men were scattered over a wide area, some several hundreds yards back from the front line, most unhorsed, some tending their wounds or looking to their mounts' wellbeing, some were eating, drinking, some even lying on the ground at their ease.\n\nNot for long. At the sight of the advancing cavalry, trumpets began to sound and suddenly it was all a-scramble. The knights of Flanders responded with admirable quickness. Men were hauling themselves up into the saddle. I even saw one fellow, dressed only in chemise and braies, leap astride his saddle-less horse and snatch a spear from his squire and ride forward. They were spurring towards Ferrand's banner in the centre where by now a loose knot of loyal knights surrounded the count. But they were too late \u2013 a horseman at full gallop can cover three hundred yards in twenty heartbeats \u2013 and the Flemings were not formed to receive the appalling storm that was about to fall upon them.\n\n'I wish I knew what Philip said to his commanders,' said Robin at my shoulder. 'He must have put the fear of Hell itself into them.'\n\nI looked at the bridge: it was now a mass of flame and smoke. There could be no retreat for Philip's men. Not this day. But the enemy seemed to have no notion of trying to escape. On their left flank, the first line of the French cavalry was now at the full canter, their line of lances sweeping down into position like the opening of an enormous fan. The pounding of their hooves was audible even here, a half-mile away.\n\nThe French line struck the thick crowd of men about the count at the gallop and washed over it like a giant wave breaking over rock. The banner of the Count of Flanders, a black lion rampant on gold, was now at the centre of a crowd of hundreds of struggling men, Flemish and French, slicing, stabbing, killing, dying. But the second line of the French, and then the third, charged straight past the m\u00eal\u00e9e surrounding the Count and sliced into the mainly unmounted men behind him and his bodyguard, who were now hurrying forward, desperate to join the fray before it was too late. The French rolled over the Flemings, killing scores, hundreds of their unprepared opponents. Everywhere on our left, the men of Count Ferrand were dying, spitted by French lances, hacked down by long blades. The scrum of battling men around the banner of the Count of Flanders was thinning too, its convulsions less frequent, more sluggish. They were surrounded by a sea of French horsemen.\n\n'Surely Otto must do something now!' I said.\n\n'He's moving,' said Robin.\n\nIndeed, at last the Emperor was stirring himself. I saw a rider heading up towards us in our hollow square, crossing the road \u2013 finally some orders \u2013 and ranks of German knights were stepping out from their positions in perfect formation. The knights flowed smoothly forward. If they turn now, I thought, and fall upon the French cavalry from the flank, they can destroy them utterly. But no, the German knights were pulling further and further away from the bloody m\u00eal\u00e9e on their immediate left, the death struggles of Count Ferrand's brave men, dying one by one around the black-and-gold standard of their lord. Instead, the Germans were heading due west, into the sun, heading straight for the French lines before the inferno that had once been the bridge of Bouvines.\n\nThey were making straight for Philip.\n\nI could see why. The King had sent most of his household cavalry to bolster his right flank and make the surprise attack on Ferrand; he had weakened his centre, almost stripped it of knights, and now Philip was defended only by ranks of infantry, ill-trained town militia by the look of them. The Emperor's cold logic was clear \u2013 he aimed to leave Ferrand and his men to their doom and strike a crushing blow, perhaps the decisive blow, at the centre of the enemy with all his might. It was a cruel tactic, but not a bad one. If Otto could capture or kill the King of France the day was won.\n\nThe breathless rider from the Emperor was conferring with Robin, the Earl of Salisbury and the Count of Boulogne in the centre of our square. It was orders at last. Robin was bellowing for the archers, and a trumpeter was calling for the cavalry to form up inside the square. As our fifty or so horsemen swung up on to their mounts, I pushed my horse into the first rank next to Sir Thomas Blood.\n\n'Ever tried this sort of caper before, Thomas?' I said.\n\nHe shook his dark head. 'Robert and I discussed it many a time. The theory is sound, I would wager my soul on it; now we will see if it works in practice.'\n\nThe Earl of Salisbury addressed the troops.\n\n'The Emperor has issued us with orders,' he began, and I could see by his expression that he did not relish this subordinate state of affairs. 'He commands that we support his attack on the King of France with an assault on the French left \u2013 those infantry over there.' He was pointing due west at a half a dozen companies, spearmen and crossbowmen, directly opposite our position and about three hundred yards away. I noted that the late afternoon sun, low in the sky, would be shining in our faces as we attacked.\n\n'We are to sweep them from the field \u2013 the Emperor has commanded it \u2013 and then to continue on and join his assault on King Philip himself by the bridge. That is what Otto wants. But you are my men. You obey my commands. We shall attack the enemy \u2013 and if they flee we shall naturally ride on and join the attack on the French centre. Perhaps that will be the way of it. It is in God's hands. But I particularly desire you to listen out for the recall \u2013 it sounds like this.' He made a signal to his trumpeter, who blew a trio of jaunty notes, and then repeated them. 'At that signal you will disengage and return to this position and reform within the square. Do not dally. Do not stray. If you hear the recall, you return here instantly.'\n\nHe gazed over the ranks of silent horsemen, waiting for some comment. None came.\n\n'Right, let us do this deed of arms for the honour of old England \u2026 and, ah, Boulogne, of course and, ah, no doubt several other places, too. My lord of Locksley, you are to remain with the archers and return them here when their task is done.'\n\nThe two central companies of pikemen on the western side of the square swung open, one going left, the other right, and through this human doorway marched Robin, Little John and his sixty-odd archers, heading towards the enemy lines.\n\nSalisbury, Thomas and I and the rest of our cavalry trotted out on their heels.\n\nAs I passed out of the square I could see what an effective defence it was: a fortress of men, bristling with spearpoints, a hedge of sharp steel on all sides. There was no cavalry on earth that could breach it, and I marvelled once again at the cunning of Robert's design.\n\n'God grant me a rich knight,' I prayed silently, as my horse stepped out on to the battlefield. 'You know how much I love my boy. Grant me this boon, O merciful God, and I will praise you for the rest of my life.'\n\nWe walked our horses across the field in two conrois of about twenty-five men, in line, one conroi twenty paces behind the other. The archers had also split into two groups, ranging out left and right from the advancing horse. A hundred and fifty paces from the enemy ranks, about halfway between their lines and ours, we stopped. The archers strung their bows and began selecting their arrows. I saw Robin testing his bowstring and sticking a dozen bodkin points into the turf at his feet, so they could be pulled from the earth and loosed with maximum speed. But the sun was directly in our eyes; I could see little ahead but a fiery yellow blur: Left and right, I could make out archers squinting and holding up hands before their faces to block the glare. Others were pulling their hoods far forward to keep the blinding light at bay.\n\nI looked left. The German knights were now deeply into the enemy ranks around the King, hacking their way through the poor levies of the militia with their two-handed swords. Around the Oriflamme was a wall of steel and horseflesh where Philip's remaining knights, no more than a score or so, held back, waiting for just the right moment to charge: too soon and Otto's counter-attack might sweep back all the way to the King; too late and the infantry, who were soaking up the punishment from the German knights, would be no more than reeking meat.\n\nOtto himself had not left his position in our lines. He and his Saxon guard looked on impassively three hundred yards away as his noble knights demonstrated their valour on the ranks of peasant spearmen from Orleans and Paris.\n\nBeyond the German lines I saw, with a jolt of horror, that our left flank was no more. There was no sign of Ferrand of Flanders; and his men lay in bleeding heaps. Dozens of French knights, sagging in the saddle, spattered with gore and filth, picked their way among the dead and wounded on exhausted horses, looking for men worth ransoming. 'O God,' I prayed again, 'grant me my heart's desire.'\n\nI was jerked back to my own situation by Robin's battle voice calling: 'Archers \u2026 nock.' The thirty men in the left-hand company smoothly fixed a shaft to the string. On the right a similar number of bowmen, under the captaincy of Little John, did exactly the same.\n\nRobin shouted: 'Draw \u2026 and loose,' and with a sharp creak and a swish, a black cloud of ash shafts hurtled into the air, hovered for an instant, and fell like black thunderbolts from the sky.\n\nFor the first time in my life I saw the archers of Sherwood fail. Blinded by the sun, they could not judge the distance well, and a goodly number of the arrows overshot the company of spearmen in front of them and fell harmlessly into the empty pasture behind them. Other shafts went wide and a few even fell short.\n\nThere were shout of anger on all sides. I heard Little John bellowing, 'Aim straight, you silly buggers \u2013 are you blind or just stupid!' and his words were met by a chorus of English complaint.\n\nThe enemy directly to our front, a company of spearmen in stiff leather jerkins and steel caps about two hundred men strong, jeered us and made obscene gestures. One man turned his back, lifted his tunic and showed us his naked arse.\n\nOn their right was another company of spearmen, but on their left was a company in mail covered by green-and-red surcoats, and bearing huge two-man shields. Robin's men were not the only bowmen on this field.\n\n'Nock,' shouted my lord. Then, 'Draw and loose.' But the second volley was little better than the first. A few men in the enemy ranks had dropped, skewered by our shafts, but once again the bulk of the arrows had missed their targets. Looking out under my shadowing hand, I could see that some of the enemy were laughing.\n\n'Enough, by God,' shouted the Earl of Salisbury. 'Trumpeter, sound the charge.'\n\nThe trumpet sounded, I spurred my horse blindly forward.\n\nLongsword himself led the charge directly at the unbroken spearmen. And Robin, bringing his men forward at a run, managed to loose one last flat volley into their ranks before our horsemen crashed home. It was just enough. Two front-rank spearmen dropped in front of Salisbury's horse, victims of Robin's last desperate barrage. Longsword jumped his mount into the gap, his lance punching into the chest of the second-rank man behind. And we followed him into the breach. Twenty-five horsemen pouring into a gap two yards wide.\n\nWe smashed that spear company wide apart.\n\nI slammed my lance into a standing man's shield, knocking him down, hauled out Fidelity and began to lay about me. I chopped down and split the skull of a man on my left, turned and hacked at the shoulder of a fellow on my right \u2013 but in a few moments there was nothing but empty space around my horse. The nearest man to me was Miles, who galloped past hunting down a running Frenchman with his lance.\n\nThe spear company had melted like snow in sunshine under the cavalry charge and the surviving men-at-arms had almost all sprinted for the shelter of the nearest formation of spearmen, some thirty paces to their right, and been allowed to squeeze through the ranks and into safety.\n\nThey defied us there, from behind their bristling ranks of spearpoints, knowing that our blown horses would not charge home. We knew it too. I wondered if Salisbury would bring up the archers. And doubted it. I sheathed Fidelity. We had pushed that company of two hundred spearmen temporarily off the battlefield \u2013 and left a couple of dozen bodies on the turf \u2013 but we had not altered the balance of the battle in any significant way. And I had not had the merest sniff of a knight to capture.\n\nTo the south, I could see that the battle around King Philip had reached its frenzy. The German knights were now yards from the royal household guards, exchanging sword blows with some of the richest men in France. The Oriflamme still fluttered above the King's head, although I could not see Philip himself. The crowd of fighting men convulsed and writhed; mailed men, sheeted in blood, fell or staggered away to the accompaniment of screams and shouts, the flash of steel, and the spray of gore; men dropped like ripe fruit from a shaken tree, yet fresh knights still plunged forward eagerly to join the fray. Suddenly I heard a great shout go up from the Germans, a roar of victory, and saw that the Oriflamme had fallen.\n\nMy God \u2013 was King Philip dead?\n\nThis is where we must fight, I thought, we should join the Germans with all our strength and smash through the centre to the bridge. Killing penniless spearmen over here was pointless, not when the King of France himself and his greatest nobles were faltering a few hundred yards away. I looked for Salisbury or Boulogne \u2013 determined to urge them to join the Germans in the centre. But to my surprise and horror, I heard the trumpeter by the Earl's horse sound the retreat. Three jaunty notes, repeated.\n\n'Not now,' I thought, 'not now. God send me a knight. Any knight.'\n\nThen I saw why. The crossbow company had formed up facing left, facing the empty space there the spear company had been and where we now casually walked our horses amid the bloody bodies. They had planted their huge shields and the bolts were beginning to fly. Evil black lines fizzed through the air about me. I saw a man, one of Robin's cavalry who had helped me drive away my enemies at Westbury, take a quarrel under the ribs on his left-hand side. The foot-long black shaft punched through his mail and he screamed and slid from the saddle. One of Boulogne's men was hit in the face, the bolt tearing off half of his right cheek and leaving him with a hanging flap and his teeth showing white against the welling red.\n\nThe trumpets were still sounding the recall. And still I lingered, hoping against hope for a noble foe to come against me. As I looked behind me I saw that Robin's archers were already running from the field back to the safety of our square. It was no use. I turned my horse east. Most of the other horsemen were already heading in that direction. Hugh cantered past me. He shouted, 'Sir Alan, it is the retreat. The Earl commands us to go back! We must retreat.'\n\nI nodded vaguely at him, yet still I hesitated. I looked over my shoulder at the centre of the French line and saw that the Oriflamme once more flew bravely above the knot of French knights \u2013 and was that a flash of a golden royal coronet that I could make out in the middle of the throng? Perhaps Philip was not dead, nor even faltering. Indeed, his knights seemed to have found a new blast of courage. They were advancing, expanding like a flower at dawn from the tight bundle around the King, chopping into the foe, thrusting him back. The militia infantry too seemed to have found a renewed energy \u2013 they battered the enemy with their spears from behind, killing the horses first, then dealing with their riders as they fell. The German knights \u2013 those who yet lived \u2013 seemed to have been stopped in their tracks. Indeed, many were now retreating: I could see several tall men in fine mail and elaborate helms, slathered in blood and limping back east across the field using their two-handed longswords as staffs to help them hobble.\n\nOtto's cruel gamble had failed. Our left wing, to the south, Count Ferrand's men, had been abandoned to their fate \u2013 and now that body of men no longer existed as a fighting force. In the centre, Otto's attack had failed to break through to the King. On the right, we too were now all running back to the safety of our defensive square.\n\nIt was time to go. I was the last of our men on the field. I touched my spurs to my horse, and at that same instant, felt a jolt beside my knee like a blow from a quarterstaff. I looked down and saw the leather flights of a quarrel sticking two inches out from my horse's loins. The animal took two steps forward and stopped \u2013 an awful broken whinnying sound coming from its throat. I looked around. My comrades were already halfway back to the square, out of range of the wicked bolts. Another missile slammed into the inside of my shield. And another, both punching through the wood and leather and narrowly missing my left arm. I realised that I was the favoured target for a company of two hundred crossbowmen only seventy yards away. A second quarrel slapped into my horse's barrel, crunching through ribs and into the chest cavity \u2013 the beast kicked out and staggered, bellowing with pain; a black bolt slammed into her eye, burying itself into her brain, and she thumped to the ground, now mercifully beyond pain. I slipped from the saddle as the poor horse was collapsing, and hunkered down behind the bulk of her off-side, slipping off my shield as yet another black bolt cracked against the dome of my helmet. The entire company of crossbowmen seemed to be shooting at me, and only at me.\n\nHow I cursed my lack of haste. I had lingered on the field too long after the recall was sounded. And now, with only a dead horse between me and thousands of foes, I was paying the price. I could not run \u2013 I'd be dead before I took three strides. But if I stayed here the spearmen to my right would come out from behind their steel hedges and slaughter me. I was trapped. I was a dead man.\n\nWorse, I had failed my son."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "There have not been many times in my life when I have had impotently to suffer the wrath of bowmen, but as I lay there behind my dead horse, listening to the meaty thuds as quarrel after quarrel juddered into the huge corpse, I felt a rising sense of helpless fury. This could not be my death: marooned in the middle of an empty battlefield, stuck like a pin cushion beside a dead horse. I could not die here and leave Robert to die alone, between Boot's powerful twisting hands, uncomprehending of his father's fate. I risked a glance over the saddle, a crossbow bolt cracked past my right ear, an inch away, but I had seen what I dreaded: a dozen spearmen emerging from the ranks of their company and jogging towards me, grinning like apes.\n\nI was not going to die without a fight, that was certain. I waited until the running spearmen came between me and the bulk of the crossbow company \u2013 it was easy to tell when this took place for the cracks and whines and thuds of the bolts suddenly stopped \u2013 and leapt to my feet and drew Fidelity. The spearmen were twenty paces away. It was one man against a dozen; a lone swordsman against a pack of men with spears: there was only one possible conclusion to this fight. This was it. I'd had a good life. I prayed to St Michael to give me strength to die well \u2013 and to Our Lord to have mercy on my son and shield Robert from the sheriff's greed.\n\nTime to fight.\n\nI leapt over the dead horse and took my sword to the spearmen. I knocked the leading man's thrusting spear-shaft out of the way with my left forearm, and chopped Fidelity into the corner of his neck where the head meets the shoulder an instant later. He went down like a dropped sack of wet sand. The next man fell to a wide, lateral cut from my sword that crunched into his back. I was in the midst of them by now, jabbing, cutting and dodging the spear-thrusts as best I could. And they were giving me space, spread out in a loose ring about me, dancing in and making short hard jabs at my body, but staying well away from Fidelity.\n\n'He's one old man, for Christ's sake, kill him now,' growled a big fellow with a face burnt red by the sun. I made him pay for those words. He hurled his spear at me, I twisted sideways just in time and the shaft grazed my chest \u2013 and I was on him as he scrabbled for the short sword at his waist. I had a foot of Fidelity's shining length in his guts before his own blade had cleared the scabbard. I ripped my sword loose, shouldering him to the ground as I passed and began running back towards our lines as fast as my legs would carry me. As the hollow phalanx was nearly two hundred yards away, I knew I would never make it. But I had to try. A spear flew over my shoulder. A crossbow bolt cracked off my helm. I could hear the pants and shouts of the men on my heels. Then, a beautiful sight. A lone knight in full armour, helmet down, lance couched, dark green cloak flying out behind him, was thundering towards me out from our lines. It was Robin, for sure. I could tell by the way he rode, by the lines of his body as he crouched over his horse's neck.\n\nThe horseman hurtled past me and crashed straight into the group of running spearmen behind. I heard a scream as his lance went home, and another yell and the sharp sound of snapping bone. Then the pounding of hooves, and a young voice behind me: 'Alan, take my arm and get up behind me. Come now. Quickly.'\n\nA spear thumped into my back, high over the shoulder blade, I stumbled forward, but I knew the point had not penetrated deeply and I blessed the silver I had spent on decent mail. I slammed Fidelity into the scabbard, grasped Robin's reaching hand and swung up behind his saddle. Glancing behind me I could see that only four spearmen were still on their feet; they were launching their spears wildly at us in their futile rage. We were moving fast by them, the horse carrying our combined weight with ease, and in a trice we were out of range. Safe.\n\nIt was not until we were back inside the square of pikes and poleaxes that I realised the true identity of my rescuer. As I slid off the back of the horse, I was astonished to see Robin striding over to me from the other side of the square, where he had been conferring with the Earl of Salisbury. I looked up at the young face on the horse above me and saw that it was Miles, ruddy, sweaty and grinning from the excitement. I stammered out my thanks but he dismissed it with a wave.\n\n'Rather enjoyed that, to be honest, Sir Alan,' he chuckled. 'We must do it again sometime!'\n\nRobin slapped me on the back, relieved to see me safe. I winced as his hand caught the place that the spear had struck.\n\n'It's looking bad, Alan, I must admit it. But I'm very glad to have you back. If you are fit \u2013 are you fit?' I nodded.\n\nHe looked at his bloody hand.\n\n'Then I want you to take command of this section of the phalanx wall. You in command, Little John as your second, all right? Hugh has the next section along.'\n\nI nodded again. And saw that the section he was indicating was the southern one, and it was packed with familiar faces. Little John found me a poleaxe, and I tried a few experimental sweeps and lunges, to get a feel for the weapon.\n\nAs I was familiarising myself with the heft of the poleaxe, Hugh came up to me from the section immediately to the east of mine.\n\n'You understand our role in the phalanx, Sir Alan, don't you? We stand firm and keep the cavalry out with these things,' he said, pointing at the poleaxe in my hands. 'We don't budge at all.'\n\nI confess I did not like his tone. This was a boy who I had known since he was in napkins telling me how to conduct myself in war. 'I think I have managed to grasp the tactics, thank you,' I said with a certain edge in my voice.\n\n'Have you?' asked Hugh. 'Because there is no room for individual heroics in the phalanx wall. We all fight together, you know.'\n\n'How dare you lecture me on combat, you puppy!'\n\n'I dare, Sir Alan, because I have just seen you ignore a clear order for recall and very nearly get yourself killed. You risked your own life, which I suppose is your prerogative, but you also caused my brother Miles to risk his, in order to save yours. And that I will not accept.'\n\n'I did not force him to come out to save me,' I said, sulkily.\n\n'He worships you, Sir Alan, you are his model. He would do anything, no matter how stupidly reckless, to earn your admiration. And I will not have it, sir. I must ask you to behave more responsibly in future.'\n\nAnd he turned his back and stalked off to his section of the wall.\n\nWell, he was right. I had behaved irresponsibly, and I knew it. But that did not make being spoken to like a naughty schoolboy any easier to swallow.\n\nTo take my mind off my scolding, I pushed my body through the packed ranks of our men and took stock of the battle from the outside of the hollow phalanx.\n\nThe first thing I saw was that the French were on the attack. It looked very much like a general advance, which was always the last throw in any desperate, hard-fought battle. All along the line the French were moving forward: barons, knights and mounted men-at-arms, spearmen, pikemen, crossbowmen, too, they were all converging on one point. Even the Oriflamme, and the household knights of Philip, even the King himself, were on the move \u2013 the whole French army, still several thousand strong, was coming forward, marching away from the burning bridge and heading towards our lines. With a shameful sense of relief \u2013 and a misplaced one, too \u2013 I saw where the hammer blow of the French attack would fall.\n\nPhilip was making for Otto.\n\nTrumpets called. Noblemen from Burgundy and Orleans, Berry and Ponthieu, Champagne, Maine and Touraine, bellowed their war cries, thrust back their spurs. And many hundreds of cavalrymen charged at the centre of our lines where the Holy Roman Emperor's standard, the eagle mounted on a dragon, towered above the impassive ranks of the Saxon guard.\n\nThe French cavalry slapped into the first line of the Saxons. And were held. Those superb German warriors refused to give an inch of ground; they fought with magnificent courage, their big axes swinging like Death's own scythe, blood flying, men falling screaming to the ground. But still the French piled into their ranks.\n\nIt was the enemy crossbowmen who tipped the balance. Hundreds of them came forward in their pairs, two slight men with one huge shield between them, and from both flanks they poured death into the ranks of the Saxon warriors. Quarrels whipped and cracked into their files, slaying mighty men with one-foot iron rods and leaving gaps into which the French thrust their armoured horses, their lances jabbing. The Saxons died by the score. More brave men stepped forward from the ranks behind to fill their places. To no avail. The pressure from the French was unrelenting.\n\nBefore my eyes, the Saxon line bent, buckled \u2013 and broke, quite suddenly. A great shout went up from the French. And at the same moment, the Emperor's eagle-dragon standard tumbled. I saw that the Germans at the rear of the battle were edging back, and now, O sweet God, they were running. Otto was running. Even some members of Saxon guard were throwing their shields and axes away and streaming east with the other men, a panicked herd of humanity all sprinting for their lives.\n\nIn the space of a hundred heartbeats the centre of our lines completely disintegrated. A few of the better men stood their ground, knots of three or four back to back, gore-slathered axes in hand, defying the enemy to the last.\n\nThe crossbowmen made short work of them, punching quarrel after quarrel into their flesh until even these brave men were felled.\n\nThe sun was little more than a hand's breadth above the western horizon, and I was able to survey the whole battlefield to the south of our hollow phalanx. Bodies littered the turf across the whole field, the stench of blood and ordure was so strong as to be almost visible. Great flocks of black crows wheeled in the air above, waiting for their chance to feed. Count Ferrand of Flanders and his men were gone; Otto and his surviving Germans were streaming away to the east. Only we \u2013 the couple of thousand or so men who owed their loyalty to the Earl of Salisbury or the Count of Boulogne \u2013 remained of the army that had boldly challenged the French King that day.\n\nWe were alone.\n\nIt is most painful to tell of the events of the next few hours, the last hours of that terrible dying day. The French surrounded us on all sides. Their horsemen were thick as flies around a dung pile. The cavalry charged our ranks, again and again, one or two brave men making a dash for us. Or occasionally a dozen men under a bold captain, who hoped to make a name for himself by smashing our formation. But, while our men died in ones and twos, skewered on the knights' long lances, or their skulls crushed by a well-wielded mace, the French could make no hard impression on our hedges of steel. They were tired, after all, dog-tired; their horses were exhausted, too. Some of the French knights had been fighting all day \u2013 against Ferrand, then against Otto and now they came against us. Some of us, too, had been in the fray since before noon. But they could not get into our square. Neither could we escape.\n\nI remember only fragments of that last terrible fight. One last desperate sortie by the Count of Boulogne and his handful of remaining cavalry: we opened our wall in the south, the section I had command of, and the Count and thirty men charged out and smashed a conroi of French cavalry that was dressing its ranks for a charge against us. The French were scattered \u2013 but other knights swarmed towards the fight from all corners of the field and Boulogne's men found themselves in a fierce m\u00eal\u00e9e, surrounded. French pikemen joined the fight, too, running in and spiking their long blades into our knights' backs as they fought hand to hand with the other mounted men. The Count and a scant eight horsemen managed to fight their way clear and make it back to the square \u2013 but it was clear we would never have the strength to make a sortie again that day.\n\nI fought beside Little John on foot for most of that last battle, in the press with one-eyed Claes beyond John on my left, Thomas on my right, and a dozen good men from Kirkton and Westbury all around me. The French came on, again, and again. We kept them out, fighting like men possessed, using our poleaxes to cut and stab at the horsemen above us, and hooking unwary knights to haul them from their mounts' backs and down to destruction. It was a weapon I came to love, in truth: efficient, deadly, evening the odds between a man on foot and the man a-horse. And with every strike of the pole, every grunt of exertion, I breathed Robert's name.\n\nWe fought magnificently, truly we did, but each enemy charge weakened us, and at every assault, bloodily repulsed, a few more of our men fell to their long lances. It was quite clear now how this nightmare would end. There could be no surrender, the French knights had made that plain, calling us mercenary dogs, vermin, taunting us with the prolonged execution that would face us when we were captured; and there was clearly no escape to be had.\n\nIn a lull between attacks, when I was dazed with exhaustion, my arms like lead after wielding the unfamiliar poleaxe for so long, the wound in my back burning like the fires of Hell, Little John came over to me with a canteen of water and wine.\n\nAs I slurped down a good pint of that sweet mixture in one draught, Little John said: 'You know something strange, Alan?'\n\nI was too tired to speak; I could only stare at him mutely over the rim of the canteen.\n\n'I had a dream last night that Gavin was with us. It was so real, I felt I might have reached out and touched him.'\n\nI grunted something and took another huge swig.\n\n'He begged me to be with him,' said Little John.\n\nThat brought me up short. 'He spoke to you?'\n\n'Yes, he asked me to join him in the light of God's grace. He said it as plainly and simply as I am saying it to you now.'\n\n'It was a dream, John, a strange fancy of the mind on the eve of battle. I don't think it really means\u2014'\n\nI stopped suddenly. The unfinished thought instantly wiped from my head. For at long last I could see our doom approaching. Five companies of marching crossbowmen. The French had decided to take us seriously.\n\nSo began the duel of the bowmen. The crossbowmen formed up in five blocks all around our hollow square \u2013 although by now it was not the neat, box-shaped object it had once been. Now it was more a shrunken circle of desperate bleeding men, spear-points facing outwards like a gigantic hedgehog. The largest groups of crossbowmen were formed up in the south, the south-west and the west in blocks of about a hundred and fifty men each. Two smaller companies of enemy bowmen took up positions to the north and the east.\n\nThey planted their huge shields. They spanned their bows. And methodically, calmly, with an absence of fury or any kind of passion, they began to kill our men.\n\nOur Sherwood bowmen answered them, of course, but they were few in number by then, many having fallen in the phalanx walls, and they were sadly short of shafts. They had been shooting all day and some men had fewer than four or five arrows left in their arrow bags. But they killed crossbowmen as well as they could, shooting the enemy down when they emerged from behind their shields to loose at us. But it was cruelly one-sided. I saw Philip himself, briefly, back at his old command position by the bridge, and he seemed to be directing a large number of knights to their duties.\n\nIt was clear what was in the King's mind. For the knights \u2013 perhaps all the remaining able-bodied chevaliers of the French army, some three hundred horsemen \u2013 were forming up to the west, with the blood-red sun setting at their backs, in one huge company behind the crossbowmen stationed there. When the crossbowmen had weakened us sufficiently, when there were but a few hundred of our battered men still standing, the French knights would make one last glorious charge, crash through our wavering spear-wall and complete the day's slaughter.\n\nThe crossbowmen decimated our ranks, one or two men fell every heartbeat to the whirring black bolts. Our ragged hedgehog began to melt away like a snowball by a Christmas hearth. Men were dropping on all sides of our redoubt as the evil bolts sliced into our ranks from all corners of the compass. The whole circle of spearmen seemed to twist and shrink under the deadly onslaught, as bolt after bolt slammed into our ranks, and the screams of the wounded split the air again and again. There was nothing we could do about it except to stand \u2013 and die. Right beside me, I heard a shout of pain and a man stumbled into me and collapsed. I caught him and lowered him to the grass but he was stone dead before he touched the ground. It was Claes, a veteran of many of Robin's bloody battles, a good man now gone, with a black quarrel sticking from his one remaining eye. As I crouched over his body, the tears welling in my own eyes at yet another comrade ripped from this earth, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Robin's face.\n\n'I'm not going to stay here and watch my sons die,' he said quietly into my ear. 'I'm not going to watch you or Little John or any more of my good men throw away their lives in this cause. It's time for us to go home.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "We ran. It was as simple as that. Robin spoke quietly with a dozen of his senior men. He had all the archers loose one last volley at the crossbowmen directly in our path. And we ran. The Earl of Salisbury must have caught wind that something was happened, for just before we made our move he called across the shrinking circle in the centre of our redoubt, asking Robin what was amiss. Robin did not deign to answer him. Instead, he gave the word of command and with a howl we charged out of our positions and sprinted directly at the crossbow company to the south.\n\nLittle John led the charge, with myself and Sir Thomas just behind him, and Robin and his two sons brought up the rear. Between us were some ninety of Robin's men-at-arms, bowmen and dismounted cavalry and even a few of the Earl of Salisbury's men who had either also decided it was time to depart or who had just been swept up in the movement of our running men.\n\nWithin ten heartbeats we were in among the crossbowmen \u2013 dodging between the huge planted shields and killing like fiends. Taking a bloody revenge for the carnage we had suffered at their hands. My wound felt like a red-hot poker being thrust into my back, but I gritted my teeth, determined to ignore the pain. I swung Fidelity at a man who was in the act of spanning his crossbow, bent over the weapon with one foot in the stirrup on the end of the bow on the ground, hauling back with both hands on the string. My blade caught him in the centre of his spine, chopping through leather, flesh and bone and dropping him in an unstrung mess on the ground. I killed another man, a lunge to the groin, even as he pointed his loaded weapon at my chest. He fell back as he pulled the lever and the string twanged and loosed the bolt high into the sky.\n\nBut Robin was shouting: 'On, on, make for the woods. Don't tarry, don't stop for anything. We must get to the trees.' For we were heading for the Cysoing woods due south of the battlefield, where the battle for Bouvines had begun several lifetimes ago. Night was falling, it was already a pinky-grey twilight, and in the woods, in darkness, we would be safe, or so Robin had promised. But before we could find safety in the trees we had a thousand yards to run across a battlefield swarming with victorious French men-at-arms.\n\nI ran, snatching glances behind me, looking for enemy horsemen \u2013 for that is what I feared most, the galloping horseman and his long lance that would punch through my backbone as I ran. But it seemed that we had taken the French by surprise. The enemy horse were still forming up in the west, opposite the circle of desperate men that we had abandoned. Already there were several knights shouting and pointing in our direction, and it would not be long before we were pursued and brought to battle. I saw too that the Earl of Salisbury was rapidly filling the gap we had made in his circle of steel by our precipitate departure. He and the Count of Boulogne were grabbing men and shoving them into the space where Robin's men had stood. I blessed Robin then: I would rather die on my feet running, dodging, perhaps even able to strike a blow myself, than standing in a thin line of men patiently waiting to be felled by an anonymous crossbow bolt.\n\nAn instant later, I regretted my thoughts, for I could feel the thunder of horses' hooves through the turf below my flying feet, and looking back I saw that a conroi of cavalry fifty men strong was galloping down the field towards our fleeing men.\n\nThe wood was still five hundred yards away and our men were strung out in a line, knots of two or three men, perhaps a hundred yards long. I saw a man to my left running at me \u2013 a sword and shield in his hand, a dismounted knight, perhaps, or a squire. He shouted an invitation for me to stand and fight and for a moment I hesitated, and I swear to you, on my honour, that I looked to see signs of wealth about his person. He was a shabby specimen, his mail old and rusty, and I ignored his challenge and put my head down and ran, ran with all my might south, south for the woods and safety.\n\nTwo hundred yards to go. As I leapt over a dead horse in my path, a crossbowman popped up from nowhere and loosed a bolt at me from twenty paces away and \u2013 miraculously \u2013 missed. I ran on straight past him, legs pumping, sucking down the sharp air, feeling the red-hot pain in my back stab me with every stride.\n\nA hundred yards now. The first of our men were now at the treeline. I saw Little John and Thomas charge a group of the enemy gathered there. John decapitated a French man-at-arms with his poleaxe, Thomas neatly disembowelled a second, and the rest of the enemy section ran like rabbits before their fury, heading west towards the marshes.\n\nLittle John stood next to an ancient oak shading his eyes with his hand and looking north towards our men as they straggled to him. Thomas was helping a wounded archer limp into the shelter of the trees.\n\nI was thirty yards away from the woods, clear of the enemy now and with nothing but half a dozen corpses between me and safety. I turned and looked back up the field. Many of our men had not been sufficiently fleet of foot, or had lingered to take their revenge on the crossbowmen. For those unfortunates, the cavalry were upon them. I saw a Sherwood archer ridden down with almost contemptuous ease by a French knight. He did not bother to use his lance, merely crashed his horse into the running man and trampled him under its churning hooves. Another man, a Kirkton cavalryman, now without a horse, dodged left and right, ducking under the following horse's neck, almost escaping before tripping on a tussock of grass, stumbling, and being dropped by a swung sword to his neck from a clearly irritated French knight.\n\nAnd there was Robin fifty yards behind me, with Miles and Hugh, and another man-at-arms, running in a pack, all four of them carrying swords and shields \u2013 with three French cavalrymen hard on their tails. The enemy were no more than twenty yards behind them, long blades bright in their hands, their expressions wolfish.\n\nRobin glanced over his shoulder and shouted for his sons to halt. They obeyed immediately. And all stood together back to back, shields high, swords extended, as the cavalry rushed at them, cutting at their up-held shields as they surged past. I saw one enemy blade slip through their defences and come back bloody. Then they were past the three men on foot. The man-at-arms who had been running with them either did not hear Robin's cry or decided to ignore it. When Robin, Miles and High formed their back-to-back triangle defence, he ran on heedless \u2013 and was overtaken in a trice by a French knight who dispatched him cleanly with a lance-lunge through the small of his back that lifted him off his feet before dumping him dead on the turf.\n\nThe cavalry was not done with Robin and his boys. Not nearly. They circled back and made another pass at my lord and his boys, a clashing of steel on wood, and again I saw them bloody their long blades, and beyond these three knights, to the north, I could see a dozen more riders approaching, lances in their hands.\n\nRobin was a dead man and so were his sons.\n\nAnd I had a choice to make.\n\nI could carry on running, following Robin's orders to run for the trees without stopping for anything. Or I could go back to help my lord in his hour of peril.\n\nIt is at these times that a man learns if he is a coward or not. Thirty yards way from me was Little John, the woods and safety in the growing darkness. Behind me was Robin, Miles, Hugh \u2013 my friends, my saviours, and almost certain death.\n\nI hesitated. God forgive me \u2013 I could not make up my mind. I could not push myself into death; I could not run for cover either. My legs would not move. I seemed to be frozen in my abject cowardly state. I believe that I might still be standing there to this day if what happened next had not happened.\n\nI heard a great shout from the treeline. Turned and saw Little John bounding towards me, his poleaxe in his hand, the cry of 'A Locksley!' on his lips. The big man hurtled past me like a force of nature, like a great rushing wind, and he charged straight into the nearest horseman of the trio raining blows on Robin and his sons.\n\nThe passing of Little John unlocked my courage. I took a double-handed grip of Fidelity and charged after the big man \u2013 to the rescue of my lord.\n\nThank God, for I could not have lived with myself else.\n\nLittle John lunged with his poleaxe, driving the spear-tip deep into the back of the horseman, splitting mail links and grinding the sharp steel into the flesh beyond. The horseman gave a howl and spurred away, but he was a dead man.\n\nA second horseman rode directly at John, slashing at his head, but Robin and his sons had broken out of their back-to-back position, exploding outwards in a blur of steel and movement, and Hugh neatly lopped off the horse's forefoot with a single blow, causing knight and mount to tumble. Robin finished him as he sprawled on the ground. The third knight nearly had me, his sword blow from behind whistled over my helmet, but I twisted and caught him with an upward lunge that punched through the mail around his inner thigh and slid my blade up into the meat of his leg, scraping the long bone inside. He screamed horribly and rolled away from me out of the saddle.\n\nRobin was shouting: 'Run, all of you, run! Alan, help Miles! Take his arm!' And I caught Robin's youngest as he staggered towards me, still grinning but with his side streaked with red and his face as pale as death.\n\nThere were more horsemen only twenty yards away, half a dozen knights in a pack, and beyond them a score of running crossbowmen. Little John stood facing his enemies, his long poleaxe held horizontally across his chest in both meaty hands, as if he planned to deny them further passage south with its wooden shaft.\n\nRobin shouted: 'John, leave them, we must run!'\n\nThe treeline was fifty yards away, and a handful of Sherwood archers were nocking, drawing and loosing their last remaining arrows at the oncoming cavalrymen. I was hauling, half-carrying Miles towards the wood as fast as my churning legs would carry us. I turned my head, and saw Robin just behind me with his arm around the bloodied form of Hugh. Beyond them a feathered shaft smacked into the chest of the leading knight, spinning him out of the saddle and away.\n\nRobin shouted: 'John, come now!'\n\nFor the big man was thirty yards behind \u2013 directly between us and the five advancing cavalrymen, facing the enemy, his feet planted. John looked over his shoulder at Robin. He favoured me, Robin, all of us with a long, happy smile.\n\nHe shouted: 'You go along without me. I'm tired of running. Besides, I haven't finished with these French fellows yet.'\n\nAnd the big man charged straight at the oncoming cavalry, his poleaxe swinging, a titanic roar of battle on his lips.\n\nI did not see John die. It brings tears to my eyes even to remember those last few moments of his life. But he saved us all from the pursuing enemy and ensured that Robin and myself, Hugh and Miles, and all the rest of our men, made it safely to the treeline and into the darkness of the woods, and so I think that by his lights it was a good death. I pray that he is reunited with Gavin in Heaven or wherever their souls travelled to after their time on this earth. I wept that night, too, as we bound up our wounds and made a fireless, cheerless camp in the deepest part of the wood, sleeping in utter exhaustion wrapped in our cloaks.\n\nA little before dawn, Robin and I ventured out, just the two of us. The victorious King had made his camp in the far northern part of the battlefield, away from the blood and the bodies, in a great enclosure surrounded by his baggage carts. I could clearly hear the sounds of drunken French revelry from a mile away, shouts, snatches of song, laughter, and see the merry twinkling of campfires.\n\nIn the cold grey light I could see little on the battlefield but the mounded forms of dead men and horses. There was no sign of the once-impregnable circle of spears, no sign of any remnant of the Earl of Salisbury's men \u2013 I found out later that Boulogne and Salisbury had been taken captive, as had Count Ferrand of Flanders earlier in the day, but that all the surviving common men-at-arms had been executed on Philip's orders.\n\nWe found Little John's body without too much difficulty a dozen yards from the place he had begun his mad charge, half-buried by a dead horse with a scatter of corpses beside him. His huge body had been hacked, sliced and battered in the most appalling way; there were three crossbow bolts in his chest and belly and his big skull had been staved in, but it was clear that he had fought as well as he had ever done, and taken a good many of the enemy with him when he went onward.\n\nThe fact that Robin and I were still breathing was the greatest testament to his self-sacrifice. And I can say no more of my old friend, except to say that he was a fine man, a superb warrior and, until the last, a true hero. Requiescat in pace.\n\nRobin and I were both weeping unashamedly as we carried his body with us back into the woods. We washed it ourselves and wrapped it in green cloaks, sewn tight around his huge form as a shroud. And then we moved out, carrying all our weapons and gear and with four strong men carrying John's body \u2013 heading south through the trees, aiming to strike south and west for the coast and the hope of a ship for home. Our hearts were bruised raw, our heads fogged with grief, exhaustion and the awful knowledge of failure.\n\nWe had lost a great battle; we had lost a great friend.\n\nSuch is war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "We walked south for many hours in the morning after that battle, to put some distance between us and the enemy knights, then turned north-west. All of us were hurting in some way or another and we were a miserable, raggedy crew on the march, hiding from any horsemen we saw and sleeping in the woods, under hedges or in lonely barns. My wounded back bled and bled and refused to close up, even after Thomas put a red-hot knife blade to the wound on the second night of our journey. Miles had a bad wound to his shoulder, a sword cut that had sliced deep into the muscle; and Hugh had been stabbed in the meat of his waist, and like mine, the wound did not stop bleeding for several days. Most of the surviving men had cuts or wounds, or punctures from quarrels, but we could not afford to move too slowly, nor rest long. God knew when Philip's cavalry might find us, and we were in no condition to fight them off. We had to march on \u2013 or die.\n\nI do not think we would have got more than a dozen miles had it not been for Robin. He seemed to shrug off the fatigue of a hard-fought battle as if it were no more than a dirty cloak and on the road he was filled with a strange and manic energy. He was once more the young outlaw I had known in bygone days, carefree but cunning and filled with an almost supernatural vitality. Perhaps it was the loss of Little John that fired him to strive so hard to keep us moving, I do not know. Perhaps it was to ensure safety for his boys. But he was truly tireless, cajoling or bullying stragglers to keep up with the column \u2013 for if they were left behind they were dead men \u2013 ranging ahead to scout out the land and guide us to safer paths away from the dwellings of the local people. His eyes glowed like molten metal day and night, and though his face was more gaunt than ever, I never once saw him flag. He urged us onward, promising a safe camp and a decent rest that night if only we would march another few miles. His example was magnificently inspiring: even badly wounded men staggered on long past their limits, binding their wounds tighter and putting one leaden foot before the other with faces set hard against their agony. Once, when my own weariness and pain forced me to my knees by the side of the road, I found Robin at my side, his white face inches from my own.\n\n'Come now, Alan, this won't do. I need you to set an example. What would young Robert say if he could see you defeated by this?'\n\nRobert: that pain was worse than the wound by far. I had failed him. There would be no rich ransom with which to secure his freedom, and the feast of Lammas, when the next payment to the sheriff was due, was but days away. I was almost blind with despair but, for Robin, I straightened my spine and took another step forward.\n\nHalf a dozen men died of their wounds on that march. And it took us four brutal days to reach Calais, sixty miles of creeping though enemy territory, fearful of every man and wary of every village. But we made it, and all thanks must go to Robin for that feat. When at last we came in sight of the high walls of Calais town, I confess I sat down and wept.\n\nRobin did not slacken his zeal even after our arrival at the port: he shed the outlaw persona that he had employed to bring us safely through hostile country and once more he was an English earl, a man of wealth and consequence. Within an hour of our arrival he had arranged hot food, wine and accommodation for all of the seventy-odd men-at-arms who had come through this ordeal with him.\n\nHe even took the time to secure a barrel of double-boiled vinegar to house the mortal remains of our dear friend. We had brought Little John's body every step of the way on that cruel march from Bouvines, and every fit man had done his share of carrying that burden, even I with my wounded back had done my part. But, by God, when we arrived in Calais, my old friend was smelling ripe.\n\nRobin had insisted. And I was glad of it afterwards. He wished his friend's bones to lie in a place south of Kirkton called Hathersage \u2013 it was a manor that Robin had granted to a cousin of the big man long ago. That was typical of Little John: he had taken nothing for himself from Robin in all the long years of service to him. When his lord had wished to reward him \u2013 as he had me with the gift of Westbury \u2013 John had told him to give the manor of Hathersage to William Nailor, his first cousin, a farming man with a large young family. John asked nothing for himself but the honour of serving Robin. And he had died, as he had lived, serving his lord.\n\nThere were other refugees in Calais from the disaster at Bouvines, a handful of Flemish knights, one or two English men-at-arms who had run from the final massacre of the spear-circle, but not many. The Germans, of course, had headed north with their fleeing Emperor and we saw neither hide nor hair of them again.\n\nThe mood among those who had lived through the battle was sour: some blamed Otto for running, others said that it was Ferrand of Flanders' fault for recklessly attacking before the rest of the army was ready. Some men even blamed Salisbury and Boulogne for failing to come to the aid of the Germans when King Philip made his general attack on the eagle-dragon standard in the centre of our lines.\n\nI was sharing a jug of wine and a loaf of sweet manchet bread with Robin and Thomas on the third night after our arrival at Calais \u2013 it had taken us three days to find a suitable ship and we were due to depart the next day \u2013 and I asked my lord why he thought we'd been so thoroughly beaten at Bouvines.\n\n'There are always a thousand factors that decide the outcome of a battle: the weather, the morale of the two sides, whether the ground favours cavalry or footmen, what was in the men's bellies the night before battle was joined \u2013 strong wine, rich meats, or nothing at all \u2013 the sun shining in your eyes, the success of this attack or that one, a noble defence here, an act of cowardice there. But, in this case, I think that there was one overriding reason why we were beaten. It was a failure of command.'\n\nI frowned. 'Salisbury was not such a bad commander,' I said.\n\n'He was adequate,' Robin agreed. 'But he was not in command of the whole army. No one was. Otto claimed it, but he never had the whole army in his hands, just his own Germans; Ferrand answered to nobody and did as he pleased; Salisbury and Boulogne resented Otto's usurpation of command and refused to help him in his hour of need. Philip was able to fight three separate engagements, three battles, in effect, against three separate foes and win them all one by one. That is the true reason why we lost. If we had had a good overall commander, well\u2026'\n\nRobin raised his wine cup to me. 'I should have listened to you, Alan. The honest truth is that we should never have fought that battle \u2013 at Bouvines or anywhere else. Philip was too strong for us.'\n\n'I blame King John,' said Sir Thomas. I looked at him, a little surprised. For Thomas rarely spoke in company; he was, except in matters of war, a shy man.\n\nHe looked outlandish anyway that night, quite ridiculous. The first night we had arrived in Calais most of the men-at-arms had immediately sought out wine and ale and had quickly drunk themselves into a squalid state; indeed, Robin and I had had more than a few jugs of wine, toasting our dead friend Little John, and recalling his exploits with joy, laughter and more than a few tears. But Thomas had not joined us. He had disappeared at sundown and returned at dawn, naked and with only a filthy pair of braies wrapped around his loins. As was his practice after combat, he had found a knucklebones game in one of the dives by the harbour and this time had managed to lose everything he owned \u2013 his sword, his armour, even the clothes on his back. He came to Robin and me as we were breaking our fast, my lord and I both bleary and hungover, and confessed his foolishness.\n\nRobin had merely laughed, but I was angry. I had dared to dream, when I found out that he was gone gaming, that he would return, like the last time, with a fortune that I could use to placate the sheriff of Nottinghamshire and his monstrous servant.\n\n'I did think of Robert when I was at the bones,' Thomas had said to me earlier. 'I was three marks up at one point and I would have stopped and given all to you. But some malign devil made me throw one last time, and then again, and in the end, well, you see my situation now\u2026'\n\nThomas was dressed in a garish assortment of ill-fitting rags. An oversized once-white chemise, now stained a pinkish hue, covered his torso, topped with a very short threadbare cloak of greyish-yellow wool. His hose were grey, too, but so baggy and creased from repeated washing that his legs looked like those of that fabled African beast, the oliphant. His belt was a length of rope and his shoes were crude clogs \u2013 lumps of wood hollowed out to make a space for the feet. Robin had organised a collection of spare clothing from the men and had even bought Thomas a new sword from a Flemish knight who had decided to enter a monastery and would have no further need of it.\n\n'You blame John? How so?' asked Robin that night, looking at Thomas. 'The King was not even present at the battle.'\n\n'He was there in spirit \u2013 and in blood,' said the knight. 'It was his army; he paid for it, his silver called it into being; his brother Salisbury and his nephew the Emperor commanded the majority of it, and the other nobles were all in his pay. It was John's army and so he is to blame for the failure of our arms.'\n\nIt was quite a lengthy speech for Thomas. But I could see he passionately believed what he was saying. Moreover, he had not finished. 'If King John had commanded the army of the north, we might have won. All the knights there were beholden to him and honour-bound to follow his orders. There would have been a single commander, not three factions. He was not there, so he must take the blame. Also, his plan was to divide Philip's strength. He failed at that. He did not engage Philip's knights at Roche-au-Moine, he retreated\u2014'\n\n'Hold on,' said Robin. 'Be fair to the wretched man. His Poitevin barons turned tail and ran. Half his fighting men abandoned him.'\n\n'And why did they do that?' asked Thomas, only to answer the question himself. 'Because they do not trust him. They do not love him, nor have they confidence in his ability as a commander. Why? Because they know him.'\n\nThere was a short silence after Thomas's words. I agreed with everything the man had said. It was Normandy all over again. The Poitevin barons had distrusted John, and with good reason; so they had refused him their support; indeed, they had joined the enemy. These barons were no doubt already preparing their embassies to King Philip, offering to do homage in exchange for forgiveness for their disloyalty and the right to keep their lands.\n\n'He's right, Robin,' I said. 'The blame for the debacle at Bouvines, for everything \u2013 for the sacrifice of Little John, even, lies at the King's door.'\n\nRobin looked at the two of us. He sighed.\n\n'I know,' he said heavily. 'He is to blame \u2013 and all across England men will be having this same conversation. The King has gambled and lost \u2013 once more. He has taxed England, and taxed her again until she was bled white, and he has thrown the money away on this attempt to win back his lands. He has lost. And they will make him pay for it in England.'\n\n'He deserves to pay,' said Thomas.\n\n'So you, like Alan here, would kill him? You would murder the King?'\n\nSir Thomas said evenly: 'If I had known at the time that Sir Alan was making an attempt on the King's life, I would have helped him solely out of friendship. But I did not know and I did nothing. If another attempt was made I should give him all my aid, I'd give all my strength to the task, but this time out of conviction. John is not fit to be King. He should not rule our land in the way that he has done until now \u2013 with rapacious greed and no concern for justice or the rights of a free man. Imprisoning a baron here, stealing a knight's property there, selling his royal favour like a whore. John is no rightful ruler.'\n\n'That is not the answer,' said Robin. His silver eyes were sparkling in the candlelight and he seemed gripped by a strange and powerful passion. 'Murder is never the answer, my friends. I might not have understood that in my youth, but I know it now. We must seek to curb the King, to make him subject to our will, to the law of the land. We shall have justice for all \u2013 from the King to the meanest commoner, I swear it. I mean to make England a country fit for my sons to live and prosper in. They and their sons shall live in a land free from fear of the King's wrath, free from the whims of greedy sheriffs, free to choose what they will make of their lives. And this, my friends, is how we shall do it\u2026'\n\nMy lord began to speak.\n\nWe returned to Dover the next day, a day and a night of sailing, though the weather was as vile as the Devil could make it. After disembarking, sore and sick, we rested one night at the priory and began the long march north the next day. The stop in Calais while we had waited for the ship had done our men a power of good. They were rested and mostly recovered from the battle \u2013 although many of those with wounds we left in the care of the monks of the priory at Dover. Those men with very serious wounds had all died either in Calais or on the march from Bouvines. Some, those whose pain was very bad, and who requested it, had had a little help in their onward journey from Robin and me. This sad but merciful task had normally been the province of Little John and we felt his absence then like a dark hole in our lives.\n\nI arrived at Westbury with a handful of my surviving men, weary to the bone and with a heart as heavy as lead. Robin carried straight on to Kirkton with his sons and I felt even more bereft by their absence, but Sir Thomas elected to stay at Westbury and keep me company for a more few days. That was kind of him, but the paramount emotion in my heart was not loneliness but fear. It was two days past Lammas-tide and I had nothing, not even a shilling, with which to pay the sheriff.\n\nBaldwin greeted us at the gates and swiftly organised hot baths, clean clothes and plentiful food for Thomas and my men. It was good to be home, but the place seemed strangely empty without Robert's presence.\n\n'What news, Baldwin?' I asked my steward after we had unloaded our gear and I had washed the dust of the road from my throat with a cup of well-watered wine.\n\n'Ill news, sir,' said Baldwin. I saw that he looked to have aged a good deal in the few weeks we had been away. His hair was completely white now. 'The sheriff's well-built deputy, that Benedict fellow, came to the gates the other day with a dozen men. I would not let him in, as you instructed me, sir, but he did not seem to mind too much. He shouted up to me that it was Lammas and asked me where you were.'\n\nI nodded. It was to be expected.\n\n'I told him your whereabouts were none of his business \u2013 I hope I did right, sir.'\n\nI said he had done exactly the right thing. But there was something odd about his mien, something sly and shameful. He would not look me in the eye.\n\n'What else, Baldwin? Come on man, spit it out.'\n\n'He asked me to give you a message, sir.'\n\n'And, what is it?'\n\n'He said: \"Tell Sir Alan that I am building a gallows.\"'\n\nI rode to Nottingham Castle the next day with only Thomas for company. I was going to parley with the sheriff. I had a proposition to put to him.\n\nI rode through the town of Nottingham and stopped my horse about three hundred yards away from the gatehouse of the Outer Bailey of the castle, outside a tavern I knew, just out of bowshot from the castle walls, and sent Thomas forward.\n\nI stood by my horse sipping a cup of ale and watched Thomas ride to the gatehouse with a feeling of looming dread. If they accepted my proposition, I was most likely doomed. If they did not, my son Robert was. For the arrangement I offered the sheriff was as simple as it could be: my life for my son's. I would surrender my person until the money could be raised in exchange for Robert's liberty.\n\nI waited an age \u2013 several hours, it seemed \u2013 while Thomas spoke with the gatekeeper and someone was dispatched to take the message to the sheriff. And as I waited, drinking another cup of ale and munching bread and onions, I thought about the sweetness of life and its brevity. But one thought was uppermost in my mind. I clung to it like a drowning man to a tree branch. Whatever happened to me, by my actions this day, Robert would live to grow into a man.\n\nSir Thomas returned eventually, he looked tired and very sad.\n\n'It is agreed,' he said. 'Philip Marc is away \u2013 he's at Oxford now with the King. But Benedict Malet accepts your proposal on his behalf. We will do the exchange outside the gatehouse. You for the boy, and you must be unarmed. So if you truly want to do this you'd better give me your sword now and that misericorde up your sleeve. They will search you. I will give them to Robert.'\n\nAs I walked my horse slowly to the gatehouse, I said to Sir Thomas: 'You will do what I asked \u2013 to Malet?'\n\n'If they murder you, he's a dead man, the sheriff, too, just as soon as I have my chance,' said my friend. 'Rest easy on that score. God go with you, Sir Alan \u2013 I pray that we shall meet again on earth \u2013 or in Heaven.'\n\nI had only the briefest moment with Robert in the shadow of the gatehouse, time for one fierce hug, while Robert sobbed and begged me not to leave him again.\n\nRobert was now nearly as tall as me, I noticed as I held his thin body to mine. He must be twelve years old, I reflected, nearly a man \u2013 and I knew that Robin and Sir Thomas would ward him, and keep him from harm until he was strong enough to fend for himself. They would probably do a better job than I would. And that thought gave me the courage to walk through the open door of the gatehouse.\n\nTo my doom."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "I was left in the same cell that Robert had inhabited in the very bowels of Nottingham castle \u2013 which seemed fitting. I was quite literally taking his place. But whereas Robert had been allowed the freedom of his limbs and given candles for light. I was shackled by the prison guard, wrists chained to ankles, stripped to my braies and chemise, and left in the dark. However, I waited for only an hour or so before Sir Benedict Malet came to visit me with a lantern and a greedy smile. That did not surprise me \u2013 for he was not the type to forgo the pleasure of gloating over my downfall. What did surprise me was that he brought a companion with him: a tall man in a long white cloak with his head shaved in the tonsure. It was a Templar.\n\nBenedict's first act when he entered the cell with his guest was to kick me several times. I twisted my body to spare my wounded back but caught most of the blows on my ribs. And, mercifully, Benedict quickly became out of breath from his exertions and stopped.\n\nWhile Benedict wheezed and I lay huddled on the floor in my chains, riding the waves of pain, the Templar looked on impassively.\n\nFinally, the man spoke: 'We have not met before, I think, Sir Alan. Although I have had the pleasure of your son's company.' The Templar gave a strange leer. 'I am Brother Geoffrey, I belong to the Order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. I also have the honour of serving William, Earl of Pembroke. I am his almoner but I also have charge of the training of his squires.'\n\nI looked at him. This was the fellow that Robert had so disliked when he had spent that brief time at Pembroke in William the Marshal's household.\n\n'I heard that you were hard on my son,' I said. 'But I will not hold that against you. I am sorry that he left the Marshal's household so precipitately.'\n\n'He has weak blood. He will never make a knight,' said this man, and it occurred to me that I did hold his harshness to my son against him. But the Templar was still talking: 'I do not come to discuss your son's shortcomings with you. Indeed, I have one question to put to you, one question only.'\n\nI stared at up him, waiting.\n\n'Where is it?' the Templar said.\n\nI was suddenly transported back to Wallingford Castle the year before, the time when I had been waiting to see the King, battered and bruised and fresh from my cell in Brien's Close. Sir Aymeric de St Maur, the Master of the English Templars, had asked me exactly the same question. And I was no wiser now than I had been then.\n\n'Where is what?' I said.\n\nBenedict stepped forward and kicked me once again, hard in the belly.\n\n'Answer the man, you wretch,' the deputy sheriff said.\n\n'I do not know what you mean,' I gasped. 'What is it that you seek?'\n\nThe Templar knelt down beside my head. He spoke softly, no more than a low murmur. 'You claim ignorance, Sir Alan? Perhaps a lapse of memory?' He grasped a handful of my hair and twisted it, turning my head painfully so that I was forced to look into his eyes.\n\n'It was a long time ago, after all,' he said. 'Let me aid your recall. A fierce battle at the fortress of Monts\u00e9gur, in the county of Foix, far in the south, fifteen years ago. Does that stir your memory, Sir Alan? I'd be surprised if it did not.'\n\nI felt a cold draught blow over my half-naked body; my scalp was on fire.\n\n'You and your master challenged a company of Templar knights under the command of Guy d'\u00c9pernay, the Preceptor of the Templars of Toulouse. In exchange for your lives and freedom, Robert of Locksley gave over an object, a very precious object to that knight. Do you recall now?'\n\nI did. We had been at the mercy of the Templars after days of hard fighting, and Robin had exchanged an extraordinary object for our lives. He had given the knight Guy d'\u00c9pernay a beautiful golden chalice, decorated with precious gems, and had told the Templar that it was the Cup of Christ, the fabled vessel that had been present at the Last Supper and had also held the precious blood of Our Lord as it flowed from His body on the Cross. And he had lied. The chalice had, in fact, been fashioned by a Jewish goldsmith of Lincoln and had been part of a rich haul that Robin and I had stolen from Welbeck Abbey.\n\n'You cheated us, Sir Alan,' said the Templar, giving my hair a tweak that brought tears into my eyes. 'You and my lord of Locksley gave us some bauble and retained the true relic. Can you deny it?' Although he kept his voice as low as before, it had taken on a tone of deep fury.\n\n'You made fools of us. You made fools of our Order. For many years we guarded that cup \u2013 I myself have spent many a night kneeling in prayer before it, the cold stone biting my knees \u2013 and all the while it was a sham, a tawdry fake that you had the effrontery, no, I say the foul blasphemy, to pass off as the sacred Grail!'\n\nI looked up at the man. Twin spots of red illuminated his pale cheeks.\n\n'What makes you think that it is not the true Grail?' I said.\n\n'We are not without our sources of information,' said this fellow. 'But we were ignorant for many years \u2013 many years of falsehood, lies and ignominy, while you laughed up your sleeves at us, and we were informed only recently by a reliable source that you had perpetrated this foul trick on us! Our agents have searched your master's home very thoroughly \u2013 it is not there. And so I believe that you must have it in your possession. So \u2013 tell me now. Where is it?'\n\n'It no longer exists,' I said.\n\nAt that, the Templar banged my skull painfully against the stone floor of the cell. But at least then he released my hair.\n\nHe stood up and wiped his hands on his gown.\n\n'Sir Alan,' the Templar said, 'forgive me. I am much given to wrath. But I am not an unreasonable man. I believe God has caused me to be here at the moment that you have fallen into the power of Sir Benedict. I came to Nottingham on another matter entirely, at the behest of my master and the King, but it seems to me that the Lord has placed you in my hands. It may be that I am your salvation, too. The Lord works in mysterious ways, after all. I have spoken to Sir Benedict and on behalf of my Order I have made him an offer for your life. Tell him, if you please, Sir Benedict\u2026'\n\n'Brother Geoffrey has offered a delicious sum in silver for your miserable life, Dale \u2013 far, far more than it is worth, far more than you owe us. And I am minded to accept. All he asks is that you tell him truthfully where this holy relic is that he seeks. I don't mind either way \u2013 either I receive a fortune in silver or I am afforded the pleasure of seeing Boot twist your head off in the morning.' He giggled.\n\nBrother Geoffrey locked eyes with me, staring intently. 'So, Sir Alan, if you value your life at all, tell me \u2013 where is it?'\n\nI shut my eyes tightly, for I fully expected to be punished for my next utterance, and said: 'What you seek has been destroyed. I swear it. It was utterly destroyed in the south years ago. The Grail no longer exists.'\n\n'You gave us the false relic \u2013 our young informer was quite clear about that \u2013 you gave us an extremely valuable cup of gold encrusted with jewels \u2013 it was worth some hundreds of pounds. Your master would not have thrown away something so valuable only to destroy the true object. I do not believe you. You lie and your life-hope fades with your lies, Sir Alan. Are you ready to face your Maker?'\n\n'No, not then \u2013 not at Monts\u00e9gur.' I felt the weight of exhaustion all over my body, I was tired of this Templar and this whole painful piece of mummery. 'It was destroyed some years later \u2013 in Toulouse. I saw it burn with my own eyes.'\n\n'You lie!' Brother Geoffrey's wrath had returned and I braced myself. But nothing came. The Templar said quietly: 'I know in my bones that you lie.'\n\n'Do you require me, Brother, to send for my inquisitors?' said Benedict.\n\n'No, thank you. Sir Alan, for all his blasphemous chicanery, is a brave man \u2013 I have heard this from all quarters, from the Master of the Temple himself. Sir Alan does not fear death, nor pain, and I believe that torture would not answer here. He will not give up his secrets. And, for my part I do not want that sin of blood upon my conscience. Well, there it is. I will make further enquiries with his lord, who may be more forthcoming. God will judge Alan Dale \u2013 and very soon I believe.'\n\n'Torture is a sin?' said Benedict \u2013 he sounded disappointed. 'Well, if you have no further questions for him\u2026'\n\nBenedict came over and kicked me again, hard, on the side of the head this time. 'You have just cost me a great deal of money, Dale,' he hissed. 'That irritates me somewhat. But I console myself with the thought that you will not irritate me for much longer. For tomorrow you must answer for your many crimes. The sheriff would rather have your money. But he is in Oxford, and I do not think I will waste my time waiting for that. I will take your life, for my own satisfaction, and the debt will fall on your son's shoulders.'\n\nI shouted, 'No!' and writhed in my chains.\n\n'But, yes,' said Benedict. 'Think on this: Boot awaits you with the sunrise and he shall tear your living head from your body \u2013 and your son shall pay every penny of the silver that is due. You will see the face of God, Alan Dale. At dawn.'\n\nAs the two men left the cell, and the darkness closed around me, I was vividly picturing Sir Thomas Blood with a naked sword in his hand and Benedict helpless beneath his blade. But it did not help all that much. I was going to die and nothing in the whole world was going to prevent that. I knew that Sir Thomas could not come for me \u2013 indeed, we had agreed that he was not to undertake any sort of rescue. Robert would need his strong right arm in the years to come and he must not throw his own life away in a useless attempt to free me.\n\nAnd Robin, my thoughts and hopes turned to him, naturally. He had rescued me from similar dark places several times, not least from Brien's Close the year before. But he did not know where I was. And even if he did, I did not think he could organise a rescue attempt before dawn.\n\nI will not burden you with my thoughts that long awful night as I lay on my side in the darkness. Suffice it to say that I wept a little, I prayed a good deal and I thought long and hard about my life, about Robert's future. I must have slept, too, for at some point in the night I became aware that I was not alone. There was a massive presence in the cell with me, on the far side of that space, and I imagined I could smell the strange spicy scent of a man's sweat. A huge man. For an instant, I thought it was the ghost of Little John come back to the world to sit with me in my last few hours and bring me safely through my time of death.\n\nThen I heard the sound of singing. It was a high-pitched voice, sweet and pure as a cathedral boy's, and the song he was singing was 'My Joy Summons Me'.\n\nMy skin crawled and I was partially frozen in terror \u2013 for the last time I had heard that voice, singing that tune, the singer had been snapping the necks of his victims on a scaffold in the Middle Bailey. The giant Boot was in my cell and he was softly singing my death song.\n\nI said nothing, I do not believe just then, stiff with terror as I was, that I was capable of speech. Boot sang on and on, quite beautifully, in his weird high voice.\n\nThen he came to the end of the song and stopped. The silence stretched out between us and still I could not speak. I wanted to order him away, to curse him, to call out for help \u2013 but I knew that it would be useless. I thought: Does he mean to kill me here? There was not the slightest hint of dawn in the air, no noises from the castle, no chink of light. Just this great presence and myself in the darkness together.\n\nBoot spoke: 'They want me to end you tomorrow, Sir Alan,' he said in good clear English, with only a trace of a Moorish accent. I realised that I had never heard the man speak before; indeed, in my mind he had always been a dumb brute, little better than an animal.\n\n'I know it,' I said.\n\n'The song,' the big man said, 'they tell me that you made it. Is this true or was it another man who gave this music to the world?'\n\n'I made the song with my King, Richard of England, a long time ago in a land far away. We created the words together in friendship, but the tune itself is mine.'\n\n'Then I can no more end you than I could end myself,' said this extraordinary fellow. 'But I do not know what now to do. This is my home, and my work is here \u2013 filthy, ugly work, it is true, but it must be done. And I like to think I make the passing of my charges as swift and easy as I can. I sing them your song now, every time, as they leave this earth. I believe it gives them one last small pleasure before the end.'\n\n'I am sure it does,' I said. I did not know what to make of the man. But all of a sudden hope was flaming bright in my heart.\n\n'You are a knight,' he said. 'You have lands, serving men \u2013 followers?'\n\n'I do. Not many, I am but a poor knight. But I serve a great lord and he has many followers and would welcome more, if they were worthy.'\n\n'I would not serve another man. But you \u2026 I would serve you if you were to teach me how to make this kind of beauty. Could you do that? I am not a wise man, nor a cunning one, but I feel music, I feel its beauty\u2026'\n\n'You would be most welcome in my service,' I said. 'And I would teach you to make and play the most beautiful music, but, alas, I am not in a position to do that \u2013 you know what my fate must be, whether it is you who dispatches me or another.'\n\nI rattled my chains a little to make my point.\n\n'Would you swear it? Would you swear that you would take me into your service? Teach me all you know?' he said. There was a wondering tone in his voice.\n\n'If you can free me of these chains and help me to escape from this place, I swear that you will be the most valued of all my men. We will make all the music in the world together. But you must swear me your loyalty, as I will swear mine to you.'\n\n'I swear it,' said the giant.\n\n'As do I,' I replied. 'You are henceforth my sworn man.' It was perhaps the simplest and quite the most bizarre ceremony of the ancient act of homage I had ever witnessed; the sacred bond between man and lord reduced to its dry bones. Yet somehow it retained a power and majesty even in the darkness of that foul cell.\n\n'Now, can you go and find a key to rid me of these chains?' I asked.\n\n'We have no need of a key.'\n\nI felt huge warm fingers brush my ankles and heard a tearing, wrenching noise and the squeal of tortured metal. An instant later my hands, too, were free of the shackles.\n\nI stood tall in the darkness.\n\nBoot led the way out of the cell with myself hard on his heels. The two guards, who were expecting Boot to emerge, leapt to their feet when they saw me at his shoulder. My new friend said nothing, merely seized both astonished men by their surcoats and smashed their heads together with a dull thump. The guards fell noiselessly to the floor. I stripped a surcoat from one of the men and took his sword belt, too. We walked up to the end of the corridor, where there was a little guardhouse at the foot of the stairway. I peeped around the corner and saw four men snoring on their pallets and we crept past, quiet as mice. We walked out of the sleeping inner and middle baileys unchallenged \u2013 it was still a good hour before dawn \u2013 and scarcely noticed, but at the gatehouse of the outer bailey a drowsy guard had stopped us and asked our business. I had said that I was returning to Westbury under Boot's supervision to fetch the tax money that I owed the sheriff. The guard had seemed unconvinced by this tale; he said that he had better call the sergeant and check it was right to open up the postern gate to us. Boot hit him once, a gentle tap to the side of the face with his huge fist, and he collapsed in a heap, dead to the world. By the time the sun was peeping over the eastern horizon, Boot and I were jogging along the track that led away from the town of Nottingham and north-west towards Westbury.\n\nBy noon, I was at home, dusty, panting and sore of foot. Thomas greeted me incredulously when I arrived at the gates of Westbury, and Robert rushed at me and hugged me with tears in his eyes.\n\n'Oh, Father, I truly thought I would never see you again,' my son said. He looked fearfully up at Boot's looming form.\n\n'What?' I said. 'Did you think there was a prison in England that could hold me?' I was feeling dangerously light-headed, almost giddy with happiness. 'I have friends everywhere, my boy. And if I don't have them, I make them: this is our new comrade Boot,' I said, and the huge man bowed low, quite elegantly from the waist.\n\n'Boot, this is my son Robert. I commend him to your care for the next few days. And I charge you with his safekeeping.'\n\n'I am honoured, sir,' said Boot. 'I shall guard him with my life. Do you care for music, little one?'\n\nRobert said something about playing the shwarm, and I left my son discussing that less-than-exquisite instrument with my latest recruit while I began to rouse the manor for our imminent departure.\n\n'Baldwin, we cannot stay here,' I said. 'The deputy sheriff will be upon with all the force that he can command within an hour or so. Pack all that you can in haste and let us be away to Yorkshire \u2013 to Kirkton.'\n\nWith Thomas, Robert, myself and a handful of Westbury men-at-arms all fully armoured and mounted \u2013 there was no horse that could accommodate Boot's huge size and no hauberk that would fit him \u2013 we headed north for Kirkton. I calculated that my son would only be truly safe from Benedict's fury if he were inside Robin's walls.\n\nWe marched within the hour. I had refused to answer their questions until we were well on the road, some fifteen miles north of Nottingham, and had stopped long after nightfall to make a dry, fireless camp in deep woods. As we munched bread and ham and passed around a large skin of wine, I regaled our company with the tale of how Boot had boldly rescued me from the sheriff's clutches.\n\nThe story seemed to embarrass Boot, and he excluded himself from our jolly congratulatory conversations, keeping silent throughout, but my own curiosity about this huge man who had saved my life got the better of me and I asked him to give an account of himself and how he came to be in England.\n\n'I do not like to talk,' said Boot in his high, child's voice. 'I am not one of those clever fellows who chatters and laughs and jests and makes play with words, I am a simple man, but I will tell you a little about myself, Sir Alan, as it is fitting for a man newly entered into your service.'\n\nI passed him the wineskin and he sank a good pint of rough red wine in two huge swallows. Our company was silent by then, every ear straining to hear what the giant would say next.\n\n'I was born in a land far away, far to the south beyond the seas and the deserts, a land where the sun shines all day every day. I was born in a village, a poor place compared to Nottingham or other great towns of England, a place of small mud-walled huts and grass roofs. My father, who was a hunter, named me Kasa Vubu Ngbengu Mbutu in honour of his clan and the spirits of the forest \u2013 but the name is too hard for English tongues and so I am called simply Boot in your language.\n\n'I was a big baby, and as an infant I grew even bigger, I ate more than twice the amount that my brothers and sisters took, and we were a poor family, very poor, and there were many hungry mouths. One day my father took me north to trade with the men of the deserts, the Moors: horse warriors with long robes and lighter skin and great curved swords. My father sold me to them when I had seen only five wet seasons and I never saw him or my mother or my brothers and sisters again.'\n\nThe Westbury company was entranced by Boot's tale. Not a man yawned or scratched himself or coughed, every eye was on the storyteller, a huge shape in the darkness talking slowly in his child's voice.\n\n'The Moors did not keep me \u2013 well, they kept a part of me. They cut me, they cut away my stones \u2013 they took away my hope of manhood \u2013 and they set me to work tending their horses. But they feared me, even the poor ignorant slave that I was, as I grew taller than all the other boys. By the time I had seen twelve summers \u2013 about your age, Robert \u2013 I was taller than all of the men and far stronger too. The Moors admired at my size, but they feared me. They sold me again, this time to the Sultan of Oran, and I was housed in the palace and set to guarding the women's quarters.\n\n'I ate and I grew, and soon I was bigger than all the other slaves, a monster they said, and my master sold me again \u2013 this time to a travelling man, who had a collection of human oddities like me \u2013 there was a pretty lady with a full red beard, a stupid youth with the face of a pig, and a pair of dwarfs who would tumble and turn tricks and make the audience laugh. This fellow \u2013 his name was Salim \u2013 took me north again, across the narrow water to the rich lands of al-Andalus, and there he showed off his charges at the courts of the emirs. I bent metal bars with my bare hands, I lifted oxen off the ground, I wrestled with local champions, two or three against one, and I was always victorious. And for this Salim was showered with silver, and I was given all the food I could eat and a warm bed at night. I learnt languages of all the places that I visited, the many kinds of Arabic and a little of the Latin tongue they speak there, and in the north of that land. I like languages, I hear the music in their rhythms. I heard the poetry in the language of Occitan, and I met for the first time the men who travelled from court to court playing their music.\n\n'It was in the north of al-Andalus near the Christian lands that I first heard music, real music, music of the kind that Sir Alan makes. And I fell in love. I set myself to learn the language of these troubadours, as they called themselves, so that I could hear the songs of these men and understand them fully. I was a full-grown man by then, as you see me now, and though I could never know the love of a woman myself, I swam deeply in these songs of love and pain and loss. They called to something within me. I learnt to sing them in Occitan, in French as well, and I dreamt of bold knights and the fair ladies that they loved and yet could never have.\n\n'Salim was not a bad master. I was a slave but he never beat me \u2013 he did not dare, if the truth be told \u2013 nor did he let me go hungry, less my strength be diminished. But I was not happy. One day I walked away from his encampment without a word of farewell. I wanted to see the lands of the infidels, as we called the Christian folk. I wanted to hear their music again. So I walked north.'\n\nBoot reached for the wineskin and took another enormous swallow. It occurred to me that Boot was a man who would require a lord with a fat purse just to keep him in sufficient food and drink. But he would be worth every penny I spent on him, too.\n\n'How came you to England?' I asked.\n\nHe shrugged. 'I put the sun at my back and walked,' he said. 'I crossed mountains, I swam rivers, I trekked through deep forest, I marched until my bare feet were hard as leather and my clothes no better than rags. I made my daily bread by the same tricks I had used with Salim \u2013 I bent iron, I fought the strongest men of each village for coin or food, sometimes I sang in the market for scraps of bread. But mostly I walked. In the land called Touraine, north of the great River Loire, a terrible war was raging. Englishmen and French were fighting each other, and I fell in with a band of mercenaries under their captain, Philip Marc. It was with his men that I learnt to speak English \u2013 for many among their number hailed from these shores. They fed me and I fought by their side \u2013 but I am not a true man of war. I am strong but even the strongest can be overcome by hard steel. I do not care for war \u2013 these people did things to their enemies that I will not repeat; and they forced me to do the same \u2026 But I never fully understood who we were fighting and why we must do these foul deeds. I was glad when Philip Marc and his surviving men were recalled to England by their King. I thought that meant an end to war, an end to the slaughter.'\n\nI heard Sir Thomas give a low chuckle at that statement.\n\n'Philip Marc is not an evil man \u2013 I know you will disagree, Sir Alan. He is a hard man who takes his orders from the King, nothing more. He gathers taxes, burns farms as a punishment and kills the enemies of his King, not from any pleasure in their deaths but because it is required of him in the role he must play.'\n\nI did not agree but I remained silent.\n\n'Sir Benedict Malet is another kind of creature,' said Boot. 'It was his notion that I should become the executioner of Nottingham. \"If you want to eat, you black lump, you must follow my orders,\" Sir Benedict said to me. \"When I say kill, you kill.\" And I did \u2013 indeed, in that way I am no better than Philip Marc. I snapped the necks of people each week and sent them to Heaven. I told myself that if I did not do the task then another man would \u2013 and I would be expelled from the castle and must return to my life of wandering. So I killed for him \u2013 I killed scores, perhaps hundreds, and at each execution, Sir Benedict would be there. He liked to watch the dying of the light in their eyes. It gave him joy. He would torment them beforehand, too, with talk of how I would make their deaths\u2026'\n\nBoot fell silent for a while. I thought of Benedict gloating over me in my cell.\n\n'I am tired,' he said. 'I am tired from talking and from sorrow. I would sleep now: but there you have my tale. A half-man am I, his manhood cut away from him, a friendless man in a foreign land, a killer of innocents at the orders of others.'\n\nIt was Robert who spoke: 'You are not a half-man. You saved my father from the sheriff and for my part that makes you more a man than many I have known.'\n\n'And you shall never be friendless,' I said, 'not while you are among us.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Kirkton was once again preparing for war when I arrived there the next morning, but on a muted scale. A few score foot soldiers were drilling in the green sheep pastures outside the walls \u2013 the men who had come back alive from Bouvines and a few new recruits, but pitifully few. A dozen cavalry were training on the slopes down to the river. That disastrous Flanders expedition had greatly sapped Robin's military strength and the failure of the army to gain anything in the way of booty had slowed the flow of young men willing to risk their lives as men-at-arms in his service.\n\nRobin greeted me in the hall where he was playing chess with Hugh after dinner and it seemed he could sense at once that something was wrong. I told him about my imprisonment and escape from Nottingham and he looked at me gravely. 'That was a reckless thing to do, old friend, to put yourself in their power. Swear to me you will not do so again. You should have come to me first.'\n\nI laughed, and said: 'Oh, I have learnt my lesson, my lord.'\n\nRobin offered to house my entire following until such time as the threat to Robert and myself was ended \u2013 which was truly generous, for I had no idea when I might be able to return in safety to Westbury.\n\nI thanked him and said: 'There is something that I must tell you that I learnt during my imprisonment.'\n\n'Yes?' he said, looking attentively into my face.\n\n'Do you remember when we came back from Damme and learnt that someone had attempted a robbery on Kirkton in your absence?'\n\n'Vividly,' said Robin. 'A gang of enterprising cushion-makers, we thought.' And he smiled at me, remembering our joke.\n\n'Did you ever question the sheriff of Yorkshire about it?' I asked.\n\n'I did \u2013 I took Little John and some men and we bearded him in his lair. I broke into his chamber at midnight in York Castle. Cost me a fortune in bribes, and more than a few favours, but I got in there without much trouble. I asked him and he swore on his children's lives that he had nothing to do with it. I didn't hurt him, if that is what you are driving at; he was scared enough by Little John looming over him in the darkness with an axe. I asked, he said no, and I believed him. Why?'\n\n'I think I know who those \"thieves\" were,' I said. And I told him of the conversation I had had with Brother Geoffrey.\n\n'You think it was Templars searching for the Grail?' Robin scratched his fair head. 'Could be \u2013 they didn't take much of value as common thieves would. Yes, I can see that. Templars \u2013 or men who had been bought by them.'\n\n'I also think that it was Templars who attacked Westbury after my illness, when we scattered them with Robert's fire-wagon. Philip Marc and Benedict Malet seemed to know little about the battle \u2013 and, come to think of it, when I went to Nottingham straight afterwards, none of their men-at-arms were marked by combat.'\n\n'Yes, they too could have been Templars; they fought well enough,' said Robin. 'So I think we can take it that the Order is out for our blood. And a lot more will be shed if we don't give them the Grail. It's a shame we can't do that then, isn't it?'\n\nI nodded. The Grail truly had been destroyed after a long war in the south. I had seen it burn. It no longer existed. Then I told Robin what else the Templar had said about his sources of information.\n\nRobin gave a great heavy sigh. 'You believe this almoner then, this prating, hair-pulling Brother Geoffrey, and his talk of an informer in our ranks. You think there is a man who is telling all our secrets to our enemies, who secretly wishes us ill.'\n\n'It would not be the first time.'\n\n'Indeed,' said my lord. Ten years before I had suspected that there was a traitor in Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard. Robin had not believed me. But I had been right.\n\n'Why is there always someone who hates us and wears the mask of love?' said Robin sadly. 'Cousin Henry warned me about this, too. Do you remember? Come on then, Alan, tell me. Who is it? I know you have been thinking on this. I see it in your eyes.'\n\nI looked at my boots. 'It must be someone who is close to us,' I said, unable to meet Robin's eye, 'someone who has or who has had contact with the Templars.'\n\n'That could be anyone,' Robin said. 'Hell's teeth, my sons were both trained by Templars, Miles practically worships them, as many youngsters do \u2013 you surely don't think they could be traitors?'\n\nRobin looked at me; his eyes glinted like drawn steel. 'Tell me that you don't think Miles or Hugh is in league with the Templars, Alan, and tell me that now.'\n\n'I don't think it is one of your sons.'\n\n'Who then?'\n\n'I don't know,' I said, but I could not meet his gaze.\n\nAnd there we left it.\n\nWe settled in easily at Kirkton. Thomas continued his training of Robert with sword and shield; Miles and Hugh, who had both been close to my son since his earliest days, joined them in their lessons, and when the training was done for the day, the three boys would slip out of the castle to roam the lands of my lord. They would return at nightfall, muddy and laughing, with Robert nearly dead with tiredness. I did not enquire too closely what their exploits were on these youthful excursions, but I trusted Robin's sons \u2013 well, Hugh, at least \u2013 not to lead my boy into too much danger.\n\nAfter a few weeks at Kirkton, I took Robert off on an expedition of my own. We headed north, just the two of us, on a golden September morning.\n\n'Have you ever thought what it might be like to have a lady living at Westbury,' I said casually, as we trotted along through the vast bosomy landscape of the dales.\n\n'You wish to marry again, Father?' said my son.\n\n'Maybe \u2026 maybe. We shall see. What would you say if I did?'\n\n'I would not mind. If the lady were of the right sort.'\n\n'And what sort would that be?'\n\n'I would like her to be true. She must be pretty and kind and jolly \u2013 all those things \u2013 but I would like her best if she loved you and me and Westbury and our life there above all else. I would like her to love all of us with all her heart with a love that would last for ever and never fade. She must be one who would never leave, never waver in her steadfastness, always be there no matter what the weather or what assails us, in poverty or in wealth, war or peace. I would like her to be true.'\n\nWe were heading, of course, towards Kirklees. I had taken it into my head that Robert should be introduced to Tilda. I had not set my mind on asking her, once again, if she would be my wife. But I confess it was in my thoughts. I missed the comforts of a woman in my bed and while I knew that Tilda had her faults, I wanted her nonetheless; I wanted her more than I liked to admit. Each time I recalled our one coupling, usually late at night in bed, it set my loins afire. I could clearly imagine her at Westbury, caring for Robert and me, running the manor calmly and efficiently, offering love, warmth and good counsel. Much of the time Westbury was little more than an armed camp. I wanted it to be a home. Moreover, I had been conscious in recent weeks that if something were to happen to me, Robert would be all alone: though I knew Robin and Thomas would protect him, and their rough male company would be vitally important for his growth into manhood, I knew that he also needed to have a woman in his life.\n\nAbout a mile or two outside the priory, we stopped at a tavern in Kirkburton to take a cup of ale and so that Robert and I might change our clothes into something less travel-stained as befits a visit to a lady. I was about to remount my horse and travel the last few miles to our destination, when I heard the drumming of horses' hooves on the road. As I stood holding our animals' heads, a cavalcade of horsemen thundered past, heading south away from the priory. I blessed my luck that my hat was pulled low and that Robert was at the back of the tavern using the latrine, for the face I glimpsed at the head of the pack of a dozen Nottinghamshire men-at-arms was the bloated visage of Benedict Malet.\n\nA wave of cold fury washed over me, I found that I was actually trembling, gripping the hilt of Fidelity so hard that I felt my knuckles were likely to spilt the skin. For apart from the shock of seeing a man who had so recently threatened not only my life but my son's, it also seemed plain to me that Benedict Malet could only have been coming from one place.\n\nRobert and I waited in the cloister of Kirklees Priory for what seemed an age. Finally Tilda appeared, sweeping in in her black-and-white habit, her normally pure white face a little flushed. 'Sir Alan, what a great pleasure to see you again,' she said, kissing me. 'And this must be Robert \u2013 such a good-looking boy!'\n\nRobert began to make his bow, but Tilda seized him by the shoulders and kissed him robustly on both cheeks. 'My dear, you must forgive my impetuosity, but you are the very spitting image of your handsome father,' she said, smiling at the boy. 'The very model of a dashing squire. You will break all the ladies' hearts when you are older. What joy it gives me to meet you. Sir Alan has told me so much about you.'\n\nRobert was wearing a pair of black silk hose and a scarlet velvet tunic that Miles had outgrown, his hair was freshly cut, his face and hands clean, and he did indeed look fine that day. I noticed with satisfaction that my son blushed and hung his head shyly at the womanly attention he was being given.\n\nMatilda herself looked if anything even more beautiful than ever. The roses in her pale cheeks made her blue-grey eyes seem especially lively, her wide lips were red as blood. And each time she gazed into my face, I felt my heart give a little flip.\n\n'I hope we are not taking up too much of your valuable time, my dear,' I said.\n\n'Not at all, I was engaged in the herb garden just now, trimming back the summer growth, but life is so dull here at Kirklees. We mostly pray and work, pray and work; it is a refreshing treat to have a pair of dashing gentlemen pay us a visit.'\n\n'Have you not already received visitors today?' I said.\n\n'Why no, Sir Alan,' said Tilda, and she glanced low and to her left. 'We live quietly here at Kirklees.'\n\nA trickle of ice-water chilled the inside of my belly. Tilda was lying to me.\n\n'Have you not this day received a visit from Sir Benedict Malet?' I said.\n\nTilda looked directly at me. Something dark moved beneath the surface of her blue eyes. She did not reply to my question. Instead, she clapped her hands sharply and a novice nun appeared instantly on the far side of the cloister.\n\n'Martha,' she said to the girl. 'Would you be kind enough to take the young gentleman to the kitchens. I think there are some of those wonderful honey cakes left. And perhaps afterwards he would like to see our famous herb garden.'\n\nI was reminded that Tilda was the sub-prioress, a woman of consequence within these walls. The novice trotted over to us and curtseyed prettily and, after a quick glance at me to see he had my permission, Robert followed her out of the cloister.\n\nTilda and I stood in silence for a while, my question still hanging in the air.\n\n'I hope you are not going to be disagreeable, Sir Alan,' said Tilda eventually. 'But if you must know, yes, Sir Benedict did pay me a brief visit today. I did not mention it because I know that you and he are not the best of friends.'\n\n'The man tried to kill me not two weeks ago; he threatened to kill Robert too.'\n\n'Some misunderstanding, I expect\u2014'\n\n'It was no misunderstanding, by God. That man is a murderous wretch\u2014'\n\n'If you are going to bellow at me as if I were one of your rowdy men-at-arms, I shall have to ask you to leave,' said Tilda sharply.\n\nI apologised, biting back the hot words that came rushing to my lips. Don't be a fool, Alan, I told myself. Do not make a fool of yourself again in front of her.\n\nShe gathered her calm. 'Sir Benedict is my friend and he has been one as long as you, Alan. I think I have the right to see whomever I choose.'\n\nShe was right, she did. For much as I hated to admit it, I was already thinking of her as mine. She most definitely was not \u2013 at least, not yet. And although I could not bear her to spend any time with Benedict, I knew that I must not make the same mistake that I had made all those years ago and try to force her to bend to my will.\n\n'Forgive me,' I said. 'I do not wish to quarrel. You must see whomever you wish to. Although I wish it were not him. Now, tell me how you have been,' I said, smiling at her lovingly. 'Are you well? How is life at Kirklees? Does it suit you?'\n\nI spent a pleasant hour with Tilda, talking of her life as a bride of Christ. She liked it on the whole, she said, and she felt her life had meaning in the service of God. But she admitted that sometimes she longed for male company, for the freedom of the lay life and a break from the grind of religious duties. And I was privately encouraged by these words. I told her of the battle of Bouvines and the death of Little John and she seemed genuinely grieved by the loss of my friend. She asked after Robin and asked me to thank him for his many kindnesses to Kirklees. Eventually, I took my leave of her and she sent a servant to fetch Robert from the herb garden.\n\nAs she kissed me goodbye, I felt a strong urge, almost overpowering, to ask her to be my wife \u2013 indeed, I found it hard to tear myself away from her side \u2013 yet I restrained myself. There was no hurry, I said to myself, we would visit a few more times, Robert and I, and I would let the two of them get to know each other better. And then I would make my move.\n\nAs we rode home I asked Robert what he thought of Tilda. He was quiet for an uncomfortably long time, and then he said: 'I think she is truly beautiful, Father. I can see why you admire her so much. A very pretty lady.'\n\nI was about to ask him more when he said: 'One thing is strange about their herb garden, Father. For a place where they grow supposedly healing herbs, there seemed to be a great many plants that are poisonous in the beds there. Martha warned me not to touch a good three or four of them: foxgloves, giant hogweed, several different types of nightshade\u2026'\n\n'They use them to cure people,' I said. 'They are famous for it. A tiny bit of poison can fight off the morbid humours efficiently, I believe. They certainly managed to cure me of my lung disease. If you like, I will ask someone to explain it to you who knows more about it than I. Or you could ask Tilda when we next visit.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "All that autumn, Robin was as busy as a honey bee, travelling the country, criss-crossing England to visit and talk to every man of even the slightest rank. He rode from knights' manors to grand castles from Kendal to Kent, from Whitby to Wales and back again \u2013 and, most of the time, I went with him. Indeed, we were so busy that I found I did not have time to visit Tilda again that year as I had promised Robert.\n\nEverywhere we went, Robin spoke with the landholder about kingship and the law of the land, about King John and what might be done to curb his excesses. He spoke about taxation and the cause of justice for all and about the ancient laws and customs of England. He was tireless. Indeed, I sometimes wished he had taken the pace a little more easily, for after two months of ceaseless travel I was longing to return to Kirkton and take my ease for a few days. However, in mid-November, I found myself with my lord and a dozen men-at-arms as our escort, who were just as exhausted as I was, outside the walls of Alnwick Castle, walking our horses through the drizzle in the green pastures where my lords Fitzwalter and de Vesci had seduced me into their murderous designs. After so many weeks of consultations with lesser men, Robin had come at last to call on the two most powerful and influential leaders of the opposition to King's rule.\n\nWe were ushered into Alnwick Castle and straight into the great hall \u2013 an enormous room with a vast hearth in the centre of the space. A bonfire of half tree-trunks burnt in the hearth and the damp was further dispelled with a pair of yard-wide braziers at either end of the long room. Yet it was still uncomfortably cold and neither Robin nor I removed our cloaks or gloves as we were handed cups of hot spiced wine to sip by the castle servants.\n\nAs we waited, standing by the oversized hearth, sipping our warm wine and allowing our rain-sodden clothes to steam, I thought about the last time I had been here and the foolish risk that I had been induced to take by the two men we were about to encounter. I do not know if it was the hot wine hitting my empty stomach or just that I had been dwelling on injustice with Robin for so many weeks, but I felt a strong surge of anger against these men. I had been used, bent to their purposes and then discarded when things had gone wrong. I had been a fool but they had taken advantage of my good nature. Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, for Robin frowned at me over his cup.\n\n'Should I have left you behind?' he said.\n\n'No, my lord.'\n\n'You must be calm, Alan. Whatever is between you and Fitzwalter and de Vesci, you must forget it. We need them now. Only they can deliver the forces we need to accomplish our task. They have the men, we do not. If they once used you, console yourself with the thought that we are now using them \u2013 and for a far more noble purpose. Do not let your anger get the better of you, I beg you.'\n\n'No, my lord,' I said.\n\nRobin still did not look happy. 'Perhaps it would be better if I were to do all the talking. Be a good fellow, Alan, and just stay mute for the time being, will you.'\n\n'As you wish, my lord,' I said.\n\n'Ah, it is my lord of Locksley and the redoubtable Sir Alan Dale,' said a voice. We turned to see Robert Fitzwalter striding down the hall towards us, smiling in greeting.\n\nBeside him walked Eustace de Vesci, who said rather coldly: 'What a pleasure to finally have you pay us a visit, Lord Locksley. We hear you have been making a good number of visits recently. Here, there, everywhere, we are told, whispering in corners, meetings in secret. I wonder you find the time to come to Alnwick \u2013 and you have brought Sir Alan with you. A double pleasure.'\n\n'The pleasure is all ours,' Robin said. 'And when it comes to whispering in corners and plotting dark deeds, I would say that you are at least my equal in that field. However, I am glad that you should have heard of our journeyings, for it will give you some idea of what we are hoping to discuss with you.'\n\nDe Vesci scowled. He opened his mouth to say something.\n\n'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said Lord Fitzwalter, 'there will be plenty of time for discussion later: first, I insist, let us have some food, some wine, a little music, perhaps.' He clapped his hands and a dozen servants rushed into the hall and began laying a long table with plates and cutlery, baskets of bread and flagons of wine.\n\nWe ate pheasant and fresh trout and exchanged platitudes while a handless lout standing in a corner of the hall sawed away on a cheap vielle and murdered some better-known pieces of the trouv\u00e8re's art \u2013 none of them mine, I was relieved to hear.\n\nMy noble lords de Vesci, Fitzwalter and Locksley discussed the King's recent inglorious return to England; they idly chatted about the justiciar Peter de Roches's moves to supply and strengthen the royal castles across England \u2013 including Nottingham, which I learnt was to receive an extra contingent of twenty knights and two hundred men-at-arms. They spoke generally of the deep anger that many barons \u2013 and not just those in the north \u2013 felt towards the King and his sheriffs. But they delicately refrained from discussing my disastrous attempt on the King's life and its consequences. Neither did we talk about the mismanagement of the Earl of Salisbury's campaign in Flanders and the shattering defeat at Bouvines. Nor did the subject of rebellion directly come up. I kept my mouth shut during the entire meal \u2013 except when I admitted food and wine \u2013 and neither de Vesci nor Fitzwalter made any comments to me, or about my silence. Yet that did not make me any less angry.\n\nWe were availing ourselves of nuts and fruit and a sickly yellowish wine, when a servant announced that a late guest had arrived. Next, a man in a long black cloak with a deep hood was escorted up to the table. The servants took away his cloak and hood and I was astounded to find myself staring at one of the last people on earth I might have expected to see in this wild northern rebel stronghold. It was his grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of All England, Stephen Langton.\n\nWe all rose from the table and greeted the paramount churchman in England as befitted his high rank. We kissed the huge onyx ring on his right hand and he was given a vast carved chair in which to sit while servants poured water to allow him to wash his hands and face and brought a plate of food and a large and very valuable Venetian glass filled with a deep purplish wine.\n\nWhile the servants fussed around the archbishop, bringing him cushions, moving the red-hot brazier a little nearer to his chair, refilling his wine glass, I considered the new arrival. He was a tall, slender man in his middle sixties, I would guess, with a long, sharp nose, deeply cut lines in his handsome face and bright intelligent blue eyes. I was surprised to see him here, for he was a man of God, a personal friend of the Pope, and since John had rendered England up to Innocent the year before, I had assumed that he must be in favour of the status quo. Indeed, I was astonished to see him breaking bread with the King's enemies.\n\nHe saw me looking at him and returned my gaze.\n\n'You are Sir Alan Dale,' he said. 'I saw you last year in St Paul's courtyard before the ceremony of papal homage.'\n\nI admitted that this was so. His bright blue eyes bored into me.\n\n'Tell me truly, Sir Alan, if you will, did you indeed intend to murder the King?'\n\nBefore I had time to answer, de Vesci and Fitzwalter both started speaking, their words tumbling over each other: '\u2026all a misunderstanding \u2026 entirely a mistake \u2026 Sir Alan meant no harm \u2026 very unfortunate \u2026 some confusion\u2026'\n\nThe Archbishop utterly ignored the rebels' protestations and continued to look calmly at me. When there was silence again, he raised one eyebrow.\n\nI said: 'Yes, my lord, I would surely have killed him had I got close enough.'\n\nThe archbishop nodded as if he had expected this answer. 'Tell me, Sir Alan, do you still feel the same way towards our royal lord and master?'\n\nI broke my gaze from his. I took a breath and said: 'No, I do not. I deeply regret my actions now. My lord, the Earl of Locksley, has persuaded me that there is a better course, a more honourable and effective course to take than cold-blooded murder.'\n\nThe archbishop was smiling at me. 'That is good, my son, for I would not wish to consort with murderers. Had you answered differently, I would have left you, all of you, upon the instant. But Christ teaches forgiveness for those who truly repent, and as His servant I can do no less. God's blessings on you. I absolve you.'\n\nI felt a lifting of my spirits at his words and a glow of warmth towards the great man. Fitzwalter and de Vesci were rendered as mute as I had been at dinner by the archbishop's words and it was Robin who picked up the conversation.\n\n'My lord archbishop, I have been engaged these past months on a peculiar mission,' Robin said. 'I have taken it upon myself to question the leading men of England about their grievances with the King. If he will not hear them \u2013 and many tell me he is deaf to their entreaties \u2013 then I believe we must compel him to listen and to acknowledge the wrongs that they have suffered.'\n\n'There are a great many men with grievances, that is true,' said the archbishop.\n\n'Yes, my lord,' said Robin, 'and I was inspired by your call last year for the King to renew the charter of the first King Henry \u2013 the old charter that guarantees the liberties of all free men under the crown.'\n\n'I begged the King to renew it \u2013 he flatly refused,' the archbishop said with a rueful smile. 'He even threatened to have me exiled again.'\n\n'Yes,' said Robin. 'Well, I believe it is time for a new charter. A charter that puts to the King all the complaints, all the injustices, all the wrongs of the land \u2013 all in one great legal document. He must set his seal to it, he must agree to be bound by it \u2013 or he will lose his crown. It will be a charter that he cannot ignore.'\n\nDe Vesci and Fitzwalter were leaning forward, their elbows on the tablecloth amid the scraps of the meal, listening intently to Robin's words.\n\nEustace de Vesci said: 'You would bind the King by law? The King? With a piece of parchment? What babbling nonsense is this?'\n\n'It seems to be an original idea, that is true,' said Robin evenly. 'But perhaps it is not so outlandish. Consider this: if the King wishes his vassals to serve him, the King must be bound by an agreement with his vassals. The custom has ever been thus: when a man swears homage to the King, the King too has an obligation to his man. The King is bound by this obligation, by this custom. What is the law but a legal codification of our rights and customs? The point I am making is that the King is already bound by a law of sorts in the form of our ancient customs.'\n\nThe men around the table seemed unconvinced by Robin's argument. I had, of course, heard him repeat it many times before in a hundred halls across the land.\n\nRobin tried a different approach. 'The King makes the law, surely, but where is it written that he should not himself be subject to it? If he is not, and he rules by whim and force of arms, he is no better than a tyrant. And how can any man rest easy in his bed if he knows that the King, if he so chooses, can steal that bed from under him, murder his wife and children, throw him in prison for debts conjured out of the air? The King must be subject to the law so that we can all be free of his tyranny.'\n\nDe Vesci said: 'I find it astonishing that a former outlaw should lecture me about the law of the land.'\n\nTo my surprise, Robin did not react to this insult. He smiled and said: 'You do not like my sophistry, very well. This is my last point: if you compel the King to agree to this charter, you compel not only him, but future kings and all their heirs and descendants \u2013 for ever \u2013 to behave in a way that you have determined. You will have changed the relationship between King and subjects for the better and for all time.'\n\nMy lord fell silent. De Vesci and Fitzwalter were looking at each other. The Archbishop of Canterbury was gazing up into the ceiling, perhaps contemplating Heaven. Finally, Fitzwalter spoke: 'What exactly would we put in this charter?'\n\nRobin said: 'Whatever you wanted, within reason. I have a list of grievances that I have collected from people across the country. What I propose is that, initially, we put everything we can think of in the charter, and we can work out the fine details later. We must have agreement from a dozen other magnates, a hundred other barons, before we can present it to the King. Why don't you tell me what you want?'\n\n'First and foremost, we must protect the Church,' said the archbishop. 'If you want my support, that is my only condition.'\n\n'Agreed,' said Robin.\n\nThe archbishop smiled broadly. 'By happy chance, I have brought with me three of my household clerks \u2013 all possessing fine legal minds \u2013 they are being fed in the servants' quarters as we speak. With your gracious permission, my lord de Vesci, I will summon them and they can begin to draw up this charter of liberties in the proper legal Latin. Is that acceptable to you all?'\n\nRobin and Fitzwalter nodded. Our host Eustace de Vesci looked bewildered but said nothing and a servant was sent to fetch the three clerks.\n\nRobin also disappeared to fetch a bundle of parchments on which he had written down the demands of the dozens of men that he and I had spoken with over the past few weeks. While I waited for him to return, it suddenly struck me that the archbishop's presence here was no mere accident. Robin, clearly, had invited him to make the long journey north from Canterbury, and he must have had a good reason to comply. I looked at Lord Fitzwalter; he too, I suspected, had had a hand in engineering this meeting with the archbishop. But I was also certain that this was all news to de Vesci. I had the distinct feeling, as I often did with Robin, that I was attending an elaborate performance designed to achieve a particular end. In this case it seemed to me that Robin, Lord Fitzwalter and Archbishop Langton were conspiring together to convince de Vesci \u2013 the richest and most powerful of the northern barons, and perhaps the most difficult man of them all \u2013 to join their schemes.\n\nThe remains of the feast were cleared away. A pair of candle-trees were lit and brought forward, for night was falling. And three men in dusty black robes with the tonsures of clergy were led to the table. I may not have been attending fully when their names were announced \u2013 or perhaps I have merely forgotten them \u2013 but in my mind they were nameless, drab, grey men. Clever, no doubt, perhaps even wise, but not with the kind of fire of spirit that would make them any sort of pleasure to be with. In my mind the Canterbury clerks were the fat one, the tall one and the small one \u2013 collectively, the three wise men.\n\nThe three wise men set out their quills, inkpots and so on, Robin handed them a fat sheaf of parchments filled with his own spidery black writing, and so began one of the strangest nights of my life.\n\nArchbishop Langton began the session by saying: 'Despite the fact that he has made over England to the Pope, King John cares nothing for the Church \u2013 indeed, I have my doubts that he even believes in God. And, if I may, I would like the first article to which we wish to bind the King to be concerning the liberty of the Church of England. Is that agreeable to all of you?'\n\nFitzwalter said: 'By all means!'\n\nRobin said: 'Certainly, my lord.'\n\nDe Vesci said: 'If you must.'\n\nI kept my mouth shut, but what the archbishop did next confirmed in my mind that this was not the first time the Primate of All England had discussed a charter such as the one Robin had seemingly just proposed.\n\n'Very well,' said Langton. He leaned towards the fat clerk, who seemed to be their chief, and whispered in his ear for some time. The clerk began to write on a sheet of clean parchment, with an impressive turn of speed, a sort of note form of whatever the Archbishop was saying in his ear.\n\nFitzwalter turned to Robin and said: 'So you have been taking soundings all across England?'\n\n'Yes,' said my lord, 'for some weeks and months now.'\n\n'And what do most people say?'\n\n'There is some general support for the charter,' said Robin. 'But if there is to be a confrontation between us and the King, most of the knights and barons would rather wait to see who will be the victor before committing themselves.'\n\n'I see,' said Fitzwalter. 'That chimes with what I've heard, too. And have you identified any particular grievances that people wish the King to address?'\n\n'It's a strange mix of things,' Robin said. 'Many people are concerned about inheritance, the reliefs that heirs must pay the King to possess a dead relative's lands. The King has been charging thousands of pounds for this right, and people want it limited to a reasonable figure \u2013 say, a hundred pounds. Then there are the widows \u2013 they do not want to be compelled to marry by the King, just so he can reward his followers with their lands. There is a good deal of strong feeling about this. But there is a whole host of other matters, great and small: my friends in Sherwood want the forest laws made less harsh, even abolished, but that would take some doing; on the other hand, some people just want a few fish weirs in the Medway removed, which I think we can manage without too much difficulty. I've made a note of it all here.' Robin patted the sheaf of parchments before the three wise men.\n\nThe fat clerk cleared his throat, stood up and said in a low, quivering, portentous voice: 'We think it should begin like this, my lords \u2026 John, by the grace of God King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, to his archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, barons, justices, foresters, sheriffs, stewards, servants\u2026'\n\n'You can skip the usual greeting,' said Langton. 'Just read out the first article.'\n\n'And speak up, will you,' said de Vesci. 'There is no need to mumble.'\n\nThe clerk began again, a little louder: 'First, that we have granted to God, and by this present charter have confirmed for us and our heirs in perpetuity, that the English Church shall be free, and shall have its rights undiminished, and its liberties unimpaired. We have granted and confirmed by this charter the freedom of the Church's elections. This freedom we shall observe ourselves, and desire to be observed in good faith by our heirs in perpetuity.' The clerk stopped and sat down.\n\n'That sounds all right to me,' said Fitzwalter. 'You'll translate it into good Latin, in due course?'\n\nThe clerk nodded.\n\n'It's a bit wordy,' said de Vesci. 'And you've got the bit about \"our heirs in perpetuity\" twice. If that's just the first article, this is going to be a very long night. I'd better get them to bring some more wine.'\n\n'Perhaps, my lord, you might like to think about the articles you personally would wish to include,' said Robin to de Vesci, who brightened considerably.\n\n'Good idea,' said Fitzwalter. 'I know what I want \u2013 I want the King's habit of demanding scutage whenever he damn well feels like it stopped \u2013 he can have it if he's captured in battle and we need to raise a ransom, or on other special occasions, but he can't just call scutage whenever he likes and wring the country dry. Oh, and I'd better get something in there about the rights of London, or my merchant friends there will not be pleased at all.'\n\n'I want a full pardon for any crimes,' said de Vesci, who was suddenly cheerful. 'Not that I admit to any. Ha ha! And I want to be able to move freely about the country \u2013 and abroad \u2013 without the King declaring me an outlaw. Not all of us want to have to sleep in the woods like a villein, Locksley! Ha ha!'\n\nRobin smiled blandly but said nothing. And so the evening progressed with something almost approaching a spirit of celebration. Wine was drunk, articles were proposed, amended and then turned into fine-sounding legal words by the three wise men, who read them back to us from time to time with suitable gravitas. I stayed aloof from the discussions for the most part, but I marvelled at the way Robin had manipulated these men into willingly going along with his extraordinary plan.\n\nAfter several hours of hearty discussion, Robin said to me: 'And you, Alan, you are awfully quiet \u2013 what is it that you want from the King?'\n\nI said without thinking: 'I'd be happy never to have to go back to that gaol in Wallingford \u2013 to Brien's Close. I'd be happy if I never had to fear being seized and flung into prison and left to die by inches without the chance to defend myself or explain. It is a fate no free man should have to face.'\n\nI looked hard at de Vesci and Fitzwalter.\n\nDe Vesci looked away. But Fitzwalter held my gaze. 'We wronged you, Alan, I know we did. We pulled you into our schemes and then abandoned you. There is no excuse, except that after we were betrayed we had to go into hiding for a few months ourselves to escape the King's wrath. But we were wrong, I admit it. We should have helped you. All I can say now is that I am heartily sorry. Can you find it in your heart to forgive us?'\n\nI was dimly aware of the archbishop conferring with the tall clerk. I thought about his forgiveness for me at the beginning of the meeting. I thought what it would mean to carry a burning grudge against these two men for the rest of my life \u2013 or until I could take a suitable revenge. It was not worth it. Truly, it wasn't. I was not permanently damaged by my experience in gaol \u2013 Robin had saved me from that awful death and here I was now, hale and whole.\n\n'I forgive you,' I said. 'I forgive you both for any wrong you have done me. Let us put it behind us and never speak of it again.'\n\n'Well spoken, Sir Alan,' said the archbishop. 'Spoken like a true Christian knight.' He favoured me with his broad smile. Fitzwalter embraced me in a bear hug, and even de Vesci shook me limply by the hand and muttered something about regrettable events and no hard feelings.\n\n'There is one thing I would say to you, Sir Alan,' said Fitzwalter, 'which perhaps I should have said before. You remember that we thought we had found a traitor in our midst, a fellow who had taken the King's silver to spy upon us?'\n\nI did.\n\n'Well, it seems that he was not the man who betrayed us at St Paul's. My men were very persuasive \u2013 I won't go into details \u2013 but he refused to admit that crime under indescribable pain. He denied it even as he died. So, it looks as if it was someone else who betrayed you. Perhaps someone in your own camp.'\n\nI looked at Robin and raised my brows.\n\nHe nodded and said: 'I heard him, Alan. But we need to talk about that another time.'\n\n'How does this sound to you, Sir Alan?' said the archbishop, and he waved his hand to the small clerk, who rose to his feet and read out in a strong voice the following words, words I remember as clearly today as then, words I hope I shall never forget: 'No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land.'\n\n'That will do fine,' I said, sniffling a little and wiping my face, for my eyes, unaccountably, seemed to be blurred with tears."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "The next few weeks were frantic. The archbishop's clerks wrote out the charter in fine Latin and copies were circulated to many of the most powerful men in England. The earls of Norfolk, Essex, Oxford, Hereford, Hertford, Albemarle and Winchester, dozens of lesser barons and hundreds of knights all received copies from Robin with notes inviting them to contribute to the clauses contained within it and to the wording of the document: the charter was loose in the kingdom, it was discussed, derided, dismissed, but very often lauded in knightly halls from Penzance to Penrith.\n\nNot all the barons of England were in favour of it \u2013 and few would publicly state that they had joined Fitzwalter and de Vesci's party, who were openly defying the King's officers by this point. I personally delivered a copy of the charter to the Earl of Pembroke \u2013 and William the Marshal, that grizzled old warhorse, a man who I respected enormously, gave me an embarrassing public dressing down, accused me of disloyalty to our divinely anointed King, fomenting rebellion and civil war, and tore the document up in front of my face. Were it not for our long friendship I think he might have offered me harm, or tried to imprison me and deliver me to the King.\n\nIndeed, England was on the lip of civil war: John had returned to England in mid-October with a substantial army of Poitevin and Flemish mercenaries \u2013 he no longer trusted even those English knights who had agreed to serve him \u2013 and these foreigners he installed as sheriffs, bailiffs and foresters in all the counties where he still held sway, with orders to raise as much money as they could by whatever means they saw fit. It was tantamount to a declaration of war on his own kingdom. These foreign sheriffs proved to be as ruthless as Philip Marc in the collection of taxes \u2013 and while they caused great hardship, they advanced our cause immeasurably.\n\nMen from all over England were now writing to Robin and contributing clauses that they hoped to see included in the charter, and most were accepted and swiftly incorporated by the archbishop's clerks. But one article that was proposed proved to be more controversial.\n\nLord Fitzwalter had been invited to Kirkton for Christmas. His grand fortress in London, Baynard Castle, had been destroyed by the King two years before and, while he had some lands and a small wooden castle at Dunmow in Essex, he had been residing with de Vesci in Alnwick for some time now. I believe he had had his fill of the boorish lord of Alnwick and sought a respite, which is why he was welcomed at Kirkton for the Feast of Our Lord's Nativity.\n\nOne evening in mid-December, Robin and Fitzwalter were wrangling over the charter as usual, going into great detail on the changes to the law of scutage, when the subject of guarantees came up.\n\n'Even if we can get John to agree to this charter, is there any guarantee that he will keep his word afterwards?' I said, not meaning to stir things up but in a spirit of genuine enquiry.\n\n'He would be perjured and the whole country would know it,' said Fitzwalter. 'His authority would be utterly destroyed if he broke his word. He could not do it.'\n\nRobin looked at me. I shrugged.\n\nMy lord said: 'Our experience of King John has been that his word of honour means next to nothing. I think Alan has a point here. We need some device to keep the King honest after he has agreed to the charter. Otherwise he is most likely to agree to it and then repudiate it whenever he feels like it.'\n\n'What do you have in mind?' said Fitzwalter. 'How does one ensure that a dishonourable King keeps his sacred word?'\n\n'I think if we appointed a council to oversee the King,' said Robin, 'say twenty-five powerful barons and senior churchmen whose task it was to ensure that the monarch kept to his agreement and who were empowered by law to seize the King's castles and lands if he broke his word \u2026 That might work.'\n\n'A Great Council of barons, earls, bishops and abbots, eh?' said Fitzwalter. 'To meet regularly, discuss the issues of the day, advise the King and keep him in check. You mean what the French would call a \"parliament\".'\n\n'You realise,' said Robin, 'that if we include this Great Council clause we make it that much less likely that John will agree to it.'\n\n'We are going to have to put a knife to his throat to make him set his seal on it anyway,' said Fitzwalter. 'Why not put a Great Council in the charter. I think it is a splendid idea \u2026 Why are you both staring at me like that? I meant knife to his throat in the figurative sense. I didn't mean to actually put a knife at \u2026 unless Alan, you feel strong enough\u2026' He grinned at me.\n\n'No,' I said. 'We are not going down that path again.'\n\n'I was merely jesting, of course,' said Fitzwalter. 'But do not delude yourselves, my friends, that this can be done with fair words, flowers and kisses. The King must be brought to heel and compelled to set his seal on this charter. By force.'\n\nThe King refused absolutely to countenance the charter. A version of it \u2013 including Robin's Great Council idea \u2013 was dispatched to Windsor Castle at Christmas, with a letter from twenty principal rebel barons, most of them northerners, including, of course, Robin and my lords de Vesci and Fitzwalter, wishing the King joy of the season and inviting him to consider their demands for the sake of the country.\n\nThe refusal reached us at Kirkton in the last days of December. It said that the charter was totally unacceptable \u2013 a crime against the King's dignity, an affront to all the laws and customs of England \u2013 and it reminded all the noble participants of the document that they had done homage to the King and therefore owed him absolute loyalty. However, he also summoned the rebel barons, under a flag of truce guaranteed by William the Marshal and the Archbishop of Canterbury, to St Paul's Cathedral in London on the sixth day of January to discuss the matter. John was saying no, and at the same time hinting that maybe something might be managed.\n\nI did not attend the meeting at St Paul's between the northern barons and the King for the very good reason that I was not invited. And, in the event, I was glad that I had not made the arduous journey to London and back in mid-winter, for Robin told me later that nothing at all was achieved.\n\nIn February, I returned to Westbury after my long stay at Kirkton with Robert, Thomas, Boot and Baldwin and a strong force of men-at-arms \u2013 a hundred men belonging to de Vesci, enough men to defy the sheriff indefinitely, if he should come for me. And a few weeks later, there were once more armed men outside my gates.\n\nThe Earl of Pembroke, William the Marshal himself, rode up to the gates of Westbury on a mild day in the middle of March. He came in peace, of that I was sure, for he brought with him only half a dozen men-at-arms, enough to see him safe on the roads. He also brought with him his almoner, Brother Geoffrey.\n\nAs it was one of the first days of sunshine since long before Christmas, I was sitting at a trestle table in my courtyard, allowing the slight warmth to bathe my pale skin, while the Westbury servants turned out the hall, swept out the floor rushes and the cobwebs, washed and dried all the crockery, pots and pans, laundered the linen, aired the blankets, flung open all the shutters and allowed fresh spring air to circulate and flush away the dense fug of winter. Twenty yards from me, Sir Thomas and Robert were halfway through their sword practice, going at it hammer and tongs right across the yard and back again.\n\nI greeted the Earl with considerable warmth, for I was very fond of him despite the unpleasantness of our last meeting. Brother Geoffrey I greeted coolly and it seemed that we both tacitly agreed not to mention that encounter. Whether the Marshal knew or not what had occurred between the Templar and I in that cell in Nottingham last autumn, I did not discover, but the situation was very different now. I had my own men-at-arms around me and a hundred spearmen belonging to Lord de Vesci. There would be no hair-pulling this time, no threatening interrogation.\n\nI served the Marshal and his almoner wine at the table while his men were fed and their horses watered and given hay across at the stables. I called Robert over to greet the Earl of Pembroke and was most irritated to see that he was unwilling to come to the table. In fact, one moment he was in the courtyard sparring with Thomas and the next he had completely disappeared. I sent Thomas to fetch him and told his tutor in no uncertain terms that I expected my son to behave with proper courtesy towards our noble guest. Robert's theft of a horse from the Marshal's stable and his desertion from his post still haunted my conscience.\n\nAfter an awkward wait, Robert did eventually appear. He bowed low to the Earl and his almoner and made a stumbling apology for his past behaviour, and the Marshal graciously said it was no matter and all was forgiven. And then Robert begged to be released to continue his training session with Sir Thomas and I had little choice but to agree. We drank wine and nibbled sweetmeats and watched Robert and Thomas have at it in the courtyard \u2013 and though he had made considerable progress in the past few months under Thomas's careful instruction, that day, to my irritation Robert was particularly clumsy, even dropping his sword at one point. The Earl of Pembroke watched this dispiriting display without comment and, after we had spoken of the weather and the state of the roads, the Marshal came to the nub of his business.\n\n'It's this damned charter, Alan,' he said. 'It won't do, you know. The King will never agree to it, not in its present form. He must be free to raise taxes from his barons \u2013 how else can he fight his wars? \u2013 and he will not be governed by this devil-spawned Great Council. He must rule ungoverned \u2013 he is the King!'\n\n'It was his ungoverned rule that brought us to this pass,' I said mildly.\n\n'God's blood, Alan, how can you side with this contumelious rabble? I know your master, my lord of Locksley, is an outsider, an outlaw, a natural rebel, if you like. But he is also a man of honour, you and I both know that. Why he should ally himself with scum like de Vesci and Fitzwalter is beyond me.'\n\n'He has served King John loyally, despite everything, and with scant reward for his steadfastness\u2026'\n\n'Is that what he wants? A reward? If he would come over to the King's side, renew his homage in public, I'm sure we could arrange something. And for you, too, that unpleasantness at St Paul's can be forgotten. You could have more lands, a shrievalty, perhaps a lordship\u2026'\n\n'This is unworthy of you, my lord, to come to us with bribes.'\n\nFor the first time in my life, I saw the Marshal look abashed. His face flushed and he looked away. Brother Geoffrey said nothing. Then William said gruffly: 'I do not much relish the role of beggar man, Alan, but I must think of the kingdom. You and your rebels will tear England apart. If you will not be reasonable it will come to war, civil war, Englishman killing Englishman, brother at the throat of brother. The Anarchy all over again. Is that what you all want?'\n\n'The King must be curbed,' I said. 'He cannot continue as he has in the past. You know as well as I how he behaves. No baron with any spirit can abide it any longer. You talk of civil war: it is the King who is forcing war upon the country.'\n\n'There is no hope of reconciliation, then?'\n\n'I do not believe so, my lord. It is the charter or nothing.'\n\nThe Earl of Pembroke let out a great sigh. 'I thought as much. But you will make the King's offer to my lord of Locksley? Tell him he can have anything, within reason, that his heart desires if he will help to end this foolishness.'\n\n'I will tell him, but it will not change his mind.'\n\nThe Marshal nodded. He rose from his bench. 'I can at least do some good while I am here. I do not like to waste a journey.' He stomped across the courtyard, shouting: 'Robert Dale, you sir, you hold that sword as if it were a goose feather! You want to kill your opponent, not tickle him. Here, boy, let me show you\u2026'\n\nAs I watched Robert cut and lunge against imaginary opponents to the Marshal's jovial exhortations to strike harder, for the love of God, the Templar spoke for the first time.\n\n'You think you are safe here, with all your men-at-arms. But you are not.'\n\n'Really?' I said. 'I believe my life is safer than yours at this moment.'\n\nThe almoner glared at me.\n\n'You see that big fellow over there,' I said, pointing at Boot, who was stacking heavy sacks of grain in the far corner of the courtyard.\n\n'The black brute? What of him?'\n\n'That is the fellow who was to execute me that last time we met,' I said. 'He would have snapped my neck like a chicken at the sheriff's command a few hours after you left me. Now he willingly serves me. And at my word he would end you without a moment's hesitation, if I but asked him.'\n\n'You think I fear death? I serve God and the Knights of the Temple. I am protected in this life and the next. I have no fear of your threats,' he said. But I saw that his hand had strayed very close to his sword hilt and he was eyeing my huge friend with a good deal of trepidation.\n\n'You miss my point, Templar. I make no threats to you. I only wish you to know that I too have powerful friends. And I make this promise to you. If you and your Order will leave me in peace, I will leave you unmolested too. But if not\u2026'\n\n'The Order will have the Grail from you. We shall not rest, I shall not rest, until we have recovered it.'\n\n'What I told you last time is Gospel true,' I said. 'I give you my word. The Grail is gone. It is destroyed. It is no more.'\n\nThe Templar was staring fixedly at Thomas and Robert, who were standing side by side and watching the Marshal demonstrate a complicated hooking manoeuvre with the sword. 'Our informant,' he said, and he seemed almost involuntarily to jerk his chin at the three figures in the centre of the courtyard, 'has told us otherwise.'\n\nBrother Geoffrey looked directly at me, his eyes seemed to burn with rage: 'Know this, Sir Alan, neither you nor your master shall have any peace until you deliver the true Grail into my hands. I give you my word on it.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "The Marshal, Brother Geoffrey and their men left without staying for dinner. Which was just as well as I did not think I could be civil over bread and meat to the Templar after what had passed between us. The Earl of Pembroke jested that he had to hurry back to the King's side before he did anything foolish, but before they rode off he asked me once again to convey his message to Robin.\n\nI set off for Kirkton the next day, alone, leaving Thomas in command of the garrison at Westbury with orders to double the guard until further notice. As it happened, I encountered Robin around noon a dozen miles south of Kirkton, marching on the road with a company of a hundred exhausted young recruits, breaking them in, as he called it, with the help of Hugh and Miles.\n\nAs his sons ordered a break from the march and oversaw the distribution of ale and bread to the men, I conferred with Robin at a little distance from the rest of the company. I did not want what I had to say to be overheard.\n\n'The Marshal came to see me,' I told my lord.\n\nHe nodded as if he had expected this news. 'Did he have anything to say?'\n\n'Not really \u2013 he was looking to woo us to the King's side by offering inducements, lands, titles. I told him we weren't interested. As we agreed, I said it must be the charter or nothing.'\n\n'Well done, Alan,' said my lord, 'but why then did you charge all the way up here to see me?'\n\n'The Earl of Pembroke brought his almoner with him.'\n\n'The Templar? The fellow who thinks we have the Grail?'\n\n'Yes \u2013 and he's not going to give up his conviction easily.'\n\n'I am beginning to seriously dislike this fellow,' said Robin. 'He's the one who tells us we have an informer in our ranks, isn't he?'\n\n'He says the informer told him we still have the Grail.'\n\nRobin sighed. 'We need to talk about this, I suppose. You think the person who betrayed you to the King is the same as the man who spills our darkest secrets to the Templars. Is that right?' My lord did not sound convinced.\n\n'It would make more sense. I cannot believe we have two traitors in our ranks,' I said.\n\n'And who do you think this master of deception might be?'\n\nI looked at the ground beneath our horses.\n\n'You rode up here to tell me this, Alan, you must have someone in mind.'\n\n'I think it is Sir Thomas Blood.'\n\nIt pained me to say the name. But Robin looked puzzled.\n\n'Why Thomas?'\n\n'Brother Geoffrey all but pointed him out to me and said he was his informant.'\n\n'Really?'\n\n'Well, he was looking at Thomas when he was speaking of his source, and he indicated him with his chin.'\n\nRobin was silent for a while. 'I'm not sure, Alan. It doesn't feel right. The Templar could be trying to misdirect us. I can't see why Thomas would do it.'\n\n'For the most common reason there is: for money. Thomas loves to game, as you know, he plays knucklebones and he has debts \u2013 he owes the Templars a great deal of money. He might well have traded information for a remission of his debts.'\n\n'Do you think he would do that?' said Robin, still looking doubtful.\n\n'Remember his father? A Welshman hired to kill you back, oh, more than twenty years ago. He was in the pay of Ralph Murdac and came into your solar at night and I killed him in the dark. Could you forgive the man who killed your father? I couldn't.'\n\n'But Thomas has always been the very model of loyalty. He has never once been anything less. I cannot believe it.'\n\n'Thomas was with us at Monts\u00e9gur, he must have known about the false Grail and the trick we played on the Templars of Toulouse. He was at Westbury when I went to Alnwick to plot with de Vesci and Fitzwalter, and still there when I went to St Paul's to make my attempt on the King. In fact, he saw me practising with the misericorde days beforehand.'\n\n'I cannot imagine Thomas doing that,' said Robin, 'Not Thomas. I'm sorry, but I cannot believe he means us harm.'\n\n'Who else could it be?'\n\n'Oh, Alan, it could be any number of people \u2013 a lot of folk could know about the Grail. How many men did we ride away from Monts\u00e9gur with \u2013 five, six, was it seven? One of them could have known about the switch and told a legion of friends \u2013 I can imagine old Claes, in his cups, regaling a tavern full of people about how he fooled the noble Order of the Temple, making his cronies laugh like donkeys. I did not expect it to remain a secret for this long. As for the person who betrayed your plot to the King \u2013 I would look to de Vesci and his people in Alnwick. Even if it was not the fellow they caught and tortured to death, King John could well have other spies in their camp. I truly think you have it wrong.'\n\nI was silent for a moment. Perhaps Robin was right and I was wrong. Was Thomas a good and loyal friend? Was I maligning an innocent man?\n\n'This is the problem with traitors,' said Robin. 'We've had a few in our ranks over the years \u2013 I know that \u2013 but one can become over-suspicious, distrusting the innocent as well as the guilty. Do not say anything to Thomas, Alan, I beg you. Let us watch, see if we can catch him out. But don't do anything rash.'\n\nOn my return to Westbury, I watched Sir Thomas Blood day and night and I could see nothing suspicious in his demeanour. He trained with Robert every day, and whereas my boy had once hated him, it was clear that his emotion had been transformed into something close to adulation. The two of them were now close and even when they were not training, they seemed to spend a good deal of time together talking about tactics and strategy. Thomas's behaviour was always impeccable. He was liked by everyone at Westbury. It seemed that he had even turned over a new leaf.\n\n'Sir Alan,' he said to me one day, when I was sitting in the courtyard after breakfast with my eyes closed taking some sun. 'Forgive my intrusion.'\n\nIf I am honest, I must admit that I had been taking a short nap. I opened my eyes and saw Thomas standing before me with a pretty young girl of about twenty summers. She curtseyed prettily and I lumbered to my feet to greet her.\n\n'This is Mary,' said Thomas. 'She is Athelstan's daughter, from the village. And she has kindly agreed to become my betrothed in the summer. But we would both very much like your blessing on our union.'\n\n'Mary, daughter of Athelstan, of course,' I said. 'My hearty congratulations to you both. And, of course, you have my blessing!'\n\n'Don't you worry, sir, I'll look after him properly,' said Mary. And I noticed that her belly was a good deal rounder than a twenty-year-old farm girl's should be.\n\n'It seems you will have more responsibilities soon, Thomas,' I said.\n\nThomas smiled. 'I'm ready for them, sir,' he said. 'Mary has made a new man of me \u2013 she has even convinced me to forsake the bones. I've made her a solemn vow on my honour. No more gaming.'\n\nI believed him. I think it was his simple joy and evident love for Mary that convinced me that I had indeed been wrong about him. No man that transparently happy could have such a duplicitous heart. Robin was right. He was not the traitor \u2013 and I felt very relieved that I had not confronted him with my suspicions.\n\nIn early April, at dusk, Robin came to Westbury with Miles and Hugh. While the young men went off in great high spirits to drink ale in the pantry and make their boyish jests together, Robin and I took a sober cup of watered wine and repaired to the hall to talk. But the first thing Robin said set me laughing like a loon.\n\n'King John has taken the cross,' said my lord. 'He has vowed to ride to the Holy Land and free Jerusalem from the Saracens.'\n\n'Oh, that is a good one,' I said, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes. 'King John as a warrior pilgrim! Tell me another.'\n\n'It is quite true, Alan,' said Robin, but he too was smiling.\n\n'If the Lionheart could not do it, I cannot imagine John managing that impossible feat,' I said. 'Besides, who would go with him? He can barely get his knights to fight for him on the other side of the Channel. Is he planning to go all that way on his own, carrying his own weapons and kit? Ha-ha!'\n\n'Oh, I doubt there is anyone in England who thinks he will achieve it, but it is a clever move. As a holy pilgrim he comes under the protection of the Church.'\n\n'Oh, yes,' I said, suddenly understanding. 'It means that if we attack him we are attacking the Church, attacking God, in effect.'\n\n'Exactly,' said Robin. 'The Pope is now his strongest supporter.'\n\n'So what does that mean for us, for the charter?'\n\n'Well, your friend Fitzwalter is a clever fellow, I'll grant him that. He says if John is on the side of the angels, then we must be too. We must be at least as holy or even holier than him. He is marching south now with de Vesci and a dozen other northern barons \u2013 and he is calling his forces the Army of God. He proclaims our cause as the cause of the Church, too, as we are fighting for the liberties of the English church. If John wants to play the pious zealot, we must play the same game.'\n\nI recalled Archbishop Langton's insistence that the first clause of the charter of liberties should be a call for a free English church, and remembered also my distinct feeling that the great prelate, Robin and Fitzwalter had been planning this long before our supposedly accidental meeting in Alnwick.\n\n'So we are truly on the march, then?' I said.\n\n'We muster at Brackley,' said Robin, 'in two weeks' time.'\n\nThe Army of God, which gathered in the last week of April at Brackley, about twenty miles south of Northampton, was a good deal less impressive than its name. Robin brought as many men as he could spare from the defence of Kirkton, some forty men-at-arms on foot and a dozen of them mounted. I brought de Vesci's borrowed men-at-arms south with me, returning them reluctantly to their rightful master, but that meant I was forced to leave a garrison of my own folk with Baldwin at Westbury and in the end all I could contribute to the Army of God was half a dozen men-at-arms and one knight \u2013 Sir Thomas Blood. Robert Fitzwalter's men \u2013 including Lord de Vesci's cavalry and contingents from other barons including the earls of Winchester and Essex and the Bishop of Hereford \u2013 numbered fewer than a thousand.\n\nIt was not much of an army with which to challenge a King.\n\nHowever, when I voiced my concerns to Robin he seemed unworried. 'This will be all about momentum,' he said. 'Most of the barons of England support our cause, and will swiftly come to our banner if we are successful. But for the moment they are biding their time, waiting on the side of the battlefield to see who proves the strongest \u2013 us or the King. No baron wants to be on the losing side. We have to show them we can win. If we can take one or two royal strongholds, the lords will declare for us, you'll see.'\n\nI also brought Robert and Boot with me to Brackley. I had heard nothing from Benedict Malet or Philip Marc, since my escape, but it seemed foolhardy to leave my son alone in Nottinghamshire with only a handful of men-at-arms to guard him. He would be safer with the Army of God. Boot watched over Robert while he was with the army like a mother hen, but my boy also spent a good deal of time with Miles and Hugh. I even came back to our tent one evening to find him playing chess with Robin.\n\n'Your boy has an extraordinary mind,' Robin told me afterwards. 'I thought I was humouring the lad by playing a game with him and he destroyed me in a dozen moves. He also has some very bold ideas about what this army should do. Even more surprisingly, I find myself absolutely agreeing with him.'\n\nThe castle of Brackley, a wooden motte-and-bailey fortress on a limestone knoll to the south-west of the town, was not spacious. The Earl of Winchester, whose castle it was, and his men were housed there with Fitzwalter, who was now grandly calling himself the Marshal of the Army of God, but the rest of us had to find accommodation in the town or encamped in the wide fields around it. The place had been famous for tournaments in King Richard's day, but to be truthful it had become something of a dismal backwater. And, as I recall, it seemed to rain hard continually for the whole time we were there.\n\nOn the third day, all the leaders of the Army of God were summoned to council in the hall of the castle and the collection of bedraggled knights, their cloaks sodden, and honking and sneezing from a cold that had already spread through the ranks from the grandest earl to the meanest churl, was less than awe-inspiring.\n\nThe King was at Oxford with a strong force of mercenaries and his half-brother the Earl of Salisbury, and a message had been sent to the King \u2013 an ultimatum, in effect \u2013 saying that unless he were to agree to the terms of the charter of liberties then the rebel barons would renounce their homage to him and a state of war would exist between the two sides. While we waited for his reply, the question on everybody's lips was: what should we do next? There were other groups of rebel barons in arms near Exeter and Lincoln, but the feeling was that it was up to the leaders of this water-logged rebellion to make a significant move. But what?\n\nGeoffrey Mandeville, the Earl of Essex, was the first to speak at the council. He was a portly toad-like man with fat dewlaps that jiggled on either side of his chin as he spoke. But his tone was bold and he was clear in his mind what was necessary.\n\n'We must confront the King at Oxford \u2013 get right up to the walls and show him our strength. He's a coward and he will be put in fear if we confront him boldly.'\n\nI applauded his words but I was one of only a few. The rest of the barons muttered and mumbled and blew their noses noisily.\n\nLord de Vesci said: 'Utter nonsense, Mandeville, the King is far too powerful. Quite apart from his mercenaries \u2013 who alone outnumber us two to one \u2013 Oxford is a nest of royalists and a well-fortified and provisioned city. We have no hope of taking the place by force, nor of reducing it by siege. We have no siege train, for one thing. Not a single trebuchet or mangonel to bless ourselves with. We could find ourselves uselessly camped outside his walls for months. Then we would have to march away with our tails between our legs. We would look ridiculous.'\n\n'We will look ridiculous if we do nothing and stay here,' replied Essex with a good deal of spirit. 'Half my men are already sick, by God, and sleeping in damp fields is not going to improve their lot.' But it was clear that the general opinion was against him and thereafter he remained silent.\n\n'I'm sorry you don't like my hospitality,' snapped the Earl of Winchester. 'Perhaps you would prefer to leave my lands\u2014'\n\n'My lords, quiet, if you please,' said Fitzwalter. 'We need to come up with a plan, not squabble like infants. Does anyone have any other useful suggestions?'\n\n'We put our trust in God,' said the Bishop of Hereford, folding his hands before him in the attitude of prayer. 'He is mightier than all the armies of the world, and the Lord of Hosts will deliver us from this tyrant \u2013 if it is His will.'\n\n'Well, while the Almighty is making up his mind,' said de Vesci nastily, 'what shall we humble mortals actually do?'\n\nLord Bedford rose timidly to his feet. 'If you do not care for Brackley, I would willingly offer you my castle as a refuge \u2013 it is somewhat larger than this place and I have a dozen barracks for your men. Plenty of dry straw for all\u2014'\n\nRobin cut him off: 'It is perfectly clear what we must do \u2013 to me at least and to some of the younger men in our ranks.' He shot me a knowing wink.\n\n'Yes, Locksley?' said Fitzwalter. 'What do you suggest?'\n\n'We will win this contest only by a bold stroke. Only by taking the bull by the horns will we persuade the undecided barons of England to rally to our cause. We must attack, we must win and we must do it quickly.'\n\n'You would attack Oxford and the King there?' said Fitzwalter, frowning. 'That seems absurdly rash. I thought we were all agreed that\u2014'\n\n'Not Oxford,' said my lord, 'but London.'\n\nThere was a general gasp from the twenty or so men in the hall and immediately a hubbub of shouting, frightened voices. 'Outrageous!' 'Absurd!' 'We simply don't have the strength\u2026'\n\nRobin smiled serenely until the noise fell away and then said: 'Think on this, gentlemen: London is the richest, the most important city in England \u2013 a good deal of the King's governance takes place there. The merchants of the city are some of the greatest men in the country, richer even than the mightiest earl, saving your presence, Essex. The wealth of the nation's commerce is there. It is the beating heart of England.'\n\nHe quietened the rising tide of voices with an outstretched hand. 'My lords, I know it will be a hard task, but think: if we have London within our grasp, we hold the country too. If London is ours, the King cannot hold out; he must accede to our wishes. If we have London, we have the King in the palm of our hands.'\n\nEven I was a little shocked by the boldness of Robin's plan. We had fewer than a thousand men \u2013 there was no way on earth we could capture a city with fifty times that number of citizens. It was stronger than Oxford by far. And if we could not take Oxford \u2026 I wondered if Robin was truly serious. Was he playing some game?'\n\nIf Robin was playing a game, I judged that he had lost. For the men in that room shook their heads, snuffled, coughed and quibbled. They muttered that he was deluded. They said he was courting destruction. The Earl of Winchester asked if he was drunk. 'It's young Robert's idea,' Robin murmured to me. 'A very good one.'\n\nFitzwalter quelled the agitated crowd of damp barons.\n\n'I am the Marshal of this Army of God, and since quite clearly we cannot decide among us what we should do, it falls to me to make the decision. We shall not attack London, thank you Locksley, we shall not beset the King at Oxford, but we shall strike. And hard. Northampton, not twenty miles from here, is held by no lord or earl but merely by a rabble of mercenaries under a French rascal named Geoffrey de Martigny. He's a paid man, his loyalty is to silver, let us go there and see if we cannot change his allegiance with a show of force.'\n\nAnd so we marched to war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "I had been a mercenary several times and so, for that matter, had Robin. And I knew well the contempt in which many noblemen held a stipendarius. But it still surprised me just how mutton-headed a proud knight can be, for clearly there are mercenaries and there are mercenaries \u2013 and the better ones, the ones that last in the profession, are as true as steel once they have taken their pay. It is a matter of honour. And any man who thinks that a mercenary has no honour is a fool or else he has never fought a proper war. Geoffrey de Martigny was as loyal to King John as any man \u2013 more loyal, indeed, than many of the well-born men who camped outside his castle, for they had taken oaths to King John and were now in arms against him.\n\nMartigny shut tight his gates, lined the walls of Northampton Castle with a hundred crossbowmen and defied us. And for all that Fitzwalter had taken a necessarily bold decision in leading us here, it was in truth a sad mistake.\n\nWe were two weeks before the walls of Northampton, two dismal weeks of squabbling, humiliation and soggy discomfort. Fitzwalter and the leading nobles rode up to the gates of Northampton Castle in driving rain and demanded its surrender. Geoffrey de Martigny, in very bad English, told them that he held the castle by order of the King and he would surrender it only to him, and so the Army of God settled down outside the walls in the vague hope that the mercenary would change his mind.\n\nHe did not. And lacking the proper siege engines we could not hope to reduce this powerful fortress. I had truly forgiven Fitzwalter for embroiling me in his plot to kill the King, and I had grown to like, if not wholly trust him since our meeting at Alnwick before Christmas. But while he was undoubtedly skilled at cajoling and manipulating men into following his desires, he was far from a gifted general.\n\nAfter a week of sitting before the walls, the Earl of Essex volunteered his men for an assault on the gatehouse. And the Earl of Locksley's men were to go in as the second wave in support of the Mandeville forces. We built ladders in the shadow of the towers, occasionally troubled by the crossbowmen taking long shots at us, but there was little blood spilt.\n\nAs the Earl of Essex's men lined up for their assault, the foremost men-at-arms carrying the long ladders we had built, I experienced once more the crippling terror of an impending battle. My mouth was dry as sand, my limbs trembled, and though I had made sure my bladder was empty before donning a suit of mail, I felt the desperate urge to urinate. We were formed up \u2013 fifty men armed with shield and sword \u2013 behind the block of a hundred or so Essex troops who would lead the charge. I thought I was going to vomit. What was the delay? I could barely stand it. If we were going to do this we must go now. I could see the mercenaries on the walls, their heads thick as blackberries behind the crenellations, waiting with their crossbows spanned, waiting to pluck our lives from us. We would all surely die \u2013 and for what? To take a castle that would make no difference to the war in the slightest? If we were successful \u2013 and I very much doubted that we would be \u2013 it would not force King John to agree to our demands. He would have lost a few mercenaries and one town. If we failed, even if we were not killed, we'd be finished. It was madness.\n\nI looked to my right and there was Robin, conferring with Sir Thomas; to my left Miles and Hugh were talking quietly with their men. And I felt a sudden sense that something was wrong; something vital was missing.\n\nAnd then it struck me. The massive form and ugly battered red face of Little John was nowhere to be seen. His body was now lying in the earth of St Michael's churchyard in Hathersage, slowly turning to earth itself. My huge friend, who had always had some filthy, funny, bellicose comment to make on the eve of battle, was nowhere to be seen. And it occurred to me that his sacrifice at Bouvines, which had allowed Robin, Miles and Hugh to live, was all for naught. We would fight again and again until we were all in our graves. I missed the crude old bugger, how I missed his solid comforting presence on the eve of action. His absence was an ache in my heart.\n\nGood God, I said to myself, what is this, Alan? Whimpering before action? You are a fraudulent knight! You may no longer boast of being a warrior. You are craven.\n\nIn the event, I played no part at all in the fighting that day. Thanks be to God. Robin held us back in reserve while Essex's men charged bravely forward with their ladders. The Mandeville men began to die before they had taken a dozen steps, sliced down by the wicked crossbow quarrels that came at them like black lightning. Three or four of the ladders actually made it to the walls, but the men climbing them were smashed away by chunks of stone hurled from the ramparts or skewered by javelins. It was clear within the time it takes to say an Our Father that the attack would fail. No ladders were up against the walls and Essex's poor men milled like frightened sheep below the gatehouse \u2013 and died like them too, in their scores. And to my utmost relief, Robin did not order us forward to join the crowd of staggering, falling men.\n\nThere was anger at the council that night. The Earl of Essex, his toad-like face purple with rage, accused everyone and anyone of cowardice and treachery. But Robin, who had come in for the worst of his tirade, merely said calmly: 'You do not reinforce failure. The attack had failed and I saw no reason to sacrifice my men's lives when there was no longer any chance of success.'\n\nThere was more uproar at that, but Fitzwalter checked it by shouting for silence repeatedly until the large pavilion in which we were meeting was a little quieter.\n\n'My lords,' Fitzwalter said, 'I have news from Oxford.'\n\nThat silenced them.\n\n'The King rejects our demands and denounces the charter as an abomination against God and his own sacred person.'\n\nThe crowd of barons muttered and groaned.\n\n'This should come as no surprise; for we surely have not intimidated him with our prowess. The question remains, my lords: what shall we do?'\n\n'You tell us \u2013 as you seem to have all the answers,' said Essex angrily.\n\n'Very well. I say in for a penny, in for a pound. If we quit now, John will hunt us down individually and make us pay for our disloyalty \u2013 we will all die or, worse, be imprisoned for life and our lands will be forfeit and our heirs made destitute.'\n\n'That's a cheery thought,' said the young knight beside me. I turned to look and recognised John de Lacy, the son of Roger, the man who had so bravely defended Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard a decade ago. Bull-headed Roger was now dead and this callow stripling held his lands and titles. God help us all, I thought.\n\n'I say we make our message to the King as clear as crystal,' said Fitzwalter. 'We sign a document today, now even, that utterly renounces our allegiance to the King. We make the diffidato, stating that we no longer consider that we own homage for our lands to the King.'\n\nThere was a stunned silence. 'You go too far, sir,' said the Earl of Winchester. 'We are in dispute with John, for sure, but he is still the rightful King.'\n\n'What difference does it make?' said Robin. 'We are already beyond the pale. I agree with Fitzwalter. I say we make the diffidato today and cut our ties with John.'\n\nI was a little surprised by Robin's stance; he had always made it a point of honour to keep to his oaths, but the general consensus was with Fitzwalter, and while we were waiting for the clerks to draw up the legal document I cornered my lord and asked if he really thought this was wise.\n\n'We are outlaws again, Alan,' said my lord. 'We have been since we marched south in arms against John. I do not like to break my oath, but there comes a point when to continue to pretend to honour it becomes absurd. I feel that we have been more than patient with John \u2013 he could have met us to discuss the charter, to discuss the grievances of the country at any time, but he has refused us again and again. And this is John! He is not a man who honours his oaths. What was it you used to ask me in Normandy? It used to aggravate me beyond measure: Oh yes, \"Why do we serve this King?\" That's what you used to say. Well, from this day forward, Alan, we do not.'\n\nIn the second week of May we left Northampton, defeated, dispirited and with our strength ebbing away. The King had responded swiftly to our declaration of diffidato. He had not been even slightly perturbed by it, instead he had issued a general proclamation that the lands of all the rebels were now forfeit by royal command and any sheriff who so desired could seize them and any property they contained. A goodly number of knights and barons, on hearing the King's response, began slipping away from the so-called Army of God, many returning to their lands to gather provisions and fortify their castles. And John had gone further, he had announced generous grants of land to those barons who were wavering \u2013 bribes, in effect \u2013 to prevent them from joining our cause. It was a strategy that I had heard Robin call the stick and the carrot. For my part, I was filled with a sense of fear and dread as we tramped the twenty-odd miles to Bedford \u2013 we had decided to take up the lord of that castle's offer of dry accommodation \u2013 for I realised that Westbury was now more than ever open to attack by the sheriff's men and Baldwin and a handful of men-at-arms would never keep out a determined assault. At least, Robert was with me. And for that I gave thanks to God.\n\nAfter I had settled Boot and my son and my few men-at-arms in a snug hay barn just outside the town, I went in search of my lord inside the castle. Instead, I found Hugh in the vast inner bailey deeply involved in arranging food and beds for his exhausted men. He seemed to have little time for me.\n\n'Where is your father?' I asked him.\n\n'He's gone,' said Hugh.\n\n'What?' I said. 'Where has he gone?'\n\n'I don't know where he is Alan, truly, I don't. Father told me only that he had an errand to make and that it would take a week or so and that I was to take command of the men until he returned. He didn't say where he was going, but he has left me with a great deal to do \u2013 so, if you don't mind, I am rather busy just now\u2026'\n\nI stumbled away in a sort of daze. What errand could be so important that it took Robin away from his men on the eve of battle, away from his sons?\n\nI had absolutely no idea.\n\nRobin was not the only man to desert the Army of God. Over the next few days at least half its numbers melted away as men fled back to defend their homes against their local sheriffs. I could hardly blame them \u2013 the King's vigorous response to the diffidato made every man of property vulnerable and, in my weaker moments, I even contemplated abandoning our cause and returning to Westbury myself. It seemed in those dark days that the flame of rebellion was guttering like a candle by an open shutter. King John, without doing anything much at all, had won \u2013 or so it seemed to me. I wondered if we had not made the greatest blunder of our lives in challenging him. His vengeance would be swift and merciless when the army was no more.\n\nThen, as suddenly as he had disappeared, Robin returned. I found him one drizzly afternoon in the hall of Bedford Castle at a long table in conference with lords De Vesci, Fitzwalter and their host. The mood was black gloom and our defeat filled the air above their heads like a fine grey cloud. I came and stood behind my lord as he sat on a bench opposite the other lords and waited for him to notice me.\n\nDe Vesci was saying: '\u2026and if we go now, and retreat to Alnwick, we can hold out against the King for a year or more. My Scottish kin will come to my aid, we can recruit more men, regroup\u2026' He tailed off.\n\n'You would abandon me here alone to face the King's wrath?' quavered Lord Bedford, clearly appalled at the prospect. 'I have fed you all these past days with no stinting, and this is how you repay me?'\n\n'If we run back north, it is over,' said Fitzwalter. He seemed more angry than afeared. 'The rebellion is ended and our lives and lands are all forfeit sooner or later. Sooner, probably. There is still a chance that, if we hold on here, the other barons will come to our aid. They must want to see the charter sealed as much as we do.'\n\n'The other barons will not come to us,' said Robin.\n\n'Thank you, Locksley, that is most helpful,' said Fitzwalter. 'I suppose we must be grateful that you have condescended to return to us.'\n\n'I say what I have always said \u2013 that the barons will not come to our aid, unless we show them that we can win. And, as I have always maintained, that will require a stroke of boldness.'\n\n'But what can we do?' said Bedford. 'Every day more and more men desert in the night. They creep away like mice. We are weaker now than we have ever been.'\n\n'That is why we must act now,' said Robin. 'We can have no more delays.'\n\n'What would you have us do, my lord?' said Fitzwalter.\n\n'I say we take London \u2013 and we take it now.'\n\nRobin's words were met with a stunned silence. Then a tumult of angry words.\n\n'Have you not listened to a word we have said? We have not the strength to take a well-defended pig-pen at present!' Fitzwalter was on his feet, his face beetroot red.\n\n'But we can take London,' my lord said calmly. 'London is rotten-ripe and ready to fall. I have spent the past few days there in consultation with my friends \u2013 and some of yours too, Fitzwalter. The merchants are with us \u2013 the money men want the charter of liberties and they are not afraid of the King. The Church, too, will not stand against us \u2013 my lord the Archbishop of Canterbury has seen to that. My cousin Henry has been working to this end for months and we have agreement with the guilds of the City, with the merchant princes and the bishops. If we can take the walls of London, they will rise against King John's garrisons across the city. London is ready to fall, I say. All we have to do is find the courage, the strength of mind to take it.'\n\n'You are mad, sir! We have fewer than four hundred men,' said de Vesci.\n\n'I could take London with twenty men,' said Robin. 'Sir Alan here could take it with a dozen.'\n\nThis was news to me, but I kept my mouth shut. So did the other men at the table \u2013 but out of sheer disbelieving outrage. Fitzwalter sat down again wearily.\n\n'Listen to me. The key is Newgate,' said my lord. 'We don't need to fight all along the city walls, we don't need to take the Tower \u2013 all we need to do is take Newgate, one small unsuspecting bastion, and get the gates open in good time, then the rest of the army can ride right in across the bridge. Once inside, the city will rise \u2013 and London is ours. They are not expecting us. It must seem like an act of gross folly for us in our weakened state to attempt to seize the biggest prize in the land. But it is not folly. We can do this \u2013 and, if we do, at one stroke we will have won this war. The barons will come to us \u2013 almost all of them, I am sure of it. And then King John must capitulate and set his seal on the charter. All I ask is that we make one bold stroke, gentlemen, one bold stroke for victory. Are you with me?'\n\nFitzwalter began to laugh. A bubbling effusion of merriment, he clasped his belly and roared, tears streaming down his red face.\n\nRobin gave him an icy stare. 'You find this amusing,' he said.\n\n'No, no,' spluttered Fitzwalter. 'You are a devil when it comes to making fine speeches, Locksley \u2013 but I am with you. I am most certainly with you. What choice do we have but to accept this moon-crazed plan? There is no other course open to us. One bold stroke for victory!'\n\nThree days later, at dusk, on the ides of May, Robin and I were in the chapter house of St John's Priory in Clerkenwell, half a mile outside the city of London. Some forty Kirkton men, mostly archers, and my handful of Westbury men-at-arms were waiting outside in the courtyard preparing themselves for battle in a variety of ways. The chosen men were blackening their faces with soot and goose fat, the bowmen were checking bow-cord and shafts, swords and daggers were being given one final sharpening. Robert had been sent to bed in the Prior's guest house. He had protested that after all his training with Thomas he was now ready for battle, but I had resolutely ignored his pleas. There was no need to risk his life along with my own. The Army of God was about several miles behind us, straggling along Watling Street in the line of march, and expected to arrive at the walls of the city by dawn; indeed, Fitzwalter had given Robin an undertaking that he and the whole army would be outside Newgate before the sun rose. The Prior of St John's had set out food and drink for Robin's men from the refectory and then had retired to his bed. But Henry Odo had been waiting there for our arrival. He was the bearer of bad tidings.\n\n'The Earl of Salisbury is on the march,' he said in a breathless voice. 'The King's brother is coming to London with a force of mercenaries several thousand strong aiming to fortify the city and deny it to you. He is only a day's ride away.'\n\n'Then we still have time,' said Robin. 'It will be tight, but we can do it if we go tonight. We must get Fitzwalter's men inside London by tomorrow morning or he will be cut to pieces on the road and that will be the end of all of us.'\n\n'I have more bad news,' said Henry, as he waved over a young monk who was bearing a tray of cups of wine. 'The King's constable has reinforced all the gates of London, doubled the guard. I believe word of your plan has leaked out to the enemy.'\n\nBrother Geoffrey's informant! Could this be his work? It would appear so. I had not done near enough thinking on this problem in recent days, not since suspecting my loyal friend Thomas and then deciding that it could not be him. But, as often happens to me, I found that not looking squarely at a problem allows the mind to come at it in other ways. I felt sure that Brother Geoffrey himself had given me sufficient information to work out who the informant must be. I was sure that there was something that he had said to me in that dank cell in Nottingham or at our meeting with the Marshal at Westbury that was of significance, but I could not put my finger on it exactly. No, it would not come, not while Cousin Henry and Robin were still disputing the attack on Newgate.\n\n'I must advise, my lord, against making this stroke,' Cousin Henry was saying.\n\n'No. We can still do it. We must do it,' said Robin.\n\nWe left the priory at midnight on foot. A sickle moon in a cloudless sky gave us light enough to see by \u2013 but also enough for the enemy to see us. Robin had persuaded me that a small stealthy force would stand a better chance of getting over the walls without raising the alarm, but I felt sick and shaky at the very thought of what we were about to attempt. He said that twelve men was the largest number that could make the assault but they would be supported as best they could by our archers from outside the walls, and stressed the importance of the gates: they must be opened by dawn so the Army of God could ride into the city. All other considerations were secondary.\n\nWe approached the huge bulk of Newgate, two massive square towers beside the double-doored gate, linked by a stone platform over the entrance and with walls three times the height of a man stretching away into the darkness on either side, and I felt the first now-familiar crushing sense of my cowardly fears. The gate loomed above me, thirty yards away, a stronghold packed with hundreds of men-at-arms, and my lord was asking me to assault it with a scant handful of comrades. I was battling a desperate urge to run. To flee from my friends and comrades and run blindly back into the countryside behind me. To run for ever, forgoing all responsibilities and debts of honour. To run until I could find some lonely corner of England where I could at last be safe and alone with my shame.\n\nWe stopped on the far side of a shallow, foul-smelling moat, in a sad huddle of ramshackle dwellings and workshops outside the walls \u2013 for the city had burst its bounds even then \u2013 and crouched down in the shadow of the old stone bridge. The moat had once been a formidable barrier, but over the centuries it had become filled with all the refuse of a vast city, and now it was a midden of noisome sludge only a foot or so deep. I could see the helmet of a single man-at-arms high above me, moving along the wall to the left of the gatehouse, and the glow of a brazier where the wall met the tower, but as far as I knew we had not yet been detected.\n\nBehind me I heard Robin ordering the dispersal of his archers, each man taking up a position out of sight in the lee of a shack or craftsman's forge, or behind a bush or one of the few trees that had not been felled for firewood. The wide highway of Watling Street led arrow-straight away into the darkness behind us.\n\n'Make ready,' hissed Robin. I began to unwind the bulky knotted rope that was wrapped around my torso, with three stout iron hooks welded together and attached to one end. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely untangle the rope from the shield strapped to my back. I had never had the fear this badly before. I could barely control my body at all. Beside me, on my right, was Thomas, calm and cool. He saw I was in difficulties and deftly slipped the rope from my shoulders.\n\nI found I was murmuring a prayer to St Michael, my protector, but in my heart I was screaming: 'God, have mercy on me and preserve my miserable skin this night. I beg you. Let me not be slain or maimed or put in unendurable pain and I will give you anything you require, my chastity, my lifelong devotion, anything.'\n\nMy whole body ached; I shivered, my legs quaked. A voice inside me was screaming: 'Run, run for your life.' It took all my strength just to stand there, waiting, waiting for the order to die. I thought I would vomit at any minute; I felt a spurt of thick urine warm my legs and dribble stickily inside my mail-clad thighs.\n\nOn my left was a massive, dark presence and in my confusion I imagined that it must be Little John beside me. I think I must have been out of my senses with fear by then, for John spoke to me. I heard his deep familiar voice as clear as a church bell:\n\n'Live, Alan, live like a man \u2013 until you die.'\n\nAnd suddenly I was calm. Just like that. I felt as if the endless strength of my huge friend, or perhaps his indomitable spirit, had entered my chest and belly like a solid fire. My torso felt strangely warm, hot even. I looked down at my hands and saw that the trembling had completely stopped. My vision seemed clearer, my limbs seemed to glow with renewed strength, my legs were springier, my arms more powerful. My heart was light and free of fear. I breathed in deeply and the night air on my tongue tasted as delicious as a clear mountain stream. I felt I could conquer armies single-handed. It was nothing short of miraculous. Little John had told me that Gavin had spoken to him on the eve of our defeat at Bouvines and I had not believed him, but here, now, John himself was with me, giving me courage from beyond the grave.\n\nI turned to my left to the vast dark shape to thank John for his wonderful gift, the gift of courage, and I saw in the moonlight that it was only Boot, a long, knotted club in his hands, looking down on me with a strange perplexed expression.\n\nI made one more brief, silent prayer for the soul of my dear friend.\n\n'Time to go,' Robin said in my ear.\n\n'Yes,' I said, 'it is time. It is high time.' And I launched myself eagerly forward \u2013 into the bloody fire of battle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "We ran, all twelve of us, with the ropes in our hands, splashing through the stinking sludge of the moat and up the other side. I looked up at the walls towering above me but there was no sign of the sentry I had seen before. It was well past midnight in the long lonely hours before dawn and I would not have been surprised if the sentry had found himself a quiet corner for a sit-down and maybe a snooze. I swung my hooks briefly in a circle and hurled them towards the top of the wall. Beside me I was aware of Thomas doing the same thing and further along Robin and a knot of Kirkton men swinging their iron hooks and letting fly. My hook bit into the top of the parapet with a dull metallic clang. And I was climbing like a monkey, buoyed up by a glowing strength from beyond the grave. I was only halfway up the rope, my arm muscles aching, when I heard a loud shout of alarm from above and a surprised face under a broad helmet peered over the parapet and straight down at my climbing form.\n\nThe sentry had not been as vigilant as he might have been, but he had not been asleep at his post. He was three feet above me, shouting 'To arms, to arms!' and I saw a blade flash in the moonlight \u2013 he aimed to cut my rope and send me tumbling to earth.\n\nAn arrow flashed through the air and smashed into the sentry's cheek, and the face above me was jerked away. I gave a final heave and rolled over the top of the parapet, the first man there. I hauled out Fidelity \u2013 and just in time. A second sentry rushed at me along the walkway on the inside of the parapet, a spear in his hands. He stopped out of range of my blade and poked at me with the spear. I seized the wooden shaft of the weapon and hauled forward; the man came staggering towards me and I crunched Fidelity into his upper left arm. The blade was kept from his flesh by his mail but I felt bone crack and he screamed like a woman in childbirth.\n\nI stepped in and punched Fidelity's hilt into his face, knocking him backwards into empty air, and he fell kicking wildly and his back slapped on to the paving stones of the courtyard eighteen feet below. I paused for a moment to get my shield off my back and my left arm through the slings; my skin was burning, my heart galloping, a wild reckless joy running like white lightning through my veins.\n\nAn arched door at the end of the walkway, where the wall met the north tower, was swinging open and I saw half a dozen heads peering out. I snatched a glance behind me; there was Thomas, drawn sword in hand, and beyond him Boot, scowling like a fiend with a huge wooden club held across his chest. And beyond them Robin with two of his men. My friends were all with me. Little John was with me.\n\nThe enemy were now spilling out of the door and advancing along the walkway to me. The time for silence was over; the alarm had been raised all through Newgate. But I did not care a jot \u2013 I was lifted on the wings of battle. I roared: 'Westbury!' and charged straight into the pack of enemy men-at-arms by the tower.\n\nThe spirit of my friend possessed me bone and blood. I felt invulnerable, as mighty as a mountain and without the slightest shred of apprehension. I bowled into the men at the tower door, chopping my enemies down with Fidelity, punching them away with my shield; my blade was faster than a striking adder, more powerful than a thunderbolt \u2013 I burst through the half a dozen men cowering there, reaping lives like Death himself. Boot was at my back, swiping any man who escaped past me with his club, smashing skulls apart like rotten apples, and in one brief instant between the furious clash of steel and thump of metal on wood and the screaming of men, in one brief window of quiet, I realised that the big dark man was singing.\n\nHe was singing 'My Joy Summons Me'.\n\nThe enemy were running before my onslaught. Thomas was at my side now, cutting and lunging. The press of men fell away, scurrying down the spiral stairs of the tower, and Robin was shouting: 'The gates, Alan, make for the gates.'\n\nI tumbled down the stairs after the fleeing foe, Thomas and Robin behind me, Boot behind them, his singing echoing like church music in the enclosed space of the stone spiral staircase. We shot out of the base of the tower and pulled up short \u2013 a score of men-at-arms and a pair of knights were formed up in the courtyard in a double line, rubbing sleep from their eyes, some still yawning, but armed and ready for battle.\n\nI did not halt for an instant. I bellowed my war cry and charged them, throwing myself at the centre of their line, Fidelity swinging, a blurring silver streak. I chopped into the shoulder of one man-at-arms and he fell screaming at my feet. I lifted my shield high and took a sword-blow safely on the oak-rim. I felt a spear slide under the shield and punch through my mail at my waist. I had no sensation of pain. Just a feeling of a hard blow against my lowest ribs on the left. I surged forward, slicing my sword into the face of a screaming man; I killed another with a straight lunge to the throat, and cut the legs from beneath a knight at the back of the line with a low sweep. Robin was killing beside me, and Sir Thomas, magnificent as ever, was cutting down foes left and right with a chilly precision. A rush of fresh enemy men-at-arms from the right was met square on by Boot, who swept them casually aside with great loops of his club, like a goodwife clearing cobwebs with her broom.\n\nA knight engaged me: two fast blows at my head and upper body. I parried the first, stepped in past the second, in close to his body and smashed my helmeted forehead full into his face. He staggered back and I rammed Fidelity hard into his belly, punching the blade straight through his mail and into the soft guts behind.\n\nI looked behind me at the huge oak double door and saw that Robin and John Halfpenny were struggling to lift the vast bar that kept it securely closed.\n\nI shouted to Boot: 'Help them, man, help with the gate!' and saw the giant nod, discard his club and lumber over to my lord.\n\nWe had killed or incapacitated a goodly number of the enemy by now; the bodies of dead or broken men were all over the courtyard, blood was slick underfoot. But we had not won. There were more and more men debouching into the courtyard from the buildings that surrounded it and the south tower on the far side of the gate. Twenty, thirty, now fifty men. But they were wary of us and our bloodied blades.\n\nI shouted: 'To me! To me!' And gathered as many men as I could around Sir Thomas and myself. We formed a thin line, just eight men, protecting the gate where Robin and Boot had finally managed to lift the bar from its brackets.\n\nThe enemy were coming at us now in earnest. A knight in a full-face helmet with a red plume was exhorting them to battle and about two score men were now running forward, spears and swords, raised shields and grim expressions. They were twenty yards way, and the certain knowledge dawned on me. They would charge and swamp us. And that would be the end.\n\nSo be it.\n\nI lifted Fidelity and made ready to run at them. Our feeble line would not hold against so many and I wanted to attack, anyway. 'Live, Alan,' I thought, filed with a searing, impossible joy, 'live like a man \u2013 until you die!'\n\nI opened my mouth, took a deep breath \u2026\n\nA swarm of arrow shafts hummed over my head and smashed into the advancing enemy. A dozen men fell in that one stroke. I looked behind me and saw that the gates were wide open and the archers of Sherwood were formed up on the bridge beyond. I saw Mastin drop his arm, and another lethal flight of shafts whirred through the air and smashed into the enemy. Half of them were now stuck with feathers, a quarter dead outright. And there were men-at-arms charging through the open gate by now, Robin's men, eager and fresh. But the battle was over. I saw the red-plumed knight make one last attempt to rally his shattered men, but they were all running for their lives \u2013 disappearing into the darkness between the buildings on the far side of the courtyard, slipping away into the shadowy bulk of London and safety.\n\nThe knight gave one last despairing glance at me and then he, too, turned tail and ran swiftly away into the shadows."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "The Army of God arrived an hour before dawn. They had been marching all night and were on the point of exhaustion. But their efforts were not in vain. We occupied Newgate and the surrounding fortifications and sent word with the dawn via Cousin Henry to Robin's friends and acquaintances all across London. By the time the church bells were ringing out the office of prime, a cheering crowd had gathered that stretched from Newgate all the way down Watling Street to St Paul's Cathedral. Within hours, the King's garrisons in the city gates surrendered their arms \u2013 all except the Flemish mercenaries who held the Tower of London. However, they could not recapture the city and it would have cost us blood to take the strongest castle in England. So, on Robin's advice we ignored the Tower, and left the Flemings, under watch by a company of Fitzwalter's men, to their own devices.\n\nLondon was ours and a mood of general rejoicing gripped the whole city. Apprentices were given a half-day holiday, merchants closed their warehouses, artisans put up the shutters and the taverns were thronged with celebrants. The church bells rang out from dawn to dusk in celebration; the streets echoed with happy singing and the laughter of men released from their labours. Even when the Earl of Salisbury and his troops arrived the next day, the mood of defiant joy continued. William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, was politely but firmly refused the city by Lord Fitzwalter and the Army of God, who manned the walls in a show of our strength, heavily reinforced with thousands of men from the city's militia bands.\n\nLongsword did not stay long. He withdrew his forces to Windsor, a day's march away; for the King had finally quit Oxford and set up his headquarters in the castle there. The Earl was right to do so because, two days after the Army of God had entered the city, the first of the reluctant barons, those who had slipped away at Bedford, began to descend on London with their men, protesting that they had always been loyal to the rebellion, that they would gladly fight and die for the great charter. The waverers were flocking to our banner, just as Robin had predicted, and if Salisbury and his loyalist forces had not withdrawn, he would have been caught between two or even three vengeful rebel fires.\n\nI missed most of the celebrations, however. The spear thrust to my waist had sliced through the skin and fat below my ribs but, praise God and all the saints, had not pierced my intestines. It was a long, deep painful cut, that had required to be stitched up, and the learned London physician who did the stitching \u2013 a rich friend of Cousin Henry's \u2013 told me that I should not walk about or undertake any strenuous activity for some days and weeks. I spent the time at my former lodgings in Friday Street, where I was treated as a hero by my host, Master Luke Benning, a merchant friend of Lord Fitzwalter who had made his fortune in amber from the Baltic. Master Benning left me to myself but told me to treat the house and its servants as my own. I was, in fact, well tended by Boot, who bustled around me, bringing me potions and salves guaranteed to have a healing effect.\n\nRobert had asked if he might lodge with Miles and Hugh at Robin's merchant friend's house in Queen's Hythe, and I had agreed. It is no fun for a youngster to be around an invalid. And Thomas, after dumping his baggage in one of the chambers on the second floor, disappeared for two days and nights and I assumed that, despite his promise to the pretty Westbury girl Mary, he had surrendered to his old vice. I could not feel angry with him for I judged that he had richly earned a reward.\n\nMy wound healed well over the next few days of idleness, while London celebrated and lords Fitzwalter, de Vesci and Locksley sent out messengers to all parts of the country urging great men to join our cause. The barons were still coming to our side in increasing numbers, now that we held London. And in other parts of the country, most notably in Lincoln and Exeter, but also in towns and manors from the Welsh marshes to the Kent coast, from the Humber to Hampshire, rebels were challenging the King's officials \u2013 particularly in the afforested areas \u2013 seizing royal castles, torching royal manors and executing sheriffs, foresters, verderers and other cruel and corrupt officials out of hand. After decades of oppression, it seemed, the whole country had united against the King. The English are slow to anger, I have always found, but when sufficiently roused an Englishman's ire is more terrible than any other man's. And during those joyous, victorious weeks in early June, England burned.\n\nMeanwhile, I was snug in Friday Street. I swallowed the possets Boot brought me, drank down my potions and began to give the big man a few rudimentary lessons in the vielle \u2013 and found to my surprise that he had a natural aptitude for the instrument, an affinity with the notes and their combinations that was beautiful, indeed not all that far from magical.\n\nI also had plenty of time on my hands to think.\n\nTwo questions were exercising my thoughts more than any other: who was this informant who had revealed to the Templars that we had given them the wrong Grail? And was this person the same man who had told King John that I was planning to attack him outside St Paul's and so caused my arrest and downfall?\n\nThe second question was more easily answered. No. There was no reason to assume these were the same men. It was perfectly possible for two men to hate Robin and myself so much that they would wish our destruction \u2013 indeed, it was extremely likely, as my lord and I had made more enemies in our lives than either of us could easily contemplate. So I decided to treat the two questions as separate and see if that took me any further forward. Who had known that I would make my attempt on the King on that precise day in St Paul's Courtyard? Fitzwalter and De Vesci knew, and perhaps some of their men knew. I knew. No one else knew the exact time and place. I had told nobody what I was planning. Had I? A few others close to me such as Thomas and Robin might have guessed, but nobody else knew. I puzzled over this for the best part of a day and still could not find a solution.\n\nThe answer came from Robert's lips. He came to see me one morning, to see how my wound was healing and to show me his new dog. It was a lurcher bitch with almost the same colouring as the one that had died after the battle outside the walls of Westbury. He had bought it that very morning. I admired the dog, even after it pissed all over the floor of my chamber, and told Robert that he must take good care of it and make sure that he paid attention to its training.\n\n'I will, Father,' said Robert. 'But it was no fault of mine that Vixen died. She was poisoned, I am sure of it. The swiftness with which she died, her death agonies, the wild contortions of her body. There can be no other explanation.'\n\nThen everything fell into place. With a dreadful sinking sensation, I had the answer. I had been a blind fool. The person who had betrayed me to the King was the same person who had poisoned Robert's dog. I could hardly bear to think about it; indeed, for several hours my mind refused to accept it. But it was undoubtedly true, and there was no escaping the dismal truth.\n\nWhen Robert had gone, later that same day, I turned my mind to the first question: the identity of the Grail informer. That proved almost as painful as the first. I was lying abed, it being long past nightfall, when the second solution came to me, more slowly this time but with equal surety. I did not sleep a wink that night as my mind wrestled with itself. For as I recalled exactly what Brother Geoffrey had said to me, the precise words, I knew who it must be who had betrayed us to the Order. I knew the informant must be one of two people \u2013 and that Robin dearly loved them both.\n\nThat long sleepless night, as I considered betrayal in all its forms, I also spent a number of the hours of darkness thinking about courage. I still believed that Little John had come to me from beyond the grave and given me his strength in my hour of need; he had killed all my fear and given me the power to face the blades of my enemies. But there are many kinds of courage, I reflected, and I knew that I was still sorely lacking in one particular kind. Would that my dead friend could grant me that. For I knew that in the morning, I had to go to Robin and give him the fruits of my sad deliberations, and I dreaded it. All that night I twisted the idea in my mind, trying to find a way to tell him that would not end our long friendship. I could not see one. In the end, sleepless, as I heard the cocks announcing the arrival of dawn, I prayed to God and begged Little John to stand beside me once more, as I pulled on my hose, tunic and cloak, and made my way through the quiet dawn streets of London to the house where Robin \u2013 and the informant \u2013 both lived.\n\nA servant let me into the big house at Queen's Hythe \u2013 it was a wine merchant's abode and more than spacious \u2013 and he offered to take me to the hall where Robin was breaking his fast with his two sons and Robert. I demurred. I wished to speak to Robin in private, I said, and the servant, looking perplexed, ushered me into a small parlour and bade me wait there.\n\nI helped myself to a cup of wine from the sideboard. It was only a little after dawn but I sorely needed the drink.\n\nRobin came striding into the room in a gust of energy and happiness: 'Alan, there you are,' he said, 'I have no idea why Piers put you in here \u2013 don't be offended, I beg you. You look put out. I have news that will lift your spirits no end: King John has capitulated. He has agreed to the charter. Can you believe it?'\n\nRobin's words wiped all other thoughts from my mind.\n\n'Is this true? When did this happen?' I said.\n\n'Well, he has not set his seal on the document yet \u2013 but he will. Archbishop Langton has worn out a dozen horses going back and forth between us and the King at Windsor, and John, of course, squirmed, prevaricated and protested a great deal \u2013 but finally we have an agreement. The archbishop put it to him that, the way things are going with the rebellion, he would surely not remain King for much longer if he refused to sign. Is that not wonderful? We have a meeting agreed: all the barons are to meet the King under a flag of truce at a place halfway between Staines and Windsor, by the river, someplace called Runnymede. I see you have already started celebrating,' he said with a nod at the empty cup of wine in my hand. 'Come through to the hall and have another drink and some breakfast.'\n\nIt was indeed the most wonderful news, but I had my painful duty to perform first \u2013 and once I had told Robin what I knew in my heart I did not believe I would be invited to breakfast or any other meal with him again.\n\n'I must talk to you, my lord, in private,' I said.\n\n'You seem awfully serious, Alan, what is it?'\n\n'I know the identity of the informant \u2013 I know now who told the Templars about the Grail, or rather I know that it must be one of two men. I must tell you now, with the greatest regret, that the informant must be either Miles or Hugh.'\n\n'Hmm,' said Robin. 'That's what you truly think, is it? Tell me your reasoning, Alan. And this had better be good.'\n\nI swallowed: 'The Templar Brother Geoffrey told me in Nottingham Castle that the informant was young \u2013 \"our young informant\", he called him. And the only people who could honestly be described as young and who also knew about the false Grail were Miles and Hugh. It must be one of them.'\n\nRobin was very quiet then, but I took that as a good sign: he could have been calling for his sword or for armed guards to have me thrown into the street. He said: 'I suppose your reasoning is that Miles has long worshipped the Templars; he was even trained by some of the Brothers, and so he decided to betray me because he loves them more than me \u2013 is that it? And Hugh, well, we all know Hugh is illegitimate, the bastard son of Ralph Murdac, so he must be a villain. Is that your reasoning, Alan? Is that really it?'\n\nIt was, and in bed the night before it had seemed irrefutable proof. Now when Robin said the words out loud it seemed utterly fanciful and ridiculous. I nodded but said nothing.\n\nRobin said: 'I think you are wrong. But even if you are not \u2013 what has this wicked informant of ours actually done? Do you think he was the man who betrayed you to the King at St Paul's?'\n\nI managed to say no; that I thought that was someone else.\n\n'So all this informant has done is let slip that we played a trick on the Templars a dozen years ago. Yet the Order would have discovered our ruse in time, I am sure of it, I was sure of it then. So \u2013 to me \u2013 it does not feel like this informant has committed such a terrible crime. In fact, even if it were another man who informed on me, and not one of my sons, I do not think I would seek revenge. Perhaps I am getting old, but a little tattle-taling does not seem a worthwhile cause in which to spill a man's blood. And if the informant truly is one of my sons, do you not think I would forgive them? My own sons?'\n\n'They did cause the deaths of several men when the Templars attacked Kirkton and Westbury,' I said.\n\nI felt disconcertingly off-balance. I remembered a time when Robin would have had a man's tongue torn from his mouth for informing on him. Now, apparently, he merely shrugged it away. How my lord had changed with the blessing of time.\n\n'Alan, Alan, those deaths were not fully the informant's fault. So he blabbed a little, the Templars got the wrong idea, we fought them and some men died. Fighting men die all the time, that is what they do. One day you and I will die in battle. Is that a reason to take a sword to my sons, break Marie-Anne's heart with grief, and spoil the harmony of my household? I think not.'\n\nI knew he was right. And it was slowly dawning on me that I had made a colossal idiot of myself yet again.\n\n'I would like to know the answer to the riddle,' I mumbled.\n\n'Very well, Alan, come and we shall ask them to their faces.' My lord strode from the parlour and along the corridor to the hall.\n\nThe three young men were seated at one end of the long table, all convulsed with some jest that Miles had made, or at least so I guessed. Miles had a sly satisfied grin on his face; tears were streaming down Robert's cheeks, and even Hugh was guffawing, and unusually loudly for such a normally sober fellow.\n\n'Boys, I have a question for you,' said Robin, when the tumult had died down. 'As Miles and Hugh both know, some years back I played a low trick on the Knights of the Temple and exchanged a gold cup with them for our lives when we were in a tight situation. They believed it was the true Cup of Christ, although it most certainly was not. I have told you this story before, yes?'\n\nMiles and Hugh both nodded.\n\n'I also swore you to secrecy, if I remember rightly,' said Robin. 'So tell me honestly, and I swear I will not be angry so long as you give me the truth \u2013 have either of you told anyone else this tale?'\n\nMiles and Hugh looked at each other. Hugh shrugged. But Miles turned to Robin and lifted his hand.\n\n'You told someone, Miles?' said Robin.\n\n'I did, Father,' said Miles, looking uncharacteristically shamefaced. 'I told one person \u2013 and I'm sorry for breaking my word to you. But I thought it would be all right \u2013 he being sort of family, in a way, and his father being involved, too.'\n\n'He told me,' said Robert. I could see that he was trying to keep a bold face, but a corner of his mouth was wobbling.\n\n'And have you told anyone else this tale?' I asked. 'Tell me truthfully, Robert, and I too swear I shall not be angry.'\n\n'Oh, Father, I'm sorry, but I told some of the boys at Pembroke Castle. The other squires were all so nasty to me and I wanted to impress them. So I told then that my father had the true, the only Holy Grail in his possession. It was a black lie \u2013 I know it, know it was very wrong and I am so sorry, Father, but I told them the story of the Grail at Monts\u00e9gur, the wonderful tale that Miles told me; all the rest I just made up.'\n\nThe boy burst into anguished tears.\n\nI had no difficulty in forgiving Robert for his boyish indiscretion. I understood entirely how it must have come about. Friendless in Pembroke and far behind the other boys in his military training, Robert, the newcomer, had sought to gain approval of the other squires with the only coin he had. The other boys had no doubt passed on the tale to Brother Geoffrey \u2013 mayhap taunting the Templar mischievously with his Order's blind stupidity over the affair.\n\nWe had our breakfast, a merry meal, all reconciled, and myself feeling greatly abashed. My fears that one of Robin's sons was secretly working against him had been proved groundless, and Robin's news that the rebellion was won and that the King would seal the charter lifted my spirits no end. I understood, too, who Brother Geoffrey had been indicating with a jerk of his chin when he had told me that the informant said we still had the Grail. Not Thomas. He had been indicating Robert. He did not know that the boy had simply been lying.\n\nI asked Robert, quite casually, if he had told Brother Geoffrey about the Grail or if he had just told the other boys at Pembroke, and Robert's reaction startled me. His face went pale as chalk and he refused to meet my gaze.\n\n'I would not tell that man anything willingly,' he said.\n\n'Was he so very hard on you while you were there?' I asked.\n\n'It is not that \u2013 he was a stern master, to be sure, but he was hard on all of us alike. It was not that. He did \u2026 other things. Sinful things. At night, he'd call me to his cell and then\u2026' He stopped.\n\nAnd after that I could not get another word out of him.\n\nMy heart had turned to ice. I saw that Robin was listening to the boy's talk with a face like stone. My lord said: 'Miles, Hugh, take Robert with you and see to the pavilion. It needs to be thoroughly aired before we depart tomorrow. And I want you to check the horses and also make sure the servants have packed suitable amounts of wine \u2013 if all goes according to plan with the King, we shall be celebrating.' And yet Robin's voice did not sound in the slightest as if he were planning a celebration.\n\n'Alan, stay a while. I would like to have a private word with you, if I may.'\n\nI had risen from the table, heedless of my lord's words, and I was making for the door. I had one thing on my mind and that was blood. The Templar would die screaming.\n\nRobin caught my arm. 'Wait, Alan. We will do this thing together. We must not be hasty. Wait, I beg you, and I swear we shall have the truth out of this man. And he shall pay, but you must not go off full of rage like this.'\n\n'He \u2026 he hurt my son.' I could barely speak for wrath.\n\n'Alan, look at me!' I stared into Robin's face, managing to find my focus.\n\n'We will do this together. I swear it. You want revenge and you shall have it. But we need to plan. We need time. You will throw your life away if you go up against the Templars alone. And where would Robert be then? You and I will do this, quietly, without fanfare, but we'll do it after the charter is signed. Do you hear me?'\n\nMy lord was speaking good sense. And slowly mine returned, too. For Robert's sake, I could not afford to be reckless. I would settle with this vile Templar calmly, permanently and with Robin's help after this business with the King.\n\nAt Runnymede."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "There was nothing much to see at Runnymede \u2013 no castle, town or church: it was just a long meadow beside the meandering course of the River Thames; good horse country, lush, flat and green, with thickly wooded rising ground to the south. But Robin told me that this very piece of land had once been a place where the Witan, the council of wise men, would meet with the King of England in the days before the Normans overran this island. I doubt if more than a handful of the rebel barons of the Army of God knew that fact when they met King John there two days after the ides of June, on the fifteenth day of that month. For most of the lords who gathered there, it was not a place hallowed by the councils of ages past, but a place of victory today.\n\nIt was a sparkling, jewel-like morning, the first true day of summer, and the fighting strength of England paraded in its splendour in the sunshine on that bloodless field of victory. Robin and I and about a score of his men-at-arms spent the night before at St Mary's Priory on the other side of the river, but we were up before dawn and ferried across the Thames by local boatmen to set up our pavilion with all the others. Although we were meeting under a flag of truce, there must have been a thousand men in mail there that day, tearing up the green turf with the hooves of their galloping destriers. The field was already dotted with brightly coloured tents and pavilions and the banners of a hundred noble families fluttered above them in the perfect clear air.\n\nThe King arrived last, a little before midday, as was fitting for royalty, even such a tawdry monarch as he. He came downstream from Windsor by royal barge, a low gilded boat, rowed by two dozen brawny mercenaries, and he was accompanied by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who more than any man, except perhaps Robin, was the architect of the final agreement that had been hammered out between the King and Fitzwalter's rebels.\n\nAs the King stepped off the barge and on to the green turf surrounded by a screen of crossbowmen, he stumbled and a big bearded bowman in royal livery of scarlet and gold lunged forward and caught the royal arm to prevent John tumbling to his knees in front of the whole baronage of England. I was about five paces away, in the forefront of a crowd of Robin's men, and I caught the crossbowman's eye as he helped the King to right himself: it was Stevin, the garlic-loving lout who had given me so many beatings when I was his prisoner. I winked at him and grinned \u2013 he scowled in return, and quickly looked about him to see that the guards were in their places between me and the King.\n\nJohn himself looked ill and tired. His hair had lost the red-gold sheen of his family and was now a washed-out browny-grey. His face was lined and pale, and there were circles under his eyes. He looked beaten, unslept and more than a little afraid.\n\nThe crossbowmen made a lane through the press of men-at-arms, and many of the watching men, even now, knelt in the presence of royalty. I did not. I looked on, standing tall and proud, as John was guided across the few hundred yards of flat green field with the Archbishop of Canterbury on one side and his brother the Earl of Salisbury on the other, and the crowd of barons, knights and men-at-arms following behind. The King raised his chin and made at least a pretence of dignity as he was shown to a dais which had been set up on the rising slope. He seated himself at a great wooden throne before a broad oak table and a priest began a loud prayer of thanks for the blessing of peace throughout the land.\n\nThe barons of England crowded forward around the King and the table at which he sat, and there was more than a little jostling from the big men in bright surcoats and armour as they crushed in under the awning, eager to witness his humiliation. John closed his eyes, like a child wishing the rest of the world to be invisible.\n\nThe Archbishop of Canterbury took a large piece of almost square parchment from the table, held it aloft so that all might see it, and in a loud commanding voice he began to read in beautiful Latin the following resounding words:\n\n'John, by the grace of God King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, to his archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, barons, justices, foresters, sheriffs, stewards, servants, and to all his officials and loyal subjects, Greeting.\n\n'Know that before God, for the health of our soul and those of our ancestors and heirs, to the honour of God, the exaltation of the holy Church, and the better ordering of our kingdom, at the advice of our reverend fathers Stephen, Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of All England, and cardinal of the holy Roman Church\u2026'\n\nThere followed a list of the assembled bishops and barons, and as each name was mentioned I looked at the man who owned it: Master Pandulf, a tall austere figure in black, who served as legate to the new overlord of England, now sitting on St Peter's throne in Rome; Aymeric de St Maur, Master of the Templars, who was staring at me with a particularly intense expression; William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, was there too and I looked to see if his almoner was with him. Despite my promise to Robin that I would do nothing until after the ceremony, I did not know if I could keep my word if I found myself within striking distance of Brother Geoffrey. But there was no sign of that beast in human form. William, Earl of Salisbury, John's half-brother but a decent man at heart, was there; Hubert de Burgh, seneschal of Poitou, a severe hawk of a man whom I had known in Normandy, too; as well as the earls of Warren and Arundel, Oxford, Winchester and Essex and a host of lesser barons and knights. On the far side of the table I could see Lord Fitzwalter, who was glowing with his triumph, and Lord de Vesci leering with satisfaction. By my left elbow was Robin, serene and faintly smiling. On my right was Thomas. The knight had been absent for some days, and he had returned the night before the ceremony, looking tired and drawn but well pleased with himself. I asked him, a little sourly, if he had had a good win at the dice tables. But he looked hurt and said that he had not been gaming since he had promised Mary. I did not believe him. But I was too low in spirits to challenge his lies. It was in truth none of my business, either. And so I let it pass.\n\nThe archbishop read on through clause after clause that had already been painstakingly agreed with the King over the past few days. The archbishop spoke of the freedom of the Church, of the fair inheritance of lands, of the rights of widows and debtors, he spoke of scutage and taxes and the liberties to be enjoyed by the city of London. Then he spoke the very words that had so warmed my heart in Alnwick:\n\n'No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land.'\n\nOnce more those words made my heart glow: they meant that I could never again be slung into a gaol to starve my life away without fair trial, and neither would any other free man. For those words alone, I felt, the struggle had been worth it.\n\nThe clauses went on and on, dealing with the right of free movement for merchants and promises to reform the harsh forest laws, and just as I was growing a little bored, Robin nudged me and murmured in my ear, 'Pay attention to this one, Alan,' and I heard the archbishop read out the following:\n\n'We will remove completely from their offices the kinsmen of G\u00e9rard d'Ath\u00e9e, and in future they shall hold no offices in England. The people in question are Engelard de Cigogn\u00e9, Peter, Guy, and Andrew de Chanceaux, Guy de Cigogn\u00e9, Geoffrey de Martigny and his brothers, Philip Marc and his brothers, with Geoffrey his nephew, and all their followers.'\n\nI almost missed the name. But Robin made it clear to me in a low whisper. 'Philip Marc has already been dismissed as sheriff of Nottinghamshire, he left the castle two days ago, and I have arranged a new man for the position. He's called Lowdham, a mild-mannered, decent fellow, and I think you'll find him a good deal less demanding. You'll meet him in due course \u2013 we're to install him in his new post, help him settle in.'\n\nI felt a lightening of my heart, despite the rage and grief that still gripped me. With Philip Marc gone, there would be no more danger to Robert or to Westbury over my unpaid scutage. If this Lowdham fellow was half as reasonable as Robin had suggested, I might not have to pay the tax Marc had demanded at all. A wash of gratitude filled my heart for my lord and his kindness.\n\nI looked at the King and saw that his eyes were still tightly shut as they had been throughout the long recitation \u2013 but as the archbishop wound on and on and at last mentioned the council of twenty-five barons who would oversee the King's actions and whose duty it would be to seize the King's castles and lands if he broke the promises made today, I saw John's eyes snap open and a spark of some strong dark emotion burn in their faded depths.\n\nKing John is not quite so reconciled to this great charter as many suppose, I thought to myself. I found myself suddenly looking straight into the sovereign's eyes and he was looking into mine \u2013 and I realised that this was an expression that I could much more easily unravel. It was a look of pure and poisonous hatred.\n\nAt last, archbishop Langton was done. Silence fell over the assembled men. Clerks bustled forward. Hot green wax was dripped on a thick piece of tape attached to the bottom of the parchment. John had the Great Seal in his hand \u2013 and at the last moment he hesitated. A strong gust rustled the square piece of parchment, threatening to blow it away and hurl it into the crowd of men gathered around the table.\n\nThe archbishop slapped his hand on the charter, pinning it to the table. In the hush of expectation it sounded as loud and harsh as the crack of a whip.\n\n'You must seal it, sire, before the wax dries,' Langton said.\n\nJohn stared up into the churchman's face for a moment, then he swiftly stabbed the Great Seal into the spreading pool.\n\nThe King stood up abruptly. 'Are we done? Can I go now?' he said to the archbishop.\n\n'Sire, you may, of course, do whatever you choose,' said Langton. 'You are the King. But first, perhaps, your royal highness might like to take the homage of the assembled baronage of all England.'\n\n'Oh yes, the homage. The oath of fidelity,' he sneered. 'As if that ever stopped them doing whatever they damn well please.'\n\nAnd with these gracious words King John of England took the oaths of allegiance from the noblemen of England, in which they lined up before the throne and one by one swore henceforth to be his faithful and loyal vassals.\n\nRobin was one of the first to renew his allegiance. As soon as he was finished, we pushed our way through the throng and headed back to our pavilion.\n\n'Do you think he will keep to the terms of the charter?' I said to Robin as we walked across that flat green space to our pavilion.\n\n'For a week, even a month or two, maybe \u2026 To answer your question truthfully: no, he will not keep to it. But that is not the point, Alan. The point is that he has sworn to keep to it. He has given his sacred word in front of all the great men of the land. And even more importantly than that, the charter has been sealed into English law by the King himself. For the first time ever, the King has agreed to be bound by law like any man. And nothing John or his heirs and successors do can undo that. We have won, Alan, we have won a great victory: for ourselves, for our sons, for England.'\n\nWe celebrated with wine in the tent \u2013 Miles and Hugh and Robert making the gathering a raucous one with their youthful japes and pranks. Thomas, too, was in high spirits, jesting with the boys as if he were still a young gallant himself. Even Boot was mutely pleased and drank wine from a vessel that was either an enormous cup or a small bucket, depending on your point of view, smiling beneficently and silently at the gathering. I drank with determination. Only a vast quantity of wine, I felt, could wash away the sorrows that beset my heart even on that happy day.\n\nI stood up, a little unsteady after my fifth cup of wine, about to make a toast to my lord and to thank him for his kindnesses, when I was interrupted by a commotion outside the tent and a strong, martial voice demanding entry of the sentry outside.\n\nThe flap lifted and into the heart of our merrymaking strode Aymeric de St Maur, Master of all the Templars of England.\n\n'Sir Aymeric,' said Robin, 'I am so glad you could join us. A cup of wine?'\n\n'I'll take wine, yes, thank you,' said Aymeric. He received his cup and lifted it in greeting to us all.\n\n'I must admit,' the Master said, 'I was rather surprised to receive your invitation, Locksley. As you know, there is a grave matter that lies between us and despite several invitations I was beginning to think that you would not take counsel with us under any circumstances. I had feared that I might have to come all the way to your gates in Yorkshire just to make you speak with me.'\n\n'You would be right to fear that,' I said, feeling the good wine rushing through my veins. 'When your men came to Westbury we taught them a valuable lesson; and we will gladly teach them another at any time you care to choose.'\n\n'Alan!' said Robin, frowning at me. 'The Master is our guest, do not give him cause for offence today, I beg you.'\n\n'I know Sir Alan of old,' said Sir Aymeric, 'and I have admired him for years; it would take a great deal for a man of his courage and skill to offend me. And since he has brought it up \u2013 I must apologise for the events at Westbury last spring. Brother Geoffrey was a zealous knight, a true warrior of Christ, of course, and a fine priest, but he did sometimes overreach himself. Mistakes were made\u2014'\n\n'You said he was a zealous knight,' I said, my anger close to boiling over. 'Do you no longer consider him one?'\n\n'Alas, my friend, Brother Geoffrey has been called to God.'\n\nI was stunned. 'Do you mean he is dead?' I said stupidly.\n\n'Sadly so. He was set upon by a murderous thief in London not far from the gates of the Temple itself just two days ago. Some blackguard lay in wait for him and cut his throat from ear to ear, nearly took his head off.'\n\n'I am sorry to hear it,' said Robin, smoothly. 'The streets of London grow more perilous by the day. We really must do something about it.'\n\n'Indeed, and it was a most curious crime. The thief must have been a man of prowess, for Brother Geoffrey, while advanced in age, was still a formidable fighter, and yet this thief defeated him with no great difficulty, or so it would seem. Poor Brother Geoffrey's purse was missing \u2013 which is why it must have been a thief \u2013 but his body was also mutilated. His attacker cut his manhood from his body and left his male part in the poor fellow's mouth.'\n\nSir Aymeric's tone had hardened as he spoke these words. 'We will investigate the matter further and with all the resources at our disposal. And rest assured that we will find the thief, in time, and when we do Brother Geoffrey will be avenged.'\n\nThere was a long, awkward silence in that hot tent. Not a man spoke. I was frowning at Robin. Two days ago? Surely Robin did not know what kind of man Brother Geoffrey was before yesterday at breakfast.\n\n'More wine, Sir Aymeric,' said my lord in a voice of silk.\n\n'Thank you, yes. But perhaps we had better get to the crux of things,' said the Master of the Temple briskly. 'Do you have it? Do you have the Grail? Will you willingly surrender it to me?'\n\n'No,' said Robin. 'I do not have it, and I will tell you why.'\n\n'You say you do not have it,' said Sir Aymeric slowly. 'Why then did you invite me here today?'\n\n'My lord, you know well enough that I am not \u2013 how shall I put it? \u2013 the most devoted of the Church's servants.'\n\nSir Aymeric made a coughing sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh.\n\nRobin continued: 'I fully admit that I did not treat fairly with Guy d'\u00c9pernay outside the walls of Monts\u00e9gur. I gave him a false Grail. I lied to him. But I had already made a solemn commitment concerning that relic to another man, an old priest and my friend, that I particularly wished to honour. Also, I am the kind of man who does not respond well to threats. I wished to save my men and also honour my promise to my friend, and so I played your Order false. I am sorry, I am truly sorry for my actions and yet, I might well do the same again if I found myself in the same circumstances. I gave the false relic to the Templars. But mark this: the true one, much later, was destroyed in a fire in Toulouse. It was an object made of very old cedar wood and I saw it burn, and so did Sir Alan, for that matter. The true Grail no longer exists and I will swear on the souls of my two children' \u2013 Robin pointed at Miles and Hugh \u2013 'that now I speak only the truth in this matter.'\n\nSir Aymeric had his head cocked on one side and he seemed to be solemnly weighing Robin's words.\n\n'The true Grail is no more,' said Robin, 'but I would make amends to your Order for what I have done. And this is what I will offer in recompense. I will grant one wish, one boon, any favour that it is within my power to fulfil, anything to you as Master of the English Templars, or to any of your successors. If you ask me to kill a man, even a close friend or relative, I will do it with no questions asked. If you ask me to bathe in the font at St Paul's or juggle apples at Nottingham fair, I will do it with no demurral or hesitation. For one time only, your Order's lightest wish is my command. That is what I offer you if you will put this matter behind us. One favour, for the wrong I did you.'\n\nThe Master of the Templars was smiling calmly at Robin.\n\n'Three favours, my lord of Locksley,' he said. 'The true Grail, the cup of Christ, is worth at least three of your favours.'\n\n'No,' said Robin, his voice hard as stone. 'I will not change my offer. One favour is all I will give you. And I would remind you that I am not altogether defenceless. If you wish to make war on me and my friends \u2013 well, I believe we can withstand the force of your arms and even strike a few telling blows against the Order ourselves. If you choose war, so be it.'\n\n'Enough,' said Aymeric. 'Let us not descend to vulgar bluster. I do in fact believe you when you say the Grail is destroyed \u2013 it was reported lost to fire by the Templars of Toulouse. I had hoped that it was not true, but now I believe I must accept that it is. I do not think you would swear on the lives of your children that it was lost were it a lie. I am also pleased that you did not increase your offer to three favours. If you intended to be dishonest in this regard, it is as easy to promise three false boons as one. So I accept your offer \u2013 on behalf of the Order, myself and my successors. And we shall call on you for it, you may be sure of that. But until that day, I will treat you as a friend and not an enemy, and I trust you will do the same.'\n\nThe Templar raised his wine cup and drank.\n\n'I shall be honoured to,' said Robin, and he, too, raised his cup and drained it.\n\nWhen Sir Aymeric has taken his leave. I asked Thomas to accompany me for a stroll around the field of Runnymede while the servants began to dismantle the tent and pack our gear. The wine had given me something of a headache and, much as I longed to lie down somewhere quiet, I could not rest until I had said my piece to the dark-haired knight. We walked down the bank of the brown, slow-rolling Thames and sat on a dead tree by the water's edge.\n\n'I suppose I must thank you, Thomas,' I said.\n\n'Thank me for what, Sir Alan?'\n\n'For Brother Geoffrey.'\n\nSir Thomas Blood said nothing for a long while. And I watched as a pair of duck flashed through the air and landed with a splash in the water just before us. Then Sir Thomas said: 'If you are glad that Brother Geoffrey is dead, I believe your thanks should go to this thief that Sir Aymeric mentioned, whoever he might be.'\n\n'Thomas,' I said. 'I am not angry with you. I only learnt what that vile wretch did to Robert yesterday, and I would have ripped him apart myself. You have saved me a bloody task and it seems that you have accomplished it very neatly. So I thank you. I also apologise for accusing you of gaming when you were gone from my side.'\n\n'Only a fool would admit to committing a murder,' Thomas said carefully, 'even to a trusted friend. And particularly when the mighty Knights of the Temple have vowed to track down the perpetrator of the crime and have their vengeance.' He stopped and tossed a scrap of bark into the water, frightening the ducks into flight.\n\n'I do not wish to speak about this matter ever again,' Thomas said, 'either to you or to anybody else. But I will say this, and only this: your son Robert, whatever his shortcomings, whatever his strengths, is my friend. And any man who deliberately harms my friend will always suffer the consequences while I have strength.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Lord de Lowdham proved to be an amiable fellow, as reasonable as Robin had said, if slightly plump and near-sighted and, in my opinion, not overloaded with intellect. He seemed utterly determined to make everybody he met like him, which made him charming company, to be sure, but made me wonder whether he would be able to shoulder the burdens of the office of High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests with any degree of competence.\n\n'I am sure I shall find it a most taxing position,' said Lowdham, with a chuckle and a glance to see if I appreciated his hilarious jest. Then he saw my pained expression and said: 'But my lord of Locksley tells me that if I find myself in any difficulties I am always to seek your counsel. If you won't mind me constantly badgering you for advice, Sir Alan\u2026'\n\nI said that I did not mind and that I would be at his disposal whenever he needed me. Privately I thought that it would be satisfying to have the ear of the sheriff, and for once in my life not to be in conflict with the man in that powerful position.\n\nWe were riding north from London to Nottingham with Robin, Miles, Hugh, Sir Thomas, Boot, Robert and all Robin's men, plus a hundred men-at-arms in the red, blue and gold de Lacy livery, who belonged to Lowdham. He was a relative of the powerful de Lacy family, a nephew of old Roger, the stubborn defender of Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard, and cousin to the new young lord, his son John.\n\nJohn de Lacy had supported the rebellion almost from the start and he was now a power in the north. He had been allowed by King John to choose the new sheriff of the county, ably assisted by Robin and other northern magnates, and his amiable cousin Lord de Lowdham had been selected by popular acclaim \u2013 Robin was not the only one to realise that a pliable royal official at Nottingham would be a boon.\n\nOur official task was to escort Lowdham safely to Nottingham and install him as the new constable of the castle there. But there was another urgent matter that I wished to settle as soon as possible.\n\nWe left Runnymede that same afternoon the great charter was sealed and I confess that I hurried our party north. I wanted, if possible, to outstrip the news of John's humiliation, though it soon became apparent that it was a vain hope. Word of the charter travelled faster than lightning across the land and when we arrived at the town of Nottingham, at dusk on the second day, it was clear that the news had arrived well before us. As we rode our horses through the dim streets, Robin was recognised by many, and we were besieged with questions about what the new charter would mean to ordinary people. Would all tax debts be forgiven? Would no man ever be imprisoned again? Were the cruel forest laws abolished? The answer to all these questions was no. Indeed, I knew that for many English folk the extraordinary event that had occurred between the King and his barons in a Thames-side meadow would have very little or no impact on their daily lives.\n\nWe were swiftly admitted to the castle of Nottingham, even though it was past curfew, simply by announcing the presence of Lord de Lowdham, and showing the parchment that confirmed his new position as sheriff.\n\nI left Robin and Lowdham in the main hall, where the new lord of the castle insisted on meeting all the hall servants. Taking only Boot with me, I hurried to the great tower, a massive square fortification between the inner and middle baileys which housed the sleeping quarters of the castle's more senior knights.\n\nI ran up the stairs and sped down a corridor and stopped dead outside a large oak door, my hand poised to turn the handle and ready to barge straight in.\n\nWhat stopped me was the sound of a voice.\n\nA female voice. And it was speaking about me:\n\n'\u2026whatever they have agreed to, this silly charter they have made the King agree to, there is no reason I can see for us to give up the fight against him,' said Tilda, the loathing in her voice thick as curdled milk.\n\n'It's not so easy, my darling. Dale has the luck of the Devil,' said Sir Benedict Malet. 'I had him here, in my hands, chained like a dog, and I was ready to pay him back for all the humiliations he has heaped on us \u2013 and what did he do? He persuaded that monster to help him escape. His luck is scarcely believable.'\n\nBoot was a looming shadow behind me. I controlled the urge to order him to charge straight through the doorway.\n\n'Do not upset yourself, my dear,' Tilda said. 'Dale is a hard man to kill, as I know myself. I informed the King that he was planning to murder him \u2013 he practically admitted the plot to me himself, the love-struck cretin \u2013 and even though he was caught in the act of murder, he somehow wriggled out of that crime.'\n\nAt St Paul's, I thought. Yes, I told her myself. And yes, I had been a cretin.\n\nTilda was still speaking: '\u2026I gave him poisoned meat when he was at the very door of death after some illness and the big lump didn't even seem to notice \u2013 he actually got better. The Devil's luck once more. But we must not give up, my love. We must not. He is vulnerable through his son, you have proved that here at Nottingham, so if we can get to the brat\u2014'\n\nThat was when I pushed open the door. But once inside I stopped, frozen with sorrow. For all that I had suspected for the past few days was now proven to be true. I had hoped, with a mad, tiny part of my soul, that I had been mistaken. But there was no doubt. I stood there transfixed, just staring at the two figures in the big bed on the far side of the room, naked but for the linen bedsheets. Tilda, I saw with a pang, looked more beautiful than she ever had before, her black hair falling in curls over her perfect bosom, her lips blood-red, her blue-grey eyes huge in the candlelight. Benedict, doughy and white as lard, looked like a shaved pig in the bed beside her.\n\nI could think of nothing useful to say, except: 'Boot, take that man down to the hall, now, and keep him under guard.'\n\nAs Boot lumbered over to the bed and hauled a protesting Benedict out from under the covers by his foot, I gazed at Tilda's naked white flesh and realised, quite suddenly, that I felt nothing at all for her. Not the slightest stirring of love, nor even lust, just a chilly acknowledgement that she possessed a great and flawless beauty.\n\nAt least on the outside.\n\n'You had best get some clothes on and quickly get yourself back to Kirklees,' I said to her. 'And if you ever come near my son or me again, I will tell Mother Anna how exactly you spend your nights when you come to visit Nottingham.'\n\n'You understand nothing, Alan Dale,' hissed Tilda, her eyes blazing now. 'You have never understood a single thing \u2013 about me, about Anna, even about Kirklees.'\n\n'I understand that you are my enemy, that you have always been my enemy, and that you posed as my friend in order to beguile me and open me to your revenge. I also understand that you pose a danger to my son. But you should understand this, Matilda Giffard: if Robert comes to any harm through you or through your agents, if a single hair on his head is touched, I shall come to Kirklees and burn the place to the ground with you inside it. Do you hear me? You touch my son, and you die in flames.'\n\nThere was nothing more to say. I turned on my heel and left, following the sounds of Benedict's cries as he was carried helpless on Boot's shoulder down the corridor and towards the stairs.\n\nI wanted to gut Benedict there and then, to sink my blade in his belly, rip out his intestines and watch him bleed to death before my eyes. I wanted to do it as a payment for his threats to Robert. I wanted to do it for his treatment of me in that castle cell. If I am honest, I also wanted to do it because Tilda was his lover, and had been for many years, and although I no longer wanted her myself, I still hated the sweaty pig for debauching her perfect body. However, it was Robin who dissuaded me from taking my vengeance there and then.\n\n'We fought for the rule of law, Alan,' he said, as we stood over the weeping, shivering, naked lump in the main hall of Nottingham Castle that night. Indeed, I actually had my misericorde unsheathed in my hand, ready to strike.\n\n'We fought for the principle of freedom under the law. We fought long and hard for an end to the arbitrary violence and the rule of the strongest man's whim,' said my lord. 'Now we have Benedict in our power, we cannot abandon that principle, can we, Alan? Can we? Think about it. It must be legal or all our struggles have been for naught. He must be tried for his crimes in a proper court of law and have a fair and appropriate sentence passed on him by a duly empowered royal official.'\n\nEventually I agreed.\n\n'Good,' said Robin. 'I know just the right man for the task.'\n\nSir Benedict Malet stood trial for his crimes the next day before a court convened by the newly appointed High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests, the noble lord of Lowdham. Benedict stood accused of misappropriation of royal funds, namely a goodly quantity of tax silver that had never found its way to the King. He was also accused of the murder of eighty-six men and women from the county of Nottinghamshire, executed for failing to pay trumped-up tax demands.\n\nNo one spoke up for Benedict except himself; he made a quavering, mumbling, tear-splashed speech about merely obeying orders that was almost an admission of his guilt \u2013 I had half-expected Tilda to speak for him, and was dreading seeing her again, but there was no sign of her either at the trial or anywhere in the castle.\n\nShe had vanished.\n\nI gave evidence against Sir Benedict, along with a dozen or so townsfolk whose relatives had suffered under his and Philip Marc's regime, but it was Boot's eloquent testimony that sealed his fate. The big man spoke for nearly an hour about the men he had executed, naming as many as he could remember and attesting to their innocence of any crime save failure to pay over the outrageous sums demanded by the sheriff. Benedict was found guilty by a jury of twelve good men of the county, a unanimous verdict, and it fell to Lowdham to pass sentence.\n\nI happened to be standing by his bench when the new sheriff was ready to pronounce. He leaned over to me and whispered: 'Do you think, Sir Alan, that I should show some leniency in this case \u2013 I really do not want the people to think I am a cruel fellow. He was merely following the orders of Philip Marc and the King, after all. Perhaps a stiff fine, or banishment\u2026'\n\n'I don't think so, my lord,' I whispered. 'I think it would be wise to set an example in this case. It must be death, I'm afraid.'\n\n'Oh very well, if you really think so, my dear fellow\u2026'\n\nThey hanged Benedict Malet in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle the next day at dawn. I came out to watch, as did Boot. The big man had offered to perform his old grisly duty one last time but I told him no.\n\n'Those days are over, my friend,' I said. 'I hope you may never have to kill again. I very much hope the same for myself.'\n\nBut as I saw Benedict slowly strangling in a hempen noose, his fat, white, urine-drenched legs kicking and jerking in the empty air, I felt pity well up in my heart. I do not like a hanging, I never have. And so, after a few moments, when Benedict's face was purple as a plum, and his tongue was sticking out like some grotesque red snake, as he twitched in his death throes, I gave him mercy.\n\nI stepped forward, slipped the misericorde from its sheath, plunged the keen blade deep into his belly, then sliced sideways through the thick rolls of skin and fat, tumbling his bluish-white guts to the castle courtyard floor in a spew of hot blood.\n\nI did not stay to watch him die.\n\nInstead, I gathered my people, stepped up into the saddle and pointed my horse towards Westbury, towards home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Epilogue",
                "text": "My back is bloody but my heart is full of joy. On the eve of our expulsion from Newstead, Brother Alan and I were saved almost, it seems, by a miracle. I took my beating like a man, I like to think, although I am not used to such overwhelming pain. I tried to show as much courage as Brother Alan would have shown in his prime. And a few hours later, as I was nursing my lacerated back and slowly gathering my meagre possessions, God showed his mercy. A cavalcade of knights, all gaudy plumes, bright flags and huge snorting horses, clattered into the priory courtyard. It was Lord Westbury himself, the grandson of Brother Alan, son of his dead son Robert, and a dozen of his followers. A tall, muscular blond man in glittering silver-chased mail and with a fine long sword at his waist leapt off his horse and insisted on seeing the prior immediately. I had not known this, and I am certain that Prior William was equally ignorant, but Alan Dale the younger, the newly ennobled Lord Westbury, has risen high in the service of our beloved Henry of Winchester in recent years, he has the King's ear in all things \u2013 not least the appointment of bishops.\n\nAfter a private audience lasting less than an hour, the news was announced. Prior William is to take up the vacant see of Durham \u2013 he is to be a bishop at last, and I \u2013 oh, I can barely inscribe these words for my joy \u2013 I am to be the next prior of Newstead. Brother Alan, of course, is to remain with us for as long as he is spared.\n\nMy happiness is tempered by the knowledge that this cannot be for long. I told my friend the good news and he rejoiced with me. And Lord Westbury came to his cell soon afterwards and they spent a happy hour together discussing the fortunes of the realm and the doings at Westbury. But seeing his grandson completely exhausted him. And Brother Alan is now so reduced in strength that I fear he will not last out the week. Perhaps even the night.\n\nAs I write these words, sitting quietly at the table in his cell, Brother Alan is asleep. He gave me a nasty shock just now: he gave a hard gasp, his eyes closed and he fell so utterly still that I confess that I pressed my ear to his slack mouth to check that there was still breath in him. There is, praise God, but very little. He is pitifully weak and I believe I will lay down my quill now and tiptoe away. But I shall return in the morning, if my friend lives through the night, and take this goose-feather in my hand once more. For there is one more story to tell, the ancient warrior told me fiercely just before his eyes closed this evening.\n\n'Do not think your task is finished yet, young Anthony,' he whispered. 'The tale of the great charter and the rebellion of the barons is not quite done. There is one more adventure involving my lord of Locksley that I must recount, and I cannot rest easy in my grave until it is told. It is the most terrible tale of all, a tale of blood, betrayal and pain; a tale of good men slaughtered and bad men triumphant. It is the tale of the death of Robin Hood\u2026'\n\nAnd that was when he closed his eyes."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Burgundians",
        "author": "Bart Van Loo",
        "genres": [
            "history"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Belgium",
            "France"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "\u2003'That white tablecloth with spots of grease, pure\n\n\u2003Damask with Burgundy stains, sticks\n\n\u2003To these fingers and slowly unfurls\n\n\u2003Between two stanzas.'\n\n\u2014Leonard Nolens\n\nThey weren't exactly attractive. Their grey-green cloth covers looked dreary and dull. But once you opened the books, you found yourself in a world of excitement and adventure. By the time I was fourteen I had read them to pieces \u2013 all six volumes of 's Lands Glorie (1949\u201361). Along with Thea Beckman's famous fictional trilogy on the Hundred Years War, they were my 'open sesame' in 1987: the gateway to big history had been thrown open wide.\n\n's Lands Glorie was the first work issued by the Historia Publishing Company. The idea was to cut out coupons that were printed on the packages of various food products. You then exchanged the coupons for little colour prints, each with a brief commentary on the back, so by eating the right products you could also acquire knowledge. You pasted the pictures into the green albums provided for this purpose. We weren't the only ones with such albums on our bookshelves. Two, maybe three generations of Belgians grew up with them. Their impact cannot be underestimated.\n\nThe author of the commentaries, Professor Jean Schoonjans, was not one to avoid clich\u00e9s. In his terse summaries he spoke of 'hale and hearty soldiers', called a lady dressed as a nun 'a cunning lady of the nobility', and criticized 'the fearsome Duke of Alva'. He viewed the past through a romantic filter and roused a sense of pride in us. It was no accident that the word 'glorie' appeared in the title. The spirit of the nineteenth century swept through every page.\n\nSchoonjans was a dyed-in-the-wool Belgian nationalist, and in his uncompromising reading of history it was as if our country had always existed, as if the native population had been fully aware of their identity two thousand years ago. Didn't I learn from his books that in 57 BC 'the Belgians' were 'a happy people'? But then came the Romans. That was on page nine, and I was already on the edge of my seat. Not long afterwards, Schoonjans claimed that 'the Belgians played a decisive role' in the conquering of Jerusalem. I was so agitated that I even set Thea Beckman's novels aside. Forsaking her for the pedantic writings of Schoonjans is hard to explain, but 's Lands Glorie had another ace up its sleeve.\n\nWhat made the series not only attractive but also unforgettable were the illustrations by Jean-L\u00e9on Huens. He often turned to the Old Masters for inspiration \u2013 I saw my first Van Eyck and Van der Weyden through his eyes \u2013 but he was just as happy to employ his own ideas. He tried out unexpected perspectives, played with surprising frames and painted the faces of the dying. His realistic style is firmly embedded in my memory. If someone happens to mention Charles Martel, Godfrey of Bouillon or William of Orange, their visages appear in my mind just as he once depicted them.\n\nThe pinnacle of his skill could be seen on page fifteen of volume III, identified as illustration no. 182: Nancy. Usually Huens served up some striking portrait, gripping scene or detail from a battle, but this time his illustration was conspicuous for its apparent emptiness.\n\nEvery time I see this picture, I'm fourteen again. I see that winter landscape just as I saw it back then: a tree, a snow-covered expanse, two armed men approaching in the distance. I was astonished by the bareness of that mainly snow-white illustration. The tree and the men were marginal details. Out of curiosity I read Schoonjans's commentary: 'In 1477 Charles the Bold laid siege to the city of Nancy. He met his death in battle, the circumstances of which remain unclear. His body was found beneath the snow half devoured by wolves.' I looked again at the illustration, and only then did I see the dark outline barely visible in the shadow of the tree. You could just make out the contours of a dead body.\n\nMy eyes jumped from text to picture and back again, and the same questions cropped up. Who was Charles the Bold? Why was he given that name? What in the world happened to him in Nancy? And what about those wolves? No matter how much I was dragged along by the further course of history, I kept coming back to this illustration. To the wolves, the snow, the body\u2026 to the mystery of Nancy.\n\nIt would take thirty years for me to figure it all out. The tragic demise of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, became an important element in this book, in which I search not only for the facts surrounding this anecdote but also for what Huens and Schoonjans tried to dredge up in their own way in 's Lands Glorie: the origin of our whole region. And by that I do not mean Belgium, for despite Schoonjans's good intentions it was the Low Countries that emerged first, only later to be followed by Belgium and the Netherlands.\n\nFinally, in 1987, I resumed my reading of Thea Beckman. After Geef me de ruimte! (Give Me Room, 1976) came Triomf van de verschroeide aarde (Triumph of the Scorched Earth, 1977) and Het rad van fortuin (The Wheel of Fortune, 1978). Countless Belgian and Dutch readers were gripped by the adventures of Marije, alias Marie-Claire, and her son Matthis. I regard their ordeals during the Hundred Years War as my first great reading experience. This was the real thing: reading great books that breathe new life into age-old events, getting inside someone else's skin, trembling with emotion and suspense. And learning something at the same time.\n\nBeckman's trilogy covered the years 1346\u201369. She introduced characters who would haunt me for years to come: Bertrand du Guesclin, John the Good, The Black Prince, Charles V, \u00c9tienne Marcel. Not to mention the settings: the Battles of Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers, the cities of Paris and Bruges in the fourteenth century. They all appear in the book you now hold in your hands. The period between the time depicted in her trilogy and the death of Charles the Bold constitutes its beating heart.\n\nSome reading experiences are so powerful that they continue to ferment for decades. One day I could no longer resist the temptation, and I stepped into the breach that Beckman's trilogy and Huens's illustration no. 182 had opened in my imagination. Like the world around us, we ourselves are the fruit of the past."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE FORGOTTEN MILLENNIUM \u2014 406\u20131369",
                "text": "\u2002'To us in olden story are wonders many told Of heroes rich in glory, of trials manifold: Of joy and festive greeting, of weeping and of woe, Of keenest warriors meeting, shall ye now many a wonder know.'\n\n\u2014Anon\n\nOr how you can take a fresh look at the first thousand years of the Middle Ages from the perspective of the Burgundians, and how these Romanized Germanic tribes always seem to have been on the front line at great events such as the migration of peoples, the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the emergence of Christianity, the invasion of the barbarians from the north and heretics from the south, the golden age of the great monastic orders and the Hundred Years War between England and France. In short, long before they emerged as the founding fathers of the Low Countries thanks to Philip the Bold, John the Fearless and Philip the Good, the Burgundians had already left their mark on key moments in European history.\n\nOr how the Romans, Huns, Germans, Moors and Vikings jostled one another on the way to an uncertain future, and how Burgundy came into being.\n\nIn the last month of the year of our Lord 406, temperatures dropped to well below freezing. It was so cold that during the Christmas holidays the Rhine froze solid in the area around the city of Mainz. The seemingly untraversable river \u2013 the heavily guarded border between Gaul, administered by the Romans, and the obscure Germania, where countless tribes were always at each other's throats \u2013 turned into a big and inviting bridge. Vandals, Suebi and Alans wasted no time and soon overran Gaul.\n\nOf course, there's no such thing as a watertight border. Just imagining it was an exercise in futility. No matter how much effort the Romans put into guarding the Rhine, the Danube and the fortified wall defences between them during the first centuries of the Common Era, border traffic had always been heavy, and the main purpose of the so-called limes was to keep the numerous passages under control. Some Germanic tribes were even given permission by Rome to settle in the border region, forming a sort of human buffer zone. Thus the Salian Franks fanned out between the Meuse and the Scheldt, and held sway in large parts of what today are the Netherlands and Flanders.\n\nAs the centuries passed, migration pressure intensified. Both the prosperity on the other side of the border and their own growing population made the Germanic tribes in the north-east and the Goths in the east increasingly eager to trek westward. The second and third centuries had seen a great many waves of migrants, but by the end of the fourth and the beginning of the fifth there was no stopping them. When the Huns from the steppes of Central Asia commenced their rampage, they drove numerous Germanic tribes from their homelands, and these groups subsequently propelled each other westward, fighting all the way. The Romans refused to grant asylum to this swarm, but before they knew what was happening to them a vast conglomeration of tribes was sweeping over them like a tornado. By the end of 406 the Germans were forced to break through the borders. The inundated Romans struggled against them for seventy more years, when they were finally swallowed up for good.\n\nIn this story of the Great Migration, as epic as it is complex, the Burgundians are often ignored altogether or mentioned in passing at the very most, if not whisked away in a footnote. Everyone knows their famous contemporaries Clovis and Attila, the Franks and the Huns, but who has ever heard of the Burgundians in this context? Yet this forgotten Germanic tribe also crossed the Rhine in 406\u20137 and made their contribution as a small cog in setting the gigantic wheel of time in motion and causing antiquity to tip into the Middle Ages.\n\nWhen the Burgundians settled in the area of Worms after their crossing, they had centuries of wanderings behind them. If you reverse that journey and go further and further east, you end up in their ancestral homeland. Before Worms they had lived in the Mainz region; a century before that they populated the middle course of the Elbe, where they ended up after a sojourn near the Oder; and before that, in the first century AD, they lived on the banks of the Wis\u0142a in today's Poland. Rivers tell the story of peoples.\n\nThe Wis\u0142a empties into the Baltic Sea and points the way to their first home: the small island of Bornholm that lies in the Baltic Sea between Poland and Sweden 150 kilometres east of Denmark, of which it is now a part. At that time the old Norwegians called the island Burgundarholmr, which was echoed in the name the Burgundians claimed for themselves and smuggled all through Europe, across the Wis\u0142a, the Oder, the Elbe and finally the Rhine. They made their way valiantly but did not come out of the long journey unscathed. They fought numerous battles that have gone practically unnoticed and lost many of them, especially against the Alemanni, resulting in a steady decrease in their numbers.\n\nIn 406\u20137 King Gundahar led approximately 80,000 Burgundians to the region around Worms; it is not clear whether this number refers to his soldiers alone or to the entire population. In exchange for guarding the border, the Romans gave him permission to establish a kingdom along the Rhine. But that was not enough for this ambitious monarch. In 435 he moved westward to Gallia Belgica, the area between the Rhineland and the Seine that would later lend its name to Belgium, in order to increase the size of his territory. Such audacity cost Gundahar dearly. In 436, with a mercenary army consisting of Huns under the command of a certain Attila, the Roman supreme commander Flavius Aetius crushed the Burgundians in a bloody battle.\n\nMost of Gundahar's family were massacred. Only his son Gundioc managed to escape. Gundioc led what remained of his people to the south and saved the Burgundian royal house from extinction. The massacre must have been so overwhelming that it inspired Burgundian poets to create epic stories, which were passed on and embellished. Over the course of the centuries they would fuse into the German epic poem the Nibelungenlied, in which Gundahar appears as Gunther. The name of King Etzel could be seen as a nod to the Roman Aetius, but it probably refers to Attila. Whatever the case may be, Richard Wagner owed the inspiration for his operatic trilogy to a devastating defeat suffered by the Burgundians in the fifth century, and more specifically to their aborted desire to conquer what later became Belgium."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Fate of Western Civilization is Hanging by A Thread'",
                "text": "In 436 Attila had happily accepted payment from the Romans to teach the Burgundians a lesson, but in 447 he destroyed that lucrative alliance and made his way through Gallia Belgica, plundering and pillaging as he went. Although there's little to substantiate Attila's boast that the grass no longer grew wherever his horse left its hoofprint, his violent raids did inspire the Romans to undertake their last spectacular military operation in Western Europe. Unless they stopped Attila, Gaul would soon belong to the vast barbarian empire that stretched from the Rhine to the Caucasus and had initially been governed from present-day Hungary.\n\nOn 20 June 451, two motley armies crossed swords on the Catalaunian Plains near Troyes, in the north-east of today's France. On one side were the Huns and all the tribes they had managed to scrape together on their path of destruction, on the other was a bloc that the Romans had formed with Gallic and Germanic forces: the menacing horde from Central Asia against the western allies, the Scourge of God from the east against the most important man in the Western Roman Empire, Attila versus Aetius.\n\nThe composition of the armies says a great deal about the fragmentation that the various European migrations had brought about. The Huns themselves formed only a part of Attila's army, which consisted of Ostrogoths, Gepids, Thuringii and Rugii. Fighting on the other side along with the Romans and Burgundians were Visigoths, Alans and Salian Franks. Almost all the peoples who lived between the Atlantic Ocean and the Volga were present, and prepared to tear each other to shreds during the most important battle of late antiquity. According to the chroniclers, hundreds of thousands of warriors were involved, but modern estimates speak of around 60,000 troops, more or less evenly divided between the two camps.\n\nFor the Burgundians, Attila's arrival in Gaul was a signal for revenge. Driven by memories of the good times in Worms and the nightmare of a bitter defeat, they oiled their weapons and saddled their horses. Some of the older warriors among them had been present at the disastrous battle fifteen years earlier, and the youngest soldiers had replayed that defeat in their childhood games. Now the opportunity to get justice done was being handed to them on a silver platter. The fact that the Burgundians had been invited to join the fray by Aetius of all people, the commander who had unleashed the Huns on them in 436, didn't seem to bother them.\n\nAfter a few skirmishes Aetius was able to take the high ground, enabling him to survey the Catalaunian Plains. Attila instructed his priests and diviners to hurriedly predict the battle's outcome. After examining the shoulder blades of the sheep they had sacrificed, the priests announced that things looked far from rosy. The Hunnish leader saw only one way out. Offence was the best defence. 'I myself\u2026 will throw the first javelin, and the wretch who refuses to imitate the example of his sovereign, is devoted to inevitable death.'\n\nArchers exchanged volleys for a short time, until suddenly the fearsome cavalry of the Huns made a great charge. These horsemen could twist their upper bodies while astride their galloping horses in order to attack their pursuers with bow and arrow. They opened a breach in the centre of Aetius's army. Theodoric, the King of the Visigoths, was killed in the chaos and then trampled by his own troops. In the face of total confusion and the danger of flight, Theodoric's son Thorismund drew his sword, set his father's crown on his head and drove the Huns back. Franks, Burgundians and Romans came to his aid, and Attila was forced to take cover behind an improvised fortress of saddles and wagons. The allies' advance was brought to a halt only by the coming of night.\n\nAttila could not imagine himself leaving the field of battle alive. He set fire to his defensive enclosure and calmly prepared himself for death. During the allies' fatal final assault, he planned to cast himself into the flames as a martyr and thus avoid the humiliation of imprisonment. With that thought in mind, he went to sleep.\n\nBut the dreaded attack never materialized. Supreme commander Aetius put all his powers of persuasion on the line to convince his troops to let the Huns escape. With the skill of a master chess player, he had succeeded in getting all the tribes to join him while realizing that soon he would have to lock horns with them in a contest for the leadership of Gaul. The external threat of the Huns could come in very useful. The power of the Visigoths in particular was a thorn in his side. They occupied not only south-western Gaul but also part of the Iberian peninsula, so he was glad to trick Thorismund into returning home. He fooled Thorismund into thinking that his brothers had seized the throne in their capital city of Toulouse, now that their father Theodoric had perished. With the departure of the Visigoths the great army was deprived of its most effective force, and there were too few troops left to deal a death blow to the Huns. With his tactical cunning, Aetius had denied the Burgundians the chance to retaliate for all the pain they had suffered, but he would soon richly reward them.\n\nWhen dawn broke, Attila was utterly astonished to see a practically empty plain stretched out before him. He quickly got over his astonishment, as well as his heroic suicidal intentions, and fled across the Rhine. Seeking revenge, he turned his attention to Rome. That campaign fizzled as well, although it did have important consequences. When the inhabitants of north-eastern Italy heard that Attila was on the march, they panicked and took cover on the islands in the lagoon of the Adriatic Sea. This precarious refuge would one day become Venice, the largest metropolis of the new age after Paris.\n\nAttila was not the bloodthirsty tyrant legend makes him out to be. He was too clever and diplomatic for that. Nor was he the brilliant warrior that countless books have asserted. The meagre results of his western campaign of conquest give the lie to that claim. He did emerge as an exceptional leader who managed to forge one big empire out of the chaotic diversity of Hunnic tribes, and who forced the great power blocs of his age to face him down in one powerful alliance. But mainly he was the quintessential barbarian of his time, and he achieved this status when the up-and-coming barbarians were beyond counting. Because of the terrifying aura that surrounds him when he appears in the various chronicles, his most important conquest was posthumous: he now occupies a blood-drenched place in our collective memory. The small but sturdily built Attila (as he has been traditionally described) met his end during his wedding feast in 453 under less than heroic circumstances. One chronicler described him getting blind drunk and choking on his own blood as a result of a copious nosebleed; another cited his new wife, Ildico, as his unexpected murderer.\n\nThe claim that the fate of western civilization was hanging by a thread on 20 June 451 is romantic hyperbole. The end of the Western Roman Empire had already been written in the stars for quite some time. All the Romans did on the Catalaunian Plains was to ensure that the new driving force of the west would not be the Huns but the Germans, fighting it out among themselves: the Franks, the Visigoths \u2013 or perhaps the Burgundians?\n\nIn any case, halfway through the fifth century the Hunnish threat was defused for good, although Attila's ghost did come prowling round one last time a quarter of a century later. In 475, the successful politician Orestes manoeuvred his young son onto the Roman throne. This was only a diversionary tactic, for in fact the strong man in the capital was Orestes himself. When the Germanic Odoacer had the devious Orestes executed and then deposed the weak Romulus Augustulus \u2013 literally 'little emperor' \u2013 in 476, it meant the end of the moribund Western Roman Empire.\n\nThe Scourge of God must have had a good chuckle in the heathen hereafter. For this Orestes, who held in his hands the very last spark of Roman power, was none other than his former secretary. Attila could embrace eternity with a clear conscience."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Rancid Butter, An Excess of Onions and Garlic'",
                "text": "Let's let the dust settle on the turbulent fifth century and turn our eyes to the Burgundians. After the defeat of the Huns, Aetius assented to what in reality was already a fact: the region of Savoy in today's France (with northern and southern offshoots) became the Burgundians' official territory. After a journey that took hundreds of years and covered thousands of kilometres, they found themselves nearing the endpoint of their adventurous trek, a hair's breadth from the French region that still bears their name. The Burgundians were almost home.\n\nIn the preceding centuries they had mixed so often with other tribes and adjusted so often to new climatological and geographical conditions that whether anything remained of their Scandinavian genes and customs is open to question. Scientists specialized in genography believe that based on recent research into human ancestry, the haplogroup Q \u2013 a particular group of genetically related individuals \u2013 occurs with greater frequency (> 4 per cent) in certain regions of Scandinavia, including Bornholm, and in the French valleys of the Rh\u00f4ne and the Sa\u00f4ne, with slight outliers running northward in the direction of Worms. Remarkably, this corresponds with the beginning and end points of the Burgundian wanderings. However, similar research establishes with equal validity that the Vandals, the Suebi, the Franks and the Burgundians exchanged at least as many chromosomes as sword blows during their long journey towards Gaul. The genetic characteristics of the Germanic tribes that crossed the Rhine in the fifth century were acquired haphazardly for the most part, although it would appear that the story of the migrations can still be read to some extent in our genes.\n\nDo we have any idea what the ancient Burgundians looked like? Sidonius Apollinaris, who later became Bishop of Clermont, encountered the tribe for the first time in 466 and described them as 'long-haired giants more than six feet in height who speak an incomprehensible babble'. On top of that 'they smear their hair with rancid butter\u2026 and their food stinks of an excess of onions and garlic'. Quite colourful to be sure, but this was essentially the kind of clich\u00e9 that refined Gallo-Romans would apply to any barbarian. It says just as much about the observer as the observed.\n\nKing Gundobad, son of Gundioc, profited from the disintegration of the Western Roman Empire and gradually expanded his kingdom, so that by the beginning of the sixth century it extended from Nevers to Basel, and in the south as far as Avignon. Yet that paled in comparison with what his Germanic rivals managed to pull off in Europe, and in around 500 there was every indication that Gundobad was in danger of being crushed from both sides. The almighty Visigoths and the fierce and ever advancing Franks were ready to eat the Burgundians alive. The challenge for Gundobad was not insignificant, but he proved himself a very capable administrator and politician. Not only did he manage to strengthen his international position, but a sense of Burgundian identity blossomed under his leadership. The latter in particular was quite a feat, given the fact that as Germans they were seriously outnumbered in their own kingdom, which was populated mostly by Gallo-Romans.\n\nThe Celts had been living in Gaul since time immemorial. The Romans regarded them as a rather hot-tempered, macho people and mockingly called them Galli (roosters). In 52 BC, Julius Caesar put an end to the defiance of these Gauls by besieging Alesia for six weeks, after which the city surrendered and their leader Vercingetorix made a historic genuflection before the Roman commander. Caesar's triumph not only resulted in the birth of a mixed Gallo-Roman culture in the conquered areas, but it also gave him the self-confidence he needed to strive for supreme power in Rome. These events \u2013 the unfurling of Caesar's hubris and the official beginning of the Romanization of what would later become France \u2013 didn't happen just anywhere. Alesia lay in the region that soon would become known as Burgundy.\n\nLike the Celts, who had been conquered by Caesar in bygone days, the Burgundians (and other Germanic peoples who arrived with them) would let themselves be intoxicated by Roman culture. This was evident not only in their adoption of Roman dress and gastronomic preferences but also in their tendency to soak their language and customs in a tub of Latinate herbs, of which the Lex Burgundionum (502), the statute book of King Gundobad, is a fine example. With this collection of laws, the Burgundians hoped to accommodate the local Gallo-Roman residents, who were now easily in the majority. Every trial had to be presided over by a Burgundian and a Gallo-Roman, and from then on the right of intermarriage was extended to both peoples. Germanic and Roman names were used interchangeably with greater frequency, and a new kind of aristocracy took shape, combining the large-scale land ownership of the Gallo-Romans with the militarism of the Burgundians \u2013 a forerunner of the feudal system. The incorporation of Germanic tribal customs into existing Roman law was rendered in Latin, interestingly enough. The Burgundians had already been living almost sixty years in Romanized territories, and most of them spoke East-Germanic as well as Late Latin. Thanks to the Lex Burgundionum, the Gallo-Romans did become a bit Germanized, but what the statute book mainly showed was how a Germanic people dropped their own language in official documents and opted for full Romanization.\n\nEven during their Germanic period, the Burgundians had a special craving for the alcoholic drink for which they would become world famous over the course of the next millennium. As the new statute book stated: 'If anyone enters a vineyard at night or during the harvest period and is killed by the guard, the family of the victim has no recourse to complaint.' The Romans had introduced viniculture, and the vines seemed to thrive on the so-called Golden Slopes (C\u00f4te d'Or).\n\nSome of the Germanic punishments must have surprised the local population. A man who had stolen a hunting dog was made to kiss the animal's backside in public. For stealing a falcon, the thief's head or chest would be covered with meat, after which the falcon would be released to satisfy its hunger. Clearly the legal texts did not rule out a certain macabre wit. But they also show how much importance the Burgundians attached to their animals, especially those that were used in hunting \u2013 another fact that would stand the test of time.\n\nIt was always possible to escape such ridiculous punishments by handing over a sum of money. First you paid the amount that the animal or victim was worth, then a financial penalty for the violation itself. The Lex Burgundionum contains a carefully compiled list of rates. To name but a few: killing a dog: 1 solidus (a Roman coin, from which the word 'soldier' was derived because that is how they were paid); raping a woman: 12 solidi; cutting off a woman's hair for no reason: 12 solidi; murdering a slave: 30 solidi; murdering a carpenter: 40 solidi; murdering a blacksmith: 50 solidi; murdering a silversmith: 100 solidi; murdering a goldsmith: 200 solidi.\n\nFamily honour was central to their culture, but in order to prevent clans from tearing each other apart in endless feuds the Burgundians worked out an ingenious system. Those whose honour had been defiled could simply be bought off. If the guilty family refused to pay, however, there was only one way out, and that was the so-called faihitha, or bloody vendetta. The vendettas in which the royal family became entangled over the course of the sixth century escalated to such a degree that it led to the end of the kingdom."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Gaul Is Certainly Worth An Icy Bath'",
                "text": "On 25 December 506, one hundred years to the day since the Germanic tribes had crossed the Rhine, a forty-year-old Frankish king waded through a vessel of holy water. When Clovis reached the other side of the large baptismal font in the cathedral at Reims, he looked round and nodded humbly, the sign for 3,000 Frankish warriors to do the same. The splashing of the sacred waves caused an undulation that would continue for centuries to come. The baptism of Clovis caused the wheel of time to click one notch further, but what a notch it was. The kingdom of the Franks, which would lend its name to la douce France, became 'the oldest daughter of the church' and would resolutely support Rome in the conquering of the west. Of course, this historic moment could never have taken place without the ruthless ambition of the Frankish king himself, but it was equally unthinkable without the persuasive powers of one particular Burgundian princess.\n\nThere had been little indication that one day Clovis would ensnare the Catholic Clotilde in his nets. Legend has it that his grandfather Merovich, after whom the Frankish Merovingian dynasty was named, had fought on the side of the Burgundians against the Huns, but little was left of that band of brothers. More than a century earlier, the Salian Franks had been given permission to live in present-day Belgium on the condition that they join in defending the borders against invaders. This small kingdom north of Gaul failed to satisfy Clovis's ambitions, however, and from his capital of Tournai he felt the south beckon. In 500 he marched on Dijon in Burgundy, where King Gundobad and his brother Godegisel were waiting for him.\n\nThe battle had just begun when Godegisel betrayed the Burgundian cause and defected to the Franks. Devastated, Gundobad fled to Avignon. Just as he was about to be overtaken by the enemy troops, they turned round and tore off to the north, having heard that the Visigoths, who controlled all of south-western Gaul, were threatening their land. Gundobad took advantage of Clovis's departure by personally killing his brother Godegisel, drowning his sister-in-law in the Rh\u00f4ne, beheading their sons and throwing them into a deep well. He spared his two grandchildren because they were too young, an impulse of human kindness that would have fateful consequences. He then formed an alliance with Clovis in order to guarantee the safety of the kingdom. As part of the negotiations, he thought it would be a good idea to marry his niece Clotilde, the Catholic daughter of a deceased brother, to the Frankish king.\n\nAnd so it was that the two peoples who only recently had been at each other's throats were joined together in the bonds of matrimony in 501. At first the pagan Clovis would have nothing to do with the Christian faith, no matter how hard his pious wife tried to convert him. Nevertheless, Clotilde had their first child baptized without her husband's permission. When the child died in its baptismal garment, Clovis ranted that it was all the fault of that foreign religion. His rage was rekindled when their second child also succumbed to illness after having been baptized. Nevertheless, in the chill of Christmas night in the year 506 he would immerse his long, wavy locks (a Frankish sign of strength and regal dignity) in the holy water font. Just as the Huguenot Henry IV converted to Catholicism under the motto 'Paris is well worth a Mass' at the end of the sixteenth century, so Clovis might have thought: Gaul is certainly worth an icy bath. In his hunger for power, the leader had understood that he could make good use of the up-and-coming Catholic Church.\n\n'Another Constantine advanced to the baptismal font, to terminate the disease of ancient leprosy and wash away with fresh water the foul spots that had long been borne,' wrote Gregory of Tours. Even though his Historia Francorum (History of the Franks) dates to the end of the sixth century, Gregory described events as if he had been there himself. Thus he noted Clovis's promise to the bishop: 'the people who follow me cannot endure to abandon their gods; but I shall go and speak to them according to your words.' Clearly, Gregory was summoning every ounce of his rhetorical talent to make sure that Clovis, and by extension all of Francia (the kingdom of the Franks), was absorbed into the history of holy Rome. The reference to Constantine was not a gratuitous flourish. After the Holy Cross appeared to the Roman commander in 312, he ordered that every soldier's shield be adorned with this symbol. Constantine won the battle at the gates of Rome. Not only did he become the new emperor, but he also cleared the way for the Christianization of the Romans.\n\nWhat happened to Clovis was strikingly similar. A few months before his baptism he had gone to war on the Tolbiac plain near Cologne against the Alemanni, the Germanic tribal confederation that controlled the southern part of today's Germany and was advancing westward. The Frankish troops were taken by surprise, and when the appeal to Wodan proved ineffective, Clovis, at his wits' end, was said to have cried out, 'Jesus Christ, whom Clotilda asserts to be the son of the living God, who art said to give aid to those in distress, and to bestow victory on those who hope in thee, I beseech the glory of thy aid, with the vow that if thou wilt grant me victory over these enemies, and I shall know that power which she says that people dedicated in thy name have had from thee, I will believe in thee and be baptized in thy name.' The God of his Burgundian spouse must have sensed an opportunity, for He did what was asked of Him. The tide of the battle turned, and at the very last moment Clovis claimed victory. To show his gratitude to the benevolent Christian God, he solemnly swore that he would let himself be baptized.\n\nOf course, his conversion was a masterly example of realpolitik more than anything else, but in France's national narrative this fable of insight and repentance, this story of Christian purification and divine intervention, sounded much better. It was hardly surprising when the Burgundian Clotilde was added to the growing list of saints almost immediately after her death, and that her intercession would henceforth be sought for the conversion of unbelieving spouses. Anyone who could prevail over the headstrong Clovis must have been cut from the right persuasive cloth. Interestingly enough, over the centuries she also became the patron saint of notaries, paralytics and light aircraft, the latter probably because the Frankish king crushed the Alemanni in Tolbiac 'thanks to fire from the sky', according to Gregory of Tours.\n\nLegend has it that when Bishop Remigius \u2013 whose remains still lie in the abbey in Reims that is dedicated to him \u2013 discovered that he had forgotten to prepare the chrism on Christmas night of 506, a dove promptly flew in with a vial of oil. With this holy oil he was able to make the sign of the cross on the forehead of the Frankish leader in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. In Gregory's text we read that the king 'confessed all-powerful God in the Trinity'. These innocuous words conceal an important medieval dispute: the internecine struggle between two different Christian beliefs, classical Catholics against the followers of Arianism, which the Catholic Church regarded as heretical. It was a power struggle in which the Burgundians again played an important role."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The History Of France Starts Here'",
                "text": "According to the standard clich\u00e9, the freshly arrived barbarians did all they could to distinguish themselves from the local population. But what happened to the Burgundians is a good example of the opposite, and from it we can extrapolate what it was like throughout Western Europe. In any event, Gundobad did everything he could to eliminate the tense relationship between the Arian Burgundians (mainly aristocrats and soldiers) and the Catholic Gallo-Romans (the vast majority of the population).\n\nChristianity didn't really take off until Emperor Constantine passed an edict in 313 in which the teachings of Jesus were officially tolerated, and the persecution of Christians gradually came to an end. At the end of the fourth century Emperor Theodosius went even further by prohibiting all other religions, and Christianity became the de facto religion of the state. By the early fifth century half the Roman population consisted of Christians. That growth was stimulated not only by the enthusiastic commitment of the emperor and the Bishop of Rome (the pope), but also by the growing riches of the church. The ecclesiastical authorities were only too glad to receive gifts from well-to-do aristocrats and citizens, who thereby hoped to secure their salvation. The faith thrived on the despair of the serfs and the riches of the aristocracy, like nettles and roses on a dungheap.\n\nNot only did the followers of Christ come down firmly in their choice of Latin as the language of their cult, but their dioceses also adopted the late classical management structure, which benefited the spread and organization of early Christianity. The local establishment of the church progressed smoothly because the church had been clever enough to retain pagan shrines and convert them into Christian places of prayer. Monasteries began sprouting up here and there \u2013 a phenomenon that developed when the first ascetic hermits decided to give up their solitude and embrace community life. In these institutions, the monks kept classical culture alive thanks to their practice of teaching and copying manuscripts. Latin culture could have been entirely obliterated in the chaos of the migration of peoples, but partly thanks to the church the influence of Roman civilization would continue to make itself felt in the prevailing administrative language, liturgy, teaching and visual arts. The seeds of the great classical resurgence were sown in the Early Middle Ages.\n\nBy installing themselves in the still powerful structures of the Roman empire, feeding upon the spiritual inspiration of church fathers like Augustine, systematically winning over the allegiance of the barbarians, and thanks in no small part to their culture of hard-working synods and councils, the Christians succeeded in creating an inspiring administrative homogeneity. Probably the most dangerous problem the church had to deal with in that early period was that of heretics, people who espoused heterodox doctrines. One of the most important of these was Arianism, the teachings of Arius, a third-century Egyptian priest. He opposed the idea that the unique God of Christianity consisted of three equal manifestations: the Father, the Son (Christ) and the Holy Spirit, in which Jesus was the only one to possess both a divine and a human nature. Arius argued that Jesus was subordinate to the Father, having been begotten by Him, so he could not have a divine nature, while others professed that Jesus, the Father and the Holy Spirit were equals. This debate almost brought about a schism in the church. Who was right: the Catholic Trinitarians (three equal persons?) or the staunch Arians (Christ subordinate to the Father)? During the Council of Nicaea of 325, not only did the ecclesiastical officials decide what day Easter should fall on for the rest of eternity, but they also declared once and for all what orthodox teaching was, thereby branding the followers of Arius as heretics. It took a long time for that message to reach all the remote corners of Christendom. In the meantime, the Arian bishop Wulfila converted the Goths, which meant that the heresy was actually gaining followers. It was probably through the Goths that Arianism spread to the other barbarians of the east. The Burgundians had already converted during their Worms period, so they were heretics by definition when they landed in the valley of the Rh\u00f4ne and the Sa\u00f4ne.\n\nIn order to integrate into Gaul successfully, there was little the Franks and Burgundians could do except join the Christianity of the Gallo-Romans. Gundobad himself equivocated for years when it came to converting, but he remained an Arian. He opted for a policy of tolerance and a gradual transition from one religion to the other. His wife, Caretene, was a Catholic, like Clotilde, and was given permission to build a large church in Lyon. The king even allowed Bishop Avitus of Vienne to dedicate an openly critical treatise on Arianism to him. This Avitus succeeded in convincing Gundobad's son Sigismund to convert only a few months before Clovis's baptism in 506. Because Sigismund was already a Christian (albeit of the wrong sort), he, unlike the Frankish leader, was spared a dip in cold water and had to make do with a simple laying on of hands. Thus the first Germanic leader to be received into the Catholic Church was a proper Burgundian king. This event quite probably hastened Clovis's religious turnaround.\n\nClovis and Sigismund were still well and truly converted when they left together for the war against the Visigoths, who ruled over an enormous kingdom that extended from the Loire to Andalusia. 'I take it very hard that these Arians hold part of the Gauls,' the brand-new ex-pagan Clovis piously exclaimed. 'Let us go with God's help and conquer them and bring the land under our control.' Sigismund didn't have to be told twice. What made this Frankish-Burgundian crusade against the heretical Arians a remarkable undertaking was that Sigismund's father was still a follower of that particular version of Christianity. Once again, and not for the last time, religion was a pretext for accumulating power, riches and territory.\n\nNot far from Poitiers \u2013 in the village of Vouill\u00e9, to be precise \u2013 the Burgundian-Frankish forces stumbled upon the army of the Visigoth king Alaric II. The battle had been raging for about a day when Clovis suddenly came upon Alaric, and without hesitation he struck him with his battle axe. Just then, two strapping Goths jumped on the Frankish king. He managed to escape by hiding behind his shield and jerking sharply on his horse's reins, while Alaric, dead as a doornail, toppled off his grey stallion. After the death of their leader the Visigoths fled to the Iberian peninsula, where their kingdom held out for two more centuries before the Moors destroyed it. The news that the leader of that powerful barbarian tribe had been killed in battle, and by none other than Clovis, stunned half the continent and lent even more lustre to the Frankish victory. By the spring of 507, Clovis had occupied practically all of Gaul, with the exception of Burgundy and Provence. This makes it easier to understand why at the end of the twentieth century the inhabitants of Vouill\u00e9 unveiled a commemorative plate with the somewhat bombastic but not entirely inaccurate words: 'The history of France starts here.'\n\nIn Latin texts, Chlodowig (as he was actually known) appeared as Clodovicus. The Germans call him Chlodwig (Ludwig, Lodewijk) and the French, like the Dutch, the Belgians and the English, refer to him as Clovis (the tribal name for Louis). Chlodowig is made up of the Germanic roots hlod ('fame') and wig ('combat'), and accordingly is taken to mean 'illustrious in battle'. Not only does his name summarize his career, but it also points the way to the French royal house, with its many kings named Louis. His aura of Frenchness only really began blazing at the end of his life, when the Frankish leader left the old capital of Tournai and chose Paris as the centre of his empire. Encouraged by his wife, Clotilde, he had a great church built, so that his life, which was characterized by bloodshed, ended in a semblance of peaceful piety. The king and his wife were interred in their church in 511 and 545 respectively. Today that place is graced by the Pantheon, where France buries its national heroes with all due ceremonial. French grandeur literally has its roots in a Frankish-Burgundian substratum."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Napkin Was Placed Under His Neck'",
                "text": "Whether by coincidence or not, the name Burgundia first cropped up in 506, the year of Sigismund's reception into the Catholic Church. When even the region's inhabitants began using this designation, local scholars decided it was time to start searching for a historic breeding ground. So they gathered stories of ancient saints who had died Catholic martyrs' deaths three or four hundred years earlier in what was not yet called Burgundia and combined them to form a kind of national creation myth. The resulting Burgundian Cycle presented a picture of Burgundy as a chosen land, with pious Christianizing heroes like Benignus of Dijon and Symphorianus of Autun. Suddenly the Burgundian kingdom, whose history had started less than a hundred years before, was shown to have existed for centuries.\n\nIn 516 Gundobad died, opening the way for his son Sigismund to let his subjects join the ranks of the orthodox Catholic peoples. Straightaway he built a cathedral in Geneva and asked the pope for a vast number of relics. Without batting an eye, the pope paid for the expansion of the Roman Catholic Church with a portion of holy remains, which were becoming increasingly minuscule the more they were divided and subdivided. The inexhaustible supply of Christian fossils and debris lent a lustre of holiness to the new churches.\n\nSigismund seemed to be on a winning streak: the Alemanni had been subjugated, the Visigoths driven out, and a strong link had been forged with the Franks. Yet within a short time the solid Burgundian empire collapsed like a house of cards.\n\nAfter the death of his wife Ostrogotho, a daughter of the Ostrogoth king Theodoric the Great (as her name suggests), Sigismund remarried. This time it was to a charming servant of the queen, to the great irritation of his son Sigeric. One day, Sigeric noticed his stepmother dressed in the clothes of his deceased mother and striding through the halls of the palace. That was all the adolescent needed to bring his frustration to boiling point. 'You are not worthy to have on your back those garments which are known to have belonged to your mistress, that is, my mother,' he shouted angrily. Insulted, the new wife complained to Sigismund. She blew the whole story into a conspiracy theory: his son was planning to overthrow him. The unstable Sigismund could not tolerate such a threat, and he had Sigeric killed during his afternoon nap. '\u2026and while he slept a napkin was placed under his neck and tied under his chin, and he was strangled by two servants who drew in opposite directions,' according to the account (quite sober for him) by Gregory of Tours.\n\nThat same evening, Sigismund had a change of heart and was racked with remorse. The broken king sought solace in the monastery of St Maurice, which he had founded in 515. There, nine teams of single-minded monks took turns singing psalms and canticles one after another, day and night, an eastern monastic tradition that entered the west via ancient Burgundy. The monks kept up their remarkable religious fervour until the beginning of the ninth century, good for almost 2.5 million hours of sung devotion.\n\nSigismund's deep distress and swift repentance, and his devotion to the Catholic faith, later earned him a saint's halo. Pious criminals honoured the unfortunate monarch as the patron saint of repentant murderers. In 1365, his skull and battle axe were sent to Prague at the request of Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV, who was ill at the time and was promptly healed, elevating the Burgundian Sigismund to the patron saint of the Bohemians.\n\nBut that triumph was posthumous. In 522 his situation was worrisome. As Burgundy looked nervously towards the Italy of the Ostrogoths, where Theodoric the Great was ready to take up arms and avenge the death of his grandson, Clovis's son Chlodomer did something that surprised both friend and foe alike. This Frankish leader had let himself be egged on by his Burgundian wife, Gundioca, the now-grown granddaughter of the Godegisel who had been beheaded twenty-two years earlier. For her, the hour of retribution had arrived. Traditionally, it was the duty of Germanic women to defend the family honour, and Gundioca demanded satisfaction for the murder of her parents and grandparents, all of them killed by King Gundobad. Gundobad himself was dead, but his son Sigismund, who had been weakened by these events, was the ideal victim for her vengeance. In 523, the army of the Franks crushed the demoralized Burgundian warriors of Sigismund, who himself managed a narrow escape. He fled to his monastery but was intercepted in sight of the gate. Just as the rules of the Germanic faihitha prescribed, Chlodomer killed him and his relatives in exactly the same way that Sigismund's father, Gundobad, had put Godegisel and his family to death: first by beheading them, then throwing their remains down a deep well.\n\nNow that Gundobad's carefully wrought plans seemed doomed to go up in smoke, the Burgundians hurriedly crowned Sigismund's brother Gundomar as their new king. Surprisingly, Gundomar went on to give the Franks a drubbing one year later. Chlodomer's head ended up on a pike and Burgundy was once again alive and kicking. But this was no more than the last gasp for the royal house. In 534 the Merovingians crushed the Burgundian army once and for all, even though Gundomar managed to escape in the nick of time. He went into hiding and lived for years as a commoner in his own realm, which managed to preserve its identity even though it was now under the Frankish flag.\n\nThe Franks lived in an almost perpetual state of war. Because every male descendant had an equal right to the property of the head of the family, royal families tended to fight over every morsel of land. The kinsmen of the late lamented Chlodomer murdered his sons to avoid conceding any more territory to the Frankish-Burgundian branch. This attempt to purify the Frankish royal family of Burgundian blood was pointless from the start, for the simple reason that it would require the elimination of practically everyone, including the killers themselves. To understand the problem, all we have to do is climb up into Clovis's family tree. It may be tough going, but there's a minor revelation at the end. It's all contained in the following paragraph, which admittedly sounds like a Merovingian melodrama. Try reading it aloud.\n\nClovis married Gundobad's niece Clotilde, and their son Chlodomer had children with Gundioca, the granddaughter of Godegisel. After the death of Chlodomer, Gundioca was simply passed on to Clovis's third son, the notorious Clotharius. In addition to Clovis's oldest son, Theuderic \u2013 who, like his father, had bedded a Burgundian princess the second time round: Suavegotha, daughter of Sigismund \u2013 and with the exception of Theuderic's oldest son, Theudebert, child of the first marital union, all of Clovis's offspring had Burgundian blood flowing through their veins. Since Theudebert's branch consisted of only one son and one childless grandson, the non-Burgundian line quickly fizzled out. Consequently, the various genealogical twists and turns all point to one undeniable historical truth: the descendants of Clovis were as Burgundian as they were Frankish.\n\nThis may explain why the Lex Burgondionum remained applicable until well into the ninth century, and why, with the exception of a few rare Franks, most bishops, landowners and aristocrats could pride themselves on their Burgundian origins. The famous statute book had set a successful integration policy in motion, which in turn ensured that the population would continue to identify as genuine Burgundians. The mythical kingdom might dissolve in the mists of time, but the name of Burgundy would defy the centuries."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Behold The Veil Of The Virgil Of The Lord'",
                "text": "The Merovingian kingdom soon split into three large sections: Austrasia (whose capital was Reims, then Metz), Neustria (whose capital was Soissons) and Burgundy (whose capital was Chalon-sur-Sa\u00f4ne). After two or three centuries, the Merovingians lost their effective power and languished in idleness like bloated kings, while their major-domos, who took responsibility for all practical matters, gradually emerged as the real Frankish leaders. Under the feeble descendants of Clovis, the history of Burgundy plodded along until foreign invasions caused the somewhat sluggish wheel of history to turn once again.\n\nBy around 700 the Moors had conquered most of North Africa and ventured a successful crossing to the north, into Spain. In 711 they wiped the Visigoths off the map, and eight years later they invaded the land on the other side of the Pyrenees, where they immediately took Narbonne. The unstoppable Arabic leader Abd al-Rahman plundered the entire region. This new influx of foreigners threatened to gobble up all the main pillars of the previous migrations one by one.\n\nOne major-domo from the Meuse region would call a halt to the Arab invasion. Pictorial depictions of this early medieval hero are all quite similar. They show a Frankish leader fearlessly gazing into the distance, a band wrapped round his long hair, a shaggy walrus moustache beneath an oversized snout, his hauberk stretched tightly across his chest, shield at his feet. The most salient detail is the bloody battle axe in his right hand. Charles Martel is invariably depicted as the most valiant warrior of his time.\n\nMartel's plan was to use the Moors' invasions to gain control of the fragmented territories of the Merovingians. In October 732, he and his warriors marched into the valley of the Clain, north of today's Poitiers. For the first time since their arrival on European soil, the Arabs were facing a disciplined military force that was armed to the teeth. It was the horsemen of Islam against Christian shock troops, Abd al-Rahman versus Charles Martel. As in the time of Aetius and Attila, the Burgundians formed an important division of the allied forces.\n\nAt first the Frankish elite contingent held back, letting the infantry fight the initial battle. Their many bodies, disembowelled and beheaded, covered the swampy, muddy ground. It was on that ghastly carpet that the battle was decided. Charles Martel fought like a madman, swinging his battle axe like a hammer \u2013 martellus in Latin. From the clash of two opposing cultures hacking away at each other, his name would illuminate the age after which he was named: the Carolingian.\n\nThe allies took heart. The Moors lost ground. Their army was more suited to large-scale raids than to a classical test of strength. When Abd al-Rahman was finally killed, his troops fled in panic. In his report of the battle, one chronicler accomplished two remarkable feats in one. Not only did he enrich the annals with his unforgettable name, Notker the Stammerer, but he also described the motley coalition of Christian troops as 'Europenses'. For the first time, the word 'Europeans' flowed from a chronicler's pen.\n\nDuring the whole Carolingian period, Burgundy was absorbed quasi-anonymously into the kingdom of Martel's grandson Charlemagne, and the old name was in danger of disappearing altogether. Only after the division of Charlemagne's empire in the Treaty of Verdun in 843 did the term Burgundia reappear in the writings of the chroniclers.\n\nCharlemagne's immense kingdom was divided into three parts: West Francia, the area that would later come to be known as France; East Francia, the region that would develop into Germany \u2013 a Catholic kingdom next to an equally Catholic empire; and Middle Francia between them, which ran from Friesland to Italy but after a few decades became part of the eastern empire. In the division of Charlemagne's lands, old Burgundy was split down the middle. The eastern part soon separated from the Holy Roman Empire and began calling itself the Free County of Burgundy. The explicit reference to the old kingdom gradually disappeared, and in time this region would simply be called the Franche-Comt\u00e9 (the Free County), as it is today. Gradually, the name Burgundy came to be used for the western part alone, which had been ceded to West Francia, roughly the area between Nevers, Dijon and M\u00e2con."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "As if enough blood hadn't already been shed in the fiercely fought partitioning of the Carolingian kingdom, the Germanic and Arabic invasion of Europe was followed by the lightning incursions of Scandinavian warriors. At the end of the ninth century the Vikings snaked their way down the twists and turns of the Seine, the Loire, the Yonne and the Aube and deep into Burgundy, plundering the rich monasteries of the region as they went. The Count of Autun, a man named Richard, accepted the challenge to defend the threatened region. Richard was so effective in kicking the Vikings out of Burgundy that he soon became known as 'the Justiciar'. When word of his success spread, a great many monks left the north-eastern part of the kingdom and brought their relics to the relative safety of Burgundy, where new monasteries shot up like toadstools.\n\nRichard may have pushed the Vikings back to the valley of the Seine, but that did little to make them less menacing. To say that the Viking leader Rollo and his troops made West Francia unsafe is an understatement. In 911 he set his sights on Chartres. As the siege went on, the town didn't seem to stand a chance. But suddenly a miracle occurred. The Bishop of Chartres, Gancelme, appeared in a diamond-encrusted chasuble. He knew that this was his moment, and he didn't hesitate. He dropped his crozier, thrust out his chest, tore his upper garment and pulled out a piece of cloth, which was immediately lit by a ray of sunlight from heaven. Then he cried out ecstatically, 'Behold the tunic of the Virgin of the Lord.' The garment that Mary had worn while giving birth to Jesus (according to tradition) must have worked like a kind of military aphrodisiac, for the heretical Norseman Rollo was mercilessly thrashed and by treaty was banished to a region that came to be known as Normandy because of his presence. There he would remain, consent to be baptized, and go on to defend France against the incursions of other Norsemen. A hundred and fifty years later, his great-great-great-grandson William would invade England from that very spot and would thereafter bear the epithet 'the Conqueror'.\n\nThe legend of Rollo's defeat is pleasant enough to read \u2013 the tunic of the Virgin is still preserved in the cathedral at Chartres \u2013 but the reality was a bit more prosaic. Gancelme had undoubtedly roused his troops with his flair for the theatrical gesture, but it was mainly the timely arrival of Richard the Justiciar, once again, that brought the Vikings down. After a siege lasting a hundred days, the Burgundian count liberated the town in July. The conclusion is as brief as it is important: no Normandy without Burgundy.\n\nThe man who performed so many feats of strength was given permission by the French king to style himself 'duke'. Richard chose Dijon as the capital of his duchy, which comprised only a modest part of Gundobad's legendary kingdom, but this does nothing to lessen its historic importance. Thanks to this victory over Scandinavian raiders, the seed of the illustrious Burgundian duchy took root at the beginning of the tenth century.\n\nOr how the emergence of the feudal system also influenced the evolution of the Burgundian duchy, how the church in the eleventh and twelfth centuries could just as well have been ruled from Burgundy as from Rome, but also how the plague and the Hundred Years War were responsible for linking Flanders with Burgundy after 1369.\n\nBECAUSE THE LAND was repeatedly partitioned among all the kings' sons, the Carolingian kingdom eventually fell apart due to an unstoppable process of fragmentation. After a while there was little territory left to partition. When Louis the Do-Nothing suffered a fatal fall from his horse in 987, the great lords of the kingdom were forced to choose a successor, and without delay. With his legendary penchant for dolce far niente, the deceased monarch had failed to leave any progeny. He would go down in history as the last Carolingian.\n\nThe counts and dukes cast their eye on the unremarkable Hugo Capet, whose very weakness made him look attractive. The uglier the king, the freer their hands. Capet's domain consisted of little more than the snippet of land between Senlis and Orl\u00e9ans, the region around Paris. His governing strategy was anything but ambitious, although he was clever enough to establish the policy of passing on territory in its entirety to the oldest son. This simple but brilliant idea of the 'crown prince' became the germ of his posthumous success. No one could have imagined that such a fragile king would be the first in a series of thirty-six monarchs. The Capetians would systematically enlarge their domain and occupy the French throne for 800 years. After 987, it became commonly accepted to speak of West Francia simply as France.\n\nThe once lean family tree produced a single robust twig whose foliage grew as far as Dijon and would cast its shadow over Burgundy for centuries to come. Capet's grandson Robert dreamed of toppling his older brother Henry I from the French throne, but in the end he had to content himself with Burgundy in 1032. The duchy was then passed down from father to son for the next 300 years. Duke Robert was the founding father of the Burgundian Capetians. In the eleventh century a close tie formed between the French crown and the region around Dijon, and the Duke of Burgundy became one of the most important authority figures in the kingdom after the king. While the French Capetians had great difficulty pulling their kingdom together, the Burgundian Capetians quietly gave shape to Burgundy. Slowly but surely they prepared themselves for a spectacular advance.\n\nIn the medieval feudal structure, the king occupied the top position. Beneath him were his vassals, who ruled a fiefdom in their sovereign's name, swore loyalty to him and pledged military support. These vassals did the same with the lords beneath them, and in this manner the waterfall of power cascaded down to the very bottom, where peasants worked for a lord in exchange for protection from outside danger. Because the arm of Hugo Capet did not reach very far, the actual power in still-young France lay with the counts and dukes of Aquitaine, Brittany, Normandy, Toulouse, Gascony, Anjou, Flanders and Burgundy. But even in those regions, power was pulverized into smaller and smaller units due to the absence of a balanced central authority.\n\nDuring the raids of the Moors and the Vikings, local lords usually assumed the responsibility of defending their own villages, and walled fortresses were built. In these dark bastions, the local rural aristocracy imitated the king's royal household, but on a small scale. Peasants were treated like beasts, and in order to survive they often had to sell everything, sometimes even themselves, to the local baron, who enriched himself on the backs of his toiling serfs. To keep them obedient and submissive, the nobility recruited heavily armed horsemen. The English would later call these hauberk-clad servants 'knights', a boost in status that would never come to resonate in the Dutch word 'knecht', which simply means 'servant' or 'farmhand'. The French word 'chevalier' still retains the reference to horses, and the fact that these knights were horsemen, as does the Dutch word for knight: ridder, or rider.\n\nThis unfair division was part of a world order so unshakeable that no medieval person would even think of bringing it down: the bellatores (those who wage war), the oratores (those who pray) and the laboratores (those who work) formed a social structure that would hold firm roughly until the French Revolution. The churchmen prayed for everyone's salvation, the warriors fought on everyone's behalf, and the workers worked for the churchmen and the warriors. Not only was the system highly predictable, but so was daily reality. Hunger, war and sickness were the refrains of the average medieval existence. Most men never made it past thirty. This pitiful life expectancy was the result of a high infant mortality rate, a lack of nutritious food, and inadequate medical care. For women, twenty years of life was all they could hope for, since they began bearing children at around the age of fourteen and often died in childbirth. Yet there were quite a few old people. Once you passed twenty, you had a reasonably good chance of reaching a respectable age.\n\nSlowly but surely the prestige of the praying folk began to rise, and early in the eleventh century the oratores made an attempt to curb the brutal rule of the aristocracy. By means of the so-called Peace of God movement, the church tried to erect a barrier against the waves of violence that were being stirred up by the local lords and knights. During heavily attended public ceremonies, knights would be required to take oaths promising not to harass any women or children, clerics or pilgrims, travellers or merchants \u2013 in short, anyone who was not participating in wars and battles. Bishops would raise their croziers in the air, and immediately thousands of hands would go up. It was a monumental gesture towards heaven. 'Peace! Peace! Peace!' came the cry, as if from a single mouth. Even the most merciless lords were impressed by these people's councils and literally dropped to their knees on pain of excommunication \u2013 a ticket straight to hell. Yet these efforts didn't always bear fruit. By the end of the eleventh century, the church decided to channel the violent excesses of feudalism in the direction of the Middle East, giving birth to the Crusades. Weren't the heretics there making life miserable for brothers in the faith? Wasn't it possible that they were defiling the grave of Christ? Weren't they even denying Christians entrance to the holy city of Jerusalem?\n\nWhile the knights were expected to guard against physical threats in a way that was just and fair, a growing army of monks assumed responsibility for pleading for the world's salvation before the throne of the Creator. Since the king, who had been anointed by the church, often failed to fulfil this role, these monks were obliged to take on the job of tempering God's wrath and begging for his mercy. Countless individuals turned their backs on the world and embarked on a life void of sensual pleasures or riches. Alms came pouring in. Poor wretches as well as lords of the castle were eager to secure as comfortable a place in the hereafter as they could afford. Monasteries had long served as the spiritual playthings of the regional nobility, but a major reform movement brought that to an end. A vast number of abbeys emerged as the most important power centres of the eleventh century."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A White Cloak Of Churches'",
                "text": "Not far from virgin forests, where rabbits, martens, wild boars, lynxes and bears roamed free (if they hadn't already been slaughtered during the tedious hunting parties organized by local potentates), lay the idyllic village of Cluny, which, aside from its hunting lodge, wooden chapel and a few shabby vineyards, had nothing to recommend it. This Burgundian hamlet, with its paradisiacal sweetness, was the ideal place to accommodate a new monastery. The hunters would have to satisfy their cravings elsewhere. The yelping of the hounds was replaced by the praying of monks. The new Benedictine abbey was consecrated on 11 September 910 as an independent institution. By the middle of the eleventh century it had grown into the centre of a religious network that numbered 1500 monasteries, one of first multinationals in history.\n\nOra et labora. Pray and work. Cluny bent the age-old Rule of St Benedict to its purposes. The accent shifted to the first aspect of the Rule, and not slightly but overwhelmingly. The monks may have had a symbolic encounter with a rake or a shovel, but it was serfs and tenant farmers who did most of the work. When it came to prayer and singing, however, they performed with gusto. As the Burgundian monk and chronicler Raoul Glaber wrote, 'I myself am witness that in this monastery it is a custom\u2026 that Masses be celebrated constantly from the earliest hour of the day until the hour assigned for rest.' At the height of their spiritual productivity, the brothers (who, thank God, could relieve each other owing to their sheer numbers) sang their way through 138 psalms in a single day, while St Benedict was quite happy if the monks could get through 150 a week. '\u2026and they go about it with so much dignity and piety and veneration', Glaber continued, 'that one would think they were angels rather than men.'\n\nThe monks of Cluny made it a point of honour to attend to the spiritual welfare of the dead. The order laid the basis for the celebration of All Souls' Day on 2 November. An ever-expanding cemetery grew up around the monastery, an undertaking as lucrative as it was pious. To pray for the salvation of all mortals, living and dead, the monastic community, with hundreds of daughter houses throughout Europe, released a boundless stream of prayers to the Heavenly Father. Otherwise, an impressive silence reigned in the monastery, and monks were forced to communicate in sometimes unfathomable sign language. The sign for a woman was the same as that for a trout: an almost sensual stroking of the forehead with the index finger from one eyebrow to the other.\n\nThe liturgical aesthetic was echoed in the increasingly beautiful design of Cluny's own abbey church. Three buildings followed each other in rapid succession, and the third remained the largest church in Europe until the construction of St Peter's Basilica in Rome. Artistic creativity and monastic religious expression went hand in hand, and thanks to the international network of daughter houses and pilgrim churches in eleventh-century Burgundy, these cultural forms spread across the continent. Europe embraced Romanesque architecture with enthusiasm. Older church buildings, the ceilings and roofs of which were usually made of wood and easily caught fire, made way for larger places of worship erected with massive stone walls and fitted with small windows. The pillars were connected by means of stone arches and ribbed vaults, thus allowing for larger interior spaces in which separate chapels could also be built \u2013 the success of the monastic life required more and more altars. For the first time, the exteriors of the churches were also ornamented, giving the facade in particular a most imposing vitality. As Glaber wrote, 'It looked as though the very world was shaking itself to take off its old age and to reclothe itself in all areas in a white cloak of churches.'\n\nIt was mainly under the guidance of Abbot Hugo, who was elected in 1049 and led the order for sixty years, that Cluny made a name for itself and became known even in the far reaches of Portugal, Scotland and Italy. Hugo's intelligence and authority reflected on the entire monastic community. After King Philip I of France was excommunicated for adultery in the autumn of his years, he began to worry about his spiritual welfare and requested permission to enter the monastery. His only condition was that he be allowed to keep his crown. But Hugo was adamant: without distancing himself from worldly glory there would be no room for his royal cousin at Cluny. When William the Conqueror asked him for monks to staff his English monasteries, the abbot refused despite the handsome remuneration, and he did so because he feared his brothers would not be able to regulate their way of life in the same spirit of independence.\n\nIt would easily take as long to pray a couple of rosaries as it would to list all of Hugo's international achievements. The illustrious abbot wore out several popes in his long career, and he always maintained a direct line with Rome. He accompanied Bruno Egisheim, who had spent a night at Cluny as a pilgrim on his journey to the Vatican, and was present when Bruno donned the tiara for the first time as Leo IX. Pope Urban II was also steeped in the spirit of Cluny, and when he called for the First Crusade on 18 November 1095 during the Council of Clermont with the words 'Deo lo volt!' (God wills it), Hugo of Cluny stood approvingly at his side. Finally, Pope Paschal II, a former brother of the mother house, also aligned his policy with the great abbot's favourite themes.\n\nHugo's network supplied much-needed support for a thorough reformation of the church. More than ever, celibacy for clerics and Christian marriage for the laity became two fundamental precepts. He also banned the sale of ecclesiastical offices, and laypeople were not allowed to interfere in religious affairs. The Peace of God movement, which first emerged in southern countries, only reached full bloom when Cluny agreed to support it. Soon, lords of the castle and knights from the northern Rh\u00f4ne valley, Burgundy, the Franche-Comt\u00e9 and even from the regions north of Paris \u2013 where the bloody tradition of the faihitha had never gone out of fashion \u2013 agreed to comply with the imposed rules for peace. The Holy See was firmly grounded in the Ecclesia Cluniacensis. In fact, over the course of the eleventh century the Catholic Church was being governed from Burgundy as much as it was from Rome. But that didn't stop the great Hugo from searching for his bed of straw every night to humbly sleep among his monks."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "From 1100 on, the worldly success of the Benedictine order provoked growing criticism. Shouldn't the monks stick to their own affairs within the walls of their monasteries and leave the world to its own devices? Wasn't that how the Cluniac monks got started in the first place? Wasn't it the king's job to guarantee peace in his kingdom? Cluny's affluence and splendour also came under fire. Shouldn't modesty be a Catholic virtue? Could it be that the order had become far too rich?\n\nThe strongest opposition came from Burgundy itself. In C\u00eeteaux, scarcely a hundred kilometres from Cluny, an abbey with even stricter observance was consecrated in 1098. Driven by Bernard of Clairvaux, a Burgundian born and bred, the Cistercian order would eventually unite more than seven hundred daughter houses within its fold. At a time when money and corruption were on the rise in church circles, the ascetic example of C\u00eeteaux exerted ever greater fascination. Soon the Catholic world found that it could follow two opposing paths, two ways that led from and to Burgundy: a religiosity moved by beauty that was nourished by liturgical ceremony and dazzling churches, and a mystical passion that relied on the joys of poverty and asceticism, Cluny as opposed to C\u00eeteaux, Hugo versus Bernard. More than ever before, Burgundy of the twelfth century had become the beating heart of the Respublica Christiana.\n\nBernard, unlike the followers of the great Hugo, honoured not only the ora but also the labora of Benedict's Rule. There were no serfs as there were in Cluny; the Cistercian brothers themselves put their hands to the plough. There was something particularly Burgundian about this physical doggedness, however. In 1110 the monks planted the first grapevines on the stony subsoil of a nearby slope, and they did their utmost to create as beatific a drink as possible. Was there a more perfect counterpart to spiritual labour than to harvest the blood of Christ by the sweat of one's brow? The Cistercians continued to plant their vines until thousands of acres were put into service. Gradually they improved their production methods, which had made little progress since the arrival of the Romans. It was a labour-intensive enterprise, but wasn't time something that the monks had in abundance?\n\nThey built a stone enclosure that served to defend their grapevines from the far too aggressive pigs, boars and deer. It also protected the early vines from the wind, and they thrived from the stored heat that the stones gave off at night. In 1212 this Clausum de Vougeot \u2013 the walled grove of Vougeot \u2013 was reported in a document, named after the adjoining village. And perhaps the abstinence-loving St Bernard once celebrated Mass with wine that would one day become the celebrated grand crus of Burgundy. 'Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this clos-de-vougeot is my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.'\n\nThe Meursault and Clos de Tart wines, renowned for both their name and their finish, also came to full maturity thanks to the daughter houses of C\u00eeteaux. The temptations of alcohol gave rise to the requisite moral dilemmas, and one of the monks once asked Bernard how the Rule of St Benedict could be reconciled with the love for Bacchus. 'By not drinking more than one hemina a day' was the answer given by the spiritual leader. This ancient Roman measurement was the equivalent of 0.27 litres, one small carafe to get you through the day. In short, enough to modestly quench your thirst but not enough to cause you to nod off during the intoning of the psalms. And as an extra test of abstinence, the monks slept above the wine cellar at night.\n\nDespite the severity of Bernard, who refused the position of archbishop when it was offered him in order to stay on as abbot, the order of C\u00eeteaux ended up following the same path as Cluny and became one of the wealthiest religious organizations in Europe. Their inspiring power shrank as their treasuries filled and their administrative ambitions grew. The affluent Cistercians were a contradiction in terms. Few of their abbots were inclined to reject the bishop's mitre, and they built magnificent Gothic cathedrals that were a far cry from the sober, modest edifices their order had once so fervently promoted."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Beware, Father, to the left! Beware, Father, to the right!'",
                "text": "To a great extent, the order of C\u00eeteaux owed its very existence to Odo I of Burgundy. In 1098, the duke not only donated the land on which the abbey would be erected, but he also financed its construction. Three years later, the courageous and godly Odo took part in a final offshoot of the First Crusade. He died before reaching Jerusalem. The mortal remains of the worldly founder of C\u00eeteaux were buried in the shadow of his abbey. For the next 250 years, all the Burgundian dukes would find their final resting place there (and all but three of them were named Odo or Hugo).\n\nThe prestige of the two mother houses outshone the dukes in life as well as in death, which had its advantages. Safe within that shelter, the dukes could work on steadily strengthening their central authority in Dijon. Compared with the spectacular advances of the French Capetians, who had retaken a large part of the former West Francia, the inheritance of their Burgundian relations looked much less impressive. But by taking advantage of the international appeal of Cluny and C\u00eeteaux, they succeeded in breathing new life into the Burgundian sense of unity. The dukes achieved on a small scale what Gundobad had brought about on a larger one.\n\nBecause of its position on the border, the duchy was given the task of defending the kingdom, which strengthened its tie with the French crown. That assignment seasoned the early Burgundian consciousness with a pinch of French nationalism. But danger was lurking as well \u2013 not from across the nearby border with the Holy Roman Empire but from the other side of the Channel, where William the Conqueror and his descendants had been ruling since 1066. Henry Plantagenet, great-grandson of William and future King of England, married the clever and ravishingly beautiful Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152. Scarcely eight weeks earlier she had been divorced from King Louis VII of France, with whom she had led a contentious married life for fifteen years. With relief she traded one crown for another, and overnight the great Aquitaine, the entire south-western region of the kingdom, fell into the hands of the English crown.\n\nThe tempestuous Henry, who was also Duke of Normandy (thanks to his great-grandfather) and Count of Anjou (through his father), was suddenly the most powerful vassal of the French king. That situation led to friction between the superpowers, which at the beginning of the fourteenth century would result in one of the bloodiest conflicts in western history, when periods of ceasefire would alternate with savage raids, invasions and epic battles. The conflict lasted so long that, for the sake of convenience, historians began calling the 116 years of misery the Hundred Years War."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "In 1314 the French king, Philip the Fair, gave up the ghost. He left three sons, all of whom failed to produce heirs to the throne, and to make matters worse they all died young. Louis the Quarrelsome, Philip the Tall and Charles the Fair managed to occupy the throne for less than fourteen years altogether. The reign of the baby king, John the Posthumous, a mere five days, failed to resolve the problem. The stock of successors was exhausted, and a legitimate king had to be found without delay. Actually, the sister of the three late lamented monarchs, Isabella, could have claimed the throne, but the French found that idea very hard to swallow, since she was the widow of the recently deceased English king, Edward II. His son, Edward III, was barely fifteen and too weak to stand up to the French legal scholars, who were busy digging up apocryphal documents in order to prohibit succession via the female line. Now that the direct descendants of Hugo Capet had died off, the throne went to a cadet branch, an offshoot of a brother of Philip the Fair.\n\nTen years later, the new House of Valois \u2013 of which the Capetians were members, but which bore the name of their specific family branch \u2013 was forced to deal with the ambitions of Edward III, now age twenty-five. On 19 October 1337 he declared war on France and launched his long military escapade. From a purely genealogical standpoint, Edward was in the right: denying the throne on the basis of succession through the female line was nonsense, and as a grandson of Philip the Fair he was among the first in line, unlike the scions of the Valois cadet branch. In addition, he knew quite well what he was fighting for: the tempting prize of having an English king also sitting on the French throne.\n\nIn 1346 he crossed the Channel and pulverized the French for the first time near Cr\u00e9cy in Picardy. Then he began the siege of Calais that would drag on for a full year. The situation was hopeless. Six citizens, with nooses round their necks and the keys to the city in their hands, approached Edward III at a ponderous, shuffling gait to offer their lives if he would spare the town. Moved by this gesture, the English queen, Philippa of Hainaut, succeeded in convincing her husband to undertake an act of clemency \u2013 a romantic footnote in a sordid story. Auguste Rodin would depict the poignant scene in bronze half a millennium later. From then on, English troops had safe access to French soil at the port of Calais. With the fall of this strategic stronghold, the richest land in Europe stumbled into the darkest century of its history.\n\nThree years later, Philip VI died \u2013 the first Valois king \u2013 and it was up to John the Good to defend France's honour. Why his countrymen called him 'the Good' is a mystery, since under his leadership the country went into a total decline.\n\nIn an effort to breathe new life into the old knightly ideals, John founded the Order of the Star. When the lords gathered together it wasn't just to brag about their heroic deeds. They also swore never to flee more than 600 metres from a battlefield, and to die or be taken prisoner rather than abandon their king. Such breathless valour would prove fatal to the French on more than one occasion.\n\nIn 1356 the English launched countless raids from Aquitaine. Now that the enemy was approaching the heart of France, the French king's call to mobilize met with a huge positive response. 'No knight and no squire remained at home,' the chroniclers wrote. The king was so certain of victory that he even conscripted his four sons to fight. After a long pursuit, the French army came upon the enemy in the environs of Poitiers. On 19 September 1356, the king was given what he had so longed for: a second chance to make up for the defeat his father had suffered ten years earlier at Cr\u00e9cy. There they were, John the Good against the Prince of Wales; the French king, whose one desire was to become the greatest knight of his age, against the eldest son of Edward III, who wore a black cape over his armour: le Bon versus The Black Prince.\n\nThe English had chosen an ideal spot on high ground, which could only be reached by way of a road so thickly lined with hedges that even four adjacent riders had difficulty ascending it. This didn't keep the French king from throwing his principal forces into the fray. Blinded by the overconfidence he gleaned from ancient tales, the king sent his best horsemen up the hill even though he could just as well have chosen to starve the enemy into submission. But such a cowardly approach would have run counter to every ideal of chivalry.\n\nA hail of English arrows descended on the cavalry and their horses, who tumbled over each other, collapsing and snorting. The horses that survived did an about-turn and, wild with panic, charged at the French ground troops. Suddenly John the Good realized what an exercise in folly it had been to send in all his sons. He quickly ordered the dauphin Charles and his two brothers to leave the battlefield in order to safeguard the line of succession. His youngest, and his favourite, the fourteen-year-old Philip, remained at his side.\n\nThe departure of the three princes looked so much like desertion that a large portion of the army decided to abandon the king. The 7,000 Englishmen, who had faced twice as many of the enemy when the battle began, suddenly took heart. John himself refused to leave. He insisted on defending his honour. 'Advance,' he cried, 'for I will recover the day or die on the field!'\n\nFully aware that no cuirass would offer him better protection, John pulled over his armour a blue mantle embroidered with golden lilies, the symbol of the French monarchy. The enemy, who could thus easily recognize him, would do everything they could to take him alive and then demand an outrageously high ransom for him. When the English identified John the Good fighting in the melee, they rushed towards him. But the king wasn't going to give up that easily. Hacking away like a wild man at everyone around him, he seemed to have forgotten that he was clothed in fleurs-de-lis. In fact, he gave the distinct impression that he wanted to keep on fighting until his dying breath. Teeth were being broken, arms chopped off, entrails spilling from opened bellies. The group around the French king was shrinking by the minute.\n\n'Ware, to the left!' shouted his son Philip, who was just able to block a sword's thrust. His father, one of the most feared old warriors in Europe, cut a path to the left despite the fact that his helmet had been knocked off. 'Beware, Father, to the right!' screamed his son, and swinging his battle axe, John eliminated another approaching Englishman.\n\n'Yield, yield, or you are a dead man!' someone shouted at the king. It was Dennis of Moerbeke, a French-speaking nobleman from Flanders who had been banished to England for murder and was now serving in the army of the Black Prince. 'Yield yourself to me and I will lead you to the Prince of Wales.'\n\nExhausted and helmetless, John the Good handed his right glove to the nobleman from Moerbeke. His blue mantle was torn, the fleurs-de-lis drenched in blood. Philip followed his father's example."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "As at Cr\u00e9cy, the strongest army of knights in Europe had bitten the dust. Even Francesco Petrarch, the poet and founder of humanism, who heard the news in Milan, could hardly believe it. The French had been undone by two major mistakes. Their troops still swore by the crossbow, admittedly robust but difficult to operate, while the English longbow was capable of shooting twelve arrows a minute, covering a distance of 300 metres and striking with devastating force. In addition, the French noblemen looked down on the infantry and preferred to fill their ranks with swaggering, drunken knights on horseback. The English weren't the least bit bothered by fighting alongside ordinary commoners who were skilled with the longbow, and they even put a premium on seamless cooperation between horsemen and archers.\n\nIn French history, 'The Battle of Poitiers' has the ring of a heroic thunderclap, a high point of military and national glory: Charles Martel beating the Moors and saving the country from the threat of an Arabic takeover. Not only was the actual situation a lot more nuanced, but patriotic historians kept cranking up the glory in order to divert attention from that other, doomed Battle of Poitiers. In the annals of French history, 25 October 732 has been successfully used to erase the blighted 19 September 1356. Anyone who evokes Poitiers today automatically thinks of Charles Martel, but not a living soul knows who John the Good was.\n\nIn the autumn of 1356, the deeply humiliated France had to find something to lean on, so the cry 'Beware, Father, to the left! Beware, Father, to the right!' became a heroic refrain that could be heard in every corner of the country. It provided the king's youngest son, Philip, with a nickname that the kingdom found warmly consoling. Le Hardi! The Bold! The Brave! An epitheton ornans that rang like a bell, a title of honour that would guarantee Philip the Bold a place in the history books. But the consequences of his bravado at Poitiers were especially important for the future of Burgundy."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Voluntarily Risked Death'",
                "text": "After having descended into the snake pit of the Hundred Years War in the 1330s, France was forced to deal with one of the cruellest invasions in its history. At the beginning of 1348 the plague entered the country by way of Marseilles. By the summer, the bacilli had already overrun the capital. Half the population of Paris was mowed down, and then the epidemic swept northward. In Flanders it was called the 'haestighe ziecte' (the hasty disease), or simply 'gadoot' (sudden death). Burgundy, too, was devastated. In the village of Rully only ten families survived. In Givry, with a population of just under 1,500 souls, 615 villagers died within fourteen weeks. In the town of Paray-le-Monial a mere 12 per cent escaped the grim reaper, and in Nuits-Saint-Georges this saying was making the rounds: 'En mil trois cent quarante et huit / A Nuits sur cent rest\u00e8rent huit.' The phrase 'eight out of a hundred survived' may have been a bit of an exaggeration for the sake of the rhyme, but the famous chronicler Jean Froissart estimated that 'a third of the world' perished. This alarming figure would later be confirmed by historians.\n\nWhile the plague raged more fiercely among the poor, the rich were not spared either. The Burgundian duke Odo IV was not the only one to succumb to the contagious disease in 1349. John the Good, then still the crown prince, lost his wife and his mother. His father, King Philip VI, ordered the medical faculty of Paris University to figure out where the infernal plague was coming from. The scientists pointed to the peculiar position of the planets. But most mortals firmly believed that the cause of the terrible malady was to be sought much further afield. What else could unleash a plague of such biblical proportions than the wrath of God?\n\nHalf-naked penitents began appearing in the streets. The best they could come up with was to drive out sin by flogging themselves with iron-tipped scourges, an exercise that provided very little relief to tormented humanity. A scapegoat, some thought, would be more effective. All fingers pointed in the same direction. Jews were accused of poisoning fountains and wells, and in Antwerp, Brussels, Basel, Strasbourg, Frankfurt, Cologne, Narbonne, Chinon \u2013 but also in the Burgundian city of Beaune \u2013 they were simply murdered or harshly driven out. The fact that they, too, were dying of the plague in droves was beside the point. After the Black Death had gone on its mad rampage \u2013 a process that took only a few days and involved pain in the chest, blood welling up in the throat, abscesses full of pus on arms and thighs, black spots on the skin, death agonies \u2013 it also made short work of common sense. Rats and fleas were such familiar companions that no one gave even half a moment's thought to the possibility that they might be the plague's carriers.\n\nTo make matters worse, after the retreat of the army of plague bacilli France was doomed to suffer the disaster of Poitiers in 1356. While King John the Good, now under lock and key in London, remained convinced that he had done his duty, riots broke out in France that drove the country to the brink of civil war. For the cunning Edward III, this was the signal that it was time to resurrect his claim to the French crown. In the autumn of 1359 he had 12,000 troops shipped to the harbour of Calais.\n\nAfter the double fiasco of Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers, the French refused to plunge into another reckless adventure. Everywhere they went the English encountered closed city gates. Not a single army was willing to take them on. When the city of Reims appeared impregnable, the peevish Edward decided to establish winter quarters in Burgundy. For the local inhabitants, the devastating raids throughout the duchy were their first real experience of the misery of war with England.\n\nThe sixteen-year-old Burgundian duke Philip of Rouvres \u2013 not to be confused with Philip the Bold, the king's son \u2013 was named after the castle in which he normally resided. He was glad to be able to conclude a three-year truce with Edward on 10 March 1360. The English king left Burgundy, but he found Paris a hard nut to crack. He cursed the French, who just didn't want to fight. The futile phoney war so affected his resolve that, when a hellish hailstorm put his exhausted army to the test, Edward said he was ready to talk peace.\n\nOn 8 May 1360, in the castle of Br\u00e9tigny, not far from the place where Richard of Burgundy had crushed Edward's ancestor Rollo, a treaty was signed that gave the French a costly ceasefire. Edward acquired Aquitaine and Calais once and for all, giving him a third of the French kingdom, and in return he renounced his claim to the French throne. The French also had to cough up a fantastic sum of three million \u00e9cus to purchase their king's freedom. In expectation of payment, John the Good was able to return to Paris, and his sons Louis and John took his place. One of the first orders of business undertaken by the released king was the horse-trading of his eleven-year-old daughter Isabella, who was transferred to Milan to marry the immensely rich Galeazzo Visconti for the record amount of 600,000 gold florins. John must have breathed a sigh of relief.\n\nBut the consequences of the treaty were catastrophic for the French population. The English soldiers and German mercenaries who were discharged from military service by Edward III did not all return to their homelands. A large number of them formed gangs, and for good measure they took on board a number of frustrated French knights who had been ruined by the high taxes. Like wasps roughly evicted from their nest, they swept across the countryside. The war had been going on for more than twenty years, and morals had not improved during that period. Wandering brigands organized themselves into self-sustaining companies whose ranks included not only bakers and butchers but also bankers and prostitutes. The mainly agrarian Burgundy, with its flourishing wine culture, was one of the regions most infested by bandits and mercenaries. Going on a journey without an armed escort became a suicidal venture.\n\nOne of the jobs of the duke was to stamp out these routiers (highwaymen), but Philip of Rouvres had something else to occupy his mind. While roaming criminals sucked the Burgundian region dry, a malicious illness was wearing away the young duke's vitality. The swellings in his armpits left no doubt: after twelve years' absence, the plague had returned. For ten days, fever, haematomas, boils and black spots heralded the death agonies to come. The duke died on 21 November 1361.\n\nBurgundy was left without a successor, and Philip of Rouvres, the very last Capetian, was interred at the abbey of C\u00eeteaux. It had been thirty-three years since the branch of the national Capetians had died off without issue, and now the Burgundian line had come to an end as well. In Paris, the crown had been passed on to the youngest Valois cadet branch. Now exactly the same thing would happen in Burgundy, as if Paris and Dijon were entangled in an inseparable brotherhood \u2013 an intertwining that would have bloody consequences.\n\nIn 1350, the French king, John the Good, had been remarried to Joanna of Boulogne, the mother of the late lamented Philip of Rouvres. Like her son, she left this world during the second outbreak of the plague. As the closest living member of the Rouvres family, and in the absence of a legitimate vassal, John laid claim to the duchy.\n\nHe didn't keep Burgundy to himself for very long. On 6 September 1363 he gave the territory to his favourite son, Philip the Bold, to reward him for the courage with which he had 'voluntarily risked death' on the battlefield of Poitiers. Twenty-four dukes had succeeded each other in Dijon since Richard the Justiciar, but from the perspective of eternity none of them would hold a candle to Philip the Bold.\n\nA few months after John the Good had pleased his youngest son with this royal gift, he learned that his other son, Louis, had committed breach of promise and fled his golden cage in London. John's conscience dictated that he take his son's place and embrace imprisonment once more 'for the sake of his family's honour', so he sailed for England and was kept at the Savoy Palace in London. France had barely enough time to recover from its astonishment, for only a few months later their remarkable, chivalrous leader breathed his last on English soil."
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Will Cut Off The Breasts That Fed You And Toss Them To The Dogs'",
                "text": "At that point the Hundred Years War came to resemble a common marital battle, at least for a short time. The new French king, Charles V, saw it as his responsibility as the oldest son of John the Good to choose a wife for his youngest brother, Philip the Bold, the equally new Duke of Burgundy. It was no surprise that his eye fell on Margaret, the daughter of the Flemish count Louis of Male. As heir to the richest principality in the north, she was a much coveted bride. Margaret had the additional attraction of already having been promised to a Burgundian leader in marriage as a young girl, the late Philip of Rouvres. Why not send her back to Dijon, reasoned Charles V?\n\nPhilip the Bold declared that he was quite willing to agree. However, the English king, Edward III, wanted Margaret to marry one of his sons and had even promised 175,000 pounds and a few strategic coastal areas to that end. At first Flanders was willing to consider the English proposal, even though Louis of Male knew that such an option would be unthinkable for his mother. Since losing her husband on the battlefield of Cr\u00e9cy, she had detested the English. Yet Louis tried to force the issue. The opposition that rose up against him can be felt across the plains of Flanders to this day.\n\n'Because you refuse to obey your king or your mother, I will cut off the breasts that fed you and toss them to the dogs,' Margaret of Artois ranted at her son. 'I will disinherit you,' she continued, 'so you can forget about Artois and the Franche-Comt\u00e9.'\n\nLouis chose France. Charles V even offered 25,000 pounds more, and threw the cities of Lille, Orchies and Douai into the bargain. So Margaret of Flanders ended up in a Burgundian bed after all, even after the plague had cancelled her earlier child marriage. Philip the Bold made his entrance on the world political stage in a way that would impart to Burgundy its characteristic lustre: with a wedding feast that was meant to astonish not only Flanders but half of Europe as well.\n\nThe duke, a big man with a dusky complexion, had a reputation for paying a great deal of attention to his personal hygiene. On 19 June 1369 he bathed in a tub of rose water and violet perfume that had been prepared by le ma\u00eetre des d\u00e9duits, his personal 'master of diversion'. He was then dressed in a blue robe of great splendour. He had had it ostentatiously stitched with gold daisies (margrietjes) to honour his nineteen-year-old Margaret, without failing to include references to himself with embroidered Ps. Now he was ready to lead the Burgundian procession to the centre of Ghent.\n\nAll the bells of Ghent began ringing, but every eye was turned to the church of the St Bavo Abbey. A vindictive Edward of England had sent minor barons of the lowest rank as delegates of the crown, but the rest of Europe was represented by illustrious counts and dukes, who strutted across the church square like peacocks. As impressive as they were, they paled in comparison to the twenty-seven-year-old Philip the Bold. He had shaken the last cent out of his treasury in order to turn the journey to Ghent into a triumphal procession.\n\nIn almost all the Flemish cities along the way he stopped to chat with tradespeople, barge masters and aristocrats. He joined various bowmen's guilds, participated in tournaments and treated the prize winners to casks of Beaune, a collective name (which would soon become proverbial) for the better Burgundian wines, of the Gevrey and Marsannay type from near Dijon, and Pommard and Volnay from Beaune itself. He had saved the climax for Ghent, however. For days the city became the setting of sumptuous feasts, but when it came time for the final agreement to be signed the Burgundian duke blew his entire fortune. Without hesitation, he borrowed money from a few wealthy Ghent burghers and put several jewels up as collateral.\n\nRepayment didn't worry him. Philip would never be a frugal man. On the contrary, he was one of the first princes in European history to realize that a good impression was at least as important as a full purse. In addition, the county whose thriving cloth trade made it one of the richest regions in Europe would soon be his. Compared with Flanders, the duchy of Burgundy, which was mainly known for its wine, amounted to very little in economic terms. But with his penchant for splendour, Philip seemed made to take charge of a county whose largest cities were bastions of luxury and wealth.\n\nThinking that he had won the hearts of his new subjects with a bit of macho exhibitionism would have been reckless indeed. For the moment, the Flemings saw him as a foreigner overflowing with ambition, a French king's son, a Burgundian. This generous opportunist would first have to demonstrate whose side he was on. Did he have what it took to keep Flanders out of the French-English hornets' nest? Was he a Frenchman first and foremost, or would he favour the interests of the Burgundians? And did he have sufficient empathy for the demanding people of Ghent and Bruges? Flanders had been the location of so many battles over the years that the population had learned to keep all their options open.\n\nPhilip was fully aware of this, but he was just as conscious of the fact that he had not miscalculated with his grand entrance into Flemish life. He simply had to be patient. The lavish dowry, which included not only Flanders but also the counties of the Franche-Comt\u00e9, Artois, Nevers, Rethel, and the seigniories of Antwerp and Mechelen, was locked up tight as long as Louis of Male was still in the saddle. And there was no indication that his robust father-in-law was ready to call it a day. Philip would have plenty of time to get to know restless Flanders a bit better."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Burgundian history in the Low Countries began in 435 with King Gundahar's failed invasion of Gallia Belgica. The bloodletting that accompanied that event gave world literature the Nibelungenlied, and it also gave the Burgundians, who fled the scene, some land that would one day be theirs for good. Less than a millennium later, Philip the Bold was about to secure a considerable part of what later would become Belgium, thus realizing an ancient royal dream.\n\nIf you climb down Philip's family tree, you can see the roots shooting past the first French king, Hugo Capet, the man who was descended from Charlemagne via his grandmother. The emperor in turn was linked to the Frankish king Clovis via a small detour \u2013 the brother of his great-great-grandfather was a direct descendant \u2013 and to Clovis's spouse as well, of course, the Burgundian princess Clotilde. So Philip's genealogical odyssey ends in the illustrious family of Gundahar and Gundobad.\n\nIn short, there's a not-so-erratic arabesque running from the old kingdom to the new duchy, a line covering a thousand years of medieval history that was walked and/or trampled by Romans, Huns, Germans, Moors, Vikings and English, a span of time that was tested by plague, war and invasions, where residues of paganism, Islam, Arianism and Catholicism brewed and fermented, the nutrient-rich substrate from which another important turning point in European history would emerge, one in which Burgundy would proudly claim the leading role. Philip the Bold would not betray the honour of his illustrious forebears. In fact, his arrival was the beginning of an improbable Burgundian ascent. The fame of the dukes would gradually come to rival that of the kings of old.\n\nBut without the sudden rise of the county of Flanders, this success story could never have been written."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE BURGUNDIAN CENTURY \u2014 1369\u20131467",
                "text": "\u2002'Hail fruitful mother! Holy name!\n\n\u2002Your breasts that 'neath the linen boldly stand still burst the bedclothes without shame; and with good cheer you proudly claim the body that gave birth to Burgundian land.'\n\n\u2014Liliane Wouters: Moeder Vlaanderen\n\nOr how in an era of burgeoning cities, awakening individualism and dying chivalric ideals, Philip the Bold, John the Fearless and Philip the Good created a new dynasty that was soon able to call itself the richest, most powerful and most ostentatious in Europe. And how these Burgundian dukes succeeded in forging the fragmented Low Countries into a single entity by means of battles, marriages and reforms, and, last but not least, how their impulse gave rise to unforgettable works of art by Claus Sluter, Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden.\n\nOr how Flanders took root in boggy coastal soil and how the early history of the county formed the blueprint for its Burgundian future.\n\nFive women stepped forward, but none of them met the requirements. They all returned home disappointed with a payment for their trouble. In the spring of 1371, the doctors finally selected a woman called Guyote, a strapping female from French Flanders who had just what it took to serve as the perfect wet nurse for the child of Philip the Bold and Margaret of Male.\n\nThe bedroom was filled with bottles, scales and flasks containing infusions, vinegar, camphor oil and other potions to alleviate the pain of the mother-to-be. Torches had been lit to release a resin perfume, and although this considerably increased the already high May temperatures, custom prevented anyone from opening the windows to let in some fresh air before the new mother had been churched. The layette consisted of two cradles, one on wooden wheels for actual use and the other, extremely luxurious and refined, for showing off. The duke didn't want to cut any corners with his firstborn. Wet nurse Guyote, who suffered under the burden of her colossal breasts, ate round the clock, while Margaret of Flanders sighed and waited for the ultimate moment.\n\nOn 28 May the hour finally arrived. The records from the ducal palace in Dijon make note of the happy event with one short sentence: 'Today Jehan Monseigneur was born.' Rubbed with honey and swaddled in linen, John, named after his late grandfather John the Good, who had died in exile, wasted no time letting himself be heard. Messengers spread the joyful news throughout Burgundy, but they also headed for Flanders. The Flemings applauded respectfully, while realizing that it would be a long time before this baby became their count. At present, even the father, Philip the Bold, would have to wait his turn, as Louis of Male, John's maternal grandfather, remained the strong man in the north.\n\nAs a daughter of Flanders, Margaret made a sizeable donation to St Adrian's Abbey church in Geraardsbergen, a town that was also called Adrianopolis after this saint, who was often invoked by childless couples. Seven months after the birth, the duchess donated a small wax figure of her child weighing fourteen pounds to the B\u00e8ze monastery in Burgundy, an old custom that she was glad to honour and from which we can deduce that little John weighed about seven kilograms at that age. A large cow was brought in to supplement the milk produced by Guyote the wet nurse, and one year after John's birth a herdsman was even hired to guard the cows assigned to rounding out his milk consumption. A minstrel reported for duty to give the little boy music lessons, and a personal jester to stimulate good humour. With the appointment of a personal physician, chamberlains and a father confessor, his household gradually began to take shape. John was five when his huntsman initiated him into the art of the hunt, and six when he rode a horse for the first time. The youngest scion of the House of Burgundy spent his youth in the company of carefully selected young friends, all chosen from the better noble families.\n\nUnlike his father, who grew up a French prince and whose dealings with Flanders began later in his life, the young John had it drummed into him from a very early age that one day he would hold sway over both Burgundy and Flanders. It was no accident that on 13 March 1378, Philip the Bold appointed one Baldwin van der Nieppe as tutor. This priest had a degree in law and came from a family of Flemish noblemen, so he was in a position to teach John the Dutch language. Philip the Bold would always regard his own inability to speak la langue thioise, or Diets \u2013 commonly referred to as Middle Dutch in English usage \u2013 as a drawback, which is why the future Count of Flanders wanted his son to become bilingual. It is doubtful whether this plan was entirely successful. Even so, John could just about manage in Middle Dutch, which he mangled into a peculiar sort of gibberish \u2013 a harbinger of how a number of Belgian kings would later perform.\n\nOf course, Baldwin van der Nieppe also taught him the rich history of Flanders. A good leader not only spoke the language of the people, but he was equally familiar with their past."
            },
            {
                "title": "'In A Fit Of Monstrous Frenzy'",
                "text": "Flauma. It was with this Germanic word that Flanders crawled up onto the land \u2013 quite literally. Flauma means flood. In the Early Middle Ages the coastal region flooded twice a day, and the sea encroached deep into the interior. As a result, islands were created, the largest and most well-known of which was Testerep (also corrupted into Terstreep). On the western and eastern ends of the island, towns such as Westende and Oostende arose, with a church right in the middle where the town of Middelkerke would later stake its claim. Veurne was also located on an island, with Sint-Winoksbergen and Oudenburg right on the sea, while today you have to travel ten kilometres by land to reach the coastline from these three towns.\n\nThe first inhabitants settled in an area that was always dry owing to slight elevations in the landscape. These people were called Flaumung, a name that mutated into Fl\u00e2ming. It was on this sodden land on the North Sea, which extended as far as Bruges via an estuary, that the first Frisians and Saxons washed ashore. The Franks didn't appear until later, and there was little in the swampy region to interest them. Under the leadership of Clovis in the sixth century they would push southward, to Tournai and then to Paris, until they finally overran Aquitaine and Burgundy. During their advance through Belgica Secunda they drove the Gallo-Romans past the Boulogne-Bavay-Cologne military road. North of this axis, Latin was only moderately successful in taking root, allowing the Germanic language to develop into Middle Dutch. What later became French germinated further south, while the military road itself evolved into the language border. Despite this there was never a watertight division, for in a few enclaves on either side of the barrier both languages survived.\n\nIn 52 BC, Julius Caesar never got any further than Boulogne, from which he took the boat to England. Charlemagne was in Ghent only once, where he went to inspect the defence line against the Vikings. Little is known of what happened in between, as if the thinly populated and constantly flooded region had disappeared under water. After the division of Charlemagne's lands at his death, the Flemish coastal region ended up in the hands of what soon would be called France, marking the beginning of a centuries-long controversy between the northern vassal and the southern feudal lord. In their written accounts, which were all in Latin, the Carolingians referred to the pagus Flandrensis \u2013 the shire of Flanders \u2013 which Charles the Bald, very much against his will, granted to Baldwin Iron Arm in 863. The first Count of Flanders had forced the hand of Charlemagne's grandson by running off with his daughter, although it must be said that Judith didn't put up much of a fight. The abduction of noblewomen was a tried and tested medieval tactic for forcing a marriage, and it provided the diligent Baldwin with both a wife and a shire.\n\nAt this point, tutor Van der Nieppe probably paused for a moment to tally up his list one more time. Satisfied with the result, he told John that twenty-five counts would have to come and go before the honour finally fell to his father, Philip the Bold.\n\nBruges as a city name was first mentioned in the mid-ninth century, after which it blossomed into the historic centre of Flanders. With the arrival of a count, this settlement on the banks of the Reie was transformed into an important stop for itinerant traders, merchants who often came from the north. They moored their boats to what they called a bryggja (a landing stage), thus supplying the city's name with its Scandinavian roots. With his iron arm, not only was Baldwin said to have been relatively successful in confronting the attacks of the less mercantile Vikings, but one day he also slew a bear who had been menacing Bruges and its surroundings. With a stroke of the same sword he swept the poor beast onto the city's coat of arms, where it stands guard to this day.\n\nUltimately, Baldwin was awarded other lands in addition to the coastal shire, and he ruled over areas in the Waasland, the Ghent region and the district of Saint-Omer. This unstable area, with its jagged outline, would gradually be expanded by his descendants. Baldwin had coins minted in Bruges, which (with a bit of goodwill) you might call the first official capital of Flanders \u2013 except for the fact that Flanders did not yet exist, of course, nor did the modern concept of a capital city. The most important places tended to be court cities that housed the county or royal administrative authorities. Sometimes the counts resided mainly in Bruges, at other times in Ghent (where Baldwin's heart and intestines were finally interred in St Peter's Abbey), and occasionally in Lille.\n\nSo the Flemish patriarch may literally have stolen his position, and like his successors he earned his fame, his power and his nickname mainly by dint of his struggle with the Vikings. There's a historic irony in that trial of strength. After the final defeat of Rollo at Chartres in 911, the Viking leader was first offered Flanders, but he couldn't bear the thought of wasting away in a bog for the rest of his life. In the end, the French king ordered him to withdraw to the region that was subsequently named after Rollo's own people: Normandy. Had he chosen the soggy marshlands instead, Normandy might be the name of what we now call Flanders.\n\nRollo's son, William Longsword, was undeterred by the damp north, where he attacked the county so ruthlessly that the Flemish leader, Arnulf the Great, had to pull out all the stops to resist him. During a peace conference in 942 at Picquigny, the count literally cut him down to size 'in a fit of monstrous frenzy and inflamed by a devilish spirit', in the words of the chronicler Dudo of Saint-Quentin. William's son Richard succeeded in breathing new life into Normandy against all expectations, and he would be the first to sign his documents with the title dux. All of France took note: in addition to the prestigious Burgundy and the vast Aquitaine, a third duchy had suddenly been added to the kingdom.\n\nThere was nothing trivial about Richard's feat, but the greatest star in the ducal line of Normans \u2013 as they gradually came to be known, and not Norsemen or Vikings \u2013 would not arise for three generations and would seize the English crown at the Battle of Hastings. This William the Bastard, also called the Conqueror, married Matilda of Flanders. She was the daughter of Count Baldwin V, who devoted himself to the development of new market towns such as Torhout, Ypres, Cassel and especially Lille, for which he came to be called Baldwin de Lille, the city that still sees him as its founder. 'Love at first sight' is hardly how you would describe the budding liaison between his daughter and William. Matilda swore that she would sooner be a nun than lie in the bed of a bastard. Concealing his dubious origins was just as difficult for William as containing his violent tendencies. According to legend, he dragged Matilda by her plaits from her home in Lille and thereby wrested her affections. Surprisingly enough, this turbulent beginning led to a good mutual rapport. William's marriage was also a clever military investment, for the contribution made by the seamen of Flanders in the conquest of England in 1066 was considerable. Two years later, the Flemish Matilda was crowned Queen of England.\n\nThis minor miracle did not make the relationship between the Flemish count and his liege lord, the French king, any easier. In the centuries that followed, Flanders would remain stuck between a rock and a hard place: increasingly dependent on England for the much-needed wool for its growing textile industry, and tied to France by the principle of feudal loyalty. At the same time, the reverse reasoning also held true. As its prosperity increased over the next two to three centuries, Flanders began exerting a force that the two gluttonous superpowers found impossible to resist. With mutual marriages between members of the nobility, the presence of Flemish students in French universities, and the rapid spread of the French language, it made perfect sense that Flanders would maintain ties with France, while the connection with England was mainly of a commercial nature. Except that from now on, the importance of trade would start increasing dramatically, and Flanders's relations with France would thereby be affected.\n\nThis was something that tutor Van der Nieppe could not emphasize strongly enough. This evolution would have a significant impact on the Flemish future of Burgundy.\n\n'I Thought I Would Be The Only Queen Here'\n\nFor many years, the sea continued to batter the Flemish coastline, forcing breaches and shoving the land aside. But in the early ninth century, the power of the North Sea seems to have subsided. Occasionally there were still spring tides, but the sea level stopped rising. Creeks and gullies stayed dry for longer periods, and the vegetation that grew there was found to be an ideal subsoil for raising sheep. To protect themselves from flooding, the local inhabitants built primitive dikes, a technique that proved so successful that hectares of land were easily snatched from the sea. In 300 years' time, the coastline would come to lie some fifteen kilometres seaward in places, a feat of strength that made the annals of world literature in the early fourteenth century. 'As the Flemings, living with the constant threat / of flood tides rushing in between Wissant / and Bruges, build their dikes to force the sea back,' wrote Dante about half a century before John's birth, in the fifteenth Inferno canto of his Divine Comedy. The fact that every advantage has its downside was evident even then. Now that mud and salt marshes were being transformed into fields, the space for the salt-tolerant plants that supported the grazing of sheep declined dramatically, so that the textile industry was forced to buy even more English wool.\n\nBecause trees were being chopped down on a grand scale, new arable land was constantly being created inland as well as on the coast. Settlements arose everywhere, but mainly on the banks of watercourses. Even the young John of Burgundy could see the logic in that. Transporting goods by water was much cheaper. When his father, Philip the Bold, transported his vats of wine from Beaune to Avignon, it cost just as much to carry them the 25-kilometre distance to the Sa\u00f4ne by horse and cart as it did to ship them the remaining 300 kilometres by water. Beaune and Dijon were built along Roman military roads and dated from the age of a centralized empire with a fully developed road network. By contrast, the emergence of medieval villages and cities was mainly fostered by the presence of navigable waterways.\n\nRivers were also the economic arteries of the new county that had evolved from the small district around Bruges. Etymologists and place name experts might start their investigations by pulling on their boots and wading through the soggy Flemish primordial mud. In the beginning, Lille was a dry bit of land in the middle of the De\u00fble River, a place where it was easy to cross. It was an island, in other words \u2013 Insula in Latin, Isle in French, which evolved into Lille, or (quite literally) The Island. The Dutch name for Lille, Rijsel, can be explained in the same way. First Lissele, then Rissele, then Rijsel. And there's a lot more water flowing through Flemish atlases. It's no accident that the Celtic word Ganda (confluence) forms the etymological heart of Ghent, where the Leie and the Scheldt embrace, just as the word poorter (city dweller) is derived from the Latin portus (harbour), or as Bruges was born on a Scandinavian wharf. An ancient Flanders without water is as inconceivable as a Belgian cafe without beer. The famous 'waterish Burgundy' from King Lear (written in 1606, set in around 1500) is doubtless a nod to the boggy county that, as Shakespeare so beautifully put it, was mentioned in the same breath as Burgundy in the Late Middle Ages.\n\nThanks to deforestation and land reclamation, the county became urbanized at breakneck speed and developed into the most densely populated region in Western Europe. By around 1200 a quarter of the population lived in cities, which were separated from each other by less than a day's march \u2013 about five hours on foot. No other region of Europe was so urbanized. Over the course of the next century, the population of Ypres grew to 40,000, and that of Bruges to 45,000. In Ghent, the figure leaped to over 60,000. These were the largest centres by far. Of the cities north of the Alps only Paris was larger, reaching the magical number of 100,000 citizens (as did Venice).\n\nAs soon as barons and abbots got wise to the fact that water could be turned into gold, they tempted farmers and labourers with attractive conditions and let them do all the hard work that land reclamation and dike-building required. The classical medieval picture of penniless serfs working the land was transformed in Flanders faster than anywhere else. Half-free servants were soon transformed into tenants or free farmers, although an exploited proletariat emerged as a result. This need for a workforce drove the labour-intensive cloth-weaving industry from the villages to the cities, which grew into textile centres. The cities were also a source of capital, which was needed for the development of increasingly ingenious weaving techniques. Big cities were given permission by the count to draw up their own municipal laws, and they exacted certain benefits such as the reduction or abolition of tolls. As more and more Flemings moved to the cities, the cities became richer and more powerful. The emigration from countryside to city that started in the tenth century was one of the most important developments in medieval Europe, and Flanders, along with northern Italy, was a leader in this evolution.\n\nBy the eleventh century, defensive walls had already been erected around Ghent and Bruges. Such a fortification, usually with towers, was called a burg or burcht and would later lend its name to the city's free inhabitants: the burghers within the city walls. Ghent's walls were the most expansive, requiring about thirteen kilometres of masonry. The benefits, which had been negotiated with the count, were laid down in charters and were valid up to a mile beyond the walls of the city. This was the so-called banlieue (ban stood for the charter and lieue for a mile), the French name that would later be given to suburbs. Anyone who lived within the walls for a year and a day could share in the city's rights and responsibilities.\n\nCity dwellers were not ashamed of their wealth. In Ypres the first stone was laid for the monumental Cloth Hall in 1230, and not long afterwards Bruges astonished its rivals with an imposing bell tower that soared above the covered market. In this reinforced watchtower hung the alarm bells, which rang in the event of emergencies or for festivities. It was also the place where the charters were kept. Such monumental buildings were erected on the initiative of the city councils, which mainly consisted of wealthy patricians, merchants and businessmen. Gradually, the cities became detached from the influence of the counts and kings.\n\nArras, Douai, Lille, Saint-Omer, Bruges, Ypres and Ghent grew into textile centres that were famous far beyond their borders and served as a harbinger of what the industrial revolution of the eighteenth century had in store, but on a much grander scale: vast numbers of labourers working cheek by jowl in relatively small spaces, increasing human exploitation, ever-expanding technological possibilities. It produced much poverty and misery, but also great opulence. 'I thought I would be the only queen here,' said the wife of the French king Philip the Fair as she strode through the streets of Bruges in 1301, 'but I find six hundred others.' No other city could match Flanders's historic centre. Interestingly enough, Bruges reached its zenith after the city council had largely turned its back on the textile industry. It was also in this city that the steward Van der Nieppe enjoyed a magnificent fin de carri\u00e8re, and where the last great Burgundians and offspring of his pupil John would find their final resting place."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "The textile that was produced and traded on such a grand scale had nothing to do with bedding or table linen. It was a highly processed and very supple felted wool from which durable clothing was made. 'All the nations of the world are kept warm by the wool of England woven into cloth by the men of Flanders,' we read in the thirteenth-century Chronica Majora, written by the English Benedictine monk Matthew Paris. While the widely praised textile industry, which brought international fame to Flemish cities, may have been the most eye-catching aspect of the economy, the greatest source of income for the county was trade. Bruges became the commercial nerve centre of Flanders and welcomed traders not only from England and France but also from Germany, Italy and Spain. From then on, a substantial portion of Flemish capital was pumped into the development of Bruges. Next to the bell tower the immense 'Waterhalle' was erected in 1294, an architectural tour de force that made it possible to unload French wine, Portuguese grapes, Maghreb dates, Hungarian gold, Polish amber, Bulgarian ermine, Russian sable, Tatar silk, Armenian cotton and, of course, English wool from incoming ships in the typically rainy Flemish weather without any of these goods getting wet.\n\nInternational commerce embraced Bruges with its tentacles and swallowed it whole. The annual fair officially set up its booths in May, but now it seemed like a restless monster, chewing up goods all year long. Brothels, gambling houses and bathhouses rubbed up against the world of trade and high finance like greedy parasites. When John's father treated the people of Bruges to a tournament in 1369 to celebrate his marriage to Margaret of Flanders, there were 140 houses of ill repute in the city, approximately six times more than at the beginning of the century. The respected Italian rabbi Judah Minz explained Bruges's transformation into the tawdriest city on the continent with this witticism: 'It seems to the gentiles that it is a good thing to place prostitutes in the marketplace and town squares and in all the corners of their houses so as to save them from a graver sin, that is, from relations with married women.'\n\nAt least as impressive as the increase in the number of prostitutes was the decline in the number of textile workers. At the beginning of the century they constituted half the population of Bruges, while after 1400 that portion would drop to 25 per cent. In Ghent, on the other hand, more than half the inhabitants were craftsmen, a number that never changed. Bruges had become a city of merchants, brokers and money changers. At the currency exchange offices you could deposit your money for a time and later withdraw it. Gradually, these shops grew into the predecessors of our modern banks. The inn that was run by the Van der Beurze family, built in around 1285, became the most important place for brokers to purchase securities and sell them at a later date. Going 'to Beurze' was a distinctly Bruges aphorism with a meaning all its own. When financial marketplaces in Antwerp and Amsterdam also came to be known by the name beurs, the family found itself in the dictionary. The name also migrated to other countries, such as Italy (borsa), France (bourse) and Russia (bir\u017ea), the words we translate as 'stock market' in English.\n\nFlanders had transformed itself from a swampy backwater to the Silicon Valley of the Middle Ages, a region that set the tone for industrial, technological and commercial innovation. While Ghent emerged as the rebellious centre of political power in the county, Bruges would grow into the largest money market in Europe. With little exaggeration, you could make the argument that Bruges was the cradle of capitalism in Western Europe."
            },
            {
                "title": "'We Will Remain Flemings, No Matter What Language We Speak'",
                "text": "Jehan Monseigneur hung on the lips of his tutor, a man who could never have suspected that his pupil would go down in the annals of history as 'the murderous prince' and 'John the Fearless'. These two nicknames became the ideal vehicle for transporting his bloody reputation through the centuries and up to the present day. Unlike his father, John preferred the sword to the word. He would become a warlord, not a diplomat. Perhaps that's why the old stories of grievance and combat went down so well with him.\n\nThe sabre-rattling in those stories was also reverberating in his own world. Flanders, as rich as it was fractious, was feeling restless, and his father was seriously worried. John was not yet twelve years old, and for now he was being kept in the dark, but the air was thick with rumours. Yet life went on as usual, the home schooling continued as it always had, and the boy tried to focus on his lessons. He had to, for in two years' time he would be taking his first steps into public life.\n\nHe was certainly curious, and for a bright mind there was a lot to be learned from his tutor's stories of the past. John was quick to grasp that the internal disputes (city versus count) and external tensions (Flemish count versus French king) that were constantly overheating in the past were still matters of great sensitivity in the Flanders of his own time.\n\nYoung John often listened with his eyes half shut. No matter how much he tried to focus his attention on his teacher's long lessons, it was obvious that he was no scholar. He much preferred to train for the other aspect of his duties: not only was he expected to become a good ruler, but he also had to excel as a knight. For Baldwin van der Nieppe, imagining that his pupil would one day be confronted with threats and violence must have been the most logical thing in the world.\n\nAll he could do was pump as much knowledge and wisdom as he could into John's head, which was easier when his lessons were spiced with tales of epic heroism. His story of the Battle of the Golden Spurs was just the ticket: a story that introduced the burning timeliness of what John and his father had to deal with, a historic event that would colour the history of Flanders like no other."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "At the end of the thirteenth century, the tension between the count and his cities became more complex when major conflicts also arose within those cities between the rich French-speaking patricians (the Leliaards, or the Lilies) and the plebs who toiled for subsistence wages and spoke Middle Dutch (the Klauwaards, or the Claws). The Claws appealed to the sympathetic count Guy of Dampierre, but when he made an attempt to improve their working conditions he was turned away by the city authorities, who were supported by the French king, Philip the Fair.\n\nIn despair, John's ancestor Guy of Dampierre forged an alliance with the English, but Philip immediately countered by placing the five largest cities directly under his authority. The count and his successor disappeared behind bars. The county's fate seemed sealed. But the high taxes that were imposed to pay for Philip's 'Joyous Entries' ignited a spark of discontent within the population.\n\nOn 18 May 1302, a group of dissatisfied Bruges locals slit the throats of the French soldiers stationed in their city and did the same to the prosperous burghers who had made common cause with the French crown. About 120 men lost their lives that night, which would come to be known as the Matins of Bruges. A furious Philip the Fair sent an army of knights to teach those bloody Flemish a lesson, but on 11 July, against all odds, the craftsmen-militias and peasant warriors cut the king's army to ribbons at Kortrijk. The 'volc de voet' \u2013 foot soldiers \u2013 triumphed over the cavalry, who got bogged down in the ancestral swamps; the fleurs-de-lis literally sank in the Flemish flauma. From then on, the golden spurs plundered from the battlefield would hang as glittering war trophies in the Church of Our Lady in Kortrijk.\n\nThere are some Flemings today who are still proud of this tour de force. From a military standpoint, that's exactly what it was. Highly trained chargers bearing knights in well-oiled armour, with lances piercing the air, could no longer guarantee triumph and glory. But when author Hendrik Conscience salvaged the battle from oblivion following the independence of Belgium, the attention was focused elsewhere. The romance of his novel The Lion of Flanders (1838) echoed throughout the nineteenth century and established the myth of the victory of the Flemish language over French. When 11 July was elevated to a day of celebration for the Flemish community in 1973, however, there was never any mention of a revolutionary linguistic war. Dutch-speaking knights from Brabant had fought on the French side, and the imprisoned Flemish count spoke French. In the run-up to the battle, the residents of Doway (today's Douai) passionately declared their Flemish identity in their French mother tongue: 'Tos Flamens, tos Flamens estons! Par Dieu\u2026 por nient en parleis, car tos summes et serons Flamens!' \u2013 We are all Flemings and we will remain Flemings, no matter what language we speak!\n\nEssentially, the Battle of the Golden Spurs was an opportunistic alliance of parties who challenged unjust feudal taxes and opposed the collaborating French-speaking patricians. The main lesson learned on 11 July 1302 was that in the absence of the count, the townspeople would take matters into their own hands. From then on, they insisted on managing their own affairs and were prepared to fight the king and his accomplices to the death in defence of this right.\n\nPhilip the Fair was not about to give in. He decided to put the squeeze on Flanders once again and presented it with the bill. The county was made to cede its French-speaking areas to France. This concerned the region around Lille and Douai; in the more westerly region of Dunkirk-Cassel-Sint-Winoksbergen (Bergues)-Hazebrouck \u2013 the so-called French Westhoek \u2013 Flemish had always been spoken. But the king could not bend everything to his will. He had to tolerate Flanders's right to exist, ruled, as before, by a dynasty of counts. At the same time, he allowed the craft guilds to resume their socio-economic role, and he gave them a political voice in the city councils.\n\nThe smell of change had been in the air for quite some time. In 1176, city militias had prevailed over the great German emperor Frederick I before the gates of Milan. The seemingly unshakeable aura of Barbarossa had not been able to prevent the northern Italian cities from going their own way under the leadership of a local dictator. That possibility had tidily hamstrung Philip the Fair for the time being, but because of his blindness to the new power of the cities, France and Burgundy would be drawn into another series of military conflicts with the Flemish city militias in the fourteenth century.\n\nNaturally, John of Burgundy was told by his tutor that his father, by marrying wisely, had managed to annex the lost regions of French Flanders in addition to acquiring the county. And that he had lied to his brother, Charles V, about ever giving these regions back to the French crown. In fact, the opposite was true. It was Philip's sacred intention to embrace these lands for all eternity. The duke was proud that thanks to him \u2013 and therefore thanks to Burgundy \u2013 the county could once again look upon such French-speaking cities as Lille, Douai and Cassel as Flemish property.\n\nThe message he gave his son John was clear.\n\nWe're never giving this up."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Shoe Restorer Cleaved His Head With An Axe'",
                "text": "The closer his tutor came to the present day, the greater John's concentration and attention. This was his own era, the doomed fourteenth century, the century in which the plague was waiting to pay a call, and above all the age of the Hundred Years War. That international conflict, which through John's doing would increase in intensity a few decades later, was also felt in Flanders. When King Edward III of England prepared to seize the French crown in 1337, there was only one question being raised in the north: what side should Flanders choose?\n\nCount Louis of Nevers, John's maternal great-grandfather, did more than his duty to his French lord and took a group of English merchants prisoner in an act of provocation. The English king responded as if he had been stung by a wasp and brought all wool exports to a standstill. Now that the Flemish looms had shut down, the Flemish economy seemed destined to suffer the same fate. For the cities the choice was crystal clear. Despite all their feudal obligations to France, English wool remained the cornerstone of their wealth. The duchies of Brabant and Guelders took the same view, so that for the first time a small alliance of Low Countries was formed that committed itself to placating England. As it so often did, Ghent took the initiative, and during a popular assembly held at the beginning of 1338 it chose a new city council: five prominent men, led by one Jacob van Artevelde. Louis of Nevers was grudgingly forced to recognize Van Artevelde as his superior. Now it wasn't the count but a rich textile merchant who was lord and master in Flanders. Even the French king backed down and allowed the county to follow a neutral course. Edward III accepted this solution and the export of wool was resumed.\n\nThe Flemish count saw little point in putting up with this humiliating situation, so he fled to Paris. Van Artevelde now had everything going for him, and he decided to hold a magnificent masked procession. On 26 January 1340, Jacob van Artevelde was standing in the first row when Edward III was crowned King of France on Ghent's Friday Market Square. With this symbolic ceremony, the textile merchant created just the right legal basis for his rule \u2013 Flanders was still loyal to the 'French king', after all \u2013 which put French-English relations during the early days of the Hundred Years War on high alert.\n\nDespite, or perhaps thanks to, all the English support, Van Artevelde didn't last long. France announced a grain embargo, thus exposing an important sore point. Economically, Flanders was dependent on English wool, but feeding the steadily increasing population required French grain, which was now in short supply. This was a problem that even the all-powerful Van Artevelde couldn't solve. His position became untenable when it was found that he had used Flemish money to sponsor Edward's war and was planning on appointing the Black Prince as the new Count of Flanders. Even the Anglophile Ghent was outraged.\n\nOn 24 July 1345, a crowd stormed Van Artevelde's home. According to an anonymous chronicler, the masses shouted threats that left little to the imagination. 'And they forced their way into the house, and Jacob had to try to escape through his stable, but the shoe restorer ran after him and cleaved his head with an axe.' And so the decade in which Flanders was being governed as a strange sort of republic came to a bloody end. All that time, the count sat sulking in his Paris hideaway. John's great-grandfather Louis of Nevers didn't even have a chance to enjoy a happy comeback. One year later he was killed on the battlefield of Cr\u00e9cy.\n\nJohn of Burgundy listened with bated breath. In 1346 his grandfather Louis of Male came to power in Flanders, and the history lessons became much more tangible. He proudly learned that Louis, who ruled over the north with great skill, had initially managed to steer a middle course between France and England like a tightrope walker. He had been able to contain the overweening power of Ghent and other large cities like Bruges and Ypres. He had also succeeded in adding the Brabant seigniories of Antwerp and Mechelen to the county of Flanders by force of arms, thus blocking the use of the Scheldt as a transport artery and making sure that the Antwerp harbour was overshadowed by Bruges, at least for the time being. But that was the end of John's grandfather's success. The war with Brabant proved extremely costly, and it was the townspeople for the most part who had to foot the bill. Once again, the Ghentenars protested the loudest, an omen of greater disaster.\n\nWhen it rained in Ghent back then, a few drops always fell in Paris. The fate of Van Artevelde spoke to the imagination. \u00c9tienne Marcel, master of the Paris merchants' guild and, like Van Artevelde, a dealer in textiles, organized a revolt in 1358 against Charles, the oldest brother of Philip the Bold. In the absence of their father \u2013 King John the Good was behind bars in England at the time \u2013 Marcel aimed his arrows at the dauphin. While egging the populace on with the cry 'Ghent!', Marcel managed to force his way into Charles's chambers and had two of his closest associates murdered before his very eyes. In addition, the dauphin was made to don a red-and-blue hat, the colours of the people of Paris.\n\nWhen recalling this event, it's difficult not to think ahead to 20 June 1792, when the Tuileries Palace was stormed by the sans-culottes. They made Louis XVI pin a blue, white and red cockade onto his clothes, once again the colours of Paris but now with the royal white in between, which later became the tricolour of the nation. That hot June day in 1792 was almost like a re-enactment of the scene of 22 February 1358, as if the collective memory of the nation had unconsciously chosen to recall certain actions from the past.\n\nWith his tail between his legs the dauphin left the palace of the Conciergerie, which was transformed into a prison, and turned the Louvre into the royal residence in Paris. Marcel, like Van Artevelde, would ultimately be killed by his own townspeople. Even so, it had become patently obvious that the power of princes was no longer regarded as a legally binding gift of God. From then on, power would be either shared or disputed.\n\nAfter Ghent and Paris, several other hotbeds of civil protest caught fire elsewhere in Europe. The name of the Flemish city could be heard everywhere. 'Ghent' had become a revolutionary battle cry.\n\nOr how Ghent grew into the most stout-hearted city in the west, how the Western Schism tore both the church and the Flemish-Burgundian civil marriage asunder, and how the Burgundian dukes nevertheless managed to confess their faith with great sincerity.\n\nWithin the space of three centuries, the appearance of Flanders underwent a total change. Ancestral lagoons and creeks disappeared, forests from the time of the Celts were chopped down, counts looked for ways to reduce their dependence on the French but often ended up with just the opposite, new cities sprang up and the textile industry transformed Flanders into one of the richest regions in the world. To maintain it, the county had to rely on the continuous delivery of English wool and hordes of former serfs, who were absorbed into the battalions of overworked labourers and craftsmen.\n\nTo say that it couldn't have been easy for John of Burgundy to grasp this complex history would be an understatement. Just trying to fathom current events must have made the boy's head spin. Naturally, his primary concern was to find out what was going on in rebellious Flanders at the present moment. In order to explain that, tutor Baldwin van der Nieppe had no choice but to make a detour to the Western Schism that tore the Catholic Church apart. But how do you make a youngster understand that in 1378 there were suddenly two different popes claiming to be the ultimate representative of God on earth, one in Rome and the other in Avignon? And that each of them had his own crowd of followers? And that Burgundy, like France, had chosen Avignon, while Flanders had chosen Rome?\n\nFirst Van der Nieppe had to go back to 1305, the year the newly elected Pope Clement V made it known that he was disinclined to live in Rome, which was plagued by extreme violence. King Philip the Fair of France may have been defeated by the Flemings in 1302, but his real power was revealed four years later when he managed to move this pope across the European chessboard in the direction of Avignon. Politically the city belonged to the Holy Roman Empire, but it did lie right on the border. On the other side of the Rh\u00f4ne, which you could reach by means of a celebrated bridge, lay the kingdom of France. The popes knew that such a move would offer them protection, but they also knew that they would be closely monitored.\n\nA colossal palace was built in Avignon, where the church worked to create greater centralization by channelling more power to the pope, the curia and the chancery. The dream of a return to Rome was never extinguished, but it wasn't until 1376 that another pope could travel to the Holy City. Just before the announced departure of Gregory XI, Charles V sent a diplomat with an impressive-sounding name to the south, none other than Philip the Bold, the king's most decisive and energetic brother. His mission was plain in its simplicity: to convince the pope to stay in Avignon. John was five years old when his father set out on that important southern journey.\n\nAs his boat glided down the Rh\u00f4ne, Philip could look back at the pleasant years he spent in his duchy. He had freed Burgundy from wandering gangs, improved the system of the annual fairs and was fully occupied with the modernization of winemaking. After a period of success and prestige, the production of that famous export had fallen into decline. Carelessness and laziness reigned. Philip the Bold woke the Burgundian winegrowers from their beauty sleep with a cluster of detailed measures from which he would craft a major wine law in 1395. His most important intervention was perhaps the banning of the Gamay grape, which, according to the duke, was only good for 'bitter wine in great quantities' and therefore 'must be torn out, root and branch'. Gamay put up a good fight, but in the end it fled to the south and became the chosen grape used in the production of Beaujolais. Pinot noir, which fared better on the characteristic clay and limestone soil, began to increase in popularity and would become the quintessential Burgundian grape. The duke, who owned his own vineyards in Beaune, Pommard and Volnay, served his best Burgundies to placate Flemish and French patricians and noblemen. He also sold his wine by the vat at the gates of his ducal palace in Dijon. The arrival of his nouveau vin each autumn was a great event.\n\nPhilip knew that a vat of Beaune could smooth even the bumpiest negotiations, and he tried to put the Avignon pope in a good mood by offering him a large shipment of quality wines. Hadn't the poet Petrarch, who had grown up while his father was working at the papal court, complained that the only reason the curia insisted on staying in Avignon was to keep the wines of Beaune within reach? Yet God's chosen son Gregory XI was unrelenting, and he began his journey to Rome. Philip stayed behind with his brimming vats. That was the end of France's iron grip on Christianity. Apart from making the move, the pontiff didn't accomplish very much. Less than a year later he was dead. And then something happened that no one could have predicted.\n\nEven though the French cardinals were in the vast majority at the conclave, an aggressive Roman mob forced them to elect an Italian pope, which they did for safety's sake. Who would it be? The young, inexperienced Urban VI would be someone they could keep in line. But power went to the new prelate's head, and in the confusion that followed he began railing against his cardinals day and night. He then withdrew his promise to return to Avignon. In the face of so much recalcitrance, the French quickly moved to elect an antipope. This French pope, Clement VII, was no soft touch either. To clear the way to Rome for Gregory XI, he had given the order the year before to kill thousands of rebels in the Italian city of Cesena. This dreadful bloodbath was still fresh in everyone's memory. 'Death to the Antichrist!' people shouted in the streets of Rome, and 'the butcher of Cesena' beat a hasty retreat to Avignon. Back in that little Proven\u00e7al town, Clement VII announced that he was the only rightful pope. Urban VI was not impressed, and he stubbornly remained seated on the throne in Rome. Suddenly the Christian world was saddled with a towering dilemma: which pope to follow?\n\nKing Charles V of France wanted to keep the power of the church as close to Paris as possible, so he drew the Clement card. England, France's traditional enemy, almost automatically opted for the rival candidate. Philip the Bold's Burgundy blindly followed the French crown. Entirely in keeping with his reputation as an Anglophile, and to the satisfaction of the cities, the Flemish count Louis of Male opted for the English camp, which meant that the French fief remained under Roman rule. His son-in-law, Philip of Burgundy, was forced to look on passively and accept the choice of his future subjects with much gnashing of teeth, but his brother Charles V was downright furious and called the Flemings traitors."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Like A Prostitute At An Orgy'",
                "text": "So here we are. Since the autumn of 1378 we have had two popes, one illegitimate (the one in Rome) and one legitimate (the one in Avignon). That is approximately what Baldwin van der Nieppe must have said to his pupil, bringing him and his history lessons to the heart of current affairs.\n\nThese most recent developments didn't sound strange at all to John the Fearless. Thanks to the lessons of Baldwin van der Nieppe \u2013 who, after all, was a priest \u2013 and to the religious instruction of his pious mother, he was familiar with Bible stories and very knowledgeable when it came to church intrigue. Catholicism had anchored itself in his mind from an early age, and it never left his doomed body until four decades later, when his enemies brutally murdered him. On that occasion, as noted by the ducal records, scrupulously kept as usual, John was carrying 'an especially beautiful and richly decorated breviary'.\n\nHe was eighteen months old when he went to church for the first time, or rather was taken to church by his mother, Margaret of Flanders. The education of a duke's son could not start soon enough, and his lessons began at the age of three, when he was taught to read from the Sept Psaumes book of psalms \u2013 in French. Dutch followed a few years later. In March 1378, just before the church was split in two by Catholic schismatics, the six-year-old was given his first prayer book from the hands of Guillaume de Vallan, Philip the Bold's confessor.\n\nLike his father, he took a Dominican as his own confessor. The Dominicans owed their fame to itinerant preachers who magnetized huge crowds with their spectacular performances. The dukes were not insensitive to rhetorical feats of strength, but they were less scrupulous about the Dominican summons to sobriety. Confessors held an important position in court life. They heard the confessions of the duke and gave him absolution. As Dominicans they preached, of course, and on a regular schedule, and they published religious essays addressed to the attention of their employer. Like his father, John was a pious mortal who not only spent considerable sums of money on acts of charity but also set an example by devoting himself to religious practices. He attended daily Mass, as his parents did, and during major feasts he observed all the hours, from matins to compline, even occasionally spending an entire night in prayerful vigil. Whenever he travelled, John had a course mapped out that ran past churches and abbeys. The most insignificant trip was transformed into a glorified pilgrimage.\n\nLike your average medieval man or woman, the Burgundian dukes had a deep faith in the power of the mortal remains of the saints: the touching of a toenail or a shinbone, a fragment of a coat or a splinter of a walking stick was believed to have miraculous effects. When Philip and John stopped at churches and monasteries, it wasn't just to attend Mass but it was also an opportunity to touch the local relics. It is known that John was the proud owner of a fragment of the skull of one of the 11,000 virgins who accompanied St Ursula, and who were invoked by believers to grant them good fortune in war and in marriage. His father Philip prided himself on having a handful of the ribs of St Louis, their illustrious forefather, which he kept in a display cabinet.\n\nAfter counting up their religious fetishes and praying their rosaries, the dukes devoted themselves to the pleasures of realpolitik. Philip the Bold remained true to Avignon as long as it was politically expedient, and his son would have it no other way. It was more a question of international politics than piety. In their heart of hearts they must have wondered what they were supposed to do about the whole mess. For the average French, Burgundian, English and Flemish Catholic, the Western Schism remained an entirely inextricable tangle. If it hadn't been Avignon that excommunicated Rome, then it was the other way round. When it came to dividing up the church's income, both popes were guilty of gross corruption and simony.\n\nAs addicted as they were to relics, saints and indulgences (by which you could earn a reduced sentence in purgatory), the people were terrified that the Schism might prevent them from ever reaching Paradise. Which choice would guarantee that you were on the right path? One chronicler said that Rome and Avignon took turns coaxing the church on 'like a prostitute at an orgy'. But in the fourteenth century, not even the greatest visionary could predict that this schism would grow into a rift in the Catholic Church that held within it the seeds of the Reformation."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Take Them Off As Speedily As You Can'",
                "text": "This history didn't really hit home for John until his grandfather, Louis of Male, came crawling to John's father to beg for help: the people of Ghent were in rebellion again. Was John reminded of his great-grandfather, Louis of Nevers, who tried to dampen the zeal of the Ghent textile merchant Jacob van Artevelde? Or his distant forefather, Philip of Alsace, who dealt with the haughty patricians from the city on the Leie?\n\nFor John, the best history lesson was the present day, while the past was his most revealing news bulletin. The big difference between now and then was that now there was an extra player in the game: his father, the powerful Duke of Burgundy, who \u2013 no matter how much he wanted to \u2013 was unable to escape from the ancient friction between France and Flanders."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "The sun shone, the larks warbled, and in the imagination of the workmen the water was already gliding through the countryside. With their shovels as their only weapons, the day labourers tackled le plat pays and dug a canal from Bruges to Deinze. The sluggish Leie River stank to high heaven, and this new waterway was meant to flush out the polluted sewers of Bruges. At least, that was the sales pitch that the people of Bruges were using to pull the wool over the eyes of the Ghentenars. But Ghent's good citizens wouldn't let themselves be taken in that easily. Naturally, they realized that the sole purpose of the project was to create a direct connection between Bruges and the Leie in Deinze, so that grain from France could reach their city without the costly detour through Ghent, and textiles from West Flanders could travel in the opposite direction more economically. A large portion of the staple rights by which Ghent had traditionally lined its coffers was now at risk of going up in smoke. And things were going downhill anyway.\n\nAfter the death of Jacob van Artevelde in 1345, his political allies had been banished by Louis of Male. Many of them, with all their savoir-faire and experience, had gone to England to resume work as textile merchants. Contemporary Geoffrey Chaucer referred to this new trend with a playful reference in his Canterbury Tales. 'She bettered those of Ypres and of Ghent,' he wrote of the skill of the Wife of Bath in the weaving of cloth. In due course, not only did the big textile producers suffer from the consequences of Flemish competition on the other side of the Channel, but cheaper textile products of considerably inferior quality were also being sold from smaller cities in the countryside.\n\nIn cities like Ghent, economic growth began to stagnate. Workers could only dream of less punishing wages. And just when things started looking especially precarious, the count saw fit to organize a great tournament, a feast that was to be paid for mainly by the people of Ghent and Bruges. Always the count's spoiled child, Bruges opened its purse with a smile \u2013 on the condition that the city be allowed to dig that canal. In typical Flanders fashion, Ghent grumbled in opposition. Count and city folk squabbled, the Ghentenars argued with the people of Bruges, and, as usual, the shadow of France and England hung over the local fray. It was typical of Ghent as well, although the top dog didn't stop with just a few barks.\n\nIn May 1379, the navvies of Bruges were halfway done with their canal when the White Hoods \u2013 the Witte Kaproenen \u2013 the dreaded Ghent city militia, appeared on the horizon. The canal diggers abandoned their wharves, and Jan Yoens, the leader of the White Hoods, returned in triumph with his gang to his home city. Nothing ever came of the canal. The count's bailiff wasn't going to take this lying down, and he arrested one member of the city militia. This apparently insignificant arrest was the falling domino that dragged down all of Flanders and would ultimately trigger a war with France.\n\nThe arrest was interpreted as an attack on city rights because the count's official had not consulted the aldermen and had acted purely on his own initiative. The indignant Ghentenars killed the bailiff and burned the count's new castle at Wondelgem to the ground. A long repressed sense of dissatisfaction bubbled to the surface: from wage slave to weaving supervisor, everyone had some frustration that had been festering in their hearts or their wallets.\n\nJan Yoens wasted no time. He and his troops had travelled throughout Flanders and managed to convince all the cities, with the exception of Dendermonde and Oudenaarde, to conspire against the count. The count's son-in-law, Philip the Bold, cobbled together a fragile truce, but he was unable to prevent the outraged count from seeking redress. Louis of Male knew what kind of people he was dealing with, and he managed to benefit from the Flemish disunity. He placated the nobility and the rich patricians, won their favour, and drove a wedge between Ghent and Bruges. Finally even Ypres abandoned the rebels, and Ghent was left isolated."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "While the Ghentenars mobilized their forces and Philip the Bold waited to see which way the wind was blowing, an unexpected piece of news arrived that would be of vital importance to both Flanders and Burgundy. In 1380, King Charles V of France lay dying of tuberculosis.\n\nAlong with Bertrand du Guesclin, the notorious supreme commander of the French army, the king had succeeded in retaking his country city by city and came within an inch of leading France out of the hell of the Hundred Years War. On the day of his death, the English were still occupying the seaport towns of Brest, Calais and Cherbourg and a narrow strip of land between Bayonne and Bordeaux. If the king had lived a little less than ten years longer, the Hundred Years War might have been called the Fifty Years War.\n\nDuring his sixteen-year reign, Charles V had strengthened countless cities and built scores of impregnable fortresses. One of these was the menacing bulwark that appeared above the streets of Paris. (The so-called Bastille would become world famous on 14 July 1789 and was immediately razed to the ground.) In addition to conducting a successful war policy, this oldest brother of Philip the Bold was also a patron of the arts and an art lover, a man who collected hundreds of precious manuscripts and books in a tower of the Louvre. Charles V was the first king to give shape to what later became the archetype of the great French leader: the politician-tactician who not only made the right decisions but could also quote from the right books.\n\nAnd yet the great king was on the point of dying with a nagging conscience. He was all too aware that his support of the antipope in Avignon had plunged the church into its greatest crisis since its inception. If it hadn't been for his stubbornness, there would now be just one Holy See. How in God's name was Charles to face the Almighty? Of course he had almost rid France of the perfidious Albion, but he had financed that military undertaking by levying heavy taxes and sucking the ordinary Frenchman dry. His kingdom had become safer, but also poorer.\n\nThe cold breath of the Grim Reaper had moved countless medieval rulers to contrition and remorse. The king humbly declared that he had done wrong and that the fouage \u2013 a hefty property tax \u2013 would be cancelled immediately so that 'from now on our said people and subjects shall not pay any of them but shall be quit and discharged'. His brothers scowled and wondered how the young dauphin would be able to accumulate the necessary means to carry out policy after his father's death. 'Take them off as speedily as you can,' Charles murmured with his last ounce of strength, referring to the taxes.\n\nOn 16 September 1380, the forty-two-year-old Charles V passed away. The people found themselves with tax relief and a new king. The Parisians welcomed the young Charles VI with enthusiasm. But they cheered too soon, for his regent uncles would soon render the wish of the dying man a dead letter. The French king was barely twelve years old and had very little influence. The fate of the Hundred Years War now lay in the hands of two easily manipulated adolescents, for King Richard II of England was only thirteen. Both countries fell prey to the power games of greedy regents.\n\nAll this was more than obvious at the solemn coronation of Charles VI in the cathedral at Reims. Philip the Bold literally pushed his older brother Louis, the Duke of Anjou, from his chair, and calmly took his place beside the king. The coronation almost degenerated into hand-to-hand combat, but Charles VI soothed tempers and gave the Burgundian duke the much coveted place of honour.\n\nJohn's father, who was gearing up to take control of Flanders, was the strong man in Paris from the start. He played the underage king like a marionette, and not only for the prestige that came with power. By having direct access to the treasury he could increase his ambitions considerably, and perhaps solve his father-in-law's problems at the same time. Weren't they by definition his problems as well? Why not settle the Flemish crisis with the help of the French army? And by cleverly hiding behind Charles VI, he could shift the resentment of his future subjects onto the crown. Once Philip the Bold recognized how rosily the future could unfold for him, he sprang into the French power vacuum like a tiger."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Worms Of The Earth Will Devour All The Lions'",
                "text": "Three times the Flemish count Louis of Male tried to starve out the rebellious Ghentenars by laying siege. Each siege ended in failure, but the fighting spirit within the ramparts was severely tested. 'If only Jacob van Artevelde were still alive,' sighed the famished burghers, who had lost most of their bravado. A majority of them supported a truce, but in late 1381 the extremists seized power and all hope of peace was lost.\n\nTo lend weight to their plans and to get all the Ghentenars on the same page, they rolled out their old artillery. It came in the form of a short man with small, piercing eyes, a voluble fellow with a vindictive disposition, owing to the death of his father. It was none other than Philip van Artevelde, the son of the legendary Jacob. He was given all the power, and he swore that he would lead Ghent to victory. First he dressed himself as if he were the King of France, then he eliminated the oldest sons of his father's murderers. Once that was taken care of, the little peacock could begin his bloody campaign against the Flemish count, invariably announced with a flourish of trumpets.\n\nLouis of Male was not impressed. Now that he had reconquered practically all of Flanders, he decided to play hardball and demanded that Ghent surrender without delay. And not by placing a few signatures at the bottom of a sheet of parchment. No, Louis demanded that all the men of Ghent between the ages of fifteen and sixty appear before him in one long procession, and that they do it in a special way: without any head covering, barefoot, and with a noose round their necks. The count would then decide whom he would and would not pardon. Van Artevelde must have had a good laugh. For two decades he had been receiving an annuity from the English. So like his father he fixed his eyes on the other side of the Channel, where the promise of military support awaited him, giving a boost to his well-developed haughtiness.\n\nOn 5 May 1382, the starving Ghentenars \u2013 the three sieges had been a terrible ordeal \u2013 ambushed the count's troops at Bruges during the Procession of the Holy Blood. Their attack, or rather their act of desperation, caught the soldiers unawares, many of whom were unsteady on their feet on account of the festivities. The Ghentenars drove Louis's warriors to the centre of the city, where they carried out a bloodbath with axes and maces. The proud Count of Flanders fell off his horse and barely escaped with his life. 'If he hadn't run away he'd be dead,' wrote the poet-chronicler Eustache Deschamps.\n\nNight fell over the city like a dark blanket. As torches were being lit, the count fled through the streets of Bruges wearing his servant's clothes. Van Artevelde knew that Louis had to be somewhere, and he put a large price on his head. The hunt was on. The cry 'Ghent! Ghent!' resounded everywhere, as if the attackers were increasing by the minute. In despair, the terrified Louis knocked on a door. 'Let me in, madam, please. I am the Count of Flanders.'\n\nWhether it was from a sense of duty, fear or promises of gold, the door swung open. The proud Don Juan and begetter of eighteen bastards spent that night trembling in a child's cot. He got up at the crack of dawn and swam across the city's main canal, and two days later he reached Lille on the back of a farmer's bony nag.\n\nThere he learned that his mother, Margaret, had died, and that on the fateful day that he was being forced to abandon Flanders he had become Count of the Franche-Comt\u00e9 and Artois. Louis had nowhere to run, so he begged his Burgundian son-in-law for help."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Philip the Bold didn't hesitate for a moment. He harnessed his best horses and spurred them to action, doing full credit to his motto 'Il me tarde' (I'm in a hurry, I wait for no one). Because of his importance, the motto was often corrupted into 'Moult me tarde' (many wait for me). Both slogans were typical of his impulsive personality. The treasury had a special column in its books for 'horses worn out or killed in the service of Monseigneur'. More than once he covered the 300 kilometres between Dijon and Paris in five days, spending from ten to eleven hours in the saddle. During the hot month of May in 1382 he galloped down the roads of France, oblivious to the dust his horse kicked up. A seasoned traveller, he had had gold and crystal eyeglasses made 'for the dust that blows in your eyes during horse riding'.\n\nIn Senlis, the new French king went to meet him with a falcon on his fist. Above his large lower jaw and equally impressive nose glistened two powerful eyes. The Burgundian duke knew he had to deploy all his powers of persuasion to win the king over. The Flemings had thrown out their count, he told the king. His patrimony was in danger. The son of the rebellious cloth merchant had appointed brand-new mayors in many places and was now considering new laws. But worse than that, this same man was steering the county into English waters. That was all it took to convince the fourteen-year-old French monarch.\n\nWith the enthusiasm of adolescence, Charles VI dreamed of more heroic adventures than carrying a falcon around. 'There's nothing I would rather do than go into battle, for I have never handled a weapon, which is essential if I am to rule in a strong and honourable way.' He immediately imposed a heavy tax to mobilize his war machine.\n\nBefore the fourteenth century, feudal armies were made up of vassals who quickly dispensed with their duties in order to see to their own local affairs. Now armies were reinforced by mercenaries who fought for whoever would pay them. Kings could no longer afford the exorbitant costs that this practice involved. They sought to borrow from bankers if necessary, and in time from rich cities. The complex financing of wars was still in its infancy and resulted in countless unpaid debts. The havoc wreaked by military action was bad enough, but such emergency taxation was a drain on resources that brought medieval states to the brink of collapse. In addition, French soldiers destroyed or devoured a large portion of the harvests, rendering the starving population an easy prey to infectious disease.\n\nCharles VI, with his love of sword play, couldn't care less. The brothers of Philip the Bold, the quarrelsome regent uncles Anjou and Berry, and the Duke of Bourbon, brother-in-law of Charles V and member of the regency council, promised their assistance. All the Burgundian duke had to do was to let it be known that, like Ghent, the residents of Blois, Chalon, Orl\u00e9ans, Reims and Rouen were also rising up in revolt. If they failed to crush the spider in the web of insurrection, the future of their own class could be jeopardized. The aristocracy were shaking in their boots. The words of the Franciscan monk John of Rupescissa, who was repeatedly imprisoned for his writings and had died an invalid fifteen years earlier, had sent many Europeans into raptures. Now there was a danger that his words would become reality: 'First, the worms of the earth will take up such strength and boldness that they will cruelly devour all the lions, bears, leopards, and wolves. [\u2026] the justice of the people will rise up and devour the traitorous noble tyrants in the mouth of twice-sharpened swords.'\n\nPopular uprisings broke out in Italy and England almost simultaneously with those in France and Flanders. Peasants and craftsmen were sick and tired of the endless taxes and refused to bear the burden of their lords' wartime expenses any longer. That unrest gave rise to a longing for more rights. Now that Christian charity was no longer enough to placate the indigent, who were tormented by plague, war and economic crisis, the established order was at a loss as to how to deal with the growing self-awareness of the lower class. At first the nobility and clergy were willing to wait and see, but when they realized that their position was being seriously threatened, they drew their swords.\n\nThe city of Ghent, which was gradually becoming famous throughout Europe, embodied the spirit of impending change more vigorously than anywhere else. Of course, the metropolis wasn't just an association of workers but a city that stood up for its rights as a body, and in doing so represented both the big merchants and the modest day labourers. They had plenty to squabble over among themselves, but all of them were fervently committed in their stand against the counts, dukes and kings."
            },
            {
                "title": "'We Will Teach Him To Speak Flemish'",
                "text": "In the autumn of 1382, Charles VI convened a gathering in Arras. John's father could count himself lucky. He had managed to get the French kingdom to straighten out his Flemish mess. Not bad for someone who in fact possessed only a few territories around Dijon, which together amounted to a modest region between the Sa\u00f4ne and the Morvan, only a fraction of Gundobad's old kingdom. If he really wanted to join in the game, he would have to save Flanders, no matter what the cost.\n\nVan Artevelde's best tactic was obvious: to let the French stew in the dampness of the Flemish autumn until they left, staggering and shivering all over. The coldest season had started, and tradition prescribed a kind of military winter break. Everyone would go home to rest and warm up, after which the game of warfare could begin anew in the spring. But waiting was a waste of time for the impatient Van Artevelde, who did everything he could to trounce the French-Burgundian army. It was as if he had made the heraldic motto of Philip the Bold his own.\n\nThen 10,000 Frenchmen \u2013 a fifth of whom were Burgundian soldiers \u2013 entered Flanders by way of the town of Komen, which had been conquered with great difficulty. Van Artevelde went out to meet them on 26 November, and near a swamp in Westrozebeke, a little village between Ypres and Roeselare, he saw the French banners and lances appear on the horizon. The two armies set up camp and got ready for the impending battle. For the time being, the general din and tapping of weapons were all they noticed of each other.\n\nThat evening round the campfire, the poet-chronicler Eustache Deschamps, whom the king had ordered to accompany the army to the clammy north, put into words his own unease and that of almost the entire army: 'The root of all this malicious baseness and betrayal of chivalric values is Ghent, which fancies itself above the law.' The French-Burgundian warriors had developed a deep-seated loathing of the Ghentenars. Wasn't it their fault that the French had to grease their weapons every day in the drizzling rain?\n\nDeschamps called on his fellow countrymen to 'impale the Flemings with their lances'. All they had to fight with anyway were 'wheelbarrows and carts'. At the same time, he wondered aloud why he as a diplomatic courier was wasting his time in the Flemish mud. Yet for someone who sought to pack his poetry with worldly events, it must have been a chance of a lifetime to follow this hot news from close range. Deschamps, who came from the Champagne district, would remain a grouser till the end of his days and would shriek his profound dissatisfaction with the world in countless verses. In that sense, he was just the man to put into words the hatred being directed at the Ghentenars.\n\nThe very evening that Deschamps committed his indignation to paper, the Ghent leader addressed his captains. He was quite formal in conveying the bad news that in the end the English hadn't shown up: 'They would rob us of our fame before our very eyes.' After all, having the French king descend on Flanders along with the flower of his nobility would be a golden opportunity, the ideal chance to deal with their arrogant southern neighbour. The fact that his remarks were preserved for posterity was not thanks to the grumbling Deschamps but to Jean Froissart.\n\nThe forty-five-year-old Froissart was three years older than his fellow chronicler Deschamps. Fearing that the tyranny of rhyming might tempt him to introduce inaccuracies or meaningless repetition, he decided not to write in rhymed verse. Chroniclers tell the story of their patrons, of course, but Froissart's patient way of gathering information, as well as his empathy, resulted in reports that are still worth quoting.\n\nLike Deschamps, he was stationed in the camp of Charles VI. Froissart seemed to have a warmer spot in his heart for Flanders than Deschamps did. Naturally he condemned the Ghentenars, who were shaking up the feudal structures ordained by God, but the tone of his stories does betray a certain respect for the courage of the Ghent city militia. On the other hand, the more 'journalistically' inclined Froissart made no effort to gloss over the frivolity and megalomania of the Ghent leader.\n\n'Tell your soldiers to show no mercy and to slaughter the lot. Spare no one but the French king. He is still a child, and he bears no blame. We will take him to Ghent, and there we will teach him to speak Flemish.' After making this pronouncement, Philip van Artevelde withdrew into his tent. While he sought diversion in the arms of a Ghent beauty, the French boy king consulted his war council. The council expressed some dissatisfaction with Philip the Bold, who had taken a great risk by dragging the young Charles VI into this battle.\n\nThe Duke of Burgundy realized that he had to nip this doubt in the bud. The best swordsmen in the kingdom were told not to stray an inch from Charles's side, and the knight Guillaume des Bordes was ordered to hold tight to the reins of the king's horse. Officially, Philip placed the king within the heart of his troops, but in reality the fourteen-year-old monarch was kept somewhere safe in the rear.\n\nFor John's grandfather, Louis of Male, preparations for the Battle of Westrozebeke must have been difficult and humiliating. Not only did the French look down on him for his support of the pope in Rome, but in their eyes he was the idiot count who had to be rescued from the claws of the Flemish lion. To embarrass him, they placed him in the rear guard.\n\nAnd so it happened, Baldwin van der Nieppe must have told young John, the son of Philip the Bold \u2013 so it happened that both the Flemish count and the French king found themselves at a safe distance from the place where all hell broke loose.\n\nOr how a precursor of the French Revolution was nipped in the bud on Flemish soil, and how time changed, both figuratively and literally.\n\nA stone's throw from the site where the terrible Battle of Passchendaele erupted 534 years later, two armies prepared for a totally forgotten showdown. Yet the Battle of Westrozebeke is of anecdotal and especially historical value and deserves to be snatched from the jaws of oblivion. This confrontation not only epitomized Philip the Bold's turbulent era, but it was also a prelude to another uprising \u2013 a successful one \u2013 that would take place some four centuries later.\n\nTo understand this, we have to go back to the foggy morning of 27 November 1382. Let us train our historical telescope on the two warring parties: Flemish arrogance face to face with French-Burgundian suspicion, commoners against nobility, Van Artevelde versus Philip the Bold (who shrewdly hid himself behind Charles VI), a greatly expanded city militia against half as many knights, but knights who were better equipped and fully experienced. Before dawn, the French unfurled the legendary Oriflamme, the main banner of Charlemagne, an orange-and-red battle standard decorated with golden flames that was only raised in holy combat. Because the Flemings had taken the side of the Roman pope, Urban VI, the campaign also took on the allure of a crusade. Avignon against Rome!\n\nPhilip of Artevelde could not restrain his impatience. He gave the order to attack and thereby lost his advantageous position on higher ground. With their lances, spears, sticks and clubs, the Flemings plunged into the wisps of morning fog that hovered before them. Their leader ran with them, taking his place in the front ranks of his fearsome White Hoods, and they all hooked arms to keep from getting lost in the mist. The French quaked with fear as a raging roar rolled down the facing slope.\n\nAt that very moment, the sun broke through. 'The spectacle was wondrous to behold: gleaming helmets, glittering weaponry, dazzling lances of steel,' wrote Froissart. The banners of Flanders's cities and trade guilds approached at full speed. 'There were so many of them that it looked like a forest.' Van Artevelde strode beside a black flag bearing a silver lion, the great city banner of Ghent. The French commander Olivier de Clisson shouted himself hoarse in an effort to calm his troops.\n\nThe blow was enormous. The Flemings trampled the first French ranks 'like rampaging wild boars', driving deep into the opposing forces. De Clisson kept one eye on the king, the other on the two wings of his army. At first he didn't know how to react, but he was rescued by the alertness of the Duke of Bourbon and Ingelram de Coucy, the commanders of France's left and right flanks. Calmly seated on their horses, they carried on a dialogue amid the tumult of the Flemish attack that you can read about in the chronicles. Their conversation ended with Bourbon's remarkably sober words, 'That, my dear cousin, is good advice.'\n\nIt's not likely that there was time for such a polite conclusion to a tactical discussion in the heat of the battle, but we do know for certain that De Coucy ordered his infantry to attack the wild Flemings with such ferocity that it seemed 'as if all the bladesmiths of Paris and Brussels together were bearing down on them'. For their part, the French knights cornered Van Artevelde's troops with a flanking manoeuvre.\n\nSuddenly the Flemish rearguard found themselves cut off from their leader. While most of the attacking army was being held in an immense, living dungeon \u2013 thick walls of French soldiers \u2013 the remainder took to their heels. Faced with superior strength, the boxed-in Flemings had no choice but to retreat, but now that was impossible. The Ghent freedom fighters just stood there, pressed together in desperation. 'The mighty lances of Bordeaux cracked the hauberks open and sank into the flesh\u2026 They cowered, for never does a man give himself over to being impaled, not even if victory is at stake,' wrote Froissart matter-of-factly.\n\nThe blood flowed only on the outside of the writhing circle. On the inside, the unstoppable process of suffocation caused a different kind of slaughter. The sound of hand-to-hand combat that had so fiercely characterized the beginning of the battle had turned into the groaning of men gasping for air, the cracking of imploding ribcages, and gradually the inaudible begging for air and light. Afterwards, the battlefield was littered with a vast number of bodies and hardly any traces of blood. They had been crushed and shattered by their own brothers-in-arms.\n\nVan Artevelde was struck on the head, then trampled underfoot by his own troops. A captured Fleming later identified his mortal remains in a pile of bodies. 'And his stockings were padded at the knee with fur', we read in the Bouck van Memorien der stadt Gent (Book of the Writings of the City of Ghent). Charles VI must have laughed with pity. In his eyes, Philip van Artevelde was no more than a weakling if he had to wear fur knee pads to ease the chafing of his armour. He kicked the stripped body 'as if it were that of a serf' and had it hung from a tree on the battlefield.\n\nTo the surprise of the French, the battle lasted less than two hours. It induced Deschamps to write a victory poem in which every stanza ended in 'qui desconfiz furent en pou de temps', which means that the Flemings were cut to pieces in the twinkling of an eye. It was sweet revenge for the time that the French, exactly eighty years earlier and fewer than twenty-five kilometres away, had been slaughtered by the Flemings on the Groeningekouter in Kortrijk.\n\nWhile the crows feasted on the body of the protector of Flanders, the French, hungry for booty, rushed on to Kortrijk. As is so often the case, the war had to pay for itself. Funnelling tax revenues was a slow and inaccurate undertaking, and unpaid wages forced the mercenaries to collect their salary on the battlefield.\n\nBefore burning the plundered city to the ground \u2013 'they set fire to Kortrijk on every side' \u2013 they turned their attention to a much favoured and lucrative business of war: taking wealthy burghers captive and demanding ransom. Like a vulture, Commerce descended wherever War had broken camp."
            },
            {
                "title": "'From Which She Still Hears Terce And Nones Ring Out'",
                "text": "To settle old scores, the French removed from the vaulting of the Church of Our Lady 'the five hundred golden spurs', which had been hanging there for eight decades as a relic of the miracle of 1302. The fifty-two-year-old Louis of Male could beg and plead all he wanted to save his beloved Kortrijk, but the fourteen-year-old Charles VI was unrelenting. Under the delusion that he, a wunderkind, had decided the Battle of Westrozebeke all by himself, the young monarch swore that the town's inhabitants would long remember that the King of France had been there. The plundering and burning of Kortrijk was the umpteenth blot on the escutcheon of the Flemish count, who was gradually wearing himself out with fighting.\n\nFor his part, Philip the Bold, always cleverly hidden behind fleurs-de-lis, just let it go. He knew you couldn't make an omelette without breaking eggs, and he let his Burgundian warriors serve themselves. He himself pinched a remarkable war trophy. The careful dismantling of the lovely bell tower was an act with at least as much symbolism as the removal of the golden spurs. From then on, the Duke of Burgundy would determine how the hours passed in Flanders. A procession of ox-carts transported the technical wonder to Dijon, where the so-called Jacquemart \u2013 the name of the mechanical figure that struck the hour \u2013 still manages the time from the Church of Our Lady."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "For the Romans, the year began on 1 March. This explains the names of some of the other months, like September, October, November and December, which originally were months number seven (septem), eight (octo), nine (novem) and ten (decem). February was the last and twelfth month in the series and was assigned the number of days that remained \u2013 twenty-eight \u2013 sometimes supplemented with an extra leap day. In most of medieval Europe, the calendar still began with the coming of spring, determined more by Easter. Only in the course of the sixteenth century would the entire continent swap the Resurrection for the Circumcision of Christ and establish the first of January as the beginning of the year.\n\nIn the Middle Ages, the notion of time was anything but precise and concrete. Scholars set their minds to unravelling spans of time in the Bible. It seems that Christ was dead for exactly forty hours, and Adam stuck it out for only seven hours in the Garden of Eden. But when it came to the here and now, timekeeping was a vague business. There was nothing remarkable about that, since the available technology allowed for little precision. Sundials only worked when it was sunny, and hourglasses varied in accordance with the grains of sand being used; 'the duration of three candles' differed greatly from church to kitchen. In the famous Viandier (c.1380), the first culinary masterpiece in French history, the writer-cook Guillaume Tirel said very little about the preparation time required for various dishes, unless it was based on religious inducements: letting a dish simmer while reeling off eighteen Our Fathers or twenty-three Hail Marys.\n\nAs even the cookbooks demonstrate, there was a thread of religion running through the age. Monasteries and abbeys were the nerve centres of this system. The day itself was divided into periods of three hours, each preceded by a prayer service, beginning with matins at around midnight, lauds around sunrise, followed by prime, terce and sext (around midday, the sixth hour after sunrise, sexta hora, from which siesta is derived), none, vespers and compline (which completes the day at around nine in the evening). The Matins of Bruges, referring to the massacre of the French garrison in 1302, was named after the first prayer of the day, the sounding of which was the signal for knives to be drawn.\n\nThe time between the various services was filled with clear-cut tasks, and an objective observer could tell what time it was depending on whether he encountered the brothers in the garden, the refectory, the church, the laundry room or the dormitory. Monks appeared like the hands of an imaginary clock. The monastery became a living timepiece, a mechanism entirely driven by God. Urban and rural environments could also organize the working day along the same lines. One of the monastics was charged with monitoring the time; this 'sorghvuldigen broeder' \u2013 careful brother \u2013 would ring the bells so his colleagues would have enough time to get to the proper prayer services. The reference points, of course, were sunrise and sunset, but mastering time was mainly a matter of observing the stars and checking the sundials.\n\nIn around 1300, this centuries-old way of life came under threat. Urbanization and industrialization required well-defined working hours. Wage labour didn't get very far with the marking of lauds and vespers. Thanks to the invention of what is known as escapement, in which the balance wheel of a timepiece is turned by means of gradual jumps, the first mechanical clocks soon graced the bell towers in all the major cities. At first the hours were struck by automatons, and it wasn't until later on that hands were introduced to literally indicate the changing time. Because peasants, labourers and burghers often made mistakes in counting the strokes and weren't sure whether it was roughly nine or ten o'clock, it soon became fashionable to ring four preliminary chimes. A brief melody announced that the hour would soon be struck, which gave everyone enough time to focus their concentration. This forerunner of the carillon was called a quadrillon in French (literally a foursome), which was corrupted into carillon, the name that would be adopted by other languages, English and Dutch among them.\n\nAlong with the urban areas of northern Italy, Flemish cities such as Kortrijk, Ghent and Bruges once again played a leading role in this development. The new age of the laity was subject to the whims of technology. Different cities had different times, a situation that continued for centuries. It wasn't until the coming of the railways in the nineteenth century that a standardized national time would be introduced.\n\n'Florence, enclosed within her ancient walls / from which she still hears terce and nones ring out, / once lived in peace, a pure and temperate town.' The poet Dante Alighieri placed these words in the mouth of his great-grandfather, Cacciaguida, who addresses him in three Paradise cantos from his Divine Comedy (early fourteenth century). These verses reveal that the writer is looking back nostalgically to the olden days, when people worked according to 'terce and nones' and weren't oppressed by the new age of the laity. The workers in the Dijon vineyards were none too enthusiastic about the innovations either. For employers, the system was a useful tool for increasing working hours and productivity. Workers and craftsmen, who were already being exploited, were forced into a tight-fitting temporal corset.\n\nThe Duke of Burgundy was less nostalgic than Dante. Philip the Bold bought twenty 'wearable' orloges in Arras so he would always know the correct time while travelling. Along with his special dust spectacles, Philip's appearance at the end of the fourteenth century became more and more futuristic. His wife, Margaret of Flanders, who was just as keen on travelling as her husband, never went anywhere without her own personal timepiece. This wonder of technology was almost as precious to her as her ever-present rosary. But while the prayer beads fit perfectly in the hand, the orloge was far too cumbersome to wrap neatly around the wrist. So from then on, her retinue consisted of an extra cart for lugging the immense object around and a Flemish or Dutch specialist whose job it was to keep the thing adjusted, since it was constantly losing time.\n\nIn the meantime, back in their capital of Dijon, the Jacquemart, which had been stolen from Kortrijk, was still tirelessly striking the hours throughout the day. Soon the duke ordered a similar city clock for Beaune. The complicated construction, the wages for the man who wound the clock, and the frequent overhauls made it an expensive undertaking, but the Burgundians were determined not to miss the wave of innovation."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Serfs You Are And Serfs You Will Remain'",
                "text": "'All of you, from small to great, shall be wiped out one by one / Your name shall be effaced, sown with salt, choked / Wicked city of Ghent, bear this in mind.' The pen of Eustache Deschamps spouted poison, not least in order to convey a sense of urgency to his own camp. According to Deschamps, Charles VI was wrong to waste too much time in Kortrijk. 'If he had immediately given chase, Ghent would have been his,' wrote his Flemish colleague Olivier van Dixmude. But the king was already back in France, where he had other things on his mind. Otherwise he might have ridden straight on to Ghent to subdue the city himself.\n\nParis had descended into pandemonium in recent months. Labourers, peasants and craftsmen had stormed the city hall and stolen the 3,000 war hammers that the government was keeping on hand to subdue civil disorder. Thus armed, the rioters themselves went on the rampage. The city council threw in their lot with the agitators. While the king was on his way to Westrozebeke, the capital was tearing itself loose from the kingdom. After the battle, he hurried back to Paris. Flanders had now become occupied territory, with French-Burgundian garrisons everywhere. Only Ghent was off limits. His advisors must have advised the king that the city, with its kilometres of walls and its position between the Leie and the Scheldt, was as good as impregnable. In addition, winter was coming and the French capital was in need of urgent relief.\n\nCharles's troops arrived at the gates of Paris in early January. A battle was out of the question. The insurgents had been so demoralized by the defeat at Westrozebeke that the king reached his palace without a hitch, but that didn't make his repression any less merciless. Everyone involved in the uprising was either put under lock and key or killed outright. Workers hurried to complete the Bastille, and the Louvre was soon enhanced by a gigantic castle tower. That imposing house of torture would keep Paris in line, or so the king thought.\n\nAfter the fall of Paris, Philip the Bold used a portion of the revenue to finally pay his troops. Almost half the Burgundian forces at Westrozebeke came from Dijon. Upon his return to the ducal capital, Philip gave the city a special gift: permission to adopt the duke's motto. Mayor Jean Poissonnet was so proud that he used the motto as an advertising slogan. He was a mustard maker by trade, and soon the 'Moult me tarde' came to adorn every mustard pot from Dijon. Legend has it that the local speciality owes its French name to Philip's gift.\n\nIn any case, we do know for certain that the duke was mad for moutarde. In addition to improving the viniculture, he also devoted himself to modernizing the manufacture of that condiment. Eight years after Westrozebeke, Philip poured all his findings into a government decree which stated that mustard 'must be made from high-quality seeds\u2026 seeds that should be soaked in good wine vinegar'. To lessen the bitterness of the cracked seeds, the product could not be sold until twelve days after being prepared. Perhaps it was due to Philip's passion for rules that it became customary in Burgundy to replace the commonly used grape must with vinegar in the production process, which gave the mustard a sharper taste and longer storage life.\n\nIt's far more likely that mustard took its name from the use of grape must: 'mustum' (must) and 'ardens' (burning). The 'Moult me tarde' from Westrozebeke-Dijon sounds a bit less credible than the 'burning must' from the dictionary, but the more imaginative neologism nicely illustrates how condiment and city were almost synonymous as early as the fourteenth century."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "Flemings today only remember the Battle of the Golden Spurs of 1302, and in French history, Westrozebeke has disappeared between the cracks of the Hundred Years War. Nevertheless, the clash of Ghent and other sympathetic cities with count, duke and king is the most salient example of an international revolutionary movement. The third estate \u2013 a collective term comprising both well-to-do burghers and indigent weavers \u2013 put a knife to the throat of the leading feudal class. In the final analysis, the total commitment at Westrozebeke was much more significant than battles such as Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers, which appealed more to the imagination. It wasn't a question of English knights taking a stand against their French counterparts. It didn't have to do with the possible loss of territory. It was all about the potential demise of a worldview.\n\nIf the Ghentenars had won, wrote the brash chroniclers, they would have crowned Van Artevelde king in Paris. But it wouldn't have been easy for Charles VI to smother revolt in the cities of France. Froissart didn't hold back in his analysis: 'The third estate would have unleashed a revolution in other lands that was aimed at wiping out the entire aristocracy.'\n\nThat possible upheaval should not be painted in overly democratic colours. Just look at Ghent. More and more people of humble origins were occupying seats on the city council, but the real power still lay in the hands of whoever could gather the largest militia behind him. Van Artevelde was a local tyrant who brought his opponents to ruin and indulged his friends. It would be too easy to regard the cities of the Late Middle Ages as the cradle of our modern democracy, even though that's where the traditional power dynamics did begin to shift. If Ghent had won the battle, then the Battle of Westrozebeke probably would have had the same impact as the Battle of Valmy in 1792, where French revolutionaries defeated a coalition of aristocrats. That victory not only put a decisive end to the Ancien R\u00e9gime, but it also guaranteed the survival of the French Revolution, which was then under threat, just as a victory at Westrozebeke might have given the power of change an unseen impetus.\n\nGhent's defeat was now echoed in other attempts to incite government upheaval. The capitulation of Paris was followed by Rouen, Blois, Orl\u00e9ans and other cities. From then on, all public officials would be royalists. All that commoners' blood, shed for nothing. According to Deschamps, who had not calmed down by any means, it was only 'lawless, traitorous, spiteful, deceitful, disgraced, hated, monstrous' Ghent that was still standing up to the feudal power structures.\n\nThis fiasco made people far less eager to launch a revolution of that nature and on that scale for quite some time, but it did put the leaders of the great Revolution of four centuries later in perspective: the revolutionaries of 1789 were the fortunate descendants of the failed fourteenth-century upheaval. Desmoulins, Robespierre and Danton sat on the shoulders of figures such as \u00c9tienne Marcel and the two Van Arteveldes. The Bastille arose in 1383 as the patron saint of the monarchy and would be razed in 1789 to lend symbolic force to the ending of the Ancien R\u00e9gime.\n\nAnd the cities? They would keep making waves, with Ghent in the lead, as usual. But despite their strength and vitality, the greater part of Europe evolved into an absolutist form of government led by strong monarchs. The people of the Late Middle Ages, unlike those of the eighteenth century, maintained an unswerving faith and trust in their duly anointed Catholic king, no matter what. During the English Peasants' Revolt of 1381, the only one who was able to inspire calm and order was the angelic figure of fourteen-year-old King Richard II. The ever popular Charles VI of France enjoyed a similar appeal. The divine aura of protector was a bonus that Charles's distant descendant, Louis XVI, could no longer count on in 1789.\n\nEnjoying the favour of the people didn't keep the young Richard from speaking the truth: 'Serfs you are and serfs you will remain.' Charles VI would be the last to contradict him. Louis XVI, on the other hand, hardly dared to even think those words after 1789, and he ended up on the guillotine anyway, despite his willingness to please. He paid the price for centuries of monarchy and oppression. The legacy of Westrozebeke lay fermenting in the soil that held the blood of his decapitated body.\n\nOn a smaller scale, the battle was primarily a big success for Philip the Bold, who now seemed more than ready to succeed the washed-up Louis of Male as the Count of Flanders. By way of celebration, he had a wall tapestry woven on which the battle was illustrated. He didn't hang it up, however, but used it as a carpet so that every day he could tread on the defeated third estate with the soles of his feet. The widely acclaimed work of art, which unfortunately was lost in the course of time, made a big impression on everyone who walked through the ducal palace, doubtless including the twelve-year-old John of Burgundy. It's not even inconceivable that Baldwin van der Nieppe used it to tell him the story of his father's victory down to the smallest details, while standing on the likeness of the fallen Van Artevelde."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Nowhere Do You Find Such Bad People'",
                "text": "Out on their island, the English had also anxiously awaited the outcome of Westrozebeke. With an instinctive sense of self-preservation, the king and his retinue hoped that the riff-raff would get the worst of it. Once they had shared their relief among themselves, they realized what a mistake it would be for the French to let success go to their heads because they had beaten a horde of city militias. The future of the aristocracy was an important consideration when counting up the pros and cons of war, but so was the economy. There was an urgent need to regularize the wool export to Flanders, which so often had been blockaded. The appeal issued by Pope Urban VI to attack France, Avignon's patron, and to organize a crusade 'against the schismatics' in Flanders did not go unheeded on the other side of the Channel. The fact that the English would then loot and pillage their way through Flanders, which actually had taken Rome's side, was wilfully overlooked: the county that was so important to England had to be liberated from those French schismatics \u2013 at least, that's how they saw it.\n\nAfter all his good fortune, King Charles VI of France was optimistic as he headed into the spring of 1383. So he was all the more shocked when his Uncle Philip showed up in early May looking despondent. It was more bad news from the north. The Duke of Burgundy spat the truth in his face. That an English army, under the command of Bishop Henry Despenser, had landed in Calais. That he had taken Grevelingen, Dunkirk, Broekburg and Cassel by storm. That Sint-Winoksbergen, Veurne, Nieuwpoort and Diksmuide had surrendered without a fight. That the English, with assistance of troops from Ghent, had just laid siege to the great Ypres. That they seemed determined to reverse the French-Burgundian domination of Flanders. That there was no time to lose.\n\nThen another miracle happened. For the second time in a year, Charles VI, his honour impugned, gathered an impressive army together to get his uncle out of trouble. Antipope Clement VII, who earlier had blessed the Westrozebeke campaign, got wind of the French mobilization and responded by christening this expedition his very own crusade. In effect, the Catholic schismatics were giving France and England the ideal pretext for fighting out their political vendettas.\n\nIn the meantime, the people of Ypres had made a sober assessment. Their city was too big. Because of the success of the textile industry, a collection of new districts had arisen over the course of the thirteenth century and attached themselves to the old city like piglets to a sow. A rampart was also built to enclose this suburb. But the fortification proved too large to defend, and the people of Ypres quickly decided to retreat into the old centre.\n\nThe English immediately razed the suburb to the ground. How optimistic they were! Three days! That's all the time they thought they would need to bring Ypres to its knees. But despite support from Ghent, despite bombardment with countless cannonballs, attacks with battering rams and the continuous efforts to starve out the populace, Ypres wouldn't budge. And by the time the French-Burgundian troops appeared in early August 1383, the English-Ghent coalition had come to the end of their tether. Not a day too soon, either, for the hunger the people were suffering inside the city walls was threatening to break their morale. In desperation, the people of Ypres had offered up prayers to the Virgin Mary. Now that the enemy had been driven off and was headed towards the coast, the townspeople attributed the deliverance of their city to the aid of the Holy Virgin. Even today, a procession of thanksgiving is held every first Saturday of August to commemorate the time when the Mother of God rescued the city from the English and the Ghentenars.\n\nFor all that, Our Lady was not able to prevent the siege from dealing a death blow to the once prosperous city of Ypres. At the beginning of the century there were 30,000 people living in the shadow of the new Cloth Hall, but after the economic crisis, the plague and the English campaign, only a little more than 10,000 remained. The former metropolis would never completely recover from the decline of the fourteenth century."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "For its part, Ghent could pray as much as it liked to Our Lady, but after the flight of the English it found itself alone again in its struggle against count, duke and king. For the umpteenth time, the City of Artevelde demonstrated its resilience. On the day of the English surrender, the Ghentenars captured the city of Oudenaarde and took control of the Scheldt. Count, duke and king were amazed by their extreme stubbornness, but they had their hands full with the English. The peace negotiations dragged on and on, and to kill time the French and the English knights fought the battle all over again by organizing jousts.\n\nFor the last time, Louis of Male joined in the deliberations and firmly stood his ground. Peace was one thing, but not with the Ghentenars. The city would have to pay for all the misery the county had suffered at its hands. The count refused to back down.\n\nBut once again he was forced to give in. Ghent, too, was able to benefit from the truce that was signed on 26 January 1384. Remarkably, the French-Burgundian troops left it at that. Calais, the important port city that had been in English hands since the beginning of the Hundred Years War, was there for the taking like never before, in view of the troops assembled there following the English defeat, but the French let it go. Calais remained English. And Ghent remained Ghent.\n\nLouis of Male bit his tongue. He gnashed his teeth with rage. He must have worn out his chin tugging on his goatee. The great realization was undeniable: he no longer counted. His time was passed. The broken count bowed and disappeared, never to return. Three days later he dictated his last will and testament in Saint-Omer, and on 30 January he died.\n\nIn a sense, the fifty-three-year-old Louis was the last Count of Flanders. From then on, foreign rulers would decide the fate of the county, beginning with his son-in-law Philip the Bold, uncle of the King of France, Duke of Burgundy and Count of Artois, Nevers, the Franche-Comt\u00e9, Rethel and now Flanders itself. He seized his father-in-law's funeral as an opportunity to focus attention on his new status.\n\nStriding slowly among the almost 2,000 candles that illuminated the Sint-Pieterskerk in Lille was Philip's wife, Margaret. Everyone had a chance to thoroughly admire her mourning cloak. No fewer than two hundred squirrels had been worked into the cloak's design, a feature that was not lost on the assembled guests. The Burgundian duke knew what he was doing: pulling out all the stops in an effort to win allegiance.\n\nThe colourful banners of all the counties and seigniories that belonged to the count-duke hung over the bier. Beside it stood ten knights in dazzling regalia, five Flemings and five Burgundians. They symbolized the most significant implication of this funeral: Flanders and Burgundy would be shackled together from now on. Philip had a detailed report written of the extravagant solemnities and saw to it that many copies were made and widely distributed. Having power is one thing, a clever display of power is another.\n\nJohn of Burgundy was now the second in line. If anything should happen to his father, the power would fall to him. Under the guidance of Baldwin van der Nieppe, he steeped himself for the next three years in language and history. Philip the Bold gave John the countship of Nevers and decided his son was gradually becoming ready to make his entrance into public life. On 28 May 1384, his thirteenth birthday, John was officially presented to the fifteen-year-old King Charles VI.\n\nThere stood the two cousins, face to face in the royal chambers. John knelt reverently. Charles nodded. Even then it was clear that the gaze of the former was livelier and more alert. His facial expression radiated cunning. He came across as a bit more reserved than his father. More furtive, his enemies would later say.\n\nIt is not known whether they said anything to each other during that first meeting that went beyond the requirements of mere protocol, but from then on their lives would be closely knit. They had no idea what lay ahead of them, a complex era in which both would be at the forefront, the young Burgundian even more so than the king himself.\n\nThe one became John the Fearless, the other Charles the Mad. The future, as intrepid as it was deranged, could hardly be better summarized.\n\nOr how Philip the Bold used clever marriage politics to plant the first seed of what would later grow into the Low Countries, and also why the Burgundians would go down in history as ambassadors of theatrical displays of power and gastronomic pleasure.\n\nPHILIP THE BOLD had to keep his mind fully concentrated in the winter cold of Cambrai. The tension was mounting, the outcome crucial, and there were so many details to remember. Should he enlist his son, John of Nevers, to join him in the fray? He considered the enemy and assessed his chances. This trial of strength would take place without helmets and weaponry, nor would there be any cavalrymen crushing an army of foot soldiers on the misty slopes. Blood-drenched soil wasn't the only way to initiate change. The outcome of marriage negotiations often had greater consequences than the most important battles, and that was particularly true of the discussions being held in Cambrai. They were so pivotal to the history of the Low Countries that the story deserves to be told in full.\n\nIt was as much horse-trading as it was a chess game. Philip loved it. As patriarch, he always stood firm. After all, the future of the new Burgundian dynasty was at stake. His position as influential regent with direct access to the French treasury would not last forever. Philip was all too aware that the young king would one day act on his own. Now that it was still possible, he wanted to apply his influence to arrange the best marriages for his offspring, beginning with his two oldest children. He had travelled to Cambrai especially for this purpose. The fact that John was not yet fourteen, and his sister Margaret barely ten, was a trifling detail. His dearly beloved children were investments that had to be made at the highest possible interest.\n\nSitting opposite Philip the Bold was the forty-nine-year-old Albert of Wittelsbach, Duke of Bavaria and Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, all three territories feudally tied to the Holy Roman Empire and, except for Holland, bordering on Flanders. In Albert Philip saw the opportunity to expand the French sphere of influence to the detriment of the English, although what was closest to his heart, of course, was the steady progress of his own Burgundy. It was a two-sided game, and he played it with subtlety. While his descendants would later be able to proudly identify with their own duchy, Philip presented himself everywhere as a prince of French blood. That didn't alter the fact that he saw in Hainaut, Zeeland and Holland a beautiful necklace draped around Flanders, an elegant buffer around the Burgundian crown jewel. He realized better than anyone that the man sitting across from him, this Albert of Bavaria, was a walking synthesis of hundreds of years of European history. As a monk lets the beads of his rosary slip through his fingers, so Philip's mind explored Albert's family tree from branch to branch until he had a clear view of all its ramifications.\n\nThe patriarch of Holland was Count Gerulf, who was given a region near Kennemerland as a fiefdom by the East Frankish King Arnulf of Carinthia in 889. It wasn't until 1101 that his descendant, Floris II, began actually calling himself Count 'of Holland', a toponym derived from 'Holtland', most probably the name of the heavily forested lands on either side of the place where the Oude Rijn flowed into the North Sea. The name Holland would become the umbrella term for the whole region, which, like the soggy pagus Flandrensis, was gradually overrun by the sea and the swamps. Zeeland, which was already as sodden as its neighbour, remained a bone of contention between Flanders and Holland for years. But after countless skirmishes, a battle and devious negotiations, it would come to be linked to Holland via a dynastic union in 1256. Lastly, Hainaut, the shire through which the Haine flows, had belonged to the Avesnes family since 1246. They succeeded in joining the county with Holland and Zeeland by means of a personal union. From 1299 on, Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland would all be mentioned in the same breath. Due to the lack of male descendants, the Avesnes family tree continued to grow via the Wittelsbach family, and one day the entire inheritance fell into the lap of Albert of Bavaria.\n\nBy one of the whims of history, the man who sat across from Philip the Bold in Cambrai combined within himself a most desirable triple union. The fact that Albert was actually present at this table was owing to an unfortunate genetic accident. He hadn't come to power until 1358, when his older brother William in 'zijnre sinnen bijstr was geraakt' (he lost his mind), and Albert was obliged to lock him up in Hainaut castle, Le Quesnoy, where the poor wretch would spend thirty-one years in a haze of insanity before breathing his last.\n\nPhilip and Albert knew these political, genealogical and matrimonial twists and turns inside and out. Their regions were historically linked. But the past was the past, and now it was all about the future, which stretched before them far beyond the limits of their own lives. Both Philip and Albert would pass away in 1404, the one after forty years as Duke of Burgundy and twenty years as Count of Flanders, and the other after at least fifty years as ruler of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland.\n\nBut in January 1385 they had to look beyond death."
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Require The Counsel Of My Wife'",
                "text": "The English, too, had their eyes on the House of Wittelsbach. The threat of English influence on his borderlands was the last thing Philip the Bold needed. Thanks to a major charm offensive, he had lured Albert to Cambrai to listen to his proposal. The offer: according to Philip, the ten-year-old Margaret of Burgundy was the ideal partner for the nineteen-year-old William of Bavaria. Albert, who had both England and Burgundy to choose from, said he would have to discuss it. 'I require the counsel of my wife. Without her I do nothing when it concerns my children.' Some spouses did indeed have something to contribute when it came to administrative affairs, but Albert probably just wanted to win time in order to drive the price up.\n\nAt the end of the month, his consort, Margaret of Brieg, joined him at the table in Cambrai, as did the wife of Philip the Bold, who also had a thing or two to say when it came to her children. 'The ceremonies were numerous,' Froissart learned, 'for the two dukes wished to treat each other as honourably as possible.' It was Margaret of Brieg who took matters into her own hands.\n\nShe would agree if the duke was prepared to marry off his eldest son, John. As the ultimate pawn, Margaret pushed her daughter Margaret of Bavaria across the negotiating chessboard. It was clear that Bavaria wanted a powerful union and demanded no less than a double wedding. So this is how the future looked: John the Fearless, the future Duke of Burgundy, would marry Margaret of Bavaria, and his sister Margaret would end up in bed with William of Bavaria, the next Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland.\n\nThe duke was shocked. This was a move he hadn't expected, wasting two arrows to bag one fat pheasant. But like the experienced diplomat he was, Philip said not a word and probably made a movement with his head that lay somewhere between nodding yes and shaking his head no. He thought of his other plans: how he had always dreamed of joining his son John in holy matrimony with a sister of Charles VI, thus strengthening the age-old tie between the duchy and the kingdom of France. He couldn't just give away his successor for nothing, could he?\n\nBut Margaret of Brieg was adamant. It was take it or leave it. When the negotiations seemed to have reached a stalemate, a solution fell from the sky in the person of a woman of advanced years. Her name was Joanna of Brabant.\n\nThe idea of having a conversation in Cambrai was actually her brainchild. It went something like this. The duchy of Brabant had always been a powerful neighbour of Flanders. It was the region of great annual fairs and of course of the textile industry, but it was also famous for its breweries and for such thriving cities as Brussels, Leuven and 's-Hertogenbosch. Duchess Joanna had been married twice, but each time she had been left a childless widow. Now that she had rounded the cape of sixty years, the storm of her succession broke in all its fury. She was the aunt of Margaret of Flanders, with whom she got along very well. At the same time, she felt a connection with the house on the other side of the table. Indeed, her first husband was an Avesnes, Count William IV of Holland, Zeeland and Hainaut. When this extremely volatile warhorse died without issue in a battle against the Frisians, the tripartite dynasty passed on to his sister Margaret of Hainaut, who was married to a Wittelsbach, the house that Albert of Bavaria was representing in Cambrai. Joanna formed the missing link between the negotiating partners, not only geographically but also politically and in terms of family.\n\nHer participation wasn't just a matter of jovial camaraderie, of course, but of hard-nosed politics. For years, Joanna had been in conflict with the Duke of Guelders, who wanted to annex the border regions and openly fraternized with the King of England. If Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland were in danger of falling under English influence, Brabant would find itself cornered. Joanna was horrified by all the misery that she believed the English had caused in Flanders in past years. This is why in recent months she had been gently nudging the House of Wittelsbach towards a Burgundian wedding, and why she had hurried to Cambrai to convince Philip the Bold to involve his son John in the negotiations. Philip wanted cash on the barrelhead, so the childless duchess promised him that upon her death Brabant would go to Burgundy. It was Brabant for which the glutton was willing to risk his two oldest children.\n\nAnd so the Duke of Burgundy, alias the Count of Flanders, finally said 'I will' \u2013 twice. An utterance that his two children were to repeat three months later in the same Cambrai, where preparations for the wedding immediately commenced. This was to be a feast without precedent: a double wedding that could be counted on to forge an alliance between the two most important dynasties in the Low Countries, a union that bridged the gap between the German and the French spheres of influence, a pact that over time granted Philip the Bold and his children access to Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland and Brabant. The wines of Beaune had been rolled out for far less than this.\n\nThe table at which all this was arranged has been lost, but it is doubtless one of the most important pieces of furniture in the history of the Low Countries."
            },
            {
                "title": "'An Abundance Of Knights'",
                "text": "Charlemagne put an end to the sedentary existence of the Merovingian princes at the beginning of the ninth century. His kingdom became too big to be ruled from a throne. If he wanted to inspect any local matters, he had to travel thousands of kilometres to do so. Since then, important court events had become travelling affairs. Even in the Late Middle Ages, a monarch would insist on showing himself to his people, meeting local leaders and hearing grievances \u2013 in short, imparting a sense of proximity to himself and his country. In addition, since the average palace lacked running water, plumbing and other sanitary amenities, it was in need of a good scrubbing after a few weeks. So clearing the place out was also a matter of hygiene.\n\nIn the south, the duchy of Burgundy extended out from Dijon, its hub. In the north was the Flanders of Ghent and Bruges. In between was Paris, where Philip the Bold defended his interests as regent and where he usually stayed. The duke left his wife in the north to serve as his representative, but in reality both were constantly on the road. Those incessant journeys developed into extravagant processions that charmed the populace. The duke laid the basis for the theatrical display of power that is still associated with Burgundy. It was consistent with his love of beauty and luxury, but it was also a question of symbolism and propaganda.\n\nWhile the discussions in Cambrai were taking place, there was no danger that Philip and Margaret would pine away from loneliness. Their retinue numbered 248 servants, whose work consisted of far more than dragging along the famous orloge. First came the fourri\u00e8re division, which was split into two teams. The first team travelled in advance of the rest in order to make sure that all the furniture, wall hangings and bedding were unloaded in timely fashion, the water jugs were filled, hearth fires stoked, rooms scrubbed, straw spread over the floors, and a simple meal prepared for the group's arrival. They were also charged with finding good lodgings for those who could not be accommodated in the local castle. The second team stayed behind to pack everything carefully and tidy the place up. Jesters and minstrels also rode along with the fourri\u00e8re division, as did falcons and hunting dogs.\n\nAn indispensable member of the retinue was the mar\u00e9chal, the equerry who took care of the large group of horses: 232 animals in all, because almost every man travelled on horseback. The word mar\u00e9chal was originally Germanic and dates from the Frankish period (marha = horse, mare; skalka = servant). At the royal court this equerry was eventually given the task of guarding the monarch's army train during battles, a function that would evolve into the highest military title of field marshal. Thus the first definition, that of 'groom', was relegated to the archives.\n\nThe duke-count could also rely on the chief baker with his battalion of bakers and patissiers, the chef with his horde of cooks, and of course the master of wine, alias the \u00e9chanson, also a term from Frankish days. This 'cup-bearer' was not only responsible for the stocks of wine, but he also filled the glasses in the order prescribed by the rules of etiquette, and every day he was charged with washing the ducal tableware. As immediate assistant to the great cup-bearer, the sommelier de vin was responsible for transporting the wine. Ultimately his name would replace that of the \u00e9chanson. Finally, the fruitenier not only supplied his employer with apples, quinces, medlars, nuts and chestnuts, but he also had the job of providing lighting and spent hours making candles and torches.\n\nWherever this travelling circus made a stop, the local lords would organize drinking bouts and archery contests. If this was the normal practice on an ordinary progress, one can imagine how exceptional the Burgundian festivities must have been in Cambrai on the day of the double wedding, 12 April 1385, where the cream of Europe would be present.\n\nWeeks beforehand, an army of stonemasons and carpenters descended on the city to turn townhouses into luxury hotels. Ducal fourri\u00e8res laid in tremendous amounts of food, cup-bearers tasted their wines, fruiteniers cast hundreds of wax candles. When it came time to send out invitations, heralds announced the news that the duke was organizing a tournament on the occasion of the double wedding at which the best knights could compete against each other. Charles VI immediately had his armour oiled and his best horses harnessed. 'You can and must believe that wherever the French king and so many high and noble princes were present,' Froissart noted, 'an abundance of knights would come pouring in.'\n\nThe people who lived in war-ravaged regions, who scarcely had enough to eat and were still struggling with a sense of insecurity, must have watched with mixed feelings as the elite of France, Flanders, Hainaut, Zeeland, Holland and the Holy Roman Empire filed past their doors. The cavalry units, armed to the teeth, must have attracted particular attention. Bumping along among the cavalrymen was a mysterious cart carrying chests that were secured with chains. In those trunks, fashioned from a rare variety of wood, were the crown jewels that Charles VI had lent to his uncle to adorn the three Margarets: Philip's wife, daughter and daughter-in-law.\n\nWhile all this was going on, the marriage contract was signed. Half the dowry went to John, and the remaining amount, which actually was intended for John's wife, was used by John's father, Philip the Bold, to purchase the county of Charolais, south of Burgundy. The pact with Brabant did cost him the city of Mechelen, which reverted to the Duchess of Brabant, but chances were not inconsiderable that the entire area would one day turn completely Burgundian. Filled with confidence, he worked his way through the crowd of guests, who respectfully stepped aside for him. After all, this was the man who had one leg firmly planted in the kingdom of France and the other in the German empire, and thus could effortlessly oversee all of Flanders, Hainaut, Zeeland and Holland.\n\nIn honour of the occasion, the duke had had twenty vermilion robes woven for himself, his son and the most important knights in their retinue. He insisted that cochineal be used in the dyeing of the robes in order to produce a pure cherry red tint, an extremely costly procedure. He also ordered 247 liveries for his servants, squires, musicians and falconers, and dressed all the ladies-in-waiting in cloth-of-gold before draping them in jewels. Philip decorated the Cathedral of Our Lady with luxurious wall tapestries, which he intended to bequeath to the church. But since these works of art traditionally belonged to his chamberlains, he was obliged to buy the gifts back from them in order to leave them in Cambrai as a sign of Burgundy's presence.\n\nChancellor Johannes Canard must have chewed on his beard in anxiety. He had to scrape together everything that was left in the treasury in order to pay for this extravaganza. But the only thought in the minds of the assembled guests was that the man who managed to respect such priceless decorum had to be fabulously rich and above petty concerns."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Sitting Astride A Roasted Suckling Pig'",
                "text": "After the solemn Mass, the wedding feast commenced in the bishop's palace. The two newly married couples were seated at table with the French king and were served by aristocratic celebrities. The Burgundian lord chamberlain, Guy de la Tr\u00e9moille, and even the sixty-one-year-old Count of Namur, mounted their chargers for the privilege of serving at the table of honour.\n\nLiquid dishes were served in bowls, but the rest of the meal came to the table on thick slices of bread, as the custom had been since the time of Charlemagne. The cutting of the bread (tailler or trancher) gave this primitive plate its name: tailloir or tranchoir, 'trencher' in English. In the M\u00e9nagier de Paris (Landlord of Paris, 1393) we read that for a wedding meal, brown bread was used 'that had been baked four days earlier', thus forming a sturdy base for the meat and its copious sauce. In Cambrai, a wooden or metal cutting board was slid under the bread, as had become customary within the wealthier class. This was also called a tailloir or tranchoir. Only in the sixteenth century did this object gradually acquire a raised edge, looking in every respect like what would commonly come to be known as a 'plate'. The old term 'tailloir' has easily stood the test of time: many Flemings still call a plate a teljoor or telloor.\n\nAt the wedding feast, most of the boards, each with a slice of bread, were shared by two adjacent table companions, who addressed each other as copain, literally 'bread partner', a name that continues to demonstrate how friendship and eating are intertwined in French. Bread played an important role in Cambrai. The potato would not appear on the tables of Europe until the discovery of America. The same was true for turkey, tomatoes, beans, chocolate and coffee. But the feast did offer the gastronomic harvest of the Crusades: cinnamon, cloves, ginger, sugar, bananas, oranges, lemons, dates, peaches, figs and apricots.\n\nPhilip the Bold did it, as did his son John and the king \u2013 and all the other guests as well, for that matter: everyone ate with their fingers. Etiquette dictated that one ate in a refined manner, which meant using the first three fingers including the thumb, never the entire hand \u2013 a rule that remained in fashion until after 1600. Each guest had a napkin, and after the meal, servants would come round with water jugs and towels. The spoon was the most commonly used eating implement. Pilgrims and travellers always carried one in their pockets. The spoon was made of wood, silver or gold, depending on the person's social status. For a long time the fork was regarded as the instrument of the devil and was therefore avoided; it did not appear on French tables until 150 years later. Knights and members of the nobility did carry knives and used them to spear food from the platters and transfer it to their tailloir. The king, the duke and the two bridegrooms, John of Burgundy and William of Holland, each had a personal \u00e9cuyer tranchant, a nobleman who carved their meat for them and were permitted to eat the scraps that the high lords left behind. John and William served their newly minted wives, who were constrained by etiquette from exhibiting any excessive show of gluttony, thereby demonstrating that they could control their lusts.\n\nThe exact menu has been lost, but we need only look at the coronation feast of King Philip VI of France, grandfather of Philip the Bold, to get an idea of what was consumed by the guests in Cambrai. For his feast in Reims on 29 May 1328, Philip VI laid in huge numbers of livestock (82 oxen, 85 calves, 289 sheep, 78 pigs and 13 horses), plundered several dozen poultry yards (824 rabbits, 10,700 chickens and 850 capons) and had 345 bitterns and herons shot from the sky. With 40,350 eggs, 736 pikes, 3,150 eels, 2,279 carp, 4,000 crayfish and 243 salmon, the appetites of any non-carnivores were satisfied as well. The tables were already groaning when the servants hauled in 3,342 meat pies, 492 eel terrines and 2,000 cheeses.\n\nThe stomach capacity of medieval aristocrats was no greater than that of ordinary mortals, of course. It wasn't as if they could work their way through two dozen dishes in a single sitting. Rather, they chose whatever appealed to them from the culinary profusion. The Cambrai feast was not served in courses, which was entirely in keeping with the mores of the day. The meal was more like a buffet, or better still, like a sequence of buffets. New platters of food were brought to the tables several times in succession. This avalanche of dishes came in waves, a stream that first carried the most delicious fare to the king and the newly-weds. Then it was every man for himself. Two centuries earlier, this gluttony had already aroused the indignation of Bernard of Clairvaux, who exclaimed that 'though thou hast swallowed four or five dishes, the first are no hindrance to the last, nor doth satiety lessen thine appetite'.\n\nNaturally, the wine at a Burgundian feast flowed in rivers. It was poured in the ordinary way, but it also streamed from ingenious table fountains. There were casks brought in from Burgundy, but Saint-Pour\u00e7ain, a wine from the Loire region that lost its popularity in later centuries, was also highly regarded. The feast was an exciting event for the \u00e9chanson. He was expected to present his best wine, and although it already contained less alcohol than later wines would, he diluted it with water. Wine was never drunk straight. The fact that it was less strong to begin with, and then diluted, may explain the vast quantities that were drunk in the Middle Ages.\n\nThe great cup-bearer served the most high-ranking guests and tasted their wine for them. His purpose was not only to determine whether the wine was drinkable but also to dispel any fear of poison, which was considerable in that age of uncertainty. To this end, he resorted to a unicorn's horn \u2013 actually the tusk of a narwhal \u2013 as a means of detecting poison. If the wine in the horn began to seethe or give off fumes, he would know it had been poisoned.\n\nBottles didn't exist yet, and cork wouldn't be developed until the eighteenth century. Once it had left the cask, the wine soured rapidly. The obvious message was to drink fast. Cup-bearers tried to solve this problem by adding honey and an array of herbs. The sauces served with the meal, as well as the meat and fish, were heavily peppered. The eastern origin of most of these herbs made the average medieval man or woman dream of an exotic paradise, while doctors ascribed to them certain digestive qualities.\n\nSugar didn't feature at the end of the meal until the Renaissance. At the time of the double wedding it was used as a kind of spice in sauces, or in the preparation of roasted sturgeon or capon. But of course there were also tarts and waffles at the Cambrai party, as well as nuts and fruits, both fresh and candied. These desserts (from 'desservir', which means to clear away) were served with hippocras, which the \u00e9chanson prepared by adding a tablespoon of ground cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, galangal and a generous portion of sugar to two litres of wine. Philip's wife, Margaret of Flanders, loved this popular spiced beverage."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "The powerful crackling of the gigantic hearth fires turned the kitchens of Cambrai into human-sized ovens, from which sweating servants in livery brought food to the dining room. The clatter of tableware, the cutting and chopping at the tranchoir boards, the singing of minstrels as they broke into the verses made popular by troubadours, the smouldering of torches and candles that were constantly being replaced by pages, the growling of dogs gnawing on bones under the tables, the sensual whispers of tipsy noblemen, the drunken cursing in various languages: these typical sounds of the festive meal reached the ears of the servants, but from a distance. They carried in great silver platters on which pieces of roasted veal, roebuck, venison, wild boar, goose, partridge and moorcocks, as well as bird varieties such as peacocks, herons, swans, thrushes and blackbirds, were mounded up in impressive pyramids. In the Middle Ages, dishes had to delight the nose and eyes as well as caress the tongue. To put table companions in the right mood, servants burned herbs and incense, and scattered violets and fresh herbs across the floor.\n\nThe cooks did their very best to surprise the guests with original presentations. They stuffed pork bellies with strings of sausages that spurted onto the table like grandiose rosary beads when the belly was cut open; they decorated bustards with precious stones; dressed hazel grouses in golden habits; served pork in the shape of a fish; fixed a cat's ears on a hare; attached a chicken's head to a rabbit's body; or cooked a dozen gigantic eggs in pork bladders. The Burgundians were wild about such extravagance. In the fourteenth-century cookbook Le Viandier, there are instructions for dressing a capon in armour for festive events, 'sitting astride a roasted suckling pig'.\n\nBut things got really spectacular when the peacock was placed on the table in all its glory. This was a classic of the genre, and there's no doubt that it made its appearance in Cambrai. First a master skinner would rid the beast of its jacket of feathers and skin. Then cooks would stuff the remains with strongly seasoned minced meat. A wet cloth would be stretched across the eyes to protect the head, which later would be on dazzling display, and the chef would impale the whole thing on a spit. When the bird was done, the cooks would dress it again in its ceremonial robe, gild the beak and legs, and work its tail feathers back into a fan. A kitchen boy would stuff a piece of cloth soaked in brandy into the bird's beak and then set the cloth on fire. Accompanied by the sound of horns, the fire-breathing peacock would finally be carried into the dining room in triumph.\n\nObviously, these ingeniously modelled intermediate courses \u2013 the so-called entremets \u2013 were meant to appeal more to the eye than the stomach. In the most refined cases, the entremets were not only examples of the desire for inventive spectacle, but they were also meant to tell a story. Epic portrayals of heroic deeds, battles or abductions went down very well. Jugglers, minstrels, musicians and actors poured into the hall as back-up to this gastronomic parade.\n\nPoet and speaker Jan van Mechelen presented a memorable entremets that sent the assembled guests of Cambrai into raptures. Four wild beasts defended a castle from attackers, who had the appearance of Moors. Gracing the castle tower were two virgins. One wore a crown, the other the fleur-de-lis. Finally, a white hart with silver wings came to hover above the tableau. This work of art, which consisted mostly of foodstuffs, was meant as an allusion to the advancing danger of the Turks in Eastern Europe and also as a stunning preview of the adventures that awaited bridegroom John of Burgundy as a future crusader. The Burgundians were masters of this humorous and poetic architecture of gluttony, and the double wedding was a striking episode in that evolution. John's son and successor, Philip the Good, whose birth was still eleven years off, would raise this Burgundian speciality to the heights of enchanting perfection in the course of the fifteenth century.\n\nThe price tag for this monumental gorge-a-thon was 150,000 pounds all told. To get an idea of what that might mean: a cask of Beaune (365 litres) cost 20 to 30 pounds at that time, a good horse 40 to 100 pounds, and for 1,000 pounds you could purchase a very nice house in Paris. A master bricklayer in the north of France earned about one pound a day. Since becoming Count of Flanders, Philip had been raking in 300,000 pounds a year, a sum that would increase to half a million in the years to come; the Flanders share of that amount varied from 35 to 48 per cent. His party in 1385 cost him practically half his annual income. Albert's share of the costs was much more modest \u2013 roughly a quarter of the Burgundian portion \u2013 but even that required him to borrow money, since the amount exceeded the annual income from Holland alone.\n\nPhilip had dug down deep, but it didn't keep him awake at night. He saw the feast as one big marketing coup. Displays like this had become a Burgundian way of doing business. In Froissart we read that in that regard Philip had succeeded many times over: 'Never in the past five hundred years had there been so solemn and resplendent a feast in Cambrai as there was in that period of which I write.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "'Monstrous Error And Unbearable Urge'",
                "text": "The number of people who came out to celebrate the double wedding was far larger than the official guest list. The abbot of the local Augustinian monastery guessed that 20,000 had shown up, for whom more than 5,000 tents were pitched in the neighbouring villages. Whether all those people were treated to the leftovers of the wedding feast is unknown, but that wasn't their only reason for going to Cambrai. After the feast, the celebration continued for the best part of a week, and to the joy of many those days were filled with tournaments.\n\nDuring the Hundred Years War, such contests usually took place in the big cities of Brabant, Hainaut, Artois and Picardy, but especially in Flanders, with Lille and Bruges in the lead. When truces or semi-truces were called, the English would also travel to these districts for an opportunity to cross swords with the French. In April 1385 the English were not present, of course, frustrated as they were by the fact that the Bavarian cornucopia had fallen into Burgundian hands. The French might lose one battle after another to the English, but at tournaments they put on quite a show, and when it came to cooking up a good marriage they were one step ahead of their hereditary enemy. Philip the Bold had already proved that in 1369 by swiping Margaret of Flanders from under the nose of the son of King Edward III of England, and now he had performed the same feat on behalf of his son John.\n\nKnights who had been looking forward to these tournaments for weeks hardly considered the possibility that they might lose their lives. Church leaders were scandalized, even within the inner sanctums of Rome: so much senseless bloodshed! At the Second Lateran Council of 1139 it had been decided that any tournament fanatic who was killed in a joust would not be granted a Christian burial. In 1146, St Bernard of Clairvaux preached a Crusade in order to channel 'this monstrous error and\u2026 unbearable urge' towards the Middle East. He also said that the soul of anyone who died in a tournament would go straight to hell. But there was no stopping the practice. The aristocracy was not about to let anyone take their contest away from them. In Cambrai, too, the tournament was the high point of the feast.\n\nThe first day looked like a fashion show. Parading on the field of honour were fine horses draped in colourful blankets, and if they could have laughed they would have revealed the golden bits in their mouths. These magnificent animals, who would be replaced the next day by trained chargers, bore the weight of suits of armour, be it gilded or painted, that concealed doublet-clad warriors. Some of the warriors' helmets were decorated with fire-breathing dragons, others with growling wolves' heads or protrusions that resembled the antlers of a stag. Seated on the grandstand were the guests, gleaming in their priceless apparel. The ladies held their scarves in anticipation of the outcome, ready to give them as tokens to their favourite champions. Standing around the field were a mishmash of high-and low-born commoners, merchants and craftsmen, farmers, labourers, whores, quacks, tooth-extractors, acrobats and clowns, all of them rubbing their eyes with astonishment.\n\nChain mail, which was made of interwoven iron rings and could weigh up to twenty kilograms, was replaced in the thirteenth century by the iron-plated suit of armour. Not only was armour lighter \u2013 it took a mere five kilograms of iron to protect the torso \u2013 but it also offered better protection from crossbow bolts. Because armour gave knights a certain invulnerability, there were fewer fatalities on the battlefield at first, and opponents were more frequently taken prisoner for ransom money. The disadvantage was that a knight who tumbled from his horse in full armour had great difficulty getting back on his feet, especially if the ground was as muddy as it was during the Battle of the Golden Spurs. Compared with fast-moving and lightly armoured infantry, these fallen supermen had little chance of surviving.\n\nThis sartorial earthquake caused great confusion, since no one was able to recognize a knight clad in iron. To remedy this situation, knights had their military equipment marked with special distinguishing emblems. In this way, armour sowed the seeds of heraldry. The Burgundian family coat of arms contained elements that referred to France (golden fleurs-de-lis) and to Burgundy itself (diagonal blue and yellow bars). John the Fearless would later add the black lion rampant of Flanders, which devolved upon him through his mother. Before long, the new status symbol was featured on tombs as well as on stained-glass windows.\n\nAs the years passed, coats of arms became increasingly spectacular and complex. By the time of the double wedding, what had been intended as a means of identification had degenerated into an impenetrable jungle of symbols. To clarify the situation, the House of Burgundy in Cambrai called on the services of a herald. This person announced the impending tournament far and wide, and during the festivities he helped the nobility deal with their heraldic confusion. As a medieval nerd, he had memorized all the coats of arms and could give a perfect account of, say, which knight had fallen over backwards. The most well-known herald of his day was Claes Heynensoon, a much sought-after heraldic consultant who had worked for John's father-in-law, Albert of Bavaria, for a few years. He wrote two books on coats of arms that have survived, as well as countless tournament reports, now lost, that became short-lived bestsellers in the aftermath of these knightly competitions.\n\nAfter the rules and regulations had been read aloud, the participants had to swear that they had not hidden any magical talisman or incantation in their suit of armour, and that they were relying on nothing but their own abilities and God's support. What came next was a succession of tests. During the melee, two teams of up to a hundred knights imitated a classical battle situation. First they charged each other and tried to throw their opponents to the ground. Then they turned round (tourner in French, which gave us our English word 'tournament') and repeated the charge until the remaining warriors were left to fight it out in hand-to-hand combat. Participants could take each other prisoner and demand a ransom, just as in a real wartime situation. In the early years, this discipline was not only seen as a lively training exercise for military combat, but it was also misused as a way of settling feuds. The disordered melee had its origins in the eleventh century, the early days of the medieval tournament, and emphasized chivalry mainly as collective power. Due to the growing individualization of fame and glory, this discipline fell out of fashion with the passing of time, and it probably wasn't even on the programme at Cambrai. What was still quite popular was the b\u00e9hourd, a test in which two teams of up to forty men in full armour competed against each other, with one team defending a 'castle' against a gang of raiders. In Cambrai, Philip the Bold did himself great credit during this test.\n\nThe joust involved two competing knights on horseback. Right from the start, this most famous part of the tournament was as popular as it was deadly. Stricter rules were always being introduced, but even at the time of the Cambrai festivities it was still the custom for the two riders to charge each other with lances extended, thereby risking a head-on collision. It wasn't until the fifteenth century that a protective wooden barrier a metre and a half high was added \u2013 each combatant being assigned a side \u2013 along which the two participants would bear down on each other until the expected blow knocked them off balance. Each knight would sit firmly in his tall saddle and charge to the right of his opponent, which meant that in order to strike he would have to angle his lance to the left above the neck of his horse. In the late fourteenth century, the aim of the joust was no longer to unhorse the oncoming opponent and take him prisoner but to smash as many lances as possible against him, a lance being a long wooden shaft with an iron point. The winner was the one with the most points. In the case of a draw, the referees based their final judgement on who had managed to break off the longest piece of lance. This heroic breaking of a lance would eventually become a figure of speech.\n\nKing Charles VI didn't do too badly during the Cambrai joust either. Chroniclers declared their respect for the valiant monarch, who mounted his horse nine times, but they disapproved of him exposing himself to such dangers. It was incompatible with royal dignity, wasn't it? That didn't keep Charles's descendants from engaging in this discipline \u2013 until King Henry II was critically wounded during a joust in 1559. Despite the helmet he was wearing, a lance penetrated his eye, dealing a death blow to both the French king and to jousting itself, which by the sixteenth century had become hopelessly old-fashioned. Firearms had long replaced lances and bullets could easily tear through armour, which came to assume a mainly ceremonial function. After 1559, the military techniques that had been practised during tournaments were relegated to the history books for good. The duel would soon eclipse the joust. Actually, this evolution had already begun in the fourteenth century, as was demonstrated by the battles of Cr\u00e9cy (1346) and Poitiers (1356), which were decided by archers and infantry.\n\nIn Cambrai there wasn't a single participant who could imagine that the uncommonly popular tournaments would one day disappear from the earth. The participants fought each other for days on end to their hearts' content. It was sport avant la lettre, a kind of knightly athletics that bathed in the glow of a courtly lifestyle, and the Burgundians were more than happy to lend it some lustre. With a broad smile, Philip's wife, Margaret, presented a diamond-studded gold buckle, which she had been wearing on her breast since the festivities began, to the winner, John of Donstiennes, a knight from Hainaut."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Crushed Armoured Gloves'",
                "text": "Philip the Bold beamed all week long. This event may have been the wedding of his two oldest children, but it was his feast first and foremost, he was the real celebrity. The duke and his wife weren't anything to write home about as far as looks were concerned, but the elegance of luxurious garments certainly made up for that. Everything seemed to indicate that their marriage was a success, not only politically but also in human terms. They had brought ten children into the world, seven of whom would reach adulthood. Philip was frequently on the road and mistresses were part of his life, but he did not engage in excessive carnal activity. He acknowledged two illegitimate children, which was nothing compared to the almost twenty offspring sired by his father-in-law, Louis of Male.\n\nThe bridegroom, John the Fearless, was at least as ambitious as his father, and he also inherited Philip's ability to act decisively. But when it came to outward appearance, he didn't hold a candle to the old man. John's gait evinced a degree of awkwardness. He paid little attention to his dress, and wagging tongues claimed that he sometimes showed up looking downright scruffy. But on grand occasions he was able to show off the Burgundian splendour with dignity. Unlike his tall father, he was small of stature and blessed with a large head graced by a sharp nose. Despite his inherent ugliness, he did make an impression with his heavily lidded eyes. He was surprisingly severe, perhaps the first intimations of his future policy as duke. The fear that legend says was totally alien to him was something he did arouse in others.\n\nThe reader should not forget that in Cambrai he was still only thirteen years old. Seated in the grandstand, the youngster looked out at the wild goings-on on the battlefield. All around him people were discussing, pointing and laughing. The connoisseurs fired off comparisons with illustrious fights from the past. Clever manoeuvres evoked memories of legendary champions like Richard the Lionheart or Philip of Alsace. Only the most brilliant displays got the seal of approval of William Marshal \u2013 the Eddy Merckx of tournament history \u2013 who took 500 knights prisoner at the end of the twelfth century and was regarded as the greatest knight of all time.\n\nJohn the Fearless, who himself was in training at the time but was thought too young to join in, knew the achievements of these heroes like the back of his hand and dreamed of his own future military glory. Two years later he was allowed to take part for the first time, and he showed himself to be a skilled player. As duke, he paid talented champions to defend the colours of Burgundy. He imported satin from Lucca and velvet from Florence to drape over his gem-encrusted suits of armour. He hired the best masters-at-arms, specialists who could effortlessly 'patch up suits of armour \u2026 clean helmets, rings and hooks, mend torn surcoats, repair crushed armoured gloves, replace iron and leather coverings and secure the vulnerable spots'. After John's death, the ever scrupulous ducal bookkeeper listed in the 'jousting armour' category a collection of nine helmets, eight suits of armour complete with plates for legs and arms, special saddles, various head-and breastplates for horses, ten brass bells and two belts with little bells that were fastened to the equipment to add a bit of jingling to the visual spectacle. In April 1385, the thirteen-year-old John could only dream of such opulence. Until then all he had been given was a meagre allowance from his father, and he had to patiently wait his turn.\n\nDuke Philip watched the wildly gesticulating characters on the grandstand like a politician calculating his chances, while his son John gaped at the scene of action. His bride, eight years his senior, sat beside him. She would bear him eight children: seven daughters and, thank God, one son. Later, John would emerge as a frequent visitor to the bathhouses, most of them places of carnal corruption. He would eventually sire four illegitimate children. The son he begot with Lady Agn\u00e8s de Croy was also named John. As Bishop of Cambrai, this bastard became one of the most famous scions of the Croy family, who acquired a position of great power in the Burgundian establishment and almost succeeded in destroying the ducal dynasty in the years after 1450.\n\nJohn learned to play the flute and the bagpipe at an early age, and his wife, Margaret of Bavaria, was a harpist of not inconsiderable talent. Music proved to be a unifying force in their arranged marriage. They engaged the services of writers and composers, who performed special pieces at birthday and New Year festivities, and they paid musicians to add lustre to ceremonial moments. Their bookkeeping records list seven minstrels, six trumpet players and a harpist on the payroll; remarkably, there was no jester, while his father had at least four in his retinue.\n\nDespite his fondness for music and theatre, John the Fearless would never feel entirely comfortable at parties that were dominated by gallant gestures and trenchant bon mots. He did not possess a quick wit and he lacked the diplomatic nature of his father, who knew better than most that the right smile could prove exceptionally profitable. Philip, who owed his prestige to his image as a rich and decisive politician, managed to hold his ground with flair in the world of calculation and hypocrisy. But the master of the life of refinement was John's cousin, Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, the younger brother of the king, a sophisticated youth who moved among the guests in Cambrai with courtly elegance and would leave a lasting mark on John's life in particular and that of Burgundy in general.\n\nLouis of Orl\u00e9ans was always one step ahead when it came to plays on words, compliments and banter. Even the dominant Charles VI was forced to yield to his little brother in that regard. Louis was the kind of man who could dance tastefully, crack a joke with a bow and impress the ladies with a single glance. But he could also be extremely melancholy. His outlook on the world alternated between sombre and sensual. His pious disposition regularly compelled him to seek solace at the monastery of the Celestines in Paris for prayer and contemplation. As a God-fearing merrymaker with a sense of humour and an air of despondency, Louis perfectly incarnated the extremes of the Late Middle Ages.\n\nJohn and Louis were made to be compared with each other. The two cousins were one year apart in age and held similar positions, Louis as the younger brother of the reigning king, John as the eldest son of the man who was actually the kingdom's leading figure. Orl\u00e9ans was number two in the kingdom, John number two in Burgundy-Flanders. Together they embodied the future. Their comradeship, which grew by fits and starts, was marked from the beginning by the unpleasant affliction known as rivalry. Louis's social successes, his jests and the astonishing ease with which worldly things went his way, offended John's taciturn soul.\n\nGradually, John developed an aversion to the man who, in his eyes, was a fashionably dressed good-for-nothing who bent reality to his will without giving it a moment's thought. Even the way Orl\u00e9ans treated him, extremely polite but with a touch of irony, rubbed him up the wrong way. But John held his tongue. He even tried to play along, but it always seemed forced. Yet he must have felt early on that one day his jealousy, masked as irritation, would crystallize into hatred. It would take the death of his father to really bring their discord to a head, although the seed of animosity had been planted much earlier. While knights in Cambrai noisily competed for their honour, an incipient hostility was silently germinating on the grandstand.\n\nOr how the one technological feat of the fourteenth century was really a shot in the dark, but also how Philip the Bold once again got the French king to do his Flemish heavy lifting for him, and how all the military adventures came to benefit the Burgundian duke alone and strengthened the foundations of the Low Countries.\n\nThere was no stopping him. He was omnipresent and he knew it. Scarcely had Philip the Bold married off his two oldest children than he could pat himself on the back as the royal matchmaker. When he had shown Charles VI of France a portrait of Isabeau of Bavaria a few weeks earlier (Isabeau being the niece of John's wife, Margaret), the sparks began to fly. The king wanted to meet her as soon as possible.\n\nOn 14 July 1385, Isabeau knelt before Charles in Amiens. Froissart witnessed the meeting. 'The king\u2026 looked at her wide-eyed, a look that opened the floodgates of his heart to love and passion. He saw how young and beautiful she was, and he felt a growing desire to possess her.' Charles withdrew and called immediately for a messenger: 'Go to my good uncle Burgundy and tell him to proceed with haste.' As had been the tradition for centuries, energetic matrons were called in to examine the future queen in order to determine whether she was physically capable of childbearing. Isabeau got through the ancestral entrance exam without difficulty and was declared fertile. She would go on to bring twelve children into the world. Number eleven, who was named Charles after his father, would be crowned King of France, and in 1429 he would meet the most remarkable woman in all of French history. But before the Almighty sent the angel Joan of Arc to deliver France, the country would have to get through another forty-four years of calamity.\n\nPhilip the Bold couldn't believe his luck. By linking the French royal house to Bavaria as well, he argued, he would be strengthening his own connection with the family that ruled Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. But to accommodate the king, he was willing to compromise when it came to protocol. He himself had dreamed of a gigantic feast in Arras, but the sixteen-year-old Charles was so feverishly obsessed with his imminent wedding night that he insisted on combining the pledging of his marital vows with the marital act itself. 'In that case,' Philip responded, 'we'll just have to put you out of your misery.' Scarcely three days later, the fourteen-year-old Isabeau of Bavaria was married to the King of France.\n\nDuring the festivities, Philip dreamed of his plans for an invasion, which at that point were well advanced. He felt confident enough to invade England by sea and thereby put an end to the war that had already lasted almost fifty years. The king had promised his help, of course. The French and Flemish fleet lay anchored at Sluis, ready to set sail. In fact, a small French army had already landed in Scotland in May with the intention of joining the rebellious Scots to invade northern England. On 1 August, two weeks away, the landing from Flanders would complete the scheme. First sweat out this little wedding feast and then bring England to its knees.\n\nIf his plan seemed like a certainty on 17 July, Philip was forced to file it away one day later. A killjoy of the worst sort made his appearance at the eleventh hour."
            },
            {
                "title": "'O Proud, Proud City'",
                "text": "The French king, who had planned on relishing the afterglow of his wedding night, was rudely awakened from his reveries. No sooner had he exchanged his vows with his slender German in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Amiens than the 'depraved city' of Ghent awoke from its winter sleep and released its devils yet again. Frans Ackerman, Ghent's populist leader, had captured the city of Damme. At least, that was what his uncle Philip reported. The Burgundian seemed to have a franchise on bad news from Flanders.\n\nIt needs to be said that Jean de Jumont, Philip the Bold's grand bailiff in Flanders, had been wreaking incredible havoc in recent months. Even Froissart couldn't deny it. 'Once he laid his hands on people from Ghent, he didn't just demand a ransom; he put them to death, put out their eyes or cut off their hands, ears or feet, after which he sent them home as edifying examples.' Jumont was the bellows that brought the smouldering coals to life.\n\nTwo centuries earlier, the Flemish count Philip of Alsace had founded the seaport town of Damme to enable seagoing ships to moor closer to Bruges. Because of the silting of the Zwin, however, they never got further than this new harbour, where the goods were transferred to smaller vessels that continued on to Bruges. The silting continued unabated, and finally the town of Sluis further north-east was also designated an outport.\n\nDamme was located right between Sluis and Bruges, and because of Ackerman's seizure of the town the French-Flemish-Burgundian army was cut off from its fleet from one day to the next. 'Thou wicked city of Ghent,' orated Eustache Deschamps, the court poet, who took it upon himself to gladden the world's heart with even more woeful elegies. Charles, now wide awake, had no choice but to put out to sea with Philip the Bold.\n\nIt was a blessing in disguise: because of the planned invasion of England the army was already in a state of readiness, and two weeks later Charles VI and Philip found themselves at the gates of Damme. For the third time in less than four years, the army blazed a trail of destruction through Flanders. The sorely tested populace were at their wits' end, but for Philip the entire enterprise was an urgent necessity. He had no choice. Invasion plans and wedding merriment aside, as long as the town was in the hands of Ghent the duke could forget his English dream. But perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone and lead his county into calmer waters once and for all?\n\nDespite the numerical superiority of the French-Burgundian troops, Ackerman put up a good fight in Damme, partly thanks to the archers who had been sent by England. Philip and his troops were practically freezing in the wet summer cold. They couldn't make any progress and incurred many losses because they hadn't counted on a siege. The Burgundian sent for artillery from Lille, but the days of waiting were difficult to get through. 'I sleep outdoors,' Deschamps wrote, 'I'm stiff from the cold and lie armed in the sand / what a lovely gift from Ghent and this cruel Flemish land.'\n\nWith the persistent damp, the mildewed clothing, the piles of horse manure and animal offal, the French-Burgundian troops stank to high heaven. 'Buckets of lice had come to call / They cause my very skin to crawl,' rhymed Deschamps, who served as a guard and was forced to stay in the field while the king lay resting in Male castle. But his pen turned acidic when he learned that Ackerman and his men were within the walls, imbibing the wine that Charles and Philip had stored there in anticipation of the English campaign. 'I'm lost if I can't drink wine,' lamented our correspondent between watches.\n\nThe stench wafted over the walls and into the city, where the Ghentenars held out courageously in expectation of the promised reinforcements from London. But the English had their hands full with the Scottish-French coalition, which was pounding them from the north. They were able to hold off the first invasion, but it was no longer possible for their forces to reach Damme. After six weeks Ackerman was forced to admit defeat. He secretly shepherded his small force out of the city and left the inhabitants to their fate. On 30 August the French entered the city. The wine turned to blood. Damme went up in flames and the whole surrounding countryside was plundered.\n\nWhile Deschamps rushed back to Paris with his king and, 'seated in front of a cosy fire' in Ertvelde, actually succeeded in writing his first cheerful verse in human memory, Philip the Bold turned his attention to smoothing ruffled Flemish feathers. He organized talks with the moderate party of Ghent and did everything he could to begin a process of reconciliation. He was even prepared to let the city keep its privileges, to authorize free trade and not to raise the subject of obedience to the pope of Rome.\n\nPhilip the Bold's honey worked better than Louis of Male's vinegar. Ghent was not insensitive to his charm offensive, and when they saw that the invitations to the peace conference had been written in Dutch, the representatives set off for Tournai in December.\n\nYet at the very last minute everything threatened to go wrong. By dressing themselves too lavishly, the Ghentenars denied the duke his precious privilege of standing out from all the rest. What's more, pig-headed and vain to a fault, they refused to make the customary genuflection. Philip bit his lip with rage. He considered calling off the whole event, but Margaret of Flanders begged her husband to abandon the pomp and circumstance just this once. Peace above all else! She thought of the stagnating trade, the collapsing Flemish textile industry, the spreading poverty.\n\nWavering between innate arrogance and compassion, between rage and love, Philip swallowed his irritation. He accepted the Ghent burghers' promise to abandon their alliance with the English. And he in turn swore to respect the city's privileges. All the parties signed the peace treaty on 18 December 1385.\n\nMore than five hundred years later, the poet Albrecht Rodenbach captured this moment in his turgid nineteenth-century Flemish, rendered here in translation:\n\nPhilip could take no more. 'O proud, proud city,'\n\nHe spake, 'go forth, and thank your peace to my dear spouse.'\n\nAnd graciously saluting their count and their countess,\n\nThe noble Ghentenars quietly and calmly departed.\n\nRodenbach ended his poem 'Pride' with words that would become the cri de coeur of a Flemish national awakening: 'Alas, where has the pride of the Ancients gone!' Where in God's name has the ancestral vigour hidden itself in our good and gentle land, Rodenbach wondered in 1876. Generations of Flemings would recite this poem. The words became a way of expressing the longing they felt for those epic days of yore. Many found it impossible to get through the last verse without a catch in their voice."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "After almost seven years of war, a sigh of relief ran through the county. All attention was now turned to the reconstruction of such devastated cities as Bousbecque, Ypres, Oudenaarde, Bruges, Kortrijk and Damme. Philip the Bold set aside his plan for an English invasion for the time being and launched a large-scale programme to reinvigorate the stagnating Flemish economy and 'to revive the land that for so long had been prey to plundering'.\n\nClever as he was, he added the Brugse Vrije (the region around Bruges, called 'the Franc of Bruges' in English) to the all-encompassing Flemish consultative organization comprising the 'Big Three', Ghent, Bruges and Ypres, which weakened their power position. From then on, the group would be called the Four Members of Flanders. Most of the mayors and aldermen of the Franc of Bruges were not knights but landowning gentlemen farmers, and their demands were considerably less radical than those of the townspeople. In making this addition, Philip created a kind of administrative margin within which he could operate more freely. At the same time, he implemented significant institutional reforms. The emphasis was on the centralization of ducal institutions. Two courts of auditors were created, one in the south in Dijon and another in the north in Lille, and in the same two places he installed a council chamber that functioned as a court of law. Why Lille? For political and linguistic reasons. Lille was located in Flanders, but in the French-speaking part that had never revolted. Having these two centres put an end to the countless judges and accountants who were either locally established or who always travelled with him. He also combined the functions of northern and southern chancellor in a single person. Johannes Canard became the highest Burgundian official and remained Philip's right-hand man until his death. His reshuffled Great Council followed him wherever he went, of course, and thanks to a clever network of horsemen and messengers they were always in close contact with the lords in Dijon and Lille.\n\nOne striking aspect of his programme was his decision to eradicate the faihitha, a centuries-old custom that his own Germanic ancestors had brought from eastern to western Europe. In Burgundy it had largely disappeared, but in Flanders this blood feud was still very much alive. It's enough to recall the death of Jacob van Artevelde, or the reprisals that Jacob's son Philip carried out as soon as he came to power. Frans Ackerman of Ghent, who became reconciled with Philip the Bold and was pardoned after the Peace of Tournai was signed, was murdered two years later by an avenger of blood.\n\nPhilip also left his mark at the ecclesiastical level. For centuries, religious life in Flanders had been dictated from French-speaking episcopal cities such as Cambrai, Th\u00e9rouanne, Tournai and Arras. The absence of specifically Flemish dioceses had not kept the Flemish church from choosing Rome after the Schism, contrary to the choice of the French liege lord. After having appointed the right people to key positions, Philip thought he was strong enough in 1392 to force the people of Flanders to switch their allegiance to the pope in Avignon. Only Ghent remained untouched. This exceptional status appealed to a remarkably large number of churchgoers from outside the city, which chronicler Jan van Dixmude did not fail to notice. 'The churches in Bruges were empty on feast days and Sundays. Hardly anyone went to church.' Up to a quarter of the population of Bruges celebrated Easter in Ghent at the end of the fourteenth century.\n\nPhilip the Bold did not hesitate to express his policy in terms of slogans. By using the catchphrase 'governing strictly and justly', he made it clear that he was striving for public peace and the protection of everyone's rights in the interest of the common good. He must have been one of the first rulers to employ this kind of rhetoric.\n\nGood communication didn't smooth out all the wrinkles, of course. Flanders kept hammering away at normalizing trade with England, albeit under explicit conditions: committing to the free import of wool, but prohibiting the import of English textile products. It wasn't until 1396, when a long breathing space opened up in the Hundred Years War, that trade agreements were drawn up again between both sides of the Channel. By the end of the century, all foreign traders had finally come to settle in Bruges. Flemings were also annoyed by the predominant use of the French language in administrative affairs and the constant absence of the duke. The continuous presence of French troops worried them as well. In 1405, Bruges asked, without success, that certain garrisons be populated by 'armed men who were born in the land'.\n\nAlthough peace had finally come, the old conflicts didn't magically go away. On the one hand you had the duke-count whose power base was in Paris and who had great experience as a European diplomat to fall back on, and on the other hand you had the cities that had spent centuries acquiring skills in the autonomous exercise of power and had become masters in international trade. Peacefully ushering all those assets and areas of tension into the fifteenth century proved to be a real challenge. With his reforms and his peace treaty, Philip had already brought about something of a rapprochement between Flanders and Burgundy: his assemblage of separate parts could be seen as a first step towards a great fusion of federated states.\n\nHis wife, Margaret, did her bit and oversaw the cross-breeding of Flemish cattle with specimens from C\u00eeteaux in Burgundy. The offspring grazed peacefully in the countryside surrounding her castle in Germolles sixty kilometres south of Dijon, a new breed languidly digesting the offerings of the new union. In 1393, in the gardens of the same castle, the duke and duchess installed a life-size sculpture depicting themselves as good shepherds, the peaceful herdsmen who had led Flanders and Burgundy into a single warm stable."
            },
            {
                "title": "'If It Hadn't Been For You We'd Be In England By Now'",
                "text": "'IL ME TARDE.' The duke's motto was printed in huge letters on the mainsail of Burgundy's flagship. The words were encircled by lifelike daisies (marguerites), a tribute to his wife, Margaret. When wind filled the sail, the Burgundian letters and Flemish daisies tumbled over each other. The stern was upholstered with blue cloth adorned with the blazons of all the counties and dukedoms that Philip represented. Melchior Broederlam must have been satisfied. The former court painter of Louis of Male, who now wielded his brush on the orders of the duke, had produced work of great refinement. The ships of other royalty, knights and counts were a delight to the eyes, but this vessel outshone them all.\n\nSluis harbour was packed with cogs, carracks, galleons, hulks and scows, almost all of them (except the cargo ships) equipped with a cage around the central mast to position the crossbow archers. It was undoubtedly one of the largest fleets in the history of Christendom. The 1,200 vessels, decorated like reliquaries, were compressed into a single terrifying fist that was meant to crush the much-hated enemy. If it had been more than four centuries later, the chroniclers might have seen it as an immense pistol aimed at the heart of England.\n\nIn September 1386, Philip the Bold stood looking out from the quay, his son John beside him. John would have been glad to get things moving; he identified with his father's motto. Il me tarde? Yes, he was in a hurry, too. But he had to be patient. He had no choice. His father had only recently drawn up his last will and testament, and if anything should happen to him, the fifteen-year-old John of Nevers would be the next Duke of Burgundy. So his son stayed on the mainland and was given permission to call himself the lieutenant of monseigneur the duke. He never once entertained thoughts of wanting his father dead. Philip was in the prime of his life, at the top of his game. All John hoped for was a chance to show off his talent. But now all eyes were on Philip the Bold, who had to raise his voice to be heard above the flapping sails: 'We can make something of this that will be remembered for centuries.'\n\nOn all the roads behind them carts were rolling up, bringing in so much food that it looked as if another great banquet was in the works: hundreds of sheep, cattle, chickens, capons and geese, 2,000 barrels of rusks, tons of salted pork, vast amounts of smoked salmon and mackerel, hundreds of pounds of barley, rice and almonds, along with 400 cheeses from Brie and no less than 4 million litres of wine. When Burgundians went to war, there had to be adequate provisions. And then there was all the wood that arrived in Sluis, which was intended for the technical feat of the fourteenth century, the masterpiece of the entire expedition: the famous wooden city. Essentially, it was a gigantic IKEA flat-pack avant la lettre based on an idea of Charles VI, one of those brain flashes in which the brilliance of his madness was already in evidence. Calais gave the English a seaport in France, but the French had no such base of operations on the other side of the Channel. To rectify this imbalance, the decision was made to ship a kind of collapsible Calais to England. The enclosure, many kilometres in length and seven metres high, and with a lookout post every twenty metres or so, was easy to dismantle and just as easy to assemble. Once transported to England, the mobile citadel could safely screen off a 500-hectare area.\n\nFive thousand woodcutters and carpenters had worked their fingers to the bone, chopping and sawing in the forests of Normandy to bring this mad city to life. Locksmiths and silversmiths produced the iron hinges that were needed to create seamless fits between all the wooden panels. But that was only the beginning. At the same time, workers were toiling round the clock on another do-it-yourself kit consisting of houses and barracks that were meant to fill the wooden city, and where the necessary amounts of food and animals would be stored. This ambitious design excited the fantasy and only served to inflame the bellicosity of Philip the Bold's troops. Thanks to this ville en bois, they felt safe from the outset. It was the English who ought to be worried. The megalomania in Sluis rolled in in waves.\n\nOnly the law-abiding Froissart had anything critical to say. 'The poor farmers, who had harvested all their cereal crops and were left with nothing but straw. If they dared to express any doubts they were beaten until they couldn't walk, or killed. Lakes and ponds were depleted of fish stocks, and houses were demolished for firewood. The English themselves couldn't have wreaked more havoc.' Even the ever grumbling Deschamps, who had gone back to Flanders very much against his will, delivered his own lament \u2013 but of a very different sort than that of Froissart. In his first poem about this campaign, he frankly stated that he needed 'juicy grapes and grain' in order to survive 'in a land without grain and wheat'. The starving Flemish peasants who stood gaping at him as he made his way north would certainly have agreed with him.\n\nPhilip was the very picture of martial vigour. Il me tarde, I wait for no one. But his patience was being sorely tested. First there had been the delay at Damme the previous summer, then the task of raising an army, and now it seemed that it was taking an unusually long time for his brother, the Duke of Berry, to appear in Sluis. King Charles, who was practically faint with the desire for action, couldn't understand it either. So the king amused himself with pleasure boating and was glad to discover that apparently he was not prone to seasickness. This seemed like a very good sign. Consultations were held every few days, and the officers wondered when they were likely to hear the order to embark. The answer was always the same: tomorrow or next week. In the meantime, the nobility organized their usual festivities and boasted about the toilets and other conveniences on board their vessels. The lords also squabbled about whose ship had the longest peak.\n\nMeanwhile, Philip the Bold cursed his brother to the pits of hell. Together they formed the core of the regency council, and now Berry was threatening to leave him in the lurch. John of Berry, a man whose pug nose only added to his hidden frustrations, was always busy with more important matters. He was not cut out for warfare. He preferred to fritter away his time tracking down curious rarities and relics. Nothing sent him into raptures as much as drops of milk from the Blessed Virgin or molars from Charlemagne, unless it was groping docile maidens. It has never been known whether he was too busy with his trinkets or was jealous of his brother, who set off on one wild expedition after another at France's expense. One thing is certain, however: in the autumn of 1386, John of Berry raised the art of procrastination to uncommon heights.\n\nWhen the frivolous Berry arrived in mid-October with a broad smile on his face, the ideal departure time had passed. 'If it hadn't been for you we'd be in England by now,' Philip snarled at his older brother. He couldn't very well tell him why he had waited for this silly curiosity-collector instead of leaving without him: that the great Duke of Burgundy found it impossible to leave the country in the hands of a satin-clad twit.\n\nBerry got out of this awkward situation with a joke or two and immediately started inspecting the fleet. By this time, the great encampment had been transformed into a gigantic quagmire, and the stockpiled food had taken to fraternizing with the local mould and mildew. It made no sense to stay any longer. The only question was where this run-down army should set its course: towards home or towards London?\n\nTo his delight, Berry noticed that the westerly wind had begun releasing its devils. Was it wise to launch a fleet in such turbulent seas? After endless discussions, the king and Philip decided to cancel the invasion. While the duke was devastated, Deschamps was beside himself with joy. After returning to France, he was resolved never again to set foot in the miserable land of the Flemings. 'I never saw much celebration / In all their grim determination / And I'll curse them to my dying day / Now I've crossed the Leie and I'm far away.'\n\nDespite the capsizing of his monster project, Philip the Bold still managed to somehow acquire a certain reputation. His spectacular battle plans had been broadcast far and wide, a great bonus for him as the initiator. Bravado proved to be a powerful trademark, although the difficulties and stresses had worn Philip to a frazzle. His honour took more of a beating when it was learned that the crown jewel of the campaign, the marvellous wooden city, had been intercepted by the English on its way to Sluis. They managed to board two of the ships and transported a portion of the kit to London, where French joiners were given permission to assemble a number of the parts, much to the edification and mainly the amusement of the English. When the news reached them that the French-Flemish-Burgundian fleet had given up, there was round-the-clock celebrating within the walls of the wooden barracks. The fear had been considerable.\n\nPhilip was given the rest of the magical city as a gift from the French king, who set Berry straight in no uncertain terms. But his trust in the Burgundian duke never wavered. In addition, Philip was given the assurance that he could keep French Flanders permanently, despite all previous agreements. Charles VI, a true addict of glamour and wealth, was enchanted by Burgundian grandeur, although his entourage kept having to explain to him that the duke had not yet attained Olympian status.\n\nNot without a feel for opportunism, Philip had his crippled pre-fab city brought to the region of Bruges, where it came to house his Burgundian arsenal. He then made a radical policy reversal and henceforth would come out as the champion of peace with England. Political animal that he was, Philip the Bold was not so miserable he couldn't switch directions once he realized that his desired path was solidly blocked."
            },
            {
                "title": "'To Catch A Goose'",
                "text": "The duke tried once more to manipulate the French king, but it proved to be one manoeuvre too far. In 1388, the puppet Charles VI finally cut himself loose from the powerful Burgundian hand that had been pulling the strings for so many years.\n\nIt all started when Charles VI received a letter from one William of Guelders. The letter had been written on ordinary paper, not on parchment \u2013 the first insult. The king had to have it explained to him that his lordship was the young potentate of a modest duchy, of which Roermond, Nijmegen, Arnhem and Zutphen were the major cities. It was expected that the king would ignore the letter and let this odd bird screech away on his northern nest, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Here was a two-bit nobody who had the effrontery to address Charles VI as 'he who calls himself the King of France' \u2013 the second insult \u2013 and who was challenging him to a duel \u2013 the third sting, which Charles found difficult to stomach. And all because this William of Guelders, in exchange for a generous annual allowance, had become an ally of the English king \u2013 yet another slap \u2013 and had dared to describe Richard II as 'the King of England and France' \u2013 the final blow. The French monarch was so indignant that those near him feared for his health.\n\nOnce the first shock had passed, his shaky emotional state changed to happiness. Finally, he, the great hero of Westrozebeke, after the failed invasion of England, could strike his mortal enemy in the flank. He wanted to leave for Guelders straightaway, although his advisors were of the opinion than an elephant does not alter its stride for a mere vole. But Philip agreed with Charles wholeheartedly. Of course a monarch of his calibre could not let himself be insulted! If he himself had been king, Philip would have ignored this William of Guelders without giving it a moment's thought. But if the duke acted deftly now, he could manage to fill his pockets with French money once again. For years, William of Guelders had been involved in a war with Brabant, whose childless Duchess Joanna had promised her duchy to Burgundy. Earlier on, she had asked Philip to expel the Guelders upstart from her territory. This was the perfect opportunity not only to oblige her but also to convince the proud cities of Brabant of his goodwill.\n\nThe fact that the king was in a rage might be convenient for the duke, but a great deal of grumbling could be heard from behind the throne. It was the inevitable lamentation of Eustache Deschamps, who felt in his bones that he, the poetic conscience of the kingdom, would be ordered once again to hoist himself into his armour and mount a wheezing nag in pursuit of his master's glory. The logical route that the army would follow ran straight through Brabant, and the thought alone made the sixty-six-year-old Duchess Joanna blanch with anxiety. Knowing the terrible havoc that soldiers could wreak, she begged Philip the Bold to spare Brabant. Philip was prepared to do anything to placate the duchy, and he moved heaven and earth to talk Charles VI into making a wide detour. So Charles sent his troops via a very circuitous route through the Ardennes.\n\nNow Deschamps was terror-struck. The notorious Ardennes! He had been preceded a half century earlier by his fellow poet Petrarch, whose travel account, written in Latin and one of the first tourist documents in history, was not exactly a glowing advertisement. 'I journeyed alone through the forests of the Ardennes. [\u2026] It is so dark there that the soul freezes in one's breast. You will admire my courage, especially when you learn that war was raging at the time. But as the saying goes, God has a special providence for fools and drunkards.' Deschamps clung to these words, especially the last ones, but after climbing a few hilltops in the unrelenting rain he penned a few shivering verses that were brimming with adjectives like 'cursed' and 'terrifying'. The poet began wondering what on earth had possessed Charles VI to threaten this provincial tyrant with such a large force. Why didn't he save his best gunpowder for the English? 'They're letting an eagle go in order to catch a goose,' he noted, as the French-Burgundian army waded into Guelders during a downpour.\n\nThey plodded past Roermond in the direction of Nijmegen, where William of Guelders was holing up. He was delighted. The probes and raids of his mercenaries had done considerable damage to the enemy army. Finally the news reached William's warrior father, the Duke of J\u00fclich, who raced to Nijmegen at lightning speed and berated his son for a full week. William responded by getting angry and slamming doors. The insult that had escalated into an armed conflict ended as an ordinary family squabble. William the loudmouth finally gave in when his father threatened to disinherit him. He was also forced to admit that he had needlessly waited for English support and that fighting against such a large army was probably not such a good idea.\n\nA surly William approached the French and petulantly begged the king for forgiveness. He said the letter had not been drafted by him but by the English chancery, and that they had made use of his ducal seal. It was an awkward pack of lies, and he presented it without apologizing for the letter's contents. He barely managed a bow. Yet Charles VI and Philip the Bold were satisfied with this clumsy justification because their soldiers, bone-weary from all the campaigns, were too tired to pick up their swords. King Charles VI found consolation in the arms of a Guelders beauty, and all the setbacks seemed to have been forgotten.\n\nPhilip was able to present Joanna with a report that was excellent on all counts, for when the forces returned home they once again passed the duchy by. It was then that the sky opened up and the summer rains poured down, turning the trip through the Ardennes into a death march.\n\nAs the water dripped from his helmet, it finally occurred to the French king: now that he was twenty, it was high time that he should be the one to call the shots. This longing for independence was inspired by Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, Charles's younger brother, the smooth-talking cousin of John of Burgundy, who saw his chance and seized it. Hadn't their uncles \u2013 Berry in Sluis and Burgundy in Guelders \u2013 lost all credibility? He worked unceasingly on the malleable Charles, trying to steer his brother, whose increasingly wild mood swings put him in danger of losing all perspective, back into the French fold. But his main objective was to squeeze out the two uncles, that damned Philip first of all, and ultimately to get a taste of power for himself.\n\nOn 2 November 1388, Charles called a special conference in Reims. All Souls' Day struck him as the appropriate moment to change course. It was the cardinal of Laon, the faithful advisor of his late father, Charles V, who raised the issue. First he delivered a long panegyric to the monarch. Then he proposed to the assembled guests that the twenty-year-old Charles finally be permitted to serve as ruler. The applause that followed was overwhelming. Philip and his brother Berry had scarcely recovered from their astonishment when they heard the king thanking them for services rendered. His speech was so splendidly worded that it could only have been prepared beforehand. Louis sat gloating next to his brother Charles.\n\nPhilip the Bold nodded graciously but felt the hatred blazing up within him. This would be something the Orl\u00e9ans dandy would live to regret. His feelings were shared by his son John, who realized that the growing suspicion he had felt towards his cousin was completely justified. On All Souls' Day 1388, the suppressed enmity between the two houses was exposed for all to see. The first victim was the cardinal of Laon, who suddenly fell ill and died. The autopsy revealed that poison was involved.\n\nThe money tap, at which Berry and Burgundy had been quenching their thirst for years, was temporarily turned off, and along with the cessation of dubious annual allowances and taxes there came an end to the legal theft of government funds \u2013 although that wouldn't go on for long. But the time in which Philip was able to use the French army to solve his own problems was definitely over.\n\nPhilip did not despair, however. He considered himself indispensable and expected Charles to recall him presently. But the young king threw himself into his new role and surrounded himself with loyal friends. Finally, the duke resigned himself to the situation. He even seemed to prefer it. To survive was to adapt, and the political sidelines to which he had been involuntarily relegated gave him the opportunity to fully occupy himself with local concerns. First he had to get the Burgundian treasury back in order, for no matter how much he scrimped and scraped, he always spent more. He saddled Joanna with the 200,000 francs for the Guelders adventure that he had had to pay out of his own pocket, knowing that she was going broke. It was up to her to figure out how she was going to repay him. He was quite willing to wait for it, friendly as he was. A few years later, by way of compensation, she would give him Limburg, a small duchy between Verviers and Aachen whose main cities were Eupen and Limburg, which were also called the 'Lands of Overmaas'.\n\nPhilip tapped a cask of Brabant beer when Joanna also signed a contract giving Brabant to Burgundy after the Guelders expedition, although the aging duchess kept the usufruct until her death. This was bad luck for Philip, for the sixty-six-year-old Joanna may have been destitute, but she'd still have a good eighteen years ahead of her. It was another apple of discord that the duke found a clever way to swallow. He expressed total understanding when the cities of Brabant protested the arrival of someone who, in their eyes, was a power-hungry Burgundian. What they wanted was an independent duchy. By way of compromise, Philip put forward his second son, Anthony, as his heir. Joanna accepted the proposal and would personally prepare Anthony for his responsibilities.\n\nNow that he had sucked the best marrow out of the French kingdom, the time had come to take stock. 'I remember when I was young they used to call you Landless Philip,' wrote the author and contemporary Honor\u00e9 Bonet. 'Now the generous God has made you a great name, one that is featured beside the names of the giants of the earth.' Gradually, there could be no more denying that the grandeur of old Burgundy had risen from its ashes, and that an energetic effort was being made in Dijon to cobble together a realm that deserved to be reckoned with.\n\nThe great Gundobad must have looked down with approval from his cloud in Germanic heaven. And it cannot escape the historian from his observation post in the twenty-first century that thanks to the Burgundian embrace of Flanders, Brabant, Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland and Limburg, the blueprint of the Low Countries was gradually taking shape."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "Much to his irritation, Eustache Deschamps was forced to endure the Guelders campaign in the wake of Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, to whom he instantly took a dislike. The way Louis's retinue tormented him along the way actually imparted an extra jolt to the elegiac content of his verses. After his death he fell into deep obscurity. Eustache, whose nom de plume was Deschamps but who in reality bore the name Morel, like his father, has lain buried among his tens of thousands of verses since 1404.\n\nIn the nineteenth century he would be dredged up again and interred in a dusty antechamber of French letters as the inventor of the ballade (a poem with three stanzas and an envoy) and as the author of L'Art de dictier, the first French discourse on poetry. Specialists occasionally quote some of his erotic verses, to which he gave a melancholic tint in his latter years: 'Many's the woman who has fled / from the selfsame cock her cunt once filled / when I was young and brisk in bed / now that my shaft is weak and chilled.'\n\nNot an unimpressive achievement, all in all. But history has done him a great disservice. This furious hater of Flemings also deserves to be remembered as one of the first war correspondents from his region of Europe. At the age of sixty, four years before his death, Deschamps took stock of his life with a heavy heart, the last spasm of his peevish temperament.\n\n\u2003King after king, they come and go,\n\n\u2003Four generations since my days began,\n\n\u2003Philip, John, then Charles in tow,\n\n\u2003Fifth of that name, all in one lifespan,\n\n\u2003The next scion followed, and under his skill\n\n\u2003The Flemish were defeated on Roosebeke's hill;\n\n\u2003Twenty-six thousand were killed by his lances,\n\n\u2003He was scarcely thirteen, and the triumph was France's.\n\n\u2003\u2026\n\n\u2003Prince, I have seen times of chaos and pain,\n\n\u2003No rights, no laws, countries left to expire\n\nInjustice, catastrophes, towns set on fire,\n\n\u2003I hope we will live to see concord again,\n\n\u2003Though I wouldn't bet money on any such yearning\n\n\u2003For the world's joys are hollow and beyond my discerning.\n\nOr how Burgundy launched the last real Crusade of the Middle Ages, but also how, thanks to the patronage of Philip the Bold, the Low Countries would be the first to bear fruit in the fine arts.\n\nTurkish fighters tossed the captured Lazar Hrebeljanovi\u0107, the Serbian tsar, beside the dead body of their sultan, Murad I, who had died earlier that day. The tsar barely had time to blink before a scimitar was raised, glittering in the sun. With one stroke, a Turkish warrior took vengeance for the death of his leader. Sultan and tsar lay lifeless, side by side. Now that the two supreme commanders had been killed, the Battle of Kosovo reached a decisive phase.\n\nOn 28 June 1389, the army of Hungarians, Bulgarians, Albanians, Bosnians and especially Serbians stood just outside Pristina (in what is today Kosovo) opposite a massive Turkish force: Europeans against Ottomans, Christians versus Muslims, Lazar toe to toe with Murad. Without batting an eye, Murad's son Bayezid assumed command from his father and decimated the coalition of Eastern European Christians. As the new sultan, he brought the fragmented emirates under his control, subjugated part of the Balkans, threatened Constantinople and moved on to Hungary by way of Bulgaria and Serbia. This great-grandson of the famous Osman I \u2013 after whom the Osman or Ottoman empire was named \u2013 dreamed of stabling his horses in Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome. His Turkish horde resembled that of the ancient Huns, a flash from the east shooting westward. Bayezid's nickname, appropriately, was The Thunderbolt.\n\nOne by one the first rumours began dribbling into Paris, where life was following its normal routine. It wasn't the Ottoman threat that was the most important news of the summer but the coming of Queen Isabeau to Paris. Although she had borne the title of Queen of France for the past four years and had ridden into the capital dozens of times, Charles VI thought she had a right to a Joyous Entry of her own, as tradition dictated. During her triumphal procession on 22 August, two angels descended from a vaulted imitation heaven studded with stars and placed a gold crown on Isabeau's head. On the city's street corners, brass bands put their best foot forward, one after another, and children organized mythical tableaux. Between times, the queen could gape at imitation castles, where devotional plays were performed. The procession advanced so slowly that it was growing dark by the time Notre-Dame finally came into view. The bridge that led to the cathedral was festooned with taffeta and decorated with golden fleurs-de-lis. To top it all off, an acrobat tottered across a rope that had been stretched between the massive church towers and a building on the Pont Saint-Michel. Everyone held their breath as the man continued his progress with a burning candle in each hand. In the darkness of the night, this human bat could be seen and admired far and wide.\n\nIn order to watch his ravishing wife take everyone's breath away, and to do it undisturbed, the king had to mingle incognito in the crowd. No one recognized him! On the evening of the festivities, he bragged that a guard had given him a smack because he had come too close to the queen's coach. He couldn't believe his luck, and looked at Philip the Bold with satisfaction, as if he had pulled the throne out from under the grand master of amusement for just one day.\n\nBurgundy shrugged. His velvet doublet was attracting all the attention. The forty swans embroidered on his jacket were all adorned with pearl necklaces that, like the graceful birds themselves, seemed to float on the velvet. But why spoil the king's illusions? If Charles VI was happy, then he was happy too."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "While Isabeau of Bavaria was spending her days beaming like a French fairy-tale queen, and the Ottomans were imagining themselves the new kings of Eastern Europe, Philip set out for Dijon. Jean de Marville of Hazebrouck, who had been his most important sculptor for years, had decided to lay down his chisel for good, and just when the duke needed him most. But one man's loss is another man's gain. Soon a Dutchman would be taking charge of one of the most important construction sites of the Late Middle Ages.\n\nIn 1377 the God-fearing duke had purchased a piece of land in Champmol with the intention of building a Carthusian monastery there. This was a remarkable decision, to say the least. Philip, a flirtatious man who would acquire 160 different head coverings between 1392 and 1394 alone, chose the most contemplative and ascetic monastic order of his time. The Carthusians wallowed in poverty, rejected possessions and renounced all forms of vanity and prestige. The duke was placing his salvation in good hands. After all, it was the prayers of the poorest of monks that received God's most ardent attention.\n\nHis Flemish wife, Margaret, and their son John, who was twelve at the time, had laid the first stone in 1383. Later he had it noted in his will that he wanted to be buried in this monastery. Indeed, Champmol was designated the mausoleum of a new dynasty, of which he saw himself as the founding father. In doing so he made sure that the political axis of his empire would be in the south, in Dijon, and not in Lille, which was still the administrative centre of prosperous Flanders. Under his successors, the interests of the north would gradually take priority and would ultimately outstrip the old duchy altogether.\n\nThe monastic buildings and the church were erected with relative speed, but by the end of the eighties virtually all the decorative finishing touches had yet to be completed, and that was where Philip's new court sculptor would play a crucial role. He was looking for an exceptionally talented man, someone who not only possessed great artistic gifts but who was also able to manage a large construction site, hire the right craftsmen, and purchase the better raw materials at the best prices. In the summer of 1389 his eye fell on the Haarlem-born Claus Sluter, who had served as Marville's assistant for quite some time.\n\nFirst the Dutchman installed himself in a manor house with an accompanying studio. It lay within walking distance of the ducal palace, so that Philip could easily drop in to discuss the progress of the work. Before the master began carving, he put together a team of 'ymagiers', or image makers, who turned up from every corner of the Low Countries. Some of their names are listed here to show how much Middle Dutch (and Walloon to a lesser extent) influenced this French-Burgundian construction site. The names could easily have been abbreviated, but it is hoped that listing them in their relative entirety will speak volumes.\n\nThe first to be invited were Maes de Roek, Jan van Prindale, Willem Smout, Heine van Merchteren, Peter van Liekerke and Dirk Gherelex. Sluter knew them all well from Brussels, where he had mastered the sculptor's trade in his youth. Next came Nicolaas de Hane of Tournai, Gilles van Seneffe of Hainaut, Antoine Cotelle and Humbert Lambillon of Namur, Jacob van der Baerze of Dendermonde, and finally his cousin Claus van de Werve of Hattem in Guelders. Some of them stayed in Burgundy the entire time, others were merely temporary. Master Joseph Colart of Dinant was responsible for the iron foundry, and Jean de Li\u00e8ge, who came from the Meuse region near Li\u00e8ge, was in charge of carpentry. Their names are the only ones that have come down to us, but of course they did not do their work alone. They were assisted by more than two hundred anonymous stonemasons, bricklayers, labourers, iron founders, wood carvers and carpenters. Given the origin of the artists, it wasn't surprising to hear a bit of Dutch being spoken at the Champmol building site every now and then. So Henri Boucher, who as 'ouvrier de verrerie' was responsible for the glasswork, began to turn up in the accounts of the Burgundian court of the early nineties as Henri Glasemaker.\n\nWith Sluter's choice of sculptors, a new wind began blowing in the Burgundian arts, a fierce north wind. It was no accident that this happened after the duke had become Count of Flanders in 1385 and had managed, with the marriages of his children, to open the Burgundian door a crack to Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland and Brabant. Philip's court painter, Jean de Beaumetz, may have been a Frenchman, but his assistants, Gerard van Nijvel and Torquin van Gent, were from Brabant and Flanders, as were the most important painters working at the Burgundian court from then on. Melchior Broederlam of Ypres completed a great many assignments, and Johan Maelwael was appointed the new official court painter after Beaumetz's death in 1397. His name was Gallicized to Jean Malouel. In Middle Dutch, Maelwael literally meant 'he who paints well', from the German word 'malen'. Like Sluter's chief assistant, Claus van de Werve, Maelwael came from the duchy of Guelders \u2013 Nijmegen, to be precise. He would work under Philip and then under his son John, who would continue the completion of the monastery after his father's death.\n\nIt would be another seventy-five years before the official birth of the Burgundian Netherlands. In the meantime, in Champmol in the late fourteenth century, a carefully selected group of artists, most of them from Flanders, Hainaut, Namur, Guelders, Brabant and Holland, formed a laboratory of sorts that was a small-scale version of what would later develop on a much larger scale throughout the Burgundian empire: a new affiliation of regions under the aegis of a single duke-count. In the history of the Low Countries, art has always preceded politics. While this exceptional team of artists from the north was fulfilling the great dream of Philip the Bold, his son John was soon given the chance to realize his own dream deep in the heart of Eastern Europe."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Monseigneur Wants To Kill You!'",
                "text": "In the summer of 1392, an irritable Charles VI left Paris at the head of a large army to teach the Duke of Brittany a lesson. This scoundrel was refusing to hand over the criminal who had carried out an attack on Olivier de Clisson, the supreme commander of the French forces and the man who, ten years earlier, had cut Philip van Artevelde down to size in Westrozebeke. Although the king had been feeling feverish for days and had taken to speaking gibberish on several occasions, he refused to follow the advice of his physicians. As far as he was concerned, staying home was no option. De Clisson had to be avenged.\n\nJohn of Burgundy and his father, Philip, were part of the royal forces. John was twenty-one, and he couldn't care less about the king's fever. The only thing that occupied his mind was the fact that he was still a mere squire. He was bound and determined to be made a knight on the basis of a few blows he had dealt on the battlefield. Following behind him was his cousin, Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, the king's younger brother and now his right-hand man, who was so full of himself that his horse almost collapsed beneath him.\n\nOn 5 August, Charles VI led his troops into the forest of Le Mans and entered the territory of the insubordinate duke. Suddenly a strange figure popped up from the undergrowth and began screaming at the king to go no further: 'Go back, noble king! You are betrayed!' Because this ragged recluse was apparently nothing but a poor beggar, he was not arrested and was kept a respectable distance from the French king. But the lunatic kept repeating the same words for several minutes, a mantra that took possession of the feverish brain of Charles VI like an evil spirit. The words 'You are betrayed!' seemed to strike a nerve. Rigid with terror, the king stared into the distance as if the shrieks of this woodland devil were tightening his inner mainspring.\n\nWhen they left the forest, the sun began beating down on them. One of the pages, who had been nodding off for quite some time, finally fell asleep and let the king's lance fall against the helmet of one of his companions. The noise shook Charles VI out of his stupor. He began raving, 'Attack the traitors! They want to deliver me to the enemy!' Then he drew his sword and lit into his own retinue, hacking away like a maniac.\n\n'My God,' Philip shouted to his son John, 'the king has gone mad. Someone must restrain him!' The king killed a handful of his knights, who were caught completely off guard, and then turned on his brother, Louis of Orl\u00e9ans. 'Flee, dear nephew, flee,' Philip called to him. 'Monseigneur wants to kill you!' Louis didn't have to be told twice. He spurred his horse and vanished.\n\nFinally, Charles snapped out of it and was easily overpowered. Those standing nearby could see his eyes rolling back in their sockets. He was restrained, put in a cart and taken to Le Mans, where two days later he seemed to have recovered. His doctors tried to calm him by attributing the breakdown to the intense heat and suggesting that he regain his health by devoting himself to relaxing activities. But a few months later, when Charles almost went up in flames at a costume ball \u2013 he and a few friends had disguised themselves as shaggy forest dwellers, covering themselves with hemp and using flammable pitch to make the hemp stick \u2013 the spring seemed to snap. While his friends burned like torches and took three days to die, the king miraculously escaped death. His aunt, the fourteen-year-old second wife of the fifty-one-year-old Duke of Berry, threw her cloak over him and was able to extinguish the flames just in time. In his mind, however, the flame of madness had now been stoked.\n\nUntil his death in 1422, the French king would vacillate between lucidity and insanity. Every now and then he would participate in political life and attempt to leave his mark, only to have his mind stray into mist and darkness and stay there for months. Charles became estranged from his Isabeau and lived in darkened rooms, where a procession of physicians and quacks took him in hand. They prescribed an endless series of concoctions and conducted bloodletting by the bucketful. Sometimes he became so violent that he had to be tied down, babbling such blatant nonsense as 'I am George the Aggrieved' or pointing to his stunningly beautiful wife with the words, 'Who is that woman the sight of whom torments me?'\n\nA few months before his death, during a stretch of relative health and stability, he took part in an archery contest. But for most of the remaining thirty long years in which he was shackled to the throne, Charles VI, the king with an unstable mind and a strapping body, would exist in a state of insanity. Surprisingly, that painful condition endeared him to his subjects all the more. They did not call him 'the Mad' \u2013 a nickname that cropped up later on \u2013 but invariably 'Charles le Bien-Aim\u00e9', Charles the Beloved. Even that, however, could not keep the Catholic Church, the kingdom of France and French-English relations from becoming just as fragmented under his rule as his own befuddled mind."
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Can Hardly Wait'",
                "text": "John of Burgundy cursed with disappointment when they turned back at the forest of Le Mans. Yet another missed opportunity to show off his skill! His father, Philip, viewed it through a different lens. Now that Charles was at times a mere shadow of his former self, Burgundy announced that the kingdom needed a powerful regent more than ever. He succeeded in dismissing Charles's advisors, branded Charles's brother Louis of Orl\u00e9ans as too young and inexperienced, and catapulted himself into the highest regions of power by assuming the position of regent once more. He immediately called a halt to the war against Brittany \u2013 what could possibly be gained from that engagement? \u2013 and arranged to have a large portion of the government revenues flow back into Burgundy. To revive the trade between England and Flanders once and for all, he then tried to make short work of the Hundred Years War.\n\nIn the spring of 1393, the village of Leulinghen, not far from Boulogne-sur-Mer, was the backdrop for the new peace talks. The border between France and England ran right through the parish church, which had both a French and an English entrance. Philip the Bold, who only a few years before had dreamed of a big military landing on the other side of the Channel, was now pulling out all the stops to achieve peace. It was already too absurd for words that the French and the English were upsetting the European balance of power while the Turks were intruding deeper and deeper into the continent in the east. So now he said that it made more sense to join forces in a new Crusade than to keep tormenting each other. In fact, peace did not come \u2013 the truce was only extended for four years \u2013 but the other idea did take root.\n\nAt the end of the Middle Ages there was a full revival of the old Crusading ideal, although the setting had shifted in the intervening years from Jerusalem \u2013 where Christian pilgrimages were welcome once again \u2013 to other places. In the fourteenth century, for example, western warriors went to North Africa and Spain to fight against advancing Muslims, or they took on heretics among the Baltic peoples in Prussia. Now that the French king was in the clutches of madness, and Burgundy was looking more and more like a superpower, Philip the Bold realized that supporting such undertakings had top priority. He had never been a crusader himself, but he had financed the journeys of countless knights from his regions. As usual, his motives were infused just as much with religious conviction as with propagandistic opportunism. Philip was eager to promote both his faith and the prestige of his house, and to do it on an international stage.\n\nThe thought that the great Burgundy had never led his own Crusade was a thorn in the duke's side. Wasn't it a stroke of fate that on 13 March 1393 he had been able to procure the sword of the legendary crusader Godfrey of Bouillon? In any case, when the Hungarian King Sigismund begged for European help to hold back the advancing Ottomans in the summer of 1395, Philip the Bold did not hesitate to claim the leadership of the international coalition. At the last minute, however, he decided not to go himself but to hand over the supreme command to his son. John left no room for doubt: 'I can hardly wait to prove myself.' Philip stayed home because all the tedious sabre-rattling in Flanders had left him with little taste for battle and he was looking forward to developing his artistic legacy. He had already established his reputation as The Bold. Now he wanted to leave his mark as a patron of the arts as well.\n\nTo pull off the Turkish venture financially, the duke introduced extraordinary new taxes \u2013 women, children and the elderly were made to pay in lieu of participating, for example \u2013 and he borrowed large sums of money from the wealthy Flemish townsmen. He managed to rake in 520,000 francs and two tonnes of gold, which he almost instantly spent on magnificent trappings. His son's retinue were richly furnished with green satin tents, black satin doublets and velvet horse blankets. Those of John himself were made of silk interwoven with gold. Now that the Burgundians were in charge, the scene of battle had to be properly dazzling.\n\nTo assist his inexperienced son, Philip the Bold brought together a choice selection of knights that included the French field marshal Boucicaut, who had been knighted in Westrozebeke at the age of sixteen, and the seasoned Ingelram de Coucy, a man with many campaigns behind him. His two hundred bodyguards included almost forty Flemish knights. The richest region provided fewer than 20 per cent of the elite troops but reached deeper into its purse than any of the other domains. John's personal corps \u2013 all the squires, archers and grooms put together \u2013 amounted to about seven hundred men.\n\nThe future duke, almost twenty-five years old and still just a squire and count of the insignificant Nevers, would ultimately command an army consisting of both his own Flemish-Burgundian contingent and an almost equally large group of French knights. In addition there were adventurers from Scotland, Poland and Spain, a large detachment of Knights Hospitaller from Rhodes, troops under Humbert of Savoy and German princes from the Rhineland, Bavaria and Saxony. Soldiers of King Sigismund of Hungary would later join them, accounting for 10,000 men and 30,000 horses all told. And even though the English had finally decided to stay home, the clever Philip the Bold had succeeded in raising a fine army.\n\nBefore waving goodbye to John and his men, the duke arranged for the assurance of adequate indulgences and papal dispensations: plenary indulgences, permission to eat and sleep with non-believers, and permission to attend Mass before dawn. After being blessed with that carte blanche, the crusaders went to church, collectively and with much devotion, to beg for the aid of as many saints as they could pray to. At the last minute, Philip the Bold consulted two astrologers in order to assess the future. After receiving their blessing, John's army set off on 30 April 1396 from Dijon. In John's luggage was a roll of gold ribbon from Cyprus, with which the ambitious Burgundian planned to adorn his clothing on the day he was knighted.\n\nWhile John was fighting his way into legend, the greatest artists from the Low Countries set to work in Dijon. It was a double-pronged offensive that united in one family the two poles that humanity had been travelling between for hundreds of years: the culture of chivalry and the world of spirit and faith, two worlds that increasingly clashed over the course of the fourteenth century. The longing to build a Carthusian monastery and to organize a Crusade made the Burgundians true representatives of their time, which they accomplished in a way that was as boastful as it was distinguished. They were like the best students in class, always wanting to astonish both their classmates and themselves."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Jewel To Hang Round The Neck Of A Cathedral'",
                "text": "For a long time, Catholicism had been mainly the business of priests and monks, but over the course of the fourteenth century it found its way into the hearts of ordinary people, and on a grand scale. Itinerant preachers managed to move great crowds with their gripping and spectacular stories. During these forerunners of our modern-day festivals, religion came down from its throne, and those in attendance were literally touched by the Word of God. They listened with open mouths, cried and laughed. There was singing, and plays were performed. Christianity shed its elitist garments and revealed itself as a folk religion that was confessed by cardinal and baker, monk and mercenary, priest and peasant. In the past, an order like the one in Cluny assumed the task of praying for all mankind. Now every mortal soul muttered his own prayers. Priests began preaching in the vernacular during Masses that were celebrated in Latin. This democratization of the contemplative life made Christianity less abstract and more tangible, more naive and simple. It was transformed into a recognizable story in which profound feelings like the fear of death were given an important place.\n\nMore and more believers also wanted a place at home where they could cross themselves in peace. Private chapels appeared in the castles and manor houses of counts, dukes and wealthy burghers. This was out of reach for most of the population, of course, but people began hanging crosses in corners of their homes, where they would occasionally pause and light a candle. This gave rise to an industry that specialized in the production of simple wooden crucifixes and rosaries, rough sketches of the saints or homely reproductions of certain stories from the Bible. Jesus, Mary, Moses and various saints left the churches and monasteries and came rushing into people's houses and huts.\n\nThe democratization of religion brought with it a vulgarization of Catholic art. Complex symbolism had to make way for straightforward realism; faith was meant to be experienced rather than confessed. People also wanted to carry signs of their faith on their person, at all times. Those who could afford it kept books of psalms or books of hours in their pockets. For others, it was a simple rosary. With people admitting religion to the privacy of their homes, carrying it with them wherever they went and beginning to experience it in their own way, the burgeoning individualization of western man took a small step forward.\n\nPhilip the Bold understood that evolution like no one else, and once again he wanted a front-row seat. Just as he always dragged his portable orloge wherever he went, so he never left home without his rosary and relics. He was unsurpassed in embodying the idea that time and religion had become portable. Naturally, the duke preferred extremely elegant psalm books and priceless relics, and twenty-five-kilogram candles were no exception. He also emerged as the chief promotor of a new kind of fashion among the super-rich. For his ingeniously crafted images of the saints and other expensive gifts, Philip often called on metalworkers Jan van Haarlem and Jan van Haacht, whose surnames were another reference to the north.\n\nThe church of the Carthusian monastery in Champmol was to be his personal court chapel as well as the place where he would be buried. It was obvious that everything revolved around Philip the Bold and not around Sluter and his team. On the threshold of the fifteenth century the commissioning authority was still much more important than the craftsman. Names such as Maelwael, Broederlam and Sluter are known to us because they appear so often in the Burgundian financial records, not because they signed their work. Yet within these tight strictures Sluter was still able to let his talent flourish, to contribute his ideas in discussions with the duke, and to add his own accents to the finishing touches. During the Renaissance, the ego of the artist didn't just come rolling down the slopes of of Parnassus as if from nowhere. Its ascendance was one of gradual development and bursts of rapid growth.\n\nSluter's first big assignment was the decoration of the church porch. Philip insisted that the Blessed Virgin be featured on the central pillar of the entrance door. Could he imagine a better advocate to plead on his behalf for his sins? The Mother of God would surely show him the way to Paradise in the next life. Sluter rolled up his sleeves, reached for his chisel and went on to carve himself a path to eternity. The face of Mary suffused with emotion was something the people of France had never seen before.\n\nReligious art had come a long way since the monks of Cluny had placed an image of God the Father at the entrance to their monastery church in the mid-eleventh century. Their fear of being found guilty of blasphemy had been unfounded: they had not been struck by lightning. By the fifteenth century, a self-assured Philip didn't even hesitate to have a likeness of himself placed in the church porch. Sluter made stone carvings not only of Philip but also of his wife: the duke as the seasoned warrior and diplomat, with his severe gaze and inseparable big nose, Margaret as the devoted mother of eight children, who, as a woman of fifty, could no longer hide her double chin. For good measure, Philip had himself flanked by John the Baptist and the duchess by Saint Catherine. The sculptor positioned the images in such a way that all four of them would be gazing at the Blessed Virgin until the Day of Judgement. The nineteenth-century writer Aloysius Bertrand called the porch 'a jewel to hang round the neck of a cathedral'.\n\nIn the meantime, Philip urged his painters on to greater productivity. After the woodcarver Jacques de Baerze of Dendermonde had patiently carved scores of delightful little scenes for his Retable of the Crucifixion, Melchior Broederlam painted the whole series in gold tints. When the retable was shut, it was no longer an ingenious biblical puppet show that the faithful saw but painted tableaux from the New Testament. The outside panels exhibited the full force of Broederlam's talent. Specialists still scratch their heads over the extraordinary degree of perfection that he managed to demonstrate in the late fourteenth century in paintings whose magnificent colours still shimmer as much as they did hundreds of years ago.\n\nIn the Carthusian church, this retable had sparkled above the altar. Today, the oldest preserved altarpiece of Flemish workmanship hangs in the Museum of Fine Arts in Dijon. In the Louvre, the attentive visitor will come face to face with the Large Round Piet\u00e0 by Johan Maelwael, one of the paintings that decorated the monastery walls. The duke had decreed that every monk should be able to indulge himself in God-fearing beauty.\n\nIn the 1390s, Champmol saw the production of one masterpiece after another. But in the spring of 1395, Claus Sluter began what can be regarded as an art historical high point, pure and simple. The artist from Haarlem carved a pedestal rising out of a well, the most beautiful pedestal ever to support a crucifix. Around it he posted six Old Testament prophets, the most famous of whom would give this Well of Moses its name. Sluter's Isaiah has parchment-like skin and an expression permeated with a sweet sadness. Jeremiah, shown reading a book, has slightly pursed lips to emphasize his concentration. These are no longer archetypes. They are figures that seem to come to life, thanks to their gestures, facial expressions and details such as wrinkled foreheads, folds in the skin, knitted brows and veins in the wrists. Hovering on the pillars between the prophets are sorrowful angels who drive the words of the prophets upward. Improbable as it seems, this was only the base of an enormous gilded cross that bore an almost life-size suffering Christ, with a weeping Mary, John and Mary Magdalene beneath him. To complete this titanic job, the sculptor was assisted by his cousin, Claus van de Werve. On orders from the duke, they chiselled the coats of arms of his domains at the very base of the pedestal, with those of Flanders and Burgundy gracing the crossbeam of the crucifix.\n\nPhilip got what he had so longed for. The suffering of Christ, foretold by the prophets and mourned by angels, a work of art that built a bridge between the two Testaments in a most ingenious way. No wonder it became an attraction for pilgrims, especially when in 1418 Cardinal Orsini granted each pilgrim up to a hundred indulgences. It was partly due to this success that Pope Julius II would begin refusing admission to female pilgrims in 1506, the argument being that their presence was a serious disturbance to the spiritual peace of the monks.\n\nAt the end of the Middle Ages, paintings were regarded as less important than alabaster and marble sculptures or metalwork. In terms of the materials involved, they were simply worth less (wood and a bit of paint), while the other objects could be lucratively recycled for another use. The most important assignment for Maelwael was not so much the making of panels as the painting of Sluter's figures. Stone and wood were too earthly in the eyes of medieval people, so a painter was required to apply colour to them. Maelwael's polychromy was so pleasing to Philip that he soon appointed him court painter.\n\nMaelwael alerted the duke to the talent of his nephews, Paul, Herman and Johan van Limbourg. Like their uncle, these miniaturists came from Nijmegen, and in 1402 they would illustrate a Bible for Philip. His brother, the Duke of Berry, was so deeply impressed by the results that he asked the three Limbourgs to illuminate a book of hours for him, Les Tr\u00e8s Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. The assignment not only resulted in dazzling miniatures but also made sure that Berry's flattened pug's nose, which he so despised, would go down in history. The Limbourg brothers' book of hours would become world famous for its depiction of an idealized Middle Ages: the age of beautiful castles, idyllic woodlands, fields and gardens, and the colourful figures who populated these fairy-tale settings."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The vulgarization of religious art proceeded at high speed in order to meet the demands of an ever-growing public, but in Champmol there was no question of rapid mass production. There, the greatest talents of the day collaborated for years under the impetus of the duke. As patron of the arts, Philip the Bold wanted to do more than keep the monastic tradition alive. He also dreamed of leaving behind a monumental work of art for which extraordinary artists had complied with his every wish, to which he had given his blessing for every stone and ornament \u2013 a work that featured both his likeness and his gleaming coat of arms, where even the statue of the Blessed Virgin was covered with his initials and those of his wife, where he could go to church when it suited him, and where he would ultimately be laid to rest. The miracle of Champmol was an edifice directed by him and dedicated to him, a manifestation of his assertive ego that demonstrated how the gradual individualization of humanity, which paved the way for the Renaissance, also ran through his ducal umbilicus.\n\nHis desire to immortalize his name was once again in evidence when Philip had his own coat of arms affixed to a silver-plated goblet that had once belonged to Julius Caesar. It would take quite a bit of eternity for the Carthusians to pray all that vanity away. But their task came to a premature end during the French Revolution, when the monastery was destroyed. Just as with Cluny, all you can do is curse the revolutionaries who, in their blind fury, or simply for the sake of cold cash, put an end to so much beauty. But there are still a few masterpieces in Champmol that survived the fire of the Revolution and cause your heart to leap for joy.\n\nThe porch of the old church is still standing, to which a neo-Gothic chapel was attached in the nineteenth century. Except for a few brilliant fragments, the Christ of Sluter's monumental crucifix bit the dust. But the Well of Moses is there to admire, thank God, and you can even catch a glimpse of Maelwael's polychrome. Because it's located just outside the city, Champmol itself remains a well-kept secret, even for the French. Along with a visit to the Museum of Fine Arts in Dijon \u2013 which is housed in the old ducal palace, restored by Philip and expanded by his successors \u2013 it's a required stop for anyone wishing to embrace the delicate beauty of the Late Middle Ages. The perfect place for hearing in one's imagination the tapping of Sluter's hammer and chisel and the sound of Philip's footsteps.\n\nOr how a death that was anything but heroic, as well as a tragic debacle, would impart to Burgundy a small claim on immortality.\n\nIN 1394 CLEMENT VII drew his last breath. The pope who had torn the church in two in 1378 was no more. Philip the Bold understood that the Schism was still a highly sensitive matter in Flanders, and that a union of the Burgundian state might only be possible in the bosom of a unified church. The fact that his enemy Louis of Orl\u00e9ans was clinging to the split only strengthened Philip in his conviction. Now that the papal throne in Avignon was unoccupied, he saw the opportunity to put an end to the accursed Schism. As a prominent member of a large French delegation he hurried to the south, to Avignon, but he arrived too late. The conclave had rushed through a new pope. Earlier on, this Benedict XIII had given his assurance that stepping down would be as easy for him as taking off his hat. But once he had ascended the papal throne, the lure of power proved irresistible. The Schism would fester for almost twenty-five more years at the foundation of an international political structure that was already in disarray.\n\nThis must have grieved King Charles VI of France during his more lucid periods, for enlightened minds had promised him that God would solve all his mental problems in exchange for bringing the Schism to an end. After all, hadn't he been struck by the lightning of madness because his forefather, Philip the Fair, had sent the popes to Avignon, and because his father, Charles V, had supported the Schism from the start? But look, all was not lost, for the other path to recovery undoubtedly lay in the ending of the Hundred Years War, another inherited sin \u2013 how many of his forefathers did not share in this guilt? \u2013 that had reached the point of explosion in his brain.\n\nAt the moment, the Schism seemed insoluble. But then King Richard II of England suddenly suggested that it was time to put an end to all this warfare. To make his words more convincing, he asked for the hand of Isabella of Valois, the six-year-old daughter of Charles VI. In France, the offer was initially met with suspicion. Richard II, who was born in Bordeaux, may have had a sincere love for France, but he was mainly an unstable monarch who had trouble controlling his anger. He had recently razed a castle to the ground, the one in which his first wife had died in 1394, and now he wanted to make peace with England's long-standing enemy, contrary to the wishes of his most important advisors. In reality, he was hoping to eliminate his domestic rivals, such as the Duke of Gloucester, by calling on French support. He was even prepared to return the cities of Brest and Cherbourg to achieve this goal. For him, the last six decades of misery couldn't end fast enough. As fishy as his proposal may have sounded to French ears, Paris was thoroughly fed up with fighting the conflict on French soil. Philip the Bold was a leading champion of peace, not least because he knew how much profit the Flemish textile industry would generate. In the spring of 1396, just before crusader John left for the east, Richard and Isabella exchanged their vows in Paris. The marriage was performed 'by the glove', which meant that the bride was marrying her groom by proxy. The absent English king had an envoy lay his glove on the altar as a sign of consent. At the same time, a twenty-eight-year truce was signed. The war seemed on the way to dying a quiet death.\n\nThe Burgundian duke, who as a youth had fought against the English on the side of the great Bertrand du Guesclin, felt that now he could die with a clear conscience. His son had recently left with the last real Crusade of the Middle Ages under his command, he had successfully married off his children, he had managed to remove the sting from the complex Flemish question, he had expanded his territory and explored the possibilities for expanding it even further, created a renewed Burgundian state apparatus, built the monastery of Champmol\u2026 and now, at the last moment, the end of the Hundred Years War seemed within reach. Yet all that peace of mind was soon to come to an end."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Son Of The King Of Flanders'",
                "text": "Summer was coming to an end, and nothing had been heard from the crusaders who had left for the east in the spring. By autumn, when the marriage of the twenty-nine-year-old Richard II and the now seven-year-old Isabella had actually been solemnized in Calais, a few rumours reached Paris. The unfortunate bringers of bad news were immediately put behind bars. You can't banish the truth that way, of course, let alone the rampant anxiety that now seemed out of control. More bad news slowly dribbled in. After a while, Philip the Bold could no longer disguise how worried he was about the fate of his son. Processions were organized, Masses were said, the whole Catholic bag of tricks was opened to beg for a safe return.\n\nOn 24 December 1396 the crusader Jacques de Heilly arrived in Paris. Still wearing his tall leather gaiters and spurs, he related the account, in fits and starts, of a tragic campaign. Charles VI, Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, John of Berry and especially Philip the Bold listened to his report in a state of shock."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "The story began on 9 May 1396, when the highly disciplined army arrived in the Swiss city of Laufenburg. John had issued strict orders. 'A nobleman who incites arguments and provokes conflicts will be deprived of his horse and armour. A squire who is found to be a knife fighter will lose his hand, and if he steals, his ear.' The journey passed without incident, and no one impeded their progress. They heedlessly pillaged their way over hill and dale.\n\n21 May: the vanguard arrived in Vienna. John of Burgundy didn't join them until 24 June. He had spent some time with his father-in-law, Albert of Bavaria, in Straubing in order to integrate the German troops into his army. His level-headed father-in-law received him with open arms but refused to allow his son William to take part in what he regarded as an arrogant undertaking 'against a people who never did us any harm'. He looked on with distaste as the richly attired John had to borrow money to feed his troops. In early August, the French and Germans arrived in Buda and joined King Sigismund's Hungarians and the other warriors who had pledged their support. The army was now practically complete.\n\n15 August: the warriors left Buda and travelled southward. Supreme commanders John and Sigismund rode side by side most of the time. Their plan was to take Nicopolis (today's Nikopol), a fortified city on the banks of the Danube occupied by the Turks. This would give the crusaders free access to Bulgaria. On the way to Nicopolis, the army took the city of Vidin without much difficulty, an achievement that was sufficient to finally earn John of Burgundy his knighthood. Three hundred more youths underwent the coveted ritual with him, but he was the only one who could celebrate with a gold ribbon from Cyprus. The city of Rachowa was next to capitulate, although it put up more of a fight. The opposition was gradually growing.\n\n12 September: the troops finally reached the strategically vital city of Nicopolis. After a few fierce but futile assaults, the crusaders prepared for a long siege and installed themselves as comfortably as they could outside the city walls. Owing to the distance from the motherland and to lack of social control, the siege quickly degenerated into an unrestrained carnival of gastronomic and sexual excess. The crusaders arranged for a shipment of luxury products to be brought in via the Danube, and a horde of ladies of easy virtue set up their tents in the camp. Dressed in their elegant, long-sleeved garments, the Burgundians strutted beneath the walls of Nicopolis. But it was their 'chaussures \u00e0 la poulaine' that most amazed the Turkish prisoners. Known as 'Crakows' in England, these shoes were characterized by long, pointed toes. Sometimes the toes twisted out into an ornamental tendril of up to half a metre in length. The higher the rank, the longer the toe. Chronicler Michel Pintoin could not hide his disgust at such excessive vanity, especially because long-toed shoes made it difficult to kneel in prayer \u2013 and because they made it easier to lift ladies' skirts. At least Bayezid, the Turkish sultan, was a man who took his false religion seriously, according to Pintoin.\n\n24 September: Tirnovo. Less than two days' march from Nicopolis, the scouts of King Sigismund ran into the vanguard of the Turkish army. The luxurious goings-on at Nicopolis had given Sultan Bayezid enough time to suspend his siege of Constantinople and to move westward with all due haste. When the arrival of the 'Great Turk' was announced, the westerners were tucking into an elaborate dinner. A few of them brazenly cut the long toes off their shoes and then murdered the Turkish prisoners. It was a lynching for which they would pay a heavy price.\n\n25 September: Nicopolis. King Sigismund would have liked to have put Transylvanian troops in the vanguard, but he found himself clashing with the old French chivalric culture. Only John of Burgundy and his men could be granted the honour of being first to engage the enemy. Such a delicate job must never be entrusted to the peasantry. Sigismund took a dim view of this idea. He thought it would be far more interesting to strike the final blow. But the great knights had already left the starting block. 'Forward, in the name of God and Saint Denis!' With jaunty confidence they took down the light cavalry that Bayezid had deliberately sent out. Convinced of an imminent victory, they recklessly forged ahead, even while many of them fell under a rain of arrows. It was as if they had learned nothing from the battles of Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers. Soon the survivors came crashing into a barricade of sharpened poles that had been driven into the ground diagonally and were aimed right at them, ripping open the bellies of their horses. Once they were past that obstacle, the real battle began. Bayezid's strategy worked like a charm. The decimated French-Flemish-Burgundian troops came face to face with the Turkish infantry. The cries of 'Allahu akbar' gradually drowned out those of 'Montjoie! Saint-Denis!' John lived up to his reputation and hacked away courageously at the enemy surrounding him, but when Bayezid's cavalry mounted yet another attack he had to admit defeat. They took John prisoner, while Sigismund in the rearguard could do little more than flee. He survived the battle, but a considerable number of his German-Hungarian troops drowned in the Danube. When it was all over, the battlefield was awash with splendid colours and glistening jewels, but all that Burgundian glitter could not conceal the fact that the battle of Nicopolis had ended in a grandiose fiasco.\n\n26 September: still in Nicopolis. Standing on a rise overlooking the battlefield was a raging Bayezid. He had counted many of his troops among the dead, and had also learned how the Christian dogs had treated their prisoners. Chained together and stripped to their underwear, the French, Burgundians and Flemings appeared before the sultan. He gave the order to kill them all. A shudder ran through the ranks of the crusaders. The decision met with protest among the Turks because it meant far less ransom money. Only those of the highest rank were spared, since they were worth a great deal more. It was the messenger Jacques de Heilly who, because of his knowledge of the Turkish language, was given the unenviable job of indicating who would bring in a sufficient amount of cash. As 'son of the King of Flanders' John may have escaped death, but not the scene in which his fellow combatants played their role with fear and trembling. Scimitars worked without interruption, chopping away at the crusaders who were made to queue up naked in groups of four or five. They knew what was awaiting them. Before them lay piles of heads and torsos spouting blood. Hasty Flemish prayers and French curses on one side, weary executioners and Turkish sighing on the other.\n\nJohn of Burgundy, white as a sheet, was forced to stand there and watch. But when he saw Boucicaut in the queue he could no longer restrain himself. Falling to his knees, he begged the sultan to spare his good friend. It was the only other life that he was able to rescue. The Christian blood kept flowing for three hours until the sultan himself was sickened by it all. What remained of John's war contingent was almost entirely destroyed. Bayezid took thirty important seigneurs and princes into his custody, and most of the 300 other survivors were carried off as slaves. He had John and his men shipped off to Bursa in Anatolia.\n\nThe lord knights, who had spent most of the hours of their active lives on horseback, were forced to make the journey barefoot. Witnesses declared that John never lost his good humour during the humiliating death march and did all he could to comfort and cheer his companions. In reality, the ordeal must have affected each of them deeply, and those who survived would remember it for the rest of their days."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Pride And Folly'",
                "text": "With heavy hearts, Charles VI, Louis of Orl\u00e9ans and John of Berry learned of the long list of faithful supporters and family members who were lost to them. Philip the Bold was also hard hit. The death of Guy de la Tr\u00e9moille, marshal of Burgundy and one of his most loyal associates, grieved him deeply, while his wife, Margaret, mourned the loss of her Flemish half-brothers Louis de Haze, Louis de Fries and John van Vlaanderen, three bastard sons of Louis of Male. The very thought that her husband was languishing behind bars in faraway Anatolia almost sent John's wife, Margaret of Bavaria, into a nervous collapse. The Flemish admiral John of Cadzand had also departed this life on the battlefield. The Count of Eu and the great Ingelram de Coucy would soon die in captivity. The noble families who had no victims to mourn could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Nicopolis had robbed the French-Burgundian knighthood of its best and brightest. During the requiem Mass, those present in Notre-Dame Cathedral wept as much as they prayed. In the churches of Paris, Dijon and Ghent, the death knell rang without ceasing.\n\nIn the meantime, Jacques de Heilly had already begun his eastward journey to start discussing ransom money. Even in those brutal circumstances, there was no ceremonial detail that Philip the Bold failed to consider. Packed in Heilly's luggage were new clothes for his dear son, to help him retain his princely dignity. During the negotiations, Dino Rapondi, the duke's chief banker and purveyor, spoke words that would echo down the ages: 'There is nothing that cannot be fixed with gold and money.'\n\nAs it turned out, Burgundy had to cough up 710 kilograms of gold to ransom John and his entourage. The entire Crusade ended up costing far more than all the expenses for the Champmol monastery put together. Barely two years after the imposition of heavy taxes to pay for the Crusade in the first place, Philip's lands were now expected to hand over even more piles of cash. The payments did have a striking side effect: for the first time, the discrete regions began to look like a single Burgundian entity."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "In the company of only ten noblemen, John finally set foot again on French soil. On 22 February 1398 he could take his one-and-a-half-year-old son in his arms for the first time. The baby had come into the world on 31 July 1396, when his father was still on his way to Nicopolis. Deeply moved, John the Fearless stared into the eyes of the later Philip the Good, the duke who would do the most to brighten the sheen of Burgundy's glory. It would be another month before John could embrace his own father in Ghent. In Bruges the two were received by John's tutor, Baldwin van der Nieppe, who had now become chancellor of Flanders and provost of St Donatian's church, thanks to the intercession of his former disciple. It was the beginning of a triumphal procession that brought a grateful John the Fearless to all the major Flemish cities. After all, that's where most of his ransom money had come from.\n\nIn Kortrijk, Ypres, Bruges, Sluis and Ghent, crowds of people gathered to see the Burgundian parade. Remarkably, the atmosphere of mourning and funeral rites had turned into a mood of festivity and celebration. Philip the Bold did all he could to make his investment in the Crusade pay off. By constantly banging on about his son's heroic deeds, and by peddling him as a chivalric trophy, Philip succeeded in suppressing thoughts of the defeat. His long imprisonment in a Turkish cell conferred on John a kind of martyr's crown. In addition, the future Duke of Burgundy, otherwise known as the Count of Flanders, had shown himself a brave combatant, had refused to be pushed around in prison and had consistently demonstrated what a worthy leader he was. Far from tarnishing John's honour, the defeat at Nicopolis would actually enhance his reputation. In fact, it would leave him with the famous sobriquet John the Fearless, just as Philip owed his bold reputation to the defeat at Poitiers in 1356. That the biggest debacles of their time provided both father and son with such illustrious monikers shows how well the Burgundians understood the importance of propaganda.\n\nA few of the Turks who travelled with John were baptized, and one of them even entered the Carthusian monastery of Champmol. Fashion inspired by Nicopolis was briefly all the rage. In the ducal palace at Dijon, Philip's little namesake walked around for a while dressed as an Ottoman prince. Twenty years later he would come across a great many Turkish weapons among the items inherited from his father. But the disastrous enterprise had far more significant repercussions. The survivors of the Nicopolis adventure would occupy key positions in John's personal household and would be instrumental in shaping policy for the next two decades.\n\nWhile the Burgundian Crusade may have been born of Christian and propagandistic ambition, once it had been set in motion the whole enterprise quickly turned into an extravagant display of valour. Bravado proved to be more important than tactics and reconnaissance. Swaggering trumped pragmatism. This exaggerated cult of heroism had led to one disaster after another \u2013 from Cr\u00e9cy via Poitiers to the aborted landing in England \u2013 without bringing about a change in mentality. Despite the dishonourable debacle of Nicopolis, overconfidence remained persistently fashionable. The fact that John the Fearless was welcomed home as a hero, and that epic poetry was written in his honour, was not only the result of cleverly concocted propaganda. It also demonstrated a chronic lack of self-criticism.\n\nYet two chroniclers dared to address the cracks in the knightly escutcheon. In his last writings, Eustache Deschamps would report critically on the 'pride and folly' of the crusaders. His colleague Jean Froissart reproached the Burgundians for their 'great desire to win honour' and pointed out how their craving for ostentation was diametrically opposed to the virtue of Christian modesty. Vanity may be as human as hunger, thirst and sex, but on this point the Burgundians seemed more human than all the English and the Turks put together. Nicopolis proved to be the most opulent funeral that the ancient chivalric ideal had ever dreamed of organizing, except neither the participants nor the onlookers realized it at the time.\n\nThe Burgundian Crusade did have a positive military outcome that was quite unexpected. Bayezid may have won, but he lost so many troops that he emerged from the battle in a weakened state. In 1402 he was crushed by the Mongol-Turkish horde of Timur the Great, which reduced the fervour of Ottoman expansionism for quite some time. As a result, the death throes of the languishing Eastern Roman Empire and its last bastion, Constantinople, were prolonged for several more decades. Naturally, the Burgundians wasted no time claiming that Europe owed its renewed tranquillity to John the Fearless."
            },
            {
                "title": "'We're Really Going To Miss The Good Duke Of Burgundy'",
                "text": "On 27 April 1404 a Burgundian officer knocked on the door of the Carthusian monastery of Herne in Hainaut. He insisted on seeing the prior. Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and Count of Flanders, had unexpectedly succumbed to the effects of a flu. He was fifteen kilometres away in the small city of Halle near Brussels, and he was sixty-two years old. In compliance with the duke's wishes, the officer had come to ask for a Carthusian habit. The best-dressed man of his time had stipulated in writing that he wanted to be buried in the traditional costume of the most shabbily dressed monastic order.\n\nThe duke had come to Brussels for the Brabant transfer of power. Duchess Joanna, now eighty-one, realized that her time was up, which meant that Burgundy's had finally arrived. Strictly speaking, Joanna was ceding all her powers, something that naturally called for a big celebration. In order to avoid an excessive concentration of power, it had been agreed earlier that not Philip but his second son, Anthony, would become the new duke. For the time being, Brabant did not fall to the duke himself, and even though the councilmen were Brabantians and retained their own chancellor, the duchy gradually acquired a strong Burgundian flavour.\n\nOn 16 April, Philip arrived in Brussels in the company of his three sons: John, Anthony and Philip. Ten days later, the Burgundian party caravan was transformed into a mobile hospital. Philip had suddenly been overcome by a fever, so he set his course for Arras, where his wife, Margaret, was staying. Peasants and ditch-diggers led the way, trying to flatten the road ahead of Philip's carriage, in which he was lying on a chaise. But soon it became apparent that he had the flu, which had already taken so many victims in that region, and his suffering became so severe that he could go no further. The procession stopped in the town of Halle. Right across from the church, in an inn known as Den Hert, he breathed his last on Sunday, 27 April.\n\nThe heart of the king's son was taken to the French necropolis in Saint-Denis near Paris, his intestines were given a place in the crypt of the basilica of Saint Martin in Halle, Hainaut, and his embalmed body set out on its last journey to Burgundy. The division of his dead body perfectly summarized his career. Philip was born in 1342 in Pontoise, not far from Paris, where for years he would be the most powerful man in France. In 1369 he married Margaret of Flanders in Ghent, the city to which, after years of struggle, he would firmly commit himself. In 1385 in Cambrai he married his son John into the house of Bavaria, which ruled over Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, and he reinforced that tie by marrying his daughter Margaret into the same house. In 1388 a military campaign took him to Nijmegen, which provided Philip with the duchy of Limburg and a formal promise of Brabant. During the festivities celebrating the crowning of his son Anthony as Duke of Brabant in 1404, he died surrounded by his loved ones. He was entombed in Champmol, Burgundy, where all the foregoing regions came together in one unprecedented artistic melting pot.\n\nAfter marrying well himself, Philip spent a great deal of time developing a politics of marriage that was unequalled in the Late Middle Ages. Not only did he work on making interesting matches for John and Margaret, but he also saw to it that his other children enjoyed marital bliss, materially speaking. In this way he succeeded in forcing the influence of Burgundy into the duchies of Savoy and Luxembourg, the Austria of the Habsburgs, and Picardy, which in the Late Middle Ages was the collective name for the seigniories north of Paris where Flemish was not spoken. At the same time, he was careful not to neglect the tie with the French royal house, and just before his death he arranged for the marriage of his grandson Philip the Good with Michelle of Valois, daughter of Charles VI. This same grandson would patiently assemble the pieces of the territorial puzzle that his grandfather had gathered until one day a Burgundy suddenly emerged that was universally feared and admired. Chronicler Jean Froissart was entirely correct when he wrote that Philip the Bold 'saw far into the future'.\n\nOn 27 April 1404 his sons had little time for historical musings. Not only were John, Anthony and Philip overcome with grief, but they were also confronted with acute financial problems. Their father, who spent more in his lifetime than his three sons put together would ever do, didn't have enough cash on hand to pay for his own funeral. Suddenly, silverware had to be pawned and money borrowed without delay. That small detail was typical of the pecuniary position of the former duke. Because of his inordinate spending he often found himself in financial trouble, but each time he reassured himself by remembering that rich Flanders was in his purse and everything would turn out well. Thanks to financier Dino Rapondi it did this time too, but it was quite a feat to get all 155 members of the funeral cort\u00e8ge dressed in black in five days' time. Finally, the journey to Dijon could commence, a trip that Philip had taken countless times. He was dressed as a simple Carthusian and carried in a lead-lined casket via Geraardsbergen, Oudenaarde, Kortrijk, Lille, Douai and six other cities. The caravan arrived in Champmol on 16 June."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "Death was a matter of vital importance in the Late Middle Ages. You had to make sure you were thoroughly prepared by showing contrition for your sins and taking enough time to pray. Once you were six feet under, the work was far from over. Then your relatives had to pray for you. A great many years yawned between God's first verdict and the final weigh-in on Judgement Day, and once you landed in purgatory you would really be in need of sublunary assistance. That meant Masses for the dead, and even though the number of required Masses could sometimes bring a family to ruin, no better protection from hell had yet been discovered. But Philip was in good hands. His Carthusians had soundly discharged their duties and could easily carry on for a few more centuries. In addition, the closer the mortal remains were to the source of prayer, the more potent the spiritual effect. Here, too, the duke scored well. He could literally hear the monks praying from his tomb.\n\nIn the first centuries of its existence, Christianity did not allow ordinary people to be buried near churches. Such places were reserved for saints and prelates. Gradually this practice changed, and when Catholicism emerged as a national religion there was no turning back. Everyone wanted to be interred as close to the altar as possible. While the burials of rich people in the church's far-off early days were conducted in an atmosphere of restraint, such funerals would now blossom into prestigious affairs in which no expense was spared. In the fourteenth century it was the length of the funeral cort\u00e8ge that showed whether you had many 'friends' and whether you were important or not. Philip understood this quite well, as was clear from the spectacular funeral he organized to honour his father-in-law, Louis of Male, in 1384. Now he wanted to go even further and turn his own tomb into an everlasting spectacle, where he would be able to rest in peace throughout eternity. At the end of the eighteenth century the revolutionaries tried to destroy this work of art, of course, but thanks to skilful hands and well-executed restorations, everyone can gaze in admiration at this alabaster and marble miracle in Dijon's Museum of Fine Arts.\n\nWe must not forget that the mortal remains of the duke lay in a crypt beneath the monument, and that now all our attention is focused on the tomb above ground. We see Philip himself lying in state, life-size, his eyes open and his hands folded heavenward. Reclining at his feet is a lamenting lion, and at his head are two charming angels \u2013 a lovely reference to the status of man, a creature halfway between angel and beast. The winged beings grasp Philip's helmet as if they were about to slide it over his head. We have to imagine Sluter, stooping far over to carve the smallest details on the inside of the helmet. What we see emerging is no longer stone but real leather. The polychrome is again by Johan Maelwael. A recent restoration has revealed that both the striking detail of the seam and the extremely realistic padding of the helmet continue on to the furthest point, which you can't even see when the monument is in its normal position. But our eyes are drawn downward to the forty pleurants, the mourning figures beneath the recumbent duke, who re-enact his funeral cort\u00e8ge.\n\nPhilip's generous patronage gave Sluter the chance to shape the standard characteristics of the art of his time, but it also gave him the freedom to push its boundaries. Over the previous century, the sarcophagus of a monarch, which had started out as a rather sober affair, had become an art object that depicted not only the deceased but also his entire funeral. Sluter had not opted for the typical bas-relief, however, nor for the more adventurous high relief. Instead, he resolutely placed the pleurants in the space allotted to them as three-dimensional figures. The arrangement is not a haphazard one but a sophisticated mise-en-sc\u00e8ne. Out from beneath the superbly carved arched vaults of a monastery corridor come the bishop and the priests who will celebrate the Mass, followed by a few Carthusians, members of the family and royal household, and finally several servants. Sluter wanted to bring the entire procession theatrically to life as it moved from Halle to Champmol, with room for interaction between the mourners: a look of understanding here, a gesture of consolation there.\n\nHas the author of this book mentioned that you really ought to visit Dijon? When you do, squat down and notice how each figure has been given its own pose and expression, how naturally the figures scratch the backs of their heads, brush away their tears or page through books, how beautifully details such as buttons, pages, rosaries, purses and belts are crafted, how the folds of the garments fall so realistically, how a few of the mourners are entirely hidden beneath their swaying monks' hoods, how authentic the glances of the others are, how correct the wrinkles\u2026 Feel how the alabaster begins to breathe. It's almost as if these mourning individuals, who are expected to grieve for Philip the Bold forever, had stopped what they were doing for a moment and will immediately start moving again.\n\nDuke and artist both coloured outside the lines, each in his own way, and on the threshold of the fifteenth century they both advanced the wheel of time by a single cog. While Philip let the centuries-old feudal garments subtly slip from his shoulders with the founding of a new dynasty that would unite Burgundy in the south with a handful of northern counties and duchies, Sluter, with his profound realism, pointed the way to the meticulously detailed art of the Van Eyck brothers and other Flemish Primitives, who would give their figures the look of living statues \u00e0 la Sluter.\n\nNo matter how skilfully the Haarlem-born artist managed to bring marble and alabaster to life, his name and fame have passed into oblivion in his own land. It's true that he can be seen strutting among the other art heroes on the south facade of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, and he even pops up a second time in a stained-glass window in the entrance hall. Yet almost no one in the Netherlands knows who he was. The one or two people whose eyes happen to fall on his likeness just walk away with a shrug."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "Now that his master had been called to his eternal reward, it seemed to the weary Claus Sluter that all his hard labour would soon take its toll on him as well. Yet he continued to work with great discipline on the tomb of Philip the Bold, which was not yet ready by the summer of 1404. His new boss, John the Fearless, kept pressing him to hurry, but in that same year an exhausted Sluter withdrew to the abbey of Saint-\u00c9tienne and was seen less and less frequently at the construction site. All that is left of his last residence in Dijon is the fourteenth-century gate, through which the decrepit artist shuffled to get to his studio during the last months of his life. In 1406, the greatest sculptor of the Late Middle Ages passed away with the comforting thought that Claus van de Werve, whom he himself had trained and who had worked at his side for almost ten years, would continue his oeuvre.\n\nIt was a time of death and harvesting. In December 1404 Albert of Bavaria also traded the temporal for the eternal, making his son William count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. Logically, William's wife, Margaret of Burgundy, the sister of John the Fearless, came to sit beside her husband on the throne. Their three-year-old daughter Jacqueline would grow into one of the most famous women in the history of the Low Countries, and two decades later would carry on a desperate struggle with Philip the Good, who was now only eight years old. Their common grandmother, Margaret of Flanders, left this life on 16 March 1405, so that John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, also became Count of Flanders in one fell swoop.\n\nThe seeds that progenitor Philip the Bold had so carefully planted in Burgundian soil would germinate and send up shoots in the year of his death. Without doubt, he and his grandson Philip the Good were the greatest of the four Burgundian dukes. Thanks to him, the new dynasty could spread its wings into the fifteenth century.\n\nHe himself had planned to travel to Paris as quickly as possible after the transfer of power in Brussels in order to thwart the plans of Louis of Orl\u00e9ans. Orl\u00e9ans was of the opinion that Burgundy's domination had gone on long enough. Every time Charles VI suffered a mental collapse, Louis took advantage of the situation by gaining a tighter hold on the reins of power, plunging his hand deeper into the treasury and provoking England. Five years earlier, the Francophile King Richard II had been overthrown and then murdered a year later under mysterious circumstances. The new English king, Henry IV, seemed ready to respect the peace, at least for the present, but the future would show how premature that notion was. If the duke didn't intervene, or so he thought, even bigger problems would arise. Three years earlier, Philip had raised a small army near Paris to intimidate Louis of Orl\u00e9ans. In that he was successful, but in 1404 the rebellious nephew began making more noise. Undoubtedly, the duke must have devoted his last lucid thoughts at Joanna's festivities to searching for a lasting solution.\n\nExcept now he was dead and the ball was in his son's court. Philip's diplomatic approach would clear the field for the aggressive politics of John the Fearless. 'I'm telling you, we're really going to miss the good Duke of Burgundy,' noted the writer Christine de Pizan immediately after his death. Soon she would be proved right.\n\nOr how a Burgundian assassination brought France to the verge of collapse and how John the Fearless found a safe haven in Flanders, which successfully championed the use of the vernacular.\n\n'MONSEIGNEUR, THE KING requests that you come to him without delay. He urgently wishes to speak to you about a matter that concerns you both.' The chamberlain of Charles VI had scarcely spoken these words than Louis of Orl\u00e9ans jumped to his feet. In recent years he had begun acting as his mad brother's deputy, more or less. On several occasions the king became so unhinged that he refused to shave or dress himself. Charles screamed that he was made of glass, that he could shatter into pieces at any moment. Eventually he became covered in scabies and pustules. Fleas leaped through the palace halls. Louis visited Charles less and less frequently. But occasionally the king was clear-headed and would try to participate in ruling the country. Had another such period of lucidity now arrived? Then Louis would have to hurry to Charles's side in order to maintain his influence. Or was he in great need? As the closest blood relative, it would be his responsibility to care for him.\n\nThe Duke of Orl\u00e9ans took leave of Queen Isabeau after having tried to lift her spirits. She had just given birth to a son, who had not survived the day of his birth. She and her husband had been spending most of their time apart since the madness struck, and she and Louis had become very intimate. The refined youth of earlier days had grown into a mature, attractive adult whom women found it very hard to resist. Evil tongues whispered that Isabeau's most recent children were not those of Charles VI, but that the future Charles VII was actually an Orl\u00e9ans. The queen could hardly be blamed if it were true. It must have been a source of great suffering having to share her life for the past fifteen years with a madman.\n\nIt was 23 November 1407 and Louis left the queen's chambers at about seven in the evening. It would be the last time the two saw each other."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "In recent years, the tension between the Duke of Orl\u00e9ans and John the Fearless had reached a fever pitch. After the death of Philip the Bold, there was, unsurprisingly, no room for the new Burgundian duke in the regency council. His father had been an uncle of the sick king, but John was only one of many cousins. Now that the flow of state money had been blocked, the Burgundian court, with its love of ostentation, was forced to take a big drop in income, and the duke found himself in a tight spot. He did everything he could to secure a place for himself in the regency council. First he tried to justify his presence by manipulating public opinion. Wasn't Louis hoping to breathe new life into the war with England? Wasn't Orl\u00e9ans opposed to ending the Western Schism? Was he not bleeding the populace dry with excessive taxes? And had he not enriched himself by plundering the treasury? In other words, shouldn't John occupy a place in the inner circle in order to avoid a total calamity? His populist remarks \u2013 especially the promise to lower taxes \u2013 made John the Fearless well liked among the general population.\n\nBut Louis of Orl\u00e9ans would not let himself be browbeaten so easily. He may have been less of a crowd-pleaser, but he did have the legal right to chair the council and exclude his cousin. As a result, the Burgundian duke felt compelled to put on a show of military force. In the summer of 1405 he formally pledged himself to his brother Anthony and his brother-in-law William, creating an official alliance between the Flemish-Burgundian state and the strong blocs of Brabant-Limburg and Hainaut-Holland-Zeeland, another step towards a stronger tie between the various regions of the Low Countries. With that impressive military backing, he demanded a seat on the regency council. But he could not prevent Louis, as clever as he was charming, from winning over most of the members and continuing to have the most say. Orl\u00e9ans retained control over the keys to the treasury and did not hesitate to use that money to support the Burgundian's foreign enemies. He held the position that Philip the Bold had regarded as his own for so long, that of the most powerful man in the land.\n\nSo after taking leave of the queen on that November evening in 1407, Louis was in a particularly good mood. Astride his mule, he played nonchalantly with one of his gloves. The reins hung loose in his hands, and he was humming a tune. He regarded himself as lord and master, especially because more than six hundred knights and squires were quartered in Paris. Couldn't he summon them with just one snap of his fingers? Except that now he had no desire for a heavily armed escort. Why should he? He was only a few streets away from the H\u00f4tel Saint-Pol, the immense palace complex in the Marais where his brother, Charles VI, had his residence. Was he not the all-powerful Duke of Orl\u00e9ans? Didn't everyone step aside when he passed by? Two squires on one horse were riding ahead of him, six servants lit the way with torches. They languidly continued down the Rue Vieille-du-Temple. The atmosphere was jovial.\n\nJohn the Fearless was sick and tired of Orl\u00e9ans's hold on power. Although he had secured himself a place among the greats of the kingdom, he found it difficult to step away from the shadow of his rival. And to top it off, a few months earlier Louis had reorganized the king's Great Council, an advisory body consisting of legal experts, prelates and prominent citizens, while John was tending to business in Flanders. Louis profited from his absence by reducing the number of members by half, and as fate would have it, John's pawns were among those dismissed, leaving the Great Council entirely in Orl\u00e9ans's hands. When John returned he could barely contain his rage.\n\nWhat also got under his skin was Louis's shameless skirt-chasing. Orl\u00e9ans was a Don Juan who openly bragged about his female conquests. He even collected their portraits! On one occasion, when the Burgundian happened to find himself in Orl\u00e9ans's amorous Valhalla, he felt his blood run cold. In one corner he saw a portrait of his own wife. That the successful dandy had also seduced his spouse has never been proved, but it was not beyond the realm of possibility. In any case, it gave a personal touch to the political feud that was about to erupt in 1407. Burgundian spies claimed that an attempt on John's life was in the works. Later, these proved to be very vague plans, but for the duke the situation was abundantly clear: it was either him or Louis. Orl\u00e9ans's 600 warriors hadn't come to the capital for nothing. John had convinced himself that simply being on his guard was not enough. He had to be proactive, and he had already hired a band of assassins.\n\nWhen Orl\u00e9ans and his retinue passed through the Barbette gate on 23 November, a handful of masked men leaped out of the shadows. One of them cried, 'Kill him! Kill him!' and struck Orl\u00e9ans with his axe. It wasn't enough to knock Louis from his mule. Indeed, he still had enough strength to call them to account by shouting, 'I am the Duke of Orl\u00e9ans!' as if he was sure the brigands would quickly change their minds. Their answer proved just the opposite: 'He's the one we're looking for!' After a second blow he fell from his mount. The thirty-five-year-old duke scrambled to his knees and cried, 'Who is that? Who is doing that?' They responded by bludgeoning him with sticks and axes and chopping off his clenched left hand.\n\nHis squire, Jacob van Mekeren, who came from Horssen near Nijmegen, threw himself upon his master like a living shield and thereby earned himself a certain death. 'Murder! Murder!' shrieked a woman from a nearby window. The men fired a few arrows at her and shouted at her to shut her mouth. She did, although later on she would recount everything in detail.\n\nWhen the duke showed no more signs of life, the group of hirelings began to slink away. A deep wound ran from the duke's left ear to his right, a terrible fissure through which his brains protruded. One of the murderers delivered a final quick blow with his club, another threw a burning torch into one of the houses. 'Fire! Fire!' they cried, before disappearing into the night."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "Hanging at the entrance to the Impasse des Arbal\u00e9triers in Paris there is still a sign that commemorates the murder: 'Dans ces parages, Jean-Sans-Peur, duc de Bourgogne, fit assassiner par des spadassins, le 23 novembre 1407, son cousin Louis, le duc d'Orl\u00e9ans.' His guilt has gone unquestioned for more than six centuries, but at first no one suspected John the Fearless.\n\nOne day later, the royal family paid their last respects to the body of Louis in a church near the place where the crime was committed. Son Charles, who had just celebrated his thirteenth birthday, was inconsolable. Orl\u00e9ans's left hand and part of his brains had just been found lying in the street. They were placed with his mortal remains. John the Fearless also came to express his condolences. He looked distressed and seemed quite shocked. 'Never has a more malicious and treacherous murder been committed in this kingdom,' he said bitterly. Everyone gathered round the bier agreed with him. Interestingly, the atmosphere in the streets of Paris was buoyant. Ordinary people seemed relieved that Orl\u00e9ans the tax fiend had been put to the sword. 'Blessed be he who cut him down to size,' they said, 'for if he had lived any longer he would have sent the whole kingdom to perdition.'\n\nAt first, suspicions were harboured against another enemy of Louis of Orl\u00e9ans. But when it was discovered that the man had skipped town more than a year before without leaving a forwarding address, the investigation was dropped. John thought he had made a lucky escape, until the provost of Paris decided to search the palaces of the city's grandees. Water carriers claimed that on the night of the attack they had seen the murderers flee in the direction of the H\u00f4tel d'Artois, the Burgundian duke's residence. Suddenly John felt the net closing in around him, and on the evening after the funeral, in a burst of contrition, he confessed to his uncle John of Berry that, 'driven by the devil', he had given orders to have the murder committed. The sixty-seven-year-old Duke of Berry was stunned. With tears in his eyes, he said, 'I am losing my two nephews.'\n\nJohn the Fearless fled the French capital at breakneck speed. In one day he covered 140 kilometres on horseback, stopped to rest in \u00c9clusier near the Somme, crossed the river the next morning, and set his course for Lille. In his rich land of Flanders he felt safe. His brothers Anthony and Philip, the four Members of Flanders and the most important barons and counts assured him of their complete support. That was a great relief. But the question remained: what should he do now? His craven display of bereavement, his remarkable confession and the inglorious flight had put him in an extremely awkward position.\n\nThe assassination constituted a definitive break with the cautious, intelligent and visionary politics of his father. From now on, John would always have to stay one step ahead of his enemies. Suspicion became the Burgundians' second nature. In fact, after 23 November 1407 suspicion would become endemic among the French for years to come."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Anything Walloon Is Treacherous'",
                "text": "The fact that Flanders had received him with open arms was not so surprising. Two years earlier, during his Joyous Entry, the Four Members (Ghent, Bruges, Ypres and the Franc of Bruges) had served him with a list of substantial demands, and John the Fearless had complied with every one of them.\n\nFirst of all, he promised to spend more time in Flanders and to do so on a regular basis \u2013 after all, here he was \u2013 and if that was not possible, to allow his wife, Margaret, to reside there. From that time on he would spend an average of two to six months a year in the north. He also assured the Flemings that he would get to work on a trade agreement with England. Orl\u00e9ans's sabre-rattling had caused the old wound to start festering again. The agreement would be quick in coming, thereby enabling the Flemish textile industry to run at full speed once more, thanks to imported English wool. John demonstrated that he, like his father, could speak with a forked tongue: using threatening language against England and laying siege to the English Calais, but just for show \u2013 to placate anti-English Paris and to reach a better agreement with Albion.\n\nWith all these efforts, John managed to gain the support of the Flemish cities. His purpose was not to weaken their power but to make himself indispensable as count and duke. By encouraging marriages that tied important families to the ducal clan, and by stimulating the appointment of abbots and bishops who were favourably disposed towards him, he succeeded in penetrating Flemish inner circles. The cities had to admit that since the Peace of Tournai was signed in 1385 the Burgundian dukes had acted as excellent counts of Flanders. John the Fearless was described as 'courtly, modest, amenable and even good-natured'.\n\nFinally, during his Joyous Entry, John had sworn that the ducal court of law, known as the Council of Flanders, would be moved from the French-speaking city of Lille to the Dutch-speaking region of the county, and that his subjects would be addressed in their own language. Only a few weeks later the court of law was officially moved to Oudenaarde, and two years later even to Ghent, which had been called the 'wicked city' thirty years before.\n\nIn answer to the quite provocative question put by the Flemish cities \u2013 whether the inhabitants of Dijon or Nevers would be happy if he spoke to them in Flemish \u2013 John was just as gracious. From now on, his correspondence with the Flemings would be written in Dutch. The Flemings, who were as self-confident as they were proud, were aware that they were a cash cow for Burgundy, and they acted accordingly. John donned velvet gloves in order to milk his Flemish cow as elegantly as possible.\n\nThe Four Members had also asked that officials who were not fluent in Dutch be simply dismissed. One thing was clear: the language question was proving to be extremely sensitive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "It would be a long time before any effort was made to standardize the local languages of the Low Countries. It just wasn't necessary. Most communication took place within the same small community, where everyone understood everyone else. So the term 'Dutch' (Diets) does not refer to a single standard language, which didn't even exist at the time. It is a collective term for all the local languages that were being spoken: Flemish, Brabantic, Hollandic, Limburgish, and so forth. For centuries, Latin had been the international lingua franca. Noblemen were usually a bit less literate, and they had clergymen write down their doings and dealings in the language of Virgil. Over the course of the twelfth century a change occurred, and the need arose in the Low Countries to write things down in the vernacular as well.\n\nIn past centuries, any cross-border contacts maintained by the county of Flanders were usually with France. As important vassals of the French king, the counts tended to speak very good French \u2013 if they weren't French-speaking already. There was little need for translations of treaties and agreements. The demand for texts in the vernacular would arise elsewhere. It began in the twelfth century, when the cities insisted that the rights they had wrung from the counts be enshrined in official documents. At the same time, the need arose within those same cities to lay down various agreements in writing. At first the new documents were still written in Latin \u2013 starting in 1147 in Ghent and in 1170 in Ypres \u2013 but over the course of the thirteenth century the vernacular seeped into the pens of clerks, aldermen and magistrates.\n\nLatin fell from its official pedestal. What man on the street understood the language of the ancient Romans anyway? The demographic explosion that took place in the cities brought with it an avalanche of administrative documents written in the vernacular. It was a matter of dire necessity. 'There are cities where the rich families usurp the government and exclude the common people. The civil authorities require the lord to demand payments every year, in public, and in the presence of representatives of the lower orders,' wrote a royal bailiff in 1281. Specialists regard the statutes of the Ghent leprosarium from 1236 as the first administrative text written in a vernacular of the Low Countries. This was followed in 1250 by the aldermen's deeds in that same city, and in 1262 Bruges joined in.\n\nIn most Flemish cities a bilingual system was in common use, simply because the nobility spoke French. In Brabant and in the northern regions of the Low Countries there was an evolution towards the exclusive use of Brabantic, Zeelandic or Hollandic: Middelburg in 1254, Lubbeek and Delft in 1267, Dordrecht in 1277 and Haarlem in 1280. If a document in Latin was issued, it was usually a translation of a Dutch draft text that was meant to be read aloud to the local authorities. Latin had become a dead language \u2013 a ceremonial language at the very most.\n\nOf the 2,000 Middle Dutch texts from before 1300 that have been preserved, 70 per cent were drawn up in Flemish, 17 per cent in Hollandic and 11 per cent in Brabantic. The remaining 2 per cent concern regional languages from Utrecht, Limburg and Zeeland. Most of the Flemish texts came from Bruges, an international trade hub where commercial translations of transactions were more than welcome.\n\nThe vernacular also made its debut in literature. The first was Hendrik van Veldeke, who began writing in Maaslandic in 1170. Jan van Heelu followed one century later with his Brabantic Rijnkroniek van de slag bij Woeringen (1288). But it was mainly Jacob van Maerlant, who was born in the Franc of Bruges and, according to legend, could write with two hands at the same time. He would prove his literary skill in Middle Dutch over the course of the thirteenth century. At first he produced translations of French chivalric romances, but gradually he abandoned these models because he found that the frivolous southerners were more interested in rhyme and beauty than in historical accuracy. Van Maerlant summarized his course of action succinctly in an expression that is still being repeated, often wrenched out of context: 'Die scone Walsche valsche poeten' (Those beautiful, treacherous Walloon poets). Contrary to what later would be frequently claimed, this was not a political-linguistic statement. Van Maerlant was merely reproaching the French poets (by Walloon he meant French) for playing fast and loose with the facts in order to improve the style of their narrative. Hendrik Conscience later seized these words and ran off with them, dropping the context and twisting them to his own liking: 'Wat Walsch is, valsch is.' (Anything Walloon is treacherous.) Of course, the Flemish Movement preferred to quote the Conscience version of Van Maerlant's statement.\n\nVan Maerlant was so successful that his strophic poem Wapene Martijn was the first Middle Dutch work to be translated into French. Not only did he pen a historic novel, a world history and an encyclopedia of biology, but this 'father of all Middle Dutch poetry' also produced a retelling of the entire Bible in Middle Dutch \u2013 to the irritation of a great many clerics who were not happy that the plebs now had access to biblical wisdom. His books brought about a wide dissemination of beauty and truth in the vernacular. With his Spiegel Historiael (1288), Van Maerlant successfully transformed the Latin world history Speculum Historiale into a singular Middle Dutch work that was as readable as it was didactic. After the founding of the University of Leuven in 1425, academic research would mostly be conducted in Latin. The elitist character of such writings became highly pronounced once more, while the number of readers plummeted."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "The linguistic evolution could not bring about change in the county administration. The counts pretended nothing was happening and continued to communicate in French. But in 1352 Louis of Male put a stop to it. He must have been the only Flemish count who resorted to Flemish as the working language in official documents, even though French was the language of his court, and did so for a solid thirty years. The arrival of the French-Burgundian Philip the Bold turned the clock back in this regard. After the difficult war years, Philip may have emerged as a good administrator, but when it came to language he was a failure. He neither understood nor spoke a single word of Flemish, and his son John the Fearless had to deal with that frustration. In view of the French politics of his father and of the predecessors of his grandfather, John's relaxed attitude was surprising, to say the least. But in the end, he was and remained a French prince. The fact that he responded to all language-related complaints was part of a carefully considered policy from which he benefited considerably in Flanders. Thanks to the duke's concessions, the Flemish language certainly did move forward, although that could only have happened as smoothly as it did because a great deal of administrative work in the cities had already been drawn up in the vernacular.\n\nGhent and Bruges, the latter in particular, were among the economic leaders of Europe, and those who wanted to do a brisk business there were at a distinct advantage if they had mastered the local vernacular and didn't have to bother working through a translator. Sometimes the Four Members even required foreigners to 'put their request into writing as close to the Flemish as they can'. For their part, shrewd Flemish businessmen made sure they had several languages in their skill set. The stereotypical image of the Low Countries polyglot probably had its roots in the international trade establishments of Bruges.\n\nThe fact that John the Fearless tried to speak to his northern subjects in their own language \u2013 'to the best of my ability' \u2013 meant he could count on considerable sympathy among them. John emphasized his commitment to Flanders by choosing the Middle Dutch phrases Ic zwijge (I remain silent) and Ic houd (I persevere) as his personal mottos. He also saw to it that his son Philip learned to speak and write Flemish by the age of three, and Philip's son Charles the Bold would follow the same path. Yet none of this could prevent French from increasing in importance in Flanders during the Burgundian era.\n\nJohn the Fearless must have attained a degree of proficiency in order to converse in Flemish, but like his court and his immediate staff he always spontaneously conversed in French. In addition, the court of auditors in Lille, which controlled Flemish finances, was French-speaking, as were the reports of the ducal court of law in Ghent. So if you really wanted to be included and to participate at the highest level, bilingualism was a must. Most Flemish careerists spoke French as well and as often as they could, and they sent their children to the south to practise the language, 'buten lands omme walsch te leren' (to foreign lands to learn walsch \u2013 French). In some cases they even Gallicized their all too Flemish-sounding names. With the steady centralization of power and the mechanism of ambition-driven upward mobility, French would only become more prestigious. Even the linguistic skills attributed to the Flemings emphasized the superiority of French. Flemish was acceptable and permissible, but French remained the language of the dukes and therefore of the elite and those in power.\n\nOn 9 December 1407, when John, through confidant Simon de Saulx, abbot of the Burgundian monastery in Moutiers-Saint-Jean, disclosed the sad fate of the Duke of Orl\u00e9ans in Lille, it was in French. The next day a translation was handed to the Four Members of Flanders."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Such A Person Deserved To Be Burned At The Stake'",
                "text": "A month after the murder of Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, John the Fearless had yet to be officially convicted, despite the appeals of Valentine Visconti, Louis's inconsolable widow. Incredible, perhaps, but it was no mean feat to execute a prince of his calibre without triggering a civil war in the process. Negotiators sought a compromise, but the proposal to let Burgundy go scot-free on the condition that he hand the murderers over to the law courts did not go down well with John. He didn't want a solution that was as half-hearted as it was cowardly. On the contrary, he wanted his deeds to be justified.\n\nAt the head of 800 armed horsemen, John made his re-entry into Paris on 28 February 1408. He was met with cheers, much to the dismay of the Orl\u00e9ans supporters. The duke who had left the kingdom as a murderer under the cloak of night returned as the messiah who would rescue the French from a heavy tax burden. He had coaxed the theologian Jean Petit to ride along with him. Petit had written a scholarly treatise proving John's innocence.\n\nOn 8 March almost all the dignitaries and prominent men of learning were present in the H\u00f4tel Saint-Pol, the palace that the late lamented Orl\u00e9ans had failed to reach two months earlier. The very last to enter the crowded hall was John the Fearless. His red flannel coat had long sleeves and was decorated with gold leaves. When he held up his arm, everyone could see that beneath all that glitter he was wearing a hauberk, a coat of mail that imparted a touch of the military to his ceremonial presence. Behind this man, who would yield to no one, the door slammed shut.\n\nTheologian Jean Petit held forth for four long hours without once raising his voice. His words spoke for themselves. He accused Louis of using sorcery and devilish incantations to arouse the madness of his brother, to plunder the treasury, to promote the Schism, to attempt to have the king put to death on more than one occasion. Finally, Petit delivered his verdict, still at the same pitch: 'Such a person deserved to be burned at the stake.' He meant to prove the innocence of John the Fearless by means of a syllogism: it was good to murder a tyrant; Louis of Orl\u00e9ans was a tyrant; therefore the fact that the duke had taken upon himself the disagreeable task of getting rid of the devil incarnate should be cause for jubilation. A great many of the people in the crowd were dumbfounded but didn't have the temerity to question his conclusion.\n\nThe next day, the Great Council of the King acquitted the Burgundian duke of any wrongdoing. Who could have dared to object? Less than a week later, Charles VI awoke from another fog of madness and, with a slightly trembling hand, signed the official pardon. As if nothing had happened, John once again assumed a place on the Council of Regents.\n\nThe family of the victim seethed with rage. On 11 September, Orl\u00e9ans's widow organized a counter-spectacle. In an equally long speech, an equally scholarly speaker declared that the duke should be punished for his crime, and that on the very spot where Louis's skull was bashed in he should openly do penance and ask for forgiveness on his knees. And that was only the beginning. All his houses in the capital should be razed to the ground, his duchies and counties should be ceded to the crown, and he should spend a million pounds on good works. John himself should be banished from the kingdom for twenty years.\n\nRemarkably enough, the Great Council honoured this request. Suddenly Burgundy was saddled with the blame once again.\n\nWhile the basis was being laid for an actual civil war in Paris, the accused was not even able to defend himself. On the contrary, John was conspicuous by his absence. How else could they have dared pass such a sentence? He was on his way to engage in a major campaign in the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge. His brother-in-law, Prince-Bishop John of Bavaria, was having problems, and although the duke had other things on his mind, he took off.\n\nWas it an exercise in mindless heroism to leave the capital to his enemies and help the brother of his wife, Margaret, out of a tight spot? At first sight it certainly seemed that way. But if he should succeed in assisting the prince-bishop in his hour of need and getting him back on his throne, then the Burgundian sphere of influence would be vastly upgraded. Li\u00e8ge, Tongeren, Hasselt, Dinant and Maastricht were not to be sneezed at. Who in Paris would do anything to obstruct the most powerful military leader in Europe? But then he would have to win. It was all or nothing.\n\nIn the summer of 1408, John the Fearless went for broke.\n\nOr how John the Fearless succeeded in expanding Burgundy's sphere of influence in the Low Countries by force of arms and astute marriage arrangements, but also how he ended up on French soil in an especially bloody conflict.\n\nON HIS WAY to Li\u00e8ge, John the Fearless stopped to light a few candles at St Adrian's Abbey church in Geraardsbergen. When he was born, his mother had offered thanks to St Adrian for answering her prayers, and now he in turn was making a stab at begging for protection. Thirty-eight years before, Margaret of Flanders had prayed for fertility; today her son was praying to avoid sudden death. How convenient that some saints could be called on for completely different things. As he rattled off his prayers, John had plenty of time to consider his situation.\n\nThe Bavarian connection was a thread that ran through his whole story. Not only did his wife come from Bavaria, but his sister had married someone from the same family back in Cambrai. And this William wasn't just anybody. He had now become Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. In addition to a number of bastard sons, William had one legitimate daughter, little Jacqueline, who was the apple of his eye. For her fifth birthday he had arranged a marriage for her to the second youngest son of King Charles VI of France. The half-Bavarian, half-Burgundian Jacqueline was preparing to assume control of her three principalities, and to that end she was being given a solid education: from botany through biblical history, mathematics and languages to the rules of etiquette. As a young girl she was just as good at analysing medicinal herbs as she was at knowing the correct way to wear a train. She was bright, inquisitive and not especially pretty at first glance. Yet in the coming years she would grow into the most desirable bride of Europe and would marry four times.\n\nHer venerated father \u2013 John's brother-in-law and comrade-in-arms William \u2013 was more of an old warhorse than a great statesman, and he struggled to hold his ground in the conflict between the Hooks and the Cods in Holland, which had been going on for decades. It was a complex hostility that was tearing his land apart, and he probably couldn't even explain it to his daughter. He might have said that the Cods were open to change and were more interested in cooperating with cities and burghers, while the Hooks (from the hooks that catch the cod) were more conservative and adhered to the classical feudal structures. But the various members switched parties so often that what it boiled down to was an ordinary power struggle, sometimes even blood feuds between families, who passed the hatchet from one generation to the next until the dispute was cancelled (or not) by means of a procedure of 'kissing and making up'. The fact that William had chosen the Hooks side, while his father, Albert, became more and more closely aligned with the Cods over the course of his life and finally even took a Cod mistress, showed how inextricable the Holland tangle was. This struggle for influence and power would go on for about 150 years and claim thousands of victims. One day, John the Fearless and his son Philip would also become involved, but in 1408 the Burgundian duke had other family worries.\n\nHis wife's second brother now occupied the throne of the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge, which comprised large areas on both sides of the Meuse and had been ruled by a prince-bishop since 985. As in Flanders, two languages were spoken there: French in the south and Dutch in the north. The Flemish counts weren't the only ones with a turbulent fourteenth century behind them. The prince-bishops of Li\u00e8ge also fell prey to unrest. It was John's brother-in-law John of Bavaria who succeeded in putting an end to the chain of rebellions with his accession in 1390, but in recent years both the townspeople and the nobility had become irritated by his authoritarian style of governance. They chose Diederik of Perwez as a counter-prince-bishop, thereby winning the support of the late Louis of Orl\u00e9ans and of the Avignon pope Benedict XIII, the most important players in the anti-Burgundian camp.\n\nWhen John of Bavaria was forced to hole up in a besieged Maastricht for a second time in a row, John the Fearless and William of Holland joined forces to keep the situation from 'degenerating into a universal rebellion'. In short, John wanted to pull off a repeat performance of what his father had achieved in Westrozebeke, not only to enhance the prestige of Burgundy as a growing power bloc, but also to safeguard the centuries-old feudal relations: nobility and clergy at the top, the rest of humanity below. The thought of burghers rising up against their lawful lords was absolute anathema."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Let Them All Die'",
                "text": "The rebels abandoned their siege of Maastricht and rushed to take on the Burgundian forces. Just outside the village of Oth\u00e9e, halfway between Tongeren and Li\u00e8ge, the troops discovered each other and decided to do battle. It was 23 September 1408, almost twelve years to the day since the battle of Nicopolis. The Hungarian debacle had left an indelible scar on his soul, but now John the Fearless was forcing a rematch.\n\nHe had learned his lesson. This time the infantry were given every opportunity to join in the fray, with Scottish archers hired with Flemish money taking up the slack. John also forbade his forces from simply attacking at random. On the contrary, he decided to wait. And he kept waiting. But the Li\u00e8ge rebels, who were looking down from a small hill, employed the same tactic. Not a single warrior left his hideaway. There was no noticeable movement, as if the universe were holding its breath.\n\nSuddenly, John the Fearless's troops found themselves under attack. Not by archers \u2013 the distance was too great for that \u2013 but by portable field artillery, an innovation that constituted a cautious advance in the waging of war. It involved a rather modest collection of culverins and ribaudequins that took quite a long time to reload. Only a few were wounded, but the troops still had no choice but to mount a frontal attack. First the duke quickly ordered 400 cavalrymen to execute an enveloping movement, which meant they would have to attack the enemy from the rear.\n\nSeated on a small horse, John the Fearless led his troops and ordered them to annihilate the 'insane' and 'vicious' Li\u00e8ge rebels and to show them no quarter. He trotted down the whole front line, as if to spur each one on personally. Burgundy's banner bore the emblem that had accompanied him for several years: a carpenter's plane. The symbolism was unmistakable: he would shave off anything that got in his way.\n\nJohn raised his voice and gave the order to attack. Hundreds of horses shot from the starting block, bearing on their backs men of steel with their shields and lances. The thunder of horses' hoofs resounded in answer to the lightning of the artillery, a broad front of helmets and banners that were meant to prevent the Li\u00e8ge shooters from loading too often. Unlike what happened in Nicopolis, the assault was controlled. The captains even allowed for pauses, so the heavily steel-encased warriors and their horses could catch their breath.\n\nWhen the cavalry was only 250 metres away, the Scottish archers let fly, leaving a trail of destruction throughout the Li\u00e8ge army. Then the horses thundered over the enemy lines. The knights knocked down everything in their path, hacking away as they went. The Li\u00e8ge infantry used their halberds to search out the small space between helmet and armour that was visible on every knight. Swinging with great strength, the halberdiers were sometimes able to penetrate the armour itself. If that failed, they tried to drag the riders from their horses by means of the special hook with which the halberds were fitted.\n\nAfter the cavalry charge came hand-to-hand combat. It was especially frenzied around John the Fearless, who seemed to be the target of twice as many of the Li\u00e8ge warriors. According to chronicler Michel Pintoin he fought like a lion, parrying countless sword strokes and dealing several himself without being wounded. Despite his daring, for which he was later so highly commended, the battle didn't really begin to turn in his favour until the 400 knights reached the Li\u00e8ge rearguard, where they sowed panic and confusion. The Li\u00e8ge bakers, brewers, butchers, clog makers, rope makers, tanners, basket weavers, goose catchers, silversmiths, barbers and broom makers wanted to flee, but they were trapped. From one moment to the next the battle turned into a massacre.\n\nWilliam of Holland and John of Burgundy had agreed not to take any prisoners, despite the ransom possibilities. Even when his captains finally asked him if it wasn't time to bring the bloodshed to a close, John answered, 'Let them all die.' Was it the intransigence of Bayezid the Thunderbolt that the duke was thinking of when he later examined the piles of bodies?\n\nA relieved John of Bavaria had all suspicious burghers and noblemen beheaded in Li\u00e8ge or drowned in the Meuse. From then on he would go through life as 'John the Pitiless'. He was back in the saddle, but he was also indebted to John of Burgundy more than ever before. The prince-bishopric had basically become a Burgundian protectorate.\n\nThe news of the duke's victory resounded across the European mainland. Some sources even claim that it was this event that earned him the name 'John the Fearless'. Like his father after Westrozebeke, the duke commissioned the weaving of large wall tapestries in Arras to commemorate the victory. The battle itself was depicted on a tapestry measuring at least seventeen by five metres. Wall tapestries served an ornamental function, of course, but they were primarily used as insulation in the halls of palaces that were often difficult to heat. They could also be hung as partitions, to divide large rooms into various compartments. Very occasionally they became weapons of propaganda, as the two dukes demonstrated after Westrozebeke and Oth\u00e9e with great panache.\n\nHeaven seemed to reward John's latest achievement with a eucharistic tribute as well. From then on, he could pray for the souls of the fallen at both Oth\u00e9e (23 September 1408) and Nicopolis (25 September 1396) during the same Mass of Remembrance. Whether Oth\u00e9e had wiped out the mistakes of Cr\u00e9cy, Poitiers and Nicopolis remained to be seen. But word spread from Li\u00e8ge to Maastricht, Brussels and Ghent, and all the way to Paris, that John the Fearless was not someone to be toyed with, especially with such a mighty national alliance behind him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "Just when a law was being drafted in Paris stipulating that if the duke dared to dispute his guilt in the murder of Orl\u00e9ans, violence would be used, the news came that Burgundy had won a resounding victory. His opponents, who were feeling very smug, found themselves slinking off with their tails between their legs and leaving Paris to the victor of Oth\u00e9e. On 25 November 1408, the duke made his entrance into the city to the sound of great public acclaim. For the people of Paris, the fact that he was officially persona non grata was like water off a duck's back.\n\nAfter lengthy negotiations a settlement was reached, a compromise that managed to prevent a civil war just in the nick of time. On 9 March 1409, Charles of Orl\u00e9ans, the fifteen-year-old son of the victim, was made to publicly offer forgiveness to his arch-enemy John the Fearless in Chartres Cathedral. The young Charles burst into tears. Heaving with sobs, he forgave the man who had murdered his father. This illusory peace ushered in a period of deceptive calm. John wrote to his brother Anthony that now he could devote himself to 'the interests of the kingdom' once again. His victory seemed complete, but it only served to fan the flames of revenge in the mind of Charles of Orl\u00e9ans.\n\nJohn the Fearless realized he had to be on his guard. He had a twenty-seven-metre castle tower erected at the H\u00f4tel de Bourgogne, the ducal residence in Paris. It was built right against the city wall, to enable him to make a hasty escape. John wanted every room to have a latrine. These oldest preserved toilets in the city were heated and had internal drains, which was quite exceptional. Usually, the waste disappeared through an opening onto the street or into the garden, and you simply had to put up with the filthy smears on the walls. John made sure his military tower was luxurious and beautiful. The vaulting over the long spiral staircase was of unparalleled splendour \u2013 an echo of Champmol in Paris \u2013 and because of the quality of the stone it would stand the test of time. Like a glorious, esoteric medieval relic, the Tour Jean-Sans-Peur is still a feature of the busy Rue \u00c9tienne Marcel. How many pedestrians would suspect that all by itself, this ancient tower should remind Paris of one of the bloodiest episodes in its history?\n\nJohn could have walked his murderous path to its logical conclusion by killing the weak-minded Charles VI and declaring himself king. But he didn't. The mystique of the anointed king was so deeply entrenched in France that even the fearless John of Burgundy would not take such an extreme step. The slowly greying forty-one-year-old wretch, who needed the active assistance of two or three servants to keep him clean, continued to serve as the steadfast embodiment of royal authority.\n\nAlthough he never laid violent hands on the king, John would wade through blood for years. It wasn't long before Charles of Orl\u00e9ans, who was consumed by revenge, declared war on Burgundy. There remained only one way for the duke to save his skin: to win this civil war. From now on he would focus almost all his attention on France.\n\nIn Flanders he installed his fifteen-year-old son Philip as his permanent representative. Philip would move into the Prinsenhof in Ghent in 1411, and three years later he would become the official governor of Flanders \u2013 literally the lieu-tenant, the 'place-holder', a function that would be given the name 'stadtholder' in the regions of Holland. In collaboration with the Four Members, the young Philip (who officially was still only the Count of Charolais) drew up a balanced international policy and breathed new life into the trade relations with the French liege lord, local partners such as Brabant and Holland, the English wool industry and the German Hanseatic League. During the dark years of the French civil war, any further centralization of the Flemish-Burgundian state was put on hold. But Burgundy's centre of gravity had begun its imperceptible journey to the north."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The True Account Of Bitter Grief'",
                "text": "At first, all the power during the civil war lay in the hands of the Burgundians, although Orl\u00e9ans's followers put up a good fight. But since becoming the father-in-law of Charles of Orl\u00e9ans in 1410, the cruel count Bernard of Armagnac assumed the role of leader of the opposition against Burgundy, and with great success. His name sounded a sharp clarion call, and made immediately clear that the unyielding and untrustworthy Armagnac was not to be mocked. After a while, no one spoke of Orl\u00e9ans any more; it was the conflict between the Armagnacs et Bourguignons. The key was Paris. Whoever got his hands on the capital would be master of the kingdom.\n\nJohn the Fearless had hoped to deal with the Armagnacs in one big battle near Montdidier in 1411. He left the capital in an optimistic frame of mind, but just as the fighting was about to break out his Flemish mercenaries abandoned him. No matter how humbly he pleaded with his 'most loyal friends', they insisted on going home because they still hadn't been paid. The duke, who saw an ideal opportunity to destroy his enemies go up in smoke, would think twice from now on before recruiting Flemish soldiers for further engagements.\n\nOne year later, John made another attempt just outside Paris. He besieged Bourges, where the Armagnacs had recently entered into a treaty with the English. Being rather clever, the English worked out which party had the most to offer, thereby sabotaging the skewed French political system. King Charles VI, who appeared in public every now and then like the mechanical bird in a cuckoo clock, only to creep back into the darkness of his madness, took the side of the duke when the siege began. The walls of Bourges didn't flinch. In the end the two parties declared a truce for the umpteenth time.\n\nIn the summer of 1413, circumstances turned against John the Fearless. 'Long live Burgundy!' could be heard on the streets of the capital, but the undertone was grim. The skinner Simon Caboche was head of the main butchers' guild. His followers, known as the Cabochiens, would leave their chopping blocks with cleavers in hand to assert their rights if the situation called for it. They stood as one man behind John the Fearless, who did his best to introduce financial reforms. The Cabochiens had come to his aid in previous crises, but they were frustrated by how long it took to get anything done. So they took matters into their own hands and demanded the surrender of sixty dignitaries, who in their estimation were too lavish in the spending of government money. Enraged, they stormed the H\u00f4tel Saint-Pol and forced their way into the royal chambers, just as \u00c9tienne Marcel had done in 1357. John the Fearless, who barely managed to save the life of the dauphin, felt himself losing control of his own popular shock troops.\n\nThe Armagnacs demanded the right to restore order. After all, somebody had to rescue the king and the dauphin from the clutches of these rampaging butchers. After the Cabochiens were driven out, new slogans were instantly adopted. Now all that could be heard was 'Long live Armagnac! Long live Orl\u00e9ans!' John the Fearless, outstripped by his own populism, fled to Flanders once again with all the Burgundians in his wake. Nothing became of the reforms in France. On the contrary, new high taxes were levied to finance the war. Bernard of Armagnac drained the city dry. His reign of terror suffocated every glimmer of hope.\n\nArmagnac wanted to strike while the iron was hot. Hoping to drive the Burgundians not only out of Paris but out of the whole kingdom, he laid siege to Arras in the summer of 1414. Arras was the last big fortified city before Flanders. This time, Charles VI, who again had taken temporary leave of the royal cuckoo clock, fought on the side of the Armagnacs. John the Fearless waited in Lille, biting his nails to the quick, but his enemies failed to break Arras's defence. Neither party was able to stifle the power of the other.\n\nAfter yet another false peace, John withdrew to Burgundy for the first time in years and spent a few months there. It gave him a chance to catch his breath and turn his attention to hunting. In the company of his falcons, goshawks, sparrowhawks and vultures, he was able to take his mind off the recent disasters. There was also time for romping with his favourite dog, Martel\u00e9 (Spot). Among the most unusual members of John's animal collection were a leopard, a talking linnet, a porcupine, a camel, a handful of apes and a pair of aurochs. In his aviaries tweeted turtle doves and goldfinches. When evening came, he would take the time to listen to their singing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "In the meantime, the internecine struggle in France continued during the Council of Constance (1414\u201318), where the Western Schism was finally brought to an end. After two years of bickering, Martin V became the one and only pope, with his seat in Rome. That intervention was of the utmost necessity. While the two active popes had been deposed in 1409 and a new one elected, the first two had not accepted their dismissal. For the past five years, Christianity had been blessed with at least three popes, all of them squawking to be heard.\n\nNow that that agony was out of the way, the church officials could turn their attention to the heresy of Jan Hus, who had denounced the corruption fuelled by the Schism. The Bohemian theologian, later regarded as a forerunner of the Reformation, went to the German city of Constance to defend himself. Despite earlier promises, he was immediately thrown into prison and was burned at the stake a few months later.\n\nAmong the matters of heresy on the agenda, besides that of Hus, was a discussion of the treatise of Jean Petit. The duke's enemies seized the opportunity of the Council to attack him on theological grounds. The honour and church membership of John the Fearless lay in the balance. He did escape excommunication, but only by the skin of his teeth. The duke would go on to dedicate himself to the new pope with such enthusiasm that Martin V would respond by praising him as the champion of united Christianity.\n\nWhile the future of the church was being debated at the Council of Constance, the Armagnacs and the Burgundians were engaged in spying on each other in France. John the Fearless had not resigned himself to the situation, and he was determined to reconquer Paris. Indeed, the time to seize the upper hand was gradually approaching, for at that very moment the Hundred Years War between England and France was being rekindled. In all that chaos, who had a grasp of the big picture?\n\nIn 1415, after several vain attempts to win one of the warring factions to his side, King Henry V of England chose to throw caution to the winds and try to conquer France, which had been weakened by civil war. He landed on 13 August, and on 22 September Harfleur fell. Suddenly in France it was all hands on deck. The dauphin even asked John the Fearless to help out. Could he send 500 soldiers and 300 archers? His request was modest because he didn't want the Burgundian duke to mobilize a large army under the pretext of dealing with the English threat. He had also asked Charles of Orl\u00e9ans the same question. Orl\u00e9ans showed up with much greater numbers, although he left the Count of Armagnac at home. Somebody had to keep an eye on the furniture and the mad king.\n\nFor his part, John the Fearless decided not to get involved. He also forbade his nineteen-year-old son Philip from taking part in the fighting. He couldn't risk endangering his successor, and charged him to stay in Flanders. Philip 'withdrew to his room and shed bitter tears', and until the day he died he would complain of 'not having been in Agincourt, to triumph or to die', according to the chronicler Monstrelet. On the other hand, John did nothing to prevent his own brothers from running off to one of the most important battles of the Hundred Years War. As grandsons of John the Good, Anthony and Philip insisted on upholding their honour.\n\nIn rain-soaked Agincourt, two long-standing enemies, neither of which had forgotten Cr\u00e9cy or Poitiers, prepared for the third great encounter of the war. France against England, 18,000 well-equipped warriors against 10,000 wind-and dysentery-tormented Englishmen, the French without a real leader versus the canny Henry V. It's hard to have to say it, so unlikely is the stupidity of the same thing happening twice, but on 25 October 1415 the French shot themselves in the foot once more. The terrain was much too narrow, which meant they couldn't even consider a flanking manoeuvre, the obvious move in view of their numerical strength. To compensate for the lack of space, their chivalrous egos insisted on moving the archers to the rear. The lord knights were packed so tightly together that each step to the left or the right caused an entire battalion to come apart at the seams.\n\nAs the morning sun rose in the sky, the heavily laden animals sank more and more deeply into the brown-yellow mud. The French glittered in the light, and the plumes of their helmets danced elegantly in the wind. Waiting across from them was a sombre conglomerate of archers and infantry clad in leather and wool, some of them barefoot. Far behind them were the knights on horseback. 'Attack! Attack!' came the order, but the French steeds stood motionless, as if they had been nailed to the ground. As they struggled to pull one leg after another out of the boggy mire, thousands of English arrows came raining down on them. Were the Frenchmen still sleeping? Henry V asked himself in astonishment. Why didn't they move? Fifteen minutes later, half the aristocracy of France lay floundering beside their horses, and the English infantry simply walked among them, finishing them off with axes and spears.\n\nThe battle was as good as over when Anthony of Brabant came racing up. Much too late, but just in time to be killed in action. He commandeered his chamberlain's armour, improvised a tunic from a trumpet banner and stormed onto the battlefield incognito. Six minutes later he was dead. John's youngest brother, Philip, also lost his life, along with 6,000 others.\n\nCharles of Orl\u00e9ans was dragged alive from a pile of bodies by the English. The man who for years had sought revenge for his murdered father would have to spend the next quarter of a century languishing in prison on the other side of the Channel. He would find consolation in poetry and would emerge as one of the most important poets of the French Middle Ages. 'While writing in my book of woe / I found my heart, to my relief; / the true account of bitter grief / all bright with endless tears that flow.'\n\nJohn the Fearless took the time to mourn for his two brothers and made his way to Brabant. On 5 November 1416 in Dendermonde, the States of Brabant and the Burgundian duke signed a compromise concerning the succession of the fallen Anthony. Despite the resistance of Sigismund, the Holy Roman Emperor, John the Fearless succeeded in securing the Burgundian succession by steering Anthony's son onto the Brabant throne as John IV. Yet all did not go according to plan. Leuven, Brussels and other cities prevented John from assuming the guardianship of his twelve-year-old nephew, which he had much desired. The cities thought it safer to put together their own regency council and to hold the great duke at arm's length. In 1408 he had brought the people of Li\u00e8ge to their knees by force of arms, and now he was too weakened to give Brabant the same treatment. So while the result may not have been the personal union of Flanders and Brabant he had hoped for, there still remained a separate Burgundian-Brabant duchy.\n\nThe manpower that John had built up over the years was immense, and despite all the pressure he had been under he succeeded in maintaining control. He rushed from Dendermonde to France to work on the recapturing of Paris. For the moment there was nothing he could do, but as a cunning diplomat he smelled an opportunity when France's Queen Isabeau of Bavaria was cast out of the French court by the Count of Armagnac. John made every effort to meet with her in secret, and on 2 November 1417 the hour had come. The queen had left her isolation in Tours incognito in order to speak the following words to the Duke of Burgundy at the Abbey of Marmoutiers: 'I have no choice but to trust you, more than any other man in the kingdom. At my request you have left everything to come and free me.'\n\nIsabeau, who had a soft spot for luxury, found she had no choice. If she ever wanted to be queen again, she would have to put her fate in the hands of her lover's murderer. The only mortal who could still stand in the way of John's struggle for power in France was the Count of Armagnac. But John had to hurry up, strike now and recapture Paris, because Henry V was making headway with his conquest of Normandy. After his glorious victory at Agincourt, the English king was steadily advancing on the French capital. His progress was accompanied by much violence, but for Henry that was only normal: 'War without fire is like sausages without mustard.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 70",
                "text": "As if the Duke of Burgundy didn't have enough on his plate, another piece of news came in that he could not ignore. While both he and the English monarch were making their way to Paris, Count William of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland died at the age of twenty-five as a result of a dog bite. John's sister Margaret of Burgundy was left an inconsolable widow.\n\nOnce again, John the Fearless found he had yet another ball to juggle. Recalling his earlier experience in Brabant, he could not allow Burgundy to lose influence in these important regions. So he went to great lengths to arrange a marriage between William's daughter, Jacqueline, and John IV of Brabant, even though they were cousins. Sigismund, the King of the Romans, was willing to do whatever it took to thwart the marriage, but once again he backed away. Against his better judgement, the German leader failed to see that his power as a feudal lord in the Low Countries was shrinking. Burgundy was tightening his grip on a large part of his fiefdom. All Sigismund could do was stand there and watch, gnashing his teeth and pondering revenge.\n\nAnd so it was that a few months before undertaking his raid on Paris, John the Fearless pulled off his masterstroke in Holland. Jacqueline of Bavaria and John IV of Brabant swore their eternal devotion to each other in The Hague. His niece Jacqueline, daughter of his sister Margaret, placed Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland in the wedding basket. Her husband, John IV, son of his brother Anthony who had been killed in action, did the same with Brabant and Limburg. The duke forged five not inconsiderable power blocs into one. The marriage that he pulled out of his diplomatic hat would have elicited a proud smile from his father, Philip the Bold.\n\nThe Burgundification of the Low Countries continued apace, but soon it would encounter great opposition. Jacqueline took up her tasks as Countess of Hainaut without much trouble, but in Holland and Zeeland things proved a bit more difficult. There she had to navigate between the Hooks and the Cods. The former rallied round Jacqueline, while the Cods fell in behind the German emperor Sigismund, who was still bent on getting back at Burgundy. He had urged John the Pitiless to leave the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge for what it was and, as brother of the late Count William, to make sure that Holland and Zeeland were removed from the Burgundian sphere of influence. Would the man who had been saved by John the Fearless ten years earlier, thanks to the victory at Oth\u00e9e, now suddenly oppose Burgundy's plans?\n\nIt didn't take long for such an opportunist to make up his mind. These counties had more ships at sea than England and France put together, so compared with the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge they were far more important. To the irritation of Jacqueline, John the Pitiless let himself be celebrated in Dordrecht, Holland's richest city, as its governor. Since he had never been ordained, he was still technically bishop-elect. Now he made grateful use of the fact that he could always return to the status of layman, and he launched a fierce struggle against his niece Jacqueline.\n\nIn the spring of 1418, with the situation in the Low Countries growing more explosive by the day, John the Fearless and his troops gathered once again at the seemingly impregnable gates of Paris. The English king was in the distance and moving closer. Behind the walls were the Armagnacs, taking it all in. The Parisians were in their houses, longing for peace and freedom.\n\nOr how John the Fearless met the same terrible fate as Louis of Orl\u00e9ans, and how his son Philip sold out France to England in revenge, but also how the new duke began focusing more and more of his attention on the Low Countries.\n\nON 28 MAY 1418, a conspirator opened one of the city gates, and the banished Burgundians streamed into the French capital once again. Suddenly, the two hostile groups found themselves occupying the same city. The tensions between the followers of John the Fearless and of Armagnac were running high, and two weeks later all hell broke loose. At first the Burgundians had restrained themselves and kept their opponents locked up, but now they roamed through the streets of Paris, murdering and setting fires as they went. Finally, on 12 June 1418, they seized the Count of Armagnac and skinned him alive. His bloodcurdling screams summed up the entire past decade: years of violence, furtive betrayal and chaos.\n\nIt had cost rivers of blood, but John was lord and master once again. He had been making progress over the past few months, in Paris and elsewhere throughout the country. Yet the end of the misery was not in sight. One enormous problem remained: a few of Armagnac's supporters had succeeded in smuggling Charles, the fifteen-year-old dauphin, out of Paris, and he was now holding court on a small scale in Bourges. From there, this hesitant adolescent would still manage to shake a powerful fist.\n\nWhat was John to do? To leave Paris and do battle with the English would mean virtually handing the capital over to the dauphin. An attack on the dauphin would give Henry V the opportunity to plant the English flag in Paris. So back to the bargaining table.\n\nIn the summer of 1419, John and the dauphin Charles arrived at an agreement: together they would take a stand against England and finally settle this interminable war. The news was met with great relief across the capital, where the townspeople celebrated for days. In his response, Henry V mockingly called the Duke of Burgundy 'Little Johnny of Flanders'. This frustrated swipe barely masked the agitation that the news generated in England. Who but this experienced scoundrel would be able to knock out the English in battle?\n\nTo wrap up the final details, the dauphin invited John the Fearless for a talk, to be held on the bridge of Montereau-Fault-Yonne. Enclosures had been built on either side of the bridge to ensure the safety of the encounter. The meeting would take place in the middle. Each party was allowed to bring ten men-at-arms. It was risky to be sure, since the dauphin had surrounded himself with Armagnacs. But did John have a choice? He wanted to end the war, get France back on its feet and safeguard his rich county of Flanders.\n\nGod-fearing man that he was, would John have crossed himself before stepping onto the bridge on 10 September 1419? Was John truly Fearless at that crucial moment? Did he hope that all his prayers, his pilgrimages, and even his failed Crusade would protect him? Or did he think of his successful Li\u00e8ge campaign, the overhauling of the tax system and other plans for reorganization in Flanders? Of his dearly beloved son, who spoke much better Flemish than he did and ran the county so skilfully? Of his handsome wife, who always stood firmly behind him? Of his bodyguards, who had never strayed from his side in recent years? Or simply of his dog, Spot? Did he look at his hands and the blood that clung to them? Or was it beauty that fluttered through his mind, all the lovely manuscripts he had had illuminated, the court painters he continued to support, in imitation of his father? Perhaps his main thought was of his direct form of diplomacy, which had borne so much fruit. Even now, here he was. Perhaps he was speaking to himself in Flemish? 'Ic houd.' I persevere.\n\nThe doors at each end of the enclosure were opened. The dauphin Charles entered from the town side, the side of Montereau, and John from the side that gave access to the local castle and the countryside. Flowing beneath the two approaching groups was the Yonne, which emptied into the Seine a few hectometres further on and then set course for Paris, its strength doubled.\n\n'Please come here. Monseigneur the dauphin is waiting for you,' said Tanguy du Ch\u00e2tel, the right-hand man of the murdered Count of Armagnac, the man who had succeeded in fleeing Paris with the dauphin. A warrior of the hardest sort, one whom John hoped to take into his service at a later date.\n\n'This is someone I trust,' said the duke, genially placing a hand on the shoulder of Tanguy du Ch\u00e2tel. The dauphin was leaning against the railing of the bridge. John knelt before him, took off his head covering and spoke words of loyalty. 'Monseigneur, I swear obedience to you and to the king, and I promise that I shall do all I can to save the kingdom. Do not believe those who say I will do you harm.'\n\n'Beau cousin,' said the dauphin, 'you say it better than I could have done myself. Stand up and put your hat back on.' He reached his hand out and helped the duke to his feet.\n\nAt exactly that moment, Tanguy du Ch\u00e2tel cried out, 'Monseigneur of Burgundy, take that!' and struck him between the shoulder blades with his axe. Terrified, the duke looked at Tanguy and heard the shout 'Kill him! Kill him!' resounding across the bridge. Armed men came running from the city side. The door on the Burgundian side was locked.\n\nA man dressed in black raised his sword and brought it down with full force. The blade severed John's tightened fist and struck him in the face. He was still standing, but only for a moment. Now he lay on the ground, the hero of Nicopolis, his eyes fixed on the dauphin who just stood there, motionless. It all happened so quickly that only three of John's companions were able to draw their swords. They were either killed or imprisoned, along with the other seven. As they were being carried away, they had just enough time to see a soldier kneel beside their fallen leader and stab him with his sword. The forty-eight-year-old John the Fearless was able to straighten his back, but that was all. His death rattle was the last thing they heard from him.\n\nJohn was buried in the Church of Notre-Dame-et-San-Loup in Montereau, which in the twenty-first century is the only witness to what took place on that bridge on 10 September 1419. Later on his severed hand, his cleft skull and the rest of his mortal remains would be transported to Champmol, where they would have to wait a few decades for the completion of a tomb. A monumental double tomb was built by Claus van de Werve, Juan de la Huerta and Antoine le Moiturier respectively, giving John's wife, Margaret, a resting place as well. It wasn't until 1470, three years after the death of his son Philip the Good, that the tomb would be officially consecrated.\n\nScrupulously as ever, all the costs involved in the journey to Montereau were noted in the ducal records. Every detail, from horse feed to midday meal; nothing was left out. On 10 September, the bookkeeper in service at the time could not contain himself, and wrote in large letters across all the columns of figures: 'Today great dismay at the death of Monseigneur.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Opening Through Which The English Entered France'",
                "text": "The twenty-two-year-old Philip of Charolais was not yet aware that on 10 September he had become the new Duke of Burgundy and at the same time the latest Count of Flanders. At that particular moment he was staying at the Prinsenhof in Ghent, a castle that his great-grandfather Louis of Male had rebuilt to serve as a residential palace. The Gravensteen, or the Castle of the Counts, a grey colossus with thick walls and gloomy chambers, was built in 1180 by Philip of Alsace but was found to be too uncomfortable and now functioned as a court of law and a prison.\n\nOne day later, Bishop Jean de Thoisy of Tournai arrived at the Prinsenhof. How on earth was he to communicate the sorrowful tidings? Unlike his father, who was short of stature and of a reserved disposition, the man whom the bishop had come to see was a lanky, high-spirited fellow. No matter how much Thoisy prevaricated, he finally was forced to share the terrible news.\n\nThe new duke dropped to his knees. He screamed like a wild beast. Overcome by panic, he ran to his wife and shouted at her, 'Michelle, your brother has murdered my father!' Trembling and powerless, they stood there together, the sister of the dauphin Charles and the son of John the Fearless. The two had been paired by the late Philip the Bold in the hope of creating a firm tie between Burgundy and the French crown. They wept until they dropped from exhaustion. 'They lay there in the room like two corpses,' wrote the chronicler Georges Chastellain.\n\nThe murdered duke had always had a great deal of respect for his father, even though he was very strict and didn't entrust him with any noteworthy responsibilities until he was much older. Despite his admiration for Philip the Bold, John chose a different approach when it came to his own son. The boy was barely fifteen when he was allowed to assume the role of Count of Flanders. Philip would never forget how he always felt the armour under his father's clothes whenever he hugged him. For him, John the Fearless incarnated the cruelty of uncertain times as well as the security of human warmth. He was a schemer, to be sure \u2013 impulsive one day, aggressive the next \u2013 but he had always been patient with his son. Philip had known a side of his father that few others had ever seen. He had told him lengthy stories about his grandfather, Philip the Bold: about what it was like to be a statesman, and that there had never been a leader who could wash his hands in innocence. The murderer of Orl\u00e9ans had been a loving father.\n\nLike any self-respecting Burgundian, Philip the Good (as we will now call Philip of Charolais) loved flashy attire. But from now on he would wear only sombre or even black clothes as a sign of mourning. At first glance there was little evidence of the goodness for which he was later renowned. He forgot how much he had wanted to fight the English king at Agincourt, and on 21 May 1420 he concluded a momentous treaty with him at Troyes. In his blind thirst for revenge, the Burgundian duke handed France over to England.\n\nAlthough it was legally impossible to break the male line of succession, Philip managed to convince poor Charles VI (who, like a hungry little bird, would swallow anything) to marry his daughter Catharine to Henry V. Charles and his wife, Isabeau, also agreed to let the English king occupy the French throne after Charles's death. And the dauphin? Queen Isabeau managed to announce that he was illegitimate. The so-called bastard was simply struck from the succession list.\n\nWith tears in her eyes, the eighteen-year-old princess exchanged marital vows with France's arch-enemy in the Church of St John in Troyes. Henry V laughed up his sleeve. He had spent three years conquering Normandy, and now France was being dropped in his lap in a single day. Philip the Good, stiff as a poker, dressed in black from head to toe, looked on from the first row. He had just buried his father, and he seemed to be doing the same to his country. But was France still his country? Did he still have his eye on the north?\n\nRecently, Philip, the international adjudicator, had forced his cousin Jacqueline to agree to let her husband John of Brabant share power with her uncle John the Pitiless in Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, thus avoiding war at the last minute. She would still receive income from her domains, but it wasn't an agreement that made her especially happy. How could it? She was a woman for one thing, and not a very accommodating one at that. Philip could well understand why his cousin John so detested his enterprising wife. At the same time he could see that the young duke was an insipid layabout, and that it was difficult to live and govern with him. Well, so be it! Perhaps this was a situation he could benefit from.\n\nSo when John IV abandoned his energetic Jacqueline during the siege of Dordrecht and deeply insulted her during a recent Easter celebration by failing to attend to her ladies-in-waiting, the Burgundian duke smoothed it over and let it slide. Even so, it had not been very chivalrous of him to humiliate her like that. The headstrong Jacqueline had left the banquet table and run weeping through the streets of Brussels to De Spiegel inn, where her mother was staying. That was not so worrisome, although he had found her reaction somewhat hysterical. But after that she managed to flee to England, where she fell head over heels in love with the brother of King Henry V. According to all reports, she couldn't wait to marry for the third time. The fact was that Jacqueline was unexpectedly emerging as a political animal. This Humphrey of Gloucester was cut from quite different cloth than the lethargic John, so Philip had to do everything in his power to keep the dangerous wedding of 'Dame Jake' from taking place. Imagine an English prince resisting his plans by force of arms, just after he had handed France to England on a silver platter.\n\nThe times were so terribly chaotic that it was difficult for him to grieve for his father in a calm fashion. Perhaps Philip suspected that the murder of Louis of Orl\u00e9ans would forever sully his father's good name. In his eyes, John the Fearless had been the capable leader of a Flemish-Burgundian state, a statesman who accepted his responsibility in the French crisis for mainly pecuniary reasons and who, like every other fourteenth-century ruler, had aspired to expand his kingdom, influence and territory. Burgundy had also been enlarged. The county of Tonnerre and the city of M\u00e2con in the south, the county of Boulogne and the county of Vermandois in the north would now fall under the authority of the duke, who had also set his seal on the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge and was keeping a firm finger on the pulse in the regions of Holland and Brabant.\n\nWould Philip the Good have wondered whether the curious marriage of Jacqueline with John of Brabant, arranged by his father, had not been deliberately intended to fail? Was the union of the headstrong Jacqueline and the flawed John simply a recipe for failure? Had the cynicism of John the Fearless been so great that he actually counted on it, so that Burgundy could benefit from the weakening of power in the north?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "History, great glutton that it is, could hardly get enough to satisfy its hunger in those days. On 31 August 1422, Henry V died of dysentery. He was not granted the pleasure of plucking the fruits of his success. The rights to the French crown were passed on to his eight-month-old son, Henry VI. The apparently indestructible Charles VI lived on as before, sometimes lucid, mostly raving mad. But his subjects were soon to mourn their beloved king, for two months later, on 22 October, his body gave out along with his mind.\n\nIt was as if all hope in France had died with the departure of Charles's soul. The winter that followed was especially severe. The Seine froze solid. Food provisions vanished. In their despair, gangs of wandering children sought one last spark of warmth in the piles of manure that lay in the streets. There was no bread, no grain, no firewood. People died of cold, of hunger. Wolves invaded Paris and dined on the dead.\n\nIn Holland and Zeeland, too, the apocalypse seemed imminent. A great north-wester brought with it such tidal waves that winter that the dikes, which had been neglected due to the continuing tension between the Hooks and the Cods, gave way one by one. Coastal areas were flooded with millions of litres of brown sludge; people fled to their roofs and begged the Almighty to come to their aid. The flood devoured dozens of villages. Thousands of people, dogs and cows drowned. The storm persisted so long that rescue operations became exceedingly laborious. In such a divided country, it was no easy task to get the restoration work underway.\n\nBut neither the freezing cold nor the breaches in the dikes could change the way the cards had been dealt. A Hainaut-Holland princess was planning an English wedding while still being married to the Duke of Brabant, and Henry VI was King of England and France before the end of his first year. The baby had fulfilled the dream of the late Edward III. In the year of our Lord 1340, the instigator of the Hundred Years War, standing at the side of Jacob van Artevelde, appropriated this double title as a means of provocation at the Friday Market in Ghent. Eighty-two years later, the throne was actually in English hands.\n\nAnother century later, in 1521, King Francis I of France would visit the Burgundian mausoleum in Champmol. The great Renaissance monarch, who lured Leonardo da Vinci to France and ordered the building of the castle of Chambord, looked in admiration at the works of art by Claus Sluter. A Carthusian monk led the king around. In the crypt he showed Francis I the shattered skull of John the Fearless. The words that the monk is said to have spoken perfectly summarize the tragedy: 'Sire, this is the opening through which the English entered France.'\n\nOwing to his steady perseverance, Philip the Good would finally succeed in forcing a crack in the resistance of Jacqueline of Bavaria. And through that opening he would enter Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland once and for all.\n\nOr how Philip the Good's insatiable appetite, both amorous and political, was there for all to see, and how he struggled with one of the most remarkable women in the history of the Low Countries in order to conquer Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland.\n\nIT WAS AS if a gladiator had stumbled into the Middle Ages, but the fellow who carried on with such fervour was actually Philip the Good. In April 1425, the Burgundian duke began preparing himself for an unprecedented contest. Each morning he practised as if everything was at stake. And it was. He had challenged none other than Humphrey of Gloucester to a duel to the death.\n\nThis younger brother of the recently deceased Henry V had become Lord Protector of England and had managed to marry Philip's cousin, Jacqueline of Bavaria, even though she was still wedded to John IV of Brabant. Being a scandalous flirt was one thing, but to Philip's astonishment the countess had violated the sacrament of holy matrimony without giving it a second thought. Jacqueline was now married to two men! And like John IV, Humphrey was now calling himself Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. The question was not whether a fight would erupt but when.\n\nThe Burgundian duke had to do his duty. After all, he was the heir of John IV of Brabant\u2026 at least, if John's more quick-witted brother, the morbidly withdrawn eccentric Philip of Saint-Pol, were to leave the world childless. On the other hand, the opposite was also true. If he, Philip the Good, were to die without issue, the Flemish-Burgundian state would go to the Duke of Brabant. The fact that the idiot son of his Uncle Anthony (who had perished at Agincourt) was his next of kin was enough to make Philip's blood run cold.\n\nHe knew what he had to do, but the marital bed was proving uncooperative. He himself couldn't possibly be the problem, as his many illegitimate children clearly demonstrated. It wasn't that the duke was lacking in opportunities to show off his fertility. Philip's rather lean but statuesque figure, his straight posture, red lips and shaggy eyebrows did not leave the ladies cold. He sat stylishly in the saddle, played a mean game of fives, danced exceedingly well and was quite a talented archer. Tradition has probably exaggerated his elegant appearance somewhat, but the combination of talent, power and appetite made the duke a successful erotomaniac. According to chronicler Olivier de la Marche, that voluptuary lifestyle resulted in 'a very fine company of bastards of both sexes'. Historians have never agreed on the exact number, but it is certainly true that Philip's performance in this regard easily eclipsed that of his father and his grandfather. Realistic estimates speak of around twenty-five mistresses, with whom he fathered twenty-six children. The most skilled b\u00e2tards de Bourgogne were given important functions, but when it came to inheritance they were beyond consideration, of course.\n\nHis first wife, Michelle, had died of grief after the murder of John the Fearless. Philip didn't deign to go to her funeral. She was, after all, the sister of the man who had ordered John's death. He then married Bonne of Artois, the wife of his Uncle Philip, who had also been killed at Agincourt. The union with his aunt was not a very joyous one, and barely six months later she, too, passed away on her sickbed. It was five years before he gave a thought to marrying again. During those years, the duke was driven by another, equally uncontrollable desire to conquer.\n\nWhen Jacqueline's newly wedded husband Humphrey accused him in a letter of being overly concerned about the fate of Brabant, Philip exploded in one of his typical outbursts of rage. Marrying a married woman and getting up on his high horse: it was the proverbial last straw. He also had another bone to pick with this Humphrey. On one occasion the Englishman had dared to ignore him for several minutes in order to continue a conversation with a subordinate. The memory of that indignity came bubbling to the surface. His normally calculating outlook had been so clouded by anger that he challenged the English regent to a duel. It was extremely uncommon for two leaders of this calibre to take each other on, but the purchase of a diamond-studded suit of armour showed that Philip was deadly serious.\n\nHe tried to get into perfect physical shape 'both by restraining his eating and by taking pains to improve his stamina'. Experienced swordsmen poured into his castle at Hesdin. They put his ability to parry blows to the test, and prescribed a series of practice drills. Every day, more and more people came to watch monseigneur de Bourgogne work up a sweat. His sheer daring, wrapped in priceless luxury, excited their fantasy. It was top-class sport wrapped in the robes of state. An attraction without equal."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Incredibly Oversexed'",
                "text": "Yet some people began asking questions. How on earth could anyone make sense of the fact that the man who had just sold France to England was now hell-bent on running the English Lord Protector through with his sword? Philip believed that the outcome of the royal duel would save thousands of soldiers' lives. In addition, a trial by combat like this would bring the truth to light. Yes, the Almighty would show who had the most right to Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. The duke had long stopped taking the rights of poor John of Brabant and his younger brother Philip into account.\n\nAt the same time, it was a kind of advertisement. Half of Europe was talking about his valiant initiative. What a hero! But there was also this: was the new duke as impetuous as his father? Was this man of the new generation really just a man of the old school, someone who still blindly believed in the threadbare ideals of chivalry? In the spring of 1425, many people wondered whether Philip hadn't taken leave of his senses. The opposite was actually the case.\n\nWhenever the duke went to visit the unfinished tomb of his father in Champmol, he would stretch himself out beside it, stricken with grief, and this was no theatre. Nor was it all for show when he dragged himself to the Well of Moses, like one of Sluter's pleurants come to life. There he would kneel before the figure of Jeremiah while reading the words that the prophet held in his hands: 'Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow.' Then he would swallow his grief and carry on his negotiations with the burghers of Dijon. He had spent the better part of his young life in Ghent, and now he had to work on making himself popular in his own Burgundy. The fact that he could be deeply emotional and exceptionally rational at the same time made him a formidable opponent.\n\nOf course Philip felt both offended and insulted, but he was clever enough to make as much political hay as possible out of that perilous position. The Treaty of Troyes, so treacherous for France, and the evocative prospect of a duel underscored the image of a man who was prepared to risk everything. A knight who would run roughshod over corpses and countries. A big shot who entertained with boundless extravagance. An attention-seeker who was willing to bring a competitor in line by means of an old-fashioned trial by combat. But Philip was also the negotiator who could patiently bide his time. The Burgundian who could show great moderation at table. The dinner partner who was more drawn to 'a slice of salted beef than to a partridge'. The pious churchgoer who could pray till he dropped. The ascetic who wore a hairshirt under his clothing. He was also the man who gave himself over to boundless passion and deep feelings. The son who was consumed by grief and malice. The 'incredibly oversexed' Casanova who seduced women by the score. The courtier who was as proud as he was easily offended. The hot-tempered ego-tripper who could be appeased by a simple word.\n\nLewd and abstemious, sentimental and tactical, vindictive and forgiving, eager and brooding: the man who would become known as the actual founding father of the Low Countries was not easily categorized. Like his grandfather, he was unequalled when it came to realpolitik, but the turbulent blood of his father also flowed through his veins. Energetic as a tactician, fearless as a knight, Philip possessed the great qualities of the first two dukes of the Burgundian Valois line and combined them in unpredictable ways. It would take him far. Very far.\n\nHowever much his enemies put him to the test or plotted assassination attempts, he would reign for almost fifty years with a flair that knew no equal. Contemporaries called him Philippe L'Asseur\u00e9, Philip the Confident, and for very good reason. He became more easy-going with the passing years, and occasionally put state matters on hold in order to enjoy more of the good life, but even then he was fully aware of what was going on in his realm. Naturally he was not alone in this effort. Of all the talented figures who assisted him, chancellor Nicolas Rolin was the most important. Rolin emerged as the Richelieu of Burgundy, the man who guided his master past the most dangerous of obstacles. It's fair to wonder how Philip could have managed without him. In any case, this born and bred Burgundian helped set out the guiding principles right from the beginning. For forty years, Rolin shared the throne with his sovereign as a sort of prime minister. Nicolas and Philip were two sides of the same Burgundian coin. The fact that his senior official, in whom he had total confidence, was greatly enriching himself in the meantime was something the duke accepted as perfectly normal.\n\nAlthough it certainly didn't look that way, the pact with England was much more than an expression of rancour and grief resulting from the death of his father. Everyone close to him had called for revenge: the associates of John the Fearless of course, his mother first and foremost, and also the burghers of Paris. It couldn't come fast enough. Yet Philip thought about it for weeks. A whole month passed before he was prepared to start negotiations with his long-standing enemy. He remained a French prince, and it was certainly not his fondest wish to bring down the kingdom. Perhaps he sensed that the French would be talking about 'the shameless Treaty of Troyes' for centuries to come, a thought he was not eager to entertain. But neither pure revenge nor worries about eternity would be the deciding factor. Philip just wanted the best for Burgundy itself.\n\nEven his vow to dress himself in black forever is deserving of some nuance. Black was not only the colour of mourning and penance, but in the early fifteenth century it was also the favourite fashion colour in all the courts of Europe. In fact, under certain circumstances he did not hesitate to wear more colourful attire over his basic black. The clich\u00e9s with which Philip is associated do contain a grain of truth, but they are shattered just as easily. If the black treaty with Albion now seemed like the best option, as an adherent of realpolitik he would not hesitate to show his true colours years later and burn his proverbial bridges over the Channel.\n\nIn England, a little boy was now sitting on the throne who was too young to rule, the four-year-old Henry VI. Nor was the English regent in Paris able to govern without difficulty. This John of Bedford, another brother of the late lamented Henry V, had his hands full with the French dauphin. Charles VII, as he called himself, may not have been crowned yet, but he had not given up hope. The Treaty of Troyes had not put an end to the French-English conflict. Even the pope deemed it necessary to express his disapproval. Two men claiming to be King of France was a situation that had to end without delay, cried Martin V, who seemed to have forgotten how long the church had had two popes.\n\nPhilip the Good also had a great deal to gain from the discord, so he was careful to maintain a low profile whenever he went to the English Paris. He definitely did not want to become an involved party, so he kept the door open a crack for any way out that might present itself. To keep up appearances, he lent a helping hand to the English and gave his own sister Anne to Bedford as collateral. But in secret, Philip and his powerful chancellor, Rolin, carried on exploratory peace talks with the party of the dauphin. The essence of his politics was to prevent either of the two parties from gaining the upper hand. As long as the power in France remained divided, he was free to indulge his northern expansionism. This also explains why he ostentatiously ignored the French capital: the power centre of Burgundy lay less and less in Paris or Dijon and more and more in the Low Countries. But in order to build up a prosperous state in the north, Philip the high-wire artist would have to maintain a neutral neighbourly relationship with both France and England.\n\nBut then Jacqueline of Bavaria threw everything into confusion. Her husband Humphrey had recently led an army in an attack on Hainaut, which was nothing short of a nightmare for Philip. Cities such as Valenciennes, Ath and Mons were not exactly eager for the English to arrive, but in the face of such superior numbers all they could do was open their gates. As soon as he arrived in the capital city of Mons, Humphrey announced that as the Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland he was accepting the challenge and taking up the gauntlet.\n\nThe duel with Philip would take place on 23 April 1425."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Most Wickedly Betrayed Woman In The World'",
                "text": "In the meantime, John of Bavaria had joined the choir invisible. The fifty-year-old prince-bishop-elect of Li\u00e8ge, who had exercised authority over the north with John of Brabant for quite some time \u2013 in actual practice, he had assumed full governance \u2013 died as the result of poisoning. In all probability it was Jacqueline, or at least her followers, who was behind this protracted murder. The perpetrator, Jan van Vliet, who was married to one of Jacqueline's illegitimate sisters, was first beheaded and then quartered: four horses, each tied to a different limb, were driven in four different directions, thereby tearing Van Vliet's body to shreds. The body parts were then nailed to the gates of several of Holland's large cities. His head ended up at the entrance gate to the count's court in The Hague.\n\nFor her part, Jacqueline was enormously relieved that John the Pitiless was out of the way, but she soon discovered that his demise cleared the path for an even more dangerous opponent. Just before his death, John of Bavaria had turned over all his private property to Philip the Good. It was a modest beginning, but now that Voorne, Gooiland and Woerden were his, the Burgundian advance to the north could begin in earnest.\n\nA decision quickly had to be made as to who the rightful Count of Holland and Zeeland actually was. Duke John of Brabant wasted no time and travelled by coach from city to city. The administrators of Dordrecht and Zierikzee let it be known that they preferred to await the definitive clarification of the marital mystery before welcoming him; those of Gouda and Schoonhoven simply refused to receive John and decided forthwith to take the side of Jacqueline, and therefore of Humphrey of Gloucester. The long battle for Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland could begin. First in line was Hainaut.\n\nThe question of who Jacqueline's true husband was still had not been resolved, and the pope was dragging his feet. In the meantime, the Duke of Brabant began raising an army. This was not something John IV did lightly, but he was being pushed hard by his cousin Philip the Good. John himself had no desire to lead troops into battle, so he sent his more energetic brother, Philip of Saint-Pol, to the south. Saint-Pol advanced on Hainaut, along with Burgundian troops. Their mission was simple: to get rid of Humphrey the Englishman. Once Humphrey was gone, Philip the Good would look after Jacqueline.\n\nDuring the siege of 's Gravenbrakel, a town halfway between Brussels and Mons, Humphrey came rushing in to drive away the enemy troops. His arrival made for a rather surrealistic scene. The battle was announced to the sound of trumpets. The two armies took up their positions. Each man held his breath \u2013 and kept holding it \u2013 until the signal was given to retreat. The hundreds of banners that had just been proudly raised were pulled down. In a little while this remarkable spectacle was repeated. Finally, both armies slunk away.\n\nNeither Saint-Pol nor Gloucester felt confident of victory and refused to risk a pointless bloodbath. The battlefield was muddy and it was also too small \u2013 in short, a second Agincourt in the making. In addition, both Philip the Good and Philip of Saint-Pol had learned their lesson. The former had cooperated militarily with the English after the signing of the Treaty of Troyes in France and was keeping his eyes peeled. The latter had lost his father at Agincourt. The Brabant-Burgundian army had hired plenty of archers and was clearly a match for the English.\n\nJacqueline was furious that her third husband had not thrown himself manfully into the fray. Now she was forced to look on as Saint-Pol calmly continued the siege of 's Gravenbrakel. Fortunately, there was no way for him to get through\u2026 until the English unexpectedly surrendered. The Brabantians and the Burgundians couldn't believe their eyes. Why give up a city that was so easy to defend? The English said they had seen Saint George, their patron saint, fighting along with the enemy. Saint-Pol discovered that they were talking about Daniel van Boechout, a Brabantian whose coat of arms looked exactly like that of Saint George and who, like the saint, was riding a white horse.\n\nAfter the curious events at 's Gravenbrakel the two armies declared a ceasefire, and all attention was turned once more to the duel between Philip and Humphrey. Aside from Philip, no one was looking forward to such a trial by ordeal. Bedford, the English regent in Paris, begged the Burgundian duke to give up the idea. Philip gallantly submitted. Then Bedford turned to his own brother. Would he really squander the pact with Burgundy for a woman? Did he have to jeopardize the future of England in France for the northern counties? Humphrey's answer was a wholehearted yes, and yes again. Bedford was able to get his brother's agreement on only one point: that he would temporarily return to London. At the moment, his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, was ruling a bit too enthusiastically in his place. If Humphrey were to leave immediately, he would be able to reprimand his opportunist uncle and be back in time for the duel on 23 April.\n\nIt was a sorrowful Jacqueline who watched her husband set sail for England. Humphrey took a woman named Eleonora Cobham along with him for good measure, a ravishingly beautiful lady-in-waiting from Jacqueline's retinue. The countess stayed behind in Mons and must have wondered whether this didn't mean the end of her marriage. She had little time to grieve, however. Philip argued that he had only entered into a ceasefire with Humphrey, who was now on the other side of the Channel.\n\nWith the help of the Brabantians, Burgundy took one Hainaut city after another. This time the two parties wouldn't do things by halves. By the end of May 1425, the troops arrived at the gates of Mons, the last Hainaut stronghold."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 75",
                "text": "Jacqueline was standing on the city wall with a few faithful supporters. Beyond the enemy army, with its trebuchets, cannon, horses, carriages, banners and tents, she saw her county. This was where she grew up. Thirty kilometres further on, at the castle of Le Quesnoy, she had learned to write, dance and ride horses. You could hardly have called her a charming little princess. She had studied swordsmanship, she knew how to hunt, and she spoke fluent French and English \u2013 Dutch was apparently one language too many. All she needed was a suit of armour and she'd be ready for battle, in a manner of speaking. The only thing now was to convince the Hainaut nobility of Mons not to abandon her. The hours she spent on the city walls must have been gloomy indeed.\n\nOf her three counties, the French-speaking Hainaut was dearest to her heart. She knew its history, she knew that Hainaut had once formed a single entity with Flanders, and that by way of the vicissitudes of dynasty and the battlefield it had finally ended up in her Bavarian family. As in Flanders, her distant county predecessors had tried to stimulate the area's economic growth by granting advantageous charters and toll exemptions to the cities, especially new, strategically placed seigniories such as Binche, Soignies and Lessines.\n\nIn the distance lay a handful of small cities. They were typical of her county. Mons itself numbered a good 6,000 souls. Larger cities of more than 10,000 inhabitants were few and far between. What you did find every 25 kilometres or so were towns of 2,000 inhabitants at the most that bravely took on the task of local government and administration of justice. The efforts of the old counts were less successful than in Flanders. Outside of Tournai \u2013 which was a French enclave feudally speaking but was located in Hainaut \u2013 and Valenciennes, not a single city would develop a sphere of influence that went beyond the county borders. Valenciennes and Tournai profited from their situation on the Scheldt and could therefore to some extent ride on Flanders's economic success story.\n\nIn past centuries, the Flemings had fashioned most of their monumental buildings \u2013 from the Cloth Hall in Ypres to Gravensteen castle in Ghent \u2013 out of Tournai stone, which was transported by boat in vast amounts. In that city, and the periphery of villages around it, the stones were roughly dressed and later turned into finished products such as baptismal fonts and memorial tablets. The most beautiful example of what humanity had managed to do with Tournai limestone was in the city itself, the Notre-Dame cathedral with its five magnificent towers, all of which were over eighty metres in height. Jacqueline had also learned first-hand that the people of Hainaut exported both coal and fur, and she was taught that along with Artois in France, the county had become the breadbasket of Flanders and Brabant thanks to its vast stretches of loamy soil. All she could do was sigh, for the leaders of the regions that were fed by her county were ready and waiting, armed to the teeth, to take the last city of Hainaut that had not yet been conquered. Would the patricians and nobility of Mons and its surroundings still want to support her? And where was the handsome Humphrey, her agile lover, with whom she could converse so freely about art and science? Due to his absence, the long-awaited duel with Philip the Good was finally cancelled.\n\nThe truth was that two compelling reasons were keeping Humphrey in England: sex and politics. His uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, was a tough customer who had such control over Parliament that any financing of a military sortie was out of the question. And Humphrey had also become entangled in the nets of Eleonora Cobham, who would bear him two children in the coming years and would make his life exceedingly difficult on account of her fondness for water dowsers and alchemy. Jacqueline was aware of none of this. She emphatically defended her husband to all the assembled dignitaries of Mons. He would come back and set everything to rights! But no one believed her any more.\n\nThe siege had been going on for two days. Cannonballs and burning arrows had already wreaked havoc. Everyone feared that Mons would be totally annihilated. A written declaration from Philip the Good was greeted with widespread approval. He promised to convince John of Brabant to raise the siege, spare the city and take Jacqueline under his care until the pope made his ruling on the marriage. She protested vehemently and appealed to her feudal rights, apparently unable to understand that her battle was over. A few hotheads grasped at other arguments. While Jacqueline was inciting the troops to fight on, the people of Mons beheaded Humphrey's henchman, who had remained behind, before her very eyes. Only then did she fall silent, realizing that Hainaut was lost. Philip gave the county back to John of Brabant, although John himself was more inclined to return to Brussels as soon as possible. A Burgundian straw man was installed in Mons as stadtholder.\n\nThat night, Jacqueline wrote a heartbreaking letter to her English husband. 'You must know that I am writing as the most desolate and the most wickedly betrayed woman in the world\u2026 I have good hopes that you will come, since that is my perfect right. For as long as I live I will do nothing to displease you; I am even prepared to die for love of you and your noble person, so much does your noble lordship please me\u2026 even though it appears that you have forgotten me\u2026 Written with a very sorrowful heart, on the sixth day of June.'\n\nOf course, Humphrey did not come, but Philip's envoys did. One week later, a dejected Jacqueline left her city of Mons escorted by Louis, Prince of Orange. In Ghent she was given shelter in the Posteerne, a city palace that had been used by Louis of Male, who happened to be the forefather of both Jacqueline and the Duke of Burgundy. Not only that, but they both had the same grandfather, Philip the Bold, who had frequently put up at the same castle.\n\nJacqueline of Bavaria, who would never set foot in Bavaria, was destined to play a leading role in the Low Countries simply by virtue of her origins. Her father was Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, one grandmother was from Hainaut and the other from Flanders. She had a stronger tie to the Low Countries than Philip, and for that very reason he would use her to become their lord and master. Now that she was a prisoner, he really got down to business. On 19 July 1426 he was given control of the government of Holland and Zeeland. John of Brabant, who was effortlessly manipulated by Burgundy, declared that he could not satisfactorily carry out that function himself. On the other hand, he added, his good cousin Philip would do an outstanding job.\n\nThat meant the end of John's career, which had actually started looking quite promising. Thanks to his marriage to Jacqueline of Bavaria, he was given authority over Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Brabant and Limburg. As lord and master of these five principalities, he could have made things exceedingly difficult for Philip the Good. But just the opposite happened. John surrounded himself with the wrong noblemen and succeeded in hurting Jacqueline very deeply, losing her, and then incurring the wrath of a number of Brabant cities. Gradually he lost all the ammunition that might have made him a powerful statesman.\n\nThe Burgundian duke, on the other hand, realized he had all the keys he needed to make the northern regions his own: not only was he regent for the incompetent John, but he was also his heir as long as the imprisoned Jacqueline had no legitimate children. With a rejected husband in Brussels and a separated spouse in London, that situation didn't seem likely to change."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 76",
                "text": "While the twenty-five-year-old Jacqueline was wasting away in her prison, a thirteen-year-old girl from the French village of Domr\u00e9my heard a voice in her head. 'It seemed like a worthy voice', she would later say, 'that was sent by God. When I had heard it for the third time, I knew it was the voice of an angel.' The voice soon identified itself as that of the archangel Michael. He told her that she was destined to free France from the English, that she must lead the troops into battle and wear a suit of armour. At first she was just afraid. But then Saints Catherine and Margaret began talking to her. The young girl was completely bewildered by what was happening to her, but she felt that she was part of something greater than herself. For four years she would struggle with the voices in her head. Finally, she stopped resisting and realized there was no way back.\n\nThe house in which she was born was 100 metres from the Meuse in the heart of Lorraine, almost 300 kilometres east of Paris. 'Where I was born I was called Jeannette, but later on they called me Jeanne.'\n\nOr how Holland and Zeeland grew into prosperous counties for which Philip the Good was prepared to fight to his very last breath, but also how Jacqueline of Bavaria, who seemed utterly exhausted, surprised friend and foe alike by holding the Burgundian duke's feet to the fire.\n\nEVERYONE THOUGHT THAT Jacqueline didn't stand a chance. The whole case hung on the pope's ruling, but Rome was in no hurry to come to a decision. Both John of Brabant \u2013 read Philip the Good \u2013 and Humphrey of Gloucester had sent their own mediators, who kept digging deeper into their pockets in search of increasingly abstruse arguments for and against. The Duke of Gloucester may have grown tired of Jacqueline, but he certainly hadn't lost interest in her territories. For a short time, the battle for the Low Countries was fought in the back rooms of the Vatican. Jacqueline, for her part, was tired of waiting. Working in secret, she devised a stunt that would turn the whole case on its head.\n\nOn 31 August, she made it known that she did not want to be disturbed. She was going to take a bath, she said, and then go straight to bed. While the courtiers and guards ate their meal, she undressed \u2013 not for her evening ablutions, however, but to change into men's clothing. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, she strolled outside, parading through the streets of Ghent, before leaving the city by way of the closest gate. Two men with horses were waiting for her. The three of them galloped northward, reaching the ferry at Antwerp 60 kilometres further on. There, a carriage drawn by several horses carried Jacqueline another 100 kilometres northward to Asperen, where she stopped to rest. On 2 September 1425, at about nine in the morning, she reached the city of Vianen, where she finally was able to take off her manscleder (men's clothing). She continued on by boat to Schoonhoven, a town between Rotterdam and Utrecht, where she was welcomed by friendly nobles of the Hook party.\n\nWhen she disembarked at Schoonhoven she must have pinched herself in disbelief. Suddenly, the story she thought had reached a dead end still had a few chapters to go. From here she would take a stand against Philip the Good! Meanwhile, back in Ghent, the Burgundian duke was at his wits' end, gravitating between shame and fury. How in God's name could he have let Jacqueline escape? He sent out agents to block all the roads to England, but to no avail. Only then did it finally get through to him that she had had the audacity to flee to her counties in Holland.\n\nNo matter how decisively she had wanted to act, Jacqueline's life up until then had mainly been dictated by the laws of marriage. First she came to occupy the bed of the French dauphin. When he died, she found herself between the sheets with John IV of Brabant, a bleak situation that she would abandon with disgust. The flight through the streets of Brussels that would bring her to England was an act of considerable resistance, but the only way she could survive after that was to assume another subservient role, that of the wife of the English Humphrey of Gloucester. Without all those men, none of whom made her happy, her political clout would have been considerably lighter. After her escape from Ghent, the situation looked quite different. Now she had every reason to believe that her fate was finally in her own hands and that she was in charge of events, at least for the time being. Yet even that should not be viewed too romantically. The noblemen of the Hook contingent could make extremely good use of her as a figurehead in their confrontation with the Cods. And the opposite was also true, of course. The puzzle pieces were falling into place for both parties.\n\nJacqueline's escape forced the Burgundian duke to act boldly. Armed to the teeth, he travelled north: Philip against Jacqueline, Burgundy versus Holland and Zeeland, Cods toe to toe with the Hooks, a war of conquest that was also a civil war. Philip donned the diamond-encrusted armour that he had planned to wear in his duel with Humphrey, took his place at the head of 3,000 warriors, and conducted a series of Joyous Entries in Holland. The people there weren't exactly eager to get a look at a half-Frenchman who was intent on using their taxes to cover his personal expenses. The frugal merchants of Holland were willing to let Philip organize banquets and play the patron of the arts, but not with their money.\n\nAlthough the situation looked favourable enough for the duke to dream of far-reaching Burgundification, he was not looking for a quick profit. His aim was to win hearts and minds. He adopted an attitude of leniency, just as he had done in old Burgundy, and was generous with privileges. The burghers of Amsterdam, Haarlem, Rotterdam, Leiden and Dordrecht had expected Philip to come barging in with iron fists, and they were happily surprised. The immensely rich Burgundian promised to launch major dike-building projects (Dordrecht, for example, had been completely surrounded by water since the Saint Elizabeth's flood), to assist them in the struggle against English pirates, and to offer support in the commercial battle with the Hanseatic League. In short, this was a man you could do business with.\n\nPhilip's approach worked. Jacqueline's advance stalled. If she had hoped that her presence would serve as the spark that would set all of Holland ablaze, she was sadly mistaken. The Hooks poured in from miles around, although they were careful to remain hidden, and important noblemen such as Lord van Montfoort, Willem van Brederode and Jan van Vianen threw in their lot with her in order to strengthen the leadership of the anti-Burgundian resistance, but apart from the cities of Schoonhoven, Gouda, Oudewater, Montfoort and Vianen, the rest of the land remained in the hands of the Cods.\n\nFrom her Holland bulwark in Gouda, Jacqueline sent her men to Alphen aan den Rijn, some fifteen kilometres further north. There, Philip's Cod allies cobbled together a wooden fort near the Gouda lock, giving them perfect control over the confluence of the Gouwe and the Oude Rijn. The local population were on Jacqueline's side, and on 22 October they provocatively began herding their cattle round the fort. This irritated the Cods no end. Such a small group of peasants could be driven off just as easily as the peasants themselves had driven their cows, or so they thought. But when they called on them to clear out, Jacqueline's armed Hooks came out from hiding and made short shrift of the fort's occupiers. Thanks to their ambush they were able to capture the city banners of Amsterdam, Leiden and Haarlem.\n\nThis prestigious catch was given a place of honour during the festive Te Deum in Gouda's Great Church. 'The blessed countess thanked the Lord our God and her friends, who had thrown themselves into battle with ferocity.' There wasn't much Jacqueline could do, but she did make things quite difficult for the Burgundian duke with her little guerrilla war. Upon hearing the bad news, Philip cursed up a storm. From then on he travelled with the greatest caution, fearing an attack. Every time he left the Binnenhof in The Hague he made sure he had his army behind him.\n\nIn late December, Philip was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. He was still half asleep when the facts were thrown in his face. That Humphrey had complied with Jacqueline's appeals. That the English had crossed the Channel. That they had already reached Sluis. That urgent action was called for. It was almost like a repetition of his grandfather's Flemish campaign. Back then it was the Ghentenars or the English that made life miserable for Philip the Bold. Despite the pact signed in France, Albion was once again the enemy. Now the Ghentenars had turned into Hooks.\n\nThe duke had only one option. He had to strike, just as his grandfather had done. He could not let the chance to secure full control of the northern counties slip away from him. Surely Holland was well on its way to becoming as enticing as Flanders was back then, and that justified all his efforts."
            },
            {
                "title": "'All Our Prosperity\u2026 Is Bound Up With Holland And Zeeland'",
                "text": "In Holland, the Great Reclamation of the past centuries had ground to a halt a long time ago. Everything that could be done had been done, within the technical possibilities of the time. Almost all the reclaimed land, as well as countless forests and peat bogs, had been converted into agricultural areas and pastures. Peasants dug deeper and deeper into their peat beds in order to use or sell the valuable peat as fuel. Their digging caused the land to sink, sometimes to below sea level, which threatened the solidity of the dikes. Every now and then the water would take back the land, despite all the defences thrown up against the sea.\n\nThis phenomenon had taken place repeatedly in the Low Countries: people loading half their village or their entire church onto carts, to save it from the rising tides. After the storm surge of 1394, the Flemish city of Oostende had to be pushed inland several hectometres, where the new Oostende arose with the support of Philip the Bold. In order to keep this from happening again, all the existing Flemish dikes were joined together after the great flood of 1404. Whether John the Fearless actively supported these efforts, or was even well disposed towards them, remains food for discussion, but the continuous Graaf Jansdijk \u2013 the Count John's Dike \u2013 which ran from Dunkirk to Terneuzen, was named after him in any case.\n\nThe northern counties were even more heavily burdened than Flanders by dangerous attacks from the sea. Zeeland in particular would long remain the demographically weak link. First the name Maritima Loca, literally 'Places on the Sea', was used to refer to Zeelandia, with its criss-crossing of creeks and gullies. In 1375 the sea wiped Koudekerke and Elmare off the map, and two years later a storm surge destroyed the greater part of the island of Wulpen. After the terrible Saint Elizabeth's flood of 1421, dozens of villages in Holland and Zeeland disappeared beneath the waves forever.\n\nStarting in the early fifteenth century, draining mills were used to carry off excess water by means of an ingenious system of brooks and canals. The first such mills made their appearance in the area around Alkmaar and Leiden in around 1408, but it would be another century before they evolved into what we today would call the typical postcard view of Holland. The maintenance of ditches, canals, sluices and windmills was so expensive that local inhabitants and land users developed a rational and common-sense approach out of sheer necessity. They drew up rules and regulations and followed them to the letter, and they agreed to apportion the workload and financial contribution based on the scale of land use. That mentality would later come to be regarded as typically Dutch and would form an important aspect of the capitalistic spirit with which the country's inhabitants came to be associated over the course of the centuries. These qualities, which obviously cannot be attributed to Protestantism alone, were completely at odds with the extravagance and ostentation of the Burgundian character, and more than once made for sharp confrontations.\n\nWhile the sea and the great rivers kept proving themselves enemies to be feared, a final evolution was taking place: that of the transformation of farmland into pasturage. Pastures do much better on peaty soil, which is not an ideal substrate for cereal crops. The resulting lack of bread made famine a real possibility, but the cows that soon began grazing there triggered a boom in dairy production. This led to a rise in cheesemaking, which required a great deal of salt. Clever entrepreneurs from the town of Biervliet saw a hole in the market and began specializing in the digging of salt-laden peat, from which they extracted salt by means of drying and burning. Cattle breeding required less manpower, but the workers who were now available quickly found employment in other sectors. Most of them ended up in the fishing industry or in merchant shipping. Workers were retrained not only as boatmen or fishermen, but there was also a need for shipbuilders, rope makers, coopers, sailmakers and, of course, dike workers. The hostile sea had grown into a source of economic prosperity. In Dordrecht, millions of herring passed through the tollgates, after which the fish were shipped far and wide, some of them all the way to Novgorod. The fish were first gutted and then pickled with Biervliet salt, which meant they could be preserved much longer.\n\nThe flexible Hollanders made a virtue of necessity and managed to capitalize on the situation. Their fishing and preservation technologies were innovations, and they also were ahead of their time when it came to engineering: their ships were not only bigger but also faster and easier to control. By improving their skills as sea carriers and shipbuilders in the Late Middle Ages, they laid the basis for their domination of the oceans in the seventeenth century.\n\nDespite their nose for renovation, they didn't always have a patent on originality. In Leiden they imitated Flemish textile techniques. By aiming for mediocre quality, this new industry reached a large public that was happy to make do with less refined but cheaper products. The herring fishermen copied their Danish and Scandinavian counterparts at the Skan\u00f6r annual fairs. The same thing had already happened with hops beer from Bremen and Hamburg. For a long time, beer had been flavoured with a special herbal mixture called gruit, but that ended when successful experiments were carried out in these two German cities using hops as the additive. The Land of Heusden became the new hops district, and in 1370 brewers from Delft, Gouda and Haarlem produced almost eleven million litres of the beverage. Production was steadily increased, and most of it would disappear down the throats of Flanders and Brabant. But the Flemings and Brabantians hadn't been lagging behind either. Over the course of the fifteenth century, plenty of high-quality hops beer was produced in cities such as Lier, Kortrijk and Lille.\n\nTo make sure all these new products reached their destination, the distribution system had to run like a well-oiled machine. The vast number of interior waterways proved to be of huge monetary significance. Economic networks emerged along the Meuse and the Rhine, as they did on the Scheldt in Flanders, and over time they became increasingly cooperative. Ships transported their cargo effortlessly from L\u00fcbeck in northern Germany to Flanders by way of the Dutch rivers, lakes and canals. Cities that lay on the confluence of two rivers were at a great economic advantage. In Flanders, Ghent was able to benefit from the confluence of the Leie and the Scheldt, while in Holland central toll points such as Gouda and especially Dordrecht could profit economically thanks to their location at bifurcations of the Rhine and the Meuse. Philip the Good was quick to understand that the counts of Holland obtained more than a quarter of their income from tolls."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 78",
                "text": "As more and more farmers were retrained as workers they flocked to the cities, which consequently had to be expanded. Gradually, the population figures increased as well, although hunger, war and the plague kept them from rising in a straight line. Observing this from our cloud in the twenty-first century, the medieval population numbers appeal to the imagination.\n\nThere were no official counts, so any census figures we have are guesses from later centuries based on fiscal data such as taxes that were paid 'by hearth'. In each case, an average number of persons per family is determined, and this number can then be multiplied by the number of 'hearths'. Added to this are vagrants without goods and chattels (there were quite a few of these, but it's impossible to know just how many), as well as nobility and the clergy, who were exempt from paying taxes (about 2.5 per cent of the population). In short, a combination of pure guesswork, scientific research and common sense.\n\nThe population of Europe doubled over the course of three centuries \u2013 from 38 million in the year 1000 to 75 million in 1300 \u2013 but suffered a decline of 30 per cent in the terrible fourteenth century due to plague, famine and armed conflict. The population of France was approximately 14 million in around 1400, which was 5 million fewer than before the plague struck. By way of comparison, England, which had held the great France in a chokehold for decades, had to make do with only 2 million souls in the same year.\n\nBy the end of the fifteenth century, the Low Countries numbered at least 2.5 million inhabitants. Leading by a mile was the county of Flanders (740,000 in 1469), followed by the duchy of Brabant (415,000 in 1473), the county of Holland (270,000 in 1514) and the county of Hainaut (210,000 in 1458). At the very bottom of the list was the duchy of Limburg (16,000 in 1489) and the county of Zeeland (11,000 in 1389, the only figure taken from right after the greatest plague outbreak, hence the strikingly low number).\n\nHolland had begun a very decent recovery, but for the time being that was nothing compared with Flanders, which by the end of the fifteenth century made up a third of the population of the Low Countries. That lag is also striking when you look at the figures per city. Ghent (65,000), Bruges (45,000), Ypres and Lille (both about 30,000) had already made their greatest advance by around 1350. In around 1400, Leiden had 6,000 inhabitants, Gouda 5,000, Delft 6,500 and Amsterdam 3,000 \u2013 up from only 1,000 burghers in 1300 \u2013 so that these cities could be compared with Kortrijk in Flanders or Mons in Hainaut in terms of size. Haarlem and Dordrecht were gradually advancing towards 10,000 burghers.\n\nAt the end of the fifteenth century, Utrecht was perhaps the largest city in the north with close to 20,000 souls, within the same range as Li\u00e8ge and Leuven but smaller than Brussels, where the threshold of 30,000 inhabitants had been exceeded. That rise continued. The populations of Gouda and Amsterdam would double and triple respectively in less than a hundred years. Amsterdam soon surpassed Utrecht, and about halfway through the sixteenth century it topped 30,000. That was only the beginning, for over the course of the seventeenth century the new metropolis came to comprise more than 200,000 inhabitants. Before that phenomenal explosion was reached, the city of Antwerp in the duchy of Brabant would leave the Flemish cities of Ghent and Bruges far behind: from 6,000 in 1373 to almost 40,000 in 1526, after which it would head for 100,000.\n\nBy way of comparison, in around 1300 Paris was the only city north of the Alps with more than 100,000 inhabitants, while the number of townspeople in the old Burgundian capital of Dijon never went beyond 10,000 during the Late Middle Ages. The population of the French capital rose to half a million in 1700. It wasn't until the nineteenth century that London and Paris passed the million mark. We will close this enumeration, patient reader, with the thought that Rome may already have reached this magic number in ancient times. Following the great migrations, countless sieges, sackings and plunderings, floods and especially a few horrible waves of plague in the sixth and seventh centuries, the Eternal City would shrink to a population in the low tens of thousands. Sic transit gloria mundi. It would have to wait until the sixteenth century before any change came in that figure.\n\nIn around 1500, Holland, like Flanders and Brabant, was one of the most urbanized regions in Europe. In the Burgundian Netherlands, 'only' two out of three people (about 65 per cent) lived in the countryside. Elsewhere in Europe that figure was much higher. Farmers and labourers were drawn in because the cities offered the prospect of work, better pay and well-organized poor relief. Often reality fell short of expectations, so that burghers would look for a better life in other cities, giving rise to a lot of comings and goings between the various cities of the Low Countries. That intensified the inter-city dynamic, which was already quite active."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 79",
                "text": "Thanks to their nose for trade, innovation and imitation, their flexible and rational mentality, countless navigable internal waterways, rapidly growing shipbuilding and fishing industries, and the quality of their dairy products, beer and turf, Holland and (to a lesser degree) Zeeland experienced enormous economic and demographic growth. What was remarkable was the trade dynamic that came into play between Flanders and Brabant, the same way that Hainaut and Flanders were linked together. For a long time the Low Countries may have been nothing but a geographic designation \u2013 the area surrounding the lower reaches of the Meuse, the Rhine and the Scheldt \u2013 but gradually they also formed an economic entity. Cheese was transported southward by ship, and the same ships were then loaded with grain and sent back home. 'All our prosperity\u2026 is bound up with Holland and Zeeland,' noted the Antwerp city council in 1399. The fact that Dordrecht always lost out to Bruges as a trade centre, but kept trying to improve itself nevertheless, was a fine example of how prosperous Flanders stimulated the commercial development of Holland.\n\nNaturally, such cross-pollinations would have reached a higher level of development if the Low Countries had formed a political unit at some point. If Philip the Good were to triumph over Jacqueline of Bavaria, then enterprising merchants might allow themselves to dream of such a thing. So it's not surprising that in the struggle that was now erupting, the merchants and cities tended to side with Burgundy, while the old nobility gravitated towards Jacqueline."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Hunted Me Down From One Land To Another, All Of Them Mine'",
                "text": "Jacqueline's prayers were heard. At the end of December, Humphrey sent a battle fleet across the Channel with 24 ships and 2,000 warriors. He had convinced a friendly faction in England to foot the bill for this campaign. Their hope was that by backing Humphrey they would be able to demand part of the Burgundian pie, which was what had happened in France thanks to his brother Bedford. Gloucester himself did not dare accompany the troops, not because he was afraid of fighting, but because he no longer trusted the Bishop of Winchester and felt compelled to stay behind. Jacqueline's territories were most welcome, but giving up his power position in England was out of the question. Lord FitzWalter served as the commander in his place.\n\nAfter having been locked out of the Zierikzee harbour, the English fleet was finally able to dock in Brouwershaven. Now that the enemy army had landed, Philip had to act fast. In just a few days, he succeeded in readying 120 ships carrying both Burgundian troops and mercenaries from Picardy, as well as Cods from Dordrecht, Delft and The Hague. Mercifully, he had been tipped off by Bedford (who may have been Humphrey's brother but was mainly Philip's inside man in France) that an English invasion was about to take place, giving him plenty of time to hire a sufficient number of flat-bottomed boats. This would make it easier for him to travel through the sandbank-riddled waterways of Holland. The English, whose boats lay deeper in the water, did not have that advantage.\n\nHe left Schiedam, to which he had travelled in great haste on 5 January 1426, and brought his army to the outskirts of Brouwershaven. In the meantime, most of the Hooks of Zeeland had arrived at Brouwershaven and joined the English army. On 12 January, the Burgundian fleet appeared off the coast. The wind was too strong to go ashore, but the trumpeters blew their hearts out to let it be known that Philip the Good was raring to go.\n\nOne day later the wind died down, the sign for the Burgundians and Hollanders to land. About two-thirds of the troops reached the coast before the English archers could begin their dreaded ballet. The first row drew their bows, released their arrows and dropped to their knees, and while these bowmen were pulling new arrows from their quivers a second row behind them repeated the same action, ducking down and letting a third row shoot their lethal darts. Then the military dance started all over again. The arrows flew from man-sized longbows, haphazardly seeking the holes and chinks in the enemy's armour. Burgundy recoiled when the front line was shattered.\n\nPhilip, who had remained on board, saw that general destruction was looming. Without a moment's hesitation, he jumped in the water in order to join his men. The duke reacted with such ferocity that he risked being surrounded by the English. Thanks to the intervention of Jan Vilain, a Flemish giant from Ghent, he was rescued just in time.\n\nThe Burgundian elite were advancing behind him, hardened warriors who fought their way through enemy lines. The English and the Hooks were driven back across the shifting sands and past a dike, where they were trapped. Lord FitzWalter and a few others were able to flee, but a great many of their comrades in arms were killed or driven into the sea and drowned. By sunset, Philip was able to claim victory. 'By the grace of God they were defeated,' he wrote with obvious relief in a letter to the ducal council in Dijon.\n\nJacqueline's disappointment was immense. This was supposed to have been the great breakthrough. Her spirits sank even lower when she learned that part of the English fleet, which had set its course for Gouda, had been pushed back to Calais by the wind. Once again, she was completely isolated. Philip, for his part, stayed two more months in Middelburg and was delighted to learn that almost the entire county of Zeeland had crossed over to his side. Except for Gouda-Oudewater-Schoonhoven, Jacqueline's triangular stronghold, practically the entire county of Holland was now his. Such was his self-confidence that he took a bit of time off to catch his breath in Flanders, a respite that the remarkably persistent Jacqueline seized upon in order to play one of her last cards. It was a trump card that even she hadn't counted on."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 81",
                "text": "She had never taken much interest in the peasants of Kennemerland and West Friesland. But when these same farmers rose up in revolt against the high taxes being levied by the Burgundian duke, she couldn't let the chance slip by. Leading this army of peasants from northern Holland, she first laid siege to Haarlem, a Cod stronghold. The city would quickly surrender, or so she thought. But the Flemish knight Roland van Uutkerke, who skilfully led the defending forces, refused to be intimidated. In response, Jacqueline gave the order to set fire to eighteen windmills. The gigantic torches blazed in the wind and could be seen for dozens of kilometres \u2013 a fitting symbol for a land in flames. Her tactic seemed to work. The city council, who looked on from the walls, began to have misgivings. Why hold out against this apparently God-sent superwoman? But Van Uutkerke, who had fought in the Battle of Oth\u00e9e on the side of John the Fearless almost twenty years before, did not flinch. 'Jacqueline is in no position to resist so powerful a lord as Duke Philip,' he insisted. The Fleming managed to convince the council not to open the gates. They would wait for help from the south.\n\nBecause of her peasant alliance, Jacqueline had dared to leave Gouda. But when an army of Flemings, on Philip's orders, began advancing towards Alphen aan den Rijn with the intention of taking the city by storm, she was forced to rush back to defend the area around her home base. She succeeded in crushing the Flemings, who were under the command of Van Uutkerke's son Jan, but a possible capture of Haarlem backfired. As if she didn't have enough on her hands with the opposition of the Cods and the Burgundians, now it was Flemings who were putting her on the spot. It was almost as if Philip had mobilized all his territories against her. Yet the minor victory at Alphen was enough to rekindle the spirits within her ranks.\n\nMeanwhile, the Kennemer peasants stubbornly refused to yield to Burgundian supremacy. When Philip had had enough, he and a large army marched on the peasants, most of them armed with pikes, axes and scythes, and obliterated them near Hoorn, about 20 miles north of Amsterdam. His verdict was harsh. The Kennemer peasants and West Frisians, who had taken up the sword because they found the tax system unjust, were now forced to pay a gigantic fine. From then on, they could forget about any former privileges having to do with the administration of justice. They were also obliged to hand in their weapons; the only ones they were allowed to carry were 'dull bread knives without pointed tips'. This time Philip felt obliged to play the severe father, which was against his nature. The duke no longer trusted the peasants; the only people he was willing to deal with were the city-dwellers. He filled Holland and Zeeland with Burgundian garrisons and launched reinforced defensive works at strategic river junctions. This approach made one thing clear: it didn't make him feel any safer.\n\nThe guerrilla war in the countryside raged on. Small skirmishes caused enormous local damage: livestock were slaughtered, farms set on fire, travellers attacked, trade routes blocked. There was still no sign of a definitive victory, although Burgundy gradually strangled Jacqueline's Hook opponents with the help of the Cods. Slowly but surely, this tangled mix of international conflict and civil war seemed to be heading towards a climax. Philip was determined to crush the last pockets of resistance. He fought on relentlessly. In April of 1427 he captured the Hook city of Zevenbergen in southern Holland after a month-long siege. And by winning the sea battle at Wieringen in northern Holland in September 1427, he kept Jacqueline's fleet from freely sailing the Zuiderzee. Only then did he feel strong enough to lay siege to Gouda, her last bulwark. Unlike his son Charles, Philip would never let himself get caught up in rash military actions.\n\nWould Jacqueline have been reminded of the siege of Mons, her last bastion in Hainaut, three years before? Would she have peered over the heads of the Burgundian army at her county of Holland once again, scanning the horizon, hoping for the arrival of her husband Humphrey? Jacqueline was no fool. She realized that complete control over her domains had become impossible. Yet she did not lose heart. In her letters she kept applying pressure to the entourage of the six-year-old English king, Henry VI. 'In an attempt to cheat me out of my inheritance, my cousin Burgundy has hunted me down from one land to another, all of them mine. This has caused a great shedding of blood among my poor and faithful subjects.' The message was clear. Didn't England's knightly honour demand that they come to her aid? The tone of her letters became more and more pathetic. 'I have now been abandoned, and despised and rejected by all the world, like a repudiated wife without comfort and counsel\u2026 without seigniories, without treasury, personal property, money or strong friends. Because of my marriage, my closest family members have become my greatest enemies and opponents.'\n\nIt came to her attention that England was going to send one last fleet. The assault was being led by the Earl of Salisbury, who was all too eager to give Philip a good thrashing. Three years earlier, during a ball in Paris, the Burgundian had not only openly flirted with his wife but had seduced her into having a little fling with him. Jacqueline's hope was momentarily rekindled. But in the spring of 1428, three messages demolished her mental resistance for good.\n\nThe first bombshell was the news that Gloucester was having an affair with Eleonora Cobham, her former lady-in-waiting, and had become the father of a daughter with this woman. Politically speaking, the second piece of news was a disaster of even greater proportions. Pope Martin V had finally disentangled the marital knot. Her union with Humphrey of Gloucester was declared invalid. After the crack in her heart left by the Cobham affair, this denial of her legitimacy was an enormous blow. Humphrey could now marry Jacqueline's lady-in-waiting with a clear conscience, and he cancelled a final English support payment to his ex-wife. Last but not least, she was told that the English fleet that had embarked from London had turned away from Holland at the last minute and set course for France. Her self-confidence lay in tatters.\n\nNaturally, Jacqueline lost to the all-powerful Philip the Good, and it was also true that she had no choice but to submit to the papal ruling. But her greatest defeat had to do with the fact that English interests in France were incommensurate with those in the Low Countries. The French crown far outweighed the struggles in Holland and Zeeland. Regent John of Bedford had done everything he could from Paris to restrict the manoeuvring room of his brother Humphrey of Gloucester, and Burgundy had deftly worked this to his own advantage. Philip's diplomatic efforts had gently pushed Bedford in the right direction, of course. It was a victory of both the word and the sword.\n\nJacqueline surrendered without further opposition. The war of attrition had left large swathes of the counties in ruins. Wilderness areas had emerged here and there, disordered conglomerates of plundered, torched villages, neglected dikes and flooded fields. It was high time to set the warring aside and to restore the houses and dikes. Everyone, including Jacqueline, was hungry for peace."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 82",
                "text": "In order to seal the agreement officially, the duke had ordered a large dais to be built on the Delft market square. Philip the Good and Jacqueline of Bavaria did not kiss each other on the mouth, as had long been the custom, but they did sign the peace treaty with the requisite sense of the ceremonial before the gathered crowd. Despite the absence of the kiss, the agreement was called the Kiss \u2013 Zoen \u2013 of Delft. The first definition of the verb 'to kiss' \u2013 zoenen \u2013 was not what we understand today as kissing, but 'verzoenen', or reconciliation, although that often went hand in hand with a Kiss of Peace.\n\nThey had not seen each other for at least three years, and now here were the two cousins, standing face to face. The chroniclers are silent on the emotions that this encounter must have aroused in these two sensitive individuals, but we can be assured that they both felt relief. Finally, peace had come. Purportedly, the two walked amiably through the streets of Delft. Placating the supporters of the Cods and the Hooks had required three months of negotiations. In the text that was read aloud on 3 July 1428 in both French and Dutch, it was emphasized that Philip recognized the said Jacqueline of Bavaria as the Countess of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, but that she appointed her cousin regent of these territories. Should she set sail for the fourth time on the ship of matrimony without Philip's permission, then the three counties would become Burgundian property \u2013 this to avoid a repetition of the Humphrey scenario. The same would happen if Jacqueline were to die without issue. If Philip were to die childless then everything would go to Jacqueline.\n\nTogether they formed a Landsraad, a State Council, consisting of nine members who were favourably disposed towards maintaining peace: six to be appointed by Philip, three by Jacqueline, and with the Fleming Roland van Uutkerke as governor. It wasn't an altogether disadvantageous arrangement for the conquered countess, because she divided the net income from her territories with Philip. To make sure the treaty found broad acceptance, the Hookish exiles were allowed to return to their domains, and a total ban on the use of the names 'Hooks' and 'Cods' was instituted. The Burgundian wanted to finally close the gap that had divided Holland society for decades.\n\nAfter the feast in Delft, Philip and Jacqueline journeyed through their three counties 'like brother and sister'. For these Joyous Entries they went to Gouda, Leiden, Haarlem, Alkmaar and Amsterdam, followed by the most important cities of Zeeland. In Goes, Jacqueline was crowned queen for winning the archery prize. The cry 'long live the queen!' must have had a slightly odd ring to it, at least for her. She couldn't count on any more power and influence than that, but there would be plenty of parties.\n\nIn Hainaut, too, the city visits alternated with the festivities. Everyone seemed at peace with the fact that Philip held the actual power, while Jacqueline was allowed to retain her titles. After a tournament and a Burgundian dinner party, the cousins said their goodbyes in Mons. With three years of fighting behind him, Philip finally was free to devote his days to other concerns, and Jacqueline had all the time in the world to enjoy the forests of her youth, just as she had in the old days.\n\nOr how the spouses of Flemish counts and Burgundian dukes, as well as Jacqueline of Bavaria and writer Christine de Pizan, were ladies with powerful personalities, but especially how Joan of Arc would write history with her 'male' accomplishments.\n\nREADERS OF THE twenty-first century might ask themselves whether things would have been different if William VI of Holland had had a son. Would Jacqueline have achieved more as Jacques? Did the fact that she was a woman get in the way of any real success?\n\nWomen in the Middle Ages carried very little clout. Within the aristocracy, members of the female sex were mainly seen as the easiest way to secure a piece of land. Often they were married off to someone at an early age. The Burgundians had mastered the finest points of this discipline, and even Humphrey must have been interested in more than Jacqueline's charming personality. She was born into a phallocracy, a society in which the highest good that a ruler could accomplish was to beget a male heir, a world in which misogyny was common practice.\n\nThe medieval church openly emphasized its difficult relationship with women, and even took a long time to credit them with having a soul. During the council held in the Burgundian city of M\u00e2con in 585, the assembled bishops addressed this thorny question. According to legend, which is admittedly disputed, women were granted souls by a majority of three votes. True or not, it was grist for the mill of the already misogynistic medieval culture.\n\n'You're all, or were, or will be whores / By deed, or wish which is the cause,' wrote Jean de Meung in the second part of Le roman de la rose (1275, The Romance of the Rose). In the early fifteenth century, this medieval bestseller par excellence was still one of the most widely read books in Western Europe. It was generally assumed that a creature as driven by sensuality as a woman had absolutely no aptitude for exercising worldly power. In order to underline this gem of wisdom, the Franciscan Alvaro Pelayo wrote an essay in 1330 at the request of Pope John XXII in which he listed the 102 (!) defects of the female individual: unable to keep secrets, profligate in her spending due to her ceaseless longing for luxury, weakened by limited mental and physical abilities\u2026\n\nYet in reality life wasn't always so misogynistic. The Middle Ages saw the flourishing of courtly love, which was basically a guide to subtle forms of adultery. Infatuation, and particularly seduction, were raised to the level of true virtue, equal to the feudal loyalty from a vassal to his lord. In this sophisticated erotic diplomacy, every form of sexuality was delayed as long as possible, because it was feared that afterwards the beautiful song of male attention would be played out. The woman was placed on a pedestal, rather like a Virgin Mary. You could look, you could invoke, and you might even touch, but only after having been patient for a very long time. It was no coincidence that the Gregorian Reform of the eleventh century, which contrasted the symbol of the immaculate Virgin with the diabolical voluptuousness of the earthly woman, happened at almost the same time as the emergence of courtly love.\n\nWhen Jacqueline's adventures took place, courtly love was still held in high regard. In January 1400, for example, Philip the Bold, under the watchful eye of the schizophrenic Charles VI, took the initiative to form a Cour amoureuse, a poetic society in which members sang the praises of woman with as much originality as they could muster.\n\nHow all these precepts and good intentions could be reconciled in practice with a misogynistic society remains a mystery. In all probability, such prostrations before the female sex amounted to little more than a few expressions of frivolous rhetoric and light-hearted banter. It was a contemporary of Jacqueline of Bavaria who exposed this contradiction for what it was.\n\nIn 1390 the well-read Christine de Pizan found herself suddenly alone. Her husband had died unexpectedly, leaving her with three children to feed. She decided to support the family on her own, but not in any typical way: she was going to write. This made her one of the first women to live by her pen. Philip the Bold and John the Fearless both took her on as court writer, and the fact that her father served as physician to Charles V, their brother and uncle respectively, certainly didn't hurt. From one day to the next she became homme de lettres, or to put it in her own words: 'De femelle devins masle' \u2013 I changed from a woman to a man. For writing, like the exercise of power, was a male domain. Jacqueline of Bavaria also tried to rule as if she were a man.\n\nPizan was rowing against the tide. First she screamed out her grief in a series of poems. Then she risked more serious work. She wrote philosophical and political essays and took on the misogynistic legacy of Jean de Meung. If ladies were really as perverse as he claimed, Pizan wondered, why did the author provide so many tips on how to approach and seduce them? 'Remember, dear ladies, how these men call you frail, unserious, and easily influenced but yet try hard, using all kinds of strange and deceptive tricks, to catch you, just as one lays traps for wild animals.'\n\nShe also made a bold case for women on the throne. 'I assure you that the same can be said of a great many women, whether from the upper, middle, or lower class, who, as anyone who wishes to pay attention can clearly see, have maintained and maintain their dominions in as good condition as did their husbands during their lifetime and who are as well-loved by their subjects\u2026 although there are ignorant women, there are many women who have better minds and a more active sense of prudence and judgment than most men.' Her reward for sticking her neck out like this was to bring the entire academic and ecclesiastical world down on her head. But not on the basis of rational arguments. No, the assembled intellectuals wondered what in the world gave a woman the right to express an opinion about such things, and they were most surprised by the fact that she wanted to defend her opinion in writing.\n\nYet Pizan's viewpoint was borne out by evidence. There were indeed a great many women who, upon the early death of a spouse, had successfully carried out a wise policy as mother and regent. And how many ladies didn't end up managing the family estate while their other half busied himself with more glorious undertakings, such as crusading and warfare? Women were quite obviously able to exercise power, even if it was mostly in the shadows, by order or in place of the lord of the manor.\n\nDuring almost two-thirds of the thirteenth century, women ran the show in Flanders: from 1214 to 1278, the power lay in the hands of two sisters, Joanna and Margaret of Constantinople, while their husbands languished in prison or died before their time. During their reign they consolidated the complex peace with France, so the cities of Flanders were able to blossom both economically and demographically. And with great self-confidence they stimulated the formation of women's monasteries and b\u00e9guinages, and founded numerous hospitals and leprosariums. The famous Hospice Comtesse, founded in 1237 by Jeanne de Flandre, as the French call Joanna, can still be found in the centre of Lille. Today, the medieval complex is a museum with beautifully panelled vaulting that is well worth a visit, a reminder of the improbable thirteenth-century ascendance of a Flanders that was governed by women. Also on display are a number of fine portraits of the Burgundian dukes.\n\nThe wives of the dukes had the right to make decisions. Think of the wife of Philip the Bold, who represented the duke in Flanders, her patrimony, or the spouse of John the Fearless, who governed the old Burgundian duchy in the south. Philip the Good would invest his third wife, Isabella of Portugal, with considerable diplomatic power. The Burgundian duchesses saw to the needs of the personnel, monitored the organization of all the magnificent banquets and maintained important contacts with other rulers. Joanna of Brabant also knew how to get things done. She would be instrumental in bringing about the double wedding in Cambrai, and would allow Brabant to begin a process of Burgundification. And how about Isabeau of Bavaria? Was she not brilliant at steering a middle course between the various parties? Was it not partly thanks to her that France fell into English hands in 1420?\n\nIn purely legal terms, there was quite a difference between France and the Holy Roman Empire as far as leadership roles were concerned. According to Salic law, which was laid down in 1327, it was impossible for a woman to rule the kingdom of France, which is why the mother of Edward III was denied the throne, even though she had every right to it, and her son would launch the Hundred Years War a few years later out of revenge. You might even call this French-English conflict the first feminist struggle in history \u2013 with a certain sense of anachronism and hyperbole \u2013 even though the woman in question died in 1358.\n\nIn the German hereditary domains, women did have the right to succession, just as long as there were no male candidates available. In the eleventh century, Richilde von Egisheim laid the basis for the county of Hainaut, which was a fief that could be inherited by a woman and consequently could be governed by a countess. Before Jacqueline came to power, three women would be elevated to the title of Countess of Hainaut.\n\nThere is no doubt that Jacqueline belonged to a small circle of extraordinary women, despite the fact that our national historiographers have rather eagerly catapulted her to the status of superwoman. In reality, she remained a pawn on the chessboard of England and Burgundy, albeit a very unruly one. She was also subject to the iron law of her age: that when a female heir inherited the title of countess, the authority that went with it was to be exercised by her husband. Now, John was a notorious fool and Humphrey an impulsive scoundrel. So the question of whether Jacqueline would have performed better as Jacques can only be answered by saying that it would depend on the character and the talent of the said Jacques.\n\nIn any case, there are two myths that must be dispelled. Jacqueline is all too often accused of having had an extraordinarily cruel disposition, while the offences that she is often charged with were standard fare in times of war, civil or otherwise. In this respect her behaviour was no different than that of many other leaders, and there's no question that she was less bloodthirsty than her uncle, John the Fearless. The claim that Jacqueline repeatedly went into battle like a knight on horseback belongs to the realm of fantasy. Only once did she find herself in a battle situation, and that was completely unintentional. It would never happen again.\n\nExamples of women wielding great military force simply didn't exist. And it was precisely because they never commanded an army or played an essential role in the tumult of battle that female leaders were rarely taken seriously. But in this age of turbulence there was one exception to the rule: a French village girl would realize the legend that was ascribed to her, including military success, and she would do it all by herself.\n\nYou can ask yourself what might have happened if Joan of Arc had had blue blood, as Jacqueline did. Her lack of aristocratic origins did make things difficult for the village daughter from Domr\u00e9my, but it was that very drawback that enhanced the fairy-tale quality of her story."
            },
            {
                "title": "'She Fully Renounced Her Female Appearance'",
                "text": "The voices that Joan heard became more and more urgent over the course of 1428. No matter how much pain it might cost her, she had to leave. Abandoning the village of Domr\u00e9my, her parents and her friends was not as simple as many thought, but after three years she was ready to make the sacrifice. 'Even if I had had a hundred fathers and a hundred mothers\u2026 I would have left,' she said later on during her trial. The voices told her that she would lead the troops to liberate Orl\u00e9ans. Although she had never wielded a sword, she did not hesitate. Some well-documented historical facts never lose their patina of mystery.\n\nOn 14 October, the English regent Bedford had put an end to the relative tranquillity of the previous years. Now that peace had returned to the Low Countries and his brother Humphrey was focusing all his attention on England, Bedford decided to crush Charles VII. However much the so-called King of Bourges doubted his own legitimacy, he had eliminated John the Fearless and succeeded in organizing his own court. So his plan to drive the English from the throne had to be taken quite seriously. Not much happened after the Treaty of Troyes, but the tension was palpable. When would the bomb burst?\n\nThe Hundred Years War and the civil war had torn the country into three large segments: the region around Bourges and the south belonged to Charles VII; the north and Burgundy to Philip the Good; the centre, Aquitaine and Normandy to the English toddler king Henry VI and his regent, Bedford. Only the Bretons were left tottering on their own legs, sometimes leaning on the shoulders of the French king, sometimes gazing longingly at England.\n\nThe past years had been a period of skirmishes, but mainly a long quest for money. Both Bedford and Charles had soldiers to pay, and to do that they drained the plundered and burnt-out France even further in order to survive. To pay for his wars in the Low Countries, Philip the Good applied a cunning manoeuvre. He secretly devalued the local currency, put inferior gold pieces into circulation and financed the battles with the profit, which he managed to slip into his own pocket.\n\nThe way to win wars was to be creative in imposing your so-called benevolences and taxes, but naturally you had to cash those investments in on the battlefield. In 1424 the claimant to the French throne lost an important battle to the English, and the end seemed nigh. Bedford had the power for the taking, but France was saved by Jacqueline of Bavaria. Her marriage to Humphrey diverted attention to the north. Bedford's brother wanted to capture Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, which confused not only Bedford himself but also his ally Philip the Good. At approximately the same time, a minor palace revolution was taking place in London, where the Bishop of Winchester was profiting from Humphrey's absence and advancing his own interests. In short, just when France had presented itself to England like an apple ripe for the picking, Bedford had to go to London to calm Winchester down and frustrate his brother's plans for Holland.\n\nHe spent fifteen months on the other side of the Channel. In March 1427 Bedford returned, more determined than ever to eliminate the would-be King Charles VII for good. The English had succeeded in expanding the borders of their French domain practically everywhere, and in the summer of 1428, when Salisbury's fleet docked in Calais (with Jacqueline waiting in vain in Gouda), Bedford felt he was ready for the final raid.\n\nAt about the same time, Joan of Arc left her native village. Durand Laxart, her cousin by marriage, took her to Vaucouleurs, twenty kilometres north of Domr\u00e9my. This unknown Laxart deserves a proper place in the history books: he was the first to be convinced by Joan of her holy mission. Upon arriving at Vaucouleurs, Joan said she wanted to speak to Captain Robert Baudricourt, who was in charge of the king's last bastion in the north-east. Without beating about the bush, the sixteen-year-old virgin told him that God had sent her to relieve Orl\u00e9ans, crown the king at Reims and toss the English out of the country. The man burst out laughing and ordered Laxart to give her a couple of cuffs on the ear and send the child back to her parents. Joan walked away in tears.\n\nThe city of Orl\u00e9ans that Joan was referring to was located on the Loire and was the ideal gateway from Paris to the France of Charles VII. On 12 October, Salisbury began what would become perhaps the most famous siege in the history of France. If Orl\u00e9ans fell, the war would be over. Charles knew that the fate of France was at stake, and he improvised a meeting of the States-General in Chinon. There it was decided to break through the English supply lines, since without food it would be impossible for them to maintain the siege. Charles emptied his treasury. In January he sent troops to Orl\u00e9ans, which bravely held out under the attacks of the English.\n\nJoan refused to give up, and she went back to Baudricourt again and again to argue her case. Although she made not a single inch of progress, she did succeed in gaining support within the captain's entourage. Who was this strange young girl with her remarkable story? Was her arrival a sign from God? Now that France was on the point of losing everything, wasn't it time to take some risks? Baudricourt felt the mood change within the ranks. Even the inhabitants of Vaucouleurs had taken Joan's side. In these dreadful times, they were willing to clutch at any available straw, certainly if that straw was the convincingly prophetic appearance of the maid from Domr\u00e9my. They went ahead and fashioned men's clothing to fit her so she could ride a horse more easily. Joan also had them cut off her long locks so the helmet would stay put. I changed from a woman to a man, as Christine de Pizan would have said in her place.\n\n'Joan fully renounced her female appearance,' we read in the closing statement of her trial from 1431. 'Her hair was cut in a pageboy style, she wore a shirt, braies, doublet, hose, tall laced shoes, a short, knee-length tunic and a cut-out hood.' She also had her own 'boots with tall leather gaiters, stirrups, a sword\u2026' Almost three years earlier, on 31 August 1425, Jacqueline of Bavaria had also dressed herself in manscleder, but three days later she took it all off. Joan of Arc would never wear women's clothing again.\n\nNo other person in France would be enshrined in so many statues. Joan is invariably shown as a man, boldly mounted on a charger or looking austere in her suit of armour. These sculptures seem to proclaim one big message: if a lady wanted to set herself apart from the rest of her sex and do it in a spectacular way, all she needed was an air of masculinity. Is Joan of Arc, the woman who wrote history as a man, a proto-feminist? Centuries later she would serve as the poster girl for the suffragettes. At the same time, the heroic adventures of the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans would supply the raw materials for the figure of the warrior woman so often featured in films, comic strips and TV series.\n\nCaptain Baudricourt, who naturally was not in possession of a crystal ball, continued to have his doubts. He was afraid that this was all a joke, that he was being made to look ridiculous. An unknown virgin who would save France from ruin? On 13 February 1429, Joan barged in on him once more. 'In God's name, you're taking far too much time to send me off. Today the dear dauphin [as long as Charles was not yet crowned she would invariably refer to him as the dauphin] suffered a defeat at Orl\u00e9ans. If you continue to delay, a much greater defeat will follow.'\n\nBaudricourt was at a loss. What was he to do with this strange female creature? Many historians would later wonder how on earth she could have known that the French troops had just carried out their biggest orchestrated assault on the English supply convoys. And that the entire plan had been a monumental failure. Or was she just bluffing, hoping for the best? In the light of what was to come, the beginning of Joan's adventure proved to be so prophetic that the neutral observer hardly knows what to think.\n\nSoon the event would mockingly be referred to as 'The Battle of the Herrings' because the English happened to be transporting fish that day. Cod, pork, whatever \u2013 the French were massacred. When Charles VII, still in Chinon, was informed of the debacle, he was sure the end was coming. Weeping, he withdrew to his private chapel and prayed for assistance. He implored the Almighty to give him a sign that somehow everything would turn out all right.\n\nAs if he were enacting a highly implausible scenario, Captain Baudricourt decided that then was the time to send in Joan of Arc. 'Come what may,' he said. He looked with amazement as she mounted her horse, dug in her spurs and galloped off. Was this creature really a woman?\n\nOr how Joan of Arc first appeared in the life of Philip the Good, how Jan van Eyck simplified his search for a marriage partner, but especially how the duke combined his territorial expansion with increasing splendour and decorum.\n\nAT EXACTLY THE same spot where the pagan Clovis converted to Christianity a cool 923 years earlier, Charles VII had himself crowned King of France. The cathedral of Reims was flooded with people. Everyone wanted to witness the miracle. After all, wasn't it a miracle that the dauphin had been able to reverse a lost cause in just a few months? He had succeeded in lifting the English siege of Orl\u00e9ans, conquering one occupied city after another, wiping out the humiliating defeat at Agincourt with a resounding victory at Patay \u2013 and, to top it all off, successfully travelling the risky route to Reims through enemy territory. Chroniclers ran out of words in their efforts to glorify this unexpected resurrection of French resourcefulness.\n\nYou weren't really king until you had gone through the ancient rites in the Coronation City and been anointed with Holy Oil, but for years the English and the Burgundians had blocked Charles's way. So entering Reims must have made a deep impression on the dauphin. Here, his mythical predecessors such as St Louis and Philip Augustus had sworn their loyalty to God and to France. Against all predictions, he would also be included in the list of illustrious forefathers.\n\nThe inhabitants of Reims quickly decorated their city and brought the cathedral to a state of ceremonial readiness. The dauphin had stretched himself out on the ice-cold church floor to thank God for hearing his prayers. Hadn't the Almighty sent him a ministering angel? When a procession led him through the city the following day, the crowds lining the streets took up the ancient cry 'No\u00ebl! No\u00ebl!' Under normal circumstances, preparations for the anointing of a king would take a whole week, but in this case only a few hours were necessary. The most celebrated coronation in French history took place in a setting of papier m\u00e2ch\u00e9 and half-polished jewellery.\n\nThankfully, standing beside Charles VII on 17 July 1429 was the personification of French victory. She was glowing. Everyone in the cathedral was pointing at her. Look! Joan of Arc, the miracle incarnate who has taken away the sins of France! The comparison with the Lamb of God didn't become obvious until later on; now she was shining in all her invincibility. Without her, Charles VII could have kissed his crown, sceptre and ring goodbye. Each and every time, she had convinced the wavering prince and the grumbling army leadership to throw themselves into the fray. Onward! God is with us! Have faith! While she was never put in charge of a military mission, she could always be found in the front ranks. Her presence electrified the French troops. Joan's white banner proved to be a more powerful stimulant than the Oriflamme, the ancient fabled battle standard of Charlemagne.\n\nAccording to legend, Joan was an attractive woman. She slept among hardened, coarse soldiers who never laid a finger on her. At the king's request, a committee of matrons was formed to confirm the purity of the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans by means of empirical evidence. If she hadn't been a pucelle, her meteoric rise would have been impossible. Virginity gave women a halo of inviolability. At first the English tried to make a mockery of the 'whore of the Armagnacs', but gradually their scorn turned to fear.\n\nUndaunted, Joan climbed ladders in the storming of fortresses. She once took a serious fall, and she bounced right back up. She received several blows to the helmet and was hit in the shoulder with an arrow. Nothing could stop her. She invariably wanted to be the first on the battlefield and the last to leave it. Although she saw countless soldiers perish, her fighting spirit never dwindled. She herself fought with the flat of her sword and by her own account she never killed anyone. Joan was merciful and uncompromising, ravishingly beautiful and beyond sensual lust, illiterate and clever, God-fearing but more manly than three generals put together.\n\nPeriods of war and misery were an ideal breeding ground for the emergence of self-proclaimed emissaries of God, but this daughter of a well-to-do peasant family couldn't have timed things better. Charles's initial reaction was lukewarm: she's harmless, so what do we have to lose? But soon he too became convinced that heaven had sent him a beacon in dark times. Seated on her charger, the maid drove the reborn land from victory to victory. The faint-hearted dauphin had mustered up all his courage and followed her to Reims, the city overladen with royal symbolism.\n\nAfter the five-hour ceremony, Joan knelt before Charles VII, clasped him round the legs, and spoke these words in tears: 'Good king, the wish of God is now fulfilled. It was His will that I break the siege of Orl\u00e9ans and conduct you to Reims. So that you might receive Holy Unction. So that it would be perfectly clear to everyone that you are the true king.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 84",
                "text": "The coronation was a turning point in the Hundred Years War. The English flag was still flying in Paris and Normandy, but from now on the enemy had to bear in mind that they were dealing with an officially anointed French monarch. Despite this unmistakable triumph, Charles VII soon began feeling a degree of ambivalence towards Joan.\n\nOccasionally she had gone too far in her doggedness, and she had dared to rebuke him for his indecisiveness. Such bravado made his Valois blood boil. After all, he was the descendant of great kings and she an unlettered shepherdess. Whether a talent for diplomacy would have made her position stronger is doubtful. Her headstrong swagger was the very key to her success. And it was galling to Charles that her name was on everyone's lips. With reluctance he had to admit that he was not being seen as the long-awaited saviour, while she was regarded as the divine liberator.\n\nDuring the coronation, Joan was caught a few times exhibiting a certain arrogance. Charles thought that bragging was a privilege reserved for him alone. Now that he had been officially crowned king, he gradually came to feel strong enough to stand up to her. It was a slow realization, however. Everything this king did happened at a sluggish pace. But it was based on a calm steadfastness that would lead him to bring about the total liberation of France. Until the very end he would wrap his irritation with Joan in courtly mannerisms. And she devoted herself tirelessly to her king.\n\nImmediately after the coronation, still on 17 July 1429, the illiterate Joan dictated a letter to Philip the Good. Philip had kept remarkably aloof during the past months; he had sent only a handful of troops to Paris, barely enough to maintain order. The English had expected more. Regent John of Bedford, who had been exercising power in the French capital on behalf of the very young Henry VI, responded with disappointment. Why were the Burgundians being so restrained? Joan, too, could not hide her disappointment. Three weeks earlier she had sent the Burgundian duke an invitation to the coronation in Reims, but Philip did not deign to answer her. This time, the farmer's daughter from Domr\u00e9my approached him as if she were a statesman of the same calibre. She asked him to 'stop fighting against the holy kingdom of France', and let him know 'on behalf of the good King of France' that he was prepared 'to make peace'. If it pleased the great Philip to fight, 'he should aim his arrows at the Saracens', words that prophetically anticipated the older duke's dream of launching a Crusade.\n\nPhilip read her missive, gave it some thought, but again refused to reply. The curious phenomenon that answered to the name of Joan of Arc was difficult for him to assess. What he as a realistic tactician did understand was that Charles VII, after so many triumphs, was still in need of Burgundian support and terrified of the English. As European arbitrator, he decided to let the situation simmer for a while, but mentally he began to prepare himself. One day he would have to make peace with Charles, even though the king had had a hand in his father's murder.\n\nJoan may well have had the most triumphant spring and summer in French history, but the autumn and winter that followed were bleak. Her king seemed war weary. Charles VII was no great warrior. He was more a diplomat who had let her provoke him to action. He always believed that the ultimate solution was a matter of negotiation. Even after his coronation he refused to follow through. He did give Joan permission to besiege Paris, looking on suspiciously from a distance, but his heart wasn't in it. Perhaps he secretly hoped that this nuisance would be killed. For the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans, sent with a small detachment in the company of the Duke of Alen\u00e7on, it was fighting a losing battle.\n\nNot that she just gave up. Until the bitter end she kept shouting at the Parisians, telling them to surrender. The future was French! Not English! And certainly not Burgundian! But at long last, after having been hit in the thigh, the indefatigable Joan was carried off the battlefield by her companions. When the king ordered her to end the siege, she made her way to the basilica of Saint-Denis. Deeply discouraged, she prayed over the mortal remains of all the warrior kings who were buried there. She did not understand that Charles VII had let himself be taken in by Philip the Good, who claimed to be preparing for peace talks, while according to her he was trying to gain an advantage by sowing discord.\n\nDoubt began to grow among the king's acquaintances. Had Joan's voices deceived her? After all, she had failed to cut Paris down to size. The fact that Charles VII had hardly offered her any support recently was swept under the rug. Her military career had come to an end, to all intents and purposes. Although she had been admitted to the royal court, frustration overtook her. The French had locked their ministering angel in a golden cage. Common sense told her to get married and lead the life of a prosperous civilian. She was famous and beautiful; there would be no lack of candidates. The only problem was that she had pledged her virginity to God and sworn to liberate all of France from the English. So while her momentum may have passed, she kept looking for a way to be of service.\n\nIn January 1430 she was treated to a festive reception in Orl\u00e9ans, the city she had liberated six months earlier. She dined with old friends, former warriors who had returned to their work as bakers and butchers. The banquet that the city council proffered was quite impressive, but it paled in comparison with the festivities being held in Bruges that same month. Philip the Good was marrying for the third time, and this wedding, he decided, would rival that of his parents', the tour de force in Cambrai that had become the stuff of legend."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Skill And Virtuosity Of Jehan De Heick'",
                "text": "Suddenly, the duke became concerned with the question of progeny. The idea had been convincingly put to him in September 1428 by the Four Members of Flanders. It was high time, said the delegates from Ghent, Bruges, Ypres and the Franc of Bruges, that Philip turned his efforts to producing an heir, especially now that the Kiss of Delft had made him the de facto ruler of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. The men reminded him that these very territories had fallen to him because John IV had not succeeded in begetting a child by Jacqueline of Bavaria. In short, he was not to make the same mistake.\n\nWhile the English were laying siege to Orl\u00e9ans in October 1428, Philip sent a delegation to the King of Portugal. Just as the most illustrious Frenchwoman of all time was setting out on her perilous journey through the English-Burgundian part of France in February 1429, destination Chinon, the most important painter of the Late Middle Ages was applying the finishing touches to his portrait of Isabella of Portugal in Avis. As Joan of Arc, having reached Chinon, was trying to convince the dauphin Charles of her holy mission, Jan van Eyck sent his two portraits northward from Portugal \u2013 one by land, the other by sea. When Charles, after much deliberation, gave Joan his blessing so her remarkable series of heroic deeds could commence, Jan the painter travelled to Santiago de Compostela for a bit of rest and to make some sketches. The spider in this web of stories was Philip the Good. He held the fate of France and England in his hands, had dictated the doings and dealings of Jan van Eyck since appointing him court painter in 1425, and would soon decide the fate of Joan of Arc.\n\nThe artist was part of a secret mission. Except for the negotiators \u2013 Jan van Herzele, Andreas van Toulengeon, Boudewijn van Lannoy, Gillis van Schorisse and Van Eyck himself \u2013 few had been informed of the actual circumstances. It was not the first time that he would be dispatched by the duke, nor would it be the last. Like Rubens after him, Van Eyck would be responsible for producing paintings and carrying out diplomatic missions.\n\nLittle is known about the painter in any event, and nothing at all about his childhood. How he ended up working for John of Bavaria in The Hague is a mystery, nor do we know what brought him there. His name first appears on 19 May 1425 on a Burgundian document confirming the appointment of 'Jehan de Heick' as court painter for Philip the Good on account of his 'skill and virtuosity\u2026 which the duke had heard about from a few of his own people, and who knew some of his works and had actually seen them'. In the Burgundian court records he appears variously as 'Deick', 'Deecke' and 'de Heecq'. Apparently, Philip the Good's strictly French-speaking acquaintances rarely talked about 'van' Eyck. The painter moved from The Hague to Lille, where he lived for five years. After returning from Portugal, he settled in Bruges.\n\nAlthough no works have been preserved from the first period of his life aside from a few miniatures, the fame of 'Iohannes de Heecq' must have been sufficiently impressive to serve as the basis for his appointment as chamberlain and court painter to the most influential duke of his time. Like Claus Sluter, he didn't actually serve as chamberlain, but he did enjoy the honorary fee attached to that position. His appointment brought other advantages as well. Unlike ordinary painters, he was free to disregard the rules of the painters' guild of Lille (and later of Bruges) and thus escaped the taxes imposed on guild members. His annual salary was supplemented by allowances for various travel costs.\n\nJan must have spent hours sitting across from the future Duchess Isabella. She was the daughter of John of Portugal and the sister of Henry the Navigator, who himself was not a great traveller but who had sent out countless adventurers and thereby laid the foundation for the Portuguese empire. A not unimportant detail: her mother, Philippa of Lancaster, was a granddaughter of Edward III, the English king who struck the match that kindled the Hundred Years War. While Philip's first two marriages were deeply French, now they took on a distinctly English lustre, which the Flemish and the Hollanders certainly appreciated from an economic standpoint. As a great-grandchild of the great Edward, Isabella's Albion content was within reasonable limits, all things considered, and Philip's choice of a Portuguese princess mainly showed that he was gradually feeling strong enough to demonstrate a certain neutrality, even in his married life. He seemed to be saying: I can do without France, and despite the validity of the Treaty of Troyes I'm only willing to toss England the occasional bone \u2013 a bone that might prove useful to me if negotiations over English wool were to start again.\n\nOn 13 January 1429, Jan looked on as Gillis van Schorisse, professor in canon law, discussed the subject of marriage with King John of Portugal. He did this in Latin. A Portuguese scholar translated the words into John's mother tongue. And so the communication continued, back and forth. The king was flattered, and Jan was given permission to begin his portrait.\n\nUnfortunately, the fruits of his labour have been lost, although we do have a drawn copy made in the seventeenth century. Isabella looks us straight in the eye, like the figure in Portrait of a Man in a Red Turban (1433). The claim that the turban painting, which is believed to be one of the first self-portraits in history, is also the first example of a sitter looking directly into the eyes of the viewer, can be tossed aside \u2013 unless you qualify it as the 'oldest preserved' work of this kind.\n\nThere are several known examples of portraits from antiquity, but the practice practically vanished with the emergence of Christianity, which maintained a long and troubled relationship with human representations in general and representations of Christ in particular. Gradually, that association loosened up, although human facial features continued to be rendered schematically for quite some time. The profiles of princes on coins also lacked individual characteristics. It wasn't until the fourteenth century that an art of portraiture developed that was worthy of the name, often used in connection with marriage negotiations or simply to keep a dead or imprisoned prince symbolically present. It was an evolution that was consistent with the increased attention being paid to the individual in the run-up to the Renaissance.\n\nBecause so few panels from the pre-Eyck period have survived the vicissitudes of history, experts will probably never agree on how innovative Philip's court painter really was. At any rate, the portrait of John the Fearless attributed to Johan Maelwael from c.1405 proves that experiments in portraiture were being carried out before Van Eyck. The anonymous portrait of his grandfather, John the Good, from the late 1350s, is sometimes regarded as the oldest preserved painted portrait since the age of antiquity. The king was in prison in London at the time, and in this small painting he is shown as an ordinary man, far removed from the majestic figures shown in the miniatures that were inlaid with gold leaf. Others claim that because of that simplicity, the work must date from before his reign. Be that as it may, should you ever find yourself standing before this portrait of John the Good in the Louvre, remember that this is the man with whom this entire book originated. If he had not given Burgundy as a gift to his son Philip the Bold, you would be reading a very different history.\n\nLabelling Van Eyck as the grand master of the portrait is a truth difficult to dispute, but to see him as an artistic extraterrestrial who simply fell out of the sky is an exaggeration. Even on the basis of the few available examples, it is obvious that he was following in the footsteps of Burgundian painters such as Maelwael and Broederlam, although he far outshone them with his eye for detail and incidence of light from an unseen source. We need only cast a glance at his so-called self-portrait from 1433. The head and the turban stand out in sharp detail while the background is black, vastly different from the rather flat and stylized faces of Broederlam and Maelwael. The drawn copy of Isabella's portrait shows that he had already mastered these techniques in 1429. The trompe l'oeil technique that he employed later on is also in evidence here. The left hand of the future Duchess of Burgundy is resting on a stone alcove, a kind of window sill over which her fingers appear to be hanging.\n\nPhilip was quite willing to do whatever was necessary to satisfy the wish for future descendants as long as he had some guarantee of the desirability of his bride, another reason for hiring the best portraitist of his time. If the painter from The Hague were to send him a rendering of a fine woman, he could depend on its accuracy: the lady was sure to be a beaut\u00e9 in the flesh. On 4 June, the Burgundian delegation received a message in which the duke expressed his enthusiasm for Isabella. Like his daughter, the King of Portugal was in seventh heaven.\n\nIn early autumn the delegation began their homeward journey. The small group had now grown to a whole fleet of 2,000 knights, soldiers and courtiers. There's no doubt that Van Eyck was relieved. Now he'd finally have the time to finish the monumental Ghent Altarpiece (also known as the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb) started by his late brother Hubert. But he'd have to be patient. A series of storms drove the fleet apart, and some even feared that the new duchess's life was in danger. Finally, the missing princess was able to go ashore in Sluis on Christmas Day. The journey had been one long ordeal, and for Philip the wait was equally arduous, but when he saw her the duke immediately recognized her fresh appearance from Jan's portraits. The Burgundian womanizer was not too timid to adopt the words 'Aultre n'auray' as his motto. 'I will have no other.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "'It Is With Such Baubles That Men Are Led'",
                "text": "After the official solemnization of their marriage in the main church of Sluis on 7 January, a procession led the new duchess to Bruges. A band of seventy-six trumpeters welcomed Isabella, who didn't know where to look first. Red and white wine spouted from the hoofs of a lion. A stag pissed spiced wine in an endless stream. A squirrel held up a jug from which rose water flowed. The three creatures were cut from wood and so beautifully painted that they looked real. No matter where her eyes came to rest, there were no empty spaces to be seen. The Burgundian horror vacui reigned supreme. Full, fuller, fullest. Bruges had become a festival of triumphal arches, decorations and tableaux vivants.\n\nGuests from all points of the compass arrived in the most diverse assortment of outfits. Even the palette that Jan van Eyck had used in painting the new bride's portraits must have paled in comparison with the vividly coloured masses who strode through the streets of Bruges on 8 January. Afterwards, chroniclers worked flat out serving up descriptions of the most prominent guests, which read like a 'Who's Who of 1430'. One enthusiastic chronicler counted 5,000 participants, another wrote of 150,000 spectators \u2013 although the triumphant juggling of figures in the chronicles should always be taken with a pinch of salt. A great many houses were hidden behind specially erected viewing stands, where local residents rented places to those who wanted to watch the wedding procession. The new duchess was far from alone in her amazement. Philip had had his economic capital transformed into one big theatre.\n\nThe entrements, both edible and inedible, filled the guests with awe. The biggest surprise was a blue ram, who cleared a path out of an immense pie with his gilded horns. Also hidden within this oversized pastry construction was a giant, who began romping with a frolicking female dwarf, much to everyone's delight. The duke beamed. He had snapped up this little lady in Hungary for a small fortune. And look, there was someone sitting astride a roasted pig! Further on was a stuffed wild boar, who would defaecate radishes when you tugged on its curly tail. Need it be said that the amount of gorging and guzzling that went on was colossal? That for days Bruges was overflowing with knights who risked their lives jousting each other, just as in Cambrai in 1385? That everyone who was there would never forget it, and would talk about it non-stop?\n\nThe reader may rest assured: this is not going to be a repeat of the detailed description of the Cambrai wedding feast. Just try to imagine, if you will: bigger, more luxurious and richer. Imagine in terms of superlatives. Imagine an ultimate show of peaceful power. It was no accident that the coats of arms of all Philip's principalities were part of the table decorations. What seemed like ingenious formality was really clever marketing. Philip used gastronomy and the fine arts to showcase his power, and to imprint in everyone's mind the obvious superiority of grandson Philip the Good over grandfather Philip the Bold. His wife might stand with him on the dais, but this marriage was primarily a coronation of the duke as king of Burgundian theatricality."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 87",
                "text": "Where did Philip the Good get his predilection for theatrical glitz? First of all, he was standing on the shoulders of his grandfather, the king's son who had observed the French court first-hand and had turned every feast and funeral into a ceremonial opportunity to put Burgundy on the map of Europe. But when it came to the dukes' marketing of spectacle, there was one fairy-tale castle that had been inherited by Margaret of Flanders and that played at least as important a role. The domain of Hesdin had captured the imagination of Margaret's husband, Philip the Bold, but it would excite the fantasy of his grandson even more. To tell the story of this famous theatrical monarchy without mentioning Hesdin would be like sitting down to a banquet where no casks of Beaune were being tapped.\n\nRobert of Artois, one of the most famous knights of the thirteenth century, had started collecting curious automatons and decorative inventions in Hesdin in 1288. The man best known in the annals of Belgian history as the French leader who was cut down by a Flemish weapon known as a goedendag \u2013 a long-handled spike \u2013 on 11 July 1302 was a visionary as well as a great warrior.\n\nIn the chaos of his relatively short life, John the Fearless had had little time to let himself be captivated by the wonders of Hesdin, but his son Philip fell under their spell early on: the spouting statues, the distorting mirrors, the traps that landed visitors on sacks of feathers, or the bridge that would sag under the weight of the people who crossed it and dump them in the local moat. The funhouse quality of such stunts was very popular. In one of the rooms you would be sprinkled with flour, in another you'd find yourself in the midst of an indoor rainstorm. Over there was a wooden hermit, and here was an owl \u2013 all of them devices that could speak. Balanced on a lectern was a book of ballads so beautifully illuminated that guests would spontaneously leaf through it, only to be sprayed with water. Another automaton ordered the guests to leave the room, but as soon as they attempted to do so a second mechanism would strike them down. Those who remained would be treated to yet another shower. Water was the main feature of this interactive experience avant la lettre. Philip, with his soft spot for female beauty, must have been especially pleased by the ingenious installations that blew up women's skirts and then sprayed their legs with water. Hesdin's other attractions included fake apes and lions outfitted with an ingenious mechanism that enabled them to walk backwards and forwards. It was all highly artificial, but it worked, and the invited guests were apparently wild about the remarkable combination of practical jokes and illusionism.\n\nTo pull this all off, Robert of Artois made use of the latest advances in military and agricultural technology from the late thirteenth century. The newest developments in chronometry and clockmaking also came in handy. Hesdin was not far from Arras, the first successful centre of the textile industry before the rise of Ypres and Ghent. Only later would wealth and innovation begin their journey to the north.\n\nAs a passionate reader of chivalric romances, Robert had noticed how mysterious trumpet blasts would warn his beloved heroes of danger, and how they would then be rescued by hovering wooden horses or shown the way by talking owls. The magic derived from fiction became the inspiration for the marvellous place that made such an impression on Philip the Good, who himself was busy organizing reality into a story that he had contrived.\n\nThe duke spent a great deal of money restoring the dilapidated Hesdin castle, making a few improvements here and there and hiring a 'master of amusement machines' to maintain all the 'engins d'esbattement'. He would make full use of the technology of automatons, with their hidden mechanisms, bellows and feathers, during the famous entremets at his feasts and banquets."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 88",
                "text": "Appearing on the mobile presentation tables in Bruges, which can best be compared with today's parade floats, were not only innovative dishes but also mechanically driven fountains, fish with rolling eyes and other creatures that would excrete titbits on command. Everyone saw it was a trick, but as with any sleight of hand, the secret behind the trick remained secret. After taking a few turns round the room the great engines would disappear as if by magic, and the guests would wonder how in the world their originator had pulled it off!\n\nThe rich of the earth sat in a fairylike decor, designed and painted by the team of Jan van Eyck, and watched mechanically driven figures that would spit water in their faces if they weren't careful. High art, ingenious inventions and silly hijinks went hand in hand. As long as the guests were left flabbergasted.\n\nAfter three days, when everyone had gradually been exhausted by admiration, too much drink and far too much food, Philip ratcheted things up a notch. At a solemn gathering, he presented the Order of the Golden Fleece. In Philip's territories the textile industry was very important, hence the use of the word 'fleece' in reference to the wool taken from shorn sheep. In the context of Philip's order, it referred of course to the ram with the golden fleece of classical mythology, the booty that Jason and his unforgettable Argonauts had their eyes on. Immediately, the guests understood that the ram with the gilded horns that had escaped from a pie a few days earlier had been a spectacularly decorated herald.\n\nPhilip the Good was eager to associate his brand-new knightly order with Jason's tried and tested heroism, not least because the ancient tale was something he had grown up with. Philip's grandfather, Philip the Bold, had asked Melchior Broederlam to work the story into monumental wall paintings, and as a small boy the duke had deciphered the fate of the Argonauts on the walls of his grandfather's the castle in Hesdin. The marvellous engins in this fairy-tale palace created the illusion of thunder, lightning and rain, and as a youngster Philip must have imagined himself one of Jason's travelling companions. Later on, he'd be able to scrutinize the story's most minute details in History of the Destruction of Troy, a medieval bestseller by Guido delle Colonne that he found in the library of his father, John the Fearless. The version contained in this work differed slightly from the ancient tale, but it was one that everyone in Philip's time knew backwards and forwards. With the help of Medea's magical arts, Jason was finally able to catch the ram, which was being defended by snakes and dragons. He killed the beast, skinned it and came back with the golden pelt \u2013 the so-called golden fleece \u2013 from which the head and legs were still hanging. That image formed the inspiration for the pendant hanging from the chain that members of the new order of knights received and were expected to wear at all times. Why would the talisman that protected Jason and his men from all adversity fail to protect Philip the Good and his followers?\n\nThe duke saw his order as a religious brotherhood whose mission was to defend the honour of Christianity and serve as the driving force behind any future Crusade. A few pious members of the order made a fuss over the association with the pagan Jason. Fortunately, a scholar soon dug up the figure of Gideon, an Old Testament hero who had also had miraculous adventures with a sheep's fleece. That made it possible for every member to choose whatever source of inspiration satisfied him, although Philip, in his heart of hearts, would always remain an Argonaut. Besides, the Burgundian dukes were convinced that they had descended from the mythological Trojans. As far as they were concerned, the Greco-Latin and the Judeo-Christian traditions blended together seamlessly.\n\nMembership in the Order of the Golden Fleece quickly became the greatest honour to be awarded in Philip's empire. 'You call these baubles,' Napoleon would say of his L\u00e9gion d'honneur almost four centuries later, 'well, it is with such baubles that men are led. You call it vanity, but vanity is a human weakness.' Philip the Good would not have disagreed with him. In addition to the golden bauble, which contrasted nicely with their scarlet robes, members also enjoyed legal immunity. They were expected to stand up to 'brotherly admonition', however. The purpose of this ritualistic custom was to help maintain a high level of moral authority within the group and to create an opportunity to settle private conflicts. During the annual chapters, members were allowed to openly accuse each other of unpaid debts, exaggerated curses or excessive adultery \u2013 although whether a member dared to raise the subject in the company of the order's sovereign remained to be seen. In the seventeenth century, however, the obscure writer Andr\u00e9 Favyn insinuated that the Golden Fleece was a tribute to the golden pelt of Philip's former mistress, Marie van Crombrugghe.\n\nLike the knights of the Order of the Star, founded by his great-grandfather John the Good, members swore knightly loyalty to Philip on the battlefield and beyond. But the duke did not see the Order of the Golden Fleece as a mere nostalgia club for military daredevils. By getting top members of the Burgundian aristocracy to pledge their fealty to him in a way that was both prestigious and personal, he created a network at the highest level and a presumption of political unity. At the same time, it was a way of obtaining the commitment of the high nobility of the recently acquired principalities.\n\nBy establishing his Order of the Golden Fleece, Philip was also sending out an international message. It was a message laden with brocade, velvet and jewels, but that made it no less a heartfelt thumbing of the Burgundian nose at France and England. The fact that the two largest kingdoms had chivalric orders of their own, The Star and The Garter, was part of the normal course of things. But here was a duke who, without batting an eye, took his place beside the kings of England and France.\n\nHis gesture spoke volumes. Take a good look. I'm right here beside you. And even if I'm not a king, just the splendour of my wedding is enough to put you in the shade. I can even afford to marry outside your great houses. In the presence of the economic and aristocratic elite of Europe, Philip revealed himself in Bruges on 10 January 1430 as a sovereign prince who would not be lectured in humility by anyone. Whether the assembled guests, blinded by glitter and glamour, had understood this message of non-alignment was another question. Somehow, reality would soon enlighten them.\n\nOr how the ancient duchy of Brabant was carried to its grave and how Philip the Good and Joan of Arc suddenly found themselves face to face, but mainly how the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans would leave a blackened mark on the history of France that would last forever.\n\nJOAN WAS STILL sitting in her golden cage. She had enough money to improve the life of her family, which seemed to give her some degree of pleasure, but otherwise she was bored to tears. Her frustration hit boiling point when Charles VII sent his army home. It was impossible to maintain all those soldiers, he claimed, especially now that peace was around the corner. Philip the Good had promised!\n\nBut Joan was right. The Burgundian duke wasn't at all interested in peace, at least not for now. To placate him, the English regent Bedford, who realized that Philip was soft-soaping the French, had made a few territorial concessions. Philip could take total control of the Champagne and Brie regions \u2013 if he could recapture them from the French, that is. It was a smart move on Bedford's part, for Philip wanted nothing more than to expand his territory. After the wedding feast in Bruges, he ordered John of Luxembourg, one of the first generation of Golden Fleece knights, to raise an army and take the city of Compi\u00e8gne. The siege turned out to be an expensive failure, but it would make its way into the history books for another, quite unexpected reason.\n\nTo protect Compi\u00e8gne from the Burgundian traitors, Joan of Arc left her golden cage, even though the king himself had already abandoned the city. She then recruited an army of mercenaries at her own expense. On the way, heavenly voices told her that before the summer the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans would fall into the hands of the enemy, all the more reason for Joan to quicken her pace. She cunningly managed to steer her modest army past the Burgundian lines and lead them into Compi\u00e8gne. On 23 May 1430, at the head of a small troop of soldiers, she attempted an attack that was soon routed by the Burgundians. When her warriors realized that they had been cut off from Compi\u00e8gne, they all took to their heels. 'The Maid, who forgot she was a woman, carried on courageously and did all she could to save her company. As leader, as the most courageous of them all, she stayed behind,' wrote the Burgundian chronicler Chastellain with great admiration. Thanks to her, some of her troops were able to gain access to the city, but Joan herself watched the drawbridge close before her very eyes. The governor of Compi\u00e8gne didn't dare risk waiting any longer.\n\nThe golden tabard she wore over her armour was what brought her down. An archer grabbed Joan by the embroidered tunic and effortlessly pulled her from her snorting horse. The bastard of Vend\u00f4me, whose name has long been forgotten, took her prisoner. Proud as a peacock, he brought his famous detainee to his commander, John of Luxembourg. John then notified Philip the Good, who was encamped nearby. That same evening, Joan and Philip met for the first time.\n\nThere they were: the two most celebrated figures of their time standing face to face, the seemingly all-powerful duke and the seemingly unassailable Maid of Orl\u00e9ans. These are the moments when a writer is glad that the Burgundian chroniclers always described events down to the most trivial details. How many times did the gentlemen and ladies change clothes at the Bruges wedding feast? Check. How did Philip react to the murder of his father? Check. What were John the Fearless's last words? Check. The writer asks, the chroniclers get to work. And so this author, full of expectation, leafed through the writings of Georges Chastellain from the land of Aalst and Enguerrand de Monstrelet of Picardy, scrutinizing the momentous encounter between the two key figures in this book.\n\nBoth commentators were tireless in their descriptions of how la Pucelle was taken prisoner, but afterwards they cloaked themselves in surprising silence. Chastellain mentioned that the duke met her 'and spoke to her, but none of their conversation was conveyed to him'. Monstrelet, who did witness the meeting, insisted 'that he no longer remembers what the duke said to her'. How could the man who spent hundreds of pages proving he had the memory of an elephant fall prey to an inexplicable form of amnesia?\n\nCould it be that Philip, who found it perfectly normal for anyone in his presence to shrivel into a little mound of reverential goodwill, had suppressed all reports of his having been confronted by a woman who stood up to his gaze? Who made him out to be a traitor? Who predicted that soon he would be compelled to make peace with France? For all we know, he may have wanted to present her to his wife Isabella as a sort of curiosity. She was known to have been fascinated by the stories about Joan that were making the rounds. In any case, they must have said something. Historians have often scratched their heads, while writers of fiction have been only too glad to fill in the colourful blanks. All we know for certain is that the duke released the glorious tidings that very evening. Soon everyone from Dijon to Bruges, and then to Leiden and Amsterdam, knew that Joan of Arc was in Burgundian hands.\n\nEngland let Philip know how much they wanted Joan for themselves, a woman they regarded as being endowed with diabolical powers. For her part, this was what she feared the most. She would 'rather surrender her soul to God', as she would later say during her trial, 'than fall into the hands of the English'. While she anxiously waited, the duke was not quick to give his consent, if only because he felt how much sympathy the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans was able to extract from Duchess Isabella, from the wife of John of Luxembourg, and yes, even from the wife of Bedford. Or did he hope to drive up the price with his procrastination? He was as rich as Croesus, so that couldn't have been the reason. Perhaps he was just weighing up all the advantages and disadvantages, as he always did. In the end, the anti-feminist camp would win. After repeated and increasing pressure from Bedford, the council of the University of Paris and the Inquisition, the duke washed his hands of Joan and let John of Luxembourg have his way. John heard the jingling of money and immediately started negotiating. It would take six months, but finally she was sold to the English for 10,000 pounds, the going rate for ransoming a prince of royal blood.\n\nWith Philip's crude horse-trading, Joan's fame would take on mythic proportions. Yet the duke was unconcerned about her possible martyr's image. He still had no comprehension of the Joan of Arc phenomenon \u2013 and who did? \u2013 but he certainly didn't see her as a witch. Although he knew that the English would try her for heresy, he put little stock in such charges. Thirty years later he would rescue from the stake eighteen dignitaries who were rumoured to have taken part in a witches' sabbath. For him, Joan was just a political problem, which he therefore approached as such. As a power broker, he decided (in consultation with Chancellor Rolin) that placating the English was his wisest move. After all, they had suggested that wool exports to Flanders might be scaled back. Philip used Joan as a bargaining chip in his international relations. And she could brace herself for a trial in which she didn't stand a ghost of a chance.\n\nAnd the French king? The spineless Charles VII didn't lift a finger to free his saviour and defender."
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Would Rather Be Beheaded Ten Times Over'",
                "text": "Even without Joan and without the king, Compi\u00e8gne stubbornly held out against Philip the Good. But thankfully the irritated duke also received good news during the hopeless siege, news that even ten Compi\u00e8gnes couldn't match. On 4 August, Philip of Saint-Pol, Duke of Brabant, drew his last breath. Philip knew he couldn't hesitate. He abandoned the siege and set out for Brussels.\n\nSaint-Pol had been a much stronger personality than his helpless brother John, who had passed away three years earlier. If he had died first, there's no doubt the story would have been quite different. The lack of leadership on the part of John IV of Brabant demonstrates that the sharp ascendance of Philip the Good was not by any means based on his own merits alone.\n\nAs John's successor, Saint-Pol had signed the Treaty of Lier, thereby making it clear that in the absence of heirs, Brabant would go to his cousin Philip the Good. Burgundy's other claims left him cold. Certainly, his father had been a brother of John the Fearless, and he himself was a grandson of Philip the Bold and a full cousin of Philip the Good, but in Brabant he wanted to set a different course and start his own dynasty. Saint-Pol actively began looking for a fertile consort of rank. He hired Jan van Eyck to paint his portrait, and with this trinket he stormed the marriage market. According to some art historians, Van Eyck's Portrait of a Man with a Blue Chaperon (1429\u201330) is none other than Philip of Saint-Pol, based on a similar portrait. It's a relatively small and therefore portable picture of a man ostentatiously holding a diamond ring, implying that as a marriage candidate he is not to be undervalued. In the summer of 1430 his search came to an end. He had found the mother of his heirs in the person of Yolande of Anjou.\n\nSaint-Pol marrying a French princess irritated Philip the Good immensely. A cousin and sister-in-law of the king? A close family member of the man who had ordered his father's death? The Burgundian duke was fit to be tied. The fact that he himself had carried on secret negotiations with France was one thing \u2013 but a marriage? Saint-Pol couldn't care less. He had heirs to think of. Unlike his impotent fool of a brother, this was something he would certainly succeed at. Hadn't he already sired a whole slew of bastards? Just look at the children he had fathered by the charming Barbara Fierens, a beauty he had met in the ducal palace. Her father worked as winegrower at Coudenberg. Saint-Pol was fully convinced that the French princess would become pregnant even faster than his mistress. Barbara Fierens was paid a handsome amount by the Brabant auditor's office for having been 'deprived of her maidenhead'. Her sons attained the position of chamberlain of the Burgundian duke, but of course they had no place in the line of succession.\n\nOn the way to Reims, where he was to meet his future wife, Saint-Pol fell prey to stomach cramps. They had been afflicting him for months, but now the internal ulcers that were causing them seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Groaning with pain, he ordered the marriage caravan to turn back. It was forced to stop in Leuven, where a critically ill Philip of Saint-Pol passed away on 4 August 1430.\n\nHis unexpected demise proved extremely convenient for Philip the Good. Fingers were pointed at the Burgundian, but the autopsy confirmed that the Duke of Brabant had been suffering from stomach problems for quite some time, so murder was officially ruled out. Philip could thank his lucky stars. This was a Burgundian windfall of gigantic proportions. Now all the duke had to do was capitalize on the opportunity. But there was a competitor in the wings. Sigismund, who, as King of the Romans, had feudal rights to Brabant, presented himself as usual. He could never swallow the fact that Philip had become the strong man in Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, and he would blame the Burgundians to his very last breath for botching the expedition to Nicopolis with their stupid bravado. As King of the Romans, however, he was an empty colossus. He may have had a highfalutin title, but he had little power or means to make things difficult for Philip.\n\nCunning as he was, the duke discussed the transfer of power at length with the States of Brabant. He had no choice. A tradition of civic participation had developed in Brabant that was stronger than anywhere else in the Low Countries. Without the support of Antwerp, Brussels, Leuven, Bergen op Zoom and 's-Hertogenbosch, Philip would find himself caught up in endless disputes. Indeed, the same tactic had served him well earlier on in Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. The negotiations dragged on for weeks, but the Burgundian duke had all the time in the world. In the meantime, the embalmed body of Philip of Saint-Pol lay in state in the castle chapel in Leuven. That somewhat macabre presence symbolized the continuity of his ducal power.\n\nAs soon as Philip the Good, after a few concessions, was accepted as successor by the States of Brabant, the dead duke could be committed to the earth, ulcers and all. An immense dark spot accompanied him on his final journey. More than 250 black-clad men \u2013 from high nobility to chamberlain, from falconer to kitchen boy \u2013 gathered round their master for the last time and then disappeared into obscurity. The entire Brabant court was buried with Saint-Pol. For them, there was no room in the Burgundian inn.\n\nIn the autumn of 1430, the sovereign of the Golden Fleece began yet another series of Joyous Entries, this time as Duke of Brabant and Limburg \u2013 now the southernmost province of the Netherlands \u2013 a principality linked to Brabant that was thrown in for free. The inhabitants of the cities of Brabant were told that the county of Namur had also recently fallen into his lap. John III of Namur had found himself so desperate for cash that he sold his county in 1421 for 132,000 crowns. A man with a penchant for luxury, the count did retain the usufruct on the property. He would hold out for another eight years, but after 13 March 1429 Philip was able to call himself Count of Namur as well.\n\nHis impressive territorial triumphs compelled the duke to work on producing an heir as soon as possible. As his own successes had taught him, the lack of an heir could quickly turn against him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 90",
                "text": "Two decades later, Charles VII claimed he wanted to know the full truth about Joan of Arc, and a posthumous retrial was conducted. It would be a mistake to be excessive in complimenting the king. The Catholic monarch only wanted to prove that he had not been assisted by a heretic. Full of reverence and respect, scores of witnesses told of her adventures as they themselves had observed them. On 7 July 1456, the jury declared her conviction of 1431 'null and void', and she and her family were rehabilitated. The idea of the poor shepherdess took shape with the passing of time, although in reality Joan had tended very few sheep and had come from a relatively wealthy family. What also emerged was the legend of the strong woman who had almost single-handedly changed the course of the losing battle with the English. The memory of poor Joan continued to smoulder, but it would not burst into flames until after the nineteenth century.\n\nShakespeare presented her as an indomitable virago in Henry VI, part I (1590\u201391), while Voltaire, in the burlesque La Pucelle d'Orl\u00e9ans (1762), made fun of her and inveighed against the people's shallow superstitions. It took another French myth to turn the tide. 'The famous Joan has demonstrated that there is no miracle that French ingenuity cannot bring about when national independence is in jeopardy.' In 1803 this kind of voluntarism could only have issued from the mouth of Napoleon Bonaparte, who was not yet an emperor but was fully engaged in a conflict with the English (again). One legend paved the way for another, but it would take a historian to bring about the real reversal.\n\nIn 1841, the great historian Jules Michelet successfully catapulted Joan into the incarnation of the French people. He did this in a way that was both lyrical and bombastic, in a style that today would be called typically French: 'Never forget, people of France, that the fatherland was born in the heart of a woman, that it rose out of her tenderness, out of her tears and out of the blood that she shed for us.' After Napoleon and Michelet, the path to eternal glory was open wide.\n\nYet in his Grand dictionnaire du XIXe si\u00e8cle (1870), Pierre Larousse was more critical and refused to attach any credence to her 'voices', although he did see her as an example of someone with 'an exalted patriotism' that was curtailed by both the king and the church. By rehabilitating her, he said, the national and the ecclesiastical authorities could wrap her in legendary stories and appropriate her to their own ends. In 1920, Joan, who in 1430 was sentenced to death by an ecclesiastical court, was declared a saint by the same church. Twelve years earlier, Nobel Prize winner Anatole France declared her the victim of a clerical conspiracy. He insisted that her famous 'voices' were no more than hallucinations, and that the miraculous liberation of Orl\u00e9ans could easily be explained as the result of weak military action on the part of the English.\n\nFor the left, she would always be the victim of church and king, for the right the absolute heroine of the 'national romance'. And after France was humiliated by the Germans in 1870, right-wing nationalists were all too eager to make her their poster child. Six years later, the equestrian statue, gilded from head to toe, was erected at the old Louvre Palace in Paris. In 1904, a meeting of reactionary groups ended with the cry 'Down with the Jews! Down with the Republic of Freemasons! Long Live Joan of Arc!' Jean-Marie Le Pen, founder of the Front National, did not hesitate to use her as his party's historic standard bearer, as the symbol of the fight against outsiders who endangered the security of the fatherland. In his eyes, those invaders were no longer the English, of course.\n\nIn 2015 at least 426 French schools bore her name, and with that number she bested such luminaries as Victor Hugo and Antoine de Saint-Exup\u00e9ry. For most of the French she has always been the anchor of their history, but also the woman who is inextricably bound with her terrible fate, her annihilation in the flames, as Leonard Cohen poignantly sang in his 'Joan of Arc' (1971)."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 91",
                "text": "Alone in her cell, Joan could hardly have suspected what kind of illustrious life her memory would lead, of course. Abandoned by God and everyone else, she fearfully awaited her end. 'Oh, I would rather be beheaded ten times over than burned at the hands of men,' she said on 30 May 1431. It was seven o'clock in the morning. She was in the prison of Rouen and had just been awakened. The fear trembled in her eyes. She was terrified by leaping flames. A few days before, that sense of desperate constriction had induced her to give in on all points. She had even started dressing like a woman again.\n\nSoon her cowardice made her feel so miserable that she retracted her renunciation. She went back to wearing men's clothing. It was impossible for her to pretend to be someone else. Bishop Cauchon, who had done everything he could to sentence her to the stake, rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He described Joan as 'a dog who returns to its own vomit'. Later, the French would brand this Cauchon as 'cochon' (pig) and, in that capacity, confine him symbolically to the genus of traitors to the country.\n\nIn the capital of Normandy, where the English were more sure of themselves than in Paris, Joan had been given an unfair trial over the past few months. Her fate was sealed from the beginning. The clerics, almost all of whom were church scholars hand-picked by the English, and many of them affiliated with the University of Paris, convicted her of heresy because she judged the authority of dubious voices from heaven to be higher than that of the church. She was also sent to the stake because she, as a woman, had appeared in public in men's clothing. For the English, it was also a means of weakening Charles VII by demonstrating that he owed his crown to someone who was guilty of idolatry and the invocation of the devil.\n\nA great multitude of burghers and beggars flocked to the Place du Vieux March\u00e9. The cart on which Joan was transported had to clear a path through a restless sea of humanity. Hundreds of soldiers formed a barrier between the crowd and the solitary Joan. The English had mobilized an incredible show of force. They still feared that the thankless Charles VII would attempt a spectacular rescue operation. Philip the Good followed the trial closely. He kept himself informed of its progress and knew without a doubt that Joan was on the road to her death on that next-to-the-last day of May 1431.\n\nTowering several metres over the centre of the square was a stake. What was about to happen to this apostate was meant to be seen by everyone. Once she arrived, Joan fell to her knees. Sobbing, she asked for a crucifix. One of the English soldiers, deeply moved, knocked a simple cross together from pieces of firewood, which he thrust into her hands. The executioner was given the order not to shorten her suffering. No wet wood for her, which would result in suffocation by smoke inhalation. Nor was the customary death by strangling permitted. The flames shot through the bone-dry wood like one vast sea of fire. Everyone heard her cry for Jesus at the top of her voice. One great howl for help. For minutes on end she called to Him. That unrelenting faith in God made the churchmen who had condemned her turn pale. When she fell silent, the executioner pulled down her burning shirt so everyone could see her naked, black, burned female body.\n\nOne month earlier, at her trial, she had spoken her last prophetic words. 'I am convinced that the English will be driven out of France, except for those who will die here.'\n\nOr how Jan van Eyck incarnated the spirit of the times in pictures, how Philip the Good snatched up more and more of the Low Countries, how he made peace with his father's murderer, and how, despite the arrival of a long-awaited son, in the end he could only dream of dynastic succession.\n\nWHY COMMISSION SUCH a gigantic painting? Was Joos Vijd trying to erase the memory of his father's infamy? Vijd's father had shamelessly embezzled funds from the treasury of Philip the Bold and was unceremoniously dismissed from the duke's accounting office in 1390. Or was he attempting to mask the minor frustration he felt as a rich landowner with aristocratic allure, who unfortunately was not descended from an old noble family?\n\nAh, perhaps it was just a matter of Vijd wanting to leave something behind that contained within it a presumption of eternity. He was going on seventy, he was childless and he knew there was no one to carry the family name forward. For a man without heirs, it wasn't such a mad idea to invest his fortune in an ambitious art project. By asking Hubert van Eyck, Jan's older brother, to paint the Ghent Altarpiece for the family chapel in the Church of St John the Baptist, at least he would be stealing a march on the certain extinction of his name. Had he not done so, no writer centuries later would have even considered opening a new chapter in his book with the name of Vijd.\n\nIn around 1420, he and his wife, Elisabeth, scion of the prominent Borluut family of Ghent, began to mull over the idea of actively contributing to the beautification of the old Church of St John, which was renamed the St Bavo Cathedral in the sixteenth century. This twelfth-century edifice dedicated to John the Baptist had become too small due to Ghent's rapid demographic development. Enlarging the church took a great deal of time. Slowly but surely, the church cast off its Romanesque apparel. The final transformation to Gothic, culminating in the famous bell tower, was something that Vijd and his wife would not live to see, but they were able to finance one of the five new radiating chapels. What would make their chapel so important was not only the decision to adorn it with the largest polyptych in the Low Countries, but also the idea of awarding the commission to one of the most talented masters of their time. Unfortunately, Hubert van Eyck died in 1426 and work on the Ghent Altarpiece was halted for a period of time. Hubert's brother Jan then took over, but he was so busy working for Philip the Good that it wasn't until his return from Portugal that he was able to carry out his brother's initiative.\n\nGenerations of historians, loupe and microscope in hand, have tried to figure out exactly which of the two brothers painted what, but so far no one has been able to detect two separate hands at work. Even less clear is to what extent Hubert was his brother Jan's teacher. In any case, the inscription on the outside of the Ghent Altarpiece reads as follows: 'Painter Hubert van Eyck, whom no one has ever surpassed, began (the work), and his brother Jan, ranking second in art, completed the heavy task at the request of Joos Vijd. With this verse he invites you to come and see the completed work on 6 May.' Such a panegyric to a predecessor was not unusual, although the words 'heavy task' seem to imply that the younger brother was responsible for the greater part of the work. Jan certainly did not do it all on his own. Knowing that he could only paint if the daylight was sufficient, and that the sceptre of Christ alone would take a month to complete (according to the sixteenth-century painter and art expert Karel van Mander), Van Eyck must have been assisted by a team of talented painters who adopted their master's style. In any case, when the Bruges city council paid a visit to his studio on 17 July 1432, they left a tip for twelve assistants.\n\nThe fact that the duke gave him enough personal leave to bring the colossal Ghent Altarpiece to a satisfactory conclusion shows how highly Philip the Good thought of his court painter. Claus Sluter, who spent the last twenty years of his life in Champmol, fared quite differently. No private commissions for him. Until his death, the master sculptor remained the brilliant hireling of Philip the Bold. Soon after the death of Sluter's employer, civil war broke out between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians, and Philip's successor, John the Fearless, had less and less time to concern himself with art. His son, Philip the Good, would breathe new life into Burgundian patronage. Even though the duke himself was not the commissioning authority, in all likelihood he was present at the solemn installation of the Ghent Altarpiece."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Johannes De Eyck Fuit Hic'",
                "text": "Joos Vijd was certainly no stranger to Philip. In the summer of 1425 he was part of the ducal retinue that would plead for peace between Philip and Jacqueline of Bavaria in The Hague, more specifically 'to speak for the benefit of peace between our fearsome Lord and my Lady of Holland'. Except the delegation never arrived. Jacqueline's escape, and the eruption of hostilities, put a definite stop to it.\n\nHis father may have fallen into disgrace with Philip's grandfather, but the burgher of Ghent had done very well for himself. Yet there must have been a feeling of unease that he could not shake. Without his father's indiscretion, he might have become part of Philip's court. That was a level he would never attain, even though the success of the Ghent Altarpiece put him entirely back on the map. One year after the installation he was appointed chief alderman of the metropolis of Ghent, a position more or less equivalent to that of mayor.\n\nJoos Vijd had played his cards right. By throwing in his lot with Jan van Eyck, he was sure of attracting the duke's attention. And another bit of unexpected fortune also came his way. The day of the installation, 6 May 1432, was not only a lovely day for Joos Vijd himself, but it was an even more memorable feast for Philip the Good and his wife, if such a thing were possible. To their great sorrow they had lost their first son, Anthony, two months earlier when he was barely a toddler. But God be praised, a second infant soon followed, and coincidentally \u2013 or maybe not \u2013 the baby was baptized on 6 May. To top it off, the new son was named Joos (Josse in French), just like the patron of the great work, although that was purely by chance: Isabella had a great devotion to St Jodoc, or Josse, as he was also known. Yet it was an unusual name in a family in which almost all the male members were called Philip, John or Anthony.\n\nAlthough it has never become clear exactly how the baptismal ceremony and the installation were interwoven, everything indicates that Philip the Good was present when the altarpiece was officially opened for the first time. A minor debate has raged on this subject between historians and art historians, but it seems logical to us that the duke would not have been absent when his possible successor was being received into the bosom of the Catholic Church.\n\nOf course, the Ghent Altarpiece \u2013 the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb \u2013 was a symbol for the passion of Christ. But Van Eyck's ingenious decision to place the holy animal in the centre of the composition must have made Duke Philip reach for his chest in an involuntary reflex, seeing a reflection of the golden ram he wore around his own neck in the image of the sheep. Not only was the painter paying tribute to the recently established Order of the Golden Fleece, but he was also serving up an allegory of the Flemish commercial adoration of wool. Wool was a subject of topical interest because at that very moment the Burgundians and the English were involved in an economic conflict on this very point.\n\nNor could it have escaped the duke's attention that life-size portraits of the two patrons of the work were featured on the outside panels. If Joos Vijd and his wife had been wearing the same traditional dress that they wore in the Ghent Altarpiece, the assembled guests would have sworn that the two of them were standing in front of a mirror. Just as Philip the Bold and Margaret of Flanders had had themselves carved in stone by Sluter in Champmol, here were Joos Vijd and Elisabeth Borluut appealing for their eternal salvation on the altarpiece beneath the approving gaze of two beloved saints.\n\nIt's tempting to see the Ghent Altarpiece as a symbol of the growing importance of self-confident citizenship. But the truth is a bit more complex than that. To begin with, Vijd himself had probably been raised to the peerage by this time, an honour that was still seen as an ultimate boost in status, even among the extremely wealthy burghers. In addition, he took great pains to emulate the Burgundian dukes. He chose Philip the Good's favourite artist and did exactly what that duke's grandfather Philip the Bold had done: had an image of himself displayed in a chapel that he himself had built. While The Bold had brought an entire monastery, church and mausoleum into being, Vijd was satisfied with a chapel and two priests to celebrate a daily requiem Mass. But it would always be an imitation of the great Burgundian example. So the Ghent Altarpiece is indicative of an increasing entanglement of the urban and the aristocratic elites, an evolution that the Burgundians had done everything they could to stimulate since their arrival in the northern regions. Patronage and artistic snobbery were no longer the privilege of kings or dukes, but they were still the role models. Now that the royal houses of England and France had hit rock bottom financially on account of the never-ending Hundred Years War, the fabulously wealthy Burgundians were the only ones left to take on the role of pacesetter.\n\nVan Eyck's portrait of the patrons was fully consistent with the greater picture of growing individualism. The fact that the painter was all too eager to warm himself at this gently building bonfire of the vanities could be seen two years later in the completion of The Arnolfini Portrait. Right in the middle of that work he wrote 'Johannes de eyck fuit hic'. And in the mirror hanging beneath that inscription we can just make out his own silhouette. We only know the name of Sluter thanks to Burgundian record-keeping, but Van Eyck made a leap that the Haarlem sculptor had never dared attempt: to that of self-confident artist. So walking among the high-ranking company that made its way to the Church of St John on 6 May 1432 we have to imagine Jan van Eyck himself, prominently in view, somewhere between Vijd and Philip the Good. The artist as bridge-builder between the elites of his age.\n\nIt is nothing short of miraculous that the Ghent Altarpiece has not only withstood the perils of history, but that its location has not changed since 1432, with the minor difference that a copy is now hanging in the Vijd Chapel and the original has been housed under high security in the cathedral's baptistry for the last few decades. Thankfully, during the Iconoclastic Fury of the Protestant Reformation in 1566, the monumental altarpiece was taken down at the very last minute and hidden. If the authorities had hesitated for even two days, we might have had to imagine the Late Middle Ages without this masterpiece. 'It would have been an unbearable pity', wrote the historian Marcus van Vaernewyck in 1568, 'if such a piece\u2026 had been ruined at the hands of those filthy swine.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 93",
                "text": "Painting was considered a trade like any other, although in Van Eyck's time a change seemed to be happening in this regard: no furniture maker in 1432 would have got it into his head to sign one of his cabinets. Above Portrait of a Man in a Red Turban (1433), alleged to be his self-portrait, Van Eyck wrote 'als ich can', which means that he completed this work 'as well as I am able' given his devotion and ability \u2013 a sardonic quip from an artist who knew perfectly well what he was capable of. He wrote his name at the bottom of the frame. Nine of his preserved works are signed, amounting to almost half the paintings we have from him.\n\nYet it's important to point out that although Van Eyck could move with relative freedom and confidence within Philip's court and beyond, this is far from the romantic image of the free-spirited artist we have today. Even under the Burgundian dukes, painters were mainly talented craftsmen who could be called in to perform a vast array of jobs. As the artistic jack-of-all-trades, Van Eyck was responsible for the decors of Philip's wedding feast, for painting sculptures in polychrome, making wall paintings, small portraits of marital candidates and a world map (now unfortunately lost) that he gradually modified on the basis of his many journeys. The painter probably even travelled to Jerusalem in order to colour in the map's geographic features for Philip's crusader ambitions.\n\nIn most cases, Jan's ducal assignments were thus of a perishable nature. Party decorations and wall paintings were more or less destined to disappear over time, which explains to some extent why not one of his ducal works has survived, and why all his known masterpieces were private commissions. This is no more than a partial explanation, however, and at the very least we can ask ourselves what kinds of important paintings he must have made for Philip. The records of the Burgundian court have nothing to offer in this regard: there are lists of payments, but no details. Yet historical research has uncovered something else.\n\nAs was customary, Van Eyck as court painter made a series of dynastic portraits. We know this thanks to seventeenth-century engravings of Philip the Good and Jacqueline of Bavaria, among others. The engravers added the words 'Ian van Eyck pinxit', thereby indicating that they based their portraits on his work. The originals were probably destroyed when Coudenberg Palace in Brussels went up in flames in 1731; later, the palace of the Belgian king would be built on this spot. Whether it was the cooks who approached the preparation of jam with too much enthusiasm or a carelessly extinguished fire in governor Marie-Elisabeth's fireplace, the blaze spread too quickly for firefighting efforts, which were hampered by the icy temperatures. We can only imagine what that conflagration took from us: the magnificent castle to begin with, where Duke Philip the Good and Emperor Charles V both strode through the corridors. The known portraits of Philip are copies of original work by Rogier van der Weyden, who did not succeed Van Eyck as court painter but was frequently hired by the duke.\n\nVan Eyck's predecessors were also given the most diverse assignments. Melchior Broederlam painted the sails of the Burgundian ships that were being made ready for the unsuccessful attempt to conquer England in 1386, and he also decorated the coach of Margaret of Flanders and the walls of Hesdin castle. Johan Maelwael of Nijmegen had a similar career.\n\nMaelwael and Broederlam joined forces in 1401 to paint countless suits of armour for the wedding of John the Fearless's brother Anthony one year later. This may have been the most typical assignment for the average court painter, one that formed the etymological basis for the modern Dutch verb schilderen, to paint, which has its roots in the word schild, meaning shield or coat of arms. To impart an individual and recognizable character to the knight behind the helmet and armour, a great many shields and related objects were given a heraldic lick of paint. The Middle Dutch verb describing this practice was scilden.\n\nMaelwael died in 1415 and was succeeded by someone else from the north: Hendrik Bellechose of Breda. Bellechose continued to work in Dijon after the death of John the Fearless. He carried on until 1430, but gradually fell from grace. It was difficult for the Brabantian to compete with the Maaseik-born bruiser who had won the heart of Philip the Good. Like Maelwael, Broederlam and Bellechose, Van Eyck painted heraldic emblems on an enormous number of shields. Although their paintings are what attract our attention, they probably constituted only a small portion of their work.\n\nThe Large Round Piet\u00e0 (Maelwael, c.1400), the outsides of the wings of the Retable of the Crucifixion (Broederlam, c.1390\u20131400) and the Saint Denis Altarpiece (Bellechose, 1415\u201316) are still magnificent works of art of Flemish and Netherlandish workmanship. But the fact remains that a museum visitor from the twenty-first century who comes face to face with a Maelwael or a Bellechose will spontaneously and without hesitation think 'medieval', while he is much less likely to have the same immediate reaction upon seeing a Van Eyck a few metres further on. Maelwael, Broederlam and Bellechose were among the artists who worked in the International Gothic style, and although they gradually abandoned the idealization of the human figure and opted for a more realistic, natural approach, they were more disposed to the work of the Limbourg brothers, Conrad von Soest or Pisanello than to that of Van Eyck. In Italy, Spain and France, artists continued to follow the International Gothic as a mode of painting until the beginning of the Renaissance, while in the Burgundian Netherlands Van Eyck would bring about an earlier break.\n\nThe differences between the work of Van Eyck and that of his predecessors are immediately evident. First of all, he departed from the kind of background that was so characteristic of their work: polished gold leaf and shining aureoles and halos as well as the abundance of gilded details. He also flattened the pathos that was so typical of the characters depicted by the first generation of Burgundian painters. But it was mainly his revolutionary approach to the incidence of light that set him apart from Maelwael and the others. Combined with his extraordinary mastery of the cast shadow, Van Eyck was able to suggest volume as no one before him had ever done, almost as if he could rival reality. He wanted to present reality as it really was, and not idealize it: a wart was a wart, a double chin a double chin. His seemingly photographic rendering of body hair, folds of the skin, flower buds, the lettering of books, etc. heightened the illusionistic effect and made the difference between his work and that of Broederlam and Maelwael that much greater. Even we, who after several centuries of realistic art are used to a trick or two, find ourselves enchanted by Van Eyck's technical genius. We are as stunned as the doctors who studied Virgin and Child with Canon van der Paele (1436) and were able to diagnose the clergyman's arteriosclerosis. So how fascinated the group of Burgundians must have been in 1432 as they gazed at the Ghent Altarpiece. They probably had never beheld such flagrant realism before.\n\nYet it hadn't come out of nowhere. Van Eyck's realistic rendering owes a great deal to the work of sculptor Claus Sluter. With all the travelling he had done for the duke, he certainly must have had the opportunity to scrutinize Sluter's three-dimensional flesh-and-blood figures, who seem to have stepped right into the room. Compare the drapery of his figures' clothing with that of the Haarlem artist. Look at the wrinkles here and there, the eyebrows, the frowns. On the closed back panels of the Ghent Altarpiece Van Eyck presents the ultimate homage. Didn't he paint two statues between the portraits of Vijd and Borluut, John the Baptist and John the Evangelist? Strikingly, they are not polychromed, as statuary usually was at that time. Otherwise, of course, we wouldn't have seen the difference between them and the other figures. No, here we have a chance to admire the pure plasticity of the sculptor/painter. It's as if Van Eyck had wanted to fling the truth in our faces: take a good look, this is the essence, I've seen it in his work in Champmol, where I came to understand how the artist must observe things, it's Sluter \u2013 sleuteldrager in Dutch, the key bearer \u2013 who handed me the key with which I was able to unlock the new age of art."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Duke By The Grace Of God'",
                "text": "However happy 6 May 1432 had been for Philip and his wife, disaster struck once more only a few months later. Little Josse died. 'The Lion of Flanders', as Philip was commonly called, suffered a breakdown. Weeping, he wondered what heaven had against him. His two young sons had died in infancy within the space of a year. Why did fate not grant him an heir? The inconsolable duke, who fathered so many bastards that historians have stopped counting, asked himself if his thirty-five-year-old wife was even capable of giving him a son.\n\nFor two long years, Philip stifled his frustration. Then on 11 November 1433 the Long-Awaited One finally came into the world. The expectations placed on his delicate shoulders were not insignificant: from day one, the tiny Charles seemed destined to let the Burgundian world shine as never before. The prophecy that this child of the gods would run his father's empire into the ground forty-four years later was anathema.\n\nAfter Charles's death, historians would give him what they regarded as an appropriate nickname, Le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire. The English translation of Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, Charles the Bold, is unfortunate, not least because it suggests that he had inherited the epithet from his great-grandfather, who actually was called Philippe le Hardi. 'Hardi' can indeed be translated as 'bold', while 't\u00e9m\u00e9raire' is closer to 'reckless' or 'foolhardy'. It would have been better, certainly in view of the tragic end to his life, to have called him Charles the Reckless or Charles the Daredevil. Unfortunately, it's too late now to change well-entrenched names.\n\nFor the present, there was little evidence of daredevilry. The little baby lay innocently crowing in a cradle that naturally had been made by the very best craftsmen. Charles was the last child that Philip would beget with Isabella, but this time the Chosen One survived infancy. Usually the ducal couple spent most of their time in the Low Countries, but during the autumn of 1433 they settled in Burgundy so that Charles, like his father Philip and grandfather John, could enjoy the light in the ducal palace of Dijon. He himself would be a prince of the north for the most part and would stay in the original duchy fewer than thirty months, half of them as an infant.\n\nAt about that time, the Burgundian part of the duchy was falling prey to countless attacks from the French. The defiance of the impregnable Compi\u00e8gne had already proved it: Joan of Arc's death was stirring up fierce nationalist sentiment. While Rolin, Philip's right-hand man, formulated the military and diplomatic course in the south, Philip himself stayed in the north for a time after his Brabant Entries. Chancellor Rolin had to pull out all the stops. The French encirclement was making Burgundy gasp for breath. Thanks to a few quick decisions, Rolin was able to wrest a much-needed truce and win an important battle. At long last, the anxious duke went south to Dijon to size up the situation. That's how his son came to be born there, and it's why his great joy went hand in hand with a sense of uneasiness. More than ever, Rolin emerged as the champion of a major peace treaty.\n\nThe infant's parents showered him with honours, and in the stupor of their happiness they even dubbed him a knight. How different from the experience of grandfather John the Fearless, who had had to travel all the way to Nicopolis thirty-seven years earlier to receive the chivalric accolade. With a snap of his fingers, the brand-new father catapulted his baby to the rank of Count of Charolais, a title Philip the Good himself, as heir to the throne, had not been given until his fourteenth year. Lastly, three weeks after his birth Charles was admitted to the Order of the Golden Fleece, which gathered in the ducal chapel of the Dijon palace for the only time in its existence. Yes, this son, who was named after Charlemagne, was going to amaze the universe. In the midst of all the commotion, Philip the Good seemed to be releasing a subtle message for all the world to hear. Was it accidental that the last three French kings were also called Charles? Was this his way of making it known that the end of the shaky English-Burgundian pact was in the offing?\n\nAs a child, Charles was educated in the 'practice of nobility'. Entirely in accordance with tradition, his training couldn't start early enough: history, languages, law and a bit of the art of warfare, of course. No flea market hobby horse for the second birthday of Sir Charles of the Golden Fleece. A celebrated Brussels saddler made a toy steed for him so the toddler could master certain riding techniques. In addition to his total immersion in old knights' tales, the two-year-old Charles was immediately plunged into the marriage market, and as a fledgling prince he was present at the most important international meeting of his time."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 95",
                "text": "The discussions that France and Burgundy had been carrying on for years in secret began to bear fruit when Philip the Good realized that he had more to win from an alliance with France than by stubbornly clinging to his pact with a weakened England. The fact that Charles VII was now supporting opponents of Burgundy in the Holy Roman Empire in addition to ramping up his own military actions helped clear away Philip's last doubts. After the death of his sister Anna, the wife of the English regent Bedford, there was nothing to stop him from breaking the promise he had made at Troyes. Yet the duke wasn't about to drop the English just like that. The aim of a new meeting was total peace, no more and no less.\n\nIn early August 1435, representatives of the three concerned parties, along with Cardinals Niccol\u00f2 Albergati and Hugo van Lusignan, made their way to Arras, the former as papal nuncio of Eugene VI and the latter as sent by the conciliar fathers. Their presence was evidence of a new conflict within the church \u2013 who had the last word, the pope or the council? \u2013 but it lent prestige to the meeting as well, which could also boast of the arrival of observers from Aragon, Bohemia, Brittany, Castile, Cyprus, Denmark, the Holy Roman Empire, Genoa, Naples, Navarre, Poland, Portugal and Venice. No one wanted to miss the first international peace conference in history. Everyone wondered whether the three great powers, after having fought a life and death struggle, would really fall into each other's arms.\n\nNeed it be said that the procession of the Burgundian delegation attracted the most attention? That the other envoys looked on with a slight sense of resentment as Philip's 500 archers and 300 attendants, all of them dressed to the nines, turned the centre of Arras into a magnificent display of red and green? That the prominent guests were especially looking forward to the parties being organized by Duchess Isabella? Dozens of carts laden with Burgundian wines, Brabant beers, Holland cheeses and other specialities were driven into the astonished Arras.\n\nKing Henry VI of England, now thirteen years old, who had only seen Paris for the first time in 1431 where he was immediately crowned King of France, was represented by high-ranking aristocrats, as was Charles VII, also King of France since 1429. Philip the Good insisted on showing himself off. Thousands of flower petals were thrown from countless windows, all of them contrasting beautifully with his black attire. His two-year-old son met with even greater acclaim, as if that were possible. A show horse carried a litter draped in Flemish lace and inlaid with gold and silver, from which the Burgundian heir apparent gazed with astonishment at the equally astonished spectators.\n\nOn 6 September the English torpedoed the negotiations and went back home. After their endless war on the continent, they found it impossible to recognize Charles VII as the rightful King of France. In their eyes, that would always be their own Henry VI. Nor were they eager to tear up the Treaty of Troyes. Without the support of Burgundy, they would never triumph over France.\n\nThe ailing Duke of Bedford, who as regent for the young English monarch had spent years making every effort to maintain good relations with Philip the Good, was so upset by the failure that on 14 September 1435 he suddenly died. Ten days later, another leading player left the stage. Isabeau of Bavaria, now fifty-five years old, the widow of the mad Charles VI, who, along with Philip, had delivered France into the hands of the English in 1420, lived just long enough to see the Treaty of Troyes relegated to the archives. As if suddenly aware of the senselessness of her promising life, she too cashed in her chips.\n\nThe negotiators at the Arras conference did not succeed in administering the last rites to the Hundred Years War, but they did bring about reconciliation between France and Burgundy. It was by no means a smooth operation, with the Burgundian duke himself slowing down the process. Philip could not easily erase the memory of his father's death, and Rolin had to spend days persuading him. Even though he would have preferred a general peace treaty, Philip gradually came round. In what might be called a morbid coincidence, it was on 10 September, exactly sixteen years after the drama on the Montereau bridge, that he gave permission to discuss the details of the treaty.\n\nEven then he wondered whether he could simply renounce his sworn loyalty to England. The papal nuncio and the conciliar legates hastily gave the duke their approval to revoke his sacred oath, based on the fact that England itself had quashed the general negotiations. Now Philip could in good conscience reconcile himself with the man who had given the order to murder his father. Of course he demanded a few things as compensation. His signature brought him not only the counties of M\u00e2con, Auxerre and Boulogne, but also the seigniory of Bar-sur-Seine and the viscounties of Roye, P\u00e9ronne and Montdidier, not to mention the most important cities of the Somme (Saint-Quentin, Amiens, Abbeville\u2026), although Charles VII did retain the right to buy them back at some point.\n\nAll in all it was a limited territorial expansion, but Philip could now add Picardy to his long list of possessions, which meant that his northern domains extended southward to about 100 kilometres north of Paris. More important was that he was released from paying homage to Charles VII. He was no longer compelled to literally kneel before the king, nor was he obliged to recruit soldiers for him in the event of war. That was all well and good, but a peace with both England and France would have been a much greater triumph. Now the partial peace was forced to mask the congress's partial failure. His envoys could have achieved more, but the French king had bribed a number of the negotiators. For Charles VII, the crucial goal was not peace with England but a French-Burgundian agreement, to be attained at all costs. The Burgundian chancellor Rolin raked in a sum equal to five hundred times the annual salary of a skilled labourer in Bruges.\n\nTo compensate for the murder of his father, Philip managed to pull a handful of moral concessions out of the fire. But none of them would keep the crucial northern Burgundian domains from being very displeased with the agreement. What did Holland, Flanders and Zeeland have to gain from the building of a monastery in Montereau, where Carthusian monks would pray for the soul of John the Fearless? All they cared about were trade relations with England, which now came under enormous pressure. Not even a hundred commemorative crosses on the Montereau bridge could mask the threat of economic calamity that this agreement represented. When news of the Treaty of Arras crossed the Channel, it was Flemish negotiators in London who were immediately made to suffer for it.\n\nThat didn't keep the ambitious Philip from enjoying French kowtowing, not by any means. Bishop Jean Tudert knelt before him and asked his forgiveness for the murder of Philip's father in the name of Charles VII. The king himself was not present, and with good reason: he would never openly demonstrate remorse to the Burgundian duke, not for all the money in the world. In French historiography, where Burgundy is rather negatively depicted as a rebel, it is often suggested that Charles actually had very little to do with the murder. But the facts speak otherwise. Not only was he present when the crime was committed and calmly let the perpetrators do as they pleased, but he never distanced himself from the murderers and would even award their leader, Tanguy du Ch\u00e2tel, with a generous pension. The man who in 1419 was still the dauphin not only wanted to avenge the death of Orl\u00e9ans, but he also saw the murder of John the Fearless as the only way out for his civil-war-ravaged country. That proved to be a big mistake.\n\nIn 1435, Philip couldn't resist the temptation to badger the French king one last time, and he signed the treaty that ended the civil war as 'duke by the grace of God'. Tradition dictated that he sign as 'duke by the grace of the king', but he wanted to make clear once and for all that he refused to tolerate any prince above himself. It's not surprising that Philip and Charles would never meet. For the next twenty-five years, any communication between the two gamecocks would be the responsibility of Duchess Isabella of Portugal. Charles VII was willing to swallow the humiliation because he had won his battle. Not only did Burgundy recognize him as the rightful King of France, but the duchy would no longer provide assistance to England and would simply stand by and watch as the Hundred Years War dragged on.\n\nPhilip insisted that the two-year-old Charles the Bold be present at the solemn signing of the treaty on 21 September 1435. In order to strengthen the ties between France and Burgundy, it was agreed that the boy would marry Catherine, daughter of the French king. Five years later, a seven-year-old Charles and a twelve-year-old Catherine pledged their undying troth in Cambrai, the place where the House of Burgundy had concluded earlier successful marriages. Charles was able to enjoy a relatively carefree childhood in Coudenberg Palace in Brussels in the company of a few of his father's bastards and his wife, Catherine, who would die childless in 1446."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Greatest Master In The Art Of Painting'",
                "text": "His son was not the only one whose presence the duke explicitly required at Arras. He also summoned his beloved court painter. 'To Johannes the painter, whom monseigneur ordered to be paid an honorarium to cover the expenses he recently incurred for travelling from Bruges to Arras,' we read in the Burgundian bookkeeping, whose dry precision points the way to a tangible reality. During the peace conference, Van Eyck made a drawing of Niccol\u00f2 Albergati, the churchman who had spent years promoting French-Burgundian reconciliation. It is not clear whether the portrait was commissioned by the duke or by the legate himself, or whether Van Eyck produced any other portraits. The drawing from 1435 is the only work of art to come to us from Arras.\n\nThree years later, the painter reworked the magnificent sketch into a fully fledged colour portrait. On his draft, Jan kept a written reminder of the colours he would have to use for certain passages: indications such as 'ash-grey, with ochre overtones' for the hair on Albergati's head, or 'very pale, whitish purple' for the lips. His comments for the painting of the eyes alone show how important colouration was for Van Eyck. He left himself instructions to apply a 'yellowish brown' tone around 'the black' of the pupil, he saw a 'bluish' glow around the white, and he called the white of the eye itself 'yellowish'. In making the definitive portrait of 1438, he clearly did not let his own advice go unheeded.\n\nThe opulent colours that have continued to astonish the minds of so many observers, contemporaries and generations of Van Eyck fans cannot be blindly attributed to his invention of oil paint. Research has shown that the method had already been used by earlier artists, although Van Eyck did introduce improvements to the process and can therefore be seen as one of its originators. The use of linseed oil instead of egg yolk as a medium enabled painters to impart a far more shimmering quality to their colours than they had ever had before. No one experimented with the new achievements like Van Eyck. He mixed his pigments with a refinement that was quite unprecedented, and thanks to the technique of glazing he was able to superimpose transparent layers of paint in an innovative way. He excelled in this practice due to the addition of siccatives, which made the oil paint dry more quickly. As a result, he succeeded in creating the illusion of real depth and in giving more lustre to the colours. The blue of the sky was more luminous than ever, the grass was greener, and the gold was no longer the shiny effect that his predecessors had achieved by using gold leaf; his looked like real gold.\n\nBy unravelling his scribbled colour suggestions from 1435, language historians have concluded that Van Eyck must have spoken a Maasland dialect. This confirms the theory, assumed but never convincingly advanced, that the Burgundian court painter was born in Maaseik in today's eastern Belgium. His name itself seems to support this line of reasoning. Nor can it be a coincidence that Jan's daughter Lievine entered the St Agnes convent in Maaseik in around 1450. It is partly thanks to the Congress of Arras that little doubt exists concerning the origins of the greatest painter of the Late Middle Ages.\n\nChancellor Rolin regarded the successfully concluded treaty as the masterpiece of his diplomatic career. The fact that he had actively contributed to the end of the civil war between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs filled him with so much pride that he looked for a spectacular way to reward himself. A knighthood was out of the question \u2013 the aristocratic antecedents of this self-made man were far too meagre \u2013 but he had money in abundance. So Philip's right-hand man called on Van Eyck. His request inspired the painter to produce one of his greatest masterpieces. In The Madonna of Chancellor Rolin (1435\u20136), the second most powerful man in the duchy appears in a mink-trimmed, gold brocade robe. He may be kneeling at a prie-dieu, but the humility with which Joos Vijd had himself depicted on the outer panel of the Ghent Altarpiece is nowhere to be seen. Unlike Vijd, Rolin doesn't even appeal to a patron saint to mediate with the Almighty on his behalf. The chancellor focuses directly on Jesus, and Christ blesses him approvingly from the lap of his Holy Mother. Rolin doubtless saw the work as a portrayal of religious meditation, but the man kneeling here seems well aware of his own greatness. Even contemporaries wondered whether the balance here hadn't tipped from piety to pride.\n\nAs master of the portrait, the well-considered composition and the landscape painting, Van Eyck reached the apex of his art in this work. Opening up behind the main figures is a panorama in which researchers have discovered elements of Bruges, Ghent, Li\u00e8ge and Rolin's own Aymeries. In the far distance are the snow-capped peaks of a mountain range, a first in the history of art. In all probability the landscape constitutes a blend of Jan's travel recollections and is symbolic of the heavenly Jerusalem.\n\nIn the centre of the background is a man in a red turban, a nod to his own supposed self-portrait. It is tempting to see in him the painter himself, propelling the gaze of the viewer along a central watercourse and into the glorious distance. The careful observer will notice that on the bridge crossing the river Van Eyck has painted a large crucifix: it was exactly what the French king had promised, a commemorative cross on the cursed Montereau bridge.\n\nIn the year of the Treaty of Arras, Van Eyck found himself in the midst of a minor financial controversy. The duke had converted his annual salary of a hundred pounds into a lifetime pension, a fourfold increase. The responsible official at the Lille accounting office thought a huge mistake had been made, and he refused to make the payments. The artist summoned up his courage and protested to Philip the Good, who immediately took up his pen and gave the official a dressing-down. He ordered that the injustice be rectified immediately, 'or our painter Jehan van Eyck' (here the duke used his Middle Dutch name) 'will be forced to leave our service'. That would be a nightmare, because Philip wanted 'presently to call on him to take on certain large works', and he would 'never find anyone so excellent in his art and skilfully adept'. One year later, the same official chose a petty way to have his revenge. Because Van Eyck could not verify his travel costs with the necessary receipts, the man claimed that it was impossible to pay out the last few cents. Whether Philip intervened again is unknown.\n\nClearly, the relatively intimate relationship between duke and artist was no pose: Philip stood godfather to Jan's first child, and after Jan's death he paid a handsome pension to his widow. The painter was buried in the prestigious necropolis of St Donatian's church in Bruges, another token of great honour, where John the Fearless's tutor Baldwin van der Nieppe was also given a final resting place, along with Canon Joris van der Paele, who became world famous thanks to Van Eyck.\n\nIn 1799 the church was demolished, but shortly before 1603 someone had taken the trouble to copy out the words chiselled on his tombstone: '[Here] lies Jan van Eyck, the greatest master in the art of painting who ever lived in the Netherlands.' Even by then, the footsteps of countless churchgoers had worn away the date of his death. It wasn't until the twentieth century that a document was found in the Burgundian bookkeeping records providing a decisive answer. The payment for the funeral and the ringing of the bells was entered on 23 June 1441, so we can say with certainty that Jan van Eyck laid down his brush for good when the summer began. He must have counted off about fifty springs in all.\n\nOr how Philip the Good, at the risk of his own life, imposed restraints on rebellious cities like Ghent and Bruges, but also how he tried to merge the various principalities of the Low Countries at the judicial, financial and administrative levels, and how this imposed Burgundification laid the foundations for the modern state in that part of the world.\n\nON 23 MAY 1430, when one of the city gates of Compi\u00e8gne came crashing down before her, Joan of Arc was like a rat in a trap. Seven years later almost to the day, the same fate awaited Philip the Good in Bruges, the difference being while Joan was locked out, Philip could no longer leave. The Maid of Orl\u00e9ans fought like a lion, but she was taken prisoner. The Duke of Burgundy also furiously resisted. Now that he was cut off from his own troops, who were outside the city walls on 22 May 1437, it looked as if his hour had come. The circle tightened, but like the fierce warrior that he was Philip refused to let himself be led to slaughter.\n\nAn objective observer would not have believed his eyes. Was it true that the Burgundian bodyguards had been backed into a corner? The facts certainly spoke for themselves. This was no military exercise; it was a fight to the death. Was the knight in black velvet really Philip the Good? Indeed it was. The golden pendant of the Order of the Golden Fleece removed all doubt. Only one question remained: how did the almighty 'Lion of Flanders', who seven years earlier had given the most dazzling wedding feast of all time in this very city, end up in such a precarious situation?"
            },
            {
                "title": "'Terrible Whitsun Wednesday'",
                "text": "There is no doubt that the Treaty of Arras eventually turned out well for the Burgundian cause, but it was a bitter pill at first, especially for Flanders. Not only were the Flemish merchants in London brutally treated, but the Flemish ships started running into obstacles in the Channel from one day to the next. In addition, after the death of Bedford, the English sent his brother Gloucester to serve as the strong man on the continent. The ex-husband of Jacqueline of Bavaria had a bone to pick with Philip after his pernicious adventures in Hainaut and Holland, and he whipped up his international friends to turn against Burgundy.\n\nThe duke was not one to sit back and watch. First he extended a helping hand to the French in retaking Paris. On 13 April 1436, his marshal, Villiers de L'Isle-Adam, planted the French flag in the capital and he opened the city gates for Charles VII, who finally returned to the Louvre Palace after an absence of nineteen years. With that triumph behind him, and in high spirits, Philip then moved on to Calais, the English staple town in France and a key position for the enemy that he was eager to lay hands on. Remarkably enough, he planned on using mainly Flemish city militias to lay siege to Calais, and he knew what sensitivities he had to play on in order to bring it off. Resentment had been building in recent years concerning the raising of taxes on English wool that came into Flanders via Calais. With that argument he was able to coax the cities to mobilize more or less en masse, giving the Burgundian attack the semblance of a Flemish war against England.\n\nIt was madness, of course, to take up arms against one's most important economic partner. First of all, he should have known that the Flemings were not the most highly motivated of soldiers. Hadn't they deserted his father in 1411 at Montdidier? John the Fearless had learned his lesson, and from then on he had used them only to sponsor his military ventures. This time, too, the whole operation backfired. Besides building a wooden tower, the city militias did little else. One sortie was all the English needed and the tower was theirs. The Holland-Zeeland fleet, which had sailed from Sluis, took much too long to be of any use to the land troops. When it became clear that the promised support from the sea would arrive too late, the Flemings packed it in.\n\nAnd there was Philip the Good, reduced to inordinate begging. He was very close to falling on his knees. It was a repetition of how his father had grovelled at Montdidier over twenty-five years earlier. Van Eyck could have made a beautiful double portrait of them both: two dukes begging for help, not from Christ but from the Flemings. It made no difference. The surly Flemings left for home. It had been a serious error of judgement not only to mobilize them but also to saddle them with the financial consequences of the operation. Had Philip really thought they'd be eager to strangle their own wool supplier? That the Flemish got cold feet was quite understandable.\n\nIn any event, the Flemings had to foot the bill. The failed siege became the prelude to more misery. Gloucester, who first had entrenched himself in Calais, set his course for Flanders. He laid waste to such picturesque towns as Drincham, Qua\u00ebdypre, Bambecque, Haringe and Reningelst, and razed the important city of Poperinge to the ground. There, among the blackened stones and charred ruins, he proclaimed himself Count of Flanders on 15 August. As terrible as his raid had been, there was something ludicrous about the scene itself. The man who earlier had longed to be the Count of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, but had failed, now took grotesque revenge among the ruins of Poperinge. As soon as he heard rumours of a Burgundian mobilization, he fled with his tail between his legs. Like a madman, he brutalized Belle, Hazebrouck, Moerbeke and Wallon-Cappel, but after having smoked out southern Flanders he withdraw to safety behind the walls of Calais.\n\nAt the same time, Albion also struck in the north. To facilitate the landing of the English fleet, supporters built huge fires in the Scheldt estuary. Holland and Zeeland didn't lift a finger. They wouldn't lose their English trading partner for all the money in the world. It was a lively example of realpolitik. The fleet was given permission to moor in Middelburg, the city of the Anglophile Frank van Borssele, thus enabling the English to sail along the banks of the Zwin, plundering and destroying villages in northern Flanders. Finally, they withdrew to the harbour of Calais, just as Gloucester had done. England wasn't so stupid as to beat the living daylights out of a privileged partner like Flanders, even if they had been able to do so. But they let it count as a warning \u2013 and to humiliate the great Philip of Burgundy.\n\nTo say that the matter had knocked the bottom out of his authority is an understatement. After returning from Calais, the Bruges city militia were not about to behave themselves. Now that they had come back empty-handed they refused to disarm, as was the custom after a military campaign. First they demanded their wages. They had pulled the same stunt on his father in 1411, a dust-up that Philip himself had been allowed to resolve. In addition, Bruges insisted on regaining authority over the nearby city of Sluis, which had been passed on to the duke.\n\nTo make it clear that they meant business, members of the militia cut the duke's bailiff's throat. After that they sentenced the captain of Sluis, Roland van Uutkerke, to death in absentia for high treason, in other words because he served the duke more than the city. Van Uutkerke was not just anybody. He was a veteran who had fought on the side of John the Fearless in Oth\u00e9e in 1408. In the mid-twenties he had been one of Philip's strong men in the Holland war, and in 1430 he belonged to the first generation of Golden Fleece knights. Voil\u00e0, thought the men of Bruges. Now the duke would have to come up with a good answer."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 98",
                "text": "On 22 May, Philip the Good and a troop of armed soldiers stood before the gates of Bruges. He swore that he only wanted to pass through the city, that he was on his way to Holland. The Bruggians had a bad feeling about this, and word that 'the duke has come to destroy the city' began to make the rounds.\n\nAfter a lot of palaver, one of the gates was opened. Even though his marshal, Villiers de L'Isle-Adam, found it anything but wise to enter Bruges under those circumstances, the duke couldn't wait to put spurs to his horse. He reached the Great Market without any problems. But long before all his soldiers were within the city walls, the gates were slammed shut. Encircled by only a few hundred Picardy soldiers, the duke suddenly had the enraged city militia all over him, at least according to Burgundian sources. Chronicler Jan van Dixmude contended that it was the duke's soldiers who attacked the Bruggians, to teach them a lesson. In any event, one thing was certain: on the other side of the wall the 2,500 remaining members of Philip's army began to hear shouting and howling. They stood there helpless, unable to see what was going on.\n\nArrows were flying thick and fast. The first dead fell. Philip and his small detachment fought their way to the Boeverie gate. On the way, Marshal Villiers de L'Isle-Adam became separated from the rest. The Bruges mob tore off his Golden Fleece chain and unceremoniously lynched him. The naked body of the man who, not very long before, had kicked the English out of the French capital was dragged through the streets of Bruges like a war trophy. In the meantime, Philip managed to force open the Boeverie gate, and the 'Lion of Flanders' galloped all the way to Lille. Once again, history seemed to be taking pleasure in restaging old scenarios. Hadn't it been fifty-five years since Philip's great-grandfather, Louis of Male, also fled from a hostile Bruges on a scrawny nag in the month of May?\n\nAfter this 'terrible Whitsun Wednesday', the city began a long series of beheadings, since, aside from the duke, only a few of his companions had been able to run for cover. We might say that the Matins of Bruges of 1302 thereby acquired a lesser-known successor 135 years later. We might even call it the Vespers of Bruges, given the time of day. Yet the revolt was soon quelled. An economic blockade, increasing hunger, a plague epidemic, a fundamental lack of support from the other Flemish cities and a severe winter finally brought Bruges to its knees in 1438.\n\nThe 280,000-pound fine that Philip imposed on the city was far more than the city was able to pay. It was almost twice what the entire county of Flanders had turned over to the duke as tribute in 1440, of which Bruges usually accounted for just under 16 per cent. An expiatory chapel was also set up, where hundreds of Bruggians, barefooted and bareheaded, were required to beg the duke for forgiveness. In French, of course. Ten locals were executed \u2013 by none other than the hated Van Uutkerke.\n\nIt was Hugo van Lannoy, knight of the Order of the Golden Fleece and stadtholder of Holland and Zeeland, who told the duke that from now on he should strive for a comprehensive peace; that a lasting ceasefire would have favourable economic consequences; that only as preserver of the peace could he make himself popular in his northern domains. Otherwise the people of Flanders, Holland and Brabant would regard him as nothing but a treacherous foreigner. After all the suffering, this political lesson did not fall on deaf ears.\n\nIn this pursuit of peace, Duchess Isabella would play a leading role in the years to come. First she smoothed things out with the English. She turned out to be a shrewd diplomat and drew on her ancestral roots during the lengthy negotiations in Grevelingen. In the summer of 1439, she presented her husband with a Flemish-English and Holland-English trade agreement: free movement of traders and goods!\n\nA strong wind blew over the Low Countries that autumn. It was a monumental sigh of relief. Isabella's popularity in Flanders and Holland knew no bounds. A comprehensive peace seemed somewhat more difficult, but Isabella persisted, and five years later a great armistice between Burgundy and England was the result.\n\nDuring the long discussions that had taken place in past years, the duchess also succeeded in negotiating the release of the most important prisoners from the Hundred Years War. After twenty-five years in English confinement, the forty-five-year-old Charles of Orl\u00e9ans, knight-turned-poet, set foot on French soil once more. In 1440 he married the fourteen-year-old Marie of Cleves, a niece of Philip the Good. Little by little, the son of the murdered Louis of Orl\u00e9ans would seek reconciliation with the son of the man who had ordered that murder. In 1445, Charles was even received into the Order of the Golden Fleece."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Et Cetera'",
                "text": "Now that Burgundy was breathing peace and reconciliation, Philip the Good could reflect on all the things he had achieved \u2013 and take the time to pass on the history of the House of Burgundy to his son, Charles the Bold.\n\nCharles's great-grandfather, Philip the Bold, was given the duchy in 1363 as a gift from his father for his feats of heroism during the debacle of Poitiers seven years earlier. In addition to realizing the most beautiful artistic dream of the Late Middle Ages in Champmol, the older Philip had established an exemplary standard when it came to better dynastic marriages. He himself had snagged Margaret of Male, the richest heiress on the continent. He had not hesitated to use French money and military means to teach the rebellious Flemings a lesson, but even so he succeeded in building a good partnership with their powerful cities. He then catapulted his son John into bed with Margaret of Bavaria, scion of the dynasty that held sway in Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, and manoeuvred his second son into the duchy of Brabant. He swung open the door to the north. The opening he created was without guarantees \u2013 it would cost blood, sweat and tears to steer those lands into Burgundian waters \u2013 but nevertheless it became the foundation of the Burgundian Netherlands. Philip the Bold made himself master of the pieces with which his grandson, Philip the Good, would win the territorial chess game.\n\nThe chivalrous nature of grandfather John the Fearless was something the young Charles found particularly appealing. Leading a failed but heroic Crusade, murdering his own cousin without a moment's hesitation, crushing the people of Li\u00e8ge while being driven into a corner in Paris, tirelessly struggling against the diabolical Armagnacs and being horribly massacred \u2013 many of these elements would mark Charles's life as well. Lastly, his father, Philip, elevated the pageantry of the Burgundian theatre state to unprecedented heights and brought the chess game of his predecessors to a vigorous end.\n\nJust before Charles's birth, another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, and Holland and Zeeland had come under his father's protection. After the Kiss of Delft, Philip had handed the management of Holland and Zeeland over to Frank van Borssele, who was assisted in this work by his cousins Philip and Floris. He had also asked Frank to keep an eye on Jacqueline of Bavaria. Since the Delft pact, she was entitled to half the net proceeds from her domains, but clever stewards had figured out a way to profit from this arrangement. She was also a spendthrift. She was always in financial difficulties, and gallant as Van Borssele was, he helped solve her problems.\n\nLegend had it that the two were lovers and had been married in secret. In the war that had only just ended, Jacqueline the Hook and Frank the Cod had been foes, but now they were in bed together. Besides that, their marriage was a violation of what Jacqueline had promised: that she would consult Philip the Good first before marrying for the fourth time. It also came out that Frank van Borssele had his hands in the till, and not for trifling amounts. He had pocketed a small fortune at the duke's expense.\n\nWhether on account of financial misdoings or the secret marriage, Frank van Borssele ended up in prison and Philip seized the opportunity to put the thumbscrews on Jacqueline. If she refused to relinquish Holland and Zeeland, her lover/husband would never be released. It was more pressure than she could bear. Now that she had finally found happiness in love, she didn't want to lose it. In April 1433 she renounced her worldly ambitions for good. Unfortunately, the lady who had made life so difficult for Philip the Good was not granted time enough to enjoy her new-found love. Three years later she died of consumption at age thirty-five.\n\nPhilip's hunger was still not satisfied. He had long had his eye on Luxembourg. Hadn't his Uncle Anthony married the heiress Elizabeth of G\u00f6rlitz? And hadn't their children died without issue? In 1441 the duke paid her an annuity of 7,000 gold florins, and in exchange Elizabeth appointed him governor. But money was not enough. Once again, a campaign was necessary to convince the local inhabitants. After her death in 1451 Philip coughed up another 40,000 gold florins to secure the rights of succession in Luxembourg. He went to a lot of trouble for the vast, thinly populated Luxembourg, which wasn't even rich. But he saw it as an important tactical move to acquire a third ducal title within the Holy Roman Empire. It was also a first attempt to close the large gap between the northern and southern domains. From now on, Philip the Good would go by way of Luxembourg whenever his travels took him from Dijon to Brussels.\n\nThe court tutors charged with teaching the young Charles the Bold which principalities fell under his father's authority gradually came to need a crib sheet and plenty of stamina: Philip Duke of Burgundy, Lower Lorraine, Brabant, Limburg and Luxembourg; Count of Flanders, Artois, the Franche-Comt\u00e9, Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Namur, Boulogne, Charolais, Gu\u00eenes, Ponthieu, Saint-Pol; Margrave of Antwerp; Lord of West-Friesland, Mechelen and Salins. Chroniclers couldn't be bothered to write out the entire list for every official ceremony they covered, so sometimes they took the risk of mentioning a handful of properties followed by a revealing 'et cetera'. From then on they referred to Philip as 'the Grand Duke of the West'.\n\nFounding father Philip the Bold, as regent to the mentally ill Charles VI, had the great advantage of having direct access to the French treasury. That fairy tale had ended long before, but thanks to the acquisition of about a dozen principalities, grandson Philip the Good made an even stronger showing than his grandfather. There were only two active dynasties in the Low Countries: the House of Guelders and his own, but even that valiant survivor would soon be swallowed up by the Burgundian moloch. The illustrious counts of Holland and dukes of Brabant were gone without a trace.\n\nWhether or not by means of the sword, thanks to disputable or indisputable hereditary claims and owing to trickery, bribery, bargaining, the purchase of a principality or just plain luck: by around 1440 Philip the Good was the ruler of a large portion of the Low Countries. Any balance in his Burgundian empire gradually disappeared. Most of the regions, and the most important ones, now lay in the north and contrasted sharply with the original Burgundy and the Franche-Comt\u00e9. What did Dijon, Dole and Chalon amount to in comparison with Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, Dordrecht or The Hague? The fact that the centre of gravity lay in the north was also apparent from the way Philip referred to his domains. He called the south, the old Burgundy, 'the lands thither', which essentially meant the lands far from me, while the north was 'the lands hither', the lands close to me, the Burgundian Netherlands. This designation (the lands here, the lands there) automatically changed whenever he moved from the north to the south, or vice versa, except he spent so much time in the north that the south became 'the lands thither' in point of fact.\n\nThe next quarter of a century was a period of peace and prosperity for Philip's domains. This stability, negotiated by himself and his wife Isabella, finally made it possible for Philip to realize his dream: to work on a thorough Burgundification of the Low Countries. The personal union that he had put together from various principalities slowly began to assume the air of a state."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Others Get To Skim Off The Cream'",
                "text": "In the historiography of the Low Countries, the Burgundian dukes were long regarded as foreign oppressors who were out to destroy the individual character of the people of Brabant, Flanders and Holland. Only later did historians raise them up as miraculous founding fathers who, with an unprecedented display of ostentation, transformed a group of highly diverse regions into pearls that shone in the Burgundian crown. It was the Belgian historians in particular who went in search of the young nation's ancient roots. They dug up the long-forgotten Burgundians, and in the process they stumbled on the figure of Philip the Good.\n\nAt first, Philip the Good was just as much of a tyrant as the later Spanish ruler Philip II, but now, as conditor Belgii \u2013 unifier of the Low Countries \u2013 he was more or less smothered with affection. In the Netherlands, by contrast, he was long seen as the aggressive duke who so stimulated the innate longing for autonomy in the northern Low Countries that he essentially pointed the way to the revolt of the 1570s against the Spanish Habsburgs. Healing unifier or prophet of division? It all depended on which big story you as a historian wanted to write.\n\nWhichever view historians supported, the emphasis was almost always on the centralized power of the duke: he was the indispensable linchpin in the process of unification. Only much later would researchers conclude that this interpretation failed to recognize the influence of economic factors, and in further research the emphasis would be placed on the role of the duke's subjects themselves in this process, which should not be underestimated. The truth probably lies nowhere in its entirety but everywhere in small amounts. There's no denying the centralizing energy brought to bear by Philip the Bold, and especially by Philip the Good, but the reader of this book must have noticed how often and to what extent cities played a corrective role. At the same time, it was clear that even during the thirteenth century a number of principalities had become part of the same economic network and would therefore benefit from political unity to a certain extent. So the correct questions are not: duke or cities? Politics or economy? The formation of the Burgundian state is not a chicken-or-egg story but the result of continuous interaction between the duke and his subjects, an interplay between centralizing forces and economic patterns."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 101",
                "text": "It's too easy to insist that Philip the Good conquered the Low Countries with the sword. It would be more correct to say that he fought a path to the best place at the negotiating table. He appeared there with a real sense of urgency \u2013 and even more than that, as a possible saviour.\n\nThe fact that Philip occupied such a comfortable position there was partially owing to the misrule of the regional sovereigns. We need only glance at the way the finances were handled by the old counts and dukes of Holland, Brabant and Hainaut to understand what was going on. What we see \u2013 or better, what we don't see \u2013 is simply inconceivable: the towering mountains of debt hiding everything from view. Today the media would discuss the insolvency of the old royal houses in minute detail. What seemingly caused their ruination was an overly luxurious life at court. But no matter how profligate their habits, the cost of frivolous feasts was always a fraction of the sums they spent on warfare. The Brabant campaigns in the Meuse-Rhine basin, the involvement of Hainaut in the French civil war, the county of Namur that lived in constant conflict with the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge, the continual flare-ups between the Hooks and the Cods in Holland\u2026\n\nNot one of the royal houses was able to come up with the money needed to fund these exorbitant wars. In order to survive, the counts and dukes put up pieces of land as collateral (which they were almost never able to buy back), made stabs at currency devaluation, were guilty of issuing endless annuities\u2026 all of them measures that led directly to financial ruin. 'The land and the borders of Brabant are withered, violated, pawned and disfigured, in all sorts of areas and aspects, in the villages as well as in the interest rates, in seigniories and in many other ways,' stated the members of the States of Brabant in 1407. It wasn't much better elsewhere, but Namur beat the lot. Acting out of pure necessity, the count put his principality on the auction block. It was a bargain for someone like Philip the Good. An all too familiar scenario, but that's the way it was: what the leaders in the Low Countries lacked in the early years of the fourteenth century was\u2026 a long-term vision. The ultimate consequence of that failure has just as familiar a ring to it: unmanageable indebtedness.\n\nBut now the old principalities were nowhere to be seen. They had been shoved aside by Philip the Good, the man whom the city officials were staring down on the other side of the negotiating table. Did the Burgundian have rightful claims on his side? The fact that some of the dynastic lines had petered out due to insufficient fertility made the arrival of a new leader necessary, of course, certainly if he came equipped with persuasive military power. But other than that, the Burgundian had few actual arguments going for him. Whether it had to do with the transfer of power in Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Brabant, Namur or Luxembourg, the duke had never been the most obvious party, let alone the most legitimate. There were always others who had more rights than he did.\n\nBut the city representatives could not afford to vet Philip by scrutinizing the rules of succession. Who would be the best person to do business with? A powerless aunt or moderately wealthy female cousin who, according to the uncompromising law of dynastic lineage, had legitimacy on their side, or the fabulously rich Duke of Burgundy? After all, he stood at the head of a state apparatus that was beaming with health. He had Flanders under his Burgundian bonnet, still the front runner of the West European economy. Philip also managed to pull out all the stops during times of financial crisis by throwing wild parties and banquets. He seemed to be the best guarantee for peace, at least within the borders of the Burgundian Netherlands, so that the economic network that had been created there could calmly continue to develop. And finally, he was prepared to buy out the rightful claimants with large sums of money.\n\nNaturally, the city elites chose the irresistible Duke of Burgundy. On the other hand, these separate transfers of power were not simply unilateral decisions made by the duke alone. Philip and his representatives had to talk long and hard about the stipulations of each transfer. Many of the cities in the Burgundian Netherlands had a strong tradition of advocacy on behalf of special interests. In each city there were craft guilds, corporations of traders and religious brotherhoods that defended the interests of their members. When dissatisfaction arose, they joined forces. This sometimes led to spectacular uprisings, as we saw in the time of the two Van Arteveldes in Ghent, but it could also mean that the brewers might turn off the taps for a few days. It's important to note that the vast majority of the urban proletariat did not belong to any umbrella organization, let alone be represented in the city council. That role was reserved for the grand masters of the various trades. Real democracy was nowhere in evidence, except for representation of the richest members of society, a top layer that determined city policy.\n\nTowards the end of the Middle Ages, the rulers of the Low Countries had no choice but to let themselves be advised by the increasingly wealthy townspeople. The influence of the clergy and the nobility shrank noticeably beside that of cities like Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Leuven, The Hague, Dordrecht\u2026 In Brabant an actual league of cities emerged, Flanders had the Four Members, and elsewhere there were urban alliances that outweighed the policies of their prince.\n\nPhilip the Good had no plans to ignore these new forces. He was all too aware that that's where the money was. Without their support he'd find himself back in troubled waters, which was something he was not eager to see happen. The disabling of the old principalities had been very demanding, so during the negotiations with the townspeople he was quite willing to make certain concessions. The weight of the clergy in this debate had been reduced to almost nothing. A select group of noblemen still kept a finger on the pulse. But Philip's most important interlocutors in the Low Countries were undoubtedly the city elite.\n\nHe did everything he could to encourage the mixing of the ducal and the city elite. The old feudal tie between liege lord and vassal took on middle-class ramifications. The duke held on to the rich burghers by pampering them with gifts, top functions and donations. In exchange, they represented and defended the duke's rule. This system formed the cement of Burgundification in the Low Countries, and of course it played right into the hands of what we today would call fraudulent practices and outright nepotism. After all, the Burgundian web could not be allowed to extend too far; the club of power players had to be limited to a number of wealthy families. During the first quarter of Philip's reign, three-quarters of the brewers of Ghent who attained the coveted status of master brewer were the sons of master brewers, after which that figure rose to 95 per cent. Admittance to the club of the rich became more difficult, and the frustration of those who fell by the wayside subsequently increased. At the request of the patricians of Ghent, Philip signed a harsh measure into law in 1437 directed against gentlemen of lower rank who thought they could work their way to the top by raping or abducting gentlewomen.\n\nAs time passed, the richest members of the commercial bourgeoisie were the local clients of the duke. This ever-growing conflict of interest boiled over into resentment among the common people on more than one occasion and was partly the cause of the Bruges revolt of 1437. Van Uutkerke, favourite of Philip the Good and symbol of the system, became a target for their ire. In the meantime, the members of the power network began modelling themselves after the duke. From their choice of clothing to their etiquette, everything was imitated \u2013 even Philip's Joan of Arc hairstyle: very short and neatly trimmed above the ears. Occasionally, even his art patronage was mimicked. A good example of this was the Ghent Altarpiece, essentially the imitation of a ducal pattern of behaviour that was executed by the official court painter at the behest of a very rich burgher. While the Burgundification of the Low Countries happened at cruising speed, Philip's preference for grandeur and decorum was increasingly imitated, confirming Burgundy's reputation as a 'theatre state'."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 102",
                "text": "The old dynastic houses may have disappeared one by one, but the regional policy bodies didn't suddenly dissolve into thin air. Gradually, Philip would reform the old administrative structures and try to erase the disparities between them.\n\nFirst and foremost, the Burgundian court came to take the place of the various regional courts. The relentless overhauling of these courts was an unmitigated disaster for countless equerries, chamberlains, secretaries, quartermasters, bakers, soup chefs, bellows boys, barbers and other cup-bearers who found themselves out of a job from one day to the next. Someone who had only recently been enjoying the view from his 'high horse' was now reduced to 'sitting in the mud in full livery' and 'walking the streets like a poor wretch with a runny nose', wrote the Brabant chronicler Wein van Cotthem. Now that Philip the Good had come to power as the central Burgundian duke, 'there were others who got to skim off the cream'.\n\nIn 1371 the Burgundian duke had approximately a hundred courtiers and servants in his employ. This number climbed to 300 in 1445\u201350, and peaked in the seventies at 900. Like his predecessors, Philip the Good refused to choose a fixed location for his court. Cities fought to host him, since naturally the arrival of his household was good for business. And the duke profited by having his palaces freshened up at their expense. He divided his time mainly between Brussels (Coudenberg Palace, 22 per cent of the time), Lille (Palais de la Salle and Rihour Palace, 11 per cent), Bruges (Prinsenhof, 10 per cent), Dijon (Palace of the Dukes, 6 per cent), Ghent (Prinsenhof or Hof ten Walle, 4 per cent), Mechelen (the later Hof van Savoye, 0.5 per cent), and other locations (46.5 per cent). A quick tally shows that the duke spent almost one out of every two days in Flanders or Brabant. Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland got the worst of it, and the old Burgundy seems to have disappeared almost entirely from the radar. Obviously, the power centre lay in the southern Low Countries.\n\nThe hours and days that the duke spent on the road \u2013 in the company of personnel, kitchen equipment, household furnishings, stalls and library \u2013 must have been almost innumerable. Philip ruled over more than a hundred thousand square kilometres, an empire with almost three million subjects. He had to let himself be seen. Back then, the giants of the earth couldn't provide evidence of their lives by opening a Twitter account. His subjects wanted to gaze upon the duke with their own eyes so they could believe he was still alive. Time after time, Philip apologized to his people. 'In view of the fact that we have to govern and watch over many other regions, we have no choice but to be in as many different towns and lands as possible.' Because of his scant presence in the northern Low Countries, a rumour made the rounds in Holland in around 1464 that he had been missing for the past ten years.\n\nLike the impressive battalion of pots and pans, the duke's Privy Council also followed him around. It was the heart of the Burgundian system, about forty-five men who had responsibility for the day-to-day administration. At the head of this ambulatory Privy Council was the chancellor, the duke's right-hand man, a function held by Nicolas Rolin for more than forty years. At the end of the 1430s, when the great unification was in full swing, the Great Council split off from the Privy Council. This Great Council functioned as a central supreme court where important cases having to do with the ducal government could be heard, but also where sentences rendered locally could be appealed. The local and regional common law continued to exist, and collided on more than one occasion with the centralized organ. Philip also created regional financial antennae. These courts of auditors were located in Lille, Brussels and The Hague, and in Dijon in the south. They exercised effective control over the income and expenses of the bailiffs, stewards and tax collectors. At the head of these bodies was a general governor for financial flows, a kind of permanent minister of finances.\n\nThis evolution marked the beginning of professional management in the Low Countries. Indeed, as time went by the councils came to be staffed less frequently by nobles. Experts who had been properly educated and had a solid background in jurisprudence and bookkeeping took the reins. Pieter de Leestmaker, also known as Bladelin, made a deep impression on the duke during the years 1436\u20138. This merchant's son, who had been retrained as a financial expert, did all he could to solve the runaway conflict that had developed between Bruges and the duke. His efforts went down well with Philip, who soon appointed him the first governor-general of finances. Bladelin benefited very nicely from the new job. In around 1440 he had a sumptuous palace built that you can still admire today on the Naaldenstraat in Bruges. His position made him so self-confident that, like Joos Vijd, he had himself immortalized as the patron of a painting. He asked Rogier van der Weyden to make a Nativity Triptych. On the right side of the central panel Bladelin is prominently shown kneeling, his eyes piously downcast. Rising behind him are the towers of the Flemish town of Middelburg, which he founded.\n\nIn order to train financial experts and specialists in canon and Roman law, the right kinds of schools were required. These also took shape under Philip the Good. In 1423 the University of Dole emerged as the intellectual centre of southern Burgundy. The choice of Dole was no accident. After the murder of his father, Philip had only just come to power and Nicolas Rolin was his recently appointed chancellor. One year later, Rolin married Guigone de Salins, a prosperous lady from the Franche-Comt\u00e9, as you might expect, of which Dole was one of the more important cities. It was obvious that Philip was going to found his own university in Dijon, but the French king, as the rightful liege lord, had put a stop to it, even though he had no authority over the Franche-Comt\u00e9. So the founding of the University of Dole was essentially Philip's way of giving Paris the middle finger.\n\nThree years later, the Alma Mater of Leuven was established. Brabant, like the Franche-Comt\u00e9, had traditionally been attached to the Holy Roman Empire, which once again did not interfere. Officially, John IV was behind the founding of the University of Leuven, but in reality it was an initiative of the city councillors. They hoped to counter the slow decline of the cloth industry by injecting their city with a new intellectual spirit. These interests extended far beyond Brabant, of course, because the target audience comprised all the inhabitants of the Burgundian Netherlands. The fact that Philip the Good had a soft spot for the university became apparent when he asked the pope to add a theological faculty in 1426\u20137.\n\nIt was essential that two fully fledged universities be quickly established in the Burgundian hereditary lands. Because of the continuing wars, wealthy parents were no longer willing to send their children to Paris, Bologna or Montpellier by way of unsafe routes."
            },
            {
                "title": "'As If All The Devils Of Hell Were On Their Way'",
                "text": "Bladelin, Vijd and Rolin were symbols of what, with a bit of goodwill, you might call the Burgundian dream: well-to-do burghers who belonged to the right circles could accumulate a great deal of power and wealth, as long as they had some talent and training. The time was past when all you had to do was produce aristocratic bona fides to make a career for yourself in a prince's household and administration.\n\nThe nobility had missed the modernization train. Flemish nobleman Jean de Lannoy, a beloved courtier of Philip the Good, admitted to his son Louis in a letter from 1465 that because of his lack of education he was incapable of exercising any administrative influence. Although he had been active for years at the highest level, he felt that the finer points of policy kept slipping through his fingers. His letter is the testimony of an aristocrat who realized that if the nobility didn't watch out, they would simply be replaced by a horde of scholars. That evolution seemed difficult to stop. Since it was obvious that they didn't know the first thing about the technical aspects of good governance, more and more noblemen fell by the wayside. Men whose great role models had once conquered Jerusalem were now being pushed to the margins.\n\nIn its slow descent into insignificance, the centuries-old rank of knight clung to epic stories in which Lancelot, Parsifal and Arthur were still able to wield the sword with authority. As ivy overran their castle walls, the knights themselves sought refuge in literary fictions from bygone days. The worse it got for the knightly rank, the greater the success of those stories, as demonstrated by the collection of the Burgundian Librije. That ducal library, which grew from 150 books at the time of Philip the Bold to almost one thousand items over the course of the fifteenth century, contained many such popular stories of chivalry. Literature proved to be the world in which the knight would live the longest \u2013 until a century and a half after the death of Philip the Good, when even there he gave up the ghost and would survive in the collective memory as Cervantes' befuddled hero from La Mancha. At that point, it was a matter of waiting for Sir Walter Scott and his Ivanhoe (1819) before the knight would finally be presented again as a credible hero.\n\nWhile knighthood as an institution seemed doomed, the nobles themselves remained firmly in place and would occupy front-row seats until the French Revolution. But increasingly the knightly dimension of their lives took on all the glamour of an honorary title whose value had more to do with nostalgia than with the reality of heroic warriors on horseback. While the knights' painful decline gradually entered its last phase during the days of Philip the Good, the old estate went out with a bang. It died in a setting of tournaments and banquets that were among the greatest and most luxurious in history. The Burgundian Knight of the Golden Fleece Jacques de Lalaing was one of the last swordsmen to incarnate the aura of Charlemagne and Arthur. An enemy cannonball robbed the famous knight of his head and his life in 1453. What was the power of the sword in the face of such fire?\n\nBesides the impressive increase in the proportion of archers \u2013 from 12 per cent during the Battle of Westrozebeke in 1382 to 70 per cent under Philip the Good \u2013 the use of artillery also intensified. Philip the Bold had 80 pieces of ordnance at his disposal, while his grandson would deploy 575 during the siege of Calais in 1436 and would purchase more than 300 in the years that followed. The most practical weapon was the blunderbuss or arquebus, a kind of handheld cannon that was mounted on a hook-like stand and could be operated with relative ease by a single individual.\n\nThe medieval cannon, also called a bombard, grew bigger and bigger in size and involved entirely new logistics. You need only think of 'Dulle Griet' (named after a Flemish folklore figure), which peacefully adorns the Friday Market in Ghent today, to realize how much extra manpower and horsepower such a super cannon required. This monster of more than twelve tons, sister of the famous Mons Meg that today resides in Scotland at Edinburgh Castle, dates from the time of Philip the Good and could fire a 300-kilogram cannonball. When this 'stone cannon of marvellous size [\u2026] was fired, it could be heard from five hours' walking distance during the day and ten hours' distance at night,' a chronicler stated, 'and at the firing, the thunderous roar was so great that it was as if all the devils of hell were on their way.'\n\nDulle Griet involved a fairly complicated bit of assemblage. The barrel alone required thirty-two separate pieces that were welded together and then girded with sixty-one hoops. Aiming the cannon to hit a target was simply out of the question. Monsters like this could not easily be turned to the left or the right, and directional mechanisms wouldn't be invented until the beginning of the sixteenth century. But when it came to the razing of city walls, they were of inestimable value.\n\nAs far as the knighthood of yore was concerned, the 'devils of hell' really had been unleashed. Not only were the knights forced to relinquish their decisive role on the battlefield and in sieges to the archers and cannoneers, but in the ducal administration they were also swept away by the writers of bills of exchange. Philip, who admittedly had a weakness for the old-fashioned chivalric ideals, surrounded himself more and more with legal scholars and retrained merchants. Countless aristocrats missed the boat and could no longer be assured of a place in political or administrative councils.\n\nEventually, the decreasing number of noblemen in the Burgundian government was conveniently dealt with. The duke would simply elevate dozens of members of the new elite to the peerage. Not only was this a way of honouring them, but the certificate of blue blood they received was necessary for expediting communication with the remaining aristocratic officials. Bladelin may have been minister of finance, but as a commoner he could not openly communicate with lords and viscounts, according to tradition. Philip handily solved this problem by creating a new kind of nobleman, while at the same time giving an extra boost to the typically Burgundian entanglement of elites.\n\nDespite the downward spiral that affected mainly the local nobility, the upper echelons of the old nobility managed to hold their own. The duke invariably needed experienced nobles when it came to diplomatic missions. In that context, the proper knowledge of etiquette and the aura of old family trees always made an impression. Even the army commanders had blue blood. Moreover, the upper crust of the aristocracy always managed to scoop up the top jobs in the Burgundian civil service, if they hadn't already been conscripted into the Order of the Golden Fleece or appointed stadtholder.\n\nThe stadtholder was the substitute for the duke in his various domains. Philip could hardly be everywhere at once. The members of the council chambers, who helped the stadtholders in their tasks, were given permanent positions, usually in the old royal palaces. High-ranking aristocrats and knights of the Golden Fleece like Roland van Uutkerke and Louis de Gruuthuse were so honoured. The duke had learned that appointing local notables could end badly \u2013 take the corruption of Frank van Borssele, for example \u2013 and in a rather modern move he would appoint more and more outsiders. The chance of better leadership seemed greater, the danger of local conflicts of interest smaller. In any event, the two aforementioned Flemings did rise to the position of stadtholder in Holland and Zeeland."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Faithful Friends'",
                "text": "The phenomenon that finally brought about a real sense of solidarity in the Low Countries was the result of pressure from the cities of Brabant and Holland. They successfully appealed to the duke to introduce a common currency, which Philip himself agreed would be quite useful. The language he used at the time of the launching seems very modern to us today. He characterized 'a stable currency' as 'the most important driving force' behind 'the prosperity of people and prince'.\n\nThe coin known as the 'vierlander' (or 'four lands') was issued in 1433 and was so named because it was originally put into circulation only in the four most important economies of the Low Countries: Flanders, Brabant, Holland and Hainaut. In practice it also came to be used in Limburg, Luxembourg, Namur, Artois and Zeeland, so that, from 1443 on, all of Philip's subjects in the Low Countries could make payments with the same currency. The alloy (proportion of pure gold or silver) was based on the most widely used coin at the time, the Flemish groat. The fact that the depreciation of the currency was practically nil for decades is indicative of remarkable economic stability.\n\nNow that everyone was using the same coinage, was it simply coincidental that there was also an increase in interregional consultations? Whether it had to do with the setting of tolls, competition with the cities of the Hanseatic League or the endless vicissitudes of the wool trade with England, the various regions of the Burgundian Netherlands were more and more inclined to coordinate their positions as a whole. This resulted in an economic front in which it was difficult for other lands or trading partners to play the regions against each other."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 105",
                "text": "The classical taxes were collected largely in the form of tithes, leases, fishing rights, duties on logging, fines, tolls, import duties and excise taxes. Collection was a chaotic affair in most of the regions, but Philip the Good tried to regulate it by means of his courts of auditors. His Burgundian state was costing him more and more money, and in addition to the normal taxes he also regularly demanded additional financial support \u2013 except it was getting harder and harder for him to get away with it. From now on he had to produce a solid explanation every time he came round asking for what was known as a 'benevolence'. Gradually, a connection arose between paying taxes and having a say in things. Quid pro quo.\n\nThe classical reasons for imposing benevolences were the payment of ransom money if the prince had been imprisoned (John the Fearless in Nicopolis), a wedding (Philip in Bruges) or the waging of war (without Flemish funds, John the Fearless could never have taken Paris in 1418). The delegates of the cities rightfully argued that they could never be sure whether all the funds were actually being used for the alleged purpose. Was it government money well spent or a brazen shakedown? Discussions on this point became increasingly arduous.\n\nTo remedy the situation, Philip the Good pulled a rabbit out of his hat in 1447. At least, he thought he had come up with a magical solution by levying taxes on salt, the so-called gabelle. It would guarantee regular revenue and prevent him from having to negotiate with the cities every time he needed some extra cash. Salt was extracted only in Salins (the Franche-Comt\u00e9) and Biervliet, so checking these two sources would be relatively easy. Yet he didn't want to put his proposal on the table everywhere at once. First he went to Ghent, his largest city \u2013 and his most obstinate. If he could make headway with those tough customers, he would undoubtedly succeed everywhere else.\n\nHe stirred so much honey into his discourse that the councilmen of Ghent knew right away that caution was called for. 'Good people, faithful friends. You all know that I have lived here since early childhood, and that I grew up here. That is why I love this city, far more than any of my other cities.' Of course he loved it. He was desperate for money. His latest exploits and the acquisition of Luxembourg had cost him bucketfuls of cash. But, he said, and not without exaggeration, the duchy was the perfect buffer for the defence of Flanders and Brabant. He even presented the military conquest of Holland and Zeeland as important protection for his Flemish crown jewel. Philip spoke in terms of a just war; he had 'God and justice' on his side.\n\nWhile he was at it, the duke praised the possible salt tax as an act of good governance. And that's how it looked at first. Salt was something that everyone made use of, not only in the preparation of food but even more so in its preservation. So this tax would affect all the duke's subjects \u2013 the rich possibly more than the poor, he said. That was a misrepresentation of the facts, for in proportion to their general budget it would be the least affluent who would be most burdened by a salt tax. But the duke carried on undeterred. Hadn't his previous benevolence been a blow to the farmers? Hadn't they been 'milked so dry' that the poor wretches had hit rock bottom? This tax was the solution! Everything would be more fairly distributed.\n\nWhat was so repellent to the people of Ghent was the permanent character of such a tax. To agree to such a thing would mean there would never be anything more to negotiate, whereas up until now they had always had a say in what extra amount they would contribute. So Philip's proposal to eliminate the annual benevolence in exchange for the new salt tax was rejected. Perhaps social motives would be the deciding factor, but nothing in the world would persuade Ghent to give up its influence.\n\nNow that his 'faithful friends' had let him down, Philip was boiling with rage. The two heads of the craft guilds had assured him that his salt tax would go down well. Their word and their lobbying proved worthless. The city of Van Artevelde had made him look ridiculous. And to make matters worse, the people of Bruges, apparently in lockstep with Ghent, had taken the Ghent point of view, and the idea of a salt tax died a silent death. What a difference with France. The subjects there regarded the gabelle as normal. That kind of widespread docility was something Philip could only dream of.\n\nUnlike Leiden, or Besan\u00e7on, where rebellion also broke out during those years, Ghent refused to back down. In most cities, the people realized that it was better to form a unified front with the duke, and in exchange they succeeded in extracting certain privileges. Philip was also capable of being sincerely well disposed towards his cities. In 1452, three-quarters of Amsterdam went up in flames, but thanks to a tax exemption granted by Philip the city was able to pull through. The duke was convinced that this Dutch commercial city was a source of great potential. But cooperation with the recalcitrant people of Ghent was disheartening. The constant friction produced heat that could ignite at any moment. It had long been a source of indignation to Philip that Ghent's jurisdiction went far beyond the city walls, that everyone in that region could easily become a burgher and thereby escape ducal adjudication. In his rage, he tried to have deans of guilds appointed who were favourably disposed towards him, he gave his own bailiff more authority and he challenged the vast Ghent jurisdiction any way he could. Philip then recalled his bailiff and thereby blocked the normal judicial process. He used these kinds of provocations to exert pressure.\n\nThe Ghent populace forced the duke's city council to take action against him, and they spread pamphlets with texts that left little to the imagination. 'You gutless weaklings of Ghent, / Who now hold the government, / We'll no longer report it to you, / But will take our complaint to a new Artevelde.' After the duke's supporters were publicly beheaded, Philip declared war on the city.\n\nMore than seventy years after his grandfather had shown how it was done in Westrozebeke, Philip cut the Ghentenars to ribbons on 23 July 1453 at Gavere. The unfortunate explosion of a shipment of gunpowder gave rise to panic among the ranks in Ghent. Philip profited from this by ordering a full attack. The duke, now fifty-seven years old, fought bravely with his men and dragged his son Charles along with him, just as his great-grandfather John the Good had done with his grandfather Philip the Bold at Poitiers. This was not without danger. He broke his lance and was injured, but he survived the battle.\n\nYet the victory was far from a joyous occasion for him. During preliminary fighting he had lost both his beloved bastard son Corneille and his highly respected knight Jacques de Lalaing. Almost every military success went hand in hand with loss of life, which would certainly have given a sensitive person like the duke something to reflect on."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 106",
                "text": "After the suppression of the rebellious Bruges in 1436\u20138, Philip had curtailed the judicial power of the metropolis in the western part of the county by appointing as many of his own judges and officials as he could. Now he would do the same in Ghent, which had an even greater sphere of judicial influence that covered almost half the county. He also imposed a fine of 840,000 pounds, almost double the astronomical amount that Bruges had had to pay. Even after he had rounded it down at some point later on, the sum was enough to make the duke quickly forget the salt tax fiasco.\n\nHe also demanded a moral penance, of course. On a miniature from 1458 we see Philip the Good on a white horse, observing the Ghentenars, stripped down to their underwear, barefooted, bareheaded and kneeling, as they beg him for forgiveness. And he granted it too. Ghent was neither plundered nor destroyed. In that respect, Philip more than lived up to his epithet 'the Good'. 'The Ghentenars are my people; the city is mine. If I should burn it to the ground, I do not know any living creature who could build its like for me.'\n\nThe duke was shown this incredibly beautiful miniature during his progress of 1458. Such a Joyous Entry basically amounted to a festive introduction to a new sovereign, who promised to respect the privileges of the city in exchange for the recognition of his authority. But very occasionally, as in this instance, the ritual assumed the form of a great ceremony of reconciliation. A born-again Ghent offered its duke a 'joyous and lavish' salute. In addition to brass bands and theatrical performances, the city served him a monumental tableau vivant: a living depiction of Hubert and Jan van Eyck's Ghent Altarpiece, spread out across three levels. At the very top of the scaffolding was Christ enthroned, exactly as he was shown in the original painting. Philip must have felt like a messiah himself. Wasn't he the ruler of the Low Countries, now more than ever? His successes in Ghent and Bruges, the two biggest and richest cities of his dominion, inspired other cities into submissiveness. He was even able to scale back a number of city privileges in the powerful Brabant.\n\nA century earlier, Ghent was at least as rich as the Count of Flanders, and Leuven could easily match the Duke of Brabant in terms of wealth. But by acquiring so many principalities Philip was able to bolster his war chest on a much greater scale than his regional predecessors. The cities experienced that first-hand, but the lack of solidarity and the competitive struggles there also played into Philip's hands. However much the Burgundian duke was intent on sharing his power with the urban elites, when push came to shove he always managed to gain the upper hand. So his era was an important step in the direction of the monarchical state."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Lands Of Promise'",
                "text": "Surprisingly enough, outside Philip's court there was no overarching organ that bridged the gap with old Burgundy. The south played no part in the pursuit of centralization, making the Low Countries in fact an entity unto themselves. Beside this structural conversion to a state of unity there was the great renewal taking place in the professionalization of the civil service. For the first time, not only did the legal and financial experts receive a fixed salary but so did the councilmen, and they were all engaged on the basis of their skills. Feudal customs were discarded in favour of concepts like bureaucracy, salary and personnel. Words like prosecutor, lawyer and cassation were introduced and would survive the centuries.\n\nNaturally, the implementation of this whole system was very time-consuming, and there were plenty of bumps along the way. The clientelism by which the duke placated the elite and won them over to his side opened the door to corruption. Philip's courts of auditors were entirely incapable of channelling the problem of informal flows of money. Much to his exasperation, he himself was in it up to his neck. Although the expenses in this regard were astronomical, it was evidently difficult for him to say no when friends, or friends of friends, came to him for favours. The difference between public and private monies was virtually non-existent at almost every level.\n\nWhen the duke was no longer able to alleviate his need for large sums of money by means of regular taxes or benevolences, he began leasing public offices. He would demand an advance on the money that high-level officials would earn. But if the functionary in question later proved incompetent, Philip couldn't just rap his knuckles, let alone dismiss him, unless he came up with the sum he had been paid earlier. This leasing of offices considerably weakened Philip's position as ruler. Another problem in the unification of the Burgundian Netherlands was the vastly unequal geographical distribution of both courtiers and knights as councilmen. A majority of them came from French-speaking Flanders, Picardy, Artois or Burgundy itself. French was and remained the administrative language. Gradually, the shortage of members from Brabant, Zeeland and Holland was redressed, but the proportions remained unbalanced.\n\nDespite all these shortcomings, the duke did succeed in creating an image of a good ruler. At the end of the fifteenth century, the French chronicler Philippe de Commynes even looked back with longing to the reign of Philip the Good. Either all the abuses and failings seemed to have dissolved in the patina of his nostalgia, or the misery of the present situation made the past look good by comparison. 'In those days, the subjects of the House of Burgundy enjoyed great abundance because of the long-lasting peace they lived through and the goodness of their sovereign, who levied few taxes on them. It seems to me that his lands, more than any other seigniory on earth, can be called lands of promise. They were inundated with riches and were places of great tranquillity, which was not the case afterwards. People spent a great deal of money, the clothing of both men and women was sumptuous, the meals and banquets grander and more lavish than in any other place I know of.'\n\nWhile the proverbial pinch of salt is called for in reading these overblown words, the scales really did tip in a positive direction, especially in the Burgundian Netherlands. Purchasing power rose and remained high, the currency was stable, the economy grew, the tax burden stayed within reasonable limits, and above all Philip made sure there was peace at the borders. From 1440 until just after his death in 1467, there lived a generation in the Low Countries that had it significantly better for the most part than the generations that preceded and succeeded it. The southern Low Countries would have to wait until the nineteenth century to reach that level again. This success did not alter the fact, however, that for the lowest strata of the population, poverty remained structural. The chance is small that Philippe de Commynes had farmers, labourers and minor craftsmen in mind when he wrote his remarks. But he could observe with his own eyes that the elite here were more widespread than in the neighbouring lands."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 108",
                "text": "Of course, the Burgundian Netherlands was a far cry from the image we have of a modern state, but it was in those regions that the first far-reaching steps were taken in that direction: courts of law that had to respect certain rules and procedures; a form of financial control, thanks to the courts of auditors; a successful currency that was in circulation everywhere; an impressive coordinating royal court; and naturally an army, which barely resembled that of Philip the Bold owing to the increase in archers and artillery, although the days of Charles the Bold, when Burgundy finally had a permanent army at its command, would still be a long time coming. Philip had to recruit anew for every campaign he planned. Apart from the vassals \u2013 aristocrats who could be called up for no more than a month and preferred to operate within their own borders \u2013 the mercenaries who fought in Philip's military actions in the Low Countries were mostly from Picardy and Hainaut.\n\nDespite the considerable success of the reforms, you could hardly call the Burgundian Netherlands an organic whole. They were more like a fused entity of independent lands, a construct that in a way is comparable to the European Union. Just as in Europe today, the separate lands back then were governed by centrally controlled regional organs and rulers. While the vierlander might be considered a distant precursor of the euro, a single currency does not a union make. The Burgundian coin could not keep the various inhabitants from thinking of themselves as Flemings, Zeeuws, Hollanders or Brabantians \u2013 and perhaps Ghentenars or Amsterdammers first of all \u2013 rather than Burgundians, just as the people of Europe today think of themselves more as Belgians, Dutch or French than Europeans. Despite all attempts at centralization, the parts were and are more important than the whole.\n\nIn Flanders, Burgundification had already begun in the 1380s, in Brabant around the turn of the century and in Holland not until half a century after Flanders. In most of the northern regions there was much more resistance to the practically monolingual French administration, so the legacy of the Burgundian era is greater in modern Belgium. The painters and composers from the Late Middle Ages whom we venerate today were almost all from the southern Low Countries. The architectural and museological remains are also much more numerous in, say, Ghent or Bruges than in the north. You also notice it in the way the inhabitants see themselves today. In the Netherlands, only the inhabitants of the provinces of Noord-Brabant and Limburg regard themselves as 'real Burgundians', by which they mean they like to 'dine heartily', as the Van Dale Dutch-English dictionary defines it, a quality that Flemings and Belgian Brabantians fully identify with. So gushing about the good life is a direct legacy of the Burgundian era, a period of gastronomic excess and political reforms, which is still something the Belgians seem more fond of than the Dutch.\n\nBetween his banquets and his reforms, the duke also spent his time working on a process of popular representation by introducing the French idea of 'States' to his empire: a gathering of clergy, nobility and burghers that usually took place during moments of crisis. His first step was to organize it at the regional level. Such an advisory organ already existed in Brabant, where his grandfather Philip the Bold had launched 'the States of the lands of Flanders' in 1400. In Holland, the phenomenon first appeared at the Kiss of Delft in 1428. Philip would gradually create the same system in Namur and Luxembourg. These States would meet every now and then, occasionally with representatives from several regions at the same time, but they were far from a real States General that represented the entire nation, as there was in France.\n\nYet it did happen, and just before his death. The duke could credit this institutional breakthrough to the most spectacular plan of his life: Philip had made up his mind to go on Crusade.\n\nOr how a palace of an infirmary for the indigent sick arose in the village of Beaune in Burgundy, how the Hundred Years War finally came to an end, and how at exactly the same moment another event shook the old world to its foundations and tempted Philip the Good to undertake an unprecedented spectacle.\n\nA NAKED CHRIST, draped in a luxurious vermilion robe edged in gold, is seated on a rainbow with a globe beneath his feet. The message is clear: this is the ruler of the universe, as human as he is unassailable. Below him is the archangel Michael, weighing souls on the Day of Judgement. With his right hand Jesus blesses the good sons of men, and with his left he consigns the bad to hell. This masterpiece of composition and colouration, which the sick people in the brand-new hospital of Beaune would be shown on Sundays and feast days, was finished in good time. Rogier van der Weyden had worked himself to the bone. Now his Last Judgement hung in the great infirmary, folded shut and waiting for the first group of patients.\n\nOn 31 December 1451, Chancellor Nicolas Rolin, without whom none of this would have come about, strolled through the corridors of his immense hospital just before the solemn opening. This was a satisfied man. At the age of seventy-five, he had every right to call himself a privileged witness to a troubled era. He had grown up during the Flemish-Burgundian crisis of the 1370s and 1380s, learning to live with the fact that there were two popes and that England and France had already been at each other's throats for decades. He was still a young man when John the Fearless returned from his failed expedition to Nicopolis, twenty-five when he distinguished himself as legal advisor to Philip the Bold, thirty-two when the French-Burgundian civil war broke out and he was given a permanent position as lawyer for Burgundy, forty-three when Duke John was murdered, and forty-five when he took the greatest step of his career and was appointed chancellor and right-hand man for Philip the Good. At the age of fifty-nine he reached what he regarded as the pinnacle of his career: negotiating the Treaty of Arras and having himself painted by Jan van Eyck.\n\nIn all those years, he served his duke faithfully and cunningly, led Philip to great triumphs, assisted him in the Burgundification of the northern domains, and accumulated great wealth while doing so. With death now among the looming possibilities, Rolin wanted to give something back to the world. And so he did, in full Burgundian fashion: with great ceremony, driven by an insatiable appetite for splendour and not without a hefty dose of arrogance. But the result was magnificent. Whether the project was motivated by piety and the desire to secure his salvation was something his contemporaries openly doubted. 'The chancellor was called one of the wisest men in the empire, at least on the worldly plane. As for the spiritual, I would rather not say', in the words of the Flemish chronicler Jacques du Clercq. The chronicles contain quite a few of these negative, if not jealous comments about Rolin. Perhaps the chancellor wanted just one more opportunity to show off his brilliance, this time in the widely cherished glow of Christian charity, and maybe in this case he was sincere. Who can say? Naturally, he had Van der Weyden immortalize himself and his wife, Guigone de Salins, on the outer panels of the painting, and the initials of both their Christian names were scattered throughout the building.\n\nGuigone had told her husband more than once that the war with England had inflicted untold misery, and that the profusion of sick, poor and infirm people were often forced to go without any form of care. So it was his wife who gave him the idea for his final dream. Under the impulse of this couple, and in the placid town of Beaune, rose one of the high points of late medieval architecture. The plans were drawn by the Flemish architect Jacques Wiscr\u00e8re, possibly a Gallicized form of 'Visscher', or Fisher. The work began in 1443, and to the exasperation of the impatient Nicolas and Guigone it would take almost ten years. But their hospital would be built. And what a hospital!\n\nThe H\u00f4tel-Dieu in Beaune is still the showpiece of the Flemish-Burgundian building style, an architectural jewellery box containing a pearl of fifteenth-century art. If you haven't yet beheld the most beautiful hospital in Western Europe, then make your way to the old duchy and see for yourself. The spectacle of multicoloured roof tiles, chimneys, pinnacles, dormers and weathercocks transports the eye to a world where Flanders and Burgundy are once again intertwined. Gaze upon the wall paintings in which the Ns (for Nicolas) and the Gs (for Guigone) elegantly embrace. Walk attentively through the Salle des P\u00f4vres. Imagine how the rows of beds on either side, neatly divided from each other by red curtains, became the backdrop for fever and disease in early 1452. Look up at the monumental chestnut ceiling that hangs from the sky like an upside-down ship. Slowly count the crossbeams that are spewed forth by dragons. And hold your breath at the Last Judgement by the Tournai-born Rogier van der Weyden.\n\nWhat makes the depiction of the Last Judgement so special is the absence of devils and other monsters. Usually, the evildoers are pushed into the flames of hell by grotesque creatures armed with spikes and pickaxes. Probably Van der Weyden or Rolin were of the opinion that reality had flooded humanity with enough images of damnation in recent years."
            },
            {
                "title": "'How Sweet It Is To Sit In Solitude And Speak With God'",
                "text": "A year and a half later, westerners were forced to take yet another threat on board. On 29 May 1453, Mehmed II succeeded in conquering Constantinople. The news of the end of the Eastern Roman Empire came like a thunderclap. The Hagia Sophia basilica had become a mosque! After the debacle of Nicopolis, the advance of the Mongols under the leadership of Tamerlane had halted Ottoman expansion, but since the 1420s the Ottomans had made enormous progress. Thanks to powerful cannon made available by the Hungarian iron founder Orban (after having been refused by the Byzantines), the last barrier had fallen. The path to Europe was wide open. In Rome, Pope Nicholas V felt the Antichrist breathing down his neck. Deeply anxious, he called on all of Europe to rise up in response.\n\nThere was a lot of shouting over the next few months, but little in the way of action. Then an opening occurred: a tacit armistice that made new military operations possible, at least in theory. On 17 July 1453, the French army, with more than three hundred cannon at its disposal, defeated the English troops at Castillon, fifty kilometres east of Bordeaux. France having real field artillery was an important innovation. Until then, such ordnance had mainly been deployed in the besieging of cities. The English commander Talbot was killed by a cannonball, symbolically enough. Was the shooting of that cannon the last military action of the Hundred Years War, a conflict that had been dragging on for 116 years? Had the prophecy of Joan of Arc finally come to pass?\n\nBy all appearances it looked as if the English had been knocked out for good, although it was always possible that at some point they would rise from their ashes. How many supposedly decisive battles and treaties had been followed by even more of the same? Despite all the rancour, this time the sworn enemies would no longer cross swords, although it would take until 1475 for the two countries to officially acknowledge that the summer battle of more than twenty years earlier had really been the final chord of a terrible symphony. Calais, however, remained in English hands until 1558. Until the eve of the nineteenth century, Albion would continue to call its monarchs 'King of England and France'.\n\nSteady improvements in the equipping of the troops in both south-western France and the Bosphorus sealed the end of an era. In the year of our Lord 1453, the battle of Castillon seemed at first like just another horror show. All eyes were focused on the fall of Constantinople. This historic event immediately grew into an outrage without precedent, except that everyone just stood there watching. Only the Duke of Burgundy felt called to great deeds, an impulse that was revealed in typical Philipian fashion.\n\nWhat was the response of Philip the Good to the news of the century? He would give the feast of the century."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 110",
                "text": "While there may have been doubts regarding Rolin's piety, everyone agreed that Philip showed authentic religious zeal. In 1443, after having decided to subjugate Luxembourg by force of arms (even though it had already been bequeathed to him), he was drummed out of bed at two o'clock in the morning. His troops had successfully taken the Saxon garrison in the capital city, and now it was up to him to capitalize on this triumph with all due speed. He jumped into his armour, but while his officers were getting ready to spur their horses, he insisted on praying first. 'Monseigneur could easily wait until later to say his rosary,' his commanding officers said with a smirk. Philip shrugged and spoke words that revealed his deep piety. 'God has given me victory. He will certainly keep it for me.' He then closed his eyes and serenely worked his way through his prayers.\n\nIt will not surprise anyone that the library of the duke, who made use of a lantern and eyeglasses when he read, contained several copies of the ever popular Imitatio Christi by Thomas \u00e0 Kempis. The four volumes of this Imitation of Christ were published separately starting in 1424, the oldest manuscript with the complete work dating from 1441. The writings of Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, an Augustinian monk who worked in Zwolle, would become the greatest bestseller of the Low Countries and possibly the whole world after the Bible, with more than eight hundred manuscripts and a hundred incunabula in the fifteenth century alone, and countless printed editions in myriad languages right up to the present day. In 1447 Philip the Good ordered a French translation of the original Latin text for his own personal use.\n\n'I have sought everywhere for peace, but I have found it not, save in nooks and in books' is a quote that is invariably attributed to Thomas. Not only did those words suit him to a T, but they were also a sign of the times. They also reflected an evolution in which his Imitatio played an important role. At about the same time as the invention of the printing press, literature underwent another important breakthrough: the private reading of texts in the vernacular. It was a minor revolution for mankind, whose knowledge of literature had long been almost exclusively confined to oral forms: from the performance of farces and passion plays, the telling of fabliaux and the singing of poems or tales of chivalry to the reading aloud of passages from the Bible. Monks, of course, had been gobbling their way through Latin texts on their own for centuries, but The Imitation of Christ was the first book that ordinary readers read on the same scale, in their own language and 'in nooks'. That practice was perfect for a work that demanded a deep confrontation with oneself. After the success of the Imitatio, reading would never be the same. Another important hurdle was cleared on the way to growing individualization. People became solitary word processors.\n\nThomas belonged to the spiritual movement known as the Devotio Moderna, whose aim was to reform religious life by emphasizing personal engagement and the prayer lives of the faithful. The Imitation of Christ was not a complex treatise but a readable spiritual guide in which every form of theological hair-splitting was avoided. Not mystical contemplation but tips for actual religious practice. The titles of the chapters speak volumes: 'Of the Profit of Adversity', 'Of the Joy of a Good Conscience', or 'Of avoiding Superfluity in Words'. The simple and practical dimension of the work undoubtedly explained part of its success. This little book had everything necessary to make it a practical vade mecum for any believer who could read. 'How wholesome it is, how pleasant and sweet it is, to sit silently in solitude and to speak with God,' declared Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, with which countless readers could agree.\n\nCompletely in line with the philosophy of life described by Thomas, Philip wanted nothing more than to stand personally before Christ in his prayers. To a great extent, the whole rhythm of his life was dictated by Christian acts. Philip was strict in performing his religious exercises, which he did with deep devotion. He attended daily Mass, often arriving late to keep from being accosted by other believers. He didn't fail to pray before, during and after battles, thought nothing of fasting on bread and water for a few days at a time, sometimes wore a hairshirt, donated a great many stained-glass windows to places of worship \u2013 from the Great Church in Dordrecht to the H\u00f4tel-Dieu in Beaune \u2013 was constant in his almsgiving, went on pilgrimages, possessed a number of enviable relics such as the sword of Saint George (whether there was still dried dragon's blood clinging to it is unknown), had a long list of annual Masses said for his ancestors and other important deceased persons, celebrated the name days of several saints by having special Masses said \u2013 Saint Andrew in particular, the patron saint of Burgundy and of the Order of the Golden Fleece \u2013 and every year on Holy Thursday washed the feet of twelve paupers, to whom he also offered a hot meal.\n\nThat the customs of the time demanded a degree of religious zeal was taken for granted, but Philip's religious devotion surpassed the normal bounds. He spent a great deal of time in prayer, as Thomas \u00e0 Kempis dictated. While those solitary prayer sessions were times of ascesis, his daily attendance at Mass took place in an atmosphere of beauty and mental exaltation. He was the first Burgundian duke to maintain a twenty-member court chapel. He regularly presided over the auditions for new choir members and his standards were extremely high. In 1447 he rejected the services of Johannes Pullois of Pulle in Kempen, who had been the highly esteemed choirmaster of the Church of Our Lady in Antwerp.\n\nThe Burgundian's good taste was attested to by his employment of Guillaume Dufay and especially the Mons-born Gilles Binchois as composers for his court chapel. Later, these two would become known as the founders of Flemish polyphony, whose most important exponents were from the Walloon districts. It must have pleased Philip that Dufay and Binchois wrote both religious and worldly music, that they were the first to close the gap between the sacred and the mundane, between the cerebral-intellectual and the physical-sensual, and do it with such elegance. One need only listen to Dufay's Messe de l'homme arm\u00e9 or to a handful of Binchois's profane songs to realize how relatively accessible and breathtakingly beautiful their late medieval compositions were, how smoothly the voices or instruments went their own way while at the same time creating melodious harmonies. In this respect Philip clearly distanced himself from Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, who resolutely chose austerity, and even ugliness if necessary, as long as the music came from the heart. 'If you cannot sing like the lark and the nightingale, sing then like the raven and the frog in the pond, who sing as God gave them to sing.'\n\nHowever devout he may have been, it is by no means certain that Philip the Good strove to imitate the 'life and manners' of Jesus in every possible aspect, to 'be truly enlightened, and be delivered from all blindness of heart', as Thomas wrote on the first page of his book. At any rate, Thomas's aversion to outward show and decorum was difficult to reconcile with Philip's lifestyle. We might also wonder how the deeply religious but incorrigibly lascivious duke dealt with the sensual defilement of his conscience. At least we can be sure that the content of the chapter 'Of the Growth of Patience in the Soul, and of striving against Concupiscence' did not inspire him to change his behaviour. How often must Philip have read the words 'The flesh will murmur against thee' and sighed as he continued: 'but with fervency of spirit thou shalt bridle it.' Perhaps he blamed sexual excess on his alter ego and was able to take refuge in the chapter 'Of bearing with the Defects of Others'?\n\nIn any case, Philip was living proof that a person hooked on luxury and sensuality could still be a deeply religious and practising Christian. Evidently, no one even called this contradiction into question."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 111",
                "text": "Besides his fondness for devotional practices and Christian love of neighbour, Philip had been entertaining a dream of going on Crusade. The fact that his father had been crushed at Nicopolis didn't stop him from believing that a great army from the west could wipe out the heretics in the Middle East. Hadn't he commissioned Jan van Eyck to make a map of the world? Hadn't he sent a number of Burgundian explorers eastward, sent ships across the billows to protect the Knights Hospitallers of Rhodes from barbarian invasions? Hadn't he had the church of Bethlehem restored at his own expense? Wasn't the Burgundian court a welcoming sanctuary for Byzantine refugees? For Philip, there could be no mistake: the fall of Constantinople was a sign that he should convert all his preparations and plans into great deeds. The smaller expeditions that he had supported in past years paled in comparison with what he had in mind: an internationally supported Crusade, with himself as the great source of inspiration. Old-fashioned chivalric ideals certainly played a role, although Philip was equally driven by political and religious concerns.\n\nBut he was virtually alone. Almost none of his fellow rulers or knights would let themselves get caught up in his enthusiasm. The tenor of their argument was clear: we're no longer in the twelfth or thirteenth century, we have enough to worry about in our own countries, why in God's name sacrifice our money and lives for a victory in Constantinople that would be difficult to secure? But Philip was clever. He knew more than anyone that you could influence minds by providing the appropriate context.\n\nFirst he had to look for the right place, and he found it in his beloved Lille. Even though his new Rihour Palace was still under construction, the great event he was planning could serve as an ideal swansong for the old Palais de la Salle. The engagement of his niece Elizabeth of Burgundy to John of Cleves seemed to him the perfect occasion. John of Cleves, also known as 'the Baby Maker', was said to have fathered six official and thirty-six illegitimate children, easily outdoing the prolific skirt-chaser Philip the Good. In any event, now that a few hundred nobles would be gathering in Lille, the duke saw the engagement feast as the starting signal for a whole series of banquets and tournaments that would culminate in the widely announced feast of all feasts on 17 February 1454."
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Will Not Sleep In A Bed On Saturday'",
                "text": "The age of antiquity seemed to be pointing the Burgundians to new horizons. Twenty-five years earlier, Jason had inspired the duke to found the Order of the Golden Fleece, but it didn't stop there. Philip the Good commissioned translators to produce French versions of ancient Latin writings and asked makers of tapestries to weave mythological tales into their work. Historians place the arrival of the Renaissance in the Low Countries in the sixteenth century, but the Burgundians had been digging deep into the culture of classical antiquity well before that.\n\nOn 17 February the walls of the great hall of the Palais de la Salle were hidden behind immense wall tapestries depicting the Twelve Labours of Hercules. Once again, Philip used a theme from pagan classical culture to inspire his contemporaries to deeds of Christian heroism. After all, wasn't Hercules the forefather of Gundobad, the fabled Burgundian king from almost a thousand years before \u2013 at least, according to legend? On this day, every detail was fitted into a greater whole.\n\nBetween the various courses being served, each featuring forty-eight dishes, the guests were treated to a variety of tableaux. As usual, these famous and inimitable entremets veered between culture and kitsch. These 'in-between courses' were still partly edible at the time of the Cambrai double wedding in 1385, but now they had become pure spectacle.\n\nRight in the middle was a statue of a naked woman. Her right breast produced a continuous stream of spiced wine, while a real (!) lion lay chained to her feet. Written on a small shield were the words 'Do not touch the lady'. The guests trickled in, held their glasses beneath her breast, and winked at each other. Before taking their seats, they all took the time to admire the decor of the hall.\n\nGracing the first table was a cruciform church, fitted with artistically styled stained-glass windows and with four singers hidden in the bell tower. This somewhat exalted construction was flanked by a naked little boy on a rock, peeing rose water: the Burgundian version of Manneken Pis, the oldest mention of which, according to later historians, was dug out of a Brussels archive and dated two years before this banquet. Another table had been turned into a gigantic pie. The invitees pointed to it and counted. And yes, there were twenty-eight musicians sitting in the immense construction. Beneath them was a handful of blind people who reportedly were unsurpassed in the playing of the hurdy-gurdy.\n\nThe guests moved from one wonder to the next: here an ogre on a camel, there a castle from which orange drink flowed, and over there a Portuguese ship with sailors busily working on their sails. And so it went. You couldn't take it all in. At the end of the tour a magic forest appeared with all sorts of strange beasts: ingenious ambulatory automatons. It couldn't have been easy for the guests to actually sit down at the table, for the precious dinnerware and the diamond-encrusted crystal table fountains were also laid out in great numbers. Chronicler Olivier de la Marche needed so many words to describe it all that he never got around to writing about the food, and had to make do with 'astonishing dishes'.\n\nDuring the feasting, a musical conversation took place between the singers in the church tower and the pie musicians that consisted of intermezzos written by court composer Gilles Binchois. Sacred songs wafted from the church, the pie was a source of profane melodies, and sometimes the two blended together. Each of Binchois's strains announced new, mobile tableaux.\n\nThe duke's painters, sculptors, carpenters, cooks, composers and automaton builders had bent over backwards in staging these flawlessly orchestrated performances. A gnome with animal-like legs and feet rode a wild boar decked out in green silk; the one and only Jason from the original Golden Fleece fought a grim battle with a giant snake; a singing stag carried a child, who gripped the antlers with both hands; and falconers released their birds in an attempt to catch a flying heron. In the meantime, a fire-breathing dragon flew over the heads of the diners like a flash of lightning. Finally, all these profane wonders gave way to what was billed as the religious climax.\n\nSlowly but surely, a giant strode into the hall. The older guests whose memories were still sound recognized Hans, the colossus who had played a starring role during the festivities at Philip's wedding in Bruges twenty-four years earlier. This time he appeared as a Saracen from Granada, one of the few Spanish cities still in the hands of the Moors. He was leading an elephant, a gigantic automaton with a palanquin on its back in which sat a most marvellous figure. This was no ordinary pious female. The lady was the personification of Holy Church, who addressed the public with a long lament. 'My domain is being trampled underfoot [\u2026] It is in the hands of unbelievers. [\u2026] Do not forget the divine mission, you knights of the Golden Fleece [\u2026] he who rescues me will reap fame, his soul will attain glory.' Everyone understood that the high point was imminent. Would a mysterious messenger fall from the sky? They all looked around, breathless with expectation.\n\nIn stepped Golden Fleece, a man in flashing armour. He carried in his hands a live pheasant. Around the neck of the bird was a golden chain studded with precious stones. Following him was a procession of warriors and maidens. Golden Fleece knelt before the Grand Duke of the West. It was an ancestral custom, when making spectacular plans, to swear on a peacock, swan or pheasant.\n\nPhilip the Good didn't have to be told twice. Slowly, the fifty-seven-year-old rose to his feet and swore that he was more determined than ever to go on Crusade, and that he was ready to challenge the Grand Turk to a duel to the death. He then produced a document on parchment with more chapter and verse and handed it to Golden Fleece, who read out the ducal message in a stentorian voice. Everyone nodded enthusiastically and with great reverence. This did seem like just the right thing to do.\n\nThe words of Holy Mother Church and the duke's oath were so effective in moving hearts that one lord after another leaped up in the heat of the moment to make bold pronouncements. Stretching an arm out over the pheasant, Charles the Bold set the example, after which there was no holding back. The lord knights, who until quite recently had not shown the slightest enthusiasm for unleashing a holy war, whipped each other up with their resolutions, which rose to grandiose proportions. 'Until I have skewered a Saracen on my sword, I will not sleep in a bed on Saturdays,' cried the lord of Pons. 'And I will no longer eat meat on Fridays,' vowed the bailiff of Cassel, 'until I have engaged an enemy of our faith in combat.' The seventy-seven-year-old Rolin was the only one to admit that he was not able to make the journey, but he promised to send one of his sons in his place, in the company of twenty-four noblemen. No sooner had this met with sympathetic nods than someone else stepped forward.\n\nUp until then the guests had been sitting like spectators watching a marvellous show, but now, during the d\u00e9nouement, they found themselves assuming the leading role. There they were, dressed to the nines in the midst of the most outrageous decor they would ever lay eyes on. They looked at each other, thrilled with excitement, glad that they had been given the chance to lend colour to this historic moment. In their midst was the beaming duke. His plan had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He had managed to coax all these stubborn souls to do an about-turn. With his head for propaganda, he had also ordered the building of four grandstands so that hundreds of nobles and wealthy burghers who had not been invited to the actual feast could witness this miraculous reversal. Filled with awe, they gazed at the uncrowned king of the Burgundian theatrical monarchy, a radiant Philip the Good at the peak of his powers.\n\nIn the meantime, the knights, now transformed into actors, could no longer be restrained and became completely absorbed in the role assigned to them. Before leaving, Philippe Pot promised never to dine on Tuesdays, Hugues de Longueval would drink no more wine until he had spilled the blood of a heretic and Guillaume de Montigny actually swore that, in anticipation of the great event, he would don part of his armour every night before going to bed. The heroes began to speak with such passion that Philip eventually ordered them to stop and asked his guests to put their oaths down in writing. When it was time to leave, everyone seemed ready to mount his horse and ride on to Constantinople in a single stretch.\n\nMontigny would probably have regretted his pious resolution if he had known how many awkward nights in armour awaited him. The bedless Saturdays of the lord of Pons must have started weighing heavily on his mind as well. And after a while Longueval probably wondered whether he would ever drink another glass of wine.\n\nIn short, the preparations dragged on."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 113",
                "text": "However implausible this 'Feast of the Pheasant' may seem, it's totally consistent with the dukes' tradition of propagandistic feasts. Furthermore, it was described by several chroniclers. They couldn't all have suffered from mythomania. The few scenes reported here are only the tip of the iceberg. Enthusiasts can consult the chronicles and immerse themselves in the long accounts, where no feature is left unmentioned.\n\nThe most important description of Philip's feast in Lille was the work of Olivier de la Marche, a confidant of Philip the Good and a man who really was a jack of all trades. Not only was he a diplomat and writer, but he served as the scenarist and director of the 1454 feast, organizing the event down to the smallest detail, paying all the artists and craftsmen who were involved and even taking part in the spectacle itself. The woman on the elephant, the incarnation of Holy Mother Church, was none other than a brightly made-up and ingeniously costumed Olivier de la Marche.\n\nAlthough he never hid his enthusiasm for the feast, he did venture a few observations several decades later. La Marche found the staggering amount of cash that the feast had cost 'an excessive and unreasonable expense'. The only thing he found meaningful was the entremets of the church \u2013 in which he himself played the title role \u2013 because it led to so many solemn proposals. But was all the rest really necessary?\n\nThe people of the Middle Ages were willing to be a lot more histrionic than we are today. Furthermore, on 17 February 1454 they were more than a little tipsy. Yet the sudden reversal from opponents to enthusiasts for Philip's Crusade is still quite remarkable, although it remained to be seen what the value was of such promises at a time when ceasefires and other agreements were constantly being violated.\n\nIn any event, Philip did not despair. He organized meetings in Arras, Bruges and Lille to discuss the practical preparations for the Crusade. Between meetings, he travelled as vassal of the Holy Roman Emperor to the Imperial Diet in Regensburg because Brabant, Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Namur and Luxembourg were feudally bound to the Holy Roman Empire. There, too, Constantinople would come up for discussion. But although Philip was received with the utmost courtesy, Frederick III would not commit himself. In fact, the successor to Emperor Sigismund only sent his secretary because he was busy settling a conflict with the Hungarians. Not that he refused Philip his cooperation, but the promises came to nothing.\n\nThe duke had secretly dreamed of again asking the emperor for a king's crown for his 'German' domains in the Low Countries. It was that old longing to breathe new life into the legendary Burgundian kingdom of Gundobad. Seven years earlier, Frederick had promised him the title of King of Brabant or Friesland, but that wasn't enough for the proud Philip the Good. He dreamed of merging all his domains into one great kingdom. But in 1454, reality proved as painful as it was indisputable: the weak emperor feared a strong Burgundian duke in the west. So he made the best of a bad job and veiled himself in invisibility. To make matters worse, Philip fell seriously ill for the first time in his life. He had to abandon his dream of leaving for Constantinople in May. That didn't keep him from taking advantage of this long journey to build up a German network, however, which meant that going to Regensburg had not been a total waste of time.\n\nWhile his propaganda machine spread the news of the Turkish threat, the Burgundian accountants started planning the mobilization of 12,000 warriors and the building of 36 ships. Flags and banners were painted, but a portion of the court personnel were also sacked. The Feast of the Pheasant had left a hole in the treasury. At the same time, the duke was worried about the future of his son Charles. Charles's wife, Catherine, had died eight years earlier at the age of fifteen. It was time to start looking for a new bride.\n\nTo keep Charles from marrying the wrong woman during his stay in the east, Philip gave the nod to Isabella of Bourbon as the next consort. This was his way of bringing the Bourbon power bloc over to his side as a kind of counterweight to the increasing domination of King Charles VII of Valois, now aged fifty-two. Perhaps this would make it easier to gain the king's support for his Crusade?\n\nCharles the Bold himself had little enthusiasm for the wedding being imposed on him. An English union would have been more to his liking. Not only that, but Isabella was a full cousin. After considerable effort on his father's part, however, the pope gladly gave his consent. In late October 1454, the two were discreetly married in a very un-Burgundian ceremony in Lille, an event that just so happened to provide his father with the small county of Ch\u00e2teau-Chinon. Any extra expansion of his territory was always a welcome bonus.\n\nAlthough the wedding had more or less been shoved down Charles's throat, it did result in a good relationship, even to the extent that he would never cheat on his wife. That was certainly not among his father's demands! For Philip, marital fidelity was an anomaly and infidelity the most normal thing in the world. In Charles's case, it was tenacity that marked his personality: single-minded, faithful and stubborn. If he got an idea in his head, he never wavered. His wedding also marked his coming of age. The next time, his father wouldn't be able to dictate the rules so easily.\n\nIn July 1455 Philip sent Chancellor Rolin to the French king, but Charles VII turned up his nose at the old crusader ideals. Drive the Turks out of Constantinople? What nonsense! He'd much rather throw the English out of Calais. He also made it clear to Rolin that after the defeat at Castillon the old enemy would soon strike back, and he had to be ready. It was no more than an excuse, for at that very moment a bitter power struggle was erupting on the other side of the Channel. No sooner had an end come to the Hundred Years War than the first stirrings occurred of the Wars of the Roses, the bloody fight for power between the Houses of York and Lancaster that would so capture Shakespeare's imagination. The English civil war finally ended in 1485 with the rise of Henry VII of the House of Tudor, father of the famous Henry VIII and grandfather of the Virgin Queen Elizabeth. The fact that the current king, Henry VI of the House of Lancaster, had begun to display signs of madness did little to improve the political balance. The French knew all about that from first-hand experience.\n\nSo although his hands were relatively free, there wasn't a hair on the head of the King of France that thought it was a good idea to liberate Constantinople: nothing but outdated chivalric ideals! Rolin went home empty-handed. And under the circumstances, Philip had even less reason to count on the English. When his supporter Pope Nicholas V fell asleep in the Lord in 1455, the matter was dropped.\n\nFor the time being, that is, until Nicholas's successor, Callixtus III \u2013 the first church leader from the illustrious Borgia family \u2013 jumped on the Burgundian bandwagon. When he was elected, the year 1456 suddenly became the year of the Crusade. But just when Philip could start dreaming again, Rudolf van Diepholt died."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Fox Who Will Eat Up All His Chickens'",
                "text": "As bishop of the Sticht Utrecht (a sticht was any piece of land governed by a bishop or abbot), Van Diepholt always wore two hats. He was spiritual ruler of Holland, Zeeland, the Sticht, the Oversticht and part of Flanders, but he also occupied the secular throne of the Sticht Utrecht itself, roughly corresponding to today's province of Utrecht, and of the Oversticht, comprising today's provinces of Overijssel, Drenthe and a small part of Groningen. Philip's political antennae were on high alert. This was a death he had to profit from. He would have to fill the position with one of his straw men, which would allow him to parachute friends and clients into countless ecclesiastical offices and to greatly enlarge the Burgundian sphere of influence once again. The noble Crusade would have to wait.\n\nBut the Utrecht chapters nominated Gijsbrecht van Brederode, a fervent anti-Burgundian and eminent Hook. Over my dead body, thought Philip, who responded by fishing his bastard son David out of his hatchery of illegitimate children. According to Philip, David was the ideal candidate because, as Bishop of Th\u00e9rouanne, he was a man with much experience. Philip's episcopal network had many branches, by the way. He had given seats to family members and friends in Amiens, Tournai, Arras, Cambrai and Li\u00e8ge as well as in the southern bishoprics of M\u00e2con, Autun, Nevers and Besan\u00e7on. Philip's deep devotion went hand in hand with his religious imperialism. The fact that Utrecht rejected his candidate meant nothing to him. After all, the pope himself had sided with the driving force behind the new Crusade.\n\nThe duke moved his court to temporary quarters in The Hague, where he asked the States of Holland for financial help to save Constantinople. While he was there, he used the opportunity to exert pressure on Utrecht, which refused to budge. So Philip raised a large army and began to march resolutely on the city. Utrecht quickly surrendered. Of course, it didn't hurt that he had promised his opponent, Gijsbrecht van Brederode, another top position as well as a remuneration equal to 900 times the annual salary of a trained artisan and an annuity 75 times that amount. With his sword in one hand and his treasure chest under his other arm, he rode into the capital of the Sticht on 5 August 1456. That evening, a 'wondrous infinity of lanterns' hung from the windows of Utrecht, while the inhabitants, 'packed together like ants', threw a wild party.\n\nPhilip then travelled across the richly forested Veluwe region, in the eastern part of today's Netherlands, until he reached the Deventer city walls. His aim was to win the Oversticht to his side, as he had done with Sticht. But the siege wasn't easy. The IJssel River had burst its banks, forcing the Burgundian troops to make their way through the mud, grumbling and cursing as they went. After a month-long slog, Deventer also gave in.\n\nSaying that the duke was able to add the Sticht and the Oversticht to his possessions is a bit of a stretch, but thanks to the presence of David of Burgundy his influence now extended from south of Dijon to north of Deventer. In the north, only Guelders was still standing on its own two feet. But for how long? Somewhere in between, Alsace and Lorraine now beckoned.\n\nWhile the awareness of so much glory was awakening his longing to establish the fame of Burgundy in Constantinople, Philip heard some surprising news \u2013 tidings that saddled him with a great moral dilemma. The fact that the French dauphin, Louis, was at odds with his father, Charles VII, was an open secret, but the situation seemed to have got completely out of control. Louis had fled his father's kingdom and was now asking the Grand Duke of the West for political asylum."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 115",
                "text": "He had always been restless, unscrupulous, callous and authoritarian. He accused his father of being a weasel, a perpetual waffler. The fact that Charles had managed to resolve the Hundred Years War in his favour and had pulled France out of the vale of misery only made his son more restless. Charles VII was no cream puff who could easily be crushed. Louis found that out when he was sixteen and took part in the Praguerie, an easily suppressed revolt of unruly nobles who had deluded the young dauphin with visions of a rapid accession to the throne. Charles forgave him, but not without qualification: 'You are my son. You may not ally yourself with anyone without my permission. If you want to go, then go! We'll find other members of our family who serve our kingdom and our honour better than you have done so far.' Since then, they had always found something to quarrel about.\n\nLouis's participation in the last fighting of the Hundred Years War revealed him as a man of great cruelty, but at least he served his country. As soon as he exchanged the battlefield for the court, the run-ins with his father intensified. Charles had fallen under the spell of a certain Agn\u00e8s Sorel, which his son found deeply disturbing. It was an unheard-of situation. For the first time in history, a woman had attained the status of acknowledged mistress. That the illustrious predecessor of Gabrielle d'Estr\u00e9es (Henry IV), Madame de Maintenon (Louis XIV) and Madame de Pompadour (Louis XV) could stride elegantly and sensually through the corridors of the royal palace was what Louis liked least of all. Gowns with endless trains, bare shoulders, plucked eyebrows and elaborate, towering hairdos: Agn\u00e8s's majestic forehead came at you like the erotic prow of a ship. When all the ladies-in-waiting began dressing and behaving \u00e0 la Sorel, it struck the dauphin as particularly distasteful.\n\nWhat irritated him even more was that she had influence on his father's policy and personality. Charles was basically a gloomy man. Sorel knew how to cheer him up and instil in him the courage he needed for the home stretch in the fight against the English. After the chaste Joan of Arc, the sensual Agn\u00e8s would inspire him to acts of decisiveness. On top of that, Charles VII, who was physically rather staid, underwent a tremendous erotic awakening. That, too, was abhorrent to his son. Didn't his father care at all about his mother the queen, poor Marie of Anjou?\n\nOn 1 January 1447 the situation finally came to a head, and Louis threatened his father's lover with a sword. Sorel fled to the bedroom of the French king. Beside himself with rage, Charles ostracized his son from the court. He sent him to Dauphin\u00e9, the region that would fall to him as dauphin, where Louis was allowed to play governor. Father and son would never see each other again.\n\nThree years later, Agn\u00e8s Sorel died in childbirth. The official cause was puerperal fever, but many suspected the dauphin of having poisoned her. As the first official royal mistress, she achieved a fame that has endured to the present day. Less well-known is that she was the model for Virgin and Child Surrounded by Angels by Jean Fouquet, the French court painter who also made an intriguing portrait of Charles VII. But this masterpiece, now in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp, is more than a portrait. We see a fifteenth-century Mary with piously downcast eyes, surrounded by red angels and dressed in blue and white attire while exposing one impressive breast. The high forehead, small mouth and very modern colour combination make Sorel the most enigmatic Mother of God in art history.\n\nSoon Dauphin\u00e9 had become an independent province to all intents and purposes, where Louis wasn't the least bit concerned about paternal directives. Spies at court kept him informed of the king's wavering health. With the perennial Alpine snows in view, he waited impatiently for the death of his progenitor. In the meantime, he hatched all sorts of conspiracies and intrigues, which have proved a nightmare for his biographers; he did his best to catch royal mercenaries in his nets; set cities such as Venice, Genoa and Florence against each other for his own benefit; and, much to his father's horror, married the eleven-year-old Charlotte of Savoy. Louis and his father-in-law then entered into a military defence pact against the French king.\n\nThe correspondence between father and son was no more than a rhetorical game of polite but sweet-and-sour platitudes. In reality it seemed as if the country was once again on the verge of an internal war. Charles summoned Louis back to court. The king's patience was being regally tested. Finally, he sent an army to the snow-capped peaks of Dauphin\u00e9.\n\nDespite all his big talk, Louis didn't have the means to stand up to his father. He was afraid that royal henchmen would stuff him into a sack, sew it shut and dump him in the Rh\u00f4ne. The man who later was referred to in the annals as 'the big spider' and 'the most terrible French king ever' decided to play it safe. During an innocent hunting party, he took off with a handful of companions and made for Burgundy. On the way he wrote his father a respectful letter. 'I have learned that my good Uncle Burgundy is planning on undertaking a Crusade, and I would very much like to offer him my services [\u2026] so that I might contribute to the defence of the Catholic faith.' He might just as well have spat in his father's face."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 116",
                "text": "Wiping the Deventer mud from his armour, Philip didn't know what position to take. At times it seemed as if he were being chased by a nest of hornets on horseback, and at other times he saw it as the greatest political opportunity of his life. If he embraced Louis, the French king would immediately denounce him. And the power of Charles VII had now reached impressive proportions. But could he easily refuse hospitality, with its code of honour? Incur the wrath of the next King of France? Charles VII seemed to be nearing the end of his life. If he treated Louis well, it would create immense possibilities.\n\nHe journeyed southward via Dordrecht, his mind constantly weighing the two extremes. Finally, he made a decision. His political instinct told him to take the side of the rebel son. If he could make the dauphin beholden to him, Burgundy would be all the better for it \u2013 or so he thought. In the meantime, he wrote to the French king, explaining that he had had nothing to do with his son's arrival, but that the laws of hospitality demanded that he take him in.\n\nOn 15 October 1456 the two men met in the courtyard of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. As a destitute refugee, Louis pulled out all the stops. He refused to let Duchess Isabella pay the customary homage to him, and he also implored Philip to drop all civilities. Yet the duke insisted on making a number of prostrations. After the second prostration, Philip remained on his knees so long that Louis cried out with embarrassment, 'Upon my word, good uncle, if you don't stand up now I shall leave and let you lie there.' The first hour was thus spent on a courtesy contest that Louis won on points. Although Philip tried to restrain himself, the etiquette-bound duke would never allow his horse to venture beyond the tail of the dauphin's steed during the hunt. Noblesse oblige \u2013 but then in all respects. Louis led a very comfortable life in Genappe Castle, at Philip's expense. For Philip, it was an investment that he believed would easily pay for itself.\n\nWhen King Charles VII heard that Philip the Good had taken his son in, he cursed both his ungrateful heir and the meddling grand duke. It led him to utter this remarkable statement: 'My cousin Burgundy is feeding a fox who will eat up all his chickens.' Naturally, the king was driven by frustration. Of course he was hoping to ward off misfortune by means of a bit of hyperbole. And he was probably engaging in wishful thinking. But Charles VII knew the dauphin through and through. He knew the kinds of sly tricks this wily Reynard was capable of.\n\nFor his part, Philip the Good was pleased as Punch and thought he was facing a rosy future. In his wildest dreams he couldn't have suspected that within one year all this would lead to a break with Chancellor Rolin as well as with his wife Isabella and his son Charles the Bold. The arrival of dauphin Louis heralded the bleakest period of his life. It was the twilight of the patriarch.\n\nOr how the buried resentment between Philip the Good and Charles the Bold ended in an Old Testament-like fury that heralded the end of Philip's rule, how the Burgundian court in Brussels changed for a time into a remarkable literary laboratory, and how, thanks to the resurgence of Philip's crusader ambitions, the Low Countries were given an official christening.\n\nSINCE THE COMING of dauphin Louis, Charles the Bold was only third in rank at the Burgundian court. His father's will was law. Gritting his teeth, he resigned himself to the situation and even maintained polite contact with Louis, but it never amounted to a warm relationship. Louis's verbal humour, his disregard for etiquette, his loose morals, overly familiar dealings with subordinates, penchant for simple clothing and, worst of all, his sheer inscrutability got on Charles's nerves. The fact that the dauphin thought nothing of meddling in family affairs, under the pretence of profound gratitude, was more than the heir to the Burgundian throne could stand.\n\nEven Philip the Good had to set clear boundaries: no Golden Fleece for Louis, no willingness to lend a sympathetic ear when the dauphin came to whine about his father, Charles VII. The duke placed great value on hospitality, but he could not allow himself to get involved in anti-French agitation. Secretly, Philip was pleased that his son didn't fall for Louis's dangerous charms. Louis had broken with his own father, and this less than edifying example was Philip's nightmare. A similar feud with his own son would be extremely troubling to the sensitive, irascible duke.\n\nCharles the Bold looked with deep suspicion at Louis's overly familiar relationship with the members of the House of Croy. This family of Picardy aristocrats had attained a privileged position at the court of Philip the Good in recent decades. The rise of the Croys was really boosted when Charles's grandfather, John the Fearless, embarked on an extramarital affair with Agn\u00e8s de Croy, whose father was in on the plot to murder Louis of Orl\u00e9ans. Their bastard son would serve as Bishop of Cambrai for forty years. Agn\u00e8s's brothers, Antoine and Jean de Croy, also captured key positions within the Burgundian establishment. Both were dubbed knights of the Order of the Golden Fleece, and Antoine became governor of Luxembourg, Namur and Boulogne, while Jean was appointed grand bailiff of Hainaut.\n\nRanged against the Croys were the followers of the iron chancellor, Nicolas Rolin. A few members of the Rolin clan had also made their way into the Burgundian inner circles, of course. Nicolas's oldest offspring, Jean, held sway over Autun and Chalon as bishop, and his brother William was the chamberlain of Philip the Good.\n\nThe power blocs of Rolin and Croy had been living side by side in relative peace for years, but as Rolin approached the age of eighty his influence began to wane. The Croys smelled blood. They accused the chancellor of extensive corruption and talked the duke into conducting a massive investigation into possible irregularities. It was an open secret that Rolin had enriched himself on a grand scale. No one had ever dared put this on the agenda, mainly because most of the highly placed officials also had their hands in the till. Yet because of the lobbying carried on by the Croy faction, old Rolin, who had meant so much to Philip, was eventually sidelined.\n\nPowerless to do anything, Charles was forced to look on as his usually wise father dealt with the whole affair in a very surprising fashion. What the heir to the Burgundian throne really wanted was to clamp down on the Croys' power grab."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Forced To Bow Down To Trees'",
                "text": "On Monday, 17 January 1457, Duke Philip went to Mass at the chapel of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. As the place of worship emptied out, he remained absorbed in pious meditation. Then he called for his son Charles. Charles had just appointed Antoine, the youngest son of Chancellor Rolin, as chamberlain. The duke wanted to give the function to Philip, son of Jean de Croy. He hoped that the serene setting would make for a quiet discussion, but he was in for a disappointment. When Mass was over, all the unspoken irritations between them came to the surface.\n\n'Charles, about the position of chamberlain, I want you to cancel the contract with Rolin and appoint Lord de Croy,' the duke blurted out. As etiquette demanded, he addressed his successor using the formal pronoun.\n\nCharles the Bold remained friendly, but this time he refused to bend to his father's will. 'Monseigneur, I ask you to retain Antoine Rolin.'\n\nThe duke was surprised by Charles's attitude. He saw the request as a mere formality. He raised his voice. 'Appointing and dismissing people is my prerogative!' Then somewhat softer: 'I want the Lord de Croy on your side.'\n\n'As unpleasant as it may seem, monseigneur,' responded his son, 'I ask you to forgive me, but I cannot do what you ask.' Then came the fatal words. 'It is the Croys who have turned you against me. I see that all too well.'\n\n'Is it possible that you will not obey me? Will you not do what I require?' cried Philip.\n\n'Monseigneur, there is nothing I would rather do than comply with your orders, but this time I must refuse,' insisted Charles firmly. It wasn't just because his grandfather had once had a romp with a lady from the House of Croy. No, he had to accept the fact that the driving forces behind a palace revolution were calling the shots for him as well. Charles had logic on his side, but his resistance was uncommonly hard for his father to swallow.\n\n'You good-for-nothing!' screamed Philip. 'Do you insist on defying me? Get out of my sight!' The blood drained from his face and his heart filled with malice. Philip the Good always failed to live up to his epithet when he became enraged. Chronicler Georges Chastellain, who described the affair as if he had been looking over the duke's shoulder the whole time, said that Philip was on the verge of drawing his dagger. Duchess Isabella was witness to this sharp exchange, and she pulled her son out of the chapel in panic. The priest standing at the door refused to let them leave unless Charles asked his father for forgiveness, fearing the consequences. The son would not relent. The three of them could hear the duke shouting his displeasure in the distance.\n\n'Quickly, my friend,' begged the duchess. 'Open the door or we are lost!'\n\nThe duchess and her son escaped by way of a spiral staircase. Isabella went straight to the dauphin and begged him to mediate. But when Louis appeared before Philip, he only made things worse. The very idea: that his wife had revealed this thorny family matter to the son of the French king! Now the duke seemed to be drowning in rage. He showed the dauphin the door. Louis fell to his knees, but Philip's anger was such that he, too, fled in terror. In tears, he told Isabella of his failed intervention.\n\nPhilip would soon calm down and reconcile with the dauphin, but a deep rift had opened up between himself and his son. The fact that Charles had turned against him caused a crack to form in the duke's cast-iron mental armour. Later that afternoon, a still furious Philip mounted his horse. It was drizzling, the thaw had just set in and the roads were thick with sludge, but nothing could convince him to stay a minute longer in Brussels. With an icy gesture he sent a courier to the Croys to announce that he was waiting for them in Halle. Then he sped away, dressed in plain clothing so that no one could recognize him.\n\nThe solitary rider traversed fields and paths, now making a U-turn, then veering left or right, often looking over his shoulder. The only purpose of this extremely curious route was to shake off possible pursuers. He feared that his son would send someone after him, a worry that turned out to be quite unjustified. Before anyone in Brussels noticed that the duke had bolted and fled the palace in panic, Philip had left all the fields and roadways far behind. His tempestuous flight had caused him to lose his bearings. Although he had never before ridden his horse so far from the palace, the experienced commander finally had to admit that he had lost his way.\n\nWhen night fell, he hadn't the slightest idea where he was. His horse's legs sank into the soil, which had been softened by the thaw. But the old warrior refused to give up. On the contrary, he persisted in his anger and rode into a pitch-black forest. There wasn't a path to be seen. He steered his horse between endless rows of trees, up hill and down, cutting himself on briars, then dismounting to explore the undergrowth. 'The man before whom countless others had bent the knee only a few hours before was now forced to bow down to trees,' wrote Chastellain with a touch of wit.\n\nThe duke almost disappeared into a river he had mistaken for a snow-covered path. His horse's refusal to keep on going protected him from further injury. But the desolate wilderness was too much for the animal, who fell several times. The saddle broke, and Philip the Good had to continue on foot. He led his horse by the reins through the Sonian Forest. Dazed, the duke began to call for help. There was no answer, not even an echo.\n\nFinally, he saw a light in the distance. He hurried up to it. Smoke was rising from the earth. 'The fire twisted out of more than a thousand holes.' Was he on the road to hell? Was he seeing the spectacle of a soul searching for the path to purgatory? Philip's imagination went wild. It proved to be no more than an innocent charcoal burner. 'The consolation he had hoped to find turned into melancholy, and the clarity he had seen into dark listlessness. It was about midnight.'\n\nIt is a pleasure to read how Georges Chastellain unravels every detail of the adventure. Although there had been a great many chroniclers in the previous decades who had shone their light on the trials and tribulations of the dukes, he was the first to be declared the official Burgundian court writer. Johan Huizinga is not wrong when he says that his chronicles, written in French, contain both an 'evocative vigour' and a 'succulent colourfulness'. Today, the writing style of Chastellain, who came from Aalst in Belgium, would be described as typically Flemish. His tinsel-clad realism makes him the ideal writer to record Burgundian pomp and glory.\n\nAfter wandering around for quite some time, Philip reached the hut of some poor devil living in the woods. Full of expectation, the most well-to-do ruler in the west knocked on the rickety door. Speaking in Dutch, he begged to be let in. Without knowing exactly who he was helping, the host served him a few slices of coarse bread and some simple monastery cheese. No carver, no cup-bearer and no taster, but the duke eagerly tucked in to his frugal meal.\n\nThe next day the Grand Duke of the West was back, and after a frantic night the Burgundian court could breathe a sigh of relief. The tears and embraces failed to hide the fact that father and son barely trusted each other. Inspired by Louis, Charles even considered applying to the French court for political asylum, but the reshuffling never took place. As the family discord increased, dauphin Louis emerged as the duke's darling and the lesser gods paid the price. Both Antoine Rolin and Philip de Croy could kiss the job of chamberlain goodbye.\n\nIn the Museum of Fine Arts in Antwerp there's a portrait of the man behind this rift between father and son. It's worth taking the time to contemplate this work. Rogier van der Weyden depicted him in 1464 as a God-fearing man with a rather substantial nose. Yet the painter must surely have modified the truth, as he often did in his portraits of aristocrats, for according to witnesses Philip de Croy had an even more impressive nose, a feature that was reportedly typical of the family. The De Croys would stick their noses ever more deeply into the duke's affairs."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Finest, Biggest And Thickest Cock For Miles Around'",
                "text": "Nevertheless, scarcely one month later there was again reason to rejoice. While the birth of a crown princess would normally have been regarded as the cause for lavish festivities, now the court celebrated the happy news in a somewhat minor key. Mary of Burgundy, who would play such an important role in the Low Countries, uttered her first cry on 13 February 1457. She was a link between two major eras. Her grandfather was the imposing Philip the Good, and her grandson would grow up to be one of the greatest rulers of the world in the first half of the following century.\n\nFour days later, exactly one month after the falling out between Philip and Charles, little Mary was baptized in the chapel of Coudenberg Palace. Philip did not deign to attend, ostensibly because the child was only a girl and he had his heart set on a boy, but actually because he wanted to avoid seeing his son. The baby's father, Charles, stayed away for exactly the same reasons. The event was conducted with typical Burgundian splendour. The newly baptized infant lay in an ermine-lined cradle, her back supported by gold brocade pillows. A green velvet canopy was hung above the silver baptismal font, where light glistened from the hundreds of torches carried by the attending guests. Dauphin Louis stole the show. While the court chapel performed compositions by Gilles Binchois, it was Louis as godfather who held little Mary over the baptismal font. Chroniclers were surprised by the choice, but Charles really couldn't bring himself to ask his father to fulfil this role. In doing so, however, was he essentially placing a snake in his daughter's cradle, as chroniclers suggested?\n\nWhile father and son drifted further and further apart, Louis couldn't believe his luck. He spent five years in Genappe organizing a succession of bacchanals and hunting parties. Still seeing it all in terms of investment, Philip remained undisturbed and footed the bill without batting an eye. At some point all this would amply pay for itself. All Charles could do was shake his head. But the dauphin didn't stop at playing the party boy. He looked with admiration at the way the local merchants conducted their business and chose to hang out with them rather than with the preening peacocks of the aristocracy. The modestly dressed son of the French king had had quite enough of the Burgundians and their excessive luxury.\n\nWhat he later as king would ask of his broad network of spies was something he was now doing himself. He took a good long look and forged friendships with important figures whom he would come to use as straw men. As cunning as he was charming, he moved through the Low Countries in Philip's wake for five long years, giving shape to his already complex personality. A fox in a party hat. A snake with a pleasing hiss.\n\nCharles couldn't take it any more. One day he decided to part company with the court, as hard as it was to leave Burgundy to his unstable father, to the Croy bloodsuckers and to Louis, whom he regarded as untrustworthy. After quite some wandering he finally settled in the city of Gorinchem in Holland, where he devoted himself to falconry and fishing, but where he also became acquainted with the rulers of Holland and Zeeland.\n\nThe man who had made his way to the north was handsome, with a proud gleam in his eye. He looked very much like his father, although shorter and more muscular, and with his Portuguese mother's dark locks. The Hollanders found his powerful personality rather frightening. He was as authoritarian and short-tempered as his father, but at least Philip managed to adopt a generous and accommodating attitude. Charles was inflexible and did not hesitate to use violence when dealing with relatively insignificant matters. In that regard he was the polar opposite of dauphin Louis of France. Louis hated bloodshed and would achieve his greatest victories by provoking hostilities that worked to his advantage. The personalities that would colour the next tragic decade gradually began to reveal their most prominent features. Louis, the sly schemer. Charles, the audacious commander.\n\nThe heir to the Burgundian throne was always welcome at knightly tournaments. He had devoted his early years to swordplay and to reading chivalric epics. From Lancelot and Arthur to Alexander the Great and Caesar, reality and legend became intermingled in the feats of strength that populated his dream world. If Thomas \u00e0 Kempis had written The Imitation of Caesar, it would have been Charles's closest companion. But despite his propensity for violence, he was anything but a barbarian. He read Latin, spoke fluent French, English, Portuguese and Dutch, and loved to be read to from weighty tomes. He peppered his speech with classical references.\n\nThis armoured man of learning also had an artistic bent. Charles played creditable harp and wrote a number of compositions, among them Madame, trop vous mesprenes (Madam, you are quite mistaken), which is still being played today. Despite his musical aptitude, however, the music lover simply could not carry a tune. That didn't alter the fact that for him a day without a sung Mass could not be called successful. His court chapel was so dear to him that he even took the singers along with him on military expeditions.\n\nIn the late 1450s he began going to Brussels at least every six months to see his father. But the family agonies of Philip the Good didn't end with the voluntary exile of his son. Duchess Isabella could no longer endure all the suppressed tension. Philip barely deigned to look at her because she had sided with her son during the conflict. His cold hatred sent chills down her spine. What a terrible man he had become! A little gratitude would have done him credit. Hadn't her diplomatic efforts brought about economic peace? Hadn't she done her duty as a woman and given him an heir to the throne? And hadn't she passively accepted his serial infidelities all those years? Deeply unhappy, she too shut the door of the Brussels palace behind her.\n\nFirst she found a place in the Nieuwpoort monastery, then she relocated permanently to the castle of Motte-aux-Bois in Nieppe. Only occasionally did she appear beside her husband for ceremonial events. Philip withered into a petulant old man whose clear gaze was visibly deteriorating. Without the support of his son, wife and chancellor, he was completely at the mercy of the Croy family.\n\nIt eased Philip's personal distress that the crown prince occasionally regaled him with suitable words of praise. The spectacular Joyous Entry to which the tamed Ghent treated him in 1458 was also balm to his tormented soul. The Burgundian duke had been dealt a nasty blow, but for the time being he was able to hold his head high."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 119",
                "text": "In an effort to brighten up the lonely winter evenings, Philip the Good often summoned enthusiastic storytellers to Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. These were not professional artists but ordinary people from his retinue, like Louis of Luxembourg, Jean d'Enghien and Antoine de la Salle. Even the long-nosed Philip de Croy and the crown prince signed the guest book. A total of thirty-six storytellers put in an appearance, among them Golden Fleece knight Baldwin of Lannoy, who apparently was able to assume a merrier expression than the one we see in the funereal portrait by Van Eyck from 1435.\n\nIn the years 1457\u201361, the duke required everyone to take turns dishing up a surprising story, a hundred in all, and he would do the same. Philip wasn't angling for tales of courtly love or examples of knightly derring-do. What he thirsted after were adventures full of deceit, adultery and off-colour jokes. The jolly company were only too happy to comply with his request and cheerfully poked fun at both women and priests. Christine de Pizan and Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, both prominently represented in the ducal library, would not have been amused, to say the least. The model for this frame narrative was obviously Boccaccio's Decameron (1353), the collection of risqu\u00e9 tales with which a group of travellers fleeing the plague attempted to pass the time in the hills of Florence.\n\nIn France, Boccaccio's masterpiece was known simply as Les cent nouvelles because the collection actually contained a hundred episodes. As a way of describing these Italian stories, the French word nouvelle (short story) was coined in the sense of 'made-up tales'. It seemed a good idea to Philip the Good to build on Boccaccio's popular classic, of which he owned three copies. The bawdy stories with which his companions entertained each other were later compiled in a book titled Les cent nouvelles nouvelles (The Hundred New Short Stories). In 1462 Philip was given the completed manuscript, and he found a place for this Burgundian frame narrative in his library. Philip's library was one of the most impressive of the Late Middle Ages. His collection of books can be read not only as a symbol of Philip's ambivalent personality but also as a symbol of an entire era that gave rise to courtly texts, noble knights' tales and pious bestsellers, as well as farces and fabliaux that were as misogynistic as they were riotous.\n\nThe collection provides a striking picture of the suggestive comedy that was in vogue among Philip the Good and his retinue. The colourful language used by the storytellers is the most charming aspect of these roguish tales, but to summarize them is to run the risk of reducing them to vulgar jokes. For example: there once was an innkeeper on Mont-Saint-Michel who was said to have 'the finest, biggest and thickest cock for miles around'. A high-spirited lady decided to test his reputation by means of an experiment, so she claimed to be going on pilgrimage. Smelling trouble, her husband switched places with the innkeeper that night. The next day the woman was deeply frustrated because she had failed to find what she was looking for. 'Irate and fuming, without having eaten breakfast, without having gone to Mass or having knelt before Saint Michael, she took leave of her innkeeper and hurried home.' We have to imagine Philip and his friends shaking with laughter.\n\nThe tenth story from the series was tailor-made for the duke. It was the product of the imagination of Philippe Pot, Lord of La Roche, the first man Philip the Good encountered after his mysterious disappearance on 17 January 1457. Even then, he had been able to conjure up a smile on the face of the flustered grand duke by greeting him with a good joke. 'Good day, My Lord, good day, what is this? Are you playing King Arthur now or Sir Lancelot?' It is quite likely that the well-spoken Pot had a hand in the general editing of the collection.\n\nIn his much appreciated contribution, Pot told of the adventures of a rich English nobleman who had a hearty sexual appetite. A young knight was charged with arranging casual meetings for him. But once the nobleman got married, the knight refused to continue serving as his agent. Marital fidelity comes first! The newly wedded Englishman was bent on revenge, and ordered his kitchen staff to serve the knight nothing but eel pie from then on. His accomplice eagerly tucked into his favourite dish. But after eight days, he had eels coming out of his ears, and he complained to the nobleman. 'I cannot face another meal of eel pie. Anyone in my place would come to resent it. My stomach literally turns over at just the smell of those eels.' The nobleman came right back at him. 'And don't you think I've had enough of the body of my wife? That after a while I'll be as sick of her as you are of your pie?' The knight could only nod and resume his coupling activities with renewed enthusiasm.\n\nDuchess Isabella of Portugal, who was tired of being Philip's eel pie, had already left the court and fortunately was spared these rarefied narrative evenings. As the father of twenty-six bastards, the duke must have split his sides upon hearing Pot's edifying marital fable. The implausible romanticism of his motto \u2013 'I will have no other as long as I live' \u2013 was already obsolete in the very first year of his marriage.\n\nThe lewd shenanigans from Les cent nouvelles nouvelles aptly reflected the atmosphere of virile swaggering at the Burgundian court, but today the work is mainly regarded as a small milestone in the rich tradition of French eroticism and as one of the colourful precursors of the oeuvre of Fran\u00e7ois Rabelais. The collection also resonated in the world of Dutch letters, and far more than the well-known model of Boccaccio himself. Boccaccio wasn't even translated until 1564 (and then only partially) as Vijftigh Lustighe Histori\u00ebn (Fifty Lusty Histories). Philip the Good's Burgundian Decameron, however, was the direct inspiration for the highly successful Dat bedroch der vrouwen (The Deception of Women, before 1530) by the printer-writer Jan van Doesborch, who picked out a few of his favourites and published adapted versions of them in translation.\n\nIn addition to supporting the work of Flemish Primitives such as Van Eyck and Van der Weyden, the duke actively stimulated Flemish polyphony; appointed a skilled writer like Chastellain as official court chronicler; commissioned the translation, copying, compilation and writing of didactic texts, travel stories, biographies, chronicles, chivalric novels, breviaries and books of hours; asked miniaturists, calligraphers, bookbinders and printers to issue these works as beautifully illuminated books; and inspired wealthy friends to do the same. This network of well-educated bibliophiles included figures such as Louis de Gruuthuse, to whom we owe the transmission of the most famous poem in Middle Dutch, Egidius waer bestu bleven (Egidius, where have you gone, c.1400). Finally, Philip's sorely tested temper also explains why one of the first collections of stories in all of French literature had its inception in Brussels.\n\nIt is inspiring to think that the actual founder of the Low Countries made the fine arts one of his priorities. This close interconnection and affinity between the ruler and his artists took shape in the mind of Philip the Bold, came to fruition thanks to Philip the Good and would be taken over by the French court after the decline of the Burgundian empire. It then travelled through the centuries, from Francis I to Fran\u00e7ois Mitterrand, as a typical French hallmark. But the truth has its rights: the development of this tradition on such an intense scale is a Burgundian invention."
            },
            {
                "title": "'As The Wind Varies, Blown From Side To Side'",
                "text": "King Charles VII of France had long suffered from a wound on his leg that would not heal. Afraid of being poisoned by the confederates of his son Louis, the sick and suspicious king began refusing almost all food in July 1461. It was this pointless diet that eventually killed him. He was so weakened that in the end he was no longer able to take in nourishment, or at least that's how legend has it. Other sources speak of a persistent tooth abscess that kept him from eating. In any event, the man who had led France out of the Hundred Years War, partly thanks to Joan of Arc, starved to death at the age of fifty-nine. Upon hearing the news, dauphin Louis danced through Genappe castle. That his father had finally given up the ghost elicited a cry of joy from him that brought a blush of shame to even his own royal household.\n\nIn his new capacity as Louis XI he set his course for Reims, where Philip the Good personally placed the crown on his head on 31 August. Just for a moment, the Burgundian duke felt like the most important man in the universe. For five long years he had protected the banished dauphin and thereby risked a major crisis with France. In addition, he did everything he could to transform the coronation into a spectacle. Now it was time to reap what he had sown. The new king would certainly defer to him, not out of mere courtesy but because Philip was convinced that Louis simply needed him. Finally, Burgundy would be able to relax with his French neighbour.\n\nOf course, Philip also demanded a bit of glory for himself. The gleaming of the pearls, rubies and diamonds on his robe literally left Louis in the shade. Even the people of Reims paid more attention to the Grand Duke of the West. When Philip and his retinue set off for the capital, the Parisians acted the same way. 'How we have longed for you!' cried a butcher in the crowd. Everyone wanted to touch him. And yes, the Burgundian enjoyed every minute of it. Did he have a premonition that this was his last visit to Paris?\n\nHe must have known that the giants of the earth don't like being taught lessons in humility or being urged to show their gratitude. In fact, all that Burgundian bluster left the new king cold. Half amused and half irritated, he gazed out from under his small black hat and his white damask doublet. Even Philip's horse was more regally decked out than he was. But what of it? At long last he was in control.\n\nThat this clever but uncouth monarch was taking a stand in the world quite different from that of Philip became immediately clear during the coronation feast. Like any common vagabond, he offhandedly removed his crown and set it down between the salt tub and his silver drinking goblet \u2013 the ultimate symbol of imperial power that the duke had just so solemnly placed on his ward's head! Philip almost choked to see this shocking lack of ceremonial. At the final Burgundian feast in Paris in honour of the new king, Louis even refused to dignify the occasion with his presence. The message could not have been clearer. He amiably refused all the tips and help that the experienced duke offered to him. If Philip had hoped to tuck the new French king into his back pocket as his grandfather Philip the Bold had done three-quarters of a century earlier, he was sadly mistaken.\n\nIt is highly doubtful whether Louis could have made it to Reims without Philip, just as Charles VII could not have been crowned without his guardian angel Joan of Arc. The same comparison also extends to the way things turned out. Ingratitude was Joan's reward, as it was Philip's. Except that in the end, the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans had nowhere to run. The exceedingly wealthy Philip still had his vast duchy. Yet the Flemish Lion was somewhat crestfallen upon his return to Brussels. He had crowned Reynard king."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 121",
                "text": "The poet-thief Fran\u00e7ois Montcorbier was in Meung-sur-Loire prison, doing time for robbery, when Louis XI released a number of criminals (as was the custom) during his Joyous Entry on 2 October. Montcorbier jumped for joy. He was one of the lucky ones. With great relief he travelled to Paris to write his masterpiece, Testament, ageless poetic meditations on great themes such as time and death.\n\nMontcorbier was born in 1431, the year Joan of Arc died screaming in English flames. 'Et Jeanne la bonne Loraine / Qu'Anglais brul\u00e8rent \u00e0 Rouen' ('And Joan the Maid from fair Lorraine / Burned by the English in Rouen'), as the poet would write in his 'Ballade des dames du temps jadis' ('A Ballade of Ladies of Former Times'), which was later sung by George Brassens. Nothing is known of his father, but a virtuous curate took responsibility for raising the young Fran\u00e7ois. This Guillaume de Villon discharged his duties with such excellence that the boy took his name as a pseudonym by way of tribute. The name Fran\u00e7ois Villon would resonate throughout literary history.\n\nIn 1455, the twenty-four-year-old poet murdered a priest. It being a case of lawful self-defence, he was pardoned. The experience did not inspire Villon to adopt an attitude of caution, however; a poet has to eat, too. After committing grand larceny, he fled to Paris in March 1457 when one of his companions was arrested. While Philip the Good was recovering from his strange and erratic journey through the Sonian Forest, Villon was racing through France to put as much distance as he could between himself and the capital. Before leaving, he quickly dashed off a poem that he predated Christmas Eve 1456, the evening of the break-in. It must be the first and perhaps the only time that someone used poetry as an alibi. If he were apprehended, he could innocently say he was working on a poem.\n\nHis adventurous life formed a perfect counterpart to the uncertain times that Philip the Good was going through, trying to hold on with his last ounce of strength. On the way, Villon took up with one of the many bands of thieves that were menacing France and Burgundy in the last days of the Hundred Years War. What better place for unemployed hirelings to get started? That school of hard knocks yielded unforgettable verses.\n\n\u2003I know how a doublet's collar lies,\n\n\u2003A monk by the gown he wears at home,\n\n\u2003I know the servant from master wise,\n\n\u2003A nun by her veil when she does roam.\n\n\u2003I know what slang will a thief become.\n\n\u2003I know fools live on custards, too,\n\n\u2003And wine by its barrel's size and room \u2013\n\n\u2003All things \u2013 except myself \u2013 I know!\n\nYet for a brief time he found himself in the company of the higher nobility. Charles of Orl\u00e9ans, the unhappy hero of Agincourt, who kept on writing after his return from an English prison, had tried to restore the soured relationship between Charles VII and Philip the Good. When that didn't work, and with no meaningful role reserved for him, he devoted himself entirely to poetry and sought the company of itinerant poets. Among them was the poet-thief, whom the poet-prince received at his court with open arms. If the prince had known that without Villon he would have become the most famous poet of the French Middle Ages, he might have acted differently. But the fact was that Orl\u00e9ans genuinely loved beauty.\n\nVillon dazzled at the poetry contests the prince organized but failed to make a career as court poet. On the contrary, the Bishop of Orl\u00e9ans had him locked up in the dreadful dungeons of Meung-sur-Loire for robbing the church. Thanks to Louis's generous pardon in 1461 he was able to take to the highway again. Sometimes free as a bird, sometimes behind bars, the life of a wanderer and petty criminal was more to his liking than that of an officially employed writer. The combination of poetry and wretched vagrancy made him one of history's first po\u00e8tes maudits, the archetype for other 'cursed poets' like Nerval, Baudelaire, Rimbaud and Verlaine.\n\nAfter a disorderly brawl, Villon landed behind bars once more. To his great misfortune, the statute of limitations on the old break-in had not run out and this time he was really sentenced to death. While facing execution in 1463 he wrote 'La ballade des pendus' ('Ballade of the Hanged'), the most anthologized poem from the French Middle Ages and still sure to leave poetry lovers with a lump in their throats. The fate that awaited him \u2013 bodies swinging back and forth \u2013 was seared into his memory. He imagined the hanged speaking to him, and through him to all of humanity.\n\n\u2003You see us hanging here, some two or three \u2013\n\n\u2003As for the flesh we too much satisfied,\n\n\u2003Now it's all eaten away and putrefied; [\u2026]\n\n\u2003We cannot sit, but swing perpetually,\n\n\u2003As the wind varies, blown from side to side.\n\n\u2003At the wind's pleasure, constantly we ride,\n\n\u2003Pricked by birds' beaks, like a tailor's fingerstall.\n\n\u2003Don't join our brotherhood whate'er betide,\n\n\u2003But pray to God that he'll absolve us all.\n\nBut by some miracle he was rescued from death. The Paris Parlement, the highest court in the land, unexpectedly commuted his death sentence to exile. With that, the most notorious medieval poet vanished into the mists of time, while his writings embraced eternity.\n\nImmediately after his presumed death, Villon's tumultuous life became food for the imagination. An apocryphal work attributed to him that appeared in 1480, Recueil des repues franches (The Free Meals of Master Villon and his Companions), features a master crook who reveals the tricks of the better sort of vagabond's life. In the mid-sixteenth century this book enjoyed some success in the Low Countries with the title Die conste ende maniere om broot ende vleesch, visch, wyn, gebraet, spijs, dranc, ende den vryen kost te kryghen sonder ghelt (The Art and Methods for Obtaining Bread and Meat, Fish, Wine, Sausage, Food, Drink and Sex Without Money). The fact that his name improved the sale of such fabrications, even among modern readers, shows how quickly Villon evolved into a legend in France and beyond. By mysteriously stepping out of the picture, he enhanced the appeal of his reputation.\n\nVillon's adventurous fortunes are deeply ingrained in the soul of this era. Yet despite his poverty, the poet's last exploits, his floundering about and rising again, also have a great deal in common with the end of the Burgundian empire, years that were characterized by alternating splendour and adversity and ended in sudden collapse.\n\nThe memory of those remarkable Burgundian dukes was equally enduring. But time flies. 'O\u00f9 sont les neiges d'antan,' Villon wrote, wondering with gentle wistfulness 'where are the snows of last year gone?'. It's a question that Duke Philip the Good asked himself with increasing frequency."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 122",
                "text": "The cool attitude of Louis XI deeply affected Philip. Suddenly he felt old. He struggled with asthma, suffered from gout and plodded along from one day to the next. In January 1462, a high fever confined him to his bed, and it was feared that his days were numbered. His son Charles hurried to Brussels and kept watch over his father's sickbed for days. Processions for the healing of the beloved Philip were held throughout the Burgundian empire. Even Edward IV of York, who had only recently driven Henry VI of Lancaster from the throne, instructed his subjects to pray for Philip. As far as Edward was concerned, this was an ally worth a few English rosaries.\n\nThe first one to die was not the duke, although the death of the eighty-five-year-old Chancellor Rolin on 18 January clearly heralded the end of an era. In Rolin's birthplace of Autun, the people respectfully shuffled past the body for three days and nights as it lay in state. Philip, feeling a bit anxious since the management of the entire Burgundian regime had been taken over by the Croys, had secretly consulted with his old comrade in arms on more than one occasion. Could the weakened Philip bear this unfortunate news?\n\nThe announcement caused the duke's fever to flare up. Delirious, he imagined that Death was coming to get him. Louis XI chose that moment to place a ban in France on Burgundian salt from Salins. He quickly reversed the decision, but it was enough to deal the critically ill duke an extra blow. That was the signal for Duchess Isabella of Portugal, who was passing her days in the countryside as a quasi-nun, to return to the court and care for her dying husband.\n\nTo everyone's astonishment, Philip pulled through. The family reunion proved to be the best medicine. Husband and wife, father and son \u2013 they all fell into each other's arms. Remarkably, it was the failing duke who was worried about Charles. 'I urge you not to trouble yourself about me,' he said with trembling voice. 'I could infect you, and that would distress me deeply. It is God's will that I am sick. Let it be something I suffer alone, and not the two of us.' Charles pretended to leave, but he moved into the next room. Although Philip would be declared completely recovered by the summer of 1463, he was never the same. When he visited his beloved Lille, everyone hid their shock behind a facade of courtesy. The duke was a shadow of his former self. Every now and then he fell prey to attacks of senility.\n\nThe Croys hoped to profit from that weakness in order to be of service to their second employer. In recent years they had accepted money from Philip with one hand and from the French king with the other. They urged the duke to listen sympathetically to Louis XI, who wanted to delete a clause from the Treaty of Arras (1435) and to buy back the cities of the Somme for the immense amount of 400,000 gold \u00e9cus. Despite strong resistance from Charles, the transaction was completed. For the heir to the Burgundian throne, this was definite proof that his father no longer had his wits about him. Why in God's name sacrifice that southern buffer? In cities like Saint-Quentin, Abbeville, Amiens, P\u00e9ronne and Montdidier, he had a perfect view of what was going on in France.\n\nWas it a last gasp of greed that led Philip to make this tactical blunder? Or had the king promised his support for the Crusade against the Turks? Now that he was recovered \u2013 or thought he was \u2013 the old id\u00e9e-fixe came to dominate his thoughts. During their encounter in September 1463, Louis XI did not refrain from speaking ill of Philip's disloyal son, and to tell him that he would guarantee Burgundy's safety if the duke decided to journey to Constantinople. Perhaps, the king suggested, he should divide the large duchy into pieces during his absence: here a Croy, there Louis himself, over there another Croy \u2013 and why not entrust a portion to King Edward IV of England?\n\nGiven the duke's mental condition, everyone held their breath, but Philip politely declined the proposals. He did, however, collect the money and relinquish his Somme towns with a smile. Although Louis had promised to retain the local Burgundian rulers, he immediately sent them packing. Once again Philip felt cheated, but it was too late now. It was beyond comprehension that this was the same man who had so vigorously captured Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland.\n\nCharles the Bold, who had ostentatiously left for Gorinchem, was tearing his hair out, but he said nothing in view of his renewed filial affection. Nevertheless, he deeply resented his father's renunciation of the cities. Philip would have been glad to have his son at his side during the negotiations, but Charles preferred to amuse himself in long hunting expeditions rather than listen to the untrustworthy Louis. His melancholy nature and the flat landscape of Holland went well together.\n\nIt wasn't easy for him to indulge his penchant for luxurious attire in Gorinchem. As punishment for his absence, the duke had frozen his allowance. So Charles called his household together. He told them that he could no longer pay for their services and asked them to seek employment elsewhere. All his servants swore one by one that they were willing to serve him even when times were tight. Their decision to stay is proof that Charles must have had a hypnotic sort of personality, that he was able to command their admiration and trust even though he could be an irritating tyrant."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Foundation For Our Parliament'",
                "text": "Remarkably enough, while the thirty-year-old Charles was afraid of what his father would come up with next, the sixty-seven-year-old duke, enfeebled as he was, felt the need to launch a Crusade more than ever before. Rumour had it that he had sold the towns of the Somme so he could afford to breathe new life into his old dream project. Once the Turks pushed their way into Bosnia, he reacted with horror and called together the men who had sworn their allegiance at the Feast of the Pheasant. This inspired Jean Molinet, secretary to Chastellain and tipped to be his successor, to pen a few stirring verses in January 1464.\n\n\u2003Shout it out in town and glade\n\n\u2003Your duke is going on Crusade.\n\n\u2003Support him now, come to his aid\n\n\u2003And never let your gladness fade.\n\nThe threat of a Crusade was a cause of great unrest in the Burgundian Netherlands. Who would exercise authority over Philip's domains during his absence? He was constantly at loggerheads with his son Charles. The cunning French king would not be a welcome sight in the north. And they had just as little trust in the Croys. Suddenly, old Philip's Crusade was on everyone's lips. Who in the world could rule in his place? This crisis became the basis for what can be regarded as the official birth certificate of the Low Countries. It would be the last important achievement of Philip the Good.\n\nRulers of the cities of Holland and Zeeland asked Bruges to invite the municipal representatives of the northern domains to come together in order to solve this thorny problem. Bruges took action and presented Philip with a fait accompli. But Philip wasn't about to let himself be taken in that easily, and with the energy of the elderly he organized a similar meeting at exactly the same time. He summoned the three estates of the Burgundian Netherlands to Bruges. As a result of his action the two initiatives came to coincide, and Philip, as initiator and organizer, was able to conduct the solemn opening of these 'states of the land of our fearsome lord of hither', that is, his northern lands. Essentially, then, the birth of the Low Countries was initiated from both the bottom up and from the top down. The happy spiritual father was Philip of Burgundy, and the cities played the role of godfather.\n\nOn 9 January 1464, the States General of the Low Countries gathered for the first time in history. Representatives from Artois, Flanders, French Flanders, Brabant, Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Namur, Boulogne and Mechelen signed the attendance list. In his opening speech, Philip expressed his irritation at the audacity of the cities: convening the States General could only be done on his initiative. He also lambasted his son for allegedly spreading the news that the duke was going to transfer power in Holland and Zeeland to the King of England in his absence. The atmosphere was tense. The States would keep their tents pitched at Bruges city hall until mid-February. There was no sign whatsoever of Burgundy and the Franche-Comt\u00e9. This was a matter for the north alone, with Artois and French Flanders included.\n\nThanks to the mediation of the States General, Philip the Good and Charles the Bold were reconciled, effectively eliminating the question of a possible power vacuum. On 12 February, Charles knelt before his father to officially beg his forgiveness. Afterwards, the duke and his son thanked everyone in attendance for their efforts, and all the representatives were able to return home.\n\nFrom then on, not a single monarch would be able to rule in the Low Countries without the States General, which met once a year on average between 1464 and 1576. The Burgundian power structure was more and more clearly dividing into three parts. At the bottom were the cities and local authorities, followed by the various domains with their council chambers and courts of auditors, and their state and city assemblies. At the top were not only the duke with his councils and chambers but, from 1464 onward, the States General as well.\n\nIn the Polygoon-journal (cinema newsreel) of 9 January 1964, Dutch moviegoers were shown coverage of the solemn commemoration held in the stately Ridderzaal of The Hague. Flanked by Queen Juliana and Princess Beatrix, Jan Jonkman, chairman of the Senate, spoke the following words: 'Our Chambers have decided to commemorate this day as the day on which, five hundred years ago, an assembly of the States General was held in the Low Countries that can be regarded as having laid the foundation for our parliament of 1964.' Understandably, he said this with a certain reservation. The Burgundian States General was not a democratically chosen organ, nor was it a place where permanent policymaking was carried out, as would later be the case. On the other hand, it was a symbolic date that cannot be ignored: the first time that an interregional consultation was held on such a scale, and the first time that the idea of the Low Countries was concretely and officially being implemented. In the Netherlands, the parliament is still called the States General.\n\nIt is not surprising that the chairmen of the Belgian Chamber of Representatives and Senate, and those of the Luxembourg parliament, also took part in the 1964 festivities. 'The history of our regions belongs in part to that of the Belgian and Luxembourg parliaments,' Chairman Jonkman rightly added."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 124",
                "text": "Louis XI watched the reconciliation between father and son with suspicion. He was afraid that in the absence of Philip, Charles would try to seize the Somme towns by force of arms. So the French king did everything he could to convince the Burgundian duke to put off his Crusade for a year. Did old Philip really believe he could reach Constantinople on horseback? The fact that he had again postponed his plans suggests not. Yet Philip didn't want to leave Pope Pius II completely in the cold. He sent a small fleet to the south under the command of his bastard sons Anthony and Baldwin, but when they arrived in Marseilles they learned that the pope, exhausted by all the preparations for the holy war, had gone to meet his Maker. That was the end of the Crusade. A new pope was elected, but a Crusade was no longer of interest to him, and suddenly Philip's lights went out. His declining mind had already showed signs of dotage, but now the poor duke had become completely senile. In the end, the west simply left Constantinople to its fate.\n\nAnd so it was that the last glorious achievement in the history of the Crusades was a Burgundian feast in Lille in 1454, an ingenious banquet full of unforgettable images and impassioned words, a brilliant masquerade centred on a pheasant. Never again would a Crusade worthy of the name make the journey eastward. What remained was the memory of the debacle of John the Fearless at Nicopolis, although nostalgic warriors preferred to think back to the expeditions of Saint Louis, the adventures of Philip Augustus, Richard the Lionheart, Philip of Alsace, and above all the conquest of Jerusalem by Godfrey of Bouillon in 1099. But, as even the most obstinate knights had to admit, that was getting to be a very long time ago.\n\nThe Ottomans would systematically press on with their advance. It wasn't until they were attacked by the Persians that they suspended their activities on the western front. Only in 1683 would they call a halt to their campaign of conquest at the gates of Vienna, although they would occupy the Balkans until the First World War and leave their traces there.\n\nCharles assumed power from his infirm father and immediately put the Croys under pressure. When they complained of their fate to their beloved duke, the decrepit Philip became so overwrought that he threatened Charles with a stick and cried that 'he just wanted to see if his son would kill his own people'. It was Philip's last spasm of willpower. In April 1465 he suffered yet another relapse. During one of his few lucid moments, Philip and Charles made up once again. 'My son, I forgive you all the mistakes you have made. Be a good son, and I shall be a good father.'\n\nScarcely ten days later, the States General, this time meeting in Brussels, would invest Philip's successor with full power. As 'lieutenant g\u00e9n\u00e9ral', Charles the Bold had in a sense become regent for his helpless father. The Croys fought back, but soon they were presented with the bill.\n\nBecause of their considerable responsibilities in the southern Low Countries, the Croys, as immediate neighbours, had built up good relations with the French king. This meant they were eating from the plate of both the French and the Burgundians, which greatly displeased Charles the Bold. It was a game of doubles that he quickly put an end to. A good move, he thought \u2013 even a deed of knightly justice \u2013 but in fact he couldn't see past the end of his nose. He ended up shattering the much-needed buffer between his empire and that of King Louis XI."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Year Lays Down His Mantle Cold'",
                "text": "Disoriented, sluggish and increasingly resigned, Philip the Good spent the last years of his life in Coudenberg Palace. The memories there must have been lurking in every nook and cranny. The more his empire expanded, the more this enchanting palace also increased in size. Coudenberg symbolized the vast immensity of Burgundian ambition. The sovereign who lived in this imposing complex could only be the Grand Duke of the West, the uncrowned king of the Low Countries. His ever-expanding household performed a strictly regulated ballet of etiquette and grace. But after his dream of a Crusade collapsed, poor Philip was barely aware of the remarkable solar system revolving around him. The Burgundian sun was burning out.\n\nThe mobile court had frequently stopped in Brussels \u2013 an average of one day in five between 1419 and 1467 \u2013 but that number increased sharply with the passing of the years. The city stepped in and did all it could to make the duke comfortable. Sizeable investments were made in the renovation of the palace, followed by alterations in the city itself. The nearby Warandepark and the Sonian Forest, rich with game, were great favourites of the Burgundians with their passion for hunting. Bruges had made a name for itself as a centre of trade and money, and Ghent was constantly throwing itself into daring revolts, but Brussels seemed to have all the ingredients necessary to make it a pleasant place to live.\n\nIn 1435, the city council had appointed the already famous Rogier van der Weyden as city painter, a position that was created especially for him. He left Tournai, where he had long been working in the studio of Robert Campin and had earned a mastership three years earlier. The frequent presence of the duke must have made it much easier to decide to move to Brussels. Jan van Eyck may have had a good word to say on Rogier's behalf to both Philip and the city council. The Low Countries' two best-known fifteenth-century painters had met each other before.\n\nVan der Weyden was immediately commissioned to paint four gigantic justice scenes for the city hall, the first wing of which had just been completed. With this ambitious structure, Brussels hoped to compete with the city hall of Bruges, erected under Philip the Bold and John the Fearless. It would in turn challenge the old Brabant capital of Leuven to build an even more delicately chiselled Gothic city hall. The names of master bricklayer Jan Roegiers (Bruges), stonemason-builder Jacob van Tienen (Brussels) and architect Sulpitius van Vorst (Leuven) also deserve to be snatched from the jaws of oblivion.\n\nIn 1444, an eleven-year-old Charles the Bold laid the first stone for the second wing, which would be considerably smaller than the section in which the Van der Weydens had been hanging since 1439. The painter's interpretations of the justice of Trajan, Gregory and Herkinbald (a legendary eleventh-century magistrate from Brabant) must have inspired the aldermen of Brussels to carry out their task properly. The completion of the spectacular tableau attracted a great deal of attention. The city even appointed someone to provide visitors with appropriate commentary, just as Ghent had done with the Ghent Altarpiece. The most popular anecdote had to do with the self-portrait that Van der Weyden had worked into the painting: his eyes were said to follow you around wherever you went! No visit to Brussels was complete without having beheld 'the city tableau'. The city's inhabitants so identified with the exclusivity of the work that when a copy turned up in 1499 the order was given to burn it.\n\nThe tableau made such an impression on the Bruges humanist and painter Dominicus Lampsonius in the second half of the sixteenth century that 'he could hardly keep his eyes from staring at it endlessly'. While viewing it, all he could do was to keep repeating, 'O Master Rogier, what a man you were.' Van der Weyden's fame spread throughout Europe, thanks to such witnesses. Sadly, these paintings that were declared absolute masterpieces by countless visitors were lost in the bombardment that Louis XIV unleashed over Brussels in 1695.\n\nBishop Georges de Saluces of Switzerland had a wall tapestry made in 1442 that was based on the four panels, and he insisted that it include the self-portrait of the master. So it's still possible to look Rogier in the eye in the Bern Historical Museum and to come away with an idea of how majestic his Brussels justice cycle must have been.\n\nThe painter found a house a stone's throw from Coudenberg, and after having made an official portrait of Philip the Good \u2013 which we only know through copies \u2013 he found himself besieged by feverish requests from courtiers who wanted the same thing for themselves. Eventually, Van der Weyden could no longer meet the great demand, and every now and then his studio would supply paintings that were mostly the work of the master himself, but in which certain figures had been created by assistants, a practice that Rubens would carry to extremes in the early seventeenth century.\n\nOn 18 June 1464, Rogier van der Weyden passed away, yet another esteemed mortal from whom Philip the Good was forced to take his leave. The city painter, who must have been about sixty-four at the time of his death, was actually named Rogier de la Pasture, but in Brussels he was called by the Dutch equivalent, 'Weyden' being the Middle Dutch word for 'pasture'. The name carved on his tombstone in the Church of St Gudula \u2013 which only much later became a cathedral \u2013 was 'Master Rogier', all that was needed to identify him. The city also added a tribute in Latin: 'Brussels mourns your death and fears that it will never find anyone of your skill.'\n\nAs 'portraitist of the city of Brussels' and favourite painter of the Burgundian court, he had managed to set himself up as successor to the great Jan van Eyck. His compositions and imagery may have been less complex than those of the man from Maaseik, but they would be frequently imitated. He created scenes so lifelike that the viewer can easily believe they actually happened. But what made his work truly remarkable was the depth of emotion in his figures. Van Eyck was famous as the master of observation and static harmony, Van der Weyden as maestro of the sensitive expression. The streaming tears in his Descent from the Cross (c.1432\u20135) are nowhere to be seen in Van Eyck. In the work of Van der Weyden, the folds in a garment or cloak are an extension of the wearer's state of mind. The sublime pathos of Maelwael and Broederlam, which Van Eyck did away with, reappeared in the art of the Low Countries thanks to Van der Weyden.\n\nIn 1461\u20132, a good two years before his death, he painted an intriguing portrait of Charles the Bold. In this work, Van der Weyden grants us a glimpse into the soul of the Burgundian heir apparent. We see a wealthy, self-confident man in a dark velvet doublet. Hanging round his neck is the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece. It's as if Chastellain had based his description of Charles's thick red lips and dark brown, unruly head of hair on this particular painting and not on the real thing. The black-green eyes of the future duke are staring straight ahead. Those eyes \u2013 and this is where Van der Weyden's true mastery lies \u2013 radiate both strength and vulnerability.\n\nCharles understood that the tide was turning, that at long last an end was coming to the trembling final chord of his father's leadership, and that the gods were smiling on him. He felt as elated as Winter in that magnificent poem by Charles d'Orl\u00e9ans, the harsh winter that had now prevailed over both the old poet and Van der Weyden himself. And soon he would wind the good duke in his mantle as well.\n\nOnce again, the wheel of eternity had turned one cog further. It seemed to Charles that he was the one pushing the lever. But it wasn't the 'laughing suns and seasons fair' that were awaiting him. It was the fatal 'bitter air' of hubris.\n\n\u2003The year has changed his mantle cold\n\n\u2003Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;\n\n\u2003And he goes clad in cloth of gold,\n\n\u2003Of laughing suns and season fair;\n\n\u2003No bird or beast of wood or wold\n\n\u2003But doth with cry or song declare\n\n\u2003The year lays down his mantle cold.\n\n\u2003All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled,\n\n\u2003The pleasant summer livery wear,\n\n\u2003With silver studs on broidered vair;\n\n\u2003The world puts off its raiment old,\n\n\u2003The year lays down his mantle cold."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE FATAL DECADE \u2014 1467\u201377",
                "text": "\u2002'Magistrates, soldiers, beflagged city, beflowered gibbet Charles the Bold is coming to Ghent, the people gasp at the scenes of the Passion, at the majesty of the duke, at his all-embracing gaze.'\n\n\u2014Hugo Claus: beginning of 'De Ziekte van Van der Goes'\n\nOr how Charles the Bold strengthened the unity of the Low Countries, further enlarged his Burgundian empire, and even \u2013 for a moment \u2013 seemed to rival old Gundobad, but mainly how he met his tragic end.\n\nOr how Charles the Bold laid his father to rest, learned a lesson in humility from Ghent, reduced Dinant to ashes, married and hardly ever saw his wife, but also how, thanks to him, the glory days dawned of the painter Hugo van der Goes.\n\nLIKE A MAN seemingly determined to deserve his own resounding epithet, the heir to the Burgundian throne tore across the battlefield of Montlh\u00e9ry. Charles was thirty-two and hopping mad. The fact that Burgundy had lost the Somme towns because of his ailing father's decision was a thorn in his side. In recent years he had gathered around himself a group of dissatisfied French vassals, who were greatly displeased that the authoritarian Louis XI was giving the aristocracy less and less of a say in government. As head of this motley coalition, Charles then declared war on the French king.\n\nCharles did not make a particularly bold impression during the turmoil at Montlh\u00e9ry. With grim determination he had set off in pursuit of one small enemy troop, who seemed to be fleeing. He imagined that the horsemen who spurred their animals so suddenly were doing so out of fear of him. That foolhardy sortie gave him the name 'the reckless', le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, watered down to The Bold in English.\n\nUnfortunately, the soldiers he was chasing had turned on the French king and were abandoning the battlefield. When Charles realized he had turned his back on the real fighting, he had no choice but to foolishly reverse his steps. It was a struggle just to remain upright. The battle ended in a draw, but because Louis thought it made more sense to defend the capital he decided to leave the battlefield by night. According to the old rules of combat, the man who was left on the field of honour was automatically proclaimed the winner, but you could hardly call it more than a pyrrhic victory.\n\nIt did result in the return of the Somme towns, a restitution that was mainly a tactical concession on the part of the king. Louis wanted to calm the bloodthirsty heir to Burgundy by tossing him a few bits of red meat. The king then did all he could to bring the old duchy down, slowly and stealthily. He began by stationing his men in the towns he had just relinquished. Solemnly promising something and then fulfilling his promise only partly, or too late, or not at all: that would become his trademark. Now he had to keep the Burgundians occupied somewhere else in order to free his hands again. Scarcely a year later, he made sure that Charles was almost entirely focused on the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge.\n\nWith its flourishing metal and coal industries, the prince-bishopric had developed into an important economic region and had always attracted the interest of the dukes, especially John the Fearless. Li\u00e8ge was too closely connected to the pope to simply annex it, but Philip the Good had turned it into a kind of protectorate by installing a bishop there in 1457 who was sympathetic to him. In 1465, mayor Raes van Heers succeeded in driving the Burgundian bishop out of the city. Louis XI wasted no time in throwing his support behind Van Heers in order to keep the dangerous Burgundians as far from his country's borders as possible. The tactic worked: Charles the Bold began marching eastward without delay. He easily defeated Li\u00e8ge at Montenaken and concluded a treaty that for the rebels was particularly humiliating: their city autonomy was curtailed, their privileges cut to ribbons, and of course they had to submit to a collective underwear-clad prostration. The Perron, the bronze pillar that stood on the market and served as the city's signboard, was moved to Bruges.\n\nIn August 1466 he showed even less mercy to Dinant. The inhabitants had called him a bastard and accused his mother of adultery. And to top it off they had burned him in effigy. The deeply offended Charles bombarded the city in the presence of his sick old father, whom he had brought in on a sedan chair to observe the spectacle.\n\nAfter the surrender he was said to have drowned 800 locals by tying them hand and foot and throwing them in the Meuse. Countless others were hanged. Then Dinant was literally levelled and everything that remained was set ablaze. The whole event was so devastating that afterwards 'the city looked as if it had already been a ruin for a hundred years'."
            },
            {
                "title": "'What Is It That Has So Excited You, You Wicked People!'",
                "text": "It can hardly be imagined that a healthy Philip the Good would have approved of so much destruction. His clear vision had been impaired by several strokes, but his body remained strong. The death struggle could go on for quite some time, as Charles was also aware \u2013 until pneumonia struck, and suddenly the end became a question of days. A final cerebral haemorrhage triggered vomiting, which drove the last spark of life from the duke's body. His mouth was still thick with foam when Charles arrived. He had ridden as if the devil was at his heels. Powerless, the son sat at his father's deathbed. Theirs had not been the closest of relationships, but at least they had reconciled on several occasions.\n\nWhen Philip the Good departed this life with a final death rattle on 15 June 1467, the son gave way to a grief that came as a surprise to the Burgundian court. A certain amount of public emotion was typical of this era, but Charles was unable to control himself. He shook, trembled, fell on the floor wringing his hands, tore at his hair, shouted and cried until half the Prinsenhof of Bruges were alerted. 'We could hardly have imagined that he would exhibit a quarter of this distress,' noted Chastellain, who wondered out loud whether Philip's pride and joy wasn't overdoing it a bit.\n\nCharles's feelings lay just below the surface. He was far more likely than his father to give in to fits of anger, and much more easily offended than the old duke whenever he was wronged. Clearly he had inherited these passionate characteristics from Philip the Good, but Charles possessed them in spades. His extreme prudishness, his strong work ethic and his pathological need to control made him just the opposite of his father. What most marked Charles's character was a deep and ever-present sadness. It was a kind of rancour that he couldn't get a handle on and compensated for by means of superhuman energy and by striving for unrealistic goals. On two or three occasions he would pay for his manic single-mindedness with a breakdown.\n\nPhilip the Good had more than once aroused anger among his subjects, but on the whole his relations with them were positive. In any event, he seems to have been widely mourned. Anyone who couldn't afford the appropriate clothing could obtain black cloth from the Prinsenhof. Bruges gave a worthy send-off to the duke whom the chroniclers sometimes called 'the Lion of Flanders', a leader who felt so strongly about this nickname that he took in a lion at his Bruges residence in addition to the camels. Each week, the city magistrate was instructed to supply three sheep for the animal to feast on. The gluttony of the king of the beasts was a fine symbol for the energetic fervour with which the king of the dukes had expanded his empire.\n\nOn the day of the funeral, summer burst forth in all its glory. Not only did the temperatures rise sharply, but with 1,400 candles St Donatian's church was transformed into a greenhouse. The mourners surrounding the coffin of Philip the Good were panting in their funeral attire. The ceremony took four hours from beginning to end. At one point openings had to be made in the windows or no one would have survived. Finally, Charles was handed his father's sword, the weapon he would raise in triumph two weeks later in Ghent."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 128",
                "text": "Scarcely fourteen days after Philip's death, Charles the Bold beamed as never before. No longer was he the Count of Charolais; now he was officially the Duke of Burgundy, which he celebrated with a spectacular entry into his largest city. The ignorant hero of Montlh\u00e9ry who had behaved like a war criminal in Dinant now thought he was invincible and saw himself as the new Caesar. And that's how he appeared before the people of Ghent. On 28 June 1467, the brand-new duke glistened from poleyn to cuirass. Over his ruby-encrusted armour he wore a long cloak. A golden feather was stuck on his black velvet hat. The whole point was to arouse admiration, and it worked.\n\nOnce again, Ghent served as his test case. Charles's father had punished the city severely fourteen years earlier following a revolt that got out of hand and ended on the battlefield of Gavere: guilds were no longer allowed to carry banners, four of the city gates were bricked up, extra taxes were levied and a monstrous fine was imposed. It was not inconceivable that a sense of resentment was still smouldering in many hearts. Remarkably, the Ghentenars had invited him to honour their city with his first visit. The aldermen promised Charles a flawless tour. On Saturday, the guilds carried the reliquary of St Livinus to Sint-Lievens-Houtem, where the Christian martyr was said to have died. The pilgrims didn't return until Monday. On Sunday Ghent would be a haven of peace, and the duke could sleep soundly.\n\nFrom Zwijnaarde, Charles the Bold travelled down to the Arteveldes' city. A delegation of burghers and aldermen presented him with the keys, after which he rode past a line of young orphans arrayed with flowers and into the city. Trumpets played with great gusto, and the bells of Ghent merrily chased the clouds away. On the Kouter, a square in the city centre, he nodded to everyone approvingly. The Nine Worthies greeted him with enthusiasm: from Hector, Alexander and Caesar to Arthur, Charlemagne and Godfrey of Bouillon, the old heroes beckoned to him as if to say: come stand with us, here is your place, honourable duke! It was a big display of moving mechanical automatons, but to Charles it was magnificent.\n\nHanging from the bell tower was a gigantic black cloth emblazoned with the words 'Je lay emprins', the duke's motto, which meant something like 'I took action'. Roland, the bell that over the centuries would become one of the city's main symbols, underscored the duke's decisiveness by filling the air with its bold ringing. From tableau to orchestra, the procession advanced to the Church of St John, where Charles swore to respect the city's privileges. This was thirty-five years after his father had had his older brother Josse baptized there (Josse had died in infancy), and where he had admired the Ghent Altarpiece for the first time. Now that Van Eyck and Van der Weyden were gone, there were other artistic giants coming to the fore. In Bruges, Petrus Christus was the first to fill the great void left in the city by the man from Maaseik, but after the death of Philip the Good it was mainly Hans Memling who would reap success. Dirk Bouts made a big impression in Leuven, and in Ghent the era of Hugo van der Goes had dawned. The wealth of Flanders and Brabant as well as the prestige and patronage of the Burgundians continued to provide a breeding ground for artistic talent.\n\nThe inauguration went off without a hitch, although there was a minor snag on the Korenmarkt. Charles was chosen to represent Paris of Greek legend \u2013 the Ghentenars knew how much the Burgundian loved classical antiquity \u2013 and was kindly requested to decide which of three ladies was the most beautiful. It turned out to be a tasteless joke. When the ladies displayed their nakedness to the duke, he was expected to choose between an obscenely fat female, a hunchbacked dwarf and a skinny beanpole. His father would have slapped his thighs and howled, but the new duke didn't move a muscle. While everyone else roared with laughter, he icily averted his gaze. The exuberant Ghent had made its acquaintance with Charles's legendary lack of humour. There would never be a follow-up to Les cent nouvelles nouvelles in his court, that much was certain. As Chastellain put it, 'No doctor, nor anyone else, could ever bring joy to the duke, let alone peace of mind.'\n\nNevertheless, the Joyous Entry was a rousing success and the duke spent an untroubled night in Ghent's Prinsenhof. Waking up would be another story.\n\nThe next day, the tipsy pilgrims left Sint-Lievens-Houtem on unsteady feet. The pilgrimage had become a travelling funfair. The reliquary bounced on the shoulders of guild members singing bawdy songs but made it past the walls of Ghent unscathed. There the group, who by this time had drowned all their piety, stumbled upon the customs house where the so-called cueillotte was collected. In order to pay the monstrous fine imposed by Philip the Good, an extra tax had to be paid on the sale of all merchandise. 'Down with the cueillotte!' someone shouted. The cry was taken up by the rest of the crowd, and the procession degenerated into a chaotic protest march. No one could push St Livinus around. The little custom house was crushed to bits.\n\n'Kill them, kill them, those shameless bloodsuckers!' arose the cry. 'Where are they? Where are they?' The noise resonated through to the Prinsenhof. Charles the Bold straightened his back. He'd give those wretches what they had coming. Wasn't it his boldness of action that had brought the rebellious cities of Li\u00e8ge and Dinant to their knees the year before?\n\nAlthough the Ghentenars knew that their new duke was capable of horrific atrocities, they once again stood up for their rights. They bravely clung together when Charles came rushing towards them. The duke couldn't believe his eyes. The guilds had gathered on the Friday Market and were waving their banners, a right that had been denied them by his father at the battle of Gavere. By forbidding this important instrument for group assembly, the old duke had hoped to undermine their collective identity. The fact that this symbol was now being displayed in large numbers made Charles furious. Brandishing a stick, he cleared a path through the crowd while roaring, 'What is it that has so excited you, you wicked people!'\n\nFortunately, Louis de Gruuthuse was able to defuse the explosive situation. Louis came from a family that had made its fortune trading in gruit (gruut), a herbal mixture that for a long time was an essential ingredient in the brewing of beer. This enabled his grandfather to build a house (huse) to be proud of at the beginning of the fifteenth century, the palatial mansion on the Dijver canal in Bruges that invariably causes tourists' jaws to drop. Louis wanted to use the family capital to build an oratory that would connect the building with the Church of Our Lady. But what he mainly pumped his money into was the creation of an impressive manuscript collection. It's a heartening thought that without the Flemish consumption of beer and the Burgundian craving for beauty we might never have known about the Song of Egidius.\n\nGruuthuse had fought at both Gavere and Montlh\u00e9ry, had sworn along with the others at the Feast of the Pheasant, and now, on 28 June 1467, he hauled his own duke over the coals. 'What in God's name are you up to? Are you going to have us butchered here like sitting ducks because of your volatile temperament? [\u2026] Don't you see that you alone can calm everyone down with just one peacefully spoken word?' That outburst had a calming effect on Charles. Reasonably composed, he walked to the house where the dukes customarily addressed the people.\n\nThe crowd fell silent when he appeared at the window. The duke spoke in Dutch. How different from the prostration that the Ghentenars had made ten years earlier before his father, followed by excusing themselves profusely in French. The language that was spoken revealed the balance of power, and this time Charles said politely in his best Flemish, 'My children, may God be merciful to you! I am your prince and your natural lord, whose desire is to bring you peace with his presence. [\u2026] If you act graciously, I will do everything I can for you that lies within my power.' Gruuthuse was right. The people applauded enthusiastically. 'Willecome! Willecome!' could be heard from thousands of mouths, although a few muttered that his Dutch had sounded rather wooden. Gruuthuse quickly took over and expressed the duke's good intentions from the bottom of his heart.\n\nAt that very moment, a ruffian climbed up to the window and slapped an iron gauntlet on the windowsill. Gruuthuse and the duke looked on, stupefied. Before they could recover from their surprise, the man turned to face the crowd like a genuine rabble-rouser. What did the people want? The abolition of the cueillotte? The opening of the bricked-up gates? Permission to use their banners again? With each question, the populace answered with an increasingly passionate 'ja, ja, ja!'. Finally, the man, whose name was Bruneel Hoste, turned to the duke. 'Look, monseigneur, this is what the people want.' Gruuthuse was able to convince the man to clamber back down, and once he reached the bottom he disappeared into the crowd like an apparition.\n\nThe next day, a stunned Charles acceded to a number of their demands, and on 1 July he left the city in the company of his daughter \u2013 the now ten-year-old Mary of Burgundy \u2013 along with the fortune that his father had kept at the Prinsenhof. He dared not leave his two greatest treasures in unpredictable Ghent."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 129",
                "text": "It seemed like the same vicious cycle: the rebellious Li\u00e8ge, the recalcitrant Ghent, the duke's arrogance, the retribution. Two years later he would reverse his concessions and even reintroduce the cueillotte. Ghent was a source of endless problems. It kept cropping up in Burgundian history like an odious but inevitable refrain. There was always a final showdown, invariably to the duke's advantage, which served as the seed of further discontent. It was as if a kind of powerlessness lay hidden within the duke's domination.\n\nHis reception in Antwerp, Brussels and Mechelen also ran from tepid to hostile, although the dissatisfaction there never degenerated into true rebellion. Right from the start, Charles had a difficult relationship with the urban elite, who nevertheless were an essential part of the Burgundian state organization. The cities of Flanders and Brabant were rich, so they could easily foot the bill for his military campaigns. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. He wasn't interested in going to great lengths to make himself popular, as is evident from a letter he wrote to the Flemings in 1470. 'You scorned my predecessors and you hate me. Well, I would rather be hated than scorned.' Charles the Bold didn't even try to curry favour with his people. He preferred to inspire fear in them.\n\nHis attitude also worried his colleagues in the Order of the Golden Fleece. During the so-called brotherly admonition, each member was given the opportunity to criticize the other knights. During their meeting in Bruges on 10 May 1468 they lectured their leader, politely but firmly. They said Charles worked too hard, 'addressed his servants too brusquely' and occasionally 'was too short-tempered with other princes'. They also advised him to 'give a benevolent and temperate impression' and 'only to resort to war as a last resort'.\n\nAfter a while everyone began to miss the good old duke who, because of the stark contrast, began to look better and better by comparison. Even in Holland, where Charles had built up a relatively positive reputation during his long stay in Gorinchem, dissatisfaction began bubbling to the surface. In the coming years there was almost universal indignation over his administrative reforms, his military campaigns and the tax burdens that went along with them.\n\nPhilip the Good had made many changes during his reign and had acquired a great deal of land as well. Charles forgot that his father had been in power for almost half a century, and that that long reign had been one of Philip's greatest assets. Charles's tendency to do everything at lightning speed proved counterproductive, certainly because the day-to-day management of Burgundy, which was as vast as it was heterogeneous, was already a colossal job. He simply didn't have the political instincts necessary to grasp that fact. No matter how talented he was as an organizer or how hard he worked, he lived too much in the world of his own infallibility. In daily life he was constantly making compromises, but at the political level that unfortunately was something he would rarely consider.\n\nOn the other hand, a bit of distrust was understandable at a time when leaders systematically flouted the peace accords they signed. Not much later, chronicler and confidant Philippe de Commynes didn't hesitate to abandon the duke in order to work for the King of France. That betrayal hit Charles hard. His necessary dose of caution turned into paranoia. After a while he trusted no one but himself."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Worm Wrapped In A Sheath'",
                "text": "Hugo van der Goes was born in Ghent, and there he would achieve the status of master painter in 1467. He was immediately given the job of artistic director for Philip's funeral, although he was essentially working at the behest of the city council. He was both a painter of monumental works and a maker of tableaux, and he also spent a great deal of time polychroming coats of arms and sculptures.\n\nVan der Goes is another artist who forces us, with our twenty-first-century eyes, to consider the difference between handicraft and art. The ornamentation that was specific to that time strikes us as inferior when compared with portraits or triptychs, but Van der Goes's contemporaries didn't see it that way. The city of Bruges would not have asked the great Van Eyck to paint the niche figures in the facade of the city hall if they had considered it a trivial little job. Any visitor to the St Salvator Cathedral in Bruges has to admit that the coat of arms of the Golden Fleece made by Pieter Coustens for Anthony of Burgundy in 1478 is truly a work of art. Without a doubt, the men who agreed to take responsibility for what in our eyes are mere decorations were the greatest artists of their time. When Duke Charles needed someone to enliven a vast array of banners and sculptures, he went straight to Van der Goes. The duke was marrying for the third time, and after the modest celebrations of 1439 and 1454 he wanted to pull out all the stops.\n\nDuchess Isabella of Bourbon had died of tuberculosis after the battle of Montlh\u00e9ry. The duke wanted to remarry shrewdly, so he chose Margaret of York, the sister of King Edward IV of England, in order to strengthen the ties with Albion. This union was the crown of the recently concluded treaty with England, which secured economic peace and opened the way for a possible reconquest of France. And Charles in turn would be bringing a trustworthy ally on board in his struggle with Louis XI. Marriage as a higher form of cross-border politics: all problems seemed resolved.\n\nHugo van der Goes joined seventy-five other artists and craftsmen in the large-scale wedding activities. According to some sources, he even took charge of the entire operation. Statues, triumphal arches, theatre props, table decorations, flags and coats of arms had to be both designed and painted. Practically all the Guilds of St Luke from the southern Low Countries descended on Bruges in the spring of 1468. That collaboration became the basis for an annual conference for which painters from Tournai, Ghent, Valenciennes, Lille, Ypres and Brussels took turns inviting each other, concrete proof of how ducal assignments influenced painting in those regions.\n\nThe colourful wedding procession also included the guilds of foreign merchants. At the head of the Florentine delegation was Tommaso Portinari, representative of the Medici banking family. Not coincidentally, he bore the same surname as Beatrice, Dante's famous muse; they belonged to the same family branch. Like her, he was said to have inspired artists to heights of great beauty. He commissioned his own portrait from Hans Memling, who was working in Bruges, and he would also call on Van der Goes.\n\nBusiness in Bruges went so well that Portinari was soon able to purchase the famous palatial mansion of the Burgundian governor-general of finances, Pieter Bladelin, as a branch for his employer. The banker enjoyed being part of the duke's entourage. Although his employer, Piero de' Medici \u2013 sovereign ruler of Florence and father of Lorenzo il Magnifico \u2013 had warned him to watch out for the grandiose ambitions of the Burgundians, Portinari rose to the position of Charles's advisor. He loaned the duke a large sum for the dowry of Margaret of York.\n\nPerhaps it was during the wedding festivities that he became aware of the talent of Hugo van der Goes. In any event, a few years later Tommaso would commission him to paint an Adoration of the Shepherds (c.1473\u20137). 'Hughe de scildre' (Hugh the painter) worked on this pinnacle of his powers in his house on Sint-Pietersnieuwstraat in Ghent.\n\nThere's something special about the palette of this triptych. The sumptuous colours that we're used to seeing in the work of other Flemish Primitives do leap off the canvas, but they're tempered by the presence of pallid and cool blue hues, making it seem as if Van der Goes had laid an intangible film of sorrow over this joyful scene. The expression of Mary, the central figure, suggests that beyond the miracle of this birth she can already discern the suffering of her son.\n\nThis work, known as the Portinari Altarpiece or Portinari Triptych, is in the tradition of Van Eyck's Ghent Altarpiece and Van der Weyden's Descent from the Cross. In this work, monumental as it is masterful, Van der Goes combined the feel for detail and composition found in the former with the emotional power of expression in the latter. Look at the still life in the foreground with its sheaf of wheat and vase of flowers. Then take a closer look. Note that this is no optical illusion based on a few clever brushstrokes, and realize that here the lifelike reproduction of reality has reached a new high point. In all likelihood, the Flemish mastery of detail can be traced to the art of the miniature that was flourishing at the time: if you can capture certain subtleties on small surfaces, you can work magic on larger ones, and that is what Van der Goes has done in this magnificent still life in the manner of Van Eyck. Then turn your gaze to the shepherds, who apparently have just arrived and come bounding in when they're stopped short. Feel the sense of joy in one, the surprise in the other. What rhythm, what emotion. The ghost of Van der Weyden is haunting this work.\n\nPortinari had his triptych shipped to Italy, where it ended up in the chapel of the hospital of Santa Maria Nuova in Florence. The quintessence of fifteenth-century Flemish painting was thus exported to the cradle of the Renaissance. But that also meant that for a long time the altarpiece was unknown in Flanders, unlike the tableau of Van der Weyden, which remained in Leuven for a century and, after much wandering, came to rest in the Spain of Philip II. The Ghent Altarpiece is still in Ghent. The Portinari triptych would not be attributed to Van der Goes until some time in the nineteenth century, a problem that also affected the oeuvre of Van der Weyden. Unlike Van Eyck, these two artists did not sign any of their surviving panels, so that over the course of time their works could only be properly catalogued on the basis of archival documents, contemporary witnesses, invoices and stylistic studies.\n\nVan der Goes did not have a large studio like his illustrious predecessors, and for years he laboured alone on the immense triptych, which measures twenty-two square metres. That approach drove him to develop a highly personal style. Unlike other painters, he rarely resorted to standard heads but created an original character for every figure he depicted, with a look that speaks to us alone. And his Christ? He looks so vulnerably newborn. The viewer's eyes rest on the little Jesus, and along with Hugo Claus we can only think of what we all once were: 'A child like the one painted by Van der Goes: / a worm wrapped in a sheath, / in dirty snow that melts in the hay.'\n\nPortinari asked Van der Goes to immortalize himself and his wife on his triptych, just as Joos Vijd and Elisabeth Borluut had required of Van Eyck. Yet there was one important difference. In the case of Vijd and Borluut, their childlessness was the motivation behind the commissioning of the Ghent Altarpiece, while here Portinari's family was the source of inspiration. The Florentine financier also insisted on including his daughter and two sons in the tableau. Never before had children been given such a prominent and realistic place in a painting. It was a first, and what a first: children's portraits of poignant beauty that evoke the mastery of Rubens and Van Dyck. Any art lover would gladly go to Florence just to see little Margherita, Antonio and Pigello, where they are now on display at the Uffizi."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 131",
                "text": "It was hoped that Charles and Margaret would bring a few children into the world. But no matter how fabulous their Bruges wedding feast may have been in July 1468, that was an expectation that would not be met.\n\nA detailed description of this last pinnacle of the Burgundian banquet culture might be more than readers can stomach after having waded through so many already. And Charles wanted to outdo them all. His plan was to rival the Feast of the Pheasant by organizing not one but nine such receptions, each preceded by a jousting match. The chroniclers went wild, of course, but the insane accumulation of dishes, tableaux and fandangles probably had exactly the opposite effect: his father's Crusade dinner was not driven from the annals of history. There is such a thing as too much.\n\nPhilip had been right to work towards one extraordinary event in order to connect the right symbolism and splendour with a single powerful message. In 1430 he paired the pomp and circumstance of his wedding to Isabella of Portugal with the founding of the Golden Fleece. In 1454 he profited from the presence of the flower of the Lille aristocracy in order to sell his dream of a Constantinople Crusade with a lavish and costly display. But to repeat such a spectacle for days on end for the sake of a 'mere' third marriage\u2026 it's enough to send even an enthusiastic historian to sleep. This one secretly wonders whether there weren't a few guests who also found that the limits of overwrought power display had finally been reached.\n\nOnce again, between courses the guests were treated to kidnappings, sieges and shipwrecks, with the high point being the entrance of a flawlessly replicated whale at least eighteen metres long. The sea monster had moveable fins and tail with large mirrors for eyes, and out of its mouth came mermaids and sea knights who danced and sang songs composed especially for the newly-weds. Then a gilded lion, who was able to utter marital wishes, conducted the inevitable female dwarf to the stage, while Hans the giant (now quite elderly) looked on with a mischievous grin. Hans can safely be called the old warrior of the Burgundian banquet culture. Especially notable was the unicorn carrying a leopard on its back. The animal held a daisy (marguerite) in its left paw. This remarkable combination was meant to suggest that the English princess, Margaret, had arrived in Bruges in a state of unquestionable virginity.\n\nThe new duchess was twenty-two springs young, and according to witnesses she was an attractive woman. But that wasn't enough to hold Charles's interest. In 1468 they spent fewer than three weeks together, scarcely two months the following year, and in 1470 at least five months \u2013 a record \u2013 although the number dropped dramatically in 1471 and 1472 to one to two months, and in 1473 and 1474 to only two weeks a year. They saw each other for the last time in July 1475, just a year and a half before Charles's death. The words 'spent time together' are not to be understood literally, by the way, for when the ducal couple were on the road Charles always had his wife stay elsewhere, as if he were taking pains to avoid having to sleep with her. They didn't even spend their wedding night together following the church ceremony in Damme. 'He wanted to catch up on his sleep, as if he were expected to stand guard the next day,' noted Olivier de la Marche. The hard-partying knights at the Bruges celebrations never got to bed before morning. La Marche added with a less than subtle wink that he wasn't sure whether the 'naughty bits' of those naughty knights had actually slept at all. Such risqu\u00e9 ambiguity certainly didn't apply to Charles.\n\nIs it any wonder then that this marriage produced no children? All he had was one daughter, not even a male to succeed him. One infant by three wives \u2013 although the first union was a child marriage \u2013 is almost incomprehensible in view of the enormous dynastic interests involved. No mistresses, of course no bastards, and an almost non-existent sex life with his lawful spouses\u2026 why did Charles differ so radically from his self-indulgent father? Most of his contemporaries attributed his remarkable behaviour to overly developed piety, and a few dared to portray him as a homosexual. Sodomy was a mortal sin, so everyone was understandably tight-lipped about it. Only his half-brother Baldwin openly accused him of such acts, but not until he had defected to the French king. He did so, in his own words, because Charles had asked him to do 'loathsome and indecent things'. The chronicles of Chastellain confirm that the duke dearly loved his half-brother and that for a long time the two were inseparable, but this can scarcely be called conclusive proof. Another hypothesis that made the rounds had to do with a disorder of his reproductive organ. After his death, traces of a fistula were found on his right testicle. This may explain his failure to induce pregnancies at an advanced age \u2013 he was a young man when he fathered Mary by his second wife \u2013 but that still doesn't address the mystery of his weak sexual appetite.\n\nMargaret of York spent most of her time with her stepdaughter Mary, who was only eleven years younger than herself. Usually the two stayed at the Hof ten Walle in Ghent. She also got on well with her mother-in-law, Isabella of Portugal. Otherwise, all the duchess could do was obediently suffer the absence of her husband, although her devotional preferences indicate that she venerated saints who were known to stimulate fertility and to save unhappy marriages from collapse.\n\nAlthough the duke was descended from the House of Lancaster on his mother's side, he supported his wife's family during the English civil war. Margaret appreciated it immensely, but that was the only marital solicitude she would ever be able to count on. Intimacy was out of the question. And hoping that life at Charles's side would be more peaceful than in chaotic England was futile. She had been right to choose an optimistic motto. Her 'Bien en advienne\u2026' would soon become the catchphrase for the entire duchy: 'May it all end well\u2026'\n\nOr how Charles the Bold took the King of France on a horrifying punitive expedition to Li\u00e8ge, how he worked tirelessly on the further expansion of the Burgundian dominions, and how he thereby came in contact for the first time with the Habsburgs.\n\nHE PACED THE room, greatly agitated. He ranted \u2013 no, Charles the Bold roared like a lion. If he could claw, he would have done so. In the middle of the room stood a stony-faced Louis XI. In P\u00e9ronne, the French king was going through the most perilous hour of his life. He was at the mercy of the Burgundian duke, who could no longer contain his anger. The hero of Montlh\u00e9ry was now kicking over all the tables and chairs.\n\nHe had rushed from The Hague when he heard that Louis was mobilizing his army. The King of France wanted to put an end to the coalition of rebellious vassals, of whom Charles had emerged as the undisputed leader. The armies had faced off with weapons drawn, but the battle was suspended just in the nick of time. First the duke and the king would talk.\n\nCommynes, Charles's chamberlain and diplomat, describes the talks in great detail in his memoirs. His dissatisfaction is considerable. This was his worst nightmare. Why were the two princes bargaining with each other one-on-one? It was madness, pure and simple. After all, wasn't that what diplomats and senior officials were for?\n\nThe talks got off to an auspicious start. Their reunion was more cordial than anyone could have expected. While everyone knew that the two men absolutely loathed each other, they kissed, slapped each other on the back and embraced like old friends. The negotiators looked on in disbelief as the two men engaged in comradely chuckling that went on for quite some time.\n\nA few hours later, Louis was already ill at ease. He had ventured into the lion's den with a relatively modest escort. He trusted Charles, but Charles's entourage were looking on with a mean glint in their eyes. So he asked the duke if he could spend the night in the castle. Charles immediately opened his doors and assured the king that he had nothing to fear.\n\nNow the peace talks could proceed undisturbed. Little by little, the group hacked away at a tough agreement. Charles would leave the French alliance he led, the so-called League of the Public Weal. In addition, his intimate tie with England would be severed. In exchange, Louis would reduce the influence of the Parlement of Paris in Flanders and Artois. This French supreme court had always been the most important court of appeal, while the duke was very keen on an autonomous administration of justice. Charles also wanted to force the promised transfer of the Somme towns. On top of that, a general peace would be concluded.\n\nThe needle was long, the eye was narrow. But in three days' time, remarkable progress had been made. An improbable accord seemed close at hand. But just then, messengers arrived with the news that would turn the summit into a nightmare."
            },
            {
                "title": "'The Chaste Duke With His Beard On Fire'",
                "text": "A revolt had once again broken out in Li\u00e8ge and the prince-bishop had been taken prisoner (even murdered, was the rumour). The Burgundians had been thrown out of Tongeren and several priests had been killed \u2013 'chopped up in pieces that were tossed about for fun', as we read in Commynes. Spies of the French king had been detected among the rebels. That was quite possible, for Louis had long supported the resistance. The unavoidable conclusion was explosive: the king was soft-soaping Charles while plotting behind his back. The timing couldn't have been worse, nor Charles's rage more extreme.\n\nOn 12 October 1468 in the city of P\u00e9ronne in Picardy, the Burgundian duke resorted to the inevitable. He clapped the French king in irons. The king was choked with fear. An unhinged Charles the Bold was capable of anything. Louis's father, Charles VII, had had John the Fearless killed on the Montereau bridge in 1419. Why wouldn't the Burgundian take advantage of this situation and exact revenge once and for all?\n\nDespite his anger, Charles didn't have it in him to go that far. The duke was still a knight with French roots \u2013 a knight, moreover, who had given the king his word. Besides, his interests lay mainly in the east, where the possibilities for expansion were most promising. But his councillors saw opportunities and urged him to go ahead and annex France! Commynes, who would soon defect to Louis, served as mediator and succeeded in keeping everyone's feet on the ground.\n\nFinally, the duke demanded that the king dissolve what was almost the last real tie between the French crown and Flanders and Artois: from now on, the jurisdiction of the Paris Parlement would end at the borders. And Picardy would fall into Burgundian hands once more. Louis conceded. He had little choice. Charles then forced the king to accompany him to Li\u00e8ge to quell the revolt that he himself had provoked. Louis looked on as an unleashed Charles let loose his army on the people of Li\u00e8ge. Six hundred Franchimontois, men from Franchimont, had plotted an attack against the Burgundian leader, which proved unsuccessful. He had every one of them killed. How Louis, who couldn't stand the sight of blood or violence, got through those days is a mystery, but there's no doubt that it would inspire him to revenge. And the worst was yet to come.\n\nNeighbourhood after neighbourhood, house after house, church after church\u2026 in the winter of 1468, Li\u00e8ge was systematically plundered. Amid the plundering there were summary executions, even in the places of worship. Five thousand locals were murdered, about a fifth of the population. Finally, the duke had the city burned down just as systematically. Only the church towers were spared. Seven weeks later, Li\u00e8ge looked like a bombed-out twentieth-century city. Here and there a stone finger could be seen pointing accusingly at heaven. The Burgundian fury was the talk of Europe. According to an Austrian chronicler, the prince-bishopric was covered by a blanket of red snow.\n\nThe survivors of Li\u00e8ge were forced to flee into the woods and forests. Nowhere were they welcome. Aachen hastily offered Charles the keys to the city but shut its doors on the Li\u00e8ge refugees. In Maastricht and Hoei they were simply tossed into the Meuse. Cologne apologized profusely to the duke for having accepted a handful of them. Powerful city councils cowered out of fear of the dreadful duke's reprisals. Only much later were the people of Li\u00e8ge allowed to come down from the trees and return to their charred city, where they began reconstruction. In exchange they were made to provide Charles with a large number of archers for his interminable military campaigns.\n\nTo wash the stain from his escutcheon, Charles presented the Church of St Lambert in Li\u00e8ge with a golden reliquary in 1471. Of course it features an image of himself, but he's shown kneeling before St George, who is trampling on his inevitable dragon. In large letters on the pedestal are the words 'Je lay emprins'. It was traditional when designing such trophies to include the ducal motto, but his 'I took action' in this context was extremely cynical. It is open to question whether Charles's purpose in donating this votive object was to wash away his sins, as is usually assumed. Perhaps it was a self-conscious desire to claim responsibility for what he had done.\n\nFrom then on, not a single Burgundian city did anything to thwart Charles's intentions. Even the headstrong Ghentenars made their way to Brussels in fear and trembling to ask forgiveness for their moral support of Li\u00e8ge, while the consequences of the wretched Joyous Entry of a year and a half earlier still had to be settled. As if they weren't shuddering enough, the duke made them wait in the snow for an hour and a half on 15 January 1469, after which he humiliated them in his inimitable fashion in front of a group of European diplomats, who didn't know where to look for the vicarious embarrassment they felt.\n\nThe proud men of Ghent had to kneel and grovel until they dropped, listen to a reading of their privileges one more time, and then watch with their own eyes as their rights were symbolically scratched out with a knife on the parchment on which they were written. Seated on his high throne, the duke nodded with satisfaction as the city, in the person of Baldwin Goethals, bowed low before him and described him as 'someone who is not only a man' but who also 'occupies the place of God'. To drive his point home, Charles had poor Bruneel Hoste hanged, the man who had so bravely voiced the feelings of the Ghentenars on 29 June 1468.\n\nIn less than two years, the duke of Burgundy had grown into the most powerful ruler in the west, but also the most brutal. His maxim 'I would rather be hated than scorned' had become reality. In the light of what was to come, it's certainly fair to wonder about the state of Charles's mental health. In any case, his confidant, Philippe de Commynes, could no longer bear to witness his master's derangement, and in the summer of 1472 he defected to the French king, approximately two months after Charles had dealt with the inhabitants of the small French town of Nesle just as mercilessly as he had treated the people of Li\u00e8ge. 'Those who were taken prisoner were hanged, many had their hands chopped off\u2026 It appals me to write about these cruelties, but I was there and it is my duty to report them,' he wrote years later in his memoirs. Charles's vanity and intransigence could only lead to his demise, Commynes argued.\n\nHistorians like to play the French king off against the Burgundian duke, and rightly so. But in his eyes, the various city councils, whom he regarded as far too powerful, were opponents of equal importance. The man who had set Dinant and Li\u00e8ge alight would be led to ruin ten years later by an alliance of cities that included Strasbourg, Basel, S\u00e9lestat, Colmar, Z\u00fcrich, Lucerne and Bern, although the group was secretly egged on by the cunning French king.\n\nUnder Charles's reign of terror, the hatred continued to smoulder. When he had a handful of men from Li\u00e8ge led away to Coudenberg Palace in Brussels in order to offer them forgiveness on the condition that they swear fealty to him, they refused. They would rather die as men of Li\u00e8ge than have to live as Burgundians. The prince-bishopric itself had little choice and was conquered by the duke.\n\nThe hatred and fear that Charles aroused among his subjects would appeal to the imagination for centuries to come. The Belgian poet and novelist Hugo Claus captured the heinous deeds of the beardless Charles in a handful of verses.\n\n\u2003Remember instead how the chaste duke\n\n\u2003rode through his blazing cities\n\n\u2003\u2013 with his beard on fire \u2013\n\n\u2003the war was a theatre then too,\n\n\u2003and most things burned down,\n\n\u2003except for the churches and the tax returns.\n\n\u2003'Predestined To Rule The World'\n\nTaxes had little to do with poetry. It was daily bread of the toughest sort, and Charles the Bold wanted more and more of it \u2013 certainly now that he had decided to establish a standing army. France had already introduced a permanent fighting force in 1445, just when the Hundred Years War was winding down, oddly enough. Charles VII had used his standing army mainly as a way of giving wandering unemployed mercenaries a steady job and a place to live, which cut down on the plundering problem. France used this army to throw England, their mortal enemy, out of the country in 1453. And fifteen years later it provided Louis XI, heir to the throne, with an iron fist to defend France against Charles the Bold.\n\nEven with his aura of invincibility, the Burgundian duke was forced to conclude that mobilizing mercenaries was extremely time-consuming. In an effort to speed things up, he began working out the composition of a standing army down to the smallest details. This was essential, not only in order to take more land but also to maintain control over the existing heterogeneous Burgundian domains.\n\nIn 1469 he purchased Upper Alsace, roughly the region on both sides of the Rhine between Strasbourg and Basel. Sigismund of the House of Habsburg was eager to get rid of it because he was in desperate financial straits. Swiss forces had occupied Waldshut and demanded only a modest sum for their withdrawal, but even that was more than poor Sigismund could afford. In previous years he had poured far too much money into his castles in Tirol, not only Sigmundsburg but also Sigmundlust and \u2013 yes \u2013 even Sigmundsfreud, as he had christened one of his castles according to the Panorama der \u00d6sterreichischen Monarchie (1846). Whether this particular Habsburg had had problems with his mother is not known, but in any case the transfer of property came as an enormous relief to this compulsive squanderer.\n\nCharles the Bold saw Upper Alsace mainly as an expansion of his influence on the eastern border of his empire. Three years later he would expand it even further by taking the duchy of Guelders (part of which now comprises the eastern Dutch province of Gelderland), with his standing army on the front line for the first time. The old duke, Arnold of Egmond, had been occupying the throne there since 1423. His son Adolf had been frantic with impatience as he waited for his father to breathe his last. Finally Adolf could think of nothing better than to force his father into retirement after forty-two years of faithful service. By 1465, Arnold was under lock and key.\n\nThe tragedy of estranged fathers and sons is ageless, but in the 1450s and '60s it went way over the top. Charles the Bold clashed with his father Philip the Good, and the dauphin Louis despised King Charles VII. But throwing their fathers in prison? Neither of them had even considered it. The scandal of Guelders resonated as far as Rome. The Christian world asked the pope to appoint an international arbiter, so the Holy Father began looking for a wise man who could intercede between father and son. The fact that Charles the Bold was assigned this role certainly had nothing to do with his sense of justice, nor with his decisive diplomacy. He was simply the only one whom the pope thought would be able to confront the ever-advancing Turks. Charles couldn't care less about the Ottomans, but he took the task of mediator to heart, and in his own way.\n\nThe old Duke of Guelders was released and the conflict between father and son was reignited. Charles felt compelled to put the energetic son under constant guard. When Adolf defied his house arrest, he ended up behind bars. His liberated father was too weakened to keep his restless son under control. In a state of total exhaustion, he decided to bequeath everything to his saviour, Charles the Bold. Charles paid him a peace offering of 300,000 guilders and pulled out in order to lay siege to a few rebellious cities, Venlo, Roermond and Nijmegen among them. Resisting the Burgundian artillery was hopeless.\n\nArnold soon passed away. Adolf, his rightful heir, was in jail for life. At the start of 1473, Charles was able to add the duchy of Guelders and the neighbouring county of Zutphen to Burgundy. These new possessions ran from near Masseik in the south to the Zuiderzee in the north, more new puzzle pieces that were meant to complete the Burgundian edifice. Little by little, people began to wonder whether Charles's greed would ever be sated.\n\nMore than half of the Burgundian lands now lay within the Holy Roman Empire, and Charles the Bold began to dream aloud of a king's crown. Before his marriage he had ordered a wall tapestry that featured King Gundobad of ancient legend radiant in all his glory, not an incidental addition. Who or what could stop Charles now? Not only did his military and financial reputations speak for themselves, but so did the ever-expanding Burgundian empire. Moreover, Emperor Frederick III was prepared to discuss a possible marriage between Mary of Burgundy and his son Maximilian. Frederick's ruined cousin Sigismund, with whom Charles had recently signed an agreement, brought the two closer together. The cards had never been more auspicious.\n\nThe emperor had agreed to meet him in Trier. Charles prepared himself for what would have to be an audience of critical significance. He left as duke and would return as king. Nothing less would do."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 133",
                "text": "To understand what was at stake, we should first take a look at the Holy Roman Empire, a gigantic patchwork quilt of hundreds of regions, many of them minuscule \u2013 a bishopric here and a sort of city-state there \u2013 plus counties and duchies. At the head was the Holy Roman Emperor, a title that commanded respect but whose significance gradually came to have more in common with the Legion of Honour than with any effective power. Since 1356 the emperor had been chosen by seven electors (three archbishops and four secular rulers), who were unscrupulously susceptible to bribery and rarely chose the best candidate. The actual power lay as much with the seven electors as with the emperor himself, which only increased the fragmentation of power. It was with good reason that the great Belgian historian Henri Pirenne called this construction 'anarchy in the form of a monarchy'.\n\nThe chosen one was first given the title King of the Romans, and only after the papal consecration could he call himself emperor of the unwieldy Heiliges R\u00f6misches Reich. The greatest emperor, the one who most appeals to the imagination, had also been the first: Charlemagne (crowned 25 December 800). The connection between King of the Romans and emperor was only institutionalized when Otto the Great, as King of the Germans, was crowned emperor by the pope in 962.\n\nCharlemagne's legacy gave rise to the two most important power blocs on the Western European continent. Traditionally, the regions of the Low Countries were dependent on either the French crown or the German empire, in accordance with feudal law. The border ran along the Scheldt through eastern Flanders, which meant that the greater part of the Low Countries had to orient itself eastward in order to comply with its feudal obligations, although the German emperor would always have less influence there than the French king did in Flanders. That limited power prevented the emperors from interfering in the Burgundian successions in the Low Countries. Philip the Good had turned the old order upside down by adding the most important part of the fragmented Low Countries to his own domain. Charles the Bold had practically eviscerated the tie with France and then wanted to radically reduce his dependence on Germany, preferably by becoming King of the Romans himself and eventually even emperor. In any event, that was the motivation behind his journey to Trier: personal glory, and an official confirmation of Burgundy's international standing.\n\nSince the mid-fifteenth century, the emperorship had been in the hands of the Austrian Habsburg Frederick III. The first to assume the title of count of Habsburg was Otto II (1057\u20131111). The name itself was taken from the Schloss Habsburg, earlier known as Habichtsburg. You can still visit the ruins of this ancestral fortress in the village of Habsburg in Switzerland, which was named after the castle. The Habsburgs had been ruling the duchy (later the archduchy) of Austria since 1278. In the fifteenth century they formed a dynastic family who were powerful enough to land the title of emperor but otherwise had little influence in German affairs. In the eyes of the seven electors, the introverted and indecisive Frederick III seemed the ideal candidate. As emperor he adopted the presumptuous A.E.I.O.U. as his motto, but in reality he had to pull out all the stops to get anyone in Germany to listen to him. That made Austriae Est Imperare Orbi Universo \u2013 'Austria is predestined to rule the whole world' \u2013 seem more like a joke.\n\nIt's reminiscent of how the weak Hugo Capet was chosen King of France in 987. No one gave a tuppence for his chances, yet the Capetians would occupy the French throne for eight centuries (first by direct descent, then via the Houses of Valois and later Bourbon). Similarly, no one in the fifteenth century could have suspected that the Austrian Habsburgs would supply emperors for almost five centuries and would soon grow into the most powerful of Europe's royal houses. The unforeseeable fulfilment of A.E.I.O.U. would never have happened without Charles the Bold."
            },
            {
                "title": "'King Of Burgundy'",
                "text": "Naturally, the deal that lay on the table in Trier in the autumn of 1473 had to be attractive to both parties. If the emperor could arrange for Charles to be elected King of the Romans, the Burgundian was prepared to slip his daughter, Mary, into bed with Frederick's son Maximilian \u2013 provided, of course, that the forty-year-old Burgundian became the new Holy Roman Emperor after the death of the fifty-eight-year-old Frederick. Charles solemnly promised that his son-in-law, Maximilian, would then be elected King of the Romans as his successor. But why should Frederick III agree to this? Simply because the chance was minute that Charles would beget another child by a woman he rarely saw, and Maximilian would consequently inherit the impressive Burgundian domains. Later on, his son as emperor would reign over an empire that would have to be capable of stopping the Ottoman advance, a prospect that would greatly appeal to the pope of Rome.\n\nOn 14 August, Charles left Nijmegen as Duke of Guelders and Count of Zutphen, two additional patents of nobility that he proudly flaunted. Charles made a detour through Aachen to visit the grave of his namesake, Charlemagne. Wasn't he on his way to walking in the great emperor's footsteps? After that he stopped in Luxembourg to quickly respond to the death of the Duke of Lorraine. There he agreed to join the new twenty-two-year-old Duke Ren\u00e9 II in forming a front to oppose the King of France. Charles also demanded that his troops be given free passage through Lorraine to enable him to travel from Dijon to Brussels without having to enter French territory. Icing on the cake: he was also permitted to appoint Burgundian captains to important fortifications in Lorraine. A success across the board.\n\nIt was Charles all over: first take Guelders, then make a quick and symbolic prostration at a historic spot, rapidly turn Lorraine into a half-Burgundian protectorate, and finally race on to Trier to scoop up the title of king. His energy was inexhaustible, his ambition insatiable. Louis XI feared the worst. It seemed as if Charles got everything he set his mind to. Setbacks had no impact on him. The only thing the French monarch had to cling to was the thought that hubris had been fatal to many a mortal before him. And the more rarefied the height, the more crushing the fall.\n\nOn 30 September 1473, the duke finally met the Holy Roman Emperor in Trier. Frederick had not come alone. He was travelling with a company of 2,500 princes, knights and other dignitaries. Charles, for his part, appeared at the head of 15,000 soldiers, with fewer nobles and more frills. Over his gilded armour he wore a cloak bedecked with 1,400 pearls and 23 rubies. Although it was raining when he rode into Trier, he refused to don any protection against the elements. Under no account was the splendour of his appearance to be concealed. It was immediately clear that this international summit was also meant to be a fashion show. The hats that Charles would wear when appearing in public in the coming weeks would certainly challenge the limits of good taste, especially when he strutted about in a headdress adorned by a gigantic stork feather decorated with precious stones.\n\nThe first talk between the two was mainly concerned with etiquette: should Charles accompany the emperor to his lodgings, or vice versa? The search for an answer easily filled half an hour, a long, drawn-out ode to the pleasures of protocol. They simply were unable to agree. A few days later they would once again agonize over whether Charles should sit to the left or the right of Frederick. At this conference, there would be no lack of ceremony. The question was whether any results would follow.\n\nWhile getting acquainted on 30 September, the duke saw for the first time the man who might very well become his son-in-law: Maximilian, a scrawny lad of fourteen with long blond locks and a remarkable protruding jaw. This was the notorious Habsburg jaw that Strigel, D\u00fcrer, Titian and Rubens would never fail to capture in their portraits of Maximilian and his descendants over the coming centuries. While Charles the Bold in his glittering armour beheld the most frequently depicted jaw articulation in European history, he continued to rack his brains over the burning courtesy question. Wasn't it up to him as duke to accompany the emperor to his lodgings?\n\nFrederick III was a bit disgruntled that Charles had left his daughter at home. Could it be true that Mary of Burgundy was ill, or mad? Of course, these were absurd rumours, but the emperor would have liked to have scrutinized his future daughter-in-law up close. He did see hundreds of wagons pass by that were filled with furniture, jewels, clothing, wall tapestries, dinnerware\u2026 as if Charles had brought all his belongings along with him, except for his heir.\n\nFinally, it was decided that each man would return to his residence on his own. These promised to be lengthy negotiations."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 135",
                "text": "After a month and a half of feasting, parading, breaking lances and negotiating, things finally seemed to be moving forward. That was urgently needed, for the Austrians were gradually losing patience with all the Burgundian dandies decked out in gold brocade, velvet and ermine. The duke in particular dressed and acted like a demi-god and didn't seem to realize that he was only irritating the German lords with his exaggerated display of wealth. What had once been a formula for bonding with and impressing people began having the opposite effect. The glamour didn't work with the Germans, or maybe it was the applied dosage. To make matters worse, the emperor began to realize that he was never going to convince a majority of the electors to vote for Charles.\n\nAn attractive alternative eventually began to take shape. Charles would be crowned King of Burgundy. Lorraine would also be included, so that a new kingdom would emerge between France and Germany that extended from Dijon to Amsterdam. The old empire of Gundobad would rise from its ashes, or at least a more northern variant of the same. Although he seemed to have lost his bid for the post of imperial coxcomb, in the end the ostentatious Charles found the proposal quite appealing.\n\nThe ceremony was planned down to the smallest detail. Trier Cathedral became a beehive of activity, with workers and artists coming and going both inside and out. Grandstands were built, banners painted. Charles, who had developed something of an affection for the young Maximilian, taught him popinjay shooting in expectation of the event. The hard-working duke even showed him the latest elaborate plan he had devised to make his Burgundian army more efficient. The Austrian prince looked up to Charles as the great knight he was, at least in his young eyes. Then the golden throne appeared. Goldsmiths had completed the sceptre and crown in advance. The Bishop of Metz had come to Trier especially to perform Charles's consecration. The clergyman held a dress rehearsal. The final date was announced: 25 November 1473.\n\nYet the coronation was a washout.\n\nOr how the dreaded Charles the Bold was far ahead of his time, judicially, financially and organizationally, and how the greatest innovation in centuries came to full fruition during his rule.\n\nEmperor Frederick III had slipped away like a thief in the night. The sun hadn't even come up before he secretly made his way to the river Mosel. He embarked at dawn. It couldn't happen fast enough. In the meantime, Charles was told of his hasty departure, and the man he sent to pursue the emperor was none other than Peter von Hagenbach, whom he had appointed governor of Upper Alsace. As a loyal lieutenant of the duke, he acquitted himself of his duties with an iron hand. It hadn't taken long for the Alsatians to come to despise him. In Trier it was now up to this enforcer to save the coronation of Charles the Bold.\n\nWhen he reached the Mosel, Hagenbach and a few followers scrambled into a rowing boat. They rowed as if their lives depended on it and managed to overtake the emperor's ship. Hagenbach, who was fluent in both French and German, could address Frederick III in his own language and asked whether His Majesty wouldn't wait a bit for the Burgundian duke. Hagenbach said Charles felt wretched because the emperor had risen so early. If it pleased Frederick to exercise patience, the duke would be able to say farewell in a dignified manner. Even in delicate circumstances, courtesy remained an important consideration.\n\nFrederick III agreed on the condition that it did not take too long. When half an hour passed and the vessels were still bobbing idly on the current, a frown appeared on the emperor's face. Hagenbach declared that he would fetch his master. He couldn't be far away. Frederick nodded. The governor of Upper Alsace then jumped into his boat, but he was barely out of sight before the sovereign of the Holy Roman Empire gave the order to continue their journey. By the time Hagenbach reached his duke, the bird had flown.\n\nCharles fell prey to the greatest tantrum of his life. He locked himself in his room and smashed all the furniture to smithereens. To make matters worse, the emperor had stuck him with the bill. The day \u2013 25 November 1473 \u2013 was supposed to be one of glory and triumph, but it became one of fury and shame. All that trouble, all that money, and for nothing.\n\nHistorians disagree over the motives of Frederick III. Trying to discern the workings of his mind is pure guesswork. What is clear is that Charles, with his posturing in gold brocade, had made himself anything but popular with the emperor and his entourage. Nor was the duke's initially arrogant attitude towards the electors a particularly clever move. His decision to boastfully court them when he realized how much he needed their support was even less well received. In addition, he had dug in his heels when it came to such petty matters as the county of Moers. After his conquest of Guelders he had removed the local count, and Frederick wanted him rehabilitated. Charles was not prepared to throw the emperor that particular bone. Gradually, the emperor had to conclude that establishing a kingdom with this pompous glutton of a Burgundian was something he could not square with his conscience.\n\nFrederick was not a terribly effective communicator. He was vague and indecisive, and he kept changing the subject. He didn't dare show his hand, or just didn't want to. But he was not a stupid man by any means. He finally secured the engagement of his son Maximilian to Mary of Burgundy, the richest heiress in Europe. Once he had his hands on the prize, however, he rudely took off, leaving Charles with the vague hope that the crown would somehow fall out of the sky. Despite his anger, the duke did not rescind his daughter's engagement. He hoped that when the marriage contract was discussed he would be able to raise the question of kingship once again.\n\nIt remains unclear whether Frederick's feeble self-confidence wasn't a deliberate pose. Perhaps we ought to regard the weak personality that almost every book attributes to him as his ultimate trump. Befuddled age as strategy. In any event, the indecisive emperor had led the unyielding duke down the garden path. At the end of this long intrigue, the Habsburgs would come out on top. The foundations of that triumph were laid in the autumn of 1473 in Trier."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Prince Of Justice'",
                "text": "As soon as his anger cooled, Duke Charles of Burgundy again began to display his irrepressible voluntarism. Boldly move forward, that was his maxim. He travelled to Lorraine to consult with his ally the duke, the young lord who so unfailingly danced to Charles's tune. Crown or no crown, he was received in Thionville as the greatest leader of his age. Diplomats poured in from all over to pay their respects, request his advice and ask him to serve as arbiter in international conflicts. Everyone regarded him as the ruler you couldn't ignore. After Trier, his already restless existence would spiral into a whirling roller coaster ride.\n\nThe toughest job he faced: Ruprecht, Archbishop of Cologne, who had asked him for assistance. Just as in Li\u00e8ge a few years earlier, the townspeople and burghers from the surrounding area had risen up in revolt against the bishop's temporal power. As Duke of Guelders, which bordered on the Electorate of Cologne, Charles felt he had to choose sides. At first he sent the energetic Bernhard von Ramstein to Cologne, a fellow cut from the same cloth as Hagenbach. Charles promised to finish the job personally, but first he wanted to turn his full attention to a major restructuring of Burgundian institutions."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 137",
                "text": "Despite all the criticism that a controversial warrior and arrogant fop like Charles the Bold would arouse centuries later, he also deserves positive appraisal. Not only did he do everything he could to maintain his father's existing policies, but he also entertained big plans as a reformer and hoped to go much further than his progenitor had done. For ten years after enjoying his own rich career, Philip had denied Charles any authority, and in that last period he had made a fine mess of things. He entrusted all real governance to the Croys. As his senility progressed, Philip the Good succumbed to a childish form of tinkering 'by threading needles, making clogs, soldering broken knives, repairing damaged eyeglasses, and so on'. The Grand Duke of the West had become an incoherent hobbyist. His son had been right to seize the upper hand, or the Croys and Louis XI would not have hesitated to divide Burgundy between them after the old duke's death.\n\nPhilip had let the French problem fester during the last years of his life. The Treaty of Arras was more than thirty years old at his death, and in all that time he hadn't really done more than placate Louis XI. Indeed, it was a courtship that culminated in a great fiasco; he should have listened to his son. On the other hand, how could the French problem ever be solved? Both Charles VII and Louis XI saw the Burgundians as violent arrivistes who flouted the old feudal rules. The bigger Burgundy became, the more evident the stalemate. At some point the French and the Burgundians would have to reach an agreement. If they didn't, one of them was certain to destroy the other. On top of that, the greater part of Burgundy lay in the Holy Roman Empire, and there too people were beginning to revolt against their imperialist neighbour, who had never been willing to pay feudal homage for Brabant, Limburg, Hainaut, Holland, Zeeland, Luxembourg, Namur and the small part of Flanders east of the Scheldt. Yet this old ceremony, in which a vassal confirmed his pledge to a principality, made little sense because the power of the emperor in those regions had practically vanished.\n\nCharles wanted to install a third entity between the two great powers, a kingdom that had just as much right to lay claim to eternal significance. With that idea in mind, it was rather impractical that the northern and southern regions of his realm were just short of 200 kilometres distant from each other. Philip had improved that situation somewhat by taking Luxembourg, but that annexation dated back to 1443. Charles also did his best to abolish the division. The purchase of Upper Alsace and the agreement on the semi-protectorate of Lorraine were steps in the right direction. In the north almost all the Low Countries fell under his rule, and thanks to Bishop David of Burgundy his influence also extended to the prince-bishopric of Utrecht and to the Oversticht (Overijssel and Drenthe). Only Friesland (in the north of today's Netherlands) escaped his grasp. These were sensible enterprises in themselves, and he would firmly press ahead with them to the bitter end \u2013 too firmly, unfortunately.\n\nHe also continued his father's work within the judicial realm. While it's true that the establishment of the Great Council amounted to a kind of all-inclusive travelling court of justice, in practice it could not compete with the Paris Parlement. Large institutions or individual cities often called on the French supreme court if they wanted to challenge a legal decision. Essentially, this meant that the dukes of Burgundy never had control of the highest judicial powers in their own domains.\n\nThis weakness had always been a source of great irritation to them. One day during a meeting of a chapter of the Golden Fleece, Philip the Good had to listen to a French bailiff call him up as a witness for a lawsuit initiated in the French capital, and that was the last straw. He would do all he could to put an end to this practice. He only succeeded with cases in Flanders, and then only for a period of nine years. His son would go further.\n\nIn the aftermath of his meeting with Louis XI in P\u00e9ronne, Charles had summarily dealt with the old duty and custom of always turning to the Paris Parlement as the highest court of appeal. It was another example of Burgundy thumbing its nose at old France. In other words: whatever we do ourselves, we do better. At the same time, he introduced a major legal reform that seamlessly followed upon the earlier agreement: he scaled down the Great Council, which always travelled with him, to a Parlement, and gave this supreme court a permanent home in Mechelen, more specifically in the Schepenhuis, which today still proudly reflects its Gothic heritage between IJzerenleen and the Great Market.\n\nIt cannot be a coincidence that Charles gave his tribunal the same name as the Paris Parlement. His aim in doing so was to accord Burgundy the same status as France. Clearly he had counted on becoming the sovereign of a kingdom in the meantime. Of course, that would have crowned his reforms with a golden halo, but even now he stormed ahead. The Mechelen Parlement only had authority in the northern regions \u2013 in the south he installed a counterpart whose headquarters alternated between Beaune and Dole \u2013 so that Mechelen became the de facto capital of the Low Countries, and the creation of the Parlement reinforced its unification. Remarkably, the duke made the audacious move of populating his supreme court with largely French-speaking magistrates from Burgundy and the Franche-Comt\u00e9. Only six of the twenty-one were Dutch speakers. His subjects immediately began harbouring suspicions against this 'walsche [Walloon, i.e. French] parlement'.\n\nThe judges and magistrates settled in Mechelen, which would grow into an elite collection of luxurious mansions and small city palaces, some of which are still an intrinsic part of Mechelen's beautiful city centre. Mechelen was chosen because, along with the surrounding villages, it constituted a seigniory that lay within the geographical limits of Brabant but had always been a separate entity, with its own judicial system and institutions. This explains why it was always mentioned separately in the list of ducal titles. In this way, Charles cleverly avoided having to choose between the strong-willed Brabant, Flanders or Holland, and thereby tabled a compromis belge \u2013 a 'Belgian compromise' \u2013 avant la lettre: settling an issue in such a way that no one can really object to it. Even so, there was plenty of protest. The Flemings were unwilling to give up their age-old relationship with the Paris Parlement. But Charles wouldn't listen and insisted on getting his way.\n\nThe Mechelen Parlement was mainly famous as a court of appeal. In the overly fragmented judicial system that existed in the Low Countries, cases were often contested, so Mechelen was the ultimate recourse. Even when the Parlement was temporarily suspended after Charles's death, it would return fairly soon and continue as the 'Great Council of Mechelen' until the end of the Ancien R\u00e9gime. In the Luxembourg dialect the expression 'mir ginn op mecheln' (I'll go to Mechelen) still exists, a linguistic relic from days long past that fully resonates with threats that are sometimes made today: 'If we have to, we'll go to Strasbourg!' In principle, any resident could take his case to Mechelen, but in practice only rich burghers, nobility or higher authorities such as cities or monastic orders ever made such a move. Simple burghers, artisans and farmers remained loyal to the local courts.\n\nSo Charles tried to tighten his grip on the local aldermen, whose authority was much broader than that of today's mayors and councillors. In addition to maintaining roads and waterways, having control over health care and education, collecting certain taxes and supervising craft guild regulations, they adjudicated on financial crimes and civil disputes in their city or seigniory. This was done on the basis of unwritten, orally communicated common law that could differ from village to village, which accounts for the large number of conflicts.\n\nCharles already had the aldermen of Mechelen, Ghent, Bruges and Li\u00e8ge in his back pocket, but now he wanted to post his straw men to seats of justice in other locations as well. The drawback was that he sold such positions to the highest bidder, and eventually the jobs came to be held by wealthier subjects who were not always competent. The Rotterdam clerk Jan Allertszoon summed it up in a pithy rhyme: 'Since e'er they were sold / For silver and gold / The offices here, / Our justice is shaken / And all but forsaken / That once was so dear.' Yet Charles thought he could kill two birds with one stone: strengthen his hold on the local law courts and beef up his war chest. Concern about the war chest was increasing, and in the last five years of his reign taxes would triple. The result of this effort was mixed. More money in the chest, but much more resentment among his subjects.\n\nThis does not alter the fact that Charles the Bold deserves to be remembered as the first sovereign who made intensive efforts to bring pax et justitia to the Low Countries. Andreas van Heule called him 'a prince of justice' in the Memorieboek der stad Ghent a century later, and for good reason. The number of legal ordinances he left behind was truly impressive. He assembled an important library on the subject and surrounded himself with legal scholars, which wasn't just a way of showing off. They were always lurking in the shadows when his own self-esteem was at stake. In the so-called Montpellier Parchment, Charles appears as an Atlas figure who carries on his shoulders the jurisprudence he modernized \u2013 indeed, he is presented as the incarnation of divine justice. It's tempting to imagine the Parchment hanging over his head when he administered justice in Mechelen.\n\nHe tried to make improvements in the area of finances, too. He combined the courts of auditors in Lille, Brussels and The Hague into one big institution that, like the Parlement, was located in Mechelen. From that point on, he wanted all benevolences \u2013 requests from the duke for extra financial support in special circumstances \u2013 to be presented to the States General of the Low Countries and not to the individual cities or regions, another clear attempt at more centralization. He also tried to introduce a general method of taxation throughout all of Burgundy, something that the big cities invariably managed to prevent. They simply wanted to maintain control over their own tax systems. Here too his own ideas clashed with the heterogeneous structure of the highly urbanized Low Countries. In fact, in this respect he was ahead of his time.\n\nIn Thionville, he issued a military policy paper in addition to the financial and juridical reforms, the text of which he had presented to Maximilian a few weeks earlier. As a relentless manager, he issued ordinances that documented the organization of his corps of 11,250 professional soldiers and almost 2,000 members of his personal guard down to the minutest details. This kind of staffing plan was new and would influence the make-up of armies in the early Renaissance, although it would not save Charles himself from disaster.\n\nHis interference was far-reaching: from the detailed description of soldiers' equipment and the selection of military exercises \u2013 which was unprecedented \u2013 to the ban on marching that was either too fast or too slow. Nor did he refrain from dictating specific military instructions. For example, archers had to learn to 'fight back-to-back by way of double defence, or in a square, or in a circle, but always with the pikemen on the outside in order to repel the attack of enemy horsemen'. He also issued a completely unrealistic rule against soldiers cursing and playing dice. On the other hand, he did realize that his warriors had need of women, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to the traditional custom of prostitutes following the army around, as long as the numbers were limited. He had calculated that 3 per cent was a good average, thus 30 ladies per company of 900 soldiers, with the extra rule that no personal relationships were to be formed. The women belonged to everyone.\n\nCharles expected that his captains would pound these new regulations and tips into the heads of all his professional soldiers. But his troops were far from ready for such a modern approach. Perhaps it would have been different if he had allowed for a calm, slow implementation. No matter how detailed his decrees were, he went right ahead and issued new rules a year later even though the old ones hadn't yet been adopted.\n\nAs Napoleon would later do on a much larger scale, Charles emerged as a leader who combined micro-with macromanagement. Charles le Travaillant \u2013 the Worker, as Olivier de la Marche called him \u2013 governed on the basis of rapid decisions and with a maniacal control over details large and small. His need to control was so great that in 1471 he changed his signature so that his secretaries would have more difficulty forging it. We have to imagine the duke bent over his papers, working out his legal, military and financial policy measures, but also trying to make sense of his bills and invoices. Undoubtedly he was a tireless administrator and a talented manager, but neither his army nor his domains could follow his frenetic pace and impatience.\n\nCharles the Bold was blinded by his own energy and ambition. On the battlefield he failed to measure up to the Corsican, who would succeed in scoring an imperial title three centuries later and would combine all the local rules (many of which dated back centuries to before the arrival of the Burgundian dukes) into his notorious Code Civil, something Charles the Bold could only dream of.\n\nFinally, there was the big problem of nomenclature. As powerful as he was, Charles was still a walking amalgam of titles. Despite the fact that he is consistently referred to as 'the Burgundian duke', even in this book, that title only refers in the strictest sense to Dijon and Beaune. In Brussels he was the Duke of Brabant, in Ypres the Count of Flanders, in Nijmegen the Duke of Guelders, and so on\u2026 To put an end to this tangle of titles, he had done all he could in Trier to be crowned King of Burgundy, a title he could assert wherever he went. But even then, there still remained the question of what was to be done with Flanders, most of which belonged to France, feudally speaking. Would Flanders be part of the Burgundian kingdom? In other words, in the scenario of a possible coronation there were always territorial and institutional knots to untangle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 138",
                "text": "From Thionville Charles travelled to Dijon, where he had not set foot since becoming duke. Although he hadn't made his entrance as king, his seven-tiered headpiece, encrusted with diamonds and rubies, left no doubt as to his ambitions. Nor did the words he spoke to the assembled States of Burgundy. He specifically promised to breathe new life into 'the old Burgundian kingdom that the French had unjustly appropriated for so long and had reduced to a duchy'. Of course he mentioned the name of the legendary Gundobad, the old king and lawmaker whose Lex Burgundonium of 502 had played an important role in his imagination. Charles gave this illustrious 'Dijon speech' in the great hall of the palace, where tourists today gape at the sepulchres and pleurants of Claus Sluter. On 25 January 1474 his words reverberated as never before, but in practice he had come to Dijon mainly to conscript soldiers and levy taxes to keep his army on its feet.\n\nA few days later, a macabre caravan arrived with cargo from the north: the mortal remains of Charles's father, Philip, and his mother, Isabella (she had died two years earlier). The two were solemnly interred in the crypt of the Carthusian monastery in Champmol. While the glorious future of Burgundy was unfolding in the duke's head, his eyes were confronted with the remains of his ancestors. Of course they would need a mausoleum as well, but Charles would never be given the time to search for a new Claus Sluter for his parents."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Printing Converted It Into A Revolution'",
                "text": "Besides the innovative restructuring of the legal system and the army corps, the renewal that took place under Charles the Bold was also manifested in an entirely different area. Just before the death of Philip the Good, the Frenchman Colard Mansion, who had made his home in Bruges, completed an order for the old duke. Not without pride, he handed the doddering Philip his Romul\u00e9on, a manuscript of the history of Rome written by Benvenuto da Imola. A copyist and calligrapher, Mansion had gone to great lengths to provide the Grand Duke of the West with a unique copy. Apparently he was successful, for he was then commissioned by Louis de Gruuthuse to transcribe the full text of P\u00e9nitence d'Adam (Penitence of Adam, anonymous). These projects were completed in 1467 and 1472 respectively, just before a brand-new invention was about to reach the Low Countries. The same Mansion would play a pioneering role in its distribution.\n\nIn addition to painting and polyphony, the market for illustrated manuscripts flourished under the Burgundians. They were avidly sought as luxury products by the circle of bibliophiles that had gathered around Philip the Good and Charles the Bold. Only the very wealthiest could afford the price tag \u2013 up to a hundred times the annual salary of a professional artisan \u2013 that such luxury manuscripts commanded. As an international hub between the mercantile cities of northern Europe and the Italian city-states, Bruges was the place from which countless manuscripts travelled to the furthest corners of Europe. The results can only be imagined. Many bookbinders and copyists set up shop in the shadow of the most famous bell tower in the Low Countries. These so-called stationers joined forces in the Guild of Saint John the Evangelist in Bruges, the only association of its kind outside Paris, of which Mansion was leader for a time. At one point the guild had more than a hundred members. In the 1470s they were all confronted by a new technique that had been developed by Johannes Gutenberg.\n\nGutenberg of Mainz hadn't invented the art of book printing; he had developed the use of moveable metal type, a finding that sparked a small revolution. Before moveable type, the only technique for book reproduction was woodcutting, in which an entire text was cut into an easily worn-out woodblock. It was an extremely time-consuming method, and it was only of practical use in the printing of prayer cards and pamphlets. This was about to change with Gutenberg's invention of around 1453. Thanks to reusable lead type, not only could thick books be printed much faster and more cheaply, but they could also circulate in higher print runs \u2013 Gutenberg printed no fewer than 180 copies of his Bible. Rapid duplication suddenly gave rise to the idea of editions, and the number of book owners increased sharply. The practice of solitary reading, which had got off to a good start thanks to Thomas \u00e0 Kempis's The Imitation of Christ, finally took wing, although for a long time fictional texts would still be primarily read aloud.\n\nBooks that were printed before 1501 are called incunabula, or cradle editions, because they date from the infancy of book printing. There are about half a million surviving copies of such books, which first rolled off the presses in Germany and Venice. The Low Countries also played their part, and the French-speaking Colard Mansion was one of the leading stationers of Bruges. Mansion got along well with William Caxton, a shrewd Englishman who had cut quite a dash in Flanders as a textile merchant. After having been appointed English trade representative, Caxton often came in contact with members of the Burgundian court, especially with his compatriot Duchess Margaret of York.\n\nA few years before, during a visit to the castle of Hesdin that Philip the Good had restored to all its glory, Caxton became enchanted by Melchior Broederlam's wall paintings of Jason's adventures with the Golden Fleece. The instruments at Hesdin that imitated thunder, fog and lightning had already delighted the old duke and now became a pathway to classical Greek legends for the Englishman. One day, Caxton requested an audience with Margaret of York. He wanted to present her with a sample translation of the famous story of Troy. The Burgundian duchess is reported to have spotted a spelling error in Caxton's English version, but was nevertheless enthusiastic enough to commission him to finish his translation of Raoul Lef\u00e8vre's Recueil des histoires de Troyes. For reasons that have never been made clear, he was then banished to Cologne, where he started work on the translation and became fascinated by Gutenberg's invention. The textile merchant became fully engrossed in language and books.\n\nWhen he returned to Bruges eighteen months later, he brought with him not only his complete Troy translation but also a printing press. It was under Caxton's supervision that the first English and French books ever printed were produced: Recuyell of the Historyes of Troy and Recueil des histoires de Troyes, in 1473 and 1474 respectively. In all probability he accomplished this feat in collaboration with Colard Mansion, who, unlike Caxton, operated the printing press himself. Without Philip the Good and Margaret of York, the first book to be printed in French and English would undoubtedly have been another title. It is far from certain whether these two titles were also the first application of Gutenberg's invention in the Low Countries.\n\nWho the very first printer was in the Low Countries is a matter of debate, since Petrus Comestor's Historia scholastici, a popular retelling of the Bible, was also published in 1473 by Nicolaus Ketelaer and Gherardus de Leempt in Utrecht. A network of bibliophiles had formed in that city around Bishop David of Burgundy, like the network that had grown up in Bruges around the dukes. It was also in the year of our Lord 1473 that the first book printed by Dirk Maartens appeared in Aalst, Speculum conversionis peccatorum (Mirror of the Conversion of Sinners) by Dionysius the Carthusian. Interestingly enough, few books were printed in the Dutch vernacular, and not in Bruges but in Gouda, Oudenaarde and Delft. These included Latin-Dutch textbooks, the works of rhetorician Anthonis de Roovere and the Delft Bible of 1477, possibly the oldest printed book in Middle Dutch, made about twenty-five years after the Gutenberg Bible.\n\nSo while we might safely announce, with a bit of fanfare, that the art of printing in the Low Countries was born in 1473 during the time of Charles the Bold, it certainly doesn't mean that everything changed in one fell swoop. Handwritten books did very well for themselves until roughly 1500. Colard Mansion continued to produce manuscripts in Bruges for the Burgundian elite, works that were more expensive because they were unique. But he also used his printing press for writings that were cheaper because their print run brought the costs down. He even made so-called hybrid books in which part was printed and the rest handwritten. Sometimes he left a white space at the beginning of a chapter to allow for the addition of hand-drawn miniatures, depending on the customer's budget. More than once these spaces were actually left empty.\n\nThe word 'miniature' originally had nothing to do with 'mini', by the way. Miniatura is the future participle of miniare (to paint red), a typical Latin part of speech that here means something like 'what is going to be painted red'. This is further based on minium, the red pigment that medieval calligraphers used to colour in the beautifully decorated initial letter of a chapter. These letters, the original miniatures, were gradually accompanied by necessarily small illustrations that eventually came to be known as 'miniatures'. Just as an entire story is contained in the most beautiful miniatures, so a whole series of lines converge in this etymological history.\n\nMansion continued to work closely with William Caxton in Bruges until the latter swapped Flanders for England in 1476, where he built the country's oldest known printing house from scratch. From then on Mansion's hands were free, and in that same year he added these words to the back of the first book he printed on his own, showing that he was well aware of his pioneering role: 'Primum opus impressum per Colardum Mansion' \u2013 'The first work printed by Colard Mansion'.\n\nMansion rented a room right next to St Donatian's church, gathered a few copyists, miniaturists and bookbinders about him and over the next ten years would introduce important technical innovations and produce more and more beautiful work. Like other printers, he discovered that mentioning the author's name on the title page was a selling point. Not much later, promotional slogans would appear in addition to the title and the author. Those first printers were clearly salesmen as well as pioneers. A printing press was no small acquisition, a type case even less so, but more than half the budget was spent on paper.\n\nIt's striking that Mansion's first typeface was an imitation of the most popular Gothic script that invariably was used in luxury Burgundian manuscripts. You couldn't tell them apart, or at least that was the intention. In his English history of Troy from 1473, Caxton didn't fail to mention that this was indeed a printed work that one could read or have read aloud to you. The Gutenberg Bible also looked as if it had been written by hand with extreme precision, but even so it was a typographical work. Mansion called his first typeface, which in all probability was based on his own elegant handwriting, 'Burgundian bastarda'. Later he came up with a more modern-looking typeface, his 'rotunda', in which, with a measure of goodwill, you can catch a glimpse of typefaces to come, such as Times New Roman and Perpetua, at least in the capital letters.\n\nGutenberg's invention, alias innovation, seemed to put an end to the mistakes that were caused by the copyist's lack of concentration or surplus of fantasy. That euphoria would later give way to the realization that any residual errors would now be even more widely distributed. In any case, Gutenberg paved the way to intensive textual studies and gave rise to unprecedented intellectual fervour from which the humanists would profit, as well as the Protestants. Not only could they interpret the ancient classics with greater ease and accuracy, or devote themselves to Bible study, but they could also spread their ideas more rapidly. This elicited the following ominous words from Victor Hugo four centuries later: 'Before the invention of printing, reform would have been merely a schism; printing converted it into a revolution.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 140",
                "text": "As duchess, Margaret of York launched a whole range of bibliophilic activities to keep her occupied, but after the death of Charles the Bold she suddenly dropped them all. When Caxton presented her with the first printed book in English, which partly came about thanks to her support, she had only a little more than three years in which to purchase printed works or manuscripts. In 1474 she ordered a luxury edition of Les Visions du chevalier Tondal, a manuscript illuminated with magnificent miniatures that contained the insights of a man named Tondal after a near-death experience. It was a twelfth-century religious story that was still popular in the fifteenth. Sir Tondal was given a glimpse of hell, and after his return to earth he showed much remorse. From then on he would only become involved in peaceful activities, which included the revival of his marriage.\n\nIt wasn't surprising that during the long siege of Neuss the duchess would draw courage from the adventures of this repentant knight. Beneath each miniature she had had the initials M and C (for Charles) painted, hopefully entwined. She must have prayed fervently that this enchanting illuminated narrative would inspire her husband to lead a different life. Why couldn't the duke become a new Tondal?\n\nUnfortunately, Charles would no longer have time to concern himself with luxury books, let alone spiritual renewal. His star would continue to shine in all its intensity before being inexorably snuffed out.\n\nOr how Charles the Bold failed as a commander, blundered at Neuss, lost his treasure at Grandson, his army at Murten and his life at Nancy \u2013 in short, how inevitable fate can be.\n\nEvery now and then a cannonball shot from the town of Neuss would fly over the heads of the Burgundians at a remarkable height. Some of them reached the other side of the Rhine, where the Cologne allies of the besieged city had set up camp. There were messages attached to the cannonballs, one of which is still on file in the Cologne archives: 'Unless we are quickly and decisively rescued we are headed for a complete catastrophe. Only God can deliver us. If no other help reaches us in the near future, we will begin to negotiate in order to avoid the loss of our lives and our possessions.' If the Burgundians had got their hands on this message they would have taken heart, for on 18 March 1475 the siege was still firmly entrenched.\n\nCharles the Bold had been maintaining an impressive siege of Neuss since 29 July 1474. The Archbishop of Cologne had been coming under increased pressure, and the duke had decided to intervene. After capturing a few small cities, he had finally decided to bring Cologne itself under his yoke and turn this electorate into a Burgundian protectorate. Neuss would be the first nibble of this German meal. Olivier de la Marche also described it in terms of a banquet. 'It was the most beautiful and luxurious siege in living memory [\u2026] our camp was like a city, there were all sorts of things there, medicinal herbs [\u2026] craftsmen, wholesalers, textile merchants, fish mongers, grocers, barbers, carpenters, knife makers, camp followers, labourers, lamplighters, drivers. [\u2026] Everyone fulfilled his own calling [\u2026] and lived with dignity in fine tents. [\u2026] They seemed to have been set up to last forever [\u2026] some looked like towers, others had moats and drawbridges around them.' There were also windmills, fives courts, taverns and bathhouses. The better sort of Flemish polyphony was performed in Charles's chapel at set times. Prostitutes relieved the needs of the body, priests those of the spirit. There were weddings, baptisms and sex. But no progress was made.\n\nPhilip de Croy, the lost sheep who had made his way back to the Burgundian camp, seemed to be having less fun and complained about the infernal noise of the artillery, the knee-deep mud and what he regarded as a deficient number of ladies of easy virtue. The pairing of pleasure and death did not particularly appeal to him. The duke, for his part, was blissfully happy, filling his days and nights with inspections, launching attacks and digging trenches\u2026 but he found receiving international delegates, and in full armour, just as pleasing as if he were back at Coudenberg Palace. While his camp was being transformed into the official capital of Burgundy, the months slipped by and Charles's enemies set the trap that would lead to his demise."
            },
            {
                "title": "'God Has Clouded His Common Sense'",
                "text": "To begin with, the Alsatians had had just about enough of Peter von Hagenbach, their crude Burgundian governor. Sigismund, who had sold his principality out of a need for ready cash, was given the necessary money by Strasbourg, Basel, S\u00e9lestat and Colmar in order to buy back Upper Alsace and thus to put an end to Hagenbach's reign of terror. But Charles flatly refused to resell his new property.\n\nAnother addition to this so-called Lower League \u2013 the Niedere Vereinigung \u2013 were the Swiss, who were gradually beginning to feel the Burgundians breathing down their necks in Bern and decided they would much rather see the ineffective Sigismund on their borders once again. They supported a rebellion in Alsace, which led to the imprisonment of Peter von Hagenbach. He was executed in Breisach on 9 May 1474. The man was already so mutilated that he had to be carried to the Great Market in a wheelbarrow. The place was packed. Everyone wanted to see the monster get what was coming to him. The most gruesome stories about him were making the rounds: from scalping his opponents and nailing their heads to their houses, to having his wife's pubic hair shaved off and added to the evening meal. Hagenbach was seen as the devil incarnate, and the crowd cheered when his head rolled off the chopping block.\n\nCharles was very keen to restore his authority in Alsace, but he was just about to leave for Neuss. So he decided he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. But the Lower League were very efficient in using the time they had been granted. After Charles's refusal to resell Upper Alsace, the allies formally declared war on Charles the Bold on 29 October 1474. By way of warning, they laid siege to the Burgundian castle of H\u00e9ricourt in the Franche-Comt\u00e9. With the help of the Ostrich, an immense cannon along the lines of Dulle Griet, the castle was theirs for the taking. Konrad Pfettisheim of Strasbourg wrote a rhymed chronicle of the last Burgundian wars in which he described the 'buzzing sound' made by the Ostrich and its wild dance. 'When it had a crop full of powder, then it laid hard eggs.' The Swiss crushed the Burgundian troops who tried to relieve the siege and left more than a thousand dead on the battlefield. Mercifully for Charles the Bold winter arrived, and the Swiss went back to their mountains.\n\nIn early January 1475 an English delegation arrived at Neuss. Did the Burgundian duke remember what he had agreed to with king and brother-in-law Edward IV? Of course, nodded Charles, and moreover, England had no cause for alarm. Before 1 July he would appear at Calais with a force of 10,000 soldiers to join Edward in defeating the French king in the mother of all battles. Charles would then recognize him as King of France. Four months later, when the Burgundian was still persisting in his relentless siege, the English monarch began to get suspicious.\n\nOn 9 May, another herald of Ren\u00e9 II stood before Charles's velvet tent. The Duke of Lorraine was no longer willing to grant passage to the Burgundian troops. Charles, seated on his throne and smartly decked out as usual, listened impassively. The herald tossed a blood-spattered glove on the ground. It was supposed to be a telling gesture, but Charles's appearance had made such an impression that all the poor man could do was stammer out the rest. 'Blood and fire be upon you, your lands, your allies.' A declaration of war, even a faltering one, is still a declaration of war. The weak Ren\u00e9, whom the duke thought he could manipulate like a puppet, had torn himself loose from his influence. Charles's reaction was hilarious. 'Your words bring me great joy, and to demonstrate that I will give you my tunic as gift.' As incomprehensible as it may seem, the Grand Duke of the West was genuinely happy to have an objective reason to capture Lorraine once and for all. He even sent a knight to guard the herald on his homeward journey so that Charles's words would be properly conveyed. Completely flabbergasted, the envoy from Lorraine rode away, one luxury tunic and 500 gold pieces richer. Remarkably enough, Charles actually felt emboldened now that everyone had taken a stand against him like a single bloc. 'God has clouded his common sense,' wrote his former friend Commynes.\n\nIn the meantime, the Swiss were intensifying their efforts. They signed a pact with Louis XI of France, who promised to slip them 20,000 francs a year to add to their war chest. The king himself politely waited until the truce with Burgundy expired on 1 May 1475, only to discover with relief that the duke was still at Neuss, and profiting from the fact by immediately attacking the Somme towns. Charles the Bold shrugged this off as a minor annoyance, but he had lost Montdidier, Roye, Corbie and other strategically important cities.\n\nIn the meantime, after countless bombardments and more than sixty stormings, he still found himself at the gates of Neuss with nothing to show for his efforts. Although only a handful of the city's hundreds of cows were still alive, and the population had begun feeding on snails and weeds, the residents of Neuss refused to throw in the towel. While bitter fighting was taking place on the walls, processions were being conducted through the streets to pray for a miraculous rescue. And then, just in the nick of time, Frederick III decided to send in troops to save the city. In May, the imperial soldiers found themselves face to face with Charles's army. The only problem was that except for a few skirmishes no one dared start the great battle, which had been so overblown by the Burgundian propagandists that it seemed as if Charles had single-handedly forced the entire assembled host of the Holy Roman Empire to accept a humiliating truce. Finally, a treaty was signed on 28 June, and Charles the Bold left the principality of Cologne.\n\nThe man who, as almost-king and Grand Duke of the West, had wanted to bend the principality of Cologne to his will in a rapid campaign, was obliged to turn around empty-handed just over ten months later \u2013 almost 10 per cent of the total length of his reign. The fact that the Caesar of his age had been defeated by a little German town that had managed to resist him was extremely damaging to his image. Perhaps he took comfort in the thought that centuries before, Charlemagne hadn't been able to cut Neuss down to size either, but it was cold comfort to be sure. The Swiss and the Alsatians, the people of Lorraine and of France, had joined forces and were ready to grab him by the throat.\n\nThen a remarkable incident occurred that proved that his star was still shining, even after the signing of the treaty at Neuss. Hundreds of German soldiers queued up to behold the terrible, almost legendary Charles the Bold. The enemy gaped at the Burgundian duke in wonder. Jean-Pierre Panigarola, ambassador of the Duke of Milan, couldn't believe his eyes. 'They threw themselves on the ground and worshipped him as if he had been a saint on his throne.' To avoid chaos, it even became necessary to organize a 'sens de la visite' \u2013 a carefully structured visit. Charles sat on his princely throne in full regalia, the object of an extraordinary cult. The admirers trickled in from one side in orderly fashion, abandoned themselves to adoration when they reached the throne, and then filed out in total silence. The Bold One continued to capture the imagination. Need it be said that such expressions of veneration inflated his dangerous sense of hubris out of all proportion?"
            },
            {
                "title": "'Die Or Triumph'",
                "text": "Charles sent his army on to Lorraine, and he himself took a small armed escort to Calais to meet Edward IV. On the way he stopped at Bruges to address the States of Flanders; the county was still the core of the Burgundian Netherlands, certainly when it came to finances. On 11 July he tore into them. It was their fault that he hadn't been able to take Neuss, he said. Where were the labourers and pikemen he had asked for? Didn't they realize that 'when they slept, he kept watch; when they were warm, he braved the cold; when they were asleep in their houses, he was riding through the rain; when they filled their bellies, he fasted?' But they would have a chance to make up for their failure. They had fourteen days to mobilize a massive army. Or heads would roll!\n\nThe Flemings were thunderstruck, but they refused to take it lying down. Why should they take part in his campaigns of conquest? They were tradesmen. If they didn't keep Flanders afloat economically, he could kiss his taxes goodbye, and then how would he pay for his foreign wars? In the past Charles would have drawn his sword and crushed so much resistance, but he already had so many fires to put out on so many fronts that all he could do was leave and slam the door behind him.\n\nThere was no getting around it: his expenses vastly exceeded his income. Yet in a sense he was more frugal than his father, who was constantly handing out inappropriate, expensive gifts and sums of money. He himself greatly minimized the well-known ducal generosity, but he would not hesitate to spend more when it came to princely display. Philip the Good had been able to enhance his authority by means of splendour and pageantry, but by the time Charles came along the balance was tipped and dazzling propaganda worked to the disadvantage of both his image and his treasury. In his memoirs, Olivier de la Marche had to admit that few were able to understand such obstinacy. 'What on earth possessed the grand duke, who owned so many domains, lands and riches? Why the insistence on incurring the wrath of his neighbours? Why the desire to conquer the world?' These were the same questions that some would ask during Napoleon's last fatal imperialistic years.\n\nA few days later he finally saw his wife again. It would be the last time they met. Margaret of York had been able to keep her angry brother Edward IV happy, at least for a while (where was that Charles and his army?). Now it was up to Charles to face his brother-in-law on his own. Edward quickly realized that Charles was not going to keep his promises and had only come to butter him up. The duke slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder and said in his best English that Edward's army was so magnificent that he didn't need Burgundy's help. The English king would have to defeat Louis himself. Charles would do the same with Lorraine, and afterwards they would meet each other at Edward's coronation in Reims. Charles was just saying whatever came into his head.\n\nSo it wasn't surprising when Edward signed an agreement with the French king a few weeks later. On 29 August 1475 the two sovereigns, who were on the point of tearing each other apart, met on a bridge over the Somme near Picquigny. Louis promised that he would cover all the costs of Edward's expedition if Edward would quickly return to England. He began by calling for food and drink for the entire army. The French king was very keen to put Edward in a good mood. The whole operation must have cost him a fortune in the end, but his crown was saved.\n\nRemarkably enough, Louis also signed a peace treaty with Charles the Bold two weeks later. The essence of their pact was that they would not fight each other, not even if they clashed with one of their allies. So the duke and the king agreed not to rush to the aid of their supporters if those supporters were attacked by the other. This hypocritical agreement gave Louis the chance to observe from the sidelines and secretly to continue supporting Charles's enemies, who would be doing his dirty work for him.\n\nNow that his hands were free, a relieved Charles rushed to Nancy and occupied it fairly quickly. After Neuss, which had all the speed of a funeral procession, this raid was over in a flash, although it must be said that the defence of the capital of Lorraine was not exactly impressive. Yet it was a triumph in any case, because with it Charles the Bold finally succeeded in connecting 'the lands hither' with 'the lands thither', the Burgundian Netherlands in the north and old Burgundy in the south. The great Burgundy now constituted one continuous whole. The duke could travel from Boulogne to Luxembourg and from M\u00e2con to Amsterdam without crossing a single border. Although he was under pressure from all sides, no one could deny that the Burgundian Middle Empire was a fact. Charles the Bold could finally call himself the true heir of King Gundobad. Whether he would remain so was very much in doubt, but at least now it gave him wings: surely the title of king would soon be his!\n\nHe entered Nancy like a Renaissance prince: self-confident and flashy. But for once he was forgiving. The residents of Nancy trembled when they recalled the fate of the people of Li\u00e8ge and Dinant. But the Burgundian duke seemed to have big plans for them. In one of his last impassioned speeches, he even talked about declaring Nancy the capital of all his lands.\n\nDespite the debacle at Neuss, Charles the Bold found himself at the top of his game at Christmas 1475. If the Fates had told the duke during those glorious days that he had only one year to live, he would have laughed out loud."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 143",
                "text": "Resting on his laurels was not his style. Charles was eager to teach those tiresome Swiss a lesson, and the sooner the better. It was at this time that the designation Switzeri or Switsois became fashionable as synonyms for Eidgenossen or 'oath fellowship', the confederacy of the Waldst\u00e4tte cantons Uri, Unterwalden and Schwyz, with the latter imparting its name to the whole. After their formation at the end of the thirteenth century, the local communities of Zug and Glarus would eventually be added, as well as cities such as Bern, Lucerne and Z\u00fcrich \u2013 in short, the core of what would later become Switzerland.\n\nThey were not led by a sovereign but by a federal council consisting of representatives from each part of the confederacy. They called themselves Upper Germans and saw themselves as part of the German empire. There was still no sense of Swiss identity, yet something like unity did develop based on the form of independence they had achieved from the Habsburgs. The fact that in 1307 a man named William Tell was said to have shot an apple from the head of his young son at the command of the Habsburg governor Gessler, whom Tell later shot and killed, was a legend that gave wings to the sense of anti-Habsburg solidarity.\n\nThis was something that Sigismund of Habsburg experienced in 1469. If he failed to come up with the money he owed, the Swiss would be all over him. Charles the Bold came to his rescue by purchasing Upper Alsace, but during Hagenbach's reign of terror Sigismund's old subjects soon began longing for their previous governor. After their execution of the hated tyrant, their resentment really intensified. While at first they had aimed their arrows at the Habsburg, now the Burgundian was their target. The fact that this is how Charles got into trouble, and that the Habsburgs would profit from it, is one of the ironies of history.\n\nWhat the Swiss blamed the duke for was what the Burgundians had done in scores of places throughout the past century: expand their sphere of influence. At the same time the Eidgenossen were beginning to look westward, which they saw as an interesting market. So they did all they could to fend off foreign intervention between the Alps and the Rhine. It was inevitable that they would find Charles standing in their way, although the opposite could also be argued: it was inevitable that he would come up against the Swiss.\n\nThe actual provocation for an armed encounter took place on 30 April 1475, when Swiss militias took the village of Grandson. Located on Lake Neuch\u00e2tel, it was among the possessions belonging to Charles's vassal Louis de Chalon. In the months that followed, the Eidgenossen stationed a number of garrisons at the lake as well as in Grandson. When this Canton of Vaud was captured, Charles's direct line of connection with Italy was broken. This made things difficult for Charles because for quite some time he had been relying on Italian mercenaries to reinforce his standing army. In early January 1476, Charles went to Lake Neuch\u00e2tel in order to deal with his Swiss tormentors. He was hoping for one big battle that would allow him to incorporate the Eidgenossen's entire territory into his Burgundian empire in one fell swoop.\n\nOn 21 February he easily captured Grandson castle. The soldiers guarding it were ruthlessly slaughtered. 'He ordered three executioners to hang four hundred men in the nearby trees. The rest were drowned in the lake,' noted the Burgundian chronicler Jean Molinet, successor to Georges Chastellain. Chastellain had died in the autumn of 1475, thereby just missing the demise of the Burgundy that he had written about in such glowing terms. Of course, this unnecessary and typical brutality would only strengthen the anti-Burgundian zeal of the Swiss.\n\nOn 2 March 1476, Charles moved further along the shoreline while the enemy made their way over the hills. The Burgundians and the Swiss knew they were in each other's proximity, but they didn't know their respective positions. They were groping in the dark. Suddenly, the Eidgenossen's advance guard, while peering through the foliage, saw the army of Charles the Bold marching right below them, and they pounced on them with savage determination. Despite being taken by surprise, the Burgundians responded with ferocity \u2013 except the duke made a fatal mistake. In order to lure the Swiss more deeply into the valley and to better position his own artillery, he ordered his troops to pull back a little. Unfortunately, the rest of his army thought the soldiers were fleeing and looked on in shock. Now what? Should they too turn and run? At that very moment, ominous sounds could be heard from the forests above them. It was the rest of the Swiss troops, announcing their arrival with horns. The Burgundians were confused and demoralized. The fearful blast turned Charles's tactical withdrawal into a chaotic rout.\n\nThe duke must have been just as bewildered as the Swiss by how soon the battle was over (and strictly speaking it didn't deserve to be called a battle at all). Ranting and raving, he tried in desperation to turn the tide by holding back the flood of Burgundians with the flat of his sword\u2026 but it was useless. Charles was relentlessly pulled along by the unstoppable energy of his fleeing troops.\n\nWhat really gave the fiasco a bitter aftertaste was the fact that they weren't even being pursued. Most of the Swiss were foot soldiers and barely had enough cavalry to give chase to their enemy. While Charles, riding his black charger El Moro, began the most disorienting horse race of his life, the Swiss turned their full attention to one of the richest spoils of war in military history. Why Charles had filled so many carts with priceless treasures and then transported them to the edge of the battlefield remains a mystery. Apparently he demanded that his entire royal household be at his beck and call at all times, even on military campaigns. During a siege is one thing, but during a battle?\n\nThe Swiss farmers' sons were barely able to grasp what it was that lay before them. One of them picked up Charles's famous diamond \u2013 one of the largest in Europe \u2013 smiled, closed the case in which it was held and unsuspectingly tossed the whole thing on the ground. An ox-cart rolled over it as if it were a lump of clay, after which the soldier dug it up again and sold it to a priest for a handful of florins. The diamond was worth 20,000 florins.\n\nAstonished, the Swiss army got lost among the precious relics, silver and gold monstrances, dinnerware, brocade vestments, velvet garments, dazzling wall tapestries, rare manuscripts, countless gold pieces, precious stones and other valuables\u2026 The duke's parade sword, his ducal seal and his chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece went from hand to hand. Even Charles's legendary diamond-and pearl-encrusted hat ended up on the head of some Swiss drover. Soldiers fought each other to sit in his silver bathtub or on his gilded throne. This was as close as they would ever come to the most famous ruler of their age. In addition, dozens of luxurious tents and hundreds of horses, lances, swords, pikes, banners, flags and Burgundian artillery pieces were seized. Naturally, they feasted on the provisions they found, which lasted for weeks. Why in the world would the Burgundians leave them behind? They found themselves in an earthly paradise.\n\nChroniclers made mention of 4,000 young bawds, as if Charles's army had been one big mobile brothel. That seems like an exaggeration when you think of the duke's strict instructions, which allowed only thirty women per company. Either the Burgundian army was incredibly large \u2013 which it wasn't, with around 20,000 soldiers \u2013 or the duke's moral stranglehold on his troops had weakened considerably. It's also possible that the Eidgenossen were so intoxicated by all the grandeur that they were no longer able to count.\n\nMost of the Burgundian treasure has been lost. The Swiss herdsmen and burghers hadn't the vaguest idea what extraordinary goods had fallen into their hands, and their leaders argued among themselves about what to do with it all. Most of it was hopelessly squandered. The city of Basel, for example, settled its debts by peddling off Charles's hat, and as a result one of the most famous head coverings from the Late Middle Ages disappeared into the mists of time. An engraving of the hat has been preserved in the Biblioth\u00e8que Nationale in Paris, on the basis of which a reproduction was made that you can admire in Grandson Castle.\n\nDisplayed in the Bern Historical Museum, along with the seized flags and banners, is the extraordinarily beautiful Tapisserie aux Mille Fleurs featuring the coat of arms of Philip the Good \u2013 garlanded with the Golden Fleece, of course \u2013 amid thousands of flowers. The old duke bought this tapestry from the Brussels weaver Jan de Haze in 1466. In Grandson it graced the interior of Charles the Bold's army tent. Standing in front of this masterpiece, you find yourself reeling from all the gold decoration and ornament, which renders any overview impossible: a dazzling summary of the Burgundian empire at the height of its existence. Any more exuberance and the whole tapestry would burst at the seams."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 144",
                "text": "Not much later, the Swiss discovered the 400 bodies hanging from the trees in Grandson and were sorry they had let the brute escape so easily. Next time they wouldn't hesitate. But would there be a next time?\n\nOf course there would. Charles was beside himself after having been insulted so badly. His splendid army had been beaten by a bunch of ploughmen, a fact that must have been more than he could stomach. Panigarola commented that Charles was furious at the Swiss bumpkins, but no more than at his own army for having fled in such a cowardly fashion. 'He says that in order to restore his honour he will have to die on the battlefield or triumph.' After this umpteenth example of grandstanding, he went to Lausanne and turned all his attention once more to organizing his army. He mobilized, recruited and reformed. Over the course of April and May his soldiers came flocking in. At 20,000, they easily outnumbered the local population, which caused a certain amount of friction. The question was just how motivated this motley jumble of professional soldiers, mercenaries and vassals would be. The Swiss were much stronger in that regard. Certainly, now that the duke had designs on Bern itself, they were prepared to defend their land to the last gasp.\n\nBy this time, Charles no longer resembled the handsome Adonis that Rogier van der Weyden had immortalized almost fifteen years earlier. In the 1474 portrait housed in the Museum of Fine Arts in Dijon, you can see that the anonymous painter did not try to disguise how much weight Charles had gained in his face. Look at the double chin, the heavy eyelids. In Dijon, the painting hangs as fourth in a series of portraits, following those of Philip the Bold, John the Fearless and Philip the Good. For the uninformed visitor, there is nothing in this Charles the Bold that is particularly impressive. It could even be mistaken for the work of a mediocre artist. But there is something else that is equally undeniable: this is the exhausted Charles at the end of his life, a man with a dull gaze, more soldier than duke. Only his armour is still gleaming.\n\nAfter Grandson, the duke, always so meticulous, let his beard grow for the first time. He began to drink his wine undiluted, although he had always watered it down in the past. As if to confirm that these were signs of real decline, he soon shut himself away and no longer let himself be seen. He collapsed. Today we would say he had had a nervous breakdown. The chroniclers called it 'the duke's melancholy', and let it go at that. Not that it was a complete surprise. The beard. The frustration. The incessant shouting and ranting. The obsessive reorganization of his army. Clearly, he had not been able to process the setback at Grandson. His spirit was willing, but his flesh protested.\n\nIn the night of 10 to 11 April 1476, the psychological blow was followed by physical symptoms, and he was plagued by terrible stomach cramps. Was there something wrong with the tea he drank to relieve his 'melancholy'? Or could he have been poisoned? In any case, his health was quickly going downhill. Two weeks later he lay gasping in a semi-conscious state, while his legs became terrifyingly swollen. His life hung by a thread for days. Leeches, prayers, purgatives \u2013 nothing seemed to help. Someone shaved off his beard. But just when it looked as if the end had come, he got better. In early May, he could even leave his sickbed. Pale and wan, he returned to the land of the living.\n\nWith one last spark of statesmanship, an emaciated Charles succeeded in sealing the contract of marriage between his daughter, Mary, and Maximilian of Austria. After the Treaty of Neuss, all seemed well between the duke and the emperor. Charles even seemed genuinely happy that the wedding was taking place. He never said another word about his desire to become king. After Grandson, the chess board looked quite different.\n\nOn 9 May he held a big review of his troops. Like a reborn fragment of sheer brutality, he rode past the lines for hours, dressed in a silk tunic woven with gold thread. He screamed out orders as if he were personally pounding in every detail of his new military organization. Soldiers who weren't lined up neatly were given a firm rap with his stick. His expression was one of merciless rage.\n\nThe next day he published his new military decree, although he planned to go on the warpath in less than two weeks. Everyone around him advised him to delay, to rest, to give this some thought and to ask himself whether the Swiss were really worth it. He didn't listen to anyone any more; all he could think of was revenge. His men looked with fear at his clouded gaze. By the beginning of June he regarded himself as sufficiently recovered, and he sent his troops ahead, determined not to make any mistakes this time.\n\nEveryone in Dijon, Bruges, Ghent, Brussels and The Hague held their breath. What did fate have in store for their unrestrained duke? Charles was being sent less and less financial support and fewer and fewer troops from the Low Countries. At a meeting of the States General on 26 April in Ghent, his chancellor, Guillaume Hugonet, had demanded that the Low Countries send 10,000 soldiers without delay. But no matter how much he threatened them, Hugonet came home disappointed.\n\nCharles's daughter, Mary, and his wife, Margaret, were also extremely concerned. Was their father and husband, who was always absent, still capable of properly assessing the situation? What would they do if something happened to him? Were they prepared for every eventuality? Even the people of Lyon looked on nervously. After all, King Louis XI of France was residing there temporarily, close enough to intervene in this Swiss campaign if necessary.\n\nOnly in Rome did they play dumb \u2013 either that or they really did live on another planet. Pope Sixtus IV managed to send Charles a most improbable summons at this critical hour: it was high time the Burgundian duke began working on a Crusade against the Turks!"
            },
            {
                "title": "'I Took Action'",
                "text": "Although most of the Swiss soldiers had travelled dozens of kilometres on foot to get there and had only just arrived, that didn't stop them from going into battle on the early morning of 22 June 1476. They set off in the direction of Murten, a village in the Swiss lake country about thirty kilometres from Bern and right on the language border between French and German. It was at that symbolic spot that the weapons would clash: Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire against les Switsois, Karl der K\u00fchne versus die Schweizerische Eidgenossenschaft, Charles the Bold face to face with the Swiss Confederacy.\n\nThe opponents of the Burgundians consisted largely of ploughmen and herdsmen, but the part played by the city militias from Bern, Basel and Z\u00fcrich was certainly not to be underestimated. Peasants or burghers, the Swiss army was one of the most formidable of its time. In the spirit of the ancient Greek infantries they formed themselves into compact squares, closed off by large shields with five-metre pikes sticking up behind them. The units moved across the battlefield like giant steel hedgehogs. Nothing more was needed to inspire awe in the enemy. Machiavelli, who was seven years old at the time, would sing the praises of the Swiss phalanxes many years later in his Dell'arte della guerra (1520): 'the [Swiss] have assumed so much audacity, that fifteen or twenty thousand of them would assault any great number of horse.' The pike squares were made up of hardened warriors who were prepared to give their lives to defend the fatherland. Because they had scarcely any artillery, the Eidgenossen could move with extraordinary speed. The cannons of Charles the Bold were the best in Europe but were rather cumbersome and involved fairly complex logistics that inevitably slowed his army down. In mountainous Switzerland, rapid mobility played an important role in the waging of war. Yet another striking difference: the Burgundian army was a mobile Tower of Babel, while the Swiss all spoke the same language. And naturally they had a much better knowledge of the terrain.\n\nThe duke had arrived at Murten nine days earlier, and as usual he hoped for one big decisive battle. That's just what he would get. He knew that the Swiss had entered the area on 20 June and he expected a major attack the following day, since the Eidgenossen didn't have enough resources to conduct a long campaign. He spent the whole day carefully preparing his army in order to neutralize the dreaded pike squares, no matter what action they undertook. But nothing happened that day \u2013 the duke thought it was because they were terrified \u2013 and then that night the heavens opened up. Charles was sure that after such a deluge the Swiss would not attack immediately, and he gave his men the opportunity to rest after the first light of day. Such a nonchalant attitude would prove his undoing. It must be said, however, that the Swiss were very lucky. Because some of their troops had yet to arrive they decided to hold back, and when they did launch their attack the enemy was caught napping.\n\nCharles had left at least part of his vanguard out in the field, and they suddenly became aware of the presence of the Swiss hedgehogs. There was shouting, shrieking, messengers hurrying to their commander. But the horse had already bolted. The bulk of his army were quickly seized. The duke was helped into his armour, and just in the nick of time. He actually had to be told three or four times that the Swiss were coming. The great strategist refused to accept it without question because it didn't accord with what he himself had in mind. He had little choice but to jump on his beloved horse El Moro for the second time in just a few months and try to save his own skin. In contrast to what happened in Grandson, the vengeance-hungry Swiss had equipped themselves with cavalry this time. The Burgundians had to run for their lives.\n\nIt was like an implausible scene from a B-movie: dozing soldiers having to scramble to find their horses and swords, barely able to defend themselves against an army that was much more numerous than they thought it would be. Because of their lack of concentration and motivation, the Burgundians were doomed from the start; the sheer determination and numerical superiority of the Swiss did the rest. Just as in Grandson, the battle deteriorated into a rout, with this difference: the only escape route soon became so clogged that the confusion ended in slaughter. The Burgundians dived into Lake Murten and climbed the trees\u2026 all of them sitting ducks. They either drowned or were shot like fish in a barrel. Jan van Luxemberg, one of Charles's military commanders, became trapped, fell to his knees and begged to be spared in exchange for 25,000 gold ducats. His appeal was answered with an axe planted in his skull. The duke lost most of his army's staff, while he himself miraculously escaped.\n\nCharles the Bold may have been a visionary administrator, a manager hors cat\u00e9gorie, an inspired theoretician, but in practice he turned out to be a less than mediocre commander. By thinking everything out in advance down to the minutest detail, he immediately lost his balance when reality challenged his plans. Improvising was not his forte, while spontaneous readjustment of tactics was often what was called for. He lived so much in his own head that he was too careless when it came to reconnoitring and spent too little time assessing the numerical strength and tactics of the enemy. Not that he realized this. On the contrary, until the bitter end he saw himself as a brilliant military leader.\n\nNine years later, a monument was erected in Murten, a charnel house containing the bones of thousands of victims. An inscription was added later on that began with these words: 'Helvetians, stop! Here lies the army that laid waste to Li\u00e8ge and shook the throne of France\u2026'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 146",
                "text": "In the meantime, Ren\u00e9 II of Lorraine had not been idle and had retaken almost his entire principality. He had also finally driven the Burgundians out of Nancy, the capital city. While Charles was licking his wounds, the connecting link of his Middle Empire disappeared. He refused to go to the safety of the north to regain his strength, but instead, with the courage born of desperation, cobbled together the last army of his life, provoking Louis XI to utter the very telling words, 'He has gone mad.' Like a spider waiting at the edges of the web he himself had spun, the king looked on, determined to make his move only when his prey was cornered.\n\nAmbassador Panigarola, who was looking forward to having the adventure of a lifetime, would soon abandon Charles because his employer, the Duke of Milan, had defected to the King of France. The adventurous envoy also seemed to have lost his confidence in the duke's sanity. 'He laughs, he makes jokes, he says that God has given him an empire with so many reserves that he would really have to take a beating before ruination struck.' Charles had now completely lost contact with reality. He began speaking gibberish and seemed to live in a parallel universe. But no one could shake him from his id\u00e9e fixe: reconquer Nancy, rehabilitation, blind fury. All the rest was idle chatter.\n\nUndeterred, he travelled to Dijon to raise funds and recruit soldiers. It wasn't easy. Chancellor Hugonet in the north let it be known that there was no more money to be had in Ghent, Bruges, Brussels or The Hague. Yet he managed to wangle a large loan from the Medici Bank, thanks to the unquestioning support of Tommaso Portinari. As banker, he overplayed his hand by overrating the duke's creditworthiness and issuing unsecured loans. So Charles collected the money he needed to cover the cost of bringing about 10,000 soldiers, haphazardly gathered, to the capital of Lorraine.\n\nIf Portinari, who had commissioned Hugo van der Goes to make one of the most impressive triptychs of the century, had strictly followed the directives of his superiors in Florence, Charles would never have gone to Nancy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 147",
                "text": "On 22 October 1476, Charles began the siege of Nancy, even though his troop numbers were incomplete. Small groups of soldiers reported every day, but in the first week of December, Ren\u00e9 II succeeded in cutting off the only Burgundian connecting route to Luxembourg via the friendly bishopric of Metz. Now Charles was entirely on his own. The Italian mercenary leader Campobasso was behaving very strangely. Could he be trusted? Not at all, as it turned out. Campobasso was already reaching out to Ren\u00e9 II, from whom more money could be obtained on short notice, but Charles either couldn't see it or didn't want to. The inhabitants of Nancy fought for their lives. They would never give up their city, not for all the money in the world. Nor would the tyrant Charles be generous with them a second time. For now the Burgundians were fighting a losing battle, but they knew the little capital of Lorraine couldn't endure the siege for more than two months. Would a saviour finally step in to liberate the people of Nancy?\n\nRen\u00e9 did all he could to assemble a relief force. In early December, the Swiss declared that it was too cold to fight. That was no lie, but it was also a way of raising their price. Ren\u00e9's grandmother, who was critically ill, made part of her legacy available to him in order to incentivize the Eidgenossen. King Louis XI of France finally came through with some money, again in deepest secret, since essentially he was still allied to Burgundy through the peace treaty. Without a dying grandmother and a devious king, history would have taken quite a different turn.\n\nAt the last moment the dreaded Swiss army did show up, this time driven solely by cash and the promise of more booty. As far as the latter was concerned, simply uttering the word 'Grandson' worked like a charm. Initially the force was fairly modest in size, but it grew steadily. As soon as the Eidgenossen crossed the border they were joined by Alsatians and Lorrainers, 20,000 soldiers in all. On 5 January 1477, Burgundy's nemesis came marching up in a snowstorm."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 148",
                "text": "Charles's remaining commanders begged their leader to raise the siege in order to give the exhausted troops a rest, to let them get through the winter and regain their strength. The Great Bastard, his half-brother Anthony, looked him deep in the eyes. Ren\u00e9 II doesn't have nearly enough money to pay his troops that long. So we'll take care of him when spring comes, right? Philip de Croy, the man responsible for the break with his father twenty years before, made an especially passionate argument. He might just as well have been talking to the tomb of Philip the Bold. Charles barely heard what his devoted associates proposed. 'Even if I have to fight the Swiss alone, I will still go into battle.'\n\nThe duke went on to outline his tactics \u2013 that is to say, he imposed them. He would occupy the hill between Jarville and Neuville, accompanied by the bulk of his troops. Then he would cleverly position his cannon and count on their striking power. The fact that Charles was not able to count on the artillery lost at Grandson and Muren, which had been equipped with the latest refinements, and had had to rely on cast-offs scrounged from past battles, was of little interest to him. He was equally indifferent to the fact that for weeks his soldiers had been facing the real possibility of freezing to death. And the numerous forests that made it so difficult to see if the enemy was coming didn't faze him in the least. Fearless or reckless? Call it audacious, yes \u2013 even suicidal. His headstrong perseverance began to look like a suicide mission. But maybe that's what he had in mind. Tempting fate in a way that would never be forgotten. Securing the place of a blood-drenched martyr in the history books.\n\nIn addition, he had to manage with scarcely 5,000 soldiers. A substantial number of his troops had deserted, and many others had succumbed to disease, cold and hardship. The traitor Campobasso had shown his true colours two days earlier. He had defected to the enemy and naturally had told them all about the misery in the Burgundian camp. Ren\u00e9 now knew he had no time to lose. If the duke were to leave for the north, it would be a missed opportunity.\n\nOn the morning of 5 January, Charles prepared himself for battle. He looked as if he knew this would be his last. When he put on his helmet, the crest \u2013 which featured the figure of a rampant lion \u2013 fell mournfully to the floor. 'Hoc est signum Dei,' said the duke with an air of foreboding. 'This is a sign from God.'\n\nSo there he sat, the almost-king, the Grand Duke of the West, the intriguing Charles the Bold. Hunted like a beast, sequestered in the snow, hidden behind a ridge, shivering with cold, waiting until the enemy, who were warmed from marching, should appear in his field of vision.\n\nExcept the clever Swiss had split their army into two parts. The first part went forward, heading straight for the Burgundians' dilapidated artillery. The second group walked all the way round to the left with slow and cautious steps, aided by the snow that fell noiselessly on the army and the forests. Owing to this sound-deadening carpet, Charles and his men did not hear them. A thick mist had settled in, which also worked to the advantage of the alliance of Lorrainers, Alsatians and especially the Eidgenossen.\n\nAt about one o'clock in the afternoon, three hellish horn blasts resounded. Icy, lingering notes, as long as the trained lungs could keep it up. The signal of the accursed Swiss. The Burgundian cannon immediately responded. The cannonballs flew through the air. No one had any idea if they had hit their target or not. At that very moment, the allies' second force pounced on the unsuspecting right wing of Charles the Bold. Of course, he hadn't thought to send scouts in that direction. What must have gone through his head when he saw his last plan go up in smoke as well? There they stood, his cannon, positioned with the utmost care but aimed in the wrong direction.\n\nQuickly he organized his troops for the final struggle, but when the Swiss moved in for a frontal attack there was no stopping them. For the third time in a year, the once so powerful Burgundian army took to their heels. Charles too put spurs to his horse. El Moro sprinted and leaped, a jet-black steed without equal. The last warriors to catch a glimpse of the duke saw him with raised sword, slashing his way out of this inferno. He had to keep swerving, since the escape route was filled with groaning soldiers. In one such manoeuvre El Moro must have stumbled. The duke fell to the ground.\n\nThe raging Swiss behind him did not recognize the man who had fallen in the snow. A battle-axe was raised. Perhaps, like his grandfather John the Fearless, he lay on his back and was able to look death in the eye. The Montereau bridge, the snow of Nancy. Two key Burgundian moments, each with the same outcome. A cry, a last scuffle, a split skull. Charles must have died instantly.\n\nFree of his restless burden, his charger walked on alone. Zigzagging between the bodies, El Moro disappeared into the mist. Beside the lifeless duke lay his banner, the fluttering snow covering his gold-embroidered motto. His legendary slogan, 'Je lay emprins' \u2013 'I took action', was soon completely obliterated."
            },
            {
                "title": "A DECISIVE YEAR \u2014 1482",
                "text": "\u2003'Mary of Burgundy lies in Bruges in bronze;\n\n\u2003Ilaria del Caretto in Lucca sweetly prone,\n\n\u2003her waxen face forever carved in stone,\n\n\u2003like Medea Colleoni in Bergamo [\u2026]\n\n\u2003How came your body here to lie, O how?\n\n\u2003What earthly thing now occupies your name?\n\n\u2003What stone, what copper here replace your frame?\n\n\u2003Only my words and what I write them on.'\n\n\u2014Christine D'haen, from: Onyx, 1983\n\nOr how, after the death of Charles the Bold and despite all the subsequent misery, the Low Countries under Mary of Burgundy opted for continuity and acquired the first 'constitution' in history, and how the painter Hugo van der Goes made it through those complex years, but especially how the marriage and tragic death of the new duchess hastened the age of the Habsburgs.\n\n'I GLORIFY THE true God, summon the people, rally the clergy, mourn the dead, dispel the plague, enliven feasts.' These are the words imprinted on the bell that was cast in 1481 for the church in the Frisian village of Sondel. In that year, the plague did indeed wreak havoc in the Low Countries, from Ypres, Bruges and Turnhout, by way of Durbuy, Li\u00e8ge and Maastricht, all the way to Friesland. The new outbreak came on the heels of an exceedingly severe winter. The Burgundian chronicler Jean Molinet witnessed 'the birds falling dead from the sky, the trees perishing where they stood and riders freezing to death on their horses'. To make matters worse, the following winter would also be very harsh. At the start of 1482, the Low Countries looked back on a year of death and destruction.\n\nWhile the population in these regions was suffering a serious demographic contraction, Mary of Burgundy and her consort, Maximilian of Austria, withdrew to the Prinsenhof in Bruges. Unlike King Afonso V of Portugal, who succumbed to the plague on 28 August 1481, they managed to escape the clutches of death, which made the Burgundian winter feasts all the more exuberant when the new year arrived. On three occasions, the couple had invited the best knights to take part in tournaments on Bruges's Great Market.\n\nKing Louis XI of France, still eager to flush out what was left of Burgundy, had declared a salt blockade. This common preservative became so expensive that even the ever-popular salt herring was no longer available. The fact that the ordinary Bruggian was stupefied with hunger and cold did nothing to spoil the Burgundian fun. Maximilian donned his best suit of armour and outdid himself on the playing field while the populace snarled. He cast a proud glance at his beloved Mary, who looked on from Craenenburg, the house where, six years later, Maximilian would spend the least pleasant moments of his rule. In the restaurant of the same name, which retains the ancient roof trusses and cellar, today's tourists eat beef stew prepared with the aptly named Bourgogne des Flandres beer.\n\nDespite all the misery, Mary succeeded in preventing the complete downfall of Burgundy after her father's terrible debacle. Things looked relatively good in 1482, certainly with Maximilian at her side. The festive gathering of the Order of the Golden Fleece six months earlier in 's-Hertogenbosch had evoked the glory of the olden days. Afterwards, Mary also made her way to the same city, and what followed was the ducal couple's Joyous Entry. During that inauguration, one of the public grandstands suddenly began to totter, and a few seconds later the entire construction collapsed. Thankfully, no one was killed. Although months later some self-proclaimed seers would announce that they had heard the call of destiny back in 's-Hertogenbosch, all signs looked positive at that point for Mary and Maximilian.\n\nBetween the New Year's festivities, the couple spent their time skating on the meersen, the lowlying, flooded and frozen marshes south of Bruges. Mary was wildly enthusiastic, and as soon as the freezing temperatures allowed she would strap on her skates, never letting a few tumbles get in her way. Maximilian did his best to keep up. The skating fun came to an end with the March thaw, but one amusement made way for another. Adolph of Cleves, Lord of Ravenstein, who had served as governor-general of the Burgundian lands for several years, decided to organize a dignified celebration of the arrival of spring and planned a great hunt on his estate, Wijnendale, to take place on 13 March 1482. He hoped that Mary and Maximilian would brighten up his festive event as guests of honour.\n\nThe couple quickly let him know that they would be coming from Bruges, for both the duke and the duchess were mad about hunting. Adolph immediately ordered the cleaning of the huge grills in his monumental fireplaces. He chuckled at the very thought of all the excitement in store, and he could already smell the fragrance of roast game. Not a detail escaped his attention. This hunt was going to be a day to remember.\n\nRavenstein's intention would amply succeed, so much so that it would make the pages of the history books, to his great sorrow."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Faithful Unto Death'",
                "text": "When the news of the debacle of her father's army reached her sometime in January 1477, Mary of Burgundy was left in the dark as to his fate. Charles the Bold was said to have fled, but no one knew where. His horse El Moro was soon located, but there was no sign of his master in any nearby fields or roadways. For forty-eight hours the duke's whereabouts were unknown. Then an Italian page, Baptiste Colonna, claimed he knew where Charles could be found.\n\nLying near the place where he had seen him fall were more than a dozen frozen corpses, expertly stripped by robbers. The naked bodies were turned over one by one until the Italian stopped shaking his head no. 'Alas, this is my good lord and master,' said Colonna. He recognized him from his scars, missing teeth and long fingernails. Charles's head was frozen into the ice of a small lake, his skull was split from his ears to his teeth, someone had clearly thrust a lance up his anus, his arms and limbs had been trampled by horses' hooves, and worst of all: one of his cheeks had been torn from his face by a wolf. In the centuries to come, Charles's name would often be mentioned in the same breath with the words 'eaten by wolves'.\n\nWhat if he had won at Grandson or Murten? That might have happened despite the failure, even in Nancy. Think of the totally unexpected French defeat at Poitiers in 1356. Of course, you can't explain the past by wondering what would have happened if, say, Napoleon had lost at Austerlitz. But it's true that Charles, who had all the makings of a failed Napoleon, paid the price for his hubris much earlier than the Corsican would three centuries later. History teaches that rulers with too much pepper in their ambition are bound to come to grief some day. The only question is when.\n\nIf Nancy was the last Burgundian battle, then with a bit of goodwill you can call Poitiers the first: the courage of Philip the Bold gave him both his epithet and the old duchy. At Nancy, great-grandson Charles forfeited not only his life but the original duchy as well. It was there that his epithet took on a lustre of agelessness. He would always be known as 'le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire', the reckless.\n\nFrench spies informed Louis XI of the tragic news on 8 January, scarcely a day after the body had been found, two weeks before the news reached the new duchess at the Prinsenhof in Ghent. He sent no condolences but immediately invaded both the old Burgundian duchy and the Franche-Comt\u00e9. Any memory of holding baby Mary over the baptismal font in Coudenberg Palace in Brussels twenty years before had long been forgotten. He saw his opportunity. Finally he would be able to reclaim Picardy, Artois, Burgundy and Flanders, which had been associated with France since time immemorial.\n\nWhile Louis was preparing his advance, Margaret and Mary wondered when Charles the Bold would show up to rectify the situation. At first they refused to believe that he had disappeared. And they weren't the only ones. A few usurers floated loans that were to be paid back on the day of Charles's return. Everyone tried to benefit from the situation, although in this last case the borrowers were the ones who profited.\n\nMary had no time to speculate. When the news was confirmed on 25 January, she found herself with her back to the wall. Despite the great sadness that befell her, she had no choice but to quickly conclude an agreement with her subjects, or Louis XI would gobble up the entire Burgundian state. Fortunately, the States General, which had convened in Ghent, declared that it 'would be faithful to her unto death'. But it was all quid pro quo.\n\nThe irritation that had been building over Charles's management came gushing out all at once. Cities and states wanted to formulate their own policy as much as possible, steering clear of anything that smacked too much of centralism. So to start off, the members of the States General abolished the Mechelen Parlement and replaced it with another travelling Great Council. This council had fewer far-reaching powers and had to work with judges from all the sub-regions who had a firm grasp of Dutch and who could not disregard local laws. On the other hand, it remained an overarching judicial authority. Other central bodies also survived the reforms. The regional courts of auditors and council chambers in Lille, Brussels and The Hague continued working as before, although they were made up of officials appointed by the late Charles the Bold.\n\nThe most important changes were laid down in the Great Privilege, signed by Mary on 11 February 1477. The result was striking for its attention to detail and for the individual regional provisions. The general text consisted of 20 articles. In Flanders there followed another separate charter with 47 additional provisions, Holland and Zeeland added another 60 and Brabant no fewer than 108. The latter figure is not surprising. Brabant can safely be regarded as the birthplace of joint management in the Low Countries. A distant Brabant precursor of the Great Privilege was the Charter of Kortenberg of 1312. In an attempt to simplify the complex succession of John II at that time, pledges were made to the nobility and the cities. This was now taking place on a grand scale.\n\nHenceforth, Mary could not marry, wage war or levy taxes without the approval of the States General, which also could meet on its own initiative. Her official enactments were to be drafted in Dutch if that was the language of the residents. The language question would remain a sensitive issue.\n\nThe Burgundian Netherlands acquired what today you might call a federal structure, with more authority for the regions and with a more balanced division of power between the estates and the sovereign. The Great Privilege, which applied to all 'lands hither', can be regarded as the first constitution for the Low Countries, a legal framework that would often be referred to during the revolt against the Spanish in the sixteenth century. It was basically a way of saying: this is how the relationship between sovereign and subjects ought to be.\n\nThe right to resist and to refuse military service in the event that Mary were to violate the Privilege's provisions was a European first. This right applied to all burghers and villagers. For the first time, everyone \u2013 and not only the vassals of the prince, as was customary under feudal law \u2013 could resist unjust actions by the government, and everyone also had the right to have their privileges restored. This was so groundbreaking that even the drafters of the Belgian constitution in 1831 consulted the Great Privilege one last time.\n\nAfter this breakthrough, the various regions said that they were prepared to recruit troops to stop the advance of the French king. Despite all the resentment against Charles the Bold, most of the Low Countries were eager to preserve the Burgundian dynasty. Only the recently annexed principalities of Guelders and Li\u00e8ge wanted to continue on their own, with the return of the former duke and prince-bishop. After the crimes of Charles the Bold, you can hardly blame the people of Li\u00e8ge for having their reservations.\n\nAlthough the centralism of the deceased duke was axed, the attack of the French triggered what seemed like a 'national' reflex. Hadn't the Brabantians in the States General said that 'men should be brothers and remain united' in order 'to preserve' the 'true union and concord' of the Burgundian lands? Hadn't everyone nodded their heads in assent? Put these words to music and romantic souls would actually speak of a first national anthem of the Low Countries, with that 'faithful unto death' mentioned earlier to add punch to the refrain.\n\nTo bring us back to earth, it should be said that the members of the States General usually defended their own region or city first of all, just as they do today in that federation known as Belgium. The concept of 'nation' was always more applicable to, say, Brabant or Holland than to the Burgundian Netherlands as a whole. The Great Privilege put an end to the stadholderate of 'foreigners'. As stadtholder of Holland and Zeeland, Bruggian Louis de Gruuthuse had to step aside for the Zeeuw Wolfert van Borselen.\n\nNevertheless, the cohesion of the States General meant much more than regulated interregional neighbourliness. Certainly in times of great crisis, the people of the Burgundian Netherlands spoke and acted as one. There's also the fact that the old Burgundian duchy had fallen into the hands of Louis XI. After a bit of grumbling, Dijon had completely surrendered. Mary and her descendants continued to dream of retaking the homeland some day, but in the meantime, slowly but surely, the name Burgundy became disconnected from its ancient history and forever entwined with that of the Low Countries. Essentially, Mary of Burgundy had become Queen of the Netherlands."
            },
            {
                "title": "'A Small Nose, A Small Forehead, Drooping Eyelids'",
                "text": "Mary may have been able to salvage whatever she could, but it would take more than the Great Privilege to siphon off the people's anger. Their frustration sought and found a violent outlet. Exactly ten years after her father had addressed the populace from the window of the Hooghuis in Ghent, Mary stood in the same place and pleaded for mercy for Chancellor Hugonet. As a loyal follower of her father, he had to pay the piper. No matter how moving her intervention may have been, Mary would quickly come to understand that an unleashed mob was almost unstoppable. On Holy Thursday, Hugonet was beheaded, as was councillor Guy de Brimeu, stadtholder of Li\u00e8ge and Luxembourg. Now that the many-headed hydra known as 'the people' had had its revenge, the Great Privilege could do its work.\n\nMary turned her back on perilous Ghent and travelled to Bruges in the company of Louis de Gruuthuse, her tower of strength. There she saw the necessity of having a strong husband at her side. Countless candidates were vetted, but she remained stubbornly faithful to the will of her father and chose Maximilian of Austria. A strategic marriage with the French dauphin might have defused the complex situation with her godfather Louis XI, but sleeping with the enemy? Delicate as she may have been, the twenty-year-old Mary held her ground.\n\nShe chose as her motto 'En vous me fye'. There was nothing frivolous about this 'In you I trust'. Indeed, it was now up to the Habsburg to rescue the Low Countries from the clutches of France. Maximilian was received with open arms."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 152",
                "text": "Maximilian actually should have been called Constantine, after the obsession of his father Frederick III with the liberation of Constantinople. Earlier, the emperor had rechristened Maximilian's mother, Eleonora of Portugal, with the name Helen. He himself was thinking of replacing the Portugal in her name with Troy. Deep down, the melancholy emperor was a dreamer. His Helen died in 1467, making little Maximilian a semi-orphan at the age of eight. This did not help his exceptional shyness. For a while it was feared that after his mother's death he would never speak another word, but all was well once he found his true calling: to become a widely acclaimed knight. It's not surprising that while in Trier he was completely captivated by the pomp and splendour of the sovereign of the Golden Fleece, so that entering into marriage with his daughter, Mary, later on was like a dream come true.\n\nWhen he first arrived in the Low Countries, it was almost too much to take in. So many big cities so close together was something he had never seen before. But hidden behind all the hustle and bustle was a destitute Burgundian state. Charles the Bold had blown his entire fortune on three disastrous campaigns. At the sight of the empty coffers it dawned on Maximilian that despite all the glistening court ritual, the dukes were no kings. In his own case he had the title of King of the Romans to look forward to. Apart from that, he, like most princes, would live on credit. The Low Countries \u2013 Flanders, Brabant and Holland at the top \u2013 were quite rich, and with the taxes approved by the States General he ultimately would have more money at his disposal than anything he could ever expect in Austria.\n\nThe wedding took place on 18 August 1477 in the chapel of the Prinsenhof in Ghent. Because the mourning period after Charles's death was not yet over, the wedding was held in a minor key (which was good in a way because there wasn't enough money for anything else). The nuptials of Mary's father, Charles, and her stepmother, Margaret, nine years earlier had been a celebration straight out of The Thousand and One Nights, making the un-Burgundian simplicity all the harder to bear. On the other hand, it seemed to make the tie between the newly-weds that much stronger, a sharp contrast with the rather detached relationship between Charles the Bold and his last wife.\n\nThree weeks later, Maximilian wrote a lyrical letter to an Austrian friend in which, like a florid poetaster, he raved about Mary's 'pale skin, as white as snow' and her 'thick, red lips'. He went on to describe her as a woman with 'a small nose and a small forehead and slightly drooping eyelids, as if she had just woken up'. But the drooping eyelids are 'barely noticeable', he hastened to add. He decided that she was 'the most beautiful woman' he had ever seen. The fact that he himself had excessively long legs, an oversized chin and a hooked nose didn't seem to dampen Mary's enthusiasm, although she did have to use sign language at first in order to understand him. She would teach him French, he would teach her German. Margaret of York tried to teach the archduke Dutch. The ladies' linguistic diligence was not very effective, however. Their Austrian pupil made little effort to master Dutch, and even his French remained substandard. The mistrust that his subjects would feel towards him in the coming years was only exacerbated by his language handicap."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 153",
                "text": "In addition to the executions mentioned earlier there were still more purges, and countless others were driven from their positions. Everyone tried to save their skin. Anthony of Burgundy, Charles's half-brother and one of his most important army commanders, was taken prisoner at Nancy by Ren\u00e9 of Lorraine and passed on to the King of France. There, Anthony swapped his allegiance for his life. From then on, he would serve as advisor to Louis XI. He wasn't the only knight of the Golden Fleece to commit treason and defect to the enemy, whether by choice or necessity.\n\nBecause of his risky loans to Charles the Bold, banker Tommaso Portinari was compelled to close the branch of the Medici Bank in Bruges. After this failure he went through some hard times, but two years later the survivor resurfaced as ambassador to the Spanish court. In the meantime, Hugo van der Goes had all but finished his Portinari Altarpiece, except for one detail: the head of Portinari, who commissioned the work, was missing. Van der Goes was probably holding it back until the final payment was made. Now that Portinari was strapped for cash, the painter would have to be patient \u2013 a real setback for him, since he too was in financial straits.\n\nThe fact that Van der Goes had worked for Charles the Bold put him under a cloud of suspicion after Charles's death. And the fact that in all probability his Adoration of the Magi (c.1473) had been commissioned by the beheaded Chancellor Hugonet \u2013 who didn't want to be outdone by Rolin and his Madonna \u2013 did not work to the artist's advantage either. On top of that, there were plenty of others who couldn't wait to show the door to someone with as much talent and success as Van der Goes. No one approached him to work on the decorations for the wedding of Mary and Maximilian. That honour was given to the now forgotten Matthijs van Roden.\n\nIt must have been very difficult for the painter, who was melancholic by nature, for at the end of 1477 he decided to answer a late calling, left Ghent and entered a monastery as a lay brother. At the Red Cloister in the Sonian Forest near Auderghem, he was received with open arms. After all, he was one of the greatest artists of his time. His half-brother Nicholas had entered the order years before and gave the disoriented Hugo a warm welcome. Nevertheless, he had four trying years ahead."
            },
            {
                "title": "'From The Emperor's Seed'",
                "text": "On 13 March 1482 the company of Burgundians set off on their hunting trip in the forests of Wijnendale. Galloping through the woods along with Adolph of Ravenstein, Louis de Gruuthuse, Olivier de la Marche and of course Maximilian was Mary of Burgundy. The group were in high spirits and turned all their attention to the ancient hunting ritual. Everything went smoothly until the duchess saw a heron standing on the other side of a brook.\n\nIn a flash she removed the hood from her trained falcon and tossed him into the air. She then spurred her horse towards the water and urged him to jump to the other side. For an experienced horsewoman like Mary it was a routine manoeuvre. This time, however, the animal stumbled on a fallen tree trunk and slid. And there Mary of Burgundy took the most widely discussed fall in the history of the Low Countries, with the exception of the fatal plunge of King Albert I of Belgium in 1934. Unfortunately, she landed on the same tree trunk. But it was the tumbling of the horse that proved fatal. He landed with his full weight on the duchess's right side.\n\nMaximilian, Louis, Olivier and Adolph raced up to attend to her. The duchess did not appear to be injured, yet the pain was unbearable. The journey back to Bruges must have been a dreadful torture for her. No doctor or surgeon could ease her suffering. No one knew exactly what the cause was. Maximilian was frantic and inconsolable.\n\nIt wasn't until 1979 that a paleo-pathological examination of Mary's skeleton was carried out, revealing that when she fell she broke not only both wrists but also three ribs, which penetrated her chest cavity and struck her right lung. That must have triggered a lung infection. The examination also showed that she had extremely bad teeth, eleven of which were missing. This was probably a combination of poor dental hygiene and royal inbreeding. Now a person with bad teeth, or few of them, could easily live a long life, but a perforated lung that went undiagnosed, let alone treated, was quite a different matter.\n\nIn an act of desperation, a procession was organized in Bruges. Perhaps carrying the relic of the Holy Blood would bring about a miracle. But the terrible pain continued unabated. Her situation worsened, and three days before her death she summoned her most important advisors to her bedside. The first chamberlain, Louis de Gruuthuse, was also present. She begged them to accept Maximilian as regent and guardian of her son, Philip, who was not yet four years old. Everyone nodded in agreement, but the subject would later generate much emotion.\n\nSo many things must have gone through the poor woman's mind. Her father, the most powerful man in Europe, had suffered a tragic death and sowed nothing but chaos and misery, and just when the future had begun to look rosy again after the Low Countries had almost unanimously opted for dynastic continuity, she found herself facing certain death. When she looked at her husband she saw an impetuous knight of the old school, a Habsburgian replica of her father. When her eyes turned to her son she saw a four-year-old toddler, much too young to take the helm."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 155",
                "text": "Fortunately, the barely twenty-five-year-old Mary had produced an heir. Within a year of her marriage, on 22 June 1478, Philip came into the world and was named after the old Grand Duke of the West. Both the court and the populace received the news with delight, while the King of France must have stifled a curse. In an effort to spoil the festive mood, Louis XI could think of nothing better than to have spies circulate the rumour that the child was not a son but a daughter, which at that time was seen as significantly less positive.\n\nThe unflappable grandmother, Margaret of York, made quick work of the false reports. One anonymous chronicler described her removing little Philip's clothing in the middle of the Bruges market and holding him up 'naect' (naked) for all to see. 'Si nam sijn cullekens in haer hants ende si sprak: kinderen siet hier uwen nieuwen gheboren here den iongen Philippus van des keysers sade.' Translated into modern English, this sounds as bombastic as it does comical: 'She took his little balls in her hands and said: my children, behold your newborn lord, the boy Philip, from the emperor's seed.' Then Mary took the baby in her arms, kissed him tenderly and handed the crown prince to a deeply affected Maximilian, who proclaimed in just the right words: 'O noble Burgundian blood!' The joy that followed proved how much the people had come to embrace the once so alien Burgundians as their own.\n\nThis Philip would go down in history as 'the Handsome' and would be popular in the Low Countries. Of this there is no doubt. But was he really as attractive as his epithet suggests? He looks rather good in his portraits, at least by our standards of beauty. A Venetian diplomat and contemporary unhesitatingly used the words 'bello di corpo, gagliardo e prospero' to describe him. In any event, with this 'handsome, strapping and rich' youth the world was one Burgundian womanizer richer. The typical jutting 'Habsburg jaw' was not so prominent in his case. As sometimes happens with hereditary characteristics that tend to skip a generation, the condition would affect his son all the more. From an early age, Philip did have strikingly thick lips, as you can still read about in the Royal Library of Belgium. 'Cest livre appartient \u00e0 Philippe, dict autrement Lippeque' is charmingly inscribed in one of the books belonging to him. You can just hear Mary of Burgundy speaking those words. But Lippeque!\n\nHis grandmother Margaret stood by him during his early years, but she wasn't alone. Olivier de la Marche, who was ransomed after the Battle of Nancy, sided with Mary, helped her negotiate the marriage with Maximilian and would supervise the upbringing of her son, Philip. In the introduction to his memoirs, he expressed the hope that knowledge of the past would show the young archduke the way to a just future.\n\nOnly two months after Philip's birth, his father, Maximilian, was back in his armour and pressing his dear son to his chest. Up until then he had been fully occupied with the French, whom he defeated in 1479 at Guinegatte, today's Enguinegatte, a village between B\u00e9thune and Boulogne-sur-mer. In doing so, he saved Flanders from the web of 'the big spider' Louis XI. In Holland, the Hooks and the Cods were at each other's throats again, but the archduke managed to bring those disputes under control as well. Although Maximilian complained in his letters of 'hunger and thirst, fear, fatigue and hard labour', he thought he could make his old dream of knighthood come true on the battlefield. His subjects had no interest in such ambitions. Not only did all that sabre-rattling cost barrels of money, but the people were hungry for peace. Between battles, the commander sired a daughter, Margaret of Austria, who was to become so important for the Low Countries. A third child, a son, did not live long. Only a few months later, Death came knocking for Mary herself.\n\n'Adieu Margrite, edel bloemen reyn / mijn liefste dochter bid voor mi / mijn hert is in grooten weyn,' ('Adieu Margaret, pure flower that thou art / my dearest daughter, pray for me / how filled with sorrow is my heart') are the words that an anonymous rhetorician put in the mouth of Mary of Burgundy at her leave-taking from her children. 'Adieu Philips, lieve sone mijn / Ick schyde nog veel te vroech van dijn' ('Adieu Philip, dear son of mine, / I take my leave far too soon from thine'). Mary must have had enough time to take Margaret and Philip in her arms once more. On 27 March 1482, two weeks after her fall at Wijnendale, she died from the effects of her injuries. What now? Duke Charles had passed away five years earlier, and now Mary, scarcely twenty-five years old. What was to become of tormented Burgundy?\n\nThe members of the States General had sworn to her to be 'faithful unto death', but there was no scenario for what would happen afterwards. They gave Archduke Maximilian powers of regency over the four-year-old Philip, although the commitment was fraught with difficulties. As prince consort he had been readily embraced, but as guardian, let alone as head of state, he was viewed with considerable suspicion. In exchange he would have to dance to the tune of the States General. What Maximilian wanted most of all was to keep on fighting, but the States were aiming for a truce with France. Their vote was decisive.\n\nOn 23 December 1482 the Treaty of Arras was signed, which went against everything Maximilian stood for. But the Burgundian Netherlands, especially Flanders, were willing to go to great lengths to finally live in peace and quiet. To speed this up, Maximilian's two-year-old daughter ended up in French hands as a sort of peace collateral. She was engaged to marry the dauphin Charles, but for now the little mite was relocated to the Loire region to be moulded into the next French queen. As a dowry she was given Artois and the Franche-Comt\u00e9. Clearly, the Burgundian Netherlands wanted to go it alone from now on.\n\nTo prevent Philip from becoming an unpredictable Austrian eccentric like his father, it was decided that the little prince would be given a Burgundian upbringing. So the States General, goaded by the Flemings, deprived Maximilian of his son as well. Every four months, Philip would be entrusted to the good care of a different region of his empire. After the intense grief that fell to him following the loss of his beloved wife, he was now given two more major setbacks to deal with.\n\nAt the start of the new year, the various domains looked back with satisfaction on the way the transfer of power had been negotiated. The States General, who had more or less taken control, had the archduke right where they wanted him. For the first time in the history of the Low Countries, a representative body, which you could hardly call democratically elected, had managed to curtail the authority of a sitting monarch in a way that was legally binding.\n\nThis central organ, which would foster the unification of the Low Countries, consisted of important members of the clergy and nobility who were directly summoned by the ducal chancellery, but it was mainly made up of representatives of the principal cities that chose their own delegation. The only region to send representation from the countryside was Flanders. In short, the voices of the rich city-dwellers carried the most weight. If you count the number of members per region, Flanders comes out as the most heavily represented. At a well-attended meeting in April 1493, thirty-five of the eighty-four members present were from this region. The exact composition of the States General fluctuated, depending primarily on the agenda. But it might just as well have depended on the weather. In the winter of 1477, the Holland delegates were late in reaching Ghent on account of the severe climatic conditions.\n\nThe tenacity with which the States General got the upper hand and held on tight was a source of great irritation to Maximilian. As a Habsburg, he had been raised to think that men with no blue blood in their veins were deserving of contempt. And by the way, didn't the Burgundian Netherlands have him to thank for not having been gobbled up by France?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 156",
                "text": "Hugo van der Goes spent most of Mary's reign in the Red Cloister. He tried to live according to The Imitation of Christ by Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, and devoted himself to moderate asceticism. Thanks to the sympathetic prior, Thomas van Vessem, he was given a special position that allowed him to paint and receive visitors. He was even permitted to drink wine with them in the guest quarters, an exceptional privilege. Because of his fame, a great many prominent people called at the Red Cloister. Van der Goes proved to be something of a prestigious signboard.\n\nEven governor Maximilian honoured the painter with a few occasional visits. As a seasoned hunter, the archduke frequently passed through the Sonian Forest, and the monastery was on his way. In all probability, Tommaso Portinari, or at least one of his envoys, also came by to settle the outstanding bill for his monumental triptych. It is not even inconceivable that Maximilian, who was in debt to Portinari, made the last payment in his name. The Portinari Altarpiece would finally end up in Florence in 1483. It's still quite obvious that the head of the patron was not added until the work was finished, after the payment was made, most probably in the Red Cloister. Van der Goes misjudged the measurements of Portinari's head and left too little space for it. To compensate, he had to make a slight notch in the patron's coiffure to keep from covering over St Thomas's left little finger.\n\nIn 1480, the Leuven city council asked him to assess the value of the last unfinished painting by Dirk Bouts, who had died five years before. The council did not know how much to pay his widow, and who better than Van der Goes to make such a determination? The artist received more and more visits and commissions. It was difficult for him to combine his increasingly busy life with his private devotions and celebration of the Mass. He was worried that he'd never be able to finish his last works. The sensitive Van der Goes was consumed by stress.\n\nTo help him relax, Prior van Vessem gave the painter per-mission to travel to Cologne. The journey went very well until the return trip, when Van der Goes underwent a mental collapse and began wailing that he was damned. Had he actually enjoyed the flashy city life in Cologne, and did he dread returning to the monastery? Did he feel guilty about his inability to live according to the teachings of Thomas \u00e0 Kempis? Was the combination of an exhausted body and a tormented spirit taking its toll? In any event, he felt so existentially burdened that he would have ended his life then and there if his fellow brothers had not stopped him.\n\nBack then, people like Van der Goes were usually locked up in one of the few madhouses, or sent on pilgrimage to Geel, where you could venerate the relics of St Dymphna for relief from madness. Novenas were often said for the insane in an attempt to exorcise the devil. Some of the sick stayed in Geel. These 'lunatics' or 'fools' were taken in by the local people. Over time, the town became widely renowned as a model of home care for psychiatric patients, a reputation it would maintain well into the twentieth century. Even though there were reportedly two hundred boarders staying in Geel at the end of the fifteenth century, and the Kempian town was barely three days' walking distance from Auderghem, the good-hearted prior insisted on caring for Van der Goes himself. Perhaps this approach was an expression of the humaneness widely preached by Devotio Moderna, the spiritual movement to which the order of the Red Cloister belonged. After all, the first madhouses in the Low Countries were founded partly thanks to Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, the famous follower of Devotio Moderna, who contended that people who were different were also worthy of decent care.\n\nAfter a period of observation, Prior van Vessem came to the conclusion that Van der Goes was suffering from the same condition that afflicted the despondent King Saul of the Old Testament. Hadn't he asked the young David to ease his melancholy by playing on his lyre? The Bible said the endeavour had been successful, so the prior prescribed music. Although it was probably the oldest example of music therapy in Europe, it didn't do any good. But it did provide the inspiration for a famous painting by Emile Wauters. In The Madness of Hugo van der Goes (1872), in which he portrays the wide-eyed painter listening to a few musicians and singers, Wauters captured the image of the deranged Van der Goes for posterity. The legends were numerous: that his brain had given out after he realized he could never match the beauty of the Ghent Altarpiece, that a sordid love affair did him in, that he died after a terrible fit of madness.\n\nVan der Goes emerged from his breakdown, and during his recovery he painted Death of the Virgin (1482), one of his greatest masterpieces. With the Grim Reaper peeking over his shoulder, he turned his hand to the passing of the Mother of God as described in the apocryphal gospels. A blue robe, a white headdress and a pale countenance. Here, Mary lies on a bed surrounded by the grief-stricken apostles. The works of the Flemish Primitives that hang alongside Van der Goes's final opus in the Groeningemuseum in Bruges radiate a full range of colours, while the painter-monastic opted for subdued tints. No splendour and glory here; only sadness at the death of what once was so great.\n\nIn the context of our story, the mind of the viewer turns instinctively to the death of that other Mary. The grief suffered by Archduke Maximilian, Louis de Gruuthuse, Olivier de la Marche and Adolph of Ravenstein was no less intense than that of the apostles. In the year of Duchess Mary's death, and certainly without meaning to do so, the grand master movingly gave expression to the decline of the once so glorious Burgundians. After this last spasm of his genius, the successor to Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden himself passed away.\n\nIn the middle foreground of the painting, Van der Goes painted himself as one of the apostles. He is the only figure looking us straight in the eyes. He seems tired, with deep bags under his eyes, but his sadness seems to have settled into a pious form of resignation, the realization that everything eventually comes to an end, even the most beautiful stories. But you can also read in it the faith of the confident Christian, who knows that after death the best is yet to come."
            },
            {
                "title": "A MEMORABLE DAY \u2014 20 OCTOBER 1496",
                "text": "\u2002'Between Dijon and Beaune in early September I visited a cemetery, it lay in the heart Of a vineyard, the harvest had begun.'\n\n\u2014Leonard Nolens: Een dichter in Antwerpen en andere gedichten, 2005\n\nOr how Philip the Handsome was married in the Brabant city of Lier and the world seemed to be on the point of turning in a whole new direction.\n\nAs bishop of Cambrai, Henry of Bergen had hired Desiderius Erasmus as his secretary in 1493. Following in the footsteps of his master, the humanist would become acquainted not only with the southern Low Countries but also with the circles of spiritual and political power. Eventually, the Rotterdammer was given permission to study theology in Paris. Later, Erasmus would write an epitaph for his old employer. The brilliant bishop had an irreproachable record of service. He had recently been appointed chancellor of the Order of the Golden Fleece and, as if that weren't enough, first counsellor of Philip the Handsome. As the ultimate tribute, Henry of Bergen was asked to officiate at the wedding of his sovereign in Lier on 20 October 1496 \u2013 without doubt the ceremonial high point of his career.\n\nIn 1493 the Emperor Frederick III had died. As King of the Romans, his son Maximilian was now the strong man of the Holy Roman Empire. With all that to worry about, he decided to transfer power in the Low Countries to his fifteen-year-old heir apparent, Philip the Handsome. This was met with applause from Ypres to 's-Hertogenbosch, not only because it meant that a home-grown, 'natural' sovereign was taking over who spoke the right language, but also because Maximilian had done everything he could to ride roughshod over the Great Privilege.\n\nHe didn't even attend the solemnities in Lier. The Low Countries had been the bane of his existence for the past few years, and he preferred not to let himself be seen there. Philip didn't mind. He would much rather go his own way and steer his lands into more peaceful waters than the turbulent seas his exhaustingly ambitious father had chosen. The heir had a playful disposition and did very well for himself as a card player, archer and stick fighter. But the boisterousness he displayed during those activities disappeared when it was time for him to take the helm. Inexperienced as he was, he made sure he was surrounded by carefully chosen advisors. Olivier de la Marche christened him Philippe Croit Conseil \u2013 Philip the Believer in Counsel. As governor, he regularly followed the advice of his counsellors, something at which his grandfather Charles the Bold had failed miserably. Much to Maximilian's irritation, he listened sympathetically to the call for peace. Maximilian couldn't bear knowing that his son was forging peace agreements with the odious French while he himself was waging war with Charles VIII.\n\nWas Philip a pawn in his counsellors' game? Was he a slacker who had little interest in anything that was going on? Or did he follow his own steady course against the advice of his own father? Whatever the answer, his approach did result in peaceful years that earned him the love of his people. This was a leader who really did seem to care about the welfare of the lands entrusted to him. Taxes were reduced, an attempt was made to seek a balance between central power and public participation, and the States General of the Low Countries convened on a regular basis. The fact that its members did this on their own initiative was proof that mutual cohesion had improved, as did the desire to consult each other on a variety of issues. As accommodating as Philip may have been, he certainly was no puppet of regional tendencies. He reinstated the Mechelen Parlement, this time as the Great Council of Mechelen. It was something most minds finally seemed ready for. No one objected to a centrally located, super-regional court of appeals \u2013 an important psychological hurdle in the unification story.\n\nIt must have come as a breath of fresh air. Philip the Handsome gave the Low Countries the chance to develop independently by conducting a national Burgundian policy. He himself identified much more as the heir to the dynasty Philip the Bold had established than as a Habsburg. He didn't even work on mastering German, even though one day he would have to succeed his father. It was as if he sensed that history would decide otherwise, and that every effort in that regard was pointless. In the meantime, his father kept trying to make his opinion known, but to no avail. His son needed to look at the bigger picture.\n\nOn the day of the wedding, 20 October 1496, Philip felt like a fish in water. He had met his future spouse Joanna on the 19th, and immediately the erotic sparks began to fly. Legend has it that before anyone could stop them the two slipped away, accosted a priest in the street and compelled him to join them in matrimony then and there, after which they went to the Hof van Mechelen in Lier and surrendered to the mating call of an all-consuming love. As implausible as it may sound, this popular folk tale charmingly expresses the impression that most sources corroborate. The people of Lier and the invited guests couldn't help but notice the feverish longing in the eyes of Joanna of Aragon and Castile and of Philip of Burgundy and Habsburg. Only an exceptional leader could be born of a union like this one.\n\nThat being said, Philip the Handsome would soon delight other women with his virile potency. Ten years later that would lead to another implausible story, but this time a true one."
            },
            {
                "title": "'It Is Better To Destroy A Land Than Lose It'",
                "text": "In Lier, however, everything clicked between Philip and Joanna. Lier was able to wrap itself in an aura of peace and tranquillity. It was the festive confirmation of the calm that had returned to the Low Countries. On 20 October 1496, Lier really did rhyme with cheer, all the more so because the decade after the death of Philip's mother had been pure hell.\n\nAll Maximilian wanted to do was to integrate the Low Countries into the greater Holy Roman Empire. What did he care about the private demands of the burghers and the local nobility? Why should he respect the treaty with France, like some kind of pushover? No, he was still a real commander, a knight of the old school, cut from indestructible feudal cloth, the leader of a great empire \u2013 of course that helped. So he dreamed of getting his own back, not only with the unavoidable French but also with the States General of the Low Countries.\n\nAfter the death of Louis XI in 1483, France found itself saddled with a problem. The dauphin, Charles VIII, was only thirteen years old and barely ready to assume his responsibilities. Maximilian saw this as his chance to crush the French claim to the Burgundian inheritance once and for all. The King of the Romans emerged as a second Charles the Bold, a ruthless bully who would aim his arrows at his own people as well as his foreign enemies, and who almost succeeded in levying more taxes than his late lamented predecessor. This resulted in years of executions, fines and violent raids.\n\nIs it any surprise that the greatest resistance took place in Ghent and Bruges? To begin with, the Ghentenars refused to turn over his son, Philip, still a little boy, to the more accommodating Brabant after the specified deadline had passed because they feared he would fall into his father's hands again. It wasn't until the summer of 1485, with the help of German troops, that Maximilian was finally able to embrace his son. The seven-year-old Philip was a bit apprehensive at the first sight of his father, who was armed to the teeth. Maximilian pressed the boy fondly against his armour and then sent him to Mechelen, where he was entrusted to the loving care of the indestructible Margaret of York. Her palace, part of which has been preserved, is now the beautiful Mechelen Theatre. She received her guests exactly where the theatregoers now sit.\n\nIn the meantime, the conflict with France continued to breed bad blood, especially in Flanders, which had traditionally maintained close ties with the kingdom and could be counted on to provide the lion's share of its war costs. To keep the resistance there from spreading unchecked into the rest of the Low Countries, Maximilian called a meeting of the States General in Bruges in late January 1488. It didn't work out as he had hoped. The level of frustration in the city was already high because of so much wasted tax money, but there was even more grumbling about the economic decline, the feeling that Bruges, the queen of the Burgundian cities, was gradually being dethroned by Antwerp.\n\nAs incomprehensible as it sounds, the brave Bruggians simply decided to take their governor prisoner. Since his election to the Imperial Diet of 1486, Maximilian had held the rank of king, but clearly that did not deter them. He was staying at Craenenburg, where he was put under house arrest. Guild militias stood guard. The fact that there was a spice shop on the ground floor of the building made it all the more painful. For three months, the royal courts of Europe didn't know what to make of the situation: should they refuse to believe it or suppress their laughter? Dignity was all-important to Maximilian, and there he was, locked up amid the poppy seeds, cinnamon, saffron and summer savoury. The humiliation could not have been more pungent.\n\nThe Bruggians, actively backed by the Ghentenars and passively by the rest of the Low Countries, issued clear demands: end the war with France, remove all Germans and Burgundians from public office, grant Ghent and Bruges a monopoly on textiles and allow self-government under Philip. In Flanders, a gold coin was even struck in Philip's name.\n\nWhen Maximilian stubbornly refused, the Bruggians came up with plan B. At the same spot on the Great Market where Mary had gone into raptures over the chivalrous bravura of her consort six years earlier, he was now forced to look on as his supporters were tortured and beheaded. By 12 May the King of the Romans had had enough, and he conceded on all fronts. The Bruggians responded by rushing in the relics of the Holy Blood, on which the prisoner was made to swear. Only then was Maximilian freed from the fragrance of cloves and cinnamon.\n\nNo sooner had he left the city than he reneged on his oath and began a devastating war with Flanders. Breaking his promise did not go down well. With an army of insurgents, Maximilian's old confidant Philip of Cleves was able to rally a large part of the Low Countries behind him. Only when Emperor Frederick III sent troops to his son could Maximilian retake his cities in Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland. The county of Flanders was dealt the most blows.\n\nAfter years of bloodshed, the civil war came to an end in 1492. Not much later Emperor Frederick died, Maximilian took the throne, and he never showed his face again in the Low Countries except once. Even the marriage of his heir could not entice him to return, although for him that was the pinnacle in a series of negotiations that were as long as they were important."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 159",
                "text": "The system of channels that connected Bruges with the outer harbours of Damme and Sluis was silting up badly, and in recent decades it was becoming more and more difficult for big ships to unload their cargo. Invariably, the cargo had to be trans-shipped on smaller boats, and these in turn had to struggle with a steadily decreasing flow. The Zwin \u2013 the inlet that had formed after a major storm in 1134 \u2013 had clogged up and the silting was an unstoppable phenomenon. The seawater that had difficulty flowing inland during high tide had even more trouble flowing back when the tide was out. The remaining tidal channels, pitiful as they were, could hardly be regarded as reliable shipping lanes.\n\nThis process had been going on for quite some time, and Bruges had spent a fortune dredging its canals. It was an approach that had been paying off, not only because the city had sufficient funds available but also because Antwerp continued to be difficult to reach by way of the Western Scheldt, which was blessed with countless sandbanks. The great floods that occurred at the end of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth centuries changed all that. The extension of the Scheldt became navigable for seagoing ships, which were increasing in size.\n\nWhat had long been set in motion by nature would now reach its definite conclusion because of current political events. After his triumph, Maximilian took revenge through executions, exorbitant fines and withdrawal of privileges, and from then on the cities of Flanders would be kept on a short leash. Three-quarters of the landed estates around Ghent lay fallow, countless villages had become ghost towns. The Bruges harbour had been blockaded for years because of the war, the textile trade had practically come to a standstill and the city coffers were empty on account of the heavy fines. As ultimate retaliation, Maximilian called on international traders to leave the city and settle in Antwerp, in the old duchy of Brabant, which dealt a death blow to Bruges. The Brabantians had remained loyal to the archduke. They had refused to draw the French card, which certainly didn't do them any harm. The merchants, opportunists that they were, opted for the safety of Antwerp, which seemed to have the wind in its sails.\n\n'There is really no part of the world whose finest products cannot be found here,' the Cordoban traveller Pero Tafur wrote back in 1438, but those great riches evaporated into thin air. The European quarter, within walking distance of the Great Market, with the consulates of Genoa, Florence, Venice, Catalonia, Portugal, Scotland and England, to name but a few, packed their bags and relocated to the city on the Scheldt. That put an end to the period in which Scandinavian wood was known everywhere as 'Flemish wood', only because so much of it was traded in Bruges.\n\nThe Bruges Kontor, the city's headquarters of the Hanseatic League, dug in its heels, but in 1500 even this international merchants' guild opted for the more spacious waters of Antwerp; the city's total demise seemed just a question of time. The Hanseatic League, in which almost two hundred north German trading cities were first represented, had been a privileged partner of Bruges since 1253, and it too would soon have to face the fact that its glory days were over. Antwerp, on the other hand, succeeded in connecting with the rising world power of Spain. Everything was shifting.\n\nThe demise was all the more spectacular when you realize that until 1480 Bruges was by far the richest city in the Low Countries. When it came to paying taxes, Bruges far surpassed Ghent, even in absolute terms, while that city had approximately 20,000 more residents. Even the money business, which will always be etymologically indebted to the inn in Bruges run by the Van der Beurze family, moved its headquarters. The people of Bruges could only look back with nostalgia to the time when magnates held sway. Dino Rapondi (moneylender to Philip the Bold and John the Fearless), Giovanni Arnolfini (financier to Philip the Good who was long seen as the man featured in the famous Arnolfini painting by Jan van Eyck) and Tommaso Portinari (sponsor of Charles the Bold, patron of Hugo van der Goes and Hans Memling) had all faded into spectres from the past.\n\nNot only that, but building a career as an artisan was easier in Antwerp. The influence of the guilds was not as great and you didn't have to stem from a line of master craftsmen to advance to the highest ranks, as you did in Bruges and Ghent. Artisans were glad they could escape the dynastic master's title by moving to the Brabant city. Businessmen, bankers and workmen poured in. Partly thanks to the Austrian Habsburg Maximilian, loyal Antwerp consigned the Flemish-Burgundian Bruges to political, financial and economic purgatory, although the city managed to prolong its death throes until around 1530.\n\nHidden behind that conspicuous change was an even greater transformation. The centre of gravity of the Low Countries shifted to Brabant in its entirety. The once so rich and powerful county of Flanders began its trek through the wilderness. 'It is better to destroy a land than lose it,' as Maximilian so tersely summarized the situation.\n\nThe final upheaval at the end of the fifteenth century was abrupt and spectacular, but Brabant had been trying to catch up for quite some time. If you look at the portion of the income of the Burgundian dukes that came from Flanders, you see that in 1445 it still amounted to one-third as opposed to barely 10 per cent for Brabant, and that by 1473 Brabant and Flanders each accounted for a quarter of the benevolences collected that year. Under the Burgundians, the volume of trade in the Low Countries \u2013 which was borne mainly by Flanders, Brabant, Holland and Zeeland (the rest being mainly agrarian areas) \u2013 almost doubled. The greatest recorded rise was once again in Brabant, owing especially to the yearly markets in Antwerp and Bergen-op-Zoom. This trend was also reflected in the population figures. Bruges would never exceed the 50,000 mark, while Antwerp confidently reached the magic border of 100,000 souls over the course of the sixteenth century.\n\nThe city on the Scheldt broadcast its success with a spectacular architectural symbol. It was the only city in the region to complete at least one tower of its monumental Gothic church \u2013 the tallest in Europe at 123 metres. Since its completion in 1521, the Antwerp Church of Our Lady (it didn't become a cathedral until 1559) has always been regarded as a climax of Brabant Gothic, as triumphant as it is breathtaking, and a veritable high point in the history of the Low Countries.\n\nIt was indisputable. The Low Countries had undergone an economic heart transplant. Scarcely one century later, the multiple bypass to Amsterdam would follow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 160",
                "text": "The man who witnessed Bruges's swansong first-hand was Hans Memling. Born in Seligenstadt, Memling learned to paint from Van der Weyden in Brussels and had the good fortune to catch the last golden period. Beginning in 1465 he worked mainly on commissions for foreign merchants and bankers, mostly rich Italian expatriates of the Tommaso Portinari sort. He had less contact with Burgundian rulers, although Anthony of Burgundy, whose 1463 portrait by Rogier van der Weyden is one of the most beautiful in the history of portraiture, turned to him after Van der Weyden's death. Perhaps Van der Weyden had alerted this most famous of Philip the Good's illegitimate sons to Memling's qualities.\n\nLike his contemporaries Van der Goes and Bouts, Memling continued the legacy of Van Eyck and Van der Weyden, but in his own way. His work is characterized by fewer paint layers, which were applied in flowing strokes and sweeps. Sometimes you can dimly detect the underlying drawing. Just when having your portrait painted was becoming fashionable, he would be the first to begin experimenting with portraits against a landscape backdrop. In that regard, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa (c.1503\u201319) is unmistakably indebted to Memling.\n\nYou don't immediately find references in his work to the turbulent Burgundian period that coincided with his career. All we know is that like every other affluent burgher, he had to contribute to Maximilian's unpopular campaign against France. Compared with the work of his predecessors, his oeuvre contains a surprisingly large number of shields, helmets, banners, flags and speech scrolls. And sometimes they afford us a glance behind the scenes. A striking example of this can be found in one of his most famous works, the Shrine of St Ursula, which he made in 1489 for the Hospital of St John in Bruges (where miraculously it remains on display). On the sixth panel he painted the martyrdom of Ursula. As legend has it, she was a Catholic martyr who was killed by Attila for refusing to marry the godless Hun. On the banner flapping in the background the attentive viewer can see the wing of a black eagle, an obvious nod to the coat of arms of the Holy Roman Empire. This small detail suggests that in the eyes of Memling, Maximilian was a devious ruler, at least the equivalent of the bloodthirsty Attila. With just a few brushstrokes, he shows the downfall of Bruges and the bankruptcy of Flanders as reflected in the martyrdom of St Ursula.\n\nThe fact that so many of Memling's paintings have survived \u2013 around a hundred panels \u2013 attests to his great popularity. But even he fell on hard times after the collapse of the Bruges economy. At his death in 1494, the famous grand master lacked the means to have himself buried in the Church of St Giles, as every member of the better Bruges circles usually did at that time. Memling ended up in the public cemetery as an ordinary mortal.\n\nIn the year of Memling's death, King Charles VIII of France crossed the Alps on the way to Italy and his well-to-do city-states. Another very telling event. Here, too, the devastated Flanders, which had fought itself to death, was forced to stand back and watch. In the coming decades, the French king, the German emperor and the new superpower Spain would compete against each other in Italy. After all, there were fortunes to be made!\n\nAnd in sixty years' time they would ruin the prosperity of the cities there as well."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Anno 1496 Philippus Pulcher Lyrae, In Collegiali Sancti Gummari\u2026'",
                "text": "Maximilian's son, Philip the Handsome, who thought he deserved the label 'the Good' far more than his illustrious great-grandfather, was not interested in following suit. The heir to the throne only had eyes for the Low Countries. To rectify the situation, Maximilian sought inspiration from Philip the Bold. Hadn't he united his two oldest children with the House of Bavaria in a double wedding, thereby laying the basis for a successful dynasty? What if he now did the same: offer Philip and Margaret to the royal house that had made so much spectacular progress in recent years?\n\nAnd so he let his gaze fall upon Spain, where Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon had placed the entire Iberian peninsula under their rule, with the exception of Portugal. They even succeeded in recapturing the last small portion of their land from the Moors in 1492. Charles Martel, who had halted the advance of the Moors at Poitiers in 732 and driven the heretics back across the Pyrenees, must have danced in his grave with joy. As if that triumph wasn't enough, the end of this Reconquista just so happened to coincide with the beginning of the new Conquista, for the eccentric Christopher Columbus sent out by Ferdinand and Isabella would discover America that same year. Finally, the Spanish had access to their own land \u2013 and to the whole New World as well.\n\nMaximilian sensed that now was the time to act, at the beginning of the Spanish success story, so he offered his two children, Philip and Margaret, to the Catholic Monarchs. Ferdinand and Isabella had earned this honorary title by virtue of their struggle against the Muslims, but also because they intended to propagate the true faith on the other side of the ocean.\n\nThey jumped at the opportunity. Who would be foolish enough to scorn the coveted Burgundian-Habsburg legacy? Maximilian could rub his hands with glee. He had found the perfect partner to defeat the French, for the Spanish were just as much at loggerheads with Charles VIII as he was. Now his son had no choice but to make his international political contribution, or so he thought.\n\nThe double wedding occurred in two acts. Margaret would be married to John of Asturias, the heir to the Spanish throne, on 3 April 1497 in Burgos. But first it was Philip's turn. On 20 October 1496 he was wed to Joanna of Castile, the third child and second daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella.\n\nThe attentive reader will no doubt remember that as a young girl, Margaret had been destined to become the Queen of France \u2013 a marital plan that was intended to serve as a guarantee for peace. 'I, Marguerite, the most beautiful of flowers, blossomed in the French court, where I would grow to be as great as the French fleur-de-lis' were the words to a song by master composer Pierre de la Rue, already a great name in Flemish polyphony, who, in the best Burgundian tradition, would build his career at court. Even Josquin des Prez wrote compositions for Philip and Margaret. Like their grandfather, they attached great importance to the high standards of the court chapel.\n\nSo how did poor Margaret, who was being pushed like a pawn around the chessboard of her father's dreams, end up in a Spanish bed? Again, it all had to do with her progenitor's growing anti-French attitude, which expressed itself in his determination to marry Margaret to the Spanish heir, much to her distress. What followed was like a scene from a whimsical melodrama, albeit with international repercussions.\n\nTo play a nasty trick on the infernal Maximilian, Charles VIII decided to marry the Duchess of Brittany, the woman whom the King of the Romans himself had finally chosen as his own new consort. It was a move that rivalled his spicy imprisonment in Craenenburg. Not only did Charles VIII win over Maximilian's future bride, but he also rejected his daughter, Margaret, with whom he had been expected to probe the delights of marriage. More than ever, the Austrian was bent on revenge.\n\nTo start off with, he managed to snag the fabulously rich Bianca Sforza, who reportedly was neither big on brains nor especially good-looking. She was the daughter of Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan, who was murdered in 1476, and niece of the later duke Ludovico Sforza, who acted as patron for Leonardo da Vinci in his free time. With Bianca at his side, he went to Maastricht to embrace his fourteen-year-old daughter. It was the first time he had seen her since she had been taken to live in Amboise at the age of two. Unlike her brother, Philip, she got on well with her father. The great rejection had made her cynical, so she was a better interlocutor than Philip.\n\nNow that he had his two children under his care, Maximilian could start planning the spectacular double wedding. Brother and sister were split up again. The distance between Lier and Burgos was no less than 1,300 kilometres as the crow flies."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 162",
                "text": "Ever since 1369, Lier had been blessed with one of the most elegant bell towers in the Low Countries. This slender spike of stone is still the highlight of the charming Great Market. Bell towers as such were rather exceptional in Brabant; they were much more common in Flanders. This has to do with a greater measure of participatory decision-making. In Flanders, when the count granted a city its charter, it was almost obligatory to seal it with the erection of a bell tower, while the duke gave the Brabantians more freedom. They could do whatever they liked. Often a monumental church served as a bell tower. The small city of Lier, which lay right between Antwerp and Mechelen, must have seen the building of a bell tower as an expression of resolute self-confidence.\n\nLier had gained a measure of wealth through the textile industry. It was considered the gateway to the Campine, where thousands of sheep grazed on an almost endless expanse of heather. While Flanders depended on wool from England, the people of Lier kept their looms busy with the wool from animals they heard bleating in the distance. Over time, they would also switch to the better quality product from England and Scotland. When the Lier textile business went through a rough patch in the second half of the fifteenth century, the city succeeded in transitioning to beer brewing by imitating the successful Holland hops beer. In 1436, a delegate was even sent from Leuven 'to learn the method used there of brewing from hops'. For centuries, Lier would be known as the city of beer. By around 1700 more than twenty breweries had set up shop in the city centre. The last closed its doors in 1967.\n\nToday, the city's residents proudly call themselves 'Sheep Heads' (Schappenkoppen), which they even use as the city logo. Remarkably, that nickname has nothing to do with the textile industry but with the fact that, according to legend, the people of Lier preferred the pleasures of livestock to those of the intellect. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, Duke John II, who was grateful to them for their support during his struggle with Mechelen, offered them a choice: a livestock market or a university. When they chose the first, the duke allegedly sighed and said, 'O, those sheep heads!' But as it turned out, it wasn't such a bad choice after all. For a long time, Lier was the only city for miles around that had the right to organize a livestock market.\n\nThere isn't a scrap of historical evidence to prove the veracity of this story \u2013 although the privilege actually was granted in 1309 \u2013 but the people of Lier still get a kick out of saying that if they had opted for the university back then, the Leuven Alma Mater would be located in Lier today. You get the impression that any historical importance this lovely Brabant town can lay claim to depends on a mountain of legend. But all you need to do to discover a true Lier story of the first order, now quite forgotten, is to travel back in time to 20 October 1496."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 163",
                "text": "'Anno 1496 Philippus Pulcher Lyrae, in collegiali Sancti Gummari, solemniter ducit Johannam.' You can still read these words in the archive of the St Gummarus Church, and that's exactly what happened. Philip the Handsome did indeed receive the sacrament of marriage with Joanna in the collegiate church in question.\n\nThe fact that the wedding did not take place in Ghent or Bruges is no more than natural, in view of the events. But in Lier, a modest town with a total population of 5,000 'Sheep Heads'? Why not in Antwerp? Perhaps there was a desire not to arouse jealousy and frustration by granting such a high honour to a successful metropolis in the making. But why not a large city in Holland? There were relatively fewer courtiers and knights from the northern regions in Philip's household, so any argument in favour of a 'Holland' marriage had little going for it. In addition, the nobility there were extremely divided because of the resurgence of animosity between the Hooks and the Cods. How about Mechelen then, the capital city? Mechelen had already had its share of fun. That was where Margaret had been married without her John in attendance, stretched out on a bed with the marital proxy Don Francisco de Rojas, who was said to have left one leg exposed. That was understood to count as the symbolic celebration of the marriage. The nuptials having been settled, the real feast could now take place in Spain.\n\nBut first on to Lier, as surprising as it was modest. The people of Lier today still wonder to what they owed this honour. Lier and Antwerp were the only cities in Brabant that had taken Maximilian's side during the civil war, which already put them in the top drawer of the archduke's administration. It was rumoured that the family of the preacher Henry of Bergen had had many connections in Lier. But the key to the actual situation lay with Margaret of York. Her preference was the deciding factor.\n\nThe church where the vows would be exchanged was dedicated to St Gummarus, the saint who had drawn the widow of Charles the Bold to the town in 1475. Two years later she even took part in the local Gummarus Procession, touching his relics repeatedly and with great emotion. Why so much zeal? St Gummarus, who once miraculously succeeded in rejoining the two parts of a felled oak, was invoked for all sorts of fractures, small, large, double, even triple\u2026 He was also said to heal not only broken legs but also broken marriages. This explains the devotion of Margaret, who was unhappily married to Charles and suffered greatly from it. So she begged various legendary figures for help, from the knight Tondal to St Gummarus, gentlemen who symbolized reunion and reconciliation. As a deeply devout grandmother, she wanted to show her grandson the way to a marriage more successful than her own.\n\nOn 20 October, the town of Lier was packed. One of the bridges over the Nete couldn't bear the weight of the teeming throng and collapsed. A few unfortunate locals were drowned in the Nete's torrential waters, a tragic human sacrifice on the altar of the betrothed. The feast went on as planned.\n\nThe local dramatic societies performed their burlesques with fervour, the tradesmen made impressive torches and fires. The butchers did their work with extraordinary skill, and each was rewarded with a castrated ram. The double beer and Rhenish flowed in rivers. The well-lubricated voices burst forth in song. It was certainly a festive occasion, at least for the Austrian Habsburgs and the Catholic Spanish. But by Burgundian standards it was a sober affair, especially when compared with the exuberant feasts of Philip the Good and Charles the Bold.\n\nThe involvement of the public was so great that a huge number of people stationed themselves at the Hof van Mechelen, where the newly-weds would spend their first night. Could anything be heard? Was the marriage being appropriately celebrated in the bedroom as well? That was one thing that the people of Lier and Margaret of York didn't have to worry about. The marriage would produce six children. 'Potens in terra erit semen eorum.' During the Solemn Mass, Henry of Bergen read aloud from the Book of Psalms, for which his secretary Erasmus would later provide detailed commentary: 'His descendants will be mighty in the land.'\n\nSt Gummarus may have provided a fruitful marital union, but apart from that there was little joy. Although the two beamed like giggly teenagers on 20 October 1496, the hormonal excitement on Philip's side would soon dissipate, while Joanna developed a morbid love for her husband. Add to that adultery and jealousy and you end up with the wrong sparks.\n\nBut in Lier everything was glorious. The eighteen-year-old Philip looked to the future with a broad grin on his face. As Duke of Burgundy (for that is how he saw himself), he hoped to serve as lord of the Low Countries for many years to come. If his father was blessed with a great age, he'd be able to run things here for a long time to come. His sister, Margaret, was destined to become the new Queen of Spain, but that would have little impact on the House of the Burgundian-Habsburgs. His union with the third child of Ferdinand and Isabella would not disrupt his life as governor of the Low Countries in any way.\n\nExcept that's not how things turned out, not by a long shot. Due to circumstances, the modest Lier wedding was destined to become the most important dynastic coupling of the millennium. It was as if Old Europe had had an appointment in the St Gummarus Church with its modern alter ego.\n\n\u2002'Potens in terra erit semen eorum.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "THE LAST BURGUNDIAN",
                "text": "\u2002'Emperor Charles moans like Mary of Burgundy's toothache. His father Philip the Handsome is lying in his coffin, waiting in vain for Joanna the Mad. She no longer kisses him on his foul-smelling mouth. She reads Lorca by the dark cypresses.'\n\n\u2014Peter Holvoet-Hanssen, from: 'Inferno IX', Dwangbuis van Houdini, 1998\n\nOr how the conclusion and resolution of this long story converge in a man who rules over an empire on which the sun never sets.\n\nTwenty years later, Maximilian went to the Low Countries for the last time. He did not travel alone but in the company of his grandson Charles. On 24 January 1516, the two attended a Solemn Mass at the St Gummarus Church in Lier. Charles's thoughts must have turned to his parents, who were married there two decades earlier. For the first time, he found himself standing on the spot that was so closely connected to his birth and his existence. Perhaps he asked himself what was supposed to happen now. Destiny had shuffled the cards so thoroughly over the past years that it must have left the almost sixteen-year-old Charles reeling.\n\nThe people in attendance watched as the two bowed before the choir, which had just been completed. Gleaming there, as a finishing touch, were the five imposing stained-glass windows that were consecrated on this occasion and remain the pride of the church five hundred years later. The windows depicted the House of Burgundy-Habsburg in all its glory. In the centre was the fifty-six-year-old Emperor Maximilian of Austria himself; at his side was Mary of Burgundy, who had died more than thirty years earlier and had long been replaced in the marital bed by someone else. The old pair now symbolized the merging of two illustrious dynasties. Their children, Philip and Margaret, were pictured as well, of course, as were their grandchildren Ferdinand and especially Charles, on whom all eyes were focused.\n\nHis grandfather Maximilian looked exhausted. After the civil war in the Low Countries he had devoted himself to a reformation of the Holy Roman Empire, to fighting the French over northern Italy, and, thanks to another double wedding, to ensuring that both Hungary and Bohemia would soon become part of the Empire as well. His best years were clearly behind him. Charles, who knelt beside him and gazed at the stained-glass windows, possessed at least one quality that the emperor lacked: he was young. Otherwise, he certainly was not bursting with vitality and energy. His movements were slow, his face pale, and when he opened his mouth he could barely make himself understood. That had to do with his exceptionally large jaw, which was even more impressive than Maximilian's. And on top of all that, he was blessed with a gaping mouth. Later on, Charles would camouflage those defects by growing a manly, curling beard and dressing like a Roman ruler, but in 1516 he was still a long-haired but beardless Habsburg, of average height and skinny as a rail.\n\nThe objective observer noticed two important absentees. Where were Charles's parents? Philip the Handsome had died unexpectedly in 1506 of complications of pneumonia, barely twenty-eight years old. Unlike her faithless husband, Joanna was always as much in love as she was on the day of their nuptials in Lier. Her legendary jealousy led to terrible scenes, but during the ten days he spent at his sickbed she finally had Philip entirely to herself. She was extravagant in her care and affection. The grief that overtook Joanna when he died was so great that she surrendered to the madness that had revealed itself to her in occasional flashes earlier in her life. She wandered through Castile in the company of her husband's coffin, repeatedly ordering the servants to open it so she could speak to him. She also lit a whole shipload of candles, which twice resulted in a fire. Philip's mortal remains came within an inch of incineration. Charles's mother fiercely resisted his father's. She wanted to have her husband with her forever. Consumed with adoration, obsessed, distraught and heavily pregnant to boot, Joanna gave birth to her daughter Catherine and was finally able to let her husband go. Joanna the Mad would spend the rest of her days under lock and key, and not until half a century later would she depart this life, deeply depressed.\n\n'My God, why hast thou forsaken me?' cried Maximilian when he heard the news of Philip's death. Doubtless Charles must have thought the same thing. His father dead, his mother mentally ill, he the oldest son and uncontested heir to the throne. He was scarcely six years old when all this befell him. His aunt Margaret of Austria would serve as regent for ten years and rule over the Low Countries. This enabled Charles to calmly prepare himself for what was unquestionably the most extensive job description of the century. For it wasn't only the Holy Roman Empire and the Low Countries that awaited him. Other even more important possessions had unexpectedly fallen to him. Charles's Joyous Entry as Duke of Brabant is still celebrated in Lier, but that was a mere trifle beside all the other titles.\n\nHis aunt Margaret, as part of the double wedding in Burgos, married the Spanish heir to the throne John of Asturias, who died unexpectedly in 1497. The shock of John's death caused the pregnant Margaret to miscarry. One year later, John's eldest sister Isabella died, and in July 1500 her son, Miguel, the boy who had become the new crown prince following all the previous deaths, also passed away. As improbable as it may seem, the situation at the dawn of the sixteenth century was none other than this: Joanna became the heir to the Spanish throne and Philip the Handsome, great-grandson of Philip the Good, could prepare himself to assume the title of king. When this realization filtered down to them, the two were still calmly ruling the Low Countries and had just become the proud parents of Charles. Margaret of York, the old widow of Charles the Bold, after whom the infant was named, had carried him to the baptismal font. Six months after his birth, it was certain that if this baby grew to healthy adulthood he would one day rule over an immense empire. The fact that his father died young and his mother was muddling along in a state of insanity meant that the moment arrived sooner than anyone could have wished for.\n\nAll these accidents of history must have run through Charles's head over and over again on 24 January 1516. The rise of the Habsburgs under Frederick III was only really achieved by his grandfather Maximilian. The Low Countries had finally taken shape under Philip the Good, and now Spain, united by his maternal grandparents Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, as well as its vast overseas possessions, had fallen into his lap. His mentally incapacitated mother may well have been titular queen, but in reality he would have to do all the ruling there as well. He could only hope that his grandfather Maximilian would live a bit longer.\n\nBut that hope was soon dashed. Barely three years after his journey to Lier, the bone-weary Maximilian also died. Charles let himself be elected King of the Romans and then was anointed Holy Roman Emperor, and the dynastic lineages and unified possessions of several royal houses converged in a way that was unprecedented. Charles inherited the harvest of countless battles, reforms and political marriages. He was the symbol of what the elite of the European aristocracy had accomplished over the last hundred years.\n\nIt was just then that the continent was confronted by two phenomena that would profoundly influence the future: the emergence of a colonial empire and the eruption of the Reformation. Columbus had died in 1506, but the empire on the other side of the ocean was still very much alive. Charles would carry on a pointless struggle with his own colonists, who trampled the rights of the natives underfoot in the most lamentable way. With great sorrow, the Christian monarch was forced to witness endless debates over whether the savages had souls or not. On the other hand, the Conquista provided Spain with both prestige and vast stores of silver. This made it possible for Charles to finance the relentless wars that were triggered by the political and religious upheavals in Europe.\n\nIn 1517 Luther did not nail his ninety-five theses on the abuses in the church to the Wittenberg church door \u2013 a legend of major proportions \u2013 but he did send them to the Bishop of Brandenburg and Archbishop Albert of Mainz. Luther's ideas were initially intended to provoke a discussion within the confines of the church hierarchy, but thanks to the invention of the printing press they soon spread like wildfire. As if that were not enough, King Francis I of France would be a thorn in Charles's side for the rest of his life, and the Turks, who had dealt his forefather John the Fearless such a merciless blow in 1396, were making deep and terrifying inroads into Europe.\n\nCharles V would have to have been a demi-god to manage all this successfully. But the future of Europe lay in the hands of a twenty-year-old youth who was blessed with a delicate constitution and a mediocre intelligence."
            },
            {
                "title": "'My Heart Has Always Been Hither'",
                "text": "Half a century after Charles's death, the Italian Girolamo Fabrizi reported that he spoke several languages effortlessly and always made the appropriate choice: 'in Spanish to God, in Italian to courtiers, in French to women and in Dutch [Nederduits] to horses'. It is generally assumed that in this context the reference is to Middle Dutch and not German, although as emperor he certainly must have spoken the language of his grandfather Maximilian. Owing to the conquest of Milan, Lombardy, Naples, Sicily and Sardinia, he felt obliged to utter a few words of Italian every now and then. So it's not surprising that a much-quoted defence of multilingualism is often attributed to him: 'The more languages you speak, the more human you are.' The fact that several languages converged in the figure of Charles V corresponds nicely with the historic reality in the Low Countries, namely that the linguistic situation there at the start of the modern era was varied in shape and form: French was the language of the Walloon regions and a large portion of the elite, Spanish would soon be the language of those in command, and Dutch that of the remaining inhabitants.\n\nWhatever his reflections in Lier on that day in 1516, they would have been in French. Although he had been surrounded by Spanish-and Dutch-speaking teachers from an early age, he continued to correspond with his sister in French until his last breath. It was not his mother's language yet it was his mother tongue, and it was also the language of the elite in the Southern Netherlands, thanks to the Burgundians. The importance of French also meant that the Burgundian influence in the north, where the upper echelon barely spoke that language, would always be less prevalent. Later on in Belgium, French would retain its privileged position until well into the twentieth century.\n\nNot only did the emperor speak the language of his Burgundian ancestors, but he also regarded himself as one of them. His most important titles may have been King Charles I of Spain and Emperor Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire, but he was equally comfortable with Charles II of Burgundy. Although the old duchy had become part of France again in 1477, the emperor-king insisted on being called the Duke of Burgundy as well. He would be the last descendant of Philip the Bold to lay claim to that title, and it was not a matter of gratuitous vanity.\n\nAfter the death of her third husband, Margaret of Austria had not only become the governor of the Low Countries but she was also given custody of the children of her brother, Philip. At the beginning of the sixteenth century she began building a large collection of Late Medieval masters, painters who had been able to develop exponentially thanks to the Burgundian patronage of her forefathers. Her nephew Charles was witness to her collector's passion. He had been raised with the idea of a rich Burgundian culture and it would never vanish from his thoughts.\n\nCharles grew up in Mechelen and would find it difficult to thrive in the rigidity of Catholic Spain. During his first years, the 'Burgundians', as they were called, were the objects of outright hatred on the Iberian peninsula. When Charles made his Joyous Entry he treated the Spanish aristocracy to an old-fashioned jousting tournament with all the concomitant Burgundian pageantry. It did not go down well. What ostentation! The Spanish had long questioned the point of such spectacles. Their knights, who had no time for frivolous displays, were mainly interested in rolling up their sleeves and getting to work. They owed their success to that attitude: driving the last of the Moors from Granada in 1492, making one colonial conquest after another, which now demanded all their attention. The new king would do well to keep that in mind, and he could start by learning Spanish.\n\nThere it was again: a leader should speak the language of his people. This reproach had prompted Philip the Bold to have his son John the Fearless learn Dutch. John's offspring would do the same. When Maximilian came along, the Low Countries were saddled once again with a leader who did not understand their language, which only made the conflicts more corrosive. Now it was Charles's turn to be given a linguistic dressing-down. The experience of his ancestors taught him that he had best acquire Spanish as quickly and as fluently as possible \u2013 the lessons from his youth were far from sufficient. But beneath the thin layer of Spanish that gilded his kingship was his old identity, stubbornly holding on.\n\nWhen he turned forty, Charles ordered a Castilian translation of Le chevalier d\u00e9lib\u00e9r\u00e9 (The Confident Knight), an allegorical tale of chivalry that the former Burgundian court chronicler Olivier de la Marche had written in 1483. This was the dream world that the emperor loved to inhabit. Just as his forefather Philip the Good had done with the brother of the English king, he would challenge King Francis I of France to a duel with all the necessary bombast. He'd even do it twice. The fact was that in his heart of hearts Charles would always remain a Burgundian knight.\n\nEver since the redistribution of Charlemagne's legacy and the downfall of the Middle Kingdom in the ninth century, the border between the kingdom of France and the Holy Roman Empire, the dividing line between what would later be France and Germany, seemed destined to last forever. Yet the Burgundians succeeded in building a state that incorporated principalities from both sides of that border. Once the unification had taken place, however, and Charles the Bold was killed, the French reclaimed Burgundy and the Habsburg Netherlands made no effort to keep the old duchy on board, as if the catalyst that had caused a chemical reaction and created a new compound was then being rejected. Even Charles V was unable to rectify the situation.\n\nYet the emperor did dream of retaking the old duchy from the French so he could be interred in the ancestral vault at Champmol, beside Philip the Bold, John the Fearless and Philip the Good, in the shadow of masterpieces by Sluter, Broederlam and Maelwael. In 1526 he had the return of the duchy included as an unconditional demand in the Treaty of Madrid that he signed with France. That wish was sacred to him, but as a statesman he realized that apart from his nostalgia there were no conceivable economic or political reasons to invest anything in such a recapture.\n\nIn the end, two women would succeed in bringing about a temporary peace between France and the Holy Roman Empire. In 1529, Louise of Savoy, the mother of Francis I, and Margaret of Austria, the aunt of Charles V, agreed that it was time for all parties to lay down their arms and that the Burgundian duchy would go to France once and for all. It was a fine example of realpolitik, for it must have grieved Charles and Margaret, who both had Burgundian souls, to give up the old tribal ground in exchange for international stability.\n\nNow that the stunningly beautiful tombs of Champmol were in the hands of the enemy, the emperor made every effort to transfer the remains of his late lamented great-grandfather Charles the Bold from Nancy to Bruges. In 1550 he finally pulled it off. Three years later the remains were united with those of Charles's grandmother Mary of Burgundy in Bruges's Church of Our Lady. The fact that we have these two bronze tombs to admire is owing to the perseverance of Charles V. We've forgotten that when the bronze monuments were gilded, poisonous vapours were released that cost the lives of several craftsmen. Here we are only interested in meditating on the collapse of the Burgundian empire. For its origins we have to go back to Dijon, where Sluter's pleurants are standing guard over the patriarch Philip the Bold and his son John the Fearless \u2013 the irony of fate being that Philip the Good, the one and only Grand Duke of the West, has to do without such an imposing tomb. In the best of all possible worlds, Charles would have had them all interred together. But the current situation still tells a lovely story: the time traveller makes his way from the south to the north, from the artistic bud to the unification of the Low Countries and finally to the decline of Burgundy.\n\nAfter the death of Margaret, Charles's sister Mary of Hungary ruled over the Low Countries on his behalf. Although the emperor had entrusted the task of governing to two women, he consulted with them the entire time and would make all the major decisions. Charles stayed in his native region on a regular basis. He saw the Burgundian Netherlands as his true fatherland. 'My heart has always been hither,' he said in an address to the States General in Brussels in 1520. Hither \u2013 herwaarts \u2013 here. What a difference between him and his son Philip II, who scarcely showed his face in the north. As a Spanish prince, he had no emotional or linguistic tie with what for him were merely conquered lands, let alone with the idea of Burgundy, which in his eyes had been pulverized to oblivion and had meant so much to his father. It was partly this lack of empathy and historical awareness that made it possible for Lutheranism to grow into such a fatally divisive element in the Low Countries. After the split between north and south, only the Southern Netherlands bore the unique Roman-German double identity that later on, through the work of historians such as Henri Pirenne, would earn Belgium the designation 'crossroads of Europe'."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Belgium, Netherlands And Flanders'",
                "text": "Burgundy may have been lost, but Charles did all he could to get the Low Countries into Habsburg hands. He conquered the Sticht Utrecht and the Oversticht, brought Guelders (seized by Charles the Bold at an earlier date) back into the Netherlandish fold, and even subjugated areas like Groningen and Friesland that had never been ruled by the Burgundians. From 1543 on he had all the Low Countries in his possession, with the exception of the prince-bishopric of Li\u00e8ge, which was as good as autonomous. In another effort to relive the past, he renamed the Habsburg Netherlands the Burgundian Circle, which also included the Franche-Comt\u00e9, the county that had been part of Burgundy since the time of Philip the Bold but was now floating at a distance like an alien satellite.\n\nThe 'Seventeen Provinces' were complete. Recent research has shown that this term, which in historical records is usually uttered in one and the same breath along with Charles V, had actually been in use since Charles the Bold \u2013 proof that the commonality of the Low Countries had already given rise to one all-embracing title under the Burgundians. The use of the word 'province' was much better at conveying a sense of unity than, say, the 'Seventeen Principalities' would have done. On the other hand, the plural clearly indicates that the provinces always retained a measure of autonomy. The fact that the Franche-Comt\u00e9 was never included suggests once again that in practice this was strictly a northern union.\n\nOriginally, the Low Countries \u2013 the Netherlands \u2013 was purely a geographic concept: literally the lands on the lower reaches of the Meuse, the Rhine and the Scheldt. The term 'daz Niderlant' appeared in the Nibelungenlied, which was inspired by the experiences of the old Burgundians. There is also mention of the 'Niderlanden' in a fourteenth-century Limburg chronicle. And in a chronicle from the county of Holland, the anonymous author speaks of himself as having been born in 'de lagen landen bi de zee' \u2013 'the low countries by the sea'. Thanks to the Burgundians, this ancient geographical region also acquired national, political, monetary and juridical unity. They boosted this sense of commonality by organizing banquets and entries that were as consolidating as they were resplendent, by uniting the aristocratic upper crust in the Order of the Golden Fleece, and by commissioning historic chronicles. As mentioned earlier, this unity came about as a result of the continuous interplay between the dukes and the urban elite. It ensured that the existing trade relationships would increase and flourish.\n\nThe Burgundians usually spoke of 'the lands hither', which meant something like 'the lands here' \u2013 'here' being the place where Philip the Good spent most of his time, i.e. the north. The dukes themselves expressed this by means of the French variant, of course. So the rather exotic 'les pays de par de\u00e7\u00e0' can be regarded as the first official term used by a government to refer to the Low Countries, although it was only common within the Burgundian administration.\n\nSlightly confusing is the fact that at the end of the sixteenth century, Justus Lipsius labelled Duke Philip the Good 'Conditor Belgii'. This certainly did not mean that he saw him as the founder of Belgium, a country that didn't even exist yet, but of the Low Countries. This was Lipsius's nod to Caesar, who called the Belgae the bravest of all the Gauls. And where did those famous old Belgians live? Between the Seine and the Rhine. In imitation of Caesar, people began using the Latin term Belgium, and even the plural Belga, to refer to the Low Countries as a whole. When chronicler Gilbert Roy translated his Nederlandtscher Oorlogen, Troublen en Oproeren (The Netherlandish Wars, Troubles and Rebellions) of 1580 into French, he spoke of both 'le Pais belgique' and 'pays bas'. In around 1575, the Mechelen engraver Frans Hogenberg labelled his map of the Low Countries with four different names \u2013 in Latin, Italian, Dutch and French \u2013 which can therefore be regarded as synonyms: Belgium, Il paese basso, Niderlandt, le Pays Bas.\n\nInterestingly enough, 'Flandre(s)' was still the most commonly used term. Flanders emerged as a kind of all-encompassing entity associated with Bruges, the international hub, and also as an outpost of what lay beyond it\u2026 and was consequently applied to all the Low Countries. Thus Charles V's famous Capilla Flamenca consisted of musicians from every corner of the Low Countries. One Spanish author, writing in 1518, spoke of 'los Belgas vulgarmente llamados Flamencas', by which he meant that by and large the subjects from the Low Countries were called Flemings. Although the Brabantians had taken over the managerial role of the old county, no one used the label 'Brabant' when speaking of the Seventeen Provinces. A letter to governor Mary of Hungary written in 1543 was simply addressed to 'Flandres', yet it was delivered in good order to the addressee in Brussels, which had taken the place of Mechelen as 'capital of the Netherlands' after the death of Margaret of Austria. The sixteenth-century lexicographer Cornelis Kiliaen summarized this confusing question in this way: 'Belgium, commonly called the Netherlands, is also known as Flanders throughout practically all of Christendom, taking the part for the whole.'\n\nIn any case, the creation of 'the Seventeen Provinces' was an attempt to put an end to the terminological confusion, although another soon appeared to take its place. Actually, the whole never consisted of seventeen parts, no matter how many attempts were made over the centuries to put the puzzle together in this way. Seventeen was simply a biblical number that denoted a large empire, and such an impressive whole should always be united, at least according to Charles V. To reinforce that argument, he issued the Pragmatic Sanction of 1549 in which the right of succession was laid down for the Seventeen Provinces, which were forthwith to pass through history as one indivisible whole. Charles believed this would secure the future of the Low Countries within the Holy Roman Empire. Barely three decades later, however, the Low Countries would split into two parts: the Spanish Netherlands (from 1713 on, the Austrian Netherlands) and the Republic of the United Netherlands. In the south, power would be exercised by the central authority, in the north by the urban elites, while under the Burgundians the interaction between the two had worked quite well.\n\nEven after the division, terms such as Vlaenderen, Nederlandt and Pais Belgique would long be used interchangeably to stand for the whole. The Leo Belgicus is a cartographical convention widely known in the Low Countries in which the Seventeen Provinces are drawn in the shape of a lion. Between 1583 and 1800, approximately 120 different editions of the map were issued. For the official division in 1648, which in reality had been a fact since the fall of Antwerp in 1585, just two maps were made of the north alone, and only one of the south. The unity persisted in people's minds longer than the official dates suggest. The stubborn survival of the Leo Belgicus can even be seen as a symbol of the hope of a possible reunification.\n\nGradually, the words Olanda and Olandesi popped up in church documents in reference to the heretical empire in the north and its inhabitants \u2013 Holland as the synecdoche for the whole. In the eighteenth century, the Austrian court used the word 'Netherlands' when speaking of the Southern Netherlands as opposed to 'Holland' for the north. When the French invaded the south in 1792, they addressed the inhabitants in their broadsheets as 'Belges', which the inhabitants translated as 'Netherlanders'.\n\nAfter the temporary reunion under William I from 1815 to 1830 (when the Belgian Revolution took place), the French-speaking elite of the infant Belgium would narrow their use of the words Belgique and Belges to refer to the south alone, which not much later were translated back into Dutch as 'Belgi\u00eb' (Belgium) and 'Belgen' (Belgians). But it wasn't until the nineteenth century that the distinction finally emerged between Belgians/Belgium and the Dutch/the Netherlands, as we know it today (Dutch being the English translation of Nederlanders, which is how the Dutch refer to themselves). Yet it was then that the term 'Flemish Primitives' entered the lexicon, even though the painters in question were not all Flemings by any means: Dirk Bouts may have come from Haarlem, Gerard David from Oudewater near Gouda, Van Eyck from Maaseik and Van der Weyden from Tournai, but the magic of the pars pro toto 'Flanders' did not vanish overnight.\n\nIn the 1840s, the connotations of 'primitive' were not necessarily negative. 'Primitive' also suggested 'purity' and 'Christian tenderness'. Originally, the word was used in relation to the art of Fra Angelico and other early Italian painters. To specify northern painters, the general adjective 'Flemish' was attached to it. The real breakthrough in this designation came in 1902, when almost four hundred works by the Late Medieval painters from the northern regions were brought together in the great retrospective Les primitifs flamands in Bruges. The lasting impression that it made on Johan Huizinga can probably be regarded as the creative germ for his world-famous Autumntide of the Middle Ages (1919/2020). Originally called The Century of Burgundy, its point of departure was 'the need to gain a better understanding of the art of the Van Eycks and their followers'."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 167",
                "text": "The split that occurred after 1585 seemed to lend plausibility to the idea that the resulting breach was a logical border, which it wasn't. There had never been a sharp distinction between north and south in the Burgundian and Habsburg Netherlands. The 'national' feeling actually originated in the heart of the Low Countries, in the core regions of Flanders-Brabant-Holland-Zeeland, where the elite built a mainly urban network and, stimulated by the dukes, an early form of global thinking emerged.\n\nThat evolution was also fuelled by the struggle with common enemies, first the French and later the Spanish. When the armies of Louis XI advanced after the death of Charles the Bold, expressions like 'the common fatherland' emerged \u2013 'het gemeyne vaderlant' in Middle Dutch and 'patria' in Latin. A century later it was 'het verdruckte vaderlant', 'the oppressed fatherland'. These slogans could be heard mainly in the centre. The largely agrarian periphery felt that solidarity less strongly. The outskirts of the empire, from Friesland to Luxembourg via Overijssel, Guelders and Limburg, were more secluded and sent few representatives to the States General. When Joyous Entries were planned, the Burgundians focused mainly on the cities in the centre and far less, if ever, on those in the periphery. It was no different with the Habsburgs. They knew who they were dealing with: in 1473 the core regions were good for three-quarters of the taxes and benevolences; by 1548, that had risen to 80 per cent.\n\nAny logical division that may have existed ran along a west\u2013east line and not a north\u2013south line. The gap between north and south put an end to the socio-economic ties that had always existed. And there are more things that run counter to what is automatically assumed today. Who is aware that Protestantism first caught on in the south, that the uprising against Catholic Spain took root in the southern provinces, and that Flanders and Brabant also signed the Act of Abjuration (the Acte van Verlatinghe, or the declaration of independence of the Netherlands drawn up in 1581)? That remarkably enough, the south was long known as 'Nederland'? That 'Belgium' and even 'Flanders' were names applied to all the Low Countries? That in view of the economic and political shifts taking place at that time, a province with a name like Flemish Brabant would have sounded downright hilarious to a mortal from the Late Middle Ages?\n\nEven the fact that the Low Countries under Emperor Charles V were as good as complete is something we conclude from the perspective of the present day. Actually, he could just as well have added other eastern principalities from the Rhineland. After all, they were part of the Holy Roman Empire too. Hadn't the same dukes, or their relatives, ruled over J\u00fclich, Berg, Cleves and Mark? But after some hesitation, Charles drew the dividing line that later would become the eastern border of the Netherlands. A city like Duisberg might just as well be located in the Netherlands today, and Roermond in Germany. So in the end it was not only the north\u2013south gap but also the eastern border that severed relations people thought would last forever.\n\nThe historian Wim Blockmans is correct when he says that 'few prejudices are as strong as those that turn present-day states into unquestioned interpretative frameworks for historical developments'. It is tempting but misleading to look at the past from the distorted perspective of today, to think that the provisional ending we know down to the last detail was meant to be that way, let alone that it always was that way. But there is one thing we can soundly endorse as we reach our story's end: the national dimension of the Low Countries is a Burgundian project that was further developed by the Habsburgs and was torn in two by the conflicts of a divided religion, notably the response of Charles V and Philip II to those conflicts. Yet the chalk lines would long remain visible, and the idea would survive the centuries.\n\nIn 1815, Gijsbert Karel van Hogendorp was one of the framers of the constitution of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands. He himself witnessed the reunification of the Low Countries after the Battle of Waterloo as the rebirth of the Burgundian Netherlands. But a pragmatic sobriety also prevailed at that time that had little to do with the romantic evocation of a centuries-old story. The new unity would soon fall apart in 1830, the mayonnaise didn't hold, and no one felt the need to liberate the Burgundians from the dusty archives to justify an unstable union. Even the Orangists, traditionalists who supported the House of Orange in opposition to the more liberal Republicans, had little regard for the Seventeen Provinces; their main concerns were commercial. As mentioned earlier in this book, Belgian historians \u2013 with Pirenne leading the way \u2013 began searching for a foundation on which to base the new Belgian kingdom, and they held up Philip the Good as the Father of the Nation. In the Netherlands, Philip was regarded as the French-speaking opponent of urban liberty and was branded the man who had pointed the way to division a century before the Eighty Years War (1568\u20131648), when the Seventeen Provinces revolted against Philip II of Spain, but Spain was allowed by the Peace of M\u00fcnster to retain the southern Provinces.\n\nIn the 1930s 'Burgundy' cropped up again, this time within extreme right and Catholic circles. Admiration for the old dukes took on a nasty edge. In the darkest days of Belgian history, the fascist Rex leader and wartime collaborator L\u00e9on Degrelle bent over backwards to attract Hitler's attention and approval. Who knew, maybe the Nazi leader would appoint him as his successor? A fop and fantasist, Degrelle was given the name 'Modest I, duc de Bourgogne' by his legionnaires and fancied himself the descendant of Philip the Good. He was totally committed to resurrecting the empire of the Grand Duke of the West from its ashes and breathing new life into the splendour of the Golden Fleece. He adorned the banners of his Walloon Legion with the Burgundian cross and hung an enlarged version of that emblem on the wall of his home, as you can see in the TV interviews he gave at the end of his life in Franco's Spain. The General\u00edsimo had granted asylum to the 'F\u00fchrer of Bouillon'.\n\nThe Belgian fascist dreamed of 'a Middle Dutch ideal, inspired by the great Burgundy' and swooned nostalgically over the memory of the powerful Bruges and 'the studios of our Memlings, our Van Eycks'. He was convinced that the reunited Burgundian Netherlands could be an important partner of Nazi Germany. Why would a return of the great ducal empire \u2013 including the Somme towns! \u2013 be impossible to achieve? In any event, from the end of the 1930s Degrelle was ready to become the great leader of a Germanized Burgundia. Would he have known that the ancestors of his venerated Burgundians let themselves be Romanized voluntarily, that not only did they give up their Germanic language but proceeded to forget it for good? No matter how fanatical Degrelle was, his Burgundian balloon would never get off the ground.\n\nIn the early twentieth century, Pirenne and Huizinga breathed new life into Burgundian studies in a most impressive way. Partly thanks to such scholars as Richard Vaughan, Bertrand Schnerb, Walter Prevenier and Wim Blockmans, this research has flourished once again in recent decades, but their important efforts rarely extended beyond the circles of specialists or well-versed enthusiasts. Unexpected change may yet be in the offing, however. While concentrating on completing this book, I learned to my astonishment that two beautiful Burgundian 'lieux de m\u00e9moire' would soon be coming to Mechelen and Brussels, places of remembrance where a direct connection would be sought with the part of our cultural memory that I had been trying to unravel in my writing. The hope, of course, was that hundreds of thousands of tourists from all over the world would pour in to marvel at the Late Medieval grandeur, but to my knowledge it was the first time that millions of euros had been invested in drawing attention to the fact that Belgian history took root in the subsoil of the Burgundian Netherlands. Now that 'the' world would be making more inroads into 'our' world, wasn't it possible that, apart from any mercantile motives, a greater need would arise to grant more prominence to our little-known history?\n\nIn the summer of 2018, after an extensive restoration, the Hof van Busleydan in Mechelen was repurposed as a museum whose aim is to bring to light Mechelen's Burgundian-Habsburg past as well as that of the region in general, and to explore the significance of that history for today. At least as impressive is the brand-new Museum of the Royal Library of Belgium. In 2020, the entire Burgundian era \u2013 starting with the world-famous Library of the Dukes of Burgundy, a manuscript collection of breathtaking beauty \u2013 was placed on permanent display there. It is located in Brussels, right near the site of Coudenberg Palace, the place where Philip the Good spent countless hours and right on the very last route taken by Emperor Charles."
            },
            {
                "title": "'Magnificent And Luxurious'",
                "text": "In 1515 Desiderius Erasmus wrote a 'mirror for princes' for Charles, a vade mecum for the future leader, a moral and political talisman. 'He should then consider how desirable, how honourable, how wholesome a thing is peace; on the other hand, how calamitous as well as wicked a thing is war, and how even the most just of wars brings with it a train of evils \u2013 if indeed any war can really be called just.' Charles would carry these words with him all his life as a kind of compass. There was nothing he desired more than a general peace, as if a naive goodness was lodged somewhere within him.\n\nOn 25 October 1555, Charles V, groaning with gout, abdicated the throne in the great hall of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. In the place where Philip the Good had listened to the scabrous Cent nouvelles nouvelles a century earlier and had roared with laughter, his great-great-grandson bitterly took stock of his situation. That he had waged so many wars despite Erasmus's advice should not be held against him: it was always done against his will, and the blame lay with his enemies. Yet he asked the States General, with a quivering voice and tears in his eyes, to forgive him his faults. The members had never before seen such humility in so great a prince, and they must have granted their forgiveness with deep emotion.\n\nIt was not without resentment that Charles, influenced by dynastic tension within his own family, felt obliged to divide the immense empire into two parts. The Holy Roman Empire went to his brother Ferdinand, the patriarch of the Austrian branch. In Brussels, Charles transferred the rest of his power to his son, Philip, the future leader of the Spanish branch. Philip II managed to mangle four sentences of French in Brussels and then to give the floor to an advisor who was fluent in the language. The assembled guests were unanimous in their opinion: what a disgraceful performance! Immediately a fly in the ointment. In the meantime, the members looked on as their beloved, withered Charles found support on the sturdy shoulders of the mostly French-speaking William of Orange. In Brussels, this William was the man who kept the wavering emperor on his feet, but soon he would lead the Northern Netherlands in revolt.\n\nThe members had never seen a leader abandon power of his own free will. What a model of self-knowledge and sacrifice! Perhaps this is where the legend of the good Charles took root, a myth that in the Southern Netherlands would lead to countless folk tales in which the emperor is presented as a great man, someone who effortlessly fraternized with the common people, a bon vivant who never passed up a beautiful woman, a tasty meal or a cool pint. The fact that he was said to have breakfasted not only on eel pie but also on waterzooi \u2013 chicken and vegetables stewed in milk \u2013 was a source of great admiration. This Burgundian was a bourgondi\u00ebr \u2013 he really knew how to enjoy himself!\n\nThanks to their banquets, the dukes earned themselves an entry in the Van Dale Groot woordenboek van de Nederlandse taal, the OED of the Dutch language. Gourmands \u2013 be they Charles V or one's own father \u2013 are known as 'real burgundians' (with a lower-case 'b'). Naturally, Philip and his people must have profited from the riches of Flanders and the abundance of products that washed ashore in Bruges in order to live so extravagantly, but if they hadn't made such propagandistic works of art out of their feasts we would have had to come up with another word today to describe a preference for gastronomic pleasures.\n\nCharles's contemporary Pieter Brueghel the Elder, with his paintings of fairground scenes, zoomed in on the peasant component of the debauched character on which the average Belgian still prides himself centuries later. Charles de Coster depicted that soul of the south in 1867 with Lamme Goedzak and his 'Flemish fat, fed by battles, hard work and exhaustion'. And in 1968 Jacques Brel expanded on both these ideas when he sang 'between London and Berlin it smells like beer'. Although these three artists opted for an overwhelmingly plebeian interpretation, all of them were elaborating on the Burgundian ideal of the dukes, who so elegantly combined the elevated with the common, the pious with the overfed. It's the sensual contradiction with which the Southern Netherlands seems to correspond, at least in the imagination: 'burgundian' as the hot-blooded counterpart to 'Calvinistic', the adjective that would come to symbolize the north so acutely.\n\nOn the Market Square in the village of Olen there are three monumental jugs \u2013 actually, they're gigantic tankards \u2013 symbolizing the enduring love that the Southern Netherlands has for Emperor Charles, an affection that goes by way of the stomach. Charles visited the village three times. On his first visit he was offered a jug with a single handle, which the innkeeper held when serving it to him, so the emperor was forced to grasp the jug awkwardly with both hands. Shocking! On his next visit the emperor was given a jug with two handles, both of which the innkeeper managed to hold when offering it to his guest. Shocking again! But the good emperor deigned to return once more to visit his beloved subjects in Olen. The innkeeper was so terrified of committing another blunder that he succeeded in having a jug made with three handles, and he held only one of them when serving the emperor. The good-natured prince is said to have joked that the next time the poor man would have to come up with a jug with four handles. It is not known whether Charles ever paid another visit to Olen. Indeed, there is considerable doubt as to whether the emperor ever visited Olen at all. But his reputation was set. The legend of the three jugs has become part of the collective memory of Flanders.\n\nIn reality, Charles was not at all the affable fellow that legend makes him out to be. In 1540, when the Ghentenars refused to go on sponsoring his French wars, he crushed them in a way that would have put Philip the Good to shame. It sealed the city's fate: the old metropolis dwindled into a lethargic provincial town whose inhabitants would always be known as 'noose bearers' \u2013 stroppendragers \u2013 which is how the five hundred aldermen and guildsmen were forced to appear before him. He fought one war after another with France with an even heavier hand, always over the coveted north of Italy. With unfortunate obstinacy he responded to Luther and his followers in exactly the wrong way, leaving behind a totally divided church. He must have cursed himself more than once as the last emperor to be anointed by a pope, for the papal blessing obliged him to defend Catholicism with fire and sword. It was a burden he did not deal with very well. Charles was deeply religious but lacked theological training, and he lost himself in his own rigidity. But it was that Catholic stubbornness that would furnish him with an aura of Christian goodness after the successful passage of the Counter-Reformation through the south. That honour would be denied him in the Reformed north, although as the hapless warrior against Lutheranism and the father of the accursed Philip II he does belong to that region's canon of historical figures.\n\nWhen he finally passed away, exhausted by asthma, diabetes, haemorrhoids and the ever-present gout, it was 21 September 1558. Three months later, an impressive funeral procession passed through the streets of Brussels in honour of the emperor. From Coudenberg Palace to the Church of St Gudula, which was illuminated by 3,000 candles (and did not become a cathedral until the twentieth century), a huge crowd of spectators gathered behind the wooden barricades and stared in fascination. It was as if Olivier de la Marche had risen from the dead and turned the procession into a macabre counterpart to the Feast of the Pheasant.\n\nWe can read the 'magnificent and luxurious' details in the masterfully illustrated report La magnifique et sumptueuse pompe fun\u00e8bre (1558), printed by Christoffel Plantijn in Antwerp. There we see dignitaries still proudly wearing the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece 128 years after its founding in 1430. Philip the Good's order would survive the turbulent commotion of the centuries. Even today it remains an especially prestigious distinction for European aristocrats. The two former Belgian kings, Baudouin and Albert II, had the honour of calling themselves knights of the Golden Fleece, and Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands was also received into the order.\n\nThe pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance and direct counterpart to the whale that made such a splash at the wedding of Charles the Bold in 1468 was a parade float in the shape of an immense galleon. The vessel was apparently being drawn by two seahorses but was actually being dragged by two invisible men, like slaves in the belly of a ship \u2013 an unintentional symbol of what was happening to the indigenous peoples and the black slaves in the colonial empire. The colossus was decorated with flags from all of Charles's possessions, which included twenty-seven kings' crowns, thirteen duchies, twenty-two counties, a handful of seigniories and symbolic titles like 'King of Jerusalem'.\n\nAt the top of the mast was a crucifix. The identification of Charles with the Son of God was entirely consistent with how Philip the Good, at his Joyous Entry in Ghent in 1458, must have related to the Messiah enthroned in the living imitation of the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb (the Ghent Altarpiece). Behind the galleon were two elephant seals dragging the pillars of Hercules, antiquity's classical ending of the world, which was now consigned to the archives. Scores of banners bore Charles's French motto 'plus oultre', which left no room for doubt: ever further!\n\nThe splendour of the multicoloured decorations, banners, chasubles, caparisons and other saddle blankets stood in stark contrast with the black mourning attire of the guests. How different from the sombre cort\u00e8ge that had recently passed through the streets of Brussels. The tribute to the deceased Mary Tudor, second wife of Philip II, was shrouded in English restraint and Spanish austerity.\n\nSo the exuberant funeral procession of Emperor Charles V on 29 December 1558 seemed to communicate one great message: take a good look \u2013 the last Burgundian is being laid to rest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 169",
                "text": "It would have been a beautiful, somewhat romantic ending to this book, but the truth has its rights. After Charles V, countless Burgundians would pass through this life. The duchy still existed, after all; it was just reconnected to France. Ever since Richard the Justiciar defeated the Vikings at Chartres in 911 and was given the title of duke by the French king as a reward, Burgundy had belonged to the French crown. That situation was restored after the death of Charles the Bold.\n\nFrom now on, the rebel Burgundy would no longer play a significant role in French history. Like one of the many satellites that revolved around Paris, it was silently absorbed into the rigid centralism of the kingdom. Although the French are quite skilled at keeping their history alive, the memory of that unruly duchy has never been cultivated. Burgundy was given an unenviable position in the national narrative. Wasn't it true that the dukes had almost brought Eternal France to the brink of extinction? In 1789, the revolutionaries dealt with the matter by simply abolishing the 'G\u00e9n\u00e9ralite de Bourgogne', as the principality had been known in the French administrative records since 1542. In its place came the departments C\u00f4te d'Or (Dijon), Sa\u00f4ne-et-Loire (M\u00e2con), Yonne (Auxerre) and Ni\u00e8vre (Nevers).\n\nEven the casks of wine, the absolute pride of Burgundy, seemed to roll across the land with an unimaginative tedium. In the end, only folklorists showed any interest in the once so famous region. Then in the 1930s, the winegrowers decided enough was enough. They founded the Confr\u00e9rie des Chevaliers du Tastevin (Brotherhood of the Knights of the Wine-Tasting Cup) and began taking pride once more in the time-honoured tradition of good food and good wine. They had great success with their d\u00eeners-spectacles, dousing their coq-au-vin with the most delicious Burgundian crus in the extravagant style of the ducal banquets. They took their example from Philip the Good, and it worked. Busloads of connoisseurs and journalists descended on the old duchy and let themselves be pampered by experts.\n\nSuddenly, everybody remembered that in his later years, the Sun King, Louis XIV, had partaken of wine from Nuits-Saint-Georges as a sort of elixir. That Napoleon lugged bottles of Chambertin all the way to Egypt, Moscow and Waterloo. That the writer-revolutionary Alphonse de Lamartine, one of France's great literary figures and legendary presidential candidate, had written the following words to his Burgundian home base from the barricades in 1848: 'Care for and press my vintage in the three vineyards. [\u2026] Tell my winegrowers that I am with them in my thoughts. I am no poet. I am a great winegrower.' Nor could it have been accidental that the French hero Ardan from Jules Verne's novel Autour de la Lune (Around the Moon, 1870) uncorked a 'C\u00f4te de Nuits' during his space journey. If a Frenchman was making a successful moonshot, it would have to be celebrated with the appropriate wine.\n\nSuch anecdotes made everyone happy, especially potential customers. And that was only right, cried the Burgundians. Grapevines had been planted in the region around Dijon ever since the time of the Romans. After a Germanic people from the island of Bornholm, alias Burgundarholmr, settled here, the brew that would grow into the world's most famous wine acquired its name and was free to begin its success story as vin de bourgogne. King Gundobad had devoted several lines to it in his famous Lex Burgundionum (502). But the importance of Philip the Bold in particular cannot be underestimated. Not only did he promote the Pinot Noir as the Burgundian grape par excellence, but as ambassador of Beaune's better casks he also knew how to gain an international reputation. When the direct connection between the Low Countries and Burgundy was lost after 1477, that reputation quickly faded. Moreover, wine from Bordeaux was being transported overseas, which was a great deal cheaper than the overland journey that Burgundian casks had to travel. This partly explains why Flemings became Bordeaux lovers for the most part, and why the Walloons continued to swear by Burgundy. In France itself, even though the dukes had faded from memory by the twentieth century, their region once again became synonymous with the liquid that had heralded its fame.\n\nIn 1972, the name 'Burgundy', which had been eradicated in the eighteenth century, finally resurfaced as the region comprising the departments created by the Revolution. On 1 January 2016 this entire area fused with the Franche-Comt\u00e9, the former Free County of Burgundy.\n\nCan you hear King Gundobad chuckling from the great beyond? With this recent territorial revision, the new all-encompassing region of Bourgogne-Franche-Comt\u00e9 is beginning to look suspiciously like the mythical kingdom of the fifth and sixth centuries, the kingdom that Charles the Bold tried to emulate and where this long tale began so many pages ago. Give it some time, you hear Gundobad thinking, give it some time, and everything goes back to the way it once was.\n\nWhen the Rhine froze over at the end of 406, the so-called barbarians didn't hesitate. They crossed the river and overran Gaul. Among them were the Vandals, the Suebi and the Alans, as well as the Burgundians."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Brother Cadfael 2) One Corpse Too Many",
        "author": "Ellis Peters",
        "genres": [
            "medieval",
            "mystery",
            "monastery"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "Brother Cadfael was working in the small kitchen garden by the abbot's fishponds when the boy was first brought to him. It was hot August noon, and if he had had his proper quota of helpers they would all have been snoring in the shade at this hour, instead of sweating in the sun; but one of his regular assistants, not yet out of his novitiate, had thought better of the monastic vocation and taken himself off to join his elder brother in arms on King Stephen's side, in the civil war for the crown of England, and the other had taken fright at the approach of the royal army because his family were of the Empress Maud's faction, and their manor in Cheshire seemed a far safer place to be than Shrewsbury under siege. Cadfael was left to do everything alone, but he had in his time laboured under far hotter suns than this, and was doggedly determined not to let his domain run wild, whether the outside world fell into chaos or no.\n\nIn this early summer of 1138 the fratricidal strife, hitherto somewhat desultory, was already two years old, but never before had it approached Shrewsbury so closely. Now its threat hung over castle and town like the shadow of death. But for all that, Brother Cadfael's mind was firmly upon life and growth, rather than destruction and war, and certainly he had no suspicion that another manner of killing, simple murder, furtive and unlicensed even in these anarchic times, was soon to disrupt the calm of his chosen life.\n\nAugust should not, in normal circumstances, have been one of his busiest times in the gardens, but there was more than enough for one man to do properly, and the only relief they had to offer him was Brother Athanasius, who was deaf, half-senile, and not to be relied upon to know a useful herb from a weed, and the offer had been firmly declined. Better by far to manage alone. There was a bed to be prepared for planting out late cabbages for succession, and fresh seed to be sown for the kind that can weather the winter, as well as pease to be gathered, and the dead, dried haulms of the early crop to be cleared away for fodder and litter. And in his wooden work-shed in the herbarium, his own particular pride, he had half a dozen preparations working in glass vessels and mortars on the shelves, all of them needing attention at least once a day, besides the herb wines that bubbled busily on their own at this stage. It was high harvest time among the herbs, and all the medicines for the winter demanding his care.\n\nHowever, he was not the man to let any part of his kingdom slip out of his control, however wastefully the royal cousins Stephen and Maud contended for the throne of England outside the abbey walls. If he lifted his head from digging compost into the cabbage bed he could see the sluggish plumes of smoke hanging over the abbey roofs and the town and castle beyond, and smell the acrid residue of yesterday's fires. That shadow and stink had hung like a pall over Shrewsbury for almost a month, while King Stephen stamped and raged in his camp beyond the Castle Foregate, the one dry-foot way into the town unless he could get possession of the bridges, and William FitzAlan within the fortress held on grimly, keeping an anxious eye on his dwindling supplies, and left the thundering of defiance to his incorrigible uncle, Arnulf of Hesdin, who had never learned to temper valour with discretion. The townspeople kept their heads low, locked their doors, shuttered their shops, or, if they could, made off westwards into Wales, to old, friendly enemies less to be feared than Stephen. It suited the Welsh very well that Englishmen should fear Englishmen\u2014if either Maud or Stephen could be regarded as English!\u2014and let Wales alone, and they would not grudge a helping hand to the fleeing casualties, provided the war went on merrily.\n\nCadfael straightened his back and mopped the sweat from a tonsured scalp burned to the colour of a ripe hazel-nut; and there was Brother Oswald the almoner bustling along the path towards him, with skirts flapping, and propelling before him by the shoulder a boy of about sixteen, in the coarse brown cotte and short summer hose of the countryside, barelegged but very decently shod in leather, and altogether looking carefully scrubbed and neat for a special occasion. The boy went where he was directed, and kept his eyes lowered with nervous meekness. Another family taking care to put its children out of reach of being pressed for either side, thought Cadfael, and small blame to them.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, I think you have need of a helper, and here is a youngster who says he's not afraid of hard work. A good woman of the town has brought him in to the porter, and asked that he be taken and taught as a lay servant. Her nephew from Hencot, she says, and his parents dead. There's a year's endowment with him. Prior Robert has given leave to take him, and there's room in the boys' dortoir. He'll attend school with the novices, but he'll not take vows unless he himself comes to wish it. What do you say, will you have him?\"\n\nCadfael looked the boy over with interest, but said yes without hesitation, glad enough to be offered someone young, able-bodied and willing. The lad was slenderly built, but vigorous and firm on his feet, and moved with a spring. He looked up warily from under a cropped tangle of brown curls, and his eyes were long-lashed and darkly blue, very shrewd and bright. He was behaving himself meekly and decorously, but he did not look intimidated.\n\n\"Very heartily I'll have you,\" said Cadfael, \"if you'll take to this outdoor work with me. And what's your name, boy?\"\n\n\"Godric, sir,\" said the young thing, in a small, gruff voice, appraising Cadfael just as earnestly as he was being appraised.\n\n\"Good, then, Godric, you and I will get on well enough. And first, if you will, walk around the gardens here with me and see what we have in hand, and get used to being within these walls. Strange enough I daresay you'll find it, but safer than in the town yonder, which I make no doubt is why your good aunt brought you here.\"\n\nThe blue, bright eyes flashed him one glance and were veiled again.\n\n\"See you come to Vespers with Brother Cadfael,\" the almoner instructed, \"and Brother Paul, the master of the novices, will show you your bed, and tell you your duties after supper. Pay attention to what Brother Cadfael tells you, and be obedient to him as you should.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the boy virtuously. Under the meek accents a small bubble of laughter seemed to be trying, though vainly, to burst. When Brother Oswald hurried away, the blue eyes watched him out of sight, and then turned their intent gaze upon Cadfael. A demure, oval face, with a wide, firm mouth shaped properly for laughter, but quick to revert to a very sombre gravity. Even for those meant to be light-hearted, these were grave times.\n\n\"Come, see what manner of labour you're taking on yourself,\" said Cadfael cheerfully, and downed his spade to take his new. boy round the enclosed garden, showing him the vegetables, the herbs that made the noon air heady and drunken with fragrance, the fish ponds and the beds of pease that ran down almost to the brook. The early field was already dried and flaxen in the sun, all its harvest gathered, even the later-sown hung heavy and full in pod.\n\n\"These we should gather today and tomorrow. In this heat they'll pass their best in a day. And these spent ones have to be cleared. You can begin that for me. Don't pull them up, take the sickle and cut them off low to the ground, and the roots we plough in, they're good food for the soil.\" He was talking in an easy, good-humoured flow, to pass off peacefully whatever residue of regret and strangeness there might be in this abrupt change. \"How old are you, Godric?\"\n\n\"Seventeen,\" said the husky voice beside him. He was on the small side for seventeen; let him try his hand at digging later on, the ground Cadfael was working was heavy to till. \"I can work hard,\" said the boy, almost as though he had guessed at the thought, and resented it. \"I don't know much, but I can do whatever you tell me.\"\n\n\"So you shall, then, and you can begin with the pease. Stack the dry stuff aside here, and it goes to provide stable litter. And the roots go back to the ground.\"\n\n\"Like humankind,\" said Godric unexpectedly.\n\n\"Yes, like humankind.\" Too many were going back to the earth prematurely now in this fratricidal war. He saw the boy turn his head, almost involuntarily, and look across the abbey grounds and roofs to where the battered towers of the castle loomed in their pall of smoke. \"Have you kin within there, child?\" asked Cadfael gently.\n\n\"No!\" said the boy, too quickly. \"But I can't but think of them. They're saying in the town it can't last long\u2014that it may fall tomorrow. And surely they've done only rightly! Before King Henry died he made his barons acknowledge the Empress Maud as his heir, and they all swore fealty. She was his only living child, she should be queen. And yet when her cousin, Count Stephen, seized the throne and had himself crowned, all too many of them took it meekly and forgot their oaths. That can't be right. And it can't be wrong to stand by the empress faithfully. How can they excuse changing sides? How can they justify Count Stephen's claim?\"\n\n\"Justify may not be the apt word, but there are those among the lords, more by far than take the opposite view, who would say, better a man for overlord than a woman. And if a man, why, Stephen was as near as any to the throne. He is King William's grandchild, just as Maud is.\"\n\n\"But not son to the last king. And in any ease, through his mother, who was a woman like Maud, so where's the difference?\" The young voice had emerged from its guarded undertone, and rang clear and vehement. \"But the real difference was that Count Stephen rushed here and took what he wanted, while the empress was far away in Normandy, thinking no evil. And now that half the barons have recollected their oaths and declared for her, after all, it's late, and what's to come of it but bloodshed and deaths? It begins here, in Shrewsbury, and this won't be the end.\"\n\n\"Child,\" said Cadfael mildly, \"are you not trusting me to extremes?\"\n\nThe boy, who had picked up the sickle and was swinging it in a capable, testing hand, turned and looked at him with blue eyes suddenly wide open and unguarded. \"Well, so I do,\" he said.\n\n\"And so you may, for that matter. But keep your lips locked among others. We are in the battlefield here, as sure as in the town, our gates never being closed to any. All manner of men rub shoulders here, and in rough times some may try to buy favour with carrying tales. Some may even be collectors of such tales for their living. Your thoughts are safe in your head, best keep them there.\"\n\nThe boy drew back a little, and hung his head. Possibly he felt himself reproved. Possibly not! \"I'll pay you trust for trust,\" said Cadfael. \"In my measure there's little to choose between two such monarchs, but much to be said for keeping a man's fealty and word. And now let me see you hard at work, and when I've finished my cabbage patch I'll come and help you.\"\n\nHe watched the boy set to work, which he did with immense vigour. The coarse tunic was cut very full, turning a lissome body into a bundle of cloth tied at the waist; possibly he had got it from some older and larger relative after the best of the wear was out of it. My friend, thought Cadfael, in this heat you won't keep up that pace very long, and then we shall see!\n\nBy the time he joined his assistant in the rustling field of bleached pea-stems, the boy was red in the face and sweating, and puffing audibly with the strokes of the sickle, but had not relaxed his efforts. Cadfael swept an armful of cut haulms to the edge of the field, and said earnestly: \"No need to make a penance of it, lad. Strip off to the waist and be comfortable\" And he slid his own frock, already kilted to the knee, down from powerful brown shoulders, and let the folds hang at his middle.\n\nThe effect was complex, but by no means decisive. The boy checked momentarily in. his stroke, said: \"I'm well enough as I am!\" with admirable composure, but several tones above the gruff, young-mannish level of his earlier utterances, and went on resolutely with his labours, at the same time as a distinct wave of red arose from his collar to engulf his slender neck and the curve of his cheek. Did that necessarily mean what it seemed to mean? He might have lied about his age, his voice might be but newly broken and still unstable. And perhaps he wore no shirt beneath the cotte, and was ashamed to reveal his lacks to a new acquaintance. Ah, well, there were other tests. Better make sure at once. If what Cadfael suspected was true, the matter was going to require very serious thought.\n\n\"There's that heron that robs our hatcheries, again!\" he cried suddenly, pointing across the Meole brook, where the unsuspecting bird waded, just folding immense wings. \"Toss a stone across at him, boy, you're nearer than I!\" The heron was an innocent stranger, but if Cadfael was right he was unlikely to come to any harm.\n\nGodric stared, clawed up a sizeable stone, and heaved it heartily. His arm swung far back, swung forward with his slight weight willingly behind it, and hurled the stone under-arm across the brook and into the shallows, with a splash that sent the heron soaring, certainly, but several feet from where he had been standing.\n\n\"Well, well!\" said Cadfael silently, and settled down to do some hard thinking.\n\nIn his siege camp, deployed across the entire land approach to the Castle Foregate, between broad coils of the river Severn, King Stephen fretted, fumed and feasted, celebrating the few loyal Salopians\u2014loyal to him, that is!\u2014who came to offer him aid, and planning his revenge upon the many disloyal who absented themselves.\n\nHe was a big, noisy, handsome, simple-minded man, very fair in colouring, very comely in countenance, and at this stage in his fortunes totally bewildered by the contention between his natural good nature and his smarting sense of injury. He was said to be slow-witted, but when his Uncle Henry had died and left no heir but a daughter, and she handicapped by an Angevin husband and far away in France, no matter how slavishly her father's vassals had bowed to his will and accepted her as queen, Stephen for once in his life had moved with admirable speed and precision, and surprised his potential subjects into accepting him at his own valuation before they even had time to consider their own interests, much less remember reluctant vows. So why had such a successful coup abruptly turned sour? He would never understand. Why had half of his more influential subjects, apparently stunned into immobility for a time, revived into revolt now? Conscience? Dislike of the king imposed upon them? Superstitious dread of King Henry and his influence with God?\n\nForced to take the opposition seriously and resort to arms, Stephen had opened in the way that came naturally to him, striking hard where he must, but holding the door cheerfully open for penitents to come in. And what had been the result? He had spared, and they had taken advantage and despised him for it. He had invited submission without penalty, as he moved north against the rebel holds, and the local baronage had held off from him with contempt. Well, tomorrow's dawn attack should settle the fate of the Shrewsbury garrison, and make an example once for all. If these midlanders would not come peacefully and loyally at his invitation, they should come scurrying like rats to save their own skins. As for Arnulf of Hesdin\u2026 The obscenities and defiances he had hurled from the towers of Shrewsbury should be regretted bitterly, if briefly.\n\nThe king was conferring in his tent in the meads in the late afternoon, with Gilbert Prestcote, his chief aide and sheriff-designate of Salop, and Willem Ten Heyt, the captain of his Flemish mercenaries. It was about the time that Brother Cadfael and the boy Godric were washing their hands and tidying their clothing to go to Vespers. The failure of the local gentry to bring in their own Levies to his support had caused Stephen to lean heavily upon his Flemings, who in consequence were very well hated, both as aliens and as impervious professionals, who would as soon burn down a village as get drunk, and were not at all averse to doing both together. Ten Heyt was a huge, well-favoured man with reddish-fair hair and long moustaches, barely thirty years old but a veteran in warfare. Prestcote was a quiet, laconic knight past fifty, experienced and formidable in battle, cautious in counsel, not a man to go to extremes, but even he was arguing for severity.\n\n\"Your Grace has tried generosity, and it has been shamelessly exploited to your loss. It's time to strike terror.\"\n\n\"First,\" said Stephen drily, \"to take castle and town.\"\n\n\"That your Grace may consider as done. What we have mounted for the morning will get you into Shrewsbury. Then, if they survive the assault, your Grace may do what you will with FitzAlan, and Adeney, and Hesdin, and the commons of the garrison are no great matter, but even there you may be well advised to consider an example.\"\n\nThe king would have been content enough then with his revenge on those three who led the resistance here. William FitzAlan owed his office as sheriff of Salop to Stephen, and yet had declared and held the castle for his rival. Fulke Adeney, the greatest of FitzAlan's vassal lords, had connived at the treason and supported his overlord wholeheartedly. And Hesdin had condemned himself over and over out of his own arrogant mouth. The rest were pawns, expendable but of no importance.\n\n\"They are noising it abroad in the town, as I've heard,\" said Prestcote, \"that FitzAlan had already sent his wife and children away before we closed the way north out of the town. But Adeney also has a child, a daughter. She's said to be still within the walls. They got the women out of the castle early.\" Prestcote was a man of the shire himself, and knew the local baronage at least by name and repute. \"Adeney's girl was betrothed from a child to Robert Beringar's son, of Maesbury, by Oswestry. They had lands neighbouring in those parts. I mention it because this is the man who is asking audience of you now, Hugh Beringar of Maesbury. Use him as you find, your Grace, but until today I would have said he was FitzAlan's man, and your enemy. Have him in and judge for yourself. If he's changed his coat, well and good, he has men enough at his command to be useful, but I would not let him in too easily.\"\n\nThe officer of the guard had entered the pavilion, and stood waiting to be invited to speak; Adam Courcelle was one of Prestcote's chief tenants and his right-hand man, a tested soldier at thirty years old.\n\n\"Your Grace has another visitor,\" he said, when the king turned to acknowledge his presence. \"A lady. Will you see her first? She has no lodging here as yet, and in view of the hour\u2026 She gives her name as Aline Siward, and says that her father, whom she has only recently buried, was always your man.\"\n\n\"Time presses,\" said the king. \"Let them both come, and the lady shall have first word.\"\n\nCourcelle led her by the hand into the royal presence, with every mark of deference and admiration, and she was indeed well worth any man's attention. She was slender and shy, and surely no older than eighteen, and the austerity of her mourning, the white cap and wimple from which a few strands of gold hair crept out to frame her cheeks, only served to make her look younger still, and more touching. She had a child's proud, shy dignity. Great eyes the colour of dark irises widened wonderingly upon the king's large comeliness as she made her reverence.\n\n\"Madam,\" said Stephen, reaching a hand to her, \"I am sorry indeed for your loss, of which I have this minute heard. If my protection can in any way serve you, command me.\"\n\n\"Your Grace is very kind,\" said the girl in a soft, awed voice. \"I am now an orphan, and the only one of my house left to bring you the duty and fealty we owe. I am doing what my father would have wished, and but for his illness and death he would have come himself, or I would have come earlier. Until your Grace came to Shrewsbury we had no opportunity to render you the keys of the two castles we hold. As I do now!\"\n\nHer maid, a self-possessed young woman a good ten years older than her mistress, had followed into the tent and stood withdrawn. She came forward now to hand the keys to Aline, who laid them formally in the king's hands.\n\n\"We can raise for your Grace five knights, and more than forty men-at-arms, but at this time I have left all to supply the garrisons at home, since they may be of more use to your Grace so.\" She named her properties and her castellans. It was like hearing a child recite a lesson learned by heart, but her dignity and gravity were those of a general in the field. \"There is one more thing I should say plainly, and to my much sorrow. I have a brother, who should have been the one to perform this duty and service.\" Her voice shook slightly, and gallantly recovered. \"When your Grace assumed the crown, my brother Giles took the part of the Empress Maud, and after an open quarrel with my father, left home to join her party. I do not know where he is now, though we have heard rumours that he made his way to her in France. I could not leave your Grace in ignorance of the dissension that grieves me as it must you. I hope you will not therefore refuse what I can bring, but use it freely, as my father would have wished, and as I wish.\"\n\nShe heaved a great sigh, as if she had thrown off a weight. The king was enchanted. He drew her by the hand and kissed her heartily on the cheek. To judge by the look on his face, Courcelle was envying him the opportunity.\n\n\"God forbid, child,\" said the king, \"that I should add any morsel to your sorrows, or fail to lift what I may of them. With all my heart I take your fealty, as dear to me as that of earl or baron, and thank you for your pains taken to help me. And now show me what I can do to serve you, for there can be no fit lodging for you here in a military camp, and I hear you have made no provision as yet for yourself. It will soon be evening.\"\n\n\"I had thought,\" she said timidly, \"that I might lodge in the abbey guest house, if we can get a boat to put us across the river.\"\n\n\"Certainly you shall have safe escort over the river, and our request to the abbot to give you one of the grace houses belonging to the abbey, where you may be private but protected, until we can spare a safe escort to see you to your home.\" He looked about him for a ready messenger, and could not well miss Adam Courcelle's glowing eagerness. The young man had bright chestnut hair, and eyes of the same burning brown, and knew that he stood well with his king. \"Adam, will you conduct Mistress Siward, and see her safely installed?\"\n\n\"With all my heart, your Grace,\" said Courcelle fervently, and offered an ardent hand to the lady.\n\nHugh Beringar watched the girl pass by, her hand submissive in the broad brown hand that clasped it, her eyes cast down, her small, gentle face with its disproportionately large and noble brow tired and sad now that she had done her errand faithfully. From outside the royal tent he had heard every word. She looked now as if she might melt into tears at any moment, like a little girl after a formal ordeal, a child-bride dressed up to advertise her riches or her lineage, and then as briskly dismissed to the nursery when the transaction was assured. The king's officer walked delicately beside her, like a conqueror conquered, and no wonder.\n\n\"Come, the lord king waits,\" said the guttural voice of Willem Ten Heyt in his ear, and he turned and ducked his head beneath the awning of the tent. The comparative dimness within veiled the large, fair presence of the king.\n\n\"I am here, my liege,\" said Hugh Beringar, and made his obeisance. \"Hugh Beringar of Maesbury, at your Grace's service with all that I hold. My muster is not great, six knights and some fifty men-at-arms, but half of them bowmen, and skilled. And all are yours.\"\n\n\"Your name, Master Beringar, is known to us,\" said the king drily. \"Your establishment also. That it was devoted to our cause was not so well known. As I have heard of you, you have been an associate of FitzAlan and Adeney, our traitors, until very recently. And even this change of heart comes rather belatedly. I have been some four weeks in these parts, without word from you.\"\n\n\"Your Grace,\" said Beringar, without haste to excuse himself or apparent discomfort at his cool reception, \"I grew up from a child regarding these men whom you understandably name your traitors, as my peers and friends, and in friendship have never found them wanting. Your Grace is too fairminded a man not to admit that for one like me, who has not so far sworn fealty to any, the choice of a path at this moment may require a deal of thought, if it is to be made once for all. That King Henry's daughter has a reasonable claim is surely beyond question, I cannot call a man traitor for choosing that cause, though I may blame him for breaking his oath to you. As for me, I came into my lands only some months ago, and I have so far sworn fealty to none. I have taken my time in choosing where I will serve. I am here. Those who flock to you without thought may fall away from you just as lightly.\"\n\n\"And you will not?\" said the king sceptically. He was studying this bold and possibly over-fluent young man with critical attention. A lightweight, not above the middle height and slenderly built, but of balanced and assured movement; he might well make up in speed and agility what he lacked in bulk and reach. Perhaps two or three years past twenty, black-avised, with thin, alert features and thick, quirky dark brows. An unchancy fellow, because there was no guessing from his face what went on behind the deep-set eyes. His forthright speech might be honest, or it might be calculated. He looked quite subtle enough to have weighed up his sovereign and reasoned that boldness might not be displeasing.\n\n\"And I will not,\" he said firmly. \"But that need not pass on my word. It can be put to the proof hereafter. I am on your Grace's probation.\"\n\n\"You have not brought your force with you?\"\n\n\"Three men only are with me. It would have been folly to leave a good castle unmanned or half-manned, and small service, to you to ask that you feed fifty more without due provision for the increase. Your Grace has only to tell me where you would have me serve, and it shall be done.\"\n\n\"Not so fast,\" said Stephen. \"Others may also have need of time and thought before they embrace you, young man. You were close and in confidence with FitzAlan, some time ago.\"\n\n\"I was. I still have nothing against him but that he has chosen one way, and I the other.\"\n\n\"And as I hear, you are betrothed to Fulke Adeney's daughter.\"\n\n\"I hardly know whether to say to that: I am! or: I was! The times have altered a great many plans previously made, for others as well as for me. As at this time, I do not know where the girl is, or whether the bargain still holds.\"\n\n\"There are said to be no women now in the castle,\" said the king, eyeing him closely. \"FitzAlan's family may well be clean away, perhaps out of the country by now. But Adeney's daughter is thought to be in hiding in the town. It would not be displeasing to me,\" he said with soft emphasis, \"to have so valuable a lady in safe-keeping\u2014in case even my plans should need to be altered. You were of her father's party, you must know the places likely to be sheltering her now. When the way is clear, you, of all people, should be able to find her.\"\n\nThe young man gazed back at him with an inscrutable face, in which shrewd black eyes signalled understanding, but nothing more, neither consent nor resistance, no admission at all that he knew he was being set a task on which acceptance and favour might well depend. His face was bland and his voice guileless as he said: \"That is my intent, your Grace. I came from Maesbury with that also in mind.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Stephen, warily content, \"you may remain in attendance against the town's fall, but we have no immediate work for you here. Should I have occasion to call you, where will you be found?\"\n\n\"If they have room,\" said Beringar, \"at the abbey guest house.\"\n\nThe boy Godric stood through Vespers among the pupils and the novices, far back among the small fry of the house, and close to the laity, such as lived here outside the walls on the hither bank of the river, and could still reach this refuge. He looked, as Brother Cadfael reflected when he turned his head to look for the child, very small and rather forlorn, and his face, bright and impudent enough in the herbarium, had grown very solemn indeed here in church. Night was looming, his first night in this abode. Ah well, his affairs were being taken in hand more consolingly than he supposed, and the ordeal he was bracing himself to master need not confront him at all, if things went right, and at all events not tonight. Brother Paul, the master of the novices, has several other youngsters to look after, and was glad to have one taken firmly off his hands.\n\nCadfael reclaimed his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 after supper, at which meal he was glad to see that Godric ate heartily. Evidently the boy was of a mettle to fight back against whatever fears and qualms possessed him, and had the good sense to fortify himself with the things of the flesh for the struggles of the spirit. Even more reassuringly, he looked up with relief and recognition when Cadfael laid a hand on his shoulder as they left the refectory.\n\n\"Come, we're free until Compline, and it's cool out in the gardens. No need to stay inside here, unless you wish.\"\n\nThe boy Godric did not wish, he was happy to escape into the summer evening. They went down at leisure towards the fish ponds and the herbarium, and the boy skipped at Cadfael's side, and burst into a gay whistling, abruptly broken off.\n\n\"He said the master of the novices would want me, after supper. Is it really proper for me to come with you, like this?\"\n\n\"All approved and blessed, child, don't be afraid. I've spoken with Brother Paul, we have his good word. You are my boy, and I am responsible for you.\" They had entered the walled garden, and were suddenly engulfed and drowned in all those sun-drenched fragrances, rosemary, thyme, fennel, dill, sage, lavender, a whole world of secret sweetness. The heat of the sun lingered, heady with scent, even into the cool of the evening. Over their heads swifts wheeled and screamed in ecstasy.\n\nThey had arrived at the wooden shed, its oiled timbers radiated warmth towards them. Cadfael opened the door. \"This is your sleeping-place, Godric.\"\n\nThere was a low bench-bed neatly arrayed at the end of the room. The boy stared, and quaked under Cadfael's hand.\n\n\"I have all these medicines brewing here, and some of them need tending regularly, some very early, they'd spoil if no one minded them. I'll show you all you have to do, it's not so heavy a task. And here you have your bed, and here a grid you may open for fresh air.\" The boy had stopped shaking, the dark blue eyes were large and measuring, and fixed implacably upon Cadfael. There seemed to be a smile pending, but there was also a certain aura of offended pride. Cadfael turned to the door, and showed the heavy bar that guarded it within, and the impossibility of opening it from without, once that was dropped into its socket. \"You may shut out the world and me until you're ready to come out to us.\"\n\nThe boy Godric, who was not a boy at all, was staring now in direct accusation, half-offended, half-radiant, wholly relieved.\n\n\"How did you know?\" she demanded, jutting a belligerent chin.\n\n\"How were you going to manage in the dortoir?\" responded Brother Cadfael mildly.\n\n\"I would have managed. Boys are not so clever, I could have cozened them. Under a wall like this,\" she said, hoisting handfuls of her ample tunic, \"all bodies look the same, and men are blind and stupid.\" She laughed then, viewing Cadfael's placid competence, and suddenly she was all woman, and startlingly pretty in her gaiety and relief. \"Oh, not you! How did you know? I tried so hard, I thought I could pass all trials. Where did I go wrong?\"\n\n\"You did very well,\" said Cadfael soothingly. \"But, child, I was forty years about the world, and from end to end of it, before I took the cowl and came to my green, sweet ending here. Where did you go wrong? Don't take it amiss, take it as sound advice from an ally, if I answer you. When you came to argument, and meant it with all your heart, you let your voice soar. And never a crack in it, mind you, to cover the change. That can be learned, I'll show you when we have leisure. And then, when I bade you strip and be easy\u2014ah, never blush, child, I was all but certain then!\u2014of course you put me off. And last, when I got you to toss a stone across the brook, you did it like a girl, under-arm, with a round swing. When did you ever see a boy throw like that? Don't let anyone else trick you into such another throw, not until you master the art. It betrays you at once.\"\n\nHe stood patiently silent then, for she had dropped on to the bed, and sat with her head in her hands, and first she began to laugh, and then to cry, and then both together; and all the while he let her alone, for she was no more out of control than a man tossed between gain and loss, and manfully balancing his books. Now he could believe she was seventeen, a budding woman, and a fine one, too.\n\nWhen she was ready, she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and looked up alertly, smiling like sunlight through a rainbow. \"And did you mean it?\" she said. \"That you're responsible for me? I said I trusted you to extremes!\"\n\n\"Daughter dear,\" said Cadfael patiently, \"what should I do with you now but serve you as best I can, and see you safe out of here to wherever you would be?\"\n\n\"And you don't even know who I am,\" she said, marvelling. \"Who is trusting too far now?\"\n\n\"What difference should it make to me, child, what your name may be? A lass left forlorn here to weather out this storm and be restored to her own people\u2014is not that enough? What you want to tell, you'll tell, and I need no more.\"\n\n\"I think I want to tell you everything,\" said the girl simply, looking up at him with eyes wide and candid as the sky. \"My father is either in Shrewsbury castle this minute with his death hanging over him, or out of it and running for his life with William FitzAlan for the empress's lands in Normandy, with a hue and cry ready to be loosed after him any moment. I'm a burden to anyone who befriends me now, and likely to be a hunted hostage as soon as I'm missed from where I should be. Even to you, Brother Cadfael, I could be dangerous. I'm daughter to FitzAlan's chief ally and friend. My name is Godith Adeney.\"\n\nLame Osbern, who had been born with both legs withered, and scuttled around at unbelievable speed on hands provided with wooden pattens, dragging his shrivelled knees behind him on a little wheeled trolley, was the humblest of the king's campfollowers. Normally he had his pitch by the castle gates in the town, but he had forsaken in time a spot now so dangerous, and transferred his hopeful allegiance to the edge of the siege camp, as near as he was allowed to get to the main guard, where the great went in and out. The king was notoriously open-handed, except towards his enemies-at-arms, and the pickings were good. The chief military officers, perhaps, were too preoccupied to waste thought or alms on a beggar, but some of those who came belatedly seeking favour, having decided which way fortune was tending, were apt to give to the poor as a kind of sop to God for luck, and the common bowmen and even the Flemings, when off-duty and merry, tossed Osbern a few coppers, or the scraps from their mess.\n\nHe had his little wagon backed well into the lee of a clump of half-grown trees, close to the guard-post, where he might come in for a crust of bread or a drink, and could enjoy the glow of the field-fire at night. Even summer nights can strike chill after the heat of the August day, when you have only a few rags to cover you, and the fire was doubly welcome. They kept it partially turfed, to subdue the glow, but left themselves light enough to scrutinise any who came late.\n\nIt was close to midnight when Osbern stirred out of an uneasy sleep, and straining his ears for the reason, caught the rustling of the bushes behind and to his left, towards the Castle Foregate but well aside from the open road. Someone was approaching from the direction of the t9wn, and certainly not from the main gates, but roundabout in cover from along the riverside. Osbern knew the town like his own callused palm. Either this was a scout returning from reconnaissance\u2014but why keep up this stealth right into the camp?\u2014or else someone had crept out of town or castle by the only other way through the wall on this side, the water-port that led down to the river.\n\nA dark figure, visible rather as movement than matter in a moonless night, slid out from the bushes and made at a crouching, silent scurry for the guard-post. At the sentry's challenge he halted immediately, and stood frozen but eager, and Osbern saw the faint outline of a slight, willowy body, wrapped closely in a black cloak, so that only a gleam of pale face showed. The voice that answered the challenge was young, high-pitched, tormentedly afraid and desperately urgent.\n\n\"I beg audience\u2014I am not armed! Take me to your officer. I have something to tell\u2014to the king's advantage\u2026\"\n\nThey hauled him in and went over him roughly to ensure he bore no weapons; and whatever was said between them did not reach Osbern's ears, but the upshot of it was that he had his will. They led him within the camp, and there he vanished from view.\n\nOsbern did not doze again, the cold of the small hours was gnawing through his rags. Such a cloak as that, he thought, shivering, I wish the good God would send me! Yet even the owner of so fine a garment had been shaking, the quavering voice had betrayed his fear, but also his avid hope. A curious incident, but of no profit to a poor beggar. Not, that is, until he saw the same figure emerge from the shadowy alleys of the camp and halt once more at the gate. His step was lighter and longer now, his bearing less furtive and fearful. He bore some token from the authorities that was enough to let him out again as he had entered, unharmed and unmolested. Osbern heard a few words pass:\n\n\"I am to go back, there must be no suspicion\u2026 I have my orders!\"\n\nAh, now, in pure thankfulness for some alleviating merry, he might be disposed to give. Osbern wheeled himself forward hurriedly into the man's path, and extended a pleading hand.\n\n\"For God's love, master! If he has been gracious to you, be gracious to the poor!\"\n\nHe caught a glimpse of a pale face much eased, heard long breaths of relief and hope. A flicker of firelight caught the elaborate shape of a metal clasp that fastened the cloak at the throat. Out of the muffling folds a hand emerged, and dropped a coin into the extended palm. \"Say some prayers for me tomorrow,\" said a low, breathless whisper, and the stranger flitted away as he had come, and vanished into the trees before Osbern had done blessing him for his alms.\n\nBefore dawn Osbern was roused again from fitful sleep, to withdraw himself hastily into the bushes out of all men's way. For it was still only the promise of a clear dawn, but the royal camp was astir, so quietly and in such practical order that he felt rather than heard the mustering of men, the ordering of ranks, the checking of weapons. The air of the morning seemed to shake to the tramping of regiments, while barely a sound could be heard. From curve to curve of Severn, across the neck of land that afforded the only dry approach to the town, the steady murmur of activity rippled, awesome and exhilarating, as King Stephen's army turned out and formed its divisions for the final assault of Shrewsbury castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Long before noon it was all over, the gates fired with brushwood and battered down, the baileys cleared one by one, the last defiant bowman hunted down from the walls and towers, smoke heavy and thick like a pall over fortress and town. In the streets not a human creature or even a dog stirred. At the first assault every man had gone to earth with wife and family and beasts behind locked and barred doors, and crouched listening with stretched ears to the thunder and clash and yelling of battle. It lasted only a short while. The garrison had reached exhaustion, ill-supplied, thinned by desertions as long as there was any possibility of escape. Everyone had been certain the next determined attack must carry the town. The merchants of Shrewsbury waited with held breath for the inevitable looting, and heaved sighs of relief when it was called to heel peremptorily by the king himself\u2014not because he grudged his Flemings their booty, but because he wanted them close about his person. Even a king is vulnerable, and this had been an enemy town, and was still unpacified. Moreover, his urgent business was with the garrison of the castle, and in particular with FitzAlan, and Adeney, and Arnulf of Hesdin.\n\nStephen stalked through the smoky, bloody, steel-littered bailey into the hall, and despatched Courcelle and Ten Heyt and their men with express orders to isolate the ring leaders and bring them before him. Prestcote he kept at his side; the keys were in the new lieutenant's hands, and provisions for the royal garrison were already in consideration.\n\n\"In the end,\" said Prestcote critically, \"it has cost your Grace fairly low. In losses, certainly. In money\u2014the delay was costly, but the castle is intact. Some repairs to the walls\u2014new gates\u2026 This is a stronghold you need never lose again, I count it worth the time it took to win it.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said Stephen grimly, thinking of Arnulf of Hesdin bellowing his lordly insults from the towers. As though he courted death!\n\nCourcelle came in, his helmet off and his chestnut hair blazing. A promising officer, alert, immensely strong in personal combat, commanding with his men: Stephen approved him. \"Well, Adam. Are they run to earth? Surely FitzAlan is not hiding somewhere among the barns, like a craven servant?\"\n\n\"No, your Grace, by no means!\" said Courcelle ruefully. \"We have combed this fortress from roof to dungeons, I promise you we have missed nothing. But FitzAlan is clean gone! Give us time, and we'll find for you the day, the hour, the route they took, their plans.\"\n\n\"They?\" blazed Stephen, catching at the plural.\n\n\"Adeney is away with him. Not a doubt of it, they're loose. Sorry I am to bring your Grace such news, but truth is truth.\" And give him his due, he had the guts to utter such truths. \"Hesdin,\" he said, \"we have. He is here without. Wounded, but not gravely, nothing but scratched. I put him in irons for safety, but I think he is hardly in such heart as when he lorded it within here, and your Grace was well outside.\"\n\n\"Bring him in,\" ordered the king, enraged afresh to find he had let two of his chief enemies slip through his fingers.\n\nArnulf of Hesdin came in limping heavily, and dragging chains at wrist and ankle; a big, florid man nearing sixty, soiled with dust, smoke and blood. Two of the Flemings thrust him to his knees before the king. His face was fixed and fearful, but defiant still.\n\n\"What, are you tamed?\" exulted the king. \"Where's your insolence now? You had plenty to say for yourself only a day or two ago, are you silenced? Or have you the wit to talk another language now?\"\n\n\"Your Grace,\" said Hesdin, grating out words evidently hateful to him, \"you are the victor, and I am at your mercy, and at your feet, and I have fought you fair, and I look to be treated honourably now. I am a nobleman of England and of France. You have need of money, and I am worth an earl's ransom, and I can pay it.\"\n\n\"Too late to speak me fair, you who were loud-mouthed and foul-mouthed when there were walls between us. I swore to have your life then, and have it I will. An earl's ransom cannot buy it back. Shall I quote you my price? Where is FitzAlan? Where is Adeney? Tell me in short order where I may lay hands on those two, and better pray that I succeed, and I may\u2014may!\u2014consider letting you keep your miserable life.\"\n\nHesdin reared his head and stared the king in the eyes. \"I find your price too high,\" he said. \"Only one thing I'll tell you concerning my comrades, they did not run from you until all was already lost. And live or die, that's all you'll get from me. Go hunt your own noble game!\"\n\n\"We shall see!\" flared the king, infuriated. \"We shall see whether we get no more from you! Have him away, Adam, give him to Ten Heyt, and see what can be done with him. Hesdin, you have until two of the clock to tell us everything you know concerning their flight, or else I hang you from the battlements. Take him away!\"\n\nThey dragged him out still on his knees. Stephen sat fuming and gnawing at his knuckles. \"Is it true, you think, Prestcote, the one thing he did say? That they fled only when the fight was already lost? Then they may well be still in the town. How could they break through? Not by the Foregate, clean through our ranks. And the first companies within were sped straight for the two bridges. Somewhere in this island of a town they must be hiding. Find them!\"\n\n\"They could not have reached the bridges,\" said Prestcote positively. \"There's only one other way out, and that's by the water-gate to the river. I doubt if they could have swum Severn there without being seen, I am sure they had no boat. Most likely they are in hiding somewhere in the town.\"\n\n\"Scour it! Find them! No looting until I have them safe in hold. Search everywhere, but find them.\"\n\nWhile Ten Heyt and his Flemings rounded up the prisoners taken in arms, and disposed the new garrison under Prestcote's orders, Courcelle and others with their companies pressed on through the town, confirmed the security of the two bridges, and set about searching every house and shop within the walls. The king, his conquest assured, returned to his camp with his own bodyguard, and waited grimly for news of his two fugitives. It was past two o'clock when Courcelle reported back to him.\n\n\"Your Grace,\" he said bluntly, \"there is no better word than failure to bring you. We have searched every street, every officer and merchant of the town has been questioned, all premises ransacked. It is not such a great town, and unless by some miracle I do not see how they can well have got outside the walls unseen. But we have not found them, neither FitzAlan nor Adeney, nor trace nor word of them. In case they've swum the river and got clear beyond the Abbey Foregate, I've sent out a fast patrol that way, but I doubt if we shall hear of them now. And Hesdin is obdurate still. Not a word to be got from him, and Ten Heyt has done his best, short of killing too soon. We shall get nothing from him. He knows the penalty. Threats will do nothing.\"\n\n\"He shall have what he was promised,\" said Stephen grimly. \"And the rest? How many were taken of the garrison?\"\n\n\"Apart from Hesdin, ninety-three in arms.\" Courcelle watched the handsome, frowning face; bitterly angry and frustrated as the king was, he was unlikely to keep his grudges hot too long. They had been telling him for weeks that it was a fault in him to forgive too readily. \"Your Grace, clemency now would be taken for weakness,\" said Courcelle emphatically.\n\n\"Hang them!\" said Stephen, jerking out sentence harshly before he wavered.\n\n\"All?\"\n\n\"All! And at once. Have them all out of the world before tomorrow.\"\n\nThey gave the grisly work to the Flemings to do. It was what mercenaries were for, and it kept them busy all that day, and out of the houses of the town, which otherwise would have been pillaged of everything of value. The interlude, dreadful as it was, gave the guilds and the reeve and the bailiffs time to muster a hasty delegation of loyalty to the king, and obtain at least a grim and sceptical motion of grace. He might not believe in their sudden devotion, but he could appreciate its urgency.\n\nPrestcote deployed his new garrison and made all orderly in the castle below, while Ten Heyt and his companies despatched the old garrison wholesale from the battlements. Arnulf of Hesdin was the first to die. The second was a young squire who had had a minor command under him; he was in a state of frenzied dread, and was hauled to his death yelling and protesting that he had been promised his life. The Flemings who handled him spoke little English, and were highly diverted by his pleadings, until the noose cut them off short.\n\nAdam Courcelle confessed himself only too glad to get away from the slaughter, and pursue his searches to the very edges of the town, and across the bridges into the suburbs. But he found no trace of William FitzAlan or Fulke Adeney.\n\nFrom the morning's early alarm to the night's continuing slaughter, a chill hush of horror hung over the abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul. Rumours flew thick as bees in swarm, no one knew what was really happening, but everyone knew that it would be terrible. The brothers doggedly pursued their chosen r\u00e9gime, service after service, chapter and Mass and the hours of work, because life could only be sustained by refusing to let it be disrupted, by war, catastrophe or death. To the Mass after chapter came Aline Siward with her maid Constance, pale and anxious and heroically composed; and perhaps as a result, Hugh Beringar also attended, for he had observed the lady passing from the house she had been given in the Foregate, close to the abbey's main mill.\n\nDuring the service he paid rather more attention to the troubled, childish profile beneath the white mourning wimple than to the words of the celebrant.\n\nHer small hands were devoutly folded, her resolute, vulnerable lips moved silently, praying piteously for all those dying and being hurt while she kneeled here. The girl Constance watched her closely and jealously, a protective presence, but could not drive the war away from her.\n\nBeringar followed at a distance until she re-entered her house. He did not seek to overtake her, nor attempt as yet to speak to her. When she had vanished, he left his henchmen behind, and went out along the Foregate to the end of the bridge. The section that drew up was still lifted, sealing in the town, but the clamour and shrieking of battle was already subsiding to his right, where the castle loomed in its smoky halo beyond the river. He would still have to wait before he could carry out his promised search for his affianced bride. Within the hour, if he had read the signs aright, the bridge should be down, and open. Meantime, he went at leisure to take his midday meal. There was no hurry.\n\nRumours flew in the guest house, as everywhere else. Those who had business of unimpeachable honesty elsewhere were all seeking to pack their bags and leave. The consensus of opinion was that the castle had certainly fallen, and the cost would run very high. King Stephen's writ had better be respected henceforth, for he was here, and victorious, and the Empress Maud, however legitimate her claim, was far away in Normandy, and unlikely to provide any adequate protection. There were whispers, also, that FitzAlan and Adeney, at the last moment, had broken out of the trap and were away. For which many breathed thanks, though silently.\n\nWhen Beringar went out again, the bridge was down, the way open, and King Stephen's sentries manning the passage. They were strict in scrutinising his credentials, but passed him within respectfully when they were satisfied. Stephen must have given orders concerning him. He crossed, and entered at the guarded but open gate in the wall. The street rose steeply, the island town sat high.\n\nBeringar knew it well, and knew where he was bound. At the summit of the hill the row of the butchers' stalls and houses levelled out, silent and deserted.\n\nEdric Flesher's shop was the finest of the row, but it was shuttered and still like all the rest. Hardly a head looked out, and even then only briefly and fearfully, and was withdrawn as abruptly behind barred doors. By the look of the street, they had not so far been ravaged. Beringar thudded at the shut door, and when he heard furtive stirrings within, lifted his voice: \"Open to me, Hugh Beringar! Edric\u2014Petronilla\u2014Let me in, I'm alone!\"\n\nHe had half expected that the door would remain sealed like a tomb, and those within silent, and he would not have blamed them; but, instead, the door was flung wide, and there was Petronilla beaming and opening her arms to him as if to a saviour. She was getting old, but still plump, succulent and kindly, the most wholesome thing he had seen in this siege town so far. Her grey hair was tight and neat under its white cap, and her twinkling grey eyes bright and intelligent as ever, welcoming him in.\n\n\"Master Hugh\u2014to see a known and trusted face here now!\" Beringar was instantly sure that she did not quite trust him! \"Come in, and welcome! Edric, here's Hugh\u2014Hugh Beringar!\" And there was her husband, prompt to her call, large and rubicund and competent, the master of his craft in this town, and a councillor.\n\nThey drew him within, and closed the door firmly, as he noted and approved. Beringar said what a lover should say, without preamble: \"Where is Godith? I came to look for her, to provide for her. Where has he hidden her?\"\n\nIt seemed they were too intent on making sure the shutters were fast, and listening for hostile footsteps outside, to pay immediate attention to what he was saying. And too ready with questions of their own to answer his questions.\n\n\"Are you hunted?\" asked Edric anxiously. \"Do you need a place to hide?\"\n\nAnd: \"Were you in the garrison?\" demanded Petronilla, and patted him concernedly in search of wounds. As though she had been his nurse once, instead of Godith's, and seen him every day of his life instead of twice or thrice since the childhood betrothal. A little too much solicitude! And a neat, brief breathing-space while they considered how much or how little to tell him!\n\n\"They've been hunting here already,\" said Ethic. \"I doubt if they'll come again, they had the place to pieces after the sheriff and the Lord Fulke. You're welcome to a shelter here if you need it. Are they close on your heels?\"\n\nHe was sure by that time that they knew he had never been inside the castle, nor committed in any way to FitzAlan's stand. This clever, trusted old servant and her husband had been deep in Adeney's confidence, they knew very well who had held with him, and who had held aloof.\n\n\"No, it's not that. I'm in no danger and no need. I came only to look for Godith. They're saying he left it too late to send her away with FitzAlan's family. Where can I find her?\"\n\n\"Did someone send you here to look for her?\" asked Edric.\n\n\"No, no, none\u2026 But where else would he place her? Who is there to be trusted like her nurse? Of course I came first to you! Never tell me she was not here!\"\n\n\"She was here,\" said Petronilla. \"Until a week ago we had her. But she's gone, Hugh, you're too late. He sent two knights to fetch her away, and not even we were told where she was bound. What we don't know we can't be made to tell, he said. But it's my belief they got her away out of the town in good time, and she's far off by now, and safe, pray God!\" No doubt about the fervency of that prayer, she would fight and die for her nurseling. And lie for her, too, if need be!\n\n\"But for God's sake, friends, can you not help me to her at all? I'm her intended husband. I'm responsible for her if her father is dead, as by now, for all I know, he may well be\u2026\"\n\nThat got him something for his trouble, at any rate, if it was no more than the flicker of a glance passing between them, before they exclaimed their \"God forbid!\" in unison. They knew very well, by the frenzied search, that FitzAlan and Adeney had been neither killed nor taken. They could not yet be sure that they were clean away and safe, but they were staking their lives and loyalty on it. So now he knew he would get nothing more from them, he, the renegade.\n\nNot, at any rate, by this direct means.\n\n\"Sorry I am, lad,\" said Edric Flesher weightily, \"to have no better comfort for you, but so it is. Take heart that at least no enemy has laid hand on her, and we pray none ever will.\" Which could well be taken, reflected Beringar whimsically, as a thrust at me.\n\n\"Then I must away, and try what I can discover elsewhere,\" he said dejectedly. \"I'll not put you in further peril. Open, Petronilla, and look if the street's empty for me.\" Which she did, nothing loth, and reported it as empty as a beggar's palm. Beringar clasped Edric's hand, and leaned and kissed Ethic's wife, and was rewarded and avenged by a vivid, guilty blush.\n\n\"Pray for her,\" he said, asking one thing at least they would not grudge him, and slipped through the half-open door, and heard it closed firmly behind him. Not too loudly, since he was supposed to be affecting stealth, but still audibly, he tramped with hasty steps along the street as far as the corner of the house. Then, whirling, he skipped back silently on his toes to lay an ear to the shutter.\n\n\"Hunting for his bride!\" Petronilla was saying scornfully. \"Yes, and a fair price he'd pay for her, too, and she a certain decoy for her father's return, if not for FitzAlan's! He has his way to make with Stephen now, and my girl's his best weapon.\"\n\n\"Maybe we're too hard on him,\" responded Edric mildly. \"Who's to say he doesn't truly want to see the girl safe? But I grant you we dared take no chances. Let him do his own hunting.\"\n\n\"Thank God,\" she said fiercely, \"he can't well know I've hid my lamb away in the one place where no sane man will look for her!\" And she chuckled at the word \"man.\"\n\n\"There'll be a time to get her out of there later, when all the hue and cry's forgotten. Now I pray her father's miles from here and riding hard. And that those two lads in Frankwell will have a lucky run westward with the sheriff's treasury tonight. May they all come safe to Normandy, and be serviceable to the empress, bless her!\"\n\n\"Hush, love!\" said Edric chidingly. \"Even behind locked doors\u2026\"\n\nThey had moved away into an inner room; a door closed between. Hugh Beringar abandoned his listening-post and walked demurely away down the long, curving hill to the town gate and the bridge, whistling softly and contentedly as he went.\n\nHe had got more even than he had bargained for. So they were hoping to smuggle out FitzAlan's treasury, as well as his person, and this very night, westward into Wales! And had had the forethought to stow it away meantime, against this desperate contingency, outside the walls of the town, somewhere in the suburb of Frankwell. No gates to pass, no bridges to cross. As for Godith\u2014he had a shrewd idea now where to look for her. With the girl and the money, he reflected, a man could buy the favour of far less corruptible men than King Stephen!\n\nGodith was in the herbarium workshop, obstinately stirring, diluting and mixing as she had been shown, an hour before Vespers, with her heart in anguished suspense, and her mind in a twilight between hope and despair. Her face was grubby from smearing away tears with a hand still soiled from the garden, and her eyes were rimmed with the washed hollows and grimed uplands of her grief and tension. Two tears escaped from her angry efforts at damming them, while both hands were occupied, and fell into a brew which should not have been weakened. Godith swore, an oath she had learned in the mews, long ago, when the falconers were suffering from a careless and impudent apprentice who had been her close friend.\n\n\"Rather say a blessing with them,\" said Brother Cadfael's voice behind her shoulder, gently and easily. \"That's likely to be the finest tisane for the eyes I ever brewed. Never doubt God was watching.\" She had turned her dirty, dogged, appealing face to him in silence, finding encouragement in the very tone of his voice. \"I've been to the gate house, and the mill, and the bridge. Such ill news as there is, is ill indeed, and presently we'll go pray for the souls of those quitting this world. But all of us quit it at last, by whatever way, that's not the worst of evils. And there is some news not all evil. From all I can hear this side Severn, and at the bridge itself\u2014there's an archer among the guard there was with me in the Holy Land\u2014your father and FitzAlan are neither dead, wounded nor captive, and all search of the town has failed to find them. They're clear away, Godric, my lad. I doubt if Stephen for all his hunting will lay hand on them now. And now you may tend to that wine you're watering, and practise your young manhood until we can get you safely out of here after your sire.\"\n\nJust for a moment she rained tears like the spring thaw, and then she glinted radiance like the spring sun. There was so much to grieve over, and so much to celebrate, she did not know which to do first, and essayed both together, like April. But her age was April, and the hopeful sunshine won.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael,\" she said when she was calm, \"I wish my father could have known you. And yet you are not of his persuasion, are you?\"\n\n\"Child, dear,\" said Cadfael comfortably, \"my monarch is neither Stephen nor Maud, and in all my life and all my fighting I've fought for only one king. But I value devotion and fidelity, and doubt if it matters whether the object falls short. What you do and what you are is what matters. Your loyalty is as sacred as mine. Now wash your face and bathe your eyes, and you can sleep for half an hour before Vespers\u2014but no, you're too young to have the gift!\"\n\nShe had not the gift that comes with age, but she had the exhaustion that comes of youthful stress, and she fell asleep on her bench-bed within seconds, drugged with the syrup of relief. He awoke her in time to cross the close for Vespers. She walked beside him discreetly, her shock of clipped curls combed forward on her brow to hide her still reddened eyes.\n\nDriven to piety by shock and terror, all the inhabitants of the guest house were also converging on the church, among them Hugh Beringar; not, perhaps, a victim of fear, but drawn by the delicate bait of Aline Siward, who came hastening from her house by the mill with lowered eyes and heavy heart. Beringar had, none the less, a quick eye for whatever else of interest might be going on round about him. He saw the two oddly contrasted figures coming in from the gardens, the squat, solid, powerful middle-aged monk with the outdoor tan and the rolling, seaman's gait, with his hand protectively upon the shoulder of a slip of a boy in a cotte surely inherited from an older and larger kinsman, a bare-legged, striding youth squinting warily through a bush of brown hair. Beringar looked, and considered; he smiled, but so inwardly that on his long, mobile mouth the smile hardly showed.\n\nGodith controlled both her face and her pace, and gave no sign of recognition. In the church she strolled away to join her fellow-pupils, and even exchanged a few nudges and grins with them. If he was still watching, let him wonder, doubt, change his mind. He had not seen her for more than five years. Whatever his speculations, he could not be sure. Nor was he watching this part of the church, she noted; his eyes were on the unknown lady in mourning most of the time. Godith began to breathe more easily, and even allowed herself to examine her affianced bridegroom almost as attentively as he was observing Aline Siward. When last seen, he had been a coltish boy of eighteen, all elbows and knees, not yet in full command of his body. Now he had a cat's assured and contemptuous grace, and a cool, aloof way with him. A presentable enough fellow, she owned critically, but no longer of interest to her, or possessed of any rights in her. Circumstances alter fortunes. She was relieved to see that he did not look in her direction again.\n\nAll the same, she told Brother Cadfael about it, as soon as they were alone together in the garden after supper, and her evening lesson with the boys was over. Cadfael took it gravely.\n\n\"So that's the fellow you were to marry! He came here straight from the king's camp, and has certainly joined the king's party, though according to Brother Dennis, who collects all the gossip that's going among his guests, he's on sufferance as yet, and has to prove himself before he'll get a command.\" He scrubbed thoughtfully at his blunt, brown nose, and pondered. \"Did it seem to you that he recognised you? Or even looked over-hard at you, as if you reminded him of someone known?\"\n\n\"I thought at first he did give me a hard glance, as though he might be wondering. But then he never looked my way again, or showed any interest. No, I think I was mistaken. He doesn't know me. I've changed in five years, and in this guise\u2026 In another year,\" said Godith, astonished and almost alarmed at the thought, \"we should have been married.\"\n\n\"I don't like it!\" said Cadfael, brooding. \"We shall have to keep you well out of his sight. If he wins his way in with the king, maybe he'll leave here with him in a week or so. Until then, keep far from the guest house or the stables, or the gate house, or anywhere he may be. Never let him set eyes on you if you can avoid.\"\n\n\"I know!\" said Godith, shaken and grave. \"If he does find me he may turn me to account for his own advancement. I do know! Even if my father had reached shipboard, he would come back and surrender himself, if I were threatened. And then he would die, as all those poor souls over there have died\u2026\" She could not bear to turn her head to look towards the towers of the castle, hideously ornamented. They were dying there still, though she did not know it; the work went on well into the hours of darkness. \"I will avoid him, like the plague,\" she said fervently, \"and pray that he'll leave soon.\"\n\nAbbot Heribert was an old, tired and peace-loving man, and disillusionment with the ugly tendencies of the time, combined with the vigour and ambition of his prior, Robert, had disposed him to withdraw from the world ever deeper into his own private consolations of the spirit. Moreover, he knew he was in disfavour with the king, like all those who had been slow to rally to him with vociferous support. But confronted with an unmistakable duty, however monstrous, the abbot could still muster courage enough to rise to the occasion. There were ninety-four dead or dying men being disposed of like animals, and every one had a soul, and a right to proper burial, whatever his crimes and errors. The Benedictines of the abbey were the natural protectors of those rights, and Heribert did not intend King Stephen's felons to be shovelled haphazard and nameless into an unmarked grave. All the same, he shrank from the horror of the task, and looked about him for someone more accomplished in these hard matters of warfare and bloodshed than himself, to lend support. And the obvious person was Brother Cadfael, who had crossed the world in the first Crusade, and afterwards spent ten years as a sea captain about the coasts of the Holy Land, where fighting hardly ever ceased.\n\nAfter Compline, Abbot Heribert sent for Cadfael to his private parlour.\n\n\"Brother, I am going\u2014now, this night\u2014to ask King Stephen for his leave and authority to give Christian burial to all those slaughtered prisoners. If he consents, tomorrow we must take up their poor bodies, and prepare them decently for the grave. There will be some who can be claimed by their own families, the rest we shall bury honourably with the rites due to them. Brother, you have yourself been a soldier. Will you\u2014if I speak with the king\u2014will you take charge of this work?\"\n\n\"Not gladly, but with all my heart, for all that,\" said Brother Cadfael, \"yes, Father, I will.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "\"Yes, I will,\" said Godith, \"if that's how I can best be useful to you. Yes, I will go to my morning lesson and my evening lesson, eat my dinner without a word or a look to anyone, and then make myself scarce and shut myself up here among the potions. Yes, and drop the bar on the door, if need be, and wait until I hear your voice before I open again. Of course I'll do as you bid. But for all that, I wish I could go with you. These are my father's people and my people, I wish I could have some small part in doing them these last services.\"\n\n\"Even if it were safe for you to venture there,\" said Cadfael firmly, \"and it is not, I would not let you go. The ugliness that man can do to man might cast a shadow between you and the certainty of the justice and mercy God can do to him hereafter. It takes half a lifetime to reach the spot where eternity is always visible, and the crude injustice of the hour shrivels out of sight. You'll come to it when the time's right. No, you stay here and keep well out of Hugh Beringar's way.\"\n\nHe had even thought of recruiting that young man into his working-party of able-bodied and devoutly inclined helpers, to make sure that he spent the day away from anywhere Godith might be. Whether in a bid to acquire merit for their own souls, out of secret partisan sympathy with the dead men's cause, or to search anxiously for friends or kin, three of the travellers in the guest house had volunteered their aid, and it might have been possible, with such an example, to inveigle others, even Beringar, into feeling obliged to follow suit. But it seemed that the young man was already out and away on horseback, perhaps dancing hopeful attendance on the king; a newcomer seeking office can't afford to let his face be forgotten. He had also ridden out the previous evening as soon as Vespers was over, so said the lay brothers in the stables. His three men-at-arms were here, idling their day away with nothing to do once the horses were groomed, fed and exercised, but they saw no reason why they should involve themselves in an activity certainly unpleasant, and possibly displeasing to the king. Cadfael could not blame them. He had a muster of twenty, brothers, lay brothers and the three benevolent travellers, when they set out across the bridge and through the streets of the town to the castle.\n\nProbably King Stephen had been glad enough to have a service offered voluntarily which he might otherwise have had to impose by order. Someone had to bury the dead, or the new garrison would be the first to suffer, and in an enclosed fortress in a tightly walled town disease can fester and multiply fearfully. All the same, the king would perhaps never forgive Abbot Heribert for the implied reproach, and the reminder of his Christian duty. Howbeit, the old man had brought back the needful authority; Cadfael's party was passed through the gates without question, and Cadfael himself admitted to Prestcote's presence.\n\n\"Your lordship will have had orders about us,\" he said briskly. \"We are here to take charge of the dead, and I require clean and adequate space where they may be decently laid until we take them away for burial. If we may draw water from the well, that's all besides that we need ask. Linen we have brought with us.\"\n\n\"The inner ward has been left empty,\" said Prestcote indifferently. \"There is room there, and there are boards you may use if you need them.\"\n\n\"The king has also granted that such of these unfortunates as were men of this town, and have families or neighbours here, can be claimed and taken away for private burial. Will you have that cried through the town, when I am satisfied that all is ready? And give them free passage in and out?\"\n\n\"If there are any bold enough to come,\" said Prestcote drily, \"they may have their kin and welcome. The sooner all this carrion is removed, the better shall I be pleased.\"\n\n\"Very well! Then what have you done with them?\" For the walls and towers had been denuded before dawn of their sudden crop of sorry fruit. The Flemings must have worked half the night to put the evidence out of sight, which was surely not their idea, but might well be Prestcote's. He had approved these deaths, he did not therefore have to take pleasure in them, and he was an old soldier of strict and orderly habits, who liked a clean garrison.\n\n\"We cut them down, when they were well dead, and dropped them over the parapet into the green ditch under the wall. Go out by the Foregate, and between the towers and the road you'll find them.\"\n\nCadfael inspected the small ward offered him, and it was at least clean and private, and had room for all. He led his party out through the gate in the town wall, and down into the deep, dry ditch beneath the towers. Long, fruiting grasses and low bushes partially hid what on closer approach looked like a battlefield. The dead lay piled deep at one spot close under the wall, and were sprawled and scattered like broken toys for yards on either side. Cadfael and his helpers tucked up their gowns and went to work in pairs, without word spoken, disentangling the knotted skein of bodies, carrying away first the most accessible, lifting apart those shattered into boneless embraces by their fall from above. The sun climbed high, and the heat was reflected upon them from the stone of the walls. The three pious travellers shed their cottes. In the deep hollow the air grew heavy and stifling, and they sweated and laboured for breath, but never flagged.\n\n\"Pay close attention always,\" said Cadfael warningly, \"in case some poor soul still breathes. They were in haste, they may have cut someone down early. And in this depth of cushioning below, a man could survive even the fall.\"\n\nBut the Flemings, for all their hurry, had been thorough. There was no live man salvaged out of that massacre.\n\nThey had started work early, but it was approaching noon by the time they had all the dead laid out in the ward, and were beginning the work of washing and composing the bodies as becomingly as possible, straightening broken limbs, closing and weighting eyelids, even brushing tangled hair into order, and binding fallen jaws, so that the dead face might be no horror to some unfortunate parent or wife who had loved it in life. Before he would go to Prestcote and ask for the promised proclamation to be made, Cadfael walked the range of his salvaged children, and checked that they were as presentable as they could well be made. And as he paced, he counted. At the end he frowned, and stood to consider, then went back and counted again. And that done, he began a much closer scrutiny of all those he had not himself handled, drawing down the linen wrappings that covered the worst ravages. When he rose from the last of them, his face was grim, and he marched away in search of Prestcote without a word to any.\n\n\"How many,\" demanded Cadfael, \"did you say you despatched at the king's order?\"\n\n\"Ninety-four,\" said Prestcote, puzzled and impatient.\n\n\"Either you did not count,\" said Cadfael, \"or you miscounted. There are ninety-five here.\"\n\n\"Ninety-four or ninety-five,\" said Prestcote, exasperated, \"one more or less, what does it matter? Traitors all, and condemned, am I to tear my hair because the number does not tally?\"\n\n\"Not you, perhaps,\" said Cadfael simply, \"but God will require an accounting. Ninety-four, including Arnulf of Hesdin, you had orders to slay. Justified or not, that at least was ordered, you had your sanction, the thing is registered and understood. Any accounting for those comes later and in another court. But the ninety-fifth is not in the reckoning, no king authorised his removal out of this world, no castellan had orders to kill him, never was he accused or convicted of rebellion, treason or any other crime, and the man who destroyed him is guilty of murder.\"\n\n\"God's wounds!\" exploded Prestcote violently. \"An officer in the heat of fighting miscounts by one, and you would make a coram rege case out of it! He was omitted in the count delivered, but he was taken in arms and hanged like the rest, and no more than his deserts. He rebelled like the rest, he is hanged like the rest, and that's an end of it. In God's name, man, what do you want me to do?\"\n\n\"It would be well,\" said Cadfael flatly, \"if you would come and look at him, to begin with. For he is not like the rest. He was not hanged like the rest, his hands were not bound like the rest\u2014he is in no way comparable, though someone took it for granted we would all see and think as you, and omit to count. I am telling you, my lord Prestcote, there is a murdered man among your executed men, a leaf hidden in your forest. And if you regret that my eyes found him, do you think God had not seen him long before? And supposing you could silence me, do you think God will keep silence?\"\n\nPrestcote had stopped pacing by that time, and stood staring very intently. \"You are in good earnest,\" he said, shaken. \"How could there be a man there dead in some other way? Are you sure of what you say?\"\n\n\"I am sure. Come and see! He is there because some felon put him there, to pass for one among the many, and arouse no curiosity, and start no questions.\"\n\n\"Then he would need to know that the many would be there.\"\n\n\"Most of this town and all this garrison would know that, by nightfall. This was a deed of night. Come and see!\"\n\nAnd Prestcote went with him, and showed every sign of consternation and concern. But so would a guilty man, and who was better placed to know all a guilty man needed to know, to protect himself? Still, he kneeled with Cadfael beside the body that was different, there in the confines of the ward, between high walls, with the odour of death just spreading its first insidious pall over them.\n\nA young man, this. No armour on him, but naturally the rest had been stripped of theirs, nail and plate being valuable. But his dress was such as to suggest that he had worn neither mail nor leather, he was clad in lightweight, dark cloth, but booted, the manner of dress a man would wear for a journey in summer weather, to ride light, be warm enough by night, and shed the short cotte to be cool enough by day. He looked about twenty-five years old, no more, reddish brown in colouring and round and comely of face, if the eye could make allowance for the congestion of strangulation, now partially smoothed out by Cadfael's experienced fingers. The bulge and stare of the eyes was covered, but the lids stood large.\n\n\"He died strangled,\" said Prestcote, relieved to see the signs.\n\n\"He did, but not by a rope. And not with hands bound, like these others. Look!\" Cadfael drew down the folds of the capuchon from the round young throat, and showed the sharp, cruel line that seemed to sever head from body. \"You see the thinness of this cord that took his life? No man ever dangled from such a noose. It runs level round his neck, and is fine as fishing line. It may well have been fishing line. You see the edges of this furrow in his flesh, discoloured, and shiny? The cord that killed him was waxed, to bite smooth and deep. And you see this pit here behind?\" He raised the lifeless head gently on his arm, and showed, close to the knotted cord of the spine, a single, deep, bruised hollow, with a speck of black blood at its heart. \"The mark of one end of a wooden peg, a hand-hold to twist when the cord was round the victim's throat. Stranglers use such waxed cords, with two hand-holds at the ends\u2014killers by stealth, highway birds of prey. Given strength of hand and wrist, it is a very easy way of seeing your enemies out of this world. And do you see, my lord, how his neck, where the thong bites, is lacerated and beaded with dried blood? Now see here, both hands\u2014Look at his nails, black at the tips with his own blood. He clawed at the cord that was killing him. His hands were free. Did you hang any whose hands were not tied?\"\n\n\"No!\" Prestcote was so fascinated by the details he could not deny that the answer escaped him involuntarily. It would have been futile to snatch it back. He looked up at Brother Cadfael across the unknown young man's body, and his face sharpened and hardened into hostility. \"There is nothing to be gained,\" he said deliberately, \"by making public so wild a tale. Bury your dead and be content. Let the rest be!\"\n\n\"You have not considered,\" said Cadfael mildly, \"that as yet there is no one who can put a name or a badge to this boy. He may as well be an envoy of the king as an enemy. Better treat him fairly, and keep your peace with both God and man. Also,\" he said, in a tone even more cloistrally innocent, \"you may raise doubts of your own integrity if you meddle with truth. If I were you, I would report this faithfully, and send out that proclamation to the townsfolk at once, for we are ready. Then, if any can claim this young man, you have delivered your soul. And if not, then clearly you have done all man can do to right a wrong. And your duty ends there.\"\n\nPrestcote eyed him darkly for some moments, and then rose abruptly from his knees. \"I will send out the word,\" he said, and stalked away into the hail.\n\nThe news was cried through the town, and word sent formally to the abbey, so that the same announcement might be made at the guest house there. Hugh Beringar, riding in from the east on his return from the king's camp, having forded the river at an island downstream, heard the proclamation at the gate house of the abbey, and saw among those anxiously listening the slight figure of Aline Siward, who had come out from her house to hear the news. For the first time he saw her with head uncovered. Her hair was the light, bright gold he had imagined it would be, and shed a few curling strands on either side her oval face. The long lashes shadowing her eyes were many shades darker, a rich bronze. She stood listening intently, gnawed a doubtful lip, and knotted her small hands together. She looked hesitant, and burdened, and very young.\n\nBeringar dismounted only a few paces from her, as if he had by mere chance chosen that spot in order to be still and hear to the end what Prior Robert was saying.\n\n\"\u2014and his Grace the king gives free warranty to any who may wish, to come and claim their kin, if there be any such among the executed, and give them burial in their own place and at their own charge. Also, since there is one in particular whose identity is not known, he desires that all who come may view him, and if they can, name him. All which may be done without fear of penalty or disfavour.\"\n\nNot everyone would take that at its face value, but she did. What was troubling her was not fear of any consequences to herself, but a desperate feeling that she ought to make this dolorous pilgrimage, while equally earnestly she shrank from the horrors she might have to see. She had, Beringar remembered, a brother who had defied his father and run off to join the empress's adherents; and though she had heard rumours that he might have reached France, she had no means of knowing if they were true. Now she was struggling to escape the conviction that wherever there were garrisons of her brother's faction fallen victims of this civil war, she ought to go and assure herself that he was not among them. She had the most innocent and eloquent of faces, her every thought shone through.\n\n\"Madam,\" said Beringar, very softly and respectfully, \"if there is any way I can be of service to you, I beg you command me.\"\n\nShe turned to look at him, and smiled, for she had seen him in church, and knew him to be a guest here like herself, and stress had turned Shrewsbury into a town where people behaved to one another either as loyal neighbours or potential informers, and of the latter attitude she was incapable. Nevertheless, he saw fit to establish his credentials. \"You will remember I came to offer the king my troth when you did. My name is Hugh Beringar of Maesbury. It would give me pleasure to serve, you. And it seemed to me that you were finding cause for perplexity and distress in what we have just heard. If there is any errand I can do for you, I will, gladly.\"\n\n\"I do remember you,\" said Aline, \"and I take your offer very kindly, but this is something only I can do, if it must be done. No one else here would know my brother's face. To tell the truth, I was hesitating\u2026 But there will be women from the town, I know, going there with certain knowledge to find their sons. If they can do it, so can I.\"\n\n\"But you have no good reason,\" he said, \"to suppose that your brother may be among these unfortunates.\"\n\n\"None, except that I don't know where he is, and I do know he embraced the empress's cause. It would be better, wouldn't it, to be sure? Not to miss any possibility? As often as I do not find him dead, I may hope to see him again alive.\"\n\n\"Was he very dear to you?\" asked Beringar gently.\n\nShe hesitated to answer that, taking it very gravely. \"No, I never knew him as sister should know brother. Giles was always for his own friends and his own way, and five years my elder. By the time I was eleven or twelve he was for ever away from home, and came back only to quarrel with my father. But he is the only brother I have, and I have not disinherited him. And they're saying there's one there more than they counted, and unknown.\"\n\n\"It will not be Giles,\" he said firmly.\n\n\"But if it were? Then he needs his name, and his sister to do what's right.\" She had made up her mind. \"I must go.\"\n\n\"I think you should not. But I am sure you should not go alone.\" He thought ruefully that her answer to that would be that she had her maid to accompany her, but instead she said at once: \"I will not take Constance into such a scene! She has no kin there, and why should she have to suffer it as well as I?\"\n\n\"Then, if you will have me, I will go with you.\"\n\nHe doubted if she had any artifice in her; certainly at this pass she showed none. Her anxious face brightened joyfully, she looked at him with the most ingenuous astonishment, hope and gratitude. But she still hesitated. \"That is kind indeed, but I can't let you do it. Why should you be subjected to such pain, just because I have a duty?\"\n\n\"Oh, come now!\" he said indulgently, sure of himself and of her. \"I shall not have a moment's peace if you refuse me and go alone. But if you tell me I shall only be adding to your distress by insisting, then I'll be silent and obey you. On no other condition.\"\n\nIt was more than she could do. Her lips quivered. \"No\u2014it would be a lie. I am not very brave!\" she said sadly. \"I shall be grateful indeed.\"\n\nHe had what he had wanted; he made the most of it. Why ride, when the walk through the town could be made to last so much longer, and provide so much more opportunity to get to know her better? Hugh Beringar sent his horse to the stables, and set out with Aline along the highway and over the bridge into Shrewsbury.\n\nBrother Cadfael was standing guard over his murdered man in a corner of the inner ward, beside the archway, where every citizen who came in search of child or kinsman must pass close, and could be questioned. But all he got so far was mute shaking of heads and glances half-pitying, half-relieved. No one knew the young man. And how could he expect great concern from these poor souls who came looking, every one, for some known face, and barely saw the rest?\n\nPrestcote had made good his word, there was no tally kept of those who came, and no hindrance placed in their way, or question asked of them. He wanted his castle rid of its grim reminders as quickly as possible. The guard, under Adam Courcelle, had orders to remain unobtrusive, even to help if that would get the unwelcome guests off the premises by nightfall.\n\nCadfael had persuaded every man of the guard to view his unknown, but none of them could identify him. Courcelle had frowned down at the body long and sombrely, and shaken his head.\n\n\"I never saw him before, to my knowledge. What can there possibly have been about a mere young squire like this, to make someone hate him enough to kill?\"\n\n\"There can be murders without hate,\" said Cadfael grimly. \"Footpads and forest robbers take their victims as they come, without any feeling of liking or disliking.\"\n\n\"Why, what can such a youth have had to make him worth killing for gain?\"\n\n\"Friend,\" said Cadfael, \"there are those in the world would kill for the few coins a beggar has begged during the day. When they see kings cut down more than ninety in one sweep, whose fault was only to be in arms on the other side, is it much wonder rogues take that for justification? Or at least for licence!\" He saw the colour burn high in Courcelle's face, and a momentary spark of anger in his eye, but the young man made no protest. \"Oh, I know you had your orders, and no choice but to obey them. I have been a soldier in my time, and borne the same discipline and done things I would be glad now to think I had not done. That's one reason I've accepted, in the end, another discipline.\"\n\n\"I doubt,\" said Courcelle drily, \"if I shall ever come to that.\"\n\n\"So would I have doubted it, then. But here I am, and would not change again to your calling. Well, we do the best we can with our lives!\" And the worst, he thought, viewing the long lines of motionless forms laid out along the ward, with other men's lives, if we have power.\n\nThere were some gaps in the silent ranks by then. Some dozen or so had been claimed by parents and wives. Soon there would be piteous little hand-carts pushed up the slope to the gate, and brothers and neighbours lifting limp bodies to carry them away. More of the townspeople were still coming timidly in through the archway, women with shawls drawn close over their heads and faces half-hidden, gaunt old men trudging resignedly to look for their sons. No wonder Courcelle, whose duties could hardly have encompassed this sort of guard before, looked almost as unhappy as the mourners.\n\nHe was frowning down at the ground in morose thought when Aline came into view in the archway, her hand drawn protectively through Hugh Beringar's arm. Her face was white and taut, her eyes very wide and her lips stiffly set, and her fingers clutched at her escort's sleeve as drowning men clutch at floating twigs, but she kept her head up and her step steady and firm. Beringar matched his pace attentively to hers, made no effort to divert her eyes from the sorry spectacle in the ward, and cast only few and brief, but very intent, side-glances at her pale countenance. It would certainly have been a tactical error, Cadfael thought critically, to attempt the kind of protective ardour that claims possession; young and ingenuous and tender as she might be, this was a proud patrician girl of old blood, not to be trifled with if once that blood was up. If she had come here on her own family business, like these poor, prowling citizens, she would not thank any man to try and take it out of her hands. She might, none the less, be deeply thankful for his considerate and reticent presence.\n\nCourcelle looked up, almost as though he had felt a breath of unease moving before them, and saw the pair emerge into the sunlight in the ward, cruel afternoon sunlight that spared no detail. His head jerked up and caught the light, his bright hair burning up like a furze fire. \"Christ God!\" he said in a hissing undertone, and went plunging to intercept them on the threshold.\n\n\"Aline!\u2014Madam, should you be here? This is no place for you, so desolate a spectacle. I marvel,\" he said furiously to Beringar, \"that you should bring her here, to face a scene so harrowing.\"\n\n\"He did not bring me,\" said AIine quickly. \"It was I insisted on coming. Since he could not prevent me, he has been kind enough to come with me.\"\n\n\"Then, dear lady, you were foolish to impose such a penance on yourself,\" said Courcelle fiercely. \"Why, how can you have business here? Surely there's none here belonging to you.\"\n\n\"I pray you may be right,\" she said. Her eyes, huge in the white face, ranged in fearful fascination over the shrouded ranks at her feet, and visibly the first horror and revulsion changed gradually into appalled human pity. \"But I must know! Like all these others! I have only one way of being certain, and it's no worse for me than for them. You know I have a brother\u2014you were there when I told the king.\"\n\n\"But he cannot be here. You said he was fled to Normandy.\"\n\n\"I said it was rumoured so\u2014but how can I be sure? He may have won to France, he may have joined some company of the empress's men nearer home, how can I tell? I must see for myself whether he chose Shrewsbury or not.\"\n\n\"But surely the garrison here were known. Your name is very unlikely to have been among them.\"\n\n\"The sheriff's proclamation,\" said Beringar mildly, speaking up for the first time in this encounter, \"mentioned that there was one here, at least, Who was not known. One more, apparently, than the expected tally.\"\n\n\"You must let me see for myself,\" said AIine, gently and firmly, \"or how can I have any peace?\"\n\nCourcelle had no right to prevent, however it grieved and enraged him. And at least this particular corpse was close at hand, and could bring her nothing but reassurance. \"He lies here,\" he said, and turned her towards the corner where Brother Cadfael stood. She gazed, and was surprised into the faint brightness of a smile, a genuine smile though it faded soon.\n\n\"I think I should know you. I've seen you about the abbey, you are Brother Cadfael, the herbalist.\"\n\n\"That is my name,\" said. Cadfael. \"Though why you should have learned it I hardly know.\"\n\n\"I was asking the porter about you,\" she owned, flushing. \"I saw you at Vespers and Compline, and\u2014Forgive me, brother, if I have trespassed, but you had such an air\u2014as though you had lived adventures before you came to the cloister. He told me you were in the Crusade\u2014with Godfrey of Bouillon at the siege of Jerusalem! I have only dreamed of such service\u2026 Oh!\" She had lowered her eyes from his face, half abashed by her own ardour, and seen the young, dead face exposed at his feet. She gazed and gazed, in controlled silence. The face was not offensive, rather its congestion had subsided; the unknown lay youthful and almost comely.\n\n\"This a most Christian service you are doing now,\" said Aline, low-voiced, \"for all these here. This is the unexpected one? The one more than was counted?\"\n\n\"This is he.\" Cadfael stooped and drew down the linen to show the good but simple clothing, the absence of anything warlike about the young man. \"But for the dagger, which every man wears when he travels, he was unarmed.\"\n\nShe looked up sharply. Over her shoulder Beringar was gazing down with frowning concentration at the rounded face that must have been cheerful and merry in life. \"Are you saying,\" asked AIine, \"that he was not in the fight here? Not captured with the garrison?\"\n\n\"So it seems to me. You don't know him?\"\n\n\"No.\" She looked down with pure, impersonal compassion. \"So young! It's great pity! I wish I could tell you his name, but I never saw him before.\"\n\n\"Master Beringar?\"\n\n\"No. A stranger to me.\" Beringar was still staring down very sombrely at the dead. They were almost of an age, surely no more than a year between them. Every man burying his twin sees his own burial.\n\nCourcelle, hovering solicitously, laid a hand on the girl's arm, and said persuasively: \"Come now, you've done your errand, you should quit this sad place at once, it is not for you. You see your fears were groundless, your brother is not here.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Aline, \"this is not he, but for all that he may\u2014How can I be sure unless I see them all?\" She put off the urging touch, but very gently. \"I've ventured this far, and how is it worse for me than for any of these others?\" She looked round appealingly. \"Brother Cadfael, this is your charge now. You know I must ease my mind. Will you come with me?\"\n\n\"Very willingly,\" said Cadfael, and led the way without more words, for words were not going to dissuade her, and he thought her right not to be dissuaded. The two young men followed side by side, neither willing to give the other precedence. Aline looked down at every exposed face, wrung but resolute.\n\n\"He was twenty-four years old\u2014not very like me, his hair was darker\u2026 Oh, here are all too many no older than he!\"\n\nThey had traversed more than half of the dolorous passage when suddenly she caught at Cadfael's arm, and froze where she stood. She made no outcry, she had breath only for a soft moan, audible as a word only to Cadfael, who was nearest. \"Giles!\" she said again more strongly, and what colour she had drained from her face and left her almost translucent, staring down at a face once imperious, wilful and handsome. She sank to her knees, stooping to study the dead face close, and then she uttered the only cry she ever made over her brother, and that very brief and private, and swooped breast to breast with him, gathering the body into her arms. The mass of her hair slipped out of its coils and spilled gold over them both.\n\nBrother Cadfael, who was experienced enough to let her alone until she seemed to need comfort for her grief instead of decent reticence, would have waited quietly, but he was hurriedly thrust aside, and Adam Courcelle fell on his knees beside her, and took her beneath the arms to lift her against his shoulder. The shock of discovery seemed to have shaken him fully as deeply as it had Aline, his face was stricken and dismayed, his voice an appalled stammer.\n\n\"Madam!\u2014Aline\u2014Dear God, is this indeed your brother? If I'd known\u2026 if I'd known, I'd have saved him for you\u2026 Whatever the cost, I would have delivered him\u2026 God forgive me!\"\n\nShe lifted a tearless face from the curtain of her yellow hair, and looked at him with wonder and compunction, seeing him so shattered. \"Oh, hush! How can this be any fault of yours? You could not know. You did only what you were ordered to do. And how could you have saved one, and let the rest die?\"\n\n\"Then truly this is your brother?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, gazing down at the dead youth with a face now drained even of shock and grief. \"This is Giles.\" Now she knew the worst, and now she had only to do what was needful, what fell to her for want of father and brothers. She crouched motionless in Courcelle's arm, earnestly regarding the dead face. Cadfael, watching, was glad he had managed to mould some form back into features once handsome, but in death fallen into a total collapse of terror. At least she was not viewing that hardly human disintegration.\n\nPresently she heaved a short, sharp sigh, and made to rise, and Hugh Beringar, who had shown admirably judicious restraint throughout, reached a hand to her on the other side, and lifted her to her feet. She was mistress of herself as perhaps she had never been before, never having had to meet such a test until now. What was required of her she could and would do.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, I do thank you for all you have done, not only for Giles and me, but for all these. Now, if you permit, I will take my brother's burial into my charge, as is only fitting.\"\n\nClose and anxious at her shoulder, still deeply shaken, Courcelle asked: \"Where would you have him conveyed? My men shall carry him there for you, and be at your orders as long as you need them. I wish I might attend you myself, but I must not leave my guard.\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" she said, quite composed now. \"My mother's family has a tomb. at St. Alkmund's church, here in the town. Father Elias knows me. I shall be grateful for help in taking my brother there, but I need not keep your men from their duties longer. All the rest I will do.\" Her face had grown intent and practical, she had work to do, all manner of things to take into account, the need for speed, the summer heat, the provision of all the materials proper to decent preparation for the grave. She made her dispositions with authority.\n\n\"Messire Beringar, you have been kind, and I do value it, but now I must stay to see to my family's rites. There is no need to sadden all the rest of your day, I shall be safe enough.\"\n\n\"I came with you,\" said Hugh Beringar, \"and I shall not return without you.\" The very way to talk to her now, without argument, without outward show of sympathy. She accepted his resolve simply, and turned to her duty. Two of the guards brought a narrow litter, and lifted Giles Siward's body into it, and she herself steadied and straightened the lolling head.\n\nAt the last moment Courcelle, frowning down distressfully at the corpse, said abruptly: \"Wait! I have remembered\u2014I believe there is something here that must have belonged to him.\"\n\nHe went hastily through the archway and across the outer ward to the guard-towers, and in a few moments came back carrying over his arm a black cloak. \"This was among the gear they left behind in the guardroom at the end. I think it must have been his\u2014this clasp at the neck has the same design, see, as the buckle of his belt.\"\n\nIt was true enough, there was the same dragon of eternity, tail in mouth, lavishly worked in bronze. \"I noticed it only now. That cannot be by chance. Let me at least restore him this.\" He spread out the cloak and draped it gently over the litter, covering the dead face. When he looked up, it was into Aline's eyes, and for the first time they regarded him through a sheen of tears.\n\n\"That was very kindly done,\" she said in a low voice, and gave him her hand. \"I shall not forget it.\"\n\nCadfael went back to his vigil by the unknown, and continued his questioning, but it brought no useful response. In the coming night all these dead remaining must be taken on carts down the Wyle and out to the abbey; this hot summer would not permit further delay. At dawn Abbot Heribert would consecrate a new piece of ground at the edge of the abbey enclosure, for a mass grave. But this unknown, never condemned, never charged with any crime, whose dead body cried aloud for justice, should not be buried among the executed, nor should there be any rest until he could go to his grave under his own rightful name, and with all the individual honours due to him.\n\nIn the house of Father Elias, priest of St. Alkmund's church, Giles Siward was reverently stripped, washed, composed and shrouded, all by his sister's hands, the good father assisting. Hugh Beringar stood by to fetch and carry for them, but did not enter the room where they worked. She wanted no one else, she was quite sufficient to the task laid on her, and if she was robbed of any part of it now she would feel deprivation and resentment, not gratitude. But when all was done, and her brother laid ready for rest before the altar of the church, she was suddenly weary to death, and glad enough of Beringar's almost silent company and ready arm back to her house by the mill.\n\nOn the following morning Giles Siward was interred with all due ceremony in the tomb of his maternal grandfather in the church of St. Alkmund, and the monks of the abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul buried with due rites all the sixty-six soldiers of the defeated garrison still remaining in their charge."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Aline brought back with her the cotte and hose her brother had worn, and the cloak that had covered him, and herself carefully brushed and folded them. The shirt no one should ever wear again, she would burn it and forget; but these stout garments of good cloth must not go to waste, in a world where so many went half-naked and cold. She took the neat bundle, and went in at the abbey gate house, and finding the whole courtyard deserted, crossed to the ponds and the gardens in search of Brother Cadfael. She did not find him. The digging out of a grave large enough to hold sixty-six victims, and the sheer repetitious labour of laying them in it, takes longer than the opening of a stone tomb to make room for one more kinsman. The brothers were hard at work until past two o'clock, even with every man assisting.\n\nBut if Cadfael was not there, his garden-boy was, industriously clipping off flower-heads dead in the heat, and cutting leaves and stems of blossoming savory to hang up in bunches for drying. All the end of the hut, under the eaves, was festooned with drying herbs. The diligent boy worked barefoot and dusty from the powdery soil, and a smear of green coloured one cheek. At the sound of approaching footsteps he looked round, and came out in haste from among his plants, in a great wave of fragrance, which clung about him and distilled from the folds of his coarse tunic like the miraculous sweetness conferred upon some otherwise unimpressive-looking saint. The hurried swipe of a hand over his tangle of hair only served to smear the other cheek and half his forehead.\n\n\"I was looking,\" said Aline, almost apologetically, \"for Brother Cadfael. You must be the boy called Godric, who works for him.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady,\" said Godith gruffly. \"Brother Cadfael is still busy, they are not finished yet.\" She had wanted to attend, but he would not let her; the less she was seen in full daylight, the better.\n\n\"Oh!\" said Aline, abashed. \"Of course, I should have known. Then may I leave my message with you? It is only\u2014I've brought these, my brother's clothes. He no longer needs them, and they are still good, someone could be glad of them. Will you ask Brother Cadfael to dispose of them somewhere they can do good? However he thinks best.\"\n\nGodith had scrubbed grubby hands down the skirts of her cotte before extending them to take the bundle. She stood suddenly very still, eyeing the other girl and clutching the dead man's clothes, so startled and shaken that she forgot for a moment to keep her voice low. \"No longer needs\u2026 You had a brother in there, in the castle? Oh, I am sorry! Very sorry!\"\n\nAline looked down at her own hands, empty and rather lost now that even this last small duty was done. \"Yes. One of many,\" she said. \"He made his choice. I was taught to think it the wrong one, but at least he stood by it to the end. My father might have been angry with him, but he would not have had to be ashamed.\"\n\n\"I am sorry!\" Godith hugged the folded garments to her breast and could find no better words. \"I'll deliver your message to Brother Cadfael as soon as he comes. And he would want me to give you his thanks for your most feeling charity, until he can do it for himself.\"\n\n\"And give him this purse, too. It is for Masses for them all. But especially a Mass for the one who should not have been there\u2014the one nobody knows.\"\n\nGodith stared in bewilderment and wonder. \"Is there one like that? One who did not belong? I didn't know!\" She had seen Cadfael for only a few hurried moments when he came home late and weary, and he had had no time to tell her anything. All she knew was that the remaining dead had been brought to the abbey for burial; this mysterious mention of one who had no place in the common tragedy was new to her.\n\n\"So he said. There were ninety-five where there should have been only ninety-four, and one did not seem to have been in arms. Brother Cadfael was asking all who came, to look and see if they knew him, but I think no one has yet put a name to him.\"\n\n\"And where, then is he now?\" asked Godith, marvelling.\n\n\"That I don't know. Though they must have brought him here to the abbey. Somehow I don't think Brother Cadfael will let him be put into the earth with all the rest, and he nameless and unaccounted for. You must know his ways better than I. Have you worked with him long?\"\n\n\"No, a very short time,\" said Godith, \"but I do begin to know him.\" She was growing a little uneasy, thus innocently studied at close quarters by those clear iris eyes. A woman might be more dangerous to her secret than a man. She cast a glance back towards the beds of herbs where she had been working.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aline, taking the allusion, \"I must not keep you from your proper work.\"\n\nGodith watched her withdraw, almost regretting that she dared not prolong this encounter with another girl in this sanctuary of men. She laid the bundle of clothing on her bed in the hut, and went back to work, waiting in some disquiet for Cadfael to come; and even when he did appear he was tired, and still burdened with business.\n\n\"I'm sent for to the king's camp. It seems his sheriff has thought best to let him know what sort of unexpected hare I've started, and he wants an accounting from me. But I'm forgetting,\" he said, passing a hard palm over cheeks stiff with weariness, \"I've had no time to talk to you at all, you've heard nothing of all that\u2014\"\n\n\"Ah, but I have,\" said Godith' \"Aline Siward was here looking for you. She brought these, see, for you to give as alms, wherever you think best. They were her brother's. She told me. And this money is for Masses\u2014she said especially a Mass for this one man more than was looked for. Now tell me, what is this mystery?\"\n\nIt was pleasant to sit quietly for a while and let things slide, and therefore he relaxed and sat down with her, and told her. She listened intently, and when he was done she asked at once: \"And where is he now, this stranger nobody knows?\"\n\n\"He is in the church, on a bier before the altar. I want all who come to services to pass by him, in the hope that someone must know him, and give him a name. We can't keep him beyond tomorrow,\" he said fretfully, \"the season is too hot. But if we must bury him unknown, I intend it to be where he can as easily be taken up again, and to keep his clothes and a drawing of his face, until we discover the poor lad.\"\n\n\"And you truly believe,\" she questioned, awed, \"that he was murdered? And then cast in among the king's victims, to hide the crime away for ever?\"\n\n\"Child, I've told you! He was taken from behind, with a strangler's cord ready prepared for the deed. And it was done in the same night that the others died and were flung over into the ditch. What better opportunity could a murderer have? Among so many, who was to count, and separate, and demand answers? He had been dead much the same time as some of those others. It should have been a certain cover.\"\n\n\"But it was not!\" she said, vengefully glowing. \"Because you came. Who else would have cared to be so particular among ninety-five dead men? Who else would have stood out alone for the rights of a man not condemned\u2014killed without vestige of law? Oh, Brother Cadfael, you have made me as irreconcilable as you are on this. Here am I, and have not seen this man. Let the king wait a little while! Let me go and see! Or go with me, if you must, but let me look at him.\"\n\nCadfael considered and got to his feet, groaning a little at the effort. He was not so young as he once had been, and he had had a hard day and night. \"Come, then, have your will, who am Ito shut you out where I invite others in? It should be quiet enough there now, but keep close to me. Oh, girl, dear, I must also be about getting you safe out of here as soon as I may.\"\n\n\"Are you so eager to get rid of me?\" she said, offended. \"And just when I'm getting to know sage from marjoram! What would you do without me?\"\n\n\"Why, train some novice I can expect to keep longer than a few weeks. And speaking of herbs,\" said Cadfael, drawing out a little leather bag from the breast of his habit, and shaking out a six-inch sprig of sun-dried herbage, a thin, square stem studded at intervals with pairs of spreading leaves, with tiny brown balls set in the joints of them, \"do you know what this one is?\"\n\nShe peered at it curiously, having learned much in a few days. \"No. We don't grow it here. But I might know it if I saw it growing fresh.\"\n\n\"It's goose-grass\u2014-cleavers it's also called. A queer, creeping thing that grows little hooks to hold fast, even on these tiny seeds you see here. And you see it's broken in the middle of this straight stem?\"\n\nShe saw, and was curiously subdued. There was something here beyond her vision; the thing was a wisp of brown, bleached and dry, but indeed folded sharply in the midst by a thin fracture. \"What is it? Where did you find it?\"\n\n\"Caught into the furrow in this poor lad's throat,\" he said, so gently that she could take it in without shock, \"broken here by the ligament that strangled him. And it's last year's crop, not new. The stuff is growing richly at this season, seeding wild everywhere, this was in fodder, or litter, grass cut last autumn and dried out. Never turn against the herb, it's sovereign for healing green wounds that are stubborn to knit. All the things of the wild have their proper uses, only misuse makes them evil.\" He put the small slip of dryness away carefully in his bosom, and laid an arm about her shoulders. \"Come, then, let's go and look at this youngster, you and I together.\"\n\nIt was mid-afternoon, the time of work for the brothers, play for the boys and the novices, once their limited tasks were done. They came down to the church without meeting any but a few half-grown boys at play, and entered the cool dimness within.\n\nThe mysterious young man from the castle ditch lay austerely shrouded on his bier in the choir end of the nave, his head and face uncovered. Dim but pure light fell upon him; it needed only a few minutes to get accustomed to the soft interior glow in this summer afternoon, and he shone clear to view. Godith stood beside him and gazed in silence. They were alone there, but for him, and they could speak, in low voices. But when Cadfael asked softly: \"Do you know him?\" he was already sure of the answer.\n\nA fine thread of a whisper beside him said: \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Come!\" He led her out as softly as they had come. In the sunlight he heard her draw breath very deep and long. She made no other comment until they were secure together in the herbarium, in the drowning summer sweetness, sitting in the shade of the hut.\n\n\"Well, who is he, this young fellow who troubles both you and me?\"\n\n\"His name,\" she said, very low and wonderingly, \"is Nicholas Faintree. I've known him, by fits and starts, since I was twelve years old. He is a squire of FitzAlan's, from one of his northern manors, he's ridden courier for his lord several times in the last few years. He would not be much known in Shrewsbury, no. If he was waylaid and murdered here, he must have been on his lord's business. But FitzAlan's business was almost finished in these parts.\" She hugged her head between her hands, and thought passionately. \"There are some in Shrewsbury could have named him for you, you know, if they had reason to come looking for men of their own. I know of some who may be able to tell you what he was doing here that day and that night. If you can be sure no ill will come to them?\"\n\n\"Never by me,\" said Cadfael, \"that I promise.\"\n\n\"There's my nurse, the one who brought me here and called me her nephew. Petronilla served my family all her grown life, until she married late, too late for children of her own, and she married a good friend to FitzAlan's house and ours, Edric Flesher, the chief of the butchers' guild in town. The two of them were close in all the plans when FitzAlan declared for the empress Maud. If you go to them from me,\" she said confidently, \"they'll tell you anything they know. You'll know the shop, it has the sign of the boar's head, in the butchers' row.\"\n\nCadfael scrubbed thoughtfully at his nose. \"If I borrow the abbot's mule, I can make better speed, and spare my legs, too. There'll be no keeping the king waiting, but on the way back I can halt at the shop. Give me some token, to show you trust me, and they can do as much without fear.\"\n\n\"Petronilla can read, and knows my hand. I'll write you a line to her, if you'll lend me a little leaf of vellum, a mere corner will do.\" She was alight with ardour, as intent as he. \"He was a merry person, Nicholas, he never did harm to anyone, that I know, and he was never out of temper. He laughed a great deal\u2026 But if you tell the king he was of the opposite party, he won't care to pursue the murderer, will he? He'll call it a just fate, and bid you leave well alone.\"\n\n\"I shall tell the king,\" said Cadfael, \"that we have a man plainly murdered, and the method and time we know, but not the place or the reason. I will also tell him that we have a name for him\u2014it's a modest name enough, it can mean nothing to Stephen. As at this moment there's no more to tell, for I know no more. And even if the king should shrug it off and bid me let things lie, I shall not do it. By my means or God's means, or the both of us together, Nicholas Faintree shall have justice before I let this matter rest.\"\n\nHaving the loan of the abbot's own mule, Brother Cadfael took with him in this errand the good cloth garments Aline had entrusted to him. It was his way to carry out at once whatever tasks fell him, rather than put them off until the morrow, and there were beggars enough on his way through the town. The hose he gave to an elderly man with eyes whitened over with thick cauls, who sat with stick beside him and palm extended in the shade of the town gate. He looked of a suitable figure, and was in much-patched and threadbare nethers that would certainly fall apart very soon. The good brown cotte went to a frail creature no more than twenty years old who begged at the high cross, a poor feeble-wit with hanging lip and a palsied shake, who had a tiny old woman holding him by the hand and caring for him jealously. Her shrill blessings followed Cadfael down towards the castle gate. The cloak he still had folded before him when he came to the guard-post of the king's camp, and saw Lame Osbern's little wooden trolley tucked into the bole of a tree close by, and marked the useless, withered legs, and the hands callused and muscular from dragging all that dead weight about by force. His wooden pattens lay beside him in the grass. Seeing a frocked monk approaching on a good riding mule, Osbern seized them and propelled himself forward into Cadfael's path. And it was wonderful how fast he could move, over short distances and with intervals for rest, but all the same so immobilised a creature, half his body inert, must suffer cold in even the milder nights, and in the winter terribly.\n\n\"Good brother,\" coaxed Osbern, \"spare an alms for a poor cripple, and God will reward you!\"\n\n\"So I will, friend,\" said Cadfael, \"and better than a small coin, too. And you may say a prayer for a gentle lady who sends it to you by my hand.\" And he unfolded from the saddle before him, and dropped into the startled, malformed hands, Giles Siward's cloak.\n\n\"You did right to report truly what you found,\" said the king consideringly. \"Small wonder that my castellan did not make the same discovery, he had his hands full. You say this man was taken from behind by stealth, with a strangler's cord? It's a footpad's way, and foul. And above all, to cast his victim in among my executed enemies to cover the crime\u2014that I will not bear! How dared he make me and my officers his accomplices! That I count an affront to the crown, and for that alone I would wish the felon taken and judged. And the young man's name\u2014Faintree, you said?\"\n\n\"Nicholas Faintree. So I was told by one who came and saw him, where we had laid him in the church. He comes from a family in the north of the county. But that is all I know of him.\"\n\n\"It is possible,\" reflected the king hopefully, \"that he had ridden to Shrewsbury to seek service with us. Several such young men from north of the county have joined us here.\"\n\n\"It is possible,\" agreed Cadfael gravely; for all things are possible, and men do turn their coats.\n\n\"And to be cut off by some forest thief for what he carried\u2014it happens! I wish I could say our roads are safe, out in this new anarchy, God knows, I dare not claim it. Well, you may pursue such enquiries as can be made into this matter, if that's your wish, and call upon my sheriff to do justice if the murderer can be found. He knows my will. I do not like being made use of to shield so mean a crime.\"\n\nAnd that was truth, and the heart of the matter for him, and perhaps it would not have changed his attitude, thought Cadfael, even if he had known that Faintree was FitzAlan's squire and courier, even if it were proved, as so far it certainly was not, that he was on FitzAlan's rebellious business when he died. By all the signs, there would be plenty of killing in Stephen's realm in the near future, and he would not lose his sleep over most of it, but to have a killer-by-stealth creeping for cover into his shadow, that he would take as a deadly insult to himself, and avenge accordingly. Energy and lethargy, generosity and spite, shrewd action and incomprehensible inaction, would always alternate and startle in King Stephen. But somewhere within that tall, comely, simple-minded person there was a gram of nobility hidden.\n\n\"I accept and value your Grace's support,\" said Brother Cadfael truthfully, \"and I will do my best to see justice done. A man cannot lay down and abandon the duty God has placed in his hands. Of this young man I know only his name, and the appearance of his person, which is open and innocent, and that he was accused of no crime, and no man has complained of wrong by him, and he is dead unjustly. I think this as unpleasing to your Grace as ever it can be to me. If I can right it, so I will.\"\n\nAt the sign of the boar's head in the butcher's row he was received with the common wary civility any citizen would show to a monk of the abbey. Petronilla, rounded and comfortable and grey, bade him in and would have offered all the small attentions that provide a wall between suspicious people, if he had not at once given her the worn and much-used leaf of vellum on which Godith had, somewhat cautiously and laboriously, inscribed her trust in the messenger, and her name. Petronilla peered and flushed with pleasure, and looked up at this elderly, solid, homely brown monk through blissful tears.\n\n\"The lamb, she's managing well, then, my girl? And you taking good care of her! Here she says it, I know that scrawl, I learned to write with her. I had her almost from birth, the darling, and she the only one, more's the pity, she should have had brothers and sisters. It was why I wanted to do everything with her, even the letters, to be by her whatever she needed. Sit down, brother, sit down and tell me of her, if she's well, if she needs anything I can send her by you. Oh, and, brother, how are we to get her safely away? Can she stay with you, if it runs to weeks?\"\n\nWhen Cadfael could wedge a word or two into the flow he told her how her nurseling was faring, and how he would see to it that she continued to fare. It had not occurred to him until then what a way the girl had of taking hold of hearts, without at all designing it. By the time Edric Flesher came in from a cautious skirmish through the town, to see how the land lay, Cadfael was firmly established in Petronilla's favour, and vouched for as a friend to be trusted.\n\nEdric settled his solid bulk into a broad chair, and said with a gusty breath of cautious relief: \"Tomorrow I'll open the shop. We're fortunate! Ask me, he rues the vengeance he took for those he failed to capture. He's called off all pillage here, and for once he's enforcing it. If only his claims were just, and he had more spine in his body, I think I'd be for him. And to look like a hero, and be none, that's hard on a man.\" He gathered his great legs under him, and looked at his wife, and then, longer, at Cadfael. \"She says you have the girl's good word, and that's enough. Name your need, and if we have it, it's yours.\"\n\n\"For the girl,\" said Cadfael briskly, \"I will keep her safe as long as need be, and when the right chance offers, I'll get her away to where she should be. For my need, yes, there you may help me. We have in the abbey church, and we shall bury there tomorrow, a young man you may know, murdered on the night after the castle fell, the night the prisoners were hanged and thrown into the ditch. But he was killed elsewhere, and thrown among the rest to have him away into the ground unquestioned. I can tell you how he died, and when. I cannot tell you where, or why, or who did this thing. But Godith tells me that his name is Nicholas Faintree, and he was a squire of FitzAlan.\"\n\nAll this he let fall between them in so many words, and heard and felt their silence. Certainly there were things they knew, and equally certainly this death they had not known, and it struck at them like a mortal blow.\n\n\"One more thing I may tell you,\" he said. \"I intend to have the truth out into the open concerning this thing, and see him avenged. And more, I have the king's word to pursue the murderer. He likes the deed no more than I like it.\"\n\nAfter a long moment Edric asked: \"There was only one, dead after this fashion? No second?\"\n\n\"Should there have been? Is not one enough?\"\n\n\"There were two,\" said Edric harshly. \"Two who set out together upon the same errand. How did this death come to light? It seems you are the only man who knows.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael sat back and told them all, without haste. If he had missed Vespers, so be it. He valued and respected his duties, but if they clashed, he knew which way he must go. Godith would not stir from her safe solitude without him, not until her evening schooling.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"you had better tell me. I have Godith to protect, and Faintree to avenge, and I mean to do both as best I can.\"\n\nThe two of them exchanged glances, and understood each other. It was the man who took up the tale.\n\n\"A week before the castle and the town fell, with FitzAlan's family already away, and our plans made to place the girl with your abbey in hiding, FitzAlan also took thought for the end, if he died. He never ran until they broke in at the gates, you know that? By the skin of his teeth he got away, swam the river with Adeney at his shoulder, and got clear. God be thanked! But the day before the end he made provision for whether he lived or died. His whole treasury had been left with us here, he wanted it to reach the empress if he were slain. That day we moved it out into Frankwell, to a garden I hold there, so that there need be no bridge to pass if we had to convey it away at short notice. And we fixed a signal. If any of his party came with a certain token\u2014a trifle it was, a drawing, but private to us who knew\u2014they should be shown where the treasury was, provided with horses, all they might need, and put over there to pick up the valuables and make their break by night.\"\n\n\"And so it was done?\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"On the morning of the fall. It came so early, and in such force, we'd left it all but too late. Two of them came. We sent them over the bridge to wait for night. What could they have done by daylight?\"\n\n\"Tell me more. What time did these two come to you that morning, what had they to say, how did they get their orders? How many may have known what was toward? How many would have known the way they would take? When did you last see them both alive?\"\n\n\"They came just at dawn. We could hear the din by then, the assault had begun. They had the parchment leaf that was the signal, the head of a saint drawn in ink. They said there had been a council the night before, and FitzAlan had said then he would have them go the following day, whatever happened and whether he lived or no, get the treasury away safe to the empress, for her use in defending her right.\"\n\n\"Then all who were at that council would know those two would be on the road the following night, as soon as it was dark enough. Would they also know the road? Did they know where the treasury was hidden?\"\n\n\"No, where we had put it, beyond that it was in Frankwell, no one had been told. Only FitzAlan and I knew that. Those two squires had to come to me.\"\n\n\"Then any who had ill designs on the treasury, even if they knew the time of its removal, could not go and get it for themselves, they could only waylay it on the road. If all those officers close to FitzAlan knew that it was to be taken westward into Wales from Frankwell, there'd be no doubt about the road. For the first mile and more there is but one, by reason of the coils of the river on either side.\"\n\n\"You are thinking that one of those who knew thought to get the gold for himself, by murder?\" said Edric. \"One of FitzAlan's own men? I cannot believe it! And surely all, or most, stayed to the end, and died. Two men riding by night could well be waylaid by pure chance, by men living wild in the forest\u2026\"\n\n\"Within a mile of the town walls? Don't forget, whoever killed this lad did so close enough to Shrewsbury castle to have ample time and means to take his body and toss it among all those others in the ditch, long before the night was over. Knowing very well that all those others would be there. Well, so they came, they showed their credentials, they told you the plan had been made the previous evening, come what might. But what came, came earlier and more fiercely than anyone had expected, and all done in haste. Then what? You went with them over to Frankwell?\"\n\n\"I did. I have a garden and a barn there, where they and their horses lay in hiding until dark. The valuables were packed into two pairs of saddle-bags\u2014one horse with his rider and that load would have been overdone\u2014in a cavity in a dry well on my land there. I saw them safe under cover, and left them there about nine in the morning.\"\n\n\"And at what time would they venture to start?\"\n\n\"Not until full dark. And do you truly tell me Faintree was murdered, soon after they set out?\"\n\n\"Past doubt he was. Had it been done miles away, he would have been disposed of some other way. This was planned, and ingenious. But not ingenious enough. You knew Faintree well\u2014or so Godith gave me to think. Who was the other? Did you also know him?\"\n\nHeavily and slowly, Edric said, \"No! It seemed to me that Nicholas knew him well enough, they were familiar together like good comrades, but Nicholas was one open to any new friend. I had never seen this lad before. He was from another of FitzAlan's northern manors. He gave his name as Torold Blund.\"\n\nThey had told him all they knew, and something more than had been said in words. Edric's brooding frown spoke for him. The young man they knew and trusted was dead, the one they did not know vanished, and with him FitzAlan's valuables, plate and coin and jewellery, intended for the empress's coffers. Enough to tempt any man. The murderer clearly knew all he needed to know in order to get possession of that hoard; and who could have known half so well as the second courier himself? Another might certainly waylay the prize on the road. Torold Blund need not even have waited for that. Those two had been in hiding together all that day in Edric's barn. It was possible that Nicholas Faintree had never left it until he was dead, draped over a horse for the short ride back to the castle ditch, before two horses with one rider set out westward into Wales.\n\n\"There was one more thing happened that day,\" said Petronilla, as Cadfael rose to take his leave. \"About two of the clock, after the king's men had manned both bridges and dropped the draw-bridge, he came\u2014Hugh Beringar, he that was betrothed to my girl from years back\u2014making pretence to be all concern for her, and asking where he could find her. Tell him? No, what do you take me for? I told him she'd been taken away a good week before the town fell, and we were not told where, but I thought she was far away by now, and safe out of Stephen's country. Right well we knew he must have come to us with Stephen's authority, or he would never have been let through so soon. He'd been to the king's camp before ever he came hunting for my Godith, and it's not for love he's searching for her. She's worth a fat commission, as bait for her father, if not for FitzAlan himself. Don't let my lamb get within his sight, for I hear he's living in the abbey now.\"\n\n\"And he was here that very afternoon?\" pressed Cadfael, concerned. \"Yes, yes, I'll take good care to keep her away from him, I've seen that danger. But there could not have been any mention when he came here, could there, of Faintree's mission? Nothing to make him prick his ears? He's very quick, and very private! No\u2014no, I ask your pardon, I know you'd never let out word. Ah, well, my thanks for your help, and you shall know if I make progress.\"\n\nHe was at the door when Petronilla said grievingly at his shoulder: \"And he seemed such a fine young lad, this Torold Blund! How can a body tell what lies behind the decent, ordinary face?\"\n\n\"Torold Blund!\" said Godith, testing the name slow syllable by syllable. \"That's a Saxon name. There are plenty of them up there in the northern manors, good blood and old. But I don't know him. I think I can never have seen him. And Nicholas was on good, close terms with him? Nicholas was easy, but not stupid, and they sound much of an age, he must have known him well. And yet\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, \"I know! And yet! Girl dear, I am too tired to think any more. I'm going to Compline, and then to my bed, and so should you. And tomorrow\u2026\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" she said, rising to the touch of his hand, \"we shall bury Nicholas. We! He was in some measure my friend, and I shall be there.\"\n\n\"So you shall, my heart,\" said Cadfael, yawning, and led her away in his arm to celebrate, with gratitude and grief and hope, the ending of the day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Nicholas faintree was laid, with due honours, under a stone in the transept of the abbey church, an exceptional privilege. He was but one, after so many, and his singleness was matter for celebration, besides the fact that there was room within rather than without, and the labour involved was less. Abbot Heribert was increasingly disillusioned and depressed with all the affairs of this world, and welcomed a solitary guest who was not a symbol of civil war, but the victim of personal malice and ferocity. Against all the probabilities, in due course Nicholas might find himself a saint. He was mysterious, feloniously slain, young, to all appearances clean of heart and life, innocent of evil, the stuff of which martyrs are made.\n\nAline Seward was present at the funeral service, and had brought with her, intentionally or otherwise, Hugh Beringar. That young man made Cadfael increasingly uneasy. True, he was making no inimical move, nor showing any great diligence in his search for his affianced bride, if, indeed, he was in search of her at all. But there was something daunting in the very ease and impudence of his carriage, the small, sardonic turn of his lip, and the guileless clarity of the black eyes when they happened to encounter Cadfael's. No doubt about it, thought Cadfael, I shall be happier when I've got the girl safely away from here, but in the meantime at least I can move her away from anywhere he's likely to be.\n\nThe main orchards and vegetable gardens of the abbey were not within the precinct, but across the main road, stretched along the rich level beside the river, called the Gaye; and at the far end of this fertile reach there was a slightly higher field of corn. It lay almost opposite the castle, and no great distance from the king's siege camp, and had suffered some damage during the siege; and though what remained had been ripe for cutting for almost a week, it had been too dangerous to attempt to get it in. Now that all was quiet, they were in haste to salvage a crop that could not be spared, and all hands possible were mustered to do the work in one day. The second of the abbey's mills was at the end of the field, and because of the same dangers had been abandoned for the season, just when it was beginning to be needed, and had suffered damage which would keep it out of use until repairs could be undertaken.\n\n\"You go with the reapers,\" said Cadfael to Godith. \"My thumbs prick, and rightly or wrongly, I'd rather have you out of the enclave, if only for a day.\"\n\n\"Without you?\" said Godith, surprised.\n\n\"I must stay here and keep an eye on things. If anything threatens, I'll be with you as fast as legs can go. But you'll be well enough, no one is going to have leisure to look hard at you until that corn is in the barns. But stay by Brother Athanasius, he's as blind as a mole, he wouldn't know a stag from a hind. And take care how you swing a sickle, and don't come back short of a foot!\"\n\nShe went off quite happily among the crowd of reapers in the end, glad of an outing and a change of scene. She was not afraid. Not afraid enough, Cadfael considered censoriously, but then, she had an old fool here to do the fearing for her, just as she'd once had an old nurse, protective as a hen with one chick. He watched them out of the gate house and over the road towards the Gaye, and went back with a relieved sigh to his own labours in the inner gardens. He had not been long on his knees, weeding, when a cool, light voice behind him, almost as quiet as the steps he had not heard in the grass, said: \"So this is where you spend your more peaceful hours. A far cry and a pleasant change from harvesting dead men.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael finished the last corner of the bed of mint before he turned to acknowledge the presence of Hugh Beringar. \"A pleasant change, right enough. Let's hope we've finished with that kind of crop, here in Shrewsbury.\"\n\n\"And you found a name for your stranger in the end. How was that? No one in the town seemed to know him.\"\n\n\"All questions get their answers,\" said Brother Cadfael sententiously, \"if you wait long enough.\"\n\n\"And all searchers are bound to find? But of course,\" said Beringar, smiling, \"you did not say how long is long enough. If a man found at eighty what he was searching for at twenty, he might prove a shade ungrateful.\"\n\n\"He might well have stopped wanting it long before that,\" said Brother Cadfael drily, \"which is in itself an answer to any want. Is there anything you are looking for here in the herbarium, that I can help you to, or are you curious to learn about these simples of mine?\"\n\n\"No,\" owned Beringar, his smile deepening, \"I would hardly say it was any simplicity I came to study.\" He pinched off a sprig of mint, crushed it between his fingers, and set it first to his nose and then closed fine white teeth upon its savour. \"And what should such as I be looking for here? I may have caused a few ills in my time, I'm no hand at healing them. They tell me, Brother Cadfael, you have had a wide-ranging career before you came into the cloister. Don't you find it unbearably dull here, after such battles, with no enemy left to fight?\"\n\n\"I am not finding it at all dull, these days,\" said Cadfael, plucking out willowherb from among the thyme. \"And as for enemies, the devil makes his way in everywhere, even into cloister, and church, and herbarium.\"\n\nBeringar threw his head back and laughed aloud, until the short black hair danced on his forehead. \"Vainly, if he comes looking for mischief where you are! But he'd hardly expect to blunt his horns against an old crusader here! I take the hint!\"\n\nBut all the time, though he scarcely seemed to turn his head or pay much attention to anything round him, his black eyes were missing nothing, and his ears were at stretch while he laughed and jested. By this time he knew that the well-spoken and well-favoured boy of whom Aline had innocently spoken was not going to make his appearance, and more, that Brother Cadfael did not care if he poked his nose into every corner of the garden, sniffed at every drying herb and peered at every potion in the hut, for they would tell him nothing. The benchbed was stripped of its blanket, and laden with a large mortar and a gently bubbling jar of wine. There was no trace of Godith anywhere to be found. The boy was simply a boy like the rest, and no doubt slept in the dortoir with the rest.\n\n\"Well, I'll leave you to your cleansing labours,\" said Beringar, \"and stop hampering your meditations with my prattle. Or have you work for me to do?\"\n\n\"The king has none?\" said Cadfael solicitously.\n\nAnother ungrudging laugh acknowledged the thrust. \"Not yet, not yet, but that will come. Such talent he cannot afford to hold off suspiciously for ever. Though to be sure, he did lay one testing task upon me, and I seem to be making very little progress in that.\" He plucked another tip of mint, and bruised and bit it with pleasure. \"Brother Cadfael, it seems to me that you are the most practical man of hand and brain here. Supposing I should have need of your help, you would not refuse it without due thought\u2014would you?\"\n\nBrother Cadfael straightened up, with some creaking of back muscles, to give him a long, considering look. \"I hope,\" he said cautiously, \"I never do anything without due thought\u2014even if the thought sometimes has to shift its feet pretty briskly to keep up with the deed.\"\n\n\"So I supposed,\" said Beringar, sweet-voiced and smiling. \"I'll bear that in mind as a promise.\" And he made a small, graceful obeisance, and walked away at leisure to the courtyard.\n\nThe reapers came back in time for Vespers, sun-reddened, weary and sweat-stained, but with the corn all cut and stacked for carrying. After supper Godith slipped out of the refectory in haste, and came to pluck at Cadfael's sleeve.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, you must come! Something vital!\" He felt the quivering excitement of her hand, and the quiet intensity of her whispering voice. \"There's time before Compline\u2014come back to the field with me.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked as softly, for they were within earshot of a dozen people if they had spoken aloud, and she was not the woman to fuss over nothing. \"What has happened to you? What have you left down there that's so urgent?\"\n\n\"A man! A wounded man! He's been in the river, he was hunted into it upstream and came down with the current. I dared not stay to question, but I knew he's in need. And hungry! He's been there a night and a day\u2026\"\n\n\"How did you find him? You alone? No one else knows?\"\n\n\"No one else.\" She gripped Cadfael's sleeve more tightly, and her whisper grew gruff with shyness. \"It was a long day\u2026 I went aside, and had to go far aside, into the bushes near the mill. Nobody saw\u2026\"\n\n\"Surely, child! I know!\" Please God all the boys, her contemporaries, were kept hard at it, and never noticed such daintiness. Brother Athanasius would not have noticed a thunderclap right behind him. \"He was there in the bushes? And is still?\"\n\n\"Yes. I gave him the bread and meat I had with me, and told him I'd come back when I could. His clothes have dried on him\u2014there's blood on his sleeve\u2026 But I think he'll do well, if you take care of him. We could hide him in the mill\u2014no one goes there yet.\" She had thought of all the essentials, she was towing him towards his hut in the herb garden, not directly towards the gate house. Medicines, linen, food, they would need all these.\n\n\"Of what age,\" asked Cadfael, more easily now they were well away from listeners, \"is this wounded man of yours?\"\n\n\"A boy,\" she said on a soft breath. \"Hardly older than I am. And hunted! He thinks I am a boy, of course. I gave him the water from my bottle, and he called me Ganymede\u2026\"\n\nWell, well, thought Cadfael, bustling before her into the hut, a young man of some learning, it seems! \"Then, Ganymede,\" he said, bundling a roll of linen, a blanket and a pot of salve into her arms, \"stow these about you, while I fill this little vial and put some vittles together. Wait here a few minutes for me, and we'll be off. And on the way you can tell me everything about this young fellow you've discovered, for once across the road no one is going to hear us.\"\n\nAnd on the way she did indeed pour out in her relief and eagerness what she could not have said so freely by daylight. It was not yet dark, but a fine neutral twilight in which they saw each other clear but without colours.\n\n\"The bushes there are thick. I heard him stir and groan, and I went to look. He looks like a young gentleman of family, someone's squire. Yes, he talked to me, but\u2014but told me nothing, it was like talking to a wilful child. So weak, and blood on his shoulder and arm, and making little jests\u2026 But he trusted me enough to know I wouldn't betray him.\" She skipped beside Cadfael through the tall stubble into which the abbey sheep would soon be turned to graze, and to fertilise the field with their droppings. \"I gave him what I had, and told him to lie still, and I would bring help as soon as it grew dusk.\"\n\n\"Now we're near, do you lead the way. You he'll know.\" There was already starlight before the sun was gone, a lovely August light that would still last them, their eyes being accustomed, an hour or more, while veiling them from other eyes. Godith withdrew from Cadfael's clasp the hand that had clung like a child's through the stubble, and waded forward into the low, loose thicket of bushes. On their left hand, within a few yards of them, the river ran, dark and still, only the thrusting sound of its current like a low throb shaking the silence, and an occasional gleam of silver showing where its eddies swirled.\n\n\"Hush! It's me\u2014Ganymede! And a friend to us both!\"\n\nIn the sheltered dimness a darker form stirred, and raised into sight a pale oval of face and a tangled head of hair almost as pale. A hand was braced into the grass to thrust the half-seen stranger up from the ground. No broken bones there, thought Cadfael with satisfaction. The hard-drawn breath signalled stiffness and pain, but nothing mortal. A young, muted voice said: \"Good lad! Friends I surely need\u2026\"\n\nCadfael kneeled beside him and lent him a shoulder to lean against. \"First, before we move you, where's the damage? Nothing out of joint\u2014by the look of you, nothing broken.\" His hands were busy about the young man's body and limbs, he grunted cautious content.\n\n\"Nothing but gashes,\" muttered the boy laboriously, and gasped at a shrewd touch. \"I lost enough blood to betray me, but into the river\u2026 And half-drowned\u2026 they must think wholly\u2026\" He relaxed with a great sigh, feeling how confidently he was handled.\n\n\"Food and wine will put the blood back into you, in time. Can you rise and go?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his patient grimly, and all but brought his careful supporters down with him, proving it.\n\n\"No, let be, we can do better for you than that. Hold fast by me, and turn behind me. Now, your arms round my neck\u2026\"\n\nHe was long, but a light weight. Cadfael stooped forward, hooked his thick arms round slim, muscular thighs, and shrugged the weight securely into balance on his solid back. The dank scent of the river water still hung about the young man's clothing. \"I'm too great a load,\" he fretted feebly. \"I could have walked \u2026\"\n\n\"You'll do as you're bid, and no argument. Godric, go before, and see there's no one in sight.\"\n\nIt was only a short way to the shadow of the mill. Its bulk loomed dark against the still lambent sky, the great round of the undershot wheel showing gaps here and there like breaks in a set of teeth. Godith heaved open the leaning door, and felt her way before them into gloom. Through narrow cracks in the floorboards on the left side she caught fleeting, spun gleams of the river water hurrying beneath. Even in this hot, dry season, lower than it had been for some years, the Severn flowed fast and still.\n\n\"There'll be dry sacks in plenty piled somewhere by the landward wall,\" puffed Cadfael at her back. \"Feel your way along and find them.\" There was also a dusty, rustling layer of last harvest's chaff under their feet, sending up fine powder to tickle their noses. Godith groped her way to the corner, and spread sacks there in a thick, comfortable mattress, with two folded close for a pillow. \"Now take this long-legged heron of yours under the armpits, and help me ease him down\u2026 There, as good a bed as mine in the dortoir! Now close the door, before I make a light to see him by.\"\n\nHe had brought a good end of candle with him, and a handful of the dry chaff spread on a millstone made excellent tinder for the spark he struck. When his candle was burning steadily he ground it into place on the flickering chaff, quenching the fire that might have blown and spread, and anchoring his light on a safe candlestick, as the wax first softened and then congealed again. \"Now let's look at you!\"\n\nThe young man lay back gratefully and heaved a huge sigh, meekly abandoning the responsibility for himself. Out of a soiled and weary face, eyes irrepressibly lively gazed up at them, of some light, bright colour not then identifiable. He had a large, generous mouth, drawn with exhaustion but wryly smiling, and the tangle of hair matted and stained from the river would be as fair as corn-stalks when it was clean. \"One of them ripped your shoulder for you, I see,\" said Cadfael, hands busy unfastening and drawing off the dark cotte encrusted down one sleeve with dried blood. \"Now the shirt\u2014you'll be needing new clothes, my friend, before you leave this hostelry.\"\n\n\"I'll have trouble paying my shot,\" said the boy, valiantly grinning, and ended the grin with a sharp indrawn breath as the sleeve was detached painfully from his wound.\n\n\"Our charges are low. For a straight story you can buy such hospitality as we're offering. Godric, lad, I need water, and river water's better than none. See if you can find anything in this place to carry it in.\"\n\nShe found the sound half of a large pitcher among the debris under the wheel, left by some customer after its handle and lip had got broken, scrubbed it out industriously with the skirt of her cotte, and went obediently to bring water, he hoped safely. The flow of the river here would be fresher than the leat, and occupy her longer on the journey, while Cadfael undid the boy's belt, and stripped off his shoes and hose, shaking out the blanket to spread over his nakedness. There was a long but not deep gash, he judged from a sword-cut, down the right thigh, a variety of bruises showing bluish on his fair skin, and most strangely, a thin, broken graze on the left side of his neck, and another curiously like it on the outer side of his right wrist. More healed, dark lines, these, older by a day or two than his wounds. \"No question,\" mused Cadfael aloud, \"but you've been living an interesting life lately.\"\n\n\"Lucky to keep it,\" murmured the boy, half-asleep in his new ease.\n\n\"Who was hunting you?\"\n\n\"The king's men\u2014who else?\"\n\n\"And still will be?\"\n\n\"Surely. But in a few days I'll be fit to relieve you of the burden of me\u2026\"\n\n\"Never mind that now. Turn a little to me\u2014so! Let's get this thigh bound up, it's clean enough, it's knitting already. This will sting.\" It did, the youth stiffened and gasped a little, but made no complaint. Cadfael had the wound bound and under the blanket by the time Godith came with the pitcher of water. For want of a handle she had to use two hands to carry it.\n\n\"Now we'll see to this shoulder. This is where you lost so much blood. An arrow did this!\" It was an oblique cut sliced through the outer part of his left arm just below the shoulder, bone-deep, leaving an ugly flap of flesh gaping. Cadfael began to sponge away the encrustations of blood from it, and press it firmly together beneath a pad of linen soaked in one of his herbal salves. \"This will need help to knit clean,\" he said, busy rolling his bandage tightly round the arm. \"There, now you should eat, but not too much, you're over-weary to make the best use of it. Here's meat and cheese and bread, and keep some by you for morning, you may well be ravenous when you wake.\"\n\n\"If there's water left,\" besought the young man meekly, \"I should like to wash my hands and face. I'm foul!\"\n\nGodith kneeled beside him, moistened a piece of linen in the pitcher, and instead of putting it into his hand, very earnestly and thoroughly did it for, him, putting back the matted hair from his forehead, which was wide and candid, even teasing out some of the knots with solicitous fingers. After the first surprise he lay quietly and submissively under her ministering touch, but his eyes, cleansed of the soiled shadows, watched her face as she bent over him, and grew larger and larger in respectful wonder. And all this while she had hardly said a word.\n\nThe young man was almost too worn out to eat at all, and flagged very soon. He lay for a few moments with lids drooping, peering at his rescuers in silent thought. Then he said, his tongue stumbling sleepily: \"I owe you a name, after all you've done for me\u2026\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" said Cadfael firmly. \"You're in the best case to sleep sound, and here I believe you may. Now drink this down\u2014it helps keep wounds from festering, and eases the heart.\" It was a strong cordial of his own brewing, he tucked away the empty vial in his gown. \"And here's a little flask of wine to bear you company if you wake. In the morning I'll be with you early.\"\n\n\"We!\" said Godith, low but firmly.\n\n\"Wait, one more thing!\" Cadfael had remembered it at the last moment. \"You've no weapon on you\u2014yet I think you did wear a sword.\"\n\n\"I shed it,\" mumbled the boy drowsily, \"in the river. I had too much weight to keep afloat\u2014and they were shooting. It was in the water I got this clout\u2026 I had the wit to go down, I hope they believe I stayed down\u2026 God knows it was touch and go!\"\n\n\"Yes, well, tomorrow will do. And we must find you a weapon. Now, good night!\"\n\nHe was asleep before ever they put out the candle, and drew the door closed. They walked wordlessly through the rustling stubble for some minutes, the sky over them an arch of dark and vivid blue paling at the edges into a fringe of sea-green. Godith asked abruptly: \"Brother Cadfael, who was Ganymede?\"\n\n\"A beautiful youth who was cup-bearer to Jove, and much loved by him.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Godith, uncertain whether to be delighted or rueful, this success being wholly due to her boyishness.\n\n\"But some say that it's also another name for Hebe,\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"Oh! And who is Hebe?\"\n\n\"Cup-bearer to Jove, and much loved by him\u2014but a beautiful maiden.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Godith profoundly. And as they reached the road and crossed towards the abbey, she said seriously:\n\n\"You know who he must be, don't you?\"\n\n\"Jove? The most god-like of all the pagan gods\u2026\"\n\n\"He!\" she said severely, and caught and shook Brother Cadfael's arm in her solemnity. \"A Saxon name, and Saxon hair, and on the run from the king's men\u2026 He's Torold Blund, who set out with Nicholas to save FitzAlan's treasury for the empress. And of course he had nothing to do with poor Nicholas's death. I don't believe he ever did a shabby thing in his whole life!\"\n\n\"That,\" said Cadfael, \"I hesitate to say of any man, least of all myself. But I give you my word, child, this one most shabby thing he certainly did not do. You may sleep in peace!\"\n\nIt was nothing out of the ordinary for Brother Cadfael, that devoted gardener and apothecary, to rise long before it was necessary for Prime, and have an hour's work done before he joined his brothers at the first service; so no one thought anything of it when he dressed and went out early on that particular morning, and no one even knew that he also roused his boy, as he had promised. They went out with more medicaments and food, and a cotte and hose that Brother Cadfael had filched from the charity offerings that came in to the almoner. Godith had taken away with her the young man's bloodstained shirt, which was of fine linen and not to be wasted, had washed it before she slept, and mended it on rising, where the arrow-head had sliced the threads asunder. On such a warm August night, spread out carefully on the bushes in the garden, it had dried well.\n\nTheir patient was sitting up in his bed of sacks, munching bread with appetite, and seemed to have total trust in them, for he made no move to seek cover when the door began to open. He had draped his torn and stained cotte round his shoulders, but for the rest was naked under his blanket, and the bared, smooth chest and narrow flanks were elegantly formed. Body and eyes still showed blue bruises, but he was certainly much restored alter one long night of rest.\n\n\"Now,\" said Cadfael with satisfaction, \"you may talk as much as you like, my friend, while I dress this wound of yours. The leg will do very well until we have more time, but this shoulder is a tricky thing. Godric, see to him on the other side while I uncover it, it may well stick. You steady bandage and arm while I unbind. Now, sir\u2026\" And he added, for fair exchange: \"They call me Brother Cadfael, I'm as Welsh as Dewi Sant, and I've been about the world, as you may have guessed. And this boy of mine is Godric, as you've heard, and brought me to you. Trust us both, or neither.\"\n\n\"I trust both,\" said the boy. He had more colour this morning, or it was the flush of dawn reflected, his eyes were bright and hazel, more green than brown. \"I owe you more than trust can pay, but show me more I can do, and I'll do it. My name is Torold Blund, I come from a hamlet by Oswestry, and I'm FitzAlan's man from head to foot.\" The bandage stuck then, and Godith felt him flinch, and locked the fold until she could ease it free, by delicate touches. \"If that puts you in peril,\" said Torold, suppressing the pain, \"I do believe I'm fit to go, and go I will. I would not for the world shrug off my danger upon you.\"\n\n\"You'll go when you're let,\" said Godith, and for revenge snatched off the last fold of bandage, but very circumspectly, and holding the anointed pad in place. \"And it won't be today.\"\n\n\"Hush, let him talk, time's short,\" said Cadfael. \"Go to it, lad. We're not in the business of selling Maud's men to Stephen, or Stephen's men to Maud. How did you come here in this pass?\"\n\nTorold took a deep breath, and talked to some purpose. \"I came to the castle here with Nicholas Faintree, who was also FitzAlan's man, from the next manor to my father's, we joined the garrison only a week before it fell. The evening before the assault there was a council\u2014we were not there, we were small fry\u2014and they resolved to get the FitzAlan treasury away the very next day for the use of the empress, not knowing then it would be the last day. Nicholas and I were told off to be the messengers because we were new to Shrewsbury, and not known, and might get through well enough where others senior to us might be known and cut down at sight. The goods\u2014they were not too bulky, thank God, not much plate, more coin, and most of all in jewellery\u2014were hidden somewhere no one knew but our lord and his agent who had them in guard. We had to ride to him when the word was given, take them from where he would show us, and get clear by night for Wales. FitzAlan had an accord with Owain Gwynedd\u2014not that he's for either party here, he's for Wales, but civil war here suits him well, and he and FitzAlan are friends. Before it was well dawn they attacked, and it was plain we could not hold. So we were sent off on our errand\u2014it was to a shop in the town\u2026\" He wavered, uneasy at giving any clue.\n\n\"I know,\" said Cadfael, wiping away the exudation of the night from the shoulder wound, and anointing a new pad. \"It was Edric Flesher, who himself has told me his part in it. You were taken out to his barn in Frankwell, and the treasury laid up with you to wait for the cover of night. Go on!\"\n\nThe young man, watching the dressing of his own hurts without emotion, went on obediently: \"We rode as soon as it was dark. From there clear of the suburb and into trees is only a short way. There's a herdsman's hut there in the piece where the track is in woodland, though only along the edge, the fields still close. We were on this stretch when Nick's horse fell lame. I lit down to see, for he went very badly, and he had picked up a caltrop, and was cut to the bone.\"\n\n\"Caltrops?\" said Brother Cadfael, startled. \"On such a forest path, away from any field of battle?\" For those unobtrusive martial cruelties, made in such a shape as to be scattered under the hooves of cavalry, and leaving always one crippling spike upturned, surely had no part to play on a narrow forest ride.\n\n\"Caltrops,\" said Torold positively. \"I don't speak simply from the wound, the thing was there embedded, I know, I wrenched it out. But the poor beast was foundered, he could go, but not far, and not loaded. There's a farm I know of very close there, I thought I could get a fresh horse in exchange for Nick's, a poor exchange but what could we do? We did not even unload, but Nick lighted down, to ease the poor creature of his weight, and said he would wait there in the hut for me. And I went, and I got a mount from the farm\u2014it's off to the right, heading west as we were, the man's name is Ulf, he's distant kin to me on my mother's side\u2014and rode back, with Nick's half the load on this new nag.\n\n\"I came up towards the hut,\" he said, stiffening at the recollection, \"and I thought he would be looking out for me, ready to mount, and he was not. I don't know why that made me so uneasy. Not a breath stirring, and for all I was cautious, I knew I could be heard by any man truly listening. And he never showed face or called out word. So I never went too near. I drew off, and reined forward a little way, and made a single tether of the horses, to be off as fast as might be. One knot to undo, and with a single pluck. And then I went to the hut.\"\n\n\"It was full dark then?\" asked Cadfael, rolling bandage.\n\n\"Full dark, but I could see, having been out in it. Inside it was black as pitch. The door stood half open to the wall. I went inside stretching my ears, and not a murmur. But in the middle of the hut I fell over him. Over Nick! If I hadn't I might not be here to tell as much,\" said Torold grimly, and cast a sudden uneasy glance at his Ganymede, so plainly some years his junior, and attending him with such sedulous devotion. \"This is not good hearing.\" His eyes appealed eloquently to Cadfael over Godith's shoulder.\n\n\"You'd best go on freely,\" said Cadfael with sympathy. \"He's deeper in this than you think, and will have your blood and mine if we dare try to banish him. No part of this matter of Shrewsbury has been good hearing, but something may be saved. Tell your part, we'll tell ours.\"\n\nGodith, all eyes, ears and serviceable hands, wisely said nothing at all.\n\n\"He was dead,\" said Torold starkly. \"I fell on him, mouth to mouth, there was no breath in him. I held him, reaching forward to save myself as I fell, I had him in my arms and he was like an armful of rags. And then I heard the dry fodder rustle behind me, and started round, because there was no wind to stir it, and I was frightened\u2026\"\n\n\"Small blame!\" said Cadfael, smoothing a fresh pad soaked in his herbal salve against the moist wound. \"You had good reason. Trouble no more for your friend, he is with God surely. We buried him yesterday within the abbey. He has a prince's tomb. You, I think, escaped the like very narrowly, when his murderer lunged from behind the door.\"\n\n\"So I think, too,\" said the boy, and drew in hissing breath at the bite of Cadfael's dressing. \"There he must have been. The grass warned me when he made his assay. I don't know how it is, every man throws up his right arm to ward off blows from his head, and so did I. His cord went round my wrist as well as my throat. I was not clever or a hero, I lashed out in fright and jerked it out of his hands. It brought him down on top of me in the dark. I know only too well,\" he said, defensively, \"that you may not believe me.\"\n\n\"There are things that go to confirm you. Spare to be so wary of your friends. So you were man to man, at least, better odds than before. How did you escape him?\"\n\n\"More by luck than valour,\" said Torold ruefully. \"We were rolling about in the hay, wrestling and trying for each other's throat, everything by feel and nothing by sight, and neither of us could get space or time to draw, for I don't know how long, but I suppose it was no more than minutes. What ended it was that there must have been an old manger there against the wall, half fallen to pieces, and I banged my head against one of the boards lying loose in the hay. I hit him with it, two-handed, and he dropped. I doubt I did him any lasting damage, but it knocked him witless long enough for me to run, and run I did, and loosed both the horses, and made off westward like a hunted hare. I still had work to do, and there was no one but me left to do it, or I might have stayed to try and even the account for Nick. Or I might not,\" owned Torold with scowling honesty. \"I doubt I was even thinking about FitzAlan's errand then, though I'm thinking of it now, and have been ever since. I ran for my life. I was afraid he might have had others lying in ambush to come to his aid. All I wanted was out of there as fast as my legs would go.\"\n\n\"No need to make a penance of it,\" said Cadfael mildly, securing his bandage. \"Sound sense is something to be glad of, not ashamed. But, my friend, it's taken you two full days, by your own account, to get to much the same spot you started from. I take it, by that, the king has allies pretty thick between here and Wales, at least by the roads.\"\n\n\"Thick as bees in swarm! I got well forward by the more northerly road, and all but ran my head into a patrol where there was no passing. They were stopping everything that moved, what chance had I with two horses and a load of valuables? I had to draw off into the woods, and by that time it was getting light, there was nothing to be done but lie up until dark again and try the southerly road. And that was no better, they had loose companies ranging the countryside by then. I thought I might make my way through by keeping off the roads and close to the curve of the river, but it was another night lost. I lay up in a copse on the hill all day Thursday, and tried again by night, and that was when they winded me, four or five of them, and I had to run for it, with only one way to run, down towards the river. They had me penned, I couldn't get out of the trap. I took the saddle-bags from both horses, and turned the beasts loose, and started them off at a panic gallop, hoping they'd crash through and lead the pursuit away from me, but there was one of the fellows too near, he saw the trick, and made for me instead. He gave me this slash in the thigh, and his yell brought the others running. There was only one thing to do. I took to the water, saddle-bags and all. I'm a strong swimmer, but with that weight it was hard work to stay afloat, and let the current bring me downstream. That's when they started shooting. Dark as it was, they'd been out in it long enough to have fair vision, and there's always light from the water when there's something moving in it. So I got this shoulder wound, and had the sense to go under and stay under as long as I had breath. Severn's fast, even in summer water it carried me down well. They followed along the bank for a while, and loosed one or two more arrows, but then I think they were sure I was under for good. I worked my way towards the bank as soon as it seemed safe, to get a foot to ground and draw breath here and there, but I stayed in the water. I knew the bridge would be manned, I dared not drag myself ashore until I was well past. It was high time by then. I remember crawling into the bushes, but not much else, except rousing just enough to be afraid to stir when your people came reaping. And then Godric here found me. And that's the truth of it,\" he ended firmly, and looked Cadfael unblinkingly in the eye.\n\n\"But not the whole truth,\" said Cadfael, placidly enough. \"Godric found no saddle-bags along with you.\" He eyed the young face that fronted him steadily, lips firmly closed, and smiled. \"No, never fret, we won't question you. You are the sole custodian of FitzAlan's treasury, and what you've done with it, and how, God knows, you ever managed to do anything sensible with it in your condition, that's your affair. You haven't the air of a courier who has failed in his mission, I'll say that for you. And for your better peace, all the talk in the town is that FitzAlan and Adeney were not taken, but broke out of the ring and are got clean away. Now we have to leave you alone here until afternoon, we have duties, too. But one of us, or both, will come and see how you're faring then. And here's food and drink, and clothes I hope will fit you well enough to pass. But lie quiet for today, you're not your own man yet however wholeheartedly you may be FitzAlan's.\"\n\nGodith laid the washed and mended shirt on top of the folded garments, and was following Cadfael to the door when the look on Torold's face halted her, half uneasy, half triumphant. His eyes grew round with amazement as he stared at the crisp, clean linen, and the fine stitches of the long mend where the blood-stained gash had been. A soft whistle of admiration saluted the wonder.\n\n\"Holy Mary! Who did this? Do you keep an expert seamstress within the abbey walls? Or did you pray for a miracle?\"\n\n\"That? That's Godric's work,\" said Cadfael, not altogether innocently, and walked out into the early sunshine, leaving Godith flushed to the ears. \"We learn more skills in the cloister than merely cutting wheat and brewing cordials,\" she said loftily, and fled alter Cadfael.\n\nBut she was grave enough on the way back, going over in her mind Torold's story, and reflecting how easily he might have died before ever she met him; not merely once, in the murderer's cord, nor the second time from King Stephen's roaming companies, but in the river, or from his wounds in the bushes. It seemed to her that divine grace was taking care of him, and had provided her as the instrument. There remained lingering anxieties.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, you do believe him?\"\n\n\"I believe him. What he could not tell truth about, he would not lie about, either. Why, what's on your mind still?\"\n\n\"Only that the night before I saw him I said\u2014I was afraid the companion who rode with Nicholas was far the most likely to be tempted to kill him. How simple it would have been! But you said yesterday, you did say, he did not do it. Are you quite sure? How do you know?\"\n\n\"Nothing simpler, girl dear! The mark of the strangler's cord is on his neck and on his wrist. Did you not understand those thin scars? He was meant to go after his friend out of this world. No, you need have no fear on that score, what he told us is truth. But there may be things he could not tell us, things we ought to discover, for Nicholas Faintree's sake. Godith, this afternoon, when you've seen to the lotions and wines, you may leave the garden and go and keep him company if you please, and I'll come there as soon as I can. There are things I must look into, over there on the Frankwell side of Shrewsbury.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "From the Frankwell end of the western bridge, the suburb outside the walls and over the river, the road set off due west, climbing steadily, leaving behind the gardens that fringed the settlement. At first it was but a single road mounting the hill that rose high above Severn, then shortly it branched into two, of which the more southerly soon branched again, three spread fingers pointing into Wales. But Cadfael took the road Nicholas and Torold had taken on the night after the castle fell, the most northerly of the three.\n\nHe had thought of calling on Edric Flesher in the town, and giving him the news that one, at least, of the two young couriers had survived and preserved his charge, but then he had decided against it. As yet Torold was by no means safe, and until he was well away, the fewer people who knew of his whereabouts the better, the less likely was word of him to slip out in the wrong place, where his enemies might overhear. There would be time later to share any good news with Edric and Petronilla.\n\nThe road entered the thick woodland of which Torold had spoken, and narrowed into a grassy track, within the trees but keeping close to the edge, where cultivated fields showed between the trunks. And there, withdrawn a little deeper into the woods, lay the hut, low and roughly timbered. From this place it would be a simple matter to carry a dead body on horseback as far as the castle ditch. The river, as everywhere here, meandered in intricate coils, and would have to be crossed in order to reach the place where the dead had been flung, but there was a place opposite the castle on this side where a central island made the stream fordable even on foot in such a dry season, once the castle itself was taken. The distance was small, the night had been long enough. Then somewhere off to the right lay Ulf s holding, where Torold had got his exchange of horses. Cadfael turned off in that direction, and found the croft not a quarter of a mile from the track.\n\nUlf was busy gleaning after carrying his corn, and not at first disposed to be talkative to an unknown monk, but the mention of Torold's name, and the clear intimation that here was someone Torold had trusted, loosened his tongue.\n\n\"Yes, he did come with a lamed horse, and I did let him have the best of mine in exchange. I was the gainer, though, even so, for the beast he left with me came from FitzAlan's stables. He's still lame, but healing. Would you see him? His fine gear is well hidden, it would mark him out for stolen or worse if it was seen.\"\n\nEven without his noble harness the horse, a tall roan, showed suspiciously fine for a working farmer to possess, and undoubtedly he was still lame of one fore-foot. Ulf showed him the wound.\n\n\"Torold said a caltrop did this,\" mused Cadfael. \"Strange place to find such.\"\n\n\"Yet a caltrop it was, for I have it, and several more like it that I went and combed out of the grass there next day. My beasts cross there, I wanted no more of them lamed. Someone seeded a dozen yards of the path at its narrowest there. To halt them by the hut, what else?\"\n\n\"Someone who knew in advance what they were about and the road they'd take, and gave himself plenty of time to lay his trap, and wait in ambush for them to spring it.\"\n\n\"The king had got wind of the matter somehow,\" Ulf opined darkly, \"and sent some of his men secretly to get hold of whatever they were carrying. He's desperate for money\u2014as bad as the other side.\"\n\nNevertheless, thought Cadfael, as he walked back to the hut in the woods, for all that I can see, this was no party sent out by the king, but one man's enterprise for his own private gain. If he had indeed been the king's emissary he would have had a company with him. It was not King Stephen's coffers that were to have profited, if all had gone according to plan.\n\nTo sum up, then, it was proven there had indeed been a third here that night. Over and over Torold was cleared of blame. The caltrops were real, a trail of them had been laid to ensure laming one or other of the horses, and so far the stratagem had succeeded, perhaps even better than expected, since it had severed the two companions, leaving the murderer free to deal with one first, and then lie in wait for the other.\n\nCadfael did not at once go into the hut; the surroundings equally interested him. Somewhere here, well clear of the hut itself, Torold had regarded the pricking of his thumbs, and tethered the horses forward on the road, ready for flight. And somewhere here, too, probably withdrawn deeper into cover, the third man had also had a horse in waiting. It should still be possible to find their traces. It had not rained since that night, nor was it likely that many men had roamed these woods since. All the inhabitants of Shrewsbury were still keeping close under their own roof-trees unless forced to go abroad, and the king's patrols rode in the open, where they could ride fast.\n\nIt took him a little while, but he found both places. The solitary horse had been hobbled and left to graze, and by the signs he had been a fine creature, for the hoof-marks he had left in a patch of softer ground, a hollow of dried mud where water habitually lay after rain, and had left a smooth silt, showed large and well shod. The spot where two had waited together was well to westward of the hut, and in thick cover. A low branch showed the peeled scar where the tether had been pulled clear in haste, and two distinguishable sets of prints could be discerned where the grass thinned to bare ground.\n\nCadfael went into the hut. He had broad daylight to aid him, and with the door set wide there was ample light even within. The murderer had waited here for his victim, he must have left his traces.\n\nThe remains of the winter fodder, mown along the sunlit fringes of the woods, had been left here against the return of autumn, originally in a neat stack against the rear wall, but now a stormy sea of grass was spread and tossed over the entire earthen floor, as though a gale had played havoc within there. The decrepit manger from which Torold had plucked his loose plank was there, drunkenly leaning. The dry grass was well laced with small herbs now rustling and dead but still fragrant, and there was a liberal admixture of hooky, clinging goose-grass in it. That reminded him not only of the shred of stem dragged deep into Nick Faintree's throat by the ligature that killed him, but also of Torold's ugly shoulder wound. He needed goose-grass to make a dressing for it, he would look along the fringe of the fields, it must be plentiful here. God's even-handed justice, that called attention to one friend's murder with a dry stem of last year's crop, might well, by the same token, design to soothe and heal the other friend's injuries by the gift of this year's.\n\nMeantime, the hut yielded little, except the evident chaos of a hand-to-hand struggle waged within it. But in the rough timbers behind the door there were a few roving threads of deep blue woollen cloth, rather pile than thread. Someone had certainly lain in hiding there, the door drawn close to his body. There was also one clot of dried clover that bore a smaller clot of blood. But Cadfael raked and combed in vain among the rustling fodder in search of the strangler's weapon. Either the murderer had found it again and taken it away with him, or else it lay deeply entangled in some corner, evading search. Cadfael worked his way backwards on hands and knees from the manger to the doorway, and was about to give up, and prise himself up from his knees, when the hand on which he supported his weight bore down on something hard and sharp, and winced from the contact in surprise. Something was driven half into the earth floor under the thinning layers of hay, like another caltrop planted here for inquisitive monks to encounter to their grief and injury. He sat back on his heels, and carefully brushed aside the rustling grasses, until he could get a hand to the hidden thing and prise it loose. It came away into his hand readily, filling his palm, hard, encrusted and chill. He lifted it to the invading sunlight in the doorway behind him, and it glittered with pinpoints of yellow, a miniature sun.\n\nBrother Cadfael rose from his knees and took it into the full daylight of afternoon to see what he had found. It was a large, rough-cut gem stone, as big as a crab-apple, a deep-yellow topaz still gripped and half-enclosed by an eagle's talon of silver-gilt. The claw was complete, finely shaped, but broken off at the stem, below the stone it clutched. This was the tip of some excellent setting in silver, perhaps the end of a brooch-pin\u2014no, too large for that. The apex of a dagger-hilt? If so, a noble dagger, no common working knife. Beneath that jagged tip would have been the rounded hand-grip, and on the cross-piece, perhaps, some smaller topaz stones to match this master-stone. Broken off thus, it lay in his hand a sullen, faceted ball of gold.\n\nOne man had threshed and clawed here in his death-throes, two others had rolled and flailed in mortal combat; any one of the three, with a thrusting hip and the weight of a convulsed body, could have bored this hilt into the hardpacked earth of the floor, and snapped off the crown-stone thus at its most fragile point, and never realised the loss.\n\nBrother Cadfael put it away carefully in the scrip at his girdle, and went to look for his goose-grass. In the thick herbage at the edge of the trees, where the sun reached in, he found sprawling, angular mats of it, filled his scrip, and set off for home with dozens of the little hooked seeds clinging in his skirts.\n\nGodith slipped away as soon as all the brothers had dispersed to their afternoon work, and made her way by circumspect deviations to the mill at the end of the Gaye. She had taken with her some ripe plums from the orchard, the half of a small loaf of new bread, and a fresh flask of Cadfael's wine. The patient had rapidly developed a healthy appetite, and it was her pleasure to enjoy his enjoyment of food and drink, as though she had a proprietorial interest in him by reason of having found him in need.\n\nHe was sitting on his bed of sacks, fully dressed, his back against the warm timbers of the wall, his long legs stretched out comfortably before him with ankles crossed. The cotte and hose fitted reasonably well, perhaps a little short in the sleeves. He looked surprisingly lively, though still rather greyish in the face, and careful in his movements because of the lingering aches and pains from his wounds. She was not best pleased to see that he had struggled into the cotte, and said so.\n\n\"You should keep that shoulder easy, there was no need to force it into a sleeve yet. If you don't rest it, it won't heal.\"\n\n\"I've very well,\" he said abstractedly. \"And I must bear whatever discomfort there may be, if I'm to get on my way soon. It will knit well enough, I dare say.\" His mind was not on his own ills, he was frowning thoughtfully over other matters. \"Godric, I had no time to question, this morning, but\u2014your Brother Cadfael said Nick's buried, and in the abbey. Is that truth?\" He was not so much doubting their word as marvelling how it had come about. \"How did they ever find him?\"\n\n\"That was Brother Cadfael's own doing,\" said Godith. She sat down beside him and told him. \"There was one more than there should have been, and Brother Cadfael would not rest until he had found the one who was different, and since then he has not let anyone else rest. The king knows there was murder done, and has said it should be avenged. If anyone can get justice for your friend, Brother Cadfael is the man.\"\n\n\"So whoever it was, there in the hut, it seems I did him little harm, only dimmed his wits for a matter of minutes. I was afraid of it. He was fit enough and cunning enough to get rid of his dead man before morning.\"\n\n\"But not clever enough to deceive Brother Cadfael. Every individual soul must be accounted for. Now at least Nicholas has had all the rites of the church in his own clean name, and has a noble tomb.\"\n\n\"I'm glad,\" said Torold, \"to know he was not left there to rot uncoloured, or put into the ground nameless among all the rest, though they were our comrades, too, and not deserving of such a death. If we had stayed, we should have suffered the same fate. If they caught me, I might suffer it yet. And yet King Stephen approves the hunt for the murderer who did his work for him! What a mad world!\"\n\nGodith thought so, too; but for all that, there was a difference, a sort of logic in it, that the king should accept the onus of the ninety-four whose deaths he had decreed, but utterly reject the guilt for the ninety-fifth, killed treacherously and without his sanction.\n\n\"He despised the manner of the killing, and he resented being made an accomplice in it. And no one is going to capture you,\" she said firmly, and hoisted the plums out of the breast of her cotte, and tumbled them between them on the blanket. \"Here's a taste of something sweeter than bread. Try them!\"\n\nThey sat companionably eating, and slipping the stones through a chink in the floorboards into the river below. \"I still have a task laid on me,\" said Torold at length, soberly, \"and now I'm alone to see it done. And heaven knows, Godric, what I should have done without you and Brother Cadfael, and sad I shall be to set off and leave you behind, with small chance of seeing you again. Never shall I forget what you've done for me. But go I must, as soon as I'm fit and can get clear. It will be better for you when I'm gone, you'll be safer so.\"\n\n\"Who is safe? Where?\" said Godith, biting into another ripe purple plum. \"There is no safe place.\"\n\n\"There are degrees in danger, at any rate. And I have work to do, and I'm fit to get on with it now.\"\n\nShe turned and gave him a long, roused look. Never until that moment had she looked far enough ahead to confront the idea of his departure. He was something she had only newly discovered, and here he was, unless she was mistaking his meaning, threatening to take himself off, out of her hands and out of her life. Well, she had an ally in Brother Cadfael. With the authority of her master she said sternly:\n\n\"If you're thinking you're going to set off anywhere until you're fully healed, then think again, and smartly, too. You'll stay here until you're given leave to go, and that won't be today, or tomorrow, you can make up your mind to that!\"\n\nTorold gaped at her in startled and delighted amusement, laid his head back against the rough timber of the wall, and laughed aloud. \"You sound like my mother, the time I had a bad fall at the quintain. And dearly I love you, but so I did her, and I still went my own way. I'm fit and strong and able, Godric, and I'm under order that came before your orders. I must go. In my place, you'd have been out of here before now, as fierce as you are.\"\n\n\"I would not,\" she said furiously, \"I have more sense. What use would you be, on the run from here, without even a weapon, without a horse\u2014you turned your horses loose, remember, to baffle the pursuit, you told us so! How far would you get? And how grateful would FitzAlan be for your folly? Not that we need go into it,\" she said loftily, \"seeing you're not fit even to walk out of here as far as the river. You'd be carried back on Brother Cadfael's shoulders, just as you came here the first time.\"\n\n\"Oh, would I so, Godric, my little cousin?\" Torold's eyes were sparkling mischief. He had forgotten for the moment all his graver cares, amused and nettled by the impudence of this urchin, vehemently threatening him with humiliation and failure. \"Do I look to you so feeble?\"\n\n\"As a starving cat,\" she said, and plunged a plum-stone between the boards with a vicious snap. \"A ten-year-old could lay you on your back!\"\n\n\"You think so, do you?\" Torold rolled sideways and took her about the middle in his good arm. \"I'll show you, Master Godric, whether I'm fit or no!\" He was laughing for pure pleasure, feeling his muscles stretch and exult again in a sudden, sweet bout of horseplay with a trusted familiar, who needed taking down a little for everyone's good. He reached his wounded arm to pin the boy down by the shoulders. The arrogant imp had uttered only one muffled squeak as he was tipped on his back. \"One hand of mine can more than deal with you, my lovely lad!\" crowed Torold, withdrawing half his weight, and flattening his left palm firmly in the breast of the over-ample cotte, to demonstrate.\n\nHe recoiled, stricken and enlightened, just as Godith got breath enough to swear at him, and strike out furiously with her right hand, catching him a salutary box on the ear. They fell apart in a huge, ominous silence, and sat up among the rumpled sacks with a yard or more between them.\n\nThe silence and stillness lasted long. It was a full minute before they so much as tilted cautious heads and looked sidewise at each other. Her profile, warily emerging from anger into guilty sympathy, was delicate and pert and utterly feminine, he must have been weak and sick indeed, or he would surely have known. The soft, gruff voice was only an ambiguous charm, a natural deceit. Torold scrubbed thoughtfully at his stinging ear, and asked at last, very carefully: \"Why didn't you tell me? I never meant to offend you, but how was I to know?\"\n\n\"There was no need for you to know,\" snapped Godith, still ruffled, \"if you'd had the sense to do as you're bid, or the courtesy to treat your friends gently.\"\n\n\"But you goaded me! Good God,\" protested Torold, \"it was only the rough play I'd have used on a younger brother of my own, and you asked for it.\" He demanded suddenly:\n\n\"Does Brother Cadfael know?\"\n\n\"Of course he does! Brother Cadfael at least can tell a hart from a hind.\"\n\nThere fell a second and longer silence, full of resentment, curiosity and caution, while they continued to study each other through lowered lashes, she furtively eyeing the sleeve that covered his wound, in case a telltale smear of blood should break through, he surveying again the delicate curves of her face, the jut of lip and lowering of brows that warned him she was still offended.\n\nTwo small, wary voices uttered together, grudgingly:\n\n\"Did I hurt you?\"\n\nThey began to laugh at the same instant, suddenly aware of their own absurdity. The illusion of estrangement vanished utterly; they fell into each other's arms helpless with laughter, and nothing was left to complicate their relationship but the slightly exaggerated gentleness with which they touched each other.\n\n\"But you shouldn't have used that arm so,\" she reproached at last, as they disentangled themselves and sat back, eased and content. \"You could have started it open again, it's a bad gash.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, there's no damage. But you\u2014I wouldn't for the world have vexed you.\" And he asked, quite simply, and certain of his right to be told: \"Who are you? And how did you ever come into such a coil as this?\"\n\nShe turned her head and looked at him long and earnestly; there would never again be anything with which she would hesitate to trust him.\n\n\"They left it too late,\" she said, \"to send me away out of Shrewsbury before the town fell. This was a desperate throw, turning me into an abbey servant, but I was sure I could carry it off. And I did, with everyone but Brother Cadfael. You were taken in, weren't you? I'm a fugitive of your party, Torold, we're two of a kind. I'm Godith Adeney.\"\n\n\"Truly?\" He beamed at her, round-eyed with wonder and delight. \"You're Fulke Adeney's daughter? Praise God! We were anxious for you! Nick especially, for he knew you\u2026 I never saw you till now, but I, too\u2026\" He stooped his fair head and lightly kissed the small, none too clean hand that had just picked up the last of the plums. \"Mistress Godith, I am your servant to command! This is splendid! If I'd known, I'd have told you better than half a tale.\"\n\n\"Tell me now,\" said Godith, and generously split the plum in half, and sent the stone whirling down into the Severn. The riper half she presented to his open mouth, effectively closing it for a moment. \"And then,\" she said, \"I'll tell you my side of it, and we shall have a useful whole.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael did not go straight to the mill on his return, but halted to check that his workshop was in order, and to pound up his goose-grass in a mortar, and prepare a smooth green salve from it. Then he went to join his young charges, careful to circle into the shadow of the mill from the opposite direction, and to keep an eye open for any observer. Time was marching all too swiftly, within an hour he and Godith would have to go back for Vespers.\n\nThey had both known his step; when he entered they were sitting side by side with backs propped against the wall, watching the doorway with rapt, expectant smiles. They had a certain serene, aloof air about them, as though they inhabited a world immune from common contacts or, common cares, but generously accessible to him. He had only to look at them, and he knew they had no more secrets; they were so rashly and candidly man and woman together that there was no need even to ask anything. Though they were both waiting expectantly to tell him!\n\n\"Brother Cadfael\u2026\" Godith began, distantly radiant.\n\n\"First things first,\" said Cadfael briskly. \"Help him out of cotte and shirt, and start unwinding the bandage until it sticks\u2014as it will, my friend, you're not out of the wood yet. Then wait, and I'll ease it off.\"\n\nThere was no disconcerting or chastening them. The girl was up in a moment, easing the seam of the cotte away from Torold's wound, loosening the ties of his shirt to slip it down from his shoulder, gently freeing the end of the linen bandage and beginning to roll it up. The boy inclined this way and that to help, and never took his eyes from Godith's face, as she seldom took hers from his absorbed countenance, and only to concentrate upon his needs.\n\n\"Well, well!\" thought Cadfael philosophically. \"It seems Hugh Beringar will seek his promised bride to little purpose\u2014if, indeed, he really is seeking her?\"\n\n\"Well, youngster,\" he said aloud, \"you're a credit to me and to yourself, as clean-healing flesh as ever I saw. This slice of you that somebody tried to sever will stay with you lifelong, after all, and the arm will even serve you to hold a bow in a month or so. But you'll have the scar as long as you live. Now hold steady, this may burn, but trust me, it's the best salve you could have for green wounds. Torn muscles hurt as they knit, but knit they will.\"\n\n\"It doesn't hurt,\" said Torold in a dream. \"Brother Cadfael\u2026\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue until we have you all bound up trim. Then you can talk your hearts out, the both of you.\"\n\nAnd talk they did, as soon as Torold was helped back into his shirt, and the cotte draped over his shoulders. Each of them took up the thread from the other, as though handed it in a fixed and formal ceremony, like a favour in a dance; Even their voices had grown somehow alike, as if they matched tones without understanding that they did it. They had not the least idea, as yet, that they were in love. The innocents believed they were involved in a partisan comradeship, which was but the lesser half of what had happened to them in his absence.\n\n\"So I have told Torold all about myself,\" said Godith, \"and he has told me the only thing he did not tell us before. And now he wants to tell you.\"\n\nTorold picked up the tendered thread willingly. \"I have FitzAlan's treasury safely hidden,\" he said simply. \"I had it in two pairs of linked saddle-bags, and I kept it afloat, too, all down the river, though I had to shed sword and swordbelt and dagger and all to lighten the load. I fetched up under the first arch of the stone bridge. You'll know it as well as I. That first pier spreads, there used to be a boat-mill moored under it, some time ago, and the mooring chain is still there, bolted to a ring in the stone. A man can hold on there and get his breath, and so I did. And I hauled up the chain and hooked my saddle-bags on to it, and let them down under the water, out of sight. Then I left them there, and drifted on down here just about alive, to where Godith found me.\" He found no difficulty in speaking of her as Godith; the name had a jubilant sound in his mouth. \"And there all that gold is dangling in the Severn still, I hope and believe, until I can reclaim it and get it away to its rightful owner. Thank God he's alive to benefit by it.\" A last qualm shook him suddenly and severely. \"There's been no word of anyone finding it?\" he questioned anxiously. \"We should know if they had?\"\n\n\"We should know, never doubt it! No, no one's hooked any such fish. Why should anyone look for it there? But getting it out again undetected may not be so easy. We three must put our wits together,\" said Cadfael, \"and see what we can do between us. And while you two have been swearing your alliance, let me tell you what I've been doing.\"\n\nHe made it brief enough. \"I found all as you told it. The traces of your horses are there, and of your enemy's, too. One horse only. This was a thief bent on his own enrichment, no zealot trying to fill the king's coffers. He had seeded the path for you liberally with caltrops, your kinsman collected several of them next day, for the sake of his own cattle. The signs of your struggle within the hut are plain enough. And pressed into the earth floor I found this.\" He produced it from his scrip, a lump of deep yellow roughly faceted, and clenched in the broken silver-gilt claw. Torold took it from him and examined it curiously, but without apparent recognition.\n\n\"Broken off from a hilt, would you think?\"\n\n\"Not from yours, then?\"\n\n\"Mine?\" Torold laughed. \"Where would a poor squire with his way to make get hold of so fine a weapon as this must have been? No, mine was a plain old sword my grandsire wore before me, and a dagger to match, in a heavy hide sheath. If it had been light as this, I'd have tried to keep it. No, this is none of mine.\"\n\n\"Nor Faintree's, either?\"\n\nTorold shook his head decidedly. \"If he had any such, I should have known. Nick and I are of the same condition, and friends three years and more.\" He looked up intently into Brother Cadfael's face. \"Now I remember a very small thing that may have meaning, after all. When I broke free and left the other fellow dazed, I trod on something under the hay where we'd been struggling, a small, hard thing that almost threw me. I think it could well have been this. It was his? Yes, it must have been his! Snapped off against the ground as we rolled.\"\n\n\"His, almost certainly, and the only thing we have to lead us to him,\" said Cadfael, taking back the stone and hiding it again from view in his pouch. \"No man would willingly discard so fine a thing because one stone was broken from it. Whoever owned it still has it, and will get it repaired when he dare. If we can find the dagger, we shall have found the murderer.\"\n\n\"I wish,\" said Torold fiercely, \"I could both go and stay! I should be glad to be the one to avenge Nick, he was a good friend to me. But my part is to obey my orders, and get FitzAlan's goods safely over to him in France. And,\" he said, regarding Cadfael steadily, \"to take with me also Fulke Adeney's daughter, and deliver her safe to her father. If you will trust her to me.\"\n\n\"And help us,\" added Godith with immense confidence.\n\n\"Trust her to you\u2014I might,\" said Cadfael mildly. \"And help you both I surely will, as best I can. A very simple matter! All I have to do\u2014and mark you, she has the assurance to demand it of me!\u2014is to conjure you two good horses out of the empty air, where even poor hacks are gold, retrieve your hidden treasure for you, and see you well clear of the town, westward into Wales. Just a trifle! Harder things are done daily by the saints\u2026\"\n\nHe had reached this point when he stiffened suddenly, and spread a warning hand to enjoin silence. Listening with ears stretched, he caught for a second time the soft sound of a foot moving warily in the edge of the rustling stubble, close to the open door.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Godith in a soundless whisper, her eyes immense in alarm.\n\n\"Nothing!\" said Cadfael as softly. \"My ears playing tricks.\" And aloud he said: \"Well, you and I must be getting back for Vespers. Come! It wouldn't do to be late.\"\n\nTorold accepted his silent orders, and let them go without a word from him. If someone had indeed been listening\u2026 But he had heard nothing, and it seemed to him that even Cadfael was not sure. Why alarm Godith? Brother Cadfael was her best protector here, and once within the abbey walls she would again be in sanctuary. As for Torold, he was his own responsibility, though he would have been happier if he had had a sword!\n\nBrother Cadfael reached down into the capacious waist of his habit, and drew out a long poniard in a rubbed and worn leather scabbard. Silently he put it into Torold's hands. The young man took it, marvelling, staring as reverently as at a first small miracle, so apt was the answer to his thought. He had it by the sheath, the cross of the hilt before his face, and was still gazing in wonder as they went out from him into the evening, and drew the door closed after them. Cadfael took the memory of that look with him into the fresh, saffron air of sunset. He himself must once have worn the same rapt expression, contemplating the same uplifted hilt. When he had taken the Cross, long ago, his vow had been made on that hilt, and the dagger had gone with him to Jerusalem, and roved the eastern seas with him for ten years. Even when he gave up his' sword along with the things of this world, and surrendered all pride of possessions, he had kept the poniard. Just as well to part with it at last, to someone who had need of it and would not disgrace it.\n\nHe looked about him very cautiously as they rounded the corner of the mill and crossed the race. His hearing was sharp as a wild creature's, and he had heard no whisper or rustle from outside until the last few moments of their talk together, nor could he now be certain that what he had heard was a human foot, it might well have been a small animal slipping through the stubble. All the same, he must take thought for what might happen if they really had been spied upon. Surely, at the worst, only the last few exchanges could have been overheard, though those were revealing enough. Had the treasure been mentioned? Yes, he himself had said that all that was required of him was to obtain two horses, retrieve the treasure, and see them safely headed for Wales. Had anything been said then of where the treasure was hidden? No, that had been much earlier. But the listener, if listener there had been, could well have learned that a hunted fugitive of FitzAlan's party was in hiding there, and worse, that Adeney's daughter was being sheltered in the abbey.\n\nThis was getting too warm for comfort. Best get them away as soon as the boy was fit to ride. But if this evening passed, and the night, and no move was made to betray them, he would suspect he had been fretting over nothing. There was no one in sight here but a solitary boy fishing, absorbed and distant on the river bank.\n\n\"What was it?\" asked Godith, meek and attentive beside him. \"Something made you uneasy, I know.\"\n\n\"Nothing to worry your head about,\" said Cadfael. \"I was mistaken. Everything is as it should be.\"\n\nFrom the corner of his eye, at that moment, he caught the sudden movement down towards the river, beyond the clump of bushes where she had found Torold. Out of the meagre cover a slight, agile body unfolded and stood erect, stretching lazily, and drifted at an oblique angle towards the path on which they walked, his course converging with theirs. Hugh Beringar, his stride nicely calculated to look accidental and yet bring him athwart their path at the right moment, showed them a placid and amiable face, recognising Cadfael with pleasure, accepting his attendant boy with benevolence.\n\n\"A very fair evening, brother! You're bound for Vespers? So am I. We may walk together?\"\n\n\"Very gladly,\" said Cadfael heartily. He tapped Godith on the shoulder, and handed her the small sacking bundle that held his herbs and dressings. \"Run ahead, Godric, and put these away for me, and come down to Vespers with the rest of the boys. You'll save my legs, and have time to give a stir to that lotion I have been brewing. Go on, child, run!\"\n\nAnd Godith clasped the bundle and ran, taking good care to run like an athletic boy, rattling one hand along the tall stubble, and whistling as she went, glad enough to put herself out of that young man's sight. Her own eyes and mind were full of another young man.\n\n\"A most biddable lad you have,\" said Hugh Beringar benignly, watching her race ahead.\n\n\"A good boy,\" said Cadfael placidly, matching him step for step across the field blanched to the colour of cream. \"He has a year's endowment with us, but I doubt if he'll take the cowl. But he'll have learned his letters, and figuring, and a good deal about herbs and medicines, it will stand him in good stead. You're at leisure today, my lord?\"\n\n\"Not so much at leisure,\" said Hugh Beringar with equal serenity, \"as in need of your skills and knowledge. I tried your garden first, and not finding you there, thought you might have business today over here in the main gardens and orchard. But for want of a sight of you anywhere, I sat down to enjoy the evening sunshine, here by the river. I knew you'd come to Vespers, but never realised you had fields beyond here. Is all the corn brought in now?\"\n\n\"All that we have here. The sheep will be grazing the stubble very shortly. What was it you wanted of me, my lord? If I may serve you in accord with my duty, be sure I will.\"\n\n\"Yesterday morning, Brother Cadfael, I asked you if you would give any request of mine fair consideration, and you told me you give fair consideration to all that you do. And I believe it. I had in mind what was then no more than a rumoured threat, now it's a real one. I have reason to know that King Stephen is already making plans to move on, and means to make sure of his supplies and his mounts. The siege of Shrewsbury has cost him plenty, and he now has more mouths to feed and more men to mount. It's not generally known, or too many would be taking thought to evade it, as I am,\" owned Beringar blithely, \"but he's about to issue orders to have every homestead in the town searched, and a tithe of all fodder and provisions in store commandeered for the army's use. And all\u2014mark that, all\u2014the good horses to be found, no matter who owns them, that are not already in army or garrison service. The abbey stables will not be exempt.\"\n\nThis Cadfael did not like at all. It came far too pat, a shrewd thrust at his own need of horses, and most ominous indication that Hugh Beringar, who had this information in advance of the general citizens, might also be as well informed of what went on in other quarters. Nothing this young man said or did would ever be quite what it seemed, but whatever game he played would always be his own game. The less said in reply, at this stage, the better. Two could play their own games, and both, possibly, benefit. Let him first say out what he wanted, even if what he said would have to be scrutinised from all angles, and subjected to every known test.\n\n\"That will be bad news to Brother Prior,\" said Cadfael mildly.\n\n\"It's bad news to me,\" said Beringar ruefully. \"For I have four horses in those same abbey stables, and while I might have a claim to retain them all for myself and my men, once the king has given me his commission, I can't make any such claim at this moment with security. It might be allowed, it might not. And to be open with you, I have no intention of letting my two best horses be drafted for the king's army. I want them out of here and in some private place, where they can escape Prestcote's foraging parties, until this flurry is over.\"\n\n\"Only two?\" said Cadfael innocently. \"Why not all?\"\n\n\"Oh, come, I know you have more cunning than that. Would I be here without horses at all? If they found none of mine, they'd be hunting for all, and small chance I'd have left for royal favour. But let them take the two nags, and they won't question further. Two I can afford. Brother Cadfael, it takes no more than a few days in this place to know that you are the man to take any enterprise in hand, however rough and however risky.\" His voice was brisk and bland, even hearty, he seemed to intend no double meanings. \"The lord abbot turns to you when he's faced with an ordeal beyond his powers. I turn to you for practical help. You know all this countryside. Is there a place of safety where my horses can lie up for a few days, until this round-up is over?\"\n\nSo improbable a proposal Cadfael had not looked for, but it came as manna from heaven. Nor did he hesitate long over taking advantage of it for his own ends. Even if lives had not depended on the provision of those two horses, he was well aware that Beringar was making use of him without scruple, and he need have no scruples about doing as much in return. It went a little beyond that, even, for he had a shrewd suspicion that at this moment Beringar knew far too much of what was going on in his, Cadfael's mind, and had no objection whatever to any guesses Cadfael might be making as to what was going on in his, Beringar's. Each of us, he thought, has a hold of sorts upon the other, and each of us has a reasonable insight into the other's methods, if not motives. It will be a fair fight. And yet this debonair being might very well be the murderer of Nicholas Faintree. That would be a very different duel, with no quarter asked or offered. In the meantime, make the most of what might or might not be quite accidental circumstances.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, \"I do know of such a place.\"\n\nBeringar did not even ask him where, or question his judgment as to whether it would be remote enough and secret enough to be secure. \"Show me the way tonight,\" he said outright, and smiled into Cadfael's face. \"It's tonight or never, the order will be made public tomorrow. If you and I can make the return journey on foot before morning, ride with me. Rather you than any!\"\n\nCadfael considered ways and means; there was no need to consider what his answer would be.\n\n\"Better get your horses out after Vespers, then, out to St. Giles. I'll join you there when Compline is over, it will be getting dark then. It wouldn't do for me to be seen riding out with you, but you may exercise your own horses in the evening as the fit takes you.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Beringar with satisfaction. \"Where is this place? Have we to cross the river anywhere?\"\n\n\"No, nor even the brook. It's an old grange the abbey used to maintain in the Long Forest, out beyond Pulley. Since the times grew so unchancy we've withdrawn all our sheep and cattle from there, but keep two lay brothers still in the house. No one will look for horses there, they know it's all but abandoned. And the lay brothers will credit what I say.\"\n\n\"And St. Giles is on our way?\" It was a chapel of the abbey, away at the eastern end of the Foregate.\n\n\"It is. We'll go south to Sutton, and then bear west and into the forest. You'll have three miles or more to walk back by the shorter way. Without horses we may save a mile or so.\"\n\n\"I think my legs will hold me up for that distance,\" said Beringar demurely. \"After Compline, then, at St. Giles.\" And without any further word or question he left Cadfael's side, lengthening his easy stride to gain ground; for Aline Siward was just emerging from the doorway of her house and turning towards the abbey gateway on her way to church. Before she had gone many yards Beringar was at her elbow; she raised her head and smiled confidingly into his face. A creature quite without guile, but by no means without proper pride or shrewd sense, and she opened like a flower at sight of this young man devious as a serpent, whatever else of good or ill might be said of him. That, thought Cadfael, watching them walk before him in animated conversation, ought to signify something in his favour? Or was it only proof of her childlike trustfulness? Blameless young women have before now been taken in by black-hearted villains, even murderers; and black-hearted villains and murderers have been deeply devoted to blameless young women, contradicting their own nature in this one perverse tenderness.\n\nCadfael was consoled and cheered by the sight of Godith in church, nobody's fool, nudging and whispering among the boys, and flicking him one rapid, questioning blue glance, which he answered with a reassuring nod and smile. None too well-founded reassurance, but somehow he would make it good. Admirable as Aline was, Godith was the girl for him. She reminded him of Arianna, the Greek boat-girl, long ago, skirts kilted above the knee, short hair a cloud of curls, leaning on her long oar and calling across the water to him\u2026\n\nAh, well! The age he had been then, young Torold had not even reached yet. These things are for the young. Meantime, tonight after Compline, at St. Giles!"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The ride out through sutton into the long forest, dense and primitive through all but the heathy summits of its fifteen square miles, was like a sudden return visit to aspects of his past, night raids and desperate ambushes once so familiar to him as to be almost tedious, but now, in this shadowy, elderly form, as near excitement as he wished to come. The horse under him was lofty and mettlesome and of high pedigree, he had not been astride such a creature for nearly twenty years, and the flattery and temptation reminded him of days past, when exalted and venturesome companions made all labours and privations pleasurable.\n\nHugh Beringar, once away from the used roads and into the trees and the night shadows, seemed to have no cares in the world, certainly no fear of any treachery on his companion's part. He chattered, even, to pass the time along the way, curious about Brother Cadfael's uncloistral past, and about the countries he had known as well as he knew this forest.\n\n\"So you lived in the world all those years, and saw so much of it, and never thought to marry? And half the world women, they say?\" The light voice, seemingly idle and faintly mocking, nevertheless genuinely questioned and required an answer.\n\n\"I had thought to marry, once,\" said Cadfael honestly, \"before I took the Cross, and she was a very fair woman, too, but to say truth, I forgot her in the east, and in the west she forgot me. I was away too long, she gave up waiting and married another man, small blame to her.\"\n\n\"Have you ever seen her again?\" asked Hugh.\n\n\"No, never. She has grandchildren by now, may they be good to her. She was a fine woman, Richildis.\"\n\n\"But the east was also made up of men and women, and you a young crusader. I cannot but wonder,\" said Beringar dreamily.\n\n\"So, wonder! I also wonder about you,\" said Cadfael mildly. \"Do you know any human creatures who are not strangers, one to another?\"\n\nA faint gleam of light showed among the trees. The lay brothers sat up late with a reed dip, Cadfael suspected playing at dice. Why not? The tedium here must be extreme. They were bringing these decent brothers a little diversion, undoubtedly welcome.\n\nThat they were alive and alert to the slightest sound of an unexpected approach was soon proved, as both emerged ware and ready in the doorway. Brother Anselm loomed huge and muscular, like an oak of his own fifty-five years, and swung a long staff in one hand. Brother Louis, French by descent but born in England, was small and wiry and agile, and in this solitude kept a dagger by him, and knew how to use it. Both of them came forth prepared for anything, placid of face and watchful of eye; but at sight of Brother Cadfael they fell to an easy grinning.\n\n\"What, is it you, old comrade? A pleasure to see a known face, but we hardly looked for you in the middle of the night. Are you biding over until tomorrow? Where's your errand?\" They looked at Beringar with measuring interest, but he left it to Cadfael to do the dealing for him here, where the abbey's writ ran with more force than the king's.\n\n\"Our errand's here, to you,\" said Cadfael, lighting down. \"My lord here asks that you'll give stabling and shelter for a few days to these two beasts, and keep them out of the public eye.\" No need to bide the reason from these two, who would have sympathised heartily with the owner of such horseflesh in his desire to keep it. \"They're commandeering baggage horses for the army, and that's no fit life for these fellows, they'll be held back to serve in a better fashion.\"\n\nBrother Anselm ran an appreciative eye over Beringar's mount, and an affectionate hand over the arched neck. \"A long while since the stable here had such a beauty in it! Long enough since it had any at all, barring Prior Robert's mule when he visited, and he does that very rarely now. We expect to be recalled, to tell truth, this place is too isolated and unprofitable to be kept much longer. Yes, we'll give you house-room, my fine lad, gladly, and your mate, too. All the more gladly, my lord, if you'll let me get my leg across him now and again by way of exercise.\"\n\n\"I think he may carry even you without trouble,\" acknowledged Beringar amiably. \"And surrender them to no one but myself or Brother Cadfael.\"\n\n\"That's understood. No one will set eyes on them here.\" They led the horses into the deserted stable, very content with the break in their tedious existence, and with Beringar's open-handed largesse for their services. \"Though we'd have taken them in for the pleasure of it,\" said Brother Louis truthfully. \"I was groom once in Earl Robert of Gloucester's household, I love a fine horse, one with a gloss and a gait to do me credit.\"\n\nCadfael and Hugh Beringar turned homeward together on foot. \"An hour's walking, hardly more,\" said Cadfael, \"by the way I'll take you. The path's too overgrown in parts for the horses, but I know it well, it cuts off the Foregate. We have to cross the brook, well upstream from the mill, and can enter the abbey grounds from the garden side, unnoticed, if you're willing to wade.\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Beringar reflectively, but with complete placidity, \"you are having a game with me. Do you mean to lose me in the woods, or drown me in the mill-race?\"\n\n\"I doubt if I should succeed at either. No, this will be a most amicable walk together, you'll see. And well worth it, I trust.\"\n\nAnd curiously, for all each of them knew the other was making use of him, it was indeed a pleasant nocturnal journey they made, the elderly monk without personal ambitions, and the young man whose ambitions were limitless and daring. Probably Beringar was working hard at the puzzle of why Cadfael had so readily accommodated him, certainly Cadfael was just as busy trying to fathom why Beringar had ever invited him to conspire with him thus; it did not matter, it made the contest more interesting. And which of them was to win, and to get the most out of the tussle, was very much in the balance.\n\nKeeping pace thus on the narrow forest path they were much of a height, though Cadfael was thickset and burly, and Beringar lean and lissome and light of foot. He followed Cadfael's steps attentively, and the darkness, only faintly alleviated by starlight between the branches, seemed to bother him not at all. And lightly and freely he talked.\n\n\"The king intends to move down into Gloucester's country again, in more strength, hence this drive for men and horses. In a few more days he'll surely be moving.\"\n\n\"And you go with him?\" Since he was minded to be talkative, why not encourage him? Everything he said would be calculated, of course, but sooner or later even he might make a miscalculation.\n\n\"That depends on the king. Will you credit it, Brother Cadfael, the man distrusts me! Though in fact I'd liefer be put in charge of my own command here, where my lands lie. I've made myself as assiduous as I dare\u2014to see the same face too constantly might have the worst effect, not to see it in attendance at all would be fatal. A nice question of judgment.\"\n\n\"I feel,\" said Cadfael, \"that a man might have considerable confidence in your judgment. Here we are at the brook, do you hear it?\" There were stones there by which to cross dryshod, though the water was low and the bed narrowed, and Beringar, having rested his eyes a few moments to assay the distance and the ground, crossed in a nicely balanced leap that served to justify Cadfael's pronouncement.\n\n\"Do you indeed?\" resumed the young man, falling in beside him again as they went on. \"Have a high opinion of my judgment? Of risks and vantages only? Or, for instance, of men?\u2014And women?\"\n\n\"I can hardly question your judgment of men,\" said Cadfael drily, \"since you've confided in me. If I doubted, I'd hardly be likely to own it.\"\n\n\"And of women?\" They were moving more freely now through open fields.\n\n\"I think they might all be well advised to beware of you. And what else is gossiped about in the king's court, besides the next campaign? There's no fresh word of FitzAlan and Adeney being sighted?\"\n\n\"None, nor will be now,\" said Beringar readily. \"They had luck, and I'm not sorry. Where they are by now there's no knowing, but wherever it is, it's one stage on the way to France.\"\n\nThere was no reason to doubt him; whatever he was about he was making his dispositions by way of truth, not lies. So the news for Godith's peace of mind was still good, and every day better, as the distance between her father and Stephen's vengeance lengthened. And now there were two excellent horses well positioned on an escape road for Godith and Torold, in the care of two stalwart brothers who would release them at Cadfael's word. The first step was accomplished. Now to recover the saddle-bags from the river, and start them on their way. Not so simple a matter, but surely not impossible.\n\n\"I see now where we are,\" said Beringar, some twenty minutes later. They had cut straight across the mile of land enclosed by the brook's wanderings, and stood again on the bank; on the other side the stripped fields of pease whitened in the starlight, and beyond their smooth rise lay the gardens, and the great range of abbey buildings. \"You have a nose for country, even in the dark. Lead the way, I'll trust you for an unpitted ford, too.\"\n\nCadfael had only to kilt his habit, having nothing but his sandals to get wet. He strode into the water at the point opposite the low roof of Godith's hut, which just showed above the trees and bushes and the containing wall of the herbarium. Beringar plunged in after him, boots and hose and all. The water was barely knee-deep, but clearly he cared not at all. And Cadfael noted how he moved, gently and steadily, hardly a ripple breaking from his steps. He had all the intuitive gifts of wild creatures, as alert by night as by day. On the abbey bank he set off instinctively round the edge of the low stubble of peasehaulms, to avoid any rustle among the dry roots soon to be dug in.\n\n\"A natural conspirator,\" said Cadfael, thinking aloud; and that he could do so was proof of a strong, if inimical, bond between them.\n\nBeringar turned on him a face suddenly lit by a wild smile. \"One knows another,\" he said. They had grown used to exchanging soundless whispers, and yet making them clear to be heard. \"I've remembered one rumour that's making the rounds, that I forgot to tell you. A few days ago there was some fellow hunted into the river by night, said to be one of FitzAlan's squires. They say an archer got him behind the left shoulder, maybe through the heart. However it was, he went down, somewhere by Atcham his body may be cast up. But they caught a riderless horse, a good saddle-horse, the next day, sure to be his.\"\n\n\"Do you tell me?\" said Cadfael, mildly marvelling. \"You may speak here, there'll be no one prowling in my herb-garden by night, and they're used to me rising at odd times to tend my brews here.\"\n\n\"Does not your boy see to that?\" asked Hugh Beringar innocently.\n\n\"A boy slipping out of the dortoir,\" said Brother Cadfael, \"would soon have cause to rue it. We take better care of our children here, my lord, than you seem to think.\"\n\n\"I'm glad to hear it. It's well enough for seasoned old soldiers turned monk to risk the chills of the night, but the young things ought to be protected.\" His voice was sweet and smooth as honey. \"I was telling you of this odd thing about the horses\u2026 A couple of days later, if you'll believe it, they rounded up another saddle-horse running loose, grazing up in the heathlands north of the town, still saddled. They're thinking there was a single bodyguard sent out from the castle, when the assault came, to pick up Adeney's daughter from wherever she was hidden, and escort her safely out of the ring round Shrewsbury. They think the attempt failed,\" he said softly, \"when her attendant took to the river to save her. So she's still missing, and still thought to be somewhere here, close in hiding. And they'll be looking for her, Brother Cadfael\u2014they'll be looking for her now more eagerly than ever.\"\n\nThey were up at the edge of the inner gardens by then. Hugh Beringar breathed an almost silent \"Good night!\" and was gone like a shadow towards the guest house.\n\nBefore he slept out the rest of the night, Brother Cadfael lay awake long enough to do some very hard thinking. And the longer he thought, the more convinced he became that someone had indeed approached the mill closely enough and silently enough to catch the last few sentences spoken within; and that the someone was Hugh Beringar, past all doubt. He had proved how softly he could move, how instinctively he adapted his movements to circumstances, he had provoked a shared expedition committing each of them to the other's discretion, and he had uttered a number of cryptic confidences calculated to arouse suspicion and alarm, and possibly precipitate unwise action\u2014though Cadfael had no intention of giving him that last satisfaction. He did not believe the listener had been within earshot long. But the last thing Cadfael himself had said gave away plainly enough that he intended somehow to get hold of two horses, retrieve the hidden treasury, and see Torold on his way with \"her.\" If Beringar had been at the door just a moment earlier, he must also have heard the girl named; but even without that he must surely have had his suspicions. Then just what game was he playing, with his own best horses, with the fugitives he could betray at any moment, yet had not so far betrayed, and with Brother Cadfael? A better and larger prize offered than merely one young man's capture, and the exploitation of a girl against whom he had no real grudge. A man like Beringar might prefer to risk all and play for all, Torold, Godith and treasure in one swoop. For himself alone, as once before, though without success? Or for the king's gain and favour? He was indeed a young man of infinite possibilities.\n\nCadfael thought about him for a long time before he slept, and one thing, at least, was clear. If Beringar knew now that Cadfael had as good as undertaken to recover the treasury, then from this point on he would hardly let Cadfael out of his sight, for he needed him to lead him to the spot. A little light began to dawn, faint but promising, just before sleep came. It seemed no more than a moment before the bell was rousing him with the rest for Prime.\n\n\"Today,\" said Cadfael to Godith, in the garden after breakfast, \"do all as usual, go to the Mass before chapter, and then to your schooling. After dinner you should work a little in the garden, and see to the medicines, but after that you can slip away to the old mill, discreetly, mind, until Vespers. Can you dress Torold's wound without me? I may not be seen there today.\"\n\n\"Surely I can,\" she said blithely. \"I've seen it done, and I know the herbs now. But\u2026 If someone, if he, was spying on us yesterday, how if he comes today?\" She had been told of the night's expedition, briefly, and the implications at once heartened and alarmed her.\n\n\"He will not,\" said Cadfael positively. \"If all goes well, wherever I am today, there he will be. That's why I want you away from me, and why you may breathe more easily away from me. And there's something I may want you and Torold to do for me, late tonight, if things go as I expect. When we come to Vespers, then I'll tell you, yes or no. If it's yes, that's all I need say, and this is what you must do\u2026\"\n\nShe listened in glowing silence throughout, and nodded eager comprehension. \"Yes, I saw the boat, leaning against the wall of the mill. Yes, I know the thicket of bushes at the beginning of the garden, close under the end of the bridge\u2026 Yes, of course we can do it, Torold and I together!\"\n\n\"Wait long enough to be sure,\" cautioned Cadfael. \"And now run off to the parish Mass, and your lessons, and look as like the other boys as you can, and don't be afraid. If there should be any cause for fear, I intend to hear of it early, and I'll be with you at once.\"\n\nA part of Cadfael's thinking was rapidly proved right. He made it his business to be very active about the precincts that Sunday, attendant at every service, trotting on various errands from gate house to guest house, to the abbot's lodging, the infirmary, the gardens; and everywhere that he went, somewhere within view, unobtrusive but present, was Hugh Beringar. Never before had that young man been so constantly at church, in attendance even when Aline was not among the worshippers. Now let's see, thought Cadfael, with mild malice, whether I can lure him from the lists even when she does attend, and leave the field open for the other suitor. For Aline would certainly come to the Mass after chapter, and his last foray to the gate house had shown him Adam Courcelle, dressed for peace and piety, approaching the door of the small house where she and her maid were lodged.\n\nIt was unheard of for Cadfael to be absent from Mass, but for once he invented an errand which gave him fair excuse. His skills with medicines were known in the town, and people often asked for his help and advice. Abbot Heribert was indulgent to such requests, and lent his herbalist freely. There was a child along the Foregate towards St. Giles who had been under his care from time to time for a skin infection, and though he was growing out of it gradually, and there was no great need for a visit this day, no one had the authority to contradict Cadfael when he pronounced it necessary to go.\n\nIn the gateway he met Aline Siward and Adam Courcelle entering, she slightly flushed, certainly not displeased with her escort, but perhaps a little embarrassed, the king's officer devoutly attentive and also warmly flushed, clearly in his case with pleasure. If Aline was expecting to be accosted by Beringar, as had become usual by this time, for once she was surprised. Whether relieved or disappointed there was no telling. Beringar was nowhere to be seen.\n\nProof positive, thought Cadfael, satisfied, and went on his physicianly visit serenely and without haste. Beringar was discretion itself in his surveillance, he contrived not to be seen at all until Cadfael, on his way home again, met him ambling out gently for exercise on one of his remaining horses, and whistling merrily as he rode.\n\nHe saluted Cadfael gaily, as though no encounter could have been more unexpected or more delightful. \"Brother Cadfael, you astray on a Sunday morning?\"\n\nVery staidly Cadfael rehearsed his errand, and reported its satisfactory results.\n\n\"The range of your skills is admirable,\" said Beringar, twinkling. \"I trust you had an undisturbed sleep after your long working day yesterday?\"\n\n\"My mind was over-active for a while,\" said Cadfael, \"but I slept well enough. And thus far you still have a horse to ride, I see.\"\n\n\"Ah, that! I was at fault, I should have realised that even if the order was issued on a Sunday, they would not move until the sabbath was over. Tomorrow you'll see for yourself.\" Unquestionably he was telling the truth, and certain of his information. \"The hunt is likely to be very thorough,\" he said, and Cadfael knew he was not talking only of the horses and the provisions. \"King Stephen is a little troubled about his relations with the church and its bishops. I ought to have known he would hold back on Sunday. Just as well, it gives us a day's credit and grace. Tonight we can stay blamelessly at home in all men's sight, as the innocent should. Eh, Cadfael?\" And he laughed, and leaned to clap a hand on Brother Cadfael's shoulder, and rode on, kicking his heels into his horse's sides and rousing to a trot towards St. Giles.\n\nNevertheless, when Cadfael emerged from the refectory after dinner, Beringar was visible just within the doorway of the guest-hall opposite, seemingly oblivious but well aware of everything within his field of vision. Cadfael led him harmlessly to the cloister, and sat down there in the sun, and dozed contentedly until he was sure that Godith would be well away and free from surveillance. Even when he awoke he sat for a while, to make quite sure, and to consider the implications.\n\nNo question but all his movements were being watched very narrowly, and by Beringar in person. He did not delegate such work to his men-at-arms, or to any other hired eyes, but did the duty himself, and probably took pleasure in it, too. If he was willing to surrender Aline to Courcelle, even for an hour, then maximum importance attached to what he was doing instead. I am elected, thought Cadfael, as the means to the end he desires, and that is FitzAlan's treasury. And his surveillance is going to be relentless. Very well! There's no way of evading it. The only thing to do is to make use of it.\n\nDo not, therefore, tire out the witness too much, or alert him too soon of activities planned. He has you doing a deal of guessing, now keep him guessing.\n\nSo he betook himself to his herbarium, and worked conscientiously on all his preparations there, brewing and newly begun, all that afternoon until it was time to repair to church for Vespers. Where Beringar secreted himself he did not trouble to consider, he hoped the vigil was tedious in the extreme to a man so volatile and active.\n\nCourcelle had either stayed\u2014the opportunity being heaven-sent, and not to be wasted\u2014or returned for the evening worship, he came with Aline demure and thoughtful on his arm. At sight of Brother Cadfael sallying forth from the gardens he halted, and greeted him warmly.\n\n\"A pleasure to see you in better circumstances than when last we met, brother. I hope you may have no more such duties. At least Aline and you, between you, lent some grace to what would otherwise have been a wholly ugly business. I wish I had some way of softening his Grace's mind towards your house, he still keeps a certain grudge that the lord abbot was in no hurry to come to his peace.\"\n\n\"A mistake a great many others also made,\" said Cadfael philosophically. \"No doubt we shall weather it.\"\n\n\"I trust so. But as yet his Grace is in no mind to extend any privileges to the abbey above the other townsfolk. If I should be compelled to enforce, even within your walls, orders I'd rather see stop at the gates, I hope you'll understand that I do it reluctantly, and have no choice about it.\"\n\nHe is asking pardon in advance, thought Cadfael, enlightened, for tomorrow's invasion. So it's true enough, as I supposed, and he has been given the ill work to do, and is making it clear beforehand that he dislikes the business and would evade it if he could. He may even be making `rather more than he need of his repugnance, for the lady's benefit.\n\n\"If that should happen,\" he said benignly, \"I'm sure every man of my order will realise that you do only what you must, like any soldier under orders. You need not fear that any odium will attach to you.\"\n\n\"So I have assured Adam many times,\" said Aline warmly, and flushed vividly at hearing herself call him by his Christian name. Perhaps it was for the first time. \"But he's hard to convince. No, Adam, it is true\u2014you take to yourself blame which is not your due, as if you had killed Giles with your own hand, which you know is false. How could I[p even blame the Flemings? They were under orders, too. In such dreadful times as these no one can do more than choose his own road according to his conscience, and bear the consequences of his choice, whatever they may be.\"\n\n\"In no times, good or bad,\" said Cadfael sententiously, \"can man do more or better than that. Since I have this chance, lady, I should render you account of the alms you trusted to me, for all are bestowed, and they have benefited three poor, needy souls. For want of names, which I did not enquire, say some prayer for three worthy unfortunates who surely pray for you.\"\n\nAnd so she would, he reflected as he watched her enter the church on Courcelle's arm. At this crisis season of her life, bereaved of kin, left mistress of a patrimony she had freely dedicated to the king's service, he judged she was perilously hesitant between the cloister and the world, and for all he had chosen the cloister in his maturity, he heartily wished her the world, if possible a more attractive world than surrounded her now, to employ and fulfil her youth.\n\nGoing in to take his place among his brothers, he met Godith making for her own corner. Her eyes questioned brightly, and he said softly: \"Yes! Do all as I told you.\"\n\nSo now what mattered was to make certain that for the rest of the evening he led Beringar into pastures far apart from where Godith operated. What Cadfael did must be noted, what she did must go unseen and unsuspected. And that could not be secured by adhering faithfully to the evening routine. Supper was always a brief meal, Beringar would be sure to be somewhere within sight of the refectory when they emerged. Collations in the chapter house, the formal reading from the lives of the saints, was a part of the day that Cadfael had been known to miss on other occasions, and he did so now, leading his unobtrusive attendant first to the infirmary, where he paid a brief visit to Brother Reginald, who was old and deformed in the joints, and welcomed company, and then to the extreme end of the abbot's own garden, far away from the herbarium, and farther still from the gate house. By then Godith would be freed from her evening lesson with the novices, and might appear anywhere between the hut and the herbarium and the gates, so it was essential that Beringar should continue to concentrate on Cadfael, even if he was doing nothing more exciting than trimming the dead flowers from the abbot's roses and clove-pinks. By that stage Cadfael was checking only occasionally that the watch on his movements continued; he was quite certain that it would, and with exemplary patience. During the day it seemed almost casual, hardly expecting action, except that Cadfael was a tricky opponent, and might have decided to act precisely when it was unexpected of him. But it was after dark that things would begin to happen.\n\nWhen Compline was over there was always, on fine evenings, a brief interlude of leisure in the cloister or the gardens, before the brothers went to their beds. By then it was almost fully dark, and Cadfael was satisfied that Godith was long since where she should be, and Torold beside her. But he thought it best to delay yet a while, and go to the dortoir with the rest. Whether he emerged thence by way of the night stairs into the church, or the outer staircase, someone keeping watch from across the great court, where the guest hall lay, would be able to pick up his traces without trouble.\n\nHe chose the night stairs and the open north door of the church, and slipped round the east end of the Lady Chapel and the chapter house to cross the court into the gardens. No need to look round or listen for his shadow, he knew it would be there, moving at leisure, hanging well back from him but keeping him in sight. The night was reasonably dark, but the eyes grew accustomed to it soon, and he knew how securely Beringar could move in darkness. He would expect the night-wanderer to leave by the ford, as they had returned together the previous night. Someone bound on secret business would not pass the porter on the gate, whatever his normal authority.\n\nAfter he had waded the brook, Cadfael did pause to be sure Beringar was with him. The breaks in the rhythm of the water were very slight, but he caught them, and was content. Now to follow the course of the brook downstream on this side until nearing its junction with the river. There was a little footbridge there, and then it was only a step to the stone bridge that crossed into Shrewsbury. Over the road, and down the slope into the main abbey gardens, and he was already under the shadow of the first archway of the bridge, watching the faint flashes of light from the eddies where once a boat-mill had been moored. In this corner under the stone pier the bushes grew thick, such an awkward slope of ground was not worth clearing for what it would bear. Half-grown willows leaned, trailing leaves in the water, and the bushy growth under their branches would have hidden half a dozen well-screened witnesses.\n\nThe boat was there, afloat and tied up to one of the leaning branches, though it was of the light, withy-and-hide type that could be ported easily overland. This time there was good reason it should not, as it usually would, be drawn ashore and turned over in the turf. There was, Cadfael hoped, a solid bundle within it, securely tied up in one or two of the sacks from the mill. It would not have done for him to be seen to be carrying anything. Long before this, he trusted, he had been clearly seen to be empty-handed.\n\nHe stepped into the boat and loosed the mooring-rope. The sacking bundle was there, and convincingly heavy when he cautiously tested. A little above him on the slope, drawn into the edge of the bushes, he caught the slight movement of a deeper shadow as he pushed off with the long paddle into the flow under the first archway.\n\nIn the event it proved remarkably easy. No matter how keen Hugh Beringar's sight, he could not possibly discern everything that went on under the bridge, detail by detail. However sharp his hearing, it would bring him only a sound suggesting the rattling of a chain drawn up against stone, with some considerable weight on the end, the splash and trickle of water running out from something newly drawn up, and then the iron rattle of the chain descending; which was exactly what it was, except that Cadfael's hands slowed and muted the descent, to disguise the fact that the same weight was still attached, and only the bundle concealed in the boat had been sluiced in the Severn briefly, to provide the trickle of water on the stone ledge. The next part might be more risky, since he was by no means certain he had read Beringar's mind correctly. Brother Cadfael was staking his own life and those of others upon his judgment of men.\n\nSo far, however, It had gone perfectly. He paddled his light craft warily ashore, and above him a swift-moving shadow withdrew to higher ground, and, he surmised, went to earth close to the roadway, ready to fall in behind him whichever way he took. Though he would have wagered that the way was already guessed at, and rightly. He tied up the boat again, hastily but securely; haste was a part of his disguise that night, like stealth. When he crept cautiously up to the highroad again, and loomed against the night sky for a moment in stillness, ostensibly waiting to be sure he could cross unnoticed, the watcher could hardly miss seeing that he had now a shape grossly humped by some large bundle he carried slung over his shoulder.\n\nHe crossed, rapidly and quietly, and returned by the way he had come, following the brook upstream from the river after passing the ford, and so into the fields and woods he had threaded with Beringar only one night past. The bundle he carried, mercifully, had not been loaded with the full weight it was supposed to represent, though either Torold or Godith had seen fit to give it a convincing bulk and heft. More than enough, Cadfael reflected ruefully, for an ageing monk to carry four miles or more. His nights were being relentlessly curtailed. Once these young folk were wafted away into relative safety he would sleep through Matins and Lauds, and possibly the next morning's Prime, as well, and do fitting penance for it.\n\nNow everything was matter for guesswork. Would Beringar take it for granted where he was bound, and turn back too soon, and with some residue of suspicion, and ruin everything? No! Where Cadfael was concerned he would take nothing for granted, not until he was sure by his own observation where this load had been bestowed in safekeeping, and satisfied that Cadfael had positively returned to his duty without it. But would he, by any chance, intercept it on the way? No, why should he? To do so would have been to burden himself with it, whereas now he had an old fool to carry it for him, to where he had his horses hidden to convey it with ease elsewhere.\n\nCadfael had the picture clear in his mind now, the reckoning at its worst. If Beringar had killed Nicholas Faintree in the attempt to possess himself of the treasury, then his aim now would be not only to accomplish what he had failed to do then, but also something beyond, a possibility which had been revealed to him only since that attempt. By letting Brother Cadfael stow away for him both horses and treasure at an advantageous place, he had ensured his primary objective; but in addition, if he waited for Cadfael to convey his fugitives secretly to the same spot, as he clearly intended to do, then Beringar could remove the only witness to his former murder, and capture his once affianced bride as hostage for her father. What an enormous boon to bestow on King Stephen! His own favoured place would be assured, his crime buried for ever.\n\nSo much, of course, for the worst. But the range of possibilities was wide. For Beringar might be quite innocent of Faintree's death, but very hot on the trail of FitzAlan's valuables, now he had detected their whereabouts; and an elderly monk might be no object to his plans for his own enrichment, or, if he preferred to serve his interests in another way, his means of ingratiating himself with the king. In which case Cadfael might not long survive his depositing this infernal nuisance he carried, on shoulders already aching, at the grange where the horses were stabled. Well, thought Cadfael, rather exhilarated than oppressed, we shall see!\n\nOnce into the woods beyond the coil of the brook, he halted, and dropped the load with a huge grunt from his shoulders, and sat down on it, ostensibly to rest, actually to listen for the soft sounds of another man halting, braced, not resting. Very soft they were, but he caught them, and was happy. The young man was there, tireless, serene, a born adventurer. He saw a dark, amused, saturnine face ready for laughter. He was reasonably sure, then, how the evening would end. With a little luck\u2014better, with God's blessing, he reproved!\u2014he would be back in time for Matins.\n\nThere was no perceptible light in the grange when he reached it, but it needed only the rustle and stir of footsteps, and Brother Louis was out with a little pine-flare in one hand and his dagger in the other, as wide awake as at midday, and more perilous.\n\n\"God bless you, brother,\" said Cadfael, easing the load gratefully from his back. He would have something to say to young Torold when next he talked to him! Someone or something other than his own shoulders could carry this the next time. \"Let me within, and shut the door to.\"\n\n\"Gaily!\" said Brother Louis, and haled him within and did as he was bid.\n\nOn the way back, not a quarter of an hour later, Brother Cadfael listened carefully as he went, but he heard nothing of anyone following or accompanying him, certainly of no menace. Hugh Beringar had watched him into the grange from cover, possibly even waited for him to emerge unburdened, and then melted away into the night to which he belonged, and made his own lightsome, satisfied way home to the abbey. Cadfael abandoned all precautions and did the same. He was certain, now, where he stood. By the time the bell rang for Matins he was ready to emerge with the rest of the dortoir, and proceed devoutly down the night-stairs to give due praise in the church."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Before dawn on that monday morning in August the king's officers had deployed small parties to close every road out of Shrewsbury, while at every section within the town wall others stood ready to move methodically through the streets and search every house. There was more in the wind than the commandeering of horses and provisions, though that would certainly be done as they went, and done thoroughly.\n\n\"Everything shows that the girl must be in hiding somewhere near,\" Prestcote had insisted, reporting to the king after full enquiries. \"The one horse we found turned loose is known to be from FitzAlan's stables, and this young man hunted into the Severn certainly had a companion who has not yet been run to earth. Left alone, she cannot have got far. All your advisers agree, your Grace cannot afford to let the chance of her capture slip. Adeney would certainly come back to redeem her, he has no other child. It's possible even FitzAlan could be forced to return, rather than face the shame of letting her die.\"\n\n\"Die?\" echoed the king, bristling ominously. \"Is it likely I'd take the girl's life? Who spoke of her dying?\"\n\n\"Seen from here,\" said Prestcote drily, \"it may be an absurdity to speak of any such matter, but to an anxious father waiting for better news it may seem all too possible. Of course you would do the girl no harm. No need even to harm her father if you get him into your hands, or even FitzAlan. But your Grace must consider that you should do everything possible to prevent their services from reaching the empress. It's no longer a matter of revenge for Shrewsbury, but simply of a sensible measure to conserve your own forces and cut down on your enemy's.\"\n\n\"That's true enough,\" admitted Stephen, without overmuch enthusiasm. His anger and hatred had simmered down into his more natural easiness of temperament, not to say laziness. \"I am not sure that I like even making such use of the girl.\" He remembered that he had as good as ordered young Beringar to track down his affianced bride if he wanted to establish himself in royal favour, and the young man, though respectfully attendant since, if somewhat sporadically, had never yet produced any evidence of zeal in the search. Possibly, thought the king, he read my mind better than I did myself at the time.\n\n\"She need come by no injury, and your Grace would be saved having to contend with any forces attached to her father's standard, if not also his lord's. If you can cut off all those levies from the enemy, you will have saved yourself great labour, and a number of your men their lives. You cannot afford to neglect such a chance.\"\n\nIt was sound advice, and the king knew it. Weapons are where you find them, and Adeney could sit and kick his heels in an easy imprisonment enough, once he was safe in captivity.\n\n\"Very well!\" he said. \"Make your search and make it thoroughly.\"\n\nThe preparations were certainly thorough. Adam Courcelle descended upon the Abbey Foregate with his own command and a company of the Flemings. And while Willem Ten Heyt went ahead and established a guard-post at St. Giles, to question every rider and search every cart attempting to leave the town, and his lieutenant posted sentries along every path and by every possible crossing-place along the riverside, Courcelle took possession, civilly but brusquely, of the abbey gate house, and ordered the gates closed to all attempting to enter or leave. It was then about twenty minutes before Prime, and already daylight. There had been very little noise made, but Prior Robert from the dortoir had caught the unusual stir and disquiet from the gate house, on which the window of his own chamber looked down, and he came out in haste to see what was afoot.\n\nCourcelle made him a reverence that deceived nobody, and asked with respect for privileges everyone knew he was empowered to take; still, the veil of courtesy did something to placate the prior's indignation.\n\n\"Sir, I am ordered by his Grace King Stephen to require of your house free and orderly entry everywhere, a tithe of your stores for his Grace's necessary provision, and such serviceable horses as are not already in the use of people in his Grace's commission. I am also commanded to search and enquire everywhere for the girl Godith, daughter of his Grace's traitor Fulke Adeney, who is thought to be still in hiding here in Shrewsbury.\"\n\nPrior Robert raised his thin, silver brows and looked down his long, aristocratic nose. \"You would hardly expect to find such a person within our precincts? I assure you there is none such in the guest house, where alone she might becomingly be found.\"\n\n\"It is a formality here, I grant you,\" said Courcelle, \"but I have my orders, and cannot treat one dwelling more favourably than another.\"\n\nThere were lay servants listening by then, standing apart silent and wary, and one or two of the boy pupils, sleepy-eyed and scared. The master of the novices came to herd his strays back into their quarters, and stayed, instead, to listen with them.\n\n\"This should be reported at once to the abbot,\" said the prior with admirable composure, and led the way at once to Abbot Heribert's lodging. Behind them, the Flemings were closing the gates and mounting a guard, before turning their practical attention to the barns and the stables.\n\nBrother Cadfael, having for two nights running missed the first few hours of his rest, slept profoundly through all the earliest manifestations of invasion, and awoke only when the bell rang for Prime, far too late to do anything but dress in haste and go down with the rest of the brothers to the church. Only when he heard the whispers passed from man to man, and saw the closed gates, the lounging Flemings, and the subdued and huge-eyed boys, and heard the businesslike bustle and clatter of hooves from the stable-yard, did he realise that for once events had overtaken him, and snatched the initiative from his hands. For nowhere among the scared and anxious youngsters in church could he see any sign of Godith. As soon as Prime was over, and he was free to go, he hurried away to the hut in the herbarium. The door was unlatched and open, the array of drying herbs and mortars and bottles in shining order, the blankets had been removed from the bench-bed, and a basket of newly gathered lavender and one or two bottles arranged innocently along it. Of Godith there was no sign, in the hut, in the gardens, in the peasefields along the brook, where at one side the great stack of dried haulms loomed pale as flax, waiting to be carted away to join the hay in the barns. Nor was there any trace of a large bundle wrapped in sacking and probably damp from seeping river-water, which had almost certainly spent the night under that bleached pile, or the small boat which should have been turned down upon it and carefully covered over. The boat, FitzAlan's treasury, and Godith had all vanished into thin air. Godith had awakened somewhat before Prime, uneasily aware of the heavy responsibility that now lay upon her, and gone out without undue alarm to find out what was happening at the gate house. Though all had been done briskly and quietly, there was something about the stirring in the air and the unusual voices, lacking the decorous monastic calm of the brothers, that disturbed her mind. She was on the point of emerging from the walled garden when she saw the Flemings dismounting and closing the gates, and Courcelle advancing to meet the prior. She froze at the sound of her own name thus coolly spoken. If they were bent upon a thorough search, even here, they must surely find her. Questioned like the other boys, with all those enemy eyes upon her, she could not possibly sustain the performance. And if they found her, they might extend the search and find what she had in her charge. Besides, there was Brother Cadfael to protect, and Torold. Torold had returned faithfully to his mill once he had seen her safely home with the treasure. Last night she had almost wished he could have stayed with her, now she was glad he had the whole length of the Gaye between him and this dawn alarm, and woods not far from his back, and quick senses that would pick up the signs early, and give him due warning to vanish.\n\nLast night had been like a gay, adventurous dream, for some reason inexpressibly sweet, holding their breath together in cover until Cadfael had led his shadow well away from the bridge, loosing the little boat, hauling up the dripping saddle-bags, swathing them in dry sacks to make another bundle the image of Cadfael's; their hands together on the chain, holding it away from the stone, muting it so that there should be no further sound, then softly paddling the short way upstream to the brook, and round to the peasefields. Hide the boat, too, Cadfael had said, for we'll need it tomorrow night, if the chance offers. Last night's adventure had been the dream, this morning was the awakening, and she needed the boat now, this moment.\n\nThere was no hope of reaching Brother Cadfael for orders, what she guarded must be got away from here at once, and it certainly could not go out through the gates. There was no one to tell her what to do, this fell upon her shoulders now. Blessedly, the Flemings were not likely to ransack the gardens until they had looted stables and barns and stores; she had a little time in hand.\n\nShe went back quickly to the hut, folded her blankets and hid them under the bench behind a row of jars and mortars, stripped the bed and turned it into a mere shelf for more such deceits, and set the door wide open to the innocent daylight. Then she slipped away to the stack of haulms, and dragged out the boat from its hiding-place, and the sacking bundle with it. A godsend that the gentle slope of the field was so glazed with the cropped stems, and the boat so light, that it slid down effortlessly into the brook. She left it beached, and returned to drag the treasury after it, and hoist it aboard. Until last night she had never been in such a boat, but Torold had shown her how to use the paddle, and the steady flow of the brook helped her.\n\nShe already knew what she would do. There was no hope at all of escaping notice if she went downstream to the Severn; with such a search in hand, there would be watchers on the main road, on the bridge, and probably along the banks. But only a short way from her launching-place a broad channel was drawn off to the right, to the pool of the main abbey mill, where the mill-race, drawn off upstream through the abbey pool and the fish ponds, turned the wheel and emptied itself again into the pond, to return to the main stream of the brook and accompany it to the river. Just beyond the mill the three grace houses of the abbey were ranged, with little gardens down to the water, and three more like them protected the pond from open view on the other side. The house next to the mill was the one devoted to the use of Aline Siward. True, Courcelle had said he was to search for his fugitive everywhere; but if there was one place in this conventual enclosure that would receive no more than a formal visit from him, it was certainly the house where Aline was living.\n\nWhat if we are on opposite sides, thought Godith, plying her paddle inexpertly but doggedly at the turn, and sailing into wider, smoother water, she can't throw me to the wolves, it isn't in her, with a face like hers! And are we on opposite sides? Are we on either side, by this time? She places everything she has at the king's disposal, and he hangs her brother! My father stakes life and lands for the empress, and I don't believe she cares what happens to him or any of his like, provided she gets her own way. I daresay Aline's brother was more to her than King Stephen will ever be, and I know I care more for my father and Torold than for the Empress Maud, and I wish the old king's son hadn't drowned when that awful ship went down, so that there'd have been no argument over who inherited, and Stephen and Maud alike could have stayed in their own manors, and left us alone!\n\nThe mill loomed on her right, but the wheel was still today, and the water of the race spilled over freely into the pond that opened beyond, with slow counter-currents flowing along the opposite bank to return to the brook. The bank here was sheer for a couple of feet, to level as much ground as possible for the narrow gardens; but if she could heave the bundle safely ashore, she thought she could drag up the boat. She caught at a naked root that jutted into the water from a leaning willow, and fastened her mooring-line to it, before she dared attempt to hoist her treasure up to the edge of the grass. It was heavy for her, but she rolled it on to the thwart, and thence manipulated it into her arms. She could just reach the level rim of turf without tilting the boat too far. The weight rested and remained stable, and Godith leaned her arms thankfully either side of it, and for the first time tears welled out of her eyes and ran down her face.\n\nWhy, she wondered rebelliously, why am I going to such trouble for this rubbish, when all I care about is Torold, and my father? And Brother Cadfael! I should be failing him if I tipped it down into the pond and left it there. He went to all sorts of pains to get it to this point, and now I have to go on with the work. And Torold cares greatly that he should carry out the task he was given. That's more than gold. It isn't this lump that matters!\n\nShe scrubbed an impatient and grubby hand over her cheeks and eyes, and set about climbing ashore, which proved tricky, for the boat tended to withdraw from under her foot to the length of its mooring; when at last she had scrambled to safety, swearing now instead of crying, she could not draw it up after her, she was afraid of holing it on the jagged roots. It would have to ride here. She lay on her stomach and shortened the mooring, and made sure the knot was fast. Then she towed her detested incubus up into the shadow of the house, and hammered at the door.\n\nIt was Constance who opened it. It was barely eight o'clock, Godith realized, and it was Aline's habit to attend the mass at ten, she might not even be out of her bed yet. But the general disquiet in the abbey had reached these retired places also, it seemed, for Aline was up and dressed, and appeared at once behind her maid's shoulder.\n\n\"What is it, Constance?\" She saw Godith, soiled and tousled and breathless, leaning over a great sacking bundle on the ground, and came forward in innocent concern. \"Godric! What's the matter? Did Brother Cadfael send you? Is anything wrong?\"\n\n\"You know the boy, do you, madam?\" said Constance, surprised.\n\n\"I know him, he's Brother Cadfael's helper, we have talked together.\" She cast one luminous glance over Godith from head to foot, took in the smudged marks of tears and the heaving bosom, and put her maid quickly aside. She knew desperation when she saw it, even when it made no abject appeal. \"Come within, come! Here, let me help you with this, whatever it may be. Now, Constance, close the door!\" They were safe within, the wooden walls closed them round, the morning sun was warm and bright through an eastern window left open.\n\nThey stood looking at each other, Aline all woman in a blue gown, her golden hair loosed about her in a cloud, Godith brown and rumpled, and arrayed unbecomingly in an overlarge cotte and ill-fitting hose, short hair wild, and face strained and grubby from soil, grass and sweat.\n\n\"I came to ask you for shelter,\" said Godith simply. \"The king's soldiers are hunting for me. I'm worth quite a lot to them if they find me. I'm not Godric, I'm Godith. Godith Adeney, Fulke Adeney's daughter.\"\n\nAline let her glance slide, startled and touched, from the fine-featured oval face, down the drab-clad and slender limbs. She looked again into the challenging, determined face, and a spark started and glowed in her eyes.\n\n\"You'd better come through here,\" she said practically, with a glance at the open window, \"into my own sleeping-chamber, away from the road. Nobody will trouble you there\u2014we can talk freely. Yes, bring your belongings, I'll help you with them.\" FitzAlan's treasury was woman-handled between them into the inner room, where not even Courcelle, certainly not any other, would dare to go. Aline closed the door very softly. Godith sat down on a stool by the bed, and felt every sinew in her grown weak, and every stress relaxing. She leaned her head against the wall, and looked up at Aline.\n\n\"You do realise, lady, that I'm reckoned the king's enemy? I don't want to trick you into anything. You may think it your duty to give me up.\"\n\n\"You're very honest,\" said Aline, \"and I'm not being tricked into anything. I'm not sure even the king would think the better of me if I gave you up to him, but I'm sure God would not, and I know I should not think the better of myself. You can rest safe here. Constance and I between us will see to it that no one comes near you.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael preserved a tranquil face through Prime, and the first conventual Mass, and a greatly abbreviated chapter meeting, while mentally he was racking his brain and gnawing his knuckles over his own inexplicable complacence, which had let him sleep on while the opposing powers stole a march on him. The gates were fast shut, there was no way out there. He could not pass, and certainly by that route Godith had not passed. He had seen no soldiers on the other side of the brook, though they would certainly be watching the river bank. If Godith had taken the boat, where had she gone with it? Not upstream, for the brook was open to view for some way, and beyond that flowed through a bed too uneven and rocky to accommodate such craft. Every moment he was waiting for the outcry that would signal her capture, but every moment that passed without such an alarm was ease to him. She was no fool, and she seemed to have got away, though heaven knew where, with the treasure they were fighting to retain and speed on its way.\n\nAt chapter Abbot Heribert made a short, weary, disillusioned speech in explanation of the occupation that had descended upon them, instructed the brothers to obey whatever commands were given them by the king's officers with dignity and fortitude, and to adhere to the order of their day faithfully so far as they were permitted. To be deprived of the goods of this world should be no more than a welcome discipline to those who had aspired beyond the world. Brother Cadfael could at least feel some complacency concerning his own particular harvest; the king was not likely to demand tithes of his herbs and remedies, though he might welcome a cask or two of wine. Then the abbot dismissed them with the injunction to go quietly about their own work until High Mass at ten.\n\nBrother Cadfael went back to the gardens and occupied himself distractedly with such small tasks as came to hand, his mind still busy elsewhere. Godith could safely have forded the brook by broad daylight, and taken to the nearest patch of woodland, but she could not have carried the unwieldy bundle of treasure with her, it was too heavy. She had chosen rather to remove all the evidence of irregular activities here, taking away with her both the treasure and the boat. He was sure she had not gone as far as the confluence with the river, or she would have been captured before this. Every moment without the evil news provided another morsel of reassurance. But wherever she was, she needed his help.\n\nAnd there was Torold, away beyond the reaped fields, in the disused mill. Had he caught the meaning of these movements in good time, and taken to the woods? Devoutly Cadfael hoped so. In the meantime there was nothing he could do but wait, and give nothing away. But oh, if this inquisition passed before the end of the day, and he could retrieve his two strays after dark, this very night he must see them away to the west. This might well be the most favourable opportunity, with the premises already scoured, the searchers tired and glad to forget their vigilance, the community totally absorbed with their grievances and comparing notes on the army's deprivations, the brothers devoted wholly to fervent prayers of thanks for an ordeal ended.\n\nCadfael went out to the great court in good time for Mass. There were army carts being loaded with sacks from the barns, and a great bustle of Flemings about the stables. Dismayed guests, caught here in mid-journey with horses worth commandeering, came out in great agitation to argue and plead for their beasts, but it did them no good, unless the owners could prove they were in the king's service already. Only the poor hacks were spared. One of the abbey carts was also taken, with its team, and loaded with the abbey's wheat.\n\nSomething curious was happening at the gates, Cadfael saw. The great carnage doors were closed, and guarded, but someone had had the calm temerity to knock at the wicket and ask for entry. Since it could have been one of their own, a courier from the guard-post at St. Giles, or from the royal camp, the wicket was opened, and in the narrow doorway appeared the demure figure of Aline Siward, prayer-book in hand, her gold hair covered decently by the white mourning cap and wimple.\n\n\"I have permission,\" she said sweetly, \"to come in to church.\" And seeing that the guards who confronted her were not at home in English, she repeated it just as amiably in French. They were not disposed to admit her, and were on the point of closing the door in her face when one of their officers observed the encounter, and came in haste.\n\n\"I have permission,\" repeated Aline patiently, \"from Messire Courcelle to come in to Mass. My name is Aline Siward. If you are in doubt, ask him, he will tell you.\"\n\nIt seemed that she had indeed secured her privilege, for after some hurried words the wicket was opened fully, and they stood back and let her pass. She walked through the turmoil of the great court as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening there, and made for the cloister and the south door of the church. But she slowed her pace on the way, for she was aware of Brother Cadfael weaving his way between the scurrying soldiers and the lamenting travellers to cross her path just at the porch. She gave him a demure public greeting, but in the moment when they were confidingly close she said privately and low:\n\n\"Be easy, Godric is safe in my house.\"\n\n\"Praise to God and you!\" sighed Cadfael as softly.\n\n\"After dark I'll come for her.\" And though Aline had used the boyish name, he knew by her small, secret smile that the word he had used was no surprise to her. \"The boat?\" he questioned soundlessly.\n\n\"At the foot of my garden, ready.\"\n\nShe went on into the church, and Cadfael, with a heart suddenly light as thistledown, went decorously to take his place among the procession of his brothers.\n\nTorold sat in the fork of a tree at the edge of the woods east of Shrewsbury castle, eating the remains of the bread he had brought away with him, and a couple of early apples stolen from a tree at the limit of the abbey property. Looking westward across the river he could see not only the great cliff of the castle walls and towers, but further to the right, just visible between the crests of trees, the tents of the royal camp. By the numbers busy about the abbey and the town, the camp itself must be almost empty at this moment.\n\nTorold's body was coping well enough with this sudden crisis, to his satisfaction and, if he would have admitted it, surprise. His mind was suffering more. He had not yet walked very far, or exerted himself very much, apart from climbing into this comfortable and densely leafed tree, but he was delighted with the response of his damaged muscles, and the knit of the gash in his thigh, which hardly bothered him, and the worse one in his shoulder, which had neither broken nor greatly crippled his use of his arm. But all his mind fretted and ached for Godith, the little brother so suddenly transmuted into a creature half sister, half something more. He had confidence in Brother Cadfael, of course, but it was impossible to unload all the responsibility for her on to one pair of cloistered shoulders, however wide and sustaining. Torold fumed and agonised, and yet went on eating his stolen apples. He was going to need all the sustenance he could muster.\n\nThere was a patrol moving methodically along the bank of the Severn, between him and the river, and he dared not move again until they had passed by and withdrawn from sight towards the abbey and the bridge. And how far round the outskirts of the town he would have to go, to outflank the royal cordon, was something he did not yet know.\n\nHe had awakened to the unmistakable sounds from the bridge, carried by the water, and insistent enough in their rhythm to break his sleep. Many, many men, mounted and foot, stamping out their presence and their passage upon a stone bow high above water, the combination sending echoes headlong down the river's course. The timber of the mill, the channels of water feeding it, carried the measure to his ears. He had started up and dressed instinctively, gathering everything that might betray his having been there, before he ventured out to look. He had seen the companies fan out at the end of the bridge, and waited to see no more, for this was a grimly thorough operation. He had wiped out all traces of his occupation of the mill, throwing into the river all those things he could not carry away with him, and then had slipped away across the limit of abbey land, away from the advancing patrol on the river bank, into the edge of the woodlands opposite the castle.\n\nHe did not know for whom or what this great hunt had been launched, but he knew all too well who was likely to be taken in it, and his one aim now was to get to Godith, wherever she might be, and stand between her and danger if he could. Better still, to take her away from here, into Normandy, where she would be safe.\n\nAlong the river bank the men of the patrol separated to beat a way through the bushes where Godith had first come to him. They had already searched the abandoned mill, but thank God they would find no traces there. Now they were almost out of sight, he felt safe in swinging down cautiously from his tree and withdrawing deeper into the belt of woodland. From the bridge to St. Giles the king's highway, the road to London, was built up with shops and dwellings, he must keep well clear. Was it better to go on like this, eastward, and cross the highroad somewhere beyond St. Giles, or to wait and go back the way he had come, after all the tumult was over? The trouble was that he did not know when that was likely to be, and his torment for Godith was something he did not want prolonged. He would have to go beyond St. Giles, in all probability, before he dared cross the highroad, and though the brook, after that, need be no obstacle the approach to the spot opposite the abbey gardens would still be perilous. He could lie up in the nearest cover and watch, and slip over into the stack of pease-haulms when the opportunity offered, and thence, if all remained quiet, into the herbarium, where he had never yet been, and the hut where Godith had slept the last seven nights in sanctuary. Yes, better go forward and make that circle. Backward meant braving the end of the bridge, and there would be soldiers there until darkness fell, and probably through the night.\n\nIt proved a tedious business, when he was longing for swift action. The sudden assault had brought out all the inhabitants in frightened and indignant unrest, and Torold had to beware of any notice in such conditions, since he was a young fellow not known here, where neighbour knew neighbour like his own kin, and any stranger was liable to be accosted and challenged out of sheer alarm. Several times he had to draw off deeper into cover, and lie still until danger passed. Those who lived close to the highway, and had suffered the first shocks, tended to slip away into any available solitude. Those who were daily tending stock or cultivating land well away from the road heard the uproar, and gravitated close enough to satisfy their curiosity about what was going on. Caught between these two tides, Torold passed a miserable day of fretting and waiting; but it brought him at last well beyond Willem Ten Heyt's tight and brutal guard-post, which by then had amassed a great quantity of goods distrained from agitated travellers, and a dozen sound horses. Here the last houses of the town ended, and fields and hamlets stretched beyond. Traffic on the road, half a mile beyond the post, was thin and easily evaded. Torold crossed, and went to earth once more in a thicket above the brook, while he viewed the lie of the land.\n\nThe brook was dual here, the mill-race having been drawn off at a weir somewhat higher upstream. He could see both silver streaks in a sunlight now declining very slightly towards the west. It must be almost time for Vespers. Surely King Stephen had finished with the abbey by now, with all Shrewsbury to ransack?\n\nThe valley here was narrow and steep, and no one had built on it, the grass being given over to sheep. Torold slid down into the cleft, easily leaping the mill-race, and picking his way over the brook from stone to stone. He began to make his way downstream from one patch of cover to another, until about the time of Vespers he had reached the smoother meadows opposite Brother Cadfael's gleaned pease-fields. Here the ground was all too open, he had to withdraw further from the brook to find a copse to hide in while he viewed the way ahead. From here he could see the roofs of the convent buildings above the garden walls, and the loftier tower and roof of the church, but nothing of the activity within. The face that was presented to him looked placid enough, the pale slope stripped of its harvest, the stack of haulms where Godith and he had hidden boat and treasure barely nineteen hours ago, the russet wall of the enclosed garden beyond, the steep roof of a barn. He would have to wait some time for full daylight to pass, or else take a risk and run for it through the brook, and into the straw-stack beyond, when he saw his opportunity. And here there were people moving from time to time about their legitimate business, a shepherd urging his flock towards the home pasture, a woman coming home from the woods with mushrooms, two children driving geese. He might very well have strolled past all these with a greeting, and been taken for granted, but he could not be seen by any of them making a sudden dash for it through the ford and into the abbey gardens. That would have been enough to call their attention and raise an alarm, and there were sounds of unusual activity, shouts and orders and the creaking of carts and harness, still echoing distantly from beyond the gardens. Moreover, there was a man on horseback in sight on his side the brook, some distance away downstream but drawing gradually nearer, patrolling this stretch of meadows as though he had been posted here to secure the one unwalled exit from the enclave. As probably he had, though he seemed to be taking the duty very easily, ambling his mount along the green at leisure. One man only, but one was enough. He had only to shout, or whistle shrilly on his fingers, and he could bring a dozen Flemings swarming.\n\nTorold went to ground among the bushes, and watched him approach. A big, rawboned, powerful but unhandsome horse, dappled from cream to darkest grey, and the rider a young fellow black-haired and olive-complexioned, with a thin, assured, saturnine face and an arrogantly easy carriage in the saddle. It was this light, elegant seat of his, and the striking colouring of the horse, that caught Torold's closer attention. This was the very beast he had seen leading the patrol along the riverside at dawn, and this same man had surely lighted down from his mount and gone first into Torold's abandoned sanctuary at the mill. Then he had been attended by half a dozen footmen, and had emerged to loose them in after him, before they all mustered again and moved on. Torold was sure of this identification; he had had good reason to watch very closely, dreading that in spite of his precautions they might yet find some detail to arouse suspicion. This was the same horse, and the same man. Now he rode past upstream, apparently negligent and unobservant, but Torold knew better. There was nothing this man missed as be rode, those were lively, witty, formidable eyes that cast such seemingly languid looks about him.\n\nBut now his back was turned, and no one else moved at the moment in these evening fields. If he rode on far enough, Torold might attempt the crossing. Even if he misjudged in his haste and soaked himself, he could not possibly drown in this stream, and the night would be warm. Go he must, and find his way to Godith's bed, and somehow get some reassurance.\n\nThe king's officer rode on, oblivious, to the limit of the level ground, never turning his head. And no other creature stirred. Torold picked himself up and ran for it, across the open mead, into the brook, picking his footing by luck and instinct well enough, and out upon the pale, shaven fields on the other side. Like a mole burrowing into earth, he burrowed into the stack of haulms. In the turmoil of this day it was no surprise to find boat and bundle vanished, and he had no time to consider whether the omen was bad or good. He drew the disturbed stems about him, a stiff, creamy lace threaded by sunlight and warmth, and lay quivering, his face turned to peer through the network to where the enemy rode serenely.\n\nAnd the enemy had also turned, sitting the dappled horse motionless, gazing downstream as though some pricking of his thumbs had warned him. For some minutes he remained still, as easy as before, and yet as alert; then he began the return journey, as softly as he had traced it upstream.\n\nTorold held his breath and watched him come. He made no haste, but rode his beat in idle innocence, having nothing to do, and nothing but this repeated to and fro to pass the time here. But when he drew opposite the pease-fields he reined in, and sat gazing across the brook long and steadily, and his eyes homed in upon the loose stack of haulms, and lingered. Torold thought he saw the dark face melt into a secret smile; he even thought the raised bridle-hand made a small movement that could have been a salute. Though that was idiocy, he must have imagined it! For the horseman was moving on downstream on his patrol, gazing towards the outflow from the mill and the confluence with the river beyond. Never a glance behind.\n\nTorold lay down under his weightless covering, burrowed his tired head into his arms, and his hips into the springy turf of the headland, and fell asleep in sheer, exhausted reaction. When he awoke it was more than half dark, and very quiet. He lay for a while listening intently, and then wormed his way out into a pallid solitude above a deserted valley, and crept furtively up the slope into the abbey gardens, moving alone among the myriad sun-warmed scents of Cadfael's herbs. He found the hut, its door hospitably open to the twilight, and peered almost fearfully into the warm silence and gloom within.\n\n\"Praise God!\" said Brother Cadfael, rising from the bench to haul him briskly within. \"I thought you'd aim for here, I've been keeping an eye open for you every half-hour or so, and at last I have you. Here, sit down and ease your heart, we've come through well enough!\"\n\nUrgent and low, Torold asked the one thing that mattered:\n\n\"Where is Godith?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Godith, if he had but known it, was at that moment viewing her own reflection in Aline's glass, which Constance was holding well away from her to capture more of the total image. Washed and combed and arrayed in one of Aline's gowns, brocaded in brown and gold thread, with a thin gold bandeau of Aline's round her curls, she turned this way and that to admire herself with delight at being female again, and her face was no longer that of an urchin, but of an austere young gentlewoman aware of her advantages. The soft candlelight only made her more mysterious and strange in her own eyes.\n\n\"I wish he could see me like this,\" she said wistfully, forgetting that so far she had not mentioned any he except Brother Cadfael, and could not now, even to Aline, reveal anything concerning Torold's person and errand beyond his name. Concerning herself she had told almost everything, but that was the acknowledgement of a debt.\n\n\"There is a he?\" asked Aline, sparking with sympathetic curiosity. \"And he will escort you? Wherever you are going? No, I mustn't ask you anything, it would be unfair. But why shouldn't you wear the dress for him? Once away, you can as well travel as yourself as you can in boy's clothes.\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" said Godith ruefully. \"Not the way we shall be travelling.\"\n\n\"Then take it with you. You could put it in that great bundle of yours. I have plenty, and if you are going with nothing, then you'll need a gown for when you reach safety.\"\n\n\"Oh, if you knew how you tempt me! You are kind! But I couldn't take it. And we shall have weight enough to carry, the first miles. But I do thank you, and I shall never forget.\"\n\nShe had tried on, for pure pleasure, Constance assisting with relish, every dress Aline had with her, and in every one she had imagined herself confronting Torold, without warning, and studying his astonished and respectful face. And somehow, in spite of not knowing where he was or how he was faring, she had spent a blissful afternoon, unshaken by doubts. Certainly he would see her in her splendour, if not in this in other fine gowns, in jewels, with her hair, grown long again, plaited and coiled upon her head in a gold circlet like this one. Then she recalled how she had sat beside him, the two of them companionably eating plums and committing the stones to the Severn through the floorboards of the mill, and she laughed. What use would it ever be, putting on airs with Torold?\n\nShe was in the act of lifting the circlet from her head when they all heard the sudden but circumspect knocking on the outer door, and for a moment froze into wary stillness, looking at one another aghast.\n\n\"Do they mean to search here, after all?\" wondered Godith in a shocked whisper. \"Have I brought you into danger?\"\n\n\"No! Adam assured me I should not be disturbed, this morning, when they came.\" AIine rose resolutely. \"You stay here with Constance, and bolt the door. I'll go. Can it be Brother Cadfael come for you already?\"\n\n\"No, surely not yet, they'll still be on the watch.\"\n\nIt had sounded the most deferential of knocks, but all the same, Godith sat very still behind the bolted door, and listened with strained attention to the snatches of voices that reached her from without. Aline had brought her visitor into the room. The voice that alternated with hers was a man's, low-pitched and ardently courteous.\n\n\"Adam Courcelle!\" Constance mouthed silently, and smiled her knowing smile. \"So deep in love, he can't keep away!\"\n\n\"And she\u2014Aline?\" whispered Godith curiously.\n\n\"Who knows! Not she\u2014notyet!\"\n\nGodith had heard the same voice that morning, addressing the porter and the lay servants at the gate in a very different tone. But such duties can surely give no pleasure, and may well make even a decent man ill-humoured and overbearing. This devout and considerate soul enquiring tenderly after Aline's peace of mind might be his proper self.\n\n\"I hope you have not been too much put out by all this stir,\" he was saying. \"There'll be no more disturbances, you may rest now.\"\n\n\"I haven't been molested at all,\" Aline assured him serenely. \"I have no complaint, you have been considerate indeed. But I'm sorry for those who have had goods distrained. Is the same thing happening in the town?\"\n\n\"It is,\" he said ruefully, \"and will go on tomorrow, but the abbey may be at peace now. We have finished here.\"\n\n\"And you did not find her? The girl you had orders to search for?\"\n\n\"No, we have not found her.\"\n\n\"What would you say,\" asked AIine deliberately, \"if I said that I was glad?\"\n\n\"I should say that I would expect nothing else from you, and I honour you for it. I know you could not wish danger or pain or captivity to any creature, much less a blameless girl. I've learned so much of you, Aline.\" The brief silence was charged, and when he resumed: \"Aline\u2014\" his voice sank so low that Godith could not distinguish the words. She did not want to, the tone was too intimate and urgent. But in a few moments she heard Aline say gently:\n\n\"You must not ask me to be very receptive tonight, this has been a harrowing day for so many. I can't help but feel almost as weary as they must be. And as you! Leave me to sleep long tonight, there will be a better time for talking of these matters.\"\n\n\"True!\" he said, resuming the soldier on duty as though he squared his shoulders to a load again. \"Forgive me, this was not the time. Most of my men are out of the gates by now, I'll follow them, and let you rest. You may hear marching and the carts rolling for a quarter of an hour or so, after that it will be quiet.\"\n\nThe voices receded, towards the outer door. Godith heard it opened, and after a few exchanged and inaudible words, closed again. She heard the bolt shot, and in a few moments more Aline tapped at the bedroom door. \"You can safely open, he's gone.\"\n\nShe stood in the doorway, flushed and frowning, rather in private perplexity than displeasure. \"It seems,\" she said, and smiled in a way Adam Courcelle would have rejoiced to see, \"that in sheltering you I've done him no wrong. I think he's relieved at not finding you. They're all going. It's over. Now we have only to wait for Brother Cadfael and full darkness.\"\n\nIn the hut in the herbarium Brother Cadfael fed, reassured and doctored his patient. Torold, once the first question had been answered so satisfactorily, lay down submissively on Godith's bed, and let his shoulder be dressed again, and the gash in his thigh, already healed, nevertheless be well bandaged and padded. \"For if you're to ride into Wales this night,\" said Cadfael, \"we don't want any damage or delays, you could all too easily break that open again.\"\n\n\"Tonight?\" said Torold eagerly. \"Is it to be tonight? She and I together?\"\n\n\"It is, it must, and high time, too. I don't think I could stand this sort of thing much longer,\" said Cadfael, though he sounded almost complacent about it. \"Not that I've had too much of the pair of you, you understand, but all the same, I'll be relieved when you're well away towards Owain Gwynedd's country, and what's more, I'll give you a token from myself to the first Welsh you encounter. Though you already have FitzAlan's commendation to Owain, and Owain keeps his word.\"\n\n\"Once mounted and started,\" vowed Torold heartily, \"I'll take good care of Godith.\"\n\n\"And so will she of you. I'll see she has a pot of this salve I've been using on you, and a few things she may need.\"\n\n\"And she took boat and load and all with her!\" mused Torold, fond and proud. \"How many girls could have kept their heads and done as well? And this other girl took her in! And brought you word of it, and so wisely! I tell you, Brother Cadfael, we breed fine women here in Salop.\" He was silent for a moment, and grew thoughtful. \"Now how are we to get her out? They may have left a guard. And anyhow, I can hardly be seen to walk out at the gate house, seeing the porter will know I never walked in that way. And the boat is there, not here.\"\n\n\"Hush a while,\" said Cadfael, finishing off his bandage neatly, \"while I think. What about your own day? You've done well, it seems to me, and come out of it none the worse. And you must have left all open and innocent, for there's been no whisper about the old mill. You caught the wind of them soon, it seems.\"\n\nTorold told him about the whole long, dangerous and yet inexpressibly tedious day of starting and stopping, running and hiding, loitering and hurrying. \"I saw the company that combed the river bank and the mill, six armed men on foot, and an officer riding. But I'd made sure there was no sign of me left there. The officer went in first, alone, and then turned his men into it. I saw the same fellow again,\" he recalled, suddenly alert to the coincidence, \"this evening, when I crossed the ford and dived into the stack. He was riding the far bank up and down, between river and millrace, alone. I knew him by his seat in the saddle, and the horse he was riding. I'd made the crossing behind his back, and when he rode back downstream he halted right opposite, and sat and gazed straight at where I was hiding. I could have sworn he'd seen me. He seemed to be staring directly at me. And smiling! I was sure I was found out. But then he rode on. He can't have seen me, after all.\"\n\nCadfael put away his medicines very thoughtfully. He asked mildly: \"And you knew him by his horse again? What was so notable about it?\"\n\n\"The size and colour. A great, gaunt, striding beast, not beautiful but strong, and dappled clean through from creamy belly to a back and quarters all but black.\"\n\nCadfael scrubbed at his blunt brown nose, and scratched his even browner tonsure. \"And the man?\"\n\n\"A young fellow hardly older than I. Blackavised, and a light build to him. All I saw of him this morning was the clothes he wore and the way he rode, very easy on what I should guess might be a hard-mouthed brute. But I saw his face tonight. Not much flesh, and bold bones, and black eyes and brows. He whistles to himself,\" said Torold, surprised at remembering this. \"Very sweetly!\"\n\nSo he did! Cadfael also remembered. The horse, too, he recalled, left behind in the abbey stables when two better and less noticeable had been withdrawn. Two, their owner had said, he might be willing to sacrifice, but not all four, and not the pick of the four. Yet the cull had been made, and still he rode one of the remaining two, and doubtless the other, also, was still at his disposal. So he had lied. His position with the king was already assured, he had even been on duty in today's raiding. Very selective duty? And if so, who had selected it?\n\n\"And you thought he had seen you cross?\"\n\n\"When I was safe hidden I looked, and he'd turned my way. I thought he'd seen me moving, from the corner of his eye.\"\n\nThat one, thought Cadfael, has eyes all round his head, and what he misses is not worth marking. But all he said to Torold was: \"And he halted and stared across at you, and then rode on?\"\n\n\"I even thought he lifted his bridle-hand a thought to me,\" owned Torold, grinning at his own credulity. \"By that time I doubt I was seeing visions at every turn, I was so wild to get to Godith. But then he just turned and rode on, easy as ever. So he can't have seen me, after all.\"\n\nCadfael pondered the implications of all this in wonder and admiration. Light was dawning as dusk fell into night. Not complete darkness yet, simply the departure of the sun, afterglow and all, leaving a faint greenish radiance along the west; not complete dawn, but a promising confirmation of the first elusive beams.\n\n\"He can't have, can he?\" demanded Torold, fearful that he might have drawn danger after him all too near to Godith.\n\n\"Never a fear of it,\" said Cadfael confidently. \"All's well, child, don't fret, I see my way. And now it's time for me to go to Compline. You may drop the bolt after me, and lie down here on Godith's bed and get an hour or so of sleep, for by dawn you'll be needing it. I'll come back to you as soon as service is over.\"\n\nHe did, however, spare the few minutes necessary to amble through the stables, and was not surprised to note that neither the dapple-grey nor its companion, the broad-backed brown cob, was in its stall. An innocent visit to the guest hall after Compline further confirmed that Hugh Beringar was not there in the apartments for gentlefolk, nor were his three men-at-arms present among the commonalty. The porter recalled that the three retainers had gone forth soon after Beringar had ridden in from his day's duties at the end of the hunt, about the time that Vespers ended, and Beringar himself had followed, in no apparent haste, an hour or so later.\n\nSo that's how things stand, is it? thought Cadfael. He's staked his hand that's it's to be tonight, and is willing to stand or fall on his wager. Well, since he's so bold and so shrewd to read my mind, let's see how good I am at reading his, and I'll stake just as boldly.\n\nWell, then: Beringar knew from the first that his service with the king was accepted and his horses safe enough, therefore he wanted them removed for some other purpose of his own. And made a fellow-conspirator of me! Why? He could have found a refuge for himself if he'd really needed one. No, he wanted me to know just where the horses were, available and inviting. He knew I had two people to deliver out of this town and out of the king's hold, and would jump at his offer for my own ends. He offered me the bait of two horses so that I should transfer the treasury to the same place, ready for flight. And finally, he had no need to hunt for his fugitives, he had only to sit back and leave it to me to bring them to the grange as soon as I could, and then he had everything in one spot, ready to be gathered in.\n\nIt follows, therefore, that tonight he'll be waiting for us, and this time with his armed men at his back.\n\nThere were still details that baffled the mind. If Beringar had indeed turned a blind eye to Torold's hiding-place this evening, for what purpose? Granted he did not know at this moment where Godith was, and might choose to let one bird fly in order to secure its mate also. But now that Cadfael came to consider all that had passed there was no escaping the possibility, to put it no higher, that throughout, Beringar had been turning a similarly blind and sparkling eye to Godith's boyish disguise, and had had a very shrewd idea of where his missing bride was to be found. In that case, if he had known Godric was Godith, and that one of FitzAlan's men was in hiding in the old mill, then as soon as he had satisfied himself that Cadfael had recovered the treasure for him he could simply have gone in force and gathered in all three prizes, and delivered them to a presumably delighted and grateful king. If he had not done so, but chosen this furtive way, it must mean something different. As, for instance, that his intent was to secure Godith and Torold and duly hand them over for his reward, but despatch FitzAlan's gold, not back to Shrewsbury, but by his own men, or indeed in person, to his own home manor, for his own private use. In which case the horses had been moved not only to fool a simple old monk, but to transfer the treasure direct to Maesbury in complete secrecy, without having to go near Shrewsbury.\n\nThat, of course, was all supposing Beringar was not Nicholas Faintree's murderer. If he was, the plan differed in one important aspect. He would see to it that though Godith went back to bait the trap for her father, Torold Blund was taken, not alive, but dead. Dead, and therefore silent. A second murder to bury the first.\n\nAltogether a grim prospect, thought Cadfael, surprisingly undisturbed by it. Except, of course, that it could all mean something very different. Could, and does! or my name is not Cadfael, and I'll never pick a fight with a clever young man again!\n\nHe went back to the herbarium, settled in his mind and ready for another restless night. Torold was awake and alert, quick to lift the bolt as soon as he was sure who came.\n\n\"Is it time yet? Can we get round to the house on foot?\" He was on thorns until he could actually see and touch her, and know that she was safe and free, and had taken no harm.\n\n\"There are always ways. But it's neither dark enough nor quiet enough yet, so sit down and rest while you may, for you'll have a share of the weight on the way, until we get to the horses. I must go to the dortoir with the rest, and to my bed. Oh, never fret, I'll be back. Once we're in our own cells, leaving is no great problem. I'm next to the night-stairs, and the prior sleeps at the far end, and sleeps like the dead. And have you forgotten the church has a parish door, on to the Foregate? The only door not within the walls. From there to Mistress Siward's house is only a short walk, and if it passes the gate house, do you think the porter takes account of every citizen abroad somewhat late?\"\n\n\"So this girl Aline could very well have gone to Mass by that door, like the rest of the laity,\" Torold realised, marvelling.\n\n\"So she could, but then she would have no chance to speak to me, and besides, she chose to exert her privilege with Courcelle, and show the Flemings she was to be reckoned with, the clever girl. Oh, you have a fine girl of your own, young Torold, and I hope you'll be good to her, but this Aline is only just stretching her powers to find out what she's worth, and what she can do, and trust me, she'll make such another as our Godith yet.\"\n\nTorold smiled in the warm darkness within the hut, sure even in his anxiety that there was but one Godric-Godith. \"You said the porter was hardly likely to pay much attention to citizens making for home late,\" he reminded, \"but he may very well have a sharp eye for any such in a Benedictine habit.\"\n\n\"Who said anything about Benedictine habits drifting abroad so late? You, young man, shall go and fetch Godith. The parish door is never closed, and with the gate house so close seldom needs to be. I'll let you out there when the time comes. Go to the last little house, beside the mill, and bring Godith and the boat down from the pond to where the water flows back into the brook, and I shall be there, waiting.\"\n\n\"The third house of the three on our side,\" whispered Torold, glowing even in the dark. \"I know it. I'll go!\" The warmth of his gratitude and pleasure filled the hut, and set the herbal fragrances stirring headily, because it would be he, and no other, who would come to fetch Godith away, more wildly and wonderfully than in any mere runaway marriage. \"And you'll be on the abbey bank, when we come down to the brook?\"\n\n\"I will so, and go nowhere without me! And now lie down for an hour, or less, and leave the latch in case you sleep too soundly, and I'll come for you when all's quiet.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael's plans worked smoothly. The day having been so rough, all men were glad to close the shutters, put out the lights, barricade themselves in from the night, and sleep. Torold was awake and waiting before Cadfael came for him. Through the gardens, through the small court between guest hall and abbot's lodging, into the cloister, and in through the south door of the church, they went together in such a silence and stillness as belonged neither to night nor day, only to this withdrawn world between services. They never exchanged a word until they were in the church, shoulder to shoulder under the great tower and pressed against the west door. Cadfael eased the huge door ajar, and listened. Peering carefully, he could see the abbey gates, closed and dark, but the wicket gallantly open. it made only a very small lancet of twilight in the night.\n\n\"All's still. Go now! I'll be at the brook.\"\n\nThe boy slid through the narrow opening, and swung lightly away from the door into the middle of the roadway, as though coming from the lanes about the horse-fair. Cadfael closed the door inch by inch in silence. Without haste he withdrew as he had come, and strolled under the solitary starlight through the garden and down the field, bearing to the right along the bank of the brook until he could go no further. Then he sat down in the grass and vetches and mothpasture of the bank to wait. The August night was warm and still, just enough breeze to rustle the bushes now and then, and make the trees sigh, and cover with slight sounds the slighter sounds made by careful and experienced men. Not that they would be followed tonight. No need! The one who might have been following was already in position at the end of the journey, and waiting for them.\n\nConstance opened the door of the house, and was startled and silenced by the apparition of this young, secular person, instead of the monk she had expected. But Godith was there, intent and burning with impatience at her shoulder, and flew past her with a brief, wordless soundless cry, into his arms and on to his heart. She was Godric again, though for him she would never now be anyone but Godith, whom he had never yet seen in her own proper person. She clung to him, and laughed, and wept, hugged, reviled, threatened him all in a breath, felt tenderly at his swathed shoulder, demanded explanations and cancelled all her demands, finally lifted to him an assuaged face in sudden silence, and waited to be kissed. Stunned and enlightened, Torold kissed her.\n\n\"You must be Torold,\" said Aline from the background, so serenely that she must have known rather more about their relationship, by now, than he knew himself. \"Close the door, Constance, all's well.\" She looked him over, with eyes alert to a young man's qualities by reason of certain recent experiences of her own, and thought well of him. \"I knew Brother Cadfael would send. She wanted to go back as she came this morning, but I said no. He said he would come. I didn't know he would be sending you. But Cadfael's messenger is very welcome.\"\n\n\"She has told you about me?\" enquired Torold, a little flushed at the thought.\n\n\"Nothing but what I needed to know. She is discretion itself, and so am I,\" said AIine demurely. She, too, was flushed and glittering, but with excitement and enjoyment of her own plotting, half-regretful that her share must end here. \"If Brother Cadfael is waiting, we mustn't lose time. The farther you get by daybreak, the better. Here is the bundle Godith brought. Wait here within, until I see if everything is quiet below in the garden.\"\n\nShe slipped away into the soft darkness, and stood by the edge of the pond, listening intently. She was sure they had left no guard behind, for why should they, when they had searched everywhere, and taken all they had been sent to take? Yet there might still be someone stirring in the houses opposite. But all were in darkness, she thought even the shutters were closed, in spite of the warm night, for fear some solitary Fleming should return to help himself to what he could find, under cover of the day's official looting. Even the willow leaves hung motionless here, sheltered from the faint breeze that stirred the grasses along the river bank.\n\n\"Come!\" she whispered, opening the door narrowly. \"All's quiet. Follow where I step, the slope is rough.\" She had even thought to change her pale gown for a dark one since afternoon, to be shadowy among the shadows. Torold hoisted FitzAlan's treasury in its sacking shroud by the rope that secured it, and put off Godith firmly when she would have reached to share the weight with him. Surprisingly, she yielded meekly, and went before him very quickly and quietly to where the boat rode on its short mooring, half-concealed by the stooping willow branches. Aline lay down at the edge of the bank, and leaned to draw the boat in and hold it steady, for there was a two-foot hollow of undercut soil between them and the water. Very quickly and happily this hitherto cloistered and dutiful daughter was learning to be mistress of her own decisions and exploiter of her own powers.\n\nGodith slid down into the boat, and lent both arms to steady the sacking bundle down between the thwarts. The boat was meant for only two people at most, and settled low in the water when Torold also was aboard, but it was buoyant and sturdy, and would get them as far as they needed to go, as it had done once before.\n\nGodith leaned and embraced Aline, who was still on her knees at the edge of the grass. It was too late for spoken thanks then, but Torold kissed the small, well-tended hand held out to him, and then she loosed the end of the mooring-rope, and tossed it aboard, and the boat slipped out softly from under the bank and drifted across in the circling eddies of the outflow, back towards the brook from which the pool had been drawn. The spill from the head-race of the mill caught them and brisked their pace like a gentle push, and Torold sat with paddle idle, and let the silent flow take them out from the pond. When Godith looked back, all she could see was the shape of the willow, and the unlighted house beyond.\n\nBrother Cadfael rose from among the long grasses as Torold paddled the boat across to the abbey shore. \"Well done!\" he said in a whisper. \"And no trouble? No one stirring?\"\n\n\"No trouble. Now you're the guide.\"\n\nCadfael rocked the boat thoughtfully with one hand. \"Put Godith and the load ashore opposite, and then fetch me. I may as well go dry-shod.\" And when they were all safely across to the other side of the brook, he hauled the boat out of the water into the grass, and Godith hurried to help him carry it into hiding in the nearest copse. Once in cover, they had leisure to draw breath and confer. The night was still and calm around them, and five minutes well spent here, as Cadfael said, might save them much labour thereafter.\n\n\"We may speak, but softly. And since no other eyes, I hope, are to see this burden of ours until you're well away to the west, I think we might with advantage open it and split the load again. The saddle-bags will be far easier to sling on our shoulders than this single lump.\"\n\n\"I can carry one pair,\" said Godith, eager at his elbow.\n\n\"So you can, for a short spell, perhaps,\" he said indulgently. He was busy disentangling the two pairs of linked bags from the sacks that had swathed them. They had straps comfortably broad for the shoulder, and the weights in them had been balanced in the first place for the horses. \"I had thought we might save ourselves half a mile or so by making use of the river for the first part of the way,\" he said, \"but with three of us and only this hazel-shell we should founder. And it's not so far we have to go, loaded\u2014something over three miles, perhaps.\"\n\nHe shook one pair of bags into the most comfortable position over his shoulder, and Torold took the other pair on his sound side. \"I never carried goods to this value before in my life,\" said Cadfael as he set off, \"and now I'm not even to see what's within.\"\n\n\"Bitter stuff to me,\" said Torold at his back, \"it cost Nick his life, and I'm to have no chance to avenge him.\"\n\n\"You give thought to your own life and bear your own burdens,\" said Cadfael. \"He will be avenged. Better you should look to the future, and leave Nick to me.\"\n\nThe ways by which he led his little convoy differed from those he had used in Beringar's company. Instead of crossing the brook and making directly for the grange beyond Pulley, he bore more strongly to the west, so that by the time they were as far south as the grange they were also a good mile west of it, nearer to Wales, and in somewhat thicker forest.\n\n\"How if we should be followed?\" wondered Godith.\n\n\"We shall not be followed.\" He was so positive about it that she accepted the reassurance gladly, and asked nothing more. If Brother Cadfael said it, it was so. She had insisted on carrying Torold's load for half a mile or so, but he had taken it back from her at the first sign of quickening breath or faltering step.\n\nA lace-work of sky showed paler between the branches ahead. They emerged cautiously into the edge of a broad forest ride that crossed their path on good turf at an oblique angle. Beyond it, their own track continued, a little more open to the night than up to this point.\n\n\"Now pay good heed,\" said Cadfael, halting them within cover, \"for you have to find your way back without me to this spot. This ride that crosses us here is a fine, straight road the old Romans made. Eastward, here to our left, it would bring us to the Severn bridge at Atcham. Westward, to our right, it will take you two straight as an arrow for Pool and Wales, or if you find any obstacle on the way, you may bear further south at the end for the ford at Montgomery. Once you're on this, you can ride fast enough, though in parts it may be steep. Now we cross it here, and have another half-mile to go to the ford of the brook. So pay attention to the way.\"\n\nHere the path was clearly better used, horses could travel it without great difficulty. The ford, when they reached it, was wide and smooth. \"And here,\" said Cadfael, \"we leave our loads. One tree among so many trees you might well lose, but one tree beside the only ford along the path, and you can't lose it.\"\n\n\"Leave them?\" wondered Torold. \"Why, are we not going straight to where the horses are? You said yourself we should not be followed tonight.\"\n\n\"Not followed, no.\" When you know where your quarry must come, and are sure of the night, you can be there waiting. \"No, waste no more time, trust me and do as I say.\" And he let down his own half of the burden, and looked about him, in the dimness to which by now their eyes were accustomed, for the best and safest concealment. In the thicket of bushes close to the ford, on their right, there was a gnarled old tree, one side of it dead, and its lowest branch deep in the cover of the bushes. Cadfael slung his saddle-bags over it, and without another word Torold hoisted his own beside them, and drew back to assure himself that only those who had hidden here were likely ever to find. The full leafage covered all.\n\n\"Good lad!\" said Cadfael contentedly. \"Now, from here we bear round to the east somewhat, and this path we're on will join the more direct one I used before. For we must approach the grange from the right direction. It would never do for any curious person to suppose we'd been a mile nearer Wales.\"\n\nUnburdened now, they drew together and went after him hand in hand, trusting as children. And now that they were drawing nearer to the actual possibility of flight, they had nothing at all to say, but clung to each other and believed that things would go right.\n\nTheir path joined the direct one only some minutes' walk from the small clearing where the stockade of the grange rose. The sky paled as the trees fell back. There was a small rush-light burning somewhere within the house, a tiny, broken gleam showed through the pales. All round them the night hung silent and placid.\n\nBrother Anselm opened to them, so readily that surely some aggrieved traveller from Shrewsbury must have brought word even here of the day's upheaval, and alerted him to the possibility that anyone running from worse penalties might well take warning, and get out at once. He drew them within thankfully and in haste, and peered curiously at the two young fellows at Cadfael's back, as he closed the gate.\n\n\"I thought it! My thumbs pricked. I felt it must be tonight. Things grow very rough your way, so we've heard.\"\n\n\"Rough enough,\" admitted Cadfael, sighing. \"I'd wish any friend well out of it. And most of all these two. Children, these good brothers have cared for your trust, and have it here safe for you. Anselm, this is Adeney's daughter, and this FitzAlan's squire. Where is Louis?\"\n\n\"Saddling up,\" said Brother Anselm, \"the moment he saw who came. We had it in mind the whole day that you'd have to hurry things. I've put food together, in case you came. Here's the scrip. It's ill to ride too far empty. And a flask of wine here within.\"\n\n\"Good! And these few things I brought,\" said Cadfael, emptying his own pouch. \"They're medicines. Godith knows how to use them.\"\n\nGodith and Torold listened and marvelled. The boy said, almost tongue-tied with wondering gratitude: \"I'll go and help with the saddling.\" He drew his hand from Godith's and made for the stables, across the small untended court. This forest assart, unmanageable in such troubled times, would soon be forest again, these timber buildings, always modest enough, would moulder into the lush growth of successive summers. The Long Forest would swallow it without trace in three years, or four.\n\n\"Brother Anselm,\" said Godith, running an awed glance from head to foot of the giant, \"I do thank you with all my heart, for both of us, for what you have done for us two\u2014though I think it was really for Brother Cadfael here. He has been my master eight days now, and I understand. This and more I would do for him, if ever I might. I promise you Torold and I will never forget, and never debase what you've done for us.\"\n\n\"God love you, child,\" said Brother Anselm, charmed and amused, \"you talk like a holy book. What should a decent man do, when a young woman's threatened, but see her safe out of her trouble? And her young man with her!\"\n\nBrother Louis came from the stables leading the roan Beringar had ridden when first these two horses of his were brought here by night. Torold followed with the black. They shone active and ready in the faint light, excellently groomed and fed, and well rested.\n\n\"And the baggage,\" said Brother Anselm significantly. \"That we have safe. For my own part I would have parted it into two, to balance it better on a beast, but I thought I had no right to open it, so it stays as you left it, in one. I should hoist it to the crupper with the lighter weight as rider, but as you think fit.\"\n\nThey were away, the pair of them, to haul out the sackbound bundle Cadfael had carried here some nights ago. It seemed there were some things they had not been told, just as there were things Torold and Godith had accepted without understanding. Anselm brought the burden from the house on his huge shoulders, and dumped it beside the saddled horses. \"I brought thongs to buckle it to the saddle.\" They had indeed given some thought to this, they had fitted loops of cord to the rope bindings, and were threading their thongs into these when a blade sliced down through the plaited cords that held the latch of the gate behind them, and a clear, assured voice ordered sharply:\n\n\"Halt as you stand! Let no man move! Turn hither, all, and slowly, and keep your hands visible. For the lady's sake!\"\n\nLike men in a dream they turned as the voice commanded, staring with huge, wary eyes. The gate in the stockade stood wide open, lifted aside to the pales. In the open gateway stood Hugh Beringar, sword in hand; and over either shoulder leaned a bended long-bow, with a braced and competent eye and hand behind it; and both of them were aimed at Godith. The light was faint but steady. Those used to it here were well able to use it to shoot home.\n\n\"Admirable!\" said Beringar approvingly. \"You have understood me very well. Now stay as you are, and let no man move, while my third man closes the gates behind us.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "They had all reacted according to their natures. Brother Anselm looked round cautiously for his cudgel, but it was out of reach, Brother Louis kept both hands in sight, as ordered, but the right one very near the slit seam of his gown, beneath which he kept his dagger. Godith, first stunned into incredulous dismay, very quickly revived into furious anger, though only the set whiteness of her face and the glitter of her eyes betrayed it. Brother Cadfael, with what appeared to be shocked resignation, sat down upon the sacking bundle, so that his skirts hid it from sight if it had not already been noted and judged of importance. Torold, resisting the instinct to grip the hilt of Cadfael's poniard at his belt, displayed empty hands, stared Beringar in the eye defiantly, and took two long, deliberate paces to place himself squarely between Godith and the two archers. Brother Cadfael admired, and smiled inwardly. Probably it had not occurred to the boy, in his devoted state, that there had been ample time for both arrows to find their target before his body intervened, had that been the intention.\n\n\"A very touching gesture,\" admitted Beringar generously, \"but hardly effective. I doubt if the lady is any happier with the situation that way round. And since we're all sensible beings here, there's no need for pointless heroics. For that matter, Matthew here could put an arrow clean through the pair of you at this distance, which would benefit nobody, not even me. You may well accept that for the moment I am giving the orders and calling the tune.\"\n\nAnd so he was. However his men had held their hands when they might have taken his order against any movement all too literally, it remained true that none of them had the slightest chance of making an effective attack upon him and changing the reckoning. There were yards of ground between, and no dagger is ever going to outreach an arrow. Torold stretched an arm behind him to draw Godith close, but she would not endure it. She pulled back sharply to free herself, and eluding the hand that would have detained her, strode forward defiantly to confront Hugh Beringar.\n\n\"What manner of tune,\" she demanded, \"for me? If I'm what you want, very well, here I am, what's your will with me? I suppose I still have lands of my own, worth securing? Do you mean to stand on your rights, and marry me for them? Even if my father is dispossessed, the king might let my lands and me go to one of his new captains! Am I worth that much to you? Or is it just a matter of buying Stephen's favour, by giving me to him as bait to lure better men back into his power?\"\n\n\"Neither,\" said Beringar placidly. He was eyeing her braced shoulders and roused, contemptuous face with decided appreciation. \"I admit, my dear, that I never felt so tempted to marry you before\u2014you're greatly improved from the fat little girl I remember. But to judge by your face, you'd as soon marry the devil himself, and I have other plans, and so, I fancy, have you. No, provided everyone here acts like a sensible creature, we need not quarrel. And if it needs saying for your own comfort, Godith, I have no intention of setting the hounds on your champion's trail, either. Why should I bear malice against an honest opponent? Especially now I'm sure he finds favour in your eyes.\"\n\nHe was laughing at her, and she knew it, and took warning. It was not even malicious laughter, though she found it an offence. It was triumphant, but it was also light, teasing, almost affectionate. She drew back a step; she even cast one appealing glance at Brother Cadfael, but he was sitting slumped and apparently apathetic, his eyes on the ground. She looked up again, and more attentively, at Hugh Beringar, whose black eyes dwelt upon her with dispassionate admiration.\n\n\"I do believe,\" she said slowly, wondering, \"that you mean it.\"\n\n\"Try me! You came here to find horses for your journey. There they are! You may mount and ride as soon as you please, you and the young squire here. No one will follow you. No one else knows you're here, only I and my men. But you'll ride the faster and safer if you lighten your loads of all but the necessaries of life,\" said Beringar sweetly. \"That bundle Brother Cadfael is so negligently sitting on, as if he thought he'd found a convenient stone\u2014that I'll keep, by way of a memento of you, my sweet Godith, when you're gone.\"\n\nGodith had just enough self-control not to look again at Brother Cadfael when she heard this. She had enough to do keeping command of her own face, not to betray the lightning-stroke of understanding, and triumph, and laughter, and so, she knew, had Torold, a few paces behind her, and equally dazzled and enlightened. So that was why they had slung the saddlebags on the tree by the ford, a mile to the west, a mile on their way into Wales. This prize here they could surrender with joyful hearts, but never a glimmer of joy must show through to threaten the success. And now it lay with her to perfect the coup, and Brother Cadfael was leaving it to her. It was the greatest test she had ever faced, and it was vital to her self-esteem for ever. For this man fronting her was more than she had thought him, and suddenly it seemed that giving him up was almost as generous a gesture as this gesture of his, turning her loose to her happiness with another man and another cause, only distraining the small matter of gold for his pains. For two fine horses, and a free run into Wales! And a kind of blessing, too, secular but valued.\n\n\"You mean that,\" she said, not questioning, stating. \"We may go!\"\n\n\"And quickly, if I dare advise. The night is not old yet, but it matures fast. And you have some way to go.\"\n\n\"I have mistaken you,\" she said magnanimously. \"I never knew you. You had a right to try for this prize. I hope you understand that we had also a right to fight for it. In a fair win and a fair defeat there should be no heart-burning. Agreed?\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" he said delightedly. \"You are an opponent after my own heart, and I think your young squire had better take you hence, before I change my mind. As long as you leave the baggage\u2026\"\n\n\"No help for it, it's yours,\" said Brother Cadfael, rising reluctantly from his seat on guard. \"You won it fairly, what else can I say?\"\n\nBeringar surveyed without disquiet the mound of sacking presented to view. He knew very well the shape of the hump Cadfael had carried here from Severn, he had no misgivings.\n\n\"Go, then, and good speed! You have some hours of darkness yet.\" And for the first time he looked at Torold, and took his time about studying him, for Torold had held his peace and let her have her head in circumstances he could not be expected to understand, and with admirable self-restraint. \"I ask your pardon, I don't know your name.\"\n\n\"My name is Torold Blund, a squire of FitzAlan's.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry that we never knew each other. But not sorry that we never had ado in arms, I fear I should have met my overmatch.\" But he was very sunny about it, having got his way, and he was not really much in awe of Torold's longer reach, and greater height. \"You take good care of your treasure, Torold, I'll take care of mine.\"\n\nSobered and still, watching him with great eyes that still questioned, Godith said: \"Kiss me and wish me well! As I do you!\"\n\n\"With all my heart!\" said Beringar, and turned her face up between his hands, and kissed her soundly. The kiss lasted long, perhaps to provoke Torold, but Torold watched and was not dismayed. These could have been brother and sister saying a fond but untroubled farewell. \"Now mount, and good speed!\"\n\nShe went first to Brother Cadfael, and asked his kiss also, with a frantic quiver in her voice and her face that no one else saw or heard, and that might have been of threatened tears, or of almost uncontrollable laughter, or of both together. The thanks she said to him and to the lay brothers were necessarily brief, being hampered by the same wild mixture of emotions. She had to escape quickly, before she betrayed herself. Torold went to hold her stirrup, but Brother Anselm hoisted her between his hands and set her lightly in the saddle. The stirrups were a little long for her, he bent to shorten them to her comfort, and then she saw him look up furtively and flash her a grin, and she knew that he, too, had fathomed what was going on, and shared her secret laughter. If he and his comrade had been let into the whole plot from the beginning, they might not have played their parts so convincingly; but they were very quick to pick up all the undercurrents.\n\nTorold mounted Beringar's roan, and looked down from the saddle at the whole group within the stockade. The archers had unstrung their bows, and stood by looking on with idle interest and some amusement, while the third man opened the gate wide to let the travellers pass.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, everything I owe to you. I shall not forget.\"\n\n\"If there's anything owing,\" said Cadfael comfortably, \"you can repay it to Godith. And see you mind your ways with her until you bring her safe to her father,\" he added sternly. \"She's in your care as a sacred charge, beware of taking any advantage.\"\n\nTorold's smile flashed out brilliantly for an instant, and was gone; and the next moment so was Torold himself, and Godith after him, trotting out briskly through the open gate into the luminosity of the clearing, and thence into the shadowy spaces between the trees. They had but a little way to go to the wider path, and the ford of the brook, where the saddle-bags waited. Cadfael stood listening to the soft thudding of hooves in the turf, and the occasional rustling of leafy branches, until all sounds melted into the night's silence. When he stirred out of his attentive stillness, it was to find that every other soul there had been listening just as intently. They looked at one another, and for a moment had nothing to say.\n\n\"If she comes to her father a virgin,\" said Beringar then, \"I'll never stake on man or woman again.\"\n\n\"It's my belief,\" said Cadfael, drily, \"she'll come to her father a wife, and very proper, too. There are plenty of priests between here and Normandy. She'll have more trouble persuading Torold he has the right to take her, unapproved, but she'll have her own ways of convincing him.\"\n\n\"You know her better than I,\" said Beringar. \"I hardly knew the girl at all! A pity!\" he added thoughtfully.\n\n\"Yet I think you recognised her the first time you ever saw her with me in the great court.\"\n\n\"Oh, by sight, yes\u2014I was not sure then, but within a couple of days I was. She's not so changed in looks, only fined into such a springy young fellow.\" He caught Cadfael's eye, and smiled. \"Yes, I did come looking for her, but not to hand her over to any man's use. Nor that I wanted her for myself, but she was, as you said, a sacred charge upon me. I owed it to the alliance others made for us to see her into safety.\"\n\n\"I trust,\" said Cadfael, \"that you have done so.\"\n\n\"I, too. And no hard feelings upon either side?\"\n\n\"None. And no revenges. The game is over.\" He sounded, he realised suddenly, appropriately subdued and resigned, but it was only the pleasant weariness of relief.\n\n\"Then you'll ride back with me to the abbey, and keep me company on the way? I have two horses here. And these lads of mine have earned their sleep, and if your good brothers will give them house-room overnight, and feed them, they may make their way back at leisure tomorrow. To sweeten their welcome, there's two flasks of wine in my saddle-bags, and a pasty. I feared we might have a longer wait, though I was sure you'd come.\"\n\n\"I had a feeling,\" said Brother Louis, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, \"for all the sudden alarm, that there was no real mischief in the wind tonight. And for two flasks of wine and a pasty we'll offer you beds with pleasure, and a game of tables if you've a mind for it. We get very little company here.\"\n\nOne of the archers led in from the night Beringar's two remaining horses, the tail, rangy dapple-grey and the sturdy brown cob, and placidly lay brothers and men-at-arms together unloaded the food and drink, and at Beringar's orders made the unwieldy, sacking-wrapped bundle secure on the dapple's croup, well balanced and fastened with Brother Anselm's leather straps, provided with quite another end in view. \"Not that I wouldn't trust it with you on the cob,\" Beringar assured Cadfael, \"but this great brute will never even notice the weight. And his rider needs a hard hand, for he has a hard mouth and a contrary will, and I'm used to him. To tell truth, I love him. I parted with two better worth keeping, but this hellion is my match, and I wouldn't change him.\"\n\nHe could not better have expressed what Cadfael was thinking about him. This hellion is my match, and I wouldn't change him! He did his own spying, he gave away generously two valuable horses to discharge his debt to a bride he never really wanted, and he went to all manner of patient, devious shifts to get the girl safe and well out of his path, and lay hand upon the treasury, which was fair game, as she was not. Well, well, we live and learn in the book of our fellowmen!\n\nThey rode together, they two alone, by the same road as once before, and even more companionably than then. They went without haste, unwinding the longer way back, the way fitter for horses, the way they had first approached the grange. The night was warm, still and gentle, defying the stormy and ungentle times with its calm assertion of permanent stability.\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said Hugh Beringar with compunction, \"you have missed Matins and Lauds, and the fault is mine. If I had not delayed everything, you might have been back for midnight. You and I should share whatever penance is due.\"\n\n\"You and I,\" said Cadfael cryptically, \"share a penance already. Well, I could not wish for more stimulating company. We many compound my offence by riding at ease. It is not often a man gets such a night ride, and safely, and at peace.\"\n\nThen they were silent for some way, and thought their own thoughts, but somewhere the threads tangled, for after a while Beringar said with assurance: \"You will miss her.\" It was said with brisk but genuine sympathy. He had, after all, been observing and learning for some days.\n\n\"Like a fibre gone from my heart,\" owned Brother Cadfael without dismay, \"but there'll be others will fill the place. She was a good girl, and a good lad, too, if you'll grant me the fancy. Quick to study, and a hard worker. I hope she'll make as good a wife. The young man's a fair match for her. You saw he favoured one shoulder? One of the king's archers did his best to slice the round of it off him, but with Godith's care now he'll do well enough. They'll reach France.\" And after a moment's thought he asked, with candid curiosity: \"What would you have done if any one of us had challenged your orders and made a fight of it?\"\n\nHugh Beringar laughed aloud. \"I fancy I should have looked the world's fool, for of course my men knew better than to shoot. But the bow is a mighty powerful persuader, and after all, an unchancy fellow like me might be in earnest. Why, you never thought I'd harm the girl?\"\n\nCadfael debated the wisdom of answering that truthfully as yet, and temporised: \"if I ever thought of it, I soon realised I was wrong. They could have killed before ever Torold stepped between. No, I soon gave up that error.\"\n\n\"And it does not surprise you that I knew what you had brought to the grange, and what you came to fetch tonight?\"\n\n\"No revelation of your cunning can surprise me any longer,\" said Cadfael. \"I conclude that you followed me from the river the night I brought it. Also that you had procured me to help you place the horses there for a dual purpose, to encourage me to transfer the treasure from wherever it was hidden, and to make it possible for those youngsters to escape, while the gold stayed here. The right hand duelling against the left, that fits you well. Why were you so sure it would be tonight?\"\n\n\"Faith, if I'd been in your shoes I would have got them away with all the haste I could, at this favourable time, when search had been made and failed. You would have had to be a fool to let the chance slip. And as I have found long ago, you are no fool, Brother Cadfael.\"\n\n\"We have much in common,\" agreed Cadfael gravely. \"But once you knew that lump you're carrying there was safe in the grange, why did you not simply remove it, and make sure of it? You could still have let the children depart without it, just as they've done now.\"\n\n\"And sleep in my bed while they rode away? And never make my peace with Godith, but let her go into France believing me her enemy, and capable of such meanness? No, that I could not stomach. I have my vanity. I wanted a clean end, and no grudges. I have my curiosity, too. I wanted to see this young fellow who had taken her fancy. The treasure was safe enough until you chose to get them away, why should I be uneasy about it? And this way was far more satisfying.\"\n\n\"That,\" agreed Cadfael emphatically, \"it certainly was.\" They were at the edge of the forest, and the open road at Sutton, and were turning north towards St. Giles, all in amicable ease, which seemed to surprise neither of them.\n\n\"This time,\" said Beringar, \"we'll ride in at the gate house like orderly members of the household, even if the time is a little unusual. And if you have no objection, we may as well take this straight to your hut in the garden, and sit out the rest of the night, and see what we have here. I should like to see how Godith has been living in your care, and what skills she's been acquiring. I wonder how far they'll be by now?\"\n\n\"Halfway to Pool, or beyond. Most of the way it's a good road. Yes, come and see for yourself. You went enquiring for her in the town, did you not? At Edric Flesher's. Petronilla had the worst opinion of your motives.\"\n\n\"She would,\" agreed Beringar, laughing. \"No one would ever have been good enough for her chick, she hated me from the start. Ah, well, you'll be able to put her mind at rest now.\"\n\nThey had reached the silent Abbey Foregate, and rode between the darkened houses, the ring of hooves eerie in the stillness. A few uneasy inhabitants opened their shutters a crack to look out as they passed, but their appearance was so leisured and peaceful that no one could suspect them of harmful intent. The wary citizens went back to bed reassured. Over the high, enclosing wail the great church loomed on their left hand, and the narrow opening of the wicket showed in the dark bulk of the gate. The porter was a lay brother, a little surprised at being roused to let in two horsemen at such an hour, but satisfied, on recognising both of them, that they must have been employed on some legitimate errand, no great marvel in such troublous times. He was incurious and sleepy, and did not wait to see them cross to the stables, where they tended their horses first, as good grooms should, before repairing to the garden hut with their load.\n\nBeringar grimaced when he hoisted it. \"You carried this on your back all that way?\" he demanded with raised brows.\n\n\"I did,\" said Cadfael truthfully, \"and you witnessed it.\"\n\n\"Then I call that a noble effort. You would not care to shoulder it again these few paces?\"\n\n\"I could not presume,\" said Cadfael. \"It's in your charge now.\"\n\n\"I was afraid of that!\" But he was in high good humour, having fulfilled his idea of himself, made his justification in Godith's eyes, and won the prize he wanted; and he had more sinew in his slenderness than anyone would have thought, for he lifted and carried the weight lightly enough the short way to the herbarium.\n\n\"I have flint and tinder here somewhere,\" said Cadfael, going first into the hut. \"Wait till I make you a light, there are breakables all round us here.\" He found his box, and struck sparks into the coil of charred cloth, and lit the floating wick in his little dish of oil. The flame caught and steadied, and drew tall and still, shedding a gentle light on all the strange shapes of mortars and flasks and bottles, and the bunches of drying herbs that made the air aromatic.\n\n\"You are an alchemist,\" said Beringar, impressed and charmed. \"I am not sure you are not a wizard.\" He set down his load in the middle of the floor, and looked about him with interest. \"This is where she spent her nights?\" He had observed the bed, still rumpled from Torold's spasmodic and unquiet sleep. \"You did this for her. You must have found her out the very first day.\"\n\n\"So I did. It was not so difficult. I was a long time in the world. Will you taste my wine? It's made from pears, when the crop's good.\"\n\n\"Gladly! And drink to your better success\u2014against all opponents but Hugh Beringar.\"\n\nHe was on his knees by then, unknotting the rope that bound his prize. One sack disgorged another, the second a third. It could not be said that he was feverish in his eagerness, or showed any particular greed, only a certain excited curiosity. Out of the third sack rolled a tight bundle of cloth, dark-coloured, that fell apart as it was freed from constriction, and shed two unmistakable sleeves across the earth floor. The white of a shirt showed among the tangle of dark colours, and uncurled to reveal three large, smooth stones, a coiled leather belt, a short dagger in a leather sheath. Last of all, out of the centre something hard and small and bright rolled and lay still, shedding yellow flashes as it moved, burning sullenly gold and silver when it lay still at Beringar's feet.\n\nAnd that was all.\n\nOn his knees, he stared and stared, in mute incomprehension, his black brows almost elevated into his hair, his dark eyes round with astonishment and consternation. There was nothing more to be read, in a countenance for once speaking volubly, no recoil, no alarm, no guilt. He leaned forward, and with a sweep of his hand parted all those mysterious garments, spread them abroad, gaped at them, and fastened on the stones. His eyebrows danced, and came down to their normal level, his eyes blazing understanding; he cast one glittering glance at Cadfael, and then he began to laugh, a huge, genuine laughter that shook him where he kneeled, and made the bunches of herbs bob and quiver over his head. A good, open, exuberant sound it was; it made Cadfael, even at this moment, shake and laugh with him.\n\n\"And I have been commiserating with you,\" gasped Beringar, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, like a child, \"all this time, while you had this in store for me! What a fool I was, to think I could out-trick you, when I almost had your measure even then.\"\n\n\"Here, drink this down,\" urged Cadfael, offering the beaker he had filled. \"To your own better success\u2014with all opponents but Cadfael!\"\n\nBeringar took it, and drank heartily. \"Well, you deserve that. You have the last laugh, but at least you lent it to me a while, and I shall never enjoy a better. What was it you did? How was it done? I swear I never took my eyes from you. You did draw up what that young man of yours had drowned there, I heard it rise, I heard the water run from it on the stone.\"\n\n\"So I did, and let it down again, but very softly. This one I had ready in the boat. The other Godith and her squire drew up as soon as you and I were well on our way.\"\n\n\"And have it with them now?\" asked Beringar, momentarily serious.\n\n\"They have. By now, I hope, in Wales, where Owain Gwynedd's hand will be over them.\"\n\n\"So all the while you knew that I was watching and following you?\"\n\n\"I knew you must, if you wanted to find your treasure. No one else could lead you to it. If you cannot shake off surveillance,\" said Brother Cadfael sensibly, \"the only thing to do is make use of it.\"\n\n\"You certainly did. My treasure!\" echoed Beringar, and looked it over and laughed afresh. \"Well, now I understand Godith better. In a fair win and a fair defeat, she said, there should be no heartburning! And there shall be none!\" He looked again, more soberly, at the things spread before him on the earth floor, and after some frowning thought looked up just as intently at Cadfael. \"The stones and the sacks, anything to make like for like,\" he said slowly, \"that I understand. But why these? What are these things to do with me?\"\n\n\"You recognise none of them\u2014I know. They are nothing to do with you, happily for you and for me. These,\" said Cadfael, stooping to pick up and shake out shirt and hose and cotte, \"are the clothes Nicholas Faintree was wearing when he was strangled by night, in a hut in the woods above Frankwell, and thrown among the executed under the castle wall, to cover up the deed.\"\n\n\"Your one man too many,\" said Beringar, low-voiced.\n\n\"The same. Torold Blund rode with him, but they were separated when this befell. The murderer was waiting also for him, but with the second one he failed. Torold won away with his charge.\"\n\n\"That part I know,\" said Beringar. \"The last he said to you, and you to him, that evening in the mill, that I heard, but no more.\"\n\nHe looked long at the poor relics, the dark brown hose and russet cotte, a young squire's best. He looked up at Cadfael, and eyed him steadily, very far from laughter now. \"I understand. You put these together to spring upon me when I was unprepared\u2014when I looked for something very different. For me to see, and recoil from my own guilt. If this happened the night after the town fell, I had ridden out alone, as I recall. And I had been in the town the same afternoon, and to say all, yes, I did gather more than she bargained for from Petronilla. I knew this was in the wind, that there were two in Frankwell waiting for darkness before they rode. Though what I was listening for was a clue to Godith, and that I got, too. Yes, I see that I might well be suspect. But do I seem to you a man who would kill, and in so foul a fashion, just to secure the trash those children are carrying away with them into Wales?\"\n\n\"Trash?\" echoed Cadfael, mildly and thoughtfully.\n\n\"Oh, pleasant to have, and useful, I know. But once you have enough of it for your needs, the rest of it is trash. Can you eat it, wear it, ride it, keep off the rain and the cold with it, read it, play music on it, make love to it?\"\n\n\"You can buy the favour of kings with it,\" suggested Cadfael, but very placidly.\n\n\"I have the king's favour. He blows too many ways as his advisers persuade him, but left alone he knows a man when he finds one. And he demands unbecoming services when he's angry and vengeful, but he despises those who run too servilely to perform, and never leave him time to think better of his vindictiveness. I was with him in his camp a part of that evening, he has accepted me to hold my own castles and border for him, and raise the means and the men in my own way, which suits me very well. Yes, I would have liked, when such a chance offered, to secure FitzAlan's gold for him, but losing it is no great matter, and it was a good fight. So answer me, Cadfael, do I seem to you a man who would strangle his fellow-man from behind for money?\"\n\n\"No! There were the circumstances that made it a possibility, but long ago I put that out of mind. You are no such man. You value yourself too high to value a trifle of gold above your self-esteem. I was as sure as man could well be, before I put it to the test tonight,\" said Cadfael, \"that you wished Godith well out of her peril, and were nudging my elbow with the means to get her away. To try at the same time for the gold was fair dealing enough. No, you are not my man. There is not much,\" he allowed consideringly, \"that I would put out of your scope, but killing by stealth is one thing I would never look for from you, now that I know you. Well, so you can't help me. There's nothing here to shake you, and nothing for you to recognise.\"\n\n\"Not recognise\u2014no, not that.\" Beringar picked up the yellow topaz in its broken silver claw, and turned it thoughtfully in his hands. He rose, and held it to the lamp to examine it better. \"I never saw it before. But for all that, my thumbs prick. This, after a fashion, I think I may know. I watched with Aline while she prepared her brother's body for burial. All his things she put together and brought them, I think, to you to be given as alms, all but the shirt that was stained with his death-sweat. She spoke of something that was not there, but should have been there\u2014a dagger that was hereditary in her family, and went always to the eldest son when he came of age. As she described it to me, I do believe this may be the great stone that tipped the hilt.\" He looked up with furrowed brows. \"Where did you find this? Not on your dead man!\"\n\n\"Not on him, no. But trampled into the earth floor, where Torold had rolled and struggled with the murderer. And it does not belong to any dagger of Torold's. There is only one other who can have worn it.\"\n\n\"Are you saying,\" demanded Beringar, aghast, \"that it was Aline's brother who slew Faintree? Has she to bear that, too?\"\n\n\"You are forgetting, for once, your sense of time,\" said Brother Cadfael, reassuringly. \"Giles Siward was dead several hours before Nicholas Faintree was murdered. No, never fear, there's no guilt there can touch Aline. No, rather, whoever killed Nicholas Faintree had first robbed the body of Giles, and went to his ambush wearing the dagger he had contemptibly stolen.\"\n\nBeringar sat down abruptly on Godith's bed, and held his head hard between his hands. \"For God's sake, give me more wine, my mind no longer works.\" And when his beaker was refilled he drank thirstily, picked up the topaz again and sat weighing it in his hand. \"Then we have some indication of the man you want. He was surely present through part, at any rate, of that grisly work done at the castle, for there, if we're right, he lifted the pretty piece of weaponry to which this thing belongs. But he left before the work ended, for it went on into the night, and by then, it seems, he was lurking in ambush on the other side Frankwell. How did he learn of their plans? May not one of those poor wretches have tried to buy his own life by betraying them? Your man was there when the killing began, but left well before the end. Prestcote was there surely, Ten Heyt and his Flemings were there and did the work, Courcelle, I hear, fled the business as soon as he could, and took to the cleaner duties of scouring the town for FitzAlan, and small blame to him.\"\n\n\"Not all the Flemings,\" Cadfael pointed out, \"speak English.\"\n\n\"But some do. And among those ninety-four surely more than half spoke French just as well. Any one of the Flemings might have taken the dagger. A valuable piece, and a dead man has no more need of it. Cadfael, I tell you, I feel as you do about this business, such a death must not go unavenged. Don't you think, since it can't be any further grief or shame to her, I might show this thing to Aline, and make certain whether it is or is not from the hilt she knew?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Cadfael, \"that you may. And after chapter we'll meet again here, if you will. If, that is, I am not so loaded with penance at chapter that I vanish from men's sight for a week.\"\n\nIn the event, things turned out very differently. If his absence at Matins and Lauds had been noticed at all, it was clean forgotten before chapter, and no one, not even Prior Robert, ever cast it up at him or demanded penance. For after the former day's excitement and distress, another and more hopeful upheaval loomed. King Stephen with his new levies, his remounts and his confiscated provisions, was about to move south towards Worcester, to attempt inroads into the western stronghold of Earl Robert of Gloucester, the Empress Maud's half-brother and loyal champion. The vanguard of his army was to march the next day, and the king himself, with his personal guard, was moving today into Shrewsbury castle for two nights, to inspect and secure his defences there, before marching after the vanguard. He was well satisfied with the results of his foraging, and disposed to forget any remaining grudges, for he had invited to his table at the castle, this Tuesday evening, both Abbot Heribert and Prior Robert, and in the flurry of preparation minor sins were overlooked.\n\nCadfael repaired thankfully to his workshop, and lay down and slept on Godith's bed until Hugh Beringar came to wake him. Hugh had the topaz in his hand, and his face was grave and tired, but serene.\n\n\"It is hers. She took it in her hands gladly, knowing it for her own. I thought there could not be two such. Now I am going to the castle, for the king's party are already moving in there, and Ten Heyt and his Flemings will be with him. I mean to find the man, whoever he may be, who filched that dagger after Giles was dead. Then we shall know we are not far from your murderer. Cadfael, can you not get Abbot Heribert to bring you with him to the castle this evening? He must have an attendant, why not you? He turns to you willingly, if you ask, he'll jump at you. Then if I have anything to tell, you'll be close by.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael yawned, groaned and kept his eyes open unwillingly on the young, dark face that leaned over him, a face of tight, bright lines now, fierce and bleak, a hunting face. He had won himself a formidable ally.\n\n\"A small, mild curse on you for waking me,\" he said, mumbling, \"but I'll come.\"\n\n\"It was your own cause,\" Beringar reminded him, smiling.\n\n\"It is my cause. Now for the love of God, go away and let me sleep away dinner, and afternoon and all, you've cost me hours enough to shorten my life, you plague.\"\n\nHugh Beringar laughed, though it was a muted and burdened laugh this time, marked a cross lightly on Cadfael's broad brown forehead, and left him to his rest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "A server for every plate was required at the king's supper. It was no problem to suggest to Abbot Heribert that the brother who had coped with the matter of the mass burial, and even talked with the king concerning the unlicensed death, should be on hand with him to be questioned at need. Prior Robert took with him his invariable toady and shadow, Brother Jerome, who would certainly be indefatigable with finger-bowl, napkin and pitcher throughout, a great deal more assiduous than Cadfael, whose mind might well be occupied elsewhere. They were old enemies, in so far as Brother Cadfael entertained enmities. He abhorred a sickly-pale tonsure.\n\nThe town was willing to put on a festival face, not so much in the king's honour as in celebration of the fact that the king was about to depart, but the effect was much the same. Edric Flesher had come down to the high street from his shop to watch the guests pass by, and Cadfael flashed him a ghost of a wink, by way of indication that they would have things to discuss later, things so satisfactory that they could well be deferred. He got a huge grin and a wave of a meaty hand in response, and knew his message had been received. Petronilla would weep for her lamb's departure, but rejoice for her safe delivery and apt escort. I must go there soon, he thought, as soon as this last duty is done.\n\nWithin the town gate Cadfael had seen the blind old man sitting almost proudly in Giles Siward's good cloth hose, holding out his palm for alms with a dignified gesture. At the high cross he saw the little old woman clasping by the hand her feeble-wit grandson with his dangling lip, and the fine brown cotte sat well on him, and gave him an air of rapt content by its very texture. Oh, Aline, you ought to give your own charity, and see what it confers, beyond food and clothing!\n\nWhere the causeway swept up from the street to the gate of the castle, the beggars who followed the king's camp had taken up new stations, hopeful and expectant, for the king's justiciar, Bishop Robert of Salisbury, had arrived to join his master, and brought a train of wealthy and important clerics with him. In the lee of the gate-house wall Lame Osbern's little trolley was drawn up, where he could beg comfortably without having to move. The worn wooden pattens he used for his callused knuckles lay tidily beside him on the trolley, on top of the folded black cloak he would not need until night fell. It was so folded that the bronze clasp at the neck showed up proudly against the black, the dragon of eternity with his tail in his mouth.\n\nCadfael let the others go on through the gates, and halted to say a word to the crippled man. \"Well, how have you been since last I saw you by the king's guard-post? You have a better place here.\"\n\n\"I remember you,\" said Osbern, looking up at him with eyes remarkably clear and innocent, in a face otherwise as misshapen as his body. \"You are the brother who brought me the cloak.\"\n\n\"And has it done you good service?\"\n\n\"It has, and I have prayed for the lady, as you asked. But, brother, it troubles me, too. Surely the man who wore it before me is dead. Is it so?\"\n\n\"He is,\" said Cadfael, \"but that should not trouble you. The lady who sent it to you is his sister, and trust me, her giving blesses the gift. Wear it, and take comfort.\"\n\nHe would have walked on then, but a hasty hand caught at the skirt of his habit, and Osbern besought him pleadingly: \"But, brother, I go in dread that I bear some guilt. For I saw the man, living, with this cloak about him, hale as I\u2026\"\n\n\"You saw him?\" echoed Cadfael on a soundless breath, but the anxious voice had ridden over him and rushed on.\n\n\"It was in the night, and I was cold, and I thought to myself, I wish the good God would send me such a cloak to keep me warm! Brother, thought is also prayer! And no more than three days later God did indeed send me this very cloak. You dropped it into my arms! How can I be at peace? The young man gave me a groat that night, and asked me to say a prayer for him on the morrow, and so I did. But how if my first prayer made the second of none effect? How if I have prayed a man into his grave to get myself a cloak to wear?\"\n\nCadfael stood gazing at him amazed and mute, feeling the chill of ice flow down his spine. The man was sane, clear of mind and eye, he knew very well what he was saying, and his trouble of heart was real and deep, and must be the first consideration, whatever else followed.\n\n\"Put all such thoughts out of your mind, friend,\" said Cadfael firmly, \"for only the devil can have sent them. If God gave you the thing for which you wished, it was to save one morsel of good out of a great evil for which you are no way to blame. Surely your prayers for the former wearer are of aid even now to his soul. This young man was one of FitzAlan's garrison here, done to death after the castle fell, at the king's orders. You need have no fears, his death is not at your door, and no sacrifice of yours could have saved him.\"\n\nOsbern's uplifted face eased and brightened, but still he shook his head, bewildered. \"FitzAlan's man? But how could that be, when I saw him enter and leave the king's camp?\"\n\n\"You saw him? You are sure? How do you know this is the same cloak?\"\n\n\"Why, by this clasp at the throat. I saw it clearly in the firelight when he gave me the groat.\"\n\nHe could not be mistaken, then, there surely were not two such designs exactly alike, and Cadfael himself had seen its match on the buckle of Giles Siward's sword-belt.\n\n\"When was it that you saw him?\" he asked gently. \"Tell me how it befell.\"\n\n\"It was the night before the assault, around midnight. I had my place then close to the guard-post for the sake of the fire, and I saw him come, not openly, but like a shadow, among the bushes. He stood when they challenged him, and asked to be taken to their officer, for he had something to tell, to the king's advantage. He kept his face hidden, but he was young. And afraid! But who was not afraid, then? They took him away within, and afterwards I saw him return, and they let him out. He said he had orders to go back, for there must be no suspicion. That was all I heard. He was in better heart then, not so frightened, so I asked him for alms, and he gave, and asked my prayers in return. Say some prayer for me tomorrow, he said\u2014and on 'the morrow, you tell me, he died! This I'm sure of, when he left me he was not expecting to die.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cadfael, sick with pity and grief for all poor, frightened, breakable men, \"surely he was not. None of us knows the day. But pray for him you may, and your prayers will benefit his soul. Put off all thought that ever you did him harm, it is not so. You never wished him ill, God hears the heart. Never wished him any, never did him any.\"\n\nHe left Osbern reassured and comforted, but went on into the castle carrying with him the load of discomfort and depression the lame man had shed. So it always is, he thought, to relieve another you must burden yourself. And such a burden! He remembered in time that there was one more question he should have asked, the most urgent of all, and turned back to ask it.\n\n\"Do you know, friend, who was the officer of the guard, that night?\"\n\nOsbern shook his head. \"I never saw him, he never came out himself. No, brother, that I can't tell you.\"\n\n\"Trouble no more,\" said Cadfael. \"Now you have told it freely, and you know the cloak came to you with a blessing, not a bane. Enjoy it freely, as you deserve.\"\n\n\"Father Abbot,\" said Cadfael, seeking out Heribert in the courtyard, \"if you have no need of me until you come to table, there is work here I have still to do, concerning Nicholas Faintree.\"\n\nWith King Stephen holding audience in the inner ward, and the great court teeming with clerics, bishops, the small nobility of the county, even an earl or so, there was no room, in any case, for the mere servitors, whose duties would begin when the feast began. The abbot had found a friend in the bishop of Salisbury, and readily dismissed Cadfael to whatever pursuit he chose. He went in search of Hugh Beringar with Osbern's story very heavy on his mind, and the last question still unanswered, though so many sad mysteries were now made plain. It was not a terrified prisoner with the rope already round his neck who had broken down and betrayed the secret of FitzAlan's plans for his treasury. No, that betrayal had taken place a day previously, when the issue of battle was still to be decided, and the thing had been done with forethought, to save a life it yet had failed to save. He came by stealth, and asked to be taken to the officer of the guard, for he had something to tell to the king's advantage! And when he left he told the guard he had orders to go back, so that there could be no suspicion, but then he was in better heart. Poor wretch, not for long!\n\nBy what means or on what pretext he had managed to get out of the castle\u2014perhaps on pretence of reconnoitering the enemy's position?\u2014certainly he had obeyed his instructions to return and keep all suspicion lulled. He had returned only to confront the death he had thought he was escaping.\n\nHugh Beringar came out and stood on the steps of the great hall, craning round him for one person among all that shifting throng. The black Benedictine habits showed here and there in strong contrast to the finery of lordlings in their best, but Cadfael was shorter than many of those about him, and saw the man he was seeking before he was himself seen. He began to weave his way towards him, and the keen black eyes sweeping the court beneath drawn brows lit upon him, and glittered. Beringar came down to take him by the arm and draw him away to a quieter place.\n\n\"Come away, come up on to the guard-walk, there'll be no one there but the sentry. How can we talk here?\" And when they had mounted to the wall, he found a corner where no one could approach them without being seen, he said, eyeing Cadfael very earnestly: \"You have news in your face. Tell it quickly, and I'll tell you mine.\"\n\nCadfael told the story as briefly as it had been told to him, and it was understood as readily. Beringar stood leaning against the merlon of the wall as though bracing his back for a dour defence. His face was bitter with dismay.\n\n\"Her brother! No escaping it, this can have been no other. He came by night out of the castle, by stealth, hiding his face, he spoke with the king's officer, and returned as he had come. So that there might be no suspicion! Oh, I am sick!\" said Beringar savagely. \"And all for nothing! His treason fell victim to one even worse. You don't know yet, Cadfael, you don't know all! But that of all people it should be her brother!\"\n\n\"No help for it,\" said Cadfael, \"it was he. In terror for his life, regretting an ill-judged alliance, he went hurrying to the besiegers to buy his life, in exchange\u2014for what? Something of advantage to the king! That very evening they had held conference and planned the removal of FitzAlan's gold. That was how someone learned in good time of what Faintree and Torold carried, and the way they were to go. Someone who never passed that word on, as I think, to king or any, but acted upon it himself, and for his own gain. Why else should it end as it did? The young man, so says Osbern, went back under orders, relieved and less afraid.\"\n\n\"He had been promised his life,\" said Beringar bitterly, \"and probably the king's favour, too, and a place about him, no wonder he went back the happier in that belief. But what was really intended was to send him back to be taken and slaughtered with the rest, to make sure he should not live to tell the tale. For listen, Cadfael, to what I got out of one of the Flemings who was in that day's murderous labour from first to last. He said that after Arnulf of Hesdin was hanged, Ten Heyt pointed out to the executioners a young man who was to be the next to go, and said the order came from above. And it was done. They found it a huge jest that he was dragged to his death incredulous, thinking at first, no doubt, they were putting up a pretence to remove him from the ranks, and then he saw it was black reality, and he screamed that they were mistaken, that he was not to die with the rest, that he had been promised his life, that they should send and ask\u2014\"\n\n\"Send and ask,\" said Brother Cadfael, \"of Adam Courcelle.\"\n\n\"No\u2014I learned no name\u2026 my man heard none. What makes you hit on that name in particular? He was not by but once, according to this man's account, he came but once to look at the bodies they had already cut down, and it was early, they would be but few. Then he went away to his work in the town, and was seen no more. Weak-stomached, they thought.\"\n\n\"And the dagger? Was Giles wearing it when they strung him up?\"\n\n\"He was, for my man had an eye to the thing himself, but when he was relieved for a while, and came back to get it, it was already gone.\"\n\n\"Even to one with a great prize in view,\" said Cadfael sadly, \"a small extra gain by the way may not come amiss.\"\n\nThey looked at each other mutely for a long moment. \"But why do you say so certainly, Courcelle?\"\n\n\"I am thinking,\" said Cadfael, \"of the horror that fell upon him when Aline came to collect her dead, and he knew what he had done. If I had known, he said, if I had known, I would have saved him for you! No matter at what cost! God forgive me! he said, but he meant: Aline, forgive me! With all his heart he meant it then, though I would not call that repentance. And he gave back, you'll remember, the cloak. I think, truly I do think, he would then have given back also the dagger, if he had dared. But he could not, it was already broken and incomplete. I wonder,\" said Cadfael, pondering, \"I wonder what he has done with it now? A man who would take it from the dead in the first place would not part with it too easily, even for a girl's sake, and yet he never dare let her set eyes on it, and he is in earnest in courting her. Would he keep it, in hiding? Or get rid of it?\"\n\n\"If you are right,\" said Beringar, still doubtful, \"we need it, it is our proof. And yet, Cadfael, for God's sake, how are we to deal now? God knows I can find no good to say for one who tried to purchase his own safety so, when his fellows were at their last gasp. But neither you nor I can strip this matter bare, and do so wicked an injury to so innocent and honourable a lady. It's enough that she mourns for him. Let her at least go on thinking that he held by his mistaken choice faithfully to the end, and gave his life for it\u2014not that he died craven, bleating that he was promised grace in return for so base a betrayal. She must not know, now or ever.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael could not but agree. \"But if we accuse him, and this comes to trial, surely everything will come out. That we cannot allow, and there lies our weakness.\"\n\n\"And our strength,\" said Beringar fiercely, \"for neither can he allow it. He wants his advancement with the king, he wants offices, but he wants Aline\u2014do you think I did not know it? Where would he stand with her if ever a breath of this reached her? No, he will be at least as anxious as we to keep the story for ever buried. Give him but a fair chance to settle the quarrel out of hand, and he'll jump at it.\"\n\n\"Your preoccupation,\" said Cadfael gently, \"I understand, and sympathise with it. But you must also acknowledge mine. I have here another responsibility. Nicholas Faintree must not lie uneasy for want of justice.\"\n\n\"Trust me, and stand ready to back me in whatever I shall do this night at the king's table,\" said Hugh Beringar. \"Justice he shall have, and vengeance, too, but let it be as I shall devise.\"\n\nCadfael went to his duty behind the abbot's chair in doubt and bewilderment, with no clear idea in his mind of what Beringar intended, and no conviction that without the broken dagger any secure case could be made against Courcelle. The Fleming had not seen him take it, what he had cried out to Aline over her brother's body, in manifest pain, was not evidence. And yet there had been vengeance and death in Hugh Beringar's face, as much for Aline Siward's sake as for Nicholas Faintree's. What mattered most in the world to him, at this moment, was that Aline should never know how her brother had disgraced his blood and his name, and in that cause Beringar would not scruple to spend not only Adam Courcelle's life, but also his own. And somehow, reflected Cadfael ruefully, I have become very much attached to that young man, and I should not like to see any ill befall him. I would rather this case went to law, even if we have to step carefully in drawing up our evidence, and leave out every word concerning Torold Blund and Godith Adeney. But for that we need, we must have, proof positive that Giles Siward's dagger passed into the possession of Adam Courcelle, and preferably the dagger itself, into the bargain, to match with the piece of it I found on the scene of the murder. Otherwise he will simply lie and lie, deny everything, say he never saw the topaz or the dagger it came from, and has nothing to answer; and from the eminence of the position he has won with the king, he will be unassailable.\n\nThere were no ladies present that night, this was strictly a political and military occasion, but the great hall had been decked out with borrowed hangings, and was bright with torches. The king was in good humour, the garrison's provisions were assured, and those who had robbed for the royal supplies had done their work well. From his place behind Heribert at the king's high table Cadfael surveyed the full hall, and estimated that some five hundred guests were present. He looked for Beringar, and found him at a lower table, in his finery, very debonair and lively in conversation, as though he had no darker preoccupation. He was master of his face; even when he glanced briefly at Courcelle there was nothing in the look to attract attention, certainly nothing to give warning of any grave purpose.\n\nCourcelle was at the high table, though crowded to its end by the visiting dignitaries. Big, vividly coloured and handsome, accomplished in arms, in good odour with the king, how strange that such a man should feel it necessary to grasp secretly at plunder, and by such degrading means! And yet, in this chaos of civil war, was it so strange after all? Where a king's favour could be toppled with the king, where barons were changing sides according as the fortunes changed, where even earls were turning to secure their own advantage rather than that of a cause that might collapse under their feet and leave them prisoner and ruined! Courcelle was merely a sign of the times; in a few years there would be duplicates of him in every corner of the realm.\n\nI do not like the way I see England going, thought Cadfael with anxious foreboding, and above all I do not like what is about to happen, for as surely as God sees us, Hugh Beringar is set to sally forth on to a dubious field, half-armed.\n\nHe fretted through the long meal, hardly troubled by the demands of Abbot Heribert, who was always abstemious with wine, and ate very frugally. Cadfael served and poured, proffered the finger-bowl and napkin, and waited with brooding resignation.\n\nWhen the dishes were cleared away, musicians playing, and only the wine on the tables, the servitors in their turn might take their pick of what was left in the kitchens, and the cooks and scullions were already helping themselves and finding quiet corners to sit and eat. Cadfael collected a bread trencher and loaded it with broken meats, and took it out through the great court to Lame Osbern at the gate. There was a measure of wine to go with it. Why should not the poor rejoice for once at the king's cost, even if that cost was handed on down the hierarchies until it fell at last upon the poor themselves? Too often they paid, but never got their share of the rejoicing.\n\nCadfael was walking back to the hall when his eye fell upon a lad of about twelve, who was sitting in the torchlight on the inner side of the gate house, his back comfortably against the wall, carving his meat into smaller pieces with a narrow-bladed knife. Cadfael had seen him earlier, in the kitchen, gutting fish with the same knife, but he had not seen the halt of it, and would not have seen it now if the boy had not laid it down beside him on the ground while he ate.\n\nCadfael halted and gazed, motionless. It was no kitchen knife, but a well-made dagger, and its hilt was a slender shaft of silver, rounded to the hand, showing delicate lines of filigree-work, and glowing round the collar of the blade with small stones. The hilt ended in a twist of silver broken off short. It was hard to believe, but impossible not to believe. Perhaps thought really is prayer.\n\nHe spoke to the boy very softly and evenly; the unwitting means of justice must not be alarmed. \"Child, where did you get so fine a knife as that?\"\n\nThe boy looked up, untroubled, and smiled. When he had gulped down the mouthful with which his cheeks were bulging, he said cheerfully: \"I found it. I didn't steal it.\"\n\n\"God forbid, lad, I never thought it. Where did you find it? And have you the sheath, too?\"\n\nIt was lying beside him in the shadow, he patted it proudly. \"I fished them out of the river. I had to dive, but I found them. They really are mine, father, the owner didn't want them, he threw them away. I suppose because this was broken. But it's the best knife for slitting fish I ever had.\"\n\nSo he threw them away! Not, however, simply because the jewelled hilt was broken.\n\n\"You saw him throw it into the river? Where was this, and when?\"\n\n\"I was fishing under the castle, and a man came down alone from the water-gate to the bank of the river, and threw it in, and went back to the castle. When he'd gone I dived in where I saw it fall, and I found it. It was early in the evening, the same night all the bodies were carried down to the abbey\u2014a week ago, come tomorrow. It was the first day it was safe to go fishing there again.\"\n\nYes, it fitted well. That same afternoon Aline had taken Giles away to St. Alkmund's, and left Courcelle stricken and wild with unavailing regrets, and in possession of a thing that might turn Aline against him for ever, if once she set eyes on it. And he had done the only, the obvious thing, consigned it to the river, never thinking that the avenging angel, in the shape of a fisherboy, would redeem it to confront him when most he believed himself safe.\n\n\"You did not know who this man was? What like was he? What age?\" For there remained the lingering doubt; all he had to support his conviction was the memory of Courcelle's horrified face and broken voice, pleading his devotion over Giles Siward's body.\n\nThe child hoisted indifferent shoulders, unable to picture for another what he himself had seen clearly and memorably. \"Just a man. I didn't know him. Not old like you, father, but quite old.\" But to him anyone of his father's generation would be old, though his father might be only a year or two past thirty.\n\n\"Would you know him if you saw him again? Could you point him out among many?\"\n\n\"Of course!\" said the boy almost scornfully. His eyes were young, bright, and very observant, if his tongue was none too fluent, of course he would know his man again.\n\n\"Sheathe your knife, child, and bring it, and come with me,\" said Cadfael with decision. \"Oh, don't fret, no one will take your treasure from you, or if later you must give it up, you shall be handsomely paid for it. All I need is for you to tell again what you have told to me, and you shan't be the loser.\"\n\nHe knew, when he entered the hail with the boy beside him, a little apprehensive now but even more excited, that they came late. The music was stilled, and Hugh Beringar was on his feet and striding towards the dais on which the high table stood. They heard his voice raised, high and clear, as he mounted and stood before the king. \"Your Grace, before you depart for Worcester, there is a matter on which I beg you'll hear me and do right. I demand justice on one here in this company, who has abused his position in your confidence. He has stolen from the dead, to the shame of his nobility, and he has committed murder, to the shame of his manhood. I stand on my charges, to prove them with my body. And here is my gage!\"\n\nAgainst his own doubts, he had accepted Cadfael's intuition, to the length of staking his life upon it. He leaned forward, and rolled something small and bright across the table, to clang softly against the king's cup. The silence that had fallen was abrupt and profound. All round the high table heads craned to follow the flash of yellow brilliance that swayed irregularly over the board, limping on its broken setting, and then were raised to stare again at the young man who had launched it. The king picked up the topaz and turned it in his large hands, his face blank with incomprehension at first, and then wary and brooding. He, too, looked long at Hugh Beringar. Cadfael, picking his way between the lower tables, drew the puzzled boy after him and kept his eyes upon Adam Courcelle, who sat at his end of the table stiff and aware. He had command of his face, he looked no more astonished or curious than any of those about him; only the taut hand gripping his drinking-horn betrayed his consternation. Or was even that imagined, to fit in with an opinion already formed? Cadfael was no longer sure of his own judgment, a state he found distressing and infuriating.\n\n\"You have bided your time to throw your thunderbolt,\" said the king at length, and looked up darkly at Beringar from the stone he was turning in his hands.\n\n\"I was loth to spoil your Grace's supper, but neither would I put off what should not be put off. Your Grace's justice is every honest man's right.\"\n\n\"You will need to explain much. What is this thing?\"\n\n\"It is the tip of a dagger-hilt. The dagger to which it belongs is now by right the property of the lady Aline Siward, who has loyally brought all the resources of her house to your Grace's support. It was formerly in the possession of her brother Giles, who was among those who garrisoned this castle against your Grace, and have paid the price for it. I say that it was taken from his dead body, an act not unknown among the common soldiery, but unworthy of knight or gentleman. That is the first offence. The second is murder\u2014that murder of which your Grace was told by Brother Cadfael, of the Benedictine house here in Shrewsbury, after the count of the dead was made. Your Grace and those who carried out your orders were used as a shield for one who strangled a man from behind, as your Grace will well remember.\"\n\n\"I do remember,\" said the king grimly. He was torn between displeasure at having to exert himself to listen and judge, when his natural indolence had wanted only a leisurely and thoughtless feast, and a mounting curiosity as to what lay behind all this. \"What has this stone to do with that death?\"\n\n\"Your Grace, Brother Cadfael is also present here, and will testify that he found the place where this murder was committed, and found there, broken off in the struggle and trodden into the ground, this stone. He will take oath, as I do, that the man who stole the dagger is the same who killed Nicholas Faintree, and that he left behind him, unnoticed, this proof of his guilt.\"\n\nCadfael was drawing nearer by then, but they were so intent on the closed scene above that no one noticed his approach. Courcelle was sitting back, relaxed and brightly interested, in his place, but what did that mean? Doubtless he saw very well the flaw in this; no need to argue against the claim that whoever stole the dagger slew the man, since no once could trace possession to him. The thing was at the bottom of the Severn, lost for ever. The theory could be allowed to stand, the crime condemned and deplored, provided no one could furnish a name, and proof to back it. Or, on the other hand, this could far more simply be the detachment of an innocent man!\n\n\"Therefore,\" said Hugh Beringar relentlessly, \"I repeat those charges I have made here before your Grace. I appeal one among us here in this hall of theft and murder, and I offer proof with my body, to uphold my claim in combat upon the body of Adam Courcelle.\"\n\nHe had turned at the end to face the man he accused, who was on his feet with a leap, startled and shaken, as well he might be. Shock burned rapidly into incredulous anger and scorn. Just so would any innocent man look, suddenly confronted with an accusation so mad as to be laughable.\n\n\"Your Grace, this is either folly or villainy! How comes my name into such a diatribe? It may well be true that a dagger was stolen from a dead man, it may even be true that the same thief slew a man, and left this behind as witness. But as for how my name comes into such a tale, I leave it to Hugh Beringar to tell\u2014if these are not simply the lies of an envious man. When did I ever see this supposed dagger? When was it ever in my possession? Where is it now? Has any ever seen me wear such a thing? Send, my lord, and search those soldier's belongings I have here, and if such a thing is found in any ward or lodging of mine, let me know of it!\"\n\n\"Wait!\" said the king imperiously, and looked from one face to the other with frowning brows. \"This is indeed a matter that needs to be examined, and if these charges are made in malice there will be an account to pay. What Adam says is the nub of it. Is the monk indeed present? And does he confirm the finding of this broken ornament at the place where this killing befell? And that it came from that very dagger?\"\n\n\"I brought Brother Cadfael here with me tonight,\" said the abbot, and looked about for him helplessly.\n\n\"I am here, Father Abbot,\" said Cadfael from below the dais, and advanced to be seen, his arms about the shoulders of the boy, now totally fascinated, all eyes and ears.\n\n\"Do you bear out what Beringar says?\" demanded King Stephen. \"You found this stone where the man was slain?\"\n\n\"Yes, your Grace. Trampled into the earth, where plainly there had been a struggle, and two bodies rolling upon the ground.\"\n\n\"And whose word have we that it comes from a dagger once belonging to Mistress Siward's brother? Though I grant you it should be easy enough to recognise, once known.\"\n\n\"The word of Lady Aline herself. It has been shown to her, and she has recognised it.\"\n\n\"That is fair witness enough,\" said the king, \"that whoever is the thief may well be the murderer, also. But why it should follow that either you or Beringar here suppose him to be Adam, that for my life I cannot see. There's never a thread to join him to the dagger or the deed. You might as well cast round here among us, and pick on Bishop Robert of Salisbury, or any one of the squires down below there. Or prick your knife-point into a list of us with eyes closed. Where is the logic?\"\n\n\"I am glad,\" said Courcelle, darkly red and forcing a strained laughter, \"that your Grace puts so firm a finger on the crux of the matter. With goodwill I can go along with this good brother to condemn a mean theft and a furtive killing, but, Beringar, beware how you connect me with either, or any other honest man. Follow your thread from this stone, by all means, if thread there is, but until you can trace this dagger into my hands, be careful how you toss challenges to mortal combat about you, young man, for they may be taken up, to your great consternation.\"\n\n\"My gage is now lying upon the table,\" said Hugh Beringar with implacable calm. \"You have only to take it up. I have not withdrawn it.\"\n\n\"My lord king,\" said Cadfael, raising his voice to ride over the partisan whisperings and murmurings that were running like conflicting winds about the high table, \"it is not the case that there is no witness to connect the dagger with any person. And for proof positive that stone and dagger belong together, here is the very weapon itself. I ask your Grace to match the two with your own hands.\"\n\nHe held up the dagger, and Beringar at the edge of the dais took it from him, staring like a man in a dream, and handed it in awed silence to the king. The boy's eyes followed it with possessive anxiety, Courcelle's with stricken and unbelieving horror, as if a drowned victim had risen to haunt him. Stephen looked at the thing with an eye appreciative of its workmanship, slid out the blade with rising curiosity, and fitted the topaz in its silver claw to the jagged edge of the hilt.\n\n\"No doubt but this belongs. You have all seen?\" And he looked down at Cadfael. \"Where, then, did you come by this?\"\n\n\"Speak up, child,\" said Cadfael encouragingly, \"and tell the king what you told to me.\"\n\nThe boy was rosy and shining with an excitement that had quite overridden his fear. He stood up and told his tale in a voice shrill with self-importance, but still in the simple words he had used to Cadfael, and there was no man there who could doubt he was telling the truth.\n\n\"\u2026 and I was by the bushes at the edge of the water, and he did not see me. But I saw him clearly. And as soon as he went away I dived in where it had fallen, and found it. I live by the river, I was born by it. My mother says I swam before I walked. I kept the knife, thinking no wrong, since he did not want it. And that is the very knife, my lord, and may I have it back when you are done?\"\n\nThe king was diverted for a moment from the gravity of the cause that now lay in his hands, to smile at the flushed and eager child with all the good-humour and charm his nature was meant to dispense, if he had not made an ambitious and hotly contested bid for a throne, and learned the rough ways that go with such contests.\n\n\"So our fish tonight was gutted with a jewelled knife, was it, boy? Princely indeed! And it was good fish, too. Did you catch it, as well as dress it?\"\n\nBashfully the boy said that he had helped.\n\n\"Well, you have done your part very fitly. And now, did you know this man who threw away the knife?\"\n\n\"No, my lord, I don't know his name. But I know him well enough when I see him.\"\n\n\"And do you see him? Here in this hail with us now?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" said the child readily, and pointed a finger straight at Adam Courcelle. \"That was the man.\"\n\nAll eyes turned upon Courcelle, the king's most dourly and thoughtfully of all, and there was a silence that lasted no more than a long-drawn breath, but seemed to shake the foundations of the hall, and stop every heart within its walls. Then Courcelle said, with arduous and angry calm:\n\n\"Your Grace, this is utterly false. I never had the dagger, I could not well toss it into the river. I deny that ever I had the thing in my possession, or ever saw it until now.\"\n\n\"Are you saying,\" asked the king drily, \"that the child lies? At whose instigation? Not Beringar's\u2014it seems to me that he was as taken aback by this witness as I myself, or you. Am I to think the Benedictine order has procured the boy to put up such a story? And for what end?\"\n\n\"I am saying, your Grace, that this is a foolish error. The boy may have seen what he says he saw, and got the dagger as he claims he got it, but he is mistaken in saying he saw me. I am not the man. I deny all that has been said against me.\"\n\n\"And I maintain it,\" said Hugh Beringar. \"And I ask that it be put to the proof.\"\n\nThe king crashed a fist upon the table so that the boards danced, and cups rocked and spilled wine. \"There is something here to be probed, and I cannot let it pass now without probing it.\" He turned again to the boy, and reined in his exasperation to ask more gently: \"Think and look carefully, now, and say again: are you certain this is the man you saw? If you have any doubt, say so. It is no sin to be mistaken. You may have seen some other man of like build or colour. But if you are sure, say that also, without fear.\"\n\n\"I am sure,\" said the boy, trembling but adamant. \"I know what I saw.\"\n\nThe king leaned back in his great chair, and thumped his closed fists on the arms, and pondered. He looked at Hugh Beringar with grim displeasure: \"It seems you have hung a millstone round my neck, when most I need to be free and to move fast. I cannot now wipe out what has been said, I must delve deeper. Either this case goes to the long processes of court law\u2014no, not for you nor any will I now delay my going one day beyond the morrow's morrow! I have made my plans, I cannot afford to change them.\"\n\n\"There need be no delay,\" said Beringar, \"if your Grace countenances trial by combat. I have appealed Adam Courcelle of murder, I repeat that charge. If he accepts, I am ready to meet him without any ceremony or preparations. Your Grace may see the outcome tomorrow, and march on the following day, freed of this burden.\"\n\nCadfael, during these exchanges, had not taken his eyes from Courcelle's face, and marked with foreboding the signs of gradually recovered assurance. The faint sweat that had broken on his lip and brow dried, the stare of desperation cooled into calculation; he even began to smile. Since he was now cornered, and there were two ways out, one by long examination and questioning, one by simple battle, he was beginning to see in this alternative his own salvation. Cadfael could follow the measuring, narrowed glance that studied Hugh Beringar from head to foot, and understood the thoughts behind the eyes. Here was a younger man, lighter in weight, half a head shorter, much less in reach, inexperienced, over-confident, an easy victim. It should not be any problem to put him out of the world; and that done, Courcelle had nothing to fear. The judgment of heaven would have spoken, no one thereafter would point a finger at him, and Aline would be still within his reach, innocent of his dealings with her brother, and effectively separated from a too-engaging rival, without any blame to Courcelle, the wrongly accused. Oh, no, it was not so grim a situation, after all. It should work out very well.\n\nHe reached out along the table, picked up the topaz, and rolled it contemptuously back towards Beringar, to be retrieved and retained.\n\n\"Let it be so, your Grace. I accept battle, tomorrow, without formality, without need for practice. Your Grace shall march the following day,\" And I with you, his confident countenance completed.\n\n\"So be it!\" said the king grimly. \"Since you're bent on robbing me of one good man, between you, I suppose I may as well find and keep the better of the two. Tomorrow, then, at nine of the clock, after Mass. Not here within the wards, but in the open\u2014the meadow outside the town gate, between road and river, will do well. Prestcote, you and Willem marshal the lists. See to it! And we'll have no horses put at risk,\" he said practically. \"On foot, and with swords!\"\n\nHugh Beringar bowed acquiescence. Courcelle said: \"Agreed!\" and smiled, thinking how much longer a reach and stronger a wrist he had for sword-play.\n\n\"A l'outrance!\" said the king with a vicious snap, and rose from the table to put an end to a sullied evening's entertainment."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "On the way back through the streets of the town, dark but not quite silent, somehow uneasily astir as if rats ran in a deserted house, Hugh Beringar on his rawboned grey drew alongside Brother Cadfael and walked his mount for some few minutes at their foot-pace, ignoring Brother Jerome's close proximity and attentive ears as though they had not existed. In front, Abbot Heribert and Prior Robert conversed in low and harried tones, concerned for one life at stake, but unable to intervene. Two young men at bitter enmity had declared for a death. Once both contestants had accepted the odds, there was no retreating; he who lost had been judged by heaven. If he survived the sword, the gallows waited for him.\n\n\"You may call me every kind of fool,\" said Beringar accommodatingly, \"if it will give you any ease.\" His voice had still its light, teasing intonation, but Cadfael was not deceived.\n\n\"It is not for me, of all men,\" he said, \"to blame, or pity\u2014or even regret what you have done.\"\n\n\"As a monk?\" asked the mild voice, the smile in it perceptible to an attentive ear.\n\n\"As a man! Devil take you!\"\n\n\"Brother Cadfael,\" said Hugh heartily, \"I do love you. You know very well you would have done the same in my place.\"\n\n\"I would not! Not on the mere guess of an old fool I hardly knew! How if I had been wrong?\"\n\n\"Ah, but you were not wrong! He is the man\u2014doubly a murderer, for he delivered her poor coward brother to his death just as vilely as he throttled Faintree. Mind, never a word to Aline about this until all's over\u2014one way or the other.\"\n\n\"Never a word, unless she speak the first. Do you think the news is not blown abroad all through this town by now?\"\n\n\"I know it is, but I pray she is deep asleep long ago, and will not go forth to hear this or any news until she goes to High Mass at ten. By which time, who knows, we may have the answer to everything.\"\n\n\"And you,\" said Brother Cadfael acidly, because of the pain he felt, that must have some outlet, \"will you now spend the night on your knees in vigil, and wear yourself out before ever you draw in the field?\"\n\n\"I am not such a fool as all that,\" said Hugh reprovingly, and shook a finger at his friend. \"For shame, Cadfael! You are a monk, and cannot trust God to see right done? I shall go to bed and sleep well, and rise fresh to the trial. And now I suppose you will insist on being my deputy and advocate to heaven?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cadfael grudgingly, \"I shall sleep, and get up only when the bell rings for me. Am I to have less faith than an impudent heathen like you?\"\n\n\"That's my Cadfael! Still,\" conceded Beringar, \"you may whisper a word or two to God on my behalf at Matins and Lauds, if you'll be so kind. If he turns a deaf ear to you, small use the rest of us wearing out our knee-bones.\" And he leaned from his tall horse to lay a light hand for an instant on Cadfael's broad tonsure, like a playful benediction, and then set spurs to his horse and trotted ahead, passing the abbot with a respectful reverence, to vanish into the curving descent of the Wyle.\n\nBrother Cadfael presented himself before the abbot immediately after Prime. It did not seem that Heribert was much surprised to see him, or to hear the request he put forward.\n\n\"Father Abbot, I stand with this young man Hugh Beringar in this cause. The probing that brought to light the evidence on which his charge rests, that was my doing. And even if he has chosen to take the cause into his own hands, refusing me any perilous part in it, I am not absolved. I pray leave to go and stand trial with him as best I may. Whether I am of help to him or not, I must be there. I cannot turn my back at this pass on my friend who has spoken for me.\"\n\n\"I am much exercised in mind, also,\" admitted the abbot, sighing. \"In spite of what the king has said, I can only pray that this trial need not be pressed to the death.\" And I, thought Cadfael ruefully, dare not even pray for that, since the whole object of this wager is to stop a mouth for ever. \"Tell me,\" said Heribert, \"is it certain that the man Courcelle killed that poor lad we have buried in the church?\"\n\n\"Father, it is certain. Only he had the dagger, only he can have left the broken part behind him. There is here a clear contest of right and wrong.\"\n\n\"Go, then,\" said the abbot. \"You are excused all duties until this matter is ended.\" For such duels had been known to last the day long, until neither party could well see, or stand, or strike, so that in the end one or the other fell and could not rise, and simply bled to death where he lay. And if weapons were broken, they must still fight, with hands, teeth and feet, until one or the other broke and cried for quarter; though few ever did, since that meant defeat, the judgment of heaven convicting, and the gallows waiting, an even more shameful death. A bitter business, thought Cadfael, kilting his habit and going out heavily from the gate house, not worthy of being reverenced as the verdict of God. In this case there was a certain appropriateness about it, however, and the divine utterance might yet be heard in it. If, he thought, I have as much faith as he? I wonder if he did indeed sleep well! And strangely, he could believe it. His own sleep had been fitful and troubled.\n\nGiles Siward's dagger, complete with its lopped topaz, he had brought back with him and left in his cell, promising the anxious fisher-boy either restoration or fair reward, but it was not yet time to speak to Aline in the matter. That must wait the issue of the day. If all went well, Hugh Beringar himself should restore it to her. If not\u2014no, he would not consider any such possibility.\n\nThe trouble with me, he thought unhappily, is that I have been about the world long enough to know that God's plans for us, however infallibly good, may not take the form that we expect and demand. And I find an immense potential for rebellion in this old heart, if God, for no matter what perfect end, choose to take Hugh Beringar out of this world and leave Adam Courcelle in it.\n\nOutside the northern gate of Shrewsbury the Castle Foregate housed a tight little suburb of houses and shops, but it ended very soon, and gave place to meadows on either side the road. The river twined serpentine coils on both sides, beyond the fields, and in the first level meadow on the left the king's marshals had drawn up a large square of clear ground, fenced in on every side by a line of Flemings with lances held crosswise, to keep back any inquisitive spectator who might encroach in his excitement, and to prevent flight by either contestant. Where the ground rose slightly, outside the square, a great chair had been placed for the king, and the space about it was kept vacant for the nobility, but on the other three sides there was already a great press of people. The word had run through Shrewsbury like the wind through leaves. The strangest thing was the quietness. Every soul about the square of lances was certainly talking, but in such hushed undertones that the sum of all those voices was no louder than the absorbed buzzing of a hive of bees in sunshine.\n\nThe slanting light of morning cast long but delicate shadows across the grass, and the sky above was thinly veiled with haze. Cadfael lingered where guards held a path clear for the procession approaching from the castle, a brightness of steel and sheen of gay colours bursting suddenly out of the dim archway of the gate. King Stephen, big, flaxen-haired, handsome, resigned now to the necessity that threatened to rob him of one of his officers, but none the better pleased for that, and not disposed to allow any concessions that would prolong the contest. To judge by his face, there would be no pauses for rest, and no limitation imposed upon the possible savagery. He wanted it over. All the knights and barons and clerics who streamed after him to his presidential chair were carrying themselves with the utmost discretion, quick to take their lead from him.\n\nThe two contestants appeared as the royal train drew aside. No shields, Cadfael noted, and no mail, only the simple protection of leather. Yes, the king wanted a quick end, none of your day-long hacking and avoiding until neither party could lift hand. On the morrow the main army would leave to follow the vanguard, no matter which of these two lay dead, and Stephen had details yet to be settled before they marched. Beringar first, the accuser, went to kneel to the king and do him reverence, and did so briskly, springing up vigorously from his knee and turning to where the ranks of lances parted to let him into the arena. He caught sight of Cadfael then, standing a little apart. In a face tight, grave and mature, still the black eyes smiled.\n\n\"I knew,\" he said, \"that you would not fail me.\"\n\n\"See to it,\" said Cadfael morosely, \"that you do not fail me.\"\n\n\"No dread,\" said Hugh. \"I'm shriven white as a March lamb.\" His voice was even and reflective. \"I shall never be readier. And your arm will be seconding mine.\"\n\nAt every stroke, thought Cadfael helplessly, and doubted that all these tranquil years since he took the cowl had really made any transformation in a spirit once turbulent, insubordinate and incorrigibly rash. He could feel his blood rising, as though it was he who must enter the lists.\n\nCourcelle rose from his knee and followed his accuser into the square. They took station at opposite corners, and Prestcote, with his marshal's truncheon raised, stood between them and looked to the king to give the signal. A herald was crying aloud the charge, the name of the challenger, and the refutation uttered by the accused. The crowd swayed, with a sound like a great, long-drawn sigh, that rippled all round the field. Cadfael could see Hugh's face clearly, and now there was no smiling, it was bleak, intent and still, eyes fixed steadily upon his opponent.\n\nThe king surveyed the scene, and lifted his hand. The truncheon fell and Prestcote drew aside to the edge of the square as the contestants advanced to meet each other.\n\nAt first sight, the contrast was bitter. Courcelle was half as big again, half as old again, with height and reach and weight all on his side, and there was no questioning his skill and experience. His fiery colouring and towering size made Beringar look no more than a lean, lightweight boy, and though that lightness might be expected to lend him speed and agility, within seconds it was clear that Courcelle also was very fast and adroit on his feet. At the first clash of steel on steel, Cadfael felt his own arm and wrist bracing and turning the stroke, and swung aside with the very same motion Beringar made to slide out of danger; the turn brought him about, with the arch of the town gate full in view.\n\nOut of the black hollow a girl came darting like a swallow, all swift black and white and a flying cloud of gold hair. She was running, very fleetly and purposefully, with her skirts caught up in her hands almost to the knee, and well behind her, out of breath but making what haste she could, came another young woman. Constance was wasting much of what breath she still had in calling after her mistress imploringly to stop, to come away, not to go near; but Aline made never a sound, only ran towards where two gallants of hers were newly launched on a determined attempt to kill each other. She looked neither to right nor left, but only craned to see over the heads of the crowd. Cadfael hastened to meet her, and she recognised him with a gasp, and flung herself into his arms.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael, what is this? What has he done? And you knew, you knew, and you never warned me! If Constance had not gone into town to buy flour, I should never have known\u2026\"\n\n\"You should not be here,\" said Cadfael, holding her quivering and panting on his heart. \"What can you do? I promised him not to tell you, he did not wish it. You should not look on at this.\"\n\n\"But I will!\" she said with passion. \"Do you think I'll go tamely away and leave him now? Only tell me,\" she begged, \"is it true what they're saying\u2014that he charged Adam with murdering that young man? And that Giles's dagger was the proof?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Cadfael. She was staring over his shoulder into the arena, where the swords clashed, and hissed and clashed again, and her amethyst eyes were immense and wild.\n\n\"And the charge\u2014that also is true?\"\n\n\"That also.\"\n\n\"Oh, God!\" she said, gazing in fearful fascination. \"And he is so slight\u2026 how can he endure it? Half the other's size\u2026 and he dared try to solve it this way! Oh, Brother Cadfael, how could you let him?\"\n\nAt least now, thought Cadfael, curiously eased, I know which of those two is \"he\" to her, without need of a name. I never was sure until now, and perhaps neither was she. \"If ever you succeed,\" he said, \"in preventing Hugh Beringar from doing whatever he's set his mind on doing, then come to me and tell me how you managed it. Though I doubt it would not work for me! He chose this way, girl, and he had his reasons, good reasons. And you and I must abide it, as he must.\"\n\n\"But we are three,\" she said vehemently. \"If we stand with him, we must give him strength. I can pray and I can watch, and I will. Bring me nearer\u2014come with me! I must see!\"\n\nShe was thrusting impetuously through towards the lances when Cadfael held her back by the arm. \"I think,\" he said, \"better if he does not see you. Not now!\"\n\nAline uttered something that sounded like a very brief and bitter laugh. \"He would not see me now,\" she said, \"unless I ran between the swords, and so I would, if they'd let me\u2014No!\" She took that back instantly, with a dry sob.\n\n\"No, I would not do so to him. I know better than that. All I can do is watch, and keep silence.\"\n\nThe fate of women in a world of fighting men, he thought wryly, but for all that, it is not so passive a part as it sounds. So he drew her to a slightly raised place where she could see, without disturbing, with the glittering gold sheen of her unloosed hair in the sun, the deadly concentration of Hugh Beringar. Who had blood on the tip of his sword by then, though from a mere graze on Courcelle's cheek, and blood on his own left sleeve below the leather.\n\n\"He is hurt,\" she said in a mourning whisper, and crammed half her small fist in her mouth to stop a cry, biting hard on her knuckles to ensure the silence she had promised.\n\n\"It's nothing,\" said Cadfael sturdily. \"And he is the faster. See there, that parry! Slight he might seem, but there's steel in that wrist. What he wills to do, he'll do. And he has truth weighting his hand.\"\n\n\"I love him,\" said Aline in a soft, deliberate whisper, releasing her bitten hand for a moment. \"I did not know until now, but I do love him!\"\n\n\"So do I, girl,\" said Cadfael, \"so do I!\"\n\nThey had been two full hours in the arena, with never a break for breath, and the sun was high and hot, and they suffered, but both went with relentless care, conserving their strength, and now, when their eyes met at close quarters over the braced swords, there was no personal grudge between them, only an inflexible purpose, on the one side to prove truth, on the other to disprove it, and on either side by the only means left, by killing. They had found out by then, if they had been in doubt, that for all the obvious advantages on one side, in this contest they were very evenly matched, equal in skill, almost equal in speed, the weight of truth holding a balance true between them. Both bled from minor wounds. There was blood here and there in the grass.\n\nIt was almost noon when Beringar, pressing hard, drove his opponent back with a sudden lunge, and saw his foot slip in blood-stained turf, thinned by the hot, dry summer. Courcelle, parrying, felt himself falling, and threw up his arm, and Hugh's following stroke took the sword almost out of his hand, shivered edge to edge, leaving him sprawled on one hip, and clutching only a bladeless hilt. The steel fell far aside, and lay useless.\n\nBeringar at once drew back, leaving his foe to rise unthreatened. He rested his point against the ground, and looked towards Prestcote, who in turn was looking for guidance to the king's chair.\n\n\"Fight on!\" said the king flatly. His displeasure had not abated.\n\nBeringar leaned his point into the turf and gazed, wiping sweat from brow and lip. Courcelle raised himself slowly, looked at the useless hilt in his hand, and heaved desperate breath before hurling the thing from him in fury. Beringar looked from him to the king, frowning, and drew off two or three more paces while he considered. The king made no further move, apart from gesturing dourly that they should continue. Beringar took three rapid strides to the rim of the square, tossed his sword beneath the levelled lances, and set hand slowly to draw the dagger at his belt.\n\nCourcelle was slow to understand, but blazed into renewed confidence when he realised the gift that was offered to him.\n\n\"Well, well!\" said King Stephen under his breath. \"Who knows but I may have been mistaken in the best man, after all?\"\n\nWith nothing but daggers now, they must come to grips. Length of reach is valuable, even with daggers, and the poniard that Courcelle drew from its sheath at his hip was longer than the decorative toy Hugh Beringar held. King Stephen revived into active interest, and shed his natural irritation at being forced into this encounter.\n\n\"He is mad!\" moaned Aline at Cadfael's shoulder, leaning against him with lips drawn back and nostrils flaring, like any of her fighting forebears. \"He had licence to kill at leisure. Oh, he is stark mad. And I love him!\"\n\nThe fearful dance continued, and the sun at its zenith shortened the shadows of the two duelists until they advanced, retreated, side-stepped on a black disc cast by their own bodies, while the full heat beat pitilessly on their heads, and within their leather harness they ran with sweat. Beringar was on the defensive now, his weapon being the shorter and lighter, and Courcelle was pressing hard, aware that he held the advantage. Only Beringar's quickness of hand and eye saved him from repeated slashes that might well have killed, and his speed and agility still enabled him at every assault to spring back out of range. But he was tiring at last; his judgment was less precise and confident, his movement less alert and steady. And Courcelle, whether he had got his second wind or simply gathered all his powers in one desperate effort, to make an end, seemed to have recovered his earlier force and fire. Blood ran on Hugh's right hand, fouled his hilt and made it slippery in his palm. The tatters of Courcelle's left sleeve fluttered at the edge of his vision, a distraction that troubled his concentration. He had tried several darting attacks, and drawn blood in his turn, but length of blade and length of arm told terribly against him. Doggedly he set himself to husband his own strength, by constant retreat if necessary, until Courcelle's frenzied attacks began to flag, as they must as last.\n\n\"Oh, God!\" moaned Aline almost inaudibly. \"He was too generous, he has given his life away\u2026 The man is playing with him!\"\n\n\"No man,\" said Cadfael firmly, \"plays with Hugh Beringar with impunity. He is still the fresher of the two. This is a wild spurt to end it, he cannot maintain it long.\"\n\nStep by step Hugh gave back, but at each attack only so far as to elude the blade, and step by step, in a series of vehement rushes, Courcelle pursued and drove him. It seemed that he was trying to pen him into a corner of the square, where he would have to make a stand, but at the last moment the attacker's judgment flagged or Hugh's agility swung him clear of the trap, for the renewed pursuit continued along the line of lancers, Beringar unable to break out again into the centre of the arena, Courcelle unable to get through the sustained defence, or prevent this lame progress that seemed likely to end in another corner.\n\nThe Flemings stood like rocks, and let battle, like a slow tide, flow painfully along their immovable ranks. And halfway along the side of the square Courcelle suddenly drew back one long, rapid step instead of pursuing, and tossing his poniard from him in the grass, stooped with a hoarse cry of triumph, and reached beneath the levelled lances, to rise again brandishing the sword Hugh Beringar had discarded as a grace to him, more than an hour previously.\n\nHugh had not even realised that they had come to that very place, much less that he had been deliberately driven here for this purpose. Somewhere in the crowd he heard a woman shriek. Courcelle was in the act of straightening up, the sword in his hand, his eyes, under the broad, streaming brow half-mad with exultation. But he was still somewhat off-balance when Hugh launched himself upon him in a tigerish leap. A second later would have been too late. As the sword swung upward, he flung his whole weight against Courcelle's breast, locked his right arm, dagger and all, about his enemy's body, and caught the threatening sword-arm by the wrist in his left hand. For a moment they heaved and strained, then they went down together heavily in the turf, and rolled and wrenched in a deadlocked struggle at the feet of the indifferent guards.\n\nAline clenched her teeth hard against a second cry, and covered her eyes, but the next moment as resolutely uncovered them. \"No, I will see all, I must\u2026 I will bear it! He shall not be ashamed of me! Oh, Cadfael\u2026 oh, Cadfael\u2026 What is happening? I can't see\u2026\n\n\"Courcelle snatched the sword, but he had no time to strike. Wait, one of them is rising\u2026\"\n\nTwo had fallen together, only one arose, and he stood half-stunned and wondering. For his enemy had fallen limp and still under him, and relaxed straining arms nervelessly into the grass; and there he lay now, open-eyed to the glare of the sun, and a slow stream of red was flowing sluggishly from under him, and forming a dark pool about him on the trampled ground.\n\nHugh Beringar looked from the gathering blood to the dagger he still gripped in his right hand, and shook his head in bewilderment, for he was very tired, and weak now with this abrupt and inexplicable ending, and there was barely a drop of fresh blood on his blade, and the sword lay loosely clasped still in Courcelle's right hand, innocent of his death. And yet he had his death; his life was ebbing out fast into the thick grass. So what manner of ominous miracle was this, that killed and left both weapons unstained?\n\nHugh stooped, and raised the inert body by the left shoulder, turning it to see where the blood issued; and there, driven deep through the leather jerkin, was the dead man's own poniard, which he had flung away to grasp at the sword. By the look of it the hilt had lodged downwards in thick grass against the solidly braced boot of one of the Flemings. Hugh's onslaught had flung the owner headlong upon his discarded blade, and their rolling, heaving struggle had driven it home.\n\nI did not kill him, after all, though Beringar. His own cunning killed him. And whether he was glad or sorry he was too drained to know. Cadfael would be satisfied, at least; Nicholas Faintree was avenged, he had justice in full. His murderer had been accused publicly, and publicly the charge had been justified by heaven. And his murderer was dead; that failing breath was already spent.\n\nBeringar reached down and picked up his sword, which rose unresisting out of the convicted hand. He turned slowly, and raised it in salute to the king, and walked, limping now and dropping a few trickles of blood from stiffening cuts in hand and forearm, out of the square of lances, which opened silently to let him go free.\n\nTwo or three paces he took across the sward towards the king's chair, and Aline flew into his arms, and clasped him with a possessive fervour that shook him fully alive again. Her gold hair streamed about his shoulders and breast, she lifted to him a rapt, exultant and exhausted face, the image of his own, she called him by his name: \"Hugh\u2026 Hugh\u2026\" and fingered with aching tenderness the oozing wounds that showed in his cheek and hand and wrist.\n\n\"Why did you not tell me? Why? Why? Oh, you have made me die so many times! Now we are both alive again\u2026 Kiss me!\"\n\nHe kissed her, and she remained real, passionate and unquestionably his. She continued to caress, and fret, and fawn.\n\n\"Hush, love,\" he said, eased and restored, \"or go on scolding, for if you turn tender to me now I'm a lost man. I can't afford to droop yet, the king's waiting. Now, if you're my true lady, lend me your arm to lean on, and come and stand by me and prop me up, like a good wife, or I may fall flat at his feet.\"\n\n\"Am I your true lady?\" demanded Aline, like all women wanting guarantees before witnesses.\n\n\"Surely! Too late to think better of it now, my heart!\"\n\nShe was beside him, clasped firmly in his arm, when he came before the king. \"Your Grace,\" said Hugh, condescending out of some exalted private place scarcely flawed by weariness and wounds, \"I trust I have proven my case against a murderer, and have your Grace's countenance and approval.\"\n\n\"Your opponent,\" said Stephen, \"proved your case for you, all too well.\" He eyed them thoughtfully, disarmed and diverted by this unexpected apparition of entwined lovers. \"But what you have proved may also be your gain. You have robbed me, young man, of an able deputy sheriff of this shire, whatever else he may have been, and however foul a fighter. I may well take reprisal by drafting you into the vacancy you've created. Without prejudice to your own castles and your rights of garrison on our behalf. What do you say?\"\n\n\"With your Grace's leave,\" said Beringar, straight-faced, \"I must first take counsel with my bride.\"\n\n\"Whatever is pleasing to my lord,\" said Aline, equally demurely, \"is also pleasing to me.\"\n\nWell, well, though Brother Cadfael, looking on with interest, I doubt if troth was ever plighted more publicly. They had better invite the whole of Shrewsbury to the wedding.\n\nBrother Cadfael walked across to the guest hall before Compline, and took with him not only a pot of his goose-grass salve for Hugh Beringar's numerous minor grazes, but also Giles Siward's dagger, with its topaz finial carefully restored.\n\n\"Brother Oswald is a skilled silversmith, this is his gift and mine to your lady. Give it to her yourself. But ask her\u2014as I know she will\u2014to deal generously by the boy who fished it out of the river. So much you will have to tell her. For the rest, for her brother's part, yes, silence, now and always. For her he was only one of the many who chose the unlucky side, and died for it.\"\n\nBeringar took the repaired dagger in his hand, and booked at it long and somberly. \"Yet this is not justice,\" he said slowly. \"You and I between us have forced into the light the truth of one man's sins, and covered up the truth of another's.\" This night, for all his gains, he was very grave and a little sad, and not only because all his wounds were stiffening, and all his misused muscles groaning at every movement. The recoil from triumph had him fixing honest eyes on the countenance of failure, the fate he had escaped. \"Is justice due only to the blameless? If he had not been so visited and tempted, he might never have found himself mired to the neck in so much infamy.\"\n\n\"We deal with what is,\" said Cadfael. \"Leave what might have been to eyes that can see it plain. You take what's lawfully and honourably won, and value and enjoy it. You have that right. Here are you, deputy sheriff of Salop, in royal favour, affianced to as fine a girl as heart could wish, and, the one you set your mind on from the moment you saw her. Be sure I noticed! And if you're stiff and sore in every bone tomorrow\u2014and, lad, you will be!\u2014what's a little disciplinary pain to a young man in your high feather?\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Hugh, brightening, \"where the other two are by now.\"\n\n\"Within reach of the Welsh coast, waiting for a ship to carry them coastwise round to France. They'll do well enough.\" As between Stephen and Maud, Cadfael felt no allegiance; but these young creatures, though two of them held for Maud and two for Stephen, surely belonged to a future and an England delivered from the wounds of civil war, beyond this present anarchy.\n\n\"As for justice,\" said Brother Cadfael thoughtfully, \"it is but half the tale.\" He would say a prayer at Compline for the repose of Nicholas Faintree, a clean young man of mind and life, surely now assuaged and at rest. But he would also say a prayer for the soul of Adam Courcelle, dead in his guilt; for every untimely death, every man cut down in his vigour and strength without time for repentance and reparation, is one corpse too many. \"No need,\" said Cadfael, \"for you ever to look over your shoulder, or feel any compunction. You did the work that fell to you, and did it well. God disposes all. From the highest to the lowest extreme of a man's scope, wherever justice and retribution can reach him, so can grace.\""
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Ghostly Muders",
        "author": "Paul Doherty",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "Stories Told on Pilgrimage from London to Canterbury"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "The pilgrims were lost. They had passed St Thomas' well on the ancient route to Canterbury but, late in the afternoon, a sudden mist had come swirling in over the flat Kent countryside. At first this had caused laughter and a little merriment as the Summoner took advantage of the confusion to clutch the generous thigh of the Wife of Bath. The Man of Law and the Prioress hung back in the confusion and, when Mine Host turned round, he was sure the lawyer and the nun were kissing each other, albeit chastely.\n\n'By Satan's cock!' he growled to the Knight. 'We must not become separated.'\n\nThe Knight shifted in the saddle, easing his sword out of his scabbard. He did not like such mists. They awoke nightmares in his soul from when he had campaigned in Anatolia: they'd be crossing the floor of some heavily wooded valley when the devil's fog boiled up. He would ride ahead of his troops listening for any strange sounds: the clink of steel, or the creaking of harness. The only signs that the ghostly silence was to be broken by blood-curdling screams just before the Turckopoles, on their nimble horses, burst like demons out of the swirling mists.\n\n'We must keep together,' the Knight declared. 'Yeoman!' He turned to his bodyguard. 'Sound the horn!' The Knight stood up in his stirrups. 'Listen now!' His voice boomed through the mist. 'Follow the sounds of the horn!'\n\nThe Yeoman rode up to the head of the column.\n\n'Oh, pray we don't get lost!' Mine Host moaned. He raised his voice. 'Let's pray,' he said, 'to St Thomas \u00e0 Becket whose blessed bones we go to venerate at Canterbury!'\n\nThe Miller gave a loud fart in answer, making the Carpenter snigger and giggle. Nevertheless, the pilgrims grouped closer. The Summoner moved his fat, little horse behind that of the Franklin. He was not just interested in the Franklin's costly silk purse, white as the morning milk. Oh no, the Summoner smiled to himself: he, like some others, was increasingly fascinated by this motley group of pilgrims making their way to Canterbury in the year of Our Lord 1389. All seemed to be acquainted with each other and he definitely knew the Franklin. They had met many years ago on a blood-soaked island. He was sure of it, as he was that the Franklin had had a hand in his father's death. He would have liked to have talked to his colleague the Pardoner but he was now suspicious for the Summoner had recently discovered that the Franklin and the Pardoner were close friends. Indeed, this cunning man, with his bag full of relics and the bones of saints slung on a string round his neck, was certainly not what he claimed to be.\n\nBehind the Summoner, the Friar, nervous of the cloying mist, plucked at the harp slung over his saddle horn. As he played, the Friar glanced furtively at the Monk, riding alongside him. The Friar closed his eyes and strummed at the harp strings, calling up a little ditty he had learnt, anything to drive away the fears. He did not like the Monk sitting so arrogantly on his berry-brown palfrey: that smooth, fat face, those dark, soulless eyes and that smile, wolfish, the eye-teeth hanging down like jagged daggers. Who was the Monk? Why was the Knight so wary of him? And the latter's son? The young, golden-haired Squire, he always kept an eye on the Monk, hand on the pommel of his sword, as if he expected the Monk to launch a sudden assault upon his father the Knight. Was the Monk, the Friar wondered, one of those Strigoi mentioned by the Knight in his tale? Did the Monk belong to the Undead? Those damned souls who wandered the face of the earth, finding their sustenance in human blood?\n\nThe Yeoman issued another loud blast on his hunting horn. The sound was not comforting; it pierced the mist like the wail of a lost soul.\n\n'The mist is getting thicker!' the Reeve exclaimed. And so it was, billowing like clouds around them.\n\n'Where does it come from?' the Merchant asked.\n\n'It's the devil's fog!' the Pardoner screeched.\n\n'It's a sea mist,' the Sea Captain interrupted. He held up his hand. 'Kent is flat, smooth as a piece of well-shorn wood bounded by the sea and, after rain or when the wind shifts to the east, the mist boils in like steam from a cauldron.'\n\n'I wish I was with my cauldron now,' the Cook moaned. 'Stirring some sweet pottage.'\n\nThe Reeve looked away in disgust as the Cook pulled up his hose and scratched the ulcer on his shin.\n\n'I could make a lovely blancmange,' the Cook continued.\n\nThe Reeve hawked, spat and spurred on.\n\nAnother wail from the hunting horn.\n\n'Stop!' the Yeoman shouted. 'No further, look!'\n\nMine Host, joined by the Knight and the cheery-faced, merry-eyed customs collector Sir Geoffrey Chaucer, rode to the front of the column.\n\n'What's the matter?' the Knight asked.\n\n'Listen!' the Yeoman replied.\n\nThe Knight did. 'I can hear nothing. Nothing at all.'\n\n'Exactly!' the Yeoman declared. 'There should be bird song, even the crows and rooks will not be silenced by a mist. What is more, the path has petered out.'\n\nThe Knight looked down: the beaten trackway had vanished. He dismounted and walked tentatively forward. Immediately he felt as if the earth was giving way beneath him: his high-heeled hunting boots became stuck in the cloying mud.\n\n'It's a marsh!' he yelled.\n\nAlready the mud was creeping up his leg. Chaucer took off his broad leather belt, threw one end at the Knight and, turning his horse round, moved backwards, scattering the pilgrims as he dragged the Knight out of the mire.\n\n'Thank you.'\n\nSir Godfrey ran his fingers through his iron-grey hair. Even then, despite his narrow escape from the marsh, he glanced quickly around making sure where the Monk was: his enemy just sat upon his horse, face hidden deep in the cowl of his cloak. Nevertheless, Sir Godfrey glimpsed the sinister smile: those eyes gleaming at him, lips bared like a dog. I'll kill him, Sir Godfrey thought. God be my witness, he is a Strigoi. When we reach Canterbury, perhaps before we go to the shrine, I'll challenge him.\n\n'Where to now, Sir Godfrey?' Mine Host shouted.\n\nThe Knight, helped by his son, remounted. He raised himself high in the stirrups.\n\n'We cannot go on,' he declared, 'whilst to move sideways could invite disaster.'\n\n'Oh, my goodness, look!' The Miller pointed where the mists swirled over the marsh. 'Look, there's a light!'\n\nAll the pilgrims turned, their hearts beating a little faster, mouths dry. At first they thought the Miller had been drinking. The Carpenter was about to tell him to go and play his bagpipes when the mist swirled again and he glimpsed the pinpricks of light, like torches shimmering through the mist. The Carpenter was about to go forward but the Poor Priest, that gentle-eyed man, caught him by the shoulder.\n\n'Don't be foolish!' he said. 'They are not human lights.'\n\nHis words only increased the pilgrims' fears.\n\n'What are they?' The Wife of Bath turned, fingers fluttering to her generous lips.\n\n'Corpse candles!'\n\nThe Ploughman, the Poor Priest's brother, clutching the bridle of his brother's skinny horse, stared anxiously up at the Priest.\n\n'Corpse candles?' the Miller asked. 'Bugger that!' He drew his rusty sword.\n\n'They are called corpse candles,' the Poor Priest explained. 'According to some, they are gases from the marsh which ignite like fire-flies above a pond. Others claim they are the Devil's lights, candles lit in hell and brought by the fiends to lure poor souls to their deaths.'\n\n'Oh, Lord save us!' The Wife of Bath pushed down her broad-brimmed hat more firmly on her head. Her cheeks were no longer red but pale. She forced a gap-toothed smile at the Knight. 'Oh, Sir Godfrey, save us!'\n\nThe Knight gently dug his heels into his horse. The pilgrims parted though none of them wished to be forced off the trackway.\n\n'Follow me,' the Knight ordered. 'Ride in single file. Mine Host, Sir Geoffrey, keep to the back. Yeoman, at my signal, blow your horn!'\n\nNone of the pilgrims protested, only too willing to follow the Knight out of danger. They must have journeyed for at least an hour when the Miller gave a whoop of joy followed by a blast on his bagpipes.\n\n'Look!' he yelled. 'The mist is lifting!'\n\nAnd so it was. As if, according to the Pardoner, the blessed Thomas himself had come and brought back the sun. The mist disappeared but, as they came to the foot of a small hill, the Knight let his reins drop. He scratched his head and stared back over the wild Kent countryside.\n\n'We are away from the marsh,' he declared. 'But, Pilgrims all, I beg your pardon, we are lost.' He pointed to the sun, still hidden by a haze, now drooping like a molten light into the west. 'It will soon be sunset. When darkness falls the mists might return.' He stared round and shrugged. 'I'm sorry but we'll have to camp out in the open. We have provisions, we have wine, fresh meat as well as pastries bought at Singlewell...'\n\n'We can go there.' The Squire who had ridden to the brow of the hill was pointing down the other side.\n\nThe others joined him. The ruins lay at the bottom of the hill: a derelict church, a parson's house, further along the overgrown high street were the shabby remains of a tavern with decaying houses on either side.\n\n'A ruined village,' the Poor Priest breathed. He pointed to the birds clustered on the old roofs. 'No sign of any habitation,' he added.\n\n'What happened there?' the Prioress spoke up. 'Qu'est-ce que?' she added in her Stratford-Le-Bow French.\n\n'The plague, my lady,' the Poor Priest answered.\n\nThe Prioress glanced at him in surprise. 'I did not know you understood French.' She pouted.\n\n'Madam, you didn't ask.'\n\nHis brother came up beside him. 'It brings back memories, Brother.'\n\n'Yes, yes, it does,' the Poor Priest murmured.\n\n'Well, we can't stand here talking,' Mine Host declared, now reassuming leadership of the group once the mist had lifted. 'Sir Godfrey is right: soon it will be dark and I don't fancy roaming the wilds of Kent and blundering into another marsh.'\n\nThey slowly descended the overgrown path into the derelict village. From the top of the hill, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by green fields, the village had appeared comely, even welcoming. Now, as they made their way along the desolate high street, the pilgrims were not so sure. The sun became hidden behind a cloud and a light breeze whipped up the dust and rattled the drooping shutters or creaked a battered door. They gathered in the centre of the village near the well, its surrounding wall crumbling. On the other side of it a gallows, driven into the earth, had slid sideways so it looked like some accusing finger pointing at the sky. A piece of rotting rope hung from its rusting hook; this danced in the evening wind as if some ghostly corpse still hung there.\n\n'What did happen here?' the Prioress repeated. 'Why is it desolate?'\n\n'Over thirty years ago,' the Poor Priest replied, 'the Black Death visited!'\n\nHis words stilled all clamour, even the horses seemed cowed by the mention of the ghastly pestilence which had swept across England, killing two out of three in every town.\n\n'It's true.' The Knight spoke up. 'You can find such villages the length and breadth of the kingdom. Ghostly houses, empty taverns, rotting churches. The people just died; those who survived, fled.' He looked around. 'Somewhere here must lie the communal burial pit.'\n\n'Is it safe to stay here?' the Reeve squeaked, his bulbous eyes full of fear. He stared across through the empty doorway of the old tavern as if the Plague lurked there, watching them all, ready to strike.\n\n'Of course it is.' The Physician spoke up, hitching his furred robes around his shoulder. 'The Death has gone: the constellation and stars have dispersed the malignant humours. Moreover, I have, in my fardel, a powerful potion against its return. It only costs\u2014'\n\n'Yes, yes,' the Knight interrupted. 'The village is empty because the people died. Such places are avoided even by outlaws, so we'll be safe here tonight.' He pointed towards the ruined steeple of the church. 'We'll stay there, collect some wood, build a fire and make comfortable beds. It will be cleaner and better than staying in any tavern. Come on.'\n\nThey rode on down. The pilgrims were still subdued: the desolate village had an eerie, macabre atmosphere. A banging door or a bird bursting out of some open window would make them jump, then they'd laugh to cover their nervousness.\n\n'Perhaps the ghosts still live here?' the Poor Priest muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 'They may resent our presence.'\n\n'Then, Brother, we will say our prayers,' the Ploughman replied. 'We have nothing to fear. We have atoned for our sins.'\n\nThey reached the church, crossed the overgrown cemetery and went in through the shabby corpse door. The nave of the church was in fairly good repair: a few holes in the roof, some rubble on the floor but otherwise a comfortable enough place to spend the night. The horses were unsaddled and taken to a nearby house. The Miller and the Reeve offered to collect grass and ensure each animal had its portion of oats. The Knight ordered the Yeoman and the Squire to collect brushwood for fires. The Prioress, of course, had to have a corner all to herself, though she didn't object to her handsome, sallow-faced priest joining her there for discussions. The Poor Priest and his brother walked off through the crumbling rood screen and into the sanctuary. They wanted to convince themselves that no blasphemy could occur but the altar had gone: only a hook in the ceiling showed where the pyx, containing the Body of Christ, had once hung.\n\nWhilst the rest busied themselves, the Poor Priest and his brother, usually so eager to help, wandered around the church looking at the faded wall paintings, scenes from the life of Christ or those of the prophets. The one above the main door showed St Michael driving Satan and his angels, monkey-faced imps, into the roaring fires of hell. The Poor Priest shivered.\n\n'It brings back memories, Brother.' He breathed in deeply. 'A desolate village, a ruined church. It reminds me of Scawsby.'\n\n'No, Brother,' the Ploughman reassured him. 'The Spectantes...'\n\n'Speak in English,' his brother interrupted. 'Lest someone overhears us.' He grinned. 'Hedge priests and ploughmen are not supposed to understand Latin!'\n\n'Whatever,' the Ploughman replied. 'The Watchers are not here!'\n\n'Come on! Come on!' the Miller shouted.\n\nThey walked back to the centre of the nave. The Reeve had lit a fire and the flames caught the dry branches and leapt boisterously, providing warmth and light. The pilgrims gathered round. The Yeoman returned with a pheasant and two rabbits. The Cook took these and, in the twinkling of an eye, had gutted and prepared them for roasting. He packed the soft flesh with herbs and placed them on makeshift spits above the flames. Soon the nave was filled with the savoury smell of roasting flesh. The Pardoner and Summoner brought across the supplies, pannikins of wine and a small hogs-head of ale whilst each pilgrim brought a cup from their own small saddlebags. The meat was shared out on makeshift platters with bread, cheese and a little dry bacon. Wine warmed their bellies and everyone relaxed, chattering merrily, telling each other that the nave was as good as any tavern or hostelry. Nevertheless, as the evening wore on, the fire began to die: the pilgrims began to be aware of the shadows dancing against the walls, of the pressing loneliness outside, broken now and again by the mournful hooting of an owl, the yip yip of a fox and, on one occasion, the shrill scream of some animal in its death throes.\n\n'The mist is returning,' the Manciple called out.\n\nThey stared through the glassless window at the wispy tendrils seeping into the church.\n\n'Build the fire up,' the Knight, ordered. 'Keep it vigorous and merry. We'll sleep around it. No harm will befall us, I am sure. The sun will rise bright and strong and we'll find our path again.'\n\nThe Miller lifted himself up and gave a huge fart.\n\n'I'm not sleeping near you,' the Prioress protested bitterly. She fingered her silver brooch bearing the words AMOR VINCIT OMNIA which hung round her neck. She caressed her little lap dog which she always kept warm in the folds of her robes. 'You are disgusting!' she continued.\n\nThe Miller, who had drunk deeply, just burped.\n\n'Like some nuns I know!' he muttered.\n\n'What was that?' Dame Eglantine the Prioress snapped, angry that this oaf would not move away.\n\n'Just like some nuns I know.' The Miller staggered to his feet, his bagpipes in his hand, the fire lighting up his craggy face and broad, spade-like beard. 'I'll tell you a story about nuns. There's a house in London just overlooking the Steelyard. My aunt, who was a very old nun and blunt in speech, was sent there. The little ladies,' he added maliciously, glancing at the Prioress, 'didn't like her rough tongue and coarse language, so they protested to Mother Superior. She told them that if they were in a room when my aunt used such language they were to leave immediately.'\n\n'Oh, stop this!' the Prioress interrupted.\n\n'No, go on!' the Reeve shouted. 'Let's hear the story.'\n\n'Well, one day,' the Miller continued, bubbling with laughter. 'The King's fleet came up the Thames and anchored within bowshot of the convent. My old aunt came in: \"Satan's bollocks!\" she cried, peering out of the window. \"The King's ships have berthed and his lusty men will soon be ashore!\" At this the young nuns fled the room.' The Miller began to laugh. \"Come back, you noddlepates!\" my aunt shouted. \"There's no need to rush! The sailors are hot and lusty but they'll be here for at least a week!\"'\n\nThe Miller and Reeve began to crow with laughter. Dame Eglantine got up and walked to the other side of the fire. The rest of the pilgrims began to tell similar funny stories. The Poor Priest, his belly now full, his mind still absorbed in the past, got up and walked to the corpse door and stared out into the night. The mist hung like smoke over the overgrown cemetery. The Poor Priest walked outside. The sky was hidden. Only the twisted trees and bushes could be seen, like bodies writhing in pain. The Priest closed his eyes. Just like Scawsby, he thought, yet everything had begun so well... He heard a sound deep in the mist, as if someone was walking across the graveyard towards him.\n\n'Who is there?' he called out.\n\nNo answer. The sound now came from his left. The Priest whirled round. The mist shifted. His heart skipped a beat. He was sure he had seen a cowled figure there and a pair of eyes, like red coals, glowing in the darkness. A breeze, cold and sharp, caught at the Priest's face. He was about to step back when he heard the whisper.\n\n'Spectamus te! Semper spectabimus te! We are watching you! We shall always be watching you!'\n\nThe Priest went back into the church, almost colliding with his brother.\n\n'It's time,' the Priest muttered.\n\n'Time for what?'\n\n'Time I exorcised the ghosts.'\n\nThe Priest shook off his brother's hand and walked towards the fire. The pilgrims looked up expectantly. The Priest was usually as timid and quiet as a mouse, now he walked, shoulders back, head held up. His face had lost that soft, easy smile. He was gaunt and pale, fixed-gazed and thin-lipped.\n\n'Mine Host. This is a sombre place!'\n\n'It is indeed, Father,' Mine Host replied curiously.\n\n'And a tale should be told?'\n\n'Why, of course,' the taverner replied. 'I doubt if anyone will really sleep tonight. Now, remember.' He held a finger up. 'Whatever the weather, wherever we are, we all promised to tell two tales. One during the day and one at night. The latter must always be one of mischief: of dark things in hidden places. Tonight is to be no exception!'\n\n'Oh, I like to be frightened.' The Wife of Bath spoke up. 'And what a place for it?'\n\nShe stared round and her smile faded. Perhaps it wasn't. The church looked more forbidding: the flames lit up the lurid paintings on the walls. The Wife of Bath swallowed hard and moved closer to the clerk sitting next to her.\n\n'I'll tell you a tale,' the Poor Priest began. 'But I must warn you. It will chill the heart and curdle the blood. It's about a village called Scawsby here in Kent.' His eyes took on a faraway look. He glanced over the heads of the pilgrims. 'A tale of ghosts, of sorcery, of the Spectantes.'\n\n'The who?' the Summoner shouted.\n\n'The Watchers,' the Priest replied. 'Oh, don't worry, you'll meet them soon. However, before I begin, I must give you a prologue about events that happened many years ago. About a small Templar force under Sir William Chasny. He, too, was crossing the wilds of Kent on a dark, wintry night. He, too, became lost. He, too, saw the corpse candles. What happened next is the beginning of a tragedy which cost the lives and souls of many.'\n\n'The Templars?' the Knight interrupted. 'Scawsby?'\n\n'Yes, I have heard about that,' the Man of Law added. 'Legends about a great treasure trove?'\n\n'Who are the Templars?' the Cook asked.\n\n'They were a religious order,' the Knight replied. 'Warrior monks, sworn to defend the Holy Sepulchre. In 1307, yes that's the year, Philip of France accused them of witchcraft, sodomy.' He lowered his voice. 'And other terrible crimes.'\n\n'The Order was spread all across Europe,' the Friar added. 'It was even greater than my own. They owned vast treasures and were said to possess magical powers.'\n\n'Is your story about these?' the Wife of Bath asked.\n\n'The Templars are the source of my story,' the Poor Priest replied. 'They play a role.'\n\n'And this treasure?' the Pardoner asked. 'What are the legends? Do you know about that, Sir Godfrey?'\n\n'From the little I know,' the Knight scratched his chin and stretched his hand out towards the fire, 'the English crown was reluctant to believe the stories against the Templars. For a while they were given a respite. Now, if you have been to London, you will have seen the Templar church?'\n\nMany of the pilgrims nodded and said they had.\n\n'It lies between Fleet Street and the Thames,' Sir Geoffrey Chaucer explained. 'Near Whitefriars.'\n\n'Well,' Sir Godfrey continued. 'The Templars stored their wealth there. It was really a treasure house as well as a church. Eventually the English king had to obey the orders of the Pope so a group of Templars gathered up their treasure and left London, travelling south across the Thames and into Kent. They were led by one of their most holy and redoubtable fighters, Sir William Chasny.'\n\n'And what happened to them?' the Cook asked.\n\n'I don't know,' Sir Godfrey replied. 'They just disappeared. Some people claim they slipped in disguise out of the kingdom. Others that they were spirited away by angels.'\n\n'But you, Sir Godfrey?' the Franklin asked.\n\n'Oh, different kings and princes have searched for that treasure but no one has ever found it. There are many legends. One that they were attacked and massacred: that the treasure lies somewhere in the wilds of Kent.' He laughed harshly. 'Perhaps even here.'\n\nThe Yeoman, who had left the fire and been walking round the church half listening to the conversation, now came back.\n\n'Sir Godfrey?'\n\n'What is it, man?'\n\n'You talk of the Templars?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'How did they dress?'\n\n'Oh, like any knight except for their surcoats, white with a great six-sided cross upon it. Sometimes they wore the same cross on the shoulder of their tunics.'\n\nThe Yeoman pursed his lips. 'I think you should see this.'\n\n'See what?' the Squire asked.\n\n'I'd just like Sir Godfrey to see it,' the Yeoman replied.\n\nThe pilgrims stirred. The crop-headed, weather-beaten face of the Yeoman was always a source of strength: dressed in his lincoln green, with his jaunty dirk pushed into his belt, his long bow and quiver on his back, the pilgrims regarded the Yeoman as their fighting man. Now he was pale and agitated.\n\n'There's something on the wall in the sanctuary,' he declared. 'Something you should all see.' He pointed to the darkness outside. 'And I do not wish to alarm you but I'm certain, sir, I heard a sound...'\n\nSir Godfrey clambered to his feet. He took a burning brand from the fire and told his squire to do likewise. They all followed the Yeoman up into the sanctuary, turning left into a small enclave which led into the dark, crumbling sacristy. The air was dank and cold. The pilgrims shivered and looked longingly over their shoulders at the merry fire they had left.\n\n'Well, what is it?' the Poor Priest asked.\n\nThe Yeoman held up the brand against the wall. The Priest's heart skipped a beat. The Ploughman groaned, his fingers going to his lips. There, on each side of the wall leading into the sacristy, were the Templar crosses. The red paint was beginning to fade, the plaster on which they were painted crumbling and wet. Nevertheless, the insignia could be clearly seen.\n\n'This must have been a Templar manor?' the Man of Law spoke up. 'Probably the church and the village were once owned by the Order. When the Templars disappeared, their possessions were sold to the highest bidder.'\n\n'It's true,' the Priest exclaimed.\n\nHe crouched down, asking Sir Godfrey to lower the torch. He pointed at the fading picture beneath the cross, two knights, swords drawn, making obeisance to the crucifix above them.\n\n'And these sounds outside?' Sir Godfrey asked.\n\nEveryone scampered back into the nave. The pilgrims gathered round the fire. Mine Host said he would stay and look after the ladies. Sir Godfrey, sword drawn and accompanied by his son, the Yeoman and Sir Geoffrey Chaucer, who had also drawn sword and dagger, went out into the darkness. The Poor Priest took a brand from the fire and, accompanied by his brother, followed them. They clustered just outside the door, ears straining as the mist swirled about them.\n\n'Silent as the grave,' the Squire murmured. 'Not even an owl hoot.'\n\n'That's what concerns me,' the Knight replied. 'Surely there should be?'\n\n'I'll go,' the Squire offered.\n\n'No you won't.' The Poor Priest pushed his way forward. 'I and my brother will go.'\n\n'But there's nothing there,' Sir Godfrey declared.\n\nAs if in answer they heard a twig snap and a clinking, as if mailed men stood in the darkness watching them. Before anyone could stop him, the Poor Priest had darted forward. They watched him go, the firebrand a pinprick of light in the swirling mist. The Ploughman would have followed but Sir Godfrey held him back.\n\n'No,' he whispered.\n\nThe Poor Priest, now resolute, crept forward, moving slowly now, fearful lest he trip over a crumbling gravestone: the ground was also uneven, small dips and mounds to catch the unwary. He lifted the firebrand.\n\n'Who is there?' he called.\n\nNo answer.\n\n'Are you watching me?' he whispered. 'I have made atonement and I will make atonement.'\n\nCertain that there was no one there, he sighed and made to go back to the church.\n\n'Spectamus te!' The voice seemed to come from the blackness. 'We are watching you!'\n\nThe Priest spun round.\n\n'We are watching you!' The words now seemed to come from his left.\n\nWas that a shadow or a man standing? he wondered. The Poor Priest walked slowly back to his companions outside the corpse door.\n\n'There's no one there.' Nevertheless he glanced anxiously at his brother.\n\nThey all walked back in to join the rest of the pilgrims. Mine Host filled the wine cups. Now they were all attention, the Poor Priest stood up and began to tell his tale."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Poor Priest's Tale",
                "text": "[ Prologue \u2014 The Weald of Kent, near Scawsby, February 1308 ]\n\nSir William Chasny, knight commander in the Order of the Templars, reined in and looked back through the driving snow at his companions: nine brother knights and two serjeants-at-arms from the Templar headquarters in London. They all huddled on their horses, great war cloaks protecting the icy, gleaming mail beneath. Cowls were pulled as far across their heads as possible, anything to protect their faces from the biting wind and driving snow.\n\n'Sir William.' One of the knights pushed his horse forward. 'We must camp. The horses are beaten and, if we go on, some of the men will collapse.' He lowered his voice. 'And there's the treasure, surely...'\n\nSir William, his face burnt almost black by the fierce sun of North Africa, lifted his hand for silence. He stared along the line of men and horses. He studied the sumpter ponies waiting so patiently and the little palfrey with its precious burden. Sir William glanced up at the sky. No stars. The clouds were full of snow yet to fall. He looked round. The land was harsh: not a tree to sit under, not a barn or a cottage, or even a shepherd's bothie, where his men could shelter to build a fire and warm themselves.\n\n'We must go on a little more,' he declared.\n\nThe man made to protest. Sir William leaned across and grasped his wrist. 'We must go on,' he repeated. 'Brother, we are no longer Knights Templar. We are fugitives. In France all our companions are either dead or lie in dungeons awaiting execution. Our Grand Master is the prisoner of Philip IV. Edward II has followed suit. Warrants have been issued for our arrest and the seizure of our treasure.' Sir William pointed down to the palfrey. 'If we are taken, that is lost. If we go on, we might find shelter, some food, some heat. Tomorrow, God willing, we may reach port and go\u2014'\n\n'And go where?' his companion asked bitterly. 'Where can a Templar go, Sir William? Heaven is closed, Hell awaits. A year ago we were the most puissant Order in Christendom. Now, look at us, felons in our own country! We can be cut down by any peasant with a hoe or scythe.'\n\n'People are good,' Sir William replied. 'People here are good, they will take pity.' He smiled, brushing the snowflakes from his moustache and beard. 'Well, as long as they don't know about the treasure we carry.' He raised himself in the stirrups and shouted down the line of men. The wind snatched at his words. 'We go on!' he yelled. 'Soon, I know, we'll be in Scawsby. We can shelter there. Food and wine for our bellies and a roaring fire to burn away the cold.' He turned his horse and led his men on.\n\nNevertheless, Sir William was worried. Earlier in the day, before the snow had begun to fall in earnest, they had passed through a small hamlet and stopped at an ale-house for some greasy food and watered wine. The villagers had been suspicious. One man in particular, a tinker who said he was going on to Scawsby, had studied them, narrow-eyed. Sir William and his companions had not worn their Templar cloaks with the tell-tale cross. However, the rat-faced trader seemed able to read their thoughts: one of the serjeants had found him out in the stable looking at their horses. Sir William pulled his cowl over his face. Head down, reins loose in his hands, he let his horse plod on.\n\nThe man had not, thankfully, been up to the hayloft. He'd run away but where to? Had he gone further along the road to warn others? After all, the fall of the Templars was now well known and every sheriff, constable, bailiff, harbour master and port reeve had been warned to stop and arrest any Templars and seize their goods. Sir William closed his eyes, praying for his brothers now awaiting the scaffold in prisons in London, Paris, Rome and Cologne. For what? For charges that weren't worth the parchment they were written on? Nothing more than the ruses of cunning and avaricious princes to seize Templar wealth and lands. Sir William was determined that the holy and precious treasure from the Templar church in London would not fall into the greedy hands of such despicable men. He and his companions, hands extended over the sacrament in a secret chapel beneath the church in London, had sworn great oaths.\n\n'We will guard this treasure,' they had intoned. 'By day and night. With body, mind and soul. May God, His Angels, Saints and all the Heavenly Court witness that we shall do all in our power to protect this sacred gift of the Temple!'\n\nThey had slipped out of London two days later and made their way south, hoping they'd find someone to help them. A merchant; a fisherman, anyone who'd transport them across the seas to the Chasny ancestral home in France. But would they find such a person, or just more treachery? Sir William recalled the words of the psalm.\n\n'Out of the depths have I cried to thee, oh Lord, Lord hear my voice. Let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication.'\n\n'A light!' someone shouted. 'Look, Sir William, a light!'\n\nThe commander lifted his head and searched the blackness: he glimpsed the pinprick of light. Then another. His men were already turning their horses. Sir William did likewise, thanking God his prayers had been heard. They left the trackway, a protective line of jingling harness and clopping hooves around the still figure on the palfrey. The lights became more distinct. Despite the iron discipline of the Temple, Sir William could not have stopped his men if he had wanted to. They were tired, dispirited, starving and freezing. One of the serjeants spurred on almost to a charge. The snow was not too thick and the ground was iron-hard, easy to cross. Sir William could see that the lights were now torches. His heart leapt with joy. If they could rest tonight, if they could, eat and sleep by a warm fire. He recalled the maps in the Templar library showing the trackways and paths of Kent. Too late, he remembered the warning given to him about the marshes and the strange lights which also shimmered above them. What had the old archivist called them? Corpse candles! Were these them?\n\n'Be careful!' he shouted.\n\nBut his men rode on.\n\n'They are torches!' a knight shouted. 'There are men!'\n\nThe thunder of hooves grew. The sumpter ponies, despite their weariness, picked up their legs as if they, too, could smell sweet oats and soft, warm straw. Sir William heard a scream from the blackness. The serjeant who had ridden ahead was now struggling.\n\n'It's a marsh!' he shouted. 'Oh, Christ, help me!'\n\nSir William tried to rein in, but his own horse was also mired in the mud. The night air was now rent by shrieks and cries of his men. The neigh of horses, the braying of the sumpter ponies. Sir William slipped from the saddle. The icy cold mud crept up his leg but he kept his nerve. He drew his sword and poked at the ground around him, soft, oozing with mud, but then he struck hard earth. He waded towards this. A small path, a trackway through the marshes. Gasping for breath, Sir William dragged himself towards it and began to shout at his men.\n\n'Towards me!' he screamed. 'Towards me! Bring the palfrey!'\n\nSome of his men reached him but Sir William's heart sank. Only six or seven and the rest? The Virgin and her precious treasure? He could still hear those awful screams and shrieks from the darkness. The snow was falling thicker now. Heavy flakes, as if heaven itself was weeping at what was happening. Chasny knew he was going to die. This was where it would end. For a few seconds he recalled his childhood, playing in golden fields outside a small village in the vale of York. His parents, hand in hand, laughing as they searched for him. His admission to the Templar Order, his novitiate. He had spent his life fighting for the faith. Now he was to be treacherously killed in this God-forsaken marsh. Sir William stretched his sword towards the sky.\n\n'Avenge me, God!' he cried. 'Avenge me!'\n\nHis men were now grouped around him, swords out, staring at the torches which surrounded them.\n\n'We have been trapped,' one of the knights whispered. 'They have led us into a marsh.'\n\n'There must be paths!' Sir William exclaimed. 'Just like the one we are standing on.' He grasped his sword tighter. 'The Virgin, the Veronica?'\n\n'God knows, Sir William,' the Templar commander groaned.\n\n'Well, we can't stand here all night,' one of his companions whispered.\n\n'Murderers!' Sir William screamed. 'Traitors! Close with us now! Sword to sword! Dagger to dagger!'\n\nAn arrow whipped out of the darkness and took him full in the shoulder. Chasny dropped to one knee. More arrows fell, his companions began to die. Some silently as the deadly shafts took them in the neck or the chest. Others were knocked off the narrow pathway into the marsh and died screaming as they were buried alive. Sir William dragged himself to his feet but his legs felt like lead, his whole body devoid of strength. He crouched back down and, being a priest as well as a soldier, began to recite the words of absolution for himself and his companions.\n\n'Absolve, Domine, nos a peccatis nostris.'\n\nHe heard sounds along the path and looked up. The assassins were closing in. He stayed still as a stone, head slightly to one side. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the shapes slip through the darkness. He smiled in satisfaction as he recognised the tinker he had seen earlier in the day.\n\n'Come on!' a villain shouted, lifting him gently. 'They are all dead!'\n\n'But the sumpter ponies are in the marsh. They have the treasure!'\n\n'The marsh can be dragged: it's not so deep!'\n\nThe tinker drew closer. Sir William lunged with all his might and drove his sword straight into the man's midriff.\n\n'Deus vult!' Sir William shouted the cry of the Crusaders. 'Deus vult! God wills it!' He withdrew his sword and the man toppled into the marsh.\n\nSir William felt new strength course through his body.\n\n'Before heaven and earth!' he shouted, his voice booming through the wind. 'I curse you all before the Lord and His Angels! I summon you before His court to answer for your crimes. I curse you with all the power my Order has given me! We shall return! Do you hear me? We shall return! We shall be watching you! We shall always be watching you!'\n\nHe was still shouting when the arrows shot out of the darkness, piercing his body. Still the old knight shouted his curses, in English, in Latin, in French.\n\n'We shall be watching you! We shall always be watching you!'\n\nAt last they saw him tumble, fall to his knees on the path. Head bowed, he keeled to the ground. They ran forward. One man drew his dagger and tentatively turned Sir William's body over. He heaved a sigh of relief but then jumped as the Templar's dagger took him full in the belly with hot searing pain. Locked together in death, the knight and his assailant, faces only a few inches apart, stared in their dying agonies at each other.\n\n'Remember!' Sir William whispered. 'We shall return! We shall be watching you!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Scawsby \u2013 1382",
                "text": "The three riders reined in at the top of the hill and looked down at the village nestling in the shallow valley below. A bright February morning, the sun was surprisingly strong, quickly burning off the mist.\n\n'A pleasant sight.' Edmund Trumpington leaned across and grasped his brother's hand. 'Philip, I am so pleased I am with you. This will be my first parish.'\n\nPhilip pushed back the cowl of his cloak and smiled. His brother was only two months ordained. Just before Christmas, the Bishop of Rochester had finished the Rite of Ordination by anointing Edmund's head, lips and hands. Edmund, like himself, was now a priest with the power to preach the gospel, celebrate Mass and shrive the faithful. Philip had been ordained three years previously and served in parishes at Gravesend and Maidstone. Now he and Edmund had been given the parish of St Oswald's in Scawsby. The bishop believed that the two brothers serving together would be of benefit to the faithful.\n\n'Always remember,' the bishop had smiled, 'that quotation from the Book of Proverbs: \"Brothers united are as a fortress.\"'\n\nPhilip had visited Scawsby on a number of occasions, getting to know his parishioners, walking the village. Above all, he had studied the church which, local tradition averred, had been old when the Conqueror and his Normans had swept into Kent.\n\n'You priests should be pleased, it's a good living,' the third rider teased.\n\nPhilip looked over his shoulder at his close friend Stephen Merkle. He had known the blond-haired, fresh-faced young man ever since they had shared the same hall at Cambridge. He, Philip and Edmund were now the closest friends, inseparable in all things. Merkle was a brilliant mathematician, a master of Geometry. He'd already gained his qualifications as a master mason and been employed in the king's service at the great abbey of Westminster and, more recently, St Bartholomew's Priory in Smithfield.\n\nThe three friends always kept in touch by letter. When Philip had decided that the church at Scawsby was too old and should be pulled down and rebuilt elsewhere, Stephen had volunteered to be the architect. He had ridden straight to Maidstone, almost confronting Philip in the parlour of the priest's house.\n\n'I was born near Scawsby,' Stephen declared. 'I will build you a church. One that will last for centuries, in the most beautiful style. Not these old Norman blocks and square entrances. You'll have spanning arches, a rose window, transepts lined with bays. A soaring roof, a sanctuary which can be viewed from any corner of the church.'\n\nStephen had gone on and on, until Philip had held his hands up. 'Concedo.' He laughed. 'Stephen, you can come, though the fees will be low.'\n\nStephen had drawn his brows together. 'Philip, what does it profit a man if he gain the whole world?'\n\n'Stephen, Stephen,' Philip replied. 'I am a priest and you are a master mason. I expect to be poor. You expect to be rich. You have a fine house in London. I know from the gossips that you are always searching for gold and silver.'\n\nStephen had waved his hand placatingly.\n\n'I'll come to Scawsby,' he declared. 'I'll accept whatever you pay.' He had clapped his hands like a child. 'Philip, Philip, I'll confess \u2013 every mason dreams of building his own church, that's the path to fame and fortune!'\n\nPhilip had accepted: perhaps his friend would think again but Stephen had been most excited about the project. He, too, had visited the village, staying overnight in the old priest's house, studying the church and searching for a new site. He eventually wrote to Philip how he had found a suitable location at the other end of the village, amongst the old Saxon ruins at High Mount.\n\nPhilip now studied Stephen closely. The mason was gazing down at the village, a rapt expression on his face. The vicar felt a twings of unease. Stephen seemed absorbed by the village and his plan to build a new church. Oh, he could understand Stephen's enthusiasm, but the young mason had even neglected his work in London to carry out the most extensive surveys. Moreover, in the last few weeks before they left for Scawsby, Stephen had changed slightly, growing more subdued, even secretive.\n\n'Do you like the village?' Philip asked abruptly. 'Stephen, for the love of Heaven, are you asleep?'\n\nThe young mason shook himself from his reverie.\n\n'Of course I like the village,' he replied. 'It's a fine place, Philip. Wealthy as well. Look.' He pointed down to the high street which ran up to the church: on either side stood the cottages and houses of the peasants. 'They are prosperous,' Stephen continued. 'Some of them are built of stone. Look at the tavern, Philip. It has a tiled roof with the most beautiful gardens at the rear.'\n\nPhilip could only agree. Even from where they sat on the brim of the hill, he could almost feel the richness of the soil, the open meadows all waiting for spring. A cheerful, bustling place. Wood smoke rose from many houses, the sound of children laughing carried faintly on the breeze. Narrowing his eyes, Philip could make out the herds of sheep and cattle grazing in the meadows. Elsewhere the men were busy, with their oxen, laying down manure, enriching the soil so the harvest would be plentiful.\n\n'Scawsby's a prosperous place,' the bishop had declared. 'You'll like it, Philip.'\n\n'How did you find Lord Montalt?' Philip asked, gathering up the reins of his horse.\n\n'He is an old warhorse,' Stephen replied. 'But a good seigneur, kind to his tenants. He, too, thinks the church should be moved to High Mount.'\n\n'Yet there's a serpent in our paradise, isn't there?' Edmund declared, pushing his horse forward. 'Have you ever found out what it is, Brother?'\n\n'No, I haven't.'\n\nSuddenly the morning didn't, seem so bright. The death of the previous incumbent was a matter neither Philip nor Edmund had referred to. Father Anthony had been a kindly, middle-aged man, a gentle scholar. No one had yet explained why, one night at the end of November, he had gone out and hanged himself from a yew tree in the cemetery. Even the bishop did not know. The aged prelate had simply shaken his head and muttered about the nonsense of ancient legends and left it at that.\n\n'I am cold,' Philip declared. 'Roheisia, the widow woman who looks after the priest's house, said she'd have the place ready. It's time we went down.'\n\nThey rode down the hill into the woods following the trackway as it wound along into the village. The trees, black and gaunt after a severe winter, blocked out the sunlight. A fox ran across their path, a rabbit in its mouth. Crows circled, calling raucously, fearful of the hawk hovering so close to their nests. The three men rode in silence. Stephen, as if resenting the brooding quietness of the trees, hummed a song they all knew. Philip was about to join in when he glimpsed movement amongst the trees. Philip held his hand up. He turned his horse and stared into the darkness of the wood.\n\n'What is it, Philip?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Horsemen,' his brother replied. 'Perhaps a trick of the light, but I'm sure I saw men, cowled and hooded.'\n\n'Horsemen!' Stephen exclaimed. 'Philip, are you sure?' Merkle's face was pale.\n\n'What's the matter?' Philip asked. 'You look frightened.'\n\n'It's nothing.' Stephen shook his head. 'No, no, I'll be honest, Philip. When we entered the forest I, too, thought I saw horsemen, a line of knights, as if they were moving alongside us.'\n\nStephen glanced furtively at Philip. The priest looked even more severe than usual. Unlike Edmund, with his boyish good looks, plump cheeks and laughing eyes, Philip always carried himself with authority. Keen-eyed and thin-lipped, Philip, when angry, had the look of a hawk with his sharp nose and those eyes which never seemed to miss anything.\n\n'Come on, Stephen,' Philip urged. 'This has happened before, hasn't it? You don't frighten easily.'\n\nStephen stared into the trees.\n\n'Yes, it's happened before,' he replied slowly. 'Oh, the village is good, pleasant and welcoming. However, here in the woods, or out on the heathland, you have this impression of someone watching you, of being followed.'\n\n'His Lordship the Bishop,' Philip declared, 'talked about legends. Have you heard about these, Stephen?'\n\n'Oh, every village and hamlet in Kent has its ancient lore,' Stephen retorted crossly. 'Scawsby's no different.' He urged his horse on. 'Come on, Philip. I'm cold and I'm hungry. Every wood has a life of its own. It's only shadows moving amongst the trees.'\n\nAll three were relieved to be out of the trees and on to the road leading into Scawsby. Men in the fields on either side stopped to shout their welcome and raise their hands. Some of the children, armed with slingshot to drive away the marauding crows, came running up, their dirty faces brightening with pleasure.\n\n'It's Father Pip!' one of them shouted, waving his hand. 'It's Father Pip!'\n\n'They can't get their tongues round my name,' the vicar whispered. 'So Pip I've become and Pip I'll remain. God knows what they'll make of Edmund and Stephen!'\n\nThey all reined in as the men left their ploughs and walked on to the trackway. The villagers were pleased to see their new priest. It was sad for a man to be buried without a requiem Mass or for babies waiting to be baptised. The young lovers, who wanted to become handfast at the church door, also had to wait until the priest consulted the Blood Book to pronounce they were not within the forbidden degrees: only then could wedding arrangements go forward. The sick would now have a visitor to bring the viaticum, hear their confessions and shrive them. The great Holy Days would be blessed and, once again, the Mass would celebrate the beginning of the day and the end of the week. Accordingly, Philip and Edmund were welcomed as if they were Princes of the court. The children danced around. The men, unwilling to shake the priests' hands with their mud-flaked fingers, just shuffled their feet and grinned in pleasure.\n\n'It's good to be here,' Philip declared. 'My brother Edmund and I will become members of all your families. My good friend Stephen Merkle is a master mason. He has come to advise us on our new church.'\n\nThe villagers were not so pleased at this. Smiles disappeared, replaced by glowering glances in Merkle's direction.\n\n'St Oswald's good enough.' A burly farmer stepped forward. He pushed back his leather hood, his great red face scored and chapped by years of wind and rain. 'My name's Falmer,' he declared. 'I was baptised in St Oswald's. My father, and his father's father lie buried in God's acre.'\n\n'The new church,' Philip replied tactfully, 'will be built in their memory. However, now is not the time to discuss the matter, there will be meetings enough.' He raised his hand in benediction.\n\nThe labourers clapped, stood aside and the horsemen continued on into Scawsby.\n\nDespite the protests about the new church, the rest of the village were welcoming enough. Philip felt immediately at home. A prosperous, hard-working place; some of the peasants owned their own land and had used the profits to build stone houses with red tiled roofs. In front and behind these were large garden plots for vegetables and flowers. Some even had their own stables, piggeries, hen coops and dove cotes for pigeons. All these supplied the necessary manure for the great open fields around. A busy, bustling place: dogs and pigs roamed the streets; chickens pecked at the hard-packed earth; women sat in doorways weaving or, just inside, busily baked bread or brewed their own ales. The sweet smell from these kitchens hung heavily on the air. Philip stopped time and again to introduce himself. He caught Stephen blushing as some girl or young woman caught the man's eye and gazed boldly at the stranger. Strong, handsome people who fed well on the riches of the earth. Philip knew that many of these peasants were now free of any seigneurial dues and, like others in East Anglia or the rich vales of the Cotswolds, were becoming landlords in their own right. It took him at least an hour before they could leave the huge taproom of the Silver Swan tavern which stood in the centre of the village. They rode on, past the well, the gibbet and the stocks, down the trackway and through the lych-gate into the cemetery.\n\nSt Oswald's was a low, squat building, built of grey ragstone with a dark slate roof. The church was built like a barn, one long huddle of bricks. The front formed into an apex, the carved tympanum above the heavy oaken doors long faded by the weather. A square tower had been built alongside, its top crenellated. There were only three narrow windows in the tower and, despite the length of the church, its windows were really no more than mere arrow slits. All three walked round the church stepping over crumbling crosses and decaying headstones. Stephen, carefully examining the outside, pointed to the crumbling buttresses, the decayed sills beneath the window, the cracks in the eaves.\n\n'There will be rottenness in the wood inside,' he declared.\n\nPhilip stared round the broad, gloomy cemetery which bounded the church on every side.\n\n'This will be a problem,' he announced. 'The parishioners will be deeply upset to lose their cemetery.'\n\n'What does Canon Law say?' Edmund asked.\n\n'The Church's ruling,' Philip replied, 'is that corpses buried within living memory may be exhumed, or indeed, the remains of any can be duly removed to a new cemetery. There must be thousands of corpses buried there.' He added, 'This will be a most difficult obstacle to overcome: persuading our parishioners, not only that their old church should be pulled down, but the cemetery should be grassed over and eventually forgotten.'\n\n'Why not build a new church here?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Because we are at the foot of a hill,' Stephen explained. 'The ground becomes water-logged. Centuries ago they probably raised the church here because it was the easiest land to build on. High Mount is different. There are some ruins but they can be cleared. It would make an excellent place. The land is owned by Montalt, the land around it could become a cemetery.'\n\nPhilip stared round the cemetery. A cloud now covered the sun and the graveyard looked dank and grim; the yew trees twisted and gnarled, their branches snaking out like skeletal fingers.\n\n'Father Anthony hanged himself from that one.' Stephen pointed to a yew tree which stood in the centre of the graveyard, between the church and the priest's house.\n\nPhilip walked over. 'How did he do it?' he asked. 'I mean, the lowest branch is high off the ground?'\n\n'According to what I have learnt,' Stephen replied, 'he used a ladder. He went up, tied the rope round a branch, the other end round his neck, then jumped.'\n\nPhilip said a prayer for the repose of the man's soul but the question hammered inside his mind. Why should a gentle, scholarly, old priest go out on a winter's night and hang himself in his own graveyard?\n\n'Let's go inside,' Stephen offered. 'It's getting cold and my belly's grumbling.'\n\nPhilip agreed. They walked back to the church porch. Stephen opened the door; he and Edmund went inside. Philip paused and stared around. Was there someone else here? Someone in the graveyard watching him? He gasped. Beneath the yew tree, the very one from which Father Anthony had hanged himself, stood a cloaked and hooded figure. Philip could make out the face, tanned and weather-beaten: grey beard and moustache, he had the air of a fighting man. The eyes seemed almost larger than the face, black and hard as pebbles. Philip blinked and rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, there was nothing there.\n\n'Are you all right?' Edmund came back. 'Philip, what's the matter?'\n\n'Nothing at all. Let's see the inside of this church.'\n\nThey walked into the vestibule: the air was dank and smelt of mildew. On the left was a door leading to the tower; to the right a small, narrow room dusty and full of cobwebs where broken benches and other items had been stored. The nave was long, the pillars on either side were round and squat. Because of the poor light, the transepts on either side were dark and gloomy. Philip gazed up at the hammer-beam roof.\n\n'That's new!' Stephen explained. 'Probably no more than sixty years old. New beams were put in to reinforce the roof. It must have been a costly enterprise. What I can't understand,' the master mason continued, 'is they also started to replace the slates on the roof but discontinued it? I mean, what's the use of putting new beams up if the water is allowed to drip through and rot them?'\n\nPhilip walked up the nave, where his foot caught on a loose paving-stone. He stared down.\n\n'That's another reason,' Stephen continued. 'The church is built over wells and, in places, the floor is beginning to subside.'\n\nPhilip walked on more carefully. He stopped before a great stone coffin built just in front of the entrance to the rood screen which divided the nave from the sanctuary. The tomb was a long, rectangular shape. On top lay an effigy of a knight, mailed legs crossed, hand grasping the hilt of his sword. There was a Latin inscription on the side of the tomb. Philip crouched down and translated the faded Latin: 'Died in the year of Our Lord 1311.'\n\n'The present lord's grandfather!' Stephen explained.\n\nPhilip's attention was then held by the strange markings above the inscription. He had never seen the like before, a pair of eyes and, beneath, a faded Latin tag. Philip peered closer and translated it.\n\n'We are watching you!' he whispered. 'We are always watching you!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Philip moved round the tomb. On the side facing the sanctuary was another inscription. It caught his eyes because it was not professionally done but gouged into the pillar by a chisel and a hammer.\n\n\u2002SUB ALTO MONTE,\n\n\u2002PRETIOSA COPIA\n\n\u2002ILI DAVID\n\n\u2002RESIDET ET SEMPER RESIDET\n\n\u2002DOMINE, MISERERE NOBIS\n\n\u2002WALTER ROMANEL 1312\n\nPhilip called Edmund across and read him the inscription. Edmund went into the sanctuary. He struck a tinder, lit a candle and brought it back; the crude lettering flared into light.\n\n'\"Under the high mountain,\"' he translated, '\"the precious load of David's son resides and will always reside. Oh Lord, have mercy on us. Walter Romanel 1312.\"'\n\n'Romanel!' Philip got to his feet. 'Wasn't he\u2014?'\n\n'He was a priest here,' Stephen interjected. 'He went mad and had to be taken to St Bartholomew's hospital in London.'\n\n'This is a strange place,' Philip declared.\n\nHe went up and studied the Lady Chapel to the left of the sanctuary. The statue of the Virgin was like the one at Walsingham. Mary, a crown on her head, the robes of a queen round her shoulders, embraced the infant Jesus on her lap. Philip took his own tinder out and lit a taper. The damp Lady Chapel had faded paintings on either wall: Philip felt repelled by the air of neglect. He then walked round the transepts; these were no better, being dark and shabby. Some crude paintings covered the walls but the plaster was beginning to crumble, lying like snowflakes on the uneven flagstones. The parish coffin, which stood on an open-sided cart, also looked as if it had seen better days.\n\n'I can't understand it,' Edmund declared. 'St Oswald's is a wealthy parish yet I have seen better churches in some of the poorest villages in Kent.'\n\n'Now that's one thing I do know,' Philip replied. 'His Lordship the Bishop was rather reluctant to discuss the matter but I have seen the list of vicars who have served here over the years. Their names should be painted on a board in the church but I can understand why they are not. Very few of them remained here for more than a few years. Father Anthony, who served here for at least twelve, was an exception.' Philip smiled. He had always considered the Bishop of Rochester a cunning old fox: now Philip realised why, at such a tender age, he, who had only been ordained recently, had been given such a benefice.\n\n'Look at the pillars,' Edmund declared.\n\nPhilip did so. He noticed how, just above head height on each pillar, a pair of eyes had been painted. This had been crudely done, yet all the eyes looked towards the sanctuary. Moreover, each pillar bore the same faded inscription: SPECTAMUS TE, SEMPER SPECTAMUS TE.\n\n'\"We are watching you,\"' he translated. '\"We are always watching you.\" What does this mean, Edmund? Who is watching? Why?' He looked round the church. 'Stephen, where are you?'\n\nHis words echoed, bouncing off the wall. Philip had the impression that someone was mimicking him, chanting the words back. He was concerned about this cold, damp place, very aware of a watching malevolence. Philip hurried into the sanctuary. He had seen this before and matters had not improved. A bare, empty place with an altar, sedilia, lavarium and lectern. The cloth across the altar was of good quality whilst the silver pyx, hanging from one of the beams, shimmered in the light of the red sanctuary lamp.\n\n'Stephen!' he shouted. 'Stephen, where are you?'\n\n'I am down here, Philip. Don't worry!'\n\nPhilip closed his eyes. 'Of course,' he murmured. 'I had forgotten...'\n\nIn the far corner of the sanctuary, almost hidden in the shadows, was a small door leading down to the crypt. Stephen had taken the candle and gone down. Philip followed. If the church was gloomy, the crypt was dismal. Some light seeped through from a grating in the ceiling into this bare, empty place. Low-roofed, bare walled, the crypt was devoid of anything except supporting pillars. The central one was at least two yards wide and the same across: Stephen was studying it carefully.\n\n'If we could weaken this, Philip.' He looked up at the plastered roof. 'The entire church would crumble.'\n\n'And how can we do that?'\n\n'Oh, quite easily,' the master mason replied with a smile. 'I've talked to soldiers, master gunners from the wars in France. They did the same to French castles. You dig a mine beneath the pillar, place the gunpowder and fire the fuse. The entire church would collapse inwards.'\n\n'I'd love to do that,' Philip replied. 'Stephen, have you ever visited such an eerie, depressing place? What shall we do with it?'\n\nStephen stood back, still more concerned with the pillar.\n\n'Oh, don't worry, Philip,' he replied. 'We'll get permission from Lord Richard to build a new church. You are a fine preacher: the parishioners will accept what you say. We'll level this church and build another on High Mount. One that will be the talk of Kent.' He grasped Philip's hand. 'Just think of it, Philip.' He turned and put his other hand on Edmund's shoulder. 'A jewel of a chapel: soaring roof, light transepts. Painters will come from Canterbury. They'll work for free, just to have their scenes on the walls of our church!'\n\n'Stephen, do you know much about the history of this place?' Edmund asked abruptly.\n\nThe master mason took the candle off a wall ledge and sat down with his back to a pillar.\n\n'Just a little.' He smiled shyly. 'The parish is a wealthy one. You know that. You probably also know that vicars who come here do not stay long. Now that is not extraordinary. I can think of similar parishes where the same has occurred. Father Anthony was writing a history, doing his own research. Apparently it all began with Romanel.'\n\n'The vicar who did the carving on Montalt's tomb?'\n\n'The same. He was apparently a man of ill repute. Scawsby is not far from the coast and, in the chaos of Edward II's reign, Romanel and some of the villagers did their fair share of smuggling.'\n\n'Oh come, Stephen!'\n\nPhilip sat down beside him, trying to control his shivers as he stared into the shadows which filled the place. The candles they had brought down only intensified the eerie atmosphere: every time they moved, dark shapes danced all around them.\n\n'I know. I know,' Stephen declared. 'What is wrong with a little smuggling? There's not a Kentish man over the age of sixteen who has not been involved with some smuggling, my own father included. However, Romanel was different. He wanted wealth so he also dabbled in the black arts.'\n\n'A warlock?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Warlock, wizard, sorcerer, gibbet-master. Whatever.'\n\n'And where did he practise his rites?'\n\nStephen began to laugh, low and mocking. 'According to local law and Father Anthony, here.'\n\n'You mean in the church?'\n\n'No, Philip, I mean here in the crypt. The usual, noddle-pated nonsense. Animal sacrifices...'\n\nPhilip sprang to his feet. He did not like this place. Closing his eyes, he quietly cursed his own arrogance. I should have asked, he thought, I should have made my own enquiries. He felt Stephen's hand on his shoulder.\n\n'Come on, Philip: that was years ago. Romanel died mad. The church has been blessed and re-consecrated.' His smile faded. 'Though I should show you this.'\n\nHe stepped across and held his candle up against one of the pillars which supported the floor just near the staircase. Philip expected to see the eyes as he had on the tomb but, as Stephen held the candle up, he glimpsed what he thought was a damp patch which marked part of the pillar. As he studied it more closely, he realised it was like a shadow caught on the pillar forming the figure of a knight. Walking closer Philip could make out the chainmail coif, the moustached face, the cloak falling in folds, the breastplate, greaves, even spurs on the heels: it reminded him of the vision in the graveyard.\n\n'What is it?' he whispered.\n\n'I don't know,' Stephen replied. 'Father Anthony mentioned it in his notes. I have also talked to others. Some say it is a painting of a knight which has faded. Others are more mysterious, they say it's the imprint of a ghost.'\n\nPhilip grasped the candle and studied the pillar closely. For the first time ever he felt frightened. He had seen faded wall paintings before but this was different. He thrust the candle back into Stephen's hand.\n\n'I tell you this.' He glanced at the master mason and his brother. 'Soon it will be spring. Before another winter comes to Scawsby, I'll have this church levelled and a new one almost built.'\n\nThey left the crypt and went out of the church into the cemetery. The day was dying, the light was beginning to fade. Tendrils of mist curled round the yew trees. Philip glimpsed the welcoming light from the priest's house.\n\n'I am looking forward to a good meal,' he declared. 'Roheisia has a reputation for being a good cook and I want words with our clerk Adam Waldis.'\n\n'He's a furtive little man,' Stephen declared. 'Scurries round like a mouse, always muttering to himself but he's a closed book. Try and talk to him about the parish, or Father Anthony's death and he'll just look at you like some frightened rabbit then run away.'\n\nLaughing and talking they walked to the back of the church. Philip was interested in inspecting the wall most open to the elements. As they did so, he caught a movement amongst the trees. He stopped, heart in mouth.\n\n'Philip, what's the matter?'\n\nAt first the priest didn't want to reply, to be accused of having a fanciful imagination. Then he saw the movement again, a stooped figure crossing from behind a grave stone to the trees clustered at the east end of the cemetery.\n\n'Who is that?' Edmund asked.\n\nPhilip laughed and relaxed. He was not having visions; his good humour, however, soon, turned to anger. Was this the figure who had been watching him when he had first entered the church? He strode across the grass.\n\n'Stop!' he shouted.\n\nThe figure turned: an old woman, a veritable crone, her two hands clenched on an ash stick. She gazed fearfully as the priest approached. Philip felt confused. On the one hand, he was curious and relieved that the figure he had seen was flesh and blood. On the other he was rather repelled because the old woman was ugly. She had a long, thin face, broken nose, eyes constantly blinking, whilst her tongue kept licking her bloodless lips. She seemed furtive, frightened, dressed in a shabby, black gown frayed at the hem, cuffs and round the neckline. A grey, woollen cloak hung across bony shoulders, her white hair, thinning and sparse, was gathered and tied at the back. Philip paused. Was this really the figure he had glimpsed earlier?\n\n'Please stay!' he called out. Philip stooped and extended one hand. 'I am Father Philip Trumpington, the new vicar.'\n\nThe woman's sea-grey eyes held his: no longer nervous, Philip believed the woman was quietly mocking him.\n\n'I've just arrived here,' Philip declared.\n\nThe grey eyes moved: Edmund she dismissed with one glance but her eyes narrowed as she recognised Stephen.\n\n'I've seen one of you before.' Her voice was low, surprisingly strong. She drew herself up as if the quiet scurrying was a pretence, protection against any threat. 'I have seen the fair-haired one. You are a mason, aren't you?'\n\n'Yes, Mother.'\n\n'I'm not a mother or a woman,' she replied. 'I am the coffin keeper. I am not of the female kind.' She continued dryly, 'My breasts are shrivelled, my juices long dried up. People know me as the coffin or corpse woman.'\n\n'The what?' Philip exclaimed.\n\n'The coffin woman,' she repeated. 'You know about coffins, priest, the dead go in them.' She gestured with her head towards the grave stones. 'We all think we are so important but, in the end, one way or the other, the earth claims us.' She sighed in exasperation and drew closer. 'No, I am not a mysterious, old woman,' she continued, her eyes bright with excitement as if she relished the repartee. She grasped Philip's hand; her fingers felt warm. 'Father, this is an eerie, sometimes evil place. No, I do not wish to frighten you; you must not believe the village lore, I am no witch.' She smiled up at him. 'I was born Edith Romanel. Oh yes,' she caught the surprise in Philip's face. 'I am a vicar's by-blow. An eye for the ladies had Parson Romanel. A father to his people in more ways than one.'\n\nPhilip now joined in her laughter.\n\n'And do you know what happens to the illegitimate children of priests?' she continued. 'They are cast out to fend for themselves. My father went witless, mad as a March hare. The new priest arrived and I was thrown out.' She waved her hand. 'Behind the trees there's an old cottage near the graveyard wall. I live there. I pick up twigs. I clean the cemetery. When someone dies, someone poor, with no one to wash the corpse or prepare it for burial...'\n\n'The coffin woman does it.' Philip finished her sentence.\n\n'Yes, Father, the coffin woman does it. And in return I am paid a shilling every quarter and, if the priest is good, some food and other sustenance.'\n\n'You talk well, coffin woman.'\n\n'I was twelve when my father went mad,' she replied. 'He taught me my horn book. I could count past fifty by the time I was ten. When the other priests came I served as their housekeeper. I am not a peasant.' She drew herself up. 'I am not what I appear to be. So, what do you say, priest? Will you keep me as the coffin woman?'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'I hope you do,' the coffin woman replied, stepping back. 'You have a kindly face, despite your sharp eyes. You have a zeal for souls, haven't you, Father?' She shrugged. 'But, there again, others have come and then they leave.'\n\n'Why?' Philip asked.\n\nThe woman half turned. 'I don't know,' she murmured. 'I am supposed to. One priest said that to me. Just because you've got grey hair and a wizened face they think you're a wise woman. But, as God is my witness, I don't know. Indeed, if I told you my suspicions, the things I have seen, then I'd no longer be a wise woman but witless, mad as my father.' She smiled slyly. 'And what would happen to me then?'\n\n'So you know things?' Philip insisted.\n\n'No more than other people, Father,' she quipped. 'You know what I am talking about, Father: the ones before you, no priest wants to stay here long. Oh, it's not the village, there are no dark secrets there.' She glanced up at the church tower. 'It's here,' she added wearily. 'This is where it all happens.'\n\n'What happens?' Stephen asked.\n\n'Why, sir.' She glared at them. 'Whatever you want, whatever you see. Priests come here, they hear the stories. Some even wonder where my father's old treasure is!'\n\n'Treasure?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Stories,' the woman taunted. 'My father was,' she smiled, 'well, he was as madcap as a March hare, dabbling in this and dabbling in that. When I was a child, money came into the village, Heaven knows where from? Like you, he wanted to change the church. Oh yes, I have heard the rumours. But then he went mad.'\n\n'Why?' Philip asked.\n\nShe sighed. 'Some people said he was born mad, others that it was the demons: all I can remember is my father waking up screaming or, now and again, in church, when celebrating Mass, he would stop and shout: \"They are watching me! They are always watching me!\"'\n\n'And did he ever tell you who?' Philip asked.\n\n'As God is my witness, Father, never. No one ever knew. Or, there again, it could have been the disappearances. Go down into the village and ask. They'll tell you the same story. Some of them just disappeared when Romanel was vicar. All sorts of professions: one was a miller, another a ploughman, a tanner, a shepherd, a journeyman. All gone.' She clapped her hands. 'Like the mists which swirl in here.' She blew her cheeks out. 'Anyway, I have spoken enough!' She lifted her head, sniffing the air like a dog. 'Roheisia has a meal ready for you, beef I think. Highly salted but covered in spices. She and her mad son Crispin. Well, he's witless, but he'll look after your horses.' And, turning on her heel, she scuttled into the trees.\n\nThey went back and collected their horses. They led them out of the cemetery and further along the road following the wall around. The priest's house was a grand, imposing affair built of the same stone as the church: three storeys high with a slate roof and a chimney stack built along one side. Most of the windows were shuttered but those on the ground floor were filled with mullioned glass. The main door was approached up some steps. Whilst Stephen held the horses, Philip and Edmund went up and knocked on the door. Roheisia opened it. A red-faced, smiling woman, plump as a ripe pear, her grey hair caught up under a white veil. She was dressed in a long, dark-blue smock, slightly threadbare, covered in flour which also stained her fingers and wrists. She waved excitedly.\n\n'Father Edmund, Father Philip, you shouldn't knock. It's your house! Come in! Come in!' She looked over at Stephen holding the horses. 'Take those round the back,' she called.\n\n'I'll get them myself, Mother.'\n\nA young man, vacant-eyed, with a smiling, simpleton's face under a shock of greasy hair, came running down the passageway. He almost knocked his mother aside, hastening down the steps, clapping his hands.\n\n'He's harmless,' Roheisia added. 'He just loves horses. He'll take care of yours.'\n\nPhilip watched the boy gather the reins and take the horses round the side of the house where he knew, from recent visits, stood the small stables, garden and outhouses.\n\nRoheisia led them into the house, chattering excitedly about how all the rest of their baggage had arrived, safely brought by a carter from Maidstone. She explained how she'd moved it all upstairs though she didn't know where to put it. And were they hungry? And had they seen the church? And was it true they wished to build a new one? Roheisia chattered on as she led them through the house. Philip and Stephen had seen it before. It was pleasant and spacious enough: a parlour, a small refectory adjoining the kitchen, scullery and buttery. The rooms were clean, the plaster freshly painted, crucifixes and small, painted triptychs hung there. The rushes on the floor were green and newly cut: pots of herbs stood in the corners. The rest of the furniture had also been cleaned and washed whilst the kitchen was full of the sweet smells of freshly baked bread and roasted meat.\n\n'It's very clean,' Philip remarked.\n\n'Oh yes,' Roheisia declared. 'I keep a good house for the Fathers.' She paused, her hand on the balustrade, and looked round at them. 'You will stay, won't you?'\n\n'Of course,' Philip replied.\n\n'Other priests come and go.'\n\n'So I noticed,' Philip replied. 'And you've been housekeeper to them all?'\n\n'For the last twenty years, yes.'\n\n'So why did they leave?'\n\nThe old lady turned, gathering up the hem of her gown, and climbed the wooden, spiral staircase. When she reached the top she sat on a stool, mopping her face and smiled up at them.\n\n'It's a steep climb. There are three chambers along this gallery. There are also rooms above and garrets under the eaves but they are rarely used.'\n\n'Why did the other priests leave?' Philip asked.\n\n'Well, some were old and became sick. Scawsby can be a lonely place. Others became frightened and withdrawn. They didn't say much. They learnt about Romanel, the priest who went insane and was taken off to London. Perhaps they brooded too much?'\n\n'And Father Anthony?'\n\n'Yes, he stayed longer. He liked the church and was interested in its history, particularly the legends.'\n\n'So why did he kill himself?'\n\n'Father, I don't know.' She got to her feet. 'It happened very quickly. He and the parish clerk Adam Waldis, they were often closeted together whispering about this or that. They'd often go out to High Mount where the ruins of the Saxon priory lie. Towards the end, Father Anthony changed, he hardly slept: always looking out of the window. One morning I came in here. The house was empty, I couldn't find Father Anthony. Waldis lives in the village. There was this terrible hammering on the door. You've met the coffin woman?'\n\n'Aye,' Philip replied. 'I have.'\n\n'Oh, she's harmless,' Roheisia declared. 'Does a work of charity she does. Anyway, she found poor Father Anthony hanging like a felon from the gallows. Crispin my son cut him down.'\n\n'Where was he buried?'\n\n'In the churchyard. Lord Richard Montalt said he shouldn't be buried at the crossroads like a suicide. He said Father Anthony had probably lost his wits and didn't know what he was doing.' She sighed and got to her feet. 'They haven't even erected a grave stone yet. Anyway, your chambers are here. You have Father Anthony's, that's the largest.' She opened a door and ushered Philip in.\n\nThe chamber was large: it contained a small four-poster bed, two chests, an aumbry, shelves on the wall beneath the black, stark crucifix and a large writing desk under the window.\n\n'Father Anthony left all his books and papers. No one has claimed them. Lord Richard said the next priest could have them.'\n\nShe showed Edmund and Stephen their chambers. Roheisia apologised for the lack of rushes on the floor and said she'd see to it the following day.\n\n'All the baggage is in your room, sir.' She nodded at Stephen. 'I am afraid I don't know what belongs to whom. Now I'll go back to the kitchen, you'll be hungry.'\n\nShe went slowly back along the gallery, then turned at the top of the stairs, hand to her mouth.\n\n'Oh Lord save us!' she gasped. 'Father Philip, I am sorry, but Lord Richard has invited you to supper this evening, you and your companions.'\n\n'And will you look after the house?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh Lord no.' Roheisia smiled with her mouth but her eyes took on a stubborn look. 'I have my own cottage in the village. When it gets dark, Crispin and I will be leaving but we'll be back at dawn.'\n\n'Why?' Philip asked, walking towards her. 'Why don't you like to stay here?'\n\n'Why, sir, I have my own house,' she flustered.\n\n'And nothing else?' Philip asked. 'No other reason?'\n\n'Oh, the house is fine, Father. Well, I have no concerns but it's the graveyard at night. I don't like to be near it. Ask the coffin woman.' Roheisia chewed the corner of her lip. 'In summer, when the sun sets and the bees and the butterflies fly, it's God's acre. However, in winter, when the mists seep in, I don't like it and I never shall.'\n\n'Come, Roheisia.' Philip smiled. 'Surely you will tell me the legends?'\n\nShe lifted her hand. 'Father, if your clerk Adam has not returned, and he will do, because he can smell food from a mile away, then I'll tell you what I know. Now, unless you want your bread black and beef burnt...'\n\nRoheisia almost ran down the stairs. Philip glanced at his companions.\n\n'Well, let's unpack. It looks as if we are going to be entertained as well as fed.'\n\nAdam Waldis, clerk to the parish of St Oswald's, stood in the ruins of the ancient Anglo-Saxon priory. Its buildings were only a shell: its walls crumbling, the small sanctuary, nave, dormitories and outhouses lay open to the sky and the elements. Waldis walked up to where the high altar had once stood. His heel caught in a cracked paving-stone and he looked down. He could make out the crumbling lettering over the brothers who had been buried there. He crouched down and wiped away the dust and spelt out the name 'Aylric Abbot'.\n\nWaldis heard a sound and looked up but only a bird, nesting high in the wall, had perched on one of the window-ledges, sending down a small hail of pebbles and plaster. Adam got up, brushed his knees and stared up at the sky: darkness was falling and already the sea mist was making its presence felt, blotting out the setting sun. Adam closed his eyes. He'd been here many times, especially with his good friend Father Anthony until the priest had become distant, strange. Ever since, yes, that night. Adam walked up into the sanctuary and gazed down at the loose tombstone. Father Anthony had moved this. Now Adam did. Pushing it aside he stared into the shallow grave below. The grave was a mystery to Adam. According to the ancient lettering, this had been one 'Alcuin Prior' and yet, Adam knelt by the grave, if that was the case, Alcuin appeared to have died a very violent death. Waldis picked up the whitening skull and turned it over. Someone had beaten Alcuin to death, shattering the bone at the back of the head. What was more interesting, there were no artefacts in the grave, no cross or rosary beads, nothing; as if the good monks had stripped Alcuin of every item of clothing and not even provided him with a shroud. Adam started as he heard the jingle of harness.\n\n'Who's there?' he called.\n\nThe old ruin was filling with mist. Adam replaced the paving-stones, crossing himself against any ill-fortune. He went back into the nave, collected his cloak and staff and walked out of the old priory. He looked down the hill. Despite the mist, he could still make out the lights of the village, the men coming home from the fields. Adam closed his eyes: the new priest would have arrived. He would certainly question Adam about Father Anthony but what could he say? Adam certainly did not want to share his secrets with anyone. He knew great treasure was buried somewhere in the vicinity of Scawsby and Adam intended to find it. He gripped his staff and, with one backward glance at the priory, took the path which wound down the hill through the woods towards the village.\n\nAdam remembered what Father Anthony had told him, about a great treasure being taken across Kent by the Templars. How the king's men had caught up with them and killed each and every one of them but not before the Templars had taken refuge and hidden their gold. At the bottom of the hill, Adam paused and glanced back up towards the ruins. Father Anthony was sure the treasure was buried there. Indeed, hadn't Father Anthony discovered the remains of those poor Templar soldiers? The clerk narrowed his eyes but then jumped: the shifting mist parted. Adam was sure he glimpsed horsemen, cloaked and hooded, just clustered at the top of the hill. Adam controlled his shiver. He had heard the rumours: the French were at sea and, if the stories could be believed, were landing raiding parties along the Kent and Essex coasts. The French were striking inland, pillaging, raping, burning. Adam hastened on. The woods closed in about him. A chilling wind caught his hood and tugged at it like some mischievous imp. Adam stared into the trees on either side. The mist was wrapping itself around branch and trunk, creeping over the undergrowth. Now and again, crows raucously protested and the silence would also be shattered by the snap of twig as some fox, stoat or weasel hunted for its last meal before dusk. Ahead of him the mist was forming into a curtain, closing off the road.\n\n'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te! We are watching you, we are always watching you!'\n\nAdam froze, eyes starting out of his head. He glanced around. He was sure someone had whispered, someone behind him. Adam whirled round. There was nothing. He walked on, heart beating, mouth dry. He recalled Father Anthony. Hadn't the old priest complained about that? About whispers? About people watching him? Waldis heard the jingle of harness now quite distinct in the trees to his right. Adam broke into a run dropping his staff. If he could only reach the village, he'd throw himself into the taproom and let a bowl of wine wash away his fears. Adam sobbed as horsemen loomed out of the mist. Five, six, more, all blocking the road. He heard the clop of hooves behind him and turned. The horsemen were cloaked, their faces hidden deep in their cowls. Adam turned and fled; leaving the path, he entered the wood. He knew this would be safe. Horsemen couldn't ride so fast and he'd escape. He glanced to his left and right. The horsemen were moving through the trees with no difficulty at all. Adam kept on running, lungs fit to burst, heart thudding like a drum. He should have known his way. As a boy he'd played in these woods, he and Roheisia. He swerved, not caring whether he was going backwards or forwards, forgetting everything he had learnt. All he wanted to do was put as much distance between himself and these mysterious horsemen. He crossed another glade. The ground beneath him gave way. Horrorstruck, Waldis realised he had blundered into one of the woodland marshes. He tried to climb out but he was sinking fast. The line of horsemen grouped around him. Waldis stretched out his hands.\n\n'Help me! For the love of God, help me!'\n\nHe sank into the marsh, spluttering and gasping. The horsemen remained impassive, as the parish clerk of St Oswald's choked slowly to death on the mud and slime of the marsh."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Rockingham Manor house was a stately, luxurious building. About half a mile from the church, it nestled amongst the low-lying hills with woods behind. Within its walls were small orchards, gardens, stables and outhouses. A small village in itself, all serving the great manor house, built four storeys high with a grey and red brick base. The other storeys were of black beam and yellow plaster whilst the thatched roof had long been replaced with gleaming sheets of red and black slate. A testimony to its owner's wealth, the manor window frames were of gleaming wood and the glass was thick-leaded, stained and coloured so the windows caught the light. The house looked like a church, an impression helped by the imposing front door which Philip and his companions now approached along the white, pebble-dashed pathway. They had followed this from the manor gate, past the gardens and trees across a large lawn, with ornamental bowers and stew ponds, into the front of the house. Philip was surprised by how busy the manor was: horsemen coming and going, bailiffs and other officials gathered in the hallway. There were even men-at-arms carrying the gaudy pennants of the sheriff of Kent; these were now splattered with mud whilst the men looked tired and weary.\n\n'It's the damn French!' Lord Montalt explained when they met him in the parlour.\n\nHe ushered them to chairs in front of a fire which roared merrily beneath the great mantelpiece.\n\n'Bloody French!' Montalt repeated: he shook their hands, half listening to the introductions.\n\n'I heard rumours,' Philip declared, taking his seat. He fought to hide his smile from this bluff, old soldier who was more concerned with fighting his ancient enemy than he was in welcoming his visitors.\n\nMontalt went and stared out of the window.\n\n'It will be dark soon,' he murmured, his white moustache seeming to bristle. He ran his hand over his hair which fell in iron-grey curls to the nape of his neck. Montalt was dressed simply in a lincoln-green tunic and hose, the woollen leggings pushed into short, leather boots. He kept hitching his great war belt strapped round his waist, tapping on the pommel of his sword. He turned and glanced at Philip, icy-blue eyes almost popping out of his head.\n\n'We are in a bad state, priest. The old king's dead, the Black Prince is dead. King Richard is only a boy. We have been driven out of France and now the French want to follow us home.'\n\n'Father, for goodness' sake, sit down!'\n\nPhilip turned as a young man entered the room. He had a long, thin, friendly face, clean-shaven and weather-beaten, under an unruly mop of brown hair. He was dressed very similarly to his father but Philip's attention was taken by the young woman who rested on his arm. The priest had a clear view of his vow of celibacy. He prayed, he fasted, he wanted to do God's work and knew he could never marry. However, the young woman was strikingly beautiful. She was dressed simply in a blue gown fringed at the neck and collar with white linen, her raven-black hair hidden under a white wimple. Her face, oval-shaped with a creamy complexion, was perfectly proportioned: her nose was small, her mouth full and merry whilst the eyes were sea-grey and full of life.\n\n'This is my son Henry.' Lord Richard waved the young couple forward. 'And Isolda, daughter of one of my old war comrades, Henry's betrothed.' His smile disappeared. 'The French have landed on the Kentish coast,' Lord Richard continued abruptly. 'They are burning villages, the sheriff has called out the posse.'\n\nThe old manor lord walked back to the window, peering out, as if he dared the French to jump up from behind a bush. Henry and Isolda, fighting hard to control their laughter, introduced themselves to Philip and his two companions.\n\n'He's an old war horse,' Henry whispered. 'He fought at Poitiers. So, for God's sake, don't mention that name to him, otherwise you won't get away before Easter.'\n\nPhilip smiled back. He found he couldn't stop looking at Lady Isolda. She was so beautiful, so good natured, with none of the simpering coyness or petty flirtatiousness he found in some attractive women. She began to imitate Lord Richard: Stephen put his face in his hands, Edmund just laughed.\n\n'I know what you are doing, young lady.' Lord Richard came and sat down in the central chair, drumming his fingers on the arm-rest. 'I wish the bloody French would come here, to Rockingham or Scawsby!' He shook a fist. 'I'd show them cold steel. Like I did at Poitiers.' He looked at his three visitors. 'I was there, you know, on the right flank!'\n\n'But, Father,' Henry intervened quickly. 'Our visitors have come to introduce themselves. They are our guests, they may have questions to ask.'\n\n'Yes, yes, quite.' Sir Richard bawled at a servant to bring wine and sweetmeats. 'And speak we shall. But look, sirs.' Lord Richard grabbed the tray of sweetmeats from the servant and began to arrange them on the table. 'This is the English line at Poitiers.' He popped one sweetmeat into his mouth. 'That's the Genoese, I've taken care of them. Now, I was over here on the right...'\n\nLord Richard, despite the protests of his son, launched into a detailed and elaborate description of the battle of Poitiers and how he had fought under the Black Prince. Henry raised his eyes heavenwards. Isolda folded her hands on her lap and sat as if fascinated. Every so often Lord Richard would break off to call her a minx. Outside darkness fell, servants came in to light torches as Lord Richard drew his account to a close, sipping at his wine cup, mournfully shaking his head. He then broke free of his reminiscences and apologised profusely for being so excited when his guests arrived. For a while he chatted to Edmund and Stephen. Philip, still fascinated by the Lady Isolda, soon realised she and Henry were deeply in love.\n\n'So, what do you think?' Lord Richard turned to him.\n\n'About the parish, my lord?'\n\n'No, man, about the French! Do you think they'll ride inland?'\n\nPhilip made a face and shook his head. 'I am a priest, not a soldier, Lord Richard, but, yes, it's possible. The Kentish coast is flat, only round Scawsby do you get hills and valleys. If they seize horses and ride inland they would create havoc: they'd not necessarily return to the place where they landed but, perhaps, meet their ships further north.'\n\n'Good man! Good man!' Sir Richard tapped his arm. 'We'll make a soldier of you yet.' He breathed out noisily. 'I've sent out scouts.'\n\nSomewhere in the house a bell sounded.\n\n'But, come, my seneschal declares the food is ready.'\n\nSupper was taken in the great hall of the manor, finely furnished with the loot of war and the profits of the wool trade. Dark oaken panelling covered the walls; above these hung gaily coloured banners depicting the Montalt arms as well as those they had married into. Lord Richard took his guests to a prepared table on the dais, a lavishly furnished alcove at the end of the hall. The heads of foxes, stags, deer, boar and other hunting trophies decorated the walls. The table was well furnished, dominated by a great silver salt cellar carved in the shape of a castle. The meal was exquisite, Lord Richard being a generous host: brawn soup, meat pastries, a haunch of venison and gaming birds stuffed with herbs. The wine flowed: Lord Richard did not return to the wars of France but sat quietly letting the others discuss local affairs and the gossip from London.\n\nAt first Philip thought the old man had either drunk too much or was still worried about the French. However, Lord Richard soon proved he was as cunning and as quick as a fox. At the end of the meal, he deftly arranged for Henry and Isolda to take Edmund and Stephen around the manor.\n\n'Show them the scroll room,' he bellowed, 'where my ancestors had their library. It's a fine place. You'll like it, Edmund, you too, Stephen. If you see anything you like, borrow it.'\n\nHowever, as soon as the group had left the hall, his smile faded. He glanced at Philip now sitting on his right, pushed his chair away and turned to face the priest squarely.\n\n'Talking of books, Father Philip, you know the old adage: never judge one by its cover? I may appear a bluff, old warrior, concerned about the French. I chattered like a buffoon because I did not want to alarm my son and my prospective daughter-in-law.' He smiled thinly. 'She is as beautiful as she looks. A good woman, sharp-witted and blessed with common sense.'\n\n'So, why did you chatter, my lord? Why didn't you want to worry them?'\n\n'You are sharp too,' Lord Richard replied. 'I can see that. You've been down to the parish church.' He picked at his teeth. 'Dismal, isn't it? I can see why you want to build a new one.' Lord Richard paused. 'And you've talked to Roheisia: I mean about Father Anthony?'\n\n'She told me a little: the priest was old, a scholar. He was deeply interested, if not fascinated, by the history of the village...'\n\n'Ah yes, history. And the legends?'\n\n'In the end she told me very little,' Philip replied.\n\n'Well, let me tell you the truth.' Lord Montalt eased himself back in his chair. 'At least the truth as I have been told it in the history of my family. In the winter of 1308, the English king at the time, Edward II, issued an order that all Templars in his kingdom were to be arrested. He was forced to do this at the behest of his father-in-law Philip IV, King of France. You know something about that?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Well, according to legend, a group of Templars fled from their church in London. A good baker's dozen they say, twelve or thirteen. They took with them the treasure of their Order: gold, silver, precious cups and plate. Now my ancestor at the time was, well to put it bluntly, a pirate and a smuggler; a man who feared neither God nor man. He was also a close friend of the local priest, Walter Romanel. Now, so tradition says, my ancestor discovered this treasure was crossing the wilds of Kent, not far from Scawsby: he and Vicar Romanel made a plot. Have you ridden round the district yet?'\n\nPhilip shook his head.\n\n'In winter, the land can be treacherous, pathways can suddenly end, trackways lead into marsh. All the time there's the mist, boiling like the devil's stream, sweeping in so quickly that, even if you are born in these parts, you can soon get lost. Now, to cut a long story short, Romanel and my ancestor, God forgive him, organised a party of ruffians from the village. They played the old smugglers' trick, lighting torches, guiding the unwary off the trackways into the marsh.'\n\n'But armed knights, warriors...?'\n\n'On a battlefield perhaps, Father Philip. However, stuck in a marsh with the mists swirling about, they would be easy victims, quickly brought down by a volley of arrows.' Lord Richard paused. 'God knows what happened,' he whispered. 'But the legend says these ruffians seized the treasure and brought it back. I think they began to use it. My grandfather bought more land, refurbished this house. Vicar Romanel began work on the church, he had the same ideas as you.'\n\n'I am sorry,' Philip intervened. 'But how do you know all this?'\n\n'Word of mouth from father to son. I mean, no one is going to be stupid enough to write down an account. You must remember that the king at the time, Edward II, was furious that he had lost such a great treasure. Royal commissioners came into Scawsby but they went away empty-handed.' Lord Richard drank from his wine cup, cradling the bowl between his fingers. 'The years passed. The villains must have thought, and I call them villains, that they would escape unscathed. However, according to the legend, Romanel began to talk of the Spectantes, the Watchers, and the whispering that can be heard in the graveyard and round the house. You have seen the inscriptions?'\n\n'Aye, Lord Richard. The same phrase occurs time and time again: \"WE ARE WATCHING YOU, WE ARE ALWAYS WATCHING YOU.\" There's also the eyes painted on the pillars. Anyway, what happened to your grandfather?'\n\n'Something similar to Romanel. Lord George, my forebear, used to wake at night screaming and yelling. He talked of mailed horsemen out in the courtyard. One morning his bed was found empty. He was discovered in the orchard, lying there in his night shirt, dead of an apoplexy. Others say that, by the look of horror on his face, he had stared into the depths of Hell. Sometime later Romanel went mad. He was taken to St Bartholomew's in London where he died in a cell, screaming that they were still watching him.' Lord Richard put his wine cup down. 'Do you believe in ghosts, Father?'\n\n'The Church teaches us about the Powers of Darkness, Lord Richard.'\n\n'But are these from Hell?' the manor lord replied. 'Let us say it is true that my grandfather and Vicar Romanel slaughtered innocent men, who were also priests and warriors of Christendom and did so to seize the Templar treasure.' Lord Richard waved a hand. 'Now these murderers came from Scawsby so the village should be cursed. But you've seen the place? The prosperous houses, the fertile fields; people are born, live, marry and die. They are happy, provided the bloody French don't, return!'\n\n'So, you are saying the place is not cursed?'\n\n'I don't know. The church certainly is. Oh, I know why the priests don't stay. They can sense a presence. I suspect Father Anthony, as well as our ne'er-do-well clerk, Waldis, were looking for the gold. I wouldn't touch it for all the angels in heaven though I suspect it's buried in the old priory out at High Mount. It's the one place my grandfather and Romanel never approached, they stayed away from there as if it was cursed.' The old knight pulled his chair closer. 'Anyway, I've been thinking. Perhaps curses work in a different way. My grandfather was married to a beautiful, young heiress. She gave birth to my father and died within weeks. My own mother died the same way, as did my wife...'\n\nPhilip gripped his wine cup tighter. The hall didn't seem so merry now. The roaring fire lost some of its warmth.\n\n'Can't you see, Father?' The old knight's eyes brimmed with tears. 'Are you going to tell me it's a coincidence that three times in successive generations in the Montalt line, a young wife dies immediately she gives birth? Can't you see what that portends for the future? Henry is handfast to Isolda.' His voice trembled. 'Is she going to be punished, Father? Is she going to die for a sin my grandfather committed?' The old man's head slumped. 'Now you know why,' he mumbled, 'I act the old war horse. I don't want to talk about these legends and curses in the presence of Henry or Isolda.' He raised his face. 'What can I do, Father?'\n\n'How long have you known this?' Philip asked.\n\n'Only recently. Only when I began to reflect. I also did a scrutiny of the villagers. Do you know, Father, in many ways Scawsby is a most fortunate place? Even the great plague hardly touched it whilst famine and murrain are strangers. We are well away from both highways and other towns so Scawsby survives. However, I went through the parish registers: there's a pattern I have described. A young man marries, his young wife gives birth and then dies. Father, I know women die in childbirth yet I wonder, I really do, if there is a curse on Scawsby. Not on the village, but on those particular families who were involved in that treacherous attack on the Templars and the theft of their gold.'\n\nPhilip stared round the hall. In his training as a priest he had attended the schools in Cambridge and, when studying Theology, Philip had taken more than a passing interest in Demonology, the involvement of Satan and his angels in the fall of man. Philip did not believe in the silly stories or old wives' tales. He took the cynical view that Satan and his legions worked in more subtle ways. Moreover, in this situation, who and where was the evil? The good Templars who had been plundered and destroyed, or the men who had carried out such a bloodthirsty assault? What if this was God's justice at work rather than any diabolical game?\n\n'Isolda can't die,' Montalt grated. 'I am not an old man fuddled in my wits, Father; and, before you offer, I spoke to some of the other priests years ago: you can bless this house, Henry and Isolda until the crack of doom, it won't do any good.'\n\nPhilip leaned his arms on the table. 'If I go to the bishop,' he began slowly, 'he wouldn't believe it. Lord Richard, isn't there any clue? Any key to all this mystery?'\n\n'Come, I'll show you.'\n\nHe almost dragged Philip by the arm and led him out of the hall. In the distance Philip could hear Stephen and the rest laughing and talking. Montalt lit a lantern and took the priest into the kitchen. He opened a small door at the far end.\n\n'This leads to the cellars,' he declared. 'When Grandfather lost his wits, he used to hide here. He'd spend his day in a small chamber built in a cellar.'\n\nHe led Philip down the steps. The walls on either side were white-washed, the tunnel thin and narrow as a needle. Montalt opened the lantern and lit the sconce torches fixed high in the wall. Wheezing with exertion and muttering under his breath, the old soldier took his guest further down the passageway. He opened a door and they entered a mean, narrow cell. It had no windows and, when the torches were lit, all Philip saw was an old table, a chair and a battered chest. Cobwebs hung like drapes in the corners. Lord Richard took Philip across.\n\n'Look at this, Father.'\n\nMontalt held the torch up. Philip made out the scratches which were carved there. His blood ran cold. Whoever had drawn these was a tortured soul: they had been hacked into the plaster with a knife. 'George Montalt' was scrawled a number of times, as if the long-dead knight had been trying to remember his own name, as if he was clinging to the last vestiges of sanity. The other markings were disjointed: 'Spectantes, the Watchers', 'Jesus miserere', 'May Jesus have mercy on me.' Then the name 'Veronica' carved a number of times.\n\n'Who was she?' Philip asked.\n\n'I don't know,' Lord Richard replied. 'There's never been a woman in our family called Veronica. The only one I know is the saint who wiped Jesus' face as he made his way to Calvary.'\n\n'These numbers?' Philip asked. 'Six and fourteen, quite distinct?'\n\nAgain Lord Richard shook his head. Philip grasped the lantern and studied the rest of the wall. His apprehension deepened as he made out the eyes, similar to the ones painted on the pillars of the church, and that phrase which now beat like a drum throughout this whole mystery: 'SPECTAMUS TE, SEMPER SPECTAMUS TE.'\n\n'Does it mean anything to you, Father?'\n\nPhilip shook his head. 'Nothing at all. Lord Richard, what was this treasure the Templars were supposed to be carrying?'\n\n'Father, I can only guess, as can you: precious plates, gems, cups, a veritable king's fortune. If the old wives' tales are to be believed.'\n\n'Now, here's a strange thing,' Philip declared, handing the lantern back. 'I know a little about the Templars. They were fighters, monks and priests. The allegations against them were spurious: they were accused of worshipping a disembodied head, practising sodomy and magical rituals. In truth, it was all a pack of lies put together by the Pope and others as an excuse to destroy the Order.'\n\nPhilip sat down on a chair as he tried to recall what he had read in the chronicles at Cambridge.\n\n'Yes, that's right,' he continued. 'Their Grand Master at the time, Jacques de Molay, was burnt in front of Notre Dame. He publicly cursed the architects of his downfall: King Philip of France and Pope Clement V. As the fires were lit around him, de Molay summoned Philip and Clement to appear before God's tribunal within a year and a day of his own death.'\n\n'And that happened?' Lord Richard asked.\n\n'Oh yes. Both Clement and Philip died. A dreadful judgement must have befallen them.'\n\n'But what has this got to do with the problem at Scawsby?'\n\nPhilip rubbed his face. He was tired after the wine. His mind was rather fuddled but he knew, deep in his heart, that if he wished to serve the people of Scawsby, he had to confront this silent, lurking menace.\n\n'Lord Richard, I don't boast. I am a scholar as well as a priest. Aristotle teaches us that there must be a logic to everything.'\n\n'But there's no logic to curses, to ghosts?'\n\n'No.' Philip shook his head. 'That's what's missing from this, the logic of it all. Let us accept that the legend is fact: we have a group of Templars, guarding their treasure, fleeing through the wilds of Kent. They are ambushed and killed, their treasure is taken off them. Now the Templars' souls go before God. Oh yes, they died terrible deaths. They were murdered but, Lord Richard, not a day passes without good men being murdered. Moreover, the Templars died the way they wanted to, struggling to protect their Order, fighting against evil.'\n\n'So, why the curse? Why did Romanel and Grandfather George go witless?'\n\nPhilip grasped the old man's hand and squeezed it. He had taken an immediate and very deep liking to this old manor lord, this bluff soldier who could face the French but was terrified that his beautiful daughter-in-law might die before her time.\n\n'See this as a puzzle, Lord Richard,' Philip insisted. 'As I have said, every day good men and women, even children, are murdered for gold. Yet the kingdom is not full of ghosts striving for vengeance. No, on the night these Templars died, something else happened. What it was I don't know but it is something which must be put right.'\n\nLord Richard looked at this sharp-featured priest. He cupped Philip's face in his great hands. 'I'm glad you came here, Father,' he said softly. 'You believe me. You know there is something here which has to be confronted. I believe you are right.' He moved the lantern and put it on the table. 'Look at the table top.'\n\nThe priest did so. There were fresh carvings, the same word time and time again. REPARATION! REPARATION! REPARATION!\n\n'Did he make reparation?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh yes,' Lord Richard replied. 'In the year before he died Grandfather drew up his will: there's nothing extraordinary in it except he left a rich bequest to the Hospitallers, another crusading order, to help them in their fight against the infidel. He also paid good silver to the priests throughout Kent to sing Masses for the souls of those he had wronged. He gave money to the poor...'\n\n'But,' Philip intervened, 'apparently that was not enough. Is there anything else, Lord Richard?'\n\nThe old knight shook his head. 'Philip, you know as much as I do,' he replied. 'You see, my grandfather or old Romanel never wrote anything down. How could they? The king's commissioners came to Scawsby looking for the Templars' treasure. They went away empty-handed but can you imagine what would have happened if Grandfather and Romanel had been convicted of this offence? The Templars were a condemned order. All their property belonged to the Crown. Grandfather George would have faced charges of murder, robbery and treason. He would not only have lost his life but the Montalts would have forfeited everything to the Crown. Grandfather had to remain silent.'\n\n'Lord Richard! Lord Richard!' Isolda called from the top of the cellar. 'For goodness' sake, what are you doing down there?'\n\n'Showing our visitor my fine wines.' The old knight winked at Philip. 'We are coming up now.' He grasped Philip's shoulder. 'Solve this mystery,' he whispered. 'Save us all, Father, and I'll build as many churches as you want!'\n\nPhilip, Edmund and Stephen left a short while later. Darkness had fallen. They refused Lord Richard's offer to stay overnight but gratefully accepted his offer of two servants to go before them carrying torches. The night was cold but the sky was cloud-free and they soon found themselves back at the priest's house. Philip gave each of the torch-bearers a coin. They then led the horses to the back, put them in the stables and entered the house by the small postern door at the rear. Roheisia and her son had long gone. The fire in the kitchen had been banked down but the place was clean and swept, the table laid out for the morning meal.\n\n'We'll not say a dawn Mass,' Philip declared. 'Let's wait till the men come in from the fields at mid-morning.' He tapped his brother on the shoulder. 'We'll concelebrate together.'\n\nPhilip sat down on a stool in front of the fire. Edmund murmured that he was tired. Philip just nodded. He was listening to the house, watching for any sign, any sound, but the place was silent, save for a creaking of timbers and the noise of Edmund dragging himself up the stairs, opening and closing the chamber door above. Stephen came and sat beside him.\n\n'Do you think Lord Richard will support the new church?' the master mason asked.\n\n'I think so. But, as you know, Stephen, there's a mystery here.'\n\n'Legends,' the master mason scoffed. 'Old wives' tales. We come from the schools of Cambridge. Oh, I am not being a heretic. I believe in God, his angels and the kingdom of heaven but I have heard the stories about Templar treasure, there's nothing to it. What I am interested in is bricks and mortar, plans to build a new church. By all means look after your parishioners, humour Lord Richard but we should strike whilst the iron's hot. Tomorrow, Philip, let's go out to High Mount.'\n\n'Are you sure you want to be here, Stephen?'\n\nStephen rubbed his hands together. 'Philip, you are my friend. Oh, I have worked as a master mason at Westminster, at Smithfield, in Cripplegate, but to build your own church!' Stephen got to his feet. 'That's the fulfilment of a dream.' He walked to the door, then came back. 'But a man has to live, Philip. Who will pay for the church?'\n\n'I understand the parish has revenues,' Philip replied. 'But Lord Richard is a generous lord: the stone can be cut locally and Scawsby is not short of labourers.'\n\n'Then it's time we began. Good night, Philip.'\n\nStephen clapped his friend on the shoulder and went up to his chamber. For a while Philip just sat staring into the dying embers of the fire. It had been an eventful day but he kept remembering two faces: the agony in Lord Richard's, and Isolda's merry-eyed looks. He got up and walked to the front door. He paused with his hand on the latch and went out, bracing himself against the night air. Philip walked through the small side gate and into the cemetery. It was bitterly cold: the branches of the yew trees moved slowly in the night wind. The silence was deathly. Philip stared around. In the faint moonlight he could make out the crosses and headstones towering against the dark mass of the church. He was about to turn away when he heard the first whisper, like a breeze carrying the words of someone far away. Philip paused, clenching his hands. He'd heard the words, 'Spectamus, We are watching', but was that his imagination? He glared towards the church as if the building was responsible for these fears, these nightmares. He was about to turn away when he saw the glow of light from a window: someone was inside the nave, moving about with a torch or lantern. Philip thought of calling for Edmund or Stephen but, feeling slightly ridiculous, he walked across to the church, took the key from his pouch and opened the corpse door at the side. Philip fought against the sense of dread, of dark foreboding. Once inside he could see no light, no torch, no lantern. Narrowing his eyes, he could make out the pillars, the dark mass of the rood screen and the great oblong shape of the Montalt tomb. Richard took a few steps forward: the sound was like someone clapping. He stared through the rood screen, glimpsed the red sanctuary light and took comfort from it. He remembered the opening verse of Vespers: 'Oh God, come to my aid. Lord make haste to help me!' He repeated the words as he walked towards the sanctuary but froze as he heard a voice whisper back: 'I will go unto the altar of god, the God who gives joy to my youth.' Philip spun round, his hand going to the small dagger he kept in the sheath of his belt.\n\n'Who's there?' he shouted. 'This is God's house! In the name of the Lord Jesus...!'\n\n'Spectamus te! Semper spectamus te!'\n\n'Aye!' Philip screamed back. 'And I am watching you! I, Philip, priest of this church!'\n\nSomething was moving at the bottom of the church. Philip drew his knife and ran towards the main door but there was nothing. He heard a sound behind him. He spun round, moaned in terror and dropped the knife. Eyes, like burning coals, glared at him through the darkness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "'Heavens above!' Mine Host exclaimed. 'Sir Priest, you tell a frightening tale!'\n\n'Is it true?' The Summoner edged nearer the fire, glancing fearfully over his shoulder as if he expected some sprite or goblin to jump through the door of the ruined church.\n\n'Pilate asked: \"What is truth?\"' the Poor Priest declared. 'He did not receive an answer but Christ said he was the Truth, so I leave that matter to him.'\n\n'But ghosts?' the Pardoner mocked. 'Do you really believe in ghosts?'\n\n'I believe in ghosts,' the Wife of Bath spoke up from where she sat on the cushions on the far side of the fire, her great cloak pulled around her. 'In my pilgrimage to Cologne, I and my companions,' she simpered, 'had to take refuge in a castle high in the mountains: Falkenstein Castle. Yes, that's what it was called.'\n\n'I have been there,' Sir Godfrey intervened. 'When I fought with the Teutonic knights in Prussia.'\n\n'In which case, sir, you know my story,' the Wife of Bath retorted. 'A dreadful place.' She continued in a hoarse whisper, 'The good Count allowed us to sleep in the hall. He told us that, once the doors were locked and barred, we were to ignore anything we heard or saw.'\n\n'And what did you see?' the Summoner joked.\n\nHe stood up, clawing at his codpiece. He rearranged his cloak on the ground but, in doing so, made an obscene gesture in the direction of the Wife of Bath.\n\n'Don't you get filthy with me!' she screeched, half rising to her feet. 'I knocked three husbands flat on their backs. I'll do the same to you!'\n\n'Come, come!' Mine Host intervened. 'We were talking about ghosts!'\n\n'A terrible night,' the Wife of Bath continued, glaring across at the Summoner. 'Roaring all around us! Strange lights could be seen through the windows! Knocking on the door! Running footsteps and dragging chains! In the morning we asked our host what was the matter: he took us up into the tower. It was summer but, I tell you this, good sirs and ladies, that place was the coldest on God's earth. At the top of the tower was a chamber, all bare and white-washed, its floorboards painted black. In the centre of the room was a four-poster bed with a large tester, a canopy stretching up to the ceiling. One of our party lay on the bed and the Count then showed us how, if he pulled a secret lever, a swinging axe would come down over the bed and slice whoever slept on it. Then he pulled another lever, hidden behind the arras, and trapdoors opened on either side of the bed.'\n\n'Oh heaven save us!' Dame Eglantine the Prioress broke in. 'So, if you weren't cut to ribbons on the bed, you fell to your death in the oubliette?'\n\n'Oh yes,' the Wife of Bath replied. 'A horrifying death. The Count explained how one of his ancestors used to butcher pilgrims who dared to stay at the castle. The terrible noises we heard were their ghosts who, at night, wailed through the castle looking for vengeance.'\n\nThe Wife of Bath would have continued but Sir Godfrey grabbed her wrist. She looked across to where the Poor Priest was standing, staring into the darkness, as if he had seen something and had forgotten all about them.\n\n'Do you think this is true?' she whispered.\n\n'Good mistress, I think it is. I know Scawsby and I have met the Montalt family on many occasions.'\n\n'Hush now!' The Ploughman, who had overheard them, lifted a hand. 'Sir Godfrey, let my brother finish his tale.'\n\n'It's true,' the Cook spoke up.\n\nEveryone looked at him. Usually the Cook was one of their more boisterous colleagues, ready to joke and parry with Mine Host or the Miller. However, since they had arrived at the church, he had become cowed. Indeed, he spent most of his time peering at the Poor Priest and his brother as if he couldn't decide whether he recognised them or not.\n\n'It's true,' he repeated.\n\nThe Poor Priest abruptly broke from his reverie. He glanced at the Cook who now sat feverishly scratching the sore on his leg.\n\n'Yes,' he declared. 'I am, sir, who you think I am. Nevertheless, hold your peace and let me continue.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The next morning, although Edmund and Stephen were up eager to start the day, Philip was dull-eyed and heavy-headed. He had fled from the church the night before and felt he could not share his experiences with his companions. He could not decide whether he had been tired or had drunk too much wine. Or was his soul now stuffed full of ancient legends and mysterious curses? Philip found it difficult to return to the church but, when he did so at mid-morning, he found it dull and cold, dark and dank. However, he was soon distracted by the parishioners who clustered through the rood screen and around the altar whilst he celebrated the Mass of the day. Edmund, who had celebrated a dawn Mass in the Lady Chapel, officiated as his server. Afterwards a few of the old parishioners remained to shake his hand and welcome him into the parish. Philip smiled at them but his eyes kept going to the back of the church, where the coffin woman crouched near the baptismal font. One of the parishioners, Simon the blacksmith, followed his gaze.\n\n'Oh, don't worry about her, Father,' he declared. 'She always likes to sit at the foot of the pillar. We always invite her to join us but it's of little use.'\n\nPhilip thanked him and went into the small sacristy where he divested and hung up his vestments. Edmund caught his sour glance.\n\n'It's untidy,' Edmund explained, gesturing at the albs, amices and other priestly vestments which lay about the room whilst half-burnt candlesticks littered the table.\n\n'I thought we had a parish clerk!' Philip snapped.\n\n'So did I.' Edmund smiled back. 'But Adam Waldis seems to have disappeared like the mist. Roheisia and Crispin knocked at his door this morning but his house was all shuttered up.'\n\nPhilip closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. Wasn't anything going to go right here? he thought. He told Edmund to stay and tidy up and went across to the priest's house. The day was a fine one and a strong sun in a clear blue sky had burnt off the frost. Even the graveyard looked pleasant and, in the soft breeze, Philip caught the first fragrance of spring. Roheisia was waiting for him. She had been busy at the ovens and the air was fragrant with the odour of meats and bread. She now bustled around the kitchen as busy as a bee whilst her son Crispin sat humming in the ingle-nook, mending battered, leather reins. Philip sat down and broke his fast on watered ale and a fresh meat pie.\n\n'And Waldis hasn't arrived yet?' he asked.\n\n'No,' Stephen declared, coming in, his cloak around him.\n\nThe master mason sat down opposite. He pushed his blond hair away from his face which looked flushed and excited.\n\n'You are really pleased to be here, aren't you?' Philip asked.\n\n'Of course!' Stephen smiled. 'You are going out to High Mount with us?'\n\nPhilip shook his head. Stephen's smile faded.\n\n'Stephen! Stephen!' Philip exclaimed. 'There's a lot to do here!'\n\n'But you need to see the new site,' Stephen insisted.\n\n'Let Edmund go with you.'\n\nStephen was going to argue the point when there was a knock on the door. Roheisia answered it and a young man, thin and wiry, dressed in a green tunic and brown leggings, sauntered into the kitchen. He carried a bow with a quiver of arrows across his back: a dagger was stuck into his belt. He came up and extended his hand.\n\n'Piers Bramhall.' He scratched nervously at the scrawny moustache which covered his upper lip. 'I am verderer of the manor. Sir Richard sent me down. I am to be your guide.'\n\n'That was kind of Sir Richard.' Philip rose and clasped the stranger's hands.\n\n'I am also here to protect you,' Piers confessed, plucking at the bow string. 'It's a fine day but, if you stay out late and the mists seep in, it is easy to get lost. And, of course, there's the French...'\n\n'Is Sir Richard still receiving reports?' Stephen asked anxiously.\n\n'Oh yes, all the coastal towns and villages are on a war footing. Sir Richard maintains that if the bastards steal horses, they may well ride further inland.'\n\nStephen drew the verderer into a detailed conversation about High Mount. Philip sat half listening, picking at the food on the pewter plate. Edmund came in. He, too, broke his fast and then, amid shouts and farewells, all three left. Philip sat moodily at the table. Now and again he caught Roheisia glancing furtively at him but he refused to be drawn, deciding that he would be most discreet in what he said.\n\nPhilip yawned. He felt tired. Last night was a nightmare and, in his soul, Philip realised that what confronted him at Scawsby was something he had never prepared for. He saw himself as a priest. Now, he quietly conceded that he was arrogant, patronising to those he was supposed to serve. He had always tried to improve himself. He wished he could pray more fervently, that he had a deeper faith, that he could be a true shepherd and not a wolf. Now, in the presence of evil, of real wickedness, he understood why other priests had simply walked away. Philip closed his eyes and remembered his mother: she had been so proud of her two sons. When they had stood, either side of her death bed, she had grasped the hand of each of them.\n\n'Be good priests,' she whispered. 'Do not lose faith in God and he will not lose faith in you.'\n\n'Father, are you well?'\n\nPhilip opened his eyes. Roheisia was staring at him.\n\n'Oh, it's nothing.' He shook his head. 'I just wish Waldis was here.' He tried hard not to sound petulant. 'I mean, he is our parish clerk.'\n\n'Never been the same since he worked so closely with Father Anthony,' Roheisia retorted.\n\nPhilip, not wishing to be drawn into conversation about such matters, got to his feet.\n\n'I'll be in my chamber, Roheisia. I didn't sleep too well last night.'\n\nAs soon as he was back in his own room, Philip immediately began to sift through Father Anthony's papers and books. He found the calfskin ledger specially made by a stationer in Norwich. This was the parish journal, kept by the vicar and handed over to the bishop or his officers whenever a visitation was made. It stretched back over a hundred years and Philip immediately leafed to the section filled in by Romanel. The ink was faded but the hand was firm, the writing cursive and elegant. Most of the items were of little importance: births, deaths, marriages, the failure of corn. Romanel bemoaned his lack of income but then, abruptly in the spring of 1309, the writing became more feverish; the script less delicate, letters unformed, words not finished. Philip, fascinated, watched this slow disintegration of a soul. Romanel was clearly agitated, trying to hide something, torn between a desire for secrecy and a wish to confess. Most of the entries were mundane but then they'd break off, slip into phrases, expressions which made no sense: THE EYES ARE WATCHING. They are always there. Montalt's no help, the demons chase me. Then a misquotation from the Book of Ecclesiastes: Some spirits there are who are bent on vengeance and lay on with furious strikes. This was followed by a paragraph from the prophet Isaiah: In the ruins of Babylon, demons dwell. Philip turned the pages over. Now there were gaps as if Romanel hadn't even bothered to write. However, under the year 1312, Philip read: On this day was buried Lord George Montalt, he asked to be buried in sight of the altar but this will not save him from the demons of hell. He died without God and without God he will remain. A few lines later: The Watchers are back! I hear their whispers on the breeze and, when I look out of my casement window, I see them, hands stretched out. Perhaps I should kill her? Perhaps she should die too? Ah Veronica, who wiped the face of Jesus, wipe my soul of sin. Reparation, reparation but what reparation? And, finally: Montalt is gone. The treasure is gone with him. I should be gone too, deep into the madness of hell.\n\nFor a while Philip just sat. There were no more entries but those he had read, what did they mean? He understood about the watchers and the whispers. He had witnessed these himself. But who was Veronica? And who was the woman Romanel wished he might kill? He turned to the front of the ledger. Romanel had sketched a drawing of the old Saxon ruins at High Mount. Philip could make out the shape of a priory but what fascinated him were the crude drawings of coffins which filled the sketch. Each was carefully numbered. Philip turned to the back of the ledger, leafing through the pages since 1312. Sometimes the entries were short and ordinary but, now and again, Philip sensed the fear of some of the priests who had stayed too long.\n\n'This is a terrible place,' one of them had written. 'The very gate of hell.'\n\n'Something is wrong here,' another had inscribed. 'There is a lingering sense of evil, of wickedness, yet the people are good. The lord of the manor is kind and generous but, here in the church and in the house and the cemetery beyond, something is very wrong. Should it be exorcised?'\n\nAfter that Philip found nothing until he came to a vicar called Father Norbert. He had only stayed fourteen months. He had made the usual entries about parish life but, now and again, there were slips: 'Last night was fearsome, why do I feel as if I am always being watched? Should there be an exorcism?' Then this priest's last entry: 'Yesterday afternoon I began an exorcism, too frightening, too dangerous to continue. I have asked his Lordship to be moved. I am a sick man, I am a priest not a wonder worker.'\n\nAt last Philip came to the tenure of Father Anthony Holness, the previous incumbent of the parish. Once again the ledger began with the usual parish events. Philip leafed through the pages. So ordinary were the entries that he got the impression that Father Anthony knew about the mystery but remained so long because he turned a blind eye to it. Only now and again was there a sign of what was coming, as the deceased priest mentioned, time and again, his growing friendship with the parish clerk Adam Waldis. Philip looked up.\n\n'And I wonder where he is?' he whispered.\n\nHe returned to the ledger: an abrupt change occurred just after Easter two years ago. Father Anthony described a visit to High Mount accompanied by Waldis. He wrote excitedly about the legends and the possibility of hidden treasure. He, too, copying Romanel, had drawn a plan of the old Saxon priory at High Mount, marking with crosses the site of graves in the nave and sanctuary. There was an elliptical entry about something they had found: bones where they are not supposed to be. Philip noted references to 'Veronica?' '6?' 'And 14?' 'Letters of the alphabet?' 'Treasure in High Mount?' Then there was a gap for about three months. By mid-summer, however, Father Anthony was making further entries but the handwriting had changed: shaky, sometimes illegible, sentences not completed. In the margin of the ledger, the dead priest had copied out the eyes inscribed in the church. Father Anthony seemed fascinated by these: 'What are they watching?' 'Where are they looking?' 'Are they guarding something?' Father Anthony's disintegration became more apparent as he referred to the Watchers, to the whispers and the nightmares he was suffering. All entries ceased about six months before his death. Philip looked down at the blank page. He just wished Waldis was here. He could tell him more surely?\n\nPhilip then turned to the Blood Book. Most parishes kept such a record to indicate lines of consanguinity and affinity, so a priest could agree to a marriage provided the young man and young woman were not within the forbidden degrees of relationship. The Blood Book also contained the dates of births, deaths and burials. Some of these registers were kept meticulously, depending on the priest. Philip found St Oswald's no different. If the priest was of a clerkly mind and hand, the entries were full and carefully written. Sometimes there were gaps. He turned to the section by Romanel. Philip noticed nothing untoward except in the spring of 1309 where the vicar had written 'mortuus' beside certain entries. Against another, 'Corpus non inventur, body not found'. Philip recalled his conversation with Lord Richard the previous day, about the curse affecting certain families in the village. Due to the haphazard nature of the entries, Philip was unable to trace any pattern except in two families where, generation after generation, the young wife died after childbirth. He noticed that one of these was Bramhall, the verderer's family.\n\nPhilip put down the Blood Book and listened. The house was very silent. He went to the door and called for Roheisia but there was no answer. Philip remembered that she had mentioned something about going to the small market in the village. He closed the door and listened to the sounds of the house creaking around him.\n\n'I should really go,' he murmured, 'to High Mount. Stephen and Edmund will be waiting for me.'\n\nHe felt tired, still confused; he seized a quill, took a piece of parchment and began to write down what he had learnt.\n\nItem \u2013 In the winter of 1308, a group of Templars, fleeing from their church in London, and probably carrying treasure, had been ambushed and killed out on the marshes. Their assailants were from Scawsby led by Sir George Montalt and the priest Romanel.\n\nItem \u2013 All the Templars had been killed but where were their bodies buried? More importantly, where was the treasure? What did the inscription on the tomb mean? UNDER THE HIGH MOUNTAIN LIES THE TREASURE OF THE SON OF DAVID. Was that a reference to Solomon and that the treasure came from the Temple in Jerusalem? Did the high mountain refer to the old Saxon priory? Was that why Waldis and Father Anthony had been drawn to these ruins? Why Romanel never went out there, as he regarded the place as cursed? Was the Templar treasure buried there?\n\nItem \u2013 Who were the watchers, the 'Spectantes'? Why the eyes? Was this a reference to the Ghosts?\n\nItem \u2013 What did the name Veronica mean? Or the numbers 6 and 14? And why did Sir George Montalt talk of reparation? Reparation for the murder and the theft? And the Blood Book? Why the question mark against the word 'Mortuus' \u2013 dead? And, 'Body not found'?\n\nItem \u2013 If there was a curse on Scawsby why did it appear, at least on the surface, a happy and prosperous place? Or did the curse and the haunting only affect those who had either a hand in the slaughter of the Templars or, like Father Anthony, tried to discover the secret behind it?\n\nPhilip yawned, put his pen down and went to lie down on the bed. He stared up at the thick cloth canopy stretched between the four posts, studying the faint emblems there: a cross, a unicorn. He rolled over and drifted into sleep. When he awoke, he felt dreadfully cold, as if someone had opened a window, and the room smelt like a midden-heap, rank rot and corruption fouling the air. Philip pulled back the curtain on the bed: a hooded figure, a horrid spectre, stood there.\n\nPhilip stifled a cry as the cowl fell back revealing a face white as snow, a balding head, eyes, upturned at the corners, black as night, thin lips curled in a sneer.\n\n'Kill her!' A claw-like hand jabbed the air. 'Kill her!'\n\nPhilip broke from his reverie and screamed, lashing out with the bolster he plucked up from behind him. He heard sounds in the passageway outside.\n\n'Father Philip! Father Philip!'\n\nHe hurried to the door and threw it open: Roheisia, cloak still about her, stood there.\n\n'Father, are you all right? Your face, are you sick?'\n\nPhilip let go of the door. He turned slowly, as if the phantasm might still be there waiting, those lips hissing their command, yet there was nothing: only the bolster he had hurled, lying against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair.\n\n'Roheisia, I am sorry, I had a bad dream, a nightmare. I'm tired.'\n\nRoheisia offered him some food but Philip shook his head. He thanked her and, when she had gone, walked across to the lavarium to splash water over his face. Was it a nightmare? A dream? He went and studied the small table which stood beside his bed. It was covered with a veneer of dust. Roheisia had promised a proper clean of their chambers would take place once they had unpacked. Philip's mouth went dry; there was an imprint of a hand, the palm small, the fingers long. He placed his own hand down and realised it wasn't his imprint. Seizing his cloak Philip went downstairs. The afternoon was becoming grey, a weak sun setting. Philip walked out into the cemetery. There was a mist seeping in. Philip shivered but, his mind set, he walked through the trees to where he thought the coffin woman had her hut. He found her, a piece of embroidery on her lap, sitting on a stool outside: she didn't even glance up at his approach.\n\n'Are you well, Father Philip?'\n\nShe lifted her head and smiled. Philip could detect no malice.\n\n'I've come to talk to you.'\n\n'Talk is cheap,' she replied.\n\nShe carried on with her stitching, a piece of snow-white linen. Philip was surprised at how clean it was.\n\n'What are you doing?'\n\n'Making my own shroud.'\n\n'Do you expect to die?'\n\n'Why, Father, don't you?'\n\nPhilip grinned and crouched down beside her.\n\n'I make my own shroud and I say my prayers,' she declared.\n\n'What do you pray about?'\n\nThe corpse woman paused, needle held up. 'For salvation, Father: that my life in heaven will be happier than that on earth.'\n\n'Have you ever married? Look.' Philip brushed the back of her hand. 'You are a human being, a woman, a member of my parish, a sister in Christ. I can't keep calling you the coffin woman. What did Romanel call you?'\n\n'He called me Priscilla.'\n\n'Priscilla, why Priscilla?' Philip exclaimed.\n\n'I asked him that once. You know that malicious way of his?'\n\nPhilip withdrew his hand, the coffin woman flinched.\n\n'What do you mean?' Philip snapped. 'How could I possibly know a man who has been dead over seventy years? You know I've had a vision, don't you?'\n\nThe old woman sighed. She pulled the linen up into a bundle onto her lap. She leaned closer. She smelt sweet, of lavender and other herbs, and Philip noticed how clean her fingers and nails were.\n\n'They've all seen it.'\n\n'Seen what?' Philip replied evasively.\n\nPriscilla stretched forward and touched him on the tip of his nose.\n\n'I like you,' she declared. 'You talk to me. You don't call me a dirty, old hag and throw me your scraps. Or look at me as if I am a witch ripe for the stake. Priscilla,' she repeated. 'It's a Roman name, isn't it?'\n\n'Who was your mother?' Philip asked.\n\n'God rest her, I never knew. Some local girl. I can remember. Romanel never told me.'\n\n'And your childhood?'\n\nShe closed her eyes. 'I remember being here,' she said. 'I always remember Romanel but sometimes, sometimes...'\n\n'Sometimes what?' Philip asked.\n\n'Sometimes there are other,' she tapped the side of her head, 'other pictures.'\n\n'Do you know where your mother's buried?' Philip asked.\n\n'Yes, come with me.'\n\nShe put the piece of linen down on the stool and, without waiting, walked into the trees, gesturing for the priest to follow. He did so. They entered the cemetery. She stopped for a moment, fingers to her lips. She went across to a gnarled yew tree.\n\n'Romanel told me she's buried beneath here. This is where I come to pray.'\n\n'Did anyone in the village talk to you about her?' Philip asked.\n\nA shake of the head. 'I leaves them alone, they leaves me alone.'\n\n'And your father, the priest Romanel?'\n\n'Came out of hell and went back to hell, Father. He should never have been a priest. A man of great lechery, hand in glove with the old lord he was. They did everything together: hunt the deer, carouse and drink till the early light. Romanel was good to me.' She walked towards the corpse door of the church. 'He was always good, Father. I mean, he bought me dresses and taught me. But...'\n\n'But what?'\n\n'Sometimes I'd just catch him watching me. You know, like a cat does a mouse or a bird.'\n\n'The treasure?' Philip intervened. 'Did your father ever tell you about the treasure?'\n\n'Oh, there were rumours.' The old woman rubbed her face. 'There were rumours that he had done something terrible. I can't remember what. Indeed, I can't remember much, Father. You talked about the village. I remember, after Romanel had died, I went down to the tavern, one of the few occasions I did. It was very hot and I was thirsty. There was no fresh water so I wanted a pottle of ale to wet my lips and slake my throat. I went into the tavern, just within the doorway. They didn't really like me there. Well, I asked for my pottle of ale. I thought I'd a penny but I hadn't so the landlord told me to go away.' The coffin woman looked up at the sky. 'That's it.' She whispered, 'A kind man, long dead now. He bought me a tankard of ale. Told me to sit on a bench outside and watched me sup it. He asked me questions. Simple ones about the weather, how I was feeling? I hurried my ale because I was getting frightened but, just before I left, the kindly man, he took my hand.' She closed her eyes. 'One of the few times any one really touched me.' She opened her eyes. 'I am a virgin, you know, Father: born a maid, I'll die a maid.'\n\n'What did the man say?' Philip asked curiously.\n\n'He just said it was pleasant to hear me talk as, when I was small, when he first met me, I never said a word!'\n\nPhilip smiled and realised the old woman was beginning to ramble. She stretched out and grasped his wrist, her nails digging deeply into the skin.\n\n'I'm not witless, Father. I'm not witless. I just thought it was strange that people can remember times whilst I cannot.'\n\n'The treasure?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh yes, as I was saying, the treasure. There were rumours. I once asked my father. He just laughed but, as his mind slid into madness, he always laughed. One day he was sitting on the steps of the church. His face was grey. His eyes, well, he looked as if he hadn't slept for years. He was muttering to himself. I asked him what was the matter? He replied, \"If they only knew what the treasure really was!\" That's all I know, Father. But come, I wish to show you something.'\n\nShe led him through the door of the church along the dank, middle aisle past the Montalt tomb and into the Lady Chapel. She lit a taper from a candle and, beckoning Philip, went up to the left side of the statue of the Virgin. She crouched down, holding the flame against the wall.\n\n'Look, Father, can you see something?'\n\nPhilip, crouching beside her, studied the wall carefully. There was a faded painting, a crucifix surrounded by people, faces lifted, hands outstretched in supplication towards it.\n\n'Study each of them, Father.'\n\nPhilip did so. He gasped, almost knocking her aside as he pointed to one face.\n\n'Romanel!' he exclaimed. 'That's Romanel!'\n\n'How do you know, Father? How could you possibly know a man who has been dead for over seventy years?'\n\nPhilip got to his feet and walked out of the Lady Chapel.\n\n'You've had a dream, haven't you?' She followed him.\n\n'Yes,' he replied. 'I had a dream: Romanel's face looked ghastly and he was whispering at me, \"Kill her! Kill her!\"'\n\n'Kill whom?'\n\nPhilip turned round but the coffin woman had gone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Philip arrived at High Mount just before dusk. His journey through the woods from Scawsby had been uneventful. The priest was lost in his own thoughts, wondering how to cope with the difficulties facing him. As the trackway left the trees, Philip, once again, appreciated Stephen's good judgement. True, there was a distance between the village and High Mount but Scawsby was so prosperous it would eventually break out of its confines whilst the new church would have plenty of room to expand and develop. Parishioners would have to travel a little further but this was no bad thing. Father Philip had talked to diocesan officials and his own bishop about his dream; they had concurred. There was a growing apprehension that if a church was part of the village, its buildings and cemetery might be used contrary to the rite of consecration. Philip had seen this happen in other towns and villages in Kent: the church was often regarded as the personal property of the powerful burgesses. Markets were held in the cemetery, church sales in the nave, whilst the porch could be turned into a tavern where people gathered to claque and gossip.\n\nPhilip reined in his horse at the bottom of the hill and looked up. Not too steep, he thought, and it would give the church a certain prominence. He looked up at the sky. Already the evening star could be seen and the faint outlines of the moon. It had grown much colder. Philip urged his horse on up the narrow trackway. On either side he passed remnants of the old priory, the ruins of what must have been outhouses. He heard voices from the top of the hill. When he reached there, Edmund and Stephen, faces flushed, came running towards him like two boys. Piers the verderer was crouching against the wall as if seeking protection against the cold breeze.\n\n'Well, Brother?' Edmund, cloak off, tunic hitched, sleeves rolled up, stood before him, hands on hips. 'What do you think?'\n\n'It's going to be a splendid church,' Stephen broke in. 'We'll build along the outlines of the old walls.'\n\nPhilip smiled in reply. He had been here on previous occasions when he visited Scawsby. Then he had just seen High Mount as a good place to build his new church, an old ruin which would soon disappear. Now, knowing what he did, this derelict priory with its crumbling walls, desolate sanctuary, and, above all, those grave slabs laid out before him, assumed a sinister, eerie atmosphere.\n\n'What happened here?' he asked.\n\nEdmund's smile faded. Philip looked pale and drawn, dark rings under his eyes.\n\n'We expected you sooner,' Edmund replied. 'But all we've done is walk around, measure the width and length and try to draw Piers into conversation. However, he's not as friendly as he was this morning.'\n\n'I heard that.' The verderer got to his feet. He walked over using his long bow as a staff. 'I don't like it here,' he declared. 'There is something about this place, it's cold and empty.'\n\n'What happened?' Philip repeated. 'No, I don't mean what have you been doing?' He dismounted and hobbled his horse. 'What happened to the priory?'\n\n'It's an ancient place,' Piers broke in. 'Founded after the legions left, or so one of the priests told us. The Norsemen sacked it long before the Conqueror came to this country. It was a ruin then, it's been a ruin since.'\n\n'And these graves?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh, they house brothers of the priory,' Stephen replied. He gazed up at the sky. 'I think I'll stay out here tonight.'\n\n'No you won't!' Philip snapped. He forced a smile. 'I don't think you should stay here.' He winked at Edmund. 'I have something to tell you tonight when we sup.' He recalled the entry in the parish journal about bones being found. 'Is there a ditch here? A pit?'\n\nStephen pulled a face.\n\n'There's the well,' Piers broke in. He pointed to the far end of the priory. 'It's there, behind the chancel wall: a deep well.'\n\nPhilip gazed around.\n\n'How do you see it, Stephen?' he asked. 'How do you see our new church?'\n\n'Well, the hill is not steep,' Stephen replied. 'And there's a broad enough plateau. I think the church and cemetery should be built here on the top: the rest of the hill being used, in time, as a further place of burial. The priest's house could be built either at the foot of the hill or, if there's room, here, linked to the church through the sacristy.'\n\n'I wonder if it should be built here?' Philip murmured.\n\n'What?'\n\nPhilip felt himself spun around. Stephen was glaring at him, he had never seen the mason so angry.\n\n'You might not build it here? What do you mean?'\n\n'Stephen, Stephen.' Philip put his hand on his shoulder. 'I have doubts about this place.'\n\n'But you haven't seen my plans.' Stephen was still glaring at him. 'You asked me a question and I am replying. There's more than one scheme that can work. We can have the church on the top of the hill and the cemetery below. Lord Richard has promised High Mount and the fields around.'\n\n'Yes, yes, I know,' Philip replied wearily. 'It's called a Deodandum: a gift to God. But, if we are going to build a church here, we must make sure it is right.'\n\nStephen slunk away. Philip, now intent on finding out about the well, walked through the ruins. He turned at the entrance to the sanctuary and looked back down at the nave. Stephen was now whispering to Edmund. Piers, bored, was shuffling the arrows in his quiver. Philip sighed. Sweet Lord, he prayed, let me keep my temper. He paused. Was this what happened to the other priests? he wondered. Tempers becoming frayed? Harsh words, a growing sense of unease?\n\n'Come on!' he called. 'Come on, Stephen, you'll have your church here. Let's see this well!'\n\nHe went out through a gap in the wall and flinched at the cold breeze which caught him. He walked across to the edge of the hill: the mist was creeping in but something caught his eye: a smudge of smoke against the horizon, black and thick.\n\n'What's that?' he called out and pointed.\n\nPiers came up, narrowing his eyes. 'There's no place there, Father,' he declared. 'Only some outlying farms. Perhaps they are burning the fields?' The verderer moved restlessly. 'But it's getting dark, here's the well, Father.'\n\nIt lay to the other side of the church. The brick wall around it was crumbling the brick and the peat-wooden roof had long gone; only a battered upright remained. Philip crouched and stared down the well but he could see nothing. He took a pebble, threw it and heard a splash.\n\n'Has anyone ever been down?' he asked.\n\nPiers pointed to the steps built into the wall, thickly covered with moss and lichen.\n\n'It's possible,' he declared. 'But it could be dangerous.'\n\n'I'm going down,' Philip retorted.\n\n'What?' His brother caught his sleeve. 'Philip, are you mad?'\n\n'I want to go down now.'\n\nPhilip took off his cloak and, despite the protests of his companions, lowered himself into the well. He found the steps deeply cut but the slippery moss was dangerous. Philip moved slowly, marvelling at the skill of the mason who had dug these ancient steps.\n\n'It's quite safe.' He called out, his voice echoing round the walls. 'The stone is very firm. The well can be used again.' He glanced up at the three faces peering down at him. 'Don't worry, Edmund,' he joked. 'If I slip, you will be parish priest.'\n\nHe went further down, keeping his mind on the task, feeling for each foothold before he moved. On one occasion his boot slipped and Philip cursed his own stupidity but he wanted to see what lay at the bottom. If he stopped to think, he would never find out. He continued on down, the rim of the well above him growing smaller, the faces of his companions indistinct. Philip paused and sniffed. The air was remarkably fresh, which meant the well must be built over some underground spring, the water flowing in and out. At last he reached the bottom. There was a ledge about a foot wide and he carefully stepped on to this. It was dark but, by scrabbling around, he could feel the water beneath him On either side of the well, two culverts allowed the water to run in and out. He moved round the well, counting as he did so, he did not want to forget where the steps were.\n\n'If anything happens,' he whispered, 'it's not too deep: a rope and a horse can pull me out.'\n\nHis foot hit something which fell into the water: his boot touched something else, he felt it break under him. A branch? Philip crouched down, hand out. His fingers caught something, round and smooth with holes. Philip, keeping his back against the wall, picked it up. At first he thought it was a stone but it was too thin, then he realised. It was a human skull and what he was standing on were other bones. He fought hard to control his panic. He opened his tunic, put the skull carefully in and began to move back, careful lest he crush it against the wall. Voices shouted from the top. Philip looked up and panicked. He could see no one. He began his climb, drawing himself up, ignoring the aches in his body. He stopped for a moment. He wondered if the dead, the ghosts of those skeletons who now lay at the bottom of the well, were rising up to pull him down. He cursed himself as a fool, whispered a prayer and continued to climb. When he reached the top, Edmund helped him over the rim. Philip sat with his back to the wall, gasping, waiting for the aches in his arms to subside. Stephen and Piers stood a distance away talking to a new arrival. Philip rubbed his eyes and recognised Crispin, Roheisia's son. He took the skull, yellow with age, and put it on the ground beside him.\n\n'What's the matter?' he shouted.\n\nStephen led Crispin across.\n\n'Very bad news. A journeyman going through the forest found Adam Waldis' corpse bobbing on the top of a marsh. He dragged it out and went into the village. The corpse has been collected and taken back to the church. Lord Richard has come down, the villagers are gathered.'\n\n'Was he murdered?' Philip asked.\n\n'We don't know,' Stephen replied. 'Common report says that Adam, who was born in the area, would know the woods like the back of his hand. They find it difficult to believe he became lost.'\n\n'Mystery piled upon mystery,' Philip murmured. He scrabbled behind him and brought out the skull. 'The remains of Adam Waldis are not the only ones discovered.'\n\n'You found that?' Piers exclaimed, coming up.\n\n'Aye, on the ledge at the bottom of the well.' Philip held it up. 'God knows how this poor being died. I suspect a violent death.' He placed the skull back on the ground. 'For the time being, it can stay here. But, before I get much older, that well has to be searched, there's more below.'\n\n'To whom can they belong?' Edmund asked. 'I mean, the venerable monks who lived her would hardly be guilty of murder.'\n\n'If the place was sacked,' Stephen broke in, 'perhaps the corpses were thrown down the well?'\n\n'I doubt it,' Philip replied. 'But,' he got to his feet, 'it will have to wait. We have more pressing matters to attend to.'\n\nThey collected their horses and rode back through the gathering darkness towards Scawsby village. Torches had been lit in the cemetery: the village folk were gathering round the death house which lay on the other side of the church. Lord Richard Montalt came out to greet them.\n\n'You'd best come.'\n\nHe took them into the grim, dank-smelling hut. Waldis' corpse had been stretched out on the trestle table. Tallow candles burnt at his head and feet. Pitch torches, fixed to the iron brackets, filled the death house with dancing shadows. The coffin woman had already been busy. Waldis had been stripped of his clothes and she was now washing away the dirt and slime of the marsh. She paused as Philip knelt beside the corpse and, trying to ignore the stricken face, whispered the words of absolution.\n\n'I shall anoint him later,' he declared, getting to his feet. 'How did he die?'\n\n'There's no mark of violence on his body,' the coffin woman announced. 'No sign of a knife or arrow.'\n\nMontalt called out over his shoulder. The journeyman who had found the corpse came out of the shadows, his fardel still on his back.\n\n'I was coming through the wood,' he explained. 'It was late afternoon. I decided to take a short cut. I wanted to be in Scawsby by nightfall.' He scratched his unshaven cheek. 'I don't like it out there. Anyway, I passed the marsh. I know the path round, I have taken it many a time. Something colourful caught my eye. I went across, it was Waldis.'\n\n'You knew him?' Philip asked.\n\n'Well, he is the parish clerk,' the journeyman replied. 'I often travel to Scawsby, have done for years. He was just bobbing there, face down, so I dragged him out. I then raised the hue and cry and he was brought here.'\n\nPhilip went back to study the corpse: touching the hand and arm, he found the flesh cold and hardening.\n\n'He's been dead some time,' the coffin woman replied. 'Well over a day and the marsh water's cold.' She looked up; in the candlelight her face seemed youthful. 'If you go down into the marsh,' she continued, 'it closes in around you.' A faint smile crossed her face. 'But, sometimes, it spits you back.'\n\nPhilip caught her veiled allusion. He was sure this old woman knew more about the history of Scawsby than she had revealed. Stephen came and stood in the doorway. Philip recalled his friend's anger when he had hinted at the possibility of the church being built elsewhere. Did Stephen also know more than he showed? Was that why he was here?\n\n'I have the power of coroner,' Lord Richard broke in. 'I am supposed to view the corpse and deliver a judgement.' He went across and put his hand on a crucifix which hung on the wall. 'My judgement is that Adam Waldis died a death accidental by nature.' He let his hand fall. 'Though God knows what he was doing there and why he was running?' Lord Richard pointed to the parish clerk's spindly legs. 'Look,' he said. 'The cuts, bramble and gorse did that. Now, why should Waldis be running for his life, so terrified that he ran into a marsh and drowned?'\n\nSupper in the Priest's house was a sombre affair. Roheisia heaped their trenchers with vegetables and a rich rabbit stew, put a jug of wine on the table, a pie on a platter and said she would be leaving. Philip, who had eaten desultorily, locked the door behind her and came back.\n\n'I am concerned,' he began, 'by Waldis' death. Quite extraordinary events have happened, and are happening in Scawsby.'\n\nHe then told them everything which had occurred since his arrival. Stephen kept pulling faces. Edmund sat fascinated.\n\n'I am a mathematician,' Stephen declared abruptly when Philip finished. 'I deal with shapes and measurements. I cut stone and fashion buildings which will be of use as well as a glory to their builder. Oh yes, I believe in God and his angels. However, Philip, if what you describe is true,' he added, 'then this is not a matter for us. You should dispatch a messenger to Rochester for an exorcist. This is the bishop's problem, not ours.'\n\n'Didn't you believe in anything I've said?' Philip asked. 'Haven't you experienced anything yourself?'\n\nStephen put his wine cup down. 'I admit Scawsby is a pleasant enough village,' he replied, 'but I agree, this house, the church and its graveyard are eerie. What is more, I don't like that old woman. She's a nuisance and impertinent.'\n\nPhilip looked up in surprise. Stephen sounded petulant yet his friend was usually charming and easy-going.\n\n'There is a presence here,' Edmund declared. 'Like a nagging pain you try and tell yourself doesn't exist but it comes back, forces its way in. I haven't seen anything,' he continued, 'or I don't think I have, except last night after I went to bed: I heard you go out into the cemetery so I opened a shutter and looked out. You went across to the church, yes?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Well, it was dark. I could only make out your shadow but I am certain someone was following you.'\n\nPhilip swallowed hard.\n\n'I believe terrible murders were committed here,' Edmund continued. 'Those poor Templars were ambushed out on the marshes, slaughtered and their treasure taken. Perhaps it was their remains we found at the bottom of that well? Perhaps their souls do hang between heaven and earth seeking retribution? It would be tragic,' he added wistfully, 'if something should happen to Isolda.'\n\n'After we bury Waldis,' Philip replied, 'tomorrow morning, I am going to go out to High Mount: that well is to be rigorously searched.'\n\n'Why?' Stephen asked.\n\n'Why not?' Philip replied. 'It's the best place to begin. Edmund might be right. If the Templars' remains are tossed down some well or pit, they deserve honourable burial. Perhaps that's what the word 'Reparation' means? Though who Veronica is, or what the numbers six and fourteen signify is beyond me.'\n\n'I've found something,' Edmund offered. 'Tonight, before we came down to sup I thought I would search this house. The cellars hold nothing but have you been in the garrets?'\n\n'Nothing but bits and pieces lie there,' Stephen replied. 'They're draughty and bleak.'\n\n'Bring the candles,' Edmund ordered. 'I want to show you something.'\n\nThey followed Edmund up the stairs on to the top gallery. The small garret lay just under the roof. It was bitterly cold, almost like jumping into icy water and the candle flames danced in the draught seeping in between the roof and the walls. The ceiling was low and they had to be careful of the beams. More candles were brought and lit. Philip glanced round. Broken stools, cracked pots and bowls, a flesher's knife, waiting to be sharpened; a large, battered chest with its clasps broken. Against the wall stood a squat aumbry or cupboard. Its doors hung loose, the top was cracked and dented.\n\n'Drag the chest out,' Edmund said.\n\nThey did so.\n\n'I came here,' Edmund replied, removing the dust from his hands, 'because I needed something to put my own clothes in. I examined the chest and the cupboard.'\n\n'What's so special about this?' Stephen asked.\n\nPhilip now joined Edmund in removing the dust. As he did so, he realised that, in certain places, the leather had been scraped off and that in its pristine state the chest must have been a place where valuables were stored. It was fortified with four locks and bound by iron bands and metal studs. Beneath the lid were two wooden slats, once held together by three clasps, each of which would have carried a padlock. These now hung loose. Philip pulled them back and felt inside: the lining was smooth but beginning to crumble. Curious, he moved the candle along the bottom of the chest.\n\n'This was silk,' he declared. 'Silk with fleur de lys stamped on it. It must have been used to carry something very, very precious.' He replaced the wooden slats. 'Three locks inside, four locks outside and reinforced with a steel band and metal studs.' He tapped the side. 'This is the finest wood and leather.'\n\nStephen also crouched down, peering round the chest, studying where the leather had been deliberately scraped away with a knife.\n\n'I know what this was,' Philip declared. 'It's not the property of some priest, more like a royal chest used by the Exchequer to transport precious objects.'\n\nPhilip opened the lid again and glanced in. He noticed a dark stain had appeared at the bottom where he placed the candle.\n\n'I thought it was interesting,' Edmund said. 'And there's something else, Brother: something to do with the Veronica you mentioned.' He led them back to the garret. 'I thought the chest could be repaired and this cupboard too.'\n\nPhilip smiled at his brother's well-known love of carpentry. Edmund had already offered to carve statues in the church and had been pressing his brother to buy the best wood. Edmund put the candles along the top of the cupboard.\n\n'You said Romanel was a warlock?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Perhaps he was,' Edmund replied. 'He definitely had an interest in the stars. Look at the ceiling.'\n\nPhilip did so: he noticed that part of the plaster between the beams had been removed.\n\n'A trap door was once there,' Edmund declared. 'Perhaps Romanel used it to study the stars? He may have had a warlock's dedication to astrology.'\n\nStephen began to laugh. 'This is all conjecture.'\n\n'But this isn't.'\n\nEdmund removed the candles and pulled the cupboard away from the wall. The painting behind was faded but, by holding the candles up, Philip began to see why this had attracted Edmund's attention. At first sight, it appeared as a tawdry attempt to depict a scene from Christ's Passion. The artist had not been good: the figures were clumsily drawn, the colours crude but that was why the plaster had retained it, a finer painting would have been more easily brushed off by the cupboard or crumbled in the passing of time.\n\n'Look!' Philip explained, tracing it with his finger. 'There's Christ carrying his cross. Here are the women of Jerusalem.' He pointed to another woman holding a piece of linen in her hands. 'This is Veronica wiping Jesus' face.' He moved the candle further up. 'However, this scene is not mentioned by any spiritual writer: the second painting was more stark.'\n\nPhilip could make out horsemen riding, what appeared to be Our Lady carrying the Infant Jesus on a donkey and, around them, people with swords, clubs, spears and axes. He noticed that one of the riders had dismounted, or fallen into what looked like a river or a pit, only his head and arms were above the surface. More importantly, following the Virgin and Child, was a sumpter pony carrying a chest.\n\n'Lord and His saints save us!' Edmund breathed. He almost pressed his face against the wall, so close the candle nearly singed his hair. 'When I first pulled the cupboard away, I only saw Veronica and Jesus but what's that?'\n\nStephen went out into the gallery as if listening for something. Edmund looked worried as if he, too, had a premonition of danger.\n\n'I believe this garret was used by Romanel,' Philip spoke. He wanted to break the oppressive silence he felt gathering round them. 'This was a special chamber, well away from snooping eyes, where he could do what he wanted. He was a priest with certain gifts. You, Edmund, like working with wood. Romanel liked painting. You can see his work in the Lady Chapel where he had the impudence to portray himself praying to the Virgin Mary.' He gestured round the garret. 'But this is different. I believe Romanel did this painting just before he died. For; some strange reason the story of Veronica meeting Jesus and wiping his bleeding face has something to do with this mystery.' Philip pointed to the other crudely painted figures. 'Gentlemen, I think this is Romanel's confession. It depicts his attack upon the Templars as they crossed the marshes. He drew it here, an attempt to exorcise his soul. If we had been the priests who immediately followed him, we would have found many such drawings about the house: on scraps of parchment or the blank pages of some folio.'\n\n'Listen!' Stephen came out into the garret, hand on his dagger-hilt. 'There is someone downstairs.'\n\nPhilip tried to calm the blood beating in his head. Stephen was right: someone was moving on the gallery below. He handed the candle to Edmund and hurried down: the moon-washed gallery was empty. He went into his own room, opened the window and looked out towards the church. An owl, hunting in the gardens, rose in a light flurry of wings and made him start. He wetted dry lips, staring through the church. He saw it again, the same glow of light as the previous evening.\n\n'In God's name!' he whispered hoarsely into the darkness. 'Who are you? What do you want? Tell me and reparation will be made!'\n\nNothing but an owl hoot answered his question. Philip was about to close the shutters when he heard another sound: the clink of harness, the whisper of voices and those words again. 'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te: We are watching you. We are always watching you.'\n\nPhilip hurried down the stairs and fumbled with the key in the lock. He threw open the front door and ran out but there was nothing there. Only the rustle of the leaves though the light from the church had grown brighter. He had the keys in his wallet so he strode across, this time going in through the main door. The light glowed in the sanctuary behind the rood screen. Philip, summoning up all his courage, walked down.\n\n'In God's name!'\n\nPhilip stopped. Waldis' corpse lay in the parish coffin before the high altar. Funeral candles glowed all around whilst the figure kneeling beside it was clearly Priscilla. She didn't even turn round but, resting back on her heels, she seemed absorbed by the red sanctuary lamp.\n\n'Priscilla!'\n\nShe opened her eyes and glanced up at him.\n\n'Father, what is it?'\n\n'Nothing, I saw the light in the church. What are you doing here?'\n\n'Father, I always do the corpse vigil if there's no one else. Somebody has to pray for the soul, as the angels and devils fight over it between heaven and hell. The more you pray, the stronger the angels become.'\n\nPhilip smiled at the old legend.\n\n'Who told you that?'\n\n'Why, Romanel did!'\n\n'No, I mean who told you to pray beside the corpses? You wash them and prepare them, that's sufficient.'\n\nThe old woman's eyes gleamed. 'Romanel told me to, as an act of reparation.'\n\n'Did he ever say for what?'\n\nThe old woman's fingers went to her lips. 'Only once, Father, I asked him why. He said I should pray for being alive.'\n\nPhilip crossed himself and stared at the pyx which held the Blessed Sacrament above the high altar. Despite these sacred surroundings, he felt the power, the ugliness of that long-dead priest who had blighted this woman's life.\n\n'I am sorry I disturbed you. Is there anything you wish to eat or drink?'\n\n'Tomorrow a fresh pitcher of milk, thick and creamy, not watered down.'\n\nPhilip sketched a blessing over the old woman's head, then he bent down and kissed her gently on the brow. He was about to leave the sanctuary when she called his name. He turned.\n\n'What is it, Priscilla?'\n\nShe was now kneeling, staring straight at him.\n\n'You are a good man, Father. You shouldn't stay here. You should go like the rest. Some of the men were good but you are kind. One day, one day I'll take you into my hut. I want to tell you about my nightmares, Father. Don't worry about Romanel.'\n\n'What do you mean?' Philip came back.\n\n'He haunts this place,' the old woman replied. 'But he is not truly dangerous.'\n\n'What is dangerous?'\n\n'To hunt for the treasure. Leave it be! And, if you do hunt for it, Father, never, ever go out in the marshlands where the corpse candles can be seen. Pinpricks, the devil's lights in the mist. I dream about them a lot.'\n\n'You should sleep,' Philip replied.\n\nHe genuflected towards the sacrament and, walking down, locked the main door behind him. He realised that Priscilla must hold a key to the corpse door which led in directly from the cemetery. Philip went round to check this. Sure enough it was open.\n\n'Some former priest must have given her a key,' he murmured.\n\nPhilip closed the door, turned round and recoiled in terror at the figure standing before him. The same white face shrouded in its black cowl, the evil eyes and sneering lips. Philip closed his eyes even as the most piercing shriek came from the house on the other side of the graveyard.\n\nPhilip fled through the graveyard. He didn't bother to turn to see if that awful apparition was pursuing him. He reached the house and sped like an arrow upstairs. Stephen and Edmund were standing over the trunk, their faces white, staring at Edmund's left hand which was dripping with blood.\n\n'In God's name!' Philip hissed, gasping his breath.\n\nEdmund just shook his head and pointed to the trunk. Philip knelt down and felt inside but, when he brought his hand out, there was no mark, only grains of dust.\n\n'It's gone!' Edmund whispered. He showed his hand, any trace of blood had vanished.\n\n'What happened?' Philip asked.\n\n'We were here examining the chest,' Stephen explained. 'Edmund was searching for a secret compartment: he felt something damp and pulled his hand out. It was soaked, absolutely soaked in blood, as if he had been slashed by a sword.'\n\nPhilip closed the chest and pushed it back into the room.\n\n'Enough is enough!' he declared, coming back out of the gallery. 'I will not flee from here!' He raised his voice, shouting at the presence he had glimpsed in the graveyard. 'I will not be pushed or hounded out! Let's go to bed,' he said. 'But, first, I am writing a letter to His Grace the Bishop of Rochester. He must send an exorcist to help us!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "Adam Waldis' funeral took place at noon the following day. Philip and his two companions slept late and busied themselves preparing the church. It being a Saturday morning, most of the villagers attended and Lord Richard Montalt whispered to Philip that perhaps now was the best occasion to hold a meeting, introduce himself as well as talk to the villagers about the new church. Philip agreed and, once Waldis' body had been interred in the graveyard, he divested and went up into the pulpit. He stood there for a while until Montalt and the others, returning more slowly from the graveyard, packed into the nave. Lord Richard sat in the sanctuary chair next to him facing the villagers. Beside him on a bench, young Henry and Isolda sat whispering, heads together.\n\n'In nomine Patris.' Philip made the sign of the cross.\n\nSilence ensued as the parishioners copied him, then made themselves comfortable along the nave. Philip stared down the church. It didn't seem so forbidding now. Children chattered in the transept: one even wandered up and patted Lord Richard on the knee whilst two more climbed on to the great sarcophagus which housed the remains of Montalt's ancestors. Philip studied his parishioners who gazed expectantly up at him: brown, weather-beaten faces. They were all dressed in their best attire though some still had muddy hands and their boots were caked with dirt. A number of women had babies suckling at their breasts.\n\n'Brothers and sisters in Christ,' Philip began. 'By now you know that his Lordship the Bishop has agreed to provide not one priest but two to the Parish of Scawsby. You are, therefore,' he added wryly, 'twice blessed.'\n\n'Aye and twice taxed!' someone murmured.\n\nPhilip joined in the laughter. 'I promise you.' He held his hand up. 'I have already given my word to his Lordship that my brother and I will not increase the tithes. We are here to care for Christ's sheep not to shear them!'\n\nThis time the laughter was even louder.\n\n'Lord Richard Montalt,' Philip continued, 'has kindly agreed to pay the stipend my brother Edmund will need, for, as it is written in scripture: \"the labourer is worthy of his hire\".'\n\nHe now had his congregation's attention and he remembered the words of an old vicar. 'A priest should be able to preach, Philip. If he can't hold his people's attention then how on earth can he attract God's?'\n\n'Are you going to build a new church, Father?' a voice shouted out.\n\n'The church,' Philip replied, 'constantly renews itself not only with souls but also with buildings. My dear people, look around this church! The roof is beginning to decay, the walls are cracked, the light is poor. Once again Lord Richard's generosity has been manifest: we do plan to build a new church at High Mount. He will provide the money. The materials will be quarried locally and we hope that all in the village will assist in its building. I have brought my friend, a master mason from London who has worked on the church of St Bartholomew's in Smithfield.'\n\nHe paused at the 'Ooohs' and 'Aahs': some of the more wealthy peasants had made the journey to the capital. They now began whispering what a great church St Bartholomew's was.\n\n'What about the cemetery?' A man in the front stood up. 'Everything you say, Father, makes sense. We are glad there are two priests here. Now, this church has never been popular with the people. Isn't that right?' He turned to get the reassurance of his fellows.\n\nPhilip suddenly realised how, in all the churches he had visited, the priest often had a battle to keep children from playing amongst the tombs or traders using it as a market place. Yet, even in his short time here, Philip had never seen anyone, man, woman or child, in the graveyard.\n\n'Our people are buried here,' the man continued.\n\n'Give the priest your names,' Lord Richard shouted.\n\n'Brodkin!' the stout fellow replied. 'I own three fields, two ploughs, forty sheep...'\n\n'And that doesn't include his wife!' someone shouted from the back.\n\nPhilip used the laughter that followed to look down at Sir Richard Montalt, who nodded approvingly. A fight would have ensued between Brodkin and his taunter but Lord Richard stood up and an immediate hush fell on the group.\n\n'Church law,' the manor lord declared, walking forward, 'is quite clear. Those buried within living memory, and that includes poor Waldis whom we have just returned to Mother Earth, will be exhumed and moved to the new cemetery. This will be done at night. The children will stay away. Many of the bodies will be nothing but dust and ashes. Others,' he added, 'might not smell so sweet as they did in life...'\n\nA general discussion followed. The parishioners got to their feet. Some declared they wanted their loved ones re-interred. Others that their kinsfolk were now with God so where they were buried was of little import. Questions were asked about when all this would happen. Philip, at a sign from Lord Richard, used this to bring the meeting to an end.\n\n'We will pray,' he declared. 'God will send us a sign.'\n\nAnd, before any further points could be made, Philip raised his hand in benediction and the parishioners teemed out of the church. Henry and Isolda followed, eager to be away from the watchful eye of Lord Richard who stayed behind.\n\n'You look pale, Philip,' the manor lord began.\n\nIn a few, pithy words the priest described what had happened the previous night. Lord Richard whistled under his breath and crossed himself. Philip brought out the letter he had written to the bishop.\n\n'I am a simple priest, Lord Richard,' he declared. 'These things are beyond me. I have asked his Lordship for an exorcist. Could you send one of your couriers to Rochester with this?'\n\n'Of course. Of course.' Lord Richard took the letter and slipped it into his wallet. 'If it helps.'\n\n'What do you mean?' Philip asked.\n\n'I am not too sure, Father. However, years ago when I was knee high to a sparrow, an exorcist was brought from London. My father mentioned it once: he refused to elaborate. Anyway,' he sighed, 'I'd bring a legion of angels here if I could.'\n\nHe bade his farewells. Philip joined Edmund and Stephen back in the house to break their fast. Roheisia bustled around chattering about the meeting.\n\n'Everybody's pleased, Father. No one really likes that church.'\n\nPhilip interrupted her to ask if she would leave out a pitcher of fresh milk for Priscilla. Roheisia looked back in puzzlement.\n\n'The coffin woman,' Philip explained. He glanced at Edmund and Stephen who were eating heartily enough after their chilling experience the night before. 'We'll go out to High Mount,' he announced.\n\n'Piers is waiting outside,' Stephen interrupted.\n\n'He hasn't told anyone, has he?' Philip asked.\n\nStephen shook his head, refusing to meet Philip's eye.\n\n'He'll say nothing about what we found there yesterday. I swore him to silence. I also gave him a silver piece. I said there would be more if he kept his mouth shut.'\n\n'I should have told Lord Richard,' Philip mused. 'But, come on, the day is drawing on, the light will soon be poor.'\n\nIn the event it was a fine afternoon. The sun kept the mist away and, when they reached High Mount, they went immediately to the well. Piers had brought a rope ladder, rings of cordage and two large canvas sheets all piled onto a sumpter pony. Stephen volunteered to go down the well first and, before anyone could stop him, he was over the crumbling wall, lowering himself quickly down the ladder. Philip realised that Stephen, working on buildings, would be used to making his way up and down ladders with no fear of heights. Under Philip's directions, and Stephen's shouted instructions from the bottom of the well, a simple pulley was arranged. A large leather bucket was lowered. Philip could hear Stephen splashing about below.\n\n'It's like a charnel house down here!' Stephen shouted, pulling on the rope. 'Bones and skulls!'\n\nThe leather bucket was raised time and again, with its grisly cargo: skulls, parts of rib cages, legs, arms, the small bones from feet and hands. Towards the end, a few artefacts: a crude, wooden cross crumbling with age formed in the Celtic fashion; a length of cord; a piece of sandal strap.\n\nEventually Stephen said he could find nothing else and climbed back, his face and hands covered in mud. They now spread out the canvas sheets; ignoring Piers' grumbling about ghosts and ghouls, they laid out what they had found. Philip tried to arrange the bones as decently and appropriately as possible. When they had finished, the sun was beginning to set as Philip counted the remains of at least sixteen corpses.\n\n'Where did they come from?' Edmund asked.\n\nPhilip squatted down. He studied the artefacts, then scrutinised the bones, especially the skulls.\n\n'I'm not a physician,' he declared. He picked up a skull. 'Nor am I a soldier but I've been told that most wounds are to the head. I can see no mark of violence on any of these. Whilst the bits of cord and the cross suggest that these remains belonged to monks who once lived here. Now all this begs further questions. True, the monks could have been stabbed in the chest or belly, even beheaded by those marauders who ravished this area hundreds of years ago. However, I doubt if such godless men, having killed monks, would bother to toss them down a well which they themselves would use whilst any Christian soul would give them a decent burial.'\n\n'But,' Edmund asked, 'we still found them at the bottom of a well?'\n\nPhilip got to his feet. He remembered those drawings he had seen in the parish ledger marking the tomb stones here at High Mount.\n\n'I think,' he said, 'that someone pillaged their graves, perhaps looking for valuables or...' Philip shivered. He looked down the hill at the mist seeping across the fields. Or what? he thought. He was sure these bones had been known to Romanel and Father Anthony. He walked back through the ruins, shouting at the others to follow him. He paused where the high altar stood and tried to remember the drawings of the graves.\n\n'Ah yes, there's one here.'\n\nHe crouched down beside the grave slab on the far side of the sanctuary, examining the earth around it. 'Someone has been here before us,' he remarked. 'Look, they've moved this stone, then replaced it whilst trying to hide any sign of what they'd done. Piers, fetch those poles you brought.'\n\nThe verderer did. Philip and his brother began to lever them under a stone. In the end, the slab moved easily. Philip expected to find the grave empty but a skeleton sprawled there. He knelt down, in the poor light he could just make it out. He said a prayer so that the Lord would realise he intended no blasphemy.\n\n'This man was not meant to be buried here!'\n\n'What do you mean?' Stephen asked.\n\n'Of course!' Edmund whispered. 'He's buried the wrong way. His head should be towards the east.'\n\nPhilip picked up the skull, there was a jagged hole in the back. He then scrutinised the rest of the skeleton: two ribs bore hack marks. He then searched the earth around, there was nothing.\n\n'I don't believe this man was a monk,' Philip declared. 'He was killed in a most ferocious fight. The cut to his body brought him to his knees and someone smashed his skull. It's no monk,' he continued. 'Any man of God would be buried with a cross, or Ave Maria beads whilst his head would lie in the direction of east, facing the altar.' Philip glanced at his companions. 'There's not a shred of clothing, nothing, which means the corpse was completely stripped before being put here.' Philip paused. 'I believe this grave was ransacked, the skeleton thrown down the well and this one was hurriedly placed here.'\n\n'But why?' Edmund asked. 'Why open a grave, take one skeleton out and put another in?'\n\nPhilip was about to answer when he heard the jingle of harness. A shiver of fear went down his spine and he crossed himself. Edmund, too, had caught his unease. Piers the verderer lifted his bow, notching an arrow to the string.\n\n'Didn't you hear that?' Philip asked.\n\nAgain the jingle of harness, this time from the far end of the church. Stephen strode down but shouted back he could see nothing. The mist was coming in thicker now. The light was beginning to fade.\n\n'It's time we were gone,' Philip declared. 'Tomorrow we'll come back early.'\n\nThey replaced the tomb stone. Going back to the well, Philip ordered the remains to be wrapped in a canvas sheet and then hidden just inside the priory walls. They collected their horses: these were so skittish, Piers said he was glad he had hobbled them. The sumpter pony lashed out with his legs and, if Piers had not held on to the rope and its bridle, it would have panicked and galloped away. They left High Mount, riding a little faster than usual, on to the path through the woods to the village.\n\n'I suspect,' Edmund drew his horse alongside that of Philip's, 'our deceased clerk, Adam Waldis, had a hand in the opening of that tomb.'\n\nPhilip looked around: Waldis was coming back from High Mount when something frightened him off this path so he became trapped in a marsh. Philip reined in, calling Piers forward.\n\n'Do you know where Waldis was found?' he asked.\n\n'Yes. What we call the woodland mere.'\n\n'And could you tell where Waldis left the path?'\n\nPiers' face broke into a craggy grin. 'I can follow a rabbit at night, sometimes I have had to. I'll go first.'\n\nPiers was about to ride on when Philip restrained him.\n\n'Tell me, Piers, you are a married man?'\n\nThe verderer's smile faded. 'No, Father, a widower.'\n\n'Let me see.' The priest continued, 'You have a child?'\n\n'Yes, a little girl. My sister looks after her.'\n\n'And your mother?'\n\nPiers blinked, fighting back tears. 'Died just after I was born. And, before you ask, Father, her mother likewise. I know, I know...' He gathered the reins in his hands. 'Life is like the seasons. It takes a time before a pattern emerges. Already people in the village are beginning to chatter and gossip. They talk of some curse or malediction.'\n\n'Do they gossip much about the past?' Philip asked. 'The legends about the Templars, their hidden treasure?'\n\n'No, Father, they don't. It's strange, in any village such legends would be handed down and passed from one generation to another but people here don't like talking about them. So, what they don't like, they choose to ignore: the way you priests never stay long: the wickedness of Romanel. Oh, we know about him, Father, and poor Father Anthony. Aye, I could tell you plenty about him but I'm freezing cold.'\n\nPiers rode on. A few minutes later he came back.\n\n'I've found the place, just as you enter the trees and then a little further on.'\n\nWhen they reached the place, Philip could tell how someone had left the track, charging mindlessly through the bracken and bushes. Piers even found pieces of cloth on a winding bramble bush. They left their horses hobbled on the road, Stephen volunteering to look after them. Philip and Edmund followed Piers deeper into the woods. As they went, Philip began to quietly curse his own impetuosity. The light was failing, the mist now curling like steam amongst the trees. An awful, dreadful silence lay over the woods, as if some presence was watching them and, in so doing, killed the clatter of the birds and the scurrying of the smaller animals through the undergrowth. Piers stopped and grinned over his shoulder.\n\n'Don't worry, Father. I know these woods like the back of my hand. We won't follow Waldis into the marsh!'\n\nThey went on. Piers held his hand up. The undergrowth gave way to hard caked mud. Philip saw how the mud suddenly became a light, attractive green, like some grassy path in a sun-lit forest glade. Piers picked up a branch.\n\n'Watch, Father!'\n\nHe threw it in front of them: the branch hit the top of the marsh: it stayed for a few seconds and then quickly sank.\n\n'What was Waldis so frightened of?' Philip whispered. 'To run into that?'\n\nPiers, who had walked closer to the edge, studied the ground carefully. He came back, shaking his head.\n\n'I can see the marks Waldis made and those who came to drag him out but nothing else.'\n\n'Let's go back,' Edmund murmured. 'This place is haunted. I don't like it.'\n\nThey all froze at the jingle of harness, that same harsh metallic sound they had heard, up on High Mount. Piers unslung his bow, notching an arrow to the string. Again the jingle of harness, loud and clear, like fairy bells pealing deep in the woods.\n\n'Let's get back to the horses,' the verderer declared.\n\nPhilip, to his dying day, never knew why he ignored such sensible advice. However, he suddenly had a picture of himself attending school, of excelling in the Halls of Cambridge in Logic and Theology, so, why should he run from a mist-soaked wood just because he heard a jingle of harness? He was tired of being frightened.\n\n'I am going to find out.'\n\nAnd, before they could stop him, Philip began to run at a half-crouch along the marsh. He saw firm ground ahead of him and heard once again the jingle of the harness. He ran into the trees not caring about the branches which scratched at his face or the brambles which caught at his legs. He heard a sound and spun round. Piers was following him, a stubborn look on his face.\n\n'If I lose you, Father, I can't go back to Sir Richard.' The verderer smiled bleakly. 'This is strange, it's not the place for horses.'\n\nAgain the jingle of harness. Philip hurried on. The trees began to thin. They both stopped to catch their breath.\n\n'Be careful now, Father. The trees thin, the ground dips to a broad dell, then the woods roll on, stretching west.'\n\nPhilip nodded. They proceeded more slowly. Philip stopped and sniffed the air. He had caught the smell of cooking, wood smoke. Piers, too, smelt it but shook his head.\n\n'There are no cottages here. Haven't been for years. The woods of Scawsby are not liked.'\n\nPhilip approached the rim of the hill. He could now hear voices. Peering over the top, he stared down in disbelief, his heart in his mouth. The dell was full of armed men. For some strange reason the mist wasn't as thick here. Philip reckoned there must be at least two hundred and, straining his ears, he realised they were not English: faint words of French, orders being shouted out. The men themselves were dressed in a garish collection of rags and ill-fitting pieces of armour. Studying them carefully, Philip realised they were wearing what they had looted from different farms and villages. One young man wore a woman's green smock. Another had a visored helmet but, over his chest, he had the chasuble stolen from some church. Beside him Piers was already beginning to withdraw.\n\n'A French raiding party,' he whispered. 'They have circled in from the coast, kept to the heathland and come in from the west through the woods.'\n\n'But why here?'\n\n'Father, it will be dark in an hour. They'll stay tonight but they will be in Scawsby by dawn, then ride like demons for the coast. This probably was their real destination. Scawsby and the Rockingham Manor are wealthy whilst the sheriff's men would never dream of looking for them here. By tomorrow night, they hope to be back at sea. Come on, we must warn Sir Richard!'\n\n'But their horses are not saddled?' Philip murmured. 'We heard the jingle of harness?'\n\n'Never mind that!' Piers snapped.\n\nThey ran back, Philip going in front. At first, when the figure loomed out of the gloaming, he thought it was Edmund but then he stopped. The man in front of him was small, olive-skinned with glittering eyes: the fellow behind, slightly taller, raw-boned, red-faced. The small one was already drawing his knife.\n\n'Qu'est-ce que? Qu\u2014'\n\nPhilip threw himself upon the Frenchman before that long knife could reach him. They both crashed to the ground, turning and writhing. Philip could smell the man's sweat, the odour of olives and rich red wine. The Frenchman pushed him away and, rising in a half-crouch, was about to close again when Piers' arrow took him full in the mouth. He dropped like a stone. Philip tried to control his trembling. Piers was already rifling though the wallet of the second Frenchman whom he'd despatched with an arrow in the throat. He did the same to Philip's assailant: the priest had to admire the verderer's cool, detached manner, muttering with pleasure at the silver coins he slipped into his own pouch.\n\n'Spoils of war, Father. The bastards had to die.' Piers grasped Philip's arm. 'Come on, Father, say a short prayer, then we'll bury them in the marsh.'\n\nPhilip tried to recall the words of the De Profundis but he stumbled. Piers was already dragging one corpse along the path. Philip heard a splash, then the verderer returned for the second. Both bodies disappeared within a twinkling of an eye. Piers then went back, doing his best to thoroughly remove any sign of a struggle or bloodstains from the ground.\n\n'Let's pray they'll think their scouts got lost. We should leave, Father.'\n\nThey found Edmund crouched beside a tree. He said he had heard something but decided discretion was the best part of valour. Philip ignored his questions about why his robes were dirty. They returned to the pathway, where they informed an impatient Stephen what had happened. They quickly mounted their horses and galloped into the village, not stopping till they had reached the Priest's house.\n\nPiers said he would warn Lord Richard. He ordered Philip not to sound the bell or raise the alarm but, on his advice, Philip sent Edmund and Stephen, together with Crispin, to gather the men who were now coming in from the fields. Philip went into the kitchen. He removed his cloak and sat whilst Roheisia, who had the sense not to ask questions, served him a bowl of steaming hot stew and a goblet of watered wine. Philip ate slowly, trying to make sense of what had happened. He'd been out at High Mount and, when they were coming back, God knows why he had entered the woods or why he had insisted on finding out who those horsemen were. He had heard it, and so had Piers, that harness jingling, as if mounted men were moving amongst the trees. Philip rose, thanked Roheisia absentmindedly and went up to his chamber to change. He sat on the edge of his bed and, through the window, watched the darkness gather. He knelt at his prie-dieu before the crucifix.\n\n'So far, Lord,' he prayed in a hoarse whisper, 'I have experienced nothing but evil here. Yet there, in the woods...'\n\nPhilip stopped, distracted. He had always prided himself on his love of reason, the dictates of logic, yet he was sure that, somehow or other, he had stumbled upon those French because he had been warned. But by whom? He heard Edmund calling him from downstairs.\n\n'The men are gathering in the church, Brother. Sir Richard will be here soon!'\n\nIt took about an hour before everyone arrived at the church. When Sir Richard appeared, Philip repeated what Piers had already told the manor lord. Sir Richard bristled like a fighting dog and clapped the verderer on the shoulder.\n\n'There's a reward for you, Piers my boy. What you say is true. The French have swung in through the woods. They are waiting to attack.'\n\n'Won't they come tonight?' Edmund asked anxiously.\n\nPhilip looked around. Stephen seemed hardly alarmed by the crisis: he was more interested in Sir George Montalt's tomb, crouching down, studying the Latin inscription.\n\n'No, they won't attack tonight,' Sir Richard replied slowly. 'That's as dangerous for them as it is for us. In the dark, you can't tell friend from foe. No Frenchman would want to be cut off, any who were captured would be summarily hanged.'\n\n'But why are they waiting?'\n\n'What's the day today, Father?'\n\n'Why, Saturday.'\n\n'And what happens on a Saturday evening?'\n\nPhilip pulled a face.\n\n'Oh come, Father.' Sir Richard laughed. 'The men have worked hard and tomorrow is their rest day. They'll drink deep, sleep heavy and, tomorrow, rise and put on their best apparel...'\n\n'Of course,' Philip broke in. 'And come to church. All the villagers will be here for morning Mass.'\n\n'They've done it before.' Piers spoke up. 'When they were raiding Rye and Winchelsea they always tried to trap the people in the churches. Men are away from their houses, they don't carry arms. The French would simply bar the church and fire it. Afterwards, they can loot and kill to their hearts' content.'\n\n'Won't they attack the manor?' Philip asked.\n\n'No, Father. You've seen the walls and gates. Why should they go there and raise the alarm? No, they'll sack Scawsby first and then come looking for me. They'll enter the village by the high road,' Sir Richard continued. 'Scouts will go first, doing what they always do, killing the old, the infirm, silencing the dogs. However, we'll be ready for them!'\n\nSir Richard strode up into the pulpit and clapped his hands. In a few pithy phrases he told his tenants what Father Philip and Piers had seen in the woods. He clapped again for silence.\n\n'If we had not known,' he declared, 'we might have all died. Now we do, the tables are turned. I will send a rider, for what it is worth, through the night, to see if the sheriff and his men can be raised but, tomorrow morning, no one leaves the village or goes out into the fields. The French do not know Scawsby. Father Philip will, An hour after dawn, about seven o'clock, Father Philip will ring the bell for morning Mass. You must all come here, bring your wives and your children. The old and the bed-ridden. No one must be left at home. They can shelter in the church. But all men between the ages of fourteen and sixty must come fully armed. Bring bow and arrow, staff and sword: any weapons you can lay your hands on. My retainers will bring what we have from the manor. I tell you this: we will teach the French to come to Scawsby!'\n\nHis short, fiery speech encouraged the villagers. Sir Richard then repeated his advice. No one was to leave the village, whilst he would post scouts on the outskirts to make sure the French did not come at night. He then invited Philip to offer a prayer of thanksgiving and a petition for God's help. As the priest did so, he also added a quiet word of thanks to those mysterious riders in Scawsby wood who had warned him of this terrible danger to his parish."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Philip felt a relief, the French incursors were a physical threat, something which could be dealt with. This pressing danger allayed some of his fears. He slept fitfully so he got up, put his cloak around him and went out into the high street. Sir Richard had posted guards, men who moved quietly as cats, grizzled veterans from the French wars. They were used to stealing food at night and dealing, so they told the priest, with French pickets. Philip gave them his blessing and went back to the house where he knelt and prayed. At last, peering through the window, he saw the first streaks of dawn. He heard a sound from below as people, anxious to be away from their homes and wishing to be together, began to arrive early for church. Mailed horsemen, the hooves of their mounts muffled by rags, also appeared. A party of Montalt's retainers pushed carts, the wheels of which were covered in straw, down the high street. Philip shaved and washed. He put on his best robes, went down and broke his fast on some bread and ale. Edmund and Stephen, white-faced and anxious, were already waiting for him.\n\n'Keep out of the fighting,' Philip warned. 'None of us are soldiers: that's not cowardice, it's just common sense. If the French break through and enter the church, that will be different.'\n\nBeneath his cloak, Philip wore his sword and a long Welsh stabbing dirk. Edmund carried a long arbalest he had found in one of the chambers upstairs. It was still workable and lashed to his belt was a leather quiver containing ugly, barbed bolts. Stephen wore his sword and said he would try and borrow a long bow and a quiver of arrows. They left the house and made their way across the cemetery to the church. Women and children were already flocking in. Sir Richard stood on the steps. He was dressed in half-armour, a conical steel helmet on his head, its broad nose-guard covering most of his face. He looked a fighting man born and bred. He gruffly greeted Philip. Beside him his son was similarly attired but more nervous, shuffling from foot to foot. Philip went into the church, moving round, talking to the women and children, encouraging the latter that here was some new game they had to play. Outside he could hear the preparations for battle. Sir Richard was shouting orders: there was the creak of harness and the rumble of cart wheels, the sheering clash of swords being sharpened. Sir Richard cursed, telling everyone to be as quiet as possible. Philip remembered the coffin woman. He went out and across the cemetery. She was already up, collecting sticks: Philip almost had to drag her into the church. She protested volubly and said she didn't care but Philip heartily reminded her that freebooters were respecters of neither age nor sex. She was one of his parishioners and he would protect her. She seemed rather flattered and, before he left, she grasped his hand and kissed it.\n\n'Ring the bell!' Sir Richard ordered, coming into the church. 'Ring it loud and hard! Let the French know we are at prayer, though a different service than they intended.'\n\nEdmund went into the tower. Stephen, who had borrowed a bow and quiver from Piers, followed him up the steps but Sir Richard had already placed men there so he came down. Instead he took a position near an arrow slit aperture facing the main porch. Edmund rang the bell for all his worth. Philip, standing beside Stephen, suddenly saw all the men disappear. The front of the church became as silent as the graveyard. Behind him the children played and chattered whilst their mothers pretended to listen. The bell stopped tolling and Philip began to pray. Time passed slowly. Philip wondered if they had made a mistake when he heard a dog, one of the mongrels who roamed the village, start to bark raucously, then suddenly go quiet. Philip peered through the window \u2013 nothing, only a bundle of grass and twigs being rolled by the early morning breeze. When he looked again his heart stopped. A man was standing there, a leather mask covering his face. He carried a shield and sword. He turned and waved. Philip heard the sound of running feet and shouts, doors being broken into. More of the attackers poured into the broad space in front of the church. Stephen notched an arrow to his bow string as one came in under the lych-gate. Suddenly, sharp and clear, the sound of a horn shrilled. Silence reigned for a few seconds. The horn blew again and the battle began.\n\nAt first Philip couldn't see what was happening. He heard a whirl, as if some giant hawk was flying through the sky, and the French began to die. Some were killed outright, others writhed in agony as the arrows took them in the face, chest, neck or stomach. Stephen loosed at the man standing by the lych-gate; the arrow missed but the man, alarmed, retreated back into the high street. Philip went up the tower steps, pushed aside one of the archers and stared out. His view was limited but he saw how sound Montalt's tactics were. The French had been allowed into Scawsby. However, in the houses further down the high street, including his own and in the church tower above him, archers had been placed. In the fields behind the hedges other men had been hidden. Their tactics were the same as the English armies had used to such devastating effect in France. The archers simply found their aim and loosed: if the French ran forward they went into a hail of arrows. If they went back, or to their right or left, the same threat met them. Philip had heard about the skill of the long bow but now he saw why it was so fearsome. An archer, a few steps above him, was loosing arrows more quickly than the priest could finish a Pater Noster. Philip went down. Most of the fighting was taking place further back in the village but, even from where he stood, the sound of screaming and shouting was like that from some infernal nightmare. The enemy in front of the church disappeared, most of them killed or wounded, others retreating back to join the main battle. Piers, who had been left in the church as Sir Richard's officer, now ordered the doors opened.\n\n'I am to collect all the archers and move them to the village,' he said. 'Make sure the French are sealed in. I will leave three men to guard the church.'\n\n'I'm coming with you!' Philip declared. 'Edmund, you stay, Stephen too!'\n\nPiers was already hurrying down the path, shouting at the men in the church and the cemetery as well as those behind the hedgerows to join him. At first Philip kept stopping by every corpse.\n\n'There's a man wounded here!' he shouted.\n\n'Ah, so there is.' An English archer knelt down and, before Philip could intervene, the wounded man's throat was slit from ear to ear.\n\nMore corpses littered the highway. Piers now formed his archers into a line. They moved slowly down the high road back into Scawsby. Now and again they would stop to despatch a wounded assailant. Occasionally, very rarely, some of the French attackers tried to run to the outskirts of the village. The verderer's archers made short work of them. Up came the bows, the archers wagering where they would hit their victims. Philip lowered his eyes. When they turned the corner, the scene in front of them was unbelievable. Sir Richard had sealed the village off with carts, full of burning tar and pitch. The French were now forced to fight in a tightly enclosed square. The houses on either side were packed with English archers whilst others, a mixture of retainers and peasants, stood behind the carts and simply loosed over the French milling about. Now and again the occasional attacker would break free from the trap only to be cut down. As Piers' group approached, they heard the horn sound again. Sir Richard, leading a line of horsemen, came out of a side street: grappling hooks were placed on the carts, which were pulled aside, and then Sir Richard charged. By the time Philip had reached the bloody m\u00eal\u00e9e it was apparent that the French had been utterly defeated. Corpses lay sometimes two, three, deep in places. Others were fighting desperately with the horsemen swirling about them. Eventually the cry went up.\n\n'Ayez piti\u00e9! Ayez piti\u00e9!'\n\nFrenchmen dropped their arms and knelt, hands extended. Philip was horrified to see the killing still continue: heads pulled back, throats slashed; horses tumbling across prostrate men. Sir Richard charged about on his great destrier. Young Henry rode behind him carrying a pennant bearing the Montalt insignia and motto: IN MONTE ALTO, SUMMUM BONUM: In the high mountain lies the supreme good. A pun on the family name? Philip ran through fighting men and grasped Sir Richard's knee.\n\n'My Lord! My Lord!' he cried. 'This is murder! They have surrendered! This is butchery!'\n\nSir Richard lifted his visor. Philip recoiled at the blood lust in the old man's eyes.\n\n'They would have killed us, priest!' he rasped. 'Men, women and children and they would have hanged you from the door of your church.'\n\n'For the love of God!' Philip declared. 'Surely, Sir Richard, there's more to life than an eye for an eye and tooth for tooth? This is murder and you know it.'\n\nSir Richard dropped his sword. He then shouted at Henry who blew three long blasts on his horn. Already more merciful feelings were making themselves felt. The English hit and cuffed the French but the hot-blooded slaughter ceased. The French were pushed together; there must have been about sixty still standing and another score wounded. Hands and ankles were tied. They were formed into a line and led down towards the church. News of the victory had already reached there. Women and children came running up and, if Philip had not intervened, rocks and sticks would have been hurled. Eventually the French were led into the cemetery and forced to sit under the yew trees whilst their wounded were laid on great stone slabs. Sir Richard now sent out riders to see if anyone had escaped. Piers led another force, into the woods to discover where the French had hidden their plunder when they had camped the night before.\n\nPhilip was pleased to see some of the women, the coffin woman included, begin to tend the wounded French. Wine and herbs were brought to dress the terrible wounds, clean rags being used as bandages. These were assisted by Montalt's veterans who used their long misericordia daggers to force out arrow heads or cut the hard-boiled leather which the French had used as armour. After the excitement, exhaustion set in. Men, women and children sprawled everywhere. Aidan Blackthorn, the owner of the village tavern, brought down a hog's head of ale and victuals to eat, Sir Richard promising that he would pay for everything that he provided. The old lord took his helmet and chain mail off. He slumped on the church steps, bathing his face and neck with a wet rag, taking great sips from a blackjack of ale which Aidan always kept full.\n\n'Well, Father?' Sir Richard stared into the priest's face. 'Our young King and Commons will be pleased. My Lord of Gaunt,' he referred to the Regent of the kingdom, 'will make his pleasure known.'\n\n'And what about the French?' the priest asked.\n\n'I know that was a bloody business.' Sir Richard gestured further down the high road. 'But these are pirates. When they attack they take no prisoners. I've seen women and children impaled on spikes, priests hacked and skinned like animals. By all the laws and usages of war they should hang and be dead within the hour.' He sighed. 'But you are right. I'm a soldier, not a butcher.' He held Philip's gaze. 'And we need God's blessing here, don't we, Father? Only those who grant mercy can receive it. It's been a good day, not one Scawsby villager was killed, a few nasty wounds but nothing that won't heal.' He stood and pointed to the prisoners. 'They'll be taken to Rochester or Canterbury. The French hold English sailors as prisoners. They'll be exchanged or ransomed. What I want to know is why they came to Scawsby?'\n\n'But you said the manor and village were rich?'\n\n'Yes, Father, but it's a good ride from the coast. Marauders very rarely cross country unless they are looking for something. As I've sat here, supping Aidan's watered ale, I've been wondering what? So, perhaps it's time we found out. You'd best come with me.'\n\nThey walked into the cemetery. The French, those unwounded, had now clustered together talking and jabbering at a tall, blond-haired man who had a nasty slash across his right cheek. He was dressed differently from the rest. The chain mail was of good value and, on the empty scabbard which hung from his war belt, was the insignia of a noble family. The young man stared coolly as Sir Richard and the priest walked towards him.\n\n'I can speak French,' Lord Montalt began. 'But this is England and these are my lands. You are pirates. I have every right to hang you like a farmer would rats and there are enough trees in Scawsby to do it.'\n\nThe young man's blue eyes stared impassively back, one finger going to dab at the cut on his cheek.\n\n'Can any of you speak English?' Philip asked.\n\n'I can speak it as well as you,' the blond-haired man replied, bowing slightly to Sir Richard. 'I am Sir Tibault Chasny.'\n\n'I have heard of that family!' Sir Richard exclaimed.\n\nThe young man smiled and picked up his scabbard. Across the family insignia was a black bar sinister.\n\n'I must make it very clear,' Tibault said liltingly, 'that I am a by-blow, illegitimate; how you English say, born on the wrong side of the blanket.' He smiled. 'And you?'\n\n'Lord Richard Montalt. This is my priest, Father Philip.'\n\nThe young man, hands on his stomach, sketched a bow.\n\n'Sir Richard, I must congratulate you. If I had known Scawsby was such a prickly hedgehog I wouldn't have come.' He gestured to his men. 'They think we were betrayed. Why were you waiting? Such a clever trap!'\n\n'You weren't betrayed,' Philip replied. 'I and others stumbled on your camp yesterday evening. We killed two of your scouts.'\n\nThe Frenchman closed his eyes and laughed. He then translated what was said to the rest of his men. Tibault made his way through them to stand before Sir Richard.\n\n'I thought they had got lost. I really did. My lieutenant, he said we should search for them.' He blew his cheeks out. 'He was right and now he's dead. I was wrong and I am alive though not for long, eh, Sir Richard?'\n\n'Your treasure, your harness and your horses,' Montalt replied, 'are already ours. But you won't hang. The priest here,' he smiled grimly, 'won't allow it. You have my word, you won't be killed. It's to Rochester and Canterbury for you. Weeks in some cold dungeon, then you can either be ransomed or exchanged for Englishmen in France.' Sir Richard drew in his breath. 'It doesn't really matter to me but tell your men that if any of them try to escape they will be killed on the spot!'\n\nThe young Frenchman translated quickly to his companions. There were smiles and sighs. Philip, studying them more closely, was glad that he had intervened. They were French, the enemy, but they were men with wives, sisters, lovers, families. They had probably come to England to wreak revenge for what had happened in France.\n\n'You'll be well looked after,' Philip declared. 'But I beg you, Monsieur, tell none of your men to try and escape. They will be cut down or hanged out of hand whilst the marshes of Kent trap the unwary.'\n\n'Why did you come here?' Sir Richard asked. 'Oh, I know Scawsby is a prosperous place but there are many such villages in Kent. Why this one? Why now?'\n\n'We carry letters of Marque,' Tibault answered. 'From the Provost of Boulogne. Our task is to harass English shipping in the Narrow Seas and attack the enemy wherever possible.'\n\n'Yes, yes,' Sir Richard replied testily. 'But why Scawsby? Monsieur, I am no fool. I have served as a soldier. I have shown you great compassion. I deserve a better answer.'\n\nApparently one of Tibault's men could also understand English and, relieved that he wasn't going to hang, abruptly shouted at Tibault. Philip could only fathom a little French but he caught the word 'treasure', as did Montalt.\n\n'What treasure?' Philip asked abruptly. He seized the Frenchman's wrist. 'Sir, you dabble in waters you know little about. What treasure could possibly lie in Scawsby? Don't lie, you owe us your life!'\n\n'Not here,' Chasny murmured.\n\nSir Richard agreed. He and Philip escorted Tibault out of the cemetery and on to the porch of the church. Tibault sat down, stretching out his legs.\n\n'It's good to be away from my men. If you English don't kill me they probably would. This has been a disaster. We were supposed to attack Scawsby, then ride fast, eastwards, back to the coast. We have three galleys and further out at sea stands a cog waiting to accompany us.'\n\n'The sheriff will seize your galleys,' Sir Richard answered drily. 'And I doubt if you'll spend Yuletide in France.'\n\n'Can I have something to drink?'\n\nPhilip went outside, got a blackjack of ale and brought it back. The Frenchman drank it greedily.\n\n'I never thought your ale would taste so sweet.'\n\n'I am tired,' Philip spoke up. 'Monsieur Tibault, I am tired of waiting, why did you come here? What is this about treasure?'\n\n'Ah, very well, what does it matter? I am of the Chasny family, albeit a by-blow. Ever since I was a boy, in the Chasny family there have been stories, vague rumours, legends about a great treasure which should have come to our families but didn't.'\n\n'Continue,' Philip ordered, sitting down opposite him.\n\nTibault looked round the church. 'This is a strange place, gloomy and dark, just like the story we were told. Anyway, according to this, in 1308, Philip Capet, King of France, launched an attack upon the Templar Order. Any soldier monk belonging to it was arrested, imprisoned, tortured and killed. There was, at the time, a leading French Templar in England. His name was Sir Guillaume Chasny or, as you say, William Chasny. You English were not so speedy in the destruction of the Order. Sir William was supposed to leave the Temple in London, make his way across Kent and take ship to France. Apparently there was a plan to bring the treasure from London with him and hand it over to the Chasnys in France for safe keeping.' Tibault pulled a face.\n\n'Of course, he never reached the coast,' Philip intervened.\n\n'No, he did not. Now the French king, through his secret agents, not to mention the Chasny family, tried to find out what had happened.' He smiled thinly. 'I believe the English Crown was equally curious and equally frustrated.' He paused. 'However, one thing became apparent. In all the documents I have seen, both in the royal archives in Paris as well as those letters held by my family, Sir William reached, or was on the road to, Scawsby when he suddenly disappeared. We also know that the English Crown believed,' he glanced up at Sir Richard, 'that your ancestor and either some or all of the men of Scawsby were involved in the destruction of Sir William and his entourage.' He shrugged. 'The end of the legend is this: here in Scawsby lie the treasures of the Temple which,' he spread his hands and grinned boyishly, 'by God's right, and by all that is legal, should be ours!'\n\n'Aye,' Sir Richard replied tartly. 'And I understand that it is snowing in hell and the Lord Satan will sing \"Sanctus, Sanctus\".' He stood up over the Frenchman. 'You, sir, are a pirate and a freebooter. You came to pillage and to burn.'\n\n'True, Richard, yet didn't you do the same in France? I have seen the work of the English \u00e9corcheurs there. Yes, my men were here for profit but, I was here for a treasure that belongs to my family. I was born a bastard but I'll die a Chasny. Can you imagine what would have happened if I'd returned to France with this great treasure?' He pulled a face. 'If a man succeeds who cares about his origins?' He clambered to his feet. 'That is all I can tell you.'\n\n'You'll be kept in the manor,' Sir Richard spoke up. 'You and all those who are able. I have your word you'll not try to escape?'\n\nSir Tibault held a hand up. 'I swear to God in this holy place.' He glanced round. 'Or perhaps not so holy. I have never been in a church like this. Anyway, the corpses of my dead?'\n\n'I will take care of them,' Philip replied. 'They will be buried in the common grave but I will sing a Mass for them and bless their corpses. What happens to their souls is up to God.'\n\nSir Richard and Tibault left. Philip went and sat at the foot of the pillar staring into the darkness. He always believed that heaven ruled and God, in his infinite way, guided even the minute affairs of men. So it was with this terrible attack. Philip was certain that he had been guided into Scawsby woods, that he had been meant to discover the Frenchmen's camp.\n\n'So, what do we have here?' he murmured. 'On the one hand, a presence of evil, but on the other God-saving work. If I had not gone into the woods, Scawsby would now be a sea of fire from one end to the other.'\n\n'Are you talking to yourself, Brother?'\n\nPhilip turned. Edmund and Stephen stood in the doorway.\n\n'Just saying a prayer: thanksgiving for deliverance.'\n\nStephen pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. 'Your parishioners are already celebrating. The French have been led off. Sir Richard says that today the people can celebrate. Tomorrow will be a boon day. There will be no work in the manor or in the fields, only a Mass of celebration followed by a feast.'\n\n'Sir Richard's shrewd.' Philip got to his feet. 'Come on, Brother, we have other work to do. The French dead must be collected and buried.'\n\n'Where?' Stephen asked curiously.\n\n'Why,' Philip replied. 'In the cemetery. The people asked for a sign of God's approval for building the new church. Now they have it. The French dead will be buried and left in the old cemetery. The parishioners will be given a new one.'\n\n'They are already calling you the Saviour of Scawsby,' Edmund joked.\n\n'I suppose they'll call me a lot of things,' Philip replied drily. 'But the burial of the dead is a great corporal act of mercy. I want it done before the corpses begin to stink and my parishioners are too drunk to wield a shovel!'\n\nAs it was, Philip found little trouble in getting his parishioners to help him. The flush of victory had now receded. Sober minds prevailed and the parishioners were as eager as he to collect the corpses and bring them into the cemetery. The women and children were kept indoors and it was dusk before the sorry business was finished. Philip watched the line of corpses grow. He forgot about the mystery and the curses, the legends and the fables. The sight of a long line of dead young men was pitiful. Some of their wounds were terrible: throats slashed whilst many bore the devastating and terrible effects of the long bow, arrows in their heads, faces or buried deep in their bellies and chests.\n\nPiers the verderer returned from Scawsby woods. He announced that the horses of the Frenchmen and their treasure had been taken to the manor. The verderer and some of his companions stayed to help the priest search for corpses. Late in the afternoon, Philip ordered a rest and Roheisia brought out jugs of ale and some bread which she'd baked. The men sat around joking and laughing, oblivious to the corpses. They ate and drank to celebrate their own survival. Philip returned to the Priest's house and took down the parish ledger. He turned to the section written up by Romanel, those curious entries about the dead of 1308. In the margin, as in many such ledgers, the priest also indicated in what part of the cemetery these corpses had been buried. Philip satisfied himself and went out. He took the labourers to the eastern part of the cemetery, not far from the coffin woman's hut, and ordered a large, broad trench to be dug. Ignoring Edmund's questioning look, Philip ordered the trench to be dug deeper and broader than need be.\n\n'It will cut a swathe across the cemetery,' he whispered. 'Any coffins that have to be removed, will be.'\n\nTorches were lit. The labourers put mufflers across their noses and mouths and began the work. Darkness fell. The digging continued. Now and again they would come across a coffin, the crumbling remains of some long-dead parishioner but no questions were asked. This was regarded as a derelict part of the cemetery.\n\nGrave stones and crosses had long disappeared. No one could remember a parishioner being buried there in living memory. As the pit broadened and began to move across the cemetery, Philip put on his stole, brought out his Asperges rod and bucket and ordered the corpses of the dead French to be interred. Every so often the digging stopped, Philip would intone the 'De Profundis' and the 'Requiem', sprinkle the corpses with holy water, order the earth to be filled in, then the labourers would go back to their work. The night drew on. It was a garish sight. The cemetery, usually so lonely, so sombre, especially at night, was now lit by flickering pitch torches and echoed to the noise of axe, pick and the shouts and grunts of men. No one objected. They all knew, from the days of the Great Plague, how necessary it was for the speedy burial of the dead. The coffin woman came out. For a while she sat and watched them but then she went into the church to continue her lonely vigil before the altar.\n\nSir Richard Montalt also came down. Philip explained what he was doing.\n\n'It's best if we act quickly,' he declared. 'No questions asked. This is an area once used by the priest Romanel to bury his parishioners, so God knows what we might find.'\n\nSir Richard agreed and then, almost as if to echo the priest's words, Piers came running over.\n\n'Father, Sir Richard, you'd best come and see this!'\n\n'What is it?'\n\n'Empty coffins!'\n\nPhilip and Sir Richard hurried across. Three coffins had been pulled out of the trench.\n\n'They were so heavy,' Piers remarked. 'One of the lids fell off.'\n\nPhilip ordered torches to be brought and crouched down. The coffins were empty of any human remains but full of rocks and soil.\n\n'Corpus non invenitur,' he muttered.\n\n'What was that?' Sir Richard asked.\n\n'It's in the parish ledger,' Philip replied, getting to his feet. 'It's Latin for a body could not be found. But why all this mummery? Why bury a coffin with rocks and soil in it? Three in number?'\n\nEdmund and Stephen came over, to join them. Sir Richard told Piers to tell the labourers to continue digging.\n\n'Why should Romanel do that?' Philip asked. 'Why should he go to such lengths?'\n\n'It sometimes happens,' Edmund replied. 'If a man is lost at sea, or believed to be dead and his corpse cannot be found, the family will still have a requiem Mass.'\n\n'Yes, I've heard of that custom,' Philip replied. 'But usually they place some of the dead's personal belongings in the coffin as a token memorial. Wait a minute now.'\n\nCrouching down, he studied the three coffins carefully. Many times the poor could not afford a coffin but were buried in canvas sheets. Philip studied the wood; it was good and thick, able to withstand age and decay. He noticed the coffins were uniformly oblong.\n\n'They are not coffins,' Philip declared. 'They are arrow chests.'\n\nHelped by Sir Richard, Stephen and Edmund, the priest pushed one of the coffins sideways until the earth fell out. They heard a clink. Philip saw something glint in the torch light. He scrabbled amongst the dirt.\n\n'Swords and daggers!' Edmund exclaimed.\n\nThe other coffins were emptied. All around them the noise of digging stopped as Piers and his men realised something extraordinary was happening. Philip ordered the weapons, swords, daggers, even a small two-headed axe, to be collected together and brought on to the church steps. Buckets of water were brought to clean the mud off. Piers shouted that they had found another such coffin, two more in fact. The pile of arms on the church steps grew. A conical helmet with a broad, flat noseguard: shirts of chain mail and, despite the decay of the years, a tabard, tattered and rotting, but still bearing the remnant of the Templar cross.\n\n'This is proof!' Philip exclaimed excitedly. 'Don't you realise, Sir Richard!'\n\n'That evil man!' the manor lord exclaimed. 'What a terrible sin. The priest must have led that attack on the Templars. They must have trapped them out on the marshes and killed them \u2013 but what about their corpses?'\n\n'I know where they put them,' Philip intervened. 'You can't ride into Scawsby with a dozen corpses. That evil priest had their bodies stripped. The bodies were taken to High Mount. The ancient tombs were emptied of their bones, which were thrown down a well and replaced with the wounded corpses of these soldier monks.' Philip tapped a helmet with the tip of his finger. 'They must have known the English Crown would be searching for Sir William Chasny. Romanel, and probably your ancestor, God forgive him, took the dead men's weapons, put them into arrow chests and buried them deep in the cemetery.'\n\n'Oh no! Oh miserere...!'\n\nPhilip whirled round. The coffin woman had come into the church and was now staring at the arms piled on the steps. She gave another scream and fled into the night."
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "The pilgrims sitting round the fire drew a little closer.\n\n'Devil's tooth!' the Reeve whispered. 'This is a strange tale of heaven and hell.'\n\nThe Poor Priest just stared into the flames of the fire. The pilgrims had built this up, the Knight ensuring that dried-out branches kept the flames merry and bright. The Knight swept out, stretching his fingers. Had he not served in the eastern march, fought the fierce Prussians and Slavs as well as the Turks of North Africa? He had hunted and been hunted by the Strigoi, the living dead, along the gloomy, wet valleys of the Danube. The Knight was certainly not a timid man but he was uneasy. Oh, the ruins provided shelter and warmth, the air was still thick with the savoury odours of their meal whilst their breath was sweet with the taste of wine. True, the Poor Priest's tale was chilling but Sir Godfrey's unease was deeper than this. Outside the mist swirled, like some angry malevolent spirit trying to break in, to wrap its tendrils round their throats, to snuff out their lives like the wicks of a candle. And there was more than this: no owl hooted, no nightjar chattered, no frogs croaked in protest. Why? Sir Godfrey scratched his chin. He wanted to draw his sword and go out there. He was sure someone, something was watching them.\n\nThe Reeve, however, had been whispering to the Cook, who now looked across the fire at the Poor Priest.\n\n'Is this tale true, Father?'\n\n'Why do you ask?' the Ploughman spoke up.\n\n'I have been to Scawsby,' the Reeve replied. 'There is no church where you describe it, though there is a small monastery of Capuchins.' He glanced quickly at the Friar and the Monk. 'Devout men who pray continuously to the good Lord Jesus. Not like some...'\n\n'Yes, yes,' Mine Host broke in. 'You said you'd been to Scawsby?'\n\n'Aye, there's no church there but there's a lovely one at High Mount and the Montalt family...'\n\n'Hush!' The Poor Priest brought a finger to his lips. He glanced across at Sir Godfrey. 'You are uneasy, sir?'\n\n'No, no, Father. My son and I know the Montalts. I'll be honest, the fight at Scawsby...'\n\n'It happened, didn't it?' the Shipman broke in, waving his hand up and down as he explained. 'About ten years ago. I was on a cog, the Merry Mary. We were pursuing the French up and down the coast. My squadron was off the Medway when news came through that a French force had been defeated by peasants and their galleys taken by the sheriff of Kent.'\n\nThe Poor Priest just smiled.\n\n'Oh!' the Wife of Bath exclaimed. 'So terrifying, Father!' She pulled her rug closer about her ample shoulders. 'I would not stay in a haunted place.'\n\n'You never know,' the Poor Priest answered, 'what is haunted and what is not.' He waved round the ruins. 'How do we know the dead don't throng here? Watching us, listening to us?'\n\n'I don't give a fig!' the Summoner retorted, rubbing his stomach. He felt slightly sick after the wine he had drunk. He stretched out his legs, waggling his toes in front of the fire. He didn't care that his leggings were dirty whilst his feet hadn't seen water for many a week. 'I don't give a fig,' he repeated, 'about ghosts or demons! I don't believe all this. A lively tale, but fable not fact.'\n\n'So, you don't believe in ghosts?' The Man of Law pushed back his hood. 'Well, that doesn't matter.'\n\n'Why?' the Summoner asked suspiciously.\n\n'Because ghosts may well believe in you,' the Poor Priest replied.\n\n'And this is true,' the Cook added, scratching the ulcer on his leg. 'It's true, isn't it, Father?'\n\n'Oh yes, Bartholomew,' the Poor Priest replied. 'Of course it's true. You know it is.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "The entire village slept late the next morning. During the night Sir Richard's messengers rode furiously up and down the roads of Kent. By dawn the sheriff and a posse of his men arrived to take the prisoners and march them off to the prison hulks at the mouth of the Medway. The dead had all been collected, the burials completed: a great, broad swathe of freshly turned earth now ran across the cemetery like a scar. The Templar arms were hidden under a canvas sheet in an outhouse behind the Priest's house. Philip slept well and awoke refreshed, despite the previous night's hard labour. He rang the church bell and, at noon, celebrated a Mass of thanksgiving. At the end, he and Sir Richard led the congregation in thundering out the verses of the Te Deum. Afterwards the villagers swarmed up round the priest, slapping his shoulders, thanking him for his work.\n\n'God's will has been done!' the blacksmith shouted on the steps of the church. 'And it has been seen to be done. Our priest, as far as I am concerned, can build a hundred churches!'\n\nHis words were greeted by a roar of approval and the rest of the day was given over to a village celebration. Sir Richard's munificence made itself felt. Tables were laid out. Carts arrived from the manor house with hogsheads of ale, vats of wine and a huge ox gutted and ready to roast. The blacksmith built up a huge fire in the centre of the village and soon the air was thick with the smell of roasting beef. Bread and sweetmeats were piled high in baskets. Everybody contributed what they could: apples, slightly rotten where they had been kept all winter; rounded pieces of marzipan; sweet-bread; whilst the ale and wine flowed like water. There was dancing on the green from where young couples, hand in hand, stole off into the woods.\n\n'I just hope they are careful,' Philip remarked to Edmund. 'Otherwise, in late summer, we're going to have a crop of weddings and be busy at the baptismal font.' He glanced around. 'Where's Stephen?'\n\n'Gone to High Mount,' Edmund replied.\n\nPhilip glanced away so his brother would not catch his annoyance. Philip was concerned about Stephen. His friend was not his merry self: he had become taciturn and drawn. Philip was growing increasingly suspicious. High Mount could wait, so why was it so important to go there today? Did Stephen realise Philip and Edmund would be busy in the village? Did Stephen know more about the legends of Scawsby than he admitted? And was he more interested in the hidden treasure than building God's house?\n\n'Come on, Father.' Piers swaggered over. He thrust a blackjack of ale into the priest's hand. 'Hard knocks yesterday, eh, Father? Grisly work digging up those graves. What was that armour we found?'\n\n'Nothing,' Philip murmured. He pulled a face. 'Well, in time, I'll tell you.' He toasted the verderer with the blackjack. 'But you, you were going to tell me a story? About Father Anthony?'\n\n'Oh yes. Have you met Walkin?'\n\n'Who?'\n\n'Walkin the stone-cutter. He's very old and venerable. Some people say he was here when Romanel was vicar.' Piers glimpsed the interest in the priest's eyes. 'Come on, Father. You'd best come and talk to him before he gets too drunk.'\n\nThey found Walkin on a table which had been laid out before the tavern. He was small and wiry, neck as scrawny as a chicken, popping eyes and red, flushed face, the lower half of which was hidden under a wispy moustache and beard. Piers made the introductions.\n\n'Sit down. Sit down.' Walkin patted the bench beside him. He smiled in a display of toothless gums. 'Sit down, Father. I've been longing to meet you. This is my helpmate, my grandson, Bartholomew.'\n\nHe pointed across to a dirty-faced boy whose hair was so greasy it hung in rat's-tails to his shoulder. The lad had his foot up on a bench, scratching vigorously at his leg.\n\n'Stop that, Bartholomew!' Walkin snapped. 'He has a sore on his leg which never heals.' He indicated over his shoulder with his thumb at the tavern. 'He works there. He wants to be a cook. If I were you, Father, I wouldn't eat a thing he's touched.' Walkin sniffed the air like a dog. 'It will be dark before the beef is done. I want a nice, crisp piece. I've got some salt in my pocket and I'm going to sit and chew it.'\n\n'Good for you, Walkin,' Philip replied. 'Piers tells me you knew Father Anthony?'\n\n'Well, of course I did,' the old man retorted. 'I've known a lot of the priests. I always go to church on Sundays and Holy Days.'\n\n'Did you know Romanel?'\n\n'Oh Father, I was only a boy, a mere stripling, but I remember him.' He shook his head. 'We children didn't like him. He was a bad bugger. Mysterious, out in the cemetery there at the dead of night. Aye, I've heard what you've found. I bet if you dug a bit more you'd find something else.'\n\n'What do you mean?' Philip asked.\n\nWalkin leaned closer and tapped his red, fleshy nose. 'He was a leader, was Romanel. Men feared him. He would often come down to the tavern here. He could drink any man under the table and often did. Now those were the bad old days, Father, when our King's great-grandfather, Edward II, married the French woman. Times were hard. The Scots were raiding under Bruce. The royal commissioners were collecting stores and harvests were bad. Famine sat at many of our tables. Do you know, Father, further west, away from the towns and villages, they said men turned to cannibalism?'\n\n'Romanel,' Piers interrupted.\n\n'Ah well, yes. With the crops failing and the livestock dying, some of the villagers became outlaws. You've ridden round Scawsby, Father, even today it's a lonely place.' He drank from his jug of ale and once again told Bartholomew to stop scratching his leg. 'Anyway, Romanel and the old manor lord, they used to take men out in the marshes and attack the unwary.'\n\n'But you were talking about the graveyard?'\n\n'Ah, yes, so I was. Now, you've heard about the Templar treasure and all that nonsense? Well, I tell you this, Father, one night they did go out but not all of them came back. Those who did were all dead within the year.'\n\n'A curse?' Philip asked.\n\n'Aye, you could call it that, Father. Now Romanel also claimed to be a leech, which made him such a lecher.' The old man smiled at the pun he had created. 'There were rumours that Romanel helped members of his gang into the grave: a potion here, a touch of powder there. Whatever, every man jack of them died. As I have said, he was an evil bugger.'\n\n'And Father Anthony?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh, he was different. He was a gentle, old soul. He loved the antiq\u2014'\n\n'Antiquities,' Philip finished the sentence for him.\n\n'Yes, that's it, Father. Always coming down here asking people about the history of Scawsby. He was a good priest, until he met up with that idle bugger Waldis.'\n\n'And what was your involvement?' Philip asked.\n\n'Father Anthony came down to see Grandfather,' Bartholomew suddenly spoke up, as if to distract himself from scratching. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. 'Didn't he? He came down to the tavern. He was strange by then, white-faced, unshaven and he smelt to high heaven.'\n\n'A case of the pot calling the cauldron black!' Walkin snapped.\n\n'He wanted to see Grandfather,' Bartholomew continued. 'Asked us would we come to the church.'\n\n'You see,' Walkin interrupted, 'in my youth, Father, I was a very good stone-cutter. Anyway, Father Anthony took me up to the church. He led me down to the crypt and pointed to the pillars. \"Walkin,\" he asks, \"would it be possible to dig into this stone?\" Well, I thought he was madcap and witless to boot. \"Father,\" I replied. \"You could spend eternity hacking at that stone and hardly make a dent. And if you did, well, you'd cut away the supports of the church. The crypt would cave in.\" He then asked about the flagstones on the floor. I said they could be lifted but what was the use? The old priest just smiled, he said it was a problem which was vexing him. He gave me a coin and that was it.'\n\nPhilip questioned him again but the old man couldn't give any indication of what was in Father Anthony's mind.\n\n'I never saw him again, Father. Well, not till they cut his poor corpse down from the tree in the graveyard.'\n\nPhilip thanked him. He picked up his blackjack of ale and walked along the village high street, stopping to talk to this family or that. By the time he returned to the church he felt a little embarrassed; his parishioners regarded him as a hero. But, now the danger from the French had receded, Philip looked up at the stark tower of his church. He was truly convinced that the best thing he could do was destroy this place and not even wait for the new one at High Mount to be built. He was certain that in the cold, bleak winter of 1308, Romanel had massacred those Templars, left their corpses at High Mount, desecrated the old graves there and then buried the Templars' armour in his own cemetery. Philip stared at the gravestone: armour was difficult to hide. Fresh holes out at High Mount or discovered in the woods might create suspicion. Or did Romanel intend, at a later date, to dig the armour up and sell it? Anyway, by doing this, Romanel hid any evidence of the Templars disappearing on the marshes outside Scawsby. No eagle-eyed royal commissioner would be able to collect a scrap of proof which would indict him. Romanel hadn't finished there. He knew that those who had joined him, guilt-ridden, eager to confess or greedy to gain a reward, were also a danger. Philip knew enough about physic to realise that the fields around Scawsby contained deadly herbs. These could be collected, crushed and dried ready to dissolve in his accomplices' ale or wine. Of course, when they fell sick who would visit them? Their parish priest, pretending to bring more medicine but, in fact, hastening them all towards their graves.\n\nPhilip remembered the coffin woman's excitement the previous evening. He went through the lych-gate and across the cemetery. When he reached the grave which had been freshly dug the previous evening, he was surprised to see small candles had been pushed into the earth and lit so they formed a shape of a cross. On the other side of the newly turned earth, Priscilla knelt, eyes closed, praying her beads. Philip knelt opposite her. She opened her eyes.\n\n'They are rejoicing, aren't they?' Her face seemed more youthful.\n\n'Why did you scream last night when you saw the armour?' Philip asked.\n\n'It was the violence,' she replied. 'Men of war with their bloody swords and the screams of the dying.' She sat back on her heels. 'Always the swords, the flying arrows, shapes in the darkness.'\n\n'Have you seen the armour before?'\n\n'In my dreams, yes.'\n\n'These dreams, what happens in them?'\n\n'I am on a lonely moor. The wind is cold. There's no moon, only clouds. A huge, white owl, with wings which fill the heavens, swoops over me. A harbinger of death.' She screwed up her eyes. 'Last night I dreamed again and it was more clear. There are men around me, they are tired. I can smell the sweat and boiled leather. They are good men. They are warriors but they are kind to me: gentle-eyed and gruff-voiced. There's one in particular. He has a moustache and beard. A wise man. Is he my father?' She opened her eyes. 'What do I mean by that?' she asked as if talking to herself. 'What am I saying? Romanel was my father, wasn't he?'\n\nA shiver ran down Philip's spine and his mouth went dry.\n\n'You were there, weren't you?' he asked. 'You were there when the Templars were attacked? What on earth, child, were you doing out there? Was Romanel so evil as to include you in his nefarious affairs?'\n\n'I don't know.' The reply was sing-song. 'Father, I don't know. Sometimes I dream and it's terrible. Sometimes I draw pictures.' She beckoned with her hand. 'Would you like to see those pictures?'\n\nPhilip got up and followed her across into her hut. It was neat and tidy and smelling fragrantly of herbs and wild plants. The floor was earth-packed and strewn with fresh grass from the cemetery. The walls were of plaster recently painted. Philip surmised that the old woman had probably done that herself. A small hearth stood beneath the chimney piece, a crude affair. In the far corner was a ladder which led up to a bed loft. She made the priest welcome, sitting him on a stool whilst she wearily climbed the small ladder and came back with yellowing rolls, of parchment. She handed these to the priest.\n\n'I drew those myself,' she said shyly. 'Sir Richard, whenever he asks me what I want for Yuletide, I always say parchment and some sticks of charcoal.' She smiled. 'And, of course, fresh milk. Look at them. You are the only person who has seen them.'\n\nPhilip unrolled the parchment. Some were cracked and dried. Others were still clean and soft to the touch. At first he could make little sense of them. He moved to catch the light from the window and realised they were drawings, simple yet possessing a vigorous life of their own. He lay them out on the floor.\n\n'Others have been lost,' she murmured. 'On one occasion I burnt a few by mistake.' She tightened her lips. 'And, Father, I confess, sometimes I grow tired of it all.'\n\nPhilip just nodded, fascinated by the drawings. They seemed to depict the same scene. A group of men on horses crossing the countryside. He could tell they were knights. They wore pointed helmets, carried shields and spears and, in the middle, a small figure riding a palfrey. Like all the people in the drawings, the body was stick-like but Philip realised it was a small girl with long hair. The next pictures were black as if the woman had just rubbed and filled every available space with a piece of charcoal, except for the small drops of red ochre daubed onto the parchment, like pitch torches flickering in the dark. Philip recalled the wall paintings he had glimpsed in the garret: these were just the same.\n\n'What are these?' he asked, pointing to the red drops.\n\n'Corpse candles, Father. At least, that's what they call them. They are fires out over the marshes. Some people call them jack-o'-lanterns: to me they are corpse candles.'\n\n'And what do they signify?'\n\n'Death. The Devil's lights. Satan is coming through the darkness, Father. He misleads souls and he misleads bodies. He takes them onto the marsh where they die.'\n\n'And have you seen these corpse candles?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh, no, Father. I am too afeared. I never leave the church. I never go out of Scawsby.'\n\n'What?' Philip exclaimed. 'You must be well past your eightieth summer and you've never left the village?'\n\n'No, I am too afeared. The corpse candles will be there.' She shivered and hitched the coarse blanket she had put across her shoulders closer round her. Lifting her head, she sniffed the air. 'They are roasting an ox, aren't they?' She wetted her lips. 'I'd love a piece of meat. Soft and juicy and maybe some to dry, to keep for another day?'\n\n'You will have your meat,' Philip murmured. 'Priscilla, don't you know that these corpse candles are only fires, gases from the marsh.' He smiled. 'Or so I have been told.'\n\n'To you, Father, they can be, but, to me, they are corpse candles, the Devil's lights.'\n\n'But, if you haven't been out to the marsh, how can you remember?'\n\n'It's like here. When the mists come and curl up around the trees and stones in the cemetery, I see the corpse candles and I know Romanel is about.'\n\nPhilip put the drawings down. 'Romanel!' he exclaimed.\n\nShe smiled slyly at him, turning her head sideways.\n\n'You've seen him: wicked in life, wicked in death! I tell you this, when you see the corpse candles in the graveyard, Romanel is about. He will haunt this place until reparation is made.'\n\n'Reparation for what?' Philip asked.\n\n'I don't know, Father. But he was an evil man. He killed those Templars and he killed others.' She shook her head. 'Or I think he did.'\n\nPhilip returned to the drawings. The more he looked at them the more convinced he became that this old woman had witnessed the attack on the Templars in the marshes outside Scawsby. Each drawing told the same story.\n\n'Why were you with the Templars?'\n\nShe shook her head. 'Was I? Was I really?' Her eyes filled with tears. 'I don't know!' she sobbed. 'Oh Lord, I wish I did!'\n\nPhilip collected the drawings together and handed them back.\n\n'Thank you.' He got to his feet. 'Do you have anything, Priscilla, anything else from your early life?'\n\n'Nothing at all, Father. All I have is what Romanel gave me.'\n\nPhilip helped her to her feet and kissed her vein-streaked hand.\n\n'Then leave it all here. That ox must be well roasted by now. Come, my pretty, I'll have a piece cut for you.'\n\nPhilip led Priscilla by the hand, out across the cemetery. The day was drawing on. He stopped by the yew tree.\n\n'You say your mother was buried there?'\n\n'That's right, Father. That's what Romanel told me!'\n\nPhilip led her back out along the high street. He found her a place beside old Walkin who was now much the worse for drink. Young Bartholomew was despatched to cut a slice for her whilst Philip went into the tavern and brought her back a jug of milk. He then went along the street. He passed Edmund who sat at a table, being teased by some of the young maidens. Of Stephen there was no sign. Philip's face hardened: he had already decided, at the earliest possible moment, to confront his friend who, he believed, was more interested in hunting for the treasure than building a new church.\n\n'You look angry, Father.'\n\nThe priest turned. Piers stood there, a blackjack in one hand, his other around a comely, fresh-faced, young woman.\n\n'Come on, Father. A few cups of wine and you can dance with the rest of us.'\n\n'Piers, I'd like to ask you a favour.'\n\n'No, find your own girl.'\n\nPhilip didn't smile. Piers' hand fell away from the young woman's shoulders.\n\n'What is it, Father?'\n\nThe priest excused himself: the girl smiled, Philip led Piers out of earshot.\n\n'I want you to help me dig once more in the graveyard.'\n\n'Oh, Father, not now.'\n\n'Please. It won't take long.'\n\nPiers swore under his breath.\n\n'What are you looking for, Father?'\n\n'A grave, the skeleton of a woman.'\n\nPiers shrugged. 'Ah well, as they say, a labourer's work is never done.'\n\nA short while later Philip, gown off, his sleeves rolled up, helped Piers to dig beneath the yew tree where Priscilla said her mother was buried. The earth was soft, easy to break. Piers' spade struck something hard. He crouched down, brushed away the dirt and laughed.\n\n'You'll find no bodies beneath here, Father.'\n\n'What do you mean?'\n\nPiers stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.\n\n'Father, you are tired and I am half-drunk. If I was sober I'd have told you. You can't bury anyone beneath a tree. We have just hit the roots. No corpse is buried there: never has been, never will be.'\n\nPhilip apologised. They both refilled the hole. He then apologised once again but Piers just waved his hand.\n\n'You are a good man, Father.' He clapped him on the shoulder. 'I saw what you did in Scawsby wood and I've told the rest. You've got a fire in your belly, you and your brother. I'm glad you are here.'\n\nPhilip, slightly flattered, took the mattock and hoe back to the small enclosure behind the Priest's house and rejoined the revelry. He drank a cup of wine more quickly than he should have done. He was tired but still fascinated by what the coffin woman had told him. He went back to the Priest's house, climbed the stairs to his chamber and took down the missal which was kept there. He turned to the front and looked down the index of saints arranged in date order. He found it: Saint Priscilla's feast day, February 9th. Philip closed the missal and lay down on his bed.\n\n'You were a wicked man, Romanel,' he whispered. 'That old woman in the graveyard, she was never your daughter. But, for some strange reason...' Philip paused. Yes, he thought: when that coffin woman was a very young girl, she had been with those Templars. The soldier monks had been slaughtered to a man but some spark of decency must have saved the girl from having her throat slit. Romanel had brought her back to Scawsby, an easy task: she must have been very young and frightened out of her wits. So terrified, the shock unbalanced her: Romanel simply put it about that she was some by-blow of his.\n\n'That' s why you called her Priscilla,' Philip spoke into the gathering darkness. 'You gave her the name from the day you found her in February 1308, the feast of St Priscilla.'\n\nPhilip closed his eyes. He was certain that old woman could only vaguely remember that terrible night so many years ago. Being of tender years, the shocking event would have removed any memory from her mind, burying it deep in her soul: hence her dreams, her drawings and those terrible screams last night when she saw the armour of the Templars: men who had died around her, led to their deaths by the corpse candles on Scawsby marshes.\n\nWhen Philip woke up it was dark. He calculated that he must have been asleep for at least an hour. Darkness was falling and, even from where he lay, he could hear the sound of the revelry in the village. When he opened a window overlooking the cemetery, he caught the faint smell of cooking. Philip went downstairs to check all was well, ensuring the postern door at the back was locked, the fire in the kitchen dampened down. He drank some watered ale to clean his mouth and tasted the oatmeal Roheisia had prepared for the following morning. He went out and looked across the cemetery. His stomach curdled, for the mist had swept in.\n\n'Priscilla!' he called. 'Priscilla, have you returned?'\n\nSilence. Philip walked across to the church. The main door was locked and, standing on tiptoe, he peered through the window. He could see no lights. He was halfway back across the cemetery when he heard a crackle as if someone had stepped on a dry twig. The mist swirled about and his stomach clenched in fear as he saw a small glow of light, yellowish-red, as if someone was holding up a shuttered lantern: turning it now and again so he could glimpse the flame. Philip hurried back into the house, slamming the door behind him. It felt colder now, unwelcoming. Had he left his candle alight in his chamber? Philip was halfway up the stairs, when he heard the whisper.\n\n'Priest!'\n\nPhilip whirled round. He breathed in and gagged at the terrible stench.\n\n'Priest!'\n\nThe voice was now in front of him as if someone was in the gallery above.\n\n'Who are you?' Philip called. 'Stephen, is this some jest?'\n\n'Meddling, meddling priest!' The voice was a whisper, yet hoarse with malice. 'Aren't you interested in the treasure? Why question the woman?'\n\nPhilip went up the stairs. The voice was now behind him, chuckling like the giggling of some spiteful child. Philip decided to ignore it. He walked into his chamber; it was in darkness. He had extinguished the candle. He made his way carefully across the room, picked up a crucifix and a small stoup of holy water he kept there, and walked out into the gallery.\n\n'In the name of Christ Jesus!' he called and threw some water onto the floor. 'In the name of the Lord Jesus, I order you to return whence you came!'\n\nAs if in answer, he heard the ghostly clapping of hands: slow, measured as if whoever was there was mocking him. Philip walked to the top of the stairs. He took a deep breath, then went down, casting the water before him, letting it spill out of the stoup. The crucifix was clenched so tightly between his fingers, the wood stuck to his flesh. His heart jumped: from the gallery above someone was dancing on the spot. Then a faint humming, slow footsteps behind him as if the person was coming down the stairs, but taking their time, singing under their breath. Philip reached the door and put his hand on the latch. He felt his shoulder gripped. He was spun round and held fast against the door. He screamed in terror at Romanel's face, white, skull-like, cadaverous, the red lips parted in a rasp of stale air.\n\n'In Christ's name!'\n\nPhilip felt as if the hand round his neck was going to strangle him. Romanel brought his hand back, struck him across his mouth and Philip gratefully sank into unconsciousness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "'Ite Missa est. Go, the Mass is finished.'\n\nPhilip raised his hand and sketched a blessing in the air though not many of his parishioners were present to receive it. The revelry had gone on well after midnight and most of the villagers were still abed. Philip returned to the sacristy. He quickly divested. Edmund was watching him curiously but Philip had said nothing about the previous night's visitation. He had regained consciousness very soon. There was no mark on his face and anyone would think he had, perhaps, just tripped and fainted. Nevertheless, Philip had no doubts about what had happened. After regaining consciousness, he'd left the Priest's house, losing himself in the rejoicings of his parishioners. He had later retired to bed, laughingly refusing any further attempts to make him stay. Stephen must have returned, slipping into the village, because Philip had glimpsed him sitting at one of the tables. Now Philip was bent on a confrontation. He found his friend at the table breaking his fast, sipping hungrily at a bowl of sweetened oatmeal.\n\n'Roheisia!' Philip exclaimed. 'I'd be grateful if you would leave us for a while.'\n\nEdmund, who had slipped into the room, sat down. He was fearful for his friend who had changed since they had arrived in this parish. Yet, because he was so close to his elder brother whom he adored, he also realised that Philip was not happy with Stephen and that a friendship, built over the years, was beginning to crumble.\n\n'I missed you at Mass, Stephen!'\n\n'Ah, good morning, Philip.' Stephen put his horn spoon down and stared defiantly back.\n\n'I missed you at Mass,' Philip repeated. 'And I missed you yesterday at the festivities. You were out at High Mount, weren't you?'\n\n'I am Stephen Merkle,' his friend replied sarcastically. 'A master mason. I am here at Scawsby to build you a church. High Mount is the new site. I went down yesterday to draw up plans. I have my notes upstairs.'\n\n'Oh, I know who you are and why you are here!' Philip snapped. 'But do not lie to me. The Stephen Merkle I know can't resist any gaiety or revelry. True, you are here to build a church but you are also searching for the treasure, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes.'\n\nStephen's gaze fell away. Philip leaned across and gripped his shoulder.\n\n'Stephen, believe me when I tell you this: that treasure is cursed. Whatever it is, it's drenched in innocent men's blood! Everyone and anyone who has tried to find it comes to grief.'\n\nStephen opened his mouth.\n\n'Don't lie!' Philip shouted, drawing away, jabbing a finger at his friend. 'Don't sit there...!'\n\n'Philip, what is the matter?' Stephen half rose. 'You accuse me of hunting for the treasure. Yet, since you've arrived at St Oswald's, you, too, have changed: sour-faced, secretive.'\n\n'Oh, for the love of God!' Edmund intervened. 'Stephen, you saw what happened the other evening, the blood in the chest.'\n\n'I can send you away.' Philip drew back on his stool. 'I am parish priest here. Sir Richard Montalt is my patron. We can always hire another mason.'\n\nAs soon as the words were out of his mouth Philip regretted them, and knew he always would. He caught a look, a mere glance from Stephen: he saw the fury seething there just before the master mason forced a smile and held his hands up.\n\n'Confiteor. Confiteor,' he declared. 'I confess. I confess. The legends of the treasure do fascinate me.' He leaned across the table. 'Philip, you know I was born near here. The stories about the Scawsby treasure are famous. So, yes, it's tempting to know that somewhere out at High Mount might lie a king's fortune.'\n\n'In my view,' Philip replied, getting to his feet, 'the only thing that lies out at High Mount are the remains of murdered Templars. We are going out there this morning. I have sent Crispin to Sir Richard to ask for Piers, a good cart and some canvas cloths. I am going to transport the remains of both the monks and those Templars to hallowed grounds. You are going to help me.'\n\n'Of course! Of course!' Stephen got to his feet and came round, his face genial. He clasped Philip's hand. 'I am sorry,' he apologised. 'Philip, I will do whatever you ask. Whatever you say.'\n\nEdmund visibly relaxed. Philip drew Stephen to him and clasped him firmly. You are lying, he thought: I saw the look on your face, the fury in your eyes. You are lying. You are only coming to High Mount because we might discover something. Nevertheless, he stood back and smiled his appreciation at Stephen's words. He recalled Roheisia back in the kitchen. Despite the agitation in his stomach, Philip sat down, put a bright face on matters and ate a hearty breakfast. He finished and was about to go to his chamber when Crispin returned with a rather sorry-looking Piers. The verderer's sallow face was now white, his eyes red-rimmed. He clutched his stomach and groaned.\n\n'Father, I confess I ate and drank too much yesterday. Now I'm paying for it. However, a jug of watered ale and some of that oatmeal...'\n\nIn a twinkling of an eye, Roheisia, who had become all shy and coy when Piers came into the kitchen, ushered the verderer to the table. A bowl of oatmeal, laced with nutmeg and honey, and a large blackjack of ale were set before him. Despite his inebriation of the night before, Piers had the good sense to keep his mouth shut until Roheisia and her son had left the kitchen.\n\n'Sir Richard read your letter,' he began, putting his spoon down. 'He agrees: the remains of the Templars, as well as those of the monks we fished from the well, are to be decently shrouded and buried in the crypt beneath the manor chapel. Sir Richard believes it should be done immediately. I am to give you every assistance. He would have sent more men but he thinks this matter should be kept as secret as possible.' He stirred his oatmeal. 'Already tongues are clacking and people are beginning to wonder. Sir Richard also says you are to bring the armour you found the previous night: that, too, is to be buried with them.'\n\nThey finished the meal. Philip collected his cloak. Edmund would have preferred to stay but Philip said they would need every available pair of hands. So, with Piers driving the cart and Philip and his companions riding behind, they left the Priest's house and went out of the village, through the woods towards High Mount. The day was a fine one, the sun growing strong in a cloudless sky. Scawsby wood seemed to have lost its menace: birds sang and swooped overhead. The bracken on either side was noisy, as small animals scurried about. Squirrels, high in the branches, chattered in protest at being driven away by the clop of hooves and the crashing of the steel-rimmed wheels of the cart. Piers soon recovered his good spirits, describing how the French had been taken away as well as the different mishaps during the previous night's revelry. Philip, riding beside him, half listened, Romanel's ghastly visitation still haunting him.\n\n'Do you think this will end it, Father?' Piers looked at him narrow-eyed. 'I mean, Sir Richard is pleased. You've done more than any of the other priests have: you've proved the Templars were murdered out on the marshes. Perhaps, if they are now given hallowed burial?'\n\nPhilip smiled at the verderer's weather-beaten face.\n\n'You are a good man, Piers,' he replied. 'I would love to say, yes, all is ended. But,' he urged his horse forward as they reached the bottom of High Mount, 'I have a feeling that it is only about to begin.'\n\nIt took some time for the cart to reach the top of the hill. Once they had assembled, Philip insisted on kneeling before where the high altar had stood and recited a psalm. He then called on the Virgin Mary, all the Saints and Angels as witnesses, loudly declaring that what he was about to do was not out of desecration, greed or any other base motive but to give innocent men hallowed burial. He had scarcely finished when a cold breeze, which seemed to come from nowhere, whipped their faces. Philip stared round. The sun still shone. The ruins were desolate, peaceful, yet he was sure he caught the whisper: those words inscribed so many times around the church: 'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te.' 'We are watching you, we are always watching you.'\n\nThey spent the first hour taking the bones and remains of the monks who had been thrown down the well and carefully laid them in the canvas cloths Piers had brought. Philip also took from a leather bag, placed in the back of the cart, a large stoppered flask of holy water. Before each canvas was bound up, he blessed the pathetic bones, sprinkling them with water and intoning the 'Dona Eis Requiem'. All the time he watched Stephen. The master mason was very attentive and helpful. Nevertheless, Philip could sense his excitement as if Stephen could hardly wait to remove the grey slabs from the priory floor and see what lay beneath. After they had eaten some bread and dried bacon as well as generous cups of claret from the wineskin Roheisia had also provided, they began to move the gravestones. Piers had brought poles but, in the end, this did not prove difficult. In each grave they found a skeleton, very similar to the one found in the sanctuary. Not a shred of cloth or any insignia betrayed their origins, though it was apparent that all had died violent deaths. Blows to the skull, broken ribs, a shattered arm or leg. Philip realised what a desperate, bloody fight must have occurred out on the marshes.\n\n'A terrible act,' Piers whispered. 'They were killed in cold blood!'\n\n'What do you mean?'\n\nEdmund overheard Piers. He came up and stared down at the skeleton they had just removed, the bones of the arm shattered and splintered.\n\n'Well,' the verderer replied. 'This must have been a dreadful fight. However, I doubt if these men were killed in the cut and thrust of battle.' He crouched down and pointed to the skeleton's arm. 'What I suspect has happened is this. These men were knights, yes? Close up, fighting back to back, let's say at a place like High Mount, they would have taken all corners. But, what I suspect happened...' He held his hands up. 'Can you imagine out in the marshes at the dead of night? Arrows whirling out of the darkness! Horses going down! Men slipping in the mud! The arrows would wreak terrible damage but then the attackers would close in, as you saw in the fight against! French, battering the wounded to death.'\n\nPhilip shivered. He stared at the sagging jaw of a skeleton. Piers pointed to a hole in the side of the skull.\n\n'That's how this man died. Probably his horse was killed under him. His helmet comes off, an arrow takes him in the body. He was then finished off, battered with a club.'\n\n'Why didn't they just leave the corpses in the marsh?' Edmund asked.\n\nPiers grinned wolfishly. 'The marshes are not what you think, good priest. Oh, I have heard of quagmires which drag a man down but the marshes here are not all that deep, not like you get in the Fens. The marshes of Scawsby are, perhaps, only a yard, maybe two yards deep. Like Waldis the parish clerk, the man is sucked in but eventually he'll rise to the top again. No, no,' he continued, 'these men were probably attacked at night and then their assailants waited until daybreak. They took each corpse out, stripped it and brought the bodies here.'\n\n'Of course,' Philip murmured. 'And they would pile the armour in the cart?'\n\n'Yes, that can be hidden. But you can't hide a dozen corpses.'\n\n'And the horses?' Stephen asked. 'They must have had horses?' He glanced apologetically at Philip. 'Sumpter ponies to carry the treasure?'\n\n'Oh, they would have killed them,' Philip intervened.\n\n'It can easily be done,' Piers added. 'Try and sell a horse that's stolen and you'll soon find yourself at the foot of the gallows. Most of the Templars' horses would have been lamed or wounded. They would have been slaughtered, driven into some lonely glade and had their throats cut.'\n\n'But there was one thing missing,' Philip intervened. 'Clothing, the saddles, the harness of these knights?'\n\n'Buried elsewhere,' Edmund replied. 'God knows, Brother, and I mean no disrespect, but God knows what else that graveyard in Scawsby holds!'\n\nThey lifted the skeleton up and placed it on a canvas cloth and continued their macabre task of opening the graves. In the end, they unearthed the remains of fourteen men. Some of the graves lay outside the church, though most were in the nave or sanctuary. They replaced the slabs carefully lest any curiosity seeker came on to High Mount and discovered what had happened.\n\n'Though there is little chance of that,' Piers remarked. 'Only the hardy hearts come up here. It's always had a reputation for being an eerie place.'\n\n'What will happen in the new church?' Edmund asked. 'I mean to the graves?'\n\n'Oh, I plan to move them anyway,' Stephen replied absentmindedly.\n\nPhilip could see Stephen was fighting hard to conceal his disappointment. They had found nothing in the graves to give them any indication about the treasure or where it could be hidden.\n\n'The foundations of the old priory,' Stephen continued, 'are probably firm and we will build over them. All this,' he gestured round the nave, 'will disappear. But, Philip, there are other graves.'\n\n'Where?' Philip asked.\n\n'Just two, over here.'\n\nStephen led them into a far corner just within the ruins. Both walls had bushes and weeds growing up the sides. Stephen pulled these aside with his mattock: crouching down, Philip looked through and glimpsed a paving slab.\n\n'How long do you think these bushes have been growing?' he asked. 'Perhaps the poor monks who are buried here have been allowed to rest in peace. Ah, yes.' He rose slowly. 'I can now see two paving stones.'\n\nPhilip was sure that these graves had not been disturbed but he wished to humour Stephen, so he began to hack at the bushes and grass until the area was clear. The graves' slabs were much more difficult to move than the rest, their rims caked with hard-packed earth. The first tomb held that of a monk, Philip could deduce that by the wooden cross buried with him. The second grave was deeper. At first they thought it was empty until Philip stretched down into the grave. He clawed away the dirt and drew out the remains of battered leather saddlebags. Seven or eight in number. Stephen was beside himself with excitement. They laid them out on the priory floor. The straps were rotting, the buckles rusted.\n\n'They are made of good Cordovan leather,' Philip remarked. 'Otherwise they would have rotted away long ago.'\n\nThey emptied the saddlebags. A few pathetic items: horn spoons, a knife, Ave beads, fragments and shards of clothing, cloaks, surcoats, baldrics, belts, even a broken spur. When they climbed into the graves they found other items also buried there. Yet, in the end, the saddlebags proved to be a disappointment. Only one thing caught Philip's attention: a rolled-up piece of tapestry with what appeared to be cambric round the cuffs and neck. He held it up: it was thin and dirt-stained.\n\n'I'm not too sure,' Philip remarked. 'But I'd say this was the remains of a girl's dress.' He decided to hide what he'd learnt from the coffin woman. 'But what has this to do with Templars fleeing through the dead of night?'\n\n'What apparently did happen,' Edmund added, 'is that Romanel must have brought the corpses here, piled their arms into a cart, then buried the bodies and all the clothing where no one could find it.'\n\n'I suspect,' Philip declared, walking to the edge of the ruins and peering through what had once been a doorway, 'that the remains of the horses and the harness are somewhere on the Scawsby moors. If anything, Romanel was thorough. The bodies and their effects stayed at High Mount: the harness tossed elsewhere whilst the armour was the most dangerous thing. Clothes, harness, horses might be found but armour would provide more positive proof of what had happened to the Templars. So, it couldn't be hidden out here at High Mount: metallic and cumbersome, someone might notice it.' He beat the heel of his boot against the earth. 'It would be difficult to dig here. There are foundations and any new hole, either here or in the forest, might be noticed. The arms were taken to Scawsby, probably at night and buried deep in the graveyard, the safest place for them. Ah well.' He came back. 'Place all this into one of the canvas sheets. Let's eat and drink.' He glanced up at the sky. 'Edmund, Stephen, I want you to take the cart to the manor house. Sir Richard will know what to do. On the way collect the Templar arms, tell Sir Richard I'll sing the requiem Mass tonight. Only we will attend.'\n\n'What are you going to do?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Piers can borrow your horse. I want him to ride with me out along the marshes. I want to see where this terrible tragedy began.'\n\nThey all agreed though Stephen's disappointment was obvious. Whilst the rest ate and drank, he paced restlessly round the ruins as if they might have overlooked something. Philip sat by himself, his back to the wall, face up at the sun to catch its warmth. Piers lay down and fell fast asleep like a child whilst Edmund, now also suspicious of Stephen, insisted on following the master mason around the priory. Philip closed his eyes. He could now visualise what had happened so many years ago. The slaughter out on the marshes; the burial of the corpses; the desecration of the graves. Romanel and his conspirators slipping back into Scawsby village. But what was the treasure they had brought? Where was it buried? Surely they wouldn't leave it out here at High Mount? Romanel, a ruthless man, would be intent on keeping a close eye on it. Philip stirred, stretching out his legs. Something dreadful had happened but no more terrible than other incidents Philip had heard about. Innocent men died every day. People were robbed. True, Romanel may have been a necromancer, a warlock, but other priests had been steeped in wickedness. Did they haunt their churches? What was so horrible, so blasphemous in what they had done that Lord George Montalt had hidden himself in the cellar, scrawling the word REPARATION so many, many times? And what did the numbers 6 and 14 mean? Who was Veronica? And where did the coffin woman come from? Was she with the Templars as a child? Philip recalled what he knew about that fighting order of monks. They were bound to celibacy and chastity. True, accusations of sodomy had been laid against them but there had never been any allegations about consorting with whores or bringing paramours into their houses. Romanel had definitely lied about the child he called Priscilla. The girl's mother was not buried in the graveyard and she seemed to have certainly witnessed the attack as a child. Was she a daughter of one of the assailants who'd been killed and Romanel had taken her into his care? Philip sighed and wondered what to do. In a way he had begun to regret sending that letter to Rochester asking for an exorcist. Would the bishop think that he had lost his wits? That he was scarcely a week in his new parish and he was already causing trouble, seeing sprites and goblins in the trees? Philip heard the clink, the sound of hoof beats. At first he thought it was some traveller passing along the road. But it came again, as if mounted men were gathering at the foot of the hill. He opened his eyes. Piers was already on his feet, an arrow notched to his bow. Stephen and Edmund came running across.\n\n'Did you hear it?' Edmund cried.\n\nPhilip got to his feet. The sun didn't seem so strong now. He could definitely hear the sound of horses as if a group of men was massing at the bottom of High Mount. He went over to the walls and stared down the hill. There was nothing. He ran to the other side: nothing except sun-dappled fields, the woods in the distance, smoke coming from the hearths of Scawsby village. He looked along the trackway; a journeyman with his sumpter pony was making his way into Scawsby.\n\nPhilip stalked along the ruined nave and into the sanctuary. He passed one of the open graves where they had yet to return the slab. Something caught at his foot. He looked down \u2013 it was a bony hand snaking out to grasp him. Philip kicked out but, when he looked again, there was no hand at all and he cursed himself as a dreamer. He went out through the ruined wall and stood on the brow of the hill. Birds swooped, trilling their hearts out. A large fox, his bushy tail held high, trotted across the foot of the hill and disappeared into some bushes. Philip swallowed hard: his throat was dry, his lips and mouth sour as if he had eaten something rotten.\n\n'Lord Jesus,' he whispered. 'Keep us safe from the noonday devil. Protect us against the barbs and arrows of the enemy.'\n\n'Help me!'\n\nPhilip jumped round. There was no one.\n\n'Help me!' the voice whispered. 'Oh, help me!' The voice seemed to be coming from the well. 'Oh, help me, please!'\n\nPhilip went across and crouched down. He peered over the rim and stared straight into the corpse-white face of Romanel. The phantasm gave a great sigh, his hand came up to clutch Philip's jerkin, dragging him down. Philip fought hard, trying to break his gaze from those devil-eyes, that leering mouth, the smell of rottenness.\n\n'Help me!'\n\nThe ghost was imitating the voice of a child: the mouth then curled into an angry snarl. Philip fought hard, struggling to keep a grip on the stone rim, yet Romanel was pulling him down. He tried to scream but couldn't.\n\n'Oh, St Michael,' Philip prayed to his patron. 'Oh, St Michael and all the Angels.'\n\nSuddenly he felt himself lifted up and pulled away. Romanel was falling, down into the blackness of the well. Philip lay on the grass gasping and spluttering. He looked around. No one was there. Edmund, Stephen and Piers were now running towards him.\n\n'Brother, what's the matter?'\n\nPhilip rose to a half-crouch, pulling back his jerkin. 'Nothing,' he gasped. 'I felt a little faint.'\n\nPiers, however, was quick. He caught Philip staring at the rim of the well. The verderer walked across, an arrow notched to his bow and peered down.\n\n'It's nothing,' Philip murmured. 'Come!' He got to his feet.\n\nThey pushed back the remaining gravestone and cleaned up the site. Edmund climbed into the cart, Piers advising him what paths to take to the manor.\n\nPhilip watched them go, noticing that Stephen hung back on his horse as if reluctant to talk to them. He and Piers mounted their horses. The verderer was silent but, once they had left High Mount, he pulled his horse back to ride alongside.\n\n'Something happened up there, didn't it, Father?'\n\n'Yes, Piers, it did. Something demonic, spat out from hell.' Philip sighed in exasperation. 'What I can't understand is why do I experience this? If I rode into Scawsby and told them what was happening they'd think I was witless.'\n\n'No, Father, they wouldn't!' Piers retorted. 'I told you the tongues are already beginning to wag. My wife's death, the death after childbirth of other women married to certain men in the village. A terrible evil lurks in Scawsby. Now I've been ordered by Lord Richard to give you every help. I am not a lettered man, Father. I can barely read and write. However, I know what happened here and I believe one of my ancestors, God forgive him, had a hand in it.' Piers hawked and spat. 'You say the people of Scawsby would mock you.' He shook his head. 'It's not like that, Father. Scawsby is a pleasant village, good people who fear God and honour the king: that is the truth. Nevertheless, Father, we are really like children playing by a snake pit. As long as we don't go near the edge we are secure. As long as we have nothing to do with trying to discover that treasure, we are safe.'\n\n'But I am not trying to search for the treasure.'\n\nPiers smiled. 'I know that, Father, and so does Lord Richard. If you were, you might have been killed on High Mount.'\n\nPhilip rode on silently. He still felt sick at that terrible vision he had seen at the well. He couldn't dismiss it as some trick of the mind but there again he wondered who had dragged him back? Freed him from Romanel's clutch? Someone had. He'd felt himself lifted up. An angel of light? Or were those whispers true? Were there others watching him? Constantly studying what he was doing? Whatever, he concluded, if he had not been freed from Romanel's grip, it would have been just another unfortunate accident. Poor Father Philip who had gone out to High Mount and, by accident, fallen down a disused well. Philip closed his eyes. He prayed that Stephen had told him the truth.\n\n'So, Father.' Piers took another swig from his wineskin. He offered it to Philip who seized it greedily and took two generous mouthfuls.\n\n'Take a little wine for the stomach's sake,' Philip smiled, quoting from St Paul.\n\nHe handed it back. Piers lowered the wineskin over his saddle horn.\n\n'So, Father,' the verderer repeated. 'Where do you want to go?'\n\n'I want to go to the marshes, Piers. You are a soldier. I want you to use your imagination. You are leading a troop of men fleeing from London. It's dark and in the dead of winter. You have to stop at villages to eat, drink and rest the horses. Scawsby is in your line of march but you want to keep well away from the main paths and trackways. You want to be safe until you reach the coast.'\n\nPiers rode on, thinking about what the priest had said.\n\n'We are travelling north,' the verderer declared. 'There are many paths to Scawsby, Father. I know the line of march the Templars would have followed but we have some riding ahead of us.'\n\nHe urged his horse into a canter. Philip followed.\n\nThey rode for an hour, then stopped by a small brook where they shared out the last of their provisions, drank some wine and allowed their horses to rest before continuing. They left the main trackways. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the countryside began to change. No sign of any farms or men working in the fields. Philip realised they were on the marsh lands, a veritable wilderness, broad and dark. Piers told him to be careful as they threaded their way past dark, stagnant water, foul rivulets which curled their way around small islands of weeds, tummocks and thickets. Above them curlew and snipe flew against a sky becoming rapidly overcast. A cold, dark place, lonely and flat, bereft of any sign of human habitation. Piers seemed to know his way. Now and again they would dismount but, at last, they came to a broad trackway which seemed to cut through the wilderness. They rode a distance down this, then Piers reined in. He dismounted, hobbling his horse beneath the outstretched arms of a blighted oak tree. Piers indicated with his hand along the path.\n\n'I suspect, Father, that the Templars came along this road. If you follow it south you'll come to other villages. Now, if we were travelling to Scawsby, we would follow the route we have just ridden along, passing High Mount, through the woods into the village. If we were riding fast it would take us just over an hour.' He smiled impishly. 'I'll confess, Father: for a short while I became lost. So it will take us less time to travel back than it did to arrive.'\n\n'What would happen then?' Philip asked.\n\n'Well, it's a spring day, Father. Think of yourself here at night with freezing sleet and snow. Pretend you are the Templar commander. You know the path.' Piers tapped the side of his head. 'Before you left London you'd study the paths and trackways. However, your horses are tired and your men are starving. Suddenly you see lights out on the marsh.'\n\n'Corpse candles!' Philip exclaimed.\n\n'Ah yes, Father, corpse candles, the devil's lights.'\n\n'Devil's lights they were,' Philip breathed back, patting his horse which had grown restless in the eerie silence. 'Somehow Romanel and his gang knew that the Templars were coming along this path. They used the old smugglers' trick, luring people off the pathways with torches.' He stood high in the stirrups and looked out over the marshland. 'A terrible place,' he murmured. 'Oh, there are trackways and paths of firm grass but, for the ignorant and unwary, it would be a death trap.'\n\nPhilip sat back on his horse and, closing his eyes, fervently intoned the 'Dona Eis Requiem'. He then looked up at the sky.\n\n'Come on, Piers. I have visited the place.' He sketched a blessing. 'I have satisfied myself and Lord Richard will be waiting.'\n\nPiers untethered his horse, mounted, and they rode back along the pathway. The daylight was fading. Philip felt cold. He even regretted coming here. He heard a sound to his right and looked across the wild heathland: his heart seemed to leap into his throat.\n\n'Oh, sweet Lord!' he whispered.\n\nIn front of him Piers just rode on.\n\n'I know, Father. I can see them,' he called out. 'It's best if you continue your prayers and we keep riding.'\n\nPhilip, however, had to look again. Away to his right, as if following some invisible path along the marshes, a line of horsemen, shadowy, dark, were also riding, keeping them under close scrutiny."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the Montalt manor house: the line of mysterious riders abruptly disappeared just before they approached High Mount. After such a journey, Philip was pleased to see Lord Richard, Edmund, Henry and Isolda waiting for him in the parlour. He refused any wine or food.\n\n'I'll be breaking my fast,' he declared, 'for a Mass should be said.' He gripped Piers' shoulder. 'Lord Richard, I would like to thank you for Piers. If I had to choose, I couldn't have selected a better man.'\n\nPiers blushed with embarrassment: he shuffled his feet, muttering under his breath that it was nothing.\n\n'Ah well.' Lord Richard clapped his hands to break the silence. 'I'd best show you what I've done.'\n\nHe led them out along a ground-floor gallery to a small chapel at the back of the manor. A jewel of a chamber; dark, wooden wainscoting covered the walls. The altar stood on a wooden dais at the far end under a small rose window. Niches on either side held statues of the Virgin Mary and of St George killing the dragon. The paving slabs in front of the altar had been lifted, the remains interred; servants were re-planing the broad, thick flagstones.\n\n'They can lie in the small crypt there,' Lord Richard declared, taking Philip aside. 'Until, perhaps, the new church is built. I have told my son and his betrothed that they are just the remains of poor monks from High Mount.' He paused, fighting back the tears. 'I wish this business was over,' Lord Richard whispered. 'Young Henry and Isolda came to see me this morning. Henry acquitted himself so well against the French,' he forced a smile, 'he now sees himself as the new Sir Galahad.' His smile faded. 'He wants to become handfast, betrothed to Isolda. They have chosen the feast of the Assumption, the fifteenth of August.'\n\n'And they cannot be persuaded differently?' Philip asked.\n\nLord Richard shook his head. 'No, I've already postponed it twice and they are beginning to wonder why. Can't you see, Father? If they marry in August, and Isolda becomes pregnant, that beautiful girl could be dead within eighteen months.'\n\nPhilip looked over his shoulder at Isolda and Henry standing so close together, hands clasped, laughing and chattering to each other.\n\n'They probably think,' Lord Richard added, 'that we are discussing their nuptials.'\n\n'August has not yet come,' Philip replied. 'Let us put our trust in God. These matters will surely come to a head soon.'\n\nEdmund had brought vestments down from the church: black and gold chasubles and amices, the colours for the Mass for the Dead. Philip washed his hands at the lavarium. He put the vestments on and, standing before the altar, intoned the entry antiphon: 'Eternal rest grant unto them, Oh Lord.' The service was simple and short. Edmund served as deacon, reading the gospel. In between that and the offertory, Philip blessed the place where the remains had been buried. Once the Mass was ended, he joined Lord Richard and his family in the hall for some wine and a bowl of broth.\n\n'Where's Stephen?' he whispered.\n\n'At the church,' Edmund replied grimly. 'It's the cemetery which now fascinates him. I still believe he searches for the treasure but now accepts that High Mount is, perhaps, not the place.'\n\nPhilip, concerned, ate his soup and drank the wine a little more quickly than he wished. He refused Lord Richard's invitation to stay. He thanked Piers again, they collected their horses from the stables and rode back to the Priest's house. Philip was relieved to find Stephen sitting at a table before the kitchen fire immersed in his drawings. They exchanged pleasantries. Philip then walked round the house to ensure all was well. He was about to retire for the night, exhausted and troubled by his visit to High Mount and journey across the marshes, when he heard a loud knocking at the door. Going to the top of the stairs, he sighed with relief that the noise was not caused by some macabre occurrence. A cloaked, cowled figure walked into the hallway. Edmund came to the foot of the stairs.\n\n'We have a visitor,' he called up. 'Brother Anselm. His Lordship the Bishop has sent him.'\n\nPhilip came downstairs to greet his guest.\n\n'You are the exorcist!' he exclaimed.\n\nThe bald, cheery-faced little friar pulled back his cowl and laughed out loud.\n\n'My name is Anselm Broadbench. I am a Franciscan friar, a priest and, yes, if you want, an exorcist!' He gestured towards the door. 'I've stabled my palfrey.' He grinned. 'I call it Lucifer.'\n\nPhilip smiled back. Anselm was of middling stature, broad, well built, his round, cheery face adorned with a grey moustache and beard. The friar patted his bald pate.\n\n'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,' he intoned. 'What I've lost on top, I've gained round the mouth and jowls.' He scratched his luxuriant beard. 'I had a word with his Lordship. He sent me here to help. However, I must warn you.' He took his cloak off and handed it to Edmund. 'In the end, perhaps, I can only give advice. But, first, I must kill one demon.'\n\n'Yes?' Philip asked.\n\n'Hunger.' Anselm patted his stomach. 'I'm cold and I'm hungry and I'd accept anything you have on offer!'\n\nPhilip led him into the kitchen. He introduced Anselm to Stephen: the friar plumped himself down at the head of the table. He rubbed his stomach and gazed benevolently at the dishes Philip had served.\n\n'Oatmeal, roast beef, bread, vegetables, some wine. I thought I'd come to Scawsby and, look, I've found myself in Paradise!'\n\nFor a while the friar sat and ate, chattering about Rochester, the journey, how the weather was improving. Philip studied him closely: he recognised that the friar was trying to put them at their ease as much as they were him.\n\n'You are surprised, aren't you?' Anselm remarked, pushing away the platter. He stared in mock seriousness. 'What did you expect? Someone cloaked in black from head to toe with a chain of bones around their necks? Pushing a hand barrow full of relics and phials of holy water?' He drummed his fingers on the table. 'Let me explain before I begin. Satan does not like humanity. He fears us. He wants to make us less human, he therefore exploits all our weaknesses. A man who is tired, a man who is starving or dying of thirst or wounded in body or mind \u2013 such a person is more vulnerable than a man who feels all is well with himself and God. Satan hates the ordinary things of life: husband and wife making love. He'd much prefer to have them at each other's throats. Two friends sitting in a tavern sharing a jug of wine. Children playing on a summer's day. The sun in God's sky, the stars wheeling at night. These and prayer are the best defences against demons.'\n\n'But here is different,' Philip interrupted.\n\n'I'll come to that.' Brother Anselm sipped from his wine cup. 'I believe,' he continued, 'what Holy Mother Church teaches. Man is part of a cosmic battle: the war has already been fought and won by Christ but each man must play his part. Some of that battle we never see because the world is not only visible but invisible. Some we witness every day: a man being stabbed in a tavern; a woman being raped; a child being abused. Sometimes we can get depressed because it seems we are surrounded by darkness but that, too, is one of the devil's tricks. He wants us to despair, to lose our humanity as well as any hope in God.' He grasped Philip's hand. 'You are not despairing, are you, Father? You still have faith in the Lord Jesus?'\n\n'Lord, I have faith, please increase the little I have,' Philip replied, quoting from the gospels.\n\nAnselm laughed and released his hand. 'His Grace the Bishop told me about you, Philip. You and your brother are good priests. His Lordship also sends his apologies.' He paused and picked at a crumb on the table. 'This is a terrible house,' he whispered.\n\nA shiver ran down Philip's back. The friar had spoken so nonchalantly.\n\n'Terrible evil lurks here,' Anselm murmured. 'I can feel it, sense it around me, pressing down.' He crossed himself. 'In the far corner,' he added. 'Over near the hearth there. No, you won't see it, just a shadow deeper than the rest. A presence watches you.' He forced a smile. 'And that's why his Lordship the Bishop sent his apologies. The records at Rochester list many incumbents who have come here, stayed only a short while, then left complaining about the stench of sin which pervades this place, the oppressive evil of this house. The demonic attacks which may be just nightmares yet no one dare talk about them, lest they be dismissed as possessed or witless themselves.' The friar breathed in deeply through his nose. 'Before the Bishop sent you, he had already made himself a secret promise that, if you complained about Scawsby, he would do something about it.' He spread his hands. 'And that's why I'm here.'\n\n'So, what will you do?' Edmund asked.\n\n'I don't know,' Anselm replied. 'As I have said, we live in a world of the visible and the invisible. Think of our reality as a mirror, we only see what we can but it does not mean that beyond the mirror another world, another reality does not exist. Most times the two are kept separate. Sometimes, for good or evil, they can merge.'\n\n'And this is happening here?' Stephen asked from where he sat.\n\n'Yes, yes. Perhaps it is.' Father Anselm rolled back the sleeves of his gown, emphasising his points on slender fingers. 'Real evil, the work of Satan, can become enmeshed in the affairs of men in a number of ways. First, someone could live such a wicked life that, as the gospel says, the devil finds a home there. Secondly, by direct invocation, by appealing to the powers of darkness, by summoning them through sorcery or the black arts. Thirdly, a violent and evil act can also attract the attention of demons. It can be a house where a terrible murder has taken place. And,' he paused, staring across the chamber.\n\n'And?' Edmund asked hastily.\n\n'The worst phenomenon of all, a combination of all three.'\n\nThe friar shook himself as if he was trying to clear his mind. Philip noticed how subdued he had become. His eyes had lost their twinkle of merriment. Now and again the friar's lips moved wordlessly as if he was quietly and earnestly praying. Sometimes he glanced quickly at Stephen or stared into the darkness as if he already sensed what was waiting for him. The friar picked up the wine jug and filled his cup to the brim. He closed his eyes and sipped.\n\n'His Grace the Bishop,' he continued, 'told me something about this place. But, Philip, tell me everything you know.' He opened his eyes quickly before closing them again. 'And I mean everything!'\n\nPhilip did so, haltingly at first, then as he relaxed, the words came out in a rush. He told the friar everything he had experienced since his arrival in Scawsby. He ignored Edmund's and Stephen's gasps at those incidents he'd never told them about, particularly what had occurred at High Mount when he'd almost been dragged down the well. He finished with the description of his ride out across the marshes and that mysterious line of horsemen who had shadowed his journey home. When he finished, Brother Anselm rose slowly to his feet. He opened his pouch, took out a large string of rosary beads and put them round his neck.\n\n'I would like a stoup of holy water,' he said. 'That and an asperges rod. Do you mind if I bless the house?'\n\n'You are going to perform the exorcism now?' Edmund asked.\n\n'I didn't say that,' Anselm replied. 'But I will reflect on what your brother has said. I would like your permission to walk the church, the cemetery and this house. What I have to do, I will do tonight! There's little point in waiting.'\n\nPhilip jumped as he heard a loud clattering in the gallery above and the sound of someone coming down the stairs banging their feet. Then from the graveyard came the howl of the dog whilst the feathery wings of some bird dashed against the window glass.\n\n'Ignore it,' the friar murmured. 'Just ignore whatever happens. Whoever is here knows what is about to occur.' He shrugged. 'Naturally they don't like it. But first we will pray.'\n\nAt his bidding they knelt on the kitchen floor and said a decade of the rosary. Brother Anselm then began his walk round the house, praying fervently and sprinkling the holy water to left and right. He had given instructions that all three should remain in the kitchen. Philip found this hard to do as the noise and clamour grew: rappings on the walls, the sound of charging feet along galleries and up and down stairs. Invisible hands rapped at the windows. Edmund was sure he saw the shape of a cat scurry across the kitchen floor, the howling of a dog now seemed to come from the chambers above. The air grew very cold: sometimes the stench was offensive as if a pot full of rottenness had been opened, its unsavoury stench seeping through the house. Brother Anselm, however, continued his prayers. He ignored such phenomena as a parent would the mischievous pranks of a child. He went upstairs praying and sprinkling the holy water. When he came down Philip rose to meet him but the friar just shook his head.\n\n'But, Brother, you look ill,' Philip gasped, alarmed at how white and drawn the friar's face had become.\n\nThe friar seemed unable to walk forward as if some invisible wind was buffeting him, pressing him back. At one point he had to sit down, gasping for some meat and wine. Philip hurriedly served these. Brother Anselm then continued his task, ordering them to remain.\n\n'Can't I come with you, Brother?' Philip pleaded.\n\nThe friar turned his sweat-drenched face. 'Stay here and pray,' he replied. 'But when I call, Philip, and only when I call, you come and join me wherever I am. Do not obey any other summons. I will say to you, \"Come in the name of the Lord Jesus.\" Whatever else you hear, whatever else you see, close your eyes, close your ears but keep your soul open to God.'\n\nThe friar went out of the front door which he slammed behind him. As he did so Philip was sure he heard a voice growl obscenities. He and Edmund needed no second bidding. They knelt on the floor. Stephen; albeit reluctantly, joined them and they continued the decades of the rosary. In the cemetery beyond, a terrible clamour arose. The clash of arms, the beating of a drum, the screeching of some terrible bird, hideous yells and then silence. Philip stopped praying and opened his eyes.\n\n'Perhaps it's finished?' he murmured.\n\n'Philip! Philip, where are you? What are you doing there? You and Edmund, come now!'\n\nPhilip stared at his brother.\n\n'That's Mother's voice!'\n\nFor a period of time, Philip and Edmund, their faces soaked in sweat, stomachs churning, had to hear different voices from the past, some demanding, others pleading for them to leave the house. In the end, when Philip found it difficult to control the tensions seething within him, the door opened and Brother Anselm returned. He seemed calmer, more at peace.\n\n'Is it over?' Edmund asked anxiously.\n\n'Oh no.' The friar shook his head. 'Not yet.'\n\n'We were expecting you to call. We heard different voices!' Philip explained.\n\nAnselm tapped the side of his head. 'Outside it is as silent as the grave. I knew you would, that's why I changed my mind and came in.'\n\n'You mean there were no voices?'\n\n'Just fears and anxieties that the darkness can exploit.' Anselm sat down at the table. 'It's not extraordinary. Haven't you, in your normal life, experienced memories, calls from the past? A certain smell, a certain type of weather and the memories come tumbling back. That's all that happened now. Just ignore them.'\n\n'So, what have you done?' Edmund asked.\n\n'I've walked the church, the graveyard as well as this house. That's the first part of the exorcism: to identify, to seek out and that's what I have done. There is undoubtedly an evil presence here but not just one, possibly a dozen, even more. They are lost, trapped souls. Their leader Romanel still holds them in thrall. He thrives on their fears and anxieties as well as his own evil. It's really strange, I can feel a malevolent presence in the church porch and in the nave but not when I pass the tomb. To whom does that belong?'\n\n'Sir George Montalt, the Lord I mentioned!' Philip exclaimed.\n\nAnselm looked surprised. 'Strange,' he murmured. 'The demons will not go beyond that.'\n\n'Why?' Edmund asked.\n\n'God knows. Perhaps it's the sanctuary and the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. The same evil presence can be found in the cemetery and in this house.'\n\n'So, this place is haunted?' Stephen exclaimed.\n\n'Oh yes, haunted by evil. But there's something quite extraordinary here, it's also haunted by other powers. These are not evil, they are good. They do not involve themselves but they watch. They stand on the fringe of the darkness and observe.' Brother Anselm spread his hands. 'Try and imagine,' he said. 'A room full of light except for the centre where there is a pool of darkness. The dark does not affect the light and the light does not affect the dark. But they co-exist together, waiting for something.' Anselm paused and gnawed on his knuckles. 'The evil thrives on the wickedness it can find here. You mention poor Father Anthony, his desire for the treasure. The powers of darkness used that and then destroyed him because he allowed them to. He opened his will to them. What you are seeing here, what I suspect has happened, is that the terrible events perpetrated by Romanel still wait to be resolved. The Watchers, those who died with their faces towards God, look for justice and reparation. Romanel, on the other hand, turned his face to the darkness. He still clings to that and holds the others he led into wickedness in his power.'\n\n'So, you cannot exorcise him?' Philip asked.\n\n'I am going to try. I'll just try once. Philip, you will accompany me. Edmund and Stephen stay here. Do not leave the house. But don't worry.' Anselm smiled at the fear in Edmund's eyes. 'The powers of darkness must also bend the knee to the name of Jesus. So, when I summon them, they cannot be elsewhere.'\n\n'What shall I do?' Philip asked.\n\n'Nothing,' the friar replied. 'You have a crucifix on you?'\n\n'Yes,' Philip replied.\n\n'Then come with me.'\n\nThey walked out of the house, across the cemetery and in through the main door of the church. Philip was pleased that the coffin woman was not keeping her vigil; perhaps she sensed what was happening. At the friar's insistence, he lit a candle and placed it on the baptismal font. Brother Anselm faced directly down the church.\n\n'Prostrate yourself,' he murmured.\n\nPhilip looked at him, surprised.\n\n'Lie face down!' the friar ordered. 'Close your eyes and, whatever happens, do not move!'\n\nPhilip obeyed.\n\n'Do not lift your head!' the friar repeated. 'In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti!' Brother Anselm began the exorcism. This was introduced by a powerful prayer to the Trinity, Our Lady, St Joseph and then to St Michael and all the powerful angels who stood in God's presence. Once that was finished, Brother Anselm began the adjuration to the presence. 'I adjure in the name of the Lord Jesus...'\n\nPhilip, though he kept his face down, suddenly had a picture in his mind's eye of the church filling with cursed spirits, horrid in appearance: huge heads, long necks, scraggy faces; filthy and squalid with shaggy ears, blood-filled eyes and foul mouths. Their teeth were like wolf fangs, their open gullets filled with flames. They shrieked and were harsh of voice. They had crooked shanks, bent knees, spidery arms and shrivelled-up toes.\n\n'Oh my God!' he murmured and made to get up, but Brother Anselm pressed him back gently.\n\n'Children's games,' he murmured. 'Stay still, listen to whatever happens.'\n\nThe silence was now oppressive.\n\n'By what name are you called?' the friar shouted into the darkness.\n\nPhilip suddenly went cold. He was not sure whether the voice was outside his head or within it. First there was a snigger, an evil, chuckling laugh.\n\n'Piss off, friar!' The voice came like the hiss of a snake.\n\n'By what name are you called?' Anselm repeated.\n\n'Shite and dross. Filth and muck. Get a wash, friar!'\n\nAgain Philip tried to lift his head.\n\n'No, no!' Anselm whispered. 'There's nothing here, Philip. You can see nothing. I heard the same voice as you.'\n\n'Fornicating friar!' the voice mocked. 'Foulsome and horrid!'\n\n'This always happens,' Anselm murmured. 'In the name of the Lord Jesus,' he intoned. 'Be quiet and answer my question. By what name are you called?'\n\n'Our name is Legion, for we are many.'\n\n'I adjure you once again, by what name are you called?'\n\n'Romanel, former priest.'\n\n'And I adjure you to tell me the truth. Why are you here?'\n\n'Tied here.' The voice was now tired. 'Tied by sin.'\n\n'By the evil you did?' Anselm asked. 'Answer me!'\n\n'By the evil we did.'\n\n'And what was it?'\n\n'The priest knows.'\n\n'You mean Father Philip?'\n\n'The priest knows: he has been chosen for atonement.'\n\nOther voices now intervened, clamouring, begging for mercy, asking for atonement, then silence. Philip waited, then raised his head. The friar was now kneeling next to him, hands clasped, eyes closed. He made a brisk sign of the cross and got to his feet.\n\n'Is it over?' Philip asked.\n\n'It is over but not finished,' the friar replied. 'You see,' he continued, 'in an exorcism all I can establish is what power inhabits a certain place as well as a very brief reason for it being there. More than that I cannot ask.'\n\nBrother Anselm walked with Philip out of the church. They stood on the steps and the friar stared up at the star-strewn sky.\n\n'It will be quiet for a while,' he declared. 'But I cannot exorcise this presence. You must do that, Philip. Atonement must be made.'\n\n'What do you mean?' the priest asked.\n\n'It's like here on earth, Philip,' Anselm replied. 'If you attacked me, burnt my house, you would be punished, you would be fined and you'd be expected to make reparation. The same is true of the spiritual life. When great evil is done, it must be undone. The debt must be; settled, reparation must be made. That is a matter for you.'\n\n'But how?' Philip asked desperately.\n\nAnselm smiled, linked his arm through Philip's and led him down the steps back across the cemetery to the Priest's house.\n\n'I think you are doing well already. That's why Romanel has pitted himself against you whilst the others, the Watchers, wait and see if they can help.'\n\n'So, what do you suggest?'\n\n'I am going to have some more wine, Philip, then I am going to bed. At dawn I'll be gone. No, no fee, no payment, nothing. I'll go as I came and report what I've done to his Lordship.'\n\n'And?' Philip asked.\n\nThe friar stared back at the church. 'You went out across the marshes today?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'And you've been to High Mount, the manor house and, of course, here? Well, I think you should go to where it all started and where it all ended.'\n\nPhilip looked at him in surprise.\n\n'London!' the friar exclaimed. 'The Templars came from their church there. I understand the archives of the Order are still extant. Perhaps you might find some clue, some key to unlock this mystery.' He took a deep breath. 'And then go to St Bartholomew's: that's where Romanel died, didn't he? Raging mad? Perhaps the good brothers kept some record of him. And, if I were you, I would start immediately. In the end, I would also advise two further matters. First, your friend in the house, whatever he tells you, Stephen, that's his name, isn't it?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Stephen is like the others: he has a hunger for this ill-fated treasure.'\n\n'And secondly?' Philip asked.\n\n'Once you have the key, whatever it is, burn the church to the ground and the house as well. Clean it with fire and then build something else. Something which will help to atone for the dreadful deeds done here.'\n\nPhilip started to move on but the friar caught at his arm. Now he looked sad, even fearful.\n\n'This will never leave you, Philip,' he added. 'Whatever you think, whatever you do, you are a priest. You have taken on this church. You have put your hands to the plough and, whatever the cost, you cannot let go. You will make reparation!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Words between the pilgrims",
                "text": "The Poor Priest paused in his story. He stared round at the rest of his fellow pilgrims. The Cook was now smiling at him, nodding in recognition, whilst the Friar was almost beside himself with excitement.\n\n'I know Brother Anselm!' he exclaimed. 'A truly holy man. Much travelled in the work of Holy Mother Church.'\n\n'Well, I am glad one of your friars is!' the Miller bawled.\n\n'Can such things really happen?' Dame Eglantine the Prioress spoke up.\n\n'Oh yes.' The Pardoner ran his fingers through his dyed yellow hair which hung like flax on either side of his thin, mischievous face. 'I could tell you stories about exorcisms which would make your hair curl, my lady, and frighten the life out of your little lap dog.'\n\n'But this is surely only a ghost story?' the Wife of Bath spoke up. She stared round the ruined church and shivered. 'Do you think it's midnight yet?'\n\n'It soon will be.' The Summoner leered. 'And then, all sorts of goblins and creatures of the night will come crawling out from their secret places.' He edged a little closer. 'But I'll keep you warm and secure!'\n\nThe Wife of Bath shook a ham-like fist in his face. 'And I'll make your ears warm and secure!' she spat back.\n\n'Hush, hush, now.' Sir Godfrey got to his feet. All the chatter and gossip died as he drew his sword. 'I don't wish to startle you.' He was glancing through the broken doorway. 'But I am certain I heard a sound outside.'\n\n'We should make sure.' The Squire sprang to his feet, ever eager to follow his father.\n\n'And I'll go too.' The Yeoman picked up his long bow and grinned at the Poor Priest. 'I am as good a shot as any verderer. Even in the dark, I can see like a cat!'\n\n'You can go,' the Poor Priest replied, 'but, I assure you, you'll see nothing there.'\n\nSir Godfrey, however, was striding towards the ruined doorway, the Yeoman and Squire following quickly behind. The Poor Priest turned to his brother the Ploughman.\n\n'My story seems to have caused some alarm.'\n\nWithout answering, the Ploughman got to his feet: he and the Priest went and stood in the doorway.\n\nSir Godfrey, his sword and dagger out, was moving forward slowly, his son and the Yeoman spread out on either side of him. The Knight felt his mouth go dry. He was sure he had heard someone moving here, softly, as if sheltering beneath some tree or behind a bush, watching the pilgrims as they grouped round the fire. The Knight paused. He was a man who kept his own counsel. He did not accept that the Poor Priest's story was mere fable. He knew the Montalts. Had he not been out there and supped with the family? They, too, had referred to a great mystery, about something which had happened a few years before Lord Richard's death. Moreover, when the Knight passed through Scawsby he had seen no church: Lord Henry had explained how a new one stood outside the village on a small hill called High Mount. Sir Godfrey shivered. He was not just worried about the Poor Priest's story. Had he not devoted most of his life to hunting the Strigoi? Those devils in human flesh who drank the blood of others? Did he not have suspicions about the Monk? With all his blustery good cheer, the Monk's soul was as dead as stone. They had never met before yet the Knight recognised the Monk nourished a burning resentment towards him. The Yeoman came over, slipping softly through the darkness, he was joined a few seconds later by the Squire.\n\n'Sir Godfrey, there is no one here. Perhaps it was some animal? A fox?'\n\n'Then let us return.'\n\nSir Godfrey turned back. The Poor Priest and his brother were standing just outside the ruin. As they returned to join the rest, Sir Godfrey was sure that the Ploughman whispered, 'Even here?'\n\nTo which the Poor Priest replied, 'Yes, Brother, they watch us even here!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "When Philip rose late the following morning, Roheisia informed him that the friar had left.\n\n'Oh, he was very friendly,' she declared as she bustled round the kitchen. 'He said he would pray for you and wished you every happiness.'\n\nPhilip sat down at the table. He thought Anselm would do that, arriving with so little fuss and departing in the same manner. Stephen and Edmund also came down. They followed him out across the cemetery to the parish church where he celebrated a low Mass. A few parishioners joined them, just standing within the rood screen. Afterwards all three broke their fast in the kitchen.\n\n'I am leaving today,' Philip declared, putting his horn spoon down. 'I have to travel to London, certain matters require investigation. Edmund, you will be left in charge. Matters should remain quiet here. If they do not, go and stay with Sir Richard Montalt. Stephen,' he glanced sadly at the master mason, 'I would like to see some progress on your drawings by the time I return. I must ask you to heed Brother Anselm's advice. Do nothing to disturb the harmony here.'\n\nStephen promised; Philip knew he was lying but accepted there was little he could do about it. He gave Edmund more detailed instructions, then went upstairs and packed his saddlebags. Within the hour he had left Scawsby. Philip deliberately avoided the paths and trackways which wound through the marshes but headed east until he reached the Pilgrim's Way which linked Canterbury to London. That night he stopped at an Augustinian priory. The kindly brothers gave him a bed and board in their guest house and he entered London through Bishopsgate late the following morning.\n\nPhilip found the city a harsh contrast to the silence of the open countryside. Huddled houses, narrow, winding lanes, open sewers, the bustle and roar of the market place. Different people thronged there: Hanse merchants, seamen from Levant, Italian bankers and, on every corner, crowds of beggars, men and women, pleading for alms. He found the stink and stench, the shifting sea of colour, rather unnerving. He stopped at a tavern in St Martin's Lane where his horse could be fed and rested, whilst he dined on a hearty meal of capon pie and a jug of strong London ale. It was late afternoon by the time he had left the city again, riding down the lanes to Fleet Street until he reached the rounded church of the Templars. He stabled his horse in a nearby tavern where he also hired a chamber for the night. He then dressed in clerical garb and went up into the church. Philip marvelled at the strange architecture and design of this rounded church, built, so it was said, on the model of Solomon's temple in Jerusalem.\n\nFor a while Philip just sat on a bench near the door, staring at the different wall paintings. He got up and studied the Templar tombs laid out on the floor of the church. He walked round the walls and noticed with interest that the church had a new devotion, fostered by the Franciscans, whereby Jesus' passion and death were portrayed in fourteen paintings. These began with Jesus' condemnation by Pilate and ended with the dead Christ being placed in the sepulchre.\n\nAs he walked round, Philip gasped and returned to one of the paintings. He knelt down and said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. He could not believe his luck and, getting up, he went round again and counted fourteen paintings in all. He then returned to number six. This was a painting which showed Jesus carrying his cross on the road to Calvary: he was stopped by the holy woman, Veronica, who bathed his bleeding face with a cloth.\n\n'Can I help you?'\n\nPhilip whirled round. The young monk was dressed in the black and white habit of the Carmelite Order. He had a broad, open, friendly face, snub nose, smiling mouth, though his eyes were watchful.\n\n'I'm Father Philip Trumpington,' he introduced himself.\n\n'So you are, so you are.' The Carmelite came forward, scratching his black, wiry hair. He pointed to a small prie-dieu at the far end of the church. 'I have been kneeling there since you came in. I must admit, Father, at first I thought you were a madcap, walking round, bobbing up and down.'\n\n'A madcap I might be,' Philip quipped back, 'but I am still a priest looking for help.'\n\nThe Carmelite grinned. He came forward, they clasped hands and exchanged the kiss of peace.\n\n'Brother Nicholas,' the Carmelite introduced himself. 'Nicholas Overton for my sins, member of the Carmelite order, I also serve in this church. You seem interested in the Way of the Cross?' He led Philip back to the paintings.\n\n'Yes, it means something to me,' Philip replied. 'Brother, it's too long a tale to tell. I've heard of this devotion but never seen such paintings before.'\n\n'Oh, the Templars, when they owned the church, had these painted,' Nicholas replied. 'They took the idea from the Franciscans.' He pointed to the scene of Veronica bathing the face of Jesus. 'You were studying that one. You know it's a legend, don't you? Thirteen pictures,' the Carmelite continued, 'are based on scriptural evidence but nowhere in any of the gospels is there any mention of a woman called Veronica bathing the face of Jesus. It's just one of those stories which has been around since, well, since time immemorial.' The Carmelite paused and scratched his chin. 'Mind you, there is some evidence...' He glanced at Philip. 'Am I boring you, Father?'\n\n'No, no, do continue.' Philip pointed to the painting. 'This is the sixth of fourteen, yes?'\n\n'Why yes.'\n\n'And the order has never changed?'\n\n'Never. The devotion is now spreading across Western Europe.'\n\n'And the legend of the veil?' Philip asked.\n\n'Well, as I was going to say, there has always been a tradition that this woman, Veronica, wiped Jesus' face as he struggled towards Calvary. As a reward he left the imprint of his divine features upon the cloth.' The Carmelite stepped back and pointed up at the painting. 'Now the veil was supposed to have travelled around Europe but, eventually, it fell into the hands of the Byzantine Emperors who lodged it in one of their basilicas in Constantinople. In 1204 Constantinople was sacked by the Crusaders, these included a large contingent of Templars. They seized the veil and kept it for themselves.'\n\n'Where?' Philip asked.\n\n'Oh, at their headquarters in Paris but, more than that, I can't tell you.'\n\nPhilip breathed in deeply to control his excitement. He could hardly believe his good fortune. He now knew that, somehow or other, the word 'Veronica' and the numbers 6 and 14 referred to this painting and the legend of the veil.\n\n'Brother Nicholas, what happened to the Templar documents?'\n\n'Most of them were seized by the Crown,' the Carmelite replied. 'They were used in the pursuit of the Templar wealth. Eventually, most of them were returned. They are kept in the archives and library. Do you wish to have a look?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Anything in particular?'\n\n'Oh, household accounts, expenses of the Temple, particularly for those months at the end of 1307 and the beginning of 1308.'\n\n'That's when the Templar Order was suppressed,' Brother Nicholas replied. 'I know something of their history. How can this concern a priest from Scawsby?'\n\n'There's a link between the history of my church and the Templar Order,' Philip replied.\n\n'Ah well,' Brother Nicholas breathed. 'Come, I'll help you.'\n\nHe led Philip out by a postern door, through an overgrown garden and into the Templar buildings, much decayed, which lay at the back of the church. The library, however, was well preserved. The walls had been replastered. The floorboards were of polished wood. The air smelt sweetly of leather and beeswax, books and manuscripts were carefully arranged on shelves.\n\n'God knows how long they will stay here!' Nicholas murmured. 'We Carmelites now serve the Temple but no one has really decided what belongs to whom. Until they do, the library is held in trust by us.'\n\n'Not by you, Brother.'\n\nAn elderly Carmelite shuffled out from behind one of the wooden stacks which ran at right angles to the wall. He was tall, thin-faced, his cheeks as smooth as a baby's. Tufts of hair stood upright on his balding head, his light-blue eyes had ponderous bags beneath. He came forward, clutching his stick.\n\n'Brother Benedict, may I introduce Father Philip, a priest from Scawsby. He wants to study the Templar accounts.' Brother Nicholas glanced at Philip. 'From 1307 to 1308.'\n\nThe old librarian became charm personified, only too eager to help. Philip was sat down at the table, candles were brought and then a large set of folios.\n\n'They are organised according to regnal years,' Benedict claimed. 'So, the winter of 1307 to 1308 will be the first regnal year of Edward II.' He opened the leather-bound folios, leafing through the pages. 'There are other accounts as well,' he added. 'What are you looking for?'\n\nBrother Nicholas also became involved. Philip couldn't resist their good-natured offers of help.\n\n'I am looking for anything,' he said, 'about a Templar knight, William Chasny. He fled from the Temple about the end of January 1308. He may have been carrying his Order's treasures.'\n\n'But that's impossible!' Benedict's head came up. He scratched his scrawny neck. 'That's impossible!'\n\nIn any other circumstances Philip would have laughed at such a defiant denial.\n\n'Oh, don't keep us in suspense!' Brother Nicholas exclaimed. 'Why is it impossible, most learned one?'\n\n'Because the Templars here in London had very little treasure: what was left was seized by the king.'\n\nPhilip sat, mouth half-open. 'What...?' he stammered. 'But there are legends in Scawsby about a Templar treasure?'\n\n'Is that what you are looking for?' Nicholas asked sharply.\n\n'Oh, no, no. I swear on the cross.' Philip smiled weakly. 'I am the sort of man who would stumble across a treasure trove and it wouldn't change my life. No, a group of Templars led by Chasny were massacred by smugglers out on the marshes near Scawsby. A terrible sin was committed.'\n\n'Then, in that case,' Father Benedict remarked, 'they were killed for nothing.'\n\nHe got up and walked into the darkness. He came back carrying a small, golden crucifix with an amethyst embedded in the centre.\n\n'Brother Nicholas, Father Philip, this is part of the Templar treasure left here by the royal commissioners. Hold it!'\n\nPhilip did so, surprised at its weight.\n\n'Now,' the Carmelite continued. 'Can you imagine sacks of chests full of such precious objects? The Templars would not get very far, especially trying to struggle across the wilds of Kent in the middle of winter.'\n\n'So, what were they carrying?' Philip asked.\n\n'I don't know but let's find out.'\n\nIf Philip had been surprised at discovering the Way of the Cross and understanding what the figures 6 and 14 meant, he was not so fortunate in his search through the Templar archives. An hour passed but very little was found. Sir William Chasny appeared in the accounts but only as an officer of the Temple. Then Brother Benedict gave an exclamation.\n\n'Here it is!' His smile faded. 'Though I am afraid it's nothing much.'\n\nHe passed across a folio, pointing to a list of horse and armour: 'Being prepared for Sir William Chasny and his party'. The writing was barely legible and the entry details minimal.\n\n'You must remember,' Benedict explained. 'By the winter of 1308 the Templar Order was in disgrace. Its organisation was beginning to break down. Entries would be hurried and, sometimes, just omitted.'\n\nPhilip perused what the Carmelite had found. Everything pointed to supplies being gathered together for Sir William and a party of knights to leave the Temple in London for some unknown destination: foodstuffs, money for the journey but nothing exceptional. No mention of any treasure or, indeed, anything mysterious. Philip sat back and rubbed his face.\n\n'I'll continue the search,' Father Benedict offered. 'I mean, if you are tired?'\n\n'The day is drawing on,' Philip declared. 'And I have kept you long enough.'\n\n'Nonsense!' the archivist declared.\n\n'Do you have any books about the legend of the veil?' Philip asked. 'I mean, the one Veronica used to wipe the face of Christ?'\n\n'Of course, of course.'\n\nBenedict pushed back his stool and, leaving Philip and Brother Nicholas to pore over the accounts, he hurried around the library, muttering to himself.\n\n'Ah, I knew we had something.'\n\nHe came back, bearing another tome entitled Sancta Anecdota.\n\n'Literally holy stories,' he translated. He thumbed through the pages and laid the book before Philip.\n\nThe writing was in Latin but Philip had no difficulty understanding it. The story told was no different than what he had learnt from Brother Nicholas. How the holy woman Veronica had helped Christ: she had been rewarded and the veil with the imprint of Christ's face had become a precious relic. Yet there was nothing new to help solve the mysteries confronting him. He handed the book back and was about to leave, when Brother Nicholas exclaimed.\n\n'Look at this!' He pushed back the list of expenses Philip had so summarily dismissed, jabbing a finger at a nondescript heading entitled 'Equi', 'Horses'. This listed the destriers and sumpter ponies Sir William Chasny and his party would need. Each horse was described by colour. At the end was one enigmatic entry, 'Una equa: Pro Virgine'.\n\n'I don't understand this,' Nicholas exclaimed. 'Literally, that means a palfrey or a pony for the Virgin.' He pushed back his stool. 'What would that mean? A palfrey or pony for a virgin? Was it a statue of Our Lady?'\n\n'Virgin can also be translated as maid,' Benedict offered.\n\nPhilip went through the accounts again but could discover no explanation. He felt disappointed. The library was growing dark and he felt he had trespassed too much on these good brothers' kindness. He thanked them and made his way back into the church. He paused and peered through the poor light at the picture of Veronica wiping the face of Jesus. Philip then returned to the garret he had hired in a nearby tavern and spent the rest of the evening either pacing restlessly up and down or lying on his bed looking at the ceiling. He felt safe in London. Somehow, he realised, the evil of Scawsby could not reach him here. He sighed, realising it was growing late, undressed and went to bed.\n\nPhilip rose early the next morning refreshed and returned to the Templar church. Brother Nicholas kindly allowed him to celebrate Mass in one of the chantry chapels. The Carmelite was waiting for him the sacristy.\n\n'Come on, Brother Priest,' he joked. 'I know a man does not live by bread alone but at least break fast with us!'\n\nPhilip joined the Carmelites in their refectory, where Brother Benedict was waiting for him, flapping his hands in excitement.\n\n'I've been through all the documents again,' he declared. 'And read everything I could about the sacred veil and Veronica.' He smiled apologetically. 'But I could find nothing.'\n\nPhilip took out his horn spoon and began to sip at the oatmeal. It was not as thick or as sweet as Roheisia made it but he found the company of the Carmelites soothing and friendly.\n\n'So, why the excitement?' Brother Nicholas teased.\n\n'It was that entry,' the Carmelite continued. 'About a palfrey being hired for a virgin. Well,' he continued in a rush, 'I went back to the life of St Veronica. Now I know it's all legends but, according to those, Veronica was a virgin when she wiped the face of Jesus. After the Resurrection she became a follower of Christ and dedicated herself to a life of chastity. In a word, she became a virgin dedicated to God.' He tapped the side of his head. 'And that awoke other memories. You know the legends of the Grail?'\n\nPhilip nodded.\n\n'Well, according to those, the Grail can only be carried by a virgin.'\n\n'And?'\n\n'And the legend of the unicorn, how that fabulous beast can only be tamed by a virgin?'\n\n'Of course,' Philip broke in. 'You are saying that when the Templars left London they were escorting and guarding a virgin? A young girl.' He paused. 'A young girl who was chosen to carry something sacred.'\n\n'I believe so.' Father Benedict straightened up in his chair.\n\n'But would the Templars,' Nicholas asked, 'simply seize a young girl and take her off across the wilds of Kent?'\n\n'No, they wouldn't! No, they wouldn't!' the old Carmelite retorted. 'But you remember the house of St Ursula? It is a small convent,' he explained. 'Not very far away, in the fields near the Bishop of Salisbury's Inn. This was protected by the Templars. Indeed, the Order had given the nuns land and revenue. Early this morning I went across there. Now, the good nuns used to accept in their houses young girls, foundlings or orphans who later would be dedicated to God and, if they wished, enter the Order. According to the register, in January 1308, one of these young girls was handed into the care of Sir William Chasny.'\n\n'The coffin woman!' Philip exclaimed. 'She's an old woman who lives in the cemetery of my church. She claims to be the bastard child of a wicked priest called Romanel. I think she is the child you mentioned, Brother Benedict, from the local convent: the Templars were guarding her but why is a mystery.' Philip got to his feet. 'I don't know how to thank you. One day, I promise you, when I find the truth I will let you know.'\n\nAn hour later, having taken further directions from the brothers, Philip went down to the waterside and hired a wherryman to take him downriver to Westminster. A thick sea mist had rolled in, a chilling reminder of High Mount and Scawsby. The little, rat-faced wherryman, however, told him the only thing they had to worry about was colliding with another boat or barge on the Thames. Philip sat back. He wondered what Edmund would be doing and, once again, if he had been wise to leave Stephen. Philip tried to distract himself: when the mists parted he could see how the river was busy. Royal men-of-war, anchored in a line, were taking on supplies. The traffic between the shore and these was very busy with wherries, bum-boats and barges full of fruit and other supplies.\n\n'It's the bastards!' the wherryman explained, referring to the French. 'There's a fleet been seen off Thanet.'\n\nAnd the wherryman subsided into a litany of groans and moans about a kingdom being under a child and the ineffectiveness of the Regent to keep the French contained. At last they reached King's Landing at Westminster. Philip paid the wherryman. He went up the steps, making his way through the crowds of lawyers, plaintiffs and tipstaffs, all thronging to the courts. At last he found the Archives room and its custos, a pompous clerk dressed resplendently in a fur-trimmed robe. He peered arrogantly at Philip through an eye-glass and grudgingly conceded the priest's demands. Philip was shown to a table in a small carrel where one of the clerk's assistants brought him the required records, pointing out the relevant places. Philip read carefully. The letters and documents were written in official language but, nevertheless, these showed how, in the spring and summer of 1308, royal commissioners had moved into Kent. They had visited the towns and villages round Scawsby, making careful and diligent enquiries to establish if a Templar party under Sir William Chasny had come their way. There was no doubt that their suspicions had fastened on Scawsby. The commissioners complained bitterly about the attitude and lack of co-operation from both Lord George Montalt and the vicar of the parish church, Romanel. Philip paused. The letters were written in Latin and the clerk, possibly out of ignorance, had transcribed Montalt's name in the Latin, Monte Alto. He had seen that somewhere else.\n\n'Where?' he murmured.\n\nThen he recalled that fierce fight in Scawsby. Montalt's banner bearing the family insignia and motto. He returned to the text. The royal clerk who had headed the commission believed that the Templars had been attacked and massacred but he could find no clue to their whereabouts, who had instigated such an attack and, above all, the whereabouts of the 'Magnum Thesaurum' which the Templars were supposed to be carrying. The commissioners had returned time and again but, by the autumn of 1308, the entries became less frequent and more terse. Eventually, the royal searchers had given up the task as fruitless and returned to London.\n\nPhilip put his face in his hands. What was this 'Magnum Thesaurum', the 'great treasure', the Templars were carrying? And why take a young girl? A virgin?\n\n'Are you finished?'\n\nPhilip looked up. The clerk was peering down at him like a schoolmaster would at a scholar taking too long over his horn book.\n\n'Yes, yes, I have.'\n\nHe thanked the clerk and left the abbey grounds. The mist was lifting as Philip reached Holborn, the busy thoroughfare which led into the city. Peasants, their carts piled high with produce for the markets; tinkers and pedlars, trays slung round their necks, full of ribbons, pins, amulets, cheap necklaces and brooches. Scholars going down to the school at St Paul's, ragged-arsed but full of life. A group of hooded guildsmen escorting a coffin draped in funeral cloths and placed high on a cart; behind this a priest, dressed in black, chanted the office of the dead. A line of felons, their clothes in rags and chained together by the neck, were being led by a bailiff and two drunken soldiers down to the prisons at the Fleet and Newgate. Philip kept behind these until they passed the Bishop of Ely's inn. He then made a detour round the city ditch, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. This broad sewer, into which all the rubbish of the city was piled, poisoned the air with its foul vapours. Philip kept his head turned away. He did not wish to see the bloated corpses of animals which had been tossed there. A group of labourers, busy sprinkling the ditch with sulphur, called out raucously that he could join them.\n\nAt last Philip was free of it and reached the edge of Smithfield, a broad field dotted with copses of elm trees which stretched from the city limits north to the great Priory of St Bartholomew's. Philip had been there on busier days when the great market did a roaring trade but this morning it was quiet: only a small crowd had gathered round one of the elm trees where two felons were being hanged. These were bundled roughly from a cart and hustled up a ladder which was abruptly pulled away. Philip murmured a prayer for them and tossed a penny as a beggar, recognising that he was a priest, came scuttling out from where he had been hiding behind the wooden fence which ringed the execution stake.\n\nPhilip paused to let a squire, leading a line of destriers from some lord's stable north of the city, trot by. The trees thinned and Philip saw before him the long, sprawling building of the Augustinian Priory of St Bartholomew's with the red tiled roof of the hospital beyond. A porter at the gates listened carefully to his request. He escorted Philip round, through the herb gardens, to the chancery at the back of the hospital.\n\n'Brother Norbert,' the lay brother explained, 'will be the one to help you. Though the patient you describe...' He let his words hang in the air as he knocked at the door.\n\n'Come in!'\n\nThe room inside was surprisingly large, the walls painted a soothing green. No rushes covered the floor of dark-red tiles which gleamed, they'd been scrubbed so often.\n\n'Be careful as you step.' The large Augustinian friar rose from his canopied chair behind the table and walked across to greet him.\n\nHe shook Philip's hand and dismissed the lay brother.\n\n'I have seen many visitors fall flat on their arses!' he exclaimed. 'Which is not very good for the hospital, is it? Well, who are you?'\n\n'Philip Trumpington, I am vicar of St Oswald's church in Scawsby, Kent.'\n\nThe Augustinian looked perplexed. 'Strange,' Brother Norbert declared. 'I have heard of that and I think I know your name.' He scratched his balding head, his rubicund face creased in perplexity. 'Well, bugger that! Anyway, Father Philip Trumpington of St Oswald's in Scawsby, why are you here?'\n\nHe led Philip across to a chair and pushed a bowl of rose water in front of him.\n\n'Wash your hands and face.'\n\nPhilip, surprised, did so, then dried himself carefully with the napkin provided.\n\n'Do you do this with all your visitors, Brother?'\n\n'Look round the chamber, Father Philip. What do you see?'\n\nThe priest did so. He noticed how clean the walls and floor were. The furniture, too, looked as if it was washed regularly, even the brass on the coffers and chests gleamed with polish.\n\n'Clean, isn't it?' Father Norbert declared proudly. 'And that water you've just washed in is pure rain water; brought in through elm pipes it is. Do you know why, Father? Because I've studied my Galen.' He leaned across the table. 'I've even got a copy of Hippocrates, not to mention the writings of the Arabs. And do you know what they say?' Brother Norbert's broad Yorkshire accent became more apparent. 'Where there's dirt there's disease. You've come from Kent. When the great plague struck Canterbury, nearly everybody died except the monks of Christchurch. They only used to wash and drink pure spring water and they kept everything clean.' He sighed. 'God knows why we always think that dirt and holiness go together. Oh, I am sorry!' He shook himself from his reverie. 'I am always sermonising. Father, why are you here?'\n\n'St Bartholomew's had a patient,' Philip explained, 'many, many years ago, in the reign of the present king's grandfather, Edward II. His name was Romanel. He, too, was a vicar of Scawsby but he lost his wits, became madcap and was brought here.'\n\nBrother Norbert pulled a face. 'But that's almost seventy years ago,' he replied. 'Oh yes, we have a small house here,' he continued. 'A building divided into cells where the witless, who are either a danger to others or themselves, are kept.'\n\n'And are there records? Brother Norbert, I have travelled all the way from Kent, I would be most grateful for any help.'\n\n'Ah well,' the Guardian exclaimed. 'If you can't help a brother priest! Stay there. Let me see what I can discover.'\n\nHe left the chamber. A servitor came in with a tray bearing a trauncher with manchet loaves, some rather hard cheese and a jug of ale. Philip sat for nearly half an hour eating the food and drinking the ale, then Brother Norbert came back, bursting through the door like the wind.\n\n'I've found something,' he said. 'It's not much. This,' he tapped the small, grease-covered ledger in his hand, 'is the record kept of all the patients, well, like the one you described, who were incarcerated here. Read the entry.'\n\nHe thrust the open ledger into Philip's hand, indicating with his stubby finger the entry for July 1312.\n\n'\"Today, the feast of St Bonaventure, died Romanel, former priest of the church of St Oswald's in Scawsby, Kent. He died raging against God and man. He believed devils were thronging about his bed, eager to pluck his soul to hell. The said Romanel, who covered his cell with paintings of human eyes, talked of Those who were watching him and, in his delirium, said all he could see were a dreadful pair of eyes. Whether he had lost his wits, or was of wicked nature, is not known. He raged constantly, refusing food, drink or any solace, be it corporal or spiritual. In his dying whispers, he said that High Mount held a treasure and that the High Mount was responsible. He died shortly before Vespers and was buried in the common grave near Charterhouse,\"' Philip read out.\n\nPhilip stared at the entry: written in Latin, this scribe had also used the words 'Mons Alta' to describe High Mount.\n\n'He wasn't talking about the High Mount,' Philip whispered. 'He was talking about Montalt.'\n\n'Father Philip?'\n\nThe priest looked up.\n\n'I thought I had heard of your Scawsby before. Our archivist just reminded me. We had a master mason here. What was his name? Ah yes, Stephen Merkle. He, too, was very interested in that entry!'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "In his chamber in the Priest's house at Scawsby, Stephen Merkle sat slumped on a stool staring down at his hands. The floor around him was littered with his drawings; pieces of vellum and parchment, screwed up and tossed in a corner. Merkle put his face in his hands. He couldn't lie, not to himself. He'd come to Scawsby to build that church but, always at the back of his mind, were the legends of the Templar treasure. When he had heard about his friend's appointment to this benefice, Stephen could hardly believe his good fortune. And, when Philip had begun to talk about building a new church, Stephen saw it as a sign from God. He had done his studies carefully. He had heard about Romanel and, when he had worked as a master mason at St Bartholomew's, he'd taken time off to study the end of that ill-fated priest more closely.\n\nStephen truly believed that he could find the treasure, enrich himself and his friends, perhaps even pour some of the money into a new church. It looked to be so easy. Stephen had really believed the treasure was out at High Mount. Now he conceded he'd been chasing will-o'-the-wisps, like the tendrils of that damn fog which seeped in, curling round the village, cloaking the church in a sea of grey. Stephen took his hands away. But if it wasn't at High Mount?\n\n'It must be in the church!' he exclaimed. 'Or the cemetery.'\n\nStephen had listened very carefully to Philip's discussion with the exorcist. Oh, he accepted there was a curse but he felt he was in no danger. What intrigued Stephen were Philip's references to the old coffin woman. If she wasn't Romanel's daughter, who was she? Did she know something? Could she help?\n\nStephen went to the window and opened the shutters. Night was falling. He breathed a sigh of relief, the sky looked clear: for the first time ever he heard the chatter of birds in the cemetery. Perhaps the exorcist had lifted the curse? Perhaps it was safe? He would have liked to have talked to the old stone-cutter. Had Father Anthony also reached the conclusion that the treasure was buried in the church? He stared across the cemetery. From where he stood he could glimpse the faint glow of candlelight through one of the narrow sanctuary windows: the coffin woman was keeping her vigil.\n\nStephen closed the shutters and stood listening. The house was empty. Edmund had gone visiting, ever eager to stay away from the house whilst his brother was absent, as well as use the occasion to get to know his parishioners more closely. Stephen gnawed at his lip. He'd made promises to Edmund but what happened if he could prove them all wrong? He picked up his cloak, swung it about him, left his chamber and went downstairs and out across the graveyard.\n\nA soft, balmy evening full of the promise of spring. Stephen breathed in deeply. Surely Edmund would have no objection to him asking the old woman a few questions? The side door was unlocked. He opened it and went inside. Even the church seemed a little brighter. The old woman was in the sanctuary, hands clasped, staring at the crucifix above the high altar. Stephen knelt beside her. She took no notice so he coughed and she turned, eyes watchful.\n\n'What do you want, friend of the priest?'\n\n'My name is Stephen.'\n\n'I know your name and I know your heart,' she retorted. 'You search for the treasure of the Temple. You break your promise to your friend and trample where even angels would fear to tread.'\n\nStephen got to his feet. 'What do you mean?'\n\n'Your friend the priest. He's a good man. He and his brother are people of God: their hearts are clean but you are different.' She tapped the side of her head. 'They have made me think. They have brought back memories. I was there, you know,' she continued in a rush as if wanting to confess. 'I was there that dreadful night. Out on the marshes when the Templars were attacked. Oh yes.' She brushed the hair away from her face. 'Good men, strong soldiers.'\n\n'You were there?' Stephen took a step forward. 'You were there!'\n\nThe woman backed away. 'I shouldn't have said that!' she babbled.\n\n'No, no, please!'\n\nStephen went to grip her by the shoulder but the old woman, now frightened, struggled: her body was so thin and frail, Stephen's hand slipped and her ragged cloak ripped. She staggered and fell back. Stephen went to catch her but her body hit a small plinth, the base of a statue long gone. Stephen watched in horror as the back of the old woman's head hit the jagged stone with a crack like that of an axe hitting wood. She opened her eyes, almost smiling up at him. She then gave a small cough and her head slumped sideways.\n\n'Oh no! Oh my God, no!'\n\nStephen crouched beside her and felt vainly for the pulse in her neck. The skin was dry, even cold, as if her spirit, only too eager to be gone, had sprung from the corpse. He laid her down carefully, resting her head against the floor. When he took his hand away, he noticed the streaks of blood. Stephen got to his feet, wiping his fingers on his jerkin, and stared up at the cross.\n\n'I did not mean to kill her,' he whispered.\n\nThe carved face of his Crucified Saviour stared impassively back. Stephen's mouth went dry. He had killed a woman in the sanctuary of a church, her blood was on his hands. He ran through the rood screen but stopped in horror. The eyes painted on the pillars down the church now seemed to be glowing with a life of their own whilst, in the transepts on either side, he heard the shuffling of mailed feet and the clink of harness. Stephen recalled the words of the exorcist, about how the sanctuary was safe, yet, try as he might, he couldn't go back. Something evil, something loathsome was crawling through the darkness towards him. Stephen drew his dagger.\n\n'I didn't mean to!' he shouted. 'I didn't mean to kill her!'\n\n'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te!' The words came in a whisper. 'We are watching you, we are always watching you!'\n\nStephen turned.\n\n'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te!'\n\nNow the words were chanted, deep-throated as if some invisible choir was watching him. Suddenly the corpse door slammed shut. Stephen whirled round. He could see the Montalts' tomb and the door into the sanctuary where the corpse woman lay. He should go back but a plume of black smoke was coming up out of the floor. The phantasm took shape. Romanel was standing there, head lowered, those malevolent eyes watching him.\n\n'Spectamus te! Semper spectamus te!'\n\nThe words were now being roared at him. Stephen dropped his dagger and ran. If he could only reach the main door of the church, lift the bar and escape into the night. He fled, those awful sepulchral voices still chanting; behind him, a slithering, malevolent evil. Stephen lifted the bar and tugged at the door but it was locked. He turned. Romanel was gliding down the church towards him. The small door to the tower was open. Stephen rushed through, sweat pouring, heart pounding like a drum. He climbed the spiral staircase. Halfway up he paused, the chanting in the church had stopped but then he heard it: the tap, tap of booted feet. Someone was following him up the steps. Stephen ran on and reached the top; pushing back the trap door, he climbed onto the roof of the tower, sucking in the cold night air, staring wildly up at the stars. He pushed the trap door down and ran to the crenellated wall.\n\n'Help me! Help me!' he screamed into the night.\n\nThe breeze caught his words and whirled them away like dry leaves in autumn. Stephen kept on shouting. Perhaps someone would hear. Perhaps Edmund would return. He heard the jingle of harness and looked down. A group of knights sat on their horses in the cemetery below. They were mailed and coifed. The great, white cloaks over their shoulders bore the six-sided Templar cross. Stephen sobbed in terror. Behind him the trap door fell back with a crash. Romanel climbed out and stood staring at Stephen. He then walked towards him, hands extended, as if desirous of exchanging the kiss of peace. Stephen moved sideways. He felt the gap in the wall. Romanel lunged. Stephen fell back. He missed his footing. Slowly his body went over and, hands clawing at the air, Stephen Merkle, master mason, fell like a stone from the tower of St Oswald's church.\n\nPhilip left London early the following morning, certain that he had the key to the mystery to his haunted church and the curse which lay on Scawsby. He rode hard, stopping just after noon at a tavern on the old Roman road where his horse was rested, watered and fed. Philip then rode on. The weather was good, the breezes brisk, the sky free of clouds so the trackways and roads were hard underfoot and the streams and brooks easy to ford. He stopped at a priory and, after he had celebrated Mass the following morning, rode on. He breathed a sigh of relief when High Mount came into view. So immersed was he in what he had learnt, Philip let his horse amble as he made his way along the trackway through the woods to Scawsby.\n\nAt first Philip thought he was by himself. After all, it was mid-morning, the men would be out in the fields, the women busy at the loom or tending children. Philip heard a creak and, looking up, reined in. The forest trackway narrowed just as it reached the centre, now a cart blocked the way. Philip raised his hand in the sign of peace.\n\n'Good morrow, sir. I am Philip, priest of Scawsby.'\n\nThe carter made no friendly sign back. Philip felt a touch of cold at the back of his neck. He looked more closely. The horse was black and the man sitting in a seat had the reins wrapped round his hands. He was cloaked and muffled, a black, broad-brimmed hat pulled over his eyes. Philip moved his horse sideways. The cart stood still on the path. Philip glimpsed the coffin, covered with a purple burial pall, which lay across it. His horse, though tired, became restless and skittish.\n\n'If you want to pass on,' Philip called, 'then I'll stand aside.' He urged his horse off the road onto the grassy verge. 'In the name of God!' he called. 'The way is free. Come forward!'\n\nThe cart still stood silently. Philip was now fighting hard to keep his horse from bolting.\n\n'Then damn you!' Philip shouted.\n\nHe urged his horse forward along the grassy verge. He was almost up to it when the cart abruptly sprang into life, the man flicking the reins. The cart rumbled forward, faster than Philip thought: so quick he was frightened that the coffin jutting out would catch him a glancing blow. He pulled the horse aside, further away from the road. As the cart passed, his horse, ears flat, eyes rolling, reared up, his hooves scything the air. Philip shouted and turned and, even as he did, he glimpsed Romanel's face leering at him from under the broad-brimmed hat. Philip, however, now had to cope with his horse and, by the time he had it soothed, the cart had vanished. Philip dismounted and, hobbling his horse, just knelt, his chest sobbing with the exertion. He did not know whether he had seen a vision or was it some devilish trick playing upon his tired mind? Or a warning that he had come back and must still face the horrors? When he recovered his composure, Philip loosened his horse and rode on into the village. He'd hardly entered the high street when he knew something was wrong. The houses were closed and shuttered and, as he passed the tavern, the old stone-cutter shouted out, pointing up towards the church.\n\nPhilip found the cemetery thronged with people: women, children, men from the fields, all gathered round the two corpses which lay on sheets stretched out on the grass. In the far corner of the cemetery, Philip glimpsed the carpenter nailing together two makeshift coffins. At first he thought one of the corpses was his brother.\n\n'Edmund!' he shouted, hurriedly dismounting.\n\nOne of the villagers grasped his hand.\n\n'It's the coffin woman,' the man gruffly informed him. 'She was found dead in the sanctuary and your friend the mason, he fell from the tower.'\n\nAs Philip reached the corpses, Edmund and Lord Richard came out of the church. Philip stared down at the bodies. Both looked as if they were asleep, though the right side of Stephen's face was all bruised, whilst his head hung slightly askew. Philip crossed himself and knelt down between the two. Edmund came over and patted him on the shoulder.\n\n'Last night,' his brother declared, 'I came home. I found the doors of the church open. The old woman was lying in the sanctuary, Stephen at the foot of the tower.'\n\nPhilip crossed himself and got to his feet.\n\n'Do you know what happened?'\n\nLord Richard shook his head. 'As Lord of the Manor, Father, I am also coroner and justiciar. I had the bodies laid out here and declared their deaths by misadventure.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'But we both know...'\n\n'Yes, yes, we do,' Philip replied. He was stricken by both deaths, still fearful of what he had glimpsed in the woods but now ruthlessly determined to implement his plan. He had warned Stephen: what more could he have done? 'Lord Richard,' he declared, 'I'd be grateful if both bodies could be coffined and taken to your private chapel. Let them be buried quickly in the manor grounds and, when this business is over, I will sing a requiem. Edmund, clear the cemetery! It is not safe for people to be here!'\n\nPhilip knelt once more. He finished his prayers, then gently sketched the sign of the cross on each forehead, and although Edmund murmured that he had done the same, whispered the words of absolution. He gently stroked the old lady's worn hands.\n\n'Be at peace,' he prayed. 'Go and join those who went before you. Tell them I have kept faith. I will continue to do so and bring peace to this benighted spot.' He turned and stared at the white face of his dead friend. 'Whatever sins you have committed,' he murmured, 'may the Lord Jesus forgive you and see them as weakness rather than malice.'\n\nPhilip stood up. He brushed the grass from his knees and, ignoring the curious looks of his parishioners, walked back into the Priest's house. Roheisia would have fussed around him, like a clucking hen, but Philip, trying to be as genial as possible, told her to put the food on the table and leave as soon as possible. Once she had, Philip brought out some wine and filled three cups. He then cut the meat pie Roheisia had baked and shared that, with a small dish of vegetables, on to three traunchers. Edmund and Lord Richard arrived. Philip ushered them into the kitchen. He closed the doors and windows, took some holy water from a small phial and blessed the kitchen. He said grace and invited his two companions to eat with him. They did so. No one spoke. Edmund kept glancing at his brother who just shook his head. Lord Richard looked tired, dejected, as if the two recent deaths had proved too much. He sat toying with his food, lips moving soundlessly. Finally, he drained his cup and slammed it down on the table.\n\n'Will this business never end?'\n\n'Very soon,' Philip replied. 'At least, I think it will. But what happened last night?'\n\nLord Richard rubbed his face. 'From the little I know, I think Stephen went into the sanctuary and tried to talk to the coffin woman. I don't think he meant violence but he tried to grab her. She fell away. We know this because shreds of cloth were found in Stephen's hand, his boot marks were in the sanctuary.' Lord Richard paused. 'Heaven knows what happened then!' he continued. 'Stephen apparently fled down the nave. Something frightened him. He drew his knife, we found that halfway down the church. He tried to open the front door but the lock was turned and the key wasn't there. So, terrified, Stephen fled up into the tower: whatever was pursuing him, followed.'\n\n'He must have slipped,' Edmund spoke up. 'Lost his footing and fell between the crenellations.'\n\n'Romanel pursued him!' Philip declared. 'The exorcist said that there was an evil presence in the nave. Stephen would not deliberately intend to harm the poor woman but he had her blood on his hands, that made him vulnerable.' Philip paused and stared into the flickering embers of the fire.\n\n'And your journey to London?' Edmund asked quickly.\n\n'I think I know what happened,' Philip replied. 'Only one last thing remains. Come, follow me.'\n\nHe led them out of the house, across the cemetery to the church. Before he unlocked the door, he asked Edmund to bring picks and shovels from an outhouse, whilst he enquired of Lord Richard if there was oil kept at the manor.\n\n'A great quantity,' Montalt replied.\n\n'I am going to ask you a great favour,' Philip declared. 'I want your permission that, when we have finished here, we burn this church to the ground.'\n\nMontalt studied the priest's face, white and drawn, though his eyes were clear and firm.\n\n'Is that the only way, Father?'\n\n'Believe me, sir, it is the only way. I will remove the host from the pyx and consume it. Everything else, including the tomb of your ancestor Lord George, must be consigned to the flames.' Philip tugged at Lord Richard's sleeve. 'When you return to the manor, ask Piers to bring down the oil and other combustibles. Do you have any gunpowder?' he added.\n\n'A little,' Lord Richard replied. 'I took a bombarde from the French. I have a small keg.'\n\n'Bring that as well,' Philip declared. 'But, now, let's begin.'\n\nThey went into the church, Philip locking and bolting the doors behind them. He ignored the sense of threatening menace, the icy cold, the musty smell. He knew he was safe. His heart was clean of any wickedness, his will pure in motive.\n\n'Lord Richard,' he began. 'As I rode back from London I reflected deeply about this church. Have you studied the eyes painted on the pillars? Please, go and see in which direction these eyes are staring.'\n\nHe and Edmund sat on the sanctuary steps whilst Lord Richard walked slowly round the church. Eventually the manor lord came and stood by his ancestor's tomb.\n\n'They are watching this.'\n\n'Yes, yes, they are. And the inscription on the tomb,' Philip observed, 'reads: \"Under the high place lies the treasure of the son of David.\" Now, everyone, including Stephen, believed Alto Monte referred to High Mount. It doesn't. If you change the words around, it becomes Monte Alto, a pun on your name. I first noticed this when I saw the motto on your banner.'\n\n'And the treasure of the son of David?'\n\n'Ah! I, like many, believed that was a reference to Solomon, David's son. Solomon, of course, built the temple in Jerusalem. Those who searched for the treasure believed it was a cryptic reference to the treasure plundered from the Templars by Romanel and Lord George.' Philip paused to collect his thoughts. 'I now think differently. The phrase \"Son of David\" can also refer to Christ. To put it bluntly, Lord Richard, whatever the treasure is, and I have firm suspicions on that, it is buried in your ancestor's tomb. Before the church is fired, we must break in and retrieve it.'\n\n'But that would be desecration!'\n\n'No, sir, the real desecration took place many years ago. I want that tomb broken into. When we have finished, you must promise me that your son and future daughter-in-law will take the treasure to wherever I direct.'\n\nLord Richard hitched his sword belt round his waist.\n\n'Father Anthony believed the same.' Philip walked over to the tomb. 'That's why he talked to the mason. He had some madcap idea that he could burrow into the tomb from the crypt below. I don't think that is now necessary. Do you, Lord Richard?'\n\nThe manor lord picked up one of the picks resting against the wall and, coming back, brought it down with a great crash smashing into the side of the tomb. The sound echoed round the church like the tolling of a funeral bell. Lord Richard grinned up at Philip.\n\n'Well, sir, you have your answer. Are you going to stand and watch or are you going to help me?'\n\nPhilip and Edmund joined in. Instead of concentrating on the sides, they brought the picks and mallets down on to the top of the tomb. The stone became chipped and cracked but, eventually, a hole was created and, using the shovels and a metal bar Philip found beneath the belfry steps, they were able to prise the top of the tomb loose. They paused. Philip sent Edmund back to the house for a small cask of ale, some cups, bread and fruit. They then wiped the dust from their mouths and faces and ate the food.\n\nDespite his age, Lord Richard betrayed little tiredness for all his exertion and he laughed at how Edmund and Philip's hands had become chapped and blistered. He took his cloak and, before they could object, cut portions off, telling them to bandage their hands. They returned to their labours. Philip was so engrossed in the task, he forgot about the church until he heard a sound, a clink, a metallic rustle as if a knight wearing chained mail was walking along the darkened transept. He paused, resting on the pick, wiping the sweat and dust from his face. He stared around. Somehow the church was not so frightening. The eyes on the pillars seemed to have faded, either that or covered by the clouds of dust now wafting down the church. He heard the sound again, the clink and rattle of chain mail.\n\n'Brother?' Edmund asked anxiously.\n\n'I know,' Philip replied. 'The Watchers have come.' He stared into the darkened transept. 'They will not interfere nor will they allow Romanel to intervene. They know we mean good. Do you hear that?' he shouted, his voice echoing. 'And we intend reparation.'\n\nLord Richard also paused, putting down the pick, one hand going to the dagger in his belt. Then it came, soft as a breeze, a low murmur, nothing more than a whisper.\n\n'Spectamus te, semper spectamus te!'\n\n'Aye!' Philip shouted back. 'And the good Lord watches us all!'\n\nThey worked on until the tomb was nothing more than a mass of rubble. In the centre, at the bottom, resting on a small dais was a long, metal casket: Lord George's coffin. It took some time to prise this open. Inside was another wooden casket. They managed to lift this out. At Philip's insistence, they carried it into the sanctuary where Edmund lit every available candle he could find. Lord Richard drew his dagger. He gently prised the lid loose, pushing back the rotting gauze which covered a skeleton, its bony jaw sagging, the legs pulled up.\n\n'It's as if he moved,' Lord Richard whispered. 'It's as if something pushed his body together.'\n\nPhilip studied this carefully. Lord Richard was correct. Corpses were usually laid out, legs straight, feet together, hands over the chest. Yet, although there were no marks on the coffin, it looked as if some invisible force had plucked the corpse up, shaken it and thrown it back again. Around the coffin he could see the glint of jewels: rings from Lord George's fingers, the glint of a silver pectoral cross, its cord long rotted.\n\n'What is this?' Philip plucked from the top of the coffin a small leather cushion. Usually for the burial of a manor lord like Lord George, the coffin pillow was fashioned out of samite stuffed with goose feathers but Lord George's was made of leather, its edges stitched closely together. Philip drew his dagger and cut away at the stitches. The pillow now became a small bag. He put his hand carefully inside and drew out the bundle wrapped in samite. He lay this on the floor and unrolled the samite. At first it looked as if the cloth inside was covered in dark, rusty stains. He could tell the fabric was ancient but, because of its thickness, was well preserved.\n\n'Edmund!' he ordered. 'Pick up this cloth! Handle it carefully!'\n\nHis brother did so.\n\n'Turn it round, that's right! Lord Richard, bring across the candles!'\n\nWhen the manor lord did so, he studied the cloth, gasped and fell to his knees beside Philip. They stared in wonderment: the picture on the cloth was vivid and dramatic. A man's face, imprinted in blood, the cloth had even picked up the cuts and bruises to his cheeks, the blood-soaked hair which straggled the face, as well as the crown of thorns thrust deep into the brow. Philip crossed himself. Edmund lay it on the floor and crouched down to study it himself.\n\n'It can't be!' Lord Richard murmured.\n\n'It is.' Philip felt the cloth, which was thick, more like parchment than fabric. 'This is the veil Veronica used to wipe the face of Our Saviour. You are looking on a face which millions adore. This was the treasure of the Temple!'\n\n'How has it been preserved for so long?' Edmund asked.\n\n'The cloth is naturally thick,' Philip replied. 'Undoubtedly, those who've held it before have used special oils to fight off decay. It is miraculous. Hold it up again!'\n\nEdmund did so, bathing it in a pool of candlelight. Philip stared: the imprint was dark red, slightly rusty but a perfect image, picking up even the contours of the cheek and chin. A solemn face: lacerated but majestic, suffering but serene. It was the eyes which held him: large, cavernous, the lids half-closed. They too, must have been soaked in blood, for their imprint was very clear, yet, the more Philip stared at these, the more eerie they became: as if the lids were opening and the eyes were staring out, searching his heart, probing his soul. He felt cold, his mouth went dry. These were the eyes Romanel and Lord George had seen when they had slaughtered the Templars and unpacked their so-called treasure hoard. And how these eyes must have scorched their minds! Judgemental, condemnatory, no wonder Romanel and Montalt had slipped into madness. Philip continued staring: those haunting eyes held him. They were not so forbidding but gentle: his body grew warm, the blood returned to his hands and feet. A sense of well-being, of deep calmness pervaded him, as if he had finished a task well done. He had no difficulty in looking on that face, no fears, no anxieties.\n\n'Put it back,' he murmured. 'Put it back in its cloth.'\n\nPhilip got up and, leaving his companions, climbed the sanctuary steps. He took down the silver pyx, opened the casket which contained the sacred host and consumed it. He then extinguished the sanctuary lights and looked round the church.\n\n'Leave everything here!' Lord Richard grated. 'Leave my ancestor's skeleton and its sad remains. Leave the statue, the altar cloths, the sanctuary chair and the lectern.' He got to his feet, his voice was harsh, his face suffused with anger. 'Forgive me, Father. This is the house of God but my ancestor and Romanel turned it into a robbers' den.' He stared around. 'Let it all burn, from crypt to tower.' He walked up the altar steps and placed his hand on the crucifix. 'I swear,' he shouted, his voice ringing through the church, 'that no trace of the blasphemy, of the horrible crimes committed by my ancestors should be allowed to remain. This church shall be destroyed. A house of prayer will be built here. Reparation will be done!'\n\nLord Richard walked down the sanctuary steps and followed Edmund, who now carried the veil in its leather covering, out of the corpse door.\n\nPhilip stayed a while. He walked round the church, looking carefully at everything. Lord Montalt was correct. On such occasions, Holy Mother Church decreed drastic action: purification by fire, nothing would remain. He walked to the front door, lifted the bar and placed it carefully on the ground. They would need to open that later when the oil arrived. He walked to the corpse door and didn't even flinch at the whisper: whether it echoed through the church or only through his mind he didn't care.\n\n'We are still watching you! We shall always be watching you!'\n\nPhilip paused, his hand on the latch of the corpse door. He knew either that mysterious voice, or his conscience, was correct. He was responsible for resolving the secret mysteries of Scawsby. Now he knew of the terrible sins which lay behind these mysteries, he realised he would have to spend his priestly life atoning for them. He had also brought Stephen here, so, to a certain extent, his hands were not totally clean. He genuflected, crossed himself and left the church to rejoin the others in the Priest's house. Edmund had already placed the sacred relic on a special table in the small parlour. Out of respect, he had placed a lighted candle on either side of it. Philip told Lord Richard to sit. He went to the kitchen, put three cups on the tray, filled them to the brim with the best claret and brought them back. For a while they just sat sipping, reflecting on what had happened.\n\n'Now it is finished,' Lord Richard spoke up, his voice still harsh.\n\n'Not yet,' Philip replied. 'Oh, I know the church and house have to be burnt. I agree, the site should be occupied by some holy order but there's more to be done.' He sighed. 'But we will have to leave here.'\n\nLord Richard looked up in surprise.\n\n'Philip, no!'\n\n'My brother is correct,' Edmund spoke up. 'We cannot stay here. Scawsby needs a new priest, as well as a new church. Once we are finished, we should leave.'\n\n'And the veil?'\n\nPhilip breathed in deeply. 'Let's go back to the beginning,' he said. 'Let us, at least in our own minds, put the pieces in place and accept what has happened. Then I can tell you what should be done with this great treasure of the Templars.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "'The origins,' Philip began, 'of this great mystery lie in the winter of 1308. The Templar order in England was about to be crushed, its members imprisoned, its land and property seized. The English Templars held this sacred relic, probably on loan from their Mother House in Paris, when the Templar crisis broke. Now they did not wish it to fall into the hands of the English Crown or anyone else. They decided that a party of knights under Sir William Chasny would ride across Kent and take a ship to France where they would hand the relic over to the Chasny family.' He pointed to the veil. 'Now the Templars were fighting men, but also monks. They believed that the relic should be carried, in accordance with its history, by a virgin, a maid. However, Chasny was in a hurry so he took a young girl, a foundling being educated at the local convent. She would carry the veil, escorted and guarded by himself and his companions. Knowing the little I do of the Templar Order, Chasny and his companions also swore the most solemn oaths to carry out their task.'\n\n'And that explains the interest of our young Frenchman?' Lord Richard asked.\n\n'Oh yes. Perhaps the Templars got a message across to France saying the veil was on its way: the legends would spread and perhaps, though I have no evidence of this, the veil was first brought into the Templar order by the Chasny family. Anyway,' Philip continued, 'everything went well until Sir William and his party tried to cross the Vale of Kent. They intended to skirt Scawsby, but what they did not know was that Romanel, with the connivance of Lord George Montalt, led a most villainous gang of smugglers.'\n\n'So, this wasn't the first and only attack?' Edmund asked.\n\n'Oh no,' Philip replied. 'Romanel was a ruthless and wicked man. He had the blood of many innocent people on his hands. Now I know something of the customs of Kent.' He smiled at Lord Richard. 'And how its smugglers work. They always have men to watch the roads. Romanel was no different. His spies discovered there was a party of Templars fleeing from London, that wicked priest thought he was on the verge of seizing a fortune.'\n\n'But a group of armed men?' Lord Richard asked. 'Seasoned warriors, desperate fighters?'\n\n'I thought the same till I went out onto the marshes. True, the Templars were warriors used to charging across sands or attacking a castle. Romanel was cunning. He led them into the marshes and then his coven of outlaws simply struck from afar. The attack,' Philip continued, 'probably occurred at night. Eventually Romanel and his companions would close in. Those Templars who survived were wounded and easily finished off. They then turned to the treasure, only to find it was a piece of painted cloth.'\n\n'And the young girl?' Edmund asked.\n\n'I suspect she hid during the attack. Romanel and his coven would discover her holding the relic.'\n\n'Why didn't they just kill her?' Lord Richard asked.\n\n'God knows, sir, perhaps some spark of pity. Romanel might have done; indeed, he still wants that. However, your ancestor and men from the village with children of their own were present. They'd argue the toss and draw the line at slitting the throat of a child.'\n\n'Aye,' Edmund agreed. 'And their blood would be cooling.'\n\n'Yes it would,' Philip agreed. 'Their victims were not just a party of ordinary travellers but soldier monks. Moreover, there was no treasure or none that they could see. I suppose they'd make some profit. The Templars undoubtedly carried gold and silver for their passage abroad. Romanel later used this to start renovating the church, a pathetic attempt at reparation.'\n\n'And the dead Templars?' Lord Richard asked.\n\n'Well, Edmund was right,' Philip replied. 'Blood would cool. Romanel and his gang would reflect on what they had done. They must have known questions would be asked. After all, it was common knowledge that the Templar Order was condemned. The authorities in London might well send out commissioners to find out what had happened to Chasny and his group.'\n\n'So that's why they used High Mount?' Edmund intervened.\n\n'Yes, Romanel and his gang had never killed so many, and such important, people. It's easy to dispose of the occasional journeyman or pedlar, even two or three merchants unlucky enough to fall into their power. But Templar knights? The marsh would have been dragged, the corpses pulled out and stripped, then taken to High Mount. The old graves there were plundered and emptied, the Templars' corpses laid beneath the burial slabs. In another part of the ruins the young girl's clothes and the saddlebags of the Templars were hidden. Their arms were a different matter.' Philip paused to drink from his cup. 'Remember, Romanel was an avaricious, violent man. Swords and daggers cost money. Perhaps he intended to use them on a latter occasion, which is why he marked the graves in the ledger, but he couldn't very well leave them strewn about the vicinity of the village. So he brought the arms back and buried them in coffins deep in his cemetery.'\n\n'And the horses and harness?'\n\n'The latter are probably hidden in a pit somewhere. The horses which survived were turned loose. The poor beasts did not know the area. Any horse found wandering without a saddle or bridle could easily be seized by some peasant or fanner and no questions asked.'\n\n'Did Romanel know what he had seized?' Edmund asked.\n\n'I doubt it,' Philip replied. 'Not until he got back to Scawsby. He'd feel disappointed, cheated, perhaps even frightened of what he had done. You can imagine him and Lord George gathering here: the relic being held up. Only then, perhaps, did it begin to dawn on them what they had done. You do not have to be a scripture scholar to look at that veil and recognise the face of Our Saviour. Now Romanel and Lord George were in a terrible trap. People would pay a king's ransom for such a relic but how could they explain how it came into their possession? More importantly, Romanel must have realised the blasphemy he had committed. It was too late to kill the little girl, she'd been noticed, so Romanel passed her off as some by-blow.'\n\n'But why didn't she remember?' Edmund asked.\n\n'She was of tender years. Can you imagine what that night of fear must have done to her mind? It would unhinge anyone but a young girl frightened, terrified, constantly watched by Romanel. Eventually she forgot because she wanted to forget and so began her life here, keeping up the pretence of being the local priest's illegitimate daughter.'\n\n'And the Watchers? The eyes? The demons here in Scawsby?'\n\n'The Mills of God, Lord Richard, grind exceedingly slow but they do grind exceedingly small. Romanel handed the veil to your ancestor, Lord George, so it could be hidden, whilst he began to kill members of his coven who might threaten him. The royal commissioners came and went. Romanel was relieved but the hand of God intervened.' He glanced at his brother. 'Remember, Edmund, what the exorcist told us: the thin line between our visible world and that of the spirits? The Templars returned to haunt Romanel, Lord George and the rest. At the same time the evil which had been done here also made its presence felt. The wives of those men, guilty of the Templars' murder, always died within weeks of being birthed. A chilling reminder from God of what they had done.'\n\n'And the sins of the father are visited upon the son, yes,' Lord Richard quoted from the scriptures. 'Even unto the third generation.'\n\n'Yet there was more to come,' Philip added. 'The Templars exacted their vengeance but so did the veil. Romanel and Lord George had caught the eyes of Christ the Saviour and those eyes began to haunt them.' Philip shrugged. 'The rest of the story you know. Romanel tried to exorcise his fear by painting those eyes in the church, by trying to forget. Lord George slipped into madness, realising what had been done, knowing that he could do nothing about it. All he could do was recall the sixth picture from the Way of the Cross, Veronica wiping the face of Jesus. That's why he constantly scribbled six and fourteen: the name \"Veronica\" and, above all, the word \"REPARATION\".'\n\n'But why did my ancestor have the veil buried with him?'\n\n'To save it from other people's hands. Or, perhaps, Lord George saw it as a warrant to escape hell fire; like wicked princes who want to be buried close to the altar. Romanel would agree. Lord George was buried with the relic. Romanel had the inscription written and, in the months following, he, too, slipped into his own private hell.'\n\n'And the later hauntings?'\n\nPhilip spread his hands. 'Lord Richard, a terrible crime had been committed, innocent blood cried for vengeance. Evil had to be resolved, reparation to be made. Now, for the ordinary priests who came here, such things were beyond them. For those who tried to discover the treasure, by entertaining such impure motives, they were drawn into Romanel's evil and had to pay the price, as Father Anthony discovered.'\n\n'But why us?' Edmund asked. 'Why were we different?'\n\nPhilip shook his head. 'I don't really know. Perhaps that's why God called us to be priests, why we came to serve at Scawsby? God does choose people, whether they like it or not. I am not saying we are any better, or any worse, than those who went before us, but there was a task to be done and we had to do it.'\n\n'And now?' Lord Richard asked.\n\n'We must go. The work of reparation has to continue. St Oswald's must be destroyed, a religious community given the site to occupy, and a new church built at High Mount.'\n\n'And the relic?'\n\n'Lord Richard, Lady Isolda, she is still a maid?'\n\nThe nobleman coloured. 'I think so,' he stammered. 'Of course!' he snapped.\n\n'You, she and Henry must make a pilgrimage. You must take this relic back to France to its rightful owners. What happens to it in the future will be up to the good Lord and the Chasny family. Promise me you will do that?'\n\nLord Richard held his hand up. 'As God is my witness!'\n\n'Do not tell the Chasnys the full story, in fact the less they know the better. Let Isolda carry the relic. She must finish the task of the Templars.'\n\n'And you?'\n\n'I will leave Scawsby tomorrow morning,' Philip replied. 'Today I will pack my belongings, as will Edmund. I must, in lawful obedience, go and tell my bishop what has happened. I must continue the reparation. Christ came to serve the poor and so will I. I will ask for the poorest village in Kent where a priest has to plough before he can eat his bread. Edmund, if you...?'\n\n'No,' his brother intervened. 'Where you go, Brother, I will follow. I, too, have been party to this. I, like you, invited Stephen here.'\n\nLord Richard got to his feet. 'Are you sure, Philip?'\n\n'Yes, sir, I am. In fact I will not even wait to sing the requiem Masses. They can be given to someone else. The sooner we are gone the better. But we still have some other business to complete.'\n\nLord Richard stayed for the rest of the day. He helped the two brothers pack their belongings. He offered them money, fresh robes, swifter horses, but Philip was adamant. They would leave as they came. Deep in his heart, Philip blamed himself for Stephen's death and, although he knew he would leave Scawsby, Scawsby would never leave him. He glanced out of the window, noticing how the buds on the trees were beginning to sprout. He called Edmund over.\n\n'Every year,' he said, 'wherever we go, Edmund, whatever happens, when spring comes, when the April showers have fallen, we will go on pilgrimage. We will never leave Kent but pay homage to St Thomas of Becket: go on our knees before his shrine in Canterbury Cathedral and pray that he will intercede for us with God, for our souls, for that of Stephen and for all those who have died here.'\n\nThey continued with their preparations. They had finished and were seated in the kitchen when Piers and another of Lord Richard's retainers arrived. The verderer asked no questions: he and his companion helped the two priests and their lord unroll the vats of oil from the cart and up a makeshift ramp into the church. Philip ordered the vats to be broken, the oil spilling out, bundles of faggots were also brought in and stacked along the oil-soaked transepts. Philip went down to the crypt and continued the preparations there, telling Edmund to bring anything dry that would burn and pile it high. After that, Edmund took care of their visitors whilst Philip paid a visit to the empty, cold cottage of the coffin woman.\n\nHe found the place desolate, the fire long dead. Some of the pots had been broken and Philip suspected that a curious villager, or one of their children, had already paid a visit here. He went through the dead woman's belongings: nothing remarkable, only the pieces of vellum on which she had scrawled her memoirs were now more plentiful. One thing was added: the name of Catherine.\n\n'Was that your name?' he asked the darkness. 'When you were a little girl, warm and comfortable in that London nunnery, was that your real name? Not Priscilla, not the coffin woman but Catherine.'\n\nOutside a bird screeched. Philip sat on a stool and watched the daylight fade in the doorway. He felt at peace, no longer frightened. He had learnt a great deal, in his short stay at Scawsby, about good and evil, about the human will and the need to repair what was broken, for man to answer for what he did. On the evening breeze he heard the faint jingle of harness and heard the murmured words:\n\n'Spectamus te, semper spectabimus te!'\n\nPhilip caught the refrain. No longer, 'We are watching you, we are always watching you!' The ghosts of those dead Templars were picking up his future intentions: 'We are watching you, we shall always be watching you!'\n\nPhilip got to his feet and, searching round the cottage, found a small cup of oil. He spread this over the makeshift bed, struck a tinder and, as the flames began to lick greedily at the cloth, walked out into the darkness and joined the others in the Priest's house.\n\nThey waited late into the night, Philip and Edmund finishing off the details, so that nothing would be remiss when the new priest arrived. They went down to the kitchen where Lord Richard was sitting with Piers, the other retainers having been dismissed.\n\n'It's best if we begin now,' Philip declared.\n\nThey went back into the cemetery, the air thick with the smell of wood smoke. Philip went to check on the charred remains of the coffin woman's cottage, then into the church. Lord Richard had brought the small keg of gunpowder and was laying a trail from the sanctuary out through the corpse door.\n\n'Stay well away, Father!' he warned. 'When this is fired, the heat will be terrible.'\n\n'Strike the tinder,' Philip replied.\n\nLord Richard did; Philip watched fascinated as the small, yellow-blue flame ran along the string covered by gunpowder. They saw it move into the sanctuary. Lord Richard pulled Philip out, slamming the corpse door shut. They went and stood with the others at the far side of the cemetery. From one of the narrow sanctuary windows, Philip saw a flash of light and then from other windows the glow of flames. The fire soon caught and, within minutes, a blaze was roaring throughout the church; all the windows turned a fiery red-orange whilst columns of smoke began to escape through the gaps in the roof. The tiles began to shatter. There was a rumble like that of distant thunder followed by a terrible crash as the roof caved in. The tower, too, was alight, standing like a burning finger pointing up into the night sky. Eventually the noise, the smoke and flames roused some of the villagers, who came running along the high road. Lord Richard went out and told them to go back to their homes.\n\n'Thank God there's little breeze!' the manor lord murmured. 'No sparks will be carried. Father, you should go back. Piers will stand guard.'\n\n'No, no,' Philip replied. 'I wish to see the end of this.' He smiled round at them. 'Please!' he begged. 'I will stay and, if there is any danger, I will come for you.'\n\nEdmund protested but Philip insisted.\n\n'The fire has caught hold,' he declared. 'There is nothing more you can do. The fire cannot spread either to the house or anywhere else.'\n\nLord Richard and the rest left. Edmund returned with a small jug of ale, some bread, dried meat, cheese and a rather bruised apple. He found Philip sitting beneath one of the old yew trees, eyes fixed on the burning church. Edmund put the food and drink down and left his brother alone.\n\nPhilip didn't mind the cold and the dark. He just sat and watched that church burn to its foundations. The walls began to crumble; the one facing him collapsed completely under the burning heat which seemed to race across the cemetery till Philip flinched and had to turn away. When he looked again the church was now a burning shell. Philip wondered if Heaven was giving it assistance; of the tomb, sanctuary, pulpit or lectern there wasn't a trace. He got up and walked towards the fire. It was now losing its intense heat though it still burnt fiercely in the middle of the nave. Philip gasped; as he stared into the fire, he saw shapes forming, as if people, cloaked, cowled and hooded were standing in the heart of the fire. At first he thought it was just one but others, like columns of smoke, also rose up. Philip counted at least fifteen. He stared in disbelief. The foremost figure advanced towards him: like something in a dream, not walking or moving its feet, but gliding like a shadow along a wall. Philip stepped back. The figure kept coming: as it did, it lost its fiery cloak, the hood falling back. Philip made out the ghoulish features of Romanel: eyes blazing with fury, mouth twisted in a sneer, hands outstretched, formed like claws as if he wished to pluck out Philip's heart. The priest stood his ground. He refused to be frightened. Am I dreaming? he wondered. Is this a phantasm of my imagination? He could smell burning cloth. Romanel was no longer moving smoothly. He was beginning to walk, stumble towards him. Philip made the sign of the cross. Romanel drew near. Philip could see his pointed teeth and red-rimmed eyes. Behind him he heard the jingle of harness, the clip-clop of hooves. Romanel looked up at a point behind Philip's head. He was moving back, his mouth open in a soundless scream, into the flames which seemed to roar more angrily, then the shape disappeared. Philip spun round: there was nothing, only the yew trees and long grass bending in the stiff breeze. He looked back at the church. The fire was dying as if the flames, their hunger sated, had lost their intensity, their desire to consume everything. Philip went back and resumed his seat beneath the yew tree.\n\nHe was fast asleep when Edmund shook him. He opened his eyes with a start. It was daylight, birds were singing in the trees above him. The acrid smoke from the church made him cough and gag.\n\n'Brother, did anything happen last night?'\n\n'Yes,' Philip replied, getting to his feet and stretching himself. 'I saw Romanel, or I think I did: him and all those imprisoned here because of their attack upon the Templars. Romanel came towards me, a look of murder in his eyes, but then he went back into the flames. I do not think he will trouble this place any more.'\n\nIgnoring his brother's warning, Philip walked into the charred remains of the church. He could smell the oil as well as the odour of burning wood and cloth. Lord Richard and Piers came out of the house; walking swiftly across the cemetery, they shouted at Philip to be careful.\n\n'If the good Lord saved me from Romanel...!' the priest called back, 'he will save me from falling stones!'\n\nNevertheless, he glimpsed the anxiety in their faces so he came out to join them.\n\n'What you must do,' he informed Lord Richard, 'is now level this place. Leave not a stone standing upon another. Pull down the gravestones. Have some good priest bless and exorcise the place with salt and holy water. The house, too, must be utterly destroyed!'\n\n'Won't you stay, Father?' the manor lord declared. 'You have hardly slept?'\n\n'No. Our panniers are packed, our horses are waiting. We'll stop somewhere on the road. I would like to be in Rochester by nightfall!'\n\nThey made their farewells. Philip washed his hands and face. He and Edmund collected their horses from the stables. He kissed Roheisia and gave Crispin a silver piece. He repeated his instructions to Lord Richard and then left, riding quickly through the village, before his parishioners could find out what had happened.\n\nThey entered the woods but, instead of skirting High Mount, Philip took the trackway leading up to it.\n\n'Why?' Edmund asked.\n\nPhilip shrugged. 'I wish to make my farewells.'\n\nThey reached the top, dismounted and led their horses into the ruined sanctuary. Philip knelt before where the high altar had stood. He crossed himself, closed his eyes and said a short prayer. Edmund joined him. Afterwards they unpacked one of the saddlebags. Philip filled two cups from the wineskin they carried. He smiled at his brother.\n\n'Let us toast ourselves, Edmund, as well as Stephen's memory. Look around, Edmund, we shall never return here again.'\n\nThey moved into a corner, resting their backs against the wall, reminiscing about what they both agreed was the climax of their priestly lives. Philip threw the dregs of the wine to the ground. He was about to get up when he heard the jingle of harness just out beyond the wall.\n\n'Oh, my God!' he groaned. 'Oh, Lord, save us!'\n\nEdmund rushed to join him. He, too, stood, mouth gaping; at the other end of High Mount, blocking the path down the hill, a group of horsemen had gathered. The bright sunlight reflected on their steel helmets and chain-mail coifs. From where they stood the white surcoats of the Templars, with the great six-pointed crosses, were clearly visible. Philip narrowed his eyes. The Templars were dressed as if ready to participate in some solemn cavalcade: their horses were beautifully groomed, saddles and harness of brown leather, their weapons were of silver whilst their cloaks were as white as virgin snow.\n\n'Do they mean us any harm?' Edmund gasped.\n\nThe group came forward; try as he might, Philip could not make out details of their faces. Behind the leading Templar, the rest of the group formed an expanding 'V' like a phalanx ready to charge. A flash of colour caught his eye. Looking down the line of horsemen, he could glimpse a young girl seated on a berry-brown palfrey, she was wrapped in a cloak of sky-blue wool. Again he could make out no details. Abruptly the leading Templar drew his sword and held it up so the sun shimmered brilliantly from it. He lowered his sword before holding it up once more.\n\n'They are saluting us,' Philip whispered. 'They mean us no harm.'\n\nThe leading Templar re-sheathed his sword. Philip heard the words again. He didn't know whether the Templar spoke and the breeze carried his words, or whether his soul just caught an echo. He closed his eyes and, when he opened them, the Templars were gone."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "The pilgrims roused themselves just after dawn. They built the fire up and the old ruined church was soon full of the savoury smell of cooking meats. The pilgrims were eager to leave. All exclaimed at what a beautiful day it promised to be. The sky was cloud-free, the sun was already strong with not a wisp of mist in sight. Each went his own way to do his or her toilette whilst the Cook, despite the ulcer on his shin, took a leather bucket down for water from a nearby spring. The horses were checked and saddled and the pilgrims, chattering cheerily amongst themselves, gathered round the fire to break their fast. They laughed off their fears of the previous night when the darkness seemed to close around them and the Poor Priest's tale had filled them with secret dread.\n\nOnce the story had finished, the pilgrims had sat quietly reflecting on what he had said. Once again Sir Godfrey had gone out, sword drawn, to discover why they had heard the sound of rustling, of footsteps in the disused cemetery round the church. His search had been fruitless. Nevertheless, all the pilgrims confessed they had felt a shiver up their spines, as if people were outside watching them.\n\n'It was only a ghost story, wasn't it?' the Shipman asked.\n\n'Now, now,' Mine Host intervened. 'We all know better than that.'\n\nHe winked at Sir Geoffrey Chaucer: he and the little, cheery-faced diplomat from London had often confided how it was strange that so many of the pilgrims knew each other and how these stories told at night were not just fables but, perhaps, based on truth.\n\n'I can't say,' the Cook declared proudly, 'whether it's a story or not. I come from Scawsby. The Montalts do own land there...'\n\n'And the old church?' someone asked.\n\n'As I have said,' the Cook replied, 'the old church has gone. A community of friars now occupy the site. Prayerful, holy men,' he added, glancing sly-eyed at their own friar now filling his mouth with bread and meat.\n\n'And at High Mount?' the Lawyer asked.\n\n'A beautiful, greystone church with a spire reaching to Heaven,' the Cook replied. He waggled a dirty finger. 'And, before you ask, Lord Richard lies buried before the high altar. As for the curse.' He shrugged. 'Lord Henry and Lady Isolda are in the best of health and the proud parents of five vigorous children.' He paused, his face screwed up in puzzlement. 'So, I am not too sure, Sir Priest, if your story is true. However, I do remember how Lord Henry and his young wife went on pilgrimage to France. They were gone for months.'\n\n'And the village?' the Ploughman asked.\n\nThe Cook looked at this grey-faced labourer and then the ascetic face of his brother the Poor Priest. Were these really the two young priests who had come so many years ago to Scawsby? The cook's memory had dimmed but sometimes he caught a glance, a look which jogged his memory, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't want to embarrass them. He smiled at the Ploughman.\n\n'Scawsby is a pleasant place, happy and prosperous. Father Melitus has been with us for many a year. A good shepherd who looks after his flock.'\n\n'Do you know something?' The Wife of Bath got to her feet and put her broad-brimmed hat on her head. 'When I was on pilgrimage to Cologne, I did hear about a famous veil which held the image of Christ's own face. But,' she gave her gap-toothed smile, 'they are only stories.'\n\n'Well, come on.' Sir Godfrey brushed the crumbs from his travel-stained doublet. 'It's time we were gone. We have to find the road again and, after such a chilling tale, perhaps the Miller can tell us a funny story?'\n\n'Yes,' the Reeve snapped. 'About a friar, hot and lecherous as a sparrow!'\n\nAnother squabble would have broken out but Sir Godfrey clapped his hands and Mine Host intervened. The fire was doused, the church combed to ensure they had left nothing. The pilgrims, chattering noisily, went out to collect their horses, already arguing over who would tell the next tale. The Poor Priest and the Ploughman remained by the fire, staring down at the blackened ash. Sir Geoffrey Chaucer came across.\n\n'You are, aren't you?' he said. 'The priests, Philip and Edmund? Please!' His merry eyes were now clear and solemn. 'I won't tell the rest.'\n\n'We are what you think we are,' the Poor Priest replied. 'More importantly is what we have become. My brother and I now live by digging the soil. We fast, we pray. We serve Christ and our flock. We turn no man away.'\n\n'Reparation?' Chaucer asked.\n\n'Yes.' The Poor Priest smiled, picking up his threadbare cloak. 'A life of reparation for the sins of many.'\n\nChaucer nodded and, turning on his heel, went out to join the rest.\n\n'They were here last night, weren't they?' the Ploughman murmured.\n\n'Yes, indeed, I know they were.'\n\n'You know!'\n\nThe Poor Priest took his brother over to the far wall. The Ploughman looked at the pair of eyes which had been drawn in charcoal on the fading plaster; beneath were scrawled the words: 'Spectamus te, semper spectabimus te! We are watching you, we shall always be watching you!'"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Canterbury Tales",
        "author": "Geoffrey Chaucer",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "poetry",
            "medieval",
            "short stories"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Geoffrey Chaucer",
                "text": "Geoffrey Chaucer, author of one of the greatest\u2014and earliest\u2014poems written in English, was born in London in the early 1340s. His father was a successful vintner and deputy chief butler to King Edward III. Little is known of Chaucer's early years. He most likely attended a grammar school but did not study at a university. He learned Latin and French, and perhaps some Italian, the latter probably from wine traders with whom his father did business. Around 1356 he became a page in the household of Elizabeth, countess of Ulster and wife of Lionel, one of Edward III's sons.\n\nIn 1359 Chaucer journeyed to France in the service of Prince Lionel and Edward III on one of the many campaigns fought during the Hundred Years' War; when Chaucer was captured, Edward provided the money for his ransom. Little is known of Chaucer during the decade following his return from France. In the early 1360s he entered Edward III's household as a yeoman and soon became an esquire; as such, he probably lived at court and performed duties for the crown. He married Philippa Roet, who was descended from a powerful family, in 1366. During the same period, Edward III awarded him a lifetime annuity, one among many Chaucer and his wife received.\n\nChaucer served Edward III, John of Gaunt, and Richard II in a variety of capacities, including diplomat, justice of the peace, and translator. Beginning in 1374 he was controller of wool customs for the port of London; around this time he and his family moved into comfortable, rent-free quarters above one of London's seven city gates. He traveled frequently on royal business; in the late 1370s, during a trip to Italy, he may have obtained copies of the works of Dante, Boccaccio, and Petrarch.\n\nPossibly in response to political pressures, Chaucer resigned his position as controller of customs and left his London apartment in 1386; that same year he was elected to Parliament from the county of Kent, and in 1387 his wife is reported to have died. In 1391 he retired to Kent, presumably to write. A year or two before his death, he returned to London to live.\n\nChaucer is thought to have begun The Canterbury Tales, his masterpiece, in the late 1380s. While he drew on French and Italian forms of prose, and on the work of Dante, Ovid, and Virgil, his poetry was innovative\u2014written in his native tongue, while most writers of the day composed in Latin or French. He produced some of the most renowned verse in the history of the English language, particularly in The Canterbury Tales. Geoffrey Chaucer died in 1400 and was buried in Westminster Cathedral."
            },
            {
                "title": "The World of Geoffrey Chaucer and The Canterbury Tales",
                "text": "1340-1345: Geoffrey Chaucer is born in London, the son of John Chaucer, a prominent wine importer, and his wife, Agnes.\n\n1346: The English triumph at Crecy, one of many bloody battles fought between England and France during the Hundred Years' War.\n\n1348-1349: The Black Death (the plague) sweeps through England, reportedly killing one-third of the population.\n\n1349-1351: Giovanni Boccaccio writes the Decameron.\n\n1356: The English are victorious at the battle of Poitiers; Edward III captures the French king, John II.\n\n1357: The first known mention of Chaucer is a record of a pur chase of clothing, possibly suggesting he was a page in the household of Elizabeth, countess of Ulster and wife of Li onel, the second son of Edward III.\n\n1359-1360: Chaucer serves in the English army and travels to the battle fields of France with Edward III and his sons, including the eldest, known as the Black Prince.\n\n1360: Chaucer is captured by the French and held for ransom until he is released for the sum of \u00a316; Edward III provides the sum. With the Treaty of Br\u00e9tigny, England establishes peace with France that will last nine years.\n\n1361-1362: The plague returns, again devastating the population. Wages for laborers increase, as there are more jobs available than workers to perform them. The use of English in courts of law is formalized.\n\n1366. Chaucer marries Philippa Roet. His father dies.\n\n1367. Chaucer is given a lifetime annuity of \u00a320 per year by Ed ward III. Chaucer will serve the royal household in various capacities until his death. His son, Thomas, is born. Richard II, the son of the Black Prince, is born.\n\nc.1367-1370: William Langland's Piers Plowman appears.\n\n1368: Chaucer travels overseas on royal missions, perhaps to France or Italy.\n\n1369-1372: Chaucer writes The Book of the Duchess, an elegy for Blanche of Lancaster, who died in 1368. Edward III's wife, Queen Philippa, dies. A third major plague spreads throughout England.\n\n1370: John Lydgate, a writer remembered as an imitator of Chaucer, is born.\n\n1371: John of Gaunt, another son of Edward III and Blanche of Lancaster's widower, marries Constance of Castile. Philippa Chaucer serves in their household.\n\n1372: Chaucer makes his first known journey to Italy on a diplo matic mission.\n\n1374: Chaucer moves to Aldgate and is appointed the port of Lon don's controller of customs for wool, skins, and hides. King Edward awards Chaucer a gallon pitcher of wine daily for life for loyal service. Petrarch dies.\n\n1375: Boccaccio dies.\n\n1376: The Black Prince dies.\n\n1377: Edward III dies, and Richard II becomes king. Chaucer makes several top-secret journeys to France on behalf of Richard II to negotiate for peace. The first poll tax is insti tuted.\n\n1378: Chaucer travels to Milan on a diplomatic mission to see the Lord of Milan, Bernabo Visconti. Their meeting inspires Chaucer to include Visconti as a tragic figure in \"The Monk's Tale.\"\n\n1378-1381: Chaucer's comic poem The House of Fame appears. He also writes Palamon and Arcita, a poem based on Boccac's Teseida that is later adapted to become \"The Knight's Tale.\"\n\n1380: Cecily Champain accuses Chaucer of rape, then settles with him out of court. Chaucer begins writing Troilus and Criseyde, a tragic love story set against the backdrop of the Trojan War.\n\n1381: In honor of the King's upcoming marriage, Chaucer writes The Parliament of Fowls, a dream-vision poem in which a group of birds choose their mates. He begins to write Boece, a translation of Roman philosopher Boethius' The Consolation of Philosophy. Workers of various economic and social strata gather in London to protest the poll tax; this civilian rebellion, known as the Great Rising or the Peasants' Revolution, causes extensive damage and upheaval.\n\n1382: Richard II marries Anne of Bohemia. John Wycliffe trans lates the Bible into English.\n\n1385: French poet Eustache Deschamps praises Chaucer for his skill as a translator. Chaucer becomes justice of the peace for the county of Kent.\n\n1386: He resigns from his customs duties and serves as a member of Parliament for Kent. He begins writing The Legend of Good Women, a collection of stories that will remain unfin ished.\n\n1387: Around this time, Chaucer begins writing The Canterbury Tales. Opponents of Richard II, known as the Lords Appel lant, curtail the King's authority. Several of the King's sup porters, including poet Thomas Usk, are executed.\n\n1389: Richard II appoints Chaucer clerk of the King's Works.\n\n1390: Chaucer supervises the building of the scaffolding to be used for the Smithfield jousts.\n\n1394: Richard II awards Chaucer an annuity of \u00a320 per year.\n\n1396: John of Gaunt marries his longtime mistress, Katherine Swynford, Philippa Chaucer's sister.\n\n1399: Richard II is deposed, and Henry Bolingbroke accedes to the throne as Henry IV. John of Gaunt dies.\n\n1400: Geoffrey Chaucer dies, leaving The Canterbury Tales unfin ished, and is buried at Westminster Abbey."
            },
            {
                "title": "The General Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote\n\n\u2003The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,\n\n\u2003And bathed every veyne in swich licour,\n\n\u2003Of which vertu engendred is the flour;\n\n\u2003Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth\n\n\u2003Inspired hath in every holt and heeth\n\n\u2003The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne\n\n\u2003Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,\n\n\u2003And smale fowles maken melodye,\n\n\u2003That slepen al the night with open ye,\n\n\u2003(So priketh hem nature in hir corages):\n\n\u2003Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages\n\n\u2003(And palmers for to seken straunge strondes)\n\n\u2003To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;\n\n\u2003And specially, from every shires ende\n\n\u2003Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,\n\n\u2003The holy blisful martir for to seke,\n\n\u2003That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.\n\n\u2003Bifel that, in that seson on a day,\n\n\u2003In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay\n\n\u2003Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage\n\n\u2003To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,\n\n\u2003At night was come in-to that hostelrye\n\n\u2003Wel nyne and twenty in a companye,\n\n\u2003Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle\n\n\u2003In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle,\n\n\u2003That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde;\n\n\u2003The chambres and the stables weren wyde,\n\n\u2003And wel we weren esed atte beste.\n\n\u2003And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,\n\n\u2003So hadde I spoken with hem everichon,\n\n\u2003That I was of hir felawshipe anon,\n\n\u2003And made forward erly for to ryse,\n\n\u2003To take our wey, ther as I yow devyse.\n\n\u2003But natheles, whyl I have tyme and space\n\n\u2003Er that I ferther in this tale pace,\n\n\u2003Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun,"
            },
            {
                "title": "The General Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003When April with his showers sweet\n\n\u2003The drought of March has pierced to the root,\n\n\u2003And rain, like virtue\n\n\u2003Made those flowers grow;\n\n\u2003When West Wind with his sweet breath has\n\n\u2003Blown through every wood and heath\n\n\u2003The tender buds, and the young sun\n\n\u2003In Aries has his half-course run;\n\n\u2003And little birds make melody,\n\n\u2003That sleep all night with open eye\u2014\n\n\u2003So pricks them Nature in their souls\u2014\n\n\u2003Then folks yearn to go on pilgrimages,\n\n\u2003And pilgrims for to seek strange strands,\n\n\u2003To faraway shires in sundry lands;\n\n\u2003And specially from every shire's end\n\n\u2003Of England to Canterbury they wend,\n\n\u2003The holy blissful martyr for to seek,\n\n\u2003Who helped them, when they were sick.\n\n\u2003So in that season on a day,\n\n\u2003In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay\n\n\u2003Ready to wend on my pilgrimage\n\n\u2003To Canterbury with full devout courage,\n\n\u2003At night was come into that hostelry\n\n\u2003Well nine and twenty in a company\n\n\u2003Of sundry folk, by sheer chance fallen\n\n\u2003Into fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,\n\n\u2003Who toward Canterbury would ride.\n\n\u2003The rooms and stables were goodsized,\n\n\u2003And they gave us among the best.\n\n\u2003And shortly, when the sun was to rest,\n\n\u2003So had I spoken with them every one\n\n\u2003That I was of their fellowship anon,\n\n\u2003And agreed early to arise,\n\n\u2003To head out, as I say.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless while I have time and space,\n\n\u2003Before I further in this tale ride,\n\n\u2003Methinks it according to reason\n\n\u2003To telle yow al the condicioun\n\n\u2003Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,\n\n\u2003And whiche they weren, and of what degree;\n\n\u2003And eek in what array that they were inne:\n\n\u2003And at a knight than wol I first biginne."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "\u2003A knight ther was, and that a worthy man\n\n\u2003That fro the tyme that he first bigan\n\n\u2003To ryden out, he loved chivalrye,\n\n\u2003Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye.\n\n\u2003Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,\n\n\u2003And therto hadde he riden (no man ferre)\n\n\u2003As wel in Cristendom as hethenesse,\n\n\u2003And ever honoured for his worthinesse.\n\n\u2003At Alisaundre he was, whan it was wonne;\n\n\u2003Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne\n\n\u2003Aboven alle naciouns in Pruce.\n\n\u2003In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,\n\n\u2003No Cristen man so ofte of his degree.\n\n\u2003In Gernade at the sege eek hadde he be\n\n\u2003Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.\n\n\u2003At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye,\n\n\u2003Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See\n\n\u2003At many a noble aryve hadde he be.\n\n\u2003At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,\n\n\u2003And foughten for our feith at Tramissene\n\n\u2003In listes thryes, and ay slayn his fo.\n\n\u2003This ilke worthy knight had been also\n\n\u2003Somtyme with the lord of Palatye,\n\n\u2003Ageyn another hethen in Turkye:\n\n\u2003And evermore he hadde a sovereyn prys.\n\n\u2003And though that he were worthy, he was wys,\n\n\u2003And of his port as meke as is a mayde.\n\n\u2003He never yet no vileinye ne sayde\n\n\u2003In al his lyf, un-to no maner wight.\n\n\u2003He was a verray parfit gentil knight.\n\n\u2003But for to tellen yow of his array,\n\n\u2003His hors were gode, but he was nat gay.\n\n\u2003Of fustian he wered a gipoun\n\n\u2003Al bismotered with his habergeoun;\n\n\u2003To tell you all the calling\n\n\u2003Of each of them, so as it seemed to me,\n\n\u2003And who they were, and of what character,\n\n\u2003And what raiment they were in;\n\n\u2003And at a Knight then will first begin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "\u2003A knight there was, and he a worthy man,\n\n\u2003Who from the time that he first began\n\n\u2003To ride out, he loved chivalry,\n\n\u2003Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy.\n\n\u2003He fought bravely in his lords' wars,\n\n\u2003And in them had he ridden, no other man so far,\n\n\u2003As well in Christendom as in heathen places,\n\n\u2003And ever honored for his worthiness.\n\n\u2003At Alexandria he was when it was won;\n\n\u2003Full often time he'd sat at head of table\n\n\u2003Above all the knights of Prussia.\n\n\u2003In Lithuania he'd fought and in Russia,\n\n\u2003More often than any other Christian man his rank.\n\n\u2003In Grenada also had he been at the siege\n\n\u2003Of Algeciras, and ridden in Benmarin.\n\n\u2003At Ayeas was he and at Adalia\n\n\u2003When they were won; and in the Mediterranean\n\n\u2003At many a noble crusade had he been.\n\n\u2003In duels to the death had he been fifteen,\n\n\u2003And fought for our faith in Tlemecen\n\n\u2003In tournaments thrice, and slain his foe.\n\n\u2003This same worthy knight had been also\n\n\u2003Sometime with the lord of Palatia,\n\n\u2003Against another heathen in Turkey;\n\n\u2003And evermore he had a sterling name.\n\n\u2003And though he was brave, he was wise,\n\n\u2003And of his manner as meek as is a maid.\n\n\u2003He was never rude\n\n\u2003In all his life to any sort of person.\n\n\u2003He was a true, perfect, noble knight.\n\n\u2003But to tell you of his attire,\n\n\u2003His horses were good, but his clothes not bright.\n\n\u2003Of rough cloth he wore a tunic\n\n\u2003All ruststained by his coat of mail,\n\n\u2003For he was late y-come from his viage,\n\n\u2003And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.\n\n\u2003With him ther was his sone, a yong squyer,\n\n\u2003A lovyere, and a lusty bacheler,\n\n\u2003With lokkes crulle, as they were leyd in presse\n\n\u2003Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.\n\n\u2003Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,\n\n\u2003And wonderly deliver, and greet of strengthe.\n\n\u2003And he had been somtyme in chivachye,\n\n\u2003In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Picardye,\n\n\u2003And born him wel, as of so litel space,\n\n\u2003In hope to stonden in his lady grace.\n\n\u2003Embrouded was he, as it were a mede\n\n\u2003Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede.\n\n\u2003Singinge he was, or floytinge, all the day;\n\n\u2003He was as fresh as is the month of May.\n\n\u2003Short was his goune, with sieves longe and wyde.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.\n\n\u2003He coude songes make and wel endyte,\n\n\u2003Juste and eek daunce, and wel purtreye and wryte.\n\n\u2003So hote he lovede, that by nightertale\n\n\u2003He sleep namore than dooth a nightingale.\n\n\u2003Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable,\n\n\u2003And carf biforn his fader at the table."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "\u2003A yeman hadde he, and servaunts namo\n\n\u2003At that tyme, for him liste ryde so;\n\n\u2003And he was clad in cote and hood of grene;\n\n\u2003A sheef of pecok-arwes brighte and kene\n\n\u2003Under his belt he bar ful thriftily;\n\n\u2003(Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:\n\n\u2003His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe),\n\n\u2003And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe.\n\n\u2003A not-heed hadde he, with a broun visage.\n\n\u2003Of wode-craft wel coude he al the usage.\n\n\u2003Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer,\n\n\u2003And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,\n\n\u2003And on that other syde a gay daggere,\n\n\u2003Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere;\n\n\u2003A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.\n\n\u2003For he'd no sooner returned from his voyage,\n\n\u2003Than he set out to make his pilgrimage.\n\n\u2003With him there was his son, a young aquire,\n\n\u2003A lover, and a knight he would become,\n\n\u2003With locks so curly, you'd think them curling-ironed.\n\n\u2003Of twenty years of age he was, I guess.\n\n\u2003Of his stature he was average height,\n\n\u2003And wonderfully agile, and of great strength.\n\n\u2003And he had spent some time in combat\n\n\u2003In Flanders, Artois and Picardy,\n\n\u2003And carried himself well, for a beginner,\n\n\u2003In hope to stand in his lady's grace.\n\n\u2003Embroidered was he, as if a meadow\n\n\u2003All full of fresh flowers, white and red.\n\n\u2003Singing he was, or piping all the day;\n\n\u2003He was as fresh as is the month of May.\n\n\u2003Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.\n\n\u2003Well could he sit a horse and well ride.\n\n\u2003He could songs make and poetry indite,\n\n\u2003Joust and dance, draw well and write.\n\n\u2003So hotly he loved all through the night\n\n\u2003He slept no more than a nightingale.\n\n\u2003Courteous he was, humble and himself useful made,\n\n\u2003And carved meat for his father at the table."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "\u2003A yeoman had he, and servants no more\n\n\u2003At that time, for it pleased him to ride so;\n\n\u2003And he was clad in coat and hood of green.\n\n\u2003A sheaf of peacock-arrows sharp and bright\n\n\u2003Under his belt he carried with care.\n\n\u2003Well could he keep his gear:\n\n\u2003His arrows drooped not with feathers low,\n\n\u2003And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.\n\n\u2003A close-cropped head had he, with a sun-browned face.\n\n\u2003Of woodcraft he knew all the skills.\n\n\u2003Upon his arm he bore a fine wrist guard,\n\n\u2003And by his side a buckler and sword,\n\n\u2003And on his other side a shining dagger,\n\n\u2003Hafted well, and sharp as point of spear:\n\n\u2003A silver Saint Christopher on his breast shone.\n\n\u2003An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene;\n\n\u2003A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.\n\n\u2003Ther was also a Nonne, a prioresse,\n\n\u2003That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy:\n\n\u2003Hir gretteste ooth was but by s\u00ebynt Loy;\n\n\u2003And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.\n\n\u2003Ful wel she song the service divyne,\n\n\u2003Entuned in hir nose ful semely;\n\n\u2003And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly,\n\n\u2003After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,\n\n\u2003For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe.\n\n\u2003At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle;\n\n\u2003She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,\n\n\u2003Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.\n\n\u2003Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,\n\n\u2003That no drope ne fille up-on hir brest.\n\n\u2003In curteisye was set ful muche hir lest.\n\n\u2003Hir over lippe wyped she so clene,\n\n\u2003That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene\n\n\u2003Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.\n\n\u2003Ful semely after hir mete she raughte,\n\n\u2003And sikerly she was of greet disport,\n\n\u2003And ful plesaunt, and amiable of port,\n\n\u2003And peyned hir to countrefete chere\n\n\u2003Of court, and been estatlich of manere,\n\n\u2003And to ben holden digne of reverence.\n\n\u2003But, for to speken of hir conscience,\n\n\u2003She was so charitable and so pitous,\n\n\u2003She wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous\n\n\u2003Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.\n\n\u2003Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde\n\n\u2003With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed,\n\n\u2003But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed,\n\n\u2003Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte:\n\n\u2003And al was conscience and tendre herte.\n\n\u2003Ful semely hir wimpel pinched was;\n\n\u2003Hir nose tretys; hir eyen greye as glas;\n\n\u2003Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed;\n\n\u2003But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;\n\n\u2003A horn he carried, with strap of green;\n\n\u2003A forester was he in fact, as I guess.\n\n\u2003There was also a Nun, a prioresse,\n\n\u2003Whose smile was full simple and modest\u2014\n\n\u2003Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eligius!\u2014\n\n\u2003And she was called Madame Eglentyne.\n\n\u2003Full well she sang the service divine,\n\n\u2003Intoning in her nose full seemly;\n\n\u2003And French she spoke with elegant fluency,\n\n\u2003After the School of Stratford at Bow,\n\n\u2003For French of Paris was to her unknown.\n\n\u2003At table well taught was she withal:\n\n\u2003She let no morsel from her lips fall,\n\n\u2003Nor wet her fingers in her sauce too deep.\n\n\u2003Well could she convey a spoonful, and take care\n\n\u2003That no drop fell upon her breast.\n\n\u2003She took much pleasure in etiquette.\n\n\u2003Her upper lip she wiped so clean,\n\n\u2003That in her cup was no drop seen\n\n\u2003Of grease, when she had drunk her draft.\n\n\u2003Full politely for her food she reached,\n\n\u2003And certainly she was a cheerful sort,\n\n\u2003And full pleasant, nice deportment,\n\n\u2003And she took pains to reflect the manners\n\n\u2003Of court, and to be stately in her carriage,\n\n\u2003And to be held worthy of reverence.\n\n\u2003But, for to speak of her compassion,\n\n\u2003She was so charitable and kind,\n\n\u2003She would weep if she saw a mouse\n\n\u2003Caught in a trap, or if it were dead or bleeding.\n\n\u2003Some small hounds had she, that she fed\n\n\u2003With roasted flesh, or milk and fine white bread.\n\n\u2003But sorely wept she if one of them were dead,\n\n\u2003Or if someone beat it with a stick;\n\n\u2003She was all feeling and tender heart.\n\n\u2003Full seemly her wimple pleated was,\n\n\u2003Her nose graceful, her eyes gray as glass,\n\n\u2003Her mouth full small, lips soft and red,\n\n\u2003But certainly she had a fair forehead\u2014\n\n\u2003It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe;\n\n\u2003For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.\n\n\u2003Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war.\n\n\u2003Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar\n\n\u2003A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene;\n\n\u2003And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene,\n\n\u2003On which ther was first write a crowned A,\n\n\u2003And after, Amor vincit omnia.\n\n\u2003Another nonne with hir hadde she,\n\n\u2003That was hir chapeleyne, and preestes three.\n\n\u2003A monk ther was, a fair for the maistrye,\n\n\u2003An out-rydere, that lovede venerye;\n\n\u2003A manly man, to been an abbot able.\n\n\u2003Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable:\n\n\u2003And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here\n\n\u2003Ginglen in a whistling wind as clere,\n\n\u2003And eek as loude as dooth the chapel-belle\n\n\u2003Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.\n\n\u2003The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,\n\n\u2003By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,\n\n\u2003This ilke monke leet olde thinges pace,\n\n\u2003And held after the newe world the space.\n\n\u2003He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,\n\n\u2003That seith, that hunters been nat holy men;\n\n\u2003Ne that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees,\n\n\u2003Is lykned til a fish that is waterlees;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre.\n\n\u2003But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre;\n\n\u2003And I seyde, his opinioun was good.\n\n\u2003What sholde he studie, and make himselven wood,\n\n\u2003Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure,\n\n\u2003Or swinken with his handes, and laboure,\n\n\u2003As Austin bit? How shal the world be served?\n\n\u2003Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved.\n\n\u2003Therefore he was a pricasour aright,\n\n\u2003Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in flight\n\n\u2003Of priking and of hunting for the hare\n\n\u2003Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.\n\n\u2003I seigh his sieves purfiled at the hond\n\n\u2003It was almost a span broad, I believe\u2014\n\n\u2003For in no way was she undersized.\n\n\u2003Full elegant was her cloak, as I was aware.\n\n\u2003About her arm she bore a coral rosary,\n\n\u2003The beads set off with stones green;\n\n\u2003And thereon hung a broach, of shining gold,\n\n\u2003On which there was first written a crowned A,\n\n\u2003And after, Amor vincit omnia.\n\n\u2003Another nun with her had she,\n\n\u2003Who was her chaplain, and priests three.\n\n\u2003A monk there was, and a good one too,\n\n\u2003An estate manager, who also loved to hunt:\n\n\u2003A manly man, and an abbot able.\n\n\u2003Full many a fine horse had he in stable,\n\n\u2003And when he rode men might his bridle hear\n\n\u2003Jingling in a whistling wind as clear\n\n\u2003And loud as doth the chapel bell,\n\n\u2003There where this lord ran a priory.\n\n\u2003The rule of Saint Maurus or of Saint Benedict,\n\n\u2003Because it was old and somewhat strict,\n\n\u2003This same monk let slide,\n\n\u2003And held after the new world for his guide.\n\n\u2003He gave not for that text a plucked hen,\n\n\u2003That said hunters should not be holy men,\n\n\u2003Nor that a monk when he neglects his vows,\n\n\u2003Is like a fish out of water\n\n\u2003(That is to say a monk out of his cloister);\n\n\u2003But that doctrine held he not worth an oyster.\n\n\u2003And I said his opinion was good:\n\n\u2003Why should he study, and make himself a nut,\n\n\u2003Upon a book in cloister always to pore,\n\n\u2003Or work with his hands and labor,\n\n\u2003As Augustine bid? How shall the world be served?\n\n\u2003Let Augustine have his work for him reserved!\n\n\u2003So he rode energetically all right:\n\n\u2003Greyhounds he had, as swift as birds in flight;\n\n\u2003Of riding and of hunting for the hare\n\n\u2003Was all his lust, for it no cost would he spare.\n\n\u2003I saw his sleeves trimmed at the cuff\n\n\u2003With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;\n\n\u2003And, for to festne his hood under his chin\n\n\u2003He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin:\n\n\u2003A love-knotte in the gretter end ther was.\n\n\u2003His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,\n\n\u2003And eek his face, as he had been anoint.\n\n\u2003He was a lord ful fat and in good point;\n\n\u2003His eyen stepe, and rollinge in his heed,\n\n\u2003That stemed as a forneys of a leed;\n\n\u2003His botes souple, his hors in greet estat.\n\n\u2003Now certeinly he was a fair prelat;\n\n\u2003He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost.\n\n\u2003A fat swan loved he best of any roost.\n\n\u2003His palfrey was as broun as is a berye."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "\u2003A frere ther was, a wantown and a merye,\n\n\u2003A limitour, a ful solempne man.\n\n\u2003In alle the ordres foure is noon that can\n\n\u2003So muche of daliaunce and fair langage.\n\n\u2003He hadde maad ful many a mariage\n\n\u2003Of yonge wommen, at his owne cost.\n\n\u2003Un-to his ordre he was a noble post.\n\n\u2003Ful wel biloved and famulier was he\n\n\u2003With frankeleyns over-al in his contree,\n\n\u2003And eek with worthy wommen of the toun:\n\n\u2003For he had power of confessioun,\n\n\u2003As seyde him-self, more than a curat,\n\n\u2003For of his ordre he was licentiat.\n\n\u2003Ful swetely herde he confessioun,\n\n\u2003And plesaunt was his absolucion;\n\n\u2003He was an esy man to yeve penaunce\n\n\u2003Ther as he wiste to han a good pitaunce;\n\n\u2003For unto a povre ordre for to yive\n\n\u2003Is signe that a man is wel y-shrive.\n\n\u2003For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,\n\n\u2003He wiste that a man was repentaunt.\n\n\u2003For many a man so hard is of his herte,\n\n\u2003He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte.\n\n\u2003Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres,\n\n\u2003Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres.\n\n\u2003With gray fur and that the finest in the land;\n\n\u2003And to fasten his hood under his chin,\n\n\u2003He had of gold crafted a full curious pin:\n\n\u2003A love-knot in the larger end there was.\n\n\u2003His head was bald, and shone like glass,\n\n\u2003And his face as well, as if anointed.\n\n\u2003He was a lord full fat and yet his muscles fit:\n\n\u2003His eyes protruding, and rolling in his head,\n\n\u2003That glowed like the fire under a cauldron;\n\n\u2003His boots supple, his horse in great condition\u2014\n\n\u2003Now certainly he was a fair prelate.\n\n\u2003He was not pale as a tortured ghost;\n\n\u2003A fat swan loved he best of any roast.\n\n\u2003And brown as a berry was his horse."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "\u2003A friar there was, a lecher and a merry,\n\n\u2003A licensed beggar, with his own territory.\n\n\u2003Among the orders four was none who knew\n\n\u2003So much of dalliance and fair language.\n\n\u2003He had arranged full many a marriage\n\n\u2003Of young women, at his own cost.\n\n\u2003Unto his order he was a noble post.\n\n\u2003Full well beloved and familiar was he\n\n\u2003With rich franklins throughout his territory,\n\n\u2003And with the worthy women of the town;\n\n\u2003For he had power of confession,\n\n\u2003As he said himself, more than a local curate,\n\n\u2003For of his order he was licentiate.\n\n\u2003Full sweetly he heard confession,\n\n\u2003And pleasant was his absolution;\n\n\u2003He was an easy man to make penance\n\n\u2003Wherever he could expect a nice remembrance.\n\n\u2003For unto a poor order to give\n\n\u2003Is a sign that a man is well shriven\u2014\n\n\u2003For if he gave something, the Friar could be content,\n\n\u2003That a man was truly repentant.\n\n\u2003For many a man is so hard of heart,\n\n\u2003He may not weep though it sore smarts:\n\n\u2003Therefore instead of weeping and prayers,\n\n\u2003Men may give silver to the poor freres.\n\n\u2003His tipet was ay farsed ful of knyves\n\n\u2003And pinnes, for to yeven faire wyves.\n\n\u2003And certeinly he hadde a mery note;\n\n\u2003Wel coude he singe and pleyen on a rote.\n\n\u2003Of yeddinges he bar utterly the prys.\n\n\u2003His nekke whyt was as the flour-de-lys;\n\n\u2003Ther-to he strong was as a champioun.\n\n\u2003He knew the tavernes wel in every toun,\n\n\u2003And everich hostiler and tappestere\n\n\u2003Bet than a lazar or a beggestere;\n\n\u2003For un-to swich a worthy man as he\n\n\u2003Acorded nat, as by his facultee,\n\n\u2003To have with seke lazars aqueyntaunce.\n\n\u2003It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce\n\n\u2003For to delen with no swich poraille,\n\n\u2003But al with riche and sellers of vitaille.\n\n\u2003And over-al, ther as profit sholde aryse,\n\n\u2003Curteys he was, and lowly of servyse.\n\n\u2003Ther nas no man no-wher so vertuous.\n\n\u2003He was the beste beggere in his hous;\n\n\u2003And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt;\n\n\u2003Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt;\n\n\u2003For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho,\n\n\u2003So plesaunt was his \"In principio,\"\n\n\u2003Yet wolde he have a ferthing, er he wente.\n\n\u2003His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.\n\n\u2003And rage he coude, as it were right a whelpe.\n\n\u2003In love-dayes ther coude he muchel helpe.\n\n\u2003For there he was nat lyk a cloisterer,\n\n\u2003With a thredbar cope, as is a povre scoler,\n\n\u2003But he was lyk a maister or a pope.\n\n\u2003Of double worsted was his semi-cope,\n\n\u2003That rounded as a belle out of the presse.\n\n\u2003Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse,\n\n\u2003To make his English swete up-on his tonge;\n\n\u2003And in his harping, whan that he had songe,\n\n\u2003His eyen twinkled in his heed aright,\n\n\u2003As doon the sterres in the frosty night.\n\n\u2003This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.\n\n\u2003His cape was always full of knives\n\n\u2003And pins for to give fair wives.\n\n\u2003And certainly he had a nice voice;\n\n\u2003Well could he sing and pluck the strings:\n\n\u2003For ballad singing he was first choice.\n\n\u2003His neck white was as the lily flower;\n\n\u2003Plus he had a champion's muscle power.\n\n\u2003He knew the taverns well in every town,\n\n\u2003And every innkeeper and every bargirl\n\n\u2003Better than he knew any leper or lady beggar,\n\n\u2003For such a worthy man as he\n\n\u2003Should not, in his belief,\n\n\u2003Have acquaintance with sick lepers:\n\n\u2003It was not dignified and did him no good\n\n\u2003To deal with such poor suffering souls,\n\n\u2003But always with rich folk and food purveyors.\n\n\u2003And everywhere\u2014anywhere\u2014profit promised to arise,\n\n\u2003Courteous he was, and humble in service.\n\n\u2003There was no man anywhere near so virtuous.\n\n\u2003He was the best beggar in his order's house,\n\n\u2003(And gave a certain payment for the grant:\n\n\u2003None of his brothers trespassed on his haunts.)\n\n\u2003For though a widow had not a shoe,\n\n\u2003So pleasant was his In principio,\n\n\u2003That he would have a farthing before he went.\n\n\u2003His income was well better than his rent.\n\n\u2003And he could be charming as a pup.\n\n\u2003To resolve disputes he could often help,\n\n\u2003For he was not like a cloisterer,\n\n\u2003With threadbare cape, as is a poor scholar.\n\n\u2003But he was like a master or a pope:\n\n\u2003Of double-worsted was his half-cape,\n\n\u2003That swelled around him like a bell.\n\n\u2003Somewhat he lisped, in affectation,\n\n\u2003To make his English sweet upon his tongue;\n\n\u2003And when he had played his harp and sung,\n\n\u2003His eyes twinkled in his head aright\n\n\u2003As do the stars on a frosty night.\n\n\u2003This worthy friar was called Huberd."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "\u2003A marchant was ther with a forked berd,\n\n\u2003In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat,\n\n\u2003Up-on his heed a Flaundrish bever hat;\n\n\u2003His botes clasped faire and fetisly.\n\n\u2003His resons he spak ful solempnely,\n\n\u2003Souninge alway th'encrees of his winning.\n\n\u2003He wolde the see were kept for any thing\n\n\u2003Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.\n\n\u2003This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;\n\n\u2003Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,\n\n\u2003So estatly was he of his governaunce,\n\n\u2003With his bargaynes, and with his chevisaunce.\n\n\u2003For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle,\n\n\u2003But sooth to seyn, I noot how men him calle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "\u2003A clerk ther was of Oxenford also,\n\n\u2003That un-to logik hadde longe y-go.\n\n\u2003As lene was his hors as is a rake,\n\n\u2003And he nas nat right fat, I undertake;\n\n\u2003But loked holwe, and ther-to soberly.\n\n\u2003Ful thredbar was his overest courtepy;\n\n\u2003For he had geten him yet no benefyce,\n\n\u2003Ne was so worldly for to have offyce.\n\n\u2003For him was lever have at his beddes heed\n\n\u2003Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed,\n\n\u2003Of Aristotle and his philosophye,\n\n\u2003Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye.\n\n\u2003But al be that he was a philosophre,\n\n\u2003Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;\n\n\u2003But al that he mighte of his freendes hente,\n\n\u2003On bokes and on lerninge he it spente,\n\n\u2003And bisily gan for the soules preye\n\n\u2003Of hem that yaf him wher-with to scoleye.\n\n\u2003Of studie took he most cure and most hede.\n\n\u2003Noght o word spak he more than was nede,\n\n\u2003And that was seyd in forme and reverence,\n\n\u2003And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence.\n\n\u2003Souninge in moral vertu was his speche,\n\n\u2003And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "\u2003A merchant there was with forked beard,\n\n\u2003In patterned cloth, and high on his horse he sat;\n\n\u2003Upon his head a Flemish beaverfur hat,\n\n\u2003His boots well tied and neat.\n\n\u2003His opinions he pompously offered,\n\n\u2003Proclaiming always the increase of his profit.\n\n\u2003He wanted the pirates at any price expelled\n\n\u2003Between Middleburgh and Orowelle.\n\n\u2003Well could he exchange French coins.\n\n\u2003This worthy man full well his wit employed:\n\n\u2003No one knew he was in debt,\n\n\u2003So careful was he of his outward impression,\n\n\u2003With his bargains and his (perhaps) shady lending.\n\n\u2003He was a worthy man, all the same;\n\n\u2003But in truth I do not know his name."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "\u2003A scholar there was of Oxford also,\n\n\u2003Who unto logic had himself devoted,\n\n\u2003All lean was his horse as is a rake,\n\n\u2003And he was not fat, I undertake,\n\n\u2003But looked hollow and also soberly.\n\n\u2003Full threadbare was his over cloak,\n\n\u2003For he had received yet no benefice,\n\n\u2003Nor did he worldly work for his daily bread;\n\n\u2003For he would rather have at his bed's head\n\n\u2003Twenty books clad in black or red,\n\n\u2003Of Aristotle and his philosophy,\n\n\u2003Than robes rich, psaltery or harp.\n\n\u2003Albeit that he was a philosopher,\n\n\u2003Yet had he but little gold in his coffer;\n\n\u2003And all that his friends might him lend,\n\n\u2003On books and learning he it spent,\n\n\u2003And busily did for the souls pray\n\n\u2003Of those who for his tuition gave.\n\n\u2003Of study took he most care and most heed.\n\n\u2003Not one word spoke he more than was needed,\n\n\u2003And that was said in correct form and respect,\n\n\u2003And short and quick, and full of high intellect.\n\n\u2003Resounding in moral virtue was his speech,\n\n\u2003And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "\u2003A sergeant of the lawe, war and wys,\n\n\u2003That often hadde been at the parvys,\n\n\u2003Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.\n\n\u2003Discreet he was, and of greet reverence:\n\n\u2003He semed swich, his wordes weren so wyse.\n\n\u2003Justyce he was ful often in assyse,\n\n\u2003By patente, and by pleyn commissioun;\n\n\u2003For his science, and for his heigh renoun\n\n\u2003Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.\n\n\u2003So greet a purchasour was no-wher noon.\n\n\u2003Al was fee simple to him in effect,\n\n\u2003His purchasing mighte nat been infect.\n\n\u2003No-wher so bisy a man as he ther nas,\n\n\u2003And yet he semed bisier than he was.\n\n\u2003In termes hadde he caas and domes alle,\n\n\u2003That from the tyme of king William were falle.\n\n\u2003Therto he coude endyte, and make a thing,\n\n\u2003Ther coude no wight pinche at his wryting;\n\n\u2003And every statut coude he pleyn by rote.\n\n\u2003He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote\n\n\u2003Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;\n\n\u2003Of his array telle I no lenger tale."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "\u2003A Frankeleyn was in his companye;\n\n\u2003Whyt was his berd, as is the dayesye.\n\n\u2003Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.\n\n\u2003Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn.\n\n\u2003To liven in delyt was ever his wone,\n\n\u2003For he was Epicurus owne sone,\n\n\u2003That heeld opinioun, that pleyn delyt\n\n\u2003Was verraily felicitee parfyt.\n\n\u2003An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;\n\n\u2003Seint Julian he was in his contree.\n\n\u2003His breed, his ale, was alwey after oon;\n\n\u2003A bettre envyned man was no-wher noon.\n\n\u2003With-oute bake mete was never his hous,\n\n\u2003Of fish and flesh, and that so plentyous,\n\n\u2003It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke,\n\n\u2003Of alle deyntees that men coude thinke.\n\n\u2003After the sondry sesons of the yeer,"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "\u2003A sergeant of the law, alert and wise,\n\n\u2003Who had often been at the parvis,\n\n\u2003There was also, full rich of excellence.\n\n\u2003Discreet he was and worthy of great respect:\n\n\u2003He seemed such, his words were so wise.\n\n\u2003Judge he was full often in assizes cases,\n\n\u2003With full authority from the king;\n\n\u2003For his knowledge and for his high renown,\n\n\u2003Of fees and robes had he many a one.\n\n\u2003So sharp a wheeler-dealer was nowhere known:\n\n\u2003All contracts were with no strings attached;\n\n\u2003His ownership might not be attacked.\n\n\u2003Nowhere so busy a man as he there was;\n\n\u2003And yet he seemed busier than he was.\n\n\u2003He knew the details of all the cases,\n\n\u2003That from the time of King William had taken place.\n\n\u2003Thereto he could write and draw up papers;\n\n\u2003No one could find fault with his writing,\n\n\u2003And every statute he knew by heart.\n\n\u2003He rode unfancily in a multicolored coat,\n\n\u2003Girt with a cinch of silk with stripes narrow;\n\n\u2003Of his outfit I will no more tell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "\u2003A Franklin was in his company.\n\n\u2003White was his beard as is the daisy;\n\n\u2003Of his temperament he was sanguine.\n\n\u2003Well he loved a breakfast cake soaked in wine.\n\n\u2003To live in delight was ever his custom,\n\n\u2003For he was Epicurus' own son,\n\n\u2003Who held opinion that complete delight\n\n\u2003Was the true measure of perfection.\n\n\u2003A householder, and a great one, was he;\n\n\u2003Saint Julian he was in his country.\n\n\u2003His bread, his ale were always good;\n\n\u2003A better wine-cellared man was nowhere known.\n\n\u2003Without meat pies was never his house,\n\n\u2003Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous\n\n\u2003It rained in his house of meat and drink.\n\n\u2003Of all delicacies that men could think,\n\n\u2003According to the sundry seasons of the year,\n\n\u2003So chaunged he his mete and his soper.\n\n\u2003Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe,\n\n\u2003And many a breem and many a luce in stewe.\n\n\u2003Wo was his cook, but-if his sauce were\n\n\u2003Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere.\n\n\u2003His table dormant in his halle alway\n\n\u2003Stood redy covered al the longe day.\n\n\u2003At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;\n\n\u2003Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the shire.\n\n\u2003An anlas and a gipser al of silk\n\n\u2003Heng at his girdel, whyt as morne milk.\n\n\u2003A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour;\n\n\u2003Was no-wher such a worthy vavasour."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "\u2003An haberdassher and a carpenter,\n\n\u2003A webbe, a dyere, and a tapicer,\n\n\u2003Were with us eek, clothed in o liveree,\n\n\u2003Of a solempne and greet fraternitee.\n\n\u2003Ful fresh and newe hir gere apyked was;\n\n\u2003Hir knyves were y-chaped noght with bras,\n\n\u2003But al with silver, wroght ful clene and weel,\n\n\u2003Hir girdles and hir pouches every-deel.\n\n\u2003Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys,\n\n\u2003To sitten in a yeldhalle on a deys.\n\n\u2003Everich, for the wisdom that he can,\n\n\u2003Was shaply for to been an alderman.\n\n\u2003For catel hadde they y-nogh and rente,\n\n\u2003And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;\n\n\u2003And elles certein were they to blame.\n\n\u2003It is ful fair to been y-clept \"ma dame,\"\n\n\u2003And goon to vigily\u00ebs al bifore,\n\n\u2003And have a mantel royalliche y-bore."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "\u2003A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones,\n\n\u2003To boille the chiknes with the marybones,\n\n\u2003And poudre-marchant tart, and galingale.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he knowe a draughte of London ale.\n\n\u2003He coude roste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,\n\n\u2003Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.\n\n\u2003But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,\n\n\u2003That on his shine a mormal hadde he;\n\n\u2003So varied his dinner and his supper.\n\n\u2003Full many a fat partridge had he in coop,\n\n\u2003And many a bream and many a pike in pond.\n\n\u2003Woe to his cook, unless his sauces were\n\n\u2003Pungent and sharp, and ever-ready all his pans and pots.\n\n\u2003His table in his dining hall\n\n\u2003Stood always for his dinner set.\n\n\u2003At meetings of local justices there he was lord and sire;\n\n\u2003Full often time he was MP for the shire.\n\n\u2003A dagger and a purse all of silk\n\n\u2003Hung at his waist, white as morning milk.\n\n\u2003A sheriff had he been, and an auditor;\n\n\u2003Was nowhere such a worthy landowner."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "\u2003A haberdasher and a carpenter,\n\n\u2003A weaver, a dyer and a tapestry-maker,\n\n\u2003Were with us also, all clothed in the livery\n\n\u2003Of a distinguished and great parish guild.\n\n\u2003Full fresh and new their dress uniform was;\n\n\u2003Their knives were mounted not with brass,\n\n\u2003But all with silver, full well made and brightly\n\n\u2003Polished, as were their belts and purses.\n\n\u2003Well seemed each of them a fair burgher\n\n\u2003To sit in guildhall in a place of honor.\n\n\u2003Each one of them could have been\n\n\u2003An alderman.\n\n\u2003For property had they enough and income,\n\n\u2003And their wives would say the same;\n\n\u2003Or else certain were they to blame.\n\n\u2003It is full fair to be called \"Madame,\"\n\n\u2003And go to church at procession's head,\n\n\u2003And have a mantle like royalty carried."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "\u2003A cook they had with them for their travel,\n\n\u2003To boil the chickens with the marrowbones\n\n\u2003And spices\u2014poudre-marchant tart and galingale.\n\n\u2003Well could he identify a draught of London ale.\n\n\u2003He could roast and boil and broil and fry,\n\n\u2003Make stews and well bake a pie.\n\n\u2003But great misfortune was it, as it seemed to me,\n\n\u2003That on his shin an open sore had he.\n\n\u2003For blankmanger, that made he with the beste."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "\u2003A shipman was ther, woning fer by weste:\n\n\u2003For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe.\n\n\u2003He rood up-on a rouncy, as he couthe,\n\n\u2003In a gowne of falding to the knee.\n\n\u2003A daggere hanging on a laas hadde he\n\n\u2003Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun.\n\n\u2003The hote somer had maad his hewe al broun;\n\n\u2003And, certeinly, he was a good felawe.\n\n\u2003Ful many a draughte of wyn had he y-drawe\n\n\u2003From Burdeux-ward, whyl that the chapman sleep.\n\n\u2003Of nyce conscience took he no keep.\n\n\u2003If that he faught, and hadde the hyer hond,\n\n\u2003By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.\n\n\u2003But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,\n\n\u2003His stremes and his daungers him bisydes,\n\n\u2003His herberwe and his mone, his lode-menage,\n\n\u2003Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.\n\n\u2003Hardy he was, and wys to undertake;\n\n\u2003With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.\n\n\u2003He knew wel alle the havenes, as they were,\n\n\u2003From Gootlond to the cape of Finistere,\n\n\u2003And every cryke in Britayne and in Spayne;\n\n\u2003His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "\u2003With us ther was a doctour of phisyk,\n\n\u2003In al this world ne was ther noon him lyk\n\n\u2003To speke of phisik and of surgerye;\n\n\u2003For he was grounded in astronomye.\n\n\u2003He kepte his pacient a ful greet del\n\n\u2003In houres, by his magik naturel.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he fortunen the ascendent\n\n\u2003Of his images for his pacient.\n\n\u2003He knew the cause of everich maladye,\n\n\u2003Were it of hoot or cold, or moiste, or drye,\n\n\u2003And where engendred, and of what humour;\n\n\u2003He was a verrey parfit practisour.\n\n\u2003The cause y-knowe, and of his harm the rote,\n\n\u2003Anon he yaf the seke man his bote.\n\n\u2003Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries,\n\n\u2003For blancmange, that made he with the best."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "\u2003A shipman was there, living far to the west:\n\n\u2003For all I know, he was of Dartmouth.\n\n\u2003He rode upon a sturdy little horse, as best he could,\n\n\u2003In a heavy wool gown reaching to the knee.\n\n\u2003A dagger hanging on a cord had he\n\n\u2003About his neck and down beneath his arm.\n\n\u2003The high summer had made his hue all brown;\n\n\u2003And certainly he was a good fellow.\n\n\u2003Full many a draught of wine had he tapped\n\n\u2003En route from Bordeaux, while the wine merchant slept.\n\n\u2003Of nice conscience he took no heed:\n\n\u2003In a fight, if he had the upper hand,\n\n\u2003He sent them overboard, far from land.\n\n\u2003But of navigation, to reckon well his tides,\n\n\u2003His currents and his hazards him nearby,\n\n\u2003His harbor and his moon, his compass use,\n\n\u2003There was none such from Hull to Carthage.\n\n\u2003Hardy he was, and careful in risks taken;\n\n\u2003With many a tempest had his beard been shaken.\n\n\u2003He knew well all the harbors, as they were,\n\n\u2003From Gotland to the Cape of Finisterre,\n\n\u2003And every creek in Brittany and Spain;\n\n\u2003His ship was called the Magdalen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "\u2003With us there was a physician;\n\n\u2003In all the world there was none like him\n\n\u2003To speak of medicine and of surgery\n\n\u2003For he was grounded in astrology.\n\n\u2003He tended his patient at just the right\n\n\u2003Hours, guided by his magical powers.\n\n\u2003Well could he determine the ascendent\n\n\u2003Of the signs for his patient.\n\n\u2003He knew the cause of every malady,\n\n\u2003Were it hot or cold or moist or dry,\n\n\u2003And where engendered and of what humor;\n\n\u2003He was a truly perfect practitioner.\n\n\u2003The cause known, and of the malady its origin,\n\n\u2003Quickly he gave the sick man his medicine.\n\n\u2003Full ready had he his apothecaries,\n\n\u2003To sende him drogges and his letuaries,\n\n\u2003For ech of hem made other for to winne;\n\n\u2003Hir frendschipe nas nat newe to biginne.\n\n\u2003Wel knew he th' olde Esculapius,\n\n\u2003And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus,\n\n\u2003Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien;\n\n\u2003Serapion, Razis, and Avicen;\n\n\u2003Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn;\n\n\u2003Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn.\n\n\u2003Of his diete mesurable was he,\n\n\u2003For it was of no superfluitee,\n\n\u2003But of greet norissing and digestible.\n\n\u2003His studie was but litel on the bible.\n\n\u2003In sangwin and in pers he clad was al,\n\n\u2003Lyned with taffata and with sendal;\n\n\u2003And yet he was but esy of dispence;\n\n\u2003He kepte that he wan in pestilence.\n\n\u2003For gold in phisik is a cordial,\n\n\u2003Therfore he lovede gold in special."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "\u2003A good wuf was ther of bisyde bathe,\n\n\u2003But she was som-del deef, and that was scathe.\n\n\u2003Of clooth-making she hadde swiche an haunt,\n\n\u2003She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt.\n\n\u2003In al the parisshe wyf ne was ther noon\n\n\u2003That to th' offring bifore hir sholde goon;\n\n\u2003And if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she,\n\n\u2003That she was out of alle charitee.\n\n\u2003Hir coverchiefs ful fyne were of ground;\n\n\u2003I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound\n\n\u2003That on a Sonday were upon hir heed.\n\n\u2003Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,\n\n\u2003Ful streite y-teyd, and shoos ful moiste and newe.\n\n\u2003Bold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe.\n\n\u2003She was a worthy womman al hir lyve,\n\n\u2003Housbondes at chirche-dore she hadde fyve,\n\n\u2003Withouten other companye in youthe;\n\n\u2003But therof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe.\n\n\u2003And thryes hadde she been at Jerusalem;\n\n\u2003She hadde passed many a straunge streem;\n\n\u2003To send him drugs and potions,\n\n\u2003For each helped the other to make a profit,\n\n\u2003Their friendship was not new to begin.\n\n\u2003Well he knew the old Aesculapius,\n\n\u2003Dioscorides, and Rufus,\n\n\u2003Old Hippocrates, Hali and Galen,\n\n\u2003Serapion, Rhazes and Avicenna, Averroes,\n\n\u2003Damascenus and Constantine,\n\n\u2003Bernard and Gatesden and Gilbert.\n\n\u2003Of his diet moderate was he,\n\n\u2003For it was of no great quantity\n\n\u2003But of great nourishment and digestible.\n\n\u2003His study was but little on the Bible.\n\n\u2003In blood red and blue he clad was all,\n\n\u2003Lined with taffeta and fine silk;\n\n\u2003And yet he was not quick to spend,\n\n\u2003He kept what he earned in time of plague,\n\n\u2003For gold is good for the heart in medicine;\n\n\u2003Therefore gold he loved especially."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "\u2003A good wife there was, from near Bath,\n\n\u2003But she was somewhat deaf, and that was too bad.\n\n\u2003Of clothmaking she had such a talent,\n\n\u2003She surpassed that of Ypres and of Ghent.\n\n\u2003In all the parish a wife was there none\n\n\u2003Who gave more at the church offering;\n\n\u2003And if they did, certain so angry was she,\n\n\u2003That she was all out of charity.\n\n\u2003Her Sunday shawls were of full fine hand;\n\n\u2003I daresay that they weighed ten pounds\n\n\u2003That on a Sunday were upon her head.\n\n\u2003Her hose were of fine scarlet red,\n\n\u2003Full tightly tied, and shoes full soft and new.\n\n\u2003Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue.\n\n\u2003She was a worthy woman all her life:\n\n\u2003Husbands at church door she'd had five,\n\n\u2003Not counting other company in youth\u2014\n\n\u2003But we need not speak of them right now\u2014\n\n\u2003And thrice had she been to Jerusalem.\n\n\u2003She had crossed many a foreign stream:\n\n\u2003At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne,\n\n\u2003In Galice at seint Jame, and at Coloigne.\n\n\u2003She coude muche of wandring by the weye:\n\n\u2003Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.\n\n\u2003Up-on an amblere esily she sat,\n\n\u2003Y-wimpled wel, and on hir heed an hat\n\n\u2003As brood as is a bokeler or a targe;\n\n\u2003A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large,\n\n\u2003And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe.\n\n\u2003In felawschip wel coude she laughe and carpe.\n\n\u2003Of remedyes of love she knew perchaunce,\n\n\u2003For she coude of that art the olde daunce.\n\n\u2003A good man was ther of religioun,"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "\u2003And was a povre persoun of a toun;\n\n\u2003But riche he was of holy thoght and werk.\n\n\u2003He was also a lerned man, a clerk,\n\n\u2003That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche;\n\n\u2003His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.\n\n\u2003Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,\n\n\u2003And in adversitee ful pacient;\n\n\u2003And swich he was y-preved ofte sythes.\n\n\u2003Ful looth were him to cursen for his tythes,\n\n\u2003But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute,\n\n\u2003Un-to his povre parisshens aboute\n\n\u2003Of his offring, and eek of his substaunce.\n\n\u2003He coude in litel thing han suffisaunce.\n\n\u2003Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder,\n\n\u2003But he ne lafte nat, for reyn ne thonder,\n\n\u2003In siknes nor in meschief, to visyte\n\n\u2003The ferreste in his parisshe, muche and lyte,\n\n\u2003Up-on his feet, and in his hand a staf.\n\n\u2003This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,\n\n\u2003That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte;\n\n\u2003Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte;\n\n\u2003And this figure he added eek ther-to,\n\n\u2003That if gold ruste, what shal iren do?\n\n\u2003For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste,\n\n\u2003No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;\n\n\u2003And shame it is, if a preest take keep,\n\n\u2003To Rome she had been, and to Boulogne,\n\n\u2003In Galicia to Saint James, and to Cologne;\n\n\u2003She knew much of wandering along the road.\n\n\u2003Gap-toothed she was, the truth to say.\n\n\u2003Upon an easyriding horse she easily sat,\n\n\u2003Wimpled well, and on her head a hat\n\n\u2003As broad as is a buckler or a targe;\n\n\u2003An overskirt about her hips large,\n\n\u2003And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp.\n\n\u2003She was full of laughter and of gossip.\n\n\u2003Of love remedies she knew by chance,\n\n\u2003For she knew the steps of that old dance.\n\n\u2003A good man was there of religion,"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "\u2003And he was a poor parson of a town,\n\n\u2003But rich he was in holy thought and work.\n\n\u2003He was also a learned man, a scholar\n\n\u2003Who Christ's gospel truly would preach,\n\n\u2003His parishioners devotedly would he teach.\n\n\u2003Kindly he was, and very diligent,\n\n\u2003And in adversity full patient,\n\n\u2003And he proved to be such oftentimes.\n\n\u2003Full loath was he to excommunicate for his tithes,\n\n\u2003But rather would he give, without a doubt,\n\n\u2003Unto his poor parishioners out of\n\n\u2003His offerings and his income.\n\n\u2003He knew how to have enough with not much.\n\n\u2003Wide was his parish, and houses far apart,\n\n\u2003But he neglected none, for rain nor thunder,\n\n\u2003In sickness nor in misfortune, to visit\n\n\u2003The furthest in his parish, great and humble,\n\n\u2003Travelling by foot, and in his hand a staff.\n\n\u2003This noble example to his sheep he gave,\n\n\u2003That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.\n\n\u2003From the gospel he these words took,\n\n\u2003And this metaphor he added thereto:\n\n\u2003That if gold rusts, what should iron do?\n\n\u2003For if a priest be corrupt, upon whom we trust,\n\n\u2003No wonder is an unlearned man to rust;\n\n\u2003And shame it is if a priest be seen,\n\n\u2003A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.\n\n\u2003Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive,\n\n\u2003By his clennesse, how that his sheep shold live.\n\n\u2003He sette nat his benefice to hyre,\n\n\u2003And leet his sheep encombred in the myre,\n\n\u2003And ran to London, un-to s\u00ebynt Poules,\n\n\u2003To seken him a chaunterie for soules,\n\n\u2003Or with a bretherhed to been withholde;\n\n\u2003But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde,\n\n\u2003So that the wolf ne made it nat miscarie;\n\n\u2003He was a shepherde and no mercenarie.\n\n\u2003And though he holy were, and vertuous,\n\n\u2003He was to sinful man nat despitous,\n\n\u2003Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,\n\n\u2003But in his teching discreet and benigne.\n\n\u2003To drawen folk to heven by fairnesse\n\n\u2003By good ensample, was his bisinesse:\n\n\u2003But it were any persone obstinat,\n\n\u2003What-so he were, of heigh or lowe estat,\n\n\u2003Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones.\n\n\u2003A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher noon is.\n\n\u2003He wayted after no pompe and reverence,\n\n\u2003Ne maked him a spyced conscience,\n\n\u2003But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,\n\n\u2003He taughte, and first he folwed it himselve."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "\u2003With him ther was a plowman, was his\n\n\u2003brother,\n\n\u2003That hadde y-lad of dong ful many a fother,\n\n\u2003A trewe swinker and a good was he,\n\n\u2003Livinge in pees and parfit charitee.\n\n\u2003God loved he best with al his hole herte\n\n\u2003At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte,\n\n\u2003And thanne his neighebour right as himselve.\n\n\u2003He wolde thresshe, and ther-to dyke and delve,\n\n\u2003For Cristes sake, for every povre wight,\n\n\u2003Withouten hyre, if it lay in his might.\n\n\u2003His tythes payed he ful faire and wel,\n\n\u2003Bothe of his propre swink and his catel.\n\n\u2003In a tabard he rood upon a mere.\n\n\u2003As a shitcovered shepherd with clean sheep.\n\n\u2003Well ought a priest example for to give,\n\n\u2003By his cleanliness, how his sheep should live.\n\n\u2003He rented not his benefice out to hire,\n\n\u2003And left his sheep encumbered in the mire,\n\n\u2003And ran into London to Saint Paul's\n\n\u2003To seek him a sinecure as a chantry-priest,\n\n\u2003Or a retainer as chaplain for a guild,\n\n\u2003But dwelt at home and kept well his fold.\n\n\u2003So that the wolf didn't make it come to grief;\n\n\u2003He was a shepherd and not a mercenary.\n\n\u2003And though he holy was, and virtuous,\n\n\u2003He was to sinful men not despising,\n\n\u2003Nor in speech haughty or disdainful,\n\n\u2003But in his teaching discreet and benign.\n\n\u2003To draw folk to heaven by fairness,\n\n\u2003By good example, that was his business;\n\n\u2003But were there any person obstinate,\n\n\u2003Whoever he was, of high or low estate,\n\n\u2003He would him rebuke sharply in that instance.\n\n\u2003A better priest I believe there nowhere is.\n\n\u2003He yearned not for pomp and reverence,\n\n\u2003Nor made a show of righteousness,\n\n\u2003But Christ's teaching and his apostles twelve,\n\n\u2003He taught, and first he followed it himself."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "\u2003With him there was a plowman, who was his\n\n\u2003brother,\n\n\u2003Who had hauled of dung full many a cart.\n\n\u2003An honest worker, and a good one was he,\n\n\u2003Living in peace and perfect charity.\n\n\u2003God loved he best with his whole heart\n\n\u2003At all times, both happy and tough,\n\n\u2003And his neighbor much as himself.\n\n\u2003He would thresh and ditch and shovel,\n\n\u2003For Christ's sake, for every poor soul,\n\n\u2003Without payment, if it lay in his power.\n\n\u2003His tithes he paid full fair and well,\n\n\u2003Both of his work and his property.\n\n\u2003In a smock he rode upon a mare.\n\n\u2003Ther was also a Reve and a Millere,\n\n\u2003A Somnour and a Pardoner also,\n\n\u2003A Maunciple, and my-self; there were namo."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "\u2003The miller was a stout carl, for the nones,\n\n\u2003Ful big he was of braun, and eek of bones;\n\n\u2003That proved wel, for over-al ther he cam,\n\n\u2003At wrastling he wolde have alwey the ram.\n\n\u2003He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre,\n\n\u2003Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre,\n\n\u2003Or breke it, at a renning, with his heed.\n\n\u2003His berd as any sowe or fox was reed,\n\n\u2003And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade.\n\n\u2003Up-on the cop right of his nose he hade\n\n\u2003A werte, and ther-on stood a tuft of heres,\n\n\u2003Reed as the bristles of a sowes eres;\n\n\u2003His nose-thirles blake were and wyde.\n\n\u2003A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde;\n\n\u2003His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys.\n\n\u2003He was a janglere and a goliardeys,\n\n\u2003And that was most of sinne and harlotryes.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he stelen corn, and tollen thryes;\n\n\u2003And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.\n\n\u2003A whyt cote and a blew hood wered he.\n\n\u2003A baggepype wel coude he blowe and sowne,\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al he broghte us out of towne."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "\u2003A gentil Maunciple was ther of a temple;\n\n\u2003Of which achatours mighte take exemple\n\n\u2003For to be wyse in bying of vitaille\n\n\u2003For whether that he payde, or took by taille,\n\n\u2003Algate he wayted so in his achat,\n\n\u2003That he was ay biforn and in good stat.\n\n\u2003Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace,\n\n\u2003That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace\n\n\u2003The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?\n\n\u2003Of maistres hadde he mo than thryes ten,\n\n\u2003That were of lawe expert and curious;\n\n\u2003Of which there were a doseyn in that hous\n\n\u2003Worthy to been stiwardes of rente and lond\n\n\u2003Of any lord that is in Engelond,\n\n\u2003There was also a Reeve and a Miller,\n\n\u2003A Summoner and a Pardoner also,\n\n\u2003A Manciple, and myself\u2014there were no more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "\u2003The miller was indeed a stout fellow;\n\n\u2003Full big he was of muscle and bones\u2014\n\n\u2003Who proved himself, for wherever he went,\n\n\u2003At wrestling he would always win the ram.\n\n\u2003He was short-shouldered, a broad, thick cudgel:\n\n\u2003There was no door he couldn't yank off its hinges,\n\n\u2003Or go through by ramming it with his noggin.\n\n\u2003His beard as any sow or fox was red,\n\n\u2003And thereto broad, as though it were a spade.\n\n\u2003Upon the tip of his nose he had\n\n\u2003A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs,\n\n\u2003Red as the bristles of a sow's ears;\n\n\u2003His nostrils were black and wide.\n\n\u2003A sword and buckler bore he by his side.\n\n\u2003His mouth gaped big as a furnace;\n\n\u2003He was a talker and a joke teller,\n\n\u2003And those mostly of sin and off-color.\n\n\u2003Well could he steal wheat, and grind it thrice,\n\n\u2003And yet he had a thumb of gold, by God.\n\n\u2003A white coat and blue hood wore he.\n\n\u2003A bagpipe well could he blow and sing,\n\n\u2003And with it he brought us out of town."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "\u2003A worthy Manciple was there of a law school,\n\n\u2003From whom buyers might take example\n\n\u2003To be smart in purchasing their needs,\n\n\u2003For whether he paid, or put on account,\n\n\u2003Always he so carefully watched his pennies\n\n\u2003That he was always ahead, and in the black.\n\n\u2003Now is that not of God a full fair grace,\n\n\u2003That such an uneducated man should surpass\n\n\u2003The wisdom of a heap of graduates?\n\n\u2003Of masters had he thrice ten\n\n\u2003Who were of law expert and skillful,\n\n\u2003Among whom there were a dozen in that house\n\n\u2003Worthy to be stewards of money and land\n\n\u2003For any lord that is in England,\n\n\u2003To make him live by his propre good,\n\n\u2003In honour dettelees, but he were wood,\n\n\u2003Or live as scarsly as him list desire;\n\n\u2003And able for to helpen al a shire\n\n\u2003In any cas that mighte falle or happe;\n\n\u2003And yit this maunciple sette hir aller cappe.\n\n\u2003The reve was a sclendre colerik man,\n\n\u2003His berd was shave as ny as ever he can.\n\n\u2003His heer was by his eres round y-shorn.\n\n\u2003His top was dokked lyk a preest biforn.\n\n\u2003Ful longe were his legges, and ful lene,\n\n\u2003Y-lyk a staf, ther was no calf y-sene.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he kepe a gerner and a binne;\n\n\u2003Ther was noon auditour coude on him winne.\n\n\u2003Wel wiste he, by the droghte, and by the reyn,\n\n\u2003The yelding of his seed, and of his greyn.\n\n\u2003His lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye,\n\n\u2003His swyn, his hors, his stoor, and his pultrye,\n\n\u2003Was hoolly in this reves governing,\n\n\u2003And by his covenaunt yaf the rekening,\n\n\u2003Sin that his lord was twenty yeer of age;\n\n\u2003Ther coude no man bringe him in arrerage.\n\n\u2003Ther nas baillif, ne herde, ne other hyne,\n\n\u2003That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne;\n\n\u2003They were adrad of him, as of the deeth.\n\n\u2003His woning was ful fair up-on an heeth,\n\n\u2003With grene tr\u00ebs shadwed was his place.\n\n\u2003He coude bettre than his lord purchace.\n\n\u2003Ful riche he was astored prively,\n\n\u2003His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly,\n\n\u2003To yeve and lene him of his owne good,\n\n\u2003And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood.\n\n\u2003In youthe he lerned hadde a good mister;\n\n\u2003He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter.\n\n\u2003This reve sat up-on a ful good stot,\n\n\u2003That was al pomely grey, and highte Scot.\n\n\u2003A long surcote of pers up-on he hade,\n\n\u2003And by his syde he bar a rusty blade.\n\n\u2003Of Northfolk was this reve, of which I telle,\n\n\u2003Able to make him live within his means\n\n\u2003In honor, debt free, unless he had big dreams,\n\n\u2003Or to live as frugally as he desired,\n\n\u2003And the same dozen were able to help an entire shire,\n\n\u2003In any situation that might happen or befall,\n\n\u2003And yet this manciple made fools of them all."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "\u2003The reeve was a slender choleric man.\n\n\u2003His beard was shaved as close as he could;\n\n\u2003His hair was by his ears closely shorn,\n\n\u2003His top was cut short like a priest's in front.\n\n\u2003Full long were his legs, and full lean,\n\n\u2003Like a staff; there was no calf to be seen.\n\n\u2003Well could he keep a granary and a bin\u2014\n\n\u2003There was no auditor who could catch him short.\n\n\u2003Well judged he by the drought and by the rain\n\n\u2003The yielding of his seed and of his grain.\n\n\u2003His lord's sheep, his cattle, his dairy herd,\n\n\u2003His swine, his horses, his livestock, and his poultry,\n\n\u2003Were wholly in this reeve's governing,\n\n\u2003And by his contract he kept the reckoning,\n\n\u2003Since his lord was in age but twenty years.\n\n\u2003There could no man bring him in arrears.\n\n\u2003There was no bailiff, nor herdsman, nor other servant,\n\n\u2003But that he knew their tricks and their deceit;\n\n\u2003They were afraid of him as of the Death.\n\n\u2003His dwelling was full fair upon a heath;\n\n\u2003With green trees shadowed was his place.\n\n\u2003Better than his lord he could his goods increase.\n\n\u2003Full rich he was with private stock;\n\n\u2003His lord could he please full subtly,\n\n\u2003To give and lend him of his own goods,\n\n\u2003And receive thanks, and a gift coat and hood.\n\n\u2003In youth he had learned a good trade:\n\n\u2003He was a fine craftsman, a carpenter.\n\n\u2003This reeve sat upon a full good farm horse\n\n\u2003That was all dappled gray and named Scot.\n\n\u2003A long coat of blue upon him he had,\n\n\u2003And by his side he wore a rusty blade.\n\n\u2003Of Norfolk was this reeve of whom I tell,\n\n\u2003Bisyde a toun men clepen Baldeswelle.\n\n\u2003Tukked he was, as is a frere, aboute,\n\n\u2003And ever he rood the hindreste of our route."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "\u2003A somnour was ther with us in that place,\n\n\u2003That hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face,\n\n\u2003For sawcefleem he was, with eyen narwe.\n\n\u2003As hoot he was, and lecherous, as a sparwe;\n\n\u2003With scalled browes blake, and piled berd;\n\n\u2003Of his visage children were aferd.\n\n\u2003Ther nas quik-silver, litarge, ne brimstoon,\n\n\u2003Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon,\n\n\u2003Ne oynement that wolde clense and byte,\n\n\u2003That him mighte helpen of his whelkes whyte,\n\n\u2003Nor of the knobbes sittinge on his chekes.\n\n\u2003Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,\n\n\u2003And for to drinken strong wyn, reed as blood.\n\n\u2003Than wolde he speke, and crye as he were wood.\n\n\u2003And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn,\n\n\u2003Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn.\n\n\u2003A fewe termes hadde he, two or three,\n\n\u2003That he had lerned out of som decree;\n\n\u2003No wonder is, he herde it al the day;\n\n\u2003And eek ye knowen wel, how that a jay\n\n\u2003Can clepen \"Watte,\" as well as can the pope.\n\n\u2003But who-so coude in other thing him grope,\n\n\u2003Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophye;\n\n\u2003Ay \"Questio quid iuris\" wolde he crye.\n\n\u2003He was a gentil harlot and a kinde;\n\n\u2003A bettre felawe sholde men noght finde.\n\n\u2003He wolde suffre, for a quart of wyn,\n\n\u2003A good felawe to have his concubyn\n\n\u2003A twelf-month, and excuse him atte fulle:\n\n\u2003Ful prively a finch eek coude he pulle.\n\n\u2003And if he fond o-wher a good felawe,\n\n\u2003He wolde techen him to have non awe,\n\n\u2003In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curs,\n\n\u2003But-if a mannes soule were in his purs;\n\n\u2003For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be.\n\n\u2003\"Purs is the erchedeknes helle,\" seyde he.\n\n\u2003From near a town men call Bawdeswell.\n\n\u2003Belted he was as is a friar;\n\n\u2003And he rode always the hindmost of our group."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "\u2003A summoner was there with us in that place,\n\n\u2003Who had a fire-red cherubim's face,\n\n\u2003For pimpled he was, with eyes narrow.\n\n\u2003As hotblooded he was and lecherous as a sparrow,\n\n\u2003With scabby black eyebrows, and scraggly beard;\n\n\u2003Of his face children were afraid.\n\n\u2003There was no quicksilver, lead oxide nor brimstone,\n\n\u2003Borax, white lead, nor oil of tartar lotion,\n\n\u2003Nor ointment that would cleanse and bite,\n\n\u2003That might help him of his pimples cure,\n\n\u2003Nor of the bumps sitting on his cheeks.\n\n\u2003Well loved he garlic, onions and also leeks,\n\n\u2003And for to drink strong wine, red as blood.\n\n\u2003Then would he speak, and shout as if he were deranged;\n\n\u2003And when he had drunk enough wine,\n\n\u2003Then would he speak no word but in Latin.\n\n\u2003A few phrases had he, two or three,\n\n\u2003That he had learned out of some decree\u2014\n\n\u2003No wonder it is, he heard it all the day;\n\n\u2003And you know well, how a bird\n\n\u2003Can call Walter! as well as can the Pope.\n\n\u2003But if you would in other things him query,\n\n\u2003Then he'd used up all his philosophy;\n\n\u2003Ever Questio quid iuris would he cry.\n\n\u2003He was a worthy rascal and also kind;\n\n\u2003A better pal could no man find:\n\n\u2003He would allow, for a quart of wine,\n\n\u2003A buddy to have his concubine\n\n\u2003For a year, and excuse him in full;\n\n\u2003Full secretly a young thing could he seduce.\n\n\u2003And if he found somewhere a pal,\n\n\u2003He would teach him to have no fear\n\n\u2003With regard to the Archdeacon's curse,\n\n\u2003Unless a man's soul were in his purse,\n\n\u2003For then in his purse should he punished be.\n\n\u2003\"Purse is the Archdeacon's hell,\" said he.\n\n\u2003But wel I woot he lyed right in dede;\n\n\u2003Of cursing oghte ech gilty man him drede\u2014\n\n\u2003For curs wol slee, right as assoilling saveth\u2014\n\n\u2003And also war him of a significavit.\n\n\u2003In daunger hadde he at his owne gyse\n\n\u2003The yonge girles of the diocyse,\n\n\u2003And knew hir counseil, and was al hir reed.\n\n\u2003A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed,\n\n\u2003As greet as it were for an ale-stake;\n\n\u2003A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "\u2003With him ther rood a gentil pardoner\n\n\u2003Of Rouncival, his freend and his compeer,\n\n\u2003That streight was comen fro the court of Rome.\n\n\u2003Ful loude he song, \"Com hider, love, to me.\"\n\n\u2003This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun,\n\n\u2003Was never trompe of half so greet a soun.\n\n\u2003This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,\n\n\u2003But smothe it heng, as dooth a strike of flex;\n\n\u2003By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,\n\n\u2003And ther-with he his shuldres overspradde;\n\n\u2003But thinne it lay, by colpons oon and oon;\n\n\u2003But hood, for jolitee, ne wered he noon,\n\n\u2003For it was trussed up in his walet.\n\n\u2003Him thoughte, he rood al of the newe jet;\n\n\u2003Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare.\n\n\u2003Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare.\n\n\u2003A vernicle hadde he sowed on his cappe.\n\n\u2003His walet lay biforn him in his lappe,\n\n\u2003Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al hoot.\n\n\u2003A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.\n\n\u2003No berd hadde he, ne never sholde have,\n\n\u2003As smothe it was as it were late y-shave;\n\n\u2003I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.\n\n\u2003But of his craft, fro Berwik into Ware,\n\n\u2003Ne was ther swich another pardoner.\n\n\u2003For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,\n\n\u2003Which that, he seyde, was our lady veyl:\n\n\u2003He seyde, he hadde a gobet of the seyl\n\n\u2003That s\u00ebynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente\n\n\u2003But well I know he lied indeed:\n\n\u2003Excommunication each man should dread\u2014\n\n\u2003For curse will slay, as absolution saves\u2014\n\n\u2003And also avoid a warrant for arrest.\n\n\u2003In his power in his own way had he\n\n\u2003The young wenches of the diocese,\n\n\u2003And knew their secrets, and gave them advice.\n\n\u2003A garland had he set upon his head,\n\n\u2003As big as if it were for a tavern sign;\n\n\u2003A buckler had he made with a loaf of bread."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "\u2003With him there rode a gentle pardoner\n\n\u2003Of Rouncival, his friend and his companion,\n\n\u2003Who straight was come from the court of Rome.\n\n\u2003Full loud he sang, \"Come hither, love, to me.\"\n\n\u2003The summoner joined in with a strong bass voice,\n\n\u2003No trumpet made half so much noise.\n\n\u2003This pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,\n\n\u2003But in truth it hung, as does a spray of flax;\n\n\u2003In thin strands hung the locks that he had,\n\n\u2003And therewith his shoulders overspread;\n\n\u2003But thin it lay in small locks one by one;\n\n\u2003But hood, for fashion's sake, wore he none,\n\n\u2003For it was packed up in his bag.\n\n\u2003He thought he rode in the newest style;\n\n\u2003With hair loose, save his cap, he rode with head bare.\n\n\u2003Such staring eyes had he as a hare.\n\n\u2003A veronica had he sewn on his cap.\n\n\u2003His bag lay before him in his lap,\n\n\u2003Brimful of pardons, fresh and hot from Rome.\n\n\u2003A voice he had as small as a goat.\n\n\u2003No beard had he, nor ever should have,\n\n\u2003His face was smooth as if it were just shaved:\n\n\u2003I believe he was a gelding or a mare.\n\n\u2003But of his profession, from Berwick to Ware,\n\n\u2003Never was there such another pardoner.\n\n\u2003For in his bag he had a pillowcase,\n\n\u2003That he said was Our Lady's veil.\n\n\u2003He said he had a piece of the sail\n\n\u2003That Saint Peter had, when he strode\n\n\u2003Up-on the see, til Jesu Crist him hente.\n\n\u2003He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones,\n\n\u2003And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.\n\n\u2003But with thise relikes, whan that he fond\n\n\u2003A povre person dwelling up-on lond,\n\n\u2003Up-on a day he gat him more moneye\n\n\u2003Than that the person gat in monthes tweye.\n\n\u2003And thus, with feyned flaterye and japes,\n\n\u2003He made the person and the peple his apes.\n\n\u2003But trewely to tellen, atte laste,\n\n\u2003He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he rede a lessoun or a storie,\n\n\u2003But alderbest he song an offertorie;\n\n\u2003For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe\n\n\u2003He moste preche, and wel affyle his tonge,\n\n\u2003To winne silver, as he ful wel coude;\n\n\u2003Therfore he song so meriely and loude.\n\n\u2003Now have I told you shortly, in a clause,\n\n\u2003Th'estat, th'array, the nombre, and eek the cause\n\n\u2003Why that assembled was this companye\n\n\u2003In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye,\n\n\u2003That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.\n\n\u2003But now is tyme to yow for to telle\n\n\u2003How that we baren us that ilke night,\n\n\u2003Whan we were in that hostelrye alight.\n\n\u2003And after wol I telle of our viage,\n\n\u2003And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage.\n\n\u2003But first I pray yow, of your curteisye,\n\n\u2003That ye n'arette it nat my vileinye,\n\n\u2003Thogh that I pleynly speke in this matere,\n\n\u2003To telle yow hir wordes and his chere;\n\n\u2003Ne thogh I speke hir wordes properly.\n\n\u2003For this ye knowen al-so wel as I,\n\n\u2003Who-so shal telle a tale after a man,\n\n\u2003He moot reherce, as ny as ever he can,\n\n\u2003Everich a word, if it be in his charge,\n\n\u2003Al speke he never so rudeliche and large;\n\n\u2003Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe,\n\n\u2003Or feyne thing, or finde wordes newe.\n\n\u2003Upon the sea, till Jesus Christ of him took hold.\n\n\u2003He had a cross of metal, full of gems,\n\n\u2003And in a glass jar he had pig's bones.\n\n\u2003But with these relics, when he found\n\n\u2003A poor parson dwelling in the country\n\n\u2003In one day he made himself more money\n\n\u2003Than that parson got in two months.\n\n\u2003And thus, with feigned flattery and tricks\n\n\u2003He made the parson and the people his fools.\n\n\u2003But truth to tell, at last,\n\n\u2003He was in church a noble preacher.\n\n\u2003Well could he read a devotional lesson or story,\n\n\u2003But best of all he sang an offertory;\n\n\u2003For well he knew, when that song was sung,\n\n\u2003He must preach, and file smooth his tongue\n\n\u2003To win silver, as he full well could\u2014\n\n\u2003Therefore he sang both merrily and loud.\n\n\u2003Now have I told you truly, in brief,\n\n\u2003The calling, the appearance, the number and the reason\n\n\u2003Why assembled was this company\n\n\u2003In Southwark, at this good hostelry,\n\n\u2003By name of the Tabard, nearby the Bell.\n\n\u2003But now is the time for me to tell\n\n\u2003How we conducted ourselves that same night,\n\n\u2003When we were in that hostelry settled;\n\n\u2003And after will I tell of our journey,\n\n\u2003And all the remainder of our pilgrimage.\n\n\u2003But first I pray you, of your courtesy,\n\n\u2003That you not take it as my bad manners\n\n\u2003Even though I speak plainly in this matter,\n\n\u2003To tell you their words and their behavior\n\n\u2003Even though I speak their words verbatim.\n\n\u2003For this you all know as well as I:\n\n\u2003Whoso shall tell a tale heard from another man\n\n\u2003He must repeat closely as he can\n\n\u2003Every word, if it be in his charge,\n\n\u2003However rough or rude,\n\n\u2003Or else he must tell his tale untrue,\n\n\u2003Or make it up, or find words new.\n\n\u2003He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother;\n\n\u2003He moot as wel seye o word as another.\n\n\u2003Crist spake him-self ful brode in holy writ,\n\n\u2003And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it.\n\n\u2003Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede,\n\n\u2003The wordes mote be cosin to the dede.\n\n\u2003Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,\n\n\u2003Al have I nat set folk in hir degree\n\n\u2003Here in this tale, as that they sholde stonde;\n\n\u2003My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.\n\n\u2003Greet chere made our hoste us everichon,\n\n\u2003And to the soper sette us anon;\n\n\u2003And served us with vitaille at the beste.\n\n\u2003Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us leste.\n\n\u2003A semely man our hoste was with-alle\n\n\u2003For to han been a marshal in an halle;\n\n\u2003A large man he was with eyen stepe,\n\n\u2003A fairer burgeys is ther noon in Chepe:\n\n\u2003Bold of his speche, and wys, and wel y-taught,\n\n\u2003And of manhod him lakkede right naught.\n\n\u2003Eek therto he was right a mery man,\n\n\u2003And after soper pleyen he bigan,\n\n\u2003And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges,\n\n\u2003Whan that we hadde maad our rekeninges;\n\n\u2003And seyde thus: \"Now, lordinges, trewely,\n\n\u2003Ye been to me right welcome hertely:\n\n\u2003For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,\n\n\u2003I ne saugh this yeer so mery a companye\n\n\u2003At ones in this herberwe as is now.\n\n\u2003Fayn wolde I doon yow mirthe, wiste I how.\n\n\u2003And of a mirthe I am right now bithoght,\n\n\u2003To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.\n\n\u2003Ye goon to Caunterbury; God yow spede,\n\n\u2003The blisful martir quyte yow your mede.\n\n\u2003And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye,\n\n\u2003Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;\n\n\u2003For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon\n\n\u2003To ryde by the weye doumb as a stoon;\n\n\u2003And therfore wol I maken yow disport,\n\n\u2003He may not hold back, even to spare his brother,\n\n\u2003He must say as well one word as another.\n\n\u2003Christ himself spoke down-to-earth in Holy Writ,\n\n\u2003And well you know, no vulgarity is in it.\n\n\u2003And Plato says, who can him read,\n\n\u2003The words must be cousin to the deed.\n\n\u2003Also I pray you to forgive me,\n\n\u2003That I have not described the folk\n\n\u2003Here in this tale, in order of their rank;\n\n\u2003My wit is short, you may well understand.\n\n\u2003Very welcome our Host made us everyone,\n\n\u2003And to the supper he set us anon;\n\n\u2003He served us the best of food.\n\n\u2003Strong was the wine, and it pleased us to drink.\n\n\u2003Perfect for his work was our host withal\n\n\u2003For he'd presided over a noble's great hall;\n\n\u2003A large man he was with protruding eyes\u2014\n\n\u2003No better burgher was there in all Cheapside.\n\n\u2003Bold of his speech, and wise, and well-taught,\n\n\u2003And of manhood he lacked right nought.\n\n\u2003And also he was truly a merry man,\n\n\u2003And after supper to jest he began,\n\n\u2003And spoke of mirth among many other things\u2014\n\n\u2003After we had paid our bills\u2014\n\n\u2003And said thus, \"Now lords, truly,\n\n\u2003You are to me right welcome, heartily.\n\n\u2003For by my troth, I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003I've not seen this year so merry a company\n\n\u2003At one time in this inn as is now.\n\n\u2003Happily would I offer some merriment, knew I how,\n\n\u2003And of such I have just now thought\n\n\u2003To give you pleasure, and it shall cost nought.\n\n\u2003You go to Canterbury\u2014God you speed;\n\n\u2003And may the blissful martyr reward your deed.\n\n\u2003And well I know, as you go your way,\n\n\u2003That you make plans to share some tales;\n\n\u2003For truly, pleasure or merriment is there none\n\n\u2003To ride along as dumb as stone;\n\n\u2003And therefore will I make you a game,\n\n\u2003As I seyde erst, and doon you som confort.\n\n\u2003And if yow lyketh alle, by oon assent,\n\n\u2003Now for to stonden at my judgment,\n\n\u2003And for to werken as I shal yow seye,\n\n\u2003To-morwe, whan ye ryden by the weye,\n\n\u2003Now, by my fader soule, that is deed,\n\n\u2003But ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed.\n\n\u2003Hold up your hond, withouten more speche.\"\n\n\u2003Our counseil was nat longe for to seche;\n\n\u2003Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys,\n\n\u2003And graunted him withouten more avys,\n\n\u2003And bad him seye his verdit, as him leste.\n\n\u2003\"Lordinges,\" quod he, \"now herkneth for the beste;\n\n\u2003But tak it not, I prey yow, in desdeyn;\n\n\u2003This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,\n\n\u2003That ech of yow, to shorte with your weye,\n\n\u2003In this viage, shal telle tales tweye,\n\n\u2003To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,\n\n\u2003And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two,\n\n\u2003Of aventures that whylom han bifalle.\n\n\u2003And which of yow that bereth him best of alle,\n\n\u2003That is to seyn, that telleth in this cas\n\n\u2003Tales of best sentence and most solas,\n\n\u2003Shal have a soper at our aller cost\n\n\u2003Here in this place, sitting by this post,\n\n\u2003Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.\n\n\u2003And for to make yow the more mery,\n\n\u2003I wol my-selven gladly with yow ryde,\n\n\u2003Right at myn owne cost, and be your gyde.\n\n\u2003And who-so wol my jugement withseye\n\n\u2003Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.\n\n\u2003And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so,\n\n\u2003Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo,\n\n\u2003And I wol erly shape me therfore.\"\n\n\u2003This thing was graunted, and our othes swore\n\n\u2003With ful glad herte, and preyden him also\n\n\u2003That he wold vouche-sauf for to do so,\n\n\u2003And that he wolde been our governour,\n\n\u2003And of our tales juge and reportour,\n\n\u2003As I said before, and have some fun.\n\n\u2003And if it pleases you all, with one voice,\n\n\u2003Now to abide by my judgement,\n\n\u2003And to proceed as I will now say,\n\n\u2003Tomorrow, when you set out on your way\u2014\n\n\u2003Now by my father's soul who is dead\u2014\n\n\u2003Unless you be merry, I will give you my head.\n\n\u2003Hold up your hands, without more speech.\"\n\n\u2003We needed not long to agree;\n\n\u2003We thought it not worth too long a ponder,\n\n\u2003And granted his terms without thinking longer,\n\n\u2003And bade him say his verdict as he pleased.\n\n\u2003\"Lords,\" said he, \"now listen well,\n\n\u2003But take it not, I pray you, wrong.\n\n\u2003This is the point, to speak short and plain:\n\n\u2003That each of you, to shorten our journey,\n\n\u2003In this journey shall tell tales two,\n\n\u2003Toward Canterbury, that is,\n\n\u2003And homeward each another two shall tell\n\n\u2003Of adventures that once upon a time you befell.\n\n\u2003And whichever of you does best of all,\n\n\u2003That is to say, who tells to this end\n\n\u2003Tales of best wisdom, instruction and delight,\n\n\u2003Shall have a supper on the rest of us\n\n\u2003Here in this place, this same site,\n\n\u2003When we come again from Canterbury.\n\n\u2003And for to make you the more merry,\n\n\u2003I will myself gladly with you ride,\n\n\u2003Right at my own cost, and be your guide.\n\n\u2003And whoso will my judgement naysay\n\n\u2003Shall pay all we spend along the way.\n\n\u2003And if you grant that it be so,\n\n\u2003Tell me anon, without words more,\n\n\u2003And I will myself quickly prepare.\"\n\n\u2003This thing was agreed, and our oaths sworn\n\n\u2003With full glad heart, and we begged him also\n\n\u2003That he would be willing to do so,\n\n\u2003And that he would be our governor\n\n\u2003And of our tales judge and referee,\n\n\u2003And sette a soper at a certeyn prys;\n\n\u2003And we wold reuled been at his devys,\n\n\u2003In heigh and lowe; and thus, by oon assent,\n\n\u2003We been acorded to his jugement.\n\n\u2003And ther-up-on the wyn was fet anon;\n\n\u2003We dronken, and to reste wente echon,\n\n\u2003With-outen any lenger taryinge.\n\n\u2003A-morwe, whan that day bigan to springe,\n\n\u2003Up roos our host, and was our aller cok,\n\n\u2003And gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok,\n\n\u2003And forth we riden, a litel more than pas,\n\n\u2003Un-to the watering of seint Thomas.\n\n\u2003And there our host bigan his hors areste,\n\n\u2003And seyde; \"Lordinges, herkneth, if yow leste.\n\n\u2003Ye woot your forward, and I it yow recorde.\n\n\u2003If even-song and morwe-song acorde,\n\n\u2003Lat see now who shal telle the firste tale.\n\n\u2003As ever mote I drinke wyn or ale,\n\n\u2003Who-so be rebel to my jugement\n\n\u2003Shal paye for al that by the weye is spent.\n\n\u2003Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twinne;\n\n\u2003He which that hath the shortest shal biginne.\n\n\u2003Sire knight,\" quod he, \"my maister and my lord\n\n\u2003Now draweth cut, for that is myn acord.\n\n\u2003Cometh neer,\" quod he, \"my lady prioresse;\n\n\u2003And ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfastnesse,\n\n\u2003Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man.\"\n\n\u2003Anon to drawen every wight bigan,\n\n\u2003And shortly for to tellen, as it was,\n\n\u2003Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,\n\n\u2003The sothe is this, the cut fil to the knight,\n\n\u2003Of which ful blythe and glad was every wight;\n\n\u2003And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,\n\n\u2003By forward and by composicioun,\n\n\u2003As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?\n\n\u2003And whan this gode man saugh it was so,\n\n\u2003As he that wys was and obedient\n\n\u2003To kepe his forward by his free assent,\n\n\u2003He seyde: \"Sin I shal beginne the game,\n\n\u2003And set a supper at a certain price;\n\n\u2003And we would be governed by his word\n\n\u2003In every way; and thus, by one assent,\n\n\u2003We agreed to his judgement.\n\n\u2003And thereupon the wine was fetched anon;\n\n\u2003We drank, and to bed went each one,\n\n\u2003Without any longer tarrying.\n\n\u2003In the morning, when day began to spring,\n\n\u2003Up rose our host, and was for all our rooster,\n\n\u2003And gathered us together, all in a flock;\n\n\u2003And forth we rode, at a trot,\n\n\u2003To Saint Thomas a Watering,\n\n\u2003And there our host stopped his horse,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Lords, harken, if you please.\n\n\u2003You know our agreement, and so\n\n\u2003If evensong and morningsong agree,\n\n\u2003Let's see now who shall tell the first tale.\n\n\u2003And surely as I may ever drink wine or ale,\n\n\u2003Whoso rebels against my judgement\n\n\u2003Shall pay for all that on the road we spend.\n\n\u2003Now draw lots, before we further go;\n\n\u2003He that has the shortest shall begin.\n\n\u2003Sir Knight,\" said he, \"my master and my lord\n\n\u2003Now draw your straw, for that is my word.\n\n\u2003Come nearer,\" said he, \"my lady Prioress;\n\n\u2003And you, sir Scholar, forget your shyness,\n\n\u2003And study not. Lay hand to, every man!\"\n\n\u2003At once to draw every person began,\n\n\u2003And shortly to tell it as it was,\n\n\u2003Were it by chance, or fortune or fate,\n\n\u2003The truth is, the lot fell to the Knight,\n\n\u2003Of which full blithe and glad was every person;\n\n\u2003And tell he must his tale, as was right,\n\n\u2003By agreement and arrangement,\n\n\u2003As you have heard. Who needs more words?\n\n\u2003And when this good man saw it was so,\n\n\u2003As he was wise and willing\n\n\u2003To keep his word\n\n\u2003He said, \"Since I shall begin the game,\n\n\u2003What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name!\n\n\u2003Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word we riden forth our weye;\n\n\u2003And he bigan with right a mery chere\n\n\u2003His tale anon, and seyde in this manere.\n\n\u2003Why, welcome be my lot, in God's name!\n\n\u2003Now let us ride, and hear what I say.\u00c6\n\n\u2003And with that we rode forth on our way:\n\n\u2003And he began with right merry cheer\n\n\u2003His tale anon, and said as you may hear."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Knightes Tale",
                "text": "\u2003Whylom, as olde stories tellen us,\n\n\u2003Ther was a duk that highte Theseus;\n\n\u2003Of Athenes he was lord and governour,\n\n\u2003And in his tyme swich a conquerour,\n\n\u2003That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.\n\n\u2003Ful many a riche contree hadde he wonne;\n\n\u2003What with his wisdom and his chivalrye,\n\n\u2003He conquered al the regne of Femenye,\n\n\u2003That whylom was y-cleped Scithia;\n\n\u2003And weddede the quene Ipolita,\n\n\u2003And broghte hir hoom with him in his contree\n\n\u2003With muchel glorie and greet solempnitee,\n\n\u2003And eek hir yonge suster Emelye.\n\n\u2003And thus with victorie and with melodye\n\n\u2003Lete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,\n\n\u2003And al his hoost, in armes, him bisyde.\n\n\u2003And certes, if it nere to long to here,\n\n\u2003I wolde han told yow fully the manere,\n\n\u2003How wonnen was the regne of Femenye\n\n\u2003By Theseus, and by his chivalrye;\n\n\u2003And of the grete bataille for the nones\n\n\u2003Bitwixen Athen\u00ebs and Amazones;\n\n\u2003And how asseged was Ipolita,\n\n\u2003The faire hardy quene of Scithia;\n\n\u2003And of the feste that was at hir weddinge,\n\n\u2003And of the tempest at hir hoom-cominge;\n\n\u2003But al that thing I moot as now forbere.\n\n\u2003I have, God woot, a large feeld to ere,\n\n\u2003And wayke been the oxen in my plough."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Knight's Tale",
                "text": "\u2003Once upon a time, as old stories tell us,\n\n\u2003There was a duke named Theseus;\n\n\u2003Of Athens he was a lord and governor,\n\n\u2003And in his time such a conqueror,\n\n\u2003That greater was there none under the sun.\n\n\u2003Full many a rich country had he won;\n\n\u2003What with his wisdom and his ability,\n\n\u2003He had conquered all the Amazons' realm,\n\n\u2003That once was called Scythia,\n\n\u2003And wedded the queen Hyppolyta,\n\n\u2003And brought her home with him to his country\n\n\u2003With much glory and great ceremony,\n\n\u2003And also her young sister Emily.\n\n\u2003And thus with victory and with melody\n\n\u2003Let I this noble duke to Athens ride,\n\n\u2003And all his host, in arms, him beside.\n\n\u2003And certainly, if it were not too long to hear,\n\n\u2003I would have told you fully the manner\n\n\u2003How won was the Amazons' realm\n\n\u2003By Theseus, and by his fellow knights\n\n\u2003And of the decisive, great battle\n\n\u2003Between Athens and the Amazons;\n\n\u2003And how besieged was Hyppolyta,\n\n\u2003The fair, brave queen of Scythia;\n\n\u2003And of the feast at their wedding,\n\n\u2003And of the tempest at their homecoming;\n\n\u2003But all that I must for now forebear.\n\n\u2003I have, God knows, a large field to harrow,\n\n\u2003And weak be the oxen in my plough.\n\n\u2003The remenant of the tale is long y-nough.\n\n\u2003I wol nat letten eek noon of this route;\n\n\u2003Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,\n\n\u2003And lat see now who shal the soper winne;\n\n\u2003And ther I lefte, I wol ageyn biginne.\n\n\u2003This duk, of whom I make mencioun,\n\n\u2003When he was come almost unto the toun,\n\n\u2003In al his wele and in his moste pryde,\n\n\u2003He was war, as he caste his eye asyde,\n\n\u2003Wher that ther kneeled in the hye weye\n\n\u2003A companye of ladies, tweye and tweye,\n\n\u2003Ech after other, clad in clothes blake;\n\n\u2003But swich a cry and swich a wo they make,\n\n\u2003That in this world nis creature livinge,\n\n\u2003That herde swich another weymentinge;\n\n\u2003And of this cry they nolde never stenten,\n\n\u2003Til they the reynes of his brydel henten.\n\n\u2003\"What folk ben ye, that at myn hoom-cominge\n\n\u2003Perturben so my feste with cryinge?\"\n\n\u2003Quod Theseus, \"have ye so greet envye\n\n\u2003Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crye?\n\n\u2003Or who hath yow misboden, or offended?\n\n\u2003And telleth me if it may been amended;\n\n\u2003And why that ye ben clothed thus in blak?\"\n\n\u2003The eldest lady of hem alle spak,\n\n\u2003When she hadde swowned with a deedly chere,\n\n\u2003That it was routhe for to seen and here,\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"Lord, to whom Fortune had yiven\n\n\u2003Victorie, and as a conquerour to liven,\n\n\u2003Noght greveth us your glorie and your honour;\n\n\u2003But we biseken mercy and socour.\n\n\u2003Have mercy on our wo and our distresse.\n\n\u2003Som drope of pitee, thurgh thy gentilesse,\n\n\u2003Up-on us wrecched wommen lat thou falle.\n\n\u2003For certes, lord, ther nis noon of us alle,\n\n\u2003That she nath been a duchesse or a quene;\n\n\u2003Now be we caitifs, as it is wel sene:\n\n\u2003Thanked be Fortune, and hir false wheel,\n\n\u2003The rest of the tale is long enough.\n\n\u2003I will not hinder any of this company;\n\n\u2003Let every fellow tell his tale in turn,\n\n\u2003And let us see who shall the supper win;\n\n\u2003And where I left off, I shall again begin.\n\n\u2003This duke, of whom I made mention,\n\n\u2003When he was come almost to the town,\n\n\u2003In all his happy success and in his pride,\n\n\u2003He was aware, as he cast his glance aside,\n\n\u2003That there knelt in the highway\n\n\u2003A group of ladies, two by two,\n\n\u2003Each after the other, clad in clothes black;\n\n\u2003But such a cry and such a woe they made\n\n\u2003That in this world there is no creature living\n\n\u2003Who has heard such lamenting;\n\n\u2003And of this crying they would not cease,\n\n\u2003Till the reins of his bridle they had seized.\n\n\u2003\"What folk be you, that at my homecoming\n\n\u2003You disturb so my parade with crying?\"\n\n\u2003Said Theseus. \"Have you so great envy\n\n\u2003Of my honor, that you thus complain and cry?\n\n\u2003Or who has you harmed, insulted or offended?\n\n\u2003And tell me if it may be amended,\n\n\u2003And why you thus be clothed in black.\"\n\n\u2003The eldest lady of them all spoke,\n\n\u2003After almost fainting\u2014she so looked like death\n\n\u2003That it was a pity to see and hear.\n\n\u2003She said, \"Lord, to whom Fortune has given\n\n\u2003Victory, and as a conqueror to live,\n\n\u2003We don't begrudge your glory and your honor,\n\n\u2003But we beseech mercy and succor.\n\n\u2003Have mercy on our woe and our distress.\n\n\u2003Let fall some drop of pity, through your nobility,\n\n\u2003Upon us wretched women.\n\n\u2003For surely, lord, there is none of us all,\n\n\u2003Who has not been a duchess or a queen;\n\n\u2003Now we be wretches, as is well seen,\n\n\u2003Thanked be Fortune and her false wheel\n\n\u2003That noon estat assureth to be weel.\n\n\u2003And certes, lord, t'abyden your presence,\n\n\u2003Here in the temple of the goddesse Clemence\n\n\u2003We han been waytinge al this fourtenight;\n\n\u2003Now help us, lord, sith it is in thy might.\n\n\u2003I wrecche, which that wepe and waille thus,\n\n\u2003Was whylom wyf to king Capaneus,\n\n\u2003That starf at Thebes, cursed be that day!\n\n\u2003And alle we, that been in this array,\n\n\u2003And maken al this lamentacioun,\n\n\u2003We losten alle our housbondes at that toun,\n\n\u2003Whyl that the sege ther-aboute lay.\n\n\u2003And yet now th' olde Creon, weylaway!\n\n\u2003The lord is now of Thebes the citee,\n\n\u2003Fulfild of ire and of iniquitee,\n\n\u2003He, for despyt, and for his tirannye,\n\n\u2003To do the dede bodyes vileinye,\n\n\u2003Of alle our lordes, whiche that ben slawe,\n\n\u2003Hath alle the bodyes on an heep y-drawe,\n\n\u2003And wol nat suffren hem, by noon assent,\n\n\u2003Neither to been y-buried nor y-brent,\n\n\u2003But maketh houndes ete hem in despyt.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word, with-outen more respyt,\n\n\u2003They fillen gruf, and cryden pitously.\n\n\u2003\"Have on us wrecched wommen som mercy,\n\n\u2003And lat our sorwe sinken in thyn herte.\"\n\n\u2003This gentil duk doun from his courser sterte\n\n\u2003With herte pitous, whan he herde hem speke.\n\n\u2003Him thoughte that his herte wolde breke,\n\n\u2003Whan he saugh hem so pitous and so mat,\n\n\u2003That whylom weren of so greet estat.\n\n\u2003And in his armes he hem alle up hente,\n\n\u2003And hem conforteth in ful good entente;\n\n\u2003And swoor his ooth, as he was trewe knight,\n\n\u2003He wolde doon so ferforthly his might\n\n\u2003Up-on the tyraunt Creon hem to wreke,\n\n\u2003That al the peple of Grece, sholde speke\n\n\u2003How Creon was of Theseus y-served,\n\n\u2003As he that hadde his deeth ful wel deserved.\n\n\u2003Who makes sure that no life will always be secure.\n\n\u2003And indeed, lord, for your return,\n\n\u2003Here in this temple of the goddess Mercy\n\n\u2003We have been waiting all this fortnight;\n\n\u2003Now help us, lord, since it is in your might.\n\n\u2003I, wretch, who weep and wail thus,\n\n\u2003Was once wife to king Capaneus,\n\n\u2003Who died at Thebes\u2014cursed be that day!\n\n\u2003And all we who be in this state\n\n\u2003And make all this lamentation,\n\n\u2003We lost all our husbands at that town\n\n\u2003While under siege it lay\n\n\u2003And yet now old Creon, wellaway,\n\n\u2003Who lord is now of Thebes the city,\n\n\u2003Brimful of malice and spite,\n\n\u2003He, for spite and tyranny,\n\n\u2003To dishonor the dead bodies\n\n\u2003Of all our lords who were slain,\n\n\u2003Has piled up all the bodies in a heap,\n\n\u2003And would not allow them, by his leave,\n\n\u2003To be buried or be burned,\n\n\u2003But maliciously set the dogs on them to eat.\"\n\n\u2003And with those words, and without more said,\n\n\u2003They fell forward face down and cried piteously,\n\n\"Have on us wretched women some mercy,\n\n\u2003And let our sore sink in your heart.\"\n\n\u2003This gentle duke down from his horse leapt\n\n\u2003With heart merciful, pitying, when he heard them speak.\n\n\u2003He thought that his heart would break,\n\n\u2003When he saw them so pitiful and so bleak,\n\n\u2003Who once were of so great estate.\n\n\u2003And in his arms he them each took,\n\n\u2003And comforted them as best he could;\n\n\u2003And swore his oath, as he was a true knight,\n\n\u2003He would use all his might\n\n\u2003Upon the tyrant Creon him to wreak,\n\n\u2003That all the people of Greece should speak\n\n\u2003How Creon was by Theseus well-served\n\n\u2003And he his death full well deserved.\n\n\u2003And right anoon, with-outen more abood,\n\n\u2003His baner he desplayeth, and foorth rood\n\n\u2003To Thebes-ward, and al his host bisyde;\n\n\u2003No neer Athenes wolde he go ne ryde,\n\n\u2003Ne take his ese fully half a day,\n\n\u2003But onward on his wey that night he lay;\n\n\u2003And sente anoon Ipolita the quene,\n\n\u2003And Emelye hir yonge suster shene,\n\n\u2003Un-to the toun of Athen\u00ebs to dwelle;\n\n\u2003And forth he rit; ther nis namore to telle.\n\n\u2003The rede statue of Mars, with spere and targe,\n\n\u2003So shyneth in his whyte baner large,\n\n\u2003That alle the feeldes gliteren up and doun;\n\n\u2003And by his baner born is his penoun\n\n\u2003Of gold ful riche, in which ther was y-bete\n\n\u2003The Minotaur, which that he slough in Crete.\n\n\u2003Thus rit this duk, thus rit this conquerour,\n\n\u2003And in his host of chivalrye the flour,\n\n\u2003Til that he cam to Thebes, and alighte\n\n\u2003Faire in a feeld, ther as he thoghte fighte.\n\n\u2003But shortly for to speken of this thing,\n\n\u2003With Creon, which that was of Thebes king,\n\n\u2003He faught, and slough him manly as a knight\n\n\u2003In pleyn bataille, and putte the folk to flight;\n\n\u2003And by assaut he wan the citee after,\n\n\u2003And rente adoun bothe wal, and sparre, and rafter;\n\n\u2003And to the ladyes he restored agayn\n\n\u2003The bones of hir housbondes that were slayn,\n\n\u2003To doon obsequies, as was tho the gyse.\n\n\u2003But it were al to long for to devyse\n\n\u2003The grete clamour and the waymentinge\n\n\u2003That the ladyes made at the brenninge\n\n\u2003Of the bodyes, and the grete honour\n\n\u2003That Theseus, the noble conquerour,\n\n\u2003Doth to the ladyes, whan they from him wente;\n\n\u2003But shortly for to telle is myn entente.\n\n\u2003Whan that this worthy duk, this Theseus,\n\n\u2003Hath Creon slayn, and wonne Thebes thus,\n\n\u2003Stille in that feeld he took al night his reste,\n\n\u2003And right anon, without more delay,\n\n\u2003His banner he displayed, and forth rode\n\n\u2003Thebesward, and all his host of men beside.\n\n\u2003No nearer Athens would he walk nor ride,\n\n\u2003Nor take his ease even half a day,\n\n\u2003But onward on his way that night he lay,\n\n\u2003And sent anon Hyppolyta the queen\n\n\u2003And Emily, her young sister fair,\n\n\u2003Unto the town of Athens to dwell;\n\n\u2003And forth he rode, there is no more to tell.\n\n\u2003The red statue of Mars, with spear and shield,\n\n\u2003So shines in his white banner large\n\n\u2003That all the fields glitter up and down;\n\n\u2003And by his banner borne is his pennant\n\n\u2003Of gold full rich, and embroidered in it\n\n\u2003The Minotaur, that he slew in Crete.\n\n\u2003Thus rode this duke, thus rode this conqueror\n\n\u2003And in his host rode knighthood's flower,\n\n\u2003Till that he came to Thebes, and alighted\n\n\u2003In a field, where he thought to fight.\n\n\u2003But to make a long story short\n\n\u2003With Creon, who was Thebes' king,\n\n\u2003He fought, and slew him manly, boldly as a knight\n\n\u2003In open battle, and put the rest to flight;\n\n\u2003And by assault he won the city after,\n\n\u2003And tore down wall and beam and rafter;\n\n\u2003And to the ladies he restored again\n\n\u2003The bones of their husbands who were slain,\n\n\u2003To do obsequies, as then was the custom.\n\n\u2003But it would take too long to relate\n\n\u2003The great clamor and the lamentation\n\n\u2003That the ladies made at the burning\n\n\u2003Of the bodies, and the great honor\n\n\u2003That Theseus, the noble conqueror,\n\n\u2003Did to the ladies, when they from him went;\n\n\u2003But to make it short is my intent.\n\n\u2003When that this worthy duke, this Theseus,\n\n\u2003Had Creon slain and won Thebes thus,\n\n\u2003Still in that field he took all night his rest,\n\n\u2003And dide with al the contree as him leste.\n\n\u2003To ransake in the tas of bodyes dede,\n\n\u2003Hem for to strepe of harneys and of wede,\n\n\u2003The pilours diden bisinesse and cure,\n\n\u2003After the bataille and disconfiture.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that in the tas they founde,\n\n\u2003Thurgh-girt with many a grevous blody wounde,\n\n\u2003Two yonge knightes ligging by and by,\n\n\u2003Bothe in oon armes, wroght ful richely,\n\n\u2003Of whiche two, Arcita hight that oon,\n\n\u2003And that other knight hight Palamon.\n\n\u2003Nat fully quike, ne fully dede they were,\n\n\u2003But by hir cote-armures, and by hir gere,\n\n\u2003The heraudes knewe hem best in special,\n\n\u2003As they that weren of the blood royal\n\n\u2003Of Thebes, and of sustren two y-born.\n\n\u2003Out of the tas the pilours han hem torn,\n\n\u2003And han hem caried softe un-to the tente\n\n\u2003Of Theseus, and he ful sone hem sente\n\n\u2003To Athen\u00ebs, to dwellen in prisoun\n\n\u2003Perpetuelly, he nolde no raunsoun.\n\n\u2003And whan this worthy duk hath thus y-don,\n\n\u2003He took his host, and hoom he rood anon\n\n\u2003With laurer crowned as a conquerour;\n\n\u2003And there he liveth, in joye and in honour,\n\n\u2003Terme of his lyf; what nedeth wordes mo?\n\n\u2003And in a tour, in angwish and in wo,\n\n\u2003Dwellen this Palamoun and eek Arcite,\n\n\u2003For evermore, ther may no gold hem quyte.\n\n\u2003This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,\n\n\u2003Til it fil ones, in a morwe of May,\n\n\u2003That Emelye, that fairer was to sene\n\n\u2003Than is the lile upon his stalke grene,\n\n\u2003And fressher than the May with floures newe\n\n\u2003For with the rose colour stroof hir hewe,\n\n\u2003I noot which was the fairer of hem two\u2014\n\n\u2003Er it were day, as was hir wone to do,\n\n\u2003She was arisen, and al redy dight;\n\n\u2003For May wol have no slogardye a-night.\n\n\u2003And did with all the country as he wished.\n\n\u2003To go through the mound of bodies dead,\n\n\u2003Them to strip of armor and clothes,\n\n\u2003The pillagers worked fast and well\n\n\u2003After the battle and defeat.\n\n\u2003And so befell, that in that mound they found,\n\n\u2003Pierced through with many a grievous bloody wound,\n\n\u2003Two young knights lying side by side,\n\n\u2003Both with the same coat of arms, wrought full richly,\n\n\u2003Of which two, one was named Arcita,\n\n\u2003And the other knight was called Palamon.\n\n\u2003Not fully alive nor fully dead they were,\n\n\u2003But by their emblems and their gear,\n\n\u2003The heralds knew especially well\n\n\u2003That they were of the blood royal\n\n\u2003Of Thebes, and of two sisters born.\n\n\u2003Out of the mound the pillagers tore them\n\n\u2003And carried them gently into the tent\n\n\u2003Of Theseus, and he full soon them sent\n\n\u2003To Athens, to dwell in prison\n\n\u2003Perpetually: taking no ransom.\n\n\u2003And when this worthy duke had thus done,\n\n\u2003He took his men, and home he rode anon\n\n\u2003With laurel crowned as a conqueror;\n\n\u2003And there he lived in joy and honor\n\n\u2003The rest of his life; who need say more?\n\n\u2003And in a tower, in anguish and in woe,\n\n\u2003Dwelt Palamon and Arcita\n\n\u2003For evermore, held without ransom.\n\n\u2003This went on year by year and day by day,\n\n\u2003Till it so happened, one morning in May,\n\n\u2003That Emily, who fairer was to see\n\n\u2003Than is the lily upon its stalk of green,\n\n\u2003And fresher than May with its flowers new\u2014\n\n\u2003For with the rose's color strove her complexion's hue,\n\n\u2003I know not which was the fairer of the two\u2014\n\n\u2003Before daylight, as was her wont to do,\n\n\u2003She was arisen and promptly dressed,\n\n\u2003For May at night will have no laziness.\n\n\u2003The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,\n\n\u2003And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte,\n\n\u2003And seith, \"Arys, and do thyn observaunce.\"\n\n\u2003This maked Emelye have remembraunce\n\n\u2003To doon honour to May, and for to ryse.\n\n\u2003Y clothed was she fresh, for to devyse;\n\n\u2003Hir yelow heer was broyded in a tresse,\n\n\u2003Bihinde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse.\n\n\u2003And in the gardin, at the sonne up-riste,\n\n\u2003She walketh up and doun, and as hir liste\n\n\u2003She gadereth floures, party whyte and rede,\n\n\u2003To make a sotil gerland for hir hede,\n\n\u2003And as an aungel hevenly she song.\n\n\u2003The grete tour, that was so thikke and strong,\n\n\u2003Which of the castel was the chief dongeoun,\n\n(Ther-as the knightes weren in prisoun,\n\n\u2003Of whiche I tolde yow, and tellen shal)\n\n\u2003Was evene joynant to the gardin-wal,\n\n\u2003Ther as this Emelye hadde hir pleyinge.\n\n\u2003Bright was the sonne, and cleer that morweninge,\n\n\u2003And Palamon, this woful prisoner,\n\n\u2003As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,\n\n\u2003Was risen, and romed in a chambre on heigh,\n\n\u2003In which he al the noble citee seigh,\n\n\u2003And eek the gardin, ful of braunches grene,\n\n\u2003Ther-as this fresshe Emelye the shene\n\n\u2003Was in hir walk, and romed up and doun.\n\n\u2003This sorweful prisoner, this Palamoun,\n\n\u2003Goth in the chambre, roming to and fro,\n\n\u2003And to him-self compleyning of his wo;\n\n\u2003That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, \"alas!\"\n\n\u2003And so bifel, by aventure or cas,\n\n\u2003That thurgh a window, thikke of many a barre\n\n\u2003Of yren greet, and square as any sparre,\n\n\u2003He caste his eye upon Emelye,\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al he bleynte, and cryde \"a!\"\n\n\u2003As though he stongen were un-to the herte.\n\n\u2003And with that cry Arcite anon up-sterte,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"Cosin myn, what eyleth thee,\n\n\u2003The season pricks every gentle heart,\n\n\u2003And makes each out of sleep to start\n\n\u2003And says, \"Arise, and do your observance.\"\n\n\u2003This made Emily have remembrance\n\n\u2003To do honor to May, and to arise.\n\n\u2003Clothed was she fresh, as I may tell:\n\n\u2003Her yellow hair was braided in a tress\n\n\u2003Behind her back, a yard long, I guess.\n\n\u2003And in a garden, just at sunrise\n\n\u2003She walked up and down, as she pleased\n\n\u2003She gathered flowers, white and red,\n\n\u2003To deftly weave a garland for her head\n\n\u2003And as an angel heavenly she sang.\n\n\u2003The great tower, that was so thick and strong,\n\n\u2003Which of the castle was the chief dungeon\n\n(There the knights were in prison,\n\n\u2003Of whom I told you and shall tell)\n\n\u2003Was just beside the garden wall\n\n\u2003There where Emily had her garden walk.\n\n\u2003Bright was the sun and clear that morning,\n\n\u2003And Palamon, this woeful prisoner,\n\n\u2003As was his wont, by leave of his jailer,\n\n\u2003Was risen and roamed in a chamber on high,\n\n\u2003In which he all the noble city saw,\n\n\u2003And also the garden, full of branches green,\n\n\u2003Where this fresh Emily the fair\n\n\u2003Was in her walk, and roamed up and down.\n\n\u2003This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon,\n\n\u2003Goes in the chamber roaming to and fro,\n\n\u2003And to himself complaining of his woe.\n\n\u2003That he was born, full oft he said, \"Alas!\"\n\n\u2003And so it happened, by accident or chance\n\n\u2003That through a window, thickset with many a bar\n\n\u2003Of iron great and round as any spar,\n\n\u2003He cast his eye upon Emily,\n\n\u2003And therewith he flinched and cried \"Ah!\"\n\n\u2003As though he were stung into the heart.\n\n\u2003And with that cry Arcita anon upstarted\n\n\u2003And said, \"Cousin mine, what ails you,\n\n\u2003That art so pale and deedly on to see?\n\n\u2003Why crydestow? who hath thee doon offence?\n\n\u2003For Goddes love, tak al in pacience\n\n\u2003Our prisoun, for it may non other be;\n\n\u2003Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.\n\n\u2003Som wikke aspect or disposicioun\n\n\u2003Of Saturne, by sum constellacioun,\n\n\u2003Hath yeven us this, al-though we hadde it sworn;\n\n\u2003So stood the heven whan that we were born;\n\n\u2003We moste endure it: this is the short and pleyn.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answerde, and seyde ageyn,\n\n\u2003\"Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun\n\n\u2003Thou hast a veyn imaginacioun.\n\n\u2003This prison caused me nat for to crye.\n\n\u2003But I was hurt right now thurgh-out myn ye\n\n\u2003In-to myn herte, that wol my bane be.\n\n\u2003The fairnesse of that lady that I see\n\n\u2003Yond in the gardin romen to and fro,\n\n\u2003Is cause of al my crying and my wo.\n\n\u2003I noot wher she be womman or goddesse;\n\n\u2003But Venus is it, soothly, as I gesse.\"\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al on knees doun he fil,\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"Venus, if it be thy wil\n\n\u2003Yow in this gardin thus to transfigure\n\n\u2003Bifore me, sorweful wrecche creature,\n\n\u2003Out of this prisoun help that we may scapen.\n\n\u2003And if so be my destinee be shapen\n\n\u2003By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,\n\n\u2003Of our linage have som compassioun,\n\n\u2003That is so lowe y-broght by tirannye.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word Arcite gan espye\n\n\u2003Wher-as this lady romed to and fro.\n\n\u2003And with that sighte hir beautee hurte him so,\n\n\u2003That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,\n\n\u2003Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or more.\n\n\u2003And with a sigh he seyde pitously:\n\n\u2003\"The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly\n\n\u2003Of hir that rometh in the yonder place;\n\n\u2003And, but I have hir mercy and hir grace,\n\n\u2003That you're such a pale and deathly hue?\n\n\u2003Why did you cry? Who has offended you?\n\n\u2003For God's love, take all in patience\n\n\u2003Our prison, for it may not otherwise be;\n\n\u2003Fortune has given us this adversity.\n\n\u2003Some wicked aspect or disposition\n\n\u2003Of Saturn, by some constellation,\n\n\u2003Has given us this, there's nothing we could have done.\n\n\u2003So stood the stars when we were born.\n\n\u2003We must endure it; this is the short and plain.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answered and said again,\n\n\u2003\"Cousin, forsooth, in this opinion\n\n\u2003You have a mistaken imagination.\n\n\u2003This prison caused me not to cry,\n\n\u2003But I was so hurt right now through my eye\n\n\u2003Into my heart, that it will me destroy.\n\n\u2003The fairness of that lady that I see\n\n\u2003Yonder in that garden roaming to and fro\n\n\u2003Is cause of all my crying and my woe.\n\n\u2003I don't know if she is a woman or a goddess,\n\n\u2003But Venus is she truly, as I guess.\"\n\n\u2003And therewithal on his knees down he fell,\n\n\u2003And said: \"Venus, if it be your will\n\n\u2003Yourself in the garden thus to transfigure\n\n\u2003Before me, sorrowful wretched creature,\n\n\u2003Out of this prison help that we may escape.\n\n\u2003And if so be my destiny shaped\n\n\u2003By eternal word to die in prison,\n\n\u2003Of our lineage have some compassion,\n\n\u2003That is so low brought by tyranny.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word Arcita did espy\n\n\u2003Where this lady roamed to and fro;\n\n\u2003And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,\n\n\u2003That, if Palamon was wounded sore,\n\n\u2003Arcita was hurt as much as he, or more.\n\n\u2003And with a sigh he said piteously:\n\n\u2003\"The fresh beauty slays me suddenly\n\n\u2003Of her who roams in yonder place;\n\n\u2003And, unless I have her mercy and her grace,\n\n\u2003That I may seen hir atte leeste weye,\n\n\u2003I nam but deed; ther nis namore to seye.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,\n\n\u2003Dispitously he loked, and answerde:\n\n\u2003\"Whether seistow this in ernest or in pley?\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod Arcite, \"in ernest, by my fey!\n\n\u2003God help me so, me list ful yvele pleye.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon gan knitte his browes tweye:\n\n\u2003\"It nere,\" quod he, \"to thee no greet honour\n\n\u2003For to be fals, ne for to be traytour\n\n\u2003To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother\n\n\u2003Y-sworn ful depe, and each of us til other,\n\n\u2003That never, for to dyen in the peyne,\n\n\u2003Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,\n\n\u2003Neither of us in love to hindren other,\n\n\u2003Ne in non other cas, my leve brother;\n\n\u2003But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me\n\n\u2003In every cas, and I shal forthren thee.\n\n\u2003This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;\n\n\u2003I wot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.\n\n\u2003Thus artow of my counseil, out of doute.\n\n\u2003And now thou woldest falsly been aboute\n\n\u2003To love my lady, whom I love and serve,\n\n\u2003And ever shal, til that myn herte sterve.\n\n\u2003Now certes, fals Arcite, thou shalt nat so.\n\n\u2003I loved hir first, and tolde thee my wo\n\n\u2003As to my counseil, and my brother sworn\n\n\u2003To forthre me, as I have told biforn.\n\n\u2003For which thou are y-bounden as a knight\n\n\u2003To helpen me, if it lay in thy might,\n\n\u2003Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn.\"\n\n\u2003This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn,\n\n\u2003\"Thou shalt,\" quod he, \"be rather fals than I;\n\n\u2003But thou art fals, I telle thee utterly;\n\n\u2003For par amour I loved ir first er thow.\n\n\u2003What wiltow seyn? thou wistest nat yet now\n\n\u2003Whether she be a womman or goddesse!\n\n\u2003Thyn is affeccioun of holinesse,\n\n\u2003And myn is love, as to a creature;\n\n\u2003That I may see her at least,\n\n\u2003I am good as dead; there is no more to say.\"\n\n\u2003Then Palamon, when he those words heard,\n\n\u2003Angrily he looked and answered:\n\n\u2003\"Are you saying this in earnest or in jest?\"\n\n\u2003\"No,\" said Arcita, \"in earnest, by my faith!\n\n\u2003God help me so, I have no desire to joke with you.\"\n\n\u2003Then Palamon knitted his brows two:\n\n\u2003And said he, \"It is not to you any great honor\n\n\u2003To be false, nor to be traitor\n\n\u2003To me, your own cousin and brother\n\n\u2003Sworn in blood, and each of us to the other,\n\n\u2003That never, not even under torture's pain,\n\n\u2003To the death shall we two part,\n\n\u2003Nor in love shall we hinder the other,\n\n\u2003Nor in any other way, my dear brother;\n\n\u2003But that you should stand by me truly\n\n\u2003In every way, as I shall you.\n\n\u2003This was your oath, and mine also, for sure;\n\n\u2003I know right well, you dare not it deny.\n\n\u2003Thus you know my secrets, without doubt,\n\n\u2003And now you would falsely set out\n\n\u2003To love my lady, whom I love and serve,\n\n\u2003And ever shall, till my heart quits.\n\n\u2003Now surely, false Arcita, you won't do it.\n\n\u2003I loved her first, and told you my woe\n\n\u2003As my confidant and my brother sworn\n\n\u2003To stand by me, as I have said before.\n\n\u2003For which you're bound as a knight\n\n\u2003To help me, if it lies in your might,\n\n\u2003Or else you're false, I dare well say.\"\n\n\u2003This Arcita full proudly spoke again:\n\n\u2003\"You shall,\" said he, \"be sooner false than I;\n\n\u2003But you are false, I tell you straight;\n\n\u2003For as flesh and blood I loved her before you.\n\n\u2003What would you say? You don't yet know\n\n\u2003Whether she's a woman or a goddess!\n\n\u2003Yours is affection spiritual,\n\n\u2003And mine is love, as to a creature,\n\n\u2003For which I tolde thee myn aventure\n\n\u2003As to my cosin, and my brother sworn.\n\n\u2003I pose, that thou lovedest hir biforn;\n\n\u2003Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,\n\n\u2003That 'who shal yeve a lover any lawe?'\n\n\u2003Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,\n\n\u2003Than may be yeve to any erthly man.\n\n\u2003And therefore positif lawe and swich decree\n\n\u2003Is broke al-day for love, in ech degree.\n\n\u2003A man moot nedes love, maugree his heed.\n\n\u2003He may nat fleen it, thogh he sholde be deed,\n\n\u2003Al be she mayde, or widwe, or elles wyf.\n\n\u2003And eek it is nat lykly, al thy lyf,\n\n\u2003To stonden in hir grace; namore shal I;\n\n\u2003For wel thou woost thy-selven, verraily,\n\n\u2003That thou and I be dampned to prisoun\n\n\u2003Perpetuelly; us gayneth no raunsoun.\n\n\u2003We stryve as dide the houndes for the boon,\n\n\u2003They foughte al day, and yet hir part was noon;\n\n\u2003Ther cam a kyte, whyl that they were wrothe,\n\n\u2003And bar awey the boon bitwixe hem bothe.\n\n\u2003And therfore, at the kinges court, my brother,\n\n\u2003Ech man for him-self, ther is non other.\n\n\u2003Love if thee list; for I love and ay shal;\n\n\u2003And soothly, leve brother, this is al.\n\n\u2003Here in this prisoun mote we endure,\n\n\u2003And everich of us take his aventure.\"\n\n\u2003Greet was the stryf and long bitwixe hem tweye,\n\n\u2003If that I hadde leyser for to seye;\n\n\u2003But to th' effect. It happed on a day,\n\n(To telle it yow as shortly as I may)\n\n\u2003A worthy duk that highte Perotheus,\n\n\u2003That felawe was un-to duk Theseus\n\n\u2003Sin thilke day that they were children lyte,\n\n\u2003Was come to Athenes, his felawe to visyte,\n\n\u2003And for to pleye, as he was wont to do,\n\n\u2003For in this world he loved no man so:\n\n\u2003And he loved him as tenderly ageyn.\n\n\u2003So wel they loved, as olde bokes seyn,\n\n\u2003For which I told you my adventure\n\n\u2003As to my cousin and my brother sworn.\n\n\u2003But let us say that you loved her first:\n\n\u2003Don't you know the old scholar's saw:\n\n\u2003'Who shall give a lover any law?'\n\n\u2003Love is a greater law, in my mind,\n\n\u2003Than may be given to any earthly man.\n\n\u2003And therefore man's law and such decrees\n\n\u2003Are broken for love every day by everybody.\n\n\u2003A man must love, though his head says no.\n\n\u2003He may not escape it, even if it means dying,\n\n\u2003Whether she's a maid, a widow or else a wife.\n\n\u2003And you're not likely for all your life\n\n\u2003To stand in her grace; no more shall I;\n\n\u2003For well you know yourself, verily,\n\n\u2003That you and I be condemned to prison\n\n\u2003Perpetually; we shall have no ransom.\n\n\u2003We strive as did the hounds for the bone:\n\n\u2003They fought all day, and yet their part was none;\n\n\u2003There came a bird, while they were fighting so,\n\n\u2003And bore away the bone from them both.\n\n\u2003And therefore, at the king's court, my brother,\n\n\u2003Each man for himself: there is no other.\n\n\u2003Love if you will, for I love and always shall;\n\n\u2003And truly, dear brother, this is all.\n\n\u2003Here in this prison must we endure,\n\n\u2003And each of us take what to him comes.\"\n\n\u2003Great was the strife and long between the two,\n\n\u2003And would that I had time to describe\u2014\n\n\u2003But to the outcome. It happened on a day,\n\n\u2003To make it short as I can,\n\n\u2003A worthy duke named Perotheus,\n\n\u2003Who was a friend to duke Theseus\n\n\u2003Since the days when they were children little,\n\n\u2003Was come to Athens his friend to visit,\n\n\u2003And to play as he was wont to do;\n\n\u2003For in this world he loved no man so,\n\n\u2003And Theseus loved him as tenderly in turn.\n\n\u2003So well they loved, as old books say,\n\n\u2003That whan that oon was deed, sothly to telle,\n\n\u2003His felawe wente and soghte him doun in helle;\n\n\u2003But of that story list me nat to wryte.\n\n\u2003Duk Perotheus loved wel Arcite,\n\n\u2003And hadde him knowe at Thebes yeer by yere;\n\n\u2003And fynally, at requeste and preyere\n\n\u2003Of Perotheus, with-oute any raunsoun,\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus him leet out of prisoun,\n\n\u2003Freely to goon, wher that him liste over-al,\n\n\u2003In swich a gyse, as I you tellen shal.\n\n\u2003This was the forward, pleynly for t'endyte,\n\n\u2003Bitwixen Theseus and him Arcite:\n\n\u2003That if so were, that Arcite were y-founde\n\n\u2003Ever in his lyf, by day or night or stounde\n\n\u2003In any contree of this Theseus,\n\n\u2003And he were caught, it was acorded thus,\n\n\u2003That with a swerd he sholde lese his heed;\n\n\u2003Ther nas non other remedye ne reed,\n\n\u2003But taketh his leve, and homward he him spedde;\n\n\u2003Let him be war, his nekke lyth to wedde!\n\n\u2003How greet a sorwe suffreth now Arcite!\n\n\u2003The deeth he feleth thurgh his herte symte;\n\n\u2003He wepeth, wayleth, cryeth pitously;\n\n\u2003To sleen him-self he wayteth prively.\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"Allas that day that I was born!\n\n\u2003Now is my prison worse than biforn;\n\n\u2003Now is me shape eternally to dwelle\n\n\u2003Noght in purgatorie, but in helle.\n\n\u2003Alias! that ever knew I Perotheus\n\n\u2003For elles hadde I dwelled with Theseus\n\n\u2003Y-fetered in his prisoun ever-mo.\n\n\u2003Than hadde I been in blisse, and nat in wo.\n\n\u2003Only the sighte of hir, whom that I serve,\n\n\u2003Though that I never hir grace may deserve,\n\n\u2003Wolde han suffised right y-nough for me.\n\n\u2003O dere cosin Palamon,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Thyn is the victorie of this aventure,\n\n\u2003Ful blisfully in prison maistow dure;\n\n\u2003In prison? certes nay, but in paradys!\n\n\u2003That when one was dead, truly to tell,\n\n\u2003His friend went and sought him down in hell;\n\n\u2003But of that story I don't want to write.\n\n\u2003Duke Perotheus loved Arcita well,\n\n\u2003And had known him at Thebes for many years;\n\n\u2003And finally, at request and prayer\n\n\u2003Of Perotheus, without any ransom,\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus let him out of prison\n\n\u2003Free to go wherever he pleased,\n\n\u2003In such a way as I shall you tell.\n\n\u2003This was the agreement, to plainly write,\n\n\u2003Between Theseus and Arcita:\n\n\u2003That if it happened, that Arcita were found\n\n\u2003Ever in his life, by day or night, for one moment\n\n\u2003In any country of this Theseus,\n\n\u2003And he were caught, it was agreed thus,\n\n\u2003That with a sword he should lose his head;\n\n\u2003With no other choice or remedy\n\n\u2003But to take his leave, and homeward he him speed;\n\n\u2003Let him be warned, his neck lies as a pledge.\n\n\u2003How great a sorrow suffered now Arcita!\n\n\u2003The death he felt through his heart strike,\n\n\u2003He wept, wailed, cried piteously;\n\n\u2003To slay himself he intended secretly.\n\n\u2003He said, \"Alas that day that I was born!\n\n\u2003Now is my prison worse than before!\n\n\u2003Now is my destiny eternally to dwell\n\n\u2003Not in purgatory but in hell.\n\n\u2003Alas, that ever I knew Perotheus!\n\n\u2003For otherwise had I dwelled with Theseus\n\n\u2003Fettered in his prison evermore.\n\n\u2003Then had I been in bliss, and not in woe.\n\n\u2003Only the sight of her whom that I serve,\n\n\u2003Though that I never her grace may deserve,\n\n\u2003Would have sufficed right enough for me.\n\n\u2003O dear cousin Palamon,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Yours is the victory of this adventure\n\n\u2003Full blissfully in prison must you endure.\n\n\u2003In prison? surely not, but in paradise!\n\n\u2003Wel hath fortune y-turned thee the dys,\n\n\u2003That hast the sighte of hir, and I th'absence.\n\n\u2003For possible is, sin thou hast hir presence,\n\n\u2003And art a knight, a worthy and an able,\n\n\u2003That by som cas, sin fortune is chaungeable,\n\n\u2003Thou mayst to thy desyr som-tyme atteyne.\n\n\u2003But I, that am exyled, and bareyne\n\n\u2003Of alle grace, and in so greet despeir,\n\n\u2003That ther nis erthe, water, fyr, ne eir,\n\n\u2003Ne creature, that of hem maked is,\n\n\u2003That may me helpe or doon confort in this:\n\n\u2003Wel oughte I sterve in wanhope and distresse;\n\n\u2003Farwel my lyf, my lust, and my gladnesse!\n\n\u2003Alias, why pleynen folk so in commune\n\n\u2003Of purveyaunce of God, or of fortune,\n\n\u2003That yeveth hem ful ofte in many a gyse\n\n\u2003Wel bettre than they can hem-self devyse?\n\n\u2003Som man desyreth for to han richesse,\n\n\u2003That cause is of his mordre or greet siknesse.\n\n\u2003And som man wolde out of his prison fayn,\n\n\u2003That in his hous is of his meynee slayn.\n\n\u2003Infinite harmes been in this matere;\n\n\u2003We witen nat what thing we preyen here.\n\n\u2003We faren as he that dronke is as a mous;\n\n\u2003A dronke man wot wel he hath an hous,\n\n\u2003But he noot which the righte wey is thider;\n\n\u2003And to a dronke man the wey is slider.\n\n\u2003And certes, in this world so faren we;\n\n\u2003We seken faste after felicitee,\n\n\u2003But we goon wrong ful often, trewely.\n\n\u2003Thus may we seyen alle, and namely I,\n\n\u2003That wende and hadde a greet opinioun,\n\n\u2003That, if I mighte escapen from prisoun,\n\n\u2003Than hadde I been in joye and perfit hele,\n\n\u2003Ther now I am exyled fro my wele.\n\n\u2003Sin that I may nat seen you, Emelye,\n\n\u2003I nam but deed; ther nis no remedye.\"\n\n\u2003Up-on that other syde Palamon,\n\n\u2003Whan that he wiste Arcite was agon,\n\n\u2003Well has Fortune turned the dice,\n\n\u2003That you have the sight of her face, and I her absence.\n\n\u2003For possible is, since you have her presence,\n\n\u2003And are a knight, worthy and able,\n\n\u2003That by some chance, since Fortune is changeable,\n\n\u2003You may your desire sometime attain.\n\n\u2003But I, who am exiled and barren\n\n\u2003Of all grace, and in so great despair\n\n\u2003That there is neither earth, water, fire nor air,\n\n\u2003Nor any creature that of them made is\n\n\u2003That may help me or give me comfort in this,\n\n\u2003Well ought I die in despair and distress.\n\n\u2003Farewell my life, my joy, and my gladness!\n\n\u2003Alas, why complain folk so often\n\n\u2003About Divine Providence, or of Fortune,\n\n\u2003That gives them full often in many a guise\n\n\u2003Well better than they can themselves devise?\n\n\u2003One man may desire to have riches,\n\n\u2003That cause his murder or great sickness.\n\n\u2003Another man would out of his prison gladly be,\n\n\u2003Who in his own house is slain by his enemy.\n\n\u2003Infinite harms be in this matter;\n\n\u2003We know not what thing we pray for.\n\n\u2003We act like someone as drunk as a mouse,\n\n\u2003A drunk man knows well he has a house,\n\n\u2003But he knows not the right way there;\n\n\u2003And to a drunk man the road is all ice.\n\n\u2003And certainly, in this world so fare we;\n\n\u2003We seek always after happiness,\n\n\u2003But we go wrong full often, truly.\n\n\u2003Thus may we all say, and especially I\n\n\u2003Who thought and had a great opinion\n\n\u2003That if I might escape from prison,\n\n\u2003Then I would have been in joy and perfect health,\n\n\u2003Whereas now I am exiled from my felicity.\n\n\u2003Since I may not see you, Emily,\n\n\u2003I am but dead; there is no remedy.\"\n\n\u2003Upon that other side Palamon,\n\n\u2003When he knew Arcita was gone,\n\n\u2003Swich sorwe he maketh, that the grete tour\n\n\u2003Resouneth of his youling and clamour.\n\n\u2003The pure fettres on his shines grete\n\n\u2003Weren of his bittre salte teres wete.\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod he, \"Arcita, cosin myn,\n\n\u2003Of al our stryf, God woot, the fruyt is thyn.\n\n\u2003Thow walkest now in Thebes at thy large,\n\n\u2003And of my wo thou yevest litel charge.\n\n\u2003Thou mayst, sin thou hast wisdom and manhede,\n\n\u2003Assemblen alle the folk of our kinrede,\n\n\u2003And make a werre so sharp on this citee,\n\n\u2003That by som aventure, or some tretee,\n\n\u2003Thou mayst have hir to lady and to wyf,\n\n\u2003For whom that I mot nedes lese my lyf.\n\n\u2003For, as by wey of possibilitee,\n\n\u2003Sith thou art at thy large, of prison free,\n\n\u2003And art a lord, greet is thyn avauntage,\n\n\u2003More than is myn, that sterve here in a cage.\n\n\u2003For I mot wepe and wayle, whyl I live,\n\n\u2003With al the wo that prison may me yive,\n\n\u2003And eek with peyne that love me yiveth also,\n\n\u2003That doubleth al my torment and my wo.\"\n\n\u2003Ther-with the fyr of jelousye up-sterte\n\n\u2003With-inne his brest, and hente him by the herte\n\n\u2003So woodly, that he lyk was to biholde\n\n\u2003The box-tree, or the asshen dede and colde.\n\n\u2003Tho seyde he; \"O cruel goddess, that governe\n\n\u2003This world with binding of your word eterne,\n\n\u2003And wryten in the table of athamaunt\n\n\u2003Your parlement, and your eterne graunt,\n\n\u2003What is mankinde more un-to yow holde\n\n\u2003Than is the sheep, that rouketh in the folde?\n\n\u2003For slayn is man right as another beste,\n\n\u2003And dwelleth eek in prison and areste,\n\n\u2003And hath siknesse, and greet adversitee,\n\n\u2003And ofte tymes giltelees, pardee!\n\n\u2003What governaunce is in this prescience,\n\n\u2003That giltelees tormenteth innocence?\n\n\u2003And yet encreseth this al my penaunce,\n\n\u2003Made such sorrow that the great tower\n\n\u2003Resounded with his yowling and his clamor.\n\n\u2003The very fetters on his swollen limbs\n\n\u2003Were of his bitter salt tears wet.\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said he, \"Arcita, cousin mine,\n\n\u2003Of all our strife, God knows, the fruit is yours.\n\n\u2003You walk freely now in Thebes,\n\n\u2003And to my woe you give little heed.\n\n\u2003You may, since you have wisdom and manhood,\n\n\u2003Assemble all the folk of our kindred,\n\n\u2003And make a war so sharp on this city,\n\n\u2003That by some chance, or some treaty,\n\n\u2003You may have her as your lady and wife,\n\n\u2003For whom that I must needs lose my life.\n\n\u2003For, as by way of possibility,\n\n\u2003Since you are at large, of prison free,\n\n\u2003And are a lord, great is your advantage\n\n\u2003More than mine, dying here in a cage.\n\n\u2003For I must weep and wail, while I live,\n\n\u2003With all the woe that prison may me give,\n\n\u2003And with the pain that love me gives also,\n\n\u2003That doubles all my torment and my woe.\"\n\n\u2003Therewith the fire of jealousy upstarted\n\n\u2003Within his breast, and seized him by the heart\n\n\u2003So tightly, that he was like to behold\n\n\u2003Boxwood blossoms white or ashes dead and cold.\n\n\u2003Then said he, \"O cruel goddess, who governs\n\n\u2003This world with binding of your word eternal,\n\n\u2003And writes in the tablet of adamantine\n\n\u2003Your decision and your eternal decree,\n\n\u2003How is mankind more to you\n\n\u2003Than the sheep that cowers in the fold?\n\n\u2003For slain is man as any other beast,\n\n\u2003And dwells also in prison and arrest,\n\n\u2003And has sickness and great adversity.\n\n\u2003And oftentimes guiltless, certainly!\n\n\u2003What purpose is there in this prescience\n\n\u2003That torments guiltless innocence?\n\n\u2003And vet this increases all my penance,\n\n\u2003That man is bounden to his observaunce,\n\n\u2003For Goddes sake, to letten of his wille,\n\n\u2003Ther as a beest may al his lust fulfille.\n\n\u2003And whan a beest is deed, he hath no peyne;\n\n\u2003But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne,\n\n\u2003Though in this world he have care and wo:\n\n\u2003With-outen doute it may stonden so.\n\n\u2003Th' answere of this I lete to divynis,\n\n\u2003But wel I woot, that in this world gret pyne is.\n\n\u2003Allas! I see a serpent or a theef,\n\n\u2003That many a trewe man hath doon mescheef,\n\n\u2003Goon at his large, and wher him list may turne.\n\n\u2003But I mot been in prison thurgh Saturne,\n\n\u2003And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood,\n\n\u2003That hath destroyed wel ny al the blood\n\n\u2003Of Thebes, with his waste walles wyde.\n\n\u2003And Venus sleeth me on that other syde\n\n\u2003For jelousye, and fere of him Arcite.\"\n\n\u2003Now wol I stinte of Palamon a lyte,\n\n\u2003And lete him in his prison stille dwelle,\n\n\u2003And of Arcita forth I wol yow telle.\n\n\u2003The somer passeth, and the nightes longe\n\n\u2003Encresen double wyse the peynes stronge.\n\n\u2003Bothe of the lovere and the prisoner.\n\n\u2003I noot which hath the wofullere mester.\n\n\u2003For shortly for to seyn, this Palamoun\n\n\u2003Perpetuelly is dampned to prisoun,\n\n\u2003In cheynes and in fettres to ben deed;\n\n\u2003And Arcite is exyled upon his heed\n\n\u2003For ever-mo as out of that contree,\n\n\u2003Ne never-mo he shal his lady see.\n\n\u2003Yow loveres axe I now this questioun,\n\n\u2003Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun?\n\n\u2003That oon may seen his lady day by day,\n\n\u2003But in prison he moot dwelle alway.\n\n\u2003That other wher him list may ryde or go,\n\n\u2003But seen his lady shal he never-mo.\n\n\u2003Now demeth as yow liste, ye that can,\n\n\u2003For I wol telle forth as I bigan.\n\n\u2003That man is bound to the obligation,\n\n\u2003For God's sake, to restrain his will,\n\n\u2003While a beast may all his desire fulfill.\n\n\u2003And when a beast is dead, he has no pain;\n\n\u2003But man after his death must weep and complain,\n\n\u2003Though in this world he have care and woe.\n\n\u2003Without doubt it may stand so.\n\n\u2003The answer to this I leave to divines,\n\n\u2003But well I know, that in this world great pain is.\n\n\u2003Alas! I see a serpent or a thief,\n\n\u2003That to many a true man has done mischief,\n\n\u2003Go freely, wherever he wishes to turn.\n\n\u2003But I must be in prison through Saturn,\n\n\u2003And through Juno, jealous, angry and wild,\n\n\u2003Who have destroyed nearly all the blood\n\n\u2003Of Thebes, with its wasted walls wide.\n\n\u2003And Venus slays me on the other side\n\n\u2003For jealousy, and fear of Arcita.\"\n\n\u2003Now will I let go of Palamon a little\n\n\u2003And let him in his prison still dwell,\n\n\u2003And of Arcita more I will you tell.\n\n\u2003The summer passed, and the nights long\n\n\u2003Increased doubly the pains strong of\n\n\u2003Both the lover and the prisoner.\n\n\u2003I do not know who had the woefuller place.\n\n\u2003For, to make it brief, this Palamon\n\n\u2003Perpetually is condemned to prison,\n\n\u2003In chains and fetters until his death;\n\n\u2003And Arcita is exiled upon pain of beheading\n\n\u2003Forevermore out of that country,\n\n\u2003Nor evermore shall his lady see.\n\n\u2003Of you lovers I now ask this question:\n\n\u2003Who had the worse, Arcita or Palamon?\n\n\u2003That one may see his lady day by day\n\n\u2003But in prison he must dwell always.\n\n\u2003The other where he wishes may ride or go,\n\n\u2003But see his lady shall he nevermore.\n\n\u2003Now judge as you will, you who understand,\n\n\u2003For I will continue as I began."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "\u2003Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,\n\n\u2003Ful ofte a day he swelte and seyde \"allas,\"\n\n\u2003For seen his lady shal he never-mo.\n\n\u2003And shortly to concluden al his wo,\n\n\u2003So muche sorwe had never creature\n\n\u2003That is, or shal, whyl that the world may dure.\n\n\u2003His sleep, his mete, his drink is him biraft,\n\n\u2003That lene he wex, and drye as is a shaft.\n\n\u2003His eyen holwe, and grisly to biholde;\n\n\u2003His hewe falwe, and pale as asshen colde,\n\n\u2003And solitarie he was, and ever allone,\n\n\u2003And wailling al the night, making his mone.\n\n\u2003And if he herde song or instrument,\n\n\u2003Then wolde he wepe, he mighte nat be stent;\n\n\u2003So feble eek were his spirits, and so lowe,\n\n\u2003And chaunged so, that no man coude knowe\n\n\u2003His speche nor his vois, though men it herde.\n\n\u2003And in his gere, for al the world he ferde\n\n\u2003Nat oonly lyk the loveres maladye\n\n\u2003Of Hereos, but rather lyk manye\n\n\u2003Engendered of humour malencolyk,\n\n\u2003Biforen, in his celle fantastyk.\n\n\u2003And shortly, turned was al up-so doun\n\n\u2003Bothe habit and eek disposicioun\n\n\u2003Of him, this woful lovere daun Arcite.\n\n\u2003What sholde I al-day of his wo endyte?\n\n\u2003Whan he endured hadde a yeer or two\n\n\u2003This cruel torment, and this peyne and wo,\n\n\u2003At Thebes, in his contree, as I seyde,\n\n\u2003Up-on a night, in sleep as he him leyde,\n\n\u2003Him thoughte how that the winged god Mercurie\n\n\u2003Biforn him stood, and bad him to be murye.\n\n\u2003His slepy yerde in hond he bar uprighte;\n\n\u2003An hat he werede up-on his heres brighte.\n\n\u2003Arrayed was this god (as he took keep)\n\n\u2003As he was whan that Argus took his sleep;\n\n\u2003And seyde him thus: \"T' Ath\u00e9n\u00ebs shaltou wende;"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "\u2003When Arcita was come to Thebes,\n\n\u2003Full often a day he sighed and said \"alas,\"\n\n\u2003For his lady shall he see nevermore.\n\n\u2003And to sum up briefly all his woe,\n\n\u2003So much sorrow had never a creature\n\n\u2003That is or will be so long as the world endures.\n\n\u2003His sleep, his appetite, his thirst was him bereft,\n\n\u2003That lean he waxed and dry as is a shaft.\n\n\u2003His eyes hollow, and grim to behold\n\n\u2003His color faded and pale as ashes cold;\n\n\u2003And solitary he was and ever alone,\n\n\u2003And wailing all night, making his moan.\n\n\u2003And if he heard song or instrument,\n\n\u2003Then would he weep, he could not be stopped.\n\n\u2003So feeble were his spirits, and so low,\n\n\u2003And he changed so, that no man could know\n\n\u2003His speech nor his voice, though men it heard.\n\n\u2003And in his woe for all the world he had\n\n\u2003Not only the pain of\n\n\u2003Love sickness,\n\n\u2003But also the anguish\n\n\u2003Of a spirit by love torn.\n\n\u2003And shortly, was turned all upside down\n\n\u2003Both habit and disposition\n\n\u2003Of him, this woeful lover lord Arcita.\n\n\u2003Why should I all day of his woe write?\n\n\u2003When he had endured a year or two\n\n\u2003This cruel treatment and this pain and woe,\n\n\u2003At Thebes, in his country, as I said,\n\n\u2003Upon a night, in sleep as he lay\n\n\u2003He dreamed that the winged god Mercury\n\n\u2003Before him stood and bade him to be merry.\n\n\u2003His sleepwand in hand he bore upright;\n\n\u2003And helmet he wore upon his hair bright.\n\n\u2003Dressed was this god, as Arcita saw\n\n\u2003As when he had sent Argus to sleep;\n\n\u2003And told him thus, \"To Athens you shall wend:\n\n\u2003Ther is thee shapen of thy wo an ende:\"\n\n\u2003And with that word Arcite wook and sterte. \"Now trewely, how sore that me smerte,\"\n\n\u2003Quod he, \"t' Ath\u00e9n\u00ebs right now wol I fare;\n\n\u2003Ne for the drede of deeth shal I nat spare\n\n\u2003To see my lady, that I love and serve;\n\n\u2003In hir presence I recche nat to sterve.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he caughte a greet mirour,\n\n\u2003And saugh that chaunged was al his colour,\n\n\u2003And saugh his visage al in another kinde.\n\n\u2003And right annon it ran him in his minde,\n\n\u2003That, sith his face was so disfigured\n\n\u2003Of maladye, the which he hadde endured,\n\n\u2003He mighte wel, if that he bar him lowe,\n\n\u2003Live in Ath\u00e9nes ever-more unknowe,\n\n\u2003And seen his lady wel ny day by day.\n\n\u2003And right anon he chaunged his array,\n\n\u2003And cladde him as a povre laborer,\n\n\u2003And al allone, save oonly a squyer,\n\n\u2003That knew his privetee and al his cas,\n\n\u2003Which was disgysed povrely, as he was,\n\n\u2003T' Ath\u00e9n\u00ebs is he goon the nexte way.\n\n\u2003And to the court he wente up-on a day,\n\n\u2003And at the gate he profreth his servyse,\n\n\u2003To drugge and drawe, what so men wol devyse.\n\n\u2003And shortly of this matere for to seyn,\n\n\u2003He fil in office with a chamberleyn,\n\n\u2003The which that dwelling was with Emelye;\n\n\u2003For he was wys, and coude soon aspye\n\n\u2003Of every servaunt, which that serveth here.\n\n\u2003Wel coude he hewen wode, and water bere,\n\n\u2003For he was yong and mighty for the nones,\n\n\u2003And ther-to he was strong and big of bones\n\n\u2003To doon that any wight can him devyse.\n\n\u2003A yeer or two he was in this servyse,\n\n\u2003Page of the chambre of Emelye the brighte;\n\n\u2003And \"Philostrate\" he seide that he highte.\n\n\u2003But half so wel biloved a man as he\n\n\u2003Ne was ther never in court, of his degree;\n\n\u2003There be destined your woe to end.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word Arcita woke and gave a start.\n\n\"Now truly, however sore it may me hurt,\"\n\n\u2003Said he, \"to Athens right now I will head;\n\n\u2003Even dread of death will not keep me from\n\n\u2003Seeing my lady, whom I love and serve.\n\n\u2003In her presence I care not if I end up dead.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he seized a great mirror,\n\n\u2003And saw that changed was all his color,\n\n\u2003And saw his face looking like someone else.\n\n\u2003And right away it went through his mind\n\n\u2003That, since his face was so disfigured\n\n\u2003By the lovesickness that he'd endured,\n\n\u2003He might well, if he took a station low,\n\n\u2003Live in Athens evermore unknown,\n\n\u2003And see his lady well nigh every day.\n\n\u2003And right away he changed his clothes,\n\n\u2003And clad himself as a poor laborer,\n\n\u2003And all alone, save for a squire\n\n\u2003Who knew his private life and situation,\n\n\u2003Who was disguised as poor as he was,\n\n\u2003To Athens did he go the shortest way.\n\n\u2003And to the court he went upon a day,\n\n\u2003And at the gate he proffered his service\n\n\u2003To drudge and carry, whatever was needed.\n\n\u2003And shortly of this matter for to say,\n\n\u2003He got a place with a chamberlain,\n\n\u2003Who worked for Emily,\n\n\u2003For he was quick, and could soon learn\n\n\u2003From every servant, who served her there.\n\n\u2003Well could he hew wood and water bear,\n\n\u2003For he was young and worked with a will,\n\n\u2003And he was strong and bigboned\n\n\u2003To do whatever anyone wanted.\n\n\u2003A year or two he was in this service,\n\n\u2003Page of the chamber of Emily the bright;\n\n\u2003And Philostrate he said that he was called.\n\n\u2003But half so well beloved a man as he\n\n\u2003Never was there ever in court at his station;\n\n\u2003He was so gentil of condicioun,\n\n\u2003That thurghout al the court was his renoun.\n\n\u2003They seyden, that it were a charitee\n\n\u2003That Theseus wolde enhauncen his degree,\n\n\u2003And putten him in worshipful servyse,\n\n\u2003Ther as he mighte his vertu excercyse.\n\n\u2003And thus, with-inne a whyle, his name is spronge\n\n\u2003Bothe of his dedes, and his goode tonge,\n\n\u2003That Theseus hath taken him so neer\n\n\u2003That of his chambre he made him a squyer,\n\n\u2003And yaf him gold to mayntene his degree;\n\n\u2003And eek men broghte him out of his contree\n\n\u2003From yeer to yeer, ful prively, his rente;\n\n\u2003But honestly and slyly he it spente,\n\n\u2003That no man wondred how that he it hadde.\n\n\u2003And three yeer in this wyse his lyf he ladde,\n\n\u2003And bar him so in pees and eek in werre,\n\n\u2003Ther nas no man that Theseus hath derre.\n\n\u2003And in this blisse lete I now Arcite,\n\n\u2003And speke I wol of Palamon a lyte.\n\n\u2003In derknesse and horrible and strong prisoun\n\n\u2003This seven yeer hath seten Palamoun,\n\n\u2003Forpyned, what for wo and for distresse;\n\n\u2003Who feleth double soor and hevinesse\n\n\u2003But Palamon? that love destreyneth so,\n\n\u2003That wood out of his wit he gooth for wo;\n\n\u2003And eek therto he is a prisoner\n\n\u2003Perpetuelly, noght oonly for a yeer.\n\n\u2003Who coude ryme in English properly\n\n\u2003His martirdom? for sothe, it am nat I;\n\n\u2003Therefore I passe as lightly as I may.\n\n\u2003It fel that in the seventhe yeer, in May,\n\n\u2003The thridde night, (as olde bokes seyn,\n\n\u2003That al this storie tellen more pleyn,)\n\n\u2003Were it by aventure or destinee,\n\n(As, whan a thing is shapen, it shal be,)\n\n\u2003That, sone after the midnight, Palamoun,\n\n\u2003By helping of a freend, brak his prisoun,\n\n\u2003And fleeth the citee, faste as he may go;\n\n\u2003He was so gentle of disposition\n\n\u2003That throughout all the court was his renown.\n\n\u2003They said it would be a charity\n\n\u2003If Theseus would increase his rank\n\n\u2003And put him in honorable service,\n\n\u2003There as he might his virtue exercise.\n\n\u2003And thus within awhile his name became so well-known,\n\n\u2003Both for his deeds and his good tongue,\n\n\u2003That Theseus brought him so near\n\n\u2003That of his chamber he made him a squire,\n\n\u2003And gave him gold to maintain his position;\n\n\u2003And also men brought from his own country\n\n\u2003From year to year, full secretly, his income;\n\n\u2003But so fittingly and discreetly he spent,\n\n\u2003That no man wondered how he had it.\n\n\u2003And three years in this way his life he led,\n\n\u2003And bore himself so in peace and in war,\n\n\u2003There was no man whom Theseus held more dear.\n\n\u2003And in this bliss I leave now Arcita,\n\n\u2003And speak I will of Palamon a little.\n\n\u2003In darkness and horrible and strong prison\n\n\u2003Those seven years had lived Palamon,\n\n\u2003Wasted, what for woe and for distress.\n\n\u2003Who but Palamon felt double sorrow and heaviness,\n\n\u2003And who but Palamon whom love sickened so\n\n\u2003That out of his head he went for woe?\n\n\u2003And besides that he was a prisoner\n\n\u2003Perpetually, not only for a year.\n\n\u2003Who could rhyme in English properly\n\n\u2003His martyrdom? Forsooth, it is not I;\n\n\u2003Therefore I pass over it briefly as I may.\n\n\u2003It befell that in the seventh year, of May\n\n\u2003The third night, as old books say,\n\n\u2003That all this story tell more fully,\n\n\u2003Were it by chance or destiny\u2014\n\n\u2003As, when a thing is fated, it shall be\u2014\n\n\u2003That soon after midnight Palamon,\n\n\u2003By helping of a friend, escaped his prison\n\n\u2003And fled the city fast as he could go;\n\n\u2003For he had yive his gayler drinke so\n\n\u2003Of a clarree, maad of a certeyn wyn,\n\n\u2003With nercotikes and opie of Thebes fyn,\n\n\u2003That al that night, thogh that men wolde him shake,\n\n\u2003The gayler sleep, he mighte nat awake;\n\n\u2003And thus he fleeth as faste as ever he may.\n\n\u2003The night was short, and faste by the day,\n\n\u2003That nedes-cost he moste him-selven hyde,\n\n\u2003And til a grove, faste ther besyde,\n\n\u2003With dredful foot than stalketh Palamoun.\n\n\u2003For shortly, this was his opinioun,\n\n\u2003That in that grove he wolde him hyde al day,\n\n\u2003And in the night than wolde he take his way\n\n\u2003To Thebes-ward, his freendes for to preye\n\n\u2003On Theseus to helpe him to werreye;\n\n\u2003And shortly, outher he wolde lese his lyf,\n\n\u2003Or winnen Emelye un-to his wyf;\n\n\u2003This is th' effect and his entente pleyn.\n\n\u2003Now wol I torne un-to Arcite ageyn,\n\n\u2003That litel wiste how ny that was his care,\n\n\u2003Til that fortune had broght him in the snare.\n\n\u2003The bisy larke, messager of day,\n\n\u2003Salu\u00ebth in hir song the morwe gray;\n\n\u2003And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,\n\n\u2003That al the orient laugheth of the lighte,\n\n\u2003And with his stremes dryeth in the greves\n\n\u2003The silver dropes, hanging on the leves.\n\n\u2003And Arcite, that is in the court royal\n\n\u2003With Theseus, his squyer principal,\n\n\u2003Is risen, and loketh on the myrie day.\n\n\u2003And, for to doon his observaunce to May,\n\n\u2003Remembring on the poynt of his desyr,\n\n\u2003He on a courser, sterting as the fyr,\n\n\u2003Is riden in-to the feeldes, him to pleye,\n\n\u2003Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye;\n\n\u2003And to the grove, of which that I yow tolde\n\n\u2003By aventure, his wey he gan to holde,\n\n\u2003To maken him a gerland of the greves,\n\n\u2003Were it of wodebinde or hawethorn-leves,\n\n\u2003For he had given his jailer a draught\n\n\u2003Of claret made of a certain wine,\n\n\u2003With narcotics and opium of Thebes fine,\n\n\u2003That all that night, though you would him shake,\n\n\u2003The jailer slept, he would not awaken;\n\n\u2003And thus he fled as fast as ever he might.\n\n\u2003The night was short and just before break of day,\n\n\u2003He needs must hide,\n\n\u2003And into a grove nearby,\n\n\u2003With fearful foot then slipped Palamon.\n\n\u2003For, to make it short, this was his opinion:\n\n\u2003That in that grove he would him hide all day,\n\n\u2003And in the night then would he take his way\n\n\u2003Thebesward, his friends to beg\n\n\u2003To help him make war on Theseus;\n\n\u2003And shortly, either he would lose his life\n\n\u2003Or win Emily unto his wife.\n\n\u2003This was the essence and his sole intent.\n\n\u2003Now will I turn to Arcita again,\n\n\u2003Who little knew that trouble was so near,\n\n\u2003Till Fortune had brought him in the snare.\n\n\u2003The busy lark, messenger of day,\n\n\u2003Saluted in her song the morning gray;\n\n\u2003And fiery Phoebus rose up so bright\n\n\u2003That all the eastern sky laughed in the light,\n\n\u2003And with his beams dried in the brush\n\n\u2003The silver drops hanging on the leaves.\n\n\u2003And Arcita, who in the court royal\n\n\u2003Of Theseus is squire principal,\n\n\u2003Has risen and looked on the merry day.\n\n\u2003And to do his observance of May,\n\n\u2003Keeping in mind the object of his desire,\n\n\u2003He on a courser, leaping as the fire,\n\n\u2003Has ridden into the fields to play,\n\n\u2003Out of the court, were it a mile or two;\n\n\u2003And to the grove of which that I you told,\n\n\u2003As it happened his course he began to hold,\n\n\u2003To make himself a garland from the grove,\n\n\u2003Were it of woodbine or hawthorne leaves,\n\n\u2003And loude he song ageyn the sonne shene:\n\n\u2003\"May, with alle thy floures and thy grene,\n\n\u2003Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May,\n\n\u2003I hope that I som grerre gete may.\"\n\n\u2003And from his courser, with a lusty herte,\n\n\u2003In-to the grove ful hastily he sterte,\n\n\u2003And in a path he rometh up and doun,\n\n\u2003Ther-as, by aventure, this Palamoun\n\n\u2003Was in a bush, that no man mighte him see,\n\n\u2003For sore afered of his deeth was he.\n\n\u2003No-thing ne knew he that it was Arcite:\n\n\u2003God wot he wolde have trowed it ful lyte.\n\n\u2003But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many yeres,\n\n\u2003That \"feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.\"\n\n\u2003It is ful fair a man to bere him evene,\n\n\u2003For al-day meteth men at unset stevene.\n\n\u2003Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe,\n\n\u2003That was so ny to herknen al his sawe,\n\n\u2003For in the bush he sitteth now ful stille.\n\n\u2003Whan that Arcite had romed al his fille,\n\n\u2003And songen al the roundel lustily,\n\n\u2003In-to a studie he fil sodeynly,\n\n\u2003As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres,\n\n\u2003Now in the croppe, now doun in the breres,\n\n\u2003Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.\n\n\u2003Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle,\n\n\u2003Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste,\n\n\u2003Right so can gery Venus overcaste\n\n\u2003The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day\n\n\u2003Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array.\n\n\u2003Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke.\n\n\u2003Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke,\n\n\u2003And sette him doun with-outen any more:\n\n\u2003\"Alas\" quod he, \"that day that I was bore!\n\n\u2003How longe, Juno, thurgh thy crueltee,\n\n\u2003Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee?\n\n\u2003Alias! y-broght is to confusioun\n\n\u2003The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun;\n\n\u2003Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man\n\n\u2003And loud he sang to the sun bright:\n\n\"May, with all your flowers and your green,\n\n\u2003Welcome be you, fair fresh May,\n\n\u2003In hope that I something green may get.\"\n\n\u2003And from his courser, with a lusty heart,\n\n\u2003Full hastily into the grove he leapt,\n\n\u2003And in a path he roamed up and down,\n\n\u2003Where, by chance, this Palamon\n\n\u2003Was in the brush, that no man might him see,\n\n\u2003For sore afraid of his death was he.\n\n\u2003Nor knew he that it was Arcita;\n\n\u2003God knows he would have believed it full little.\n\n\u2003But truly it has been said, for many years,\n\n\u2003That \"field has eyes and the wood has ears.\"\n\n\u2003It is desirable for a man to carry himself on guard,\n\n\u2003For every day you meet men at moments unexpected.\n\n\u2003Full little knew Arcita of his fellow,\n\n\u2003Who was near enough to hear all he said,\n\n\u2003For in the brush he sat now full still.\n\n\u2003When Arcita had roamed all his fill,\n\n\u2003And lustily sung his song,\n\n\u2003Into a pensive mood he suddenly fell,\n\n\u2003As do these lovers with their changing moods,\n\n\u2003Now in the treetops, now in the briars,\n\n\u2003Now up, now down, as a bucket in a well.\n\n\u2003Right like Friday, truly for to tell,\n\n\u2003Now it's sunshine, now it rains hard,\n\n\u2003So can variable Venus overcast\n\n\u2003The hearts of her folk, just as her day\n\n\u2003Is changeable, just so she changes her arrangements.\n\n\u2003Seldom is Friday like the week's other days.\n\n\u2003After Arcita had sung, he began to sigh,\n\n\u2003And sat him down without further delay.\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said he, \"the day that I was born!\n\n\u2003How long, Juno, through your cruelty,\n\n\u2003Will you make war on Thebes city?\n\n\u2003Alas! brought is to confusion\n\n\u2003The blood royal of Cadmus and Amphion\u2014\n\n\u2003Of Cadmus, who was the first man\n\n\u2003That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan,\n\n\u2003And of the citee first was crouned king,\n\n\u2003Of his linage am I, and his of-spring\n\n\u2003By verray ligne, as of the stok royal:\n\n\u2003And now I am so caitif and so thral,\n\n\u2003That he, that is my mortal enemy,\n\n\u2003I serve him as his squyer povrely.\n\n\u2003And yet doth Juno me wel more shame,\n\n\u2003For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name;\n\n\u2003But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite,\n\n\u2003Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte.\n\n\u2003Allas! thou felle Mars, alias! Juno,\n\n\u2003Thus hath your ire our kindrede all fordo,\n\n\u2003Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun,\n\n\u2003That Theseus martyreth in prisoun.\n\n\u2003And over al this, to sleen me utterly,\n\n\u2003Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly\n\n\u2003Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte,\n\n\u2003That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte.\n\n\u2003Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye;\n\n\u2003Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye.\n\n\u2003Of al the remenant of myn other care\n\n\u2003Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare,\n\n\u2003So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he fil doun in a traunce\n\n\u2003A long tyme; and after he up-sterte.\n\n\u2003This Palamoun, that thoughte that thurgh his herte\n\n\u2003He felt a cold swerd sodeynliche glyde,\n\n\u2003For ire he quook, no lenger wolde he byde.\n\n\u2003And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,\n\n\u2003As he were wood, with face deed and pale,\n\n\u2003He sterte him up out of the buskes thikke,\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"Arcite, false traitour wikke,\n\n\u2003Now artow hent, that lovest my lady so,\n\n\u2003For whom that I have al this peyne and wo,\n\n\u2003And art my blood, and to my counseil sworn,\n\n\u2003As I ful ofte have told thee heer-biforn,\n\n\u2003And hast by-japed here duk Theseus,\n\n\u2003And falsly chaunged hast thy name thus;\n\n\u2003To build at Thebes, or first the town began,\n\n\u2003And of the city was first crowned king.\n\n\u2003Of his lineage am I, and of his offspring\n\n\u2003By direct descent, as of the stock royal;\n\n\u2003And now I am so wretched and enslaved\n\n\u2003That he who is my mortal enemy,\n\n\u2003I serve him as his squire lowly,\n\n\u2003And yet Juno does me more shame,\n\n\u2003For I dare not make known my own name;\n\n\u2003But though I was once called Arcita,\n\n\u2003Now I'm Philostrate, not worth a mite.\n\n\u2003Alas, you cruel, deadly Mars! alas Juno!\n\n\u2003Thus has your ire our lineage all destroyed,\n\n\u2003Save only me and wretched Palamon,\n\n\u2003Whom Theseus martyred in prison.\n\n\u2003And over all this, to slay me utterly,\n\n\u2003Love has his fiery dart so burningly\n\n\u2003Stabbed through my woeful heart,\n\n\u2003That my fate was woven before my first shirt.\n\n\u2003You slay me with your eyes, Emily!\n\n\u2003You be the cause wherefore that I die.\n\n\u2003On all the remnants of my other woes\n\n\u2003I would not set the worth of a single weed,\n\n\u2003If I could do anything for your pleasure!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he fell down in a trance\n\n\u2003A long time; and after he up started.\n\n\u2003This Palamon, who thought that through his heart\n\n\u2003He felt a cold sword suddenly glide,\n\n\u2003For anger he shook, no longer would he bide.\n\n\u2003And when he had heard Arcita's tale,\n\n\u2003As if he were insane, with face deathly and pale,\n\n\u2003He started up out of the brush thick,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Arcita, false traitor wicked,\n\n\u2003Now are you caught, who loves my lady so,\n\n\u2003For whom I have all this pain and woe,\n\n\u2003And you are my blood, and to my secrets sworn,\n\n\u2003As I full often have told you before,\n\n\u2003And you have tricked her duke Theseus,\n\n\u2003And falsely changed your name thus!\n\n\u2003I wol be deed, or elles thou shalt dye.\n\n\u2003Thou shalt nat love my lady Emelye,\n\n\u2003But I wol love hir only, and namo;\n\n\u2003For I am Palamoun, thy mortal fo.\n\n\u2003And though that I no wepne have in this place,\n\n\u2003But out of prison am astert by grace,\n\n\u2003I drede noght that outher thou shalt dye,\n\n\u2003Or thou ne shalt nat loven Emelye.\n\n\u2003Chees which thou wilt, for thou shalt nat asterte.\"\n\n\u2003This Arcite, with ful despitous herte,\n\n\u2003Whan he him knew, and hadde his tale herd,\n\n\u2003As fiers as leoun, pulled out a swerd,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus: \"by God that sit above,\n\n\u2003Nere it that thou art sik, and wood for love,\n\n\u2003And eek that thou no wepne hast in this place,\n\n\u2003Thou sholdest never out of this grove pace,\n\n\u2003That thou ne sholdest dyen of myn hond.\n\n\u2003For I defye the seurtee and the bond\n\n\u2003Which that thou seyst that I have maad to thee.\n\n\u2003What, verray fool, think wel that love is free,\n\n\u2003And I wol love hir, maugre al thy might!\n\n\u2003But, for as muche thou art a worthy knight,\n\n\u2003And wilnest to darreyne hir by batayle,\n\n\u2003Have heer my trouthe, to-morwe I wol nat fayl\n\n\u2003With-outen witing of any other wight,\n\n\u2003That here I wol be founden as a knight,\n\n\u2003And bringen harneys right y-nough for thee;\n\n\u2003And chees the beste, and leve the worste for me\n\n\u2003And mete and drinke this night wol I bringe\n\n\u2003Y-nough for thee, and clothes for thy beddinge.\n\n\u2003And, if so be that thou my lady winne,\n\n\u2003And slee me in this wode ther I am inne,\n\n\u2003Thou mayst wel have thy lady, as for me.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answerde: \"I graunte it thee.\"\n\n\u2003And thus they been departed til a-morwe,\n\n\u2003When ech of hem had leyd his feith to borwe.\n\n\u2003O Cupide, out of alle charitee!\n\n\u2003O regne, that wolt no felawe have with thee!\n\n\u2003Ful sooth is seyd, that love ne lordshipe\n\n\u2003I will be dead, or else you shall die.\n\n\u2003You shall not love my lady Emily,\n\n\u2003But I will love her only, and no one else;\n\n\u2003For I am Palamon, your mortal foe.\n\n\u2003And though I no weapon have in this place,\n\n\u2003But out of prison am escaped by grace,\n\n\u2003I doubt not that either you shall die\n\n\u2003Or you shall not love Emily.\n\n\u2003Choose which you would, for you shall not escape.\"\n\n\u2003This Arcita, with full scornful heart,\n\n\u2003When he him knew, and had his tale heard,\n\n\u2003As fierce as a lion pulled out his sword\n\n\u2003And said: \"By God who sits above,\n\n\u2003Were it not that you are sick and mad with love,\n\n\u2003And that you no weapon have in this place,\n\n\u2003You would never leave this grove alive,\n\n\u2003You would never my hand survive.\n\n\u2003For I scorn the pledge and the bond\n\n\u2003That you say I have made to you.\n\n\u2003Why, you true fool, know well that love is free,\n\n\u2003And I will love her despite all your might!\n\n\u2003But, inasmuch as you are a worthy knight,\n\n\u2003And want to decide who claims her by battle,\n\n\u2003Have here my vow: tomorrow I will not fail,\n\n\u2003Without telling any other person,\n\n\u2003Here I will be armed as a knight,\n\n\u2003And bring armor right enough for you;\n\n\u2003And you may choose the best, and leave the worst for me.\n\n\u2003And food and drink this night I will bring\n\n\u2003Enough for you, and clothes for your bedding.\n\n\u2003And if so be it that you my lady win,\n\n\u2003And slay me in this wood where I am in,\n\n\u2003You may well have the lady, so far as concerns me.\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answered, \"I grant it to you.\"\n\n\u2003And thus they were departed until morning tomorrow,\n\n\u2003When each of them had laid his faith as a pledge.\n\n\u2003Oh Cupid, devoid of unselfish love!\n\n\u2003Oh sovereign rule, who does not want to share!\n\n\u2003Full truly it's said that neither love nor lordship\n\n\u2003Wol noght, his thankes, have no felaweshipe;\n\n\u2003Wel finden that Arcite and Palamoun.\n\n\u2003Arcite is riden anon un-to the toun,\n\n\u2003And on the morwe, er it were dayes light,\n\n\u2003Ful prively two harneys hath he dight,\n\n\u2003Bothe suffisaunt and mete to darreyne\n\n\u2003The bataille in the feeld bitwix hem tweyne.\n\n\u2003And on his hors, allone as he was born,\n\n\u2003He carieth al this harneys him biforn;\n\n\u2003And in the grove, at tyme and place y-set,\n\n\u2003This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.\n\n\u2003Tho chaungen gan the color in hir face;\n\n\u2003Right as the hunter in the regne of Trace,\n\n\u2003That stondeth at the gappe with a spere,\n\n\u2003Whan hunted is the leoun or the bere,\n\n\u2003And hereth him come russhing in the greves,\n\n\u2003And breketh bothe bowes and the leves,\n\n\u2003And thinketh, \"heer cometh my mortel enemy,\n\n\u2003With-oute faile, he moot be deed, or I;\n\n\u2003For outher I mot sleen him at the gappe,\n\n\u2003Or he mot sleen me, if that me mishappe:\"\n\n\u2003So ferden they, in chaunging of hir hewe,\n\n\u2003As fer as everich of hem other knewe.\n\n\u2003Ther nas no good day, ne no saluing;\n\n\u2003But streight, with-outen word or rehersing,\n\n\u2003Everich of hem halp for to armen other,\n\n\u2003As freendly as he were his owne brother;\n\n\u2003And after that, with sharpe speres stronge\n\n\u2003They foynen ech at other wonder longe.\n\n\u2003Thou mighest wene that this Palamoun\n\n\u2003In his fighting were a wood leoun,\n\n\u2003And as a cruel tygre was Arcite:\n\n\u2003As wilde bores gonne they to smyte,\n\n\u2003That frothen whyte as foom for ire wood.\n\n\u2003Up to the ancle foghte they in hir blood.\n\n\u2003And in this wyse I lete hem fighting dwelle;\n\n\u2003And forth I wol of Theseus yow telle.\n\n\u2003The destinee, ministre general,\n\n\u2003That executeth in the world over-al\n\n\u2003Will willingly share their domain;\n\n\u2003And so found that true, both Arcita and Palamon.\n\n\u2003Arcita then returned to the town,\n\n\u2003And on the morrow, before daylight\n\n\u2003Full secretly two armor suits did he prepare,\n\n\u2003Both sufficient and suitable to decide\n\n\u2003The battle in the field between the two.\n\n\u2003And on his horse, alone as he was born,\n\n\u2003He carried with him all this armor;\n\n\u2003And in the grove, at the time and place set,\n\n\u2003This Arcita and Palamon did meet.\n\n\u2003The color in their faces began to change,\n\n\u2003Just as the hunters in the Kingdom of Thrace,\n\n\u2003Who stood in the clearing with a spear,\n\n\u2003When hunted was the lion or the bear,\n\n\u2003And heard him come rushing in the bushes\n\n\u2003And breaking both branches and the leaves,\n\n\u2003And thought, \"Here comes my mortal enemy!\n\n\u2003Without fail, he must be dead or I;\n\n\u2003For either I slay him at the clearing,\n\n\u2003Or he must slay me, if it goes ill for me,\"\u2014\n\n\u2003So behaved they in changing of their raiment.\n\n\u2003Although they knew each other well,\n\n\u2003There was no \"good day,\" nor greetings,\n\n\u2003But straight without word or their pact restating,\n\n\u2003Each of them helped to arm the other\n\n\u2003As friendly as if he were his own brother;\n\n\u2003And after that, with sharp spears strong\n\n\u2003They thrust at each other wondrous long.\n\n\u2003You may be sure that this Palamon\n\n\u2003In his fighting was an enraged lion,\n\n\u2003And as a cruel tiger was Arcita;\n\n\u2003They proceeded to smite like wild boars\n\n\u2003That froth white with foam in wild anger.\n\n\u2003Up to the ankle fought they in their blood.\n\n\u2003And in this state I leave them still fighting;\n\n\u2003And forth I will of Theseus you tell.\n\n\u2003Destiny, the minister general\n\n\u2003Who executes in the world everywhere\n\n\u2003The purveyaunce, that God hath seyn biforn,\n\n\u2003So strong it is, that, though the world had sworn\n\n\u2003The contrarie of a thing, by ye or nay,\n\n\u2003Yet somtyme it shal fallen on a day\n\n\u2003That falleth nat eft with-inne a thousand yere.\n\n\u2003For certeinly, our appetytes here,\n\n\u2003Be it of werre, or pees, or hate, or love,\n\n\u2003Al is this reuled by the sighte above.\n\n\u2003This mene I now by mighty Theseus,\n\n\u2003That for to honten is so desirous,\n\n\u2003And namely at the grete hert in May,\n\n\u2003That in his bed ther daweth him no day,\n\n\u2003That he nis clad, and redy for to ryde\n\n\u2003With hunte and horn, and houndes him bisyde.\n\n\u2003For in his hunting hath he swich delyt,\n\n\u2003That it is al his joye and appetyt\n\n\u2003To been him-self the grete hertes bane:\n\n\u2003For after Mars he serveth now Diane.\n\n\u2003Cleer was the day, as I have told er this,\n\n\u2003And Theseus, with alle joye and blis,\n\n\u2003With his Ipolita, the fayre quene,\n\n\u2003And Emelye, clothed al in grene,\n\n\u2003On hunting be they riden royally.\n\n\u2003And to the grove, that stood ful faste by,\n\n\u2003In which ther was an hert, as men him tolde,\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus the streighte wey hath holde.\n\n\u2003And to the launde he rydeth him ful right,\n\n\u2003For thider was the hert wont have his flight,\n\n\u2003And over a brook, and so forth on his weye.\n\n\u2003This duk wol han a cours at him, or tweye,\n\n\u2003With houndes, swiche as that him list comaunde.\n\n\u2003And whan this duk was come un-to the launde,\n\n\u2003Under the sonne he loketh, and anon\n\n\u2003He was war of Arcite and Palamon,\n\n\u2003That foughten breme, as it were bores two;\n\n\u2003The brighte swerdes wenten to and fro\n\n\u2003So hidously, that with the leeste strook\n\n\u2003It seemed as it wold feele an ook;\n\n\u2003But what they were, no-thing he ne woot.\n\n\u2003The providential plan that God has foreseen,\n\n\u2003Is so strong that, though the world had sworn\n\n\u2003The contrary of a thing by yes or no,\n\n\u2003Yet at some time it will happen on a day\n\n\u2003And will happen not again in a thousand years.\n\n\u2003For certainly, our appetites here,\n\n\u2003Be it of war, or peace, or hate, or love,\n\n\u2003All is ruled by the foresight above.\n\n\u2003This mean I now as it relates to mighty Theseus,\n\n\u2003Who to hunt is so desirous,\n\n\u2003And especially for the great hart in May,\n\n\u2003That before the dawn of every day\n\n\u2003He is clad and ready to ride\n\n\u2003With huntsmen and horn and hounds him beside.\n\n\u2003For in his hunting has he such delight\n\n\u2003That it is all his joy and appetite\n\n\u2003To be himself the great hart's slayer;\n\n\u2003For after Mars he served Diana.\n\n\u2003Clear was the day, as I have said before this,\n\n\u2003And Theseus, with all joy and bliss,\n\n\u2003With his Hyppolyta, the fair queen,\n\n\u2003And Emily, clothed all in green,\n\n\u2003To the hunt did they royally ride.\n\n\u2003And to the grove that stood full fast by,\n\n\u2003In which there was a hart, as men him told,\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus the straight course did hold.\n\n\u2003And to the clearing he rode straight,\n\n\u2003For there was the hart wont to have his flight,\n\n\u2003And over a brook and so forth on his way.\n\n\u2003This duke will have a chase at him or two,\n\n\u2003With hounds such as it pleases him to command.\n\n\u2003And when this duke was come into the clearing,\n\n\u2003Into the sunlight he looked, and anon\n\n\u2003He was aware of Arcita and Palamon,\n\n\u2003Who fought furiously as if they were boars two.\n\n\u2003The bright swords went to and fro\n\n\u2003So hideously that with the least stroke\n\n\u2003It seemed as if it would fell an oak;\n\n\u2003But who they were, he did not know.\n\n\u2003This duk his courser with his spores smoot,\n\n\u2003And at a stert he was bitwix hem two,\n\n\u2003And pulled out a swerd and cryed, \"ho!\n\n\u2003Namore, up peyne of lesing of your heed.\n\n\u2003By mighty Mars, he shal anon be deed,\n\n\u2003That smyteth any strook, that I may seen!\n\n\u2003But telleth me what mister men ye been,\n\n\u2003That been so hardy for to fighten here\n\n\u2003With-outen juge or other officere,\n\n\u2003As it were in a listes royally?\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answerde hastily\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"sire, what nedeth wordes mo?\n\n\u2003We have the deeth deserved bothe two.\n\n\u2003Two woful wrecches been we, two caytyves,\n\n\u2003That been encombred of our owne lyves;\n\n\u2003And as thou art a rightful lord and juge,\n\n\u2003Ne yeve us neither mercy ne refuge,\n\n\u2003But slee me first, for seynte charitee;\n\n\u2003But slee my felawe eek as wel as me.\n\n\u2003Or slee him first; for, though thou knowe it lyte,\n\n\u2003This is thy mortal fo, this is Arcite,\n\n\u2003That fro thy lond is banished on his heed,\n\n\u2003For which he hath deserved to be deed.\n\n\u2003For this is he that cam un-to thy gate,\n\n\u2003And seyde, that he highte Philostrate.\n\n\u2003Thus hath he japed thee ful many a yeer,\n\n\u2003And thou has maked him thy chief squyer:\n\n\u2003And this is he that loveth Emelye.\n\n\u2003For sith the day is come that I shal dye,\n\n\u2003I make pleynly my confessioun,\n\n\u2003That I am thilke woful Palamoun,\n\n\u2003That hath thy prison broken wikkedly.\n\n\u2003I am thy mortal fo, and it am I\n\n\u2003That loveth so hote Emelye the brighte,\n\n\u2003That I wol dye present in hir sighte.\n\n\u2003Therfore I axe deeth and my juwyse;\n\n\u2003But slee my felawe in the same wyse,\n\n\u2003For bothe han we deserved to be slayn.\"\n\n\u2003This worthy duk answerde anon agayn,\n\n\u2003This duke his horse with his spurs struck,\n\n\u2003And in a moment he was between the two,\n\n\u2003And pulled out a sword and cried, \"Halt!\n\n\u2003No more, upon pain of losing your head!\n\n\u2003By mighty Mars, he shall anon be dead\n\n\u2003Who strikes any stroke that I may see.\n\n\u2003But tell me what kind of men you be,\n\n\u2003Who have been so bold to fight here\n\n\u2003Without judge or other officer,\n\n\u2003As if in the lists of a tournament royal?\"\n\n\u2003This Palamon answered hastily,\n\n\u2003And said: \"Sire, who needs words more?\n\n\u2003We have the death deserved both two.\n\n\u2003Two woeful wretches be we, two captives,\n\n\u2003Who have been weary of our own lives;\n\n\u2003And as you are a rightful lord and judge,\n\n\u2003Give us neither mercy nor refuge,\n\n\u2003But slay me first, for holy charity.\n\n\u2003But slay my companion as well as me,\n\n\u2003Or slay him first: for though you know it little,\n\n\u2003This is your mortal foe, this is Arcita,\n\n\u2003Who from your land is banished or lose his head,\n\n\u2003For which he has deserved to be dead.\n\n\u2003For this is he who came up to your gate\n\n\u2003And said that he was called Philostrate.\n\n\u2003Thus has he tricked you full many a year,\n\n\u2003And you have made him your chief squire;\n\n\u2003And this is he who loves Emily.\n\n\u2003For since the day is come that I shall die,\n\n\u2003I make plainly my confession\n\n\u2003That I am that woeful Palamon\n\n\u2003Who has from your prison broken.\n\n\u2003I am your mortal foe, and it is I\n\n\u2003Who loves with such passion Emily the bright\n\n\u2003That I will die now in her sight.\n\n\u2003Wherefore I ask death and my justice,\n\n\u2003But slay my companion in the same way,\n\n\u2003For both have we deserved to be slain.\"\n\n\u2003This worthy duke answered anon again,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"This is a short conclusioun:\n\n\u2003Youre owne mouth, by your confessioun,\n\n\u2003Hath dampned you, and I wol it recorde,\n\n\u2003It nedeth noght to pyne yow with the corde\n\n\u2003Ye shul be deed, by mighty Mars the rede!\"\n\n\u2003The quene anon, for verray wommanhede,\n\n\u2003Gan for to wepe, and so dide Emelye,\n\n\u2003And alle the ladies in the compayne.\n\n\u2003Gret pitee was it, as it thoughte hem alle,\n\n\u2003That ever swich a chaunce sholde falle;\n\n\u2003For gentil men they were, of greet estat,\n\n\u2003And no-thing but for love was this debat;\n\n\u2003And sawe hir blody woundes wyde and sore;\n\n\u2003And alle cryden, bothe lasse and more,\n\n\u2003\"Have mercy, lord, up-on us wommen alle!\"\n\n\u2003And on hir bare knees adoun they falle,\n\n\u2003And wolde have kist his feet ther-as he stood,\n\n\u2003Til at the laste aslaked was his mood;\n\n\u2003For pitee renneth sone in gentil herte.\n\n\u2003And though he first for ire quook and sterte,\n\n\u2003He hath considered shortly, in a clause,\n\n\u2003The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause:\n\n\u2003And al-though that his ire hir gilt accused\n\n\u2003Yet in his reson he hem bothe excused;\n\n\u2003As thus: he thoghte wel, that every man\n\n\u2003Wol helpe him-self in love, if that he can,\n\n\u2003And eek delivere him-self out of prisoun;\n\n\u2003And eek his herte had compassioun\n\n\u2003Of wommen, for they wepen ever in oon;\n\n\u2003And in his gentil herte he thoghte anoon,\n\n\u2003And softe un-to himself he seyde: \"fy\n\n\u2003Up-on a lord that wol have no mercy,\n\n\u2003But been a leoun, bothe in word and dede,\n\n\u2003To hem that been in repentaunce and drede\n\n\u2003As wel as to a proud despitous man\n\n\u2003That wol maynteyne that he first bigan!\n\n\u2003That lord hath litel of discrecioun,\n\n\u2003That in swich cas can no divisioun,\n\n\u2003But weyeth pryde and hum blesse after oon.\"\n\n\u2003And said, \"This is quickly decided.\n\n\u2003Your own mouth, by your confession,\n\n\u2003Has damned you, and I will make it my verdict;\n\n\u2003It needs not to torture you with the cord.\n\n\u2003You shall be dead, by mighty Mars the red!\"\n\n\u2003The queen soon, for true womanhood,\n\n\u2003Began to weep, and so did Emily,\n\n\u2003And all the ladies in the company.\n\n\u2003Great pity was it, as they thought all,\n\n\u2003That ever such a chance should befall;\n\n\u2003For gentlemen they were of great estate,\n\n\u2003And nothing but for love was this debate;\n\n\u2003And saw their bloody wounds wide and sore,\n\n\u2003And all cried, both the lesser and greater in estate,\n\n\u2003\"Have mercy, lord, upon us women all!\"\n\n\u2003And on their bare knees down they fell,\n\n\u2003And would have kissed his feet there as he stood,\n\n\u2003Until at last quenched was his anger,\n\n\u2003For pity runs soon in a gentle heart.\n\n\u2003And though he first for anger shook and started,\n\n\u2003He had considered quickly, in a short while,\n\n\u2003The trespass of them both, and also the cause,\n\n\u2003And although his anger their guilt blamed,\n\n\u2003Yet in his reason he both them excused\n\n\u2003As thus: he thought well that every man\n\n\u2003Will help himself in love, if he can,\n\n\u2003And deliver himself out of prison.\n\n\u2003And also his heart had compassion\n\n\u2003For the women, for they went on weeping every one.\n\n\u2003And in his gentle heart he thought anon,\n\n\u2003And soft unto himself he said: \"Fie\n\n\u2003Upon a lord who would have no mercy,\n\n\u2003But be a lion, both in word and deed,\n\n\u2003To those repentant and in fear and need\n\n\u2003As well as to a proud and scornful man\n\n\u2003Who would persevere in what he first began!\n\n\u2003That lord has little of discernment\n\n\u2003Who in such case sees no difference\n\n\u2003But weighs pride and humbleness as one.\"\n\n\u2003And shortly, whan his ire is thus agoon,\n\n\u2003He gan to loken up with eyen lighte,\n\n\u2003And spak thise same wordes al on highte:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"The god of love, a! benedicite,\n\n\u2003How mighty and how greet a lord is he!\n\n\u2003Ayeins his might ther gayneth none obstacles,\n\n\u2003He may be cleped a god for his miracles;\n\n\u2003For he can maken at his owne gyse\n\n\u2003Of everich herte, as that him list devyse.\n\n\u2003Lo heer, this Arcite and this Palamoun,\n\n\u2003That quitly weren out of my prisoun,\n\n\u2003And mighte han lived in Thebes royally,\n\n\u2003And witen I am hir mortal enemy,\n\n\u2003And that hir deeth lyth in my might also;\n\n\u2003And yet hath love, maugree hir eyen two,\n\n\u2003Y-broght hem hider bothe for to dye!\n\n\u2003Now loketh, is nat that an heigh folye?\n\n\u2003Who may been a fool, but-if he love?\n\n\u2003Bihold, for Goddes sake that sit above,\n\n\u2003Se how they blede! be they noght wel arrayed?\n\n\u2003Thus hath hir lord, the god of love, y-payed\n\n\u2003Hir wages and hir fees for hir servyse!\n\n\u2003And yet they wenen for to been ful wyse\n\n\u2003That serven love, for aught that may bifalle!\n\n\u2003But this is yet the beste game of alle,\n\n\u2003That she, for whom they han this jolitee,\n\n\u2003Can hem ther-for as muche thank as me:\n\n\u2003She woot namore of al this hote fare,\n\n\u2003By God, than woot a cokkow or an hare!\n\n\u2003But al mot been assayed, hoot and cold;\n\n\u2003A man mot been a fool, or yong or old;\n\n\u2003I woot it by my-self ful yore agoon:\n\n\u2003For in my tyme a servant was I oon.\n\n\u2003And therfore, sin I knowe of loves peyne,\n\n\u2003And woot how sore it can a man distreyne,\n\n\u2003As he that hath ben caught ofte in his las,\n\n\u2003I yow foryeve al hoolly this trespas,\n\n\u2003At requeste of the quene that kneleth here,\n\n\u2003And eek of Emelye, my suster dere.\n\n\u2003And shortly, when his ire was thus gone,\n\n\u2003He began to look up with eyes cheerful,\n\n\u2003And spoke these same words aloud:\n\n\"The god of love\u2014ah, benedicite\u2014\n\n\u2003How mighty and great a lord is he!\n\n\u2003Against his might there prevail no obstacles.\n\n\u2003He may be called a god for his miracles,\n\n\u2003For he can make as he chooses\n\n\u2003Of every heart whatever he decides.\n\n\u2003Look here, this Arcita and Palamon,\n\n\u2003Who were well gone out of my prison,\n\n\u2003And might have lived in Thebes royally,\n\n\u2003And know I am their mortal enemy\n\n\u2003And that their death lies in my might also;\n\n\u2003And yet has love, despite their eyes open wide,\n\n\u2003Brought them here both to die!\n\n\u2003Now look, is not that a great folly?\n\n\u2003Are we not all but fools for love?\n\n\u2003Behold, for God's sake who sits above,\n\n\u2003See how they bleed! be they not so well-decorated?\n\n\u2003Thus has their lord, the god of love, paid\n\n\u2003Their wages and their fees for their service!\n\n\u2003And yet they think themselves to be full wise\n\n\u2003Who serve love, no matter what occurs.\n\n\u2003But this is yet the best jest of all:\n\n\u2003That she, for whom they have this passion,\n\n\u2003Has no more to thank them for than I do;\n\n\u2003She knows no more of this madness,\n\n\u2003By God, than does a hare or a cuckoo!\n\n\u2003But all must be tried, hot and cold,\n\n\u2003A man must be a fool, either young or old;\n\n\u2003I know that of myself in time long gone,\n\n\u2003For in my time as love's servant was I one.\n\n\u2003And therefore, since I know of love's pain,\n\n\u2003And know how sore it can a man torment,\n\n\u2003And as one who has been caught often in its net,\n\n\u2003I forgive you all wholly this trespass,\n\n\u2003At request of the queen who kneels here,\n\n\u2003And of Emily, my sister dear.\n\n\u2003And ye shul bothe anon un-to me swere,\n\n\u2003That never-mo ye shul my contree dere,\n\n\u2003Ne make werre up-on me night ne day,\n\n\u2003But been my freendes in al that ye may;\n\n\u2003I yow foryeve this trespas every del.\"\n\n\u2003And they him swore his axing fayre and wel,\n\n\u2003And him of lordshipe and of mercy preyde,\n\n\u2003And he hem graunteth grace, and thus he seyde:\n\n\u2003\"To speke of royal linage and richesse,\n\n\u2003Though that she were a quene or a princesse,\n\n\u2003Ech of yow bothe is worthy, doutelees,\n\n\u2003To wedden whan tyme is, but nathelees\n\n\u2003I speke as for my suster Emelye,\n\n\u2003For whom ye have this stryf and jelousye;\n\n\u2003Ye woot your-self, she may not wedden two\n\n\u2003At ones, though ye fighten ever-mo:\n\n\u2003That oon of yow, al be him looth or leef,\n\n\u2003He moot go pypen in an ivy-leef;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, she may nat now han bothe,\n\n\u2003Al be ye never so jelous, ne so wrothe.\n\n\u2003And for-thy I yow putte in this degree,\n\n\u2003That ech of yow shal have his destinee\n\n\u2003As him is shape; and herkneth in what wyse;\n\n\u2003Lo, heer your ende of that I shal devyse.\n\n\u2003My wil is this, for plat conclusioun,\n\n\u2003With-outen any replicacioun,\n\n\u2003If that yow lyketh, tak it for the beste,\n\n\u2003That everich of yow shal gon wher him leste\n\n\u2003Frely, with-outen raunson or daunger;\n\n\u2003And this day fifty wykes, fer ne ner,\n\n\u2003Everich of yow shal bringe an hundred knightes,\n\n\u2003Armed for listes up at alle rightes,\n\n\u2003Al redy to darreyne hir by bataille.\n\n\u2003And this bihote I yow, with-outen faille,\n\n\u2003Up-on my trouthe, and as I am a knight,\n\n\u2003That whether of yow bothe that hath might,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, that whether he or thou\n\n\u2003May with his hundred, as I spak of now,\n\n\u2003Sleen his contrarie, or out of listes dryve,\n\n\u2003And you shall both anon unto me swear\n\n\u2003That nevermore you shall my country harm,\n\n\u2003Nor make war upon me night or day,\n\n\u2003But be my friends in all that you may.\n\n\u2003I forgive you this trespass in every way.\"\n\n\u2003And they him swore his request fair and well,\n\n\u2003And for his protection and his mercy as their lord prayed,\n\n\u2003And he them granted grace, and thus he said\u2014\n\n\u2003\"To speak of royal lineage and riches,\n\n\u2003Though that she were a queen or a princess,\n\n\u2003Each of you both is worthy, doubtless,\n\n\u2003To wed when the time comes, but nevertheless\u2014\n\n\u2003I speak as for my sister Emily,\n\n\u2003For whom you have this strife and jealousy\u2014\n\n\u2003You know yourself she may not wed two\n\n\u2003At once, though you fight evermore:\n\n\u2003That one of you, like it or not\n\n\u2003Must go whistle in an ivy leaf;\n\n\u2003That is to say, she may not now have both,\n\n\u2003Though you be ever so jealous or so wroth.\n\n\u2003And therefore I will arrange matters so\n\n\u2003That each of you shall have your destiny\n\n\u2003As it is meant to be, and listen now in what way;\n\n\u2003Hear how your fate's unfolding I shall devise.\n\n\u2003My will is this, to put it plainly,\n\n\u2003And unconditionally\u2014\n\n\u2003So if you agree, take it for the best:\n\n\u2003That each of you shall go where you will\n\n\u2003Freely, without ransom or control;\n\n\u2003And this day fifty weeks, not sooner or later,\n\n\u2003Each of you shall bring a hundred knights\n\n\u2003Armed for tournament in every way,\n\n\u2003And ready to decide your claim to her in battle.\n\n\u2003And this I promise you without fail,\n\n\u2003Upon my troth, and as I am a knight,\n\n\u2003That whichever of you has the might\u2014\n\n\u2003This is to say, that whether he or you\n\n\u2003May with his hundred, as I spoke of now,\n\n\u2003Slay his opponent or from the battleground drive\u2014\n\n\u2003Him shal I yeve Emelya to wyve,\n\n\u2003To whom that fortune yeveth so fair a grace.\n\n\u2003The listes shal I maken in this place,\n\n\u2003And God so wisly on my soule rewe,\n\n\u2003As I shal even juge been and trewe.\n\n\u2003Ye shul non other ende with me maken,\n\n\u2003That oon of yow ne shal be deed or taken.\n\n\u2003And if yow thinketh this is wel y-sayd,\n\n\u2003Seyeth your avys, and holdeth yow apayd.\n\n\u2003This is your ende and your conclusioun.\"\n\n\u2003Who loketh lightly now but Palamoun?\n\n\u2003Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?\n\n\u2003Who couthe telle, or who couthe it endyte,\n\n\u2003The joye that is maked in the place\n\n\u2003Whan Theseus hath doon so fair a grace?\n\n\u2003But doun on knees wente every maner wight,\n\n\u2003And thanked him with al her herte and might,\n\n\u2003And namely the Thebans ofte sythe.\n\n\u2003And thus with good hope and with herte blythe\n\n\u2003They take hir leve, and hom-ward gonne they ryde\n\n\u2003To Thebes, with his olde walles wyde."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "\u2003I trowe men wolde deme it necligence,\n\n\u2003If I foryete to tellen the dispence\n\n\u2003Of Theseus, that goth so bisily\n\n\u2003To maken up the listes royally;\n\n\u2003That swich a noble theatre as it was,\n\n\u2003I dar wel seyn that in this world ther nas.\n\n\u2003The circuit a myle was aboute,\n\n\u2003Walled of stoon, and diched al with-oute.\n\n\u2003Round was the shap, in maner of compas,\n\n\u2003Ful of degrees, the heighte of sixty pas,\n\n\u2003That, whan a man was set on o degree,\n\n\u2003He letted nat his felawe for to see.\n\n\u2003Est-ward ther stood a gate of marbel whyt,\n\n\u2003West-ward, right swich another in the opposit.\n\n\u2003And shortly to concluden, swich a place\n\n\u2003Was noon in erthe, as in so litel space;\n\n\u2003Then shall I give Emily to wife\n\n\u2003To whom Fortune gives so fair a grace.\n\n\u2003The battleground shall I make in this place,\n\n\u2003And God so surely on my soul have pity\n\n\u2003As I shall be impartial judge and true.\n\n\u2003You shall no other compact with me make,\n\n\u2003Unless one of you shall be dead or captive taken.\n\n\u2003And if you think this is well said,\n\n\u2003Say your opinion, and be content.\n\n\u2003This is your end and your conclusion.\"\n\n\u2003Who looks lightly now but Palamon?\n\n\u2003Who springs up for joy but Arcita?\n\n\u2003Who could tell, or who could write,\n\n\u2003The joy that is made in the place\n\n\u2003When Theseus had done so fair a grace?\n\n\u2003But down on knees went every manner of person,\n\n\u2003And thanked him with all their heart and might,\n\n\u2003And especially the Thebans time and again.\n\n\u2003And thus with good hope and with hearts blithe\n\n\u2003They take their leave, and homeward did they ride\n\n\u2003To Thebes, with its old walls wide."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "\u2003I believe men would deem it negligence\n\n\u2003If I forget to tell the expenditure\n\n\u2003Of Theseus, who goes so busily\n\n\u2003To make up the battleground royally,\n\n\u2003That such a noble arena as it was\n\n\u2003I dare well say that in the world there was never.\n\n\u2003The circuit a mile was about,\n\n\u2003Walled of stone, and ditched all without.\n\n\u2003Round was the shape, in manner of a compass,\n\n\u2003Full of steps, the height of sixty paces,\n\n\u2003That when a man was set on any one step\n\n\u2003He hindered not his fellow's view.\n\n\u2003Eastward there stood a gate of marble white,\n\n\u2003Westward right such another opposite.\n\n\u2003And shortly to conclude, such a place\n\n\u2003Was ere none built on earth, and in so little time;\n\n\u2003For in the lond ther nas no crafty man,\n\n\u2003That geometrie or ars-metrik can,\n\n\u2003Ne purtreyour, ne kerver of images,\n\n\u2003That Theseus ne yaf him mete and wages\n\n\u2003The theatre for to maken and devyse.\n\n\u2003And for to doon his ryte and sacrifyse,\n\n\u2003He est-ward hath, up-on the gate above,\n\n\u2003In worship of Venus, goddesse of love,\n\n\u2003Don make an auter and an oratorie;\n\n\u2003And west-ward, in the minde and in memorie\n\n\u2003Of Mars, he maked hath right swich another,\n\n\u2003That coste largely of gold a fother.\n\n\u2003And north-ward, in a touret on the wal,\n\n\u2003Of alabastre whyt and reed coral\n\n\u2003An oratorie riche for to see,\n\n\u2003In worship of Dyane of chastitee,\n\n\u2003Hath Theseus don wroght in noble wyse.\n\n\u2003But yet hadde I foryeten to devyse\n\n\u2003The noble kerving, and the portreitures,\n\n\u2003The shap, the countenaunce, and the figures,\n\n\u2003That weren in thise oratories three.\n\n\u2003First in the temple of Venus maystow see\n\n\u2003Wroght on the wal, ful pitous to biholde,\n\n\u2003The broken slepes, and the sykes colde;\n\n\u2003The sacred teres, and the waymenting;\n\n\u2003The fyry strokes of the desiring,\n\n\u2003That loves servaunts in this lyf enduren;\n\n\u2003The othes, that hir covenants assuren;\n\n\u2003Pleasaunce and hope, desyr, fool-hardinessee,\n\n\u2003Beautee and youthe, bauderie, richesse,\n\n\u2003Charmes and force, lesinges, flaterye,\n\n\u2003Dispense, bisynesse, and jelousye,\n\n\u2003That wered of yelwe goldes a gerland,\n\n\u2003And a cokkow sitting on hir hand;\n\n\u2003Festes, instruments, caroles, daunces,\n\n\u2003Lust and array, and alle the circumstaunces\n\n\u2003Of love, whiche that I rekne and rekne shal,\n\n\u2003By ordre weren peynted on the wal,\n\n\u2003And mo than I can make of mencioun.\n\n\u2003For in the land there was no craftsman\n\n\u2003Who knew geometry or arithmetic,\n\n\u2003Nor painter, nor carver of images,\n\n\u2003To whom Theseus did not give food and wages\n\n\u2003The arena to make and devise.\n\n\u2003And to do his rite and sacrifice,\n\n\u2003He eastward, upon the gate above,\n\n\u2003In worship of Venus, goddess of love,\n\n\u2003Had made an altar and an oratory;\n\n\u2003And on the gate westward, in memory\n\n\u2003Of Mars, he had made another,\n\n\u2003That cost a generous lading of gold.\n\n\u2003And northward, in a turret on the wall,\n\n\u2003Of alabaster white and red coral,\n\n\u2003An oratory rich to see,\n\n\u2003In worship of Diana of chastity,\n\n\u2003Had Theseus wrought in noble fashion.\n\n\u2003But yet had I forgotten to describe\n\n\u2003The noble carving and portraitures,\n\n\u2003The shape, the countenance, and the figures,\n\n\u2003That were in these oratories three.\n\n\u2003First in the temple of Venus you may see\n\n\u2003Wrought on the wall, full piteous to behold,\n\n\u2003The broken sleeps and chilling sighs cold,\n\n\u2003The sacred tears and the lamenting,\n\n\u2003The fiery strokes of the desiring\n\n\u2003That love's servants in this life endure,\n\n\u2003The oaths that their vows ensure;\n\n\u2003Pleasure and Hope, Desire, Foolhardiness,\n\n\u2003Beauty and Youth, Bawdry, Riches,\n\n\u2003Charms and Force, Deceits, Flattery,\n\n\u2003Expense, Business and Jealousy,\n\n\u2003Who wore of yellow marigolds a garland,\n\n\u2003And a cuckoo sitting on her hand;\n\n\u2003Feasts, instruments, songs and dances,\n\n\u2003Joy and fancy dress, and all the circumstances\n\n\u2003Of love, that I recounted and recount shall,\n\n\u2003By order were painted on the wall,\n\n\u2003And more than I can make of mention.\n\n\u2003For soothly, al the mount of Citheroun,\n\n\u2003Ther Venus hath hir principal dwelling,\n\n\u2003Was shewed on the wal in portreying,\n\n\u2003With al the gardin, and the lustinesse.\n\n\u2003Nat was foryeten the porter Ydelnesse,\n\n\u2003Ne Narcisus the faire of yore agon,\n\n\u2003Ne yet the folye of king Salamon,\n\n\u2003Ne yet the grete strengthe of Hercules\u2014\n\n\u2003Th' enchauntements of Medea and Circes\u2014\n\n\u2003Ne of Turnus, with the hardy fiers corage,\n\n\u2003The riche Cresus, caytif in servage.\n\n\u2003Thus may ye seen that wisdom ne richesse,\n\n\u2003Beautee ne sleighte, strengthe, ne hardinesse,\n\n\u2003Ne may with Venus holde champartye;\n\n\u2003For as hir list the world than may she gye.\n\n\u2003Lo, alle thise folk so caught were in hir las,\n\n\u2003Til they for wo ful ofte seyde \"allas!\"\n\n\u2003Suffyceth heer ensamples oon or two,\n\n\u2003And though I coude rekne a thousand mo.\n\n\u2003The statue of Venus, glorious for to see,\n\n\u2003Was naked fleting in the large see,\n\n\u2003And fro the navele doun all covered was\n\n\u2003With wawes grene, and brighte as any glas.\n\n\u2003A citole in hir right hand hadde she,\n\n\u2003And on hir heed, ful semely for to see,\n\n\u2003A rose gerland, fresh and wel smellinge;\n\n\u2003Above hir heed hir dowves flikeringe.\n\n\u2003Biforn hir stood hir sone Cupido,\n\n\u2003Up-on his shuldres winges hadde he two;\n\n\u2003And blind he was, as it is ofte sene;\n\n\u2003A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene.\n\n\u2003Why sholde I noght as wel eek telle yow al\n\n\u2003The portreiture, that was up-on the wal\n\n\u2003With-inne the temple of mighty Mars the rede?\n\n\u2003Al peynted was the wal, in lengthe and brede,\n\n\u2003Lyk to the estres of the grisly place,\n\n\u2003That highte the grete temple of Mars in Trace,\n\n\u2003In thilke colde frosty regioun,\n\n\u2003Ther-as Mars hath his sovereyn mansioun.\n\n\u2003For truly, all the mount of Cythaeron,\n\n\u2003Where Venus has her principal dwelling,\n\n\u2003Was shown on the wall in portraying,\n\n\u2003With all the garden and the lustiness.\n\n\u2003Not was forgotten the porter, Idleness,\n\n\u2003Nor Narcissus the fair of long ago,\n\n\u2003Nor yet the folly of King Solomon,\n\n\u2003Nor yet the great strength of Hercules,\n\n\u2003The enchantments of Medea and Circe,\n\n\u2003Nor of Turnus, with the bold fierce courage,\n\n\u2003The rich Croesus, wretched in bondage.\n\n\u2003Thus may you see that neither wisdom nor riches,\n\n\u2003Beauty nor cleverness, strength nor boldness,\n\n\u2003May with Venus hold equal force,\n\n\u2003For as she wishes the world so may she coerce.\n\n\u2003Lo, all these folk were so caught in her net,\n\n\u2003Till they full often said \"Alas!\"\n\n\u2003Suffice here examples one or two,\n\n\u2003Although I could recount a thousand more.\n\n\u2003The statue of Venus, glorious to see,\n\n\u2003Was naked floating in the large sea,\n\n\u2003And from the navel down all covered was\n\n\u2003With waves green, and bright as any glass.\n\n\u2003A cithara in her right hand had she,\n\n\u2003And on her head, full comely to see,\n\n\u2003A rose garland, fresh and sweet-smelling;\n\n\u2003Above her head her doves fluttering.\n\n\u2003Before her stood her son Cupid,\n\n\u2003Upon his shoulders wings had he two,\n\n\u2003And blind he was, as it is often seen.\n\n\u2003A bow he bore and arrows bright and keen.\n\n\u2003Why should I not also tell you all\n\n\u2003The portraiture that was upon the wall\n\n\u2003Within the temple of mighty Mars the red?\n\n\u2003All painted was the wall, in length and breadth,\n\n\u2003Like the inside of the grisly place\n\n\u2003That is called the great temple of Mars in Thrace,\n\n\u2003In that cold frosty region\n\n\u2003There where Mars has his sovereign mansion.\n\n\u2003First on the wal was peynted a foreste,\n\n\u2003In which ther dwelleth neither man ne beste,\n\n\u2003With knotty knarry bareyn trees olde\n\n\u2003Of stubbes sharpe and hidous to biholde;\n\n\u2003In which ther ran a rumbel and a swough,\n\n\u2003As though a storm sholde bresten every bough:\n\n\u2003And downward from an hille, under a bente,\n\n\u2003Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotente,\n\n\u2003Wroght al of burned steel, of which thentree\n\n\u2003Was long and streit, and gastly for to see.\n\n\u2003And ther-out cam a rage and such a vese,\n\n\u2003That it made al the gates for to rese.\n\n\u2003The northern light in at the dores shoon,\n\n\u2003For windowe on the wal ne was ther noon,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.\n\n\u2003The dores were alle of adamant eterne,\n\n\u2003Y-clenched overthwart and endelong\n\n\u2003With iren tough; and, for to make it strong,\n\n\u2003Every piler, the temple to sustene,\n\n\u2003Was tonne-greet, of iren bright and shene.\n\n\u2003Ther saugh I first the derke imagining\n\n\u2003Of felonye, and al the compassing;\n\n\u2003The cruel ire, reed as any glede;\n\n\u2003The pykepurs, and eek the pale drede;\n\n\u2003The smyler with the knyf under the cloke;\n\n\u2003The shepne brenning with the blake smoke;\n\n\u2003The treson of the mordring in the bedde;\n\n\u2003The open werre, with woundes al bibledde;\n\n\u2003Contek, with blody knyf and sharp manace;\n\n\u2003Al ful of chirking was that sory place.\n\n\u2003The sleere of him-self yet saugh I ther,\n\n\u2003His herte-blood hath bathed al his heer;\n\n\u2003The nayl y-driven in the shode a-night;\n\n\u2003The colde deeth, with mouth gaping upright.\n\n\u2003Amiddes of the temple sat meschaunce,\n\n\u2003With disconfort and sory contenaunce.\n\n\u2003Yet saugh I woodnesse laughing in his rage;\n\n\u2003Armed compleint, out-hees, and fiers outrage.\n\n\u2003The careyne in the bush, with throte y-corve:\n\n\u2003First on the wall was painted a forest,\n\n\u2003In which there dwelt neither man nor beast,\n\n\u2003With knotty gnarled barren trees old,\n\n\u2003Of shattered trunks hideous to behold,\n\n\u2003Through which there ran a rumble in a wind,\n\n\u2003As though a storm should break every bough,\n\n\u2003And downward from a hill, under a bluff,\n\n\u2003There stood the temple of Mars, strong in war,\n\n\u2003Wrought of burnished steel, of which the entrance\n\n\u2003Was long and straight, and ghastly to see.\n\n\u2003And therefrom came a wind roar and such a blast\n\n\u2003That it made all the gate to shudder.\n\n\u2003The northern light in the doors shone,\n\n\u2003For window on the wall there was none\n\n\u2003Through which men might any light discern.\n\n\u2003The door was all of adamant eternal\n\n\u2003Reinforced crosswise and endlong\n\n\u2003With iron tough; and to make it strong,\n\n\u2003Every pillar, the temple to sustain,\n\n\u2003Was barrel-thick, of iron bright and shining.\n\n\u2003There saw I first the dark imagining\n\n\u2003Of Crime, Treachery, and all the plotting;\n\n\u2003The cruel Ire, red as any coal burning,\n\n\u2003The pickpocket, and also the pale Dread;\n\n\u2003The smiler with the knife under the cloak;\n\n\u2003The stable burning with the black smoke;\n\n\u2003The treason of the murdering in the bed;\n\n\u2003The open warfare, with the wounds all bled,\n\n\u2003Conflict, with bloody knife and sharp menace.\n\n\u2003All full of clamor was that sorry place.\n\n\u2003The suicide saw I there:\n\n\u2003His heart blood had bathed all his hair;\n\n\u2003The nail driven in the head at night;\n\n\u2003The cold death, with mouth gaping upright.\n\n\u2003At the temple center sat Mischance,\n\n\u2003With discouraged and sorry countenance.\n\n\u2003Yet saw I Madness laughing in his rage,\n\n\u2003Armed Grievance, Outcry and fierce Outrage;\n\n\u2003The corpse in the brush, with throat slashed;\n\n\u2003A thousand slayn, and nat of qualm y-storve;\n\n\u2003The tiraunt, with the prey by force y-raft;\n\n\u2003The toun destroyed, ther was no-thing laft.\n\n\u2003Yet saugh I brent the shippes hoppesteres;\n\n\u2003The hunte strangled with the wilde beres:\n\n\u2003The sowe freten the child right in the cradel;\n\n\u2003The cook y-scalded, for al his longe ladel.\n\n\u2003Noght was foryeten by th'infortune of Marte;\n\n\u2003The carter over-riden with his carte,\n\n\u2003Under the wheel ful lowe he lay adoun.\n\n\u2003Ther were also, of Martes divisioun,\n\n\u2003The barbour, and the bocher, and the smith\n\n\u2003That forgeth sharpe swerdes on his stith.\n\n\u2003And al above, depeynted in a tour,\n\n\u2003Saw I conquest sittinge in greet honour,\n\n\u2003With the sharpe swerde over his heed\n\n\u2003Hanginge by a sotil twynes threed.\n\n\u2003Depeynted was the slaughtre of Julius,\n\n\u2003Of grete Nero, and of Antonius;\n\n\u2003Al be that thilke tyme they were unborn,\n\n\u2003Yet was hir deeth depeynted ther-biforn,\n\n\u2003By manasinge of Mars, right by figure;\n\n\u2003So was it shewed in that portreiture\n\n\u2003As is depeynted in the sterres above,\n\n\u2003Who shal be slayn or elles deed for love.\n\n\u2003Suffyceth oon ensample in stories olde,\n\n\u2003I may not rekne hem alle, thogh I wolde.\n\n\u2003The statue of Mars up-on a carte stood,\n\n\u2003Armed, and loked grim as he were wood;\n\n\u2003And over his heed ther shynen two figures\n\n\u2003Of sterres, that been cleped in scriptures,\n\n\u2003That oon Puella, that other Rubeus.\n\n\u2003This god of armes was arrayed thus:\u2014\n\n\u2003A wolf ther stood biforn him at his feet\n\n\u2003With eyen rede, and of a man he eet;\n\n\u2003With sotil pencel was depeynt this storie,\n\n\u2003In redoutinge of Mars and of his glorie.\n\n\u2003Now to the temple of Diane the chaste\n\n\u2003As shortly as I can I wol me haste,\n\n\u2003A thousand slain, and of plague not dead;\n\n\u2003The tyrant, with the plunder by force seized;\n\n\u2003The town destroyed, there was nothing left.\n\n\u2003Yet saw I burnt the ships as on the waves they danced,\n\n\u2003The hunter killed by the wild bears;\n\n\u2003The sow devouring the child right in the cradle;\n\n\u2003The cook scalded, for all his long ladle\u2014\n\n\u2003Nought was forgotten by the evil of Mars\u2014\n\n\u2003The carter run over by his cart,\n\n\u2003Under the wheel full low he lay down.\n\n\u2003There were also, of Mars' cohort,\n\n\u2003The barber and the butcher and the blacksmith,\n\n\u2003Who forged sharp swords on his anvil.\n\n\u2003And all above, depicted in a tower,\n\n\u2003Saw I Conquest, sitting in great honor,\n\n\u2003With the sharp sword over his head\n\n\u2003Hanging by a twine's thin thread.\n\n\u2003Depicted was the slaughter of Julius,\n\n\u2003Of great Nero, and of Antonius;\n\n\u2003Although they were at that time unborn,\n\n\u2003Yet were their deaths depicted there before\n\n\u2003By malignity of Mars prefigured.\n\n\u2003So it was shown in that portraiture,\n\n\u2003As depicted in the stars above\n\n\u2003Who shall be slain or else dead for love.\n\n\u2003Suffice one example in stories old:\n\n\u2003I may not recount them all, though I would.\n\n\u2003The statue of Mars upon a chariot stood\n\n\u2003Armed, and looked grim as if he were mad;\n\n\u2003And over his head there shone two figures\n\n\u2003Of stars, who had been called in books\n\n\u2003The one Puella, that other Rubeus:\n\n\u2003This god of arms was displayed thus.\n\n\u2003A wolf there stood before him at his feet\n\n\u2003With eyes red, and of a man he ate.\n\n\u2003With subtle brush was depicted this story\n\n\u2003In reverence and fear of Mars and his glory.\n\n\u2003Now to the temple of Diana the chaste,\n\n\u2003As briefly as I can, I will make haste\n\n\u2003To telle yow al the descripcioun.\n\n\u2003Depeynted been the walles up and doun\n\n\u2003Of hunting and of shamfast chastitee.\n\n\u2003Ther saugh I how woful Calistopee,\n\n\u2003Whan that Diane agreved was with here,\n\n\u2003Was turned from a womman til a bere,\n\n\u2003And after was she maad the lode-sterre;\n\n\u2003Thus was it peynt, I can say yow no ferre;\n\n\u2003Hir sone is eek a sterre, as men may see.\n\n\u2003Ther saugh I Dane, y-turned til a tree,\n\n\u2003I mene nat the goddesse Diane,\n\n\u2003But Penneus doughter, which that highte Dane.\n\n\u2003Ther saugh I Attheon an hert y-maked,\n\n\u2003For vengeaunce that he saugh Diane al naked;\n\n\u2003I saugh how that his houndes have him caught,\n\n\u2003And freten him, for that they knewe him naught.\n\n\u2003Yet peynted was a litel forther-moor,\n\n\u2003How Atthalante hunted the wilde boor,\n\n\u2003And Meleagre, and many another mo,\n\n\u2003For which Diane wroghte him care and wo.\n\n\u2003Ther saugh I many another wonder storie,\n\n\u2003The whiche me list nat drawen to memorie.\n\n\u2003This goddesse on an hert ful hye seet,\n\n\u2003With smale houndes al aboute hir feet;\n\n\u2003And undernethe hir feet she hadde a mone,\n\n\u2003Wexing it was, and sholde wanie sone.\n\n\u2003In gaude grene hir statue clothed was,\n\n\u2003With bowe in honde, and arwes in a cas.\n\n\u2003Hir eyen caste she ful lowe adoun,\n\n\u2003Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun.\n\n\u2003A womman travailinge was hir biforn,\n\n\u2003But, for hir child so longe was unborn,\n\n\u2003Ful pitously Lucyna gan she calle,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"help, for thou mayst best of alle.\"\n\n\u2003Wel couthe he peynten lyfly that it wroghte,\n\n\u2003With many a florin he the hewes boghte.\n\n\u2003Now been thise listes maad, and Theseus,\n\n\u2003That at his grete cost arrayed thus\n\n\u2003The temples and the theatre every del,\n\n\u2003To tell you all the description.\n\n\u2003Depicted were the walls up and down\n\n\u2003Of hunting and of blameless chastity.\n\n\u2003There saw I how woeful Callisto,\n\n\u2003When that Diana aggrieved was with her,\n\n\u2003Was turned from a woman into a bear,\n\n\u2003And after was she made the North Star;\n\n\u2003Thus it was painted, I can tell you no more;\n\n\u2003Her son is also a star, as men may see.\n\n\u2003There saw I Daphne, turned into a tree\u2014\n\n\u2003I mean not the goddess Diana,\n\n\u2003But Peneus' daughter, who was called Daphne.\n\n\u2003There I saw Actaeon into a hart made;\n\n\u2003For vengeance that he saw Diana all naked;\n\n\u2003I saw how that his hounds have him caught\n\n\u2003And upon him feasted, for they knew him not.\n\n\u2003Yet painted along a little further,\n\n\u2003How Atalanta hunted the wild boar,\n\n\u2003And Meleager, and many another more,\n\n\u2003For which Diana brought him care and woe.\n\n\u2003There saw I many another wonderful story,\n\n\u2003That I cannot now draw to memory.\n\n\u2003This goddess on a hart full high sat,\n\n\u2003With small hounds all about her feet;\n\n\u2003And underneath her feet she had a moon,\n\n\u2003Waxing it was, and should wane soon.\n\n\u2003In yellow-green her statue clothed was,\n\n\u2003With bow in hand, and arrows in a case.\n\n\u2003Her eyes cast she full low down,\n\n\u2003Where Pluto had his dark region.\n\n\u2003A woman in labor was her before,\n\n\u2003But because her child was so long unborn,\n\n\u2003Full piteously Lucina began she to call,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Help, for you may help best of all.\"\n\n\u2003Well could he who wrought it paint like life;\n\n\u2003With many a florin he the pigments bought.\n\n\u2003Now was the arena made, and Theseus,\n\n\u2003Who at his great cost adorned thus\n\n\u2003The temples and battleground in every detail,\n\n\u2003Whan it was doon, him lyked wonder wel.\n\n\u2003But stinte I wol of Theseus a lyte,\n\n\u2003And speke of Palamon and of Arcite.\n\n\u2003The day approcheth of hir retourninge,\n\n\u2003That everich sholde an hundred knightes bringe,\n\n\u2003The bataille to darreyne, as I yow tolde;\n\n\u2003And til Ath\u00e9nes, hir covenant for to holde,\n\n\u2003Hath everich of hem broght an hundred knightes\n\n\u2003Wel armed for the werre at alle rightes.\n\n\u2003And sikerly, ther trowed many a man\n\n\u2003That never, sithen that the world bigan,\n\n\u2003As for to speke of knighthod of hir hond,\n\n\u2003As fer as God hath maked see or lond,\n\n\u2003Nas, of so fewe, so noble a companye.\n\n\u2003For every wight that lovede chivalrye,\n\n\u2003And wolde, his thankes, han a passant name,\n\n\u2003Hath preyed that he mighte ben of that game;\n\n\u2003And wel was him, that ther-to chosen was.\n\n\u2003For if ther fille to-morwe swich a cas,\n\n\u2003Ye knowen wel, that every lusty knight,\n\n\u2003That loveth paramours, and hath his might,\n\n\u2003Were it in Engelond, or elles-where,\n\n\u2003They wolde, hir thankes, wilnen to be there.\n\n\u2003To fighte for a lady, ben'cite!\n\n\u2003It were a lusty sighte for to see.\n\n\u2003And right so ferden they with Palamon.\n\n\u2003With him ther wenten knightes many oon;\n\n\u2003Som wol ben armed in an habergeoun,\n\n\u2003In a brest-plat and in a light gipoun;\n\n\u2003And somme woln have a peyre plates large;\n\n\u2003And somme woln have a Pruce sheld, or a targe;\n\n\u2003Somme woln ben armed on hir legges weel,\n\n\u2003And have an ax, and somme a mace of steel.\n\n\u2003Ther nis no newe gyse, that it nas old.\n\n\u2003Armed were they, as I have you told,\n\n\u2003Everich after his opinioun.\n\n\u2003Ther maistow seen coming with Palamoun\n\n\u2003Ligurge him-self, the grete king of Trace;\n\n\u2003Blak was his berd, and manly was his face.\n\n\u2003When done it pleased him wonderfully well.\n\n\u2003But for now I will cease to speak of Theseus,\n\n\u2003And speak of Palamon and Arcita.\n\n\u2003The day approached of their returning,\n\n\u2003When each should a hundred knights bring\n\n\u2003For the battle, as I you told;\n\n\u2003And to Athens, their covenant to hold,\n\n\u2003Had each of them brought a hundred knights\n\n\u2003Well armed for the war at every point.\n\n\u2003And surely, there believed many a man\n\n\u2003That never, since the world began,\n\n\u2003Among all knighthood's epitome,\n\n\u2003As far as God had made land or sea,\n\n\u2003Was there among so few so much nobility.\n\n\u2003For every man who loved chivalry,\n\n\u2003And would gladly have a puissant name,\n\n\u2003Had prayed that he might be of that game;\n\n\u2003And well was him who thereto chosen was.\n\n\u2003For if there befell tomorrow such a case,\n\n\u2003You know well that every lusty knight\n\n\u2003Who loves passionately and has the power,\n\n\u2003Were he in England or elsewhere,\n\n\u2003He would, above all, wish to be there.\n\n\u2003To fight for a lady, benedicite!\n\n\u2003It would be a joyful sight to see.\n\n\u2003And right so fared they with Palamon.\n\n\u2003With him there went knights many a one;\n\n\u2003One would be armed with a coat of mail,\n\n\u2003And a breastplate and a light tunic;\n\n\u2003And one would have a suit of armor plates large;\n\n\u2003And some would have a light or Prussian shield;\n\n\u2003Some would be armed on his legs well,\n\n\u2003And have an axe, and some a mace of steel.\n\n\u2003There is no new fashion that is not old.\n\n\u2003Armed were they, as I have you told,\n\n\u2003Each after his opinion.\n\n\u2003There may you have seen, coming with Palamon,\n\n\u2003Lycurgus himself, the great king of Thrace.\n\n\u2003Black was his beard, and manly was his face.\n\n\u2003The cercles of his eyen in his heed,\n\n\u2003They gloweden bitwixe yelow and reed:\n\n\u2003And lyk a griffon loked he aboute,\n\n\u2003With kempe heres on his browes stoute;\n\n\u2003His limes grete, his braunes harde and stronge,\n\n\u2003His shuldres brode, his armes rounde and longe.\n\n\u2003And as the gyse was in his contree,\n\n\u2003Ful hye up-on a char of gold stood he,\n\n\u2003With foure whyte boles in the trays.\n\n\u2003In-stede of cote-armure over his harnays,\n\n\u2003With nayles yelwe and brighte as any gold,\n\n\u2003He hadde a beres skin, col-blak, for-old.\n\n\u2003His longe heer was kembd bihinde his bak,\n\n\u2003As any ravenes fether it shoon for-blak:\n\n\u2003A wrethe of gold arm-greet, of huge wighte,\n\n\u2003Upon his heed, set ful of stones brighte,\n\n\u2003Of fyne rubies and of dyamaunts.\n\n\u2003Aboute his char ther wenten whyte alaunts,\n\n\u2003Twenty and mo, as grete as any steer,\n\n\u2003To hunten at the leoun or the deer,\n\n\u2003And folwed him, with mosel faste y-bounde,\n\n\u2003Colers of gold, and torets fyled rounde.\n\n\u2003An hundred lordes hadde he in his route\n\n\u2003Armed ful wel, with hertes sterne and stoute.\n\n\u2003With Arcita, in stories as men finde,\n\n\u2003The grete Emetreus, the king of Inde,\n\n\u2003Up-on a stede bay, trapped in steel,\n\n\u2003Covered in cloth of gold diapred weel,\n\n\u2003Cam ryding lyk the god of armes, Mars.\n\n\u2003His cote-armure was of cloth of Tars,\n\n\u2003Couched with perles whyte and rounde and grete\n\n\u2003His sadel was of brend gold newe y-bete;\n\n\u2003A mantelet upon his shuldre hanginge\n\n\u2003Bret-ful of rubies rede, as fyr sparklinge.\n\n\u2003His crispe heer lyk ringes was y-ronne,\n\n\u2003And that was yelow, and glitered as the sonne.\n\n\u2003His nose was heigh, his eyen bright citryn,\n\n\u2003His lippes rounde, his colour was sangwyn,\n\n\u2003A fewe fraknes in his face y-spreynd,\n\n\u2003The irises of his eyes in his head,\n\n\u2003They glowed between yellow and red;\n\n\u2003And like a griffin looked he about,\n\n\u2003With shaggy hairs on his brows stout;\n\n\u2003His limbs great, his muscles hard and strong,\n\n\u2003His shoulders broad, his arms round and long;\n\n\u2003And as the fashion was in his country,\n\n\u2003Full high upon a chariot of gold stood he,\n\n\u2003With four white bulls in the traces.\n\n\u2003Instead of a coat of arms over his armor,\n\n\u2003With nails yellow and bright as any gold\n\n\u2003He had a bearskin, coal black and old.\n\n\u2003His long hair was combed behind his back\u2014\n\n\u2003As any raven's feather it shone very black;\n\n\u2003A wreath of gold, arm-thick and of huge weight,\n\n\u2003Upon his head, set full of stones bright,\n\n\u2003Of fine rubies and of diamonds.\n\n\u2003About his chariot there went white wolfhounds,\n\n\u2003Twenty and more, as great as any steer,\n\n\u2003To hunt the lion or the deer,\n\n\u2003And followed him with muzzles fastbound,\n\n\u2003Collars of gold, and leash-rings filed round.\n\n\u2003A hundred lords had he in his retinue,\n\n\u2003Armed full well, with hearts stern and stout.\n\n\u2003With Arcita, in stories as men find,\n\n\u2003The great Emetreus, the king of India,\n\n\u2003Upon a baycolored steed with trappings of steel,\n\n\u2003Covered in cloth of gold that was patterned well,\n\n\u2003Came riding like the god of arms, Mars.\n\n\u2003His coat of armor was of Tarsia cloth,\n\n\u2003Set with pearls white and round and great,\n\n\u2003His saddle was of burnished gold newly wrought;\n\n\u2003A short cloak upon his shoulder hanging\n\n\u2003Brimful of rubies red as fire sparkling.\n\n\u2003His curly hair like rings hung down,\n\n\u2003And that was yellow, and glittered as the sun.\n\n\u2003His nose was high, his eyes bright citron,\n\n\u2003His lips round, his complexion red;\n\n\u2003A few freckles on his face scattered,\n\n\u2003Betwixen yelow and somdel blak y-meynd,\n\n\u2003And as a leoun he his loking caste.\n\n\u2003Of fyve and twenty yeer his age I caste.\n\n\u2003His berd was wel bigonne for to springe;\n\n\u2003His voys was as a trompe thunderinge.\n\n\u2003Up-on his heed he wered of laurer grene\n\n\u2003A gerland fresh and lusty for to sene.\n\n\u2003Up-on his hand he bar, for his deduyt,\n\n\u2003An egle tame, as eny lilie whyt.\n\n\u2003An hundred lordes hadde he with him there,\n\n\u2003Al armed, sauf hir heddes, in al hir gere,\n\n\u2003Ful richely in alle maner thinges.\n\n\u2003For trusteth wel, that dukes, erles, kinges,\n\n\u2003Were gadered in this noble companye,\n\n\u2003For love and for encrees of chivalrye.\n\n\u2003Aboute this king ther ran on every part\n\n\u2003Ful many a tame leoun and lepart.\n\n\u2003And in this wyse thise lordes, alle and some,\n\n\u2003Ben on the Sonday to the citee come\n\n\u2003Aboute pryme, and in the toun alight.\n\n\u2003This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,\n\n\u2003Whan he had broght hem in-to his citee,\n\n\u2003And inned hem, everich in his degree,\n\n\u2003He festeth hem, and dooth so greet labour\n\n\u2003To esen hem, and doon hem al honour,\n\n\u2003That yet men weneth that no mannes wit\n\n\u2003Of noon estat ne coude amenden it.\n\n\u2003The minstralcye, the service at the feste,\n\n\u2003The grete yiftes to the moste and leste,\n\n\u2003The riche array of Theseus paleys,\n\n\u2003Ne who sat first ne last up-on the deys,\n\n\u2003What ladies fairest been or best daunsinge,\n\n\u2003Or which of hem can dauncen best and singe,\n\n\u2003Ne who most felingly speketh of love:\n\n\u2003What haukes sitten on the perche above,\n\n\u2003What houndes liggen on the floor adoun:\n\n\u2003Of al this make I now no mencioun;\n\n\u2003But al th'effect, that thinketh me\n\nthe beste;\n\n\u2003Between yellow and almost black mingled;\n\n\u2003And as a lion his glance he cast.\n\n\u2003Of five and twenty years his age I guess:\n\n\u2003His beard was well begun to fill.\n\n\u2003His voice was as a trumpet thundering.\n\n\u2003Upon his head he wore of laurel green\n\n\u2003A garland fresh and lusty for to see.\n\n\u2003Upon his hand he bore for his delight\n\n\u2003An eagle tame, as any lily white.\n\n\u2003A hundred lords had he with him there,\n\n\u2003All armed, except their heads, in all their gear,\n\n\u2003Full richly in all manner of things.\n\n\u2003For trust well that dukes, earls, kings\n\n\u2003Were gathered in this noble company\n\n\u2003For love and for the increase of chivalry.\n\n\u2003About this king there ran on every side\n\n\u2003Full many a tame lion and leopard.\n\n\u2003And in this way these lords, all and one,\n\n\u2003Were on the Sunday to the city come\n\n\u2003About prime, and in this town alighted.\n\n\u2003This Theseus, this duke, this worthy knight,\n\n\u2003When he had brought them into his city,\n\n\u2003And housed them, each according to his rank,\n\n\u2003He feasted them, and did so great labor\n\n\u2003To make them comfortable and do them all honor,\n\n\u2003That yet men think that no man's wit\n\n\u2003Of any rank could improve on it.\n\n\u2003The minstrelsy, the service of the feast,\n\n\u2003The great gifts to the guests highest and least,\n\n\u2003The rich decor of Theseus' palace,\n\n\u2003Who sat first and last upon the dais,\n\n\u2003What ladies were fairest or best at dancing,\n\n\u2003Or which of them could both dance best and sing,\n\n\u2003Who most movingly spoke of love;\n\n\u2003What hawks sat on the perch above,\n\n\u2003What hounds lay on the floor below\u2014\n\n\u2003Of all this I make no mention now;\n\n\u2003But only the heart of the matter\u2014that seems to me\n\nthe best.\n\n\u2003Now comth the poynt, and herkneth if yow leste.\n\n\u2003The Sonday night, er day bigan to springe,\n\n\u2003When Palamon the larke herde singe,\n\n\u2003Although it nere nat day by houres two,\n\n\u2003Yet song the larke, and Palamon also.\n\n\u2003With holy herte, and with an heigh corage\n\n\u2003He roos, to wenden on his pilgrimage\n\n\u2003Un-to the blisful Citherea benigne,\n\n\u2003I mene Venus, honurable and digne.\n\n\u2003And in hir houre he walketh forth a pas\n\n\u2003Un-to the listes, ther hir temple was,\n\n\u2003And doun he kneleth, and with humble chere\n\n\u2003And herte soor, he seyde as ye shul here.\n\n\u2003\"Faireste of faire, o lady myn, Venus,\n\n\u2003Doughter to Jove and spouse of Vulcanus,\n\n\u2003Thou glader of the mount of Citheroun,\n\n\u2003For thilke love thou haddest to Adoun,\n\n\u2003Have pitee of my bittre teres smerte,\n\n\u2003And tak myn humble preyer at thyn herte.\n\n\u2003Alias! I ne have no langage to telle\n\n\u2003Th'effectes ne the torments of myn helle;\n\n\u2003Myn herte may myne harmes nat biwreye;\n\n\u2003I am so confus, that I can noght seye.\n\n\u2003But mercy, lady bright, that knowest weel\n\n\u2003My thought, and seest what harmes that I feel,\n\n\u2003Considere al this, and rewe up-on my sore,\n\n\u2003As wisly as I shal for evermore,\n\n\u2003Emforth my might, thy trewe servant be,\n\n\u2003And holden werre alwey with chastitee;\n\n\u2003That make I myn avow, so ye me helpe.\n\n\u2003I kepe noght of armes for to yelpe,\n\n\u2003Ne I ne axe nat to-morwe to have victorie,\n\n\u2003Ne renoun in this cas, ne veyne glorie\n\n\u2003Of pris of armes blowen up and doun,\n\n\u2003But I wolde have fully possessioun\n\n\u2003Of Emelye, and dye in thy servyse;\n\n\u2003Find thou the maner how, and in what wyse.\n\n\u2003I recche nat, but it may bettre be,\n\n\u2003To have victorie of hem, or they of me,\n\n\u2003Now comes the point, and listen if you please.\n\n\u2003The Sunday night, before day began to spring,\n\n\u2003When Palamon the lark heard sing\n\n(Although it was not day by hours two,\n\n\u2003Yet sang the lark) and Palamon,\n\n\u2003With holy heart and with a high courage,\n\n\u2003He arose to wend on his pilgrimage\n\n\u2003Unto the blissful Cytherea benign\u2014\n\n\u2003I mean Venus, honorable and divine.\n\n\u2003And in her hour he walked slowly forth\n\n\u2003Unto the arena where her temple was,\n\n\u2003And down he knelt, and with humble spirit\n\n\u2003And heart lovesore, he said as you shall hear:\n\n\u2003\"Fairest of fair, O lady mine, Venus,\n\n\u2003Daughter to Jove and spouse of Vulcanus,\n\n\u2003You gladdener of the mount of Cythaeron,\n\n\u2003For the love you had for Adonis,\n\n\u2003Have pity on my bitter, stinging tears,\n\n\u2003And take my humble prayer to your heart.\n\n\u2003Alas! I have no language to tell\n\n\u2003The effects nor the torments of my hell;\n\n\u2003My heart may my hurts not reveal;\n\n\u2003I am so confused that I cannot say.\n\n\u2003But mercy, lady bright, who knows well\n\n\u2003My thought, and sees what hurt I feel,\n\n\u2003Consider this, and have pity on my pain,\n\n\u2003As surely as I shall for evermore,\n\n\u2003With all my might, your true servant be,\n\n\u2003And make war always with chastity.\n\n\u2003That I make my vow, so you me help.\n\n\u2003I dare not of arms for to boast,\n\n\u2003Nor do I ask tomorrow to have victory,\n\n\u2003Nor renown in this event, nor vain glory\n\n\u2003Of reputation of arms sounded up and down,\n\n\u2003But I would have full possession\n\n\u2003Of Emily, and die in your service.\n\n\u2003Find you the manner how, and in what way:\n\n\u2003I care not whether it may better be\n\n\u2003To have victory of them, or they of me,\n\n\u2003So that I have my lady in myne armes.\n\n\u2003For though so be that Mars is god of armes,\n\n\u2003Your vertu is so greet in hevene above,\n\n\u2003That, if yow list, I shal wel have my love.\n\n\u2003Thy temple wol I worshipe evermo,\n\n\u2003And on thyn auter, wher I ryde or go,\n\n\u2003I wol don sacrifice, and fyres bete.\n\n\u2003And if ye wol nat so, my lady swete,\n\n\u2003Than preye I thee, to-morwe with a spere\n\n\u2003That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere.\n\n\u2003Thanne rekke I noght, whan I have lost my lyf,\n\n\u2003Though that Arcita winne hir to his wyf.\n\n\u2003This is th'effect and ende of my preyere,\n\n\u2003Yif me my love, thou blisful lady dere.\"\n\n\u2003Whan th'orisoun was doon of Palamon,\n\n\u2003His sacrifice he dide, and that anon\n\n\u2003Ful pitously, with alle circumstaunces,\n\n\u2003Al telle I noght as now his observaunces.\n\n\u2003But atte laste the statue of Venus shook,\n\n\u2003And made a signe, wher-by that he took\n\n\u2003That his preyere accepted was that day.\n\n\u2003For thogh the signe shewed a delay,\n\n\u2003Yet wiste he wel that graunted was his bone;\n\n\u2003And with glad herte he wente him hoom ful sone.\n\n\u2003The thridde houre inequal that Palamon\n\n\u2003Bigan to Venus temple for to goon,\n\n\u2003Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye,\n\n\u2003And to the temple of Diane gan hye.\n\n\u2003Hir maydens, that she thider with hir ladde,\n\n\u2003Ful redily with hem the fyr they hadde,\n\n\u2003Th'encens, the clothes, and the remenant al\n\n\u2003That to the sacrifyce longen shal;\n\n\u2003The hornes fulle of meth, as was the gyse;\n\n\u2003Ther lakked noght to doon hir sacrifyse.\n\n\u2003Smoking the temple, ful of clothes faire,\n\n\u2003This Emelye, with herte debonaire,\n\n\u2003Hir body wessh with water of a welle;\n\n\u2003But how she dide hir ryte I dar not telle,\n\n\u2003But it be any thing in general;\n\n\u2003So that I have my lady in my arms.\n\n\u2003For though Mars is god of arms,\n\n\u2003Your virtue is so great in heaven above,\n\n\u2003That if you will, I shall well have my love.\n\n\u2003Your temple will I worship evermore,\n\n\u2003And on your altar. Whether I walk or ride,\n\n\u2003I will do sacrifice and fires light.\n\n\u2003And if you will it not so, my lady sweet,\n\n\u2003Then pray I you, tomorrow with a spear\n\n\u2003That Arcita through my heart pierce.\n\n\u2003Then care I not, when I have lost my life,\n\n\u2003Though that Arcita wins her to his wife.\n\n\u2003This is the essence and end of my prayer:\n\n\u2003Give me my love, you blissful lady dear.\"\n\n\u2003When the prayer was done by Palamon,\n\n\u2003His sacrifice he did, and that anon\n\n\u2003Full humbly, in every detail complete,\n\n\u2003Although I tell not now his observances.\n\n\u2003But at last the statue of Venus shook,\n\n\u2003And made a sign, whereby he understood\n\n\u2003That his prayer accepted was that day.\n\n\u2003For though the sign showed a delay\n\n\u2003Yet knew he well that granted was his wish\n\n\u2003And with glad heart he went home anon.\n\n\u2003Three hours after Palamon\n\n\u2003Began to Venus' temple for to go,\n\n\u2003Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily,\n\n\u2003And to the temple of Diana hurried.\n\n\u2003Her maidens, that she there with her led,\n\n\u2003Full readily the fire with them they had,\n\n\u2003The incense, the vestments and tapestries\n\n\u2003That to the sacrifice should belong;\n\n\u2003The horns full of mead, as was the fashion;\n\n\u2003There lacked nothing to do her sacrifice.\n\n\u2003Incensing the temples, full of tapestries fair,\n\n\u2003This Emily, with heart humble and gracious,\n\n\u2003Her body washed with water of a spring;\n\n\u2003But how she did her rite I dare not tell,\n\n\u2003At least not in detail;\n\n\u2003And yet it were a game to heren al;\n\n\u2003To him that meneth wel, it were no charge:\n\n\u2003But it is good a man ben at his large.\n\n\u2003Hir brighte heer was kempt, untressed al;\n\n\u2003A coroune of a grene ook cerial\n\n\u2003Up-on hir heed was set ful fair and mete.\n\n\u2003Two fyres on the auter gan she bete,\n\n\u2003And dide hir thinges, as men may biholde\n\n\u2003In Stace of Thebes, and thise bokes olde.\n\n\u2003Whan kindled was the fyr, with pitous chere\n\n\u2003Un-to Diane she spak, as ye may here.\n\n\u2003\"O chaste goddesse of the wodes grene,\n\n\u2003To whom bothe heven and erthe and see is sene,\n\n\u2003Quene of the regne of Pluto derk and lowe,\n\n\u2003Goddesse of maydens, that myn herte hast knowe\n\n\u2003Ful many a yeer, and woost what I desire,\n\n\u2003As keep me fro thy vengeaunce and thyn ire,\n\n\u2003That Attheon aboughte cruelly.\n\n\u2003Chaste goddesse, wel wostow that I\n\n\u2003Desire to been a mayden al my lyf,\n\n\u2003Ne never wol I be no love ne wyf.\n\n\u2003I am, thou woost, yet of thy companye\n\n\u2003A mayde, and love hunting and venerye,\n\n\u2003And for to walken in the wodes wilde,\n\n\u2003And noght to been a wyf, and be with childe.\n\n\u2003Noght wol I knowe companye of man.\n\n\u2003Now help me, lady, sith ye may and can,\n\n\u2003For tho thre formes that thou hast in thee.\n\n\u2003And Palamon, that hath swich love to me,\n\n\u2003And eek Arcite, that loveth me so sore,\n\n\u2003This grace I preye thee with-oute more,\n\n\u2003As sende love and pees bitwixe hem two;\n\n\u2003And fro me turne awey hir hertes so,\n\n\u2003That al hir hote love, and hir desyr,\n\n\u2003And al hir bisy torment, and hir fyr\n\n\u2003Be queynt, or turned in another place;\n\n\u2003And if so be thou wolt not do me grace,\n\n\u2003Or if my destinee be shapen so,\n\n\u2003That I shal nedes have oon of hem two,\n\n\u2003And yet it would be a pleasure to hear all,\n\n\u2003For him for whom it be not too much;\n\n\u2003For it is good for a man be free to speak or keep silence.\n\n\u2003Her bright hair was combed, unbraided all;\n\n\u2003A garland of evergreen oak\n\n\u2003Upon her head was set full fair and fitting.\n\n\u2003Two fires on the altar began she to light,\n\n\u2003And did her rites, as men may behold\n\n\u2003In Statius of Thebes and those books old.\n\n\u2003When kindled was the fire, with piteous mien\n\n\u2003Unto Diana she spoke as you may hear:\n\n\u2003\"O chaste goddess of the woods green,\n\n\u2003To whom both heaven and earth and sea is seen,\n\n\u2003Queen of the realm of Pluto dark and low,\n\n\u2003Goddess of maidens, whom my heart has known\n\n\u2003Full many a year, and knowing what I desire,\n\n\u2003Keep me from your vengeance and your ire,\n\n\u2003That Actaeon suffered for cruelly.\n\n\u2003Chaste goddess, well know you that I\n\n\u2003Desire to be a maiden for all my life\n\n\u2003And never wish to be a lover nor a wife.\n\n\u2003I am, you know, yet of your company,\n\n\u2003A maid, and love hunting and the chase,\n\n\u2003And to walk in the woods wild,\n\n\u2003And not to be a wife and be with child.\n\n\u2003Not will I know company of man.\n\n\u2003Now help me lady, if you may and can,\n\n\u2003As Diana, Luna, and Persephone.\n\n\u2003And Palamon, who has such love for me,\n\n\u2003And Arcita, who loves me so sore,\n\n\u2003This grace I pray you without more:\n\n\u2003Send love and peace between them two,\n\n\u2003And from me turn away their hearts so\n\n\u2003That all their hot love and their desire,\n\n\u2003And all their sharp torment and their fire,\n\n\u2003Be quenched or turned toward another place.\n\n\u2003Or if so be your will to not do me grace,\n\n\u2003Or if my destiny be determined so,\n\n\u2003That I must have one of the two,\n\n\u2003As sende me him that most desireth me.\n\n\u2003Bihold, goddesse of clene chastitee,\n\n\u2003The bittre teres that on my chekes falle.\n\n\u2003Sin thou are mayde, and keper of us alle,\n\n\u2003My maydenhede thou kepe and wel conserve,\n\n\u2003And whyl I live a mayde, I wol thee serve.\"\n\n\u2003The fyres brenne up-on the auter clere,\n\n\u2003Whyl Emelye was thus in hir preyere;\n\n\u2003But sodeinly she saugh a sighte queynte,\n\n\u2003For right anon oon of the fyres queynte,\n\n\u2003And quiked agayn, and after that anon\n\n\u2003That other fyr was queynt, and al agon;\n\n\u2003And as it queynte, it made a whistelinge,\n\n\u2003As doon thise wete brondes in hir brenninge,\n\n\u2003And at the brondes ende out-ran anoon\n\n\u2003As it were blody dropes many oon;\n\n\u2003For which so sore agast was Emelye,\n\n\u2003That she was wel ny mad, and gan to crye,\n\n\u2003For she ne wiste what it signifyed;\n\n\u2003But only for the fere thus hath she cryed,\n\n\u2003And weep, that it was pitee for to here.\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al Diane gan appere,\n\n\u2003With bowe in hond, right as an hunteresse,\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"Doghter, stint thyn hevinesse\n\n\u2003Among the goddes hye it is affermed,\n\n\u2003And by eterne word write and confermed,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt ben wedded un-to oon of tho\n\n\u2003That han for thee so muchel care and wo;\n\n\u2003But un-to which of hem I may nat telle.\n\n\u2003Farwel, for I ne may no lenger dwelle.\n\n\u2003The fyres which that on myn auter brenne\n\n\u2003Shul thee declaren, er that thou go henne,\n\n\u2003Thyn aventure of love, as in this cas.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word, the arwes in the cas\n\n\u2003Of the goddesse clateren faste and ringe,\n\n\u2003And forth she wente, and made a vanisshinge;\n\n\u2003For which this Emelye astoned was,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"What amounteth this, alias!\n\n\u2003I putte me in thy proteccioun,\n\n\u2003Send me he who most desires me.\n\n\u2003Behold, goddess of clean chastity,\n\n\u2003The bitter tears that on my cheeks fall.\n\n\u2003Since you are a virgin and guardian of us all,\n\n\u2003My maidenhood you keep and well conserve,\n\n\u2003And while I live a maid, I will you serve.\"\n\n\u2003The fires burned upon the altar brightly,\n\n\u2003While Emily was thus in her prayer.\n\n\u2003But suddenly she saw a strange sight,\n\n\u2003For right anon one of the fires died,\n\n\u2003And flamed again, and after that anon\n\n\u2003The other fire died, all gone;\n\n\u2003And as it died, it made a whistling,\n\n\u2003As do those wet firebrands burning,\n\n\u2003And at the firebrand ends out ran anon\n\n\u2003What looked like many bloody drops;\n\n\u2003For which so sore aghast was Emily\n\n\u2003That she was well nigh distraught, and began to cry,\n\n\u2003For she knew not what it signified;\n\n\u2003But only for the fear thus had she cried,\n\n\u2003And wept, that it was pity for to hear.\n\n\u2003And therewithal Diana began to appear,\n\n\u2003With bow in hand, right as a huntress,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Daughter, stop your sorrow.\n\n\u2003Among the gods high it is affirmed,\n\n\u2003And by eternal word written and confirmed,\n\n\u2003You shall be wedded unto one of those\n\n\u2003Who have for you so much care and woe;\n\n\u2003But unto which of them I may not tell.\n\n\u2003Farewell, for I may here no longer dwell.\n\n\u2003The fires that on my altar burn\n\n\u2003Shall you tell, before you go hence,\n\n\u2003Your fate in love, as in this case.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word, the arrows in the case\n\n\u2003Of the goddess clattered fast and rang,\n\n\u2003And forth she went, and made a vanishing;\n\n\u2003For which this Emily astonished was,\n\n\u2003And said, \"What means this, alas!\n\n\u2003I put me in your protection,\n\n\u2003Diane, and in thy disposicioun.\"\n\n\u2003And hoom she gooth anon the nexte weye.\n\n\u2003This is th'effect, ther is namore to seye.\n\n\u2003The nexte houre of Mars folwinge this,\n\n\u2003Arcite un-to the temple walked is\n\n\u2003Of fierse Mars, to doon his sacrifyse,\n\n\u2003With alle the rytes of his payen wyse.\n\n\u2003With pitous herte and heigh devocioun,\n\n\u2003Right thus to Mars he seyde his orisoun:\n\n\u2003\"O stronge god, that in the regnes colde\n\n\u2003Of Trace honoured art, and lord y-holde,\n\n\u2003And hast in every regne and every lond\n\n\u2003Of armes al the brydel in thyn hond,\n\n\u2003And hem fortunest as thee list devyse,\n\n\u2003Accept of me my pitous sacrifyse.\n\n\u2003If so be that my youthe may deserve,\n\n\u2003And that my might be worthy for to serve\n\n\u2003Thy godhede, that I may been oon of thyne,\n\n\u2003Than preye I thee to rewe up-on my pyne.\n\n\u2003For thilke peyne, and thilke hote fyr,\n\n\u2003In which thou whylom brendest for desyr,\n\n\u2003Whan that thou usedest the grete beautee\n\n\u2003Of fayre yonge fresshe Venus free,\n\n\u2003And haddest hir in armes at thy wille,\n\n\u2003Al-though thee ones on a tyme misfille\n\n\u2003Whan Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,\n\n\u2003And fond thee ligging by his wyf, alias!\n\n\u2003For thilke sorwe that was in thyn herte,\n\n\u2003Have routhe as wel up-on my peynes smerte.\n\n\u2003I am yong and unkonning, as thou wost,\n\n\u2003And, as I trowe, with love offended most,\n\n\u2003That ever was any lyves creature;\n\n\u2003For she, that dooth me al this wo endure,\n\n\u2003Ne reccheth never wher I sinke or flete.\n\n\u2003And wel I woot, er she me mercy hete,\n\n\u2003I moot with strengthe winne hir in the place;\n\n\u2003And wel I woot, withouten help or grace\n\n\u2003Of thee, ne may my strengthe noght availle.\n\n\u2003Than help me, lord, to-morwe in my bataille,\n\n\u2003Diana, and at your disposing.\"\n\n\u2003And home she went anon the quickest way.\n\n\u2003This is the result, there is no more to say.\n\n\u2003The next hour of Mars following this,\n\n\u2003Arcita unto the temple walked\n\n\u2003Of fierce Mars, to do his sacrifice,\n\n\u2003With all the customs of his pagan rites.\n\n\u2003With piteous heart and with high devotion,\n\n\u2003Right thus to Mars he said his prayer:\n\n\u2003\"O strong god, who in the realms cold\n\n\u2003Of Thrace honored are and lordship held,\n\n\u2003And has in every realm and every land\n\n\u2003Of arms all the bridle reins in your hand,\n\n\u2003And dispenses fortune as you decide,\n\n\u2003Accept of me my piteous sacrifice.\n\n\u2003If my youth may deserve,\n\n\u2003And my might be worthy to serve\n\n\u2003Your godhead, that I may be one of yours,\n\n\u2003Then I pray you to take pity upon my pain.\n\n\u2003For that same pain and that hot fire\n\n\u2003In which you once burned for desire,\n\n\u2003When you enjoyed the beauty\n\n\u2003Of fair, generous, young fresh Venus,\n\n\u2003And had her in arms at your will\u2014\n\n\u2003Although you one time went wrong\n\n\u2003When Vulcan caught you in his net,\n\n\u2003And found you lying by his wife, alas!\u2014\n\n\u2003For such sorrow that was in your heart,\n\n\u2003Have pity as well upon my pains sharp.\n\n\u2003I am young and ignorant, as you know,\n\n\u2003And, I believe, by love assailed more\n\n\u2003Than ever was any living creature;\n\n\u2003For she who makes me all this woe endure,\n\n\u2003Cares not whether I sink or float.\n\n\u2003And well I know, before she mercy promises,\n\n\u2003I must with strength win her in the arena;\n\n\u2003And well I know, without help or grace\n\n\u2003Of you, no way may my strength avail.\n\n\u2003Then help me, lord, tomorrow in my battle,\n\n\u2003For thilke fyr that whylom brente thee,\n\n\u2003As wel as thilke fyr now brenneth me,\n\n\u2003And do that I to-morwe have victorie.\n\n\u2003Myn be the travaille, and thyn be the glorie!\n\n\u2003Thy soverein temple wol I most honouren\n\n\u2003Of any place, and alwey most labouren\n\n\u2003In thy plesaunce and in thy craftes stronge,\n\n\u2003And in thy temple I wol my baner honge,\n\n\u2003And alle the armes of my companye;\n\n\u2003And evere-mo, un-to that day I dye,\n\n\u2003Eterne fyr I wol biforn thee finde.\n\n\u2003And eek to this avow I wol me binde:\n\n\u2003My berd, myn heer that hongeth long adoun,\n\n\u2003That never yet ne felte offensioun\n\n\u2003Of rasour nor of shere, I wol thee yive,\n\n\u2003And been thy trewe servant whyl I live.\n\n\u2003Now lord, have routhe up-on my sorwes sore,\n\n\u2003Yif me victorie, I aske thee namore.\"\n\n\u2003The preyere stint of Arcita the stronge,\n\n\u2003The ringes on the temple-dore that honge,\n\n\u2003And eek the dores, clatereden ful faste,\n\n\u2003Of which Arcita som-what him agaste.\n\n\u2003The fyres brende up-on the auter brighte,\n\n\u2003That it gan al the temple for to lighte;\n\n\u2003And swete smel the ground anon up-yaf,\n\n\u2003And Arcita anon his hand up-haf,\n\n\u2003And more encens in-to the fyr he caste,\n\n\u2003With othere rytes mo; and atte laste\n\n\u2003The statue of Mars bigan his hauberk ringe.\n\n\u2003And with that soun he herde a murmuringe\n\n\u2003Ful lowe and dim, that sayde thus, \"Victorie\":\n\n\u2003For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.\n\n\u2003And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare,\n\n\u2003Arcite anon un-to his inne is fare,\n\n\u2003As fayn as fowel is of the brighte sonne.\n\n\u2003And right anon swich stryf ther is bigonne\n\n\u2003For thilke graunting, in the hevene above,\n\n\u2003Bitwixe Venus, the goddesse of love,\n\n\u2003And Mars, the sterne god armipotente,\n\n\u2003For that fire that once burned you,\n\n\u2003As well as that fire that now burns me;\n\n\u2003And make it so tomorrow I have victory.\n\n\u2003Mine be the labor, and yours be the glory!\n\n\u2003Your sovereign temple will I most honor\n\n\u2003Of any place, and always most labor\n\n\u2003For your pleasure and in your arts strong,\n\n\u2003And in your temple I will my banner hang,\n\n\u2003And all the arms of my company;\n\n\u2003And evermore, unto that day I die,\n\n\u2003Eternal fire I will before you provide.\n\n\u2003And also to this vow I will me bind:\n\n\u2003My beard, my hair, that hangs long down\n\n\u2003That has never yet felt damage\n\n\u2003Of razor nor of shears, I will you give,\n\n\u2003And be your true servant while I live.\n\n\u2003Now lord, have pity upon my sorrows sore:\n\n\u2003Give me the victory, I ask no more.\"\n\n\u2003The prayer being ended of Arcita the strong,\n\n\u2003The rings on the temple door that hung,\n\n\u2003And also the doors, clattered full fast,\n\n\u2003Of which Arcita somewhat took fright.\n\n\u2003The fires burned up on the altar bright,\n\n\u2003That it began all the temple to light;\n\n\u2003And sweet smell the ground anon gave up,\n\n\u2003And Arcita anon his hand up lifted,\n\n\u2003And more incense into the fire he cast,\n\n\u2003With other rites more; and at last\n\n\u2003The statue of Mars began his coat of mail to ring.\n\n\u2003And with that sound he heard a murmuring\n\n\u2003Full low and dim, that said thus, \"Victory,\"\n\n\u2003For which he gave to Mars honor and glory.\n\n\u2003And thus with joy and hope to fare well,\n\n\u2003Arcita anon into his dwelling is gone,\n\n\u2003As glad as is a bird of the bright sun.\n\n\u2003And right anon such strife there is begun,\n\n\u2003For that granting, in the heaven above,\n\n\u2003Between Venus, the goddess of love,\n\n\u2003And Mars, the stern god strong in arms,\n\n\u2003That Jupiter was bisy it to stente;\n\n\u2003Til that the pale Saturnus the colde,\n\n\u2003That knew so manye of aventures olde,\n\n\u2003Fond in his olde experience an art,\n\n\u2003That he ful sone hath plesed every part.\n\n\u2003As sooth is sayd, elde hath greet avantage\n\n\u2003In elde is bothe wisdom and usage;\n\n\u2003Men may the olde at-renne, and noght at-rede.\n\n\u2003Saturne anon, to stinten stryf and drede,\n\n\u2003Al be it that it is agayn his kynde,\n\n\u2003Of al this stryf he gan remedie fynde.\n\n\u2003\"My dere doghter Venus,\" quod Saturne,\n\n\u2003\"My cours, that hath so wyde for to turne,\n\n\u2003Hath more power than wot any man.\n\n\u2003Myn is the drenching in the see so wan;\n\n\u2003Myn is the prison in the derke cote;\n\n\u2003Myn is the strangling and hanging by the throte;\n\n\u2003The murmure, and the cherles rebelling,\n\n\u2003The groyning, and the pryvee empoysoning:\n\n\u2003I do vengeance and pleyn correccioun\n\n\u2003Whyl I dwelle in the signe of the Leoun.\n\n\u2003Myn is the ruine of the hye halles,\n\n\u2003The falling of the toures and of the walles\n\n\u2003Up-on the mynour or the carpenter.\n\n\u2003I slow Sampsoun in shaking the piler;\n\n\u2003And myne be the maladyes colde,\n\n\u2003The derke tresons, and the castes olde;\n\n\u2003My loking is the fader of pestilence.\n\n\u2003Now weep namore, I shal doon diligence\n\n\u2003That Palamon, that is thyn owne knight,\n\n\u2003Shal have his lady, as thou hast him hight.\n\n\u2003Though Mars shal helpe his knight, yet nathelees\n\n\u2003Bitwixe yow ther moot be some tyme pees,\n\n\u2003Al be ye noght of o complexioun,\n\n\u2003That causeth al day swich divisioun.\n\n\u2003I am thin ayel, redy at thy wille\n\n\u2003Weep thou namore, I wol thy lust fulfille.\"\n\n\u2003Now wol I stinten of the goddes above,\n\n\u2003Of Mars, and of Venus, goddesse of love.\n\n\u2003That Jupiter was busy to stop it;\n\n\u2003Till pale Saturn, baleful and cold,\n\n\u2003Who knew of so many adventures old,\n\n\u2003Found in his old experience an art\n\n\u2003That he full soon had pleased every side.\n\n\u2003As truth is said, old age has great advantage,\n\n\u2003In age is both wisdom and experience;\n\n\u2003Men may the old outrun yet not outwit them.\n\n\u2003Saturn anon, to stop strife and dread,\n\n\u2003Albeit that it was against his nature,\n\n\u2003Of all this strife he began a remedy to find.\n\n\u2003\"My dear daughter Venus,\" said Saturn,\n\n\u2003\"My orbit, that has a circuit so wide to turn,\n\n\u2003Has more power than knows any man.\n\n\u2003Mine is the drowning in the sea so pale;\n\n\u2003Mine is the prison in the dark hut;\n\n\u2003Mine is the strangling and hanging by the throat;\n\n\u2003The murmur and the peasants rebelling,\n\n\u2003The grumbling and secret poisoning.\n\n\u2003I do vengeance and full punishment\n\n\u2003While I dwell in the sign of the lion.\n\n\u2003Mine is the ruin of the high halls,\n\n\u2003The falling of the towers and the walls\n\n\u2003Upon the miner or the carpenter.\n\n\u2003I slew Sampson, shaking the pillar;\n\n\u2003And mine be the maladies cold,\n\n\u2003The dark treasons, and the castles old;\n\n\u2003My aspect is the father of pestilence.\n\n\u2003Now weep no more, I shall do diligence\n\n\u2003That Palamon, who is your own knight,\n\n\u2003Shall have his lady, as you him promised.\n\n\u2003Though Mars shall help his knight, yet nevertheless\n\n\u2003Between you there must be at some time peace,\n\n\u2003Albeit you are not of the same temperament,\n\n\u2003That causes all day such division.\n\n\u2003I am your grandfather, ready at your will;\n\n\u2003Weep now no more, I will your desire fulfill.\"\n\n\u2003Now will I stop telling of the gods above,\n\n\u2003Of Mars and Venus, goddess of love,\n\n\u2003And telle yow, as pleynly as I can,\n\n\u2003The grete effect, for which that I bigan."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "\u2003Greet was the feste in Athenes that day,\n\n\u2003And eek the lusty seson of that May\n\n\u2003Made every wight to been in swich plesaunce,\n\n\u2003That al that Monday justen they and daunce,\n\n\u2003And spenden it in Venus heigh servyse.\n\n\u2003But by the cause that they sholde ryse\n\n\u2003Erly, for to seen the grete fight,\n\n\u2003Unto hir reste wente they at night.\n\n\u2003And on the morwe, whan that day gan springe,\n\n\u2003Of hors and harneys, noyse and clateringe\n\n\u2003Ther was in hostelryes al aboute;\n\n\u2003And to the paleys rood ther many a route\n\n\u2003Of lordes, up-on stedes and palfreys.\n\n\u2003Ther maystow seen devysing of herneys\n\n\u2003So uncouth and so riche, and wroght so weel\n\n\u2003Of goldsmithrie, of browding, and of steel;\n\n\u2003The sheeldes brighte, testers, and trappures;\n\n\u2003Gold-hewen helmes, hauberks, cote-armures;\n\n\u2003Lordes in paraments on hir courseres,\n\n\u2003Knights of retenue, and eek squyeres\n\n\u2003Nailinge the speres, and helmes bokelinge,\n\n\u2003Gigginge of sheeldes, with layneres lacinge;\n\n\u2003Ther as need is, they weren no-thing ydel;\n\n\u2003The fomy stedes on the golden brydel\n\n\u2003Gnawinge, and faste the armurers also\n\n\u2003With fyle and hamer prikinge to and fro;\n\n\u2003Yemen on fote, and communes many oon\n\n\u2003With shorte staves, thikke as they may goon;\n\n\u2003Pypes, trompes, nakers, clariounes,\n\n\u2003That in the bataille blowen blody sounes;\n\n\u2003The paleys ful of peples up and doun,\n\n\u2003Heer three, ther ten, holding hir questioun,\n\n\u2003Divyninge of thise Theban knightes two.\n\n\u2003Somme seyden thus, somme seyde it shal be so;\n\n\u2003Somme helden with him with the blake berd,\n\n\u2003And tell you as plainly as I can\n\n\u2003The great outcome for which that I began."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "\u2003Great was the festival in Athens that day,\n\n\u2003And also the lusty season of May\n\n\u2003Made every person want to be in such pleasure,\n\n\u2003That all that Monday jousted they and danced,\n\n\u2003And spent it in Venus' high service.\n\n\u2003But because they should rise\n\n\u2003Early, for to see the great fight,\n\n\u2003Unto their rest went they at night.\n\n\u2003And on the morrow, when day began to spring,\n\n\u2003Of horse and armor noise and clattering\n\n\u2003There was in hostelries all about;\n\n\u2003And to the palace rode there many a company\n\n\u2003Of lords upon chargers and palfreys.\n\n\u2003There may you have seen fitting of armor\n\n\u2003So unusual and so rich, and wrought so well\n\n\u2003Of goldsmithery, of embroidery, and of steel;\n\n\u2003The shields bright, headpieces and trapping;\n\n\u2003Gold-hued helmets, coats of mail, coats of arms;\n\n\u2003Lords in stately robes on their chargers,\n\n\u2003Knights in service, and also squires\n\n\u2003Nailing points to the spear shafts, and helmets buckling;\n\n\u2003Strapping of shields with leather thongs lacing\u2014\n\n\u2003Wherever needed, they were in no way idle;\n\n\u2003The foamy steeds on the golden bridle\n\n\u2003Gnawing, and fast the armorers also\n\n\u2003With file and hammer riding to and fro;\n\n\u2003Yeomen on foot and commoners many a one\n\n\u2003With short staves, in close formation;\n\n\u2003Pipes, trumpets, kettledrums, clarions\n\n\u2003That in battle blow bloody sounds;\n\n\u2003The palace full of people up and down,\n\n\u2003Here three, there ten, holding their question,\n\n\u2003Guessing about these Theban knights two.\n\n\u2003Some said thus, some said it shall be so;\n\n\u2003Some sided with him with the black beard,\n\n\u2003Somme with the balled, somme with the thikke-herd;\n\n\u2003Somme sayde, he loked grim and he wolde fighte;\n\n\u2003He hath a sparth of twenty pound of wighte.\n\n\u2003Thus was the halle ful of divyninge,\n\n\u2003Longe after that the sonne gan to springe.\n\n\u2003The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked\n\n\u2003With minstralcye and noyse that was maked,\n\n\u2003Held yet the chambre of his paleys riche,\n\n\u2003Til that the Thebane knightes, bothe y-liche\n\n\u2003Honoured, were into the paleys fet.\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus was at a window set,\n\n\u2003Arrayed right as he were a god in trone.\n\n\u2003The peple preesseth thider-ward ful sone\n\n\u2003Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence,\n\n\u2003And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.\n\n\u2003An heraud on a scaffold made an ho,\n\n\u2003Til al the noyse of peple was y-do;\n\n\u2003And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille,\n\n\u2003Tho showed he the mighty dukes wille.\n\n\u2003\"The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun\n\n\u2003Considered, that it were destruccioun\n\n\u2003To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse\n\n\u2003Of mortal bataille now in this empryse;\n\n\u2003Wherfore, to shapen that they shul not dye,\n\n\u2003He wol his firste purpos modifye.\n\n\u2003No man therfor, up peyne of los of lyf,\n\n\u2003No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knyf\n\n\u2003Into the listes sende, or thider bringe;\n\n\u2003Ne short swerd for to stoke, with poynt bytinge,\n\n\u2003No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde.\n\n\u2003Ne no man shal un-to his felawe ryde\n\n\u2003But o cours, with a sharp y-grounde spere;\n\n\u2003Foyne, if him list, on fote, him-self to were.\n\n\u2003And he that is at meschief, shal be take,\n\n\u2003And noght slayn, but be broght un-to the stake\n\n\u2003That shal ben ordeyned on either syde;\n\n\u2003But thider he shal by force, and ther abyde.\n\n\u2003And if so falle, the chieftayn be take\n\n\u2003On either syde, or elles slee his make,\n\n\u2003Some with the bald, some with the thickhaired;\n\n\u2003Some said that one looked grim, and he would fight\u2014\n\n\"He has a battle-axe of twenty pounds weight.\"\n\n\u2003Thus was the hall full of speculation,\n\n\u2003Long after the sun began to spring.\n\n\u2003The great Theseus, who from his sleep awakened\n\n\u2003With minstrelsy and noise that was made,\n\n\u2003Held yet the chamber of his palace rich,\n\n\u2003Till the Theban knights, both equally\n\n\u2003Honored, were into the palace summoned.\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus was sitting at a window\n\n\u2003Looking as if he were a god enthroned.\n\n\u2003The people pressed forward full soon\n\n\u2003Him to see, and do high reverence,\n\n\u2003And also to hear his command and his decision.\n\n\u2003A herald on a scaffold made a \"Tadum!\"\n\n\u2003Till all the noise of the people was done;\n\n\u2003And when he saw the people's noise all still,\n\n\u2003Thus showed he the mighty duke's will:\n\n\u2003\"The lord hath of his high acumen\n\n\u2003Considered that it were destruction\n\n\u2003To gentle blood to fight in the manner\n\n\u2003Of mortal battle in this enterprise.\n\n\u2003Wherefore, to ensure that they do not die,\n\n\u2003He will his first purpose modify.\n\n\u2003No man therefore, upon pain of loss of life,\n\n\u2003Any manner of projectile, nor short knife\n\n\u2003Onto the battleground shall send, or there bring;\n\n\u2003Nor short sword, for to stab with point biting,\n\n\u2003Nor may any man draw it or bear it by his side.\n\n\u2003No man shall against his opponent ride\n\n\u2003But one charge with a sharp ground spear;\n\n\u2003He may parry, if he wishes, on foot, himself to defend.\n\n\u2003And he who is in trouble shall be captured,\n\n\u2003And not slain, but be brought unto the stake\n\n\u2003That shall be set up on either side;\n\n\u2003There brought by force, and there abide.\n\n\u2003And if it so happens the chieftain be taken\n\n\u2003On either side, or slain the other chieftain,\n\n\u2003No lenger shal the turneyinge laste.\n\n\u2003God spede yow; goth forth, and ley on faste.\n\n\u2003With long swerd and with maces fight your fille.\n\n\u2003Goth now your wey; this is the lordes wille.\"\n\n\u2003The voys of peple touchede the hevene,\n\n\u2003So loude cryden they with mery stevene:\n\n\u2003\"God save swich a lord, that is so good,\n\n\u2003He wilneth no destruccioun of blood!\"\n\n\u2003Up goon the trompes and the melodye.\n\n\u2003And to the listes rit the companye\n\n\u2003By ordinaunce, thurgh-out the citee large,\n\n\u2003Hanged with cloth of gold, and nat with sarge.\n\n\u2003Ful lyk a lord this noble duk gan ryde,\n\n\u2003Thise two Thebanes up-on either syde;\n\n\u2003And after rood the quene, and Emelye,\n\n\u2003And after that another companye\n\n\u2003Of oon and other, after hir degree.\n\n\u2003And thus they passen thurgh-out the citee,\n\n\u2003And to the listes come they by tyme.\n\n\u2003It nas not of the day yet fully pryme,\n\n\u2003Whan set was Theseus ful riche and hye,\n\n\u2003Ipolita the quene and Emelye,\n\n\u2003And other ladies in degrees aboute.\n\n\u2003Un-to the seetes preesseth al the route.\n\n\u2003And west-ward, thurgh the gates under Marte,\n\n\u2003Arcite and eek the hundred of his parte,\n\n\u2003With baner reed is entred right anon;\n\n\u2003And in that selve moment Palamon\n\n\u2003Is under Venus, est-ward in the place,\n\n\u2003With baner whyt, and hardy chere and face.\n\n\u2003In al the world, to seken up and doun,\n\n\u2003So even with-outen variacioun,\n\n\u2003Ther nere swiche companyes tweye.\n\n\u2003For ther nas noon so wys that coude seye,\n\n\u2003That any hadde of other avauntage\n\n\u2003Of worthinesse, ne of estaat, ne age,\n\n\u2003So even were they chosen, for to gesse.\n\n\u2003And in two renges faire they hem dresse.\n\n\u2003Whan that hir names rad were everichoon,\n\n\u2003No longer shall the tourney last.\n\n\u2003God speed you! Go forth, and lay on fast.\n\n\u2003With long sword and mace fight your fill.\n\n\u2003Go now your way\u2014this is the lord's will.\"\n\n\u2003The voice of people touched the heaven,\n\n\u2003So loud cried they with merry voice:\n\n\u2003\"God save such a lord, who is so good,\n\n\u2003He desires no destruction of blood!\"\n\n\u2003Up went the trumpets and the melody,\n\n\u2003And to the arena rode the company,\n\n\u2003In order, throughout the city large,\n\n\u2003Hung with cloth of gold and not with serge.\n\n\u2003Full like a lord this noble duke began to ride,\n\n\u2003These two Thebans on either side;\n\n\u2003And after rode the queen and Emily,\n\n\u2003And after that another company\n\n\u2003Of one and other, according to their rank.\n\n\u2003And thus they passed throughout the city,\n\n\u2003And to the arena come they promptly.\n\n\u2003It was not of the day fully prime\n\n\u2003When sat this Theseus full rich and high,\n\n\u2003Hyppolyta the queen and Emily,\n\n\u2003And other ladies in tiers about.\n\n\u2003Unto the seats pressed all the crowd.\n\n\u2003And westward, through the gates under Mars,\n\n\u2003Arcita, and the hundred of his side,\n\n\u2003With banner red is entered right anon;\n\n\u2003And in that same moment Palamon\n\n\u2003Is under Venus, eastward in the place,\n\n\u2003With banner white, and bold countenance and face.\n\n\u2003In all the world, to seek up and down,\n\n\u2003Matched so equally,\n\n\u2003There never were such companies two.\n\n\u2003For there was none so wise who could say\n\n\u2003That either had of the other advantage\n\n\u2003In worthiness, nor of estate nor age,\n\n\u2003So even were they chosen, for to guess.\n\n\u2003And in two rows fair they place themselves.\n\n\u2003Then every one of their names was read,\n\n\u2003That in hir nombre gyle were ther noon,\n\n\u2003Tho were the gates shet, and cryed was loude:\n\n\u2003\"Do now your devoir, yonge knightes proude!\"\n\n\u2003The heraudes lefte hir priking up and doun;\n\n\u2003Now ringen trompes loude and clarioun;\n\n\u2003Ther is namore to seyn, but west and est\n\n\u2003In goon the speres ful sadly in arest;\n\n\u2003In goth the sharpe spore in-to the syde.\n\n\u2003Ther seen men who can juste, and who can ryde;\n\n\u2003Ther shiveren shaftes up-on sheeldes thikke;\n\n\u2003He feleth thurgh the herte-spoon the prikke.\n\n\u2003Up springen speres twenty foot on highte;\n\n\u2003Out goon the swerdes as the silver brighte.\n\n\u2003The helmes they to-hewen and to-shrede;\n\n\u2003Out brest the blood, with sterne stremes rede.\n\n\u2003With mighty maces the bones they to-breste.\n\n\u2003He thurgh the thikkeste of the throng gan threste.\n\n\u2003Ther stomblen stedes stronge, and doun goth al.\n\n\u2003He rolleth under foot as dooth a bal.\n\n\u2003He foyneth on his feet with his tronchoun,\n\n\u2003And he him hurtleth with his hors adoun.\n\n\u2003He thurgh the body is hurt, and sithen y-take,\n\n\u2003Maugree his heed, and broght un-to the stake,\n\n\u2003As forward was, right ther he moste abyde;\n\n\u2003Another lad is on that other syde.\n\n\u2003And som tyme dooth hem Theseus to reste,\n\n\u2003Hem to refresshe, and drinken if hem leste.\n\n\u2003Ful ofte a-day han thise Thebanes two\n\n\u2003Togidre y-met, and wroght his felawe wo;\n\n\u2003Unhorsed hath ech other of hem tweye.\n\n\u2003Ther nas no tygre in the vale of Galgopheye,\n\n\u2003Whan that hir whelp is stole, whan it is lyte,\n\n\u2003So cruel on the hunte, as is Arcite\n\n\u2003For jelous herte upon this Palamoun:\n\n\u2003Ne in Belmarye ther nis so fel leoun,\n\n\u2003That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,\n\n\u2003Ne of his praye desireth so the blood,\n\n\u2003As Palamon to sleen his fo Arcite.\n\n\u2003The jelous strokes on hir helmes byte;\n\n\u2003So that there was no doubt of their equal numbers,\n\n\u2003Then the gates were shut, and cried was loud:\n\n\u2003\"Do now your duty, young knights proud!\"\n\n\u2003The heralds left their riding up and down;\n\n\u2003Now rang trumpets loud and clarion.\n\n\u2003There is no more to say, but west and east\n\n\u2003In go the spears full solidly into the spear rests;\n\n\u2003In go the sharp spurs into the side.\n\n\u2003There see men who can joust and who can ride;\n\n\u2003There shatter shafts upon shields thick;\n\n\u2003One feels through the breastbone the prick.\n\n\u2003Up spring spears twenty feet on high;\n\n\u2003Out go the swords as the silver bright.\n\n\u2003The helmets they hew and to pieces shred;\n\n\u2003Out bursts the blood, with gushing streams red.\n\n\u2003With mighty maces the bones they smash,\n\n\u2003He through the thickest of the throng can press;\n\n\u2003There strong steeds stumble, and down go all;\n\n\u2003He rolls under foot as does a ball.\n\n\u2003He parries on foot with his shattered spear,\n\n\u2003And knocks horse and rider to the ground.\n\n\u2003He through the body is hurt and then taken,\n\n\u2003Despite all he could do, and brought to the stake.\n\n\u2003As agreement was, there he must abide;\n\n\u2003Another carried off on the other side.\n\n\u2003And from time to time Theseus causes them to rest,\n\n\u2003Them to refresh and drink, if they wish.\n\n\u2003Full often through the day have these Thebans two\n\n\u2003Together met, and wrought his fellow woe;\n\n\u2003Unhorsed has each the other of them twice.\n\n\u2003There was no tiger in the vale of Gargaphie,\n\n\u2003When its little cub was taken,\n\n\u2003So cruel toward the hunter was Arcita\n\n\u2003For jealous heart toward this Palamon.\n\n\u2003Nor in Benmarin was there so fierce a lion\n\n\u2003That hunted was, or crazed by hunger,\n\n\u2003Nor of his prey desired so the blood,\n\n\u2003As Palamon to slay his foe Arcita.\n\n\u2003The iealous strokes on their helmets bite;\n\n\u2003Out renneth blood on both hir sydes rede.\n\n\u2003Some tyme an ende ther is of every dede;\n\n\u2003For er the sonne un-to the reste wente,\n\n\u2003The stronge king Emetreus gan hente\n\n\u2003This Palamon, as he faught with Arcite,\n\n\u2003And made his swerd depe in his flesh to byte;\n\n\u2003And by the force of twenty is he take\n\n\u2003Unyolden, and y-drawe unto the stake.\n\n\u2003And in the rescous of this Palamoun\n\n\u2003The stronge king Ligurge is born adoun;\n\n\u2003And king Emetreus, for al his strengthe,\n\n\u2003Is born out of his sadel a swerdes lengthe,\n\n\u2003So hitte him Palamon er he were take;\n\n\u2003But al for noght, he was broght to the stake.\n\n\u2003His hardy herte mighte him helpe naught;\n\n\u2003He moste abyde, whan that he was caught\n\n\u2003By force, and eek by composicioun.\n\n\u2003Who sorweth now but woful Palamoun,\n\n\u2003That moot namore goon agayn to fighte?\n\n\u2003And whan that Theseus had seyn this sighte,\n\n\u2003Un-to the folk that foghten thus echoon\n\n\u2003He cryde, \"Ho! namore, for it is doon!\n\n\u2003I wol be trewe juge, and no partye.\n\n\u2003Arcite of Thebes shal have Emelye,\n\n\u2003That by his fortune hath hir faire y-wonne.\"\n\n\u2003Anon ther is a noyse of peple bigonne\n\n\u2003For joye of this, so loude and heigh withalle,\n\n\u2003It seemed that the listes sholde falle.\n\n\u2003What can now faire Venus doon above?\n\n\u2003What seith she now? what dooth this quene of love?\n\n\u2003But wepeth so, for wanting of hir wille,\n\n\u2003Til that hir teres in the listes fille;\n\n\u2003She seyde: \"I am ashamed, doutelees.\"\n\n\u2003Saturnus seyde: \"Doghter, hold thy pees.\n\n\u2003Mars hath his wille, his knight hath al his bone,\n\n\u2003And, by myn heed, thou shalt ben esed sone.\"\n\n\u2003The trompes, with the loude minstralcye,\n\n\u2003The heraudes, that ful loude yolle and crye,\n\n\u2003Been in hir wele for joye of daun Arcite.\n\n\u2003Out runs blood on both their sides red.\n\n\u2003At some time an end there is of every deed.\n\n\u2003For before the sun unto its rest went,\n\n\u2003The strong king Emetreus seized\n\n\u2003This Palamon, as he fought with Arcita,\n\n\u2003And made his sword deep in his flesh to bite;\n\n\u2003And by the force of twenty is Palamon taken\n\n\u2003Unyielding, and dragged unto the stake.\n\n\u2003And in the attempted rescue of this Palamon\n\n\u2003The strong king Licurgus is borne down;\n\n\u2003And King Emetreus, for all his strength,\n\n\u2003Was knocked out of his saddle a sword's length,\n\n\u2003So hit him Palamon before he was taken.\n\n\u2003But all for nought: he was brought to the stake.\n\n\u2003His bold heart might help him not;\n\n\u2003He must abide, when he was caught,\n\n\u2003By necessity and also by agreement.\n\n\u2003Who sorrows now but woeful Palamon,\n\n\u2003Who must no more go again to fight?\n\n\u2003And when Theseus had seen this sight,\n\n\u2003Unto the folk who fought thus every one\n\n\u2003He cried, \"Halt! no more, for it is done!\n\n\u2003I will be true judge, and not partisan.\n\n\u2003Arcita of Thebes shall have Emily,\n\n\u2003Who by his fortune has her fairly won.\"\n\n\u2003Anon there is a noise of people begun\n\n\u2003For joy of this, so loud and great withal,\n\n\u2003It seemed that the arena should fall.\n\n\u2003What now could fair Venus do above?\n\n\u2003What says she now? what does this queen of love?\n\n\u2003But weep so, for lacking of her will,\n\n\u2003Till that her tears on the battleground fell?\n\n\u2003She said, \"I am ashamed, doubtless.\"\n\n\u2003Saturn said, \"Daughter, hold your peace.\n\n\u2003Mars has his will, his knight has all his request;\n\n\u2003And by my head, you shall be satisfied soon.\"\n\n\u2003The trumpeters with the loud music,\n\n\u2003The heralds who full loud yell and cry,\n\n\u2003Were in their happiness for joy of sir Arcita.\n\n\u2003But herkneth me, and stinteth now a lyte,\n\n\u2003Which a miracle ther bifel anon.\n\n\u2003This fierse Arcite hath of his helm y-don,\n\n\u2003And on a courser, for to shewe his face,\n\n\u2003He priketh endelong the large place,\n\n\u2003Loking upward up-on this Emelye;\n\n\u2003And she agayn him caste a freendlich ye,\n\n(For wommen, as to speken in comune,\n\n\u2003They folwen al the favour of fortune);\n\n\u2003And she was al his chere, as in his herte.\n\n\u2003Out of the ground a furie infernal sterte,\n\n\u2003From Pluto sent, at requeste of Saturne,\n\n\u2003For which his hors for fere gan to turne,\n\n\u2003And leep asyde, and foundred as he leep;\n\n\u2003And, er that Arcite may taken keep,\n\n\u2003He pighte him on the pomel of his heed,\n\n\u2003That in the place he lay as he were deed,\n\n\u2003His brest to-brosten with his sadel-bowe.\n\n\u2003As blak he lay as any cole or crowe,\n\n\u2003So was the blood y-ronnen in his face.\n\n\u2003Anon he was y-born out of the place\n\n\u2003With herte soor, to Theseus paleys.\n\n\u2003Tho was he corven out of his harneys,\n\n\u2003And in a bed y-brought ful faire and blyve,\n\n\u2003For he was yet in memorie and alyve,\n\n\u2003And alway crying after Emelye.\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus, with al his companye,\n\n\u2003Is comen hoom to Athenes his citee,\n\n\u2003With alle blisse and greet solempnitee.\n\n\u2003Al be it that this aventure was falle,\n\n\u2003He nolde noght disconforten hem alle.\n\n\u2003Men seyde eek, that Arcite shal nat dye;\n\n\u2003He shal ben heled of his maladye.\n\n\u2003And of another thing they were as fayn,\n\n\u2003That of hem alle was ther noon y-slayn,\n\n\u2003Al were they sore y-hurt, and namely oon,\n\n\u2003That with a spere was thirled his brest-boon.\n\n\u2003To othere woundes, and to broken armes,\n\n\u2003Some hadden salves, and some hadden charmes;\n\n\u2003But listen to me now, and cease your noise a little,\n\n\u2003To hear what a miracle there befell anon.\n\n\u2003This bold Arcita has off his helmet taken,\n\n\u2003And on a courser, to show his face,\n\n\u2003He spurred the length of the battleground,\n\n\u2003Looking upward upon this Emily;\n\n\u2003And she toward him cast a friendly eye\n\n(For women, to speak in general,\n\n\u2003Follow all the favor of fortune)\n\n\u2003And she was all his happiness, as in his heart.\n\n\u2003Then out of the ground a fury infernal leaped,\n\n\u2003From Pluto sent at request of Saturn,\n\n\u2003For which his horse for fear began to turn\n\n\u2003And leapt aside, and fell back on him as he leapt;\n\n\u2003And before Arcita could take heed,\n\n\u2003He pitched on the crown of his head,\n\n\u2003And in the place he lay as if he were dead,\n\n\u2003His breast shattered by his saddlebow.\n\n\u2003As black he lay as any coal or crow,\n\n\u2003So was the blood suffusing his face.\n\n\u2003Anon he was borne out of the place,\n\n\u2003With heart sore, to Theseus' palace.\n\n\u2003Then was he cut out of his armor,\n\n\u2003And in a bed brought full fair and soon,\n\n\u2003For he was yet conscious and alive,\n\n\u2003And always crying after Emily.\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus, with all his company,\n\n\u2003Is come home to Athens his city,\n\n\u2003With all bliss and great solemnity.\n\n\u2003Albeit that this accident had occurred,\n\n\u2003He did not want to discomfort them all.\n\n\u2003Men said also that Arcita shall not die;\n\n\u2003He shall be healed of his malady.\n\n\u2003And of another thing they were as glad,\n\n\u2003That of them all was there none slain,\n\n\u2003Although were they sore hurt and especially one,\n\n\u2003Who by a spear was pierced through his breast bone.\n\n\u2003For other wounds and for broken arms\n\n\u2003Some had salves, and some had charms;\n\n\u2003Fermacies of herbes, and eek save\n\n\u2003They dronken, for they wolde hir limes have.\n\n\u2003For which this noble duk, as he wel can,\n\n\u2003Conforteth and honoureth every man,\n\n\u2003And made revel al the longe night,\n\n\u2003Un-to the straunge lordes, as was right.\n\n\u2003Ne ther was holden no disconfitinge,\n\n\u2003But as a justes or a tourneyinge;\n\n\u2003For soothly ther was no disconfiture,\n\n\u2003For falling nis nat but an aventure;\n\n\u2003Ne to be lad with fors un-to the stake\n\n\u2003Unyolden, and with twenty knightes take.\n\n\u2003O persone allone, with-outen mo,\n\n\u2003And haried forth by arme, foot, and to,\n\n\u2003And eek his stede driven forth with staves,\n\n\u2003With footmen, bothe yemen and eek knaves,\n\n\u2003It nas aretted him no vileinye,\n\n\u2003Ther may no man clepen it cowardye.\n\n\u2003For which anon duk Theseus leet crye,\n\n\u2003To stinten alle rancour and envye,\n\n\u2003The gree as wel of o syde as of other,\n\n\u2003And either syde y-lyk, as otheres brother;\n\n\u2003And yaf hem yiftes after hir degree,\n\n\u2003And fully heeld a feste dayes three;\n\n\u2003And conveyed the kinges worthily\n\n\u2003Out of his toun a journee largely.\n\n\u2003And hoom wente every man the righte way.\n\n\u2003Ther was namore, but \"far wel, have good day!\"\n\n\u2003Of this bataille I wol namore endyte,\n\n\u2003But speke of Palamon and of Arcite.\n\n\u2003Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the sore\n\n\u2003Encreesseth at his herte more and more.\n\n\u2003The clothered blood, for any lechecraft,\n\n\u2003Corrupteth, and is in his bouk y-laft,\n\n\u2003That neither veyne-blood, ne ventusinge,\n\n\u2003Ne drinke of herbes may ben his helpinge.\n\n\u2003The vertu expulsif, or animal,\n\n\u2003Fro thilke vertu cleped natural\n\n\u2003Ne may the venim voyden, ne expelle.\n\n\u2003Medicines of herbs, and also an herb potion\n\n\u2003They drank, for they would their limbs preserve.\n\n\u2003For which this noble duke, as well as he knew,\n\n\u2003Comforted and honored every man,\n\n\u2003And made revel all the long night\n\n\u2003With the foreign lords, as was right.\n\n\u2003Nor was there held any bad blood\n\n\u2003For it was a joust or tourneying;\n\n\u2003For truly there was no discomfiture,\n\n\u2003For falling was not but an accident.\n\n\u2003Nor to be led with force unto the stake\n\n\u2003Unyielding, and by twenty knights taken,\n\n\u2003One person alone, without more,\n\n\u2003And dragged forth by arm, foot and toe,\n\n\u2003And also his steed driven forth with sticks\n\n\u2003By foot soldiers, both yeomen and servants\u2014\n\n\u2003It was assigned to him no disgrace;\n\n\u2003There may no man call it cowardice.\n\n\u2003For which anon duke Theseus had declared,\n\n\u2003To stop all rancor and bad blood,\n\n\u2003The worth of one side as equal to the other,\n\n\u2003And each side alike as if the other's brother;\n\n\u2003And gave them gifts after their rank,\n\n\u2003And fully held a feast for days three;\n\n\u2003And conveyed the kings worthily\n\n\u2003Out of his town a day's ride fully.\n\n\u2003And home went every man the right way.\n\n\u2003There was no more but \"Farewell, have a good day!\"\n\n\u2003Of this battle I will no more write,\n\n\u2003But speak of Palamon and Arcita.\n\n\u2003Swelled the breast of Arcita, and the sore\n\n\u2003Increased at his heart more and more.\n\n\u2003The clotted blood, despite all medicine,\n\n\u2003Corrupted and was in his body left,\n\n\u2003Neither bloodletting, nor cupping,\n\n\u2003Nor drink of herbs may be his helping.\n\n\u2003His spirit's virtue could not compel\n\n\u2003His body's virtue the bad\n\n\u2003Blood to expel\n\n\u2003The pypes of his longes gonne to swelle,\n\n\u2003And every lacerte in his brest adoun\n\n\u2003Is shent with venim and corrupcioun.\n\n\u2003Him gayneth neither, for to gete his lyf,\n\n\u2003Vomyt upward, ne dounward laxatif;\n\n\u2003Al is to-brosten thilke regioun,\n\n\u2003Nature hath now no dominacioun.\n\n\u2003And certeinly, ther nature wol nat wirche,\n\n\u2003Far-wel, phisyk! go ber the man to chirche!\n\n\u2003This al and som, that Arcita mot dye,\n\n\u2003For which he sendeth after Emelye,\n\n\u2003And Palamon, that was his cosin dere;\n\n\u2003Than seyde he thus, as ye shul after here.\n\n\u2003\"Naught may the woful spirit in myn herte\n\n\u2003Declare o poynt of alle my sorwes smerte\n\n\u2003To yow, my lady, that I love most;\n\n\u2003But I biquethe the service of my gost\n\n\u2003To yow aboven every creature,\n\n\u2003Sin that my lyf may no lenger dure.\n\n\u2003Allas, the wo! allas, the peynes stronge,\n\n\u2003That I for yow have suffred, and so longe!\n\n\u2003Alias, the deeth! allas, myn Emelye!\n\n\u2003Allas, departing of our companye!\n\n\u2003Alias, myn hertes quene! alias, my wyf!\n\n\u2003Myn hertes lady, endere of my lyf!\n\n\u2003What is this world? what asketh men to have?\n\n\u2003Now with his love, now in his colde grave\n\n\u2003Allone, with-outen any companye.\n\n\u2003Far-wel, my swete fo! myn Emelye!\n\n\u2003And softe tak me in your armes tweye,\n\n\u2003For love of God, and herkneth what I seye.\n\n\u2003I have heer with my cosin Palamon\n\n\u2003Had stryf and rancour, many a day a-gon,\n\n\u2003For love of yow, and for my jelousye.\n\n\u2003And Jupiter so wis my soule gye,\n\n\u2003To speken of a servant proprely,\n\n\u2003With alle circumstaunces trewely,\n\n\u2003That is to seyn, trouthe, honour, and knighthede,\n\n\u2003Wisdom, humblesse, estaat, and heigh kinrede,\n\n\u2003And the pipes of his lungs began to swell.\n\n\u2003And every muscle in his breast\n\n\u2003Is damaged by venom and corruption.\n\n\u2003Him helped neither, to save his life,\n\n\u2003Vomit upward nor downward laxative;\n\n\u2003All is shattered in that region.\n\n\u2003Nature had now no healing power;\n\n\u2003And certainly, where nature will not work,\n\n\u2003Farewell, medicine, go bear the man to church.\n\n\u2003This is all there is, that Arcita must die;\n\n\u2003For which he sent after Emily\n\n\u2003And Palamon, who was his cousin dear.\n\n\u2003Then said he thus, as you shall after hear:\n\n\u2003\"May the woeful spirit in my heart\n\n\u2003Not declare one part of all my sores sharp\n\n\u2003To you, my lady, whom I love most;\n\n\u2003But I bequeath the service of my spirit\n\n\u2003To you above every creature,\n\n\u2003Since my life may no longer endure.\n\n\u2003Alas, the woe! alas, the pains strong,\n\n\u2003That for you I have suffered, and so long!\n\n\u2003Alas, the death! alas, my Emily!\n\n\u2003Alas, that we must part!\n\n\u2003Alas, my heart's queen! alas, my wife!\n\n\u2003My heart's lady, ender of my life!\n\n\u2003What is this world? What do men ask to have?\n\n\u2003Now with his love, now in his cold grave\n\n\u2003Alone, without any company.\n\n\u2003Farewell, my sweet foe, my Emily!\n\n\u2003And soft take me in your arms two,\n\n\u2003For love of God, and listen to what I say:\n\n\u2003I have here with my cousin Palamon\n\n\u2003Had strife and rancor many a day gone by,\n\n\u2003For love of you and for my jealousy.\n\n\u2003And Jupiter wisely guide me\n\n\u2003To speak about a servant of love properly,\n\n\u2003With all necessary qualities truly\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, fidelity, honor, knighthood,\n\n\u2003Wisdom, humility, rank and kindred,\n\n\u2003Fredom, and al that longeth to that art,\n\n\u2003So Jupiter have of my soule part,\n\n\u2003As in this world right now ne knowe I non\n\n\u2003So worthy to ben loved as Palamon,\n\n\u2003That serveth yow, and wol don al his lyf.\n\n\u2003And if that ever ye shul been a wyf,\n\n\u2003Foryet nat Palamon, the gentil man.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word his speche faille gan,\n\n\u2003For from his feet up to his brest was come\n\n\u2003The cold of deeth, that hadde him overcome\n\n\u2003And yet more-over, in his armes two\n\n\u2003The vital strengthe is lost, and al ago.\n\n\u2003Only the intellect, with-outen more.\n\n\u2003That dwelled in his herte syk and sore,\n\n\u2003Gan failen, when the herte felte deeth,\n\n\u2003Dusked his eyen two, and failled breeth.\n\n\u2003But on his lady yet caste he his ye;\n\n\u2003His laste word was, \"mercy, Emelye!\"\n\n\u2003His spirit chaunged hous, and wente ther,\n\n\u2003As I cam never, I can nat tellen wher.\n\n\u2003Therfor I stinte, I nam no divinistre;\n\n\u2003Of soules finde I nat in this registre,\n\n\u2003Ne me ne list thilke opiniouns to telle\n\n\u2003Of hem, though that they wryten wher they dwelle.\n\n\u2003Arcite is cold, ther Mars his soule gye;\n\n\u2003Now wol I speken forth of Emelye.\n\n\u2003Shrighte Emelye, and howleth Palamon,\n\n\u2003And Theseus his suster took anon\n\n\u2003Swowninge, and bar hir fro the corps away.\n\n\u2003What helpeth it to tarien forth the day,\n\n\u2003To tellen how she weep, bothe eve and morwe?\n\n\u2003For in swich cas wommen have swich sorwe,\n\n\u2003Whan that hir housbonds been from hem ago,\n\n\u2003That for the more part they sorwen so,\n\n\u2003Or elles fallen in swich maladye,\n\n\u2003That at the laste certeinly they dye.\n\n\u2003Infinite been the sorwes and the teres\n\n\u2003Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres,\n\n\u2003In al the toun, for deeth of this Theban;\n\n\u2003Generosity, and all that belongs to that art\u2014\n\n\u2003As Jupiter shall receive my soul when I depart,\n\n\u2003So in this world right now I know no one\n\n\u2003So worthy to be loved as Palamon,\n\n\u2003Who serves you and will do all his life.\n\n\u2003And if ever you shall be a wife,\n\n\u2003Forget not Palamon, the noble, virtuous man.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word his speech to fail began,\n\n\u2003For from his feet up to his breast was come\n\n\u2003The cold of death, that had him overcome,\n\n\u2003And yet moreover, in his arms two\n\n\u2003The vital strength is lost and all gone.\n\n\u2003Only then the intellect, without delay,\n\n\u2003That dwelled in his heart sick and sore,\n\n\u2003Began failing when the heart felt death.\n\n\u2003Dimmed his eyes two, and failed breath,\n\n\u2003But on his lady yet cast he his eye,\n\n\u2003His last word was, \"Mercy, Emily!\"\n\n\u2003His spirit changed houses and went there\n\n\u2003Where I travelled never; I cannot compare.\n\n\u2003Therefore I stop, I am no diviner;\n\n\u2003Of souls I find not in this register,\n\n\u2003It pleases me not to tell\n\n\u2003Of those who write of where they dwell.\n\n\u2003Arcita is cold, so Mars may his soul guide.\n\n\u2003Now will I speak forth of Emily.\n\n\u2003Shrieked Emily and howled Palamon,\n\n\u2003And Theseus his sister took anon\n\n\u2003Swooning, and bore her from the corpse away.\n\n\u2003What does it accomplish to while away the day\n\n\u2003To tell how she wept both eve and morn?\n\n\u2003For in such case women have such sorrow,\n\n\u2003When their husbands from them go,\n\n\u2003That many of them sorrow so,\n\n\u2003Or else fall in such a malady\n\n\u2003That at last certainly they die.\n\n\u2003Infinite were the sorrows and the tears\n\n\u2003Of old folk and folk of tender years\n\n\u2003In all the town, for death of this Theban;\n\n\u2003For him ther wepeth bothe child and man;\n\n\u2003So greet a weping was ther noon, certayn,\n\n\u2003Whan Ector was y-broght, al fresh y-slayn,\n\n\u2003To Troye; alias! the pitee that was ther,\n\n\u2003Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer.\n\n\u2003\"Why woldestow be deed,\" thise wommen crye,\n\n\u2003\"And haddest gold y-nough, and Emelye?\"\n\n\u2003No man mighte gladen Theseus,\n\n\u2003Savinge his olde fader Egeus,\n\n\u2003That knew this worldes transmutacioun,\n\n\u2003As he had seyn it chaungen up and doun,\n\n\u2003Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse:\n\n\u2003And shewed hem ensamples and lyknesse.\n\n\u2003\"Right as ther deyed never man,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"That he ne livede in erthe in som degree,\n\n\u2003Right so ther livede never man,\" he seyde,\n\n\u2003\"In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde.\n\n\u2003This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo,\n\n\u2003And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro;\n\n\u2003Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.\"\n\n\u2003And over al this yet seyde he muchel more\n\n\u2003To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte\n\n\u2003The peple, that they sholde hem reconforte.\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus, with al his bisy cure,\n\n\u2003Caste now wher that the sepulture\n\n\u2003Of good Arcite may best y-maked be,\n\n\u2003And eek most honurable in his degree.\n\n\u2003And at the laste he took conclusioun,\n\n\u2003That ther as first Arcite and Palamoun\n\n\u2003Hadden for love the bataille hem bitwene,\n\n\u2003That in that selve grove, swote and grene,\n\n\u2003Ther as he hadde his amorous desires,\n\n\u2003His compleynt, and for love his hote fires,\n\n\u2003He wolde make a fyr, in which th'office\n\n\u2003Funeral he mighte al accomplice;\n\n\u2003And leet comaunde anon to hakke and hewe\n\n\u2003The okes olde, and leye hem on a rewe\n\n\u2003In colpons wel arrayed for to brenne;\n\n\u2003His officers with swifte feet they renne\n\n\u2003For him there wept both child and man.\n\n\u2003So great weeping was there none, certain,\n\n\u2003When Hector was brought, all freshly slain,\n\n\u2003To Troy. Alas, the pity that was there:\n\n\u2003Scratching of cheeks, rending of hair.\n\n\u2003\"Why did you wish to be dead?\" these women cry,\n\n\u2003\"And had gold enough, and Emily?\"\n\n\u2003No man might gladden Theseus\n\n\u2003Save his old father Egeus,\n\n\u2003Who knew this world's mutation,\n\n\u2003And had seen it change both up and down\u2014\n\n\u2003Joy after woe, and woe after gladness\u2014\n\n\u2003And showed him analogies and examples.\n\n\u2003\"Just as there never died a man,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Who never lived on earth in some degree,\n\n\u2003Right so there never lived a man,\" he said,\n\n\u2003\"In all this world, who some time did not die.\n\n\u2003This world is nought but a thoroughfare full of woe,\n\n\u2003And we be pilgrims, passing to and fro;\n\n\u2003Death is an end of every worldly sorrow.\"\n\n\u2003And beyond all this said he much more\n\n\u2003To this effect, full wisely to exhort\n\n\u2003The people that they should be comforted.\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus, with all his diligent concern,\n\n\u2003Considered now where the burial\n\n\u2003Of good Arcita may best made be,\n\n\u2003And also most honorable in his rank.\n\n\u2003And at last he took conclusion,\n\n\u2003That there where Arcita and Palamon\n\n\u2003For love first battled;\n\n\u2003In that same grove, sweet and green,\n\n\u2003There where he had his amorous desires,\n\n\u2003His lament, and for love his hot fires,\n\n\u2003He would make a fire, in which the rites\n\n\u2003Funereal he might all conduct;\n\n\u2003And gave command anon to hack and hew\n\n\u2003The oaks old, and lay them in a row\n\n\u2003In pieces well arranged to burn.\n\n\u2003His officers with swift feet they ran\n\n\u2003And ryde anon at his comaundement.\n\n\u2003And after this, Theseus hath y-sent\n\n\u2003After a bere, and it al over-spradde\n\n\u2003With cloth of gold, the richest that he hadde.\n\n\u2003And of the same suyte he cladde Arcite;\n\n\u2003Upon his hondes hadde he gloves whyte;\n\n\u2003Eek on his heed a croune of laurer grene,\n\n\u2003And in his hond a swerd ful bright and kene.\n\n\u2003He leyde him bare the visage on the bere,\n\n\u2003Therwith he weep that pitee was to here.\n\n\u2003And for the peple sholde seen him alle,\n\n\u2003Whan it was day, he broghte him to the halle,\n\n\u2003That roreth of the crying and the soun.\n\n\u2003Tho cam this woful Theban Palamoun,\n\n\u2003With flotery berd, and ruggy asshy heres,\n\n\u2003In clothes blake, y-dropped al with teres;\n\n\u2003And, passing othere of weping, Emelye,\n\n\u2003The rewfulleste of al the companye.\n\n\u2003In as muche as the service sholde be\n\n\u2003The more noble and riche in his degree,\n\n\u2003Duk Theseus leet forth three stedes bringe,\n\n\u2003That trapped were in steel al gliteringe,\n\n\u2003And covered with the armes of daun Arcite.\n\n\u2003Up-on thise stedes, that weren grete and whyte,\n\n\u2003Ther seten folk, of which oon bar his sheeld,\n\n\u2003Another his spere up in his hondes heeld;\n\n\u2003The thridde bar with him his bowe Turkeys,\n\n\u2003Of brend gold was the cas, and eek the harneys;\n\n\u2003And riden forth a pas with sorweful chere\n\n\u2003Toward the grove, as ye shul after here.\n\n\u2003The nobleste of the Grekes that ther were\n\n\u2003Upon hir shuldres carieden the bere,\n\n\u2003With slakke pas, and eyen rede and wete,\n\n\u2003Thurgh-out the citee, by the maister-strete,\n\n\u2003That sprad was al with blak, and\n\nwonder hye\n\n\u2003Right of the same is al the strete y-wrye.\n\n\u2003Up-on the right hond wente old Egeus,\n\n\u2003And on that other syde duk Theseus,\n\n\u2003And rode at his commandment.\n\n\u2003And after this, Theseus had sent\n\n\u2003For a bier, and it all covered\n\n\u2003With cloth of gold, the richest that he had,\n\n\u2003And in some of the same material he clad Arcita.\n\n\u2003Upon his hands he had gloves white,\n\n\u2003And on his head a crown of laurel green,\n\n\u2003And in his hand a sword full bright and keen.\n\n\u2003He lay him, with face uncovered, on the bier;\n\n\u2003Therewith he wept that pity was to hear.\n\n\u2003And so that the people should him see all,\n\n\u2003When it was that day he brought him to the hall,\n\n\u2003That roared with the crying and the sound.\n\n\u2003Then came this woeful Theban Palamon,\n\n\u2003With fluttering beard and unkempt, ashy hair,\n\n\u2003In clothes black, all wet with tears;\n\n\u2003And surpassing others in weeping, Emily,\n\n\u2003The sorrowfulest of all the company.\n\n\u2003Inasmuch as the service should be\n\n\u2003The more noble and rich according to his rank,\n\n\u2003Duke Theseus caused three steeds to be brought,\n\n\u2003That outfitted were in steel all glittering\n\n\u2003And covered with the coat of arms of lord Arcita.\n\n\u2003Upon these steeds, that were great and white,\n\n\u2003There sat folk, of whom one bore his shield,\n\n\u2003Another his spear up in his hands held,\n\n\u2003The third bore with him his bow Turkish\u2014\n\n\u2003Of refined gold was the quiver and also the fittings;\n\n\u2003And they rode forth at a walk with sorrowful look\n\n\u2003Toward the grove, as you shall after hear.\n\n\u2003The noblest of the Greeks that there were\n\n\u2003Upon their shoulders carried the bier,\n\n\u2003With slow pace and eyes red and wet,\n\n\u2003Throughout the city by the main street,\n\n\u2003That was all spread with shrouding black; and\n\nwondrous high\n\n\u2003Right of the same was the street lined.\n\n\u2003Upon the right hand went old Egeus,\n\n\u2003And on the other side Duke Theseus,\n\n\u2003With vessels in hir hand of gold ful fyn,\n\n\u2003Al ful of hony, milk, and blood, and wyn;\n\n\u2003Eek Palamon, with ful greet companye;\n\n\u2003And after that cam woful Emelye,\n\n\u2003With fyr in honde, as was that tyme the gyse,\n\n\u2003To do th'office of funeral servyse.\n\n\u2003Heigh labour, and ful greet apparaillinge\n\n\u2003Was at the service and the fyr-makinge,\n\n\u2003That with his grene top the heven raughte,\n\n\u2003And twenty fadme of brede the armes straughte;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, the bowes were so brode.\n\n\u2003Of stree first ther was leyd ful many a lode.\n\n\u2003But how the fyr was maked up on highte,\n\n\u2003And eek the names how the trees highte,\n\n\u2003As ook, firre, birch, asp, alder, holm, popler,\n\n\u2003Wilow, elm, plane, ash, box, chasteyn, lind, laurer,\n\n\u2003Mapul, thorn, beech, hasel, ew, whippel-tree,\n\n\u2003How they weren feld, shal nat be told for me;\n\n\u2003Ne how the goddes ronnen up and doun,\n\n\u2003Disherited of hir habitacioun,\n\n\u2003In which they woneden in reste and pees,\n\n\u2003Nymphes, Faunes, and Amadrides;\n\n\u2003Ne how the bestes and the briddes alle\n\n\u2003Fledden for fere, whan the wode was falle;\n\n\u2003Ne how the ground agast was of the light,\n\n\u2003That was nat wont to seen the sonne bright;\n\n\u2003Ne how the fyr was couched first with stree,\n\n\u2003And than with drye stokkes cloven a three,\n\n\u2003And than with grene wode and spycerye,\n\n\u2003And than with cloth of gold and with perrye,\n\n\u2003And gerlandes hanging with ful many a flour,\n\n\u2003The mirre, th'encens, with al so greet odour;\n\n\u2003Ne how Arcite lay among al this,\n\n\u2003Ne what richesse aboute his body is;\n\n\u2003Ne how that Emelye, as was the gyse,\n\n\u2003Putte in the fyr of funeral servyse;\n\n\u2003Ne how she swowned whan men made the fyr,\n\n\u2003Ne what she spak, ne what was hir desyr;\n\n\u2003Ne what jeweles men in the fyr tho caste,\n\n\u2003With vessels in their hands of gold full fine,\n\n\u2003All full of honey, milk, and blood, and wine;\n\n\u2003And Palamon, with full great company;\n\n\u2003And after that came woeful Emily,\n\n\u2003With fire in hand, as was that time the rite,\n\n\u2003To do the office of funeral service.\n\n\u2003Great labor and full great preparation\n\n\u2003Was at the service and the firemaking,\n\n\u2003That with its green top to heaven reached,\n\n\u2003And twenty fathoms in breadth the sides stretched\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, the boughs were so broad.\n\n\u2003Of straw first there was laid many a load;\n\n\u2003But how the fire was made in height,\n\n\u2003Nor the names how the trees were called\u2014\n\n\u2003As oak, fir, birch, aspen, alder, holly, poplar,\n\n\u2003Willow, elm, plane, ash, box, chestnut, linden, laurel,\n\n\u2003Maple, thorn, beech, hazel, yew, dogwood\u2014\n\n\u2003How they were felled shall not be told by me;\n\n\u2003Nor how the tree spirits ran up and down,\n\n\u2003Disinherited of their habitation,\n\n\u2003In which they dwelt in rest and peace\u2014\n\n\u2003Nymphs, fauns and hamadryads;\n\n\u2003Nor how the beasts and birds all\n\n\u2003Fled for fear when the wood was felled;\n\n\u2003Nor how the ground aghast was of the light,\n\n\u2003That was not accustomed to see the sun bright;\n\n\u2003Nor how the fire was laid first with straw,\n\n\u2003And then with dry sticks split in three,\n\n\u2003And then with green wood and spices,\n\n\u2003And then with cloth of gold and with jewels,\n\n\u2003And garlands hanging with full many a flower,\n\n\u2003The myrrh, the incense, with all so great odor;\n\n\u2003Nor how Arcita lay among all this,\n\n\u2003Nor what riches about his body were;\n\n\u2003Nor how Emily, as was the rite,\n\n\u2003Lit the fire of funeral service;\n\n\u2003Nor how she swooned when men made the fire,\n\n\u2003Nor what she spoke, nor what was her desire;\n\n\u2003Nor what jewels men in the fire cast;\n\n\u2003Whan that the fyr was greet and brente faste;\n\n\u2003Ne how som caste hir sheeld, and som hir spere,\n\n\u2003And of hir vestiments, whiche that they were,\n\n\u2003And cuppes ful of wyn, and milk, and blood,\n\n\u2003Into the fyr, that brente as it were wood;\n\n\u2003Ne how the Grekes with an huge route\n\n\u2003Thry\u00ebs riden al the fyr aboute\n\n\u2003Up-on the left hand, with a loud shoutinge,\n\n\u2003And thry\u00ebs with hir speres clateringe;\n\n\u2003And thry\u00ebs how the ladies gonne crye;\n\n\u2003Ne how that lad was hom-ward Emelye;\n\n\u2003Ne how Arcite is brent to asshen colde;\n\n\u2003Ne how that liche-wake was y-holde\n\n\u2003Al thilke night, ne how the Grekes pleye\n\n\u2003The wake-pleyes, ne kepe I nat to seye;\n\n\u2003Who wrastleth best naked, with oille enoynt,\n\n\u2003Ne who that bar him best, in no disjoynt.\n\n\u2003I wol nat tellen eek how that they goon\n\n\u2003Hoom til Athenes, whan the pley is doon;\n\n\u2003But shortly to the poynt than wol I wende,\n\n\u2003And maken of my longe tale an ende.\n\n\u2003By processe and by lengthe of certeyn yeres\n\n\u2003Al stinted is the moorning and the teres.\n\n\u2003Of Grekes, by oon general assent,\n\n\u2003Than semed me ther was a parlement\n\n\u2003At Athenes, up-on certeyn poynts and cas;\n\n\u2003Among the whiche poynts y-spoken was\n\n\u2003To have with certeyn contrees alliaunce,\n\n\u2003And have fully of Thebans obeisaunce.\n\n\u2003For which this noble Theseus anon\n\n\u2003Leet senden after gentil Palamon,\n\n\u2003Unwist of him what was the cause and why;\n\n\u2003But in his blake clothes sorwefully\n\n\u2003He cam at his comaundemente in hye.\n\n\u2003Tho sente Theseus for Emelye.\n\n\u2003Whan they were set, and hust was al the place,\n\n\u2003And Theseus abiden hadde a space\n\n\u2003Er any word cam from his wyse brest,\n\n\u2003His eyen sette he ther as was his lest,\n\n\u2003When the fire was great and burned fast;\n\n\u2003Nor how some cast their shields, and some their spears,\n\n\u2003And some of the clothing that they wore,\n\n\u2003And cups full of milk and wine and blood,\n\n\u2003Into the fire that burned as if it were mad;\n\n\u2003Nor how the Greeks with a huge company\n\n\u2003Thrice rode all the fire about\n\n\u2003Upon the left hand, with a loud shouting,\n\n\u2003And thrice with their spears clattering;\n\n\u2003And thrice how the ladies cried out;\n\n\u2003Nor how Emily was homeward led;\n\n\u2003Nor how Arcita was burnt to ashes cold;\n\n\u2003Nor how the funeral wake was held\n\n\u2003All that night; nor how the Greeks played\n\n\u2003The funeral games, nor care I to say\u2014\n\n\u2003Who wrestled best naked with oil anointed,\n\n\u2003Nor who bore himself best in every difficulty.\n\n\u2003I will not tell how they went\n\n\u2003Home to Athens when the games were done;\n\n\u2003But quickly to the point then will I wend,\n\n\u2003And make of my long tale an end.\n\n\u2003After the passage of a certain number of years\n\n\u2003All ceased was the mourning and the tears\n\n\u2003Of Greeks, by one general assent.\n\n\u2003Then seems it to me there was a parliament\n\n\u2003At Athens, upon certain points and matters;\n\n\u2003Among which points discussed was\n\n\u2003To have with certain countries alliance,\n\n\u2003And to have fully of the Thebans submission.\n\n\u2003For which this noble Theseus anon\n\n\u2003Caused to be sent for gentle Palamon,\n\n\u2003Unknown to him of what cause and why;\n\n\u2003But in his black clothes sorrowfully\n\n\u2003He came at his commandment quickly.\n\n\u2003Then sent Theseus for Emily.\n\n\u2003When they were sat, and hushed was all the place,\n\n\u2003And Theseus had a space of time abided\n\n\u2003Before any word came from his wise breast,\n\n\u2003His eyes set he there as was his pleasure,\n\n\u2003And with a sad visage he syked stille,\n\n\u2003And after that right thus he seyde his wille.\n\n\u2003\"The firste moevere of the cause above,\n\n\u2003Whan he first made the faire cheyne of love,\n\n\u2003Greet was th'effect, and heigh was his entente;\n\n\u2003Wel wiste he why, and what ther-of he mente;\n\n\u2003For with that faire cheyne of love he bond\n\n\u2003The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond\n\n\u2003In certeyn boundes, that they may nat flee;\n\n\u2003That same prince and that moevere,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Hath stablissed, in this wrecched world adoun,\n\n\u2003Certeyne dayes and duracioun\n\n\u2003To al that is engendred in this place,\n\n\u2003Over the whiche day they may nat pace,\n\n\u2003Al mowe they yet tho dayes wel abregge;\n\n\u2003Ther needeth non auctoritee allegg,\n\n\u2003For it is preved by experience,\n\n\u2003But that me list declaren my sentence.\n\n\u2003Than may men by this ordre wel discerne,\n\n\u2003That thilke moevere stable is and eterne.\n\n\u2003Wel may men knowe, but it be a fool,\n\n\u2003That every part deryveth from his hool.\n\n\u2003For nature hath nat take his beginning\n\n\u2003Of no party ne cantel of a thing,\n\n\u2003But of a thing that parfit is and stable,\n\n\u2003Descending so, til it be corrumpable.\n\n\u2003And therfore, of his wyse purveyaunce,\n\n\u2003He hath so wel biset his ordinaunce,\n\n\u2003That speces of thinges and progressiouns\n\n\u2003Shullen enduren by successiouns,\n\n\u2003And nat eterne be, with-oute lye:\n\n\u2003This maistow understonde and seen at ye.\n\n\u2003\"Lo the ook, that hath so long a norisshinge\n\n\u2003From tyme that it first biginneth springe,\n\n\u2003And hath so long a lyf, as we may see,\n\n\u2003Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.\n\n\u2003Considereth eek, how that the harde stoon\n\n\u2003Under our feet, on which we trede and goon,\n\n\u2003Yit wasteth it, as it lyth by the weye.\n\n\u2003And with a sad visage he sighed quietly,\n\n\u2003And after that right thus he spoke his will:\n\n\u2003\"The First Mover of the cause above,\n\n\u2003When he first made the fair chain of love,\n\n\u2003Great was the effect, and noble was his intent.\n\n\u2003Well knew he why, and what thereof he meant;\n\n\u2003For with that fair chain of love he bound\n\n\u2003The fire, the air, the water, and the land\n\n\u2003In certain bounds, that they may not flee.\n\n\u2003That same Prince and that Mover,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Has established in this wretched world below\n\n\u2003Certain days and duration\n\n\u2003To all that is engendered in this place,\n\n\u2003Beyond which day they may not pass,\n\n\u2003Although they yet may those days well shorten.\n\n\u2003There needs no authority to cite,\n\n\u2003For it is proved by experience,\n\n\u2003But it pleases me to declare my thought.\n\n\u2003Then may men by this order well discern\n\n\u2003That the Mover is stable and eternal.\n\n\u2003Well may men know, except the fool,\n\n\u2003That every part derives from its whole.\n\n\u2003For nature has not taken his beginning\n\n\u2003Of any part or portion of a thing,\n\n\u2003But from a thing that is perfect and stable,\n\n\u2003Descending from heaven until it becomes corruptible.\n\n\u2003And therefore, of his wise foresight and providence,\n\n\u2003He has so well arranged his plan and ordinance\n\n\u2003That species of things and natural changes\n\n\u2003Shall endure by succession of generations\n\n\u2003And not by being eternal, without any lie.\n\n\u2003This you may understand and see with your own eye:\n\n\u2003\"Lo, the oak that has so long a growth\n\n\u2003From the time that it to life first began to spring,\n\n\u2003And has so long a life, as we may see,\n\n\u2003Yet at last wasted is the tree.\n\n\u2003Consider also, how the hard stone\n\n\u2003Under our feet, on which we tread and go,\n\n\u2003Yet it wastes, as it lies by the way.\n\n\u2003The brode river somtyme wexeth dreye.\n\n\u2003The grete tounes see we wane and wende.\n\n\u2003Than may ye see that al this thing hath ende.\n\n\u2003\"Of man and womman seen we wel also,\n\n\u2003That nedeth, in oon of thise termes two,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, in youthe or elles age,\n\n\u2003He moot ben deed, the king as shal a page;\n\n\u2003Som in his bed, som in the depe see,\n\n\u2003Som in the large feeld, as men may se;\n\n\u2003Ther helpeth noght, al goth that ilke weye.\n\n\u2003Thanne may I seyn that al this thing moot deye.\n\n\u2003What maketh this but Jupiter the king?\n\n\u2003The which is prince and cause of alle thing,\n\n\u2003Converting al un-to his propre welle,\n\n\u2003From which it is deryved, sooth to telle.\n\n\u2003And here-agayns no creature on lyve\n\n\u2003Of no degree availleth for to stryve.\n\n\u2003\"Thanne is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,\n\n\u2003To maken vertu of necessitee,\n\n\u2003And take it wel, that we may nat eschue,\n\n\u2003And namely that to us alle is due.\n\n\u2003And who-so gruccheth ought, he dooth folye,\n\n\u2003And rebel is to him that al may gye.\n\n\u2003And certeinly a man hath most honour\n\n\u2003To dyen in his excellence and flour,\n\n\u2003Whan he is siker of his gode name;\n\n\u2003Than hath he doon his freend, ne him, no sham.\n\n\u2003And gladder oghte his freend ben of his deeth,\n\n\u2003Whan with honour up-yolden is his breeth,\n\n\u2003Than whan his name apalled is for age;\n\n\u2003For al forgeten is his vasselage.\n\n\u2003Than is it best, as for a worthy fame,\n\n\u2003To dyen whan that he is best of name.\n\n\u2003The contrarie of al this is wilfulnesse.\n\n\u2003Why grucchen we? why have we hevinesse,\n\n\u2003That good Arcite, of chivalrye flour\n\n\u2003Departed is, with duetee and honour,\n\n\u2003Out of this foule prison of this lyf?\n\n\u2003Why grucchen heer his cosin and his wyf\n\n\u2003The broad river sometimes runs dry;\n\n\u2003The great towns see we wane and die.\n\n\u2003Then may you see that all these things have an end.\n\n\u2003\"Of man and woman see we well also\n\n\u2003That by necessity, in one of these two times,\n\n\u2003That is to say, in youth or else age,\n\n\u2003He must be dead, king as well as page;\n\n\u2003One in his bed, one in the deep sea,\n\n\u2003One in the large field, as men may see.\n\n\u2003There helps nothing: all go that same way.\n\n\u2003Then may I say that all these things must die.\n\n\u2003Who made this but Jupiter the king,\n\n\u2003Who is prince and cause of all things,\n\n\u2003Converting everything to its proper source\n\n\u2003From which it is derived, truth to tell?\n\n\u2003And it avails no creature alive,\n\n\u2003Against him to strive.\n\n\u2003\"Then it is wisdom, it seems to me,\n\n\u2003To make virtue of necessity,\n\n\u2003And take well what we may not avoid,\n\n\u2003And especially that which to us is due.\n\n\u2003And whoso grouches in any way, he does folly,\n\n\u2003And is rebel to him who governs all.\n\n\u2003And certainly a man has most honor\n\n\u2003To die in his excellence and flower,\n\n\u2003When he is sure of his good name;\n\n\u2003Then has he done neither his friend nor himself shame.\n\n\u2003And gladder ought his friend be of his death\n\n\u2003When with honor upyielded is his breath,\n\n\u2003Than when his name faded is by age,\n\n\u2003For all forgotten is his courage.\n\n\u2003Then it is best, for a worthy fame,\n\n\u2003To die when he is best of name.\n\n\u2003The contrary of all this is wilfulness.\n\n\u2003Why grouch we, why have we sorrow,\n\n\u2003That good Arcita, of chivalry the flower,\n\n\u2003Departed is with due respect and honor\n\n\u2003Out of this foul prison of this life?\n\n\u2003Why grouch here his cousin and his wife\n\n\u2003Of his wel-fare that loved hem so weel?\n\n\u2003Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a deel\n\n\u2003That bothe his soule and eek him-self offende,\n\n\u2003And yet they mowe hir lustes nat amende.\n\n\u2003\"What may I conclude of this longe serie,\n\n\u2003But, after wo, I rede us to be merie,\n\n\u2003And thanken Jupiter of al his grace?\n\n\u2003And, er that we departen from this place,\n\n\u2003I rede that we make, of sorwes two,\n\n\u2003O parfyt joye, lasting ever-mo;\n\n\u2003And loketh now, wher most sorwe is herinne,\n\n\u2003Ther wol we first amenden and biginne.\n\n\u2003\"Suster,\" quod he, \"this is my fulle assent,\n\n\u2003With al th'avys heer of my parlement,\n\n\u2003That gentil Palamon, your owne knight,\n\n\u2003That serveth yow with wille, herte, and might,\n\n\u2003And ever hath doon, sin that ye first him knewe,\n\n\u2003That ye shul, of your grace, up-on him rewe,\n\n\u2003And taken him for housbonde and for lord:\n\n\u2003Leen me your hond, for this is our acord.\n\n\u2003Lat see now of your wommanly pitee.\n\n\u2003He is a kinges brother sone, pardee;\n\n\u2003And, though he were a povre bacheler,\n\n\u2003Sin he hath served yow so many a yeer,\n\n\u2003And had for yow so greet adversitee,\n\n\u2003It moste been considered, leveth me;\n\n\u2003For gentil mercy oghte to\n\npassen right.\"\n\n\u2003Than seyde he thus to Palamon ful right;\n\n\u2003\"I trowe ther nedeth litel sermoning\n\n\u2003To make yow assente to this thing.\n\n\u2003Com neer, and tak your lady by the hond.\"\n\n\u2003Bitwixen hem was maad anon the bond,\n\n\u2003That highte matrimoine or mariage,\n\n\u2003By al the counseil and the baronage.\n\n\u2003And thus with alle blisse and melodye\n\n\u2003Hath Palamon y-wedded Emelye.\n\n\u2003And God, that al this wyde world hath wroght,\n\n\u2003Sende him his love, that hath it dere a-boght.\n\n\u2003Over his fate, who loved him so well?\n\n\u2003Can he them thank? No, God knows, not a bit,\n\n\u2003Who both his soul and themselves offend,\n\n\u2003And yet they can their happiness not amend.\n\n\u2003\"What may I conclude of this long argument,\n\n\u2003But after would I advise us to be merry,\n\n\u2003And thank Jupiter for all his grace;\n\n\u2003And before we depart from this place,\n\n\u2003I advise that we make of sorrows two\n\n\u2003One perfect love, lasting evermore;\n\n\u2003And look now, where most sorrow is herein,\n\n\u2003There will we first amend and begin.\n\n\u2003\"Sister,\" said he, \"this is my full desire,\n\n\u2003With all the advice here of my parliament:\n\n\u2003That gentle Palamon, your own knight,\n\n\u2003Who serves you with will, heart and might,\n\n\u2003And ever has done so since you first him knew,\n\n\u2003That you shall of your grace upon him take pity,\n\n\u2003And take him for husband and for lord.\n\n\u2003Give me your hand, for this is our concord.\n\n\u2003Let us see now of your womanly pity.\n\n\u2003He is a king's brother's son, indeed;\n\n\u2003And even if he were a poor young knight,\n\n\u2003Since he has served you for so many a year,\n\n\u2003And has had in your service such great adversity,\n\n\u2003It must be considered, believe me;\n\n\u2003For gentle mercy ought to prevail over strictly\n\nlegal right.\"\n\n\u2003Then said he thus to Palamon the knight:\n\n\u2003\"I believe there needs little preaching\n\n\u2003To make you assent to this thing.\n\n\u2003Come near, and take your lady by the hand.\"\n\n\u2003Between them was made at once the bond\n\n\u2003Of high matrimony, or marriage,\n\n\u2003By all the council and the baronage.\n\n\u2003And thus with all bliss and melody\n\n\u2003Has Palamon wedded Emily.\n\n\u2003And God, who all this wide world has wrought,\n\n\u2003Send him his love who has it dearly bought.\n\n\u2003For now is Palamon in alle wele,\n\n\u2003Living in blisse, in richesse, and in hele;\n\n\u2003And Emelye him loveth so tendrely,\n\n\u2003And he hir serveth al-so gentilly,\n\n\u2003That never was ther no word hem bitwene\n\n\u2003Of jelousye, or any other tene.\n\n\u2003Thus endeth Palamon and Emelye;\n\n\u2003And God save al this faire companye!\u2014Amen.\n\n\u2003For now is Palamon in all happiness,\n\n\u2003Living in bliss, in riches, and in health;\n\n\u2003And Emily loves him so tenderly,\n\n\u2003And he serves her so gently\n\n\u2003That there never was a word between them\n\n\u2003Of jealousy or any other trouble.\n\n\u2003Thus ends Palamon and Emily;\n\n\u2003And God save all this fair company! Amen.\n\n\u2003The Milleres Tale\n\n\u2003The Prologue"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "\u2003Whan that the knight had thus his tale y-told,\n\n\u2003In al the route nas ther yong ne old\n\n\u2003That he ne seyde it was a noble storie,\n\n\u2003And worthy for to drawen to memorie;\n\n\u2003And namely the gentils everichoon.\n\n\u2003Our Hoste lough and swoor, \"so moot I goon,\n\n\u2003This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male;\n\n\u2003Lat see now who shal telle another tale:\n\n\u2003For trewely, the game is wel bigonne.\n\n\u2003Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye conne,\n\n\u2003Sumwhat, to quyte with the Knightes tale.\"\n\n\u2003The Miller, that for-dronken was al pale,\n\n\u2003So that unnethe up-on his hors he sat,\n\n\u2003He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat,\n\n\u2003Ne abyde no man for his curteisye,\n\n\u2003But in Pilates vois he gan to crye,\n\n\u2003And swoor by armes and by blood and bones,\n\n\u2003\"I can a noble tale for the nones,\n\n\u2003With which I wol now quyte the Knightes tale.\"\n\n\u2003Our Hoste saugh that he was dronke of ale,\n\n\u2003And seyde: \"abyd, Robin, my leve brother,\n\n\u2003Som bettre man shal telle us first another:\n\n\u2003Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily.\"\n\n\u2003\"By goddes soul,\" quod he, \"that wol nat I;\n\n\u2003For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.\"\n\n\u2003Our Hoste answerde: \"tel on, a devel wey!\n\n\u2003Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now herkneth,\" quod the Miller, \"alle and some!\n\n\u2003But first I make a protestacioun\n\n\u2003That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun;\n\n\u2003And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye,\n\n\u2003Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye;\n\n\u2003For I wol telle a legende and a lyf\n\n\u2003Bothe of a Carpenter, and of his wyf,\n\n\u2003How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.\"\n\n\u2003The Miller's Tale\n\n\u2003The Prologue"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "\u2003When the knight had his tale told,\n\n\u2003In all the company there was neither young nor old\n\n\u2003Who said not that it was a noble story,\n\n\u2003And worthy for to keep in memory,\n\n\u2003And so spoke the genteel pilgrims especially.\n\n\u2003Our Host laughed and swore, \"As I may hope to live,\n\n\u2003This goes well, the bag is opened.\n\n\u2003Let see now who should tell another tale,\n\n\u2003For truly, the game is well begun.\n\n\u2003Now tell you, sir Monk, if you know how,\n\n\u2003Something to match the Knight's tale.\"\n\n\u2003The Miller, who quite drunk was all pale,\n\n\u2003So that with trouble upon his horse he sat,\n\n\u2003Nor bothered to doff his hood or hat,\n\n\u2003Nor deferred to anyone out of courtesy,\n\n\u2003But in Pilate's voice he began to harangue,\n\n\u2003And swore, \"By Christ's arms and by blood and bones,\n\n\u2003I know a noble tale for this occasion,\n\n\u2003With which I will now repay the Knight's tale.\"\n\n\u2003Our Host saw that he was drunk on ale,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Wait, Robin, my dear brother,\n\n\u2003Some better man shall tell us first another:\n\n\u2003Wait, and let us go in proper order.\"\n\n\u2003\"By God's soul,\" said he, \"that I will not;\n\n\u2003For I will speak or else go my way.\"\n\n\u2003Our Host answered, \"Tell on, what the devil!\n\n\u2003You are a fool, your wit is overcome.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now listen,\" said the Miller, \"all and some!\n\n\u2003But first I make a protestation\n\n\u2003That I am drunk, I know by my voice's sound.\n\n\u2003And therefore, if I misspeak or say,\n\n\u2003Blame it on the ale of Southwark, I you pray;\n\n\u2003For I will tell a legend and a life\n\n\u2003Both of a carpenter and of his wife,\n\n\u2003How that a student made of the carpenter a fool.\"\n\n\u2003The Reve answerde and seyde, \"stint thy clappe,\n\n\u2003Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.\n\n\u2003It is a sinne and eek a greet folye\n\n\u2003To apeiren any man, or him diffame,\n\n\u2003And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.\n\n\u2003Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.\"\n\n\u2003This dronken Miller spak ful sone ageyn,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"leve brother Osewold,\n\n\u2003Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.\n\n\u2003But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;\n\n\u2003Ther been ful gode wyves many oon,\n\n\u2003And ever a thousand gode ayeyns oon badde,\n\n\u2003That knowestow wel thy-self, but-if thou madde.\n\n\u2003Why artow angry with my tale now?\n\n\u2003I have a wyf, pardee, as well as thou,\n\n\u2003Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,\n\n\u2003Taken up-on me more than y-nogh,\n\n\u2003As demen of my-self that I were oon;\n\n\u2003I wol beleve wel that I am noon.\n\n\u2003And housbond shal nat been inquisitif\n\n\u2003Of goddes privetee, nor of his wyf.\n\n\u2003So he may finde goddes foyson there,\n\n\u2003Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere.\"\n\n\u2003What sholde I more seyn, but this Millere\n\n\u2003He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,\n\n\u2003But tolde his cherles tale in his manere;\n\n\u2003M'athynketh that I shal reherce it here.\n\n\u2003And ther-fore every gentil wight I preye,\n\n\u2003For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye\n\n\u2003Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce\n\n\u2003Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,\n\n\u2003Or elles falsen som of my matere.\n\n\u2003And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here,\n\n\u2003Turne over the leef, and chese another tale;\n\n\u2003For he shal finde y-nowe, grete and smale,\n\n\u2003Of storial thing that toucheth gentillesse,\n\n\u2003And eek moralitee and holinesse;\n\n\u2003Blameth nat me if that ye chese amis.\n\n\u2003The Miller is a cherl, ye knowe wel this;\n\n\u2003The Reeve answered and said, \"Shut your trap!\n\n\u2003Forget your rude drunken smut.\n\n\u2003It is a sin and also a great folly\n\n\u2003To injure any man, or him defame,\n\n\u2003And to bring wives into ill-repute.\n\n\u2003You may enough of other things say.\"\n\n\u2003This drunken Miller spoke full soon again,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Dear brother Oswald,\n\n\u2003Who has no wife, he is no cuckold.\n\n\u2003But I say not therefore that you are one;\n\n\u2003There be full good wives many a one,\n\n\u2003And even a thousand good for every one bad.\n\n\u2003You know that yourself, unless you're mad.\n\n\u2003Why are you angry with my tale now?\n\n\u2003I have a wife, by God, as well as you,\n\n\u2003Yet would I not, for the oxen in my plow,\n\n\u2003Take upon me more worries than enough,\n\n\u2003As to imagine myself a cuckold;\n\n\u2003I well believe that I am not one.\n\n\u2003A husband shall not be inquisitive\n\n\u2003Of God's secrets, nor of his wife.\n\n\u2003So he may find God's bounty there,\n\n\u2003Of the rest he need not inquire.\"\n\n\u2003What should I say more, but this Miller\n\n\u2003He would his words no man spare,\n\n\u2003But told his churl's tale in his manner.\n\n\u2003I regret I must repeat it here.\n\n\u2003And therefore every genteel person I pray,\n\n\u2003For God's love, deem it not that I speak\n\n\u2003From evil intent, but that I must retell\n\n\u2003His tales all, be they better or worse,\n\n\u2003Or else falsify my subject matter.\n\n\u2003And therefore, whoso wishes it not to hear,\n\n\u2003Turn over the page, and choose another tale;\n\n\u2003For he shall find enough, great and small,\n\n\u2003Of historical things that touch on the genteel,\n\n\u2003And also morality and holiness.\n\n\u2003Blame me not if you choose amiss.\n\n\u2003The Miller is a churl, you know well this;\n\n\u2003So was the Reve, and othere many mo,\n\n\u2003And harlotrye they tolden bothe two.\n\n\u2003Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame;\n\n\u2003And eek men shal nat make ernest of game.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Whylom ther was dwellinge at Oxenford\n\n\u2003A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,\n\n\u2003And of his craft he was a Carpenter.\n\n\u2003With him ther was dwellinge a povre scoler,\n\n\u2003Had lerned art, but al his fantasye\n\n\u2003Was turned for to lerne astrologye,\n\n\u2003And coude a certeyn of conclusiouns\n\n\u2003To demen by interrogaciouns,\n\n\u2003If that men axed him in certein houres,\n\n\u2003Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures,\n\n\u2003Or if men axed him what sholde bifalle\n\n\u2003Of every thing, I may nat rekene hem alle.\n\n\u2003This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas;\n\n\u2003Of derne love he coude and of solas;\n\n\u2003And ther-to he was sleigh and ful privee,\n\n\u2003And lyk a mayden meke for to see.\n\n\u2003A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye\n\n\u2003Allone, with-outen any companye,\n\n\u2003Ful fetisly y-dight with herbes swote;\n\n\u2003And he him-self as swete as is the rote\n\n\u2003Of licorys, or any cetewale.\n\n\u2003His Almageste and bokes grete and smale,\n\n\u2003His astrelabie, longinge for his art,\n\n\u2003His augrim-stones layen faire a-part\n\n\u2003On shelves couched at his beddes heed:\n\n\u2003His presse y-covered with a falding reed.\n\n\u2003And al above ther lay a gay sautrye,\n\n\u2003On which he made a nightes melodye\n\n\u2003So swetely, that al the chambre rong;\n\n\u2003And Angelus ad virginem he song;\n\n\u2003And after that he song the kinges note;\n\n\u2003Ful often blessed was his mery throte.\n\n\u2003And thus this swete clerk his tyme spente\n\n\u2003So was the Reeve and others more,\n\n\u2003And ribaldry they told both two.\n\n\u2003Be advised and put me out of blame;\n\n\u2003And do not take in earnest what is a game.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Once upon a time there was dwelling at Oxford\n\n\u2003A rich churl, who took in lodgers,\n\n\u2003And by trade he was a carpenter.\n\n\u2003With him there was dwelling a poor scholar,\n\n\u2003Who studied the liberal arts, but all his fancy\n\n\u2003Was turned to learn astrology,\n\n\u2003And he knew a number of operations\n\n\u2003With which to provide explanations,\n\n\u2003If men asked him in certain hours\n\n\u2003When men should have drought or showers,\n\n\u2003Or if men asked him what should befall\n\n\u2003Of every thing, I cannot count them all.\n\n\u2003This scholar was called polite Nicholas.\n\n\u2003Of secret love he knew and of pleasure;\n\n\u2003And thereto he was sly and secretive,\n\n\u2003And like a maiden meek to look upon.\n\n\u2003A room had he in that boardinghouse\n\n\u2003Alone, without any company,\n\n\u2003Full neatly arranged with herbs sweet;\n\n\u2003And he himself as sweet as is the root\n\n\u2003Of licorice, or any ginger spice.\n\n\u2003His treatise by Ptolemy on astronomy,\n\n\u2003His astrolabe, belonging to his art,\n\n\u2003His augrim-stones lay fair apart\n\n\u2003On shelves placed at his bed's head;\n\n\u2003His clothes chest covered with wool cloth red.\n\n\u2003And on it lay a pretty zither,\n\n\u2003On which he made nightly melody\n\n\u2003So sweetly, that all the chamber rang,\n\n\u2003And an Annunciation hymn he sang,\n\n\u2003And after that he sang the king's note,\n\n\u2003Full often blessed was his merry throat.\n\n\u2003And thus this sweet student his living spent\n\n\u2003After his freendes finding and his rente.\n\n\u2003This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf\n\n\u2003Which that he lovede more than his lyf;\n\n\u2003Of eightetene yeer she was of age.\n\n\u2003Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage,\n\n\u2003For she was wilde and yong, and he was old,\n\n\u2003And demed him-self ben lyk a cokewold.\n\n\u2003He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude,\n\n\u2003That bad man sholde wedde his similitude.\n\n\u2003Men sholde wedden after hir estaat,\n\n\u2003For youthe and elde is often at debaat.\n\n\u2003But sith that he was fallen in the snare,\n\n\u2003He moste endure, as other folk, his care.\n\n\u2003Fair was this yonge wyf, and ther-with-al\n\n\u2003As any wesele hir body gent and smal.\n\n\u2003A ceynt she werede barred al of silk,\n\n\u2003A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk\n\n\u2003Up-on hir lendes, ful of many a gore.\n\n\u2003Whyt was hir smok and brouded al bifore\n\n\u2003And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,\n\n\u2003Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute.\n\n\u2003The tapes of hir whyte voluper\n\n\u2003Were of the same suyte of hir coler;\n\n\u2003Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye:\n\n\u2003And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye.\n\n\u2003Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two,\n\n\u2003And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo.\n\n\u2003She was ful more blisful on to see\n\n\u2003Than is the newe pere-jonette tree;\n\n\u2003And softer than the wolle is of a wether.\n\n\u2003And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether\n\n\u2003Tasseld with silk, and perled with latoun.\n\n\u2003In al this world, to seken up and doun,\n\n\u2003There nis no man so wys, that coude thenche\n\n\u2003So gay a popelote, or swich a wenche.\n\n\u2003Ful brighter was the shyning of hir hewe\n\n\u2003Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe.\n\n\u2003But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne\n\n\u2003As any swalwe sittinge on a berne.\n\n\u2003From a private income and gifts from friends.\n\n\u2003This carpenter had newly wedded a wife\n\n\u2003Whom he loved more than his life;\n\n\u2003Of eighteen years she was of age.\n\n\u2003Jealous he was, and held her as in a cage,\n\n\u2003For she was wild and young, and he was old\n\n\u2003And deemed himself likely to be a cuckold.\n\n\u2003He knew not Cato, for he was untaught,\n\n\u2003Who bade man should wed his counterpart.\n\n\u2003Men should wed according to their condition,\n\n\u2003For youth and age often are in opposition.\n\n\u2003But since he was fallen in the snare,\n\n\u2003He must endure, as other folk, his care.\n\n\u2003Fair was this young wife, and all in all\n\n\u2003As any weasel her body graceful and small.\n\n\u2003A belt she wore striped all of silk;\n\n\u2003An apron also as white as morning milk\n\n\u2003Upon her loins, very fully cut.\n\n\u2003White was her dress, and embroidered all before\n\n\u2003And also behind, on her collar about,\n\n\u2003Of coal-black silk, within and without.\n\n\u2003The strings of her white bonnet\n\n\u2003Were of the same kind as her collar;\n\n\u2003Her headband broad of silk, and set full high.\n\n\u2003And certainly she had a lecherous eye:\n\n\u2003Full small plucked were her brows two,\n\n\u2003And they were arched, and black as any berry.\n\n\u2003She was full more blissful for to see\n\n\u2003Than is the blossoming pear-jonette tree;\n\n\u2003And softer than the wool is of a wether.\n\n\u2003And by her waist hung a purse of leather\n\n\u2003Tasseled with silk, and studded with metal.\n\n\u2003In all this world, to seek up and down,\n\n\u2003There is no man so wise who could imagine\n\n\u2003So gay a baby doll, or such a wench.\n\n\u2003Full brighter was the shining of her complexion\n\n\u2003Than in the Tower the coin of new-forged gold.\n\n\u2003But as to her song, it was lively and loud\n\n\u2003As any swallow sitting on a barn.\n\n\u2003Ther-to she coude skippe and make game,\n\n\u2003As any kide or calf folwinge his dame.\n\n\u2003Hir mouth was swete as bragot or the meeth\n\n\u2003Or hord of apples leyd in hey or heeth.\n\n\u2003Winsinge she was, as is a joly colt,\n\n\u2003Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.\n\n\u2003A brooch she baar up-on hir lowe coler,\n\n\u2003As brood as is the bos of a bocler.\n\n\u2003Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye;\n\n\u2003She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye\n\n\u2003For any lord to leggen in his bedde,\n\n\u2003Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.\n\n\u2003Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas,\n\n\u2003That on a day this hende Nicholas\n\n\u2003Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye,\n\n\u2003Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye,\n\n\u2003As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte;\n\n\u2003And prively he caughte hir by the queynte,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"y-wis, but if ich have my wille,\n\n\u2003For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.\"\n\n\u2003And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"lemman, love me al at-ones,\n\n\u2003Or I wol dyen, also god me save!\"\n\n\u2003And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave,\n\n\u2003And with hir heed she wryed faste awey,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey,\n\n\u2003Why, lat be,\" quod she, \"lat be, Nicholas,\n\n\u2003Or I wol crye out 'harrow' and 'alias.'\n\n\u2003Do wey your handes for your curteisye!\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye,\n\n\u2003And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste,\n\n\u2003That she hir love him graunted atte laste,\n\n\u2003And swoor hir ooth, by seint Thomas of Kent,\n\n\u2003That she wol been at his comandement,\n\n\u2003Whan that she may hir leyser wel espye.\n\n\u2003\"Myn housbond is so ful of jalousye,\n\n\u2003That but ye wayte wel and been privee,\n\n\u2003I woot right wel I nam but deed,\" quod she.\n\n\u2003\"Ye moste been ful derne, as in this cas.\"\n\n\u2003Thereto she could skip and gambol,\n\n\u2003As any kid or calf following his mother.\n\n\u2003Her mouth was sweet as honeyed ale\n\n\u2003Or hoard of apples laid in hay or heather.\n\n\u2003Skittish she was, as is a jolly colt,\n\n\u2003Long as a mast, and straight as an arrow.\n\n\u2003A brooch she bore upon her collar low,\n\n\u2003As broad as is the boss of a shield;\n\n\u2003Her shoes were laced on her legs high.\n\n\u2003She was a primrose, a cuckooflower,\n\n\u2003For any lord to lay in his bed,\n\n\u2003Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.\n\n\u2003Now sir, and again sir, so befell the case,\n\n\u2003That on a day this polite, clever Nicholas\n\n\u2003Happened with this young wife to flirt and play,\n\n\u2003While her husband was at Osney,\n\n\u2003As scholars be full subtle and slippery.\n\n\u2003And in private he caught her by her quack,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Unless I have my will,\n\n\u2003My love for you will make me crack.\"\n\n\u2003And held her hard by the bum,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sweetheart, love me at once,\n\n\u2003Or I will die, as God me save!\"\n\n\u2003And she sprang as a colt does from the shoeing stall,\n\n\u2003And with her head she twisted fast away,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I will not kiss you, by my faith.\n\n\u2003Why, leave off,\" said she, \"leave off, Nicholas,\n\n\u2003Or I will cry 'help, help'nd'alas.'\n\n\u2003Take your hands away, for your courtesy!\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas began mercy for to cry,\n\n\u2003And spoke so fair, and offered himself so fast,\n\n\u2003That she her love granted him at last,\n\n\u2003And swore her oath, by Saint Thomas of Kent,\n\n\u2003That she would be at his commandment,\n\n\u2003When she may her chance espy.\n\n\u2003\"My husband is so full of jealousy,\n\n\u2003That unless you wait well and be discreet,\n\n\u2003I am as good as dead,\" said she. \"You must be\n\n\u2003Completely secret in this case.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay ther-of care thee noght,\" quod Nicholas,\n\n\u2003\"A clerk had litherly biset his whyle,\n\n\u2003But-if he coude a carpenter bigyle.\"\n\n\u2003And thus they been acorded and y-sworn\n\n\u2003To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn.\n\n\u2003Whan Nicholas had doon thus everydeel,\n\n\u2003And thakked hir aboute the lendes weel,\n\n\u2003He kist hir swete, and taketh his sautrye,\n\n\u2003And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodye.\n\n\u2003Than fil it thus, that to the parish-chirche,\n\n\u2003Cristes owne werkes for to wirche,\n\n\u2003This gode wyf wente on an haliday;\n\n\u2003Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day,\n\n\u2003So was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk.\n\n\u2003Now was ther of that chirche a parish-clerk,\n\n\u2003The which that was y-cleped Absolon.\n\n\u2003Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon,\n\n\u2003And strouted as a fanne large and brode;\n\n\u2003Ful streight and even lay his joly shode.\n\n\u2003His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos;\n\n\u2003With Powles window corven on his shoos,\n\n\u2003In hoses rede he wente fetisly\n\n\u2003Y-clad he was ful smal and proprely,\n\n\u2003Al in a kirtel of a light wachet;\n\n\u2003Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set.\n\n\u2003And ther-up-on he hadde a gay surplys\n\n\u2003As whyt as is the blosme up-on the rys.\n\n\u2003A mery child he was, so god me save,\n\n\u2003Wel coude he laten blood and clippe and shave,\n\n\u2003And make a chartre of lond or acquitaunce.\n\n\u2003In twenty manere coude he trippe and daunce\n\n\u2003After the scole of Oxenforde tho,\n\n\u2003And with his legges casten to and fro,\n\n\u2003And pleyen songes on a small rubible;\n\n\u2003Ther-to he song som-tyme a loud quinible;\n\n\u2003And as wel coude he pleye on his giterne.\n\n\u2003In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne\n\n\u2003That he ne visited with his solas,\n\n\u2003Ther any gaylard tappestere was.\n\n\u2003\"Nay, thereof care you not,\" said Nicholas.\n\n\u2003\"A scholar has poorly used his time awhile,\n\n\u2003If he cannot a carpenter beguile.\"\n\n\u2003And thus they were accorded and sworn\n\n\u2003To wait awhile, as I have told before.\n\n\u2003When Nicholas had done this all,\n\n\u2003And stroked her about her loins well,\n\n\u2003He kissed her sweet, and took his zither,\n\n\u2003And played hard, and made melody with her.\n\n\u2003Then befell it thus, that to the parish church,\n\n\u2003To perform Christ's own works,\n\n\u2003This good wife went on a holy day;\n\n\u2003Her forehead shone as bright as any day,\n\n\u2003So was it washed when she left her work.\n\n\u2003Now there was of that church a parish clerk,\n\n\u2003Who was called Absolon.\n\n\u2003Curly was his hair, and as the gold it shone,\n\n\u2003And spread out as a fan broad and large;\n\n\u2003Full straight and even lay his hair parted.\n\n\u2003His complexion was red, his eyes gray as a goose;\n\n\u2003With Saint Paul's windows cut in his shoes,\n\n\u2003In stockings red he went trimly.\n\n\u2003Clad he was full tightly and properly,\n\n\u2003All in a coat of a light blue;\n\n\u2003Neatly tied were the laces,\n\n\u2003And thereupon he had a gay surplice\n\n\u2003As white as the blossom upon the twig.\n\n\u2003A merry young man he was, so God me save.\n\n\u2003Well could he let blood and cut hair and shave,\n\n\u2003And make a charter of land or a deed of release.\n\n\u2003In twenty ways could he trip and dance\n\n\u2003After the fashion of Oxford then,\n\n\u2003With his legs cast to and fro,\n\n\u2003And play songs on a small fiddle;\n\n\u2003Thereto he sang sometime in a high treble;\n\n\u2003As well could he play on a guitar.\n\n\u2003In all the town there was no brewhouse or tavern\n\n\u2003That he did not visit with his play,\n\n\u2003Where there was any gay barmaid.\n\n\u2003But sooth to seyn, he was somdel squaymous\n\n\u2003Of farting, and of speche daungerous.\n\n\u2003This Absolon, that jolif was and gay,\n\n\u2003Gooth with a sencer on the haliday,\n\n\u2003Sensinge the wyves of the parish faste;\n\n\u2003And many a lovely look on hem he caste,\n\n\u2003And namely on this carpenteres wyf.\n\n\u2003To loke on hir him thoughte a mery lyf,\n\n\u2003She was so propre and swete and likerous.\n\n\u2003I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous,\n\n\u2003And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon.\n\n\u2003This parish-clerk, this joly Absolon,\n\n\u2003Hath in his herte swich a love-longinge,\n\n\u2003That of no wyf ne took he noon offringe;\n\n\u2003For curteisye, he seyde, he wolde noon.\n\n\u2003The mone, whan it was night, ful brighte shoon,\n\n\u2003And Absolon his giterne hath y-take,\n\n\u2003For paramours, he thoghte for to wake.\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth, jolif and amorous,\n\n\u2003Til he cam to the carpenteres hous\n\n\u2003A litel after cokkes hadde y-crowe;\n\n\u2003And dressed him up by a shot-windowe\n\n\u2003That was up-on the carpenteres wal.\n\n\u2003He singeth in his vois gentil and smal,\n\n\u2003\"Now, dere lady, if thy wille be,\n\n\u2003I preye yow that ye wol rewe on me,\"\n\n\u2003Ful wel acordaunt to his giterninge.\n\n\u2003This carpenter awook, and herde him singe,\n\n\u2003And spak un-to his wyf, and seyde anon,\n\n\u2003\"What! Alison! herestow nat Absolon\n\n\u2003That chaunteth thus under our boures wal?\"\n\n\u2003And she answerde hir housbond ther-with-al,\n\n\u2003\"Yis, god wot, John, I here it every-del.\"\n\n\u2003This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than wel?\n\n\u2003Fro day to day this joly Absolon\n\n\u2003So woweth hir, that him is wo bigon.\n\n\u2003He waketh al the night and al the day;\n\n\u2003He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay;\n\n\u2003He woweth hir by menes and brocage,\n\n\u2003But truth to say, he was somewhat squeamish\n\n\u2003Of farting, and of speech fastidious.\n\n\u2003This Absolon, who amorous was and gay,\n\n\u2003Went with a censer on the holy day,\n\n\u2003Censing the wives of the parish with care,\n\n\u2003And many a loving look on them he cast,\n\n\u2003And namely on this carpenter's wife:\n\n\u2003To look on her he thought a merry life.\n\n\u2003She was so sweet and flirtatious,\n\n\u2003I dare well say, if she had been a mouse,\n\n\u2003And he a cat, he would have pounced.\n\n\u2003This parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,\n\n\u2003Had in his heart such a love-longing,\n\n\u2003That from no wife he took an offering;\n\n\u2003For courtesy, he said, he wanted none.\n\n\u2003The moon, when it was night, full bright shone,\n\n\u2003And Absolon his guitar had taken\u2014\n\n\u2003For paramours he would stay awake.\n\n\u2003And forth he went, jolly and amorous,\n\n\u2003Till he came to the carpenter's house\n\n\u2003A little after cocks had crowed,\n\n\u2003And took his place near an open window\n\n\u2003That was upon the carpenter's wall.\n\n\u2003He sang in his voice thin and high,\n\n\u2003\"Now, dear lady, if your will be,\n\n\u2003I pray that you will have pity on me,\"\n\n\u2003In nice harmony with his guitar.\n\n\u2003This carpenter awoke and heard him sing,\n\n\u2003And spoke unto his wife, and said anon,\n\n\u2003\"What, Alison, do you hear Absolon\n\n\u2003Who sings thus under our bedroom wall?\"\n\n\u2003And she answered her husband forthwith,\n\n\u2003\"Yes, God knows, John, I hear it all.\"\n\n\u2003So this went on. What more can I say?\n\n\u2003From day to day this jolly Absolon\n\n\u2003So wooed her that he was woebegone.\n\n\u2003He stayed awake all night and all the day;\n\n\u2003He combed his locks broad, and made him gay;\n\n\u2003He wooed her through intercessors,\n\n\u2003And swoor he wolde been hir owne page;\n\n\u2003He singeth, brokkinge as a nightingale;\n\n\u2003He sente hir piment, meeth, and spyced ale,\n\n\u2003And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede;\n\n\u2003And for she was of toune, he profred mede.\n\n\u2003For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse,\n\n\u2003And som for strokes, and som for gentillesse.\n\n\u2003Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and maistrye,\n\n\u2003He pleyeth Herodes on a scaffold hye.\n\n\u2003But what availleth him as in this cas?\n\n\u2003She loveth so this hende Nicholas,\n\n\u2003That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn;\n\n\u2003He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn;\n\n\u2003And thus she maketh Absolon hir ape,\n\n\u2003And al his ernest turneth til a jape.\n\n\u2003Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,\n\n\u2003Men seyn right thus, \"alwey the nye slye\n\n\u2003Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.\"\n\n\u2003For though that Absolon be wood or wrooth,\n\n\u2003By-cause that he fer was from hir sighte,\n\n\u2003This nye Nicholas stood in his lighte.\n\n\u2003Now bere thee wel, thou hende Nicholas!\n\n\u2003For Absolon may waille and singe \"allas.\"\n\n\u2003And so bifel it on a Saterday\n\n\u2003This carpenter was goon til Osenay;\n\n\u2003And hende Nicholas and Alisoun\n\n\u2003Acorded been to this conclusioun,\n\n\u2003That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle\n\n\u2003This sely jalous housbond to bigyle;\n\n\u2003And if so be the game wente aright,\n\n\u2003She sholde slepen in his arm al night,\n\n\u2003For this was his desyr and hir also.\n\n\u2003And right anon, with-outen wordes mo,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie,\n\n\u2003But doth ful softe un-to his chambre carie\n\n\u2003Bothe mete and drinke for a day or tweye,\n\n\u2003And to hir housbonde bad hir for to seye,\n\n\u2003If that he axed after Nicholas,\n\n\u2003She sholde seye she niste where he was,\n\n\u2003And he swore he would be her own page;\n\n\u2003He sang, trilling like a nightingale;\n\n\u2003And sent her spiced wine, mead, and spiced ale,\n\n\u2003And wafer cakes, piping hot out of the oven;\n\n\u2003And he also offered money.\n\n\u2003For some folk will be won by riches,\n\n\u2003And some by blows, and some by kindness.\n\n\u2003Sometime, to show his agility and skill,\n\n\u2003He played Herod on the high stage.\n\n\u2003But what did it avail him in this case?\n\n\u2003She loved so this sweet Nicholas,\n\n\u2003That Absolon didn't have a hope;\n\n\u2003For his labor he got nothing but scorn.\n\n\u2003And thus she made Absolon her monkey,\n\n\u2003And all his earnestness turned into a joke.\n\n\u2003For truth is in this proverb, it is no lie,\n\n\u2003Men say right thus, \"A bird in the hand\n\n\u2003Is worth two in the bushes.\"\n\n\u2003For no matter that Absolon might be undone,\n\n\u2003By cause that he was far from her sight,\n\n\u2003This nearby Nicholas stood in his light.\n\n\u2003Now bear you well, you sweet Nicholas!\n\n\u2003For Absolon may wail and sing \"alas.\"\n\n\u2003And so befell it on a Saturday,\n\n\u2003This carpenter was gone to Osney,\n\n\u2003And sweet Nicholas and Alison\n\n\u2003Agreed to this conclusion,\n\n\u2003That Nicholas shall invent a wile\n\n\u2003This silly husband to beguile;\n\n\u2003And if the game went aright,\n\n\u2003She should sleep in his arms all night,\n\n\u2003For this was his desire and hers also.\n\n\u2003And right anon, without words more,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas no longer would tarry,\n\n\u2003But secretly into his chamber carries\n\n\u2003Both meat and drink for a day or two,\n\n\u2003And to her husband bade her to say,\n\n\u2003If that he asked after Nicholas,\n\n\u2003She should say she didn't know where he was,\n\n\u2003Of al that day she saugh him nat with ye;\n\n\u2003She trowed that he was in maladye,\n\n\u2003For, for no cry, hir mayde coude him calle;\n\n\u2003He nolde answere, for no-thing that mighte falle.\n\n\u2003This passeth forth al thilke Saterday,\n\n\u2003That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay,\n\n\u2003And eet and sleep, or dide what him leste,\n\n\u2003Til Sonday, that the sonne gooth to reste.\n\n\u2003This sely carpenter hath greet merveyle\n\n\u2003Of Nicholas, or what thing mighte him eyle,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I am adrad, by seint Thomas,\n\n\u2003It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas.\n\n\u2003God shilde that he deyde sodeynly!\n\n\u2003This world is now ful tikel, sikerly;\n\n\u2003I saugh to-day a cors y-born to chirche\n\n\u2003That now, on Monday last, I saugh him wirche.\n\n\u2003\"Go up,\" quod he un-to his knave anoon,\n\n\u2003\"Clepe at his dore, or knokke with a stoon,\n\n\u2003Loke how it is, and tel me boldely.\"\n\n\u2003This knave gooth him up ful sturdily,\n\n\u2003And at the chambre-dore, whyl that he stood,\n\n\u2003He cryde and knokked as that he were wood:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"What! how! what do ye, maister Nicholay?\n\n\u2003How may ye slepen al the longe day?\"\n\n\u2003But al for noght, he herde nat a word;\n\n\u2003An hole he fond, ful lowe up-on a board,\n\n\u2003Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe;\n\n\u2003And at that hole he looked in ful depe,\n\n\u2003And at the laste he hadde of him a sighte,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas sat gaping ever up-righte,\n\n\u2003As he had kyked on the newe mone.\n\n\u2003Adoun he gooth, and tolde his maister sone\n\n\u2003In what array he saugh this ilke man.\n\n\u2003This carpenter to blessen him bigan,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"help us, seinte Frideswyde!\n\n\u2003A man woot litel what him shal bityde.\n\n\u2003This man is falle, with his astromye,\n\n\u2003In som woodnesse or in som agonye;\n\n\u2003I thoghte ay wel how that it sholde be!\n\n\u2003During all that day she saw him not with eye,\n\n\u2003She believed he had a malady,\n\n\u2003For although she called him a lot\n\n\u2003He wouldn't answer, no matter what.\n\n\u2003This went on all that Saturday,\n\n\u2003That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,\n\n\u2003And ate and slept, or did what he pleased,\n\n\u2003Till Sunday, when the sun went to rest.\n\n\u2003This silly carpenter had greatly marvelled\n\n\u2003At Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I am afraid, by Saint Thomas,\n\n\u2003Something is wrong with Nicholas.\n\n\u2003God forbid that he should die suddenly!\n\n\u2003This world is now unstable, surely:\n\n\u2003I saw today a corpse borne to church\n\n\u2003Who now, on Monday last, I saw him work.\n\n\u2003\"Go up,\" said he to his servant anon,\n\n\u2003\"Call at his door, or knock with a stone,\n\n\u2003Look how he is, and tell me straightaway.\"\n\n\u2003This servant went up full sturdily,\n\n\u2003And at the chamber door, while that he stood\n\n\u2003He cried and knocked as if he were crazy:\n\n\u2003\"What! How are you, master Nicholay?\n\n\u2003How can you sleep all the long day?\"\n\n\u2003But all for nought, he heard not a word.\n\n\u2003A hole he found, full low upon a board,\n\n\u2003There where the cat was wont to creep;\n\n\u2003And at that hole he looked in full deep,\n\n\u2003And at last he had of him a sight.\n\n\u2003This Nicholas sat ever staring upward,\n\n\u2003As if half gone he gazed at the new moon.\n\n\u2003Down he went, and told his master soon\n\n\u2003In what shape he saw this same man.\n\n\u2003This carpenter to cross himself began,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Help us, Saint Frideswide!\n\n\u2003A man knows little what shall him betide.\n\n\u2003This man is fallen, with his astromony,\n\n\u2003Into some madness or in some fit;\n\n\u2003I knew well all along what might happen!\n\n\u2003Men sholde nat knowe of goddes privetee.\n\n\u2003Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed man,\n\n\u2003That noght but only his bileve can!\n\n\u2003So ferde another clerk with astromye;\n\n\u2003He walked in the feeldes for to prye\n\n\u2003Up-on the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle,\n\n\u2003Til he was in a marle-pit y-falle;\n\n\u2003He saugh nat that. But yet, by seint Thomas,\n\n\u2003Me reweth sore of hende Nicholas.\n\n\u2003He shal be rated of his studying,\n\n\u2003If that I may, by Jesus, hevene king!\n\n\u2003Get me a staf, that I may underspore,\n\n\u2003Whyl that thou, Robin, hevest up the dore.\n\n\u2003He shal out of his studying, as I gesse\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And to the chambre-dore he gan him dresse.\n\n\u2003His knave was a strong carl for the nones,\n\n\u2003And by the haspe he haf it up atones;\n\n\u2003In-to the floor the dore fil anon.\n\n\u2003This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon,\n\n\u2003And ever gaped upward in-to the eir.\n\n\u2003This carpenter wende he were in despeir,\n\n\u2003And hente him by the sholdres mightily,\n\n\u2003And shook him harde, and cryde spitously,\n\n\u2003\"What! Nicholay! what, how! what! loke adoun!\n\n\u2003Awake, and thenk on Cristes passioun;\n\n\u2003I crouche thee from elves and\n\nfro wightes!\"\n\n\u2003Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-rightes\n\n\u2003On foure halves of the hous aboute,\n\n\u2003And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Jesu Crist, and seynt Benedight,\n\n\u2003Blesse this hous from every wikked wight,\n\n\u2003For nightes verye, the white paternoster!\u2014\n\n\u2003Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?'\n\n\u2003And atte laste this hende Nicholas\n\n\u2003Gan for to syke sore, and seyde, \"allas!\n\n\u2003Shal al the world be lost eftsonnes now?\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter answerde, \"what seystow?\n\n\u2003What! thenk on god, as we don, men that swinke.\"\n\n\u2003Men should not know God's secrets.\n\n\u2003Yes, blessed be always an unlearned man\n\n\u2003Who nought but his religion knows!\n\n\u2003So fared another scholar with astromony:\n\n\u2003He walked in the fields for to spy\n\n\u2003Upon the stars, to learn what the future would hold,\n\n\u2003Till he was in a clay pit fallen\u2014\n\n\u2003He saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas,\n\n\u2003I pity greatly sweet Nicholas.\n\n\u2003He shall be berated for his studying,\n\n\u2003If that I may, by Jesus, heaven's king!\n\n\u2003Get me a staff, that I may pry up,\n\n\u2003While that you, Robin, push on the door.\n\n\u2003He shall come out of his studying, as I guess.\"\n\n\u2003And the chamber door he began to address.\n\n\u2003His knave was a strong fellow for this task,\n\n\u2003And by the hasp he heaved it off at once;\n\n\u2003Onto the floor the door fell anon.\n\n\u2003This Nicholas sat ever as still as a stone,\n\n\u2003And ever stared upward into the air.\n\n\u2003This carpenter thought he was in despair,\n\n\u2003And seized him by the shoulders mightily,\n\n\u2003And shook him hard, and cried violently,\n\n\"What, Nicholay! What, how! What, look adown!\n\n\u2003Awake, and think on Christ's passion!\n\n\u2003This sign of the cross will protect you from elves\n\nand such!\"\n\n\u2003Therewith the night charm said he at once\n\n\u2003On all four sides of the house about,\n\n\u2003And on the threshhold of the front door without:\n\n\u2003\"Jesus Christ, and Saint Benedict,\n\n\u2003Bless this house from every creature wicked,\n\n\u2003For nights, the white paternoster!\n\n\u2003Where did you go, Saint Peter's sister?\"\n\n\u2003And at last this sweet Nicholas\n\n\u2003Began to sigh deeply, and said, \"Alas!\n\n\u2003Shall all the world be lost again so soon?\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter answered, \"What say you?\n\n\u2003What! Think on God, as we do, men who labor!\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas answerde, \"fecche me drinke;\n\n\u2003And after wol I speke in privetee\n\n\u2003Of certeyn thing that toucheth me and thee;\n\n\u2003I wol telle it non other man, certeyn.\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter goth doun, and comth ageyn,\n\n\u2003And broghte of mighty ale a large quart;\n\n\u2003And when that ech of hem had dronke his part,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas his dore faste shette,\n\n\u2003And doun the carpenter by him he sette.\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"John, myn hoste lief and dere,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt up-on thy trouthe swere me here,\n\n\u2003That to no wight thou shalt this conseil wreye;\n\n\u2003For it is Cristes conseil that I seye,\n\n\u2003And if thou telle it man, thou are forlore;\n\n\u2003For this vengaunce thou shalt han therfore,\n\n\u2003That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood!\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood!\"\n\n\u2003Quod tho this sely man, \"I nam no labbe,\n\n\u2003Ne, though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe.\n\n\u2003Sey what thou wolt, I shal it never telle\n\n\u2003To child ne wyf, by him that harwed helle!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now John,\" quod Nicholas, \"I wol nat lye;\n\n\u2003I have y-founde in myn astrologye,\n\n\u2003As I have loked in the mone bright,\n\n\u2003That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night,\n\n\u2003Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood,\n\n\u2003That half so greet was never Noes flood.\n\n\u2003This world,\" he seyde, \"in lasse than in an hour\n\n\u2003Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour;\n\n\u2003Thus shal mankynde drenche and lese hir lyf.\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter answerde, \"allas, my wyf!\n\n\u2003And shal she drenche? alias! myn Alisoun!\"\n\n\u2003For sorwe of this he fil almost adoun,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"is ther no remedie in this cas?\"\n\n\u2003\"Why, yis, for gode,\" quod hende Nicholas,\n\n\u2003\"If thou wolt werken after lore\n\nand reed;\n\n\u2003Thou mayst nat werken after thyn owene heed.\n\n\u2003For thus seith Salomon, that was ful trewe,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas answered, \"Fetch me drink;\n\n\u2003And after will I speak in secrecy\n\n\u2003Of certain things that touch upon you and me;\n\n\u2003I will tell it to no other man, certainly.\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter went down and came again,\n\n\u2003And brought of mighty ale a large quart,\n\n\u2003And when each of them had drunk his part,\n\n\u2003This Nicholas his door fast shut,\n\n\u2003And down he sat, the carpenter by him.\n\n\u2003He said, \"John, my host beloved and dear,\n\n\u2003You shall upon your honor swear me here,\n\n\u2003That to no person you will this secret betray;\n\n\u2003For it is Christ's counsel that I say,\n\n\u2003And if you to any man tell it, you are lost;\n\n\u2003For this vengeance you shall have therefore,\n\n\u2003That if you betray me you shall go cuckoo!\"\n\n\u2003\"No, Christ forbid it, by his holy blood!\"\n\n\u2003Said this silly man, \"I am no blabber,\n\n\u2003Though I admit I like to chatter.\n\n\u2003Say what you will, I shall it never tell\n\n\u2003To child nor wife, by him who harrowed hell!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now John,\" said Nicholas, \"I will not lie.\n\n\u2003I have found in my astrology,\n\n\u2003As I have looked in the moon bright,\n\n\u2003That now, on Monday next, at quarter night,\n\n\u2003Shall fall a rain and that so furious and wild,\n\n\u2003That not half so great was Noah's flood.\n\n\u2003This world,\" he said, \"in less than an hour\n\n\u2003Shall be drowned, so hideous will be the shower;\n\n\u2003Thus shall mankind drown and lose its life.\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter answered, \"Alas, my wife!\n\n\u2003And shall she drown? alas, my Alison!\"\n\n\u2003For sorrow of this he fell almost adown,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Is there no remedy in this case?\"\n\n\u2003\"Why yes, by God,\" said nice Nicholas,\n\n\u2003\"If you will work according to learning and good\n\nadvice;\n\n\u2003You may not follow your own mind;\n\n\u2003For Solomon said, who was trustworthy,\n\n\u2003'Werk al by conseil, and thou shalt nat rewe.'\n\n\u2003And if thou werken wolt by good conseil,\n\n\u2003I undertake, with-outen mast and seyl,\n\n\u2003Yet shal I saven hir and thee and me.\n\n\u2003Hastow nat herd how saved was No\u00eb,\n\n\u2003Whan that our lord had warned him biforn\n\n\u2003That al the world with water sholde be lorn?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yis,\" quod this carpenter, \"ful yore ago.\"\n\n\u2003\"Hastow nat herd,\" quod Nicholas, \"also\n\n\u2003The sorwe of Noe with his felawshipe,\n\n\u2003Er that he mighte gete his wyf to shipe?\n\n\u2003Him had he lever, I dar wel undertake,\n\n\u2003At thilke tyme, than alle hise wetheres blake,\n\n\u2003That she hadde had a ship hir-self allone.\n\n\u2003And ther-fore, wostou what is best to done?\n\n\u2003This asketh haste, and of an hastif thing\n\n\u2003Men may nat preche or maken tarying.\n\n\u2003Anon go gete us faste in-to this in\n\n\u2003A kneding-trogh, or elles a kimelin,\n\n\u2003For ech of us, but loke that they be large,\n\n\u2003In whiche we mowe swimme as in a barge,\n\n\u2003And han ther-inne vitaille suffisant\n\n\u2003But for a day; fy on the remenant!\n\n\u2003The water shal aslake and goon away\n\n\u2003Aboute pryme up-on the nexte day.\n\n\u2003But Robin may nat wite of this, thy knave,\n\n\u2003Ne eek thy mayde Gille I may nat save;\n\n\u2003Axe nat why, for though thou aske me,\n\n\u2003I wol nat tellen goddes privetee.\n\n\u2003Suffiseth thee, but if thy wittes madde,\n\n\u2003To han as greet a grace as No\u00eb hadde.\n\n\u2003Thy wyf shal I wel saven, out of doute,\n\n\u2003Go now thy wey, and speed thee heeraboute.\n\n\u2003But whan thou hast, for hir and thee and me,\n\n\u2003Y-geten us thise kneding-tubbes three,\n\n\u2003Than shaltow hange hem in the roof ful hye,\n\n\u2003That no man of our purveyaunce spye.\n\n\u2003And whan thou thus hast doon as I have seyd,\n\n\u2003And hast our vitaille faire in hem y-leyd,\n\n\u2003'Work all by advice, and you shall not be sorry.'\n\n\u2003And if you will work by good counsel,\n\n\u2003I promise, without mast and sail,\n\n\u2003Yet shall I save her and you and me.\n\n\u2003Have you not heard how saved was Noah,\n\n\u2003When that Our Lord had warned him before\n\n\u2003That all the world with water should be lost?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes,\" said the carpenter, \"full long ago.\"\n\n\u2003\"Have you not heard,\" said Nicholas, \"also\n\n\u2003The troubles of Noah and his fellows\n\n\u2003Before he might get his wife to ship?\n\n\u2003He would have rather, I dare remark,\n\n\u2003That she had for herself alone a ship\n\n\u2003Than to have kept all his fine black sheep.\n\n\u2003And therefore, do you know what is best to do?\n\n\u2003This requires haste, and for an urgent thing\n\n\u2003Men may not preach or shilly-shally.\n\n\u2003Anon go get us fast into this dwelling\n\n\u2003A kneading trough or else a shallow tub\n\n\u2003For each of us, but look that they be large,\n\n\u2003In which we may float as in a barge,\n\n\u2003And have therein victuals sufficient\n\n\u2003But for a day, fie on the remainder!\n\n\u2003The water shall slake and go away\n\n\u2003About prime on the next day.\n\n\u2003But Robin may not know of this, your servant,\n\n\u2003Nor your maid Jill, whom I may not save.\n\n\u2003Ask not why, for though you ask me,\n\n\u2003I will not tell God's secret things.\n\n\u2003Suffice it for you, unless you are mad,\n\n\u2003To have as great a grace as Noah had.\n\n\u2003Your wife shall I well save, without doubt.\n\n\u2003Now get going\u2014and make it snappy.\n\n\u2003But when you have, for her and you and me,\n\n\u2003Gotten us these kneading tubs three,\n\n\u2003Then shall you hang them in the roof full high,\n\n\u2003That no man our preparations may espy.\n\n\u2003And when you thus have done, as I have said,\n\n\u2003And have our provisions in them laid,\n\n\u2003And eek an ax, to smyte the corde atwo\n\n\u2003When that the water comth, that we may go,\n\n\u2003And broke an hole an heigh, up-on the gable,\n\n\u2003Unto the gardin-ward, over the stable,\n\n\u2003That we may frely passen forth our way\n\n\u2003Whan that the grete shour is goon away\u2014\n\n\u2003Than shaltow swimme as myrie, I undertake,\n\n\u2003As doth the whyte doke aftir hir drake.\n\n\u2003Than wol I clepe, 'how! Alison! how! John!\n\n\u2003Be myrie, for the flood wol passe anon.'\n\n\u2003And thou wolt seyn, 'hayl, maister Nicholay!\n\n\u2003Good morwe, I se thee wel, for it is day.'\n\n\u2003And than shul we be lordes al our lyf\n\n\u2003Of al the world, as No\u00eb and his wyf.\n\n\u2003But of o thyng I warne thee ful right,\n\n\u2003Be wel avysed, on that ilke night\n\n\u2003That we ben entred in-to shippes bord,\n\n\u2003That noon of us ne speke nat a word,\n\n\u2003Ne clepe, ne crye, but been in his preyere;\n\n\u2003For it is goddes owne heste dere.\n\n\u2003Thy wyf and thou mote hange fer a-twinne,\n\n\u2003For that bitwixe yow shal be no sinne\n\n\u2003No more in looking than ther shal in dede;\n\n\u2003This ordinance is seyd, go, god thee spede!\n\n\u2003Tomorwe at night, whan men ben alle aslepe,\n\n\u2003In-to our kneding-tubbes wol we crepe,\n\n\u2003And sitten ther, abyding goddes grace.\n\n\u2003Go now thy wey, I have no lenger space\n\n\u2003To make of this no lenger sermoning.\n\n\u2003Men seyn thus, 'send the wyse, and sey no-thing;'\n\n\u2003Thou art so wys, it nedeth thee nat teche;\n\n\u2003Go, save our lyf, and that I thee biseche.\"\n\n\u2003This sely carpenter goth forth his wey.\n\n\u2003Ful ofte he seith \"allas\" and \"weylawey,\"\n\n\u2003And to his wyf he tolde his privetee;\n\n\u2003And she was war, and knew it bet than he,\n\n\u2003What al this queynte cast was for to seye.\n\n\u2003But nathelees she ferde as she wolde deye,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"allas! go forth thy wey anon,\n\n\u2003And also an axe, to smite the cord in two\n\n\u2003When the water comes, that we may go,\n\n\u2003And break a hole on high upon the gable\n\n\u2003Toward the garden, over the stable,\n\n\u2003That we may freely pass forth our way\n\n\u2003When that great shower is gone away\u2014\n\n\u2003Then shall you float as merry, I dare say,\n\n\u2003As does the white duck after her drake.\n\n\u2003Then will I call, 'How, Alison! How, John!\n\n\u2003Be merry, for the flood will pass anon!'\n\n\u2003And you will say, 'Hail, master Nicholay!\n\n\u2003Good morrow, I see you well, for it is day.'\n\n\u2003And then shall we be lords all our lives\n\n\u2003Of all the world, as Noah and his wife.\n\n\u2003But of one thing I warn you full right:\n\n\u2003Be well advised on that same night\n\n\u2003Once we be our ships aboard\n\n\u2003Then none of us shall speak a word,\n\n\u2003No call, no cry, but be at prayer;\n\n\u2003For it is God's own commandment dear.\n\n\u2003Your wife and you must hang far apart,\n\n\u2003So that between you shall be no sin\n\n\u2003No more in looking than there shall be in deed;\n\n\u2003This ordinance is said, go, God you speed!\n\n\u2003Tomorrow at night, when men be all asleep,\n\n\u2003Into our kneading tubs will we creep,\n\n\u2003And sit there, awaiting God's grace.\n\n\u2003Go now your way, I have no more time\n\n\u2003To make of this a longer sermonizing.\n\n\u2003Men say thus, 'Send the wise, and say no thing.'\n\n\u2003You are wise, and don't need teaching;\n\n\u2003Go save our lives, and that I you beseech.\"\n\n\u2003This silly carpenter went forth his way.\n\n\u2003Full often he said \"alas\" and \"wellaway,\"\n\n\u2003And to his wife he told his secret;\n\n\u2003And she was aware, and knew better than he,\n\n\u2003The point of all this crackpot strategy.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless she acted as if she would die,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Alas! go forth your way anon,\n\n\u2003Help us to scape, or we ben lost echon;\n\n\u2003I am thy trewe verray wedded wyf;\n\n\u2003Go, dere spouse, and help to save our lyf.\"\n\n\u2003Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun!\n\n\u2003Men may dye of imaginacioun,\n\n\u2003So depe may impressioun be take.\n\n\u2003This sely carpenter biginneth quake;\n\n\u2003Him thinketh verraily that he may see\n\n\u2003Noes flood come walwing as the see\n\n\u2003To drenchen Alisoun, his hony dere.\n\n\u2003He wepeth, weyleth, maketh sory chere,\n\n\u2003He skyeth with ful many a sory swogh.\n\n\u2003He gooth and geteth him a kneding-trough,\n\n\u2003And after that a tubbe and a kimelin,\n\n\u2003And prively he sente hem to his in,\n\n\u2003And heng hem in the roof in privetee.\n\n\u2003His owne hand he made laddres three,\n\n\u2003To climben by the ronges and the stalkes\n\n\u2003Un-to the tubbes hanginge in the balkes,\n\n\u2003And hem vitailled, bothe trogh and tubbe,\n\n\u2003With breed and chese, and good ale in a jubbe,\n\n\u2003Suffysinge right y-nogh as for a day.\n\n\u2003But er that he had maad al this array,\n\n\u2003He sente his knave, and eek his wenche also,\n\n\u2003Up-on his nede to London for to go.\n\n\u2003And on the Monday, whan it drow to night,\n\n\u2003He shette his dore with-oute candel-light,\n\n\u2003And dressed al thing as it sholde be.\n\n\u2003And shortly, up they clomben alle three;\n\n\u2003They sitten stille wel a furlong-way.\n\n\u2003\"Now, Pater-noster, clom!\" seyde Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And \"clom,\" quod John, and \"clom\" seyde Alisoun.\n\n\u2003This carpenter seyde his devocioun,\n\n\u2003And stille he sit, and biddeth his preyere,\n\n\u2003Awaytinge on the reyn, if he it here.\n\n\u2003The dede sleep, for wery bisinesse,\n\n\u2003Fil on this carpenter right, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Aboute corfew-tyme, or litel more;\n\n\u2003For travail of his goost he groneth sore,\n\n\u2003Help us to escape, or we'll be dead soon.\n\n\u2003I am your true wedded wife;\n\n\u2003Go, dear spouse, and help to save our life.\"\n\n\u2003Behold, what a great thing is emotion!\n\n\u2003Men may die of what they imagine,\n\n\u2003So deep may impression be taken.\n\n\u2003This silly carpenter began to quake;\n\n\u2003He thought verily that he might see\n\n\u2003Noah's flood come rolling as the sea\n\n\u2003To drown Alison, his honey dear.\n\n\u2003He weeps, he wails, makes a long face,\n\n\u2003He sighs with full many a sorry groan.\n\n\u2003He goes and gets himself a kneading trough,\n\n\u2003And after that a tub and another,\n\n\u2003And secretly he sent them to his home,\n\n\u2003And hung them in the roof in secrecy.\n\n\u2003With his own hand he made ladders three,\n\n\u2003To climb by the rungs and the shafts\n\n\u2003Unto the tubs hanging in the beams,\n\n\u2003And them provisioned, both trough and tub,\n\n\u2003With bread and cheese, and good ale in a jug,\n\n\u2003Sufficient right enough for a day.\n\n\u2003But before he had made all this array,\n\n\u2003He sent his servant and his maid also\n\n\u2003Upon his business up to London to go.\n\n\u2003And on the Monday, when it drew to night,\n\n\u2003He shut his door without candlelight,\n\n\u2003And arranged everything as it should be.\n\n\u2003And shortly, up they climbed all three;\n\n\u2003They sat still a short time that way.\n\n\u2003\"Now, Paternoster, then mum!\" said Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And \"mum,\" said John, and \"mum\" said Alison.\n\n\u2003This carpenter said his devotion,\n\n\u2003And still he sat, and offered his prayer,\n\n\u2003All the while waiting the rain to hear.\n\n\u2003The sleep of the dead, from all his labor,\n\n\u2003Fell on this carpenter right as I guess\n\n\u2003About curfew-time, or a little more;\n\n\u2003For travail of his soul he groaned sore,\n\n\u2003And eft he routeth, for his heed mislay.\n\n\u2003Doun of the laddre stalketh Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And Alisoun, ful softe adoun she spedde;\n\n\u2003With-outen wordes mo, they goon to bedde\n\n\u2003Ther-as the carpenter is wont to lye.\n\n\u2003Ther was the revel and the melodye;\n\n\u2003And thus lyth Alison and Nicholas,\n\n\u2003In bisinesse of mirthe and of solas,\n\n\u2003Til that the belle of laudes gan to ringe,\n\n\u2003And freres in the chauncel gonne singe.\n\n\u2003This parish-clerk, this amorous Absolon,\n\n\u2003That is for love alwey so wo bigon,\n\n\u2003Up-on the Monday was at Oseneye\n\n\u2003With compayne, him to disporte and pleye,\n\n\u2003And axed up-on cas a cloisterer\n\n\u2003Ful prively after John the carpenter;\n\n\u2003And he drough him a-part out of the chirche,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I noot, I saugh him here nat wirche\n\n\u2003Sin Saterday; I trow that he be went\n\n\u2003For timber, ther our abbot hath him sent;\n\n\u2003For he is wont for timber for to go,\n\n\u2003And dwellen at the grange a day or two;\n\n\u2003Or elles he is at his hous, certeyn;\n\n\u2003Wher that he be, I can nat sothly seyn.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon ful joly was and light,\n\n\u2003And thoghte, \"now is tyme wake al night;\n\n\u2003For sikirly I saugh him nat stiringe\n\n\u2003Aboute his dore sin day bigan to springe.\n\n\u2003So moot I thryve, I shal, at cokkes crowe,\n\n\u2003Ful prively knokken at his windowe\n\n\u2003That stant ful lowe up-on his boures wal.\n\n\u2003To Alison now wol I tellen al\n\n\u2003My love-longing, for yet I shal nat misse\n\n\u2003That at the leste wey I shal hir kisse.\n\n\u2003Som maner confort shal I have, parfay,\n\n\u2003My mouth hath icched al this longe day;\n\n\u2003That is a signe of kissing atte leste.\n\n\u2003Al night me mette eek, I was at a feste.\n\n\u2003Therfor I wol gon slepe an houre or tweye,\n\n\u2003And he snored as his head crooked in the tub lay.\n\n\u2003Down from the ladder crept Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And Alison, full soft adown she sped;\n\n\u2003Without words more, they went to bed\n\n\u2003There where the carpenter was wont to lie.\n\n\u2003There was revelry and melody;\n\n\u2003And thus lie Alison and Nicholas\n\n\u2003In business of pleasure and mirth,\n\n\u2003Till that the chapel bell began to ring,\n\n\u2003And friars in the chancel began to sing.\n\n\u2003This parish clerk, this amorous Absolon,\n\n\u2003Who was for love always so woebegone,\n\n\u2003Upon the Monday was at Osney\n\n\u2003With company himself to disport and play,\n\n\u2003And happened to ask a friar\n\n\u2003Full discreetly about John the carpenter;\n\n\u2003And he drew him aside out of the church,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I don't know, I haven't seen him\n\n\u2003Since Saturday. I believe that he went\n\n\u2003For timber, where our abbot had him sent,\n\n\u2003For he is wont for timber for to go,\n\n\u2003And dwell at the monastery's farmhouse a day or two;\n\n\u2003Or else he is at his house, for certain.\n\n\u2003Where he may be, I cannot truly say.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon full jolly was and joyous,\n\n\u2003And thought, \"Now is time to stay awake all night;\n\n\u2003For surely I saw him not stirring\n\n\u2003About his door since day began to spring.\n\n\u2003So may I thrive, I shall, at cock's crow,\n\n\u2003Full secretly knock at his window\n\n\u2003That stands full low upon his bedroom wall.\n\n\u2003To Alison now will I tell all\n\n\u2003My love-longing, for yet I shall not miss\n\n\u2003That at the least I shall her kiss.\n\n\u2003Some kind of comfort shall I have, by my faith.\n\n\u2003My mouth has itched all this long day;\n\n\u2003That is a sign of kissing at least.\n\n\u2003Also I dreamt all night I was at a feast.\n\n\u2003Therefore I will go on and sleep an hour or two,\n\n\u2003And al the night than wol I wake and pleye.\"\n\n\u2003Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon\n\n\u2003Up rist this joly lover Absolon,\n\n\u2003And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys.\n\n\u2003But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys,\n\n\u2003To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer.\n\n\u2003Under his tonge a trewe love he beer,\n\n\u2003For ther-by wende he to ben gracious.\n\n\u2003He rometh to the carpenteres hous,\n\n\u2003And stille he stant under the shot-windowe;\n\n\u2003Un-to his brest it raughte, it was so lowe;\n\n\u2003And softe he cogheth with a semi-soun\u2014\n\n\u2003\"What do ye, hony-comb, swete Alisoun?\n\n\u2003My faire brid, my swete cinamome,\n\n\u2003Awaketh, lemman myn, and speketh to me!\n\n\u2003Wel litel thenken ye up-on my wo,\n\n\u2003That for your love I swete ther I go.\n\n\u2003No wonder is thogh that I swelte and swete;\n\n\u2003I moorne as doth a lamb after the tete.\n\n\u2003Y-wis, lemman, I have swich love-longinge,\n\n\u2003That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge;\n\n\u2003I may nat ete na more than a mayde.\"\n\n\u2003\"Go fro the window, Jakke fool,\" she sayde,\n\n\u2003\"As help me god, it wol nat be'com ba me;\n\n\u2003I love another, and elles I were to blame,\n\n\u2003Wel bet than thee, by Jesu, Absolon!\n\n\u2003Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston,\n\n\u2003And lat me slepe, a twenty devel wey!\"\n\n\u2003\"Allas,\" quod Absolon, \"and weylawey!\n\n\u2003That trewe love was ever so yvel biset!\n\n\u2003Than kisse me, sin it may be no bet,\n\n\u2003For Jesus love and for the love of me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Wiltow than go thy wey ther-with?\" quod she.\n\n\u2003\"Ye, certes, lemman,\" quod this Absolon.\n\n\u2003\"Thanne make thee redy,\" quod she, \"I come anon;\"\n\n\u2003And un-to Nicholas she seyde stille,\n\n\u2003\"Now hust, and thou shalt laughen al thy fille.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon doun sette him on his knees,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I am a lord at alle degrees;\n\n\u2003And all the night will I wake and play.\"\n\n\u2003When that the first cock crowed, anon\n\n\u2003Up rose this jolly lover Absolon,\n\n\u2003And dressed himself up to perfection.\n\n\u2003But first he chewed cardamom and licorice,\n\n\u2003To smell sweet, before he combed his hair.\n\n\u2003Under his tongue a true-love leaf he bore,\n\n\u2003And thereby thought he to be gracious.\n\n\u2003He roamed to the carpenter's house,\n\n\u2003And still he stood under the open window\u2014\n\n\u2003Up to his breast it reached, it was so low\u2014\n\n\u2003And soft he coughed with a small sound:\n\n\u2003\"What do you, honeycomb, sweet Alison,\n\n\u2003My fair bird, my sweet cinnamon?\n\n\u2003Awaken, sweetheart mine, and speak to me!\n\n\u2003Well little think you upon my woe,\n\n\u2003That for your love I sweat wherever I go.\n\n\u2003No wonder it is that I swelter and sweat;\n\n\u2003I yearn as does a lamb after the teat.\n\n\u2003Truly, sweetheart, I have such love-longing,\n\n\u2003That like a turtledove true is my mourning;\n\n\u2003I may not eat more than a maid.\"\n\n\u2003\"Go from the window, Jack fool,\" she said,\n\n\u2003\"As help me God, it will not be 'come kiss me.'\n\n\u2003I love another, and otherwise I would be to blame,\n\n\u2003Much better than you, by Jesu, Absolon!\n\n\u2003Go forth your way or I will cast a stone,\n\n\u2003And let me sleep, in the devil's name!\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said Absolon, \"and wellaway,\n\n\u2003That true love was ever so ill-bestowed!\n\n\u2003Then kiss me, since it may be no better,\n\n\u2003For Jesus' love and for the love of me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Will you then get out of here?\" said she.\n\n\u2003\"Yes, truly,\" said this Absolon.\n\n\u2003\"Then make you ready,\" said she, \"Here I come!\"\n\n\u2003And to Nicholas she said quietly,\n\n\u2003\"Now hush, and you shall laugh all your fill.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon down set him on his knees,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I am a lord in all ways;\n\n\u2003For after this I hope ther cometh more!\n\n\u2003Lemman, thy grace, and swete brid, thyn ore!\"\n\n\u2003The window she undoth, and that in haste,\n\n\u2003\"Have do,\" quod she, \"com of, and speed thee faste,\n\n\u2003Lest that our neighebores thee espye.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drye;\n\n\u2003Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole,\n\n\u2003And at the window out she putte hir hole,\n\n\u2003And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers,\n\n\u2003But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers\n\n\u2003Ful savourly, er he was war of this.\n\n\u2003Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis,\n\n\u2003For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd;\n\n\u2003He felt a thing al rough and long y-herd,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"fy! allas! what have I do?\"\n\n\u2003\"Tehee!\" quod she, and clapte the window to;\n\n\u2003And Absolon goth forth a sory pas.\n\n\u2003\"A berd, a berd!\" quod hende Nicholas,\n\n\u2003\"By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!\"\n\n\u2003This sely Absolon herde every deel,\n\n\u2003And on his lippe he gan for anger byte;\n\n\u2003And to him-self he seyde, \"I shal thee quyte!\"\n\n\u2003Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes\n\n\u2003With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with\n\nchippes,\n\n\u2003But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, \"allas!\n\n\u2003My soule bitake I un-to Sathanas,\n\n\u2003But me wer lever than al this toun,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Of this despyt awroken for to be!\n\n\u2003Allas!\" quod he, \"allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!\"\n\n\u2003His hote love was cold and al y-queynt;\n\n\u2003For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers,\n\n\u2003Of paramours he sette nat a kers,\n\n\u2003For he was heled of his maladye;\n\n\u2003Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye,\n\n\u2003And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete.\n\n\u2003A softe paas he wente over the strete\n\n\u2003Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys,\n\n\u2003That in his forge smithed plough-harneys;\n\n\u2003For after this I hope there will be more.\n\n\u2003Sweetheart, your grace, and sweet bird, your mercy!\"\n\n\u2003The window she wide opened, and that in haste,\n\n\u2003\"Have do,\" said she, \"come on, and hurry,\n\n\u2003Lest our neighbors you espy.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon wiped his mouth full dry:\n\n\u2003Dark was the night as pitch, or as the coal,\n\n\u2003And out the window she put her hole,\n\n\u2003And Absolon, fared no better or worse,\n\n\u2003But with his mouth he kissed her naked arse\n\n\u2003Full savourly, before he was aware of this.\n\n\u2003Aback he started, and thought it was amiss,\n\n\u2003For well he knew a woman had no beard;\n\n\u2003He felt a thing all rough and long-haired,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Fie! alas, what have I done?\"\n\n\u2003\"Teehee,\" said she, and clapped the window shut;\n\n\u2003And Absolon went forth with sorry step.\n\n\u2003\"A beard, a beard!\" said nice Nicholas,\n\n\u2003\"By God's body, this goes fair and well!\"\n\n\u2003This poor Absolon heard every word,\n\n\u2003And on his lip he began for anger to bite;\n\n\u2003And to himself he said, \"I shall you requite.\"\n\n\u2003Who rubs now, who chafes now his lips\n\n\u2003With dirt, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with\n\nbark chips,\n\n\u2003But Absolon, who says full often, \"Alas!\n\n\u2003My soul I commit to Satan,\n\n\u2003If I would rather own this town,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Than be avenged of this insult to me.\n\n\u2003Alas!\" said he, \"alas, that I did not abstain!\"\n\n\u2003His hot love was cold and quenched and quashed;\n\n\u2003For from that time that he had kissed her arse,\n\n\u2003For paramours he cared not a watercress,\n\n\u2003For he was cured of his illness.\n\n\u2003Full often paramours he began to decry,\n\n\u2003And wept as does a beaten child.\n\n\u2003With a soft step he went across the street\n\n\u2003To a blacksmith called Gervase,\n\n\u2003Who in his smithy forged plough hardware:\n\n\u2003He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily\n\n\u2003This Absolon knokketh al esily,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"undo, Gerveys, and that anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"What, who artow?\" \"It am I, Absolon.\"\n\n\u2003\"What, Absolon! for Cristes swete tree,\n\n\u2003Why ryse ye so rathe, ey ben'cite!\n\n\u2003What eyleth yow? som gay gerl, god it woot,\n\n\u2003Hath broght yow thus up-on the viritoot;\n\n\u2003By s\u00ebynt Note, ye woot wel what I mene.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene\n\n\u2003Of al his pley, no word agayn he yaf;\n\n\u2003He hadde more tow on his distaf\n\n\u2003Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, \"freend so dere,\n\n\u2003That hote culter in the chimenee here,\n\n\u2003As lene it me, I have ther-with to done,\n\n\u2003And I wol bringe it thee agayn ful sone.\"\n\n\u2003Gerveys answerde, \"certes, were it gold,\n\n\u2003Or in a poke nobles alle untold,\n\n\u2003Thou sholdest have, as I am trewe smith;\n\n\u2003Ey, Cristes foo! what wol ye do therwith?\"\n\n\u2003\"Therof,\" quod Absolon, \"be as be may;\n\n\u2003I shal wel telle it thee to-morwe day\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And caughte the culter by the colde stele.\n\n\u2003Ful softe out at the dore he gan to stele,\n\n\u2003And wente un-to the carpenteres wal.\n\n\u2003He cogheth first, and knokketh ther-with-al\n\n\u2003Upon the windowe, right as he dide er.\n\n\u2003This Alison answerde, \"Who is ther\n\n\u2003That knokketh so? I warante it a theef.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why, nay,\" quod he, \"god woot, my swete leef,\n\n\u2003I am thyn Absolon, my dereling!\n\n\u2003Of gold,\" quod he, \"I have thee broght a ring;\n\n\u2003My moder yaf it me, so god me save,\n\n\u2003Ful fyn it is, and ther-to wel y-grave;\n\n\u2003This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse!\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,\n\n\u2003And thoghte he wolde amenden al the jape,\n\n\u2003He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape.\n\n\u2003And up the windowe dide he hastily,\n\n\u2003He busily sharpened both coulter and ploughshare.\n\n\u2003This Absolon knocked all quietly,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Open up, Gervase, and that anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"What, who are you?\" \"It is I, Absolon.\"\n\n\u2003\"What, Absolon! For Christ's sweet cross,\n\n\u2003Why rise you so early, aye, benedicite!\n\n\u2003What ails you? Some pretty girl, God knows,\n\n\u2003Has brought you out upon first cock crow;\n\n\u2003By Saint Neot, you know well what I mean.\"\n\n\u2003This Absolon cared not beans\n\n\u2003For all his joking. No word he gave in reply;\n\n\u2003He had more on his mind\n\n\u2003Than Gervase knew, and said, \"Friend so dear,\n\n\u2003That hot coulter in the forge here,\n\n\u2003Do lend it me: I have therewith to do,\n\n\u2003And I will bring it to you again full soon.\"\n\n\u2003Gervase answered, \"Truly, were it gold,\n\n\u2003Or sack of coins in number untold,\n\n\u2003You should have it, as I am a true smith.\n\n\u2003Hey, Devil take it, what will you do with it?\"\n\n\u2003\"Thereof,\" said Absolon, \"be it as it may:\n\n\u2003I shall tell you tomorrow day,\"\n\n\u2003And caught the coulter by the handle's cold steel.\n\n\u2003Full soft out the door he began to steal,\n\n\u2003And went unto the carpenter's wall.\n\n\u2003He coughed first, and knocked therewithal\n\n\u2003Upon the window, just as he did before.\n\n\u2003And Alison answered, \"Who is there\n\n\u2003Who knocks so? I warrant it's a thief.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why, nay,\" said he, \"God knows, my dear sweet one,\n\n\u2003I am your Absolon, my darling.\n\n\u2003Of gold,\" said he, \"I have brought you a ring\u2014\n\n\u2003My mother gave it to me, so God me save\u2014\n\n\u2003Full fine it is, and well-engraved.\n\n\u2003This will I give you, if you me kiss!\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas was risen for to piss,\n\n\u2003And thought he would improve upon the caper;\n\n\u2003He should kiss his arse before he escapes.\n\n\u2003And up the window put he hastily,\n\n\u2003And out his ers he putteth prively\n\n\u2003Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon;\n\n\u2003And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon,\n\n\u2003\"Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart,\n\n\u2003As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,\n\n\u2003That with the strook he was almost y-blent;\n\n\u2003And he was redy with his iren hoot,\n\n\u2003And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot.\n\n\u2003Of gooth the skin an hande-brede aboute,\n\n\u2003The hote culter brende so his toute,\n\n\u2003And for the smert he wende for to dye.\n\n\u2003As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Help! water! water! help, for goddes herte!\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter out of his slomber sterte,\n\n\u2003And herde oon cryen \"water\" as he were wood,\n\n\u2003And thoghte, \"Allas! now comth Now\u00e9lis flood!\"\n\n\u2003He sit him up with-outen wordes mo,\n\n\u2003And with his ax he smoot the corde a-two,\n\n\u2003And doun goth al; he fond neither to selle,\n\n\u2003Ne breed ne ale, til he cam to the selle\n\n\u2003Up-on the floor; and ther aswowne he lay.\n\n\u2003Up sterte hir Alison, and Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And cryden \"out\" and \"harrow\" in the strete.\n\n\u2003The neighebores, bothe smale and grete,\n\n\u2003In ronnen, for to guaren on this man,\n\n\u2003That yet aswowne he lay, bothe pale and wan;\n\n\u2003For with the fal he brosten hadde his arm;\n\n\u2003But stonde he moste un-to his owne harm.\n\n\u2003For whan he spak, he was anon bore doun\n\n\u2003With hende Nicholas and Alisoun.\n\n\u2003They tolden every man that he was wood,\n\n\u2003He was agast so of \"Now\u00e9lis flood\"\n\n\u2003Thurgh fantasye, that of his vanitee\n\n\u2003He hadde y-boght him kneding-tubbes three,\n\n\u2003And hadde hem hanged in the roof above;\n\n\u2003And that he preyed hem, for goddes love,\n\n\u2003To sitten in the roof, par companye.\n\n\u2003The folk gan laughen at his fantasye;\n\n\u2003And out his arse he put secretly\n\n\u2003Over the buttock, to the haunch-bone;\n\n\u2003And therewith spoke this clerk, this Absolon,\n\n\u2003\"Speak, sweet bird, I know not where you are.\"\n\n\u2003This Nicholas anon let fly a fart,\n\n\u2003As great as had it been a thunderclap,\n\n\u2003And with that stroke Absolon was almost blinded;\n\n\u2003And he was ready with his iron hot;\n\n\u2003And Nicholas amid the arse he smote.\n\n\u2003Off went the skin a handsbreath across,\n\n\u2003The hot coulter burned so his bum,\n\n\u2003And for the smart he expected for to die.\n\n\u2003As if he were gone berserk, he began to cry\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Help! water! water! Harrow, for God's heart!\"\n\n\u2003This carpenter out of his slumber started,\n\n\u2003And heard someone crying 'water' as if gone mad,\n\n\u2003And thought, \"Alas, now comes Noel's flood!\"\n\n\u2003He sat him up without words more,\n\n\u2003And with his axe he smote the cord in two,\n\n\u2003And down went all, he found time neither to sail\n\n\u2003Nor for bread or ale, till he came to the boards\n\n\u2003Upon the floor; and there in a faint he lay.\n\n\u2003Up leapt Alison and Nicholay,\n\n\u2003And cried \"help\" and \"help\" in the street.\n\n\u2003The neighbors, both small and great,\n\n\u2003In ran to stare at this man,\n\n\u2003Who still fainted lay, both pale and wan;\n\n\u2003For with the fall he had broken his arm.\n\n\u2003But bear the burden he must for his own harm.\n\n\u2003For when he spoke, he was at once shouted down\n\n\u2003By both Nicholas and Alison.\n\n\u2003They told every man that he was crazy,\n\n\u2003He was so afraid of \"Noel's flood\"\n\n\u2003Through delusion, that of his foolish pride\n\n\u2003He had bought him kneading tubs three,\n\n\u2003And had them hanged in the roof above;\n\n\u2003And that he prayed them, for God's love,\n\n\u2003To sit in the roof, for the sake of company.\n\n\u2003The folk laughed hard at his fantasy;\n\n\u2003In-to the roof they kyken and they gape,\n\n\u2003And turned al his harm un-to a jape.\n\n\u2003For what so that this carpenter answerde,\n\n\u2003It was for noght, no man his reson herde;\n\n\u2003With othes grete he was so sworn adoun,\n\n\u2003That he was holden wood in al the toun;\n\n\u2003For every clerk anon-right heeld with other.\n\n\u2003They sede, \"the man is wood, my leve brother;\"\n\n\u2003And every wight gan laughen of this stryf.\n\n\u2003Thus swyved was the carpenteres wyf,\n\n\u2003For al his keping and his jalousye;\n\n\u2003And Absolon hath kist hir nether ye;\n\n\u2003And Nicholas is scalded in the toute.\n\n\u2003This tale is doon, and god save al the route!\n\n\u2003Into the roof they gazed and gawked,\n\n\u2003And turned all his misfortune into a joke.\n\n\u2003For whatsoever that this carpenter answered,\n\n\u2003It was for nought; no man his reasons heard.\n\n\u2003With oaths great he was so sworn down,\n\n\u2003That he was thought mad in all the town.\n\n\u2003For every scholar agreed at once with the other:\n\n\u2003They said, \"The man is unhinged, my dear brother;\"\n\n\u2003And every person laughed at this strife.\n\n\u2003Thus screwed by another was the carpenter's wife\n\n\u2003For all his guarding and his jealousy;\n\n\u2003And Absolon had kissed her nether eye;\n\n\u2003And Nicholas is scalded in the bum.\n\n\u2003This tale is done, and God save all the company!"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Reves Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003Whan folk had laughen at this nyce cas\n\n\u2003Of Absolon and hende Nicholas,\n\n\u2003Diverse folk diversely they seyde;\n\n\u2003But, for the more part, they loughe and pleyde,\n\n\u2003Ne at this tale I saugh no man him greve,\n\n\u2003But it were only Osewold the Reve,\n\n\u2003By-cause he was of carpenteres craft.\n\n\u2003A litel ire is in his herte y-laft,\n\n\u2003He gan to grucche and blamed it a lyte.\n\n\u2003\"So thee'k,\" quod he, \"ful wel coude I yow quyt\u00eb\n\n\u2003With blering of a proud milleres y\u00eb,\n\n\u2003If that me liste speke of ribaudye.\n\n\u2003But ik am old, me list not pley for age;\n\n\u2003Gras-tyme is doon, my fodder is now forage,\n\n\u2003This whyte top wryteth myne olde yeres,\n\n\u2003Myn herte is al-so mowled as myne heres,\n\n\u2003But-if I fare as dooth an open-ers;\n\n\u2003That ilke fruit is ever leng the wers,\n\n\u2003Til it be roten in mullok or in stree.\n\n\u2003We olde men, I drede, so fare we;\n\n\u2003Til we be roten, can we nat be rype;\n\n\u2003We hoppen ay, whyl that the world wol pype.\n\n\u2003For in oure wil ther stiketh ever a nayl,\n\n\u2003To have an hoor heed and a grene tayl,\n\n\u2003As hath a leek; for thogh our might be goon,\n\n\u2003Our wil desireth folie ever in oon.\n\n\u2003For whan we may nat doon, than wol we speke;\n\n\u2003Yet in our asshen olde is fyr y-reke.\n\n\u2003Foure gledes han we, whiche I shal devyse,\n\n\u2003Avaunting, lying, anger, coveityse;\n\n\u2003Thise foure sparkles longen un-to elde.\n\n\u2003Our olde lemes mowe wel ben unwelde,\n\n\u2003But wil ne shal nat faillen, that is sooth.\n\n\u2003And yet ik have alwey a coltes tooth,\n\n\u2003As many a yeer as it is passed henne"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Reeve's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003When folk had laughed at this foolish case\n\n\u2003Of Absolon and nice Nicholas,\n\n\u2003Diverse folk diverse things they said,\n\n\u2003But, for the most part, they laughed and jested;\n\n\u2003Nor at this tale I saw any man peeved,\n\n\u2003Except for only Oswald the Reeve.\n\n\u2003Because he was of carpenter's trade,\n\n\u2003A little anger in his heart remained:\n\n\u2003He began to grouch and blamed it a little.\n\n\u2003\"So,\" said he, \"full well could I you requite\n\n\u2003By sticking it in a proud miller's eye,\n\n\u2003If I wanted to speak of ribaldry.\n\n\u2003But I am old; I won't because of age;\n\n\u2003Grass-time is done, my fodder is now forage;\n\n\u2003This white top writes of my old years.\n\n\u2003My heart is also moldy as my hairs,\n\n\u2003Unless I fare as a medlar fruit;\n\n\u2003Which ripens only as it rots,\n\n\u2003Till it be rotten in mud or straw.\n\n\u2003We old men, I fear, so fare we:\n\n\u2003Till we be rotten, we cannot be ripe;\n\n\u2003We dance as long as the world plays the pipe.\n\n\u2003For in our desire there always sticks a nail,\n\n\u2003To have a hoary head and a green tail,\n\n\u2003As has a leek, for though our strength be gone,\n\n\u2003Our will desires folly all the same.\n\n\u2003For when we may not act, then we will speak;\n\n\u2003Yet within our ashes old is fire banked.\n\n\u2003Four burning coals have we, which I shall list:\n\n\u2003Boasting, lying, anger, avarice.\n\n\u2003These four sparks belong to old age.\n\n\u2003Our old limbs may be weak,\n\n\u2003But will does not fail, that is the truth.\n\n\u2003Yet still I have always a colt's tooth,\n\n\u2003As many a year has gone\n\n\u2003Sin that my tappe of lyf bigan to renne.\n\n\u2003For sikerly, whan I was bore, anon\n\n\u2003Deeth drogh the tappe of lyf and leet it gon;\n\n\u2003And ever sith hath so the tappe y-ronne,\n\n\u2003Til that almost al empty is the tonne.\n\n\u2003The streem of lyf now droppeth on the chimbe;\n\n\u2003The sely tonge may wel ringe and chimbe\n\n\u2003Of wrecchednesse that passed is ful yore;\n\n\u2003With olde folk, save dotage, is namore.\"\n\n\u2003Whan that our host hadde herd this sermoning,\n\n\u2003He gan to speke as lordly as a king;\n\n\u2003He seide, \"what amounteth al this wit?\n\n\u2003What shul we speke alday of holy writ?\n\n\u2003The devel made a reve for to preche,\n\n\u2003And of a souter a shipman or a leche.\n\n\u2003Sey forth thy tale, and tarie nat the tyme,\n\n\u2003Lo, Depeford! and it is half-way pryme.\n\n\u2003Lo, Grenewich, ther many a shrewe is inne;\n\n\u2003It wer al tyme thy tale to biginne.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sires,\" quod this Osewold the Reve,\n\n\u2003\"I pray yow alle that ye nat yow greve,\n\n\u2003Thogh I answere and somdel sette his howve;\n\n\u2003For leveful is with force of-showve.\n\n\u2003This dronke millere hath y-told us heer,\n\n\u2003How that bigyled was a carpenteer,\n\n\u2003Peraventure in scorn, for I am oon.\n\n\u2003And, by your leve, I shal him quyte anoon;\n\n\u2003Right in his cherles termes wol I speke.\n\n\u2003I pray to god his nekke mote breke;\n\n\u2003He can wel in myn ye seen a stalke,\n\n\u2003But in his owne he can nat seen a balke.\"\n\n\u2003Since my tap of life began to run.\n\n\u2003For truly, when I was born, anon\n\n\u2003Death drew the tap of life and let it flow;\n\n\u2003And ever since so has run the tap,\n\n\u2003Till almost empty is the cask.\n\n\u2003The stream of life now drops on the rim.\n\n\u2003The foolish tongue may well chime and ring\n\n\u2003Of wretchedness that passed long ago;\n\n\u2003With old folk, dotage excepted, there is no more.\"\n\n\u2003When that our Host had heard this preaching,\n\n\u2003He began to speak as lordly as a king.\n\n\u2003He said, \"What amounts to all this wit?\n\n\u2003Why must we speak all day of Holy Writ?\n\n\u2003The devil made a reeve into a preacher,\n\n\u2003Or into a cobbler, sailor, or a doctor.\n\n\u2003Tell forth your tale, and lose not the time,\n\n\u2003Lo, Deptford, and it is half-way prime!\n\n\u2003Lo, Greenwich, where many a rascal is in!\n\n\u2003It's high time now your tale to begin.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sires,\" said this Oswald the Reeve,\n\n\u2003\"I pray you all that you don't take it amiss,\n\n\u2003Though I answer and somewhat his cap twist;\n\n\u2003For lawful is it to answer force with force.\n\n\u2003This drunk miller has told us here\n\n\u2003How that beguiled was a carpenter,\n\n\u2003Perhaps in scorn, for I am one.\n\n\u2003And by your leave, I shall requite him anon;\n\n\u2003Right in his churl's words I will speak.\n\n\u2003I pray to God his neck may break\u2014\n\n\u2003He can well in my eye see a straw,\n\n\u2003But in his own he can't see a log.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003At Trumpington, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,\n\n\u2003Ther goth a brook and over that a brigge,\n\n\u2003Up-on the whiche brook ther stant a melle;\n\n\u2003And this is verray soth that I yow telle.\n\n\u2003A Miller was ther dwelling many a day;\n\n\u2003As eny pecok he was proud and gay.\n\n\u2003Pypen he coude and fisshe, and nettes bete,\n\n\u2003And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and shete;\n\n\u2003And by his belt he baar a long panade,\n\n\u2003And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.\n\n\u2003A joly popper baar he in his pouche;\n\n\u2003Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche\n\n\u2003A Sheffeld thwitel baar he is his hose;\n\n\u2003Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.\n\n\u2003As piled as an ape was his skulle.\n\n\u2003He was a market-beter atte fulle.\n\n\u2003Ther dorste no wight hand up-on him legge,\n\n\u2003That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.\n\n\u2003A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,\n\n\u2003And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.\n\n\u2003His name was hoten d\u00ebynous Simkin.\n\n\u2003A wyf he hadde, y-comen of noble kin;\n\n\u2003The person of the toun hir fader was.\n\n\u2003With hir he yaf ful many a panne of bras,\n\n\u2003For that Simkin sholde in his blood allye.\n\n\u2003She was y-fostred in a nonnerye;\n\n\u2003For Simkin wolde no wyf, as he sayde,\n\n\u2003But she were wel y-norissed and a mayde,\n\n\u2003To saven his estaat of yomanrye.\n\n\u2003And she was proud, and pert as is a pye.\n\n\u2003A ful fair sighte was it on hem two;\n\n\u2003On haly-dayes biforn hir wolde he go\n\n\u2003With his tipet bounden about his heed,\n\n\u2003And she cam after in a gyte of reed;\n\n\u2003And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.\n\n\u2003Ther dorste no wight clepen hir but \"dame.\"\n\n\u2003Was noon so hardy that wente by the weye\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003At Trumpington, not far from Cambridge,\n\n\u2003There goes a brook and over that a bridge,\n\n\u2003Upon which brook there stands a mill;\n\n\u2003And this is a true story that I you tell.\n\n\u2003A miller was there dwelling many a day;\n\n\u2003As any peacock he was proud and gay.\n\n\u2003Play bagpipes he could and fish, and mend nets,\n\n\u2003And make wooden cups, and wrestle well, and shoot;\n\n\u2003And by his belt he bore a long sword,\n\n\u2003And full sharp was the blade.\n\n\u2003A jolly dagger bore he in his pouch\u2014\n\n\u2003Every man for fear dared not him touch\u2014\n\n\u2003A Sheffield knife he bore in his hose.\n\n\u2003Round was his face, and pug was his nose;\n\n\u2003As bald as an ape was his skull.\n\n\u2003He swaggered in the market towns.\n\n\u2003No man dared to a hand upon him lay,\n\n\u2003For he would swear him to repay.\n\n\u2003A thief he was in truth of wheat and meal,\n\n\u2003And that a sly one, and wont to steal.\n\n\u2003His name was called scornful Simkin.\n\n\u2003A wife he had, come from noble kin:\n\n\u2003The priest of the town her father was.\n\n\u2003For dowry he gave full many a pan of brass,\n\n\u2003That Simkin should with his blood ally.\n\n\u2003She was raised in a nunnery\n\n\u2003For Simkin wanted no wife, as he said,\n\n\u2003Unless she were well brought up and a maid,\n\n\u2003To preserve his rank as a yeoman free.\n\n\u2003And she was proud, and pert as a magpie.\n\n\u2003A full fair sight was it to look upon the two;\n\n\u2003On holidays before her he would go\n\n\u2003With his scarf wound round his head,\n\n\u2003And she came after in a gown of red;\n\n\u2003And Simkin had stockings of the same.\n\n\u2003There dared no one call her but \"Madame.\"\n\n\u2003And there was none so bold who went by the way\n\n\u2003That with hir dorste rage or ones pleye,\n\n\u2003But-if he wolde be slayn of Simkin\n\n\u2003With panade, or with knyf, or boydekin.\n\n\u2003For jalous folk ben perilous evermo,\n\n\u2003Algate they wolde hir wyves wenden so.\n\n\u2003And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,\n\n\u2003She was as digne as water in a dich;\n\n\u2003And ful of hoker and of bisemare.\n\n\u2003Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hir spare,\n\n\u2003What for hir kinrede and hir nortelrye\n\n\u2003That she had lerned in the nonnerye.\n\n\u2003A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two\n\n\u2003Of twenty yeer, with-outen any mo,\n\n\u2003Savinge a child that was of half-yeer age;\n\n\u2003In cradel it lay and was a propre page.\n\n\u2003This wenche thikke and wel y-growen was,\n\n\u2003With camuse nose and yen greye as glas;\n\n\u2003With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye,\n\n\u2003But right fair was hir heer, I wol nat lye.\n\n\u2003The person of the toun, for she was feir,\n\n\u2003In purpos was to maken hir his heir\n\n\u2003Bothe of his catel and his messuage.\n\n\u2003And straunge he made it of hir mariage.\n\n\u2003His purpos was for to bistowe hir hye\n\n\u2003In-to som worthy blood of auncetrye;\n\n\u2003For holy chirches good moot been despended\n\n\u2003On holy chirches blood, that is descended.\n\n\u2003Therfore he wolde his holy blood honoure,\n\n\u2003Though that he holy chirche sholde devoure.\n\n\u2003Gret soken hath this miller, out of doute,\n\n\u2003With whete and malt of al the land aboute;\n\n\u2003And nameliche ther was a greet collegge,\n\n\u2003Men clepen the Soler-halle at Cantebregge,\n\n\u2003Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt y-grounde.\n\n\u2003And on a day it happed, in a stounde,\n\n\u2003Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye;\n\n\u2003Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye.\n\n\u2003For which this miller stal bothe mele and corn\n\n\u2003An hundred tyme more than biforn;\n\n\u2003Who with her dared dally or play,\n\n\u2003Unless he wanted to by Simkin be slain\n\n\u2003With cutlass, or with knife, or dagger,\n\n\u2003For jealous folk be dangerous evermore\u2014\n\n\u2003At least, they want their wives to believe so.\n\n\u2003And also, for she was somewhat besmirched,\n\n\u2003She was worthy as water in a ditch,\n\n\u2003And full of hauteur and disdain.\n\n\u2003He thought that a lady should remain aloof,\n\n\u2003Thanks to her kindred and the refinement\n\n\u2003That she had learned in the convent.\n\n\u2003A daughter they had between the two\n\n\u2003Of twenty years, without any more,\n\n\u2003Except a child who was six months old;\n\n\u2003In cradle it lay and was a fine boy.\n\n\u2003This wench stout and well grown was,\n\n\u2003With pug nose and eyes gray as glass,\n\n\u2003With buttocks broad and breasts round and high;\n\n\u2003But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.\n\n\u2003The priest of the town, because she was fair,\n\n\u2003Proposed to make her his heir\n\n\u2003Both of his property and his house,\n\n\u2003And particular he was about her espousal.\n\n\u2003His purpose was to marry her high\n\n\u2003Into some worthy old blood line;\n\n\u2003For holy churchmen's goods must be spent\n\n\u2003On holy churchmen's blood, that is descended.\n\n\u2003Therefore he would his holy blood honor,\n\n\u2003Though that he the holy church should devour.\n\n\u2003Great monopoly had this miller, without doubt,\n\n\u2003In wheat and malt of ale the land about;\n\n\u2003And namely there was a great college\n\n\u2003Men called Solar Hall at Cambridge;\n\n\u2003There was their wheat and also their malt ground.\n\n\u2003And on a day it happened, at one time,\n\n\u2003Sick lay the manciple with a malady:\n\n\u2003Men thought for certain that he would die,\n\n\u2003From whom this miller stole both meal and wheat\n\n\u2003A hundred times more than before;\n\n\u2003For ther-biforn he stal but curteisly,\n\n\u2003But now he was a theef outrageously,\n\n\u2003For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.\n\n\u2003But ther-of sette the miller nat a tare;\n\n\u2003He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.\n\n\u2003Than were ther yonge povre clerks two,\n\n\u2003That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye.\n\n\u2003Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,\n\n\u2003And, only for hir mirthe and revelrye,\n\n\u2003Up-on the wardeyn bisily they crye,\n\n\u2003To yeve hem leve but a litel stounde\n\n\u2003To goon to mille and seen hir corn y-grounde;\n\n\u2003And hardily, they dorste leye hir nekke,\n\n\u2003The miller shold nat stele hem half a pekke\n\n\u2003Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve;\n\n\u2003And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve.\n\n\u2003John hight that oon, and Aleyn hight that other;\n\n\u2003Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,\n\n\u2003Fer in the north, I can nat telle where.\n\n\u2003This Aleyn maketh redy al his gere,\n\n\u2003And on an hors the sak he caste anon.\n\n\u2003Forth goth Aleyn the clerk, and also John,\n\n\u2003With good swerd and with bokeler by hir syde.\n\n\u2003John knew the wey, hem nedede no gyde,\n\n\u2003And at the mille the sak adoun he layth.\n\n\u2003Aleyn spak first, \"al hayl, Symond, y-fayth;\n\n\u2003How fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?\"\n\n\u2003\"Aleyn! welcome,\" quod Simkin, \"by my lyf,\n\n\u2003And John also, how now, what do ye heer?\"\n\n\u2003\"Symond,\" quod John, \"by god, nede has na peer;\n\n\u2003Him bo\u00ebs serve him-selve that has na swayn,\n\n\u2003Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.\n\n\u2003Our manciple, I hope he wil be deed,\n\n\u2003Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed.\n\n\u2003And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn,\n\n\u2003To grinde our corn and carie it ham agayn;\n\n\u2003I pray yow spede us hethen that ye may.\"\n\n\u2003\"It shal be doon,\" quod Simkin, \"by my fay;\n\n\u2003What wol ye doon whyl that it is in hande?\"\n\n\u2003For heretofore he stole but in a polite way,\n\n\u2003But now he was a thief outrageously.\n\n\u2003For which the warden chided him as he dared,\n\n\u2003But thereof cared the miller not a tare;\n\n\u2003He talked loud, and swore it was not so.\n\n\u2003Then were there young poor scholars two\n\n\u2003Who dwelt in this hall of which I speak.\n\n\u2003Headstrong they were, and in high spirits,\n\n\u2003And, only for their mirth and revelry,\n\n\u2003They pestered the warden\n\n\u2003To give them leave but a little while\n\n\u2003To go to the mill and see wheat ground;\n\n\u2003And boldly, they dare risk their necks,\n\n\u2003The miller should not steal from them half a peck\n\n\u2003Of wheat by sleight, nor by force them rob;\n\n\u2003And at last the warden gave them leave.\n\n\u2003John was named one, and Allen named the other;\n\n\u2003Of one town were they born, that was called Strother,\n\n\u2003Far in the north, I cannot tell where.\n\n\u2003This Allen made ready all his gear,\n\n\u2003And on a horse the sack of grain he cast anon.\n\n\u2003Forth went Allen the scholar, and also John,\n\n\u2003With good swords and shields by their sides.\n\n\u2003John knew the way, they needed no guide,\n\n\u2003And at the mill the sack adown he laid it.\n\n\u2003Allen spoke first, \"All hail, Simon, in faith!\n\n\u2003How fares your daughter and your wife?\"\n\n\u2003\"Allen, welcome,\" said Simkin, \"by my life!\n\n\u2003And John also, how now, what do you here?\"\n\n\u2003\"Simon,\" said John, \"by God, who has no peer,\n\n\u2003He who has no servant should serve himself,\n\n\u2003Or else he is a fool, as scholars say.\n\n\u2003Our manciple, I expect, he will be dead,\n\n\u2003So ache the molars in his head.\n\n\u2003And therefore am I come, and also Allen,\n\n\u2003To grind our wheat and carry it home again;\n\n\u2003I pray you take care of us soon as you may.\"\n\n\u2003\"It shall be done,\" said Simkin, \"by my faith.\n\n\u2003What will you do while it is in hand?\"\n\n\u2003\"By god, right by the hoper wil I stande,\"\n\n\u2003Quod John, \"and se how that the corn gas in;\n\n\u2003Yet saugh I never, by my fader kin,\n\n\u2003How that the hoper wagges til and fra.\"\n\n\u2003Aleyn answerde, \"John, and wiltow swa,\n\n\u2003Than wil I be bynethe, by my croun,\n\n\u2003And se how that the mele falles doun\n\n\u2003In-to the trough; that sal be my disport.\n\n\u2003For John, in faith, I may been of your sort;\n\n\u2003I is as ille a miller as are ye.\"\n\n\u2003This miller smyled of hir nycetee,\n\n\u2003And thoghte, \"al this nis doon but for a wyle;\n\n\u2003They wene that no man may hem bigyle;\n\n\u2003But, by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir ye\n\n\u2003For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.\n\n\u2003The more queynte crekes that they make,\n\n\u2003The more wol I stele whan I take.\n\n\u2003In stede of flour, yet wol I yeve hem bren.\n\n\u2003'The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,'\n\n\u2003As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare;\n\n\u2003Of al hir art I counte noght a tare.\"\n\n\u2003Out at the dore he gooth ful prively,\n\n\u2003Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely;\n\n\u2003He loketh up and doun til he hath founde\n\n\u2003The clerkes hors, ther as it stood y-bounde\n\n\u2003Bihinde the mille, under a levesel;\n\n\u2003And to the hors he gooth him faire and wel;\n\n\u2003He strepeth of the brydel right anon.\n\n\u2003And whan the hors was loos, he ginneth gon\n\n\u2003Toward the fen, ther wide mares renne,\n\n\u2003Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.\n\n\u2003This miller smyled of hir nycetee,\n\n\u2003But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde,\n\n\u2003Til that hir corn was faire and wel y-grounde.\n\n\u2003And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde,\n\n\u2003This John goth out and fynt his hors away,\n\n\u2003And gan to crye \"harrow\" and \"weylaway!\n\n\u2003Our hors is lorn! Alayn, for goddes banes,\n\n\u2003Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes!\n\n\u2003\"By God, right by the hopper will I stand,\"\n\n\u2003Said John, \"and see how the wheat goes in.\n\n\u2003Yet saw I never, by my father's kin,\n\n\u2003How that the hopper wags to and fro.\"\n\n\u2003Allen answered, \"John, and will you do so?\n\n\u2003Then will I be beneath, by my head,\n\n\u2003And see how the meal falls down\n\n\u2003Into the trough; that shall be my disport.\n\n\u2003For John, in faith, I may be of your sort:\n\n\u2003I am as bad a miller as are you.\"\n\n\u2003This miller smiled at their foolishness,\n\n\u2003And thought, \"all this is done but as a trick.\n\n\u2003They think no man can them beguile,\n\n\u2003But, by my thrift, yet will I blur their eyes\n\n\u2003For all the sleight in their philosophy.\n\n\u2003The more sly moves that they make,\n\n\u2003The more will I steal when I take.\n\n\u2003Instead of flour, yet will I give them bran.\n\n\u2003'The greatest scholars be not the wisest men,'\n\n\u2003As once to the wolf thus spoke the mare;\n\n\u2003Of all their art count I not a tare.\"\n\n\u2003Out at the door he went full stealthily,\n\n\u2003When that he saw his time, softly;\n\n\u2003He looked up and down till he had found\n\n\u2003The scholars' horse, there where it stood bound\n\n\u2003Behind the mill, under a trellis.\n\n\u2003And to the horse he went fair and well;\n\n\u2003He stripped off the bridle right anon.\n\n\u2003And when the horse was loose, it was gone\n\n\u2003Toward the meadow, where the wild mares run,\n\n\u2003Forth with \"whinny,\" through thick and through thin.\n\n\u2003This miller went in again, no word he said,\n\n\u2003But did his job, and with the scholars joked,\n\n\u2003Till that their flour was fair and well ground.\n\n\u2003And when the flour was sacked and bound,\n\n\u2003This John went out and found his horse away,\n\n\u2003And began to cry \"help\" and \"wellaway!\n\n\u2003Our horse is lost! Allen, for God's bones,\n\n\u2003Step on it! come on, man, and at once!\n\n\u2003Alias, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn.\"\n\n\u2003This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn,\n\n\u2003Al was out of his mynde his housebondrye.\n\n\u2003\"What? whilk way is he geen?\" he gan to crye.\n\n\u2003The wyf cam leping inward with a ren,\n\n\u2003She seyde, \"allas! your hors goth to the fen\n\n\u2003With wilde mares, as faste as he may go.\n\n\u2003Unthank come on his hand that bond him so,\n\n\u2003And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne.\"\n\n\u2003\"Allas,\" quod John, \"Aleyn, for Cristes peyne,\n\n\u2003Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa;\n\n\u2003I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa;\n\n\u2003By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe.\n\n\u2003Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe?\n\n\u2003Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne!\"\n\n\u2003Thic sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne\n\n\u2003To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek John.\n\n\u2003And whan the miller saugh that they were gon\n\n\u2003He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,\n\n\u2003And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"I trowe the clerkes were aferd;\n\n\u2003Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd\n\n\u2003For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye.\n\n\u2003Lo wher they goon, ye, lat the children pleye;\n\n\u2003They gete him nat so lightly, by my croun!\"\n\n\u2003Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun\n\n\u2003With \"keep, keep, stand, stand, jossa, warderere,\n\n\u2003Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe him here!\"\n\n\u2003But shortly, til that it was verray night,\n\n\u2003They coude nat, though they do al hir might,\n\n\u2003Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste,\n\n\u2003Til in a dich they caughte him atte laste.\n\n\u2003Wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn,\n\n\u2003Comth sely John, and with him comth Aleyn.\n\n\u2003\"Allas,\" quod John, \"the day that I was born!\n\n\u2003Now are we drive til hething and til scorn.\n\n\u2003Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle,\n\n\u2003Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle,\n\n\u2003And namely the miller; weylaway!\"\n\n\u2003Alas, our warden has his palfrey gone!\"\n\n\u2003This Allen forgot both flour and grain;\n\n\u2003All was out of his mind his careful plan.\n\n\"What, which way is he gone?\" he began to cry.\n\n\u2003The wife came leaping inside at a run;\n\n\u2003She said, \"Alas! Your horse went to the fen\n\n\u2003With wild mares, as fast as he may go.\n\n\u2003No thanks to the hand that hitched him so,\n\n\u2003And he who better should tie the reins.\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said John, \"Allen, for Christ's pain,\n\n\u2003Lay down your sword, I will mine also.\n\n\u2003I am full swift, God knows, as is a deer;\n\n\u2003By God's heart he shall not escape us both!\n\n\u2003Why didn't you put him in the barn?\n\n\u2003Bad luck, by God, Allen, you are a fool!\"\n\n\u2003These foolish scholars have full fast run\n\n\u2003Toward the meadow, both Allen and also John.\n\n\u2003And when the miller saw that they were gone,\n\n\u2003He half a bushel of their flour has taken,\n\n\u2003And bade his wife go knead it into a cake.\n\n\u2003He said, \"I believe the scholars were suspicious,\n\n\u2003Yet can a miller outsmart a scholar\n\n\u2003For all their art, now let them go their way.\n\n\u2003Lo, where he goes! Yes, let the children play.\n\n\u2003They won't easily catch him, by my head!\"\n\n\u2003These silly scholars ran up and down\n\n\u2003With \"Keep! keep! stand! down here! look out behind!\n\n\u2003Go whistle you, and I shall keep him here!\"\n\n\u2003But in short, until it was truly night,\n\n\u2003They could not, though they tried with all their might,\n\n\u2003Catch their horse, he ran away so fast,\n\n\u2003Till in a ditch they caught him at last.\n\n\u2003Weary and wet, as creatures in the rain,\n\n\u2003Comes silly John, and with him comes Allen.\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said John, \"the day that I was born!\n\n\u2003Now are we driven into mockery and scorn.\n\n\u2003Our wheat is stolen, men will us fools call,\n\n\u2003Both the warden and our companions all,\n\n\u2003And especially the miller, wellaway!\"\n\n\u2003Thus pleyneth John as he goth by the way\n\n\u2003Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.\n\n\u2003The miller sitting by the fyr he fond,\n\n\u2003For it was night, and forther nighte they noght;\n\n\u2003But, for the love of god, they him bisoght\n\n\u2003Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.\n\n\u2003The miller seyde agayn, \"if ther be eny,\n\n\u2003Swich as it is, yet shal ye have your part.\n\n\u2003Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;\n\n\u2003Ye conne by argumentes make a place\n\n\u2003A myle brood of twenty foot of space.\n\n\u2003Lat see now if this place may suffyse,\n\n\u2003Or make it roum with speche, as is youre gyse.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, Symond,\" seyde John, \"by seint Cutberd,\n\n\u2003Ay is thou mery, and this is faire answerd.\n\n\u2003I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges\n\n\u2003Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes.\n\n\u2003But specially, I pray thee, hoste dere,\n\n\u2003Get us some mete and drinke, and make us chere,\n\n\u2003And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.\n\n\u2003With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;\n\n\u2003Lo here our silver, redy for to spende.\"\n\n\u2003This miller in-to toun his doghter sende\n\n\u2003For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,\n\n\u2003And bond hir hors, it sholde nat gon loos;\n\n\u2003And in his owne chambre hem made a bed\n\n\u2003With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred,\n\n\u2003Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve.\n\n\u2003His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve,\n\n\u2003Right in the same chambre, by and by;\n\n\u2003It might be no bet, and cause why,\n\n\u2003Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.\n\n\u2003They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,\n\n\u2003And drinken ever strong ale atte beste.\n\n\u2003Aboute midnight wente they to reste.\n\n\u2003Wel hath this miller vernisshed his heed;\n\n\u2003Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed.\n\n\u2003He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose\n\n\u2003As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.\n\n\u2003Thus complained John as he went by the way\n\n\u2003Toward the mill, and horse Bayard in his hand.\n\n\u2003The miller sitting by the fire they found,\n\n\u2003For it was night, and go further they might not.\n\n\u2003But for the love of God they him besought\n\n\u2003Of lodging and rest, and offered their penny.\n\n\u2003The miller said to them, \"If there be any,\n\n\u2003Such as it is, yet shall you have your part.\n\n\u2003My house is small, but you have learned art:\n\n\u2003You know how by arguments to make a place\n\n\u2003A mile broad from twenty foot of space.\n\n\u2003Let's see now if this place may suffice\u2014\n\n\u2003Or make it roomy with talk, as is your way.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, Simon,\" said John, \"by Saint Cuthbert,\n\n\u2003You're a funny man, and that's a good answer.\n\n\u2003I have heard said, 'man shall take of two things:\n\n\u2003Such as he finds, or such as he brings.'\n\n\u2003But specially, I pray you, host dear,\n\n\u2003Get us some meat and drink and make us good cheer,\n\n\u2003And we will pay truly at full;\n\n\u2003With empty hand men may not hawks lure.\n\n\u2003Lo, here is our silver, ready for to spend.\"\n\n\u2003This miller into town his daughter sent\n\n\u2003For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,\n\n\u2003And hitched their horse, it should no more get loose;\n\n\u2003And in his own chamber them made a bed\n\n\u2003With sheets and blankets fairly spread,\n\n\u2003Not far from his own bed ten foot or twelve.\n\n\u2003His daughter had a bed, all by herself,\n\n\u2003Right in the same chamber, side by side.\n\n\u2003It might be no better arranged, was the reason why,\n\n\u2003There was no larger lodging in the place.\n\n\u2003They supped and they talked, themselves to enjoy,\n\n\u2003And drank very strong ale of the best.\n\n\u2003About midnight went they to rest.\n\n\u2003Well had this miller plastered his head:\n\n\u2003So drunk he was full pale, not red;\n\n\u2003He hiccupped, and he spoke through the nose\n\n\u2003As if he were hoarse, or had a cold.\n\n\u2003To bedde he gooth, and with him goth his wyf.\n\n\u2003As any jay she light was and jolyf,\n\n\u2003So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet.\n\n\u2003The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,\n\n\u2003To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke.\n\n\u2003And whan that dronken al was in the crouke,\n\n\u2003To bedde went the doghter right anon;\n\n\u2003To bedde gooth Aleyn and also John;\n\n\u2003Ter nas na more, hem nedede no dwale.\n\n\u2003This miller hath so wisly bibbed ale,\n\n\u2003That as an hors he snorteth in his sleep,\n\n\u2003Ne of his tayl bihinde he took no keep.\n\n\u2003His wyf bar him a burdon, a ful strong,\n\n\u2003Men mighte hir routing here two furlong;\n\n\u2003The wenche routeth eek par companye.\n\n\u2003Aleyn the clerk, that herd this melodye,\n\n\u2003He poked John, and seyde, \"slepestow?\n\n\u2003Herdestow ever slyk a sang er now?\n\n\u2003Lo, whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle!\n\n\u2003A wilde fyr up-on thair bodyes falle!\n\n\u2003Wha herkned ever slyk a ferly thing?\n\n\u2003Ye, they sal have the flour of il ending.\n\n\u2003This lange night ther tydes me na reste;\n\n\u2003But yet, na fors; al sal be for the beste.\n\n\u2003For John,\" seyde he, \"als ever moot I thryve\n\n\u2003If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.\n\n\u2003Som esement has lawe y-shapen us;\n\n\u2003For John, ther is a lawe that says thus,\n\n\u2003That gif a man in a point be y-greved,\n\n\u2003That in another he sal be releved.\n\n\u2003Our corn is stoln, shortly, it is na nay,\n\n\u2003And we han had an il fit al this day.\n\n\u2003And sin I sal have neen amendement,\n\n\u2003Agayn my los I wil have esement.\n\n\u2003By goddes saule, it sal neen other be!\"\n\n\u2003This John answerde, \"Alayn, avyse thee,\n\n\u2003The miller is a perilous man,\" he seyde,\n\n\u2003\"And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde\n\n\u2003He mighte doon us bathe a vileinye.\"\n\n\u2003To bed he went, and with him went his wife\u2014\n\n\u2003As any jay she was cheerful and jolly,\n\n\u2003So was her whistle well-wetted.\n\n\u2003The cradle at their bed's foot is set,\n\n\u2003To rock, and to give the child to suck.\n\n\u2003And when they had drunk all in the jug,\n\n\u2003To bed went the daughter right anon;\n\n\u2003To bed went Allen and also John;\n\n\u2003There was no more, they needed no sleeping potion.\n\n\u2003This miller had so deeply imbibed ale,\n\n\u2003That like a horse he snored in his sleep,\n\n\u2003And of his tail behind he took no heed.\n\n\u2003His wife sang bass, and full strong:\n\n\u2003Men might their snoring hear from two furlongs;\n\n\u2003The wench snored also to keep them company.\n\n\u2003Allen the scholar, who heard this melody,\n\n\u2003He poked John, and said, \"Are you asleep?\n\n\u2003Heard you ever such a song before now?\n\n\u2003Lo, such an evensong they sing all!\n\n\u2003A fiery rash upon their bodies fall!\n\n\u2003Who heard ever such a weird thing?\n\n\u2003Yes, they shall have the flour of this bad ending.\n\n\u2003This long night promises me no rest;\n\n\u2003But yet, no matter, all shall be for the best.\n\n\u2003For John,\" said he, \"as ever may I thrive,\n\n\u2003If that I may, to yon wench will I make love.\n\n\u2003Some redress has law provided for us.\n\n\u2003For John, there is a law that says thus,\n\n\u2003That if a man in one point be aggrieved,\n\n\u2003That in another he shall be relieved.\n\n\u2003Our wheat is stolen, there's no denying,\n\n\u2003And we've had a miserable time this day.\n\n\u2003And since I shall have no amends\n\n\u2003Against my loss, I will have redress.\n\n\u2003By God's soul, it shall not otherwise be!\"\n\n\u2003This John answered, \"Allen, take heed,\n\n\u2003This miller is a dangerous man,\" he said,\n\n\u2003\"And if he out of his sleep awakens,\n\n\u2003He might do us both an injury.\"\n\n\u2003Aleyn answerde, \"I count him nat a flye;\"\n\n\u2003And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.\n\n\u2003This wenche lay upright, and faste slepte,\n\n\u2003Til he so ny was, er she mighte espye,\n\n\u2003That it had been to late for to crye,\n\n\u2003And shortly for to seyn, they were at on;\n\n\u2003Now pley, Aleyn! for I wol speke of John.\n\n\u2003This John lyth stille a furlong-wey or two,\n\n\u2003And to him-self he maketh routhe and wo:\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod he, \"this is a wikked jape;\n\n\u2003Now may I seyn that I is but an ape.\n\n\u2003Yet has my felawe som-what for his harm;\n\n\u2003He has the milleris doghter in his arm.\n\n\u2003He auntred him, and has his nedes sped,\n\n\u2003And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed;\n\n\u2003And when this jape is tald another day,\n\n\u2003I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!\n\n\u2003I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth!\n\n\u2003'Unhardy is unsely,' thus men sayth.\"\n\n\u2003And up he roos and softely he wente\n\n\u2003Un-to the cradel, and in his hand it hente,\n\n\u2003And baar it softe un-to his beddes feet.\n\n\u2003Sone after this the wyf hir routing leet,\n\n\u2003And gan awake, and wente hir out to pisse,\n\n\u2003And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel misse,\n\n\u2003And groped heer and ther, but she fond noon.\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod she, \"I hadde almost misgoon;\n\n\u2003I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed.\n\n\u2003Ey, ben'cite! thanne hadde I foule y-sped:\"\n\n\u2003And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.\n\n\u2003She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,\n\n\u2003And fond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,\n\n\u2003By-cause that the cradel by it stood,\n\n\u2003And niste wher she was, for it was derk;\n\n\u2003But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,\n\n\u2003And lyth ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.\n\n\u2003With-inne a whyl this John the clerk up leep,\n\n\u2003And on this gode wyf he leyth on sore.\n\n\u2003So mery a fit ne hadde she nat ful yore;\n\n\u2003Allen answered, \"I count him not a fly.\"\n\n\u2003And up he rose, and by the wench he crept.\n\n\u2003This wench lay on her back, and fast slept\n\n\u2003Till he so close was, if she might him see,\n\n\u2003That it would have been too late for her to cry,\n\n\u2003And to make it short, they were at one;\n\n\u2003Now play, Allen! For will I speak of John.\n\n\u2003This John lies still for a moment or two,\n\n\u2003And to himself he makes lamentation and woe:\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said he, \"this is a wicked joke.\n\n\u2003Now may I say that I am but an ape.\n\n\u2003Yet has my fellow something for his harm:\n\n\u2003He has the miller's daughter in his arm.\n\n\u2003He took a risk, and has his needs fed,\n\n\u2003And I lie like a straw sack in my bed.\n\n\u2003And when this joke is told another day,\n\n\u2003I shall be held a fool, a sap:\n\n\u2003I will arise and risk it, by my faith!\n\n\u2003Unbold is unlucky, thus men say.\"\n\n\u2003And up he rose and softly he went\n\n\u2003To the cradle, and in his hand it held,\n\n\u2003And bore it softly to his bed's foot.\n\n\u2003Soon after this the wife her snoring ceased,\n\n\u2003And began to wake, and went her out to piss,\n\n\u2003And came again, and found her cradle missing,\n\n\u2003And groped here and there, but it was gone.\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said she, \"I had almost stepped wrong;\n\n\u2003I had almost gone to the scholars' bed\u2014\n\n\u2003Eh, benedicite, then had I wrong been!\"\n\n\u2003And forth she went until she the cradle found;\n\n\u2003She groped ever further with her hand,\n\n\u2003And found the bed, and thought nought but good,\n\n\u2003By cause that the cradle by it stood,\n\n\u2003And knew not where she was, for it was dark;\n\n\u2003But fair and well she crept in with the scholar,\n\n\u2003And lay full still, and would have asleep fallen.\n\n\u2003Within a while this John the scholar up leapt,\n\n\u2003And on this good wife he at it hard set.\n\n\u2003So merry a bout she had not in a long time had;\n\n\u2003He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.\n\n\u2003This joly lyf han thise two clerkes lad\n\n\u2003Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe.\n\n\u2003Aleyn wex wery in the daweninge.\n\n\u2003For he had swonken al the longe night;\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"far wel, Malin, swete wight!\n\n\u2003The day is come, I may no lenger byde;\n\n\u2003But evermo, wher so I go or ryde,\n\n\u2003I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now dere lemman,\" quod she, \"go, far weel!\n\n\u2003But er thou go, o thing I wol thee telle,\n\n\u2003Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,\n\n\u2003Right at the entree of the dore bihinde,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel finde\n\n\u2003That was y-maked of thyn owne mele,\n\n\u2003Which that I heelp my fader for to stele.\n\n\u2003And, gode lemman, god thee save and kepe!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word almost she gan to wepe.\n\n\u2003Aleyn up-rist, and thoughte, \"er that it dawe,\n\n\u2003I wol go crepen in by my felawe;\"\n\n\u2003And fond the cradel with his hand anon.\n\n\u2003\"By god,\" thoghte he, \"al wrang I have misgon;\n\n\u2003Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night,\n\n\u2003That maketh me that I go nat aright.\n\n\u2003I woot wel by the cradel, I have misgo,\n\n\u2003Heer lyth the miller and his wyf also.\"\n\n\u2003And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,\n\n\u2003Un-to the bed ther-as the miller lay.\n\n\u2003He wende have cropen by his felawe John;\n\n\u2003And by the miller in he creep anon,\n\n\u2003And caughte hym by the nekke, and softe he spak:\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"thou, John, thou swynes-heed, awak\n\n\u2003For Cristes saule, and heer a noble game.\n\n\u2003For by that lord that called is seint Jame,\n\n\u2003As I have thryes, in this shorte night,\n\n\u2003Swyved the milleres doghter bolt-upright,\n\n\u2003Whyl thow hast as a coward been agast.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, false harlot,\" quod the miller, \"hast?\n\n\u2003A! false traitour! false clerk!\" quod he,\n\n\u2003He pricked long and deep as if he were mad.\n\n\u2003This jolly life have these two scholars led\n\n\u2003Till the third cock began to sing.\n\n\u2003Allen waxed weary at the dawning,\n\n\u2003For he had worked all the long night,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Farewell, Molly, sweet one!\n\n\u2003The day is come, I may no longer stay;\n\n\u2003But evermore, wherever I ride or go,\n\n\u2003I am your own scholar, as I hope for joy!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, dear sweetheart,\" said she, \"go, farewell!\n\n\u2003But before you go, one thing I will you tell:\n\n\u2003When that you wend home by the mill,\n\n\u2003Right at the entry of the door behind,\n\n\u2003You shall a cake of half a bushel find\n\n\u2003That was made of your own meal,\n\n\u2003Which I helped my sire to steal.\n\n\u2003And, good sweetheart, God you save and keep!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she almost began to weep.\n\n\u2003Allen up rose, and thought, \"Before that it dawns,\n\n\u2003I will go creep by my fellow,\"\n\n\u2003And found the cradle with his hand anon.\n\n\u2003\"By God,\" thought he, \"All wrong have I gone.\n\n\u2003My head is light from my work tonight:\n\n\u2003That makes me go not aright.\n\n\u2003I know well by the cradle I have gone wrong\u2014\n\n\u2003Here lie the miller and his wife also.\"\n\n\u2003And forth he went, to the devil straight,\n\n\u2003To the bed where the miller lay\u2014\n\n\u2003He meant to creep by his fellow John\u2014\n\n\u2003And by the miller in he crept anon,\n\n\u2003And caught him by the neck, and soft he spoke.\n\n\u2003He said, \"You, John, you swine's head, awaken\n\n\u2003For Christ's soul, and hear a great joke.\n\n\u2003For by that lord who is called Saint James,\n\n\u2003So I have thrice in this short night\n\n\u2003Made love to the miller's daughter bolt upright,\n\n\u2003While you have as a coward been afraid.\"\n\n\u2003\"You, false rascal,\" said the miller, \"have?\n\n\u2003Ah! false traitor! false scholar!\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Thou shalt be deed, by goddes dignitee!\n\n\u2003Who dorste be so bold to disparage\n\n\u2003My doghter, that is come of swich linage?\"\n\n\u2003And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn.\n\n\u2003And he hente hymn despitously agayn,\n\n\u2003And on the nose he smoot him with his fest.\n\n\u2003Doun ran the blody streem up-on his brest;\n\n\u2003And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke,\n\n\u2003They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke.\n\n\u2003And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,\n\n\u2003Til that the miller sporned at a stoon,\n\n\u2003And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf,\n\n\u2003That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf;\n\n\u2003For she was falle aslepe a lyte wight\n\n\u2003With John the clerk, that waked hadde al night.\n\n\u2003And with the fal, out of hir sleep she breyde\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Help, holy corys of Bromeholm,\" she seyde,\n\n\u2003\"In manus tuas! lord, to thee I calle!\n\n\u2003Awak, Symond! the feend is on us falle,\n\n\u2003Myn herte is broken, help, I nam but deed;\n\n\u2003There lyth oon up my wombe and up myn heed;\n\n\u2003Help, Simkin, for the false clerkes fighte.\"\n\n\u2003This John sterte up as faste as ever he mighte,\n\n\u2003And graspeth by the walles to and fro,\n\n\u2003To finde a staf; and she sterte up also,\n\n\u2003And knew the estres bet than dide this John,\n\n\u2003And by the wal a staf she fond anon,\n\n\u2003And saugh a litel shimering of a light,\n\n\u2003For at an hole in shoon the mone bright;\n\n\u2003And by that light she saugh hem bothe two,\n\n\u2003But sikerly she niste who was who,\n\n\u2003But as she saugh a whyt thing in hir ye.\n\n\u2003And whan she gan the whyte thing espye,\n\n\u2003She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer.\n\n\u2003And with the staf she drough ay neer and neer,\n\n\u2003And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,\n\n\u2003And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle,\n\n\u2003That doun he gooth and cryde, \"harrow! I dye!\"\n\n\u2003Thise clerkes bete him weel and lete him lye;\n\n\u2003\"You shall be dead, by God's dignity!\n\n\u2003Who would dare be so bold to dishonor\n\n\u2003My daughter, who is come of such high birth?\"\n\n\u2003And by the Adam's apple he caught Allen;\n\n\u2003And Allen held him fiercely in turn,\n\n\u2003And on the nose he smote him with his fist\u2014\n\n\u2003Down ran the blood stream upon his breast.\n\n\u2003And on the floor, with nose and mouth broken,\n\n\u2003They wallowed as do two pigs in a poke.\n\n\u2003And up they go, and down again anon,\n\n\u2003Till that the miller tripped on a stone,\n\n\u2003And down he fell backward upon his wife,\n\n\u2003Who knew nothing of this silly strife,\n\n\u2003For she had fallen asleep for a bit\n\n\u2003With John the scholar, who waked had all night;\n\n\u2003And with the fall, out of her sleep she started.\n\n\u2003\"Help, holy cross of Bromholm,\" she said,\n\n\u2003\"In manus tuas! Lord, to you I call!\n\n\u2003Awake, Simon! the fiend is on me fallen,\n\n\u2003My heart is broken, help, I am almost dead:\n\n\u2003There lies someone on my womb and on my head.\n\n\u2003Help, Simkin, for the false scholars fight.\"\n\n\u2003This John leapt up as fast as ever he might,\n\n\u2003And groped along the walls to and fro,\n\n\u2003To find a staff; and she leapt up also,\n\n\u2003And knew the place better than did this John,\n\n\u2003And by the wall a staff she found anon,\n\n\u2003And saw a little shimmering of a light\u2014\n\n\u2003For at a hole in shone the moon bright\u2014\n\n\u2003And by that light she saw them both two,\n\n\u2003And truly she knew not who was who,\n\n\u2003Except that she saw a white thing in her eye.\n\n\u2003And when she did this white thing espy,\n\n\u2003She thought the scholar had worn a nightcap,\n\n\u2003And with the staff she drew ever near and nearer,\n\n\u2003And thinking to hit Allen at the full,\n\n\u2003And smote the miller on the bald skull\n\n\u2003So down he went and cried, \"Help! I die!\"\n\n\u2003These scholars beat him well and let him lie,\n\n\u2003And greythen hem, and toke hir hors anon,\n\n\u2003And eek hir mele, and on hir wey they gon.\n\n\u2003And at the mille yet they tok hir cake\n\n\u2003Of half a busshel flour, ful wel y-bake.\n\n\u2003Thus is the proude miller wel y-bete,\n\n\u2003And hath y-lost the grinding of the whete,\n\n\u2003And payed for the soper every-deel\n\n\u2003Of Aleyn and of John, that bette him weel.\n\n\u2003His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als;\n\n\u2003Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals!\n\n\u2003And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,\n\n\u2003\"Him thar nat wene wel that yvel dooth;\n\n\u2003A gylour shal him-self bigyled be.\"\n\n\u2003And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee,\n\n\u2003Save al this companye grete and smale!\n\n\u2003Thus have I quit the miller and my tale.\n\n\u2003And gathered themselves, and took their horse anon,\n\n\u2003And also their flour, and on their way they went.\n\n\u2003And at the mill they took their cake\n\n\u2003Of half a bushel flour, full well baked.\n\n\u2003Thus is the proud miller well beaten,\n\n\u2003And has lost the grinding of the wheat,\n\n\u2003And paid for the supper complete\n\n\u2003Of Allen and John, who beat him well;\n\n\u2003His wife is enjoyed, and his daughter also.\n\n\u2003Lo, so it goes for a miller false!\n\n\u2003And therefore this proverb is said so true,\n\n\u2003\"He should not expect good who will evil do;\n\n\u2003A beguiler shall himself beguiled be.\"\n\n\u2003And God, who sits high in majesty,\n\n\u2003Save all this company great and small!\n\n\u2003Thus I have repaid the Miller in my tale."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Tale of the Wyf of Bathe",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Experience, though noon auctoritee\n\n\u2003Were in this world, were right y-nough to me\n\n\u2003To speke of wo that is in mariage;\n\n\u2003For, lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,\n\n\u2003Thonked be god that is eterne on lyve,\n\n\u2003Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve\n\n\u2003For I so ofte have y-wedded be;\n\n\u2003And alle were worthy men in hir degree.\n\n\u2003But me was told certeyn, nat longe agon is,\n\n\u2003That sith that Crist ne wente never but onis\n\n\u2003To wedding in the Cane of Galilee,\n\n\u2003That by the same ensample taughte he me\n\n\u2003That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.\n\n\u2003Herke eek, lo! which a sharp word for the nones\n\n\u2003Besyde a welle Jesus, god and man,\n\n\u2003Spak in repreve of the Samaritan:\n\n\u2003'Thou hast y-had fyve housbondes,' quod he,\n\n\u2003'And thilke man, the which that hath now thee,\n\n\u2003Is noght thyn housbond;' thus seyde he certeyn;\n\n\u2003What that he mente ther-by, I can nat seyn;\n\n\u2003But that I axe, why that the fifthe man\n\n\u2003Was noon housbond to the Samaritan?\n\n\u2003How manye mighte she have in mariage?\n\n\u2003Yet herde I never tellen in myn age\n\n\u2003Upon this nombre diffinicioun;\n\n\u2003Men may devyne and glosen up and doun.\n\n\u2003But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye,\n\n\u2003God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;\n\n\u2003That gentil text can I wel understonde.\n\n\u2003Eek wel I woot he seyde, myn housbonde\n\n\u2003Sholde lete fader and moder, and take me;\n\n\u2003But of no nombre mencioun made he,\n\n\u2003Of bigamye or of octogamye;\n\n\u2003Why sholde men speke of it vileinye?\n\n\u2003Lo, here the wyse king, dan Salomon;"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Wife of Bath's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Experience, though no other authority\n\n\u2003Were in this world, is quite enough for me\n\n\u2003To speak of woe that is in marriage:\n\n\u2003For, lordings, since I twelve years was of age,\n\n\u2003Thanks be to God who is eternally alive,\n\n\u2003Husbands at church door have I had five\n\n(If I so often might have wedded be)\n\n\u2003And all were worthy in their degree.\n\n\u2003But I was told, truly, not long ago,\n\n\u2003That since Christ never went but once\n\n\u2003To wedding in the Cana of Galilee,\n\n\u2003That by the same example taught he me\n\n\u2003That I should not be wedded but once.\n\n\u2003Harken, also, to the sharp word,\n\n\u2003Beside a well, that Jesus, God and man,\n\n\u2003Spoke in reproof to the Samaritan:\n\n\u2003'You have had five husbands,' said he,\n\n\u2003'And that same man who now has you\n\n\u2003Is not your husband;' thus said he certain.\n\n\u2003What he meant thereby I cannot say,\n\n\u2003Except I ask, why the fifth man\n\n\u2003Was not husband to the Samaritan?\n\n\u2003How many might she have in marriage?\n\n\u2003Yet never have I heard tell in all my time\n\n\u2003Of this number an explanation.\n\n\u2003Men may interpret and gloss up and down,\n\n\u2003But well I know especially, without lie,\n\n\u2003God bade us for to increase and multiply:\n\n\u2003That noble text can I well understand.\n\n\u2003Also well I know he said, my husband\n\n\u2003Should leave father and mother, and take to me;\n\n\u2003But of no number mention made he,\n\n\u2003Of in succession how many.\n\n\u2003Why should men then speak of it reproachfully?\n\n\u2003Lo, here the wise king, Lord Solomon;\n\n\u2003I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon;\n\n\u2003As, wolde god, it leveful were to me\n\n\u2003To be refresshed half so ofte as he!\n\n\u2003Which yifte of god hadde he for alle his wyvis!\n\n\u2003No man hath swich, that in this world alyve is.\n\n\u2003God woot, this noble king, as to my wit,\n\n\u2003The firste night had many a mery fit\n\n\u2003With ech of hem, so wel was him on lyve!\n\n\u2003Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve!\n\n\u2003Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal.\n\n\u2003For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al;\n\n\u2003Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon,\n\n\u2003Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon;\n\n\u2003For thanne th'apostle seith, that I am free\n\n\u2003To wedde, a godd's half, wher it lyketh me.\n\n\u2003He seith that to be wedded is no sinne;\n\n\u2003Bet is to be wedded than to brinne.\n\n\u2003What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileinye\n\n\u2003Of shrewed Lameth and his bigamye?\n\n\u2003I woot wel Abraham was an holy man,\n\n\u2003And Jacob eek, as ferforth as I can;\n\n\u2003And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two;\n\n\u2003And many another holy man also.\n\n\u2003Whan saugh ye ever, in any maner age,\n\n\u2003That hye god defended mariage\n\n\u2003By expres word? I pray you, telleth me;\n\n\u2003Or wher comanded he virginitee?\n\n\u2003I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,\n\n\u2003Th'apostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede;\n\n\u2003He seyde, that precept ther-of hadde he noon.\n\n\u2003Men may conseille a womman to been oon\n\n\u2003But conseilling is no comandement;\n\n\u2003He putte it in our owene jugement\n\n\u2003For hadde god comanded maydenhede,\n\n\u2003Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede;\n\n\u2003And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe,\n\n\u2003Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe?\n\n\u2003Poul dorste nat comanden atte leste\n\n\u2003A thing of which his maister yaf noon heste.\n\n\u2003I believe he had wives more than one.\n\n\u2003Would to God it were allowed for me\n\n\u2003To be refreshed half so often as he!\n\n\u2003What a gift of God had he for all his wives!\n\n\u2003No man has such, who in the world alive now is.\n\n\u2003God knows this noble king, so far as I can see,\n\n\u2003The first night had many a merry fight\n\n\u2003With each of them, so lucky was his life!\n\n\u2003Blessed be God that I have wedded five,\n\n\u2003Welcome the sixth, whenever he arrives!\n\n\u2003For in truth I will not keep myself all chaste.\n\n\u2003When my husband is from this world gone\n\n\u2003Some Christian man shall wed me anon;\n\n\u2003For then the apostle says that I am free\n\n\u2003To wed, on God's behalf, where it pleases me.\n\n\u2003He says that to be wedded is no sin:\n\n\u2003Better to be wedded than to burn.\n\n\u2003What matters it to me though folk speak badly\n\n\u2003Of cursed Lamech and his bigamy?\n\n\u2003I know well that Abraham was a holy man,\n\n\u2003And Jacob also, as far as I know;\n\n\u2003And each of them had wives more than two,\n\n\u2003And many another holy man also.\n\n\u2003Where can you see, in whatever age,\n\n\u2003That high God forbade marriage\n\n\u2003By express word? I pray you, tell me.\n\n\u2003Or where commanded he virginity?\n\n\u2003I know as well as you, it is no doubt,\n\n\u2003The Apostle, when he spoke of maidenhood,\n\n\u2003He said commandment thereof had he none.\n\n\u2003Men may counsel a woman to be one,\n\n\u2003But counseling is no commandment:\n\n\u2003He put it in our own judgement.\n\n\u2003For had God commanded maidenhood,\n\n\u2003Then he would have damned wedding in that deed.\n\n\u2003And certainly, if there were no seed sown,\n\n\u2003Virginity, then whereof should it grow?\n\n\u2003Paul dared not in the least command,\n\n\u2003A thing of which his master gave no behest.\n\n\u2003The dart is set up for virginitee;\n\n\u2003Cacche who so may, who renneth best lat see.\n\n\u2003But this word is nat take of every wight,\n\n\u2003But ther as god list give it of his might.\n\n\u2003I woot wel, that th'apostel was a mayde;\n\n\u2003But natheless, thogh that he wroot and sayde,\n\n\u2003He wolde that every wight were swich as he,\n\n\u2003Al nis but conseil to virginitee;\n\n\u2003And for to been a wyf, he yaf me leve\n\n\u2003Of indulgence; so it is no repreve\n\n\u2003To wedde me, if that my make dye,\n\n\u2003With-oute excepcioun of bigamye.\n\n\u2003Al were it good no womman for to touche,\n\n\u2003He mente as in his bed or in his couche;\n\n\u2003For peril is bothe fyr and tow t'assemble;\n\n\u2003Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble.\n\n\u2003This is al and som, he heeld virginitee\n\n\u2003More parfit than wedding in freletee.\n\n\u2003Freeltee clepe I, but-if that he and she\n\n\u2003Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.\n\n\u2003I graunte it wel, I have noon envye,\n\n\u2003Thogh maydenhede preferre bigamye;\n\n\u2003Hem lyketh to be clene, body and goost,\n\n\u2003Of myn estaat I nil nat make no boost.\n\n\u2003For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold,\n\n\u2003He hath nat every vessel al of gold;\n\n\u2003Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse,\n\n\u2003God clepeth folk to him in sondry wyse,\n\n\u2003And everich hath of god a propre yifte,\n\n\u2003Som this, som that,\u2014as him lyketh shifte.\n\n\u2003Virginitee is greet perfeccioun,\n\n\u2003And continence eek with devocioun.\n\n\u2003But Crist, that of perfeccioun is welle,\n\n\u2003Bad nat every wight he sholde go selle\n\n\u2003All that he hadde, and give it to the pore,\n\n\u2003And in swich wyse folwe him and his fore.\n\n\u2003He spak to hem that wolde live parfitly;\n\n\u2003And lordinges, by your leve, that am nat I.\n\n\u2003I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age\n\n\u2003The prize is set up for virginity:\n\n\u2003Catch it who so may: who runs best let's see.\n\n\u2003But this word is not taken by every person,\n\n\u2003But to whom God chooses, in his might.\n\n\u2003I well know that the apostle was a maid;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, though he wrote and said\n\n\u2003He would that every person were such as he,\n\n\u2003All this just recommends virginity,\n\n\u2003And for to be a wife, he gave me leave\n\n\u2003By indulgence. So it is no reproach\n\n\u2003To wed me, if that my mate die,\n\n\u2003Without accusation of bigamy,\n\n\u2003Although were it good no woman to touch\u2014\n\n\u2003He meant as in his bed or in his couch\u2014\n\n\u2003For peril is both spark and tinder to assemble;\n\n\u2003You know what this example may resemble.\n\n\u2003This all and some: he held virginity\n\n\u2003More perfect than wedding in frailty.\n\n\u2003'Frailty' I call it, unless he and she\n\n\u2003Would lead all their lives in chastity.\n\n\u2003I grant it well, I have no envy\n\n\u2003Though maidenhood be preferred to bigamy.\n\n\u2003They wish to be clean, body and soul.\n\n\u2003Of my condition I will make no boast:\n\n\u2003For well you know, a lord in his household\n\n\u2003Has not every vessel all of gold;\n\n\u2003Some be of wood, and do their lord service.\n\n\u2003God calls folk to him in sundry ways,\n\n\u2003And everyone has from God his special virtue,\n\n\u2003Some this, some that, as He chooses.\n\n\u2003Virginity is great perfection,\n\n\u2003And continence also, if coupled with devotion.\n\n\u2003But Christ, who of perfection is the source,\n\n\u2003Bade not every person that he should go sell\n\n\u2003All that he had and give it to the poor,\n\n\u2003And in such way follow him and his footsteps.\n\n\u2003He spoke to those who would live perfectly,\n\n\u2003And lordings, by your leave, that is not I.\n\n\u2003I will bestow the flower of my prime age\n\n\u2003In th' actes and in fruit of mariage.\n\n\u2003Telle me also, to what conclusioun\n\n\u2003Were membres maad of generacioun,\n\n\u2003And for what profit was a wight y-wroght?\n\n\u2003Trusteth right wel, they wer nat maad for noght.\n\n\u2003Glose who-so wole, and seye bothe up and doun,\n\n\u2003That they were maked for purgacioun\n\n\u2003Of urine, and our bothe thinges smale\n\n\u2003Were eek to knowe a femele from a male,\n\n\u2003And for noon other cause: sey ye no?\n\n\u2003The experience woot wel it is noght so;\n\n\u2003So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe,\n\n\u2003I sey this, that they maked been for bothe,\n\n\u2003This is to seye, for office, and for ese\n\n\u2003Of engendrure, ther we nat god displese.\n\n\u2003Why sholde men elles in hir bokes sette,\n\n\u2003That man shal yelde to his wyf hir dette?\n\n\u2003Now wher-with sholde he make his payement\n\n\u2003If he ne used his sely instrument?\n\n\u2003Than were they maad up-on a creature,\n\n\u2003To purge uryne, and eek for engendrure.\n\n\u2003But I seye noght that every wight is holde,\n\n\u2003That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde,\n\n\u2003To goon and usen hem in engendrure;\n\n\u2003Than sholde men take of chastitee no cure.\n\n\u2003Crist was a mayde, and shapen as a man,\n\n\u2003And many a seint, sith that the world bigan,\n\n\u2003Yet lived they ever in parfit chastitee.\n\n\u2003I nil envye no virginitee;\n\n\u2003Lat hem be breed of pured whete-seed,\n\n\u2003And lat us wyves hoten barly-breed;\n\n\u2003And yet with barly-breed, Mark telle can,\n\n\u2003Our lord Jesu refresshed many a man.\n\n\u2003In swich estaat as god hath cleped us\n\n\u2003I wol persevere, I nam nat precious.\n\n\u2003In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument\n\n\u2003As frely as my maker hath it sent.\n\n\u2003If I be daungerous, god yeve me sorwe!\n\n\u2003Myn housbond shal it have bothe eve and morwe,\n\n\u2003In the acts and in fruit of marriage.\n\n\u2003Tell me also, to what purpose\n\n\u2003Were organs for procreation shaped\n\n\u2003And by so perfect a workman wrought?\n\n\u2003Trust right well, they were not made for nought.\n\n\u2003Interpret who will, and say both up and down\n\n\u2003That they were made for purgation\n\n\u2003Of urine, and both our things small\n\n\u2003Were also to tell a female from a male,\n\n\u2003And for no other cause, say you no?\n\n\u2003The experienced know well it is not so.\n\n\u2003So that theologians be not with me wroth,\n\n\u2003I say this, that they were made for the both\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, for purpose and pleasure\n\n\u2003Of procreation, therefore we do not God displease.\n\n\u2003Why should men otherwise in their books set\n\n\u2003That man shall give to his wife her debt?\n\n\u2003Now where should he make his payment\n\n\u2003If he uses not his blessed instrument?\n\n\u2003Therefore were they made upon a creature\n\n\u2003To purge urine, and also to engender.\n\n\u2003But I say not that everyone is bound,\n\n\u2003Who has such equipment that I to you told,\n\n\u2003To go and use them in procreation:\n\n\u2003Then should men take of chastity no concern.\n\n\u2003Christ was a maid and formed as a man,\n\n\u2003And many a saint, since the world began,\n\n\u2003Lived ever in perfect chastity.\n\n\u2003I will envy not virginity:\n\n\u2003Let virgins be bread of the finest wheat,\n\n\u2003And let us wives be barley-bread.\n\n\u2003And yet with barley-bread, as Saint Mark tell can,\n\n\u2003Our Lord Jesus refreshed many a man.\n\n\u2003In such condition as God has called us\n\n\u2003I will persevere, I am not fastidious.\n\n\u2003In wifehood I will use my instrument\n\n\u2003As generously as my Maker has it sent.\n\n\u2003If I be reluctant, God give me sorrow!\n\n\u2003My husband shall have it both eve and morrow,\n\n\u2003Whan that him list com forth and paye his dette.\n\n\u2003An housbonde I wol have, I nil nat lette,\n\n\u2003Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral,\n\n\u2003And have his tribulacioun with-al\n\n\u2003Up-on his flessh, whyl that I am his wyf.\n\n\u2003I have the power duringe al my lyf\n\n\u2003Up-on his propre body, and noght he.\n\n\u2003Right thus th'apostel tolde it un-to me;\n\n\u2003And bad our housbondes for to love us weel.\n\n\u2003Al this sentence me lyketh every-deel\"\u2014\n\n\u2003Up sterte the Pardoner, and that anon,\n\n\u2003\"Now dame,\" quod he, \"by god and by seint John,\n\n\u2003Ye been a noble prechour in this cas!\n\n\u2003I was aboute to wedde a wyf; alias!\n\n\u2003What sholde I bye it on my flesh so dere?\n\n\u2003Yet hadde I lever wedde no wyf to-yere!\"\n\n\u2003\"Abyde!\" quod she, \"my tale is nat bigonne;\n\n\u2003Nay, thou shalt drinken of another tonne\n\n\u2003Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale.\n\n\u2003And whan that I have told thee forth my tale\n\n\u2003Of tribulacioun in mariage,\n\n\u2003Of which I am expert in al myn age,\n\n\u2003This to seyn, my-self have been the whippe;\u2014\n\n\u2003Than maystow chese whether thou wolt sippe\n\n\u2003Of thilke tonne that I shal abroche.\n\n\u2003Be war of it, er thou to ny approche;\n\n\u2003For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten.\n\n\u2003Who-so that nil be war by othere men,\n\n\u2003By him shul othere men corrected be.\n\n\u2003The same wordes wryteth Ptholomee;\n\n\u2003Rede in his Almageste, and take it there.\"\n\n\u2003\"Dame, I wolde praye yow, if your wil it were,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this Pardoner, \"as ye bigan,\n\n\u2003Telle forth your tale, spareth for no man,\n\n\u2003And teche us yonge men of your praktike.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly,\" quod she, \"sith it may yow lyke.\n\n\u2003But yet I praye to al this companye,\n\n\u2003If that I speke after my fantasye,\n\n\u2003As taketh not a-grief of that I seye;\n\n\u2003When that he wishes to come forth, his debt to pay.\n\n\u2003A husband will I have, I will not fail,\n\n\u2003Who shall be both my debtor and my thrall,\n\n\u2003And have his tribulation besides\n\n\u2003Upon his flesh, while that I am his wife.\n\n\u2003I have the power during all my life\n\n\u2003Over his own body, and not he:\n\n\u2003Right thus the Apostle told it unto me,\n\n\u2003And bade our husbands for to love us well.\n\n\u2003And that makes me happy, as you may tell.\"\n\n\u2003Up started the Pardoner, and that anon:\n\n\u2003\"Now dame,\" said he, \"by God and by Saint John,\n\n\u2003You be a noble preacher in this case!\n\n\u2003I was about to wed a wife. Alas,\n\n\u2003Why should I pay for it with my flesh so dear?\n\n\u2003Now would I prefer to wed no wife this year!\"\n\n\u2003\"Abide!\" said she, \"my tale is not begun.\n\n\u2003Nay, you shall drink of another barrel\n\n\u2003Before I go, which shall taste worse than ale.\n\n\u2003And when that I have told you forth my tale\n\n\u2003Of tribulation in marriage,\n\n\u2003Of which I've been expert all my years\u2014\n\n\u2003This is to say, I myself have been the whip\u2014\n\n\u2003Then you choose whether or not to sip\n\n\u2003Of that same cask I will broach.\n\n\u2003Be wary of it, before you too near approach,\n\n\u2003For I shall tell examples more than ten.\n\n\u2003'He who won't be warned by other men,\n\n\u2003By him shall other men corrected be.'\n\n\u2003The same words wrote Ptolemy:\n\n\u2003Read in his Almagest, and take it there.\"\n\n\u2003\"Dame, I would pray you, if you will it be,\"\n\n\u2003Said this Pardoner, \"as you began,\n\n\u2003Tell forth your tale, hold back for no man,\n\n\u2003And teach us young men of your practice.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly,\" said she, \"since it may you please.\n\n\u2003But yet I pray to all this company,\n\n\u2003If I speak according to my fantasy,\n\n\u2003Take it not badlv what I say;\n\n\u2003For myn entente nis but for to pleye.\n\n\u2003Now sires, now wol I telle forth my tale.\u2014\n\n\u2003As ever mote I drinken wyn or ale,\n\n\u2003I shal seye sooth, tho housbondes that I hadde,\n\n\u2003As three of hem were gode and two were badde.\n\n\u2003The three men were gode, and riche, and olde;\n\n\u2003Unnethe mighte they the statut holde\n\n\u2003In which that they were bounden un-to me.\n\n\u2003Ye woot wel what I mene of this, pardee!\n\n\u2003As help me god, I laughe whan I thinke\n\n\u2003How pitously a-night I made hem swinke;\n\n\u2003And by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor.\n\n\u2003They had me yeven hir gold and hir tresoor;\n\n\u2003Me neded nat do lenger diligence\n\n\u2003To winne hir love, or doon hem reverence.\n\n\u2003They loved me so wel, by god above,\n\n\u2003That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love!\n\n\u2003A wys womman wol sette hir ever in oon\n\n\u2003To gete hir love, ther as she hath noon.\n\n\u2003But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond,\n\n\u2003And sith they hadde me yeven all hir lond,\n\n\u2003What sholde I taken hede hem for to plese,\n\n\u2003But it were for my profit and myn ese?\n\n\u2003I sette hem so a-werke, by my fey,\n\n\u2003That many a night they songen 'weilawey!'\n\n\u2003The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe,\n\n\u2003That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe.\n\n\u2003I governed hem so wel, after my lawe,\n\n\u2003That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe\n\n\u2003To bringe me gaye thinges fro the fayre.\n\n\u2003They were ful glad whan I spak to hem fayre;\n\n\u2003For god it woot, I chidde hem spitously.\n\n\u2003Now herkneth, how I bar me proprely,\n\n\u2003Ye wyse wyves, that can understonde.\n\n\u2003Thus shul ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde;\n\n\u2003For half so boldely can ther no man\n\n\u2003Swere and lyen as a womman can.\n\n\u2003I sey nat this by wyves that ben wyse,\n\n\u2003But-if it be whan they hem misavyse.\n\n\u2003For my intent is not but to play.\n\n\u2003Now sires, now will I tell forth my tale.\n\n\u2003As ever might I drink wine or ale,\n\n\u2003I shall say the truth of those husbands that I had,\n\n\u2003As three of them were good and two were bad.\n\n\u2003The three men were good, and rich, and old;\n\n\u2003Just barely could they the statute uphold\n\n\u2003By which they were bound to me.\n\n\u2003You know well what I mean by this, by God!\n\n\u2003So help me, I laugh when I think\n\n\u2003How pitiably at night I made them work;\n\n\u2003And by my faith, I set by it no store.\n\n\u2003They had given me their land and their treasure;\n\n\u2003I needed not to work at it any longer\n\n\u2003To win their love, or do them honor.\n\n\u2003They loved me so well, by God above,\n\n\u2003That I took for granted all their love!\n\n\u2003A prudent woman will busy herself every moment\n\n\u2003To get herself beloved, where she has none.\n\n\u2003But since I had them wholly in my hand,\n\n\u2003And since they had given me all their land,\n\n\u2003Why should I take care for them to please,\n\n\u2003Unless it were for my profit and my ease?\n\n\u2003I set them so to working, by my faith,\n\n\u2003That many a night they sang 'wellaway!'\n\n\u2003That reward in Essex, I promise,\n\n\u2003Went not to them for married bliss.\n\n\u2003I governed them so well after my law\n\n\u2003That each of them full happy was and eager\n\n\u2003To bring me gay things from the fair.\n\n\u2003They were full glad when I spoke to them nicely,\n\n\u2003For God knows, I chided them with spite.\n\n\u2003Now listen how I handled myself:\n\n\u2003You prudent wives, who can understand,\n\n\u2003Thus shall you speak and put them in the wrong,\n\n\u2003For half so boldly can any man\n\n\u2003Swear and lie as a woman can.\n\n\u2003I say this not about wives who be careful,\n\n\u2003Unless they do something not so wary.\n\n\u2003A wys wyf, if that she can hir good,\n\n\u2003Shal beren him on hond the cow is wood,\n\n\u2003And take witnesse of hir owene mayde\n\n\u2003Of hir assent; but herkneth how I sayde.\n\n\u2003'Sir olde kaynard, is this thyn array?\n\n\u2003Why is my neighebores wyf so gay?\n\n\u2003She is honoured over-al ther she goth;\n\n\u2003I sitte at hoom, I have no thrifty cloth.\n\n\u2003What dostow at my neighebores hous?\n\n\u2003Is she so fair? artow so amorous?\n\n\u2003What rowne ye with our mayde? ben'cite!\n\n\u2003Sir olde lechour, lat thy japes be!\n\n\u2003And if I have a gossib or a freend,\n\n\u2003With-outen gilt, thou chydest as a fiend,\n\n\u2003If that I walke or pleye un-to his hous!\n\n\u2003Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous,\n\n\u2003And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef!\n\n\u2003Thou seist to me, it is a greet meschief\n\n\u2003To wedde a povre womman, for costage;\n\n\u2003And if that she be riche, of heigh parage,\n\n\u2003Than seistow that it is a tormentrye\n\n\u2003To suffre hir pryde and hir malencolye.\n\n\u2003And if that she be fair, thou verray knave,\n\n\u2003Thou seyst that every holour wol hir have;\n\n\u2003She may no whyle in chastitee abyde,\n\n\u2003That is assailled up-on ech a syde.\n\n\u2003Thou seyst, som folk desyre us for richesse,\n\n\u2003Som for our shap, and som for our fairnesse;\n\n\u2003And som, for she can outher singe or daunce,\n\n\u2003And som, for gentillesse and daliaunce;\n\n\u2003Som, for hir handes and hir armes smale;\n\n\u2003Thus goth al to the devel by thy tale.\n\n\u2003Thou seyst, men may nat kepe a castel-wal;\n\n\u2003It may so longe assailled been over-al.\n\n\u2003And if that she be foul, thou seist that she\n\n\u2003Coveiteth every man that she may see;\n\n\u2003For as a spaynel she wol on him lepe,\n\n\u2003Til that she finde som man hir to chepe;\n\n\u2003Ne noon so grey goos goth ther in the lake,\n\n\u2003A wise wife, if she knows her own good,\n\n\u2003Shall assure him the talking bird is crazy,\n\n\u2003And take as witness her own maid\n\n\u2003With her consent. But listen how I said:\n\n\u2003'Sir old dotard, is this your idea of raiment?\n\n\u2003Why is my neighbor's wife dressed so gaily?\n\n\u2003She is honored wherever she goes:\n\n\u2003I sit at home, I have no good clothes.\n\n\u2003What do you at my neighbor's house?\n\n\u2003Is she so fair? Are you so amorous?\n\n\u2003What whisper you with our maid? benedicite!\n\n\u2003Sir old lecher, let your pranks be!\n\n\u2003And if I have a male confidant or a friend,\n\n\u2003Not a paramour, you scold like a fiend,\n\n\u2003If that I walk or play unto his house!\n\n\u2003You come home drunk as a mouse,\n\n\u2003And preach from your bench, bad luck to you!\n\n\u2003You say to me, it is a great mischief\n\n\u2003To wed a poor woman, due to expense.\n\n\u2003And if that she be rich, of high parentage,\n\n\u2003Then you say that it is a torment\n\n\u2003To suffer her pride and temperament.\n\n\u2003And if that she be fair, you, true knave,\n\n\u2003You say that every lecher will her have:\n\n\u2003She may no while in chastity abide\n\n\u2003Who is assailed on every side.\n\n\u2003You say some folk desire us for our money,\n\n\u2003Some for our shape, and some for our beauty,\n\n\u2003And some because she can either sing or dance,\n\n\u2003And some for good breeding and coquetry,\n\n\u2003Some for her hands and her arms slender;\n\n\u2003Thus go all to the devil, by your account.\n\n\u2003You say men may not defend a castle wall,\n\n\u2003If it may be everywhere assailed.\n\n\u2003And if that she be ugly, you say that she\n\n\u2003Covets every man that she may see;\n\n\u2003For as a spaniel she would on him leap,\n\n\u2003Till that she find some man with her to sleep.\n\n\u2003There swims no goose so gray in the lake\n\n\u2003As, seistow, that wol been with-oute make.\n\n\u2003And seyst, it is an hard thing for to welde\n\n\u2003A thing that no man wol, his thankes, helde.\n\n\u2003Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde;\n\n\u2003And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde,\n\n\u2003Ne no man that entendeth un-to hevene.\n\n\u2003With wilde thonder-dint and firy levene\n\n\u2003Mote thy welked nekke be to-broke!\n\n\u2003Thow seyst that dropping houses, and eek smoke,\n\n\u2003And chyding wyves, maken men to flee\n\n\u2003Out of hir owene hous; a! ben'cite!\n\n\u2003What eyleth swich an old man for to chyde?\n\n\u2003Thow seyst, we wyves wol our vyces hyde\n\n\u2003Til we be fast, and than we wol hem shewn;\n\n\u2003Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!\n\n\u2003Thou seist, that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes,\n\n\u2003They been assayed at diverse stoundes;\n\n\u2003Bacins, lavours, er that men hem bye,\n\n\u2003Spones and stoles, and al swich housbondrye,\n\n\u2003And so been pottes, clothes, and array;\n\n\u2003But folk of wyves maken noon assay\n\n\u2003Til they be wedded; olde dotard shrewe!\n\n\u2003And than, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.\n\n\u2003Thou seist also, that it displeseth me\n\n\u2003But-if that thou wolt preyse my beautee,\n\n\u2003And but thou poure alwey up-on my face,\n\n\u2003And clepe me \"faire dame\" in every place;\n\n\u2003And but thou make a feste on thilke day\n\n\u2003That I was born, and make me fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And but thou do to my norice honour,\n\n\u2003And to my chamberere with-inne my bour,\n\n\u2003And to my fadres folk and his allyes;\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus seistow, olde barel ful of lyes!\n\n\u2003And yet of our apprentice Janekyn,\n\n\u2003For his crisp heer, shyninge as gold so fyn,\n\n\u2003And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun,\n\n\u2003Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun;\n\n\u2003I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed to-morwe.\n\n\u2003As, you say, that would be without a mate.\n\n\u2003And you say, it is a hard thing to control\n\n\u2003A thing that no man willingly will hold.\n\n\u2003Thus say you, wretch, when you go to bed,\n\n\u2003And that no wise man needs for to wed,\n\n\u2003Nor any man who intends heaven to enter.\n\n\u2003With wild thunderclap and fiery lightning\n\n\u2003May your withered neck be broken!\n\n\u2003You say that leaking houses and smoke\n\n\u2003And chiding wives make men flee\n\n\u2003Out of their own house; ah, benedicite!\n\n\u2003What ails such an old man for to chide?\n\n\u2003You say we wives will our vices hide\n\n\u2003Till we be married, and then we will them reveal\u2014\n\n\u2003Well may that be a proverb fit for a villain!\n\n\u2003You say that oxen, asses, horses, and hounds,\n\n\u2003They be tested at various times;\n\n\u2003Basins, washbowls, before men them buy,\n\n\u2003Spoons and stools, and all such household goods,\n\n\u2003And so be pots, clothes and the rest;\n\n\u2003But folk of wives make no test\n\n\u2003Till they be wedded. Old nasty wretch!\n\n\u2003And then, you say, we will our vices show.\n\n\u2003You say also that it displeases me\n\n\u2003Unless you will praise my beauty,\n\n\u2003And look with longing upon my face,\n\n\u2003And call me \"fair dame\" in every place;\n\n\u2003And unless you make a feast on that same day\n\n\u2003That I was born, and make me fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And unless you do to my nurse honor,\n\n\u2003And to my chambermaid within my bedchamber,\n\n\u2003And to my father's folk and his cousins\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus say you, old barrel full of lies!\n\n\u2003And yet of our apprentice Jankin,\n\n\u2003For his curly hair, shining as gold so fine,\n\n\u2003And because he squires me both up and down,\n\n\u2003Yet you have caught a false suspicion.\n\n\u2003I want him not, though you were dead tomorrow.\n\n\u2003But tel me this, why hydestow,\n\nwith sorwe,\n\n\u2003The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me?\n\n\u2003It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee.\n\n\u2003What wenestow make an idiot of our dame?\n\n\u2003Now by that lord, that called is seint Jame,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood,\n\n\u2003Be maister of my body and of my good;\n\n\u2003That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen;\n\n\u2003What nedeth thee of me to enquere or spy\u00ebn?\n\n\u2003I trowe, thou woldest loke me in thy cheste!\n\n\u2003Thou sholdest seye, \"wyf, go wher thee leste,\n\n\u2003Tak your disport, I wol nat leve no talis;\n\n\u2003I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alis.\"\n\n\u2003We love no man that taketh kepe or charge\n\n\u2003Wher that we goon, we wol ben at our large.\n\n\u2003Of alle men y-blessed moot he be,\n\n\u2003The wyse astrologien Dan Ptholome,\n\n\u2003That seith this proverbe in his Almageste,\n\n\u2003\"Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste,\n\n\u2003That rekketh never who hath the world in honde.\"\n\n\u2003By this proverbe thou shalt understonde,\n\n\u2003Have thou y-nogh, what thar thee recche or care\n\n\u2003How merily that othere folkes fare?\n\n\u2003For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leve,\n\n\u2003Ye shul have queynte right y-nough at eve.\n\n\u2003He is to greet a nigard that wol werne\n\n\u2003A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne;\n\n\u2003He shal have never the lasse light, pardee;\n\n\u2003Have thou y-nough, thee thar nat pleyne thee.\n\n\u2003Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay\n\n\u2003With clothing and with precious array,\n\n\u2003That it is peril of our chastitee;\n\n\u2003And yet, with sorwe, thou most enforce thee,\n\n\u2003And seye thise wordes in the apostles name,\n\n\u2003\"In habit, maad with chastitee and same,\n\n\u2003Ye wommen shul apparaille yow,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"And noght in tressed heer and gay perree,\n\n\u2003As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche;\"\n\n\u2003But tell me this, why do you hide\u2014and you'll be\n\nsorry\u2014\n\n\u2003The keys of your treasure chest away from me?\n\n\u2003It is my property as well as yours, by God.\n\n\u2003Why, what do you mean making an idiot of our dame?\n\n\u2003Now by that lord who is called Saint James,\n\n\u2003You shall not both, though you were mad with rage,\n\n\u2003Be master of all my goods and my body;\n\n\u2003One of them shall you forfeit, no matter what you try.\n\n\u2003What does it help you on me to inquire or spy?\n\n\u2003I believe, you would lock me in your chest!\n\n\u2003You should say, \"Wife, go where you please;\n\n\u2003Have your fun, I will not any tales believe.\n\n\u2003I know you for a true wife, Dame Alice.\"\n\n\u2003We love no man who keeps track or cares\n\n\u2003Where that we go, when we tend to our affairs.\n\n\u2003Of all men blessed may he be,\n\n\u2003The wise astrologer Lord Ptolemy,\n\n\u2003Who says this proverb in his Almagest:\n\n\u2003\"Of all men his wisdom is the highest,\n\n\u2003Who never cares who has this world in his hand.\"\n\n\u2003By this proverb you shall understand,\n\n\u2003If you have enough, why should you count or care\n\n\u2003How merrily that other folks fare?\n\n\u2003For certain, old dotard, by your leave,\n\n\u2003You shall have quite enough at eve.\n\n\u2003He is too great a niggard who would refuse\n\n\u2003A man to light a candle at his lantern;\n\n\u2003He shall not miss the light, by God.\n\n\u2003If you have enough, you should not complain.\n\n\u2003You say also that if we make us gay\n\n\u2003With clothing and jewelry,\n\n\u2003That is risky for our chastity;\n\n\u2003And further\u2014may you regret it\u2014you insist,\n\n\u2003And say these words in the Apostle's name:\n\n\u2003\"In clothing made with chastity and shame,\n\n\u2003You women should yourselves attire,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"And not in braided hair and jewelry,\n\n\u2003Nor pearls, nor gold, nor garments fancy.\"\n\n\u2003After thy text, ne after thy rubriche\n\n\u2003I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat.\n\n\u2003Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat;\n\n\u2003For who-so wolde senge a cattes skin,\n\n\u2003Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in;\n\n\u2003And if the cattes skin be slyk and gay,\n\n\u2003She wol nat dwelle in house half a day,\n\n\u2003But forth she wole, er any day be dawed,\n\n\u2003To shewe hir skin, and goon a-caterwawed;\n\n\u2003This is to seye, if I be gay, sir shrewe,\n\n\u2003I wol renne out, my borel for to shewe.\n\n\u2003Sire olde fool, what eyleth thee to spy\u00ebn?\n\n\u2003Thogh thou preye Argus, with his hundred yen,\n\n\u2003To be my warde-cors, as he can best,\n\n\u2003In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest;\n\n\u2003Yet coude I make his berd, so moot I thee.\n\n\u2003Thou seydest eek, that ther ben thinges three,\n\n\u2003The whiche thinges troublen al this erthe,\n\n\u2003And that no wight ne may endure the ferthe;\n\n\u2003O leve sir shrewe, Jesu shorte thy lyf!\n\n\u2003Yet prechestow, and seyst, an hateful wyf\n\n\u2003Y-rekened is for oon of thise meschances.\n\n\u2003Been ther none othere maner resemblances\n\n\u2003That ye may lykne your parables to,\n\n\u2003But-if a sely wyf be oon of tho?\n\n\u2003Thou lykenest wommanes love to helle,\n\n\u2003To bareyne lond, ther water may not dwelle.\n\n\u2003Thou lyknest it also to wilde fyr;\n\n\u2003The more it brenneth, the more it hath desyr\n\n\u2003To consume every thing that brent wol be.\n\n\u2003Thou seyst, that right as wormes shende a tree,\n\n\u2003Right so a wyf destroyeth hir housbonde;\n\n\u2003This knowe they that been to wyves bonde.'\n\n\u2003Lordinges, right thus, as ye have understonde,\n\n\u2003Bar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde,\n\n\u2003That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse;\n\n\u2003And al was fals, but that I took witnesse\n\n\u2003On Janekin and on my nece also.\n\n\u2003O lord, the peyne I dide hem and the wo,\n\n\u2003Neither by your text, nor your reading of it,\n\n\u2003Will I live as much as would a gnat.\n\n\u2003You said this, that I was like a cat:\n\n\u2003For whoso would singe a cat's fur,\n\n\u2003Then would the cat well dwell in his home;\n\n\u2003And if the cat's fur be sleek and gay,\n\n\u2003She will not dwell at home half a day,\n\n\u2003But go forth she will, before day has dawned,\n\n\u2003To show her fur and go caterwauling.\n\n\u2003This is to say, if I be pretty, sir welladay,\n\n\u2003I will go out, my wardrobe for to display.\n\n\u2003Sir old fool, how does it help you to spy?\n\n\u2003Though you beg Argus, with his hundred eyes,\n\n\u2003To be my minder, as best he knows,\n\n\u2003In faith, he shall follow only as I allow;\n\n\u2003I could give him the slip, so may I thrive.\n\n\u2003You say also that there be things three,\n\n\u2003Which trouble all this earth,\n\n\u2003And that no person may endure the fourth.\n\n\u2003Oh dear sir welladay, may Jesus shorten your life!\n\n\u2003You're still preaching that a hateful wife\n\n\u2003Is the cause of one of these mischances.\n\n\u2003Be there no other resemblances\n\n\u2003That you may liken to your parables,\n\n\u2003Unless an innocent wife be one of those?\n\n\u2003You liken also woman's love to hell,\n\n\u2003To barren land, where water may not dwell;\n\n\u2003You liken it also to wild fire:\n\n\u2003The more it burns, the more it has desire\n\n\u2003To consume every thing that burned can be.\n\n\u2003You say that just as worms damage a tree,\n\n\u2003Right so a wife destroys her husband;\n\n\u2003This know they who to wives be bound:\n\n\u2003Lordings, right thus, as you have understood,\n\n\u2003I led my old husbands so firmly by their snoots\n\n\u2003That thus they said in their drunkenness;\n\n\u2003And all was false, and yet I took witness\n\n\u2003From Jankin and my niece also.\n\n\u2003Oh Lord, the suffering I caused them and the woe,\n\n\u2003Ful giltelees, by goddes swete pyne!\n\n\u2003For as an hors I coude byte and whyne.\n\n\u2003I coude pleyne, thogh I were in the gilt,\n\n\u2003Or elles often tyme hadde I ben spilt.\n\n\u2003Who-so that first to mille comth, first grint;\n\n\u2003I pleyned first, so was our werre y-stint.\n\n\u2003They were ful glad t'excusen hem ful blyve\n\n\u2003Of thing of which they never agilte hir lyve.\n\n\u2003Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde,\n\n\u2003Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde.\n\n\u2003Yet tikled it his herte, for that he\n\n\u2003Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee.\n\n\u2003I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte\n\n\u2003Was for t'espye wenches that he dighte;\n\n\u2003Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe.\n\n\u2003For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe;\n\n\u2003Deceite, weping, spinning god hath yive\n\n\u2003To wommen kindely, whyl they may live.\n\n\u2003And thus of o thing I avaunte me,\n\n\u2003Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree,\n\n\u2003By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing,\n\n\u2003As by continuel murmur or grucching;\n\n\u2003Namely a-bedde hadden they meschaunce,\n\n\u2003Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce;\n\n\u2003I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde,\n\n\u2003If that I felte his arm over my syde,\n\n\u2003Til he had maad his raunson un-to me;\n\n\u2003Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee.\n\n\u2003And ther-fore every man this tale I telle,\n\n\u2003Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle.\n\n\u2003With empty hand men may none haukes lure;\n\n\u2003For winning wolde I al his lust endure,\n\n\u2003And make me a feyned appetyt;\n\n\u2003And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt;\n\n\u2003That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde.\n\n\u2003For thogh the pope had seten hem bisyde,\n\n\u2003I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord.\n\n\u2003For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word.\n\n\u2003As help me verray god omnipotent,\n\n\u2003Full guiltless, by God's sweet suffering!\n\n\u2003For like a horse could I bite and whinny.\n\n\u2003I would complain, though I was guilty,\n\n\u2003Otherwise oftentimes would I have been ruined.\n\n\u2003Whoso to the mill first comes, first grinds.\n\n\u2003I complained first, so was our strife concluded.\n\n\u2003They were full glad to excuse full quickly themselves\n\n\u2003Of things which they were never guilty of.\n\n\u2003Of wenches would I accuse them on every hand,\n\n\u2003When that for illness they could scarcely stand.\n\n\u2003Yet warmed I his heart, for all he\n\n\u2003Thought I had for him this great charity.\n\n\u2003I swore that all my walking out by night\n\n\u2003Was to espy wenches that he might lay by.\n\n\u2003Under that pretense had I many a mirth,\n\n\u2003For all such cleverness is given us in our birth.\n\n\u2003Deceit, weeping, spinning God has given\n\n\u2003To women by nature while they may live.\n\n\u2003And thus of one thing I boast:\n\n\u2003In the end I got the better of them in every way,\n\n\u2003By trickery, or force, or some other thing,\n\n\u2003As by continual murmur or grouching.\n\n\u2003Especially in bed had they misfortune:\n\n\u2003There would I scold and give them no pleasure;\n\n\u2003I would no longer in the bed abide,\n\n\u2003If that I felt his arm over my side,\n\n\u2003Till he had paid his ransom unto me;\n\n\u2003Then would I suffer him to do his little folly.\n\n\u2003And therefore to every man this tale I tell,\n\n\u2003Profit whoso may, for all is for sale.\n\n\u2003With empty hand men may no hawks lure.\n\n\u2003For gain would I all his lust endure,\n\n\u2003And make me a feigned appetite\n\n\u2003And yet in old meat never had I delight.\n\n\u2003That is why that ever I would them chide.\n\n\u2003For though the Pope had them sat beside,\n\n\u2003I would not spare them at their own table.\n\n\u2003For by my troth, I requited them word for word.\n\n\u2003So help me true God omnipotent,\n\n\u2003Thogh I right now sholde make my testament,\n\n\u2003I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit.\n\n\u2003I broghte it so aboute by my wit,\n\n\u2003That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste;\n\n\u2003Or elles we never been in reste.\n\n\u2003For thogh he loked as a wood leoun,\n\n\u2003Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun.\n\n\u2003Thanne wolde I seye, 'gode lief, tak keep\n\n\u2003How mekely loketh Wilkin oure sheep;\n\n\u2003Com neer, my spouse, let me ba thy cheke!\n\n\u2003Ye sholde been al pacient and meke,\n\n\u2003And han a swete spyced conscience,\n\n\u2003Sith ye so preche of Jobes pacience.\n\n\u2003Suffreth alwey, sin ye so wel can preche;\n\n\u2003And but ye do, certein we shal yow teche\n\n\u2003That it is fair to have a wyf in pees.\n\n\u2003Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees;\n\n\u2003And sith a man is more resonable\n\n\u2003Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable.\n\n\u2003What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?\n\n\u2003Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?\n\n\u2003Why taak it al, lo, have it every-deel;\n\n\u2003Peter! I shrewe yow but ye love it weel!\n\n\u2003For if I wolde selle my bele chose,\n\n\u2003I coude walke as fresh as is a rose;\n\n\u2003But I wol kepe it for your owene tooth.\n\n\u2003Ye be to blame, by god, I sey yow sooth:\n\n\u2003Swiche maner wordes hadde we on honde.\n\n\u2003Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde.\n\n\u2003My fourthe housbonde was a revelour,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour;\n\n\u2003And I was yong and ful of ragerye,\n\n\u2003Stiborn and strong, and joly as a pye.\n\n\u2003Wel coude I daunce to an harpe smale,\n\n\u2003And singe, y-wis, as any nightingale,\n\n\u2003Whan I hade dronke a draughte of swete wyn.\n\n\u2003Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn,\n\n\u2003That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf,\n\n\u2003For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf,\n\n\u2003Though I right now should make my will and testament,\n\n\u2003I left no word unreturned.\n\n\u2003I brought it so about, by my cleverness,\n\n\u2003That they must give it up, as for the best,\n\n\u2003Or else had we never been in rest.\n\n\u2003For though he looked like a lion maddened,\n\n\u2003Yet should he fail in the end.\n\n\u2003Then would I say, 'Sweetheart, take heed\n\n\u2003How meekly looks Wilkin our sheep!\n\n\u2003Come near, my spouse, let me kiss your cheek!\n\n\u2003You should be all patient and meek,\n\n\u2003And have a disposition seasoned sweetly,\n\n\u2003Since you so speak of Job's patience.\n\n\u2003Endure always, since you so well can preach;\n\n\u2003And unless you do, for certain we shall you teach\n\n\u2003That it is nice to have a wife in peace.\n\n\u2003One of us two must give in, doubtless,\n\n\u2003And since a man is more reasonable\n\n\u2003Than woman is, you must be patient.\n\n\u2003What ails you to grouch and groan?\n\n\u2003Is it that you would have my quack alone?\n\n\u2003Why take it all! Lo, have it every bit!\n\n\u2003By Saint Peter! I curse you but you love it well!\n\n\u2003For if I would sell my belle chose,\n\n\u2003I could walk as fresh as is a rose;\n\n\u2003But I will keep it for your own appetite.\n\n\u2003You be to blame, by God, I tell you the truth.'\n\n\u2003Like that back and forth we bandied.\n\n\u2003Now will I speak of my fourth husband.\n\n\u2003My fourth husband was a reveler\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, he had a paramour\u2014\n\n\u2003And I was young and full of appetite,\n\n\u2003Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a magpie.\n\n\u2003Well could I dance to a harp small,\n\n\u2003And sing, truly, as any nightingale,\n\n\u2003When I had drunk a draught of sweet wine.\n\n\u2003Metellius, the foul churl, the swine,\n\n\u2003Who with a staff bereft his wife of her life\n\n\u2003For she drank wine, though if I had been his wife,\n\n\u2003He sholde nat han daunted me fro drinke;\n\n\u2003And, after wyn, on Venus moste I thinke:\n\n\u2003For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl,\n\n\u2003A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.\n\n\u2003In womman vinolent is no defence,\n\n\u2003This knowen lechours by experience.\n\n\u2003But, lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me\n\n\u2003Up-on my yowthe, and on my jolitee,\n\n\u2003It tikleth me aboute myn herte rote.\n\n\u2003Unto this day it dooth myn herte bote\n\n\u2003That I have had my world as in my tyme.\n\n\u2003But age, alias! that al wol envenyme,\n\n\u2003Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith;\n\n\u2003Lat go, fare-wel, the devel go therwith!\n\n\u2003The flour is goon, ther is na-more to telle,\n\n\u2003The bren, as I best can, now moste I selle;\n\n\u2003But yet to be right mery wol I fonde.\n\n\u2003Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.\n\n\u2003I seye, I hadde in herte greet despyt\n\n\u2003That he of any other had delyt.\n\n\u2003But he was quit, by god and by seint Joce!\n\n\u2003I made him of the same wode a croce;\n\n\u2003Nat of my body in no foul manere,\n\n\u2003But certeinly, I made folk swich chere,\n\n\u2003That in his owene grece I made him frye\n\n\u2003For angre, and for verray jalousye.\n\n\u2003By god, in erthe I was his purgatorie,\n\n\u2003For which I hope his soule be in glorie\n\n\u2003For god it woot, he sat ful ofte and song\n\n\u2003Whan that his shoo ful bitterly him wrong.\n\n\u2003Ther was no wight, save god and he, that wiste,\n\n\u2003In many wyse, how sore I him twiste.\n\n\u2003He deyde whan I cam fro Jerusalem,\n\n\u2003And lyth y-grave under the rode-beem,\n\n\u2003Al is his tombe noght so curious\n\n\u2003As was the sepulcre of him, Darius,\n\n\u2003Which that Appelles wroghte subtilly;\n\n\u2003It nis but wast to burie him preciously.\n\n\u2003Lat him fare-wel, god yeve his soule reste,\n\n\u2003He should not have frightened me from drink!\n\n\u2003And after wine on Venus must I think,\n\n\u2003For all so surely as cold engenders hail,\n\n\u2003A thirsty mouth must have a thirsty tail.\n\n\u2003In women full of wine there's no defence\u2014\n\n\u2003This know lechers by experience.\n\n\u2003But, Lord Christ! When I think\n\n\u2003Upon my youth, and on my gaiety,\n\n\u2003It tickles me about my heart's root.\n\n\u2003Unto this day it does my heart good\n\n\u2003That in my time I have had my world.\n\n\u2003But age, alas! that all will poison,\n\n\u2003Has me bereft my beauty and my vigor.\n\n\u2003Let it go, farewell! The devil with it go!\n\n\u2003The flower is gone, there is no more to tell:\n\n\u2003The husk, as best I can, now must I sell;\n\n\u2003But yet to be right merry will I try.\n\n\u2003Now will I tell of my fourth husband.\n\n\u2003I say, I had in heart great spite\n\n\u2003That he of any other had delight.\n\n\u2003But he was repaid, by God and Saint Joce!\n\n\u2003I made him of the same wood a cross\u2014\n\n\u2003Not of my body in an unclean manner,\n\n\u2003But certainly, to other men I was so nice\n\n\u2003That in his own grease I made him fry\n\n\u2003For anger and for pure jealousy.\n\n\u2003By God, on earth I was his purgatory,\n\n\u2003For which I hope his soul be in glory.\n\n\u2003For God it knows, he sat full often and sang\n\n\u2003When that his shoe full bitterly fitted him wrong.\n\n\u2003There was no person, save God and he, who knew\n\n\u2003How many ways I sorely him tormented.\n\n\u2003He died when I returned from Jerusalem,\n\n\u2003And lies buried inside a chapel,\n\n\u2003Although his tomb was not so ornamented\n\n\u2003As was the sepulchre of old Darius,\n\n\u2003Which that Appelles skillfully wrought;\n\n\u2003It would have been a waste to bury him at high cost.\n\n\u2003May he fare well, God rest his soul!\n\n\u2003He is now in the grave and in his cheste.\n\n\u2003Now of my fifthe housbond wol I telle.\n\n\u2003God lete his soule never come in helle!\n\n\u2003And yet was he to me the moste shrewe;\n\n\u2003That fele I on my ribbes al by rewe,\n\n\u2003And ever shal, un-to myn ending-day\n\n\u2003But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al so wel coude he me glose,\n\n\u2003Whan that he wolde han my bele chose,\n\n\u2003That thogh he hadde me bet on every boon,\n\n\u2003He coude winne agayn my love anoon.\n\n\u2003I trowe I loved him beste, for that he\n\n\u2003Was of his love daungerous to me.\n\n\u2003We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye,\n\n\u2003In this matere a queynte fantasye;\n\n\u2003Wayte what thing we may nat lightly have,\n\n\u2003Ther-after wol we crye al-day and crave.\n\n\u2003Forbede us thing, and that desyren we;\n\n\u2003Prees on us faste, and thanne wol we flee.\n\n\u2003With daunger oute we al our chaffare;\n\n\u2003Greet prees at market maketh dere ware,\n\n\u2003And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys;\n\n\u2003This knoweth every womman that is wys.\n\n\u2003My fifthe housbonde, god his soule blesse!\n\n\u2003Which that I took for love and no richesse,\n\n\u2003He som-tyme was a clerk of Oxenford,\n\n\u2003And had left scole, and wente at hoom to bord\n\n\u2003With my gossib, dwellinge in oure toun,\n\n\u2003God have hir soule! hir name was Alisoun.\n\n\u2003She knew myn herte and eek my privetee\n\n\u2003Bet than our parisshe-preest, so moot I thee!\n\n\u2003To hir biwreyed I my conseil al.\n\n\u2003For had myn housbonde pissed on a wal,\n\n\u2003Or doon a thing that sholde han cost his lyf,\n\n\u2003To hir, and to another worthy wyf,\n\n\u2003And to my nece, which that I loved weel,\n\n\u2003I wolde han told his conseil every-deel.\n\n\u2003And so I dide ful often, god it woot,\n\n\u2003That made his face ful often reed and hoot\n\n\u2003He is now in the grave and in his box.\n\n\u2003Now of my fifth husband will I tell\u2014\n\n\u2003God let his soul never come in hell!\n\n\u2003And yet he was to me the worst rascal.\n\n\u2003Soreness on my ribs I still feel from a scuffle,\n\n\u2003And ever shall unto my dying day.\n\n\u2003But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And therewithal so well could he me persuade\n\n\u2003When he would have my belle chose,\n\n\u2003That though he would have beaten me on every bone,\n\n\u2003He could win again my love anon.\n\n\u2003I believe I loved him best for that he\n\n\u2003Was of his love grudging to me.\n\n\u2003We women have, if that I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003In this matter an odd fantasy:\n\n\u2003Whatever thing we may not lightly have,\n\n\u2003Thereafter we will cry all day and crave.\n\n\u2003Forbid us something, and that desire we;\n\n\u2003Pursue us hard, and then we will flee.\n\n\u2003For the haughty we set out all our wares:\n\n\u2003Great crowd at market makes things dear,\n\n\u2003And for too good a bargain we little care.\n\n\u2003This knows every woman who is wise.\n\n\u2003My fifth husband, God his soul bless!\n\n\u2003Who that I took for love and no riches,\n\n\u2003He was once a scholar at Oxford,\n\n\u2003And had left school, and went home to board\n\n\u2003With my close friend, dwelling in our town\u2014\n\n\u2003God save her soul, her name was Alison.\n\n\u2003She knew my heart and also my secrets\n\n\u2003Better than our parish priest, so may I flourish!\n\n\u2003To her revealed I my feelings all,\n\n\u2003For had my husband pissed on a wall,\n\n\u2003Or done a thing that should have cost his life,\n\n\u2003To her and to another worthy wife,\n\n\u2003And to my niece, whom I loved well,\n\n\u2003I would tell his secrets in detail.\n\n\u2003And so I did often, God well knows,\n\n\u2003That made his face full often red and hot\n\n\u2003For verray shame, and blamed him-self for he\n\n\u2003Had told to me so greet a privetee.\n\n\u2003And so bifel that ones, in a Lente,\n\n(So often tymes I to my gossib wente,\n\n\u2003For ever yet I lovede to be gay,\n\n\u2003And for to walke, in March, Averille, and May,\n\n\u2003Fro hous to hous, to here sondry talis),\n\n\u2003That Jankin clerk, and my gossib dame Alis,\n\n\u2003And I my-self, in-to the feldes wente.\n\n\u2003Myn housbond was at London al that Lente;\n\n\u2003I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye,\n\n\u2003And for to see, and eek for to be seye\n\n\u2003Of lusty folk; what wiste I wher my grace\n\n\u2003Was shapen for to be, or in what place?\n\n\u2003Therefore I made my visitaciouns,\n\n\u2003To vigilies and to processiouns,\n\n\u2003To preching eek and to thise pilgrimages,\n\n\u2003To pleyes of miracles and mariages,\n\n\u2003And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes.\n\n\u2003Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes,\n\n\u2003Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel;\n\n\u2003And wostow why? for they were used weel.\n\n\u2003Now wol I tellen forth what happed me.\n\n\u2003I seye, that in the feeldes walked we,\n\n\u2003Til trewely we hadde swich daliance,\n\n\u2003This clerk and I, that of my purveyance\n\n\u2003I spak to him, and seyde him, how that he,\n\n\u2003If I were widwe, sholde wedde me.\n\n\u2003For certeinly, I sey for no bobance,\n\n\u2003Yet was I never with-outen purveyance\n\n\u2003Of mariage, n'of othere thinges eek.\n\n\u2003I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek,\n\n\u2003That hath but oon hole for to sterte to,\n\n\u2003And if that faille, thanne is al y-do.\n\n\u2003I bar him on honde, he hadde enchanted me;\n\n\u2003My dame taughte me that soutiltee.\n\n\u2003And eek I seyde, I mette of him al night;\n\n\u2003He wolde han slayn me as I lay up-right,\n\n\u2003And al my bed was ful of verray blood,\n\n\u2003For pure shame, and blamed himself because he\n\n\u2003Had told me so great a secrecy.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that once during Lent\u2014\n\n\u2003So oftentimes that to my friend I went,\n\n\u2003For ever yet I loved to be gay,\n\n\u2003And for to walk in March, April and May,\n\n\u2003From house to house, to hear sundry tales\u2014\n\n\u2003That Jankin the scholar and my friend Alis\n\n\u2003And I myself into the fields went.\n\n\u2003My husband was at London all that Lent:\n\n\u2003I had the better chance to play,\n\n\u2003And for to see, and also to be seen\n\n\u2003By lusty folk. What knew I where grace\n\n\u2003Was meant for me, or in what place?\n\n\u2003Therefore I made my visitations,\n\n\u2003To feast day services and processions,\n\n\u2003To preaching and to these pilgrimages,\n\n\u2003To plays of miracles, and marriages,\n\n\u2003And wore my gay scarlet gowns.\n\n\u2003Those worms, nor moths, nor mites,\n\n\u2003Upon my soul's peril, ate them not at all;\n\n\u2003And you know why? For they were used well.\n\n\u2003Now will I tell forth what happened to me.\n\n\u2003I say that in the fields walked we,\n\n\u2003Till truly we were getting on so well,\n\n\u2003This scholar and I, that in my foresight\n\n\u2003I spoke to him and how that he,\n\n\u2003If I were widowed, should wed me.\n\n\u2003For certainly, I say for no boast,\n\n\u2003Yet I was never without future provision\n\n\u2003Of marriage, not to mention other things.\n\n\u2003I hold a mouse's heart not worth a leek\n\n\u2003That has but one hole for to run,\n\n\u2003And if that fails, all is done.\n\n\u2003I had him believe he had enchanted me\u2014\n\n\u2003My mother taught me that subtlety\u2014\n\n\u2003And also I said I dreamed of him all night:\n\n\u2003That he would me slay as on my back I lay,\n\n\u2003And all my bed was full of wet blood;\n\n\u2003But yet I hope that he shal do me good;\n\n\u2003For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught.\n\n\u2003And al was fals, I dremed of it right naught,\n\n\u2003But as I folwed ay my dames lore,\n\n\u2003As wel of this as of other thinges more.\n\n\u2003But now sir, lat me see, what I shal seyn?\n\n\u2003A! ha! by god, I have my tale ageyn.\n\n\u2003Whan that my fourthe housbond was on bere,\n\n\u2003I weep algate, and made sory chere,\n\n\u2003As wyves moten, for it is usage,\n\n\u2003And with my coverchief covered my visage;\n\n\u2003But for that I was purveyed of a make,\n\n\u2003I weep but smal, and that I undertake.\n\n\u2003To chirche was myn housbond born a-morwe\n\n\u2003With neighebores, that for him maden sorwe;\n\n\u2003And Jankin oure clerk was oon of tho.\n\n\u2003As help me god, whan that I saugh him go\n\n\u2003After the bere, me thoughte he hadde a paire\n\n\u2003Of legges and of feet so clene and faire,\n\n\u2003That al myn herte I yaf un-to his hold.\n\n\u2003He was, I trowe, a twenty winter old,\n\n\u2003And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth;\n\n\u2003But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth.\n\n\u2003Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel;\n\n\u2003I hadde the prente of s\u00ebynt Venus seel.\n\n\u2003As help me god, I was a lusty oon,\n\n\u2003And faire and riche, and yong, and wel bigoon;\n\n\u2003And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me,\n\n\u2003I had the beste quoniam mighte be.\n\n\u2003For certes, I am al Venerien\n\n\u2003In felinge, and myn herte is Marcien.\n\n\u2003Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse,\n\n\u2003And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse\n\n\u2003Myn ascendent was Taur, and Mars ther-inne.\n\n\u2003Allas! alias! that ever love was sinne!\n\n\u2003I folwed ay myn inclinacioun\n\n\u2003By vertu of my constellacioun;\n\n\u2003That made me I coude noght withdrawe\n\n\u2003My chambre of Venus from a good felawe.\n\n\u2003But yet I hoped that he should do me good,\n\n\u2003For blood betokens gold, as I was taught.\n\n\u2003And all was false\u2014I dreamed of it right not,\n\n\u2003But as I followed always my dame's lore\n\n\u2003As well with this as other things more.\n\n\u2003But now, sire, let me see, what was I saying?\n\n\u2003Aha! By God, I have my tale again.\n\n\u2003When that my fourth husband was on his bier,\n\n\u2003I wept of course, and wore a sorry expression\n\n\u2003As wives must, for it is the custom,\n\n\u2003And with my kerchief covered my face;\n\n\u2003But because I was provided with a mate,\n\n\u2003I wept but little, and that I declare.\n\n\u2003To church was my husband borne in the morning\n\n\u2003With neighbors, who for him made sorrow;\n\n\u2003And Jankin our scholar was one of those.\n\n\u2003So help me God! When I saw him walk\n\n\u2003After the bier, me thought he had a pair\n\n\u2003Of legs and of feet so neat and fair,\n\n\u2003That all my heart I gave to his hold.\n\n\u2003He was, I believe, twenty winters old,\n\n\u2003And I was forty, if I shall say right;\n\n\u2003But yet I had always a colt's appetite.\n\n\u2003Gap-toothed I was, and that became me well;\n\n\u2003I had the birthmark of Saint Venus' seal.\n\n\u2003So help me God, I was a lusty one,\n\n\u2003And fair, and rich, and young;\n\n\u2003And truly, as my husbands told me,\n\n\u2003I had the best pudendum that might be.\n\n\u2003For certainly, I am all Venerian\n\n\u2003In feeling, and my heart is Martian:\n\n\u2003Venus gave me my lust, my lecherousness,\n\n\u2003And Mars gave me my sturdy boldness;\n\n\u2003My ascendant was Taurus, and Mars therein.\n\n\u2003Alas! Alas! that ever love was sin!\n\n\u2003I followed always my inclination\n\n\u2003By virtue of my constellation;\n\n\u2003So that I could not withhold\n\n\u2003My chamber of Venus from a good fellow.\n\n\u2003Yet have I Martes mark up-on my face,\n\n\u2003And also in another privee place.\n\n\u2003For, god so wis be my savacioun,\n\n\u2003I ne loved never by no discrecioun,\n\n\u2003But ever folwede myn appetyt,\n\n\u2003Al were he short or long, or blak or whyt:\n\n\u2003I took no kepe, so that he lyked me,\n\n\u2003How pore he was, ne eek of what degree.\n\n\u2003What sholde I seye, but, at the monthes ende,\n\n\u2003This joly clerk Jankin, that was so hende,\n\n\u2003Hath wedded me with greet solempnitee,\n\n\u2003And to him yaf I al the lond and fee\n\n\u2003That ever was me yeven ther-bifore;\n\n\u2003But afterward repented me ful sore.\n\n\u2003He nolde suffre nothing of my list.\n\n\u2003By god, he smoot me ones on the list,\n\n\u2003For that I rente out of his book a leef,\n\n\u2003That of the strook myn ere wex al deef.\n\n\u2003Stiborn I was as is a leonesse,\n\n\u2003And of my tonge a verray jangleresse,\n\n\u2003And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn,\n\n\u2003From hous to hous, al-though he had it sworn.\n\n\u2003For which he often tymes wolde preche,\n\n\u2003And me of olde Romayn gestes teche,\n\n\u2003How he, Simplicius Gallus, lefte his wyf,\n\n\u2003And hir forsook for terme of al his lyf,\n\n\u2003Noght but for open-heeded he hir say\n\n\u2003Lokinge out at his dore upon a day.\n\n\u2003Another Romayn tolde he me by name,\n\n\u2003That, for his wyf was at a someres game\n\n\u2003With-oute his witing, he forsook hir eke.\n\n\u2003And than wolde he up-on his Bible seke\n\n\u2003That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste,\n\n\u2003Wher he comandeth and forbedeth faste,\n\n\u2003Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute;\n\n\u2003Than wolde he seye right thus, withouten doute,\n\n\u2003'Who-so that buildeth his hous al of salwes,\n\n\u2003And priketh his blinde hors over the falwes,\n\n\u2003And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes,\n\n\u2003Yet I have Mars' mark upon my face,\n\n\u2003And also in another private place.\n\n\u2003For, God so wise be my salvation,\n\n\u2003I never loved with any wisdom,\n\n\u2003But ever followed my appetite:\n\n\u2003Whether he were short or long or black or white,\n\n\u2003I didn't care, so long as he pleased me,\n\n\u2003How poor he was, nor of what level in society.\n\n\u2003What should I say but, at the month's end,\n\n\u2003This jolly scholar Jankin, who was so nice,\n\n\u2003Had wedded me with great solemnity,\n\n\u2003And to him gave I all the land and property\n\n\u2003That ever was given me therebefore.\n\n\u2003But afterward I regretted it full sore;\n\n\u2003He wouldn't give me anything I pleased.\n\n\u2003By God, he hit me once on the ear\n\n\u2003Because I tore from his book a leaf,\n\n\u2003And from that stroke my ear went deaf.\n\n\u2003Stubborn I was as is a lioness,\n\n\u2003And with my tongue a true wasp,\n\n\u2003And walked I would, as I had before done,\n\n\u2003From house to house, although he had it forbidden.\n\n\u2003For which he oftentimes would preach,\n\n\u2003And me of old Roman stories teach,\n\n\u2003How Simplicius Gallus left his wife,\n\n\u2003And her forsook the rest of his life,\n\n\u2003Only because he her bareheaded saw\n\n\u2003Looking out their door upon a day.\n\n\u2003Another Roman told he me by name,\n\n\u2003Who, because his wife was at a summer's revel\n\n\u2003Without his knowing, he too her forsook.\n\n\u2003And then would he in his Bible seek\n\n\u2003That same proverb of Ecclesiasticus\n\n\u2003Where he commands and sternly forbids\n\n\u2003Man should not allow his wife to roam about:\n\n\u2003Then would he say right thus, without doubt:\n\n\u2003'Whoso builds his house of willow twigs,\n\n\u2003And spurs his blind horse over ploughed furrows,\n\n\u2003And his wife to go seek shrines allows,\n\n\u2003Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes!'\n\n\u2003But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe\n\n\u2003Of his proverbes n'of his olde sawe,\n\n\u2003Ne I wolde nat of him corrected be.\n\n\u2003I hate him that my vices telleth me,\n\n\u2003And so do mo, god woot! of us than I.\n\n\u2003This made him with me wood al outrely;\n\n\u2003I nolde noght forbere him in no cas.\n\n\u2003Now wol I seye yow sooth, by seint Thomas,\n\n\u2003Why that I rente out of his book a leef,\n\n\u2003For which he smoot me so that I was deef.\n\n\u2003He hadde a book that gladly, night and day,\n\n\u2003For his desport he wolde rede alway.\n\n\u2003He cleped it Valerie and Theofraste,\n\n\u2003At whiche book he lough alwey ful faste.\n\n\u2003And eek ther was som-tyme a clerk at Rome,\n\n\u2003A cardinal, that highte Seint Jerome,\n\n\u2003That made a book agayn Jovinian;\n\n\u2003In whiche book eek ther was Tertulan,\n\n\u2003Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys,\n\n\u2003That was abbesse nat fer fron Parys;\n\n\u2003And eek the Parables of Salomon,\n\n\u2003Ovydes Art, and bokes many on,\n\n\u2003And alle thise wer bounden in o volume.\n\n\u2003And every night and day was his custume,\n\n\u2003Whan he had leyser and vacacioun\n\n\u2003From other worldly occupacioun,\n\n\u2003To reden on this book of wikked wyves.\n\n\u2003He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves\n\n\u2003Than been of gode wyves in the Bible.\n\n\u2003For trusteth wel, it is an impossible\n\n\u2003That any clerk wol speke good of wyves,\n\n\u2003But-if it be of holy seintes lyves,\n\n\u2003Ne of noon other womman never the mo.\n\n\u2003Who peyntede the leoun, tel me who?\n\n\u2003By god, if wommen hadde writen stories,\n\n\u2003As clerkes han with-inne hir oratories,\n\n\u2003They wolde han writen of men more wikkednesse\n\n\u2003Than al the mark of Adam may redresse.\n\n\u2003Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows!'\n\n\u2003But all for nought, I give not a hawthorne berry\n\n\u2003For his proverbs nor for his old saw,\n\n\u2003Nor would I by him corrected be.\n\n\u2003I hate him who my vices describes to me,\n\n\u2003And so do more of us, God knows, than I.\n\n\u2003This made him with me angry completely:\n\n\u2003I would not go along with him in any case.\n\n\u2003Now will I tell you the truth, by Saint Thomas,\n\n\u2003Why I tore out of his book a leaf,\n\n\u2003For which he smacked me so that I was deaf.\n\n\u2003He had a book that gladly, night and day,\n\n\u2003For his disport he would read always.\n\n\u2003He called it Valerie and Theofraste,\n\n\u2003At which book he would laugh and laugh.\n\n\u2003And also there was once a scholar at Rome,\n\n\u2003A cardinal, who was called Saint Jerome,\n\n\u2003Who made a book against Jovinian;\n\n\u2003In which book there was Tertullian,\n\n\u2003Chrysippus, Trotula, and Heloise,\n\n\u2003Who was the abbess not far from Paris;\n\n\u2003And also the Proverbs of Solomon,\n\n\u2003Ovid's Art of Love, and books many a one,\n\n\u2003And all these were bound in one volume.\n\n\u2003And every night and day was his custom,\n\n\u2003When he had leisure and free time\n\n\u2003From other worldly occupation,\n\n\u2003To read in this book of wicked wives.\n\n\u2003He knew of them more legends and lives\n\n\u2003Than there are of good wives in the Bible.\n\n\u2003For trust well, it is an impossibility\n\n\u2003That any scholar will speak good of wives,\n\n\u2003But unless it be of holy saints' lives,\n\n\u2003Nothing of any other woman ever.\n\n\u2003Who painted the lion, tell me, who?\n\n\u2003By God, if women had written stories,\n\n\u2003As scholars have within their oratories,\n\n\u2003They would have written of men more wickedness\n\n\u2003Than all the sex of Adam may redress.\n\n\u2003The children of Mercurie and of Venus\n\n\u2003Been in hir wirking ful contrarious;\n\n\u2003Mercurie loveth wisdom and science,\n\n\u2003And Venus loveth ryot and dispence.\n\n\u2003And, for hir diverse disposicioun,\n\n\u2003Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun;\n\n\u2003And thus, god woot! Mercurie is desolat\n\n\u2003In Pisces, wher Venus is exaltat;\n\n\u2003And Venus falleth ther Mercurie is reysed;\n\n\u2003Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed.\n\n\u2003The clerk, whan he is old, and may noght do\n\n\u2003Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho,\n\n\u2003Than sit he doun, and writ in his dotage\n\n\u2003That wommen can nat kepe hir mariage!\n\n\u2003But now to purpos, why I tolde thee\n\n\u2003That I was beten for a book, pardee.\n\n\u2003Up-on a night Jankin, that was our syre,\n\n\u2003Redde on his book, as he sat by the fyre,\n\n\u2003Of Eva first, that, for hir wikkednesse,\n\n\u2003Was al mankinde broght to wrecchednesse,\n\n\u2003For which that Jesu Crist him-self was slayn,'\n\n\u2003That boghte us with his herte-blood agayn.\n\n\u2003Lo, here expres of womman may ye finde,\n\n\u2003That womman was the los of al mankinde.\n\n\u2003Tho redde he me how Sampson loste his heres,\n\n\u2003Slepinge, his lemman kitte hem with hir sheres;\n\n\u2003Thurgh whiche tresoun loste he bothe his y\u00ebn.\n\n\u2003Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen,\n\n\u2003Of Hercules and of his Dianyre,\n\n\u2003That caused him to sette himself a-fyre.\n\n\u2003No-thing forgat he the penaunce and wo\n\n\u2003That Socrates had with hise wyves two;\n\n\u2003How Xantippa caste pisse up-on his heed;\n\n\u2003This sely man sat stille, as he were deed;\n\n\u2003He wyped his heed, namore dorste he seyn\n\n\u2003But 'er that thonder stinte, comth a reyn.'\n\n\u2003Of Phasipha, that was the quene of Crete,\n\n\u2003For shrewednesse, him thoughte the tale swete;\n\n\u2003Fy! spek na-more\u2014it is a grisly thing\u2014\n\n\u2003The children of Mercury and of Venus\n\n\u2003Be in their behavior full contrarious:\n\n\u2003Mercury loves science and wisdom,\n\n\u2003And Venus loves revelry and to spend;\n\n\u2003And, because of their diverse dispositions,\n\n\u2003Each falls in the moment of the other's highest ascent,\n\n\u2003And thus, God knows, Mercury is powerless\n\n\u2003In Pisces where Venus is at her greatest,\n\n\u2003And Venus falls there where Mercury has risen;\n\n\u2003Therefore no woman by a scholar is prized.\n\n\u2003The scholar, when he is old, and may not do\n\n\u2003Of Venus' works worth his old shoe\u2014\n\n\u2003Then sits he down and writes in his dotage\n\n\u2003That women cannot be faithful in marriage!\n\n\u2003But now to the purpose why I told you\n\n\u2003That I was beaten for a book, by God.\n\n\u2003Upon a night Jankin, who was my lord,\n\n\u2003Read in his book as he sat by the fire\n\n\u2003Of Eve first, who for her wickedness\n\n\u2003Was all mankind brought to wretchedness,\n\n\u2003For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,\n\n\u2003Who bought us with his heartblood again.\n\n\u2003Lo, here specifically of woman may you find\n\n\u2003Who caused the loss to all mankind.\n\n\u2003Then read he me how Samson lost his hair:\n\n\u2003Sleeping, she cut it with her shears,\n\n\u2003Through which treason lost he both his eyes.\n\n\u2003Then read he me, if that I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003Of Hercules and his Deianira,\n\n\u2003Who caused him to set himself afire.\n\n\u2003Nothing forgot he the sorrow and the woe\n\n\u2003That Socrates had with his wives two\u2014\n\n\u2003How Xantippe cast piss upon his head:\n\n\u2003This poor man sat still, as if he were dead;\n\n\u2003He wiped his head; no more dared he say\n\n\u2003But 'Before thunder ceases, there comes a rain.'\n\n\u2003Of Pasiphae who was the Queen of Crete\n\n\u2003Out of meanness him thought the tale sweet\u2014\n\n\u2003Fie! Speak no more, it is a grisly thing,\n\n\u2003Of hir horrible lust and hir lyking.\n\n\u2003Of Clitemistra, for hir lecherye,\n\n\u2003That falsly made hir housbond for to dye,\n\n\u2003He redde it with ful good devocioun.\n\n\u2003He tolde me eek for what occasioun\n\n\u2003Amphiorax at Thebes loste his lyf;\n\n\u2003Myn housbond hadde a legende of his wyf,\n\n\u2003Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold\n\n\u2003Hath prively un-to the Grekes told\n\n\u2003Wher that hir housbonde hidde him in a place,\n\n\u2003For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace.\n\n\u2003Of Lyvia tolde he me, and of Lucye,\n\n\u2003They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye;\n\n\u2003That oon for love, that other was for hate;\n\n\u2003Lyvia hir housbond, on an even late,\n\n\u2003Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo.\n\n\u2003Lucya, likerous, loved hir housbond so,\n\n\u2003That, for he sholde alwey up-on hir thinke,\n\n\u2003She yaf him swich a maner love-drinke,\n\n\u2003That he was deed, er it were by the morwe;\n\n\u2003And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.\n\n\u2003Than tolde he me, how oon Latumius\n\n\u2003Compleyned to his felawe Arrius,\n\n\u2003That in his gardin growed swich a tree,\n\n\u2003On which, he seyde, how that his wyves three\n\n\u2003Hanged hem-self for herte despitous.\n\n\u2003' leve brother,' quod this Arrius,\n\n\u2003'Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree,\n\n\u2003And in my gardin planted shal it be!'\n\n\u2003Of latter date, of wyves hath he red,\n\n\u2003That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed,\n\n\u2003And lete hir lechour dighte hir al the night\n\n\u2003Whyl that the corps lay in the floor up-right.\n\n\u2003And somme han drive nayles in hir brayn\n\n\u2003Whyl that they slepte, and thus they han hem slayn.\n\n\u2003Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hir drinke.\n\n\u2003He spak more harm than herte may bithinke.\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al, he knew of mo proverbes\n\n\u2003Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes.\n\n\u2003Of her horrible lust and her liking.\n\n\u2003Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery,\n\n\u2003Who falsely made her husband for to die,\n\n\u2003He read it with full good devotion.\n\n\u2003He told me also for what occasion\n\n\u2003Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life.\n\n\u2003My husband had a legend of his wife,\n\n\u2003Eriphilem, who for a brooch of gold\n\n\u2003Had secretly unto the Greeks told\n\n\u2003Where her husband hid in a place,\n\n\u2003For which he had at Thebes misfortune.\n\n\u2003Of Livia told he me, and of Lucilia.\n\n\u2003They both made their husbands for to die,\n\n\u2003That one for love, the other was for hate.\n\n\u2003Livia her husband, on an evening late,\n\n\u2003Poisoned him, for she was his foe.\n\n\u2003Lucilia, lecherous, loved her husband so,\n\n\u2003That, so he should always upon her think,\n\n\u2003She gave him such a kind of love-drink,\n\n\u2003That he was dead before it was the morrow;\n\n\u2003And thus always husbands have sorrow.\n\n\u2003Then he told me how one Latumius\n\n\u2003Complained unto his companion Arrius,\n\n\u2003Who in his garden grew a certain tree\n\n\u2003On which he said how his wives three\n\n\u2003Hanged themselves for spite.\n\n\u2003'Oh dear brother,' said this Arrius,\n\n\u2003'Give me a cutting of that blessed tree,\n\n\u2003And in my garden planted shall it be!'\n\n\u2003Of later date, of wives had he read\n\n\u2003Who some had slain their husbands in their beds,\n\n\u2003And let their lovers lie with them all night\n\n\u2003While the corpse lay on the floor with open eyes.\n\n\u2003And some had driven nails in their brains\n\n\u2003While they slept, and thus they had them slain.\n\n\u2003Some had in their drink them given poison.\n\n\u2003He spoke more harm than heart may imagine.\n\n\u2003And in addition he knew of more proverbs\n\n\u2003Than in this world there grow grass or herbs.\n\n\u2003'Bet is,' quod he, 'thyn habitacioun\n\n\u2003Be with a leoun or a foul dragoun,\n\n\u2003Than with a womman usinge for to chyde.\n\n\u2003Bet is,' quod he, 'hye in the roof abyde\n\n\u2003Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous;\n\n\u2003They been so wikked and contrarious;\n\n\u2003They haten that hir housbondes loveth ay.'\n\n\u2003He seyde, 'a womman cast hir shame away,\n\n\u2003Whan she cast of hir smok;' and forthermo,\n\n\u2003'A fair womman, but she be chaast also,\n\n\u2003Is lyk a gold ring in a sowes nose.'\n\n\u2003Who wolde wenen, or who wolde suppose\n\n\u2003The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?\n\n\u2003And whan I saugh he wolde never fyne\n\n\u2003To reden on this cursed book al night,\n\n\u2003Al sodeynly three leves have I plight\n\n\u2003Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke,\n\n\u2003I wit my fist so took him on the cheke,\n\n\u2003That in our fyr he fil bakward adoun.\n\n\u2003And he up-stirte as dooth a wood leoun,\n\n\u2003And with his fist he smoot me on the heed,\n\n\u2003That in the floor I lay as I were deed.\n\n\u2003And when he saugh how stille that I lay,\n\n\u2003He was agast, and wolde han fled his way,\n\n\u2003Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde:\n\n\u2003'! hastow slayn me, false theef?' I seyde,\n\n\u2003'And for my land thus hastow mordred me?\n\n\u2003Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee.'\n\n\u2003And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun,\n\n\u2003And seyde, 'dere suster Alisoun,\n\n\u2003As help me god, I shal thee never smyte;\n\n\u2003That I have doon, it is thy-self to wyte.\n\n\u2003Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke'\u2014\n\n\u2003And yet eft-sones I hitte him on the cheke,\n\n\u2003And seyde, 'theef, thus muchel am I wreke;\n\n\u2003Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke.'\n\n\u2003But atte laste, with muchel care and wo,\n\n\u2003We fille acorded, by us selven two.\n\n\u2003He yaf al the brydel in myn hond\n\n\u2003'Better it is,' said he, 'your habitation\n\n\u2003Be with a lion or a foul dragon,\n\n\u2003Than with a woman accustomed for to chide.\n\n\u2003Better it is,' said he, 'high on the roof abide\n\n\u2003Than with an angry wife down in the house;\n\n\u2003They be so wicked and contrarious\n\n\u2003They hate what their husbands love ever.'\n\n\u2003He said, 'A woman casts her shame away,\n\n\u2003When she casts off her underclothes;' and furthermore,\n\n\u2003'A fair woman, unless she be chaste also,\n\n\u2003Is like a gold ring in a sow's nose.'\n\n\u2003Who would guess, or who would suppose\n\n\u2003The woe that in my heart was, and pain?\n\n\u2003And when I saw that he would never finish\n\n\u2003To read in this cursed book all night,\n\n\u2003All suddenly three pages have I ripped\n\n\u2003Out of his book, right as he read, and also\n\n\u2003I with my fist so hit him on the cheek\n\n\u2003That in our fire he fell backward down.\n\n\u2003And he got up as does an angry lion,\n\n\u2003And with his fist he struck me on the head\n\n\u2003That on the floor I lay as if I were dead.\n\n\u2003And when he saw how still that I lay,\n\n\u2003He was aghast, and would have fled away,\n\n\u2003Till at last out of my swoon I breathed:\n\n\u2003'Oh! have you slain me, you thief?' I said,\n\n\u2003'And for my land have you murdered me?\n\n\u2003Before I be dead, yet will I kiss you.'\n\n\u2003And near he came, and kneeled fair down,\n\n\u2003And said, 'Dear sister Alison,\n\n\u2003So help me God, I shall never you strike;\n\n\u2003But for what I've done, you have yourself to blame.\n\n\u2003Forgive it me, and that I you beseech\u2014'\n\n\u2003And yet again I hit him on the cheek\n\n\u2003And said, 'Thief! thus much I am avenged.\n\n\u2003Now will I die: I may no longer speak.'\n\n\u2003But at last, with much care and woe,\n\n\u2003We came to an agreement between us two.\n\n\u2003He gave me the bridle completely in my hand,\n\n\u2003To han the governance of hous and lond,\n\n\u2003And of his tonge and of his hond also,\n\n\u2003And made him brenne his book anon right tho.\n\n\u2003And whan that I hadde geten un-to me,\n\n\u2003By maistrie, al the soveraynetee,\n\n\u2003And that he seyde, 'myn owene trewe wyf,\n\n\u2003Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf,\n\n\u2003Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat'\u2014\n\n\u2003After that day we hadden never debaat.\n\n\u2003God help me so, I was to him as kinde\n\n\u2003As any wyf from Denmark un-to Inde,\n\n\u2003And also trewe, and so was he to me.\n\n\u2003I prey to god that sit in magestee,\n\n\u2003So blesse his soule, for his mercy dere!\n\n\u2003Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol here.\"\n\n\u2003Biholde the wordes bitween the Somonour and the Frere\n\n\u2003The Frere lough, whan he hadde hend al this,\n\n\u2003\"Now, dame,\" quod he, \"so have I joye or blis,\n\n\u2003This is a long preamble of a tale!\"\n\n\u2003And whan the Somnour herde the Frere gale,\n\n\u2003\"Lo!\" quod the Somnour, \"goddes armes two!\n\n\u2003A frere wol entremette him ever-mo.\n\n\u2003Lo, gode men, a flye and eek a frere\n\n\u2003Wol falle in every dish and eek matere.\n\n\u2003What spekestow of preambulacioun?\n\n\u2003What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun;\n\n\u2003Thou lettest our disport in this manere.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, woltow so, sir Somnour?\" quod the Frere,\n\n\u2003\"Now, by my feith, I shal, er that I go,\n\n\u2003Telle of a Somnour swich a tale or two,\n\n\u2003That alle the folk shal laughen in this place.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now elles, Frere, I bishrewe thy face,\"\n\n\u2003Quod this Somnour, \"and I bishrewe thy face,\"\n\n\u2003But-if I telle tales two or three\n\n\u2003Of freres er I come to Sidingborne,\n\n\u2003That I shal make thyn herte for to morne;\n\n\u2003For wel I woot thy pacience is goon.\"\n\n\u2003To have the governance of house and land,\n\n\u2003And of his tongue and his hand also;\n\n\u2003And made him burn his book anon right then.\n\n\u2003And when that I had gotten for myself,\n\n\u2003By mastery, all the sovereignty,\n\n\u2003And that he said, 'My own true wife,\n\n\u2003Do as you please for the rest of your life;\n\n\u2003Preserve your honor, and keep my reputation\u2014'\n\n\u2003After that day we had never debate.\n\n\u2003God help me so, I was to him as kind\n\n\u2003As any wife from Denmark unto India,\n\n\u2003And just as true, and so was he to me.\n\n\u2003I pray to God who sits in majesty,\n\n\u2003So bless his soul by his mercy dear!\n\n\u2003Now will I say my tale, if you will hear.\"\n\n\u2003Behold the words between the Summoner and the Friar\n\n\u2003The Friar laughed when he had heard all this.\n\n\u2003\"Now dame,\" said he, \"as I may have joy or bliss,\n\n\u2003This is a long preamble for a tale!\"\n\n\u2003And when the Summoner heard the Friar say that aloud,\n\n\u2003\"Behold,\" said the Summoner, \"God's two arms,\n\n\u2003A friar will insinuate himself evermore!\n\n\u2003Behold, good men, a fly and also a friar\n\n\u2003Will fall in every dish and every topic.\n\n\u2003Why do you speak of perambulation?\n\n\u2003Behold! Amble, or trot, or walk, or go sit down!\n\n\u2003You interrupt our fun in this manner.\"\n\n\u2003\"So you'd say, sir Summoner?\" said the Friar;\n\n\u2003\"Now by my faith, I shall, before I go,\n\n\u2003Tell of a summoner such a tale or two\n\n\u2003That all the folk shall laugh in this place.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now otherwise, Friar, I will curse your face,\"\n\n\u2003Said this Summoner, \"and I curse me\n\n\u2003Unless I tell tales two or three\n\n\u2003Of friars, before I come to Sittingbourne,\n\n\u2003So that I shall make your heart for to mourn\u2014\n\n\u2003For well I know your patience is gone.\"\n\n\u2003Our hoste cryde \"pees! and that anoon!\"\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"lat the womman telle hir tale.\n\n\u2003Ye fare as folk that dronken been of ale.\n\n\u2003Do, dame, tel forth your tale, and that is best.\"\n\n\u2003\"Al redy, sir,\" quod she, \"right as yow lest,\n\n\u2003If I have licence of this worthy Frere.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yis, dame,\" quod he, \"tel forth, and I wol here.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In th'old dayes of the king Arthour,\n\n\u2003Of which that Britons speken greet honour,\n\n\u2003Al was this land fulfiled of fayerye.\n\n\u2003The elf-queen, with hir joly companye,\n\n\u2003Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede;\n\n\u2003This was the olde opinion, as I rede.\n\n\u2003I speke of manye hundred yeres ago;\n\n\u2003But now can no man see none elves mo.\n\n\u2003For now the grete charitee and prayeres\n\n\u2003Of limitours and othere holy freres,\n\n\u2003That serchen every lond and every streem,\n\n\u2003As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem,\n\n\u2003Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures,\n\n\u2003Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures,\n\n\u2003Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes,\n\n\u2003This maketh that ther been no fayeryes.\n\n\u2003For ther as wont to walken was an elf,\n\n\u2003Ther walketh now the limitour himself\n\n\u2003In undermeles and in morweninges,\n\n\u2003And seyth his matins and his holy thinges\n\n\u2003As he goth in his limitacioun.\n\n\u2003Wommen may go saufly up and doun,\n\n\u2003In every bush, or under every tree;\n\n\u2003Ther is noon other incubu but he,\n\n\u2003And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.\n\n\u2003And so bifel it, that this king Arthour\n\n\u2003Hadde in his hous a lusty bacheler,\n\n\u2003That on a day cam rydinge fro river;\n\n\u2003And happed that, allone as she was born,\n\n\u2003He saugh a mayde walkinge him biforn,\n\n\u2003Our Host cried \"Peace! and that anon!\"\n\n\u2003And said, \"Let the woman tell her tale.\n\n\u2003You act as folk do who have had too much ale.\n\n\u2003Do, dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.\"\n\n\u2003\"All ready, sire,\" said she, \"right as you wish,\n\n\u2003If I have the permission of this worthy Friar.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes, dame,\" said he, \"tell forth, and I will hear.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In the old days of King Arthur,\n\n\u2003Of whom Britons speak great honor,\n\n\u2003All was this land filled with fairies.\n\n\u2003The elf-queen with her jolly company\n\n\u2003Danced full often in many a green meadow.\n\n\u2003This was the old opinion, as I read\u2014\n\n\u2003I speak of many hundred years ago\u2014\n\n\u2003But now can man see elves no more.\n\n\u2003For now the great charity and prayers\n\n\u2003Of beggars and other holy friars,\n\n\u2003Who visit every land and every stream,\n\n\u2003As thick as dustmotes in the sunbeam,\n\n\u2003Blessing halls, chambers, kitchens, bedrooms,\n\n\u2003Cities, towns, castles, high towers,\n\n\u2003Villages, barns, sheds, dairies\u2014\n\n\u2003This causes there to be no fairies.\n\n\u2003For there where was wont to walk an elf,\n\n\u2003There walks now the limitour himself\n\n\u2003In afternoons and in mornings,\n\n\u2003And says his Matins and his holy things\n\n\u2003As he goes in his territory.\n\n\u2003Women may now go safely up and down:\n\n\u2003In every bush or under every tree\n\n\u2003There is no other incubus but he,\n\n\u2003And he will only do them dishonor.\n\n\u2003And so it happened that this King Arthur\n\n\u2003Had in his house a lusty young knight,\n\n\u2003Who on a day came riding from the river;\n\n\u2003And it happened that, alone as he was born,\n\n\u2003He saw a maid walking him before,\n\n\u2003Of whiche mayde anon, maugree hir heed,\n\n\u2003By verray force he rafte hir maydenheed;\n\n\u2003For which oppressioun was swich clamour\n\n\u2003And swich pursute un-to the king Arthour,\n\n\u2003That dampned was this knight for to be deed\n\n\u2003By cours of lawe, and sholde han lost his heed\n\n\u2003Paraventure, swich was the statut tho;\n\n\u2003But that the quene and othere ladies mo\n\n\u2003So longe preyeden the king of grace,\n\n\u2003Til he his lyf him graunted in the place,\n\n\u2003And yaf him to the quene al at hir wille,\n\n\u2003To chese, whether she wolde him save or spille.\n\n\u2003The quene thanketh the king with al hir might,\n\n\u2003And after this thus spak she to the knight,\n\n\u2003Whan that she saugh hir tyme, up-on a day:\n\n\u2003\"Thou standest yet,\" quod she, \"in swich array,\n\n\u2003That of thy lyf yet hastow no suretee.\n\n\u2003I grante thee lyf, if thou canst tellen me\n\n\u2003What thing is it that wommen most desyren?\n\n\u2003Be war, and keep thy nekke-boon from yren.\n\n\u2003And if thou canst nat tellen it anoon,\n\n\u2003Yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon\n\n\u2003A twelf-month and a day, to seche and lere\n\n\u2003An answere suffisant in this matere.\n\n\u2003And suretee wol I han, er that thou pace,\n\n\u2003Thy body for to yelden in this place.\"\n\n\u2003Wo was this knight and sorwefully he syketh;\n\n\u2003But what! he may nat do al as him lyketh.\n\n\u2003And at the laste, he chees him for to wende,\n\n\u2003And come agayn, right at the yeres ende,\n\n\u2003With swich answere as god wolde him purveye;\n\n\u2003And taketh his leve, and wendeth forth his weye.\n\n\u2003He seketh every hous and every place,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he hopeth for to finde grace,\n\n\u2003To lerne, what thing wommen loven most;\n\n\u2003But he ne coude arryven in no cost,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he mighte finde in this matere\n\n\u2003Two creatures accordingee in-fere.\n\n\u2003Somme seyde, wommen loven best richesse,\n\n\u2003Of which maid anon, no matter what she did,\n\n\u2003By force itself he took her maidenhead.\n\n\u2003For which wrong was such clamor\n\n\u2003And such pleading unto King Arthur,\n\n\u2003That condemned was this knight for to be dead\n\n\u2003By course of law, and should have lost his head\u2014\n\n\u2003As it happened such was the law then\u2014\n\n\u2003Except that the queen and other ladies more\n\n\u2003So long begged the king for grace\n\n\u2003Till he his life granted in the place,\n\n\u2003And gave him to the queen entirely at her will,\n\n\u2003To choose whether she would him save or kill.\n\n\u2003The queen thanked the king with all her might,\n\n\u2003And after this thus spoke she to the knight\n\n\u2003When she saw her time, upon a day:\n\n\u2003\"You stand yet,\" said she, \"in such danger\n\n\u2003That of your life you have yet no guarantee.\n\n\u2003I grant you life, if you can tell me\n\n\u2003What thing it is that women most desire.\n\n\u2003Be careful, and keep your neck from the blade of iron.\n\n\u2003And if you cannot tell it now,\n\n\u2003Yet will I give you leave to go\n\n\u2003For twelve months and a day, to seek and learn\n\n\u2003An answer sufficient in this matter.\n\n\u2003And a surety bond will have, before you leave,\n\n\u2003To guarantee your return to this place.\"\n\n\u2003Woeful was this knight and sorrowfully he sighed.\n\n\u2003But what! He may not do all as he liked,\n\n\u2003And at last he chose to his way wend,\n\n\u2003And come again, right at the year's end,\n\n\u2003With such answer as God would him provide;\n\n\u2003And he took his leave and wended forth his way.\n\n\u2003He sought every house and every place\n\n\u2003Where he hoped to have the good grace,\n\n\u2003To learn what thing women love most;\n\n\u2003But he could arrive at no country or coast\n\n\u2003Where he might find in this matter\n\n\u2003Two creatures agreeing with each other.\n\n\u2003Some said women love best riches,\n\n\u2003Somme seyde, honour, somme seyde, jolynesse;\n\n\u2003Somme, riche array, somme seyden, lust abedde,\n\n\u2003And ofte tyme to be widwe and wedde.\n\n\u2003Somme seyde, that our hertes been most esed,\n\n\u2003Whan that we been y-flatered and y-plesed.\n\n\u2003He gooth ful ny the sothe, I wol nat lye;\n\n\u2003A man shal winne us best with flaterye;\n\n\u2003And with attendance, and with bisinesse,\n\n\u2003Been we y-lymed, bothe more and lesse.\n\n\u2003And somme seyn, how that we loven best\n\n\u2003For to be free, and do right as us lest,\n\n\u2003And that no man repreve us of our vyce,\n\n\u2003But seye that we be wyse, and no-thing nyce.\n\n\u2003For trewely, ther is noon of us alle,\n\n\u2003If any wight wol clawe us on the galle,\n\n\u2003That we nil kike, for he seith us sooth;\n\n\u2003Assay, and he shal finde it that so dooth.\n\n\u2003For be we never so vicious with-inne,\n\n\u2003We wol been holden wyse, and clene of sinne.\n\n\u2003And somme seyn, that greet delyt han we\n\n\u2003For to ben holden stable and eek secree,\n\n\u2003And in o purpos stedefastly to dwelle,\n\n\u2003And nat biwreye thing that men us telle.\n\n\u2003But that tale is nat worth a rake-stele;\n\n\u2003Pardee, we wommen conne no-thing hele;\n\n\u2003Witnesse on Myda; wol ye here the tale?\n\n\u2003Ovyde, amonges othere thinges smale,\n\n\u2003Seyde, Myda hadde, under his longe heres,\n\n\u2003Growinge up-on his heed two asses eres,\n\n\u2003The whiche vyce he hidde, as he best mighte,\n\n\u2003Ful subtilly from every mannes sighte,\n\n\u2003That, save his wyf, ther wiste of it na-mo.\n\n\u2003He loved hir most, and trusted hir also;\n\n\u2003He preyde hir, that to no creature\n\n\u2003She sholde tellen of his disfigure.\n\n\u2003She swoor him \"nay, for al this world to winne,\n\n\u2003She nolde do that vileinye or sinne,\n\n\u2003To make hir housbond han so foul a name;\n\n\u2003She nolde nat telle it for hir owene shame.\"\n\n\u2003Some said honor, some said jollyness;\n\n\u2003Some rich adornment, some said lust abed,\n\n\u2003And oftentime to be widowed and again then wed.\n\n\u2003Some said that our hearts have been most eased\n\n\u2003When that we be flattered and pleased.\n\n\u2003He got very near the truth, I will not lie:\n\n\u2003A man shall win us best with flattery;\n\n\u2003And with attention and with diligence\n\n\u2003Be we snared, both more and less.\n\n\u2003And some said how that we love best\n\n\u2003For to be free and do right as we wish,\n\n\u2003And that no man reproach us for our vice,\n\n\u2003But say that we be not foolish, but all wise.\n\n\u2003For truly, there is none of us all,\n\n\u2003If any person would scratch our sore wounds,\n\n\u2003Who will not kick back if he tells the truth:\n\n\u2003Try, and he who does shall find it so.\n\n\u2003For be we ever so vicious within,\n\n\u2003We want to be thought wise, and clean of sin.\n\n\u2003And some say that great delight have we\n\n\u2003For to be thought steadfast and discreet,\n\n\u2003And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell,\n\n\u2003And not reveal things that men us tell\u2014\n\n\u2003But that tale is not worth a rake handle.\n\n\u2003By God, we women know not how anything to conceal:\n\n\u2003Witness on Midas\u2014will you hear this tale?\n\n\u2003Ovid, among other things brief,\n\n\u2003Said Midas had under his long hairs,\n\n\u2003Growing upon his head two asses' ears,\n\n\u2003The which flaw he hid as best he might\n\n\u2003Full cleverly from every man's sight.\n\n\u2003So that, save his wife, there knew of it no one.\n\n\u2003He loved her most, and trusted her also;\n\n\u2003He begged her that to no creature\n\n\u2003She should tell of his disfigure.\n\n\u2003She swore him that no, for all the world to win,\n\n\u2003She would not do that bad deed or sin,\n\n\u2003To make her husband have so foul a name.\n\n\u2003She would not tell it to spare her own shame.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, hir thoughte that she dyde,\n\n\u2003That she so longe sholde a conseil hyde;\n\n\u2003Hir thoughte it swal so sore aboute hir herte,\n\n\u2003That nedely som word hir moste asterte;\n\n\u2003And sith she dorste telle it to no man,\n\n\u2003Doun to a mareys faste by she ran;\n\n\u2003Til she came there, hir herte was a-fyre,\n\n\u2003And, as a bitore bombleth in the myre,\n\n\u2003She leyde hir mouth un-to the water doun:\n\n\u2003\"Biwreye me nat, thou water, with thy soun,\"\n\n\u2003Quod she, \"to thee I telle it, and namo;\n\n\u2003Myn housbond hath longe asses eres two!\n\n\u2003Now is myn herte all hool, now is it oute;\n\n\u2003I mighte no lenger kepe it, out of doute.\"\n\n\u2003Heer may ye se, thogh we a tyme abyde,\n\n\u2003Yet out it moot, we can no conseil hyde;\n\n\u2003The remenant of the tale if ye wol here,\n\n\u2003Redeth Ovyde, and ther ye may it lere.\n\n\u2003This knight, of which my tale is specially,\n\n\u2003Whan that he saugh he mighte nat come therby,\n\n\u2003This is to seye, what wommen loven moost,\n\n\u2003With-inne his brest ful sorweful was the goost;\n\n\u2003But hoom he gooth, he mighte nat sojourne.\n\n\u2003The day was come, that hoomward moste he tourne,\n\n\u2003And in his wey it happed him to ryde,\n\n\u2003In al this care, under a forest-syde,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he saugh up-on a daunce go\n\n\u2003Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo;\n\n\u2003Toward the whiche daunce he drow ful yerne,\n\n\u2003In hope that som wisdom sholde he lerne.\n\n\u2003But certeinly, er he came fully there,\n\n\u2003Vanisshed was this daunce, he niste where.\n\n\u2003No creature saugh he that bar lyf,\n\n\u2003Save on the grene he saugh sittinge a wyf;\n\n\u2003A fouler wight ther may no man devyse.\n\n\u2003Agayn the knight this olde wyf gan ryse.\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"sir knight, heer-forth ne lyth no wey.\n\n\u2003Tel me, what that ye seken, by your fey?\n\n\u2003Paraventure it may the bettre be;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, she thought that she should die\n\n\u2003If she should for long the secret hide.\n\n\u2003Her thought it swelled so sore about her heart\n\n\u2003That need be some word out of her must start,\n\n\u2003And since she dared tell no man,\n\n\u2003Down to a nearby marsh she ran.\n\n\u2003Till she came there her heart was on fire,\n\n\u2003And as a bittern's call booms in the mire,\n\n\u2003She laid her mouth unto the water down:\n\n\"Betray me not, you water, with your sound,\"\n\n\u2003Said she, \"to you I tell it, and else no one;\n\n\u2003My husband has long asses' ears two!\n\n\u2003Now is my heart again all whole, now is it out.\n\n\u2003I might no longer keep it, with no doubt.\"\n\n\u2003Here you may see, though we a while abide,\n\n\u2003Yet out it must, we can no secret hide.\n\n\u2003The ending of this tale if you will hear,\n\n\u2003Read Ovid, and there you may it learn.\n\n\u2003This knight of which my tale is specially,\n\n\u2003When he saw he might not get his answer,\n\n\u2003That is to say, what women love most,\n\n\u2003Within his breast full sorrowful was his soul,\n\n\u2003But home he went, he might not linger.\n\n\u2003The day was come that homeward must he turn,\n\n\u2003And on his way it happened him to ride\n\n\u2003In all this care by a forest side,\n\n\u2003Where he saw engaged in a dance\n\n\u2003Of ladies four and twenty and yet more;\n\n\u2003Toward which dance he drew with yearning,\n\n\u2003In hope that some wisdom he could learn.\n\n\u2003But certainly, before he came fully there,\n\n\u2003Vanished was this dance, he knew not where.\n\n\u2003No creature saw he that bore life,\n\n\u2003Save on the grass he saw sitting a woman\u2014\n\n\u2003An uglier person may no man imagine.\n\n\u2003To meet the knight this old lady arose,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sir knight, through here there's no way.\n\n\u2003Tell me what you seek, by your faith!\n\n\u2003Perhaps it may the better be:\n\n\u2003Thise olde folk can muchel thing,\" quod she.\n\n\u2003\"My leve mooder,\" quod this knight certeyn,\n\n\u2003\"I nam but deed, but-if that I can seyn\n\n\u2003What thing it is that wommen most desyre;\n\n\u2003Coude ye me wisse, I wolde wel quyte your hyre.\"\n\n\u2003\"Plight me thy trouthe, heer in myn hand,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"The nexte thing that I requere thee,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt it do, if it lye in thy might;\n\n\u2003And I wol telle it yow er it be night.\"\n\n\u2003\"Have heer my trouthe,\" quod the knight, \"I grante.\"\n\n\u2003\"Thanne,\" quod she, \"I dar me wel avante,\n\n\u2003Thy lyf is sauf, for I wol stonde therby,\n\n\u2003Up-on my lyf, the queen wol seye as I.\n\n\u2003Lat see which is the proudeste of hem alle,\n\n\u2003That wereth on a coverchief or a calle,\n\n\u2003That dar seye nay, of that I shal thee teche;\n\n\u2003Lat us go forth with-outen lenger speche.\"\n\n\u2003Tho rouned she a pistel in his ere,\n\n\u2003And bad him to be glad, and have no fere.\n\n\u2003Whan they be comen to the court, this knight\n\n\u2003Seyde, \"he had holde his day, as he hadde hight,\n\n\u2003And redy was his answere,\" as he sayde.\n\n\u2003Ful many a noble wyf, and many a mayde,\n\n\u2003And many a widwe, for that they ben wyse,\n\n\u2003The quene hir-self sittinge as a justyse,\n\n\u2003Assembled been, his answere for to here;\n\n\u2003And afterward this knight was bode appere.\n\n\u2003To every wight comanded was silence,\n\n\u2003And that the knight sholde telle in audience,\n\n\u2003What thing that worldly wommen loven best.\n\n\u2003This knight ne stood nat stille as doth a best,\n\n\u2003But to his questioun anon answerde\n\n\u2003With manly voys, that al the court it herde:\n\n\u2003\"My lige lady, generally,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee\n\n\u2003As wel over hir housbond as hir love,\n\n\u2003And for to been in maistrie him above;\n\n\u2003This is your moste desyr, thogh ye me kille,\n\n\u2003Doth as yow list, I am heer at your wille.\"\n\n\u2003We old folks know many things,\" said she.\n\n\u2003\"My dear mother,\" said this knight, \"for certain\n\n\u2003I am good as dead, unless I can say\n\n\u2003What thing it is that women most desire.\n\n\u2003Could you tell me, I will repay your hire:\"\n\n\u2003\"Pledge me your promise, here in my hand,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"The next thing that I request of thee,\n\n\u2003You shall do it, if it lies in your power,\n\n\u2003And I will tell it you before it be night.\"\n\n\u2003\"Have here my promise,\" said the knight. \"I grant it.\"\n\n\u2003\"Then,\" said she, \"I dare well boast\n\n\u2003Your life is safe, for I will stand thereby.\n\n\u2003Upon my life, the queen will say as well as I.\n\n\u2003Let see which is the proudest of them all,\n\n\u2003Who wears a kerchief or a crown,\n\n\u2003Who dares to deny that which I teach.\n\n\u2003Let us go forth without longer speech.\"\n\n\u2003Then whispered she a message in his ear,\n\n\u2003And bade him to be glad and have no fear.\n\n\u2003When they returned to the court, this knight\n\n\u2003Said he had kept to his day, as he had pledged,\n\n\u2003And ready was his answer, as he said.\n\n\u2003Full many a noble wife, and many a maid,\n\n\u2003And many a widow\u2014because they be wise\u2014\n\n\u2003The queen herself sitting as a judge,\n\n\u2003Assembled were, his answer for to hear;\n\n\u2003And then this knight was bidden to appear.\n\n\u2003To every person commanded was silence,\n\n\u2003And thus the knight should tell his audience\n\n\u2003What thing that worldly women love best.\n\n\u2003This knight stood not still as does a beast,\n\n\u2003But to his question anon answered\n\n\u2003With manly voice, so that all the court it heard:\n\n\u2003\"My liege lady, generally,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Women desire to have sovereignty\n\n\u2003As well over their husband as their lovers,\n\n\u2003And for to be in mastery them above.\n\n\u2003This is your greatest desire, though you me kill.\n\n\u2003Do as you wish\u2014I am here at your will.\"\n\n\u2003In al the court ne was ther wyf ne mayde,\n\n\u2003Ne widwe, that contraried that he sayde,\n\n\u2003But seyden, \"he was worthy han his lyf.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word up stirte the olde wyf,\n\n\u2003Which that the knight saugh sittinge in the grene:\n\n\u2003\"Mercy,\" quod she, \"my sovereyn lady quene!\n\n\u2003Er that your court departe, do me right.\n\n\u2003I taughte this answere un-to the knight;\n\n\u2003For which he plighte me his trouthe there,\n\n\u2003The firste thing I wolde of him requere,\n\n\u2003He wolde it do, if it lay in his might.\n\n\u2003Bifore the court than preye I thee, sir knight,\"\n\n\u2003Quod she, \"that thou me take un-to thy wyf;\n\n\u2003For wel thou wost that I have kept thy lyf.\n\n\u2003If I sey fals, sey nay, up-on thy fey!\"\n\n\u2003This knight answerde, \"alias! and weylawey!\n\n\u2003I woot right wel that swich was my biheste.\n\n\u2003For goddes love, as chees a newe requeste;\n\n\u2003Tak al my good, and lat my body go.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay than,\" quod she, \"I shrewe us bothe two!\n\n\u2003For thogh that I be foul, and old, and pore,\n\n\u2003I nolde for al the metal, ne for ore,\n\n\u2003That under erthe is grave, or lyth above,\n\n\u2003But-if thy wyf I were, and eek thy love.\"\n\n\u2003\"My love?\" quod he; \"nay, my dampnacioun!\n\n\u2003Alias! that any of my nacioun\n\n\u2003Sholde ever so foule disparaged be!\"\n\n\u2003But al for noght, the ende is this, that he\n\n\u2003Constreyned was, he nedes moste hir wedde;\n\n\u2003And taketh his olde wyf, and gooth to bedde.\n\n\u2003Now wolden som men seye, paraventure,\n\n\u2003That, for my necligence, I do no cure\n\n\u2003To tellen yow the joye and al th'array\n\n\u2003That at the feste was that ilke day.\n\n\u2003To whiche thing shortly answere I shal;\n\n\u2003I seye, ther nas no joye ne feste at al,\n\n\u2003Ther nas but hevinesse and muche sorwe;\n\n\u2003For prively he wedded hir on a morwe,\n\n\u2003And al day after hidde him as an oule;\n\n\u2003In all the court there was no wife, nor maid,\n\n\u2003Nor widow who contraried what he said,\n\n\u2003But said he was worthy to have his life.\n\n\u2003And with that upstarted the old lady,\n\n\u2003Who that the knight saw sitting in the grass:\n\n\u2003\"Mercy!\" said she, \"my sovereign lady queen!\n\n\u2003Before your court departs, do me right.\n\n\u2003I taught this answer unto the knight;\n\n\u2003For which he gave me his promise there,\n\n\u2003The first thing I would of him require\n\n\u2003He would it do, if it lay in his might.\n\n\u2003Before the court then I pray thee, sir knight,\"\n\n\u2003Said she, \"that you me take unto your wife,\n\n\u2003For well you know that I have saved your life.\n\n\u2003If I say false, say no, upon your faith!\"\n\n\u2003This knight answered, \"Alas and wellaway!\n\n\u2003I know right well that such was my promise.\n\n\u2003For God's love, choose a new request:\n\n\u2003Take all my goods, and let my body go.\"\n\n\u2003\"No then,\" said she, \"I curse us both two!\n\n\u2003For though I be ugly and old and poor,\n\n\u2003I would not for all the metal nor the ore\n\n\u2003That under the earth is buried or lies above\n\n\u2003Be anything but your wife, and your love.\"\n\n\u2003\"My love?\" said he. \"No, my damnation!\n\n\u2003Alas! that any of my lineage\n\n\u2003Should ever so foul degraded be!\"\n\n\u2003But all for nought, the end is this, that he\n\n\u2003Constrained was: he must needs her wed,\n\n\u2003And take his old wife and go to bed.\n\n\u2003Now would some men say, perhaps,\n\n\u2003That out of my negligence I fail\n\n\u2003To tell you the joy and all the show\n\n\u2003That at the feast was that same day.\n\n\u2003To which thing briefly answer I shall:\n\n\u2003I say there was no joy nor feast at all;\n\n\u2003There was but heaviness and much sorrow,\n\n\u2003For privately he married her on the morrow,\n\n\u2003And all day afterward hid himself like an owl,\n\n\u2003So wo was him, his wyf looked so foule.\n\n\u2003Greet was the wo the knight hadde in his thoght,\n\n\u2003Whan he was with his wyf a-bedde y-broght;\n\n\u2003He walweth, and he turneth to and fro.\n\n\u2003His olde wyf lay smylinge evermo,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"o dere housbond, ben'cite!\n\n\u2003Fareth every knight thus with his wyf as ye?\n\n\u2003Is this the lawe of king Arthures hous?\n\n\u2003Is every knight of his so dangerous?\n\n\u2003I am your owene love and eek your wyf,\n\n\u2003I am she, which that saved hath your lyf;\n\n\u2003And certes, yet dide I yow never unright;\n\n\u2003Why fare ye thus with me this firste night?\n\n\u2003Ye faren lyk a man had lost his wit;\n\n\u2003What is my gilt? for godd's love, tel me it,\n\n\u2003And it shal been amended, if I may.\"\n\n\u2003\"Amended?\" quod this knight, \"allas! nay, nay!\n\n\u2003It wol nat been amended never mo!\n\n\u2003Thou art so loothly, and so old also,\n\n\u2003And ther-to comen of so lowe a kinde,\n\n\u2003That litel wonder is, thogh I walwe and winde.\n\n\u2003So wolde god myn herte wolde breste!\"\n\n\u2003\"Is this,\" quod she, \"the cause of your unreste?\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, certainly,\" quod he, \"no wonder is.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sire,\" quod she, \"I coude amende al this,\n\n\u2003If that me liste, er it were dayes three,\n\n\u2003So wel ye mighte bere yow un-to me.\n\n\u2003But for ye speken of swich gentillesse\n\n\u2003As is descended out of old richesse,\n\n\u2003That therfore sholden ye be gentil men,\n\n\u2003Swich arrogance is nat worth an hen.\n\n\u2003Loke who that is most vertuous alway,\n\n\u2003Privee and apert, and most entendeth ay\n\n\u2003To do the gentil dedes that he can,\n\n\u2003And tak him for the grettest gentil man.\n\n\u2003Crist wol, we clayme of him our gentillesse,\n\n\u2003Nat of our eldres for hir old richesse.\n\n\u2003For thogh they yeve us al hir heritage,\n\n\u2003For which we clayme to been of heigh parage,\n\n\u2003For woe was with him, his wife looked so foul.\n\n\u2003Great was the woe the knight had in his thought,\n\n\u2003When he was with his wife to bed brought;\n\n\u2003He wallowed, and he turned to and fro.\n\n\u2003His old wife lay smiling ever so,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Oh dear husband, benedicite!\n\n\u2003Behaves every knight this way to his wife as you?\n\n\u2003Is this the law of King Arthur's household?\n\n\u2003Is every knight of his so cold?\n\n\u2003I am your own love and also your wife;\n\n\u2003I am she who has saved your life;\n\n\u2003And certainly did I never you unright.\n\n\u2003Why do you thus with me this first night?\n\n\u2003You act like a man who has lost his wit!\n\n\u2003What is my guilt? For God's love, tell me it,\n\n\u2003And it shall be amended, if I may.\"\n\n\u2003\"Amended?\" said this knight, \"alas! nay, nay!\n\n\u2003It will not be amended ever more!\n\n\u2003You are so ugly, and so old also,\n\n\u2003And come from such lowly birth,\n\n\u2003That little wonder is it that I toss and turn.\n\n\u2003So would God my heart burst!\"\n\n\u2003\"Is this,\" said she, \"the cause of your unrest?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes, certainly,\" said he, \"no wonder is.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now sir,\" said she, \"I could amend all this,\n\n\u2003If that I wish, before it were days three,\n\n\u2003So long as you behave well toward me.\n\n\u2003Though you speak of such gentleness\n\n\u2003As is descended out of old riches\u2014\n\n\u2003Therefore you should be a gentle man\u2014\n\n\u2003Such arrogance is not worth a hen.\n\n\u2003See who is most virtuous always,\n\n\u2003In private and public, and who ever intends\n\n\u2003To do the gentle deeds that he can,\n\n\u2003And take him for the greatest gentleman.\n\n\u2003Christ wills that we draw from him our gentleness,\n\n\u2003Not of our ancestors from their old riches.\n\n\u2003For though they give us all their heritage\u2014\n\n\u2003For which we claim to be of high parentage\u2014\n\n\u2003Yet may they nat biquethe, for no-thing,\n\n\u2003To noon of us hir vertuous living,\n\n\u2003That made hem gentil men y-called be;\n\n\u2003And bad us folwen hem in swich degree.\n\n\u2003Wel can the wyse poete of Florence,\n\n\u2003That highte Dant, speken in this sentence;\n\n\u2003Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale:\n\n\u2003'Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale\n\n\u2003Prowesse of man; for god, of his goodnesse,\n\n\u2003Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;'\n\n\u2003For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme\n\n\u2003But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme.\n\n\u2003Eek every wight wot this as wel as I,\n\n\u2003If gentillesse were planted naturelly\n\n\u2003Un-to a certeyn linage, doun the lyne,\n\n\u2003Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne\n\n\u2003To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce;\n\n\u2003They mighte do no vileinye or vyce.\n\n\u2003Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous\n\n\u2003Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus,\n\n\u2003And lat men shette the dores and go thenne;\n\n\u2003Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne,\n\n\u2003As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde;\n\n\u2003His office naturel ay wol it holde,\n\n\u2003Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.\n\n\u2003Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye\n\n\u2003Is nat annexed to possessioun,\n\n\u2003Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun\n\n\u2003Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde.\n\n\u2003For, god it woot, men may wel often finde\n\n\u2003A lordes sone do shame and vileinye:\n\n\u2003And he that wol han prys of his gentrye\n\n\u2003For he was boren of a gentil hous,\n\n\u2003And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous,\n\n\u2003And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis,\n\n\u2003Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is,\n\n\u2003He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl;\n\n\u2003For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl.\n\n\u2003For gentillesse nis but renomee\n\n\u2003Yet may they not bequeath, in any way,\n\n\u2003To any of us their virtuous living\n\n\u2003That made them be called gentlemen,\n\n\u2003Though they bade us follow them to such condition.\n\n\u2003We know the wise poet of Florence,\n\n\u2003Called Dante, speaks on this topic;\n\n\u2003Behold, in such manner is Dante's tale:\n\n\u2003'Seldom grows as shoots from his family tree\n\n\u2003The excellence of man, for God in his goodness\n\n\u2003Desires that from him we claim our gentleness;'\n\n\u2003For of our elders we can make no claim\n\n\u2003But of temporal things, that can hurt and maim.\n\n\u2003And every person knows this as well as I,\n\n\u2003That if gentleness were planted naturally\n\n\u2003Within a certain lineage through its generations,\n\n\u2003Privately and publicly, they would never cease\n\n\u2003To do the fair office of virtue\u2014\n\n\u2003They could do no violence or villainy.\n\n\u2003Take fire, bear it into the darkest house\n\n\u2003Between here and the Mount of Caucasus,\n\n\u2003And let men shut the doors and go away,\n\n\u2003Yet will the fire as fair lie and burn,\n\n\u2003As when twenty thousand men might it behold:\n\n\u2003Its nature will it retain,\n\n\u2003Upon peril of my life, until it dies.\n\n\u2003Here may you see well how that gentility\n\n\u2003Is not attached to possession,\n\n\u2003Since folk do their work\n\n\u2003Always, as does the fire, according to their natures.\n\n\u2003For, God knows, men may often find\n\n\u2003A lord's son doing shame and villainy;\n\n\u2003And he who will have esteem for his gentility\n\n\u2003Because he was born of a gentle house,\n\n\u2003And had his elders noble and virtuous,\n\n\u2003And will himself do no gentle deeds,\n\n\u2003Nor follow his gentle ancestor who dead is,\n\n\u2003He is not gentle, be he duke or earl;\n\n\u2003For villainous sinful deeds make a churl.\n\n\u2003For gentleness is nothing but the renown\n\n\u2003Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee,\n\n\u2003Which is a strange thing to thy persone.\n\n\u2003Thy gentillesse cometh fro god allone;\n\n\u2003Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace,\n\n\u2003It was no-thing biquethe us with our place.\n\n\u2003Thenketh how noble, as seith Valerius,\n\n\u2003Was thilke Tullius Hostilius,\n\n\u2003That out of povert roos to heigh noblesse.\n\n\u2003Redeth Senek, and redeth eek Bo\u00ebce,\n\n\u2003Ther shul ye seen expres that it no drede is,\n\n\u2003That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis;\n\n\u2003And therfore, leve housbond, I thus conclude,\n\n\u2003Al were it that myne auncestres were rude,\n\n\u2003Yet may the hye god, and so hope I,\n\n\u2003Grante me grace to liven vertuously.\n\n\u2003Thanne am I gentil, whan that I biginne\n\n\u2003To liven vertuously and weyve sinne.\n\n\u2003And ther-as ye of povert me repreve,\n\n\u2003The hye god, on whom that we bileve,\n\n\u2003In wilful povert chees to live his lyf.\n\n\u2003And certes every man, mayden, or wyf,\n\n\u2003May understonde that Jesus, hevene king,\n\n\u2003Ne wolde nat chese a vicious living.\n\n\u2003Glad povert is an honest thing, certeyn;\n\n\u2003This wol Senek and othere clerkes seyn.\n\n\u2003Who-so that halt him payd of his poverte,\n\n\u2003I holde him riche, al hadde he nat a sherte.\n\n\u2003He that coveyteth is a povre wight,\n\n\u2003For he wolde han that is nat in his might.\n\n\u2003But he that noght hath, ne coveyteth have\n\n\u2003Is riche, al-though ye holde him but a knave.\n\n\u2003Verray povert, it singeth proprely;\n\n\u2003Juvenal seith of povert merily:\n\n\u2003'The povre man, whan he goth by the weye,\n\n\u2003Bifore the theves he may singe and pleye.'\n\n\u2003Povert is hateful good, and, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003A ful greet bringer out of bisinesse;\n\n\u2003A greet amender eek of sapience\n\n\u2003To him that taketh it in pacience.\n\n\u2003Of your ancestors, for their great goodness,\n\n\u2003Which is quite foreign to your person.\n\n\u2003Your gentleness comes from God alone.\n\n\u2003Thence comes our true gentleness of grace:\n\n\u2003It was in no way bequeathed us with our status.\n\n\u2003Think how noble, as said Valerius,\n\n\u2003Was that Tullius Hostilius,\n\n\u2003Who out of poverty rose to high nobility.\n\n\u2003Read Seneca, and read also Boethius:\n\n\u2003There shall you see clearly that no doubt is\n\n\u2003That he is gentle who does gentle deeds.\n\n\u2003And therefore, dear husband, I must conclude:\n\n\u2003Albeit that my ancestors were humble,\n\n\u2003Yet may the high God, and so hope I,\n\n\u2003Grant me grace to live virtuously.\n\n\u2003Then I am gentle, when I begin\n\n\u2003To live virtuously and waive sin.\n\n\u2003And there as you of poverty me reprove,\n\n\u2003The high God, in whom we believe,\n\n\u2003In willed poverty chose to live his life.\n\n\u2003And certainly every man, maiden or wife,\n\n\u2003May understand that Jesus, heaven's king,\n\n\u2003Would not choose a vicious way of living.\n\n\u2003Glad poverty is an honest thing, certainly;\n\n\u2003This will Seneca and other scholars say.\n\n\u2003Whoso with poverty is content,\n\n\u2003I hold him rich, though he have no shirt.\n\n\u2003He who covets is the person poor,\n\n\u2003For he would have what is not in his power.\n\n\u2003But he who nothing has, and nothing covets,\n\n\u2003Is rich, though you hold him but of low estate.\n\n\u2003True poverty, it sings by its nature.\n\n\u2003Juvenal said of poverty merrily:\n\n\u2003'The poor man, when he goes by the way,\n\n\u2003Even among thieves he may sing and play.'\n\n\u2003Poverty is a hated good, and as I guess,\n\n\u2003A great spur for hard work's dedication;\n\n\u2003A great amender also of wisdom\n\n\u2003To him who with patience it endures.\n\n\u2003Povert is this, al-though it seme elenge:\n\n\u2003Possessioun, that no wight wol chalenge.\n\n\u2003Povert ful ofte, whan a man is lowe,\n\n\u2003Maketh his god and eek him-self to knowe.\n\n\u2003Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which he may his verray frendes see.\n\n\u2003And therfore, sire, sin that I noght yow greve,\n\n\u2003Of my povert na-more ye me repreve.\n\n\u2003Now, sire, of elde ye repreve me;\n\n\u2003And certes, sire, thogh noon auctoritee\n\n\u2003Were in no book, ye gentils of honour\n\n\u2003Seyn that men sholde an old wight doon favour,\n\n\u2003And clepe him fader, for your gentillesse;\n\n\u2003And auctours shal I finden, as I gesse.\n\n\u2003Now ther ye seye, that I am foul and old,\n\n\u2003Than drede you noght to been a cokewold;\n\n\u2003For filthe an elde, al-so mote I thee,\n\n\u2003Been grete wardeyns up-on chastitee.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, sin I knowe your delyt,\n\n\u2003I shal fulfille your worldly appetyt.\n\n\u2003\"Chees now,\" quod she, \"oon of thise thinges tweye,\n\n\u2003To han me foul and old til that I deye,\n\n\u2003And be to yow a trewe humble wyf,\n\n\u2003And never yow displese in al my lyf,\n\n\u2003Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,\n\n\u2003And take your aventure of the repair\n\n\u2003That shal be to your hous, by-cause of me,\n\n\u2003Or in som other place, may wel be.\n\n\u2003Now chees your-selven, whether that yow lyketh.\"\n\n\u2003This knight avyseth him and sore syketh,\n\n\u2003But atte laste he seyde in this manere,\n\n\u2003\"My lady and my love, and wyf so dere,\n\n\u2003I put me in your wyse governance;\n\n\u2003Cheseth your-self, which may be most plesance,\n\n\u2003And most honour to yow and me also.\n\n\u2003I do no fors the whether of the two;\n\n\u2003For as yow lyketh, it suffiseth me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Thanne have I gete of yow maistrye,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"Sin I may chese, and governe as me lest?\"\n\n\u2003Poverty is this, although it seems misery,\n\n\u2003A possession that no person will covet.\n\n\u2003Poverty full often, when a man is low,\n\n\u2003Makes him his God and himself know;\n\n\u2003Poverty a pair of spectacles may be,\n\n\u2003Through which he may his true friends see.\n\n\u2003And therefore, sir, since with it I do not you trouble,\n\n\u2003For my poverty no more should you me reprove.\n\n\u2003Now sir, of old age you may blame me:\n\n\u2003And certainly, sir, even if no authority\n\n\u2003Were in any book, you who claim honor\n\n\u2003Say that men should to an old person do favor\n\n\u2003And call him father, out of your gentleness;\n\n\u2003And authorities shall I find, as I guess.\n\n\u2003Now when you say that I am ugly and old,\n\n\u2003Then you need not to be a cuckold,\n\n\u2003For filth and age, as I may prosper,\n\n\u2003Be great protectors of chastity.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, since I know your delight,\n\n\u2003I shall fulfill your worldly appetite.\n\n\u2003\"Choose now,\" said she, \"one of these things two:\n\n\u2003To have me foul and old till that I die\n\n\u2003And be to you a true and humble wife,\n\n\u2003And never you displease in all my life,\n\n\u2003Or else you will have me young and fair,\n\n\u2003And take your chances with the crowd\n\n\u2003Who shall come to your house, because of me,\n\n\u2003Or in some other place, as may well be.\n\n\u2003Now choose whichever pleases you.\"\n\n\u2003This knight thought hard and sorely sighed,\n\n\u2003But at last he said in this manner:\n\n\u2003\"My lady and my love and my wife so dear,\n\n\u2003I put me in your wise governance:\n\n\u2003Choose yourself which may give the most pleasure\n\n\u2003And most honor to you and me too.\n\n\u2003I do not care which of the two you choose,\n\n\u2003For as you like, so it suffices me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Then have I gotten over you mastery,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"Since I may choose and govern as I please?\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye certes, wyf,\" quod he, \"I holde it best.\"\n\n\u2003\"Kis me,\" quod she, \"we be no lenger wrothe;\n\n\u2003For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good.\n\n\u2003I prey to god that I most sterven wood,\n\n\u2003But I to yow be al-so good and trewe\n\n\u2003As ever was wyf, sin that the world was newe.\n\n\u2003And, but I be to-morn as fair to sene\n\n\u2003As any lady, emperyce, or quene,\n\n\u2003That is bitwixe the est and eke the west,\n\n\u2003Doth with my lyf and deeth right as yow lest.\n\n\u2003Cast up the curtin, loke how that it is.\"\n\n\u2003And whan the knight saugh verraily al this,\n\n\u2003That she so fair was, and so yong ther-to,\n\n\u2003For joye he hente hir in his armes two,\n\n\u2003His herte bathed in a bath of blisse;\n\n\u2003A thousand tyme a-rewe he gan hir kisse.\n\n\u2003And she obeyed him in every thing\n\n\u2003That mighte doon him plesance or lyking.\n\n\u2003And thus they live, un-to hir lyves ende,\n\n\u2003In parfit joye; and Jesu Crist us sende\n\n\u2003Housbondes meke, yonge, and fresshe a-beede,\n\n\u2003And grace t'overbyde hem that we wedde.\n\n\u2003And eek I preye Jesu shorte hir lyves\n\n\u2003That wol nat be governed by hir wyves;\n\n\u2003And olde and angry nigardes of dispence,\n\n\u2003God sende hem sone verray pestilence.\n\n\u2003\"Yes, certainly, wife,\" said he, \"I hold it best.\"\n\n\u2003\"Kiss me,\" said she, \"we be no longer angry,\n\n\u2003For by my troth, I will to you both be,\n\n\u2003This is to say, yes, both fair and good.\n\n\u2003I pray to God that I die dimwitted,\n\n\u2003Unless I am to you both good and true\n\n\u2003As ever was wife, since the world was new.\n\n\u2003And unless I be tomorrow as fair to see\n\n\u2003As any lady, empress, or queen,\n\n\u2003Between east and west,\n\n\u2003Do with my life and death just as you wish.\n\n\u2003Cast up the curtain: look at me.\"\n\n\u2003And when the knight did he saw in truth,\n\n\u2003That she was fair and young also,\n\n\u2003For joy he clasped her in his arms two;\n\n\u2003His heart bathed in a bath of bliss.\n\n\u2003A thousand times he began to her kiss,\n\n\u2003And she obeyed him in every thing\n\n\u2003That might give him pleasure or delight.\n\n\u2003And thus they lived until their lives' end\n\n\u2003In perfect joy. And Jesus Christ us send\n\n\u2003Husbands meek, young, and fresh in bed,\n\n\u2003And grace to outlive those that we wed.\n\n\u2003And I pray Jesus to shorten their lives\n\n\u2003Who not will be governed by their wives;\n\n\u2003And old and angry niggards with their pence,\n\n\u2003God send them soon true pestilence."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Clerkes Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Sir clerk Of Oxenford,\" our hoste sayde,\n\n\u2003\"Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde,\n\n\u2003Were newe spoused, sitting at the bord;\n\n\u2003This day ne herde I of your tonge a word.\n\n\u2003I trowe ye studie aboute som sophyme,\n\n\u2003But Salomon seith, 'every thing hath tyme.'\n\n\u2003Fod goddes sake, as beth of bettre chere,\n\n\u2003It is no tyme for to studien here.\n\n\u2003Telle us some mery tale, by your fey;\n\n\u2003For what man that is entred in a pley,\n\n\u2003He nedes moot unto the pley assente.\n\n\u2003But precheth nat, as freres doon in Lente,\n\n\u2003To make us for our olde sinnes wepe,\n\n\u2003Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe.\n\n\u2003Telle us som mery thing of aventures;\u2014\n\n\u2003Your termes, your colours, and your figures,\n\n\u2003Kepe hem in stoor til so be ye endyte\n\n\u2003Heigh style, as whan that men to kinges wryte,\n\n\u2003Speketh so pleyn at this tyme, I yow preye,\n\n\u2003That we may understonde what ye seye.\"\n\n\u2003This worthy clerk benignely answerde,\n\n\u2003\"Hoste,\" quod he, \"I am under your yerde;\n\n\u2003Ye han of us as now the governaunce,\n\n\u2003And therfor wol I do yow obeisaunce,\n\n\u2003As fer as reson axeth, hardily.\n\n\u2003I wol yow telle a tale which that I\n\n\u2003Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk,\n\n\u2003As preved by his wordes and his werk.\n\n\u2003He is now deed and nayled in his cheste,\n\n\u2003I prey to god so yeve his soule reste!\n\n\u2003Fraunceys Petrark, the laureat poete,\n\n\u2003Highte this clerk, whos rethoryke sweete\n\n\u2003Enlumined al Itaille of poetrye,\n\n\u2003As Linian dide of philosophye\n\n\u2003Or lawe, or other art particuler;"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Clerk's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Sir scholar of Oxford,\" our Host said,\n\n\u2003\"You ride as shy and still as does a maid,\n\n\u2003Who is just married, sitting at the wedding table.\n\n\u2003This day I have not heard a word from your tongue.\n\n\u2003I believe you're thinking of some sophistry,\n\n\u2003But Solomon says, 'Everything has its time.'\n\n\u2003For God's sake, be of better cheer.\n\n\u2003It is no time to study here.\n\n\u2003Tell us some merry tale, by your faith!\n\n\u2003For whosoever has entered in a game,\n\n\u2003He needs must by the rules play.\n\n\u2003But preach not, as friars do in Lent,\n\n\u2003To make us of our old sins weep,\n\n\u2003Nor should your tale lead us to sleep.\n\n\u2003Tell us some merry thing of adventures.\n\n\u2003Your rhetorical devices, your figures of speech,\n\n\u2003Keep them in store until you're called to indite\n\n\u2003In high style, as when men to kings write.\n\n\u2003Speak so plainly at this time, we you pray,\n\n\u2003That we may understand what you say.\"\n\n\u2003This worthy Scholar graciously replied:\n\n\u2003\"Host,\" said he, \"I am under your rule;\n\n\u2003You have of us now the governance,\n\n\u2003And therefore will I do you obedience\n\n\u2003As far as reason requires, certainly.\n\n\u2003I will tell you a tale that I\n\n\u2003Learned at Padua of a worthy scholar,\n\n\u2003As proven by his words and his work.\n\n\u2003He is now dead and nailed in his coffin chest,\n\n\u2003I pray to God give his soul rest!\n\n\u2003Francis Petrarch, the laureate poet,\n\n\u2003This scholar was called whose rhetoric sweet\n\n\u2003Illuminated all Italy with poetry,\n\n\u2003As Legnano did of philosophy\n\n\u2003Or law, or other art particular;\n\n\u2003But deeth, that wol nat suffre us dwellen heer\n\n\u2003But as it were a twinkling of an ye,\n\n\u2003Hem bothe hath slayn, and alle shul we dye.\n\n\u2003But forth to tellen of this worthy man,\n\n\u2003That taughte me this tale, as I bigan,\n\n\u2003I seye that first with heigh style he endyteth,\n\n\u2003Er he the body of his tale wryteth,\n\n\u2003A proheme, in the which discryveth he\n\n\u2003Pemond, and of Saluces the contree,\n\n\u2003And speketh of Apennyn, the hilles hye,\n\n\u2003That been the boundes of West Lumbardye,\n\n\u2003And of Mount Vesulus in special,\n\n\u2003Where as the Poo, out of a welle smal,\n\n\u2003Taketh his firste springing and his sours,\n\n\u2003That estward ay encresseth in his cours\n\n\u2003To Emelward, to Ferrare, and Venyse:\n\n\u2003The which a long thing were to devyse.\n\n\u2003And trewely, as to my jugement,\n\n\u2003Me thinketh it a thing impertinent,\n\n\u2003Save that he wol conveyen his matere:\n\n\u2003But this his tale, which that ye may here.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "\u2003Ther is, at the west syde of Itaille,\n\n\u2003Doun at the rote of Vesulus the colde,\n\n\u2003A lusty playne, habundant of vitaille,\n\n\u2003Wher many a tour and toun thou mayst biholde,\n\n\u2003That founded were in tyme of fadres olde,\n\n\u2003And many another delitable sighte,\n\n\u2003And Saluces this noble contree highte.\n\n\u2003A markis whylom lord was of that londe,\n\n\u2003As were his worthy eldres him bifore;\n\n\u2003And obeisant and redy to his honde\n\n\u2003But death, that will not allow us here to dwell\n\n\u2003But as it were the blink of an eye,\n\n\u2003Them both has slain, as we all shall die.\n\n\u2003But to tell more of this worthy man\n\n\u2003Who taught me this tale, as I began,\n\n\u2003I say that first with high style he composed,\n\n\u2003Before the body of his main tale he wrote,\n\n\u2003A prologue, in which he described the\n\n\u2003Piedmont and Saluzzo country,\n\n\u2003And spoke of the Apennines, the hills high,\n\n\u2003That be the bounds of West Lombardy,\n\n\u2003And of Mount Viso especially,\n\n\u2003Where the River Po, out of a spring small,\n\n\u2003Takes its origin and its source,\n\n\u2003Then eastward flows increasing in its course\n\n\u2003To Emilia, to Ferrara and Venice:\n\n\u2003Which would take a long time to relate,\n\n\u2003And truly, in my judgement,\n\n\u2003Methinks it a thing irrelevant,\n\n\u2003Except to introduce his story.\n\n\u2003But this is his tale, which you may now hear.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "\u2003There is, in the west of Italy,\n\n\u2003Down at the foot of Mount Viso the cold,\n\n\u2003A pleasant plain, abundant of food,\n\n\u2003Where many a tower and town you may behold\n\n\u2003That founded were in times of forefathers old,\n\n\u2003And many another delightful sight,\n\n\u2003And Saluzzo was this noble country called.\n\n\u2003A marquis once upon a time was of that land\n\n\u2003As were his worthy elders him before;\n\n\u2003And obedient, ever ready to his hand\n\n\u2003Were alle his liges, bothe lasse and more.\n\n\u2003Thus in delyt he liveth, and hath don yore,\n\n\u2003Biloved and drad, thurgh favour of fortune,\n\n\u2003Bothe of his lordes and of his commune.\n\n\u2003Therwith he was, to speke as of linage,\n\n\u2003The gentilleste y-born of Lumbardye,\n\n\u2003A fair persone, and strong, and yong of age,\n\n\u2003And ful of honour and of curteisye;\n\n\u2003Discreet y-nogh his contree for to gye,\n\n\u2003Save in somme thinges that he was to blame,\n\n\u2003And Walter was this yonge lordes name.\n\n\u2003I blame him thus, that he considereth noght\n\n\u2003In tyme cominge what mighte him bityde,\n\n\u2003But on his lust present was al his thoght,\n\n\u2003As for to hauke and hunte one every syde;\n\n\u2003Wel ny alle othere cures leet he slyde,\n\n\u2003And eek he nolde, and that was worst of alle,\n\n\u2003Wedde no wyf, for noght that may bifalle.\n\n\u2003Only that point his peple bar so sore,\n\n\u2003That flokmele on a day they to him wente,\n\n\u2003And oon of hem, that wysest was of lore,\n\n\u2003Or elles that the lord best wolde assente\n\n\u2003That he sholde telle him what his peple mente,\n\n\u2003Or elles coude he shewe wel swich matere,\n\n\u2003He to the markis seyde as ye shul here.\n\n\u2003\"O noble markis, your humanitee\n\n\u2003Assureth us and yeveth us hardinesse,\n\n\u2003As ofte as tyme is of necessitee\n\n\u2003That we to yow mowe telle our hevinesse;\n\n\u2003Accepteth, lord, now for your gentillesse,\n\n\u2003That we with pitous herte un-to yow pleyne,\n\n\u2003And lete your eres nat my voys disdeyne.\n\n\u2003Al have I noght to done in this matere\n\n\u2003More than another man hath in this place,\n\n\u2003Were all his vassals, both less and more.\n\n\u2003Thus in delight he lived, and had done of yore,\n\n\u2003Beloved and feared, through Fortune's favor,\n\n\u2003Both by his commoners and his lords.\n\n\u2003Also he was, to speak of lineage,\n\n\u2003The highest born of Lombardy,\n\n\u2003A handsome person, and strong, and young of age,\n\n\u2003And full of honor and of courtesy;\n\n\u2003Wise enough to govern his country\u2014\n\n\u2003Save in some things wherein he was to blame\u2014\n\n\u2003And Walter was this young lord's name.\n\n\u2003I blame him thus, that he considered not\n\n\u2003In the future what might him betide,\n\n\u2003But on his immediate pleasure was all his thought,\n\n\u2003And to hunt and hawk on every side;\n\n\u2003Well nigh all other cares let he slide,\n\n\u2003And would not\u2014and that was worst of all\u2014\n\n\u2003Wed a wife, no matter what may befall.\n\n\u2003Only that point his people took so hard\n\n\u2003That in crowds on a day they to him went,\n\n\u2003And one of them, who was most learned,\n\n\u2003Or because the lord would best assent\n\n\u2003That he should tell him what his people meant,\n\n\u2003Or because he best knew how to put it,\n\n\u2003He to the marquis said as you shall hear.\n\n\u2003\"Oh noble marquis, your humanity\n\n\u2003Assures us and gives us the boldness\n\n\u2003As often as it is necessary,\n\n\u2003That we may tell you our heaviness.\n\n\u2003Accept, lord, of your gentleness,\n\n\u2003That we with sorrowful heart to you complain,\n\n\u2003And let your ears my voice not disdain.\n\n\u2003Although I have no more to do in this matter\n\n\u2003Than any other man in this place,\n\n\u2003Yet for as muche as ye, my lord so dere,\n\n\u2003Han alwey shewed me favour and grace,\n\n\u2003I dar the better aske of yow a space\n\n\u2003Of audience, to shewen our requeste,\n\n\u2003And ye, my lord, to doon right as yow leste.\n\n\u2003For certes, lord, so wel us lyketh yow\n\n\u2003And al your werk and ever han doon, that we\n\n\u2003Ne coude nat us self devysen how\n\n\u2003We mighte liven in more felicitee,\n\n\u2003Save o thing, lord, if it your wille be,\n\n\u2003That for to been a wedded man yow leste,\n\n\u2003Than were your peple in sovereyn hertes reste.\n\n\u2003Boweth your nekke under that blisful yok\n\n\u2003Of soveraynetee, noght of servyse,\n\n\u2003Which that men clepeth spousaille or wedlok;\n\n\u2003And thenketh, lord, among your thoghtes wyse,\n\n\u2003How that our dayes passe in sondry wyse;\n\n\u2003For though we slepe or wake, or rome, or ryde,\n\n\u2003Ay fleeth the tyme, it nil no man abyde.\n\n\u2003And though your grene youthe floure as yit,\n\n\u2003In crepeth age alwey, as stille as stoon,\n\n\u2003And deeth manaceth every age, and smit\n\n\u2003In ech estaat, for ther escapeth noon:\n\n\u2003And al so certein as we knowe echoon\n\n\u2003That we shul deye, as uncerteyn we alle\n\n\u2003Been of that day whan deeth shal on us falle.\n\n\u2003Accepteth than of us the trewe entente,\n\n\u2003That never yet refuseden your heste,\n\n\u2003And we wol, lord, if that ye wol assente,\n\n\u2003Chese yow a wyf in short tyme, atte leste,\n\n\u2003Born of the gentilleste and of the meste\n\n\u2003Of al this lond, so that it oghte seme\n\n\u2003Honour to god and yow, as we can deme.\n\n\u2003Yet inasmuch as you, my lord so dear,\n\n\u2003Have always showed me favor and grace,\n\n\u2003I dare the better ask of you a chance\n\n\u2003For audience, to put forward our request,\n\n\u2003And you, my lord, may do just as you wish.\n\n\u2003For certainly, lord, so well do you us please\n\n\u2003And all your work, and have always done, that we\n\n\u2003Could not ourselves imagine how\n\n\u2003We might live in more felicity,\n\n\u2003Save one thing, lord, if it be your will,\n\n\u2003And would please you to be a wedded man,\n\n\u2003Then would your people rest in supreme happiness.\n\n\u2003Bow your neck under that blissful yoke\n\n\u2003Of sovereignty, not of service,\n\n\u2003Which men call wedlock or marriage;\n\n\u2003And think, lord, among your thoughts wise,\n\n\u2003How our days pass in sundry ways;\n\n\u2003For though we sleep or wake, or roam, or ride,\n\n\u2003Still flees the time, for no man will it wait.\n\n\u2003And though your green youth flowers as yet,\n\n\u2003In creeps age always, silent as stone,\n\n\u2003And death menaces every age, and smites\n\n\u2003In every rank, for there escapes no one:\n\n\u2003And even though certain as we each know\n\n\u2003That we shall die, as uncertain we all\n\n\u2003Be of that day when death shall on us fall.\n\n\u2003Accept then of us this loyal good faith,\n\n\u2003That never yet refused your wish,\n\n\u2003And we will, lord, if you will assent,\n\n\u2003Choose you a wife in short time, and at the least,\n\n\u2003Born of the gentlest and of the best\n\n\u2003Of this land, so that it will be an\n\n\u2003Honor to God and you, as we can deem.\n\n\u2003Deliver us out of al this bisy drede,\n\n\u2003And take a wyf, for hye goddes sake;\n\n\u2003For if it so bifelle, as god forbede,\n\n\u2003That thurgh your deeth your linage sholde slake,\n\n\u2003And that a straunge successour sholde take\n\n\u2003Your heritage, o! wo were us alyve!\n\n\u2003Wherfor we pray you hastily to wyve.\"\n\n\u2003Hir meke preyere and hir pitous chere\n\n\u2003Made the markis herte han pitee.\n\n\u2003\"Ye wol,\" quod he, \"myn owene peple dere,\n\n\u2003To that I never erst thoghte streyne me.\n\n\u2003I me rejoysed of my libertee,\n\n\u2003That selde tyme is founde in mariage;\n\n\u2003Ther I was free, I moot been in servage.\n\n\u2003But nathelees I see your trewe entente,\n\n\u2003And truste upon your wit, and have don ay;\n\n\u2003Wherfor of my free wil I wol assente\n\n\u2003To wedde me, as sone as ever I may.\n\n\u2003But ther-as ye han profred me to-day\n\n\u2003To chese me a wyf, I yow relesse\n\n\u2003That choys, and prey yow of that profre cesse.\n\n\u2003For god it woot, that children ofte been\n\n\u2003Unlyk her worthy eldres hem bifore;\n\n\u2003Bountee comth al of god, nat of the streen\n\n\u2003Of which they been engendred and y-bore;\n\n\u2003I truste in goddes bountee, and therfore\n\n\u2003My mariage and myn estaat and reste\n\n\u2003I him bitake; he may don as him leste.\n\n\u2003Lat me alone in chesinge of my wyf,\n\n\u2003That charge up-on my bak I wol endure;\n\n\u2003But I yow preye, and charge up-on your lyf,\n\n\u2003That what wyf that I take, ye me assure\n\n\u2003To worshipe hir, whyl that hir lyf may dure,\n\n\u2003In word and werk, bothe here and everywhere,\n\n\u2003As she an emperoures doghter were.\n\n\u2003Deliver us out of this anxious dread\n\n\u2003And take a wife, for high God's sake,\n\n\u2003For if it so befell, may God forbid,\n\n\u2003That through your death your line should end,\n\n\u2003And that an unknown successor should take\n\n\u2003Your heritage, Oh, woe were us alive!\n\n\u2003Wherefore we pray you hastily take a wife.\"\n\n\u2003Their meek prayer and their piteous looks\n\n\u2003Made the marquis' heart have pity.\n\n\u2003\"You wish,\" said he, \"mine own people dear,\n\n\u2003What I never thought of doing before.\n\n\u2003I rejoiced in a liberty\n\n\u2003That seldom is found in marriage;\n\n\u2003Where I was once free, I would be in service.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless I see your true intent,\n\n\u2003And trust your judgement, and have done ever,\n\n\u2003Wherefore of my free will I will assent\n\n\u2003To wed, as soon as ever I may.\n\n\u2003But where you have offered me today\n\n\u2003To choose me a wife, I release you from\n\n\u2003That choice, and pray you withdraw that offer.\n\n\u2003For, God knows, that children oft be\n\n\u2003Unlike their worthy elders them before;\n\n\u2003Goodness comes from God, not of the blood\n\n\u2003Of which they be engendered and born.\n\n\u2003I trust in God's goodness, and therefore\n\n\u2003My marriage and my nobility and peace\n\n\u2003I to Him entrust, to do as he pleases.\n\n\u2003Let me alone in the choosing of my wife\u2014\n\n\u2003That burden upon my back I will endure;\n\n\u2003But I you pray, and charge upon your life,\n\n\u2003That whatever wife I take, you me assure\n\n\u2003To revere her while her life may endure,\n\n\u2003In word and work, both here and everywhere,\n\n\u2003As if she an emperor's daughter were.\n\n\u2003And forthermore, this shal ye swere, that ye\n\n\u2003Agayn my choys shul neither grucche ne stryve;\n\n\u2003For sith I shal forgoon my libertee\n\n\u2003At your requeste, as ever moot I thryve,\n\n\u2003Ther as myn herte is set, ther wol I wyve;\n\n\u2003And but ye wole assente in swich manere,\n\n\u2003I prey yow, speketh na-more of this matere.\"\n\n\u2003With hertly wil they sworen, and assenten\n\n\u2003To al this thing, ther seyde no wight nay;\n\n\u2003Bisekinge him of grace, er that they wenten,\n\n\u2003That he wolde graunten hem a certein day\n\n\u2003Of his spousaille, as sone as ever he may;\n\n\u2003For yet alwey the peple som-what dredde\n\n\u2003Lest that this markis no wyf wolde wedde.\n\n\u2003He graunted hem a day, swich as him leste,\n\n\u2003On which he wolde be wedded sikerly,\n\n\u2003And seyde, he dide al this at hir requeste;\n\n\u2003And they, with humble entente, buxonly,\n\n\u2003Knelinge up-on her knees ful reverently\n\n\u2003Him thanken alle, and thus they han an ende\n\n\u2003Of hir entente, and hoom agayn they wende.\n\n\u2003And heer-up-on he to his officeres\n\n\u2003Comaundeth for the feste to purveye,\n\n\u2003And to his privee knightes and squyeres\n\n\u2003Swich charge yaf, as him liste on hem leye;\n\n\u2003And they to his comandement obeye,\n\n\u2003And ech of hem doth al his diligence\n\n\u2003To doon un-to the feste reverence.\n\n\u2003And furthermore this shall you swear, that you\n\n\u2003Against my choice shall neither grouch nor strive;\n\n\u2003For since I shall forego my liberty\n\n\u2003At your request, as I may thrive,\n\n\u2003Where my heart is set, there will I take a wife.\n\n\u2003And unless you will assent in such manner,\n\n\u2003I pray you, speak no more of this matter.\"\n\n\u2003With sincere hearts they swore and assented\n\n\u2003To all this thing\u2014there said no person nay\u2014\n\n\u2003Beseeching of him his grace, before they went,\n\n\u2003That he would grant them a certain day\n\n\u2003For his wedding, as soon as ever he may;\n\n\u2003For yet still the people somewhat dreaded\n\n\u2003Lest that this marquis no wife would wed.\n\n\u2003He granted them a day, such as it him pleased,\n\n\u2003On which he would be wedded surely,\n\n\u2003And said he did all this at their request.\n\n\u2003And they, with humble intent, submissively,\n\n\u2003Kneeling upon their knees full reverently,\n\n\u2003All thanked him; and thus they had an end\n\n\u2003Of their purpose, and home again they went.\n\n\u2003And hereupon he to his household\n\n\u2003Commanded for the feast to provide,\n\n\u2003And to his personal knights and squires\n\n\u2003Such charge gave as upon them he chose to lay;\n\n\u2003And they to the commandment obeyed,\n\n\u2003And each of them did all his best\n\n\u2003To do honor unto the feast."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "\u2003Noght fer fro thilke paleys honurable\n\n\u2003Ther-as this markis shoop his mariage,\n\n\u2003Ther stood a throp, of site delitable,\n\n\u2003In which that povre folk of that village\n\n\u2003Hadden hir bestes and hir herbergage,\n\n\u2003And of hir labour took hir sustenance\n\n\u2003After that th'erthe yaf hem habundance.\n\n\u2003Amonges thise povre folk ther dwelte a man\n\n\u2003Which that was holden povrest of hem alle;\n\n\u2003But hye god som tyme senden can\n\n\u2003His grace in-to a litel oxes stalle:\n\n\u2003Janicula men of that throp him calle.\n\n\u2003A doghter hadde he, fair y-nogh to sighte,\n\n\u2003And Grisildis this yonge mayden highte.\n\n\u2003But for to speke of vertuous beautee,\n\n\u2003Than was she oon the faireste under sonne;\n\n\u2003For povreliche y-fostred up was she,\n\n\u2003No likerous lust was thurgh hir herte y-ronne:\n\n\u2003Wel ofter of the welle than of the tonne\n\n\u2003She drank, and for she wolde vertu plese,\n\n\u2003She knew wel labour, but non ydel ese.\n\n\u2003But thogh this mayde tendre were of age,\n\n\u2003Yet in the brest of hir virginitee\n\n\u2003Ther was enclosed rype and sad corage;\n\n\u2003And in greet reverence and charitee\n\n\u2003Hir olde povre fader fostred she;\n\n\u2003A fewe sheep spinning on feeld she kepte,\n\n\u2003She wolde noght been ydel til she slepte.\n\n\u2003And whan she hoomward cam, she wolde bringe\n\n\u2003Wortes or othere herbes tymes ofte,\n\n\u2003The whiche she shredde and seeth for hir livinge,\n\n\u2003And made hir bed ful harde and no-thing softe;\n\n\u2003And ay she kept hir fadres lyf on-lofte\n\n\u2003With everich obeisaunce and diligence\n\n\u2003That child may doon to fadres reverence."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "\u2003Not far from this worthy place\n\n\u2003Where the marquis prepared for marriage,\n\n\u2003There stood a village, of site delightful,\n\n\u2003In which poor folk of that village\n\n\u2003Had their beasts and their habitations,\n\n\u2003And by their labor took their sustenance\n\n\u2003Such as provided their land's abundance.\n\n\u2003Among these poor folk there dwelt a man\n\n\u2003Who was held to be poorest of them all;\n\n\u2003But high God sometimes can send\n\n\u2003His grace into a little ox's stall.\n\n\u2003Janicula men of that town him called;\n\n\u2003A daughter had he, fair enough to the eye,\n\n\u2003And Griselda was this young maiden's name.\n\n\u2003But to speak of virtuous beauty,\n\n\u2003Then was she one of the fairest under the sun;\n\n\u2003Because she was raised in poverty,\n\n\u2003No greed through her heart ran.\n\n\u2003Water from the spring, not wine from the cask\n\n\u2003She drank; and because she would virtue please,\n\n\u2003She knew well labor, but not idle ease.\n\n\u2003But though this maid tender was of age,\n\n\u2003Yet in the breast of her virginity\n\n\u2003There was enclosed a firm and mature heart;\n\n\u2003And in great reverence and charity\n\n\u2003Her old poor father cared for she.\n\n\u2003A few sheep, while spinning, on watch she kept;\n\n\u2003She would not be idle till she slept.\n\n\u2003And when she homeward went, she would often bring\n\n\u2003Plants or other herbs,\n\n\u2003Which she shredded and boiled for her living,\n\n\u2003And made her bed full hard and nothing soft;\n\n\u2003And ever she her father's life sustained\n\n\u2003With every obedience and diligence\n\n\u2003That a child may do for her parent.\n\n\u2003Up-on Grisilde, this povre creature,\n\n\u2003Ful ofte sythe this markis sette his ye\n\n\u2003As he on hunting rood paraventure;\n\n\u2003And whan it fil that he mighte hir espye,\n\n\u2003He noght with wantoun loking of folye\n\n\u2003His yen caste on hir, but in sad wyse\n\n\u2003Up-on hir chere he wolde him ofte avyse,\n\n\u2003Commending in his herte hir wommanhede,\n\n\u2003And eek hir vertu, passing any wight\n\n\u2003Of so yong age, as wel in chere as dede.\n\n\u2003For thogh the peple have no greet insight\n\n\u2003In vertu, he considered ful right\n\n\u2003Hir bountee, and disposed that he wolde\n\n\u2003Wedde hir only, if ever he wedde sholde.\n\n\u2003The day of wedding cam, but no wight can\n\n\u2003Telle what womman that it sholde be;\n\n\u2003For which merveille wondred many a man,\n\n\u2003And seyden, whan they were in privetee,\n\n\u2003\"Wol nat our lord yet leve his vanitee?\n\n\u2003Wol he nat wedde? alias, alias the whyle!\n\n\u2003Why wol he thus him-self and us bigyle?\"\n\n\u2003But natheles this markis hath don make\n\n\u2003Of gemmes, set in gold and in asure,\n\n\u2003Broches and ringes, for Grisildis sake,\n\n\u2003And of hir clothing took he the mesure\n\n\u2003By a mayde, lyk to hir stature,\n\n\u2003And eek of othere ornamentes alle\n\n\u2003That un-to swich a wedding sholde falle.\n\n\u2003The tyme of undern of the same day\n\n\u2003Approcheth; that this wedding sholde be;\n\n\u2003And al the paleys put was in array,\n\n\u2003Bothe halle and chambres, ech in his degree;\n\n\u2003Houses of office stuffed with plentee\n\n\u2003Ther maystow seen of deyntevous vitaille,\n\n\u2003That may be founde, as fer as last Itaille.\n\n\u2003Upon Griselda, this poor creature,\n\n\u2003Full oftentimes this marquis set his eye\n\n\u2003As he while hunting by chance rode by;\n\n\u2003And when it befell that he might her espy,\n\n\u2003He not with wanton, foolish looks\n\n\u2003His eyes cast upon her, but in a serious way\n\n\u2003Upon her face he would often ponder,\n\n\u2003Commending in his heart her womanhood,\n\n\u2003And also her virtue, surpassing any person\n\n\u2003Of so young age, as well in looks as deed.\n\n\u2003For though common folk have no great insight\n\n\u2003In virtue, he considered fully\n\n\u2003Her goodness, and decided that he would\n\n\u2003Wed her only, if wed he ever should.\n\n\u2003The day of wedding came, but no one could\n\n\u2003Tell what woman it would be;\n\n\u2003For which wondered many a man\n\n\u2003And said, when they were in private,\n\n\u2003\"Will not our lord yet leave his levity?\n\n\u2003Will he not wed? alas, alas the while!\n\n\u2003Why will he thus himself and us beguile?\"\n\n\u2003But nevertheless this marquis had ordered made\n\n\u2003Of gems, set in gold and in azure\n\n\u2003Brooches and rings, for Griselda's sake,\n\n\u2003And of her clothing too he took the measure\n\n\u2003By a maid, like to her stature,\n\n\u2003And also of other adornments all\n\n\u2003That unto such a wedding should fall.\n\n\u2003As midmorning of the same day\n\n\u2003Approached, that this wedding should be;\n\n\u2003And all the palace was put in order,\n\n\u2003Both hall and chambers, each in its degree;\n\n\u2003Kitchens stuffed with plenty\n\n\u2003There you could see, with dainty foods\n\n\u2003That may be found as far as extends Italy.\n\n\u2003This royal markis, richely arrayed,\n\n\u2003Lordes and ladyes in his companye,\n\n\u2003The whiche unto the feste were y-prayed,\n\n\u2003And of his retenue the bachelrye,\n\n\u2003With many a soun of sondry melodye,\n\n\u2003Un-to the village, of the which I tolde,\n\n\u2003In this array the righte wey han holde.\n\n\u2003Grisilde of this, god woot, ful innocent,\n\n\u2003That for hir shapen was al this array,\n\n\u2003To fecchen water at a welle is went,\n\n\u2003And cometh hoom as sone as ever she may.\n\n\u2003For wel she hadde herd seyd, that thilke day\n\n\u2003The markis sholde wedde, and, if she mighte,\n\n\u2003She wolde fayn han seyn som of that sighte.\n\n\u2003She thoghte, \"I wol with othere maydens stonde,\n\n\u2003That been my felawes, in our dore, and see\n\n\u2003The markisesse, and therfor wol I fonde\n\n\u2003To doon at hoom, as sone as it may be,\n\n\u2003The labour which that longeth un-to me;\n\n\u2003And than I may at leyser hir biholde,\n\n\u2003If she this wey un-to the castel holde.\"\n\n\u2003And as she wolde over hir threshfold goon,\n\n\u2003The markis cam and gan hir for to calle;\n\n\u2003And she set doun hir water-pot anoon\n\n\u2003Bisyde the threshfold, in an oxes stalle,\n\n\u2003And doun up-on hir knees she gan to falle,\n\n\u2003And with sad contenance kneleth stille\n\n\u2003Til she had herd what was the lordes wille.\n\n\u2003This thoghtful markis spak un-to this mayde\n\n\u2003Ful sobrely, and seyde in this manere,\n\n\u2003\"Wher is your fader, Grisildis?\" he sayde,\n\n\u2003And she with reverence, in humble chere,\n\n\u2003Answerde, \"lord, he is al redy here.\"\n\n\u2003And in she gooth with-outen lenger lette,\n\n\u2003And to the markis she hir fader fette.\n\n\u2003This royal marquis, richly dressed,\n\n\u2003Lords and ladies in his company,\n\n\u2003Who unto the feast were asked,\n\n\u2003And the young knights of his retinue,\n\n\u2003With many a sound of various melodies,\n\n\u2003Unto the village of which I spoke,\n\n\u2003In their array the straight way took.\n\n\u2003Griselda, full unaware\n\n\u2003That all this parade was prepared for her,\n\n\u2003Went to fetch water at the well,\n\n\u2003And came home as soon as ever she could.\n\n\u2003For well she had heard said that very day\n\n\u2003The marquis should wed, and if she might,\n\n\u2003She would gladly have seen some of that sight.\n\n\u2003She thought, \"I will with other maidens stand,\n\n\u2003Who be my companions, in our door and see\n\n\u2003The marchioness, and therefore will I try\n\n\u2003To finish up at home as soon as may be\n\n\u2003The labor that belongs to me;\n\n\u2003And then I may at leisure her behold,\n\n\u2003If she this way unto the castle goes.\"\n\n\u2003And as she would over her threshold go,\n\n\u2003The marquis came and began for her to call;\n\n\u2003And she set down her pail anon\n\n\u2003Beside the threshold, in an ox's stall,\n\n\u2003And down on her knees she began to fall,\n\n\u2003And with earnest countenance knelt still\n\n\u2003Till she had heard what was the lord's will.\n\n\u2003The thoughtful marquis spoke unto this maid\n\n\u2003Full gravely, and said in this manner:\n\n\u2003\"Where is your father, Griselda?\"\n\n\u2003And she with reverence, in a humble way,\n\n\u2003Answered, \"Lord, he is here, ready to serve you.\"\n\n\u2003And she went in without delay,\n\n\u2003And to the marquis her father led.\n\n\u2003He by the hond than took this olde man,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, whan he him hadde asyde,\n\n\u2003\"Janicula, I neither may ne can\n\n\u2003Lenger the plesance of my herte hyde.\n\n\u2003If that thou vouche-sauf, what-so bityde,\n\n\u2003Thy doghter wol I take, er that I wende,\n\n\u2003As for my wyf, un-to hir lyves ende.\n\n\u2003Thou lovest me, I woot it wel, certyn,\n\n\u2003And art my feithful lige man y-bore;\n\n\u2003And al that lyketh me, I dar wel seyn\n\n\u2003It lyketh thee, and specially therfore\n\n\u2003Tel me that poynt that I have seyd bifore,\n\n\u2003If that thou wolt un-to that purpos drawe,\n\n\u2003To take me as for thy sone-in-lawe?\"\n\n\u2003This sodeyn cas this man astoned so,\n\n\u2003That reed he wex, abayst, and al quaking\n\n\u2003He stood; unnethes seyde he wordes mo,\n\n\u2003But only thus: \"lord,\" quod he, \"my willing\n\n\u2003Is as ye wole, ne ayeines your lyking\n\n\u2003I wol no-thing; ye be my lord so dere;\n\n\u2003Right as yow lust governeth this matere.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yet wol I,\" quod this markis softely,\n\n\u2003\"That in thy chambre I and thou and she\n\n\u2003Have a collacion, and wostow why?\n\n\u2003For I wol axe if it hir wille be\n\n\u2003To be my wyf, and reule hir after me;\n\n\u2003And al this shal be doon in thy presence,\n\n\u2003I wol noght speke out of thyn audience.\"\n\n\u2003And in the chambre whyl they were aboute\n\n\u2003Hir tretis, which as ye shal after here,\n\n\u2003The peple cam un-to the hous with-oute,\n\n\u2003And wondred hem in how honest manere\n\n\u2003And tentifly she kepte hir fader dere.\n\n\u2003But outerly Grisildis wondre mighte,\n\n\u2003For never erst ne saugh she swich a sighte.\n\n\u2003He by the hand then took this old man,\n\n\u2003And said when he had him aside,\n\n\u2003\"Janicula, I neither may nor can\n\n\u2003Longer the pleasure of my heart hide.\n\n\u2003If you will permit, whatever may betide,\n\n\u2003Your daughter will I take, before I depart\u2014\n\n\u2003For my wife, until our lives end.\n\n\u2003You love me, I know it well, certain,\n\n\u2003And were my faithful vassal born;\n\n\u2003And all that pleases me, I dare well say\n\n\u2003Also pleases you; and especially therefore\n\n\u2003Answer me that question I have said before:\n\n\u2003If you will\n\n\u2003Take me for your son-in-law.\"\n\n\u2003This sudden turn this man bewildered so\n\n\u2003That red he turned, abashed and all trembling\n\n\u2003He stood. Scarcely said he words more,\n\n\u2003But only thus: \"Lord,\" said he, \"my wish\n\n\u2003Is as you will; against your liking\n\n\u2003I wish no thing, you be my lord so dear.\n\n\u2003Right as you please govern this matter.\"\n\n\u2003\"Then I would like,\" said this marquis softly,\n\n\u2003\"That in your chamber you and I and she\n\n\u2003Have a talk, and do you know why?\n\n\u2003For I will ask if her will it be\n\n\u2003To be my wife, and govern herself after me.\n\n\u2003And all this shall be done in your presence\u2014\n\n\u2003I will not speak out of your audience.\"\n\n\u2003And in the chamber while they made\n\n\u2003Their contract, as you shall after hear,\n\n\u2003The people came to the house outside,\n\n\u2003And wondered at how attentively\n\n\u2003And tenderly she kept her father dear.\n\n\u2003But especially Griselda might have wondered,\n\n\u2003For never before had she seen such a sight.\n\n\u2003No wonder is thogh that she were astoned\n\n\u2003To seen so greet a gest come in that place;\n\n\u2003She never was to swiche gestes woned,\n\n\u2003For which she loked with ful pale face.\n\n\u2003But shortly forth this tale for to chace,\n\n\u2003Thise arn the wordes that the markis sayde\n\n\u2003To this benigne verray feithful mayde.\n\n\u2003\"Grisilde,\" he seyde, \"ye shul wel understonde\n\n\u2003It lyketh to your fader and to me\n\n\u2003That I yow wedde, and eek it may so stonde,\n\n\u2003As I suppose, ye wol that it so be.\n\n\u2003But thise demandes axe I first,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"That, sith it shal be doon in hastif wyse,\n\n\u2003Wol ye assente, or elles yow avyse?\n\n\u2003I seye this, be ye redy with good herte\n\n\u2003To al my lust, and that I frely may,\n\n\u2003As me best thinketh, do yow laughe or smerte,\n\n\u2003And never ye to grucche it, night ne day?\n\n\u2003And eek whan I sey 'ye,' ne sey nat 'nay,'\n\n\u2003Neither by word ne frowning contenance;\n\n\u2003Swer this, and here I swere our alliance.\"\n\n\u2003Wondring upon this word, quaking for drede,\n\n\u2003She seyde, \"lord, undigne and unworthy\n\n\u2003Am I to thilke honour that ye me bede;\n\n\u2003But as ye wol your-self, right so wol I.\n\n\u2003And heer I swere that never willingly\n\n\u2003In werk ne thoght I nil yow disobeye,\n\n\u2003For to be deed, though me were looth to deye.\"\n\n\u2003\"This is y-nogh, Grisilde myn!\" quod he.\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth with a ful sobre chere\n\n\u2003Out at the dore, and after that cam she,\n\n\u2003And to the peple he seyde in this manere,\n\n\u2003\"This is my wyf,\" quod he, \"that standeth here,\n\n\u2003Honoureth hir, and loveth hir, I preye,\n\n\u2003Who-so me loveth; ther is na-more to seye.\"\n\n\u2003No wonder that she was bewildered\n\n\u2003To see so great a guest come in that place;\n\n\u2003She never was to such guests accustomed,\n\n\u2003And so she looked with full pale face.\n\n\u2003But shortly, this matter to pursue,\n\n\u2003These are the words that the marquis said\n\n\u2003To this gracious, true, faithful maid.\n\n\u2003\"Griselda,\" he said, \"you shall well understand\n\n\u2003It pleases your father and me\n\n\u2003That I you wed, and also it may be the case,\n\n\u2003As I suppose, you will that it so be.\n\n\u2003But these demands I ask first,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"That since it shall be done in haste,\n\n\u2003Will you assent, or else deliberate?\n\n\u2003I say this, be you ready with good heart\n\n\u2003To honor my every wish, and that I freely may,\n\n\u2003As I think best, make you laugh or suffer,\n\n\u2003And you never to complain about it, night or day?\n\n\u2003And also when I say 'yes,' you say not 'nay,'\n\n\u2003Neither by word nor frowning countenance?\n\n\u2003Swear this, and here I swear our alliance.\"\n\n\u2003Wondering upon this speech, trembling for dread,\n\n\u2003She said, \"Lord, undeserving and unworthy\n\n\u2003Am I to that honor that you offer me;\n\n\u2003But as you will it yourself, right so will I,\n\n\u2003And here I swear that never willingly\n\n\u2003In deed nor thought will I disobey you,\n\n\u2003Even to die, though to die I loathe would be.\"\n\n\u2003\"This is enough, Griselda, mine!\" said he.\n\n\u2003And forth he went with a full sober face\n\n\u2003Out at the door, and after that came she,\n\n\u2003And to the people he said in this manner:\n\n\u2003\"This is my wife,\" said he, \"who stands here.\n\n\u2003Honor her and love her I pray\n\n\u2003Whoso me loves; there is no more to say.\"\n\n\u2003And for that no-thing of hir olde gere\n\n\u2003She sholde bringe in-to his hous, he bad\n\n\u2003That wommen sholde dispoilen hir right there;\n\n\u2003Of which thise ladyes were nat right glad\n\n\u2003To handle hir clothes wher-in she was clad.\n\n\u2003But natheles this mayde bright of hewe\n\n\u2003Fro foot to heed they clothed han al newe.\n\n\u2003Hir heres han they kembd, that lay untressed\n\n\u2003Ful rudely, and with hir fingres smale\n\n\u2003A corone on hir heed they han y-dressed,\n\n\u2003And sette hir ful of nowches grete and smale;\n\n\u2003Of hir array what sholde I make a tale?\n\n\u2003Unnethe the peple hir knew for hir fairnesse,\n\n\u2003Whan she translated was in swich richesse.\n\n\u2003This markis hath hir spoused with a ring\n\n\u2003Broght for the same cause, and than hir sette\n\n\u2003Up-on an hors, snow-whyt and wel ambling,\n\n\u2003And to his paleys, er he lenger lette,\n\n\u2003With joyful peple that hir ladde and mette,\n\n\u2003Conveyed hir, and thus the day they spende\n\n\u2003In revel, til the sonne gan descende.\n\n\u2003And shortly forth this tale for to chace,\n\n\u2003I seye that to this newe markisesse\n\n\u2003God hath swich favour sent hir of his grace,\n\n\u2003That it ne semed nat by lyklinesse\n\n\u2003That she was born and fed in rudenesse,\n\n\u2003As in a cote or in an oxe-stalle,\n\n\u2003But norished in an emperoures halle.\n\n\u2003To every wight she woxen is so dere\n\n\u2003And worshipful, that folk ther she was bore\n\n\u2003And from hir birthe knewe hir yeer by yere,\n\n\u2003Unnethe trowed they, but dorste han swore\n\n\u2003That to Janicle, of which I spak bifore,\n\n\u2003She doghter nas, for, as by conjecture,\n\n\u2003Hem thoughte she was another creature.\n\n\u2003And so that none of her old clothes\n\n\u2003She should bring into his house, he bade\n\n\u2003That women should undress her right there;\n\n\u2003Of which these ladies were not right glad\n\n\u2003To handle her clothes wherein she was clad.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, this maid bright of hue\n\n\u2003From foot to head they clothed all new.\n\n\u2003Her hair they combed, that lay unbraided\n\n\u2003Full artless, and with their fingers small\n\n\u2003A crown on her head they placed,\n\n\u2003And adorned her full of jewels great and small.\n\n\u2003Of her apparel why should I make a tale?\n\n\u2003Scarcely the people knew her for her fairness,\n\n\u2003When she was transformed in such richness.\n\n\u2003This marquis had her married with a ring\n\n\u2003Brought for the same purpose, and then her set\n\n\u2003Upon a horse, snow-white and soft-gaited,\n\n\u2003And to his palace, with no further delay,\n\n\u2003With joyful people who her met and led,\n\n\u2003Conveyed her; and thus the day they spent\n\n\u2003In revel, till the sun did set.\n\n\u2003And shortly, this tale to pursue,\n\n\u2003I say that to this new marquess\n\n\u2003God had such favor sent her of his grace,\n\n\u2003That it seemed not likely\n\n\u2003That she was born and fed in lowliness,\n\n\u2003As in a cottage or an ox stall,\n\n\u2003But nourished in an emperor's hall.\n\n\u2003To every person she grew so dear\n\n\u2003And of honor worthy, that people where she was born\n\n\u2003And from her birth knew her year by year,\n\n\u2003Scarcely could believe\u2014though they it would swear\n\n\u2003That to Janicula, of whom I spoke before,\n\n\u2003She daughter was, for, as by conjecture,\n\n\u2003To them she seemed another creature.\n\n\u2003For thogh that ever vertuous was she,\n\n\u2003She was encressed in swich excellence\n\n\u2003Of thewes gode, y-set in heigh bountee,\n\n\u2003And so discreet and fair of eloquence,\n\n\u2003So benigne and so digne of reverence,\n\n\u2003And coude so the peples herte embrace,\n\n\u2003That ech hir lovede that loked on hir face.\n\n\u2003Noght only of Saluces in the toun\n\n\u2003Publiced was the bountee of hir name,\n\n\u2003But eek bisyde in many a regioun,\n\n\u2003If oon seyde wel, another seyde the same;\n\n\u2003So spradde of hir heigh bountee the fame,\n\n\u2003That men and wommen, as wel yonge as olde,\n\n\u2003Gon to Saluce, upon hir to biholde.\n\n\u2003Thus Walter lowly, nay but royally,\n\n\u2003Wedded with fortunat honestetee,\n\n\u2003In goddes pees liveth ful esily\n\n\u2003At hoom, and outward grace y-nogh had he;\n\n\u2003And for he saugh that under low degree\n\n\u2003Was ofte vertu hid, the peple him helde\n\n\u2003A prudent man, and that is seyn ful selde.\n\n\u2003Nat only this Grisildis thurgh hir wit\n\n\u2003Coude al the feet of wyfly hoomlinesse,\n\n\u2003But eek, whan that the cas requyred it,\n\n\u2003The commune profit coude she redresse.\n\n\u2003Ther nas discord, rancour, ne hevinesse\n\n\u2003In al that lond, that she ne coude apese,\n\n\u2003And wysly bringe hem alle in reste and ese.\n\n\u2003Though that hir housbonde absent were anoon,\n\n\u2003If gentil men, or othere of hir contree\n\n\u2003Were wrothe, she wolde bringen hem atoon;\n\n\u2003So wyse and rype wordes hadde she,\n\n\u2003And jugements of so greet equitee,\n\n\u2003That she from heven sent was, as men wende,\n\n\u2003Peple to save and every wrong t'amende.\n\n\u2003For although ever virtuous was she,\n\n\u2003She was increased in such excellence\n\n\u2003Of qualities fine, set in high goodness,\n\n\u2003And so wise and fair of speech,\n\n\u2003So gracious and so worthy of reverence,\n\n\u2003And could so the people's hearts hold fast,\n\n\u2003That each loved her who looked upon her face.\n\n\u2003Not only in the town of Saluzzo\n\n\u2003Published was the goodness of her name,\n\n\u2003But also in many another region:\n\n\u2003If one spoke well, another said the same.\n\n\u2003So spread of her high goodness the fame\n\n\u2003That men and women, as well young as old,\n\n\u2003Went to Saluzzo upon her to behold.\n\n\u2003Thus Walter lowly\u2014nay but royally\u2014\n\n\u2003Wedded with fortunate honor,\n\n\u2003In God's peace lived full easily\n\n\u2003At home, and outward grace enough had he;\n\n\u2003And because he saw that under low degree\n\n\u2003Was often virtue hid, the people held him\n\n\u2003A prudent man, and that is full seldom seen.\n\n\u2003Not only this Griselda through her wit\n\n\u2003Knew all the tasks of a housewife's skill,\n\n\u2003But also, when the case required it,\n\n\u2003The common good could she amend.\n\n\u2003There was no discord, rancor, nor heaviness\n\n\u2003In all the land that she could not appease,\n\n\u2003And wisely bring them all peace and ease.\n\n\u2003Though her husband absent were,\n\n\u2003If gentlemen or others of her country\n\n\u2003Were angry, she would soon bring them into one;\n\n\u2003So wise and mature words had she,\n\n\u2003And judgements of so great even-handedness,\n\n\u2003That she was sent from heaven, as men imagined,\n\n\u2003People to save and every wrong to mend.\n\n\u2003Nat longe tyme after that this Grisild\n\n\u2003Was wedded, she a doughter hath y-bore,\n\n\u2003Al had hir lever have born a knave child.\n\n\u2003Glad was this markis and the folk therfore;\n\n\u2003For though a mayde child come al bifore,\n\n\u2003She may unto a knave child atteyne\n\n\u2003By lyklihed, sin she nis nat bareyne."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "\u2003Ther fil, as it bifalleth tymes mo,\n\n\u2003Whan that this child had souked but a throwe,\n\n\u2003This markis in his herte longeth so\n\n\u2003To tempte his wyf, hir sadnesse for to knowe,\n\n\u2003That he ne mighte out of his herte throwe\n\n\u2003This merveillous desyr, his wyf t'assaye,\n\n\u2003Needless, god woot, he thoughte hir for t'affraye.\n\n\u2003He hadde assayed hir y-nogh bifore,\n\n\u2003And fond hir ever good; what neded it\n\n\u2003Hir for to tempte and alwey more and more?\n\n\u2003Though som men preise it for a subtil wit,\n\n\u2003But as for me, I seye that yvel it sit\n\n\u2003T'assaye a wyf whan that it is no nede,\n\n\u2003And putten her in anguish and in drede.\n\n\u2003For which this markis wroghte in this manere;\n\n\u2003He cam alone a-night, ther as she lay,\n\n\u2003With sterne face and with ful trouble chere,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, \"Grisild,\" quod he, \"that day\n\n\u2003That I yow took out of your povre array,\n\n\u2003And putte yow in estaat of heigh noblesse,\n\n\u2003Ye have nat that forgeten, as I gesse.\n\n\u2003I seye, Grisild, this present dignitee,\n\n\u2003In which that I have put yow, as I trowe,\n\n\u2003Maketh yow nat foryetful for to be\n\n\u2003That I yow took in povre estaat ful lowe\n\n\u2003For any wele ye moot your-selven knowe.\n\n\u2003Not long time after this Griselda\n\n\u2003Was wedded, she a daughter had borne.\n\n\u2003Although she'd rather have borne a son,\n\n\u2003Glad was this marquis and the folk therefore;\n\n\u2003For though a maid child came before,\n\n\u2003She may unto a boy child attain\n\n\u2003By likelihood, since she was not barren."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "\u2003There happened, as it so often does,\n\n\u2003When this child had nursed but a short while,\n\n\u2003That this marquis in his heart longed so\n\n\u2003To tempt his wife, her fidelity to know,\n\n\u2003That he could not out of his heart throw\n\n\u2003This strange desire, to test his wife;\n\n\u2003Needlessly, God knows, he decided her to frighten.\n\n\u2003He had tested her enough before\n\n\u2003And found her ever good. Why should he need\n\n\u2003To tempt her always more and more,\n\n\u2003Though some men praised it for subtle wit?\n\n\u2003But as for me, I say that it ill becomes a man\n\n\u2003To test a wife when there is no need,\n\n\u2003And put her in anguish and in dread.\n\n\u2003For which this marquis wrought in this manner:\n\n\u2003He came alone at night, where she lay,\n\n\u2003With stern face and full troubled look,\n\n\u2003And said thus: \"Griselda, that day\n\n\u2003That I you took out of your poor place\n\n\u2003And put you in estate of high noblesse,\n\n\u2003You have not that forgotten, as I guess.\n\n\u2003I say, Griselda, this present dignity,\n\n\u2003In which I have put you, as I believe,\n\n\u2003Perhaps makes you forget\n\n\u2003That I took you in poor estate full low.\n\n\u2003For any happiness you may yourself know,\n\n\u2003Tak hede of every word that I yow seye,\n\n\u2003Ther is no wight that hereth it but we tweye.\n\n\u2003Ye woot your-self wel, how that ye cam here\n\n\u2003In-to this hous, it is nat longe ago,\n\n\u2003And though to me that ye be lief and dere,\n\n\u2003Un-to my gentils ye be no-thing so;\n\n\u2003They seyn, to hem it is greet shame and wo\n\n\u2003For to be subgets and ben in servage\n\n\u2003To thee, that born art of a smal village.\n\n\u2003And namely, sith thy doghter was y-bore,\n\n\u2003Thise wordes han they spoken doutelees;\n\n\u2003But I desyre, as I have doon bifore,\n\n\u2003To live my lyf with hem in reste and pees;\n\n\u2003I may nat in this caas be recchelees.\n\n\u2003I moot don with thy doghter for the beste,\n\n\u2003Nat as I wolde, but as my peple leste.\n\n\u2003And yet, god wot, this is ful looth to me;\n\n\u2003But nathelees with-oute your witing\n\n\u2003I wol nat doon, but this wol I,\" quod he,\n\n\"That ye to me assente as in this thing.\n\n\u2003Shewe now your pacience in your werking\n\n\u2003That ye me highte and swore in your village\n\n\u2003That day that maked was our mariage.\"\n\n\u2003Whan she had herd al this, she noght ameved\n\n\u2003Neither in word, or chere, or countenaunce;\n\n\u2003For, as it semed, she was nat agreved;\n\n\u2003She seyde, \"lord, al lyth in your plesaunce,\n\n\u2003My child and I with hertly obeisaunce\n\n\u2003Ben youres al, and ye mowe save or spille\n\n\u2003Your owene thing; werketh after your wille.\n\n\u2003Ther may no-thing, god so my soule save,\n\n\u2003Lyken to yow that may displese me;\n\n\u2003Ne I desyre no-thing for to have,\n\n\u2003Ne drede for to lese, save only ye;\n\n\u2003Take heed of every word that I say to you:\n\n\u2003There's no one who hears it but we two.\n\n\u2003You know well yourself how you came here\n\n\u2003Into this house, not long ago,\n\n\u2003And though to me you be beloved and dear,\n\n\u2003Unto my gentlefolk you be nothing so;\n\n\u2003They say it is a great shame and woe\n\n\u2003To be subjects and be in service\n\n\u2003To you, who born art of a small village.\n\n\u2003And especially since your daughter was born\n\n\u2003These words have they spoken, doubtless;\n\n\u2003But I desire, as I have done before,\n\n\u2003To live my life with them in rest and peace;\n\n\u2003I may not in this case be heedless.\n\n\u2003I must do with your daughter for the best,\n\n\u2003Not as I would, but as my people wish.\n\n\u2003And yet, God knows, this is full loath to me.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless without your knowing\n\n\u2003I will not act, but this I wish,\" said he,\n\n\"That you to me assent in this thing.\n\n\u2003Show now your patience in your deeds\n\n\u2003That you me promised and swore in your village\n\n\u2003That day that made was our marriage.\"\n\n\u2003When she had heard all this, she no motion made\n\n\u2003Neither in word nor manner nor countenance;\n\n\u2003For as it seemed, she was not aggrieved.\n\n\u2003She said, \"Lord, all lies in your pleasure;\n\n\u2003My child and I with heartfelt obedience\n\n\u2003Be yours all, and you may save or destroy\n\n\u2003Your own thing: do as you wish.\n\n\u2003There may be no thing, God so my soul save;\n\n\u2003That pleases you that displeases me;\n\n\u2003Nor do I desire anything to have,\n\n\u2003Nor dread to lose, save only you;\n\n\u2003This wil is in myn herte and ay shal be.\n\n\u2003No lengthe of tyme or deeth may this deface,\n\n\u2003Ne chaunge my corage to another place.\"\n\n\u2003Glad was this markis of hir answering,\n\n\u2003But yet he feyned as he were nat so;\n\n\u2003Al drery was his chere and his loking\n\n\u2003Whan that he sholde out of the chambre go.\n\n\u2003Sone after this, a furlong wey or two,\n\n\u2003He prively hath told al his entente\n\n\u2003Un-to a man, and to his wyf him sente.\n\n\u2003A maner sergeant was this privee man,\n\n\u2003The which that feithful ofte he founden hadde\n\n\u2003In thinges grete, and eek swich folk wel can\n\n\u2003Don execucioun on thinges badde.\n\n\u2003The lord knew wel that he him loved and dradde;\n\n\u2003And whan this sergeant wiste his lordes wille,\n\n\u2003In-to the chambre he stalked him ful stille.\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" he seyde, \"ye mote foryeve it me,\n\n\u2003Thogh I do thing to which I am constreyned;\n\n\u2003Ye ben so wys that ful wel knowe ye\n\n\u2003That lordes hestes mowe nat been y-feyned;\n\n\u2003They mowe wel been biwailled or compleyned,\n\n\u2003But men mot nede un-to her lust obeye,\n\n\u2003And so wol I; ther is na-more to seye.\n\n\u2003This child I am comanded for to take\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And spak na-more, but out the child he hente\n\n\u2003Despitously, and gan a chere make\n\n\u2003As though he wolde han slayn it er he wente.\n\n\u2003Grisildis mot al suffren and consente;\n\n\u2003And as a lamb she siteth meke and stille,\n\n\u2003And leet this cruel sergeant doon his wille.\n\n\u2003Suspecious was the diffame of this man,\n\n\u2003Suspect his face, suspect his word also;\n\n\u2003Suspect the tyme in which he this bigan.\n\n\u2003This will is in my heart and ever shall be.\n\n\u2003No length of time or death may this deface,\n\n\u2003Nor change my heart to another place.\"\n\n\u2003Glad was this marquis for her answer,\n\n\u2003But yet he feigned as he were not so;\n\n\u2003All sad was his face and his look\n\n\u2003When he left the chamber.\n\n\u2003Soon after this, within a little while,\n\n\u2003He secretly told all his plan\n\n\u2003Unto a man, and sent him to his wife.\n\n\u2003A sergeant-at-arms was this trusted man,\n\n\u2003Whom often he had found faithful\n\n\u2003In things great, and also such folk well know\n\n\u2003How to perform in things bad.\n\n\u2003The lord well knew that he him loved and feared;\n\n\u2003And when this sergeant knew his lord's will,\n\n\u2003Into the chamber he crept full silent and still.\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"you must forgive me,\n\n\u2003Though I do something to which I am constrained.\n\n\u2003You be so wise that full well you know\n\n\u2003That lords' wishes may not be avoided,\n\n\u2003They may well be bewailed or lamented,\n\n\u2003But men must unto their will obey,\n\n\u2003And so will I; there is no more to say.\n\n\u2003This child I am commanded for to take\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And spoke no more, but the child he seized\n\n\u2003Cruelly, and made\n\n\u2003As though he would slay it before he left.\n\n\u2003Griselda must all suffer and all consent;\n\n\u2003And as a lamb she sat meek and still,\n\n\u2003And let this cruel sergeant do his will.\n\n\u2003Suspect was the reputation of this man,\n\n\u2003Suspect his face, suspect his word also;\n\n\u2003Suspect the time in which he this began.\n\n\u2003Alias! hir doghter that she lovede so\n\n\u2003She wende he wolde han slawen it right tho.\n\n\u2003But natheles she neither weep ne syked,\n\n\u2003Consenting hir to that the markis lyked.\n\n\u2003But atte laste speken she bigan,\n\n\u2003And mekely she to the sergeant preyde,\n\n\u2003So as he was a worthy gentil man,\n\n\u2003That she moste kisse hir child er that it deyde;\n\n\u2003And in her barm this litel child she leyde\n\n\u2003With ful sad face, and gan the child to kisse\n\n\u2003And lulled it, and after gan it blisse.\n\n\u2003And thus she seyde in hir benigne voys,\n\n\u2003\"Far weel, my child; I shal thee never see;\n\n\u2003But, sith I thee have marked with the croys,\n\n\u2003Of thilke fader blessed mote thou be,\n\n\u2003That for us deyde up-on a croys of tree.\n\n\u2003Thy soule, litel child, I him bitake,\n\n\u2003For this night shaltow dyen for my sake.\"\n\n\u2003I trowe that to a norice in this cas\n\n\u2003It had ben hard this rewthe for to se;\n\n\u2003Wel mighte a mooder than han cryed \"allas!\"\n\n\u2003But nathelees so sad stedfast was she,\n\n\u2003That she endured all adversitee,\n\n\u2003And to the sergeant mekely she sayde,\n\n\u2003\"Have heer agayn your litel yonge mayde.\n\n\u2003Goth now,\" quod she, \"and dooth my lordes heste,\n\n\u2003But o thing wol I preye yow of your grace,\n\n\u2003That, but my lord forbad yow, atte leste\n\n\u2003Burieth this litel body in som place\n\n\u2003That bestes ne no briddes it to-race.\"\n\n\u2003But he no word wol to that purpos seye,\n\n\u2003But took the child and wente upon his weye.\n\n\u2003This sergeant cam un-to his lord ageyn,\n\n\u2003And of Grisildis wordes and hir chere\n\n\u2003Alas! her daughter that she loved so,\n\n\u2003She thought he would have slain it right then.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless she neither wept nor sighed,\n\n\u2003Conforming herself to what the marquis liked.\n\n\u2003But finally to speak she began,\n\n\u2003And meekly she to the sergeant begged,\n\n\u2003So as he was a worthy gentleman,\n\n\u2003That she might kiss her child before it died;\n\n\u2003And in her lap this little child she laid\n\n\u2003With a full sad face, and began the child to bless\n\n\u2003And lulled it, and after began it to kiss.\n\n\u2003And thus she said in her gracious voice,\n\n\u2003\"Farewell, my child; I shall you never see.\n\n\u2003But since I have marked you with the cross\n\n\u2003Of our Father, blessed may he be,\n\n\u2003Who for us died upon a cross.\n\n\u2003Your soul, little child, to him I commend,\n\n\u2003For this night shall you die for my sake.\"\n\n\u2003I believe that to a nurse in this case\n\n\u2003It would have been hard this pitiful sight to see;\n\n\u2003Well might a mother have then cried \"alas!\"\n\n\u2003But nevertheless so firmly steadfast was she\n\n\u2003That she endured all adversity,\n\n\u2003And to the sergeant meekly she said,\n\n\u2003\"Have here again your little young maid.\n\n\u2003Go now,\" said she, \"and do my lord's wish.\n\n\u2003But one thing will I pray you of your grace,\n\n\u2003That, unless my lord forbid it you, at least\n\n\u2003Bury this little body in some place\n\n\u2003Where no beasts nor birds tear it to pieces.\"\n\n\u2003But he no word to that purpose said,\n\n\u2003But took the child and went upon his way.\n\n\u2003This sergeant came unto his lord again,\n\n\u2003And of Griselda's words and her behavior\n\n\u2003He tolde him point for point, in short and playn,\n\n\u2003And him presenteth with his doghter dere.\n\n\u2003Somwhat this lord hath rewthe in his manere;\n\n\u2003But nathelees his purpos heeld he stille,\n\n\u2003As lordes doon, whan they wol han hir wille;\n\n\u2003And bad his sergeant that he prively\n\n\u2003Sholde this child ful softe winde and wrappe\n\n\u2003With alle circumstances tendrely,\n\n\u2003And carie it in a cofre or in a lappe;\n\n\u2003But, up-on peyne his heed of for to swappe,\n\n\u2003That no man sholde knowe of his entente,\n\n\u2003Ne whenne he cam, ne whider that he wente;\n\n\u2003But at Boloigne to his suster dere,\n\n\u2003That thilke tyme of Panik was countesse,\n\n\u2003He sholde it take, and shewe hir this matere,\n\n\u2003Bisekinge hir to don hir bisinesse\n\n\u2003This child to fostre in alle gentilesse;\n\n\u2003And whos child that it was he bad hir hyde\n\n\u2003From every wight, for oght that may bityde.\n\n\u2003The sergeant gooth, and hath fulfild this thing;\n\n\u2003But to this markis now retourne we;\n\n\u2003For now goth he ful faste imagining\n\n\u2003If by his wyves chere he mighte see,\n\n\u2003Or by hir word aperceyve that she\n\n\u2003Were chaunged; but he never hir coude finde\n\n\u2003But ever in oon y-lyke sad and kinde.\n\n\u2003As glad, as humble, as bisy in servyse,\n\n\u2003And eek in love as she was wont to be,\n\n\u2003Was she to him in every maner wyse;\n\n\u2003Ne of hir doghter noght a word spak she.\n\n\u2003Non accident for noon adversitee\n\n\u2003Was seyn in hir, ne never hir doghter name\n\n\u2003Ne nempned she, in ernest nor in game.\n\n\u2003He told him point for point, in short and plain,\n\n\u2003And presented to him his daughter dear.\n\n\u2003This lord showed some pity in his manner,\n\n\u2003But nevertheless his purpose held he still,\n\n\u2003As lords do when they will have their will.\n\n\u2003And bade this sergeant that he secretly\n\n\u2003Should this child soft wind and wrap\n\n\u2003Tenderly in every way,\n\n\u2003And carry it in a box or a sling;\n\n\u2003But upon pain of having his head chopped,\n\n\u2003That no man should know of his intent,\n\n\u2003Nor whence he came, nor whither he went;\n\n\u2003But at Bologna to his sister dear,\n\n\u2003Who at that time was of Panico countess,\n\n\u2003He should take it, and explain to her this matter,\n\n\u2003Beseeching her to do her best,\n\n\u2003This child to foster in all gentleness;\n\n\u2003And whose child it was he bade her hide\n\n\u2003From every man, no matter what might betide.\n\n\u2003The sergeant went, and had fulfilled this thing;\n\n\u2003But to this marquis now return we.\n\n\u2003For now he went full fast wondering\n\n\u2003If by his wife's expression he might see,\n\n\u2003Or by her word perceive, that she\n\n\u2003Were changed; but he found her\n\n\u2003Ever steadfast and kind.\n\n\u2003As glad, as humble, as busy in service,\n\n\u2003And also in love as she was accustomed to be,\n\n\u2003Was she to him in every way;\n\n\u2003Nor of her daughter a word spoke she.\n\n\u2003No outward sign of any adversity\n\n\u2003Was seen in her, nor ever her daughter's name\n\n\u2003Spoke she, in earnest or in play."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "\u2003In this estaat ther passed been foure yeer\n\n\u2003Er she with childe was; but, as god wolde,\n\n\u2003A knave child she bar by this Walter,\n\n\u2003Ful gracious and fair for to biholde.\n\n\u2003And whan that folk it to his fader tolde,\n\n\u2003Nat only he, but al his contree, merie\n\n\u2003Was for this child, and god they thanke and herie.\n\n\u2003Whan it was two yeer old, and fro the brest\n\n\u2003Departed of his norice, on a day\n\n\u2003This markis caughte yet another lest\n\n\u2003To tempte his wyf yet ofter, if he may.\n\n\u2003O needles was she tempted in assay!\n\n\u2003But wedded men ye knowe no mesure,\n\n\u2003Whan that they finde a pacient creature.\n\n\u2003\"Wyf,\" quod this markis, \"ye han herd er this,\n\n\u2003My peple sikly berth our mariage,\n\n\u2003And namely, sith my sone y-boren is,\n\n\u2003Now is it worse than ever in al our age.\n\n\u2003The murmur sleeth myn herte and my corage;\n\n\u2003For to myne eres comth the voys so smerte,\n\n\u2003That it wel ny destroyed hath myn herte.\n\n\u2003Now sey they thus, 'whan Walter is agoon,\n\n\u2003Then shal the blood of Janicle succede\n\n\u2003And been our lord, for other have we noon;'\n\n\u2003Swiche wordes seith my peple, out of drede,\n\n\u2003Wel oughte I of swich murmur taken hede;\n\n\u2003For certeinly I drede swich sentence,\n\n\u2003Though they nat pleyn speke in myn audience.\n\n\u2003I wolde live in pees, if that I mighte;\n\n\u2003Wherfor I am disposed outerly,\n\n\u2003As I his suster servede by nighte,\n\n\u2003Right so thenke I to serve him prively;\n\n\u2003This warne I yow, that ye nat sodeynly"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "\u2003In this condition there passed four years\n\n\u2003Before she with child was; but, as God willed,\n\n\u2003A boy child she bore by this Walter,\n\n\u2003Full gracious and handsome to behold.\n\n\u2003And when his father learned of his birth,\n\n\u2003Not only he, but all his country, was merry\n\n\u2003For this child, and God they thanked and praised.\n\n\u2003When it was two years old and from the breast\n\n\u2003Departed of his nurse, on a day\n\n\u2003This marquis conceived yet another desire\n\n\u2003To tempt his wife again, if he may.\n\n\u2003Oh, needlessly was she put to the test!\n\n\u2003But wedded men know no measure\n\n\u2003When that they find a patient creature.\n\n\u2003\"Wife,\" said this marquis, \"you have heard before this,\n\n\u2003My people bear ill our marriage,\n\n\u2003And especially, since my son is born,\n\n\u2003Now it is worse than ever in all our days.\n\n\u2003The murmur slays my heart and spirit,\n\n\u2003For to my ears comes the voice so sharp\n\n\u2003That it has well nigh destroyed my heart.\n\n\u2003Now they say thus, 'When Walter is gone,\n\n\u2003Then shall the blood of Janicula succeed\n\n\u2003And be our Lord, for other we have none;'\n\n\u2003Such words say my people, without doubt.\n\n\u2003Well ought I of such murmur take heed,\n\n\u2003For certainly, I dread such opinion,\n\n\u2003Though they speak it not in my hearing.\n\n\u2003I would live in peace if I might;\n\n\u2003Wherefore I am disposed entirely,\n\n\u2003As I his sister dealt with by night,\n\n\u2003Right so I think to take care of him in secret.\n\n\u2003This I warn you, that you do not suddenly\n\n\u2003Out of your-self for no wo sholde outraye;\n\n\u2003Beth pacient, and ther-of I yow preye.\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" quod she, \"seyd thus, and ever shal,\n\n\u2003I wol no thing, ne nil no thing, certayn,\n\n\u2003But as yow list; noght greveth me at al,\n\n\u2003Thogh that my doghter and my sone be slayn,\n\n\u2003At your comandement, this is to sayn.\n\n\u2003I have noght had no part of children tweyne\n\n\u2003But first siknesse, and after wo and peyne.\n\n\u2003Ye been our lord, doth with your owene thing\n\n\u2003Right as yow list; axeth no reed at me.\n\n\u2003For, as I lefte at hoom al my clothing,\n\n\u2003Whan I first cam to yow, right so,\" quod she,\n\n\"Lefte I my wil and al my libertee,\n\n\u2003And took your clothing; wherfor I yow preye,\n\n\u2003Doth your plesaunce, I wol your lust obeye.\n\n\u2003And certes, if I hadde prescience\n\n\u2003Your wil to knowe er ye your lust me tolde,\n\n\u2003I wolde it doon with-outen necligence;\n\n\u2003But now I woot your lust and what ye wolde,\n\n\u2003Al your plesaunce ferme and stable I holde;\n\n\u2003For wiste I that my deeth wolde do yow ese,\n\n\u2003Right gladly wolde I dyen, yow to plese.\n\n\u2003Deth may noght make no comparisoun\n\n\u2003Un-to your love:\" and, whan this markis sey\n\n\u2003The constance of his wyf, he caste adoun\n\n\u2003His y\u00ebn two, and wondreth that she may\n\n\u2003In pacience suffre al this array.\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth with drery contenaunce,\n\n\u2003But to his herte it was ful greet plesaunce.\n\n\u2003This ugly sergeant, in the same wyse\n\n\u2003That he hir doghter caughte, right so he,\n\n\u2003Or worse, if men worse can devyse,\n\n\u2003Hath hent hir sone, that ful was of beautee.\n\n\u2003Lose control of yourself in sorrow:\n\n\u2003Be patient, and thereof I pray you.\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" said she, \"said thus, and ever shall,\n\n\u2003I desire nothing, certainly,\n\n\u2003Unless it pleases you; it grieves me not at all,\n\n\u2003Though my daughter and my son be slain\u2014\n\n\u2003At your commandment, this is to say.\n\n\u2003I have had no part of children two\n\n\u2003But first childbearing, and after woe and pain.\n\n\u2003You be our lord, do with your own thing\n\n\u2003Right as you wish, ask no advice from me.\n\n\u2003For as I left at home all my clothing\n\n\u2003When I first came to you, right so,\" said she,\n\n\"Left I my will and all my liberty,\n\n\u2003And took your clothing. Wherefore I you pray,\n\n\u2003Do your pleasure, I will your desire obey.\n\n\u2003And certainly, if I had prescience\n\n\u2003Your will to know before you told it to me,\n\n\u2003I would do it without negligence.\n\n\u2003But now I know your pleasure and what you will,\n\n\u2003All your desire firmly and steadfastly I hold;\n\n\u2003For if I knew my death would do you ease,\n\n\u2003Right gladly would I die, you to please.\n\n\u2003Death may not make comparison\n\n\u2003With your love.\" And when this marquis saw\n\n\u2003The constancy of his wife, he cast down\n\n\u2003His eyes two, and wondered that she could\n\n\u2003In patience suffer all these events.\n\n\u2003And forth he went with doleful countenance,\n\n\u2003But to his heart it was full great pleasant.\n\n\u2003This fearsome sergeant, in the same way\n\n\u2003That he her daughter took away, right so he\u2014\n\n\u2003Or worse, if men can devise\u2014\n\n\u2003Had seized her son, who was full of beauty.\n\n\u2003And ever in oon so pacient was she,\n\n\u2003That she no chere made of hevinesse,\n\n\u2003But kiste hir sone, and after gan it blesse;\n\n\u2003Save this; she preyed him that, if he mighte,\n\n\u2003Hir litel sone he wolde in erthe grave,\n\n\u2003His tendre limes, delicat to sighte,\n\n\u2003Fro foules and fro bestes for to save.\n\n\u2003But she non answer of him mighte have.\n\n\u2003He wente his wey, as him no-thing ne roghte;\n\n\u2003But to Boloigne he tendrely it broghte.\n\n\u2003This markis wondreth ever lenger the more\n\n\u2003Up-on hir pacience, and if that he\n\n\u2003Ne hadde soothly knowen ther-bifore,\n\n\u2003That parfitly hir children lovede she,\n\n\u2003He wolde have wend that of som subtiltee,\n\n\u2003And of malice or for cruel corage,\n\n\u2003That she had suffred this with sad visage.\n\n\u2003But wel he knew that next him-self, certayn,\n\n\u2003She loved hir children best in every wyse.\n\n\u2003But now of wommen wolde I axen fayn,\n\n\u2003If thise assayes mighte nat suffyse?\n\n\u2003What coude a sturdy housbond more devyse\n\n\u2003To preve hir wyfhod and hir stedfastnesse,\n\n\u2003And he continuing ever in sturdinesse?\n\n\u2003But ther ben folk of swich condicioun,\n\n\u2003That, whan they have a certein purpos take,\n\n\u2003They can nat stinte of hir entencioun,\n\n\u2003But, right as they were bounden to a stake,\n\n\u2003They wol nat of that firste purpos slake.\n\n\u2003Right so this markis fulliche hath purposed\n\n\u2003To tempte his wyf, as he was first disposed.\n\n\u2003He waiteth, if by word or contenance\n\n\u2003That she to him was changed of corage;\n\n\u2003But never coude he finde variance;\n\n\u2003And ever and always so patient was she\n\n\u2003That she no expression made of heaviness,\n\n\u2003But kissed her son, and after began him to bless.\n\n\u2003Save this: she prayed the sergeant that he might\n\n\u2003Her little son in the earth bury,\n\n\u2003To save his tender limbs, delicate to see,\n\n\u2003From birds and beasts.\n\n\u2003But she no answer from him received.\n\n\u2003He went on his way, as though he cared not at all,\n\n\u2003But to Bologna he brought it tenderly.\n\n\u2003This marquis wondered ever more\n\n\u2003Upon her patience, and if he\n\n\u2003Had not truly known before\n\n\u2003How perfectly her children loved she,\n\n\u2003He would have thought that it was by some trick,\n\n\u2003Or through a cruel heart,\n\n\u2003That she suffered this with unchanged face.\n\n\u2003But well he knew that next to himself, certainly,\n\n\u2003She loved her children best in every way.\n\n\u2003But now of women would I like to ask,\n\n\u2003If these trials might not suffice?\n\n\u2003What could a cruel husband more devise\n\n\u2003To test her wifehood and her steadfastness,\n\n\u2003And he continuing even with cruelty?\n\n\u2003But there be folk of such disposition\n\n\u2003Who, when they have a certain course taken,\n\n\u2003They cannot stop short of their destination;\n\n\u2003But just as if they were bound to a stake,\n\n\u2003They will not of that first purpose slake.\n\n\u2003Right so this marquis fully has intended\n\n\u2003To tempt his wife as he was first disposed.\n\n\u2003He watched if by word or countenance\n\n\u2003That she to him was changed in her heart,\n\n\u2003But never could he find variance:\n\n\u2003She was ay oon in herte and in visage;\n\n\u2003And ay the forther that she was in age,\n\n\u2003The more trewe, if that it were possible,\n\n\u2003She was to him in love, and more penible.\n\n\u2003For which it semed thus, that of hem two\n\n\u2003Ther nas but o wil; for, as Walter leste,\n\n\u2003The same lust was hir plesance also,\n\n\u2003And, god be thanked, al fil for the beste.\n\n\u2003She shewed wel, for no worldly unreste\n\n\u2003A wyf, as of hir-self, no-thing ne sholde\n\n\u2003Wille in effect, but as hir housbond wolde.\n\n\u2003The sclaundre of Walter ofte and wyde spradde,\n\n\u2003That of a cruel herte he wikkedly,\n\n\u2003For he a povre womman wedded hadde,\n\n\u2003Hath mordred bothe his children prively.\n\n\u2003Swich murmur was among hem comunly.\n\n\u2003No wonder is, for to the peples ere\n\n\u2003Ther cam no word but that they mordred were.\n\n\u2003For which, wher-as his peple ther-bifore\n\n\u2003Had loved him wel, the sclaundre of his diffame\n\n\u2003Made hem that they him hatede therfore;\n\n\u2003To been a mordrer is an hateful name.\n\n\u2003But natheles, for ernest ne for game\n\n\u2003He of his cruel purpos nolde stente;\n\n\u2003To tempte his wyf was set al his entente.\n\n\u2003Whan that his doghter twelf yeer was of age,\n\n\u2003He to the court of Rome, in subtil wyse\n\n\u2003Enformed of his wil, sente his message,\n\n\u2003Comaunding hem swiche bulles to devyse\n\n\u2003As to his cruel purpos may suffyse,\n\n\u2003How that the pope, as for his peples reste,\n\n\u2003Bad him to wedde another, if him leste.\n\n\u2003I seye, he bad they sholde countrefete\n\n\u2003The popes bulles, making mencioun\n\n\u2003She was ever unchanged in heart and visage.\n\n\u2003And ever the older that she was in age,\n\n\u2003The more true, if that were possible,\n\n\u2003She was to him in love, and more painstaking.\n\n\u2003For which it seemed thus, that for them both\n\n\u2003There was but one will; for, as Walter wished,\n\n\u2003That same desire was her pleasure also;\n\n\u2003And, God be thanked, all turned out for the best.\n\n\u2003She showed well that for no earthly distress\n\n\u2003A wife, for her own sake, should nothing\n\n\u2003Wish for but as her husband would.\n\n\u2003The scandal of Walter wide and often spread\n\n\u2003That of a cruel heart he wickedly,\n\n\u2003Because he a poor woman had wed,\n\n\u2003Had murdered both his children in secret.\n\n\u2003Such murmur was commonly among them.\n\n\u2003No wonder is, for to the people's ear\n\n\u2003There came no word but that they murdered were.\n\n\u2003For which, whereas his people heretofore\n\n\u2003Had loved him well, the scandal of his ill repute\n\n\u2003Made them hate him for it:\n\n\u2003To be a murderer is a hateful name.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, neither in earnest nor play,\n\n\u2003He of his cruel purpose would relent.\n\n\u2003To tempt his wife was set all his intent.\n\n\u2003When his daughter twelve years was of age,\n\n\u2003He to the court of Rome, in secret ways\n\n\u2003Informed of his will, sending his emissary,\n\n\u2003Commanding them such papal bulls to devise\n\n\u2003As to his cruel purpose might suffice:\n\n\u2003That the Pope, for his people's peace,\n\n\u2003Bade him to wed another if he wished.\n\n\u2003I say, he bade they should counterfeit\n\n\u2003The Pope's bulls, making mention\n\n\u2003That he hath leve his firste wyf to lete,\n\n\u2003As by the popes dispensacioun,\n\n\u2003To stinte rancour and dissencioun\n\n\u2003Bitwixe his peple and him; thus seyde the bulle,\n\n\u2003The which they han publiced atte fulle.\n\n\u2003The rude peple, as it no wonder is,\n\n\u2003Wenden ful wel that it had been right so;\n\n\u2003But whan thise tydinges cam to Grisildis,\n\n\u2003I deme that hir herte was ful wo.\n\n\u2003But she, y-lyke sad for evermo,\n\n\u2003Disposed was, this humble creature,\n\n\u2003Th'adversitee of fortune al t'endure.\n\n\u2003Abyding ever his lust and his plesaunce,\n\n\u2003To whom that she was yeven, herte and al,\n\n\u2003As to hir verray worldly suffisaunce;\n\n\u2003But shortly if this storie I tellen shal,\n\n\u2003This markis writen hath in special\n\n\u2003A lettre in which he sheweth his entente,\n\n\u2003And secrely he to Boloigne is sente.\n\n\u2003To th'erl of Panik, which that hadde tho\n\n\u2003Wedded his suster, preyde he specially\n\n\u2003To bringen hoom agayn his children two\n\n\u2003In honurable estaat al openly.\n\n\u2003But o thing he him preyede outerly,\n\n\u2003That he to no wight, though men wolde enquere,\n\n\u2003Sholde nat telle, whos children that they were,\n\n\u2003But seye, the mayden sholde y-wedded be\n\n\u2003Un-to the markis of Saluce anon.\n\n\u2003And as this erl was preyed, so dide he;\n\n\u2003For at day set he on his wey is goon\n\n\u2003Toward Saluce, and lordes many oon,\n\n\u2003In riche array, this mayden for to gyde;\n\n\u2003Hir yonge brother ryding hir bisyde.\n\n\u2003That he had permission his first wife to leave,\n\n\u2003By the Pope's dispensation,\n\n\u2003To stop rancor and dissention\n\n\u2003Between his people and him\u2014thus said the bull,\n\n\u2003Which they had published full well.\n\n\u2003The common people, as it no wonder is,\n\n\u2003Believed full well that it had been right so;\n\n\u2003But when these tidings came to Griselda,\n\n\u2003I am sure her heart was full of woe.\n\n\u2003But she, constant evermore,\n\n\u2003Disposed was, this humble creature,\n\n\u2003The adversity of Fortune all to endure,\n\n\u2003Serving ever his desire and his pleasure,\n\n\u2003To whom she had given heart and all,\n\n\u2003As being her true, earthly contentment.\n\n\u2003But shortly of this story I tell shall,\n\n\u2003This marquis had written in secret\n\n\u2003A letter in which he revealed his intent,\n\n\u2003And secretly he to Bologna it sent.\n\n\u2003To the Earl of Panico, who had\n\n\u2003Wedded his sister, he specially requested\n\n\u2003To bring home again his children two\n\n\u2003In honorable estate all openly.\n\n\u2003But one thing he requested above all,\n\n\u2003That he to no one, though men would inquire,\n\n\u2003Should tell whose children that they were,\n\n\u2003But say the maid should wedded be\n\n\u2003Unto the Marquis of Saluzzo anon.\n\n\u2003And as this earl was asked, so did he,\n\n\u2003For on the appointed day he set on his way\n\n\u2003Toward Saluzzo, with lords many a one\n\n\u2003In rich display, this maiden to guide,\n\n\u2003Her young brother riding her beside.\n\n\u2003Arrayed was toward hir mariage\n\n\u2003This fresshe mayde, ful of gemmes clere;\n\n\u2003Hir brother, which that seven yeer was of age,\n\n\u2003Arrayed eek ful fresh in his manere.\n\n\u2003And thus in greet noblesse and with glad chere,\n\n\u2003Toward Saluces shaping hir journey,\n\n\u2003Fro day to day they ryden in hir wey."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "\u2003Among al this, after his wikke usage,\n\n\u2003This markis, yet his wyf to tempte more\n\n\u2003To the uttereste preve of hir corage,\n\n\u2003Fully to han experience and lore\n\n\u2003If that she were as stedfast as bifore,\n\n\u2003He on a day in open audience\n\n\u2003Ful boistously hath seyd hir this sentence:\n\n\u2003\"Certes, Grisilde, I hadde y-nough plesaunce\n\n\u2003To han yow to my wyf for your goodnesse,\n\n\u2003As for your trouthe and for your obeisaunce,\n\n\u2003Nought for your linage ne for your richesse;\n\n\u2003But now knowe I in verray soothfastnesse\n\n\u2003That in gret lordshipe, if I wel avyse,\n\n\u2003Ther is gret servitute in sondry wyse.\n\n\u2003I may nat don as every plowman may;\n\n\u2003My peple me constreyneth for to take\n\n\u2003Another wyf, and cryen day by day;\n\n\u2003And eek the pope, rancour for to slake,\n\n\u2003Consenteth it, that dar I undertake;\n\n\u2003And treweliche thus muche I wol yow seye,\n\n\u2003My newe wyf is coming by the weye.\n\n\u2003Be strong of herte, and voyde anon hir place,\n\n\u2003And thilke dower that ye broghten me\n\n\u2003Tak it agayn, I graunte it of my grace;\n\n\u2003Retourneth to your fadres hous,\" quod he;\n\n\"No man may alwey han prosperitee;\n\n\u2003Adorned for her marriage was\n\n\u2003This fresh maid, covered with jewels shining;\n\n\u2003Her brother who was seven years of age,\n\n\u2003Dressed also full fresh in his manner.\n\n\u2003And thus grandly and with glad aspect,\n\n\u2003Toward Saluzzo on their journey,\n\n\u2003From day to day they rode on their way."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "\u2003Meanwhile, in his wicked way,\n\n\u2003This marquis yet his wife to test more\n\n\u2003To the utmost of her soul and heart,\n\n\u2003Fully to see and know\n\n\u2003If she was as steadfast as before,\n\n\u2003He on a day in open court\n\n\u2003Full roughly had to her announced:\n\n\u2003\"Truly, Griselda, I had pleasure enough\n\n\u2003To have you to my wife for your goodness\u2014\n\n\u2003And for your truth and your obedience\u2014\n\n\u2003Not for your lineage or your riches.\n\n\u2003But now I know in certain truth\n\n\u2003That in great lordship, if I well discern,\n\n\u2003There is great servitude in sundry ways.\n\n\u2003I may not do as any plowman may.\n\n\u2003My people constrain me to take\n\n\u2003Another wife, and call for it day by day;\n\n\u2003And also the Pope, rancor to appease,\n\n\u2003Consents to it, so I dare declare;\n\n\u2003And truly this much I will to you say,\n\n\u2003My new wife is coming along the way.\n\n\u2003Be strong of heart, and vacate at once her place;\n\n\u2003And that same dowry that you brought me\n\n\u2003Take it again, I grant it of my grace.\n\n\u2003Return to your father's house,\" said he.\n\n\"No man may always have prosperity;\n\n\u2003With evene herte I rede yow t'endure\n\n\u2003The strook of fortune or of aventure.\"\n\n\u2003And she answerde agayn in pacience,\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" quod she, \"I woot, and wiste alway\n\n\u2003How that bitwixen your magnificence\n\n\u2003And my poverte no wight can ne may\n\n\u2003Maken comparison; it is no nay.\n\n\u2003I ne heeld me never digne in no manere\n\n\u2003To be your wyf, no, ne your chamberere.\n\n\u2003And in this hous, ther ye me lady made\u2014\n\n\u2003The heighe god take I for my witnesse,\n\n\u2003And also wisly he my soule glade\u2014\n\n\u2003I never heeld me lady ne maistresse,\n\n\u2003But humble servant to your worthinesse,\n\n\u2003And ever shal, whyl that my lyf may dure,\n\n\u2003Aboven every worldy creature.\n\n\u2003That ye so longe of your benignitee\n\n\u2003Han holden me in honour and nobleye,\n\n\u2003Wher-as I was noght worthy for to be,\n\n\u2003That thonke I god and yow, to whom I preye\n\n\u2003Foryelde it yow; there is na-more to seye.\n\n\u2003Un-to my fader gladly wol I wende,\n\n\u2003And with him dwelle un-to my lyves ende.\n\n\u2003Ther I was fostred of a child ful smal,\n\n\u2003Til I be deed, my lyf ther wol I lede\n\n\u2003A widwe clene, in body, herte, and al.\n\n\u2003For sith I yaf to yow my maydenhede\n\n\u2003And am your trewe wyf, it is no drede,\n\n\u2003God shilde swich a lordes wyf to take\n\n\u2003Another man to housbonde or to make.\n\n\u2003And of your newe wyf, god of his grace\n\n\u2003So graunte yow wele and prosperitee:\n\n\u2003For I wol gladly yelden hir my place,\n\n\u2003In which that I was blisful wont to be,\n\n\u2003With steady heart I advise you to endure\n\n\u2003This stroke of Fortune or of chance.\"\n\n\u2003And she again answered in patience,\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" said she, \"I know and knew always,\n\n\u2003That between your magnificence\n\n\u2003And my poverty no man can\n\n\u2003Make comparison; it cannot be denied.\n\n\u2003I never held myself worthy in any way\n\n\u2003To be your wife, nor your chambermaid.\n\n\u2003And in this house where you made me a lady\u2014\n\n\u2003The high God I take for witness,\n\n\u2003And also as surely as he my soul gladdens\u2014\n\n\u2003I never considered myself a lady or mistress,\n\n\u2003But humble servant to your worthiness,\n\n\u2003And ever shall, while that my life may last,\n\n\u2003Above every worldly creature.\n\n\u2003That you so long of your graciousness\n\n\u2003Have held me in honor and nobility,\n\n\u2003Where I was not worthy to be,\n\n\u2003For that I thank God and you, and I pray God to\n\n\u2003Repay you for it. There is no more to say.\n\n\u2003Unto my father gladly will I wend,\n\n\u2003And with him dwell until my life's end.\n\n\u2003There I was raised from a child full small,\n\n\u2003Till I be dead, my life there will I lead:\n\n\u2003A widow pure, in body, heart and all.\n\n\u2003For since I gave to you my maidenhood,\n\n\u2003I am your true wife, there is no doubt.\n\n\u2003God forbid such a lord's wife to take\n\n\u2003Another man to husband or as mate.\n\n\u2003And with your new wife, God by his grace\n\n\u2003So grant you prosperity and happiness!\n\n\u2003For I will gladly yield her my place,\n\n\u2003In which I was blissful accustomed to be.\n\n\u2003For sith it lyketh yow, my lord,\"quod she,\n\n\"That whylom weren al myn hertes reste,\n\n\u2003That I shal goon, I wol gon whan yow leste.\n\n\u2003But ther-as ye me profre swich dowaire\n\n\u2003As I first broghte, it is wel in my minde\n\n\u2003It were my wrecched clothes, no-thing faire,\n\n\u2003The which to me were hard now for to finde.\n\n\u2003O gode god! how gentil and how kinde\n\n\u2003Ye semed by your speche and your visage\n\n\u2003The day that maked was our mariage!\n\n\u2003But sooth is seyd, algate I finde it trewe\u2014\n\n\u2003For in effect it preved is on me\u2014\n\n\u2003Love is noght old as whan that it is newe.\n\n\u2003But certes, lord, for noon adversitee,\n\n\u2003To dyen in the cas, it shal nat be\n\n\u2003That ever in word or werk I shal repente\n\n\u2003That I yow yaf myn herte in hool entente.\n\n\u2003My lord, ye woot that, in my fadres place,\n\n\u2003Ye dede me strepe out of my povre wede,\n\n\u2003And richely me cladden, of your grace.\n\n\u2003To yow broghte I noght elles, out of drede,\n\n\u2003But feyth and nakednesse and maydenhede.\n\n\u2003And here agayn my clothing I restore,\n\n\u2003And eek my wedding-ring, for evermore.\n\n\u2003The remenant of your jewels redy be\n\n\u2003In-with your chambre, dar I saufly sayn;\n\n\u2003Naked out of my fadres hous,\" quod she,\n\n\"I cam, and naked moot I turne agayn.\n\n\u2003Al your plesaunce wol I folwen fayn;\n\n\u2003But yet I hope it be nat your entente\n\n\u2003That I smoklees out of your paleys wente.\n\n\u2003Ye coude nat doon so dishoneste a thing,\n\n\u2003That thilke wombe in which your children leye\n\n\u2003Sholde, biforn the peple, in my walking,\n\n\u2003For since it pleases you, my lord,\" said she,\n\n\"Who once was all my heart's rest,\n\n\u2003That I shall go, I will go when you wish.\n\n\u2003But though you offer me such dowry\n\n\u2003As I first brought, it is well in my mind\n\n\u2003It was my wretched clothes, in no way nice,\n\n\u2003And which to me were hard now to find.\n\n\u2003Oh good God! How gentle and how kind\n\n\u2003You seemed by your speech and your visage\n\n\u2003The day that made was our marriage!\n\n\u2003But it is truly said\u2014in any case I find it true,\n\n\u2003For in effect it is proven to me\u2014\n\n\u2003Love is not the same old as when it is new.\n\n\u2003But certainly, lord, for no adversity,\n\n\u2003Even if I die in this case, it shall not be\n\n\u2003That ever in word or deed I shall repent\n\n\u2003That I gave you my heart in whole intent.\n\n\u2003My lord, you know well that in my father's place\n\n\u2003You stripped my poor clothes from me,\n\n\u2003And clad me richly, by your grace.\n\n\u2003To you I brought nought else, there is no doubt,\n\n\u2003But faith and nakedness and maidenhood.\n\n\u2003And here again your clothing I restore,\n\n\u2003And also your wedding ring, for evermore.\n\n\u2003The remainder of your jewels is prepared\n\n\u2003Within your chamber, dare I safely say.\n\n\u2003Naked out of my father's house,\"said she,\n\n\"I came, and naked must I return again.\n\n\u2003All your pleasure willingly I will follow.\n\n\u2003But yet I hope it be not your intent\n\n\u2003That smockless out of your palace I should go.\n\n\u2003You could not do so dishonest a thing\n\n\u2003That this womb in which your children lay\n\n\u2003Should before the people, in my walking,\n\n\u2003Be seyn al bare; wherfor I yow preye,\n\n\u2003Lat me nat lyk a worm go by the weye.\n\n\u2003Remembre yow, myn owene lord so dere,\n\n\u2003I was your wyf, thogh I unworthy were.\n\n\u2003Wherfor, in guerdon of my maydenhede,\n\n\u2003Which that I broghte, and noght agayn I bere,\n\n\u2003As voucheth sauf to yeve me, to my mede,\n\n\u2003But swich a smok as I was wont to were,\n\n\u2003That I therwith may wrye the wombe of here\n\n\u2003That was your wyf; and heer take I my leve\n\n\u2003Of yow, myn owene lord, lest I yow greve.\"\n\n\u2003\"The smok,\" quod he, \"that thou hast on thy bak,\n\n\u2003Lat it be stille, and ber it forth with thee.\"\n\n\u2003But wel unnethes thilke word he spak,\n\n\u2003But wente his wey for rewthe and for pitee.\n\n\u2003Biforn the folk hir-selven strepeth she,\n\n\u2003And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare,\n\n\u2003Toward hir fader hous forth is she fare.\n\n\u2003The folk hir folwe wepinge in hir weye,\n\n\u2003And fortune ay they cursen as they goon;\n\n\u2003But she fro weping kepte hir yen dreye,\n\n\u2003Ne in this tyme word ne spak she noon.\n\n\u2003Hir fader, that this tyding herde anoon,\n\n\u2003Curseth the day and tyme that nature\n\n\u2003Shoop him to been a lyves creature.\n\n\u2003For out of doute this olde povre man\n\n\u2003Was ever in suspect of hir mariage;\n\n\u2003For ever he demed, sith that it bigan,\n\n\u2003That whan the lord fulfiled had his corage,\n\n\u2003Him wolde thinke it were a disparage\n\n\u2003To his estaat so lowe for t'alighte,\n\n\u2003And voyden hir as sone as ever he mighte.\n\n\u2003Agayns his doghter hastilich goth he,\n\n\u2003For he by noyse of folk knew hir cominge,\n\n\u2003Be seen all naked; wherefore I you pray,\n\n\u2003Let me not like a worm go along the way.\n\n\u2003Remember you, my own lord so dear,\n\n\u2003I was your wife, though I unworthy were.\n\n\u2003Wherefore in recompense for my maidenhood,\n\n\u2003That I brought, and not again may bear,\n\n\u2003Vouchsafe to give me as my reward\n\n\u2003Only such a smock as I was wont to wear,\n\n\u2003That I may hide the womb of her\n\n\u2003Who was your wife. And here I take my leave\n\n\u2003From you, my own lord, lest you I grieve.\"\n\n\u2003\"That smock,\" said he, \"that you have on your back,\n\n\u2003Let it remain still, and bear it forth with you.\"\n\n\u2003But he could hardly speak those words,\n\n\u2003And went his way, in compassion and pity.\n\n\u2003Before the folk herself stripped she,\n\n\u2003And in her smock, with head and foot all bare,\n\n\u2003Toward her father's house forth she fared.\n\n\u2003The folk followed her, weeping on their way,\n\n\u2003And Fortune ever they cursed as they went.\n\n\u2003But she from weeping kept her eyes dry,\n\n\u2003Nor in this time did she speak at all.\n\n\u2003Her father, who this news heard anon,\n\n\u2003Cursed the day and time that nature\n\n\u2003Created him to be a living creature.\n\n\u2003For certainly this old poor man\n\n\u2003Was ever doubtful of her marriage;\n\n\u2003For ever he thought, since it began,\n\n\u2003That when the lord had fulfilled his desire,\n\n\u2003He would think it a disgrace\n\n\u2003To his estate so low to alight,\n\n\u2003And get rid of her as soon as he might.\n\n\u2003Toward his daughter hastily went he,\n\n\u2003For by noise of folk he knew her coming,\n\n\u2003And with hir olde cote, as it mighte be,\n\n\u2003He covered hir, ful sorwefully wepinge;\n\n\u2003But on hir body mighte he it nat bringe.\n\n\u2003For rude was the cloth, and more of age\n\n\u2003By dayes fele than at hir mariage.\n\n\u2003Thus with hir fader, for a certeyn space,\n\n\u2003Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience,\n\n\u2003That neither by hir wordes ne hir face\n\n\u2003Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence,\n\n\u2003Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence;\n\n\u2003Ne of hir heigh estaat no remembraunce\n\n\u2003Ne hadde she, as by hir countenaunce.\n\n\u2003No wonder is, for in hir grete estaat\n\n\u2003Hir goost was ever in pleyn humylitee;\n\n\u2003No tendre mouth, non herte delicaat,\n\n\u2003No pompe, no semblant of royaltee,\n\n\u2003But ful of pacient benignitee,\n\n\u2003Discreet and prydeles, ay honurable,\n\n\u2003And to hir housbonde ever meke and stable.\n\n\u2003Men speke of Job and most for his humblesse,\n\n\u2003As clerkes, whan hem list, can wel endyte,\n\n\u2003Namely of men, but as in soothfastnesse,\n\n\u2003Thogh clerkes preyse wommen but a lyte,\n\n\u2003Ther can no man in humblesse him acquyte\n\n\u2003As womman can, ne can ben half so trewe\n\n\u2003As wommen been, but it be falle of-newe."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "\u2003Fro Boloigne is this erl of Panik come,\n\n\u2003Of which the fame up-sprang to more and lesse,\n\n\u2003And in the peples eres alle and some\n\n\u2003Was couth eek, that a newe markisesse\n\n\u2003He with him broghte, in swich pompe and richesse,\n\n\u2003That never was ther seyn with mannes ye\n\n\u2003So noble array in al West Lumbardye.\n\n\u2003And with her old cloak, as well as he could,\n\n\u2003He covered her full sorrowfully weeping.\n\n\u2003But around her body might he it not bring,\n\n\u2003For rough was the cloth and she more of age\n\n\u2003By many days than at her marriage.\n\n\u2003Thus with her father for a certain while,\n\n\u2003Dwelt this flower of wifely patience,\n\n\u2003Who neither by her words nor her face\n\n\u2003Before the folk, or in their absence,\n\n\u2003Showed that she was done offense;\n\n\u2003Nor of her high estate any remembrance\n\n\u2003Had she, to judge by her countenance.\n\n\u2003No wonder is, for in her high estate\n\n\u2003Her spirit was ever in perfect humility:\n\n\u2003No tender palate, no heart delicate,\n\n\u2003No pomp, no semblance of royalty,\n\n\u2003But full of patient graciousness,\n\n\u2003Discreet and prideless, ever honorable,\n\n\u2003And to her husband ever meek and constant.\n\n\u2003Men speak of Job and most of all of his humility,\n\n\u2003As scholars, when they wish, can well write,\n\n\u2003Namely of men, but with regard to the truth,\n\n\u2003Though scholars praise women very little,\n\n\u2003There can no man in humility himself acquit\n\n\u2003As women can, nor who can be half so true\n\n\u2003As women, unless it be something new."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "\u2003From Bologna is this Earl of Panico come,\n\n\u2003Whose fame became known to great and small,\n\n\u2003And in the people's ears all and one\n\n\u2003Was known also that a new marquess\n\n\u2003He brought with him, in such pomp and richness,\n\n\u2003That never was there seen with man's eye\n\n\u2003So noble a display in West Lombardy.\n\n\u2003The markis, which that shoop and knew al this,\n\n\u2003Er that this erl was come, sente his message\n\n\u2003For thilke sely povre Grisildis;\n\n\u2003And she with humble herte and glad visage,\n\n\u2003Nat with no swollen thoght in hir corage,\n\n\u2003Cam at his heste, and on hir knees hir sette,\n\n\u2003And reverently and wysly she him grette.\n\n\u2003\"Grisild,\" quod he, \"my wille is outerly,\n\n\u2003This mayden, that shal wedded been to me,\n\n\u2003Receyved be to-morwe as royally\n\n\u2003As it possible is in myn hous to be.\n\n\u2003And eek that every wight in his degree\n\n\u2003Have his estaat in sitting and servyse\n\n\u2003And heigh plesaunce, as I can best devyse.\n\n\u2003I have no wommen suffisaunt certayn\n\n\u2003The chambres for t'arraye in ordinaunce\n\n\u2003After my lust, and therfor wolde I fayn\n\n\u2003That thyn were al swich maner governaunce;\n\n\u2003Thou knowest eek of old al my plesaunce;\n\n\u2003Though thyn array be badde and yvel biseye,\n\n\u2003Do thou thy devoir at the leeste weye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nat only, lord, that I am glad,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"To doon your lust, but I desyre also\n\n\u2003Yow for to serve and plese in my degree\n\n\u2003With-outen feynting, and shal evermo.\n\n\u2003Ne never, for no wele ne no wo,\n\n\u2003Ne shal the gost with-in myn herte stente\n\n\u2003To love yow best with al my trewe entente.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she gan the hous to dighte,\n\n\u2003And tables for to sette and beddes make;\n\n\u2003And peyned hir to doon al that she mighte,\n\n\u2003Preying the chambereres, for goddes sake,\n\n\u2003To hasten hem, and faste swepe and shake;\n\n\u2003And she, the moste servisable of alle,\n\n\u2003Hath every chambre arrayed and his halle.\n\n\u2003The marquis, who planned and knew all this,\n\n\u2003Before this earl had come had sent his messenger\n\n\u2003For that same good poor Griselda;\n\n\u2003And she with humble heart and glad visage,\n\n\u2003With no prideful thought in her soul,\n\n\u2003Came at his command, and set herself on her knees,\n\n\u2003And reverently and discreetly she him greeted.\n\n\u2003\"Griselda,\" said he, \"my will is completely\n\n\u2003That this maiden, who shall wedded be to me,\n\n\u2003Be received tomorrow as royally\n\n\u2003As it is possible in my house to be,\n\n\u2003And also that every person in his degree,\n\n\u2003Have his place at the table and service\n\n\u2003And high pleasure, as I can best devise.\n\n\u2003I have not women enough, certainly,\n\n\u2003The chambers to put in order\n\n\u2003After my desire, and therefore would I be pleased\n\n\u2003That you would of all such things have governance;\n\n\u2003You know of old my preference.\n\n\u2003Though your clothing is bad and poor to see,\n\n\u2003Fulfill your duty, all the same.\"\n\n\u2003\"Not only, lord, am I glad,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"To do your pleasure, but I desire also\n\n\u2003To serve you and please you as befits my degree\n\n\u2003Without weariness, and shall evermore.\n\n\u2003And never, for happiness or woe,\n\n\u2003Shall the spirit within my heart stint\n\n\u2003To love you best with all my true intent.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she began the house to prepare,\n\n\u2003And tables to set and beds to make;\n\n\u2003And took pains to do all that she might,\n\n\u2003Praying the chambermaids, for God's sake,\n\n\u2003To hurry, and fast sweep and shake.\n\n\u2003And she, the most diligent of all,\n\n\u2003Had every chamber arranged and his hall.\n\n\u2003Abouten undern gan this erl alighte,\n\n\u2003That with him broghte thise noble children tweye,\n\n\u2003For which the peple ran to seen the sighte\n\n\u2003Of hir array, so richely biseye;\n\n\u2003And than at erst amonges hem they seye,\n\n\u2003That Walter was no fool, thogh that him leste\n\n\u2003To chaunge his wyf, for it was for the beste.\n\n\u2003For she is fairer, as they demen alle,\n\n\u2003Than is Grisild, and more tendre of age,\n\n\u2003And fairer fruit bitwene hem sholde falle,\n\n\u2003And more plesant, for hir heigh linage;\n\n\u2003Hir brother eek so fair was of visage,\n\n\u2003That hem to seen the peple hath caught plesaunce,\n\n\u2003Commending now the markis governaunce.\u2014\n\n\u2003\"O stormy peple! unsad and ever untrewe!\n\n\u2003Ay undiscreet and chaunging as a vane,\n\n\u2003Delyting ever in rumbel that is newe,\n\n\u2003For lyk the mone ay wexe ye and wane;\n\n\u2003Ay ful of clapping, dere y-nogh a jane;\n\n\u2003Your doom is fals, your constance yvel preveth,\n\n\u2003A ful greet fool is he that on yow leveth!\"\n\n\u2003Thus seyden sadde folk in that citee,\n\n\u2003Whan that the peple gazed up and doun,\n\n\u2003For they were glad, right for the noveltee,\n\n\u2003To han a newe lady of hir toun.\n\n\u2003Na-more of this make I now mencioun;\n\n\u2003But to Grisilde agayn wol I me dresse,\n\n\u2003And telle hir constance and hir bisinesse.\u2014\n\n\u2003Ful bisy was Grisilde in every thing\n\n\u2003That to the feste was apertinent;\n\n\u2003Right noght was she abayst of hir clothing,\n\n\u2003Though it were rude and somdel eek to-rent.\n\n\u2003But with glad chere to the yate is went,\n\n\u2003With other folk, to grete the markisesse,\n\n\u2003And after that doth forth hir bisinesse.\n\n\u2003About midmorn this earl alighted,\n\n\u2003Who with him brought these noble children two,\n\n\u2003For which the people ran to see the sight\n\n\u2003Of their display, so rich to see,\n\n\u2003And then for the first time among themselves to say\n\n\u2003That Walter was no fool to want\n\n\u2003To change his wife, for it was for the best.\n\n\u2003For she is fairer, as they judged all,\n\n\u2003Than is Griselda, and more young of age,\n\n\u2003And fairer fruit of her womb between them should fall,\n\n\u2003And more pleasant, due to her high lineage;\n\n\u2003Her brother also was so fair of visage\n\n\u2003That to see them the people pleased,\n\n\u2003Commending now the marquis' decision.\n\n\u2003\"Oh stormy people! inconstant and ever untrue!\n\n\u2003As unwise and changeable as a weathervane!\n\n\u2003Delighting ever in rumor that is new,\n\n\u2003Just as the moon ever waxes and wanes!\n\n\u2003Ever full of chatter, not worth a pence!\n\n\u2003Your judgement is false, your constancy untrue,\n\n\u2003A full great fool is he who believes in you!\"\n\n\u2003Thus said steadfast folk in that city,\n\n\u2003When that the people gazed up and down,\n\n\u2003For they were glad, just for the novelty,\n\n\u2003To have a new lady of their town.\n\n\u2003No more of this make I now mention,\n\n\u2003But to Griselda will I myself address,\n\n\u2003And tell her constancy and her goodness.\n\n\u2003Full busy was Griselda in everything\n\n\u2003That to the feast appertained;\n\n\u2003Right not was she of her clothing ashamed,\n\n\u2003Though it was rude and somewhat torn.\n\n\u2003But with glad cheer to the gate she went\n\n\u2003With other folk, to greet the marquess,\n\n\u2003And after that continued her business.\n\n\u2003With so glad chere his gestes she receyveth,\n\n\u2003And conningly, everich in his degree,\n\n\u2003That no defaute no man apercyveth;\n\n\u2003But ay they wondren what she mighte be\n\n\u2003That in so povre array was for to see,\n\n\u2003And coude swich honour and reverence;\n\n\u2003And worthily they preisen hir prudence.\n\n\u2003In al this mene whyle she ne stente\n\n\u2003This mayde and eek hir brother to commende\n\n\u2003With al hir herte, in ful benigne entente,\n\n\u2003So wel, that no man coude hir prys amende.\n\n\u2003But atte laste, whan that thise lordes wende\n\n\u2003To sitten doun to mete, he gan to calle\n\n\u2003Grisilde, as she was bisy in his halle.\n\n\u2003\"Grisilde,\" quod he, as it were in his pley,\n\n\u2003\"How lyketh thee my wyf and hir beautee?\"\n\n\u2003\"Right wel,\" quod she, \"my lord; for, in good fey,\n\n\u2003A fairer say I never noon than she.\n\n\u2003I prey to god yeve hir prosperitee;\n\n\u2003And so hope I that he wol to yow sende\n\n\u2003Plesance y-nogh un-to your lyves ende.\n\n\u2003O thing biseke I yow and warne also,\n\n\u2003That ye ne prikke with no tormentinge\n\n\u2003This tendre mayden, as ye han don mo;\n\n\u2003For she is fostred in hir norishinge\n\n\u2003More tendrely, and, to my supposinge,\n\n\u2003She coude nat adversitee endure\n\n\u2003As coude a povre fostred creature.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this Walter say hir pacience,\n\n\u2003Hir glade chere and no malice at al,\n\n\u2003And he so ofte had doon to hir offence,\n\n\u2003And she ay sad and constant as a wal,\n\n\u2003Continuing ever hir innocence overal,\n\n\u2003This sturdy markis gan his herte dresse\n\n\u2003To rewen up-on hir wyfly stedfastnesse.\n\n\u2003With glad cheer his guests she received,\n\n\u2003And so skillfully, each in his degree,\n\n\u2003That no fault could any man perceive;\n\n\u2003But ever they wondered who she might be\n\n\u2003Who in such poor clothing appeared,\n\n\u2003And yet knew such honor and reverence;\n\n\u2003And worthily they praised her prudence.\n\n\u2003In all this while she did not cease\n\n\u2003This maid and her brother to commend\n\n\u2003With all her heart, in full benign intent,\n\n\u2003So well that no man could her praise exceed.\n\n\u2003But at last, when this lord thought\n\n\u2003To sit down to the feast, he began to call\n\n\u2003Griselda, as she was busy in the hall.\n\n\u2003\"Griselda,\" said he, quite playfully,\n\n\u2003\"How do you like my wife and her beauty?\"\n\n\u2003\"Right well,\" said she, \"my lord, for in good faith,\n\n\u2003A fairer saw I never any than she.\n\n\u2003I pray to God give her prosperity,\n\n\u2003And so I hope that he will to you send\n\n\u2003Pleasure enough until your lives' end.\n\n\u2003One thing I beseech you, and warn also\n\n\u2003That you neither goad nor torment\n\n\u2003This tender maiden, as you have to others done.\n\n\u2003For she was raised in her upbringing\n\n\u2003More tenderly, and to my supposing,\n\n\u2003She could not adversity endure\n\n\u2003As could a poverty-raised creature.\"\n\n\u2003And when this Walter saw her patience,\n\n\u2003Her glad cheer and no malice at all\u2014\n\n\u2003And though he so often had done to her offence,\n\n\u2003She was ever firm and constant as a wall,\n\n\u2003Continuing ever her innocence in every way\u2014\n\n\u2003This cruel marquis did his heart turn\n\n\u2003To take pity on her wifely constancy.\n\n\u2003\"This is y-nogh, Grisilde myn,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Be now na-more agast ne yvel apayed;\n\n\u2003I have thy feith and thy benignitee,\n\n\u2003As wel as ever womman was, assayed,\n\n\u2003In greet estaat, and povreliche arrayed.\n\n\u2003Now knowe I, dere wyf, thy stedfastnesse,\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And hir in armes took and gan hir kesse.\n\n\u2003And she for wonder took of it no keep;\n\n\u2003She herde nat what thing he to hir seyde;\n\n\u2003She ferde as she had stert out of a sleep,\n\n\u2003Til she out of hir masednesse abreyde.\n\n\u2003\"Grisilde,\" quod he, \"by god that for us deyde,\n\n\u2003Thou art my wyf, ne noon other I have,\n\n\u2003Ne never hadde, as god my soule save!\n\n\u2003This is thy doghter which thou hast supposed\n\n\u2003To be my wyf; that other feithfully\n\n\u2003Shal be myn heir, as I have ay purposed;\n\n\u2003Thou bare him in thy body trewely.\n\n\u2003At Boloigne have I kept hem prively;\n\n\u2003Tak hem agayn, for now maystow nat seye\n\n\u2003That thou hast lorn non of thy children tweye.\n\n\u2003And folk that otherweyes han seyd of me,\n\n\u2003I warne hem wel that I have doon this dede\n\n\u2003For no malice ne for no crueltee,\n\n\u2003But for t'assaye in thee thy wommanhede,\n\n\u2003And nat to sleen my children, god forbede!\n\n\u2003But for to kepe hem prively and stille,\n\n\u2003Til I thy purpos knewe and al thy wille.\"\n\n\u2003Whan she this herde, aswowne doun she falleth\n\n\u2003For pitous joye, and after hir swowninge\n\n\u2003She bothe hir yonge children un-to hir calleth,\n\n\u2003And in hir armes, pitously wepinge,\n\n\u2003Embraceth hem, and tendrely kissinge\n\n\u2003Ful lyk a mooder, with hir salte teres\n\n\u2003She batheth bothe hir visage and hir heres.\n\n\u2003\"This is enough, Griselda mine,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Be now no more afraid or ill-pleased;\n\n\u2003I have your faith and your steadfastness,\n\n\u2003As well as any woman who ever was tested.\n\n\u2003In both great estate, and poorly dressed,\n\n\u2003Now I know, dear wife, your faithfulness,\"\n\n\u2003And took her in his arms and began her to kiss.\n\n\u2003And she for wonder took of it no heed;\n\n\u2003She heard not what thing he to her said;\n\n\u2003She acted as if she had started out of a sleep,\n\n\u2003Until she out of her bewilderment awoke.\n\n\u2003\"Griselda,\" said he, \"by God who for us died,\n\n\u2003You are my wife, no other do I have,\n\n\u2003Nor ever had, as God my soul save!\n\n\u2003This is your daughter whom you have supposed\n\n\u2003To be my wife; that other faithfully\n\n\u2003Shall be my heir, as I have ever intended;\n\n\u2003You bore him in your body truly.\n\n\u2003At Bologna I have kept him secretly;\n\n\u2003Take him again, for now may you not say\n\n\u2003That you have lost either of your children two.\n\n\u2003And folk who otherwise have said of me,\n\n\u2003I advise them that I have done this deed\n\n\u2003For no malice nor for cruelty,\n\n\u2003But to test you in your womanhood,\n\n\u2003And not to slay my children, God forbid!\n\n\u2003But to keep them secretly and in silence,\n\n\u2003Until I your purpose knew and all your will.\"\n\n\u2003When she this heard, fainting down she fell\n\n\u2003For piteous joy, and after her swooning\n\n\u2003She both her young children to her called,\n\n\u2003And in her arms, piteously weeping,\n\n\u2003Embraced them, and tenderly kissing,\n\n\u2003Full like a mother, with her salt tears\n\n\u2003She bathed both their faces and their hair.\n\n\u2003O, which a pitous thing it was to see\n\n\u2003Hir swowning, and hir humble voys to here!\n\n\u2003\"Grauntmercy, lord, that thanke I yow,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"That ye han saved me my children dere!\n\n\u2003Now rekke I never to ben deed right here;\n\n\u2003Sith I stonde in your love and in your grace,\n\n\u2003No fors of deeth, ne whan my spirit pace!\n\n\u2003O tendre, o dere, o yonge children myne,\n\n\u2003Your woful mooder wende stedfastly\n\n\u2003That cruel houndes or som foul vermyne\n\n\u2003Hadde eten yow; but god, of his mercy,\n\n\u2003And your benigne fader tendrely\n\n\u2003Hath doon yow kept;\" and in that same stounde\n\n\u2003Al sodeynly she swapte adoun to grounde.\n\n\u2003And in her swough so sadly holdeth she\n\n\u2003Hir children two, whan she gan hem t'embrace,\n\n\u2003That with greet sleighte and greet difficultee\n\n\u2003The children from hir arm they gonne arace.\n\n\u2003O many a teer on many a pitous face\n\n\u2003Doun ran of hem that stoden hir bisyde;\n\n\u2003Unnethe abouten hir mighte they abyde.\n\n\u2003Walter hir gladeth, and hir sorwe slaketh;\n\n\u2003She ryseth up, abaysed, from hir traunce.\n\n\u2003And every wight hir joye and feste maketh,\n\n\u2003Til she hath caught agayn hir contenaunce.\n\n\u2003Walter hir dooth so feithfully plesaunce,\n\n\u2003That it was deyntee for to seen the chere\n\n\u2003Bitwixe hem two, now they ben met y-fere.\n\n\u2003Thise ladyes, whan that they hir tyme say,\n\n\u2003Han taken hir, and in-to chambre goon,\n\n\u2003And strepen hir out of hir rude array,\n\n\u2003And in a cloth of gold that brighte shoon,\n\n\u2003With a coroune of many a riche stoon\n\n\u2003Up-on hir heed, they in-to halle hir broghte,\n\n\u2003And ther she was honoured as hir oghte.\n\n\u2003Oh what a piteous thing it was to see\n\n\u2003Her swooning, and her piteous voice to hear!\n\n\u2003\"Great thanks, lord, God reward you,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"That you have saved me my children dear!\n\n\u2003Now I do not care if I should die right here;\n\n\u2003Since I stand in your love and your grace\n\n\u2003Death has no force, nor do I care when!\n\n\u2003Oh tender, oh dear, oh young children mine,\n\n\u2003Your woeful mother thought steadfastly\n\n\u2003That cruel hounds or some foul beast\n\n\u2003Had eaten you; but God of his mercy,\n\n\u2003And your gracious father, tenderly\n\n\u2003Had you cared for;\" and then\n\n\u2003All suddenly fell she to the ground.\n\n\u2003And in her swoon so firmly held she\n\n\u2003Her children two, when she them embraced,\n\n\u2003That with great skill and great difficulty\n\n\u2003The children from her arms away they tore.\n\n\u2003Oh many a tear on many a piteous face\n\n\u2003Down ran of them who stood there beside;\n\n\u2003Scarcely about her might they abide.\n\n\u2003Walter comforted her and her sorrow eased;\n\n\u2003She rose up, embarrassed, from her trance,\n\n\u2003And every person for her made gladness\n\n\u2003Until she composed again her countenance.\n\n\u2003Walter so faithfully did her kindness\n\n\u2003That it was a delight to see the happiness\n\n\u2003Between the two, now that they were together.\n\n\u2003These ladies, when they their time saw,\n\n\u2003Had taken her and into chamber went,\n\n\u2003And removed her rude apparel,\n\n\u2003And in a cloth of gold that bright shone,\n\n\u2003With a crown of many a rich stone\n\n\u2003Upon her head, they into hall her brought,\n\n\u2003And there she was honored as they ought.\n\n\u2003Thus hath this pitous day a blisful ende,\n\n\u2003For every man and womman dooth his might\n\n\u2003This day in murthe and revel to dispende\n\n\u2003Til on the welkne shoon the sterres light.\n\n\u2003For more solempne in every mannes sight\n\n\u2003This feste was, and gretter of costage,\n\n\u2003Than was the revel of hir mariage.\n\n\u2003Ful many a yeer in heigh prosperitee\n\n\u2003Liven thise two in concord and in reste,\n\n\u2003And richely his doghter maried he\n\n\u2003Un-to a lord, oon of the worthieste\n\n\u2003Of al Itaille; and than in pees and reste\n\n\u2003His wyves fader in his court he kepeth,\n\n\u2003Til that the soule out of his body crepeth.\n\n\u2003His sone succedeth in his heritage\n\n\u2003In reste and pees, after his fader day;\n\n\u2003And fortunat was eek in mariage,\n\n\u2003Al putte he nat his wyf in greet assay.\n\n\u2003This world is nat so strong, it is no nay,\n\n\u2003As it hath been in olde tymes yore,\n\n\u2003And herkneth what this auctour seith therfore.\n\n\u2003This storie is seyd, nat for that wyves sholde\n\n\u2003Folwen Grisilde as in humilitee,\n\n\u2003For it were importable, though they wolde;\n\n\u2003But for that every wight, in his degree,\n\n\u2003Sholde be constant in adversitee\n\n\u2003As was Grisilde; therfor Petrark wryteth\n\n\u2003This storie, which with heigh style he endyteth.\n\n\u2003For, sith a womman was so pacient\n\n\u2003Un-to a mortal man, wel more us oghte\n\n\u2003Receyven al in gree that god us sent;\n\n\u2003For greet skile is, he preve that he wroghte.\n\n\u2003But he ne tempteth no man that he boghte,\n\n\u2003As seith seint Jame, if ye his pistel rede;\n\n\u2003He preveth folk al day, it is no drede,\n\n\u2003Thus had this piteous day a blissful end,\n\n\u2003For every man and woman did his best\n\n\u2003This day in mirth and revel to spend\n\n\u2003Until in the sky shone the stars' light.\n\n\u2003For more splendid in every man's sight\n\n\u2003This feast was, and greater of cost,\n\n\u2003Than was the revel of her marriage.\n\n\u2003Full many a year in high prosperity\n\n\u2003Lived these two in concord and in rest,\n\n\u2003And richly his daughter married he\n\n\u2003Unto a lord, one of the worthiest\n\n\u2003Of all Italy, and then in peace and rest\n\n\u2003His wife's father in his court he kept,\n\n\u2003Until the soul out of his body crept.\n\n\u2003His son succeeded in his heritage,\n\n\u2003In rest and peace, after his father's day,\n\n\u2003And fortunate was also in marriage,\n\n\u2003Although put he not his wife in great trial.\n\n\u2003This world is not so strong, it cannot be denied,\n\n\u2003As it was in times of yore.\n\n\u2003And listen to what this Petrarch said therefore:\n\n\u2003This story is told, not that wives should\n\n\u2003Follow Griselda in humility,\n\n\u2003For it would be unbearable if they did;\n\n\u2003But so that every person in his degree\n\n\u2003Should be constant in adversity\n\n\u2003As was Griselda. Therefore Petrarch wrote\n\n\u2003This story, which with high style he composed.\n\n\u2003For since a woman was so patient\n\n\u2003Unto a mortal man, well more we ought\n\n\u2003Receive in good will what God us sends.\n\n\u2003There is reason for him to test what he created,\n\n\u2003But he tempts no man whom he has saved\u2014\n\n\u2003As said Saint James, if you his epistle read.\n\n\u2003He tests folk all day, doubtless,\n\n\u2003And suffreth us, as for our exercyse,\n\n\u2003With sharpe scourges of adversitee\n\n\u2003Ful ofte to be bete in sondry wyse;\n\n\u2003Nat for to knowe our wil, for certes he,\n\n\u2003Er we were born, knew al our freletee;\n\n\u2003And for our beste, is al his governaunce;\n\n\u2003Lat us than live in vertuous suffraunce.\n\n\u2003But o word, lordinges, herkneth er I go:\u2014\n\n\u2003It were ful hard to finde now a dayes\n\n\u2003In al a toun Grisildes three or two;\n\n\u2003For, if that they were put to swiche assayes,\n\n\u2003The gold of hem hath now so badde alayes\n\n\u2003With bras, that thogh the coyne be fair at y\u00f6,\n\n\u2003It wolde rather breste a-two than plye.\n\n\u2003For which heer, for the wyves love of Bathe,\n\n\u2003Whos lyf and al hir secte god mayntene\n\n\u2003In heigh maistrye, and elles were it scathe,\n\n\u2003I wol with lusty herte fresshe and grene\n\n\u2003Seyn yow a song to glade yow, I wene,\n\n\u2003And lat us stinte of ernestful matere:\u2014\n\n\u2003Herkneth my song, that seith in this manere.\n\n\u2003The Envoy\n\n\u2003Grisilde is deed, and eek hir pacience,\n\n\u2003And bothe atones buried in Itaille;\n\n\u2003For which I crye in open audience,\n\n\u2003No wedded man so hardy be t'assaille\n\n\u2003His wyves pacience, in hope to finde\n\n\u2003Grisildes, for in certein he shall faille!\n\n\u2003O noble wyves, ful of heigh prudence,\n\n\u2003Lat noon humilitee your tonge naille,\n\n\u2003Ne lat no clerk have cause or diligence\n\n\u2003To wryte of yow a storie of swich mervaille\n\n\u2003As of Grisildis pacient and kinde;\n\n\u2003Lest Chichevache yow swelwe in hir entraille!\n\n\u2003And allows us, for our discipline,\n\n\u2003With sharp scourges of adversity\n\n\u2003Full often to be beaten in sundry ways,\n\n\u2003Not to know our will, for certain he,\n\n\u2003Before we were born, knew all our frailty.\n\n\u2003And for our best is all his governance:\n\n\u2003Let us then live in virtuous patience.\n\n\u2003But one word, lordings, listen before I go:\n\n\u2003It is full hard to find nowadays\n\n\u2003In an entire town Griseldas three or two;\n\n\u2003For if they were put to such tests,\n\n\u2003The gold of them has now such bad alloy\n\n\u2003With brass, that though the coin be fair to see,\n\n\u2003It would rather break in two than bend.\n\n\u2003For which right now, for love of the Wife of Bath\u2014\n\n\u2003Whose life and all her sect God maintains\n\n\u2003In high mastery, and otherwise would be a pity\u2014\n\n\u2003I will with glad heart fresh and green\n\n\u2003Sing you a song to gladden you, I think,\n\n\u2003And let us stop talking now of serious matter.\n\n\u2003Listen to my song, that says in this manner:\n\n\u2003The Envoy\n\n\u2003Griselda is dead, and also her patience,\n\n\u2003And both together buried in Italy.\n\n\u2003For which I cry in open hearing:\n\n\u2003No wedded man so bold be to try\n\n\u2003His wife's patience, in hope to find\n\n\u2003Griselda, for in certain he shall fail!\n\n\u2003Oh noble wives, full of high prudence,\n\n\u2003Let no humility your tongue nail down,\n\n\u2003Nor let any scholar have cause or diligence\n\n\u2003To write of you a story of such a marvel\n\n\u2003As Griselda, patient and kind in her travail,\n\n\u2003Lest Chichevache swallow you into her entrails!\n\n\u2003Folweth Ekko, that holdeth no silence,\n\n\u2003But evere answereth at the countretaille;\n\n\u2003Beth nat bidaffed for your innocence,\n\n\u2003But sharply tak on yow the governaille.\n\n\u2003Emprinteth wel this lesson in your minde\n\n\u2003For commune profit, sith it may availle.\n\n\u2003Ye archewyves, stondeth at defence,\n\n\u2003Sin ye be stronge as is a greet camaille;\n\n\u2003Ne suffreth nat that men yow doon offence.\n\n\u2003And sclendre wyves, feble as in bataille,\n\n\u2003Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Inde;\n\n\u2003Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille.\n\n\u2003Ne dreed hem nat, do hem no reverence;\n\n\u2003For though thyn housbonde armed he in maille,\n\n\u2003The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence\n\n\u2003Shal perce his brest, and eek his aventaille;\n\n\u2003In jalousye I rede eek thou him binde,\n\n\u2003And thou shalt make him couche as dooth a quaille.\n\n\u2003If thou be fair, ther folk ben in presence\n\n\u2003Shew thou thy visage and thyn apparaille;\n\n\u2003If thou be foul, be free of thy dispence,\n\n\u2003To gete thee freendes ay do thy travaille;\n\n\u2003Be ay of chere as light as leef on linde,\n\n\u2003And lat him care, and wepe, and wringe, and waille!\n\n\u2003Follow Echo, who holds no silence,\n\n\u2003But ever answers in counterreply;\n\n\u2003Be not made a fool through your innocence,\n\n\u2003But sharply take control.\n\n\u2003Imprint well this lesson in your mind\n\n\u2003For common profit, since it may avail.\n\n\u2003You archwives, stand up in self-defense\u2014\n\n\u2003Since you be strong as is a camel\u2014\n\n\u2003Suffer not that men do you offense.\n\n\u2003And slender wives, feeble in battle,\n\n\u2003Be fierce as is an Indian tiger;\n\n\u2003And chatter as loudly as a mill.\n\n\u2003Fear them not, do them no honor;\n\n\u2003For though your husband be armed in mail,\n\n\u2003The arrows of your crabbed eloquence\n\n\u2003Shall pierce his breast, and his visor as well.\n\n\u2003In jealousy I advise you also him bind,\n\n\u2003And you shall make him cower as does a quail.\n\n\u2003If you be fair, where folk be present\n\n\u2003Show your face and your apparel;\n\n\u2003If you be ugly, be free spending\n\n\u2003To get your friends ever to take your side.\n\n\u2003Be cheerful and light as a leaf of the linden tree,\n\n\u2003And let him worry, and weep, and wring, and wail!"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Marchantes Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Weping and wayling, care, and other sorwe\n\n\u2003I know y-nogh, on even and a-morwe,\"\n\n\u2003Quod the Marchaunt, \"and so don othere mo\n\n\u2003That wedded been, I trowe that it be so.\n\n\u2003For, wel I woot, it fareth so with me.\n\n\u2003I have a wyf, the worste that may be;\n\n\u2003For thogh the feend to hir y-coupled were,\n\n\u2003She wolde him overmacche, I dar wel swere.\n\n\u2003What sholde I yow reherce in special\n\n\u2003Hir hye malice? she is a shrewe at al.\n\n\u2003Ther is a long and large difference\n\n\u2003Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience\n\n\u2003And of my wyf the passing crueltee.\n\n\u2003Were I unbounden, al-so moot I thee!\n\n\u2003I wolde never eft comen in the snare.\n\n\u2003We wedded men live in sorwe and care;\n\n\u2003Assaye who-so wol, and he shal finde\n\n\u2003I seye sooth, by seint Thomas of Inde,\n\n\u2003As for the more part, I sey nat alle.\n\n\u2003God shilde that it sholde so bifalle!\n\n\u2003A! good sir hoost! I have y-wedded be\n\n\u2003Thise monthes two, and more nat, pardee;\n\n\u2003And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve\n\n\u2003Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve\n\n\u2003Un-to the herte, ne coude in no manere\n\n\u2003Tellen so muchel sorwe, as I now here\n\n\u2003Coude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" quod our hoost, \"Marchaunt, so god yow blesse,\n\n\u2003Sin ye so muchel knowen of that art,\n\n\u2003Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly,\" quod he, \"but of myn owene sore,\n\n\u2003For sory herte, I telle may na-more.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Merchant's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow\n\n\u2003I know enough, evening and morning,\"\n\n\u2003Said the Merchant, \"and so do others more\n\n\u2003Who have wedded been. I believe that it be so,\n\n\u2003For well I know it fares so with me.\n\n\u2003I have a wife, the worst that may be;\n\n\u2003For though the fiend to her coupled were,\n\n\u2003She would him overmatch, I dare well swear.\n\n\u2003Why should I rehearse in special\n\n\u2003Her high malice? She is a shrew in every way.\n\n\u2003There is a long and large difference\n\n\u2003Between Griselda's great patience\n\n\u2003And of my wife the surpassing cruelty.\n\n\u2003Were I unbound, and may I flourish,\n\n\u2003I would never again myself snare.\n\n\u2003We wedded men live in sorrow and care.\n\n\u2003Try whoso will, and he shall find\n\n\u2003That I say truth, by Saint Thomas of India,\n\n\u2003As for the greater part\u2014I say not all.\n\n\u2003God shield that it should so befall!\n\n\u2003Ah, good sir Host, I have wedded been\n\n\u2003These months two, and not more, by God,\n\n\u2003And yet I believe, he that all his life\n\n\u2003Wifeless has been, though that men would him stab\n\n\u2003Unto the heart, could in no manner\n\n\u2003Tell so much sorrow as I now here\n\n\u2003Could tell of my wife's cursedness!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" said our Host, \"Merchant, so God you bless,\n\n\u2003Since you know so much of that art\n\n\u2003Full heartily I pray you tell us part.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly,\" said he, \"but of my own sore,\n\n\u2003For sorry heart, I may tell no more.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Whylom ther was dwellinge in Lumbardye\n\n\u2003A worthy knight, that born was of Pavye,\n\n\u2003In which he lived in greet prosperitee;\n\n\u2003And sixty yeer a wyflees man was he,\n\n\u2003And folwed ay his bodily delyt\n\n\u2003On wommen, ther-as was his appetyt,\n\n\u2003As doon thise foles that ben seculeer.\n\n\u2003And whan that he was passed sixty yeer,\n\n\u2003Were it for holinesse or for dotage,\n\n\u2003I can nat seye, but swich a greet corage,\n\n\u2003Hadde this knight to been a wedded man,\n\n\u2003That day and night he dooth al that he can\n\n\u2003T'espyen where he mighte wedded be;\n\n\u2003Preyinge our lord to granten him, that he\n\n\u2003Mighte ones knowe of thilke blisful lyf\n\n\u2003That is bitwixe an housbond and his wyf;\n\n\u2003And for to live under that holy bond\n\n\u2003With which that first god man and womman bond.\n\n\u2003\"Non other lyf,\" seyde he, \"is worth a bene;\n\n\u2003For wedlok is so esy and so clene,\n\n\u2003That in this world it is a paradys.\"\n\n\u2003Thus seyde this olde knight, that was so wys.\n\n\u2003And certeinly, as sooth as god is king,\n\n\u2003To take a wyf, it is a glorious thing,\n\n\u2003And namely whan a man is old and hoor;\n\n\u2003Thanne is a wyf the fruit of his tresor.\n\n\u2003Than sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir,\n\n\u2003On which he mighte engendren him an heir,\n\n\u2003And lede his lyf in joye and in solas,\n\n\u2003Wher-as thise bacheleres singe \"allas,\"\n\n\u2003Whan that they finden any adversitee\n\n\u2003In love, which nis but childish vanitee.\n\n\u2003And trewely it sit wel to be so,\n\n\u2003That bacheleres have often peyne and wo;\n\n\u2003On brotel ground they builde, and brotelnesse\n\n\u2003They finde, whan they wene sikernesse.\n\n\u2003They live but as a brid or as a beste,\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Once there was dwelling in Lombardy\n\n\u2003A worthy knight, who was born of Pavia,\n\n\u2003In which he lived in great prosperity;\n\n\u2003And sixty years a wifeless man was he,\n\n\u2003And followed ever his bodily delight\n\n\u2003With women, wherever led his appetite,\n\n\u2003As do these fools who are secular.\n\n\u2003And when he was passed sixty years,\n\n\u2003Were it for holiness or for dotage\n\n\u2003I can not say, but such a great desire\n\n\u2003Had this knight to be a wedded man\n\n\u2003That day and night he did all he could\n\n\u2003T'espy where he might wedded be,\n\n\u2003Praying our lord to grant him that he\n\n\u2003Might once know of that same blissful life\n\n\u2003That is between a husband and his wife,\n\n\u2003And for to live under that holy bond\n\n\u2003With which that first God man and woman bound.\n\n\u2003\"No other life,\" said he, \"is worth a bean,\n\n\u2003For wedlock is so easy and so clean,\n\n\u2003That in this world it is a paradise.\"\n\n\u2003Thus said this old knight, who was so wise.\n\n\u2003And certainly, as true as God is king,\n\n\u2003To take a wife it is a glorious thing,\n\n\u2003And namely when a man is old and white-haired;\n\n\u2003Then is a wife the flower of his treasure.\n\n\u2003Then should he take a wife young and fair,\n\n\u2003On which he might engender him an heir,\n\n\u2003And lead his life in joy and solace,\n\n\u2003Whereas these bachelors sing \"Alas,\"\n\n\u2003When they find any adversity\n\n\u2003In love, which is but childish vanity.\n\n\u2003And truly it sits well to be so,\n\n\u2003That bachelors have often pain and woe;\n\n\u2003On shifting ground they build, and shiftiness\n\n\u2003They find where they expected a firm foundation.\n\n\u2003They live but as a bird or as a beast,\n\n\u2003In libertee, and under non areste,\n\n\u2003Ther-as a wedded man in his estaat\n\n\u2003Liveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat,\n\n\u2003Under the yok of mariage y-bounde;\n\n\u2003Wel may his herte in joye and blisse habounde.\n\n\u2003For who can be so buxom as a wyf?\n\n\u2003Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyf\n\n\u2003To kepe him, syk and hool, as is his make?\n\n\u2003For wele or wo, she wol him nat forsake.\n\n\u2003She nis nat wery him to love and serve,\n\n\u2003Thogh that he lye bedrede til he sterve.\n\n\u2003And yet somme clerkes seyn, it nis nat so,\n\n\u2003Of whiche he, Theofraste, is oon of tho.\n\n\u2003What force though Theofraste, liste lye?\n\n\u2003\"Ne take no wyf,\" quod he, \"for housbondrye,\n\n\u2003As for to spare in household thy dispence;\n\n\u2003A trewe servant dooth more diligence,\n\n\u2003Thy good to kepe, than thyn owene wyf.\n\n\u2003For she wol clayme half part al hir lyf;\n\n\u2003And if that thou be syk, so god me save,\n\n\u2003Thy verray frendes or a trewe knave\n\n\u2003Wol kepe thee bet than she that waiteth ay\n\n\u2003After thy good, and hath don many a day.\n\n\u2003And if thou take a wyf un-to thyn hold,\n\n\u2003Ful lightly maystow been a cokewold.\"\n\n\u2003This sentence, and an hundred thinges worse,\n\n\u2003Wryteth this man, ther god his bones corse!\n\n\u2003But take no kepe of al swich vanitee;\n\n\u2003Deffye Theofraste and herke me.\n\n\u2003A wyf is goddes yifte verraily;\n\n\u2003Alle other maner yiftes hardily,\n\n\u2003As londes, rentes, pasture, or commune,\n\n\u2003Or moebles, alle ben yiftes of fortune,\n\n\u2003That passen as a shadwe upon a wal.\n\n\u2003But dredelees, if pleynly speke I shal,\n\n\u2003A wyf wol laste, and in thyn hous endure,\n\n\u2003Wel lenger than thee list, paraventure.\n\n\u2003Mariage is a ful gret sacrement;\n\n\u2003He which that hath no wyf, I holde him shent\n\n\u2003In liberty and under no restraint,\n\n\u2003Whereas a wedded man in his estate\n\n\u2003Lives a life blissful and orderly\n\n\u2003Under this yoke of marriage bond.\n\n\u2003Well may his heart in joy and bliss abound,\n\n\u2003For who can be so obedient as a wife?\n\n\u2003Who is so true, and so attentive\n\n\u2003To keep him, in health and sickness, as his mate?\n\n\u2003For well or woe she will him not forsake;\n\n\u2003She wearies not to him love and serve,\n\n\u2003Though he lie bedridden until he dies.\n\n\u2003And yet some scholars say it is not so,\n\n\u2003Of which Theofrastus is one of those.\n\n\u2003But so what if Theofrastus wants to lie?\n\n\u2003\"Take no wife,\" said he, \"for housekeeping,\n\n\u2003To be frugal in your household expense.\n\n\u2003A true servant does more diligence\n\n\u2003Your goods to keep than your own wife,\n\n\u2003For she will claim half part all her life.\n\n\u2003And if you be sick, so God me save,\n\n\u2003Your true friends, or a true servant,\n\n\u2003Will keep you better than she who waits ever\n\n\u2003For your goods and has done many a day.\n\n\u2003And if you take a wife into your hold\n\n\u2003Full easily may you be a cuckold.\"\n\n\u2003This sentence, and a hundred things worse,\n\n\u2003Wrote this man, God his bones curse!\n\n\u2003But take no heed of all such vanity;\n\n\u2003Defy Theofrastus, and listen to me.\n\n\u2003A wife is God's gift verily;\n\n\u2003All other manner of gifts surely,\n\n\u2003As lands, rents, pasture, or commons,\n\n\u2003Or movable goods\u2014all be gifts of Fortune\n\n\u2003That pass as a shadow upon a wall.\n\n\u2003But doubt not, if plainly speak I shall;\n\n\u2003A wife will last, and in your house endure,\n\n\u2003Well longer than you wish, perchance.\n\n\u2003Marriage is a full great sacrament.\n\n\u2003He who has no wife, I hold him ruined;\n\n\u2003He liveth helplees and al desolat,\n\n\u2003I speke of folk in seculer estaat.\n\n\u2003And herke why, I sey nat this for noght,\n\n\u2003That womman is for mannes help y-wroght.\n\n\u2003The hye god, whan he hadde Adam maked,\n\n\u2003And saugh him al allone, bely-naked,\n\n\u2003God of his grete goodnesse seyde than,\n\n\u2003\"Lat us now make an help un-to this man\n\n\u2003Lyk to him-self;\" an thanne he made him Eve.\n\n\u2003Heer may ye se, and heer-by may ye preve,\n\n\u2003That wyf is mannes help and his confort,\n\n\u2003His paradys terrestre and his disport\n\n\u2003So buxom and so vertuous is she,\n\n\u2003They moste nedes live in unitee.\n\n\u2003O flesh they been, and o flesh, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Hath but on herte, in wele and in distresse.\n\n\u2003A wyf! a! Seinte Marie, ben'cite!\n\n\u2003How mighte a man han any adversitee\n\n\u2003That hath a wyf! certes, I can nat seye.\n\n\u2003The blisse which that is bitwixe hem tweye\n\n\u2003Ther may no tonge telle, or herte thinke.\n\n\u2003If he be povre, she helpeth him to swinke;\n\n\u2003She kepeth his good, and wasteth never a deel;\n\n\u2003Al that hir housbonde lust, hir lyketh weel;\n\n\u2003She seith not ones \"nay,\" when he seith \"ye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Do this,\" seith he; \"al redy, sir,\" seith she.\n\n\u2003O blisful ordre of wedlok precious,\n\n\u2003Thou art so mery, and eek so vertuous,\n\n\u2003And so commended and appreved eek,\n\n\u2003That every man that halt him worth a leek,\n\n\u2003Up-on his bare knees oghte al his lyf\n\n\u2003Thanken his god that him hath sent a wyf;\n\n\u2003Or elles preye to god him for to sende\n\n\u2003A wyf, to laste un-to his lyves ende.\n\n\u2003For thanne his lyf is set in sikernesse;\n\n\u2003He may nat be deceyved, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003So that he werke after his wyves reed;\n\n\u2003Than may he boldly beren up his heed,\n\n\u2003They been so trewe and ther-with-al so wyse;\n\n\u2003He lives helpless and all desolate\u2014\n\n\u2003I speak of folk in secular estate.\n\n\u2003And listen why\u2014I say not this for nought\u2014\n\n\u2003That woman is for man's help wrought.\n\n\u2003The high God, when he had Adam made,\n\n\u2003And saw him all alone, belly-naked,\n\n\u2003God of his great goodness said then,\n\n\u2003\"Let us now make a helpmate unto this man\n\n\u2003Like to himself \"; and then he made Eve.\n\n\u2003Here may you see, and here may you prove,\n\n\u2003That wife is man's help and his comfort,\n\n\u2003His paradise terrestrial, and his disport.\n\n\u2003So obedient and virtuous is she,\n\n\u2003They must needs live in unity.\n\n\u2003One flesh they be, and one flesh, as I guess,\n\n\u2003Has but one heart, in health and in distress.\n\n\u2003A wife! Ah, Saint Mary, benedicite!\n\n\u2003How might a man have any adversity\n\n\u2003Who has a wife? Certainly, I cannot say.\n\n\u2003The bliss that is between the two\n\n\u2003There may no tongue tell, or heart think.\n\n\u2003If he be poor, she helps him to work;\n\n\u2003She keeps his goods, and wastes nothing;\n\n\u2003All that her husband wishes, she also wishes;\n\n\u2003She never says \"no,\" when he says \"yes.\"\n\n\u2003\"Do this,\" says he; \"All ready, sire,\" says she.\n\n\u2003Oh blissful order of wedlock precious,\n\n\u2003You are so merry, and so virtuous,\n\n\u2003And so commended and proven also\n\n\u2003That every man who holds himself worth a leek\n\n\u2003Upon his bare knees ought all his life\n\n\u2003Thank his God who him has sent a wife,\n\n\u2003Or else pray to God him to send\n\n\u2003A wife to last until his life's end.\n\n\u2003For then his life is set in sureness;\n\n\u2003He may not be deceived, as I guess,\n\n\u2003If he takes his wife's advice.\n\n\u2003Then may he surely hold up his head,\n\n\u2003They be so true and at the same time so wise;\n\n\u2003For which, if thou wolt werken as the wyse,\n\n\u2003Do alwey so as wommen wol thee rede.\n\n\u2003Lo, how that Jacob, as thise clerkes rede,\n\n\u2003By good conseil of his moder Rebekke,\n\n\u2003Bond the kides skin aboute his nekke;\n\n\u2003Thurgh which his fadres benisoun he wan.\n\n\u2003Lo, Judith, as the storie eek telle can,\n\n\u2003By wys conseil she goddes peple kepte,\n\n\u2003And slow him, Olofernus, whyl he slepte.\n\n\u2003Lo Abigayl, by good conseil how she\n\n\u2003Saved hir housbond Nabal, whan that he\n\n\u2003Sholde han be slayn; and loke, Ester also\n\n\u2003By good conseil delivered out of wo\n\n\u2003The peple of god, and made him, Mardochee\n\n\u2003Of Assuere enhaunced for to be.\n\n\u2003Ther nis no-thing in gree superlatyf,\n\n\u2003As seith Senek, above an humble wyf.\n\n\u2003Suffre thy wyves tonge, as Caton bit;\n\n\u2003She shal comande, and thou shalt suffren it;\n\n\u2003And yet she wol obeye of curteisye.\n\n\u2003A wyf is keper of thyn housbondrye;\n\n\u2003Wel may the syke man biwaille and wepe,\n\n\u2003Ther-as ther nis no wyf the hous to kepe.\n\n\u2003I warne thee, if wysly thou wolt wirche,\n\n\u2003Love wel thy wyf, as Crist loveth his chirche.\n\n\u2003If thou lovest thy-self, thou lovest thy wyf;\n\n\u2003No man hateth his flesh, but in his lyf\n\n\u2003He fostreth it, and therfore bidde I thee,\n\n\u2003Cherisse thy wyf, or thou shalt never thee.\n\n\u2003Housbond and wyf, what so men jape or pleye,\n\n\u2003Of worldly folk holden the siker weye;\n\n\u2003They been so knit, ther may noon harm bityde:\n\n\u2003And namely, up-on the wyves syde.\n\n\u2003For which this Januarie, of whom I tolde,\n\n\u2003Considered hath, inwith his dayes olde,\n\n\u2003The lusty lyf, the vertuous quiete,\n\n\u2003That is in mariage hony-swete;\n\n\u2003And for his freendes on a day he sente,\n\n\u2003To tellen hem th'effect of his entente.\n\n\u2003By which, if you will do as the wise do,\n\n\u2003Do always as women advise you.\n\n\u2003Look, how Jacob, as these scholars advise,\n\n\u2003By good counsel of his mother Rebecca,\n\n\u2003Bound the kidskin about his neck,\n\n\u2003By which his father's blessing he won.\n\n\u2003Look at Judith, as the stories also tell,\n\n\u2003By wise counsel she God's people kept,\n\n\u2003And slew Holofernes, while he slept.\n\n\u2003Look at Abigail, by good counsel how she\n\n\u2003Saved her husband Nabal when he\n\n\u2003Should have been slain; and look, Esther also\n\n\u2003By good counsel delivered out of woe\n\n\u2003The people of God, and made Mordecai\n\n\u2003Of Ahasuerus to be exalted.\n\n\u2003There is nothing more virtuous,\n\n\u2003As said Seneca, than a humble wife.\n\n\u2003Suffer your wife's tongue, as Cato bid;\n\n\u2003She shall command, and you shall endure it,\n\n\u2003And yet she will obey of courtesy.\n\n\u2003A wife is keeper of your household;\n\n\u2003Well may the sick man bewail and weep,\n\n\u2003Where there is no wife the house to keep.\n\n\u2003I warn you, if wisely you would work,\n\n\u2003Love well your wife, as Christ loved his church.\n\n\u2003If you love yourself, you love your wife;\n\n\u2003No man hates his flesh, but in his life\n\n\u2003He fosters it, and therefore I bid you\n\n\u2003To cherish your wife, or you shall never prosper.\n\n\u2003Husband and wife, what so men joke or mock,\n\n\u2003Of secular folk hold the surest way;\n\n\u2003They be so knit there may no harm betide,\n\n\u2003And namely upon the wife's side.\n\n\u2003For which this January, of whom I told,\n\n\u2003Considered once, in his days old,\n\n\u2003The pleasant life, the virtuous quiet,\n\n\u2003That is in marriage honey-sweet,\n\n\u2003And for his friends on a day he sent,\n\n\u2003To tell them the gist of his intent.\n\n\u2003With face sad, his tale he hath hem told;\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"freendes, I am hoor and old,\n\n\u2003And almost, god wot, on my pittes brinke;\n\n\u2003Up-on my soule somwhat moste I thinke.\n\n\u2003I have my body folily despended;\n\n\u2003Blessed be god, that it shal been amended!\n\n\u2003For I wol be, certeyn, a wedded man,\n\n\u2003And that anoon in al the haste I can,\n\n\u2003Un-to som mayde fair and tendre of age.\n\n\u2003I prey yow, shapeth for my mariage\n\n\u2003Al sodeynly, for I wol nat abyde;\n\n\u2003And I wol fonde t'espyen, on my syde,\n\n\u2003To whom I may be wedded hastily.\n\n\u2003But for-as-muche as ye ben mo than I,\n\n\u2003Ye shullen rather swich a thing espyen\n\n\u2003Than I, and wher me best were to allyen.\n\n\u2003But o thing warne I yow, my freendes dere,\n\n\u2003I wol non old wyf han in no manere.\n\n\u2003She shal nat passe twenty yeer, certayn;\n\n\u2003Old fish and yong flesh wolde I have ful fayn.\n\n\u2003Bet is,\" quod he, \"a pyk than a pikerel;\n\n\u2003And bet than old boef is the tendre veel.\n\n\u2003I wol no womman thritty yeer of age,\n\n\u2003It is but bene-straw and greet forage.\n\n\u2003And eek thise olde widwes, god it woot,\n\n\u2003They conne so muchel craft on Wades boot,\n\n\u2003So muchel broken harm, whan that hem leste,\n\n\u2003That with hem sholde I never live in reste.\n\n\u2003For sondry scoles maken sotil clerkis;\n\n\u2003Womman of manye scoles half a clerk is.\n\n\u2003But certeynly, a yong thing may men gye,\n\n\u2003Right as men may warm wex with handes plye.\n\n\u2003Wherfore I sey yow pleynly, in a clause,\n\n\u2003I wol non old wyf han right for this cause.\n\n\u2003For if so were, I hadde swich mischaunce,\n\n\u2003That I in hir ne coude han no plesaunce,\n\n\u2003Thanne sholde I lede my lyf in avoutrye,\n\n\u2003And go streight to the devel, whan I dye.\n\n\u2003Ne children sholde I none up-on hir geten;\n\n\u2003With face serious his tale he has told.\n\n\u2003He said, \"Friends, I am white-haired and old,\n\n\u2003And almost, God knows, upon my pit's brink;\n\n\u2003Upon my soul somewhat must I think.\n\n\u2003I have my body foolishly expended;\n\n\u2003Blessed be God that it shall be amended!\n\n\u2003For I will be, certainly, a wedded man,\n\n\u2003And that anon in all the haste I can.\n\n\u2003Unto some maid fair and tender of age,\n\n\u2003I pray you, plan for my marriage\n\n\u2003All suddenly, for I will not abide;\n\n\u2003And I will try to discover, on my side,\n\n\u2003To whom I may be wedded hastily.\n\n\u2003But inasmuch as you be more than I,\n\n\u2003You shall rather such a thing espy\n\n\u2003Than I, who I were best to ally.\n\n\u2003\"But one thing I warn you, my friends dear,\n\n\u2003I will no old wife have in any manner.\n\n\u2003She shall not have passed twenty years, certainly;\n\n\u2003Old fish and young flesh would I have gladly.\n\n\u2003Better is,\" said he, \"a pike than a pickerel,\n\n\u2003And better than old beef is the tender veal.\n\n\u2003I want no woman thirty years of age;\n\n\u2003It is but dried beanstalks and rough forage.\n\n\u2003And also these old wives, God knows,\n\n\u2003They know so much craft on Wade's boat,\n\n\u2003So much mischief, when they wish,\n\n\u2003That with them should I never lie in rest.\n\n\u2003For sundry schools make clever scholars;\n\n\u2003Woman of many schools half a scholar is.\n\n\u2003But certainly, a young thing may men guide,\n\n\u2003Right as men may warm wax with hands ply.\n\n\u2003Wherefore I say to you plainly, in a clause,\n\n\u2003I will no old wife have right for this cause.\n\n\u2003For if I had such mischance\n\n\u2003That in her could I have no pleasure,\n\n\u2003Then should I lead my life in adultery\n\n\u2003And go straight to the devil when I die.\n\n\u2003Nor children should I any upon her beget;\n\n\u2003Yet were me lever houndes had me eten,\n\n\u2003Than that myn heritage sholde falle\n\n\u2003In straunge hand, and this I tell yow alle.\n\n\u2003I dote nat, I woot the cause why\n\n\u2003Men sholde wedde, and forthermore wot I,\n\n\u2003Ther speketh many a man of mariage,\n\n\u2003That woot na-more of it than woot my page,\n\n\u2003For whiche causes man sholde take a wyf.\n\n\u2003If he ne may nat liven chast his lyf,\n\n\u2003Take him a wyf with greet devocioun,\n\n\u2003By-cause of leveful procreacioun\n\n\u2003Of children, to th'onour of god above,\n\n\u2003And nat only for paramour or love;\n\n\u2003And for they sholde lecherye eschue,\n\n\u2003And yelde hir dettes whan that they ben due;\n\n\u2003Or for that ech of hem sholde helpen other\n\n\u2003In meschief, as a suster shal the brother;\n\n\u2003And live in chastitee ful holily.\n\n\u2003But sires, by your leve, that am nat I.\n\n\u2003For god be thanked, I dar make avaunt,\n\n\u2003I fele my limes stark and suffisaunt\n\n\u2003To do al that a man bilongeth to;\n\n\u2003I woot my-selven best what I may do.\n\n\u2003Though I be hoor, I fare as dooth a tree\n\n\u2003That blosmeth er that fruyt y-woxen be;\n\n\u2003A blosmy tree nis neither drye ne deed.\n\n\u2003I fele me nowher hoor but on myn heed;\n\n\u2003Myn herte and alle my limes been as grene\n\n\u2003As laurer thurgh the yeer is for to sene.\n\n\u2003And sin that ye han herd al myn entente,\n\n\u2003I prey yow to my wil ye wole assente.\"\n\n\u2003Diverse men diversely him tolde\n\n\u2003Of mariage manye ensamples olde.\n\n\u2003Somme blamed it, somme preysed it, certeyn;\n\n\u2003But atte laste, shortly for to seyn,\n\n\u2003As al day falleth altercacioun\n\n\u2003Bitwixen freendes in disputisoun,\n\n\u2003Ther fil a stryf bitwixe his bretheren two,\n\n\u2003Of whiche that oon was cleped Placebo,\n\n\u2003I would rather that hounds had me eaten\n\n\u2003Than my heritage should fall\n\n\u2003Into a stranger's hands, and this I tell you all.\n\n\u2003I dote not; I know the causes why\n\n\u2003Men should wed, and furthermore I know\n\n\u2003There speaks many a man of marriage\n\n\u2003Who knows no more of it than knows my page\n\n\u2003For what reasons a man should take a wife.\n\n\u2003If he may not live chaste his life,\n\n\u2003He should take him a wife in holy devotion,\n\n\u2003And for lawful procreation\n\n\u2003Of children, to the honor of God above,\n\n\u2003Not as a paramour or lover;\n\n\u2003And by so doing they would lechery eschew,\n\n\u2003And yield their debt when it is due;\n\n\u2003And each of them might help the other\n\n\u2003In mischance, as a sister shall the brother,\n\n\u2003And live in chastity full holily.\n\n\u2003But sires, by your leave, that am not I.\n\n\u2003For\u2014God be thanked!\u2014I dare make boast\n\n\u2003I feel my limbs strong and sufficient\n\n\u2003To do all that a man needs to do;\n\n\u2003I know myself best what I may do.\n\n\u2003Though I be white-haired, I fare as does a tree\n\n\u2003That blooms before the fruit grown be;\n\n\u2003And a blossoming tree is neither dry nor dead.\n\n\u2003I feel myself nowhere hoary but on my head;\n\n\u2003My heart and all my limbs be as green\n\n\u2003As laurel through the year is to be seen.\n\n\u2003And since that you have heard all my intent,\n\n\u2003I pray you to my will you will assent.\"\n\n\u2003Diverse men diversely him told\n\n\u2003Of marriage many examples old.\n\n\u2003Some blamed it, some praised it, certainly,\n\n\u2003But at last, shortly to say,\n\n\u2003As every day fall into altercation\n\n\u2003Friends in disputation,\n\n\u2003There fell a strife between his brothers two,\n\n\u2003Of which one was called Placebo;\n\n\u2003Justinus soothly called was that other.\n\n\u2003Placebo seyde, \"o Januarie, brother,\n\n\u2003Ful litel nede had ye, my lord so dere,\n\n\u2003Conseil to axe of any that is here;\n\n\u2003But that ye been so ful of sapience,\n\n\u2003That yow ne lyketh, for your heighe prudence,\n\n\u2003To weyven fro the word of Salomon.\n\n\u2003This word seyde he un-to us everichon:\n\n\u2003'Wirk alle thing by conseil,' thus seyde he,\n\n\u2003'And thanne shaltow nat repente thee.'\n\n\u2003But though that Salomon spak swich a word,\n\n\u2003Myn owene dere brother and my lord,\n\n\u2003So wisly god my soule bringe at reste,\n\n\u2003I hold your owene conseil is the beste.\n\n\u2003For brother myn, of me tak this motyf,\n\n\u2003I have now been a court-man al my lyf.\n\n\u2003And god it woot, though I unworthy be,\n\n\u2003I have stonden in ful greet degree\n\n\u2003Abouten lordes of ful heigh estaat;\n\n\u2003Yet hadde I never with noon of hem debaat.\n\n\u2003I never hem contraried, trewely;\n\n\u2003I woot wel that my lord can more than I.\n\n\u2003What that he seith, I holde it ferme and stable;\n\n\u2003I seye the same, or elles thing semblable.\n\n\u2003A ful gret fool is any conseillour,\n\n\u2003That serveth any lord of heigh honour,\n\n\u2003That dar presume, or elles thenken it,\n\n\u2003That his conseil sholde passe his lordes wit.\n\n\u2003Nay, lordes been no foles, by my fay;\n\n\u2003Ye han your-selven shewed heer to-day\n\n\u2003So heigh sentence, so holily and weel,\n\n\u2003That I consente and conferme every-deel\n\n\u2003Your wordes alle, and your opinioun.\n\n\u2003By god, ther nis no man in al this toun\n\n\u2003N'in al Itaille, that coude bet han sayd;\n\n\u2003Crist halt him of this conseil wel apayd.\n\n\u2003And trewely, it is an heigh corage\n\n\u2003Of any man, that stapen is in age,\n\n\u2003To take a yong wyf; by my fader kin,\n\n\u2003Justinus truly was called the other.\n\n\u2003Placebo said, \"Oh January, brother,\n\n\u2003Full little need have you, my lord so dear,\n\n\u2003Counsel to ask of any who is here,\n\n\u2003But you are so full of wisdom\n\n\u2003That you do not like, for your high prudence,\n\n\u2003To waiver from the word of Solomon.\n\n\u2003This word said he to every one:\n\n\u2003'Do all things by counsel,' thus said he,\n\n\u2003'And you shall not repentant be.'\n\n\u2003But though Solomon spoke such a word,\n\n\u2003My own dear brother and my lord,\n\n\u2003So wisely God my soul brings to rest,\n\n\u2003I hold your own counsel is the best.\n\n\u2003For, brother mine, of me take this advice:\n\n\u2003I have now been a courtier all my life,\n\n\u2003And, God knows, though I unworthy be,\n\n\u2003I have stood in full great degree\n\n\u2003With lords of full high estate;\n\n\u2003Yet had I never with them any debate.\n\n\u2003I never them contraried, truly;\n\n\u2003I know well that my lord knows more than I.\n\n\u2003What he says, I hold it truth unshakable;\n\n\u2003I say the same, or else something it resembles.\n\n\u2003A full great fool is any counselor\n\n\u2003Who serves any lord of high honor,\n\n\u2003Who dares presume, or else thinks it,\n\n\u2003That his counsel should exceed his lord's wit.\n\n\u2003Nay, lords be no fools, by my faith!\n\n\u2003You have yourself shown here today\n\n\u2003Such good judgement, so holily and well,\n\n\u2003That I consent and confirm everything\n\n\u2003Your words all and your opinion.\n\n\u2003By God, there is no man in all this town,\n\n\u2003Nor in Italy, who could have better spoken!\n\n\u2003Christ considers himself of this counsel full well satisfied.\n\n\u2003And truly, it is a bold thing\n\n\u2003For any man who is advanced in years\n\n\u2003To take a young wife; by my father's kin,\n\n\u2003Your herte hangeth on a joly pin.\n\n\u2003Doth now in this matere right as yow leste,\n\n\u2003For finally I holde it for the beste.\"\n\n\u2003Justinus, that ay stille sat and herde,\n\n\u2003Right in this wyse to Placebo answerde:\n\n\u2003\"Now brother myn, be pacient, I preye,\n\n\u2003Sin ye han seyd, and herkneth what I seye.\n\n\u2003Senek among his othere wordes wyse\n\n\u2003Seith, that a man oghte him right wel avyse,\n\n\u2003To whom he yeveth his lond or his catel.\n\n\u2003And sin I oghte avyse me right wel\n\n\u2003To whom I yeve my good awey fro me,\n\n\u2003Wel muchel more I oghte avysed be\n\n\u2003To whom I yeve my body; for alwey\n\n\u2003I warne yow wel, it is no childes pley\n\n\u2003To take a wyf with-outen avysement.\n\n\u2003Men moste enquere, this is myn assent,\n\n\u2003Wher she be wys, or sobre, or dronkelewe,\n\n\u2003Or proud, or elles other-weys a shrewe;\n\n\u2003A chydester, or wastour of thy good,\n\n\u2003Or riche, or poore, or elles mannish wood.\n\n\u2003Al-be-it so that no man finden shal\n\n\u2003Noon in this world that trotteth hool in al,\n\n\u2003Ne man ne beest, swich as men coude devyse;\n\n\u2003But nathelees, it oghte y-nough suffise\n\n\u2003With any wyf, if so were that she hadde\n\n\u2003Mo gode thewes than hir vyces badde:\n\n\u2003And al this axeth leyser for t'enquere.\n\n\u2003For god it woot, I have wept many a tere\n\n\u2003Ful prively, sin I have had a wyf.\n\n\u2003Preyse who-so wole a wedded mannes lyf,\n\n\u2003Certein, I finde in it but cost and care,\n\n\u2003And observances, of alle blisses bare.\n\n\u2003And yet, god woot, my neighebores aboute,\n\n\u2003And namely of wommen many a route,\n\n\u2003Seyn that I have the moste stedefast wyf,\n\n\u2003And eek the mekeste oon that bereth lyf.\n\n\u2003But I wot best wher wringeth me my sho.\n\n\u2003Ye mowe, for me, right as yow lyketh do;\n\n\u2003Your heart hangs on a jolly pin!\n\n\u2003Do now in this matter right as you wish,\n\n\u2003For finally I hold it for the best.\"\n\n\u2003Justinus, who ever sat still and heard,\n\n\u2003Right in this way he to Placebo answered:\n\n\u2003\"Now brother mine, be patient, I pray,\n\n\u2003Since you have spoken, listen to what I say.\n\n\u2003Seneca, among other words wise,\n\n\u2003Says that a man ought him consider well\n\n\u2003To whom he gives his land or his goods.\n\n\u2003And since I ought consider right well\n\n\u2003To whom I give my property,\n\n\u2003So much more ought I thoughtful be\n\n\u2003With regard to whom I give my body.\n\n\u2003I warn you well, it is no child's play\n\n\u2003To take a wife without deliberation.\n\n\u2003Men must inquire\u2014this is my opinion\u2014\n\n\u2003Whether she be wise, or sober, or a drinker,\n\n\u2003Or proud, or else otherwise a shrew,\n\n\u2003A scold or a waster of your goods,\n\n\u2003Or fierce, or poor, or else man-crazy.\n\n\u2003Albeit that no man shall find\n\n\u2003One in this world who is without fault,\n\n\u2003Neither man, nor beast, such as man can imagine;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless it ought enough suffice\n\n\u2003With any wife, if she has\n\n\u2003More virtues good than vices bad;\n\n\u2003And all this requires leisure for to inquire.\n\n\u2003For, God knows, I have wept many a tear\n\n\u2003Full privately, since I have had a wife.\n\n\u2003Praise whoso will a wedded man's life,\n\n\u2003Certainly in it I find but cost and care\n\n\u2003And duties, of all blisses bare.\n\n\u2003And yet, God knows, my neighbors nearabout,\n\n\u2003And namely of women many a crowd,\n\n\u2003Say that I have the most steadfast wife,\n\n\u2003And also the meekest one alive;\n\n\u2003But I know best where pinches me my shoe.\n\n\u2003You may, so far as I care, do as you choose;\n\n\u2003Avyseth yow, ye been a man of age,\n\n\u2003How that ye entren in-to mariage,\n\n\u2003And namely with a yong wyf and a fair.\n\n\u2003By him that made water, erthe, and air,\n\n\u2003The yongest man that is in al this route\n\n\u2003Is bisy y-nogh to bringen it aboute\n\n\u2003To han his wyf allone, trusteth me.\n\n\u2003Ye shul nat plese hir fully yeres three,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, to doon hir ful plesaunce.\n\n\u2003A wyf axeth ful many an observaunce.\n\n\u2003I prey yow that ye be nat yvel apayd.\"\n\n\u2003\"Wel,\" quod this Januarie, \"and hastow sayd?\n\n\u2003Straw for thy Senek, and for thy proverbes,\n\n\u2003I counte nat a panier ful of herbes\n\n\u2003Of scole-termes; wyser men than thow,\n\n\u2003As thou hast herd, assenteden right now\n\n\u2003To my purpos; Placebo, what sey ye?\"\n\n\u2003\"I seye, it is a cursed man,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"That letteth matrimoine, sikerly.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word they rysen sodeynly,\n\n\u2003And been assented fully, that he sholde\n\n\u2003Be wedded whanne him list and wher he wolde.\n\n\u2003Heigh fantasye and curious bisinesse\n\n\u2003Fro day to day gan in the soule impresse\n\n\u2003Of Januarie aboute his mariage.\n\n\u2003Many fair shap, and many a fair visage\n\n\u2003Ther passeth thurgh his herte, night by night.\n\n\u2003As who-so toke a mirour polished bright,\n\n\u2003And sette it in a commune market-place,\n\n\u2003Than sholde he see many a figure pace\n\n\u2003By his mirour; and, in the same wyse,\n\n\u2003Gan Januarie inwith his thoght devyse\n\n\u2003Of maydens, whiche that dwelten him bisyde.\n\n\u2003He wiste nat wher that he mighte abyde.\n\n\u2003For if that oon have beautee in hir face,\n\n\u2003Another stant so in the peples grace\n\n\u2003For hir sadnesse, and hir benignitee,\n\n\u2003That of the peple grettest voys hath she.\n\n\u2003And somme were riche, and hadden badde name.\n\n\u2003Take heed\u2014you be a man of age\u2014\n\n\u2003How you enter into marriage,\n\n\u2003And namely a young wife and fair.\n\n\u2003By him who made water, earth and air,\n\n\u2003The youngest man who is in all this company\n\n\u2003Is busy enough to bring it about\n\n\u2003To have his wife to himself alone. Trust me,\n\n\u2003You shall not please her fully years three\u2014\n\n\u2003This is to say, to do her full pleasure.\n\n\u2003A wife asks full many a duty.\n\n\u2003I pray you that you be not displeased.\"\n\n\u2003\"Well,\" said this January, \"and are you finished?\n\n\u2003Straw for your Seneca, and for your proverbs!\n\n\u2003I give not a basket full of herbs\n\n\u2003For a scholar's words. Wiser men than you,\n\n\u2003As you may have heard, agree right now\n\n\u2003To my purpose. Placebo, what say you?\"\n\n\u2003\"I say it is a cursed man,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Who hinders matrimony, certainly.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word they rose suddenly,\n\n\u2003And were agreed fully that he should\n\n\u2003Be wedded when he wanted and where he would.\n\n\u2003High imagination and long thought\n\n\u2003From day to day began to fasten the mind\n\n\u2003Of January about his marriage.\n\n\u2003Many a fair shape and many a fair visage\n\n\u2003There passed through his heart night by night,\n\n\u2003And whoso took a mirror, polished bright,\n\n\u2003And set it in a common market-place,\n\n\u2003Then should he see many a visage pace\n\n\u2003By his mirror; and in the same way\n\n\u2003Began January within his thought to imagine\n\n\u2003Maidens who dwelt him nearby.\n\n\u2003He knew not where or how he might decide.\n\n\u2003For if one had beauty in her face,\n\n\u2003Another stood so in the people's grace\n\n\u2003For her seriousness and her benignity\n\n\u2003That of the people greatest praise had she;\n\n\u2003And some were rich and had bad names.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, bitwixe ernest and game,\n\n\u2003He atte laste apoynted him on oon,\n\n\u2003And leet alle othere from his herte goon,\n\n\u2003And chees hir of his owene auctoritee;\n\n\u2003For love is blind al day, and may nat see.\n\n\u2003And whan that he was in his bed y-broght,\n\n\u2003He purtreyed, in his herte and in his thoght,\n\n\u2003Hir fresshe beautee and hir age tendre,\n\n\u2003Hir myddel smal, hir armes longe and sclendre,\n\n\u2003Hir wyse governaunce, hir gentillesse,\n\n\u2003Hir wommanly beringe and hir sadnesse.\n\n\u2003And whan that he on hir was condescended,\n\n\u2003Him thoughte his chois mighte nat ben amended.\n\n\u2003For whan that he him-self concluded hadde,\n\n\u2003Him thoughte ech other mannes wit so badde,\n\n\u2003That impossible it were to replye\n\n\u2003Agayn his chois, this was his fantasye.\n\n\u2003His freendes sente he to at his instaunce,\n\n\u2003And preyed hem to doon him that plesaunce,\n\n\u2003That hastily they wolden to him come;\n\n\u2003He wolde abregge hir labour, alle and some.\n\n\u2003Nedeth na-more for him to go ne ryde,\n\n\u2003He was apoynted ther he wolde abyde.\n\n\u2003Placebo cam, and eek his freendes sone,\n\n\u2003And alderfirst he bad hem alle a bone,\n\n\u2003That noon of hem none argumentes make\n\n\u2003Agayn the purpos which that he hath take;\n\n\u2003\"Which purpos was plesant to god,\" seyde he,\n\n\u2003\"And verray ground of his prosperitee.\"\n\n\u2003He seyde, ther was a mayden in the toun,\n\n\u2003Which that of beautee hadde greet renoun,\n\n\u2003Al were it so she were of smal degree;\n\n\u2003Suffyseth him hir youthe and hir beautee.\n\n\u2003Which mayde, he seyde, he wolde han to his wyf,\n\n\u2003To lede in ese and holinesse his lyf.\n\n\u2003And thanked god, that he mighte han hire al,\n\n\u2003That no wight of his blisse parten shal.\n\n\u2003And preyde hem to labouren in this nede,\n\n\u2003And shapen that he faille nat to spede;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, between earnest and play,\n\n\u2003He at last settled his heart on one,\n\n\u2003And let all others from his heart go,\n\n\u2003And chose her on his own;\n\n\u2003For love is blind always, and cannot see.\n\n\u2003And when he had gone to bed,\n\n\u2003He portrayed in his heart and in his thought\n\n\u2003Her fresh beauty and her age tender,\n\n\u2003Her middle small, her arms long and slender,\n\n\u2003Her discretion, her gentility,\n\n\u2003Her womanly bearing, and her seriousness.\n\n\u2003And when he on her was decided,\n\n\u2003He thought his choice might not be amended.\n\n\u2003For when he himself had concluded,\n\n\u2003He thought each other man's wit so bad\n\n\u2003That impossible it were to reply\n\n\u2003Against his choice; this was his fantasy.\n\n\u2003His friends he sent to, at his request,\n\n\u2003And prayed them to do him the pleasure\n\n\u2003That hastily they would to him come;\n\n\u2003He would shorten their labor, all and some.\n\n\u2003Needed no more for him to go or ride;\n\n\u2003He was decided where he would abide.\n\n\u2003Placebo came, and his friends soon,\n\n\u2003And first of all he asked of them a favor,\n\n\u2003That none of them should arguments make\n\n\u2003Against the decision that he had taken,\n\n\u2003Which decision was pleasing to God, said he,\n\n\u2003And of his welfare the true foundation.\n\n\u2003He said there was a maiden in the town,\n\n\u2003Who for her beauty had great renown,\n\n\u2003Albeit she was of small degree;\n\n\u2003Sufficed him her youth and her beauty.\n\n\u2003Which maid, he said, he would have for his wife,\n\n\u2003To lead in ease and holiness his life;\n\n\u2003And thanked God that he might have her all,\n\n\u2003That no person his bliss should share.\n\n\u2003And prayed them to labor in this need,\n\n\u2003And arrange that toward it he would speed;\n\n\u2003For thanne, he seyde, his spirit was at ese.\n\n\u2003\"Thanne is,\" quod he, \"no-thing may me displese,\n\n\u2003Save o thing priketh in my conscience,\n\n\u2003The which I wol reherce in your presence.\n\n\u2003I have,\" quod he, \"herd seyd, ful yore ago,\n\n\u2003Ther may no man han parfite blisses two,\n\n\u2003This is to seye, in erthe and eek in hevene.\n\n\u2003For though he kepe him fro the sinnes sevene,\n\n\u2003And eek from every branche of thilke tree,\n\n\u2003Yet is ther so parfit felicitee,\n\n\u2003And so greet ese and lust in mariage,\n\n\u2003That ever I am agast, now in myn age,\n\n\u2003That I shal lede now so mery a lyf,\n\n\u2003So delicat, with-outen wo and stryf,\n\n\u2003That I shal have myn hevene in erthe here.\n\n\u2003For sith that verray hevene is boght so dere,\n\n\u2003With tribulacioun and greet penaunce,\n\n\u2003How sholde I thanne, that live in swich plesaunce\n\n\u2003As alle wedded men don with hir wyvis,\n\n\u2003Come to the blisse ther Crist eterne on lyve is?\n\n\u2003This is my drede, and ye, my bretheren tweye,\n\n\u2003Assoilleth me this questioun, I preye.\"\n\n\u2003Justinus, which that hated his folye,\n\n\u2003Answerde anon, right in his japerye;\n\n\u2003And for he wolde his longe tale abregge,\n\n\u2003He wolde noon auctoritee allegge,\n\n\u2003But seyde, \"sire, so ther be noon obstacle\n\n\u2003Other than this, god of his hye miracle\n\n\u2003And of his mercy may so for yow wirche,\n\n\u2003That, er ye have your right of holy chirche,\n\n\u2003Ye may repente of wedded mannes lyf,\n\n\u2003In which ye seyn ther is no wo ne stryf.\n\n\u2003And elles, god forbede but he sente\n\n\u2003A wedded man him grace to repente\n\n\u2003Wel ofte rather than a sengle man!\n\n\u2003And therfore, sire, the beste reed I can,\n\n\u2003Dispeire yow noght, but have in your memorie,\n\n\u2003Paraunter she may be your purgatorie!\n\n\u2003She may be goddes mene, and goddes whippe;\n\n\u2003For then, he said, his spirit was at ease.\n\n\"There is,\" said he, \"nothing that may me displease,\n\n\u2003Save one thing pricks in my conscience,\n\n\u2003Which I will rehearse in your presence.\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" said he, \"heard said, full long ago,\n\n\u2003That no man may have perfect blisses two\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, on earth and also in heaven.\n\n\u2003For though he keeps himself from the sins seven,\n\n\u2003And also from every branch of that tree,\n\n\u2003Yet is there perfect felicity\n\n\u2003And so great ease and pleasure in marriage\n\n\u2003That ever I am afraid now in my age\n\n\u2003That I shall lead now so merry a life,\n\n\u2003So delicious, without woe and strife,\n\n\u2003That I shall have my heaven on earth here.\n\n\u2003For since that true heaven is bought so dear\n\n\u2003With tribulation and great penance,\n\n\u2003How should I then, who lives in such pleasure\n\n\u2003As wedded men do with their wives,\n\n\u2003Come to the bliss where with Christ eternal life is?\n\n\u2003This is my dread, and you, my brethren two,\n\n\u2003Resolve for me this question, I pray you.\"\n\n\u2003Justinus, who hated his folly,\n\n\u2003Answered anon right in mockery;\n\n\u2003And in order to his long tale abridge,\n\n\u2003He would no authority allege,\n\n\u2003But said, \"Sire, may there be no obstacle\n\n\u2003Other than this, God of his high miracle\n\n\u2003And of his mercy may so for you work\n\n\u2003That, before your last rites of holy church,\n\n\u2003You may repent of the wedded man's life,\n\n\u2003In which you say there is no woe or strife.\n\n\u2003Or to say it another way: God forbid but that he sends\n\n\u2003A wedded man his grace to repent\n\n\u2003More often than a single man!\n\n\u2003And therefore, sire\u2014the best I know\u2014\n\n\u2003Despair you not, but have in your memory,\n\n\u2003Peradventure she may be your purgatory!\n\n\u2003She may be God's instrument and God's whip;\n\n\u2003Than shal your soule up to hevene skippe\n\n\u2003Swifter than dooth an arwe out of the bowe!\n\n\u2003I hope to god, her-after shul ye knowe,\n\n\u2003That their nis no so greet felicitee\n\n\u2003In mariage, ne never-mo shal be,\n\n\u2003That yow shal lette of your savacioun,\n\n\u2003So that ye use, as skile is and resoun,\n\n\u2003The lustes of your wyf attemprely,\n\n\u2003And that ye plese hir nat to amorously,\n\n\u2003And that ye kepe yow eek from other sinne.\n\n\u2003My tale is doon:\u2014for my wit is thinne.\n\n\u2003Beth nat agast her-of, my brother dere.\"\u2014\n\n(But lat us waden out of this matere.\n\n\u2003The Wyf of Bathe, if ye han understonde,\n\n\u2003Of mariage, which we have on honde,\n\n\u2003Declared hath ful wel in litel space).\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Fareth now wel, god have yow in his grace.\"\n\n\u2003And with this word this Justin and his brother\n\n\u2003Han take hir leve, and ech of hem of other.\n\n\u2003For whan they sawe it moste nedes be,\n\n\u2003They wroghten so, by sly and wys tretee,\n\n\u2003That she, this mayden, which that Maius highte,\n\n\u2003As hastily as ever that she mighte,\n\n\u2003Shal wedded be un-to this Januarie.\n\n\u2003I trowe it were to longe yow to tarie,\n\n\u2003If I yow tolde of every scrit and bond,\n\n\u2003By which that she was feffed in his lond;\n\n\u2003Or for to herknen of hir riche array.\n\n\u2003But finally y-comen is the day\n\n\u2003That to the chirche bothe be they went\n\n\u2003For to receyve the holy sacrement.\n\n\u2003Forth comth the preest, with stole aboute his nekke,\n\n\u2003And bad hir be lyk Sarra and Rebekke,\n\n\u2003In wisdom and in trouthe of mariage;\n\n\u2003And seyde his orisons, as is usage,\n\n\u2003And crouched hem, and bad god sholde hem blesse,\n\n\u2003And made al siker-y-nogh with holinesse.\n\n\u2003Thus been they wedded with solempnitee,\n\n\u2003And at the feste sitteth he and she\n\n\u2003Then shall your soul up to heaven skip\n\n\u2003Swifter than does an arrow from a bow.\n\n\u2003I hope to God, hereafter shall you know\n\n\u2003That there is never so great felicity\n\n\u2003In marriage, nor ever more shall be,\n\n\u2003That shall keep you from your salvation,\n\n\u2003So that you use, as proper is and reason,\n\n\u2003The pleasures of your wife temperately,\n\n\u2003And that you please her not too amorously,\n\n\u2003And that you keep you also from other sin.\n\n\u2003My tale is done, for my wit is thin.\n\n\u2003Be not afraid, my brother dear,\n\n\u2003But let us wade out of this matter.\n\n\u2003The Wife of Bath, if you have understood,\n\n\u2003Of marriage, which we have on hand,\n\n\u2003Declared full well in little space.\n\n\u2003Farewell now. God have you in his grace.\"\n\n\u2003And with this word Justin and his brother\n\n\u2003Have taken their leave, and each of them the other.\n\n\u2003For when they saw that it must needs be,\n\n\u2003They wrought so, by clever and prudent negotiation,\n\n\u2003That she, this maid who May was called,\n\n\u2003As hastily as ever that she might\n\n\u2003Shall wedded be unto this January.\n\n\u2003I believe it would too long you to tarry,\n\n\u2003If I you told of every document and bond\n\n\u2003By which she was endowed with his land,\n\n\u2003Or for to hear of her rich raiment.\n\n\u2003But finally come was the day\n\n\u2003That to the church they both went\n\n\u2003To receive the holy sacrament.\n\n\u2003Forth came the priest, with stole about his neck,\n\n\u2003And bade her be like Sarah and Rebecca\n\n\u2003In prudence and devotion in marriage;\n\n\u2003And said his orisons, as is customary,\n\n\u2003And crossed them, and bade God should them bless,\n\n\u2003And made all secure enough with holiness.\n\n\u2003Thus were they wedded with solemnity,\n\n\u2003And at the feast sat he and she\n\n\u2003With other worthy folk up-on the deys.\n\n\u2003Al ful of joye and blisse is the paleys,\n\n\u2003And ful of instruments and of vitaille,\n\n\u2003The moste deyntevous of al Itaille.\n\n\u2003Biforn hem stoode swiche instruments of soun,\n\n\u2003That Orpheus, ne of Thebes Amphioun,\n\n\u2003Ne maden never swich a melodye.\n\n\u2003At every cours than cam loud minstraleye,\n\n\u2003That never tromped Joab, for to here,\n\n\u2003Nor he, Theodomas, yet half so clere,\n\n\u2003At Thebes, whan the citee was in doute.\n\n\u2003Bacus the wyn hem skinketh al aboute,\n\n\u2003And Venus laugheth up-on every wight.\n\n\u2003For Januarie was bicome hir knight,\n\n\u2003And wolde bothe assayen his corage\n\n\u2003In libertee, and eek in mariage;\n\n\u2003And with hir fyrbrond in hir hand aboute\n\n\u2003Daunceth biforn the bryde and al the route.\n\n\u2003And certeinly, I dar right wel seyn this,\n\n\u2003Ymen\u00ebus, that god of wedding is,\n\n\u2003Saugh never his lyf so mery a wedded man.\n\n\u2003Hold thou thy pees, thou poete Marcian,\n\n\u2003That wrytest us that ilke wedding murie\n\n\u2003Of hir, Philologye, and him, Mercurie,\n\n\u2003And of the songes that the Muses songe.\n\n\u2003To smal is bothe thy penne, and eek thy tonge,\n\n\u2003For to descryven of this mariage.\n\n\u2003Whan tendre youthe hath wedded stouping age,\n\n\u2003Ther is swich mirthe that it may nat be writen;\n\n\u2003Assayeth it your-self, than may ye witen\n\n\u2003If that I lye or noon in this matere.\n\n\u2003Maius, that sit with so benigne a chere,\n\n\u2003Hir to biholde it seemed fay\u00ebry\u00eb;\n\n\u2003Quene Ester loked never with swich an ye\n\n\u2003On Assauer, so meke a look hath she.\n\n\u2003I may yow nat devyse al hir beautee;\n\n\u2003But thus muche of hir beautee telle I may,\n\n\u2003That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May,\n\n\u2003Fulfild of alle beautee and plesaunce.\n\n\u2003With other worthy folk upon the dais.\n\n\u2003All full of joy and bliss was the palace,\n\n\u2003And full of music and victuals,\n\n\u2003The most delicious of all Italy.\n\n\u2003Before them stood instruments of such sound\n\n\u2003That neither Orpheus, nor Amphioun,\n\n\u2003Ever made such a melody.\n\n\u2003With every course there came loud minstrelsy\n\n\u2003That trumpeted such as joab never heard,\n\n\u2003Nor did Theodamas, even half so clear\n\n\u2003At Thebes when its fate was in doubt.\n\n\u2003Bacchus the wine poured all about,\n\n\u2003And Venus smiled upon every person,\n\n\u2003For January had become her knight\n\n\u2003And would both try his courage\n\n\u2003In liberty, and also in marriage;\n\n\u2003And with her torch in her hand about\n\n\u2003Danced before the bride and all the crowd.\n\n\u2003And certainly, I dare right well say this,\n\n\u2003Hymen, who god of wedding is,\n\n\u2003Saw never in his life so merry a wedded man.\n\n\u2003Hold you your peace, you poet Martianus,\n\n\u2003Who writes of such a wedding merry\n\n\u2003Of Philology and Mercury,\n\n\u2003And of the songs the Muses sang!\n\n\u2003Too small are both your pen, and your tongue,\n\n\u2003For to describe this marriage.\n\n\u2003When tender youth has married stooping age,\n\n\u2003There is such mirth that it may not be written.\n\n\u2003Try it yourself; then may you know\n\n\u2003If I lie or not in this matter.\n\n\u2003May, who sat with a look so gracious,\n\n\u2003It seemed enchantment to behold her face.\n\n\u2003Queen Esther never looked with such an eye\n\n\u2003On Ahasuerus, so meek a look as had she.\n\n\u2003I may you not describe all her beauty.\n\n\u2003But this much of her beauty I may tell,\n\n\u2003That she was like the bright morning of May,\n\n\u2003Filled with beauty and delight.\n\n\u2003This Januarie is ravisshed in a traunce\n\n\u2003At every time he loked on hir face;\n\n\u2003But in his herte he gan hir to manace,\n\n\u2003That he that night in armes wolde hir streyne\n\n\u2003Harder than ever Paris dide Eleyne.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, yet hadde he greet pitee,\n\n\u2003That thilke night offenden hir moste he;\n\n\u2003And thoughte, \"allas! o tendre creature!\n\n\u2003Now wolde god ye mighte wel endure\n\n\u2003Al my corage, it is so sharp and kene;\n\n\u2003I am agast ye shul it nat sustene.\n\n\u2003But god forbede that I dide al my might!\n\n\u2003Now wolde god that it were woxen night,\n\n\u2003And that the night wolde lasten evermo.\n\n\u2003I wolde that al this peple were ago.\"\n\n\u2003And finally, he doth al his labour,\n\n\u2003As he best mighte, savinge his honour,\n\n\u2003To haste hem fro the mete in subtil wyse.\n\n\u2003The tyme cam that reson was to ryse;\n\n\u2003And after that, men daunce and drinken faste,\n\n\u2003And spyces al aboute the hous they caste;\n\n\u2003And ful of joye and blisse is every man;\n\n\u2003All but a squyer, highte Damian,\n\n\u2003Which carf biforn the knight ful many a day.\n\n\u2003He was so ravisshed on his lady May,\n\n\u2003That for the verray peyne he was ny wood;\n\n\u2003Almost he swelte and swowned ther he stood.\n\n\u2003So sore hath Venus hurt him with hir brond,\n\n\u2003As that she bar it daunsinge in hir hond.\n\n\u2003And to his bed he wente him hastily;\n\n\u2003Na-more of him as at this tyme speke I.\n\n\u2003But ther I lete him wepe y-nough and pleyne,\n\n\u2003Til fresshe May wol rewen on his peyne.\n\n\u2003O perilous fyr, that in the bedstraw bredeth!\n\n\u2003O famulier foo, that his servyce bedeth!\n\n\u2003O servant traitour, false hoomly hewe,\n\n\u2003Lyk to the naddre in bosom sly untrewe,\n\n\u2003God shilde us alle from your aqueyntaunce!\n\n\u2003O Januarie, dronken in plesaunce\n\n\u2003This January was ravished in a trance\n\n\u2003Every time he looked on her face;\n\n\u2003But in his heart he began her to menace\n\n\u2003That he that night in his arms would her press\n\n\u2003Harder than ever Helen was by Paris.\n\n\u2003Yet nevertheless had he great pity\n\n\u2003That that night injure her must he,\n\n\u2003And thought, \"Alas! O tender creature,\n\n\u2003Now would to God you might endure\n\n\u2003All my ardor, it is so sharp and keen!\n\n\u2003I am afraid that you shall it not sustain.\n\n\u2003But God forbid that I use all my might!\n\n\u2003Now would to God that it were night,\n\n\u2003And that the night would last for evermore.\n\n\u2003I wish that all these people were gone.\"\n\n\u2003And finally he did all he could\n\n\u2003As best he could, as etiquette permitted,\n\n\u2003To hasten them from the meal in subtle ways.\n\n\u2003The time came when it was right to rise;\n\n\u2003And after that men danced and drank,\n\n\u2003And spices all about the house they cast,\n\n\u2003And full of joy and bliss was every man\u2014\n\n\u2003All but a squire, called Damian,\n\n\u2003Who carved before the knight full many a day.\n\n\u2003He was so ravished by his lady May\n\n\u2003That for the pain of love he was almost mad.\n\n\u2003He almost fainted and swooned where he stood,\n\n\u2003So sore had Venus hurt him with her torch,\n\n\u2003As she bore it dancing in her hand;\n\n\u2003And he went hastily to his bed.\n\n\u2003No more of him at this time speak I,\n\n\u2003But there I let him weep enough and complain\n\n\u2003Till fresh May will take pity on his pain.\n\n\u2003Oh perilous fire, that in the bedstraw smolders!\n\n\u2003Oh home-breaker, who his service offers!\n\n\u2003Oh traitorous, domestic false,\n\n\u2003Like to the adder in the bosom untrue,\n\n\u2003God shield us all from your acquaintance!\n\n\u2003Oh January, drunk in delight\n\n\u2003Of mariage, see how thy Damian,\n\n\u2003Thyn owene squyer and thy borne man,\n\n\u2003Entendeth for to do thee vileinye.\n\n\u2003God graunte thee thyn hoomly fo t'espye.\n\n\u2003For in this world nis worse pestilence\n\n\u2003Than hoomly foo al day in thy presence.\n\n\u2003Parfourned hath the sonne his ark diurne,\n\n\u2003No lenger may the body of him sojourne\n\n\u2003On th'orisonte, as in that latitude.\n\n\u2003Night with his mantel, that is derk and rude,\n\n\u2003Gan oversprede the hemisperie aboute;\n\n\u2003For which departed is this lusty route\n\n\u2003Fro Januarie, with thank on eevry syde.\n\n\u2003Horn to hir houses lustily they ryde,\n\n\u2003Wher-as they doon hir thinges as hem leste,\n\n\u2003And whan they sye hir tyme, goon to reste.\n\n\u2003Sone after that, this hastif Januarie\n\n\u2003Wolde go to bedde, he wolde no lenger tarie.\n\n\u2003He drinketh ipocras, clarree, and vernage\n\n\u2003Of spyces hote, t'encresen his corage;\n\n\u2003And many a letuarie hadde he ful fyn,\n\n\u2003Swiche as the cursed monk dan Constantyn\n\n\u2003Hath writen in his book de Coitu;\n\n\u2003To eten hem alle, he nas no-thing eschu.\n\n\u2003And to his privee freendes thus seyde he:\n\n\u2003\"For goddes love, as sone as it may be,\n\n\u2003Lat voyden al this hous in curteys wyse.\"\n\n\u2003And they han doon right as he wol devyse.\n\n\u2003Men drinken, and the travers drawe anon;\n\n\u2003The bryde was broght a-bedde as stille as stoon;\n\n\u2003And whan the bed was with the preest y-blessed,\n\n\u2003Out of the chambre hath every wight him dressed.\n\n\u2003And Januarie hath faste in armes take\n\n\u2003His fresshe May, his paradys, his make.\n\n\u2003He lulleth hir, he kisseth hir ful ofte\n\n\u2003With thikke bristles of his berd unsofte,\n\n\u2003Lyk to the skin of houndfish, sharp as brere,\n\n\u2003For he was shave al newe in his manere.\n\n\u2003He rubbeth hir aboute hir tendre face,\n\n\u2003In marriage, see how your Damian,\n\n\u2003Your own squire and your man born,\n\n\u2003Intends for to do you villainy.\n\n\u2003God grant that you your servant foe espy!\n\n\u2003For in this world there is no worse pestilence\n\n\u2003Than a household foe all day in your presence.\n\n\u2003Performed has the sun his arc diurnal;\n\n\u2003No longer may his body sojourn\n\n\u2003On the horizon, as in that latitude\n\n\u2003Night with his mantle, that is dark and rude,\n\n\u2003Began overspreading the hemisphere about;\n\n\u2003For which departed was this lively crowd\n\n\u2003From January, with thank you on every side.\n\n\u2003Home to their houses lively they rode,\n\n\u2003Where they did their things as they wished,\n\n\u2003And when they saw it time, went to rest.\n\n\u2003Soon after that, this urgent January\n\n\u2003Would go to bed; he would no longer tarry.\n\n\u2003He drank cordials, clarets and liqueurs\n\n\u2003Spiced hot to increase his ardor;\n\n\u2003And many an elixir had he full fine,\n\n\u2003Such as the cursed monk, Sir Constantine,\n\n\u2003Had written in his book De Coitu;\n\n\u2003To eat them all he has nothing eschewed.\n\n\u2003And to his close friends thus said he:\n\n\u2003\"For God's love, as soon as it may be,\n\n\u2003Please leave this house in a courteous way.\"\n\n\u2003And they did right as he contrived.\n\n\u2003They drank a toast and drew the curtains soon.\n\n\u2003The bride was brought to bed still as a stone;\n\n\u2003And when the bed was by the priest blessed,\n\n\u2003Out of the chamber has every person himself expressed,\n\n\u2003And January has hard in his arms taken\n\n\u2003His fresh May, his paradise, his mate.\n\n\u2003He lulled her, he kissed her full often;\n\n\u2003With thick bristles of his beard unsoft,\n\n\u2003Like to the skin of a dogfish, sharp as briars\u2014\n\n\u2003For he was shaven all new in his manner\u2014\n\n\u2003He fondled her about her tender face,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, \"allas! I moot trespace\n\n\u2003To yow, my spouse, and yow gretly offende,\n\n\u2003Er tyme come that I wil doun descende.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, considereth this,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Ther nis no werkman, what-so-ever he be,\n\n\u2003That may bothe werke wel and hastily;\n\n\u2003This wol be doon at leyser parfitly.\n\n\u2003It is no fors how longe that we pleye;\n\n\u2003In trewe wedlok wedded be we tweye;\n\n\u2003And blessed be the yok that we been inne,\n\n\u2003For in our actes we mowe do no sinne.\n\n\u2003A man may do no sinne with his wyf,\n\n\u2003Ne hurte him-selven with his owene knyf;\n\n\u2003For we han leve to pleye us by the lawe.\"\n\n\u2003Thus laboureth he til that the day gan dawe;\n\n\u2003And than he taketh a sop in fyn clarree,\n\n\u2003And upright in his bed than sitteth he,\n\n\u2003And after that he sang ful loude and clere,\n\n\u2003And kiste his wyf, and made wantoun chere.\n\n\u2003He was al coltish, ful of ragerye,\n\n\u2003And ful of jargon as a flekked pye.\n\n\u2003The slakke skin aboute his nekke shaketh,\n\n\u2003Whyl that he sang; so chaunteth he and craketh.\n\n\u2003But god wot what that May thoughte in hir herte,\n\n\u2003Whan she him saugh up sittinge in his sherte,\n\n\u2003In his night-cappe, and with his nekke lene;\n\n\u2003She preyseth nat his pleying worth a bene.\n\n\u2003Than seide he thus, \"my reste wol I take;\n\n\u2003Now day is come, I may no lenger wake.\"\n\n\u2003And doun he leyde his head, and sleep til pryme.\n\n\u2003And afterward, whan that he saugh his tyme,\n\n\u2003Up ryseth Januarie; but fresshe May\n\n\u2003Holdeth hir chambre un-to the fourthe day,\n\n\u2003As usage is of wyves for the beste.\n\n\u2003For every labour som-tyme moot han reste,\n\n\u2003Or elles longe may he nat endure;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, no lyves creature,\n\n\u2003Be it of fish, or brid, or beest, or man.\n\n\u2003Now wol I speke of woful Damian,\n\n\u2003And said thus, \"Alas! I must injure\n\n\u2003You, my spouse, and you greatly offend\n\n\u2003Before I will down descend.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, consider this,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"There is no workman, whatsoever he be,\n\n\u2003Who may work both well and hastily;\n\n\u2003This will be done at leisure perfectly.\n\n\u2003It matters not how long we play;\n\n\u2003In true wedlock coupled be we two,\n\n\u2003And blessed be the yoke that we be in,\n\n\u2003For in our acts we may do no sin.\n\n\u2003A man may do no sin with his wife,\n\n\u2003Nor hurt himself with his own knife,\n\n\u2003For we have leave to play together by the law.\"\n\n\u2003Thus labored he until day began to dawn;\n\n\u2003And then he took a sip of fine claret,\n\n\u2003And upright in his bed then he sat,\n\n\u2003And after that he sang full loud and clear,\n\n\u2003And kissed his wife, his look all lechery.\n\n\u2003He was all coltish, full of wantonness,\n\n\u2003And full of chatter as a spotted magpie.\n\n\u2003The slack skin about his neck shook\n\n\u2003While that he sang, so crooned he and croaked.\n\n\u2003But God knows what May thought in her heart,\n\n\u2003When she saw him sitting up in his shirt,\n\n\u2003In his night-cap, and with his neck lean;\n\n\u2003She praised not his performance worth a bean.\n\n\u2003Then said he thus, \"My rest will I take;\n\n\u2003Now day is come, I may no longer wake.\"\n\n\u2003And down he laid his head and slept till prime.\n\n\u2003And afterward, when he saw his time,\n\n\u2003Up rose January; but fresh May\n\n\u2003Held her chamber unto the fourth day.\n\n\u2003As custom is of wives for the best.\n\n\u2003For every laborer sometime must have rest,\n\n\u2003Or else long may he not endure\u2014\n\n\u2003This is to say, every creature needs respite,\n\n\u2003Be it fish, or bird, or bird, or beast, or man.\n\n\u2003Now will I speak of woeful Damian,\n\n\u2003That languissheth for love, as ye shul here;\n\n\u2003Therfore I speke to him in this manere:\n\n\u2003I seye, \"O sely Damian, alias!\n\n\u2003Answere to my demaunde, as in this cas,\n\n\u2003How shaltow to thy lady fresshe May\n\n\u2003Telle thy wo? She wole alwey seye \"nay\";\n\n\u2003Eek if thou speke, she wol thy wo biwreye;\n\n\u2003God be thyn help, I can no bettre seye.\"\n\n\u2003This syke Damian in Venus fyr\n\n\u2003So brenneth, that he dyeth for desyr;\n\n\u2003For which he putte his lyf in aventure,\n\n\u2003No lenger mighte he in this wyse endure;\n\n\u2003But prively a penner gan he borwe,\n\n\u2003And in a lettre wroot he al his sorwe,\n\n\u2003In manere of a compleynt or a lay,\n\n\u2003Un-to his faire fresshe lady May.\n\n\u2003And in a purs of silk, heng on his sherte,\n\n\u2003He hath it put, and leyde it at his herte.\n\n\u2003The mone that, at noon, was, thilke day\n\n\u2003That Januarie hath wedded fresshe May,\n\n\u2003In two of Taur, was in-to Cancre gliden;\n\n\u2003So longe hath Maius in hir chambre biden,\n\n\u2003As custume is un-to thise nobles alle.\n\n\u2003A bryde shal nat eten in the halle,\n\n\u2003Til dayes foure or three dayes atte leste\n\n\u2003Y-passed been; than lat hir go to feste.\n\n\u2003The fourthe day compleet fro noon to noon,\n\n\u2003Whan that the heighe masse was y-doon,\n\n\u2003In halle sit this Januarie, and May\n\n\u2003As fresh as is the brighte someres day.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, how that this gode man\n\n\u2003Remembred him upon this Damian,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"Seinte Marie! how may this be,\n\n\u2003That Damian entendeth nat to me?\n\n\u2003Is he ay syk, or how may this bityde?\"\n\n\u2003His squyeres, whiche that stoden ther bisyde,\n\n\u2003Excused him by-cause of his siknesse,\n\n\u2003Which letted him to doon his bisinesse;\n\n\u2003Noon other cause mighte make him tarie.\n\n\u2003Who languishes for love, as you shall hear;\n\n\u2003Therefore I speak to him in this manner:\n\n\u2003I say, \"Oh, wretched Damian, alas!\n\n\u2003Answer to my demand, as in this case.\n\n\u2003How shall you to your lady, fresh May,\n\n\u2003Tell your woe? She will always say nay.\n\n\u2003And if you speak, she will you betray.\n\n\u2003God be your help! I can no better say.\"\n\n\u2003This sick Damian in Venus' fire\n\n\u2003So burned that he died for desire,\n\n\u2003For which he put his life in danger.\n\n\u2003No longer might he in this way endure,\n\n\u2003But secretly a pen he borrowed,\n\n\u2003And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,\n\n\u2003In manner of a lament or lay,\n\n\u2003Unto his fresh, fair lady May;\n\n\u2003And in a purse of silk hung in his shirt\n\n\u2003He had put it, and laid it at his heart.\n\n\u2003The moon, that at noon was that day\n\n\u2003That January had wedded fresh May\n\n\u2003In the second degree of Taurus, was into Cancer gliding;\n\n\u2003So long had May in her chamber abided,\n\n\u2003As custom was unto these nobles all.\n\n\u2003A bride shall not eat in the hall\n\n\u2003Till days four, or three days at least,\n\n\u2003Passed have been; then let her go to the feast.\n\n\u2003The fourth day complete from noon to noon,\n\n\u2003When the high mass was done,\n\n\u2003In hall sits this January and May,\n\n\u2003As fresh as is the bright summer's day.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that this good man\n\n\u2003Remembered him upon this Damian,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Saint Mary! How may this be,\n\n\u2003That Damian attends not on me?\n\n\u2003Is he still sick, or how may this betide?\"\n\n\u2003His squires, who stood there beside,\n\n\u2003Excused him by cause of his sickness,\n\n\u2003Which prevented him from doing his business;\n\n\u2003No other cause might make him tarry,\n\n\u2003\"That me forthinketh,\" quod this Januarie,\n\n\u2003\"He is a gentil squyer, by my trouthe!\n\n\u2003If that he deyde, it were harm and routhe;\n\n\u2003He is as wys, discreet, and as secree\n\n\u2003As any man I woot of his degree;\n\n\u2003And ther-to manly and eek servisable,\n\n\u2003And for to been a thrifty man right able.\n\n\u2003But after mete, as sone as ever I may,\n\n\u2003I wol my-self visyte him and eek May,\n\n\u2003To doon him al the confort that I can.\"\n\n\u2003And for that word him blessed every man,\n\n\u2003That, of his bountee and his gentillesse,\n\n\u2003He wolde so conforten in siknesse\n\n\u2003His squyer, for it was a gentil dede.\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" quod this Januarie, \"tak good hede,\n\n\u2003At-after mete ye, with your wommen alle,\n\n\u2003Whan ye han been in chambre out of this halle,\n\n\u2003That alle ye go see this Damian;\n\n\u2003Doth him disport, he is a gentil man;\n\n\u2003And telleth him that I wol him visyte,\n\n\u2003Have I no-thing but rested me a lyte;\n\n\u2003And spede yow faste, for I wole abyde\n\n\u2003Til that ye slepe faste by my syde.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he gan to him to calle\n\n\u2003A squyer, that was marchal of his halle,\n\n\u2003And tolde him certeyn thinges, what he wolde.\n\n\u2003This fresshe May hath streight hir wey y-holde,\n\n\u2003With alle hir wommen, un-to Damian.\n\n\u2003Doun by his beddes syde sit she than,\n\n\u2003Confortinge him as goodly as she may.\n\n\u2003This Damian, whan that his tyme he say,\n\n\u2003In secree wise his purs, and eek his bille,\n\n\u2003In which that he y-writen hadde his wille,\n\n\u2003Hath put in-to hir hand, with-outen more,\n\n\u2003Save that he syketh wonder depe and sore,\n\n\u2003And softely to hir right thus seyde he:\n\n\u2003\"Mercy! and that ye nat discovere me;\n\n\u2003For I am deed, if that this thing be kid.\"\n\n\u2003This purs hath she inwith hir bosom hid,\n\n\u2003\"That grieves me,\" said this January,\n\n\u2003\"He is a gentle squire, by my troth!\n\n\u2003If he died, it were harm and pity.\n\n\u2003He is as wise, discreet and trustworthy\n\n\u2003As any man I know of his degree,\n\n\u2003And also manly and willing,\n\n\u2003And to be a success right able.\n\n\u2003But after dinner, as soon as ever I may,\n\n\u2003I will myself visit him, and also May,\n\n\u2003To do him all the comfort that I can.\"\n\n\u2003And for that word blessed him every man,\n\n\u2003Who of his bounty and his gentleness\n\n\u2003He would so comfort in sickness\n\n\u2003His squire, for it was a gentle deed.\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" said this January, \"take good heed,\n\n\u2003After dinner you with your women all,\n\n\u2003When you have departed hall,\n\n\u2003That all you go see this Damian.\n\n\u2003Give him comfort\u2014he is a gentle man;\n\n\u2003And tell him that I will him visit,\n\n\u2003As soon as I have rested me a little;\n\n\u2003And speed you fast, for I will abide\n\n\u2003Till you sleep fast by my side.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he began to call\n\n\u2003A squire, who was marshall of his hall,\n\n\u2003And told him certain things, that he wished.\n\n\u2003Thus fresh May has straight her way made\n\n\u2003With all her women unto Damian.\n\n\u2003Down by his bedside she sat then,\n\n\u2003Comforting him as well as she could.\n\n\u2003This Damian, when his time he saw,\n\n\u2003In secret his purse and also his billet-doux,\n\n\u2003In which he had written his desire,\n\n\u2003Has put into her hand, without more,\n\n\u2003Save that he sighed wondrous deep and sore,\n\n\u2003And softly to her right thus said he:\n\n\u2003\"Mercy! And that you not reveal me\n\n\u2003For I am dead if this thing be known.\"\n\n\u2003This purse has she in her bosom hid\n\n\u2003And wente hir wey; ye gete namore of me.\n\n\u2003But un-to Januarie y-comen is she,\n\n\u2003That on his beddes syde sit ful softe.\n\n\u2003He taketh hir, and kisseth hir ful ofte,\n\n\u2003And leyde him doun to slepe, and that anon.\n\n\u2003She feyned hir as that she moste gon\n\n\u2003Ther-as ye woot that every wight mot nede.\n\n\u2003And whan she of this bille hath taken hede,\n\n\u2003She rente it al to cloutes atte laste,\n\n\u2003And in the privee softely it caste.\n\n\u2003Who studieth now but faire fresshe May?\n\n\u2003Adoun by olde Januarie she lay,\n\n\u2003That sleep, til that the coughe hath him awaked;\n\n\u2003Anon he preyde hir strepen hir al naked;\n\n\u2003He wolde of hir, he seyde, han som plesaunce,\n\n\u2003And seyde, hir clothes dide him encombraunce,\n\n\u2003And she obeyeth, be hir lief or looth.\n\n\u2003But lest that precious folk be with me wrooth,\n\n\u2003How that he wroghte, I dare nat to yow telle;\n\n\u2003Or whether hir thoughte it paradys or helle;\n\n\u2003But here I lete hem werken in hir wyse\n\n\u2003Til evensong rong, and that they moste aryse.\n\n\u2003Were it by destinee or aventure,\n\n\u2003Were it by influence or by nature,\n\n\u2003Or constellacion, that in swich estat\n\n\u2003The hevene stood, that tyme fortunat\n\n\u2003Was for to putte a bille of Venus werkes\n\n(For alle thing hath tyme, as seyn thise clerkes)\n\n\u2003To any womman, for to gete hir love,\n\n\u2003I can nat seye; but grete god above,\n\n\u2003That knoweth that non act is causelees,\n\n\u2003He deme of al, for I wol holde my pees.\n\n\u2003But sooth is this, how that this fresshe May\n\n\u2003Hath take swich impression that day,\n\n\u2003For pitee of this syke Damian,\n\n\u2003That from hir herte she ne dryve can\n\n\u2003The remembraunce for to doon him ese.\n\n\u2003\"Certeyn,\" thoghte she, \"whom that this thing displese,\n\n\u2003I rekke noght, for here I him assure,\n\n\u2003And went her way; you get no more of me.\n\n\u2003But unto January she is come,\n\n\u2003Who on his bedside sits full quietly,\n\n\u2003He took her, and kissed her full often,\n\n\u2003And laid himself down to sleep, and that anon.\n\n\u2003She pretended that she had to go\n\n\u2003There where every person must needs visit;\n\n\u2003And when of this billet-doux she had read,\n\n\u2003She tore it all into pieces little\n\n\u2003And into the privy them quietly cast.\n\n\u2003Who ponders now but fair fresh May?\n\n\u2003Adown by old January she lay,\n\n\u2003Who slept until a cough has him awakened,\n\n\u2003Anon he asked that she strip herself all naked;\n\n\u2003He would of her, he said, have some play;\n\n\u2003He said her clothes got in the way,\n\n\u2003And she obeyed, be her willing or loathe.\n\n\u2003But lest that precious folk be with me wroth,\n\n\u2003How that he wrought, I dare not you tell,\n\n\u2003Or whether she thought it paradise or hell.\n\n\u2003But here I leave them work in their ways\n\n\u2003Till evensong rang and that they must arise.\n\n\u2003Were it destiny or by chance,\n\n\u2003Were it by nature or influence,\n\n\u2003Or constellation, that in such estate\n\n\u2003The heavens stood that time fortunate\n\n\u2003To present a petition for Venus' work\u2014\n\n\u2003For everything has its time, as say these scholars\u2014\n\n\u2003For any woman to get her love,\n\n\u2003I cannot say; but great God above,\n\n\u2003Who knows that no act is causeless,\n\n\u2003May he judge all, for I will hold my peace.\n\n\u2003But the truth is this, how this fresh May\n\n\u2003Has had such a feeling that day\n\n\u2003Of pity for this sick Damian\n\n\u2003That from her heart drive she could not\n\n\u2003The thought of giving him some comfort.\n\n\u2003\"Certainly,\" thought she, \"who this thing displeases\n\n\u2003I care not, for here I him pledge\n\n\u2003To love him best of any creature,\n\n\u2003Though he na-more hadde than his sherte.\"\n\n\u2003Lo, pitee renneth sone in gentil herte.\n\n\u2003Heer may ye se how excellent franchyse\n\n\u2003In wommen is, whan they hem narwe avyse.\n\n\u2003Som tyrant is, as ther be many oon,\n\n\u2003That hath an herte as hard as any stoon,\n\n\u2003Which wolde han lete him sterven in the place\n\n\u2003Wel rather than han graunted him hir grace;\n\n\u2003And hem rejoysen in hir cruel pryde,\n\n\u2003And rekke nat to been an homicyde.\n\n\u2003This gentil May, fulfilled of pitee,\n\n\u2003Right of hir hande a lettre made she,\n\n\u2003In which she graunteth him hir verray grace;\n\n\u2003Ther lakketh noght but only day and place,\n\n\u2003Wher that she mighte un-to his lust suffyse:\n\n\u2003For it shal be right as he wol devyse.\n\n\u2003And whan she saugh hir time, up-on a day,\n\n\u2003To visite this Damian goth May,\n\n\u2003And sotilly this lettre doun she threste\n\n\u2003Under his pilwe, rede it if him leste.\n\n\u2003She taketh him by the hand, and harde him twiste\n\n\u2003So secrely, that no wight of it wiste,\n\n\u2003And bad him been al hool, and forth she wente\n\n\u2003To Januarie, whan that he for hir sente.\n\n\u2003Up ryseth Damian the nexte morwe,\n\n\u2003Al passed was his siknesse and his sorwe.\n\n\u2003He kembeth him, he proyneth him and pyketh,\n\n\u2003He dooth al that his lady lust and lyketh;\n\n\u2003And eek to Januarie he gooth as lowe\n\n\u2003As ever died a dogge for the bowe.\n\n\u2003He is so plesant un-to every man,\n\n\u2003(For craft is al, who-so that do it can)\n\n\u2003That every wight is fayn to speke him good;\n\n\u2003And fully in his lady grace he stood.\n\n\u2003Thus lete I Damian aboute his nede,\n\n\u2003And in my tale forth I wol procede.\n\n\u2003Somme clerkes holden that felicitee\n\n\u2003Stant in delyt, and therefor certeyn he,\n\n\u2003To love him best of any creature,\n\n\u2003Though he no more has than his shirt.\"\n\n\u2003Look, how pity runs soon in a gentle heart!\n\n\u2003Here you may see how excellent generosity\n\n\u2003In women is, when they consider carefully.\n\n\u2003There are tyrants, as there many be,\n\n\u2003Who have a heart as hard as any stone,\n\n\u2003Who would have let him die in the place\n\n\u2003Rather than have granted him her grace,\n\n\u2003And they would rejoice in their cruel pride,\n\n\u2003And consider not their homicide.\n\n\u2003This gentle May, full of pity,\n\n\u2003Right of her hand a letter made she,\n\n\u2003In which she granted him her grace.\n\n\u2003There lacked only but day and place\n\n\u2003Where she might satisfy his desire,\n\n\u2003For it should be as he aspired.\n\n\u2003And when she saw her time, upon a day\n\n\u2003To visit this Damian went May,\n\n\u2003And discreetly this letter down she thrust\n\n\u2003Under his pillow; to read it if he wished.\n\n\u2003She took him by the hand and tightly it clasped\n\n\u2003So secretly that no person of it guessed,\n\n\u2003And bade him get well soon, and forth she went\n\n\u2003To January, when he for her sent.\n\n\u2003Up rose Damian the next morning,\n\n\u2003All passed was his sickness and his sorrow.\n\n\u2003He combed, he groomed and he washed,\n\n\u2003He did all that his lady might like and desire,\n\n\u2003And also to January did he go as low\n\n\u2003As ever did a dog for the hunter's bow.\n\n\u2003He was so pleasant unto every man\n\n\u2003(For craft is all, as whoso has it knows)\n\n\u2003That every person was glad to speak of him good,\n\n\u2003And fully in his lady's grace he stood.\n\n\u2003Thus leave I Damian about his needs,\n\n\u2003And in my tale forth I will proceed.\n\n\u2003Some scholars hold that felicity\n\n\u2003Consists in sensuality, and therefore certainly,\n\n\u2003This noble Januarie, with al his might,\n\n\u2003In honest wyse, as longeth to a knight,\n\n\u2003Shoop him to live ful deliciously.\n\n\u2003His housinge, his array, as honestly\n\n\u2003To his degree was maked as a kinges.\n\n\u2003Amonges othere of his honest thinges,\n\n\u2003He made a gardin, walled al with stoon;\n\n\u2003So fair a gardin woot I nowher noon.\n\n\u2003For out of doute, I verraily suppose,\n\n\u2003That he that wroot the Romance of the Rose\n\n\u2003Ne coude of it the beautee wel devyse;\n\n\u2003Ne Priapus ne mighte nat suffyse,\n\n\u2003Though he be god of gardins, for to telle\n\n\u2003The beautee of the gardin and the welle,\n\n\u2003That stood under a laurer alwey grene.\n\n\u2003Ful ofte tyme he, Pluto, and his quene,\n\n\u2003Prosperpina, and al hir fay\u00ebrye\n\n\u2003Disporten hem and maken melodye\n\n\u2003Aboute that welle, and daunced, as men tolde.\n\n\u2003This noble knight, this Januarie the olde,\n\n\u2003Swich deintee hath in it to walke and pleye,\n\n\u2003That he wol no wight suffren bere the keye\n\n\u2003Save he him-self; for of the smale wiket\n\n\u2003He bar alwey of silver a smal cliket,\n\n\u2003With which, whan that him leste, he it unshette.\n\n\u2003And whan he wolde paye his wyf hir dette\n\n\u2003In somer seson, thider wolde he go,\n\n\u2003And May his wyf, and no wight but they two;\n\n\u2003And thinges whiche that were nat doon a-bedde,\n\n\u2003He in the gardin parfourned hem and spedde.\n\n\u2003And in this wyse, many a mery day,\n\n\u2003Lived this Januarie and fresshe May.\n\n\u2003But worldly joye may nat alwey dure\n\n\u2003To Januarie, ne to no creature.\n\n\u2003O sodeyn hap, o thou fortune instable,\n\n\u2003Lyk to the scorpioun so deceivable,\n\n\u2003That flaterest with thyn heed when thou wolt stinge;\n\n\u2003Thy tayl is deeth, thurgh thyn enveniminge.\n\n\u2003O brotil joye! o swete venim queynte!\n\n\u2003This noble January, with all his might,\n\n\u2003In respectable ways, as befitted a knight,\n\n\u2003Tried to live full deliciously.\n\n\u2003His house, his finery were\n\n\u2003For his rank as respectable as a king's.\n\n\u2003Among other of his respectable things,\n\n\u2003He made a garden, walled all with stone;\n\n\u2003So fair a garden know I nowhere one.\n\n\u2003For, without doubt, I truly suppose\n\n\u2003That he who wrote the Romance of the Rose\n\n\u2003Could not of it the beauty well imagine;\n\n\u2003Nor that Priapus might suffice,\n\n\u2003Though he be god of gardens, to tell\n\n\u2003The beauty of the garden and the spring\n\n\u2003That stood under a laurel evergreen.\n\n\u2003Full oftentime Pluto and his queen,\n\n\u2003Proserpina, and all their fairy crew,\n\n\u2003Disported them and made melody\n\n\u2003About that spring, and danced, as men told.\n\n\u2003This noble knight, this January the old,\n\n\u2003Such delight had in it to walk and play,\n\n\u2003That he would no person suffer to bear the key\n\n\u2003Save for himself; for of the small wicket gate\n\n\u2003He carried always of silver a latchkey,\n\n\u2003With which, when he wished, he it opened.\n\n\u2003And when he would pay his wife her debt\n\n\u2003In summer season, there would he go,\n\n\u2003And May his wife, and no person but they two;\n\n\u2003And things which that were not done abed,\n\n\u2003He in the garden performed them with success.\n\n\u2003And in this way, many a merry day,\n\n\u2003Lived this January and fresh May.\n\n\u2003But worldly joy may not always endure\n\n\u2003For January, nor for any creature.\n\n\u2003Oh sudden chance! Oh you Fortune unstable!\n\n\u2003Like to the scorpion so deceitful,\n\n\u2003That flatters with his head when his tail will sting;\n\n\u2003Your tail is death, through your poisoning.\n\n\u2003Oh unstable joy! Oh sweet sly venom!\n\n\u2003O monstre, that so subtilly canst peynte\n\n\u2003Thy yiftes, under hewe of stedfastnesse,\n\n\u2003That thou deceyvest bothe more and lesse!\n\n\u2003Why hastow Januarie thus deceyved,\n\n\u2003That haddest him for thy ful frend receyved?\n\n\u2003And now thou hast biraft him bothe hise yen,\n\n\u2003For sorwe of which desyreth he to dyen.\n\n\u2003Allas! this noble Januarie free,\n\n\u2003Amidde his lust and his prosperitee,\n\n\u2003Is woxen blind, and that al sodeynly.\n\n\u2003He wepeth and he wayleth pitously;\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al the fyr of jalousye,\n\n\u2003Lest that his wyf sholde falle in som folye,\n\n\u2003So brente his herte, that he wolde fayn\n\n\u2003That som man bothe him and hir had slayn.\n\n\u2003For neither after his deeth, nor in his lyf,\n\n\u2003Ne wolde he that she were love ne wyf,\n\n\u2003But ever live as widwe in clothes blake,\n\n\u2003Soul as the turtle that lost hath hir make.\n\n\u2003But atte laste, after a monthe or tweye,\n\n\u2003His sorwe gan aswage, sooth to seye;\n\n\u2003For whan he wiste it may noon other be,\n\n\u2003He paciently took his adversitee;\n\n\u2003Save, out of doute, he may nat forgoon\n\n\u2003That he nas jalous evermore in oon;\n\n\u2003Which jalousye it was so outrageous,\n\n\u2003That neither in halle, n'in noon other hous,\n\n\u2003Ne in noon other place, never-the-mo,\n\n\u2003He nolde suffre hir for to ryde or go,\n\n\u2003But-if that he had hand on hir alway;\n\n\u2003For which ful ofte wepeth fresshe May,\n\n\u2003That loveth Damian so benignely,\n\n\u2003That she mot outher dyen sodeynly,\n\n\u2003Or elles she mot han him as hir leste;\n\n\u2003She wayteth whan hir herte wolde breste.\n\n\u2003Up-on that other syde Damian\n\n\u2003Bicomen is the sorwefulleste man\n\n\u2003That ever was; for neither night ne day\n\n\u2003Ne mighte he speke a word to fresshe May,\n\n\u2003Oh monster, that so subtly can paint\n\n\u2003Your gifts under guise of steadfastness,\n\n\u2003That deceive both more and less!\n\n\u2003Why have you January thus deceived,\n\n\u2003Whom you had as your friend received?\n\n\u2003And now you have bereft him both his eyes,\n\n\u2003For sorrow of which desires he to die.\n\n\u2003Alas, this January unconstrained,\n\n\u2003Amid his pleasure and prosperity,\n\n\u2003Was struck blind, and that all suddenly.\n\n\u2003He weeped and wailed piteously;\n\n\u2003And at once the fire of jealousy,\n\n\u2003Lest that his wife should fall in some folly,\n\n\u2003So burned his heart that he would rather\n\n\u2003That some man had slain both him and her.\n\n\u2003For neither after his death nor in his life\n\n\u2003Would he have her be another's paramour or wife,\n\n\u2003But ever live as widow in clothes black,\n\n\u2003Solitary as the turtledove that has lost her mate.\n\n\u2003But at last, after a month or two,\n\n\u2003His sorrow began to assuage, truth to tell\n\n\u2003For when he knew it might not otherwise be,\n\n\u2003He patiently took his adversity,\n\n\u2003Save, doubtless, that he could not forgo\n\n\u2003His constant jealousy,\n\n\u2003Which jealousy was so outrageous\n\n\u2003That neither in hall, nor any other room,\n\n\u2003Nor in any other place, evermore,\n\n\u2003Would he suffer her to ride or go,\n\n\u2003Unless he had hand on her always;\n\n\u2003For which full often wept fresh May,\n\n\u2003Who loved Damian so benignly\n\n\u2003That she must either die suddenly\n\n\u2003Or she must have him as she wished.\n\n\u2003She thought that her heart would burst.\n\n\u2003Upon the other side Damian\n\n\u2003Became the sorrowfullest man\n\n\u2003Who ever was, for neither night nor day\n\n\u2003Might he speak a word to fresh May,\n\n\u2003As to his purpos, of no swich matere,\n\n\u2003But-if that Januarie moste it here,\n\n\u2003That hadde an hand up-on hir evermo.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, by wryting to and fro\n\n\u2003And privee signes, wiste he what she mente;\n\n\u2003And she knew eek the fyn of his entente.\n\n\u2003O Januarie, what mighte it thee availle,\n\n\u2003Thou mightest see as fer as shippes saille?\n\n\u2003For also good is blind deceyved be,\n\n\u2003As be deceyved whan a man may see.\n\n\u2003Lo, Argus, which that hadde an hondred yen,\n\n\u2003For al that ever he coude poure or pryen,\n\n\u2003Yet was he blent; and, god wot, so ben mo,\n\n\u2003That wenen wisly that it be nat so.\n\n\u2003Passe over is an ese, I sey na-more.\n\n\u2003This fresshe May, that I spak of so yore,\n\n\u2003In warme wex hath emprented the cliket,\n\n\u2003That Januarie bar of the smale wiket,\n\n\u2003By which in-to his gardin ofte he wente.\n\n\u2003And Damian, that knew al hir entente,\n\n\u2003The cliket countrefeted prively;\n\n\u2003Ther nis na-more to seye, but hastily\n\n\u2003Som wonder by this cliket shal bityde,\n\n\u2003Which ye shul heren, if ye wole abyde.\n\n\u2003O noble Ovyde, ful sooth seystou, god woot!\n\n\u2003What sleighte is it, thogh it be long and hoot,\n\n\u2003That he nil finde it out in som manere?\n\n\u2003By Piramus and Tesbee may men lere;\n\n\u2003Thogh they were kept ful longe streite overal,\n\n\u2003They been accorded, rouninge thurgh a wal,\n\n\u2003Ther no wight coude han founde out swich a sleighte.\n\n\u2003But now to purpos; er that dayes eighte\n\n\u2003Were passed, er the monthe of Juil, bifil\n\n\u2003That Januarie hath caught so greet a wil,\n\n\u2003Thurgh egging of his wyf, him for to pleye\n\n\u2003In his gardin, and no wight but they tweye,\n\n\u2003That in a morwe un-to this May seith he:\n\n\u2003\"Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free;\n\n\u2003The turtles vois is herd, my douve swete;\n\n\u2003About his purpose, of no such matter,\n\n\u2003For fear that January might it hear,\n\n\u2003Who had his hand on hers evermore.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, by writing to and fro\n\n\u2003By secret signs knew he what she meant,\n\n\u2003And she knew also the object of his intent.\n\n\u2003Oh January, what might it you avail,\n\n\u2003Though you might see as far as ships sail?\n\n\u2003For it is just as good to be deceived when blind\n\n\u2003As to be deceived when a man may see.\n\n\u2003Look, Argus, who had a hundred eyes,\n\n\u2003For all that ever he could pore or pry,\n\n\u2003Yet he was blind and, God knows, so be more\n\n\u2003Who are so sure that it be not so.\n\n\u2003What you don't see won't hurt you, I say no more.\n\n\u2003This fresh May, whom I spoke of before,\n\n\u2003In warm wax has imprinted the key\n\n\u2003That January bore of the small gate,\n\n\u2003By which into his garden he often went;\n\n\u2003And Damian, who knew all her intent,\n\n\u2003The key counterfeited secretly.\n\n\u2003There is no more to say, but hastily\n\n\u2003Some miracle will this key betide,\n\n\u2003Which you shall hear, if you will abide.\n\n\u2003Oh noble Ovid, full truth say you, God knows,\n\n\u2003What magic it is, through effort hot and long,\n\n\u2003By which Love will find a way somehow?\n\n\u2003By Pyramus and Thisbe may men learn;\n\n\u2003Though they were kept apart by measures strict,\n\n\u2003They agreed, whispering through a wall,\n\n\u2003Where no one could imagine such a trick.\n\n\u2003But now to the point: before eight days\n\n\u2003Were passed in June, befell\n\n\u2003That January had caught a desire so great,\n\n\u2003Through the urging of his wife, him for to play\n\n\u2003In his garden, and no person but they two,\n\n\u2003That in a morning unto his May said he:\n\n\u2003\"Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free!\n\n\u2003The turtledove's voice is heard, my dove sweet;\n\n\u2003The winter is goon, with alle his reynes wete;\n\n\u2003Com forth now, with thyn ey\u00ebn columbyn!\n\n\u2003How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!\n\n\u2003The gardin is enclosed al aboute;\n\n\u2003Com forth, my whyte spouse; out of doute,\n\n\u2003Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, o wyf!\n\n\u2003No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.\n\n\u2003Com forth, and lat us taken our disport;\n\n\u2003I chees thee for my wyf and my confort.\"\n\n\u2003Swiche olde lewed wordes used he;\n\n\u2003On Damian a signe made she,\n\n\u2003That he sholde go biforen with his cliket:\n\n\u2003This Damian thanne hath opened the wiket,\n\n\u2003And in he stirte, and that in swich manere,\n\n\u2003That no wight mighte it see neither y-here;\n\n\u2003And stille he sit under a bush anoon.\n\n\u2003This januarie, as blind as is a stoon,\n\n\u2003With Maius in his hand, and no wight mo,\n\n\u2003In-to his fresshe gardin is ago,\n\n\u2003And clapte to the wiket sodeynly.\n\n\u2003\"Now, wyf,\" quod he, \"heer nis but thou and I,\n\n\u2003That art the creature that I best love.\n\n\u2003For, by that lord that sit in heven above,\n\n\u2003Lever ich hadde dyen on a knyf,\n\n\u2003Than thee offende, trewe dere wyf!\n\n\u2003For goddes sake, thenk how I thee chees,\n\n\u2003Noght for no coveityse, doutelees,\n\n\u2003But only for the love I had to thee.\n\n\u2003And thogh that I be old, and may nat see,\n\n\u2003Beth to me trewe, and I shal telle yow why.\n\n\u2003Three thinges, certes, shul ye winne ther-by;\n\n\u2003First, love of Crist, and to your-self honour,\n\n\u2003And al myn heritage, toun and tour;\n\n\u2003I yeve it yow, maketh chartres as yow leste;\n\n\u2003This shal be doon to-morwe er sonne reste.\n\n\u2003So wisly god my soule bringe in blisse,\n\n\u2003I prey yow first, in covenant ye me kisse.\n\n\u2003And thogh that I be jalous, wyte me noght.\n\n\u2003Ye been so depe enprented in my thoght,\n\n\u2003The winter is gone with all his rains wet.\n\n\u2003Come forth now, with your dovelike eyes!\n\n\u2003How fairer be your breasts than is wine!\n\n\u2003The garden is enclosed all about;\n\n\u2003Come forth, my lily-white spouse! Without doubt\n\n\u2003You have me wounded in my heart, Oh wife!\n\n\u2003No fault in you have I known in all my life.\n\n\u2003Come forth, and let us take our disport;\n\n\u2003I choose you for my wife and my comfort.\"\n\n\u2003Such old lewd words used he.\n\n\u2003To Damian a sign made she,\n\n\u2003That he should go before with his key.\n\n\u2003This Damian then opened the gate,\n\n\u2003And in he went, and that in such manner\n\n\u2003That no person might him see or hear,\n\n\u2003And still he sat under a bush anon.\n\n\u2003This January, as blind as is a stone,\n\n\u2003With May in his hand, and no person more,\n\n\u2003Into his fresh garden is a-gone,\n\n\u2003And shut the wicket suddenly.\n\n\u2003\"Now wife,\" said he, \"here are but you and I,\n\n\u2003You are the creature that I best love.\n\n\u2003For by that Lord who sits in heaven above,\n\n\u2003I would rather die upon a knife\n\n\u2003Than you offend, true dear wife!\n\n\u2003For God's sake, think how I you chose,\n\n\u2003Without doubt not for cupidity,\n\n\u2003But only for the love I had for you.\n\n\u2003And though I am old and cannot see,\n\n\u2003Be to me true, and I will tell you why.\n\n\u2003Three things, certainly, shall you gain thereby:\n\n\u2003First, love of Christ, and to yourself honor,\n\n\u2003And all my inheritance, town and tower;\n\n\u2003I give to you, make contracts as you wish;\n\n\u2003This shall be done tomorrow before the sun rests,\n\n\u2003So surely God my soul brings in bliss.\n\n\u2003I pray you first, in covenant you me kiss;\n\n\u2003And though I be jealous, blame me not.\n\n\u2003You be so deep imprinted in my thought\n\n\u2003That, whan that I considere your beautee,\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al the unlykly elde of me\n\n\u2003I may nat, certes, thogh I sholde dye,\n\n\u2003Forbere to been out of your companye\n\n\u2003For verray love; this is with-outen doute.\n\n\u2003Now kis me, wyf, and lat us rome aboute.\"\n\n\u2003This fresshe May, whan she thise wordes herde,\n\n\u2003Benignely to Januarie answerde,\n\n\u2003But first and forward she bigan to wepe,\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" quod she, \"a soule for to kepe\n\n\u2003As wel as ye, and also myn honour,\n\n\u2003And of my wyfhod thilke tendre flour,\n\n\u2003Which that I have assured in your hond,\n\n\u2003Whan that the preest to yow my body bond;\n\n\u2003Wherfore I wole answere in this manere\n\n\u2003By the leve of yow, my lord so dere:\n\n\u2003I prey to god, that never dawe the day\n\n\u2003That I ne sterve, as foule as womman may,\n\n\u2003If ever I do un-to my kin that shame,\n\n\u2003Or elles I empeyre so my name,\n\n\u2003That I be fals; and if I do that lakke,\n\n\u2003Do strepe me and put me in a sakke,\n\n\u2003And in the nexte river do me drenche.\n\n\u2003I am a gentil womman and no wenche.\n\n\u2003Why speke ye thus? but men ben ever untrewe,\n\n\u2003And wommen have repreve of yow ay newe.\n\n\u2003Ye han non other contenance, I leve,\n\n\u2003But speke to us of untrust and repreve.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she saugh wher Damian\n\n\u2003Sat in the bush, and coughen she bigan,\n\n\u2003And with hir finger signes made she,\n\n\u2003That Damian sholde climbe up-on a tree,\n\n\u2003That charged was with fruit, and up he wente;\n\n\u2003For verraily he knew al hir entente,\n\n\u2003And every signe that she coude make\n\n\u2003Wel bet that Januarie, hir owene make.\n\n\u2003For in a lettre she had told him al\n\n\u2003Of this matere, how he werchen shal.\n\n\u2003And thus I lete him sitte up-on the pyrie,\n\n\u2003That, when I consider your beauty\n\n\u2003And at the same time the unsuitability of my age,\n\n\u2003I may not, certainly, though I should die,\n\n\u2003Forebear to be out of your company\n\n\u2003For true love; this is without doubt.\n\n\u2003Now kiss me, wife, and let us roam about.\"\n\n\u2003This fresh May, when she these words heard,\n\n\u2003Graciously to January answered,\n\n\u2003But first of all she began to weep.\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" said she, \"a soul for to keep\n\n\u2003As well as you, and also my honor,\n\n\u2003And of my wifehood the tender flower,\n\n\u2003Which I have entrusted in your hand,\n\n\u2003When the priest to you my body bound;\n\n\u2003Therefore I will answer in this manner,\n\n\u2003By leave of you, my lord so dear:\n\n\u2003I pray to God that never dawns the day\n\n\u2003That I die, as foul women may,\n\n\u2003If I ever do unto my kin that shame,\n\n\u2003Or else I damage so my name,\n\n\u2003That I am false; and if I do that offense,\n\n\u2003Do strip me and put me in a sack,\n\n\u2003And in the next river do me drown.\n\n\u2003I am a gentle woman and no wench.\n\n\u2003Why speak you thus? But men are ever untrue,\n\n\u2003And women have reproof always of you.\n\n\u2003You have no other way, I believe,\n\n\u2003But to speak to us of faithlessness and reproof.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she saw where Damian\n\n\u2003Sat in the bush, and coughing she began,\n\n\u2003And with her finger signs made she\n\n\u2003That Damian should climb upon a tree\n\n\u2003That laden was with fruit, and up he went.\n\n\u2003For truly he knew all her intent,\n\n\u2003And every design that she could make,\n\n\u2003Well better than January, her own mate,\n\n\u2003For in a letter she had told him all\n\n\u2003Of this matter, how work he shall.\n\n\u2003And thus I let him sit upon the pear tree,\n\n\u2003And Januarie and May rominge myrie.\n\n\u2003Bright was the day, and blew the firmament,\n\n\u2003Phebus of gold his stremes doun hath sent,\n\n\u2003To gladen every flour with his warmnesse.\n\n\u2003He was that tyme in Geminis, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003But litel fro his declinacioun\n\n\u2003Of Cancer, Jovis exaltacioun.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that brighte morwe-tyde,\n\n\u2003That in that gardin, in the ferther syde,\n\n\u2003Pluto, that is the king of fay\u00ebrye,\n\n\u2003And many a lady in his companye,\n\n\u2003Folwinge his wyf, the quene Proserpyne,\n\n\u2003Ech after other, right as any lyne\u2014\n\n\u2003Whyl that she gadered floures in the mede,\n\n\u2003In Claudian ye may the story rede,\n\n\u2003How in his grisly carte he hir fette:\u2014\n\n\u2003This king of fairye thanne adoun him sette\n\n\u2003Up-on a bench of turves, fresh and grene,\n\n\u2003And right anon thus seyde he to his quene.\n\n\u2003\"My wyf,\" quod he, \"ther may no wight sey nay;\n\n\u2003Th'experience so preveth every day\n\n\u2003The treson whiche that wommen doon to man.\n\n\u2003Ten hondred thousand [stories] telle I can\n\n\u2003Notable of your untrouthe and brotilnesse.\n\n\u2003O Salomon, wys, richest of richesse,\n\n\u2003Fulfild of sapience and of worldly glorie,\n\n\u2003Ful worthy been thy wordes to memorie\n\n\u2003To every wight that wit and reson can.\n\n\u2003Thus preiseth he yet the bountee of man:\n\n\"Amonges a thousand men yet fond I oon,\n\n\u2003But of wommen alle fond I noon.\"\n\n\u2003Thus seith the king that knoweth your wikkednesse;\n\n\u2003And Jesus filius Syrak, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Ne speketh of yow but selde reverence.\n\n\u2003A wilde fyr and corrupt pestilence\n\n\u2003So falle up-on your bodies yet to-night!\n\n\u2003Ne see ye nat this honurable knight,\n\n\u2003By-cause, allas! that he is blind and old,\n\n\u2003His owene man shal make him cokewold;\n\n\u2003And January and May roaming merry.\n\n\u2003Bright was the day, and blue the firmament;\n\n\u2003Phoebus had of gold his streams down sent\n\n\u2003To gladden every flower with his warmness.\n\n\u2003He was that time in Gemini, as I guess,\n\n\u2003But little from his declination\n\n\u2003Of Cancer, Jupiter in exaltation.\n\n\u2003And so befell, that bright morningtide\n\n\u2003That in that garden, in the further side,\n\n\u2003Pluto, who is king of the Underworld,\n\n\u2003And many a lady in his company,\n\n\u2003Following his wife, the queen Proserpina,\n\n\u2003Whom he carried off from Aetna\n\n\u2003While she gathered flowers in the meadow\u2014\n\n\u2003In Claudian you may the stories read,\n\n\u2003How in his horrid chariot he her fetched\u2014\n\n\u2003This king of the Underworld down him set\n\n\u2003Upon a bench of turf, fresh and green,\n\n\u2003And right anon thus said he to his queen:\n\n\u2003'My wife,\" said he, \"there may no one say nay;\n\n\u2003As experience proves every day\n\n\u2003Of the treasons that women do to men.\n\n\u2003Ten hundred thousand tales I can tell\n\n\u2003Notable for your untruth and fickleness.\n\n\u2003Oh Solomon, wise and richest of the rich,\n\n\u2003Full of knowledge and worldly glory,\n\n\u2003Full worthy are your words for remembrance\n\n\u2003By every person whose wit and reason can.\n\n\u2003Thus praised he yet the goodness of man:\n\n\u2003\"Among a thousand men yet found I one,\n\n\u2003But of women all found I none.\"\n\n\u2003Thus said the king who knows your wickedness.\n\n\u2003And Jesus, filius Syrak, as I guess,\n\n\u2003Speaks of you but seldom reverence.\n\n\u2003A burning rash and pestilence\n\n\u2003So fall upon your bodies yet tonight!\n\n\u2003See you not this honorable knight,\n\n\u2003Because, alas, that he is blind and old,\n\n\u2003His own man shall make him cuckold.\n\n\u2003Lo heer he sit, the lechour, in the tree.\n\n\u2003Now wol I graunten, of my magestee,\n\n\u2003Un-to this olde blinde worthy knight\n\n\u2003That he shal have ayeyn his eyen sight,\n\n\u2003Whan that his wyf wold doon him vileinye;\n\n\u2003Than shal he knowen al hir harlotrye\n\n\u2003Both in repreve of hir and othere mo.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye shal,\" quod Proserpyne, \"wol ye so;\n\n\u2003Now, by my modres sires soule I swere,\n\n\u2003That I shal yeven hir suffisant answere,\n\n\u2003And alle wommen after, for hir sake;\n\n\u2003That, though they be in any gilt y-take,\n\n\u2003With face bold they shulle hem-self excuse,\n\n\u2003And bere hem doun that wolden hem accuse.\n\n\u2003For lakke of answer, noon of hem shal dyen.\n\n\u2003Al hadde man seyn a thing with bothe his yen,\n\n\u2003Yit shul we wommen visage it hardily,\n\n\u2003And wepe, and swere, and chyde subtilly,\n\n\u2003So that ye men shul been as lewed as gees.\n\n\u2003What rekketh me of your auctoritees?\n\n\u2003I woot wel that this Jew, this Salomon,\n\n\u2003Fond of us wommen foles many oon.\n\n\u2003But though that he ne fond no good womman,\n\n\u2003Yet hath ther founde many another man\n\n\u2003Wommen ful trewe, ful gode, and vertuous.\n\n\u2003Witnesse on hem that dwelle in Cristes hous,\n\n\u2003With martirdom they preved hir constance.\n\n\u2003The Romayn gestes maken remembrance\n\n\u2003Of many a verray trewe wyf also.\n\n\u2003But sire, ne be nat wrooth, al-be-it so,\n\n\u2003Though that he seyde he fond no good womman,\n\n\u2003I prey yow take the sentence of the man;\n\n\u2003He mente thus, that in sovereyn bontee\n\n\u2003Nis noon but god, that sit in Trinitee.\n\n\u2003Ey! for verray god, that nis but oon,\n\n\u2003What make ye so muche of Salomon?\n\n\u2003What though he made a temple, goddes hous?\n\n\u2003What though he were riche and glorious?\n\n\u2003So made he eek a temple of false goddis,\n\n\u2003Look, where he sits, the lecher, in a tree!\n\n\u2003Now will I grant, of my majesty,\n\n\u2003Unto this old, blind, worthy knight\n\n\u2003That he shall have ever his eyesight,\n\n\u2003When his wife should do him villainy.\n\n\u2003Then shall he know all her harlotry,\n\n\u2003Both in reproof of her and others more.\"\n\n\u2003\"You shall?\" said Proserpina, \"Will say so?\n\n\u2003Now by my mother's sire's soul I swear\n\n\u2003That I shall give her sufficient answer,\n\n\u2003And all women after, for her sake,\n\n\u2003That, even if they are in the act taken,\n\n\u2003With faces bold they shall themselves excuse,\n\n\u2003And bear down on those who would them accuse.\n\n\u2003For lack of answer none of them shall die.\n\n\u2003Albeit had a man seen a thing with both his eyes,\n\n\u2003Yet shall women keep a brave face,\n\n\u2003And weep, and promise, and chide subtly,\n\n\u2003So that men shall be dumb as geese.\n\n\u2003What care I of your authorities?\n\n\u2003\"I know well that this Jew, this Solomon,\n\n\u2003Found among us women fools many a one.\n\n\u2003But though he found no good woman,\n\n\u2003Yet have there found many another man\n\n\u2003Women full true, full good, and virtuous.\n\n\u2003Witness those who dwell in Christ's house;\n\n\u2003With martyrdom they prove their constancy.\n\n\u2003The Roman histories also make remembrance\n\n\u2003Of many a true wife also.\n\n\u2003But sire, be not wroth, albeit so,\n\n\u2003Though that he found no good woman,\n\n\u2003I pray you take the gist of the man;\n\n\u2003He meant thus, that in perfect goodness\n\n\u2003Is none but God, and neither he nor she.\n\n\u2003\"Eh! by the true God and no other,\n\n\u2003Why make you so much of Solomon?\n\n\u2003What though he made a temple, God's house?\n\n\u2003What though he was rich and glorious?\n\n\u2003So made he also a temple of false gods.\n\n\u2003How mighte he do a thing that more forbode is?\n\n\u2003Pardee, as faire as ye his name emplastre.\n\n\u2003He was a lechour and an ydolastre;\n\n\u2003And in his elde he verray god forsook.\n\n\u2003And if that god ne hadde, as seith the book,\n\n\u2003Y-spared him for his fadres sake, he sholde\n\n\u2003Have lost his regne rather than he wolde.\n\n\u2003I sette noght of al the vileinye,\n\n\u2003That ye of wommen wryte, a boterflye.\n\n\u2003I am a womman, nedes moot I speke,\n\n\u2003Or elles swelle til myn herte breke.\n\n\u2003For sithen he seyde that we ben jangleresses,\n\n\u2003As ever hool I mote brouke my tresses,\n\n\u2003I shal nat spare, for no curteisye,\n\n\u2003To speke him harm that wolde us vileinye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" quod this Pluto, \"be no lenger wrooth;\n\n\u2003I yeve it up; but sith I swoor myn ooth\n\n\u2003That I wolde graunten him his sighte ageyn,\n\n\u2003My word shal stonde, I warne yow, certeyn.\n\n\u2003I am a king, it sit me noght to lye.\"\n\n\u2003\"And I,\" quod she, \"a queene of fayerye.\n\n\u2003Hir answere shal she have, I undertake;\n\n\u2003Lat us na-more wordes heer-of make.\n\n\u2003For sothe, I wol no lenger yow contrarie.\"\n\n\u2003Now lat us turne agayn to Januarie,\n\n\u2003That in the gardin with his faire May\n\n\u2003Singeth, ful merier than the papejay,\n\n\u2003\"Yow love I best, and shal, and other noon.\"\n\n\u2003So longe aboute the aleyes is he goon,\n\n\u2003Til he was come agaynes thilke pyrie,\n\n\u2003Wher-as this Damian sitteth ful myrie\n\n\u2003An heigh, among the fresshe leves grene.\n\n\u2003This fresshe May, that is so bright and shene,\n\n\u2003Gan for to syke, and seyde, \"allas, my syde!\n\n\u2003Now sir;\" quod she, \"for aught that may bityde,\n\n\u2003I moste han of the peres that I see,\n\n\u2003Or I mot dye, so sore longeth me\n\n\u2003To eten of the smale peres grene.\n\n\u2003Help, for hir love that is of hevene quene!\n\n\u2003How could he have done a thing that more forbidden was?\n\n\u2003By God, as fair as you wash his name white with plaster,\n\n\u2003He was an idolator and a lecher,\n\n\u2003And in his age he the true God forsook;\n\n\u2003And if God had not, as says the book,\n\n\u2003Spared him for his father's sake, he would\n\n\u2003Have lost his reign sooner than he wanted.\n\n\u2003I care not, for all the villainy\n\n\u2003That you of women write, a butterfly!\n\n\u2003I am a woman, needs must I speak,\n\n\u2003Or else swell till my heart breaks.\n\n\u2003For since he said that we be chatterboxes,\n\n\u2003As long as I will braid my tresses,\n\n\u2003I shall not spare, for any courtesy,\n\n\u2003To speak harm of him who depicts us shamefully.\"\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" said this Pluto, \"be no longer wroth;\n\n\u2003I give it up! But since I swore my oath\n\n\u2003That I would grant him his sight again,\n\n\u2003My word shall stand, I warn you certain.\n\n\u2003I am a king; it suits me not to lie.\"\n\n\u2003\"And I,\" said she, \"a queen of the Underworld!\n\n\u2003Her answer shall she have, I undertake.\n\n\u2003Let us no more words hereof make;\n\n\u2003For truth, I will no longer you contrary.\"\n\n\u2003Now let us turn again to January,\n\n\u2003Who in the garden with his fair May\n\n\u2003Singing full merrier than a popinjay,\n\n\u2003\"You love I best, and shall, and other none.\"\n\n\u2003So long about the paths did he go,\n\n\u2003Till he was come again to that pear tree\n\n\u2003Where this Damian sat full merry\n\n\u2003On high among the fresh leaves green.\n\n\u2003This fresh May, who is so bright and shining,\n\n\u2003Began for to sigh, and said, \"Alas, my side!\n\n\u2003Now sir,\" said she, \"no matter what,\n\n\u2003I must have of the pears that I see,\n\n\u2003If I must die, so sore do I yearn\n\n\u2003To eat of the small pears green.\n\n\u2003Help, for her love that is of Heaven's queen!\n\n\u2003I telle yow wel, a womman in my plyt\n\n\u2003May han to fruit so greet an appetyt,\n\n\u2003That she may dyen, but she of it have.\"\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod he, \"that I ne had heer a knave\n\n\u2003That coude climbe; allas! alias!\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"That I am blind.\" \"Ye, sir, no fors,\" quod she:\n\n\u2003\"But wolde ye vouche-sauf, for goddes sake,\n\n\u2003The pyrie inwith your armes for to take,\n\n(For wel I woot that ye mistruste me)\n\n\u2003Thanne sholde I climbe wel y-nogh,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"So I my foot mighte sette upon your bak.\"\n\n\u2003\"Certes,\" quod he, \"ther-on shal be no lak,\n\n\u2003Mighte I yow helpen with myn herte blood.\"\n\n\u2003He stoupeth doun, and on his bak she stood,\n\n\u2003And caughte hir by a twiste, and up she gooth.\n\n\u2003Ladies, I prey yow that ye be nat wrooth;\n\n\u2003I can nat glose, I am a rude man.\n\n\u2003And sodeynly anon this Damian\n\n\u2003Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng.\n\n\u2003And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong,\n\n\u2003To Januarie he gaf agayn his sighte,\n\n\u2003And made him see, as wel as ever he mighte.\n\n\u2003And whan that he hadde caught his sighte agayn,\n\n\u2003Ne was ther never man of thing so fayn.\n\n\u2003But on his wyf his thought was evermo;\n\n\u2003Up to the tree he caste his eyen two,\n\n\u2003And saugh that Damian his wyf had dressed\n\n\u2003In swich manere, it may nat ben expressed\n\n\u2003But if I wolde speke uncurteisly:\n\n\u2003And up he yaf a roring and a cry\n\n\u2003As doth the moder whan the child shal dye:\n\n\u2003\"Out! help! allas! harrow!\" he gan to crye,\n\n\u2003\"O stronge lady store, what dostow?\"\n\n\u2003And she answerde, \"sir, what eyleth yow?\n\n\u2003Have pacience, and reson in your minde,\n\n\u2003I have yow holpe on bothe your eyen blinde.\n\n\u2003Up peril of my soule, I shal nat lyen,\n\n\u2003As me was taught, to hele with your y\u00ebn,\n\n\u2003Was no-thing bet to make yow to see\n\n\u2003I tell you well, a woman in my condition\n\n\u2003May have for fruit so great an appetite\n\n\u2003That she may die unless she has it.\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said he, \"That I have not here a knave\n\n\u2003Who could climb! Alas, alas,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"For I am blind!\" \"Yea, sir, no matter,\" said she;\n\n\u2003\"But would you vouchsafe, for God's sake,\n\n\u2003The pear tree in your arms for to take,\n\n\u2003For well I know that you mistrust me,\n\n\u2003Then should I climb well enough,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"So I my foot might set upon your back.\"\n\n\u2003\"Certainly,\" said he, \"thereon shall be no lack,\n\n\u2003Might I you help with my heart's blood.\"\n\n\u2003He stooped down, and on his back she stood,\n\n\u2003And caught herself a branch, and up she went\u2014\n\n\u2003Ladies, I pray you not be wroth;\n\n\u2003I cannot gloss, I am a rude man\u2014\n\n\u2003And suddenly anon this Damian\n\n\u2003Pulled up her smock, and in he thrust.\n\n\u2003And when that Pluto saw this great wrong,\n\n\u2003To January he gave his sight again,\n\n\u2003And made him see as well as ever he might.\n\n\u2003And when he had again caught his sight,\n\n\u2003There was never a man of anything so glad,\n\n\u2003But on his wife his thought was evermore.\n\n\u2003Up to the tree he cast his eyes two,\n\n\u2003And saw that Damian his wife had addressed\n\n\u2003In such manner it may not be expressed,\n\n\u2003Unless I would speak indecorously;\n\n\u2003And up he gave a roaring and a cry,\n\n\u2003As does a mother when the child shall die:\n\n\u2003\"Help! Help! Alas! Help!\" he began to cry,\n\n\u2003\"Oh bold, crude hussy, what do you do?\"\n\n\u2003And she answered, \"Sir, what ails you?\n\n\u2003Have patience and reason in your mind.\n\n\u2003I have you helped with both your eyes blind.\n\n\u2003On peril of my soul, I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003As I was taught, to heal your eyes,\n\n\u2003Was nothing better to make you see,\n\n\u2003Than strugle with a man up-on a tree.\n\n\u2003God woot, I dide it in ful good entente.\"\n\n\u2003\"Strugle!\" quod he, \"ye, algate in it wente!\n\n\u2003God yeve yow bothe on shames deeth to dyen!\n\n\u2003He swyved thee, I saugh it with myne yen,\n\n\u2003And elles be I hanged by the hals!\"\n\n\u2003\"Thanne is,\" quod she, \"my medicyne al fals;\n\n\u2003For certeinly, if that ye mighte see,\n\n\u2003Ye wolde nat seyn thise wordes un-to me;\n\n\u2003Ye han som glimsing and no parfit sighte.\"\n\n\u2003\"I see,\" quod he, \"as wel as ever I mighte,\n\n\u2003Thonked be god! with bothe myne eyen two,\n\n\u2003And by my trouthe, me thoughte he dide thee so.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye maze, maze, gode sire,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"This thank have I for I have maad yow see;\n\n\u2003Allas!\" quod she, \"that ever I was so kinde!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, dame,\" quod he, \"lat al passe out of minde.\n\n\u2003Com doun, my lief, and if I have missayd,\n\n\u2003God help me so, as I am yvel apayd.\n\n\u2003But, by my fader soule, I wende has seyn,\n\n\u2003How that this Damian had by thee leyn,\n\n\u2003And that thy smok had leyn up-on his brest.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, sire,\" quod she, \"ye may wene as yow lest;\n\n\u2003But, sire, a man that waketh out of his sleep,\n\n\u2003He may nat sodeynly wel taken keep\n\n\u2003Up-on a thing, ne see it parfitly,\n\n\u2003Til that he be adawed verraily;\n\n\u2003Right so a man, that longe hath blind y-be,\n\n\u2003Ne may nat sodeynly so wel y-see,\n\n\u2003First whan his sighte is newe come ageyn,\n\n\u2003As he that hath a day or two y-seyn.\n\n\u2003Til that your sighte y-satled be a whyle,\n\n\u2003Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigyle.\n\n\u2003Beth war, I prey yow; for, by hevene king,\n\n\u2003Ful many a man weneth to seen a thing,\n\n\u2003And it is al another than it semeth.\n\n\u2003He that misconceyveth, he misdemeth.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she leep doun fro the tree.\n\n\u2003This Januarie, who is glad but he?\n\n\u2003Than struggle with a man upon a tree.\n\n\u2003God knows, I did it in full good intent.\"\n\n\u2003\"Struggle?\" said he, \"Yea, entirely in it went!\n\n\u2003God give you both a shameless death to die!\n\n\u2003He paired with you; I saw it with my eyes,\n\n\u2003Or else I be hanged by the neck!\"\n\n\u2003\"Then is,\" said she, \"my medicine false;\n\n\u2003For certainly, if that you might see,\n\n\u2003You would not say these words unto me.\n\n\u2003You have some glimpsing, and no perfect sight.\"\n\n\u2003\"I see,\" said he, \"as well as ever I might,\n\n\u2003Thanks be God. With both my eyes two,\n\n\u2003And by my troth, I thought he did you.\"\n\n\u2003\"You are bewildered, dazed, good sir,\" said she;\n\n\u2003\"These thanks I have for having made you see.\n\n\u2003Alas,\" said she, \"that ever I was so kind!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now Dame,\" said he, \"let that all pass out of mind.\n\n\u2003Come down, my beloved, and if I have misspoken,\n\n\u2003God help me so, as I am evil paid.\n\n\u2003But by my father's soul, I supposed I saw\n\n\u2003How this Damian had by you lain,\n\n\u2003And that your smock lay upon his breast.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yea, sir,\" said she, \"you may suppose as you wish.\n\n\u2003But sir, a man who wakes out of his sleep,\n\n\u2003He may not suddenly well take heed\n\n\u2003Upon a thing, or see it perfectly,\n\n\u2003Till he be awakened fully.\n\n\u2003Right so a man who long has blind been,\n\n\u2003May not suddenly so well see,\n\n\u2003First when his sight is new come again,\n\n\u2003As he who has a day or two seen.\n\n\u2003Until your sight settled be awhile\n\n\u2003There may full many a sight you beguile.\n\n\u2003Beware, I pray you, for by heaven's king,\n\n\u2003Full many a man supposes to see something,\n\n\u2003And it is other than what it seemed.\n\n\u2003He who misconceives, misjudges.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she leapt down from the tree.\n\n\u2003This January, who is glad but he?\n\n\u2003He kisseth hir, and clippeth hir ful ofte,\n\n\u2003And on hir wombe he stroketh hir ful softe,\n\n\u2003And to his palays hoom he hath hir lad.\n\n\u2003Now, gode men, I pray yow to be glad.\n\n\u2003Thus endeth heer my tale of Januarie;\n\n\u2003God blesse us and his moder Seinte Marie!"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003\"Ey! goddes mercy!\" seyde our Hoste tho,\n\n\u2003\"Now swich a wyf I pray god kepe me fro!\n\n\u2003Lo, whiche sleightes and subtilitees\n\n\u2003In wommen been! for ay as bisy as bees\n\n\u2003Ben they, us sely men for to deceyve,\n\n\u2003And from a sothe ever wol they weyve;\n\n\u2003By this Marchauntes Tale it preveth weel.\n\n\u2003But doutelees, as trewe as any steel\n\n\u2003I have a wyf, though that she povre be;\n\n\u2003But of hir tonge a labbing shrewe is she,\n\n\u2003And yet she hath an heep of vyces mo;\n\n\u2003Ther-of no fors, lat alle swiche thinges go.\n\n\u2003But, wite ye what? in conseil be it seyd,\n\n\u2003Me reweth sore I am un-to hir teyd.\n\n\u2003For, and I sholde rekenen every vyce\n\n\u2003Which that she hath, y-wis, I were to nyce,\n\n\u2003And cause why; it sholde reported be\n\n\u2003And told to hir of somme of this meynee;\n\n\u2003Of whom, it nedeth nat for to declare,\n\n\u2003Sin wommen connen outen swich chaffare;\n\n\u2003And eek my wit suffyseth nat ther-to\n\n\u2003To tellen al; wherfor my tale is do.\"\n\n\u2003He kissed her and embraced her full often,\n\n\u2003And on her belly her stroked her full softly,\n\n\u2003And to his palace home he has her led.\n\n\u2003Now, good men, I pray you to be glad.\n\n\u2003Thus ends here my tale of January;\n\n\u2003God bless us, and his mother Saint Mary!"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003\"Hey! God's mercy!\" said our Host then,\n\n\u2003\"Now such a wife I pray God keep me from!\n\n\u2003Lo, what tricks and deceits\n\n\u2003In women be! For ever as busy as bees\n\n\u2003Be they, us naive men to deceive,\n\n\u2003And from the truth ever will they weave;\n\n\u2003By this Merchant's tale it proves well.\n\n\u2003But doubtless, as true as any steel\n\n\u2003I have a wife, though a poor one she be,\n\n\u2003But of her tongue, a blabbing shrew is she,\n\n\u2003And yet she has a heap of vices more;\n\n\u2003And so what! Let all such things go.\n\n\u2003But do you know? Confidentially let it be said,\n\n\u2003I repent sorely that I am to her tied.\n\n\u2003But if I recounted every vice\n\n\u2003That she has, I'd be a fool.\n\n\u2003And why? I would reported be\n\n\u2003And told on to her by some of this company\u2014\n\n\u2003Of whom, it needs not to name,\n\n\u2003Some women can display such wares;\n\n\u2003And I know enough to not\n\n\u2003Tell all; therefore ended is my tale.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Frankeleyns Tale",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003\"In feith, squier, thou hast thee wel y-quit,\n\n\u2003And gentilly I preise wel thy wit,\"\n\n\u2003Quod the Frankeleyn, \"considering thy youthe,\n\n\u2003So feelingly thou spekest, sir, I allow thee!\n\n\u2003As to my doom, there is non that is here\n\n\u2003Of eloquence that shal be thy pere,\n\n\u2003If that thou live; god yeve thee good chaunce,\n\n\u2003And in vertu sende thee continuaunce!\n\n\u2003For of thy speche I have greet deyntee.\n\n\u2003I have a sone, and, by the Trinitee,\n\n\u2003I hadde lever than twenty pound worth lond,\n\n\u2003Though it right now were fallen in myn hond,\n\n\u2003He were a man of swich discrecioun\n\n\u2003As that ye been! fy on possessioun\n\n\u2003But-if a man be vertuous with-al.\n\n\u2003I have my sone snibbed, and yet shal,\n\n\u2003For he to vertu listeth nat entende;\n\n\u2003But for to pleye at dees, and to despende,\n\n\u2003And lese al that he hath, is his usage.\n\n\u2003And he hath lever talken with a page\n\n\u2003Than to commune with any gentil wight\n\n\u2003Ther he mighte lerne gentillesse aright.\"\n\n\u2003\"Straw for your gentillesse,\" quod our host;\n\n\u2003\"What, frankeleyn? pardee, sir, wel thou wost\n\n\u2003That eche of yow mot tellen atte leste\n\n\u2003A tale or two, or breken his biheste.\"\n\n\u2003\"That knowe I wel, sir,\" quod the frankeleyn;\n\n\u2003\"I prey yow, haveth me nat in desdeyn\n\n\u2003Though to this man I speke a word or two.\"\n\n\u2003\"Telle on thy tale with-outen words mo.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly, sir host,\" quod he, \"I wol obeye\n\n\u2003Un-to your wil; now herkneth what I seye.\n\n\u2003I wol yow nat contrarien in no wyse\n\n\u2003As fer as that my wittes wol suffyse;"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Franklin's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003\"In faith, squire, you have yourself well acquitted\n\n\u2003And like a gentleman. I praise well your wit,\"\n\n\u2003Said the Franklin. \"Considering your youth,\n\n\u2003So feelingly you speak, sir, I commend you:\n\n\u2003In my judgement, there is none that is here\n\n\u2003Of eloquence who shall be your peer,\n\n\u2003If you live. God give you good fortune,\n\n\u2003And in virtue send you continuance,\n\n\u2003For of your speech I have great pleasure.\n\n\u2003I have a son, and by the Trinity,\n\n\u2003I would rather than land paying yearly twenty pounds\n\n\u2003Though it right now were fallen in my hand\u2014\n\n\u2003That he were a man of such discretion\n\n\u2003As you be. Fie on property,\n\n\u2003Unless a man be virtuous withal!\n\n\u2003I have my son rebuked, and yet shall,\n\n\u2003For he of virtue cares not at all;\n\n\u2003But to play at dice, and to spend,\n\n\u2003And lose all he has, has become his custom.\n\n\u2003And he would rather talk with a servant\n\n\u2003Than with any gentlemanly person\n\n\u2003From whom he might learn gentility aright.\"\n\n\u2003\"Straw for your gentleness!\" said our Host.\n\n\u2003\"What, Franklin! By God, sir, well you know\n\n\u2003That each of you must tell at least\n\n\u2003A tale or two, or break his promise.\"\n\n\u2003\"That know I well, sir,\" said the Franklin;\n\n\u2003\"I pray you, hold me not in disdain\n\n\u2003Though to this man I speak a word or two.\"\n\n\u2003\"Tell your tale without words more.\"\n\n\u2003\"Gladly, sir Host,\" said he, \"I will obey\n\n\u2003Unto your will; now listen to what I say.\n\n\u2003I will not oppose you in any way\n\n\u2003As far as my wits will suffice.\n\n\u2003I prey to god that it may plesen yow,\n\n\u2003Than woot I wel that it is good y-now.\"\n\n\u2003The Prologue\n\n\u2003Thise olde gentil Britons in hir dayes\n\n\u2003Of diverse aventures maden layes,\n\n\u2003Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge;\n\n\u2003Which layes with hir instruments they songe,\n\n\u2003Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce;\n\n\u2003And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,\n\n\u2003Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can.\n\n\u2003But sires, by-cause I am a burel man,\n\n\u2003At my biginning first I yow biseche\n\n\u2003Have me excused of my rude speche;\n\n\u2003I lerned never rethoryk certeyn;\n\n\u2003Thing that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn.\n\n\u2003I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso,\n\n\u2003Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero,\n\n\u2003Colours ne knowe I none, with-outen drede,\n\n\u2003But swiche colours as growen in the mede,\n\n\u2003Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte.\n\n\u2003Colours of rethoryk ben me to queynte;\n\n\u2003My spirit feleth noght of swich matere.\n\n\u2003But if yow list, my tale shul ye here.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In Armorik, that called is Britayne,\n\n\u2003Ther was a knight that loved and dide his payne\n\n\u2003To serve a lady in his beste wyse;\n\n\u2003And many a labour, many a greet empryse\n\n\u2003He for his lady wroghte, er she were wonne.\n\n\u2003For she was oon, the faireste under sonne,\n\n\u2003And eek therto come of so heigh kinrede,\n\n\u2003That wel unnethes dorste this knight, for drede,\n\n\u2003Telle hir his wo, his peyne, and his distresse.\n\n\u2003But atte laste, she, for his worthinesse,\n\n\u2003And namely for his meke obeysaunce,\n\n\u2003Hath swich a pitee caught of his penaunce,\n\n\u2003That prively she fil of his accord\n\n\u2003I pray to God that it may please you:\n\n\u2003Then would I know that it is good enough.\"\n\n\u2003The Prologue\n\n\u2003Those old gentle Bretons in their days\n\n\u2003Of diverse adventures made lays,\n\n\u2003Rhymed in their old Breton tongue;\n\n\u2003Which verses with their instruments they sung,\n\n\u2003Or else read them for their pleasure;\n\n\u2003And one of them have I in remembrance,\n\n\u2003Which I shall say with as good will as I can.\n\n\u2003But, sirs, because I am an untutored man,\n\n\u2003At my beginning first I you beseech\n\n\u2003Excuse me for my rough speech.\n\n\u2003I learned never rhetoric, certainly:\n\n\u2003Things that I speak must be bare and plain.\n\n\u2003I slept never on the Mount of Parnassus,\n\n\u2003Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.\n\n\u2003Rhetorical flourishes know I none\u2014no fear of that,\n\n\u2003But only such flowers as grow in the meadow,\n\n\u2003Or else such as men dye or paint.\n\n\u2003Colors of rhetoric be to me too rarified:\n\n\u2003My spirit has no feeling for such matter.\n\n\u2003But if you wish, my tale shall you hear.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In Armorica, that is called Brittany,\n\n\u2003There was a knight who loved and took pains\n\n\u2003To serve a lady as best he knew;\n\n\u2003And many a labor, and many a great exploit\n\n\u2003He for his lady performed, before she was won.\n\n\u2003For she was one of the fairest under the sun,\n\n\u2003And also came of such high lineage,\n\n\u2003That scarcely dared this knight, for fear,\n\n\u2003To tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress.\n\n\u2003But at last she, for his worthiness,\n\n\u2003And especially for his meek obedience,\n\n\u2003Had such pity felt for his suffering\n\n\u2003That secretly she consented\n\n\u2003To take him for hir housbonde and hir lord,\n\n\u2003Of swich lordshipe as men han over hir wyves;\n\n\u2003And for to lede the more in blisse hir lyves,\n\n\u2003Of his free wil be swoor hir as a knight,\n\n\u2003That never in al his lyf he, day ne night,\n\n\u2003Ne sholde up-on him take no maistrye\n\n\u2003Agayn hir wil, ne kythe hir jalousye,\n\n\u2003But hir obeye, and folwe hir wil in al\n\n\u2003As any lovere to his lady shal;\n\n\u2003Save that the name of soveraynetee,\n\n\u2003That wolde he have for shame of his degree.\n\n\u2003She thanked him, and with ful greet humblesse\n\n\u2003She seyde, \"sire, sith of your gentillesse\n\n\u2003Ye profre me to have so large a reyne,\n\n\u2003Ne wolde never god bitwixe us tweyne,\n\n\u2003As in my gilt, were outher werre or stryf.\n\n\u2003Sir, I wol be your humble trewe wyf,\n\n\u2003Have heer my trouthe, til that myn herte breste.\"\n\n\u2003Thus been they bothe in quiete and in reste.\n\n\u2003For o thing, sires, saufly dar I seye,\n\n\u2003That frendes everich other moot obeye,\n\n\u2003If they wol longe holden companye.\n\n\u2003Love wol nat been constreyned by maistrye;\n\n\u2003Whan maistrie comth, the god of love anon\n\n\u2003Beteth hise winges, and farewel! he is gon!\n\n\u2003Love is a thing as any spirit free;\n\n\u2003Wommen of kinde desiren libertee,\n\n\u2003And nat to ben constreyned as a thral;\n\n\u2003And so don men, if I soth seyen shal.\n\n\u2003Loke who that is most pacient in love,\n\n\u2003He is at his avantage al above.\n\n\u2003Pacience is an heigh vertu certeyn;\n\n\u2003For it venquisseth, as thise clerkes seyn,\n\n\u2003Thinges that rigour sholde never atteyne.\n\n\u2003For every word men may nat chyde or pleyne.\n\n\u2003Lerneth to suffre, or elles, so moot I goon,\n\n\u2003Ye shul it lerne, wher-so ye wole or noon.\n\n\u2003For in this world, certein, ther no wight is,\n\n\u2003That he ne dooth or seith som-tyme amis.\n\n\u2003To take him for her husband and her lord,\n\n\u2003Of such lordship as men have over their wives.\n\n\u2003And for to lead the more in bliss their lives,\n\n\u2003Of his free will he swore to her as a knight\n\n\u2003That never in all his life he, day or night,\n\n\u2003Would upon himself take any domination\n\n\u2003Against her will, nor display to her jealousy,\n\n\u2003But obey her and follow her will in all\n\n\u2003As any lover to his lady must\u2014\n\n\u2003Save in the appearance of sovereignty,\n\n\u2003That he would retain, lest it reflect on his rank.\n\n\u2003She thanked him, and with full great humbleness\n\n\u2003She said, \"Sir, since of your gentleness\n\n\u2003You offer me to have so free a reign,\n\n\u2003God forbid there should be between us,\n\n\u2003Through fault of mine, any war or strife.\n\n\u2003Sir, I will be your humble true wife:\n\n\u2003Have here my loyal pledge until my heart bursts.\"\n\n\u2003Thus were they both in quiet and at rest.\n\n\u2003For one thing, sirs, safely I dare say,\n\n\u2003That friends each other must obey,\n\n\u2003If they will long hold company.\n\n\u2003Love will not be constrained by mastery.\n\n\u2003When mastery comes, the God of Love at once\n\n\u2003Beats his wings, and farewell, he is gone!\n\n\u2003Love is a thing like any spirit free.\n\n\u2003Women by nature desire liberty,\n\n\u2003And not to be constrained as a slave;\n\n\u2003And so do men, if the truth I shall say.\n\n\u2003Consider the man who is most patient in love:\n\n\u2003He has the advantage above all others.\n\n\u2003Patience is a high virtue, certainly,\n\n\u2003For it vanquishes, as these scholars say,\n\n\u2003Things that harshness will never attain.\n\n\u2003About every word men may not chide or complain:\n\n\u2003Learn to suffer, or else, as I may live,\n\n\u2003You shall it learn, whether you wish to or not.\n\n\u2003For in this world, certainly, there no person is\n\n\u2003Who never says or does something amiss.\n\n\u2003Ire, siknesse, or constellacioun,\n\n\u2003Wyn, wo, or chaunginge of complexioun\n\n\u2003Causeth ful ofte to doon amis or speken.\n\n\u2003On every wrong a man may nat be wreken;\n\n\u2003After the tyme, moste be temperaunce\n\n\u2003To every wight that can on governaunce.\n\n\u2003And therfore hath this wyse worthy knight,\n\n\u2003To live in ese, suffrance hir bihight,\n\n\u2003And she to him ful wisly gan to swere\n\n\u2003That never sholde ther be defaute in here.\n\n\u2003Heer may men seen an humble wys accord;\n\n\u2003Thus hath she take hir servant and hir lord,\n\n\u2003Servant in love, and lord in mariage;\n\n\u2003Than was he bothe in lordship and servage;\n\n\u2003Servage? nay, but in lordshipe above,\n\n\u2003Sith he hath bothe his lady and his love;\n\n\u2003His lady, certes, and his wyf also,\n\n\u2003The which that lawe of love acordeth to.\n\n\u2003And whan he was in this prosperitee,\n\n\u2003Hoom with his wyf he gooth to his contree,\n\n\u2003Nat fer fro Penmark, ther his dwelling was,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he liveth in blisse and in solas.\n\n\u2003Who coude telle, but he had wedded be,\n\n\u2003The joye, the ese, and the prosperitee\n\n\u2003That is bitwixe an housbonde and his wyf?\n\n\u2003A yeer and more lasted this blisful lyf,\n\n\u2003Til that the knight of which I speke of thus,\n\n\u2003That of Kayrrud was cleped Arveragus,\n\n\u2003Shoop him to goon, and dwelle a yeer or tweyne\n\n\u2003In Engelond, that cleped was eek Briteyne,\n\n\u2003To seke in armes worship and honour;\n\n\u2003For al his lust he sette in swich labour;\n\n\u2003And dwelled ther two yeer, the book seith thus.\n\n\u2003Now wol I stinte of this Arveragus,\n\n\u2003And speken I wole of Dorigene his wyf,\n\n\u2003That loveth hir housbonde as hir hertes lyf.\n\n\u2003For his absence wepeth she and syketh,\n\n\u2003As doon thise noble wyves whan hem lyketh,\n\n\u2003She moorneth, waketh, wayleth, fasteth, pleyneth;\n\n\u2003Anger, illness, or his stars,\n\n\u2003Wine, woe, or temperament\n\n\u2003Cause us full often to do or speak amiss.\n\n\u2003For every wrong a man may not be avenged:\n\n\u2003Suited for the circumstances must be moderation\n\n\u2003As every man who self-governance understands.\n\n\u2003And therefore did this wise, worthy knight,\n\n\u2003To live in ease, promise her his forebearance,\n\n\u2003And she to him full truly did swear\n\n\u2003That it never should be lacking in her.\n\n\u2003Here men may see a humble, wise accord:\n\n\u2003Thus did she take her servant and her lord,\n\n\u2003Servant in love, and lord in marriage;\n\n\u2003Then he was both in lordship and servitude.\n\n\u2003Servitude? Nay, but in lordship above,\n\n\u2003Since he had both his lady and his love;\n\n\u2003His lady, certainly, and his wife also,\n\n\u2003To which that law of love accords.\n\n\u2003And when he was in this prosperity,\n\n\u2003Home with his wife he went to his country,\n\n\u2003Not far from Penmarch, where his dwelling was,\n\n\u2003Where he lived in bliss and joy.\n\n\u2003Who could tell, unless he wedded be,\n\n\u2003The joy, the ease, the prosperity\n\n\u2003That is between a husband and his wife?\n\n\u2003A year and more lasted this blissful life,\n\n\u2003Until the knight of whom I speak of thus,\n\n\u2003Who from Kerru was called Averagus,\n\n\u2003Prepared himself to go and dwell a year or two\n\n\u2003In England, that was also called Britain,\n\n\u2003To seek in arms worship and honor\u2014\n\n\u2003For all his pleasure he took in such labor\u2014\n\n\u2003And dwelled there two years, the book said thus.\n\n\u2003Now will I cease concerning this Averagus,\n\n\u2003And speak I will of Dorigen his wife,\n\n\u2003Who loved her husband as her heart's life.\n\n\u2003For his absence wept she and sighed,\n\n\u2003As do these noble wives when them it pleases.\n\n\u2003She mourned, kept vigil, wailed, fasted, lamented;\n\n\u2003Desyr of his presence hir so distreyneth,\n\n\u2003That al this wyde world she sette at noght.\n\n\u2003His frendes, whiche that knewe hir hevy thoght,\n\n\u2003Conforten hir in al that ever they may;\n\n\u2003They prechen hir, they telle hir night and day,\n\n\u2003That causelees she sleeth hir-self, alias!\n\n\u2003And every confort possible in this cas\n\n\u2003They doon to hir with al hir bisinesse,\n\n\u2003Al for to make hir leve hir hevinesse.\n\n\u2003By proces, as ye knowen everichoon,\n\n\u2003Men may so longe graven in a stoon,\n\n\u2003Til som figure ther-inne emprented be.\n\n\u2003So longe han they conforted hir, til she\n\n\u2003Receyved hath, by hope and by resoun,\n\n\u2003Th'emprenting of hir consolacioun,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which hir grete sorwe gan aswage;\n\n\u2003She may nat alwey duren in swich rage.\n\n\u2003And eek Arveragus, in al this care,\n\n\u2003Hath sent hir lettres hoom of his welfare,\n\n\u2003And that he wol come hastily agayn;\n\n\u2003Or elles hadde this sorwe hir herte slayn.\n\n\u2003Hir freendes sawe hir sorwe gan to slake,\n\n\u2003And preyde hir on knees, for goddes sake,\n\n\u2003To come and romen hir in companye,\n\n\u2003Awey to dryve hir derke fantasye.\n\n\u2003And finally, she graunted that requeste;\n\n\u2003For wel she saugh that it was for the beste.\n\n\u2003Now stood hir castel faste by the see,\n\n\u2003And often with hir freendes walketh she\n\n\u2003Hir to disporte up-on the bank an heigh,\n\n\u2003Wher-as she many a ship and barge seigh\n\n\u2003Seilinge hir cours, wher-as hem liste go;\n\n\u2003But than was that a parcel of hir wo.\n\n\u2003For to hir-self ful ofte \"allas!\" seith she,\n\n\u2003\"Is ther no ship, of so manye as I see,\n\n\u2003Wol bringen hom my lord? than were myn herte\n\n\u2003Al warisshed of his bittre peynes smerte.\"\n\n\u2003Another tyme ther wolde she sitte and thinke,\n\n\u2003And caste hir eyen dounward fro the brinke.\n\n\u2003Desire of his presence so her distressed\n\n\u2003That all this wide world she held to be nought.\n\n\u2003Her friends, those who knew her heavy thought,\n\n\u2003Comforted her in all that ever they might:\n\n\u2003They preached to her, they told her day and night,\n\n\u2003That causelessly she was killing herself, alas!\n\n\u2003And every comfort possible in this case\n\n\u2003They did to her with all their diligence,\n\n\u2003All for to make her leave her heaviness.\n\n\u2003Over the course of time, as you all know,\n\n\u2003Men may so long engrave a stone\n\n\u2003Until some figure therein imprinted be.\n\n\u2003So long did they comfort her until she\n\n\u2003Received had, by hope and by reason,\n\n\u2003The imprint of their consolation,\n\n\u2003Through which her great sorrow was assuaged:\n\n\u2003She might not always continue in such passion.\n\n\u2003And also Averagus, in all this care,\n\n\u2003Had sent her letters home of his welfare,\n\n\u2003And that he would come hastily again;\n\n\u2003Or else had this sorrow her heart slain.\n\n\u2003Her friends saw her sorrow began to abate,\n\n\u2003And prayed to her on their knees, for God's sake,\n\n\u2003To come and walk in their company,\n\n\u2003To drive away her dark imaginings.\n\n\u2003And finally, she granted that request,\n\n\u2003For well she saw that it was for the best.\n\n\u2003Now her castle stood close by the sea,\n\n\u2003And often with her friends walked she,\n\n\u2003Herself to amuse upon the bank on high,\n\n\u2003Where she many a ship and barge saw\n\n\u2003Sailing their courses, where they wished to go.\n\n\u2003But then was that a portion of her woe,\n\n\u2003For to herself full oft \"Alas!\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"Is there no ship, of so many as I see,\n\n\u2003Will bring home my lord? Then were my heart\n\n\u2003All cured of its bitter pains sharp.\"\n\n\u2003Another time she would sit there and think,\n\n\u2003And cast her eyes downward from the brink.\n\n\u2003But whan she saugh the grisly rokkes blake,\n\n\u2003For verray fere so wolde hir herte quake,\n\n\u2003That on hir feet she mighte hir noght sustene.\n\n\u2003Than wolde she sitte adoun upon the grene,\n\n\u2003And pitously in-to the see biholde,\n\n\u2003And seyn right thus, with sorweful sykes colde:\n\n\u2003\"Eterne god, that thurgh thy purveyaunce\n\n\u2003Ledest the world by certein governaunce,\n\n\u2003In ydel, as men seyn, ye no-thing make;\n\n\u2003But, lord, thise grisly feendly rokkes blake,\n\n\u2003That semen rather a foul confusioun\n\n\u2003Of werk than any fair creacioun\n\n\u2003Of swich a parfit wys god and a stable,\n\n\u2003Why han ye wroght this werk unresonable?\n\n\u2003For by this werk, south, north, ne west, ne eest,\n\n\u2003Ther nis y-fostred man, ne brid, ne beest;\n\n\u2003It dooth no good, to my wit, but anoyeth.\n\n\u2003See ye nat, lord, how mankinde it destroyeth?\n\n\u2003An hundred thousand bodies of mankinde\n\n\u2003Han rokkes slayn, al be they nat in minde,\n\n\u2003Which mankinde is so fair part of thy werk\n\n\u2003That thou it madest lyk to thyn owene merk.\n\n\u2003Than seemed it ye hadde a greet chiertee\n\n\u2003Toward mankinde; but how than may it be\n\n\u2003That ye swiche menes make it to destroyen,\n\n\u2003Whiche menes do no good, but ever anoyen?\n\n\u2003I woot wel clerkes wol seyn, as hem leste,\n\n\u2003By arguments, that al is for the beste,\n\n\u2003Though I ne can the causes nat y-knowe.\n\n\u2003But thilke god, that made wind to blowe,\n\n\u2003As kepe my lord! this my conclusioun;\n\n\u2003To clerkes lete I al disputisoun.\n\n\u2003But wolde god that alle thise rokkes blake\n\n\u2003Were sonken in-to helle for his sake!\n\n\u2003Thise rokkes sleen myn herte for the fere.\"\n\n\u2003Thus wolde she seyn, with many a pitous tere.\n\n\u2003Hir freendes sawe that it was no disport\n\n\u2003To romen by the see, but disconfort;\n\n\u2003And shopen for to pleyen somwher elles.\n\n\u2003But when she saw the grisly rocks black,\n\n\u2003For real fear so would her heart quake\n\n\u2003That to stand on her feet she could not sustain.\n\n\u2003Then would she sit down upon the green,\n\n\u2003And piteously into the sea behold,\n\n\u2003And say right thus, with sorrowful sighs cold:\n\n\u2003\"Eternal God, who through your providence\n\n\u2003Guides the world by certain governance,\n\n\u2003In vain, as men say, you nothing make.\n\n\u2003But Lord, these grisly, fiendish rocks black,\n\n\u2003That appear to be rather a foul confusion\n\n\u2003Of work, than any fair creation\n\n\u2003Of such a perfect, wise and steadfast God,\n\n\u2003Why have you wrought this work confounding reason?\n\n\u2003For by this work, neither south, north, west, nor east,\n\n\u2003There is served any man, nor bird, nor beast.\n\n\u2003It does no good, that I can see, but only injury.\n\n\u2003See you not, Lord, how mankind it destroys?\n\n\u2003A hundred thousand bodies of mankind\n\n\u2003Have rocks slain, albeit unnamed:\n\n\u2003Which mankind is so fair a part of your work\n\n\u2003That you made it like to your own image.\n\n\u2003Then seemed it you had great affection\n\n\u2003Toward men; but how then may it be\n\n\u2003That you make such means that could destroy it,\n\n\u2003Such means that do no good, but ever injure?\n\n\u2003I know well scholars will say as they please,\n\n\u2003By arguments, that all is for the best,\n\n\u2003Though I cannot their logic follow.\n\n\u2003But that same God that made wind to blow,\n\n\u2003May He protect my lord! This is my conclusion.\n\n\u2003To scholars leave I all disputation,\n\n\u2003But would God that all these black rocks\n\n\u2003Were sunk into hell for his sake!\n\n\u2003These rocks slay my heart with fear.\"\n\n\u2003This would she say, with many a piteous tear.\n\n\u2003Her friends saw that for her it was no pleasure\n\n\u2003To roam by the sea, but discomfort,\n\n\u2003And arranged to play somewhere else.\n\n\u2003They leden hir by riveres and by welles,\n\n\u2003And eek in othere places delitables;\n\n\u2003They dauncen, and they pleyen at ches and tables.\n\n\u2003So on a day, right in the morwe-tyde,\n\n\u2003Un-to a gardin that was ther bisyde,\n\n\u2003In which that they had maad hir ordinaunce\n\n\u2003Of vitaille and of other purveyaunce,\n\n\u2003They goon and pleye hem al the longe day.\n\n\u2003And this was on the sixte morwe of May,\n\n\u2003Which May had peynted with his softe shoures\n\n\u2003This gardin ful of leves and of floures;\n\n\u2003And craft of mannes hand so curiously\n\n\u2003Arrayed hadde this gardin, trewely,\n\n\u2003That never was ther gardin of swich prys,\n\n\u2003But-if it were the verray paradys.\n\n\u2003Th' odour of floures and the fresshe sighte\n\n\u2003Wolde han maad any herte for to lighte\n\n\u2003That ever was born, but-if to gret siknesse,\n\n\u2003Or to gret sorwe helde it in distresse;\n\n\u2003So ful it was of beautee with plesaunce.\n\n\u2003At-after diner gonne they to daunce,\n\n\u2003And singe also, save Dorigen allone,\n\n\u2003Which made alwey hir compleint and hir mone;\n\n\u2003For she ne saugh him on the daunce go,\n\n\u2003That was hir housbonde and hir love also.\n\n\u2003But nathelees she moste a tyme abyde,\n\n\u2003And with good hope lete hir sorwe slyde.\n\n\u2003Up-on this daunce, amonges othere men,\n\n\u2003Daunced a squyer biforen Dorigen,\n\n\u2003That fressher was and jolyer of array,\n\n\u2003As to my doom, than is the monthe of May.\n\n\u2003He singeth, daunceth, passinge any man\n\n\u2003That is, or was, sith that the world bigan.\n\n\u2003Ther-with he was, if men sholde him discryve,\n\n\u2003Oon of the beste faringe man on-lyve;\n\n\u2003Yong, strong, right vertuous, and riche and wys,\n\n\u2003And wel biloved, and holden in gret prys.\n\n\u2003And shortly, if the sothe I tellen shal,\n\n\u2003Unwiting of this Dorigen at al,\n\n\u2003They led her by rivers and by springs,\n\n\u2003And also in other places delightful;\n\n\u2003They danced, and they played at chess and backgammon.\n\n\u2003So on a day, right in the morning,\n\n\u2003Unto a garden that was there beside,\n\n\u2003In which they had made their arrangements\n\n\u2003For food and other supplies,\n\n\u2003They went and played all the long day.\n\n\u2003And this was on the sixth morning of May,\n\n\u2003Which May had painted with his soft showers\n\n\u2003This garden full of leaves and flowers;\n\n\u2003And craft of man's hand had so skillfully\n\n\u2003Adorned this garden truly,\n\n\u2003That never was there a garden so priceless,\n\n\u2003Unless it was itself the true Paradise.\n\n\u2003The odor of flowers and the fresh sight\n\n\u2003Would have made any heart light\n\n\u2003That ever was born, unless too great sickness\n\n\u2003Or too great sorrow held it in distress,\n\n\u2003So full it was of beauty with delight.\n\n\u2003In afternoon they began to dance,\n\n\u2003And sing also, save Dorigen alone,\n\n\u2003Who made always her complaint and her moan,\n\n\u2003For she saw him not on the dance go,\n\n\u2003Who was her husband and her love also.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless she must a time abide,\n\n\u2003And with good hope let her sorrow slide.\n\n\u2003In this dance, among other men,\n\n\u2003Danced a squire before Dorigen,\n\n\u2003Who fresher was and jollier of dress,\n\n\u2003In my judgement, than is the month of May.\n\n\u2003He sang, he danced, surpassing any man\n\n\u2003That is, or was, since that the world began.\n\n\u2003He was, if men should him describe,\n\n\u2003One of the handsomest men alive:\n\n\u2003Young, strong, right virtuous, and rich and wise,\n\n\u2003And well beloved, and held in great esteem.\n\n\u2003And shortly, if the truth I shall tell,\n\n\u2003Unknown to this Dorigen at all,\n\n\u2003This lusty squyer, servant to Venus,\n\n\u2003Which that y-cleped was Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Had loved hir best of any creature\n\n\u2003Two yeer and more, as was his aventure,\n\n\u2003But never dorste he telle hir his grevaunce;\n\n\u2003With-outen coppe he drank al his penaunce.\n\n\u2003He was despeyred, no-thing dorste he seye,\n\n\u2003Save in his songes somwhat wolde he wreye\n\n\u2003His wo, as in a general compleyning;\n\n\u2003He seyde he lovede, and was biloved no-thing.\n\n\u2003Of swiche matere made he manye layes,\n\n\u2003Songes, compleintes, roundels, virelayes,\n\n\u2003How that he dorste nat his sorwe telle,\n\n\u2003But languissheth, as a furie dooth in helle;\n\n\u2003And dye he moste, he seyde, as dide Ekko\n\n\u2003For Narcisus, that dorste nat telle hir wo.\n\n\u2003In other manere than ye here me seye,\n\n\u2003Ne dorste he nat to hir his wo biwreye;\n\n\u2003Save that, paraventure, som-tyme at daunces,\n\n\u2003Ther yonge folk kepen hir observaunces,\n\n\u2003It may wel be he loked on hir face\n\n\u2003In swich a wyse, as man that asketh grace;\n\n\u2003But no-thing wiste she of his entente.\n\n\u2003Nathelees, it happed, er they thennes wente,\n\n\u2003By-cause that he was hir neighebour,\n\n\u2003And was a man of worship and honour,\n\n\u2003And hadde y-knowen him of tyme yore,\n\n\u2003They fille in speche; and forth more and more\n\n\u2003Un-to his purpos drough Aurelius,\n\n\u2003And whan he saugh his tyme, he seyde thus:\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"by god that this world made,\n\n\u2003So that I wiste it mighte your herte glade,\n\n\u2003I wolde, that day that your Arveragus\n\n\u2003Wente over the see, that I, Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Had went ther never I sholde have come agayn;\n\n\u2003For wel I woot my service is in vayn.\n\n\u2003My guerdon is but bresting of myn herte;\n\n\u2003Madame, reweth upon my peynes smerte;\n\n\u2003For with a word ye may me sleen or save,\n\n\u2003This joyful squire, servant to Venus,\n\n\u2003Who was called Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Had loved her best of any creature\n\n\u2003Two years or more, as was his lot,\n\n\u2003But never dared he tell her his sorrow:\n\n\u2003Drinking his penance straight from the bottle.\n\n\u2003He was in despair; nothing dared he say,\n\n\u2003Save in his songs somewhat would he reveal\n\n\u2003His woe, as in a general lamentation;\n\n\u2003He said he loved, and was beloved not at all.\n\n\u2003Of such matter made he many ballads,\n\n\u2003Songs, complaints, roundels, lays,\n\n\u2003How that he dared not his sorrow tell,\n\n\u2003But languished as a fury does in hell;\n\n\u2003And die he must, he said, as did Echo\n\n\u2003For Narcissus, who dared not tell her woe.\n\n\u2003In other manner than you hear me say,\n\n\u2003He dared not to her his woe betray,\n\n\u2003Save that, perchance, sometimes at dances,\n\n\u2003Where young folk may speak in glances,\n\n\u2003It may well be he looked on her face\n\n\u2003In such a way as a man who asks for grace,\n\n\u2003But nothing knew she of his intention.\n\n\u2003Nevertheless, it happened, before they departed,\n\n\u2003Because that he was her neighbor,\n\n\u2003And was a man of worship and honor,\n\n\u2003And she had known him for a long time,\n\n\u2003They fell into conversation; and forth more and more\n\n\u2003Unto his purpose drew Aurelius,\n\n\u2003And when he saw his time, he said thus:\n\n\u2003\"Madam,\" said he, \"by God that this world made,\n\n\u2003If only I knew that it might your heart gladden,\n\n\u2003I would that when your Averagus\n\n\u2003Went over the sea, that I, Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Had gone there and never again returned.\n\n\u2003For well I know my service is in vain:\n\n\u2003My reward is but a breaking of my heart.\n\n\u2003Madame, take pity on my pains sharp,\n\n\u2003For with a word you may me slay or save.\n\n\u2003Heer at your feet god wolde that I were grave!\n\n\u2003I ne have as now no leyser more to seye;\n\n\u2003Have mercy, swete, or ye wol do me deye!\"\n\n\u2003She gan to loke up-on Aurelius:\n\n\u2003\"Is this your wil,\" quod she, \"and sey ye thus?\n\n\u2003Never erst,\" quod she, \"ne wiste I what ye mente\n\n\u2003But now, Aurelie, I knowe your entente,\n\n\u2003By thilke god that yaf me soule and lyf,\n\n\u2003Ne shal I never been untrewe wyf\n\n\u2003In word ne werk, as fer as I have wit:\n\n\u2003I wol ben his to whom that I am knit;\n\n\u2003Tak this for fynal answer as of me.\"\n\n\u2003But after that in pley thus seyde she:\n\n\u2003\"Aurelie,\" quod she, \"by heighte god above,\n\n\u2003Yet wolde I graunte yow to been your love,\n\n\u2003Sin I yow see so pitously complayne;\n\n\u2003Loke what day that, endelong Britayne,\n\n\u2003Ye remoeve alle the rokkes, stoon by stoon,\n\n\u2003That they ne lette ship ne boot to goon\u2014\n\n\u2003I seye, whan ye han maad the coost so clene\n\n\u2003Of rokkes, that ther nis no stoon y-sene,\n\n\u2003Than wol I love yow best of any man;\n\n\u2003Have heer my trouthe in al that ever I can.\"\n\n\u2003\"Is ther non other grace in yow?\" quod he.\n\n\u2003\"No, by that lord,\" quod she, \"that maked me!\n\n\u2003For wel I woot that it shal never bityde.\n\n\u2003Lat swiche folies out of your herte slyde.\n\n\u2003What deyntee sholde a man han in his lyf\n\n\u2003For to go love another mannes wyf,\n\n\u2003That hath hir body whan so that him lyketh?\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius ful ofte sore syketh;\n\n\u2003Wo was Aurelie, whan that he this herde,\n\n\u2003And with a sorweful herte he thus answerde:\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"this were an impossible!\n\n\u2003Than moot I dye of sodein deth horrible.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he turned him anoon.\n\n\u2003Tho com hir othere freendes many oon,\n\n\u2003And in the aleyes romeden up and doun,\n\n\u2003And no-thing wiste of this conclusioun,\n\n\u2003Here at your feet would that I were in my grave!\n\n\u2003I have no chance any more to say:\n\n\u2003Have mercy, sweet, or you will make me die!\"\n\n\u2003She stared upon Aurelius:\n\n\u2003\"Is this your will,\" said she, \"and say you thus?\n\n\u2003Never before,\" said she, \"Knew I what you meant.\n\n\u2003But now, Aurelius, I know your intent,\n\n\u2003By that same God who gave me soul and life,\n\n\u2003Never shall I be an untrue wife,\n\n\u2003In word or deed, as far as I have wit.\n\n\u2003I will be his to whom that I am knit:\n\n\u2003Take this for final answer as of me.\"\n\n\u2003But after that in play thus said she:\n\n\u2003\"Aurelius, by high god above,\n\n\u2003Yet would I grant you to be your love,\n\n\u2003Since I see you so piteously complain;\n\n\u2003On whatever day that, Brittany all along,\n\n\u2003You remove all the rocks, stone by stone,\n\n\u2003That they no ship prevent from going\u2014\n\n\u2003I say, when you have made the coast so clean\n\n\u2003Of rocks, that there is no stone seen\u2014\n\n\u2003Then will I love you best of any man;\n\n\u2003Have here my pledge, in all that ever I can.\"\n\n\u2003\"Is there no other mercy in you?\" said he.\n\n\u2003\"No, by that Lord,\" said she, \"who made me!\n\n\u2003For well I know that it shall happen never.\n\n\u2003Let such follies out of your heart slide.\n\n\u2003What delight should a man have in his life\n\n\u2003To go love another man's wife,\n\n\u2003Who has her body when he likes?\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius full sore painfully sighed;\n\n\u2003Woe was him, when he this heard,\n\n\u2003And with a sorrowful heart he thus answered:\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"this is an impossibility!\n\n\u2003Then must I die a horrible, sudden death.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he turned away anon.\n\n\u2003Then came to her other friends many a one,\n\n\u2003And in the garden paths roamed up and down,\n\n\u2003And none knew of this outcome;\n\n\u2003But sodeinly bigonne revel newe\n\n\u2003Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe;\n\n\u2003For th'orisonte hath reft the sonne his light;\n\n\u2003This is as muche to seye as it was night.\n\n\u2003And hoom they goon in joye and in solas,\n\n\u2003Save only wrecche Aurelius, alias!\n\n\u2003He to his hous is goon with sorweful herte;\n\n\u2003He seeth he may nat fro his deeth asterte.\n\n\u2003Him semed that he felte his herte colde;\n\n\u2003Up to the hevene his handes he gan holde,\n\n\u2003And on his knowes bare he sette him doun,\n\n\u2003And in his raving seyde his orisoun.\n\n\u2003For verray wo out of his wit he breyde.\n\n\u2003He niste what he spak, but thus he seyde;\n\n\u2003With pitous herte his pleynt hath he bigonne\n\n\u2003Un-to the goddes, and first un-to the sonne:\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"Appollo, god and governour\n\n\u2003Of every plaunte, herbe, tree and flour,\n\n\u2003That yevest, after thy declinacioun,\n\n\u2003To ech of hem his tyme and his sesoun,\n\n\u2003As thyn herberwe chaungeth lowe or hye,\n\n\u2003Lord Phebus, cast thy merciable ye\n\n\u2003On wrecche Aurelie, which that am but lorn.\n\n\u2003Lo, Lord! my lady hath my deeth y-sworn\n\n\u2003With-oute gilt, but thy benignitee\n\n\u2003Upon my dedly herte have som pitee!\n\n\u2003For wel I woot, lord Phebus, if yow lest,\n\n\u2003Ye may me helpen, save my lady, best.\n\n\u2003Now voucheth sauf that I may yow devyse\n\n\u2003How that I may been holpe and in what wyse.\n\n\u2003Your blisful suster, Lucina the shene,\n\n\u2003That of the see is chief goddesse and quene,\n\n\u2003Though Neptunus have deitee in the see,\n\n\u2003Yet emperesse aboven him is she:\n\n\u2003Ye knowen wel, lord, that right as hir desyr\n\n\u2003Is to be quiked and lightned of your fyr,\n\n\u2003For which she folweth yow ful bisily,\n\n\u2003Right so the see desyreth naturelly\n\n\u2003To folwen hir, as she that is goddesse\n\n\u2003But suddenly began revelry anew\n\n\u2003Until the bright sun lost his hue,\n\n\u2003For the horizon had taken from the sun his light\u2014\n\n\u2003This is as much to say as it was night\u2014\n\n\u2003And home they went in joy and solace,\n\n\u2003Save only wretched Aurelius, alas!\n\n\u2003He to his house is gone with sorrowful heart.\n\n\u2003He sees he may not from his death escape:\n\n\u2003He thought he felt his heart grow cold.\n\n\u2003Up to the heavens his hands he held,\n\n\u2003And on his knees bare he set him down,\n\n\u2003And in his raving said his prayer,\n\n\u2003For sheer grief out of his mind gone.\n\n\u2003He knew not what he spoke, but this he said;\n\n\u2003With piteous heart his complaint did he begin\n\n\u2003Unto the gods, and first unto the sun:\n\n\u2003He said, \"Apollo, god and governor\n\n\u2003Of every plant, herb, tree and flower,\n\n\u2003Who gives, according to your distance from the equator,\n\n\u2003To each of them his time and season,\n\n\u2003As your lodging changes low or high,\n\n\u2003Lord Phoebus, cast your merciful eye\n\n\u2003On wretched Aurelius, who is lost.\n\n\u2003Look, lord! My lady has my death sworn\n\n\u2003Without guilt, unless your kindness\n\n\u2003Upon my dying heart has some pity!\n\n\u2003For well I know, lord Phoebus, if you it pleases,\n\n\u2003You may help me, except for my lady, best.\n\n\u2003Now vouchsafe that I may you describe\n\n\u2003How I may be helped and in what way.\n\n\u2003Your blissful sister, Lucina the bright,\n\n\u2003Who of the sea is chief goddess and queen\u2014\n\n\u2003Though Neptune has deity in the sea,\n\n\u2003Yet empress above him is she\u2014\n\n\u2003You know well, lord, that right as her desire\n\n\u2003Is to be quickened and lighted by your fire,\n\n\u2003For which she follows you full busily,\n\n\u2003Just so the sea desires naturally\n\n\u2003To follow her, as she who is goddess\n\n\u2003Bothe in the see and riveres more and lesse.\n\n\u2003Wherfore, lord Phebus, this is my requeste\u2014\n\n\u2003Do this miracle, or do myn herte breste\u2014\n\n\u2003That now, next at this opposicioun,\n\n\u2003Which in the signe shal be of the Leoun,\n\n\u2003As preyeth hir so greet a flood to bringe,\n\n\u2003That fyve fadme at the leeste it overspringe\n\n\u2003The hyeste rokke in Armorik Briteyne;\n\n\u2003And lat this flood endure yeres tweyne;\n\n\u2003Than certes to my lady may I seye:\n\n\u2003'Holdeth your heste, the rokkes been aweye.'\n\n\u2003Lord Phebus, dooth this miracle for me;\n\n\u2003Preye hir she go no faster cours than ye;\n\n\u2003I seye, preyeth your suster that she go\n\n\u2003No faster cours than ye thise yeres two.\n\n\u2003Than shal she been evene atte fulle alway,\n\n\u2003And spring-flood laste bothe night and day.\n\n\u2003And, but she vouche-sauf in swiche manere\n\n\u2003To graunte me my sovereyn lady dere,\n\n\u2003Prey hir to sinken every rok adoun\n\n\u2003In-to hir owene derke regioun\n\n\u2003Under the ground, ther Pluto dwelleth inne,\n\n\u2003Or never-mo shal I my lady winne.\n\n\u2003Thy temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seke;\n\n\u2003Lord Phebus, see the teres on my cheke,\n\n\u2003And of my peyne have som compassioun.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word in swowne he fil adoun,\n\n\u2003And longe tyme he lay forth in a traunce.\n\n\u2003His brother, which that knew of his penaunce,\n\n\u2003Up caughte him and to bedde he hath him broght.\n\n\u2003Dispeyred in this torment and this thoght\n\n\u2003Lete I this woful creature lye;\n\n\u2003Chese he, for me, whether he wol live or dye.\n\n\u2003Arveragus, with hele and greet honour,\n\n\u2003As he that was of chivalrye the flour,\n\n\u2003Is comen hoom, and othere worthy men.\n\n\u2003O blisful artow now, thou Dorigen,\n\n\u2003That hast thy lusty housbonde in thyne armes,\n\n\u2003The fresshe knight, the worthy man of armes,\n\n\u2003Both of the sea and rivers more and less.\n\n\u2003Wherefore, lord Phoebus, this is my request:\n\n\u2003Do this miracle\u2014or make my heart burst\u2014\n\n\u2003That at the next opposition of moon and sun,\n\n\u2003Which in the sign shall be of the Lion,\n\n\u2003Pray her so great a flood to bring\n\n\u2003That by five fathoms at least it covers\n\n\u2003The highest rock in Brittany;\n\n\u2003And let this flood endure years two.\n\n\u2003Then certainly to my lady may I say:\n\n\u2003'Keep your promise, the rocks be away.'\n\n\u2003Lord Phoebus, do this miracle for me!\n\n\u2003Pray her that she go no faster course than you;\n\n\u2003I say, pray your sister that she go\n\n\u2003No faster course than you these years two.\n\n\u2003Then shall she be at full always,\n\n\u2003And spring-flood last both night and day.\n\n\u2003And unless she agrees in such manner\n\n\u2003To grant me my sovereign lady dear,\n\n\u2003Pray her to sink every rock down\n\n\u2003Into her own dark region\n\n\u2003Under the ground, where Pluto dwells in,\n\n\u2003Or never more shall I my lady win.\n\n\u2003The temple in Delphi will I barefoot seek.\n\n\u2003Lord Phoebus, see the tears on my cheek,\n\n\u2003And of my pain have some compassion.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word in swoon he fell down,\n\n\u2003And long time he lay thereafter in a trance.\n\n\u2003His brother, who knew of his suffering,\n\n\u2003Picked him up and to bed he brought him.\n\n\u2003Despairing in this torment and this thought\n\n\u2003Let I\u2014the storyteller\u2014let this woeful creature lie:\n\n\u2003Let Aurelius choose\u2014for all I care\u2014if he lives or dies.\n\n\u2003Averagus, with health and great honor,\n\n\u2003As that he was of chivalry the flower,\n\n\u2003Came home, and other worthy men.\n\n\u2003Oh blissful are you now, Dorigen,\n\n\u2003Who have your lusty husband in your arms,\n\n\u2003The lively knight, the worthy man of arms,\n\n\u2003That loveth thee, as his owene hertes lyf.\n\n\u2003No-thing list him to been imaginatyf\n\n\u2003If any wight had spoke, whyl he was oute,\n\n\u2003To hire of love; he hadde of it no doute.\n\n\u2003He noght entendeth to no swich matere,\n\n\u2003But daunceth, justeth, maketh hir good chere;\n\n\u2003And thus in joye and blisse I lete hem dwelle,\n\n\u2003And of the syke Aurelius wol I telle.\n\n\u2003In langour and in torment furious\n\n\u2003Two yeer and more lay wrecche Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Er any foot he mighte on erthe goon;\n\n\u2003Ne confort in this tyme hadde he noon,\n\n\u2003Save of his brother, which that was a clerk;\n\n\u2003He knew of al this wo and al this werk.\n\n\u2003For to non other creature certeyn\n\n\u2003Of this matere he dorste no word seyn.\n\n\u2003Under his brest he bar it more secree\n\n\u2003Than ever dide Pamphilus for Galathee.\n\n\u2003His brest was hool, with-oute for to sene,\n\n\u2003But in his herte ay was the arwe kene.\n\n\u2003And wel ye knowe that of a sursanure\n\n\u2003In surgerye is perilous the cure,\n\n\u2003But men mighte touche the arwe, or come therby\n\n\u2003His brother weep and wayled prively,\n\n\u2003Til atte laste him fil in remembraunce,\n\n\u2003That whyl he was at Orliens in Fraunce,\n\n\u2003As yonge clerkes, that been likerous\n\n\u2003To reden artes that been curious,\n\n\u2003Seken in every halke and every herne\n\n\u2003Particuler sciences for to lerne,\n\n\u2003He him remembered that, upon a day,\n\n\u2003At Orliens in studie a book he say\n\n\u2003Of magik naturel, which his felawe,\n\n\u2003That was that tyme bacheler of lawe,\n\n\u2003Al were he ther to lerne another craft,\n\n\u2003Had prively upon his desk y-laft;\n\n\u2003Which book spak muche of the operaciouns,\n\n\u2003Touchinge the eighte and twenty mansiouns\n\n\u2003That longen to the mone, and swich folye,\n\n\u2003Who loves you as his own heart's life.\n\n\u2003He had not the slightest imagining\n\n\u2003That any person had spoken, while he was away,\n\n\u2003To her of love; he had no fear of it.\n\n\u2003He paid no attention to such a thing,\n\n\u2003But danced, jousted, made her good cheer;\n\n\u2003And thus in joy and bliss I let him dwell,\n\n\u2003And of the sick Aurelius will I tell.\n\n\u2003In sickness and in torment furious\n\n\u2003Two years or more lay wretched Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Before he could walk any step on earth.\n\n\u2003No comfort in this time had he,\n\n\u2003Save of his brother, who was a scholar:\n\n\u2003He knew of all this woe and this affair,\n\n\u2003For to no other creature, certainly,\n\n\u2003Of this matter dare he a word say.\n\n\u2003Within his breast he bore it more secretly\n\n\u2003Than ever did Pamphilus for Galatea.\n\n\u2003His breast was whole from without seen,\n\n\u2003But in his heart ever was the arrow keen;\n\n\u2003And well you know that to cure an infection deep\n\n\u2003By surgery is perilous,\n\n\u2003In case men might touch the arrow, or come near it.\n\n\u2003His brother wept and wailed secretly,\n\n\u2003Until at last he recalled,\n\n\u2003That while he was. at Orleans in France,\n\n\u2003Because young scholars desiring\n\n\u2003To read arts that be recondite\n\n\u2003Seek in every corner and nook\n\n\u2003Abstruse sciences for to learn\u2014\n\n\u2003He remembered that, upon a day,\n\n\u2003At Orleans in study a book he saw\n\n\u2003Of magic astronomical, that his colleague,\n\n\u2003Who was at that time a bachelor of law\u2014\n\n\u2003Although he was there to learn another craft\u2014\n\n\u2003Had secretly left it upon his desk:\n\n\u2003Which book spoke much of the operations\n\n\u2003Touching the eight and twenty mansions\n\n\u2003That belong to the moon\u2014and such folly\n\n\u2003As in our dayes is nat worth a flye;\n\n\u2003For holy chirches feith in our bileve\n\n\u2003Ne suffreth noon illusion us to greve.\n\n\u2003And whan this book was in his remembraunce,\n\n\u2003Anon for joye his herte gan to daunce,\n\n\u2003And to him-self he seyde prively:\n\n\u2003\"My brother shal be warisshed hastily;\n\n\u2003For I am siker that ther be sciences,\n\n\u2003By whiche men make diverse apparences\n\n\u2003Swiche as thise subtile tregetoures pleye.\n\n\u2003For ofte at festes have I wel herd seye,\n\n\u2003That tregetours, with-inne an halle large,\n\n\u2003Have maad come in a water and a barge,\n\n\u2003And in the halle rowen up and doun.\n\n\u2003Somtyme hath semed come a grim leoun;\n\n\u2003And somtyme floures springe as in a mede;\n\n\u2003Somtyme a vyne, and grapes whyte and rede;\n\n\u2003Somtyme a castel, al of lym and stoon;\n\n\u2003And whan hem lyked, voyded it anoon.\n\n\u2003Thus semed it to every mannes sighte.\n\n\u2003Now than conclude I thus, that if I mighte\n\n\u2003At Orliens som old felawe y-finde,\n\n\u2003That hadde this mones mansions in minde,\n\n\u2003Or other magik naturel above,\n\n\u2003He sholde wel make my brother han his love.\n\n\u2003For with an apparence a clerk may make\n\n\u2003To mannes sighte, that alle the rokkes blake\n\n\u2003Of Britaigne weren y-voyded everichon,\n\n\u2003And shippes by the brinke comen and gon,\n\n\u2003And in swich forme endure a day or two;\n\n\u2003Than were my brother warisshed of his wo.\n\n\u2003Than moste she nedes holden hir biheste,\n\n\u2003Or elles he shal shame hir atte leste.\"\n\n\u2003What sholde I make a lenger tale of this?\n\n\u2003Un-to his brotheres bed he comen is,\n\n\u2003And swich confort he yaf him for to gon\n\n\u2003To Orliens, that he up stirte anon,\n\n\u2003And on his wey forthward thanne is he fare,\n\n\u2003In hope for to ben lissed of his care.\n\n\u2003As in our days is not worth a fly;\n\n\u2003For our faith in holy church's belief\n\n\u2003Permits no such illusions to make us grieve.\n\n\u2003And when this book was in his remembrance,\n\n\u2003Anon for joy his heart began to dance,\n\n\u2003And to himself he said secretly:\n\n\u2003\"My brother shall be cured hastily;\n\n\u2003For I am sure that there be sciences\n\n\u2003By which men make diverse illusions\n\n\u2003Such as are made by these subtle magicians.\n\n\u2003For often at feasts have I well heard said\n\n\u2003That magicians within a hall large\n\n\u2003Have conjured up water and a barge,\n\n\u2003And in the hall rowed up and down;\n\n\u2003Sometimes a grim lion has appeared;\n\n\u2003And sometimes flowers spring as in a meadow;\n\n\u2003Sometimes a vine, and grapes white and red;\n\n\u2003Sometimes a castle, all of lime and stone\u2014\n\n\u2003And when they liked, vanished it anon.\n\n\u2003Thus it seemed to every man's sight.\n\n\u2003Now then conclude I thus, that if I might\n\n\u2003At Orleans some old companion find\n\n\u2003Who had this moon's mansions in mind,\n\n\u2003Or other magic even higher,\n\n\u2003Should well make my brother have his love.\n\n\u2003For with an illusion a scholar may make\n\n\u2003It appear that all the black rocks\n\n\u2003Of Brittany were removed every one,\n\n\u2003And ships by the coast come and go,\n\n\u2003And in such form endure a week or two.\n\n\u2003Then were my brother cured of his woe;\n\n\u2003Then she needs must keep her promise,\n\n\u2003Or else he shall blame her at the least.\"\n\n\u2003Why should I make a longer tale of this?\n\n\u2003Unto his brother's bed he went,\n\n\u2003And comforted with advice to go\n\n\u2003To Orleans, that he leapt up anon,\n\n\u2003And set off to travel there,\n\n\u2003In hope for to be eased of his care.\n\n\u2003Whan they were come almost to that citee,\n\n\u2003But-if it were a two furlong or three,\n\n\u2003A yong clerk rominge by him-self they mette,\n\n\u2003Which that in Latin thriftily hem grette,\n\n\u2003And after that he seyde a wonder thing:\n\n\u2003\"I knowe,\" quod he, \"the cause of your coming\";\n\n\u2003And er they ferther any fote wente,\n\n\u2003He told hem al that was in hir entente.\n\n\u2003This Briton clerk him asked of felawes\n\n\u2003The whiche that he had knowe in olde dawes;\n\n\u2003And he answerde him that they dede were,\n\n\u2003For which he weep ful ofte many a tere.\n\n\u2003Doun of his hors Aurelius lighte anon,\n\n\u2003And forth with this magicien is he gon\n\n\u2003Hoom to his hous, and made hem wel at ese.\n\n\u2003Hem lakked no vitaille that mighte hem plese;\n\n\u2003So wel arrayed hous as ther was oon\n\n\u2003Aurelius in his lyf saugh never noon.\n\n\u2003He shewed him, er he wente to sopeer,\n\n\u2003Forestes, parkes ful of wilde deer;\n\n\u2003Ther saugh he hertes with hir hornes hye,\n\n\u2003The gretteste that ever were seyn with ye.\n\n\u2003He saugh of hem an hondred slayn with houndes,\n\n\u2003And somme with arwes blede of bittre woundes.\n\n\u2003He saugh, whan voided were thise wilde deer\n\n\u2003Thise fauconers upon a fair river,\n\n\u2003That with hir haukes han the heron slayn.\n\n\u2003Tho saugh he knightes justing in a playn;\n\n\u2003And after this, he dide him swich plesaunce,\n\n\u2003That he him shewed his lady on a daunce\n\n\u2003On which him-self he daunced, as him thoughte.\n\n\u2003And whan this maister, that this magik wroughte,\n\n\u2003Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two,\n\n\u2003And farewel! al our revel was ago.\n\n\u2003And yet remoeved they never out of the hous,\n\n\u2003Whyl they saugh al this sighte merveillous,\n\n\u2003But in his studie, ther-as his bookes be,\n\n\u2003They seten stille, and no wight but they three\n\n\u2003To him this maister called his squyer,\n\n\u2003When they were come almost to that city,\n\n\u2003All but a furlong or two or three,\n\n\u2003A young scholar roaming by himself they met,\n\n\u2003Who suitably greeted them in Latin,\n\n\u2003And after that he said a wondrous thing:\n\n\u2003\"I know,\" said he, \"the cause of your coming.\"\n\n\u2003And before they a step further went,\n\n\u2003He told them all that was in their intent.\n\n\u2003This Breton scholar asked him about colleagues\n\n\u2003Whom he had known in the old days;\n\n\u2003And he answered him that they dead were,\n\n\u2003For which he wept full often many a tear.\n\n\u2003Down from his horse Aurelius alighted anon,\n\n\u2003And forth with this magician he did go\n\n\u2003Home to his house, and made themselves at ease.\n\n\u2003They lacked no food that might them please;\n\n\u2003So well furnished a house was it that\n\n\u2003Aurelius had never seen one better.\n\n\u2003He showed him, before he went to supper,\n\n\u2003Forests, parks full of wild deer:\n\n\u2003There saw he harts with their horns high,\n\n\u2003The greatest that ever were seen with eyes;\n\n\u2003He saw of them a hundred slain with hounds,\n\n\u2003And some of arrows bled from bitter wounds.\n\n\u2003He saw, when departed were these wild deer,\n\n\u2003These falconers upon a river fair,\n\n\u2003Who with their hawks had the heron slain.\n\n\u2003Then saw he knights jousting on a plain;\n\n\u2003And after this he did him such pleasure\n\n\u2003That he showed him his lady in a dance\n\n\u2003In which he himself danced, or so it seemed.\n\n\u2003And when this master who this magic wrought\n\n\u2003Saw it was time, he clapped his hands two,\n\n\u2003And farewell! all our revel was gone.\n\n\u2003And yet moved they never out of the house\n\n\u2003While they saw all this sight marvelous,\n\n\u2003But in his study, there where his books were,\n\n\u2003They sat still, and no person but they three.\n\n\u2003This master called his squire,\n\n\u2003And seyde him thus: \"is redy our soper?\n\n\u2003Almost an houre it is, I undertake,\n\n\u2003Sith I yow bad our soper for to make,\n\n\u2003Whan that thise worthy men wenten with me\n\n\u2003In-to my studie, ther-as my bookes be.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" quod this squyer, \"whan it lyketh yow,\n\n\u2003It is al redy, though ye wol right now.\"\n\n\u2003\"Go we than soupe,\" quod he, \"as for the beste;\n\n\u2003This amorous folk som-tyme mote han reste.\"\n\n\u2003At-after soper fille they in tretee,\n\n\u2003What somme sholde this maistres guerdon be,\n\n\u2003To remoeven alle the rokkes of Britayne,\n\n\u2003And eek from Gerounde to the mouth of Sayne.\n\n\u2003He made it straunge, and swoor, so god him save,\n\n\u2003Lasse than a thousand pound he wolde nat have,\n\n\u2003Ne gladly for that somme he wolde nat goon.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, with blisful herte anoon,\n\n\u2003Answerde thus, \"fy on a thousand pound!\n\n\u2003This wyde world, which that men seye is round,\n\n\u2003I wolde it yeve, if I were lord of it.\n\n\u2003This bargayn is ful drive, for we ben knit.\n\n\u2003Ye shal be payed trewely, by my trouthe!\n\n\u2003But loketh now, for no necligence or slouthe,\n\n\u2003Ye tarie us heer no lenger than to-morwe.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod this clerk, \"have heer my feith to borwe.\"\n\n\u2003To bedde is goon Aurelius whan him leste,\n\n\u2003And wel ny al that night he hadde his reste;\n\n\u2003What for his labour and his hope of blisse,\n\n\u2003His woful herte of penaunce hadde a lisse.\n\n\u2003Upon the morwe, whan that it was day,\n\n\u2003To Britaigne toke they the righte way,\n\n\u2003Aurelius, and this magicien bisyde,\n\n\u2003And been descended ther they wolde abyde;\n\n\u2003And this was, as the bokes me remembre,\n\n\u2003The colde frosty seson of Decembre.\n\n\u2003Phebus wax old, and hewed lyk latoun,\n\n\u2003That in his hote declinacioun\n\n\u2003Shoon as the burned gold with stremes brighte;\n\n\u2003But now in Capricorn adoun he lighte,\n\n\u2003And said this, \"Is ready our supper?\n\n\u2003Almost an hour it is, I declare,\n\n\u2003Since I bade you our supper for to make,\n\n\u2003When these worthy men went with me\n\n\u2003Into my study, there as my books be.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said this squire, \"when it pleases you,\n\n\u2003It is all ready, should you want it right now.\"\n\n\u2003\"Go we for supper,\" said he, \"as for the best:\n\n\u2003These amorous folk must sometimes have rest.\"\n\n\u2003At after-supper fell they into negotiations\n\n\u2003What sum should the master's reward be,\n\n\u2003To remove all the rocks of Brittany,\n\n\u2003And also from the Gironde to the mouth of the Seine.\n\n\u2003He made it difficult, and swore, so God him save,\n\n\u2003Less than a thousand pounds he would not have,\n\n\u2003And not gladly for that sum would he go.\n\n\u2003Aurelius with blissful heart anon\n\n\u2003Answered thus, \"Fie on a thousand pounds!\n\n\u2003This wide world, which that men say is round,\n\n\u2003I would give, if I were lord of it.\n\n\u2003This bargain is concluded, for we be agreed.\n\n\u2003You shall be paid truly, by my troth!\n\n\u2003But look now, for no negligence or sloth,\n\n\u2003Should you delay us here, no longer than tomorrow.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the scholar, \"have here my faith as pledge.\"\n\n\u2003To bed went Aurelius when he wished,\n\n\u2003And well nigh all that night he had his rest:\n\n\u2003What with his labor and his hope of bliss,\n\n\u2003His woeful heart from suffering had relief.\n\n\u2003Upon the morrow, when it was day,\n\n\u2003To Brittany took they the right way,\n\n\u2003Aurelius and this magician beside,\n\n\u2003And dismounted there where they would stay;\n\n\u2003And this was, as these books remind me,\n\n\u2003The cold frosty season of December.\n\n\u2003Phoebus waxed old, and colored like brass,\n\n\u2003That in his hot declination\n\n\u2003Shone as burnished gold with beams bright;\n\n\u2003But now in Capricorn down he alighted,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he shoon ful pale, I dar wel seyn.\n\n\u2003The bittre frostes, with the sleet and reyn,\n\n\u2003Destroyed hath the grene in every yerd.\n\n\u2003Janus sit by the fyr, with double berd,\n\n\u2003And drinketh of his bugle-horn the wyn.\n\n\u2003Biforn him stant braun of the tusked swyn,\n\n\u2003And \"Nowel\" cryeth every lusty man.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, in al that ever he can,\n\n\u2003Doth to his maister chere and reverence,\n\n\u2003And preyeth him to doon his diligence\n\n\u2003To bringen him out of his peynes smerte,\n\n\u2003Or with a swerd that he wolde slitte his herte.\n\n\u2003This subtil clerk swich routhe had of this man,\n\n\u2003That night and day he spedde him that he can,\n\n\u2003To wayte a tyme of his conclusioun;\n\n\u2003This is to seye, to make illusioun,\n\n\u2003By swich an apparence or jogelrye,\n\n\u2003I ne can no termes of astrologye,\n\n\u2003That she and every wight sholde wene and seye,\n\n\u2003That of Britaigne the rokkes were aweye,\n\n\u2003Or elles they were sonken under grounde.\n\n\u2003So atte laste he hath his tyme y-founde\n\n\u2003To maken his japes and his wrecchednesse\n\n\u2003Of swich a supersticious cursednesse.\n\n\u2003His tables Toletanes forth he broght,\n\n\u2003Ful wel corrected, ne ther lakked noght,\n\n\u2003Neither his collect ne his expans yeres,\n\n\u2003Ne his rotes ne his othere geres,\n\n\u2003As been his centres and his arguments,\n\n\u2003And his proporcionels convenients\n\n\u2003For his equacions in every thing.\n\n\u2003And, by his eighte spere in his wirking,\n\n\u2003He knew ful wel how fer Alnath was shove\n\n\u2003Fro the heed of thilke fixe Aries above\n\n\u2003That in the ninthe speere considered is;\n\n\u2003Ful subtilly he calculed al this.\n\n\u2003Whan he had founde his firste mansioun,\n\n\u2003He knew the remenant by proporcioun;\n\n\u2003And knew the arysing of his mone weel,\n\n\u2003Where he shone pale, I dare well say.\n\n\u2003The bitter frosts, with the sleet and rain,\n\n\u2003Destroyed hath the green in every garden.\n\n\u2003Janus sat by the fire with double beard,\n\n\u2003And drank of his ox-horn goblet the wine;\n\n\u2003Before him stood meat of the tusked swine,\n\n\u2003And \"Noel\" cried every lusty man.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, in all that ever he could,\n\n\u2003Made to this master good cheer and reverence,\n\n\u2003And prayed him to do his diligence\n\n\u2003To bring him out of his pains sharp,\n\n\u2003Or with a sword would he slit his heart.\n\n\u2003This subtle scholar such compassion had for this man\n\n\u2003That night and day he worked as fast as he could,\n\n\u2003To watch for a time this matter to conclude;\n\n\u2003This is to say, to make illusion,\n\n\u2003By such an apparition of magic\u2014\n\n\u2003I do not know terms of astrology\u2014\n\n\u2003That she and every person should suppose and say\n\n\u2003That of Brittany the rocks were away,\n\n\u2003Or else they were sunken underground.\n\n\u2003So at last he has his time found\n\n\u2003To make his tricks and his wretched business\n\n\u2003From such a superstitious cursedness.\n\n\u2003His tables Toledan forth he brought,\n\n\u2003Full well corrected, there lacked nought,\n\n\u2003Neither his collect nor his expanse years,\n\n\u2003Nor his statistics nor his other gear,\n\n\u2003As were his centers and his arguments,\n\n\u2003And his proportionals convenient\n\n\u2003For his equations in every thing.\n\n\u2003And by his eighth sphere in his working\n\n\u2003He knew full well how far Alnath was advanced\n\n\u2003From that head of that same fixed Aries above\n\n\u2003That in the ninth sphere considered is:\n\n\u2003Full subtly he calculated all this.\n\n\u2003When he had found his first mansion,\n\n\u2003He knew the remainder by proportion,\n\n\u2003And he knew the rising of his moon well,\n\n\u2003And in whos face, and terme, and every-deel;\n\n\u2003And knew ful weel the mones mansioun\n\n\u2003Accordaunt to his operacioun,\n\n\u2003And knew also his othere observaunces\n\n\u2003For swiche illusiouns and swiche meschaunces\n\n\u2003As hethen folk used in thilke dayes;\n\n\u2003For which no lenger maked he delayes,\n\n\u2003But thurgh his magik, for a wyke or tweye,\n\n\u2003It semed that alle the rokkes were aweye.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, which that yet despeired is\n\n\u2003Wher he shal han his love or fare amis,\n\n\u2003Awaiteth night and day on this miracle;\n\n\u2003And whan he knew that ther was noon obstacle,\n\n\u2003That voided were thise rokkes everichon,\n\n\u2003Doun to his maistres feet he fil anon,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I woful wrecche, Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Thanke yow, lord, and lady myn Venus,\n\n\u2003That me han holpen fro my cares colde:\"\n\n\u2003And to the temple his wey forth hath he holde,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he knew he sholde his lady see.\n\n\u2003And whan he saught his tyme, anon-right he,\n\n\u2003With dredful herte and with ful humble chere,\n\n\u2003Salewed hath his sovereyn lady dere:\n\n\u2003\"My righte lady,\" quod this woful man,\n\n\u2003\"Whom I most drede and love as I best can,\n\n\u2003And lothest were of al this world displese,\n\n\u2003Nere it that I for yow have swich disese,\n\n\u2003That I moste dyen heer at your foot anon,\n\n\u2003Noght wolde I telle how me is wo bigon;\n\n\u2003But certes outher moste I dye or pleyne;\n\n\u2003Ye slee me giltelees for verray peyne.\n\n\u2003But of my deeth, thogh that ye have no routhe,\n\n\u2003Avyseth yow, er that ye breke your trouthe.\n\n\u2003Repenteth yow, for thilke god above,\n\n\u2003Er ye me sleen by-cause that I yow love.\n\n\u2003For, madame, wel ye woot what ye han hight;\n\n\u2003Nat that I chalange any thing of right\n\n\u2003Of yow my sovereyn lady, but your grace;\n\n\u2003But in a gardin yond, at swich a place,\n\n\u2003And in whose face, and the division, and everything;\n\n\u2003And he knew full well the moon's mansion,\n\n\u2003According to his operation,\n\n\u2003And he knew also his other ceremonies\n\n\u2003For such illusions and mischiefs,\n\n\u2003As heathen folk used in those days.\n\n\u2003For which no longer made he delays,\n\n\u2003But through his magic, for a week or two,\n\n\u2003It seemed that all the rocks were away.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, who yet despairing was\n\n\u2003Whether he shall have his love or fare amiss,\n\n\u2003Awaited night and day on this miracle;\n\n\u2003And when he knew that there was no obstacle\u2014\n\n\u2003That removed were these rocks every one\u2014\n\n\u2003Down to his master's feet he fell anon\n\n\u2003And said, \"I woeful wretch, Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Thank you, lord, and my lady Venus,\n\n\u2003Who have helped me from my cares cold.\"\n\n\u2003And to the temple forth his way did he hold,\n\n\u2003Where he knew he should his lady see.\n\n\u2003And when he saw his time, right away he,\n\n\u2003With fearful heart and with full humble manner,\n\n\u2003Greeted his sovereign lady dear:\n\n\u2003\"My right lady,\" said this woeful man,\n\n\u2003\"Whom I most fear and love as best I can,\n\n\u2003And most loathe of all this world to displease,\n\n\u2003Were it not for you that I have such misery\n\n\u2003That I must die here at your foot anon,\n\n\u2003I would not tell how woebegone I am.\n\n\u2003But certainly must I die or complain;\n\n\u2003You slay me, guiltless, with real pain.\n\n\u2003But of my death, though of that you have no pity,\n\n\u2003Take heed, before you break your pledge.\n\n\u2003Repent, for the sake of God above,\n\n\u2003Before you slay me because I love you.\n\n\u2003For, madame, well you know what you have promised\u2014\n\n\u2003Not that I claim anything by right\n\n\u2003Of you, my sovereign lady, but your grace\n\n\u2003But in a garden yonder, at such a place,\n\n\u2003Ye woot right wel what ye bihighten me;\n\n\u2003And in myn hand your trouthe plighten ye\n\n\u2003To love me best, god woot, ye seyde so,\n\n\u2003Al be that I unworthy be therto.\n\n\u2003Madame, I speke it for the honour of yow,\n\n\u2003More than to save myn hertes lyf right now;\n\n\u2003I have do so as ye comanded me;\n\n\u2003And if ye vouche-sauf, ye may go see.\n\n\u2003Doth as yow list, have your biheste in minde,\n\n\u2003For quik or deed, right ther ye shul me finde;\n\n\u2003In yow lyth al, to do me lyve or deye;\u2014\n\n\u2003But wel I woot the rokkes been aweye!\"\n\n\u2003He taketh his leve, and she astonied stood,\n\n\u2003In al hir face nas a drope of blood;\n\n\u2003She wende never han come in swich a trappe:\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod she, \"that ever this sholde happe\n\n\u2003For wende I never, by possibilitee,\n\n\u2003That swich a monstre or merveille mighte be!\n\n\u2003It is agayns the proces of nature:\"\n\n\u2003And hoom she goeth a sorweful creature.\n\n\u2003For verray fere unnethe may she go,\n\n\u2003She wepeth, wailleth, al a day or two,\n\n\u2003And swowneth, that it routhe was to see;\n\n\u2003But why it was, to no wight tolde she;\n\n\u2003For out of toune was goon Arveragus.\n\n\u2003But to hir-self she spak, and seyde thus,\n\n\u2003With face pale and with ful sorweful chere,\n\n\u2003In hir compleynt, as ye shul after here:\n\n\u2003\"Allas,\" quod she, \"on thee, Fortune,\n\n\u2003I pleyne,\n\n\u2003That unwar wrapped hast me in thy cheyne;\n\n\u2003For which, t'escape, woot I no socour\n\n\u2003Save only deeth or elles dishonour;\n\n\u2003Oon of thise two bihoveth me to chese.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, yet have I lever lese\n\n\u2003My lyf than of my body have a shame,\n\n\u2003Or knowe my-selven fals, or lese my name,\n\n\u2003And with my deth I may be quit, y-wis.\n\n\u2003Hath ther nat many a noble wyf, er this,\n\n\u2003You know right well that you promised me;\n\n\u2003And in my hand your troth you pledged\n\n\u2003To love me best. God knows, you said so,\n\n\u2003Albeit that I unworthy be thereto.\n\n\u2003Madame, I speak it for the honor of you\n\n\u2003More than to save my heart's life right now.\n\n\u2003I have done as you commanded me;\n\n\u2003And if you are willing, you may go see.\n\n\u2003Do as you wish, have your promise in mind,\n\n\u2003For, quick or dead, you shall there me find.\n\n\u2003In you lies all to make me live or die:\n\n\u2003But well I know the rocks be away!\"\n\n\u2003He took his leave, and she astonished stood;\n\n\u2003In all her face was not a drop of blood.\n\n\u2003She thought never to have come in such a trap.\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said she, \"that this should ever happen!\n\n\u2003For thought I never, by possibility,\n\n\u2003That such a strange thing or marvel might be!\n\n\u2003It is against the course of nature.\"\n\n\u2003And home she went a sorrowful creature.\n\n\u2003For deep fear hardly could she walk.\n\n\u2003She wept, she wailed, a whole day or two,\n\n\u2003And swooned, that it pitiful was to see;\n\n\u2003But why it was, to no person told she,\n\n\u2003For out of town was gone Averagus.\n\n\u2003But to herself she spoke, and said thus,\n\n\u2003With pale face and with sorrowful mien,\n\n\u2003In her lament, and you shall after hear:\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said she, \"To you, Fortune, I make my\n\ncomplaint,\n\n\u2003Who unaware has wrapped me in your chain,\n\n\u2003From which to escape I know no succor\n\n\u2003Save only death or else dishonor;\n\n\u2003One of these two must I choose.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless would I rather lose\n\n\u2003My life, than of my body to have a shame,\n\n\u2003Or know myself false, or lose my good name;\n\n\u2003And with my death I may be quit, I know.\n\n\u2003Has there not many a noble wife before now,\n\n\u2003And many a mayde y-slayn hir-self, alias!\n\n\u2003Rather than with hir body doon trespas?\n\n\u2003Yis, certes, lo, thise stories beren witnesse;\n\n\u2003Whan thretty tyraunts, ful of cursednesse,\n\n\u2003Had slayn Phidoun in Athenes, atte feste,\n\n\u2003They comanded his doghtres for t'areste,\n\n\u2003And bringen hem biforn hem in despyt\n\n\u2003Al naked, to fulfille hir foul delyt,\n\n\u2003And in hir fadres blood they made hem daunce\n\n\u2003Upon the pavement, god yeve hem mischaunce!\n\n\u2003For which thise woful maydens, ful of drede,\n\n\u2003Rather than they wolde lese hir maydenhede,\n\n\u2003They prively ben stirt in-to a welle,\n\n\u2003And dreynte hem-selven, as the bokes telle.\n\n\u2003They of Messene lete enquere and seke\n\n\u2003Of Lacedomie fifty maydens eke,\n\n\u2003On whiche they wolden doon hir lecherye;\n\n\u2003But was ther noon of al that companye\n\n\u2003That she nas slayn, and with a good entente\n\n\u2003Chees rather for to dye than assente\n\n\u2003To been oppressed of hir maydenhede.\n\n\u2003Why sholde I thanne to dye been in drede?\n\n\u2003Lo, eek the tiraunt Aristoclides\n\n\u2003That loved a mayden, heet Stimphalides,\n\n\u2003Whan that hir fader slayn was on a night,\n\n\u2003Un-to Dianes temple goth she right,\n\n\u2003And hente the image in hir handes two,\n\n\u2003Fro which image wolde she never go.\n\n\u2003No wight ne mighte hir handes of it arace,\n\n\u2003Til she was slayn right in the selve place.\n\n\u2003Now sith that maydens hadden swich despyt\n\n\u2003To been defouled with mannes foul delyt,\n\n\u2003Wel oghte a wyf rather hir-selven slee\n\n\u2003Than be defouled, as it thinketh me.\n\n\u2003What shal I seyn of Hasdrubales wyf,\n\n\u2003That at Cartage birafte hir-self hir lyf?\n\n\u2003For whan she saugh that Romayns wan the toun,\n\n\u2003She took hir children alle, and skipte adoun\n\n\u2003In-to the fyr, and chees rather to dye\n\n\u2003And many a maid, slain herself, alas!\n\n\u2003Rather than with her body do trespass?\n\n\u2003Yes, certainly, these stories bear witness;\n\n\u2003When thirty tyrants, full of cursedness,\n\n\u2003Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast,\n\n\u2003They commanded his daughters for to be seized,\n\n\u2003And brought them before them to scorn\n\n\u2003All naked, to fulfill their foul delight,\n\n\u2003And in their father's blood they made them dance\n\n\u2003Upon the pavement, God give them mischance!\n\n\u2003For which these woeful maidens, full of dread,\n\n\u2003Rather than they would lose their maidenhood,\n\n\u2003They secretly leapt into a well,\n\n\u2003And drowned themselves, as the books tell.\n\n\u2003The men of Messena had inquiries made and sought\n\n\u2003From Sparta fifty maidens also,\n\n\u2003On whom they would perform their lechery;\n\n\u2003But there was none of all that company who\n\n\u2003Was not slain, and with good will\n\n\u2003Chose to die rather than assent\n\n\u2003To be ravished of her maidenhood.\n\n\u2003Why should I then to die be in dread?\n\n\u2003Look also at the tyrant Aristoclides\n\n\u2003Who loved a maiden, named Stimphalades,\n\n\u2003When that her father slain was on a night,\n\n\u2003Unto Diana's temple went she right,\n\n\u2003And clasped the holy image in her hands two,\n\n\u2003From which image would she never go.\n\n\u2003No person might her hands of it tear away,\n\n\u2003Until she was slain right in the place.\n\n\u2003Now since that maidens had such scorn\n\n\u2003To be defiled with man's foul delight,\n\n\u2003Well ought a wife rather herself slay\n\n\u2003Than be defiled, as it seems to me.\n\n\u2003What shall I say of Hasdrubal's wife,\n\n\u2003Who at Carthage took from herself her life?\n\n\u2003From when she saw that Romans won the town,\n\n\u2003She took her children all, and jumped down\n\n\u2003Into the fire, and chose rather to die\n\n\u2003Than any Romayn dide hir vileinye.\n\n\u2003Hath nat Lucresse y-slayn hir-self, alias !\n\n\u2003At Rome, whanne she oppressed was\n\n\u2003Of Tarquin, for hir thoughte it was a shame\n\n\u2003To liven whan she hadde lost hir name?\n\n\u2003The sevene maydens of Milesie also\n\n\u2003Han slayn hem-self, for verray drede and wo,\n\n\u2003Rather than folk of Gaule hem sholde oppresse.\n\n\u2003Mo than a thousand stories, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Coude I now telle as touchinge this matere.\n\n\u2003Whan Habradate was slayn, his wyf so dere\n\n\u2003Hirselves slow, and leet hir blood to glyde\n\n\u2003In Habradates woundes depe and wyde,\n\n\u2003And seyde, 'my body, at the leeste way,\n\n\u2003Ther shal no wight defoulen, if I may.'\n\n\u2003What sholde I mo ensamples heer-of sayn,\n\n\u2003Sith that so manye han hem-selven slayn\n\n\u2003Wel rather than they wolde defouled be?\n\n\u2003I wol conclude, that it is bet for me\n\n\u2003To sleen my-self, than been defouled thus.\n\n\u2003I wol be trewe un-to Arveragus,\n\n\u2003Or rather sleen my-self in som manere,\n\n\u2003As dide Demociones doghter dere,\n\n\u2003By-cause that she wolde nat defouled be.\n\n\u2003O-Cedasus! it is ful greet pitee,\n\n\u2003To reden how thy doghtren deyde, alias!\n\n\u2003That slowe hem-selven for swich maner cas.\n\n\u2003As greet a pitee was it, or wel more,\n\n\u2003The Theban mayden, that for Nichanore\n\n\u2003Hir-selven slow, right for swich maner wo.\n\n\u2003Another Theban mayden dide right so;\n\n\u2003For oon of Macedoine hadde hir oppressed,\n\n\u2003She with hir deeth hir maydenhede redressed.\n\n\u2003What shal I seye of Nicerates wyf,\n\n\u2003That for swich cas birafte hir-self hir lyf?\n\n\u2003How trewe eek was to Alcebiades\n\n\u2003His love, that rather for to dyen chees\n\n\u2003Than for to suffre his body unburied be!\n\n\u2003Lo which a wyf was Alcest\u00e8;\" quod she.\n\n\u2003Than any Roman should do her villainy.\n\n\u2003Did not Lucretia slay herself, alas!\n\n\u2003At Rome, when she violated was\n\n\u2003By Tarquin, for to her seemed it was a shame\n\n\u2003To live when she had lost her name?\n\n\u2003The seven maidens of Miletus also\n\n\u2003Slew themselves, for great dread and woe,\n\n\u2003Rather than folk of Gaul should them oppress.\n\n\u2003More than a thousand stories, as I guess,\n\n\u2003Could I now tell as touching this matter.\n\n\u2003When Abradates was slain, his wife so dear\n\n\u2003Herself slew, and let her blood glide\n\n\u2003In Abradates' wounds deep and wide,\n\n\u2003And said, 'My body, at least\n\n\u2003There shall no person defile, if I may it prevent.'\n\n\u2003Why should I more examples here recite,\n\n\u2003Since so many have themselves slain\n\n\u2003Rather than be defiled?\n\n\u2003I will conclude that it is better for me\n\n\u2003To slay myself than be defiled thus.\n\n\u2003I will be true unto Averagus,\n\n\u2003Or rather slay myself in some manner\u2014\n\n\u2003As did Demotion's daughter dear,\n\n\u2003By cause that she would not defiled be.\n\n\u2003Oh Scedasus! It is full great pity\n\n\u2003To read how your daughter died, alas!\n\n\u2003Who slew herself for such a kind of case.\n\n\u2003As great a pity was it, or well more,\n\n\u2003The Theban maiden who for Nicanor\n\n\u2003Herself slew for such kind of woe.\n\n\u2003Another Theban maiden did right so:\n\n\u2003Because one of Macedonia had her oppressed,\n\n\u2003She with her death her maidenhood redressed.\n\n\u2003What shall I say of Niceratus' wife\n\n\u2003Who for such case bereft herself her life?\n\n\u2003How true also was to Alcibiades\n\n\u2003His love, who chose to die rather\n\n\u2003Than for to suffer his body unburied be!\n\n\u2003Look, what a wife was Alcestis,\" said she.\n\n\"What seith Omer of gode Penalopee?\n\n\u2003Al Grece knoweth of hir chastitee.\n\n\u2003Pardee, of Laodomya is writen thus,\n\n\u2003That whan at Troye was slayn Protheselaus,\n\n\u2003No lenger wolde she live after his day.\n\n\u2003The same of noble Porcia telle I may;\n\n\u2003With-oute Brutus coude she nat live,\n\n\u2003To whom she hadde al hool hir herte yive.\n\n\u2003The parfit wyfhod of Arthemesye\n\n\u2003Honoured is thurgh al the Barbarye.\n\n\u2003O Teuta, queen! thy wyfly chastitee\n\n\u2003To alle wyves may a mirour be.\n\n\u2003The same thing I seye of Bilia,\n\n\u2003Of Rodogone, and eek Valeria.\"\n\n\u2003Thus pleyned Dorigene a day or tweye,\n\n\u2003Purposing ever that she wolde deye.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, upon the thridde night,\n\n\u2003Horn came Arveragus, this worthy knight,\n\n\u2003And asked hir, why that she weep so sore?\n\n\u2003And she gan wepen ever lenger the more.\n\n\u2003\"Alias!\" quod she, \"that ever was I born!\n\n\u2003Thus have I seyd,\" quod she, \"thus have I sworn'\u2014\n\n\u2003And told him al as ye han herd bifore;\n\n\u2003It nedeth nat reherce it yow na-more.\n\n\u2003This housbond with glad chere, in freendly wyse,\n\n\u2003Answerde and seyde as I shal yow devyse:\n\n\u2003\"Is ther oght elles, Dorigen, but this?\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, nay,\" quod she, \"god help me so, as wis;\n\n\u2003This is to muche, and it were goddes wille.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, wyf,\" quod he, \"lat slepen that is stille;\n\n\u2003It may be wel, paraventure, yet to-day.\n\n\u2003Ye shul your trouthe holden, by my fay!\n\n\u2003For god so wisly have mercy on me,\n\n\u2003I hadde wel lever y-stiked for to be,\n\n\u2003For verray love which that I to yow have,\n\n\u2003But-if ye sholde your trouthe kepe and save.\n\n\u2003Trouthe is the hyeste thing that man may kepe:\"\u2014\n\n\u2003But with that word he brast anon to wepe,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I yow forbede, up peyne of deeth,\n\n\"What said Homer of good Penelope?\n\n\u2003All Greece knew of her chastity.\n\n\u2003By God, of Laodamia is written thus,\n\n\u2003Who when at Troy was slain Protesilaus,\n\n\u2003No longer would she live after his day.\n\n\u2003The same of noble Portia tell I may:\n\n\u2003Without Brutus could she not live,\n\n\u2003To whom she had wholly her heart given.\n\n\u2003The perfect wifehood of Artemisia\n\n\u2003Honored is through all Barbary.\n\n\u2003Oh Teuta, queen! your wifely chastity\n\n\u2003To all wives may a mirror be.\n\n\u2003The same thing I say of Bilia,\n\n\u2003Of Rhodogune, and also Valeria.\"\n\n\u2003Thus lamented Dorigen a day or two,\n\n\u2003Intending ever that she would die.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, upon the third night,\n\n\u2003Home came Averagus, this worthy knight,\n\n\u2003And asked her why she wept so painfully;\n\n\u2003And she began weeping ever longer and more.\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said she, \"that ever I was born!\n\n\u2003Thus have I said,\" said she, \"thus have I sworn,\"\n\n\u2003And told him all as you have heard before;\n\n\u2003I need not repeat it anymore.\n\n\u2003Her husband, in a kind manner,\n\n\u2003Answered and said as I shall you relate:\n\n\u2003\"Is there nought else, Dorigen, but this?\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, nay,\" said she, \"God help me;\n\n\u2003This is too much, if it were God's will.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yea, wife,\" said he, \"let sleep what is still.\n\n\u2003It may well yet turn out all right today.\n\n\u2003You should your pledge keep, by my faith!\n\n\u2003For, God have mercy on me,\n\n\u2003I would rather be stabbed,\n\n\u2003For the true love I for you have,\n\n\u2003Than have you not keep your word.\n\n\u2003Fidelity is the highest thing that man may keep.\"\n\n\u2003But with that, he burst at once into tears,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I forbid you, upon pain of death,\n\n\u2003That never, whyl thee lasteth lyf ne breeth,\n\n\u2003To no wight tel thou of this aventure.\n\n\u2003As I may best, I wol my wo endure,\n\n\u2003Ne make no contenance of hevinesse,\n\n\u2003That folk of yow may demen harm or gesse.\"\n\n\u2003And forth he cleped a squyer and a mayde:\n\n\u2003\"Goth forth anon with Dorigen,\" he sayde,\n\n\u2003\"And bringeth hir to swich a place anon.\"\n\n\u2003They take hir leve, and on hir wey they gon;\n\n\u2003But they ne wiste why she thider wente.\n\n\u2003He nolde no wight tellen his entente.\n\n\u2003Paraventure an heep of yow, y-wis,\n\n\u2003Wol holden him a lewed man in this,\n\n\u2003That he wol putte his wyf in jupartye;\n\n\u2003Herkneth the tale, er ye up-on hir crye.\n\n\u2003She may have bettre fortune than yow semeth;\n\n\u2003And whan that ye han herd the tale, demeth.\n\n\u2003This squyer, which that highte Aurelius,\n\n\u2003On Dorigen that was so amorous,\n\n\u2003Of aventure happed hir to mete\n\n\u2003Amidde the toun, right in the quikkest strete,\n\n\u2003As she was boun to goon the wey forth-right\n\n\u2003Toward the gardin ther-as she had hight.\n\n\u2003And he was to the gardinward also;\n\n\u2003For wel he spyed, whan she wolde go\n\n\u2003Out of hir hous to any maner place.\n\n\u2003But thus they mette, of aventure or grace;\n\n\u2003And he saleweth hir with glad entente,\n\n\u2003And asked of hir whiderward she wente?\n\n\u2003And she answerde, half as she were mad,\n\n\u2003\"Un-to the gardin, as myn housbond bad,\n\n\u2003My trouthe for to holde, alias! alias!\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius gan wondren on this cas,\n\n\u2003And in his herte had greet compassioun\n\n\u2003Of hir and of hir lamentacioun,\n\n\u2003And of Arveragus, the worthy knight,\n\n\u2003That bad hir holden al that she had hight,\n\n\u2003So looth him was his wyf sholde breke hir trouthe;\n\n\u2003And in his herte he caughte of this greet routhe,\n\n\u2003Ever, while you draw breath,\n\n\u2003To tell anyone of this\u2014\n\n\u2003As I may best, I will my woe endure\u2014\n\n\u2003Nor look sad,\n\n\u2003So that folk suspect something is amiss.\"\n\n\u2003And forth he called a squire and a maid:\n\n\u2003\"Go forth anon with Dorigen,\" he said,\n\n\u2003\"And bring her to a certain place anon.\"\n\n\u2003They took their leave, and on their way they went,\n\n\u2003But they knew not why she thither went:\n\n\u2003He would no one tell of his intent.\n\n\u2003Perhaps many of you, certainly,\n\n\u2003Will hold him a foolish man in this,\n\n\u2003That he would put his wife in jeopardy.\n\n\u2003Listen to the tale entire, before you complain.\n\n\u2003She may have better fortune than you think,\n\n\u2003So when you have heard the tale, then decide.\n\n\u2003This squire, who was called Aurelius,\n\n\u2003Of Dorigen who was so amorous,\n\n\u2003By chance happened her to meet\n\n\u2003Amid the town, right in the busiest street,\n\n\u2003As she was on her way\n\n\u2003To the garden as she had promised;\n\n\u2003And he was headed to the garden also,\n\n\u2003For he watched closely when she would go\n\n\u2003Out of her house to any kind of place.\n\n\u2003But thus they met, by chance or fate;\n\n\u2003And he saluted her cheerfully,\n\n\u2003And asked her whither she went;\n\n\u2003And she answered, half as if she were mad,\n\n\u2003\"Unto the garden, as my husband bade,\n\n\u2003My pledge for to hold, alas! alas!\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius fell to wondering on this event,\n\n\u2003And in his heart had great compassion\n\n\u2003For her and for her lamentation,\n\n\u2003And for Averagus, the worthy knight,\n\n\u2003Who bade her hold to all she had said,\n\n\u2003So loath he was that his wife should break her pledge.\n\n\u2003And in his heart he took great pity on this,\n\n\u2003Consideringe the beste on every syde,\n\n\u2003That fro his lust yet were him lever abyde\n\n\u2003Than doon so heigh a cherlish wrecchednesse\n\n\u2003Agayns franchyse and alle gentillesse;\n\n\u2003For which in fewe wordes seyde he thus:\n\n\u2003\"Madame, seyth to your lord Arveragus,\n\n\u2003That sith I see his grete gentillesse\n\n\u2003To yow, and eek I see wel your distresse,\n\n\u2003That him were lever han shame (and that\n\nwere routhe)\n\n\u2003Than ye to me sholde breke thus your trouthe,\n\n\u2003I have wel lever ever to suffre wo\n\n\u2003Than I departe the love bitwix yow two.\n\n\u2003I yow relesse, madame, in-to your hond\n\n\u2003Quit every surement and every bond,\n\n\u2003That ye han maad to me as heer-biforn,\n\n\u2003Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born.\n\n\u2003My trouthe I plighte, I shal yow never repreve\n\n\u2003Of no biheste, and here I take my leve,\n\n\u2003As of the treweste and the beste wyf\n\n\u2003That ever yet I knew in al my lyf.\n\n\u2003But every wyf be-war of hir biheste,\n\n\u2003On Dorigene remembreth atte leste.\n\n\u2003Thus can a squyer doon a gentil dede,\n\n\u2003As well as can a knight, with-outen drede.\"\n\n\u2003She thonketh him up-on hir knees al bare,\n\n\u2003And hoom un-to hir housbond is she fare,\n\n\u2003And tolde him al as ye han herd me sayd;\n\n\u2003And be ye siker, he was so weel apayd,\n\n\u2003That it were impossible me to wryte;\n\n\u2003What sholde I lenger of this cas endyte?\n\n\u2003Arveragus and Dorigene his wyf\n\n\u2003In sovereyn blisse leden forth hir lyf.\n\n\u2003Never eft ne was ther angre hem bitwene;\n\n\u2003He cherisseth hir as though she were a quene;\n\n\u2003And she was to him trewe for evermore.\n\n\u2003Of thise two folk ye gete of me na-more.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, that his cost hath al forlorn,\n\n\u2003Curseth the tyme that ever he was born:\n\n\u2003Considering the best on every side,\n\n\u2003So that his desire he thought it better to deny\n\n\u2003Than do so great a churlish wretched thing\n\n\u2003Against generosity and all nobility;\n\n\u2003For which in few words said he thus:\n\n\u2003\"Madame, say to your lord Averagus,\n\n\u2003That since I see his great nobility\n\n\u2003To you, and also I see well your distress,\n\n\u2003That he would rather have shame (and that would be\n\na pity)\n\n\u2003Than you should break your pledge,\n\n\u2003I would rather ever suffer woe\n\n\u2003Than divide the love between you two.\n\n\u2003I release you, madame, into your own hands,\n\n\u2003Discharged of every oath and every bond\n\n\u2003That you had made to me before,\n\n\u2003Since that same time that you were born.\n\n\u2003My troth I pledge, I shall never you reprove\n\n\u2003Of any promise, and here I take my leave,\n\n\u2003Of the truest and best wife\n\n\u2003That ever yet I knew in all my life.\n\n\u2003But every wife be careful of her behest!\n\n\u2003Of Dorigen remember at the least.\n\n\u2003Thus can a squire do a gentle deed\n\n\u2003As well as can a knight, without a doubt.\"\n\n\u2003She thanked him upon her knees all bare,\n\n\u2003And home unto her husband she did fare,\n\n\u2003And told him all as you have heard me say;\n\n\u2003And you can be sure, he was so well pleased\n\n\u2003That it were impossible for me to write.\n\n\u2003What should I longer of this case relate?\n\n\u2003Averagus and Dorigen his wife\n\n\u2003In sovereign bliss led forth their lives.\n\n\u2003Never again was there anger them between:\n\n\u2003He cherished her as if she were a queen,\n\n\u2003And she was to him true for evermore.\n\n\u2003Of these two folk you hear from me no more.\n\n\u2003Aurelius, who his expense has all lost,\n\n\u2003Cursed the time that ever he was born:\n\n\u2003\"Allas,\" quod he, \"allas! that I bihighte\n\n\u2003Of pured gold a thousand pound of wighte\n\n\u2003Un-to this philosophre! how shal I do?\n\n\u2003I see na-more but that I am fordo.\n\n\u2003Myn heritage moot I nedes selle,\n\n\u2003And been a begger; heer may I nat dwelle,\n\n\u2003And shamen al my kinrede in this place,\n\n\u2003But I of him may gete bettre grace.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, I wol of him assaye,\n\n\u2003At certeyn dayes, yeer by yeer, to paye,\n\n\u2003And thanke him of his grete curteisye;\n\n\u2003My trouthe wol I kepe, I wol nat lye.\"\n\n\u2003With herte soor he gooth un-to his cofre,\n\n\u2003And broghte gold un-to this philosophre,\n\n\u2003The value of fyve hundred pound, I gesse,\n\n\u2003And him bisecheth, of his gentillesse,\n\n\u2003To graunte him dayes of the remenaunt,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"maister, I dar wel make avaunt,\n\n\u2003I failled never of my trouthe as yit;\n\n\u2003For sikerly my dette shal be quit\n\n\u2003Towardes yow, how-ever that I fare\n\n\u2003To goon a-begged in my kirtle bare.\n\n\u2003But wolde ye vouche-sauf, up-on seurtee,\n\n\u2003Two yeer or three for to respyten me,\n\n\u2003Than were I wel; for elles moot I selle\n\n\u2003Myn heritage; ther is na-more to telle.\"\n\n\u2003This philosophre sobrely answerde,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, whan he thise wordes herde:\n\n\u2003\"Have I nat holden covenant un-to thee?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes, certes, wel and trewely,\" quod he.\n\n\u2003\"Hastow nat had thy lady as thee lyketh?\"\n\n\u2003\"No, no,\" quod he, and sorwefully he syketh.\n\n\u2003\"What was the cause? tel me if thou can.\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius his tale anon bigan,\n\n\u2003And tolde him al, as ye han herd bifore;\n\n\u2003It nedeth nat to yow reherce it more.\n\n\u2003He seide, \"Arveragus, of gentillesse,\n\n\u2003Had lever dye in sorwe and in distresse\n\n\u2003Than that his wyf were of hir trouthe fals.\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" said he, \"alas! that I promised\n\n\u2003Of refined gold a thousand pounds by weight\n\n\u2003To this philosopher! How shall I do?\n\n\u2003I see no more but that I am ruined.\n\n\u2003My inheritance must I needs sell\n\n\u2003And be a beggar; here I may not dwell,\n\n\u2003And shame all my kin in this place,\n\n\u2003Unless I of him may have a period of grace.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, I will with him try to arrange\n\n\u2003At certain days, year by year, to pay,\n\n\u2003And thank him for his great courtesy;\n\n\u2003My pledge will I keep, I will not lie.\"\n\n\u2003With heart sore he went unto his coffer,\n\n\u2003And brought gold unto this philosopher\n\n\u2003The value of five hundred pounds, I guess,\n\n\u2003And him beseeched out of his gentleness\n\n\u2003To grant him time to pay the rest,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Master, I dare well make boast\n\n\u2003I failed never of my word as yet;\n\n\u2003For surely my debt shall be paid\n\n\u2003Toward you, even if I must\n\n\u2003Go a-begging in my shirt bare.\n\n\u2003If you will grant, upon surety,\n\n\u2003Two years or three of respite for me,\n\n\u2003Then I will be well; otherwise must I sell\n\n\u2003My heritage; there is no more to tell.\"\n\n\u2003This philosopher soberly answered,\n\n\u2003And said thus, when he these words heard:\n\n\u2003\"Have I not kept covenant with you?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes, certainly, well and truly,\" said he.\n\n\u2003\"Have you had your lady as you wished?\"\n\n\u2003\"No, no,\" said he, and sorrowfully he sighed.\n\n\u2003\"And what was the cause, tell me if you can.\"\n\n\u2003Aurelius his tale anon began,\n\n\u2003And told him all, as you have heard before:\n\n\u2003I need not recite it any more.\n\n\u2003He said, \"Averagus, of gentleness,\n\n\u2003Would rather have died in sorrow and in distress\n\n\u2003Than that his wife were of her pledge false.\"\n\n\u2003The sorwe of Dorigen he tolde him als,\n\n\u2003How looth hir was to been a wikked wyf,\n\n\u2003And that she lever had lost that day hir lyf,\n\n\u2003And that hir trouthe she swoor, thurgh innocence:\n\n\u2003She never erst herde speke of apparence;\n\n\u2003\"That made me han of hir so greet pitee.\n\n\u2003And right as frely as he sente hir me,\n\n\u2003As frely sente I hir to him ageyn.\n\n\u2003This al and som, ther is na-more to seyn.\"\n\n\u2003This philosophre answerde, \"leve brother,\n\n\u2003Everich of yow dide gentilly til other.\n\n\u2003Thou art a squyer, and he is a knight;\n\n\u2003But god forbede, for his blisful might,\n\n\u2003But-if a clerk coude doon a gentil dede\n\n\u2003As wel as any of yow, it is no drede!\n\n\u2003Sire, I relesse thee thy thousand pound,\n\n\u2003As thou right now were cropen out of the ground,\n\n\u2003Ne never er now ne haddest knowen me.\n\n\u2003For sire, I wol nat take a peny of thee\n\n\u2003For al my craft, ne noght for my travaille.\n\n\u2003Thou hast y-payed wel for my vitaille;\n\n\u2003It is y-nogh, and farewel, have good day:\"\n\n\u2003And took his hors, and forth he gooth his way.\n\n\u2003Lordinges, this question wolde I aske now,\n\n\u2003Which was the moste free, as thinketh yow?\n\n\u2003Now telleth me, er that ey ferther wende.\n\n\u2003I can na-more, my tale is at an ende.\n\n\u2003The sorrow of Dorigen he told him also,\n\n\u2003How loath she was to be a wicked wife,\n\n\u2003And that she would rather have lost that day her life,\n\n\u2003And that her promise she swore through innocence,\n\n\u2003She never before heard speak of illusions.\n\n\u2003\"That made me have of her so great pity;\n\n\u2003And just as generously as he sent her to me\n\n\u2003As freely I sent her to him again.\n\n\u2003This is the whole, there is no more to say.\"\n\n\u2003This philosopher answered, \"Dear brother,\n\n\u2003Each of you did gently toward the other.\n\n\u2003You are a squire, and he is a knight;\n\n\u2003But God forbid, for his blissful might,\n\n\u2003That a scholar could not do a gentle deed\n\n\u2003As well as any of you, without a doubt!\n\n\u2003Sir, I release you your thousand pounds,\n\n\u2003As if you right now had crept out of the ground,\n\n\u2003And never before had you known me.\n\n\u2003For sir, I will not take a penny from you\n\n\u2003For all my craft, nor anything for my labor.\n\n\u2003You have paid well for my victuals and play;\n\n\u2003It is enough. And farewell, have a good day\"\n\n\u2003And took his horse, and forth he went his way.\n\n\u2003Lordings, this question then would I ask now:\n\n\u2003Who was the most generous, as think you?\n\n\u2003Now tell me, before we further wend.\n\n\u2003I know no more: my tale is at an end."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Pardoners Tale",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003\"By corpus bones! But I have triacle,\n\n\u2003Or elles a draught of moyste and corny ale,\n\n\u2003Or but I here anon a mery tale,\n\n\u2003Myn herte is lost for pitee of this mayde.\n\n\u2003Thou bel amy, thou Pardoner,\" he seyde,\n\n\u2003\"Tel us som mirth or japes right anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"It shal be doon,\" quod he, \"by seint Ronyon!\n\n\u2003But first,\" quod he, \"heer at this ale-stake\n\n\u2003I wol both drinke, and eten of a cake.\"\n\n\u2003But right anon thise gentils gonne to crye,\n\n\u2003\"Nay! lat him telle us of no ribaudye;\n\n\u2003Tel us som moral thing, that we may lere\n\n\u2003Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here.\"\n\n\u2003\"I graunte, y-wis,\" quod he, \"but I mot thinke\n\n\u2003Up-on som honest thing, whyl that I drinke.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003\"Lordings\" quod he, \"In chirches whan I preche,\n\n\u2003I preyne me to han an hauteyn speche,\n\n\u2003And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,\n\n\u2003For I can al by rote that I telle.\n\n\u2003My theme is alwey oon, and ever was\u2014\n\n\u2003'Radix malorum est Cupiditas.'\n\n\u2003First I pronounce whennes that I come,\n\n\u2003And than my bulles shewe I, alle and somme.\n\n\u2003Our lige lordes seel on my patente,\n\n\u2003That shewe I first, my body to warente,\n\n\u2003That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk,\n\n\u2003Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk;\n\n\u2003And after that than telle I forth my tales,\n\n\u2003Bulles of popes and of cardinales,\n\n\u2003Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe;"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Pardoner's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003(... The Host speaking)\n\n\u2003\"By Corpus Bones! Unless I have medicine,\n\n\u2003Or else a draught of fresh and malty ale,\n\n\u2003Or unless I hear anon a merry tale,\n\n\u2003Mine heart is lost for pity of this maid.\n\n\u2003You sweet friend, you Pardoner,\" he said,\n\n\u2003\"Tell us some mirth or jokes right anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"It shall be done,\" said he, \"by Saint Runyan!\n\n\u2003But first,\" said he, \"here at this tavern\n\n\u2003I will both drink and eat cake.\"\n\n\u2003But right anon the gentle folk raised a cry,\n\n\u2003\"Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry;\n\n\u2003Tell us some moral thing, that we may learn\n\n\u2003Something improving, and then will we listen gladly.\"\n\n\u2003\"I grant, certainly,\" said he, \"but I must think\n\n\u2003Upon some proper thing while I drink.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003Greed is the root of all evil \u2014the Bible, Timothy\n\n\u2003\"Lordings,\" said he, \"in churches when I preach,\n\n\u2003I take pains to have an elevated speech,\n\n\u2003And ring it out as round as sounds a bell,\n\n\u2003For I know by rote all that I tell.\n\n\u2003My theme is always one, and ever was\u2014\n\n\u2003Radix malorum est Cupiditas.\n\n\u2003First I proclaim from where I come,\n\n\u2003And then my writs of indulgence show I, all and one.\n\n\u2003Our bishop's seal on my license,\n\n\u2003That show I first, my person to authorize,\n\n\u2003That no man be so bold, neither priest nor scholar,\n\n\u2003To disturb me while I do Christ's holy work;\n\n\u2003And after that then forth I tell my tales.\n\n\u2003Writs of indulgence from popes and cardinals,\n\n\u2003From patriarchs, and bishops I show,\n\n\u2003And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,\n\n\u2003To saffron with my predicacioun,\n\n\u2003And for to stire men to devocioun.\n\n\u2003Than shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,\n\n\u2003Y-crammed ful of cloutes and of bones;\n\n\u2003Reliks been they, as wenen they echoon.\n\n\u2003Than have I in latoun a sholder-boon\n\n\u2003Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.\n\n\u2003'Good men,' seye I, 'tak of my wordes kepe;\n\n\u2003If that this boon he wasshe in any welle,\n\n\u2003If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle\n\n\u2003That any worm hath ete, or worm y-stonge,\n\n\u2003Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge,\n\n\u2003And it is hool anon; and forthermore,\n\n\u2003Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore\n\n\u2003Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle\n\n\u2003Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I telle.\n\n\u2003If that the good-man that the bestes oweth,\n\n\u2003Wol every wike, er that the cok him croweth,\n\n\u2003Fastinge, drinken of this welle a draughte,\n\n\u2003As thilke holy Jewe our eldres taughte,\n\n\u2003His bestes and his stoor shal multiplye.\n\n\u2003And, sirs, also it heleth jalousye;\n\n\u2003For, though a man be falle in jalous rage,\n\n\u2003Let maken with this water his potage,\n\n\u2003And never shal be more his wyf mistriste,\n\n\u2003Though he the sooth of hir defaute wiste;\n\n\u2003Al had she taken preestes two or three.\n\n\u2003Heer is a miteyn eek, that ye may see.\n\n\u2003He that his hond wol putte in this miteyn,\n\n\u2003He shal have multiplying of his greyn,\n\n\u2003Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,\n\n\u2003So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.\n\n\u2003Good men and wommen, o thing warne I yow,\n\n\u2003If any wight be in this chirche now,\n\n\u2003That hath doon sinne horrible, that he\n\n\u2003Dar nat, for shame, of it y-shriven be,\n\n\u2003Or any womman, be she yong or old,\n\n\u2003That hath y-maad hir housbond cokewold,\n\n\u2003And in Latin I speak a words few,\n\n\u2003To spice my presentation,\n\n\u2003And to stir them to devotion.\n\n\u2003Then show I forth my crystal reliquaries,\n\n\u2003Crammed full of rags and bones\u2014\n\n\u2003Saints' relics they are, or so they suppose.\n\n\u2003Then have I in brass a shoulder bone\n\n\u2003Of a holy Jew's sheep.\n\n\u2003'Good men,' say I, 'of my words take heed:\n\n\u2003If this bone be washed in any well,\n\n\u2003If cow, or calf, or sheep, or ox swell,\n\n\u2003That any worm has eaten, or by viper stung,\n\n\u2003Take water of that well, and wash his tongue,\n\n\u2003And it is healed anon; and furthermore,\n\n\u2003Of pox and of scab and every sore\n\n\u2003Shall every sheep be healed, that of this well\n\n\u2003Drinks a draft. Take heed also what I tell:\n\n\u2003If the good man who the beast owns\n\n\u2003Will every week, before the cock crows,\n\n\u2003While fasting, drink of this well a draft\u2014\n\n\u2003As Jacob our elders taught\u2014\n\n\u2003His beasts and his stock shall multiply.\n\n\u2003And, sirs, also it heals jealousy:\n\n\u2003For though a man be fallen in a jealous rage,\n\n\u2003Let him make with this water his broth,\n\n\u2003And never shall he more his wife mistrust,\n\n\u2003Though he the truth of her should see\u2014\n\n\u2003Albeit she takes priests two or three.\n\n\u2003Here is a mitten also, that you may see:\n\n\u2003He who his hand will put in this mitten,\n\n\u2003He shall have multiplying of his grain\n\n\u2003When he has sown, be it wheat or oats,\n\n\u2003Provided that he gives me pennies or groats.\n\n\u2003Good men and women, one thing I warn you:\n\n\u2003If any person be in this church now,\n\n\u2003Who has done sin so horrible that he\n\n\u2003Dare not for shame of it shriven be,\n\n\u2003Or any woman, be she young or old,\n\n\u2003Who has made her husband a cuckold,\n\n\u2003Swich folk shul have no power ne no grace\n\n\u2003To offren to my reliks in this place.\n\n\u2003And who-so findeth him out of swich blame,\n\n\u2003He wol com up and offre in goddes name,\n\n\u2003And I assoille him by the auctoritee\n\n\u2003Which that by bulle y-graunted was to me.'\n\n\u2003By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,\n\n\u2003An hundred mark sith I was Pardoner.\n\n\u2003I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,\n\n\u2003And whan the lewed peple is doun y-set,\n\n\u2003I preche, so as ye han herd bifore,\n\n\u2003And telle an hundred false japes more.\n\n\u2003Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke,\n\n\u2003And est and west upon the peple I bekke,\n\n\u2003As doth a dowve sitting on a berne.\n\n\u2003Myn hondes and my tonge goon so yerne,\n\n\u2003That it is joye to see my bisinesse.\n\n\u2003Of avaryce and of swich cursednesse\n\n\u2003Is al my preching, for to make hem free\n\n\u2003To yeve her pens, and namely un-to me.\n\n\u2003For my entente is nat but for to winne,\n\n\u2003And no-thing for correccioun of sinne.\n\n\u2003I rekke never, whan that they ben beried,\n\n\u2003Though that her soules goon a-blakeberied!\n\n\u2003For certes, many a predicacioun\n\n\u2003Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun;\n\n\u2003Som for plesaunce of folk and flaterye,\n\n\u2003To been avaunced by ipocrisye,\n\n\u2003And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate.\n\n\u2003For, whan I dar non other weyes debate,\n\n\u2003Than wol I stinge him with my tonge smerte\n\n\u2003In preching, so that he shal nat asterte\n\n\u2003To been defamed falsly, if that he\n\n\u2003Hath trespased to my brethren or to me.\n\n\u2003For, though I telle noght his propre name,\n\n\u2003Men shal wel knowe that it is the same\n\n\u2003By signes and by othere circumstances.\n\n\u2003Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances;\n\n\u2003Thus spitte I out my venim under hewe\n\n\u2003Such folk shall have no power or grace\n\n\u2003To offer money to my relics in this place.\n\n\u2003And whoso finds himself deserving not such blame,\n\n\u2003He will come up and make an offering in God's name,\n\n\u2003And I will absolve him by the authority\n\n\u2003That by those writs was granted to me.'\n\n\u2003By this trick have I won, year by year,\n\n\u2003A hundred marks since I was pardoner.\n\n\u2003I stand like a scholar in my pulpit,\n\n\u2003And when the ignorant people have sat down,\n\n\u2003I preach, so as you heard before,\n\n\u2003And tell a hundred false stories more.\n\n\u2003Then I take pains to stretch forth my neck,\n\n\u2003And east and west upon the people I nod\n\n\u2003As does a dove, sitting in a barn.\n\n\u2003My hands and my tongue move so fast\n\n\u2003That it is a joy to see me at my business.\n\n\u2003Of avarice and such cursedness\n\n\u2003Is all my preaching, to make them generous\n\n\u2003To give their pence, and namely unto me.\n\n\u2003For my intent is not but to profit,\n\n\u2003And not at all for correction of sin:\n\n\u2003I care never, when they be buried,\n\n\u2003If their souls go a-blackberrying!\n\n\u2003For certainly, many a sermon,\n\n\u2003Comes oftentimes of evil intention:\n\n\u2003Some for amusement of folk and flattery,\n\n\u2003To be advanced by hypocrisy,\n\n\u2003And some for vainglory, and some for hate.\n\n\u2003For when I dare no other way to attack,\n\n\u2003Then will I sting my enemy with my tongue sharp\n\n\u2003In preaching, so that he may not leap up to protest\n\n\u2003At being defamed falsely, if he\n\n\u2003Has wronged my fellow pardoners or me.\n\n\u2003For, though I tell not his own name,\n\n\u2003Men shall well know that it is the same\n\n\u2003By signs and other circumstances.\n\n\u2003Thus requite I folk who do offenses;\n\n\u2003Thus I spit out venom under hue\n\n\u2003Of holynesse, to seme holy and trewe.\n\n\u2003But shortly myn entente I wol devyse;\n\n\u2003I preche of no-thing but for coveityse.\n\n\u2003Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was\u2014\n\n\u2003'Radix malorum est cupiditas.'\n\n\u2003Thus can I preche agayn that same vyce\n\n\u2003Which that I use, and that is avaryce.\n\n\u2003But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne,\n\n\u2003Yet can I maken other folk to twinne\n\n\u2003From avaryce, and sore to repente.\n\n\u2003But that is nat my principal entente.\n\n\u2003I preche no-thing but for coveityse;\n\n\u2003Of this matere it oughte y-nogh suffyse.\n\n\u2003Than telle I hem ensamples many oon\n\n\u2003Of olde stories, longe tyme agoon:\n\n\u2003For lewed peple loven tales olde;\n\n\u2003Swich thinges can they wel reporte and holde.\n\n\u2003What? trowe ye, the whyles I may preche,\n\n\u2003And winne gold and silver for I teche,\n\n\u2003That I wol live in povert wilfully?\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, I thoghte it never trewely!\n\n\u2003For I wol preche and begge in sondry londes;\n\n\u2003I wol not do no labour with myn hondes,\n\n\u2003Ne make baskettes, and live therby,\n\n\u2003Because I wol nat beggen ydelly.\n\n\u2003I wol non of the apostles counterfete;\n\n\u2003I wol have money, wolle, chese, and whete,\n\n\u2003Al were it yeven of the povrest page,\n\n\u2003Or of the povrest widwe in a village,\n\n\u2003Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne.\n\n\u2003Nay! I wol drinke licour of the vyne,\n\n\u2003And have a joly wenche in every toun.\n\n\u2003But herkneth, lordings, in conclusioun;\n\n\u2003Your lyking is that I shall telle a tale.\n\n\u2003Now, have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,\n\n\u2003By god, I hope I shal yow telle a thing\n\n\u2003That shal, by resoun, been at your lyking.\n\n\u2003For, though myself be a ful vicious man,\n\n\u2003A moral tale yet I yow telle can,\n\n\u2003Of holiness, to seem holy and true.\n\n\u2003But briefly my intent I will describe:\n\n\u2003I preach of nothing but out of covetousness.\n\n\u2003Therefore my theme is yet, and ever was,\n\n\u2003Radix malorum est cupiditas.\n\n\u2003Thus can I preach against that same vice\n\n\u2003Which I practice, and that is avarice.\n\n\u2003But though I myself be guilty of that sin,\n\n\u2003Yet can I make other folk depart\n\n\u2003From avarice, and ardently to repent.\n\n\u2003But that is not my principal intent:\n\n\u2003I preach nothing but for covetousness.\n\n\u2003Of this matter it ought enough suffice.\n\n\u2003Then I tell them examples many a one\n\n\u2003Of old stories of time long gone,\n\n\u2003For unlearned people love stories told;\n\n\u2003Such things can they well repeat and hold.\n\n\u2003What? Do you believe that as long as I can preach\n\n\u2003And win gold and silver because I teach,\n\n\u2003That I will live by choice in poverty?\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, I considered it never, truly!\n\n\u2003For I will preach and beg in sundry lands,\n\n\u2003I will do no labor with my hands,\n\n\u2003Neither make baskets, and live thereby,\n\n\u2003Because I will not beg unprofitably.\n\n\u2003I will none of the apostles imitate:\n\n\u2003I will have money, wool, cheese and wheat,\n\n\u2003Even if it were given by the poorest page,\n\n\u2003Or by the poorest widow in a village,\n\n\u2003Even though her children die of famine.\n\n\u2003Nay! I will drink liquor of the vine,\n\n\u2003And have a jolly wench in every town.\n\n\u2003But listen, lordings, in conclusion:\n\n\u2003Your liking is that I shall tell a tale.\n\n\u2003Now have I drunk a draft of malty ale,\n\n\u2003By God, I hope I shall you tell a thing\n\n\u2003That shall with reason be to your liking.\n\n\u2003For though I am a full vice-ridden man,\n\n\u2003A moral tale yet tell you I can,\n\n\u2003Which I am wont to preche, for to winne.\n\n\u2003Now holde your pees, my tale I wol beginne.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In Flaundres whylom was a companye\n\n\u2003Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye,\n\n\u2003As ryot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes,\n\n\u2003Wher-as, with harpes, lutes, and giternes,\n\n\u2003They daunce and pleye at dees bothe day and night,\n\n\u2003And ete also and drinken over hir might,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifyse\n\n\u2003With-in that develes temple, in cursed wyse,\n\n\u2003By superfluitee abhominable;\n\n\u2003Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable,\n\n\u2003That it is grisly for to here hem swere;\n\n\u2003Our blissed lordes body they to-tere;\n\n\u2003Hem thoughte Jewes rente him noght y-nough;\n\n\u2003And ech of hem at otheres sinne lough.\n\n\u2003And right anon than comen tombesteres\n\n\u2003Fetys and smale, and yonge fruytesteres,\n\n\u2003Singers with harpes, baudes, wafereres,\n\n\u2003Whiche been the verray develes officeres\n\n\u2003To kindle and blowe the fyr of lecherye,\n\n\u2003That is annexed un-to glotonye;\n\n\u2003The holy writ take I to my witnesse,\n\n\u2003That luxurie is in wyn and dronkenesse.\n\n\u2003Lo, how that dronken Loth, unkindely,\n\n\u2003Lay by his doghtres two, unwitingly;\n\n\u2003So dronke he was, he niste what he wroghte.\n\n\u2003Herodes, (who-so wel the stories soghte,)\n\n\u2003Whan he of wyn was replet at his feste,\n\n\u2003Right at his owene table he yaf his heste\n\n\u2003To sleen the Baptist John ful giltelees.\n\n\u2003Senek seith eek a good word doutelees;\n\n\u2003He seith, he can no difference finde\n\n\u2003Bitwix a man that is out of his minde\n\n\u2003And a man which that is dronkelewe,\n\n\u2003But that woodnesse, y-fallen in a shrewe,\n\n\u2003Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse.\n\n\u2003Which I am wont to preach for profit.\n\n\u2003Now hold your peace, my tale I will begin.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003In Flanders once there was a company\n\n\u2003Of young folk, who to folly gave themselves\u2014\n\n\u2003Such as revelry, dice, taverns and brothels,\n\n\u2003There with harps, lutes, and guitars,\n\n\u2003They danced and played at dice both night and day,\n\n\u2003And ate and drank beyond their capacity,\n\n\u2003Through which they did unto the devil sacrifice\n\n\u2003Within the devil's temple, in a cursed way,\n\n\u2003To excess abominable.\n\n\u2003Their oaths were so great and damnable,\n\n\u2003That it was grisly to hear them swear.\n\n\u2003Our blessed Lord's body they into pieces tore\u2014\n\n\u2003They thought the Jews had not torn Him enough\u2014\n\n\u2003And each of them at the others' sins laughed.\n\n\u2003And right anon then came acrobats and dancers,\n\n\u2003Shapely and slender, and young fruitpeddlars,\n\n\u2003Singers with harps, bawds, pastryvendors,\n\n\u2003Who were the very devil's officers\n\n\u2003To kindle and blow the fire of lechery\n\n\u2003That is attached to gluttony:\n\n\u2003The Holy Writ take I to my witness\n\n\u2003That lechery is in wine and drunkenness.\n\n\u2003Look, how the drunken Lot unnaturally\n\n\u2003Lay by his daughters two, unwittingly;\n\n\u2003So drunk he was, he knew not what he did.\n\n\u2003Herod, who well the stories should pursue,\n\n\u2003When he of wine was replete at his feast,\n\n\u2003Right at his own table at his behest\n\n\u2003Slew John the Baptist though he was guiltless.\n\n\u2003Seneca said a good word doubtless:\n\n\u2003He said, he could no difference find\n\n\u2003Between a man who is out of his mind\n\n\u2003And a man who is soused,\n\n\u2003Except that madness, having begun,\n\n\u2003Lasts longer than inebriation.\n\n\u2003O glotonye, ful of cursednesse,\n\n\u2003O cause first of our confusioun,\n\n\u2003O original of our dampnacioun,\n\n\u2003Til Crist had boght us with his blood agayn!\n\n\u2003Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn,\n\n\u2003Aboght was thilke cursed vileinye;\n\n\u2003Corrupt was al this world for glotonye!\n\n\u2003Adam our fader, and his wyf also,\n\n\u2003For Paradys to labour and to wo\n\n\u2003Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede;\n\n\u2003For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede,\n\n\u2003He was in Paradys; and whan that he\n\n\u2003Eet of the fruyt defended on the tree,\n\n\u2003Anon he was out-cast to wo and peyne.\n\n\u2003O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne!\n\n\u2003O, wiste a man how many maladyes\n\n\u2003Folwen of excesse and glotonyes,\n\n\u2003He wolde been the more mesurable\n\n\u2003Of his diete, sittinge at his table.\n\n\u2003Alias! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth,\n\n\u2003Maketh that, Est and West, and North and South,\n\n\u2003In erthe, in eir, in water men to-swinke\n\n\u2003To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drinke!\n\n\u2003Of this matere, o Paul, wel canstow trete,\n\n\u2003\"Mete un-to wombe, and wombe eek un-to mete,\n\n\u2003Shal god destroyen bothe,\" as Paulus seith.\n\n\u2003Alias! a foul thing is it, by my feith,\n\n\u2003To seye this word, and fouler is the dede,\n\n\u2003Whan man so drinketh of the whyte and rede,\n\n\u2003That of his throte he maketh his privee,\n\n\u2003Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee.\n\n\u2003The apostel weping seith ful pitously,\n\n\u2003\"Ther walken many of whiche yow told have I,\n\n\u2003I seye it now weping with pitous voys,\n\n[That] they been enemys of Cristes croys,\n\n\u2003Of whiche the ende is deeth, wombe is her god.\"\n\n\u2003O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod,\n\n\u2003Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun!\n\n\u2003At either ende of thee foul is the soun.\n\n\u2003Oh gluttony, full of cursedness!\n\n\u2003Oh first cause of our ruination!\n\n\u2003Oh origin of our damnation,\n\n\u2003Until Christ had bought us with his blood again!\n\n\u2003Look, at what cost, to make it brief,\n\n\u2003Was bought that same cursed, evil deed;\n\n\u2003Corrupted was all this world for gluttony!\n\n\u2003Adam our father and his wife also\n\n\u2003From Paradise to labor and to woe\n\n\u2003Were driven for that vice, it is no doubt.\n\n\u2003For while Adam fasted, as I read,\n\n\u2003He was in Paradise, and when he\n\n\u2003Ate of the fruit forbidden on the tree,\n\n\u2003Anon he was cast out to woe and pain.\n\n\u2003Oh gluttony, of you we ought to complain!\n\n\u2003Oh, if only a man knew how many maladies\n\n\u2003Followed from excess and gluttony,\n\n\u2003He would be more temperate\n\n\u2003In his diet, sitting at his table.\n\n\u2003Alas! the brief sip, the tastebuds refined,\n\n\u2003Cause, east and west, north and south,\n\n\u2003On earth, in air, on water, men to labor\n\n\u2003To get a glutton dainty meat and drink!\n\n\u2003Of this matter, Paul, well can you treat:\n\n\u2003\"Meat unto stomach, and stomach unto meat,\n\n\u2003Shall God destroy both,\" as Paul said.\n\n\u2003Alas! a foul thing is it, by my faith,\n\n\u2003To say this word, and fouler is the deed,\n\n\u2003When man so drinks of the white and red\n\n\u2003That of his throat he makes his privy,\n\n\u2003Through that same superfluity.\n\n\u2003The apostle, weeping, said full piteously,\n\n\u2003\"There walk many of you whom I have told\"\u2014\n\n\u2003I say it now weeping with piteous voice\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Who be enemies of Christ's cross,\n\n\u2003For whom the end is death: stomach is their god!\"\n\n\u2003Oh stomach! Oh belly! Oh stinking gut!\n\n\u2003Filled full with dung and rot!\n\n\u2003At either end of you foul is the sound.\n\n\u2003How greet labour and cost is thee to finde!\n\n\u2003Thise cokes, how they stampe, and streyne, and grinde,\n\n\u2003And turnen substaunce in-to accident,\n\n\u2003To fulfille al thy likerous talent!\n\n\u2003Out of the harde bones knokke they\n\n\u2003The mary, for they caste noght a-wey\n\n\u2003That may go thurgh the golet softe and swote;\n\n\u2003Of spicerye, of leef, and bark, and rote\n\n\u2003Shal been his sauce y-maked by delyt,\n\n\u2003To make him yet a newer appetyt.\n\n\u2003But certes, he that haunteth swich delyces\n\n\u2003Is deed, whyl that he liveth in tho vyces.\n\n\u2003A lecherous thing is wyn, and dronkenesse\n\n\u2003Is ful of stryving and of wrecchednesse.\n\n\u2003O dronke man, disfigured is thy face,\n\n\u2003Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace,\n\n\u2003And thurgh thy dronke nose semeth the soun\n\n\u2003As though thou seydest ay \"Sampsoun, Sampsoun\";\n\n\u2003And yet, god wot, Sampsoun drank never no wyn.\n\n\u2003Thou fallest, as it were a stiked swyn;\n\n\u2003Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honest cure;\n\n\u2003For dronkenesse is verray sepulture\n\n\u2003Of mannes wit and his discrecioun.\n\n\u2003In whom that drinke hath dominacioun,\n\n\u2003He can no conseil kepe, it is no drede.\n\n\u2003Now keep yow fro the whyte and fro the rede,\n\n\u2003And namely fro the whyte wyn of Lepe,\n\n\u2003That is to selle in Fish-strete or in Chepe.\n\n\u2003This wyn of Spayne crepeth subtilly\n\n\u2003In othere wynes, growing faste by,\n\n\u2003Of which ther ryseth swich fumositee,\n\n\u2003That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three,\n\n\u2003And weneth that he be at hoom in Chepe,\n\n\u2003He is in Spayne, right at the toune of Lepe,\n\n\u2003Nat at the Rochel, ne at Burdeux toun;\n\n\u2003And thanne wol he seye, \"Sampsoun, Sampsoun.\"\n\n\u2003But herkneth, lordings, o word, I yow preye,\n\n\u2003That alle the sovereyn actes, dar I seye,\n\n\u2003Of victories in th'olde testament,\n\n\u2003How great the labor and cost to provide for you!\n\n\u2003These cooks, how they pound, and strain, and grind,\n\n\u2003And turn substance into accident,\n\n\u2003To fulfill all your gluttonous desire!\n\n\u2003Out of the hard bones knock they\n\n\u2003The marrow, for they cast nothing away\n\n\u2003That may go through the gullet soft and sweet;\n\n\u2003Of spices, of leaf, and bark, and root\n\n\u2003Shall sauce be made to its delight,\n\n\u2003To make it yet a newer appetite.\n\n\u2003But truly, he who gives himself up to such delights\n\n\u2003Is dead, while he lives in those vices.\n\n\u2003A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness\n\n\u2003Is full of quarreling and of wretchedness.\n\n\u2003Oh drunk man, disfigured is your face,\n\n\u2003Sour is your breath, foul are you to embrace,\n\n\u2003And through your drunken nose snorts the sound\n\n\u2003As though you said ever \"Samson, Samson\";\n\n\u2003And yet, God knows Samson never drank any wine.\n\n\u2003You fall down, like a stuck swine;\n\n\u2003Your tongue is lost, and all your decency,\n\n\u2003For drunkenness is the true tomb\n\n\u2003Of man's wit, and his discretion.\n\n\u2003He over whom drink has domination,\n\n\u2003Can no counsel keep, it is no doubt.\n\n\u2003Now keep you from the white and from the red\u2014\n\n\u2003And namely from the white wine of Lepe\n\n\u2003That is for sale in Cheapside or on Fish Street.\n\n\u2003This wine of Spain creeps subtly\n\n\u2003Into other wines growing nearby,\n\n\u2003From which there rises such vapor,\n\n\u2003That when a man has drunk drafts three\n\n\u2003And thinks that he is at home in Cheapside,\n\n\u2003He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe,\n\n\u2003Not at La Rochelle, or Bordeaux town;\n\n\u2003And then will he snore, \"Samson, Samson.\"\n\n\u2003But listen, lordings, to one word I pray you:\n\n\u2003All the supreme deeds, dare I say,\n\n\u2003Of victories in the Old Testament,\n\n\u2003Thurgh verray god, that is omnipotent,\n\n\u2003Were doon in abstinence and in preyere;\n\n\u2003Loketh the Bible, and ther ye may it lere.\n\n\u2003Loke, Attila, the grete conquerour,\n\n\u2003Deyde in his sleep, with shame and dishonour,\n\n\u2003Bledinge ay at his nose in dronkenesse;\n\n\u2003A capitayn shoulde live in sobrenesse.\n\n\u2003And over al this, avyseth yow right wel\n\n\u2003What was comaunded un-to Lamuel\u2014\n\n\u2003Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, seye I\u2014\n\n\u2003Redeth the Bible, and finde it expresly\n\n\u2003Of wyn-yeving to hem that han justyse.\n\n\u2003Na-more of this, for it may wel suffyse.\n\n\u2003And now that I have spoke of glotonye,\n\n\u2003Now wol I yow defenden hasardrye.\n\n\u2003Hasard is verray moder of lesinges,\n\n\u2003And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes,\n\n\u2003Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also\n\n\u2003Of catel and of tyme; and forthermo,\n\n\u2003It is repreve and contrarie of honour\n\n\u2003For to ben holde a commune hasardour.\n\n\u2003And ever the hy\u00ebr he is of estaat,\n\n\u2003The more is he holden desolaat.\n\n\u2003If that a prince useth hasardrye,\n\n\u2003In alle governaunce and policye\n\n\u2003He is, as by commune opinioun,\n\n\u2003Y-holde the lasse in reputacioun.\n\n\u2003Stilbon, that was a wys embassadour,\n\n\u2003Was sent to Corinthe, in ful greet honour,\n\n\u2003Fro Lacidomie, to make hir alliaunce.\n\n\u2003And whan he cam, him happede, par chaunce,\n\n\u2003That alle the grettest that were of that lond,\n\n\u2003Pleyinge atte hasard he hem fond.\n\n\u2003For which, as sone as it mighte be,\n\n\u2003He stal him hoom agayn to his contree,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"ther wol I nat lese my name;\n\n\u2003Ne I wol nat take on me so greet defame,\n\n\u2003Yow for to allye un-to none hasardours.\n\n\u2003Sendeth othere wyse embassadours;\n\n\u2003Through the true God, who is omnipotent,\n\n\u2003Were done in abstinence and in prayer:\n\n\u2003Look in the Bible, and there you may it learn.\n\n\u2003Consider that Attila, the great conqueror,\n\n\u2003Died in his sleep, in shame and dishonor,\n\n\u2003Bleeding at his nose from drunkenness:\n\n\u2003A captain should live in soberness.\n\n\u2003And over all this, be you well advised\n\n\u2003What was commanded unto Lemuel\u2014\n\n\u2003Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I\u2014\n\n\u2003Read the Bible, and find it speaks explicitly\n\n\u2003About giving wine to those who decide justice.\n\n\u2003No more of this, for it may well suffice.\n\n\u2003And now that I have spoken of gluttony,\n\n\u2003Now will I forbid you gambling at dice.\n\n\u2003Gambling is the true mother of lies,\n\n\u2003And of deceit and cursed perjuries,\n\n\u2003Blasphemy of Christ, manslaughter and waste also\n\n\u2003Of goods and time; and furthermore,\n\n\u2003It is a reproach and contrary to honor\n\n\u2003To be held a common gambler.\n\n\u2003And the higher he is of rank\n\n\u2003The more is he held debased:\n\n\u2003If a prince gambles,\n\n\u2003In all governance and policy\n\n\u2003Common opinion holds him,\n\n\u2003The less in reputation.\n\n\u2003Stilbon, who was a wise ambassador,\n\n\u2003Was sent to Corinth in full great honor,\n\n\u2003From Sparta to win their alliance.\n\n\u2003And when he arrived, it happened by chance\n\n\u2003That all the great men of that land\n\n\u2003He found playing at dice.\n\n\u2003For which, as soon as could be,\n\n\u2003He stole away again to his country,\n\n\u2003And said, \"There will I not lose my name,\n\n\u2003Nor will I take on me so great dishonor,\n\n\u2003To ally you with a company of gamblers.\n\n\u2003Send other wise ambassadors\u2014\n\n\u2003For, by my trouthe, me were lever dye,\n\n\u2003Than I yow sholde to hasardours allye.\n\n\u2003For ye that been so glorious in honours\n\n\u2003Shul nat allyen yow with hasardours\n\n\u2003As by my wil, ne as by my tretee.\"\n\n\u2003This wyse philosophre thus seyde he.\n\n\u2003Loke eek that, to the king Demetrius\n\n\u2003The king of Parthes, as the book seith us,\n\n\u2003Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn,\n\n\u2003For he hadde used hasard ther-biforn;\n\n\u2003For which he heeld his glorie or his renoun\n\n\u2003At no value or reputacioun.\n\n\u2003Lordes may finden other maner pley\n\n\u2003Honeste y-nough to dryve the day awey.\n\n\u2003Now wol I speke of othes false and grete\n\n\u2003A word or two, as olde bokes trete.\n\n\u2003Gret swering is a thing abhominable,\n\n\u2003And false swering is yet more reprevable.\n\n\u2003The heighe god forbad swering at al,\n\n\u2003Witnesse on Mathew; but in special\n\n\u2003Of swering seith the holy Jeremye,\n\n\u2003\"Thou shalt seye sooth thyn othes, and nat lye,\n\n\u2003And swere in dome, and eek in\n\nrightwisnesse;\"\n\n\u2003But ydel swering is a cursednesse.\n\n\u2003Bihold and see, that in the firste table\n\n\u2003Of heighe goddes hestes honurable,\n\n\u2003How that the seconde heste of him is this\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Tak nat my name in ydel or amis.\"\n\n\u2003Lo, rather he forbedeth swich swering\n\n\u2003Than homicyde or many a cursed thing;\n\n\u2003I seye that, as by ordre, thus it stondeth;\n\n\u2003This knowen, that his hestes understondeth,\n\n\u2003How that the second heste of god is that.\n\n\u2003And forther over, I wol thee telle al plat,\n\n\u2003That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous,\n\n\u2003That of his othes is to outrageous.\n\n\u2003\"By goddes precious herte, and by his nayles,\n\n\u2003And by the blode of Crist, that it is in Hayles,\n\n\u2003For by my troth, I would rather die\n\n\u2003Than to gamblers I should you ally.\n\n\u2003For you who are so glorious in honors\n\n\u2003Shall not ally yourself with gamblers\n\n\u2003Neither by my will nor my negotiations.\"\n\n\u2003This wise philosopher, thus said he.\n\n\u2003Look also to the king Demetrius,\n\n\u2003The king of Parthia, as the book tells us,\n\n\u2003Sent a pair of golden dice in scorn,\n\n\u2003For he had gambled there before;\n\n\u2003For which he held his glory or his renown\n\n\u2003At no value or reputation.\n\n\u2003Lords may find other kinds of play\n\n\u2003Honorable enough to drive the day away.\n\n\u2003Now will I speak of oaths false and great\n\n\u2003A word or two, as old books treat.\n\n\u2003Great cursing is a thing abominable,\n\n\u2003And false swearing is yet more reproachable.\n\n\u2003The high God forbade swearing at all\u2014\n\n\u2003Witness on Matthew\u2014but in special\n\n\u2003Of swearing says the holy Jeremiah,\n\n\u2003\"Thou shalt swear truly your oaths and not lie,\n\n\u2003And swear in good judgement, and also in\n\nrighteousness;\"\n\n\u2003But vain swearing is a wickedness.\n\n\u2003Behold and see, in Moses' first tablet\n\n\u2003Of high God's ten commandments,\n\n\u2003That the second commandment of him is this:\n\n\u2003\"Take not my name wrongly or in vain.\"\n\n\u2003Look, he forbade such swearing even\n\n\u2003Before homicide or many a cursed thing\u2014\n\n\u2003I say that, in terms of order, thus it stands\u2014\n\n\u2003He knows this, who his commandments understands,\n\n\u2003How the second commandment of God is that.\n\n\u2003And furthermore, I will tell you flat\n\n\u2003That vengeance shall not depart from his house\n\n\u2003Who of his oaths is too outrageous.\n\n\u2003\"By God's precious heart,\" and \"By his nails,\"\n\n\u2003And \"By the blood of Christ that is in Hayles.\n\n\u2003Seven is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and treye;\n\n\u2003By goddes armes, if thou falsly pleye,\n\n\u2003This dagger shal thurgh-out thyn herte go\"\u2014\n\n\u2003This fruyt cometh of the bicched bones two,\n\n\u2003Forswering, ire, falsnesse, homicyde.\n\n\u2003Now, for the love of Crist that for us dyde,\n\n\u2003Leveth your othes, bothe grete and smale;\n\n\u2003But, sirs, now wol I telle forth my tale.\n\n\u2003Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle,\n\n\u2003Longe erst er pryme rong of any belle,\n\n\u2003Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke;\n\n\u2003And as they satte, they herde a belle clinke\n\n\u2003Biforn a cors, was caried to his grave;\n\n\u2003That oon of hem gan callen to his knave,\n\n\u2003\"Go bet,\" quod he, \"and axe redily,\n\n\u2003What cors is this that passeth heer forby;\n\n\u2003And look that thou reporte his name wel.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" quod this boy, \"it nedeth never-a-del.\n\n\u2003It was me told, er ye cam heer, two houres;\n\n\u2003He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres;\n\n\u2003And sodeynly he was y-slayn to-night,\n\n\u2003For-dronke, as he sat on his bench upright;\n\n\u2003Ther cam a privee theef, men clepeth Deeth,\n\n\u2003That in this contree al the peple sleeth,\n\n\u2003And with his spere he smoot his herte a-two,\n\n\u2003And wente his wey with-outen wordes mo.\n\n\u2003He hath a thousand slayn this pestilence:\n\n\u2003And, maister, er ye come in his presence,\n\n\u2003Me thinketh that it were necessarie\n\n\u2003For to be war of swich an adversarie:\n\n\u2003Beth redy for to mete him evermore.\n\n\u2003Thus taughte me my dame, I sey na-more.\"\n\n\u2003\"By seinte Marie,\" seyde this taverner,\n\n\u2003\"The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer,\n\n\u2003Henne over a myle, with-in a greet village,\n\n\u2003Both man and womman, child and hyne, and page\n\n\u2003I trowe his habitacioun be there;\n\n\u2003To been avysed greet wisdom it were,\n\n\u2003Seven is my chance, and yours is five and three;\n\n\u2003By God's arms, if you falsely play,\n\n\u2003This dagger shall through your heart go!\"\n\n\u2003This fruit comes from the bitchy bones two\u2014\n\n\u2003Perjury, anger, falseness, homicide.\n\n\u2003Now for the love of Christ who for us died,\n\n\u2003Cease your oaths, both great and small.\n\n\u2003But, sirs, now will I tell forth my tale.\n\n\u2003These three revelers of whom I tell\n\n\u2003Long before prime rang of any bell,\n\n\u2003Had set themselves down in a tavern to drink;\n\n\u2003And as they sat, they heard a bell clink\n\n\u2003Before a corpse being carried to his grave.\n\n\u2003The one of them began calling to his knave,\n\n\u2003\"Go quick,\" he said, \"and ask straightaway,\n\n\u2003What corpse is this that passes by;\n\n\u2003And look that you get his name right.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" said this boy, \"no need to inquire.\n\n\u2003I learned it two hours before you arrived.\n\n\u2003He was, by God, an old companion of yours;\n\n\u2003And suddenly he was slain last night,\n\n\u2003Dead drunk, as he sat on his bench upright.\n\n\u2003There came a secret thief that men call Death,\n\n\u2003Who has slain many in this region,\n\n\u2003And with his spear he smote his heart in two,\n\n\u2003And went his way without words more.\n\n\u2003He has a thousand slain during this plague.\n\n\u2003And master, before you come in his presence,\n\n\u2003Methinks that it is necessary\n\n\u2003For to be aware of such an adversary:\n\n\u2003Be ready for to meet him at any hour.\n\n\u2003Thus taught me my mother, I say no more.\"\n\n\u2003\"By Saint Mary,\" said this tavernkeeper,\n\n\u2003\"The child says the truth, for he has slain this year,\n\n\u2003For a mile around, within a great village,\n\n\u2003Both man and woman, child, and servant, and laborer;\n\n\u2003I believe his habitation to be there.\n\n\u2003Be advised to be careful that he\n\n\u2003Er that he dide a man a dishonour.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, goddes armes,\" quod this ryotour,\n\n\u2003\"Is it swich peril with him for to mete?\n\n\u2003I shal him seke by wey and eek by strete,\n\n\u2003I make avow to goddes digne bones!\n\n\u2003Herkneth, felawes, we three been al ones;\n\n\u2003Lat ech of us holde up his hond til other,\n\n\u2003And ech of us bicomen otheres brother,\n\n\u2003And we wol sleen this false traytour Deeth;\n\n\u2003He shal be slayn, which that so many sleeth,\n\n\u2003By goddes dignitee, er it be night.\"\n\n\u2003Togidres han thise three her trouthes plight,\n\n\u2003To live and dyen ech of hem for other,\n\n\u2003As though he were his owene y-boren brother.\n\n\u2003And up they sterte al dronken, in this rage,\n\n\u2003And forth they goon towardes that village,\n\n\u2003Of which the taverner had spoke biforn,\n\n\u2003And many a grisly ooth than han they sworn,\n\n\u2003And Cristes blessed body they to-rente\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Deeth shal be deed, if that they may him hente.\"\n\n\u2003Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle,\n\n\u2003Right as they wolde han troden over a style,\n\n\u2003An old man and a povre with hem mette.\n\n\u2003This olde man ful mekely hem grette,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, \"now, lordes, god yow see!\"\n\n\u2003The proudest of thise ryotoures three\n\n\u2003Answerde agayn, \"what? carl, with sory grace,\n\n\u2003Why artow al forwrapped save thy face?\n\n\u2003Why livestow so longe in so greet age?\"\n\n\u2003This olde man gan loke in his visage,\n\n\u2003And seyde thus, \"for I ne can nat finde\n\n\u2003A man, though that I walked in-to Inde,\n\n\u2003Neither in citee nor in no village,\n\n\u2003That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age;\n\n\u2003And therfore moot I han myn age stille,\n\n\u2003As longe time as it is goddes wille.\n\n\u2003Ne deeth, alias! ne wol nat han my lyf;\n\n\u2003Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf,\n\n\u2003And on the ground, which is my modres gate,\n\n\u2003Has to dishonor you no opportunity.\"\n\n\u2003\"God's arms!\" said this reveler,\n\n\u2003\"Is it such peril with him to meet?\n\n\u2003I shall him seek by road and also by street,\n\n\u2003I make a vow of it by God's worthy bones!\n\n\u2003Harken, fellows, let's we three be agreed:\n\n\u2003Let each of us hold up his hand to the other,\n\n\u2003And each of us become the other's brother,\n\n\u2003And we will slay this false traitor Death.\n\n\u2003He shall be slain, he who so many slays,\n\n\u2003By God's worthiness, before it be night.\"\n\n\u2003Together have these three their troths plighted\n\n\u2003To live and die each of them for the other,\n\n\u2003As though they were their own born brothers.\n\n\u2003And up they started, all drunk in this passion,\n\n\u2003And forth they went toward that village\n\n\u2003Of which the tavernkeeper had before spoken,\n\n\u2003And many a grisly oath then did they swear,\n\n\u2003And Christ's blessed body they tore to pieces\u2014\n\n\u2003Death would be dead, if they could him seize.\n\n\u2003When they had gone not fully half a mile,\n\n\u2003Just as they would have stepped over a stile,\n\n\u2003An old and poor man they did meet.\n\n\u2003This old man full meekly them greeted,\n\n\u2003And said thus, \"Now lords, may God you protect!\"\n\n\u2003The proudest of these revelers three\n\n\u2003Answered again, \"What, fellow, confound you!\n\n\u2003Why are you all wrapped up except your face?\n\n\u2003Why do you live so long to such great age?\"\n\n\u2003This old man looked him in the eye,\n\n\u2003And said thus, \"Because I cannot find\n\n\u2003A man, though I walk to India,\n\n\u2003Neither in city or in village,\n\n\u2003Who would change his youth for my age;\n\n\u2003And therefore must I have my age still,\n\n\u2003As long time as it is God's will.\n\n\u2003Nor will Death take my life.\n\n\u2003Thus walk I, like a restless captive,\n\n\u2003And on the ground, which is my mother's gate,\n\n\u2003I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late,\n\n\u2003And seye, 'leve moder, leet me in!\n\n\u2003Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin!\n\n\u2003Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste?\n\n\u2003Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste,\n\n\u2003That in my chambre longe tyme hath be,\n\n\u2003Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!'\n\n\u2003But yet to me she wol nat do that grace,\n\n\u2003For which ful pale and welked is my face.\n\n\u2003But, sirs, to yow it is no courteisye\n\n\u2003To speken to an old man vileinye,\n\n\u2003But he trespasse in worde, or elles in dede.\n\n\u2003In holy writ ye may your-self wel rede,\n\n\u2003'Agayns an old man, hoor upon his heed,\n\n\u2003Ye sholde aryse;' wherfor I yeve yow reed,\n\n\u2003Ne dooth un-to an old man noon harm now,\n\n\u2003Na-more than ye wolde men dide to yow\n\n\u2003In age, if that ye so longe abyde;\n\n\u2003And god be with yow, wher ye go or ryde.\n\n\u2003I moot go thider as I have to go.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, olde cherl, by god, thou shalt nat so,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this other hasardour anon;\n\n\u2003\"Thou partest nat so lightly, by seint John!\n\n\u2003Thou spak right now of thilke traitour Deeth,\n\n\u2003That in this contree alle our frendes sleeth.\n\n\u2003Have heer my trouthe, as thou art his aspye,\n\n\u2003Tel wher he is, or thou shalt it abye,\n\n\u2003By god, and by the holy sacrament!\n\n\u2003For soothly thou art oon of his assent,\n\n\u2003To sleen us yonge folk, thou false theef!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sirs,\" quod he, \"if that yow be so leef\n\n\u2003To finde Deeth, turne up this croked wey,\n\n\u2003For in that grove I lafte him, by my fey,\n\n\u2003Under a tree, and ther he wol abyde;\n\n\u2003Nat for your boost he wol him no-thing hyde.\n\n\u2003See ye that ook? right ther ye shul him finde.\n\n\u2003God save yow, that boghte agayn mankinde,\n\n\u2003And yow amende!\"\u2014thus seyde this olde man.\n\n\u2003And everich of thise ryotoures ran,\n\n\u2003I knock with my staff both early and late,\n\n\u2003And say, 'Dear mother, let me in!\n\n\u2003Look, how I am wasting, flesh, and blood, and skin!\n\n\u2003Alas! When shall my bones be at rest?\n\n\u2003Mother, with you would I exchange my chest\n\n\u2003Of clothes that in my chamber long time has been,\n\n\u2003Yes, for a haircloth shroud to wrap me in!'\n\n\u2003But yet to me she will not do that grace,\n\n\u2003For which full pale and withered is my face.\n\n\u2003But sirs, it is not polite of you\n\n\u2003To speak to an old man in a manner so rude,\n\n\u2003Unless he has offended you in word or deed.\n\n\u2003In Holy Writ you may yourselves well read,\n\n\u2003'Before an old man, hoarfrost upon his head,\n\n\u2003You should arise.' I therefore give you this advice:\n\n\u2003Do no harm unto an old man now,\n\n\u2003No more than you would have men do to you\n\n\u2003When old, if you shall so long abide.\n\n\u2003And God be with you, where you walk or ride;\n\n\u2003I must go thither where I have to go.\"\n\n\u2003\"No, old fellow, by God, you shall not so,\"\n\n\u2003Said this other gambler anon;\n\n\u2003\"You won't get away so lightly, by Saint John!\n\n\u2003You speak right now of that same traitor Death\n\n\u2003Who in this country all our friends slays.\n\n\u2003Have here my pledge, since you are his spy,\n\n\u2003Tell where he is, or you shall for it pay,\n\n\u2003By God, and by the holy sacrament!\n\n\u2003For truly you are his agent\n\n\u2003To slay us young folk, you false thief!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sirs,\" said he, \"if you so much desire\n\n\u2003To find Death, turn up this crooked way,\n\n\u2003For in that grove I left him, by my faith,\n\n\u2003Under a tree, and there he will abide:\n\n\u2003Your boast will not make him hide.\n\n\u2003See that oak? Right there you shall him find.\n\n\u2003God save you, who redeemed mankind,\n\n\u2003And you improve!\" Thus said this old man.\n\n\u2003And each of these revelers ran,\n\n\u2003Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde\n\n\u2003Of florins fyne of golde y-coyned rounde\n\n\u2003Wel ny an eighte busshels, as hem thoughte.\n\n\u2003No lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte,\n\n\u2003But ech of hem so glad was of that sighte,\n\n\u2003For that the florins been so faire and brighte,\n\n\u2003That doun they sette hem by this precious hord.\n\n\u2003The worste of hem he spake the firste word.\n\n\u2003\"Brethren,\" quod he, \"tak kepe what I seye;\n\n\u2003My wit is greet, though that I bourde and pleye.\n\n\"This tresor hath fortune un-to us yiven,\n\n\u2003In mirthe and jolitee our lyf to liven,\n\n\u2003And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende.\n\n\u2003Ey! goddes precious dignitee! who wende\n\n\u2003To-day, that we sholde han so fair a grace?\n\n\u2003But mighte this gold be caried fro this place\n\n\u2003Hoom to myn hous, or elles un-to youres\u2014\n\n\u2003For wel ye woot that al this gold is cures\u2014\n\n\u2003Than were we in heigh felicitee.\n\n\u2003But trewely, by daye it may nat be;\n\n\u2003Men wolde seyn that we were theves stronge,\n\n\u2003And for our owene tresor doon us honge.\n\n\u2003This tresor moste y-caried be by nighte\n\n\u2003As wysly and as slyly as it mighte.\n\n\u2003Wherfore I rede that cut among us alle\n\n\u2003Be drawe, and lat see wher the cut wol falle;\n\n\u2003And he that hath the cut with herte blythe\n\n\u2003Shal renne to the toune, and that ful swythe,\n\n\u2003And bringe us breed and wyn ful prively.\n\n\u2003And two of us shul kepen subtilly\n\n\u2003This tresor wel; and, if he wol nat tarie,\n\n\u2003Whan it is night, we wol this tresor carie\n\n\u2003By oon assent, wher-as us thinketh best.\"\n\n\u2003That oon of hem the cut broughte in his fest,\n\n\u2003And bad hem drawe, and loke wher it wol falle;\n\n\u2003And it fill on the yongeste of hem alle;\n\n\u2003And forth toward the toun he wente anon.\n\n\u2003And al-so sone as that he was gon,\n\n\u2003That oon of hem spak thus un-to that other,\n\n\u2003Till he came to that tree, and there they found\n\n\u2003Of florins fine of gold coined round\n\n\u2003Well nigh eight bushels, or so it seemed.\n\n\u2003No longer then after Death they sought,\n\n\u2003Each of them so glad was of that sight\u2014\n\n\u2003For the florins were so fair and bright\u2014\n\n\u2003That down they set them by this precious hoard.\n\n\u2003The worst of them spoke the first word.\n\n\u2003\"Brothers,\" said he, \"take heed of what I say:\n\n\u2003My understanding is great, though I jest and play.\n\n\u2003This treasure has Fortune unto us given\n\n\u2003Our lives in mirth and jollity to live,\n\n\u2003And lightly as it comes, so will we spend.\n\n\u2003Hey! God's precious dignity! Who would have guessed\n\n\u2003Today that we should find so fair a grace?\n\n\u2003If only might this gold be carried from this place\n\n\u2003Home to my house\u2014or else unto yours\u2014\n\n\u2003For well we know that all this gold is ours\u2014\n\n\u2003Then were we in high felicity.\n\n\u2003But truly, by day it may not be done:\n\n\u2003Men would say that we were thieves,\n\n\u2003And for our own treasure have us hung.\n\n\u2003This treasure must be carried by night,\n\n\u2003As wisely and as slyly as we might.\n\n\u2003Therefore I suggest that lots among us all\n\n\u2003Be drawn, and let's see to whose lot it shall fall;\n\n\u2003And he who has the lot with heart blithe\n\n\u2003Shall run to the town, in quick time,\n\n\u2003And secretly bring us bread and wine.\n\n\u2003And two of us shall guard with care\n\n\u2003This treasure well; and if he will not tarry,\n\n\u2003When it is night we will this treasure carry,\n\n\u2003By one assent, where we think best.\"\n\n\u2003The fellow brought the cut in his fist,\n\n\u2003And he bade them draw, and look where it would fall;\n\n\u2003And it fell on the youngest of them all,\n\n\u2003And forth toward the town he went anon.\n\n\u2003But as soon as he was gone,\n\n\u2003One of the other two spoke thus to the other:\n\n\u2003\"Thou knowest wel thou art my sworne brother,\n\n\u2003Thy profit wol I telle thee anon.\n\n\u2003Thou woost wel that our felawe is agon;\n\n\u2003And heer is gold, and that ful greet plentee,\n\n\u2003That shal departed been among us three.\n\n\u2003But natheles, if I can shape it so\n\n\u2003That it departed were among us two,\n\n\u2003Hadde I nat doon a freendes torn to thee?\"\n\n\u2003That other answerde, \"I noot how that may be;\n\n\u2003He woot how that the gold is with us tweye,\n\n\u2003What shal we doon, what shal we to him seye?\"\n\n\u2003\"Shal it be conseil?\" seyde the firste shrewe,\n\n\u2003\"And I shal tellen thee, in wordes fewe,\n\n\u2003What we shal doon, and bringe it wel aboute.\"\n\n\u2003\"I graunte,\" quod that other, \"out of doute,\n\n\u2003That, by my trouthe, I wol thee nat biwreye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" quod the firste, \"thou woost wel we be tweye,\n\n\u2003And two of us shul strenger be than oon.\n\n\u2003Look when that he is set, and right anoon\n\n\u2003Arys, as though thou woldest with him pleye;\n\n\u2003And I shal ryve him thurgh the sydes tweye\n\n\u2003Whyl that thou strogelest with him as in game,\n\n\u2003And with thy dagger look thou do the same;\n\n\u2003And than shal al this gold departed be,\n\n\u2003My dere freend, bitwixen me and thee;\n\n\u2003Than may we bothe our lustes al fulfille,\n\n\u2003And pleye at dees right at our owene wille.\"\n\n\u2003And thus acorded been thise shrewes tweye\n\n\u2003To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me seye.\n\n\u2003This yongest, which that wente un-to the toun,\n\n\u2003Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and doun\n\n\u2003The beautee of thise florins newe and brighte.\n\n\u2003\"O lord!\" quod he, \"if so were that I mighte\n\n\u2003Have al this tresor to my-self allone,\n\n\u2003Ther is no man that liveth under the trone\n\n\u2003Of god, that sholde live so mery as I!\"\n\n\u2003And atte laste the feend, our enemy,\n\n\u2003Putte in his thought that he shold poyson beye,\n\n\u2003With which he mighte sleen his felawes tweye;\n\n\u2003\"You well know that you are my sworn brother;\n\n\u2003So something to your advantage will I tell you anon.\n\n\u2003You know well that our companion is gone,\n\n\u2003And here is gold, and plenty of it,\n\n\u2003That shall be divided between us three.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, if I can arrange it so\n\n\u2003That it divided were between us two,\n\n\u2003Would I not have done a friend's turn to you?\"\n\n\u2003The other answered, \"I know not how that may be:\n\n\u2003He knows how the gold is with us two.\n\n\u2003What shall we do? What shall we say?\"\n\n\u2003\"Can you keep a secret?\" said the first wretch;\n\n\u2003\"And I shall tell in words few\n\n\u2003What we shall do, to bring it about.\"\n\n\u2003\"I grant it,\" said that other, \"you can be sure,\n\n\u2003That, by my word of honor, I will not betray you.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" said the first, \"you know well we be two,\n\n\u2003And two of us are stronger than one.\n\n\u2003As soon as he has sat down, then right away\n\n\u2003Arise as though you would with him play;\n\n\u2003And I shall stab him through both sides\n\n\u2003While you struggle with him as if in play,\n\n\u2003And with your dagger you do the same;\n\n\u2003And then shall all this gold divided be,\n\n\u2003My dear friend, between you and me.\n\n\u2003Then may we both our desires fulfill,\n\n\u2003And play at dice whenever we will.\"\n\n\u2003And thus these cursed fellows two agreed\n\n\u2003To slay the third, as you have heard me say.\n\n\u2003This youngest, who went into the town,\n\n\u2003Full often in his mind's eye rolled up and down\n\n\u2003The beauty of those florins new and bright.\n\n\u2003\"Oh Lord,\" said he, \"if it were that I might\n\n\u2003Have all this treasure to myself alone,\n\n\u2003There is no man who lives under the throne\n\n\u2003Of God who should live so merry as I!\"\n\n\u2003And at the last the devil, our enemy,\n\n\u2003Put in his thought that he should poison buy,\n\n\u2003With which he might slay his fellows two\u2014\n\n\u2003For-why the feend fond him in swich lyvinge,\n\n\u2003That he had leve him to sorwe bringe,\n\n\u2003For this was outrely his fulle entente\n\n\u2003To sleen hem bothe, and never to repente.\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he tarie,\n\n\u2003Into the toun, un-to a pothecarie,\n\n\u2003And preyed him, that he him wolde selle\n\n\u2003Som poyson, that he mighte his rattes quelle;\n\n\u2003And eek ther was a polcat in his hawe,\n\n\u2003That, as he seyde, his capouns hadde y-slawe,\n\n\u2003And fayn he wolde wreke him, if he mighte,\n\n\u2003On vermin, that destroyed him by nighte.\n\n\u2003The pothecarie answerde, \"and thou shalt have\n\n\u2003A thing that, al-so god my soule save,\n\n\u2003In al this world ther nis no creature,\n\n\u2003That ete or dronke hath of this confiture\n\n\u2003Noght but the mountance of a corn of whete,\n\n\u2003That he ne shal his lyf anon forlete;\n\n\u2003Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse whyle\n\n\u2003Than thou wolt goon a paas nat but a myle;\n\n\u2003This poyson is so strong and violent.\"\n\n\u2003This cursed man hath in his hond y-hent\n\n\u2003This poyson in a box, and sith he ran\n\n\u2003In-to the nexte strete, un-to a man,\n\n\u2003And borwed [of] him large botels three;\n\n\u2003And in the two his poyson poured he;\n\n\u2003The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke.\n\n\u2003For al the night he shoop him for to swinke\n\n\u2003In caryinge of the gold out of that place.\n\n\u2003And whan this ryotour, with sory grace,\n\n\u2003Had filled with wyn his grete botels three,\n\n\u2003To his felawes agayn repaireth he.\n\n\u2003What nedeth it to sermone of it more?\n\n\u2003For right as they had cast his deeth bifore,\n\n\u2003Right so they han him slayn, and that anon.\n\n\u2003And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon,\n\n\u2003\"Now lat us sitte and drinke, and make us merie,\n\n\u2003And afterward we wol his body berie.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word it happed him, par cas,\n\n\u2003Because the fiend found him living in such a way\n\n\u2003That he had God's permission to bring him sorrow:\n\n\u2003For this was his full intent,\n\n\u2003To slay them both, and never to repent.\n\n\u2003And forth he went\u2014no longer would he tarry\u2014\n\n\u2003Into the town, unto an apothecary,\n\n\u2003And prayed him to sell\n\n\u2003Some poison, that he might his rats quell,\n\n\u2003And also there was a weasel in his yard,\n\n\u2003That, as he said, upon his chickens gnawed,\n\n\u2003And gladly would he avenge himself, if he might,\n\n\u2003On vermin, that were ruining him by night.\n\n\u2003The apothecary answered, \"And you shall have\n\n\u2003Something that, so God my soul save,\n\n\u2003In all this world there is no creature,\n\n\u2003That having eaten or drunk of this mixture\n\n\u2003No more than amounts to a grain of wheat,\n\n\u2003Then shall he anon his life forfeit.\n\n\u2003Yes, die he shall, and that in less time\n\n\u2003Than at walking pace you should go a mile,\n\n\u2003This poison is so strong and vile.\"\n\n\u2003This cursed man in his hand grasped\n\n\u2003This poison in a box, and then he ran\n\n\u2003Into the next street unto a man\n\n\u2003And borrowed from him large bottles three,\n\n\u2003And in the two his poison poured he\u2014\n\n\u2003The third he kept clean for his own drink\u2014\n\n\u2003For all the night he himself readied\n\n\u2003For carrying the gold out of that place.\n\n\u2003And when this reveler, by evil blessed,\n\n\u2003Had filled with wine his great bottles three,\n\n\u2003To his fellows again returned he.\n\n\u2003Why need we speak of it more?\n\n\u2003For right as they had planned his death before,\n\n\u2003Right so they did him slay, and that anon.\n\n\u2003And when this was done, thus spoke that one:\n\n\u2003\"Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry,\n\n\u2003And afterward we will his body bury.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word it befell him, by chance,\n\n\u2003To take the botel ther the poyson was,\n\n\u2003And drank, and yaf his felawe drinke also,\n\n\u2003For which anon they storven bothe two.\n\n\u2003But, certes, I suppose that Avicen\n\n\u2003Wroot never in no canon, ne in no fen,\n\n\u2003Mo wonder signes of empoisoning\n\n\u2003Than hadde thise wrecches two, er hir ending.\n\n\u2003Thus ended been thise homicydes two,\n\n\u2003And eek the false empoysoner also.\n\n\u2003O cursed sinne, ful of cursednesse!\n\n\u2003O traytours homicyde, o wikkednesse!\n\n\u2003O glotonye, luxurie, and hasardrye!\n\n\u2003Thou blasphemour of Crist with vileinye\n\n\u2003And othes grete, of usage and of pryde!\n\n\u2003Alias! mankinde, how may it bityde,\n\n\u2003That to thy creatour which that thee wroghte,\n\n\u2003And with his precious herte-blood thee boghte,\n\n\u2003Thou art so fals and so unkinde, alias!\n\n\u2003Now, goode men, god forgeve yow your trespas,\n\n\u2003And ware yow fro the sinne of avryce.\n\n\u2003Myn holy pardoun may yow alle waryce,\n\n\u2003So that ye offre nobles or sterlinges,\n\n\u2003Or elles silver broches, spones, ringes.\n\n\u2003Boweth your heed under this holy bulle!\n\n\u2003Cometh up, ye wyves, offreth of your wolle!\n\n\u2003Your name I entre heer in my rolle anon;\n\n\u2003In-to the blisse of hevene shul ye gon;\n\n\u2003I yow assoile, by myn heigh power,\n\n\u2003Yow that wol offre, as clene and eek as cleer\n\n\u2003As ye were born; and, lo, sirs thus I preche.\n\n\u2003And Jesu Crist, that is our soules leche,\n\n\u2003So graunte yow his pardon to receyve;\n\n\u2003For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003But sirs, o word forgat I in my tale;\n\n\u2003I have relikes and pardon in my male,\n\n\u2003As faire as any man in Engelond,\n\n\u2003To take the bottle where the poison was,\n\n\u2003And drank, and gave his fellow drink also,\n\n\u2003For which anon they died both two.\n\n\u2003But certainly, I suppose that Avicenna\n\n\u2003Described never, in any chapter or treatise,\n\n\u2003More awful symptoms of poisoning\n\n\u2003Than had these wretches two, before their ending.\n\n\u2003Thus ended these murderers two,\n\n\u2003And also the false poisoner as well.\n\n\u2003Oh cursed sin of all cursedness!\n\n\u2003Oh traitorous murderers, oh wickedness!\n\n\u2003Oh gluttony, lechery and gambling!\n\n\u2003You blasphemer of Christ with vile words\n\n\u2003And oaths great, out of pride and habit!\n\n\u2003Alas! mankind, how may it happen\n\n\u2003That to your Creator who you wrought,\n\n\u2003And with his precious heart blood you redeemed,\n\n\u2003You are so false and so unnatural, alas!\n\n\u2003Now, good men, may God forgive you your trespasses,\n\n\u2003And protect you from the sin of avarice.\n\n\u2003My holy pardon may all you cure\u2014\n\n\u2003So long as you offer coin of gold or sterling,\n\n\u2003Or else silver brooches, spoons or rings.\n\n\u2003Bow your head under this holy bull!\n\n\u2003Come up, you wives, offer of your wool!\n\n\u2003Your names I enter here in my list anon:\n\n\u2003Into the bliss of heaven you shall go.\n\n\u2003I you absolve, by my high power\u2014\n\n\u2003You who will make an offering\u2014as clean and pure\n\n\u2003As you were born. And look, sirs, thus I preach.\n\n\u2003And Jesus Christ, who is our souls' healer,\n\n\u2003May He grant you His pardon to receive,\n\n\u2003For that is best; I will you not deceive."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003But sirs, one word forgot I in my tale:\n\n\u2003I have relics and pardons in my pouch\n\n\u2003As fair as any man in England,\n\n\u2003Whiche were me yeven by the popes hond.\n\n\u2003If any of yow wol, of devocioun,\n\n\u2003Offren, and han myn absolucioun,\n\n\u2003Cometh forth anon, and kneleth heer adoun,\n\n\u2003And mekely receyveth my pardoun:\n\n\u2003Or elles, taketh pardon as ye wende,\n\n\u2003Al newe and fresh, at every tounes ende,\n\n\u2003So that ye offren alwey newe and newe\n\n\u2003Nobles and pens, which that be gode and trewe.\n\n\u2003It is an honour to everich that is heer,\n\n\u2003That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer\n\n\u2003T'assoille yow, in contree as ye ryde,\n\n\u2003For aventures which that may bityde.\n\n\u2003Peraventure ther may falle oon or two\n\n\u2003Doun of his hors, and breke his nekke atwo.\n\n\u2003Look which a seuretee is it to yow alle\n\n\u2003That I am in your felaweship y-falle,\n\n\u2003That may assoille yow, bothe more and lasse,\n\n\u2003Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe.\n\n\u2003I rede that our hoste heer shal biginne,\n\n\u2003For he is most envoluped in sinne.\n\n\u2003Com forth, sir hoste, and offre first anon.\n\n\u2003And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon,\n\n\u2003Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs.\n\n\u2003\"Nay, nay,\" quod he, \"than have I Cristes curs!\n\n\u2003Lat be,\" quod he, \"it shal nat be, so thee'ch!\n\n\u2003Thou woldest make me kisse thyn old breech,\n\n\u2003And swere it were a relik of a seint,\n\n\u2003Thogh it were with thy fundement depeint!\n\n\u2003But by the croys which that seint Eleyne fond,\n\n\u2003I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond\n\n\u2003In stede of relikes or of seintuarie;\n\n\u2003Lat cutte hem of, I wol thee helpe hem carie;\n\n\u2003They shul be shryned in an hogges tord.\"\n\n\u2003This pardoner answerde nat a word;\n\n\u2003So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he seye.\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" quod our host, \"I wol no lenger pleye\n\n\u2003With thee, ne with noon other angry man.\"\n\n\u2003But right anon the worthy Knight bigan,\n\n\u2003Which were given to me by the Pope's hand.\n\n\u2003If any of you will out of devotion\n\n\u2003Offer and have my absolution,\n\n\u2003Come forth now, and kneel here down,\n\n\u2003And meekly receive my pardon;\n\n\u2003Or else, take pardon as you travel,\n\n\u2003All new and fresh, at every mile's end\u2014\n\n\u2003So long as you make an offering anew each time\n\n\u2003Of gold coins or pence, which be good and true.\n\n\u2003It is an honor to everyone who is here\n\n\u2003To have such an able pardoner\n\n\u2003To absolve you, as you ride the countryside,\n\n\u2003For anything that may you betide.\n\n\u2003Perhaps there may fall one or two\n\n\u2003Down off his horse, and break his neck in two.\n\n\u2003Look what a security it is to you all\n\n\u2003That I am in your fellowship befallen,\n\n\u2003Who may absolve you, both great and small,\n\n\u2003When the soul shall from the body pass.\n\n\u2003I advise our Host here to begin,\n\n\u2003For he is the most wrapped up in sin.\n\n\u2003Come forth, sir Host, and offer first now,\n\n\u2003And you shall kiss the relics every one,\n\n\u2003Yes, for a groat: unbuckle now your purse.\n\n\u2003\"No, no,\" said he, \"then have I Christ's curse!\n\n\u2003Let be,\" said he, \"it shall not be so as I hope to prosper!\n\n\u2003You would make me kiss your old breeches\n\n\u2003And swear they are the relic of a saint,\n\n\u2003Though by your fundament they be stained!\n\n\u2003But by the true cross that Saint Helena found,\n\n\u2003I would I had your balls in my hand\n\n\u2003Instead of relics or things holy.\n\n\u2003Let them be cut off! I will help you them carry.\n\n\u2003They shall be enshrined in a hog's turd!\"\n\n\u2003This Pardoner answered not a word;\n\n\u2003So angry he was, no word would he say.\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" said our Host, \"I will no longer play\n\n\u2003With you, nor with any other angry man.\"\n\n\u2003But right anon the worthy Knight began,\n\n\u2003Whan that he saugh that al the peple lough,\n\n\u2003\"Na-more of this, for it is right y-nough;\n\n\u2003Sir Pardoner, be glad and mery of chere;\n\n\u2003And ye, sir host, that been to me so dere,\n\n\u2003I prey yow that ye kisse the Pardoner.\n\n\u2003And Pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer.\n\n\u2003And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye.\"\n\n\u2003Anon they kiste, and riden forth hir weye.\n\n\u2003When he saw all the people laugh,\n\n\u2003\"No more of this, for it is quite enough!\n\n\u2003Sir Pardoner, be glad and merry of cheer;\n\n\u2003And you, sir Host, who is to me so dear,\n\n\u2003I pray that you kiss the Pardoner.\n\n\u2003And Pardoner, I pray you, draw yourself near,\n\n\u2003And, as we did, let us laugh and play.\"\n\n\u2003Anon they kissed, and rode forth on their way."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prioresses Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003Domine, Dominus Noster\n\n\u2003O Lord our Lord, thy name how merveillous\n\n\u2003Is in this large worlde y-sprad\u2014quod she:\u2014\n\n\u2003For noght only thy laude precious\n\n\u2003Parfourned is by men of dignitee,\n\n\u2003But by the mouth of children thy bountee\n\n\u2003Parfourned is, for on the brest soukinge\n\n\u2003Some tyme shewen they thyn heryinge.\n\n\u2003Wherfor in laude, as I best can or may,\n\n\u2003Of thee, and of the whyte lily flour\n\n\u2003Which that thee bar, and is a mayde alway,\n\n\u2003To telle a storie I wol do my labour;\n\n\u2003Not that I may encresen hir honour;\n\n\u2003For she hir-self is honour, and the rote\n\n\u2003Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules bote.\u2014\n\n\u2003O moder mayde! o mayde moder free!\n\n\u2003O bush unbrent, brenninge in Moyses sighte,\n\n\u2003That ravisedest doun fro the deitee,\n\n\u2003Thurgh thyn humblesse, the goost that in\n\n\u2003th'alighte,\n\n\u2003Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte,\n\n\u2003Conceived was the fadres sapience,\n\n\u2003Help me to telle it in thy reverence!\n\n\u2003Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence,\n\n\u2003Thy vertu, and thy grete humilitee\n\n\u2003Ther may no tonge expresse in no science;\n\n\u2003For som-tyme, lady, er men praye to thee,\n\n\u2003Thou goost biforn of thy benignitee,\n\n\u2003And getest us the light, thurgh thy preyere,\n\n\u2003To gyden us un-to thy sone so dere."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prioress's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003Domine, Dominus Noster\n\n\u2003Oh Lord, our Lord, your name so marvelous\n\n\u2003Is in this world spread\u2014said she\u2014\n\n\u2003For not only your praise precious\n\n\u2003Celebrated is by men of dignity,\n\n\u2003But by the mouths of children your bounty\n\n\u2003Celebrated is, for suckling at the breast\n\n\u2003Do they celebrate your praise.\n\n\u2003Therefore in praise, as I best can or may,\n\n\u2003Of you and of the white lily flower\n\n\u2003Who bore you, and is a maid always,\n\n\u2003To tell a story will I do my labor;\n\n\u2003Not that I may increase her honor,\n\n\u2003For she herself is honor and the root\n\n\u2003Of bounty, next to her son, and soul's healer.\n\n\u2003Oh mother Maid, Oh maid Mother of grace!\n\n\u2003Oh bush unburned, burning in Moses' sight,\n\n\u2003Who ravished down from the Deity,\n\n\u2003Through your humility, the Holy Spirit who within\n\nyou alighted,\n\n\u2003Of whose virtue, when he your heart made light,\n\n\u2003Conceived was the Father's knowledge,\n\n\u2003Help me tell it in your reverence!\n\n\u2003Lady, your bounty, your magnificence,\n\n\u2003Your virtue and your great humility\n\n\u2003There may no tongue know how to say,\n\n\u2003For sometimes, Lady, before men pray to you,\n\n\u2003You go before them in your graciousness,\n\n\u2003And bring us the light, through your prayer,\n\n\u2003To guide us unto your Son so dear.\n\n\u2003My conning is so wayk, o blisful quene,\n\n\u2003For to declare thy grete worthinesse,\n\n\u2003That I ne may the weighte nat sustene,\n\n\u2003But as a child of twelf monthe old, or lesse,\n\n\u2003That can unnethes any word expresse,\n\n\u2003Right so fare I, and therfor I yow preye,\n\n\u2003Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Ther was in Asie, in a greet citee,\n\n\u2003Amonges Cristen folk, a Jewerye,\n\n\u2003Sustened by a lord of that contree\n\n\u2003For foule usure and lucre of vilanye,\n\n\u2003Hateful to Crist and to his companye;\n\n\u2003And thurgh the strete men mighte ryde or wende,\n\n\u2003For it was free, and open at either ende.\n\n\u2003A litel scole of Cristen folk ther stood\n\n\u2003Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were\n\n\u2003Children an heep, y-comen of Cristen blood,\n\n\u2003That lerned in that scole yeer by yere\n\n\u2003Swich maner doctrine as men used there,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, to singen and to rede,\n\n\u2003As smale children doon in hir childhede.\n\n\u2003Among thise children was a widwes sone,\n\n\u2003A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age,\n\n\u2003That day by day to scole was his wone,\n\n\u2003And eek also, wher-as he saugh th'image\n\n\u2003Of Cristes moder, hadde he in usage,\n\n\u2003As him was taught, to knele adoun and seye\n\n\u2003His Ave Marie, as he goth by the weye.\n\n\u2003Thus hath this widwe hir litel sone y-taught\n\n\u2003Our blisful lady, Cristes moder dere,\n\n\u2003To worshipe ay, and he forgat it naught,\n\n\u2003For sely child wol alday sone lere;\n\n\u2003But ay, whan I remembre on this matere,\n\n\u2003Seint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,\n\n\u2003For he so yong to Crist did reverence.\n\n\u2003My power is weak, Oh blissful Queen,\n\n\u2003To declare your great worthiness\n\n\u2003I may not the weight sustain;\n\n\u2003But as a child of twelve months old, or less,\n\n\u2003Who cannot any word express,\n\n\u2003Right so fare I, and therefore I pray you,\n\n\u2003Guide my song that I shall of you say.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003There was in Asia, in a great city,\n\n\u2003Among Christian folk a Jewish ghetto,\n\n\u2003Sustained by a lord of that country\n\n\u2003For foul usury and profits shameful,\n\n\u2003Hateful to Christ and all his company;\n\n\u2003And through the street men might ride or wend,\n\n\u2003For it was free and open at either end.\n\n\u2003A little school of Christian folk there stood\n\n\u2003Down at the further end, in which there were\n\n\u2003Children many, of Christian blood,\n\n\u2003Who learned in that school year by year\n\n\u2003Such lessons as men taught there,\n\n\u2003That is to say, to sing and read,\n\n\u2003As small children do in their childhood.\n\n\u2003Among these children was a widow's son,\n\n\u2003A little schoolboy, seven years of age,\n\n\u2003Who day by day to school he went,\n\n\u2003And also, where he saw the image\n\n\u2003Of Christ's mother, observed the custom,\n\n\u2003As he was taught, to kneel down and say\n\n\u2003His Ave Maria, as he went along his way.\n\n\u2003Thus had this widow her little son taught\n\n\u2003Our blissful Lady, Christ's mother dear,\n\n\u2003To worship ever, and he forgot it not,\n\n\u2003For innocent children will ever soon learn.\n\n\u2003But, whenever I think upon this matter,\n\n\u2003Saint Nicholas stands ever in my presence,\n\n\u2003For he so young to Christ did revere.\n\n\u2003This litel child, his litel book lerninge,\n\n\u2003As he sat in the scole at his prymer,\n\n\u2003He Alma redemptoris herde singe,\n\n\u2003As children lerned hir antiphoner;\n\n\u2003And, as he dorste, he drough him ner and ner,\n\n\u2003And herkned ay the wordes and the note,\n\n\u2003Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.\n\n\u2003Noght wiste he what this Latin was to seye,\n\n\u2003For he so yong and tendre was of age;\n\n\u2003But on a day his felaw gan he preye\n\n\u2003T'expounden him this song in his langage,\n\n\u2003Or telle him why this song was in usage;\n\n\u2003This preyde he him to construe and declare\n\n\u2003Ful ofte tyme upon his knowes bare.\n\n\u2003His felaw, which that elder was than he,\n\n\u2003Answerde him thus: \"this song, I have herd seye,\n\n\u2003Was maked of our blisful lady free,\n\n\u2003Hir to salue, and eek hir for to preye\n\n\u2003To been our help and socour whan we deye.\n\n\u2003I can no more expounde in this matere;\n\n\u2003I lerne song, I can but smal grammere.\"\n\n\u2003\"And is this song maked in reverence\n\n\u2003Of Cristes moder?\" seyde this innocent;\n\n\u2003\"Now certes, I wol do my diligence\n\n\u2003To comme it al, er Cristemasse is went;\n\n\u2003Though that I for my prymer shal be shent,\n\n\u2003And shal be beten thry\u00ebs in an houre,\n\n\u2003I wol it conne, our lady for to honoure.\"\n\n\u2003His felaw taughte him homward prively,\n\n\u2003Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,\n\n\u2003And than he song it wel and boldely\n\n\u2003Fro word to word, acording with the note;\n\n\u2003Twy\u00ebs a day it passed thurgh his throte,\n\n\u2003To scoleward and homward whan he wente;\n\n\u2003On Cristes moder set was his entente.\n\n\u2003This little child, his little book studying,\n\n\u2003As he sat in the school with his primer,\n\n\u2003He Alma redemptoris heard sing,\n\n\u2003As older children learned their antiphon;\n\n\u2003And much as he dared, he to them drew close,\n\n\u2003And harkened to the words and notes,\n\n\u2003Till he the first verse knew by rote.\n\n\u2003Not knew he what this Latin said,\n\n\u2003For he so young and tender was of age.\n\n\u2003But on a day his fellow student he began to ask\n\n\u2003To expound for him the song in his tongue,\n\n\u2003Or tell him why this song was sung;\n\n\u2003This prayed he him to translate and declare\n\n\u2003Full often time upon his knees bare.\n\n\u2003His fellow, who older was than he,\n\n\u2003Answered him thus: \"This song, I have heard say,\n\n\u2003Was made of our blissful lady gracious,\n\n\u2003To salute her, and also to pray to her\n\n\u2003To be our help and succor when we die.\n\n\u2003I can no more expound on this matter.\n\n\u2003I learn to sing it, but I know little grammar.\"\n\n\u2003\"And is this song made in reverence\n\n\u2003Of Christ's mother?\" said this innocent.\n\n\u2003\"Now, certainly, I will do my best\n\n\u2003To learn it before Christmas be here.\n\n\u2003Though I shall neglect my primer,\n\n\u2003And shall be beaten thrice an hour,\n\n\u2003I will it learn to honor Our Lady!\"\n\n\u2003His fellow taught him walking home,\n\n\u2003From day to day, till it he knew by rote,\n\n\u2003And then he sang it well and boldly,\n\n\u2003From word to word, and note for note,\n\n\u2003Twice a day it passed through his throat,\n\n\u2003To school and homeward when he went;\n\n\u2003On Christ's mother set was his intent.\n\n\u2003As I have seyd, thurgh-out the Jewerye\n\n\u2003This litel child, as he cam to and fro,\n\n\u2003Ful merily than wolde he singe, and crye\n\n\u2003O Alma redemptoris ever-mo.\n\n\u2003The swetnes hath his herte perced so\n\n\u2003Of Cristes moder, that, to hir to preye,\n\n\u2003He can nat stinte of singing by the weye.\n\n\u2003Our firste fo, the serpent Sathanas,\n\n\u2003That hath in Jewes herte his waspes nest,\n\n\u2003Up swal, and seide, \"O Hebraik peple, alias!\n\n\u2003Is this to yow a thing that is honest,\n\n\u2003That swich a boy shal walken as him lest\n\n\u2003In your despyt, and singe of swich sentence,\n\n\u2003Which is agayn your lawes reverence?\"\n\n\u2003Fro thennes forth the Jewes han conspyred\n\n\u2003This innocent out of this world to chace;\n\n\u2003An homicyde ther-to han they hyred,\n\n\u2003That in an aley hadde a privee place;\n\n\u2003And as the child gan for-by for to pace,\n\n\u2003This cursed Jew him hente and heeld him faste,\n\n\u2003And kitte his throte, and in a pit him caste.\n\n\u2003I seye that in a wardrobe they him threwe\n\n\u2003Wher-as these Jewes purgen hir entraille.\n\n\u2003O cursed folk of Herodes al newe,\n\n\u2003What may your yvel entente yow availle?\n\n\u2003Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille,\n\n\u2003And namely ther th'onour of god shal sprede,\n\n\u2003The blood out cryeth on your cursed dede.\n\n\u2003\"O martir, souded to virginitee,\n\n\u2003Now maystou singen, folwing ever in oon\n\n\u2003The whyte lamb celestial,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"Of which the grete evangelist, seint John,\n\n\u2003In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon\n\n\u2003Biforn this lamb, and singe a song al newe,\n\n\u2003That never, fleshly, wommen they ne knewe.\"\n\n\u2003As I have said, throughout the ghetto\n\n\u2003This little child, as he went to and fro,\n\n\u2003Full merrily would he sing and cry\n\n\u2003O Alma redemptoris evermore.\n\n\u2003The sweetness his heart pierced so\n\n\u2003Of Christ's mother that, to pray to her,\n\n\u2003He cannot stint of singing along the way.\n\n\u2003Our first foe, the serpent Satan,\n\n\u2003Who had in Jews' hearts his wasp's nest,\n\n\u2003Upswelled, and said, \"Oh Hebrew people, alas!\n\n\u2003Is this to you a thing that is decent,\n\n\u2003That such a brat shall walk as he pleases\n\n\u2003In your disrespect, and sing of such subjects,\n\n\u2003To which your laws object?\"\n\n\u2003From thenceforth the Jews have conspired\n\n\u2003This innocent out of this world to chase.\n\n\u2003A murderer thereto have they hired,\n\n\u2003Who in an alley had a secret place;\n\n\u2003And as the child began past there to pace,\n\n\u2003This cursed Jew him seized, and held him fast,\n\n\u2003And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.\n\n\u2003I say that in a privy they him threw\n\n\u2003Where these Jews purged their bowels.\n\n\u2003Oh cursed folk of Herods new,\n\n\u2003What may your evil intent avail?\n\n\u2003Murder will out, certainly, it will not fail,\n\n\u2003And namely there the honor of God shall spread;\n\n\u2003The blood cries out against your cursed deed.\n\n\u2003Oh martyr, consecrated to virginity,\n\n\u2003Now may you sing, following ever\n\n\u2003The white Lamb celestial\u2014said she\u2014\n\n\u2003Of which the great evangelist, Saint John,\n\n\u2003In Patmos wrote, who says that they go\n\n\u2003Before this Lamb and sing a song all new,\n\n\u2003Who never earthly women knew.\n\n\u2003This povre widwe awaiteth al that night\n\n\u2003After hir litel child, but he cam noght;\n\n\u2003For which, as sone as it was dayes light,\n\n\u2003With face pale of drede and bisy thoght,\n\n\u2003She hath at scole and elles-wher him soght,\n\n\u2003Til finally she gan so fere espye\n\n\u2003That he last seyn was in the Jewerye.\n\n\u2003With modres pitee in hir brest enclosed,\n\n\u2003She gooth, as she were half out of hir minde,\n\n\u2003To every place wher she hath supposed\n\n\u2003By lyklihede hir litel child to finde;\n\n\u2003And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde\n\n\u2003She cryde, and atte laste thus she wroghte,\n\n\u2003Among the cursed Jewes she him soghte.\n\n\u2003She frayneth and she preyeth pitously\n\n\u2003To every Jew that dwelte in thilke place,\n\n\u2003To telle hir, if hir child wente oght for-by.\n\n\u2003They seyde, \"nay\"; but Jesu, of his grace,\n\n\u2003Yaf in hir thought, inwith a litel space,\n\n\u2003That in that place after hir sone she cryde,\n\n\u2003Wher he was casten in a pit bisyde.\n\n\u2003O grete god, that parfournest thy laude\n\n\u2003By mouth of innocents, lo heer thy might!\n\n\u2003This gemme of chastitee, this emeraude,\n\n\u2003And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,\n\n\u2003Ther he with throte y-corven lay upright,\n\n\u2003He \"Alma redemptoris\" gan to singe\n\n\u2003So loude, that al the place gan to ringe.\n\n\u2003The Cristen folk, that thurgh the strete wente,\n\n\u2003In coomen, for to wondre up-on this thing,\n\n\u2003And hastily they for the provost sente;\n\n\u2003He cam anon with-outen tarying,\n\n\u2003And herieth Crist that is of heven king,\n\n\u2003And eek his moder, honour of mankinde,\n\n\u2003And after that, the Jewes leet he binde.\n\n\u2003This poor widow awaited all that night\n\n\u2003For her little child, but he came not;\n\n\u2003For which, as soon as it was daylight,\n\n\u2003With face pale with dread and anxious thought,\n\n\u2003She has at school and elsewhere him sought,\n\n\u2003Till finally she began to learn\n\n\u2003That he in the Jewery was last seen.\n\n\u2003With mother's pity in her breast enclosed,\n\n\u2003She went, as she was half out of her mind,\n\n\u2003To every place where she has supposed\n\n\u2003By likelihood her little child to find;\n\n\u2003And ever to Christ's mother meek and kind\n\n\u2003She cried, and at last thus she wrought:\n\n\u2003Among the cursed Jews she him sought.\n\n\u2003She asked and she prayed piteously\n\n\u2003To every Jew who dwelt in that place,\n\n\u2003To tell her if her child anywhere there went.\n\n\u2003They said \"nay;\" but Jesus of his grace\n\n\u2003Has in her thought in a little while\n\n\u2003Led her to that place where for her son she cried,\n\n\u2003Where he was cast in the pit beside.\n\n\u2003Oh great God, who manifests your praise\n\n\u2003In the mouths of innocents, behold your might!\n\n\u2003This gem of chastity, this emerald,\n\n\u2003And also of martyrdom the ruby bright,\n\n\u2003There with throat cut lay face upright,\n\n\u2003He Alma redemptoris began to sing\n\n\u2003So loud that all the place began to ring.\n\n\u2003The Christian folk who along the street went\n\n\u2003Came in to wonder upon this thing,\n\n\u2003And hastily they for the magistrate sent;\n\n\u2003He came anon without tarrying,\n\n\u2003And praised Christ who is of heaven king,\n\n\u2003And also his mother, honor of mankind,\n\n\u2003And after that the Jews he bound.\n\n\u2003This child with pitous lamentacioun\n\n\u2003Up-taken was, singing his song alway;\n\n\u2003And with honour of grete processioun\n\n\u2003They carien him un-to the nexte abbay.\n\n\u2003His moder swowning by the bere lay;\n\n\u2003Unnethe might the people that was there\n\n\u2003This newe Rachel bringe fro his bere.\n\n\u2003With torment and with shamful deth echon\n\n\u2003This provost dooth thise Jewes for to sterve\n\n\u2003That of this mordre wiste, and that anon;\n\n\u2003He nolde no swich cursednesse observe.\n\n\u2003Yvel shal have, that yvel wol deserve.\n\n\u2003Therfor with wilde hors he dide hem drawe,\n\n\u2003And after that he heng hem by the lawe.\n\n\u2003Up-on his bere ay lyth this innocent\n\n\u2003Biforn the chief auter, whyl masse laste,\n\n\u2003And after that, the abbot with his covent\n\n\u2003Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste;\n\n\u2003And whan they holy water on him caste,\n\n\u2003Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was holy water,\n\n\u2003And song\u2014\"O Alma redemptoris mater!\"\n\n\u2003This abbot, which that was an holy man\n\n\u2003As monkes been, or elles oghten be,\n\n\u2003This yonge child to conjure he bigan,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"o dere child, I halse thee,\n\n\u2003In vertu of the holy Trinitee,\n\n\u2003Tel me what is thy cause for to singe,\n\n\u2003Sith that they throte is cut, to my seminge?\"\n\n\u2003\"My throte is cut un-to my nekke-boon,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this child, \"and, as by wey of kinde,\n\n\u2003I sholde have deyed, ye, longe tyme agoon,\n\n\u2003But Jesu Crist, as ye in bokes finde,\n\n\u2003Wil that his glorie laste and be in minde;\n\n\u2003This child with piteous lamentation\n\n\u2003Uptaken was, singing his song always,\n\n\u2003And with honor of great procession\n\n\u2003They carried him unto the next abbey.\n\n\u2003His mother swooning by his bier lay;\n\n\u2003Hardly might the people who were there\n\n\u2003This new Rachel bring from his bier.\n\n\u2003With torture and with shameful death,\n\n\u2003This magistrate put those Jews to death\n\n\u2003Who of this murder knew, and that anon.\n\n\u2003He had never permitted such cursedness.\n\n\u2003\"Evil shall have what evil deserves\";\n\n\u2003Therefore with wild horses he did them draw,\n\n\u2003And then he them hung as held the law.\n\n\u2003Upon this bier ever lay this innocent\n\n\u2003Before the chief altar, while the mass lasted;\n\n\u2003And after that, the abbot with his monks\n\n\u2003Made haste to bury him full fast;\n\n\u2003And when they holy water on him cast,\n\n\u2003Yet spoke this child, when sprinkled with holy water,\n\n\u2003And sang, O Alma redemptoris mater!\n\n\u2003This abbot, who was a holy man,\n\n\u2003As monks be\u2014or else ought to be\u2014\n\n\u2003This young child to entreat he began,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Oh dear child, I beseech you,\n\n\u2003In virtue of the holy Trinity,\n\n\u2003Tell me what is the cause of your singing,\n\n\u2003Since your throat was cut as it seems to me?\"\n\n\u2003\"My throat is cut unto my neck bone,\"\n\n\u2003Said this child, \"and by natural law\n\n\u2003I should have died, yea, long time ago.\n\n\u2003But Jesus Christ, as you in books find,\n\n\u2003May his glory last and be in mind,\n\n\u2003And, for the worship of his moder dere,\n\n\u2003Yet may I singe 'O Alma' loude and clere.\n\n\u2003This welle of mercy, Cristes moder swete,\n\n\u2003I lovede alwey, as after my conninge;\n\n\u2003And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete,\n\n\u2003To me she cam, and bad me for to singe\n\n\u2003This antem verraily in my deyinge,\n\n\u2003As ye han herd, and, whan that I had songe,\n\n\u2003Me thoughte, she leyde a greyn up-on my tonge.\n\n\u2003Wherfor I singe, and singe I moot certeyn\n\n\u2003In honour of that blisful mayden free,\n\n\u2003Til fro my tonge of-taken is the greyn;\n\n\u2003And afterward thus seyde she to me,\n\n\u2003'My litel child, now wol I fecche thee\n\n\u2003Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge y-take;\n\n\u2003Be nat agast, I wol thee nat forsake.'\"\n\n\u2003This holy monk, this abbot, him mene I,\n\n\u2003Him tonge out-caughte, and took a-wey the greyn,\n\n\u2003And he yaf up the goost ful softely.\n\n\u2003And whan this abbot had this wonder seyn,\n\n\u2003His salte teres trikled doun as reyn,\n\n\u2003And gruf he fil al plat up-on the grounde,\n\n\u2003And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde.\n\n\u2003The covent eek lay on the pavement\n\n\u2003Weping, and herien Cristes moder dere,\n\n\u2003And after that they ryse, and forth ben went,\n\n\u2003And toke awey this martir fro his bere,\n\n\u2003And in a tombe of marbul-stones clere\n\n\u2003Enclosen they his litel body swete;\n\n\u2003Ther he is now, god leve us for to mete.\n\n\u2003O yonge Hugh of Lincoln, slayn also\n\n\u2003With cursed Jewes, as it is notable,\n\n\u2003For it nis but a litel whyle ago;\n\n\u2003And for the worship of his Mother dear\n\n\u2003Yet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.\n\n\u2003\"This well of mercy, Christ's mother sweet,\n\n\u2003I loved always, as after my understanding;\n\n\u2003And when I my life forfeited,\n\n\u2003To me she came, and bade me to sing\n\n\u2003This psalm truly in my dying,\n\n\u2003As you have heard, and when I had sung,\n\n\u2003I thought she laid a seed upon my tongue.\n\n\u2003\"Therefore I sing, and sing most certain,\n\n\u2003In honor of that blissful Maid of mercy\n\n\u2003Till from my tongue removed is the seed;\n\n\u2003And after that thus she said to me:\n\n\u2003'My little child, now will I fetch you,\n\n\u2003When the seed is from your tongue taken.\n\n\u2003Be not afraid, I will not you forsake.'\"\n\n\u2003This holy monk, this abbot, I mean,\n\n\u2003His tongue grasped, and took away the seed,\n\n\u2003And he gave up the ghost full softly.\n\n\u2003And when this abbot had this wonder seen,\n\n\u2003His salt tears trickled down as rain,\n\n\u2003And face down he fell flat upon the ground,\n\n\u2003And still he lay as if he were bound.\n\n\u2003These monks they lay upon the pavement\n\n\u2003Weeping, and praising Christ's mother dear,\n\n\u2003And after that they rose, and forth they went,\n\n\u2003And took away this martyr from his bier;\n\n\u2003And in a tomb of marble shining bright\n\n\u2003Enclosed they his little body sweet.\n\n\u2003There he is now, God grant that we may meet!\n\n\u2003Oh young Hugh of Lincoln, slain also\n\n\u2003By cursed Jews, as it is well known,\n\n\u2003For it was but a little while ago,\n\n\u2003Preye eek for us, we sinful folk unstable,\n\n\u2003That, of his mercy, god so merciable\n\n\u2003On us his grete mercy multiplye,\n\n\u2003For reverence of his moder Marye. Amen.\n\n\u2003Pray also for us, we sinful folk unstable,\n\n\u2003Who in his mercy may God so merciful\n\n\u2003Toward us his great mercy multiply,\n\n\u2003In reverence of his mother Mary. Amen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Nonne Preestes Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Ho!\" Quod the knight, \"good sir, na-more of this,\n\n\u2003That ye han seyd is right y-nough, y-wis,\n\n\u2003And mochel more; for litel hevinesse\n\n\u2003Is right y-nough to mochel folk, I gesse.\n\n\u2003I seye for me, it is a greet disese\n\n\u2003Wher-as men han ben in greet welthe and ese,\n\n\u2003To heren of hir sodeyn fal, alias!\n\n\u2003And the contrarie is joie and greet solas,\n\n\u2003As whan a man hath been in povre estaat,\n\n\u2003And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat,\n\n\u2003And ther abydeth in prosperitee,\n\n\u2003Swich thing is gladson, as it thinketh me,\n\n\u2003And of swich thing were goodly for to telle.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye,\" quod our hoste, \"by seint Poules belle,\n\n\u2003Ye seye right sooth; this monk, he clappeth loude,\n\n\u2003He spak how 'fortune covered with a cloude'\n\n\u2003I noot never what, and als of a 'Tragedie'\n\n\u2003Right now ye herde, and parde! no remedie\n\n\u2003It is for to biwaille ne compleyne\n\n\u2003That that is doon, and als it is a peyne,\n\n\u2003As ye han seyd, to here of hevinesse.\n\n\u2003Sir monk, na-more of this, so god yow blesse!\n\n\u2003Your tale anoyeth al this companye;\n\n\u2003Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye;\n\n\u2003For ther-in is ther no desport ne game.\n\n\u2003Wherfor, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name,\n\n\u2003I preye yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles\n\n\u2003For sikerly, nere clinking of your belles,\n\n\u2003That on your brydel hange on every syde,\n\n\u2003By heven king, that for us alle dyde,\n\n\u2003I sholde er this han fallen doun for slepe,\n\n\u2003Although the slough had never been so depe;\n\n\u2003Than had your tale al be told in vayn.\n\n\u2003For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn,\n\n\u2003'Wher-as a man may have noon audience,"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Nun's Priest's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Stop!\" Said the knight, \"good sir, no more of this:\n\n\u2003What you have said is right enough, indeed,\n\n\u2003And much more than enough, for a little seriousness\n\n\u2003Is right enough for many folk, I guess.\n\n\u2003I say for me it is a great discomfort,\n\n\u2003There where men have been in great wealth and ease,\n\n\u2003To hear of their sudden fall, alas!\n\n\u2003And the contrary is joy and great solace,\n\n\u2003As when a man has been in poverty,\n\n\u2003And climbs up, and waxes lucky,\n\n\u2003And there abides in prosperity\u2014\n\n\u2003Such a thing is gladsome, as it seems to me,\n\n\u2003And of such things it is goodly for to tell.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes,\" said our Host, \"by Saint Paul's bell,\n\n\u2003You say right truly: this Monk, he chatters loud.\n\n\u2003He spoke 'How Fortune covered with a cloud'\u2014\n\n\u2003I know not what. And also of 'tragedy'\n\n\u2003Right now you heard, and, by God! no remedy\n\n\u2003It is for to bewail or complain\n\n\u2003That which is done, and besides it is a pain,\n\n\u2003As you have said, to hear seriousness.\n\n\u2003Sir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless!\n\n\u2003Your tale annoys all this company.\n\n\u2003Such talking is not worth a butterfly,\n\n\u2003For therein there is no pleasure or game.\n\n\u2003Wherefore, sir Monk, or sir Piers by your name,\n\n\u2003I pray you heartily tell us something else,\n\n\u2003For certainly, were it not for the clinking of your bells\n\n\u2003That on your bridle hang on every side,\n\n\u2003By Heaven's king who for us all died,\n\n\u2003I should before this have fallen down, asleep,\n\n\u2003Even if the mud had been ever so deep.\n\n\u2003Then would your tale have been told all in vain;\n\n\u2003For certainly, just as these scholars say,\n\n\u2003'There where a man may have no audience,\n\n\u2003Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.'\n\n\u2003And wel I woot the substance is in me,\n\n\u2003If any thing shal wel reported be.\n\n\u2003Sir, sey somwhat of hunting, I yow preye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod this monk, \"I have no lust to pleye;\n\n\u2003Now let another telle, as I hav told.\"\n\n\u2003Than spak our host, with rude speche and bold,\n\n\u2003And seyde un-to the Nonnes Preest anon,\n\n\u2003\"Com neer, thou preest, com hider, thou sir John,\n\n\u2003Tel us swich thing as may our hertes glade,\n\n\u2003Be blythe, though thou ryde up-on a jade.\n\n\u2003What though thyn hors be bothe foule and lene,\n\n\u2003If he wol serve thee, rekke nat a bene;\n\n\u2003Look that thyn herte be mery evermo.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yis, sir,\" quod he, \"yis, host, so mote I go,\n\n\u2003But I be mery, y-wis, I wol be blamed:\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And right anon his tale he hath attamed,\n\n\u2003And thus he seyde un-to us everichon,\n\n\u2003This swete preest, this goodly man, sir John.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003A povre widwe, somdel stape in age,\n\n\u2003Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage,\n\n\u2003Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale.\n\n\u2003This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale,\n\n\u2003Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf,\n\n\u2003In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf,\n\n\u2003For litel was hir catel and hir rente;\n\n\u2003By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente,\n\n\u2003She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two.\n\n\u2003Three large sowes hadde she, and namo,\n\n\u2003Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle,\n\n\u2003Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle,\n\n\u2003In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel.\n\n\u2003Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel.\n\n\u2003No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte;\n\n\u2003Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote.\n\n\u2003Repleccioun ne made hir never syk;\n\n\u2003Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk,\n\n\u2003Nought helps to tell of his message.'\n\n\u2003And well I know I understand the meaning,\n\n\u2003If anything well reported be.\n\n\u2003Sir, say somewhat of hunting, I you pray.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the monk, \"I have no desire to play;\n\n\u2003Now let another tell, as I have my tale told.\"\n\n\u2003Then spoke our Host, with rude speech and bold,\n\n\u2003And said unto the Nun's Priest anon,\n\n\"Come nearer, you priest, come hither, you sir John,\n\n\u2003Tell us such thing as may our hearts gladden.\n\n\u2003Be blithe, though you ride upon a nag!\n\n\u2003What though your horse be both foul and lean?\n\n\u2003If he will serve you, care not a bean.\n\n\u2003Look that your heart be merry evermore.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes, sir,\" said he. \"Yes, Host, as I may thrive,\n\n\u2003Unless I be merry, truly, I will be blamed.\"\n\n\u2003And right anon his tale he began,\n\n\u2003And thus he said unto us every one,\n\n\u2003This sweet priest, this goodly man sir John.\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003A poor widow, somewhat advanced in years,\n\n\u2003Was once dwelling in a small cottage,\n\n\u2003Beside a grove, standing in a dale.\n\n\u2003This widow of whom I tell you my tale,\n\n\u2003Since that same day that she was last a wife,\n\n\u2003In patience led a full simple life,\n\n\u2003For she had little goods or chattel.\n\n\u2003By careful making do with what God her sent\n\n\u2003She provided for herself and also her daughters two.\n\n\u2003Three large sows had she and no more,\n\n\u2003Three cows, and a sheep that was called Malle.\n\n\u2003Full sooty was her bedchamber, and dining hall,\n\n\u2003In which she ate full many a slender meal.\n\n\u2003Of pungent sauce she needed never a portion:\n\n\u2003No dainty morsel passed through her throat.\n\n\u2003Her diet was frugal as her coat\u2014\n\n\u2003Surfeit never made her ill.\n\n\u2003A temperate diet was her only pill,\n\n\u2003And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce.\n\n\u2003The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce,\n\n\u2003N'apoplexye shente nat hir heed;\n\n\u2003No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed;\n\n\u2003Hir bord was served most with whyt and blak,\n\n\u2003Milk and broun breed, in which she fond no lak,\n\n\u2003Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye,\n\n\u2003For she was as it were a maner deye.\n\n\u2003A yerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute\n\n\u2003With stikkes, and a drye dich with oute,\n\n\u2003In which she hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer,\n\n\u2003In al the land of crowing nas his peer.\n\n\u2003His vois was merier than the mery orgon\n\n\u2003On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon;\n\n\u2003Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge,\n\n\u2003Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge.\n\n\u2003By nature knew he ech ascencioun\n\n\u2003Of equinoxial in thilke toun;\n\n\u2003For whan degrees fiftene were ascended,\n\n\u2003Thanne crew he, that it mighte nat ben amended.\n\n\u2003His comb was redder than the fyn coral,\n\n\u2003And batailed, as it were a castel-wal.\n\n\u2003His bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon;\n\n\u2003Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon;\n\n\u2003His nayles whytter than the lilie flour,\n\n\u2003And lyk the burned gold was his colour.\n\n\u2003This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce\n\n\u2003Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce,\n\n\u2003Whiche were his sustres and his paramours,\n\n\u2003And wonder lyk to him, as of colours.\n\n\u2003Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte\n\n\u2003Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote.\n\n\u2003Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire,\n\n\u2003And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire,\n\n\u2003Sin thilke day that she was seven night old,\n\n\u2003That trewely she hath the herte in hold\n\n\u2003Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith;\n\n\u2003He loved hir so, that wel was him therwith.\n\n\u2003But such a joye was it to here hem singe,\n\n\u2003And exercise, and heart's content.\n\n\u2003No gout kept her from dancing,\n\n\u2003Nor did apoplexy injure her head.\n\n\u2003No wine drank she, neither white nor red;\n\n\u2003Her table was served most with white and black\u2014\n\n\u2003Milk and brown bread, in which she found no fault,\n\n\u2003Bacon fried, and sometimes an egg or two,\n\n\u2003For she was a kind of dairy woman.\n\n\u2003A yard she had, fenced all about\n\n\u2003With sticks, and a dry ditch without,\n\n\u2003In which she had a cock called Chanticleer:\n\n\u2003In all the land at crowing there was not his peer.\n\n\u2003His voice was merrier than the merry organ\n\n\u2003On feast days that in the church they play;\n\n\u2003More certain was his crowing in his lodge\n\n\u2003Than is a clock or the abbey's horloge.\n\n\u2003By nature knew he each ascension\n\n\u2003Of the equinox in that same town.\n\n\u2003For when degrees fifteen were ascended,\n\n\u2003Then crowed he, so well it might not be amended.\n\n\u2003His comb was redder than the fine coral,\n\n\u2003And notched as if it were a castle wall.\n\n\u2003His bill was black, and jet black it shone;\n\n\u2003Like azure were his legs and his toes;\n\n\u2003His nails whiter than the lily flower,\n\n\u2003And like burnished gold was his color.\n\n\u2003This gentle cock had in his governance\n\n\u2003Seven hens, for to do all his pleasure,\n\n\u2003Which were his sisters and his paramours,\n\n\u2003And wonderfully like to him, in color,\n\n\u2003Of which the fairest-colored on her throat\n\n\u2003Was called Mademoiselle Pertelote.\n\n\u2003Courteous she was, discreet and gracious,\n\n\u2003And sociable, and bore herself so fair,\n\n\u2003Since that day she was seven nights old,\n\n\u2003That truly she had the heart in hold\n\n\u2003Of Chanticleer, locked in every limb;\n\n\u2003He loved her so, that therewith well was him.\n\n\u2003But such a joy was it to hear them sing,\n\n\u2003Whan that the brighte sonne gan to springe,\n\n\u2003In swete accord, \"my lief is faren in londe.\"\n\n\u2003For thilke tyme, as I have understonde,\n\n\u2003Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that in a daweninge,\n\n\u2003As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle\n\n\u2003Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,\n\n\u2003And next him sat this faire Pertelote,\n\n\u2003This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte,\n\n\u2003As man that in his dreem is drecched sore.\n\n\u2003And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore,\n\n\u2003She was agast, and seyde, \"O herte dere,\n\n\u2003What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere?\n\n\u2003Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!\"\n\n\u2003And he answerde and seyde thus, \"madame,\n\n\u2003I pray yow, that ye take it nat a-grief\n\n\u2003By god, me mette I was in swich meschief\n\n\u2003Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright.\n\n\u2003Now god,\" quod he, \"my swevene recche\n\naright,\n\n\u2003And keep my body out of foul prisoun!\n\n\u2003Me mette, how that I romed up and doun\n\n\u2003Withinne our yerde, wher-as I saugh a beste,\n\n\u2003Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areste\n\n\u2003Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed.\n\n\u2003His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed;\n\n\u2003And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres,\n\n\u2003With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres;\n\n\u2003His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye.\n\n\u2003Yet of his look for fere almost I deye;\n\n\u2003This caused me my groning, doutelees.\"\n\n\u2003\"Avoy!\" quod she, \"fy on yow, hertelees!\n\n\u2003Allas!\" quod she, \"for, by that god above,\n\n\u2003Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love;\n\n\u2003I can nat love a coward, by my feith.\n\n\u2003For certes, what so any womman seith,\n\n\u2003We alle desyren, if it mighte be,\n\n\u2003To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free,\n\n\u2003And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool,\n\n\u2003When that the bright sun began to rise,\n\n\u2003In sweet harmony, \"my love has gone far away.\"\n\n\u2003For in those days, as I have understood,\n\n\u2003Beasts and birds could speak and sing.\n\n\u2003And so it happened, one morning at dawning,\n\n\u2003As Chanticleer among his wives all\n\n\u2003Sat on his perch that was in the hall,\n\n\u2003And next to him sat this fair Pertelote,\n\n\u2003This Chanticleer began groaning in his throat\n\n\u2003As a man who in his dream is troubled sore.\n\n\u2003And when that Pertelote thus heard him roar,\n\n\u2003She was afraid, and said, \"Heart dear,\n\n\u2003What ails you to groan in this manner?\n\n\u2003You're a fine sleeper, fie for shame!\"\n\n\u2003And he answered and said thus, \"Madame,\n\n\u2003I pray you, that you take it not amiss:\n\n\u2003By God, I dreamed I was in such trouble\n\n\u2003Right now, that yet my heart is sore afright.\n\n\u2003Now God,\" said he, \"my dream help me understand\n\naright,\n\n\u2003And keep my body out of foul prison!\n\n\u2003I dreamed that I roamed up and down\n\n\u2003Within our yard, where I saw a beast,\n\n\u2003That was like a hound and would have laid hold\n\n\u2003Upon my body, and would have had me dead.\n\n\u2003His color was between yellow and red,\n\n\u2003And tipped was his tail and both his ears\n\n\u2003With black, unlike the rest of his hairs;\n\n\u2003His snout small, with glowing eyes two.\n\n\u2003Still of his look for fear I almost die:\n\n\u2003This caused me my groaning, doubtless.\"\n\n\u2003\"Go on!\" said she, \"fie on you, gutless!\n\n\u2003Alas!\" said she, \"for, by that God above,\n\n\u2003Now have you lost my heart and my love.\n\n\u2003I cannot love a coward, by my faith!\n\n\u2003For certainly, what so any woman says,\n\n\u2003We all desire, if it might be,\n\n\u2003To have husbands bold, wise and generous,\n\n\u2003And discreet, and no niggard, nor a fool,\n\n\u2003Ne him that is agast of every tool,\n\n\u2003Ne noon avauntour, by that god above!\n\n\u2003How dorste ye seyn for shame unto your love,\n\n\u2003That any thing mighte make yow aferd?\n\n\u2003Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd?\n\n\u2003Alias! and conne ye been agast of swevenis?\n\n\u2003No-thing, god wot, but vanitee, in sweven is.\n\n\u2003Swevenes engendren of replecciouns,\n\n\u2003And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns,\n\n\u2003Whan humours been to habundant in a wight.\n\n\u2003Certes this dreem, which ye han met to-night,\n\n\u2003Cometh of the grete superfluitee\n\n\u2003Of youre rede colera, pardee,\n\n\u2003Which causeth folk to dreden in here dremes\n\n\u2003Of arwes, and of fyr with rede lemes,\n\n\u2003Of grete bestes, that they wol hem byte,\n\n\u2003Of contek, and of whelpes grete and lyte;\n\n\u2003Right as the humour of malencolye\n\n\u2003Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye,\n\n\u2003For fere of blake beres, or boles blake,\n\n\u2003Or elles, blake develes wole hem take.\n\n\u2003Of othere humours coude I telle also,\n\n\u2003That werken many a man in sleep ful wo;\n\n\u2003But I wol passe as lightly as I can.\n\n\u2003Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man,\n\n\u2003Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors of dremes?\n\n\u2003Now, sire,\" quod she, \"whan we flee fro the bemes,\n\n\u2003For Goddes love, as tak som laxatyf;\n\n\u2003Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf,\n\n\u2003I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye,\n\n\u2003That bothe of colere and of malencolye\n\n\u2003Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie,\n\n\u2003Though in this toun is noon apotecarie,\n\n\u2003I shal my-self to herbes techen yow,\n\n\u2003That shul ben for your hele, and for your prow;\n\n\u2003And in our yerd tho herbes shal I finde,\n\n\u2003The wiche han of hir propretee, by kinde,\n\n\u2003To purgen yow binethe, and eek above.\n\n\u2003Forget not this, for goddes owene love!\n\n\u2003Nor him who is afraid of every weapon,\n\n\u2003Nor a braggart. By that God above,\n\n\u2003How dare you say for shame unto your love\n\n\u2003That anything might make you afraid?\n\n\u2003Have you no man's heart, and have a beard?\n\n\u2003Alas! and can you be afraid of dreams?\n\n\u2003Nothing, God knows, but foolishness in dreaming is.\n\n\u2003Dreams are born of surfeits,\n\n\u2003And often of vapors, and of complexion,\n\n\u2003When humors be too abundant in a person.\n\n\u2003Certainly this dream, which you have had tonight,\n\n\u2003Comes of the great superfluity\n\n\u2003Of your red humor, by God,\n\n\u2003Which causes folk to fear in their dreams\n\n\u2003Arrows, and fire with red flames,\n\n\u2003Red beasts, that will them bite,\n\n\u2003Of conflict, and of dogs great and little;\n\n\u2003Right as the humor of melancholy\n\n\u2003Causes full many a man in sleep to cry\n\n\u2003For fear of black bears, or bulls black,\n\n\u2003Or else that black devils will him take.\n\n\u2003Of other humors could I tell also\n\n\u2003That work many a man in sleep great woe;\n\n\u2003But I will pass as lightly as I can.\n\n\u2003Look at Cato, who was so wise a man,\n\n\u2003Said he not thus,'Give dreams no attention'?\n\n\u2003Now sir,\" said she, \"when we fly from the beams,\n\n\u2003For God's love, take some laxative.\n\n\u2003On peril of my soul and of my life\n\n\u2003I counsel you the best, I will not lie,\n\n\u2003That both of choler and of melancholy\n\n\u2003You purge yourself; and so that you shall not tarry,\n\n\u2003Though in this town is no apothecary,\n\n\u2003I shall myself to herbs direct you,\n\n\u2003That shall be for your health and for your good;\n\n\u2003And in our yard those herbs shall I find\n\n\u2003Which have of their property by nature\n\n\u2003To purge you beneath and also above.\n\n\u2003Forget not this, for God's own love!\n\n\u2003Ye been ful colerik of compleccioun.\n\n\u2003Ware the sonne in his ascencioun\n\n\u2003Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hote;\n\n\u2003And if it do, I dar wel leye a grote,\n\n\u2003That ye shul have a fevere terciane,\n\n\u2003Or an agu, that may be youre bane.\n\n\u2003A day or two ye shul have digestyves\n\n\u2003Of wormes, er ye take your laxatyves,\n\n\u2003Of lauriol, centaure, and fumetere,\n\n\u2003Or elles of ellebor, that groweth there,\n\n\u2003Of catapuce, or of gaytres beryis,\n\n\u2003Of erbe yve, growing in our yerd, that mery is;\n\n\u2003Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete hem in.\n\n\u2003Be mery, housbond, for your fader kin!\n\n\u2003Dredeth no dreem; I can say yow na-more.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"graunt mercy of your lore.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, as touching daun Catoun,\n\n\u2003That hath of wisdom such a greet renoun,\n\n\u2003Though that he had no dremes for to drede,\n\n\u2003By god, men may in olde bokes rede\n\n\u2003Of many a man, more of auctoritee\n\n\u2003Than ever Catoun was, so mote I thee,\n\n\u2003That al the revers seyn of his sentence,\n\n\u2003And han wel founden by experience,\n\n\u2003That dremes ben significaciouns,\n\n\u2003As wel of joye as tribulaciouns\n\n\u2003That folk enduren in this lyf present.\n\n\u2003Ther nedeth make of this noon argument;\n\n\u2003The verray preve sheweth it in dede.\n\n\u2003Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede\n\n\u2003Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente\n\n\u2003On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente;\n\n\u2003And happed so, thay come into a toun,\n\n\u2003Wher-as ther was swich congregacioun\n\n\u2003Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage\n\n\u2003That they ne founde as muche as o cotage\n\n\u2003In which they bothe mighte y-logged be.\n\n\u2003Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee,\n\n\u2003As for that night, departen compaignye;\n\n\u2003You are choleric in your temperament.\n\n\u2003Beware the sun in his ascension.\n\n\u2003Nor fill yourself with humors hot;\n\n\u2003And if you do, I will bet a lot,\n\n\u2003That a fever will to you every third day return,\n\n\u2003Or an ague, that may be your end.\n\n\u2003A day or two you shall have digestives\n\n\u2003Of worms, before you take your laxatives,\n\n\u2003Of spurge-laurel, centaury, and fumitory,\n\n\u2003Or else of hellebore that grows there,\n\n\u2003Of caper-spurge, or of dogwood's berries,\n\n\u2003Of herb ivy, growing in our yard, where it is pleasant.\n\n\u2003Peck them right up as they grow, and eat them in.\n\n\u2003Be merry, husband, for your father's kin!\n\n\u2003Dread no dream: I can say you no more.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"merci beaucoup for your lore.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, as touching sir Cato,\n\n\u2003Who has of wisdom such a great renown,\n\n\u2003Though he bade us no dreams to dread,\n\n\u2003By God, men may in old books read\n\n\u2003Of many a man, more of authority\n\n\u2003Than ever Cato was, as I may prosper,\n\n\u2003That all the opposite of his opinion were,\n\n\u2003And well founded by experience,\n\n\u2003That dreams are signs\n\n\u2003As much of joy as tribulations\n\n\u2003That folk endure in this life present.\n\n\u2003There need be made of this no argument:\n\n\u2003The true proof is in the deed.\n\n\u2003One of the greatest authors who men read\n\n\u2003Says thus, that once two companions went\n\n\u2003On pilgrimage, in a full good intent;\n\n\u2003And it happened so that they came into a town\n\n\u2003Where there was such crowd\n\n\u2003Of people, and such a dearth of lodging,\n\n\u2003That they found not so much as a cottage\n\n\u2003In which they both might sheltered be.\n\n\u2003Wherefore they had to of necessity,\n\n\u2003For that night, part company;\n\n\u2003And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye,\n\n\u2003And took his logging as it wolde falle.\n\n\u2003That oon of hem was logged in a stalle,\n\n\u2003Fer in a yerd, with oxen of the plough;\n\n\u2003That other man was logged wel y-nough,\n\n\u2003As was his aventure, or his fortune,\n\n\u2003That us governeth alle as in commune.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that, longe er it were day,\n\n\u2003This man mette in his bed, ther-as he lay,\n\n\u2003How that his felawe gan up-on him calle,\n\n\u2003And seyde, 'allas! for in an oxes stalle\n\n\u2003This night I shal be mordred ther I lye.\n\n\u2003Now help me, dere brother, ere I dye;\n\n\u2003In alle haste com to me,'he sayde.\n\n\u2003This man out of his sleep for fere abrayde;\n\n\u2003But whan that he was wakned of his sleep,\n\n\u2003He turned him, and took of this no keep;\n\n\u2003Him thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee.\n\n\u2003Thus twy\u00ebs in his sleping dremed he.\n\n\u2003And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe\n\n\u2003Cam, as him thoughte, and seide,'I am now slawe;\n\n\u2003Bihold my blody woundes, depe and wyde!\n\n\u2003Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde,\n\n\u2003And at the west gate of the toun,' quod he,\n\n\u2003'A carte ful of dong ther shaltow see,\n\n\u2003In which my body is hid ful prively;\n\n\u2003Do thilke carte aresten boldely.\n\n\u2003My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn;'\n\n\u2003And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn,\n\n\u2003With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe.\n\n\u2003And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe;\n\n\u2003For on the morwe, as sone as it was day,\n\n\u2003To his felawes in he took the way;\n\n\u2003And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle,\n\n\u2003After his felawe he bigan to calle.\n\n\u2003The hostiler answered him anon,\n\n\u2003And seyde,'sire, your felawe is agon,\n\n\u2003As sone as day he wente out of the toun:\n\n\u2003This man gan fallen in suspecioun,\n\n\u2003And each of them went to his hostelry,\n\n\u2003And took his lodging as his lot fell.\n\n\u2003And one of them was lodged in a stall,\n\n\u2003Far off in a yard, with oxen of the plough;\n\n\u2003That other man was lodged well enough,\n\n\u2003As was his chance or his fortune,\n\n\u2003That governs us all in common.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that, long before it was day,\n\n\u2003This man dreamed in his bed, there as he lay,\n\n\u2003How that first fellow began to him call,\n\n\u2003And said,'Alas! for in an ox's stall\n\n\u2003This night I shall be murdered where I lie.\n\n\u2003Now help me, dear brother, or I die;\n\n\u2003In all haste come back to me,' he said.\n\n\u2003This man out of his fear upstarted,\n\n\u2003But when that he was wakened from his sleep,\n\n\u2003He turned over, and took of this no heed:\n\n\u2003He thought his dream was but in vain.\n\n\u2003Thus twice in his sleep dreamed he;\n\n\u2003And at the third time yet his friend\n\n\u2003Came, as he thought, and said, 'I am now slain.\n\n\u2003Behold my bloody wounds, deep and wide!\n\n\u2003Arise up early in the morningtide,\n\n\u2003And at the west gate of the town,' said he,\n\n\u2003'A cartful of dung there shall you see,\n\n\u2003In which my body is hid full secretly:\n\n\u2003Have this cart stopped boldly.\n\n\u2003My gold caused my murder, truth to tell;'\n\n\u2003And told him every point how he was slain,\n\n\u2003With a full piteous face, pale of hue.\n\n\u2003And trust well, his dream he found full true,\n\n\u2003For on the morrow, as soon as it was day,\n\n\u2003To his fellow's inn he took his way;\n\n\u2003And when that he came to this ox's stall,\n\n\u2003After his fellow he began to call.\n\n\u2003The innkeeper answered him anon,\n\n\u2003And said, 'Sir, your fellow is a-gone:\n\n\u2003As soon as day he went out of the town.'\n\n\u2003This man became suspicious,\n\n\u2003Remembring on his dremes that he mette,\n\n\u2003And forth he goth, no lenger wolde he lette,\n\n\u2003Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond\n\n\u2003A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond,\n\n\u2003That was arrayed in the same wyse\n\n\u2003As ye han herd the dede man devyse;\n\n\u2003And with an hardy herte he gan to crye\n\n\u2003Vengeaunce and justice of this felonye:\u2014\n\n\u2003'My felawe mordred is this same night,\n\n\u2003And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright.\n\n\u2003I crye out on the ministres,' quod he,\n\n\u2003'That sholden kepe and reulen this citee;\n\n\u2003Harrow! alias! her lyth my felawe slayn!'\n\n\u2003What sholde I more un-to this tale sayn?\n\n\u2003The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to grounde,\n\n\u2003And in the middel of the dong they founde\n\n\u2003The dede man, that mordred was al newe.\n\n\u2003O blisful god, that art so just and trewe!\n\n\u2003Lo, how that thou biwreyest mordre alway!\n\n\u2003Mordre wol out, that see we day by day.\n\n\u2003Mordre is so wlatsom and abhominable\n\n\u2003To god, that is so just and resonable,\n\n\u2003That he ne wol nat suffre it heled be;\n\n\u2003Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or three,\n\n\u2003Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun.\n\n\u2003And right anoon, ministres of that toun\n\n\u2003Han hent the carter, and so sore him pyned,\n\n\u2003And eek the hostiler so sore engyned,\n\n\u2003That they biknewe hir wikkednesse anoon,\n\n\u2003And were an-hanged by the nekke-boon.\n\n\u2003Here may men seen that dremes been to drede\n\n\u2003And certes, in the same book I rede,\n\n\u2003Right in the nexte chapitre after this,\n\n(I gabbe nat, so have I joye or blis,)\n\n\u2003Two men that wolde han passed over see,\n\n\u2003For certeyn cause, in-to a fer contree,\n\n\u2003If that the wind ne hadde been contrarie,\n\n\u2003That made hem in a citee for to tarie,\n\n\u2003That stood ful mery upon an haven-syde.\n\n\u2003Remembering in his dreams whom he saw,\n\n\u2003And forth he went, no longer would he delay,\n\n\u2003Unto the west gate of the town, and found\n\n\u2003A dung-cart, heading out as if to fertilize,\n\n\u2003That was arranged in the same way\n\n\u2003As you have heard the dead man describe.\n\n\u2003And with a bold heart he began to cry,\n\n\u2003'Vengeance and justice of this felony!\n\n\u2003My fellow murdered is this same night,\n\n\u2003And in this cart he lies, eyes with no sight.\n\n\u2003I cry out to the officers,' said he,\n\n\u2003'Who should care for and rule this city,\n\n\u2003Help! Alas! here lies my fellow slain!'\n\n\u2003What should I more unto this tale say?\n\n\u2003The people came out, and cast the cart to ground,\n\n\u2003And in the middle of the dung they found\n\n\u2003The dead man, murdered newly.\n\n\u2003Oh blissful God, who is so just and true!\n\n\u2003Behold, how you reveal murder always!\n\n\u2003Murder will out, that see we day by day.\n\n\u2003Murder is so loathsome, and abominable\n\n\u2003To God, who is so just and reasonable,\n\n\u2003That he would not suffer it to be concealed.\n\n\u2003Though it remains hidden a year, or two, or three,\n\n\u2003Murder will out, this is my conclusion.\n\n\u2003And right away, ministers of that town\n\n\u2003Seized the carter and so sore him tortured,\n\n\u2003And also the innkeeper so sore racked,\n\n\u2003That they owned up to their wickedness soon,\n\n\u2003And were hanged by the neck-bone.\n\n\u2003Here may men see that dreams are to be feared.\n\n\u2003And certainly, in the same book I read,\n\n\u2003Right in the next chapter after this\u2014\n\n\u2003I lie not, so may I have joy or bliss\u2014\n\n\u2003Two men who wished to travel over sea,\n\n\u2003For a certain purpose, to a far country,\n\n\u2003If the wind had not been contrary:\n\n\u2003That made them in a city for to tarry\n\n\u2003That stood full merry upon a harbor side.\n\n\u2003But on a day, agayn the even-tyde,\n\n\u2003The wind gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste.\n\n\u2003Jolif and glad they wente un-to hir reste,\n\n\u2003And casten hem ful erly for to saille;\n\n\u2003But to that oo man fil a greet mervaille.\n\n\u2003That oon of hem, in sleping as he lay,\n\n\u2003Him mette a wonder dreem, agayn the day;\n\n\u2003Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde,\n\n\u2003And him comaunded, that he sholde abyde,\n\n\u2003And seyde him thus, 'if thou to-morwe wende,\n\n\u2003Thou shalt be dreynt; my tale is at an ende.'\n\n\u2003He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette,\n\n\u2003And preyde him his viage for to lette;\n\n\u2003As for that day, he preyde him to abyde.\n\n\u2003His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde,\n\n\u2003Gan for to laughe, and scorned him ful faste.\n\n\u2003'No dreem,' quod he, 'may so myn herte agaste,\n\n\u2003That I wol lette for to do my thinges.\n\n\u2003I sette not a straw by thy dreminges,\n\n\u2003For swevenes been but vanitees and japes.\n\n\u2003Men dreme al-day of owles or of apes,\n\n\u2003And eke of many a mase therwithal;\n\n\u2003Men dreme of thing that never was ne shal.\n\n\u2003But sith I see that thou wolt heer abyde,\n\n\u2003And thus for-sleuthen wilfully thy tyde,\n\n\u2003God wot it reweth me; and have good day.'\n\n\u2003And thus he took his leve, and wente his way.\n\n\u2003But er that he hadde halfe his cours y-seyled,\n\n\u2003Noot I nat why, ne what mischaunce it eyled,\n\n\u2003But casuelly the shippes botme rente,\n\n\u2003And ship and man under the water wente\n\n\u2003In sighte of othere shippes it byside,\n\n\u2003That with hem seyled at the same tyde.\n\n\u2003And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere,\n\n\u2003By swiche ensamples olde maistow lere,\n\n\u2003That no man sholde been to recchelees\n\n\u2003Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees,\n\n\u2003That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.\n\n\u2003Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede,\n\n\u2003But on a day, toward eveningtide,\n\n\u2003The wind began to shift, and blew as they wished.\n\n\u2003Jolly and glad they went unto their rest,\n\n\u2003And they planned full early to sail;\n\n\u2003But harken! To one man befell a great marvel.\n\n\u2003That one of them, in sleeping as he lay,\n\n\u2003He dreamed a wonderful dream, toward the day:\n\n\u2003He dreamed a man stood by his bedside,\n\n\u2003And him commanded that he should abide,\n\n\u2003And said to him thus, 'If you tomorrow wend,\n\n\u2003You will be drowned: my tale is at an end.'\n\n\u2003He woke, and told his fellow what he dreamed,\n\n\u2003And prayed him his voyage to delay;\n\n\u2003Just for that day, he prayed him to stay.\n\n\u2003His fellow, who lay in the next bed,\n\n\u2003Began to laugh, and him scorned.\n\n\u2003'No dream,' said he, 'may so my heart scare\n\n\u2003That I will fail to keep my plans.\n\n\u2003I set not a straw by dreams,\n\n\u2003For dreams be but illusions and japes.\n\n\u2003Men dream all day of owls or apes,\n\n\u2003And also of many other things weird;\n\n\u2003Men dream of things that never shall be or were.\n\n\u2003But since I see that you will here abide,\n\n\u2003And thus so slothily waste your time,\n\n\u2003God knows I'm sorry, and good day'\n\n\u2003And thus he took his leave, and went his way.\n\n\u2003But before he had half his course sailed,\n\n\u2003Know not I why, nor what mischance it ailed,\n\n\u2003But by chance the ship's bottom was open rent,\n\n\u2003And ship and man under water went\n\n\u2003In sight of other ships nearby,\n\n\u2003That with them sailed on the same tide.\n\n\u2003And therefore, fair Pertelote so dear,\n\n\u2003By such old examples may you learn\n\n\u2003That no man should be too heedless\n\n\u2003Of dreams, for I say to you doubtless,\n\n\u2003That many a dream is greatly to be feared.\n\n\u2003Look, in the life of Saint Kenelm I read,\n\n\u2003That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king\n\n\u2003Of mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing;\n\n\u2003A lyte er he was mordred, on a day,\n\n\u2003His mordre in his avisioun he say.\n\n\u2003His norice him expouned every del\n\n\u2003His sweven, and bad him for to kepe him wel\n\n\u2003For traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old,\n\n\u2003And therfore litel tale hath he told\n\n\u2003Of any dreem, so holy was his herte.\n\n\u2003By god, I hadde lever than my sherte\n\n\u2003That ye had rad his legende, as have I.\n\n\u2003Dam Pertelote, I sey yow trewely,\n\n\u2003Macrobeus, that writ th'avisioun\n\n\u2003In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun,\n\n\u2003Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been\n\n\u2003Warning of thinges that men after seen.\n\n\u2003And forther-more, I pray yow loketh wel\n\n\u2003In th'olde testament, of Daniel,\n\n\u2003If he held dremes any vanitee.\n\n\u2003Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see\n\n\u2003Wher dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle)\n\n\u2003Warning of thinges that shul after falle.\n\n\u2003Loke of Egipt the king, daun Pharao,\n\n\u2003His bakere and his boteler also,\n\n\u2003Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes.\n\n\u2003Who-so wol seken actes of sondry remes,\n\n\u2003May rede of dremes many a wonder thing.\n\n\u2003Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king,\n\n\u2003Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree,\n\n\u2003Which signified he sholde anhanged be?\n\n\u2003Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf,\n\n\u2003That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf,\n\n\u2003She dremed on the same night biforn,\n\n\u2003How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn,\n\n\u2003If thilke day he wente in-to bataille;\n\n\u2003She warned him, but it mighte nat availle;\n\n\u2003He wente for to fighte nathelees,\n\n\u2003But he was slayn anoon of Achilles.\n\n\u2003But thilke tale is al to long to telle,\n\n\u2003Who was King Cenwulf 's son, the noble king\n\n\u2003Of Mercia, how Kenelm dreamed a thing\n\n\u2003A little before he was murdered on a day\n\n\u2003His murder in his vision he saw.\n\n\u2003His nurse expounded every part\n\n\u2003Of his dream, and bade him to guard himself\n\n\u2003Against treason; but he was only seven years old,\n\n\u2003And therefore little did he take note\n\n\u2003Of any dream, so holy was his heart.\n\n\u2003By God, I'd give you my shirt\n\n\u2003If you had read his legend as I did.\n\n\u2003Dame Pertelote, I say to you truly,\n\n\u2003Macrobius, who wrote the treatise\n\n\u2003In Africa of the worthy Scipio,\n\n\u2003Affirms dreams, and says that they be\n\n\u2003Warnings of things that men afterward see.\n\n\u2003And furthermore, I pray you look well\n\n\u2003In the Old Testament, of Daniel,\n\n\u2003If he held dreams but vanity.\n\n\u2003Read also of Joseph, and there you shall see\n\n\u2003Where dreams be sometime (I say not all)\n\n\u2003Warnings of things that shall after befall.\n\n\u2003Look at the Egyptian king, sir Pharaoh,\n\n\u2003His baker and his butler also,\n\n\u2003See whether they believed in dreams or no.\n\n\u2003Whoso would seek histories of sundry realms\n\n\u2003May read of dreams many a wondrous thing.\n\n\u2003Look at Croesus, who was of Lydia king,\n\n\u2003Did he not dream that he sat upon a tree,\n\n\u2003Which signified that he should hanged be?\n\n\u2003Look here at Andromacha, Hector's wife,\n\n\u2003That day that Hector would lose his life,\n\n\u2003She dreamed on the same night before,\n\n\u2003How the life of Hector should be lost\n\n\u2003If that day he went into battle;\n\n\u2003She warned him, but to no avail;\n\n\u2003He went to fight nevertheless,\n\n\u2003But he was slain anon by Achilles.\n\n\u2003But this tale is all too long to tell,\n\n\u2003And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle.\n\n\u2003Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,\n\n\u2003That I shal han of this avisioun\n\n\u2003Adversitee; and I seye forther-more,\n\n\u2003That I ne telle of laxatyves no store,\n\n\u2003For they ben venimous, I woot it wel;\n\n\u2003I hem defye, I love hem never a del.\n\n\u2003Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this;\n\n\u2003Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,\n\n\u2003Of o thing god hath sent me large grace;\n\n\u2003For whan I see the beautee of your face,\n\n\u2003Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yen,\n\n\u2003It maketh al my drede for to dyen;\n\n\u2003For, also siker as In principio,\n\n\u2003Mulier est hominis confusio;\n\n\u2003Madame, the sentence of this Latin is\u2014\n\n\u2003Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.\n\n\u2003For whan I fele a-night your softe syde,\n\n\u2003Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde,\n\n\u2003For that our perche is maad, so narwe, alas!\n\n\u2003I am so ful of joye and of solas\n\n\u2003That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he fley doun fro the beem,\n\n\u2003For it was day, and eek his hennes alle;\n\n\u2003And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle,\n\n\u2003For he had founde a corn, lay in the yerd.\n\n\u2003Royal he was, he was namore aferd;\n\n\u2003He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme,\n\n\u2003And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme.\n\n\u2003He loketh as it were a grim leoun;\n\n\u2003And on his toos he rometh up and doun,\n\n\u2003Him deyned not to sette his foot to grounde.\n\n\u2003He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde,\n\n\u2003And to him rennen thanne his wyves alle.\n\n\u2003Thus royal, as a prince is in his halle,\n\n\u2003Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture;\n\n\u2003And after wol I telle his aventure.\n\n\u2003Whan that the month in which the world bigan,\n\n\u2003That highte March, whan god first maked man,\n\n\u2003And also it is near daybreak, I may not dwell.\n\n\u2003Briefly I say, in conclusion,\n\n\u2003That I shall have from this vision\n\n\u2003Adversity; and I say furthermore,\n\n\u2003That I set in laxatives no store,\n\n\u2003For they be poisonous, I know it well;\n\n\u2003I them defy, I love them not at all.\n\n\u2003Now let us speak of mirth and stop all this;\n\n\u2003Madame Pertelote, so I have bliss,\n\n\u2003Of one thing God has sent me bounteous grace:\n\n\u2003For when I see the beauty of your face\u2014\n\n\u2003You be so scarlet red about your eyes\u2014\n\n\u2003It makes me fear the more to die.\n\n\u2014Just as surely as in principio,\n\n\u2003Mulier est hominis confusio.\n\n\u2003Madame, the meaning of this Latin is\n\n\u2003'Woman is man's joy and all his bliss.'\n\n\u2003For when I feel at night your soft side,\n\n\u2003Albeit that I may not on you ride,\n\n\u2003Because our perch is made so narrow, alas!\n\n\u2003I am so full of joy and comfort\n\n\u2003That I defy both dream and vision.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he flew down from the beam,\n\n\u2003For it was day, and so did his hens all,\n\n\u2003And with a cluck he began them to call,\n\n\u2003For he had found grain spread in the yard.\n\n\u2003Regal he was, he was no more afraid;\n\n\u2003He covered Pertelote with his wings twenty times,\n\n\u2003And trod her just as often, before the bell rang prime.\n\n\u2003He looked as if he were a proud lion,\n\n\u2003And on his toes he roamed up and down\u2014\n\n\u2003He deigned not to set his foot to ground.\n\n\u2003He clucked when he had a bit of grain found,\n\n\u2003And to him ran then his wives all.\n\n\u2003Thus royal, as a prince in his hall,\n\n\u2003Leave I this Chanticleer at his dinner\n\n\u2003And after will I tell of his adventure.\n\n\u2003When the month in which the world began,\n\n\u2003That is called March, when God first made man,\n\n\u2003Was complet, and passed were also,\n\n\u2003Sin March bigan, thritty dayes and two,\n\n\u2003Bifel that Chauntecleer, in al his pryde,\n\n\u2003His seven wyves walking by his syde,\n\n\u2003Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne,\n\n\u2003That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-roone\n\n\u2003Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more;\n\n\u2003And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore,\n\n\u2003That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.\n\n\u2003\"The sonne,\" he sayde, \"is clomben up on hevene\n\n\u2003Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis.\n\n\u2003Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,\n\n\u2003Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe,\n\n\u2003And see the fresshe floures how they springe;\n\n\u2003Ful is myn herte of revel and solas.\"\n\n\u2003But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas;\n\n\u2003For ever the latter ende of joye is wo.\n\n\u2003God woot that worldly joye is sone ago;\n\n\u2003And if a rethor coude faire endyte,\n\n\u2003He in a cronique saufly mighte it wryte,\n\n\u2003As for a sovereyn notabilitee.\n\n\u2003Now every wys man, lat him herkne me;\n\n\u2003This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake,\n\n\u2003As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,\n\n\u2003That wommen holde in ful gret reverence.\n\n\u2003Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.\n\n\u2003A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee,\n\n\u2003That in the grove hadde woned yeres three,\n\n\u2003By heigh imaginacioun forn-cast,\n\n\u2003The same night thurgh-out the hegges brast\n\n\u2003Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire\n\n\u2003Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire;\n\n\u2003And in a bed of wortes stille he lay,\n\n\u2003Til it was passed undern of the day,\n\n\u2003Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle,\n\n\u2003As gladly doon thise homicydes alle,\n\n\u2003That in awayt liggen to mordre men.\n\n\u2003O false mordrer, lurking in thy den!\n\n\u2003O newe Scariot, newe Genilon!\n\n\u2003Was complete, and passed were,\n\n\u2003Since March began, thirty days and two,\n\n\u2003It came to pass that Chanticleer, in all his pride,\n\n\u2003His seven wives walking by his side,\n\n\u2003Cast up his eyes to the bright sun,\n\n\u2003That in the sign of Taurus had then run\n\n\u2003Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more;\n\n\u2003And knew by nature, and no other lore,\n\n\u2003That it was prime, and crowed with blissful voice.\n\n\u2003\"The sun,\" he said, \"has climbed up in heaven\n\n\u2003Forty degrees and one, and more, I know.\n\n\u2003Madame Pertelote, my world's bliss,\n\n\u2003Listen to these blissful birds, how they sing,\n\n\u2003And see the fresh flowers, how they spring;\n\n\u2003Full is my heart of joy and comfort.\"\n\n\u2003But suddenly befell him a sorrowful event,\n\n\u2003For ever the latter end of joy is woe.\n\n\u2003God knows that worldly joy is soon gone;\n\n\u2003And if a rhetorician could it well indite,\n\n\u2003He in a chronicle safely might write\n\n\u2003That as a sovereign actuality.\n\n\u2003Now every wise man, let him hear me:\n\n\u2003This story is just as true, I declare,\n\n\u2003As is the book of Lancelot de Lake,\n\n\u2003That women hold in full great reverence.\n\n\u2003Now will I turn again to my main point.\n\n\u2003A black-marked fox, full of sly iniquity,\n\n\u2003That in the grove had dwelt years three,\n\n\u2003And as foreseen in Chanticleer's dream,\n\n\u2003The same night through the hedges burst\n\n\u2003Into the yard, where Chanticleer the fair\n\n\u2003Was wont, and his wives, to rest;\n\n\u2003And in a bed of herbs still he lay,\n\n\u2003Till past midmorning of the day\n\n\u2003Watching for his time on Chanticleer to fall,\n\n\u2003As usually do these murderers all,\n\n\u2003Who lie await to murder men.\n\n\u2003Oh false murderer, lurking in your den!\n\n\u2003Oh new Iscariot, new Ganelon!\n\n\u2003False dissimilour, O Greek Sinon,\n\n\u2003That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!\n\n\u2003O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe,\n\n\u2003That thou into that yerd flough fro the bemes:\n\n\u2003Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes,\n\n\u2003That thilke day was perilous to thee.\n\n\u2003But what that god forwoot mot nedes be,\n\n\u2003After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis.\n\n\u2003Witnesse on him, that any perfit clerk is,\n\n\u2003That in scole is gret altercacioun\n\n\u2003In this matere, and greet disputisoun,\n\n\u2003And hath ben of an hundred thousand men.\n\n\u2003But I ne can not bulte it to the bren,\n\n\u2003As can the holy doctour Augustyn,\n\n\u2003Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardyn,\n\n\u2003Whether that goddes worthy forwiting\n\n\u2003Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thing,\n\n(Nedely clepe I simple necessitee);\n\n\u2003Or elles, if free choys be graunted me\n\n\u2003To do that same thing, or do it noght,\n\n\u2003Though god forwoot it, er that it was wroght;\n\n\u2003Or if his witing streyneth nevere a del\n\n\u2003But by necessitee condicionel.\n\n\u2003I wol not han to do of swich matere;\n\n\u2003My tale is of a cok, as ye may here,\n\n\u2003That took his counseil of his wyf, with sorwe,\n\n\u2003To walken in the yerd upon that morwe\n\n\u2003That he had met the dreem, that I yow tolde.\n\n\u2003Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde;\n\n\u2003Wommannes counseil broghte us first to wo,\n\n\u2003And made Adam fro paradys to go,\n\n\u2003Ther-as he was ful mery, and wel at ese.\u2014\n\n\u2003But for I noot, to whom it mighte displese,\n\n\u2003If I counseil of wommen wolde blame,\n\n\u2003Passe over, for I seyde it in my game.\n\n\u2003Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich matere,\n\n\u2003And what thay seyn of wommen ye may here.\n\n\u2003Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne;\n\n\u2003I can noon harm of no womman divyne.\u2014\n\n\u2003False dissembler, Oh Greek Sinon,\n\n\u2003Who brought Troy quite utterly to sorrow!\n\n\u2003Oh Chanticleer, cursed be that morrow,\n\n\u2003That you into that yard flew from the beams!\n\n\u2003You were full well warned by your dreams\n\n\u2003That that day was perilous to you.\n\n\u2003But that which God foreknows must occur,\n\n\u2003After the opinion of certain scholars.\n\n\u2003Let him be witness, who any perfect scholar is,\n\n\u2003That in the schools is great altercation\n\n\u2003In this matter, and great disputation,\n\n\u2003Carried on by a hundred thousand men.\n\n\u2003But I cannot get into the points fine,\n\n\u2003As can the holy doctor Augustine,\n\n\u2003Or Boethius, or the bishop Bradwardine,\n\n\u2003Whether that God's excellent foreknowledge\n\n\u2003Constrains me necessarily to do a thing\n\n(\"Necessarily\" call I simple necessity);\n\n\u2003Or else, if free choice be granted me\n\n\u2003To do that same thing or do it not,\n\n\u2003Though God foreknew it before I was wrought;\n\n\u2003Or if his knowing constrains not at all\n\n\u2003But by necessity conditional.\n\n\u2003I will not have to do with such matters;\n\n\u2003My tale is of a cock, as you may hear,\n\n\u2003That took advice from his wife, with sorrow,\n\n\u2003To walk in the yard upon that morning\n\n\u2003That he had dreamt that dream that I told you.\n\n\u2003Woman's counsel can be full often fatal;\n\n\u2003Woman's counsel brought us first to woe,\n\n\u2003And made Adam from Paradise to go,\n\n\u2003There where he was full merry and well at ease.\n\n\u2003But since I know not whom it might displease,\n\n\u2003If women's counsel I were to blame,\n\n\u2003Pass over, for I said it in my game.\n\n\u2003Read authorities, where they treat in such matters,\n\n\u2003And what they say of women you may hear.\n\n\u2003These be the cock's words, and not mine;\n\n\u2003I can find no harm in any woman.\n\n\u2003Faire in the sond, to bathe hir merily,\n\n\u2003Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by,\n\n\u2003Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free\n\n\u2003Song merier than the mermayde in the see;\n\n\u2003For Phisiologus seith sikerly,\n\n\u2003How that they singen wel and merily\n\n\u2003And so bifel that, as he caste his ye,\n\n\u2003Among the wortes, on a boterflye,\n\n\u2003He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe.\n\n\u2003No-thing ne liste him thanne for to crowe,\n\n\u2003But cryde anon, \"cok, cok,\" and up he sterte,\n\n\u2003As man that was affrayed in his herte.\n\n\u2003For naturelly a beest desyreth flee\n\n\u2003Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,\n\n\u2003Though he never erst had seyn it with his y\u00eb.\n\n\u2003This Chauntecleer, when he gan him espye,\n\n\u2003He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon\n\n\u2003Seyde, \"Gentil sire, alias! wher wol ye gon?\n\n\u2003Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend?\n\n\u2003Now certes, I were worse than a feend,\n\n\u2003If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye.\n\n\u2003I am nat come your counseil for t'espye;\n\n\u2003But trewely, the cause of my cominge\n\n\u2003Was only for to herkne how that ye singe.\n\n\u2003For trewely ye have as mery a stevene\n\n\u2003As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene;\n\n\u2003Therwith ye han in musik more felinge\n\n\u2003Than hadde Bo\u00ebce, or any that can singe.\n\n\u2003My lord your fader (god his soule blesse!)\n\n\u2003And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse,\n\n\u2003Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret ese;\n\n\u2003And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.\n\n\u2003But for men speke of singing, I wol saye,\n\n\u2003So mote I brouke wel myn eyen tweye,\n\n\u2003Save yow, I herde never man so singe\n\n\u2003As dide your fader in the morweninge;\n\n\u2003Certes, it was of herte, al that he song.\n\n\u2003And for to make his voys the more strong,\n\n\u2003He wolde so peyne him, that with bothe his y\u00ebn\n\n\u2003Fair in the sand, to bathe herself merrily,\n\n\u2003Lay Pertelote, and all her sisters by,\n\n\u2003In the sun, and Chanticleer so free\n\n\u2003Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea\u2014\n\n\u2003For Physiologus says truly\n\n\u2003That they sing well and merrily\u2014\n\n\u2003And so it befell that, as he cast his eye\n\n\u2003Among the herbs, on a butterfly,\n\n\u2003He became aware of this fox that lay full low.\n\n\u2003Not at all then did he wish to crow.\n\n\u2003But cried anon, \"Cock, cock!\" and up he leapt\n\n\u2003Like someone who was frightened in his heart.\n\n\u2003For naturally a beast desires to flee\n\n\u2003From his opposite, if he may it see,\n\n\u2003Though he never before had seen it with his eye.\n\n\u2003This Chanticleer, when he caught him in his sight,\n\n\u2003He would have fled, but that the fox anon\n\n\u2003Said, \"Gentle sir, alas! where will you go?\n\n\u2003Be you afraid of me who is your friend?\n\n\u2003Now certainly, I'd be worse than a fiend,\n\n\u2003If I to you wished harm or wrong.\n\n\u2003I've not come to spy on your privacy,\n\n\u2003But truly, the cause of my coming\n\n\u2003Was only to listen to how you sing.\n\n\u2003For truly you have as nice a voice\n\n\u2003As any angel in heaven;\n\n\u2003Therewith you have in music more feeling\n\n\u2003Than had Boethius, or any who can sing.\n\n\u2003My lord your father (God his soul bless!)\n\n\u2003And also your mother, because of her gentleness,\n\n\u2003Have in my house been, to my great satisfaction;\n\n\u2003And certainly, sir, most willingly would I you please.\n\n\u2003But since men speak of singing, I will say,\n\n\u2003So may I profit by my eyes two,\n\n\u2003Except you, I never heard man so sing\n\n\u2003As did your father in the morning.\n\n\u2003Truly, it was from the heart, all that he sung.\n\n\u2003And for to make his voice the more strong,\n\n\u2003He would take such pains that both his eyes\n\n\u2003He most winke, so loude he wolde cryen,\n\n\u2003And stonden on his tiptoon ther-with-al,\n\n\u2003And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.\n\n\u2003And eek he was of swich discrecioun,\n\n\u2003That ther nas no man in no regioun\n\n\u2003That him in song or wisdom mighte passe.\n\n\u2003I have wel rad in daun Burnel the Asse,\n\n\u2003Among his vers, how that ther was a cok,\n\n\u2003For that a preestes sone yaf him a knok\n\n\u2003Upon his leg, whyl he was yong and nyce,\n\n\u2003He made him for to lese his benefyce.\n\n\u2003But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun\n\n\u2003Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun\n\n\u2003Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee.\n\n\u2003Now singeth, sire, for seinte Charitee,\n\n\u2003Let see, conne ye your fader countrefete?\"\n\n\u2003This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete,\n\n\u2003As man that coude his tresoun nat espye,\n\n\u2003So was he ravissed with his flaterye.\n\n\u2003Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour\n\n\u2003Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour,\n\n\u2003That plesen yow wel more, by my feith,\n\n\u2003Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith.\n\n\u2003Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye;\n\n\u2003Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye.\n\n\u2003This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his toos,\n\n\u2003Strecching his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos,\n\n\u2003And gan to crowe loude for the nones;\n\n\u2003And daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones,\n\n\u2003And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,\n\n\u2003And on his bak toward the wode him beer,\n\n\u2003For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed.\n\n\u2003O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed!\n\n\u2003Alias, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes!\n\n\u2003Alias, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes!\n\n\u2003And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.\n\n\u2003O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,\n\n\u2003Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,\n\n\u2003He had to shut, so loud he would cry,\n\n\u2003And stand on his tiptoes at the same time,\n\n\u2003And stretch forth his neck long and thin.\n\n\u2003And also he was of such wisdom\n\n\u2003That there was no man in any region\n\n\u2003Who him in song or wisdom might pass.\n\n\u2003I have well read in 'Sir Burnel the Ass,'\n\n\u2003Among that book's verses, how there was a cock,\n\n\u2003Who because a priest's son gave him a knock\n\n\u2003Upon his leg, while he was young and foolish,\n\n\u2003He made him lose his benefice.\n\n\u2003But certainly, there is no comparison\n\n\u2003Between the wisdom and discretion\n\n\u2003Of your father, and that other rooster.\n\n\u2003Now sing, sir, for holy charity!\n\n\u2003Let's see, can you your father imitate?\"\n\n\u2003This Chanticleer his wings began to beat,\n\n\u2003As one who could not see the fox's treason,\n\n\u2003So ravished was he by his flattery.\n\n\u2003Alas! you lords, many a false flatterer\n\n\u2003Is in your courts, and many a deceiving liar,\n\n\u2003Who please you well more, by my faith,\n\n\u2003Than he who truthfulness unto you speaks.\n\n\u2003Read Ecclesiastes on flattery;\n\n\u2003Beware, you lords, of their treachery.\n\n\u2003This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes,\n\n\u2003Stretching his neck, and held his eyes closed,\n\n\u2003And began to crow loud for the moment;\n\n\u2003And Sir Russell the fox started up at once\n\n\u2003And by the throat seized Chanticleer,\n\n\u2003And on his back carried toward the wood,\n\n\u2003With no one yet in pursuit.\n\n\u2003Oh destiny, that may not be eschewed!\n\n\u2003Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!\n\n\u2003Alas, his wife took no heed of dreams!\n\n\u2003And on a Friday befell all this mischance.\n\n\u2003Oh Venus, who is goddess of pleasure,\n\n\u2003Since that your servant was this Chanticleer,\n\n\u2003And in thy service dide al his poweer,\n\n\u2003More for delyt, than world to multiplye,\n\n\u2003Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to dye?\n\n\u2003O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn,\n\n\u2003That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slayn\n\n\u2003With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore,\n\n\u2003Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy lore\n\n\u2003The Friday for to chyde, as diden ye?\n\n(For on a Friday soothly slayn was he.)\n\n\u2003Than wolde I shewe yow how that I coude pleyne\n\n\u2003For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne.\n\n\u2003Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun\n\n\u2003Was never of ladies maad, whan Ilioun\n\n\u2003Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd,\n\n\u2003Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the berd,\n\n\u2003And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos),\n\n\u2003As maden alle the hennes in the clos,\n\n\u2003Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.\n\n\u2003But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte,\n\n\u2003Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf,\n\n\u2003Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf,\n\n\u2003And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage;\n\n\u2003She was so ful of torment and of rage,\n\n\u2003That wilfully into the fyr she sterte,\n\n\u2003And brende hir-selven with a stedfast herte.\n\n\u2003O woful hennes, right so cryden ye,\n\n\u2003As, whan that Nero brende the citee\n\n\u2003Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves,\n\n\u2003For that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyves;\n\n\u2003Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.\n\n\u2003Now wol I torne to my tale agayn:\u2014\n\n\u2003This sely widwe, and eek hir doghtres two,\n\n\u2003Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo,\n\n\u2003And out at dores sterten they anoon,\n\n\u2003And seyen the fox toward the grove goon,\n\n\u2003And bar upon his bak the cok away;\n\n\u2003And cryden, \"Out! harrow! and weylaway!\n\n\u2003Ha, ha, the fox!\" and after him they ran,\n\n\u2003And eek with staves many another man;\n\n\u2003And in your service did all he could,\n\n\u2003More for delight than world to multiply,\n\n\u2003Why would you suffer him on your day to die?\n\n\u2003Oh Geoffrey, dear sovereign master,\n\n\u2003Who when your worthy King Richard was slain by\n\n\u2003An arrow, you lamented his death so sorely,\n\n\u2003Why do I not have your wisdom and your lore,\n\n\u2003To chide Friday, as you did?\n\n\u2003(For on Friday truly slain was he.)\n\n\u2003Then would I show you that I could lament\n\n\u2003For Chanticleer's fear, and for his pain.\n\n\u2003Truly, no such cry or lamentation\n\n\u2003Was ever by ladies made when Troy\n\n\u2003Was won, and Pyrrhus with his straight sword,\n\n\u2003When he had seized king Priam by the beard,\n\n\u2003And slain him (as tells us the Aeneid),\n\n\u2003As made all the hens in the yard,\n\n\u2003When they had seen what happened to Chanticleer.\n\n\u2003But above all dame Pertelote shrieked\n\n\u2003Full louder than did Hasdrubal's wife,\n\n\u2003When her husband had lost his life,\n\n\u2003And the Romans had burned Carthage:\n\n\u2003She was so full of torment and rage\n\n\u2003That willfully into the fire she leapt,\n\n\u2003And burned herself to death, with a steadfast heart.\n\n\u2003Oh woeful hens, you cried\n\n\u2003As did the Roman senators' wives\n\n\u2003When Nero burned the city down\n\n\u2003And their husbands lost their lives\n\n\u2003When, though guiltless, Nero slew them.\n\n\u2003Now will I turn to my tale again.\n\n\u2003This good widow and her daughters two\n\n\u2003Heard these hens crying and making woe,\n\n\u2003And out of the door they leapt anon,\n\n\u2003And saw the fox toward the grove going,\n\n\u2003And carrying upon his back the cock away;\n\n\u2003And cried, \"Out! Help! and wellaway!\n\n\u2003Ha, ha, the fox!\" and after him they ran\n\n\u2003And also with sticks many another man;\n\n\u2003Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland,\n\n\u2003And Malkin, with a distaf in hir hand;\n\n\u2003Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges\n\n\u2003So were they fered for berking of the dogges\n\n\u2003And shouting of the men and wimmen eke,\n\n\u2003They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breke.\n\n\u2003They yelleden as feendes doon in helle;\n\n\u2003The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle;\n\n\u2003The gees for fere flowen over the trees;\n\n\u2003Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees;\n\n\u2003So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicite!\n\n\u2003Certes, he Jakke Straw, and his meynee,\n\n\u2003Ne made never shoutes half so shrille,\n\n\u2003Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille,\n\n\u2003As thilke day was maad upon the fox.\n\n\u2003Of bras thay broghten bemes, and of box,\n\n\u2003Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and pouped,\n\n\u2003And therwithal thay shryked and they houped;\n\n\u2003It semed as that heven sholde falle.\n\n\u2003Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle!\n\n\u2003Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly\n\n\u2003The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!\n\n\u2003This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,\n\n\u2003In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"sire, if that I were as ye,\n\n\u2003Yet sholde I seyn (as wis god helpe me),\n\n\u2003Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle!\n\n\u2003A verray pestilence up-on yow falle!\n\n\u2003Now am I come un-to this wodes syde,\n\n\u2003Maugree your heed, the cok shal heer abyde;\n\n\u2003I wol him ete in feith, and that anon.\"\u2014\n\n\u2003The fox answerde, \"in feith, it shal be don.\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And as he spak that word, al sodeinly\n\n\u2003This cok brak from his mouth deliverly,\n\n\u2003And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon.\n\n\u2003And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon,\n\n\u2003\"Allas!\" quod he, \"O Chauntecleer, alias!\n\n\u2003I have to yow,\" quod he, \"y-doon trespas,\n\n\u2003Ran Colle the dog, and Talbot, and Gerland,\n\n\u2003And Malkin, with a distaff in her hand;\n\n\u2003Ran cow and calf, and also the very hogs,\n\n\u2003So frightened by the barking of the dogs\n\n\u2003And shouting of the men and women too,\n\n\u2003They ran so they thought their hearts would burst.\n\n\u2003They yelled as fiends do in hell;\n\n\u2003The ducks quacked as if men would them kill;\n\n\u2003The geese for fear flew over the trees;\n\n\u2003Out of the hive came the swarm of bees;\n\n\u2003So hideous was the noise, a! benedicite!\n\n\u2003Certainly, Jack Straw and his company\n\n\u2003Never made shouts half so shrill\n\n\u2003When they would any Fleming kill,\n\n\u2003As that day was made upon the fox.\n\n\u2003Of brass they brought trumpets, and of boxwood,\n\n\u2003Of horn, of bone, in which they blew and puffed,\n\n\u2003And therewith they shrieked and they whooped:\n\n\u2003It seemed as if heaven should fall.\n\n\u2003Now, good men, I pray you listen all!\n\n\u2003Look, how Fortune overturns suddenly\n\n\u2003The hope and pride of her enemy!\n\n\u2003This cock, that lay upon the fox's back,\n\n\u2003In all his fear unto the fox he spoke,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sir, if I were you,\n\n\u2003Yet should I say, may God help me,\n\n\u2003'Turn again, you proud churls all!\n\n\u2003A very pestilence upon you fall!\n\n\u2003Now I am coming into this woodside,\n\n\u2003Despite your effort, this cock shall here abide;\n\n\u2003I will eat him in faith, and that anon.'\"\n\n\u2003The fox answered, \"In faith, it shall be done,\"\n\n\u2003And as he spoke that word, all suddenly\n\n\u2003This cock broke from his mouth quite nimbly,\n\n\u2003And high upon a tree he flew anon.\n\n\u2003And when the fox saw that the cock was gone,\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said he, \"O Chanticleer, alas!\n\n\u2003I have to you,\" said he, \"done trespass,\n\n\u2003In-as-muche as I maked yow aferd,\n\n\u2003Whan I yow hente, and broghte out of the yerd;\n\n\u2003But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente;\n\n\u2003Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente.\n\n\u2003I shal seye sooth to yow, god help me so.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay than,\" quod he, \"I shrewe us bothe two,\n\n\u2003And first I shrewe my-self, bothe blood and bones,\n\n\u2003If thou bigyle me ofter than ones.\n\n\u2003Thou shalt na-more, thurgh thy flaterye,\n\n\u2003Do me to singe and winke with myn ye.\n\n\u2003For he that winketh, whan he sholde see,\n\n\u2003Al wilfully, god lat him never thee!\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod the fox, \"but god yeve him meschaunce,\n\n\u2003That is so undiscreet of governaunce,\n\n\u2003That jangleth whan he sholde holde his pees.\"\n\n\u2003Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees,\n\n\u2003And necligent, and truste on flaterye.\n\n\u2003But ye that holden this tale a folye,\n\n\u2003As of a fox, or of a cok and hen,\n\n\u2003Taketh the moralitee, good men.\n\n\u2003For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is,\n\n\u2003To our doctryne it is y-write, y-wis.\n\n\u2003Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.\n\n\u2003Now, gode god, if that it be thy wille,\n\n\u2003As seith my lord, so make us alle good men;\n\n\u2003And bringe us to his heighe blisse. Amen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003\"Sir Nonnes Preest;\" our hoste seyde anoon,\n\n\u2003\"Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!\n\n\u2003This was a mery tale of Chauntecleer.\n\n\u2003But, by my trouthe, if thou were seculer,\n\n\u2003Thou woldest been a trede-foul a-right.\n\n\u2003For, if thou have corage as thou hast might,\n\n\u2003Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,\n\n\u2003Ya, mo than seven tymes seventene.\n\n\u2003See, whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest,\n\n\u2003So greet a nekke, and swich a large breest!\n\n\u2003Inasmuch as I made you afraid\n\n\u2003When I you seized and brought out of the yard.\n\n\u2003But sir, I did it with no wicked intent;\n\n\u2003Come down, and I shall tell you what I meant.\n\n\u2003I tell you the truth, God help me so.\"\n\n\u2003\"No, then,\" said he, \"I curse us both two,\n\n\u2003And first I curse myself, both blood and bones,\n\n\u2003If you deceive me more than once.\n\n\u2003You shall no more, through your flattery,\n\n\u2003Cause me to sing and close my eyes.\n\n\u2003For he who blinks when he should look,\n\n\u2003All willfully, may God not give him luck!\" \"No,\" said the fox, \"but God give him mischance,\n\n\u2003Who is so indiscreet of self-governance\n\n\u2003That chatters when he should hold his tongue.\"\n\n\u2003Look, this is the way it is to be reckless\n\n\u2003And negligent, and trust in flattery.\n\n\u2003But you that hold this tale a trifle,\n\n\u2003As of a fox, or of a cock and hen,\n\n\u2003Take the moral of it, good men.\n\n\u2003For Saint Paul says all that is written,\n\n\u2003Was written for our benefit.\n\n\u2003Take the fruit, and let the husks be still.\n\n\u2003Now, good God, if that it be your will,\n\n\u2003As says my bishop, so make us all good men,\n\n\u2003And bring us to his high bliss. Amen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Epilogue",
                "text": "\u2003\"Sir Nun's Priest;\" our Host said at once,\n\n\u2003\"Blessed be your loins and your balls!\n\n\u2003This was a merry tale of Chanticleer.\n\n\u2003But by my troth, if you were secular,\n\n\u2003You would have been some rooster.\n\n\u2003For if you have spirit as you have strength,\n\n\u2003You would need of hens, I would guess,\n\n\u2003Yea, more than seventeen times seven.\n\n\u2003See, what muscles has this gentle priest,\n\n\u2003So great a neck, and such a large breast!\n\n\u2003He loketh as a sperhauk with his yen;\n\n\u2003Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen\n\n\u2003With brasil, ne with greyn of Portingale.\n\n\u2003Now sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!\"\n\n\u2003He looks as does a sparrowhawk with his eyes;\n\n\u2003He need not his complexion to dye\n\n\u2003With red powder, nor with red dye from Portugal.\n\n\u2003Now sir, may good befall you for your tale!\"\n\n\u2003The Chanouns Yemannes Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003Whan ended was the lyf of seint Cecyle,\n\n\u2003Er we had ridden fully fyve myle,\n\n\u2003At Boghton under Blee us gan atake\n\n\u2003A man, that clothed was in clothes blake,\n\n\u2003And undernethe he hadde a whyt surplys.\n\n\u2003His hakeney, that was al pomely grys,\n\n\u2003So swatte, that it wonder was to see;\n\n\u2003It semed he had priked myles three.\n\n\u2003The hors eek that his yeman rood upon\n\n\u2003So swatte, that unnethe mighte it gon.\n\n\u2003Aboute the peytrel stood the foom ful hye,\n\n\u2003He was of fome al flekked as a pye.\n\n\u2003A male tweyfold on his croper lay,\n\n\u2003It semed that he caried lyte array.\n\n\u2003Al light for somer rood this worthy man,\n\n\u2003And in myn herte wondren I bigan\n\n\u2003What that he was, til that I understood\n\n\u2003How that his cloke was sowed to his hood;\n\n\u2003For which, when I had longe avysed me,\n\n\u2003I demed him som chanon for to be.\n\n\u2003His hat heng at his bak doun by a laas,\n\n\u2003For he had riden more than trot or paas;\n\n\u2003He had ay priked lyk as he were wood.\n\n\u2003A clote-leef he hadde under his hood\n\n\u2003For swoot, and for to kepe his heed from hete.\n\n\u2003But it was joye for to seen him swete!\n\n\u2003His forheed dropped as a stillatorie,\n\n\u2003Were ful of plantain and of paritorie.\n\n\u2003And whan that he was come, he gan to crye,\n\n\u2003\"God save,\" quod he, \"this joly companye!\n\n\u2003Faste have I priked,\" quod he, \"for your sake,\n\n\u2003By-cause that I wolde yow atake,\n\n\u2003To ryden in this mery companye.\"\n\n\u2003His yeman eek was ful of curteisye,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"sires, now in the morwe-tyde\n\n\u2003The Canon's Yeoman's Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Prologue",
                "text": "\u2003When ended was the life of Saint Cecilia,\n\n\u2003Before we had ridden fully five miles,\n\n\u2003At Boughton under Blean we were overtaken\n\n\u2003By a man who clothed was in clothes black,\n\n\u2003And underneath he had a white surplice.\n\n\u2003His hackney, that was dappled gray,\n\n\u2003So sweated that it wondrous was to see;\n\n\u2003It seemed as if he had spurred miles three.\n\n\u2003The horse also that his yeoman rode upon\n\n\u2003So labored that it could hardly go on.\n\n\u2003About the collar stood the foam full high;\n\n\u2003He was of foam flecked as a magpie.\n\n\u2003A saddlebag on his crupper rested;\n\n\u2003It seemed that he not much carried.\n\n\u2003All light for summer rode this worthy man,\n\n\u2003And in my heart wondering I began\n\n\u2003Who he was till I understood\n\n\u2003How that his cloak was sewn to his hood,\n\n\u2003For which, when I had pondered me,\n\n\u2003Some kind of canon I deemed him to be.\n\n\u2003His hat hung at his back down by a lace,\n\n\u2003For he had ridden more than trot or pace;\n\n\u2003He had ever spurred as if he were mad.\n\n\u2003A burdock leaf he had under his hood\n\n\u2003For sweat and to keep his head from heat.\n\n\u2003But it was a joy to see him sweat!\n\n\u2003His forehead perspired like a distillery\n\n\u2003Full of plantain and pellitory.\n\n\u2003And when he drew near, he began to cry,\n\n\u2003\"God save,\" said he, \"this jolly company!\n\n\u2003Fast have I spurred,\" said he, \"for your sake,\n\n\u2003Because I would you overtake,\n\n\u2003To ride in this merry company.\"\n\n\u2003His yeoman also was full of courtesy,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sirs, now in the morningtide\n\n\u2003Out of your hostelrye I saugh you ryde,\n\n\u2003And warned heer my lord and my soverayn,\n\n\u2003Which that to ryden with yow is ful fayn,\n\n\u2003For his desport; he loveth daliaunce.\"\n\n\u2003\"Freend, for thy warning god yeve thee good chaunce,\"\n\n\u2003Than seyde our host, \"for certes, it wolde seme\n\n\u2003Thy lord were wys, and so I may weldeme;\n\n\u2003He is ful jocund also, dar I leye.\n\n\u2003Can he oght telle a mery tale or tweye,\n\n\u2003With which he glade may this companye?\"\n\n\u2003\"Who, sire? my lord? ye, ye, withouten lye,\n\n\u2003He can of murthe, and eek of jolitee\n\n\u2003Nat but ynough; also sir, trusteth me,\n\n\u2003And ye him knewe as wel as do I,\n\n\u2003Ye wolde wondre how wel and craftily\n\n\u2003He coude werke, and that in sondry wyse.\n\n\u2003He hath take on him many a greet empryse,\n\n\u2003Which were ful hard for any that is here\n\n\u2003To bringe aboute, but they of him it lere.\n\n\u2003As homely as he rit amonges yow,\n\n\u2003If ye him knewe, it wolde be for your prow;\n\n\u2003Ye wolde nat forgoon his aqueyntaunce\n\n\u2003For mochel good, I dar leye in balaunce\n\n\u2003Al that I have in my possessioun.\n\n\u2003He is a man of heigh discrecioun,\n\n\u2003I warne you wel, he is a passing man.\"\n\n\u2003\"Wel,\" quod our host, \"I pray thee, tel me than.\n\n\u2003Is he a clerk, or noon? tel what he is.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, he is gretter than a clerk, y-wis,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this yeman, \"and in wordes fewe,\n\n\u2003Host, of his craft som-what I wol yow shewe.\n\n\u2003I seye, my lord can swich subtilitee\u2014\n\n(But al his craft ye may nat wite at me;\n\n\u2003And som-what helpe I yet to his working)\u2014\n\n\u2003That al this ground on which we been ryding,\n\n\u2003Til that we come to Caunterbury toun,\n\n\u2003He coude al clene turne it up-so-doun,\n\n\u2003And pave it al of silver and of gold.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this yeman hadde thus y-told\n\n\u2003Out of your hostelry I saw you ride,\n\n\u2003And warned here my lord and my master,\n\n\u2003Who to ride with you would be much obliged,\n\n\u2003For his pleasure; he loves stories and such.\"\n\n\u2003\"Friend, for your warning God give you good luck,\"\n\n\u2003Then said our Host, \"for certain it would seem\n\n\u2003Your Lord was wise, and so I may well deem.\n\n\u2003He is full jocund also, I dare wager!\n\n\u2003Can he at least tell a tale or two,\n\n\u2003With which he may make glad this company?\"\n\n\u2003\"Who, sire? My lord? Yea, yea, without lie,\n\n\u2003He knows of mirth and jollity\n\n\u2003More than enough; also sir, trust me,\n\n\u2003And if you knew him as well as do I,\n\n\u2003You would wonder how well and skillfully\n\n\u2003He could work, and that in sundry ways.\n\n\u2003He takes on himself many a great enterprise,\n\n\u2003Which would be full hard for any here\n\n\u2003To bring about, unless they learned it from him.\n\n\u2003Though simply he rides among you,\n\n\u2003If you him knew, it would be for your profit.\n\n\u2003You would not forgo his acquaintance\n\n\u2003For much good, I dare bet\n\n\u2003All that I have in my possession.\n\n\u2003He is a man of high discretion;\n\n\u2003I warn you well, he is an outstanding person.\"\n\n\u2003\"Well,\" said our Host, \"I pray you, tell me then,\n\n\u2003Is he a scholar, or no? Tell what he is.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, he is greater than a scholar, truly,\"\n\n\u2003Said this Yeoman, \"and in words few,\n\n\u2003Host, of his skill something I will you show.\n\n\u2003\"I say, my lord knows such subtlety\u2014\n\n\u2003But all his skill you may not learn from me,\n\n\u2003And somewhat yet I help his workings\u2014\n\n\u2003That all this ground on which we be riding,\n\n\u2003Till that we come to Canterbury town,\n\n\u2003He could all clean turn upside-down,\n\n\u2003And pave it all of silver and of gold.\"\n\n\u2003And when this Yeoman had this tale told\n\n\u2003Unto our host, he seyde, \"ben'cite!\n\n\u2003This thing is wonder merveillous to me,\n\n\u2003Sin that thy lord is of so heigh prudence,\n\n\u2003By-cause of which men sholde him reverence,\n\n\u2003That of his worship rekketh he so lyte;\n\n\u2003His oversloppe nis nat worth a myte,\n\n\u2003As in effect, to him, so mote I go!\n\n\u2003It is al baudy and to-tore also.\n\n\u2003Why is thy lord so sluttish, I thee preye,\n\n\u2003And is of power better cloth to beye,\n\n\u2003If that his dede accorde with thy speche?\n\n\u2003Telle me that, and that I thee biseche.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why?\" quod this yeman, \"wherto axe ye me?\n\n\u2003God help me so, for he shal never thee!\n\n(But I wol nat avowe that I seye,\n\n\u2003And therfor kepe it secree, I yow preye).\n\n\u2003He is to wys, in feith, as I bileve;\n\n\u2003That that is overdoon, it wol nat preve\n\n\u2003Aright, as clerkes seyn, it is a vyce.\n\n\u2003Wherfor in that I holde him lewed and nyce.\n\n\u2003For whan a man hath over-greet a wit,\n\n\u2003Ful oft him happeth to misusen it;\n\n\u2003So dooth my lord, and that me greveth sore.\n\n\u2003God it amende, I can sey yow na-more.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ther-of no fors, good yeman,\" quod our host;\n\n\u2003\"Sin of the conning of thy lord thou wost,\n\n\u2003Tel how he dooth, I pray thee hertely,\n\n\u2003Sin that he is so crafty and so sly.\n\n\u2003Wher dwellen ye, if it to telle be?\"\n\n\u2003\"In the suburbes of a toun,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Lurkinge in hernes and in lanes blinde,\n\n\u2003Wher-as thise robbours and thise theves by kinde\n\n\u2003Holden hir privee fereful residence,\n\n\u2003As they that dar nat shewen hir presence;\n\n\u2003So faren we, if I shal seye the sothe.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" quod our host, \"yit lat me talke to the;\n\n\u2003Why artow so discoloured of thy face?\"\n\n\u2003\"Peter!\" quod he, \"god yeve it harde grace,\n\n\u2003I am so used in the fyr to blowe,\n\n\u2003Unto our Host, he said, \"Benedicite!\n\n\u2003This thing is wondrous marvelous to me,\n\n\u2003Since that your lord has such knowledge,\n\n\u2003Because of which men should him reverence,\n\n\u2003Who of his distinction makes he so light.\n\n\u2003His overcoat is not worth a mite,\n\n\u2003Really, to him, so must I say,\n\n\u2003It is all dirty and tattered also.\n\n\u2003Why is your lord so sloppy, I you pray,\n\n\u2003And is able better cloth to buy,\n\n\u2003If his works match your speech?\n\n\u2003Tell me that, and that I you beseech.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why?\" said this Yeoman, \"why ask me?\n\n\u2003God help me so, for he shall succeed never!\n\n(But I will not reveal it in what I say,\n\n\u2003And therefore keep it secret, I you pray.)\n\n\u2003He is too knowing, in faith, as I believe.\n\n\u2003What is made too much of, it will not\n\n\u2003Succeed, as scholars say, it is a vice.\n\n\u2003Therefore in that I hold him both simple and wise.\n\n\u2003For when a man has too much wit,\n\n\u2003Full often he happens to misuse it.\n\n\u2003So does my lord, and that grieves me sore;\n\n\u2003God it amend! I can tell you no more.\"\n\n\u2003\"Thereof no matter, good Yeoman,\" said our Host;\n\n\u2003\"Since the cunning of your lord you know,\n\n\u2003Tell how he works, I pray you with all my heart,\n\n\u2003Since he is so skillful and so expert.\n\n\u2003Where do you live, if you don't mind saying?\"\n\n\u2003\"In the suburbs of a town,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Lurking in hiding places and in blind alleys,\n\n\u2003Where these robbers and thieving kinds,\n\n\u2003Keep their secret, fear-ridden roosts,\n\n\u2003As they who dare not show their faces;\n\n\u2003So fare we, if I shall say the truth.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now,\" said our Host, \"yet let me talk to you.\n\n\u2003Why are you so discolored in your face?\"\n\n\u2003\"Peter!\" said he, \"God give it misfortune,\n\n\u2003I am so used in the fire to blow\n\n\u2003That it hath chaunged my colour, I trowe.\n\n\u2003I am nat wont in no mirour to prye,\n\n\u2003But swinke sore and lerne multiplye,\n\n\u2003We blondren ever and pouren in the fyr.\n\n\u2003And for al that we fayle of our desyr.\n\n\u2003For ever we lakken our conclusioun.\n\n\u2003To mochel folk we doon illusioun,\n\n\u2003And borwe gold, be it a pound or two,\n\n\u2003Or ten, or twelve, or many sommes mo,\n\n\u2003And make hem wenen, at the leeste weye,\n\n\u2003That of a pound we coude make tweye!\n\n\u2003Yet is it fals, but ay we han good hope\n\n\u2003It for to doon, and after it we grope.\n\n\u2003But that science is so fer us biforn,\n\n\u2003We mowen nat, al-though we hadde it sworn,\n\n\u2003It overtake, it slit awey so faste;\n\n\u2003It wol us maken beggars atte laste.\"\n\n\u2003Whyl this yeman was thus in his talking,\n\n\u2003This chanoun drough him ncer, and herde al thing\n\n\u2003Which this yeman spak, for suspecioun\n\n\u2003Of mennes speche ever hadde this chanoun.\n\n\u2003For Catoun seith, that he that gilty is\n\n\u2003Demeth al thing be spoke of him, y-wis.\n\n\u2003That was the cause he gan so ny him drawe\n\n\u2003To his yeman, to herknen al his sawe.\n\n\u2003And thus he seyde un-to his yeman tho,\n\n\u2003\"Hold thou thy pees, and spek no wordes mo,\n\n\u2003For if thou do, thou shalt it dere abye;\n\n\u2003Thou sclaundrest me heer in this companye,\n\n\u2003And eek discoverest that thou sholdest hyde.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye,\" quod our host, \"telle on, what so bityde;\n\n\u2003Of al his threting rekke nat a myte!\"\n\n\u2003\"In feith,\" quod he, \"namore I do but lyte.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this chanon saugh it wolde nat be,\n\n\u2003But his yeman wolde telle his privetee,\n\n\u2003He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame.\n\n\u2003\"A!\" quod the yeman, \"heer shal aryse game,\n\n\u2003Al that I can anon now wol I telle.\n\n\u2003Sin he is goon, the foule feend him quelle!\n\n\u2003That it has changed my color, I know.\n\n\u2003I am not wont in a mirror to peer,\n\n\u2003But work hard and learn alchemy.\n\n\u2003We blunder ever and stare into the fire,\n\n\u2003And for all that we fail of our desire,\n\n\u2003For ever we lack successful conclusion.\n\n\u2003To most folk we do illusion,\n\n\u2003And borrow gold, be it a pound or two,\n\n\u2003Or ten, or twelve, or many sums more,\n\n\u2003And make them believe, at least,\n\n\u2003That of a pound we could make two.\n\n\u2003Yet is it false, but ever we have good hope\n\n\u2003It for to do, and after it we grope.\n\n\u2003But that science is so far us before,\n\n\u2003We accomplish it not, although we had it sworn,\n\n\u2003To achieve, it slides away so fast.\n\n\u2003It will make us beggars at the last.\"\n\n\u2003While this Yeoman was thus in his talking,\n\n\u2003This Canon drew him near and heard everything\n\n\u2003That this Yeoman said, for suspicion\n\n\u2003Of men's speech ever had this Canon.\n\n\u2003For Cato says that he who guilty is\n\n\u2003Deems everything spoken to be of him.\n\n\u2003That was the reason he began to draw\n\n\u2003Near his Yeoman, to hear his chatter.\n\n\u2003And thus he said unto his Yeoman then:\n\n\u2003\"Hold you your peace and speak no words more,\n\n\u2003For if you do, you shall for it dearly pay.\n\n\u2003You slander me here to this company,\n\n\u2003And also reveal what you should hide.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yea,\" said our Host, \"tell on, what so betides.\n\n\u2003Of all his threatening reckon not a mite!\"\n\n\u2003\"In faith,\" said he, \"I do but little more.\"\n\n\u2003And when this Canon saw it would not be,\n\n\u2003But his Yeoman would reveal his secrecy,\n\n\u2003He fled away for true sorrow and shame.\n\n\u2003\"Ah,\" said the Yeoman, \"here shall arise the game;\n\n\u2003All that I know soon now will I say.\n\n\u2003Since he is gone, the foul fiend him slay!\n\n\u2003For never her-after wol I with him mete\n\n\u2003For peny ne for pound, I yow bihete!\n\n\u2003He that me broghte first unto that game,\n\n\u2003Er that he dye, sorwe have he and shame!\n\n\u2003For it is ernest to me, by my feith;\n\n\u2003That fele I wel, what so any man seith.\n\n\u2003And yet, for al my smerte and al my grief,\n\n\u2003For al my sorwe, labour, and meschief,\n\n\u2003I coude never leve it in no wyse.\n\n\u2003Now wolde god my wit mighte suffyse\n\n\u2003To tellen al that longeth to that art!\n\n\u2003But natheles yow wol I tellen part;\n\n\u2003Sin that my lord is gon, I wol nat spare;\n\n\u2003Swich thing as that I knowe, I wol declare.\"\u2014\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 90",
                "text": "\u2003With this chanoun I dwelt have seven yeer,\n\n\u2003And of his science am I never the neer.\n\n\u2003Al that I hadde, I have y-lost ther-by;\n\n\u2003And god wot, so hath many mo than I.\n\n\u2003Ther I was wont to be right fresh and gay\n\n\u2003Of clothing and of other good array,\n\n\u2003Now may I were an hose upon myn heed;\n\n\u2003And wher my colour was bothe fresh and reed,\n\n\u2003Now is it wan and of a leden hewe;\n\n\u2003Who-so it useth, sore shal he rewe.\n\n\u2003And of my swink yet blered is myn ye,\n\n\u2003Lo! which avantage is to multiplye!\n\n\u2003That slyding science hath me maad so bare,\n\n\u2003That I have no good, wher that ever I fare;\n\n\u2003And yet I am endetted so ther-by\n\n\u2003Of gold that I have borwed, trewely,\n\n\u2003That whyl I live, I shal it quyte never.\n\n\u2003Lat every man be war by me for ever!\n\n\u2003What maner man that casteth him ther-to,\n\n\u2003If he continue, I holde his thrift y-do.\n\n\u2003For never hereafter will I with him meet\n\n\u2003For penny nor for pound, I promise you.\n\n\u2003He who brought me first unto that game,\n\n\u2003Before he dies, sorrow have he and shame!\n\n\u2003For it is so serious to me, by my faith;\n\n\u2003That I feel strongly, whatever any man says.\n\n\u2003And yet, for all my pain and my sorrow,\n\n\u2003For all my labor, grief and trouble,\n\n\u2003I could never leave it though I tried.\n\n\u2003Now would to God that my wit sufficed\n\n\u2003To tell all that belongs to that art!\n\n\u2003But nevertheless I will tell you part.\n\n\u2003Since my lord is gone, I will not spare;\n\n\u2003Such things that I know, I will declare.\u2014\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 91",
                "text": "\u2003With this Canon have I dwelt seven years,\n\n\u2003And of his science I am never the nearer.\n\n\u2003All that I had I have lost thereby,\n\n\u2003And, God knows, so have many more than I.\n\n\u2003Where I was wont to be right fresh and gay\n\n\u2003Of clothing and of other good raiment,\n\n\u2003Now may I wear a sock upon my head;\n\n\u2003And where my color was both fresh and red,\n\n\u2003Now it is all wan and of a leaden hue\u2014\n\n\u2003Whoso it uses, sore shall he rue!\u2014\n\n\u2003And from my work yet is bleared my eye.\n\n\u2003Look, what profit be there in alchemy!\n\n\u2003That slippery science has me made so bare\n\n\u2003That I have no good, whatever I fare;\n\n\u2003And yet I am indebted so\n\n\u2003For the gold that I have borrowed, truly,\n\n\u2003That while I live I shall repay it never.\n\n\u2003Let every man be warned by me forever.\n\n\u2003Whoever in that way risks his luck,\n\n\u2003If he continues, he will end up broke.\n\n\u2003So helpe me god, ther-by shal he nat winne,\n\n\u2003But empte his purs, and make his wittes thinne.\n\n\u2003And whan he, thurgh his madnes and folye,\n\n\u2003Hath lost his owene good thurgh jupartye,\n\n\u2003Thanne he excyteth other folk ther-to,\n\n\u2003To lese hir good as he him-self hath do.\n\n\u2003For unto shrewes joye it is and ese\n\n\u2003To have hir felawes in peyne and disese;\n\n\u2003Thus was I ones lerned of a clerk.\n\n\u2003Of that no charge, I wol speke of our werk.\n\n\u2003Whan we been ther as we shul exercyse\n\n\u2003Our elvish craft, we semen wonder wyse,\n\n\u2003Our termes been so clergial and so queynte.\n\n\u2003I blowe the fyr til that myn herte feynte.\n\n\u2003What sholde I tellen ech proporcioun\n\n\u2003Of thinges whiche that we werche upon,\n\n\u2003As on fyve or sixe ounces, may wel be,\n\n\u2003Of silver or som other quantitee,\n\n\u2003And bisie me to telle yow the names\n\n\u2003Of orpiment, brent bones, yren squames,\n\n\u2003That into poudre grounden been ful smal?\n\n\u2003And in an erthen potte how put is al,\n\n\u2003And salt y-put in, and also papeer,\n\n\u2003Biforn thise poudres that I speke of heer,\n\n\u2003And wel y-covered with a lampe of glass,\n\n\u2003And mochel other thing which that ther was?\n\n\u2003And of the pot and glasses enluting,\n\n\u2003That of the eyre mighte passe out no-thing?\n\n\u2003And of the esy fyr and smart also,\n\n\u2003Which that was maad, and of the care and wo\n\n\u2003That we hadde in our matires sublyming,\n\n\u2003And in amalgaming and calcening\n\n\u2003Of quik-silver, y-clept Mercurie crude?\n\n\u2003For alle our sleightes we can nat conclude.\n\n\u2003Our orpiment and sublymed Mercurie,\n\n\u2003Our grounden litarge eek on the porphurie,\n\n\u2003Of ech of thise of ounces a certeyn\n\n\u2003Nought helpeth us, our labour is in veyn.\n\n\u2003Ne eek our spirites ascencioun,\n\n\u2003For so help me God, thereby shall he not win,\n\n\u2003But empty his purse and make his wits thin.\n\n\u2003And when he through his madness and folly\n\n\u2003Has lost his own goods through jeopardy,\n\n\u2003Then he excites other folk thereto,\n\n\u2003To lessen their goods as he himself has done.\n\n\u2003For unto wretches joy it is and ease\n\n\u2003To have their fellows in pain and disease.\n\n\u2003Thus taught was I once by a cleric.\n\n\u2003Of that no matter; I speak now of our work.\n\n\u2003When we had set ourselves up to exercise\n\n\u2003Our elvish craft, we seemed wondrous wise,\n\n\u2003Our terms were scholarly and so abstruse.\n\n\u2003I blew the fire till my heart burst.\n\n\u2003Why should I tell each measure of\n\n\u2003Things that we worked upon\u2014\n\n\u2003As to five or six ounces, may well be,\n\n\u2003Of silver, or some other quantity\u2014\n\n\u2003And busy myself to tell you the names\n\n\u2003Of arsenic, burnt bones, iron flakes,\n\n\u2003That into powder ground were full small;\n\n\u2003And in an earthen pot how put is all,\n\n\u2003And salt put in, and also paper,\n\n\u2003Before these powders that I spoke of here;\n\n\u2003And well-covered with a lamp of glass;\n\n\u2003And of much other things that there were;\n\n\u2003And of the pot and glasses sealing\n\n\u2003That of the vapor might pass out nothing;\n\n\u2003And of the easy fire, and brisk also,\n\n\u2003Which was made, and of the care and woe\n\n\u2003That we had in our ingredients purifying,\n\n\u2003And in our amalgamation and reduction\n\n\u2003Of quicksilver, called raw mercury?\n\n\u2003For all our trickery we cannot succeed.\n\n\u2003Our arsenic and purified mercury,\n\n\u2003Our ground lead oxide on the porphyry,\n\n\u2003Of each of these of ounces a certain measure\u2014\n\n\u2003Nought helped us; in vain was our labor.\n\n\u2003Nor either our vaporized spirits,\n\n\u2003Ne our materes that lyen al fixe adoun,\n\n\u2003Mowe in our werking no-thing us avayle.\n\n\u2003For lost is al our labour and travayle,\n\n\u2003And al the cost, a twenty devel weye,\n\n\u2003Is lost also, which we upon it leye.\n\n\u2003Ther is also ful many another thing\n\n\u2003That is unto our craft apertening;\n\n\u2003Though I by ordre hem nat reherce can,\n\n\u2003By-cause that I am a lewed man,\n\n\u2003Yet wol I telle hem as they come to minde,\n\n\u2003Though I ne can nat sette hem in hir kinde;\n\n\u2003As bole armoniak, verdegrees, boras,\n\n\u2003And sondry vessels maad of erthe and glas,\n\n\u2003Our urinales and our descensories,\n\n\u2003Violes, croslets, and sublymatories,\n\n\u2003Cucurbites, and alembykes eek,\n\n\u2003And othere swiche, dere y-nough a leek.\n\n\u2003Nat nedeth it for to reherce hem alle,\n\n\u2003Watres rubifying and boles galle,\n\n\u2003Arsenik, sal armoniak, and brimstoon;\n\n\u2003And herbes coude I telle eek many oon,\n\n\u2003As egremoine, valerian, and lunarie,\n\n\u2003And othere swiche, if that me liste tarie.\n\n\u2003Our lampes brenning bothe night and day,\n\n\u2003To bringe aboute our craft, if that we may.\n\n\u2003Our fourneys eek of calcinacioun,\n\n\u2003And of watres albificacioun,\n\n\u2003Unslekked lym, chalk, and gleyre of an ey,\n\n\u2003Poudres diverse, asshes, dong, pisse, and cley,\n\n\u2003Cered pokets, sal peter, vitriole;\n\n\u2003And divers fyres maad of wode and cole;\n\n\u2003Sal tartre, alkaly, and sal preparat,\n\n\u2003And combust materes and coagulat,\n\n\u2003Cley maad with hors or mannes heer, and oile\n\n\u2003Of tartre, alum, glas, berm, wort, and argoile\n\n\u2003Resalgar, and our materes enbibing;\n\n\u2003And eek of our materes encorporing,\n\n\u2003And of our silver citrinacioun,\n\n\u2003Nor our residue sediment stable,\n\n\u2003For success in our working nothing us availed,\n\n\u2003For lost is all our labor and our travail;\n\n\u2003And all the cost, in the devil's name,\n\n\u2003Is lost also, that we had outlaid.\n\n\u2003There is also full many another thing\n\n\u2003That is unto our craft appertaining.\n\n\u2003Though I cannot rehearse them in order,\n\n\u2003Because I am an unlearned man,\n\n\u2003Yet will I tell them as they come to mind,\n\n\u2003Though I cannot set them in their order by kind:\n\n\u2003As Armenian bole, copper, borax,\n\n\u2003And sundry vessels made of earth and glass,\n\n\u2003Our flasks and our retorts,\n\n\u2003Vials, crucibles, and sublimatories,\n\n\u2003Distillation vessels and alembics also,\n\n\u2003And other such, expensive but not worth a leek\u2014\n\n\u2003No need for me to rehearse them all\u2014\n\n\u2003Fluids reddening, and bull's gall,\n\n\u2003Arsenic, sal ammoniac, and brimstone;\n\n\u2003And herbs could I tell many a one,\n\n\u2003As agrimony, valerian, and moonwart,\n\n\u2003And other such, if I wished to tarry;\n\n\u2003Our lamps burning both night and day,\n\n\u2003To bring about our purpose, if we may;\n\n\u2003Our furnace also of calcination,\n\n\u2003And of waters albification;\n\n\u2003Unslaked lime, chalk, and white of egg,\n\n\u2003Powders diverse, ashes, dung, piss and clay,\n\n\u2003Waxed small bags, saltpeter, copper sulphate,\n\n\u2003And diverse fires made of wood and coal;\n\n\u2003Potassium carbonate, alkali, purified salt,\n\n\u2003And burned materials and coagulates;\n\n\u2003Clay made with horse or man's hair, and oil\n\n\u2003Of tarter, potash alum, brewer's yeast, unfermented beer,\n\npotassium bitartrate,\n\n\u2003Arsenic disulphide, and our ingredients absorbant,\n\n\u2003And also of our ingredients compounding,\n\n\u2003And of our silver lemon-yellow turning,\n\n\u2003Our cementing and fermentacioun,\n\n\u2003Our ingottes, testes, and many mo.\n\n\u2003I wol yow telle, as was me taught also,\n\n\u2003The foure spirites and the bodies sevene,\n\n\u2003By ordre, as ofte I herde my lord hem nevene.\n\n\u2003The firste spirit quik-silver called is,\n\n\u2003The second orpiment, the thridde, y-wis,\n\n\u2003Sal armoniak, and the ferthe brimstoon.\n\n\u2003The bodies sevene eek, lo! hem heer anoon:\n\n\u2003Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe,\n\n\u2003Mars yren, Mercurie quik-silver we clepe,\n\n\u2003Saturnus leed, and Jupiter is tin,\n\n\u2003And Venus coper, by my fader kin!\n\n\u2003This cursed craft who-so wol exercyse,\n\n\u2003He shal no good han that him may suffyse\n\n\u2003For al the good he spendeth ther-aboute,\n\n\u2003He lese shal, ther-of have I no doute.\n\n\u2003Who-so that listeth outen his folye,\n\n\u2003Lat him come forth, and lerne multiplye;\n\n\u2003And every man that oght hath in his cofre,\n\n\u2003Lat him appere, and wexe a philosofre.\n\n\u2003Ascaunce that craft is so light to lere?\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, god woot, al be he monk or frere,\n\n\u2003Preest or chanoun, or any other wight,\n\n\u2003Though he sitte at his book bothe day and night,\n\n\u2003In lernying of this elvish nyce lore,\n\n\u2003Al is in veyn, and parde, mochel more!\n\n\u2003To lerne a lewed man this subtiltee,\n\n\u2003Fy! spek nat ther-of, for it wol nat be;\n\n\u2003Al conne he letterure, or conne he noon,\n\n\u2003As in effect, he shal finde it al oon.\n\n\u2003For bothe two, by my savacioun,\n\n\u2003Concluden, in multiplicacioun,\n\n\u2003Y-lyke wel, whan they han al y-do;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, they faylen bothe two.\n\n\u2003Yet forgat I to maken rehersaille\n\n\u2003Of watres corosif and of limaille,\n\n\u2003And of bodyes mollificacioun,\n\n\u2003And also of hir induracioun,\n\n\u2003Our heat fusion and effervescence,\n\n\u2003Our ingot molds, crucibles, and many more.\n\n\u2003I will you tell, as was taught me also,\n\n\u2003The volatile spirits four and the metals seven,\n\n\u2003In order, as often I heard my lord name them.\n\n\u2003The first spirit is called quicksilver,\n\n\u2003The second arsenic, the third, truly,\n\n\u2003Sal ammoniac, and the fourth sulphur.\n\n\u2003The bodies seven also, now here they are:\n\n\u2003Sun is gold, and Luna silver we affirm,\n\n\u2003Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver,\n\n\u2003Saturn lead, and Jupiter is tin,\n\n\u2003And Venus copper, by my father's kin!\n\n\u2003This cursed craft whose whole exercise,\n\n\u2003Shall do no good for whom it engages,\n\n\u2003For all the money he on it spends\n\n\u2003He shall lose it; thereof have I no doubt.\n\n\u2003Whoso wishes to display his folly,\n\n\u2003Let him come forth and learn alchemy;\n\n\u2003And every man who has anything in his coffer,\n\n\u2003Let him present himself and become a philosopher.\n\n\u2003You think the craft is so easy to learn?\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, God knows, be he monk or friar,\n\n\u2003Priest or canon, or any other,\n\n\u2003Though he sits at his book both day and night\n\n\u2003In learning of this elvish, foolish lore,\n\n\u2003He is in vain and, God knows, much more.\n\n\u2003To teach an unschooled man this subtlety\u2014\n\n\u2003Fie! Speak not thereof, for it will not be.\n\n\u2003And know he books or know he none,\n\n\u2003In the end, he shall find it all the one.\n\n\u2003For the both, by my salvation,\n\n\u2003Conclude in transmutation\n\n\u2003Much the same, when they are done;\n\n\u2003That is to say, they both fail in the end.\n\n\u2003Yet I forget to make rehearsal\n\n\u2003Of liquids acidic, and filings of metal,\n\n\u2003And of substances softening,\n\n\u2003And also of their hardening;\n\n\u2003Oiles, ablucions, and metal fusible,\n\n\u2003To tellen al wolde passen any bible\n\n\u2003That o-wher is; wherfor, as for the beste,\n\n\u2003Of alle thise names now wol I me reste.\n\n\u2003For, as I trowe, I have yow told y-nowe\n\n\u2003To reyse a feend, al loke he never so rowe.\n\n\u2003A! nay! lat be; the philosophres stoon,\n\n\u2003Elixir clept, we sechen faste echoon;\n\n\u2003For hadde we him, than were we siker y-now.\n\n\u2003But, unto god of heven I make avow,\n\n\u2003For al our craft, whan we han al y-do,\n\n\u2003And al our sleighte, he wol nat come us to.\n\n\u2003He hath y-maad us spenden mochel good,\n\n\u2003For sorwe of which almost we wexen wood,\n\n\u2003But that good hope crepeth in our herte,\n\n\u2003Supposing ever, though we sore smerte,\n\n\u2003To be releved by him afterward;\n\n\u2003Swich supposing and hope is sharp and hard;\n\n\u2003I warne you wel, it is to seken ever;\n\n\u2003That futur temps hath maad men to dissever,\n\n\u2003In trust ther-of, from al that ever they hadde.\n\n\u2003Yet of that art they can nat wexen sadde,\n\n\u2003For unto hem it is a bitter swete;\n\n\u2003So semeth it; for nadde they but a shete\n\n\u2003Which that they mighte wrappe hem inne a-night,\n\n\u2003And a bak to walken inne by day-light,\n\n\u2003They wolde hem selle and spenden on this craft;\n\n\u2003They can nat stinte til no-thing be laft.\n\n\u2003And evermore, wher that ever they goon,\n\n\u2003Men may hem knowe by smel of brimstoon;\n\n\u2003For al the world, they stinken as a goot;\n\n\u2003Her savour is so rammish and so hoot,\n\n\u2003That, though a man from hem a myle be,\n\n\u2003The savour wol infecte him, trusteth me;\n\n\u2003Lo, thus by smelling and threedbare array,\n\n\u2003If that men liste, this folk they knowe may.\n\n\u2003And if a man wol aske hem prively,\n\n\u2003Why they been clothed so unthriftily,\n\n\u2003They right anon wol rownen in his ere,\n\n\u2003Oils, ablutions, and metals fusible\u2014\n\n\u2003To tell all would pass any bible\n\n\u2003That ever was; therefore, as for the best,\n\n\u2003All these names now will I let rest,\n\n\u2003For, as I believe, I have told you enough,\n\n\u2003To raise a fiend, though he looks ever so rough.\n\n\u2003Ah! Nay! Let be; the philosopher's stone,\n\n\u2003Elixir called, we all seek eagerly;\n\n\u2003For if we had it, then now certain would we be.\n\n\u2003But unto God of heaven I make a vow,\n\n\u2003For all our craft, when we were all done,\n\n\u2003And all our cunning, he would not to us come.\n\n\u2003He made us spend much of our money,\n\n\u2003For sorrow of which we almost went crazy,\n\n\u2003But that good hope crept in our hearts,\n\n\u2003Supposing ever though we smarted,\n\n\u2003To be relieved by him afterwards.\n\n\u2003Such supposing and hope is sharp and hard;\n\n\u2003I warn you well, it is to seek forever.\n\n\u2003That future tense has made men part,\n\n\u2003In hope thereof, from all that ever they had.\n\n\u2003Yet of that art they cannot find peace,\n\n\u2003For unto them it is a bitter sweet\u2014\n\n\u2003So seems it\u2014for had they not but a sheet\n\n\u2003Which they might wrap themselves in at night,\n\n\u2003And a rough cloak to walk in by daylight,\n\n\u2003They would spend and sell themselves on this craft.\n\n\u2003They cannot stint until they have nothing left.\n\n\u2003And evermore, wherever they go,\n\n\u2003Men may them know by the smell of brimstone.\n\n\u2003For all the world they stink as a goat;\n\n\u2003Their odor is so rammish and gross\n\n\u2003That though a man from them a mile be,\n\n\u2003Their odor will infect him, trust to me.\n\n\u2003Look, thus by smelling and threadbare raiment,\n\n\u2003If men wish, this folk they may know.\n\n\u2003And if a man will ask him privately\n\n\u2003Why they be clothed so unhandsomely,\n\n\u2003They right anon will whisper in his ear,\n\n\u2003And seyn, that if that they espyed were,\n\n\u2003Men wolde hem slee, by-cause of hir science;\n\n\u2003Lo, thus this folk bitrayen innocence!\n\n\u2003Passe over this; I go my tale un-to.\n\n\u2003Er than the pot be on the fyr y-do,\n\n\u2003Of metals with a certein quantitee,\n\n\u2003My lord hem tempreth, and no man but he\u2014\n\n\u2003Now he is goon, I dar seyn boldely\u2014\n\n\u2003For, as men seyn, he can don craftily;\n\n\u2003Algate I woot wel he hath swich a name,\n\n\u2003And yet ful ofte he renneth in a blame;\n\n\u2003And wite ye how? ful ofte it happeth so,\n\n\u2003The pot to-breketh, and farwell! al is go!\n\n\u2003Thise metals been of so greet violence,\n\n\u2003Our walles mowe nat make hem resistence,\n\n\u2003But if they weren wroght of lym and stoon;\n\n\u2003They percen so, and thurgh the wal they goon,\n\n\u2003And somme of hem sinken in-to the ground\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus han we lost by tymes many a pound\u2014\n\n\u2003And somme are scatered al the floor aboute,\n\n\u2003Somme lepe in-to the roof; with-outen doute,\n\n\u2003Though that the feend noght in our sighte him shewe,\n\n\u2003I trowe he with us be, that ilke shrewe!\n\n\u2003In helle wher that he is lord and sire,\n\n\u2003Nis ther more wo, ne more rancour ne ire.\n\n\u2003Whan that our pot is broke, as I have sayd,\n\n\u2003Every man chit, and halt him yvel apayd.\n\n\u2003Som seyde, it was long on the fyr-making,\n\n\u2003Som seyde, nay! it was on the blowing;\n\n(Than was I fered, for that was myn office);\n\n\u2003\"Straw!\" quod the thridde, \"ye been lewed and nyce,\n\n\u2003It was nat tempred as it oghte be.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay!\" quod the ferthe, \"stint, and herkne me;\n\n\u2003By-cause our fyr ne was nat maad of beech,\n\n\u2003That is the cause, and other noon, so theech!\"\n\n\u2003I can nat telle wher-on it was long,\n\n\u2003But wel I wot greet stryf is us among.\n\n\u2003\"What!\" quod my lord, \"there is na-more to done,\n\n\u2003Of thise perils I wol be war eft-sone;\n\n\u2003And say that if they were discovered,\n\n\u2003Men would slay them because of their science.\n\n\u2003Look, how these folk deceive the innocents!\n\n\u2003Pass over this; I go unto my tale.\n\n\u2003Before the pot be on the fire set,\n\n\u2003Of metals with a certain quantity,\n\n\u2003My lord them blended, and no man but he\u2014\n\n\u2003Now he is gone, I dare boldly say\u2014\n\n\u2003For as men say, he could do so well.\n\n\u2003Although I know well he had made a name;\n\n\u2003Yet full often he was to blame.\n\n\u2003And you know why? Full often it happened so\n\n\u2003The pot exploded, and farewell, all is gone!\n\n\u2003These metals be of such great violence\n\n\u2003Pot walls may not make them resistance,\n\n\u2003But if they were wrought of lime or stone;\n\n\u2003They pierce them, and through the wall they go.\n\n\u2003And some of them sink into the ground\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus have we lost betimes many a pound\u2014\n\n\u2003And some are scattered all the floor about;\n\n\u2003Some leap into the roof. Without doubt,\n\n\u2003Though the fiend not to our sight himself reveals,\n\n\u2003I believe he was with us, that same devil!\n\n\u2003In hell, where he is lord and sire,\n\n\u2003There is no more woe, nor rancor nor ire.\n\n\u2003When our pot is broken, as I have said,\n\n\u2003Every man himself holds paid badly.\n\n\u2003Some said it was too long on the fire heating;\n\n\u2003Some said no, it was the blowing\u2014\n\n\u2003Then was I afraid, for that was my chore.\n\n\u2003\"Straw!\" said the third, \"you be simple and unlearned,\n\n\u2003It was not blended as it ought to have been.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the fourth, \"shut up and listen:\n\n\u2003Because our fire was not made of beechwood,\n\n\u2003That is the cause and no other, so help me God!\"\n\n\u2003I cannot tell why it went wrong,\n\n\u2003But well I know the strife was among us.\n\n\u2003\"What,\" said my lord, \"there is no more to be done;\n\n\u2003Of these perils I will be wary from now on.\n\n\u2003I am right siker that the pot was crased.\n\n\u2003Be as be may, be ye no-thing amased;\n\n\u2003As usage is, lat swepe the floor as swythe,\n\n\u2003Plukke up your hertes, and beth gladde and blythe.\"\n\n\u2003The mullok on an hepe y-sweped was,\n\n\u2003And on the floor y-cast a canevas,\n\n\u2003And al this mullok in a sive y-throwe,\n\n\u2003And sifted, and y-piked many a throwe.\n\n\u2003\"Pardee,\" quod oon, \"somwhat of our metal\n\n\u2003That we concluden evermore amis.\n\n\u2003But, be it hoot or cold, I dar seye this,\n\n\u2003Yet is ther heer, though that we han nat al.\n\n\u2003Al-though this thing mishapped have as now,\n\n\u2003Another tyme it may be wel y-now,\n\n\u2003Us moste putte our good in aventure;\n\n\u2003A marchant, parde! may nat ay endure\n\n\u2003Trusteth me wel, in his prosperitee;\n\n\u2003Somtyme his good is drenched in the see,\n\n\u2003And somtym comth it sauf un-to the londe.\"\n\n\u2003\"Pees!\" quod my lord, \"the next tyme I wol fonde\n\n\u2003To bringe our craft al in another plyte;\n\n\u2003And but I do, sirs, lat me han the wyte;\n\n\u2003Ther was defaute in som-what, wel I woot.\"\n\n\u2003Another seyde, the fyr was over hoot:\u2014\n\n\u2003We fayle of that which that we wolden have,\n\n\u2003And in our madnesse evermore we rave.\n\n\u2003And whan we been togidres everichoon,\n\n\u2003Every man semeth a Salomon.\n\n\u2003But al thing which that shyneth as the gold\n\n\u2003Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told;\n\n\u2003Ne every appel that is fair at ye\n\n\u2003Ne is nat good, what-so men clappe or crye.\n\n\u2003Right-so, lo! fareth it amonges us;\n\n\u2003He that semeth the wysest, by Jesus!\n\n\u2003Is most fool, whan it cometh to the preef;\n\n\u2003And he that semeth trewest is a theef;\n\n\u2003That shul ye knowe, er that I fro yow wende,\n\n\u2003But that I of my tale have maad an ende.\n\n\u2003I am right sure the pot was cracked.\n\n\u2003Be it as it may, by no means be dismayed;\n\n\u2003As customary, sweep the floor without delay,\n\n\u2003Pluck up your spirits and make a blithe face.\"\n\n\u2003The rubbish into a heap was swept,\n\n\u2003And on the floor was cast a canvas,\n\n\u2003And all this mess in a sieve thrown,\n\n\u2003And sifted, and thoroughly picked through.\n\n\u2003\"By God,\" said one, \"some of our metal\n\n\u2003Yet is here, though we have not all.\n\n\u2003And though this thing went wrong for now,\n\n\u2003Another time it may go well enough,\n\n\u2003We must trust to luck.\n\n\u2003A merchant, by God, may not ever endure,\n\n\u2003Trust me well, in his prosperity.\n\n\u2003Sometimes his cargo is drowned in the sea,\n\n\u2003And sometimes it safely reaches land.\"\n\n\u2003\"Peace!\" said my lord, \"the next time I will try\n\n\u2003To bring our craft to another ending,\n\n\u2003And if I do not, sires, let me have the blame.\n\n\u2003There was fault in it somewhat, well I know.\"\n\n\u2003Another said the fire was over-hot\u2014\n\n\u2003But, be it hot or cold, I dare say this,\n\n\u2003That we always ended up amiss.\n\n\u2003We failed to get what we tried to have,\n\n\u2003And in our madness evermore we raved.\n\n\u2003And when we were together everyone,\n\n\u2003Every man seemed a Solomon.\n\n\u2003But every thing that shines as gold\n\n\u2003Is not gold, as I have heard told;\n\n\u2003Nor every apple that is fair to the eye\n\n\u2003Is good, whatsoever men chatter or cry.\n\n\u2003Right so, look, fared it among us;\n\n\u2003He who seemed the wisest, by Jesus,\n\n\u2003Was most the foolish, when it came to the test;\n\n\u2003And he was a thief who seemed most true.\n\n\u2003That shall you know, before I from you wend,\n\n\u2003By when I of my tale have made an end."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 92",
                "text": "\u2003Ther is a chanoun of religioun\n\n\u2003Amonges us, wolde infecte al a toun,\n\n\u2003Though it as greet were as was Ninivee,\n\n\u2003Rome, Alisaundre, Troye, and othere three.\n\n\u2003His sleightes and his infinit falsnesse\n\n\u2003Ther coude no man wryten, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Thogh that he mighte liven a thousand yeer.\n\n\u2003In al this world of falshede nis his peer;\n\n\u2003For in his termes so he wolde him winde,\n\n\u2003And speke his wordes in so sly a kinde,\n\n\u2003Whan he commune shal with any wight,\n\n\u2003That he wol make him doten anon right,\n\n\u2003But it a feend be, as him-selven is.\n\n\u2003Ful many a man hath he bigyled er this,\n\n\u2003And wol, if that he live may a whyle;\n\n\u2003And yet men ryde and goon ful many a myle\n\n\u2003Him for to seke and have his aqueyntaunce,\n\n\u2003Noght knowinge of his false governaunce.\n\n\u2003And if yow list to yeve me audience,\n\n\u2003I wol it tellen heer in your presence.\n\n\u2003But worshipful chanouns religious,\n\n\u2003Ne demeth nat that I sclaundre your hous,\n\n\u2003Al-though my tale of a chanoun be.\n\n\u2003Of every ordre som shrewe is, parde,\n\n\u2003And god forbede that al a companye\n\n\u2003Sholde rewe a singuler mannes folye.\n\n\u2003To sclaundre yow is no-thing myn entente,\n\n\u2003But to correcten that is mis I mente.\n\n\u2003This tale was nat only told for yow,\n\n\u2003But eek for othere mo; ye woot wel how\n\n\u2003That, among Cristes apostelles twelve,\n\n\u2003Ther nas no traytour but Judas him-selve.\n\n\u2003Than why sholde al the remenant have blame\n\n\u2003That giltlees were? by yow I seye the same.\n\n\u2003Save only this, if ye wol herkne me,\n\n\u2003If any Judas in your covent be,\n\n\u2003Remeveth him bitymes, I yow rede,"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 93",
                "text": "\u2003There is a canon of religion\n\n\u2003Among us, who would infect all a town,\n\n\u2003Though it as great were as Nineveh,\n\n\u2003Rome, Alexandria, Troy, and others three.\n\n\u2003His deceptions and his infinite falseness\n\n\u2003There could no man write, as I guess,\n\n\u2003Though he might live a thousand year.\n\n\u2003In all this world of falsehood none is his peer,\n\n\u2003For in his terminology he will so him wind,\n\n\u2003And speak his words in so sly a kind,\n\n\u2003When he communes with any person,\n\n\u2003Then he will make him act dumb,\n\n\u2003Unless the man a fiend is, as he himself is.\n\n\u2003Full many a man has he beguiled before this,\n\n\u2003And will, if he lives longer for awhile;\n\n\u2003And yet men ride and go full many a mile\n\n\u2003Him to seek and have his acquaintance,\n\n\u2003Not knowing of his false intentions.\n\n\u2003And if you wish to give me audience,\n\n\u2003I will it tell here in your presence.\n\n\u2003But worshipful canons religious,\n\n\u2003Deem not that I slander your house,\n\n\u2003Although my tale of a canon be.\n\n\u2003In every house some wretch is, by God,\n\n\u2003And God forbid that all a company\n\n\u2003Should rue a single man's folly.\n\n\u2003To slander you is in no way my intent,\n\n\u2003But to correct what is amiss I mention.\n\n\u2003This tale is not only told for you,\n\n\u2003But also for others more; you know well how\n\n\u2003That among Christ's apostles twelve\n\n\u2003There was no traitor but Judas himself.\n\n\u2003Then why should all the others have a blemish\n\n\u2003Who guiltless were? To you I say the same,\n\n\u2003Save only this, if you will harken to me:\n\n\u2003If any Judas in your house be,\n\n\u2003Remove him soon, I advise you,\n\n\u2003If shame or loss may causen any drede.\n\n\u2003And beth no-thing displesed, I yow preye,\n\n\u2003But in this cas herkneth what I shal seye.\n\n\u2003In London was a preest, an annueleer,\n\n\u2003That therein dwelled hadde many a yeer,\n\n\u2003Which was so pleasaunt and so servisable\n\n\u2003Unto the wyf, wher-as he was at table,\n\n\u2003That she wolde suffre him no-thing for to paye\n\n\u2003For bord ne clothing, wente he never so gaye;\n\n\u2003And spending-silver hadde he right y-now.\n\n\u2003Therof no fors; I wol procede as now,\n\n\u2003And telle forth my tale of the chanoun,\n\n\u2003That broghte this preest to confusioun.\n\n\u2003This false chanoun cam up-on a day\n\n\u2003Unto this preestes chambre, wher he lay,\n\n\u2003Biseching him to lene him a certeyn\n\n\u2003Of gold, and he wolde quyte it him ageyn.\n\n\u2003\"Lene me a mark,\" quod he, \"but dayes three,\n\n\u2003And at my day I wol it quyten thee.\n\n\u2003And if so be that thou me finde fals,\n\n\u2003Another day do hange me by the hals!\"\n\n\u2003This preest him took a mark, and that as swythe,\n\n\u2003And this chanoun him thanked ofte sythe,\n\n\u2003And took his leve, and wente forth his weye,\n\n\u2003And at the thridde day broghte his moneye,\n\n\u2003And to the preest he took his gold agayn,\n\n\u2003Wherof this preest was wonder glad and fayn.\n\n\u2003\"Certes,\" quod he, \"no-thing anoyeth me\n\n\u2003To lene a man a noble, or two or three,\n\n\u2003Or what thing were in my possessioun,\n\n\u2003Whan he so trewe is of condicioun,\n\n\u2003That in no wyse he broke wol his day;\n\n\u2003To swich a man I can never seye nay.\"\n\n\u2003\"What!\" quod this chanoun, \"sholde I be untrewe?\n\n\u2003Nay, that were thing y-fallen al of-newe.\n\n\u2003Trouthe is a thing that I wol ever kepe\n\n\u2003Un-to that day in which that I shal crepe\n\n\u2003In-to my grave, and elles god forbede;\n\n\u2003Bileveth this as siker as is your crede.\n\n\u2003If shame or loss cause any fear.\n\n\u2003And be in no way displeased, I pray you,\n\n\u2003But in this case listen to what I shall say.\n\n\u2003In London was a chantry priest,\n\n\u2003Who there had dwelt many a year,\n\n\u2003And who was so pleasant and attentive\n\n\u2003Unto the wife, when he was at table,\n\n\u2003That she would not allow him to pay\n\n\u2003For board nor clothing, though he was well dressed,\n\n\u2003And spending silver had he right enough.\n\n\u2003No matter; I will proceed as now,\n\n\u2003And tell forth my tale of the canon\n\n\u2003Who brought this priest to ruin.\n\n\u2003This false canon came upon a day\n\n\u2003Unto this priest's chamber, where he lay,\n\n\u2003Beseeching him to lend him of gold a certain\n\n\u2003Amount, and he would pay him back again.\n\n\u2003\"Lend me a mark,\" said he, \"for but days three,\n\n\u2003And at my day I will repay you.\n\n\u2003And if it so be that you find me untrue,\n\n\u2003Another day hang me by the neck!\"\n\n\u2003This priest he took a mark, right then,\n\n\u2003And this canon thanked him again and again,\n\n\u2003And took his leave, and went forth his way,\n\n\u2003And at the third day brought his money,\n\n\u2003And to the priest he repaid his gold he him owed,\n\n\u2003Whereof this priest was wondrous eager and glad.\n\n\u2003\"Certainly,\" said he, \"in no way does it annoy me\n\n\u2003To lend a man a noble, or two, or three,\n\n\u2003Or something in my possession,\n\n\u2003When he so true is of disposition\n\n\u2003That in no way he misses his due day;\n\n\u2003To such a man I can never say nay.\"\n\n\u2003\"What!\" said this canon, \"should I be untrue?\n\n\u2003Nay, that would be something new.\n\n\u2003Truth is a thing that I will ever keep\n\n\u2003Unto that day in which that I shall creep\n\n\u2003Into my grave, and otherwise God forbid.\n\n\u2003Believe this as surely as your Creed.\n\n\u2003God thanke I, and in good tyme be it sayd,\n\n\u2003That ther was never man yet yvel apayd\n\n\u2003For gold ne silver that he to me lente,\n\n\u2003Ne never falshede in myn herte I mente.\n\n\u2003And sir,\" quod he, \"now of my privetee,\n\n\u2003Sin ye so goodlich han been un-to me,\n\n\u2003And kythed to me so greet gentillesse,\n\n\u2003Somwhat to quyte with your kindenesse,\n\n\u2003I wol yow shewe, and, if yow list to lere,\n\n\u2003I wol yow teche pleynly the manere,\n\n\u2003How I can werken in philosophye.\n\n\u2003Taketh good heed, ye shul wel seen as ye,\n\n\u2003That I wol doon a maistrie er I go.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye,\" quod the preest, \"ye, sir, and wol ye so?\n\n\u2003Marie! ther-of I pray yow hertely!\"\n\n\u2003\"At your comandement, sir, trewely,\"\n\n\u2003Quod the chanoun, \"and elles god forbede!\"\n\n\u2003Lo, how this theef coude his servyse bede!\n\n\u2003Ful sooth it is, that swich profred servyse\n\n\u2003Stinketh, as witnessen thise olde wyse;\n\n\u2003And that ful sone I wol it verifye\n\n\u2003In this chanoun, rote of al trecherye,\n\n\u2003That ever-more delyt hath and gladnesse\u2014\n\n\u2003Swich freendly thoughtes in his herte impresse\u2014\n\n\u2003How Cristes peple he may to meschief bringe;\n\n\u2003God kepe us from his fals dissimulinge!\n\n\u2003Noght wiste this preest with whom that he delte,\n\n\u2003Ne of his harm cominge he no-thing felte.\n\n\u2003O sely preest! O sely innocent!\n\n\u2003With coveityse anon thou shalt be blent!\n\n\u2003O gracelees, ful blind is thy conceit,\n\n\u2003No-thing ne artow war of the deceit\n\n\u2003Which that this fox y-shapen hath to thee!\n\n\u2003His wyly wrenches thou ne mayst nat flee.\n\n\u2003Wherfor, to go to the conclusioun\n\n\u2003That refereth to thy confusioun,\n\n\u2003Unhappy man! anon I wol me hye\n\n\u2003To tellen thyn unwit and thy folye,\n\n\u2003And eek the falsnesse of that other wrecche,\n\n\u2003I thank God, fortunately it may be said,\n\n\u2003That there was never yet man evilly repaid\n\n\u2003For gold or silver that he to me lent,\n\n\u2003Nor ever falsehood in my heart I meant.\n\n\u2003And sire,\" said he, \"now confidentially,\n\n\u2003Since you so good have been to me,\n\n\u2003And shown to me such great gentleness,\n\n\u2003Somewhat to repay you for your kindness\n\n\u2003I will show you, and if you wish to learn,\n\n\u2003I will you teach plainly the manner\n\n\u2003How I can work in alchemy.\n\n\u2003Take good heed; you will see with your own eyes\n\n\u2003That masterfully will I perform before I go.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yea,\" said the priest, \"yea, sire, and will you so?\n\n\u2003By Saint Mary, thereof I pray you heartily.\"\n\n\u2003\"At your commandment, sir, truly,\"\n\n\u2003Said the canon, \"and anything else may God forbid!\"\n\n\u2003Look, how this thief could his service proffer!\n\n\u2003For truth it is such favors unasked for\n\n\u2003Stink, so say the wise,\n\n\u2003And that full soon will I verify\n\n\u2003In this canon, root of all treachery,\n\n\u2003Who evermore found delight and cheer\u2014\n\n\u2003Such fiendish thoughts his heart held near\u2014\n\n\u2003Of how to Christ's people he might destruction bring.\n\n\u2003God keep us from his false dissembling!\n\n\u2003Not knew this priest with whom he dealt,\n\n\u2003Nor of his harm coming he any thing felt.\n\n\u2003Oh nice priest! Oh innocent naive!\n\n\u2003By covetousness soon will you be fleeced!\n\n\u2003Oh unfortunate one, full blind is your mind\n\n\u2003In no way are you aware of the deceit\n\n\u2003Which this fox has for you prepared!\n\n\u2003His wily tricks you may not flee.\n\n\u2003Wherefore, to go to the conclusion,\n\n\u2003That refers to your ruin,\n\n\u2003Unlucky man, anon I will me hie\n\n\u2003To tell your unwit and your folly,\n\n\u2003And also the falseness of that other wretch,\n\n\u2003As ferforth as that my conning may strecche.\n\n\u2003This chanoun was my lord, ye wolden wene?\n\n\u2003Sir host, in feith, and by the hevenes quene,\n\n\u2003It was another chanoun, and nat he,\n\n\u2003That can an hundred fold more subtiltee!\n\n\u2003He hath bitrayed folkes many tyme;\n\n\u2003Of his falshede it dulleth me to ryme.\n\n\u2003Ever whan that I speke of his falshede,\n\n\u2003For shame of him my chekes wexen rede;\n\n\u2003Algates, they biginnen for to glowe,\n\n\u2003For reednesse have I noon, right wel I knowe,\n\n\u2003In my visage; for fumes dyverse\n\n\u2003Of metals, which ye han herd me reherce,\n\n\u2003Consumed and wasted han my reednesse.\n\n\u2003Now tak heed of this chanouns cursednesse!\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" quod he to the preest, \"lat your man gon\n\n\u2003For quik-silver, that we it hadde anon;\n\n\u2003And lat him bringen ounces two or three;\n\n\u2003And whan he comth, as faste shul ye see\n\n\u2003A wonder thing, which ye saugh never er this.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" quod the preest, \"it shal be doon, y-wis.\"\n\n\u2003He bad his servant fecchen him this thing,\n\n\u2003And he al redy was at his bidding,\n\n\u2003And wente him forth, and cam anon agayn\n\n\u2003With this quik-silver, soothly for to sayn,\n\n\u2003And took thise ounces three to the chanoun;\n\n\u2003And he hem leyde fayre and wel adoun,\n\n\u2003And bad the servant coles for to bringe,\n\n\u2003That he anon mighte go to his werkinge.\n\n\u2003The coles right anon weren y-fet,\n\n\u2003And this chanoun took out a crosselet\n\n\u2003Of his bosom, and shewed it the preest.\n\n\u2003\"This instrument,\" quod he, \"which that thou seest,\n\n\u2003Tak in thyn hand, and put thy-self ther-inne\n\n\u2003Of this quik-silver an ounce, and heer biginne,\n\n\u2003In the name of Crist, to wexe a philosofre.\n\n\u2003Ther been ful fewe, whiche that I wolde profre\n\n\u2003To shewen hem thus muche of my science.\n\n\u2003For ye shul seen heer, by experience,\n\n\u2003As far as my understanding will stretch.\n\n\u2003This canon was my lord, do you suppose?\n\n\u2003Sir Host, in faith, and by heaven's queen,\n\n\u2003It was another canon, and not he,\n\n\u2003Who knew a hundredfold more subtlety.\n\n\u2003He has betrayed folk many times;\n\n\u2003Of his falseness it depresses me to rhyme.\n\n\u2003Whenever I speak of his falsehood,\n\n\u2003For shame of him my cheeks wax red.\n\n\u2003At least they begin to glow,\n\n\u2003For redness have I none, right well I know,\n\n\u2003In my visage; for fumes diverse\n\n\u2003Of metals, which you have heard me rehearse,\n\n\u2003Consumed and wasted have my redness.\n\n\u2003Now take heed of this canon's cursedness!\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said he to the priest, \"let your man go\n\n\u2003For quicksilver, that we have it anon;\n\n\u2003And let him bring ounces two or three;\n\n\u2003And when he comes, as fast as you shall see\n\n\u2003A wondrous thing, which you never saw before this.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said the priest, \"it shall be done, truly.\"\n\n\u2003He bade his servant fetch him this thing,\n\n\u2003And he already was at his bidding,\n\n\u2003And went him forth, and came anon again\n\n\u2003With this quicksilver, shortly to say,\n\n\u2003And took these ounces three to the canon;\n\n\u2003And he them laid fair and well down,\n\n\u2003And bade the servant coals to bring,\n\n\u2003That he anon might go to his working.\n\n\u2003The coals right anon were fetched,\n\n\u2003And this canon took out his crucible\n\n\u2003From his bosom, and showed it to the priest.\n\n\u2003\"This instrument,\" said he, \"which you see,\n\n\u2003Take in your hand, and put yourself therein\n\n\u2003Of this quicksilver an ounce, and here begin,\n\n\u2003In name of Christ, to become an alchemist.\n\n\u2003There be full few to whom I would offer\n\n\u2003To show them this much of my science.\n\n\u2003For you shall see here, by experience,\n\n\u2003That this quik-silver wol I mortifye\n\n\u2003Right in your sighte anon, withouten lye,\n\n\u2003And make it as good silver and as fyn\n\n\u2003As ther is any in your purs or myn,\n\n\u2003Or elleswher, and make it malliable;\n\n\u2003And elles, holdeth me fals and unable\n\n\u2003Amonges folk for ever to appere!\n\n\u2003I have a poudre heer, that coste me dere,\n\n\u2003Shal make al good, for it is cause of al\n\n\u2003My conning, which that I yow shewen shal.\n\n\u2003Voydeth your man, and lat him be ther-oute,\n\n\u2003And shet the dore, whyls we been aboute\n\n\u2003Our privetee, that no man us espye\n\n\u2003Whyls that we werke in this philosophye.\"\n\n\u2003Al as he bad, fulfilled was in dede,\n\n\u2003This ilke servant anon-right out yede,\n\n\u2003And his maister shette the dore anon,\n\n\u2003And to hir labour speedily they gon.\n\n\u2003This preest, at this cursed chanouns bidding,\n\n\u2003Up-on the fyr anon sette this thing,\n\n\u2003And blew the fyr, and bisied him ful faste;\n\n\u2003And this chanoun in-to the croslet caste\n\n\u2003A poudre, noot I wher-of that it was\n\n\u2003Y-maad, other of chalk, other of glas,\n\n\u2003Or som-what elles, was nat worth a flye\n\n\u2003To blynde with the preest; and bad him hye\n\n\u2003The coles for to couchen al above\n\n\u2003The croslet; \"for, in tokening I thee love,\"\n\n\u2003Quod this chanoun, \"thyn owene hondes two\n\n\u2003Shul werche al thing which that shal heer be do.\"\n\n\u2003\"Graunt mercy,\" quod the preest, and was ful glad,\n\n\u2003And couched coles as the chanoun bad.\n\n\u2003And whyle he bisy was, this feendly wrecche,\n\n\u2003This fals chanoun, the foule feend him fecche!\n\n\u2003Out of his bosom took a bechen cole,\n\n\u2003In which ful subtilly was maad an hole,\n\n\u2003And ther-in put was of silver lymaille\n\n\u2003An ounce, and stopped was, with-outen fayle,\n\n\u2003The hole with wex, to kepe the lymail in.\n\n\u2003That this quicksilver I will solidify\n\n\u2003Right in your sight anon, without lie,\n\n\u2003And make it as good as silver and as fine\n\n\u2003As there is any in your purse or mine,\n\n\u2003Or elsewhere, and make it malleable;\n\n\u2003Or if not hold me false and worthless\n\n\u2003Among folk forever to appear.\n\n\u2003I have a powder here, that cost me dear,\n\n\u2003Shall make it all good, for it is cause of all\n\n\u2003My cunning, which I shall show you.\n\n\u2003Send away your man, and let him be gone out,\n\n\u2003And shut the door, while we be about\n\n\u2003Our secrecy, that no man us espy,\n\n\u2003Whilst that we work in this philosophy.\"\n\n\u2003All as he bade was fulfilled in deed.\n\n\u2003This same servant anon right went out,\n\n\u2003And his master anon shut the door,\n\n\u2003And speedily went they to their labor.\n\n\u2003This priest, at this cursed canon's bidding,\n\n\u2003Upon the fire anon set this thing,\n\n\u2003And blew the fire, and busied him full fast.\n\n\u2003And this canon into the crucible cast\n\n\u2003A powder, I know not of what it was\n\n\u2003Made, maybe of chalk, maybe of glass,\n\n\u2003Or something else, which was not worth a fly,\n\n\u2003To blind with this priest; and bade him hie\n\n\u2003The coals for to arrange all above\n\n\u2003The crucible. \"For as a sign that I you love,\"\n\n\u2003Said this canon, \"your own hands two\n\n\u2003Shall work all things which we shall here do.\"\n\n\u2003\"Grant mercy,\" said the priest, and was full glad,\n\n\u2003And set the coals as the canon bade.\n\n\u2003And while he busy was, this fiendish wretch,\n\n\u2003This false canon\u2014the foul fiend him fetch!\u2014\n\n\u2003Out of his bosom took a beechwood charcoal,\n\n\u2003In which full subtly was made a hole,\n\n\u2003And therein were put an ounce of silver filings,\n\n\u2003And was stopped, without fail,\n\n\u2003This hole with wax, to keep the filings in.\n\n\u2003And understondeth, that this false gin\n\n\u2003Was nat maad ther, but it was maad bifore;\n\n\u2003And othere thinges I shal telle more\n\n\u2003Herafterward, which that he with him broghte;\n\n\u2003Er he cam ther, him to bigyle he thoghte,\n\n\u2003And so he dide, er that they wente a-twinne;\n\n\u2003Til he had terved him, coude he not blinne.\n\n\u2003It dulleth me whan that I of him speke,\n\n\u2003On his falshede fayn wolde I me wreke,\n\n\u2003If I wiste how; but he is heer and ther:\n\n\u2003He is so variaunt, he abit no-wher.\n\n\u2003But taketh heed now, sirs, for goddes love!\n\n\u2003He took his cole of which I spak above,\n\n\u2003And in his hond he baar it prively.\n\n\u2003And whyls the preest couched busily\n\n\u2003The coles, as I tolde yow er this,\n\n\u2003This chanoun seyde, \"freend, ye doon amis;\n\n\u2003This is nat couched as it oghte be;\n\n\u2003But sone I shal amenden it,\" quod he.\n\n\u2003\"Now lat me medle therwith but a whyle,\n\n\u2003For of yow have I pitee, by seint Gyle!\n\n\u2003Ye been right hoot, I see wel how ye swete,\n\n\u2003Have heer a cloth, and wype away the wete.\"\n\n\u2003And whyles that the preest wyped his face,\n\n\u2003This chanoun took his cole with harde grace,\n\n\u2003And leyde it above, up-on the middeward\n\n\u2003Of the croslet, and blew wel afterward,\n\n\u2003Til that the coles gonne faste brenne.\n\n\u2003\"Now yeve us drinke,\" quod the chanoun thenne,\n\n\u2003\"As swythe al shal be wel, I undertake;\n\n\u2003Sitte we doun, and lat us mery make.\"\n\n\u2003And whan that this chanounes bechen cole\n\n\u2003Was brent, al the lymaille, out of the hole,\n\n\u2003Into the croslet fil anon adoun;\n\n\u2003And so it moste nedes, by resoun,\n\n\u2003Sin it so even aboven couched was;\n\n\u2003But ther-of wiste the preest no-thing, alas!\n\n\u2003He demed alle the coles y-liche good,\n\n\u2003For of the sleighte he no-thing understood.\n\n\u2003And understand that this trick thing\n\n\u2003Was not made there, but it was made before;\n\n\u2003And other things I shall tell more\n\n\u2003Hereafterward, which he with him brought.\n\n\u2003Before he came there, him to beguile he thought,\n\n\u2003And so he did, before they went apart;\n\n\u2003Till he had skinned him, he could not cease.\n\n\u2003It depresses me when I of him speak.\n\n\u2003On his falsehood gladly would I vengeance wreak,\n\n\u2003If I knew how, but he is here and there;\n\n\u2003He is so changeable, he abides nowhere.\n\n\u2003But take heed now, sires, for God's love!\n\n\u2003He took his charcoal of which I spoke above,\n\n\u2003And in his hand he bore it secretly.\n\n\u2003And while the priest arranged busily\n\n\u2003The coals, as I told you before this,\n\n\u2003This canon said, \"Friend, you do amiss.\n\n\u2003This is not arranged as it ought be;\n\n\u2003But soon I shall amend it,\" said he.\n\n\u2003\"Now let me meddle with it a little while,\n\n\u2003For of you I have pity, by Saint Gile!\n\n\u2003You be right eager, I see how you sweat.\n\n\u2003Have here a cloth, and wipe away the wet.\"\n\n\u2003And while the priest wiped his face,\n\n\u2003This canon took his charcoal\u2014to him no grace!\u2014\n\n\u2003And laid it above the middle\n\n\u2003Of the crucible, and blew well afterward\n\n\u2003Till that the coals began to fast burn.\n\n\u2003\"Now give us drink,\" said the canon then;\n\n\u2003\"And quickly all shall be well, I undertake.\n\n\u2003Sit we down, and let us merry make.\"\n\n\u2003And when that this canon's beechwood coal\n\n\u2003Was burnt, all of the filings out of the hole\n\n\u2003Into the crucible fell soon adown;\n\n\u2003And so it must needs, by reason\n\n\u2003Since it was so precisely arranged above.\n\n\u2003But alas! the priest nothing knew thereof.\n\n\u2003He deemed all the coals alike good,\n\n\u2003For of that trick he nothing understood.\n\n\u2003And whan this alkamistre saugh his tyme,\n\n\u2003\"Rys up,\" quod he, \"sir preest, and stondeth by me;\n\n\u2003And for I woot wel ingot have ye noon,\n\n\u2003Goth, walketh forth, and bring us a chalk-stoon;\n\n\u2003For I wol make oon of the same shap\n\n\u2003That is an ingot, if I may han hap.\n\n\u2003And bringeth eek with yow a bolle or a panne,\n\n\u2003Ful of water, and ye shul see wel thanne\n\n\u2003How that our bisinesse shal thryve and preve.\n\n\u2003And yet, for ye shul han no misbileve\n\n\u2003Ne wrong conceit of me in your absence,\n\n\u2003I ne wol nat been out of your presence\n\n\u2003But go with yow, and come with yow ageyn.\"\n\n\u2003The chambre-dore, shortly for to seyn,\n\n\u2003They opened and shette, and wente hir weye.\n\n\u2003And forth with hem they carieden the keye,\n\n\u2003And come agayn with-outen any delay.\n\n\u2003What sholde I tarien al the longe day?\n\n\u2003He took the chalk, and shoop it in the wyse\n\n\u2003Of an ingot, as I shal yow devyse.\n\n\u2003I seye, he took out of his owene sieve\n\n\u2003A teyne of silver (yvele mote he cheve!)\n\n\u2003Which that ne was nat but an ounce of weighte;\n\n\u2003And taketh heed now of his cursed sleighte!\n\n\u2003He shoop his ingot, in lengthe and eek in brede,\n\n\u2003Of this teyne, with-outen any drede,\n\n\u2003So slyly, that the preest it nat espyde;\n\n\u2003And in his sieve agayn he gan it hyde;\n\n\u2003And fro the fyr he took up his matere,\n\n\u2003And in th'ingot putte it with mery chere,\n\n\u2003And in the water-vessel he it caste\n\n\u2003Whan that him luste, and bad the preest as faste,\n\n\u2003\"Look what ther is, put in thyn hand and grope,\n\n\u2003Thow finde shalt ther silver, as I hope;\n\n\u2003What, devel of helle! sholde it elles be?\n\n\u2003Shaving of silver silver is, pardee!\"\n\n\u2003He putte his hond in, and took up a teyne\n\n\u2003Of silver fyn, and glad in every veyne\n\n\u2003Was this preest, whan he saugh that it was so.\n\n\u2003And when this alchemist saw his time,\n\n\u2003\"Rise up,\" said he, \"sir priest, and stand by me;\n\n\u2003And for well I know ingot mold have you none,\n\n\u2003Go, walk forth, and bring a chalk stone;\n\n\u2003For I will make of it the same shape\n\n\u2003That is an ingot, if I may have good luck.\n\n\u2003And bring also with you a bowl or a pan\n\n\u2003Full of water, and you shall see well then\n\n\u2003How our business shall thrive and succeed.\n\n\u2003And yet, that you shall have no disbelief\n\n\u2003Or wrong idea of me in your absence,\n\n\u2003I will not be out of your presence,\n\n\u2003But go with you and come with you again.\"\n\n\u2003The chamber door, shortly for to say,\n\n\u2003They opened and shut, and went their way.\n\n\u2003And forth with them they carried the key,\n\n\u2003And returned again without delay.\n\n\u2003Why should I tarry all the long day?\n\n\u2003He took the chalk and made it into the shape\n\n\u2003Of an ingot, as I shall you describe.\n\n\u2003I say, he took out of his own sleeve\n\n\u2003A small silver ingot\u2014so does he evil!\u2014\n\n\u2003That was not but an ounce of weight.\n\n\u2003And take heed now of his cursed sleight!\n\n\u2003He shaped his mold in length and breadth\n\n\u2003Of this ingot, without any doubt,\n\n\u2003So slyly that the priest not it espied,\n\n\u2003And in his sleeve again he began it to hide,\n\n\u2003And from the fire he took up his material,\n\n\u2003And into the mold put it with merry face,\n\n\u2003And in the water-vessel he it cast,\n\n\u2003When that he desired, and bade the priest at last,\n\n\u2003\"Look what there is; put it in your hand and test.\n\n\u2003You shall find there silver, as I hope.\"\n\n\u2003What, devil of hell, shall it else be?\n\n\u2003Shavings of silver, silver is, by God!\n\n\u2003He put his hand in and took up an ingot\n\n\u2003Of silver fine, and glad in every vein\n\n\u2003Was this priest, when he saw it was so.\n\n\u2003\"Goddes blessing, and his modres also,\n\n\u2003And alle halwes have ye, sir chanoun,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this preest, \"and I hir malisoun,\n\n\u2003But, and ye vouche-sauf to techen me\n\n\u2003This noble craft and this subtilitee,\n\n\u2003I wol be youre, in al that ever I may!\"\n\n\u2003Quod the chanoun, \"yet wol I make assay\n\n\u2003The second tyme, that ye may taken hede\n\n\u2003And been expert of this, and in your nede\n\n\u2003Another day assaye in myn absence\n\n\u2003This disciplyne and this crafty science.\n\n\u2003Lat take another ounce,\" quod he tho,\n\n\u2003\"Of quik-silver, with-outen wordes mo,\n\n\u2003And do ther-with as ye han doon er this\n\n\u2003With that other, which that now silver is.\"\n\n\u2003This preest him bisieth in al that he can\n\n\u2003To doon as this chanoun, this cursed man,\n\n\u2003Comanded him, and faste he blew the fyr,\n\n\u2003For to come to th'effect of his desyr.\n\n\u2003And this chanoun, right in the mene whyle,\n\n\u2003Al redy was, the preest eft to bigyle,\n\n\u2003And, for a countenance, in his hande he bar\n\n\u2003And holwe stikke (tak keep and be war!)\n\n\u2003In the ende of which an ounce, and na-more,\n\n\u2003Of silver lymail put was, as bifore\n\n\u2003Was in his cole, and stopped with wex weel\n\n\u2003For to kepe in his lymail every deel.\n\n\u2003And whyl this preest was in his bisinesse,\n\n\u2003This chanoun with his stikke gan him dresse\n\n\u2003To him anon, and his pouder caste in\n\n\u2003As he did er; (the devel out of his skin\n\n\u2003Him terve, I pray to god, for his falshede;\n\n\u2003For he was ever fals in thoght and dede);\n\n\u2003And with this stikke, above the croslet,\n\n\u2003That was ordeyned with that false get,\n\n\u2003He stired the coles, til relente gan\n\n\u2003The wex agayn the fyr, as every man,\n\n\u2003But it a fool be, woot wel it mot nede,\n\n\u2003And al that in the stikke was out yede,\n\n\u2003\"God's blessing, and his mother's also,\n\n\u2003And all saints, have you, sir canon,\"\n\n\u2003Said the priest, \"and I here me curse,\n\n\u2003Unless you vouchsafe to teach me\n\n\u2003This noble craft and this subtlety,\n\n\u2003I will be yours in all that ever I may.\"\n\n\u2003Said the canon, \"Yet will I make assay\n\n\u2003The second time, that you may take heed\n\n\u2003And be an expert of this, and as you need\n\n\u2003Another day, assay in my absence\n\n\u2003This discipline and this crafty science.\n\n\u2003Let take another ounce,\" said he then,\n\n\u2003\"Of quicksilver, without words more,\n\n\u2003And do therewith as you have done before this\n\n\u2003With that other, which now silver is.\"\n\n\u2003This priest busied himself in all that he could\n\n\u2003To do as this canon, this cursed man,\n\n\u2003Commanded him, and fast blew the fire,\n\n\u2003For to come to the effect of his desire.\n\n\u2003And this canon, right in the meanwhile,\n\n\u2003Already was this priest again to beguile,\n\n\u2003And for the sake of show in his hand he bore\n\n\u2003A hollow stick\u2014take care and beware!\u2014\n\n\u2003In the end of which an ounce, and no more,\n\n\u2003Of silver filings put was, as before\n\n\u2003Was in his charcoal, and stopped with wax well\n\n\u2003For to keep in his filings every bit.\n\n\u2003And while this priest was about his business,\n\n\u2003This canon with his wand began to touch\n\n\u2003The fire anon, and his powder cast in\n\n\u2003As he did before\u2014the devil out his skin\n\n\u2003Him flay, I pray to God, for his falsehood!\n\n\u2003For he was ever false in thought and deed\u2014\n\n\u2003And with this wand above the crucible,\n\n\u2003That was prepared with that hollow end,\n\n\u2003He stirred the coals until melting began\n\n\u2003The wax against the fire, as every man,\n\n\u2003But who a fool be, knows well it must needs do,\n\n\u2003And all that was in the stick went out,\n\n\u2003And in the croslet hastily it fel.\n\n\u2003Now gode sirs, what wol ye bet than wel?\n\n\u2003Whan that this preest thus was bigyled ageyn,\n\n\u2003Supposing noght but trouthe, soth to seyn,\n\n\u2003He was so glad, that I can nat expresse\n\n\u2003In no manere his mirthe and his gladnesse;\n\n\u2003And to the chanoun he profred eftsone\n\n\u2003Body and good; \"ye,\" quod the chanoun sone,\n\n\u2003\"Though povre I be, crafty thou shalt me finde;\n\n\u2003I warne thee, yet is ther more bihinde.\n\n\u2003Is ther any coper her-inne?\" seyde he.\n\n\u2003\"Ye,\" quod the preest, \"sir, I trowe wel ther be.\"\n\n\u2003\"Elles go bye us som, and that as swythe,\n\n\u2003Now, gode sir, go forth thy wey and hy the.\"\n\n\u2003He wente his wey, and with the coper cam,\n\n\u2003And this chanoun it in his handes nam,\n\n\u2003And of that coper weyed out but an ounce.\n\n\u2003Al to simple is my tonge to pronounce,\n\n\u2003As ministre of my wit, the doublenesse\n\n\u2003Of this chanoun, rote of al cursednesse.\n\n\u2003He seemed freendly to hem that knewe him noght,\n\n\u2003But he was freendly bothe in herte and thoght.\n\n\u2003It werieth me to telle of his falsnesse,\n\n\u2003And nathelees yet wol I it expresse,\n\n\u2003To th'entente that men may be war therby,\n\n\u2003And for noon other cause, trewely.\n\n\u2003He putte his ounce of coper in the croslet,\n\n\u2003And on the fyr as swythe he hath it set,\n\n\u2003And caste in poudre, and made the preest to blowe,\n\n\u2003And in his werking for to stoupe lowe,\n\n\u2003As he dide er, and al nas but a jape;\n\n\u2003Right as him liste, the preest he made his ape;\n\n\u2003And afterward in th'ingot he it caste,\n\n\u2003And in the panne putte it at the laste\n\n\u2003Of water, and in he putte his owene hond.\n\n\u2003And in his sieve (as ye biforn-hond\n\n\u2003Herde me telle) he hadde a silver teyne.\n\n\u2003He slyly took it out, this cursed heyne\u2014\n\n\u2003Unwiting this preest of his false craft\u2014\n\n\u2003And into the crucible hastily it fell.\n\n\u2003Now, good sirs, what can be better than well?\n\n\u2003When this priest thus was beguiled again,\n\n\u2003Supposing nought but truth to witness,\n\n\u2003He was so glad that I cannot express\n\n\u2003In any manner his mirth and his gladness;\n\n\u2003And to the canon he offered again\n\n\u2003Body and soul. \"Yea,\" said the canon soon,\n\n\u2003\"Though I poor be, skillful shall you find me.\n\n\u2003I warn you, there is yet more to see.\n\n\u2003Is there any copper here?\" said he.\n\n\u2003\"Yes,\" said the priest, \"I think\u2014or maybe not.\"\n\n\u2003\"Then go buy us some, and right quick;\n\n\u2003Now sir, go forth your way and hurry.\"\n\n\u2003He went his way, and with the copper came,\n\n\u2003And this canon took it in his hands,\n\n\u2003And of that copper weighed out but an ounce.\n\n\u2003All too simple is my tongue to pronounce,\n\n\u2003As minister of my wit, the duplicity\n\n\u2003Of this canon, root of all cursedness!\n\n\u2003He seemed friendly to those who knew him not,\n\n\u2003But he was fiendish both in work and thought.\n\n\u2003It wearies me to tell of his falseness,\n\n\u2003And nevertheless yet will I express it,\n\n\u2003With the intent that men may be warned thereby,\n\n\u2003And for no other cause, truly.\n\n\u2003He put this ounce of copper in the crucible,\n\n\u2003And on the fire immediately he has it set,\n\n\u2003And cast in the powder, and made the priest to blow,\n\n\u2003And in his working for to stoop low,\n\n\u2003As he did before\u2014and all was but a jape;\n\n\u2003Right as he wished, the priest he made his ape!\n\n\u2003And afterward in the mold he it cast,\n\n\u2003And in the pan put it at the last\n\n\u2003Of water, and in he put his own hand,\n\n\u2003And in his sleeve (as you beforehand\n\n\u2003Heard me tell) he had a silver ingot.\n\n\u2003He slyly took it out, this cursed wretch,\n\n\u2003Ignorant this priest of his false craft,\n\n\u2003And in the pannes botme he hath it laft;\n\n\u2003And in the water rombled to and fro,\n\n\u2003And wonder prively took up also\n\n\u2003The coper teyne, noght knowing this preest,\n\n\u2003And hidde it, and him hente by the breest,\n\n\u2003And to him spak, and thus seyde in his game,\n\n\u2003\"Stoupeth adoun, by god, ye be to blame,\n\n\u2003Helpeth me now, as I dide yow whyl-er,\n\n\u2003Putte in your hand, and loketh what is ther.\"\n\n\u2003This preest took up this silver teyne anon,\n\n\u2003And thanne seyde the chanoun, \"lat us gon\n\n\u2003With thise three teynes, which that we han wroght,\n\n\u2003To son goldsmith, and wite if they been oght.\n\n\u2003For, by my feith, I nolde, for myn hood,\n\n\u2003But-if that they were silver, fyn and good,\n\n\u2003And that as swythe preved shal it be.\"\n\n\u2003Un-to the goldsmith with thise teynes three\n\n\u2003They wente, and putte thise teynes in assay\n\n\u2003To fyr and hamer; mighte no man sey nay,\n\n\u2003But that they weren as hem oghte be.\n\n\u2003This sotted preest, who was gladder than he?\n\n\u2003Was never brid gladder agayn the day,\n\n\u2003Ne nightingale, in the sesoun of May,\n\n\u2003Nas never noon that luste bet to singe;\n\n\u2003Ne lady lustier in carolinge\n\n\u2003Or for to speke of love and wommanhede,\n\n\u2003Ne knight in armes to doon an hardy dede\n\n\u2003To stonde in grace of his lady dere,\n\n\u2003Than had this preest this sory craft to lere;\n\n\u2003And to the chanoun thus he spak and seyde,\n\n\u2003\"For love of god, that for us alle deyde,\n\n\u2003And as I may deserve it un-to yow,\n\n\u2003What shal this receit coste? telleth now!\"\n\n\u2003\"By our lady,\" quod this chanoun, \"it is dere,\n\n\u2003I warne yow wel; for, save I and a frere,\n\n\u2003In Engelond ther can no man it make.\"\n\n\u2003\"No fors,\" quod he, \"now, sir, for goddes sake,\n\n\u2003What shal I paye? telleth me, I preye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Y-wis,\" quod he, \"it is ful dere, I seye;\n\n\u2003And in the pan's bottom he has it left;\n\n\u2003And in the water groped to and fro,\n\n\u2003And wondrous secretly took up also\n\n\u2003The copper piece, the priest still deceived,\n\n\u2003And hid it, and him grasped by the breast,\n\n\u2003And him spoke, and thus said in his game:\n\n\"Stoop down, by God, be you to blame!\n\n\u2003Help me now, as I did you before;\n\n\u2003And put in your hand, and look what is there.\"\n\n\u2003This priest took up this silver ingot anon,\n\n\u2003And then said the canon, \"Let us go\n\n\u2003With these three ingots, that we have wrought,\n\n\u2003To some goldsmith and learn if they be what they ought,\n\n\u2003For, by my faith, I would not want, by my hood,\n\n\u2003That they were anything but silver fine and good,\n\n\u2003And that soon shall it tested be.\"\n\n\u2003Unto the goldsmith with these ingots three\n\n\u2003They went and put their ingots in assay\n\n\u2003To fire and hammer; might no man say nay,\n\n\u2003But that they were as they ought to be.\n\n\u2003This besotted priest, who was gladder than he?\n\n\u2003Was never a bird gladder at daybreak,\n\n\u2003No nightingale, in the season of May,\n\n\u2003Was ever any that lusted better to sing;\n\n\u2003Nor lady lustier in caroling,\n\n\u2003Or for to speak of love and womanhood,\n\n\u2003Nor knight in arms to do a brave deed,\n\n\u2003To stand in grace of his lady dear,\n\n\u2003Than was this priest this sorry craft to learn.\n\n\u2003And to the canon thus he spoke and said:\n\n\u2003\"For love of God, who for us all died,\n\n\u2003And as I may you repay,\n\n\u2003What shall this recipe cost? Tell now!\"\n\n\u2003\"By our lady,\" said the canon, \"it is dear,\n\n\u2003I warn you well; for save I and a confrere,\n\n\u2003In England there can no man it make.\"\n\n\u2003\"No matter,\" said he, \"no, sire, for God's sake,\n\n\u2003What shall I pay? Tell me, I pray.\"\n\n\u2003\"Truly,\" said he, \"it is full dear, I say.\n\n\u2003Sir, at o word, if that thee list it have,\n\n\u2003Ye shul paye fourty pound, so god me save!\n\n\u2003And, nere the freendship that ye did er this\n\n\u2003To me, ye sholde paye more, y-wis.\"\n\n\u2003This preest the somme of fourty pound anon\n\n\u2003Of nobles fette, and took hem everichon\n\n\u2003To this chanoun, for this ilke receit;\n\n\u2003Al his werking nas but fraude and deceit.\n\n\u2003\"Sir preest,\" he seyde, \"I kepe han no loos\n\n\u2003Of my craft, for I wolde it kept were cloos;\n\n\u2003And as ye love me, kepeth it secree;\n\n\u2003For, and men knewe al my subtilitee,\n\n\u2003By god, they wolden han so greet envye\n\n\u2003To me, by-cause of my philosophye,\n\n\u2003I sholde be deed, ther were non other weye.\"\n\n\u2003\"God it forbede!\" quod the preest, \"what sey ye?\"\n\n\u2003Yet hadde I lever spenden al the good\n\n\u2003Which that I have (and elles wexe I wood!)\n\n\u2003Than that ye sholden falle in swich mescheef.\"\n\n\u2003\"For your good wil, sir, have ye right good preef.\"\n\n\u2003Quod the chanoun, \"and far-wel, grant mercy!\"\n\n\u2003He wente his wey and never the preest him sy\n\n\u2003After that day; and whan that this preest sholde\n\n\u2003Maken assay, at swich tyme as he wolde,\n\n\u2003Of this receit, far-wel! it wolde nat be!\n\n\u2003Lo, thus bijaped and bigyled was he!\n\n\u2003Thus maketh he his introduccioun\n\n\u2003To bringe folk to hir destruccioun.\u2014\n\n\u2003Considereth, sirs, how that, in ech estaat,\n\n\u2003Bitwixe men and gold ther is debaat\n\n\u2003So ferforth, that unnethes is ther noon\n\n\u2003This multiplying blent so many oon,\n\n\u2003That in good feith I trowe that it be\n\n\u2003The cause grettest of swich scarsetee.\n\n\u2003Philosophres speken so mistily\n\n\u2003In this craft, that men can nat come therby,\n\n\u2003For any wit that men han now a-dayes.\n\n\u2003They mowe wel chiteren, as doon thise jayes,\n\n\u2003And in her termes sette hir lust and peyne,\n\n\u2003Sir, in a word, if that you wish it to have,\n\n\u2003You shall pay forty pounds, so God me save!\n\n\u2003And if were not for your kindness before this\n\n\u2003To me, you would pay more, I guess.\"\n\n\u2003This priest the sum of forty pounds anon\n\n\u2003Of nobles fetched, and took them every one\n\n\u2003To this canon for this recipe.\n\n\u2003All his working was nought but fraud and deceit.\n\n\u2003\"Sir priest,\" he said, \"I care not for renown\n\n\u2003In my craft, for I would it were kept discreet;\n\n\u2003And, as you love me, keep it secret.\n\n\u2003For, if men knew all my subtlety,\n\n\u2003By God, they would have so great envy\n\n\u2003Of me by cause of my alchemy\n\n\u2003I should be dead; there is no other way.\"\n\n\u2003\"God it forbid,\" said the priest, \"what say you?\n\n\u2003I would spend everything\n\n\u2003That I have, or go crazy,\n\n\u2003Rather than you should fall in such mischief.\"\n\n\u2003\"For your good will, sir, have you right good proof,\"\n\n\u2003Said the canon, \"and farewell, grant mercy!\"\n\n\u2003He went his way, and never the priest him saw\n\n\u2003After that day; and when that the priest should\n\n\u2003Make assay, at such time as he would,\n\n\u2003Of this recipe, farewell! It would not be.\n\n\u2003Look, thus tricked and beguiled was he!\n\n\u2003Thus made he his introduction,\n\n\u2003To bring folk to their destruction.\n\n\u2003Consider, sires, how that, in each estate,\n\n\u2003Between men and gold there is strife\n\n\u2003So fierce that of gold there is to be had almost none.\n\n\u2003This alchemistry deceives so many\n\n\u2003That in good faith I believe it be\n\n\u2003The cause greatest of such scarcity.\n\n\u2003Alchemists speak so hazily\n\n\u2003Of this craft that men cannot learn it thereby,\n\n\u2003At least not with the wits that men have nowadays.\n\n\u2003They more often chatter as do jays,\n\n\u2003And in their terms set their lust and pain,\n\n\u2003But to hir purpos shul they never atteyne.\n\n\u2003A man may lightly lerne, if he have aught,\n\n\u2003To multiplye, and bringe his good to naught!\n\n\u2003Lo! swich a lucre is in this lusty game,\n\n\u2003A mannes mirthe it wol torne un-to grame,\n\n\u2003And empten also grete and hevy purses,\n\n\u2003And maken folk for to purchasen curses\n\n\u2003Of hem, that han hir good therto y-lent.\n\n\u2003O! fy! for shame! they that han been brent,\n\n\u2003Alias! can they nat flee the fyres hete?\n\n\u2003Ye that it use, I rede ye it lete,\n\n\u2003Lest ye lese al; for bet than never is late.\n\n\u2003Never to thryve were to long a date.\n\n\u2003Though ye prolle ay, ye shul it never finde;\n\n\u2003Ye been as bolde as is Bayard the blinde,\n\n\u2003That blundreth forth, and peril casteth noon;\n\n\u2003He is as bold to renne agayn a stoon\n\n\u2003As for to goon besydes in the weye.\n\n\u2003So faren ye that multiplye, I seye.\n\n\u2003If that your y\u00ebn can nat seen aright,\n\n\u2003Loke that your minde lakke noght his sight.\n\n\u2003For, though ye loke never so brode, and stare,\n\n\u2003Ye shul nat winne a myte on that chaffare,\n\n\u2003But wasten al that ye may rape and renne.\n\n\u2003Withdrawe the fyr, lest it to faste brenne;\n\n\u2003Medleth na-more with that art, I mene,\n\n\u2003For, if ye doon, your thrift is goon ful clene.\n\n\u2003And right as swythe I wol yow tellen here,\n\n\u2003What philosophres seyn in this matere.\n\n\u2003Lo, thus seith Arnold of the Newe Toun,\n\n\u2003As his Rosarie maketh mencioun;\n\n\u2003He seith right thus, with-outen any lye,\n\n\u2003\"Ther may no man Mercurie mortifye,\n\n\u2003But it be with his brother knowleching.\n\n\u2003How that he, which that first seyde this thing,\n\n\u2003Of philosophres fader was, Hermes;\n\n\u2003He seith, how that the dragoun, doutelees,\n\n\u2003Ne deyeth nat, but-if that he be slayn\n\n\u2003With his brother; and that is for to sayn,\n\n\u2003But to their purpose shall they never attain.\n\n\u2003A man may easily learn, if he has anything,\n\n\u2003To alchemize, and bring himself to nought!\n\n\u2003Look! Such gain is in this fine game,\n\n\u2003That a man's mirth it will turn unto shame,\n\n\u2003And empty also great and heavy purses,\n\n\u2003And make folk for to purchase curses\n\n\u2003On those to whom they their goods leant.\n\n\u2003Oh, fie, for shame! They who have been burnt,\n\n\u2003Alas, can they not flee the fire's heat?\n\n\u2003You who it use, I advise you leave it,\n\n\u2003Lest you lose all; for better than never is late.\n\n\u2003Never to thrive is too long a wait.\n\n\u2003Though you prowl forever, you shall never find it.\n\n\u2003You be as bold as is Bayard the blind,\n\n\u2003Who blunders forth and peril thinks not upon.\n\n\u2003He is as likely to run against a stone\n\n\u2003As for to go along the road.\n\n\u2003So fare you who alchemize, I say.\n\n\u2003If your eyes cannot see aright,\n\n\u2003Look that your mind lacks not its sight.\n\n\u2003For though you look never so hard and stare,\n\n\u2003You shall nothing profit in those wares,\n\n\u2003But rather lose all that you may acquire.\n\n\u2003Dampen the fire, lest it too fast burn;\n\n\u2003Meddle no more with that art, I say,\n\n\u2003For if you do, your good is gone full clean.\n\n\u2003And right as rain I will tell you here\n\n\u2003What alchemists say in this matter.\n\n\u2003Look, thus says Arnaldus of Villanova,\n\n\u2003As he in his Rosarie made mention;\n\n\u2003He says right thus, without any lie:\n\n\u2003\"There may no man mercury solidify\n\n\u2003But it be with his brother sulphur;\n\n\u2003How be that he who first said this thing\n\n\u2003Of alchemists' father was, Hermes Trismegistus;\n\n\u2003He said how the dragon, doubtless,\n\n\u2003Dies not unless he be slain\n\n\u2003With his brother; or put another way\n\n\u2003By the dragoun, Mercurie and noon other\n\n\u2003He understood; and brimstoon by his brother,\n\n\u2003That out of sol and luna were y-drawe.\n\n\u2003And therfor,\" seyde he, \"tak heed to my sawe,\n\n\u2003Let no man bisy him this art for to seche,\n\n\u2003But-if that he th'entencioun and speche\n\n\u2003Of philosophres understonde can;\n\n\u2003And if he do, he is a lewed man.\n\n\u2003For this science and this conning,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"Is of the secree of secrees, parde.\"\n\n\u2003Also ther was a disciple of Plato,\n\n\u2003That on a tyme seyde his maister to,\n\n\u2003As his book Senior wol bere witnesse,\n\n\u2003And this was his demande in soothfastnesse:\n\n\u2003\"Tel me the name of the privy stoon?\"\n\n\u2003And Plato answerde unto him anoon,\n\n\u2003\"Tak the stoon that Titanos men name.\"\n\n\u2003\"Which is that?\" quod he, \"Magnesia is the same,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde Plato. \"Ye, sir, and is it thus?\n\n\u2003This is ignotum per ignotius.\n\n\u2003What is Magnesia, good sir, I yow preye?\"\n\n\u2003\"It is a water that is maad, I seye,\n\n\u2003Of elementes foure,\" quod Plato.\n\n\u2003\"Tel me the rote, good sir,\" quod he tho,\n\n\u2003\"Of that water, if that it be your wille?\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, nay,\" quod Plato, \"certein, that I nille.\n\n\u2003The philosophres sworn were everichoon,\n\n\u2003That they sholden discovere it un-to noon,\n\n\u2003Ne in no book it wryte in no manere;\n\n\u2003For un-to Crist it is so leef and dere\n\n\u2003That he wol nat that it discovered be,\n\n\u2003But wher it lyketh to his deitee\n\n\u2003Man for t'enspyre, and eek for to defende\n\n\u2003Whom that him lyketh; lo, this is the ende.\"\n\n\u2003Thanne conclude I thus; sith god of hevene\n\n\u2003Ne wol nat that the philosophres nevene\n\n\u2003How that a man shal come un-to this stoon,\n\n\u2003I rede, as for the beste, lete it goon.\n\n\u2003For who-so maketh god his adversarie,\n\n\u2003By the dragon we mean Mercury, and no other.\n\n\u2003And Sulphur, known as brimstone, is his brother,\n\n\u2003And these are drawn from Silver and from Gold.\n\n\u2003And therefore,\" said he\u2014\"take heed to my screed\u2014\n\n\u2003Let no man busy him this art to seek,\n\n\u2003Unless he the intention and speech\n\n\u2003Of alchemists understands;\n\n\u2003And if he does, he is a wretched man.\n\n\u2003For this science and this cunning,\" he said,\n\n\"Is of the secret of the secrets, by God.\"\n\n\u2003Also there was a disciple of Plato,\n\n\u2003Who once upon a time told his master so,\n\n\u2003As in his book Senior Zadith will bear witness,\n\n\u2003And this was his request in truthfulness:\n\n\u2003\"Tell me the name of the secret stone.\"\n\n\u2003And Plato answered him anon,\n\n\u2003\"Take the stone that Titanos men name.\"\n\n\u2003\"Which is that?\" said he. \"Magnasia is the same,\"\n\n\u2003Said Plato. \"Yea, sire, and is it thus?\n\n\u2003This is ignotum per ignocius.\n\n\u2003What is Magnasia, good sire, I you pray?\"\n\n\u2003\"It is water that is made, I say,\n\n\u2003Of elements four,\" said Plato.\n\n\u2003\"Tell me the root, good sire,\" said he then.\n\n\u2003\"Of that water, if it be your will.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, nay,\" said Plato, \"certainly, I will not.\n\n\u2003The alchemists swear every one\n\n\u2003That they should tell it unto no one,\n\n\u2003Neither in a book nor write it in any way.\n\n\u2003For unto Christ is it so near and dear\n\n\u2003Who would not that it discovered be,\n\n\u2003Except where it pleases his deity\n\n\u2003Men to enlighten, and also to defend\n\n\u2003Those whom he likes; look, this is the end.\"\n\n\u2003Then I conclude this, since God of heaven\n\n\u2003Wills not that the philosophers name\n\n\u2003How a man shall come unto this stone,\n\n\u2003I advise, as for the best, let it go.\n\n\u2003For whoso makes God his adversary,\n\n\u2003As for to werken any thing in contrarie\n\n\u2003Of his wil, certes, never shal he thryve,\n\n\u2003Thogh that he multiplye terme of his lyve.\n\n\u2003And ther a poynt; for ended is my tale;\n\n\u2003God sende every trewe man bote of his bale!\u2014Amen\n\n\u2003By working anything in contrary\n\n\u2003To his will, certainly, never shall he thrive,\n\n\u2003Though all his life he alchemize.\n\n\u2003And there a stop, for ended is my tale.\n\n\u2003God send every true man a cure for what him ails!\u2014Amen"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Freres Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003This worthy Limitour, this noble Frere,\n\n\u2003He made alwey a maner louring chere\n\n\u2003Upon the Somnour, but for honestee\n\n\u2003No vileyns word as yet to him spak he.\n\n\u2003But atte laste he seyde un-to the Wyf,\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" quod he, \"god yeve yow right good lyf!\n\n\u2003Ye han heer touched, al-so mote I thee,\n\n\u2003In scole-matere greet difficultee;\n\n\u2003Ye han seyd muchel thing right wel, I seye;\n\n\u2003But dame, here as we ryden by the weye,\n\n\u2003Us nedeth nat to speken but of game,\n\n\u2003And lete auctoritees, on goddes name,\n\n\u2003To preching and to scole eek of clergye.\n\n\u2003But if it lyke to this companye,\n\n\u2003I wol yow of a somnour telle a game.\n\n\u2003Pardee, ye may wel knowe by the name,\n\n\u2003That of a somnour may no good be sayd;\n\n\u2003I praye that noon of you be yvel apayd.\n\n\u2003A somnour is a renner up and doun\n\n\u2003With mandements for fornicacioun,\n\n\u2003And is y-bet at every tounes ende.\"\n\n\u2003Our host tho spak, \"al sire, ye sholde be hende\n\n\u2003And curteys, as a man of your estaat;\n\n\u2003In companye we wol have no debaat.\n\n\u2003Telleth your tale, and lat the Somnour be\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod the Somnour, \"lat him seye to me\n\n\u2003What so him list; whan it comth to my lot,\n\n\u2003By god, I shal him quyten every grot.\n\n\u2003I shal him tellen which a greet honour\n\n\u2003It is to be a flateringe limitour;\n\n\u2003And eek of many another manere cryme\n\n\u2003Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;\n\n\u2003And his offyce I shal him telle, y-wis.\"\n\n\u2003Our host answerde, \"pees, na-more of this.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Friar's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003This worthy limitour, thiS noble Friar,\n\n\u2003He looked always with a sort of scowl\n\n\u2003Upon the Summoner, but for politeness' sake\n\n\u2003No unpleasant words to him yet spoke he.\n\n\u2003But at last he said unto the wife,\n\n\u2003\"Dame,\" said he, \"God give you right good life!\n\n\u2003You have here touched upon, as I swear to thee,\n\n\u2003Questions difficult for scholars worthy.\n\n\u2003You have said many things right well, I say;\n\n\u2003But dame, here as we ride right by the way,\n\n\u2003We need not speak but in play,\n\n\u2003And leave citing authorities, in God's name,\n\n\u2003To preaching and to schools of clergy.\n\n\u2003But if it is pleasing to this company,\n\n\u2003I will you of a summoner tell a story.\n\n\u2003By God, you may well know by the name\n\n\u2003That of a summoner no good may be said;\n\n\u2003I pray that none of you be displeased.\n\n\u2003A summoner is a runner up and down\n\n\u2003With summonses for fornication,\n\n\u2003And is beaten at every town's end.\"\n\n\u2003Our Host then spoke, \"Ah, sir, you should be pleasant\n\n\u2003And courteous, as a man of your estate;\n\n\u2003In company we will have no debate.\n\n\u2003Tell your tale, and let the Summoner be.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the Summoner, \"let him say to me\n\n\u2003What he wishes; when it comes to my lot,\n\n\u2003By God, I shall get even to the last grot.\n\n\u2003I shall tell him what a great honor\n\n\u2003It is to be a flattering limitour,\n\n\u2003And of many other crimes\n\n\u2003That we need not mention at this time;\n\n\u2003And I shall surely tell how he does his job.\"\n\n\u2003Our Host answered, \"Peace, no more of this!\"\n\n\u2003And after this he seyde un-to the Frere,\n\n\u2003\"Tel forth your tale, leve maister deere.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Whilom ther was dwellinge in my contree\n\n\u2003An erchedeken, a man of heigh degree,\n\n\u2003That boldely dide execucioun\n\n\u2003In punisshinge of fornicacioun,\n\n\u2003Of wicchecraft, and eek of bauderye,\n\n\u2003Of diffamacioun, and avoutrye,\n\n\u2003Of chirche-reves, and of testaments,\n\n\u2003Of contractes, and of lakke of sacraments,\n\n\u2003And eek of many another maner cryme\n\n\u2003Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;\n\n\u2003Of usure, and of symonye also.\n\n\u2003But certes, lechours dide he grettest wo;\n\n\u2003They sholde singen, if that they were hent;\n\n\u2003And smale tytheres weren foule y-shent.\n\n\u2003If any persone wolde up-on hem pleyne,\n\n\u2003Ther mighte asterte him no pecunial peyne.\n\n\u2003For smale tythes and for smal offringe\n\n\u2003He made the peple pitously to singe.\n\n\u2003For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook,\n\n\u2003They weren in the erchedeknes book.\n\n\u2003Thanne hadde he, thurgh his jurisdiccioun,\n\n\u2003Power to doon on hem correccioun.\n\n\u2003He hadde a Somnour redy to his hond,\n\n\u2003A slyer boy was noon in Engelond;\n\n\u2003For subtilly he hadde his espiaille,\n\n\u2003That taughte him, wher that him mighte availle.\n\n\u2003He coude spare of lechours oon or two,\n\n\u2003To techen him to foure and twenty mo.\n\n\u2003For thogh this Somnour wood were as an hare,\n\n\u2003To tell his harlotrye I wol nat spare;\n\n\u2003For we been out of his correccioun;\n\n\u2003They han of us no jurisdiccioun,\n\n\u2003Ne never shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.\n\n\u2003\"Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,\"\n\n\u2003Quod the Somnour, \"y-put out of my cure!\"\n\n\u2003And after this he said unto the Friar,\n\n\u2003\"Tell forth your tale, my master dear.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Once there was dwelling in my territory\n\n\u2003An archdeacon, a man of high degree,\n\n\u2003Who boldly did execution\n\n\u2003In punishing of fornication,\n\n\u2003Of witchcraft, and also of solicitation,\n\n\u2003Of defamation, and of embezzlement, and adultery,\n\n\u2003And of violation of wills and contracts for marriage,\n\n\u2003Of failure to observe the sacraments,\n\n\u2003And also of many another crime\n\n\u2003Which we need not rehearse at this time;\n\n\u2003Of usury and of simony too.\n\n\u2003But certainly, to lechers did he greatest woe;\n\n\u2003They had to plead if they were seized;\n\n\u2003And unpaid tithes and offerings were punished severely,\n\n\u2003If any parson would of them complain.\n\n\u2003They would escape no pecuniary pain.\n\n\u2003For unpaid tithes and short offerings\n\n\u2003He made the people piteously to beg,\n\n\u2003For before the bishop caught them with his crook,\n\n\u2003They were in the archdeacon's book.\n\n\u2003Then had he, through his jurisdiction,\n\n\u2003Power to do on them correction.\n\n\u2003He had a summoner ready to his hand;\n\n\u2003A slyer boyo was none in England;\n\n\u2003Full subtly he made use of a ring of spies,\n\n\u2003Who let him know where profit might reside.\n\n\u2003He could spare of lechers one or two,\n\n\u2003To lead him to four and twenty more.\n\n\u2003For though this Summoner may go mad as a March hare,\n\n\u2003To tell his whoring I will not spare;\n\n\u2003For we be exempt from his power.\n\n\u2003They have over us no jurisdiction,\n\n\u2003Nor ever shall, long as they live.\n\n\u2003\"By Saint Peter! so be women of the brothels,\"\n\n\u2003Said the Summoner, \"put beyond our power!\"\n\n\u2003\"Pees, with mischance and with misaventure,\"\n\n\u2003Thus seyde our host, \"and lat him telle his tale.\n\n\u2003Now telleth forth, thogh that the Somnour gale,\n\n\u2003Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister dere.\"\n\n\u2003This false theef, this Somnour, quod the Frere,\n\n\u2003Hadde alwey baudes redy to his hond,\n\n\u2003As any hauk to lure in Engelond,\n\n\u2003That tolde him al the secree that they knewe:\n\n\u2003For hir acqueyntance was nat come of-newe.\n\n\u2003They weren hise approwours prively;\n\n\u2003He took him-self a greet profit therby;\n\n\u2003His maister knew nat alwey what he wan.\n\n\u2003With-outen mandement, a lewed man\n\n\u2003He coude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs,\n\n\u2003And they were gladde for to fille his purs,\n\n\u2003And make him grete festes atte nale.\n\n\u2003And right as Judas hadde purses smale,\n\n\u2003And was a theef, right swich a theef was he;\n\n\u2003His maister hadde but half his du\u00ebtee.\n\n\u2003He was, if I shal yeven him his laude,\n\n\u2003A theef, and eek a Somnour, and a baude.\n\n\u2003He hadde eek wenches at his retenue,\n\n\u2003That, whether that sir Robert or sir Huwe,\n\n\u2003Or Jakke, or Rauf, or who-so that it were,\n\n\u2003That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere;\n\n\u2003Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent.\n\n\u2003And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement,\n\n\u2003And somne hem to the chapitre bothe two,\n\n\u2003And pile the man, and lete the wenche go.\n\n\u2003Thanne wolde he seye, \"frend, I shal for thy sake\n\n\u2003Do stryken hir out of our lettres blake;\n\n\u2003Thee thar na-more as in this cas travaille;\n\n\u2003I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle.\"\n\n\u2003Certeyn he knew of bryberyes mo\n\n\u2003Than possible is to telle in yeres two.\n\n\u2003For in this world nis dogge for the bowe,\n\n\u2003That can an hurt deer from an hool y-knowe,\n\n\u2003Bet than this Somnour knew a sly lechour,\n\n\u2003Or an avouter, or a paramour.\n\n\u2003\"Peace! for you mischance and misadventure!\"\n\n\u2003Thus said our Host, \"and let him tell his tale,\n\n\u2003Now tell forth, though the Summoner blows a gale;\n\n\u2003Nothing spare, my own master dear!\"\n\n\u2003This false thief, this summoner, said the Friar,\n\n\u2003Had always pimps ready to his hand,\n\n\u2003As any hawk to lure in England,\n\n\u2003They told him all the secrets that they knew,\n\n\u2003For their acquaintance did not come of new.\n\n\u2003They were full secretly his agents.\n\n\u2003He took himself thereby a great profit.\n\n\u2003His master knew not ever what he took from it.\n\n\u2003Without a true summons a lewd man\n\n\u2003He could summon, on pain of Christ's curse,\n\n\u2003And they were glad to fill his purse\n\n\u2003And make him great feasts at the alehouse.\n\n\u2003And right as Judas he had small sums to him entrusted,\n\n\u2003And was a thief, right such a thief was he;\n\n\u2003His master received but half what was to him due.\n\n\u2003He was, if I shall give him fair credit,\n\n\u2003A thief, and a summoner, and a pimp.\n\n\u2003He had also wenches in his service,\n\n\u2003Who, whether sir Hugh or sir Robert,\n\n\u2003Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso it was\n\n\u2003Who lay by them, they told it in his ear.\n\n\u2003Thus were the wench and he in league,\n\n\u2003And he would fetch a feigned summons,\n\n\u2003And summon them to archdeacon's court the two,\n\n\u2003And rob the man, and let the wench go.\n\n\u2003Then would he say, \"Friend, I shall for your sake\n\n\u2003Do strike her out of our letters black;\n\n\u2003You thereby will no more be troubled by this case.\n\n\u2003I am your friend, thereby I may you assist.\"\n\n\u2003Certainly he knew of briberies more\n\n\u2003Than is possible to tell in years four.\n\n\u2003For certainly there is no hunting hound\n\n\u2003That a wounded deer from an unhurt deer can tell\n\n\u2003Better than this summoner knew a sly lecher,\n\n\u2003Or an adulterer, or a paramour.\n\n\u2003And, for that was the fruit of al his rente,\n\n\u2003Therfore on it he sette al his entente.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that ones on a day\n\n\u2003This Somnour, ever waiting on his pray,\n\n\u2003Rood for to somne a widwe, an old ribybe,\n\n\u2003Feyninge a cause, for he wolde brybe.\n\n\u2003And happed that he saugh bifore him ryde\n\n\u2003A gay yeman, under a forest-syde.\n\n\u2003A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;\n\n\u2003He hadde up-on a courtepy of grene;\n\n\u2003An hat up-on his heed with frenges blake.\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" quod this Somnour, \"hayl! and wel-a-take!\"\n\n\u2003\"Wel-come,\" quod he, \"and every good felawe!\n\n\u2003Wher rydestow under this grene shawe?\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this yeman, \"wiltow fer to day?\"\n\n\u2003This Somnour him answerde, and seyde, \"nay;\n\n\u2003Heer faste by,\" quod he, \"is myn entente\n\n\u2003To ryden, for to reysen up a rente\n\n\u2003That longeth to my lordes du\u00ebtee.\"\n\n\u2003\"Artow thanne a bailly?\" \"Ye!\" quod he.\n\n\u2003He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame,\n\n\u2003Seye that he was a somnour, for the name.\n\n\u2003\"Depardieux,\" quod this yeman, \"dere brother,\n\n\u2003Thou art a bailly, and I am another.\n\n\u2003I am unknowen as in this contree;\n\n\u2003Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee,\n\n\u2003And eek of brotherhede, if that yow leste.\n\n\u2003I have gold and silver in my cheste;\n\n\u2003If that thee happe to comen in our shyre,\n\n\u2003Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desyre.\"\n\n\u2003\"Grantmercy,\" quod this Somnour, \"by my feith!\"\n\n\u2003Everich in otheres hand his trouthe leith,\n\n\u2003For to be sworne bretheren til they deye.\n\n\u2003In daliance they ryden forth hir weye.\n\n\u2003This Somnour, which that was as ful of jangles,\n\n\u2003As ful of venim been thise wariangles,\n\n\u2003And ever enquering up-on every thing,\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" quod he, \"where is now your dwelling,\n\n\u2003Another day if that I sholde yow seche?\"\n\n\u2003And in that was the fruit of his rent,\n\n\u2003Therefore on it was all his intent.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that once upon a day\n\n\u2003This summoner, ever waiting on his prey,\n\n\u2003Rode for to summon an old widow, an old lady,\n\n\u2003Feigning a charge, he would extort.\n\n\u2003And it so happened that he saw before him\n\n\u2003A gay yeoman, under a forest side.\n\n\u2003A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;\n\n\u2003He wore a jacket of green,\n\n\u2003And a hat upon his head with fringes black.\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said this summoner, \"hail, and well met!\"\n\n\u2003\"Welcome,\" said he, \"and every good fellow!\n\n\u2003Where ride you, under this forest greenwood?\"\n\n\u2003Said this yeoman. \"Do you go far today?\"\n\n\u2003This summoner him answered and said, \"Nay;\n\n\u2003Here nearby,\" said he, \"is my intent\n\n\u2003To ride, for to obtain a payment\n\n\u2003That has long been due my lord.\"\n\n\u2003\"Are you then a bailiff?\" \"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\u2003He dared not, for the shame and obliquy,\n\n\u2003Say that he was a summoner, so bad was the name.\n\n\u2003\"Depardieux,\" said this yeoman, \"dear brother,\n\n\u2003You are a bailiff, and I am another.\n\n\u2003I am unknown in this country;\n\n\u2003Your acquaintance I would pray make,\n\n\u2003And also brotherhood, if you wish.\n\n\u2003I have gold and silver in my chest;\n\n\u2003If you happen to come in our shire,\n\n\u2003All shall be yours, right as you desire.\"\n\n\u2003\"Thank you,\" said this summoner, \"by my faith!\"\n\n\u2003And each the other's hand he clasped,\n\n\u2003To be sworn brothers till each breathed his last.\n\n\u2003With pleasant talk they rode on their way.\n\n\u2003This summoner, who was as full of gossip\n\n\u2003As full of venom is a shrike,\n\n\u2003And ever inquiring upon everything,\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" said he, \"where is now your dwelling\n\n\u2003Another day if I should you seek?\"\n\n\u2003This yeman him answerde in softe speche,\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" quod he, \"fer in the north contree,\n\n\u2003Wher, as I hope, som-tyme I shal thee see.\n\n\u2003Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse,\n\n\u2003That of myn hous ne shaltow never misse.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, brother,\" quod this Somnour, \"I yow preye,\n\n\u2003Teche me, whyl that we ryden by the weye,\n\n\u2003Sin that ye been a baillif as am I,\n\n\u2003Som subtiltee, and tel me feithfully\n\n\u2003In myn offyce how I may most winne;\n\n\u2003And sparet nat for conscience ne sinne,\n\n\u2003But as my brother tel me, how do ye?\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, by my trouthe, brother dere,\" seyde he,\n\n\u2003\"As I shal tellen thee a feithful tale,\n\n\u2003My wages been ful streite and ful smale.\n\n\u2003My lord is hard to me and daungerous,\n\n\u2003And myn offyce is ful laborous;\n\n\u2003And therfore by extorcions I live.\n\n\u2003For sothe, I take al that men wol me yive;\n\n\u2003Algate, by sleyghte or by violence,\n\n\u2003Fro yeer to yeer I winne al my dispence.\n\n\u2003I can no bettre telle feithfully.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, certes,\" quod this Somnour, \"so fare I;\n\n\u2003I spare nat to taken, god it woot,\n\n\u2003But-if it be to hevy or to hoot.\n\n\u2003What I may gete in counseil prively,\n\n\u2003No maner conscience of that have I;\n\n\u2003Nere myn extorcioun, I mighte nat liven,\n\n\u2003Ne of swiche japes wol I nat be shriven.\n\n\u2003Stomak ne conscience ne knowe I noon;\n\n\u2003I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres everichoon.\n\n\u2003Wel be we met, by god and by seint Jame!\n\n\u2003But, leve brother, tel me than thy name,\"\n\n\u2003Quod this Somnour; and in this mene whyle,\n\n\u2003This yeman gan a litel for to smyle.\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" quod he, \"wiltow that I thee telle?\n\n\u2003I am a feend, my dwelling is in helle.\n\n\u2003And here I ryde about my purchasing,\n\n\u2003To wite wher men wolde yeve me any thing.\n\n\u2003This yeoman him answered in soft speech,\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" said he, \"far in the north country\n\n\u2003Where I hope sometime I will you see.\n\n\u2003Before we part, I shall to it so well you guide\n\n\u2003That past my house you shall not ride.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, brother,\" said this summoner, \"I pray you,\n\n\u2003Teach me, while that we ride by the way,\n\n\u2003Since you be a bailiff as am I,\n\n\u2003Some trick of the trade, and tell me faithfully\n\n\u2003In my office how I may most gain;\n\n\u2003And spare not for conscience or fear of sin,\n\n\u2003But as my brother, tell me how you bring it in.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, by my troth, brother dear,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"As I shall tell you a true tale,\n\n\u2003My wages be full strait and small.\n\n\u2003My lord is hard to me and demanding,\n\n\u2003And my office is full laborious,\n\n\u2003And therefore by extortions do I live.\n\n\u2003For truth, I take all that men will give me,\n\n\u2003Anyhow, by sleight or by violence,\n\n\u2003From year to year I make my expenses.\n\n\u2003I can no better tell, faithfully.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now certainly,\" said this summoner, \"so fare I.\n\n\u2003I spare not to take, God knows,\n\n\u2003Unless it is too hot or heavy.\n\n\u2003What I may get secretly,\n\n\u2003No manner of conscience for that have I.\n\n\u2003Without my extortion, I could not live,\n\n\u2003Nor for such tricks will I not be forgiven.\n\n\u2003Stomach for conscience have I none;\n\n\u2003I curse these confessors every one.\n\n\u2003Well be we met, by God and Saint James!\n\n\u2003But, dear brother, tell me your name,\"\n\n\u2003Said this summoner. In the meanwhile\n\n\u2003This yeoman began a little for to smile.\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" said he, \"would you that I tell you?\n\n\u2003I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,\n\n\u2003And here I ride about my profit-making,\n\n\u2003To learn where men will give me something.\n\n\u2003My purchas is th'effect of al my rente.\n\n\u2003Loke how thou rydest for the same entente,\n\n\u2003To winne good, thou rekkest never how;\n\n\u2003Right so fare I, for ryde wolde I now\n\n\u2003Un-to the worldes ende for a preye.\"\n\n\u2003\"A,\" quod this Somnour, \"ben'cite, what sey ye?\n\n\u2003I wende ye were a yeman trewely.\n\n\u2003Ye han a mannes shap as wel as I;\n\n\u2003Han ye figure than determinat\n\n\u2003In helle, ther ye been in your estat?\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, certeinly,\" quod he, \"ther have we noon;\n\n\u2003But whan us lyketh, we can take us oon,\n\n\u2003Or elles make yow seme we ben shape\n\n\u2003Som-tyme lyk a man, or lyk an ape;\n\n\u2003Or lyk an angel can I ryde or go.\n\n\u2003It is no wonder thing thogh it be so;\n\n\u2003A lousy jogelour can deceyve thee,\n\n\u2003And pardee, yet can I more craft than he.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why,\" quod the Somnour, \"ryde ye thanne or goon\n\n\u2003In sondry shap, and nat alwey in oon?\"\n\n\u2003\"For we,\" quod he, \"wol us swich formes make\n\n\u2003As most able is our preyes for to take.\"\n\n\u2003\"What maketh yow to han al this labour?\"\n\n\u2003\"Ful many a cause, leve sir Somnour,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this feend, \"but alle thing hath tyme.\n\n\u2003The day is short, and it is passed pryme,\n\n\u2003And yet ne wan I no-thing in this day.\n\n\u2003I wol entende to winnen, if I may,\n\n\u2003And nat entende our wittes to declare.\n\n\u2003For, brother myn, thy wit is al to bare\n\n\u2003To understonde, al-thogh I tolde hem thee.\n\n\u2003But, for thou axest why labouren we;\n\n\u2003For, som-tyme, we ben goddes instruments,\n\n\u2003And menes to don his comandements,\n\n\u2003Whan that him list, up-on his creatures,\n\n\u2003In divers art and in divers figures.\n\n\u2003With-outen him we have no might, certayn,\n\n\u2003If that him list to stonden ther-agayn.\n\n\u2003And som-tyme, at our prayere, han we leve\n\n\u2003My profit is the whole part of my rent.\n\n\u2003Look how you ride for the same intent.\n\n\u2003To gain profit, you care never how;\n\n\u2003Right so fare I, for ride would I now\n\n\u2003Unto the world's end for my prey.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ah!\" said this summoner, \"benedicite! What do you say?\n\n\u2003I thought you were a yeoman truly.\n\n\u2003You have a man's shape as much as I do;\n\n\u2003Have you another definite shape besides\n\n\u2003In hell, where you reside?\"\n\n\u2003\"No, certainly,\" said he, \"there have we none;\n\n\u2003But when we wish we can take us one,\n\n\u2003Or else make you think we have a shape;\n\n\u2003Sometimes like a man, sometimes like an ape,\n\n\u2003Or like an angel can I ride or go.\n\n\u2003It is no wondrous thing that it be so;\n\n\u2003A poor magician can fool you,\n\n\u2003And, by God, I know more craft than they do.\"\n\n\u2003\"Why,\" said this summoner, \"ride you then or go\n\n\u2003In sundry shapes, and not always in one?\"\n\n\u2003\"For we,\" said he, \"will such forms make\n\n\u2003As best enable us our prey to take:\"\n\n\u2003\"What makes you have all this labor?\"\n\n\u2003\"Full many a cause, dear sir summoner,\"\n\n\u2003Said this fiend, \"but all things have their time.\n\n\u2003The day is short, and it is past prime,\n\n\u2003And yet I have won nothing in this day.\n\n\u2003I will attend to winning, if I may,\n\n\u2003And not strive for our wits to display.\n\n\u2003For, brother mine, your wit is not adequate\n\n\u2003To understand, even if I told you more.\n\n\u2003But, since you ask why we labor\u2014\n\n\u2003Sometimes we are God's instruments\n\n\u2003And his means to do his commandments,\n\n\u2003When he wishes, upon his creatures,\n\n\u2003By diverse methods and in diverse figures.\n\n\u2003Without him we have no power, truly,\n\n\u2003If he wishes to oppose something we do.\n\n\u2003And sometimes, at our request, we have leave\n\n\u2003Only the body and nat the soule greve;\n\n\u2003Witnesse on Job, whom that we diden wo.\n\n\u2003And som-tyme han we might of bothe two,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, of soule and body eke.\n\n\u2003And somtyme be we suffred for to seke\n\n\u2003Up-on a man, and doon his soule unreste,\n\n\u2003And nat his body, and al is for the beste.\n\n\u2003Whan he withstandeth our temptacioun,\n\n\u2003It is a cause of his savacioun;\n\n\u2003Al-be-it that it was nat our entente\n\n\u2003He sholde be sauf, but that we wolde him hente.\n\n\u2003And som-tyme be we servant un-to man,\n\n\u2003As to the erchebisshop Seint Dunstan\n\n\u2003And to the apostles servant eek was I.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yet tel me,\" quod the Somnour, \"feithfully,\n\n\u2003Make ye yow newe bodies thus alway\n\n\u2003Of elements?\" the feend answerde, \"nay;\n\n\u2003Som-tyme we feyne, and som-tyme we aryse\n\n\u2003With ded bodies in ful sondry wyse,\n\n\u2003And speke as renably and faire and wel\n\n\u2003As to the Phitonissa dide Samuel.\n\n\u2003And yet wol som men seye it was nat he;\n\n\u2003I do no fors of your divinitee.\n\n\u2003But o thing warne I thee, I wol nat jape,\n\n\u2003Thou wolt algates wite how we ben shape;\n\n\u2003Thou shalt her-afterward, my brother dere,\n\n\u2003Com ther thee nedeth nat of me to lere.\n\n\u2003For thou shalt by thyn owene experience\n\n\u2003Conne in a chayer rede of this sentence\n\n\u2003Bet than Virgyle, whyl he was on lyve,\n\n\u2003Or Dant also; now lat us ryde blyve.\n\n\u2003For I wol holde companye with thee\n\n\u2003Til it be so, that thou forsake me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod this Somnour, \"that shal nat bityde;\n\n\u2003I am a yeman, knowen in ful wyde;\n\n\u2003My trouthe wol I holde as in this cas.\n\n\u2003For though thou were the devel Sathanas,\n\n\u2003My trouthe wol I holde to my brother,\n\n\u2003As I am sworn, and ech of us til other\n\n\u2003Only the body and not the soul to grieve;\n\n\u2003Witness Job, upon whom we did that woe.\n\n\u2003And sometimes have we power over both\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, of soul and body also.\n\n\u2003And sometimes we be suffered for to seek\n\n\u2003Upon a man and do his soul unrest\n\n\u2003And not his body, and all is for the best.\n\n\u2003When he withstands our temptation,\n\n\u2003It is a cause of his salvation.\n\n\u2003Albeit that it was not our intent\n\n\u2003He should be saved, but that we would him seize.\n\n\u2003And sometimes we be servants unto man,\n\n\u2003As to the archbishop Saint Dunstan,\n\n\u2003And to the apostles servant also was I.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yet tell me,\" said the summoner, \"faithfully,\n\n\u2003Make you your new bodies thus always\n\n\u2003Of elements?\" The fiend answered, \"Nay.\n\n\u2003Sometimes we feign and sometimes we arise\n\n\u2003With dead bodies, in full sundry ways,\n\n\u2003And speak as readily and fair and well\n\n\u2003As to the Witch of Endor did Samuel.\n\n(And yet will some men say it was not he;\n\n\u2003I care nothing for your theology.)\n\n\u2003But one thing warn I you, I will not joke;\n\n\u2003You will surely know how we are made;\n\n\u2003You shall hereafter, my brother dear,\n\n\u2003Not need from me to learn,\n\n\u2003For you shall, by your own experience,\n\n\u2003As from a professor's chair lecture on this\n\n\u2003Better than Virgil, when he was alive,\n\n\u2003Or Dante also. Now let us quickly ride,\n\n\u2003For I will hold with your company\n\n\u2003Till it be so that you forsake me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay!\" said the summoner, \"that shall not betide!\n\n\u2003I am a yeoman, known full widely;\n\n\u2003My word will I keep, as in this case.\n\n\u2003For though you were the devil Satan,\n\n\u2003My pledge I will hold to my brother,\n\n\u2003As I am sworn, and each of us to the other,\n\n\u2003For to be trewe brother in this cas;\n\n\u2003And bothe we goon abouten our purchas.\n\n\u2003Tak thou thy part, what that men wol thee yive,\n\n\u2003And I shal myn; thus may we bothe live.\n\n\u2003And if that any of us have more than other,\n\n\u2003Lat him be trewe, and parte it with his brother.\"\n\n\u2003\"I graunte,\" quod the devel, \"by my fey.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word they ryden forth hir wey.\n\n\u2003And right at the entring of the tounes ende,\n\n\u2003To which this Somnour shoop him for to wende,\n\n\u2003They saugh a cart, that charged was with hey,\n\n\u2003Which that a carter droof forth in his wey.\n\n\u2003Deep was the wey, for which the carte stood.\n\n\u2003The carter smoot, and cryde, as he were wood,\n\n\u2003\"Hayt, Brok! hayt, Scot! what spare ye for the stones.\n\n\u2003The feend,\" quod he, \"yow fecche body and bones,\n\n\u2003As ferforthly as ever were ye foled!\n\n\u2003So muche wo as I have with yow tholed!\n\n\u2003The devel have al, bothe hors and cart and hey!\"\n\n\u2003This Somnour seyde, \"heer shal we have a pley;\n\n\u2003And neer the feed he drough, as noght ne were,\n\n\u2003Ful prively, and rouned in his ere:\n\n\"Herkne, my brother, herkne, by thy feith;\n\n\u2003Herestow nat how that the carter seith?\n\n\u2003Hent it anon, for he hath yeve it thee,\n\n\u2003Bothe hey and cart, and eek hise caples three.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod the devel, \"god wot, never a deel;\n\n\u2003It is nat his entente, trust me weel.\n\n\u2003Axe him thy-self, if thou nat trowest me,\n\n\u2003Or elles stint a while, and thou shalt see\"\n\n\u2003This carter thakketh his hors upon the croupe,\n\n\u2003And they bigonne drawen and to-stoupe;\n\n\u2003\"Heyt, now!\" quod he, \"ther Jesu Crist yow blesse\n\n\u2003And al his handwerk, bothe more and lesse!\n\n\u2003That was wel twight, myn owene lyard boy!\n\n\u2003I pray god save thee and s\u00ebynt Loy!\n\n\u2003Now is my cart out of the slow, pardee!\"\n\n\u2003\"Lo! brother,\" quod the feend, \"what tolde I thee?\n\n\u2003Heer may ye see, myn owene dere brother,\n\n\u2003For to be true brothers in this case;\n\n\u2003And both we go about our trade.\n\n\u2003Take you your part, what men will you give,\n\n\u2003And I shall mine; thus may we both live.\n\n\u2003And if either of us has more than the other,\n\n\u2003Let him be true and share it with his brother.\"\n\n\u2003\"Agreed,\" said the devil, \"by my faith.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word they rode forth their way.\n\n\u2003And right at the entrance to the town's edge,\n\n\u2003To which this summoner prepared himself to enter,\n\n\u2003They saw a cart that was loaded with hay,\n\n\u2003Which a carter drove forth on his way.\n\n\u2003Deep muddy was the road, in which the cart stood.\n\n\u2003The carter smote and cried as if he were crazy,\n\n\u2003\"Giddap, Brok! Giddap, Scot! Why stop pulling in this mess?\n\n\u2003The fiend,\" said he, \"you fetch, body and bones,\n\n\u2003As sure as you were foaled,\n\n\u2003So much woe as I have with you suffered.\n\n\u2003To the devil you all, both horse and cart and hay!\"\n\n\u2003This summoner said, \"Here shall we have some play.\"\n\n\u2003And near the fiend he drew, as if by it he nothing meant,\n\n\u2003And whispered in his ear in private:\n\n\u2003\"Harken, my brother, harken, by your faith!\n\n\u2003Hear you not what the carter says?\n\n\u2003Seize it anon, for he has given it to you,\n\n\u2003Both hay and cart, and also his horses three.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the devil, \"God knows, in no way!\n\n\u2003It is not his intent, trust me well.\n\n\u2003Ask him yourself, if you believe not me;\n\n\u2003Or else wait awhile, and you shall see.\"\n\n\u2003This carter patted his horses on their cruppers,\n\n\u2003And they began to pull with all their muscle.\n\n\u2003\"Giddap! Now,\" said he, \"there Jesus Christ you bless,\n\n\u2003And all his handiwork, both more and less!\n\n\u2003That was well pulled, my own dappled boy.\n\n\u2003I pray God save you, and Saint Loy!\n\n\u2003Now is my cart out of the slough, by God!\"\n\n\u2003\"Look, brother,\" said the fiend, \"what I told you?\n\n\u2003Here may you see, my own dear brother,\n\n\u2003The carl spak oo thing, but he thoughte another.\n\n\u2003Lat us go forth abouten our viage;\n\n\u2003Heer winne I no-thing up-on cariage.\"\n\n\u2003Whan that they comen som-what out of toune,\n\n\u2003This Somnour to his brother gan to roune,\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" quod he, \"heer woneth an old rebekke,\n\n\u2003That hadde almost as lief to lese hir nekke\n\n\u2003As for to yeve a peny of hir good.\n\n\u2003I wol han twelf pens, though that she be wood,\n\n\u2003Or I wol sompne hir un-to our offyce;\n\n\u2003And yet, god woot, of hir knowe I no vyce.\n\n\u2003But for thou canst nat, as in this contree,\n\n\u2003Winne thy cost, tak heer ensample of me.\"\n\n\u2003This Somnour clappeth at the widwes gate.\n\n\u2003\"Com out,\" quod he, \"thou olde viritrate!\n\n\u2003I trowe thou hast som frere or prese with thee!\"\n\n\u2003\"Who clappeth?\" seyde this widwe, \"ben' cite!\n\n\u2003God save you, sire, what is your swete wille?\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" quod he, \"of somonce here a bille;\n\n\u2003Up peyne of cursing, loke that thou be\n\n\u2003To-morn bifore the erchedeknes knee\n\n\u2003T'answere to the court of certeyn thinges.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, lord,\" quod she, \"Crist Jesu, king of kinges,\n\n\u2003So wisly helpe me, as I ne may.\n\n\u2003I have been syk, and that ful many a day.\n\n\u2003I may nat go so fer,\" quod she, \"ne ryde,\n\n\u2003But I be deed, so priketh it in my syde.\n\n\u2003May I nat axe a libel, sir Somnour,\n\n\u2003And answere there, by my procutour,\n\n\u2003To swich thing as men wol opposen me?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yis,\" quod this Somnour, \"pay anon, lat se,\n\n\u2003Twelf pens to me, and I wol thee acquyte.\n\n\u2003I shall no profit han ther-by but lyte;\n\n\u2003My maister hath the profit, and nat I.\n\n\u2003Com of, and lat me ryden hastily;\n\n\u2003Yif me twelf pens, I may no lenger tarie.\"\n\n\u2003\"Twelf pens,\" quod she, \"now lady Seinte Marie\n\n\u2003So wisly help me out of care and sinne,\n\n\u2003This wyde world thogh that I sholde winne,\n\n\u2003The carter spoke one thing, but he thought another.\n\n\u2003Let us go forth about our endeavor;\n\n\u2003Here win I nothing from the carter.\"\n\n\u2003When they had gone from the town some distance,\n\n\u2003This summoner to his brother began to whisper:\n\n\u2003\"Brother,\" said he, \"Here dwells an old lady\n\n\u2003Who would as soon lose her neck\n\n\u2003As give a penny of her savings.\n\n\u2003I will have twelve pence, no matter if she is mad,\n\n\u2003Or I will summon her unto our office;\n\n\u2003And yet, God knows, of her I know no vice.\n\n\u2003Since you cannot, in this territory,\n\n\u2003Make your expenses, take here example from me.\"\n\n\u2003This summoner knocked at the widow's gate.\n\n\u2003\"Come out,\" said he, \"you wrinkled old hag!\n\n\u2003I believe you have some friar or priest with you.\"\n\n\u2003\"Who knocks?\" said this wife, \"benedicite!\n\n\u2003God save you sire, what is your sweet will?\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" said he, \"Of summons here a bill;\n\n\u2003Upon pain of excommunication, look that you be\n\n\u2003Tomorrow before the archdeacon's knee\n\n\u2003To answer to the court about certain things.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, Lord,\" said she, \"Christ Jesus, king of kings,\n\n\u2003So wisely help me, as I pray.\n\n\u2003I have been sick, and that full many a day.\n\n\u2003I may not go so far,\" said she, \"nor ride,\n\n\u2003But I be dead, so hurts it in my side.\n\n\u2003May I not ask for a written copy, sir summoner,\n\n\u2003And answer through my representer\n\n\u2003To whatever men bring against me?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yes,\" said this summoner, \"pay now\u2014let me see\u2014\n\n\u2003Twelve pence to me, and I will you acquit.\n\n\u2003I shall no profit have thereby but little;\n\n\u2003My master has the profit and not I.\n\n\u2003Hurry up, and let me ride hastily;\n\n\u2003Give me twelve pence, I may no longer tarry.\"\n\n\u2003\"Twelve pence!\" said she, \"Now, lady Saint Mary\n\n\u2003So wisely help me out of care and sin,\n\n\u2003This wide world though I should win,\n\n\u2003Ne have I nat twelf pens with-inne myn hold.\n\n\u2003Ye knowen wel that I am povre and old;\n\n\u2003Kythe your almesse on me povre wrecche.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay than,\" quod he, \"the foule feend me fecche\n\n\u2003If I th'excuse, though thou shul be spilt!\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas,\" quod she, \"god woot, I have no gilt.\"\n\n\u2003\"Pay me,\" quod he, \"or by the swete seinte Anne,\n\n\u2003As I wol bere awey thy newe panne\n\n\u2003For dette, which that thou owest me of old,\n\n\u2003Whan that thou madest thyn housbond cokewold,\n\n\u2003I payde at hoom for thy correccioun.\"\n\n\u2003\"Thou lixt,\" quod she, \"by my savacioun!\n\n\u2003Ne was I never er now, widwe ne wyf,\n\n\u2003Somoned un-to your court in al my lyf;\n\n\u2003Ne never I nas but of my body trewe!\n\n\u2003Un-to the devel blak and rough of hewe\n\n\u2003Yeve I thy body and my panne also!\"\n\n\u2003And whan the devel herde hir cursen so\n\n\u2003Up-on hir knees, he seyde in this manere,\n\n\u2003\"Now Mabely, myn owene moder dere,\n\n\u2003Is this your wil in ernest, that ye seye?\"\n\n\u2003\"The devel,\" quod she, \"so fecche him er he deye,\n\n\u2003And panne and al, but he wol him repente!\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, olde stot, that is nat myn entente,\"\n\n\u2003Quod this Somnour, \"for to repente me,\n\n\u2003For any thing that I have had of thee;\n\n\u2003I wolde I hadde thy smok and every clooth!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, brother,\" quod the devel, \"be nat wrooth;\n\n\u2003Thy body and this panne ben myne by right.\n\n\u2003Thou shalt with me to helle yet to-night,\n\n\u2003Where thou shalt knowen of our privetee\n\n\u2003More than a maister of divinitee:\"\n\n\u2003And with that word this foule feend him hente;\n\n\u2003Body and soule, he with the devel wente\n\n\u2003Wher-as that somnours han hir heritage.\n\n\u2003And god, that maked after his image\n\n\u2003Mankinde, save and gyde us alle and some;\n\n\u2003And leve this Somnour good man to bicome!\n\n\u2003Lordinges, I coude han told yow, quod this Frere,\n\n\u2003I have not twelve pence within my hold.\n\n\u2003You know well that I am poor and old;\n\n\u2003Show charity to me, a poor wretch.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, then,\" said he, \"the foul fiend me fetch\n\n\u2003If I you excuse, though you should be put to death!\"\n\n\u2003\"Alas!\" said she, \"God knows, I have no guilt.\"\n\n\u2003\"Pay me,\" said he, \"or by the sweet Saint Anne,\n\n\u2003I will bear away your new pan\n\n\u2003For debt which you owe me of old.\n\n\u2003When you made your husband cuckold,\n\n\u2003I paid at home for your correction.\"\n\n\u2003\"You lie!\" said she, \"by my salvation,\n\n\u2003Never was I before or now, widow or wife,\n\n\u2003Summoned into your court in all my life;\n\n\u2003Nor ever was I but of my body true!\n\n\u2003Unto the devil black and rough of hue\n\n\u2003Give I your body and my pan also!\"\n\n\u2003And when the devil heard her curse so\n\n\u2003Upon her knees, he said in this manner,\n\n\u2003\"Now, Mabel, my own mother dear,\n\n\u2003Is this your will in earnest that you say?\"\n\n\u2003\"The devil,\" said she, \"so fetch him or he die,\n\n\u2003And pan and all, unless he will him repent!\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, old cow, that is not my intent,\"\n\n\u2003Said this summoner, \"for to repent\n\n\u2003For anything that I have had of you.\n\n\u2003I would strip from you of every rag and cloth!\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, brother,\" said the devil, \"be not wroth;\n\n\u2003Your body and this pan be mine by right.\n\n\u2003You shall go with me to hell yet tonight,\n\n\u2003Where you shall know of our secrets\n\n\u2003More than a master of divinity\"\n\n\u2003And with that word this fiend him seized;\n\n\u2003Body and soul he with the devil flew\n\n\u2003To where summoners have their roost.\n\n\u2003And God, who made after his image\n\n\u2003Mankind, save and guide us, all and some,\n\n\u2003And may these summoners good men become!\n\n\u2003Lordings, I could have told you, said this Friar,\n\n\u2003Hadde I had leyser for this Somnour here,\n\n\u2003After the text of Crist, Poul and John,\n\n\u2003And of our othere doctours many oon,\n\n\u2003Swiche peynes, that your hertes mighte agryse,\n\n\u2003Al-be-it so, no tonge may devyse,\n\n\u2003Thogh that I mighte a thousand winter telle,\n\n\u2003The peyne of thilke cursed hous of helle.\n\n\u2003But, for to kepe us fro that cursed place,\n\n\u2003Waketh, and preyeth Jesu for his grace\n\n\u2003So kepe us fro the temptour Sathanas.\n\n\u2003Herketh this word, beth war as in this cas;\n\n\u2003The leoun sit in his await alway\n\n\u2003To slee the innocent, if that he may.\n\n\u2003Disposeth ay your hertes to withstonde\n\n\u2003The feend, that yow wolde make thral and bonde.\n\n\u2003He may nat tempten yow over your might;\n\n\u2003For Crist wol be your champion and knight.\n\n\u2003And prayeth that thise Somnours hem repente\n\n\u2003Of hir misdedes, er that the feend hem hente.\n\n\u2003Had I leisure for this summoner here,\n\n\u2003After the text of Christ, Paul and John,\n\n\u2003And of our other authorities many a one,\n\n\u2003Such pains that your hearts might cause to shudder,\n\n\u2003Albeit that no tongue may it so utter,\n\n\u2003Though that I might a thousand winters tell\n\n\u2003The pains of this same cursed house of hell.\n\n\u2003But to keep us from that cursed place,\n\n\u2003Wake and pray Jesus for his grace\n\n\u2003That he may keep us from the tempter Satan.\n\n\u2003Harken this word! Beware, as in this case:\n\n\u2003\"The lion sits in a bush always\n\n\u2003To slay the innocent, if he may.\"\n\n\u2003Dispose all your hearts to withstand\n\n\u2003This fiend, that you would make servant and slave.\n\n\u2003He may not tempt you beyond your power,\n\n\u2003For Christ will be your champion and knight protector.\n\n\u2003And pray that these summoners repent\n\n\u2003Of their misdeeds, or that the fiend them seize!"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Somnours Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003This somnour in his stiropes hye stood;\n\n\u2003Up-on this Frere his herte was so wood,\n\n\u2003That lyk an aspen leef he quook for yre.\n\n\u2003\"Lordinges,\" quod he, \"but o thing I desyre;\n\n\u2003I yow biseke that, of your curteisye,\n\n\u2003Sin ye han herd this false Frere lye,\n\n\u2003As suffereth me I may my tale telle!\n\n\u2003This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle,\n\n\u2003And god it woot, that it is litel wonder;\n\n\u2003Freres and feendes been but lyte a-sonder.\n\n\u2003For pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle,\n\n\u2003How that a frere ravisshed was to helle\n\n\u2003In spirit ones by a visioun;\n\n\u2003And as an angel ladde him up and doun,\n\n\u2003To shewen him the peynes that ther were,\n\n\u2003In al the place saugh he nat a frere;\n\n\u2003Of other folk he saugh y-nowe in wo.\n\n\u2003Un-to this angel spak the frere tho:\n\n\u2003'Now, sir,' quod he, 'han freres swich a grace\n\n\u2003That noon of hem shal come to this place?'\n\n\u2003'Yis,' quod this angel, 'many a millioun!'\n\n\u2003And un-to Sathanas he ladde him doun.\n\n\u2003'And now hath Sathanas,' seith he, 'a tayl\n\n\u2003Brodder than of a carrik is the sayl.\n\n\u2003Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!' quod he,\n\n\u2003'Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere see\n\n\u2003Wher is the nest of freres in this place!'\n\n\u2003And, er that half a furlong-wey of space,\n\n\u2003Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve,\n\n\u2003Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve\n\n\u2003Twenty thousand freres in a route,\n\n\u2003And thurgh-out helle swarmeden aboute\n\n\u2003And comen agayn, as faste as they may gon,\n\n\u2003And in his ers they crepten everichon.\n\n\u2003He clapte his tayl agayn, and lay ful stille."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Summoner's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003This summoner in his stirrups he stood;\n\n\u2003Toward this Friar his heart was so wired\n\n\u2003That like an aspen leaf he shook for ire.\n\n\u2003\"Lordings,\" said he, \"but one thing I desire;\n\n\u2003I you beseech that, of your courtesy,\n\n\u2003Since you have heard this false Friar lie,\n\n\u2003To suffer me that I may my tale tell.\n\n\u2003This Friar boasts that he knows hell,\n\n\u2003And God knows, it is little wonder;\n\n\u2003Friars and fiends be but little asunder.\n\n\u2003For, by God, you have oftentime heard tell\n\n\u2003How that a friar abducted was to hell\n\n\u2003In spirit once by a vision;\n\n\u2003And as an angel led him up and down,\n\n\u2003To show him the pains that there were,\n\n\u2003In all the place saw he not a friar;\n\n\u2003Of other folk saw he enough in woe.\n\n\u2003Unto this angel spoke the friar then:\n\n\u2003'Now sir,' said he, 'have friars such a grace\n\n\u2003That none of them shall come to this place?'\n\n\u2003'Yes,' said the angel, 'many a million!'\n\n\u2003And unto Satan he led him down.\n\n\u2003'And now has Satan,' said he, 'a tail\n\n\u2003Broader than of a carrack is the sail.\n\n\u2003Hold up your tail, you Satan!' said he;\n\n\u2003'Show forth your arse, and let the friar see\n\n\u2003Where is the nest of friars in this place!'\n\n\u2003And in but a minute's space,\n\n\u2003Right so as bees swarm from a hive,\n\n\u2003Out of the devil's arse were expelled\n\n\u2003Twenty thousand friars in a crowd,\n\n\u2003And throughout hell swarmed all about,\n\n\u2003And returned again as fast as they were gone,\n\n\u2003And in his arse they crept every one.\n\n\u2003He clapped his tail again and lay full still.\n\n\u2003This frere, whan he loked hadde his fille\n\n\u2003Upon the torments of this sory place,\n\n\u2003His spirit god restored of his grace\n\n\u2003Un-to his body agayn, and he awook;\n\n\u2003But natheles, for fere yet he quook,\n\n\u2003So was the develes ers ay in his minde,\n\n\u2003That is his heritage of verray kinde.\n\n\u2003God save yow alle, save this cursed Frere;\n\n\u2003My prologe wol I ende in this manere.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Lordinges, ther is in Yorkshire, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003A mersshy contree called Holdernesse,\n\n\u2003In which ther wente a limitour aboute,\n\n\u2003To preche, and eek to begge, it is no doute.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that on a day this frere\n\n\u2003Had preched at a chirche in his manere,\n\n\u2003And specially, aboven every thing,\n\n\u2003Excited he the peple in his preching\n\n\u2003To trentals, and to yeve, for goddes sake,\n\n\u2003Wher-with men mighten holy houses make,\n\n\u2003Ther as divyne service is honoured,\n\n\u2003Nat ther as it is wasted and devoured,\n\n\u2003Ne ther it nedeth nat for to be yive,\n\n\u2003As to possessioners, that mowen live,\n\n\u2003Thanked be god, in wele and habundaunce.\n\n\u2003\"Trentals,\" seyde he, \"deliveren fro penaunce\n\n\u2003Hir freendes soules, as wel olde as yonge,\n\n\u2003Ye, whan that they been hastily y-songe;\n\n\u2003Nat for to holde a preest joly and gay,\n\n\u2003He singeth nat but o masse in a day;\n\n\u2003Delivereth out,\" quod he, \"anon the soules;\n\n\u2003Ful hard it is with fleshhook or with oules\n\n\u2003To been y-clawed, or to brenne or bake;\n\n\u2003Now spede yow hastily, for Cristes sake.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this frere had seyd al his entente,\n\n\u2003With qui cum patre forth his wey he wente.\n\n\u2003Whan folk in chirche had yeve him what hem leste,\n\n\u2003He wente his wey, no lenger wolde he reste,\n\n\u2003This friar, when he had looked his fill\n\n\u2003Upon the torment of this sorry place,\n\n\u2003His spirit God restored, of his grace,\n\n\u2003Unto his body again, and he awakened.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, for fear yet he quaked,\n\n\u2003So was the devil's arse ever in his mind,\n\n\u2003That is his lineage in its true kind.\n\n\u2003God save you all, save this cursed Friar!\n\n\u2003My prologue will I end in this manner.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,\n\n\u2003A marshy country called Holderness,\n\n\u2003In which there went a limitour about\n\n\u2003To preach, and also to beg, it is no doubt.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that on a day this friar\n\n\u2003Had preached at a church in his manner,\n\n\u2003And specially, above everything,\n\n\u2003Excited he the people in his preaching\n\n\u2003For prayers chanted for the dead, and to give, for God's sake,\n\n\u2003The means by which men might holy houses make,\n\n\u2003There where divine service is honored,\n\n\u2003Not where it is wasted and devoured,\n\n\u2003Nor where it needs not to be given,\n\n\u2003To secular and monastic clergy, so that they may live,\n\n\u2003Thanked be God, in prosperity and abundance.\n\n\u2003\"Such chanted prayers,\" said he, \"deliver from Purgatory\n\n\u2003Your friend's souls, as well old as young\u2014\n\n\u2003Even when they be hastily sung,\n\n\u2003Not to call a priest jolly and gay\u2014\n\n\u2003Though he sings but one mass a day.\n\n\u2003Deliver out,\" said he, \"anon the souls!\n\n\u2003Full hard it is with meathooks or with awls\n\n\u2003To be clawed, or to burn or bake.\n\n\u2003Now speed you hastily, for Christ's sake!\"\n\n\u2003And when this friar had said all his intent,\n\n\u2003With but a qui cum patre on his way he went.\n\n\u2003When folk in church had given him what they wished,\n\n\u2003He left; no longer would he stay.\n\n\u2003With scrippe and tipped staf, y-tukked hye;\n\n\u2003In every hous he gan to poure and prye,\n\n\u2003And beggeth mele, and chese, or elles corn.\n\n\u2003His felawe hadde a staf tipped with horn,\n\n\u2003A peyre of tables al of yvory,\n\n\u2003And a poyntel polisshed fetisly,\n\n\u2003And wroot the names alwey, as he stood,\n\n\u2003Of alle folk that yaf him any good,\n\n\u2003Ascaunces that he wolde for hem preye.\n\n\u2003\"Yeve us a busshel whete, malt, or reye,\n\n\u2003A goddes kechil, or a trip of chese,\n\n\u2003Or elles what yow list we may nat chese;\n\n\u2003A goddes halfpeny or a masse-peny,\n\n\u2003Or yeve us of your brawn, if ye have eny;\n\n\u2003A dagon of your blanket, leve dame,\n\n\u2003Our suster dere, lo! here I write your name;\n\n\u2003Bacon or beef, or swich thing as ye finde.\"\n\n\u2003A sturdy harlot wente ay hem bihinde,\n\n\u2003That was hir hostes man, and bar a sak,\n\n\u2003And what men yaf hem, leyde it on his bak.\n\n\u2003And whan that he was out at dore anon,\n\n\u2003He planed awey the names everichon\n\n\u2003That he biforn had writen in his tables;\n\n\u2003He served hem with nyfles and with fables.\n\n\u2003\"Nay, ther thou lixt, thou Somnour,\" quod the Frere.\n\n\u2003\"Pees,\" quod our Host, \"for Cristes moder dere;\n\n\u2003Tel forth thy tale and spare it nat at al.\"\n\n\u2003So thryve I, quod this Somnour, so I shal.\u2014\n\n\u2003So longe he wente hous by hous, til he\n\n\u2003Cam til an hous ther he was wont to be\n\n\u2003Refresshed more than in an hundred placis.\n\n\u2003Sik lay the gode man, whos that the place is;\n\n\u2003Bedrede up-on a couche lowe he lay.\n\n\u2003\"Deus hic,\" quod he, \"O Thomas, freend, good-day,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this frere curteisly and softe.\n\n\u2003\"Thomas,\" quod he, \"god yelde yow! ful ofte\n\n\u2003Have I up-on this bench faren ful weel.\n\n\u2003Here have I eten many a mery meel;\"\n\n\u2003And fro the bench he droof awey the cat,\n\n\u2003With satchel and metal-tipped staff, and coattails tucked,\n\n\u2003In every house he began to pore and peer,\n\n\u2003And begged grain and cheese, or else corn.\n\n\u2003His partner had a staff tipped with horn,\n\n\u2003And folding ivory writing tablets,\n\n\u2003And a well-polished stylus,\n\n\u2003And wrote the names always, as there he stood,\n\n\u2003Of all folk who gave him any good,\n\n\u2003As if he would for them pray.\n\n\u2003\"Give us a bushel of wheat, malt, or rye,\n\n\u2003A little almscake, or a bit of cheese;\n\n\u2003Or what you wish, we may not choose;\n\n\u2003A God's halfpenny, or a mass penny,\n\n\u2003Or give us of your meat, if you have any;\n\n\u2003A piece of your cloth, dear dame,\n\n\u2003Our sister dear\u2014Look! Here I write your name\u2014\n\n\u2003Bacon or beef, or such thing as you find.\"\n\n\u2003A sturdy servant went always them behind,\n\n\u2003Who worked for the host at their inn, and bore a sack,\n\n\u2003And what men gave them, laid it on his back.\n\n\u2003And when he was out of door, anon\n\n\u2003He erased away the names every one\n\n\u2003That he before had written in his tablets;\n\n\u2003He served them with silly stories and with fables.\n\n\u2003\"Nay, there you lie, you Summoner!\" said the Friar.\n\n\u2003\"Peace,\" said our Host, \"for Christ's mother dear!\n\n\u2003Tell forth your tale, and spare it not at all.\"\n\n\u2003\"So thrive I,\" said this summoner, \"so I shall!\"\n\n\u2003So along he went, house by house, till he\n\n\u2003Came to a house where he was wont to be\n\n\u2003Refreshed more than in a hundred other places.\n\n\u2003Sick lay the good man whose place it was;\n\n\u2003Bedridden upon a couch low he lay.\n\n\u2003\"Deus hic!\" said he, \"Oh Thomas, friend, good day!\"\n\n\u2003Said this friar, courteously and soft.\n\n\u2003\"Thomas,\" said he, \"God reward you! Full often\n\n\u2003Have I upon this bench fared full well;\n\n\u2003Here have I eaten many a merry meal.\"\n\n\u2003And from the bench he drove away the cat,\n\n\u2003And leyde adoun his potente and his hat,\n\n\u2003And eek his scrippe, and sette him softe adoun.\n\n\u2003His felawe was go walked in-to toun,\n\n\u2003Forth with his knave, in-to that hostelrye\n\n\u2003Wher-as he shoop him thilke night to lye.\n\n\u2003\"O dere maister,\" quod this syke man,\n\n\u2003\"How han ye fare sith that March bigan?\n\n\u2003I saugh yow noght this fourtenight or more.\"\n\n\u2003\"God woot,\" quod he, \"laboured have I ful sore;\n\n\u2003And specially, for thy savacioun\n\n\u2003Have I seyd many a precious orisoun\n\n\u2003And for our othere frendes, god hem blesse!\n\n\u2003I have to-day been at your chirche at mese,\n\n\u2003And seyd a sermon after my simple wit,\n\n\u2003Nat al after the text of holy writ;\n\n\u2003For it is hard to yow, as I suppose,\n\n\u2003And therfore wol I teche yow al the glose.\n\n\u2003Glosinge is a glorious thing, certeyn,\n\n\u2003For lettre sleeth, so as we clerkes seyn.\n\n\u2003Ther have I taught hem to be charitable,\n\n\u2003And spende hir good ther it is resonable,\n\n\u2003And ther I saugh our dame; a! wher is she?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yond in the yerd I trowe that she be,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this man, \"and she wol come anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ey, maister! wel-come be ye, by seint John!\n\n\u2003Seyde this wyf, \"how fare ye hertely?\"\n\n\u2003The frere aryseth up ful curteisly,\n\n\u2003And hir embraceth in his armes narwe,\n\n\u2003And kiste hir swete, and chirketh as a sparwe\n\n\u2003With his lippes: \"dame,\" quod he, \"right weel,\n\n\u2003As he that is your servant every deel.\n\n\u2003Thanked be god, that yow yaf soule and lyf,\n\n\u2003Yet saugh I nat this day so fair a wyf\n\n\u2003In al the chirche, god so save me!\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, god amende defautes, sir,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"Algates wel-come be ye, by my fey!\"\n\n\u2003\"Graunt mercy, dame, this have I founde alwey.\n\n\u2003But of your grete goodnesse, by your leve,\n\n\u2003I wolde prey yow that ye nat yow greve,\n\n\u2003And laid down his walking stick and his hat,\n\n\u2003And also his tablets, and set himself soft adown.\n\n\u2003His fellow was gone walking into town\n\n\u2003Forth with his servant, into that hostelry\n\n\u2003Where he intended that night to stay.\n\n\u2003\"Oh dear master,\" said this sick man,\n\n\u2003\"How have you fared since March began?\n\n\u2003I saw you not this fortnight or more.\"\n\n\u2003\"God knows,\" said he, \"labored have I full sore,\n\n\u2003And specially for your salvation\n\n\u2003Have I said many a precious orison,\n\n\u2003And for our other friends, God them bless!\n\n\u2003I have today been at your church at mass,\n\n\u2003And said a sermon after my simple wit\u2014\n\n\u2003Not all after the text of holy writ,\n\n\u2003For it is hard for you, as I suppose,\n\n\u2003And therefore will I interpret it for you.\n\n\u2003Interpretation is glorious, certainly,\n\n\u2003The letters slay, so we clerics say\u2014\n\n\u2003There have I taught them to be charitable\n\n\u2003And spend their money where it is reasonable;\n\n\u2003And there I saw our dame\u2014Ah! Where is she?\"\n\n\u2003\"Yonder in the yard I believe that she be,\"\n\n\u2003Said this man, \"and she will come anon.\"\n\n\u2003\"Aye, master, welcome be you, by Saint John!\"\n\n\u2003Said this wife, \"How fare you, I ask?\"\n\n\u2003The friar arose full courteously,\n\n\u2003And her embraced tightly in his arms,\n\n\u2003And kissed her sweet, and made chirping sounds, like a sparrow,\n\n\u2003With his lips. \"Dame,\" said he, \"right well,\n\n\u2003As he who is your servant in every way,\n\n\u2003Thanks be God, that you have soul and life!\n\n\u2003Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife\n\n\u2003In all the church, God so me save!\"\n\n\u2003\"Well, God amend my defects,\" said she.\n\n\u2003\"Anyway, welcome be you, by my faith!\"\n\n\u2003\"Grant mercy, dame, this have I found always.\n\n\u2003But by your kindness\u2014if I may\n\n\u2003Take advantage\u2014you are so kind\u2014\n\n\u2003I wol with Thomas speke a litel throwe.\n\n\u2003Thise curats been ful necligent and slowe\n\n\u2003To grope tendrely a conscience.\n\n\u2003In shrift, in preching is my diligence,\n\n\u2003And studie in Petres wordes, and in Poules.\n\n\u2003I walke, and fisshe Cristen mennes soules,\n\n\u2003To yelden Jesu Crist his propre rente;\n\n\u2003To sprede his word is set al myn entente.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, by your leve, o dere sir,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"Chydeth him weel, for seinte Trinitee.\n\n\u2003He is as angry as a pissemyre,\n\n\u2003Though that he have al that he can desyre.\n\n\u2003Though I him wrye a-night and make him warm,\n\n\u2003And on hym leve my leg outher myn arm,\n\n\u2003He groneth lyk our boor, lyth in our sty.\n\n\u2003Other desport right noon of him have I;\n\n\u2003I may nat plese him in no maner cas.\"\n\n\u2003\"O Thomas! Je vous dy, Thomas! Thomas!\n\n\u2003This maketh the feend, this moste ben amended.\n\n\u2003Ire is a thing that hye god defended,\n\n\u2003And ther-of wol I speke a word or two.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now maister,\" quod the wyf, \"er that I go,\n\n\u2003What wol ye dyne? I wol go ther-aboute.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now dame,\" quod he, \"Je vous dy sanz doute,\n\n\u2003Have I nat of a capon but the livere,\n\n\u2003And of your softe breed nat but a shivere,\n\n\u2003And after that a rosted pigges heed,\n\n(But that I nolde no beest for me were deed),\n\n\u2003Thanne hadde I with yow hoomly suffisaunce.\n\n\u2003I am a man of litel sustenaunce.\n\n\u2003My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible.\n\n\u2003The body is ay so redy and penyble\n\n\u2003To wake, that my stomak is destroyed.\n\n\u2003I prey yow, dame, ye be nat anoyed,\n\n\u2003Though I so freendly yow my conseil shewe;\n\n\u2003By god, I wolde nat telle it but a fewe.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sir,\" quod she, \"but o word er I go;\n\n\u2003My child is deed with-inne thise wykes two,\n\n\u2003Sone after that ye wente out of this toun.\"\n\n\u2003I would with Thomas speak a little while.\n\n\u2003These curates be full negligent and slow\n\n\u2003To plumb tenderly a conscience\n\n\u2003In confession; in preaching is my diligence,\n\n\u2003And study in Peter's words and Paul's.\n\n\u2003I roam and fish Christian men's souls\n\n\u2003To give to Jesus Christ his proper rent;\n\n\u2003To spread his word is set all my intent.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, by your leave, oh dear sir,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"Chide him well, for saint Trinity!\n\n\u2003He is as angry as an ant,\n\n\u2003Though he has all that he can want;\n\n\u2003Though I him cover at night and make him warm,\n\n\u2003And over him lay my leg or my arm,\n\n\u2003He groans like our pig that lies in our sty.\n\n\u2003Other sport right none of him have I;\n\n\u2003I may not please him in any way.\"\n\n\u2003\"Oh Thomas, je vous dis, Thomas! Thomas!\n\n\u2003This strengthens the fiend, this must be amended.\n\n\u2003Ire is a thing that high God has forbidden,\n\n\u2003And thereof will I speak a word or two.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now master,\" said the wife, \"before I go,\n\n\u2003What will you have for dinner? I will cook it now.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now dame,\" said he, \"now je vous dis sans doute,\n\n\u2003May I have of a capon but the liver,\n\n\u2003And of your soft bread not but a sliver,\n\n\u2003And after that a roasted pig's head\u2014\n\n\u2003Though I would that no beast for me were dead\u2014\n\n\u2003That would be fare comforting and sufficient.\n\n\u2003I am a man who eats but little;\n\n\u2003My spirit has its nourishment in the Bible.\n\n\u2003The body is ever so ready and accustomed to suffer,\n\n\u2003From nights spent in prayer, that destroyed is my stomach.\n\n\u2003I pray you, dame, be not annoyed,\n\n\u2003Though I so friendly my counsel show you.\n\n\u2003By God! I would not tell it to but a few.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, sire,\" said she, \"one word before I go.\n\n\u2003My child is dead within these weeks two,\n\n\u2003Soon after that you went out of this town.\"\n\n\u2003\"His deeth saugh I by revelacioun,\"\n\n\u2003Seith this frere, \"at hoom in our dortour.\n\n\u2003I dar wel seyn that, er that half an hour\n\n\u2003After his deeth, I saugh him born to blisse\n\n\u2003In myn avisioun, so god me wisse!\n\n\u2003So did our sexteyn and our fermerer,\n\n\u2003That han been trewe freres fifty yeer;\n\n\u2003They may now, god be thanked of his lone,\n\n\u2003Maken hir jubilee and walke allone.\n\n\u2003And up I roos, and al our covent eke,\n\n\u2003With many a tere trikling on my cheke,\n\n\u2003Withouten noyse or clateringe of belles;\n\n\u2003Te deum was our song and no-thing elles,\n\n\u2003Save that to Crist I seyde an orisoun,\n\n\u2003Thankinge him of his revelacioun.\n\n\u2003For sir and dame, trusteth me right weel,\n\n\u2003Our orisons been more effectueel,\n\n\u2003And more we seen of Cristes secree thinges\n\n\u2003Than burel folk, al-though they weren kinges.\n\n\u2003We live in povert and in abstinence,\n\n\u2003And burel folk in richesse and despence\n\n\u2003Of mete and drinke, and in hir foul delyt.\n\n\u2003We han this worldes lust al in despyt.\n\n\u2003Lazar and Dives liveden diversly,\n\n\u2003And diverse guerdon hadden they ther-by.\n\n\u2003Who-so wol preye, he moot faste and be clene,\n\n\u2003And fatte his soule and make his body lene.\n\n\u2003We fare as seith th'apostle; cloth and fode\n\n\u2003Suffysen us, though they be nat ful gode.\n\n\u2003The clennesse and the fastinge of us freres\n\n\u2003Maketh that Crist accepteth our preyeres.\n\n\u2003Lo, Moyses fourty dayes and fourty night\n\n\u2003Fasted, er that the heighe god of might\n\n\u2003Spak with him in the mountain of Sinay.\n\n\u2003With empty wombe, fastinge many a day,\n\n\u2003Receyved he the lawe that was writen\n\n\u2003With goddes finger; and Elie, wel ye witen,\n\n\u2003In mount Oreb, er he hadde any speche\n\n\u2003With hye god, that is our lyves leche,\n\n\u2003\"His death saw I by revelation,\"\n\n\u2003Said the friar, \"at home in our monastery.\n\n\u2003I dare well say that, before half an hour\n\n\u2003After his death, I saw him borne to bliss\n\n\u2003In my vision, so God me guide!\n\n\u2003So did our sexton and our infirmary manager,\n\n\u2003Who have been for fifty years true friars;\n\n\u2003They may now\u2014God be thanked for his grace!\u2014\n\n\u2003Mark their jubilee and walk alone.\n\n\u2003And up I rose, and all our brothers also,\n\n\u2003With many a tear trickling on my cheek,\n\n\u2003Without noise or clattering of bells;\n\n\u2003Te Deum was our song and nothing else,\n\n\u2003Only that to Christ I said an orison,\n\n\u2003Thanking him for his revelation.\n\n\u2003For, sire and dame, trust me right well,\n\n\u2003Our orisons be more effectual,\n\n\u2003And more we see of Christ's secret things,\n\n\u2003Than secular folk, even though they may be kings.\n\n\u2003We live in poverty and abstinence,\n\n\u2003And secular folk in richness and extravagance\n\n\u2003Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight.\n\n\u2003We all this world's lusts despise.\n\n\u2003Lazar and Dives lived differently,\n\n\u2003And different rewards had they thereby.\n\n\u2003Whoso will pray, he must fast and be chaste,\n\n\u2003And fatten his soul, and make his body lean.\n\n\u2003We fare as says the apostle; clothing and food\n\n\u2003Suffice us, though they be not fancy.\n\n\u2003The chastity and the fasting of us friars\n\n\u2003Makes that Christ accepts our prayers.\n\n\u2003\"Look, Moses forty days and forty nights\n\n\u2003Fasted, before the high God of might\n\n\u2003Spoke with him on the mount of Sinai.\n\n\u2003With empty stomach, fasting many a day,\n\n\u2003Received he the law that was written\n\n\u2003With God's finger; and Elijah, well you know,\n\n\u2003On Mount Horeb, before he made any speech\n\n\u2003With high God, who is our lives' healer,\n\n\u2003He fasted longe and was in contemplaunce.\n\n\u2003Aaron, that hadde the temple in governaunce,\n\n\u2003And eek the othere preestes everichon,\n\n\u2003In-to the temple whan they sholde gon\n\n\u2003To preye for the peple, and do servyse,\n\n\u2003They nolden drinken, in no maner wyse,\n\n\u2003No drinke, which that mighte hem dronke make,\n\n\u2003But there in abstinence preye and wake,\n\n\u2003Lest that they deyden; tak heed what I seye.\n\n\u2003But they be sobre that for the peple preye,\n\n\u2003War that I seye; namore! for it suffyseth,\n\n\u2003Our lord Jesu, as holy writ devyseth,\n\n\u2003Yaf us ensample of fastinge and preyeres.\n\n\u2003Therfor we mendinants, we sely freres,\n\n\u2003Been wedded to poverte and continence,\n\n\u2003To charitee, humblesse, and abstinence,\n\n\u2003To persecucion for rightwisnesse,\n\n\u2003To wepinge, misericorde, and clennesse.\n\n\u2003And therfor may ye see that our preyeres\u2014\n\n\u2003I speke of us, we mendinants, we freres\u2014\n\n\u2003Ben to the hye god more acceptable\n\n\u2003Than youres, with your festes at the table.\n\n\u2003Fro Paradys first, if I shal nat lye,\n\n\u2003Was man out chaced for his glotonye;\n\n\u2003And chaast was man in Paradys, certeyn.\n\n\u2003But herkne now, Thomas, what I shal seyn.\n\n\u2003I ne have no text of it, as I suppose,\n\n\u2003But I shall finde it in a maner glose,\n\n\u2003That specially our swete lord Jesus\n\n\u2003Spak this by freres, whan he seyde thus:\n\n\u2003'Blessed be they that povre in spirit been.'\n\n\u2003And so forth al the gospel may ye seen,\n\n\u2003Wher it be lyker our professioun,\n\n\u2003Or hirs that swimmen in possessioun.\n\n\u2003Fy on hir pompe and on hir glotonye!\n\n\u2003And for hir lewednesse I hem diffye.\n\n\u2003Me thinketh they ben lyk Jovinian,\n\n\u2003Fat as a whale, and walkinge as a swan;\n\n\u2003Al vinolent as botel in the spence.\n\n\u2003He fasted long and was in contemplation.\n\n\u2003\"Aaron, who had the temple in governance,\n\n\u2003And also the other priests every one,\n\n\u2003Into the temple when they should go\n\n\u2003To pray for the people and do service,\n\n\u2003They would not drink in any way\n\n\u2003Any drink which might them drunken make,\n\n\u2003But there in abstinence pray and hold vigil,\n\n\u2003Lest they die. Take heed what I say!\n\n\u2003Unless they be sober who for the people pray,\n\n\u2003Beware\u2014I say no more, for it suffices.\n\n\u2003Our Lord Jesus, as holy writ describes,\n\n\u2003Gave us examples of fasting and prayers.\n\n\u2003Therefore we mendicants, we blessed friars,\n\n\u2003Be wedded to poverty and continence,\n\n\u2003To charity, humility, and abstinence,\n\n\u2003To persecution too for righteousness,\n\n\u2003To weeping, mercy, and chastity.\n\n\u2003And therefore may you see that our prayers\u2014\n\n\u2003I speak of us, we mendicants, we friars\u2014\n\n\u2003Be to the high God more acceptable\n\n\u2003Than yours, with your feasts at the table.\n\n\u2003From Paradise first, if I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003Was man out-chased for his gluttony;\n\n\u2003And chaste was man in Paradise, certainly.\n\n\u2003\"But harken now, Thomas, to what I shall say.\n\n\u2003I have no text for it, as I suppose,\n\n\u2003But I shall find it in some gloss,\n\n\u2003That specially our sweet Lord Jesus\n\n\u2003Spoke of friars, when he said thus:\n\n\u2003'Blessed be they who poor in spirit be.'\n\n\u2003And so forth in all the gospel may you see,\n\n\u2003That it more resembles our profession,\n\n\u2003Than those who swim in possessions.\n\n\u2003Fie on pomp and on their gluttony!\n\n\u2003And for their ignorance I them revile.\n\n\u2003\"Methinks they be like Jovinianus,\n\n\u2003Fat as a whale, and waddling like a duck,\n\n\u2003And like old wine bottles their drunkard's breath.\n\n\u2003Hir preyer is of ful gret reverence;\n\n\u2003Whan they for soules seye the psalm of Davit,\n\n\u2003Lo,'buP'they seye, 'cor meum eructavit!'\n\n\u2003Who folweth Cristes gospel and his fore,\n\n\u2003But we that humble been and chast and pore,\n\n\u2003Werkers of goddes word, not auditours?\n\n\u2003Therfore, right as an hauk up, at a sours,\n\n\u2003Up springeth in-to their, right so prayeres\n\n\u2003Of charitable and chaste bisy freres\n\n\u2003Maken hir sours to goddes eres two.\n\n\u2003Thomas! Thomas! so mote I ryde or go,\n\n\u2003And by that lord that clepid is seint Yve,\n\n\u2003Nere thou our brother, sholdestou nat thryve!\n\n\u2003In our chapitre praye we day and night\n\n\u2003To Crist, that he thee sende hele and might,\n\n\u2003Thy body for to welden hastily.\"\n\n\u2003\"God woot,\" quod he, \"no-thing ther-of fele I;\n\n\u2003As help me Crist, as I, in fewe yeres,\n\n\u2003Han spended, up-on dyvers maner freres,\n\n\u2003Ful many a pound; yet fare I never the bet.\n\n\u2003Certeyn, my good have I almost biset.\n\n\u2003Farwel, my gold! for it is al ago!\"\n\n\u2003The frere answerde, \"O Thomas, dostow so?\n\n\u2003What nedeth yow diverse freres seche?\n\n\u2003What nedeth him that hath a parfit leche\n\n\u2003To sechen othere leches in the toun?\n\n\u2003Your inconstance is your confusioun.\n\n\u2003Holde ye than me, or elles our covent,\n\n\u2003To praye for yow ben insufficient?\n\n\u2003Thomas, that jape nis nat worth a myte;\n\n\u2003Your malayde is for we han to lyte.\n\n\u2003'A! yif that covent half a quarter otes!'\n\n\u2003'A! yif that covent four and twenty grotes!'\n\n\u2003'A! yif that frere a peny, and lat him go!'\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, Thomas! it may no-thing be so.\n\n\u2003What is a ferthing worth parted in twelve?\n\n\u2003Lo, ech thing that is oned in him-selve\n\n\u2003Is more strong than whan it is to-scatered.\n\n\u2003Thomas, of me thou shalt nat been y-flatered;\n\n\u2003Their prayer is of full great reverence,\n\n\u2003When they for souls say the psalm of David:\n\n\u2003Look, 'hie!' they say, 'cor meum eructavit!'\n\n\u2003Are not we who follow in Christ's footsteps,\n\n\u2003Though that we humble be, and chaste, and poor,\n\n\u2003Workers of God's word, not auditors?\n\n\u2003Therefore, right as a hawk soars\n\n\u2003Upward into the air, right so prayers\n\n\u2003By charitable and chaste busy friars\n\n\u2003Soar upward to God's two ears.\n\n\u2003Thomas, Thomas! So may my prayers fly,\n\n\u2003By that lord who is called Saint Ives,\n\n\u2003For you our lay brother, that you may thrive.\n\n\u2003In our chapel we pray day and night\n\n\u2003To Christ, that he send you health and might\n\n\u2003Your body to move with ease.\"\n\n\u2003\"God knows,\" said he, \"nothing thereof do I feel!\n\n\u2003So help me Christ, have I in the past few years\n\n\u2003Spent on diverse kinds of friars\n\n\u2003Full many a pound; yet fare I none the better.\n\n\u2003Certainly, my assets have I almost spent.\n\n\u2003Farewell my gold, for it is all gone!\"\n\n\u2003The friar answered, \"Oh Thomas, did you so?\n\n\u2003Why needed you such diverse friars?\n\n\u2003Why needs he who has the perfect healer\n\n\u2003To seek other healers in the town?\n\n\u2003Your inconstancy has brought you down,\n\n\u2003Believe you that I, or my brothers,\n\n\u2003To pray for you be not enough?\n\n\u2003Thomas, that trick is not worth a mite.\n\n\u2003For your malady we have had too little.\n\n\u2003'Ah! Give that monastery half a quarter oats!'\n\n\u2003'Ah! Give that convent four and twenty groats!'\n\n\u2003'Ah! Give that friar a penny, and let him go!'\n\n\u2003Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no way be so!\n\n\u2003What is a farthing worth split twelve ways?\n\n\u2003Look, each thing that is united in itself\n\n\u2003Is stronger than when it is scattered.\n\n\u2003Thomas, by me you shall not be flattered;\n\n\u2003Thou woldest han our labour al for noght.\n\n\u2003The hye god, that al this world hath wroght,\n\n\u2003Seith that the werkman worthy is his hyre.\n\n\u2003Thomas! noght of your tresor I desyre\n\n\u2003As for my-self, but that al our covent\n\n\u2003To preye for yow is ay so diligent,\n\n\u2003And for to builden Cristes owene chirche.\n\n\u2003Thomas! if ye wol lernen for to wirche,\n\n\u2003Of buildinge up of chirches may ye finde\n\n\u2003If it be good, in Thomas lyf of Inde.\n\n\u2003Ye lye heer, ful of anger and of yre,\n\n\u2003With which the devel set your herte a-fyre,\n\n\u2003And chyden heer this sely innocent,\n\n\u2003Your wyf, that is so meke and pacient.\n\n\u2003And therfor, Thomas, trowe me if thee leste,\n\n\u2003Ne stryve nat with thy wyf, as for thy beste;\n\n\u2003And ber this word awey now, by thy feith,\n\n\u2003Touchinge this thing, lo, what the wyse seith:\n\n\u2003'With-in thyn hous ne be thou no leoun;\n\n\u2003To thy subgits do noon oppressioun;\n\n\u2003Ne make thyne aqueyntances nat to flee.'\n\n\u2003And Thomas, yet eft-sones I charge thee,\n\n\u2003Be war from hir that in thy bosom slepeth;\n\n\u2003War fro the serpent that so slyly crepeth\n\n\u2003Under the gras, and stingeth subtilly.\n\n\u2003Be war, my sone, and herkne paciently,\n\n\u2003That twenty thousand men han lost hir lyves,\n\n\u2003For stryving with hir lemmans and hir wyves.\n\n\u2003Now sith ye han so holy and meke a wyf,\n\n\u2003What nedeth yow, Thomas, to maken stryf?\n\n\u2003Ther nis, y-wis, no serpent so cruel,\n\n\u2003Whan man tret on his tayl, ne half so fel,\n\n\u2003As womman is, whan she hath caught an ire;\n\n\u2003Vengeance is thanne al that they desyre.\n\n\u2003Ire is a sinne, oon of the grete of sevene,\n\n\u2003Abhominable un-to the god of hevene;\n\n\u2003And to him-self it is destruccion.\n\n\u2003This every lewed viker or person\n\n\u2003Can seye, how Ire engendreth homicyde.\n\n\u2003You would have our labor all for nought.\n\n\u2003The high God, who all this world has wrought,\n\n\u2003Says that the workman is worthy of his hire.\n\n\u2003Thomas, nought of your treasure I desire\n\n\u2003As for myself, but that all our convent\n\n\u2003To pray for you be ever so diligent,\n\n\u2003And for to build Christ's own church.\n\n\u2003Thomas, if you would learn to do good works,\n\n\u2003Of the building up of churches may you find it\n\n\u2003Well in the life of Saint Thomas of India.\n\n\u2003You lie here full of anger and of ire,\n\n\u2003With which the devil set your heart afire,\n\n\u2003And you chide here the naive innocent,\n\n\u2003Your wife, who is so meek and patient.\n\n\u2003And therefore, Thomas, believe me if you wish,\n\n\u2003Let go strife with your wife, as for your best,\n\n\u2003And bear this word away now, by your faith;\n\n\u2003Touching such things, look, what the wise say:\n\n\u2003'Within your house be not a lion;\n\n\u2003To your subjects do no oppression,\n\n\u2003Nor make your acquaintances want to flee.'\n\n\u2003And, Thomas, again I command you,\n\n\u2003Beware of ire that in your bosom sleeps;\n\n\u2003Beware of the serpent that so slyly creeps\n\n\u2003Under the grass and stings full subtly.\n\n\u2003Beware, my son, and harken patiently\n\n\u2003That twenty thousand men have lost their lives\n\n\u2003For fighting with their sweethearts and their wives.\n\n\u2003Now since you have so wholly meek a wife,\n\n\u2003What need you, Thomas, to make strife?\n\n\u2003There is, truth to tell, no serpent so cruel,\n\n\u2003As when men tread on its tail, nor half so dangerous\n\n\u2003As woman is, when she has been made angry;\n\n\u2003Vengeance is then all that they desire.\n\n\u2003Anger is a sin, one of the great of seven,\n\n\u2003Abominable unto the God of heaven;\n\n\u2003And to himself it is destruction.\n\n\u2003This every unlearned vicar or parson\n\n\u2003Can say, how ire engenders homicide.\n\n\u2003Ire is, in sooth, executour of pryde.\n\n\u2003I coude of Ire seye so muche sorwe,\n\n\u2003My tale sholde laste til to-morwe.\n\n\u2003And therfor preye I god bothe day and night,\n\n\u2003An irous man, god sende him litel might!\n\n\u2003It is greet harm and, certes, gret pitee,\n\n\u2003To sette an irous man in heigh degree.\n\n\u2003Whilom ther was an irous potestat,\n\n\u2003As seith Senek, that, duringe his estaat,\n\n\u2003Up-on a day out riden knightes two,\n\n\u2003And as fortune wolde that it were so,\n\n\u2003That oon of hem cam hoom, that other noght.\n\n\u2003Anon the knight bifore the juge is broght,\n\n\u2003That seyde thus, 'thou hast thy felawe slayn,\n\n\u2003For which I deme thee to the deeth, certayn.'\n\n\u2003And to another knight comanded he,\n\n\u2003'Go lede him to the deeth, I charge thee.'\n\n\u2003And happed, as they wente by the weye\n\n\u2003Toward the place ther he sholde deye,\n\n\u2003The knight cam, which men wenden had be deed.\n\n\u2003Thanne thoughte they, it was the beste reed,\n\n\u2003To lede hem bothe to the juge agayn.\n\n\u2003They seiden, 'lord, the knight ne hath nat slayn\n\n\u2003His felawe; here he standeth hool alyve.'\n\n\u2003'Ye shul be deed,' quod he, 'so moot I thryve!\n\n\u2003That is to seyn, bothe oon, and two, and three!'\n\n\u2003And to the firste knight right thus spak he,\n\n\u2003'I dampned thee, thou most algate be deed.\n\n\u2003And thou also most nedes lese thyn heed,\n\n\u2003For thou art cause why thy felawe deyth.'\n\n\u2003And to the thridde knight right thus he seyth,\n\n\u2003'Thou hast nat doon that I comanded thee.'\n\n\u2003And thus he dide don sleen hem alle three.\n\n\u2003Irous Cambyses was eek dronkelewe,\n\n\u2003And ay delyted him to been a shrewe.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, a lord of his meynee,\n\n\u2003That lovede vertuous moralitee,\n\n\u2003Seyde on a day bitwix hem two right thus:\n\n\u2003'A lord is lost, if he be vicious;\n\n\u2003Ire is, in truth, the arm of pride.\n\n\u2003I could of ire say so much sorrow,\n\n\u2003My tale would last until tomorrow.\n\n\u2003And therefore I pray God both day and night\n\n\u2003An angry man, God send him little might!\n\n\u2003It is great harm and certainly a great pity\n\n\u2003To set an angry man in a high place.\n\n\u2003\"Once there was an angry ruler\n\n\u2003As said Seneca, who, during his reign,\n\n\u2003Upon a day rode out knights two,\n\n\u2003And as Fortune would that it were so,\n\n\u2003That one of them came home, the other not.\n\n\u2003Anon the knight before the judge was brought,\n\n\u2003And said thus, 'You have your fellow slain,\n\n\u2003For which I sentence you to death, certainly.'\n\n\u2003And to another knight commanded he,\n\n\"Go lead him to the death, I charge thee.\"\n\n\u2003And it so happened, as they went by the way\n\n\u2003Toward the place where he should die,\n\n\u2003The knight came who men thought dead.\n\n\u2003Then they thought it would be best\n\n\u2003To lead them both to the judge again.\n\n\u2003They said, 'Lord, your knight has not slain\n\n\u2003His fellow; here he stands alive.'\n\n\u2003'You shall be dead; said he, 'so might I thrive!\n\n\u2003That is to say, both one, and two, and three!'\n\n\u2003And to the first knight right thus spoke he,\n\n\u2003'I condemned; you must therefore die.'\n\n\u2003And to the second: 'You must needs also lose your head,\n\n\u2003For you are the cause of your fellow's death.'\n\n\u2003And to the third knight right thus he said,\n\n\u2003'You have not done what I commanded you.'\n\n\u2003And thus he did slay them all three.\n\n\u2003\"Angry Cambises was also a drunkard,\n\n\u2003And ever delighted him to be a shrew.\n\n\u2003And so it befell, a lord of his household\n\n\u2003Who loved virtuous morality\n\n\u2003Said on a day between the two of them right thus:\n\n\"A lord is lost, if he be vicious;\n\n\u2003And dronkenesse is eek a foul record\n\n\u2003Of any man, and namely in a lord.\n\n\u2003Ther is ful many an eye and many an ere\n\n\u2003Awaiting on a lord, and he noot where.\n\n\u2003For goddes love, drink more attemprely;\n\n\u2003Wyn maketh man to lesen wrecchedly\n\n\u2003His minde, and eek his limes everichon.'\n\n\u2003'The revers shaltou see,' quod he, 'anon;\n\n\u2003And preve it, by thyn owene experience,\n\n\u2003That wyn ne dooth to folk no swich offence.\n\n\u2003Ther is no wyn bireveth me my might\n\n\u2003Of hand ne foot, ne of myn eyen sight'\u2014\n\n\u2003And, for despyt, he drank ful muchel more\n\n\u2003An hondred part than he had doon bifore;\n\n\u2003And right anon, this irous cursed wrecche\n\n\u2003Leet this knightes sone bifore him fecche,\n\n\u2003Comandinge him he sholde bifore him stonde.\n\n\u2003And sodeynly he took his bowe in honde,\n\n\u2003And up the streng he pulled to his ere,\n\n\u2003And with an arwe he slow the child right there:\n\n\u2003'Now whether have I a siker hand or noon?'\n\n\u2003Quod he, 'is al my might and minde agoon?\n\n\u2003Hath wyn bireved me myn eyen sight?'\n\n\u2003What sholde I telle th'answere of the knight?\n\n\u2003His sone was slayn, ther is na-more to seye.\n\n\u2003Beth war therfor with lordes how ye pleye.\n\n\u2003Singeth Placebo, and I shal, if I can,\n\n\u2003But-if it be un-to a povre man.\n\n\u2003To a povre man men sholde hise vyces telle,\n\n\u2003But nat to a lord, thogh he sholde go to helle.\n\n\u2003Lo irous Cirus, thilke Percien,\n\n\u2003How he destroyed the river of Gysen,\n\n\u2003For that an hors of his was dreynt ther-inne,\n\n\u2003Whan that he wente Babiloigne to winne.\n\n\u2003He made that the river was so smal,\n\n\u2003That wommen mighte wade it over-al.\n\n\u2003Lo, what seyde he, that so wel teche can?\n\n\u2003'Ne be no felawe to an irous man.\n\n\u2003Ne with no wood man walke by the weye,\n\n\u2003And drunkenness is also a foul reputation\n\n\u2003For any man, and especially for a lord.\n\n\u2003There are full many eyes and ears\n\n\u2003Observing a lord, and he knows not where.\n\n\u2003For God's love, drink more temperately!\n\n\u2003Wine makes a man to lose governance of\n\n\u2003His mind and also his limbs every one.'\n\n\u2003\"The reverse shall you see,' said he, 'anon,\n\n\u2003And prove it by your own experience,\n\n\u2003That wine does to folk no such offence.\n\n\u2003There is no wine that bereaves me of my might\n\n\u2003Of hand or foot, nor of my eyesight.'\n\n\u2003And for spite he drank full much more,\n\n\u2003A hundred parts, than he had done before;\n\n\u2003And right anon this angry, cursed wretch\n\n\u2003Had his knight's son before him fetched,\n\n\u2003Commanding that he should before him stand.\n\n\u2003And suddenly he took his bow in hand,\n\n\u2003And up the string he pulled to his ear,\n\n\u2003And with an arrow he slew the child right there.\n\n\u2003'Now have I a weakened hand or no?'\n\n\u2003Said he; 'Is all my might and all my mind gone?\n\n\u2003Has wine bereaved me of my eyesight?'\n\n\u2003What should I tell the answer of the knight?\n\n\u2003His son was slain; there is no more to say.\n\n\u2003Beware, therefore, with lords how you play.\n\n\u2003Sing Placebo and 'I shall, if I can,'\n\n\u2003Unless it be unto a poor man.\n\n\u2003To a poor man should men his vices tell,\n\n\u2003But not to a lord, though he should go to hell.\n\n\u2003\"Look how Cyrus the Great, the Persian,\n\n\u2003How he destroyed the river of Gyndes,\n\n\u2003Because a horse of his was drowned therein,\n\n\u2003When he went to win Babylon.\n\n\u2003He made the river become so small\n\n\u2003That women might wade over it all.\n\n\u2003Look, what said Solomon who so well taught:\n\n\u2003'Be not a companion to an angry man,\n\n\u2003Nor with a madman walk by the way,\n\n\u2003Lest thee repente;' ther is na-more to seye.\n\n\u2003Now Thomas, leve brother, lef thyn ire;\n\n\u2003Thou shalt me finde as just as is a squire.\n\n\u2003Hold nat the develes knyf ay at thyn herte;\n\n\u2003Thyn angre dooth thee al to sore smerte;\n\n\u2003But shewe to me al thy confessioun.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" quod the syke man, \"by Seint Simoun!\n\n\u2003I have be shriven this day at my curat;\n\n\u2003I have him told al hooly myn estat;\n\n\u2003Nedeth na-more to speke of it,\" seith he,\n\n\u2003\"But if me list of myn humilitee.\"\n\n\u2003\"Yif me thanne of thy gold, to make our cloistre,\"\n\n\u2003Quod he, \"for many a muscle and many an oistre,\n\n\u2003Whan other men han ben ful wel at eyse,\n\n\u2003Hath been our fode, our cloistre for to reyse.\n\n\u2003And yet, god woot, unnethe the fundement\n\n\u2003Parfourned is, ne of our pavement\n\n\u2003Nis nat a tyle yet with-inne our wones;\n\n\u2003By god, we owen fourty pound for stones!\n\n\u2003Now help, Thomas, for him that harwed helle!\n\n\u2003For elles moste we our bokes selle.\n\n\u2003And if ye lakke our predicacioun,\n\n\u2003Than gooth the world al to destruccioun.\n\n\u2003For who-so wolde us fro this world bireve,\n\n\u2003So god me save, Thomas, by your leve,\n\n\u2003He wolde bireve out of this world the sonne.\n\n\u2003For who can teche and werchen as we conne?\n\n\u2003And that is nat of litel tyme,\" quod he;\n\n\u2003\"But sith that Elie was, or Elisee,\n\n\u2003Han freres been, that finde I of record,\n\n\u2003In charitee, y-thanked be our lord.\n\n\u2003Now Thomas, help, for seinte Charitee!\"\n\n\u2003And doun anon he sette him on his knee.\n\n\u2003This syke man wex wel ny wood for ire;\n\n\u2003He wolde that the frere had been on-fire\n\n\u2003With his false dissimulacioun.\n\n\u2003\"Swich thing as is in my possessioun,\"\n\n\u2003Quod he, \"that may I yeven, and non other.\n\n\u2003Ye sey me thus, how that I am your brother?\"\n\n\u2003Lest you repent;' I will no further say.\n\n\u2003\"Now Thomas, dear brother, leave your anger;\n\n\u2003You should me find as true as a carpenter's square.\n\n\u2003Hold not the devil's knife at your own heart\u2014\n\n\u2003Your anger does you all too sore smart\u2014\n\n\u2003But show to me all your confession.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay,\" said the sick man, \"by Saint Simon!\n\n\u2003I have been confessed this day by my curate.\n\n\u2003I have told him everything of my condition;\n\n\u2003There needs no more speak of it,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"Unless I wish, from humility.\"\n\n\u2003\"Give me of your gold, to make our cloister,\"\n\n\u2003Said he, \"for many a mussel and many an oyster,\n\n\u2003After other men have been full well filled,\n\n\u2003Have been our food, our cloister for to build.\n\n\u2003And yet, God knows, nothing but the foundation\n\n\u2003Completed is, nor of pavement\n\n\u2003Is there yet a tile within our convent.\n\n\u2003By God, we owe forty pounds for stones.\n\n\u2003Now help, Thomas, for he who harrowed hell!\n\n\u2003Otherwise must we our books sell.\n\n\u2003And if you lack our preaching\n\n\u2003Then goes all the world to destruction.\n\n\u2003For whoso would us from the world remove,\n\n\u2003So God me save, Thomas, by your leave,\n\n\u2003He would bereave the world of the sun.\n\n\u2003For who can teach and work as we can?\n\n\u2003And that has been not just for a brief while,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"But since Elijah was, or Elisha,\n\n\u2003Have friars been\u2014that I find of record\u2014\n\n\u2003In service, thanked be our Lord!\n\n\u2003Now Thomas, help, for saint charity!\"\n\n\u2003And down anon he set him on his knee.\n\n\u2003This sick man waxed well nigh mad for ire;\n\n\u2003He would that the friar had been on fire\n\n\u2003With his false dissimulation.\n\n\u2003\"What things that are in my possession,\"\n\n\u2003Said he, \"those I will give, I have none other.\n\n\u2003You told me just before\u2014how that I am your lay brother?\"\n\n\u2003\"Ye, certes,\" quod the frere, \"trusteth weel;\n\n\u2003I took our dame our lettre with our seel.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now wel,\" quod he, \"and som-what shal I yive\n\n\u2003Un-to your holy covent whyl I live,\n\n\u2003And in thyn hand thou shalt it have anoon;\n\n\u2003On this condicioun, and other noon,\n\n\u2003That thou departe it so, my dere brother,\n\n\u2003That every frere have also muche as other.\n\n\u2003This shaltou swere on thy professioun,\n\n\u2003With-outen fraude or cavillacioun.\"\n\n\u2003\"I swere it,\" quod this frere, \"upon my feith!\"\n\n\u2003And ther-with-al his hand in his he leith:\n\n\u2003\"Lo, heer my feith! in me shal be no lak.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now thanne, put thyn hand doun by my bak,\"\n\n\u2003Seyde this man, \"and grope wel bihinde;\n\n\u2003Bynethe my buttok ther shaltow finde\n\n\u2003A thing that I have hid in privetee.\"\n\n\u2003\"A!\" thoghte this frere, \"this shal go with me!\"\n\n\u2003And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte,\n\n\u2003In hope for to finde ther a yifte.\n\n\u2003And whan this syke man felte this frere\n\n\u2003Aboute his tuwel grope there and here,\n\n\u2003Amidde his hand he leet the frere a fart.\n\n\u2003Ther nis no capul, drawinge in a cart,\n\n\u2003That mighte have lete a fart of swich a soun.\n\n\u2003The frere up starte as doth a wood leoun:\n\n\u2003\"A! false cherl,\" quod he, \"for goddes bones,\n\n\u2003This hastow for despyt doon, for the nones!\n\n\u2003Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!\"\n\n\u2003His meynee, whiche that herden this affray,\n\n\u2003Cam lepinge in, and chaced out the frere;\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth, with a ful angry chere,\n\n\u2003And fette his felawe, ther-as lay his stoor.\n\n\u2003He looked as it were a wilde boor;\n\n\u2003He grinte with his teeth, so was he wrooth.\n\n\u2003A sturdy pas doun to the court he gooth,\n\n\u2003Wher-as ther woned a man of greet honour,\n\n\u2003To whom that he was alwey confessour;\n\n\u2003This worthy man was lord of that village.\n\n\u2003\"Yes, certainly,\" said the friar, \"trust well.\n\n\u2003I brought your wife our sealed fraternal letter.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now well,\" said he, \"and a bit shall I give\n\n\u2003Unto your holy convent while I live;\n\n\u2003And in your hand you shall have it anon,\n\n\u2003On this condition, and other none,\n\n\u2003That you divide it so, my dear brother,\n\n\u2003That every friar shall have as much as the other.\n\n\u2003This shall you swear on your vows holy,\n\n\u2003Without fraud or equivocation.\"\n\n\u2003\"I swear it,\" said this friar, \"by my faith!\"\n\n\u2003And therewith his hand in his he placed,\n\n\u2003\"Look, here by my faith, in me shall be no lack.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now then, put your hand down by my back,\"\n\n\u2003Said this man, \"and grope well behind.\n\n\u2003Beneath my buttock there shall you find\n\n\u2003A thing that I have hidden in secrecy.\"\n\n\u2003\"Ah!\" thought this friar, \"That shall go with me!\"\n\n\u2003And down his hand he slid to the cleft\n\n\u2003In hope for to find there a gift.\n\n\u2003And when this sick man felt this friar\n\n\u2003About his bum groped he here and there;\n\n\u2003And into the friar's hand he let fly a fart;\n\n\u2003There is no nag, hitched to a cart,\n\n\u2003That might have let a fart of such a sound.\n\n\u2003The friar upstarted as does a maddened lion\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Ah, false churl,\" said he, \"for God's sake!\n\n\u2003You have for spite done such a jape.\n\n\u2003You shall pay for this fart, if I have my way!\"\n\n\u2003His servants, who heard this affray,\n\n\u2003Came leaping in and chased out the friar;\n\n\u2003And forth he went, with a full angry face,\n\n\u2003And fetched his brother, there where lay his donations.\n\n\u2003He looked as if he were a wild boar;\n\n\u2003He ground his teeth, such was his ire.\n\n\u2003A quick pace down to the manor house he went,\n\n\u2003Where there dwelt a man of great honor,\n\n\u2003To whom he was always confessor.\n\n\u2003This worthy man was lord of that village.\n\n\u2003This frere cam, as he were in a rage,\n\n\u2003Wher-as this lord sat eting at his bord.\n\n\u2003Unnethes mighte the frere speke a word,\n\n\u2003Til atte laste he seyde: \"god yow see!\"\n\n\u2003This lord gan loke, and seide, \"ben'cite!\n\n\u2003What, frere John, what maner world is this?\n\n\u2003I see wel that som thing ther is amis.\n\n\u2003Ye loken as the wode were ful of thevis,\n\n\u2003Sit doun anon, and tel me what your greef is,\n\n\u2003And it shal been amended, if I may.\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" quod he, \"had a despyt this day,\n\n\u2003God yelde yow! adoun in your village,\n\n\u2003That in this world is noon so povre a page,\n\n\u2003That he nolde have abhominacioun\n\n\u2003Of that I have receyved in your toun.\n\n\u2003And yet ne greveth me no-thing so sore,\n\n\u2003As that this olde cherl, with lokkes hore,\n\n\u2003Blasphemed hath our holy covent eke.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, maister,\" quod this lord, \"I yow biseke.\"\n\n\u2003\"No maister, sire,\" quod he, \"but servitour,\n\n\u2003Thogh I have had in scole swich honour.\n\n\u2003God lyketh nat that \"Raby\" men us calle,\n\n\u2003Neither in market ne in your large halle.\"\n\n\u2003\"No fors,\" quod he, \"but tel me al your grief.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" quod this frere, \"an odious meschief\n\n\u2003This day bitid is to myn ordre and me,\n\n\u2003And so per consequens to ech degree\n\n\u2003Of holy chirche, god amende it sone!\"\n\n\u2003\"Sir,\" quod the lord, \"ye woot what is to done.\n\n\u2003Distempre yow noght, ye be my confessour;\n\n\u2003Ye been the salt of the erthe and the savour.\n\n\u2003For goddes love your pacience ye holde;\n\n\u2003Tel me your grief:\" and he anon him tolde,\n\n\u2003As ye han herd biforn, ye woot wel what.\n\n\u2003The lady of the hous ay stille sat,\n\n\u2003Til she had herd al what the frere sayde:\n\n\u2003\"Ey, goddes moder,\" quod she, \"blisful mayde!\n\n\u2003Is ther oght elles? telle me feithfully.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"how thinketh yow her-by?\"\n\n\u2003This friar came as if in a rage,\n\n\u2003Where this lord sat eating at his board;\n\n\u2003Hardly might the friar speak a word,\n\n\u2003Till at last he said, \"May God look over you!\"\n\n\u2003The lord looked up, and said, \"Benedicite!\n\n\u2003What, friar John, what in the world is this?\n\n\u2003I see well that something is amiss;\n\n\u2003You look as if the woods were full of thieves.\n\n\u2003Sit down anon, and tell me what your grief is,\n\n\u2003And it shall be amended, if I may.\"\n\n\u2003\"I have,\" said he, \"had an insult this day,\n\n\u2003May God reward you, down in your village,\n\n\u2003That in the world is none so poor a page\n\n\u2003That he would suffer the abomination\n\n\u2003That I have received in your town.\n\n\u2003Yet grieves me nothing so sore,\n\n\u2003As that this churl with locks hoary\n\n\u2003Blasphemed has our order holy.\"\n\n\u2003\"Now, master,\" said this lord, \"I you beseech\u2014\"\n\n\u2003\"No master, sire,\" said he, \"but servant,\n\n\u2003Though I have had in school that honor.\n\n\u2003God likes not that 'Rabbi' men us call,\n\n\u2003Neither in the market nor your large hall.\"\n\n\u2003\"No matter,\" said he, \"but tell me all your grief.\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said this friar, \"an odious mischief\n\n\u2003This day happened to my order and me,\n\n\u2003And so, per consequens, to each degree\n\n\u2003Of holy church\u2014God amend it soon!\"\n\n\u2003\"Sire,\" said the lord, \"you know what to do.\n\n\u2003Anger yourself not; you be my confessor;\n\n\u2003You be the salt of the earth and the delight.\n\n\u2003For God's love, your patience keep!\n\n\u2003Tell me your grief!\" And he anon him told,\n\n\u2003As you have heard before\u2014you know well what.\n\n\u2003The lady of the house ever still sat\n\n\u2003Till she had heard what the friar said.\n\n\u2003\"Eh, God's mother,\" said she, \"Blissful maid!\n\n\u2003Is there anything else? Tell me faithfully.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"what do you think of this?\"\n\n\u2003\"How that me thinketh?\" quod she; \"so god me speede,\n\n\u2003I seye, a cherl hath doon a cherles dede.\n\n\u2003What shold I seye? god lat him never thee!\n\n\u2003His syke heed is ful of vanitee,\n\n\u2003I hold him in a maner frenesye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"by god I shal nat lye;\n\n\u2003But I on other weyes may be wreke,\n\n\u2003I shal diffame him over-al ther I speke,\n\n\u2003This false blasphemour, that charged me\n\n\u2003To parte that wol nat departed be,\n\n\u2003To every man y-liche, with meschaunce!\"\n\n\u2003The lord sat stille as he were in a traunce,\n\n\u2003And in his herte he rolled up and doun,\n\n\u2003\"How hadde this cherl imaginacioun\n\n\u2003To shewe swich a probleme to the frere?\n\n\u2003Never erst er now herde I of swich matere;\n\n\u2003I trowe the devel putte it in his minde.\n\n\u2003In ars-metryke shal ther no man finde,\n\n\u2003Biforn this day, of swich a questioun.\n\n\u2003Who sholde make a demonstracioun,\n\n\u2003That every man sholde have y-liche his part\n\n\u2003As of the soun or savour of a fart?\n\n\u2003O nyce proude cherl, I shrewe his face!\n\n\u2003Lo, sires,\" quod the lord, with harde grace,\n\n\u2003\"Who ever herde of swich a thing er now?\n\n\u2003To every man y-lyke? tel me how.\n\n\u2003It is an impossible, it may nat be!\n\n\u2003Ey, nyce cherl, god lete him never thee!\n\n\u2003The rumblinge of a fart, and every soun,\n\n\u2003Nis but of eir reverberacioun,\n\n\u2003And ever it wasteth lyte and lyte awey.\n\n\u2003Ther is no man can demen, by my fey,\n\n\u2003If that it were departed equally.\n\n\u2003What, lo, my cherl, lo, yet how shrewedly\n\n\u2003Un-to my confessour to-day he spak!\n\n\u2003I holde him certeyn a demoniak!\n\n\u2003Now ete your mete, and lat the cherl go pleye,\n\n\u2003Lat him go honge himself, a devel weye!\"\n\n\u2003Now stood the lordes squyer at the bord,\n\n\u2003\"How do I think?\" said she. \"So God me speed,\n\n\u2003I say a churl has done a churl's deed.\n\n\u2003What should I say? God deny him prosperity!\n\n\u2003His sick head is full of vanity;\n\n\u2003I hold him to be in some way crazy.\"\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003But I in some other way shall be avenged,\n\n\u2003I shall slander him wherever I speak,\n\n\u2003This false blasphemer who commanded me\n\n\u2003To share what may not divided be\n\n\u2003Equally to every man, with bad luck!\"\n\n\u2003The lord sat still as if he were in a trance,\n\n\u2003And in his heart he thought it over,\n\n\u2003\"How had this churl the imagination\n\n\u2003To ask such a question of logic of the friar?\n\n\u2003Never before now heard I of such a matter.\n\n\u2003I believe the devil put it in his mind.\n\n\u2003In the art of mathematics may no man find,\n\n\u2003Before this day, anything of such a question.\n\n\u2003Who could prove through logical demonstration\n\n\u2003That every man should have equally his share\n\n\u2003As of the sound or odor of a fart?\n\n\u2003Oh clever, proud churl, I curse his face!\n\n\u2003Look, sires,\" said the lord, \"at such sorry grace!\n\n\u2003Whoever heard of such a thing before now?\n\n\u2003To every man alike? Tell me how.\n\n\u2003It is an impossibility, it may not be.\n\n\u2003Eh, clever churl, God send him misery!\n\n\u2003The rumbling of a fart, and every sound,\n\n\u2003Is not but of air reverberating,\n\n\u2003And diminishes little by little away.\n\n\u2003There is no man who can tell, by my faith,\n\n\u2003If that it were shared equally.\n\n\u2003Why, look, my churl, look, yet how shrewdly\n\n\u2003Unto my confessor today he has spoken!\n\n\u2003I hold him certainly possessed by a demon!\n\n\u2003Now eat your meal, and let the churl go play;\n\n\u2003Let him go hang himself in the Devil's name!\"\n\n\u2003Now stood the lord's squire at the table,\n\n\u2003That carf his mete, and herde, word by word,\n\n\u2003Of all thinges of which I have yow sayd.\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" quod he, \"be ye nat yvel apayd;\n\n\u2003I coude telle, for a goune-clooth,\n\n\u2003To yow, sir frere, so ye be nat wrooth,\n\n\u2003How that this fart sholde even deled be\n\n\u2003Among your covent, if it lyked me.\"\n\n\u2003\"Tel,\" quod the lord, \"and thou shalt have anon\n\n\u2003A goune-cloth, by god and by Seint John!\"\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" quod he, \"whan that the weder is fair,\n\n\u2003With-outen wind or perturbinge of air,\n\n\u2003Lat bringe a cartwheel here in-to this halle,\n\n\u2003But loke that it have his spokes alle.\n\n\u2003Twelf spokes hath a cartwheel comunly.\n\n\u2003And bring me than twelf freres, woot ye why?\n\n\u2003For thrittene is a covent, as I gesse.\n\n\u2003The confessour heer, for his worthinesse,\n\n\u2003Shal parfourne up the nombre of his covent.\n\n\u2003Than shal they knele doun, by oon assent,\n\n\u2003And to every spokes ende, in this manere,\n\n\u2003Ful sadly leye his nose shal a frere.\n\n\u2003Your noble confessour, ther god him save,\n\n\u2003Shal holde his nose upright, under the nave.\n\n\u2003Than shal this cherl, with bely stif and toght\n\n\u2003As any tabour, hider been y-broght;\n\n\u2003And sette him on the wheel right of this cart,\n\n\u2003Upon the nave, and make him lete a fart.\n\n\u2003And ye shul seen, up peril of my lyf,\n\n\u2003By preve which that is demonstratif,\n\n\u2003That equally the soun of it wol wende,\n\n\u2003And eek the stink, un-to the spokes ende;\n\n\u2003Save that this worthy man, your confessour,\n\n\u2003By-cause he is a man of greet honour,\n\n\u2003Shal have the firste fruit, as reson is;\n\n\u2003The noble usage of freres yet is this,\n\n\u2003The worthy men of hem shul first be served;\n\n\u2003And certeinly, he hath it weel deserved.\n\n\u2003He hath to-day taught us so muchel good\n\n\u2003With preching in the pulpit ther he stood,\n\n\u2003Who carves his meat, and heard word for word\n\n\u2003Of all things which I have you said.\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" said he, \"be not displeased,\n\n\u2003I could tell, for a gown-cloth,\n\n\u2003To you, sir friar, so you be not wroth,\n\n\u2003How this fart evenly should divided be\n\n\u2003Among your convent, if I cared.\"\n\n\u2003\"Tell,\" said the lord, \"and you shall have anon\n\n\u2003A gown-cloth, by God and by Saint John!\"\n\n\u2003\"My lord,\" said he, \"when the weather is fair,\n\n\u2003Without wind or disturbance of air,\n\n\u2003Let bring a cartwheel into this hall;\n\n\u2003But look that it have its spokes all\u2014\n\n\u2003Twelve spokes has a cartwheel commonly.\n\n\u2003And bring me then twelve friars. Do you know why?\n\n\u2003For thirteen is a convent, as I guess.\n\n\u2003Your confessor here, for his worthiness,\n\n\u2003Shall complete the number of his convent.\n\n\u2003Then shall they kneel down, by agreement,\n\n\u2003And to every spoke's end, in this manner,\n\n\u2003Full firmly lay his nose shall a friar.\n\n\u2003Your noble confessor\u2014there God him save!\u2014\n\n\u2003Shall hold his nose upright under the hub.\n\n\u2003Than shall this churl, with belly stiff and taut\n\n\u2003As any drum, hither be brought;\n\n\u2003And set him on the wheel right of this cart,\n\n\u2003Upon the hub, and make him let a fart.\n\n\u2003And you shall see, upon peril of my life,\n\n\u2003By proof which is demonstrable,\n\n\u2003That equally the sound of it will wend,\n\n\u2003And also the stink, unto the spoke ends,\n\n\u2003Save that this worthy man, your confessor,\n\n\u2003Because he is a man of great honor,\n\n\u2003Shall have the first fruit, as is reasonable.\n\n\u2003The noble custom of friars yet is this,\n\n\u2003The worthiest of them shall first be served;\n\n\u2003And certainly he has it well deserved.\n\n\u2003He has today taught us so much good\n\n\u2003With preaching in his pulpit there he stood,\n\n\u2003That I may vouche-sauf, I sey for me,\n\n\u2003He hadde the firste smel of fartes three,\n\n\u2003And so wolde al his covent hardily;\n\n\u2003He bereth him so faire and holily.\"\n\n\u2003The lord, the lady, and ech man, save the frere,\n\n\u2003Seyde that Jankin spak, in this matere,\n\n\u2003As wel as Euclide or [as] Ptholomee.\n\n\u2003Touchinge this cherl, they seyde, subtiltee\n\n\u2003And heigh wit made him speken as he spak;\n\n\u2003He nis no fool, ye no demoniak.\n\n\u2003And Janik hath y-wonne a newe goune.\u2014\n\n\u2003My tale is doon; we been almost at toune.\n\n\u2003That I would allow, if it were up to me,\n\n\u2003That he had the first smell of farts three;\n\n\u2003And so would agree all his convent surely,\n\n\u2003He bears himself so fair and holily.\"\n\n\u2003The lord, the lady, and each man, save the friar,\n\n\u2003Said that Jankyn spoke, in this matter,\n\n\u2003As well as did Euclid or Ptolomy.\n\n\u2003Touching the churl, they said, subtlety\n\n\u2003And high wit made him speak as he spoke;\n\n\u2003He was no fool, or demoniac.\n\n\u2003And Jankyn has won a new gown\u2014\n\n\u2003My tale is done; we be almost to town."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Tale of the Man of Lawe",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003Our hoste sey wel that the brighte sonne\n\n\u2003Th'ark of his artificial day had ronne\n\n\u2003The fourthe part, and half an houre, and more;\n\n\u2003And though he were not depe expert in lore,\n\n\u2003He wiste it was the eightetethe day\n\n\u2003Of April, that is messager to May;\n\n\u2003And sey wel that the shadwe of every tree\n\n\u2003Was as in lengthe the same quantitee\n\n\u2003That was the body erect that caused it.\n\n\u2003And therfor by the shadwe he took his wit\n\n\u2003That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte,\n\n\u2003Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte;\n\n\u2003And for that day, as in that latitude,\n\n\u2003It was ten of the clokke, he gan conclude,\n\n\u2003And sodeynly he plighte his hors aboute.\n\n\u2003\"Lordinges,\" quod he, \"I warne yow, al this route,\n\n\u2003The fourthe party of this day is goon;\n\n\u2003Now, for the love of god and of seint John,\n\n\u2003Leseth no tyme, as ferforth as ye may;\n\n\u2003Lordinges, the tyme wasteth night and day,\n\n\u2003And steleth from us, what prively slepinge,\n\n\u2003And what thurgh neeligence in our wakinge,\n\n\u2003As dooth the streem, that turneth never agayn,\n\n\u2003Descending fro the montaigne in-to playn.\n\n\u2003Wel can Senek, and many a philosophre\n\n\u2003Biwailen tyme, more than gold in cofre.\n\n\u2003'For los of catel may recovered be,\n\n\u2003But los of tyme shendeth us,' quod he.\n\n\u2003It wol nat come agayn, with-outen drede,\n\n\u2003Na more than wol Malkins maydenhede,\n\n\u2003Whan she hath lost it in hir wantownesse;\n\n\u2003Lat us nat moulen thus in ydelnesse.\n\n\u2003Sir man of lawe,\" quod he, so hae ye blis,\n\n\u2003Tel us a tale anon, as forward is;\n\n\u2003Ye been submitted thurgh your free assent"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Man of Law's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Introduction ]\n\n\u2003Our host saw well that the bright sun\n\n\u2003His daylight arc had run\n\n\u2003The first quarter, and half an hour and more,\n\n\u2003And though not learned deeply in such lore,\n\n\u2003He knew it was the eighteenth day\n\n\u2003Of April, that is messenger to May;\n\n\u2003And saw well that the shadow of every tree\n\n\u2003Was in length the same quantity\n\n\u2003That was the body that caused it.\n\n\u2003And therefore by the shadow made his judgement\n\n\u2003That Phoebus, which shone so clear and bright,\n\n\u2003Degrees was five and forty ascended on high,\n\n\u2003And for that day, in that latitude,\n\n\u2003It was ten o'clock, he began to conclude,\n\n\u2003And suddenly he pulled his horse about.\n\n\u2003\"Lordings,\" said he, \"I warn you, all this company,\n\n\u2003The fourth part of the day is gone.\n\n\u2003Now for the love of God and of Saint John,\n\n\u2003Lose no time, insofar as you may.\n\n\u2003Lordings, time is wasting night and day,\n\n\u2003And steals from us, what with sleeping,\n\n\u2003And through negligence in our waking,\n\n\u2003As does the stream that never turns again,\n\n\u2003Descending from the mountain into the plain.\n\n\u2003Well can Seneca and many a philosopher\n\n\u2003Bewail time more than gold in a coffer;\n\n\u2003For 'Loss of property may recovered be,\n\n\u2003But loss of time ruins us,' said he.\n\n\u2003It will not come again, without doubt,\n\n\u2003No more than will Malkin's maidenhead,\n\n\u2003When she lost it in her wantonness.\n\n\u2003Let us not grow moldy thus in idleness.\n\n\u2003Sir Man of Law,\" said he, \"so have you bliss,\n\n\u2003Tell us a tale anon, as we agreed.\n\n\u2003You be submitted, through your free assent,\n\n\u2003To stonde in this cas at my jugement.\n\n\u2003Acquiteth yow, and holdeth your biheste,\n\n\u2003Than have ye doon your devoir atte leste.\"\n\n\u2003\"Hoste,\" quod he, \"depardieux ich assente,\n\n\u2003To breke forward is not myn entente.\n\n\u2003Biheste is dette, and I wol holde fayn\n\n\u2003Al my biheste; I can no better seyn.\n\n\u2003For swich lawe as man yeveth another wight,\n\n\u2003He sholde him-selven usen it by right;\n\n\u2003Thus wol our text; but natheles certeyn\n\n\u2003I can right now no trifty tale seyn,\n\n\u2003But Chaucer, though he can but lewedly\n\n\u2003On metres and on ryming craftily,\n\n\u2003Hath seyd hem in swich English as he can\n\n\u2003Of olde tyme, as knoweth many a man.\n\n\u2003And if he have not seyd hem, leve brother,\n\n\u2003In o bok, he hath seyd hem in another.\n\n\u2003For he hath told of loveres up and doun\n\n\u2003Mo than Ovyde made of mencioun\n\n\u2003In his Epistelles, that been ful olde.\n\n\u2003What sholde I tellen hem, sin they ben tolde?\n\n\u2003In youthe he made of Ceys and Alcion,\n\n\u2003And sithen hath he spoke of everichon,\n\n\u2003Thise noble wyves and thise loveres eke.\n\n\u2003Who-so that wol his large volume seke\n\n\u2003Cleped the Seintes Legende of Cupyde,\n\n\u2003Ther may be seen the large woundes wyde\n\n\u2003Of Lucresse, and of Babilan Tisbee;\n\n\u2003The swerd of Dido for the false Enee;\n\n\u2003The tree of Phillis for hir Demophon;\n\n\u2003The pleinte of Dianire and Hermion,\n\n\u2003Of Adriane and of Isiphilee;\n\n\u2003The bareyne yle stonding in the see;\n\n\u2003The dreynte Leander for his Erro;\n\n\u2003The teres of Eleyne, and eek the wo\n\n\u2003Of Brixseyde, and of thee, Ladom\u00eba;\n\n\u2003The crueltee of thee, queen Med\u00eba,\n\n\u2003Thy litel children hanging by the hals\n\n\u2003For thy Jason, that was of love so fals!\n\n\u2003To stand in this case at my judgement.\n\n\u2003Acquit yourself now of your obligation;\n\n\u2003Then you will have at least your duty done.\"\n\n\u2003\"Host,\" said he, \"depardieux, I assent;\n\n\u2003To break my promise is not my intent.\n\n\u2003A promise is a duty, and I would keep\n\n\u2003All my promises, I can no better say.\n\n\u2003For such law as a man gives another,\n\n\u2003He should himself obey it, by right;\n\n\u2003Thus says our text. But nevertheless, certainly,\n\n\u2003I can right now no fitting tale say\n\n\u2003That Chaucer, though he knows but little\n\n\u2003Of meters and skillful rhyming,\n\n\u2003Has said them in such English as he can\n\n\u2003Long ago, as knows many a man;\n\n\u2003And if he has not said them, dear brother,\n\n\u2003In one book, he has said them in another.\n\n\u2003For he has told of lovers up and down\n\n\u2003More than Ovid made of mention\n\n\u2003In his Epistles that be full old.\n\n\u2003Why should I tell them, since they have been told?\n\n\u2003In youth he wrote of Ceyx and Alcion,\n\n\u2003And since then he has spoken of everyone,\n\n\u2003These noble wives and these lovers also.\n\n\u2003Whoso will his large volume seek,\n\n\u2003Called the Legend of Good Women,\n\n\u2003There may he see the large wounds wide\n\n\u2003Of Lucretia, and of Thisbe of Babylon;\n\n\u2003The sword of Dido for the false Aeneas;\n\n\u2003The tree of Phyllis for her Demophon,\n\n\u2003The plaint of Deianira and of Hermione,\n\n\u2003Of Ariadne, and of Hypsipyle\u2014\n\n\u2003The barren isle standing in the sea\u2014\n\n\u2003The drowned Leander for his Hero;\n\n\u2003The tears of Helen, and also the woe\n\n\u2003Of Briseyde, and of you, Laodomia;\n\n\u2003The cruelty of the queen Medea,\n\n\u2003Her little children hanging by the neck,\n\n\u2003For your Jason, who was in love so false!\n\n\u2003O Ypermistra, Penelopee, Alceste,\n\n\u2003Your wyfhod he comendeth with the beste!\n\n\u2003But certeinly no word ne wryteth he\n\n\u2003Of thilke wikke ensample of Canacee,\n\n\u2003That lovede hir owne brother sinfully;\n\n\u2003Of swiche cursed stories I sey 'fy';\n\n\u2003Or elles of Tyro Apollonius,\n\n\u2003How that the cursed king Antiochus\n\n\u2003Birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede,\n\n\u2003That is so horrible a tale for to rede,\n\n\u2003Whan he hir threw up-on the pavement.\n\n\u2003And therfore he, of ful avysement,\n\n\u2003Nolde never wryte in none of his sermouns\n\n\u2003Of swiche unkinde abhominaciouns,\n\n\u2003Ne I wol noon reherse, if that I may.\n\n\u2003But of my tale how shal I doon this day?\n\n\u2003Me were looth be lykned, doutelees,\n\n\u2003To Muses that men clepe Pierides\u2014\n\n\u2003Metamorphoseos wot what I mene:\u2014\n\n\u2003But nathelees, I recche noght a bene\n\n\u2003Though I come after him with hawe-bake;\n\n\u2003I speke in prose, and lat him rymes make.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he, with a sobre chere,\n\n\u2003Bigan his tale, as ye shal after here.\n\n\u2003The Prologue\n\n\u2003O hateful harm! condicion of poverte!\n\n\u2003With thurst, with cold, with hunger so confounded!\n\n\u2003To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte;\n\n\u2003If thou noon aske, with nede artow so wounded,\n\n\u2003That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid!\n\n\u2003Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence\n\n\u2003Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence!\n\n\u2003Thou blamest Crist, and seyst ful bitterly,\n\n\u2003He misdeparteth richesse temporal;\n\n\u2003Thy neighebour thou wytest sinfully,\n\n\u2003And seyst thou hast to lyte, and he hath al.\n\n\u2003Oh Hypermnestra, Penelope, Alcestis,\n\n\u2003Your fidelity he commends with the best!\n\n\u2003\"But certainly no word writes he\n\n\u2003Of that wicked example of Canacee,\n\n\u2003Who loved her own brother sinfully\u2014\n\n\u2003Of such cursed stories I say fie!\n\n\u2003Or else of Apollonius of Tyre,\n\n\u2003How that cursed king Antiochus\n\n\u2003Bereft his daughter of her maidenhead,\n\n\u2003That is so horrible a tale for to read,\n\n\u2003When he her threw upon the pavement.\n\n\u2003And therefore Chaucer, after careful thought,\n\n\u2003Would never write in any of his sermons\n\n\u2003Of such unnatural abominations,\n\n\u2003Nor will I any rehearse, if I may.\n\n\u2003\"But of my tale how shall I do this day?\n\n\u2003I am loath to be likened, doubtless,\n\n\u2003To Muses whom men call Pierides\u2014\n\n\u2003The Metamorphoses know what I mean;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, I do not care a bean\n\n\u2003Though I come after him with poor fare.\n\n\u2003I speak in prose, and let him rhymes make.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word he, with sober face,\n\n\u2003Began his tale, as you shall after hear.\n\n\u2003The Prologue\n\n\u2003Oh hateful misfortune, condition of poverty!\n\n\u2003With thirst, with cold, with hunger so distressed!\n\n\u2003To ask help you feel shame in your heart;\n\n\u2003If you none ask, you are with need so wounded\n\n\u2003That need lays bare all your hidden want!\n\n\u2003Against your will, you must from indigence\n\n\u2003Either steal, beg, or borrow your sustenance!\n\n\u2003You blame Christ and say full bitterly\n\n\u2003He wrongly divides riches temporal;\n\n\u2003Your neighbor you accuse sinfully,\n\n\u2003And say you have too little and he has all.\n\n\u2003\"Parfay,\" seistow, \"somtyme he rekne shal,\n\n\u2003Whan that his tayl shal brennen in the glede,\n\n\u2003For he noght helpeth needfulle in hir nede.\"\n\n\u2003Herkne what is the sentence of the wyse:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Bet is to dy\u00ebn than have indigence;\"\n\n\u2003\"Thy selve neighebour wol thee despyse;\"\n\n\u2003If thou be povre, farwel thy reverence!\n\n\u2003Yet of the wyse man tak this sentence:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Alle the dayes of povre men ben wikke;\"\n\n\u2003Be war therfor, er thou come in that prikke!\n\n\u2003\"If thou be povre, thy brother hateth thee,\n\n\u2003And alle thy freendes fleen fro thee, alas!\"\n\n\u2003O riche marchaunts, ful of wele ben ye,\n\n\u2003O noble, o prudent folk, as in this cas!\n\n\u2003Your bagges been nat filled with ambes as,\n\n\u2003But with sis cink, that renneth for your chaunce;\n\n\u2003At Cristemasse merie may ye daunce!\n\n\u2003Ye seken lond and see for your winninges,\n\n\u2003As wyse folk ye knowen al th'estaat\n\n\u2003Of regnes; ye ben fadres of tydinges\n\n\u2003And tales, bothe of pees and of debat.\n\n\u2003I were right now of tales desolat,\n\n\u2003Nere that a marchaunt, goon is many a yere,\n\n\u2003Me taughte a tale, which that ye shal here.\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 100",
                "text": "\u2003In Surrie whylom dwelte a companye\n\n\u2003Of chapmen riche, and therto sadde and trewe,\n\n\u2003That wyde-wher senten her spycerye,\n\n\u2003Clothes of gold, and satins riche of hewe;\n\n\u2003Her chaffar was so thrifty and so newe,\n\n\u2003That every wight hath deyntee to chaffare\n\n\u2003With hem, and eek to sellen hem hir ware.\n\n\u2003\"By my faith,\" you say, \"sometime he shall take account,\n\n\u2003When his tail shall burn in live coals,\n\n\u2003For he helps not the needy in their need.\"\n\n\u2003Harken to what is the judgement of the wise:\n\n\u2003\"Better is to die than to live in need,\n\n\u2003Such that your very neighbor will you despise.\"\n\n\u2003If you be poor, farewell your respect!\n\n\u2003Yet of the wise men take this opinion:\n\n\u2003\"All the days of poor men be miserable.\"\n\n\u2003Beware, therefore, that you come to that condition!\n\n\u2003If you are poor, your brother hates you,\n\n\u2003And all your friends flee from you, alas!\n\n\u2003Oh rich merchants, full of prosperity be you,\n\n\u2003Oh noble, oh prudent folk, as in this case!\n\n\u2003Your cups be not filled with snake eyes,\n\n\u2003But with six and five, a winning throw of the dice,\n\n\u2003At Christmas merry may you dance!\n\n\u2003You seek over land and sea for your profit;\n\n\u2003As wise folk you know all the estate\n\n\u2003Of reigns; you be fathers of tidings\n\n\u2003And tales, both of peace and conflict.\n\n\u2003I would be right now of tales desolate,\n\n\u2003Were it not for one that a merchant, gone many a year,\n\n\u2003Taught me, which you shall hear.\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 101",
                "text": "\u2003In Syria once dwelt a company\n\n\u2003Of merchants rich, and therefore trustworthy and true,\n\n\u2003Who far and wide sent their silk and spice,\n\n\u2003Cloth of gold, and satins rich of hue.\n\n\u2003Their merchandise was so good and so new\n\n\u2003That every person wanted to trade\n\n\u2003With them, and also to sell them their wares.\n\n\u2003Now fel it, that the maistres of that sort\n\n\u2003Han shapen hem to Rome for to wende;\n\n\u2003Were it for chapmanhode or for disport,\n\n\u2003Non other message wolde they thider sende,\n\n\u2003But comen hem-self to Rome, this is the ende;\n\n\u2003And in swich place, as thoughte hem avantage\n\n\u2003For her entente, they take her herbergage.\n\n\u2003Sojourned han thise marchants in that toun\n\n\u2003A certein tyme, as fel to hir plesance.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, that th'excellent renoun\n\n\u2003Of th'emperoures doghter, dame Custance,\n\n\u2003Reported was, with every circumstance,\n\n\u2003Un-to thise Surrien marchants in swich wyse,\n\n\u2003Fro day to day, as I shal yow devyse.\n\n\u2003This was the commune vois of every man\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Our Emperour of Rome, god him see,\n\n\u2003A doghter hath that, sin the world bigan,\n\n\u2003To rekne as wel hir goodnesse as beautee,\n\n\u2003Nas never swich another as is she;\n\n\u2003I prey to god in honour hir sustene,\n\n\u2003And wolde she were of al Europe the quene.\n\n\u2003In hir is heigh beautee, with-oute pryde,\n\n\u2003Yowthe, with-oute grenehede or folye;\n\n\u2003To alle hir werkes vertu is hir gyde,\n\n\u2003Humblesse hath slayn in hir al tirannye.\n\n\u2003She is mirour of alle curteisye;\n\n\u2003Hir herte is verray chambre of holinesse,\n\n\u2003Hir hand, ministre of fredom for almesse.\"\n\n\u2003And al this vois was soth, as god is trewe,\n\n\u2003But now to purpos lat us turne agayn;\n\n\u2003Thise marchants han doon fraught hir shippes newe,\n\n\u2003And, whan they han this blisful mayden seyn,\n\n\u2003Hoom to Surry\u00eb been they went ful fayn,\n\n\u2003And doon her nedes as they han don yore,\n\n\u2003And liven in wele; I can sey yow no more.\n\n\u2003Now it befell that the masters of that sort\n\n\u2003Had arranged themselves to Rome to wend;\n\n\u2003Whether for business or pleasure,\n\n\u2003No other messenger would they thither send,\n\n\u2003But go themselves to Rome; that was their end.\n\n\u2003And in such place as they thought advantageous\n\n\u2003For their purposes, they took their lodging.\n\n\u2003Sojourned have these merchants in that town\n\n\u2003A certain time, as they wished.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that the excellent renown\n\n\u2003Of the Emperor's daughter, dame Constance,\n\n\u2003Reported was, with every detail,\n\n\u2003Unto these Syrian merchants in such a way,\n\n\u2003From day to day, as I shall for you describe.\n\n\u2003This was the common opinion of every man:\n\n\u2003\"Our Emperor of Rome\u2014God him protect!\u2014\n\n\u2003A daughter has who, since the world began,\n\n\u2003To reckon as well her goodness as beauty,\n\n\u2003Was never such another as she.\n\n\u2003I pray to God to sustain her in honor,\n\n\u2003And would she were of Europe all the queen.\n\n\u2003\"In her is high beauty, without pride,\n\n\u2003Youth, without callowness or folly;\n\n\u2003In all her works virtue is her guide;\n\n\u2003Humility has slain in her all tyranny.\n\n\u2003She is mirror of all courtesy;\n\n\u2003Her heart is the very chamber of holiness,\n\n\u2003Her hand, minister of charity generous.\"\n\n\u2003And all this report was true, as God is true.\n\n\u2003But now to the point let us turn again.\n\n\u2003These merchants have laden their ships anew,\n\n\u2003And when they had this blissful maiden seen,\n\n\u2003Home to Syria went they full gladly,\n\n\u2003And conducted their business as they had done before,\n\n\u2003And lived in prosperity; I can tell you no more.\n\n\u2003Now fel it, that thise marchants stode in grace\n\n\u2003Of him, that was the sowdan of Surrye;\n\n\u2003For whan they came from any strange place,\n\n\u2003He wolde, of his benigne curteisye,\n\n\u2003Make hem good chere, and bisily espye\n\n\u2003Tydings of sondry regnes, for to lere\n\n\u2003The wondres that they mighte seen or here.\n\n\u2003Amonges othere thinges, specially\n\n\u2003Thise marchants han him told of dame Custance,\n\n\u2003So gret noblesse in ernest, ceriously,\n\n\u2003That this sowdan hath caught so gret plesance\n\n\u2003To han hir figure in his remembrance,\n\n\u2003That al his lust and al his bisy cure\n\n\u2003Was for to love hir whyl his lyf may dure.\n\n\u2003Paraventure in thilke large book\n\n\u2003Which that men clepe the heven, y-writen was\n\n\u2003With sterres, whan that he his birthe took,\n\n\u2003That he for love shulde han his deeth, alias !\n\n\u2003For in the sterres, clerer than is glas,\n\n\u2003Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede,\n\n\u2003The deeth of every man, withouten drede.\n\n\u2003In sterres, many a winter ther-biforn,\n\n\u2003Was written the deeth of Ector, Achilles,\n\n\u2003Of Pompey, Julius, er they were born;\n\n\u2003The stryf of Thebes; and of Ercules,\n\n\u2003Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates\n\n\u2003The deeth; but mennes wittes been so dulle,\n\n\u2003That no wight can wel rede it atte fulle.\n\n\u2003This sowdan for his privee conseil sente,\n\n\u2003And, shortly of this mater for to pace,\n\n\u2003He hath to hem declared his entente,\n\n\u2003And seyde hem certein, \"but he mighte have grace\n\n\u2003To han Custance with-inne a litel space,\n\n\u2003He nas but deed;\" and charged hem, in hye,\n\n\u2003To shapen for his lyf som remedye.\n\n\u2003Now befell it that these merchants stood in the good graces\n\n\u2003Of he who was the Sultan of Syria;\n\n\u2003And when they came from any foreign place,\n\n\u2003He would, of gracious courtesy,\n\n\u2003Make them welcome, and eagerly sought\n\n\u2003Tidings of sundry reigns, to learn\n\n\u2003The wonders that they might have heard or seen.\n\n\u2003Among other things, specially,\n\n\u2003These merchants had told him of dame Constance\n\n\u2003And of her nobility, especially, and in such detail\n\n\u2003That this Sultan derived great pleasure\n\n\u2003To see her image in his mind's eye,\n\n\u2003So that all his hope and all his pleasure\n\n\u2003Was to love her so long as his life endured.\n\n\u2003Perhaps in that large book\n\n\u2003Which men call the heavens, written was\n\n\u2003In the stars, that when he his birth took,\n\n\u2003He was destined to die for love, alas!\n\n\u2003For in the stars, clearer than is glass,\n\n\u2003Is written, God knows, whoso could it decipher,\n\n\u2003The fate of every man, without doubt.\n\n\u2003In stars, many a winter therebefore,\n\n\u2003Was written the death of Hector, Achilles,\n\n\u2003Of Pompey the Great, of Julius Caesar, before they were born;\n\n\u2003The siege of Thebes, and of Hercules,\n\n\u2003Of Sampson, Turnus and of Socrates\n\n\u2003Their deaths, but men's wits be so dull\n\n\u2003That no man can read it in full.\n\n\u2003This Sultan for his closest advisors sent,\n\n\u2003And, briefly of this matter to look over,\n\n\u2003He has to them declared his intent,\n\n\u2003And told them, certainly, unless he had the grace\n\n\u2003Of Constance within a short time,\n\n\u2003He was as good as dead; and ordered them in haste\n\n\u2003To devise for his life some remedy.\n\n\u2003Diverse men diverse thinges seyden;\n\n\u2003They argumenten, casten up and doun\n\n\u2003Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden,\n\n\u2003They speken of magik and abusioun;\n\n\u2003But finally, as in conclusioun,\n\n\u2003They can not seen in that non avantage,\n\n\u2003Ne in non other wey, save mariage.\n\n\u2003Than sawe they ther-in swich difficultee\n\n\u2003By wey of resoun, for to speke al playn,\n\n\u2003By-cause that ther was swich diversitee\n\n\u2003Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn,\n\n\u2003They trowe \"that no cristen prince wolde fayn\n\n\u2003Wedden his child under oure lawes swete\n\n\u2003That us were taught by Mahoun our prophete.\"\n\n\u2003And he answerde, \"rather than I lese\n\n\u2003Custance, I wol be cristned doutelees;\n\n\u2003I mot ben hires, I may non other chese,\n\n\u2003I prey yow holde your arguments in pees;\n\n\u2003Saveth my lyf, and beeth noght recchelees\n\n\u2003To geten hir that hath my lyf in cure;\n\n\u2003For in this wo I may not longe endure.\"\n\n\u2003What nedeth gretter dilatacioun?\n\n\u2003I seye, by tretis and embassadrye,\n\n\u2003And by the popes mediacioun,\n\n\u2003And al the chirche, and al the chivalrye,\n\n\u2003That, in destruccioun of Maumetrye,\n\n\u2003And in encrees of Cristes lawe dere,\n\n\u2003They ben acorded, so as ye shal here;\n\n\u2003How that the sowdan and his baronage\n\n\u2003And alle his liges shulde y-cristned be,\n\n\u2003And he shal han Custance in mariage,\n\n\u2003And certein gold, I noot what quantitee,\n\n\u2003And her-to founden suffisant seurtee;\n\n\u2003This same acord was sworn on eyther syde;\n\n\u2003Now, faire Custance, almighty god thee gyde!\n\n\u2003Different men different things said;\n\n\u2003They argued, considered ups and downs;\n\n\u2003Many a subtle reason forth they laid;\n\n\u2003They spoke of magic and deception.\n\n\u2003But finally, in conclusion,\n\n\u2003They could not see any advantage\n\n\u2003Nor any other way, save in marriage.\n\n\u2003Then saw they therein such difficulty\n\n\u2003By way of reason, for to speak all plain,\n\n\u2003Because there was such difference\n\n\u2003Between their religions, that they said\n\n\u2003They believed that no \"Christian prince would care to\n\n\u2003Wed his child under our law sweet\n\n\u2003That was taught us by our prophet, Mahomet.\"\n\n\u2003And he answered, \"Rather than I lose\n\n\u2003Constance, I will be christened, doubtless.\n\n\u2003I must be hers, I may no other choose.\n\n\u2003I pray you hold your arguments in peace;\n\n\u2003Save my life, and be not negligent\n\n\u2003To get her\u2014in whose hands lies my fate\u2014\n\n\u2003For in this woe I may not long endure.\"\n\n\u2003Need I with words more elaborate?\n\n\u2003I say, by treaty and negotiation,\n\n\u2003And by the pope's mediation,\n\n\u2003And supported by all the church, and all the chivalry,\n\n\u2003To further the destruction of idolatry,\n\n\u2003And to increase the reign of Christ's law dear,\n\n\u2003They came to an accord, as you shall hear:\n\n\u2003Whereby the Sultan and his barons\n\n\u2003And all his lieges should christened be,\n\n\u2003And he should have Constance in marriage,\n\n\u2003And certain gold, I know not what quantity;\n\n\u2003For this provided sufficient surety.\n\n\u2003This same accord was sworn on either side;\n\n\u2003Now, fair Constance, almighty God you guide!\n\n\u2003Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse,\n\n\u2003That I shulde tellen al the purveyance\n\n\u2003That th'emperour, of his grete noblesse,\n\n\u2003Hath shapen for his doghter dame Custance.\n\n\u2003Wel may men knowe that so gret ordinance\n\n\u2003May no man tellen in a litel clause\n\n\u2003As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.\n\n\u2003Bisshopes ben shapen with hir for to wende,\n\n\u2003Lordes, ladyes, knightes of renoun,\n\n\u2003And other folk y-nowe, this is the ende;\n\n\u2003And notifyed is thurgh-out the toun\n\n\u2003That every wight, with gret devocioun,\n\n\u2003Shulde preyen Crist that he this mariage\n\n\u2003Receyve in gree, and spede this viage.\n\n\u2003The day is comen of hir departinge,\n\n\u2003I sey, the woful day fatal is come,\n\n\u2003That ther may be no lenger taryinge,\n\n\u2003But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some;\n\n\u2003Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome,\n\n\u2003Ful pale arist, and dresseth hir to wende;\n\n\u2003For wel she seeth ther is non other ende.\n\n\u2003Alias! what wonder is it though she wepte,\n\n\u2003That shal be sent to strange nacioun\n\n\u2003Fro freendles, that so tendrely hir kepte,\n\n\u2003And to be bounden under subieccioun\n\n\u2003Of oon, she knoweth not his condicioun.\n\n\u2003Housbondes been alle gode, and han ben yore,\n\n\u2003That knowen wyves, I dar say yow no more.\n\n\u2003\"Fader,\" she sayde, \"thy wrecched child Custance,\n\n\u2003Thy yonge doghter, fostred up so softe,\n\n\u2003And ye, my moder, my soverayn plesance\n\n\u2003Over alle thing, out-taken Crist on-lofte,\n\n\u2003Custance, your child, hir recomandeth ofte\n\n\u2003Un-to your grace, for I shal to Surry\u00eb,\n\n\u2003Ne shal I never seen yow more with ye.\n\n\u2003Now would some expect, as I guess,\n\n\u2003That I should tell all the preparations\n\n\u2003That the emperor, in his great nobility,\n\n\u2003Had planned for his daughter, dame Constance.\n\n\u2003Well may men know that such great preparation\n\n\u2003May no man tell in a little clause\n\n\u2003As was arranged for so high a cause.\n\n\u2003Bishops were appointed with her for to wend,\n\n\u2003Lords, ladies, knights of renown,\n\n\u2003And other folk enough; this is the end;\n\n\u2003And made known was throughout the town\n\n\u2003That every person, with great devotion,\n\n\u2003Should pray to Christ that he this marriage\n\n\u2003Receive favorably and speed this voyage.\n\n\u2003The day came for her departure;\n\n\u2003I say, the woeful fatal day arrived,\n\n\u2003That there might be no longer tarrying,\n\n\u2003But forward they prepared themselves, all and some.\n\n\u2003Constance, who was with sorrow all overcome,\n\n\u2003Full pale arose, and prepared herself to wend;\n\n\u2003For well she saw there was no other end.\n\n\u2003Alas, what wonder that she wept,\n\n\u2003Who should be sent to a strange nation\n\n\u2003From friends who so tenderly her kept,\n\n\u2003And to be bound under subjection\n\n\u2003Of one who\u2014she knew not his disposition?\n\n\u2003Husbands be all good, and have been of yore;\n\n\u2003That know wives, I dare say you no more.\n\n\u2003\"Father,\" she said, \"your wretched child Constance,\n\n\u2003Your young daughter raised so tenderly,\n\n\u2003And you, my mother, my sovereign pleasure\n\n\u2003Above everything, except Christ above,\n\n\u2003Constance your child commends herself often\n\n\u2003Unto your grace, for I shall go to Syria,\n\n\u2003Never shall my eyes see you again.\n\n\u2003Allas! un-to the Barbre nacioun\n\n\u2003I moste anon, sin that it is your wille;\n\n\u2003But Crist, that starf for our redempcioun,\n\n\u2003So yeve me grace, his hestes to fulfille;\n\n\u2003I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille.\n\n\u2003Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,\n\n\u2003And to ben under mannes governance.\"\n\n\u2003I trowe, at Troye, whan Pirrus brak the wal\n\n\u2003Or Ylion brende, at Thebes the citee,\n\n\u2003Nat Rome, for the harm thurgh Hanibal\n\n\u2003That Romayns hath venquisshed tymes three,\n\n\u2003Nas herd swich tendre weping for pitee\n\n\u2003As in the chambre was for hir departinge;\n\n\u2003Bot forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or singe.\n\n\u2003O firste moeving cruel firmament,\n\n\u2003With thy diurnal sweigh that crowdest ay\n\n\u2003And hurlest al from Est til Occident,\n\n\u2003That naturelly wolde holde another way,\n\n\u2003Thy crowding set the heven in swich array\n\n\u2003At the beginning of this fiers viage,\n\n\u2003That cruel Mars hath slayn this mariage.\n\n\u2003Infortunat ascendent tortuous,\n\n\u2003Of which the lord is helples falle, alias!\n\n\u2003Out of his angle in-to the derkest hous.\n\n\u2003O Mars, O Atazir, as in this cas!\n\n\u2003O feble mone, unhappy been thy pas!\n\n\u2003Thou knittest thee ther thou art nat receyved,\n\n\u2003Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.\n\n\u2003Imprudent emperour of Rome, allas!\n\n\u2003Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun?\n\n\u2003Is no tyme bet than other in swich cas?\n\n\u2003Of viage is ther noon eleccioun,\n\n\u2003Namely to folk of heigh condicioun,\n\n\u2003Nat whan a rote is of a birthe y-knowe?\n\n\u2003Alias! we ben to lewed or to slowe.\n\n\u2003\"Alas, unto the Berber nation\n\n\u2003I most go anon, since that is your will;\n\n\u2003But Christ, who died for our redemption\n\n\u2003So give me grace his heedings to fulfill!\n\n\u2003I, wretched woman, no matter if I die!\n\n\u2003Women are born to thralldom and penance,\n\n\u2003And to be under man's governance.\"\n\n\u2003Not at Troy, when Pyrrhus broke the wall\n\n\u2003And the city burned, nor at Thebes,\n\n\u2003Nor at Rome, when it was poised to fall\n\n\u2003To Hannibal, who thrice vanquished the Romans,\n\n\u2003Was heard such tender weeping for pity\n\n\u2003As in the chamber was for her departing;\n\n\u2003But go she must, weeping or singing.\n\n\u2003O primum mobile! Cruel firmament,\n\n\u2003With your diurnal sway that crowds ever\n\n\u2003And hurls all from east to west\n\n\u2003That naturally would go another way,\n\n\u2003Your force set the heavens in such array\n\n\u2003At the beginning of this dangerous voyage,\n\n\u2003That cruel Mars will slay this marriage.\n\n\u2003Inauspicious ascendent tortuous,\n\n\u2003Of which the lord was helplessly fallen, alas,\n\n\u2003Out of his angle into the darkest house!\n\n\u2003Oh Mars, oh atazir, as in this case!\n\n\u2003Oh feeble moon, unhappy are your steps!\n\n\u2003You conjoin where you are not well-received;\n\n\u2003From where you were well, you are now banished.\n\n\u2003Imprudent Emperor of Rome, alas!\n\n\u2003Was there no astrologer in all your town?\n\n\u2003Was no time better than another in that case?\n\n\u2003For a voyage is there no choice,\n\n\u2003Especially for folk of high position?\n\n\u2003Not when a date of birth is known?\n\n\u2003Alas, we be too unlearned or too slow!\n\n\u2003To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde\n\n\u2003Solempnely, with every circumstance.\n\n\u2003\"Now Jesu Crist be with yow alle,\" she sayde;\n\n\u2003Ther nis namore but \"farewel! faire Custance!\"\n\n\u2003She peyneth hir to make good countenance,\n\n\u2003And forth I lete hir sayle in this manere,\n\n\u2003And turne I wol agayn to my matere.\n\n\u2003The moder of the sowdan, welle of vyces,\n\n\u2003Espy\u00ebd hath hir sones pleyn entente,\n\n\u2003How he wol lete his olde sacrifyces,\n\n\u2003And right anon she for hir conseil sente;\n\n\u2003And they ben come, to knowe what she mente.\n\n\u2003And when assembled was this folke in-fere,\n\n\u2003She sette hir doun, and sayde as ye shal here.\n\n\u2003\"Lordes,\" quod she, \"ye knowen everichon,\n\n\u2003How that my sone in point is for to lete\n\n\u2003The holy lawes of our Alkaron,\n\n\u2003Yeven by goddes message Makomete.\n\n\u2003But oon avow to grete god I hete,\n\n\u2003The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte\n\n\u2003Than Makometes lawe out of myn herte!\n\n\u2003What shulde us tyden of this newe lawe\n\n\u2003But thraldom to our bodies and penance?\n\n\u2003And afterward in helle to be drawe\n\n\u2003For we reneyed Mahoun our creance?\n\n\u2003But, lordes, wol ye maken assurance,\n\n\u2003As I shal seyn, assenting to my lore,\n\n\u2003And I shall make us sauf for evermore?\"\n\n\u2003They sworen and assenten, every man,\n\n\u2003To live with hir and dye, and by hir stonde;\n\n\u2003And everich, in the beste wyse he can,\n\n\u2003To strengthen hir shal alle his freendes fonde;\n\n\u2003And she hath this empryse y-take on honde,\n\n\u2003Which ye shal heren that I shal devyse,\n\n\u2003And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse.\n\n\u2003To ship was brought this woeful fair maid\n\n\u2003Solemnly, with every ceremony.\n\n\u2003\"Now Jesus Christ be with you all!\" she said;\n\n\u2003There was no more, but, \"Farewell, Constance!\"\n\n\u2003She tried to put on a brave face;\n\n\u2003And forth I let her sail in this manner,\n\n\u2003And turn I will again to my matter.\n\n\u2003The mother of the Sultan, well of vices,\n\n\u2003Espied has her son's plain intent,\n\n\u2003How he would abandon his old sacrifices;\n\n\u2003And right anon she for her private counsel sent,\n\n\u2003And they came to know what she meant.\n\n\u2003And when assembled were this folk together,\n\n\u2003She set herself down, and said as you shall hear.\n\n\u2003\"Lords,\" said she, \"you know every one,\n\n\u2003How my son is about to forsake\n\n\u2003The holy laws of the Koran,\n\n\u2003Given by God's messenger Mahomet.\n\n\u2003But one vow to great God I promise,\n\n\u2003The life shall rather out of my body depart\n\n\u2003Before Mahomet's law departs my heart!\n\n\u2003\"What should happen to us with this new law\n\n\u2003But thralldom for our bodies and remorse,\n\n\u2003And afterward in hell to be drawn,\n\n\u2003If we renounce our belief in Mahomet?\n\n\u2003But lords, will you make assurance,\n\n\u2003To follow what I shall say, assenting to my advice,\n\n\u2003And I shall thereby make us safe for evermore?\"\n\n\u2003They swore and assented, every man,\n\n\u2003To live with her and die, and by her stand,\n\n\u2003And every one, in the best way he could,\n\n\u2003To strengthen her would persuade all his friends;\n\n\u2003And she has this enterprise taken in hand,\n\n\u2003Which you shall hear that I shall describe,\n\n\u2003And to them all she spoke right in this way:\n\n\u2003\"We shul first feyne us cristendom to take,\n\n\u2003Cold water shal not greve us but a lyte;\n\n\u2003And I shal swich a feste and revel make,\n\n\u2003That, as I trowe, I shal the sowdan quyte.\n\n\u2003For though his wyf be cristned never so whyte\n\n\u2003She shal have nede to wasshe awey the rede,\n\n\u2003Thogh she a font-ful water with hir lede.\"\n\n\u2003O sowdanesse, rote of iniquitee,\n\n\u2003Virago, thou Semyram the secounde,\n\n\u2003O serpent under femininitee,\n\n\u2003Lyk to the serpent depe in helle y-bounde,\n\n\u2003O feyned womman, al that may confounde\n\n\u2003Vertu and innocence, thurgh thy malyce,\n\n\u2003Is bred in thee, as nest of every vyce!\n\n\u2003O Satan, envious sin thilke day\n\n\u2003That thou were chased from our heritage,\n\n\u2003Wel knowestow to wommen the olde way!\n\n\u2003Thou madest Eva bringe us in servage.\n\n\u2003Thou wolt fordoon this cristen mariage.\n\n\u2003Thyn instrument so, weylawey the whyle!\n\n\u2003Makestow of wommen, whan thou wolt begyle.\n\n\u2003This sowdanesse, whom I thus blame and warie,\n\n\u2003Leet prively hir conseil goon hir way.\n\n\u2003What sholde I in this tale lenger tarie?\n\n\u2003She rydeth to the sowdan on a day,\n\n\u2003And seyde him, that she wolde reneye hir lay,\n\n\u2003And cristendom of preestes handes fonge,\n\n\u2003Repenting hir she hethen was so longe,\n\n\u2003Biseching him to doon hir that honour,\n\n\u2003That she moste han the cristen men to feste;\n\n\u2003\"To plesen hem I wol do my labour.\"\n\n\u2003The sowdan seith, \"I wol don at your heste,\"\n\n\u2003And kneling thanketh hir of that requeste.\n\n\u2003So glad he was, he niste what to seye;\n\n\u2003She kiste hir sone, and hoom she gooth hir weye.\n\n\u2003\"We shall first feign us Christianity to take\n\n\u2003Cold water shall not grieve us but a little\u2014\n\n\u2003And I shall such a feast and revel make\n\n\u2003That, as I believe, shall the Sultan revenge.\n\n\u2003For though his wife be christened ever so white,\n\n\u2003She shall have need to wash away the red,\n\n\u2003Though she bring a baptismal font.\"\n\n\u2003Oh Sultaness, root of iniquity!\n\n\u2003Virago, you Semiramis the second!\n\n\u2003Oh serpent disguised as femininity,\n\n\u2003Like to Satan deep in hell bound!\n\n\u2003O feigned woman, all that may destroy\n\n\u2003Virtue and innocence, through your malice,\n\n\u2003Is bred in you, a nest of every vice!\n\n\u2003Oh Satan, envious since that day\n\n\u2003That you were chased from our Garden,\n\n\u2003Well know you women in the old way!\n\n\u2003You made Eve bring us into servitude;\n\n\u2003You would destroy this Christian marriage.\n\n\u2003Your instrument\u2014alas!\u2014\n\n\u2003Make you of women, when you would beguile.\n\n\u2003This Sultaness, whom I thus blame and curse,\n\n\u2003Secretly dismissed her counsel to go their ways.\n\n\u2003Why should I in this tale longer tarry?\n\n\u2003She rode to the Sultan on a day,\n\n\u2003And said that she would renounce her faith,\n\n\u2003And Christianity at the priest's hands accept,\n\n\u2003Repenting that she had Mahomet so long worshiped,\n\n\u2003And beseeching him that he would do her the honor,\n\n\u2003That she might have the Christian folk to feast\u2014\n\n\u2003\"To please them will I make an effort.\"\n\n\u2003The sultan said, \"I will comply with your behest.\"\n\n\u2003And kneeling thanked her for that request.\n\n\u2003So glad he was, he knew not what to say.\n\n\u2003She kissed her son, and home she went her way."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 102",
                "text": "\u2003Arryved ben this Cristen folk to londe,\n\n\u2003In Surrie, with a greet solempne route,\n\n\u2003And hastily this sowdan sente his sonde,\n\n\u2003First to his moder, and al the regne aboute,\n\n\u2003And seyde, his wyf was comen, out of doute,\n\n\u2003And preyde hir for to ryde agayn the quene,\n\n\u2003The honour of his regne to sustene.\n\n\u2003Gret was the prees, and riche was th'array\n\n\u2003Of Surriens and Romayns met y-fere;\n\n\u2003The moder of the sowdan, riche and gay,\n\n\u2003Receyveth hir with al-so glad a chere\n\n\u2003As any moder mighte hir doghter dere,\n\n\u2003And to the nexte citee ther bisyde\n\n\u2003A softe pas solempnely they ryde.\n\n\u2003Noght trowe I the triumphe of Julius,\n\n\u2003Of which that Lucan maketh swich a bost,\n\n\u2003Was royaller, ne more curious\n\n\u2003Than was th'assemblee of this blisful host.\n\n\u2003But this scorpioun, this wikked gost,\n\n\u2003The sowdanesse, for al hir flateringe,\n\n\u2003Caste under this ful mortally to stinge.\n\n\u2003The sowdan comth him-self sone after this\n\n\u2003So royally, that wonder is to telle,\n\n\u2003And welcometh hir with alle joye and blis.\n\n\u2003And thus in merthe and joye I lete hem dwelle.\n\n\u2003The fruyt of this matere is that I telle.\n\n\u2003Whan tyme cam, men thoughte it for the beste\n\n\u2003That revel stinte, and men goon to hir reste.\n\n\u2003The tyme cam, this olde sowdanesse\n\n\u2003Ordeyned hath this feste of which I tolde,\n\n\u2003And to the feste Cristen folk hem dresse\n\n\u2003In general, ye! bothe yonge and olde\n\n\u2003Here may men feste and royaltee biholde,"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 103",
                "text": "\u2003Arrived were this Christian folk to land\n\n\u2003In Syria, with a great solemn company,\n\n\u2003And hastily this Sultan sent his message\n\n\u2003First to his mother, and all the reign about,\n\n\u2003And said his wife was coming, with no doubt,\n\n\u2003And prayed for her to ride toward the queen,\n\n\u2003The honor of his reign to sustain.\n\n\u2003Great was the crowd, and rich was the raiment\n\n\u2003Of Syrians and Romans met together;\n\n\u2003The mother of the Sultan, rich and gay,\n\n\u2003Received her also with a glad face\n\n\u2003As any mother might her daughter dear,\n\n\u2003And to the next city there beside\n\n\u2003Slowly and solemnly they rode.\n\n\u2003I believe that Caesar's triumphal march,\n\n\u2003Of which Lucan makes such a boast,\n\n\u2003Was not more royal or elaborate\n\n\u2003Than was the assembly of this blissful host.\n\n\u2003But this scorpion, this wicked spirit,\n\n\u2003The Sultaness, for all her flattery,\n\n\u2003Planned under this full mortally to sting.\n\n\u2003The Sultan came himself soon after this\n\n\u2003So royally that it wondrous is to tell,\n\n\u2003And welcomed her with all joy and bliss.\n\n\u2003And thus in mirth and joy I let him dwell;\n\n\u2003The heart of this matter is what I tell.\n\n\u2003When the time came, men thought it for the best\n\n\u2003The revels to end, and men went to their rest.\n\n\u2003The time came that this old Sultaness\n\n\u2003Ordained this feast of which I told,\n\n\u2003And to the feast Christian folk attended\n\n\u2003In general, yea, both young and old.\n\n\u2003Here may men feast and royalty behold,\n\n\u2003And deyntees mo than I can yow devyse,\n\n\u2003But al to dere they boughte it er they ryse.\n\n\u2003O sodeyn wo! that ever art successour\n\n\u2003To worldly blisse, spreynd with bitternesse;\n\n\u2003Th'ende of the joye of our worldly labour;\n\n\u2003Wo occupieth the fyn of our gladnesse.\n\n\u2003Herke this conseil for thy sikernesse,\n\n\u2003Up-on thy glade day have in thy minde\n\n\u2003The unwar wo or harm that comth bihinde.\n\n\u2003For shortly for to tellen at o word,\n\n\u2003The sowdan and the Cristen everichone\n\n\u2003Ben al to-hewe and stiked at the bord,\n\n\u2003But it were only dame Custance allone.\n\n\u2003This olde sowdanesse, cursed crone,\n\n\u2003Hath with hir frendes doon this cursed dede,\n\n\u2003For she hir-self wolde al the contree lede.\n\n\u2003Ne ther was Surrien noon that was converted\n\n\u2003That of the conseil of the sowdan woot,\n\n\u2003That he nas al to-hewe er he asterted.\n\n\u2003And Custance han they take anon, foot-hoot,\n\n\u2003And in a shippe al sterelees, god woot,\n\n\u2003They han hir set, and bidde hir lerne sayle\n\n\u2003Out of Surrye agaynward to Itayle.\n\n\u2003A certein tresor that she thider ladde,\n\n\u2003And, sooth to sayn, vitaille gret plentee\n\n\u2003They han hir yeven, and clothes eek she hadde.\n\n\u2003And forth she sayleth in the salte see.\n\n\u2003O my Custance, ful of benignitee,\n\n\u2003O emperoures yonge doghter dere,\n\n\u2003He that is lord of fortune be thy stere!\n\n\u2003She blesseth hir, and with ful pitous voys\n\n\u2003Un-to the croys of Crist thus seyde she,\n\n\u2003\"O clere, o welful auter, holy croys,\n\n\u2003Reed of the lambes blood full of pitee,\n\n\u2003And dainties more than I can for you describe;\n\n\u2003But all too dear they bought it before they rose.\n\n\u2003Oh sudden woe, that ever is successor\n\n\u2003To worldly bliss, sprinkled with bitterness,\n\n\u2003The end of the joy of our worldly labor!\n\n\u2003Woe occupies the end of our gladness.\n\n\u2003Harken to this counsel for your safety:\n\n\u2003Upon the glad day have in your mind\n\n\u2003The unknown woe or harm that comes behind.\n\n\u2003For shortly for to tell, in a word,\n\n\u2003The Sultan and the Christians every one\n\n\u2003Were hacked and stabbed at the table,\n\n\u2003Except for dame Constance alone.\n\n\u2003This old Sultaness, cursed crone,\n\n\u2003Has with her friends done this cursed deed,\n\n\u2003For she herself would all the country lead.\n\n\u2003None of the Syrians who were converted,\n\n\u2003Who of the counsel of the Sultan knew,\n\n\u2003Were not stabbed or to pieces hewn.\n\n\u2003And Constance they took anon with hot feet,\n\n\u2003And in a rudderless old hulk, God knows,\n\n\u2003They her set, and bid her learn to sail\n\n\u2003From Syria back to Italy again.\n\n\u2003A certain treasure she thither carried,\n\n\u2003And, truth to tell, of food great plenty\n\n\u2003They have her given, and clothes also she had,\n\n\u2003And forth she sailed in the salt sea.\n\n\u2003Oh my Constance, full of benignity,\n\n\u2003Oh Emperor's young daughter dear,\n\n\u2003He who is lord of Fortune may your ship steer!\n\n\u2003She blessed herself, and with full piteous voice\n\n\u2003Unto the cross of Christ said she:\n\n\u2003\"Oh pure, oh blessed altar, holy cross,\n\n\u2003Red with the Lamb's blood full of pity,\n\n\u2003That wesh the world fro the olde iniquitee,\n\n\u2003Me fro the feend, and fro his clawes kepe,\n\n\u2003That day that I shal drenchen in the depe.\n\n\u2003Victorious tree, proteccioun of trewe,\n\n\u2003That only worthy were for to bere\n\n\u2003The king of heven with his woundes newe,\n\n\u2003The whyte lamb, that hurt was with the spere,\n\n\u2003Flemer of feendes out of him and here\n\n\u2003On which thy limes feithfully extenden,\n\n\u2003Me keep, and yif me might my lyf t'amenden.\"\n\n\u2003Yeres and dayes fleet this creature\n\n\u2003Thurghout the see of Grece un-to the strayte\n\n\u2003Of Marrok, as it was hir aventure;\n\n\u2003On many a sory meel now may she bayte;\n\n\u2003After her deeth ful often may she wayte,\n\n\u2003Er that the wilde wawes wol hir dryve\n\n\u2003Un-to the place, ther she shal arryve.\n\n\u2003Men mighten asken why she was not slayn?\n\n\u2003Eek at the feste who mighte hir body save?\n\n\u2003And I answere to that demaunde agayn,\n\n\u2003Who saved Daniel in the horrible cave,\n\n\u2003Ther every wight save he, maister and knave,\n\n\u2003Was with the leoun frete er he asterte?\n\n\u2003No wight but god, that he bar in his herte.\n\n\u2003God liste to shewe his wonderful miracle\n\n\u2003In hir, for we sholde seen his mighty werkes;\n\n\u2003Crist, which that is to every harm triacle,\n\n\u2003By certein menes ofte, as knowen clerkes,\n\n\u2003Doth thing for certein ende that ful derk is\n\n\u2003To mannes wit, that for our ignorance\n\n\u2003Ne conne not knowe his prudent purveyance.\n\n\u2003Now, sith she was not at the feste y-slawe,\n\n\u2003Who kepte hir fro the drenching in the see?\n\n\u2003Who kepte Jonas in the fisshes mawe\n\n\u2003That washes the world of old iniquity,\n\n\u2003Me from the fiend and from his claws keep,\n\n\u2003That day that I shall drown in the deep.\n\n\u2003\"Victorious cross, protector of the faithful,\n\n\u2003That alone was worthy for to bear\n\n\u2003The King of Heaven with his wounds new,\n\n\u2003The white lamb, that was wounded with a spear,\n\n\u2003Banisher of fiends from him and her\n\n\u2003Over which your limbs faithfully extend,\n\n\u2003Me keep, and me give the power my life to amend.\"\n\n\u2003Years and days drifted this creature\n\n\u2003Through the Sea of Greece unto the Straits\n\n\u2003Of Gibraltar, as it was her luck.\n\n\u2003On many a sorry meal now may she dine;\n\n\u2003For her death full often may she wait,\n\n\u2003Before that the wild waves will her drive\n\n\u2003Unto the place where she shall arrive.\n\n\u2003Men might ask why she was not slain\n\n\u2003Also at the feast? Who might her body save?\n\n\u2003And I answer to that demand again,\n\n\u2003Who saved Daniel in the horrible cave\n\n\u2003Where every person save he, master and servant,\n\n\u2003Was by the lion devoured before he escaped?\n\n\u2003No person but God whom he bore in his heart.\n\n\u2003God chose to show his wonderful miracle\n\n\u2003In her, that we should see his mighty works;\n\n\u2003Christ, who is to every harm the medicine,\n\n\u2003By certain means often, as know scholars,\n\n\u2003Does things for certain ends that full dark are\n\n\u2003To men's wit, that in our ignorance\n\n\u2003We can not know his prudent providence.\n\n\u2003Now since she was not at the feast slain,\n\n\u2003Who kept her from drowning in the sea?\n\n\u2003Who kept Jonas in the fish's maw\n\n\u2003Til he was spouted up at Ninivee?\n\n\u2003Wel may men knowe it was no wight but he\n\n\u2003That kepte peple Ebraik fro hir drenchinge,\n\n\u2003With drye feet thurgh-out the see passinge.\n\n\u2003Who bad the foure spirits of tempest,\n\n\u2003That power han t'anoyen land and see,\n\n\u2003\"Bothe north and south, and also west and est,\n\n\u2003Anoyeth neither see, ne land, ne tree?\"\n\n\u2003Sothly, the comaundour of that was he,\n\n\u2003That fro the tempest ay this womman kepte\n\n\u2003As wel whan [that] she wook as whan she slepte.\n\n\u2003Wher mighte this womman mete and drinke-have?\n\n\u2003Three yeer and more how lasteth hir vitaille?\n\n\u2003Who fedde the Egipcien Marie in the cave,\n\n\u2003Or in desert? no wight but Crist, sans faille.\n\n\u2003Fyve thousand folk it was as gret mervaille\n\n\u2003With loves fyve and fisshes two to fede.\n\n\u2003God sente his foison at hir grete nede.\n\n\u2003She dryveth forth in-to our occean\n\n\u2003Thurgh-out our wilde see, til; atte laste,\n\n\u2003Under an hold that nempnen I ne can,\n\n\u2003Fer in Northumberlond the wawe hir caste,\n\n\u2003And in the sond hir ship stiked so faste,\n\n\u2003That thennes wolde it noght of al a tyde,\n\n\u2003The wille of Crist was that she shulde abyde.\n\n\u2003The constable of the castel doun is fare\n\n\u2003To seen this wrak, and al the ship he soghte,\n\n\u2003And fond this wery womman ful of care;\n\n\u2003He fond also the tresor that she broghte.\n\n\u2003In hir langage mercy she bisoghte\n\n\u2003The lyf out of hir body for to twinne,\n\n\u2003Hir to delivere of wo that she was inne.\n\n\u2003A maner Latin corrupt was hir speche,\n\n\u2003But algates ther-by was she understonde;\n\n\u2003Till he was spouted up at Nineveh?\n\n\u2003Well may men know that it was no person but he\n\n\u2003Who kept the Hebrew people from their drowning,\n\n\u2003With dry feet passing through the sea.\n\n\u2003Who bade the four angels of tempest\n\n\u2003Who have the power to trouble land and sea,\n\n\u2003Both north and south, and also west and east,\n\n\u2003\"Trouble neither sea, nor land, nor cross\"?\n\n\u2003Truly, the commander of that was he\n\n\u2003Who from the tempest ever this woman kept\n\n\u2003As well when she woke as when she slept.\n\n\u2003Where might this woman food and drink have\n\n\u2003Three years and more? How lasted her provisions?\n\n\u2003Who fed Saint Mary the Egyptian in the cave,\n\n\u2003Or in the desert? No one but Christ, without doubt.\n\n\u2003It was as miraculous as when with two loaves and fishes\n\n\u2003Five thousand folk he fed.\n\n\u2003God sent his plenty at her great need.\n\n\u2003She drove forth into our ocean\n\n\u2003Throughout our wild sea, till at last\n\n\u2003Under a castle that I cannot name,\n\n\u2003Far in Northumberland the waves her cast,\n\n\u2003And in the sand her ship stuck so fast\n\n\u2003That thence would it not float for all a tide;\n\n\u2003The will of Christ was that she should abide.\n\n\u2003The constable of this castle down is fared\n\n\u2003To see the wreck, and all the ship he searched,\n\n\u2003And found this very woman full of sorrow;\n\n\u2003He found also the treasure that she brought.\n\n\u2003In her language mercy she besought,\n\n\u2003The life out of her body to take,\n\n\u2003Her to deliver of the woe that she was in.\n\n\u2003A kind of corrupted Latin was her speech,\n\n\u2003But nevertheless thereby was she understood.\n\n\u2003The constable, whan him list no lenger seche,\n\n\u2003This woful womman broghte he to the londe;\n\n\u2003She kneleth doun, and thanketh goddes sonde.\n\n\u2003But what she was, she wolde no man seye,\n\n\u2003For foul ne fair, thogh that she shulde deye.\n\n\u2003She seyde, she was so massed in the see\n\n\u2003That she forgat hir minde, by hir trouthe;\n\n\u2003The constable hath of hir so greet pitee,\n\n\u2003And eek his wyf, that they wepen for routhe,\n\n\u2003She was so diligent, with-outen slouthe,\n\n\u2003To serve and plesen everich in that place,\n\n\u2003That alle hir loven that loken on hir face.\n\n\u2003This constable and dame Hermengild his wyf\n\n\u2003Were payens, and that contree everywhere;\n\n\u2003But Hermengild lovede hir right as hir lyf,\n\n\u2003And Custance hath so longe sojourned there,\n\n\u2003In orisons, with many a bitter tere,\n\n\u2003Til Jesu hath converted thurgh his grace\n\n\u2003Dame Hermengild, constablesse of that place.\n\n\u2003In al that lond no Cristen durste route,\n\n\u2003Alle Cristen folk ben fled fro that contree\n\n\u2003Thurgh payens, that conquereden al aboute\n\n\u2003The plages of the North, by land and see;\n\n\u2003To Walis fled the Cristianitee\n\n\u2003Of olde Britons, dwellinge in this yle;\n\n\u2003Ther was hir refut for the mene whyle.\n\n\u2003But yet nere Cristen Britons so exyled\n\n\u2003That ther nere somme that in hir privetee\n\n\u2003Honoured Crist, and hethen folk bigyled;\n\n\u2003And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three.\n\n\u2003That oon of hem was blind, and mighte nat see\n\n\u2003But it were with thilke y\u00ebn of his minde,\n\n\u2003With whiche men seen, after that they ben blinde.\n\n\u2003The constable, when he was done his search,\n\n\u2003This woeful woman brought he to the land.\n\n\u2003She knelt down and thanked God's providence;\n\n\u2003But who she was she would no man tell,\n\n\u2003For foul nor fair, though she should die.\n\n\u2003She said that she was so bewildered in the sea\n\n\u2003That she lost her memory, by her troth.\n\n\u2003The constable had for her such great pity,\n\n\u2003And also his wife, that they wept for compassion.\n\n\u2003She was so diligent, without sloth,\n\n\u2003To serve and please everyone in that place\n\n\u2003That all her loved who looked upon her face.\n\n\u2003This constable and dame Hermengyld, his wife,\n\n\u2003Were pagans, as was that country everywhere;\n\n\u2003But Hermengyld loved her right as her life,\n\n\u2003And Constance so long sojourned there,\n\n\u2003Giving herself to prayer, with many a bitter tear,\n\n\u2003Till Jesus converted through his grace\n\n\u2003Dame Hermengyld, the constable's wife of that place.\n\n\u2003In all that land no Christians dared gather;\n\n\u2003All Christian folk were fled from that country\n\n\u2003Because of the pagans, who conquered all about\n\n\u2003The coasts of the north, by land and sea.\n\n\u2003To Wales fled the Christian\n\n\u2003Old Britons dwelling in that isle;\n\n\u2003There was their refuge for the meanwhile.\n\n\u2003But yet were not Christian Britons so exiled\n\n\u2003That there were not some who in secret\n\n\u2003Honored Christ and heathen folk beguiled,\n\n\u2003And near the castle there dwelt three.\n\n\u2003And one of them was blind and might not see,\n\n\u2003Except with those eyes of his mind\n\n\u2003With which men may see, after they go blind.\n\n\u2003Bright was the sonne as in that someres day,\n\n\u2003For which the constable and his wyf also\n\n\u2003And Custance han y-take the righte way\n\n\u2003Toward the see, a furlong wey or two,\n\n\u2003To pleyen and to romen to and fro;\n\n\u2003And in hir walk this blinde man they mette\n\n\u2003Croked and old, with yen faste y-shette.\n\n\u2003\"In name of Crist,\" cryde this blinde Britoun,\n\n\u2003\"Dame Hermengild, yif me my sighte agayn.\"\n\n\u2003This lady wex affrayed of the soun,\n\n\u2003Lest that hir housbond, shortly for to sayn,\n\n\u2003Wolde hir for Jesu Cristes love han slayn,\n\n\u2003Til Custance made hir bold, and bad hir werche\n\n\u2003The wil of Crist, as doghter of his chirche.\n\n\u2003The constable wex abasshed of that sight,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"what amounteth al this fare?\"\n\n\u2003Custance answerde, \"sire, it is Cristes might,\n\n\u2003That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare.\"\n\n\u2003And so ferforth she gan our lay declare,\n\n\u2003That she the constable, er that it were eve,\n\n\u2003Converted, and on Crist made him bileve.\n\n\u2003This constable was no-thing lord of this place\n\n\u2003Of which I speke, ther he Custance fond,\n\n\u2003But kepte is strongly, many wintres space,\n\n\u2003Under Alla, king of al Northumberlond,\n\n\u2003That was ful wys, and worthy of his hond\n\n\u2003Agayn the Scottes, as men may wel here,\n\n\u2003But turne I wol agayn to my matere.\n\n\u2003Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle,\n\n\u2003Saugh of Custance al hir perfeccioun,\n\n\u2003And caste anon how he mighte quyte hir whyle,\n\n\u2003And made a yong knight, that dwelte in that toun,\n\n\u2003Love hir so hote, of foul affeccioun,\n\n\u2003That verraily him thoughte he shulde spille\n\n\u2003But he of hir mighte ones have his wille.\n\n\u2003Bright was the sun in that summer's day,\n\n\u2003For which the constable and his wife also\n\n\u2003And Constance had taken the right way\n\n\u2003Toward the sea a furlong length or two,\n\n\u2003To play and roam to and fro,\n\n\u2003And in their walk this blind man they met,\n\n\u2003Crooked and old, with eyes fast shut.\n\n\u2003\"In name of Christ,\" cried this blind Briton,\n\n\u2003\"Dame Hermengyld, give me my sight again!\"\n\n\u2003This lady waxed afraid of the sound,\n\n\u2003Lest that her husband, shortly for to tell,\n\n\u2003Would her for Jesus Christ's love have slain,\n\n\u2003Till Constance made her bold, and bade her work\n\n\u2003The will of Christ, as daughter of his church.\n\n\u2003The constable waxed abashed at that sight,\n\n\u2003And said, \"What does all this mean?\"\n\n\u2003Constance answered, \"Sire, it is Christ's might,\n\n\u2003Who helps folk out of the fiend's snare.\"\n\n\u2003And so much she began our religion to declare\n\n\u2003That she the constable, before it was evening\n\n\u2003Converted, and in Christ made him believe.\n\n\u2003This constable was not lord of this place\n\n\u2003Of which I speak, where he Constance found,\n\n\u2003But kept it strongly many a winter's space\n\n\u2003Under Alla, king of all Northumberland,\n\n\u2003Who was full wise, and brave in battle\n\n\u2003Against the Scots, as men may well hear;\n\n\u2003But turn I will again to my matter.\n\n\u2003Satan, who ever waits us to beguile,\n\n\u2003Saw of Constance all her perfection,\n\n\u2003And plotted anon how he might repay her soon,\n\n\u2003And made a young knight who dwelt in that town\n\n\u2003Love her so hotly, with such passion,\n\n\u2003That verily he thought he should die,\n\n\u2003Unless he of her might once have his will.\n\n\u2003He woweth hir, but it availleth noght,\n\n\u2003She wolde do no sinne, by no weye;\n\n\u2003And, for despyt, he compassed in his thoght\n\n\u2003To maken hir on shamful deth to deye.\n\n\u2003He wayteth whan the constable was aweye,\n\n\u2003And prively, up-on a night, he crepte\n\n\u2003In Hermengildes chambre whyl she slepte.\n\n\u2003Wery, for-waked in her orisouns,\n\n\u2003Slepeth Custance, and Hermengild also.\n\n\u2003This knight, thurgh Sathanas temptaciouns,\n\n\u2003Al softely is to the bed y-go,\n\n\u2003And kitte the throte of Hermengild a-two,\n\n\u2003And leyde the blody knyf by dame Custance,\n\n\u2003And wente his wey, ther god yeve him meschance!\n\n\u2003Sone after comth this constable hoom agayn,\n\n\u2003And eek Alia, that king was of that lond,\n\n\u2003And saugh his wyf despitously y-slayn,\n\n\u2003For which ful ofte he weep and wrong his hond,\n\n\u2003And in the bed the blody knyf he fond\n\n\u2003By dame Custance; allas! what mighte she seye?\n\n\u2003For verray wo hir wit was al aweye.\n\n\u2003To king Alla was told al this meschance,\n\n\u2003And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wyse\n\n\u2003That in a ship was founden dame Custance,\n\n\u2003As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse.\n\n\u2003The kinges herte of pitee gan agryse,\n\n\u2003Whan he saugh so benigne a creature\n\n\u2003Falle in disese and in misaventure.\n\n\u2003For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght,\n\n\u2003So stant this innocent bifore the king;\n\n\u2003This false knight that hath this tresoun wroght\n\n\u2003Berth hir on hond that she hath doon this thing.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, ther was [ful] greet moorning\n\n\u2003He wooed her, but it availed not;\n\n\u2003She would do no sin, in no way.\n\n\u2003And for spite he plotted in his thought\n\n\u2003To make her in shameful death to die.\n\n\u2003He waited when the constable was away,\n\n\u2003And privately upon a night he crept\n\n\u2003Into Hermengyld's chamber, while she slept.\n\n\u2003Weary, exhausted from prayer,\n\n\u2003Slept Constance, and Hermengyld also.\n\n\u2003This knight, through Satan's temptation,\n\n\u2003All softly is to the bed gone,\n\n\u2003And cut the throat of Hermengyld in two,\n\n\u2003And laid the bloody knife by dame Constance,\n\n\u2003And went his way, may God give him mischance!\n\n\u2003Soon after came this constable home again,\n\n\u2003And also Alia, who king was of that land,\n\n\u2003And the constable saw his wife cruelly slain,\n\n\u2003For which full oft he wept and wrung his hands,\n\n\u2003And in the bed the bloody knife he found\n\n\u2003Beside Dame Constance. Alas, what might she say?\n\n\u2003In her woe her wit was all away.\n\n\u2003To King Alla was told all this mischance,\n\n\u2003And also the time, and where, and in what way\n\n\u2003That in a ship was found this Constance,\n\n\u2003As herebefore you have heard described.\n\n\u2003The king's heart of pity began to tremble,\n\n\u2003When he saw so benign a creature\n\n\u2003Fall in distress and misadventure.\n\n\u2003For as the lamb toward its death is brought,\n\n\u2003So stood this innocent before the king.\n\n\u2003This false knight, who has this treason wrought,\n\n\u2003Falsely accused her of having done this thing.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, there was great mourning\n\n\u2003Among the peple, and seyn, \"they can not gesse\n\n\u2003That she hath doon so greet a wikkednesse.\n\n\u2003For they han seyn hir ever so vertuous,\n\n\u2003And loving Hermengild right as her lyf.\"\n\n\u2003Of this bar witnesse everich in that hous\n\n\u2003Save he that Hermengild slow with his knyf,\n\n\u2003This gentil king hath caught a gret motyf\n\n\u2003Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere\n\n\u2003Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.\n\n\u2003Allas! Custance! thou hast no champioun,\n\n\u2003Ne fighte canstow nought, so weylawey!\n\n\u2003But he, that starf for our redempcioun\n\n\u2003And bond Sathan (and yit lyth ther he lay)\n\n\u2003So be thy stronge champioun this day!\n\n\u2003For, but-if Crist open miracle kythe,\n\n\u2003Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swythe.\n\n\u2003She sette her doun on knees, and thus she sayde,\n\n\u2003\"Immortal god, that savedest Susanne\n\n\u2003Fro false blame, and thou, merciful mayde,\n\n\u2003Mary I mene, doghter to Seint Anne,\n\n\u2003Bifore whos child aungeles singe Osanne,\n\n\u2003If I be giltlees of this felonye,\n\n\u2003My socour be, for elles I shal dye!\"\n\n\u2003Have ye nat seyn some tyme a pale face,\n\n\u2003Among a prees, of him that hath be lad\n\n\u2003Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace,\n\n\u2003And swich a colour in his face hath had,\n\n\u2003Men mighte knowe his face, that was bisted,\n\n\u2003Amonges alle the faces in that route:\n\n\u2003So stant Custance, and loketh hir aboute.\n\n\u2003O quenes, livinge in prosperitee,\n\n\u2003Duchesses, and ye ladies everichone,\n\n\u2003Haveth som routhe on hir adversitee;\n\n\u2003Among the people, and said they could not guess\n\n\u2003That she had done so great a wickedness,\n\n\u2003For they had seen her ever so virtuous,\n\n\u2003And loving Hermengyld right as her life.\n\n\u2003Of this bore witness everyone in that house,\n\n\u2003Save he who slew Hermengyld with his knife.\n\n\u2003This gentle king was deeply moved\n\n\u2003By this witnessing, and thought he would inquire\n\n\u2003Deeper into this, for to learn the truth.\n\n\u2003Alas! Constance, you have no champion,\n\n\u2003Nor can you fight, so wellaway!\n\n\u2003But he who died for our redemption,\n\n\u2003And bound Satan (who yet lies there still),\n\n\u2003So be your strong champion this day!\n\n\u2003For, unless Christ an open miracle reveals,\n\n\u2003Guiltless you shall be slain and soon.\n\n\u2003She knelt down, and thus she said:\n\n\u2003\"Immortal God, who saved Susanna\n\n\u2003From false blame, and you, merciful maid,\n\n\u2003Mary I mean, daughter to Saint Anne,\n\n\u2003Before whose child angels sing Hosanna,\n\n\u2003If I be guiltless of this felony,\n\n\u2003My succor be, for else shall I die!\"\n\n\u2003Have you not seen sometime a pale face,\n\n\u2003Among a crowd, of him who is led\n\n\u2003Toward his death, who has received no grace,\n\n\u2003And who has such a color in his face that\n\n\u2003Men might see that trouble standing out\n\n\u2003Of all the faces in the crowd?\n\n\u2003So stood Constance, as she looked her about.\n\n\u2003Oh queens, living in prosperity,\n\n\u2003Duchesses, and you ladies everyone,\n\n\u2003Have some pity on her adversity!\n\n\u2003An emperoures doghter stant allone;\n\n\u2003She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.\n\n\u2003O blood royal, that stondest in this drede,\n\n\u2003Fer ben thy freendes at thy grete nede!\n\n\u2003This Alla king hath swich compassioun,\n\n\u2003As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,\n\n\u2003That from his yen ran the water doun.\n\n\u2003\"Now hastily do fecche a book,\" quod he,\n\n\u2003\"And if this knight wol sweren how that she\n\n\u2003This womman slow, yet wole we us avyse\n\n\u2003Whom that we wole that shal ben our justyse.\"\n\n\u2003A Briton book, writen with Evangyles,\n\n\u2003Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon\n\n\u2003She gilty was, an in the mene whyles\n\n\u2003A hand him smoot upon the nekke-boon,\n\n\u2003That doun he fil atones as a stoon,\n\n\u2003And bothe his yen broste out of his face\n\n\u2003In sight of every body in that place.\n\n\u2003A vois was herd in general audience,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"thou hast desclaundred giltelees\n\n\u2003The doghter of holy chirche in hey presence;\n\n\u2003Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees.\"\n\n\u2003Of this mervaille agast was al the prees;\n\n\u2003As mased folk they stoden everichone,\n\n\u2003For drede of wreche, save Custance allone.\n\n\u2003Greet was the drede and eek the repentance\n\n\u2003Of hem that hadden wrong suspeccioun\n\n\u2003Upon this sely innocent Custance;\n\n\u2003And, for this miracle, in conclusioun,\n\n\u2003And by Custances mediacioun,\n\n\u2003The king, and many another in that place,\n\n\u2003Converted was, thanked be Cristes grace!\n\n\u2003This false knight was slayn for his untrouthe\n\n\u2003By jugement of Alia hastily;\n\n\u2003An Emperor's daughter stands alone;\n\n\u2003She has no one to whom she can make her moan.\n\n\u2003Oh blood royal, who stands in this dread,\n\n\u2003Far be your friends at your great need!\n\n\u2003This Alla king has such compassion,\n\n\u2003As a gentle heart is filled with pity,\n\n\u2003That from his eyes ran the water down.\n\n\u2003\"Now hastily do fetch a book,\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"And if this knight will swear how that she\n\n\u2003This woman slew, yet will we think carefully\n\n\u2003Who shall be her executioner.\"\n\n\u2003A British book, written with Gospels,\n\n\u2003Was fetched, and in this book he swore anon\n\n\u2003She guilty was, and in the meanwhile\n\n\u2003A hand him smote upon the neck-bone,\n\n\u2003And down he fell as a stone,\n\n\u2003And both his eyes burst out of his face\n\n\u2003In sight of everybody in that place.\n\n\u2003A voice was heard by everyone there,\n\n\u2003That said, \"You have slandered, guiltless,\n\n\u2003The daughter of holy church in God's presence;\n\n\u2003Thus have you done, and yet I held my peace!\"\n\n\u2003By this miracle astonished was all the gathering;\n\n\u2003As bewildered folk they stood every one,\n\n\u2003For dread of vengeance, save Constance alone.\n\n\u2003Great was the dread and also the repentance\n\n\u2003Of those who had wrongly suspected\n\n\u2003This true innocent, Constance;\n\n\u2003And for this miracle, in conclusion,\n\n\u2003And by Constance's mediation,\n\n\u2003The king\u2014and many another in that place\u2014\n\n\u2003Converted was, thanked be Christ's grace!\n\n\u2003This false knight was slain for his untruth\n\n\u2003By judgement of Alla swiftly;\n\n\u2003And yet Custance hadde of his deeth gret routhe.\n\n\u2003And after this Jesus, of his mercy,\n\n\u2003Made Alla wedden ful solempnely\n\n\u2003This holy mayden, that is so bright and shene,\n\n\u2003And thus hath Crist y-maad Custance a quene.\n\n\u2003But who was woful, if I shal nat lye,\n\n\u2003Of this wedding but Donegild, and na mo,\n\n\u2003The kinges moder, ful of tirannye?\n\n\u2003Hir thoughte hir cursed herte brast a-two;\n\n\u2003She wolde noght hir sone had do so;\n\n\u2003Hir thoughte a despit, that he sholde take\n\n\u2003So strange a creature un-to his make.\n\n\u2003Me list nat of the chaf nor of the stree\n\n\u2003Maken so long a tale, as of the corn.\n\n\u2003What sholde I tellen of the royaltee\n\n\u2003At mariage, or which cours gooth biforn,\n\n\u2003Who bloweth in a trompe or in an horn?\n\n\u2003The fruit of every tale is for to seye;\n\n\u2003They ete, and drinke, and daunce, and singe, and pleye.\n\n\u2003They goon to bedde, as it was skile and right;\n\n\u2003For, thogh that wyves been ful holy thinges,\n\n\u2003They moste take in pacience at night\n\n\u2003Swich maner necessaries as been plesinges\n\n\u2003To folk that han y-wedded hem with ringes,\n\n\u2003And leye a lyte hir holinesse asyde\n\n\u2003As for the tyme; it may no bet bityde.\n\n\u2003On hir he gat a knave-child anoon,\n\n\u2003And to a bishop and his constable eke\n\n\u2003He took his wyf to kepe, whan he is goon\n\n\u2003To Scotland-ward, his fo-men for to seke;\n\n\u2003Now faire Custance, that is so humble and meke,\n\n\u2003So longe is goon with childe, til that stille\n\n\u2003She halt hir chambre, abyding Cristes wille.\n\n\u2003And yet Constance had of his death great pity.\n\n\u2003And after this Jesus, of his mercy,\n\n\u2003Made Alla wed full solemnly\n\n\u2003This holy maiden, who was so bright and shining;\n\n\u2003And thus Christ made Constance a queen.\n\n\u2003But who was woeful, if I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003Of this wedding but Donegild, and no others,\n\n\u2003The king's mother, full of tyranny?\n\n\u2003She thought her cursed heart would break in two.\n\n\u2003She would not that her son had done so;\n\n\u2003She thought it an insult that he should take\n\n\u2003So strange a creature to be his mate.\n\n\u2003I care not about the chaff, nor the straw,\n\n\u2003Of this long tale\u2014only the kernel.\n\n\u2003What should I tell of the royalty\n\n\u2003At marriage, or which course went before;\n\n\u2003Or who blew a trumpet or a horn?\n\n\u2003The heart of every tale is what we should tell:\n\n\u2003They ate, and drank, and danced, and sung, and played.\n\n\u2003They went to bed, as it was reasonable and right;\n\n\u2003For though wives be full holy things,\n\n\u2003They must take in patience at night\n\n\u2003Such necessities as be pleasing\n\n\u2003To folk who have wedded them with rings,\n\n\u2003And lay a little of their holiness aside,\n\n\u2003For awhile\u2014that is in life the way.\n\n\u2003On her he begot a boy child anon,\n\n\u2003And to a bishop, and his constable also,\n\n\u2003He gave his wife to keep, while he was gone\n\n\u2003To Scotland-ward, his enemies to seek.\n\n\u2003Now fair Constance, who is so humble and meek,\n\n\u2003So long is gone with child, that still\n\n\u2003She stayed in her chamber, awaiting Christ's will.\n\n\u2003The tyme is come, a knave-child she ber;\n\n\u2003Mauricius at the font-stoon they him calle;\n\n\u2003This constable dooth forth come a messager,\n\n\u2003And wroot un-to his king, that cleped was Alle,\n\n\u2003How that this blisful tyding is bifalle,\n\n\u2003And othere tydings speedful for to seye;\n\n\u2003He tak'th the lettre, and forth he gooth his weye.\n\n\u2003This messager, to doon his avantage,\n\n\u2003Un-to the kinges moder rydeth swythe,\n\n\u2003And salueth hir ful faire in his langage,\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" quod he, \"ye may be glad and blythe,\n\n\u2003And thanke god an hundred thousand sythe;\n\n\u2003My lady quene hath child, with-outen doute,\n\n\u2003To joye and blisse of al this regne aboute.\n\n\u2003Lo, heer the lettres seled of this thing,\n\n\u2003That I mot bere with al the haste I may;\n\n\u2003If ye wol aught un-to your sone the king,\n\n\u2003I am your servant, bothe night and day.\"\n\n\u2003Donegild answerde, \"as now at this tyme, nay;\n\n\u2003But heer al night I wol thou take thy reste,\n\n\u2003Tomorwe wol I seye thee what me leste.\"\n\n\u2003This messager drank sadly ale and wyn,\n\n\u2003And stolen were his lettres prively\n\n\u2003Out of his box, whyl he sleep as a swyn;\n\n\u2003And countrefeted was ful subtilly\n\n\u2003Another lettre, wroght ful sinfully,\n\n\u2003Un-to the king direct of this matere\n\n\u2003Fro his constable, as ye shal after here.\n\n\u2003The lettre spak, \"the queen delivered was\n\n\u2003Of so horrible a feendly creature,\n\n\u2003That in the castel noon so hardy was\n\n\u2003That any whyle dorste ther endure.\n\n\u2003The moder was an elf, by aventure\n\n\u2003The time came that a boy child she bore;\n\n\u2003Maurice at the baptismal font they him called.\n\n\u2003This constable sent for a messenger,\n\n\u2003And wrote to his king, who was called Alia,\n\n\u2003How this blissful tiding had occurred,\n\n\u2003And other tidings useful for to say.\n\n\u2003He took the letter, and went forth his way.\n\n\u2003This messenger, to do himself good,\n\n\u2003Unto the king's mother swiftly rode,\n\n\u2003And saluted her full fair in his language:\n\n\u2003\"Madame,\" said he, \"you may be glad and blithe,\n\n\u2003And thank God a hundred thousand times!\n\n\u2003My lady queen has a child, without doubt,\n\n\u2003To the joy and bliss of this reign about.\n\n\u2003\"Look, here the letters sealed of this thing,\n\n\u2003That I might bear with all the haste that I may.\n\n\u2003If you wish to send something to your son the king,\n\n\u2003I am your servant, both night and day.\"\n\n\u2003Donegild answered, \"At this time, nay;\n\n\u2003But here all night I would you take your rest.\n\n\u2003Tomorrow will I tell you what I wish.\"\n\n\u2003This messenger drank steadily ale and wine,\n\n\u2003And stolen were his letters secretly\n\n\u2003From his box, while he slept as a swine;\n\n\u2003And counterfeited was full subtly\n\n\u2003Another letter, wrought full sinfully,\n\n\u2003Unto the king direct of this matter\n\n\u2003From his constable, as you shall after hear.\n\n\u2003The letter said the queen delivered was\n\n\u2003Of so horrible a fiendish creature\n\n\u2003That in the castle no one so hardy was\n\n\u2003Who for any while dared they endure.\n\n\u2003The mother was an evil spirit, by chance\n\n\u2003Y-come, by charmes or by sorcerye,\n\n\u2003And every wight hateth hir companye.\"\n\n\u2003Wo was this king whan he this lettre had seyn,\n\n\u2003But to no wighte he tolde his sorwes sore,\n\n\u2003But of his owene honde he wroot ageyn,\n\n\u2003\"Welcome the sonde of Crist for evermore\n\n\u2003To me, that am now lerned in his lore;\n\n\u2003Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy plesaunce,\n\n\u2003My lust I putte al in thyn ordinaunce!\n\n\u2003Kepeth this child, al be it foul or fair,\n\n\u2003And eek my wyf, un-to myn hoom-cominge;\n\n\u2003Crist, whan him list, may sende me an heir\n\n\u2003More agreable than this to my lykinge.\"\n\n\u2003This lettre he seleth, prively wepinge,\n\n\u2003Which to the messager was take sone,\n\n\u2003And forth he gooth, ther is na more to done.\n\n\u2003O messager, fulfild of dronkenesse,\n\n\u2003Strong is thy breeth, thy limes faltren ay,\n\n\u2003And thou biwreyest alle secreenesse.\n\n\u2003Thy mind is lorn, thou janglest as a jay,\n\n\u2003Thy face is turned in a newe array!\n\n\u2003Ther dronkenesse regneth in any route,\n\n\u2003Ther is no conseil hid, with-outen doute.\n\n\u2003O Donegild, I ne have noon English digne\n\n\u2003Un-to thy malice and thy tirannye!\n\n\u2003And therfor to the feend I thee resigne,\n\n\u2003Let him endyten of thy traitorye!\n\n\u2003Fy, mannish, fy! o nay, by god, I lye,\n\n\u2003Fy, feendly spirit, for I dar wel telle,\n\n\u2003Though thou heer walke, thy spirit is in helle!\n\n\u2003This messager comth fro the king agayn,\n\n\u2003And at the kinges modres court he lighte,\n\n\u2003And she was of this messager ful fayn,\n\n\u2003Come, by charms or sorcery,\n\n\u2003And every person hated her company.\n\n\u2003Woe was this king when he this letter had seen,\n\n\u2003But to no person he told his sorrows sore,\n\n\u2003But in his own hand he wrote again,\n\n\u2003\"Welcome the dispensation of Christ for evermore\n\n\u2003To me who knows his lore!\n\n\u2003Lord, welcome be your wish and pleasure;\n\n\u2003My will I put all in your hands.\n\n\u2003\"Keep this child, albeit foul or fair,\n\n\u2003And also my wife, until my homecoming.\n\n\u2003Christ, when he wishes, may send me an heir\n\n\u2003More agreeable than this to my liking.\"\n\n\u2003This letter he sealed, privately weeping,\n\n\u2003Which to the messenger was taken anon,\n\n\u2003And forth he went; there was no more to be done.\n\n\u2003Oh messenger, filled with drunkenness,\n\n\u2003Strong is your breath, your limbs falter ever,\n\n\u2003And you betray all secrecy.\n\n\u2003Your mind is lost, you chatter as a jay,\n\n\u2003Your face has a new look.\n\n\u2003Your drunkenness reigns with any group,\n\n\u2003There are no secrets kept, without doubt.\n\n\u2003Oh Donegild, I have no English fit\n\n\u2003For your malice and your tyranny!\n\n\u2003And therefore to the fiend I you commend;\n\n\u2003Let him indite of your treachery!\n\n\u2003Fie, mannish, fie!\u2014oh nay, by God, I lie\u2014\n\n\u2003Fie, fiendish spirit, for I dare well tell,\n\n\u2003Though you here walk, your spirit is in hell!\n\n\u2003This messenger came from the king again,\n\n\u2003And at the king's mother's court he alighted,\n\n\u2003And she was of this messenger full eager,\n\n\u2003And plesed him in al that ever she mighte.\n\n\u2003He drank, and wel his girdel underpighte.\n\n\u2003He slepeth, and he snoreth in his gyse\n\n\u2003Al night, un-til the sonne gan aryse.\n\n\u2003Eft were his lettres stolen everichon\n\n\u2003And countrefeted lettres in this wyse;\n\n\u2003\"The king comandeth his constable anon,\n\n\u2003Up peyne of hanging, and on heigh juyse,\n\n\u2003That he ne sholde suffren in no wyse\n\n\u2003Custance in-with his regne for t'abyde\n\n\u2003Thre dayes and a quarter of a tyde;\n\n\u2003But in the same ship as he hir fond,\n\n\u2003Hir and hir yonge sone, and al hir gere,\n\n\u2003He sholde putte, and croude hir fro the lond,\n\n\u2003And charge hir that she never eft come there.\"\n\n\u2003O my Custance, wel may thy goost have fere\n\n\u2003And sleping in thy dreem been in penance,\n\n\u2003When Donegild caste al this ordinance!\n\n\u2003This messager on morwe, whan he wook,\n\n\u2003Un-to the castel halt the nexte wey,\n\n\u2003And to the constable he the lettre took;\n\n\u2003And whan that he this pitous lettre sey,\n\n\u2003Ful ofte he seyde \"allas!\" and \"weylawey!\"\n\n\u2003\"Lord Crist,\" quod he, \"how may this world endure?\n\n\u2003So ful of sinne is many a creature!\n\n\u2003O mighty god, if that it be thy wille,\n\n\u2003Sith thou art rightful juge, how may it be\n\n\u2003That thou wolt suffren innocents to spille,\n\n\u2003And wikked folk regne in prosperitee?\n\n\u2003O good Custance, allas! so wo is me\n\n\u2003That I mot be thy tormentour, or deye\n\n\u2003On shames deeth; ther is noon other weye!\"\n\n\u2003Wepen bothe yonge and olde in al that place,\n\n\u2003Whan that the king this cursed lettre sente,\n\n\u2003And pleased him in every way that she might.\n\n\u2003He drank, and put them down,\n\n\u2003He slept, and snorted in his way\n\n\u2003All night, till the sun began to rise.\n\n\u2003Again his letters were stolen every one,\n\n\u2003\"And counterfeited letters in this way:\n\n\u2003The king commands his constable anon,\n\n\u2003Upon pain of hanging, and by high court,\n\n\u2003That he should suffer in no way\n\n\u2003Constance in his realm to abide\n\n\u2003More than three days and a quarter tide;\n\n\u2003\"But in the same ship as he her found,\n\n\u2003Her, and her young son, and all her gear,\n\n\u2003He should put, and drive her from the land,\n\n\u2003And charge her that she never should return.\"\n\n\u2003Oh my Constance, well may your spirit fear,\n\n\u2003And, sleeping, in your dream be misery,\n\n\u2003When Donegild plotted this ordinance.\n\n\u2003This messenger in the morning, when he woke,\n\n\u2003Unto the castle took the shortest way,\n\n\u2003And to the constable he the letter took;\n\n\u2003And when that he this piteous letter saw,\n\n\u2003Full often he said, \"Alas and wellaway!\"\n\n\u2003\"Lord Christ,\" said he, \"how may this world endure,\n\n\u2003So full of sin is many a creature?\n\n\u2003\"Oh mighty God, if it be your will,\n\n\u2003Since you are rightful judge, how may it be\n\n\u2003That you would suffer innocence to die,\n\n\u2003And wicked folk reign in prosperity?\n\n\u2003Oh good Constance, alas, so woe is me\n\n\u2003That I must be your tormentor, or die\n\n\u2003Myself; there is no other way.\"\n\n\u2003Wept both young and old in all that place\n\n\u2003When the king this cursed letter sent,\n\n\u2003And Custance, with a deedly pale face,\n\n\u2003The ferthe day toward hir ship she wente.\n\n\u2003But natheles she taketh in good entente\n\n\u2003The wille of Crist, and, kneling on the stronde,\n\n\u2003She seyde, \"lord! ay wel-com be thy sonde!\n\n\u2003He that me kepte fro the false blame\n\n\u2003Whyl I was on the londe amonges yow,\n\n\u2003He can me kepe from harme and eek fro shame\n\n\u2003In salte see, al-thogh I see nat how.\n\n\u2003As strong as ever he was, he is yet now.\n\n\u2003In him triste I, and in his moder dere,\n\n\u2003That is to me my seyl and eek my stere.\"\n\n\u2003Her litel child lay weping in hir arm,\n\n\u2003And kneling, pitously to him she seyde,\n\n\u2003\"Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee non harm.\"\n\n\u2003With that hir kerchef of hir heed she breyde,\n\n\u2003And over his litel yen she it leyde;\n\n\u2003And in hir arm she lulleth it ful faste,\n\n\u2003And in-to heven hir yen up she caste.\n\n\u2003\"Moder,\" quod she, \"and mayde bright, Marye,\n\n\u2003Sooth is that thurgh wommannes eggement\n\n\u2003Mankind was lorn and damned ay to dye,\n\n\u2003For which thy child was on a croys y-rent;\n\n\u2003Thy blisful yen sawe al his torment;\n\n\u2003Than is ther no comparison bitwene\n\n\u2003Thy wo and any wo man may sustene.\n\n\u2003Thou sawe thy child y-slayn bifor thyn yen,\n\n\u2003And yet now liveth my litel child, parfay!\n\n\u2003Now, lady bright, to whom alle woful cry\u00ebn,\n\n\u2003Thou glorie of wommanhede, thou faire may,\n\n\u2003Thou haven of refut, brighte sterre of day,\n\n\u2003Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse\n\n\u2003Rewest on every rewful in distresse!\n\n\u2003And Constance, with a deathly pale face,\n\n\u2003The fourth day toward the ship she went.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless she took in good intent\n\n\u2003The will of Christ, and kneeling on the strand,\n\n\u2003She said, \"Lord, ever welcome be what you will!\n\n\u2003\"He who kept me from false blame\n\n\u2003While I was in the land among you,\n\n\u2003He can keep me from harm and from shame\n\n\u2003In salt sea, although I see not how.\n\n\u2003As strong as ever he was, he is yet now.\n\n\u2003In him I trust, and in his mother dear,\n\n\u2003Who is to me my sail and also my rudder.\"\n\n\u2003Her little child lay weeping in her arm,\n\n\u2003And kneeling, piteously to him she said,\n\n\u2003\"Peace, little son, I will do you no harm.\"\n\n\u2003With that her kerchief she removed from her head,\n\n\u2003And over his little eyes she it laid,\n\n\u2003And in her arms she lulled it full fast,\n\n\u2003And unto heaven her eyes up she cast.\n\n\u2003\"Mother,\" said she, \"and maid bright, Mary,\n\n\u2003True it is that through woman's urging\n\n\u2003Mankind was lost, and doomed ever to die,\n\n\u2003For which your child was on a cross torn.\n\n\u2003Your blissful eyes saw all his torment;\n\n\u2003There is no comparison between\n\n\u2003Your woe and any woe man may sustain.\n\n\u2003\"You saw your child slain before your eyes,\n\n\u2003And yet now lives my little child, by my faith!\n\n\u2003Now, lady bright, to whom all woeful cry,\n\n\u2003You glory of womanhood, you fair maid,\n\n\u2003You haven of refuge, bright star of day,\n\n\u2003Take pity on my child, who in your gentleness\n\n\u2003Pities every soul in distress.\n\n\u2003O litel child, allas! what is thy gilt,\n\n\u2003That never wroughtest sinne as yet, pardee,\n\n\u2003Why wil thyn harde fader han thee spilt?\n\n\u2003O mercy, dere constable!\" quod she;\n\n\"As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee;\n\n\u2003And if thou darst not saven him, for blame,\n\n\u2003So kis him ones in his fadres name!\"\n\n\u2003Ther-with she loketh bakward to the londe,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"far-wel, housbond routhelees!\"\n\n\u2003And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde\n\n\u2003Toward the ship; hir folweth al the prees,\n\n\u2003And ever she preyeth hir child to holde his pees;\n\n\u2003And taketh hir leve, and with an holy entente\n\n\u2003She blesseth hir; and in-to ship she wente.\n\n\u2003Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede,\n\n\u2003Habundantly for hir, ful longe space,\n\n\u2003And other necessaries that sholde nede\n\n\u2003She hadde y-nogh, heried be goddes grace!\n\n\u2003For wind and weder almighty god purchace,\n\n\u2003And bringe hir hoom! I can no bettre seye;\n\n\u2003But in the see she dryveth forth hir weye."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 104",
                "text": "\u2003Alla the king comth hoom, sone after this,\n\n\u2003Unto his castel of the which I tolde,\n\n\u2003And axeth wher his wyf and his child is.\n\n\u2003The constable gan aboute his herte colde,\n\n\u2003And pleynly al the maner he him tolde\n\n\u2003As ye han herd, I can telle it no bettre,\n\n\u2003And sheweth the king his seel and [eek] his lettre,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"lord, as ye comaunded me\n\n\u2003Up peyne of deeth, so have I doon, certein.\"\n\n\u2003This messager tormented was til he\n\n\u2003Moste biknowe and tellen, plat and plein,\n\n\u2003Fro night to night, in what place he had leyn.\n\n\u2003\"Oh little child, alas! what is your guilt,\n\n\u2003Who never wrought sin as yet, by God?\n\n\u2003Why will your hard father have you killed?\n\n\u2003O mercy, dear constable,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"Grant that my little child dwell here with you;\n\n\u2003And if you dare not save him, for blame,\n\n\u2003So kiss him once in his father's name!\"\n\n\u2003Therewith she looked backward to the land,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Farewell, husband ruthless!\"\n\n\u2003And up she rose, and walked down the strand\n\n\u2003Toward the ship\u2014her followed all the crowd\u2014\n\n\u2003And ever she prayed her child to hold his peace;\n\n\u2003And took her leave, and with holy intent\n\n\u2003She blessed herself, and into the ship she went.\n\n\u2003Provisioned was the ship, it is no doubt,\n\n\u2003Abundantly for a long voyage,\n\n\u2003And of other necessities\n\n\u2003She had enough\u2014praise be God's grace!\n\n\u2003For wind and weather almighty God provide,\n\n\u2003And bring her home! I can no better say,\n\n\u2003But in the sea she sailed forth her way."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 105",
                "text": "\u2003Alla the king came home soon after this\n\n\u2003Unto his castle, of which I told,\n\n\u2003And asked where his wife and child were.\n\n\u2003The constable felt his heart turn cold,\n\n\u2003And plainly everything he him told\n\n\u2003As you have heard\u2014I can tell it no better\u2014\n\n\u2003And showed the king his seal and also his letter,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Lord, as you commanded me\n\n\u2003Upon pain of death, so have I done, certainly.\"\n\n\u2003This messenger tortured was until he\n\n\u2003Must reveal and tell, bluntly and plain,\n\n\u2003From night to night, in what place he had lain;\n\n\u2003And thus, by wit and subtil enqueringe,\n\n\u2003Ymagined was by whom this harm gan springe.\n\n\u2003The hand was knowe that the lettre wroot,\n\n\u2003And al the venim of this cursed dede,\n\n\u2003But in what wyse, certeinly I noot.\n\n\u2003Th'effect is this, that Alla, out of drede,\n\n\u2003His moder slow, that men may pleinly rede,\n\n\u2003For that she traitour was to hir ligeaunce.\n\n\u2003Thus endeth olde Donegild with meschaunce.\n\n\u2003The sorwe that this Alla, night and day,\n\n\u2003Maketh for his wyf and for his child also,\n\n\u2003Ther is no tonge that it telle may.\n\n\u2003But now wol I un-to Custance go,\n\n\u2003That fleteth in the see, in peyne and wo,\n\n\u2003Fyve yeer and more, as lyked Cristes sonde,\n\n\u2003Er that hir ship approched un-to londe.\n\n\u2003Under an hethen castel, atte laste,\n\n\u2003Of which the name in my text noght I finde,\n\n\u2003Custance and eek hir child the see upcaste.\n\n\u2003Almighty god, that saveth al mankinde,\n\n\u2003Have on Custance and on hir child some minde,\n\n\u2003That fallen is in hethen land eft-sone,\n\n\u2003In point to spille, as I shal telle yow sone.\n\n\u2003Doun from the castel comth ther many a wight\n\n\u2003To gauren on this ship and on Custance.\n\n\u2003But shortly, from the castel, on a night,\n\n\u2003The lordes styward\u2014god yeve him meschaunce!.\n\n\u2003A theef, that had reneyed our creaunce,\n\n\u2003Com in-to ship allone, and seyde he sholde\n\n\u2003Hir lemman be, where-so she wolde or nolde.\n\n\u2003Wo was this wrecched womman tho bigon,\n\n\u2003Hir child cryde, and she cryde pitously;\n\n\u2003But blisful Marie heelp hir right anon;\n\n\u2003For with hir strugling wel and mightily\n\n\u2003And thus, by wit and subtle inquiring,\n\n\u2003Imagined was by whom this harm had sprung.\n\n\u2003The hand was known who had the letter written,\n\n\u2003And all the venom of this cursed deed,\n\n\u2003But in what way, certainly, I do not know.\n\n\u2003The effect was: that Alla, with no doubt,\n\n\u2003His mother slew\u2014that men may plainly read\u2014\n\n\u2003For she was traitor to her allegiance.\n\n\u2003Thus ended old Donegild, with mischance!\n\n\u2003The sorrow that this Alla night and day\n\n\u2003Made for his wife, and for his child also,\n\n\u2003There is no tongue that tell it may.\n\n\u2003But now will I unto Constance go,\n\n\u2003Who floated in the sea, in pain and woe,\n\n\u2003Five years and more, by Christ's command,\n\n\u2003Before her ship approached unto land.\n\n\u2003Under a heathen castle, at last,\n\n\u2003Of which the name in my text I find not,\n\n\u2003Constance, and also her child, the sea upcast.\n\n\u2003Almighty God, who saves all mankind,\n\n\u2003Have for Constance and her child some mind,\n\n\u2003Who fallen are in heathen hands again.\n\n\u2003To the point of death, as I shall tell you anon.\n\n\u2003Down from the castle came there many a person\n\n\u2003To stare at this ship and also on Constance.\n\n\u2003But shortly, from the castle, on a night,\n\n\u2003The lord's steward\u2014God give him mischance!\u2014\n\n\u2003A thief, who had renounced our belief,\n\n\u2003Came into the ship alone, and said he should\n\n\u2003Her lover be, whether she would or no.\n\n\u2003Woe was this wretched woman's plight;\n\n\u2003Her child cried, and she cried piteously.\n\n\u2003But blissful Mary helped her right anon;\n\n\u2003For with her struggling well and mightily\n\n\u2003The theef fil over bord al sodeinly,\n\n\u2003And in the see he dreynte for vengeance;\n\n\u2003And thus hath Crist unweummed kept Custance.\n\n\u2003O foule lust of luxurie! lo, thyn ende!\n\n\u2003Nat only that thou feyntest mannes minde,\n\n\u2003But verraily thou wolt his body shende;\n\n\u2003Th'ende of thy werk or of thy lustes blinde\n\n\u2003Is compleyning, how many-oon may men finde\n\n\u2003That noght for werk som-tyme, but for th'entente\n\n\u2003To doon this sinne, ben outher sleyn or shente!\n\n\u2003How may this wayke womman han this strengthe\n\n\u2003Hir to defende agayn this renegat?\n\n\u2003O Golias, unmesurable of lengthe,\n\n\u2003How mighte David make thee so mat,\n\n\u2003So yong and of armure so desolat?\n\n\u2003How dorste he loke up-on thy dredful face?\n\n\u2003Wel may men seen, if nas but goddes grace!\n\n\u2003Who yaf Judith corage or hardinesse\n\n\u2003To sleen him, Olofernus, in his tente,\n\n\u2003And to deliveren out of wrecchednesse\n\n\u2003The peple of god? I seye, for this entente,\n\n\u2003That, right as god spirit of vigour sente\n\n\u2003To hem, and saved hem out of meschance,\n\n\u2003So sente he might and vigour to Custance.\n\n\u2003Forth goth hir ship thurgh-out the narwe mouth\n\n\u2003Of Jubaltar and Septe, dryving ay,\n\n\u2003Som-tyme West, som-tyme North and South,\n\n\u2003And som-tyme Est, ful many a wery day,\n\n\u2003Til Cristes moder (blessed be she ay!)\n\n\u2003Hath shapen, thurgh hir endelees goodnesse,\n\n\u2003To make an ende of al hir hevinesse.\n\n\u2003Now lat us stinte of Custance but a throwe,\n\n\u2003And speke we of the Romain Emperour,\n\n\u2003The thief fell overboard all suddenly,\n\n\u2003And in the sea he drowned for vengeance;\n\n\u2003And thus has Christ undefiled kept Constance.\n\n\u2003Oh foul lust of lechery, look at your end!\n\n\u2003Not only do you weaken men's minds,\n\n\u2003But truly will you his body ruin.\n\n\u2003The end of your work, or of your lusts blind,\n\n\u2003Is lamentation. How many a time may men find\n\n\u2003That not for the deed sometimes, but for the intent\n\n\u2003To do this sin, be they either ruined or slain!\n\n\u2003How may this weak woman have the strength\n\n\u2003Herself to defend against this renegade?\n\n\u2003Oh Goliath, immeasurable of length,\n\n\u2003How may David make you so defeated,\n\n\u2003So young and of armor so desolate?\n\n\u2003How dared he look upon your dreadful face?\n\n\u2003Well may men see, it was not but by God's grace.\n\n\u2003Who gave Judith courage or strength\n\n\u2003To slay Holofernes in his tent,\n\n\u2003And to deliver out of wretchedness\n\n\u2003The people of God? I say, for this intent,\n\n\u2003That right as God the spirit of vigor sent\n\n\u2003To them and saved them out of mischance,\n\n\u2003So sent he might and vigor to Constance.\n\n\u2003Forth went her ship through the narrow mouth\n\n\u2003Of Gibraltar and Morocco, sailing ever\n\n\u2003Sometimes westward, sometimes north and south,\n\n\u2003And sometimes east, full many a weary day,\n\n\u2003Till Christ's mother\u2014blessed be she ever!\u2014\n\n\u2003Has planned\u2014through her endless goodness,\n\n\u2003To make an end to all her sorrow.\n\n\u2003Now let us stint of Constance but a short while,\n\n\u2003And speak we of the Roman Emperor,\n\n\u2003That out of Surrie hath by lettres knowe\n\n\u2003The slaughtre of Cristen folk, and dishonour\n\n\u2003Don to his doghter by a fals traitour,\n\n\u2003I mene the cursed wikked sowdanesse,\n\n\u2003That at the feste leet sleen both more and lesse.\n\n\u2003For which this emperour hath sent anoon\n\n\u2003His senatour, with royal ordinance,\n\n\u2003And othere lordes, got wot, many oon,\n\n\u2003On Surriens to taken heigh vengeance.\n\n\u2003They brennen, sleen, and bringe hem to meschance\n\n\u2003Ful many a day; but shortly, this is the ende,\n\n\u2003Homward to Rome they shapen hem to wende.\n\n\u2003This senatour repaireth with victorie\n\n\u2003To Rome-ward, sayling ful royally,\n\n\u2003And mette the ship dryving, as seith the storie,\n\n\u2003In which Custance sit ful pitously.\n\n\u2003No-thing ne knew he what she was, ne why\n\n\u2003She was in swich array; ne she nil seye\n\n\u2003Of hir estaat, althogh she sholde deye.\n\n\u2003He bringeth hir to Rome, and to his wyf\n\n\u2003He yat hir, and hir yonge sone also;\n\n\u2003And with the senatour she ladde her lyf.\n\n\u2003Thus can our lady bringen out of wo\n\n\u2003Woful Custance, and many another mo.\n\n\u2003And longe tyme dwelled she in that place,\n\n\u2003In holy werkes ever, as was hir grace.\n\n\u2003The senatoures wyf hir aunte was,\n\n\u2003But for al that she knew hir never the more;\n\n\u2003I wol no lenger tarien in this cas,\n\n\u2003But to king Alla, which I spak of yore,\n\n\u2003That for his wyf wepeth and syketh sore,\n\n\u2003I wol retourne, and lete I wol Custance\n\n\u2003Under the senatoures governance.\n\n\u2003Who had from Syria by letters known\n\n\u2003The slaughter of Christian folk, and dishonor\n\n\u2003Done to his daughter by a false traitor,\n\n\u2003I mean the cursed wicked Sultaness\n\n\u2003Who at the feast had ordered slain both more and less.\n\n\u2003For which this Emperor had sent anon\n\n\u2003His senator, with royal ordinance,\n\n\u2003And other lords, God knows, many a one,\n\n\u2003On Syrians to take high vengeance.\n\n\u2003They them burned, slew, and brought to mischance\n\n\u2003Full many a day, but shortly\u2014this is the end\u2014\n\n\u2003Homeward to Rome they began to wend.\n\n\u2003This senator repaired with victory\n\n\u2003Toward Rome, sailing full royally,\n\n\u2003And met the ship driving, as says the story,\n\n\u2003In which Constance sat full piteously.\n\n\u2003He knew not who she was, nor why\n\n\u2003She was in such a condition, nor would she say,\n\n\u2003Not even upon threat of death.\n\n\u2003He brought her to Rome, and to his wife\n\n\u2003He gave her, and her young son also;\n\n\u2003And with the senator she led her life.\n\n\u2003Thus can Our Lady bring out of woe\n\n\u2003Woeful Constance, and many another more.\n\n\u2003And long time dwelled she in that place,\n\n\u2003In holy works ever, as was her grace.\n\n\u2003The senator's wife her aunt was,\n\n\u2003But despite that she knew her never the more.\n\n\u2003I will not longer tarry in this case,\n\n\u2003But to king Alla, of whom I spoke before,\n\n\u2003Who for his wife wept and sickened sore,\n\n\u2003I will return, and I will leave Constance\n\n\u2003Under the senator's governance.\n\n\u2003King Alla, which that hadde his moder slayn,\n\n\u2003Upon a day fil in swich repentance,\n\n\u2003That, if I shortly tellen shal and plain,\n\n\u2003To Rome he comth, to receyven his penance;\n\n\u2003And putte him in the popes ordinance\n\n\u2003In heigh and low, and Jesu Crist bisoghte\n\n\u2003Foryeve his wikked werkes that he wroghte.\n\n\u2003The fame anon thurgh Rome toun is born,\n\n\u2003How Alla king shal come in pilgrimage,\n\n\u2003By herbergeours that wenten him biforn;\n\n\u2003For which the senatour, as was usage,\n\n\u2003Rood him ageyn, and many of his linage,\n\n\u2003As wel to shewen his heighe magnificence\n\n\u2003As to don any king a reverence.\n\n\u2003Greet chere dooth this noble senatour\n\n\u2003To king Alia, and he to him also;\n\n\u2003Everich of hem doth other greet honour;\n\n\u2003And so bifel that, in a day or two,\n\n\u2003This senatour is to king Alla go\n\n\u2003To feste, and shortly, if I shal nat lye,\n\n\u2003Custances sone wente in his companye.\n\n\u2003Som men wolde seyn, at requeste of Custance,\n\n\u2003This senatour hath lad this child to feste;\n\n\u2003I may nat tellen every circumstance,\n\n\u2003Be as be may, ther was he at the leste.\n\n\u2003But soth is this, that, at his modres heste,\n\n\u2003Biforn Alla, during the metres space,\n\n\u2003The child stood, loking in the kinges face.\n\n\u2003This Alia king hath of this child greet wonder,\n\n\u2003And to the senatour he seyde anon,\n\n\u2003\"Whos is that faire child that stondeth yonder?\"\n\n\u2003\"I noot,\" quod he, \"by god, and by seint John!\n\n\u2003A moder he hath, but fader hath he non\n\n\u2003King Alia, who had his mother slain,\n\n\u2003Upon a day fell into such repentance\n\n\u2003That, if I shall tell it short and plain,\n\n\u2003To Rome he went to receive his penance;\n\n\u2003And put himself in the Pope's command\n\n\u2003In all things, and Jesus Christ besought\n\n\u2003To forgive the wicked works that he had wrought.\n\n\u2003The news anon through Rome town was borne,\n\n\u2003How Alla the king should come in pilgrimage,\n\n\u2003By servants who travelled him before;\n\n\u2003And so the senator, as was his custom,\n\n\u2003Rode toward Alla, with many of his retinue,\n\n\u2003As much to show his own noble estate,\n\n\u2003As to do any king a reverence.\n\n\u2003Great greeting did this noble senator\n\n\u2003To king Alia, and he to him also;\n\n\u2003Each of them did to the other great honor.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that in a day or two\n\n\u2003This senator was to Alla gone\n\n\u2003To feast, and shortly, if I shall not lie,\n\n\u2003Constance's son went in his company.\n\n\u2003Some men would say at request of Constance\n\n\u2003This senator had brought this child to the feast;\n\n\u2003I may not tell every circumstance\u2014\n\n\u2003Be it as it may, there was he at the least.\n\n\u2003But the truth is this, that at his mother's behest\n\n\u2003Before Alla, during the dinner time,\n\n\u2003The child stood, looking in the king's face.\n\n\u2003This Alia king had of this child great wonder,\n\n\u2003And to the senator he said anon,\n\n\u2003\"Who is that fair child who stands yonder?\"\n\n\u2003\"I know not,\" said he, \"By God, and Saint John!\n\n\u2003A mother he has, but father has he none\n\n\u2003That I of woot\"\u2014but shortly, in a stounde,\n\n\u2003He tolde Alla how that this child was founde.\n\n\u2003\"But god wot,\" quod this senatour also,\n\n\u2003\"So vertuous a livere in my lyf,\n\n\u2003Ne saugh I never as she, ne herde of mo\n\n\u2003Of worldly wommen, mayden, nor of wyf;\n\n\u2003I dar wel seyn hir hadde lever a knyf\n\n\u2003Thurgh-out her breste, than been a womman wikke;\n\n\u2003Ther is no man coude bringe hir to that prikke.\"\n\n\u2003Now was this child as lyk un-to Custance\n\n\u2003As possible is a creature to be.\n\n\u2003This Alla hath the face in remembrance\n\n\u2003Of dame Custance, and ther-on mused he\n\n\u2003If that the childes moder were aught she\n\n\u2003That was his wyf, and prively he sighte,\n\n\u2003And spedde him fro the table that he mighte.\n\n\u2003\"Parfay,\" thoghte he, \"fantome is in myn heed!\n\n\u2003I oghte deme, of skilful jugement,\n\n\u2003That in the salte see my wyf is deed.\"\n\n\u2003And afterward he made his argument\u2014\n\n\u2003\"What woot I, if that Crist have hider y-sent\n\n\u2003My wyf by see, as wel as he hir sente\n\n\u2003To my contree fro thennes that she wente?\"\n\n\u2003And, after noon, hoom with the senatour\n\n\u2003Goth Alla, for to seen this wonder chaunce.\n\n\u2003This senatour dooth Alla greet honour,\n\n\u2003And hastifly he sente after Custaunce.\n\n\u2003But trusteth weel, hir liste nat to daunce\n\n\u2003Whan that she wiste wherefor was that sonde.\n\n\u2003Unnethe up-on hir feet she mighte stonde.\n\n\u2003When Alla saugh his wyf, faire he hir grette,\n\n\u2003And weep, that it was routhe for to see.\n\n\u2003For at the firste look he on hir sette\n\n\u2003He knew wel verraily that it was she.\n\n\u2003That I know of\"\u2014and shortly, in a little while,\n\n\u2003He told Alla how this child was found.\n\n\u2003\"But God knows,\" said this senator also,\n\n\u2003\"So virtuous a being in my life\n\n\u2003Never saw I ever as she, nor heard of more,\n\n\u2003Of worldly women, maid, nor wife.\n\n\u2003I dare well say she would rather a knife\n\n\u2003Through her breast, than be a woman wicked;\n\n\u2003There is no man who could bring her to that point.\"\n\n\u2003Now was this child as like unto Constance\n\n\u2003As possible is a creature to be.\n\n\u2003This Alla had the face in remembrance\n\n\u2003Of dame Constance, and thereon mused he\n\n\u2003If this child's mother were she\n\n\u2003Who was his wife, and inwardly he sighed,\n\n\u2003And left the table as soon as he might.\n\n\u2003\"By my faith,\" thought he, \"I am seeing phantoms!\n\n\u2003I ought deem, by all good judgement,\n\n\u2003That in the salt sea my wife is dead.\"\n\n\u2003And afterward he made his argument:\n\n\u2003\"What know I if Christ has hither sent\n\n\u2003My wife by sea, as he her sent\n\n\u2003To my country from thence she went?\"\n\n\u2003And in the afternoon, home with the senator\n\n\u2003Went Alla, for to see this wondrous chance.\n\n\u2003This senator did Alla great honor,\n\n\u2003And hastily he sent after Constance.\n\n\u2003But trust well, she did not with joy dance\n\n\u2003When she learned why she was sent for;\n\n\u2003Upon her feet she could scarcely stand.\n\n\u2003When Alla saw his wife, fair he her greeted,\n\n\u2003And wept so that it was a pity for to see;\n\n\u2003For at the first look he upon her set\n\n\u2003He knew well verily that it was she.\n\n\u2003And she for sorwe as domb stant as a tree;\n\n\u2003So was hir herte shet in hir distresse\n\n\u2003Whan she remembred his unkindnesse.\n\n\u2003Twy\u00ebs she swoned in his owne sighte;\n\n\u2003He weep, and him excuseth pitously:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"Now god,\" quod he, \"and alle his halves brighte\n\n\u2003So wisly on my soule as have mercy,\n\n\u2003That of your harm as giltelees am I\n\n\u2003As is Maurice my sone so lyk your face;\n\n\u2003Elles the feend me fecche out of this place!\"\n\n\u2003Long was the sobbing and the bitter peyne\n\n\u2003Er that hir woful hertes mighte cesse;\n\n\u2003Greet was the pitee for to here hem pleyne,\n\n\u2003Thurgh whiche pleintes gan hir wo encresse.\n\n\u2003I prey yow al my labour to relesse;\n\n\u2003I may nat telle hir wo un-til tomorwe,\n\n\u2003I am so wery for to speke of sorwe.\n\n\u2003But fynally, when that the sooth is wist\n\n\u2003That Alla giltelees was of hir wo,\n\n\u2003I trowe an hundred tymes been they kist,\n\n\u2003And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two\n\n\u2003That, save the joye that lasteth evermo,\n\n\u2003Ther is non lyk, that any creature\n\n\u2003Hath seyn or shal, whyl that the world may dure.\n\n\u2003Tho preyde she hir housbond mekely,\n\n\u2003In relief of hir longe pitous pyne,\n\n\u2003That he wold preye hir fader specially\n\n\u2003That, of his magestee, he wolde enclyne\n\n\u2003To vouche-sauf som day with him to dyne;\n\n\u2003She preyde him eek, he sholde by no weye\n\n\u2003Un-to hir fader no word of hir seye.\n\n\u2003Som men wold seyn, how that the child Maurice\n\n\u2003Doth this message un-to this emperour;\n\n\u2003But, as I gesse, Alla was nat so nyce\n\n\u2003And she, for sorrow, as silent stood as a tree,\n\n\u2003So was her heart shut in her distress,\n\n\u2003When she remembered his unkindness.\n\n\u2003Twice she swooned in his own sight;\n\n\u2003He wept, and excused himself piteously.\n\n\u2003\"Now God,\" said he, \"and his saints bright\n\n\u2003Surely on my soul have mercy,\n\n\u2003That of your harm guiltless am I\n\n\u2003As is Maurice my son, so like your face;\n\n\u2003Else the fiend me fetch out of this place!\"\n\n\u2003Long was the sobbing and the bitter pain,\n\n\u2003Before their woeful hearts might cease;\n\n\u2003Great was the pity for to hear them lament,\n\n\u2003Though that lamentation made their woe increase.\n\n\u2003I pray you all my labor to release;\n\n\u2003I would need to tell all their woe until tomorrow,\n\n\u2003And I am so weary for to speak of sorrow.\n\n\u2003But finally, when the truth was known\n\n\u2003That Alla guiltless was of her woe,\n\n\u2003I believe a hundred times have they kissed,\n\n\u2003And such a bliss was between the two\n\n\u2003That, save the joy that lasts evermore,\n\n\u2003There is nothing like that any creature\n\n\u2003Has seen or shall, while the world may endure.\n\n\u2003Then requested she of her husband meekly,\n\n\u2003In repayment for her long, piteous suffering,\n\n\u2003That he would invite her father specially\n\n\u2003If in his majesty he would incline\n\n\u2003To vouchsafe some day with him to dine.\n\n\u2003She prayed him also that he should in no way\n\n\u2003Unto her father any word of her say.\n\n\u2003Some men would say that the child Maurice\n\n\u2003Brought this message unto the Emperor;\n\n\u2003But, as I guess, Alla was not so foolish\n\n\u2003To him, that was of so sovereyn honour\n\n\u2003As he that is of Cristen folk the flour,\n\n\u2003Sente any child, but it is bet to deme\n\n\u2003He wente him-self, and so it may wel seme.\n\n\u2003This emperour hath graunted gentilly\n\n\u2003To come to diner, as he him bisoghte;\n\n\u2003And wel rede I, he loked bisily\n\n\u2003Up-on this child, and on his doghter thoghte.\n\n\u2003Alla goth to his in, and, as him oghte,\n\n\u2003Arrayed for this feste in every wyse\n\n\u2003As ferforth as his conning may suffyse.\n\n\u2003The morwe cam, and Alla gan him dresse,\n\n\u2003And eek his wyf, this emperour to mete;\n\n\u2003And forth they ryde in joye and in gladnesse.\n\n\u2003And when she saugh hir fader in the strete,\n\n\u2003She lighte doun, and falleth him to fete.\n\n\u2003\"Fader,\" quod she, \"your yonge child Custance\n\n\u2003Is now ful clene out of your remembrance.\n\n\u2003I am your doghter Custance,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"That whylom ye han sent un-to Surrye.\n\n\u2003It am I, fader, that in the salte see\n\n\u2003Was put allone and dampned for to dye.\n\n\u2003Now, gode fader, mercy I yow crye,\n\n\u2003Send me namore un-to non hethenesse,\n\n\u2003But thonketh my lord heer of his kindenesse.\"\n\n\u2003Who can the pitous joye tellen al\n\n\u2003Bitwix hem three, sin they ben thus y-mette?\n\n\u2003But of my tale make an ende I shal;\n\n\u2003The day goth faste, I wol no lenger lette.\n\n\u2003This glade folk to diner they hem sette;\n\n\u2003In joye and blisse at mete I lete hem dwelle\n\n\u2003A thousand fold wel more than I can telle.\n\n\u2003This child Maurice was sithen emperour\n\n\u2003Maad by the pope, and lived Cristenly.\n\n\u2003Toward him who was of such sovereign honor\n\n\u2003And who was of Christian folk the flower,\n\n\u2003To have sent any child, but it is better deemed\n\n\u2003He went himself, Maurice in his retinue.\n\n\u2003This emperor has granted genteely\n\n\u2003To come to dinner, as he him besought;\n\n\u2003And well read I in my book that he looked intently\n\n\u2003Upon this child, and on his daughter thought.\n\n\u2003Alla went to his inn, and as he ought,\n\n\u2003Prepared for this feast in every way\n\n\u2003As far as his skill might suffice.\n\n\u2003The morrow came, and Alla began to dress,\n\n\u2003And also his wife, this Emperor to meet;\n\n\u2003And forth they rode in joy and gladness.\n\n\u2003And when she saw her father in the street,\n\n\u2003She alighted, and fell to his feet.\n\n\u2003\"Father,\" said she, \"your young child Constance\n\n\u2003Is now full clean out of your remembrance.\n\n\u2003\"I am your daughter Constance,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"Who once you sent unto Syria.\n\n\u2003It is I, father, who in the salt sea\n\n\u2003Was put alone and damned for to die.\n\n\u2003Now, good father, mercy I you cry!\n\n\u2003Send me no more unto heathens,\n\n\u2003But thank my lord of his kindness.\"\n\n\u2003Who can the piteous joy tell all\n\n\u2003Between the three, since they were thus met?\n\n\u2003But of my tale I shall make an end;\n\n\u2003The day goes fast, I will no longer delay.\n\n\u2003These glad folk to dinner they them set;\n\n\u2003In joy and bliss at dinner I let them dwell\n\n\u2003A thousandfold more well than I can tell.\n\n\u2003This child Maurice was in time Emperor\n\n\u2003Made by the Pope, and lived Christianly;\n\n\u2003To Cristes chirche he dide greet honour;\n\n\u2003But I lete al his storie passen by,\n\n\u2003Of Custance is my tale specially.\n\n\u2003In olde Romayn gestes may men finde\n\n\u2003Maurices lyf; I bere it noght in minde.\n\n\u2003This king Alla, whan he his tyme sey,\n\n\u2003With his Custance, his holy wyf so swete,\n\n\u2003To Engelond been they come the righte wey,\n\n\u2003Wher-as they live in joye and in quiete.\n\n\u2003But litel whyl it lasteth, I yow hete,\n\n\u2003Joye of this world, for tyme wol nat abyde;\n\n\u2003Fro day to night it changeth as the tyde.\n\n\u2003Who lived ever in swich delyt o day\n\n\u2003That him ne moeved outher conscience,\n\n\u2003Or ire, or talent, or som kin affray,\n\n\u2003Envye, or pryde, or passion, or offence?\n\n\u2003I ne seye but for this ende this sentence,\n\n\u2003That litel whyl in joye or in plesance\n\n\u2003Lasteth the blisse of Alla with Custance.\n\n\u2003For deeth, that taketh of heigh and low his rente,\n\n\u2003When passed was a yeer, even as I gesse,\n\n\u2003Out of this world this king Alla he hente,\n\n\u2003For whom Custance hath ful gret hevinesse.\n\n\u2003Now lat us preyen god his soule blesse!\n\n\u2003And dame Custance, fynally to seye,\n\n\u2003Towards the toun of Rome gooth hir weye.\n\n\u2003To Rome is come this holy creature,\n\n\u2003And fyndeth ther hir frendes hole and sounde:\n\n\u2003Now is she scaped al hir aventure;\n\n\u2003And whan that she hir fader hath y-founde,\n\n\u2003Doun on hir knees falleth she to grounde;\n\n\u2003Weping for tendrenesse in herte blythe,\n\n\u2003She herieth god an hundred thousand sythe.\n\n\u2003To Christ's church he did great honor.\n\n\u2003But I let all his story pass by;\n\n\u2003Of Constance is my tale especially.\n\n\u2003In the old Roman histories may men find\n\n\u2003Maurice's life; I bear it not in mind.\n\n\u2003This king Alla, when he his time saw,\n\n\u2003With his Constance, his holy wife so sweet,\n\n\u2003To England were they come the shortest way,\n\n\u2003Where they lived in joy and quiet.\n\n\u2003But a little while it lasted, I may tell you,\n\n\u2003Joy of this world, for not long will abide;\n\n\u2003From day to day it changes as the tide.\n\n\u2003Who lived ever in such delight one day\n\n\u2003That he never felt another sensation,\n\n\u2003Either anger, or desire, or some kind of fear,\n\n\u2003Envy, pride, or passion, or offence?\n\n\u2003I say but this sentence:\n\n\u2003That little while in joy or in leisure\n\n\u2003Lasted the bliss of Alia with Constance.\n\n\u2003For Death, who takes of high and low his rent,\n\n\u2003When passed had many a year, even as I guess,\n\n\u2003Out of this world this king Alla he seized,\n\n\u2003For whom Constance had full great sorrow.\n\n\u2003Now let us pray to God his soul to bless!\n\n\u2003And dame Constance, finally to say,\n\n\u2003Toward the town of Rome went her way.\n\n\u2003To Rome is come this holy creature,\n\n\u2003And found her friends whole and sound;\n\n\u2003Now has she escaped all her adventure.\n\n\u2003And when she her father found,\n\n\u2003Down on her knees she fell to the ground;\n\n\u2003Weeping for tenderness in heart blithe,\n\n\u2003She praised God a hundred thousand times.\n\n\u2003In vertu and in holy almes-dede\n\n\u2003They liven alle, and never a-sonder wende;\n\n\u2003Til deeth departed hem, this lyf they lede.\n\n\u2003And fareth now weel, my tale is at an ende.\n\n\u2003Now Jesu Crist, that of his might may sende\n\n\u2003Joye after wo, governe us in his grace,\n\n\u2003And kepe us alle that ben in this place! Amen.\n\n\u2003In virtue and in holy alms-deeds,\n\n\u2003They lived all, and never parted were;\n\n\u2003Till death separated them, this life they lead.\n\n\u2003And fare now well! My tale is at an end.\n\n\u2003Now Jesus Christ, who of his might may send\n\n\u2003Joy after woe, govern us in his grace,\n\n\u2003And keep us all who have been in this place! Amen."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Maunciples Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003Wite ye nat wher ther stant a litel toun\n\n\u2003Which that y-cleped is Bob-up-and-doun,\n\n\u2003Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye?\n\n\u2003Ther gan our hoste for to jape and pleye,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"sirs, what! Dun is in the myre!\n\n\u2003Is ther no man, for preyere ne for hyre,\n\n\u2003That wol awake our felawe heer bihinde?\n\n\u2003A theef mighte him ful lightly robbe and binde.\n\n\u2003See how he nappeth! see, for cokkes bones,\n\n\u2003As he wol falle from his hors at ones.\n\n\u2003Is that a cook of Londoun, with meschaunce?\n\n\u2003Do him com forth, he knoweth his penaunce,\n\n\u2003For he shal telle a tale, by my fey!\n\n\u2003Al-though it be nat worth a botel hey.\n\n\u2003Awake, thou cook,\" quod he, \"god yeve thee sorwe,\n\n\u2003What eyleth thee to slepe by the morwe?\n\n\u2003Hastow had fleen al night, or artow dronke,\n\n\u2003Or hastow with som quene al night y-swonke,\n\n\u2003So that thou mayst nat holden up thyn heed?\"\n\n\u2003This cook, that was ful pale and no-thing reed,\n\n\u2003Seyde to our host, \"so god my soule blesse,\n\n\u2003As ther is falle on me swich hevinesse,\n\n\u2003Noot I nat why, that ne were lever slepe\n\n\u2003Than the beste galoun wyn in Chepe.\"\n\n\u2003\"Wel,\" quod the maunciple, \"if it may doon ese\n\n\u2003To thee, sir cook, and to no wight displese\n\n\u2003Which that heer rydeth in this companye,\n\n\u2003And that our host wol, of his curteisye,\n\n\u2003I wol as now excuse thee of thy tale;\n\n\u2003For, in good feith, thy visage is ful pale,\n\n\u2003Thyn yen daswen eek, as that me thinketh,\n\n\u2003And wel I woot, thy breeth ful soure stinketh,\n\n\u2003That sheweth wel thou art not wel disposed;\n\n\u2003Of me, certein, thou shalt nat been y-glosed.\n\n\u2003Se how he ganeth, lo, this dronken wight,"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Manciple's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003Know you not where there stands a little town\n\n\u2003Which is called Bob-up-and-down,\n\n\u2003Under the Blean Wood, on Canterbury Way?\n\n\u2003There began our Host for to joke and play,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sires, what! We're stuck in the mire!\n\n\u2003Is there no man, for prayer or hire,\n\n\u2003Who will awaken our fellow all behind?\n\n\u2003A thief might him full easily rob and bind.\n\n\u2003See how he naps! See how, for cock's bones,\n\n\u2003He will fall from his horse at once!\n\n\u2003Is that a cook of London, worse luck for us?\n\n\u2003Do him come forth, he knows his penance;\n\n\u2003For he shall tell a tale, by my faith,\n\n\u2003Although it be not worth a bale of hay.\n\n\u2003Awaken, you Cook,\" said he, \"God give you sorrow!\n\n\u2003What ails you to sleep in the morning?\n\n\u2003Have you had fleas all night, or are you soused?\n\n\u2003Or have you with some queen all night caroused,\n\n\u2003So that you may not hold up your head?\"\n\n\u2003This Cook, who was full pale and nothing red,\n\n\u2003Said to our Host, \"So God my soul bless,\n\n\u2003There is fallen on me such drowsiness,\n\n\u2003Know I not why, that I would rather have sleep\n\n\u2003Than the best gallon of wine in Cheap.\"\n\n\u2003\"Well,\" said the Manciple, \"if it may do ease\n\n\u2003To you, sir Cook, and no person displease,\n\n\u2003Who rides here in this company,\n\n\u2003And our Host agrees, of his courtesy,\n\n\u2003I will now excuse you of your tale.\n\n\u2003For, in good faith, your visage is full pale,\n\n\u2003Your eyes are bleary, so that I think,\n\n\u2003And well I know, your breath full sour stinks:\n\n\u2003That shows well that you are not well disposed.\n\n\u2003By me, certainly, you shall not be flattered.\n\n\u2003See how you yawn, look, this drunken fellow,\n\n\u2003As though he wolde us swolwe anon-right.\n\n\u2003Hold cloos thy mouth, man, by thy fader kin!\n\n\u2003The devel of helle sette his foot ther-in!\n\n\u2003Thy cursed breeth infecte wol us alle;\n\n\u2003Fy, stinking swyn, fy! foule moot thee falle!\n\n\u2003A! taketh heed, sirs, of this lusty man.\n\n\u2003Now, swete sir, wol ye justen atte fan?\n\n\u2003Ther-to me thinketh ye been wel y-shape!\n\n\u2003I trowe that ye dronken han wyn ape,\n\n\u2003And that is whan men pleyen with a straw.\"\n\n\u2003And with this speche the cook wex wrooth and wraw,\n\n\u2003And on the maunciple he gan nodde faste\n\n\u2003For lakke of speche, and doun the hors him caste,\n\n\u2003Wher as he lay, til that men up him took;\n\n\u2003This was a fayr chivachee of a cook!\n\n\u2003Alias! he nadde holde him by his ladel!\n\n\u2003And, er that he agayn were in his sadel,\n\n\u2003Ther was greet showving bothe to and fro,\n\n\u2003To lifte him up, and muchel care and wo,\n\n\u2003So unweldy was this sory palled gost.\n\n\u2003And to the maunciple thanne spak our host,\n\n\u2003\"By-cause drink hath dominacioun\n\n\u2003Upon this man, by my savacioun\n\n\u2003I trowe he lewedly wolde telle his tale.\n\n\u2003For, were it wyn, or old or moysty ale,\n\n\u2003That he hath dronke, he speketh in his nose,\n\n\u2003And fneseth faste, and eek he hath the pose.\n\n\u2003He hath also to do more than y-nough\n\n\u2003To kepe him and his capel eut of slough;\n\n\u2003And, if he falle from his capel eft-sone,\n\n\u2003Than shul we alle have y-nough to done,\n\n\u2003In lifting up his hevy dronken cors.\n\n\u2003Telle on thy tale, of him make I no fors.\n\n\u2003But yet, maunciple, in feith thou art to nyce,\n\n\u2003Thus openly repreve him of his vyce.\n\n\u2003Another day he wol, peraventure,\n\n\u2003Reclayme thee, and bringe thee to lure;\n\n\u2003I mene, he speke wol of smale thinges,\n\n\u2003As for to pinchen at thy rekeninges,\n\n\u2003As though he would us swallow.\n\n\u2003Hold closed your mouth, man, by my father's kin!\n\n\u2003The devil of hell set his foot therein!\n\n\u2003Your cursed breath will infect us all.\n\n\u2003Fie, stinking swine! Foul must you fall!\n\n\u2003Ah, take heed, sires, of this lively fellow.\n\n\u2003Now, sweet sir, would you a bull's eye hit?\n\n\u2003For that I think you be well prepared!\n\n\u2003I believe that you are very drunk\n\n\u2003And that is when men do all things wrong.\"\n\n\u2003And with this speech the Cook waxed wroth and raw,\n\n\u2003And to the Manciple he began to shake his head\n\n\u2003For lack of speech, and down the horse him cast,\n\n\u2003Where he lay, until men picked him up.\n\n\u2003This was the horsemanship of a cook!\n\n\u2003Alas, he could not prop himself up with his ladle!\n\n\u2003And before he was again in the saddle,\n\n\u2003There was great shoving both to and fro\n\n\u2003To lift him up, and much care and woe,\n\n\u2003So unwieldy was this sorry pallid ghost.\n\n\u2003And to the Manciple then spoke our Host:\n\n\"Because drink has domination\n\n\u2003Upon this man, by my salvation,\n\n\u2003I believe he poorly would tell his tale.\n\n\u2003For, were it wine or old or new ale\n\n\u2003That he has drunk, he speaks in his nose,\n\n\u2003And sneezes fast, and has a cold.\n\n\u2003He has also to do more than enough\n\n\u2003To keep himself and his horse out of the mud;\n\n\u2003And if he falls from his horse again,\n\n\u2003Then shall we all have enough to do\n\n\u2003In lifting up his heavy drunken corpse.\n\n\u2003Tell on your tale; to him I pay no heed.\n\n\u2003\"But yet, Manciple, in faith you are not so nice,\n\n\u2003Thus openly to reprove him of his vice.\n\n\u2003Another day he will, peradventure,\n\n\u2003Return the favor;\n\n\u2003I mean, he will speak of small things,\n\n\u2003For example your reckonings,\n\n\u2003That wer not honeste, if it cam to preef.\"\n\n\u2003\"No,\" quod the maunciple, \"that were a greet mescheef!\n\n\u2003So mighte he lightly bringe me in the snare.\n\n\u2003Yet hadde I lever payen for the mare\n\n\u2003Which he rit on, than he sholde with me stryve;\n\n\u2003I wol nat wratthe him, al-so mote I thryve!\n\n\u2003That that I spak, I seyde it in my bourde;\n\n\u2003And wite ye what? I have heer, in a gourde,\n\n\u2003A draught of wyn, ye, of a rype grape,\n\n\u2003And right anon ye shul seen a good jape.\n\n\u2003This cook shal drinke ther-of, if I may;\n\n\u2003Up peyne of deeth, he wol nat seye me nay!\"\n\n\u2003And certeinly, to tellen as it was,\n\n\u2003Of this vessel the cook drank faste, alias!\n\n\u2003What neded him? he drank y-nough biforn.\n\n\u2003And whan he hadde pouped in this horn,\n\n\u2003To the maunciple he took the gourde agayn;\n\n\u2003And of that drinke the cook was wonder fayn,\n\n\u2003And thanked him in swich wyse as he coude.\n\n\u2003Than gan our host to laughen wonder loude,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"I see wel, it is necessarie,\n\n\u2003Wher that we goon, good drink we with us carie;\n\n\u2003For that wol turne rancour and disese\n\n\u2003T'acord and love, and many a wrong apese.\n\n\u2003O thou Bachus, y-blessed be thy name,\n\n\u2003That so canst turnen ernest in-to game!\n\n\u2003Worship and thank be to thy deitee!\n\n\u2003Of that matere ye gete na-more of me.\n\n\u2003Tel on thy tale, maunciple, I thee preye.\"\n\n\u2003\"Wel, sir,\" quod he, \"now herkneth what I seye.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003Whan Phebus dwelled her in this erthe adoun,\n\n\u2003As olde bokes maken mencioun\n\n\u2003He was the moste lusty bachiler\n\n\u2003In al this world, and eek the beste archer;\n\n\u2003He slow Phitoun, the serpent, as he lay\n\n\u2003Slepinge agayn the sonne upon a day;\n\n\u2003And many another noble worthy dede\n\n\u2003That were not honest, if it came to proof.\"\n\n\u2003\"No,\" said the Manciple, \"that were a great mischief!\n\n\u2003So might he easily bring me into the snare.\n\n\u2003Yet I would rather pay for the mare\n\n\u2003That he rides upon, than he should with me have strife.\n\n\u2003I will not provoke him, also may I thrive!\n\n\u2003That which I speak, I say it in jest.\n\n\u2003And do you know what? I have here in a flask\n\n\u2003A draft of wine, of a ripe grape,\n\n\u2003And right anon you shall see a good jape.\n\n\u2003This Cook shall drink thereof, if I may.\n\n\u2003Upon pain of death, he will not say me nay.\"\n\n\u2003And certainly, to tell as it was,\n\n\u2003Of this vessel the Cook drank fast, alas!\n\n\u2003Why needed he? He drank enough before.\n\n\u2003And when he had tooted in this horn,\n\n\u2003To the Manciple he gave the flask again;\n\n\u2003And of that drink the Cook was wondrous grateful,\n\n\u2003And thanked him in such way as he could.\n\n\u2003Then began our Host to laugh wondrous loud,\n\n\u2003And said, \"I see well it is necessary,\n\n\u2003Where we go, that good drink we with us carry;\n\n\u2003For that will turn rancor and discord\n\n\u2003To accord and love, and many a wrong appease.\n\n\u2003\"Oh Bacchus, blessed be your name,\n\n\u2003Who can turn earnest into game!\n\n\u2003Worship and thanks be to your deity!\n\n\u2003Of that matter you get no more of me.\n\n\u2003Tell on your tale, Manciple, I you pray.\"\n\n\u2003\"Well, sire,\" said he, \"now harken to what I say.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale\n\n\u2003When Phoebus dwelt here in this earth adown,\n\n\u2003As old books make mention,\n\n\u2003He was the most lusty bachelor\n\n\u2003In all this world, and also the best archer.\n\n\u2003He slew Python, the serpent, as he lay\n\n\u2003Sleeping in the sun upon a day;\n\n\u2003And many another noble deed\n\n\u2003He with his bowe wroghte, as men may rede.\n\n\u2003Pleyen he coude on every minstralcye,\n\n\u2003And singen, that it was a melodye,\n\n\u2003To heren of his clere vois the soun.\n\n\u2003Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun,\n\n\u2003That with his singing walled that citee,\n\n\u2003Coude never singen half so wel as he.\n\n\u2003Therto he was the semelieste man\n\n\u2003That is or was, sith that the world bigan.\n\n\u2003What nedeth it his fetures to discryve?\n\n\u2003For in this world was noon so fair on lyve.\n\n\u2003He was ther-with fulfild of gentillesse,\n\n\u2003Of honour, and of parfit worthinesse.\n\n\u2003This Phebus, that was flour of bachelrye,\n\n\u2003As wel in fredom as in chivalrye,\n\n\u2003For his desport, in signe eek of victorie\n\n\u2003Of Phitoun, so as telleth us the storie,\n\n\u2003Was wont to beren in his hand a bowe.\n\n\u2003Now had this Phebus in his hous a crowe,\n\n\u2003Which in a cage he fostred many a day,\n\n\u2003And taughte it speken, as men teche a jay.\n\n\u2003Whyt was this crowe, as is a snow-whyt swan,\n\n\u2003And countrefete the speche of every man\n\n\u2003He coude, whan he sholde telle a tale.\n\n\u2003Ther-with in al this world no nightingale\n\n\u2003Ne coude, by an hondred thousand deel,\n\n\u2003Singen so wonder merily and weel.\n\n\u2003Now had this Phebus in his hous a wyf,\n\n\u2003Which that he lovede more than his lyf,\n\n\u2003And night and day dide ever his diligence\n\n\u2003Hir for to plese, and doon hir reverence,\n\n\u2003Save only, if the sothe that I shal sayn,\n\n\u2003Jalous he was, and wolde have kept hir fayn;\n\n\u2003For him were looth by-japed for to be.\n\n\u2003And so is every wight in swich degree;\n\n\u2003But al in ydel, for it availleth noght,\n\n\u2003A good wyf, that is clene of werk and thoght,\n\n\u2003Sholde nat been kept in noon await, certayn;\n\n\u2003And trewely, the labour is in vayn\n\n\u2003He with his bow wrought, as men may read.\n\n\u2003Play he could on every instrument,\n\n\u2003And sing so that it was melodious\n\n\u2003To hear the sound of his clear voice.\n\n\u2003Certainly the king of Thebes, Amphioun,\n\n\u2003Who with his singing walled that city,\n\n\u2003Could never sing half so well as he.\n\n\u2003And in addition he was the handsomest man\n\n\u2003Who is or was since the world began.\n\n\u2003Why need we his features to describe?\n\n\u2003For in this world there was none so fair alive.\n\n\u2003He was fulfilled of gentleness,\n\n\u2003Of honor and of perfect worthiness.\n\n\u2003This Phoebus, who was the flower of knighthood,\n\n\u2003As well in character as in chivalry,\n\n\u2003For his pleasure, and as a sign also of his victory\n\n\u2003Over Python, as tells us the story,\n\n\u2003Was wont to bear in his hand a bow.\n\n\u2003Now had this Phoebus in his house a crow\n\n\u2003That in a cage he fostered many a day,\n\n\u2003And taught it to speak, as men teach a jay.\n\n\u2003White was this crow as is a snow white swan,\n\n\u2003And counterfeit the speech of every man\n\n\u2003He could, when he should tell a tale.\n\n\u2003And also in all this world no nightingale\n\n\u2003Could, by a hundred thousandth part,\n\n\u2003Sing so wondrous merrily and well.\n\n\u2003Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife\n\n\u2003Whom he loved more than his life,\n\n\u2003And night and day did ever his diligence\n\n\u2003Her for to please and do her reverence,\n\n\u2003Save only, if the truth I shall say,\n\n\u2003Jealous he was, and would have kept her under lock and key.\n\n\u2003For he was loath betrayed to be,\n\n\u2003And so is every person in such estate,\n\n\u2003But all in vain, for it avails not.\n\n\u2003A good woman, who is clean of work and thought,\n\n\u2003Should not be kept under watch, certainly;\n\n\u2003And truly the labor is in vain\n\n\u2003To kepe a shrewe, for it wol nat be.\n\n\u2003This holde I for a verray nycetee,\n\n\u2003To spille labour, for to kepe wyves;\n\n\u2003Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lyves.\n\n\u2003But now to purpos, as I first bigan:\n\n\u2003This worthy Phebus dooth all that he can\n\n\u2003To plesen hir, weninge by swich plesaunce,\n\n\u2003And for his manhede and his governaunce,\n\n\u2003That no man sholde han put him from hir grace.\n\n\u2003But god it woot, ther may no man embrace\n\n\u2003As to destreyne a thing, which that nature\n\n\u2003Hath naturelly set in a creature.\n\n\u2003Tak any brid, and put it in a cage,\n\n\u2003And do al thyn entente and thy corage\n\n\u2003To fostre it tendrely with mete and drinke,\n\n\u2003Of alle deyntees that thou canst bithinke,\n\n\u2003And keep it al-so clenly as thou may;\n\n\u2003Al-though his cage of gold be never so gay,\n\n\u2003Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand fold,\n\n\u2003Lever in a forest, that is rude and cold,\n\n\u2003Gon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse.\n\n\u2003For ever this brid wol doon his bisinesse\n\n\u2003To escape out of his cage, if he may;\n\n\u2003His libertee this brid desireth ay.\n\n\u2003Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk,\n\n\u2003And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk,\n\n\u2003And lat him seen a mous go by the wal;\n\n\u2003Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al,\n\n\u2003And every deyntee that is in that hous,\n\n\u2003Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous.\n\n\u2003Lo, here hath lust his dominacioun,\n\n\u2003And appetyt flemeth discrecioun.\n\n\u2003A she-wolf hath also a vileins kinde;\n\n\u2003The lewedeste wolf that she may finde,\n\n\u2003Or leest of reputacion wol she take,\n\n\u2003In tyme whan hir lust to han a make.\n\n\u2003Alle thise ensamples speke I by thise men\n\n\u2003That been untrewe, and no-thing by wommen.\n\n\u2003For men han ever a likerous appetyt\n\n\u2003To keep a shrew, for it will not be.\n\n\u2003This hold I to be pure folly,\n\n\u2003To waste labor for to keep wives:\n\n\u2003Thus wrote old scholars in their lives.\n\n\u2003But now to the point, as I first began:\n\n\u2003This worthy Phoebus did all he could\n\n\u2003To please her, supposing that for such pleasure,\n\n\u2003And for his character and his behavior,\n\n\u2003That no man should put him from her grace.\n\n\u2003But, God knows, there may no man embrace\n\n\u2003To restrain a thing that nature\n\n\u2003Has naturally set in a creature.\n\n\u2003Take any bird, and put it in a cage,\n\n\u2003And do all your intent and all your strength\n\n\u2003To foster it tenderly with meat and drink\n\n\u2003Of all the dainties that you can bethink,\n\n\u2003And keep it all so carefully as you may,\n\n\u2003Although his cage of gold be never so gay,\n\n\u2003Yet would this bird, by twenty thousand fold,\n\n\u2003Rather in a forest that is rude and cold\n\n\u2003Go eat worms and such wretchedness.\n\n\u2003For ever this bird will do his business\n\n\u2003To escape out of his cage, if he may.\n\n\u2003His liberty this bird desires always.\n\n\u2003Or take a cat, and foster him well with milk\n\n\u2003And tender flesh, and make his couch of silk,\n\n\u2003And let him see a mouse go by the wall,\n\n\u2003Anon he waives milk and meat and all,\n\n\u2003And every dainty that is in that house,\n\n\u2003Such appetite has he to eat a mouse.\n\n\u2003Look, here has lust his domination,\n\n\u2003And appetite overcomes discretion.\n\n\u2003A she-wolf is also of an evil kind.\n\n\u2003The lewdest wolf that she may find\n\n\u2003Of least reputation, will she take,\n\n\u2003In times when she lusts to have a mate.\n\n\u2003All these examples I mention of men\n\n\u2003Who have been untrue, and nothing of women,\n\n\u2003For men have ever a lecherous appetite\n\n\u2003On lower thing to parfourne hir delyt\n\n\u2003Than on hir wyves, be they never so faire,\n\n\u2003Ne never so trewe, ne so debonaire.\n\n\u2003Flesh is so newefangel, with meschaunce,\n\n\u2003That we ne conne in no-thing han plesaunce\n\n\u2003That souneth in-to vertu any whyle.\n\n\u2003This Phebus, which that thoghte upon no gyle,\n\n\u2003Deceyved was, for al his jolitee;\n\n\u2003For under him another hadde she,\n\n\u2003A man of litel reputacioun,\n\n\u2003Noght worth Phebus in comparisoun.\n\n\u2003The more harm is; it happeth ofte so,\n\n\u2003Of which ther cometh muchel harm and wo.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, whan Phebus was absent,\n\n\u2003His wyf anon hath for hir lemman sent;\n\n\u2003Hir lemman? certes, this is a knavish speche!\n\n\u2003Foryeveth it me, and that I yow biseche.\n\n\u2003The wyse Plato seith, as ye may rede,\n\n\u2003The word mot nede accorde with the dede.\n\n\u2003If men shal telle proprely a thing,\n\n\u2003The word mot cosin be to the werking.\n\n\u2003I am a boistous man, right thus seye I,\n\n\u2003Ther nis no difference, trewely,\n\n\u2003Bitwixe a wyf that is of heigh degree,\n\n\u2003If of hir body dishonest she be,\n\n\u2003And a povre wenche, other than this\u2014\n\n\u2003If it so be, they werke bothe amis\u2014\n\n\u2003But that the gentile, in estaat above,\n\n\u2003She shal be cleped his lady, as in love;\n\n\u2003And for that other is a povre womman,\n\n\u2003She shal be cleped his wenche, or his lemman.\n\n\u2003And, god it woot, myn owene dere brother,\n\n\u2003Men leyn that oon as lowe as lyth that other.\n\n\u2003Right so, bitwixe a titlelees tiraunt\n\n\u2003And an outlawe, or a theef erraunt,\n\n\u2003The same I seye, ther is no difference.\n\n\u2003To Alisaundre told was this sentence;\n\n\u2003That, for the tyrant is of gretter might,\n\n\u2003By force of meynee for to sleen doun-right,\n\n\u2003For lower things to perform their delight\n\n\u2003Than on their wives, be they ever so fair,\n\n\u2003Or ever so true, or ever so debonair.\n\n\u2003Flesh is so fond of novelty, worse luck for us,\n\n\u2003That we can in no way have enjoyment\n\n\u2003With anything that makes us virtuous.\n\n\u2003This Phoebus, who thought not of guile,\n\n\u2003Deceived was, for all his handsomeness.\n\n\u2003For under him another had she,\n\n\u2003A man of little reputation,\n\n\u2003Not worthy of Phoebus in comparison.\n\n\u2003And more's the harm it happens often so,\n\n\u2003And from which comes much misery and woe.\n\n\u2003And so it happened, when Phoebus was absent,\n\n\u2003His wife anon has for her stallion sent.\n\n\u2003Her stallion? Certainly, this is knavish speech!\n\n\u2003Forgive me it, I you beseech.\n\n\u2003The wise Plato says, as you may read,\n\n\u2003The word must needs accord with the deed.\n\n\u2003If men shall tell properly a thing,\n\n\u2003The word must cousin be to the working.\n\n\u2003I am a plain man, right thus say I:\n\n\u2003There is no difference, truly,\n\n\u2003Between a wife who is of high degree,\n\n\u2003If of her body she dishonest be,\n\n\u2003And a poor wench, other than this\u2014\n\n\u2003If it so be they both work amiss\u2014\n\n\u2003Except that the gentlewoman, estate above,\n\n\u2003She shall be called his lady, as in love;\n\n\u2003And if the other is a woman poor,\n\n\u2003She shall be called his trollop or his whore.\n\n\u2003And, God knows, my own dear brother,\n\n\u2003Men lay as low with one as with the other.\n\n\u2003Right so between a titleless tyrant\n\n\u2003And an outlaw or thief arrant,\n\n\u2003The same I say: there is no difference.\n\n\u2003To Alexander was told this sentence,\n\n\u2003That, though the tyrant is of greater might\n\n\u2003In his army's strength for to slay downright,\n\n\u2003And brennen hous and hoom, and make al plain,\n\n\u2003Lo! therfor is he cleped a capitain;\n\n\u2003And, for the outlawe hath but smal meynee,\n\n\u2003And may nat doon so greet an harm as he,\n\n\u2003Ne bringe a contree to so greet mescheef,\n\n\u2003Men clepen him an outlawe or a theef.\n\n\u2003But, for I am a man noght textuel,\n\n\u2003I wol noghte telle of textes never a del;\n\n\u2003I wol go to my tale, as I bigan.\n\n\u2003Whan Phebus wyf had sent for hir lemman,\n\n\u2003Anon they wroghten al hir lust volage.\n\n\u2003The whyte crowe, that heng ay in the cage,\n\n\u2003Biheld hir werk, and seyde never a word.\n\n\u2003And whan that hoom was come Phebus, the lord,\n\n\u2003This crowe sang \"cokkow! cokkow! cokkow!\"\n\n\u2003\"What, brid?\" quod Phebus, \"what song singestow?\n\n\u2003Ne were thow wont so merily to singe\n\n\u2003That to myn herte it was a rejoisinge\n\n\u2003To here thy vois? alias! what song is this?\"\n\n\u2003\"By god,\" quod he, \"I singe nat amis;\n\n\u2003Phebus,\" quod he, \"for al thy worthinesse,\n\n\u2003For al thy beautee and thy gentilesse,\n\n\u2003For al thy song and al thy minstralcye,\n\n\u2003For al thy waiting, blered is thyn ye\n\n\u2003With oon of litel reputacioun,\n\n\u2003Noght worth to thee, as in comparisoun,\n\n\u2003The mountance of a gnat; so mote I thryve!\n\n\u2003For on thy bed thy wyf I saugh him swyve.\"\n\n\u2003What wol ye more? the crowe anon him tolde,\n\n\u2003By sadde tokenes and by wordes bolde,\n\n\u2003How that his wyf had doon hir lecherye,\n\n\u2003Him to gret shame and to gret vileinye;\n\n\u2003And tolde him ofte, he saugh it with his y\u00ebn.\n\n\u2003This Phebus gan aweyward for to wryen,\n\n\u2003Him thoughte his sorweful herte brast a-two;\n\n\u2003His bowe he bente, and sette ther-inne a flo,\n\n\u2003And in his ire his wyf thanne hath he slayn.\n\n\u2003This is th'effect, ther is na-more to sayn;\n\n\u2003For sorwe of which he brak his minstralcye,\n\n\u2003And burn houses and homes, and lay to waste,\n\n\u2003Look, therefore he is called a captain;\n\n\u2003And though the outlaw has not but a few men,\n\n\u2003And may not do so great a harm as he,\n\n\u2003Nor bring a country to so great mischief,\n\n\u2003Men call him an outlaw or a thief.\n\n\u2003But I am not learned from books,\n\n\u2003In no way will I cite their texts;\n\n\u2003I will tell my tale, as I began.\n\n\u2003When Phoebus' wife had sent for her stud,\n\n\u2003Anon they wrought all their foolish lust.\n\n\u2003The white crow, that ever in the cage perched,\n\n\u2003Beheld their work, and said never a word.\n\n\u2003And when home was come Phoebus, the lord,\n\n\u2003This crow sang, \"Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!\"\n\n\u2003\"What, bird?\" said Phoebus. \"What song sing you?\n\n\u2003Were you not wont so merrily to sing\n\n\u2003That to my heart it was a rejoicing\n\n\u2003To hear your voice? Alas, what song is this?\"\n\n\u2003\"By God,\" said he, \"I sing not amiss.\n\n\u2003Phoebus,\" said he, \"for all your worthiness,\n\n\u2003For all your beauty and your gentleness,\n\n\u2003For all your song and all your minstrelsy,\n\n\u2003For all your waiting, bleared is your eye\n\n\u2003By one of little reputation,\n\n\u2003Not worthy of you in comparison.\n\n\u2003The value of a gnat, so may I thrive!\n\n\u2003For on your bed I saw him enjoy your wife!\"\n\n\u2003What would you more? The crow anon him told,\n\n\u2003By strong proofs and words bold,\n\n\u2003How his wife had done her lechery,\n\n\u2003Him to great shame and to great villainy,\n\n\u2003And told him he saw it often with his own eyes.\n\n\u2003This Phoebus began away to turn,\n\n\u2003And thought his sorrowful heart would burst in two.\n\n\u2003His bow he bent, and sent thereby an arrow,\n\n\u2003And in his ire his wife then has he slain.\n\n\u2003This is the effect, there is no more to say;\n\n\u2003For sorrow of which he broke his instruments,\n\n\u2003Bothe harpe, and lute, and giterne, and sautrye;\n\n\u2003And eek he brak his arwes and his bowe.\n\n\u2003And after that, thus spak he to the crowe:\n\n\u2003\"Traitour,\" quod he, \"with tonge of scorpioun,\n\n\u2003Thou hast me broght to my confusioun!\n\n\u2003Alias! that I was wroght! why nere I deed?\n\n\u2003O dere wyf, O gemme of lustiheed,\n\n\u2003That were to me so sad and eek so trewe,\n\n\u2003Now lystow deed, with face pale of hewe,\n\n\u2003Ful giltelees, that dorste I swere, y-wis!\n\n\u2003O rakel hand, to doon so foule amis!\n\n\u2003O trouble wit, O ire recchelees,\n\n\u2003That unavysed smytest giltelees!\n\n\u2003O wantrust, ful of fals suspecioun,\n\n\u2003Where was thy wit and thy discrecioun?\n\n\u2003O every man, be-war of rakelnesse,\n\n\u2003Ne trowe no-thing with-outen strong witnesse;\n\n\u2003Smyt nat to sone, er that ye witen why,\n\n\u2003And beeth avysed wel and sobrely\n\n\u2003Er ye doon any execucioun,\n\n\u2003Up-on your ire, for suspecioun.\n\n\u2003Alias! a thousand folk hath rakel ire\n\n\u2003Fully fordoon, and broght hem in the mire.\n\n\u2003Allas! for sorwe I wol my-selven slee!\"\n\n\u2003And to the crowe, \"O false theef!\" seyde he,\n\n\u2003\"I wol thee quyte anon thy false tale!\n\n\u2003Thou songe whylom lyk a nightingale;\n\n\u2003Now shaltow, false theef, thy song forgon,\n\n\u2003And eek thy whyte fetheres everichon,\n\n\u2003Ne never in al thy lyf ne shaltou speke.\n\n\u2003Thus shal men on a traitour been awreke;\n\n\u2003Thou and thyn of-spring ever shul be blake,\n\n\u2003Ne never swete noise shul ye make,\n\n\u2003But ever crye agayn tempest and rayn,\n\n\u2003In tokeninge that thurgh thee my wyf is slayn.\"\n\n\u2003And to the crowe he stirte, and that anon,\n\n\u2003And pulled his whyte fetheres everichon,\n\n\u2003And made him blak, and refte him al his song,\n\n\u2003And eek his speche, and out at dore him slong\n\n\u2003Both harp, and lute, and zither and psaltery;\n\n\u2003And also he broke his arrows and his bow,\n\n\u2003And after that spoke he to the crow:\n\n\u2003\"Traitor,\" said he, \"with tongue of scorpion,\n\n\u2003You have me brought to my ruin;\n\n\u2003Alas, that I was made! Why am I not dead?\n\n\u2003O dear wife! O gem of delight!\n\n\u2003You who were to me so steady and so true,\n\n\u2003Now lie you dead, with face pale of hue,\n\n\u2003Full guiltless, that dare I swear, truly!\n\n\u2003Oh rash hand, to do so foul a wrong!\n\n\u2003Oh troubled mind, oh ire reckless,\n\n\u2003That thoughtlessly slew the guiltless!\n\n\u2003Oh distrust, full of false suspicion,\n\n\u2003Where was your wit and your discretion?\n\n\u2003Oh every man, beware of rashness!\n\n\u2003Believe nothing without strong evidence.\n\n\u2003Smite not too soon, before you know why,\n\n\u2003And be advised well and soberly\n\n\u2003Before you do any execution\n\n\u2003In your ire out of suspicion.\n\n\u2003Alas, a thousand folk in rash ire\n\n\u2003Fully be undone, and bring themselves into the mire.\n\n\u2003Alas! For sorrow I will myself slay!\"\n\n\u2003And to the crow, \"Oh false thief!\" said he,\n\n\u2003\"I will you requite anon for your false tale.\n\n\u2003You sang once like a nightingale;\n\n\u2003Now shall you, false thief, your song forego,\n\n\u2003And also your white feathers every one,\n\n\u2003Nor ever in your life shall you speak.\n\n\u2003Thus men shall on a traitor vengeance wreak;\n\n\u2003You and your offspring ever shall be black\n\n\u2003Nor ever sweet noise shall you make,\n\n\u2003But ever cry against tempest and rain,\n\n\u2003As a sign that through you my wife is slain.\"\n\n\u2003And to the crow he started, and that anon,\n\n\u2003And pulled his white feathers every one,\n\n\u2003And made him black, and bereft him of his song,\n\n\u2003And also of his speech, and out the door him slung\n\n\u2003Un-to the devel, which I him bitake;\n\n\u2003And for this caas ben alle crowes blake.\u2014\n\n\u2003Lordings, by this ensample I yow preye,\n\n\u2003Beth war, and taketh kepe what I seye:\n\n\u2003Ne telleth never no man in your lyf\n\n\u2003How that another man hath dight his wyf;\n\n\u2003He wol yow haten mortally, certeyn.\n\n\u2003Daun Salomon, as wyse clerkes seyn,\n\n\u2003Techeth a man to kepe his tonge wel;\n\n\u2003But as I seyde, I am noght textuel.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, thus taughte me my dame:\n\n\u2003\"My sone, thenk on the crowe, a goddes name;\n\n\u2003My sone, keep wel thy tonge and keep thy freend.\n\n\u2003A wikked tonge is worse than a feend.\n\n\u2003My sone, from a feend men may hem blesse;\n\n\u2003My sone, god of his endelees goodnesse\n\n\u2003Walled a tonge with teeth and lippes eke,\n\n\u2003For man sholde him avyse what he speke.\n\n\u2003My sone, ful ofte, for to muche speche,\n\n\u2003Hath many a man ben spilt, as clerkes teche;\n\n\u2003But for a litel speche avysely\n\n\u2003Is no men shent, to speke generally.\n\n\u2003My sone, thy tonge sholdestow restreyne\n\n\u2003At alle tyme, but whan thou doost thy peyne\n\n\u2003To speke of god, in honour and preyere.\n\n\u2003The firste vertu, sone, if thou wolt lere,\n\n\u2003Is to restreyne and kepe wel thy tonge.\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus lerne children whan that they ben yonge.\u2014\n\n\u2003My sone, of muchel speking yvel-avysed,\n\n\u2003Ther lasse speking hadde y-nough suffysed,\n\n\u2003Comth muchel harm, thus was me told and taught.\n\n\u2003In muchel speche sinne wanteth naught.\n\n\u2003Wostow wher-of a rakel tonge serveth?\n\n\u2003Right as a swerd forcutteth and forkerveth\n\n\u2003An arm a-two, my dere sone, right so\n\n\u2003A tonge cutteth frendship al a-two.\n\n\u2003A jangler is to god abhominable;\n\n\u2003Reed Salomon, so wys and honurable;\n\n\u2003Reed David in his psalmes, reed Senekke.\n\n\u2003Unto the devil, to whom I him commit;\n\n\u2003And for this case be all crows black.\n\n\u2003Lordings, by this example I you pray,\n\n\u2003Beware, and take heed what I say:\n\n\u2003Never tell any man in your life\n\n\u2003How another man had his wife;\n\n\u2003He will hate you mortally, for certain.\n\n\u2003Lord Solomon, as wise scholars say,\n\n\u2003Teaches a man to keep his tongue well.\n\n\u2003But, as I say, I am not learned in books.\n\n\u2003Nevertheless, thus taught me my mother:\n\n\u2003\"My son, think on a crow, in God's name!\n\n\u2003My son, hold well your tongue, and keep your friends.\n\n\u2003A wicked tongue is worse than a fiend;\n\n\u2003My son, from a fiend men may them bless.\n\n\u2003My son, God of his endless goodness\n\n\u2003Walled a tongue with teeth and lips also,\n\n\u2003For man should consider before he speaks.\n\n\u2003My son, full often, for too much speech\n\n\u2003Has many a man died, as scholars teach,\n\n\u2003But for speech little and discreet\n\n\u2003Is no man ruined, to speak generally.\n\n\u2003My son, your tongue you should restrain\n\n\u2003At all times, except when you devote yourself\n\n\u2003To speak of God, in honor and prayer.\n\n\u2003The first virtue, son, if you will learn,\n\n\u2003Is to restrain and keep well your tongue;\n\n\u2003Thus learn children when they be young.\n\n\u2003My son, of much talking ill-advised,\n\n\u2003When less speaking would have sufficed,\n\n\u2003Comes much harm; thus I was told and taught.\n\n\u2003In much chatter sin lacks not.\n\n\u2003Know you what a rash tongue can do?\n\n\u2003Right as a sword cuts\n\n\u2003An arm in two, my dear son, right so\n\n\u2003A tongue cuts a friendship apart.\n\n\u2003A tongue-wagger is to God abominable.\n\n\u2003Read Solomon, so wise and honorable;\n\n\u2003Read David in his psalms, read Seneca.\n\n\u2003My sone, spek nat, but with thyn heed thou bekke\n\n\u2003Dissimule as thou were deef, if that thou here\n\n\u2003A jangler speke of perilous matere.\n\n\u2003The Fleming seith, and lerne it, if thee leste,\n\n\u2003That litel jangling causeth muchel reste.\n\n\u2003My sone, if thou no wikked word hast seyd,\n\n\u2003Thee thar nat drede for to be biwreyd;\n\n\u2003But he that hath misseyd, I dar wel sayn,\n\n\u2003He may by no wey clepe his word agayn.\n\n\u2003Thing that is seyd, is seyd; and forth it gooth,\n\n\u2003Though him repente, or be him leef or looth.\n\n\u2003He is his thral to whom that he hath sayd\n\n\u2003A tale, of which he is now yvel apayd.\n\n\u2003My sone, be war, and be non auctour newe\n\n\u2003Of tydinges, whether they ben false or trewe.\n\n\u2003Wher-so thou come, amonges hye or lowe,\n\n\u2003Kepe wel thy tonge, and thenk up-on the crowe.\"\n\n\u2003My son, speak not, but with your head you nod.\n\n\u2003Dissimulate as if you were deaf, if you hear\n\n\u2003A chatterbox speak of perilous matter.\n\n\u2003The Fleming says, and learn if you wish,\n\n\u2003That to talk less will give you more rest.\n\n\u2003My son, if you no wicked word have said,\n\n\u2003You then need not dread to be betrayed;\n\n\u2003But if you have missaid, I dare well say,\n\n\u2003You may by no way recall your word again.\n\n\u2003Something that is said is said, and forth it goes,\n\n\u2003Though you repent, or be ever so loath.\n\n\u2003He is in thrall to whom he has told\n\n\u2003A tale for which he is now evilly repaid.\n\n\u2003My son, beware, and be no author new\n\n\u2003Of tidings, whether they be false or true.\n\n\u2003Whereso you go, among high or low,\n\n\u2003Keep well your tongue and think upon the crow.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Squieres Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Squire, com neer, if it your wille be,\n\n\u2003And sey somwhat of love; for, certes, ye\n\n\u2003Connen ther-on as muche as any man.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, sir,\" quod he, \"but I wol seye as I can\n\n\u2003With hertly wille; for I wol nat rebelle\n\n\u2003Agayn your lust; a tale wol I telle.\n\n\u2003Have me excused if I speke amis,\n\n\u2003My wil is good; and lo, my tale is this.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The Tale",
                "text": "\u2003At Sarray, in the land of Tartarye,\n\n\u2003Ther dwelte a king, that werreyed Russye,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which ther deyde many a doughty man.\n\n\u2003This noble king was cleped Cambinskan,\n\n\u2003Which in his tyme was of so greet renoun\n\n\u2003That ther nas no-wher in no regioun\n\n\u2003So excellent a lord in alle thing;\n\n\u2003Him lakked noght that longeth to a king.\n\n\u2003As of the secte of which that he was born\n\n\u2003He kepte his lay, to which that he was sworn;\n\n\u2003And ther-to he was hardy, wys, and riche,\n\n\u2003And pi\u00ebtous and just, alwey- y-liche;\n\n\u2003Sooth of his word, benigne and honurable,\n\n\u2003Of his corage as any centre stable;\n\n\u2003Yong, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous\n\n\u2003As any bacheler of al his hous.\n\n\u2003A fair persone he was an fortunat,\n\n\u2003And kepte alwey so wel royal estat,\n\n\u2003That ther was nowher swich another man.\n\n\u2003This noble king, this Tartre Cambinskan\n\n\u2003Hadde two sones on Elpheta his wyf,\n\n\u2003Of whiche th'eldeste highte Algarsyf,"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Squire's Tale",
                "text": "[ The Prologue ]\n\n\u2003\"Squire, come near, if it your will be,\n\n\u2003And say something of love, for certainly you\n\n\u2003Know thereof as much as any man.\"\n\n\u2003\"Nay, sir,\" said he, \"but I will say as I can\n\n\u2003With hearty will, for I will not rebel\n\n\u2003Against your wish; a tale will I tell.\n\n\u2003Have me excused if I speak amiss;\n\n\u2003My will is good, and lo, my tale is this.\"\n\n\u2003The Tale"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 111",
                "text": "\u2003In Tsarev, in the land of Tartary,\n\n\u2003There dwelt a king who waged war on Russia,\n\n\u2003Through which there died many a doughty man.\n\n\u2003This noble king was called Genghis Khan,\n\n\u2003Who in his time was of so great renown\n\n\u2003That there was nowhere in any region\n\n\u2003So excellent a lord in all things:\n\n\u2003He lacked nothing wanted by a king.\n\n\u2003In accord with the religion to which he was born\n\n\u2003He kept his laws, to which he was sworn;\n\n\u2003And also he was brave, wise and rich,\n\n\u2003And merciful and just,\n\n\u2003True to his word, benign, and honorable;\n\n\u2003Of his courage as any center stable;\n\n\u2003Young, fresh and strong, in arms ambitious\n\n\u2003As any young knight of all his house.\n\n\u2003A fair person he was and fortunate,\n\n\u2003And kept always so well royal estate\n\n\u2003That there was nowhere such another man.\n\n\u2003This noble king, this Tartar Ghengis Khan,\n\n\u2003Had two sons by Elpheta his wife,\n\n\u2003Of which the eldest was called Algarsyf;\n\n\u2003That other sone was cleped Cambalo.\n\n\u2003A doghter hadde this worthy king also,\n\n\u2003That yongest was, and highte Canacee.\n\n\u2003But for to telle yow al hir beautee,\n\n\u2003It lyth nat in my tonge, n'in my conning;\n\n\u2003I dar nat undertake so heigh a thing.\n\n\u2003Myn English eek is insufficient;\n\n\u2003It moste been a rethor excellent,\n\n\u2003That coude his colours longing for that art,\n\n\u2003If he sholde hir discryven every part.\n\n\u2003I am non swich, I moot speke as I can.\n\n\u2003And so bifel that, whan this Cambinskan\n\n\u2003Hath twenty winter born his diademe,\n\n\u2003As he was wont fro yeer to yeer, I deme,\n\n\u2003He leet the feste of his nativitee\n\n\u2003Don cryen thurghout Sarray his citee,\n\n\u2003The last Idus of March, after the yeer.\n\n\u2003Phebus the sonne ful joly was and cleer;\n\n\u2003For he was neigh his exaltacioun\n\n\u2003In Martes face, and in his mansioun\n\n\u2003In Aries, the colerik hote signe.\n\n\u2003Ful lusty was the weder and benigne,\n\n\u2003For which the foules, agayn the sonne shene,\n\n\u2003What for the seson and the yonge grene,\n\n\u2003Ful loude songen hir affecciouns;\n\n\u2003Hem semed han geten hem protecciouns\n\n\u2003Agayn the swerd of winter kene and cold.\n\n\u2003This Cambinskan, of which I have yow told,\n\n\u2003In royal vestiment sit on his deys,\n\n\u2003With diademe, ful heighe in his paleys,\n\n\u2003And halt his feste, so solempne and so riche\n\n\u2003That in this world ne was ther noon it liche.\n\n\u2003Of which if I shal tellen al th'array,\n\n\u2003Than wolde it occupye a someres day;\n\n\u2003And eek it nedeth nat for to devyse\n\n\u2003At every cours the ordre of hir servyse.\n\n\u2003I wol nat tellen of hir strange sewes,\n\n\u2003Ne of hir swannes, ne of hir heronsewes.\n\n\u2003Eek in that lond, as tellen knightes olde,\n\n\u2003The other son was called Cambalo.\n\n\u2003A daughter had this worthy king also,\n\n\u2003Who youngest was, and called Canacee.\n\n\u2003But to tell you all her beauty,\n\n\u2003It lies not in my tongue, nor in my skill,\n\n\u2003I dare not undertake so high a thing.\n\n\u2003My English also is insufficient.\n\n\u2003It would require an excellent rhetorician\n\n\u2003Who would need all the devices of that art,\n\n\u2003If he should her describe in every part.\n\n\u2003I am none such, I must speak as I can.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that when this Genghis Khan\n\n\u2003Had for twenty winters borne his diadem,\n\n\u2003As he was wont from year to year, I deem,\n\n\u2003He ordered a feast of his nativity\n\n\u2003Proclaimed throughout Tsarev, his city,\n\n\u2003The Ides of March, that year exactly.\n\n\u2003Phoebus the sun full jolly was and clear,\n\n\u2003For he was near his exaltation\n\n\u2003In Mars' face and in his mansion\n\n\u2003In Aries, the coleric hot sign.\n\n\u2003Full lusty was the weather and benign,\n\n\u2003For which the birds, facing the sun,\n\n\u2003What with the season and the young green,\n\n\u2003Full loud sang their passions.\n\n\u2003They seemed to have had protection\n\n\u2003Against the sword of winter, keen and cold.\n\n\u2003This Genghis Khan, of whom I have you told,\n\n\u2003In royal vestment sat on his dais,\n\n\u2003With diadem, full high in his palace,\n\n\u2003And held his feast so solemn and so rich\n\n\u2003That in this world there was none like it;\n\n\u2003Of which if I shall tell all the display,\n\n\u2003Then would it occupy a summer's day,\n\n\u2003And also we need not describe\n\n\u2003At every course the order of their service.\n\n\u2003I will not tell of their strange stews,\n\n\u2003Nor of their swans, nor of their young herons.\n\n\u2003Also in that land, as tell knights of old,\n\n\u2003Ther is som mete that is ful deyntee holde,\n\n\u2003That in this lond men recche of it but smal;\n\n\u2003Ther nis no man that may reporten al.\n\n\u2003I wol nat tarien yow, for it is pryme,\n\n\u2003And for it is no fruit but los of tyme;\n\n\u2003Un-to my firste I wol have my recours.\n\n\u2003And so bifel that, after the thridde cours,\n\n\u2003Whyl that this king sit thus in his nobleye,\n\n\u2003Herkninge his minstralles hir thinges pleye\n\n\u2003Biforn him at the bord deliciously,\n\n\u2003In at the halle-dore al sodeynly\n\n\u2003Ther cam a knight up-on a stede of bras,\n\n\u2003And in his hand a brood mirour of glas.\n\n\u2003Upon his thombe he hadde of gold a ring,\n\n\u2003And by his seyde a naked swerd hanging;\n\n\u2003And up he rydeth to the heighe bord.\n\n\u2003In al the halle ne was ther spoke a word\n\n\u2003For merveille of this knight; him to biholde\n\n\u2003Ful bisily ther wayten yonge and olde.\n\n\u2003This strange knight, that cam thus sodeynly,\n\n\u2003Al armed save his heed ful richely,\n\n\u2003Salu\u00ebth king and queen, and lordes alle,\n\n\u2003By ordre, as they seten in the halle,\n\n\u2003With so heigh reverence and obeisaunce\n\n\u2003As wel in speche as in contenaunce,\n\n\u2003That Gawain, with his olde curteisye,\n\n\u2003Though he were come ageyn out of Fairye,\n\n\u2003Ne coude him nat amende with a word.\n\n\u2003And after this, biforn the heighe bord,\n\n\u2003He with a manly voys seith his message,\n\n\u2003After the forme used in his langage,\n\n\u2003With-outen vyce of sillable or of lettre;\n\n\u2003And, for his tale sholde seme the bettre,\n\n\u2003Accordant to his wordes was his chere,\n\n\u2003As techeth art of speche hem that it lere;\n\n\u2003Al-be-it that I can nat soune his style,\n\n\u2003Ne can nat climben over so heigh a style,\n\n\u2003Yet seye I this, as to commune entente,\n\n\u2003Thus muche amounteth al that ever he mente,\n\n\u2003There is some food that is full dainty held\n\n\u2003That in this land men regard it but little;\n\n\u2003There is no man who may report it all.\n\n\u2003I will not tarry you, for it is prime\n\n\u2003And because it is no fruit but loss of time;\n\n\u2003Unto my first I will return.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that after the third course,\n\n\u2003While the king sat thus in his nobility,\n\n\u2003Listening to his minstrels their instruments play\n\n\u2003Before him at the table so deliciously,\n\n\u2003At the hall door all suddenly\n\n\u2003There came a knight upon a steed of brass,\n\n\u2003And in his hand a broad mirror of glass.\n\n\u2003Upon his thumb he had of gold a ring,\n\n\u2003And by his side a naked sword hanging;\n\n\u2003And up he rode to the head table.\n\n\u2003In all the hall there was spoken not a word\n\n\u2003For marvel of this knight; him to behold\n\n\u2003Full busily they waited, young and old.\n\n\u2003This strange knight, who came thus suddenly,\n\n\u2003All armed, save his head, full richly,\n\n\u2003Saluted the king and queen and lords all,\n\n\u2003In order, as they were seated in the hall,\n\n\u2003With such high reverence and obeisance,\n\n\u2003As well in speech as in countenance,\n\n\u2003That Gawain, with his old courtesy,\n\n\u2003Though he were coming out of Fairyland,\n\n\u2003Could not him amend with a word.\n\n\u2003And after this, before the head table,\n\n\u2003He with a manly voice said his message,\n\n\u2003After the form used in his language,\n\n\u2003Without vice of syllable or letter;\n\n\u2003And so that his tale should seem the better,\n\n\u2003According to his words was his face,\n\n\u2003As the art of rhetoric teaches those who learn it.\n\n\u2003Albeit that I can not repeat his style,\n\n\u2003Nor can I climb over so high a stile,\n\n\u2003Yet I say this, in language plain:\n\n\u2003This much says what he meant,\n\n\u2003If it so be that I have it in minde.\n\n\u2003He seyde, \"the king of Arabie and of Inde,\n\n\u2003My lige lord, on this solempne day\n\n\u2003Salu\u00ebth yow as he best can and may,\n\n\u2003And sendeth yow, in honour of your feste,\n\n\u2003By me, that am al redy at your heste,\n\n\u2003This stede of bras, that esily and wel\n\n\u2003Can, in the space of o day naturel,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, in foure and twenty houres,\n\n\u2003Wher-so yow list, in droghte or elles shoures,\n\n\u2003Beren your body in-to every place\n\n\u2003To which your herte wilneth for to pace\n\n\u2003With-outen wem of yow, thurgh foul or fair;\n\n\u2003Or, if yow list to fleen as hye in the air\n\n\u2003As doth an egle, whan him list to sore,\n\n\u2003This same stede shal bere yow ever-more\n\n\u2003With-outen harm, til ye be ther yow leste,\n\n\u2003Though that ye slepen on his bak or reste;\n\n\u2003And turne ayeyn, with wrything of a pin.\n\n\u2003He that it wroghte coude ful many a gin;\n\n\u2003He wayted many a constellacioun\n\n\u2003Er he had doon this operacioun;\n\n\u2003And knew ful many a seel and many a bond.\n\n\u2003This mirour eek, that I have in myn hond,\n\n\u2003Hath swich a might, that men may in it see\n\n\u2003Whan ther shal fallen any adversitee\n\n\u2003Un-to your regne or to your-self also;\n\n\u2003And openly who is your freend or foo.\n\n\u2003And over al this, if any lady bright\n\n\u2003Hath set hir herte on any maner wight,\n\n\u2003If he be fals, she shal his treson see,\n\n\u2003His newe love and al his subtiltee\n\n\u2003So openly, that ther shal no-thing hyde.\n\n\u2003Wherfor, ageyn this lusty someres tyde,\n\n\u2003This mirour and this ring, that ye may see,\n\n\u2003He hath sent to my lady Canacee,\n\n\u2003Your excellente doghter that is here.\n\n\u2003The vertu of the ring, if ye wol here,\n\n\u2003Is this; that, if hir lust it for to were\n\n\u2003If I have well remembered its content.\n\n\u2003He said, \"The king of Arabia and of India,\n\n\u2003My liege lord, on this solemn day\n\n\u2003Salutes you, as best he can and may,\n\n\u2003And sends you, in honor of your feast,\n\n\u2003By me, who am all ready at your behest,\n\n\u2003This steed of brass, that easily and well\n\n\u2003Can in the space of a day natural\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, in four and twenty hours\u2014\n\n\u2003Wherever you wish, in drought or else in showers,\n\n\u2003Bear your body into every place\n\n\u2003To which your heart wills to go,\n\n\u2003Without harm of you, though foul or fair;\n\n\u2003Or if you wish to fly as high in the air\n\n\u2003As does an eagle when he wishes to soar,\n\n\u2003This same steed shall bear you ever the more,\n\n\u2003Without harm, until you be where you wish,\n\n\u2003Though you sleep on his back or rest,\n\n\u2003And return again with the turning of a peg.\n\n\u2003He who wrought it made many a device ingenious.\n\n\u2003He waited many a constellation\n\n\u2003Before he had done this operation,\n\n\u2003And knew full well many a seal and many a bond.\n\n\u2003\"This mirror also, that I have in my hand,\n\n\u2003Has such a might that men may in it see\n\n\u2003When there shall fall any adversity\n\n\u2003Unto your reign or to yourself also,\n\n\u2003And openly who is your friend or foe.\n\n\"And over all this, if any lady bright\n\n\u2003Has set her heart on any manner of person,\n\n\u2003If he be false, she shall his treason see,\n\n\u2003His new love, and all his subtlety,\n\n\u2003So openly that there shall no thing hide.\n\n\u2003And so, in anticipation of this lusty summer's tide,\n\n\u2003This mirror and this ring, that you may see,\n\n\u2003He has sent to my lady Canacee,\n\n\u2003Your excellent daughter who is here.\n\n\u2003\"The virtue of this ring, if you will hear,\n\n\u2003Is this; that if she wishes to wear it\n\n\u2003Up-on hir thombe, or in hir purs it bere,\n\n\u2003Ther is no foul that fleeth under the hevene\n\n\u2003That she ne shal wel understonde his stevene,\n\n\u2003And knowe his mening openly and pleyn,\n\n\u2003And answere him in his langage ageyn.\n\n\u2003And every gras that groweth up-on rote\n\n\u2003She shal eek knowe, and whom it wol do bote,\n\n\u2003Al be his woundes never so depe and wyde.\n\n\u2003This naked swerd, that hangeth by my syde,\n\n\u2003Swich vertu hath, that what man so ye smyte,\n\n\u2003Thurgh-out his armure it wol kerve and byte,\n\n\u2003Were it as thikke as is a branched ook;\n\n\u2003And what man that is wounded with the strook\n\n\u2003Shal never be hool til that yow list, of grace,\n\n\u2003To stroke him with the platte in thilke place\n\n\u2003Ther he is hurt: this is as muche to seyn\n\n\u2003Ye mote with the platte swerd ageyn\n\n\u2003Stroke him in the wounde, and it wol close;\n\n\u2003This is a verray sooth, with-outen glose,\n\n\u2003It failleth nat whyl it is in your hold.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this knight hath thus his tale told,\n\n\u2003He rydeth out of halle, and doun he lighte.\n\n\u2003His stede, which that shoon as sonne brighte,\n\n\u2003Stant in the court, as stille as any stoon.\n\n\u2003This knight is to his chambre lad anon,\n\n\u2003And is unarmed and to mete y-set.\n\n\u2003The presents been ful royally y-fet,\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, the swerd and the mirour,\n\n\u2003And born anon in-to the heighe tour\n\n\u2003With certeine officers ordeyned therfore;\n\n\u2003And un-to Canacee this ring was bore\n\n\u2003Solempnely, ther she sit at the table.\n\n\u2003But sikerly, with-outen any fable,\n\n\u2003The hors of bras, that may nat be remewed,\n\n\u2003It stant as it were to the ground y-glewed.\n\n\u2003Ther may no man out of the place it dryve\n\n\u2003For noon engyn of windas or polyve;\n\n\u2003And cause why, for they can nat the craft.\n\n\u2003And therefore in the place they han it laft\n\n\u2003Upon her thumb or carry it in her purse,\n\n\u2003There is no bird that flies under the heaven\n\n\u2003That she shall not understand his voice,\n\n\u2003And know his meaning openly and plain,\n\n\u2003And answer him in his language again;\n\n\u2003And every grass that grows upon root\n\n\u2003She shall also know, and whom it will heal,\n\n\u2003Though his wounds be ever so deep and wide.\n\n\u2003\"This naked sword, that hangs by my side,\n\n\u2003Such virtue has that whatever man so you smite\n\n\u2003Through his armor it will carve and bite,\n\n\u2003Though it be thick as is a branched oak;\n\n\u2003And whatever man is wounded with the stroke\n\n\u2003Shall never be whole until you wish, of grace,\n\n\u2003To stroke him with the flat side in the place\n\n\u2003Where he is hurt; that is to say,\n\n\u2003You must with the flat of the sword again\n\n\u2003Stroke him on the wound, and it will close.\n\n\u2003This is the absolute truth, without gloss;\n\n\u2003It fails not while it is in your hold.\"\n\n\u2003And when this knight had thus his tale told,\n\n\u2003He rode out of the hall and down he alighted.\n\n\u2003His steed, which shone sun-bright,\n\n\u2003Stood in the court, still as any stone.\n\n\u2003This knight to his chamber was led anon,\n\n\u2003And was unarmed, and for him food set.\n\n\u2003The presents were royally fetched\u2014\n\n\u2003That is to say, the sword and the mirror\u2014\n\n\u2003And borne anon into the high tower\n\n\u2003With certain officers ordained therefore;\n\n\u2003And unto Canacee this ring was borne\n\n\u2003Solemnly, where she sat at the table.\n\n\u2003But truly, without any fable,\n\n\u2003The horse of brass, that could not be removed,\n\n\u2003It stood as if it were to the ground glued.\n\n\u2003There could no man drive it out of the place\n\n\u2003Neither with pulley nor windlass;\n\n\u2003And why? Because they knew not the craft.\n\n\u2003And therefore in the place they have left it\n\n\u2003Til that the knight hath taught hem the manere\n\n\u2003To voyden him, as ye shal after here.\n\n\u2003Greet was the prees, that swarmeth to and fro,\n\n\u2003To gauren on this hors that stondeth so;\n\n\u2003For it so heigh was, and so brood and long,\n\n\u2003So wel proporcioned for to ben strong,\n\n\u2003Right as it were a stede of Lumbaryde;\n\n\u2003Ther-with so horsly, and so quik of y\u00eb\n\n\u2003As it a gentil Poileys courser were.\n\n\u2003For certes, fro his tayl un-to his ere,\n\n\u2003Nature ne art ne coude him nat amende\n\n\u2003In no degree, as al the peple wende.\n\n\u2003But evermore hir moste wonder was,\n\n\u2003How that it coude goon, and was of bras;\n\n\u2003It was of Fairye, as the peple semed.\n\n\u2003Diverse folk diversely they demed;\n\n\u2003As many hedes, as many wittes ther been.\n\n\u2003They murmureden as dooth a swarm of been,\n\n\u2003And maden skiles after hir fantasyes,\n\n\u2003Rehersinge of thise olde poetryes,\n\n\u2003And seyden, it was lyk the Pegasee,\n\n\u2003The hors that hadde winges for to flee;\n\n\u2003Or elles it was the Grekes hors Synon,\n\n\u2003That broghte Troye to destruccion,\n\n\u2003As men may in thise olde gestes rede.\n\n\u2003\"Myn herte,\" quod oon, \"is evermore in drede;\n\n\u2003I trowe som men of armes been ther-inne,\n\n\u2003That shapen hem this citee for to winne.\n\n\u2003It were right good that al swich thing were knowe.\"\n\n\u2003Another rowned to his felawe lowe,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"he lyeth, it is rather lyk\n\n\u2003An apparence y-maad by som magyk,\n\n\u2003As jogelours pleyen at thise festes grete.\"\n\n\u2003Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,\n\n\u2003As lewed peple demeth comunly\n\n\u2003Of thinges that ben maad more subtilly\n\n\u2003Than they can in her lewednes comprehende;\n\n\u2003They demen gladly to the badder ende.\n\n\u2003And somme of hem wondred on the mirour,\n\n\u2003Till the knight taught them the manner\n\n\u2003To move him, as you shall after hear.\n\n\u2003Great was the crowd that swarmed to and fro\n\n\u2003To gaze on this horse that stood so.\n\n\u2003For it so high was, and so broad and long,\n\n\u2003So well proportioned to be strong,\n\n\u2003Right as if it were a steed of Lombardy;\n\n\u2003A horsely horse, and so lively of eye,\n\n\u2003As if it were a gentle Apulian courser.\n\n\u2003For truly, from his tail unto his ear\n\n\u2003Neither nature nor art could him improve\n\n\u2003In any way, as all the people knew.\n\n\u2003But evermore their greatest wonder was\n\n\u2003How that it could go, and yet was of brass;\n\n\u2003It was an illusion, as the people imagined.\n\n\u2003Diverse folk diversely they deemed;\n\n\u2003As many heads, as many were there ideas.\n\n\u2003They murmured as does a swarm of bees,\n\n\u2003And made reasons for their fantasies,\n\n\u2003Recalling the old poetry,\n\n\u2003And said it was like Pegasus,\n\n\u2003The horse that had wings to fly;\n\n\u2003Or else it was the Greek horse of Synon,\n\n\u2003That brought Troy to destruction,\n\n\u2003As in these old tales men read.\n\n\u2003\"My heart,\" said one, \"is evermore in dread;\n\n\u2003I believe some men of arms be therein,\n\n\u2003Who intend this city to win.\n\n\u2003It were right good that all such things were known.\"\n\n\u2003Another whispered to his fellow low,\n\n\u2003And said, \"He lies, for it is rather like\n\n\u2003An illusion made by some magic,\n\n\u2003As conjurors play at these feasts great.\"\n\n\u2003Of sundry guesses thus they chattered and debated,\n\n\u2003As unlearned people often pass judgement\n\n\u2003On things that be made more subtley\n\n\u2003Than they can in their ignorance comprehend;\n\n\u2003They judge usually to the badder end.\n\n\u2003And some of them wondered on the mirror,\n\n\u2003That born was up in-to the maister-tour,\n\n\u2003How men mighte in it swiche thinges see.\n\n\u2003Another answerde, and seyde it mighte wel be\n\n\u2003Naturelly, by composiciouns\n\n\u2003Of angles and of slye reflexiouns,\n\n\u2003And seyden, that in Rome was swich oon.\n\n\u2003They speken of Alocen and Vitulon,\n\n\u2003And Aristotle, that writen in hir lyves\n\n\u2003Of queynte mirours and of prospectyves,\n\n\u2003As knowen they that han hir bokes herd.\n\n\u2003And othere folk han wondred on the swerd\n\n\u2003That wolde percen thurgh-out every-thing;\n\n\u2003And fille in speche of Thelophus the king,\n\n\u2003And of Achilles with his queynte spere,\n\n\u2003For he coude with it bothe hele and dere,\n\n\u2003Right in swich wyse as men may with the swerd\n\n\u2003Of which right now ye han your-selven herd.\n\n\u2003They speken of sondry harding of metal,\n\n\u2003And speke of medicynes ther-with-al,\n\n\u2003And how, and whanne, it sholde y-harded be;\n\n\u2003Which is unknowe algates unto me.\n\n\u2003Tho speke they of Canac\u00ebes ring,\n\n\u2003And seyden alle, that swich a wonder thing\n\n\u2003Of craft of ringes herde they never non,\n\n\u2003Save that he, Moyses, and king Salomon\n\n\u2003Hadde a name of konning in swich art.\n\n\u2003Thus seyn the peple, and drawen hem apart.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, somme seyden that it was\n\n\u2003Wonder to maken of fern-asshen glas,\n\n\u2003And yet nis glas nat lyk asshen of fern;\n\n\u2003But for they han y-knowen it so fern,\n\n\u2003Therfore cesseth her jangling and her wonder.\n\n\u2003As sore wondren somme on cause of thonder,\n\n\u2003On ebbe, on flood, on gossomer, and on mist,\n\n\u2003And alle thing, til that the cause is wist.\n\n\u2003Thus jangle they and demen and devyse,\n\n\u2003Til that the king gan fro the bord aryse.\n\n\u2003Phebus hath laft the angle meridional,\n\n\u2003And yet ascending was the beest royal,\n\n\u2003That was borne up into the master-tower,\n\n\u2003How men might in it such things see.\n\n\u2003Another answered and said it might well be\n\n\u2003Naturally, by arrangements\n\n\u2003Of angels and of sly reflections,\n\n\u2003And said that in Rome there was such a one.\n\n\u2003They spoke of Alhazen, and Vitulon,\n\n\u2003And Aristotle, who wrote in their lives\n\n\u2003Of ingenious mirrors and perspectives,\n\n\u2003As they know who have them heard.\n\n\u2003And other folk wondered on the sword\n\n\u2003That would pierce through every thing.\n\n\u2003And fell into talk of Telephus the king,\n\n\u2003And of Achilles with his wondrous spear,\n\n\u2003For he could with it both harm and heal,\n\n\u2003Right in such ways as men may with the sword\n\n\u2003Of which right now you have yourselves heard.\n\n\u2003They spoke of sundry tempering of metal,\n\n\u2003And spoke also of chemicals,\n\n\u2003And how and when it should hardened be,\n\n\u2003Which is unknown, at least unto me.\n\n\u2003They spoke of Canacee's ring,\n\n\u2003And all said that such a wondrous thing\n\n\u2003In making rings they had never known,\n\n\u2003Save that Moses and King Solomon\n\n\u2003Had a name for cunning in such art.\n\n\u2003Thus said the people in groups scattered about.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless some of them said that it was\n\n\u2003Wondrous to make glass from fern ash,\n\n\u2003And yet glass is not like the ash of fern;\n\n\u2003But, because they had known of it before,\n\n\u2003They ceased their chattering and their wonder.\n\n\u2003As deeply wondered some on the cause of thunder,\n\n\u2003On ebb, on flood, on spider webs, and on mist,\n\n\u2003And all things, till that the cause is known.\n\n\u2003Thus chattered they, and judged, and described\n\n\u2003Till the king began from the table to arise.\n\n\u2003Phoebus had left the angle meridional,\n\n\u2003And yet ascending was the beast royal,\n\n\u2003The gentil Leon, with his Aldiran,\n\n\u2003Whan that this Tartre king, this Cambinskan,\n\n\u2003Roos fro his bord, ther that he sat ful hye.\n\n\u2003Toforn him gooth the loude minstralcye,\n\n\u2003Til he cam to his chambre of parements,\n\n\u2003Ther as they sownen diverse instruments,\n\n\u2003That it is lyk an heven for to here.\n\n\u2003Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere,\n\n\u2003For in the Fish hir lady sat ful hye,\n\n\u2003And loketh on hem with a freendly ye.\n\n\u2003This noble king is set up in his trone.\n\n\u2003This strange knight is fet to him ful sone,\n\n\u2003And on the daunce he gooth with Canacee.\n\n\u2003Heer is the revel and the jolitee\n\n\u2003That is nat able a dul man to devyse.\n\n\u2003He moste han knowen love and his servyse,\n\n\u2003And been a festlich man as fresh as May,\n\n\u2003That sholde yow devysen swich array.\n\n\u2003Who coude telle yow the forme of daunces,\n\n\u2003So uncouthe and so fresshe contenaunces,\n\n\u2003Swich subtil loking and dissimulinges\n\n\u2003For drede of jalouse mennes aperceyvinges?\n\n\u2003No man but Launcelot, and he is deed.\n\n\u2003Therefor I passe of al this lustiheed;\n\n\u2003I seye na-more, but in this jolynesse\n\n\u2003I lete hem, til men to the soper dresse.\n\n\u2003The styward bit the spyces for to hye,\n\n\u2003And eek the wyn, in al this melodye.\n\n\u2003The usshers and the squyers ben y-goon;\n\n\u2003The spyces and the wyn is come anoon.\n\n\u2003They ete and drinke; and whan this hadde an ende,\n\n\u2003Un-to the temple, as reson was, they wende.\n\n\u2003The service doon, they soupen al by day.\n\n\u2003What nedeth yow rehercen hir array?\n\n\u2003Ech man wot wel, that at a kinges feeste\n\n\u2003Hath plentee, to the moste and to the leeste,\n\n\u2003And deyntees mo than been in my knowing.\n\n\u2003At-after soper gooth this noble king\n\n\u2003To seen this hors of bras, with al the route\n\n\u2003The gentle Lion, with his Aldiran,\n\n\u2003When this Tartar king, Genghis Khan,\n\n\u2003Rose from his table, there where he sat full high.\n\n\u2003Before him went the loud minstrelsy\n\n\u2003Until he came to his official chamber,\n\n\u2003There where they played diverse instruments\n\n\u2003That were like a heaven for to hear.\n\n\u2003Now danced Venus' lusty children dear,\n\n\u2003For in Pisces their lady sat full high,\n\n\u2003And looked on them with a friendly eye.\n\n\u2003This noble king set upon his throne.\n\n\u2003This strange knight was fetched to him full soon,\n\n\u2003And in the dance he went with Canacee.\n\n\u2003Here is the revelry and the jollity\n\n\u2003That a dull man is not able to describe.\n\n\u2003He must have known love and its service\n\n\u2003And been a convivial man as fresh as May,\n\n\u2003That you should imagine such a display.\n\n\u2003Who could tell you the form of dances\n\n\u2003So exotic, and such fresh countenances,\n\n\u2003Such subtle lookings and dissimulations\n\n\u2003For fear of jealous men's interpretations?\n\n\u2003No man but Lancelot, and he is dead.\n\n\u2003Therefore I pass over all this lustihood,\n\n\u2003I say no more, but in this jollyness\n\n\u2003I leave them till men to supper go.\n\n\u2003The steward bid the spiced cakes be brought quickly,\n\n\u2003And also the wine, in all this melody.\n\n\u2003The ushers and the squires were gone,\n\n\u2003The spiced cakes and the wine were come anon.\n\n\u2003They ate and drank, and when this had an end,\n\n\u2003Unto the temple, as reason was, they wended.\n\n\u2003The service done, they breakfasted at daybreak.\n\n\u2003Who needs rehearse their scene?\n\n\u2003Each man knows well that a king's feast\n\n\u2003Has plenty for the greatest and for the least,\n\n\u2003And dainties more than be in my knowing.\n\n\u2003At after-breakfast went this noble king\n\n\u2003To see this horse of brass, with all a crowd\n\n\u2003Of lordes and of ladyes him aboute.\n\n\u2003Swich wondring was ther on this hors of bras\n\n\u2003That, sin the grete sege of Troye was,\n\n\u2003Ther-as men wondreden on an hors also,\n\n\u2003Ne was ther swich a wondring as was tho.\n\n\u2003But fynally the king axeth this knight\n\n\u2003The vertu of this courser and the might,\n\n\u2003And preyede him to telle his governaunce.\n\n\u2003This hors anoon bigan to trippe and daunce,\n\n\u2003Whan that this knight leyde hand up-on his reyne,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"sir, ther is na-more to seyne,\n\n\u2003But, whan yow list to ryden any-where,\n\n\u2003Ye moten trille a pin, stant in his ere,\n\n\u2003Which I shall telle yow bitwix vs two.\n\n\u2003Ye mote nempne him to what place also\n\n\u2003Or to what contree that yow list to ryde.\n\n\u2003And whan ye come ther as yow list abyde,\n\n\u2003Bidde him descende, and trille another pin,\n\n\u2003For ther-in lyth the effect of al the gin,\n\n\u2003And he wol doun descende and doon your wille;\n\n\u2003And in that place he wol abyde stille,\n\n\u2003Though al the world the contrarie hadde y-swore;\n\n\u2003He shal nat thennes ben y-drawe n'y-bore.\n\n\u2003Or, if yow liste bidde him thennes goon,\n\n\u2003Trille this pin, and he wol vanisshe anoon\n\n\u2003Out of the sighte of every maner wight,\n\n\u2003And come agayn, be it by day or night,\n\n\u2003When that yow list to clepen him ageyn\n\n\u2003In swich a gyse as I shal to yow seyn\n\n\u2003Bitwixe yow and me, and that ful sone.\n\n\u2003Ryde whan yow list, ther is na-more to done.\"\n\n\u2003Enformed whan the king was of that knight,\n\n\u2003And hath conceyved in his wit aright\n\n\u2003The maner and the forme of al this thing,\n\n\u2003Thus glad and blythe, this noble doughty king\n\n\u2003Repeireth to his revel as biforn.\n\n\u2003The brydel is un-to the tour y-born,\n\n\u2003And kept among his jewels leve and dere.\n\n\u2003The hors vanisshed, I noot in what manere,\n\n\u2003Of lords and ladies him about.\n\n\u2003Such wondering was there about this horse of brass\n\n\u2003Not unlike at the great siege of Troy,\n\n\u2003There where men also wondered about a horse;\n\n\u2003Never since then was there a horse so astonishing.\n\n\u2003But finally the king asked this knight\n\n\u2003The virtue of this courser and the might,\n\n\u2003And prayed him to explain its governance.\n\n\u2003This horse anon began to trip and dance,\n\n\u2003When this knight laid hand upon the rein,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Sire, there is no more to say,\n\n\u2003But when you wish to ride anywhere,\n\n\u2003You must turn a peg, standing in his ear,\n\n\u2003Which I shall tell you between us two.\n\n\u2003You must tell him to what place also,\n\n\u2003Or to what country, that you wish to ride.\n\n\u2003And when you come where you wish to abide,\n\n\u2003Bid him descend, and turn another peg,\n\n\u2003For within lies the guidance of all the contrivance,\n\n\u2003And he will descend and do your will,\n\n\u2003And in that place he will abide still.\n\n\u2003Though all the world contrary has sworn,\n\n\u2003He shall not be from there drawn or borne.\n\n\u2003Or, if you wish to bid him to go,\n\n\u2003Turn this peg, and he will vanish anon\n\n\u2003Out of the sight of everyone,\n\n\u2003And come again, be it day or night,\n\n\u2003When you wish to call him again\n\n\u2003In such a manner as I shall you say.\n\n\u2003Between you and me, and that full soon.\n\n\u2003Ride when you wish, there is no more to do.\"\n\n\u2003Informed when the king was by that knight,\n\n\u2003And having conceived in his wit aright\n\n\u2003The manner and form of all these things,\n\n\u2003Full glad and blithe, this noble doughty king\n\n\u2003Repaired to his revel as before.\n\n\u2003The bridle was unto the tower borne\n\n\u2003And kept among the jewels and treasures dear.\n\n\u2003The horse vanished, I know not in what manner,\n\n\u2003Out of hir sighte; ye gete na-more of me.\n\n\u2003But thus I lete in lust and Iolitee\n\n\u2003This Cambynskan his lordes festeyinge,\n\n\u2003Til wel ny the day bigan to springe."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 112",
                "text": "\u2003The norice of digestioun, the slepe,\n\n\u2003Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe,\n\n\u2003That muchel drink and labour wolde han reste;\n\n\u2003And with a galping mouth hem alle he keste,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"it was tyme to lye adoun,\n\n\u2003For blood was in his dominacioun;\n\n\u2003Cherissheth blood, natures freend,\" quod he.\n\n\u2003They thanken him galpinge, by two, by three,\n\n\u2003And every wight gan drawe him to his reste,\n\n\u2003As slepe hem bad; they toke it for the beste.\n\n\u2003Hir dremes shul nat been y-told for me;\n\n\u2003Ful were hir hedes of fumositee,\n\n\u2003That causeth dreem, of which ther nis no charge.\n\n\u2003They slepen til that it was pryme large,\n\n\u2003The moste part, but it were Canacee;\n\n\u2003She was ful mesurable, as wommen be.\n\n\u2003For of hir fader hadde she take leve\n\n\u2003To gon to reste, sone after it was eve;\n\n\u2003Hir liste nat appalled for to be,\n\n\u2003Nor on the morwe unfestlich for to see;\n\n\u2003And slepte hir firste sleep, and thanne awook.\n\n\u2003For swiche a joye she in hir herte took\n\n\u2003Both of hir queynte ring and hir mirour,\n\n\u2003That twenty tyme she changed hir colour;\n\n\u2003And in hir slepe, right for impressioun\n\n\u2003Of hir mirour, she hadde a visioun.\n\n\u2003Wherfore, er that the sonne gan up glyde,\n\n\u2003She cleped on hir maistresse hir bisyde,\n\n\u2003And seyde, that hir liste for to ryse.\n\n\u2003Thise olde wommen that been gladly wyse,\n\n\u2003As is hir maistresse, answerde hir anoon,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"madame, whider wil ye goon\n\n\u2003Out of their sight; you get no more of me.\n\n\u2003But thus I leave in joy and jollity\n\n\u2003This Genghis Khan and his lords feasting\n\n\u2003Till well nigh the day began to spring."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 113",
                "text": "\u2003The nourishment of digestion, the sleep,\n\n\u2003Began on them to wink and bade them take heed\n\n\u2003That much drink and labor will have rest;\n\n\u2003And with a gaping yawn he all them kissed,\n\n\u2003And said that it was time to lie adown,\n\n\u2003For blood was in his domination.\n\n\u2003\"Cherish blood, nature's friend;\" said he.\n\n\u2003They thanked him, yawning, by two, by three,\n\n\u2003And every person began to draw him to rest,\n\n\u2003As sleep them bade; they took it for the best.\n\n\u2003Their dreams shall not now be told by me;\n\n\u2003Full were their heads of fumosity,\n\n\u2003That causes dreams with no meaning.\n\n\u2003They slept until it was prime,\n\n\u2003The most part, except for Canacee.\n\n\u2003She was full moderate, as women be;\n\n\u2003For of her father had she taken leave\n\n\u2003To go to rest soon after it was eve.\n\n\u2003She wished not to be pale,\n\n\u2003Nor on the morrow unfestive to appear,\n\n\u2003And slept her sleep, and then awoke.\n\n\u2003For such a joy she in her heart took\n\n\u2003Both of her magic ring and her mirror,\n\n\u2003That twenty times she changed her color;\n\n\u2003And in her sleep, right from the impression\n\n\u2003Made by her mirror, she had a vision.\n\n\u2003Therefore, before that the sun began up to glide,\n\n\u2003She called her governess to her side,\n\n\u2003And said that she wished to rise.\n\n\u2003These old women who are often wise,\n\n\u2003As was her governess, answered her anon,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Madam, whither will you go\n\n\u2003Thus erly? for the folk ben alle on reste.\"\n\n\u2003\"I wol,\" quod she, \"aryse, for me leste\n\n\u2003No lenger for to slepe, and walke aboute.\"\n\n\u2003Hir maistresse clepeth wommen a gret route,\n\n\u2003And up they rysen, wel a ten or twelve;\n\n\u2003Up ryseth fresshe Canacee hir-selve,\n\n\u2003As rody and bright as dooth the yonge sonne,\n\n\u2003That in the Ram is four degrees up-ronne;\n\n\u2003Noon hyer was he, whan she redy was;\n\n\u2003And forth she walketh esily a pas,\n\n\u2003Arrayed after the lusty seson sote\n\n\u2003Lightly, for to pleye and walke on fote;\n\n\u2003Nat but with fyve or six of hir meynee;\n\n\u2003And in a trench, forth in the park, goth she.\n\n\u2003The vapour, which that fro the erthe glood,\n\n\u2003Made the sonne to seme rody and brood;\n\n\u2003But nathelees, it was so fair a sighte\n\n\u2003That it made alle hir hertes for to lighte,\n\n\u2003What for the seson and the morweninge,\n\n\u2003And for the foules that she herde singe;\n\n\u2003For right anon she wiste what they mente\n\n\u2003Right by hir song, and knew al hir entente.\n\n\u2003The knotte, why that every tale is told,\n\n\u2003If it be taried til that lust be cold\n\n\u2003Of hem that han it after herkned yore,\n\n\u2003The savour passeth ever lenger the more,\n\n\u2003For fulsomnesse of his prolixitee.\n\n\u2003And by the same reson thinketh me,\n\n\u2003I sholde to the knotte condescende,\n\n\u2003And maken of hir walking sone an ende.\n\n\u2003Amidde a tree fordrye, as whyt as chalk,\n\n\u2003As Canacee was pleying in hir walk,\n\n\u2003Ther sat a faucon over hir heed ful hye,\n\n\u2003That with a pitous voys so gan to crye\n\n\u2003That all the wode resouned of hir cry.\n\n\u2003Y-beten hath she hir-self so pitously\n\n\u2003With bothe hir winges, til the rede blood\n\n\u2003Ran endelong the tree ther-as she stood.\n\n\u2003And ever in oon she cryde alwey and shrighte,\n\n\u2003This early, for the folk be all at rest?\"\n\n\u2003\"I will,\" said she, \"arise, for I wish\n\n\u2003No longer for to sleep, and walk about.\"\n\n\u2003Her governess called the women in a rout,\n\n\u2003And up they rose, some ten or twelve;\n\n\u2003And up rose fresh Canacee herself,\n\n\u2003As ruddy and bright as shines the young sun,\n\n\u2003That in the Ram is four degrees uprisen\u2014\n\n\u2003No higher when she ready was\u2014\n\n\u2003And forth she walked with easy step,\n\n\u2003Arrayed for the lusty, fragrant season\n\n\u2003Lightly, for to play and walk on foot,\n\n\u2003Not but with five or six of her many;\n\n\u2003And in a path forth in the park went she.\n\n\u2003The vapor that from the earth rose\n\n\u2003Made the sun seem ruddy and broad;\n\n\u2003But nevertheless it was so fair a sight\n\n\u2003That it made all their hearts light,\n\n\u2003What for the season and the morning,\n\n\u2003And for the birds that she heard sing.\n\n\u2003For right anon she knew what they meant\n\n\u2003Right by their song, and knew all their intent.\n\n\u2003The gist of every tale that is told,\n\n\u2003If delayed until the curiosity is cold\n\n\u2003Among those who have it heard before,\n\n\u2003So diminishes its enjoyment ever the more\n\n\u2003With the fulsomeness of its prolixity,\n\n\u2003That for that reason, I think,\n\n\u2003I should to the essence quickly wend,\n\n\u2003And make of her walking soon an end.\n\n\u2003Amid a tree, from dryness as white as chalk,\n\n\u2003As Canacee was playing in her walk,\n\n\u2003There sat a falcon over her head full high,\n\n\u2003That with a piteous voice so began to cry\n\n\u2003That all the wood resounded of her cry.\n\n\u2003She had bitten herself so piteously\n\n\u2003Upon both her wings till the red blood\n\n\u2003Ran endlong the tree there where she stood.\n\n\u2003And again and again she cried and shrieked,\n\n\u2003And with hir beek hir-selven so she prighte,\n\n\u2003That ther nis tygre, ne noon so cruel beste,\n\n\u2003That dwelleth either in wode or in foreste\n\n\u2003That nolde han wept, if that he wepe coude,\n\n\u2003For sorwe of hir, she shrighte alwey so loude.\n\n\u2003For ther nas never yet no man on lyve\u2014\n\n\u2003If that I coude a faucon wel discryve\u2014\n\n\u2003That herde of swich another of fairnesse,\n\n\u2003As wel of plumage as of gentillesse\n\n\u2003Of shap, and al that mighte y-rekened be.\n\n\u2003A faucon peregryn that semed she\n\n\u2003Of fremde land; and evermore, as she stood,\n\n\u2003She swowneth now and now for lakke of blood,\n\n\u2003Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.\n\n\u2003This faire kinges doghter, Canacee,\n\n\u2003That on hir finger bar the queynte ring,\n\n\u2003Thurgh which she understood wel every thing\n\n\u2003That any foul may in his ledene seyn,\n\n\u2003And coude answere him in his ledene ageyn,\n\n\u2003Hath understonde what this faucon seyde,\n\n\u2003And wel neigh for the rewthe almost she deyde.\n\n\u2003And to the tree she gooth ful hastily,\n\n\u2003And on this faucon loketh pitously,\n\n\u2003And heeld hir lappe abrood, for wel she wiste\n\n\u2003The faucon moste fallen fro the twiste,\n\n\u2003When that it swowned next, for lakke of blood.\n\n\u2003A long while to wayten hir she stood\n\n\u2003Till atte laste she spak in this manere\n\n\u2003Un-to the hauk, as ye shul after here.\n\n\u2003\"What is the cause, if it be for to telle,\n\n\u2003That ye be in this furial pyne of helle?\"\n\n\u2003Quod Canacee un-to this hauk above.\n\n\u2003\"Is this for sorwe of deeth or los of love?\n\n\u2003For, as I trowe, thise ben causes two\n\n\u2003That causen moost a gentil herte wo;\n\n\u2003Of other harm it nedeth nat to speke.\n\n\u2003For ye your-self upon your-self yow wreke,\n\n\u2003Which proveth wel, that either love or drede\n\n\u2003Mot been encheson of your cruel dede,\n\n\u2003And with her beak she herself so pricked\n\n\u2003That there was no tiger, nor any other cruel beast\n\n\u2003That dwelt either in wood or forest,\n\n\u2003That would not have wept, if weep it could,\n\n\u2003For sorrow of her, she shrieked always so loud.\n\n\u2003For there is yet no man alive,\n\n\u2003If I could a falcon well describe,\n\n\u2003Who has heard such another so fair,\n\n\u2003As well of plumage as gentleness\n\n\u2003Of shape, of all that might reckoned be.\n\n\u2003A falcon peregrine then seemed she\n\n\u2003Of foreign land; and evermore, as she stood,\n\n\u2003She swooned now and then for lack of blood,\n\n\u2003Till well nigh was she fallen from the tree.\n\n\u2003This fair king's daughter, Canacee,\n\n\u2003Who on her finger bore the magic ring,\n\n\u2003Through which she understood well every thing\n\n\u2003That any bird might in his language say,\n\n\u2003And could answer him in his language again,\n\n\u2003Now understood what this falcon said,\n\n\u2003And well nigh for pity she almost died.\n\n\u2003And to the tree she went full hastily,\n\n\u2003And on this falcon looked piteously,\n\n\u2003And spread her skirt broad, for well she knew\n\n\u2003The falcon must fall from the wood,\n\n\u2003When it swooned next, for lack of blood.\n\n\u2003A long while waiting there she stood\n\n\u2003Till she spoke at last in this manner\n\n\u2003Unto the hawk, as you shall after hear:\n\n\u2003\"What is the cause, if you can tell,\n\n\u2003That you be in the Furies' pain of hell?\"\n\n\u2003Said Canacee unto this hawk above.\n\n\u2003\"Is this for sorrow of death or loss of love?\n\n\u2003For, as I believe, these be the causes two\n\n\u2003That cause most a gentle heart woe;\n\n\u2003Of other harm we need not speak.\n\n\u2003For you upon yourself you wreak,\n\n\u2003Which proves well that either ire or dread\n\n\u2003Must be the reason for your cruel deed,\n\n\u2003Sin that I see non other wight yow chace.\n\n\u2003For love of god, as dooth your-selven grace\n\n\u2003Or what may ben your help; for west nor eest\n\n\u2003Ne sey I never er now no brid ne beest\n\n\u2003That ferde with him-self so pitously\n\n\u2003Ye slee me with your sorwe, verraily;\n\n\u2003I have of yow so gret compassioun.\n\n\u2003For goddes love, com fro the tree adoun;\n\n\u2003And, as I am a kinges doghter trewe,\n\n\u2003If that I verraily the cause knewe\n\n\u2003Of your disese, if it lay in my might,\n\n\u2003I wolde amende it, er that it were night,\n\n\u2003As wisly helpe me gret god of kinde!\n\n\u2003And herbes shal I right y-nowe y-finde\n\n\u2003To hele with your hurtes hastily.\"\n\n\u2003Tho shrighte this faucon mor pitously\n\n\u2003Than ever she dide, and fil to grounde anoon,\n\n\u2003And lyth aswowne, deed, and lyk a stoon,\n\n\u2003Til Canacee hath in hir lappe hir take\n\n\u2003Un-to the tyme she gan of swough awake.\n\n\u2003And, after that she of hir swough gan breyde,\n\n\u2003Right in hir haukes ledene thus she seyde:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"That pitee renneth sone in gentil herte,\n\n\u2003Feling his similitude in peynes smerte,\n\n\u2003Is preved al-day, as men may it see,\n\n\u2003As wel by werk as by auctoritee;\n\n\u2003For gentil herte kytheth gentillesse.\n\n\u2003I see wel, that ye han of my distresse\n\n\u2003Compassioun, my faire Canacee,\n\n\u2003Of verray wommanly benignitee\n\n\u2003That nature in your principles hath set.\n\n\u2003But for non hope for to fare the bet,\n\n\u2003But for to obeye un-to your herte free,\n\n\u2003And for to maken other be war by me,\n\n\u2003As by the whelp chasted is the leoun,\n\n\u2003Right for that cause and that conclusioun,\n\n\u2003Whyl that I have a leyser and a space,\n\n\u2003Myn harm I wol confessen, er I pace.\"\n\n\u2003And ever, whyl that oon hir sorwe tolde,\n\n\u2003Since I see no other person you chase.\n\n\u2003For love of God, have on yourself grace,\n\n\u2003Or how may I help you? For west nor east\n\n\u2003Never saw I ever until now any bird or beast\n\n\u2003That fared with itself so piteously.\n\n\u2003You slay me with your sorrow verily,\n\n\u2003I have of you so great compassion.\n\n\u2003For God's love, come from the tree adown;\n\n\u2003And as I am a king's daughter true,\n\n\u2003If I verily the cause knew\n\n\u2003Of your misery, if it lay in my might,\n\n\u2003I would amend it before night,\n\n\u2003So wisely help me great God of nature!\n\n\u2003And herbs shall I right enough find\n\n\u2003To heal your hurts hastily!\"\n\n\u2003Then shrieked this falcon yet more piteously\n\n\u2003Than ever she did, and fell to the ground anon,\n\n\u2003And lay aswoon, dead and like a stone,\n\n\u2003Till Canacee had in her lap her taken\n\n\u2003Until she began from the swoon to awaken.\n\n\u2003And after that she from her swoon upstarted,\n\n\u2003Right in her hawk's language thus she said:\n\n\u2003\"That pity runs soon in a gentle heart,\n\n\u2003Feeling its compassion in pains smart,\n\n\u2003Is proved always, as men may it see,\n\n\u2003As well by work as by authority;\n\n\u2003For a gentle heart makes known gentleness.\n\n\u2003I see well that you have of my distress\n\n\u2003Compassion, my fair Canacee,\n\n\u2003Of very womanly benignity\n\n\u2003That Nature in your disposition has set.\n\n\u2003And with no hope to fare better,\n\n\u2003But to respond to your generosity,\n\n\u2003And to make others beware by me,\n\n\u2003As by the whelp chastened is the lion,\n\n\u2003Right for that cause and that conclusion\n\n\u2003While I have the leisure and time,\n\n\u2003My pain I will confess before I fly.\"\n\n\u2003And ever, while that one her sorrow told,\n\n\u2003That other weep, as she to water wolde,\n\n\u2003Til that the faucon bad hir to be stille;\n\n\u2003And, with a syk, right thus she seyde hir wille.\n\n\u2003\"Ther I was bred (alias! that harde day!)\n\n\u2003And fostred in a roche of marbul gray\n\n\u2003So tendrely, that nothing eyled me,\n\n\u2003I niste nat what was adversitee,\n\n\u2003Til I coude flee ful hye under the sky.\n\n\u2003Tho dwelte a tercelet me faste by,\n\n\u2003That semed welle of alle gentillesse;\n\n\u2003Al were he ful of treson and falsnesse,\n\n\u2003It was so wrapped under humble chere,\n\n\u2003And under hewe of trouthe in swich manere,\n\n\u2003Under plesance, and under bisy peyne,\n\n\u2003That no wight coude han wend he coude feyne,\n\n\u2003So depe in greyn he dyed his coloures.\n\n\u2003Right as a serpent hit him under floures\n\n\u2003Til he may seen his tyme for to byte,\n\n\u2003Right so this god of love, this ypocryte,\n\n\u2003Doth so his cerimonies and obeisaunces,\n\n\u2003And kepeth in semblant alle his observances\n\n\u2003That sowneth in-to gentillesse of love.\n\n\u2003As in a toumbe is al the faire above,\n\n\u2003And under is the corps, swich as ye woot,\n\n\u2003Swich was this ypocryte, bothe cold and hoot,\n\n\u2003And in this wyse he served his entente,\n\n\u2003That (save the feend) non wiste what he mente.\n\n\u2003Til he so longe had wopen and compleyned,\n\n\u2003And many a yeer his service to me feyned,\n\n\u2003Til that myn herte, to pitous and to nyce,\n\n\u2003Al innocent of his crouned malice,\n\n\u2003For-fered of his deeth, as thoughte me,\n\n\u2003Upon his othes and his seuretee,\n\n\u2003Graunted him love, on this condicioun,\n\n\u2003That evermore myn honour and renoun\n\n\u2003Were saved, bothe privee and apert;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, that, after his desert,\n\n\u2003I yaf him al myn herte and al my thoght\u2014\n\n\u2003God woot and he, that otherwyse noght\u2014\n\n\u2003The other wept as if she would dissolve,\n\n\u2003Till the falcon bade her to be still,\n\n\u2003And, with a sigh, right thus she said her will:\n\n\u2003\"There I was bred\u2014alas that day!\u2014\n\n\u2003And fostered in a rock of marble gray\n\n\u2003So tenderly that no thing ailed me,\n\n\u2003I knew not what was adversity\n\n\u2003Till I could fly full high under the sky.\n\n\u2003Then dwelt a tercelet me nearby,\n\n\u2003That seemed a spring of all gentleness;\n\n\u2003Although he was full of treason and falseness,\n\n\u2003It was so wrapped behind a humble manner,\n\n\u2003And under a hue of truth in such a way,\n\n\u2003Under a seeming eagerness to please,\n\n\u2003That no person could have known it for a disguise,\n\n\u2003So deep in grain he dyed his colors.\n\n\u2003Right as a serpent hides himself under flowers\n\n\u2003Till he may see his time for to bite,\n\n\u2003Right so this god of love's hypocrite\n\n\u2003Did so his ceremonies and obeisances,\n\n\u2003And kept in semblance all his observances\n\n\u2003That imitate the gentleness of love.\n\n\u2003As in a tomb is all the fair above,\n\n\u2003And under is the corpse, such as you know,\n\n\u2003Such was this hypocrite, both cold and hot.\n\n\u2003And in this way he served his intent\n\n\u2003That, save the fiend, none knew what he meant,\n\n\u2003Till he so long had wept and complained,\n\n\u2003And many a year his service to me feigned,\n\n\u2003Till my heart, too piteous and too nice,\n\n\u2003All innocent of his sovereign malice,\n\n\u2003Feared his death, as I thought,\n\n\u2003And believing his oaths and surety,\n\n\u2003Granted him love, upon this condition,\n\n\u2003That evermore my honor and renown\n\n\u2003Were saved, both privately and otherwise;\n\n\u2003That is to say, that after his desire,\n\n\u2003I gave him all my heart and all my thought\u2014\n\n\u2003God knows and he, nor would have done any other way\u2014\n\n\u2003And took his herte in chaunge for myn for ay.\n\n\u2003But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many a day,\n\n\u2003'A trew wight and a theef thenken nat oon'\n\n\u2003And, whan he saugh the thing so fer y-goon\n\n\u2003That I had graunted him fully my love,\n\n\u2003In swich a gyse as I have seyd above,\n\n\u2003And yeven him my trewe herte, as free\n\n\u2003As he swoor he his herte yaf to me;\n\n\u2003Anon this tygre, ful of doublenesse,\n\n\u2003Fil on his knees with so devout humblesse,\n\n\u2003With so heigh reverence, and, as by his chere,\n\n\u2003So lyk a gentil lovere of manere,\n\n\u2003So ravisshed, as it semed, for the joye,\n\n\u2003That never Jason, ne Parys of Troye,\n\n\u2003Jason? certes, ne non other man,\n\n\u2003Sin Lameth was, that alderfirst bigan\n\n\u2003To loven two, as writen folk biforn,\n\n\u2003Ne never, sin the firste man was born,\n\n\u2003Ne coude man, by twenty thousand part,\n\n\u2003Countrefete the sophimes of his art;\n\n\u2003Ne were worthy unbokele his galoche,\n\n\u2003Ther doublenesse or feyning sholde approche,\n\n\u2003Ne so coude thanke a wight as he did me!\n\n\u2003His maner was an heven for to see\n\n\u2003Til any womman, were she never so wys;\n\n\u2003So peynted he and kembde at point-devys\n\n\u2003As wel his wordes as his contenaunce.\n\n\u2003And I so lovede him for his obeisaunce,\n\n\u2003And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,\n\n\u2003That, if so were that any thing him smerte,\n\n\u2003Al were it never so lyte, and I it wiste,\n\n\u2003Me thoughte, I felte deeth myn herte twiste.\n\n\u2003And shortly, so ferforth this thing is went,\n\n\u2003That my wil was his willes instrument;\n\n\u2003This is to seyn, my wil obeyed his wil\n\n\u2003In alle thing, as fer as reson fil,\n\n\u2003Keping the boundes of my worship ever.\n\n\u2003Ne never hadde I thing so leef, ne lever,\n\n\u2003As him, god woot! ne never shal na-mo.\n\n\u2003And took his heart in exchange for my own forever.\n\n\u2003But truth to tell, for many a day,\n\n\u2003'A true person and a thief think not the same way.'\n\n\u2003And when he saw the thing so far gone\n\n\u2003That I had granted him fully my love\n\n\u2003In such a guise as I have said above,\n\n\u2003And given him my true heart as freely\n\n\u2003As he swore he had given his heart to me,\n\n\u2003Anon this tiger, full of doubleness,\n\n\u2003Fell on his knees with such devout humbleness,\n\n\u2003With such high reverence, and, as by his face,\n\n\u2003So like a gentle lover in manner,\n\n\u2003So carried away by joy\n\n\u2003That neither Jason nor Paris of Troy\u2014\n\n\u2003Jason? Certainly, no other man\n\n\u2003Since Lamech was, who first of all began\n\n\u2003To love two, as wrote folk before\u2014\n\n\u2003No never, since the first man was born,\n\n\u2003Could any man, by twenty thousand parts,\n\n\u2003Counterfeit the sophisms of his art,\n\n\u2003Nor would be worthy to unbuckle his sandals,\n\n\u2003Compared to his doubleness and feigning,\n\n\u2003Nor could so thank a person as he did me!\n\n\u2003His manner was a heaven for to see\n\n\u2003To any woman, were she ever so wise,\n\n\u2003He so concealed his true intent\n\n\u2003As well in his words as his countenance.\n\n\u2003And I so loved him for his obeisance,\n\n\u2003And for the truth I deemed in his heart,\n\n\u2003That if anything him smarted,\n\n\u2003Albeit ever so little, and I it knew,\n\n\u2003I thought I felt death my heart twist.\n\n\u2003And shortly, so far this thing went\n\n\u2003That my will was his will's instrument;\n\n\u2003That is to say, my will obeyed his will\n\n\u2003In all things, as far as reason went,\n\n\u2003Keeping the bounds of my honor ever.\n\n\u2003Never had I loved anything so much,\n\n\u2003As him, God knows, nor shall evermore.\n\n\u2003This lasteth lenger than a yeer or two,\n\n\u2003That I supposed of him noght but good.\n\n\u2003But fynally, thus atte laste it stood,\n\n\u2003That fortune wolde that he moste twinne\n\n\u2003Out of that place which that I was inne.\n\n\u2003Wher me was wo, that is no questioun;\n\n\u2003I can nat make of it discripcioun;\n\n\u2003For o thing dar I tellen boldely,\n\n\u2003I knowe what is the peyne of deth ther-by;\n\n\u2003Swich harm I felte for he ne mighte bileve.\n\n\u2003So on a day of me he took his leve,\n\n\u2003So sorwefully eek, that I wende verraily\n\n\u2003That he had felt as muche harm as I,\n\n\u2003Whan that I herde him speke, and saugh his hewe.\n\n\u2003But nathelees, I thoughte he was so trewe,\n\n\u2003And eek that he repaire sholde ageyn\n\n\u2003With-inne a litel whyle, sooth to seyn;\n\n\u2003And reson wolde eek that he moste go\n\n\u2003For his honour, as ofte it happeth so,\n\n\u2003That I made vertu of necessitee,\n\n\u2003And took it wel, sin that it moste be.\n\n\u2003As I best mighte, I hidde fro him my sorwe,\n\n\u2003And took him by the hond, seint John to borwe,\n\n\u2003And seyde him thus: 'lo, I am youres al;\n\n\u2003Beth swich as I to yow have been, and shal.'\n\n\u2003What he answerde, it nedeth noght reherce,\n\n\u2003Who can sey bet than he, who can do werse?\n\n\u2003Whan he hath al wel seyd, thanne hath he doon.\n\n\u2003'Therfor bihoveth him a ful long spoon\n\n\u2003That shal ete with a feend,' thus herde I seye.\n\n\u2003So atte laste he moste forth his weye,\n\n\u2003And forth he fleeth, til he cam ther him leste.\n\n\u2003Whan it cam him to purpos for to reste,\n\n\u2003I trowe he hadde thilke text in minde,\n\n\u2003That 'alle thing, repeiring to his kinde,\n\n\u2003Gladeth him-self'; thus seyn men, as I gesse;\n\n\u2003Men loven of propre kinde newfangelnesse,\n\n\u2003As briddes doon that men in cages fede.\n\n\u2003For though thou night and day take of hem hede,\n\n\u2003\"This lasted longer than a year or two,\n\n\u2003That I supposed of him nought but good.\n\n\u2003But finally, thus at last it stood,\n\n\u2003That Fortune willed he must depart\n\n\u2003Out of the place where I was in.\n\n\u2003I was in woe, that is no question;\n\n\u2003I cannot make of it description.\n\n\u2003But one thing I dare tell boldly;\n\n\u2003I know what is the pain of death thereby;\n\n\u2003Such hurt I felt for him that he would not stay.\n\n\u2003So on a day he took his leave of me,\n\n\u2003So sorrowfully also that I truly believed\n\n\u2003That he felt as much pain as I,\n\n\u2003When I heard him speak and change his hue.\n\n\u2003But nevertheless, I thought he was so true,\n\n\u2003And also that he return should again\n\n\u2003Within a little while, truth to tell;\n\n\u2003And reason said that he must go\n\n\u2003For his honor, as often it happens so,\n\n\u2003That I made virtue of necessity,\n\n\u2003And took it well, since that it must be.\n\n\u2003As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow,\n\n\u2003And took him by the hand, and by Saint John\n\n\u2003Said him thus: 'Lo, I am yours all;\n\n\u2003Both as I have been to you and shall.'\n\n\u2003What he answered, I need not rehearse;\n\n\u2003Who can say better than he, who can do worse?\n\n\u2003When he has all well said, then he has done.\n\n\u2003'If you dine with the devil\n\n\u2003Use a full long spoon,' thus have I heard said.\n\n\u2003So at last he must go his way,\n\n\u2003And forth he flew until he went where he wished.\n\n\u2003When it came time for him to rest,\n\n\u2003I believe he had in mind this text,\n\n\u2003That 'all things, according to their nature,\n\n\u2003Seek their pleasure;' thus say men, I guess.\n\n\u2003Men by their nature love newfangledness,\n\n\u2003As birds do that men in cages feed.\n\n\u2003For though they night and day take of them heed,\n\n\u2003And strawe hir cage faire and softe as silk,\n\n\u2003And yeve hem sugre, hony, breed and milk,\n\n\u2003Yet right anon, as that his dore is uppe,\n\n\u2003He with his feet wol spurne adoun his cuppe,\n\n\u2003And to the wode he wol and wormes ete;\n\n\u2003So newefangel been they of hir mete,\n\n\u2003And loven novelryes of propre kinde;\n\n\u2003No gentillesse of blood [ne] may hem binde.\n\n\u2003So ferde this tercelet, alias the day!\n\n\u2003Though he were gentil born, and fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And goodly for to seen, and humble and free,\n\n\u2003He saugh up-on a tyme a kyte flee,\n\n\u2003And sodeynly he loved this kyte so,\n\n\u2003That al his love is clene fro me ago,\n\n\u2003And hath his trouthe falsed in this wyse;\n\n\u2003Thus hath the kyte my love in hir servyse,\n\n\u2003And I am lorn with-outen remedye!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word this faucon gan to crye,\n\n\u2003And swowned eft in Canace\u00ebs barme.\n\n\u2003Greet was the sorwe, for the haukes harme,\n\n\u2003That Canacee and alle hir wommen made;\n\n\u2003They niste how they mighte the faucon glade.\n\n\u2003But Canacee hom bereth hir in hir lappe,\n\n\u2003And softely in plastres gan hir wrappe,\n\n\u2003Ther as she with hir beek had hurt hir-selve.\n\n\u2003Now can nat Canacee but herbes delve\n\n\u2003Out of the grounde, and make salves newe\n\n\u2003Of herbes precious, and fyne of hewe,\n\n\u2003To helen with this hauk; fro day to night\n\n\u2003She dooth hir bisinesse and al hir might.\n\n\u2003And by hir beddes heed she made a mewe,\n\n\u2003And covered it with velu\u00ebttes blewe,\n\n\u2003In signe of trouthe that is in wommen sene.\n\n\u2003And al with-oute, the mewe is peynted grene,\n\n\u2003In which were peynted alle thise false foules,\n\n\u2003As beth thise tidifs, tercelets, and oules,\n\n\u2003Right for despyt were peynted hem bisyde,\n\n\u2003And pyes, on hem for to crye and chyde.\n\n\u2003Thus lete I Canacee hir hauk keping;\n\n\u2003And straw their cage fair and soft as silk,\n\n\u2003And give them sugar, honey, bread and milk,\n\n\u2003Yet as soon as his door is up\n\n\u2003He with his feet will kick adown his cup,\n\n\u2003And to the wood he will go and on worms sup;\n\n\u2003So newfangled would they have their food,\n\n\u2003And love of novelties in their blood,\n\n\u2003No gentleness of nature may them bind.\n\n\u2003\"So fared this tercelet, alas the day!\n\n\u2003Though he was gentle born, and fresh and gay,\n\n\u2003And goodly for to see, and humble and free,\n\n\u2003He saw upon a time a kite fly,\n\n\u2003And suddenly he loved this kite so\n\n\u2003That all his love is clean from me gone,\n\n\u2003And has his pledge betrayed in this way.\n\n\u2003Thus has the kite my love in her service,\n\n\u2003And I am lorn without remedy!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word this falcon began to cry\n\n\u2003And swooned at once into Canacee's lap.\n\n\u2003Great was the sorrow for this hawk's pain\n\n\u2003That Canacee and all her women made;\n\n\u2003They knew not how they might this falcon comfort.\n\n\u2003But Canacee home bore her in her lap,\n\n\u2003And softly in bandages began her to wrap,\n\n\u2003There where she had with her beak hurt herself.\n\n\u2003Now Canacee cannot but delve herbs\n\n\u2003Out of the ground, and make new salves\n\n\u2003Of herbs precious and fine of hue\n\n\u2003To heal this hawk. From day to night\n\n\u2003She did her business with all her might,\n\n\u2003And by her bed's head she made a mews\n\n\u2003And covered it with cloth of velvet blue,\n\n\u2003In sign of devotion that is in women seen.\n\n\u2003And all without the mews was painted green,\n\n\u2003On which were painted all these false fowls,\n\n\u2003As be these small birds, tercelets and owls;\n\n\u2003Right for spite were painted them beside,\n\n\u2003Magpies, on them to cry and chide.\n\n\u2003Thus leave I Canacee her hawk keeping;\n\n\u2003I wol na-more as now speke of hir ring,\n\n\u2003Til it come eft to purpos for to seyn\n\n\u2003How that this faucon gat hir love ageyn\n\n\u2003Repentant, as the storie telleth us,\n\n\u2003By mediacioun of Cambalus,\n\n\u2003The kinges sone, of whiche I yow tolde.\n\n\u2003But hennes-forth I wol my proces holde\n\n\u2003To speke of aventures and of batailles,\n\n\u2003That never yet was herd so grete mervailles.\n\n\u2003First wol I telle yow of Cambinskan,\n\n\u2003That in his tyme many a citee wan;\n\n\u2003And after wol I speke of Algarsyf,\n\n\u2003How that he wan Theodora to his wyf,\n\n\u2003For whom ful ofte in greet peril he was,\n\n\u2003Ne hadde he ben holpen by the stede of bras;\n\n\u2003And after wol I speke of Cambalo,\n\n\u2003That faught in listes with the bretheren two\n\n\u2003For Canacee, er that he mighte hir winne.\n\n\u2003And ther I lefte I wol ageyn biginne.\n\n\u2003I will no more now speak of her ring\n\n\u2003Till it comes time to say\n\n\u2003How this falcon got her love again\n\n\u2003Repentant, as the story tells us,\n\n\u2003By mediation of Cambalus,\n\n\u2003The king's son, of whom I told.\n\n\u2003But henceforth I will my story hold\n\n\u2003To speak of adventures and battles\n\n\u2003Of which never yet were heard so great marvels.\n\n\u2003First will I tell you of Genghis Khan,\n\n\u2003Who in his time many a city won;\n\n\u2003And after will I speak of Algarsyf,\n\n\u2003How he won Theodora to become his wife,\n\n\u2003For whom full often in great peril he was,\n\n\u2003Nor had he help by a steed of brass;\n\n\u2003And after I will speak of Cambalo,\n\n\u2003Who fought in lists with brethren two\n\n\u2003For Canacee, to prove their mettle to win her.\n\n\u2003And where I left I will again begin."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Phisiciens Tale",
                "text": "\u2003Ther was, as telleth Titus Livius,\n\n\u2003A knight that called was Virginius,\n\n\u2003Fulfild of honour and of worthinesse,\n\n\u2003And strong of freendes and of greet richesse.\n\n\u2003This knight a doghter hadde by his wyf,\n\n\u2003No children hadde he mo in al his lyf.\n\n\u2003Fair was this mayde in excellent beautee\n\n\u2003Aboven every wight that man may see;\n\n\u2003For nature hath with sovereyn diligence\n\n\u2003Y-formed hir in so greet excellence,\n\n\u2003As though she wolde seyn, \"lo! I, Nature,\n\n\u2003Thus can I forme and peynte a creature,\n\n\u2003Whan that me list; who can me countrefete?\n\n\u2003Pigmalion noght, though he ay forge and bete,\n\n\u2003Or grave, or peynte; for I dar wel seyn,\n\n\u2003Apelles, Zanzis, sholde werche in veyn,\n\n\u2003Outher to grave or peynte or forge or bete,\n\n\u2003If they presumed me to countrefete.\n\n\u2003For he that is the former principal\n\n\u2003Hath maked me his vicaire general,\n\n\u2003To forme and peynten erthely creaturis\n\n\u2003Right as me list, and ech thing in my cure is\n\n\u2003Under the mone, that may wane and waxe,\n\n\u2003And for my werk right no-thing wol I axe;\n\n\u2003My lord and I ben ful of oon accord;\n\n\u2003I made hir to the worship of my lord.\n\n\u2003So do I alle myne othere creatures,\n\n\u2003What colour that they han, or what figures.\"\u2014\n\n\u2003Thus semeth me that Nature wolde seye.\n\n\u2003This mayde of age twelf yeer was and tweye,\n\n\u2003In which that Nature hadde swich delyt.\n\n\u2003For right as she can peynte a lilie whyt\n\n\u2003And reed a rose, right with swich peynture\n\n\u2003She peynted hath this noble creature\n\n\u2003Er she were born, up-on hir limes free,\n\n\u2003Wher-as by right swiche colours sholde be;\n\n\u2003And Phebus dyed hath hir tresses grete"
            },
            {
                "title": "The Physician's Tale",
                "text": "\u2003There was, as Livy tells,\n\n\u2003A knight who was called Virginius,\n\n\u2003Fulfilled of honor and of worthiness,\n\n\u2003And strong of friends, and of great richness.\n\n\u2003This knight a daughter had he by his wife;\n\n\u2003No children had he more in all his life.\n\n\u2003Fair was this maid in excellent beauty\n\n\u2003Above every person that man may see;\n\n\u2003For Nature had with sovereign diligence\n\n\u2003Formed her in so great excellence,\n\n\u2003As though she would say, \"Lo! I, Nature,\n\n\u2003Thus can I form and paint a creature,\n\n\u2003When I wish; who can me counterfeit?\n\n\u2003Pygmalion nought, though he forge and beat,\n\n\u2003Or carve or paint; I dare well say\n\n\u2003Apelles, Zeuxis, should work in vain\n\n\u2003Either to carve, or paint, or forge, or beat,\n\n\u2003If they presumed me to counterfeit,\n\n\u2003For he who is the principal maker\n\n\u2003Has made me his vicar general,\n\n\u2003To form and paint earthly creatures\n\n\u2003Right as I wish, and each thing is in my power\n\n\u2003Under the moon, that may wane and wax,\n\n\u2003And for my work nothing will I ask;\n\n\u2003My lord and I be fully of one accord.\n\n\u2003I made her to the worship of my lord;\n\n\u2003So do I all my other creatures,\n\n\u2003What color they have or what figures.\"\n\n\u2003Thus it seems to me that Nature would say.\n\n\u2003This maid of age twelve years was and two,\n\n\u2003In which Nature had such delight.\n\n\u2003For right as she can paint a lily white,\n\n\u2003And red a rose, right with such colors\n\n\u2003She had painted this noble creature,\n\n\u2003Before she was born, upon her limbs freely,\n\n\u2003Where by right such colors should be;\n\n\u2003And Phoebus had dyed her tresses long\n\n\u2003Lyk to the stremes of his burned hete.\n\n\u2003And if that excellent was hir beautee,\n\n\u2003A thousand-fold more vertuous was she.\n\n\u2003In hir ne lakked no condicioun,\n\n\u2003That is to preyse, as by discrecioun.\n\n\u2003As wel in goost as body chast was she;\n\n\u2003For which she floured in virginitee\n\n\u2003With alle humilitee and abstinence,\n\n\u2003With alle attemperaunce and pacience,\n\n\u2003With mesure eek of bering and array.\n\n\u2003Discreet she was in answering alway;\n\n\u2003Though she were wys as Pallas, dar I seyn,\n\n\u2003Hir facound eek ful wommanly and pleyn,\n\n\u2003No countrefeted termes hadde she\n\n\u2003To seme wys; but after hir degree\n\n\u2003She spak, and alle hir wordes more and lesse\n\n\u2003Souninge in vertu and in gentillesse.\n\n\u2003Shamfast she was in maydens shamfastnesse,\n\n\u2003Constant in herte, and ever in bisinesse\n\n\u2003To dyrve hir out of ydel slogardye.\n\n\u2003Bacus hadde of hir mouth right no maistrye;\n\n\u2003For wyn and youthe doon Venus encrece,\n\n\u2003As men in fyr wol casten oile or grece.\n\n\u2003And of hir owene vertu, unconstreyned,\n\n\u2003She hath ful ofte tyme syk hir feyned,\n\n\u2003For that she wolde fleen the companye\n\n\u2003Wher lykly was to treten of folye,\n\n\u2003As is at festes, revels, and at daunces.\n\n\u2003That been occasions of daliaunces\n\n\u2003Swich thinges maken children for to be\n\n\u2003To sone rype and bold, as men may see,\n\n\u2003Which is ful perilous, and hath ben yore.\n\n\u2003For al to sone may she lerne lore\n\n\u2003Of boldnesse, whan she woxen is a wyf.\n\n\u2003And ye maistresses in your olde lyf,\n\n\u2003That lordes doghtres han in governaunce,\n\n\u2003Ne taketh of my wordes no displesaunce;\n\n\u2003Thenketh that ye ben set in governinges\n\n\u2003Of lordes doghtres, only for two thinges;\n\n\u2003Like unto the streams of his burnished heat.\n\n\u2003And if excellent was her beauty,\n\n\u2003A thousand-fold more virtuous was she.\n\n\u2003In her lacked no feature\n\n\u2003That is to praise, in her character.\n\n\u2003As well in spirit as body chaste was she,\n\n\u2003For which she flowered in virginity\n\n\u2003With all humility and abstinence,\n\n\u2003With all temperance and patience,\n\n\u2003With measure also of bearing and appearance.\n\n\u2003Discreet was she in answering always;\n\n\u2003Though she was wise as Pallas, dare I say,\n\n\u2003Her speech was also full womanly and plain.\n\n\u2003No counterfeited terms had she\n\n\u2003To seem wise, but after her degree\n\n\u2003She spoke, and all her words, more and less,\n\n\u2003Conducive to virtue and gentleness.\n\n\u2003Modest was she in maiden's modesty,\n\n\u2003Constant in heart, and ever busy\n\n\u2003To drive her out of idle sluggardy.\n\n\u2003Bacchus had of her mouth no mastery;\n\n\u2003For wine and youth does desire increase,\n\n\u2003As men into a fire will cast oil or grease.\n\n\u2003And by her own virtue, unconstrained,\n\n\u2003She had full oftentime sickness feigned,\n\n\u2003For she would flee the company\n\n\u2003Where likely was to speak of folly,\n\n\u2003As is at feasts, revels and at dances,\n\n\u2003That be occasions of dalliances.\n\n\u2003Such things make children be\n\n\u2003Too soon ripe and bold, as men may see,\n\n\u2003Which is full perilous and has been of yore.\n\n\u2003For all too soon she may learn lore\n\n\u2003Of boldness, when she has become a wife.\n\n\u2003And you governesses, in your old life,\n\n\u2003Who lords' daughters have in governance,\n\n\u2003Take of my words no offence.\n\n\u2003Think that you be set as governesses\n\n\u2003Of lords' daughters only for two things:\n\n\u2003Outher for ye han kept your honestee,\n\n\u2003Or elles ye han falle in freletee,\n\n\u2003And knowen wel y-nough the olde daunce,\n\n\u2003And han forsaken fully swich meschaunce\n\n\u2003For evermo; therefore, for Cristes sake,\n\n\u2003To teche hem vertu loke that ye ne slake.\n\n\u2003A theef of venisoun, that hath forlaft\n\n\u2003His likerousnesse, and al his olde craft,\n\n\u2003Can kepe a forest best of any man.\n\n\u2003Now kepeth hem wel, for if ye wol, ye can;\n\n\u2003Loke wel that ye un-to no vice assente,\n\n\u2003Lest ye be dampned for your wikke entente;\n\n\u2003For who-so doth, a traitour is certeyn.\n\n\u2003And taketh kepe of that that I shal seyn;\n\n\u2003Of alle tresons sovereyn pestilence\n\n\u2003Is whan a wight bitrayseth innocence.\n\n\u2003Ye fadres and ye modres eek also,\n\n\u2003Though ye han children, be it oon or two,\n\n\u2003Your is the charge of al hir surveyaunce,\n\n\u2003Whyl that they been under your governaunce.\n\n\u2003Beth war that by ensample of your livinge,\n\n\u2003Or by your necligence in chastisinge,\n\n\u2003That they ne perisse; for I dar wel seye,\n\n\u2003If that they doon, ye shul it dere abeye.\n\n\u2003Under a shepherde softe and necligent\n\n\u2003The wolf hath many a sheep and lamb to-rent.\n\n\u2003Suffyseth oon ensample now as here,\n\n\u2003For I mot turne agayn to my matere.\n\n\u2003This mayde, of which I wol this tale expresse,\n\n\u2003So kepte hir-self, hir neded no maistresse;\n\n\u2003For in hir living maydens mighten rede,\n\n\u2003As in a book, every good word or dede,\n\n\u2003That longeth to a mayden vertuous;\n\n\u2003She was so prudent and so bountevous.\n\n\u2003For which the fame out-sprong on every syde\n\n\u2003Bothe of hir beautee and hir bountee wyde;\n\n\u2003That thurgh that land they preysed hir echone,\n\n\u2003That loved vertu, save envye allone,\n\n\u2003That sory is of other mennes wele,\n\n\u2003Either because you have kept your honesty,\n\n\u2003Or else you have fallen in frailty,\n\n\u2003And know well enough the old dance,\n\n\u2003And have forsaken fully such mischance\n\n\u2003For evermore; therefore, for Christ's sake,\n\n\u2003To teach them virtue look that you do not slacken.\n\n\u2003A thief of venison, who has forsaken\n\n\u2003His greed and all his old craft,\n\n\u2003Can keep a forest best of any man.\n\n\u2003Now keep well, for if you will, you can.\n\n\u2003Look well that you unto no vice assent,\n\n\u2003Lest you be damned for your wicked intent;\n\n\u2003For whoso does, a traitor is, certainly.\n\n\u2003And take heed of what I shall say:\n\n\u2003Of all treasons sovereign pestilence\n\n\u2003Is when a person betrays innocence.\n\n\u2003You mothers and you fathers also,\n\n\u2003Though you have children, be it one or more,\n\n\u2003Yours is the duty of all their protection,\n\n\u2003While they be under your governance.\n\n\u2003Beware, if by example of your living,\n\n\u2003Or by your negligence in chastising,\n\n\u2003They perish; for I dare well say\n\n\u2003If they do, you shall for it dearly pay.\n\n\u2003Under a shepherd soft and negligent\n\n\u2003The wolf has many a sheep and many a lamb rent.\n\n\u2003Suffice one example here,\n\n\u2003For I must turn again to my matter.\n\n\u2003This maid, of whom I will this tale express,\n\n\u2003So kept herself that she needed no mistress,\n\n\u2003For in her living maidens might read,\n\n\u2003As in a book, every good word or deed\n\n\u2003That belongs to a maiden virtuous,\n\n\u2003She was so prudent and so bounteous.\n\n\u2003For which the fame sprang out on every side,\n\n\u2003Both of her beauty and her bounty wide,\n\n\u2003That through that land they praised her each one\n\n\u2003Who loved virtue, save envy alone,\n\n\u2003Who sorry is of other men's weal\n\n\u2003And glad is of his sorwe and his unhele;\n\n(The doctour maketh this descripcioun).\n\n\u2003This mayde up-on a day wente in the toun\n\n\u2003Toward a temple, with hir moderdere,\n\n\u2003As is of yonge maydens the manere.\n\n\u2003Now was ther thanne a justice in that toun,\n\n\u2003That governour was of that regioun.\n\n\u2003And so bifel, this juge his eyen caste\n\n\u2003Up-on this mayde, avysinge him ful faste,\n\n\u2003As she cam forby ther this juge stood.\n\n\u2003Anon his herte chaunged and his mood,\n\n\u2003So was he caught with beautee of this mayde;\n\n\u2003And to him-self ful prively he sayde,\n\n\u2003\"This mayde shal be myn, for any man.\"\n\n\u2003Anon the feend in-to his herte ran,\n\n\u2003And taughte him sodeynly, that he by slighte\n\n\u2003The mayden to his purpos winne mighte.\n\n\u2003For certes, by no force, ne by no mede,\n\n\u2003Him thoughte, he was nat able for to spede;\n\n\u2003For she was strong of freendes, and eek she\n\n\u2003Confermed was in swich soverayn bountee,\n\n\u2003That wel he wiste he mighte hir never winne\n\n\u2003As for to make hir with hir body sinne.\n\n\u2003For which, by greet deliberacioun,\n\n\u2003He sente after a cherl, was in the toun,\n\n\u2003Which that he knew for subtil and for bold.\n\n\u2003This juge un-to this cherl his tale hath told\n\n\u2003In secree wyse, and made him to ensure,\n\n\u2003He sholde telle it to no creature,\n\n\u2003And if he dide, he sholde lese his heed.\n\n\u2003Whan that assented was this cursed reed,\n\n\u2003Glad was this juge and maked him greet chere,\n\n\u2003And yaf him yiftes preciouse and dere.\n\n\u2003Whan shapen was al hir conspiracye\n\n\u2003Fro point to point, how that his lecherye\n\n\u2003Parfourned sholde been ful subtilly,\n\n\u2003As ye shul here it after openly,\n\n\u2003Hoom gooth the cherl, that highte Claudius.\n\n\u2003This false juge that highte Apius,\n\n\u2003And glad is of his sorrow and his unheal.\n\n(Saint Augustine made this description.)\n\n\u2003This maid upon a day went in the town\n\n\u2003Toward a temple, with her mother dear,\n\n\u2003As is of young maidens the manner.\n\n\u2003Now was there then a justice in that town,\n\n\u2003Who governor was of that region.\n\n\u2003And so it befell that this judge his eyes cast\n\n\u2003Upon this maid, making him to consider full fast,\n\n\u2003As she came past where this judge stood.\n\n\u2003Anon his heart changed and his mood,\n\n\u2003So was he caught with the beauty of this maid.\n\n\u2003And to himself privately he said,\n\n\u2003\"This maid shall be mine, before any man!\"\n\n\u2003Anon the fiend into his heart ran,\n\n\u2003And taught him suddenly that he by sleight\n\n\u2003The maiden to his purpose win he might.\n\n\u2003For certainly, neither by force or payment,\n\n\u2003He thought, would he be able to speed;\n\n\u2003For she was strong of friends and also she\n\n\u2003Confirmed was in such sovereign bounty\n\n\u2003That well he knew he might never succeed\n\n\u2003To make her with her body sin.\n\n\u2003For which, by great deliberation,\n\n\u2003He sent after a churl, who was in the town,\n\n\u2003Whom he knew for subtlety and boldness.\n\n\u2003This judge unto this churl his tale has told\n\n\u2003In secrecy, and made him to assure\n\n\u2003That he would tell it to no creature,\n\n\u2003And if he did, he should lose his head.\n\n\u2003When to this purpose they were agreed\n\n\u2003Glad was this judge, and made him great cheer,\n\n\u2003And gave to him gifts precious and dear.\n\n\u2003When shaped was all their conspiracy\n\n\u2003From point to point, how his lechery\n\n\u2003Performed should be full subtly,\n\n\u2003As you shall hear after openly,\n\n\u2003Home went this churl, who was called Claudius.\n\n\u2003This false judge, named Apius,\n\n\u2003So was his name, (for this is no fable,\n\n\u2003But knowen for historial thing notable,\n\n\u2003The sentence of it sooth is, out of doute),\n\n\u2003This false juge gooth now faste aboute\n\n\u2003To hasten his delyt al that he may.\n\n\u2003And so bifel sone after, on a day,\n\n\u2003This false juge, as telleth us the storie,\n\n\u2003As he was wont, sat in his consistorie,\n\n\u2003And yaf his domes up-on sondry cas.\n\n\u2003This false cherl cam forth a ful greet pas,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"lord, if that it be your wille,\n\n\u2003As dooth me right up-on this pitous bille,\n\n\u2003In which I pleyne up-on Virginius.\n\n\u2003And if that he wol seyn it is nat thus,\n\n\u2003I wol it preve, and finde good witnesse,\n\n\u2003That sooth is that my bille wol expresse.\"\n\n\u2003The juge answerde, \"of this, in his absence,\n\n\u2003I may nat yeve diffinitif sentence.\n\n\u2003Lat do him calle, and I wol gladly here;\n\n\u2003Thou shalt have al right, and no wrong here.\"\n\n\u2003Virginius cam, to wite the juges wille,\n\n\u2003And right anon was rad this cursed bille;\n\n\u2003The sentence of it was as ye shul here.\n\n\u2003\"To yow, my lord, sire Apius so dere,\n\n\u2003Sheweth your povre servant Claudius,\n\n\u2003How that a knight, called Virginius,\n\n\u2003Agayns the lawe, agayn al equitee,\n\n\u2003Holdeth, expres agayn the wil of me,\n\n\u2003My servant, which that is my thral by right,\n\n\u2003Which fro myn hous was stole up-on a night,\n\n\u2003Whyl that she was ful yong; this wol I preve\n\n\u2003By witnesse, lord, so that it nat yow greve.\n\n\u2003She nis his doghter nat, what so he seye;\n\n\u2003Wherfore to yow, my lord the juge, I preye,\n\n\u2003Yeld me my thral, if that it be your wille.\"\n\n\u2003Lo! this was al the sentence of his bille.\n\n\u2003Virginius gan up-on the cherl biholde,\n\n\u2003But hastily, er he his tale tolde,\n\n\u2003And wolde have preved it, as sholde a knight,\n\n(So was his name, for this is no fable,\n\n\u2003But known as an historical thing notable;\n\n\u2003The meaning of it is true, without doubt),\n\n\u2003This false judge now went fast about\n\n\u2003To hasten his delight all that he may.\n\n\u2003And so it befell soon after, on a day,\n\n\u2003This false judge, as tells us the story,\n\n\u2003As he was wont, sat in his court,\n\n\u2003And gave his decisions upon sundry cases.\n\n\u2003This false churl came forth at full great pace,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Lord, if it be your will,\n\n\u2003Do me right upon this piteous bill,\n\n\u2003In which I complain of Virginius;\n\n\u2003And if he will say it is not thus,\n\n\u2003I will it prove, and find good witness,\n\n\u2003The truth is that which my bill will express.\"\n\n\u2003The judge answered, \"Of this, in his absence,\n\n\u2003I may not give definitive sentence.\n\n\u2003Have him called, and I will gladly hear;\n\n\u2003You shall have justice, and no wrong fear.\"\n\n\u2003Virginius came to know the judge's will;\n\n\u2003And right anon was read this cursed bill;\n\n\u2003The meaning of it was as you shall hear:\n\n\u2003\"To you, my lord, sir Apius so dear,\n\n\u2003Show your poor servant Claudius\n\n\u2003How a knight, called Virginius,\n\n\u2003Against the law, against all justice,\n\n\u2003Holds, expressly against my will,\n\n\u2003My servant, who is my thrall by right,\n\n\u2003Who from my house was stolen upon a night,\n\n\u2003While she was full young; this will I prove\n\n\u2003By witness, lord, so that it not you grieves.\n\n\u2003She was not his daughter, no matter what he says.\n\n\u2003Therefore to you, my lord the judge, I pray,\n\n\u2003Yield me my thrall, if it be your will.\"\n\n\u2003Lo, this was all the sentence of his bill.\n\n\u2003Virginius began upon this churl to stare,\n\n\u2003But hastily, before he his tale told,\n\n\u2003And would have proved it in battle as should a knight,\n\n\u2003And eek by witnessing of many a wight,\n\n\u2003That it was fals that seyde his adversarie,\n\n\u2003This cursed juge wolde no-thing tarie,\n\n\u2003Ne here a word more of Virginius,\n\n\u2003But yaf his jugement, and seyde thus:\u2014\n\n\u2003\"I deme anon this cherl his servant have;\n\n\u2003Thou shalt no lenger in thyn hous hir save.\n\n\u2003Go bring hir forth, and put hir in our warde,\n\n\u2003The cherl shal have his thral, this I awarde.\"\n\n\u2003And whan this worthy knight Virginius,\n\n\u2003Thurgh sentence of this justice Apius,\n\n\u2003Moste by force his dere doghter yiven\n\n\u2003Un-to the juge, in lecherye to liven,\n\n\u2003He gooth him hoom, and sette him in his halle,\n\n\u2003And leet anon his dere doghter calle,\n\n\u2003And, with a face deed as asshen colde,\n\n\u2003Upon hir humble face he gan biholde,\n\n\u2003With fadres pitee stiking thurgh his herte,\n\n\u2003Al wolde he from his purpos nat converte.\n\n\u2003\"Doghter,\" quod he, \"Virginia, by thy name,\n\n\u2003Ther been two weyes, outher deeth or shame,\n\n\u2003That thou most suffre; alias! that I was bore!\n\n\u2003For never thou deservedest wherfore\n\n\u2003To deyn with a swerd or with a knyf.\n\n\u2003O dere doghter, ender of my lyf,\n\n\u2003Which I have fostred up with swich plesaunce,\n\n\u2003That thou were never out of my remembraunce!\n\n\u2003O doghter, which that art my laste wo.\n\n\u2003And in my lyf my laste joye also,\n\ngemme of chastitee, in pacience\n\n\u2003Take thou thy deeth, for this is my sentence.\n\n\u2003For love and nat for hate, thou most be deed;\n\n\u2003My pitous hand mot smyten of thyn heed.\n\n\u2003Allas! that ever Apius thee say!\n\n\u2003Thus hath he falsly juged thee to-day\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And tolde hir al the cas, as ye bifore\n\n\u2003Han herd; nat nedeth for to telle it more.\n\n\u2003\"O mercy, dere fader,\" quod this mayde,\n\n\u2003And with that word she both hir armes layde\n\n\u2003And also by witnessing of many a person,\n\n\u2003That all was false that said his adversary,\n\n\u2003This cursed judge would no thing tarry,\n\n\u2003Nor hear a word more from Virginius,\n\n\u2003But gave his judgement, and said thus:\n\n\u2003\"I deem anon this churl his servant have;\n\n\u2003You shall no longer in your house her keep.\n\n\u2003Go bring her forth, and put her in our ward.\n\n\u2003The churl shall have his thrall, this I award.\"\n\n\u2003And when this worthy knight Virginius\n\n\u2003Through sentence of this justice Apius,\n\n\u2003Must by force his dear daughter give\n\n\u2003Unto the judge, in lechery to live,\n\n\u2003He went home, and sat in his hall,\n\n\u2003And then had his dear daughter called,\n\n\u2003And with a face dead as ashes cold,\n\n\u2003Upon her humble face he began to look,\n\n\u2003With father's pity striking through his heart,\n\n\u2003All would he from his purpose not convert.\n\n\u2003\"Daughter,\" said he, \"Virginia, by your name,\n\n\u2003There be two ways, either death or shame,\n\n\u2003That you must suffer; alas, that I was born!\n\n\u2003For never you deserved for this reason\n\n\u2003To die with a sword or with a knife.\n\n\u2003O dear daughter, ender of my life,\n\n\u2003Whom I have fostered up with such pleasure\n\n\u2003That you were never out of my remembrance!\n\n\u2003Oh daughter, who is my last woe,\n\n\u2003And in my life my last joy also,\n\n\u2003Oh gem of chastity, in patience\n\n\u2003Take you your death, for this is my sentence.\n\n\u2003For love, and not for hate, you must be dead;\n\n\u2003My piteous hand must smite your head.\n\n\u2003Alas, that ever Apius you saw!\n\n\u2003Thus has he falsely judged you today\"\u2014\n\n\u2003And told her all the case, as you before\n\n\u2003Have heard; I need not tell it more.\n\n\u2003\"Oh mercy, dear father!\" said this maid;\n\n\u2003And with that word she both her arms laid\n\n\u2003About his nekke, as she was wont to do:\n\n\u2003The tres broste out of hir eyen two,\n\n\u2003And seyde, \"gode fader, shal I dye?\n\n\u2003Is ther no grace? is there no remedye?\"\n\n\u2003\"No, certes, dere doghter myn,\" quod he.\n\n\u2003\"Thanne yif me leyser, fader myn,\" quod she,\n\n\u2003\"My deeth for to compleyne a litel space;\n\n\u2003For pardee, Jepte yaf his doghter grace\n\n\u2003For to compleyne, er he hir slow, alias!\n\n\u2003And god it woot, no-thing was hir trespas,\n\n\u2003But for she ran hir fader first to see,\n\n\u2003To welcome him with greet solempnitee.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she fil aswoyne anon,\n\n\u2003And after, whan hir swowning is agon,\n\n\u2003She ryseth up, and to hir fader sayde,\n\n\u2003\"Blessed be god, that I shal dye a mayde.\n\n\u2003Yif me my deeth, er that I have a shame;\n\n\u2003Doth with your child your wil, a goddes name!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she preyed him ful ofte,\n\n\u2003That with his swerd he wolde smyte softe,\n\n\u2003And with that word aswowne doun she fil.\n\n\u2003Hir fader, with ful sorweful herte and wil,\n\n\u2003Hir heed of smoot, and by the top it hente,\n\n\u2003And to the juge he gan it to presente,\n\n\u2003As he sat yet in doom in consistorie.\n\n\u2003And whan the juge it saugh, as seith the storie,\n\n\u2003He bad to take him and anhange him faste.\n\n\u2003But right anon a thousand peple in thraste,\n\n\u2003To save the knight, for routhe and for pitee,\n\n\u2003For knowen was the false iniquitee.\n\n\u2003The peple anon hath suspect of this thing,\n\n\u2003By manere of the cherles chalanging,\n\n\u2003That it was by th'assent of Apius;\n\n\u2003They wisten wel that he was lecherous.\n\n\u2003For which un-to this Apius they gon,\n\n\u2003And caste him in a prison right anon,\n\n\u2003Wher-as he slow him-self; and Claudius,\n\n\u2003That servant was un-to this Apius,\n\n\u2003Was demed for to hange upon a tree;\n\n\u2003About his neck, as she was wont to do.\n\n\u2003The tears burst out of her eyes two,\n\n\u2003And said, \"Good father, shall I die?\n\n\u2003Is there no grace, is there no remedy?\"\n\n\u2003\"No, certainly, dear daughter mine,\" said he.\n\n\u2003\"Then give me leisure, father mine,\" said she,\n\n\u2003\"My death to complain a little while;\n\n\u2003For, by God, Jephtha gave his daughter grace\n\n\u2003To complain, before he her slew, alas!\n\n\u2003And, God it knows, no thing was her trespass,\n\n\u2003But she ran her father first to see,\n\n\u2003To welcome him with great solemnity.\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she fell aswoon anon,\n\n\u2003And after, when her swooning was gone,\n\n\u2003She rose up, and to her father said,\n\n\u2003\"Blessed be God that I shall die a maid!\n\n\u2003Give me my death, before I have a shame;\n\n\u2003Do with your child your will, in God's name!\"\n\n\u2003And with that word she prayed him full often\n\n\u2003That with his sword he would smite soft;\n\n\u2003And with that word a-swooning down she fell.\n\n\u2003Her father, with full sorrowful heart and will,\n\n\u2003Her head off smote, and held it by the hair,\n\n\u2003And to the judge he began to present it,\n\n\u2003As he sat giving judgement in his court.\n\n\u2003And when the judge it saw, as says the story,\n\n\u2003He bade to take him and hang him fast;\n\n\u2003But right anon a thousand people in thrust,\n\n\u2003To save the knight, for mercy and pity,\n\n\u2003For known was the false iniquity.\n\n\u2003The people had anon suspected this thing,\n\n\u2003By reason of the churl's claiming,\n\n\u2003That it was by the assent of Apius;\n\n\u2003They knew well that he was lecherous.\n\n\u2003For which unto Apius they were gone\n\n\u2003And cast him in a prison right anon,\n\n\u2003There where he slew himself; and Claudius,\n\n\u2003Who servant was unto this Apius,\n\n\u2003Was deemed to hang upon a tree,\n\n\u2003But that Virginius, of his pitee,\n\n\u2003So preyde for him that he was exyled;\n\n\u2003And elles, certes, he had been bigyled.\n\n\u2003The remenant were anhanged, more and lesse,\n\n\u2003That were consentant of this cursednesse.\u2014\n\n\u2003Heer men may seen how sinne hath his meryte!\n\n\u2003Beth war, for no man woot whom god wol smyte\n\n\u2003In no degree, ne in which maner wyse\n\n\u2003The worm of conscience may agryse\n\n\u2003Of wikked lyf, though it so privee be,\n\n\u2003That no man woot ther-of but god and he.\n\n\u2003For be he lewed man, or elles lered,\n\n\u2003He noot how sone that he shal been afered.\n\n\u2003Therfore I rede yow this conseil take,\n\n\u2003Forsaketh sinne, er sinne yow forsake.\n\n\u2003But Virginius, of his pity,\n\n\u2003So prayed for him that he was exiled,\n\n\u2003Otherwise, certainly, would he have been killed.\n\n\u2003The remainder were hanged, more and less,\n\n\u2003Who had consented in this cursedness.\n\n\u2003Here may men see how sin is repaid.\n\n\u2003Beware, for no man knows who God will smite\n\n\u2003In any way, nor in what manner;\n\n\u2003The worm of conscience may writhe inside\n\n\u2003The wicked, though it so secret be\n\n\u2003That no man knows thereof but God and he.\n\n\u2003For be he an unlearned man, or else learned,\n\n\u2003He knows not how soon that he shall be stricken.\n\n\u2003Therefore I advise you now this counsel take:\n\n\u2003Forsake sin, before your sins you forsake.\n\n\u2003Endnotes"
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Name of the Rose",
        "author": "Umberto Eco",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "mystery"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "On August 16, 1968, I was handed a book written by a certain Abb\u00e9 Vallet, Le Manuscrit de Dom Adson de Melk, traduit en fran\u00e7ais d'apr\u00e8s l'\u00e9dition de Dom J. Mabillon (Aux Presses de l'Abbaye de la Source, Paris, 1842). Supplemented by historical information that was actually quite scant, the book claimed to reproduce faithfully a fourteenth-century manuscript that, in its turn, had been found in the monastery of Melk by the great eighteenth-century man of learning, to whom we owe so much information about the history of the Benedictine order. The scholarly discovery (I mean mine, the third in chronological order) entertained me while I was in Prague, waitin for a dear friend. Six days later Soviet troops invaded that unhappy city. I managed, not without adventure, to reach the Austrian border at Linz, and from there I journeyed to Vienna, where I met my beloved, and together we sailed up the Danube.\n\nIn a state of intellectual excitement, I read with fascination the terrible story of Adso of Melk, and I allowed myself to be so absorbed by it that, almost in a single burst of energy, I completed a translation, using some of those large notebooks from the Papeterie Joseph Gibert in which it is so pleasant to write if you use a felt-tip pen. And as I was writing, we reached the vicinity of Melk, where, perched over a bend in the river, the handsome Stift stands to this day, after several restorations during the course of the centuries. As the reader must have guessed, in the monastery library I found no trace of Adso's manuscript.\n\nBefore we reached Salzburg, one tragic night in a little hotel on the shores of the Mondsee, my traveling-companionship was abruptly interrupted, and the person with whom I was traveling disappeared\u2014taking Abb\u00e9 Vallet's book, not out of spite, but because of the abrupt and untidy way in which our relationship ended. And so I was left with a number of manuscript notebooks in my hand, and a great emptiness in my heart.\n\nA few months later, in Paris, I decided to get to the bottom of my research. Among the few pieces of information I had derived from the French book, I still had the reference to its source, exceptionally detailed and precise:\n\nVetera analecta, sive collectio veterum aliquot operum & opusculorum omms generis, carminum, epistolarum, diplomaton, epitaphiorum, &, cum itinere germanico, adnotationibus & aliquot disquisitionibus R.PD. Joannis Mabillon, Presbiteri ac Monachi Ord. Sancti Benedicti e Congregatione S. Mauri\u2014Nova Editio cui accessere Mabiloii vita & aliquot opuscula, scilicet Dissertatio de Pane Eucharistico, Azymo et Fermentato ad Eminentiss. Cardinalem Bona. Subiungitur opusculum Eldefonsi Hispaniensis Episcopi de eodem argumento Et Eusebii Romani ad Theophilum Gallum epistola, De cultu sanctorum ignotorum, Parisiis, apud Levesque, ad Pontem S. Michaelis, MDCCXXI, cum privilegio Regis.\n\nI quickly found the Vetera analecta at the Biblioth\u00e8que Sainte Genevi\u00e8ve, but to my great surprise the edition I came upon differed from the description in two details: first, the publisher, who was given here as \"Montalant, ad Ripam P.P. Augustinianorum (prope Pontem S. Michaelis),\" and also the date, which was two years later. I needn't add that these analecta did not comprehend any manuscript of Adso or Adson of Melk; on the contrary, as anyone interested can check, they are a collection of brief or medium-length texts, whereas the story transcribed by Vallet ran to several hundred pages. At the same time, I consulted illustrious medievalists such as the dear and unforgettable \u00c9tienne Gilson, but it was evident that the only Vetera analecta were those I had seen at Sainte Genevi\u00e8ve. A quick trip to the Abbaye de la Source, in the vicinity of Passy, and a conversation with my friend Dom Arne Lahnestedt further convinced me that no Abb\u00e9 Vallet had published books on the abbey's presses (for that matter, nonexistent). French scholars are notoriously careless about furnishing reliable bibliographical information, but this case went beyond all reasonable pessimism. I began to think I had encountered a forgery. By now the Vallet volume itself could not be recovered (or at least I didn't dare go and ask it back from the person who had taken it from me). I had only my notes left, and I was beginning to have doubts about them.\n\nThere are magic moments, involving great physical fatigue and intense motor excitement, that produce visions of people known in the past (\"en me retra\u00e7ant ces d\u00e9tails, j'en suis \u00e0 me demander s'ils sont r\u00e9els, ou bien si je les ai r\u00eav\u00e9s\"). As I learned later from the delightful little book of the Abb\u00e9 de Bucquoy, there are also visions of books as yet unwritten.\n\nIf something new had not occurred, I would still be wondering where the story of Adso of Melk originated; but then, in 1970, in Buenos Aires, as I was browsing among the shelves of a little antiquarian bookseller on Corrientes, not far from the more illustrious Patio del Tango of that great street, I came upon the Castilian version of a little work by Milo Temesvar, On the Use of Mirrors in the Game of Chess. It was an Italian translation of the original, which, now impossible to find, was in Georgian (Tbilisi, 1934); and here, to my great surprise, I read copious quotations from Adso's manuscript, though the source was neither Vallet nor Mabillon; it was Father Athanasius Kircher (but which work?). A scholar\u2014whom I prefer not to name\u2014later assured me that (and he quoted indexes from memory) the great Jesuit never mentioned Adso of Melk. But Temesvar's pages were before my eyes, and the episodes he cited were the same as those of the Vallet manuscript (the description of the labyrinth in particular left no room for doubt).\n\nI concluded that Adso's memoirs appropriately share the nature of the events he narrates: shrouded in many, shadowy mysteries, beginning with the identity of the author and ending with the abbey's location, about which Adso is stubbornly, scrupulously silent. Conjecture allows us to designate a vague area between Pomposa and Conques, with reasonable likelihood that the community was somewhere along the central ridge of the Apennines, between Piedmont, Liguria, and France. As for the period in which the events described take place, we are at the end of November 1327; the date of the author's writing, on the other hand, is uncertain. Inasmuch as he describes himself as a novice in 1327 and says he is close to death as he writes his memoirs, we can calculate roughly that the manuscript was written in the last or next-to-last decade of the fourteenth century.\n\nOn sober reflection, I find few reasons for publishing my Italian version of an obscure, neo-Gothic French version of a seventeenth-century Latin edition of a work written in Latin by a German monk toward the end of the fourteenth century.\n\nFirst of all, what style should I employ? The temptation to follow Italian models of the period had to be rejected as totally unjustified: not only does Adso write in Latin, but it is also clear from the whole development of the text that his culture (or the culture of the abbey, which clearly influences him) dates back even further; it is manifestly a summation, over several centuries, of learning and stylistic quirks that can be linked with the late-medieval Latin tradition. Adso thinks and writes like a monk who has remained impervious to the revolution of the vernacular, still bound to the pages housed in the library he tells about, educated on patristic-scholastic texts; and his story (apart from the fourteenth-century references and events, which Adso reports with countless perplexities and always by hearsay) could have been written, as far as the language and the learned quotations go, in the twelfth or thirteenth century.\n\nOn the other hand, there is no doubt that, in translating Adso's Latin into his own neo-Gothic French, Vallet took some liberties, and not only stylistic liberties. For example, the characters speak sometimes of the properties of herbs, clearly referring to the book of secrets attributed to Albertus Magnus, which underwent countless revisions over the centuries. It is certain that Adso knew the work, but the fact remains that passages he quotes from it echo too literally both formulas of Paracelsus and obvious interpolations from an edition of Albertus unquestionably dating from the Tudor period. However, I discovered later that during the time when Vallet was transcribing (?) the manuscript of Adso, there was circulating in Paris an eighteenth century edition of the Grand and the Petit Albert, now irreparably corrupt. In any case, how could I be sure that the text known to Adso or the monks whose discussions he recorded did not also contain, among glosses, scholia, and various appendices, annotations that would go on to enrich subsequent scholarship?\n\nFinally, was I to retain in Latin the passages that Abb\u00e9 Vallet himself did not feel it opportune to translate, perhaps to preserve the ambience of the period? There were no particular reasons to do so, except a perhaps misplaced sense of fidelity to my source.... I have elimmated excesses, but I have retained a certain amount. And I fear that I have imitated those bad novelists who, introducing a French character, make him exclaim \"Parbleu!\" and \"La femme, ah! la femme!\"\n\nIn short, I am full of doubts. I really don't know why I have decided to pluck up my courage and present, as if it were authentic, the manuscript of Adso of Melk. Let us say it is an act of love. Or, if you like, a way of ridding myself of numerous, persistent obsessions.\n\nI transcribe my text with no concern for timeliness. In the years when I discovered the Abb\u00e9 Vallet volume, there was a widespread conviction that one should write only out of a commitment to the present, in order to change the world. Now, after ten years or more, the man of letters (restored to his loftiest dignity) can happily write out of pure love of writing. And so I now feel free to tell, for sheer narrative pleasure, the story of Adso of Melk, and I am comforted and consoled in finding it immeasurably remote in time (now that the waking of reason has dispelled all the monsters that its sleep had generated), gloriously lacking in any relevance for our day, atemporally alien to our hopes and our certainties.\n\nFor it is a tale of books, not of everyday worries, and reading it can lead us to recite, with \u00e0 Kempis, the great imitator: \"In omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "January 5, 1980",
                "text": "[ NOTE ]\n\nAdso's manuscript is divided into seven days, and each day into periods corresponding to the liturgical hours. The subtitles, in the third person, were probably added by Vallet. But since they are helpful in orienting the reader, and since this usage is also not unknown to much of the vernacular literature of the period, I did not feel it necessary to eliminate them.\n\nAdso's references to the canonical hours caused me some puzzlement, because their meaning varied according to the place and the season; moreover, it is entirely probable that in the fourteenth century the instructions given by Saint Benedict in the Rule were not observed with absolute precision.\n\nNevertheless, as a guide to the reader, the following schedule is, I believe, credible. It is partly deduced from the text and partly based on a comparison of the original Rule with the description of monastic life given by \u00c9douard Schneider in Les Heures b\u00e9n\u00e9dictines (Paris, Grasset, 1925).\n\nMatins (which Adso sometimes refers to by the older expression \"Vigiliae\") Between 2:30 and 3:00 in the morning.\n\nLauds (which in the most ancient tradition were called \"Matutini\" or \"Matins\") Between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning, in order to end at dawn.\n\nPrime Around 7:30, shortly before daybreak. Terce Around 9:00.\n\nSext Noon (in a monastery where the monks did not work in the fields, it was also the hour of the midday meal in winter).\n\nNones Between 2:00 and 3:00 in the afternoon.\n\nVespers Around 4:30, at sunset (the Rule prescribes eating supper before dark).\n\nCompline Around 6:00 (before 7:00, the monks go to bed).\n\nThe calculation is based on the fact that in northern Italy at the end of November, the sun rises around 7:30 A.M. and sets around 4:40 P.M."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE NAME OF THE ROSE",
                "text": "[ PROLOGUE ]\n\nIn the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. This was beginning with God and the duty of every faithful monk would be to repeat every day with chanting humility the one never-changing event whose incontrovertible truth can be asserted. But we see now through a glass darkly, and the truth, before it is revealed to all, face to face, we see in fragments (alas, how illegible) in the error of the world, so we must spell out its faithful signals even when they seem obscure to us and as if amalgamated with a will wholly bent on evil.\n\nHaving reached the end of my poor sinner's life, my hair now white, I grow old as the world does, waiting to be lost in the bottomless pit of silent and deserted divinity, sharing in the light of angelic intelligences; confined now with my heavy, ailing body in this cell in the dear monastery of Melk, I prepare to leave on this parchment my testimony as to the wondrous and terrible events that I happened to observe in my youth, now repeating verbatim all I saw and heard, without venturing to seek a design, as if to leave to those who will come after (if the Antichrist has not come first) signs of signs, so that the prayer of deciphering may be exercised on them.\n\nMay the Lord grant me the grace to be the transparent witness of the happenings that took place in the abbey whose name it is only right and pious now to omit, toward the end of the year of our Lord 1327, when the Emperor Louis came down into Italy to restore the dignity of the Holy Roman Empire, in keeping with the designs of the Almighty and to the confusion of the wicked usurper, simoniac, and heresiarch who in Avignon brought shame on the holy name of the apostle (I refer to the sinful soul of Jacques of Cahors, whom the impious revered as John XXII).\n\nPerhaps, to make more comprehensible the events in which I found myself involved, I should recall what was happening in those last years of the century, as I understood it then, living through it, and as I remember it now, complemented by other stories I heard afterward\u2014if my memory still proves capable of connecting the threads of happenings so many and confused.\n\nIn the early years of that century Pope Clement V had moved the apostolic seat to Avignon, leaving Rome prey to the ambitions of the local overlords: and gradually the holy city of Christianity had been transformed into a circus, or into a brothel, riven by the struggles among its leaders; though called a republic, it was not one, and it was assailed by armed bands, subjected to violence and looting. Ecclesiastics, eluding secular jurisdiction, commanded groups of malefactors and robed, sword in hand, transgressing and organizing evil commerce. How was it possible to prevent the Caput Mundi from becoming again, and rightly, the goal of the man who wanted to assume the crown of the Holy Roman Empire and restore the dignity of that temporal dominion that had belonged to the Caesars?\n\nThus in 1314 five German princes in Frankfurt elected Louis the Bavarian supreme ruler of the empire. But that same day, on the opposite shore of the Main, the Count Palatine of the Rhine and the Archbishop of Cologne elected Frederick of Austria to the same high rank. Two emperors for a single throne and a single pope for two: a situation that, truly, fomented great disorder....\n\nTwo years later, in Avignon, the new Pope was elected, Jacques of Cahors, an old man of seventy-two who took, as I have said, the name of John XXII, and heaven grant that no pontiff take again a name now so distasteful to the righteous. A Frenchman, devoted to the King of France (the men of that corrupt land are always inclined to foster the interests of their own people, and are unable to look upon the whole world as their spiritual home), he had supported Philip the Fair against the Knights Templars, whom the King accused (I believe unjustly) of the most shameful crimes so that he could seize their possessions with the complicity of that renegade ecclesiastic.\n\nIn 1322 Louis the Bavarian defeated his rival Frederick. Fearing a single emperor even more than he had feared two, John excommunicated the victor, who in return denounced the Pope as a heretic. I must also recall how, that very year, the chapter of the Franciscans was convened in Perugia, and the minister general, Michael of Cesena, accepting the entreaties of the Spirituals (of whom I will have occasion to speak), proclaimed as a matter of faith and doctrine the poverty of Christ, who, if he owned something with his apostles, possessed it only as usus facti. A worthy resolution, meant to safeguard the virtue and purity of the order, it highly displeased the Pope, who perhaps discerned in it a principle that would jeopardize the very claims that he, as head of the church, had made, denying the empire the right to elect bishops, and asserting on the contrary that the papal throne had the right to invest the emperor. Moved by these or other reasons, John condemned the Franciscan propositions in 1323 with the decretal Cum inter nonnullos.\n\nIt was at this point, I imagine, that Louis saw the Franciscans, now the Pope's enemies, as his potential allies. By affirming the poverty of Christ, they were somehow strengthening the ideas of the imperial theologians, namely Marsilius of Padua and John of Jandun. And finally, not many months before the events I am narrating, Louis came to an agreement with the defeated Frederick, descended into Italy, and was crowned in Milan.\n\nThis was the situation when I\u2014a young Benedictine novice in the monastery of Melk\u2014was removed from the peace of the cloister by my father, fighting in Louis's train, not least among his barons. He thought it wise to take me with him so that I might know the wonders of Italy and be present when the Emperor was crowned in Rome. But the siege of Pisa then absorbed him in military concerns. Left to myself, I roamed among the cities of Tuscany, partly out of idleness and partly out of a desire to learn. But this undisciplined freedom, my parents thought, was not suitable for an adolescent devoted to a contemplative life. And on the advice of Marsilius, who had taken a liking to me, they decided to place me under the direction of a learned Franciscan, Brother William of Baskerville, about to undertake a mission that would lead him to famous cities and ancient abbeys. Thus I became William's scribe and disciple at the same time, nor did I ever regret it, because with him I was witness to events worthy of being handed down, as I am now doing, to those who will come after us.\n\nI did not then know what Brother William was seeking, and to tell the truth, I still do not know today, and I presume he himself did not know, moved as he was solely by the desire for truth, and by the suspicion\u2014which I could see he always harbored\u2014that the truth was not what was appearing to him at any given moment. And perhaps during those years he had been distracted from his beloved studies by secular duties. The mission with which William had been charged remained unknown to me while we were on our journey, or, rather, he never spoke to me about it. It was only by overhearing bits of his conversations with the abbots of the monasteries where we stopped along the way that I formed some idea of the nature of this assignment. But I did not understand it fully until we reached our destination, as I will tell presently. Our destination was to the north, but our journey did not follow a straight line, and we rested at various abbeys. Thus it happened that we turned westward when our final goal was to the east, almost following the line of mountains that from Pisa leads in the direction of the pilgrim's way to Santiago, pausing in a place which the terrible events that took place there dissuade me from identifying more closely now, but whose lords were liege to the empire, and where the abbots of our order, all in agreement, opposed the heretical, corrupt Pope. Our journey lasted two weeks, amid various vicissitudes, and during that time I had the opportunity to know (never enough, I remain convinced) my new master.\n\nIn the pages to follow I shall not indulge in descriptions of persons\u2014except when a facial expression, or a gesture, appears as a sign of a mute but eloquent language\u2014because, as Boethius says, nothing is more fleeting than external form, which withers and alters like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn; and what would be the point of saying today that the abbot Abo had a stern eye and pale cheeks, when by now he and those around him are dust and their bodies have the mortal grayness of dust (only their souls, God grant, shining with a light that will never be extinguished)? But I would like to describe William at least once, because his singular features struck me, and it is characteristic of the young to become bound to an older and wiser man not only by the spell of his words and the sharpness of his mind, but also by the superficial form of his body, which proves very dear, like the figure of a father, whose gestures we study and whose frowns, whose smile we observe\u2014without a shadow of lust to pollute this form (perhaps the only that is truly pure) of corporal love.\n\nIn the past men were handsome and great (now they are children and dwarfs), but this is merely one of the many facts that demonstrate the disaster of an aging world. The young no longer want to study anything, learning is in decline, the whole world walks on its head, blind men lead others equally blind and cause them to plunge into the abyss, birds leave the nest before they can fly, the jackass plays the lyre, oxen dance. Mary no longer loves the contemplative life and Martha no longer loves the active life, Leah is sterile, Rachel has a carnal eye, Cato visits brothels, Lucretius becomes a woman. Everything is on the wrong path. In those days, thank God, I acquired from my master the desire to learn and a sense of the straight way, which remains even when the path is tortuous.\n\nBrother William's physical appearance was at that time such as to attract the attention of the most inattentive observer. His height surpassed that of a normal man and he was so thin that he seemed still taller. His eyes were sharp and penetrating; his thin and slightly beaky nose gave his countenance the expression of a man on the lookout, save in certain moments of sluggishness of which I shall speak. His chin also denoted a firm will, though the long face covered with freckles\u2014such as I often saw among those born between Hibernia and Northumbria\u2014could occasionally express hesitation and puzzlement. In time I realized that what seemed a lack of confidence was only curiosity, but at the beginning I knew little of this virtue, which I thought, rather, a passion of the covetous spirit. I believed instead that the rational spirit should not indulge such passion, but feed only on the Truth, which (I thought) one knows from the outset.\n\nBoy that I was, I was first, and most deeply, struck by some clumps of yellowish hair that protruded from his ears, and by his thick blond eyebrows. He had perhaps seen fifty springs and was therefore already very old, but his tireless body moved with an agility I myself often lacked. His energy seemed inexhaustible when a burst of activity overwhelmed him. But from time to time, as if his vital spirit had something of the crayfish, he moved backward in moments of inertia, and I watched him lie for hours on my pallet in my cell, uttering barely a few monosyllables, without contracting a single muscle of his face. On those occasions a vacant, absent expression appeared in his eyes, and I would have suspected he was in the power of some vegetal substance capable of producing visions if the obvious temperance of his life had not led me to reject this thought. I will not deny, however, that in the course of the journey, he sometimes stopped at the edge of a meadow, at the entrance to a forest, to gather some herb (always the same one, I believe): and he would then chew it with an absorbed look. He kept some of it with him, and ate it in the moments of greatest tension (and we had a number of them at the abbey!). Once, when I asked him what it was, he said laughing that a good Christian can sometimes learn also from the infidels, and when I asked him to let me taste it, he replied that herbs that are good for an old Franciscan are not good for a young Benedictine.\n\nDuring our time together we did not have occasion to lead a very regular life: even at the abbey we remained up at night and collapsed wearily during the day, nor did we take part regularly in the holy offices. On our journey, however, he seldom stayed awake after compline, and his habits were frugal. Sometimes, also at the abbey, he would spend the whole day walking in the vegetable garden, examining the plants as if they were chrysoprases or emeralds; and I saw him roaming about the treasure crypt, looking at a coffer studded with emeralds and chrysoprases as if it were a clump of thorn apple. At other times he would pass an entire day in the great hall of the library, leafing through manuscripts as if seeking nothing but his own enjoyment (while, around us, the corpses of monks, horribly murdered, were multiplying). One day I found him strolling in the flower garden without any apparent aim, as if he did not have to account to God for his works. In my order they had taught me quite a different way of expending my time, and I said so to him. And he answered that the beauty of the cosmos derives not only from unity in variety, but also from variety in unity. This seemed to me an answer dictated by crude common sense, but I learned subsequently that the men of his land often define things in ways in which it seems that the enlightening power of reason has scant function.\n\nDuring our period at the abbey his hands were always covered with the dust of books, the gold of still-fresh illumination, or with yellowish substances he touched in Severinus's infirmary. He seemed unable to think save with his hands, an attribute I considered then worthier of a mechanic: but even when his hands touched the most fragile things, such as certain freshly illuminated codices, or pages worn by time and friable as unleavened bread, he possessed, it seemed to me, an extraordinarily delicate touch, the same that he used in handling his machines. I will tell, in fact, how this strange man carried with him, in his bag, instruments that I had never seen before then, which he called his wondrous machines. Machines, he said, are an effect of art, which is nature's ape, and they reproduce not its forms but the operation itself. He explained to me thus the wonders of the clock, the astrolabe, and the magnet. But at the beginning I feared it was witchcraft, and I pretended to sleep on certain clear nights when he (with a strange triangle in his hand) stood watching the stars. The Franciscans I had known in Italy and in my own land were simple men, often illiterate, and I expressed to him my amazement at his learning. But he said to me, smiling, that the Franciscans of his island were cast in another mold: \"Roger Bacon, whom I venerate as my master, teaches that the divine plan will one day encompass the science of machines, which is natural and healthy magic. And one day it will be possible, by exploiting the power of nature, to create instruments of navigation by which ships will proceed unico homine regente, and far more rapid than those propelled by sails or oars; and there will be self-propelled wagons 'and flying apparatuses of such form that a man seated in them, by turning a device, can flap artificial wings, ad modum avis volantis. And tiny instruments will lift huge weights and vehicles will allow travel on the bottom of the sea.\"\n\nWhen I asked him where these machines were, he told me that they had already been made in ancient times, and some even in our own time: \"Except the flying instrument, which I have never seen or known anyone who has seen,. but I know of a learned man who has conceived it. And bridges can be built across rivers without columns or other support, and other unheard-of machines are possible. But you must not worry if they do not yet exist, because that does not mean they will not exist later. And I say to you that God wishes them to be, and certainly they already are in His mind, even if my friend from Occam denies that ideas exist in such a way; and I do not say this because we can determine the divine nature but precisely because we cannot set any limit to it.\" Nor was this the only contradictory proposition I heard him utter; but even now, when I am old and wiser than I was then, I have not completely understood how he could have such faith in his friend from Occam and at the same time swear by the words of Bacon, as he was accustomed to doing. It is also true that in those dark times a wise man had to believe things that were in contradiction among themselves.\n\nThere, of Brother William I have perhaps said things without sense, as if to collect from the very beginning the disjointed impressions of him that I had then. Who he was, and what he was doing, my good reader, you will perhaps deduce better from the actions he performed in the days we spent in the abbey. Nor do I promise you an accomplished design, but, rather, a tale of events (those, yes) wondrous and awful.\n\nAnd so, after I had come to know my master day by day, and spent the many hours of our journey in long conversations which, when appropriate, I will relate little by little, we reached the foot of the hill on which the abbey stood. And it is time for my story to approach it, as we did then, and may my hand remain steady as I prepare to tell what happened."
            },
            {
                "title": "FIRST DAY",
                "text": "[ PRIME ]\n\nIn which the foot of the abbey is reached, and William demonstrates his great acumen.\n\nIt was a beautiful morning at the end of November. During the night it had snowed, but only a little, and the earth was covered with a cool blanket no more than three fingers high. In the darkness, immediately after lauds, we heard Mass in a village in the valley. Then we set off toward the mountain, as the sun first appeared.\n\nWhile we toiled up the steep path that wound around the mountain, I saw the abbey. I was amazed, not by the walls that girded it on every side, similar to others to be seen in all the Christian world, but by the bulk of what I later learned was the Aedificium. This was an octagonal construction that from a distance seemed a tetragon (a perfect form, which expresses the sturdiness and impregnability of the City of God), whose southern sides stood on the plateau of the abbey, while the northern ones seemed to grow from the steep side of the mountain, a sheer drop, to which they were bound. I might say that from below, at certain points, the cliff seemed to extend, reaching up toward the heavens, with the rock's same colors and material, which at a certain point became keep and tower (work of giants who had great familiarity with earth and sky). Three rows of windows proclaimed the triune rhythm of its elevation, so that what was physically squared on the earth was spiritually triangular in the sky. As we came closer, we realized that the quadrangular form included, at each of its corners, a heptagonal tower, five sides of which were visible on the outside\u2014four of the eight sides, then, of the greater octagon producing four minor heptagons, which from the outside appeared as pentagons. And thus anyone can see the admirable concord of so many holy numbers, each revealing a subtle spiritual significance. Eight, the number of perfection for every tetragon; four, the number of the Gospels; five, the number of the zones of the world; seven, the number of the gifts of the Holy Ghost. In its bulk and in its form, the Aedificium resembled Castel Ursino or Castel del Monte, which I was to see later in the south of the Italian peninsula, but its inaccessible position made it more awesome than those, and capable of inspiring fear in the traveler who approached it gradually. And it was fortunate that, since it was a very clear winter morning, I did not first see the building as it appears on stormy days.\n\nI will not say, in any case, that it prompted feelings of jollity. I felt fear, and a subtle uneasiness. God knows these were not phantoms of my immature spirit, and I was rightly interpreting indubitable omens inscribed in the stone the day that the giants began their work, and before the deluded determination of the monks dared consecrate the building to the preservation of the divine word.\n\nAs our little mules strove up the last curve of the mountain, where the main path divided into three, producing two side paths, my master stopped for a while, to look around: at the sides of the road, at the road itself, and above the road, where, for a brief stretch, a series of evergreen pines formed a natural roof, white with snow.\n\n\"A rich abbey,\" he said. \"The abbot likes a great display on public occasions.\"\n\nAccustomed as I was to hear him make the most unusual declarations, I did not question him. This was also because, after another bit of road, we heard some noises, and at the next turn an agitated band of monks and servants appeared. One of them, seeing us, came toward us with great cordiality. \"Welcome, sir,\" he said, \"and do not be surprised if I can guess who you are, because we have been advised of your visit. I am Remigio of Varagine, the cellarer of the monastery. And if you, as I believe, are Brother William of Baskerville, the abbot must be informed. You\"\u2014he commanded one of his party\u2014\"go up and tell them that our visitor is about to come inside the walls.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Brother Cellarer,\" my master replied politely, \"and I appreciate your courtesy all the more since, in order to greet me, you have interrupted your search. But don't worry. The horse came this way and took the path to the right. He will not get far, because he will have to stop when he reaches the dungheap. He is too intelligent to plunge down that precipitous slope.\u2026\"\n\n\"When did you see him?\" the cellarer asked.\n\n\"We haven't seen him at all, have we, Adso?\" William said, turning toward me with an amused look. \"But if you are hunting for Brunellus, the horse can only be where I have said.\"\n\nThe cellarer hesitated. He looked at William, then at the path, and finally asked, \"Brunellus? How did you know?\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" William said, \"it is obvious you are hunting for Brunellus, the abbot's favorite horse, fifteen hands, the fastest in your stables, with a dark coat, a full tail, small round hoofs, but a very steady gait; small head, sharp ears, big eyes. He went to the right, as I said, but you should hurry, in any case.\"\n\nThe cellarer hesitated for a moment longer, then gestured to his men and rushed off along the path to the right, while our mules resumed their climb. My curiosity aroused, I was about to question William, but he motioned me to wait: in fact, a few minutes later we heard cries of rejoicing, and at the turn of the path, monks and servants reappeared, leading the horse by its halter. They passed by us, all glancing at us with some amazement, then preceded us toward the abbey. I believe William also slowed the pace of his mount to give them time to tell what had happened. I had already realized that my master, in every respect a man of the highest virtue, succumbed to the vice of vanity when it was a matter of demonstrating his acumen; and having learned to appreciate his gifts as a subtle diplomatist, I understood that he wanted to reach his destination preceded by a firm reputation as a man of knowledge.\n\n\"And now tell me\"\u2014in the end I could not restrain myself\u2014\"how did you manage to know?\"\n\n\"My good Adso,\" my master said, \"during our whole journey I have been teaching you to recognize the evidence through which the world speaks to us like a great book. Alanus de Insulis said that\n\n\u2002omnis mundi creatura\n\n\u2002quasi liber et pictura\n\n\u2002nobis est in speculum\n\n...and he was thinking of the endless array of symbols with which God, through His creatures, speaks to us of the eternal life. But the universe is even more talkative than Alanus thought, and it speaks not only of the ultimate things (which it does always in an obscure fashion) but also of closer things, and then it speaks quite clearly. I am almost embarrassed to repeat to you what you should know. At the crossroads, on the still-fresh snow, a horse's hoofprints stood out very neatly, heading for the path to our left. Neatly spaced, those marks said that the hoof was small and round, and the gallop quite regular\u2014and so I deduced the nature of the horse, and the fact that it was not running wildly like a crazed animal. At the point where the pines formed a natural roof, some twigs had been freshly broken off at a height of five feet. One of the blackberry bushes where the animal must have turned to take the path to his right, proudly switching his handsome tail, still held some long black horsehairs in its brambles.... You will not say, finally, that you do not know that path leads to the dungheap, because as we passed the lower curve we saw the spill of waste down the sheer cliff below the great east tower, staining the snow; and from the situation of the crossroads, the path could only lead in that direction.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"but what about the small head, the sharp ears, the big eyes...?\"\n\n\"I am not sure he has those features, but no doubt the monks firmly believe he does. As Isidore of Seville said, the beauty of a horse requires 'that the head be small, siccum prope pelle ossibus adhaerente, short and pointed ears, big eyes, flaring nostrils, erect neck, thick mane and tail, round and solid hoofs.' If the horse whose passing I inferred had not really been the finest of the stables, stableboys would have been out chasing him, but instead, the cellarer in person had undertaken the search. And a monk who considers a horse excellent, whatever his natural forms, can only see him as the auctoritates have described him, especially if\"\u2014and here he smiled slyly in my direction\u2014\"the describer is a learned Benedictine.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I said, \"but why Brunellus?\"\n\n\"May the Holy Ghost sharpen your mind, son!\" my master exclaimed. \"What other name could he possibly have? Why, even the great Buridan, who is about to become rector in Paris, when he wants to use a horse in one of his logical examples, always calls it Brunellus.\"\n\nThis was my master's way. He not only knew how to read the great book of nature, but also knew the way monks read the books of Scripture, and how they thought through them. A gift that, as we shall see, was to prove useful to him in the days to follow. His explanation, moreover, seemed to me at that point so obvious that my humiliation at not having discovered it by myself was surpassed only by my pride at now being a sharer in it, and I was almost congratulating myself on my insight. Such is the power of the truth that, like good, it is its own propagator. And praised be the holy name of our Lord Jesus Christ for this splendid revelation I was granted.\n\nBut resume your course, O my story, for this aging monk is lingering too long over marginalia. Tell, rather, how we arrived at the great gate of the abbey, and on the threshold stood the abbot, beside whom two novices held a golden basin filled with water. When we had dismounted, he washed William's hands, then embraced him, kissing him on the mouth and giving him a holy welcome.\n\n\"Thank you, Abo,\" William said. \"It is a great joy for me to set foot in Your Magnificence's monastery, whose fame has traveled beyond these mountains. I come as a pilgrim in the name of our Lord, and as such you have honored me. But I come also in the name of our lord on this earth, as the letter I now give you will tell you, and in his name also I thank you for your welcome.\"\n\nThe abbot accepted the letter with the imperial seals and replied that William's arrival had in any event been preceded by other missives from his brothers (it is difficult, I said to myself with a certain pride, to take a Benedictine abbot by surprise); then he asked the cellarer to take us to our lodgings, as the grooms led our mules away. The abbot was looking forward to visiting us later, when we were refreshed, and we entered the great courtyard where the abbey buildings extended all about the gentle plain that blunted in a soft bowl\u2014or alp\u2014the peak of the mountain.\n\nI shall have occasion to discuss the layout of the abbey more than once, and in greater detail. After the gate (which was the only opening in the outer walls) a tree-lined avenue led to the abbatial church. To the left of the avenue there stretched a vast area of vegetable gardens and, as I later learned, the botanical garden, around the two buildings of the balneary and the infirmary and herbarium, following the curve of the walls. Behind, to the left of the church, rose the Aedificium, separated from the church by a yard scattered with graves. The north door of the church faced the south tower of the Aedificium, which offered, frontally, its west tower to the arriving visitor's eyes; then, to the left, the building joined the walls and seemed to plunge, from its towers, toward the abyss, over which the north tower, seen obliquely, projected. To the right of the church there were some buildings, sheltering in its lee, and others around the cloister: the dormitory, no doubt, the abbot's house, and the pilgrims' hospice, where we were heading. We reached it after crossing a handsome flower garden. On the right side, beyond a broad lawn, along the south walls and continuing eastward behind the church, a series of peasants' quarters, stables, mills, oil presses, granaries, and cellars, and what seemed to me to be the novices' house. The regular terrain, only slightly rolling, had allowed the ancient builders of that holy place to respect the rules of orientation, better than Honorius Augustoduniensis or Guillaume Durant could have demanded. From the position of the sun at that hour of the day, I noticed that the main church door opened perfectly westward, so choir and altar were facing east; and the good morning sun, in rising, could directly wake the monks in the dormitory and the animals in the stables. I never saw an abbey more beautiful or better oriented, even though subsequently I saw St. Gall, and Cluny, and Fontenay, and others still, perhaps larger but less well proportioned. Unlike the others, this one was remarkable for the exceptional size of the Aedificium. I did not possess the experience of a master builder, but I immediately realized it was much older than the buildings surrounding it. Perhaps it had originated for some other purposes, and the abbey's compound had been laid out around it at a later time, but in such a way that the orientation of the huge building should conform with that of the church, and the church's with its. For architecture, among all the arts, is the one that most boldly tries to reproduce in its rhythm the order of the universe, which the ancients called \"kosmos,\" that is to say ornate, since it is like a great animal on whom there shine the perfection and the proportion of all its members. And praised be our Creator, who has decreed all things, in their number, weight, and measure."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which William has an instructive conversation with the abbot.\n\nThe cellarer was a stout man, vulgar in appearance but jolly, white-haired but still strong, small but quick. He led us to our cells in the pilgrims' hospice. Or, rather, he led us to the cell assigned to my master, promising me that by the next day he would have cleared one for me also, since, though a novice, I was their guest and therefore to be treated with all honor. For that night I could sleep in a long and wide niche in the wall of the cell, in which he had had some nice fresh straw prepared.\n\nThen the monks brought us wine, cheese, olives, bread, and excellent raisins, and left us to our refreshment. We ate and drank heartily. My master did not share the austere habits of the Benedictines and did not like to eat in silence. For that matter, he spoke always of things so good and wise that it was as if a monk were reading to us the lives of the saints.\n\nThat day I could not refrain from questioning him further about the matter of the horse.\n\n\"All the same,\" I said, \"when you read the prints in the snow and the evidence of the branches, you did not yet know Brunellus. In a certain sense those prints spoke of all horses, or at least all horses of that breed. Mustn't we say, then, that the book of nature speaks to us only of essences, as many distinguished theologians teach?\"\n\n\"Not entirely, dear Adso,\" my master replied. \"True, that kind of print expressed to me, if you like, the idea of 'horse,' the verbum mentis, and would have expressed the same to me wherever I might have found it. But the print in that place and at that hour of the day told me that at least one of all possible horses had passed that way. So I found myself halfway between the perception of the concept 'horse' and the knowledge of an individual horse. And in any case, what I knew of the universal horse had been given me by those traces, which were singular. I could say I was caught at that moment between the singularity of the traces and my ignorance, which assumed the quite diaphanous form of a universal idea. If you see something from a distance, and you do not understand what it is, you will be content with defining it as a body of some dimension. When you come closer, you will then define it as an animal, even if you do not yet know whether it is a horse or an ass. And finally, when it is still closer, you will be able to say it is a horse even if you do not yet know whether it is Brunellus or Niger. And only when you are at the proper distance will you see that it is Brunellus (or, rather, that horse and not another, however you decide to call it). And that will be full knowledge, the learning of the singular. So an hour ago I could expect all horses, but not because of the vastness of my intellect, but because of the paucity of my deduction. And my intellect's hunger was sated only when I saw the single horse that the monks were leading by the halter. Only then did I truly know that my previous reasoning, had brought me close to the truth. And so the ideas, which I was using earlier to imagine a horse I had not yet seen, were pure signs, as the hoofprints in the snow were signs of the idea of 'horse'; and sins and the signs of signs are used only when we are lacing things.\"\n\nOn other occasions I had heard him speak with great skepticism about universal ideas and with great respect about individual things; and afterward, too, I thought this tendency came to him from his being both a Briton and a Franciscan. But that day he did not have the strength to face theological disputes, so I curled up in the space allotted me, wrapped myself in a blanket, and fell sound asleep.\n\nAnyone coming in could have mistaken me for a bundle. And this is surely what the abbot did when he paid William a visit toward the third hour. So it was that I could listen, unnoticed, to their first conversation.\n\nAnd so Abo arrived. He apologized for the intrusion, repeated his welcome, and said that he had to speak with William privately, about a very serious matter.\n\nHe began by congratulating his guest on the skill demonstrated in the business of the horse, and asked how he had been able to give such confident information about an animal he had never seen. William explained to him briefly and with detachment the path he had followed, and the abbot complimented him highly on his acumen. He said he would have expected nothing less from a man preceded by a reputation for great wisdom. He said he had received a letter from the abbot of Farfa that not only spoke of William's mission for the Emperor (which they would discuss in the coming days) but also added that in England and in Italy my master had acted as inquisitor in some trials, where he had distinguished himself by his perspicacity, along with a great humility.\n\n\"I was very pleased to learn,\" the abbot continued, \"that in numerous cases you decided the accused was innocent. I believe, and never more than during these sad days, in the constant presence of the Evil One in human affairs\"\u2014and he looked around, imperceptibly, as if the enemy were lurking within those walls\u2014\"but I believe also that often the Evil One works through second causes. And I know that he can impel his victims to do evil in such a way that the blame falls on a righteous man, and the Evil One rejoices then as the righteous man is burned in the place of his succubus. Inquisitors often, to demonstrate their zeal, wrest a confession from the accused at all costs, thinking that the only good inquisitor is one who concludes the trial by finding a scapegoat.\u2026\"\n\n\"An inquisitor, too, can be impelled by the Devil,\" William said.\n\n\"That is possible,\" the abbot admitted with great circumspection, \"because the designs of the Almighty are inscrutable, and far be it from me to cast any shadow of suspicion on such worthy men. Indeed, it is as one of them that I need you today. In this abbey something has happened that requires the attention and counsel of an acute and prudent man such as you are. Acute in uncovering, and prudent (if necessary) in covering. If a shepherd errs, he must be isolated from other shepherds, but woe unto us if the sheep begin to distrust shepherds.\"\n\n\"I see your point,\" William said. I had already had occasion to observe that when he expressed himself so promptly and politely he was usually concealing, in an honest way, his dissent or puzzlement.\n\n\"For this reason,\" the abbot continued, \"I consider that any case involving the error of a shepherd can be entrusted only to men like you, who can distinguish not only good from evil, but also what is expedient from what is not. I like to think you pronounced a sentence of guilty only when...\"\n\n\"...the accused were guilty of criminal acts, of poisoning, of the corruption of innocent youths, or other abominations my mouth dares not utter\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026 that you pronounced sentence only when,\" the abbot continued, not heeding the interruption, \"the presence of the Devil was so evident to all eyes that it was impossible to act otherwise without the clemency's being more scandalous than the crime itself.\"\n\n\"When I found someone guilty,\" William explained, \"he had really committed crimes of such gravity that in all conscience I could hand him over to the secular arm.\"\n\nThe abbot was bewildered for a moment. \"Why,\" he asked, \"do you insist on speaking of criminal acts without referring to their diabolical cause?\"\n\n\"Because reasoning about causes and effects is a very difficult thing, and I believe the only judge of that can be God. We are already hard put to establish a relationship between such an obvious effect as a charred tree and the lightning bolt that set fire to it, so to trace sometimes endless chains of causes and effects seems to me as foolish as trying to build a tower that will touch the sky.\n\n\"Let us suppose a man has been killed by poisoning. This is a given fact. It is possible for me to imagine, in the face of certain undeniable signs, that the poisoner is a second man. On such simple chains of causes my mind can act with a certain confidence in its power. But how can I complicate the chain, imagining that, to cause the evil deed, there was yet another intervention, not human this time, but diabolical? I do not say it is impossible: the Devil, like your horse Brunellus, also indicates his passage through clear signs. But why must I hunt for these proofs? Is it not already enough for me to know that the guilty party is that man and for me to turn him over to the secular arm? In any case his punishment will be death, God forgive him.\"\n\n\"But I have heard that in a trial held at Kilkenny three years ago, in which certain persons were accused of having committed loathsome crimes, you did not deny diabolical intervention, once the guilty parties had been identified.\"\n\n\"Nor did I affirm it openly, in so many words. I did not deny it, true. Who am I to express judgments on the plots of the Evil One, especially,\" he added, and seemed to want to insist on this reason, \"in cases where those who had initiated the inquisition, the bishop, the city magistrates, and the whole populace, perhaps the. accused themselves, truly wanted to feel the presence of the Devil? There, perhaps the only real proof of the presence of the Devil was the intensity with which everyone at that moment desired to know he was at work.\u2026\"\n\n\"Are you telling me, then,\" the abbot said in a worried tone, \"that in many trials the Devil does not act only within the guilty one but perhaps and above all in the judges?\"\n\n\"Could I make such a statement?\" William asked, and I noticed that the question was formulated in such a way that the abbot was unable to affirm that he could; so William took advantage of his silence to change the direction of their dialogue. \"But these, after all, are remote things. I have abandoned that noble activity and if I did so, it was because the Lord wished it...\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" the abbot admitted.\n\n\"...and now,\" William continued, \"I concern myself with other delicate questions. And I would like to deal with the one that distresses you, if you will speak to me about it.\"\n\nI felt the abbot was pleased to be able to conclude that discussion and return to his problem. He then began telling, with very careful choice of words and with long paraphrases, about an unusual event that had taken place a few days before and had left in its wake great distress among the monks. He was speaking of the matter with William, he said, because, since William had great knowledge both of the human spirit and of the wiles of the Evil One, Abo hoped his guest would be able to devote a part of his valuable time to shedding light on a painful enigma. What had happened, then, was this: Adelmo of Otranto, a monk still young though already famous as a master illuminator, who had been decorating the manuscripts of the library with the most beautiful images, had been found one morning by a goatherd at the bottom of the cliff below the Aedificium. Since he had been seen by other monks in choir during compline but had not reappeared at matins, he had probably fallen there during the darkest hours of the night. The night of a great snowstorm, in which flakes as sharp as blades fell, almost like hail, driven by a furious south wind. Soaked by that snow, which had first melted and then frozen into shards of ice, the body had been discovered at the foot of the sheer drop, torn by the rocks it had struck on the way down. Poor, fragile, mortal thing, God have mercy on him. Thanks to the battering the body had suffered in its broken fall, determining from which precise spot it had fallen was not easy: certainly from one of the windows that opened in rows on the three stories on the three sides of the tower exposed to the abyss.\n\n\"Where have you buried the poor body?\" William asked.\n\n\"In the cemetery, naturally,\" the abbot replied. \"Perhaps you noticed it: it lies between the north side of the church, the Aedificium, and the vegetable garden.\"\n\n\"I see,\" William said, \"and I see that your problem is the following. If that unhappy youth, God forbid, committed suicide, the next day you would have found one of those windows open, whereas you found them all closed, and with no sign of water at the foot of any of them.\"\n\nThe abbot, as I have said, was a man of great and diplomatic composure, but this time he made a movement of surprise that robbed him totally of that decorum suited to a grave and magnanimous person, as Aristotle has it. \"Who told you?\"\n\n\"You told me,\" William said. \"If the window had been open, you would immediately have thought he had thrown himself out of it. From what I could tell from the outside, they are large windows of opaque glass, and windows of that sort are not usually placed, in buildings of this size, at a man's height. So even if a window had been open, it would have been impossible for the unfortunate man to lean out and lose his balance; thus suicide would have been the only conceivable explanation. In which case you would not have allowed him to be buried in consecrated ground. But since you gave him Christian burial, the windows must have been closed. And if they were closed\u2014for I have never encountered, not even in witchcraft trials, a dead man whom God or the Devil allowed to climb up from the abyss to erase the evidence of his misdeed\u2014then obviously the presumed suicide was, on the contrary, pushed, either by human hand or by diabolical force. And you are wondering who was capable, I will not say of pushing him into the abyss, but of hoisting him to the sill; and you are distressed because an evil force, whether natural or supernatural, is at work in the abbey.\"\n\n\"That is it...\" the abbot said, and it was not clear whether he was confirming William's words or accepting the reasons William had so admirably and reasonably expounded. \"But how can you know there was no water at the foot of any window?\"\n\n\"Because you told me a south wind was blowing, and the water could not be driven against windows that open to the east.\"\n\n\"They had not told me enough about your talents,\" the abbot said. \"And you are right, there was no water, and now I know why. It was all as you say. And now you understand my anxiety. It would already be serious enough if one of my monks had stained his soul with the hateful sin of suicide. But I have reason to think that another of them has stained himself with an equally terrible sin. And if that were all...\"\n\n\"In the first place, why one of the monks? In the abbey there are many other persons, grooms, goatherds, servants....\"\n\n\"To be sure, the abbey is small but rich, the abbot agreed smugly. \"One hundred fifty servants for sixty monks. But everything happened in the Aedificium. There, as perhaps you already know, although, on the ground floor are the kitchen and the refectory, on the two upper floors are the scriptorium and the library. After the evening meal the Aedif\u00efcium is locked, and a very strict rule forbids anyone to enter.\" He guessed William's next question and added at once, though clearly with reluctance, \"Including, naturally, the monks, but\u2026\"\n\n\"But?\"\n\n\"But I reject absolutely\u2014absolutely, you understand\u2014the possibility that a servant would have had the courage to enter there at night.\" There was a kind of defiant smile in his eyes, albeit brief as a flash, or a falling star. \"Let us say they would have been afraid, you know... sometimes orders given to the simpleminded have to be reinforced with a threat, a suggestion that something terrible will happen to the disobedient, perforce something supernatural. A monk, on the contrary...\"\n\n\"I understand.\"\n\n\"Furthermore, a monk could have other reasons for venturing into a forbidden place. I mean reasons that are... reasonable, even if contrary to the rule.\u2026\"\n\nWilliam noticed the abbot's uneasiness and asked a question perhaps intended to change the subject, though it produced an even greater uneasiness.\n\n\"Speaking of a possible murder, you said, 'And if that were all.' What did you mean?\"\n\n\"Did I say that? Well, no one commits murder without a reason, however perverse. And I tremble to think of the perversity of the reasons that could have driven a monk to kill a brother monk. There. That is it.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\"\n\n\"Nothing else that I can say to you.\"\n\n\"You mean that there is nothing else you have the power to say?\"\n\n\"Please, Brother William, Brother William,\" and the abbot underlined \"Brother\" both times.\n\nWilliam blushed violently and remarked, \"Eris sacerdos in aeternum.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" the abbot said.\n\n\u2002O Lord God, what a terrible mystery my imprudent superiors were broaching at that moment, the one driven by anxiety and the other by curiosity. Because, a novice approaching the mysteries of the holy priesthood of God, humble youth that I was, I, too, understood that the abbot knew something but had learned it under the seal of confession. He must have heard from someone's lips a sinful detail that could have a bearing on the tragic end of Adelmo. Perhaps for this reason he was begging Brother William to uncover a secret he himself suspected, though he was unable to reveal to anyone\u2014and he hoped that my master, with the powers of his intellect, would cast light on\u2014what he, the abbot, had to shroud in shadows because of the sublime law of charity.\n\n\"Very well,\" William said then, \"may I question the monks?\"\n\n\"You may.\"\n\n\"May I move freely about the abbey?\"\n\n\"I grant you that power.\"\n\n\"Will you assign me this mission coram monachis?\"\n\n\"This very evening.\"\n\n\"I shall begin, however, today, before the monks know what you have charged me to do. Besides, I already had a great desire\u2014not the least reason for my sojourn here\u2014to visit your library, which is spoken of with admiration in all the abbeys of Christendom.\"\n\nThe abbot rose, almost starting, with a very tense face. \"You can move freely through the whole abbey, as I have said. But not, to be sure, on the top floor of the Aedificium, the library.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I would have explained to you before, but I thought you knew. You see, our library is not like others.\u2026\"\n\n\"I know it has more books than any other Christian library. I know that in comparison with your cases, those of Bobbio or Pomposa, of Cluny or Fleury, seem the room of a boy barely being introduced to the abacus. I know that the six thousand codices that were the boast of Novalesa a hundred or more years ago are few compared to yours, and perhaps many of those are now here. I know your abbey is the only light that Christianity can oppose to the thirty-six libraries of Baghdad, to the ten thousand codices of the Vizir Ibn al-Alkami, that the number of your Bibles equals the two thousand four hundred Korans that are the pride of Cairo, and that the reality of your cases is luminous evidence against the proud legend of the infidels who years ago claimed (intimates as they are of the Prince of Falsehood) the library of Tripoli was rich in six million volumes and inhabited by eighty thousand commentators and two hundred scribes.\"\n\n\"You are right, heaven be praised.\"\n\n\"I know that many of the monks living in your midst come from other abbeys scattered all over the world. Some stay here a short time, to copy manuscripts to be found nowhere else and to carry them back then to their own house, not without having brought you in exchange some other unavailable manuscript that you will copy and add to your treasure; and others stay for a very long time, occasionally remaining here till death, because only here can they find the works that enlighten their research. And so you have among you Germans, Dacians, Spaniards, Frenchmen, Greeks. I know that the Emperor Frederick, many and many years ago, asked you to compile for him a book of the prophecies of Merlin and then to translate it into Arabic, to be sent as a gift to the Sultan of Egypt. I know, finally, that such a glorious abbey as Murbach in these very sad times no longer has a single scribe, that at St. Gall only a few monks are left who know how to write, that now in the cities corporations and guilds arise, made up of laymen who work for the universities, and only your abbey day after day renews, or\u2014what am I saying?\u2014it exalts to ever greater heights the glories of your order.\u2026\"\n\n\"Monasterium sine libris,\" the abbot recited, pensively, \"est sicut civitas sine opibus, castrum sine numeris, coquina sine suppellectili, mensa sine cibis, hortus sine herbis, pratum sine floribus, arbor sine fouis.\u2026 And our order, growing up under the double command of work and prayer, was light to the whole known world, depository of knowledge, salvation of an ancient learning that threatened to disappear in fires, sacks, earthquakes, forge of new writing and increase of the ancient.... Oh, as you well know, we live now in very dark times, and I blush to tell you that not many years ago the Council of Vienne had to reaffirm that every monk is under obligation to take orders.... How many of our abbeys, which two hundred years ago were resplendent with grandeur and sanctity, are now the refuge of the slothful? The order is still powerful, but the stink of the cities is encroaching upon our holy places, the people of God are now inclined to commerce and wars of faction; down below in the great settlements, where the spirit of sanctity can find no lodging, not only do they speak (of laymen, nothing else could be expected) in the vulgar tongue, but they are already writing in it, though none of these volumes will ever come within our walls\u2014fomenter of heresies as those volumes inevitably become! Because of mankind's sins the world is teetering on the brink of the abyss, permeated by the very abyss that the abyss invokes. And tomorrow, as Honorius would have it, men's bodies will be smaller than ours, just as ours are smaller than those of the ancients. Mundus senescit. If God has now given our order a mission, it is to oppose this race to the abyss, by preserving, repeating, and defending the treasure of wisdom our fathers entrusted to us. Divine Providence has ordered that the universal government, which at the beginning of the world was in the East, should gradually, as the time was nearing fulfillment, move westward to warn us that the end of the world is approaching, because the course of events has already reached the confines of the universe. But until the millennium occurs definitively, until the triumph, however brief, of the foul beast that is the Antichrist, it is up to us to defend the treasure of the Christian world, and the very word of God, as he dictated it to the prophets and to the apostles, as the fathers repeated it without changing a syllable, as the schools have tried to gloss it, even if today in the schools themselves the serpent of pride, envy, folly is nesting. In this sunset we are still torches and light, high on the horizon. And as long as these walls stand, we shall be the custodians of the divine Word.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" William said in a devout tone. \"But what does this have to do with the fact that the library may not be visited?\"\n\n\"You see, Brother William,\" the abbot said, \"to achieve the immense and holy task that enriches those walls\"\u2014and he nodded toward the bulk of the Aedificium; which could be glimpsed from the cell's windows, towering above the abbatial church itself\u2014\"devout men have toiled for centuries, observing iron rules. The library was laid out on a plan which has remained obscure to all over the centuries, and which none of the monks is called upon to know. Only the librarian has received the secret, from the librarian who preceded him, and he communicates it, while still alive, to the assistant librarian, so that death will not take him by surprise and rob the community of that knowledge. And the secret seals the lips of both men. Only the librarian has, in addition to that knowledge, the right to move through the labyrinth of the books, he alone knows where to find them and where to replace them, he alone is responsible for their safekeeping. The other monks work in the scriptorium and may know the list of the volumes that the library houses. But a list of titles often tells very little; only the librarian knows, from the collocation of the volume, from its degree of inaccessibility, what secrets, what truths or falsehoods, the volume contains. Only he decides how, when, and whether to give it to the monk who requests it; sometimes he first consults me. Because not all truths are for all ears, not all falsehoods can be recognized as such by a pious soul; and the monks, finally, are in the scriptorium to carry out a precise task, which requires them to read certain volumes and not others, and not to pursue every foolish curiosity that seizes them, whether through weakness of intellect or through pride or through diabolical prompting.\"\n\n\"So in the library there are also books containing falsehoods....\"\n\n\"Monsters exist because they are part of the divine plan, and in the horrible features of those same monsters the power of the Creator is revealed. And by divine plan, too, there exist also books by wizards, the cabalas of the Jews, the fables of pagan poets, the lies of the infidels. It was the firm and holy conviction of those who founded the abbey and sustained it over the centuries that even in books of falsehood, to the eyes of the sage reader, a pale reflection of the divine wisdom can shine. And therefore the library is a vessel of these, too. But for this very reason, you understand, it cannot be visited by just anyone. And furthermore,\" the abbot added, as if to apologize for the weakness of this last argument, \"a book is a fragile creature, it suffers the wear of time, it fears rodents, the elements, clumsy hands. If for a hundred and a hundred years everyone had been able freely to handle our codices, the majority of them would no longer exist. So the librarian protects them not only against mankind but also against nature, and devotes his life to this war with the forces of oblivion, the enemy of truth.\"\n\n\"And so no one, except for two people, enters the top floor of the Aedificium....\"\n\nThe abbot smiled. \"No one should. No one can. No one, even if he wished, would succeed. The library defends itself, immeasurable as the truth it houses, deceitful as the falsehood it preserves. A spiritual labyrinth, it is also a terrestrial labyrinth. You might enter and you might not emerge. And having said this, I would like you to conform to the rules of the abbey.\"\n\n\"But you have not dismissed the possibility that Adelmo fell from one of the windows of the library. And how can I study his death if I do not see the place where the story of his death may have begun?\"\n\n\"Brother William,\" the abbot said, in a conciliatory tone; \"a man who described my horse Brunellus without seeing him, and the death of Adelmo though knowing virtually nothing of it, will have no difficulty studying places to which he does not have access.\"\n\nWilliam bowed. \"You are wise also when you are severe. It shall be as you wish.\"\n\n\"If ever I were wise, it would be because I know how to be severe,\" the abbot answered.\n\n\"One last thing,\" William asked. \"Ubertino?\"\n\n\"He is here. He is expecting you. You will find him in church.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Always,\" the abbot said, and smiled. \"You must know that, although very learned, he is not a man to appreciate the library. He considers it a secular lure.... For the most part he stays in church, meditating, praying.\u2026\"\n\n\"Is he old?\" William asked, hesitating.\n\n\"How long has it been since you saw him?\"\n\n\"Many years.\"\n\n\"He is weary. Very detached from the things of this world. He is sixty-eight. But I believe he still possesses the spirit of his youth.\"\n\n\"I will seek him out at once. Thank you.\"\n\nThe abbot asked him whether he wanted to join the community for the midday refection, after sext. William said he had only just eaten\u2014very well, too\u2014and he would prefer to see Ubertino at once. The abbot took his leave.\n\nHe was going out of the cell when from the courtyard a heartrending cry arose, like that of someone mortally wounded, followed by other, equally horrible cries. \"What is that?\" William asked, disconcerted. \"Nothing,\" the abbot answered, smiling. \"At this time of year they slaughter the pigs. A job for the swineherds. This is not the blood that should concern you.\"\n\nHe went out, and he did a disservice to his reputation as a clever man. Because the next morning... But curb your impatience, garrulous tongue of mine. For on the day of which I am telling, and before its night, many more things happened that it would be best to narrate."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which Adso admires the door of the church, and William meets Ubertino of Casale again.\n\nThe church was not majestic like others I saw later at Strasbourg, Chartres, Bamberg, and Paris. It resembled, rather, those I had already seen in Italy, with scant inclination to soar dizzyingly toward the heavens, indeed firmly set on the earth, often broader than they were high; but at the first level this one was surmounted, like a fortress, by a sequence of square battlements, and above this story another construction rose, not so much a tower as a solid, second church, capped by a pitched roof and pierced by severe windows. A robust abbatial church such as our forefathers built in Provence and Languedoc, far from the audacity and the excessive tracery characteristic of the modern style, which only in more recent times has been enriched, I believe, above the choir, with a pinnacle boldly pointed toward the roof of the heavens.\n\nTwo straight and unadorned columns stood on either side of the entrance, which opened, at first sight, like a single great arch; but from the columns began two embrasures that, surmounted by other, multiple arches, led the gaze, as if into the heart of an abyss, toward the doorway itself, crowned by a great tympanum, supported on the sides by two imposts and in the center by a carved pillar, which divided the entrance into two apertures protected by oak doors reinforced in metal. At that hour of the day the weak sun was beating almost straight down on the roof and the light fell obliquely on the fa\u00e7ade without illuminating the tympanum; so after passing the two columns, we found ourselves abruptly under the almost sylvan vault of the arches that sprang from the series of lesser columns that proportionally reinforced the embrasures. When our eyes had finally grown accustomed to the gloom, the silent speech of the carved stone, accessible as it immediately was to the gaze and the imagination of anyone (for images are the literature of the layman), dazzled my eyes and plunged me into a vision that even today my tongue can hardly describe.\n\nI saw a throne set in the sky and a figure seated on the throne. The face of the Seated One was stern and impassive, the eyes wide and glaring over a terrestrial humankind that had reached the end of its story; majestic hair and beard flowed around the face and over the chest like the waters of a river, in streams all equal, symmetrically divided in two. The crown on his head was rich in enamels and jewels, the purple imperial tunic was arranged in broad folds over the knees, woven with embroideries and laces of gold and silver thread. The left hand, resting on one knee, held a sealed book, the right was uplifted in an attitude of blessing or\u2014I could not tell\u2014of admonition. The face was illuminated by the tremendous beauty of a halo, containing a cross and bedecked with flowers, while around the throne and above the face of the Seated One I saw an emerald rainbow glittering Before the throne, beneath the feet of the Seated One, a sea of crystal flowed, and around the Seated One, beside and above the throne, I saw four awful creatures\u2014awful for me, as I looked at them, transported, but docile and dear for the Seated One, whose praises they sang without cease.\n\nOr, rather, not all could be called awful, because one seemed to me handsome and kindly, the man to my left (and to the right of the Seated One), who held out a book. But on the other side there was an eagle I found horrifying, its beak agape, its thick feathers arranged like a cuirass, powerful talons, great wings outstretched. And at the feet of the Seated One, under the first two figures, there were the other two, a bull and a lion, each monster clutching a book between talons or hoofs, the body turned away from the throne, but the head toward the throne, as if shoulders and neck twisted in a fierce impulse, flanks tensed, the limbs those of a dying animal, maw open, serpentlike tails coiled and writhing, culminating, at the top, in tongues of flame. Both monsters were winged, both crowned by haloes; despite their formidable appearance, they were creatures not of hell, but of heaven, and if they seemed fearsome it was because they were roaring in adoration of One Who Is to Come and who would judge the quick and the dead.\n\nAround the throne, beside the four creatures and under the feet of the Seated One, as if seen through the transparent waters of the crystal sea, as if to fill the whole space of the vision, arranged according to the triangular frame of the tympanum, rising from a base of seven plus seven, then to three plus three and then to two plus two, at either side of the great throne, on twenty-four little thrones, there were twenty-four ancients, wearing white garments and crowned to gold. Some held lutes in their hands, one a vase of perfumes, and only one was playing an instrument, all the others were in ecstasy, faces turned to the Seated One, whose praises they were singing, their limbs also twisted like the creatures', so that all could see the Seated One, not in wild fashion, however, but with movements of ecstatic dance\u2014as David must have danced before the Ark\u2014so that wherever their pupils were, against the law governing the stature of bodies, they converged on the same radiant spot. Oh, what a harmony of abandonment and impulse, of unnatural and yet graceful postures, in that mystical language of limbs miraculously freed from the weight of corporeal matter, marked quantity infused with new substantial form, as if the holy band were struck by an impetuous wind, breath of life, frenzy of delight, rejoicing song of praise miraculously transformed, from the sound that it was, into image.\n\nBodies inhabited in every part by the Spirit, illuminated by revelation, faces overcome with amazement, eyes shining with enthusiasm, cheeks flushed with love, pupils dilated with joy: this one thunderstruck by a pleasurable consternation, that one pierced by a consternated pleasure, some transfigured by wonder, some rejuvenated by bliss, there they all were, singing with the expression of their faces, the drapery of their tunics, the position and tension of their limbs, singing a new song, lips parted in a smile of perennial praise. And beneath the feet of the ancients, and arched over them and over the throne and over the tetramorphic group, arranged in symmetrical bands, barely distinguishable one from another because the artist's skill had made them all so mutually proportionate, united in their variety and varied to their unity, unique in their diversity and diverse in their apt assembly, in wondrous congruency of the parts with the delightful sweetness of hues, miracle of consonance and concord of voices among themselves dissimilar, a company arrayed like the strings of the zither, consentient and conspiring continued cognition through deep and interior force suited to perform univocally in the same alternating play of the equivocal, decoration and collage of creatures beyond reduction to vicissitudes and to vicissitudes reduced, work of amorous connecting sustained by a law at once heavenly and worldly (bond and stable nexus of peace, love, virtue, regimen, power, order, origin, life, light, splendor, species, and figure), numerous and resplendent equality through the shining of the form over the proportionate parts of the material\u2014there, all the flowers and leaves and vines and bushes and corymbs were entwined, of all the grasses that adorn the gardens of earth and heaven, violet, cystus, thyme, lily, privet, narcissus, taro, acanthus, mallow, myrrh, and Mecca balsam.\n\nBut as my soul was carried away by that concert of terrestrial beauty and majestic supernatural signals, and was about to burst forth in a psalm of joy, my eye, accompanying the proportioned rhythm of the rose windows that bloomed at the ancients' feet, lighted on the interwoven figures of the central pillar, which supported the tympanum. What were they and what symbolic message did they communicate, those three crisscrossed pairs of lions rampant, like arches, each with hind paws planted on the ground, forepaws on the back of his companion, mane in serpentine curls, mouth taut in a threatening snarl, bound to the very body of the pillar by a paste, or a nest, of tendrils? To calm my spirit, as they had perhaps been meant also to tame the diabolical nature of the lion and to transform it into a symbolic allusion to higher things, on the sides of the pillar there were two human figures, unnaturally tall as the column itself and twins to two others facing them on either side from the decorated imposts, where each of the oak doors had its jamb. These figures, then, were four old men, from whose paraphernalia I recognized Peter and Paul, Jeremiah and Isaiah, also twisted as if in a dance step, their long bony hands raised, the fingers splayed like wings, and like wings were their beards and hair stirred by a prophetic wind, the folds of the very long garments stirred by the long legs giving life to waves and scrolls, opposed to the lions but of the same stuff as the lions. And as I withdrew my fascinated eye from that enigmatic polyphony of sainted limbs and infernal sinews, I saw beside the door, under the deep arches, sometimes depicted on the embrasures in the space between the slender columns that supported and adorned them, and again on the thick foliage of the capital of each column, and from there ramifying toward the sylvan vault of the multiple arches, other visions horrible to contemplate, and justified in that place only by their parabolic and allegorical power or by the moral lesson that they conveyed. I saw a voluptuous woman, naked and fleshless, gnawed by foul toads, sucked by serpents, coupled with a fat-bellied satyr whose gryphon legs were covered with wiry hairs, howling its own damnation from an obscene throat; and I saw a miser, stiff in the stiffness of death on his sumptuously columned bed, now helpless prey of a cohort of demons, one of whom tore from the dying man's mouth his soul in the form of an infant (alas, never to be again born to eternal life); and I saw a proud man with a devil clinging to his shoulders and thrusting his claws into the man's eyes, while two gluttons tore each other apart in a repulsive hand-to-hand struggle, and other creatures as well, goat head and lion fur, panther's jaws, all prisoners to a forest of flames whose searing breath I could almost feel. And around them, mingled with them, above their heads and below their feet, more faces and more limbs: a man and a woman clutching each other by the hair, two asps sucking the eyes of one of the damned, a grinning man whose hooked hands parted the maw of a hydra, and all the animals of Satan's bestiary, assembled in a consistory and set as guard and crown of the throne that faced them, singing its glory in their defeat, fauns, beings of double sex, brutes with six-fingered hands, sirens, hippocentaurs, gorgons, harpies, incubi, dragopods, minotaurs, lynxes, pards, chimeras, cynophales who darted fire from their nostrils, crocodiles, polycaudate, hairy serpents, salamanders, horned vipers, tortoises, snakes, two-headed creatures whose backs were armed with teeth, hyenas, otters, crows, hydrophora with saw-tooth horns, frogs, gryphons, monkeys, dog-heads, leucrota, manticores, vultures, paranders, weasels, dragons, hoopoes, owls, basilisks, hypnales, presters, spectafici, scorpions, saurians, whales, scitales, amphisbenae, iaculi, dipsases, green lizards, pilot fish, octopi, morays, and sea turtles. The whole population of the nether world seemed to have gathered to act as vestibule, dark forest, desperate wasteland of exclusion, at the apparition of the Seated One in the tympanum, at his face promising and threatening, they, the defeated of Armageddon, facing Him who will come at last to separate the quick from the dead. And stunned (almost) by that sight, uncertain at this point whether I was in a friendly place or in the valley of the last judgment, I was terrified and could hardly restrain my tears, and I seemed to hear (or did I really hear?) that voice and I saw those visions that had accompanied my youth as a novice, my first reading of the sacred books, and my nights of meditation in the choir of Melk, and in the delirium of my weak and weakened senses I heard a voice mighty as a trumpet that said, \"Write in a book what you now see\" (and this is what I am doing), and I saw seven golden candlesticks and in the midst of the candlesticks One like unto the son of man, his breast girt with a golden girdle, his head and hair white as purest wool, his eyes as a flame of fire, his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace, his voice as the sound of many waters, and he had in his right hand seven stars and out of his mouth went a two-edged sword. And I saw a door open in heaven and He who was seated appeared to me like a jasper and a sardonyx, and there was a rainbow round about the throne and out of the throne proceeded thunder and lightning. And the Seated One took in His hands a sharp sickle and cried: \"Thrust in thy sickle and reap, for the time is come for thee to reap; for the harvest of the earth is ripe\"; and He that sat on the cloud thrust His sickle on the earth; and the earth was reaped.\n\nIt was at this point that I realized the vision was speaking precisely of what was happening in the abbey, of what we had learned from the abbot's reticent lips\u2014and how many times in the following days did I return to contemplate the doorway, convinced I was experiencing the very events that it narrated. And I knew we had made our way up there in order to witness a great and celestial massacre.\n\nI trembled, as if I were drenched by the icy winter rain. And I heard yet another voice, but this time it came from behind me and was a different voice, because it came from the earth and not from the blinding core of my vision; and indeed it shattered the vision, because William (I became aware again of his presence), also lost until then in contemplation, turned as I did.\n\nThe creature behind us was apparently a monk, though his torn and dirty habit made him look like a vagabond, and his face bore a resemblance to those of the monsters I had just seen on the capitals. Unlike many of my brothers, I have never in my whole life been visited by the Devil; but I believe that if he were to appear to me one day, prevented by divine decree from concealing completely his nature even though he chose to resemble a man, he would have the very features our interlocutor presented to me at this moment. His head was hairless, not shaved in penance but as the result of the past action of some viscid eczema; the brow was so low that if he had had hair on his head it would have mingled with his eyebrows (which were thick and shaggy); the eyes were round, with tiny mobile pupils, and whether the gaze was innocent or malign I could not tell: perhaps it was both, in different moods, in flashes. The nose could not be called a nose, for it was only a bone that began between the eyes, but as it rose from the face it immediately sank again, transforming itself only into two dark holes, broad nostrils thick with hair. The mouth, joined to the nose by a scar, was wide and ill-made, stretching more to the right than to the left, and between the upper lip, nonexistent, and the lower, prominent and fleshy, there protruded, in an irregular pattern, black teeth sharp as a dog's.\n\nThe man smiled (or at least so I believed) and, holding up one finger as if in admonition, he said:\n\n\"Penitenziagite! Watch out for the draco who cometh in futurum to gnaw your anima! Death is super nos! Pray the Santo Pater come to liberar nos a malo and all our sin! Ha ha, you like this negromanzia de Domini Nostri Jesu Christi! Et anco jois m'es dols e plazer m'es dolors.\u2026 Cave el diabolo! Semper lying in wait for me in some angulum to snap at my heels. But Salvatore is not stupidus! Bonum monasterium, and aqu\u00ed refectorium and pray to dominum nostrum. And the resto is not worth merda. Amen. No?\"\n\nAs this story continues, I shall have to speak again, and at length, of this creature and record his speech. I confess I find it very difficult to do so because I could not say now, as I could never understand then, what language he spoke. It was not Latin, in which the lettered men of the monastery expressed themselves, it was not the vulgar tongue of those parts, or any other I had ever heard. I believe I have given a faint idea of his manner of speech, reporting just now (as I remember them) the first words of his I heard. When I learned later about his adventurous life and about the various places where he had lived, putting down roots in none of them, I realized Salvatore spoke all languages, and no language. Or, rather, he had invented for himself a language which used the sinews of the languages to which he had been exposed\u2014and once I thought that his was, not the Adamic language that a happy mankind had spoken, all united by a single tongue from the origin of the world to the Tower of Babel, or one of the languages that arose after the dire event of their division, but precisely the Babelish language of the first day after the divine chastisement, the language of primeval confusion. Nor, for that matter, could I call Salvatore's speech a language, because in every human language there are rules and every term signifies ad placitum a thing, according to a law that does not change, for man cannot call the dog once dog and once cat, or utter sounds to which a consensus of people has not assigned a definite meaning, as would happen if someone said the word \"blitiri\" And yet, one way or another, I did understand what Salvatore meant, and so did the others. Proof that he spoke not one, but all languages, none correctly, taking words sometimes from one and sometimes from another. I also noticed afterward that he might refer to something first in Latin and later in Proven\u00e7al, and I realized that he was not so much inventing his own sentences as using the disiecta membra of other sentences, heard some time in the past, according to the present situation and the things he wanted to say, as if he could speak of a food, for instance, only with the words of the people among whom he had eaten that food, and express his joy only with sentences that he had heard uttered by joyful people the day when he had similarly experienced joy. His speech was somehow like his face, put together with pieces from other people's faces, or like some precious reliquaries I have seen (si licet magnis componere parva, if I may link diabolical things with the divine), fabricated from the shards of other holy objects. At that moment, when I met him for the first time, Salvatore seemed to me, because of both his face and his way of speaking, a creature not unlike the hairy and hoofed hybrids I had just seen under the portal. Later I realized that the man was probably good-hearted and humorous. Later still... But we must not get ahead of our story. Particularly since, the moment he had spoken, my master questioned him with great curiosity.\n\n\"Why did you say Penitenziagite?\" he asked.\n\n\"Domine frate magnificentissimo,\" Salvatore answered, with a kind of bow, \"Jesus venturus est and les hommes must do penitenzia. No?\"\n\nWilliam gave him a hard look. \"Did you come here from a convent of Minorites?\"\n\n\"Non comprends.\"\n\n\"I am asking if you have lived among the friars of Saint Francis; I ask if you have known the so-called apostles.\u2026\"\n\nSalvatore blanched, or, rather, his tanned and savage face turned gray. He made a deep bow, muttered through half-closed lips a \"vade retro,\" devoutly blessed himself, and fled, looking back at us every now and then.\n\n\"What did you ask him?\" I said to William.\n\nHe was thoughtful for a moment. \"It is of no matter; I will tell you later. Let us go inside now. I want to find Ubertino.\"\n\nIt was just after the sixth hour. The pale sun entered from the west, and therefore through only a few, narrow windows, into the interior of the church. A fine strip of light still touched the main altar, whose frontal seemed to glow with a golden radiance. The side naves were immersed in gloom.\n\nNear the last chapel before the altar, in the left nave, stood a slender column on which a stone Virgin was set, carved in the modern fashion, with an ineffable smile and prominent abdomen, wearing a pretty dress with a small bodice, the child on her arm. At the foot of the Virgin, in prayer, almost prostrate, there was a man in the habit of the Cluniac order.\n\nWe approached. The man, hearing the sound of our footsteps, raised his head. He was old, bald, with a glabrous face, large pale-blue eyes, a thin red mouth, white complexion, a bony skull to which the skin clung like that of a mummy preserved in milk. The hands were white, with long tapering fingers. He resembled a maiden withered by premature death. He cast on us a gaze at first bewildered, as if we had disturbed him during an ecstatic vision; then his face brightened with joy.\n\n\"William!\" he exclaimed. \"My dearest brother!\" He rose with some effort and came toward my master, embraced him, and kissed him on the mouth. \"William!\" he repeated, and his eyes became moist with tears. \"How long it has been! But I recognize you still! Such a long time, so many things have happened! So many trials sent by the Lord!\" He wept. William returned his embrace, clearly moved. We were in the presence of Ubertino of Casale.\n\nI had already heard much talk about him, even before I came to Italy, and more still as I frequented the Franciscans of the imperial court. Someone had told me that the greatest poet of those days, Dante Alighieri of Florence, dead only a few years, had composed a poem (which I could not read, since it was written in vulgar Tuscan) of which many verses were nothing but a paraphrase of passages written by Ubertino in his Arbor vitae crucifixae. Nor was this the famous man's only claim to merit. But to permit my reader better to understand the importance of this meeting, I must try to reconstruct the events of those years, as I understood them both during my brief stay to central Italy and from listening to the many conversations William had had with abbots and monks in the course of our journey.\n\nI will try to tell what I understood of these matters, even if I am not sure I can explain them properly. My masters at Melk had often told me that it is very difficult for a Northerner to form any clear idea of the religious and political vicissitudes of Italy.\n\nThe peninsula, where the power of the clergy was more evident than in any other country, and where more than in any other country the clergy made a display of power and wealth, for at least two centuries had generated movements of men bent on a poorer life, in protest against the corrupt priests, from whom they even refused the sacraments. They gathered in independent communities, hated equally by the feudal lords, the empire, and the city magistrates.\n\nFinally Saint Francis had appeared, spreading a love of poverty that did not contradict the precepts of the church; and after his efforts the church had accepted the summons to severe behavior of those older movements and had purified them of the elements of disruption that lurked in them. There should have followed a period of meekness and holiness, but as the Franciscan order grew and attracted the finest men, it became too powerful, too bound to earthly matters, and many Franciscans wanted to restore it to its early purity. A very difficult matter for an order that at the time when I was at the abbey already numbered more than thirty thousand members scattered throughout the whole world. But so it was, and many of those monks of Saint Francis were opposed to the Rule that the order had established, and they said the order had by now assumed the character of those ecclesiastical institutions it had come into the world to reform. And this, they said, had already happened in the days when Saint Francis was alive, and his words and his aims had been betrayed. Many of them rediscovered then a book written at the beginning of the twelfth century of our era, by a Cistercian monk named Joachim, to whom the spirit of prophecy was attributed. He had in fact foreseen the advent of a new age, in which the spirit of Christ, long corrupted through the actions of his false apostles, would again be achieved on earth. And he had announced certain future events in a way that made it seem clear to all that, unawares, he was speaking of the Franciscan order. And therefore many Franciscans had greatly rejoiced, even excessively, it seems, because then, around the middle of the century, the doctors of the Sorbonne condemned the teachings of that abbot Joachim. Apparently they did so because the Franciscans (and the Dominicans) were becoming too powerful, too learned, at the University of Paris; and those Sorbonne doctors wanted to eliminate them as heretics. But this scheme was not carried out, happily for the church, which then allowed the dissemination of the works of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure of Bagnoregio, certainly not heretics. Whence it is clear that in Paris, too, there was a confusion of ideas or someone who wished to confuse them for his own purposes. And this is the evil that heresy inflicts on the Christian people, obfuscating ideas and inciting all to become inquisitors to their personal benefit. For what I saw at the abbey then (and will now recount) caused me to think that often inquisitors create heretics. And not only in the sense that they imagine heretics-where these do not exist, but also that inquisitors repress the heretical putrefaction so vehemently that many are driven, to share in it, in their hatred for the judges. Truly, a circle conceived by the Devil. God preserve us.\n\nBut I was speaking of the heresy (if such it was) of the Joachimites. And in Tuscany there was a Franciscan, Gerard of Borgo San Donnino, who repeated the predictions of Joachim and made a deep impression on the Minorites. Thus there arose among them a band of supporters of the old Rule, against the reorganization of the order attempted by the great Bonaventure, who had become general of the order. In the final thirty years of the last century, the Council of Lyons rescued the Franciscan order from its enemies, who wanted to abolish it, and allowed it ownership of all property in its use (already the law for older orders). But some monks in the Marches rebelled, because they believed that the spirit of the Rule had been forever betrayed, since Franciscans must own nothing, personally or as a convent or as an order. These rebels were put in prison for life. It does not seem to me that they were preaching things contrary to the Gospel, but when the session of earthly things is in question, it is difficult for men to reason justly. I was told that years later, the new general of the order, Raymond Gaufredi, found these prisoners in Ancona and, on freeing them, said: \"Would God that all of us and the whole order were stained by such a sin.\" A sign that what the heretics say is not true, and there are still men of great virtue living in the church.\n\nAmong these freed prisoners there was one, Angelus Clarenus, who then met a monk from Provence, Pierre Olieu, who preached the prophecies of Joachim, and then he met Ubertino of Casale, and in this way the movement of the Spirituals originated. In those years, a most holy hermit rose to the papal throne, Peter of Murrone, who reigned as Celestine V; and he was welcomed with relief by the Spirituals. \"A saint will appear,\" it had been said, \"and he will follow the teachings of Christ, he will live an angelic life: tremble, ye corrupt priests.\" Perhaps Celestine's life was too angelic, or the prelates around him were too corrupt, or he could not bear the strain of the interminable conflict with the Emperor and with the other kings of Europe. The fact is that Celestine renounced his throne and retired to a hermitage. But in the brief period of his reign, less than a year, the hopes of the Spirituals were all fulfilled. They went to Celestine, who founded with them the community known as that of the fratres et pauperes heremitae domini Celestini. On the other hand, while the Pope was to act as mediator among the most powerful cardinals of Rome, there were some, like a Colonna and an Orsini, who secretly supported the new poverty movement, a truly curious choice for powerful men who lived in vast wealth and luxury; and I have never understood whether they simply exploited the Spirituals for their own political ends or whether in some way they felt they justified their carnal life by supporting the Spiritual trend. Perhaps both things were true, to judge by the little I can understand of Italian affairs. But to give an example, Ubertino had been taken on as chaplain by Cardinal Orsini when, having become the most respected among the Spirituals, he risked being accused as a heretic. And the cardinal himself had protected Ubertino in Avignon.\n\nAs happens, however, in such cases, on the one hand Angelus and Ubertino preached according to doctrine, on the other, great masses of simple people accepted this preaching of theirs and spread through the country, beyond all control. So Italy was invaded by these Fraticelli or Friars of the Poor Life, whom many considered dangerous. At this point it was difficult to distinguish the spiritual masters, who maintained contact with the ecclesiastical authorities, from their simpler followers, who now lived outside the order, begging for alms and existing from day to day by the labor of their hands, holding no property of any kind. And these the populace now called Fraticelli, not unlike the French Beghards, who drew their inspiration from Pierre Olieu.\n\nCelestine V was succeeded by Boniface VIII, and this Pope promptly demonstrated scant indulgence for Spirituals and Fraticelli in general: in the last years of the dying century he signed a bull, Firma cautela, in which with one stroke he condemned bizochi, vagabond mendicants who roamed about at the far edge of the Franciscan order, and the Spirituals themselves, who had left the life of the order and retired to a hermitage.\n\nAfter the death of Boniface VIII, the Spirituals tried to obtain from certain of his successors, among them Clement V, permission to leave the order peaceably. I believe they would have succeeded, but the advent of John XXII robbed them of all hope. When he was elected in 1316, he wrote to the King of Sicily telling him to expel those monks from his lands, where many had taken refuge; and John had Angelus Clarenus and the Spirituals of Provence put in chains.\n\nAll cannot have proceeded smoothly, and many in the curia resisted. The fact is that Ubertino and Clarenus managed to obtain permission to leave the order, and the former was received by the Benedictines, the latter by the Celestinians. But for those who continued to lead their free life John was merciless, and he had them persecuted by the Inquisition, and many were burned at the stake.\n\nHe realized, however, that to destroy the weed of the Fraticelli, who threatened the very foundation of the church's authority, he would need to condemn the notions on which their faith was based. They claimed that Christ and the apostles had owned no property, individually or in common; and the Pope condemned this idea as heretical. An amazing position, because there is no evident reason why a pope should consider perverse the notion that Christ was poor: but only a year before, a general chapter of the Franciscans in Perugia had sustained this opinion, and in condemning the one, the Pope was condemning also the other. As have I already said, the chapter was a great reverse in his struggle against the Emperor; this is the fact of the matter. So after that, many Fraticelli, who knew nothing of empire or of Perugia, were burned to death.\n\nThese thoughts were in my mind as I gazed on the legendary figure of Ubertino. My master introduced me, and the old man stroked my cheek, with a warm, almost burning hand. At the touch of his hand I understood many of the things I had heard about that holy man and others I had read in the pages of his Arbor vitae crucifixae; I understood the mystic fire that had consumed him from his youth, when, though studying in Paris, he had withdrawn from theological speculation and had imagined himself transformed into the penitent Magdalen; and then his intense association with Saint Angela of Foligno, who had initiated him into the riches of the mystic life and the adoration of the cross; and why his superiors, one day, alarmed by the ardor of his preaching, had sent him in retreat to La Verna.\n\nI studied that face, its features sweet as those of the sainted woman with whom he had fraternally exchanged profound spiritual thoughts. I sensed he must have been able to assume a far harsher expression when, in 1311, the Council of Vienne, with the decretal Exivi de paradiso, had deposed Franciscan superiors hostile to the Spirituals, but had charged the latter to live in peace within the order; and this champion of renunciation had not accepted that shrewd compromise and had fought for the institution of a separate order, based on principles of maximum strictness. This great warrior then lost his battle, for in those years John XXII was advocating a crusade against the followers of Pierre Olieu (among whom Ubertino himself was numbered), and he condemned the monks of Narbonne and B\u00e9ziers. But Ubertino had not hesitated to defend his friend's memory against the Pope, and, outdone by his sanctity, John had not dared condemn him (though he then condemned the others). On that occasion, indeed, he offered Ubertino a way of saving himself, first advising him and then commanding him to enter the Cluniac order. Ubertino, apparently so disarmed and fragile, must have been equally skillful in gaining protectors and allies in the papal courts, and, in fact, he agreed to enter the monastery of Gemblach in Flanders, but I believe he never even went there, and he remained in Avignon, under the banner of Cardinal Orsini, to defend the Franciscans' cause.\n\nOnly in recent times (and the rumors I had heard were vague) his star at court had waned, he had had to leave Avignon, and the Pope had this indomitable man pursued as a heretic who per mundum discurrit vagabundus. Then, it was said, all trace of him was lost. That afternoon I had learned, from the dialogue between William and the abbot, that he was hidden here in this abbey. And now I saw him before me.\n\n\"William,\" he was saying, \"they were on the point of killing me, you know. I had to flee in the dead of night.\"\n\n\"Who wanted to kill you? John?\"\n\n\"No. John has never been fond of me, but he has never ceased to respect me. After all, he was the one who offered me a way of avoiding a trial ten years ago, commanding me to enter the Benedictines, and so silencing my enemies. They muttered for a long time, they waxed ironical on the fact that a champion of poverty should enter such a rich order and live at the court of Cardinal Orsini.\u2026 William, you know my contempt for the things of this earth! But it was the way to remain in Avignon and defend my brothers. The Pope is afraid of Orsini, he would never have harmed a hair of my head. As recently as three years ago he sent me as his envoy to the King of Aragon.\"\n\n\"Then who wished you ill?\"\n\n\"All of them. The curia. They tried to assassinate me twice. They tried to silence me. You know what happened five years ago. The Beghards of Narbonne had been condemned two years before, and Berengar Talloni, though he was one of the judges, had appealed to the Pope. Those were difficult moments. John had already issued two bulls against the Spirituals, and even Michael of Cesena had given up\u2014by the way, when does he arrive?\"\n\n\"He will be here in two days' time.\"\n\n\"Michael... I have not seen him for so long. Now he has come around, he understands what we wanted, the Perugia chapter asserted that we were right. But then, still in 1318, he gave in to the Pope and turned over to him five Spirituals of Provence who were resisting submission. Burned, William... Oh, it is horrible!\" He hid his face in his hands.\n\n\"But what exactly happened after Talloni's appeal?\" William asked.\n\n\"John had to reopen the debate, you understand? He has to do it, because in the curia, too, there were men seized with doubt, even the Franciscans in the curia\u2014pharisees, whited sepulchers, ready to sell themselves for a prebend, but they were seized with doubt. It was then that John asked me to draw up a memorial on poverty. It was a fine work, William, may God forgive my pride.\u2026\"\n\n\"I have read it. Michael showed it to me.\"\n\n\"There were the hesitant, even among our own men, the Provincial of Aquitaine, the Cardinal of San Vitale, the Bishop of Kaffa.\u2026\"\n\n\"An idiot,\" William said.\n\n\"Rest in peace. He was gathered to God two years ago.\"\n\n\"God was not so compassionate. That was a false report that arrived from Constantinople. He is still in our midst, and I am told he will be a member of the legation. God protect us!\"\n\nBut he is favorable to the chapter of Perugia,\" Ubertino said.\n\n\"Exactly. He belongs to that race of men who are always their adversary's best champions.\"\n\n\"To tell the truth,\" Ubertino said, \"even then he was no great help to the cause. And it all came to nothing, but at least the idea was not declared heretical, and this was important. And so the others have never forgiven me. They have tried to harm me in every way, they have said that I was at Sachsenhausen three years ago, when Louis proclaimed John a heretic. And yet they all knew I was in Avignon that July with Orsini.\u2026 They found that parts of the Emperor's declaration reflected my ideas. What madness.\"\n\n\"Not all that mad,\" William said. \"I had given him the ideas, taking them from your Declaration of Avignon, and from some pages of Olieu.\"\n\n\"You?\" Ubertino exclaimed, between amazement and joy. \"But then you agree with me!\"\n\nWilliam seemed embarrassed. \"They were the right ideas for the Emperor, at that moment,\" he said evasively.\n\nUbertino looked at him suspiciously. \"Ah, but you don't really believe them, do you?\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" William said, \"tell me how you saved yourself from those dogs.\"\n\n\"Ah, dogs indeed, William. Rabid dogs. I found myself even in conflict with Bonagratia, you know?\"\n\n\"But Bonagratia is on our side!\"\n\n\"Now he is, after I spoke at length with him. Then he was convinced, and he protested against the Ad conditorem canonum. And the Pope imprisoned him for a year.\"\n\n\"I have heard he is now close to a friend of mine in the curia, William of Occam.\"\n\n\"I knew him only slightly. I don't like him. A man without fervor, all head, no heart.\"\n\n\"But the head is beautiful.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, and it will take him to hell.\"\n\n\"Then I will see him again down there, and we will argue logic.\"\n\n\"Hush, William,\" Ubertino said, smiling with deep affection, \"you are better than your philosophers. If only you had wanted...\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"When we saw each other the last time in Umbria\u2014remember?\u2014I had just been cured of my ailments through the intercession of that marvelous woman... Clare of Montefalco...\" he murmured, his face radiant. \"Clare... When female nature, naturally so perverse, becomes sublime through holiness, then it can be the noblest vehicle of grace. You know how my life has been inspired by the purest chastity, William\"\u2014he grasped my master's arm, convulsively\u2014\"you know with what... fierce\u2014yes, that's the word\u2014with what fierce thirst for penance I have tried to mortify in myself the throbbing of the flesh, and make myself wholly transparent to the love of Jesus Crucified.\u2026 And yet, three women in my life have been three celestial messengers for me. Angela of Foligno, Margaret of Citt\u00e0 di Castello (who revealed the end of my book to me when I had written only a third of it), and finally Clare of Montefalco. It was a reward from heaven that I, yes, I, should investigate her miracles and proclaim her sainthood to the crowds, before Holy Mother Church moved. And you were there, William, and you could have helped me in that holy endeavor, and you would not\u2014\"\n\n\"But the holy endeavor that you invited me to share was sending Bentivenga, Jacomo, and Giovannuccio to the stake,\" William said softly.\n\n\"They were besmirching her memory with their perversions. And you were an inquisitor!\"\n\n\"And that was precisely why I asked to be relieved of that position. I did not like the business. Nor did I like\u2014I shall be frank\u2014the way you induced Bentivenga to confess his errors. You pretended you wished to enter his sect, if sect it was; you stole his secrets from him, and you had him arrested.\"\n\n\"But that is the way to proceed against the enemies of Christ! They were heretics, they were Pseudo Apostles, they reeked of the sulphur of Fra Dolcino!\"\n\n\"They were Clare's friends.\"\n\n\"No, William, you must not cast even the hint of a shadow on Clare's memory.\"\n\n\"But they were associated with her.\"\n\n\"They were Minorites, they called themselves Spirituals, and instead they were monks of the community! But you know it emerged clearly at the trial that Bentivenga of Gubbio proclaimed himself an apostle, and then he and Giovannuccio of Bevagna seduced nuns, telling them hell does not exist, that carnal desires can be satisfied without offending God, that the body of Christ (Lord, forgive me!) can be received after a man has lain with a nun, that the Magdalen found more favor in the Lord's sight than the virgin Agnes, that what the vulgar call the Devil is God Himself, because the Devil is knowledge and God is by definition knowledge! And it was the blessed Clare, after hearing this talk, who had the vision in which God Himself told her they were wicked followers of the Spiritus Libertatis!\"\n\n\"They were Minorites whose minds were aflame with the same visions as Clare's, and often the step between ecstatic vision and sinful frenzy is very brief,\" William said.\n\nUbertino wrung his hands and his eyes were again veiled with tears. \"Don't say that, William. How can you confound the moment of ecstatic love, which burns the viscera with the perfume of incense, and the disorder of the senses, which reeks of sulphur? Bentivenga urged others to touch a body's naked limbs; he declared this was the only way to freedom from the dominion of the senses, homo nudus cum nuda iacebat, 'naked they lay together, man and woman. \u2026'\"\n\n\"Et non commiscebantur ad invicem, but there was no conjunction.\"\n\n\"Lies! They were seeking pleasure, and they found it. If carnal stimulus was felt, they did not consider it a sin if, to satisfy it, man and woman lay together, and the one touched and kissed the other in every part, and naked belly was joined to naked belly!\"\n\nI confess. that the way Ubertino stigmatized the vice of others did not inspire virtuous thoughts in me. My master must have realized I was agitated, and he interrupted the holy man.\n\n\"Yours is an ardent spirit, Ubertino, both in love of God and in hatred of evil. What I meant is that there is little difference between the ardor of the seraphim and the ardor of Lucifer, because they are always born from an extreme igniting of the will.\"\n\n\"Oh, there is a difference, and I know it!\" Ubertino said, inspired. \"You mean that between desiring good and desiring evil there is a brief step, because it is always a matter of directing the will. This is true. But the difference lies in the object, and the object is clearly recognizable. God on this side, the Devil on that.\"\n\n\"And I fear I no longer know how to distinguish, Ubertino. Wasn't it your Angela of Foligno who told of that day when her spirit was transported and she found herself in the sepulcher of Christ? Didn't she tell how first she kissed his breast and saw him lying with his eyes closed, then she kissed his mouth, and there rose from those lips an ineffable sweetness, and after a brief pause she lay her cheek against the cheek of Christ and Christ put his hand to her cheek and pressed her to him and\u2014as she said\u2014her happiness became sublime?...\"\n\n\"What does this have to do with the urge of the senses?\" Ubertino asked. \"It was a mystical experience, and the body was our Lord's.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I am accustomed to Oxford,\" William said, \"where even mystical experience was of another sort....\"\n\n\"All in the head.\" Ubertino smiled.\n\n\"Or in the eyes. God perceived as light, in the rays of the sun, the images of mirrors, the diffusion of colors over the parts of ordered matter, in the reflections of daylight on wet leaves... Isn't this love closer to Francis's when he praises God in His creatures, flowers, grass, water, air? I don't believe this type of love can produce any snare. Whereas I'm suspicious of a love that transmutes into a colloquy with the Almighty the shudders felt in fleshly contacts....\"\n\n\"You blaspheme, William! It is not the same thing. There is an immense abyss between the high ecstasy of the heart loving Christ Crucified and the base, corrupt ecstasy of the Pseudo Apostles of Montefalco....\"\n\n\"They were not Pseudo Apostles, they were Brothers of the Free Spirit; you said as much yourself.\"\n\n\"What difference is there? You haven't heard everything about that trial, I myself never dared record certain confessions, for fear of casting, if only for a moment, the shadow of the Devil on the atmosphere of sanctity Clare had created in that place. But I learned certain things, certain things, William! They gathered at night in a cellar, they took a newborn boy, they threw him from one to another until he died, of blows... or other causes.... And he who caught him alive for the last time, and held him as he died, became the leader of the sect.... And the child's body was torn to pieces and mixed with flour, to make blasphemous hosts!\" \"Ubertino,\" William said firmly, \"these things were said, many centuries ago, by the Armenian bishops, about the sect of the Paulicians. And about the Bogomils.\"\n\n\"What does that matter? The Devil is stubborn, he follows a pattern in his snares and his seductions, he repeats his rituals at a distance of millennia, he is always the same, this is precisely why he is recognized as the enemy! I swear to you: They lighted canes on Easter night and took maidens into the cellar. Then they extinguished the candles and threw themselves on the maidens, even if they were bound to them by ties of blood.... And if from this conjunction a baby was born, the infernal rite was resumed, all around a little jar of wine, which they called the keg, and they became drunk and would cut the baby to pieces, and pour its blood into the goblet, and they threw babies on the fire, still alive, and they mixed the baby's ashes and his blood, and drank!\"\n\n\"But Michael Psellus wrote this in his book on the workings of devils three hundred years ago! Who told you these things?\"\n\n\"They did. Bentivenga and the others, and under torture!\"\n\n\"There is only one thing that arouses animals more than pleasure, and that is pain. Under torture you are as if under the dominion of those grasses that produce visions. Everything you have heard told, everything you have read returns to your mind, as if you were being transported, not toward heaven, but toward hell. Under torture you say not only what the inquisitor wants, but also what you imagine might please him, because a bond (this, truly, diabolical) is established between you and him.... These things I know, Ubertino; I also have belonged to those groups of men who believe they can produce the truth with white-hot iron. Well, let me tell you, the white heat of truth comes from another flame. Under torture Bentivenga may have told the most absurd lies, because it was no longer himself speaking, but his lust, the devils of his soul.\"\n\n\"Lust?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a lust for pain, as there is a lust for adoration, and even a lust for humility. If it took so little to make the rebellious angels direct their ardor away from worship and humility toward pride and revolt, what can we expect of a human being? There, now you know: this was the thought that struck me in the course of my inquisitions. And this is why I gave up that activity. I lacked the courage to investigate the weaknesses of the wicked, because I discovered they are the same as the weaknesses of the saintly.\"\n\nUbertino had listened to William's last words as if not understanding them. From the old man's expression, as it became filled with affectionate commiseration, I realized he considered William prey to culpable sentiments, which he forgave because he loved my master greatly. Ubertino interrupted him and said in a very bitter voice, \"It does not matter. If that was how you felt, you were right to stop. Temptations must be fought. Still, I lacked your support; with it, we could have routed that band. And instead, you know what happened, I myself was accused of being weak toward them, and I was suspected of heresy. You were weak also, in fighting evil. Evil, William! Will this condemnation never cease, this shadow, this mire that prevents us from arriving at the holy source?\" He moved still closer to William, as if he were afraid someone might overhear.\n\n\"Here, too, even among these walls consecrated to prayer, you know?\"\n\n\"I know. The abbot has spoken to me; in fact, he asked me to help him shed light on it.\"\n\n\"Then observe, investigate, look with a lynx's eye in both directions: lust and pride....\"\n\n\"Lust?\"\n\n\"Yes, lust. There was something... feminine, and therefore diabolical, about that young man who is dead. He had the eyes of a maiden seeking commerce with an incubus. But I said 'pride' also, the pride of the intellect, in this monastery consecrated to the pride of the word, to the illusion of wisdom.\"\n\n\"If you know something, help me.\"\n\n\"I know nothing. There is nothing that I know. But the heart senses certain things. Let your heart speak, question faces, do not listen to tongues.... But come, why must we talk of these sad things and frighten this young friend of ours?\" He looked at me with his pale-blue eyes, grazing my cheek with his long white fingers, and I instinctively almost withdrew; I controlled myself and was right to do so, because I would have offended him, and his intention was pure. \"Tell me of yourself instead,\" he said, turning' again to William. \"What have you done since then? It has been\u2014\"\n\n\"Eighteen years. I went back to my country. I resumed studying at Oxford. I studied nature.\"\n\n\"Nature is good because she is the daughter of God,\" Ubertino said.\n\n\"And God must be good, since He generated nature,\" William said with a smile. \"I studied, I met some very wise friends. Then I came to know Marsilius, I was attracted by his ideas about empire, the people, about a new law for the kingdoms of the earth, and so I ended up in that group of our brothers who are advising the Emperor. But you know these things: I wrote you. I rejoiced at Bobbio when they told me you were here. We believed you were lost. But now that you are with us you can be of great help in a few days, when Michael also arrives. It will be a harsh conflict with Berengar Talloni. I really believe we will have some amusement.\"\n\nUbertino looked at him with a tentative smile. \"I can never tell when you Englishmen are speaking seriously. There is nothing amusing about such a serious question. At stake is the survival of the order, which is your order; and in my heart it is mine, too. But I shall implore Michael not to go to Avignon. John wants him, seeks him, invites him too insistently. Don't trust that old Frenchman. O Lord, into what hands has Thy church fallen!\" He turned his head toward the altar. \"Transformed into harlot, weakened by luxury, she roils in lust like a snake in heat! From the naked purity of the stable of Bethlehem, made of wood as the lignum vitae of the cross was wood, to the bacchanalia of gold and stone! Look, look here: you have seen the doorway! There is no escaping the pride of images! The days of the Antichrist are finally at hand, and I am afraid, William!\" He looked around, staring wide-eyed among the dark naves, as if the Antichrist were going to appear any moment, and I actually expected to glimpse him. \"His lieutenants are already here, dispatched as Christ dispatched the apostles into the world! They are trampling on the City of God, seducing through deceit, hypocrisy, violence. It will be then that God will have to send His servants, Elijah and Enoch, whom He maintained alive in the earthly paradise so that one day they may confound the Antichrist, and they will come to prophesy clad in sackcloth, and they will preach penance by word and by example....\"\n\n\"They have already come, Ubertino,\" William said, indicating his Franciscan habit.\n\n\"But they have not yet triumphed; this is the moment when the Antichrist, filled with rage, will command the killing of Enoch and Elijah and the exposure of their bodies for all to see and thus be afraid of imitating them. Just as they wanted to kill me....\"\n\nAt that moment, terrified, I thought Ubertino was in the power of a kind of holy frenzy, and I feared for his reason. Now, with the distance of time, knowing what I know\u2014namely, that two years later he would be mysteriously killed in a German city by a murderer never discovered\u2014I am all the more terrified, because obviously that evening Ubertino was prophesying.\n\n\"The abbot Joachim spoke the truth, you know. We have reached the sixth era of human history, when two Antichrists will appear, the mystic Antichrist and the Antichrist proper. This is happening now, in the sixth era, after Francis appeared to receive in his own flesh the five wounds of Jesus Crucified. Boniface was the mystic Antichrist, and the abdication of Celestine was not valid. Boniface was the beast that rises up from the sea whose seven heads represent the offenses to the deadly sins and whose ten horns the offenses to the commandments, and the cardinals who surrounded him were the locusts, whose body is Apollyon! But the number of the beast, if you read the name in Greek letters, is Benedicti!\" He stared at me to see whether I had understood, and he raised a finger, cautioning me: \"Benedict XI was the Antichrist proper, the beast that rises up from the earth! God allowed such a monster of vice and iniquity to govern His church so that his successor's virtues would blaze with glory!\"\n\n\"But, Sainted Father,\" I replied in a faint voice, summoning my courage, \"his successor is John!\"\n\nUbertino put a hand to his brow as if to dispel a troublesome dream. He was breathing with difficulty; he was tired. \"True, the calculations were wrong, we are still awaiting the Angelic Pope.... But meanwhile Francis and Dominic have appeared.\" He raised his eyes to heaven and said, as if praying (but I was sure he was quoting a page of his great book on the tree of life): \"Quorum primus seraphico calculo purgatus et ardore celico inflammatus totum incendere videbatur. Secundus vero verbo predicationis fecundus super mundi tenebras clarius radiavit.\u2026 Yes, these were the promises: the Angelic Pope must come.\"\n\n\"And so be it, Ubertino,\" William said. \"Meanwhile, I am here to prevent the human Emperor from being deposed. Your Angelic Pope was also preached by Fra Dolcino.\u2026\"\n\n\"Never utter again the name of that serpent!\" Ubertino cried, and for the first time I saw his sorrow turn into rage. \"He has befouled the words of Joachim of Calabria, and has made them bringers of death and filth! Messenger of the Antichrist if ever there was one! But you, William, speak like this because you do not really believe in the advent of the Antichrist, and your masters at Oxford have taught you to idolize reason, drying up the prophetic capacities of your heart!\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, Ubertino,\" William answered very seriously. \"You know that among my masters I venerate Roger Bacon more than any other.\u2026\"\n\n\"Who raved of flying machines,\" Ubertino muttered bitterly.\n\n\"Who spoke clearly and calmly of the Antichrist, and was aware of the import of the corruption of the world and the decline of learning. He taught, however, that there is only one way to prepare against his coming: study the secrets of nature, use knowledge to better the human race. We can prepare to fight the Antichrist by studying the curative properties of herbs, the nature of stones, and even by planning those flying machines that make you smile.\"\n\n\"Your Bacon's Antichrist was a pretext for cultivating intellectual pride.\"\n\n\"A holy pretext.\"\n\n\"Nothing pretextual is holy. William, you know I love you. You know I have great faith in you. Mortify your intelligence, learn to weep over the wounds of the Lord, throw away your books.\"\n\n\"I will devote myself only to yours.\" William smiled.\n\nUbertino also smiled and waved a threatening finger at him. \"Foolish Englishman. Do not laugh too much at your fellows. Those whom you cannot love you should, rather, fear. And be on your guard here at the abbey. I do not like this place.\"\n\n\"I want to know it better, in fact,\" William said, taking his leave. \"Come, Adso.\"\n\n\"I tell you it is not good, and you reply that you want to know it better. Ah!\" Ubertino said, shaking his head.\n\n\"By the way,\" William said, already halfway down the nave, \"who is that monk who looks like an animal and speaks the language of Babel?\"\n\n\"Salvatore?\" Ubertino, who had already knelt down, turned. \"I believe he was a gift of mine to this abbey... along with the cellarer. When I put aside the Franciscan habit I returned for a while to my old convent at Casale, and there I found other monks in difficulty, because the community accused them of being Spirituals of my sect... as they put it. I exerted myself in their favor, procuring permission for them to follow my example. And two, Salvatore and Remigio, I found here when I arrived last year. Salvatore... he does indeed look like an animal. But he is obliging.\"\n\nWilliam hesitated a moment. \"I heard him say Penitenziagite.\"\n\nUbertino was silent. He waved one hand, as if to drive off a bothersome thought. \"No, I don't believe so. You know how these lay brothers are. Country people, who have perhaps heard some wandering preacher and don't know what they are saying. I would have other reproaches to make to Salvatore: he is a greedy animal and lustful. But nothing, nothing against orthodoxy. No, the sickness of the abbey is something else: seek it among those who know too much, not in those who know nothing. Don't build a castle of suspicions on one word.\"\n\n\"I would never do that,\" William answered. \"I gave up being an inquisitor precisely to avoid doing that. But I like also to listen to words, and then I think about them.\"\n\n\"You think too much. Boy,\" he said, addressing me, \"don't learn too many bad examples from your master. The only thing that must be pondered\u2014and I realize this at the end of my life\u2014is death. Mors est quies viatoris\u2014finis est omnis laboris. Let me pray now.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TOWARD NONES",
                "text": "In which William has a very erudite conversation with Severinus the herbalist.\n\nWe walked again down the central nave and came out through the door by which we had entered. I could still hear Ubertino's words, all of them, buzzing in my head. \"That man is... odd,\" I dared say to William.\n\n\"He is, or has been, in many ways a great man. But for this very reason he is odd. It is only petty men who seem normal. Ubertino could have become one of the heretics he helped burn, or a cardinal of the holy Roman church. He came very close to both perversions. When I talk with Ubertino I have the impression that hell is heaven seen from the other side.\"\n\nI did not grasp his meaning. \"From what side?\" I asked.\n\n\"Ah, true,\" William acknowledged the problem. \"It is a matter of knowing whether there are sides and whether there is a whole. But pay no attention to me. And stop looking at that doorway,\" he said, striking me lightly on the nape as I was turning, attracted by the sculptures I had seen on entering. \"They have frightened you enough for today. All of them.\"\n\nAs I turned back to the exit, I saw in front of me another monk. He could have been William's age. He smiled and greeted us cordially. He said he was Severinus of Sankt Wendel, and he was the brother herbalist, in charge of the balneary, the infirmary, the gardens, and he was ours to command if we would like to learn our way better around the abbey compound.\n\nWilliam thanked him and said he had already remarked, on coming in, the very fine vegetable garden, where it looked to him as if not only edible plants were grown, but also medicinal ones, from what he could tell, given the snow.\n\n\"In summer or spring, through the variety of its plants, each then adorned with its flowers, this garden sings better the praises of the Creator,\" Severinus said, somewhat apologetically. \"But even now, in winter, the herbalist's eye sees through the dry branches the plants that will come, and he can tell you that this garden is richer than any herbal ever was, and more varicolored, beautiful as the illuminations are in those volumes. Furthermore, good herbs grow also in winter, and I preserve others gathered and ready in the pots in my laboratory. And so with the roots of the wood sorrel I treat catarrhs, and with the decoction of althea roots I make plasters for skin diseases; burrs cicatrize eczemas; by chopping and grinding the snakeroot rhizome I treat diarrheas and certain female complaints; pepper is a fine digestive; coltsfoot eases the cough; and we have good gentian also for the digestion, and I have glycyrrhiza, and juniper for making excellent infusions, and elder bark with which I make a decoction for the liver, soapwort, whose roots are macerated in cold water for catarrh, and valerian, whose properties you surely know.\"\n\n\"You have widely varied herbs, and suited to different climates. How do you manage that?\"\n\n\"On the one hand, I owe it to the mercy of the Lord, who set our high plain between a range that overlooks the sea to the south and receives its warm winds, and the higher mountain to the north whose sylvan balsams we receive. And on the other hand, I owe it to my art, which, unworthily, I learned at the wish of my masters. Certain plants will grow even in an adverse climate if you take care of the terrain around them, and their nourishment, and their growth.\"\n\n\"But you also have plants that are good only to eat?\" I asked.\n\n\"Ah, my hungry young colt, there are no plants good for food that are not good for treating the body, too, provided they are taken in the right quantity. Only excess makes them cause illness. Consider the pumpkin. It is cold and damp by nature and slakes thirst, but if you eat it when rotten it gives you diarrhea and you must bind your viscera with a paste of brine and mustard. And onions? Warm and damp, in small quantities they enhance coitus (for those who have not taken our vows, naturally), but too many bring on a heaviness of the head, to be combated with milk and vinegar. A good reason,\" he added slyly, \"why a young monk should always eat them sparingly. Eat garlic instead. Warm and dry, it is good against poisons. But do not use it to excess, for it causes too many humors to be expelled from the brain. Beans, on the contrary, produce urine and are fattening, two very good things. But they induce bad dreams. Far less, however, than certain other herbs. There are some that actually provoke evil visions.\"\n\n\"Which?\" I asked.\n\n\"Aha, our novice wants to know too much. These are things that only the herbalist must know; otherwise any thoughtless person could go about distributing visions: in other words, lying with herbs.\"\n\n\"But you need only a bit of nettle,\" William said then, \"or roybra or olieribus to be protected against such visions. I hope you have some of these good herbs.\" Severinus gave my master a sidelong glance. \"You are interested in herbalism?\"\n\n\"Just a little,\" William said modestly, \"since I came upon the Theatrum Sanitatis of Ububchasym de Baldach\u2026\"\n\n\"Abul Asan al-Muchtar ibn-Botlan.\"\n\n\"Or Ellucasim Elimittar: as you prefer. I wonder whether a copy is to be found here.\"\n\n\"One of the most beautiful. With many rich illustrations.\"\n\n\"Heaven be praised. And the De virtutibm herbarum of Platearius?\"\n\n\"That, too. And the De plantis of Aristotle, translated by Alfred of Sareshel.\"\n\n\"I have heard it said that Aristotle did not really write that work,\" William remarked, \"just as he was not the author of the De causis, it has been discovered.\"\n\n\"In any event it is a great book,\" Severinus observed, and my master agreed most readily, not asking whether the herbalist was speaking of the De plantis or of the De causu, both works that I did not know but which, from that conversation, I deduced must be very great.\n\n\"I shall be happy,\" Severinus concluded, \"to have some frank conversation with you about herbs.\"\n\n\"I shall be still happier,\" William said, \"but would we not be breaking the rule of silence, which I believe obtains in your order?\"\n\n\"The Rule,\" Severinus said, \"has been adapted over the centuries to the requirements of the different communities. The Rule prescribed the lectio divina but not study, and yet you know how much our order has developed inquiry into divine and human affairs. Also, the Rule prescribes a common dormitory, but at times it is right that the monks have, as we do here, chances to meditate also during the night, and so each of them is given his own cell. The Rule is very rigid on the question of silence, and here with us, not only the monk who performs manual labor but also those who write or read must not converse with their brothers. But the abbey is first and foremost a community of scholars, and often it is useful for monks to exchange the accumulated treasures of their learning. All conversation regarding our studies is considered legitimate and profitable, provided it does not take place in the refectory or during the hours of the holy offices.\"\n\n\"Had you much occasion to talk with Adelmo of Otranto?\" William asked abruptly.\n\nSeverinus did not seem surprised. \"I see the abbot has already spoken with you,\" he said. \"No. I did not converse with him often. He spent his time illuminating. I did hear him on occasion talking with other monks, Venantius of Salvemec, or Jorge of Burgos, about the nature of his work. Besides, I don't spend my day in the scriptorium, but in my laboratory.\" And he nodded toward the infirmary building.\n\n\"I understand,\" William said. \"So you don't know whether Adelmo had visions.\"\n\n\"Visions?\"\n\n\"Like the ones your herbs induce, for example.\"\n\nSeverinus stiffened. \"I told you: I store the dangerous herbs with great care.\"\n\n\"That is not what I meant,\" William hastened to clarify. \"I was speaking of visions in general.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Severinus insisted.\n\n\"I was thinking that a monk who wanders at night about the Aedificium, where, by the abbot's admission... terrible things can happen\u2026 to those who enter during forbidden hours\u2014well, as I say, I was thinking he might have had diabolical visions that drove him to the precipice.\"\n\n\"I told you: I don't visit the scriptorium, except when I need a book; but as a rule I have my own herbaria, which I keep in the infirmary. As I said, Adelmo was very close to Jorge, Venantius, and... naturally, Berengar.\"\n\nEven I sensed the slight hesitation in Severinus's voice. Nor did it escape my master. \"Berengar? And why 'naturally'?\"\n\n\"Berengar of Arundel, the assistant librarian. They were of an age, they had been novices together, it was normal for them to have things to talk about. That is what I meant.\"\n\n\"Ah, that is what you meant,\" William repeated. And to my surprise he did not pursue the matter. In fact, he promptly changed the subject. \"But perhaps it is time for us to visit the Aedificium. Will you act as our guide?\"\n\n\"Gladly,\" Severinus said, with all-too-evident relief. He led us along the side of the garden and brought us to the west fa\u00e7ade of the Aedificium.\n\n\"Facing the garden is the door leading to the kitchen,\" he said, \"but the kitchen occupies only the western half of the ground floor; in the other half is the refectory. And at the south entrance, which you reach from behind the choir in the church, there are two other doors leading to the kitchen and the refectory. But we can go in here, because from the kitchen we can then go on through to the refectory.\"\n\nAs I entered the vast kitchen, I realized that the entire height of the Aedificium enclosed an octagonal court; I understood later that this was a kind of huge well, without any access, onto which, at each floor, opened broad windows, like the ones on the exterior. The kitchen was a vast smoke-filled entrance hall, where many servants were already busy preparing the food for supper. On a great table two of them were making a pie of greens, barley, oats, and rye, chopping turnips, cress, radishes, and carrots. Nearby, another cook had just finished poaching some fish in a mixture of wine and water, and was covering them with a sauce of sage, parsley, thyme, garlic, pepper, and salt.\n\nBeneath the west tower an enormous oven opened, for baking bread; it was already flashing with reddish flames. In the south tower there was an immense fireplace, where great pots were boiling and spits were turning. Through the door that opened onto the barnyard behind the church, the swineherds were entering at that, moment, carrying the meat of the slaughtered pigs. We went out through that same door and found ourselves in the yard, at the far eastern end of the plain, against the walls, where there were many buildings. Severinus explained to me that the first was the series of barns, then there stood the horses' stables, then those for the oxen, and then chicken coops, and the covered yard for the sheep. Outside the pigpens, swineherds were stirring a great jarful of the blood of the freshly slaughtered pigs, to keep it from coagulating. If it was stirred properly and promptly, it would remain liquid for the next few days, thanks to the cold climate, and then they would make blood puddings from it.\n\nWe reentered the Aedificium and cast a quick glance at the refectory as we crossed it, heading toward the east tower. Of the two towers between which the refectory extended, the northern one housed a fireplace, the other a circular staircase that led to the scriptorium, on the floor above. By this staircase the monks went up to their work every day, or else they used the other two staircases, less comfortable but well heated, which rose in spirals inside the fireplace here and inside the oven in the kitchen.\n\nWilliam asked whether we would find anyone in the scriptorium, since it was Sunday. Severinus smiled and said that work, for the Benedictine monk, is prayer. On Sunday offices lasted longer, but the monks assigned to work on books still spent some hours up there, usually engaged in fruitful exchanges of learned observations, counsel, reflections on Holy Scripture."
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER NONES",
                "text": "In which there is a visit to the scriptorium, and a meeting with many scholars, copyists, and rubricators, as well as an old blind man who is expecting the Antichrist.\n\nAs we climbed up I saw my master observing the windows that gave light to the stairway. I was probably becoming as clever as he, because I immediately noticed that their position would make it difficult for a person to reach them. On the other hand, the windows of the refectory (the only ones on the ground floor that overlooked the cliff face) did not seem easily reached, either, since below them there was no furniture of any kind.\n\nWhen we reached the top of the stairs, we went through the east tower into the scriptorium, and there I could not suppress a cry of wonder. This floor was not divided in two like the one below, and therefore it appeared to my eyes in all its spacious immensity. The ceilings, curved and not too high (lower than in a church, but still higher than in any chapter house I ever saw), supported by sturdy pillars, enclosed a space suffused with the most beautiful light, because three enormous windows opened on each of the longer sides, whereas a smaller window pierced each of the five external sides of each tower; eight high, narrow windows, finally, allowed light to enter from the octagonal central well.\n\nThe abundance of windows meant that the great room was cheered by a constant diffused light, even on a winter afternoon. The panes were not colored like church windows, and the lead-framed squares of clear glass allowed the light to enter in the purest possible fashion, not modulated by human art, and thus to serve its purpose, which was to illuminate the work of reading and writing. I have seen at other times and in other places many scriptoria, but none where there shone so luminously, in the outpouring, of physical light which made the room glow, the spiritual principle that light incarnates, radiance, source of all beauty and learning, inseparable attribute of that proportion the room embodied. For three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion or consonance; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color. And since the sight of the beautiful implies peace, and since our appetite is calmed similarly by peacefulness, by the good, and by the beautiful, I felt myself filled with a great consolation and I thought how pleasant it must be to work in that place.\n\nAs it appeared to my eyes, at that afternoon hour, it seemed to me a joyous workshop of learning. I saw later at St. Gall a scriptorium of similar proportions, also separated from the library (in other convents the monks worked in the same place where the books were kept), but not so beautifully arranged as this one. Antiquarians, librarians, rubricators, and scholars were seated, each at his own desk, and there was a desk under each of the windows. And since there were forty windows (a number truly perfect, derived from the decupling of the quadragon, as if the Ten Commandments had been multiplied by the four cardinal virtues), forty monks could work at the same time, though at that moment there were perhaps thirty. Severinus explained to us that monks working in the scriptorium were exempted from the offices of terce, sext, and nones so they would not have to leave their work during the hours of daylight, and they stopped their activity only at sunset, for vespers.\n\nThe brightest places were reserved for the antiquarians, the most expert illuminators, the rubricators, and the copyists. Each desk had everything required for illuminating and copying: inkhorns, fine quills which some monks were sharpening with a thin knife, pumice stone for smoothing the parchment, rulers for drawing the lines that the writing would follow. Next to each scribe, or at the top of the sloping desk, there was a lectern, on which the codex to be copied was placed, the page covered by a sheet with a cut-out window which framed the line being copied at that moment. And some had inks of gold and various colors. Other monks were simply reading books, and they wrote down their annotations in their personal notebooks or on tablets.\n\nI did not have time, however, to observe their work, because the librarian came to us. We already knew he was Malachi of Hildesheim. His face was trying to assume an expression of welcome, but I could not help shuddering at the sight of such a singular countenance. He was tall and extremely thin, with large and awkward limbs. As he took his great strides, cloaked in the black habit of the order, there was something upsetting about his appearance. The hood, which was still raised since he had come in from outside, cast a shadow on the pallor of his face and gave a certain suffering quality to his large melancholy eyes. In his physiognomy there were what seemed traces of many passions which his will had disciplined but which seemed to have frozen those features they had now ceased to animate. Sadness and severity predominated in the lines of his face, and his eyes were so intense that with one glance they could penetrate the heart of the person speaking to him, and read the secret thoughts, so it was difficult to tolerate their inquiry and one was not tempted to meet them a second time.\n\nThe librarian introduced us to many of the monks who were working at that moment. Of each, Malachi also told us what task he was performing, and I admired the deep devotion of all to knowledge and to the study of the divine word. Thus I met Venantius of Salvemec, translator from the Greek and the Arabic, devoted to that Aristotle who surely was the wisest of all men. Benno of Uppsala, a young Scandinavian monk who was studying rhetoric. Aymaro of Alessandria, who had been copying works on loan to the library for a few months only, and then a group of illuminators from various countries, Patrick of Clonmacnois, Rabano of Toledo, Magnus of Iona, Waldo of Hereford.\n\nThe list could surely go on, and there is nothing more wonderful than a list, instrument of wondrous hypotyposis. But I must come to the subject of our discussion, from which emerged many useful indications as to the nature of the subtle uneasiness among the monks, and some concerns, not expressed, that still weighed on all our conversations.\n\nMy master began speaking with Malachi, praising the beauty and the industry of the scriptorium and asking him for information about the procedure for the work done there, because, he said very acutely, he had heard this library spoken of everywhere and would like to examine many of the books. Malachi explained to him what the abbot had already said: the monk asked the librarian for the work he wished to consult and the librarian then went to fetch it from the library above, if the request was justified and devout. William asked how he could find out the names of the books kept in the cases upstairs, and Malachi showed him, fixed by a little gold chain to his own desk, a voluminous codex covered with very thickly written lists.\n\nWilliam slipped his hands inside his habit, at the point where it billowed over his chest to make a kind of sack, and he drew from it an object that I had already seen in his hands, and on his face, in the course of our journey. It was a forked pin,. so constructed that it could stay on a man's nose (or at least on his, so prominent and aquiline) as a rider remains astride his horse or as a bird clings to its perch. And, one on either side of the fork, before the eyes, there were two ovals of metal, which held two almonds of glass, thick as the bottom of a tumbler. William preferred to read with these before his eyes, and he said they made his vision better than what nature had endowed him with or than his advanced age, especially as the daylight failed, would permit. They did not serve him to see from a distance, for then his eyes were, on the contrary, quite sharp, but to see close up. With these lenses he could read manuscripts penned in very faint letters, which even I had some trouble deciphering. He explained to me that, when a man had passed the middle point of his life, even if his sight had always been excellent, the eye hardened and the pupil became recalcitrant, so that many learned men had virtually died, as far as reading and writing were concerned, after their fiftieth summer. A grave misfortune for men who could have given the best fruits of their intellect for many more years. So the Lord was to be praised since someone had devised and constructed this instrument. And he told me this in support of the ideas of his Roger Bacon, who had said that the aim of learning was also to prolong human life.\n\nThe other monks looked at William with great curiosity but did not dare ask him questions. And I noticed that, even in a place so zealously and proudly dedicated to reading and writing, that wondrous instrument had not yet arrived. I felt proud to be at the side of a man who had something with which to dumbfound other men famous in the world for their wisdom.\n\nWith those objects on his eyes William bent over the lists inscribed in the codex. I looked, too, and we found titles of books we had never before heard of, and others most famous, that the library possessed.\n\n\"De pentagono Salomonis, Ars loquendi et intellige\u00f1di in lingua hebraica, De rebus metallicis by Roger of Hereford, Algebra by Al-Kuwarizmi, translated into Latin by Robertus Anglicus, the Punica of Silius Italicus, the Gesta francorum, De laudibus sanctae crucis by Rabanus Maurus, and Flavii Claudii Giordani de aetate mundi et hominis reservatis singulis litteris per singulos libros ab A usque ad Z,\" my master read. \"Splendid works. But in what order are they listed?\" He quoted from a text I did not know but which was certainly familiar to Malachi: \" 'The librarian must have a list of all books, carefully ordered by subjects and authors, and they must be classified on the shelves with numerical indications.' How do you know the collocation of each book?\"\n\nMalachi showed him some annotations beside each title. I read: \"iii, IV gradus, V in prima graecorum\"; \"ii, V gradus, VII in tertia anglorum,\" and so on. I understood that the first number indicated the position of the book on the shelf or gradus, which was in turn indicated by the second number, while the case was indicated by the third number; and I understood also that the other phrases designated a room or a corridor of the library, and I made bold to ask further information about these last distinctions. Malachi looked at me sternly: \"Perhaps you do not know, or have forgotten, that only the librarian is allowed access to the library. It is therefore right and sufficient that only the librarian know how to decipher these things.\"\n\n\"But in what order are the books recorded in this list?\" William asked. \"Not by subject, it seems to me.\" He did not suggest an order by author, following the same sequence as the letters of the alphabet, for this is a system I have seen adopted only in recent years, and at that time it was rarely used.\n\n\"The library dates back to the earliest times,\" Malachi said, \"and the books are registered in order of their acquisition, donation, or entrance within our walls.\"\n\n\"They are difficult to find, then,\" William observed.\n\n\"It is enough for the librarian to know them by heart and know when each book came here. As for the other monks, they can rely on his memory.\" He spoke as if discussing someone other than himself, and I realized he was speaking of the office that at that moment he unworthily held, but which had been held by a hundred others, now deceased, who had handed down their knowledge from one to the other.\n\n\"I understand,\" William said. \"If I were then to seek something, not knowing what, on the pentagon of Solomon, you would be able to tell me that there exists the book whose title I have just read, and you could identify its location on the floor above.\"\n\n\"If you really had to learn something about the pentagon of Solomon,\" Malachi said. \"But before giving you that book, I would prefer to ask the abbot's advice.\"\n\n\"I have been told that one of your best illuminators died recently,\" William said then. \"The abbot has spoken to me a great deal of his art. Could I see the codices he was illuminating?\"\n\n\"Because of his youth, Adelmo of Otranto,\" Malachi said, looking at William suspiciously, \"worked only on marginalia. He had a very lively imagination and from known things he was able to compose unknown and surprising things, as one might join a human body to an equine neck. His books are over there. Nobody has yet touched his desk.\"\n\nWe approached what had been Adelmo's working place, where the pages of a richly illuminated psalter still lay. They were folios of the finest vellum\u2014that queen among parchments\u2014and the last was still fixed to the desk. Just scraped with pumice stone and softened with chalk, it had been smoothed with the plane, and, from the tiny holes made on the sides with a fine stylus, all the lines that were to have guided the artist's hand had been traced. The first half had' already been covered with writing, and the monk had begun to sketch the illustrations in the margins. The other pages, on the contrary, were already finished, and as we looked at them, neither I nor William could suppress a cry of wonder. This was a psalter in whose margins was delineated a world reversed with respect to the one to which our senses have accustomed us. As if at the border of a discourse that is by definition the discourse of truth, there proceeded, closely linked to it, through wondrous allusions in aenigmate, a discourse of falsehood on a topsy-turvy universe, in which dogs flee before the hare, and deer hunt the lion. Little bird-feet heads, animals with human hands on their back, hirsute pates from which feet sprout, zebra-striped dragons, quadrupeds with serpentine necks twisted in a thousand inextricable knots, monkeys with stags' horns, sirens in the form of fowl with membranous wins, armless men with other human bodies emerging from their backs like humps, and figures with tooth-filled mouths on the belly, humans with horses' heads, and horses with human legs, fish with birds' wings and birds with fishtails, monsters with single bodies and double heads or single heads and double bodies, cows with cocks' tails and butterfly wings, women with heads scaly as a fish's back, two-headed chimeras interlaced with dragonflies with lizard snouts, centaurs, dragons, elephants, manticores stretched out on tree branches, gryphons whose tails turned into an archer in battle array, diabolical creatures with endless necks, sequences of anthropomorphic animals and zoomorphic dwarfs joined, sometimes on the same page, with scenes of rustic life in which you saw, depicted with such impressive vivacity that the figures seemed alive, all the life of the fields, plowmen, fruit gatherers, harvesters, spinning-women, sowers alongside foxes, and martens armed with crossbows who were scaling the walls of a towered city defended by monkeys. Here an initial letter, bent into an L, in the lower part generated a dragon; there a great V, which began the word \"verba,\" produced as a natural shoot from its trunk a serpent with a thousand coils, which in turn begot other serpents as leaves and clusters.\n\nNext to the psalter there was, apparently finished only a short time before, an exquisite book of hours, so incredibly small that it would fit into the palm of the hand. The writing was tiny; the marginal illuminations, barely visible at first sight, demanded that the eye examine them closely to reveal all their beauty (and you asked yourself with what superhuman instrument the artist had drawn them to achieve such vivid effects in a space so reduced). The entire margins of the book were invaded by minuscule forms that generated one another, as if by natural expansion, from the terminal scrolls of the splendidly drawn letters: sea sirens, stags in flight, chimeras, armless human torsos that emerged like slugs from the very body of the verses. At one point, as if to continue the triple \"Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus\" repeated on three different lines, you saw three ferocious figures with human heads, two of which were bent, one downward and one upward, to join in a kiss you would not have hesitated to call immodest if you were not persuaded that a profound, even if not evident, spiritual meaning must surely have justified that illustration at that point.\n\nAs I followed those pages I was torn between silent admiration and laughter, because the illustrations naturally inspired merriment, though they were commenting on holy pages. And Brother William examined them smiling and remarked, \"Babewyn: so they are called in my islands.\"\n\n\"Babouins: that is what they call them in Gaul,\" Malachi said. \"Adelmo learned his art in your country, although he studied also in France. Baboons, that is to say: monkeys from Africa. Figures of an inverted world, were houses stand on the tip of a steeple and the earth is above the sky.\"\n\nI recalled some verses I had heard in the vernacular of my country, and I could not refrain from repeating them:\n\n\u2003Aller wunder si geswigen,\n\n\u2003das erde himel h\u00e2t \u00fcberstigen,\n\n\u2003daz sult ir v\u00fcr ein wunder wigen\n\n\u2003And Malachi continued, quoting from the same text:\n\n\u2003Erd ob un himel unter,\n\n\u2003das sult ir h\u00e2n besunder\n\n\u2003v\u00fcr aller wonder ein rounder.\n\n\"Good for you, Adso,\" the librarian continued. \"In fact, these images tell of that country where you arrive mounted on a blue goose, where hawks are found that catch fish in a stream, bears that pursue falcons in the sky, lobsters that fly with the doves, and three giants are caught in a trap and bitten by a cock.\"\n\nAnd a pale smile brightened his lips. Then the other monks, who had followed the conversation a bit shyly, laughed heartily, as if they had been awaiting the librarian's consent. He frowned as the others continued laughing, praising the skill of poor Adelmo and pointing out to one another the more fantastic figures. And it was while all were still laughing that we heard, at our backs, a solemn and stern voice.\n\n\"Verba vana aut risui apta non loqui.\"\n\nWe turned. The speaker was a monk bent under the weight of his years, an old man white as snow, not only his skin, but also his face and his pupils. I saw he was blind. The voice was still majestic and the limbs powerful, even if the body was withered by age. He stared at us as if he could see us, and always thereafter I saw him move and speak as if he still possessed the gift of sight. But the tone of his voice was that of one possessing only the gift of prophecy.\n\n\"The man whom you see, venerable in age and wisdom,\" Malachi said to William, pointing out the newcomer, \"is Jorge of Burgos. Older than anyone else living in the monastery save Alinardo of Grottaferrata, he is the one to whom many monks here confide the burden of their sins in the secret of confession.\" Then, turning to the old man, he said, \"The man standing before you is Brother William of Baskerville, our guest.\"\n\n\"I hope my words did not anger you,\" the old man said in a curt tone. \"I heard persons laughing at laughable things and I reminded them of one of the principles of our Rule. And as the psalmist says, if the monk must refrain from good speech because of his vow of silence, all the more reason why he should avoid bad speech. And as there is bad speech there are also bad images. And they are those that lie about the form of creation and show the world as the opposite of what it should be, has always been, and always will be throughout the centuries until the end of time. But you come from another order, where I am told that merriment, even the most inopportune sort, is viewed with indulgence.\" He was repeating what the Benedictines said about the eccentricities of Saint Francis of Assisi, and perhaps also the bizarre whims attributed to those friars and Spirituals of every kind who were the most recent and embarrassing offshoots of the Franciscan order. But William gave no sign of understanding the insinuation.\n\n\"Marginal images often provoke smiles, but to edifying ends,\" he replied. 'As in sermons, to touch the imagination of devout throngs it is necessary to introduce exempla, not infrequently jocular, so also the discourse of images must indulge in these trivia. For every virtue and for every sin there is an example drawn from bestiaries, and animals exemplify the human world.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" the old man said mockingly, but without smiling, \"any image is good for inspiring virtue, provided the masterpiece of creation, turned with his head down, becomes the subject of laughter. And so the word of God is illustrated by the ass playing a lyre, the owl plowing with a shield, oxen yoking themselves to the plow, rivers flowing upstream, the sea catching flue, the wolf turning hermit! Go hunting for hares with oxen, have owls teach you grammar, have dogs bite fleas, the one-eyed guard the dumb, and the dumb ask for bread, the ant give birth to a calf, roast chickens fly, cakes grow on rooftops, parrots hold rhetoric lessons, hens fertilize cocks, make the cart go before the oxen, the dog sleep in a bed, and all walk with their heads on the ground! What is the aim of this nonsense? A world that is the reverse and the opposite of that established by God, under the pretext of teaching divine precepts!\"\n\n\"But as the Areopagite teaches,\" William said humbly, \"God can be named only through the most distorted things. And Hugh of St. Victor reminded us that the more the simile becomes dissimilar, the more the truth is revealed to us under the guise of horrible and indecorous figures, the less the imagination is sated in carnal enjoyment, and is thus obliged to perceive the mysteries hidden under the turpitude of the images.\u2026\"\n\n\"I know that line of reasoning! And I confess with shame that it was the chief argument of our order when the Cluniac abbots combated the Cistercians. But Saint Bernard was right: little by little the man who depicts monsters and portents of nature to reveal the things of God per speculum et in aenigmate, comes to enjoy the very nature of the monstrosities he creates and to delight in them, and as a result he no longer sees except through them. You have only to look, you who still have your sight, at the capitals of your cloister.\" And he motioned with his hand beyond the window, toward the church. \"Before the eyes of monks intent on meditation, what is the meaning of those ridiculous grotesques, those monstrous shapes and shapely monsters? Those sordid apes? Those lions, those centaurs, those half-human creatures, with mouths in their bellies, with single feet, ears like sails? Those spotted tigers, those fighting warriors, those hunters blowing their horns, and those many bodies with single heads and many heads with single bodies? Quadrupeds with serpents' tails, and fish with quadrupeds' faces, and here an animal who seems a horse in front and a ram behind, and there a horse with horns, and so on; by now it is more pleasurable for a monk to read marble than manuscript, and to admire the works of man than to meditate on the law of God. Shame! For the desire of your eyes and for your smiles!\"\n\nThe old man stopped, out of breath. And I admired the vivid memory thanks to which, blind perhaps for many years, he could still recall the images whose wickedness he decried. I was led to suspect they had greatly seduced him when he had seen them, since he could yet describe them with such passion. But it has often happened that I have found the most seductive depictions of sin in the pages of those -very men of incorruptible virtue who condemned their spell and their effects. A sign that these men are impelled by such eagerness to bear witness to the truth that they do not hesitate, out of love of God, to confer on evil all the seductions in which it cloaks itself; thus the writers inform men better of the ways through which the Evil One enchants them. And, in fact, Jorge's words filled me with a great desire to see the tigers and monkeys of the cloister, which I had not yet admired. But Jorge interrupted the flow of my thoughts because he resumed speaking, in a much calmer tone.\n\n\"Our Lord did not have to employ such foolish things to point out the strait and narrow path to us. Nothing in his parables arouses laughter, or fear. Adelmo, on the contrary, whose death you now mourn, took such pleasure in the monsters he painted that he lost sight of the ultimate things which they were to illustrate. And he followed all, I say all\"\u2014his voice became solemn and ominous\u2014\"the paths of monstrosity. Which God knows how to punish.\"\n\nA heavy silence fell. Venantius of Salvemec dared break it.\n\n\"Venerable Jorge,\" he said, \"your virtue makes you unjust. Two days before Adelmo died, you, were present at a learned debate right here in the scriptorium. Adelmo took care that his art, indulging in bizarre and fantastic images, was directed nevertheless to the glory of God, as an instrument of the knowledge of celestial things. Brother William mentioned just now the Areopagite, who spoke of learning through distortion. And Adelmo that day quoted another lofty authority, the doctor of Aquino, when he said that divine things should be expounded more properly in figures of vile bodies than of noble bodies. First because the human spirit is more easily freed from error; it is obvious, in fact, that certain properties cannot be attributed to divine things, and become uncertain if portrayed by noble corporeal things. In the second place because this humbler depiction is more suited to the knowledge that we have of God on this earth: He shows Himself here more in that which is not than in that which is, and therefore the similitudes of those things furthest from God lead us to a more exact notion of Him, for thus we know that He is above what we say and think. And in the third place because in this way the things of God are better hidden from unworthy persons. In other words, that day we were discussing the question of understanding how the truth can be revealed through surprising expressions, both shrewd and enigmatic. And I reminded him that in the work of the great Aristotle I had found very clear words on this score.\u2026\"\n\n\"I do not remember,\" Jorge interrupted sharply, \"I am very old. I do not remember. I may have been excessively severe. Now it is late, I must go.\"\n\n\"It is strange you should not remember,\" Venantius insisted; \"it was a very learned and fine discussion, in which Benno and Berengar also took part. The question, in fact, was whether metaphors and puns and riddles, which also seem conceived by poets for sheer pleasure, do not lead us to speculate on things in a new and surprising way, and I said that this is also a virtue demanded of the wise man.... And Malachi was also there.\u2026\"\n\n\"If the venerable Jorge does not remember, respect his age and the weariness of his mind... otherwise always so lively,\" one of the monks following the discussion said. The sentence was uttered in an agitated tone\u2014at least at the beginning, because the speaker, once realizing that in urging respect for the old man he was actually calling attention to a weakness, had slowed the pace of his own interjection, ending almost in a whisper of apology. It was Berengar of Arundel who had spoken, the assistant librarian. He was a pale-faced young man, and, observing him, I remembered Ubertino's description of Adelmo: his eyes seemed those of a lascivious woman. Made shy, for everyone was now looking at him, he held the fingers of both hands enlaced like one wishing to suppress an internal tension.\n\nVenantius's reaction was unusual. He gave Berengar a look that made him lower his eyes. \"Very well, Brother,\" he said, \"if memory is a gift of God, then the ability to forget can also be good, and must be respected. I respect it in the elderly brother to whom I was speaking. But from you I expected a sharper recollection of the things that happened when we were here with a dear friend of yours.\u2026\"\n\nI could not say whether Venantius underlined with his tone the word \"dear.\" The fact is that I sensed an embarrassment among those present. Each looked in a different direction, and no one looked at Berengar, who had blushed violently. Malachi promptly spoke up, with authority: \"Come, Brother William,\" he said, \"I will show you other interesting books.\"\n\nThe group dispersed. I saw Berengar give Venantius a look charged with animosity, and Venantius return the look, silent and defiant. Seeing that old Jorge was leaving, I was moved by a feeling of respectful reverence, and bowed to kiss his hand. The old man received the kiss, put his hand on my head, and asked who I was. When I told him my name, his face brightened.\n\n\"You bear a great and very beautiful name,\" he said. \"Do you know who Adso of Montier-en-Der was?\" he asked. I did not know, I confess. So Jorge added, \"He was the author of a great and awful book, the Libellus de Antichristo, in which he foresaw things that were to happen; but he was not sufficiently heeded.\"\n\n\"The book was written before the millennium,\" William said, \"and those things did not come to pass.\u2026\"\n\n\"For those who lack eyes to see,\" the blind man said. \"The ways of the Antichrist are slow and tortuous. He arrives when we do not expect him: not because the calculation suggested by the apostle was mistaken, but because we have not learned the art.\" Then he cried, in a very loud voice, his face turned toward the hall, making the ceiling of the scriptorium re-echo: \"He is coming! Do not waste your last days laughing at little monsters with spotted skins and twisted tails! Do not squander the last seven days!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "VESPERS",
                "text": "In which the rest of the abbey is visited, William comes to some conclusions about Adelmo's death, there is a conversation with the brother glazier about glasses for reading and about phantoms for those who seek to read too much.\n\nAt that point the bell rang for vespers and the monks prepared to leave their desks. Malachi made it clear to us that we, too, should leave. He would remain with his assistant, Berengar, to put things back in order (those were his words) and arrange the library for the night. William asked him whether he would be locking the doors.\n\n\"There are no doors that forbid access to the scriptorium from the kitchen and the refectory, or to the library from the scriptorium. Stronger than any door must be the abbot's prohibition. And the monks need both the kitchen and the refectory until compline. At that point, to prevent entry into the Aedificium by outsiders or animals, for whom the interdiction is not valid, I myself lock the outside doors, which open into the kitchen and the refectory, and from that hour on the Aedificium remains isolated.\"\n\nWe went down. As the monks headed toward the choir, my master decided the Lord would forgive us if we did not attend holy office (the Lord had a great deal to forgive us in the days that followed!), and he suggested I walk a bit with him over the grounds, so that we might familiarize ourselves with the place.\n\nThe weather was turning bad. A cold wind had risen and the sky was becoming foggy. The sun could be sensed, setting beyond the vegetable gardens; and toward the east it was already growing dark as we proceeded in that direction, flanking the choir of the church and reaching the rear part of the grounds. There, almost against the outside wall, where it joined the east tower of the Aedificium, were the stables; the swineherds were covering the jar containing the pigs' blood. We noticed that behind the stables the outside wall was lower, so that one could look over it. Beyond the sheer drop of the walls, the terrain that sloped dizzyingly down was covered with loose dirt that the snow could not completely hide. I realized this was the pile of old straw, which was thrown over the wall at that point and extended down to the curve where the path taken by the fugitive Brunellus began.\n\nIn the stalls nearby, the grooms were leading the animals to the manger. We followed the path along which, toward the wall, the various stalls were located; to the right, against the choir, were the dormitory of the monks and the latrines. Then, as the east wall turned northward, at the angle of the stone girdle, was the smithy. The last smiths were putting down their tools and extinguishing the fires, about to head for the holy office. William moved with curiosity toward one part of the smithy, almost separated from the rest of the workshop, where one monk was putting away his things. On his table was a very beautiful collection of multicolored pieces of glass, of tiny dimensions, but larger panes were set against the wall. In front of him there was a still-unfinished reliquary of which only the silver skeleton existed, but on it he had obviously been setting bits of glass and stones, which his instruments had reduced to the dimensions of gems.\n\nThus we met Nicholas of Morimondo, master glazier of the abbey. He explained to us that in the rear part of the forge they also blew glass, whereas in this front part, where the smiths worked, the glass was fixed to the leads, to make windows. But, he added, the great works of stained glass that adorned the church and the Aedificium had been completed at least two centuries before. Now he and the others confined themselves to minor tasks, and to repairing the damage of time.\n\n\"And with great difficulty,\" he added, \"because it's impossible now to find the colors of the old days, especially the remarkable blue you can still see in the choir, so limpid that, when the sun is high, it pours a light of paradise into the nave. The glass on the west side of the nave, restored not long ago, is not of the same quality, and you can tell, on summer days. It's hopeless,\" he went on. \"We no longer have the learning of the ancients, the age of giants is past!\"\n\n\"We are dwarfs,\" William admitted, \"but dwarfs who stand on the shoulders of those giants, and small though we are, we sometimes manage to see farther on the horizon than they.\"\n\n\"Tell me what we can do better than they were able to do,\" Nicholas exclaimed. \"If you go down to the crypt of the church, where the abbey's treasure is kept, you will find reliquaries of such exquisite craftsmanship that the little monstrosity I am now cobbling up\"\u2014he nodded toward his own work on the table\u2014\"will seem a mockery of those!\"\n\n\"It is not written that master glaziers must go on making windows, and goldsmiths reliquaries, since the masters of the past were able to produce such beautiful ones, destined to last over the centuries. Otherwise, the earth would become filled with reliquaries in a time when saints from whom to take relics are so rare,\" William jested. \"Nor will windows have to be soldered forever. But in various countries I have seen new works made of glass which suggest a future world where glass will serve not only for holy purposes but also as a help for man's weakness. I want to show you a creation of our own times, of which I am honored to own a very useful example.\" He dug inside his habit and drew out the lenses, which dumbfounded our interlocutor.\n\nWith great interest, Nicholas took the forked instrument William held out to him. \"Oculi de vitro cum capsula!\" he cried. \"I had heard tell of them from a Brother Jordan I met in Pisa! He said it was less than twenty years since they had been invented. But I spoke with him more than twenty years ago.\"\n\n\"I believe they were invented much earlier,\" William said, \"but they are difficult to make, and require highly expert master glaziers. They cost time and labor. Ten years ago a pair of these glasses ab oculis ad legendum were sold for six Bolognese crowns. I was given a pair of them by a great master, Salvinus of the Armati, more than ten years ago, and I have jealously preserved them all this time, as if they were\u2014as they now are\u2014a part of my very body.\"\n\n\"I hope you will allow me to examine them one of these days; I would be happy to produce some similar ones,\" Nicholas said, with emotion.\n\n\"Of course,\" William agreed, \"but mind you, the thickness of the glass must vary according to the eye it is to serve, and you must test many of these lenses, trying them on the person until the suitable thickness is found.\"\n\n\"What a wonder!\" Nicholas continued. \"And yet many would speak of witchcraft and diabolical machination.\u2026\"\n\n\"You can certainly speak of magic in this device,\" William allowed. \"But there are two forms of magic. There is a magic that is the work of the Devil and which aims at man's downfall through artifices of which it is not licit to speak. But there is a magic that is divine, where God's knowledge is made manifest through the knowledge of man, and it serves to transform nature, and one of its ends is to prolong man's very life. And this is holy magic, to which the learned must devote themselves more and more, not only to discover new things but also to rediscover many secrets of nature that divine wisdom had revealed to the Hebrews, the Greeks, to other ancient peoples, and even, today, to the infidels (and I cannot tell you all the wonderful things on optics and the science of vision to be read in the books of the infidels!). And of all this learning Christian knowledge must regain possession, taking it from the pagans and the infidels tamquam ab iniustis possessoribus\"\n\n\"But why don't those who possess this learning communicate it to all the people of God?\"\n\n\"Because not all the people of God are ready to accept so many secrets, and it has often happened that the possessors of this learning have been mistaken for necromancers in league with the Devil, and they have paid with their lives for their wish to share with others their store of knowledge. I myself, during trials in which someone was suspected of dealings with the Devil, have had to take care not to use these lenses, resorting to eager secretaries who would read to me the writings I required. Otherwise, in a moment when the Devil's presence was so widespread, and everyone could smell, so to speak, the odor of sulphur, I myself would have been considered a friend of the accused. And finally, as the great Roger Bacon warned, the secrets of science must not always pass into the hands of all, for some could use them to evil ends. Often the learned man must make seem magic certain books that are not magic, but simply good science, in order to protect them from indiscreet eyes.\"\n\n\"You fear the simple can make evil use of these secrets, then?\" Nicholas asked.\n\n\"As far as simple people are concerned, my only fear is that they may be terrified by them, confusing them with those works of the Devil of which their preachers speak too often. You see, I have happened to know very skilled physicians who had distilled medicines capable of curing a disease immediately. But when they gave their unguent or their infusion to the simple, they accompanied it with holy words and chanted phrases that sounded like prayers: not because these prayers had the power to heal, but because, believing that the cure came from the prayers, the simple would swallow the infusion or cover themselves with the unguent, and so they would be cured, while paying little attention to the effective power of the medicine. Also, the spirit, aroused by faith in the pious formula, would be better prepared for the corporal action of the medication. But often the treasures of learning must be defended, not against the simple but, rather, against other learned men. Wondrous machines are now made, of which I shall speak to you one day, with which the course of nature can truly be predicted. But woe if they should fall into the hands of men who would use them to extend their earthly power and satisfy their craving for possession. I am told that in Cathay a sage has compounded a powder that, on contact with fire, can produce a great rumble and a great flame, destroying everything for many yards around. A wondrous device, if it were used to shift the beds of streams or shatter rock when ground is being broken for cultivation. But if someone were to use it to bring harm to his personal enemies?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it would be good, if they were enemies of the people of God,\" Nicholas said piously.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" William admitted. \"But who today is the enemy of the people of God? Louis the Emperor or John the Pope?\"\n\n\"Oh, my Lord!\" Nicholas said, quite frightened. \"I really wouldn't like to decide such a painful question!\"\n\n\"You see?\" William said. \"Sometimes it is better for certain secrets to remain veiled by arcane words. The secrets of nature are not transmitted on skins of goat or sheep. Aristotle says in the book of secrets that communicating too many arcana of nature and art breaks a celestial seal and many evils can ensue. Which does not mean that secrets must not be revealed, but that the learned must decide when and how.\"\n\n\"Wherefore it is best that in places like this,\" Nicholas said, \"not all books be within the reach of all.\"\n\n\"This is another question,\" William said. \"Excess of loquacity can be a sin, and so can excess of reticence. I didn't mean that it is necessary to conceal the sources of knowledge. On the contrary, this seems to me a great evil. I meant that, since these are arcana from which both good and evil can derive, the learned man has the right and the duty to use an obscure language, comprehensible only to his fellows. The life of learning is difficult, and it is difficult to distinguish good from evil. And often the learned men of our time are only dwarfs on the shoulders of dwarfs.\"\n\nThis cordial conversation with my master must have put Nicholas in a confiding mood. For he winked at William (as if to say: You and I understand each other because we speak of the same things) and he hinted: \"But over there\"\u2014he nodded toward the Aedificium\u2014\"the secrets of learning are well defended by works of magic.\u2026\"\n\n\"Really?\" William said, with a show of indifference. \"Barred doors, stern prohibitions, threats, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Oh, no. More than that\u2026\"\n\n\"What, for example?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know exactly; I am concerned with glass, not books: But in the abbey there are rumors... strange rumors.\u2026\"\n\n\"Of what sort?\"\n\n\"Strange. Let us say, rumors about a monk who decided to venture into the library during the night, to look for something Malachi had refuse to give him, and he saw serpents, headless men, and men with two heads. He was nearly crazy when he emerged from the labyrinth....\"\n\n\"Why do you speak of magic rather than diabolical apparitions?\"\n\n\"Because even if I am only a poor master glazier I am not so ignorant. The Devil (God save us!) does not tempt a monk with serpents and two-headed men. If anything, with lascivious visions, as he tempted the fathers in the desert. And besides, if it is evil to handle certain books, why would the Devil distract a monk from committing evil?\"\n\n\"That seems to me a good enthymeme,\" my master admitted.\n\n\"And finally, when I was repairing the windows of the infirmary, I amused myself by leafing through some of Severinus's books. There was a book of secrets written, I believe, by Albertus Magnus; I was attracted by some curious illustrations, and I read some pages about how you can grease the wick of an oil lamp, and the fumes produced then provoke visions. You must have noticed\u2014or, rather, you cannot have noticed yet, because you have not yet spent a night in the abbey\u2014that during the hours of darkness the upper floor of the Aedificium is illuminated. At certain points there is a dim glow from the windows. Many have wondered what it is, and there has been talk of will-o'-the-wisps, or souls of dead librarians who return to visit their realm. Many here believe these tales. I think those are lamps prepared for visions. You know, if you take the wax from a dog's ear and grease a wick, anyone breathing the smoke of that lamp will believe he has a dog's head, and if he is with someone else, the other will see a dog's head. And there is another unguent that makes those near the lamp feel big as elephants. And with the eyes of a bat and of two fish whose names I cannot recall, and the venom of a wolf, you make a wick that, as it burns, will cause you to see the animals whose fat you have taken. And with a lizard's tail you make everything around you seem of silver, and with the fat of a black snake and a scrap of a shroud, the room will appear filled with serpents. I know this. Someone in the library is very clever.\u2026\"\n\n\"But couldn't it be the souls of the dead librarians who perform these feats of magic?\"\n\nNicholas remained puzzled and uneasy. \"I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps. God protect us. It's late. Vespers have already begun. Farewell.\" And he headed for the church.\n\nWe continued along the south side: to our right the hospice for pilgrims and the chapter house with its gardens, to the left the olive presses, the mill, the granaries, the cellars, the novices' house. And everyone was hurrying toward the church.\n\n\"What do you think of what Nicholas said?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know. There is something in the library, and I don't believe it is the souls of dead librarians.\u2026\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I imagine they were so virtuous that today they remain in the kingdom of heaven to contemplate the divine countenance, if this answer will satisfy you. As for the lamps, we shall see if they are there. And as for the unguents our glazier spoke of, there are easier ways to provoke visions, and Severinus knows them very well, as you realized today. What is certain is that in the abbey they want no one to enter the library at night and that many, on the contrary, have tried or are trying to do so.\"\n\n\"And what does our crime have to do with this business?\"\n\n\"Crime. The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that Adelmo killed himself.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"You remember this morning when I remarked the heap of dirty straw? As we were climbing up the curve beneath the east tower I had noticed at that point the traces left by a landslide: or, rather, a part of the terrain had given way below the tower, more or less there where the waste collects, and had slipped. And that is why this evening, when we looked down from above, the straw seemed to have little snow covering it; it was covered only by the latest fall, yesterday's snow, and not by that of the past few days. As for Adelmo's corpse, the abbot told us that it had been lacerated by the rocks, and beneath the east tower, where the building joins a sheer drop, there are pines growing. The rocks, however, are directly under the point where the wall ends, forming a kind of step, and afterward the straw dump begins.\"\n\n\"And so?\"\n\n\"And so, think whether it is not less\u2014how shall I say it?\u2014less costly for our minds to believe that Adelmo, for reasons yet to be ascertained, threw himself of his own will from the parapet of the wall, struck the rocks, and, dead or wounded as he may have been, sank into the straw. Then the landslide, caused by the storm that night, carried the straw and part of the terrain and the poor young man's body down below the east tower.\"\n\n\"Why do you say this solution is less costly for our minds?\"\n\n\"Dear Adso, one should not multiply explanations and causes unless it is strictly necessary. If Adelmo fell from the east tower, he must have got into the library, someone must have first struck him so he would offer no resistance, and then this person must have found a way of climbing up to the window with a lifeless body on his back, opening it, and pitching the hapless monk down. But with my hypothesis we need only Adelmo, his decision, and a shift of some land. Everything is explained, using a smaller number of causes.\"\n\n\"But why would he have killed himself.\"\n\n\"But why would anyone have killed him? In either case reasons have to be found. And it seems to me beyond doubt that they existed. In the Aedificium there is an atmosphere of reticence; they are all keeping something quiet. Meanwhile, we have already collected a few insinuations\u2014quite vague, to be sure\u2014about some strange relationship between Adelmo and Berengar. That means we will keep an eye on the assistant librarian.\"\n\nWhile we were talking in this fashion, the office of vespers ended. The servants were going back to their tasks before retiring for supper, the monks were heading for the refectory. The sky was now dark and it was beginning to snow. A light snow, in soft little flakes, which must have continued, I believe, for most of the night, because the next morning all the grounds were covered with a white blanket, as I shall tell.\n\nI was hungry and welcomed with relief the idea of going to table."
            },
            {
                "title": "COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which William and Adso enjoy the jolly hospitality of the abbot and the angry conversation of Jorge.\n\nThe refectory was illuminated by great torches. The monks sat at a row of tables dominated by the abbot's table, set perpendicularly to theirs on a broad dais. On the opposite side there was a pulpit, where the monk who would read during supper had already taken his place. The abbot was waiting for us next to a little fountain, with a white cloth to wipe our hands after the lavabo, following the ancient counsels of Saint Pachomius.\n\nThe abbot invited William to his table and said that for this evening, since I was also a new guest, I would enjoy the same privilege, even though I was a Benedictine novice. In the following days, he said to me paternally, I could sit at table with the monks, or, if I were employed in some task for my master, I could stop in the kitchen before or after meals, and there the cooks would take care of me.\n\nThe monks were now standing at the tables, motionless, their cowls lowered over their faces, their hands under their scapulars. The abbot approached his table and pronounced the \"Benedicite.\" From the pulpit the precentor intoned the \"Edent paupers.\" The abbot imparted his benediction and everyone sat down.\n\nOur founder's Rule prescribes a frugal meal but allows the abbot to determine how much food the monks actually need. In our abbeys now, however, there is greater indulgence in the pleasures of the table. I will not speak of those that, unfortunately, have been transformed into dens of gluttony; but even those that follow standards of penance and virtue provide the monks, almost always engaged in taxing intellectual labors, with a nourishment not effete but substantial. On the other hand, the abbot's table is always favored, not least because honored guests frequently sit there, and the abbeys take pride in the produce of their lands and their barns, and in the skill of their cooks.\n\nThe monks' meal proceeded in silence, as is customary; they communicated among themselves with the usual alphabet of fingers. The novices and younger monks were served first, immediately after the dishes meant for all had been passed at the abbot's table.\n\nWith us at the abbot's table sat Malachi, the cellarer, and the two oldest monks, Jorge of Burgos, the venerable blind man I had met in the scriptorium, and Alinardo of Grottaferrata: ancient, almost a centenarian, lame, and fragile-looking, and\u2014it seemed to me\u2014addled. The abbot told us that, having come to the abbey as a novice, Alinardo had lived there always and recalled almost eighty years of its events. The abbot told us these things in a whisper at the beginning, because afterward he observed the custom of our order and followed the reading in silence. But, as I said, certain liberties were taken at the abbot's table, and we praised the dishes we were offered as the abbot extolled the quality of his olive oil, or of his wine. Indeed, once, as he poured some for us, he recalled for us that passage in the Rule where the holy founder observed that wine, to be sure, is not proper for monks, but since the monks of our time cannot be persuaded not to drink, they should at least not drink their fill, because wine induces even the wise to apostasy, as Ecclesiastes reminds us. Benedict said \"of our time\" referring to his own day, now very remote: you can imagine the time in which we were supping at the abbey, after such decadence of behavior (and I will not speak of my time, in which I write, except to say that here at Melk there is greater indulgence in beer!): in short, we drank without excess but not without enjoyment.\n\nWe ate meat cooked on the spit, freshly slaughtered pigs, and I realized that in cooking other foods they did not use animal fats or rape oil but good olive oil, which came from lands the abbey owned at the foot of the mountain toward the sea. The abbot made us taste (reserved for his table) the chicken I had seen being prepared in the kitchen. I saw that he also possessed a metal fork, a great rarity, whose form reminded me of my master's glasses. A man of noble extraction, our host did not want to soil his hands with food, and indeed offered us his implement, at least to take the meat from the large plate and put it in our bowls. I refused, but I saw that William accepted gladly and made nonchalant use of that instrument of great gentlemen, perhaps to show the abbot that not all Franciscans were men of scant education or humble birth.\n\nIn my enthusiasm for all these fine foods (after several days of travel in which we had eaten what we could find), I had been distracted from the reading, which meanwhile continued devoutly. I was reminded of it by a vigorous grunt of assent from Jorge, and I realized we had reached the point at which a chapter of the Rule is always read. I understood why Jorge was so content, since I had listened to him that afternoon. The reader was saying, \"Let us imitate the example of the prophet, who says: I have decided, I shall watch over my way so as not to sin with my tongue, I have put a curb upon my mouth, I have fallen dumb, humbling myself, I have refrained from speaking even of honest things. And if in this passage the prophet teaches us that sometimes our love of silence should cause us to refrain from speaking even of licit things, how much more should we refrain from illicit talk, to avoid the chastisement of this sin!\" And then he continued: \"But vulgarities, nonsense, and jests we condemn to perpetual imprisonment, in every place, and we do not allow the disciple to open his mouth for speech of this sort.\"\n\n\"And this goes for the marginalia we were discussing today,\" Jorge could not keep from commenting in a low voice. \"John Chrysostom said that Christ never laughed.\"\n\n\"Nothing in his human nature forbade it,\" William remarked, \"because laughter, as the theologians teach, is proper to man.\"\n\n\"The son of man could laugh, but it is not written that he did so,\" Jorge said sharply, quoting Petrus Cantor.\n\n\"Manduca, iam coctum est,\" William murmured. \"Eat, for it is well done.\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Jorge, thinking he referred to some dish that was being brought to him.\n\n\"Those are the words that, according to Ambrose, were uttered by Saint Lawrence on the gridiron, when he invited his executioners to turn him over, as Prudentius also recalls in the Peristephanon,\" William said with a saintly air. \"Saint Lawrence therefore knew how to laugh and say ridiculous things, even if it was to humiliate his enemies.\"\n\n\"Which proves that laughter is something very close to death and to the corruption of the body,\" Jorge replied with a snarl; and I must admit that he spoke like a good logician.\n\nAt this point the abbot good-naturedly invited us to be silent. The meal was ending, in any case. The abbot stood up and introduced William to the monks. He praised his wisdom, expounded his fame, and informed them that the visitor had been asked to investigate Adelmo's death; and the abbot also urged the monks to answer any questions and to instruct their underlings, throughout the abbey, to do the same.\n\nSupper over, the monks prepared to go off to the choir for the office of compline. They again lowered their cowls over their faces and formed a line at the door. Then they moved in a long file, crossing the cemetery and entering the choir through the north doorway.\n\nWe went off with the abbot. \"Is this the hour when the doors of the Aedificium are locked?\" William asked.\n\n\"As soon as the servants have finished cleaning the refectory and the kitchens, the librarian will personally close all the doors, barring them on the inside.\"\n\n\"On the inside? And where does he come out?\"\n\nThe abbot glared at William for a moment. \"Obviously he does not sleep in the kitchen,\" he said brusquely. And he began to walk faster.\n\n\"Very well,\" William whispered to me, \"so another door does exist, but we are not to know about it.\" I smiled, proud of his deduction, and he scolded me: \"And don't laugh. As you have seen, within these wall\u00e2 laughter doesn't enjoy a good reputation.\"\n\nWe entered the choir. A single lamp was burning on a heavy bronze tripod, tall as two men. The monks silently took their places is the stalls.\n\nThen the abbot gave a signal, and the precentor intoned, \"Tu autem Domine miserere nobis.\" The abbot replied, \"Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domnni\"; and all continued, in chorus, with \"Qui fecit coelum et terram.\" Then the chanting of the psalms began: \"When I call Thee answer me O God of my justice\"; \"I shall thank Thee Lord with all my heart\"; \"Come bless the Lord, all ye servants of the Lord.\" We had not sat in the stalls, but had withdrawn into the main nave. From there, we suddenly glimpsed Malachi emerging from the darkness of a side chapel.\n\n\"Keep your eye on that spot,\" William said to me. \"There could be a passage leading to the Aedificium.\"\n\n\"Under the cemetery?\"\n\n\"And why not? In fact, now that I think about it, there must be an ossarium somewhere; they can't possibly have buried all their monks for centuries in that patch of ground.\"\n\n\"But do you really want to enter the library at night?\" I asked, terrified.\n\n\"Where there are dead monks and serpents and mysterious lights, my good Adso? No, my boy. I was thinking about it today, and not from curiosity but because I was pondering the question of how Adelmo died. Now, as I told you, I tend toward a more logical explanation, and, all things considered, I would prefer to respect the customs of this place.\"\n\n\"Then why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"Because learning does not consist only of knowing what we must or we can do, but also of knowing what we could do and perhaps should not do.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SECOND DAY",
                "text": "[ MATINS ]\n\nIn which a few hours of mystic happiness are interrupted by a most bloody occurrence.\n\nSymbol sometimes of the Devil, sometimes of the Risen Christ, no animal is more untrustworthy than the cock. Our order knew some slothful ones who never crowed at sunrise. On the other hand, especially in winter, the office of matins takes place when night is still total and all nature is asleep, for the monk must rise in darkness and pray at length in darkness, waiting for day and illuminating the shadows with the flame of devotion. Therefore, custom wisely provided for some wakers, who were not to go to bed when their brothers did, but would spend the night reciting in cadence the exact number of psalms that would allow them to measure the time passed, so that, at the conclusion of the hours of sleep granted the others, they would give the signal to wake.\n\nSo that night we were waked by those who moved through the dormitory and the pilgrims' house ringing a bell, as one monk went from cell to cell shouting, \"Benedicamus Domino,\" to which each answered, \"Deo gratias.\"\n\nWilliam and I followed the Benedictine custom: in less than half an hour we prepared to greet the new day, then we went down into the choir, where the monks, prostrate on the floor, reciting the first fifteen psalms, were waiting until the novices entered led by their master. Then each sat in his regular stall and the choir chanted, \"Domine labia mea aperies et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam.\" The cry rose toward the vaulted ceiling of the church like a child's plea. Two monks climbed to the pulpit and intoned the ninety-fourth psalm, \"Venite exultemus,\" which was followed by the others prescribed. And I felt the warmth of renewed faith.\n\nThe monks were in the stalls, sixty figures made indistinguishable by their habits and cowls, sixty shadows barely illuminated by the fire from the great tripod, sixty voices joined in praise of the Almighty. And, hearing this moving harmony, vestibule of the delights of paradise, I asked myself whether the abbey were truly a place of concealed mysteries, of illicit attempts to reveal them, and of grim threats. Because it now seemed to me, on the contrary, the dwelling of sainted men, cenacle of virtue, vessel of learning, ark of prudence, tower of wisdom, domain of meekness, bastion of strength, thurible of sanctity.\n\nAfter six psalms, the reading of Holy Scripture began. Some monks were nodding with sleepiness, and one of the night wakers wandered among the stalls with a little lamp to wake any who had dozed off again. If a monk succumbed to drowsiness, as penance he would take the lamp and continue the round. The chanting of another six psalms continued. Then the abbot gave his benediction, the hebdomadary said the prayers, all bowed toward the altar in a moment of meditation whose sweetness no-one can comprehend who has not experienced those hours of mystic ardor and intense inner peace. Finally, cowls again over their faces, all sat and solemnly intoned the \"Te Deum.\" I, too, praised the Lord because He had released me from my doubts and freed me from the feeling of uneasiness with which my first day at the abbey had filled me. We are fragile creatures, I said to myself; even among these learned and devout monks the Evil One spreads petty envies, foments subtle hostilities, but all these are as smoke then dispersed by the strong wind of faith, the moment all gather in the name of the Father, and Christ descends into their midst.\n\nBetween matins and lauds the monk does not return to his cell, even if the night is still dark. The novices followed their master into the chapter house to study the psalms; some of the monks remained in church to tend to the church ornaments, but the majority strolled in the cloister in silent meditation, as did William and I. The servants were asleep and they went on sleeping when, the sky still dark, we returned to the choir for lauds.\n\nThe chanting of the psalms resumed, and one in particular, among those prescribed for Mondays, plunged me again into my earlier fears: \"The transgression of the wicked saith within my heart, that there is no fear of God before his eyes. The words of his mouth are iniquity.\" It seemed to me an ill omen that the Rule should have set for that very day such a terrible admonition. Nor were my pangs of uneasiness eased, after the psalms of praise, by the usual reading of the Apocalypse; the figures of the doorway returned to my mind, the carvings that had so overwhelmed my heart and eyes the day before. But after the responsory, the hymn, and the versicle, as the chanting of the Gospel began, I glimpsed just above the altar, beyond the windows of the choir, a pale glow that was already making the panes shine in their various colors, subdued till then by the darkness. It was not yet dawn, which would triumph during Prime, just as we would be singing \"Deus qui est sanctorum splendor mirabilis\" and \"Iam lucis orto sidere.\" It was barely the first faint herald of a winter daybreak, but it was enough, and the dim penumbra now replacing the night's darkness in the nave was enough to relieve my heart.\n\nWe sang the words of the divine book and, as we were bearing witness to the Word come to enlighten all peoples, it was as if the daystar in all its splendor were invading the temple. The light, still absent, seemed to me to shine in the words of the canticle, mystic, scented lily that opened among the arches of the vaults. \"I thank Thee, O Lord, for this moment of ineffable joy,\" I prayed silently, and said to my heart, \"Foolish heart, what do you fear?\"\n\nSuddenly some noises were heard from the direction of the north door. I wondered why the servants, preparing for their work, disturbed the sacred functions in this way. At that moment three swineherds came in, terror on their faces; they went to the abbot and whispered something to him. The abbot first calmed them with a gesture, as if he did not want to interrupt the office; but other servants entered, and the shouts became louder. \"A man! A dead man!\" some were saying. And others: \"A monk. You saw the sandals?\"\n\nPrayers stopped, and the abbot rushed out, motioning the cellarer to follow him. William went after them, but by now the other monks were also leaving heir stalls and hurrying outside.\n\nThe sky was now light, and the snow on the round made the compound even more luminous. Behind the choir, in front of the pens, where the day before had stood the great jar with the pigs' blood, a strange object, almost cruciform, protruded above the edge of the vessel, as if two stakes had been driven into the ground, to be covered with rags for scaring off birds.\n\nBut they were human legs, the legs of a man thrust head down into the vessel of blood.\n\nThe abbot ordered the corpse (For no living person could have remained in that obscene position) to be extracted from the ghastly liquid. The hesitant swineherds approached the edge and, staining themselves with blood, drew out the poor, bloody thing. As had been explained to me, the blood, having been property stirred immediately after it was shed, and then left out in the cold, had not clotted, but the layer covering the corpse was now beginning to solidify; it soaked the habit, made the face unrecognizable. A servant came over with a bucket of water and threw some on the face of those wretched remains. Another bent down with a cloth to wipe the features. And before our eyes appeared the white face of Venantius of Salvemec, the Greek scholar with whom we had talked that afternoon by Adelmo's codices.\n\nThe abbot came over. \"Brother William, as you see, something is afoot in this abbey, something that demands all your wisdom. But I beseech you: act quickly!\"\n\n\"Was he present in choir during the office?\" William asked, pointing to the corpse.\n\n\"No,\" the abbot said. \"I saw his stall was empty.\"\n\n\"No one else was absent?\"\n\n\"It did not seem so. I noticed nothing.\"\n\nWilliam hesitated before asking the next question, and he did so in a whisper, taking care that the others could not hear: \"Berengar was in his stall?\"\n\nThe abbot looked at him with uneasy amazement, as if to signify that he was struck to see my master harbor a suspicion that he himself had briefly harbored, for more comprehensible reasons. He said then rapidly, \"He was there. He sits in the first row, almost at my right hand.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" William said, \"all this means nothing. I don't believe anyone entering the choir passed behind the apse, and therefore the corpse could have been here for several hours, at least since the time when everyone had gone to bed.\"\n\n\"To be sure, the first servants rise at dawn, and that is why they discovered him only now.\"\n\nWilliam bent over the corpse, as if he were used to dealing with dead bodies. He dipped the cloth lying nearby into the water of the bucket and further cleanse Venantius's face. Meanwhile, the other monks crowded around, frightened, forming a talkative circle on which the abbot imposed silence. Among the others, now making his way forward, came Severinus, who saw to matters of physical health in the abbey; and he bent down next to my master. To hear their dialogue, and to help William, who needed a new clean cloth soaked in the water, I joined them, overcoming my terror and my revulsion.\n\n\"Have you ever seen a drowned man?\" William asked.\n\n\"Many times,\" Severinus said. \"And if I guess what you imply, they do not have this face: the features are swollen.\"\n\n\"Then the man was already dead when someone threw the body into the jar.\"\n\n\"Why would he have done that?\"\n\n\"Why would he have killed him? We are dealing with the work of a twisted mind. But now we must see whether there are wounds or bruises on the body. I suggest it be carried to the balneary, stripped, washed, and examined. I will join you there at once.\"\n\nAnd while Severinus, receiving permission from the abbot, was having the body carried away by the swineherds, my master asked that the monks be told to return to the choir by the path they had taken before, and that the servants retire in the same way, so the ground would remain deserted. Thus we remained alone, beside the vessel, from which blood had spilled during the macabre operation of the body's recovery. The snow all around was red, melting in several puddles where the water had been thrown; and there was a great dark stain where the corpse had been stretched out.\n\n\"A fine mess,\" William said, nodding toward the complex pattern of footprints left all around by the monks and the servants. \"Snow, dear Adso, is an admirable parchment on which men's bodies leave very legible writing. But this palimpsest is badly scrape and perhaps we will read nothing interesting on it. Between here and the church there has been a great bustle of monks, between here and the barn and the stables the servants have moved in droves. The only intact space is between the barns and the Aedificium. Let us see if we can find something of interest.\"\n\n\"What do you expect to find?\" I asked.\n\n\"If he didn't throw himself into the vessel on his own, someone carried him there, already dead, I imagine. And a man carrying another man's body leaves deep tracks in snow. So look and see if you find around here some prints that seem different to you from the prints of those noisy monks who have ruined our parchment for us.\"\n\nAnd we did. And I will say immediately that I was the one, God preserve me from all vanity, who discovered something between the jar and the Aedificium. They were human footprints, fairly deep, in a zone where no one had yet passed, and, as my master remarked at once, fainter than those left by the monks and the servants, a sign that more snow had fallen and thus they had been made some time before. But what seemed to us most noteworthy was that among those prints there was a more continuous trail, as of something dragged by the one leaving the prints. In short, a spoor that went from the jar to the door of the refectory, on the side of the Aedificium between the south tower and the east tower.\n\n\"Refectory, scriptorium, library,\" William said. \"Once again, the library. Venantius died in the Aedificium, and most probably in the library.\"\n\n\"And why in the library exactly?\"\n\n\"I am trying to put myself in the murderer's place. If Venantius had died, been killed, in the refectory, in the kitchen, or in the scriptorium, why not leave him there? But if he died in the library, then he had to be carried elsewhere, both because in the library the body would never have been discovered (and perhaps the murderer was particularly interested in its being discovered) and because the murderer probably does not want attention to be concentrated on the library.\"\n\n\"And why should the murderer be interested in the body's being discovered?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I can suggest some hypotheses. How do we know that the murderer killed Venantius because he hated Venantius? He could have killed him, rather than another, to leave a sign, to signify something else.\"\n\n\"Omnis mundi creatura, quasi fiber et scriptura...\" I murmured. \"But what would that sign be?\"\n\n\"This is what I do not know. But let us not forget that there are also signs that seem such and are instead without meaning, like blitiri or bu-ba-baff.\u2026\"\n\n\"It would be atrocious,\" I said, \"to kill a man in order to say bu-ba-baff!\"\n\n\"It would be atrocious,\" William remarked, \"to kill a man even to say 'Credo in unum Deum.'...\"\n\nAt that moment Severinus joined us. The corpse had been washed and examined carefully. No wound, no bruise on the head.\n\n\"Do you have poisons in your laboratory?\" William asked, as we headed for the infirmary.\n\n\"Among the other things. But that depends on what you mean by poison. There are substances that in small doses are healthful and in excessive doses cause death. Like every good herbalist I keep them, and I use them with discretion. In my garden I grow, for example, valerian. A few drops in an infusion of other herbs calms the heart if it is beating irregularly. An exaggerated dose brings on drowsiness and death.\"\n\n\"And you noticed no signs of any particular poison on the corpse?\"\n\n\"None. But many poisons leave no trace.\"\n\nWe had reached the infirmary. Venantius's body, washed in the balneary, had been brought there and was lying on the great table in Severinus's laboratory; alembics and other instruments of glass and earthenware made me think of an alchemist's shop (though I knew of such things only by indirect accounts). On some long shelves against the wall by the door was arrayed a vast series of cruets, ampoules, jugs, pots, filled with substances of different colors.\n\n\"A fine collection of simples,\" William said. \"All products of your garden?\"\n\n\"No,\" Severinus said, \"many substances, rare, or impossible to grow in this climate, have been brought to me over the years by monks arriving from every part of the world. I have many precious things that cannot be found readily, along with substances easily obtained from the local flora. You see... aghalingho pesto comes from Cathay: I received it from a learned Arab. Indian aloe, excellent cicatricizant. Live arient revives the dead, or, rather, wakes those who have lost their senses. Arsenacho: very dangerous, a mortal poison for anyone who swallows it. Borage, a plant good for ailing lungs. Betony, good for fractures of the head. Mastic: calms pulmonary fluxions and troublesome catarrhs. Myrrh\u2026\"\n\n\"The gift of the Magi?\" I asked.\n\nThe same. But now used to prevent miscarriage, gathered from a tree called Balsamodendron myrra. And this is mumia, very rare, produced by the decomposition of mummified cadavers; it is used in the preparation of many almost miraculous medicines. Mandragora officinalis, good for sleep...\"\n\n\"And to stir desires of the flesh,\" my master remarked.\n\n\"So they say, but here it is not used for that purpose, as you can imagine.\" Severinus smiled. \"And look at this,\" he said, taking down an ampoule. \"Tutty, miraculous for the eyes.\"\n\n\"And what is this?\" William asked in a bright voice, touching a stone lying on a shelf.\n\n\"That? It was given to me some time ago. It apparently has therapeutic virtues, but I have not yet discovered what they are. Do you know it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" William said, \"but not as a medicine.\" He took from his habit a little knife and slowly held it toward the stone. As the knife, moved by his hand with extreme delicacy, came close to the stone, I saw that the blade made an abrupt movement, as if William had shifted his wrist, which was, however, absolutely still. And the blade stuck to the stone, making a faint metallic sound.\n\n\"You see,\" William said to me, \"it attracts iron.\"\n\n\"And what is its use?\" I asked.\n\n\"It has various uses, of which I will tell you. But for the present I would like to know, Severinus, if there is anything here that could kill a man.\"\n\nSeverinus reflected a moment\u2014too long, I would have said, considering the clarity of his answer: \"Many things. As I said, the line between poison and medicine is very fine; the Greeks used the word 'pharmacon' for both.\"\n\n\"And there is nothing that has been removed recently?\"\n\nSeverinus reflected again, then, as if weighing his words: \"Nothing recently.\"\n\n\"And in the past?\"\n\n\"Who knows? I don't recall. I have been in this abbey thirty years, and twenty-five in the infirmary.\"\n\n\"Too long for a human memory,\" William admitted. Then, abruptly, he said, \"We were speaking yesterday of plants that can induce visions. Which ones are they?\"\n\nSeverinus's actions and the expression on his face indicated an intense desire to avoid that subject. \"I would have to think, you know. I have so many miraculous substances here. But let us speak, rather, of Venantius's death. What do you say about it?\"\n\n\"I would have to think,\" William answered."
            },
            {
                "title": "PRIME",
                "text": "In which Benno of Uppsala confides certain things, others are confided by Berengar of Arundel, and Adso learns the meaning o true penitence.\n\nThe horrible event had upset the life of the community. The confusion caused by the discovery of the corpse had interrupted the holy office. The abbot promptly sent the monks back to the choir, to pray for the soul of their brother.\n\nThe monks' voices were broken. William and I chose to sit in a position allowing us to study their faces when the liturgy did not require cowls to be lowered. Immediately we saw Berengar's face. Pale, drawn, glistening with sweat.\n\nNext to him we noticed Malachi. Dark, frowning, impassive. Beside Malachi, equally impassive, was the face of the blind Jorge. We observe, on the other hand, the nervous movements of Benno of Uppsala, the rhetoric scholar we had men the previous day in the scriptorium; and we caught his rapid glance at Malachi. \"Benno is nervous, Berengar is frightened,\" William remarked. \"They must be questioned right away.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked ingenuously.\n\n\"Ours is a hard task,\" William said. \"A hard task, that of the inquisitor, who must strike the weakest, and at their moment of greatest weakness.\"\n\nIn fact, as soon as the office was over, we caught up with Benno, who was heading for the library. The young man seemed vexed at hearing William call him, and he muttered some faint pretext about work to be done. He seemed in a hurry to get to the scriptorium. But my master reminded him that he was carrying out an inquiry at the abbot's behest, and led Benno into the cloister. We sat on the inner wall, between two columns. Looking from time to time toward the Aedificium, Benno waited for William to speak.\n\n\"Well, then,\" William asked, \"what was said that day when you were discussing Adelmo's marginalia with Berengar, Venantius, Malachi, and Jorge?\"\n\n\"You heard it yesterday. Jorge was saying that it is not licit to use ridiculous images to decorate books that contain the truth. And Venantius observed that Aristotle himself had spoken of witticisms and plays on words as instruments better to reveal the truth, and hence laughter could not be such a bad thing if it could become a vehicle of the truth. Jorge said that, as far as he could recall, Aristotle had spoken of these things in his Poetics, when discussing metaphor. And these were in themselves two disturbing circumstances, first because the book of the Poetics, unknown to the Christian world for such a long time, which was perhaps by divine decree, had come to us through the infidel Moors.\u2026\"\n\n\"But it was translated into Latin by a friend of the angelic doctor of Aquino,\" William said.\n\n\"That's what I said to him,\" Benno replied, immediately heartened. \"I read Greek badly and I could study that great book only, in fact, through the translation of William of Moerbeke. Yes, that's what I said. But Jorge added that the second cause for uneasiness is that in the book the Stagirite was speaking of poetry, which is infima doctrina and which exists on figments. And Venantius said that the psalms, too, are works of poetry and use metaphors; and Jorge became enraged because he said the psalms are works of divine inspiration and use metaphors to convey the truth, while the works of the pagan poets use metaphors to convey falsehood and for purposes of mere pleasure, a remark that greatly offended me.\u2026\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I am a student of rhetoric, and I read many pagan poets, and I know... or I believe that their words have conveyed also truths naturaliter Christian.\u2026 In short, at that point, if I recall correctly, Venantius spoke of other books and Jorge became very angry.\"\n\n\"Which books?\"\n\nBenno hesitated. \"I don't remember. What does it matter which books were spoken of?\"\n\n\"It matters a great deal, because here we are trying to understand what has happened among men who live among books, with books, from books, and so their words on books are also important.\"\n\n\"It's true,\" Benno said, smiling for the first time, his face growing almost radiant. \"We live for books. A sweet mission m this world dominated by disorder and decay. Perhaps, then, you will understand what happened on that occasion. Venantius, who knows... who knew Greek very well, said that Aristotle had dedicated the second book of the Poetics specifically to laughter, and that if a philosopher of such greatness had devoted a whole book to laughter, then laughter must be important. Jorge said that many fathers had devoted entire books to sin, which is an important thing, but evil; and Venantius said that as far as he knew, Aristotle had spoken of laughter as something good and an instrument of truth; and then Jorge asked him contemptuously whether by any chance he had read this book of Aristotle; and Venantius said that no one could have read it, because it has never been found and is perhaps lost forever. And, in fact, William of Moerbeke never had it in his hands. Then Jorge said that if it had not been found, this was because it had never been written, because Providence did not want futile things glorified. I wanted to calm everyone's spirit, because Jorge is easily angered and Venantius was speaking deliberately to provoke him, and so I said that in the part of the Poetics that we do know, and in the Rhetoric, there are to be found many wise observations on witty riddles, and Venantius agreed with me. Now, with us was Pacificus of Tivoli, who knows the pagan poets very well, and he said that when it comes to these witty riddles, no one surpasses the African poets. He quoted, in fact, the riddle of the fish, of Symphosius:\n\nEst domus in terris, clara quae voce resultat.\n\nIpsa domus resonat, tacitus sed non sonat hospes.\n\nAmbo tamen currunt, hospes simul et domus una.\n\n\"At this point Jorge said that Jesus had urged our speech to be yes or no, for anything further came from the Evil One; and that to mention fish it was enough to say 'fish,' without concealing the notion under lying sounds. And he added that it did not seem to him wise to take the Africans as models.... And then...\"\n\n\"Then?\"\n\n\"Then something happened that I didn't understand. Berengar began to laugh. Jorge reproached him, and he said he was laughing because it had occurred to him that if one sought carefully among the Africans, quite different riddles would be found, and not so easy as the one about the fish. Malachi, who was present, came furious, took Berengar by the cowl, and sent him off to his tasks.... Berengar, you know, is his assistant....\"\n\n\"And after that?\"\n\n\"After that, Jorge put an end to the argument by going away. We all went off to our occupations, but as I was working, I saw first Venantius, then Adelmo approach Berengar and ask him something. From the distance I saw he was parrying their questions, but in the course of the day both went back to him. And then that evening I saw Berengar and Adelmo confabulating in the cloister before entering the refectory. There, that's all I know.\"\n\n\"You know, in fact, that the two persons who have recently died in mysterious circumstances had asked something of Berengar,\" William said.\n\nBenno answered uncomfortably, \"I didn't say that! I told you what happened that day, because you asked me....\" He reflected a moment, then hastily added, \"But if you want to know my opinion, Berengar spoke to them of something in the library, and that is where you should search.\"\n\n\"Why do you think of the library? What did Berengar mean about seeking among the Africans? Didn't he mean that the African poets should be more widely read?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. So it seemed. But then why should Malachi have become furious? After all, he's the one who decides whether or not a volume of African poets is given out to be read. But I know one thing: anyone leafing through the catalogue of books will often find, among the collocations that only the librarian understands, one that says 'Africa,' and I have even found one that said 'finis Africae,' the end of Africa. Once I asked for a book that bore that indication, I can't recall which book, though the title had aroused my curiosity; and Malachi told me the books with that indication had been lost. This is what I know. And this is why I say you're right, check on Berengar, and check when he goes up into the library. You never can tell.\"\n\n\"You never can tell,\" William concluded, dismissing him. Then he began strolling with me in the cloister and remarked that, first of all, Berengar had once again been the subject of his brothers' murmuring; second, Benno seemed eager to direct us to the library. I observed that perhaps he wanted us to discover there things he, too, wanted to know; and William said this was probably the case, but it was also possible that in directing us toward the library he wanted to keep us away from some other place. Which? I asked. And William said he did not know, perhaps the scriptorium, perhaps the kitchen, or the choir, or the dormitory, or the infirmary. I remarked that the previous day it was he, William, who had been fascinated by the library, and his answer was that he wanted to be fascinated by the things he chose and not as others advised him. But the library should be kept under observation, he went on, and at this point it would not be a bad idea to try to get into it somehow. Circumstances now authorized his curiosity, within the bounds of politeness and respect for the customs and laws of the abbey.\n\nWe left the cloister. Servants and novices were coming from the church after Mass. And as we walked along the west side of the church, we glimpsed Berengar coming out of the transept door and crossing the cemetery toward the Aedificium. William called him, he stopped, and we overtook him. He was even more distraught than when we had seen him in choir, and William obviously decided to exploit, as he had with Benno, this state of his spirit.\n\n\"So it seems that you were the last to see Adelmo alive,\" he said.\n\nBerengar staggered, as if he were about to fall in a faint. \"I?\" he asked in a weak voice. William had dropped his question as if by chance, perhaps because Benno had told him of seeing the two conferring in the cloister after vespers. But it must have struck home, and clearly Berengar was thinking of another, really final meeting, because he began to speak in a halting voice.\n\n\"How can you say that? I saw him before going off to bed, like everyone else!\"\n\nThen William decided it might be worthwhile to press him without respite. \"No, you saw him again, and you know more things than you wish to admit. But there are two deaths involved here, and you can no longer be silent. You know very well there are many ways to make a :person speak!\"\n\nWilliam had often said to me that, even when he had been an inquisitor, he had always avoided torture; but Berengar misunderstood him (or William wanted to be misunderstood). In any case, the move was effective.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" Berengar said, bursting into a flood of tears, \"I saw Adelmo that evening, but I saw him already dead!\"\n\n\"How?\" William asked. \"At the foot of the hill?\"\n\n\"No, no, I saw him here in the cemetery, he was moving among the graves, a ghost among ghosts. I met him and realized at once that I did not have a living man before me: his face was a corpse's, his eyes already beheld the eternal punishment. Naturally, it was only the next morning, when I learned of his death, that I understood I had encountered his ghost, but even at that moment I realized I was having a vision and that there was a damned soul before me, one of the lemures.... Oh, Lord, what a gravelike voice he had as he spoke to me!\"\n\n\"And what did he say?\"\n\n\"'I am damned!' That is what he said to me. 'As you see me here, you see one returned from hell, and to hell I must go back.' So he said to me. And I cried to him, 'Adelmo, have you really come from hell? What are the pains of hell like?' And I was trembling, because I had just left the office of compline where I had heard read the terrible pages on the wrath of the Lord. And he said to me, 'The pains of hell are infinitely greater than our tongue can say. You see,' he said, 'this cape of sophisms in which I have been dressed till today? It oppresses me and weighs on me as if I had the highest tower of Paris or the mountain of the world on my back, and nevermore shall I be able to set it down. And this pain was given me by divine justice for my vainglory, for having believed my body a place of pleasures, and for having thought to know more than others, and for having enjoyed monstrous things, which, cherished in my imagination, have produced far more monstrous things within my soul\u2014and now I must live with them in eternity. You see the lining of this cloak? It is as if it were all coals and ardent fire, and it is the fire that burns my body, and this punishment is given me for the dishonest sin of the flesh, whose vice I knew and cultivated, and this fire now unceasingly blazes and burns me! Give me your hand, my beautiful master,' he said to me further, 'that my meeting with you may be a useful lesson, in exchange for many of the lessons you gave me. Your hand, my beautiful master!' And he shook the finger of his burning hand, and on my hand there fell a little drop of his sweat and it seemed to pierce my hand. For many days I bore the sign, only I hid it from all. Then he disappeared among the graves, and the next morning I learned that his body, which had so terrified me, was now dead at the foot of the cliff.\"\n\nBerengar was breathless, weeping. William asked him, \"And why did he call you his beautiful master? You were the same age. Had you perhaps taught him something?\"\n\nBerengar hid his head, pulling his cowl over his face, and sank to his knees, embracing William's legs. \"I don't know why he addressed me like that. I never taught him anything!\" And he burst into sobs. \"I am afraid, Father. I want to confess myself to you, Have mercy, a devil is devouring my bowels!\"\n\nWilliam thrust him away and held out a hand to draw him to his feet. \"No, Berengar,\" he said to him, \"do not ask me to confess you. Do not seal my lips by opening yours. What I want to know from you, you will tell me in another way. And if you will not tell me, I will discover it on my own. Ask me for mercy, if you like, but do not ask silence of me. Too many are silent in this abbey. Tell me, rather, how you saw his pale face if it was darkest night, how he could burn your hand if it was a night of rain and hail and snow, and what you were doing in the cemetery. Come\"\u2014and he shook him brutally by the shoulders\u2014\"tell me this at least!\"\n\nBerengar was trembling in every limb. \"I don't know what I was doing in the cemetery, I don't remember, I don't know how I saw his face, perhaps I had a light, no... he had a light, he was carrying a light, perhaps I saw his face in the light of the flame....\"\n\n\"How could he carry a light if it was raining and snowing?\"\n\n\"It was after compline, immediately after compline, it was not snowing yet, the snow began later.... I remember that the first flurries began as I was fleeing. toward the dormitory. I was fleeing toward the dormitory as the ghost went in the opposite direction.... And after that I know nothing more; please, question me no further, if you will not confess me.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" William said, \"go now, &o into the choir, go to speak with the Lord, since you will not speak with men, or go and find a monk who will hear your confession, because if you have not confessed your sins since then, you have approached the sacraments sacrilegiously. Go. We shall see each other again.\"\n\nBerengar ran off and vanished. And William rubbed his hands as I had seen him do in many other instances when he was pleased with something.\n\n\"Good,\" he said. \"Now many things become clear.\"\n\n\"Clear, master?\" I asked him. \"Clear now that we also have Adelmo's ghost?\"\n\n\"My dear Adso,\" William said, \"that ghost does not seem very ghostly to me, and in any case he was reciting a page I have already read in some book conceived for the use of preachers. These monks read perhaps too much, and when they are excited they relive visions they learned from books. I don't know whether Adelmo really said those things or whether Berengar simply heard them because he needed to hear them. The fact remains that this story confirms a series of my suppositions. For example: Adelmo died a suicide, and Berengar's story tells us that, before dying, he went around in the grip of a great agitation, and in remorse for some act he had committed. He was agitated and frightened about his sin because someone had frightened him, and perhaps had told him the very episode of the infernal apparition that he recited to Berengar with such hallucinated mastery. And he was going through the cemetery because he was leaving the choir, where he had confided (or confessed) to someone who had filled him with terror and remorse. And from the cemetery he was heading, as Berengar informed us, in the opposite direction from the dormitory. Toward the Aedificium, then, but also (it is possible) toward the outside wall behind the stables, from where I have deduced he must have thrown himself into the chasm. And he threw himself down before the storm came, he died at the foot of the wall, and only later did the landslide carry his corpse between the north tower and the eastern one.\"\n\n\"But what about the drop of burning sweat?\"\n\n\"It was already part of the story he heard and repeated, or that Berengar imagined, in his agitation and his remorse. Because there is, as antistrophe to Adelmo's remorse, a remorse of Berengar's: you heard it. And if Adelmo came from the choir, he was perhaps carrying a taper, and the drop on his friend's hand was only a drop of wax. But Berengar felt it burn much deeper because Adelmo surely called him his master. A sign, then, that Adelmo was reproaching him for having taught him something that now caused him to despair unto death. And Berengar knows it, he suffers because he knows he drove Adelmo to death by making him do something he should not have done. And it is not difficult to imagine what, my poor Adso, after what we have heard about our assistant librarian.\"\n\n\"I believe I understand what happened between the two,\" I said, embarrassed by my own wisdom, \"but don't all of us believe in a God of mercy? Adelmo, you say, had probably confessed; why did he seek to punish his first sin with a sin surely greater still, or at least of equal gravity?\"\n\n\"Because someone said words of desperation to him. As I said, a page of a modern preacher must have prompted someone to repeat the words that frightened Adelmo and with which Adelmo frightened Berengar. In these last few years, as never before, to stimulate piety and terror and fervor in the populace, and obedience to human and divine law, preachers have used distressing words, macabre threats. Never before, as in our days, amid processions of flagellants, were sacred lauds heard inspired by the sorrows of Christ and of the Virgin, never has there been such insistence as there is today on strengthening the faith of the simple through the depiction of infernal torments.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is the need for penitence,\" I said.\n\n\"Adso, I have never heard so many calls to penitence as today, in a period when, by now, neither preachers nor bishops nor even my brothers the Spirituals are any longer capable of inspiring true repentance....\"\n\n\"But the third age, the Angelic Pope, the chapter of Perugia\u2026\" I said, bewildered.\n\n\"Nostalgia. The great age of penitence is over, and for this reason even the general chapter of the order can speak of penitence. There was, one hundred, two hundred years ago, a great wind of renewal. There was a time when those who spoke of it were burned, saint or heretic as they may have been. Now all speak of it. In a certain sense even the Pope discusses it. Don't trust renewals of the human race when curias and courts speak of them.\"\n\n\"But Fra Dolcino,\" I ventured, curious to know more about that name I had heard uttered several times the day before.\n\n\"He died, and died dreadfully, as he lived, because he also came too late. And, anyway, what do you know of him?\"\n\n\"Nothing. That is why I ask you....\"\n\n\"I would prefer never to speak of him. I have had to deal with some of the so-called Apostles, and I have observed them closely. A sad story. It would upset you. In any case, it upset me, and you would be all the more upset by my inability to judge. It's the story of a man who did insane things because he put into practice what many saints had preached. At a certain point I could no longer understand whose fault it was, I was as if... as if dazed by an air of kinship that wafted over the two opposing camps, of saints who preached penitence and sinners who put it into practice, often at the expense of others.\u2026 But I was speaking of something else. Or perhaps not. I was speaking really of this: when the epoch of penitence was over, for penitents the need for penance became a need for death. And they who killed the crazed penitents, repaying death with death, to defeat true penitence, which produced death, replaced the penitence of the soul with a penitence of the imagination, a summons to supernatural visions of suffering and blood, calling them the 'mirror' of true penitence. A mirror that brings to life, for the imagination of the simple and sometimes even of the learned, the torments of hell. So that\u2014it is said\u2014no one shall sin. They hope to keep souls from sin through fear, and trust to replace rebellion with fear.\"\n\n\"But won't they truly sin then?\" I asked anxiously.\n\n\"It depends on what you mean by sinning, Adso,\" my master said. \"I would not like to be unjust toward the people of this country where I have been living for some years, but it seems to me typical of the scant virtue of the Italian peoples to abstain from sin out of their fear of some idol, though they may give it the name of a saint. They are more afraid of Saint Sebastian or Saint Anthony than of Christ. If you wish to keep a place clean here, to prevent anyone from pissing on it, which the Italians do as freely as dogs do, you paint on it an image of Saint Anthony with a wooden tip, and this will drive away those about to piss. So the Italians, thanks to their preachers, risk returning to the ancient superstitions; and they no longer believe in the resurrection of the flesh, but have only a great fear of bodily injuries and misfortunes, and therefore they are more afraid of Saint Anthony than of Christ.\"\n\n\"But Berengar isn't Italian,\" I pointed out.\n\n\"It makes no difference. I am speaking of the atmosphere that the church and the preaching orders have spread over this peninsula, and which from here spreads everywhere. And it reaches even a venerable abbey of learned monks, like these.\"\n\n\"But if only they didn't sin,\" I insisted, because I was prepared to be satisfied with this alone.\n\n\"If this abbey were a speculum mundi, you would already have the answer.\"\n\n\"But is it?\" I asked.\n\n\"In order for there to be a mirror of the world, it is necessary that the world have a form,\" concluded William, who was too much of a philosopher for my adolescent mind."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which the visitors witness a brawl among vulgar persons, Aymaro of Alessandria makes some allusions, and Adso meditates on saintliness and on the dung of the Devil. Subsequently William and Adso go back to the scriptorium, William sees something interesting, has a third conversation on the licitness of laughter, but in the end is unable to look where he wishes.\n\nBefore climbing up to the scriptorium, we stopped by the kitchen to refresh ourselves, for we had partaken of nothing since rising. I drank a bowl of warm milk and was heartened at once. The great south fireplace was already blazing like a forge while the day's bread baked in the oven. Two herdsmen were setting down the body of a freshly slaughtered sheep. Among the cooks I saw Salvatore, who smiled at me with his wolf's mouth. And I saw that he was taking from a table a scrap of chicken left over from the night before and stealthily passing it to the herdsmen, who hid the food in their sheepskin jerkins with pleased grins. But the chief cook noticed and scolded Salvatore. \"Cellarer, cellarer,\" he said, \"u must look after the goods of the abbey, not squander them!\"\n\n\"Filii Dei they are,\" said Salvatore, \"Jesus has said that you do for him what you do for one of these pueri!\"\n\n\"Filthy Fraticello, fart of a Minorite!\" the cook shouted at him. \"You're not among those louse-bitten friars of yours any morel The abbot's charity will see to the feeding of the children of God!\"\n\nSalvatore's face turned grim and he swung around, in a rage: \"I am not a Minorite friar! I am a monk Sancti Benedicti! Merdre \u00e0 toy, Bogomil de merdre!\"\n\n\"Call Bogomil that whore you screw at night, with your heretic cock, you pig!\" the cook cried.\n\nSalvatore thrust the herdsmen through the door and, passing close to us, looked at us, worried. \"Brother,\" he said to William, \"you defend the order that is not mine; tell him the filii de Francesco non sunt hereticos!\" Then he whispered into an ear, \"Ille menteur, puah!\" and he spat on the ground.\n\nThe cook came over and roughly pushed him out, shutting the door after him. \"Brother,\" he said to William with respect, \"I was not speaking ill of your order or of the most holy men who belong to it. I was speaking to that false Minorite and false Benedictine who is neither flesh nor fowl.\"\n\n\"I know where he came from,\" William said, conciliatory. \"But now he is a monk as you are and you owe him fraternal respect.\"\n\n\"But he sticks his nose in where he has no business only because he is under the cellarer's protection and believes himself the cellarer. He uses the abbey as if it belonged to him, day and night.\"\n\n\"How at night?\" William asked. The cook made a gesture as if to say he was unwilling to speak of things that were not virtuous. William questioned him no further and finished drinking his milk.\n\nMy curiosity was becoming more and more aroused. The meeting with Ubertino, the muttering about the past of Salvatore and his cellarer, the more and more frequent references to the Fraticelli and the heretic Minorites I had heard in those days, my master's reluctance to speak to me about Fra Dolcino... A series of images began to return to my mind. For example, in the course of our journey we had at least twice come upon a procession of flagellants. Once the local populace was looking at them as if they were saints; the other time there was murmuring that these were heretics. And yet they were the same people. They walked in procession two by two, through the streets of the city, only their pudenda covered, as they had gone beyond any sense of shame. Each carried a leather lash in his hand and hit himself on the shoulders till blood came; and they were shedding abundant tears as if they saw with their own eyes the Passion of the Saviour; in a mournful chant they implored the Lord's mercy and the intercession of the Mother of God. Not only during the day but also at night, with lighted tapers, in the harsh winter, they went in a great throng from church to church, prostrating themselves humbly before the altars, preceded by priests with candles and banners, and they were not only men and women of the populace, but also noble ladies and merchants.... And then great acts of penance were to be seen: those who had stolen gave back their loot, others confessed their crimes....\n\nBut William had watched them coldly and had said to me this was not true penitence. He spoke then much as he had only a short while ago, this very morning: the period of the great penitential cleansing was finished, and these were the ways preachers now organized the devotion of the mobs, precisely so that they would not succumb to a desire for penance that\u2014in this case\u2014really was heretical and frightened all. But I was unable to understand the difference, if there actually was any. It seemed to me that the difference did not lie in the actions of the one or the other, but in the church's attitude when she judged this act or that.\n\nI remembered the discussion with Ubertino. William had undoubtedly been insinuating, had tried to say to him, that there was little difference between his mystic (and orthodox) faith and the distorted faith of the heretics. Ubertino had taken offense, as one who saw the difference clearly. My own impression was that he was different precisely because he was the one who could see the difference. William had renounced the duties of inquisitor because he could no longer see it. For this reason he was unable to speak to me of that mysterious Fra Dolcino. But then, obviously (I said to myself), William has lost the assistance of the Lord, who not only teaches how to see the difference, but also invests his elect with this capacity for discrimination. Ubertino and Clare of Montefalco (who was, however, surrounded by sinners) had remained saints precisely because they knew how to discriminate. This and only this is sanctity.\n\nBut why did William not know how to discriminate? He was such an acute man, and as far as the facts of nature went, he could perceive the slightest discrepancy or the slightest kinship between things....\n\nI was immersed in these thoughts, and William was finishing his milk, when we heard someone greet us. It was Aymaro of Alessandria, whom we had met in the scriptorium, and who had struck me by the expression of his face, a perpetual sneer, as if he could never reconcile himself to the fatuousness of all human beings and yet did not attach great importance to this cosmic tragedy. \"Well, Brother William, have you already become accustomed to this den of madmen?\"\n\n\"It seems to me a place of men admirable in sanctity and learning,\" William said cautiously.\n\n\"It was. When abbots acted as abbots and librarians as librarians. Now you have seen, up there\"\u2014and he nodded toward the floor above\u2014\"that half-dead German with a blind man's eyes, listening devoutly to the ravings of that blind Spaniard with a dead man's eyes; it would seem as though the Antichrist were to arrive every morning. They scrape their parchments, but few new books come in.... We are up here, and down below in the city they act. Once our abbeys ruled the world. Today you see the situation: the Emperor uses us, sending his friends here to meet his enemies (I know something of your mission, monks talk and talk, they have nothing else to do); but if he wants to control the affairs of this country, he remains in the city. We are busy gathering grain and raising fowl, and down there they trade lengths of silk for pieces of linen, and pieces of linen for sacks of spices, and all of them for good money. We guard our treasure, but down there they pile up treasures. And also books. More beautiful than ours, too.\"\n\n\"In the world many new things are happening, to be sure. But why do you think the abbot is to blame?\"\n\n\"Because he has handed the library over to foreigners and directs the abbey like a citadel erected to defend the library. A Benedictine abbey in this Italian region should be a place where Italians decide Italian questions. What are the Italians doing today, when they no longer have even a pope? They are trafficking, and manufacturing, and they are richer than the King of France. So, then, let us do the same; since we know how to make beautiful books, we should make them for the universities and concern ourselves with what is happening down in the valley\u2014I do not mean with the Emperor, with all due respect for your mission, Brother William, but with what the Bolognese or the Florentines are doing. From here we could control the route of pilgrims and merchants who go from Italy to Provence and vice versa. We should open the library to texts in the vernacular, and those who no longer write in Latin will also come up here. But instead we are controlled by a group of foreigners who continue to manage the library as if the good Odo of Cluny were still abbot....\"\n\n\"But your abbot is Italian,\" William said.\n\n\"The abbot here counts for nothing,\" Aymaro said, still sneering. \"In the place of his head he has a bookcase. Wormeaten. To spite the Pope he allows the abbey to be invaded by Fraticelli.\u2026 I mean the heretical ones, Brother, those who have abandoned your most holy order... and to please the Emperor he invites monks from all the monasteries of the North, as if we did not have fine copyists and men who know Greek and Arabic in our country, and as if in Florence or Pisa there were not sons of merchants, rich and generous, who would gladly enter the order, if the order offered the possibility of enhancing their fathers' prestige and power. But here indulgence in secular matters is recognized only when the Germans are allowed to... O good Lord, strike my tongue, for I am about to say improper things!\"\n\n\"Do improper things take place in the abbey?\" William asked absently, pouring himself a bit more milk.\n\n\"A monk is also human,\" Aymaro declared. Then he added, \"But here they are less human than elsewhere. And what I have said: remember that I did not say it.\"\n\n\"Very interesting,\" William said. \"And are these your personal opinions, or are there many who think as you do?\"\n\n\"Many, many. Many who now mourn the loss of poor Adelmo, but if another had fallen into the abyss, someone who moves about the library more than he should, they would not have been displeased.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I have talked too much. Here we talk too much, as you must have noticed already. Here, on the one hand, nobody respects silence any more. On the other, it is respected too much. Here, instead of talking or remaining silent, we should act. In the golden age of our order, if an abbot did not have the temper of an abbot, a nice goblet of poisoned wine would make way for a successor. I have said these things to you, Brother William, obviously not to gossip about the abbot or other brothers. God save me, fortunately I do not have the nasty habit of gossiping. But I would be displeased if the abbot had asked you to investigate me or some others like Pacificus of Tivoli or Peter of Sant'Albano. We have no say in the affairs of the library. But we would like to have a bit of say. So uncover this nest of serpents, you who have burned so many heretics.\"\n\n\"I have never burned anyone,\" William replied sharply.\n\n\"It was just a figure of speech,\" Aymaro confessed with a broad smile. \"Good hunting, Brother William, but be careful at night.\"\n\n\"Why not during! the day?\"\n\n\"Because during the day here the body is tended with good herbs, but at night the mind falls ill with bad herbs. Do not believe that Adelmo was pushed into the abyss by someone's hands or that someone's hands put Venantius in the blood. Here someone does not want the monks to decide for themselves where to go, what to do, and what to read. And the powers of hell are employed, or the powers of the necromancers, friends of hell, to derange the minds of the curious....\"\n\n\"Are you speaking of the father herbalist?\"\n\n\"Severinus of Sankt Wendel is a good person. Of course, he is also a German, as Malachi is a German....\" And, having shown once again his aversion to gossip, Aymaro went up to work.\n\n\"What did he want to tell us?\" I asked.\n\n\"Everything and nothing. An abbey is always a place where monks are in conflict among themselves to gain control of the community. At Melk, too, but perhaps as a novice you were not able to realize it. But in your country, gaining control of an abbey means winning a position in which you deal directly with the Emperor. In this country, on the other hand, the situation is different; the Emperor is far away, even when he comes all the way down to Rome. There is no court, not even the papal court now. There are the cities, as you will have seen.\"\n\n\"Certainly, and I was impressed by them. A city in Italy is something different from one in my land.... It is not only a place to live, it is also a place to decide, the people are always in the square, the city magistrates count far more than the Emperor or the Pope. The cities are like... so many kingdoms....\"\n\n\"And the kings are the merchants. And their weapon is money. Money, in Italy, has a different function from what it has in your country, or in mine. Money circulates everywhere, but much of life elsewhere is still dominated and regulated by the bartering of goods, chickens or sheaves of wheat, or a scythe, or a wagon, and money serves only to procure these goods. In the Italian city, on the contrary, you must have noticed that goods serve to procure money. And even priests, bishops, even religious orders have to take money into account. This is why, naturally, rebellion against power takes the form of a call to poverty. The rebels against power are those denied any connection with money, and so every call to poverty provokes great tension and argument, and the whole city, from bishop to magistrate, considers a personal enemy the one who preaches poverty too much. The inquisitors smell the stink of the Devil where someone has reacted to the stink of the Devil's dung. And now you can understand also what Aymaro is thinking about. A Benedictine abbey, in the golden period of the order, was the place from which shepherds controlled the flock of the faithful. Aymaro wants a return to the tradition. Only the life of the flock has changed, and the abbey can return to the tradition (to its glory, to its former power) only if it accepts the new ways of the flock, becoming different itself. And since today the flock here is dominated, not with weapons or the splendor of ritual, but with the control of money, Aymaro wants the whole fabric of the abbey, and the library itself, to become a workshop, a factory for making money.\"\n\n\"And what does this have to do with the crimes, or the crime?\"\n\n\"I don't know yet. But now I would like to go upstairs. Come.\"\n\nThe monks were already at work. Silence reigned in the scriptorium, but it was not the silence that comes from the industrious peace of all hearts. Berengar, who had preceded us by only a short time, received us with embarrassment. The other monks looked up from their work. They knew we were there to discover something about Venantius, and the very direction of their gaze drew our attention to a vacant desk, under a window that opened onto the interior, the central octagon.\n\nAlthough it was a very cold day, the temperature in the scriptorium was rather mild. It was not by chance that it had been situated above the kitchen, whence came adequate heat, especially because the flues of the two ovens below passed inside the columns supporting the two circular staircases in the west and south towers. As for the north tower, on the opposite side of the great room, it had no stair, but a big fireplace that burned and spread a happy warmth. Moreover, the floor had been covered with straw, which muffled our footsteps. In other words, the least-heated corner was that of the east tower, and in fact I noticed that, although there were few places left vacant, given the number of monks at work, all of the monks tended to avoid the desks located in that part. When I later realized that the circular staircase of the east tower was the only one that led, not only down to the refectory, but also up to the library, I asked myself whether a shrewd calculation had not regulated the heating of the room so that the monks would be discouraged from investigating that area and the librarian could more easily control the access to the library.\n\nPoor Venantius's desk had its back to the great fireplace, and it was probably one of the most desired. At that time I had passed very little of my life in a scriptorium, but I spent a great deal of it subsequently and I know what torment it is for the scribe, the rubricator, the scholar to spend the long winter hours at his desk, his fingers numb around the stylus (when even in a normal temperature, after six hours of writing, the fingers are seized by the terrible monk's cramp and the thumb aches as if it had been trodden on). And this explains why we often find in the margins of a manuscript phrases left by the scribe as testimony to his suffering (and his impatience), such as \"Thank God it will soon be dark,\" or \"Oh, if I had a good glass of wine,\" or also \"Today it is cold, the light is dim, this vellum is hairy, something is wrong.\" As an ancient proverb says, three fingers hold the pen, but the whole body works. And aches.\n\nBut I was telling about Venantius's desk. It was rather small, like the others set around the octagonal courtyard, since they were meant for scholars, whereas the larger ones under the windows of the outer walls were meant for illuminators and copyists. Venantius also worked with a lectern, because he probably consulted manuscripts on loan to the abbey, of which he made a copy. Under the desk was a low set of shelves piled with unbound sheets, and since they were all in Latin, I deduced they were his most recent translations. They were written hastily and did not represent the pages of a book, for they had yet to be entrusted to a copyist and an illuminator. For this reason they were difficult to read. Among the pages were a few books, in Greek. Another Greek book was open on the lectern, the work on which Venantius had been exercising his skill as translator in the past days. At that time I knew no Greek, but my master read the title and said this was by a certain Lucian and was the story of a man turned into an ass. I recalled then a similar fable by Apuleius, which, as a rule, novices were strongly advised against reading.\n\n\"Why was Venantius making this translation?\" William asked Berengar, who was at our side.\n\n\"The abbey was asked to do it by the lord of Milan, and the abbey will gain from it a preferential right to the wine production of some farms to the east of here.\" Berengar pointed with his hand toward the distance. But he promptly added, \"Not that the abbey performs venal tasks for laymen. But the lord who has given us this commission went to great pains to have this precious Greek manuscript lent us by the Doge of Venice, who received it from the Emperor of Byzantium, and when Venantius had finished his work, we would have made two copies, one for the lord of Milan and one for our library.\"\n\n\"Which therefore does not disdain to add pagan fables to its collection,\" William said.\n\n\"The library is testimony to truth and to error,\" a voice then said behind us. It was Jorge. Once again I was amazed (but I was to be amazed often in the days that followed) by the old man's way of suddenly, unexpectedly appearing, as if we did not see him and he did see us. I wondered also why on earth a blind man was in the scriptorium, but I realized later that Jorge was omnipresent in all corners of the abbey. And often he was in the scriptorium, seated on a stool by the fireplace, and he seemed to follow everything going on in the room. Once I heard him ask from his place, in a loud voice, \"Who is going upstairs?\" and he turned to Malachi, who was going toward the library, his steps silenced by the straw. The monks all held him in high esteem and often had recourse to him, reading him passages difficult to understand, consulting him for a gloss, or asking counsel on how to depict an animal or a saint. And he would look into the void with his spent eyes, as if staring at pages vivid in his memory, and he would answer that false prophets are dressed like bishops and frogs come from their mouths, or would say what stones were to adorn the walls of the heavenly Jerusalem, or that the Arimaspi should be depicted on maps near the land of Prester John\u2014urging that their monstrosity not be made excessively seductive, for it sufficed to portray them as emblems, recognizable, but not desirable, or repellent to the point of laughter.\n\nOnce I heard him advise a scholiast on how to interpret the recapitulatio in the texts of Tyconius according to the thought of Saint Augustine, so that the Donatist heresy could be avoided. Another time I heard him give advice on how, in making commentary, to distinguish heretics from schismatics. Or again, he told a puzzled scholar what book to seek in the library catalogue, and more or less on what page he would find it listed, assuring him that the librarian would certainly give it to him because it was a work inspired by God. Finally, on another occasion I heard him say that such-and-such a book should not be sought because, though it did indeed exist in the catalogue, it had been ruined by mice fifty years earlier, and by now it would crumble to powder in the fingers of anyone who touched it. He was, in other words, the library's memory and the soul of the scriptorium. At times he admonished monks he heard chatting among themselves: \"Hurry, and leave testimony to the truth, for the time is at hand!\" He was referring to the coming of the Antichrist.\n\n\"The library is testimony to truth and to error,\" Jorge said.\n\n\"Undoubtedly Apuleius and Lucian were reputed to be magicians,\" William said. \"But this fable, beneath the veil of its fictions, contains also a good moral, for it teaches how we pay for our errors, and, furthermore, I believe that the story of the man transformed into an ass refers to the metamorphosis of the soul that falls into sin.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" Jorge said.\n\n\"But now I understand why, during that conversation of which I was told yesterday, Venantius was so interested in the problems of comedy; in fact, fables of this sort can also be considered kin to the comedies of the ancients. Both tell not of men who really existed, as tragedies do; on the contrary, as Isidore says, they are fictions: 'fabulas poetae a fando nominaverunt, quia non sunt res factae sed tantum loquendo fictae. \u2026'\"\n\nAt first I could not understand why William had embarked on this learned discussion, and with a man who seemed to dislike such subjects, but Jorge's reply told me how subtle my master had been.\n\n\"That day we were not discussing comedies, but only the licitness of laughter,\" Jorge said grimly. I remembered very well that when Venantius had referred to that discussion, only the day before, Jorge had claimed not to remember it.\n\n\"Ah,\" William said casually, \"I thought you had spoken of poets' lies and shrewd riddles....\"\n\n\"We talked about laughter,\" Jorge said sharply. \"The comedies were written by the pagans to move spectators to laughter, and they acted wrongly. Our Lord Jesus never told comedies or fables, but only clear parables which allegorically instruct us on how to win paradise, and so be it.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" William said, \"why you are so opposed to the idea that Jesus may have laughed. I believe laughter is a good medicine, like baths, to treat humors and the other afflictions of the body, melancholy in particular.\"\n\n\"Baths are a good thing,\" Jorge said, \"and Aquinas himself advises them for dispelling sadness, which can be a bad passion when it is not addressed to an evil that can be dispelled through boldness. Baths restore the balance of the humors. Laughter shakes the body, distorts the features of the face, makes man similar to the monkey.\"\n\n\"Monkeys do not laugh; laughter is proper to man, it is a sign of his rationality,\" William said.\n\n\"Speech is also a sign of human rationality, and with speech a man can blaspheme against God. Not everything that is proper to man is necessarily good. He who laughs does not believe in what he laughs at, but neither does he hate it. Therefore, laughing at evil means not preparing oneself to combat it, and laughing at good means denying the power through which good is self-propagating. This is why the Rule says, 'The tenth degree of humility is not to be quick to laughter, as it is written: stultus in risu exaltat vocem suam.'\"\n\n\"Quintilian,\" my master interrupted, \"says that laughter is to be repressed in the panegyric, for the sake of dignity, but it is to be encouraged in many other cases. Pliny the Younger wrote, 'Sometimes I laugh, I jest, I play, because I am a man.'\"\n\n\"They were pagans,\" Jorge replied. \"The Rule forbids with stern words these trivialities: 'Scurrilitates vero vel verba otiosa et risum moventia aeterna clausura in omnibus locis damnamus, et ad talia eloquia discipulum aperire os non permittimus.'\"\n\n\"But once the word of Christ had triumphed on the earth, Synesius of Cyrene said that the divinity could harmoniously combine comic and tragic, and Aelius Spartianus said of the Emperor Hadrian, man of lofty behavior and of naturaliter Christian spirit, that he could mingle moments of gaiety with moments of gravity. And finally Ausonius recommended moderate use of the serious and the jocose.\"\n\n\"But Paulinus of Nola and Clement of Alexandria put us on guard against such foolishness, and Sulpicius Severus said that no one ever saw Saint Martin in the grip of wrath or in the grip of hilarity.\"\n\n\"But he recalled some replies of the saint spiritualiter salsa,\" William said.\n\n\"They were prompt and wise, not ridiculous. Saint Ephraim wrote an exhortation against the laughter of monks, and in the De habitu et conversatione monachorum there is a strong warning to avoid obscenity and witticisms as if they were asp venom!\"\n\n\"But Hildebertus said, 'Admittenda tibi ioca sunt post seria quaedam, sed tamen et dignis ipsa gerenda modis.' And John of Salisbury authorized a discreet hilarity. And finally Ecclesiastes, whom you quoted in the passage to which your Rule refers, where it says that laughter is proper to the fool, permits at least silent laughter, in the serene spirit.\"\n\nThe spirit is serene only when it contemplates the truth and takes delight in good achieved, and truth and good are not to be laughed at. This is why Christ did not laugh. Laughter foments doubt.\"\n\n\"But sometimes it is right to doubt.\"\n\n\"I cannot see any reason. When you are in doubt, you must turn to an authority, to the words of a father or of a doctor; then all reason for doubt ceases. You seem to me steeped in debatable doctrines, like those of the logicians of Paris. But Saint Bernard knew well how to intervene against the castrate Abelard, who wanted to submit all problems to the cold, lifeless scrutiny of reason not enlightened by Scripture, pronouncing his It-is-so and It-is-not-so. Certainly one who accepts dangerous ideas can also appreciate the jesting of the ignorant man who laughs at the sole truth one should know, which has already been said once and for all. With his laughter the fool says in his heart, 'Deus non est.'\"\n\n\"Venerable Jorge, you seem to me unjust when you call Abelard a castrate, because you know that he incurred that sad condition through the wickedness of others....\"\n\n\"For his sins. For the pride of his faith in man's reason. So the faith of the simple was mocked, the mysteries of God were eviscerated (or at least this was tried, fools they who tried), questions concerning the loftiest things were treated recklessly, the fathers were mocked because they had considered that such questions should have been subdued, rather than raised.\"\n\n\"I do not agree, venerable Jorge. Of us God demands that we apply our reason to many obscure things about which Scripture has left us free to decide. And when someone suggests you believe in a proposition, you must first examine it to see whether it is acceptable, because our reason was created by God, and whatever pleases our reason can but please divine reason, of which, for that matter, we know only what we infer from the processes of our own reason by analogy and often by negation. Thus, you see, to undermine the false authority of an absurd proposition that offends reason, laughter can sometimes also be a suitable instrument. And laughter serves to confound the wicked and to make their foolishness evident. It is told of Saint Maurus that when the pagans put him in boiling water, he complained that the bath was too cold; the pagan governor foolishly put his hand in the water to test it, and burned himself. A fine action of that sainted martyr who ridiculed the enemies of the faith.\"\n\nJorge sneered. \"Even in the episodes the preachers tell, there are many old wives' tales. A saint immersed in boiling water suffers for Christ and restrains his cries, he does not play childish tricks on the pagans!\"\n\n\"You see?\" William said. \"This story seems to you offensive to reason and you accuse it of being ridiculous! Though you are controlling your lips, you are tacitly laughing at something, nor do you wish me to take it seriously. You are laughing at laughter, but you are laughing.\"\n\nJorge made a gesture of irritation. \"Jesting about laughter, you draw me into idle debate. But you know that Christ did not laugh.\"\n\n\"I am not sure of that. When he invites the Pharisees to cast the first stone, when he asks whose image is ob the coin to be paid in tribute, when he plays on words and says 'Tu es petrus,' I believe he was making witticisms to confound sinners, to keep up the spirits of his disciples. He speaks with wit also when he says to Caiaphas, 'Thou hast said it.' And you well know that in the most heated moment of the conflict between Cluniacs and Cistercians, the former accused the latter, to make them look ridiculous, of not wearing trousers. And in the Speculum stultorum it is narrated of the ass Brunellus that he wonders what would happen if at night the wind lifted the blankets and the monks saw their own pudenda....\"\n\nThe monks gathered around. laughed, and Jorge became infuriated: \"You are drawing these brothers of mine into a feast of fools. I know that among the Franciscans it is the custom to curry the crowd's favor with nonsense of this kind, but of such tricks I will say to you what is said in a verse I heard from one of your preachers: Tum podex carmen extulit horridulum.\"\n\nThe reprimand was a bit too strong. William had been impertinent, but now Jorge was accusing him of breaking wind through the mouth. I wondered if this stern reply did not signify, on the part of the elderly monk, an invitation to leave the scriptorium. But I saw William, so mettlesome a moment earlier, now become meek.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, venerable Jorge,\" he said. \"My mouth has betrayed my thoughts. I did not want to show you a lack of respect. Perhaps what you say is correct, and I was mistaken.\"\n\nJorge, faced by this act of exquisite humility, emitted a grunt that could express either satisfaction or forgiveness; and he could only go back to his seat, while the monks who had gradually collected during the argument scattered to their places. William knelt again at Venantius's desk and resumed searching through the paper. With his humble reply, William had gained a few seconds of quiet. And what he saw in those few seconds inspired his investigation during the night that was to come.\n\nBut they were really only a few seconds. Benno came over at once, pretending he had forgotten his stylus on the desk when he had approached to hear the conversation with Jorge; and he whispered to William that he had to speak with him urgently, fixing a meeting place behind the balneary. He told William to leave first, and he would join him in a short while.\n\nWilliam hesitated a few moments, then called Malachi, who, from his librarian's desk near the catalogue, had followed everything that had happened. William begged him, in view of the injunction received from the abbot (and he heavily emphasized this privilege), to have someone guard Venantius's desk, because William considered it important to his inquiry that no one approach it throughout the day, until he himself could come back. He said this in a loud voice, and so not only committed Malachi to keep watch over the monks, but also set the monks themselves to keep watch over Malachi. The librarian could only consent, and William and I took our leave.\n\nAs we were crossing the garden and approaching the balneary, which was next to the infirmary building, William observed, \"Many seem to be afraid I might find something that is on or under Venantius's desk.\"\n\n\"What can that be?\"\n\n\"I have the impression that even those who are afraid do not know.\"\n\nAnd so Benno has nothing to say to us and he is only drawing us far away from the scriptorium?\"\n\n\"We will soon find out,\" William said. In fact, a short while later Benno joined us."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which Benno tells a strange tale from which unedifying things about the life of the abbey are learned.\n\nWhat Benno told us was quite confused. It really seemed that he had drawn us down there only to lure us away from the scriptorium, but it also seemed that, incapable of inventing a plausible pretext, he was telling us fragments of a truth of vaster dimensions than he knew.\n\nHe admitted he had been reticent that morning, but now, on sober consideration, he felt William should know the whole truth. During the famous conversation about laughter, Berengar had referred to the \"finis Africae.\" What was it? The library was full of secrets, and especially of books that had never been given to the monks to read. Benno had been struck by William's words on the rational scrutiny of propositions. He considered that a monk-scholar had a right to know everything the library contained, he uttered words of fire against the Council of Soissons, which had condemned Abelard, and while he spoke we realized that this monk was still young, that he delighted in rhetoric, was stirred by yearnings toward freedom, and was having a hard time accepting the limitations the discipline of the abbey set on his intellectual curiosity. I have earned always to distrust such curiosity, but I know well this attitude did not displease my master, and I saw he was sympathizing with Benno and giving him credence. In short, Benno told us he did not know what secrets Adelmo, Venantius, and Berengar had discussed, but he would not be sorry if as a result of this sad story a bit more light were to be cast on the running of the library, and he hoped that my master, however he might unravel the tangle of the inquiry, would have reason to urge the abbot to relax the intellectual discipline that oppressed the monks\u2014some from far places, like himself, he added, who had come for the express purpose of nourishing the mind on the marvels hidden in the vast womb of the library.\n\nI believe Benno was sincere in expecting of the inquiry what he said. Probably, however, as William had foreseen, he wanted at the same time to retain for himself the possibility of rummaging in Venantius's desk first, devoured as he was by curiosity, and in order to keep us away from that desk, he was prepared to give us information in exchange. And here is what it was.\n\nBerengar was consumed, as many of the monks now knew, by an insane passion for Adelmo, the same passion whose evils divine wrath had castigated in Sodom and Gomorrah. So Benno expressed himself, perhaps out of regard for my tender years. But anyone who has spent his adolescence in a monastery, even if he has kept himself chaste, often hears talk of such passions, and at times he has to protect himself from the snares of those enslaved by them. Little novice that I was, had I not already received from an aged monk, at Melk, scrolls with verses that as a rule a layman devotes to a woman? The monkish vows keep us far from that sink of vice that is the female body, but often they bring us close to other errors. Can I finally hide from myself the fact that even today my old age is still stirred by the noonday demon when my eyes, in choir, happen to linger on the beardless face of a novice, pure and fresh as a maiden's?\n\nI say these things not to cast doubt on the choice I made to devote myself to monastic life, but to justify the error of many to whom this holy burden proves heavy. Perhaps to justify Berengar's horrible crime. But, according to Benno, this monk apparently pursued his vice in a yet more ignoble fashion, using the weapon of extortion to obtain from others what virtue and decorum should have advised them against giving.\n\nSo for some time the monks had been making sarcastic observations on the tender looks Berengar cast at Adelmo, who, it seems, was of great comeliness. Whereas Adelmo, enamored only of his work, from which he seemed to derive his sole pleasure, paid little attention to Berengar's passion. But perhaps\u2014who knows?\u2014he was unaware that his spirit, secretly, tended toward the same ignominy. The fact is, Benno said, he had overheard a dialogue between Adelmo and Berengar in which Berengar, referring to a secret Adelmo was asking him to reveal, proposed a vile barter, which even the most innocent reader can imagine. And it seems that from Adelmo's lips Benno heard words of consent, spoken as if with relief. As if, Benno ventured, Adelmo at heart desired nothing else, and it sufficed for him to find some excuse other than carnal desire in order to agree. A sign, Benno argued, that Berengar's secret must have concerned arcana of learning, so that Adelmo could harbor the illusion of submitting to a sin of the flesh to satisfy a desire of the intellect. And, Benno added with a smile, how many times had he himself not been stirred by desires of the intellect so violent that to satisfy them he would have consented to complying with others' carnal desires, even against his own inclination.\n\n\"Are there not moments,\" he asked William, \"when you would also do shameful things to get your hands on a book you have been seeking for years?\"\n\n\"The wise and most virtuous Sylvester II, centuries ago, gave as a gift a most precious armillary sphere in exchange for a manuscript, I believe, of Statius or Lucan,\" William said. He added then, prudently, \"But it was an armillary sphere, not his virtue.\"\n\nBenno admitted that his enthusiasm had carried him away, and he resumed his story. The night before Adelmo's death, Benno followed the pair, driven by curiosity, and he saw them, after compline, go off together to the dormitory. He waited a long time, holding ajar the door of his cell, not far from theirs, and when silence had fallen over the sleep of the monks, he clearly saw Adelmo slip into Berengar's cell. Benno remained awake, unable to fall asleep, until he heard Berengar's door open again and Adelmo flee, almost running, as his friend tried to hold him back. Berengar followed Adelmo down to the floor below. Cautiously Benno went after them, and at the mouth of the lower corridor he saw Berengar, trembling, huddled in a corner, staring at the door of Jorge's cell. Benno guessed that Adelmo had flung himself at the feet of the venerable brother to confess his sin. And Berengar was trembling, knowing his secret was being revealed, even if under the seal of the sacrament.\n\nThen Adelmo came out, his face pale, thrust away Berengar, who was trying to speak to him, and rushed out of the dormitory, moving behind the apse of the church and entering the choir from the north door (which at night remains open). Probably he wanted to pray. Berengar followed him but did not enter the church; he wandered among the graves in the cemetery, wringing his hands.\n\nBenno was wondering what to do when he realized that a fourth person was moving about the vicinity. This person, too, had followed the pair and certainly had not noticed the presence of Benno, who flattened himself against the trunk of an oak growing at the edge of the cemetery. The fourth man was Venantius. At the sight of him Berengar crouched among the graves, as Venantius also went into the choir. At this point, fearing he would be discovered, Benno returned to the dormitory. The next morning Adelmo's corpse was found at the foot of the cliff. And more than that, Benno did not know.\n\nDinner hour was now approaching. Benno left us, and my master asked him noting further. We remained for a little while behind the balneary, then strolled briefly in the garden, meditating on those singular revelations.\n\n\"Frangula,\" William said suddenly, bending over to observe a plant that, on that winter day, he recognized from the bare bush. \"A good infusion is made from the bark, for hemorrhoids. And that is arctium lappa; a good cataplasm of fresh roots cicatrizes skin eczemas.\"\n\n\"You are cleverer than Severinus,\" I said to him, \"but now tell me what you think of what we have heard!\"\n\n\"Dear Adso, you should learn to think with your own head. Benno probably told us the truth. His story fits with what Berengar told us early this morning, for all its hallucinations. Berengar and Adelmo do something very evil together: we had already guessed that. And Berengar must reveal to Adelmo that secret that remains, alas, a secret. Adelmo, after committing his crime against chastity and the law of nature, thinks only of confiding in someone who can absolve him, and he rushes to Jorge. Whose character is very stern, as we know from experience, and he surely attacks Adelmo with distressing reprimands. Perhaps he refuses absolution, perhaps he imposes an impossible penance: we don't know, nor would Jorge ever tell us. The fact remains that Adelmo rushes into church and prostrates himself before the altar, but doesn't quell his remorse. At this point, he is approached by Venantius. We don't know what they say to each other. Perhaps Adelmo confides in Venantius the secret received as a gift (or as payment) from Berengar, which no longer matters to him, since he now has a far more terrible and burning secret. What happens to Venantius? Perhaps, overcome by the same ardent curiosity that today also seized our friend Benno, satisfied with what he has learned, he leaves Adelmo to his remorse. Adelmo sees himself abandoned, determines to kill himself, comes in despair to the cemetery, and there encounters Berengar. He says terrible words to him, flings his responsibilities at him, calls him his master in turpitude. I believe, actually, that Berengar's story, stripped of all hallucination, was exact. Adelmo repeats to him the same words of desperation he must have heard from Jorge. And now Berengar, overcome, goes off in one direction, and Adelmo goes in the other, to kill himself. Then comes the rest, of which we were almost witnesses. All believe Adelmo was murdered, so Venantius has the impression that the secret of the library is more important than he had believed, and he continues the search on his own. Until someone stops him, either before or after he has discovered what he wanted.\"\n\n\"Who killed him? Berengar?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. Or Malachi, who must guard the Aedificium. Or someone else. Berengar is suspect because he is frightened, and he knew that by then Venantius possessed his secret. Malachi is suspect: guardian of the inviolability of the library, he discovers someone has violated it, and he kills. Jorge knows everything about everyone, possesses Adelmo's secret, does not want me to discover what Venantius may have found.... Many facts would point to him. But tell me how a blind man can kill another man in the fullness of his strength? And how can an old man, even if strong, carry the body to the jar? But finally, why couldn't the murderer be Benno himself? He could have lied to us, impelled by reasons that cannot be confessed. And why limit our suspicions only to those who took part in the discussion of laughter? Perhaps the crime had other motives, which have nothing to do with the library. In any case, we need two things: to know how to get into the library at night, and a lamp. You provide the lamp. Linger in the kitchen at dinner hour, take one....\"\n\n\"A theft?\"\n\n\"A loan, to the greater glory of the Lord.\"\n\n\"If that is so, then count on me.\"\n\n\"Good. As for getting into the Aedificium, we saw where Malachi came from last night. Today I will visit the church, and that chapel in particular. In an hour we go to table. Afterward we have a meeting with the abbot. You will be admitted, because I have asked to bring a secretary to make a note of what we say.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "NONES",
                "text": "In which the abbot declares his pride in the wealth of his abbey and his fear of heretics, and eventually Adso wonders whether he has made a mistake in going forth into the world.\n\nWe found the abbot in church, at the main altar. He was following the work of some novices who had brought forth from a secret place a number of sacred vessels, chalices, patens, and monstrances, and a crucifix I had not seen during the morning function. I could not repress a cry of wonder at the dazzling beauty of those holy objects. It was noon and the light came in bursts through the choir windows, and even more through those of the fa\u00e7ade, creating white cascades that, like mystic streams of divine substance, intersected at various points of the church, engulfing the altar itself.\n\nThe vases, the chalices, each piece revealed its precious materials: amid the yellow of the gold, the immaculate white of the ivory, and the transparency of the crystal, I saw gleaming gems of every color and dimension, and I recognized jacinth, topaz, ruby, sapphire, emerald, chrysolite, onyx, carbuncle, and jasper and agate. And at the same time I realized how, that morning, first transported by prayer and then overcome with terror, I had failed to notice many things: the altar frontal and three other panels that flanked it were entirely of gold, and eventually the whole altar seemed of gold, from whatever direction I looked at it.\n\nThe abbot smiled at my amazement. \"These riches you see,\" he said, addressing me and my master, \"and others you will see later, are the heritage of centuries of piety and devotion, testimony to the power and holiness of this abbey. Princes and potentates of the earth, archbishops and bishops have sacrificed to this altar and to the objects destined for it the rings of their investiture, the gold and precious stones that were the emblem of their greatness, to have them melted down here to the greater glory of the Lord and of this His place. Though today the abbey is distressed by another, sad event, we must not forget, reminded of our fragility, the strength and power of the Almighty. The celebration of the Holy Nativity is approaching, and we are beginning to polish the sacred vessels, so that the Saviour's birth may be celebrated with all the pomp and magnificence it deserves and demands. Everything must appear in its full splendor,\" he added, looking hard at William, and afterward I understood why he insisted so proudly on justifying his action, \"because we believe it useful and fitting not to hide, but on the contrary to proclaim divine generosity.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" William said politely, \"if Your Sublimity feels that the Lord must be so glorified, your abbey has achieved the greatest excellence in this meed of praise.\"\n\n\"And so it must be,\" the abbot said. \"If it was the custom that amphoras and phials of gold and little gold mortars served, by the will of God or order of the prophets, to collect the blood of goats or calves or of the heifer in the temple of Solomon, then there is all the more reason why vases of gold and precious stones, and the most valuable things created, should be used with constant reverence and complete devotion to receive the blood of Christ! If in a second creation our substance were to be the same as that of the cherubim and the seraphim, the service it could perform for such an ineffable victim would still be unworthy....\"\n\n\"Amen,\" I said.\n\n\"Many protest that a devoutly inspired mind, a pure heart, a will led by faith should suffice for this sacred function. We are the first to declare explicitly and resolutely that these are the essential things; but we are convinced that homage must also be paid through the exterior ornament of the sacred vessel, because it is profoundly right and fitting that we serve our Saviour in all things, totally. He who has not refused to provide for us, totally and without reservation.\"\n\n\"This has always been the opinion of the great men of your order,\" William agreed, \"and I recall beautiful things written on the ornaments of churches by the very great and venerable abbot Suger.\"\n\n\"True,\" the abbot said. \"You see this crucifix. It is not yet complete.\u2026\" He took it in his hand with infinite love, gazed at it, his face radiant with bliss. \"Some pearls are still missing here, for I have found none the right size. Once Saint Andrew addressed the cross of Golgotha, saying it was adorned with the limbs of Christ as with pearls. And pearls must adorn this humble simulacrum of that great wonder. Still, I have found it proper to set, here, over the very head of the Saviour, the most beautiful diamond you will ever see.\" His devout hands, his long white fingers, stroked the most precious parts of the sacred wood, or, rather, the. sacred ivory, for this noble material had served to form the arms of the cross.\n\n\"As I take pleasure in all the beauties of this house of God, when the spell of the many-colored stones has torn me from outside concerns and a worthy meditation has led me to reflect, transferring that which is material to that which is immaterial, on the diversity of the sacred virtues, then I seem to find myself, so to speak, in a strange region of the universe, no longer completely enclosed in the mire of the earth or completely free in the purity of heaven. And it seems to me that, by the grace of God, I can be transported from this lower world to that higher world by anagoge.\u2026\"\n\nAs he spoke, he turned his face to the nave. A shaft of light from above was illuminating his countenance, through a special benevolence of the daystar, and his hands, which he had extended in the form of a cross, caught up as he was in his fervor. \"Every creature,\" he said, \"visible or invisible, is a light, brought into being by the father of lights. This ivory, this onyx, but also the stone that surrounds us, are a light, because I perceive that they are good and beautiful, that they exist according to their own rules of proportion, that they differ in genus and species from all other genera and species, that they are defined by their own number, that they are true to their order, that they seek their specific place according to their weight. And the more these things are revealed to me, the more the matter I gaze on is by its nature precious, and the better illuminated is the divine power of creation, for if I must strive to rasp the sublimity of the cause, inaccessible in its fullness, through the sublimity of the effect, how much better am I told of the divine causality by an effect as wondrous as gold and diamond, if even dung or an insect can speak to me of it! And then, when I perceive in these stones such superior things, the soul weeps, moved to joy, and not through terrestrial vanity or love of riches, but through the purest love of the prime, uncaused cause.\"\n\n\"Truly this is the sweetest of theologies,\" William said, with perfect humility, and I thought he was using that insidious figure of speech that rhetors call irony, which must always be prefaced by the pronunciatio, representing its signal and its justification\u2014something William never did. For which reason the abbot, more inclined to the use of figures of speech, took William literally and added, still in the power of his mystical transport, \"It is the most immediate of the paths that put us in touch with the Almighty: theophanic matter.\"\n\nWilliam coughed politely. \"Er\u2026 hm\u2026\" he said. This is what he did when he wanted to introduce a new subject. He managed to do it gracefully because it was his habit\u2014and I believe this is typical of the men of his country\u2014to begin every remark with long preliminary moans, as if starting the exposition of a completed thought cost him a great mental effort. Whereas, I am now convinced, the more groans he uttered before his declaration, the surer he was of the soundness of the proposition he was expressing.\n\n\"Eh... oh...\" William continued. \"We should talk of the meeting and the debate on poverty.\"\n\n\"Poverty\u2026\" the abbot said, still lost in thought, as if having a hard time coming down from that beautiful region of the universe to which his gems had transported him. \"Ah, yes, the meeting...\"\n\nAnd they began an intense discussion of things that in part I already knew and in part I managed to grasp as I listened to their talk. As I said at the beginning of this faithful chronicle, it concerned the double quarrel that had set, on the one hand, the Emperor against the Pope, and, on the other, the Pope against the Franciscans, who in the Perugia chapter, though only after many years, had espoused the Spirituals' theories about the poverty of Christ; and it concerned the jumble that had been created as the Franciscans sided with the empire, a triangle of oppositions and alliances that had now been transformed into a square, thanks to the intervention, to me still very obscure, of the abbots of the order of Saint Benedict.\n\nI never clearly grasped the reason why the Benedictine abbots had given refuge and protection to the Spiritual Franciscans, some time before their own order came to share their opinions to a certain extent. Because if the Spirituals preached the renunciation of all worldly goods, the abbots of my order\u2014I had seen that very day the radiant confirmation\u2014followed a path no less virtuous, though exactly the opposite. But I believe the abbots felt that excessive power for the Pope meant excessive power for the bishops and the cities, whereas my order had retained its power intact through the centuries precisely by opposing the secular clergy and the city merchants, setting itself as direct mediator between earth and heaven, and as adviser of sovereigns.\n\nI had often heard repeated the motto according to which the people of God were divided into shepherds (namely, the clerics), dogs (that is, warriors), and sheep (the populace). But I later learned that this sentence can be rephrased in several ways. The Benedictines had often spoken, not of three orders, but of two great divisions, one involving the administration of earthly things and the other the administration of heavenly things. As far as earthly things went, there was a valid division into clergy, lay lords, and populace, but this tripartite division was dominated by the presence of the ordo monachorum, direct link between God's people and heaven, and the monks had no connection with those secular shepherds, the priests and bishops, ignorant and corrupt, now supine before the interests of the cities, where the sheep were no longer the good and faithful peasants but, rather, the merchants and artisans. The Benedictine order was not sorry that the governing of the simple should be entrusted to the secular clerics, provided it was the monks who established the definitive regulation of this government, the monks being in direct contact with the source of all earthly power, the empire, just as they were with the source of all heavenly power. This, I believe, is why many Benedictine abbots, to restore dignity to the empire against the government of the cities (bishops and merchants united), agreed to protect the Spiritual Franciscans, whose ideas they did not share but whose presence was useful to them, since it offered the empire good syllogisms against the overweening power of the Pope.\n\nThese were the reasons, I then deduced, why Abo was now preparing to collaborate with William, the Emperor's envoy, and to act as mediator between the Franciscan order and the papal throne. In fact, even in the violence of the dispute that so endangered the unity of the church, Michael of Cesena, several times called to Avignon by Pope John, was ultimately prepared to accept the invitation, because he did not want his order to place itself in irrevocable conflict with the Pontiff. As general of the Franciscans, he wanted at once to see their positions triumph and to obtain papal assent, not least because he surmised that without the Pope's agreement he would not be able to remain for long at the head of the order.\n\nBut many had assured him the Pope would be awaiting him in France to ensnare him, charge him with heresy, and bring him to trial. Therefore, they advised that Michael's appearance at Avignon should be preceded by negotiations. Marsilius had had a better idea: to send with Michael an imperial envoy who would present to the Pope the point of view of the Emperor's supporters. Not so much to convince old Cahors but to strengthen the position of Michael, who, as part of an imperial legation, would not then be such easy prey to papal vengeance.\n\nThis idea, however, had numerous disadvantages and, could not be carried out immediately. Hence the idea of a preliminary meeting between the imperial legation and some envoys of the Pope, to essay their respective positions and to draw up the agreement for a further encounter at which the safety of the Italian visitors would be guaranteed. To organize this first meeting, William of Baskerville had been appointed. Later, he would present the imperial theologians' point of view at Avignon, if he deemed the journey possible without danger. A far-from-simple enterprise, because it was supposed that the Pope, who wanted Michael alone in order to be able to reduce him more readily to obedience, would send to Italy a mission with instructions to make the planned journey of the imperial envoys to his court a failure, as far as possible. William had acted till now with great ability. After long consultations with various Benedictine abbots (this was the reason for the many stops along our journey), he had chosen the abbey where we now were, precisely because the abbot was known to be devoted to the empire and yet, through his great diplomatic skill, not disliked by the papal court. Neutral territory, therefore, this abbey where the two groups could meet.\n\nBut the Pope's resistance was not exhausted. He knew that, once his legation was on the abbey's terrain, it would be subject to the abbot's jurisdiction; and since some of his envoys belonged to the secular clergy, he would not accept this control, claiming fears of an imperial plot. He had therefore made the condition that his envoys' safety be entrusted to a company of archers of the King of France, under the command of a person in the Pope's trust. I had vaguely listened as William discussed this with an ambassador of the Pope at Bobbio: it was a matter of defining the formula to prescribe the duties of this company\u2014or, rather, defining what was meant by the guaranteeing of the safety of the papal legates. A formula proposed by the Avignonese had finally been accepted, for it seemed reasonable: the armed men and their officers would have jurisdiction \"over all those who in any way made an attempt on the life of members of the papal delegation or tried to influence their behavior or judgment by acts of violence.\" Then the pact had seemed inspired by purely formal preoccupations. Now, after the recent events at the abbey, the abbot was uneasy, and he revealed his doubts to William. If the legation arrived at the abbey while the author of the two crimes was still unknown (and the following day the abbot's worries were to increase, because the crimes would increase to three), they would have to confess that within those walls someone in circulation was capable of influencing the judgment and behavior of the papal envoys with acts of violence.\n\nTrying to conceal the crimes committed would be of no avail, because if anything further were to happen, the papal envoys would suspect a plot against them. And so there were only two solutions. Either William discovered the murderer before the arrival of the legation (and here the abbot stared hard at him as if silently reproaching him for not having resolved the matter yet) or else the Pope's envoy had to be informed frankly and his collaboration sought, to place the abbey under close surveillance during the course of the discussions. The abbot did not like this second solution, because it meant renouncing: part of his sovereignty and submitting his own monks to French control. But he could run no risks. William and the abbot were both vexed by the turn things were taking; however, they had few choices. They proposed, therefore, to come to a final decision during the next day. Meanwhile, they could only entrust themselves to divine mercy and to William's sagacity.\n\n\"I will do everything possible, Your Sublimity,\" William said. \"But, on the other hand, I fail to see how the matter can really compromise the meeting. Even the papal envoy will understand that there is a difference between the act of a madman or a sanguinary, or perhaps only of a lost soul, and the grave proems that upright men will meet to discuss.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" the abbot asked, looking hard at William. \"Remember: the Avignonese know they are to meet Minorites, and therefore very dangerous persons, close to the Fraticelli and others even more demented than the Fraticelli, dangerous heretics who are stained with crimes\"\u2014here the abbot lowered his voice\u2014\"compared with which the events that have taken place here, horrible as they are, pale like mist in the sun.\"\n\n\"It is not the same thing!\" William cried sharply. \"You cannot put the Minorites of the Perugia chapter on the same level as some bands of heretics who have misunderstood the message of the Gospel, transforming the struggle against riches into a series of private vendettas or bloodthirsty follies....\"\n\n\"It is not many years since, not many miles from here, one of those bands, as you call them, put to fire and the sword the estates of the Bishop of Vercelli and the mountains beyond Novara,\" the abbot said curtly.\n\n\"You speak of Fra Dolcino and the Apostles....\"\n\n\"The Pseudo Apostles,\" the abbot corrected him. And once more I heard Fra Dolcino and the Pseudo Apostles mentioned, and once more in a circumspect tone, with almost a hint of terror.\n\n\"The Pseudo Apostles,\" William readily agreed. \"But they had no connection with the Minorites....\"\n\n\"\u2026 with whom they shared the same professed reverence for Joachim of Calabria,\" the abbot persisted, \"and you can ask your brother Ubertino.\"\n\n\"I must point out to Your Sublimity that now he is a brother of your own order,\" William said, with a smile and a kind of bow, as if to compliment the abbot on the gain his order had made by receiving a man of such renown.\n\n\"I know, I know.\" The abbot smiled. \"And you know with what fraternal care our order welcomed the Spirituals when they incurred the Pope's wrath. I am not speaking only of Ubertino, but also of many other, more humble brothers, of whom little is known, and of whom perhaps we should know more. Because it has happened that we accepted fugitives who presented themselves garbed in the habit of the Minorites, and afterward I learned that the various vicissitudes of their life had brought them, for a time, quite close to the Dolcinians.\u2026\"\n\n\"Here, too?\" William asked.\n\n\"Here, too. I am revealing to you something about which, to tell the truth, I know very little, and in any case not enough to pronounce accusations. But inasmuch as you are investigating the life of this abbey, it is best for you to know these things also. I will tell you, further, that on the basis of things I have heard or surmised, I suspect\u2014mind you, only suspect\u2014that there was a very dark moment to the life of our cellarer, who arrived here, in fact, two years ago, following the exodus of the Minorites.\"\n\n\"The cellarer? Remigio of Varagine a Dolcinian? He seems to me the mildest of creatures, and, for that matter, the least interested in Sister Poverty that I have ever seen\u2026\" William said.\n\n\"I can say nothing against him, and I make use of his good services, for which the whole community is also grateful to him. But I mention this to make you understand how easy it is to find connections between a friar of ours and a Fraticello.\"\n\n\"Once again your magnanimity is misplaced, if I may say so,\" William interjected. \"We were talking about Dolcinians, not Fraticelli. And much can be said about the Dolcinians without anyone's really knowing who is being discussed, because there are many kinds. Still, they cannot be called sanguinary. At most they can be reproached for putting into practice without much consideration things that the Spirituals preached with greater temperance, animated by true love of God, and here I agree the borderline between one group and the other is very fine.\u2026\"\n\n\"But the Fraticelli are heretics!\" the abbot interrupted sharply. \"They do not confine themselves to sustaining the poverty of Christ and the apostles, a doctrine that\u2014though I cannot bring myself to share it\u2014can be usefully opposed to the haughtiness of Avignon. The Fraticelli derive from that doctrine a practical syllogism: they infer a right to revolution, to looting, to the perversion of behavior.\"\n\n\"But which Fraticelli?\"\n\n\"All, in general. You know they are stained with unmentionable crimes, they do not recognize matrimony, they deny hell, they commit sodomy, they embrace the Bogomil heresy of the ordo Bulgariae and the ordo Drygonthie.\u2026\"\n\n\"Please,\" William said, \"do not mix things that are separate! You speak as if the Fraticelli, Patarines, Waldensians, Catharists, and within these the Bogomils of Bulgaria and the heretics of Dragovitsa, were all the same thing!\"\n\n\"They are,\" the abbot said sharply, \"they are because they are heretics, and they are because they jeopardize the very order of the civilized world, as well as the order of the empire you seem to me to favor. A hundred or more years ago the followers of Arnold of Brescia set fire to the houses of the nobles and the cardinals, and these were the fruits of the Lombard heresy of the Patarines.\"\n\n\"Abo,\" William said, \"you live in the isolation of this splendid and holy abbey, far from the wickedness of the world. Life in the cities is far more complex than you believe, and there are degrees, you know, also in error and in evil. Lot was much less a sinner than his fellow citizens who conceived foul thoughts also about the angels sent by God, and the betrayal of Peter was nothing compared with the betrayal of Judas: one, indeed, was forgiven, the other not. You cannot consider Patarines and Catharists the same thing. The Patarines were a movement to reform behavior within the laws of Holy Mother Church. They wanted always to improve the ecclesiastics' behavior.\"\n\n\"Maintaining that the sacraments should not be received from impure priests...\"\n\n\"And they were mistaken, but it was their only error of doctrine. They never proposed to alter the law of God.\u2026\"\n\n\"But the Patarine preaching of Arnold of Brescia, in Rome, more than two hundred years ago, drove the mob of rustics to burn the houses of the nobles and the cardinals.\"\n\n\"Arnold tried to draw the magistrates of the city into his reform movement. They did not follow him, and he found support among the crowds of the poor and the outcast. He was not responsible for the violence and the anger with which they responded to his appeals for a less corrupt city.\"\n\n\"The city is always corrupt.\"\n\n\"The city is the place where today live the people of God, of whom you, we, are the shepherds. It is the place of scandal in which the rich prelates preach virtue to poor and hungry people. The Patarine disorders were born of this situation. They are sad, but not incomprehensible. The Catharists are something else. That is an Oriental heresy, outside the doctrine of the church. I don't know whether they really commit or have committed the crimes attributed to them. I know they reject matrimony, they deny hell. I wonder whether many acts they have not committed have been attributed to them only because of the ideas (surely unspeakable) they have upheld.\"\n\n\"And you tell me that the Catharists have not mingled with the Patarines, and that both are not simply two of the faces, the countless faces, of the same demoniacal phenomenon?\"\n\n\"I say that many of these heresies, independently of the doctrines they assert, encounter success among the simple because they suggest to such people the possibility of a different life. I say that very often the simple do not know much about doctrine. I say that often hordes of simple people have confused Catharist preaching with that of the Patarines, and these together with that of the Spirituals. The life of the simple, Abo, is not illuminated by learning and by the lively sense of distinctions that makes us wise. And it is haunted by illness and poverty, tongue-tied by ignorance. Joining a heretical group, for many of them, is often only another way of shouting their own despair. You may burn a cardinal's house because you want to perfect the life of the clergy, but also because you believe that the hell he preaches does not exist. It is always done because on earth there does exist a hell, where lives the flock whose shepherds we no longer are. But you know very well that, just as they do not distinguish between the Bulgarian church and the followers of the priest Liprando, so often the imperial authorities and their supporters did not distinguish between Spirituals and heretics. Not infrequently, imperial forces, to combat their adversaries, encouraged Catharist tendencies among the populace. In my opinion they acted wrongly. But what I now know is that the same forces often, to rid themselves of these restless and dangerous and too 'simple' adversaries, attributed to one group the heresies of the others, and flung them all on the pyre. I have seen\u2014I swear to you, Abo, I have seen with my own eyes\u2014men of virtuous life, sincere followers of poverty and chastity, but enemies of the bishops, whom the bishops thrust into the hands of the secular arm, whether it was in the service of the empire or of the free cities, accusing these men of sexual promiscuity, sodomy, unspeakable practices\u2014of which others, perhaps, but not they, had been guilty. The simple are meat for slaughter, to be used when they are useful in causing trouble for the opposing power, and to be sacrificed when they are no longer of use.\"\n\n\"Therefore,\" the abbot said, with obvious maliciousness, \"were Fra Dolcino and his madmen, and Gherardo Segarelli and those evil murderers, wicked Catharists or virtuous Fraticelli, sodomite Bogomils or Patarine reformers? Will you tell me, William, you who know so much about heretics that you seem one of them, where the truth lies?\"\n\n\"Nowhere, at times,\" William said, sadly.\n\n\"You see? You yourself can no longer distinguish between one heretic and another. I at least have a rule. I know that heretics are those who endanger the order that sustains the people of God. And I defend the empire because it guarantees this order for me. I combat the Pope because he is handing the spiritual power over to the bishops of the cities, who are allied with the merchants and the corporations and will not be able to maintain this order. We have maintained it for centuries. And as for the heretics, I also have a rule, and it is summed up in the reply that Arnald Amalaricus, Bishop of Citeaux, gave to those who asked him what to do with the citizens of B\u00e9ziers: Kill them all, God will recognize His own.\"\n\nWilliam lowered his eyes and remained silent for a while. Then he said, \"The city of B\u00e9ziers was captured and our forces had no regard for dignity of sex or age, and almost twenty thousand people were put to the sword. When the massacre was complete, the city was sacked and burned.\"\n\n\"A holy war is nevertheless a war.\"\n\n\"For this reason perhaps there should not be holy wars. But what am I saying? I am here to defend the rights of Louis, who is also putting Italy to the sword. I, too, find myself caught in a game of strange alliances. Strange the alliance between Spirituals and the empire, and strange that of the empire with Marsilius, who seeks sovereignty for the people. And strange the alliance between the two of us, so different in our ideas and traditions. But we have two tasks in common: the success of the meeting and the discovery of a murderer. Let us try to proceed in peace.\"\n\nThe abbot held out his arms. \"Give me the kiss of peace, Brother William. With a man of your knowledge I could argue endlessly about fine points of theology and morals. We must not give way, however, to the pleasure of disputation, as the masters of Paris do. You are right: we have an important task ahead of us, and we must proceed in agreement. But I have spoken of these things because I believe there is a connection. Do you understand? A possible connection\u2014or, rather, a connection others can make\u2014between the crimes that have occurred here and the theses. of your brothers. This is why I have warned you, and this is why we must ward off every suspicion or insinuation on the part of the Avignonese.\"\n\n\"Am I not also to suppose Your Sublimity has suggested to me a line for my inquiry? Do you believe that the source of the recent events can be found in some obscure story dating back to the heretical past of one of the monks?\"\n\nThe abbot was silent for a few moments, looking at William but allowing no expression to be read on his face. Then he said: \"In this sad affair you are the inquisitor. It is your task to be suspicious, even to risk unjust suspicion. Here I am only the general father. And, I will add, if I knew that the past of one of my monks lent itself to well-founded suspicion, I would myself already have taken care to uproot the unhealthy plant. What I know, you know. What I do not know should properly be brought to light by your wisdom.\" He nodded to us and left the church.\n\n\"The story is becoming more complicated, dear Adso,\" William said, frowning. We pursue a manuscript, we become interested in the\" diatribes of some overcurious monks and in the actions of other, overlustful ones, and now, more and more insistently, an entirely different trail emerges. The cellarer, then... And with the cellarer that strange animal Salvatore also arrived here.... But now we must go and rest, because we plan to stay awake during the night.\"\n\n\"Then you still mean to enter the library tonight? You are not going to abandon that first trail?\"\n\n\"Not at all. Anyway, who says the two trails are separate? And finally, this business of the cellarer could merely be a suspicion of the abbot's.\"\n\nHe started toward the pilgrims' hospice. On reaching the threshold, he stopped and spoke, as if continuing his earlier remarks.\n\n\"After all, the abbot asked me to investigate Adelmo's death when he thought that something unhealthy was going on among his young monks. But now that the death of Venantius arouses other suspicions, perhaps the abbot has sensed that the key to the mystery lies in the library, and there he does not wish any investigating. So he offers me the suggestion of the cellarer, to distract my attention from the Aedificium....\"\n\n\"But why would he not want\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't ask too many questions. The abbot told me at the beginning that the library was not to be touched. He must have his own good reasons. It could be that he is involved in some matter he thought unrelated to Adelmo's death, and now he realizes the scandal is spreading and could also touch him. And he doesn't want the truth to be discovered, or at least he doesn't want me to be the one who discovers it....\"\n\n\"Then we are living in a place abandoned by God,\" I said, disheartened.\n\n\"Have you found any places where God would have felt at home?\" William asked me, looking down from his great height.\n\nThen he sent me to rest. As I lay on my pallet, I concluded that my father should not have sent me out into the world, which was more complicated than I had thought. I was learning too many things.\n\n\"Salva me ab ore leonis,\" I prayed as I fell asleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER VESPERS",
                "text": "In which, though the chapter is short, old Alinardo says very interesting things about the labyrinth and about the way to enter it.\n\nI woke when it was almost tolling the hour for the evening meal. I felt dull and somnolent, for daytime sleep is like the sin of the flesh: the more you have the more you want, and yet you feel unhappy,. sated and unsated at the same time. William was not to his cell; obviously he had risen much earlier. I found him, after a brief search, coming out of the Aedificium. He told me he had been in the scriptorium, leafing through the catalogue and observing the monks at work, while trying to approach Venantius's desk and resume his inspection. But for one reason or another, each monk seemed bent on keeping him from searching among those papers. First Malachi had come over to him, to show him some precious illuminations. Then Benno had kept him busy on trifling pretexts. Still later, when he had bent over to resume his examination, Berengar had begun hovering around him, offering his collaboration.\n\nFinally, seeing that my master appeared seriously determined to look into Venantius's things, Malachi told him outright that, before rummaging among the dead man's papers, he ought perhaps to obtain the abbot's authorization; that he himself, even though he was the librarian, had refrained, out of respect and discipline, from looking; and that in any case, as William had requested, no one had approached that desk, and no one would approach it until the abbot gave instructions. William realized it was not worth engaging in a test of strength with Malachi, though all that stir and those fears about Venantius's papers had of course increased his desire to become acquainted with them. But he was so determined to get back in there that night, though he still did not know how, that he decided not to create incidents. He was harboring, however, thoughts of retaliation, which, if they had not been inspired as they were by a thirst for truth, would have seemed very stubborn and perhaps reprehensible.\n\nBefore entering the refectory, we took another little walk in the cloister, to dispel the mists of sleep in the cold evening air. Some monks were still walking there in meditation. In the garden opening off the cloister we glimpsed old Alinardo of Grottaferrata, who, by now feeble of body, spent a great part of his day among the trees, when he was not in church praying; He seemed not to feel the cold, and he was sitting in the outer porch.\n\nWilliam spoke a few words of greeting to him, and the old man seemed happy that someone should spend time with him.\n\n\"A peaceful day,\" William said.\n\n\"By the grace of God,\" the old man answered.\n\n\"Peaceful in the heavens, but grim on earth. Did you know Venantius well?\"\n\n\"Venantius who?\" the old man said. Then a light flashed in his eyes. \"Ah, the dead boy. The beast is roaming about the abbey....\"\n\n\"What beast?\"\n\n\"The great beast that comes from the sea... Seven heads and ten horns and upon his horns ten crowns and upon his heads three names of blasphemy. The beast like unto a leopard, with the feet of a bear, and the mouth of a lion... I have seen him.\"\n\n\"Where have you seen him? In the library?\"\n\n\"Library? Why there? I have not gone to the scriptorium for years and I have never seen the library. No one goes to the library. I knew those who did go up to the library....\"\n\n\"Who? Malachi? Berengar?\"\n\n\"Oh, no...\" the old man said, chuckling. \"Before. The librarian who came before Malachi, many years ago...\"\n\n\"Who was that?\"\n\n\"I do not remember; he died when Malachi was still young. And the one who came before Malachi's master, and was a young assistant librarian when I was young... But I never set foot in the library. Labyrinth...\"\n\n\"The library is a labyrinth?\"\n\n\"Hunc mundum tipice labyrinthus denotat ille,\" the old man recited, absently. \"Intranti largus, redeunti sed nimis artus. The library is a great labyrinth, sign of the labyrinth of the world. You enter and you do not know whether you will come out. You must not transgress the pillars of Hercules....\"\n\n\"So you don't know how one enters the library when the Aedificium doors are closed?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\" The old man laughed. \"Many know. You go by way of the ossarium. You can go through the ossarium, but you do not want to go through the ossarium. The dead monks keep watch.\"\n\n\"Those dead monks who keep watch\u2014they are not those who move at night through the library with a lamp?\"\n\n\"With a lamp?\" The old man seemed amazed. \"I have never heard this story. The dead monks stay in the ossarium, the bones drop gradually from the cemetery and collect there, to guard the passage. Have you never seen the altar of the chapel that leads to the ossarium?\"\n\n\"It is the third on the left, after the transept, is it not?\"\n\nThe third? Perhaps. It is the one whose altar stone is carved with a thousand skeletons. The fourth skull on the right: press the eyes... and you are in the ossarium. But do not go there; I have never gone. The abbot does not wish it.\"\n\n\"And the beast? Where did you see the beast?\"\n\n\"The beast? Ah, the Antichrist... He is about to come, the millennium is past; we await him....\"\n\n\"But the millennium was three hundred years ago, and he did not come then....\"\n\n\"The Antichrist does not come after a thousand ears have passed. When the thousand years have passed, the reign of the just begins; then comes the Antichrist, to confound the just, and then there will be the final battle.\u2026\"\n\n\"But the just will reign for a thousand years,\" William said. \"Or else they reigned from the death of Christ to the end of the first millennium, and so the Antichrist should have come then; or else the just have not yet reigned, and the Antichrist is still far off.\"\n\n\"The millennium is not calculated from the death of Christ but from the donation of Constantine, three centuries later. Now it is a thousand years....\"\n\n\"So the rein of the just is ending?\"\n\n\"I do not know.... I do not know any more. I am tired. The calculation is difficult. Beatus of Li\u00e9bana made it; ask Jorge, he is young, he remembers well.... But the time is ripe. Did you not hear the seven trumpets?\"\n\n\"Why the seven trumpets?\"\n\n\"Did you not hear how the other boy died, the illuminator? The first angel sounded the first trumpet, and hail and fire fell mingled with blood. And the second angel sounded the second trumpet, and the third part of the sea became blood.... Did the second boy not die in the sea of blood? Watch out for the third trumpet! The third part of the creatures in the sea will die. God punishes us. The world all around the abbey is rank with heresy; they tell me that on the throne of Rome there is a perverse pope who uses hosts for practices of necromancy, and feeds them to his morays.... And in our midst someone has violated the ban, has broken the seals of the labyrinth....\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"I heard it. All were whispering that sin has entered the abbey. Do you have any chickpeas?\"\n\nThe question, addressed to me, surprised me. \"No, I have no chickpeas,\" I said, confused.\n\n\"Next time, bring me some chickpeas. I hold them in my mouth\u2014you see my poor toothless mouth?\u2014until they are soft. They stimulate saliva, aqua fons vitae. Will you bring me some chickpeas tomorrow?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow I will bring you some chickpeas,\" I said to him. But he had dozed off. We left him and went to the refectory."
            },
            {
                "title": "COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which the Aedificium is entered, a mysterious visitor is discovered, a secret message with necromantic signs is found, and also a book is found, but then promptly vanishes, to be sought through many subsequent chapters; nor is the theft of William's precious lenses the last of the vicissitudes.\n\nThe supper was joyless and silent. It had been just over twelve ours since the discovery of Venantius's co r se. All the others stole glimpses at his empty place at table. When it was the hour for compline, the procession that marched into the choir seemed a funeral cort\u00e8ge. We followed the office standing in the nave and keeping an eye on the third chapel. The light was scant, and when we saw Malachi emerge from the darkness to reach his stall, we could not tell exactly where he had come from. We moved into the shadows, hiding in the side nave, so that no one would see us stay behind when the office was over. Under my scapular I had the lamp I had purloined in the kitchen during supper. We would light it later at the great bronze tripod that burned all night. I had procured a new wick and ample oil. We would have light for a long time.\n\nI was too excited about our imminent venture to pay attention to the service, which ended almost without my noticing. The monks lowered their cowls over their faces and slowly filed out, to go to their cells. The church remained deserted, illuminated by the glow of the tripod.\n\n\"Now,\" William said, \"to work.\"\n\nWe approached the third chapel. The base of the altar was really like an ossarium, a series of skulls with deep hollow eyesockets, which filled those who looked at them with terror, set on a pile of what, in the admirable relief, appeared to be tibias. William repeated in a low voice the words he had heard from Alinardo (fourth skull on the right, press the eyes). He stuck his fingers into the sockets of that fleshless face, and at once we heard a kind of hoarse creak. The altar moved, turning on a hidden pivot, allowing a glimpse of a dark aperture. As I shed light on it with my raised lamp, we made out some damp steps. We decided to go down them, after debating whether to close off the passage again behind us. Better not, William said; we did not know whether we would be able to reopen it afterward. And as for the risk of being discovered, if anyone came at that hour to operate the same mechanism, that meant he knew how to enter, and a closed passage would not deter him.\n\nWe descended perhaps a dozen steps and came into a corridor on whose sides there were some horizontal niches, such as I was later to see in many catacombs. But now I was entering an ossarium for the first time, and I was very much afraid. The monks' bones had been collected there over the centuries, dug from the earth and piled in the niches with no attempt to recompose the forms of their bodies. Some niches had only tiny bones, others only skulls, neatly arranged in a kind of pyramid, so that one would not roll over another; and it was a truly terrifying sight, especially in the play of shadows the lamp created as we walked on. In one niche I saw only hands, many hands, now irrevocably interlaced in a tangle of dead fingers. I let out a cry in that place of the dead, for a moment sensing some presence above, a squeaking, a rapid movement in the dark.\n\n\"Mice,\" William said, to reassure me.\n\n\"What are mice doing here?\"\n\n\"Passing through, like us: because the ossarium leads to the Aedificium, and then to the kitchen. And to the tasty books of the library. And now you understand why Malachi's face is so austere. His duties oblige him to come through here twice daily, morning and evening. Truly he has nothing to laugh about.\"\n\n\"But why doesn't the Gospel ever say that Christ laughed?\" I asked, for no good reason. \"Is Jorge right?\"\n\n\"Legions of scholars have wondered whether Christ laughed. The question doesn't interest me much. I believe he never laughed, because, omniscient as the son of God had to be, he knew how we Christians would behave. But here we are.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, the corridor was ending, thank God; new steps began. After climbing them, we would have only to push an ironclad wooden door and we would find ourselves behind the fireplace of the kitchen, just below the circular staircase leading to the scriptorium. As we went up, we thought we heard a noise above us.\n\nWe remained a moment in silence; then I said, \"It's impossible. No one came in before us....\"\n\n\"Assuming this is the only way into the Aedificium. In centuries past this was a fortress, and it must have more secret entrances than we know of. We'll go up slowly. But we have little choice. If we put out the light we can't see where we are going; if we leave it burning we. give anyone upstairs the alarm. Our only hope is that if someone really is there, he will be afraid of us.\"\n\nWe reached the scriptorium, emerging from the south tower. Venantius's desk was directly opposite. The room was so vast that, as we moved, we illuminated only a few yards of wall at a time. We hoped no one was in the court, to see the light through the windows. The desk appeared to be in order, but William bent at once to examine the pages on the shelf below, and he cried out in dismay.\n\n\"Is something missing?\" I asked.\n\n\"Today I saw two books here, one of them in Greek. And that's the one missing. Somebody has taken it, and in great haste, because one page fell on the floor here.\"\n\n\"But the desk was watched.\u2026\"\n\n\"Of course. Perhaps somebody grabbed it just a short while ago. Perhaps he's still here.\" He turned toward the shadows and his voice echoed among the columns. \"If you are here, beware!\" It seemed to me a good idea as William had said before, it is always better when the person who frightens us is also afraid of us.\n\nWilliam set down the page he had found under the desk and bent his face toward it. He asked me for more light. I held the lamp closer and saw a page, the first half of it blank, the second covered with tiny characters whose origin I recognized with some difficulty.\n\n\"Is it Greek?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, but I don't understand clearly.\" He took his lenses from his habit and set them firmly astride his nose, then bent his head again.\n\n\"It's Greek, written in a very fine hand, and yet in a disorderly way. Even with my lenses I have trouble reading it. I need still more light. Come closer....\"\n\nHe had picked up the sheet of parchment, holding it to his face; and instead of stepping behind him and holding the lamp high over his head, I foolishly stood directly in front of him. He asked me to move aside, and as I did, I grazed the back of the page with the flame. William pushed me away, asking me whether I wanted to burn the manuscript for him. Then he cried out. I saw clearly that some vague signs, in a yellow-brown color, had appeared on the upper part of the page. William made me give him the lamp and moved it behind the page, holding the flame fairly close to the surface of the parchment, which he heated without setting it afire. Slowly, as if an invisible hand were writing \"Mane, Tekel, Peres,\" I saw some marks emerge one by one on the white side of the sheet as William moved the lamp, and as the smoke that rose from the top of the flame blackened the recto; the marks did not resemble those of any alphabet, except that of necromancers.\n\n\"Fantastic!\" William said. \"More and more interesting!\" He looked around. \"But it would be better not to expose this discovery to the tricks of our mysterious companion, if he is still here....\" He took off his lenses, set them on the desk, then carefully rolled up the parchment and hid it inside his habit. Still amazed by this sequence of events, which were nothing if not miraculous, I was about to ask further explanations when all of a sudden a sharp sound distracted us. It came from the foot of the east stairway, leading to the library.\n\n\"Our man is there! After him!\" William shouted, and we flung ourselves in that direction, he moving faster, I more slowly, for I was carrying the lamp. I heard the clatter of someone stumbling and falling. I ran, and found William at the foot of the steps, observing a heavy volume, its binding reinforced with metal studs. At that same moment we heard another noise, in the direction from which we had come. \"Fool that I am!\" William cried. \"Hurry! To Venantius's desk!\"\n\nI understood: somebody, from the shadows behind us, had thrown the volume to send us far away.\n\nOnce again William was faster than I and reached the desk first. Following him, I glimpsed among the columns a fleeing shadow, taking the stairway of the west tower.\n\nSeized with warlike ardor, I thrust the lamp into William's hand and dashed blindly off toward the stairs where the fugitive had descended. At that moment I felt like a soldier of Christ fighting all the legions of hell, and I burned with the desire to lay my hands on the stranger, to turn him over to my master. I tumbled down almost the whole stairway, tripping over the hem of my habit (that was the only moment of my life, I swear, when I regretted having entered a monastic order!); but at that same instant\u2014and it was the thought of an instant\u2014I consoled myself with the idea that my adversary was suffering the same impediment. And, further, if he had taken the book, he would have his hands full. From behind the bread oven I almost dived into the kitchen, and in the starry light that faintly illuminated the vast entrance, I saw the shadow I was pursuing as it slipped past the refectory door, then pulled this shut. I rushed toward the door, I labored a few seconds opening it, entered, looked around, and saw no one. The outside door was still barred. I turned. Shadows and silence. I noticed a glow advancing from the kitchen and I flattened myself against a wall. On the threshold of the passage between the two rooms a figure appeared, illuminated by a lamp. I cried out. It was William.\n\n\"Nobody around? I foresaw that. He didn't go out through a door? He didn't take the passage through the ossarium?\"\n\n\"No, he went out through here, but I don't know where!\"\n\n\"I told you: there are other passages, and it's useless for us to look for them. Perhaps our man is emerging at some distant spot. And with him my lenses.\"\n\n\"Your lenses?\"\n\n\"Yes. Our friend could not take the page away from me, but with great presence of mind, as he rushed past, he snatched my glasses from the desk.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because he is no fool. He heard me speak of these notes, he realized they were important, he assumed that without my lenses I would be unable to decipher them, and he knows for sure that I would not entrust them to anyone else. In fact, now it's as if I didn't have them.\"\n\n\"But how did he know about your lenses?\"\n\n\"Come, come. Apart from the fact that we spoke about them yesterday with the master glazier, this morning in the scriptorium I put them on to search among Venantius's papers. So there are many people who could know how valuable those objects are to me. Actually, I could read a normal manuscript, but not this one.\" And he was again unrolling the mysterious parchment. \"The part in Greek is written too fine and the upper part is too hazy.\u2026\"\n\nHe showed me the mysterious signs that had appeared as if by magic in the heat of the flame. \"Venantius wanted to conceal an important secret, and he used one of those inks that leave no trace when written but reappear when warmed. Or else he used lemon juice. But since I don't know what substance he used and the signs could disappear again: quickly, you who have good eyes, copy them at once as faithfully as you can, perhaps enlarging them a bit.\" And so I did, without knowing what I was copying. It was a series of four or five lines, really necromantic, and I will reproduce only the very first signs, to give the reader an idea of the puzzle I had before my eyes:\n\nWhen I had finished copying, William looked, unfortunately without lenses, holding my tablet at some distance from his nose. \"It is unquestionably a secret alphabet that will have to be deciphered,\" he said. \"The signs are badly drawn, and perhaps you copied them worse, but it is certainly a zodiacal alphabet. You see? In the first line we have\"\u2014he held the page away from him again and narrowed his eyes with an effort of concentration\u2014\"Sagittarius, Sun, Mercury, Scorpio.\u2026\"\n\n\"And what do they mean?\"\n\n\"If Venantius had been ingenuous he would have used the most common zodiacal alphabet: A equals Sun, B equals Jupiter.\u2026 The first line would then read... Try transcribing this: RACQASVL.\u2026\" He broke off. \"No, it means nothing, and Venantius was not ingenuous. He reformulated the alphabet according to another key. I shall have to discover it.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" I asked, awed.\n\n\"Yes, if you know a bit of the learning of the Arabs. The best treatises on cryptography are the work of infidel scholars, and at Oxford I was able to have some read to me. Bacon was right in saying that the conquest of learning is achieved through the knowledge of languages. Abu Bakr Ahmad ben Ali ben Washiyya an-Nabati wrote centuries ago a Book of the Frenzied Desire of the Devout to Learn the Riddles of Ancient Writings, and he expounded many rules for composing and deciphering mysterious alphabets, useful for magic practices but also for the correspondence between armies, or between a king and his envoys. I have seen other Arab books that list a series of quite ingenious devices. For example, you can substitute one letter for another, you can write a word backward, you can put the letters to reverse order, using only every other one; and then starting over again, you can, as in this case, replace letters with zodiacal signs, but attributing to the hidden letters their numerical value, and then, according to another alphabet, convert the numbers into other letters.\u2026\"\n\n\"And which of these systems can Venantius have used?\"\n\n\"We would have to test them all, and others besides. But the first rule in deciphering a message is to guess what it means.\"\n\n\"But then it's unnecessary to decipher it!\" I laughed.\n\n\"Not exactly. Some hypotheses can be formed on the possible first words of the message, and then you see whether the rule you infer from them can apply to the rest of the text. For example, here Venantius has certainly noted down the key for penetrating the finis Africae. If I try thinking that the message is about this, then I am suddenly enlightened by a rhythm.... Try looking at the first three words, not considering the letters, but the number of the signs... IIIIIIII IIIII IIIIIII.... Now try dividing them into syllables of at least two signs each, and recite aloud: ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta-ta.... Doesn't anything come to your mind?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"To mine, yes. 'Secretum finis Africae'\u2026 But if this were correct, then the last word should have the same first and sixth letter, and so it does, in fact: the symbol of the Earth is there twice. And the first letter of the first word, the S, should be the same as the last of the second: and, sure enough, the sign of the Virgin is repeated. Perhaps this is the right track. But it could also be just a series of coincidences. A rule of correspondence has to be found....\"\n\n\"Found where?\"\n\n\"In our heads. Invent it. And then see whether it is the right one. But with one test and another, the game could cost me a whole day. No more than that because\u2014remember this\u2014there is no secret writing that cannot be deciphered with a bit of patience. But now we risk losing time, and we want to visit the library. Especially since, without lenses, I will never be able to read the second part of the message, and you cannot help me because these signs, to your eyes...\"\n\n\"Graecum est, non legitur,\" I finished his sentence, humiliated. \"It is Greek to me.\"\n\n\"Exactly; and you see that Bacon was right. Study! But we must not lose heart. We'll put away the parchment and your notes, and we'll go up to the library. Because tonight not even ten infernal legions will succeed in keeping us out.\"\n\nI blessed myself. \"But who can he have been, the man who was here ahead of us? Benno?\"\n\n\"Benno was burning with the desire to know what there was among Venantius's papers, but I can't see him as one with the courage to enter the Aedificium at night.\"\n\n\"Berengar, then? Or Malachi?\"\n\n\"Berengar seems to me to have the courage to do such things. And, after all, he shares responsibility for the library. He is consumed by remorse at having betrayed some secret of it; he thought Venantius had taken that book, and perhaps he wanted to return it to the place from which it comes. He wasn't able to go upstairs, and now he is hiding the volume somewhere.\"\n\n\"But it could also be Malachi, for the same motives.\"\n\n\"I would say no. Malachi had all the time he wanted to search Venantius's desk when he remained alone to shut up the Aedificium. I knew that very well, but there was no way to avoid it. Now we know he didn't do it. And if you think carefully, we have no reason to think Malachi knows Venantius had entered the library and removed something. Berengar and Benno know this, and you and I know it. After Adelmo's confession, Jorge may know it, but he was surely not the man who was rushing so furiously down the circular staircase.\u2026\"\n\n\"Then either Berengar or Benno...\"\n\n\"And why not Pacificus of Tivoli or another of the monks we saw here today? Or Nicholas the glazier, who knows about my glasses? Or that odd character Salvatore, who they have told us roams around at night on God knows what errands? We must take care not to restrict the field of suspects just because Benno's revelations have oriented us in a single direction; perhaps Benno wanted to mislead us.\"\n\n\"But he seemed sincere to you.\"\n\n\"Certainly. But remember that the first duty of a good inquisitor is to suspect especially those who seem sincere to him.\"\n\n\"A nasty job, being an inquisitor.\"\n\n\"That's why I gave it up. And as you say, I am forced to resume it. But come now: to the library.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "NIGHT",
                "text": "In which the labyrinth is finally broached, and the intruders have strange visions and, as happens in labyrinths, lose their way.\n\nWe climbed back up to the scriptorium, this time by the east staircase, which rose also to the forbidden floor. Holding the light high before us, I thought of Alinardo's words about the labyrinth, and I expected frightful things.\n\nI was surprised, as we emerged into the place we should not have entered, at finding myself in a not very large room with seven sides, windowless, where there reigned\u2014as, for that matter, throughout the whole floor\u2014a strong odor of stagnation or mold. Nothing terrifying.\n\nThe room, as I said, had seven walls, but only four of them had an opening, a passage flanked by two little columns set in the wall; the opening was fairly wide, surmounted by a round-headed arch. Against the blind walls stood huge cases, laden with books neatly arranged. Each case bore a scroll with a number, and so did each individual shelf; obviously the same numbers we had seen in the catalogue. In the midst of the room was a table, also covered with books. On all the volumes lay a fairly light coat of dust, sign that the books were cleaned with some frequency. Nor was there dirt of any kind on the floor. Above one of the archways, a big scroll, painted on the wall, bore the words \"Apocalypsis Iesu Christi.\" It did not seem faded, even though the lettering was ancient. We noticed afterward, also in the other rooms, that these scrolls were actually carved in the stone, cut fairly deeply, and the depressions had subsequently been filled with color, as painters do in frescoing churches.\n\nWe passed through one of the openings. We found ourselves in another room, where there was a window that, in place of glass panes, had slabs of alabaster, with two blind walls and one aperture, like the one we had just come through. It opened into another room, which also had two blind walls, another with a window, and another passage that opened opposite us. In these two rooms, the two scrolls were similar in form to the first we had seen, but with different words. The scroll in the first room said \"Super thronos viginti quatuor,\" and the one in the second room, \"Nomen illi mors.\" For the rest, even though the two. rooms were smaller than the one by which we had entered the library (actually, that one was heptagonal, these two rectangular), the furnishing was the same.\n\nWe entered the third room. It was bare of books and had no scroll. Under the window, a stone altar. There were three doors: the one by which we had entered; another, leading to the heptagonal room already visited; and a third, which led to a new room, no different from the others except for the scroll, which said \"Obscuratus est sol et aer,\" announcing the growing darkness of sun and air. From here you went into a new room, whose scroll said \"Facta est grando et ignis,\" threatening turmoil and fire. This room was without other apertures: once you reached it, you could proceed no farther and had to turn back.\n\n\"Let us think about this,\" William said. \"Five quadrangular or vaguely trapezoidal rooms, each with one window, arranged around a windowless heptagonal room to which the stairway leads. It seems elementary to me. We are in the east tower. From the outside each tower shows five windows and five sides. It works out. The empty room is the one facing east, the same direction as the choir of the church; the dawn sun illuminates the altar, which I find right and pious. The only clever idea, it seems to me, is the use of alabaster slabs. In the daytime they admit a fine light, and at night not even the moon's rays can penetrate. Now let's see where the other two doors of the heptagonal room lead.\"\n\nMy master was mistaken, and the builders of the library had been shrewder than we thought. I cannot explain clearly what happened, but as we left the tower room, the order of the rooms became more confused. Some had two doorways, others three. All had one window each, even those we entered from a windowed room, thinking we were heading toward the interior of the Aedificium. Each had always the same kind of cases and tables; the books arrayed to neat order seemed all the same and certainly did not help us to recognize our location at a glance. We tried to orient ourselves by the scrolls. Once we crossed a room in which was written \"In diebus illis,\" \"In those days,\" and after some roaming we thought we had come back to it. But we remembered that the door opposite the window led into a room whose scroll said \"Primogenitus mortuorum,\" \"The firstborn of the dead,\" whereas now we came upon another that again said \"Apocalypsis Iesu Christi,\" though it was not the heptagonal room from which we had set out. This fact convinced us that sometimes the scrolls repeated the same words in different rooms. We found two rooms with \"Apocalypsis\" one after the other, and, immediately following them, one with \"Cecidit de coelo stella magna,\" \"A great star fell from the heavens.\"\n\nThe source of the phrases on the scrolls was obvious\u2014they were verses from the Apocalypse of John\u2014but it was not at all clear why they were painted on the walls or what logic was behind their arrangement. To increase our confusion, we discovered that some scrolls, not many, were colored red instead of black.\n\nAt a certain point we found ourselves again in the original heptagonal room (easily identified because the stairwell began there), and we resumed moving toward our right, trying to go straight from room to room. We went through three rooms and then found ourselves facing a blank wall. The only opening led into a new room that had only one other aperture, which we went through, and then, after another four rooms, we found ourselves again facing a wall. We returned to the previous room, which had two exits, took the one we had not tried before, went into a new room, and then found ourselves back in the heptagonal room of the outset.\n\n\"What was the name of the last room, the one where we began retracing our steps?\" William asked.\n\nI strained my memory and, I had a vision of a white horse: \"Equus albus.\"\n\n\"Good. Let's find it again.\" And it was easy. From there, if we did not want to turn back as we had before, we could only pass through the room called \"Gratia vobis et pax,\" and from there, on the right, we thought we found a new passage, which did not take us back. Actually we again came upon \"In diebus illis\" and \"Primogenitus mortuorum\" (were they the rooms of a few moments earlier?); then finally we came to a room that we did not seem to have visited before: \"Tertia pars terrae combusta est.\" But even when we had learned that a third of the earth had been burned up, we still did not know what our position was with respect to the east tower.\n\nHolding the lamp in front of me, I ventured into the next rooms. A giant of threatening dimensions, a swaying and fluttering form came toward me, like a ghost.\n\n\"A devil!\" I cried and almost dropped the lamp as I wheeled around and took refuge in William's arms. He seized the lamp from my hands and, thrusting me aside, stepped forward with a decisiveness that to me seemed sublime. He also saw something, because he brusquely stepped back. Then he leaned forward again and raised the lamp. He burst out laughing.\n\n\"Really ingenious. A mirror!\"\n\n\"A mirror?\"\n\n\"Yes, my bold warrior. You flung yourself so courageously on a real enemy a short while ago in the scriptorium, and now you are frightened by your own image. A mirror that reflects your image, enlarged and distorted.\"\n\nHe took me by the hand and led me up to the wall facing the entrance to the room. On a corrugated sheet of glass, now that the light illuminated it more closely, I saw our two images, grotesquely misshapen, changing form and height as we moved closer or stepped back.\n\n\"You must read some treatise on optics,\" William said, amused, \"as the creators of the library surely did. The best ones-are by the Arabs. Alhazen wrote a treatise, De aspectibus, in which, with precise geometrical demonstrations, he spoke of the power of mirrors, some of which, depending on how their surface is gauged, can enlarge the tiniest things (what else are my lenses?), while others make images appear upside down, or oblique, or show two objects in the place of one, and four in place of two. Still others, like this one, turn a dwarf into a giant or a giant into a dwarf.\"\n\n\"Lord Jesus!\" I exclaimed. \"Are these, then, the visions some say they have had in the library?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. A really clever idea.\" He read the scroll on the wall, over the mirror: \"Super thronos viginti quatuor.\" \" 'The twenty-four elders upon their seats.' We have seen this inscription before, but it was a room without any mirror. This one, moreover, has no windows, and yet it is not heptagonal. Where are we?\" He looked around and went over to a case. \"Adso, without those wondrous oculi ad legendum I cannot figure out what is written on these books. Read me some titles.\"\n\nI picked out a book at random. \"Master, it is not written!\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I can see it is written. What do you read?\"\n\n\"I am not reading. These are not letters of the alphabet, and it is not Greek. I would recognize it. They look like worms, snakes, fly dung....\"\n\n\"Ah, it's Arabic. Are there others like it?\"\n\n\"Yes, several. But here is one in Latin, thank God. Al... Al-Kuwarizmi, Tabulae.\"\n\n\"The astronomical tables of Al-Kuwarizmi, translated by Adelard of Bath! A very rare work! Continue.\"\n\n\"Isa ibn-Ali, De oculis; Alkindi, De radiis slellatis...\"\n\n\"Now look on the table.\"\n\nI opened a great volume lying on the table, a De bestiis. I happened on a delicately illuminated page where a very beautiful unicorn was depicted.\n\n\"Beautifully made,\" William commented, able to see the illustrations well. \"And that?\"\n\nI read: \"Liter monstrorum de diversis generibus. This also has beautiful images, but they seem older to me.\"\n\nWilliam bent his face to the text. \"Illuminated by Irish monks, at least five centuries ago. The unicorn book, on the other hand, is much more recent; it seems to me made in the French fashion.\" Once again I admired my master's erudition. We entered the next room and crossed the four rooms after it, all with windows, and all filled with volumes in unknown languages, in addition to some texts of occult sciences. Then we came to a wall, which forced us to turn back, because the last five rooms opened one into the other, with no other egress possible.\n\n\"To judge by the angles of the walls, I would say we are in the pentagon of another tower,\" William said, \"but there is no central heptagonal room. Perhaps we are mistaken.\"\n\n\"But what about the windows?\" I asked. \"How can there be so many windows? It is impossible for all the rooms to overlook the outside.\"\n\n\"You're forgetting the central well. Many of the windows we have seen overlook the octagon, the well. If it were day, the difference in light would tell us which are external windows and which internal, and perhaps would even reveal to us a room's position with respect to the sun. But after dusk no difference is perceptible. Let's go back.\"\n\nWe returned to the room with the mirror and headed for the third doorway, which we thought we had not gone through previously. We saw before us a sequence of three or four rooms, and toward the last we noticed a glow.\n\n\"Someone's there!\" I exclaimed in a stifled voice.\n\n\"If so, he has already seen our light,\" William said, nevertheless shielding the flame with his hand. We hesitated a moment or two. The glow continued to flicker slightly, but without growing stronger or weaker.\n\n\"Perhaps it is only a lamp,\" William said, \"set here to convince the monks that the library is inhabited by the souls of the dead. But we must find out. You stay here, and keep covering the light. I'll go ahead cautiously.\"\n\nStill ashamed at the sorry figure I had cut before the mirror, I wanted to redeem myself in William's eyes. \"No, I'll go,\" I said. \"You stay here. I'll proceed cautiously. I am smaller and lighter. As soon as I've made sure there is no risk, I'll call you.\"\n\nAnd so I did. I proceeded through three rooms, sticking close to the walls, light as a cat (or as a novice descending into the kitchen to steal cheese from the larder: an enterprise in which I excelled at Melk). I came to the threshold of the room from which the glow, quite faint, was coming. I slipped along the wall to a column that served as the right jamb, and I peered into the room. No one was there. A kind of lamp was set on the table, lighted, and it was smoking, flickering. It was not a lamp like ours: it seemed, rather, an uncovered thurible. It had no flame, but a light ash smoldered, burning something. I plucked up my courage and entered. On the table beside the thurible, a brightly colored book was lying open. I approached and saw four strips of different colors on the page: yellow, cinnabar, turquoise, and burnt sienna. A beast was set there, horrible to see, a great dragon with ten heads, dragging after him the stars of the sky and with his tail making them fall to earth. And suddenly I saw the dragon multiply, and the scales of his hide become a kind of forest of glittering shards that came off the page and took to circling around my head. I flung my head back and I saw the ceiling, of the room bend and press down toward me, then I heard something like the hiss of a thousand, serpents, but not frightening, almost seductive, and a woman appeared, bathed in light, and put her face to mine, breathing on me. I thrust her away with outstretched hands, and my hands seemed to touch the books in the case opposite, or to grow out of all proportion. I no longer realized where I was, where the earth was, and where the sky. In the center of the room I saw Berengar staring, at me with a hateful smile, oozing lust. I covered my face with my hands and my hands seemed the claws of a toad, slimy and webbed. I cried out, I believe; there was an acid taste in my mouth; I plunged into infinite darkness, which seemed to yawn wider and wider beneath me; and then I knew nothing further.\n\nI woke again after a time I thought was centuries, hearing some blows pounding in my head. I was stretched out on the floor and William was slapping me on the cheeks. I was no longer in that room, and before my eyes was a scroll that said \"Requiescant a laboribus suis,\" \"May they rest from their labors.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Adso,\" William was whispering to me. \"There's nothing....\"\n\n\"Everything...\" I said, still delirious. \"Over there, the beast...\"\n\n\"No beast. I found you raving underneath a table with a beautiful Mozarabic apocalypse on it, opened to the page of the mulier amicta sole confronting the dragon. But I realized from the odor that you had inhaled something dangerous and I carried you away immediately. My head also aches.\"\n\n\"But what did I see?\"\n\n\"You saw nothing. The fact is that some substances capable of inducing visions were burning there. I recognized the smell: it is an Arab stuff, perhaps the same that the Old Man of the Mountain gave his assassins to breathe before sending them off on their missions. And so we have explained the mystery of the visions. Someone puts magic herbs there during the night to convince importunate visitors that the library is guarded by diabolical presences. What did you experience, by the way?\"\n\nIn confusion, as best I could recall, I told him of my vision, and William laughed: \"For half of it you were developing what you had glimpsed in the book, and for the other half you let your desires and your fears speak out. This is the operation certain herbs set in action. Tomorrow we must talk about it with Severinus; I believe he knows more than he wants us to believe. They are herbs, only herbs, requiring none of those necromantic preparations the glazier talked to us about. Herbs, mirrors... This place of forbidden knowledge is guarded by many and most cunning devices. Knowledge is used to conceal, rather than to enlighten. I don't like it. A perverse mind presides over the holy defense of the library. But this has been a toilsome night; we must leave here for the present. You're distraught and you need water and fresh air. It's useless to try to open these windows: too high, and perhaps closed for decades. How could they think Adelmo had thrown himself down from here?\"\n\nLeave, William had said. As if it were easy. We knew the library could be reached only from one tower, the eastern one. But where were we at that moment? We had completely lost our orientation. We wandered, fearing never to emerge from that place again; I, still stumbling, seized with fits of vomiting; and William, somewhat worried about me and irritated by the inadequacy of his learning; but this wandering gave us, or gave him, an idea for the following day. We would come back to the library, assuming we ever got out of it, with a charred firebrand, or some other substance capable of leaving signs on the walls.\n\n\"To find the way out of a labyrinth,\" William recited, \"there is only one means. At every new junction, never seen before, the path we have taken will be marked with three signs. If, because of previous signs on some of the paths of the junction, you see that the junction has already been visited, you will make only one mark on the path you have taken. If all the apertures have already been marked, then you must retrace your steps. But if one or two apertures of the junction are still without signs, you will choose any one, making two signs on it. Proceeding through an aperture that bears only one sign, you will make two more, so that now the aperture bears three. All the parts of the labyrinth must have been visited if, arriving at a junction, you never take a passage with three signs, unless none of the other passages is now without signs.\"\n\n\"How do you know that? Are you an expert on labyrinths?\"\n\n\"No, I am citing an ancient text I once read.\"\n\n\"And by observing this rule you get out?\"\n\n\"Almost never, as far as I know. But we will try it, all the same. And besides, within the next day or so I will have lenses and time to devote myself more to the books. It may be that where the succession of scrolls confuses us, the arrangement of the books will give us a rule.\"\n\n\"You'll have your lenses? How will you find them again?\"\n\n\"I said I'll have lenses. I'll have new ones made. I believe the glazier is eager for an opportunity of this kind, to try something new. As long as he has the right tools for grinding the bits of glass. When it comes to bits of glass, he has plenty in his workshop.\"\n\nAs we roamed, seeking the way, suddenly, in the center of one room, I felt an invisible hand stroke my cheek, while a groan, not human and not animal, echoed in both that room and the next, as if a ghost were wandering from one to the other. I should have been prepared for the library's surprises, but once again I was terrified and leaped backward. William must have had an experience similar to mine, because he was touching his cheek as he held up the light and looked around.\n\nHe raised one hand, examined the flame, which now seemed brighter, then moistened a finger and held it straight in front of him.\n\n\"It's clear,\" he said then, and showed me two points, on opposite walls, at a man's height. Two narrow slits opened there, and if you put your hand to them you could feel the cold air coming from outside. Putting your ear to them, you could hear a rustling sound, as of a wind blowing outside.\n\n\"The library must, of course, have a ventilation system,\" William said. \"Otherwise the atmosphere would be stifling, especially in the summer. Moreover, those slits provide the right amount of humidity, so the parchments will not dry out. But the cleverness of the founders did not stop there. Placing the slits at certain angles, they made sure that on windy nights the gusts penetrating from these openings would encounter other gusts, and swirl inside the sequence of rooms, producing the sounds we have heard. Which, along with the mirrors and the herbs, increase the fear of the foolhardy who come in here, as we have, without knowing the place well. And we ourselves for a moment thought ghosts were breathing on our faces. We've realized it only now because the wind has sprung up only now. So this mystery, too, is solved. But we still don't know how to get out!\"\n\nAs we spoke, we wandered aimlessly, now bewildered, not bothering to read the scrolls, which seemed all alike. We came into a new heptagonal room, we went through the nearby rooms, we found no exit. We retraced our steps and walked for almost an hour, making no effort to discover where we were. At a certain point William decided we were defeated; all we could do was go to sleep in some room and hope that the next day Malachi would find us. As we bemoaned the miserable end of our bold adventure, we suddenly found again the room from which the stairway descended. We fervently thanked heaven and went down in high spirits.\n\nOnce we were in the kitchen, we rushed to the fireplace and entered the corridor of the ossarium, and I swear that the deathly grin of those fleshless heads looked to me like the smiles of dear friends. We reentered the church and came out through the north door, finally sitting down happily on the tombstones. The beautiful night air seemed a divine balm. The stars shone around us and I felt the visions of the library were far away.\n\n\"How beautiful the world is, and how ugly labyrinths are,\" I said, relieved.\n\n\"How beautiful the world would be if there were a procedure for moving through labyrinths,\" my master replied.\n\nWe walked along the left side of the church, passed the great door (I looked away, to avoid seeing the elders of the Apocalypse: \"Super thronos viginti quatuor\"!), and crossed the cloister to reach the pilgrims' hospice.\n\nAt the door of the building stood the abbot, staring at us sternly.. \"I have been looking for you all night,\" he said to William. \"I did not find you in your cell, I did not find you in church....\"\n\n\"We were pursuing a trail...\" William said vaguely, with visible embarrassment. The abbot gave him a long look, then said in a slow and severe voice, \"I looked for you immediately after compline. Berengar was not in choir.\"\n\n\"What are you telling me?\" William said, with a cheerful expression. In fact, it was now clear to him who had been in ambush in the scriptorium.\n\n\"He was not in choir at compline,\" the abbot repeated, and has not come back to his cell. Matins are about to ring, and we will now see if he reappears. Otherwise I fear some new calamity.\"\n\nAt matins Berengar was absent."
            },
            {
                "title": "THIRD DAY",
                "text": "[ FROM LAUDS TO PRIME ]\n\nIn which a bloodstained cloth is found in the cell of Berengar, who has disappeared; and that is all.\n\nIn setting down these words, I feel weary, as I felt that night\u2014or, rather, that morning. What can be said? After matins the abbot sent most of the monks, now in a state of alarm, to seek everywhere; but without any result.\n\nToward lauds, searching Berengar's cell, a monk found under the pallet a white cloth stained with blood. He showed it to the abbot, who drew the direst omens from it. Jorge was present, and as soon as he was informed, he said, \"Blood?\" as if the thing seemed improbable to him. They told Alinardo, who shook his head and said, \"No, no, at the third trumpet death comes by water....\"\n\nWilliam examined the cloth, then said, \"Now everything is clear.\"\n\n\"Where is Berengar?\" they asked him.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he answered. Aymaro heard him and raised his eyes to heaven, murmuring to Peter of Sant'Albano, \"Typically English.\"\n\nToward prime, when the sun was already up, servants were sent to explore the toot of the cliff, all around the walls. They came back at terce, having found nothing.\n\nWilliam told me that we could not have done any better. We had to await events. And he went to the forges, to engage in a deep conversation with Nicholas, the master glazier.\n\nI sat in church, near the central door, as the Masses were said. And so I fell devoutly asleep and slept a long time, because young people seem to need sleep more than the old, who have already slept so much and are preparing to sleep for all eternity."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which Adso, in the scriptorium, reflects on the history of his order and on the destiny of books.\n\nI came out of church less tired but with my mind confused: the body does not enjoy peaceful rest except in the night hours. I went up to the scriptorium and, after obtaining Malachi's permission, began to leaf through the catalogue. But as I glanced absently at the pages passing before my eyes, I was really observing the monks.\n\nI was struck by their calm, their serenity. Intent on their work, they seemed to forget that one of their brothers was being anxiously sought throughout the grounds, and that two others had disappeared in frightful circumstances. Here, I said to myself, is the greatness of our order: for centuries and centuries men like these have seen the barbarian hordes burst in, sack their abbeys, plunge kingdoms into chasms of fire, and yet they have gone on cherishing parchments and inks, have continued to read, moving their lips over words that have been handed down through centuries and which they will hand down to the centuries to come. They went on reading and copying as the millennium approached; why should they not continue to do so now?\n\nThe day before, Benno had said he would be prepared to sin in order to procure a rare book. He was not lying and not joking. A monk should surely love his books with humility, wishing their good and not the glory of his own curiosity; but what the temptation of adultery is for laymen and the yearning for riches is for secular ecclesiastics, the seduction of knowledge is for monks.\n\nI leafed through the catalogue, and a feast of mysterious titles danced before my eyes: Quinti Sereni de medicamentis, Phaenomena, Liber Aesopi de natura animalium, Liber Aethici peronymi de cosmographia, Libei tres quos Arculphus episcopus Adamnano escipiente de locis sanctis ultramarinis designavit conscribendos, Libellus Q. Iulii Hilarionis de origine mundi, Solini Polyhistor de situ orbis terrarum et mirabilibus, Almagesthus.... I was not surprised that the mystery of the crimes should involve the library. For these men devoted to writing, the library was at once the celestial Jerusalem and an underground world on the border between terra incognita and Hades. They were dominated by the library, by its promises and by its prohibitions. They lived with it, for it, and perhaps against it, sinfully hoping one day to violate all its secrets. Why should they not have risked death to satisfy a curiosity of their minds, or have killed to prevent someone from appropriating a jealously guarded secret of their own?\n\nTemptations, to be sure, intellectual pride. Quite different was the scribe-monk imagined by our sainted founder, capable of copying without understanding, surrendered to the will of God, writing as if praying, and praying inasmuch as he was writing. Why was it no longer so? Oh, this was surely not the only degeneration of our order! It had become too powerful, its abbots competed with kings: in Abo did I not perhaps have the example of a monarch who, with monarch's demeanor, tried to settle controversies between monarchs? The very knowledge that the abbeys had accumulated was now used as barter goods, cause for pride, motive for boasting and prestige; just as knights displayed armor and standards, our abbots displayed illuminated manuscripts.... And all the more so now (what madness!), when our monasteries had also lost the leadership in learning: cathedral schools, urban corporations, universities were copying books, perhaps more and better than we, and producing new ones, and this may have been the cause of many misfortunes.\n\nThe abbey where I was staying was probably the last to boast of excellence in the production and reproduction of learning. But perhaps for this very reason, the monks were no longer content with the holy work of copying; they wanted also to produce new complements of nature, impelled by the lust for novelty. And they did not realize, as I sensed vaguely at that moment (and know clearly today, now aged in years and experience), that in doing so they sanctioned the destruction of their excellence. Because if this new learning they wanted to produce were to circulate freely outside those walls, then nothing would distinguish that sacred place any longer from a cathedral school or a city university. Remaining isolated, on the other hand, it maintained its prestige and its strength intact, it was not corrupted by disputation, by the quodlibetical conceit that would subject every mystery and every greatness to the scrutiny of the sic et non. There, I said to myself, are the reasons for the silence and the darkness that surround the library: it is the preserve of learning but can maintain this learning unsullied only if it prevents its reaching anyone at all, even the monks themselves. Learning is not like a coin, which remains physically whole even through the most infamous transactions; it is, rather, like a very handsome dress, which is worn out through use and ostentation. Is not a book like that, in fact? Its pages crumble, its ink and gold turn dull, if too many hands touch it. I saw Pacificus of Tivoli, leafing through an ancient volume whose pages had become stuck together because of the humidity. He moistened his thumb and forefinger with his tongue to leaf through his book, and at every touch of his saliva those pages lost vigor; opening them meant folding them, exposing them to the harsh action of air and dust, which would erode the subtle wrinkles of the parchment, and would produce mildew where the saliva had softened but also weakened the corner of the page. As an excess of sweetness makes the warrior flaccid and inept, this excess of possessive and curious love would make the book vulnerable to the disease destined to kill it.\n\nWhat should be done? Stop reading, and only preserve? Were my fears correct? What would my master have said?\n\nNearby I saw a rubricator, Magnus of Iona, who had finished scraping his vellum with pumice stone and was now softening it with chalk, soon to smooth the surface with the ruler. Another, next to him, Rabano of Toledo, had fixed the parchment to the desk, pricking the margins with tiny holes on both sides, between which, with-a metal stylus, he was now drawing very fine horizontal lines. Soon the two pages would be filled with colors and shapes, the sheet would become a kind of reliquary, glowing with gems studded in what would then be the devout text of the writing. Those two brothers, I said to myself, are living their hours of paradise on earth. They were producing new books, just like those that time would inexorably destroy.... Therefore, the library could not be threatened by any earthly force, it was a living thing.... But if it was living, why should it not be opened to the risk of knowledge? Was this what Benno wanted and what Venantius perhaps had wanted?\n\nI felt confused, afraid of my own thoughts. Perhaps they were not fitting for a novice, who should only follow the Rule scrupulously and humbly through all the years to come\u2014which is what I subsequently did, without asking myself further questions, while around me the world was sinking deeper and deeper into a storm of blood and madness.\n\nIt was the hour of our morning meal. I went to the kitchen, where by now I had become a friend of the cooks, and they gave me some of the best morsels."
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which Adso receives the confidences of Salvatore, which cannot be summarized in a few words, but which cause him long and concerned meditation.\n\nAs I was eating, I saw Salvatore in one corner, obviously having made his peace with the cook, for he was merrily devouring a mutton pie. He ate as if he had never eaten before in his life, not letting even a crumb fall, and he seemed to be giving thanks to God for this extraordinary event.\n\nHe winked at me and said, in that bizarre language of his, that he was eating for all the years when he had fasted. I questioned him. He told me of a very painful childhood in a village where the air was bad, the rains frequent, where the fields rotted while the air was polluted by deathly miasmas. There were floods, or so I understood, season after season, when the fields had no furrows and with a bushel of seed you harvested a sextary, and then the sextary was reduced to nothing. Even the overlords had white faces like the poor, although, Salvatore remarked, the poor died in greater numbers than the gentry did, perhaps (he smiled) because there were more of them.... A sextary cost fifteen pence, a bushel sixty pence, the preachers announced the end of the world, but Salvatore's parents and grandparents remembered the same story in the past as well, so they came to the conclusion that the world was always about to end. And after they had eaten all the bird carcasses and all the unclean animals they could find, there was a rumor in the village that somebody was beginning to dig up the dead. Salvatore explained with great dramatic ability, as if he were an actor, how those \"homeni malissimi\" behaved, the wicked men who scrabbled with their fingers in the earth of the cemeteries the day after somebody's funeral. \"Yum!\" he said, and bit into his mutton pie, but I could see on his face the grimace of the desperate man eating the corpse. And then, not content with digging in consecrated ground, some, worse than the others, like highwaymen, crouched in the forest and took travelers by surprise. \"Thwack!\" Salvatore said, holding his knife to his throat, and \"Nyum!\" And the worst among the worst accosted boys, offering an egg or an apple, and then devoured them, though, as Salvatore explained to me very gravely, always cooking them first. He told of a man who came to the village selling cooked meat for a few pence, and nobody could understand this great stroke of luck, but then the priest said it was human flesh, and the man was torn to pieces by the infuriated crowd. That same night, however, one man from the village went and dug up the grave of the murdered victim and ate the flesh of the cannibal, whereupon, since he was discovered, the village put him to death, too.\n\nBut Salvatore did not tell me only this tale. In broken words, obliging me to recall what little I knew of Proven\u00e7al and of Italian dialects, he told me the story of his flight from his native village and his roaming about the world. And in his story I recognized many men I had already known or encountered along the road, and I now recognize many more that I have met since, so that after all this time I may even attribute to him adventures and crimes that belonged, to others, before him and after him, and which now, to my tired mind, flatten out to form a single image. This, in fact, is the power of the imagination, which, combining the memory of gold with that of the mountain, can compose the idea of a golden mountain.\n\nOften during our journey I heard William mention \"the simple,\" a term by which some of his brothers denoted not only the populace but, at the same time, the unlearned. This expression always seemed to me generic, because in the Italian cities I had met men of trade and artisans who were not clerics but were not unlearned, even if their knowledge was revealed through the use of the vernacular. And, for that matter, some of the tyrants who governed the peninsula at that time were ignorant of theological learning, and medical, and of logic, and ignorant of Latin, but they were surely not simple or benighted. So I believe that even my master, when he spoke of the simple, was using a rather simple concept. But unquestionably Salvatore was simple. He came from a rural land that for centuries had been subjected to famine and the arrogance of the feudal lords. He was simple, but he was not a fool. He yearned for a different world, which, when he fled from his family's house, I gathered, assumed the aspect of the land of Cockaigne, where wheels of cheese and aromatic sausages grow on the trees that ooze honey.\n\nDriven by such a hope, as if refusing to recognize this world as a vale of tears where (as they taught me) even injustice is foreordained by Providence to maintain the balance of things, whose design often eludes us, Salvatore journeyed through various lands, from his native Montferrat toward Liguria, then up through Provence into the lands of the King of France.\n\nSalvatore wandered through the world, begging, pilfering, pretending to be ill, entering the temporary service of some lord, then again taking to the forest or the high road. From the story he told me, I pictured him among those bands of vagrants that in the years that followed I saw more and more often roaming about Europe: false monks, charlatans, swindlers, cheats, tramps and tatterdemalions, lepers and cripples, jugglers, invalid mercenaries, wandering Jews escaped from the infidels with their spirit broken, lunatics, fugitives under banishment, malefactors with an ear cut off, sodomites, and along with them ambulant artisans, weavers, tinkers, chair-menders, knife-grinders, basket-weavers, masons, and also rogues of every stripe, forgers, scoundrels, cardsharps, rascals, bullies, reprobates, recreants, frauds, hooligans, simoniacal and embezzling canons and priests, people who lived on the credulity of others, counterfeiters of bulls and papal seals, peddlers of indulgences, false paralytics who lay at church doors, vagrants fleeing from convents, relic-sellers, pardoners, soothsayers and fortunetellers, necromancers, healers, bogus alms-seekers, fornicators of every sort, corruptors of nuns and maidens by deception and violence, simulators of dropsy, epilepsy, hemorrhoids, gout, and sores, as well as melancholy madness. There were those who put plasters on their bodies to imitate incurable ulcerations, others who filled their mouths with a blood-colored substance to feign accesses of consumption, rascals who pretended to be weak in one of their limbs, carrying unnecessary crutches and imitating the falling sickness, scabies, buboes, swellings, while applying bandages, tincture of saffron, carrying irons on their hands, their heads swathed, slipping into the churches stinking, and suddenly fainting in the squares, spitting saliva and popping their eyes, making the nostrils spurt blood concocted of blackberry juice and vermilion, to wrest food or money from the frightened people who recalled the church fathers' exhortations to give alms: Share your bread with the hungry, take the homeless to your hearth, we visit Christ, we house Christ, we clothe Christ, because as water purges fire so charity purges our sins.\n\nLong after the events I am narrating, along the course of the Danube I saw many, and still see some, of these charlatans who had their names and their subdivisions in legions, like the devils.\n\nIt was like a mire that flowed over the paths of our world, and with them mingled preachers in good faith, heretics in search of new victims, agitators of discord. It was Pope John\u2014always fearing movements of the simple who might preach and practice poverty\u2014who inveighed against the mendicant preachers, for, he said, they attracted the curious by raising banners with painted figures, preaching, and extorting money. Was the simoniacal and corrupt Pope right in considering the mendicant monks preaching poverty the equivalent of bands of outcasts and robbers? In those days, having journeyed a bit in the Italian peninsula, I no longer had firm opinions on the subject: I had heard of the monks of Altopascio, who, when they preached, threatened excommunications and promised indulgences, absolved those who committed robberies and fratricides, homicides and perjury, for money; they let it be believed that in their hospital every day up to a hundred Masses were said, for which they collected donations, and they said that with their income they supplied dowries for two hundred poor maidens. And I had heard tales of Brother Paolo Zoppo, who in the forest of Rieti lived as a hermit and boasted of having received directly from the Holy Spirit the revelation that the carnal act was not a sin\u2014so he seduced his victims, whom he called sisters, forcing them to submit to the lash on their naked flesh, making five genuflections on the ground in the form of a cross, before he presented them to God and claimed from them what he called the kiss of peace. But was it true? And what link was there between these hermits who were said to be enlightened and the monks of poor life who roamed the roads of the peninsula really doing penance, disliked by the clergy and the bishops, whose vices and thefts they excoriated?\n\nFrom Salvatore's tale, as it became mingled with the things I already knew from my own experience, these distinctions did not emerge clearly: everything looked the same as everything else. At times he seemed to me one of those crippled beggars of Touraine who, as the story goes, took light at the approach of the miraculous corpse of Saint Martin, for they feared the saint would heal them and thus deprive them of their source of income, and the saint mercilessly saved them before they reached the border, punishing their wickedness by restoring to them the use of their limbs. At times, however, the monk's ferocious face brightened with a sweet glow as he told me how, when living among those bands, he listened to the word of the Franciscan preachers, as outcast as he was, and he understood that the poor and vagabond life he led should be taken, not as a grim necessity, but as a joyous act of dedication, and he joined penitential sects and groups whose names he could not pronounce properly and whose doctrine he defined in highly unlikely terms. I deduced that he had encountered Patarines and Waldensians, and perhaps Catharists, Arnoldists, and Umiliati, and that, roaming about the world, he had passed from one group to another, gradually assuming as a mission his vagrant state, and doing for the Lord what he had done till then for his belly.\n\nBut how, and for how long? As far as I could tell, about thirty years before, he had joined a convent of Minorites in Tuscany, and there he had assumed the habit of Saint Francis, without taking orders. There, I believe, he learned that smattering of Latin he spoke, mixing it with the speech of all the places where he had been as a poor homeless wanderer, and of all the vagabond companions he had encountered, from the mercenaries of my lands to the Bogomils of Dalmatia. In the convent he had devoted himself to a life of penance, he said (Penitenziagite, he quoted to me, with eyes shining, and I heard again the expression that had aroused William's curiosity), but apparently also the monks he was staying with had confused ideas, because, enraged by the canon of the neighboring church, who was accused of thefts and other wickedness, they invaded his house one day and sent him flying down the steps, and the sinner died; then they looted his house. For which the bishop sent his armed guards, the monks were dispersed, and Salvatore roamed at length in northern Italy with a band of Fraticelli, or mendicant Minorites, at this point without any law or discipline.\n\nFrom there he took refuge in the Toulouse region and a strange adventure befell him, for he was inflamed by hearing the story of the crusaders' great enterprises. A horde of shepherds and humble folk in great numbers gathered one day to cross the sea and fight against the enemies of the faith. They were called the Pastoureaux, the Shepherds. Actually, they wanted to escape their own wretched land. There were two leaders, who filled their heads with false theories: a priest who had been dismissed from his church because of his conduct, and an apostate monk of the order of Saint Benedict. This pair drove ignorant men so mad that they came running after the two in throngs, even boys of sixteen, against their parents' wishes, carrying only knapsack and stick, all without money, leaving their fields, to follow the leaders like a flock, and they formed a great crowd. At this point they would no longer heed reason or justice, but only power and their own caprice. Gathered together and finally free, with a dim hope of promised lands, they were as if drunk. They stormed through villages and cities, taking everything, and if one of their number was arrested, they would attack the prison and free him. And they killed all the Jews they came upon here and there and stripped them of their possessions.\n\n\"Why the Jews?\" I asked Salvatore. He answered, \"And why not?\" He explained to me that all his life preachers had told him the Jews were the enemies of Christianity and accumulated possessions that had been denied the Christian poor. I asked him, however, whether it was not also true that lords and bishops accumulated possessions through tithes, so that the Shepherds were not fighting their true enemies. He replied that when your true enemies are too strong, you have to choose weaker enemies. I reflected that this is why the simple are so called. Only the powerful always know with great clarity who their true enemies are. The lords did not want the Shepherds to jeopardize their possessions, and it was a great good fortune for them that the Shepherds' leaders spread the notion that the greatest wealth longed to the Jews.\n\nI asked him who had put into the crowd's head the idea of attacking the Jews. Salvatore could not remember. I believe that when such crowds collect, lured by a promise and immediately demanding something, there is never any knowing who among them speaks. I recalled that their leaders had been educated in convents and cathedral schools, and they spoke the language of the lords, even if they translated it into terms that the Shepherds could understand. The Shepherds did not know where the Pope was, but they knew where the Jews were. Anyway, they laid siege to a high and massive tower of the King of France, where the frightened Jews had run in a body to take refuge. And the Jews sallying forth below the walls of the tower defended themselves courageously and pitilessly, hurling wood and stones. But the Shepherds set fire to the gate of the tower, tormenting the barricaded Jews with smoke and flames. And the Jews, unable to defeat their attackers, preferring to kill themselves rather than die at the hand of the uncircumcised, asked one of their number, who seemed the most courageous, to put them all to the sword. He consented, and killed almost five hundred of them. Then he came out of the tower with the children of the Jews, and asked the Shepherds to baptize him. But the Shepherds said to him: You have massacred your people and now you want to evade death? And they tore him to pieces; but they spared the children, whom they baptized. Then they headed for Carcassonne, carrying out many bloody robberies along the way. Then the King of France warned them that they had gone too far and ordered that they be resisted in every city they passed through, and he proclaimed that even the Jews should be defended as if they were the King's men....\n\nWhy did the King become so considerate of the Jews at that point? Perhaps because he was beginning to realize what the Shepherds might do throughout the kingdom, and he was concerned because their number was increasing too rapidly. Further, he was moved to tenderness for the Jews, both because the Jews were useful to the trade of the kingdom, and because now it was necessary to destroy the Shepherds, and all good Christians had to have a good reason to weep over their crimes. But many Christians did not obey the King, thinking it wrong to defend the Jews, who had always been enemies of the Christian faith. And in many cities the humble people, who had had to pay usury to the Jews, were happy to see the Shepherds punish them for their wealth. Then the King commanded, under pain of death, that no aid be given the Shepherds. He gathered a considerable army and attacked them, and many of them were killed, while others saved themselves by taking flight and seeking refuge in the forests, but there they died of hardship. Soon all were annihilated. The King's general captured them and hanged them, twenty or thirty at a time, from the highest trees, so the sight of their corpses would serve as an eternal example and no one would dare to disturb the peace of the realm again.\n\nThe unusual thing is that Salvatore told me this story as if describing the most virtuous enterprise. And in fact he remained convinced that the home of so-called Shepherds had aimed to conquer the sepulcher of Christ and free it from the infidels, and it was impossible for me to convince him that this fine conquest had already been achieved, in the days of Peter the Hermit and Saint Bernard, and under the reign of Saint Louis of France. In any case, Salvatore did not reach the infidels, because he had to leave French territory in a hurry. He went into the Novara region, he told me, but he was very vague about what happened at this point. And finally he arrived at Casale, where he was received by the convent of Minorites (and here I believe he met Remigio) at the very time when many of them, persecuted by the Pope, were changing habit and them, refuge in monasteries of other orders, to avoid being burned at the stake. As, indeed, Ubertino had told us. Thanks to his long familiarity with many manual tasks (which he had performed both for dishonest purposes, when he was roaming freely, and for holy purposes, when he was roaming for the love of Christ), Salvatore was immediately taken on by the cellarer as his personal assistant. And that was why he had been here for many years, with scant interest in the order's pomp, but much to the administration of its cellar and larder, where he was free to eat without stealing and to praise the Lord without being burned.\n\nI looked at him with curiosity, not because of the singularity of his experience, but because what had happened to him seemed to me the splendid epitome of so many events and movements that made the Italy of that time fascinating and incomprehensible.\n\nWhat had emerged from those tales? The picture of a man who had led an adventurous life, capable even of killing a fellow man without realizing his own crime. But although at that time one offense to the divine law seemed to me the same as another, I was already beginning to understand some of the phenomena I was hearing discussed, and I saw that it is one thing for a crowd, in an almost ecstatic frenzy, mistaking the laws of the Devil for those of the Lord, to commit a massacre, but it is another thing for an individual to commit a crime in cold blood, with calculation, in silence. And it did not seem to me that Salvatore could have stained his soul with such a crime.\n\nOn the other hand, I wanted to discover something about the abbot's insinuations, and I was obsessed by the idea of Fra Dolcino, of whom I knew almost nothing, though his ghost seemed to hover over many conversations I had heard these past few days.\n\nSo I asked Salvatore point-blank: \"In your journeys did you ever meet Fra Dolcino?\"\n\nHis reaction was most strange. He widened his eyes, if it were possible to open them wider than they were, he blessed himself repeatedly, murmured some broken phrases in a language that this time I really did not understand. But they seemed to me phrases of denial. Until then he had looked at me with good-natured trust, I would say with friendship. At that moment he looked at me almost with irritation. Then, inventing an excuse, he left.\n\nNow I could no longer resist. Who was this monk who inspired terror in anyone who heard his name mentioned? I decided I could not remain any longer in the grip of my desire to know. An idea crossed my mind. Ubertino! He himself had uttered that name, the first evening we met him; he knew everything of the vicissitudes, open and secret, of monks, friars, and other species of these last years. Where could I find him at this hour? Surely in church, immersed in prayer. And since I was enjoying a moment of liberty, I went there.\n\nI did not find him; indeed, I did not find him until evening. And so my curiosity stayed with me, for other events were occurring, of which I must now tell."
            },
            {
                "title": "NONES",
                "text": "In which William speaks to Adso of the great river of heresy, of the function of the simple within the church, of his doubts concerning the possibility of knowing universal laws; and almost parenthetically he tells how he deciphered the necromantic signs left by Venantius.\n\nI found William at the forge, working with Nicholas, both deeply involved in their task. On the counter they had laid out a number of tiny glass discs, perhaps originally intended as parts of a window; with instruments they had reduced some of these to the desired thickness. William was holding them up before his eyes, testing them. Nicholas, for his part, was issuing instructions to the smiths for making the fork in which the correct lenses would be set.\n\nWilliam was grumbling, irritated because so far the most satisfactory lens was an emerald color, and, as he said, he did not want parchments to seem meadows to him. Nicholas went off to supervise the smiths. As William tried out the various discs, I told him of my dialogue with Salvatore.\n\n\"The man has had various experiences,\" he said. \"Perhaps he actually was with the Dolcinians. The abbey really is a microcosm, and when we have Pope John's envoys and Brother Michael here, we'll be complete.\"\n\n\"Master,\" I said to him, \"I understand nothing.\"\n\n\"About what, Adso?\"\n\n\"First, about the differences among heretical groups. But I'll ask you about that later. Now I am tormented by the problem of difference itself. When you were speaking with Ubertino, I had the impression you were trying to prove to him that all are the same, saints and heretics. But then, speaking with the abbot, you were doing your best to explain to him the difference between one heretic and another, and between the heretical and the orthodox. In other words, you reproached Ubertino for considering different those who were basically the same, and the abbot for considering the same those who were basically different.\"\n\nWilliam set the lenses on the table for a moment. \"My good Adso,\" he said, \"we will try now to make some distinctions, and we may as well use the terms of the school of Paris for our distinguishing. So: they say all men have the same substantial form, am I right?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I said, proud of my knowledge, \"men are animals but rational, and the property of man is the capacity for laughing.\"\n\n\"Excellent. But Thomas is different from Bonaventure, Thomas is fat while Bonaventure is thin, and it may even be that Hugh is bad while Francis is good, and Aldemar is phlegmatic while Agilulf is bilious. Or am I mistaken?\"\n\n\"No, that is the case, beyond any doubt.\"\n\n\"Then this means there is identity in different men as to their substantial form, and diversity as to the accidents, or as to their superficial shape.\"\n\n\"That is so, unquestionably.\"\n\n\"When I say to Ubertino that human nature itself, in the complexity of its operations, governs both the love of good and the love of evil, I am trying to convince Ubertino of the identity of human nature. When I say to the abbot, however, that there is a difference between a Catharist and a Waldensian, I am insisting on the variety of their accidents. And I insist on it because a Waldensian may be burned after the accidents of a Catharist have been attributed to him, and vice versa. And when you burn a man you burn his individual substance and reduce to pure nothing that which was a concrete act of existing, hence in itself good, at least in the eyes of God, who kept him in existence. Does this seem to you a good reason for insisting on the differences?\"\n\n\"The trouble is,\" I said, \"I can no longer distinguish the accidental difference among Waldensians, Catharists, the poor of Lyons, the Umiliati, the Beghards, Joachimites, Patarines, Apostles, Poor Lombards, Arnoldists, Williamites, Followers of the Free Spirit, and Luciferines. What am I to do?\"\n\n\"Oh, poor Adso,\" William said, laughing and giving me an affectionate slap on the nape, \"you're not really wrong! You see, it's as if, over the last two centuries, and even earlier, this world of ours had been struck by storms of intolerance, hope, and despair, all together.... No, that's not a good analogy. Imagine a river, wide and majestic, which flows for miles and miles between strong embankments, where the land is firm. At a certain point, the river, out of weariness, because its flow has taken up too much time and too much space, because it is approaching the sea, which annihilates all rivers in itself, no longer knows what it is, loses its identity. It becomes its own delta. A major branch may remain, but many break off from it in every direction, and some flow together again, into one another, and you can't tell what begets what, and sometimes you can't tell what is still river and what is already sea....\"\n\n\"If I understand your allegory, the river is the city of God, or the kingdom of the just, which is approaching the millennium, and in this uncertainty it no longer remains secure, false and true prophets are born, and everything flows into the great plain where Armageddon will take place....\"\n\n\"That isn't exactly what I was thinking. I was trying to explain to you how the body of the church, which for centuries was also the body of all society, the people of God, has become too rich, and wide, and it carries along the dross of all the countries it has passed through, and it has lost its own purity. The branches of the delta are, if you like, so many attempts of the river to flow as quickly as possible to the sea, that is, to the moment of purification. My allegory was meant only to tell you how the branches of heresy and the movements of renewal, when the river is no longer intact, are numerous and become mingled. You can also add to my poor allegory the image of someone who is trying to reconstruct the banks of the river with brute strength, but cannot do so. And some branches of the delta silt up, others are redirected to the river by artificial channels, still others are allowed to flow, because it is impossible to restrain everything and it is better for the river to lose a part of its water and still maintain its course, if it wants to have a recognizable course.\"\n\n\"I understand less and less.\"\n\n\"So do I. I'm not good at speaking in parables. Forget this story of the river. Try instead to understand that many of the movements you mentioned were born at least two hundred years ago and are already dead, yet others are recent....\"\n\n\"But when heretics are discussed, they are all mentioned together.\"\n\n\"True, and this is one of the ways heresy spreads and one of the ways it is destroyed.\"\n\n\"Again I don't understand.\"\n\n\"God, how difficult it is. Very well. Imagine you are a reformer of morals and you collect some companions on a mountaintop, to live in poverty. And after a while you see that many come to you, even from distant lands, and they consider you a prophet, or a new apostle, and they follow you. Have they really come there for you or for what you say?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I hope so. Why otherwise?\"\n\n\"Because from their fathers they have heard stories of other reformers, and legends of more or less perfect communities, and they believe this is that and that is this.\"\n\n\"And so every movement inherits the offspring of others?\"\n\n\"Of course, because the majority of those who flock after reformers are the simple, who have no subtlety of doctrine. And yet moral reform movements originate in different places and ways and with different doctrines. For example, the Catharists and the Waldensians are often mixed up. But there is a great difference between them. The Waldensians preached a moral reform within the church, the Catharists preached a different church, a different view of God and morality. The Catharists thought the world was divided between the opposing forces of good and evil, and they had built a church in which the perfect were distinguished from simple believers, and they had their sacraments and their rites; they had built a very rigid hierarchy, almost like that of our own Holy Mother, and they didn't for a moment think of destroying every form of power. Which explains to you why men in command, landowners, feudal lords, also joined the Catharists. Nor did they think of reforming the world, because the opposition between good and evil for them can never be settled. The Waldensians, on the contrary (and along with them the Arnoldists, or Poor Lombards), wanted to construct a different world on an ideal of poverty, and this is why they received the outcasts and lived in community with the labor of their hands.\"\n\n\"But why, then, are they confused and spoken of as the same evil weed?\"\n\n\"I told you: what makes them live is also what makes them die. The movements grow, gathering simple people who have been aroused by other movements and who believe all have the same impulse of revolt and hope; and they are destroyed by the inquisitors, who attribute to one the errors of the other, and if the sectarians of one movement commit a crime, this crime will be attributed to each sectarian of each movement. The inquisitors are mistaken, rationally speaking, because they lump contradictory doctrines together; they are right, according to others' irrationality, because when a movement of, say, Arnoldists springs up in one city, it is swelled by those who would have been or have been Catharists or Waldensians elsewhere. Fra Dolcino's Apostles preached the physical destruction of clerics and lords, and committed many acts of violence; the Waldensians are opposed to violence, and so are the Fraticelli. But I am sure that in Fra Dolcino's day there were many in his group who had previously followed the preachings of the Fraticelli or the Waldensians. The simple cannot choose their personal heresy, Adso; they cling to the man preaching in their land, who passes through their village or stops in their square. This is what their enemies exploit. To present to the eyes of the people a single heresy, which perhaps may suggest at the same time the renunciation of sexual pleasure and the communion of bodies, is good preaching technique: it shows the heretics as one jumble of diabolical contradictions which offend common sense.\"\n\n\"So there is no relationship among them, and it is the Devil's deception that makes a simple man who would like to be a Joachimite or a Spiritual fall into the hands of the Catharists, and vice versa?\"\n\n\"No, that is not quite it. Let's try again from the beginning, Adso. But I assure you, I am attempting to explain to you something about which I myself am not sure I possess the truth. I think the mistake is to believe that the heresy comes first, and then the simple folk who join it (and damn themselves for it). Actually, first comes the condition of being simple, then the heresy.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You have a clear conception of the people of God. A great flock-good sheep and bad sheep\u2014kept in order by mastiffs\u2014the warriors, or the temporal power\u2014the Emperor, and the overlords, under the guidance of the shepherds, the clerics, the interpreters of the divine word. The picture is straightforward.\"\n\n\"But false. The shepherds fight with the dogs, because each covets the rights of the other.\"\n\n\"True, and this is exactly what makes the nature of the flock unsure. Concerned as they are with tearing each other apart reciprocally, dogs and shepherds no longer tend the flock. A part of it is left outside.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by outside?\"\n\n\"On the margin. Peasants: only they are not really peasants, because they have no land, or what land they have does not feed them. And citizens: only they are not citizens, because they do not belong to a guild or a corporation; they are the little people, prey of anyone. Have you sometimes seen groups of lepers in the countryside?\"\n\n\"Yes, once I saw a hundred together. Misshapen, their flesh decaying and all whitish, hobbling on their crutches, with swollen eyelids, bleeding eyes. They didn't speak or shout; they twittered, like mice.\"\n\n\"For the Christian people they are the others, those who remain on the fringe of the flock. The flock hates them, they hate the flock, who wish all lepers like them would die.\"\n\n\"Yes, I recall a story about King Mark, who had to condemn Isolda the beautiful and was about to have her ascend the stake when the lepers came and said to the King that the stake was a mild punishment and that there was a worse one. And they cried to him: Give us Isolda that she may belong to all of us, our illness enflames our desires, give her to your lepers. Look at our rags, glued to our groaning wounds. She, who at your side enjoyed rich stuffs lined with squirrel fur and jewels, when she sees the courtyard of the lepers, when she has to enter our hovels and lie with us, then she will truly recognize her sin and regret this fine pyre of brambles!\"\n\n\"I see that for a novice of Saint Benedict you have done some odd reading,\" William remarked. I blushed, because I knew a novice should not read romances, but they circulated among us young people in the monastery of Melk and we read them at night by candlelight. \"But that doesn't matter,\" William continued, \"you have understood what I meant. The outcast lepers would like to drag everything down in their ruin. And they become all the more evil, the more you cast them out; and the more you depict them as a court of lemures who want your ruin, the more they will be outcast. Saint Francis realized this, and his first decision was to go and live among the lepers. The people of God cannot be changed until the outcasts are restored to its body.\"\n\n\"But you were speaking of other outcasts; it isn't lepers who form heretical movements.\"\n\n\"The flock is like a series of concentric circles, from the broadest range of the flock to its immediate surroundings. The lepers are a sign of exclusion in general. Saint Francis understood that. He didn't want only to help the lepers; if he had, his act would have been reduced to quite a poor and impotent act of charity. He wanted to signify something else. Have you been told about his preaching to the birds?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I've heard that beautiful story, and I admired the saint who enjoyed the company of those tender creatures of God,\" I said with great fervor.\n\n\"Well, what they told you was mistaken, or, rather, it's a story the order has revised today. When Francis spoke to the people of the city and its magistrates and saw they didn't understand him, he went out to the cemetery and began preaching to ravens and magpies, to hawks, to raptors feeding on corpses.\"\n\n\"What a horrible thing!\" I said. \"Then they were not good birds!\"\n\n\"They were birds of prey, outcast birds, like the lepers. Francis was surely thinking of that verse of the Apocalypse that says: 'I saw an angel standing in the sun; and -he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and gather yourselves together at the supper of the great God; that ye may eat the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains, and the flesh of mighty men, and the flesh of horses, and of them that sit on them, and the flesh of all men, both free and bond, both small and great!'\"\n\n\"So Francis wanted to incite the outcasts to revolt?\"\n\n\"No, that was what Fra Dolcino and his followers wanted, if anybody did. Francis wanted to call the outcast, ready to revolt, to be part of the people of God. If the flock was to be gathered again, the outcasts had to be found again. Francis didn't succeed, and I say it with great bitterness. To recover the outcasts he had to act within the church, to act within the church he had to obtain the recognition of his rule, from which an order would emerge, and this order, as it emerged, would recompose the image of a circle, at whose margin the outcasts remain. So now do you understand why there are bands of Fraticelli and Joachimites who again gather the outcasts around themselves?\"\n\n\"But we weren't talking about Francis; we were talking about how heresy is produced by the simple and the outcast.\"\n\n\"Yes. We were talking about those excluded from the flock of sheep. For centuries, as pope and emperor tore each other apart in their quarrels over power, the excluded went on living on the fringe, like lepers, of whom true lepers are only the illustration ordained by God to make us understand this wondrous parable, so that in saying 'lepers' we would understand \"outcast, poor, simple, excluded, uprooted from the countryside, humiliated in the cities: But we did not understand; the mystery of leprosy has continued to haunt us because we have not recognized the nature of the sign. Excluded as they were from the flock, all of them were ready to hear, or to produce, every sermon that, harking back to the word of Christ, would condemn the behavior of the dogs and shepherds and would promise their punishment one day. The powerful always realized this. The recovery of the outcasts demanded reduction of the privileges of the powerful, so the excluded who became aware of their exclusion had to be branded as heretics, whatever their doctrine. And for their part, blinded by their exclusion, they were not really interested in any doctrine. This is the illusion of heresy. Everyone is heretical, everyone is orthodox. The faith a movement proclaims doesn't count: what counts is the hope it offers. All heresies are the banner of a reality, an exclusion. Scratch the heresy and you will find the leper. Every battle against heresy wants only this: to keep the leper as he is. As for the lepers, what can you ask of them? That they distinguish in the Trinitarian dogma or in the definition of the Eucharist how much is correct and how much is wrong? Come, Adso, these games are for us men of learning. The simple have other problems. And mind you, they solve them all in the wrong way. This is why they become heretics.\"\n\n\"But why do some people support them?\"\n\n\"Because it serves their purposes, which concern the faith rarely, and more often the conquest of power.\"\n\n\"Is that why the church of Rome accuses all its adversaries of heresy?\"\n\n\"That is why, and that is also why it recognizes as orthodoxy any heresy it can bring back under its own control or must accept because the heresy has become too strong. But there is no precise rule: it depends on the individuals, on the circumstances. This holds true also for the secular lords. Sometimes the city magistrates encourage the heretics to translate the Gospel into the vernacular: the vernacular by now is the language of the cities, Latin the language of Rome and the monasteries. And sometimes the magistrates support the Waldensians, because they declare that all, men and women, lowly and mighty, can teach and preach, and the worker who is a disciple after ten days hunts for another whose teacher he can become....\"\n\n\"And so they eliminate the distinction that makes clerics irreplaceable! But, then, why does it happen that the same city magistrates rebel against the heretics and lend the church a hand in having them burned?\"\n\n\"Because they realize the heretics' growth could jeopardize also the privileges of the laity who speak in the vernacular. In the Lateran Council of 1179 (you see, these questions date back a hundred fifty years), Walter Map warned against what would happen if credence were given to those foolish and illiterate men the Waldensians. He said, if I recall properly, that they have no fixed dwelling, they go about barefoot and possess nothing, holding everything as common property, following naked the naked Christ; they begin in this very humble way because they are outcasts, but if you give them too much room they will drive out everyone else. This is why the cities favored the mendicant orders, and us Franciscans in particular: we fostered a harmonious balance between the need for penance and the life of the city, between the church and the burghers, concerned for their trade....\"\n\n\"Was harmony achieved, then, between love of God and love of trade?\"\n\n\"No, the movements of spiritual renewal were blocked; they were channeled within the bounds of an order recognized by the Pope. But what circulated underneath was not channeled. It flowed, on the one hand, into the movements of the flagellants, who endanger no one, or into the armed bands like Fra Dolcino's, or into the witchcraft rituals of the monks of Montefalco that Ubertino was talking about....\"\n\n\"But who was right, who is right, who was wrong?\" I asked, bewildered.\n\n\"They were all right in their way, and all were mistaken.\"\n\n\"And you,\" I cried, in an access almost of rebellion, \"why don't you take a position, why won't you tell me where the truth is?\"\n\nWilliam remained silent for a while, holding the lens he was working on up to the light. Then he lowered it to the table and showed me, through the lens, a tool. \"Look,\" he said to me. \"What do you see?\"\n\n\"The tool, a bit larger.\"\n\n\"There: the most we can do is look more closely.\"\n\n\"But the tool remains always the same!\"\n\n\"The manuscript of Venantius, too, will remain the same when, thanks to this lens, I've been able to read it. But perhaps when I've read the manuscript I'll know a part of the truth better. And perhaps we'll be able to make the life of the abbey better.\"\n\n\"But that isn't enough!\"\n\n\"I'm saying more than I seem to be, Adso. This isn't the first time I've spoken to you of Roger Bacon. Perhaps he was not the wisest man of all time, but I've always been fascinated by the hope that inspired his love of learning. Bacon believed in the strength, the needs, the spiritual inventions of the simple. He wouldn't have been a good Franciscan if he hadn't thought that the poor, the outcast, idiots and illiterate, often speak with the mouth of our Lord. The simple have something more than do learned doctors, who often become lost in their search for broad, general laws. The simple have a sense of the individual, but this sense, by itself is not enough. The simple grasp a truth of their own, perhaps truer than that of the doctors of the church, but then they destroy it in unthinking actions. What must be done? Give learning to the simple? Too easy, or too difficult. The Franciscan teachers considered this problem. The great Bonaventure said that the wise must enhance conceptual clarity with the truth implicit in the actions of the simple....\"\n\n\"Like the chapter of Perugia and the learned memories of Ubertino, which transform into theological decisions the summons of the simple to poverty,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, but as you have seen, this happens too late, and when it happens, the truth of the simple has already been transformed into the truth of the powerful, more useful for the Emperor Louis than for a Friar of the Poor Life. How are we to remain close to the experience of the simple, maintaining, so to speak, their operative virtue, the capacity of working toward the transformation and betterment of their world? This was the problem for Bacon. 'Quod enim laicali ruditate turgescit non habet effectum nisi fortuito,' he said: The experience of the simple has savage and uncontrollable results. 'Sed opera sapientiae certa lege vallantur et in finem debitum efficaciter diriguntur.' Which is to say that even in the handling of practical things, be they agriculture, mechanics, or the governing of a city, a kind of theology is required. He thought that the new natural science should be the great new enterprise of the learned: to coordinate, through a different knowledge of natural processes, the elementary needs that represented also the heap of expectations, disordered but in its way true and right, of the simple. The new science, the new natural magic. According to Bacon, this enterprise was to be directed by the church, but I believe he said this because in his time the community of clerics was identified with the community of the learned. Today that is no longer the case: learned men grow up outside the monasteries and the cathedrals, even outside the universities. So I think that, since I and my friends today believe that for the management of human affairs it is not the church that should legislate but the assembly of the people, then in the future the community of the learned will have to propose this new and humane theology which is natural philosophy and positive magic.\"\n\n\"A splendid enterprise,\" I said, \"but is it possible?\"\n\n\"Bacon thought so.\"\n\n\"And you?\"\n\n\"I think so, too. But to believe in it we must be sure that the simple are right in possessing the sense of the individual, which is the only good kind. However, if the sense of the individual is the only good, how will science succeed in recomposing the universal laws through which, and interpreting which, the good magic will become functional?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"how can it?\"\n\n\"I no longer know. I have had arguments at Oxford with my friend William of Occam, who is now in Avignon. He has sown doubts in my mind. Because if only the sense of the individual is just, the proposition that identical causes have identical effects is difficult to prove. A single body can be cold or hot, sweet or bitter, wet or dry, in one place\u2014and not in another place. How can I discover the universal bond that orders all things if I cannot lift a finger without creating an infinity of new entities? For with such a movement all the relations of position between my finger and all other objects change. The relations are the ways in which my mind perceives the connections between single entities, but what is the guarantee that this is universal and stable?\"\n\n\"But you know that a certain thickness of glass corresponds to a certain power of vision, and it is because you know this that now you can make lenses like the ones you have lost: otherwise how could you?\"\n\n\"An acute reply, Adso. In fact, I have worked out this proposition: equal thickness corresponds necessarily to equal power of vision. I have posited it because on other occasions I have had individual insights of the same type. To be sure, anyone who tests the curative property of herbs knows that individual herbs of the same species have equal effects of the same nature on the patient, and therefore the investigator formulates the proposition that every herb of a given type helps the feverish, or that every lens of such a type magnifies the eye's vision to the same degree. The science Bacon spoke of rests unquestionably on these propositions. You understand, Adso, I must believe that my proposition works, because I learned it by experience; but to believe it I must assume there are universal laws. Yet I cannot speak of them, because the very concept that universal laws and an established order exist would imply that God is their prisoner, whereas God is something absolutely free, so that if He wanted, with a single act of His will He could make the world different.\"\n\n\"And so, if I understand you correctly, you act, and you know why you act, but you don't know why you know that you know what you do?\"\n\nI must say with pride that William gave me a look of admiration. \"Perhaps that's it. In any case, this tells you why I feel so uncertain of my truth, even if I believe in it.\"\n\n\"You are more mystical than Ubertino!\" I said spitefully.\n\n\"Perhaps. But as you see, I work on things of nature. And in the investigation we are carrying out, I don't want to know who is good or who is wicked, but who was in the scriptorium last night, who took the eyeglasses, who left traces of a body dragging another body in the snow, and where Berengar is. These are facts. Afterward I'll try to connect them\u2014if it's possible, for it's difficult to say what effect is produced by what cause. An angel's intervention would suffice to change everything, so it isn't surprising that one thing cannot be proved to be the cause of another thing. Even if one must always try, as I am doing.\"\n\n\"Yours is a difficult life,\" I said.\n\n\"But I found Brunellus,\" William cried, recalling the horse episode of two days before.\n\n\"Then there is an order in the world!\" I cried, triumphant.\n\n\"Then there is a bit of order in this poor head of mine,\" William answered.\n\nAt this point Nicholas came back with an almost finished fork, holding it up victoriously.\n\n\"And when this fork is on my poor nose,\" William said, \"perhaps my poor head will be even more orderly.\"\n\nA novice came to say the abbot wished to see William, and was waiting for him in the garden. As we started off, William slapped his forehead, as if remembering only at this point something he had forgotten.\n\n\"By the way,\" he said, \"I've deciphered Venantius's cabalistic signs.\"\n\n\"All of them? When?\"\n\n\"While you were asleep. And it depends on what you mean by 'all.' I've deciphered the signs that the flame caused to appear, the ones you copied out. The notes in Greek must wait till I have new lenses.\"\n\n\"Well? Was it the secret of the finis Africae?\"\n\n\"Yes, and the key was fairly easy. At his disposal Venantius had the twelve signs of the zodiac and eight other signs: for the five planets, the two luminaries, and the earth. Twenty signs in all. Enough to associate with them the letters of the Latin alphabet, since you can use the same letter to express the sound of the two initials of 'unum' and 'velut.' The order of the letters, we know. What could be the order of the signs, then? I thought of the order of the heavens, placing the zodiacal quadrant at the far edge. So, then: Earth, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, etc., and, afterward, the signs of the zodiac in their traditional sequence, as Isidore of Seville classifies them, beginning with Aries and the vernal equinox, ending with Pisces. Now, if you try this key, Venantius's message takes on a meaning.\"\n\nHe showed me the parchment, on which he had transcribed the message to big Latin letters: \"Secretum finis Africae manus supra idolum age primum et septimum de quatuor.\"\n\n\"Is that clear?\" he asked.\n\n\"The hand over the idol works on the first and the seventh of the four...\" I repeated, shaking my head. \"It isn't clear at all!\"\n\n\"I know. First of all we have to know what Venantius meant by 'idolum.' An image, a ghost, a figure? And then what can this 'four' be that has a 'first' and a 'seventh'? And what is to be done with them? Move them, push them, pull them?\"\n\n\"So we know nothing and we are still where we started,\" I said, with great dismay.\n\nWilliam stopped and looked at me with an expression not entirely benevolent. \"My boy,\" he said, \"you have before you a poor Franciscan who, with his modest learning and what little skill he owes to the infinite power of the Lord, has succeeded in a few hours in deciphering a secret code whose author was sure would prove sealed to all save himself... and you, wretched illiterate rogue, dare say we are still where we started?\"\n\nI apologized very clumsily. I had wounded my master's vanity, and yet I knew how proud he was of the speed and accuracy of his deductions. William truly had performed a job worthy of admiration, and it was not his fault if the crafty Venantius not only had concealed his discovery behind an obscure zodiacal alphabet, but had further devised an undecipherable riddle.\n\n\"No matter, no matter, don't apologize,\" William interrupted me. \"After all, you're right. We still know too little. Come along.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "VESPERS",
                "text": "In which the abbot speaks again with the visitors, and William has some astounding ideas for deciphering the riddle of the labyrinth and succeeds in the most rational way. Then William and Adso eat cheese in batter.\n\nThe abbot was waiting for us with a grim, worried look. He was holding a paper in his hand.\n\n\"I have just received a letter from the abbot of Conques,\" he said. \"He discloses the name of the man to whom John has entrusted the command of the French soldiers and the responsibility for the safety of the legation. He is not a man of arms, he is not a man of the court, and he will be at the same time a member of the legation.\"\n\n\"A rare combination of different qualities,\" William said uneasily. \"Who is it?\"\n\n\"Bernard Gui, or Bernardo Guidoni, whichever you choose to call him.\"\n\nWilliam made an ejaculation in his own language that I didn't understand, nor did the abbot understand it, and perhaps it was best for us both, because the word William uttered had an obscene hissing sound.\n\n\"I don't like this,\" he added at once. \"For years Bernard was the scourge of heretics in the Toulouse area, and he has written a Practica oficii inquisitionis heretice pravitatis for the use of those who must persecute and destroy Waldensians, Beghards, Fraticelli, and Dolcinians.\"\n\n\"I know. I am familiar with the book; remarkably learned.\"\n\n\"Remarkably learned,\" William conceded. \"He's devoted to John, who in recent years has assigned him many missions in Flanders and here in northern Italy. And even when he was named Bishop of Galicia, he was never seen in his diocese but continued his activity as inquisitor. I thought he had now retired to the bishopric of Lod\u00e8ve, but apparently John is recalling him to duty, right here in northern Italy. But why Bernard, of all people, and why with a command of soldiers...?\"\n\n\"There is an answer,\" the abbot said, \"and it confirms all the fears I expressed to you yesterday. You know well\u2014even if you will not admit it to me\u2014that the positions on the poverty of Christ and of the church sustained by the chapter of Perugia, though supported by an abundance of theological arguments, are the same ones that many heretical movements sustain, much less prudently and in a much less orthodox fashion. It does not take much to demonstrate that the positions of Michael of Cesena, espoused by the Emperor, are the same as those of Ubertino and Angelus Clarenus. And up to this point, the two legations will concur. But Gui could do more, and he has the skill: he will try to insist that the theses of Perugia are the same as those of the Fraticelli, or the Pseudo Apostles.\"\n\n\"This was foreseen. I mean, we knew that things would come to this, even without Bernard's presence. At most Bernard will act more effectively than so many of those inept men of the curia, and the debate with him will necessarily be more subtle.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the abbot said, \"but at this point we come up against the question raised yesterday. If by tomorrow we have not discovered the person guilty of two, perhaps three, crimes, I must allow Bernard to exercise control over the abbey's affairs. I cannot conceal from a man invested with the power Bernard will have (and because of our mutual agreement, we must not forget) that here in the abbey inexplicable events have taken place, are still taking place. Otherwise, the moment he finds out, the moment (God forbid) some new mysterious event happens, he will have every right to cry betrayal....\"\n\n\"True,\" William murmured, worried. \"But there is nothing to be done. Perhaps it will be a good thing: Bernard occupied with the assassin will have less time to participate in the debate.\"\n\n\"Bernard occupied with discovering the murderer will be a thorn in the side of my authority; remember that. This murky business obliges me for the first time to surrender a part of my power within these walls, and it is a new turn in the history not only of this abbey but of the Cluniac order itself. I would do anything to avoid it. Where is Berengar? What has happened to him? What are you doing?\"\n\n\"I am only a monk who, a long time ago, conducted some effective inquisitorial investigations. You know that the truth is not to be found in two days. And after all, what power have you granted me? May I enter the library? May I ask all the questions I'd like, always supported by your authority?\"\n\n\"I see no connection between the crimes and the library,\" the abbot said angrily.\n\n\"Adelmo was an illuminator, Venantius a translator, Berengar the assistant librarian...\" William explained patiently.\n\n\"In this sense all sixty monks have something to do with the library, as they have with the church. Why not investigate the church, then? Brother William, you are conducting an inquiry at my behest and within the limits I have established. For the rest, within this girdle of walls I am the only master after God, and by His grace. And this will hold true for Bernard as well. In any event,\" he added, in a milder tone, \"Bernard may not necessarily be coming here specifically for the meeting. The abbot of Conques writes me that the Pope has asked Cardinal Bertrand del Poggetto to come up from Bologna and assume command of the papal legation. Perhaps Bernard is coming here to meet the cardinal.\"\n\n\"Which, in a broader perspective, would be worse. Bertrand is the scourge of heretics in central Italy. This encounter between the two champions of the battle against heretics may herald a vaster offensive in the country, eventually against the whole Franciscan movement.\u2026\"\n\n\"And of this we will promptly inform the Emperor,\" the abbot said, \"but in this case the danger would not be immediate. We will be alert. Good-bye.\"\n\nWilliam remained silent a moment as the abbot departed. Then he said to me: \"First of all, Adso, we must try not to let ourselves be overcome by haste. Things cannot be solved rapidly when so many small, individual experiences have to be put together. I am going back to the laboratory, because in addition to keeping me from reading the manuscript, being without my lenses also makes it pointless for me to return tonight to the library.\"\n\nAt that moment Nicholas of Morimondo came running toward us, bearer of very bad tidings. While he was trying to grind more finely the best lens, the one on which William had based such hope, it had broken. And another, which could perhaps have replaced it, had cracked as he was trying to insert it into the fork. Nicholas, disconsolately, pointed to the sky. It was already the hour of vespers, and darkness was falling. For that day no more work could be done. Another day lost, William acknowledged bitterly, suppressing (as he confessed to me afterward) the temptation to strangle the master glazier, though Nicholas was already sufficiently humiliated.\n\nWe left him to his humiliation and went to inquire about Berengar. Naturally, no one had found him.\n\nWe felt we had reached a dead end. We strolled awhile in the cloister, uncertain what to do next. But soon I saw William was lost in thought, staring into the air, as if he saw nothing. A bit earlier he had taken from his habit a twig of those herbs that I had seen him gather weeks before, and he was chewing it as if it gave him a kind of calm stimulus. In fact, he seemed absent, but every now and then his eyes brightened as if in the vacuum of his mind a new idea had kindled; then he would plunge once more into that singular and active hebetude of his. All of a sudden he said, \"Of course, we could\u2026\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked.\n\n\"I was thinking of a way to get our bearings in the labyrinth. It is not simple, but it would be effective.... After all, the exit is in the east tower: this we know. Now, suppose that we had a machine that tells us where north is. What would happen?\"\n\n\"Naturally, we would have only to turn to our right and we would be heading east. Or else it would suffice to go in the opposite direction and we would know we were going toward the south tower. But, even assuming such magic existed, the labyrinth is in fact a labyrinth, and as soon as we headed east we would come upon a wall that would prevent us from going straight, and we would lose our way again...\" I observed.\n\n\"Yes, but the machine I am talking about would always point north, even if we had changed our route, and at every point it would tell us which way to turn.\"\n\n\"It would be marvelous. But we would have to have this machine, and it would have to be able to recognize north at night and indoors, without being able to see the sun or the stars.... And I believe not even your Bacon possessed such a machine.\" I laughed.\n\n\"But you are wrong,\" William said, \"because a machine of the sort has been constructed, and some navigators have used it. It doesn't need the stars or the sun, because it exploits the power of a marvelous stone, like the one we saw in Severinus's infirmary, the one that attracts iron. And it was studied by Bacon and by a Picard wizard, Pierre of Maricourt, who described its many uses.\"\n\n\"But could you construct it?\"\n\n\"In itself, that wouldn't be difficult. The stone can be used to produce many wonders, including a machine that moves perpetually without any external power, but the simplest discovery was described also by an Arab, Baylek al-Qabayaki. Take a vessel filled with water and set afloat in it a cork into which you have stuck an iron needle. Then pass the magnetic stone over the surface of the water, until the needle has acquired the same properties as the stone. And at this point the needle\u2014though the stone would also have done it if it had had the capacity to move around a pivot\u2014will turn and point north, and if you move it with the vessel, it will always turn in the direction of the north wind. Obviously, if you bear north in mind and also mark on the edge of the vessel the positions of east, south, and west, you will always know which way to turn in the library to reach the east tower.\"\n\n\"What a marvel!\" I exclaimed. \"But why does the needle always point north? The stone attracts iron, I saw that, and I imagine that an immense quantity of iron attracts the stone. But then... then in the direction of the polestar, at the extreme confines of the globe, there exist great iron mines!\"\n\n\"Someone, in fact, has suggested such is the case. Except that the needle doesn't point precisely in the direction of the daystar, but toward the intersection of the celestial meridians. A sign that, as has been said, 'hic lapis gerit in se similitudinem coeli,' and the poles of the magnet receive their inclination from the poles of the sky, not from those of the earth. Which is a fine example of movement provoked at a distance, not by direct material causality: a problem that my friend John of Jandun is studying, when the Emperor does not ask him to make Avignon sink into the bowels of the earth....\"\n\n\"Let's go, then, and take Severinus's stone, and a vessel, and some water, and a cork...\" I said, excited.\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" William said. \"I do not know why, but I have never seen a machine that, however perfect in the philosophers' description, is perfect in its mechanical functioning. Whereas a peasant's billhook, which no philosopher has ever described, always functions as it should.... I'm afraid that wandering around the labyrinth with a lamp in one hand, a vessel full of water in the other... Wait, though! I have another idea. The machine would point north even if we were outside the labyrinth, would it not?\"\n\n\"Yes, but at that point it would be of no use to us, because we would have the sun and the stars\u2026\" I said.\n\n\"I know, I know. But if the machine functions both indoors and outdoors, why should it not be the same with our heads?\"\n\n\"Our heads? Of course, they also function outside, and in fact, on the outside we know quite well the layout of the Aedificium! But it is when we are inside that we. become disoriented!\"\n\n\"Precisely. But forget the machine for now. Thinking about the machine has led me to think about natural laws and the laws of thought. Here is the point: we must find, from the outside, a way of describing the Aedificium as it is inside....\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"We will use the mathematical sciences. Only in the mathematical sciences, as Averro\u00ebs says, are things known to us identified with those known absolutely.\"\n\n\"Then you do admit universal notions, you see.\"\n\n\"Mathematical notions are propositions constructed by our intellect in such a way that they function always as truths, either because they are innate or because mathematics was invented before the other sciences. And the library was built by a human mind that thought in a mathematical fashion, because without mathematics you cannot build labyrinths. And therefore we must compare our mathematical propositions with the propositions of the builder, and from this comparison science can be produced, because it is a science of terms upon terms. And, in any case, stop dragging me into discussions of metaphysics. What the Devil has got into you today? Instead, you who have good eyes take a parchment, a tablet, something you can make signs on, and a stylus.... Good, you have it? Good for you, Adso. Let's go and take a turn around the Aedificium, while we still have a bit of light.\"\n\nSo we took a long turn around the Aedificium. That is, from the distance we examined the east, south, and west towers, with the walls connecting them. The rest rose over the cliff, though for reasons of symmetry it could not be very different from what we were seeing.\n\nAnd what we saw, William observed as he made me take precise notes on my tablet, was that each wall had two windows, and each tower five.\n\n\"Now, think,\" my master said to me. \"Each room we saw had a window....\"\n\n\"Except those with seven sides,\" I said.\n\n\"And, naturally, they are the ones in the center of each tower.\"\n\n\"And except some others that we found without windows but that were not heptagonal.\"\n\n\"Forget them. First let us find the rule, then we will try to explain the exceptions. So: we will have on the outside five rooms for each tower and two rooms for each straight wall, each room with a window. But if from a room with a window we proceed toward the interior of the Aedificium, we meet another room with a window. A sign that there are internal windows. Now, what shape is the internal well, as seen from the kitchen and from the scriptorium?\"\n\n\"Octagonal,\" I said.\n\n\"Excellent. And on each side of the octagon, there could easily be two windows. Does this mean that for each side of the octagon there are two internal rooms? Am I right?\"\n\n\"Yes, but what about the windowless rooms?\"\n\n\"There are eight in all. In fact, the internal room of every tower, with seven sides, has five walls that open each into one of the five rooms of the tower. What do the other two walls confine with? Not with rooms set along the outside walls, or there would be windows, and not with rooms along the octagon, for the same reason and because they would then be excessively long rooms. Try to draw a plan of how the library might look from above. You see that in each tower there must be two rooms that confine with the heptagonal room and open into two rooms that confine with the internal octagonal well.\"\n\nI tried drawing the plan that my master suggested, and I let out a cry of triumph. \"But now we know everything! Let me count.... The library has fifty-six rooms, four of them heptagonal and fifty-two more or less square, and of these, there are eight without windows, while twenty-eight look to the outside and sixteen to the interior!\"\n\n\"And the four towers each have five rooms with four walls and one with seven.... The library is constructed according to a celestial harmony to which various and wonderful meanings can be attributed....\"\n\n\"A splendid discovery\" I said, \"but why is it so difficult to get our bearings?\"\n\n\"Because what does not correspond to any mathematical law is the arrangement of the openings. Some rooms allow you to pass into several others, some into only one, and we must ask ourselves whether there are not rooms that do not allow you to go anywhere else. If you consider this aspect, plus the lack of light or of any clue that might be supplied by the position of the sun (and if you add the visions and the mirrors), you understand how the labyrinth can confuse anyone who goes through it, especially when he is already troubled by a sense of guilt. Remember, too, how desperate we were last night when we could no longer find our way. The maximum of confusion achieved with the maximum of order: it seems a sublime calculation. The builders of the library were great masters.\"\n\n\"How will we orient ourselves, then?\"\n\n\"At this point it isn't difficult. With the map you've drawn, which should more or less correspond to the plan of the library, as soon as we are m the first heptagonal room we will move immediately to reach one of the blind rooms. Then, always turning right, after two or three rooms we should again be in a tower, which can only be the north tower, until we come to another blind room, on the left, which will confine with the heptagonal room, and on the right will allow us to rediscover a route similar to what I have just described, until we arrive at the west tower.\"\n\n\"Yes, if all the rooms opened into all the other rooms\u2026\"\n\n\"In fact. And for this reason well need your map, to mark the blank walls on it, so we'll know what detours were making. But it won't be difficult.\"\n\n\"But are we sure it will work?\" I asked, puzzled; it all seemed too simple to me.\n\nIt will work, William replied. \"But unfortunately we don't know everything yet. We have learned how to avoid being lost. Now we must know whether there is a rule governing the distribution of the books among the rooms. And the verses from the Apocalypse tell us very little, not least because many are repeated identically in different rooms.\u2026\"\n\n\"And yet in the book of the apostle they could have found far more than fifty-six verses!\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. Therefore only certain verses are good. Strange. As if they had had fewer than fifty: thirty or twenty... Oh, by the beard of Merlin!\"\n\n\"Of whom?\"\n\n\"Pay no attention. A magician of my country... They used as many verses as there are letters in the alphabet! Of course, that's it! The text of the verse doesn't count, it's the initial letters that count. Each room is marked by a letter of the alphabet, and all together they make up some text that we must discover!\"\n\n\"Like a figured poem, in the form of a cross or a fish!\"\n\n\"More or less, and probably in the period when the library was built, that kind of poem was much in vogue.\"\n\n\"But where does the text begin?\"\n\n\"With a scroll larger than the others, in the heptagonal room of the entrance tower... or else... Why, of course, with the sentences in red!\"\n\n\"But there are so many of them!\"\n\n\"And therefore there must be many texts, or many words. Now make a better and larger copy of your map; while we visit the library, you will mark down with your stylus the rooms we pass through, the positions of the doors and walls (as well as the windows), and also the first letters of the verses that appear there. And like a good illuminator, you will make the letters in red larger.\"\n\n\"But how does it happen,\" I said with admiration, \"that you were able to solve the mystery of the library looking at it from the outside, and you were unable to solve it when you were inside?\"\n\n\"Thus God knows the world, because He conceived it in His mind, as if from the outside, before it was created, and we do not know its rule, because we live inside it, having found it already made.\"\n\n\"So one can know things by looking at them from the outside!\"\n\n\"The creations of art, because we retrace in our minds the operations of the artificer. Not the creations of nature, because they are not the work of our minds.\"\n\n\"But for the library this suffices, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" William said. \"But only for the library. Now let's go and rest. I can do nothing until tomorrow morning, when I will have, I hope, my lenses. We might as well sleep, and rise early. I will try to reflect.\"\n\n\"And supper?\"\n\n\"Ah, of course, supper. The hour has passed by now. The monks are already at compline. But perhaps the kitchen is still open. Go look for something.\"\n\n\"And steal it?\"\n\n\"Ask. Ask Salvatore, who is now your friend.\"\n\n\"But he will steal!\"\n\n\"Are you perhaps your brother's keeper?\" William asked, with the words of Cain. But I saw he was joking and meant to say that God is great and merciful. And so I went looking for Salvatore and found him near the horses' stalls.\n\n\"A fine animal,\" I said, nodding at Brunellus, as a way of starting a conversation. \"I would like to ride him.\"\n\n\"No se puede. Abbonis est. But you do not need a pulcher horse to ride hard.\u2026\" He pointed out a sturdy but ill-favored horse. \"That one also suficit.\u2026 Vide illuc, tertius equi....\"\n\nHe wanted to point out to me the third horse. I laughed at his comical Latin. \"And what will you do with that one?\" I asked him.\n\nAnd he told me a strange story. He said that any horse, even the oldest and weakest animal, could be made as swift as Brunellus. You had only to mix into his oats an herb called satirion, chopped fine, and then grease. his thighs with stag fat. Then you mount the horse, and before spurring him you turn his face eastward and you whisper into his ear, three times, the words: \"Nicander, Melchior, and Merchizard,\" And the horse will dash off and will go as far in one hour as Brunellus would in eight. And if you hang around his neck the teeth of a wolf that the horse himself has trampled and killed, the animal will not even feel the effort.\n\nI asked him whether he had ever tried this. He said to me, coming closer circumspectly and whispering into my ear with his really foul breath, that it was very difficult, because satirion was now cultivated only by bishops and by their lordly friends, who used it to increase their power. Then I put an end to his talk and told him that this evening my master wanted' to read certain books in his cell and wished to eat up there.\n\n\"I will do,\" he said, \"I will do cheese in batter.\"\n\n\"How is that made?\"\n\n\"Facilis. You take the cheese before it is too antiquum, without too much salis, and cut in cubes or sicut you like. And postea you put a bit of butierro or lardo to rechauffer over the embers. And in it you put two pieces of cheese, and when it becomes tenero, zucharum et cinnamon supra positurum du bis. And immediately take to table, because it must be ate caldo caldo.\"\n\n\"Cheese in batter it is, then,\" I said to him. And he vanished toward the kitchen, telling me to wait for him. He arrived half an hour later with a dish covered by a cloth. The aroma was good.\n\n\"Here,\" he said to me, and he also held out a great lamp filled with oil.\n\n\"What for?\" I asked.\n\n\"Sais pas, moi,\" he said, slyly. \"Peut-\u00eatre your magister wants to go in dark place esta noche.\"\n\nSalvatore apparently knew more things than I had suspected. I inquired no further, but took the food to William. We ate, and I withdrew to my cell. Or at least, so I implied. I wanted to find Ubertino again, and stealthily I returned to the church."
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which Ubertino tells Adso the story of Fra Dolcino, after which Adso recalls other stories or reads them on his own in the library, and then he has an encounter with a maiden, beautiful and terrible as an army arrayed for battle.\n\nI found Ubertino at the statue of the Virgin. Silently I joined him and for a while pretended (I confess) to pray. Then I made bold to speak to him.\n\n\"Holy Father,\" I said to him, \"may I ask enlightenment and counsel of you?\"\n\nUbertino looked at me and, taking me by the hand, rose and led me to a bench, where we both sat. He embraced me tightly, and I could feel his breath on my face.\n\n\"Dearest son,\" he said, \"anything this poor sinner can do for your soul will be done joyfully. What is distressing you? Yearnings?\" he asked, almost with yearning himself. \"The yearnings of the flesh?\"\n\n\"No,\" I replied, blushing, \"if anything the yearnings of the mind, which wants to know too many things...\"\n\n\"And that is bad. The Lord knows all things, and we must only adore His knowledge.\"\n\n\"But we must also distinguish good from evil and understand human passions. I am a novice, but I will be monk and priest, and I must learn where evil lies, and what it looks like, in order to recognize it one day and teach others to recognize it.\"\n\n\"This is true, my boy. What do you want to know, then?\"\n\n\"The tare of heresy, Father,\" I said with conviction. And then, all in one breath, \"I have heard tell of a wicked man who has led others astray: Fra Dolcino.\"\n\nUbertino remained silent, then he said: \"That is right, you heard Brother William and me refer to him the other evening. But it is a nasty story, and it grieves me to talk about it, because it teaches (yes, in this sense you should know it, to derive a useful lesson from it)\u2014because, I was saying, it teaches how the love of penance and the desire to purify the world can produce bloodshed and slaughter.\" He shifted his position on the bench, relaxing his grasp of my shoulders but still keeping one hand on my neck, as if to communicate to me his knowledge or (I could not tell) his intensity.\n\n\"The story begins before Fra Dolcino,\" he said, \"more than sixty years ago, when I was a child. It was in Parma. There a certain Gherardo Segarelli began preaching, exhorting all to a life of penitence, and he would go along the roads crying 'Penitenziagite!' which was the uneducated man's way of saying 'Penitentiam agite, appropinquabit enim regnum coelorum.' He enjoined his disciples to imitate the apostles, and he chose to call his sect the order of the Apostles, and his men were to go through the world like poor beggars, living only on alms....\"\n\n\"Like the Fraticelli,\" I said. \"Wasn't this the command of our Lord and of your own Francis?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Ubertino admitted with a slight hesitation in his voice, sighing. \"But perhaps Gherardo exaggerated. He and his followers were accused of denying the authority of the priests and the celebration of Mass and confession, and of being idle vagabonds.\"\n\n\"But the Spiritual Franciscans were accused of the same thing. And aren't the Minorites saying today that the authority of the Pope should not be recognized?\"\n\n\"Yes, but not the authority of priests. We Minorites are ourselves priests. It is difficult, boy, to make distinctions in these things. The line dividing good from evil is so fine.... In some way Gherardo erred and became guilty of heresy.... He asked to be admitted to the order of the Minorites, but our brothers would not receive him. He spent his days in the church of our brothers, and he saw the paintings there of the apostles wearing sandals on their feet and cloaks wrapped around their shoulders, and so he let his hair and beard grow, put sandals on his feet, and wore the rope of the Friars Minor, because anyone who wants to found a new congregation always takes something from the order of the Blessed Francis.\"\n\n\"Then he was in the right....\"\n\n\"But somewhere he did wrong.... Dressed in a white cloak over a white tunic, with his hair long, he acquired among simple people the reputation for saintliness. He sold a little house of his, and having received the money, he stood on a stone from which in ancient times the magistrates were accustomed to harangue, and he held the little sack of gold pieces in his hand, and he did not scatter them or give them to the poor, but, after summoning some rogues dicing nearby, he flung the money in their midst and said, 'Let him take who will,' and those rogues took the money and went off to gamble it away, and they blasphemed the living God, and he who had given to them heard and did not blush.\"\n\n\"But Francis also stripped himself of everything, and today from William I heard that he went to preach to ravens and hawks, as well as to the lepers\u2014namely, to the dregs that the people who call themselves virtuous had cast out....\"\n\n\"Yes, but Gherardo somehow erred; Francis never set himself in conflict with the holy church, and the Gospel says to give to the poor, not to rogues. Gherardo gave and received nothing in return because he had given to bad people, and he had a bad beginning, a bad continuation, and a bad end, because his congregation was disapproved by Pope Gregory the Tenth.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I said, \"he was a less broad-minded pope than the one who approved the Rule of Francis.\u2026\"\n\n\"He was, but Gherardo somehow erred, and Francis, on the contrary, knew well what he was doing. And finally, boy, these keepers of pigs and cows who suddenly became Pseudo Apostles wanted to live blissfully and without sweat off the alms of those whom the Friars Minor had educated with such efforts and such heroic examples of poverty! But that is not the point,\" he added promptly. \"The point is that to resemble the apostles, who had still been Jews, Gherardo Segarelli had himself circumcised, which is contrary to the words of Paul to the Galatians\u2014and you know that many holy persons proclaim that the future Antichrist will come from the race of the circumcised.... But Gherardo did still worse: he went about collecting the simple people and saying, 'Come with me into the vineyard,' and those who did not know him went with him into another's vineyard, believing it his, and they ate another's grapes....\"\n\n\"Surely the Minorites didn't defend private property,\" I said impertinently.\n\nUbertino stared at me severely. \"The Minorites ask to be poor, but they have never asked others to be poor. You cannot attack the property of good Christians with impunity; the good Christians will label you a bandit. And so it happened to Gherardo. They said of him finally that to test his strength of will and his continence he slept with women without having carnal knowledge of them; but when his disciples tried to imitate him, the results were quite different.... Oh, these are not things a boy should know: the female is a vessel of the Devil.... And then they began to brawl among themselves over the command of the sect, and evil things happened. And yet many came to Gherardo, not only peasants, but also people of the city, members of the guilds, and Gherardo made them strip themselves so that, naked, they could follow the naked Christ, and he sent them out into the world to preach, but he had a sleeveless tunic made for himself, white, of strong stuff, and in this garb he looked more like a clown than like a religious! They lived in the open air, but sometimes they climbed into the pulpits of the churches, disturbing the assembly of devout folk and driving out their preachers, and once they set a child on the bishop's throne in the Church of Sant'Orso in Ravenna. And they proclaimed themselves heirs of the doctrine of Joachim of Floris....\"\n\n\"But so do the Franciscans,\" I said, \"and also Gerard of Borgo San Donnino, and you, too!\" I cried.\n\n\"Calm yourself, boy. Joachim of Floris was a great prophet and he was the first to understand that Francis would begin a renewal of the church. But the Pseudo Apostles used his doctrine to justify their follies. Segarelli took with him a female apostle, one Tripia or Ripia, who claimed to have the gift of prophecy. A woman, you understand?\"\n\n\"But, Father,\" I tried to counter, \"the other evening you yourself spoke of the saintliness of Clare of Montefalco and Angela of Foligno....\"\n\n\"They were saints! They lived in humility, recognizing the power of the church; they never claimed the gift of prophecy! But the Pseudo Apostles asserted that women could go preaching from city to city, as many other heretics also said. And they recognized no difference among the wed and the unwed, nor was any vow considered perpetual. In short, not to weary you too much with very sad stories whose subtleties you cannot understand well, Bishop Obizzo of Parma finally decided to put Gherardo in irons. But here a strange thing happened that tells you how weak is human nature, and how insidious the weed of heresy. Because in the end the bishop freed Gherardo and received him at his own table, and laughed at his japes, and kept him as his buffoon.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"I do not know\u2014or, rather, I fear I do know. The bishop was a nobleman and did not like the merchants and craftsmen of the city. Perhaps he did not mind Gherardo's preaching against them with his talk of poverty, or did not care that from begging for alms Gherardo proceeded to robbery. But in the end the Pope. intervened, and the bishop resumed his proper seventy, and Gherardo ended on the pyre as an impenitent heretic. It was at the beginning of this century.\"\n\n\"And what do these things have to do with Fra Dolcino?\"\n\n\"They are connected, and this shows you how heresy survives even the destruction of the heretics. This Dolcino was a priest's bastard, living in the Novara diocese, this part of Italy, a bit farther north. He was a youth of sharp mind and he was educated in letters, but he stole from the priest who housed him and fled eastward, to the city of Trent. And there he resumed the preaching of Gherardo, but in a more heretical vein, declaring that he was the only true apostle of God and that everything should be common in love, and that it was licit to lie indiscriminately with all women, whereby no one could be accused of concubinage, even if he went with both a wife and a daughter....\"\n\n\"Did he truly preach those things, or was he just accused of preaching them? I have heard that the Spirituals, like those monks of Montefalco, were accused of similar crimes....\"\n\n\"De hoc satis,\" Ubertino interrupted me sharply. \"They were no longer monks. They were heretics. And befouled by Fra Dolcino himself. And, furthermore, listen to me: it is enough to know what Fra Dolcino did afterward to call him a wicked man. How he became familiar with the Pseudo Apostles' teachings, I do not even know. Perhaps he went through Parma as a youth and heard Gherardo. It is known that in the Bologna region he kept in touch with those heretics after Segarelli's death. And it is known for certain that he began his preaching at Trent. There he seduced a very beautiful maiden of noble family, Margaret, or she seduced him, as H\u00e9lo\u00efse seduced Abelard, because\u2014never forget\u2014it is through woman that the Devil penetrates men's hearts! At that point, the Bishop of Trent drove him from the diocese, but by then Dolcino had gathered more than a thousand followers, and he began a long march, which took him back to the area where he was born. And along the way other deluded folk joined him, seduced by his words, and perhaps he was also joined by many Waldensian heretics who lived in the mountains he passed through, or he himself wanted to join the Waldensians of these lands to the north. When he reached the Novara region, Dolcino found a situation favorable to his revolt, cause the vassals governing the town of Gattinara in the name of the Bishop of Vercelli had been driven out by the populace, who then welcomed Dolcino's outlaws as their worthy allies.\"\n\n\"What had the bishop's vassals done?\"\n\n\"I do not know, and it is not my place to judge. But as you see, heresy in many cases is wed to the revolt against overlords, and this is why the heretic begins by preaching Madonna Poverty and then falls prey to all the temptations of power, war, violence. There was a conflict among certain families in the city of Vercelli, and the Pseudo Apostles took advantage of it, and these families exploited the disorder brought by the Pseudo Apostles. The feudal lords hired mercenaries to rob the citizens, and the citizens sought the protection of the Bishop of Novara.\"\n\n\"What a complicated story. But whose side was Dolcino on?\"\n\n\"I do not know; he was a faction unto himself; he entered into all these disputes and saw them as an opportunity for preaching the struggle against private ownership in the name of poverty. Dolcino and his followers, who were now three thousand strong, camped on a hill near Novara known as Bald Mountain, and they built hovels and fortifications, and Dolcino ruled over that whole throng of men and women, who lived in the most shameful promiscuity. From there he sent letters to his faithful in which he expounded his heretical doctrine. He said and he wrote that their ideal was poverty and they were not bound by any vow of external obedience, and that he, Dolcino, had been sent by God to break the seals of the prophecies and to understand the writings of the Old and the New Testaments. And he called secular clerics\u2014preachers and Minorites\u2014ministers of the Devil, and he absolved everyone from the duty of obeying them. And he identified four ages in the life of the people of God: The first was that of the Old Testament, the patriarchs and prophets, before the coming of Christ, when marriage was good because God's people had to multiply. The second was the age of Christ and the apostles, and this was the epoch of saintliness and chastity. Then came the third, when the popes had first to accept earthly riches in order to govern the people; but when mankind began to stray from the love of God, Benedict came, and spoke against all temporal possessions. When the monks of Benedict also then went back to accumulating wealth, the monks of Saint Francis and Saint Dominic came, even more stern than Benedict in preaching against earthly power and riches. But finally now, when again the lives of so many prelates were contradicting all those good precepts, we had reached the end of the third age, and it was necessary to follow the teachings of the Apostles.\"\n\n\"Then Dolcino was preaching the things that the Franciscans had preached, and among the Franciscans, the Spirituals in particular, and you yourself, Father!\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, but he derived a perfidious syllogism from them! He said that to bring to an end this third age of corruption, all the clergy, monks, and friars had to die a very cruel death; he said that all prelates of the church, all clerics, nuns, religious male and female, all those who belong to the preaching orders and the Minorites, the hermits, and even Boniface the Pope had to be exterminated by the Emperor he, Dolcino, had chosen, and this was to be Frederick of Sicily.\"\n\n\"But didn't that same Frederick receive with favor in Sicily the Spirituals expelled from Umbria, and isn't it the Minorites who ask that the Emperor, though he is now Louis, destroy the temporal power of the Pope and the cardinals?\"\n\n\"It is characteristic of heresy, or of madness, that it transforms the most upright thoughts and aims them at consequences contrary to the law of God and man. The Minorites have never asked the Emperor to kill other priests.\n\nHe was mistaken, I know now. Because, a few months later, when the Bavarian established his own order in Rome, Marsilius and other Minorites did to religious who were faithful to the Pope exactly what Dolcino had asked to have done. By this I don't mean that Dolcino was right; if anything, Marsilius was equally wrong. But I was beginning to wonder, especially after that afternoon's conversation with William, if it were possible for the simple people who followed Dolcino to distinguish between the promises of the Spirituals and Dolcino's enactment of them. Was he not perhaps guilty of putting into practice what presumably orthodox men had preached, in a purely mystical fashion? Or was that perhaps where the difference lay? Did holiness consist to waiting for God to give us what His saints had promised, without trying to obtain it through earthly means? Now I know this is the case and I know why Dolcino was in error: the order of things must not be transformed, even if we must fervently hope for its transformation. But that evening I was in the grip of contradictory thoughts.\n\n\"Finally,\" Ubertino was saying to me, \"you always find the mark of heresy in pride. In a second letter, to the year 1303, Dolcino appointed himself supreme head of the Apostolic congregation, and named as his lieutenants the perfidious Margaret\u2014a woman\u2014and Longinus of Bergamo, Frederick of Novara, Albert Carentinus, and Walderic of Brescia. And he began raving about a sequence of future popes, two good\u2014the first and the last\u2014and two wicked, the second and the third. The first is Celestine, the second is Boniface the Eighth, of whom the prophets say, 'The pride of your heart has dishonored you, O you who live in the fissures of cliffs.' The third Pope is not named, but of him Jeremiah is supposed to have said, 'There, like a lion.' And\u2014infamy!\u2014Dolcino recognized the lion in Frederick of Sicily. For Dolcino the fourth Pope was still unknown, and he was to be the Sainted Pope, the Angelic Pope of whom the abbot Joachim spoke. He would be chosen by God, and then Dolcino and all his people (who at this point were already four thousand) would receive together the grace of the Holy Spirit, and it would renew the church until the end of the world. But in the three years preceding his coming, all evil would have to be consummated. And this Dolcino tried to do, carrying war everywhere. And the fourth pope, and here you see how the Devil mocks his familiars, was in fact Clement the Fifth, who proclaimed the crusade against Dolcino. And it was right, because in his letters at this point Dolcino sustained theories that could not be reconciled with orthodoxy. He declared the Roman church a whore, said that obedience is not due priests, that all spiritual power had now passed to the sect of the Apostles, that only the Apostles represented the new church, the Apostles could annul matrimony, no one would be saved unless he was a member of the sect, no pope could absolve sin, tithes should not be paid, a more perfect life was lived without vows than with vows, and a consecrated church was worthless for prayer, no better than a stable, and Christ could be worshiped both in the woods and in the churches.\"\n\n\"Did he really say these things?\"\n\n\"Of course, this is certain. He wrote them. But unfortunately he did still worse. After he had settled on Bald Mountain, he began sacking the villages in the valley, raiding them to procure provisions\u2014waging outright war, in short, against the nearby towns.\"\n\n\"Were all opposed to him?\"\n\n\"We do not know. Perhaps he received support from some; I told you that he had involved himself in the snarled knot of local dissensions. Meanwhile winter had come, the winter of the year 1305, one of the harshest in recent decades, and there was great famine all around. Dolcino sent a third letter to his followers, and many more joined him, but on that hill life had become intolerable, and they otter so hungry that they ate the flesh of horses and other animals, and boiled hay. And many died.\"\n\n\"But whom were they fighting against now?\"\n\n\"The Bishop of Vercelli had appealed to Clement the Fifth, and a crusade had been called against the heretics. A plenary indulgence was granted to anyone taking part in it, and Louis of Savoy, the inquisitors of Lombardy, the Archbishop of Milan were prompt to act. Many took up the cross to aid the people of Vercelli and Novara, even from Savoy, Provence, France; and the Bishop of Vercelli was the supreme commander. There were constant clashes between the vanguards of the two armies, but Dolcino's fortifications were impregnable, and somehow the wicked received help.\"\n\n\"From whom?\"\n\n\"From other wicked men, I believe, who were happy to foment this disorder. Toward the end of the year 1305, the heresiarch was forced, however, to abandon Bald Mountain, leaving behind the wounded and ill, and he moved into the territory of Trivero, where he entrenched himself on a mountain that was called Zubello at the time and later was known as Rubello or Rebello, because it had become the fortress of the rebels of the church. In any case, I cannot tell you everything that happened. There were terrible massacres, but in the end the rebels were forced to surrender, Dolcino and his people were captured, and they rightly ended up on the pyre.\"\n\n\"The beautiful Margaret, too?\"\n\nUbertino looked at me, \"So you remembered she was beautiful? She was beautiful, they say, and many local lords tried to make her their bride to save her from the stake. But she would not have it; she died impenitent with her impenitent lover. And let this be a lesson to you: beware of the whore of Babylon, even when she assumes the form of the most exquisite creature.\"\n\n\"But now tell me., Father: I have learned that the cellarer of the convent, and perhaps also Salvatore, met Dolcino and were with him in some way....\"\n\n\"Be silent! Do not utter rash statements. I found the cellarer in a convent of Minorites. I do not know where Remigio had been before that. I know he was always a good monk, at least from the standpoint of orthodoxy. As for the rest, alas, the flesh is weak....\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"These are not things you should know.\" He drew me close again, embracing me and pointing to the statue of the Virgin. \"You must be introduced to the immaculate love. There is she in whom femininity is sublimated. This is why you may call her beautiful, like the beloved in the Song of Songs. In her,\" he said, his face carried away by an inner rapture, like the abbot's the day before when he spoke of gems and the gold of his vessels, \"in her, even the body's grace is a sign of the beauties of heaven, and this is why the sculptor has portrayed her with all the graces that should adorn a woman.\" He pointed to the Virgin's slender bust, held high and tight by a cross-laced bodice, which the Child's tiny hands fondled. \"You see? As the doctors have said Beautiful also are the breasts, which protrude slightly, only faintly tumescent, and do not swell licentiously, suppressed but not depressed.... What do you feel before this sweetest of visions?\"\n\nI blushed violently, feeling myself stirred as if by an inner fire. Ubertino must have realized it, or perhaps he glimpsed my flushed cheeks, for he promptly added, \"But you must learn to distinguish the fire of supernatural love from the raving of the senses. It is difficult even for the saints.\"\n\n\"But how can the good love be recognized?\" I asked, trembling.\n\n\"What is love? There is nothing in the world, neither man nor Devil nor any thing, that I hold as suspect as love, for it penetrates the soul more than any other thing. Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart as love does. Therefore, unless you have those weapons that subdue it, the soul plunges through love into an immense abyss. And I believe that without Margaret's seductions Dolcino would not have damned himself, and without the reckless and promiscuous life on Bald Mountain, fewer would have felt the lure of his rebellion. Mind you, I do not say these things to you only about evil love, which of course all must shun as a thing of the Devil; I say this also, and with great fear, of the good love between God and man, between man and his neighbor. It often happens that two or three people, men or women, love one another quite cordially and harbor reciprocal, special fondness, and desire to live always close, and what one party wishes, the other desires. And I confess that I felt something of the kind for most virtuous women, like Angela and Clare. Well, that, too, is blameworthy, even though it is spiritual and conceived in God's name.... Because even the love felt by the soul, if it is not forearmed, if it is felt warmly, then falls, or proceeds in disorder. Oh, love has various properties: first the soul grows tender, then it sickens... but then it feels the true warmth of divine love and cries out and moans and becomes as stone flung in the forge to melt into lime, and it crackles, licked by the flame.\u2026\"\n\n\"And this is good love?\"\n\nUbertino stroked my head, and as I looked at him, I saw his eyes melt with tears. \"Yes, this, finally, is good love.\" He took his hand from my shoulder. But how difficult it is,\" he added, \"how difficult it is to distinguish it from the other. And sometimes when devils tempt your soul you feel like the man hanged by the neck who, with his hands tied behind him and his eyes blindfolded, remains hanging on the gallows and yet lives, with no help, no support, no remedy, swinging in the empty air....\"\n\nHis face was bathed not only with tears but also by a faint perspiration. \"Go now,\" he said to me quickly. \"I have told you what you wanted to know, On this side the choir of angels; on that, the gaping maw of hell. Go, and the Lord be praised.\" He prostrated himself again before the Virgin, and I heard him sobbing softly. He was praying.\n\nI did not leave the church. The talk with Ubertino had kindled in my spirit, and in my viscera, a strange fire and an unspeakable restlessness. Perhaps for this reason, I felt inclined to disobedience and decided to return to the library alone. I myself didn't know what I was looking for. I wanted to explore an unknown place on my own; I was fascinated by the idea of being able to orient myself there without my master's help. I climbed the stairs as Dolcino had climbed up Monte Rubello.\n\nI had the lamp with me (why had I brought it\u2014was I perhaps already harboring this secret plan?) and I entered the ossarium almost with my eyes closed. In no time I was in the scriptorium. It was a fatal evening, I believe, because as I was wandering among the desks, I glimpsed one on which lay an open manuscript that a monk had been copying: Historia fratris Dulcini Heresiarche. I believe it was the desk of Peter of Sant'Albano, who I had been told was writing a monumental history of heresy (after what happened in the abbey, he naturally gave up writing it\u2014but we must not get ahead of the story). So it was therefore normal that the text should be there, and with it others on kindred subjects, on the Patarines and the flagellants. But I took this circumstance as a supernatural sign, whether celestial or diabolical I still cannot say, and I bent eagerly to read the writing. It was not very long, and I found there also what Ubertino had not told me, obviously recounted by one who had seen all and whose imagination was still inflamed by it.\n\nI learned then how, in March of 1307, on Holy Saturday, Dolcino, Margaret, and Longinus, captured at last, were taken into the city of Biella and handed over to the bishop, who was awaiting the decision of the Pope. The Pope, hearing the news, transmitted it to King Philip of France, writing: \"We have received most welcome news, rich in joy and exultation, for that pestiferous demon, son of Belial, the most horrendous heresiarch Dolcino, after many dangers, long efforts, massacres, and frequent battles, is finally incarcerated with his followers in our prisons, thanks to our venerated brother Ranier, Bishop of Vercelli, captured on the day of the Lord's holy supper; and numerous people who were with him, infected by the contagion, were killed that same day.\" The Pope was merciless toward the prisoners and ordered the bishop to put them to death. Then, in July of that same year, the first day of the month, the heretics were handed over to the secular arm. As the bells of the city rang joyously, the heretics were placed in a wagon, surrounded by the executioners, followed by the militia, and carried through the entire city, and at every corner, men with red-hot pincers tore the flesh of the guilty. Margaret was burned first, before Dolcino, who did not move a muscle of his face, just as he had not uttered a moan when the pincers bit into his limbs. Then the wagon continued on its way, while the executioners thrust their irons into pots filled with glowing coals. Dolcino underwent other torments and remained silent, though when they amputated his nose he shrugged a bit, and when they tore off his male member he emitted a long sigh, like a groan. The last things he said sounded impertinent, for he warned that he would rise on the third day. Then he was burned and his ashes were scattered in the wind.\n\nI folded the manuscript with trembling hands. Dolcino had committed many crimes, I had been told, but he had been horribly burned to death. And at the stake he had behaved... how? With the steadfastness of martyrs or with the arrogance of the damned? As I staggered up the steps to the library, I realized why I was so upset. I suddenly recalled a scene I had witnessed not many months before, shortly after my arrival in Tuscany. I wondered, indeed, why I had almost forgotten it till then, as if my sick soul had wanted to erase a memory that weighed on me like a nightmare. Or, rather, I had not forgotten it, because every time I heard the Fraticelli discussed, I saw again the scenes of that event, but I immediately thrust them down into the recesses of my spirit, as if witnessing that horror had been a sin.\n\nI had first heard talk of the Fraticelli in the days when, in Florence, I had seen one burned at the stake. It was shortly before I met Brother William in Pisa. He had delayed his arrival in that city, and my father had given me leave to visit Florence, whose churches I had heard praised as most beautiful. I wandered about Tuscany, to learn better the vulgar Italian tongue, and I finally stayed a week in Florence, because I had heard much talk of that city and wished to know it.\n\nAnd so it was that when I had barely arrived I learned of a great trial that was stirring up the whole city. A heretic Fraticello, accused of crimes against religion and haled before the bishop and other ecclesiastics, was being subjected to severe inquisition at the time. And, following those who told me about it, I went to the place where the trial was taking place, for I heard the people say that this friar, Michael by name, was truly a very pious man who had preached penance and poverty, repeating the words of Saint Francis, and had been brought before the judges because of the spitefulness of certain women who, pretending to confess themselves to him, had then attributed heretical notions to him; and he had indeed been seized by the bishop's men in the house of those same women, a fact that amazed me, because a man of the church should never go to administer the sacraments in such unsuitable places; but this seemed to be a weakness of the Fraticelli, this failure to take propriety into due consideration, and perhaps there was some truth in the popular belief that held them to be not only heretics but also of dubious behavior (as it was always said of the Catharists that they were Bulgars and sodomites).\n\nI came to the Church of San Salvatore, where the inquisition was in progress, but I could not enter, because of the great crowd outside it. However, some had hoisted themselves to the bars of the windows and, clinging there, could see and hear what was going on, and they reported it to those below. The inquisitors were reading to Brother Michael the confession he had made the day before, in which he said that Christ and his apostles \"held nothing individually or in common as property,\" but Michael protested that the notary had now added \"many false consequences\" and he shouted (this I heard from outside), \"You will have to defend yourselves on the day of judgment!\" But the inquisitors read the confession as they had drawn it up, and at the end they asked him whether he wanted humbly to follow the opinions of the church and all the people of the city. And I heard Michael shouting in a loud voice that he wanted to follow what he believed, namely that he \"wanted to keep Christ poor and crucified, and Pope John XXII was a heretic because he said the opposite.\" A great debate ensued, in which the inquisitors, many of them Franciscans, sought to make him understand that the Scriptures had not said what he was saying, and he accused them of denying the very Rule of their order, and they assailed him, asking him whether he thought he understood Scripture better than they, who were masters. And Fra Michael, very stubborn indeed, contested them, so that they began provoking him with such assertions as \"Then we want you to consider Christ a property owner and Pope John a Catholic and holy man.\" And Michael, never faltering, said, \"No, a heretic.\" And they said they had never seen anyone so tenacious in his own wickedness. But among the crowd outside the building I heard many compare him to Christ before the Pharisees, and I realized that among the people many believed in the holiness of the friar Michael.\n\nFinally the bishop's men took him back to prison in irons. And that evening I was told that many monks, friends of the bishop, had gone to insult him and enjoin him to retract, but he answered like a man sure of his own truth. And he repeated to each of them that Christ was poor and that Saint Francis and Saint Dominic had said so as well, and that if for professing this upright opinion he had to be condemned to the stake, so much the better, because in a short time he would be able to see what the Scriptures describe, the twenty-four elders of the Apocalypse and Jesus Christ and Saint Francis and the glorious martyrs. And I was told that he said, \"If we read with such fervor the doctrine of certain sainted abbots, how much greater should be our fervor and our joy in desiring to be in their midst?\" And after words of this sort, the inquisitors left the prison with grim faces, crying out in indignation (and I heard them), \"He has a devil in him!\"\n\nThe next day we learned that the sentence had been pronounced; I went to the bishop's palace, where I could see the parchment, and I copied a part of it onto my tablet.\n\nIt began \"In nomine Domini amen. Hec est quedam condemnatio corporalis et sententia condemnationis corporalis lata, data et in hiis scriptis sententialiter pronumptiata et promulgata.\u2026\" etc., and it went on with a stern description of the sins and crimes of the said Michael; among these one seemed to me most foul, even if I do not know (considering the conduct of the trial) whether he really affirmed this, but it was said, in short, that the afore-mentioned Minorite had proclaimed that Saint Thomas Aquinas was not a saint nor did he enjoy eternal salvation, but was, on the contrary, damned and in a state of perdition! And the sentence concluded, establishing the punishment, since the accused would not mend his ways:\n\nIdcirco, dictum Johannem vocatum fratrem Micchaelem hereticum et scismaticum quod ducatur ad locum iustitie consuetum, et ibidem igne et flammis igneis accensis concremetur et comburatur, ita quod penitus moriatur et anima a corpore separetur.\n\nAnd after the sentence had been made public, more men of the church came to the prison and warned Michael of what would happen, and I heard them say then, \"Brother Michael, the miters and copes have already been made, and painted on them are Fraticelli accompanied by devils.\" To frighten him and force him finally to retract. But Brother Michael knelt down and said, \"I believe that beside the pyre there will be our father Francis, and I further believe there will be Jesus and the apostles, and the glorious martyrs Bartholomew and Anthony.\" Which was a way of refusing for the last time the inquisitors' offers.\n\nThe next morning I, too, was on the bridge before the bishop's palace, where the inquisitors had gathered; Brother Michael, still in irons, was brought to face them. One of his faithful followers knelt before him to receive his benediction, and this follower was seized by the men-at-arms and taken at once to prison. Afterward, the inquisitors again read the sentence to the condemned man and asked him once more whether he wished to repent. At every point where the sentence said he was a heretic Michael replied, \"I am no heretic; a sinner, yes, but Catholic,\" and when the text named \"the most venerable and holy Pope John XXII\" Michael answered, \"No, a heretic.\" Then the bishop ordered Michael to come and kneel before him, and Michael said no one should kneel before heretics. They forced him to his knees and he murmured, \"God will pardon me.\" And after he had been led out in all his priestly vestments, a ritual began, and one by one his vestments were stripped away until he remained in that little garment that the Florentines call a \"cioppa.\" And as is the custom when a priest is defrocked, they seared the pads of his fingers with a hot iron and they shaved his head. Then he was handed over to the captain and his men, who treated him very harshly and put him in irons, to take him back to prison, as he said to the crowd, \"Per Dominum moriemur.\" He was to be burned, as I found out, only the next day. And on this day they also went to ask him whether he wished to confess himself and receive communion. And he refused, saying it was a sin to accept the sacraments from one in a state of sin. Here, I believe, he was wrong, and he showed he had been corrupted by the heresy of the Patarines.\n\nFinally it was the day of the execution, and a gonfalonier came for him, appearing friendly, for he asked what sort of man Michael was and why he was so stubborn when he had only to affirm what the whole populace affirmed and accept the opinion of Holy Mother Church. But Michael, very harshly, said, \"I believe in Christ poor and crucified.\" And the gonfalonier went away, making a helpless gesture. Then the captain arrived with his men and took Michael into the courtyard, where the bishop's vicar reread the confession and the sentence to him. Michael interrupted again to contest opinions falsely attributed to him; these truly were matters of such subtlety that I do not recall them, and at that time did not understand them clearly. But these were surely what decided the death of Michael and the persecution of the Fraticelli. I did not understand why the men of the church and of the secular arm were so violent against people who wanted to live in poverty and held that Christ had not owned worldly goods. Because, I said to myself, if anything, they should fear men who wish to live in wealth and take money away from others, and lead the church into sin and introduce simoniacal practices into it. And I spoke of this with a man standing near me, for I could not keep silent any more. He smiled mockingly and said to me that a monk who practices poverty sets a bad example for the populace, for then they cannot accept monks who do not practice it. And, he added, the preaching of poverty put the wrong ideas into the heads of the people, who would consider their poverty a source of pride, and pride can lead to many proud acts. And, finally, he said that I should know, thanks to some syllogism which was not clear to him, either, that preaching poverty for monks put you on the side of the Emperor, and this did not please the Pope. All excellent reasons, they seemed to me, even if expounded by a man of scant learning, except that at this point I did not understand why Brother Michael wanted to die so horribly to please the Emperor, or to settle a controversy among religious orders. And in fact some of those present were saying, \"He is not a saint, he was sent by Louis to stir up discord among the citizens, and the Fraticelli are Tuscans but behind them are the Emperor's agents.\" And others said, \"He is a madman, he is possessed by the Devil, swollen with pride, and he enjoys martyrdom for his wicked pride; they make these monks read too many lives of the saints, it would be better for them to take a wife!\" And still others added, \"No, all Christians should be like him, ready to proclaim their faith, as in the time of the pagans.\" As I listened to those voices, no longer knowing what to think myself, it so happened that I looked straight at the condemned man's face, which at times was hidden by the crowd ahead of me. And I saw the face of a man looking at something that is not of this earth, as I had sometimes seen on statues of saints in ecstatic vision. And I understood that, madman or seer as he might be, he knowingly wanted to die because he believed that in dying he would defeat his enemy, whoever it was. And I understood that his example would lead others to death. And I remain amazed by the possessors of such steadfastness only because I do not know, even today, whether what prevails in them is a proud love of the truth they believe, which leads them to death, or a proud desire for death, which leads them to proclaim their truth, whatever it may be. And I am overwhelmed with admiration and fear.\n\nBut let us go back to the execution, for now all were heading for the place where Michael would be put to death.\n\nThe captain and his men brought him out of the gate, with his little skirt on him and some of the buttons undone, and as he walked with a broad stride and a bowed head, reciting his office, he seemed one of the martyrs. And the crowd was unbelievably large and many cried, \"Do not die!\" and he would answer, \"I want to die for Christ.\" \"But you are not dying for Christ,\" they said to him; and he said, \"No, for the truth.\" When they came to a place called the Proconsul's Corner, one man cried to him to pray to God for them all, and he blessed the crowd.\n\nAt the Church of the Baptist they shouted to him, \"Save your life!\" and he answered, \"Run for your life from sin!\"; at the Old Market they shouted to him, \"Live, live!\" and he replied, \"Save yourselves from hell\"; at the New Market they yelled, \"Repent, repent,\" and he replied, \"Repent of your usury.\" And on reaching Santa Croce, he saw the monks of his order on the steps, and he reproached them because they did not follow the Rule of Saint Francis. And some of them shrugged, but others pulled their cowls over their faces to cover them, in shame.\n\nAnd going toward the Justice Gate, many said to him, \"Recant! Recant! Don't insist on dying,\" and he said, \"Christ died for us.\" And they said, \"But you are not Christ, you must not die for us!\" And he said, \"But I want to die for Him.\" At the Field of justice, one said to him he should do as a certain monk, his superior, had done, abjuring; but Michael answered that he would not abjure, and I saw many in the crowd, agree and urge Michael to be strong: so I and many others realized those were his followers, and we moved away from them.\n\nFinally we were outside the city and before us the pyre appeared, the \"hut,\" as they called it there, because the wood was arranged in the form of a hut, and there a circle of armed horsemen formed, to keep people from coming too close. And there they bound Brother Michael to the stake. And again I heard someone shout to him, \"But what is it you're dying for?\" And he answered; \"For a truth that dwells in me, which I can proclaim only by death.\" They set fire to the wood. And Brother Michael, who had chanted the \"Credo,\" afterward chanted the \"Te Deum.\" He sang perhaps eight verses of it, then he bent over as if he had to sneeze, and fell to the ground, because his bonds had burned away. He was already dead: before the body is completely burned it has already died from the great heat, which makes the heart explode, and from the smoke that fills the chest.\n\nThen the hut burned entirely, like a torch, and there was a great glow, and if it had not been for the poor charred body of Michael, still glimpsed among the glowing coals, I would have said I was standing before the burning bush. And I was close enough to have a view (I recalled as I climbed the steps of the library) that made some words rise spontaneously to my lips, about ecstatic rapture; I had read them in the books of Saint Hildegard: \"The flame consists of a splendid clarity, of an unusual vigor, and of an igneous ardor, but possesses the splendid clarity that it may illuminate and the igneous ardor that it may burn.\"\n\nI remembered some words of Ubertino about love. The image of Michael on the pyre became confused with that of Dolcino, and that of Dolcino with that of the beautiful Margaret. I felt again the restlessness that had seized me in church.\n\nI tried not to think about it and headed straight for the labyrinth.\n\nThis was the first time I entered it alone; the long shadows cast by the lamp on the floor terrified me as much as had the visions the previous night. At every moment I feared I would find myself before another mirror, because the magic of mirrors is such that even when you know they are mirrors they still upset you.\n\nOn the other hand, I did not try to orient myself, or to avoid the room with the perfumes that induce visions. I proceeded as if in the grip of a fever, nor did I know where I wanted to go. In fact, I did not move far from my starting point, because a short time later I found myself again in the heptagonal room by which I had entered. Here, on a table, some books were laid out that I did not seem to have seen the night before. I guessed they were works that Malachi had withdrawn from the scriptorium and had not yet replaced on their proper shelves. I could not comprehend how far I was from the perfume room, because I felt dazed, which could be the effect of some effluvium that reached even that spot, or else of the things I had been pondering until then. I opened a richly illuminated volume that, by its style, seemed to me to come from the monasteries of Ultima Thule.\n\nOn a page where the holy Gospel of the apostle Mark began, I was struck by the image of a lion. I was certain it was a lion, even though I had never seen one in the flesh, and the artist had reproduced its features faithfully, inspired perhaps by the sight of the lions of Hibernia, land of monstrous creatures, and I was convinced that this animal, as for that matter the Physiologus says, concentrates in itself all the characteristics of the things at once most horrible and most regal. So that image suggested to me both the image of the Enemy and that of Christ our Lord, nor did I know by what symbolic key I was to read it, and I was trembling all over, out of fear and also because of the wind coming through the fissures in the walls.\n\nThe lion I saw had a mouth bristling with teeth, and a finely armored head like a serpent's; the immense body was supported by four paws with sharp, fierce claws, and its coat resembled one of those rugs that later I saw brought from the Orient, with red and emerald scales on which were drawn, yellow as the plague, horrible and sturdy armatures of bone. Also yellow was the tail, which twisted from the rump to the head, ending in a final scroll of black and white tufts.\n\nI was already quite awed by the lion (and more than once I had looked around as if I expected to see an animal of that description suddenly appear) when I decided to look at other pages and my eye fell, at the opening of the Gospel of Matthew, on the image of a man. I do not know why, but it frightened me more than the lion: the face was a man's, but this man was sheathed in a kind of stiff chasuble that covered him to his feet, and this chasuble, or cuirass, was encrusted with red and yellow semiprecious stones. The head, which emerged enigmatically from a castle of rubies and topazes, seemed (how blasphemous terror made me!) that of the mysterious murderer whose impalpable trail we were following. And then I realized why I linked the animal and the armored man so closely with the labyrinth: both illustrations, like all in that book, emerged from a pattern of interlocking labyrinths, whose lines of onyx and emerald, threads of chrysoprase, ribbons of beryl seemed all to refer to the tangle of rooms and corridors where I was. My eye became lost, on the page, along gleaming paths, as my feet were becoming lost in the troublous succession of the rooms of the library, and seeing my own wandering depicted on those parchments filled me with uneasiness and convinced me that each of those books was telling, through mysterious cachinnations, my present story. \"De to fabula narratur,\" I said to myself, and I wondered if those pages did not already contain the story of future events in store for me.\n\nI opened another book, and this seemed of the Hispanic school. The colors were violent, the reds suggested blood or fire. It was the book of Revelation of the apostle, and once again, as the night before, I happened upon the page of the mulier amicta sole. But it was not the same book; the illumination was different. Here the artist had dwelled at greater length on the woman's form. I compared her face, her bosom, her curving thighs with the statue of the Virgin I had seen with Ubertino. The line was different, but this mulier also seemed very beautiful to me. I thought I should not dwell on these notions, and I turned several more pages. I found another woman, but this time it was the whore of Babylon. I was not so much struck by her form as by the thought that she, too, was a woman like the other, and yet this one was the vessel of every vice, whereas the other was the receptacle of every virtue. But the forms were womanly in both cases, and at a certain point I could no longer understand what distinguished them. Again I felt an inner agitation; the image of the Virgin in the church became superimposed on that of the beautiful Margaret. \"I am damned!\" I said to myself. Or, \"I am mad.\" And I decided I should leave the library.\n\nLuckily I was near the staircase. I rushed down, at the risk of stumbling and extinguishing the lamp. I found myself again under the broad vaults of the scriptorium, but I did not linger even there, and hurled myself down the stairs leading to the refectory.\n\nHere I paused, gasping. The light of the moon came through the windows, very radiant, and I hardly needed the lamp, which would have been indispensable for cells and for passages of the library. Nevertheless, I kept it burning, as if to seek comfort. But I was still breathless, and I decided I should drink some water to calm my tension. Since the kitchen was near, I crossed the refectory and slowly opened one of the doors that led into the second half of the ground floor of the Aedificium.\n\nAnd at this point my terror, instead of lessening, increased. Because I immediately realized someone else was in the kitchen, near the bread oven\u2014or at least I realized a light was shining in that corner. Filled with fear, I blew mine out. Frightened as I was, I instilled fright, and in fact the other person (or persons) immediately put out their light, too. But in vain, because the moonlight illuminated the kitchen sufficiently to cast before me one or more confused shadows on the floor.\n\nFrozen, I did not dare draw back, or advance. I heard a stammering sound, and I thought I heard, softly, a woman's voice. Then from the shapeless group that could be discerned vaguely near the oven, a dark, squat form broke away and fled toward the outside door, evidently left ajar, closing it after himself.\n\nI remained, on the threshold between refectory and kitchen, and so did a vague something near the oven. A vague and\u2014how to say it?\u2014moaning something. From the shadows, in fact, came a groan, a kind of subdued weeping, rhythmic sobs of fear.\n\nNothing gives a fearful man more courage than another's fear, but it was not fear that impelled me toward the shadow. Rather, I would say, I was driven by an intoxication not unlike the one that had gripped me when I was having visions. In the kitchen there was something kin to the fumes that had overcome me in the library the night before. It was perhaps not the same substance, but on my overexcited senses it had the same effect. I sniffed a pungent smell of traganth, alum, and tartar, which cooks use to make wine aromatic. Or perhaps, as I learned later, in those days they were brewing beer (which in that northern part of the peninsula was held in some esteem), and it was prepared with the method of my country, with heather, swamp myrtle, and wild rosemary. All spices that intoxicate more than my nostrils, my mind.\n\nAnd while my rational instinct was to cry out \"Vade retro!\" and get away from the moaning thing that was certainly a succubus summoned for me by the Evil One, something in my vis appetitiva urged me forward, as if I wanted to take part to some marvel.\n\nAnd so I approached the shadow, until, in the moonlight that fell from the high windows, I realized that it was a woman, trembling, clutching to her breast one hand holding a package, and drawing back, weeping, toward the mouth of the oven.\n\nMay God, the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints of paradise assist me in telling what then happened. Modesty, the dignity of my position (as an aged monk by now, in this handsome monastery of Melk, a haven of peace and serene meditation), would counsel me to take the most devout precautions. I should simply say that something evil took place and that it would not be meet to tell what it was, and so I would upset neither my reader nor myself.\n\nBut I have determined to tell, of those remote events, the whole truth, and truth is indivisible, it shines with its own transparency and does not allow itself to be diminished by our interests or our shame. The problem is, rather, of telling what happened not as I see it now and remember it (even if I still remember everything with pitiless vividness, nor do I know whether my subsequent repentance has so fixed in my memory these situations and thoughts, or whether the inadequacy of that same repentance still torments me, resuscitating in my oppressed mind the smallest details of my shame), but as I saw it and felt it then. And I can do so with the fidelity of a chronicler, for if I close my eyes I can repeat not only everything I did but also what I thought in those moments, as if I were copying a parchment written at the time. I must therefore proceed in this way, Saint Michael Archangel protect me, because for the edification of future readers and the flaying of my guilt I want now to tell how a young man can succumb to the snares of the Devil, that they may be known and evident, so anyone encountering them in the future may defeat them.\n\nSo, it was a woman. Or, rather, a girl. Having had until then (and since then, God be thanked) little intimacy with creatures of that sex, I cannot say what her age may have been. I know she was young, almost adolescent, perhaps she had passed sixteen or eighteen springs, or perhaps twenty; and I was struck by the impression of human reality that emanated from that form. It was not a vision, and in any case it seemed to me valde bona. Perhaps because she was trembling like a little bird in winter, and was weeping, and was afraid of me.\n\nThinking that the duty of every good Christian is to succor his neighbor, I approached her with great gentleness and in good Latin told her she should not fear, because I was a friend, in any case not an enemy, certainly not the enemy she perhaps dreaded.\n\nBecause of the meekness of my gaze, I imagine, the creature grew calm and came to me. I sensed that she did not understand my Latin and instinctively I addressed her in my German vernacular, and this frightened her greatly, whether because of the harsh sounds, unfamiliar to the people of those parts, or because those sounds reminded her of some other experience with soldiers from my lands, I cannot say which. Then I smiled, considering that the language of gestures and of the face is more universal than that of words, and she was reassured. She smiled at me, too, and said a few words.\n\nI knew her vernacular very slightly; it was different from the bit I had learned in Pisa, but I realized from her tone that she was saying sweet words to me, and she seemed to be saying something like \"You are young, you are handsome....\" It is rare for a novice who has spent his whole childhood in a monastery to hear declarations of his beauty; indeed, we are regularly admonished that physical beauty is fleeting and must be considered base. But the snares of the Enemy are infinite, and I confess that this reference to my comeliness, though mendacious, fell sweetly on my ears and filled me with an irrepressible emotion. Especially since the girl, in saying this, had extended her hand until the tips of her fingers grazed my cheek, then quite beardless. I felt a kind of delirium, but at that moment I was unable to sense any hint of sin in my heart. Such is the force of the Devil when he wants to try us and dispel from our spirit the signs of grace.\n\nWhat did I feel? What did I see? I remember only that the emotions of the first moment were bereft of any expression, because my tongue and my mind had not been instructed in how to name sensations of that sort. Until I recalled other inner words, heard in another time and in other places, spoken certainly for other ends, but which seemed wondrously in keeping with my joy in that moment, as if they had been born consubstantially to express it. Words pressed into the caverns of my memory rose to the (dumb) surface of my lips, and I forgot that they had served in Scripture or in the pages of the saints to express quite different, more radiant realities. But was there truly a difference between the delights of which the saints had spoken and those that my agitated spirit was feeling at that moment? At that moment the watchful sense of difference was annihilated in me. And this, it seems to me, is precisely the sign of rapture in the abysses of identity.\n\nSuddenly the girl appeared to me as the black but comely virgin of whom the Song of Songs speaks. She wore a threadbare little dress of rough cloth that opened in a fairly immodest fashion over her bosom, and around her neck was a necklace made of little colored stones, very commonplace, I believe. But her head rose proudly on a neck as white as an ivory tower, her eyes were clear as the pools of Heshbon, her nose was as the tower of Lebanon, her hair like purple. Yes, her tresses seemed to me like a flock of goats, her teeth like flocks of sheep coming up from their bath, all in pairs, so that none preceded its companion. And I could not help murmuring: \"Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair. Thy hair is as a flock of goats that lie along the side of Mount Gilead; thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate, thy neck is like the tower of David whereon there hang a thousand bucklers.\" And I asked myself, frightened and rapt, who was she who rose before me like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, radiant as the sun, terribilis ut castorum acies ordinata.\n\nThen the creature came still closer to me, throwing into a corner the dark package she had till then held pressed to her bosom; and she raised her hand to stroke my face, and repeated the words I had already heard. And while I did not know whether to flee from her or move even closer, while my head was throbbing as if the trumpets of Joshua were about to bring down the walls of Jericho, as I yearned and at once feared to touch her, she smiled with great joy, emitted the stifled moan of a pleased she-goat, and undid the strings that closed her dress over her bosom, slipped the dress from her body like a tunic, and stood before me as Eve must have appeared to Adam in the garden of Eden. \"Pulchra sunt ubera quae paululum supereminent et tument modice,\" I murmured, repeating the words I had heard from Ubertino, because her breasts appeared to me like two fawns that are twins of a roe, feeding among the lilies, her navel was a goblet wherein no mingled wine is wanting, her belly a heap of wheat set about with lilies.\n\n\"O sidus clarum pellarum,\" I cried to her, \"o porta clausa, forts hortorum, cella custos unguentorum, cella pigmentaria!\" Inadvertently I found myself against her body, feeling its warmth and the sharp perfume of unguents never known before. I remembered, \"Sons, when mad love comes, man is powerless!\" and I understood that, whether what I felt was a snare of the Enemy or a gift of heaven, I was now powerless against the impulse that moved me, and I cried, \"Oh langueo,\" and, \"Causam languoris video nec caveo!,\" also because a rosy perfume breathed from her lips and her feet were beautiful in sandals, and her legs were like columns and jewels were the joints of her thighs, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. O love, daughter of delights, a king is held captive in your tresses, I murmured to myself, and I was in her arms, and we fell together onto the bare floor of the kitchen, and, whether on my own initiative or through her wiles, I found myself free of my novice's habit and we felt no shame at our bodies and cuncta erant bona.\n\nAnd she kissed me with the kisses of her mouth, and her loves were more delicious than wine and her ointments had a goodly fragrance, and her neck was beautiful among pearls and her cheeks among earrings, behold thou art fair, my beloved, behold thou art fair; thine eyes are as doves (I said), and let me see thy face, let me hear thy voice, for thy voice is harmonious and thy face enchanting, thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck, thy lips drop as the honeycomb, honey and milk are under thy tongue, the smell of thy breath is of apples, thy two breasts are clusters of grapes, thy palate a heady wine that goes straight to my love and mows over my lips and teeth.... A fountain sealed, spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, myrrh and aloes, I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk. Who was she, who was she who rose like the dawn, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners?\n\n\u2002O Lord, when the soul is transported, the only virtue lies in loving what you see (is that not true?), the supreme happiness in having what you have; there blissful life is drunk at its source (has this not been said?), there you savor the true life that we will live after this mortal life among the angels for all eternity.... This is what I was thinking and it seemed to me the prophecies were being fulfilled at last, as the girl lavished indescribable sweetness on me, and it was as if my whole body were an eye, before and behind, and I could suddenly see all surrounding things. And I understood that from it, from love, unity and tenderness are created together, as are good and kiss and fulfillment, as I had already heard, believing I was being told about something else. And only for an instant, as my joy was about to reach its zenith, did I remember that perhaps I was experiencing, and at night, the possession of the noontime Devil, who was condemned finally to reveal himself in his true, diabolical nature to the soul that in ecstasy asks \"Who are you?,\" who knows how to grip the soul and delude the body. But I was immediately convinced that my scruples were indeed devilish, for nothing could be more right and good and holy than what I was experiencing, the sweetness of which grew with every moment. As a little drop of water added to a quantity of wine is completely dispersed and takes on the color and taste of wine, as red-hot iron becomes like molten fire losing its original form, as air when it is inundated with the sun's light is transformed into total splendor and clarity so that it no longer seems illuminated but, rather, seems to be light itself, so I felt myself die of tender liquefaction, and I had only the strength left to murmur the words of the psalm: \"Behold my bosom is like new wine, sealed, which bursts new vessels,\" and suddenly I saw a brilliant light and in it a saffron-colored form which flamed up in a sweet and shining fire, and that splendid light spread through all the shining fire, and this shining fire through that golden form and that brilliant light and that shining fire through the whole form.\n\nAs, half fainting, I fell on the body to which I had joined myself, I understood in a last vital spurt that flame consists of a splendid clarity, an unusual vigor, and an igneous ardor, but it possesses the splendid clarity so that it may illuminate and the igneous ardor that it may burn. Then I understood the abyss, and the deeper abysses that it conjured up.\n\nNow that, with a hand that trembles (either in horror at the sin I am recounting or in guilty nostalgia of the event I recall), I write these lines, I realize that to describe my wicked ecstasy of that instant I have used the same words that I used, not many pages before, to describe the fire that burned the martyred body of the Fraticello Michael. Nor is it an accident that my hand, passive agent of the soul, has penned the same expression for two experiences so disparate, because probably I experienced them in the same way both at the time, when I lived through them, and now, as I have tried to bring them back to life on this parchment.\n\nThere is a mysterious wisdom by which phenomena among themselves disparate can be called by analogous names, just as divine things can be designated by terrestrial terms, and through equivocal symbols God can be called lion or leopard; and death can be called sword; joy, flame; flame, death; death, abyss; abyss, perdition; perdition, raving; and raving, passion.\n\nWhy did 1, as a youth, depict the ecstasy of death that had impressed me in the martyr Michael in the words the saint had used for the ecstasy of (divine) life, and yet I could not refrain from depicting in the same words the ecstasy (culpable and fleeting) of earthly pleasure, which immediately afterward had spontaneously appeared to me as a sensation of death and annihilation? I shall try now to reflect both on the way I felt, a few months apart, two experiences at once uplifting and painful, and on the way in which that night in the abbey I consciously remembered the one and felt with my senses the other, a few hours apart, and, further, on the way I have relived them now, penning these lines, and on how in all three instances I recited them to myself with the words of the different experience of that sainted soul annihilated in the divine vision. Have I perhaps blasphemed (then? now?)? What was similar in Michael's desire for death, in the transport I felt at the sight of the flame consuming him, in the desire for carnal union I felt with the girl, in the mystic shame with which I translated it allegorically, and in the desire for joyous annihilation that moved the saint to die in his own love in order to live longer and eternally? Is it possible that things so equivocal can be said in such a univocal way? And this, it seems, is the teaching left us by Saint Thomas, the greatest of all doctors: the more openly it remains a figure of speech, the more it is a dissimilar similitude and not literal, the more a metaphor reveals its truth. But if love of the flame and of the abyss are the metaphor for the love of God, can they be the metaphor for love of death and love of sin? Yes, as the lion and the serpent stand both for Christ and the Devil. The fact is that correct interpretation can be established only on the authority of the fathers, and in the case that torments me, I have no auctoritas to which my obedient mind can refer, and I burn in doubt (and again the image of fire appears to define the void of the truth and the fullness of the error that annihilate me!). What is happening, O Lord, in my spirit, now that I allow myself to be gripped by the vortex of memories and I conflagrate different times at once, as if I were to manipulate the order of the stars and the sequence of their celestial movements? Certainly I am overstepping the boundaries of my sinful and sick intelligence. Now, let us return to the task I had humbly set myself. I was telling about that day and the total bewilderment of the senses into which I sank. There, I have told what I remembered on that occasion, and let my feeble pen, faithful and truthful chronicler, stop there.\n\nI lay, how long I do not know, the girl at my side. With a light motion her hand continued to touch my body, now damp with sweat. I felt an inner exultation, which was not peace, but like the last subdued flicker of a fire taking time to die beneath the embers, when the flame is already dead. I would not hesitate to call blessed a man to whom it was granted to experience something similar in this life (I murmured as if in my sleep), even rarely (and, in fact, I experienced it only that time), and very rapidly, for the space of a single moment. As if one no longer existed, not feeling one's identity at all, or feeling lowered, almost annihilated: if some mortal (I said to myself) could for a single moment and most rapidly enjoy what I have enjoyed, he would immediately look with a baleful eye at this perverse world, would be upset by the bane of daily life, would feel the weight of the body of death.... Was this not what I had been taught? That invitation of my whole spirit to lose all memory in bliss was surely (now I understood it) the radiance of the eternal sun; and the joy that it produces opens, extends, enlarges man, and the gaping chasm man bears within himself is no longer sealed so easily, for it is the wound cut by the blow of love's sword, nor is there anything else here below more sweet and terrible. But such is the right of the sun: it riddles the wounded man with its rays and all the wounds widen, the man uncloses and extends, his very veins are laid open, his strength is now incapable of obeying the orders it receives and is moved solely by desire, the spirit burns, sunk into the abyss of what it is now touching, seeing its own desire and its own truth outstripped by the reality it has lived and is living. And one witnesses, dumbfounded, one's own raving.\n\nAnd in the grip of these sensations of ineffable inner joy, I dozed off.\n\nI reopened my eyes some time later, and the moonlight, perhaps because of a cloud, had grown much fainter. I stretched out my hand at my side and no longer felt the girl's body. I turned my head; she was gone.\n\nThe absence of the object that had unleashed my desire and slaked my thirst made me realize suddenly both the vanity of that desire and the perversity of that thirst. Omne animal triste post coitum. I became aware that I had sinned. Now, after years and years, while I still bitterly bemoan my error, I cannot forget how that evening I had felt great pleasure, and I would be doing a wrong to the Almighty, who created all things in goodness and beauty, if I did not admit that also between those two sinners something happened that in itself, naturaliter, was good and beautiful. But perhaps it is my present old age, which makes me feel, culpably, how beautiful and good all my youth was just when I should turn my thoughts to death, which is approaching. Then, a young man, I did not think of death, but, hotly and sincerely, I wept for my sin.\n\nI stood up, trembling, also because I had lain a long time on the cold stones of the kitchen and my body was numb. I dressed, almost feverish. I glimpsed then in a corner the package that the girl had abandoned in her flight. I bent to examine the object: it was a kind of bundle, a rolled-up cloth that seemed to come from the kitchen. I unwrapped it, and at first I did not understand what was inside, both because of the scant light and because of the shapeless shape of the contents. Then I understood. Among clots of blood and scraps of flabbier and whitish meat, before my eyes, dead but still throbbing with the gelatinous life of dead viscera, lined by livid nerves: a heart, of great size.\n\nA dark veil descended over my eyes, an acid saliva rose in my mouth, I let out a cry and fell as a dead body falls."
            },
            {
                "title": "NIGHT",
                "text": "In which Adso, distraught, confesses to William and meditates on the function of woman in the plan of creation, but then he discovers the corpse of a man.\n\nI came around to find someone bathing my face. There, holding a lamp, was Brother William, who had put something under my head.\n\n\"What's happened, Adso?\" he asked me. \"Have you been roaming about at night stealing offal from the kitchen?\"\n\nIn short, William had awakened, sought me for I forget what reason, and, not finding me, suspected me of going to perform some bit of bravado in the library. Approaching the Aedificium on the kitchen side, he saw a shadow slip from the door toward the vegetable garden (it was the girl, leaving, perhaps because she had heard someone approaching). He tried to figure out who it was and follow her, but she (or, rather, the shadow, as she was for him) went toward the outside wall of the compound and disappeared. Then William\u2014after an exploration of the environs\u2014entered the kitchen and found me lying in a faint.\n\nWhen, still terrified, I mentioned to him the package with the heart, blurting out something about another crime, he started laughing: \"Adso, what man could have such a big heart? It's the heart of a cow, or an ox; they slaughtered an animal today, in fact. But tell me, how did it come into your hands?\"\n\nAt that point, overwhelmed with remorse, and still stunned by my great fear, I burst into a flood of tears and asked him to administer to me the sacrament of confession. Which he did, and I told him all, concealing nothing.\n\nBrother William heard me out earnestly, but with a hint of indulgence. When I had finished his face turned grave and he said: \"Adso, you have sinned, that is certain, against the commandment that bids you not to fornicate, and also against your duties as a novice. In your defense there is the fact that you found yourself in one of those situations in which even a father in the desert would have damned himself. And of woman as source of temptation the Scriptures have already said enough. Ecclesiastes says of woman that her conversation is like burning fire, and the Proverbs say that she takes possession of man's precious soul and the strongest men are ruined by her. And Ecclesiastes further says: 'And I find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands.' And others have said she is the vessel of the Devil. Having affirmed this, dear Adso, I cannot convince myself that God chose to introduce such a foul being into creation without also endowing it with some virtues. And I cannot help reflecting that He granted her many privileges and motives of prestige, three of them very great indeed. In fact, He created man in this base world, and from mud; woman He created later, in paradise and of noble human matter. And he did not mold her from Adam's feet or his viscera, but from the rib. In the second place, the Lord, who is all-powerful, could have become incarnate as a man directly in some miraculous way, but he chose instead to dwell in the womb of a woman, a sign that it was not so foul after all. And when he appeared after the Resurrection, he appeared to a woman. And finally, in the celestial glory no man shall be king of that realm, but the queen will be a woman who has never sinned. If, then, the Lord showed such favor to Eve herself and to her daughters, is it so abnormal that we also should feel drawn by the graces and the nobility of that sex? What I mean to say to you, Adso, is that you must not do it again, of course, but it is not so monstrous that you were tempted to do it. And as far as that goes, for a monk to have, at least once in his life, experience of carnal passion, so that he can one day be indulgent and understanding with the sinners he will counsel and console... well, dear Adso, it is not a thing to be wished before it happens, but it is not something to vituperate too much once it has happened. So go with God and let us speak of it no more. Indeed, rather than reflect and dwell too much on something best forgotten, if possible\"\u2014and it seemed to me at this point that his voice faded as if at some private emotion\u2014\"let us ask ourselves the meaning of what happened this night. Who was this girl and whom was she meeting?\"\n\n\"This I don't know, and I didn't see the man who was with her,\" I said.\n\n\"Very well, but we can deduce who it was from many and certain clues. First of all, the man was old and ugly, one with whom a girl does not go willingly, especially if she is beautiful, as you say, though it seems to me, my dear wolf cub, that you were prepared to find any food delicious.\"\n\n\"Why old and ugly?\"\n\n\"Because the girl didn't go with him for love, but for a pack of scraps. Certainly she is a girl from the village who, perhaps not for the first time, grants her favors to some lustful monk out of hunger, and receives as recompense something for her and her family to eat.\"\n\n\"A harlot!\" I said, horrified.\n\n\"A poor peasant girl, Adso. Probably with smaller brothers to feed. Who, if she were able, would give herself for love and not for lucre. As she did last night. In fact, you tell me she found you young and handsome, and gave you gratis and out of love what to others she would have given for an ox heart and some bits of lung. And she felt so virtuous for the free gift she made of herself, and so uplifted, that she ran off without taking anything in exchange. This is why I think the other one, to whom she compared you, was neither young nor handsome.\"\n\nI confess that, profound as my repentance was, that explanation filled me with a sweet pride; but I kept silent and allowed my master to continue.\n\n\"This ugly old man must have the opportunity to go down to the village and deal with the peasants, for some purpose connected with his position. He must know how to get people into the abbey and out of it, and know there would be that offal in the kitchen (perhaps tomorrow it would be said that the door had been left open and a dog had come in and eaten the scraps). And, finally, he must have had a certain sense of economy, and a certain interest in seeing that the kitchen was not deprived of more precious victuals: otherwise he would have given her a steak or some choice cut. And so you see that the picture of our stranger is drawn very clearly and that all these properties, or accidents, are suited to a substance that I would have no fear in defining as our cellarer, Remigio of Varagine. Or, if I am mistaken, our mysterious Salvatore\u2014who, for that matter, since he comes from these parts, can speak easily with the local people and would know how to persuade a girl to do what he would have made her do, if you had not arrived.\"\n\n\"That is certainly all correct,\" I said, convinced, \"but what is the good of knowing it now?\"\n\n\"None. Or much,\" William said. \"The story may or may not have a connection with the crimes that concern us. On the other hand, if the cellarer was a Dolcinian, that would explain this, and vice versa. And we now know, finally, that this abbey is a place of many, bizarre events at night. And who can say that our cellarer, and Salvatore, who move through it in darkness with such ease, do not know, in any event, more things than what they tell?\"\n\n\"But will they tell them to us?\"\n\n\"No, not if we behave in a compassionate manner, ignoring their sins. But if we were really to know something, we would possess a way of persuading them to speak. In other words, if there is need, the cellarer and Salvatore are ours, and may God forgive us this deception, since He forgives so many other things,\" he said, looking at me slyly; I did not have the heart to make any comment on the licitness of these notions of his.\n\n\"And now we should go to bed, because in an hour it is matins. But I see you are still agitated, my poor Adso, still fearful because of your sin.... There is nothing like a good spell in church to calm the spirit. I have absolved you, but one never knows. Go and ask the Lord's confirmation.\" And he gave me a rather brisk slap on the head, perhaps as a show of paternal and virile affection, perhaps as an indulgent penance. Or perhaps (as I culpably thought at that moment) in a sort of good-natured envy, since he was a man who so thirsted for new and vital experiences.\n\nWe headed for the church, taking our usual path, which I followed in haste, closing my eyes, because all those bones reminded me too obviously, that night, of how I was dust and how foolish had been the pride of my flesh.\n\nWhen we reached the nave we saw a shadowy figure before the main altar. I thought it was again Ubertino, but it was Alinardo, who did not recognize us at first. He said he was unable to sleep and had decided to spend the night praying for that young monk who had disappeared (he could not even remember the name): He prayed for his soul, if he were dead, and for his body, if he were lying ill and alone somewhere.\n\n\"Too many dead,\" he said, \"too many dead... But it was written in the book of the apostle. With the first trumpet came the hail, with the second a third part of the sea became blood; and you found one body in the hail, the other in blood.... The third trumpet warns that a burning star will fall in the third part of rivers and fountains of waters. So I tell you, our third brother, has disappeared. And fear for the fourth, because the third part of the sun will be smitten, and of the moon and the stars, so there will be almost complete darkness....\"\n\nAs we came out of the transept, William asked himself whether there were not some element of truth in the old man's words.\n\n\"But,\" I pointed out to him, \"this would mean assuming that a single diabolical mind, using the Apocalypse as guide, had arranged the three disappearances, also assuming that Berengar is dead. But, on the contrary, we know Adelmo died of his own volition.\u2026\"\n\n\"True,\" William said, \"but the same diabolical or sick mind could have been inspired by Adelmo's death to arrange the other two in a symbolic way. And if this were so, Berengar should be found in a river or a fountain. And there are no rivers or fountains in the abbey, at least not such as someone could drown or be drowned in....\"\n\n\"There are only the baths,\" I observed, almost by chance.\n\n\"Adso!\" William said. \"You know, that could be an idea? The balneary!\"\n\n\"But they must have looked there....\"\n\n\"I saw the servants this morning when they were making the search; they opened the door of the balneary and took a glance inside, without investigating. They did not expect to find something carefully hidden: they were looking for a corpse lying somewhere theatrically, like Venantius's body in the jar.... Let's go and have a look. It is still dark anyway, and our lamp seems to go on burning merrily.\"\n\nSo we did, and without difficulty we opened the door of the balneary, next to the infirmary.\n\nSeparated one from the other by thick curtains were some tubs, I don't recall how many. The monks used them for their ablutions, on the days the Rule established, and Severinus used them for therapeutic reasons, because nothing can restore body and mind better than a bath. A fireplace in one corner allowed the water to be heated easily. We found it dirty with fresh ashes, and before it a great cauldron lay, overturned. The water could be drawn from a font in another corner.\n\nWe looked in the first tubs, which were empty. Only the last, concealed by a drawn curtain, was full, and next to it lay a garment, in a heap. At first sight, in the beam of our lamp, the surface of the liquid seemed smooth; but as the light struck it we glimpsed on the bottom, lifeless, a naked human body. We pulled it out slowly: Berengar. And this one, William said, truly had the face of a drowned man. The features were swollen. The body, white and flabby, without hair, seemed a woman's except for the obscene spectacle of the flaccid pudenda. I blushed, then shuddered. I made the sign of the cross as William blessed the corpse."
            },
            {
                "title": "FOURTH DAY",
                "text": "[ LAUDS ]\n\nIn which William and Severinus examine Berengar's corpse and discover that the tongue is black, unusual in a drowned man. Then they discuss most painful poisons and a past theft.\n\nI will not go into how we informed the abbot, how the whole abbey woke before the canonical hour, the cries of horror, the fear and grief that could be seen on every face, and how the news spread to all the people of the compound, the servants blessing themselves and uttering formulas against the evil eye. I don't know whether the first office that morning proceeded according to regulations, or who took part in it. I followed William and Severinus, who had Berengar's body wrapped up and ordered it laid out on a table in the infirmary.\n\nWhen the abbot and the other monks had left, the herbalist and my master studied the corpse at length, with the cold detachment of men of medicine.\n\n\"He died by drowning,\" Severinus said, \"there's no doubt. The face is swollen, the belly taut....\"\n\n\"But he was not drowned by another's hands,\" William observed, \"for in that case he would have reacted against the murderer's violence, whereas everything was neat and clean, as if Berengar had heated the water, filled the bath, and lain in it of his own free will.\"\n\n\"This doesn't surprise me,\" Severinus said. \"Berengar suffered from convulsions, and I myself had often told him that warm baths serve to calm agitation of the body and the spirit. On several occasions he asked me leave to light the balneary fire. So he may have done last night.\u2026\"\n\n\"Night before last,\" William said, \"because this body\u2014as you see\u2014has remained in the water at least one day.\n\nWilliam informed him of some of the events of that night. He did not tell him we had been in the scriptorium furtively, but, concealing various circumstances, he told him that we had pursued a mysterious figure who had taken a book from us. Severinus realized William was telling him only a part of the truth, but he asked no further questions. He observed that the agitation of Berengar, if he had been the mysterious thief, could have led him then to seek calm in a refreshing bath. Berengar, he said, was of a very sensitive nature, and sometimes a vexation or an emotion brought on his trembling and cold sweats and made his eyes bulge, and he would fall to the ground, spitting out a whitish slime.\n\n\"In any case,\" William said, \"before coming here he went somewhere else, because in the balneary I didn't see the book he stole. So he had been somewhere else, and afterward, we'll assume that, to calm his emotion and perhaps to elude our search, he slipped into the balneary and immersed himself in the water. Severinus, do you believe his illness could make him lose consciousness and drown?\"\n\n\"That's possible,\" Severinus said, dubiously. For some moments he had been examining the hands of the corpse. \"Here's a curious thing...\" he said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The other day I observed Venantius's hands, when the blood had been washed off, and I noticed a detail to which I attached little importance. The tips of two fingers of Venantius's right hand were dark, as if blackened by some dark substance.. Exactly\u2014you see?\u2014like two fingertips of Berengar now. In fact, here we have a trace also on the third finger. At the time I thought that Venantius had handled some inks in the scriptorium....\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" William said pensively, taking a closer look at Berengar's fingers. Dawn was breaking, the light indoors was still faint, and my master was obviously suffering the lack of his lenses. \"Interesting,\" he repeated. \"But there are fainter traces also on the left hand, at least on the thumb and index.\"\n\n\"If it were only the right hand, they would be the fingers of someone who grasps something small, or long and thin.\u2026\"\n\n\"Like a stylus. Or some food. Or an insect. Or a serpent. Or a monstrance. Or a stick. Too many things. But if there are signs also on the other hand, it could also be a goblet; the right hand holds it firmly and the left helps, exerting less strength....\"\n\nSeverinus was now gently rubbing the dead man's fingers, but the dark color did not disappear. I noticed he had put on a pair of gloves, which he probably used when he handled poisonous substances. He sniffed, but without receiving any sensation. \"I could cite for you many vegetable (and also mineral) substances that leave traces of this sort. Some lethal, others not. The illuminators sometimes have gold dust on their fingers....\"\n\n\"Adelmo was an illuminator,\" William said. \"I imagine that, shattered as his body was, you didn't think of examining the fingers. But these others may have touched something that had belonged to Adelmo.\"\n\n\"I really don't know,\" Severinus said. \"Two dead men, both with blackened fingers. What do you deduce from that?\"\n\n\"I deduce nothing: nihil sequitur geminis ex particularibus unquam. Both cases would have to conform to a rule. For example: a substance exists that blackens the fingers of those who touch it....\"\n\nTriumphantly, I completed the syllogism: \"\u2026 Venantius and Berengar have blackened fingers, ergo they touched this substance!\"\n\n\"Good, Adso,\" William said, \"a pity that your syllogism is not valid, because aut semel aut iterum medium generaliter esto, and in this syllogism the middle term never appears as general. A sign that we haven't chosen the major premise well. I shouldn't have said that all those who touch a certain substance have black fingers, because there could also be people with black fingers who have not touched the substance. I should have said that all those and only all those who have black fingers have certainly touched a given substance. Venantius and Berengar, etc. With which we would have a Darii, an excellent third mode of the first syllogistic figure.\" \"Then we have the answer,\" I said, delighted.\n\n\"Alas, Adso, you have too much faith in syllogisms! What we have, once again, is simply the question. That is: we have ventured the hypothesis that Venantius and Berengar touched the same thing, an unquestionably reasonable hypothesis. But when we have imagined a substance that, alone among all substances, causes this result (which is still to be established), we still don't know what it is or where they found it, or why they touched it. And, mind you, we don't even know if it's the substance they touched that brought them to their death. Imagine a madman who wants to kill all those who touch gold dust. Would we say it's gold dust that kills?\"\n\nI was upset. I had always believed logic was a universal weapon, and now I realized how its validity depended on the way it was employed. Further, since I had been with my master I had become aware, and was to become even more aware in the days that followed, that logic could be especially useful when you entered it but then left it.\n\nSeverinus, who was surely not a logician, was meanwhile reflecting on the basis of his own experience. \"The universe of poisons is various as the mysteries of nature are various,\" he said. He pointed to a series of pots and ampoules, which we had already admired, neatly arranged on shelves along the walls, together with many volumes. \"As I told you before, many of these herbs, duly compounded and administered in the proper dosage, could be used for lethal beverages and ointments. Over there, datura stramonium, belladonna, hemlock: they can bring on drowsiness, stimulation, or both; taken with due care they are excellent medicines, but in excess doses they bring on death.\"\n\n\"But none of these substances would leave marks on the fingers?\"\n\n\"None, I believe. Then there are substances that become dangerous only if ingested, whereas others act instead on the skin. And hellebore can cause vomiting in a person who grasps it to uproot it. Dittany and fraxinella, when in flower, bring on intoxication in gardeners who touch them, as if the gardeners had drunk wine. Black hellebore, merely at the touch, provokes diarrhea. Other plants cause palpitations of the heart, others of the head, still others silence the voice. But viper's venom, applied to the skin and not allowed to enter the blood, produces only a slight irritation.... And once I was shown a compound that, when applied to the inside of a dog's thighs, near the genitalia, causes the animal to die in a short time in horrible convulsions, as the limbs gradually grow rigid....\"\n\n\"You know many things about poisons,\" William said with what sounded like admiration in his voice.\n\nSeverinus looked hard into his eyes for a few moments. \"I know what a physician, an herbalist, a student of the sciences of human health must know.\"\n\nWilliam remained thoughtful for some time. Then he asked Severinus to open the corpse's mouth and observe the tongue. Severinus, his curiosity aroused, took a thin spatula, one of the instruments of his medical art, and obeyed. He uttered a cry of amazement: \"The tongue is black!\"\n\n\"So, then,\" William murmured, \"he grasped something with his fingers and ingested it.... This eliminates the poisons you mentioned before, which kill by penetrating the skin. But it doesn't make our deductions any easier. Because now, for him and for Venantius, we must presume a voluntary act. They rasped something and put it in their mouths, knowing what they were doing....\"\n\n\"Something to eat? To drink?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. Or perhaps\u2014why not?\u2014a musical instrument, like a flute...\"\n\n\"Absurd,\" Severinus said.\n\n\"Of course it's absurd. But we mustn't dismiss any hypothesis, no matter how farfetched. Now let's return to the poisonous substance. If someone who knows poisons as you do had broken in here and had used some of these herbs of yours, could he have produced a lethal ointment capable of causing those marks on the fingers and the tongue? Capable of being mixed with food or drink, smeared on a spoon, on something that is put in the mouth?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Severinus admitted, \"but who? And besides, even if we accept this hypothesis, how would he have administered the poison to our two poor brothers?\"\n\nFrankly, I myself couldn't imagine Venantius or Berengar letting himself be approached by someone who handed him a mysterious substance and being persuaded to eat it or drink it. But William did not seem upset by this unlikelihood. \"We will think about that later,\" he said, \"because now I would like you to try to remember some event that perhaps you haven't recalled before. Someone who asked you questions about your herbs, for instance; someone who has easy access to the infirmary\u2026\"\n\n\"Just a moment,\" Severinus said. \"A long time ago, years it was, on one of those shelves I kept a highly powerful substance, given to me by a brother who had traveled in distant lands. He couldn't tell me what it was made of, herbs for sure, but not all of them familiar. To look at, it was slimy and yellowish; but I was advised not to touch it, because if it only came into contact with my lips it would kill me in a short time. The brother told me that, when ingested even in minimal doses, in the space of a half hour it caused a feeling of great weariness, then a slow paralysis of all the limbs, and finally death. He didn't want to carry it with him, and so he presented it to me. I kept it for a long time, because I meant to examine it somehow. Then one day there was a great storm up here. One of my assistants, a novice, had left the infirmary door open, and the hurricane, wrought havoc in this room where we are now. Bottles broken, liquids spilled on the floor, herbs and powders scattered. I worked a whole day putting my things back in order, and I accepted help only in sweeping away the broken vessels and the herbs that could not be recovered. At the end I realized that the very ampoule I mentioned to you was missing. At first I was worried, then I decided it had been broken and become confused with the other rubbish. I had the infirmary floor washed carefully, and the shelves....\"\n\n\"And you had seen the ampoule a few hours before the storm?\"\n\n\"Yes... or, rather, no, now that I think about it. It was behind a row of pots, carefully hidden, and I didn't check it every day....\"\n\n\"Therefore, as far as you know, it could have been stolen quite a while before the storm, without your finding out?\"\n\n\"Now that I think about it, yes, unquestionably.\"\n\n\"And that novice of yours could have stolen it and, then could have seized the occasion of the storm deliberately to leave the door open and create confusion among your things?\"\n\nSeverinus seemed very excited. \"Yes, of course. Not only that, but as I recall what happened, I was quite surprised that the hurricane, violent though it was, had upset so many things. It could quite well be that someone took advantage of the storm to devastate the room and produce more damage than the wind could have done!\"\n\n\"Who was the novice?\"\n\n\"His name was Augustine. But he died last year, a fall from scaffolding as he and other monks and servants were cleaning the sculptures of the fa\u00e7ade of the church. Actually, now that I think about it, he swore up and down that he had not left the door open before the storm. I was the one, in my fury, who held him responsible for the accident. Perhaps he really was not guilty.\"\n\n\"And so we have a third person, perhaps far more expert than a novice, who knew about your rare poison. Whom had you told about it?\"\n\n\"That I really don't remember. The abbot, of course, to ask his permission to keep such a dangerous substance. And a few others, perhaps in the library, because I was looking for some herbaria that might give me information.\"\n\n\"But didn't you tell me you keep here the books that are most useful to your art?\"\n\n\"Yes, and many of them,\" he said, pointing to a corner of the room where some shelves held dozens of volumes. \"But then I was looking for certain books I couldn't keep here, which Malachi actually was very reluctant to let me see. In fact, I had to ask the abbot's authorization.\" His voice sank, and he was almost shy about letting me hear his words. \"You know, in a secret part of the library, they keep books on necromancy, black magic, and recipes for diabolical philters. I was allowed to consult some of these works, of necessity, and I was hoping to find a description of that poison and its functions. In vain.\"\n\n\"So you spoke about it with Malachi.\"\n\n\"Of course, with him definitely, and perhaps also with Berengar, who was his assistant. But you mustn't jump to conclusions: I don't remember clearly, perhaps other monks were present as I was talking, the scriptorium at times is fairly crowded, you know.\u2026\"\n\n\"I'm not suspecting anyone. I'm only trying to understand what can have happened. In any event, you tell me this took place some years ago, and it's odd that anyone would steal a poison and then not use it until so much later. It would suggest a malignant mind brooding for a long time in darkness over a murderous plan.\"\n\nSeverinus blessed himself, an expression of horror on his face. \"God forgive us all!\" he said.\n\nThere was no further comment to be made. We again covered Berengar's body, which had to be prepared for the funeral."
            },
            {
                "title": "PRIME",
                "text": "In which William induces first Salvatore and then the cellarer to confess their past, Severinus finds the stolen lenses, Nicholas brings the new ones, and William, now with six eyes, goes to decipher the manuscript of Venantius.\n\nWe were coming out as Malachi entered. He seemed very annoyed to find us there and started to leave again. From inside, Severinus saw him and said, \"Were you looking for me? Is it for\u2014\" He broke off, glancing at us. Malachi signaled to him, imperceptibly, as if to say, \"We'll talk about it later.\u2026\" We were going out as he was entering, and so all three of us were to the doorway.\n\nMalachi said, somewhat redundantly, \"I was looking for the brother herbalist.... I... I have a headache.\" \"It must be the enclosed air of the library,\" William said to him, in a tone of considerate sympathy. \"You should inhale something.\"\n\nMalachi's lips twitched as if he wanted to speak again, but then he gave up the idea, bowed his head, and went on inside, as we moved off.\n\n\"What is he seeing Severinus for?\" I asked.\n\n\"Adso,\" my master said to me impatiently, \"learn to use your head and think.\" Then he changed the subject: \"We must question some people now. At least,\" he added, as his eyes explored the grounds, \"while they're still alive. By the way: from now on we must be careful about what we eat and drink. Always take your food from the common plate, and your beverage from the pitcher the others have filled their cups from. After Berengar we are the ones who know most. Except, naturally, the murderer.\"\n\n\"But whom do you want to question now?\"\n\n\"Adso,\" William said, \"you will have observed that here the most interesting things happen at night. They die at night, they wander about the scriptorium at night, women are brought at night into the abbey.... We have a daytime abbey and a nighttime abbey, and the nighttime one seems, unhappily, the more interesting. So, every person who roams about at night interests us, including, for example, the man you saw last night with the girl. Perhaps the business of the girl does not have anything to do with the poisonings, and perhaps it has. In any case, I have my ideas about last night's man, and he must be one who knows other things about the nocturnal life of this holy place. And, speak of the Devil, here he is, coming this way.\"\n\nHe pointed to Salvatore, who had also seen us. I notice a slight hesitation in his step, as if, wishing to avoid us, he was about to turn around. But it was only for a moment. Obviously, he realized he couldn't escape the meeting, and he continued toward us. He greeted us with a broad smile and a fairly unctuous \"Benedicite.\" My master hardly allowed him to finish and spoke to him sharply.\n\n\"You know the Inquisition arrives here tomorrow?\" he asked him.\n\nSalvatore didn't seem pleased with this news. In a faint voice, he asked, \"And me?\"\n\n\"And you would be wise to tell the truth to me, your friend and a Friar Minor as you once were, rather than have to tell it tomorrow to those whom you know quite well.\"\n\nAttacked so brusquely, Salvatore seemed to abandon all resistance. With a meek air he looked at William, as if to indicate he was ready to tell whatever he was asked.\n\n\"Last night there was a woman in the kitchen. Who was with her?\"\n\n\"Oh, a female who sells herself like mercandia cannot be bona or have cortesia,\" Salvatore recited.\n\n\"I don't want to know whether the girl is pure. I want to know who was with her!\"\n\n\"Deu, these evil females are all clever! They think di e noche about how to trap a man....\"\n\nWilliam seized him roughly by the chest.\" Who was with her, you or the cellarer?\"\n\nSalvatore realized he couldn't go on lying. He began to tell a strange story, from which, with great effort, we learned that, to please the cellarer, he procured girls for him in the village, introducing them within the walls at night by paths he would not reveal to us. But he swore he acted out of the sheer goodness of his heart, betraying a comic regret that he could not find a way to enjoy his own pleasure and see that the girl, having satisfied the cellarer, would give something also to him. He said all this with slimy, lubricious smiles and, winks, as if to suggest he was speaking to men made of flesh, accustomed to such practices. He stole glances at me, nor could I check him as I would have liked, because I felt myself bound to him by a common secret, his accomplice and companion in sin.\n\nAt this point William decided to stake everything. He asked Salvatore abruptly, \"Did you know Remigio before or after you were with Dolcino?\"\n\nSalvatore knelt at his feet, begging him, between sobs, not to destroy him, to save him from the Inquisition. William solemnly swore not to tell anyone what he would learn, and Salvatore did not hesitate to deliver the cellarer into our hands. The two men had met on Bald Mountain, both in Dolcino's band; Salvatore and the cellarer had fled together and had entered the convent of Casale, and, still together, they had joined the Cluniacs. As he stammered out pleas for forgiveness, it was clear there was nothing further to be learned from him. William decided it was worth taking Remigio by surprise, and he left Salvatore, who ran to seek refuge in the church.\n\nThe cellarer was on the opposite side of the abbey, in front of the granaries, bargaining with some peasants from the valley. He looked at us apprehensively and tried to act very busy, but William insisted on speaking with him.\n\n\"For reasons connected with your position you are obviously forced to move about the abbey even when the others are asleep, I imagine,\" William said.\n\n\"That depends,\" Remigio answered. \"Sometimes there are little matters to deal with, and I have to sacrifice a few hours' sleep.\"\n\n\"Has nothing happened to you, in these cases, that might indicate there is someone else roaming about, without your justification, between the kitchen and the library?\"\n\n\"If I had seen anything, I would have told the abbot.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" William agreed, and abruptly changed the subject: \"The village down below is not very rich, is it?\"\n\n\"Yes and no,\" Remigio answered. \"Some prebenders live there, abbey dependents, and they share our wealth in the good years. For example, on Saint John's Day they received twelve bushels of malt, a horse, seven oxen, a bull, four heifers, five calves, twenty sheep, fifteen pigs, fifty chickens, and seventeen hives. Also twenty smoked pigs, twenty-seven tubs of lard, half a measure of honey, three measures of soap, a fishnet...\"\n\n\"I understand, I understand,\" William interrupted him. \"But you must admit that this still tells me nothing of the situation of the village, how many among its inhabitants have prebends, and how much land those who are not prebendaries possess to cultivate on their own....\"\n\n\"Oh, as far as that goes,\" Remigio said, \"a normal family down there has as much as fifty tablets of land.\"\n\n\"How much is a tablet?\"\n\n\"Four square trabucchi, of course.\"\n\n\"Square trabucchi? How much are they?\"\n\n\"Thirty-six square feet is a square trabucco. Or, if you prefer, eight hundred linear trabucchi make a Piedmont mile. And calculate that a family\u2014in the lands to the north\u2014can cultivate olives for at least half a sack of oil.\"\n\n\"Half a sack?\"\n\n\"Yes, one sack makes five emine, and one emina makes eight cups.\"\n\n\"I see,\" my master said, disheartened. \"Every locality has its own measures. Do you measure wine, for example, by the tankard?\"\n\n\"Or by the rubbio. Six rubbie make one brenta, and eight brente, a keg. If you like, one rubbio is six pints from two tankards.\"\n\n\"I believe my ideas are clear now,\" William said, resigned.\n\n\"Do you wish to know anything else?\" Remigio asked, with a tone that to me seemed defiant.\n\n\"Yes, I was asking you about how they live in the valley, because today in the library I was meditating on the sermons to women by Humbert of Romans, and in particular on that chapter 'Ad mulieres pauperes in villulis,' in which he says that they, more than others, are tempted to sins of the flesh because of their poverty, and wisely he says that they commit mortal sin when they sin with a layman, but the mortality of the sin becomes greater when it is committed with a priest, and greatest of all when the sin is with a monk, who is dead to the world. You know better than I that even in holy places such as abbeys the temptations of the noontime Devil are never wanting. I was wondering whether in our contacts with the people of the village you had heard that some monks, God forbid, had induced maidens into fornication.\"\n\nAlthough my master said these things in an almost absent tone, my reader can imagine how the words upset the poor cellarer. I cannot say he blanched, but I will say that I was so expecting him to turn pale that I saw him look whiter.\n\n\"You ask me about things that I would already have told the abbot if I knew them,\" he answered humbly. \"In any case, if, as I imagine, this information serves for your investigation, I will not keep silent about anything I may learn. Indeed, now that you remind me, with regard to your first question... The night poor Adelmo died, I was stirring about the yard... a question of the hens, you know... I had heard rumors that one of the blacksmiths was stealing from the chicken coops at night.... Yes, that night I did happen to see\u2014from the distance, I couldn't swear to it\u2014Berengar going back into the dormitory, moving along the choir, as if he had come from the Aedificium.... I wasn't surprised; there had been whispering about Berengar among the monks for some time. Perhaps you've heard\u2026\"\n\n\"No. Tell me.\"\n\n\"Well... how can I say it? Berengar was suspected of harboring passions that... that are not proper for a monk....\"\n\n\"Are you perhaps trying to tell me he had relations with village girls, as I was asking you?\"\n\nThe cellarer coughed, embarrassed, and flashed a somewhat obscene smile. \"Oh, no... even less proper passions...\"\n\n\"Then a monk who enjoys carnal satisfaction with a village maid is indulging in passions, on the other hand, that are somehow proper?\"\n\n\"I didn't say that, but you'll agree that there is a hierarchy of depravity as there is of virtue.... The flesh can be tempted according to nature and... against nature.\"\n\n\"You're telling me that Berengar was impelled by carnal desires for those of his own sex?\"\n\n\"I'm saying that such were the whisperings.... I'm informing you of these things as proof of my sincerity and my good will....\"\n\n\"And I thank you. And I agree with you that the sin of sodomy is far worse than other forms of lust, which, frankly, I am not inclined to investigate....\"\n\n\"Sad, wretched things, even if they prove to have taken place,\" the cellarer said philosophically:\n\n\"Yes, Remigio. We are all wretched sinners. I would never seek the mote in a brother's eye, since I am so afraid of having a great beam in my own. But I will be grateful to you for any beams you may mention to me in the future. So we will talk great, sturdy trunks of wood and we will allow the motes to swirl in the air. How much did you say a square trabucco was?\"\n\n\"Thirty-six square feet. But you mustn't waste your time. When you wish to know something specific, come to me. Consider me a faithful friend.\"\n\n\"I do consider you as such,\" William said warmly. \"Ubertino told me that you once belonged to my own order. I would never betray a former brother, especially in these days when we are awaiting the arrival of a papal legation led by a grand inquisitor, famous for having burned many Dolcinians. You said a square trabucco equals thirty-six square feet?\"\n\nThe cellarer was no fool. He decided it was no longer worthwhile playing at cat and mouse, particularly since he realized he was the mouse.\n\n\"Brother William,\" he said, \"I see you know many more things than I imagined. Help me, and I'll help you. It's true, I am a poor man of flesh, and I succumb to the lures of the flesh. Salvatore told me that you or your novice caught them last night in the kitchen. You have traveled widely, William; you know that not even the cardinals in Avignon are models of virtue. I know you are not questioning me because of these wretched little sins. But I also realize you have learned something of my past. I have had a strange life, like many of us Minorites. Years ago I believed in the ideal of poverty, and I abandoned the community to live as a vagabond. I believed in Dolcino's preaching, as many others like me did. I'm not an educated man; I've been ordained, but I can barely say Mass. I know little of theology. And perhaps I'm not really moved by ideas. You see, I once tried to rebel against the overlords; now I serve them, and for the sake of the lord of these lands I give orders to men like myself. Betray or rebel: we simple folk have little choice.\"\n\n\"Sometimes the simple understand things better than the learned,\" William said.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" the cellarer said with a shrug. \"But I don't even know why I did what I did, then. You see, for Salvatore it was comprehensible: his parents were serfs, he came from a childhood of hardship and illness.... Dolcino represented rebellion, the destruction of the lords. For me it was different: I came from a city family, I wasn't running away from hunger. It was\u2014I don't know how to say it\u2014a feast of fools, a magnificent carnival.... On the mountains with Dolcino, before we were reduced to eating the flesh of our companions killed in battle, before so many died of hardship that we couldn't eat them all, and they were thrown to the birds and the wild animals on the slopes of Rebello... or maybe in those moments, too... there was an atmosphere... can I say of freedom? I didn't know, before, what freedom was; the preachers said to us, 'The truth will make you free.' We felt free, we thought that was the truth. We thought everything we were doing was right....\"\n\nAnd there you took... to uniting yourself freely with women?\" I asked, and I don't even know why, but since the night before, Ubertino's words had been haunting me, along with what I had read in the scriptorium and the events that had befallen me. William looked at me, curious; he had probably not expected me to be so bold and outspoken. The cellarer stared at me as if I were a strange animal.\n\n\"On Rebello,\" he said, \"there were people who throughout their childhood had slept, ten or more of them, in a room of a few cubits\u2014brothers and sisters, fathers and daughters. What do you think this new situation meant to them? They did from choice what they had formerly done from necessity. And then, at night, when you fear the arrival of the enemy troops and you cling tight to your neighbor, on the ground, so as not to feel cold... The heretics: you pitiful monks who come from a castle and end up in an abbey think that it's a form of belief, inspired by the Devil. But it's a way of living, and it is... it was... a new experience.... There were no more masters; and God, we were told, was with us. I'm not saying we were right, William, and, in fact, you find me here because I abandoned them before long. But I never really understood our learned disputes about the poverty of Christ and ownership and rights.... I told you, it was a great carnival, and in carnival time everything is done backward. As you grow old, you grow not wise but greedy. And here I am, a glutton.... You can condemn a heretic to death, but would you condemn a glutton?\"\n\n\"That's enough, Remigio,\" William said. \"I'm not questioning you about what happened then, but about what happened recently. Be frank with me, and I will surely not seek your downfall. I cannot and would not judge you. But you must tell me what you know about events in the abbey. You move about too much, night and day, not to know something. Who killed Venantius?\"\n\n\"I do not know, I give you my solemn oath. I know when he died, and where.\"\n\n\"When? Where?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you. That night, an hour after compline, I went into the kitchen....\"\n\n\"How did you enter, and for what reasons?\"\n\n\"By the door from the vegetable garden. I have a key I had the smiths make for me long ago. The kitchen door is the only one not barred on the inside. And my reasons... are not important; you said yourself you don't want to condemn me for my weaknesses of the flesh....\" He smiled, embarrassed. \"But I wouldn't want you to believe I spend my days in fornication, either.... That night I was looking for food to give to the girl Salvatore was to bring into the kitchen....\"\n\n\"Where from?\"\n\n\"Oh, the outside walls have other entrances besides the gate. The abbot knows them; I know them.... But that evening the girl didn't come in; I sent her back precisely because of what I discovered, what I'm about to tell you. This is why I tried to have her return last night. If you'd arrived a bit later you would have found me instead of Salvatore; it was he who warned me there were people in the Aedificium. So I went back to my cell....\"\n\n\"Let's return to the night between Sunday and Monday.\"\n\n\"Yes, then. I entered the kitchen, and on the floor I saw Venantius, dead.\"\n\n\"In the kitchen?\"\n\n\"Yes, near the sink. Perhaps he had just come down from the scriptorium.\"\n\n\"No sign of a struggle?\"\n\n\"None. Though there was a broken cup beside the body, and traces of water on the ground.\"\n\n\"How do you know it was water?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I thought it was water. What else might it have been?\"\n\nAs William pointed out to me later, that cup could mean two different things. Either someone had given Venantius a poisoned potion to drink right there in the kitchen, or else the poor youth had already taken the poison (but where? and when?) and had come down to drink, to soothe a sudden burning, a spasm, a pain that seared his viscera or his tongue (for certainly his must have been black like Berengar's).\n\nIn any case, we could learn no more for the moment. Having glanced at the corpse, terrified, Remigio asked himself what he should do and decided he would do nothing. If he sought help, he would have to admit he had been wandering around the Aedificium at night, nor would it do his now lost brother any good. Therefore, he resolved to leave things as they were, waiting for someone else to discover the body in the morning, when the doors were opened. He rushed to head off Salvatore, who was already bringing the girl into the abbey, then he and his accomplice went off to sleep, if their agitated vigil till matins could be called that. And at matins, when the swineherds brought the news to the abbot, Remigio believed the body had been discovered where he had left it, and was aghast to find it in the jar. Who had spirited the corpse out of the kitchen? For this Remigio had no explanation.\n\n\"The only one who can move freely about the Aedificium is Malachi,\" William said.\n\nThe cellarer reacted violently: \"No, not Malachi. That is, I don't believe\u2026 In any case, I didn't say anything to you against Malachi.\u2026\"\n\n\"Rest assured, whatever your debt to Malachi may be. Does he know something about you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" The cellarer blushed. \"And he has behaved like a man of discretion. If I were you, I would keep an eye on Benno. He had strange connections with Berengar and Venantius.\u2026 But I swear to you, I've seen nothing else. If I learn something, I'll tell you.\"\n\n\"For the present this will do. I'll seek you out again if I need you.\" The cellarer, obviously relieved, returned to his dealings, sharply reproaching the peasants, who in the meantime had apparently shifted some sacks of seeds.\n\nAt that point Severinus joined us. In his hand he was carrying William's lenses\u2014the ones stolen two nights before. \"I found them inside Berengar's habit,\" he said. \"I saw them on your nose the other day in the scriptorium. They are yours, aren't they?\"\n\n\"God be praised,\" William cried joyously. \"We've solved two problems! I have my lenses and I finally know for sure that it was Berengar who robbed us the other night in the scriptorium!\"\n\nWe had barely finished speaking when Nicholas of Morimondo came running up, even more triumphant than William. In his hands he held a finished pair of lenses, mounted on their fork. \"William,\" he cried, \"I did it all by myself. I've finished them! I believe they'll work!\" Then he saw that William had other lenses on his nose, and he was stunned. William didn't want to humiliate him: he took off his old lenses and tried on the new ones. \"These are better than the others,\" he said. \"So. I'll keep the old ones as a spare pair, and will always use yours.\" Then he turned to me. \"Adso, now I shall withdraw to my cell to read those papers you know about. At last! Wait for me somewhere. And thank you, thank all of you, dearest brothers.\"\n\nTerce was ringing and I went to the choir, to recite with the others the hymn, the psalms, the verses, and the \"Kyrie.\" The others were praying for the soul of the dead Berengar. I was thanking God for having allowed us to find not one but two pairs of lenses.\n\nIn that great peace, forgetting. all the ugly things I had seen and heard, I dozed off, waking only as the office ended. I realized I hadn't slept that night and I was distressed to think also how I had expended much of my strength. And at this point, coming out into the fresh air, I began to find my thoughts obsessed by the memory of the girl.\n\nTrying to distract myself, I began to stride rapidly over the grounds. I felt a slight dizziness. I clapped my numbed hands together. I stamped my feet on the earth. I was still sleepy, and yet I felt awake and full of life. I could not understand what was happening to me."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which Adso writhes in the torments of love, then William arrives with Venantius's text, which remains undecipherable even after it has been deciphered.\n\nTo tell the truth, the other terrible events following my sinful encounter with the girl had caused me almost to forget that occurrence, and once I had confessed to Brother William, my spirit was relieved of the remorse I had felt on waking after my guilty lapse, so it was as if I had handed over to the monk, with my words, the burden itself of which they were the signifying voice. What is the purpose of the holy cleansing of confession-, if not to unload the weight of sin, and the remorse it involves, into the very bosom of our Lord, obtaining with absolution a new and airy lightness of soul, such as to make us forget the body tormented by wickedness? But I was not freed of everything. Now, as I walked in the cold, pale sun of that winter morning, surrounded by the fervor of men and animals, I began to remember my experiences in a different way. As if, from everything that had happened, my repentance and the consoling words of the penitential cleansing no longer remained, but only visions of bodies and human limbs. Into my feverish mind came abruptly the ghost of Berengar, swollen with water, and I shuddered with revulsion and pity. Then, as if to dispel that lemur, my mind turned to other images of which the memory was a fresh receptacle, and I could not avoid seeing, clear before my eyes (the eyes of the soul, but almost as if it appeared before my fleshly eyes), the image of the girl, beautiful and terrible as an army arrayed for battle.\n\nI have vowed (aged amanuensis of a text till now unwritten, though for long decades it has spoken in my mind) to be a faithful chronicler, not only out of love for the truth, or the desire (worthy though it be) to instruct my future readers, but also out of a need to free my memory, dried up and weary of visions that have troubled it for a whole lifetime. Therefore, I must tell everything, decently but without shame. And I must say. now, and clearly, what I thought then and almost tried to conceal from myself, walking over the grounds, sometimes breaking into a run so that I might attribute to the motion of my body the sudden pounding of my heart, or stopping to admire the work of the villeins, deluding myself that I was being distracted by such contemplation, breathing the cold air deeply into my lungs, as a man drinks wine to forget fear or sorrow.\n\nIn vain. I thought of the girl. My flesh had forgotten the intense pleasure, sinful and fleeting (a base thing), that union with her had given me; but my soul had not forgotten her face, and could not manage to feel that this memory was perverse: rather, it throbbed as if in that face shone all the bliss of creation.\n\nI sensed, in a confused way, and almost denying to myself the truth of what I felt, that the poor, filthy, impudent creature who sold herself (who knows with what stubborn constancy) to other sinners, that daughter of Eve, weak like all her sisters, who had so often bartered her own flesh, was yet something splendid and wondrous. My intellect knew her as an occasion of sin, my sensitive appetite perceived her as the vessel of every grace. It is difficult to say what I felt. I could try to write that, still caught in the snares of sin, I desired culpably, for her to appear at every moment, and I spied on the labor of the workers to see whether, around the corner of a but or from the darkness of a barn, that form that had seduced me might emerge. But I would not be writing the truth, or, rather, I would be attempting to draw a veil over the truth to attenuate its force and clarity. Because the truth is that I \"saw\" the girl, I saw her in the branches of the bare tree that stirred lightly when a benumbed sparrow flew to seek refuge there; I saw her in the eyes of the heifers that came out of the barn, and I heard her in the bleating of the sheep that crossed my erratic path. It was as if all creation spoke to me of her, and I desired to see her again, true, but I was also prepared to accept the idea of never seeing her again, and of never lying again with her, provided that I could savor the joy that filled me that morning, and have her always near even if she were to be, and for eternity, distant. It was, now I am trying to understand, as if\u2014just as the whole universe is surely like a book written by the finger of God, in which everything speaks to us of the immense goodness of its Creator, in which every creature is description and mirror of life and death, in which the humblest rose becomes a gloss of our terrestrial progress\u2014everything, in other words, spoke to me only of the face I had hardly glimpsed in the aromatic shadows of the kitchen. I dwelled on these fantasies because I said to myself (or, rather, did not say: at that moment I did not formulate thoughts translatable into words) that if the whole world is destined to speak to me of the power, goodness, and wisdom of the Creator, and if that morning the whole world spoke to me of the girl, who (sinner though she may have been) was nevertheless a chapter in the great book of creation, a verse of the great psalm chanted by the cosmos\u2014I said to myself (I say now) that if this occurred, it could only be a part of the great theophanic design that sustains the universe, arranged like a lyre, miracle of consonance and harmony. As if intoxicated, I then enjoyed her presence in the things I saw, and, desiring her in them, with the sight of them I was sated.\n\nAnd yet I felt a kind of sorrow, because at the same time I suffered from an absence, though I was happy with the many ghosts of a presence. It is difficult for me to explain this mystery of contradiction, sign that the human spirit is fragile and never proceeds directly along the paths of divine reason, which has built the world as a perfect syllogism, but instead grasps only isolated and often disjointed propositions of this syllogism, whence derives the ease with which we fall victims to the deceptions of the Evil One. Was it a deception of the Evil One, that morning, that so moved me? I think today that it was, because I was a novice, but I think that the human feeling that stirred me was not bad in itself, but only with regard to my state. Because in itself it was the feeling that moves man toward woman so that the one couples with the other, as the apostle of the Gentiles wants, and that both be flesh of one flesh, and that together they procreate new human beings and succor each other from youth to old age. Only the apostle spoke thus for those who seek a remedy for lust and who do not wish to burn, recalling, however, that the condition of chastity is far preferable, the condition to which as a monk I had consecrated myself. And therefore what I suffered that morning was evil for me, but for others perhaps was good, the sweetest of good things; thus I understand now that my distress was not due to the depravity of my thoughts, in themselves worthy and sweet, but to the depravity of the gap between my thoughts and the vows I had pronounced. And therefore I was doing evil in enjoying something that was good in one situation, bad in another; and my fault lay in trying to reconcile natural appetite and the dictates of the rational soul. Now I know that I was suffering from the conflict between the illicit appetite of the intellect, in which the will's rule should have been displayed, and the illicit appetite of the senses, subject to human passions. In fact, as Aquinas says, the acts of the sensitive appetite are called passions precisely because they involve a bodily change. And my appetitive act was, as it happened, accompanied by a trembling of the whole body, by a physical impulse to cry out and to writhe. The angelic doctor says that the passions in themselves are not evil, but they must be governed by the will led by the rational soul. But my rational soul that morning was dazed by weariness, which kept in check the irascible appetite, addressed to good and evil as terms of conquest, but not the concupiscent appetite, addressed to good and evil as known entities. To justify my irresponsible recklessness of that time, I will say now that I was unquestionably seized by love; which is passion and is cosmic law, because the weight of bodies is actually natural love. And by this passion I was naturally seduced, and I understood why the angelic doctor said that amor est magis cognitivus quam cognitio, that we know things better through love than through knowledge. In fact, I now saw the girl better than I had seen her the previous night, and I understood her intus et in cute because in her I understood myself and in myself her. I now wonder whether what I felt was the love of friendship, in which like loves like and wants only the other's good, or love of concupiscence, in which one wants one's own good and the lacking wants only what completes it. And I believe that the nighttime love had been concupiscent, for I wanted from the girl something I had never had; whereas that morning I wanted nothing from the girl, and I wanted only her good, and I wished her to be saved from the cruel necessity that drove her to barter herself for a bit of food, and I wished her to be happy; nor did I want to ask anything further of her, but only to think of her and see her in sheep, oxen, trees, in the serene light that bathed in happiness the grounds of the abbey.\n\nNow I know that good is cause of love and that which is good is defined by knowledge, and you can only love what you have learned is good, whereas I had, indeed, learned that the girl was the good of the irascible appetite, but the evil of the will. But I was in the grip of so many and such conflicting emotions, because what I felt was like the holiest love just as the doctors describe it: it produced in me that ecstasy in which lover and beloved want the same thing (and by mysterious enlightenment I, in that moment, knew that the girl, wherever she was, wanted the same things I myself wanted), and for her I felt jealousy, but not the evil kind, condemned by Paul in I Corinthians, but that which Dionysius speaks of in The Divine Names whereby God also is called jealous because of the great love He feels for all creation (and I loved the girl precisely because she existed, and I was happy, not envious, that she existed): I was jealous in the way in which, for the angelic doctor, jealousy is motus in amatum, the jealousy of friendship, which inspires us to move against all that harms the beloved (and I dreamed, at that moment; only of freeing the girl from the power of him who was buying her flesh and befouling it with his own infamous passions).\n\nNow I know, as the doctor says, that love can harm the lover when it is excessive. And mine was excessive. I have tried to explain what I felt then, not in the least to justify what I felt. I am speaking of what were my sinful ardors of youth. They were bad, but truth obliges me to say that at the time I felt them to be extremely good. And let this serve to instruct anyone who may fall, as I did, into the nets of temptation. Today, an old man, I would know a thousand ways of evading such seductions. And I wonder how proud of them I should be, since I am free of the temptations of the noontime Devil; but not free from others, so that I ask myself whether what I am now doing is not a sinful succumbing to the terrestrial passion of recollection, a foolish attempt to elude the flow of time, and death.\n\nThen, I saved myself as if by miraculous instinct. The girl appeared to me in nature and in the works of man that surrounded me. I sought then, thanks to a happy intuition of my soul, to lose myself in the relaxed contemplation of those works. I observed the cowherds as they led the oxen out of the stable, the swineherds taking food to the pigs, the shepherds shouting to the dogs to collect the sheep, peasants carrying cracked wheat and millet to the mills and coming out with sacks of good food. I lost myself in the contemplation of nature, trying to forget my thoughts and to look only at beings as they appear, and to forget myself, joyfully, in the sight of them.\n\nHow beautiful was the spectacle of nature not yet touched by the often perverse wisdom of man!\n\nI saw the lamb, to which this name was given as if in recognition of its purity and goodness. In fact the noun \"agnus\" derives from the fact that this animal \"agnoscit\"; it recognizes its mother, and recognizes her voice in the midst of the flock while the mother, among many lambs of the same form, with the same bleating, recognizes always and only her offspring, and nourishes him. I saw the sheep, which is called from \"ab oblatione\" because from earliest times it served for sacrificial rites; the sheep, which, as is its habit as winter approaches, seeks grass greedily and stuffs itself with forage before the pastures are seared by frost. And the flocks were watched by dogs, called \"canes\" from the verb \"canor\" because of their barking. The perfect animal among animals, with superior gifts of perception, the dog recognizes its master and is trained to hunt wild animals in the forests, to guard flocks against wolves; it protects the master's house and his children, and sometimes in its office of defense it is killed. King Garamant, who had been taken away to prison by his enemies, was brought back to his homeland by a pack of two hundred dogs who made their way past the enemy troops; the dog of, Jason Licius, after its master's death, persisted in refusing food until it died of starvation; and the dog of King Lysimachus threw himself on his master's funeral pyre, to die with him. The dog has the power to heal wounds by licking them with his tongue, and the tongue of his puppies can heal intestinal lesions. By nature he is accustomed to making second use of the same food, after vomiting it. His sobriety is the symbol of perfection of spirit, as the thaumaturgical power of his tongue is the symbol of the purification of sins through confession and penance. But the dog's returning to his vomit is also a sign that, after confession, we return to the same sins as before, and this moral was very useful to me that morning to admonish my heart, as I admired the wonders of nature.\n\nMeanwhile, my steps were taking me to the oxen's stable, where they were coming out in great number, led by their drovers. They immediately appeared to me as they were and are, symbols of friendship and goodness, because every ox at his work turns to seek his companion at the plow; if by chance the partner is absent at that moment, the ox calls him with affectionate lowing. Oxen learn obediently to go back by, themselves to the barn when it rains, and when they take refuge at the manger, they constantly stretch their necks to look out and see whether the bad weather has stopped, because they are eager to resume work. With the oxen at that moment also came from the barn the calves, whose name, \"vituli,\" derives from \"viriditas,\" or from \"virgo,\" because at that age they are still fresh, young, and chaste, and I had done wrong and was still wrong, I said to myself, to see in their graceful movements an image of the girl who was not chaste. I thought of these things, again at peace with the world and with myself, observing the merry toil of that morning hour. And I thought no more of the girl, or, rather, I made an effort to transform the ardor I felt for her into a sense of inner happiness and devout peace.\n\nI said to myself that the world was good and admirable. That the goodness of God is made manifest also in the most horrid beasts, as Honorius Augustoduniensis explains. It is true, there are serpents so huge that they devour stags and swim across the ocean, there is the bestia cenocroca with an ass's body, the horns of an ibex, the chest and maw of a lion, a horse's hoofs but cloven like an ox's, a slit from the mouth that reaches the ears, an almost human voice, and in the place of teeth a single, solid bone. And there is the manticore, with a man's face, triple set of teeth, lion's body, scorpion's tail, glaucous eyes the color of blood, and a voice like the hissing of snakes, greedy for human flesh. And there are monsters with eight toes, wolfs muzzle, hooked talons, sheep's fleece, and dog's back, who in old age turn black instead of white, and who outlive us by many years. And there are creatures with eyes on their shoulders and two holes in the chest instead of nostrils, because they lack a head, and others that dwell along the river Ganges who live only on the odor of a certain apple, and when they go away from it they die. But even all these foul beasts sing in their variety the praises of the Creator and His wisdom, as do the dog and the ox, the sheep and the lamb and the lynx. How great, I said to myself then, repeating the words of Vincent Belovacensis, the humblest beauty of this world, and how pleasing to the eye of reason the consideration of not only the modes and numbers and orders of things, so decorously established for the whole universe, but also the cycle of times that constantly unravel through successions and lapses, marked by the death of what has been born. I confess that, sinner as I am, my soul only for a little while still prisoner of the flesh, I was moved then by spiritual sweetness toward the Creator and the rule of this world, and with joyous veneration I admired the greatness and the stability of creation."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "I was in this good frame of mind when my master came upon me. Drawn by my feet and without realizing it, I had almost circled the abbey, and found myself back where we had parted two hours before. There was William, and what he told me jolted me from my thoughts and directed my mind again to the obscure mysteries of the abbey.\n\nWilliam seemed well pleased. In his hand he had Venantius's parchment, which he had finally deciphered. We went to his cell, far from indiscreet ears, and he translated for me what he had read. After the sentence in zodiacal alphabet (Secretum finis Africae manus supra idolum primum et septimum de quatuor), this is what the Greek text said:\n\nThe terrible poison that gives purification...\n\nThe best weapon for destroying the enemy...\n\nUse humble persons, base and ugly, take pleasure from their defect.... They must not die.... Not in the houses of the noble and the powerful but from the peasants' villages, after abundant meal and libations... Squat bodies, deformed faces.\n\nThey rape virgins and lie with whores, not evil, without fear.\n\nA different truth, a different image of the truth...\n\nThe venerable figs.\n\nThe shameless stone rolls over the plain.... Before the eyes.\n\nDeceit is necessary and to surprise in deceit, to say the opposite of what is believed, to say one thing and mean another.\n\nTo them the cicadas will sing, from the ground.\n\nThat was all. In my opinion too little, almost nothing. The words seemed the ravings of a madman, and I said as much to William.\n\n\"Perhaps. And it surely seems even madder thanks to my translation. My knowledge of Greek is rather scanty. And yet, even if we assume that Venantius was mad or that the author of the book was mad, this would not tell us why so many people, not all of them mad, went to great trouble, first to hide the book and then to recover it....\"\n\n\"But do the things written here come from the mysterious book?\"\n\n\"They are unquestionably things written by Venantius. You can see for yourself: this is not an ancient parchment. And these must be notes taken down while he was reading the book; otherwise Venantius would not have written in Greek. He has certainly copied, condensing them, some sentences he found in the book stolen from the finis Africae. He carried it to the scriptorium and began to read it, noting down what seemed to him noteworthy. Then something happened. Either he felt ill, or he heard someone coming up. So he put the book, with his notes, under his desk, probably planning to pick it up again the next evening.. In any case, this page is our only possible starting point in re-creating the nature of the mysterious book, and it's only from the nature of that book that we will be able to infer the nature of the murderer. For in every crime committed to possess an object, the nature of the object should give us an idea, however faint, of the nature of the assassin. If someone kills for a handful of gold, he will be a greedy person; if for a book, he will be anxious to keep for himself the secrets of that book. So we must find out what is said in the book we do not have.\"\n\n\"And from these few lines will you be able to understand what that book is?\"\n\n\"Dear Adso, these seem like the words of a holy text, whose meaning goes beyond the letter. Reading them this morning, after we had spoken with the cellarer, I was struck by the fact that here, too, there are references to the simple folk and to peasants as bearers of a truth different from that of the wise. The cellarer hinted that some strange complicity bound him to Malachi. Can Malachi have hidden a dangerous heretical text that Remigio had entrusted to him? Then Venantius would have read and annotated some mysterious instructions concerning a community of rough and base men in revolt against everything and everybody. But\u2026\"\n\n\"But?\"\n\n\"But two facts work against this hypothesis of mine. The first is that Venantius didn't seem interested in such questions: he was a translator of Greek texts, not a preacher of heresies. The other is that sentences like the ones about the figs and the stone and the cicadas would not be explained by this first hypothesis....\"\n\n\"Perhaps they are riddles with another meaning,\" I ventured. \"Or do you have another hypothesis?\"\n\n\"I have, but it is still vague. It seemed to me, as I read this page, that I had read some of these words before, and some phrases that are almost the same, which I have seen elsewhere, return to my mind. It seems to me, indeed, that this page speaks of something there has been talk about during these past days.... But I cannot recall what. I must think it over. Perhaps I'll have to read other books.\"\n\n\"Why? To know what one book says you must read others?\"\n\n\"At times this can be so. Often books speak of other books. Often a harmless book is like a seed that will blossom into a dangerous book, or it is the other way around: it is the sweet fruit of a bitter stem. In reading Albert, couldn't I learn what Thomas might have said? Or in reading Thomas, know what Averro\u00ebs said?\"\n\n\"True,\" I said, amazed. Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by a human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.\n\n\"But then,\" I said, \"what is the use of hiding books, if from the books not hidden you can arrive at the concealed ones?\"\n\n\"Over the centuries it is no use at all. In a space of years or days it has some use. You see, in fact, how bewildered we are.\"\n\n\"And is a library, then, an instrument not for distributing the truth but for delaying its appearance?\" I asked, dumbfounded.\n\n\"Not always and not necessarily. In this case it is.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which Adso goes hunting for truffles and sees the Minorites arriving they confer at length with William and Ubertino, and very sad things are learned about John XXII.\n\nAfter these considerations my master decided to proceed no further. I have already said that he occasionally had moments of total inactivity, as if the ceaseless cycle of the stars had stopped, and he with it and with them. And so it was that morning. He stretched out on his pallet, staring into the void, his hands folded on his chest, barely moving his lips, as if he were reciting a prayer, but irregularly and without devotion.\n\nI thought he was thinking, and I resolved to respect his meditation. I returned to the courtyard and saw that the sun had grown weaker. Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty. Heavy clouds moved from the north and were invading the top of the mountain, covering it with a light brume. It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the round, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that came down from above. It was becoming hard to discern the bulk of the more distant buildings.\n\nI saw Severinus gaily assembling the swineherds and some of their animals. He told me he was going to descend along the mountain slopes, and into the valley, to hunt for truffles. I wasn't familiar with that choice fruit of the underbrush, which was found in the peninsula and seemed typical especially of the Benedictine domains, whether at Norcia\u2014the black ones\u2014or in these lands\u2014the white and more aromatic. Severinus explained to me what a truffle was, and how tasty, when prepared in the most diverse ways. And he told me it was very difficult to find, because it was hidden underground, more secret than a mushroom, and the only animals capable of unearthing it were pigs, following their smell. But on finding it they wanted to devour it themselves, and they had to be chased off at once, so that you could step in and dig up the truffle. I learned later that many lords did not disdain to join this hunt, following the pigs as if they were noblest hounds, and followed, in turn, by servants with hoes. I remember, indeed, that in later years a lord of my country, knowing I was acquainted with Italy, asked me why, as he had seen down there, some lords went out to pasture their pigs; and I laughed, realizing that, on the contrary, they were going in search of truffles. But when I told him that these lords hoped to find the \"truffle\" underground,. to eat it, he thought I had said they were seeking \"der Teufel,\" the Devil, and he blessed himself devoutly, looking at me in amazement. Then the misunderstanding was cleared up and we both laughed at it. Such is the magic of human languages, that by human accord often the same sounds mean different things.\n\nMy curiosity aroused by Severinus's preparations, I decided to follow him, also because I realized he was turning to this hunt in order to forget the sad events that oppressed everyone; and I thought that in helping him to forget his thoughts I would perhaps, if not forget, at least restrain my own. Nor will I deny, since I have determined to write always and only the truth, that I was secretly lured by the idea that, down in the valley, I might perhaps glimpse someone I will not mention. But to myself and almost aloud I declared that, since the two legations were expected to arrive that day, I might perhaps sight one of them.\n\nAs we gradually descended the curves of the mountain, the air became clearer. Not that the sun returned, for the upper part of the sky was heavy with clouds, but things stood out sharply, even as the fog remained above our heads. Indeed, when we had gone some distance, I turned to look up at the top of the mountain and could no longer see anything. From the halfway point upward, the summit, the high plain, the Aedificium\u2014everything had disappeared among the clouds.\n\nThe morning of our arrival, when we were already among the mountains, at certain bends it was still possible to view the sea, no more than ten miles away, perhaps even less. Our journey had been rich in surprises, because suddenly we would find ourselves on a kind of terrace in the mountain, which fell sharply down to beautiful bays, and then a little later we would enter deep chasms, where mountains rose among mountains, and one blocked from another the sight of the distant shore, while the sun could hardly force its way into the deep valleys. Never before had I seen, as I saw in that part of Italy, such narrow and sudden juttings of sea and mountains, of shores followed by alpine landscapes, and in the wind that whistled among the gorges you could catch the alternate conflict of the marine balms with icy mountain gusts.\n\nThat morning, however, all was gray, almost milky white, and there were no horizons even when the gorges opened out toward the distant shores. But I am dwelling on recollections of little interest as far as our story goes, my patient reader. So I will not narrate the ups and downs of our search for \"der Teufel,\" and I will tell, rather, of the legation of Friars Minor, which I was the first to sight. I ran at once to the monastery to inform William.\n\nMy master waited till the newcomers had entered and been greeted by the abbot according to the ritual. Then he went to meet the group, and there was a series, of fraternal embraces and salutations.\n\nThe meal hour had already passed, but a table had been set for the guests, and the abbot thoughtfully left us among them; alone with William, exempted from the obligations of the Rule, they were free to eat and at the same time exchange their impressions. After all, it was, God forgive me the unpleasant simile, like a council of war, to be held as quickly as possible before the enemy host, namely the Avignon legation, could arrive.\n\nNeedless to say, the newcomers also promptly met Ubertino, whom all greeted with surprise, joy, veneration inspired not only by his long absence and by the fears surrounding his disappearance, but also by the qualities of that courageous warrior who for decades had fought their same battle.\n\nOf the friars that made up the group I will speak later, when I tell about the next day's meeting. For that matter, I talked very little with them at first, involved as I was in the three-man conference promptly established between William, Ubertino, and Michael of Cesena.\n\nMichael must have been a truly strange man: most ardent in his Franciscan passion (he had at times the gestures, the accents of Ubertino in his moments of mystical transport); very human and jovial in his earthly nature, a man of the Romagna, capable of appreciating a good table and happy to be among his friends. Subtle and evasive, he could abruptly become sly and clever as a fox, elusive as a mole, when problems of relations among the mighty were touched upon; capable of great outbursts of laughter, fervid tensions, eloquent silences, deft in turning his gaze away from his interlocutor if the latter's question required him to conceal, with what seemed absent-mindedness, his refusal to reply.\n\nI have already spoken a bit about him in the preceding pages, and those were things I had heard said, perhaps by persons to whom they had been said. Now, on the other hand, I understood better many of his contradictory attitudes and the sudden changes of political strategy that in recent years had amazed his own friends and followers. Minister, general of the order of the Friars Minor, he was in principle the heir of Saint Francis, and actually the heir of his interpreters: he had to compete with the sanctity and wisdom of such a predecessor as Bonaventure of Bagnoregio; he had to assure respect for the Rule and, at the same time, the fortunes of the order, so powerful and vast; he had to keep an eye on the courts and on the city magistrates from whom the order, though in the guise of alms, received gifts and bequests, source of prosperity and wealth; and at the same time he had to make sure that the requirement of penance did not lead the more ardent Spirituals to abandon the order, scattering that splendid community of which he was the head, in a constellation of bands of heretics. He had to please the Pope, the Emperor, the Friars of the Poor Life, and Saint Francis, who was certainly watching over him from heaven, as well as the Christian people, who were watching him from the earth. When John had condemned all Spirituals as heretics, Michael had not hesitated to hand over to him five of the most unruly friars of Provence, allowing the Pontiff to burn them at the stake. But realizing (and Ubertino may have had some share in this) that many in the order sympathized with the followers of evangelical simplicity, Michael had then acted in such a way that the chapter of Perugia, four years later, took up the demands of the burned men, naturally trying to reconcile a need, which could be heretical, with the ways and institutions of the order, and trying to harmonize the desires of the order and those of the Pope. But, as Michael was busy convincing the Pope, without whose consent he would have been unable to proceed, he had been willing also to accept the favors of the Emperor and the imperial theologians. Two years before the day I saw him he had yet enjoined his monks, in the chapter general of Lyons, to speak of the Pope's person only with moderation and, respect (and this was just a few months after the Pope, referring to the Minorites, had complained of their yelping, their errors, their insanities\"). But here he was at table, friendly, with persons who spoke of the Pope with less than no respect.\n\nI have already told the rest of the story. John wanted him at Avignon. He himself wanted and did not want to go, and the next day's meeting was to decide on the form and guarantees of a journey that should not appear as an act of submission or as an act of defiance. I don't believe Michael had ever met John personally, at least not as pope. In any event, he hadn't seen him for a long time, and Michael's friends hastened to paint the portrait of that simoniac in the darkest hues.\n\n\"One thing you must learn,\" William said to him, \"is never to trust his oaths, which he always maintains to the letter, violating their substance.\"\n\n\"Everyone knows,\" Ubertino said, \"what happened at the time of his election....\"\n\n\"I wouldn't call it an election, but an imposition!\" one man at the table cried, a man I later heard them call Hugh of Newcastle, whose accent was similar to my master's. \"For that matter, the death of Clement the Fifth itself was never very clear. The King had never forgiven him for having promised to try Boniface the Eighth posthumously and then doing everything he could to avoid repudiating his predecessor. Nobody really knows how Clement died, at Carpentras. The fact is that when the cardinals met in Carpentras for the conclave, the new Pope didn't materialize, because (quite rightly) the argument shifted to the choice between Avignon and Rome. I don't know exactly what happened at that time\u2014it was a massacre, I'm told\u2014with the cardinals threatened by the nephew of the dead Pope, their servants slaughtered, the palace set afire, the cardinals appealing to the King, who says he never wanted the Pope to desert Rome and they should be patient and make a good choice.... Then Philip the Fair died, again God only knows how.\u2026\"\n\n\"Or the Devil knows,\" Ubertino said, blessing himself, in which he was imitated by all the others.\n\n\"Or the Devil knows,\" Hugh agreed, with a sneer. \"Anyway, another king succeeds, survives eighteen months, and dies. His newborn heir also dies in a few days' time, and the regent, the King's brother, assumes the throne.\u2026\"\n\n\"And this is Philip the Fifth. The very one who, when he was still Count of Poitiers, stopped the cardinals who were fleeing from Carpentras,\" Michael said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Hugh went on. \"He puts them again into conclave in Lyons, in the Dominicans' convent, swearing he will defend their safety and not keep them prisoner. But once they place themselves in his power, he does not just have them locked up (which is the custom, after all), but every day reduces their food until they come to a decision. And each one promises to support his claim to the throne. When he does assume the throne, the cardinals are so weary of being prisoners after two years, and so afraid of staying there for the rest of their lives, eating badly, that they agree to everything, the gluttons, and on the throne of Peter they put that gnome, who is now over seventy.\u2026\"\n\n\"Gnome, yes, true,\" Ubertino said, laughing. \"And rather consumptive-looking, but stronger and shrewder than anyone thought!\"\n\n\"Son of a cobbler,\" one of the legates grumbled.\n\n\"Christ was the son of a carpenter,\" Ubertino reproached him. \"That is not the point. He is a cultivated man, he studied law at Montpellier and medicine in Paris, he cultivated his friendships in the ways best suited to win the episcopal seats and the cardinal's hat when it seemed opportune to him, and as counselor of Robert the Wise in Naples he amazed many with his acumen. When Bishop of Avignon, he gave all the right advice (right, that is, for the outcome of that squalid venture) to Philip the Fair about how to ruin the Templars. And after his election he managed to foil a plot of cardinals who wanted to kill him.... But this is not what I meant to talk about: I was speaking of his ability to betray vows without being accused of swearing falsely. To be elected, he promised Cardinal Orsini he would return the papal seat to Rome, and when he was elected he swore on the consecrated host that if he were not to keep his promise, he would never mount a horse or a mule again. Well, you know what that fox did? After he had himself crowned in Lyons (against the will of the King, who wanted the ceremony to take place in Avignon), he traveled from Lyons to Avignon by boat!\"\n\nThe monks all laughed. The Pope was a perjurer, but there was no denying he had a certain ingeniousness.\n\n\"He is without shame,\" William remarked. \"Didn't Hugh say that John made no attempt to conceal his bad faith? Haven't you, Ubertino, told about what he said to Orsini on the day of his arrival in Avignon?\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" Ubertino said. \"He said to him that the sky of France was so beautiful he could not see why he should set foot in a city full of ruins, like Rome. And inasmuch as the Pope, like Peter, had the power to bind and to loosen, he was now exercising this power: and he decided to remain where he was, where he enjoyed being. And when Orsini tried to remind him that it was his duty to live on the Vatican hill, he recalled him sharply to obedience and broke off the discussion. But I have not finished the story of the oath. On disembarking from the boat, John was to have mounted a white horse, to be followed by the cardinals on black horses, according to tradition. Instead he went to the episcopal palace on foot. Nor have I ever heard of his riding a horse again. And this is the man, Michael, you expect to abide by the guarantees he will give you?\"\n\nMichael remained silent for a long time. Then he said, \"I can understand the Pope's wish to remain in Avignon, and I will not dispute it. But he cannot dispute our desire for poverty and our interpretation of the example of Christ.\"\n\n\"Don't be ingenuous, Michael,\" William spoke up, \"your wishes, ours, make his appear sinister. You must realize that for centuries a greedier man has never ascended the papal throne. The whore of Babylon against whom our Ubertino used to fulminate, the corrupt popes described by the poets of your country, like that Alighieri, were meek lambs and sober compared to John. He is a thieving magpie, a Jewish usurer; in Avignon there is more trafficking than in Florence! I have learned of the ignoble transaction with Clement's nephew, Bertrand of Goth, he of the slaughter of Carpentras (during which, incidentally, the cardinals were relieved of all their jewels). He had laid his hands on his uncle's treasure, which was no trifle, and John had not overlooked anything Bertrand had stolen: to the Cum venerabiles John lists precisely the coins, the gold and silver vessels, the books, rugs, precious stones, ornaments.... John, however, pretended not to know that Bertrand had seized more than a million and a half gold florins during the sack of Carpentras; he questioned another thirty thousand florins Bertrand confessed he had received from his uncle for a 'pious cause,' namely for a crusade. It was agreed that Bertrand would keep half the sum for the crusade and donate the other half to the papal throne. Then Bertrand never made the crusade, or at least he has not made it yet, and the Pope has not seen a florin....\"\n\n\"He is not so clever, then,\" Michael remarked.\n\n\"That was the only time he has been outwitted in a matter of money,\" Ubertino said. \"You must know well the kind of tradesman you will be dealing with. In every other situation he has displayed a diabolical skill in collecting money. He is a Midas: everything he touches becomes gold and flows into the coffers of Avignon. Whenever I entered his apartments I found bankers, moneychangers, and tables laden with gold, clerics counting florins and piling them neatly one on top of another.... And you will see the palace he has had built for himself, with riches that were once attributed only to the Emperor of Byzantium or the Great Khan of the Tartars. And now you understand why he issued all those bulls against the ideal of poverty. But do you know that he has driven the Dominicans, to their hatred of our order, to carve statues of Christ with a royal crown, a tunic of purple and gold, and sumptuous sandals? In Avignon they display crucifixes where Christ is nailed by a single hand while the other touches a purse hanging from his belt, to indicate that he authorizes the use of money for religious ends....\"\n\n\"Oh, how shameless!\" Michael cried. \"But this is outright blasphemy!\"\n\n\"He has added,\" William went on, \"a third crown to the papal tiara, hasn't he, Ubertino?\"\n\n\"Certainly. At the beginning of the millennium Pope Hildebrand had assumed one, with the legend 'Corona regni de manu Dei'; the infamous Boniface later added a second, writing on it 'Diadema imperii de manu Petri'; and John has simply perfected the symbol: three crowns, the spiritual power, the temporal, and the ecclesiastical. A symbol worthy of the Persian kings, a pagan symbol...\"\n\nThere was one monk who till then had remained silent, busily and devoutly consuming the good dishes the abbot had sent to the table. With an absent eye he followed the various discussions, emitting every now and then a sarcastic laugh at the Pope's expense, or a grunt of approval at the other monks' indignant exclamations. But otherwise he was intent on wiping from his chin the juices and bits of meat that escaped his toothless but voracious mouth, and the only times he had spoken a word to one of his neighbors were to praise some delicacy. I learned later that he was Master Jerome, that Bishop of Kaffa whom, a few days before, Ubertino had thought dead. (I must add that the news of his death two years earlier continued to circulate as the truth throughout Christendom for a long time, because I also heard it afterward. Actually, he died a few months after that meeting of ours, and I still think he died of the great anger that filled him at the next day's meeting; I would almost believe he exploded at once, so fragile was he of body and so bilious of humor.)\n\nAt this point he intervened in the discussion, speaking with his mouth full: \"And then, you know, the villain issued a constitution concerning the taxae sacrae poenitentiariae in which he exploits the sins of religious in order to squeeze out more money. If an ecclesiastic commits a carnal sin, with a nun, with a relative, or even with an ordinary woman (because this also happens!), he can be absolved only by paying sixty-seven gold pieces and twelve pence. And if he commits bestiality,. it is more than two hundred pieces, but if he has committed it only with youths or animals, and not with females, the fine is reduced by one hundred. And a nun who has given herself to many men, either all at once or at different times, inside the convent or out, if she then wants to become abbess, must pay one hundred thirty-one gold pieces and fifteen pence....\"\n\n\"Come, come, Messer Jerome,\" Ubertino protested, \"you know how little I love the Pope, but on this point I must defend him! It is a slander circulated in Avignon. I have never seen this constitution!\"\n\n\"It exists,\" Jerome declared vigorously. \"I have not seen it, either, but it exists.\"\n\nUbertino shook his head, and the others fell silent. I realized they were accustomed to not paying great heed to Master Jerome, whom William had called a fool the other day. William tried to resume the conversation: \"In any case, true or false as it may be, this rumor tells us the moral climate of Avignon, where all, exploited and exploiters, know they are living more in a market than at the court of Christ's vicar. When John ascended the throne there was talk of a treasure of seventy thousand florins and now there are those who say he has amassed more than ten million.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" Ubertino said. \"Ah, Michael, Michael, you have no idea of the shameful things I had to see in Avignon!\"\n\n\"Let us try to be honest,\" Michael said. \"We know that our own people have also committed excesses. I have been told of Franciscans who made armed attacks on Dominican convents and despoiled their rival monks to impose poverty on them.... This is why I dared not oppose John at the time of the events in Provence.... I want to come to an agreement with him; I will not humiliate his pride, I will only ask him not to humiliate our humility. I will not speak to him of money, I will ask him only to agree to a sound interpretation of Scripture. And this is what we must do with his envoys tomorrow. After all, they are men of theology, and not all will be greedy like John. When some wise men have determined an interpretation of Scripture, he will not be able to\u2014\"\n\n\"He?\" Ubertino interrupted him. \"Why, you do not yet know his follies in the field of theology! He really wants to bind everything with his own hand, on earth and in heaven. On earth we have seen what he does. As for heaven... Well, he has not yet expressed the ideas I cannot divulge to you\u2014not publicly, at least\u2014but I know for certain that he has whispered them to his henchmen. He is planning some mad if not perverse propositions that would change the very substance of doctrine and would deprive our preaching of all power!\"\n\n\"What are they?\" many asked.\n\n\"Ask Berengar; he knows, he told me of them.\" Ubertino had turned to Berengar Talloni, who over the past years had been one of the most determined adversaries of the Pope at his own court. Having come from Avignon, he had joined the group of the other Franciscans two days earlier and had arrived at the abbey with them.\n\n\"It is a murky and almost incredible story,\" Berengar said. \"It seems John is planning to declare that the just will not enjoy the beatific vision until after judgment. For some time he has been reflecting on the ninth verse of the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse, where the opening of the fifth seal is discussed, where under the altar appear those who were slain for testifying to the word of God and who ask for justice. To each is given a white robe, and they are told to be patient a little longer.... A sign, John argues, that they will not be able to see God in his essence until the last judgment is fulfilled.\"\n\n\"To whom has he said these things?\" Michael asked, horrified.\n\n\"So far only to a few intimates, but word has spread; they say he is preparing an open declaration, not immediately, perhaps in a few years. He is consulting his theologians....\"\n\n\"Ha ha!\" Jerome sneered as he ate.\n\n\"And, more, it seems that he wants to go further and assert that nor will hell be open before that day... not even for the devils!\"\n\n\"Lord Jesus, assist us!\" Jerome cried. \"And what will we tell sinners, then, if we cannot threaten them with an immediate hell the moment they are dead?\"\n\n\"We are in the hands of a madman,\" Ubertino said. \"But I do not understand why he wants to assert these things....\"\n\n\"The whole doctrine of indulgences goes up in smoke,\" Jerome complained, \"and not even he will be able to sell any after that. Why should a priest who has committed the sin of bestiality pay so many gold pieces to avoid such a remote punishment?\"\n\n\"Not so remote,\" Ubertino said firmly. \"The hour is at hand!\"\n\n\"You know that, dear brother, but the simple do not know it. This is how things stand!\" cried Jerome, who no longer seemed to be enjoying his food. \"What an evil idea; those preaching friars must have put it into his mind.... Ah!\" And he shook his head.\n\n\"But why?\" Michael of Cesena returned to this question.\n\n\"I don't believe there's a reason,\" William said. \"It's a test he allows himself, an act of pride. He wants to be truly the one who decides for heaven and earth. I knew of these whisperings\u2014William of Occam had written me. We shall see in the end whether the Pope has his way or the theologians have theirs, the voice of the whole church, the very wishes of the people of God, the bishops.\u2026\"\n\n\"Oh, on doctrinal matters he can bend even the theologians to his will,\" Michael said sadly.\n\n\"Not necessarily,\" William replied. \"We live in times when those learned in divine things have no fear of proclaiming the Pope a heretic. Those learned in divine things are in their way the voice of the Christian people. And not even the Pope can set himself against them now.\"\n\n\"Worse, still worse,\" Michael murmured, frightened. \"On one side a mad pope, on the other the people of God, who, even if through the words of His theologians, will soon claim to interpret Scripture freely....\"\n\n\"Why? Was what your people in Perugia did any different?\" William asked.\n\nMichael reacted as if stung. \"That is why I want to meet the Pope. We can do nothing if he is not in agreement.\"\n\n\"We shall see, we shall see,\" William said in an enigmatic tone.\n\nMy master was truly very sharp. How could he foresee that Michael himself would later decide to support the theologians of the empire and to support the people in condemning the Pope? How could William foresee that, in four years' time, when John was first to pronounce his incredible doctrine, there would be an uprising on the part of all Christianity? If the beatific vision was thus postponed, how could the dead intercede for the living? And what would become of the cult of the saints? It was the Minorites themselves who would open hostilities in condemning the Pope, and William of Occam would be in the front rank, stern and implacable in his arguments. The conflict was to last for three years, until John, close to death, made partial amends. I heard him described, years later, as he appeared in the consistory of December 1334, smaller than he had seemed previously, withered by age, eighty-five years old and dying, his face pale, and he was to say (the fox, so clever in playing on words not only to break his own oaths but also to deny his own stubbornness): \"We confess and believe that the souls separated from the body and completely purified are in heaven, in paradise with the angels, and with Jesus Christ, and that they see God in His divine essence, clearly, face to face...\" and then, after a pause\u2014it was never known whether this was due to his difficulty in breathing or to his perverse desire to underline the last clause as adversative\u2014\"to the extent to which the state and condition of the separated soul allows it.\" The next morning, a Sunday, he had himself laid on a long chair with reclining back, and he received the cardinals, who kissed his hand, and he died.\n\nBut again I digress, and tell things other than those I should tell. Yet, after all, the rest of that conversation at table does not add much to the understanding of the events I am narrating. The Minorites agreed on the stand to be taken the next day. They sized up their adversaries one by one. They commented with concern on the news, announced by William, of the arrival of Bernard Gui. And even more on the fact that Cardinal Bertrand del Poggetto would be presiding over the Avignon legation. Two inquisitors were too many: a sign they planned to use the argument of heresy against the Minorites.\n\n\"So much the worse,\" William said. \"We will treat them as heretics.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" Michael said, \"let us proceed cautiously; we must not jeopardize any possible agreement.\"\n\n\"As far as I can see,\" William said, \"though I also worked for the realization of this meeting, and you know it, Michael, I do not believe the Avignonese are coming here to achieve any positive result. John wants you at Avignon alone, and without guarantees. But the meeting will have at least one function: to make you understand that. It would have been worse if you had gone there before having had this experience.\"\n\n\"And so you have worked hard, and for many months, to bring about something you believe futile,\" Michael. said bitterly.\n\n\"I was asked to, by the Emperor and by you,\" William said. 'And ultimately it is never a futile thing to know one's enemies better.\"\n\nAt this point they came to tell us that the second delegation was coming inside the walls. The Minorites rose and went out to meet the Pope's men."
            },
            {
                "title": "NONES",
                "text": "In which Cardinal del Poggetto arrives, with Bernard Gui and the other men of Avignon, and then each one does something different.\n\nMen who had already known one another for some time, men who without knowing one another had each heard the others spoken of, exchanged greetings in the courtyard with apparent meekness. At the abbot's side, Cardinal Bertrand del Poggetto moved like a man accustomed to power, as if he were virtually a second pope himself, and to one and all, especially to the Minorites, he distributed cordial smiles, auguring splendid agreement for the next day's meeting and bearing explicit wishes for peace and good (he used deliberately this expression dear to the Franciscans) from John XXII.\n\n\"Excellent,\" he said to me, when William was kind enough to introduce me as his scribe and pupil. Then he asked me whether I knew Bologna and he praised its beauty to me, its good food and its splendid university, inviting me to visit the city, rather than return one day, as he said, among those German people of mine who were making our lord Pope suffer so much. Then he extended his ring for me to kiss, as he directed his smile at someone else.\n\nFor that matter, my attention immediately turned to the person of whom I had heard most talk recently: Bernard Gui, as the French called him, or Bernardo Guidoni or Bernardo Guido, as he was called elsewhere.\n\nHe was a Dominican of about seventy, slender and erect. I was struck by his gray eyes, capable of staring without any expression; I was to see them often flash with ambiguous light, shrewd both in concealing thoughts and passions and in deliberately conveying them.\n\nIn the general exchange of greetings, he was not affectionate or cordial like the others, but always and just barely polite. When he saw Ubertino, whom he already knew, he was very deferential, but stared at him in a way that gave me an uneasy shudder. When he greeted Michael of Cesena, his smile was hard to decipher, and he murmured without warmth, \"You have been awaited there for some time,\" a sentence in which I was unable to catch either a hint of eagerness or a shadow of irony, either an injunction or, for that matter, a suggestion of interest. He met William, and when he learned who he was, he looked at him with polite hostility: not because his face betrayed his secret feelings, I was sure of that (even while I was unsure that he harbored any feelings at all), but because he certainly wanted William to feel he was hostile. William returned his hostility, smiling at him with exaggerated cordiality and saying, \"For some time I have been wanting to meet a man whose fame has been a lesson to me and an admonition for many important decisions that have inspired my life.\" Certainly words of praise, almost of flattery, for anyone who did not know, as Bernard did know well, that one of the most important decisions in William's life had been to abandon the position of inquisitor. I derived the impression that, if William would gladly have seen Bernard in some imperial dungeon, Bernard certainly would have been pleased to see William suddenly seized by accidental and immediate death; and since Bernard to those days had men-at-arms under his command, I feared for my good master's life.\n\nBernard must already have been informed by the abbot of the crimes committed in the abbey. In fact, pretending to ignore the venom in William's words, he said to him, \"it seems that now, at the abbot's request, and in order to fulfill the mission entrusted to me under the terms of the agreement that has united us all here, I must concern myself with some very sad events in which the pestiferous stink of the Devil is evident. I mention this to you because I know that in remote times, when you would have been closer to me, you fought as did I\u2014and those like me\u2014in that field where the forces of good are arrayed against the forces of evil.\"\n\n\"True,\" William said calmly, \"but then I went over to the other side.\"\n\nBernard took the blow well. \"Can you tell me anything helpful about these criminal deeds?\"\n\n\"No, unfortunately,\" William answered with civility. \"I do not have your experience of criminal deeds.\"\n\nFrom that moment on I lost track of everyone. William, after another conversation with Michael and Ubertino, withdrew to the scriptorium. He asked Malachi's leave to examine certain books, but I was unable to hear the titles. Malachi looked at him oddly but could not deny permission. Strangely, they did not have to be sought in the library. They were already on Venantius's desk, all of them. My master immersed himself in his reading, and I decided not to disturb him.\n\nI went down into the kitchen. There I saw Bernard Gui. He probably wanted to comprehend the layout of the abbey and was roaming about everywhere. I heard him interrogating the cooks and other servants, speaking the local vernacular after a fashion (I recalled that he had been inquisitor in northern Italy). He seemed to be asking for information about the harvest, the organization of work in the monastery. But even while asking the most innocuous questions, he would look at his companion with penetrating eyes, then would abruptly ask another question, and at this point his victim would blanch and stammer. I concluded that, in some singular way, he was carrying out an inquisition, and was exploiting a formidable weapon that every inquisitor, in the performance of his function, possesses and employs: the fear of others. For every person, when questioned, usually tells the inquisitor, out of fear of being suspected of something, whatever may serve to make somebody else suspect.\n\nFor all the rest of the afternoon, as I gradually moved about, I saw Bernard proceed in this fashion, whether by the mills or in the cloister. But he almost never confronted monks: always lay brothers or peasants. The opposite of William's strategy thus far."
            },
            {
                "title": "VESPERS",
                "text": "In which Alinardo seems to give valuable information, and William reveals his method of arriving at a probable truth through a series of unquestionable errors.\n\nLater William descended from the scriptorium in good humor. While we were waiting for suppertime, we came upon Alinardo in the cloister. Remembering his request, I had procured some chickpeas the day before in the kitchen, and I offered them to him. He thanked me, stuffing them into his toothless, drooling mouth. \"You see, boy?\" he said. \"The other corpse also lay where the book announced it would be.... Now wait for the fourth trumpet!\"\n\nI asked him why he thought the key to the sequence of crimes lay in the book of Revelation. He looked at me, amazed: \"The book of John offers the key to everything!\" And he added, with a grimace of bitterness, \"I knew it, I've been saying as much for a long time.... I was the one, you know, to suggest to the abbot... the one we had then... to collect as many commentaries on the Apocalypse as possible. I was to have become librarian.\u2026 But then the other one managed to have himself sent to Silos, where he found the finest manuscripts, and he came back with splendid booty.... Oh, he knew where to look; he also spoke the language of the infidels.... And so the library was given into his keeping, and not mine. But God punished him, and sent him into the realm of darkness before his time. Ha ha...\" He laughed in a nasty way, that old man who until then, lost in the serenity of his old age, had seemed to me like an innocent child.\n\n\"Who was the monk you were speaking of?\" William asked.\n\nHe looked at us, stunned. \"Whom was I speaking of? I cannot remember... it was such a long time ago. But God punishes, God nullifies, God dims even memories. Many acts of pride were committed in the library. Especially after it fell into the hands of foreigners. God punishes still....\"\n\nWe could get no more out of him, and we left him to his calm, embittered delirium. William declared himself very interested in that exchange: \"Alinardo is a man to listen to; each time he speaks he says something interesting.\"\n\n\"What did he say this time?\"\n\n\"Adso,\" William said, \"solving a mystery is not the same as deducing from first principles. Nor does it amount simply to collecting a number of particular data from which to infer a general law. It means, rather, facing one or two or three particular data apparently with nothing in common, and trying to imagine whether they could represent so many instances of a general law you don't yet know, and which perhaps has never been pronounced. To be sure, if you know, as the philosopher says, that man, the horse, and the mule are all without bile and are all long-lived, you can venture the principle that animals without bile live a long time. But take the case of animals with horns. Why do they have horns? Suddenly you realize that all animals with horns are without teeth in the upper jaw This would be a fine discovery, if you did not also realize that, alas, there are animals without teeth in the upper jaw who, however, do not have horns: the camel, to name one. And finally you realize that all animals without teeth in the upper jaw have four stomachs. Well, then, you can suppose that one who cannot chew well must need four stomachs to digest food better. But what about the horns? You then try to imagine a material cause for horns\u2014say, the lack of teeth provides the animal with an excess of osseous matter that must emerge somewhere else. But is that sufficient explanation? No, because the camel has no upper teeth, has four stomachs, but does not have horns. And you must also imagine a final cause. The osseous matter emerges in horns only in animals without other means of defense. But the camel has a very tough hide and doesn't need horns. So the law could be...\"\n\n\"But what have horns to do with anything?\" I asked impatiently. \"And why are you concerned with animals having horns?\"\n\n\"I have never concerned myself with them, but the Bishop of Lincoln was greatly interested in them, pursuing an idea of Aristotle. Honestly, I don't know whether his conclusions are the right ones, nor have I ever checked to see where the camel's teeth are or how many stomachs he has. I was trying to tell you that the search for explicative laws in natural facts proceeds in a tortuous fashion. In the face of some inexplicable facts you must try to imagine many general laws, whose connection with your facts escapes you. Then suddenly, in the unexpected connection of a result, a specific situation, and one of those laws, you perceive a line of reasoning that seems more convincing than the others. You try applying it to all similar cases, to use it for making predictions, and you discover that your intuition was right. But until you reach the end you will never know which predicates to introduce into your reasoning and which to omit. And this is what I am doing now. I line up so many disjointed elements and I venture some hypotheses. I have to venture many, and many of them are so absurd that I would be ashamed to tell them to you. You see, in the case of the horse Brunellus, when I saw the clues I guessed many complementary and contradictory hypotheses: it could be a runaway horse, it could be that the abbot had ridden down the slope on that fine horse, it could be that one horse, Brunellus, had left the tracks in the snow and another horse, Favellus, the day before, the traces of mane in the bush, and the branches could have been broken by some men. I didn't know which hypothesis was right until I saw the cellarer and the servants anxiously searching. Then I understood that the Brunellus hypothesis was the only right one, and I tried to prove it true, addressing the monks as I did. I won, but I might also have lost. The others believed me wise because I won, but they didn't know the many instances in which I have been foolish because I lost, and they didn't know that a few seconds before winning I wasn't sure I wouldn't lose. Now, for the events of the abbey I have many fine hypotheses, but there is no evident fact that allows me to say which is best. So, rather than appear foolish afterward, I renounce seeming clever now. Let me think no more, until tomorrow at least.\"\n\nI understood at that moment my master's method of reasoning, and it seemed to me quite alien to that of the philosopher, who reasons by first principles, so that his intellect almost assumes the ways of the divine intellect. I understood that, when he didn't have an answer, William proposed many to himself, very different one from another. I remained puzzled.\n\n\"But then...\" I venture to remark, \"you are still far from the solution....\"\n\n\"I am very close to one,\" William said, \"but I don't know which.\"\n\n\"Therefore you don't have a single answer to your questions?\"\n\n\"Adso, if I did I would teach theology in Paris.\"\n\n\"In Paris do they always have the true answer?\"\n\n\"Never,\" William said, \"but they are very sure of their errors.\"\n\n\"And you,\" I said with childish impertinence, \"never commit errors?\"\n\n\"Often,\" he answered. \"But instead of conceiving only one, I imagine many, so I become the slave of none.\"\n\nI had the impression that William was not at all interested in the truth, which is nothing but the adjustment between the thing and the intellect. On the contrary, he amused himself by imagining how many possibilities were possible.\n\nAt that moment, I confess, I despaired of my master and caught myself thinking, \"Good thing the inquisitor has come.\" I was on the side of that thirst for truth that inspired Bernard Gui.\n\nAnd in this culpable mood, more torn than Judas on the night of Holy Thursday, I went with William into the refectory to eat my supper."
            },
            {
                "title": "COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which Salvatore tells of a prodigious spell.\n\nThe supper for the legation was superb. The abbot must have known well both human weaknesses and the customs of the papal court (which, I must say, did not displease Brother Michael's Minorites, either). The freshly slaughtered pigs were to have produced blood pudding according to the Monte Cassino recipe, the cook had told us. But Venantius's wretched end had obliged them to throw away all the pigs' blood, though they would eventually slaughter some more pigs. I believe that in those days everyone abhorred the idea of killing the Lord's creatures. Nevertheless, we had a ragout of pigeon, marinaded in the wine of those lands, and roast rabbit, Saint Clare's pasties, rice with the almonds of those hills\u2014the blanc-mange of fast days, that is\u2014and borage tarts, stuffed olives, fried cheese, mutton with a sauce of raw peppers, white broad beans, and exquisite sweets, Saint Bernard's cake, Saint Nicholas's pies, Saint Lucy's dumplings, and wines, and herb liqueurs that put everyone in a good humor, even Bernard Gui, usually so austere: an elixir of lemon verbena, walnut wine, wine against the gout, and gentian wine. It seemed an assembly of gluttons, except that every sip or every morsel was accompanied by devotional readings.\n\nIn the end, all rose very happy, some mentioning vague ailments as an excuse not to go down to compline. But the abbot did not take offense. Not all have the privilege and the obligations we assume on being consecrated in our order.\n\nAs the monks departed, my curiosity made me linger in the kitchen, where they were preparing to lock up for the night. I saw Salvatore slip off toward the garden with a bundle under his arm. My curiosity still further aroused, I followed and called him. He tried to evade me, but when I questioned him he replied that in the bundle (which moved as if inhabited by something alive) he was carrying a basilisk.\n\n\"Cave basilischium! The rex of serpenti, tant pleno of poison that it all shines dehors! Che dicam, il veleno, even the stink comes dehors and kills you! Poisons you... And it has black spots on his back, and a head like a coq, and half goes erect over the terra, and half on the terra like the other serpents. And it kills the bellula....\"\n\n\"The bellula?\"\n\n\"Oc! Parvissimum animal, just a bit plus longue than the rat, and also called the musk-rat. And so the serpe and the botta. And when they bite it, the bellula runs to the fenicula or to the cicerbita and chews it, and comes back to the battaglia. And they say it generates through the oculi, but most say they are wrong.\"\n\nI asked him what he was doing with a basilisk and he said that was his business. Now completely overwhelmed by curiosity, I said that these days, with all the deaths, there could be no more secret matters, and I would tell William. Then Salvatore ardently begged me to remain silent, opened the bundle, and showed me a black cat. He drew me closer and, with an obscene smile, said that he didn't want the cellarer, who was powerful, or me, young and handsome, to enjoy the love of the village girls any more, when he couldn't because he was ugly and a poor wretch. But he knew a prodigious spell that would make every woman succumb to love. You had to kill a black cat and dig out its eyes, then put them in two eggs of a black hen, one eye in one egg, one eye in the other (and he showed me two eggs that he swore he had taken from appropriate hens). Then you had to let the eggs rot in a pile of horse dung (and he had one ready in a corner of the vegetable garden where nobody ever went), and there a little devil would be born from each egg, and would then be at your service, procuring for you all the delights of this world. But, alas, he told me, for the magic spell to work, the woman whose love he wanted had to spit on the eggs before they were buried in the dung, and that problem tormented him, because he would have to have the woman in question at hand that night, and make her perform the ritual without knowing its purpose.\n\nA sudden heat seized me, in the face, or the viscera, or in my whole body, and I asked in a faint voice whether that night he would bring the same girl within the walls. He laughed, mocking me, and said I was truly gripped by a great lust (I said not, that I was asking out of pure curiosity), and then he said there were plenty of women in the village, and he would bring up another, even more beautiful than the one I liked. I supposed he was lying to me to make me go away. And in any case what could I have done? Follow him all night, when William was awaiting me for quite different enterprises? And again see her (if it was she) toward whom my appetites drove me while my reason drove me away\u2014and whom I should never see again even though I did desire to see her further? Surely not. So I persuaded myself that Salvatore was telling the truth, as far as the woman was concerned. Or perhaps he was lying about everything, and the spell he described was a fantasy of his na\u00efve, superstitious mind, and he would not do anything.\n\nI became irritated with him, treated him roughly, told him that for that night he would do better to go to bed, because archers were patrolling the abbey. He answered that he knew the abbey better than the archers did, and with this fog nobody would see anybody. Indeed, he said to me, I'm going to run off now, and you won't see me any more, even if I were two feet away having my pleasure with the girl you desire. He expressed himself with different words, but this was the meaning of what he said. I left, indignant, because it was unworthy of me, nobleman and novice, to dispute with such rabble.\n\nI joined William and we did what was to be done. That is, we prepared to follow compline at the rear of the nave, so that when the office ended we would be ready to undertake our second (for me, third) journey into the bowels of the labyrinth."
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which they visit the labyrinth again, reach the threshold of the finis Africae, but cannot enter because they do not know what the first and seventh of the four are, and, finally, Adso has a recurrence, though a very erudite one, of his love malady.\n\nThe visit to the library cost us long hours of work. Described in words, the verification we aimed to carry out was simple, but our progress by lamplight as we read the legends, marked the passages and the blank walls on the map, recorded the initials, followed the various routes that the play of openings and obstacles allowed us, was very long. And tedious.\n\nIt was bitter cold. The night was not windy and we did not hear those faint whistlings that had upset us the first evening, but a damp, icy air entered from the arrow slits. We had put on woolen gloves so as to be able to touch the volumes without having our hands become numb. But they were the kind used for writing in winter, the fingertips left bare, and sometimes we had to hold our hands to the flame or put them against our chests or clap them as we hopped about, half frozen.\n\nFor this reason we didn't perform the whole task consecutively. We stopped to browse in the cases, and now that William\u2014with his new glasses on his nose\u2014could linger and read the books, at every title he discovered he let out exclamations of happiness, either because he knew the work, or because he had been seeking it for a long time, or finally because he had never heard it mentioned and was highly excited and titillated. In short, for him every book was like a fabulous animal that he was meeting in a strange land. And as he leafed through one manuscript, he ordered me to look for others.\n\n\"See what's in that case!\"\n\nAnd I, deciphering and shifting volumes, said, \"Histories anglorum of Bede... And also by Bede, De aedificatione templi, De tabernaculo, De temparibus et computo et chronica et circuli Dionysi, Ortographia, De ratione metrorum, Vita Sancti Cuthberti, Ars metrica\u2026\"\n\n\"Naturally, the complete works of the Venerable... And look at these! De rhetorica cognatione, Locorum rhetoricorum distinctio, and here many grammarians, Priscian, Honoratus, Donatus, Maximus, Victorinus, Eutiches, Phocas, Asper\u2026 Odd, I thought at first that here there were authors from Anglia.... Let us look below.\u2026\"\n\n\"Hisperica... famines. What is that?\"\n\n\"A Hibernian poem. Listen:\n\n\u2003Hoc spumans mundanas obvallat Pelagus oras\n\n\u2003terrestres amniosis fluctibus cudit margines.\n\n\u2003Saxeas undosis molibus irruit avionias.\n\n\u2003Infama bomboso vertice miscet glareas\n\n\u2003asprifero spergit spumas sulco,\n\n\u2003sonoreis frequentur quatitur labras....\"\n\nI didn't understand the meaning, but as William read he rolled the words in his mouth so that you seemed to hear the sound of the waves and the sea foam.\n\n\"And this? Aldhelm of Malmesbury. Listen to this page: 'Primitus pantorum procerum poematorum pio potissimum paternoque presertim privilegio panegiricum poemataque passim prosatori sub polo promulgates.'... The words all begin with the same letter!\"\n\n\"The men of my islands are all a bit mad,\" William said proudly. \"Let us look in the other case.\"\n\n\"Virgil.\"\n\n\"What is he doing here? What Virgil? The Georgics?\"\n\n\"No. Epitomae. I've never heard of it.\"\n\n\"But it's Virgil of Toulouse, the rhetorician, six centuries after the birth of our Lord. He was considered great sage....\"\n\n\"Here it says that the arts are poema, rethoria, grama, leporia, dialecta, geometria.\u2026 But what language was he writing?\"\n\n\"Latin. A Latin of his own invention, however, which he considered far more beautiful. Read this; he says that astronomy studies the signs of the zodiac, which are mon, man, tonte, piron, dameth, perfellea, belgalic, margaleth, lutamiron, taminon, and raphalut.\"\n\n\"Was he crazy?\"\n\n\"I don't know: he didn't come from my islands. And listen to this; he says there are twelve ways of designating fire: ignis, coquihabin (quia incocta coquendi habet dictionem), ardo, calax ex calore, fragon ex fragore flammae, rusin de rubore, fumaton, ustrax de urendo, vitius quia pene mortua membra suo vivificat, siluleus, quod de silice siliat, unde et silex non recte dicitur, nisi ex qua scintilla silit. And aeneon, de Aenea deo, qua in eo habitat, sive a quo elementis flatus fertur.\"\n\n\"But there's no one who speaks like that!\"\n\n\"Happily. But those were times when, to forget an evil world, grammarians took pleasure in abstruse questions. I was told that in that period, for fifteen days and fifteen nights, the rhetoricians Gabundus and Terentius argued on the vocative of 'ego,' and in the end they attacked each other, with weapons.\"\n\n\"But this, too. Listen....\" I had grasped a book marvelously illuminated with vegetable labyrinths from which monkeys and serpents peered out. \"Listen to these words: cantamen, collamen, gongelamen, stemiamen, plasmamem, sonerus, alboreus, gaudifluus, glaucicomus.\u2026\"\n\n\"My islands,\" William said again, with tenderness. \"Don't be too harsh with those monks of far-off Hibernia. Perhaps, if this abbey exists and if we still speak of the Holy Roman Empire, we owe it to them. At that time, the rest of Europe was reduced to a heap of ruins; one day they declared invalid all baptisms imparted by certain priests in Gaul because they baptized \"in nomine patris et filiae'\u2014and not because they practiced a new heresy and considered Jesus a woman, but because they no longer knew any Latin.\"\n\n\"Like Salvatore?\"\n\n\"More or less. Vikings from the Far North came down along the rivers to sack Rome. The pagan temples were falling in ruins, and the Christian ones did not yet exist. It was only the monks of Hibernia in their monasteries who wrote and read, read and wrote, and illuminated, and then jumped into little boats made of animal hide and navigated toward these lands and evangelized them as if you people were infidels, you understand? You have been to Bobbio, which was founded by Saint Columba, one of them. And so never mind if they invented a new Latin, seeing that in Europe no one knew the old Latin any more. They were great men. Saint Brendan reached the Isles of the Blest and sailed along the coasts of hell, where he saw Judas chained to a rock, and one day he landed on an island and went ashore there and found a sea monster. Naturally they were all mad,\" he repeated contentedly.\n\n\"These images are... I can hardly believe my eyes! So many colors!\" I said, drinking it all in.\n\n\"From a land that doesn't have many colors, a bit of blue and much green. But we mustn't stand here discussing Hibernian monks. What I want to know is why they are here with the Anglians and with grammarians of other countries. Look at your chart; where should we be?\"\n\n\"In the rooms of the west tower. I've copied down the scrolls, too. So, then, leaving the blind room, we enter the heptagonal room, and there is only one passage to a single room of the tower; the letter in red is H. Then we go from room to room, moving around the tower, and we return to the blind room. The sequence of the letters spells... you are right! HIBERNI!\"\n\n\"HIBERNIA, if we come from the blind room back into the heptagonal, which, like all the others, has the letter A for Apocalypsis. So there are the works of the authors of Ultima Thule, and also the grammarians and rhetoricians, because the men who arranged the library thought that a grammarian should remain with the Hibernian grammarians, even if he came from Toulouse. It is a criterion. You see? We are beginning to understand something.\"\n\n\"But in the rooms of the east tower, where we came in, we read FONS.\u2026 What does that mean?\"\n\n\"Read your map carefully. Keep reading the letters of the rooms that follow, in order of access.\"\n\n\"FONS ADAEU\u2026\"\n\n\"No, Fons Adae; the U is the second east blind room, I remember it; perhaps it fits into another sequence. And what did we find in the Fons Adae, that is, in the earthly paradise (remember that the room with the altar acing the rising sun is there)?\"\n\n\"There were many Bibles there, and commentaries on the Bible, only books of Holy Scripture.\"\n\n\"And so, you see, the word of God corresponding to the earthly paradise, which as all say is far off to the east. And here, to the west: Hibernia.\"\n\n\"So the plan of the library reproduces the map of the world?\"\n\n\"That's probable. And the books are arranged according to the country of their origin, or the place where their authors were born, or, as in this instance, the place where they should have been born. The librarians told themselves Virgil the grammarian was born in Toulouse by mistake; he should have been born in the western islands. They corrected the errors of nature.\"\n\nWe resumed our way. We passed through a series of rooms rich in splendid Apocalypses, and one of these was the room where I had had visions. Indeed, we saw the light again from afar. William held his nose and ran to put it out, spitting on the ash. To be on the safe side, we hurried through the room, but I recalled that I had seen there the beautiful, many-colored Apocalypse with the mulier amicta sole and the dragon. We reconstructed the sequence of these rooms, starting from the one we entered last, which had Y as its red initial. Reading backward gave us the word YSPANIA, but its final A was also the one that concluded HIBERNIA. A sign, William said, that there were some rooms in which works of mixed nature were housed.\n\nIn any case, the area denominated YSPANIA seemed to us populated with many codices of the Apocalypse, all splendidly made, which William recognized as Hispanic art. We perceived that the library had perhaps the largest collection of copies of the apostle's book extant in Christendom, and an immense quantity of commentaries on the text. Enormous volumes were devoted to the commentary of the Apocalypse by Beatus of Li\u00e9bana. The text was more or less always the same, but we found a rich, fantastic variation in the images, and William recognized some of those he considered among the greatest illuminators of the realm of the Asturias: Magius, Facundus, and others.\n\nAs we made these and other observations, we arrived at the south tower, which we had already approached the night before. The S room of Yspania\u2014windowless\u2014led into an E room, and after we gradually went around the five rooms of the tower, we came to the last, without other passages, which bore a red L. Again reading backward, we found LEONES.\n\n\"Leones: south. On our map we are in Africa, hic sunt leones. And this explains why the have found so many texts by infidel authors.\"\n\n\"And there are more,\" I said, rummaging in the cases. \"Canon of Avicenna, and this codex with the beautiful calligraphy I don't recognize...\"\n\n\"From the decorations I would say it is a Koran, but unfortunately I have no Arabic.\"\n\n\"The Koran, the Bible of the infidels, a perverse book\u2026\"\n\n\"A book containing a wisdom different from ours. But you understand why they put it here, where the lions, the monsters, are. This is why we saw that book on the monstrous animals, where you also found the unicorn. This area called LEONES contains the books that the creators of the library considered books of falsehood. What's over there?\"\n\n\"They're in Latin, but from the Arabic. Ayyub al-Ruhawi, a treatise on canine hydrophobia. And this is a book of treasures. And this is De aspectibus of Alhazen...\"\n\n\"You see, among monsters and falsehoods they have also placed works of science from which Christians have much to learn. That was the way they thought in the times when the library was built....\"\n\n\"But why have they also put a book with the unicorn among the falsehoods?\" I asked.\n\n\"Obviously the founders of the library had strange ideas. They must have believed that this book which speaks of fantastic animals and beasts living in distant lands was part of the catalogue of falsehoods spread by the infidels....\"\n\n\"But is the unicorn a falsehood? It's the sweetest of animals and a noble symbol. It stands for Christ, and for chastity; it can be captured only by setting a virgin in the forest, so that the animal, catching her most chaste odor, will go and lay its head in her lap, offering itself as prey to the hunters' snares.\"\n\n\"So it is said, Adso. But many tend to believe that it's a fable, an invention of the pagans.\"\n\n\"What a disappointment,\" I said. \"I would have liked to encounter one, crossing a wood. Otherwise what's the pleasure of crossing a wood?\"\n\n\"It's not certain the animal doesn't exist. Perhaps it's different from the way it's illustrated in these books. A Venetian traveler went to very distant lands, quite close to the fons paradisi of which maps tell, and he saw unicorns. But he found them rough and clumsy, and very ugly and black. I believe he saw a real animal with one horn on its brow. It was probably the same animal the ancient masters first described faithfully. They were never completely mistaken, and had received from God the opportunity to see things we haven't seen. Then this description, passing from auctoritas to auctoritas, was transformed through successive imaginative exercises, and unicorns became fanciful animals, white and gentle. So if you hear there's a unicorn in a wood, don't go there with a virgin: the animal might resemble more closely the Venetian's account than the description in this book.\"\n\n\"But did the ancient masters happen to receive from God the revelation of the unicorn's true nature?\"\n\n\"Not the revelation: the experience. They were fortunate enough to be born in lands where unicorns live, or in times when unicorns lived in our own lands.\"\n\n\"But then how can we trust ancient wisdom, whose traces you are always seeking, if it is handed down by lying books that have interpreted it with such license?\"\n\n\"Books are not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry. When we consider a book, we mustn't ask ourselves what it says but what it means, a precept that the commentators of the holy books had very clearly in mind. The unicorn, as these books speak of him, embodies a moral truth, or allegorical, or analogical, but one that remains true, as the idea that chastity is a noble virtue remains true. But as for the literal truth that sustains the other three truths, we have yet to see what original experience gave birth to the letter. The literal object must be discussed, even if its higher meaning remains good. In a book it is written that diamond can be cut only with a billy goat's blood. My great master Roger Bacon said it was not true, simply because he had tried and had failed. But if the relation between a diamond and goat's blood had had a nobler meaning, that would have remained intact.\"\n\n\"Then higher truths can be expressed while the letter is lying,\" I said. \"Still, it grieves me to think this unicorn doesn't exist, or never existed, or cannot exist one day.\"\n\n\"It is not licit to impose confines on divine omnipotence, and if God so willed, unicorns could also exist. But console yourself, they exist in these books, which, if they do not speak of real existence, speak of possible existence.\"\n\n\"So must we then read books without faith, which is a theological virtue?\"\n\n\"There are two other theological virtues as well. The hope that the possible is. And charity, toward those who believed in good faith that the possible was.\"\n\n\"But what use is the unicorn to you if your intellect doesn't believe in it?\"\n\n\"It is of use to me as Venantius's prints in the snow were of use, after he was dragged to the pigs' tub. The unicorn of the books is like a print. If the print exists, there must have existed something whose print it is.\"\n\n\"But different from the print, you say.\"\n\n\"Of course. The print does not always have the same shape as the body that impressed it, and it doesn't always derive from the pressure of a body. At times it reproduces the impression a body has left in our mind: it is the print of an idea. The idea is sign of things, and the image is sign of the idea, sign of a sign. But from the image I reconstruct, if not the body, the idea that others had of it.\"\n\n\"And this is enough for you?\"\n\n\"No, because true learning must not be content with ideas, which are, in fact, signs, but must discover things in their individual truth. And so I would like to go back from this print of a print to the individual unicorn that stands at the beginning of the chain. As I would like to go back from the vague signs left by Venantius's murderer (signs that could refer to many) to a sole individual, the murderer himself. But it isn't always possible in a short time, and without the help of other signs.\"\n\n\"Then I can always and only speak of something that speaks to me of something else, and so on. But the final something, the true one\u2014does that never exist?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it does: it is the individual unicorn. And don't worry: one of these days you will encounter it, however black and ugly it may be.\"\n\n\"Unicorns, lions, Arab authors, and Moors in general,\" I said at that point, \"no doubt this is the Africa of which the monks spoke.\"\n\n\"No doubt this is it. And if it is, we should find the African poets mentioned by Pacificus of Tivoli.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, when we had retraced our steps and were in room L again, we found in a case a collection of books by Floro, Fronto, Apuleius, Martianus Capella, and Fulgentius.\n\n\"So this is where Berengar said the explanations of a certain secret should be,\" I said.\n\n\"Almost here. He used the expression 'finis Africae,' and this was the expression that so infuriated Malachi. The finis could be this last room, unless...\" He cried out: \"By the seven churches of Clonmacnois! Haven't you noticed something?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Let's go back to room S, where we started!\"\n\nWe went back to the first blind room, where the verse read \"Super thronos viginti quatuor.\" It had four openings. One led to room Y, which had a window on the inner octagon. Another led to room P, which continued, along the outside fa\u00e7ade, the YSPANIA sequence. The opening toward the tower led into room E, which we had just come through. Then there was a blank wall, and finally an opening that led into a second blind room with the initial U. Room S was the one with the mirror\u2014luckily on the wall immediately to my right, or I would have been seized with fear again.\n\nLooking carefully at my map, I realized the singularity of this room. Like the other blind rooms of the other tree towers, it should have led to the central heptagonal room. If it didn't, the entrance to the heptagon would have to be in the adjacent blind room, the U. But this room, which through one opening led into a room T with a window on the octagon, and through another was connected to room S, had the other three walls full, occupied with cases. Looking around, we confirmed what was now obvious from the map: for reasons of logic as well as strict symmetry, that tower should have had its heptagonal room, but there was none.\n\n\"None,\" I said. \"There's no such room.\"\n\n\"No, that's not it. If there were no heptagon, the other rooms would be larger, whereas they are more or less the shape of those at the other extremes. The room exists, but cannot be reached.\"\n\n\"Is it walled up?\"\n\n\"Probably. And there is the finis Africae, there is the place that lose monks who are now dead were hovering about, in their curiosity. It's walled up, but that does not mean there is no access. Indeed, there surely is one, and Venantius found it, or was given its description by Adelmo, who had it from Berengar. Let's read his notes again.\"\n\nHe took Venantius's paper from his habit and reread it: \"The hand over the idol works on the first and the seventh of the four.\" He looked around. \"Why, of course! The 'idolum' is the image in the mirror! Venantius was thinking in Greek, and in that tongue, even more than in ours, 'eidolon' is image as well as ghost, and the mirror reflects our own image, distorted; we ourselves mistook it for a ghost the other night! But what, then, can be the four 'supra idolum'? Something over the reflecting surface? Then we must place ourselves at a certain angle in order to perceive something reflected in the mirror that corresponds to Venantius's description.\u2026\"\n\nWe tried every position, but with no result. Besides our images, the mirror reflected only hazy outlines of the rest of the room, dimly illuminated by the lamp.\n\n\"Then,\" William meditated, \"by 'supra idolum' he could mean beyond the mirror... which would oblige us to go into the next room, for surely this mirror is a door....\"\n\nThe mirror was taller than a normal man, fixed to the wall by a sturdy oak frame. We touched it in every manner, we tried to thrust our fingers into it, our nails between the frame and the wall, but the mirror was as fast as if it were part of the wall, a stone among stones.\n\n\"And if not beyond, it could be 'super idolum,' \" William murmured, and meanwhile raised his arm, stood on tiptoe, and ran his hand along the upper edge of the frame. He found nothing but dust.\n\n\"For that matter,\" William reflected gloomily, \"even if beyond it there were a room, the book we are seeking and the others sought is no longer in that room, because it was taken away, first by Venantius and then, God knows where, by Berengar.\"\n\n\"But perhaps Berengar brought it back here.\"\n\nNo, that evening we were in the library, and everything suggests he died not long after the theft, that same night, in the balneary. Otherwise we would have seen him again the next morning. No matter... For the present we have established where the finis Africae is and we have almost all the necessary information for perfecting our map of the library. You must admit that many of the labyrinth's mysteries have now been clarified.\"\n\nWe went through other rooms, recording all our discoveries on my map. We came upon rooms devoted solely to writings on mathematics and astronomy, others with works in Aramaic characters which neither of us knew, others in even less recognizable characters, perhaps texts from India. We moved between two overlapping sequences that said IUDAEA and AEGYPTUS. In short, not to bore the reader with the chronicle of our deciphering, when we later perfected the map definitively we were convinced that the library was truly laid out and arranged according to the image of the terraqueous orb. To the north we found ANGLIA and GERMANI, which along the west wall were connected by GALLIA, which turned then, at the extreme west, into HIBERNIA, and toward the south wall ROMA (paradise of Latin classics!) and YSPANIA. Then to the south came the LEONES and AEGYPTUS, which to the east became IUDAEA and FONS ADAE. Between east and north, along the wall, ACAIA, a good synecdoche, as William expressed it, to indicate Greece, and in those four rooms there was, finally, a great hoard of poets and philosophers of pagan antiquity.\n\nThe system of words was eccentric. At times it proceeded in a single direction, at other times it went backward, at still others in a circle; often, as I said before, the same letter served to compose two different words (and in these instances the room had one case devoted to one subject and one to another). But obviously there was no point looking for a golden rule in this arrangement. It was purely a mnemonic device to allow the librarian to find a given work. To say of a book that it was found in \"quarta Acaiae\" meant that it was in the fourth room counting from the one in which the initial A appeared, and then, to identify it, presumably the librarian knew by heart the route, circular or straight, that he should follow, as ACAIA was distributed over four rooms arranged in a square. So we promptly learned the game of the blank walls. For example, approaching ACAIA from the east, you found none of the rooms led to the following rooms: the labyrinth at this point ended, and to reach the north tower you had to pass through the other three. But naturally the librarians entered from the FONS, knowing perfectly well that to go, let us say, into ANGLIA, they had to pass through AEGYPTUS, YSPANIA, GALLIA, and GERMANI.\n\nWith these and other fine discoveries our fruitful exploration in the library ended. But before saying that we prepared, contentedly, to leave it (only to be involved in other events I will narrate shortly), I must make a confession to my reader. I said that our exploration was undertaken, originally, to seek the key to the mysterious place but that, as we lingered along the way in the rooms we were marking down by subject and arrangement, we leafed through books of various kinds, as if we were exploring a mysterious continent or a terra incognita. And usually this second exploration proceeded by common accord, as William and I browsed through the same books, I pointing out the most curious ones to him, and he explaining to me many things I was unable to understand.\n\nBut at a certain point, and just as we were moving around the rooms of the south tower, known as LEONES, my master happened to stop in a room rich in Arabic works with odd optical drawings; and since we were that evening provided not with one but with two lamps, I moved, in my curiosity, into the next room, realizing that the wisdom and the prudence of the library's planning had assembled along one of its walls books that certainly could not be handed out to anyone to read, because they dealt in various ways with diseases of body and spirit and were almost always written by infidel scholars. And my eye fell on a book, not large but adorned with miniatures far removed (luckily!) from the subject: flowers, vines, animals in pairs, some medicinal herbs. The title was Speculum amoris, by Maximus of Bologna, and it included quotations from many other works, all on the malady of love. As the reader will understand, it did not require much once more to inflame my mind, which had been numb since morning, and to excite it again with the girl's image.\n\nAll that day I had driven myself to dispel my morning thoughts, repeating that they were not those of a sober, balanced novice, and moreover, since the day's events had been sufficiently rich and intense to distract me, my appetites had been dormant, so that I thought I had freed myself by now from what had been but a passing restlessness. Instead, I had only to see that book and I was forced to say, \"De te fabula narratur,\" and I discovered I was more sick with love than I had believed. I learned later that, reading books of medicine, you are always convinced you feel the pains of which they speak. So it was that the mere reading of those pages, glanced at hastily in fear that William would enter the room and ask me what I was so diligently investigating, caused me to believe that I was suffering from that very disease, whose symptoms were so splendidly described that if, on the one hand, I was distressed to discover I was sick (and on the infallible evidence of so many auctoritates), on the other I rejoiced to see my own situation depicted so vividly, convincing myself that even if I was ill, my illness was, so to speak, normal, inasmuch as countless others had suffered in the same way, and the quoted authors might have taken me personally as the model for their descriptions.\n\nSo I was moved by the pages of Ibn-Hazm, who defines love as a rebel illness whose treatment lies within itself, for the sick person does not want to be healed and he who is ill with it is reluctant to get well (and God knows this was true!). I realized why, that morning, I had been so stirred by everything I saw: it seems that love enters through the eyes, as Basil of Ancira also says, and\u2014unmistakable symptom\u2014he who is seized by such an illness displays an excessive gaiety, while he wishes at the same time to keep to himself and seeks solitude (as I had done that morning), while other phenomena affecting him are a violent restlessness and an awe that makes him speechless.... I was frightened to read that the sincere lover, when denied the sight of the beloved object, must fall into a wasting state that often reaches the point of confining him to bed, and sometimes the malady overpowers the brain, and the subject loses his mind and raves (obviously I had not yet reached that phase, because I had been quite alert in the exploration of the library). But I read with apprehension that if the illness worsens, death can ensue, and I asked myself whether the joy I derived from thinking of the girl was worth this supreme sacrifice of the body, apart from all due consideration of the soul's health.\n\nI learned, further, from some words of Saint Hildegard, that the melancholy humor I had felt during the day, which I attributed to a sweet feeling of pain at the girl's absence, was perilously close to the feeling experienced by one who strays from the harmonious and perfect state man experiences in paradise, and this \"nigra et amara\" melancholy is produced by the breath of the serpent and the influence of the Devil. An idea shared also by infidels of equal wisdom, for my eyes fell on the lines attributed to Abu-Bakr Muhammad ibn-Zakariyya ar-Razi, who in a Liber continens identifies amorous melancholy with lycanthropy, which drives its victim to behave like a wolf. His description clutched at my throat: first the lovers seem changed in the external appearance, their eyesight weakens, their eyes become hollow and without tears, their tongue slowly dries up and pustules appear on it, the whole body is parched and they suffer constant thirst; at this point they spend the day lying face down, and on the face and the tibias marks like dog bites appear, and finally the victims roam through the cemeteries at night like wolves.\n\nFinally, I had no more doubts as to the gravity of my situation when I read quotations from the great Avicenna, who defined love as an assiduous thought of a melancholy nature, born as a result of one's thinking again and again of the features, gestures, or behavior of a person of the opposite sex (with what vivid fidelity had Avicenna described my case!): it does not originate as an illness but is transformed into illness when, remaining unsatisfied, it becomes obsessive thought (and why did I feel so obsessed, I who, God forgive me, had been well satisfied? Or was perhaps what had happened the previous night not satisfaction of love? But how is this illness satisfied, then?), and so there is an incessant flutter of the eyelids, irregular respiration; now the victim laughs, now weeps, and the pulse throbs (and indeed mine throbbed, and my breathing stopped as I read those lines!). Avicenna advised an infallible method already proposed by Galen for discovering whether someone is in love: grasp the wrist of the sufferer and utter many names of members of the opposite sex, until you discover which name makes the pulse accelerate. I was afraid my master would enter abruptly, seize my arm, and observe in the throbbing of my veins my secret, of which I would have been greatly ashamed.... Alas, as remedy Avicenna suggested uniting the two lovers in matrimony, which would cure the illness. Truly he was an infidel, though a shrewd one, because he did not consider the condition of the Benedictine novice, thus condemned never to recover\u2014or, rather, consecrated, through his own choice or the wise choice of his relatives, never to fall ill. Luckily Avicenna, though not thinking of the Cluniac order, did consider the case of lovers who cannot be joined, and advised as radical treatment hot baths. (Was Berengar trying to be healed of his lovesickness for the dead Adelmo? But could one suffer lovesickness for a being of one's own sex, or was that only bestial lust? And was the night I had spent perhaps not bestial and lustful? No, of course not, I told myself at once, it was most sweet\u2014and then immediately added: No, you are wrong, Adso, it was an illusion of the Devil, it was most bestial, and if you sinned in being a beast you sin all the more now in refusing to acknowledge it!) But then I read, again in Avicenna, that there were also other remedies: for example, enlisting the help of old and expert women who would spend their time denigrating the beloved\u2014and it seems that old women are more expert than men in this task. Perhaps this was the solution, but I could not find any old women at the abbey (or young ones, actually), and so I would have to ask some monk to speak ill to me of the girl, but who? And besides, could a monk know women as well as an old gossip would know them? The last solution suggested by the Saracen was truly immodest, for it required, the unhappy lover to couple with many slave girls, a remedy quite unsuitable for a monk. And so, I asked myself finally, how can a young monk be healed of love? Is there truly no salvation for him? Should I perhaps turn to Severinus and his herbs? I did find a passage in Arnold of Villanova, an author I had heard William mention with great esteem, who had it that lovesickness was born from an excess of humors and pneuma, when the human organism finds itself in an excess of dampness and heat, because the blood (which produces the generative seed), increasing through excess, produces excess of seed, a \"complexio venerea,\" and an intense desire for union in man and woman. There is an estimative virtue situated in the dorsal part of the median ventricle of the encephalus (What is that? I wondered) whose purpose is to perceive the insensitive intentions perceived by the senses, and when desire for the object perceived by the senses becomes too strong, the estimative faculty is upset, and it feeds only on the phantom of the beloved person; then there is an inflammation of the whole soul and body, as sadness alternates with joy, because heat (which in moments of despair descends into the deepest parts of the body and chills the skin) in moments of joy rises to the surface, inflaming the face. The treatment suggested by Arnold consisted in trying to lose the assurance and the hope of reaching the beloved object, so that the thought would go away.\n\nWhy, in that case I am cured, or nearly cured, I said to myself, because I have little or no hope, of seeing the object of my thoughts again, and if I saw it, no hope of gaining it, and if I gained it, none of possessing it again, and if I possessed it, of keeping it near me, because of both my monkish state and the duties imposed on me by my family's station.... I am saved, I said to myself, and I closed the book and collected myself, just as William entered the room."
            },
            {
                "title": "NIGHT",
                "text": "In which Salvatore allows himself to be discovered wretchedly by Bernard Gui, the girl loved by Adso is arrested as a witch, and all go to bed more unhappy and worried than before.\n\nWe were coming back down into the refectory when we heard some loud noises and saw some faint flashes of light from the direction of the kitchen. William promptly blew out his lamp. Clinging to the walls, we approached the door to the kitchen; we realized the sound came from outside, but the door was open. Then the voices and lights moved away, and someone slammed the door violently. There was a great tumult, which heralded something unpleasant. Swiftly we went back through the ossarium, re-emerged in the now deserted church, went out by the south door, and glimpsed a flickering of torches in the cloister.\n\nWe approached, and in the confusion we must have rushed outside like the many others already on the spot, who had come from either the dormitory or the pilgrims' hospice. We saw archers firmly grasping Salvatore, white as the white of his eyes, and a woman, who was crying. My heart contracted: it was she, the girl of my thoughts. As she saw me, she recognized me and cast me a desperate, imploring look. My impulse was to rush and free her, but William restrained me, whispering some far-from-affectionate reproaches. Monks and guests were now rushing in from all sides.\n\nThe abbot arrived, as did Bernard Gui, to whom the captain of the archers made a brief report. This is what had happened.\n\nBy the inquisitor's order, they patrolled the whole compound at night, paying special attention to the path that went from the main gate to the church, the gardens, and the fa\u00e7ade of the Aedificium. (Why? I wondered. Then I understood: obviously because Bernard had heard from servants or from the cooks rumors about nocturnal movement between the outer walls and the kitchen, perhaps without learning exactly who was responsible; and perhaps the foolish Salvatore, as he had divulged his intentions to me, had already spoken in the kitchen or the barns to some wretch who, intimidated by questioning that afternoon, had thrown this rumor as a sop to Bernard.) Moving cautiously and in darkness through the fog, the archers had finally caught Salvatore in the woman's company, as he was fiddling with the kitchen door.\n\n\"A woman in this holy place! And with a monk!\" Bernard said sternly, addressing the abbot. \"Most magnificent lord,\" he continued, \"if it involved only a violation of the vow of chastity, this man's punishment would be a matter for your jurisdiction. But since we are not yet sure that the traffickings of these two wretches hasn't something to do with the well-being of all the guests, we must first cast light on this mystery. Now, you rogue there!\" And from Salvatore's bosom he seized the obvious bundle the poor man was trying to hide. \"What's this you have here?\"\n\nI already knew: a knife; a black cat, which, once the bundle was unwrapped, fled with a furious yowl; and two eggs, now broken and slimy, which to everyone else looked like blood, or yellow bile, or some such foul substance. Salvatore was about to enter the kitchen, kill the cat, cut out its eyes; and who knows what promises he had used to induce the girl to follow him. I soon learned what promises. The archers searched the girl, with sly laughter and lascivious words, and they found on her a little dead rooster, still to be plucked. Ill-luck would have it that in the night, when all cats are gray, the cock seemed black, like the cat. I was thinking, however, that it took very little to lure her, poor hungry creature, who the night before had abandoned (and for love of me!) her precious ox heart....\n\n\"Aha!\" Bernard cried, in a tone of great concern. \"Black cat and cock... Ah, I know such paraphernalia....\" He noticed William among those present. \"Do you not also recognize them, Brother William? Were you not inquisitor in Kilkenny three years ago, where that girl had intercourse with a devil who appeared to her in the form of a black cat?\"\n\nTo me it seemed my master remained silent out of cowardice. I tugged at his sleeve, shook him, whispered to him in despair, \"Tell him, tell him it was to eat....\"\n\nHe freed himself from my grip and spoke politely to Bernard: \"I do not believe you need my past experiences to arrive at your conclusions,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, no, there are far more authoritative witnesses.\" Bernard smiled. \"Stephen of Bourbon, in his treatise on the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, tells how Saint Dominic, after preaching at Fanjeaux against the heretics, announced to certain women that they would see the master they had served till then. And suddenly into their midst sprang a frightful cat the size of a large dog, with huge blazing eyes, a bloody tongue that came to its navel, a short tail straight in the air so that however the animal turned it displayed the evil of its behind, more fetid than any other, as is proper for that anus which many devotees of Satan, not least the Knights Templar, have always been accustomed to kiss in the course of their meetings. And after moving about the women for an hour, the cat sprang on the bell rope and climbed up it, leaving his stinking waste behind. And is not the cat the animal beloved by the Catharists, who according to Alanus de Insulis are so called from 'catus,' because of this beast whose posterior they kiss, considering it the incarnation of Lucifer? And is this disgusting practice not confirmed also by William of La Verna in the De legibus? And does Albertus Magnus not say that cats are potential devils? And does not my venerable brother Jacques Fournier recall that on the deathbed of the inquisitor Geoffrey of Carcassonne two black cats appeared, who were no other than devils come to taunt those remains?\"\n\nA horrified murmur ran through the group of monks, many of whom made the sign of the holy cross.\n\n\"My lord abbot, my lord abbot,\" Bernard was saying meanwhile, with a virtuous mien, \"perhaps Your Magnificence does not know what sinners are accustomed to do with these instruments! But I know well, God help me! I have seen most wicked men, in the darkest hours of the night, along with others of their stripe, use black cats to achieve wonders that they could never deny: to straddle certain animals and travel immense spaces under cover of night, dragging their slaves, transformed into lustful incubi.... And the Devil shows himself to them, or at least so they strongly believe, in the form of a cock, or some other black animal, and with him\u2014do not ask me how\u2014they even lie together. And I know for certain that not long ago, in Avignon itself, with necromancies of this sort philters and ointments were prepared to-make attempts on the life of our lord Pope himself, poisoning his foods. The Pope was able to defend himself and identify the toxin only because he was supplied with prodigious jewels in the form of serpents' tongues, fortified by wondrous emeralds and rubies that tough divine power were able to reveal the presence of poison in the foods. The King of France had given him eleven of these most precious tongues, thank heaven, and only thus could our lord Pope elude death! True, the Pontiffs enemies went still further, and everyone knows what was learned about the heretic Bernard D\u00e9licieux, arrested ten years ago: books of black magic were found in his house, with notes written on the most wicked pages, containing all the instructions for making wax figures in order to harm enemies. And would you believe it? In his house were also found figures that reproduced, with truly admirable craft, the image of the Pope, with little red circles on the vital parts of the body. And everyone knows that such a figure, hung up by a string, is placed before a mirror, and then the vital parts are pierced with a pin, and... Oh, but why do I dwell on these vile, disgusting practices? The Pope himself spoke of them and described and condemned them, just last year, in his constitution Super illius specula! And I truly hope you have a copy in this rich library of yours, where it can be properly meditated on....\"\n\n\"We have it, we have it,\" the abbot eagerly confirmed, in great distress.\n\n\"Very well,\" Bernard concluded. \"Now the case seems clear to me. A monk seduced, a witch, and some ritual, which fortunately did not take place. To what end? That is what we will learn, and I am ready to sacrifice a few hours' sleep to learn it. Will Your Magnificence put at my disposal a place where this man can be confined?\"\n\n\"We have some cells in the basement of the smithy,\" the abbot said, \"which fortunately are very rarely used and have stood empty for years....\"\n\n\"Fortunately or unfortunately,\" Bernard remarked. And he ordered the archers to have someone show them the way and to take the two prisoners to separate cells; and the men were to tie the monk well to some rings set in the wall, so that Bernard could go down shortly and, questioning him, look him in the face. As for the girl, he added, it was clear who she was, and it was not worth questioning her that night. Other trials awaited her before she would be burned as a witch. And if witch she were, she would not speak easily. But the monk might still repent, perhaps (and he glared at the trembling Salvatore, as if to make him understand he was being offered a last chance), telling the truth and, Bernard added, denouncing his accomplices.\n\nThe two were dragged off, one silent and destroyed, almost feverish, the other weeping and kicking and screaming like an animal being led to the shambles. But neither Bernard nor the archers nor I myself could understand what she was saying in her peasant tongue. For all her shouting, she was as if mute. There are words that give power, others that make us all the more derelict, and to this latter category belong the vulgar words of the simple, to whom the Lord has not granted the boon of self-expression in the universal tongue of knowledge and power.\n\nOnce again I was tempted to follow her; once again William, grim, restrained me. \"Be still, fool,\" he said. \"The girl is lost; she is burnt flesh.\"\n\nAs I observed the scene with terror, staring at the girl in a swarm of contradictory thoughts, I felt someone touch my shoulder. I don't know why, but even before I turned I recognized the touch of Ubertino.\n\n\"You are looking at the witch, are you not?\" he asked me. And I knew he could not know of my story, and therefore he was saying this only because he had caught, with his terrible penetration of human passions, the intensity of my gaze.\n\n\"No,\" I defended myself, \"I am not looking at her\u2026 or, rather, perhaps I am looking at her, but she isn't a witch.... We don't know: perhaps she is innocent....\"\n\n\"And you look at her because she is beautiful. She is beautiful, is she not?\" he asked me with extraordinary warmth, pressing my arm. \"If you look at her because she is beautiful, and you are upset by her (but I know you are upset, because the sin of which she is suspected makes her all the more fascinating to you), if you look at her and feel desire, that alone makes her a witch. Be on guard, my son.... The beauty of the body stops at the skin. If men could see what is beneath the skin, as with the lynx of Boeotia, they would shudder at the sight of a woman. All that grace consists of mucus and blood, humors and bile. If you think of what is hidden in the nostrils, in the throat, and in the belly, you will find only filth. And if it revolts you to touch mucus or dung with your fingertip, how could we desire to embrace the sack that contains that dung.\"\n\nAn access of vomiting seized me. I didn't want to hear any more. My master, who had also heard, came to my rescue. He brusquely approached Ubertino, grasped his arm, and freed it from mine.\n\n\"That will do, Ubertino,\" he said. \"That girl will soon be under torture, then on the pyre. She will become exactly as you say, mucus, blood, humors, and bile. But it will be men like us who dig from beneath her skin that which the Lord wanted to be protected and adorned by that skin. And when it comes to prime matter, you are no better than she. Leave the boy alone.\"\n\nUbertino was upset. \"Perhaps I have sinned,\" he murmured. \"I have surely sinned. What else can a sinner do?\"\n\nNow everyone was going back inside, commenting on the event. William remained a little while with Michael and the other Minorites, who were asking him his impressions.\n\n\"Bernard now has an argument, ambiguous though it be. In the abbey there are necromancers circulating who do the same things that were done against the Pope in Avignon. It is not, certainly, proof, and, in the first place, it cannot be used to disturb tomorrow's meeting. Tonight he will try to wring from that poor wretch some other clue, which, I'm sure, Bernard will not use immediately tomorrow morning. He will keep it in reserve: it will be of use later, to upset the progress of the discussions if they should ever take a direction unpleasing to him.\"\n\n\"Could he force the monk to say something to be used against us?\" Michael of Cesena asked.\n\nWilliam was dubious. \"Let's hope not,\" he said. I realized that, if Salvatore told Bernard what he had told us, about his own past and the cellarer's, and if he hinted at something about their relationship with Ubertino, fleeting though it may have been, a highly embarrassing situation would be created.\n\n\"In any case, let's wait and see what happens,\" William said with serenity. \"For that matter, Michael, everything was already decided beforehand. But you want to try.\"\n\n\"I do,\" Michael said, \"and the Lord will help me. May Saint Francis intercede for all of us.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" all replied.\n\n\"But that is not necessarily possible,\" was William's irreverent comment. \"Saint Francis could be off somewhere waiting for judgment day, without seeing the Lord face to face.\"\n\n\"A curse on that heretic John!\" I heard Master Jerome mutter, as each went back to bed. \"If he now robs us of the saints' help, what will become of us, poor sinners that we are?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PRIME",
                "text": "In which there occurs a fraternal debate regarding the poverty of Jesus.\n\nMy heart racked by a thousand anxieties after the scene of the night, I woke on the morning of the fifth day when prime was already ringing, as William shook me roughly, warning me that the two legations would be meeting shortly. I looked out of the cell window and saw nothing. The fog of the previous day was now a milky blanket that totally covered the high plain.\n\nWhen I went outside, I saw the abbey as I had never seen it before. A few of the major buildings\u2014the church, the Aedificium, the chapter house\u2014could be discerned even at a distance, though still vague, shadows among shadows, while the rest of the constructions were visible only at a few paces. Shapes, of things and animals, seemed to rise suddenly from the void; people materialized from the mist, first gray, like ghosts, then gradually though not easily recognizable.\n\nBorn in a northern clime, I was not unfamiliar with that element, which at another moment would have pleasantly reminded me of the plains and the castle of my birth. But that morning the condition of the air seemed painfully kin to the condition of my soul, and the sadness with which I had awakened increased as I slowly approached the chapter house.\n\nA few feet from the building, I saw Bernard Gui taking his leave of another person, whom I did not immediately recognize. Then, as he passed me, I realized it was Malachi. He looked around like a man not wishing to be seen while committing some crime.\n\nHe did not recognize me and went off. Impelled by curiosity, I followed Bernard and saw that he was glancing through some papers, which perhaps Malachi had delivered to him. At the door of the chapter house, with a gesture, he summoned the captain of the archers, standing nearby, and murmured a few words to him. Then he went in. I followed him still.\n\nIt was the first time I had set foot in that place. On the outside it was of modest dimensions and sober design; I realized that it had recently been rebuilt over the remains of a primitive abbatial church, perhaps partly destroyed by fire.\n\nEntering from the outside, you passed beneath a portal in the new fashion, with a pointed arch and no decorations, surmounted by a rose window. But inside you found yourself in a vestibule, built on the traces of an old narthex. Facing you was another doorway, its arch in the old style, and with a half-moon tympanum wondrously carved. It must have been the doorway of the now vanished church.\n\nThe sculptures of the tympanum were equally beautiful but not so disturbing as those of the newer church. Here again, the tymp\u00e0num was dominated by an enthroned Christ; but at his sides, in various poses and with various objects in their hands, were the twelve apostles, who had received from him the mission to go forth and preach among all peoples. Over Christ's head, in an arc divided into twelve panels, and under Christ's feet, in an unbroken procession of figures, the peoples of the world were portrayed, destined to receive the Word. From their dress I could recognize the Hebrews, the Cappadocians, the Arabs, the Indians, the Phrygians, the Byzantines, the Armenians, the Scythians, the Romans. But, along with them, in thirty round frames that made an arc above the arc of twelve panels, were the inhabitants of the unknown worlds, of whom only the Physiologus and the vague reports of travelers speak slightly. Many of them were unfamiliar to me, others I identified. For example, brutes with six fingers on each hand; fauns born from the worms that develop between the bark and the pulp of trees; sirens with scaly tails who seduce seamen; Ethiops, their bodies all black, defending themselves against the fire of the sun by digging underground caverns; ass-centaurs, men to the navel and asses below; Cyclopes, each with a single eye the size of a shield; Scylla, with a girl's head and bosom, a she-wolf's belly, and a dolphin's tail; the hairy men of India, who live in swamps and on the river Epigmarides; the cynocephali, who cannot say a word without barking; sciopods, who run swiftly on their single leg and when they want to take shelter from the sun stretch out and hold up their great foot like an umbrella; astomats from Greece, who have no mouth but breathe through their nostrils and live only on air; bearded women of Armenia; Pygmies; blemmyae, born headless, with mouths in their bellies and eyes on their shoulders; the monster women of the Red Sea, twelve feet tall, with hair to the ankles, a cow's tail at the base of the spine, and camel's hoofs; and those whose soles are reversed, so that, following them by their footprints, one arrives always at the place whence they came and never where they are going; and men with three heads, others with eyes that gleam like lamps, and monsters of the island of Circe, human bodies with heads of the most diverse animals...\n\nThese and other wonders were carved on that doorway. But none of them caused uneasiness because they did not signify the evils of this earth or the torments of hell but, rather, bore witness that the Word had reached all the known world and was extending to the unknown; thus the doorway was a joyous promise of concord, of unity achieved in the word of Christ, splendid oecumen.\n\nA good augury, I said to myself, for the meeting to take place beyond this threshold, where men who have become one another's enemy through conflicting interpretations of the Gospel will perhaps succeed today in settling their disputes. And I reproached myself, that I was a weak sinner to bewail my personal problems when such important events for the history of Christianity were about to take place. I measured the smallness of my sufferings against the great promise of peace and serenity confirmed in the stone of the tympanum. I asked God's forgiveness for my frailty, and I crossed the threshold with new serenity.\n\nThe moment I entered I saw the members of both legations, complete, facing one another on a series of benches arranged in a hemicycle, the two sides separated by a table where the abbot and Cardinal Bertrand were sitting.\n\nWilliam, whom I followed in order to take notes, placed me among the Minorites, where Michael sat with his followers and other Franciscans of the court of Avignon, for the meeting was not meant to seem a duel between Italians and French, but a debate between supporters of the Franciscan Rule and their critics, all united by sound, Catholic loyalty to the papal court.\n\nWith Michael of Cesena were Brother Arnold of Aquitaine, Brother Hugh of Newcastle, and Brother William Alnwick, who had taken part in the Perugia chapter, and also the Bishop of Kaffa and Berengar Talloni, Bonagratia of Bergamo, and other Minorites from the Avignon court. On the opposite side sat Lawrence Decoin, bachelor of Avignon, the Bishop of Padua, and Jean d'Anneaux, doctor of theology in Paris. Next to Bernard Gui, silent and pensive, there was the Dominican Jean de Baune, in Italy called Giovanni Dalbena. Years before, William told me, he had been inquisitor at Narbonne, where he had tried many Beghards; but when he found heresy in a proposition concerning the poverty of Christ, Berengar Talloni, reader in the convent of that city, rose against him and appealed to the Pope. At that time John was still uncertain about this question, so he summoned both men to his court, where they argued without arriving at any conclusion. Thus a short time later the Franciscans took their stand, which I have described, at the Perugia chapter. Finally, there were still others on the side of the Avignonese, including the Bishop of Alborea.\n\nThe session was opened by Abo, who deemed it opportune to sum up recent events. He recalled how in the year of our Lord 1322 the general chapter of the Friars Minor, gathered at Perugia under the leadership of Michael of Cesena, had established with mature and diligent deliberation that, to set an example of the perfect life, Christ and, following his teaching, the apostles had never owned anything in common, whether as property or feud, and this truth was a matter of Catholic faith and doctrine, deduced from various passages in the canonical books. Wherefore renunciation of ownership of all things was meritorious and holy, and the early fathers of the church militant had followed this holy rule. The Council of Vienne in 1312 had also subscribed to this truth, and Pope John himself, in 1317, in the constitution regarding the condition of the Friars Minor which begins \"Quorundam exigit,\" had referred to the deliberations of that council as devoutly composed, lucid, sound, and mature. Whence the Perugian chapter, considering that what the apostolic see had always approved as sound doctrine should always be held as accepted, nor should it be strayed from in any way, had merely confirmed that council's decision, with the signature of such masters of sacred theology as Brother William of England, Brother Henry of Germany, Brother Arnold of Aquitaine, provincials and ministers, and also with the seal of Brother Nicholas, minister of France; Brother William Bloc, bachelor; the minister general and the four ministers provincial; Brother Thomas of Bologna; Brother Peter of the province of Saint Francis; Brother Ferdinand of Castello; and Brother Simon of Touraine. However, Abo added, the following year the Pope, issued the decretal Ad conditorem canonum, against which Brother Bonagratia of Bergamo appealed, considering it contrary to the interests of his order. The Pope then took down that decretal from the doors of the church of Avignon where it had been exposed, and revised it in several places. But he actually made it harsher, as was proved the fact that, as an immediate consequence, Brother Bonagratia was held in prison for a year. Nor could there be any doubts as to the Pontiffs severity, because that same year he issued the now very well known Cum inter nonnullos, in which the theses of the Perugia chapter were definitively condemned.\n\nPolitely interrupting Abo at this point, Cardinal Bertrand spoke up, saying we should recall how, to complicate matters and to irritate the Pontiff, in 1324 Louis the Bavarian had intervened with the Declaration of Sachsenhausen, in which for no good reason he confirmed the theses of Perugia (nor was it comprehensible, Bertrand remarked, with a thin smile, that the Emperor should acclaim so enthusiastically a poverty he did not practice in the least), setting himself against the lord Pope, calling him inimicus pacis and saying he was bent on fomenting scandal and discord, and finally calling him a heretic, indeed a heresiarch.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" Abo ventured, trying to mediate.\n\n\"In substance, yes,\" Bertrand said sharply. And he added that it was precisely the Emperor's inopportune meddling that had obliged the lord Pope to issue the decretal Quia quorundam, and that eventually he had sternly bidden Michael of Cesena to appear before him. Michael had sent letters of excuse, declaring himself ill\u2014something no one doubted\u2014and had sent in his stead Brother John Fidanza and Brother Umile Custodio from Perugia. But it so happened, the cardinal went on, that the Guelphs of Perugia had informed the Pope that, far from being ill, Brother Michael was in communication with Louis of Bavaria. In any case, what was past was past, and now Brother Michael looked well and serene, and so was expected in Avignon. However, it was better, the cardinal admitted, to consider beforehand, as prudent men from both sides were now doing, what Michael would finally say to the Pope, since everyone's aim was still not to exacerbate but, rather, to settle fraternally a dispute that had no reason to exist between a loving father and his devoted sons, and which until then had been kept ablaze only by the interference of secular men, whether emperors or viceroys, who had nothing to do with the questions of Holy Mother Church.\n\nAbo then spoke up and said that, though he was a man of the church and abbot of an order to which the church owed much (a murmur of respect and deference was heard from both sides of the hemicycle), he still did not feel the Emperor should remain aloof from such questions, for the many reasons that Brother William of Baskerville would expound in due course. But, Abo went on, it was nevertheless proper that the first part of the debate should take place between the papal envoys and the representatives of those sons of Saint Francis who, by their very participation in this meeting, showed themselves to be the most devoted sons of the Pope. And then he asked that Brother Michael or his nominee indicate the position he meant to uphold in Avignon.\n\nMichael said that, to his great and joyous emotion, there was in their midst that morning Ubertino of Casale, from whom the Pope himself, in 1322, had asked for a thorough report on the question of poverty. And Ubertino could best sum up, with that lucidity, erudition, and devout faith that all recognized in him, the capital points of those ideas which now, unswervingly, were those of the Franciscan order.\n\nUbertino rose, and as soon as he began to speak, I understood why he had aroused so much enthusiasm, both as a preacher and as a courtier. Impassioned in his gesticulation, his voice persuasive, his smile fascinating, his reasoning clear and consequential, he held his listeners fast for all the time he spoke. He began a very learned disquisition on the reasons that supported the Perugia theses. He said that, first of all, it had to be recognized that Christ and the apostles were in a double condition, because they were prelates of the church of the New Testament, and in this respect they possessed, as regards the authority of dispensation and distribution, to give to the poor and to the ministers of the church, as is written in the fourth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, and this point nobody disputes. But secondarily, Christ and the apostles must be considered as individual persons, the base of every religious perfection, and perfect despisers of the world. And on this score two ways of having are posited, one of which is civil and worldly, which the imperial laws define with the words \"in bonis nostris,\" because we call ours those goods of which we have the defense and which, if taken from us, we have the right to claim. Whereby it is one thing to defend in a civil and worldly sense one's own possession against him who would take it, appealing to the imperial judge (to affirm that Christ and the apostles owned things in this sense is heretical, because, as Matthew says in chapter 5, if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also; nor does Luke say any differently in chapter 6, where Christ dismisses from himself all power and lordship and imposes the same on his apostles; and consider further Matthew chapter 19, in which Peter says to the Lord that to follow him they have left everything); but in the other way temporal things can yet be held, for the purpose of common fraternal charity, and in this way Christ and his disciples possessed some goods by natural right, which right by some is called ius poli, that is to say the law of heaven, to sustain nature, which without human intervention is consonant with proper reason, whereas ius fori is power that derives from human covenant. Before the first division of things, as far as ownership was concerned, they were like those things today which are not among anyone's possessions and are granted to him who takes them; things were in a certain sense common to all men, whereas it was only after original sin that our progenitors began to divide up ownership of things, and thus began worldly dominion as we now know it. But Christ and the apostles held things in the first way, and so they had clothing and the bread and fishes, and as Paul says in I Timothy: Having food and raiment let us be therewith content. Wherefore Christ and his disciples did not hold these things in possession but in use, their absolute poverty remaining intact. Which had already been recognized by Pope Nicholas II in the decretal Exiit qui seminat.\n\nBut on the opposite side Jean d'Anneaux rose to say that Ubertino's positions seemed to him contrary both to proper reason and to the proper interpretation of Scripture. Whereas with goods perishable with use, such as bread and foods, a simple right of use cannot be considered, nor can de-facto use be posited, but only abuse; everything the believers held in common in the primitive church, as is deduced from Acts 2 and 3, they held on the basis of the same type of ownership they had had before their conversion; the apostles, after the descent of the Holy Spirit, possessed farms in Judaea; the vow of living without property does not extend to what man needs in order to live, and when Peter said he had left everything he did not mean he had renounced property; Adam had ownership and property of things; the servant who receives money from his master certainly does not just make use or abuse of it; the words of the Exiit qui seminat to which the Minorites are always referring and which establish that the Friars Minor have only the use of what serves them, without having control and ownership, must be referring only to goods that are not consumed with use; and in fact if the Exiit included perishable goods it would sustain the impossible; de-facto use cannot be distinguished from juridical control; every human right, on the basis of which material goods are owned, is contained in the laws of kings; Christ as a mortal man, from the moment of his conception, was owner of all earthly goods, and as God he received from the Father universal control over everything; he was owner of clothing, food, money for tribute, and offerings of the faithful; and if he was poor, it was not because he had no property, but because he did not receive its fruits; for simple juridical control, separated from the collection of interest, does not enrich the possessor; and finally, even if the Exiit had said otherwise, the Roman Pontiff, in everything concerning faith and morals, can revoke the decisions of his predecessors and can even make contrary assertions.\n\nIt was at this point that Brother Jerome, Bishop of Kaffa, rose vehemently, his beard shaking with wrath even though he tried to make his words sound conciliatory. He began an argumentation that to me seemed fairly confused. \"What I will say to the Holy Father, and myself who will say it, I submit to his correction, because I truly believe John is the vicar of Christ, and for this confession I was seized by the Saracens. And I will refer first to an event recorded by a great doctor, in the dispute that arose one day among monks as to who was the father of Melchizedek. Then the abbot Copes, questioned about this, shook his head and declared: Woe to you, Copes, for you seek only those things that God does not command you to seek and neglect those He does command. There, as is readily deduced from my example, it is so clear that Christ and the Blessed Virgin and the apostles held nothing, individually or in common, that it would be less clear to recognize that Jesus was man and God at the same time, and yet it seems clear to me that anyone denying the evidence of the former must then deny the latter!\"\n\nHe spoke triumphantly, and I saw William raise his eyes to heaven. I suspect he considered Jerome's syllogism quite defective, and I cannot say he was wrong, but even more defective, it seemed to me, was the infuriated and contrary argumentation of Jean de Baune, who said that he who affirms something about the poverty of Christ affirms what is seen (or not seen) with the eye, whereas to define his simultaneous humanity and divinity, faith intervenes, so that the two propositions cannot be compared.\n\nIn reply, Jerome was more acute than his opponent: \"Oh, no, dear brother,\" he said, \"I think exactly the opposite is true, because all the Gospels declare Christ was a man and ate and drank, and as his most evident miracles demonstrate, he was also God, and all this is immediately obvious!\"\n\n\"Magicians and soothsayers also work miracles,\" de Baune said smugly.\n\n\"True,\" Jerome replied, \"but through magic art. Would you compare Christ's miracles to magic art?\" The assembly murmured indignantly that they would not consider such a thing. \"And finally,\" Jerome went on, feeling he was now close to victory, \"would his lordship the Cardinal del Poggetto want to consider heretical the belief in Christ's poverty, when this proposition is the basis of the Rule of an order such as the Franciscan, whose sons have gone to every realm to preach and shed their blood, from Morocco to India?\"\n\n\"Holy spirit of Peter of Spain,\" William muttered, \"protect us.\"\n\n\"Most beloved brother,\" de Baune then cried, taking a step forward, \"speak if you will of the blood of your monks, but do not forget, that same tribute has also been paid by religious of other orders....\"\n\n\"With all due respect to my lord cardinal,\" Jerome shouted, \"no Dominican ever died among the infidels, whereas in my own time alone, nine Minorites have been martyred!\"\n\nThe Dominican Bishop of Alborea, red in the face, now stood up. \"I can prove that before any Minorites were in Tartary, Pope Innocent sent three Dominicans there!\"\n\n\"He did?\" Jerome said, snickering. \"Well, I know that the Minorites have been in Tartary for eighty years, and they have forty churches throughout the country, whereas the Dominicans have only five churches, all along the coast, and perhaps fifteen monks in all. And that settles the question!\"\n\n\"It does not settle any question at all,\" the Bishop of Alborea shouted, \"because these Minorites, who produce heretics as bitches produce puppies, claim everything for themselves, boast of martyrs, but have fine churches, sumptuous vestments, and buy and sell like all the other religious!\"\n\n\"No, my lord, no,\" Jerome interrupted, \"they do not buy and sell on their own, but through the procurators of the apostolic see, and the procurators have possession, while the Minorites have only the use!\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" the bishop sneered. \"And how many times, then, have you sold without procurators? I know the story of some farms that\u2014\"\n\n\"If I did so, I was wrong,\" Jerome hastily interrupted, \"not to turn that over to the order may have been a weakness on my part!\"\n\n\"Venerable brothers,\" Abo then intervened, \"our problem is not whether the Minorites are poor, but whether our Lord was poor....\"\n\n\"Well, then\"\u2014at this point Jerome raised his voice again\u2014\"on that question I have an argument that cuts like a sword....\"\n\n\"Saint Francis, protect thy sons...\" William said, without much confidence.\n\n\"The argument,\" Jerome continued, \"is that the Orientals and the Greeks, far more familiar than we with the doctrine of the holy fathers, are convinced of the poverty of Christ. And if those heretics and schismatics so clearly uphold such a clear truth, do we want to be more heretical and schismatical than they, by denying it? These Orientals, if they heard some of our number preaching against this truth, would stone them!\"\n\n\"What are you saying?\" the Bishop of Alborea quipped. \"Why, then, do they not stone the Dominicans, who preach precisely against this?\"\n\n\"Dominicans? Why, no one has ever seen them down there!\"\n\nAlborea, his face purple, observed that this monk Jerome had been in Greece perhaps fifteen years, whereas he had been there since his boyhood. Jerome replied that the Dominican Alborea might perhaps have been in Greece, but living a sybaritic life in fine bishops' aces, whereas he, a Franciscan, had been there not fifteen years, but twenty-two, and had preached before the Emperor in Constantinople. Then Alborea, running short on arguments, started to cross the space that separated him from the Minorites, indicating in a loud voice and with words I dare not repeat his firm intention to pull off the beard of the Bishop of Kaffa, whose masculinity he called into question, and whom he planned to punish, by the logic of an eye for an eye, shoving that beard in a certain place.\n\nThe other Minorites rushed to form a barrier and defend their brother; the Avignonese thought it useful to lend the Dominican a hand, and (Lord, have mercy on the best among thy sons!) a brawl ensued, which the abbot and the cardinal tried to quell. In the tumult that followed, Minorites and Dominicans said grave things to one another, as if each were a Christian fighting the Saracens. The only ones who remained in their seats were William, on one side, and Bernard Gui, on the other. William seemed sad, and Bernard happy, if you can call happiness the faint smile that curled the inquisitor's lip.\n\n\"Are there no better arguments,\" I asked my master, as Alborea tugged at the beard of the Bishop of Kaffa, \"to prove or refute the poverty of Christ?\"\n\n\"Why, you can affirm both positions, my good Adso,\" William said, \"and you will never be able to establish on the basis of the Gospels whether, and to what extent, Christ considered as his property the tunic he wore, which he then perhaps threw away when it was worn out. And, if you like, the doctrine of Thomas Aquinas on property is bolder than that of us Minorites. We say: We own nothing and have everything in use. He said: Consider yourselves also owners, provided that, if anyone lacks what you possess, you grant him its use, and out of obligation, not charity. But the question is not whether Christ was poor: it is whether the church must be poor. And 'poor' does not so much mean owning a palace or not; it means, rather, keeping or renouncing the right to legislate on earthly matters.\"\n\n\"Then this,\" I said, \"is why the Emperor is so interested in what the Minorites say about poverty.\"\n\n\"Exactly. The Minorites are playing the Emperor's game against the Pope. But Marsilius and I consider it a two-sided game, and we would like the empire to support our view and serve our idea of human rule.\"\n\n\"And will you say this when you are called on to speak?\"\n\n\"If I say it I fulfill my mission, which was to expound the opinions of the imperial theologians. But if I say it my mission fails, because I ought to be facilitating a second meeting in Avignon, and I don't believe John would agree to my going there to say these things.\"\n\n\"And so\u2014?\"\n\n\"And so I am trapped between two opposing forces, like an ass who does not know which of two sacks of hay to eat. The time is not ripe. Marsilius raves of an impossible transformation, immediately; but Louis is no better than his predecessors, even if for the present he remains the only bulwark against a wretch like John. Perhaps I shall have to speak, unless they end up killing one another first. In any case, Adso, write it all down: let at least some trace remain of what is happening today.\"\n\nAs we were speaking\u2014and truly I do not know how we managed to hear each other\u2014the dispute reached its climax. The archers intervened, at a sign from Bernard Gui, to keep the two factions apart. But like besiegers and besieged, on both sides of the walls of a fortress, they hurled insults and rebuttals at one another, which I record here at random, unable to attribute them to specific speakers, and with the premise that the phrases were not uttered in turn, as would happen in a dispute in my country, but in Mediterranean fashion, one overlapping another, like the waves of an angry sea.\n\n\"The Gospel says Christ had a purse!\"\n\n\"Shut up! You people paint that purse even on crucifixes! What do you say, then, of the fact that our Lord, when he entered Jerusalem, went back every night to Bethany?\"\n\n\"If our Lord chose to go and sleep in Bethany, who are you to question his decision?\"\n\n\"No, you old ass, our Lord returned to Bethany because he had no money to pay for an inn in Jerusalem!\"\n\n\"Bonagratia, you're the ass here! What did our Lord eat in Jerusalem?\"\n\n\"Would you say, then, that a horse who receives oats from his master to keep alive is the owner of the oats?\"\n\n\"You see? You compare Christ to a horse....\"\n\n\"No, you are the one who compares Christ to a simoniacal prelate of your court, vessel of dung!\"\n\n\"Really? And how many lawsuits has the holy see had to undertake to protect your property?\"\n\n\"The property of the church, not ours! We had it in use!\"\n\n\"In use to spend, to build beautiful churches with gold statues, you hypocrites, whited sepulchers, sinks of iniquity! You know well that charity, not poverty, is the principle of the perfect life!\"\n\n\"That is what your glutton Thomas said!\"\n\n\"Mind your words, villain! The man you call 'glutton' is a saint of the holy Roman church!\"\n\n\"Saint, my foot! Canonized by John to spite the Franciscans! Your Pope can't create saints, because he's a heretic! No, a heresiarch!\"\n\n\"We've heard that one before! Words spoken by that Bavarian puppet at Sachsenhausen, rehearsed by your Ubertino!\"\n\n\"Mind how you speak, pig, son of the whore of Babylon and other strumpets as well! You know Ubertino wasn't with the Emperor that year: he was right there in Avignon, in the service of Cardinal Orsini, and the Pope was sending him as a messenger to Aragon!\"\n\n\"I know, I know, he took his vow of poverty at the cardinal's table, as he now lives in the richest abbey of the peninsula! Ubertino, if you weren't there, who prompted Louis to use your writings?\"\n\n\"Is it my fault if Louis reads my writings? Surely he cannot read yours, you illiterate!\"\n\n\"I? Illiterate? Was your Francis a literate, he who spoke with geese?\"\n\n\"You blaspheme!\"\n\n\"You're the blasphemer; you know the keg ritual!\"\n\n\"I have never seen such a thing, and you know it!\"\n\n\"Yes, you did, you and your little friars, when you slipped into the bed of Clare of Montefalco!\"\n\n\"May God strike you! I was inquisitor at that time, and Clare had already died in the odor of sanctity!\"\n\n\"Clare gave off the odor of sanctity, but you were sniffing another odor when you sang matins to the nuns!\"\n\n\"Go on, go on, the wrath of God will reach you, as it will reach your master, who has given welcome to two heretics like that Ostrogoth Eckhart and that English necromancer you call Branucerton!\"\n\n\"Venerable brothers, venerable brothers!\" Cardinal Bertrand and the abbot shouted."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which Severinus speaks to William of a strange book, and William speaks to the envoys of a strange concept of temporal government.\n\nThe quarrel was still raging when one of the novices guarding the door came in, passing through that confusion like someone walking across a field lashed by hail. He approached William, to whisper that Severinus wanted urgently to speak to him. We went out into the narthex, which was crowded with curious monks trying, through the shouts and noise, to catch something of what was going on inside. In the first rank we saw Aymaro of Alessandria, who welcomed us with his usual condescending sneer of commiseration at the foolishness of the universe. \"To be sure, since the rise of the mendicant orders Christianity has become more virtuous,\" he said.\n\nWilliam brushed him aside with a certain roughness and headed for Severinus, awaiting us in a corner. He was distressed and wanted to speak to us in private, but it was impossible to find a calm spot in that confusion. We thought to go outside, but Michael of Cesena looked out through the doorway of the chapter hall, bidding William to come back in, because, he said, the quarrel was being settled and the series of speeches should be resumed.\n\nWilliam, torn between two bags of hay, urged Severinus to speak, and the herbalist did his best to keep others from overhearing.\n\n\"Berengar certainly came to the infirmary before he went to the balneary,\" he said.\n\n\"How do you know?\" Some monks approached, their curiosity aroused by our confabulation. Severinus's voice sank still lower, as he looked around.\n\n\"You told me that that man... must have had something with him.... Well, I found something in my laboratory, among the other books... a book that is not mine, a strange book....\"\n\n\"That must be it,\" William said triumphantly. \"Bring it to me at once.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" Severinus said. \"I'll explain to you later. I have discovered... I believe I have discovered something interesting.... You must come, I have to show you the book... cautiously....\" He broke off. We realized that, silently as was his custom, Jorge had appeared as if by magic at our side. His hands were extended before him, as if, not used to moving in that place, he were trying to sense his direction. A normal person would not have been able to comprehend Severinus's whispers, but we had learned some time before that forge's hearing, like that of all blind men, was especially sharp.\n\nStill, the old man seemed to have heard nothing. He moved, in fact, in the direction away from us, touched one of the monks, and asked him something. The monk took him gently by the arm and led him outside. At that moment Michael reappeared, again summoning William, and my master made a decision. \"Please,\" he said to Severinus, \"go back at once to the place from whence you came. Lock yourself inside and wait for me. You\"\u2014he said to me\u2014\"follow Jorge. Even if he did hear something, I don't believe he will have himself led to the infirmary. In any case, you will tell me where he goes.\"\n\nAs he started to go back into the hall, he noticed (as I also noticed) Aymaro pushing his way through the jostling crowd in order to follow Jorge outside. Here William acted unwisely, because now in a loud voice, from one end of the narthex to the other, he said to Severinus, who was at the outer threshold, \"Make sure those papers are safe.... Don't go back to... where they came from!\" Just as I was preparing to follow Jorge, I saw the cellarer leaning against the iamb of the outside door; he had heard William's warnings and was looking from my master to the herbalist, his face tense with fear. He saw Severinus going out and followed him. On the threshold, I was afraid of losing sight of Jorge, who was about to be swallowed up by the fog, but the other two, heading in the opposite direction, were also on the verge of vanishing into the brume. I calculated rapidly what I should do. I had been ordered to follow the blind man, but because it was feared he was going toward the infirmary. Instead, his guide was taking him in another direction: he was crossing the cloister, heading for the church or the Aedificium. The cellarer, on the contrary, was surely following the herbalist, and William was worried about what could happen in the laboratory. So I started following the two men, wondering, among other things, where Aymaro had gone, unless he had come out for reasons quite removed from ours.\n\nKeeping a reasonable distance, I did not lose sight of the cellarer, who was slowing his pace because he had realized I was following him. He couldn't be sure the shadow at his heels was mine, as I couldn't be sure the shadow whose heels I followed belonged to him; but as I had no doubts about him, he had none about me.\n\nForcing him to keep an eye on me, I prevented him from dogging Severinus too closely. And so when the door of the infirmary appeared in the mist it was closed. Severinus had already gone inside, heaven be thanked. The cellarer turned once again to look at me, while I stood motionless as a tree of the garden; then he seemed to come to a decision and he moved toward the kitchen. I felt I had fulfilled my mission, so I decided to go back and report. Perhaps I made a mistake: if I had remained on guard, many other misfortunes would have been averted. But this I know now; I did not know it then.\n\nI went back into the chapter hall. That busybody, it seemed to me, did not represent a great danger. I approached William again and briefly gave him my report. He nodded his approval, then motioned me to be silent. The confusion was now abating.. The legates on both sides were exchanging the kiss of peace. The Bishop of Alborea praised the faith of the Minorites. Jerome exalted the charity of the preachers, all expressed the hope of a church no longer racked by internal conflicts. Some praised the strength of one group, some the temperance of another; all invoked justice and counseled prudence. Never have I seen so many men so sincerely concerned with the triumph of the cardinal and theological virtues.\n\nBut now Bertrand del Poggetto was inviting William to expound the theses of the imperial theologians. William rose, reluctantly: he was realizing that the meeting was of no utility, and in any case he was in a hurry to leave, for the mysterious book was now more urgent for him, than the results of the meeting. But it was clear he could not evade his duty.\n\nHe began speaking then, with many \"eh\"s and \"oh\"s, perhaps more than usual and more than proper, as if to make it clear he was absolutely unsure about the things he was going to say, and he opened by affirming that he understood perfectly the viewpoint of those who had spoken before him, and for that matter what others called the \"doctrine\" of the imperial theologians was no more than some scattered observations that did not claim to be established articles of faith.\n\nHe said, further, that, given the immense goodness that God had displayed in creating the race of His sons, loving them all without distinction, recalling those pages of Genesis in which there was yet no mention of priests and kings, considering also that the Lord had given to Adam and to his descendants power over the things of this earth, provided they obeyed the divine laws, we might infer that the Lord also was not averse to the idea that in earthly things the people should be legislator and effective first cause of the law. By the term \"people,\" he said, it would be best to signify all citizens, but since among citizens children must be included, as well as idiots, malefactors, and women, perhaps it would be possible to arrive reasonably at a definition of the people as the better part of the citizens, though he himself at the moment did not consider it opportune to assert who actually belonged to that part.\n\nHe cleared his throat, apologized to his listeners, remarking that the atmosphere was certainly very damp, and suggested that the way in which the people could express its will might be an elective general assembly. He said that to him it seemed sensible for such an assembly to be empowered to interpret, change, or suspend the law, because if the law is made by one man alone, he could do harm through ignorance or malice, and William added that it was unnecessary to remind those present of numerous recent instances. I noticed that the listeners, rather puzzled by his previous words, could only assent to these last ones, because each was obviously thinking of a different person, and each considered very bad the person of whom he was thinking.\n\nWell, then, William continued, if one man can make laws badly, will not many men be better? Naturally, he underlined, he was speaking of earthly laws, regarding the management of civil things. God had told Adam not to eat of the tree of good and evil, and that was divine law; but then He had authorized, or, rather, encouraged, Adam to give things names, and on that score He had allowed His terrestrial subject free rein. In fact, though some in our times say that nomina sunt consequentia rerum, the book of Genesis is actually quite explicit on this point: God brought all the animals unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof. And though surely the first man had been clever enough to call, in his Adamic language, every thing and animal according to its nature, nevertheless he was exercising a kind of sovereign right in imagining the name that in his opinion best corresponded to that nature. Because, in fact, it is now known that men impose different names to designate concepts, though only the concepts, signs of things, are the same for all. So that surely the word \"nomen\" comes from \"nomos,\" that is to say \"law,\" since nomina are given by men ad placitum, in other words by free and collective accord.\n\nThe listeners did not dare contest this learned demonstration.\n\nWhereby, William concluded, is it clear that legislation over the things of this earth, and therefore over the things of the cities and kingdoms, has nothing to do with the custody and administration of the divine word, an unalienable privilege of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Unhappy indeed, William said, are the infidels, who have no similar authority to interpret for them the divine word (and all felt sorry for the infidels). But does this perhaps entitle us to say that the infidels do not have the tendency to make laws and administer their affairs through governments, kings, emperors, or sultans, caliphs, or however you chose to call them? And could it be denied that many Roman emperors\u2014Trajan, for instance\u2014had exercised their temporal power with wisdom? And who gave the pagans and the infidels this natural capacity to legislate and live in political communities? Was it perhaps their false divinities, who necessarily do not exist (or do not exist necessarily, however you understand the negation of this modality)? Certainly not. It could only have been conferred by the God of hosts, the God of Israel, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.... Wondrous proof of the divine goodness that conferred the capacity for judging political things also on those who deny the authority of the Roman Pontiff and do not profess the same sacred, sweet, and terrible mysteries of the Christian people! But what finer demonstration than this of the fact that temporal rule and secular jurisdiction have nothing to do with the church and with the law of Jesus Christ and were ordained by God beyond all ecclesiastical confirmation and even before our holy religion was founded?\n\nHe coughed again, but this time he was not alone. Many of those present were wriggling on their benches and clearing their throats. I saw the cardinal run his tongue over his lips and make a gesture, anxious but polite, to urge William to get to the point. And William now grappled with what seemed to all, even to those who did not share them, the perhaps unpleasant conclusions of his incontrovertible reasoning. William said that his deductions seemed to him supported by the very example of Christ, who did not come into this world to command, but to be subject to the conditions he found in the world, at least as far as the laws of Caesar were concerned. He did not want the apostles to have command and dominion, and therefore it seemed a wise thing that the successors of the apostles should be relieved of any worldly or coercive power. If the pope, the bishops, and the priests were not subject to the worldly and coercive power of the prince, the authority of the prince would be challenged, and thus, with it, an order would be challenged that, as had been demonstrated previously, had been decreed by God. To be sure, some delicate cases must be considered\u2014William said\u2014like those of the heretics, on whose heresy only the church, custodian of the truth, can pronounce, though only the secular arm can act. When the church identifies some heretics she must surely point them out to the prince, who must rightly be informed of the conditions of his citizens. But what should the prince do with a heretic? Condemn him in the name of that divine truth of which he is not the custodian? The prince can and must condemn the heretic if his action harms the community, that is, if the heretic, in declaring his heresy, kills or impedes those who do not share it. But at that point the power of the prince ends, because no one on this earth can be forced through torture to follow the precepts of the Gospel: otherwise what would become of that free will on the exercising of which each of us will be judged in the next world? The church can and must warn the heretic that he is abandoning the community of the faithful, but she cannot judge him on earth and force him against his will. If Christ had wanted his priests to obtain coercive power, he would have laid down specific precepts as Moses did in the ancient law. He did not do it; therefore he did not wish it. Or does someone want to suggest the idea that he did wish it but lacked the time or the ability to say so in three years of preaching? But it was right that he should not wish it, because if he had wished it, then the pope would be able to impose his will on the king, and Christianity would no longer be a law of freedom, but one of intolerable slavery.\n\nAll this, William added with a cheerful expression, is no limitation of the powers of the supreme Pontiff, but, rather, an exaltation of his mission: because the servant of the servants of God is on this earth to serve and not to be served. And, finally, it would be odd, to say the least, if the Pope had jurisdiction over the things of the Roman Empire' but not over the other kingdoms of the earth. As everyone knows, what the Pope says on divine questions is as valid for the subjects of the King of France as it is for those of the King of England, but it must be valid also for the subjects of the Great Khan or the Sultan of the infidels, who are called infidels precisely because they are not faithful to this beautiful truth. And so if the Pope were to assume he had temporal jurisdiction\u2014as pope\u2014only over the affairs of the empire, that might justify the suspicion that, identifying temporal jurisdiction with the spiritual, by that same token he would have no spiritual jurisdiction over not only the Saracens or the Tartars, but also over the French and the English\u2014which would be a criminal blasphemy. And this was the reason, my master concluded, why it seemed right to him to suggest that the church of Avignon was injuring all mankind by asserting the right to approve or suspend him who had been elected emperor of the Romans. The Pope does not have greater rights over the empire than over other kingdoms, and since neither the King of France nor the Sultan is subject to the Pope's approval, there seems to be no good reason why the Emperor of the Germans and Italians should be subject to it. Such subjection is not a matter of divine right, because Scripture does not speak of it. Nor is it sanctioned by the rights of peoples, for the reasons already expounded. As for the connection with the dispute about poverty, William added, his own humble opinions, developed in the form of conversational suggestions by him and by some others such as Marsilius of Padua and John of Jandun, led to the following conclusions: if the Franciscans wanted to remain poor, the Pope could not and should not oppose such a virtuous wish. To be sure, if the hypothesis of Christ's poverty were to be proved, this would not only help the Minorites but also strengthen the idea that Jesus had not wished any earthly jurisdiction. But that morning he, William, had heard very wise people assert that it could not be proved that Christ had been poor. Whence it seemed to him more fitting to reverse the demonstration. Since nobody had asserted, or could assert, that Jesus had sought any earthly jurisdiction for himself or for his disciples, this detachment of Jesus from temporal things seemed sufficient evidence to suggest the belief, without sinning, that Jesus, on the contrary, preferred poverty.\n\nWilliam had spoken in such a meek tone, he had expressed his certainties in such a hesitant way, that none of those present was able to stand up, and rebut. This does not mean that all were convinced of what he had said. The Avignonese were now writhing, frowning, and muttering comments among themselves, and even the abbot seemed unfavorably impressed by those words, as if he were thinking this was not the relationship he had desired between his order and the empire. And as for the Minorites, Michael of Cesena was puzzled, Jerome aghast, Ubertino pensive.\n\nThe silence was broken by Cardinal del Poggetto, still smiling and relaxed as he politely asked William whether he would go to Avignon to say these same thins to the lord Pope. William asked the opinion of the cardinal, who said that the Pope had heard many debatable opinions uttered during his life and was a most loving father toward all his sons, but surely these propositions would grieve him very much.\n\nBernard Gui, who until then had not opened his mouth, now spoke up: \"I would be very happy if Brother William, so skilled and eloquent in expounding his own ideas, were to submit them to the judgment of the Pontiff....\"\n\n\"You have convinced me, my lord Bernard,\" William said. \"I will not come.\" Then, addressing the cardinal, in an apologetic tone: \"You know, this fluxion that is affecting my chest dissuades me from undertaking such a long journey in this season....\"\n\n\"Then why did you speak at such length?\" the cardinal asked.\n\n\"To bear witness to the truth,\" William said humbly. \"The truth shall make us free.\"\n\n\"Ah, no!\" Jean de Baune exploded at this point. \"Here we are not talking about the truth that makes us free, but about excessive freedom that wants to set itself up as truth!\"\n\n\"That is also possible,\" William admitted sweetly.\n\nMy intuition suddenly warned me that another tempest of hearts and tongues was about to burst, far more furious than, the earlier one. But nothing happened. While de Baune was still speaking, the captain of the archers entered and went to whisper something into Bernard's ear. Bernard rose abruptly and held up his hand to speak.\n\n\"Brothers,\" he said, \"it is possible this profitable discussion may be resumed, but for the moment an event of tremendous gravity obliges us to suspend our session, with the abbot's permission. Something has happened there....\" He pointed vaguely outside, then strode through the hall and went out. Many followed him, William among the first, and I with him.\n\nMy master looked at me and said, \"I fear something has happened to Severinus.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which Severinus is found murdered but the book that he had found is to be found no longer.\n\nWe crossed the grounds with a rapid step, in anguish. The captain of the archers led us toward the infirmary, and as we arrived there we glimpsed in the thick grayness a stirring of shadows: monks and servants were rushing about, archers were standing outside the door to prevent access.\n\n\"Those guards were sent by me, to seek a man who could shed light on many mysteries,\" Bernard said.\n\n\"The brother herbalist?\" the abbot asked, dumbfounded.\n\n\"No. You will see now,\" Bernard said, making his way inside.\n\nWe entered Severinus's laboratory, and here a painful sight greeted our eyes. The unfortunate herbalist lay, a corpse, in a pool of blood, his head bashed in. On every side the shelves seemed to have been devastated by a storm: pots, bottles, books, documents lay all around in great disorder, ruined. Beside the body was an armillary sphere at least twice the size of a man's head, of finely worked metal, surmounted by a gold cross, and set on a short, decorated tripod. On other occasions I had noticed it on the table to the left of the front door.\n\nAt the other end of the room two archers were holding the cellarer fast, though he wriggled and proclaimed his innocence, increasing his noise when he saw the abbot enter. \"My lord!\" he cried out. \"Appearances are against me! Severinus was already dead when I came in, and they found me staring at this massacre, speechless!\"\n\nThe archers' captain went over to Bernard, and with his permission made a report, in front of everyone. The archers had been ordered to find the cellarer and arrest him, and for over two hours they had searched for him throughout the abbey. This, I thought, must have been the command Bernard had given before entering the hall; and the soldiers, foreigners in this place, had probably pursued their search in the wrong places, without realizing that the cellarer, unaware of his fate, was with the others in the narthex; the fog had also made their hunt more difficult. In any case, from the captain's words it emerged that Remigio, after I left him, went toward the kitchen, where someone saw him and informed the archers, who reached the Aedificium after Remigio had left it again, missing them only by a moment. In the kitchen was Jorge, who declared he had just finished speaking with the cellarer. The archers then explored the grounds in the direction of the gardens, and there, emerging from the mist like a ghost, they found old Alinardo, who seemed lost. It was Alinardo who said he had seen the cellarer, a short while before, going into the infirmary. The archers went there and found the door open. Once inside, they discovered Severinus lifeless and the cellarer furiously rummaging over the shelves, flinging everything on the floor, as if he were hunting for something. It was easy to see what had happened, the captain concluded. Remigio had entered, had attacked the herbalist and killed him, and then was seeking the thing for which he had killed.\n\nAn archer picked the armillary sphere up from the floor and handed it to Bernard. The elegant architecture of brass and silver circles, held together by a stronger frame of bronze rings grasped by the stem of the tripod, had been brought down heavily on the victim's skull, and at the impact many of the finer circles had shattered or bent to one side. This side was the one brought down on Severinus's head, as was revealed by traces of blood and even tufts of hair and horrible gobbets of cerebral matter.\n\nWilliam bent over Severinus to verify his death. The poor man's eyes, veiled by the streams of blood from his head, were fixed, and I wondered if it were ever possible to read in the stiffened pupil, as it has been said in some cases, the image of the murderer, the last vestige of the victim's perception. I saw that William sought the dead man's hands, to see if he had black stains on his fingers, even though, this time, the cause of death was obviously quite different: but Severinus was wearing the same leather gloves with which I had occasionally seen him handling dangerous herbs, lizards, and unfamiliar insects.\n\nMeanwhile, Bernard Gui was addressing the cellarer: \"Remigio of Varagine\u2014that is your name, is it not? I had sent my men after you on the basis of other accusations and to confirm other suspicions. Now I see that I acted properly, although, to my regret, too slowly. My lord,\" he said to the abbot, \"I hold myself virtually responsible for this last crime, because I have known since this morning that this man should be taken into custody, after I heard the revelations of that other wretch, arrested last night. But as you saw for yourself, during the morning I was occupied with other duties, and my men did their best....\"\n\nHe spoke in a loud voice so that all those present could hear (and the room had meanwhile filled up, people crowding into every corner, looking at the things scattered and destroyed, pointing to the corpse and commenting in low voices on the crime), and, as he spoke, I glimpsed Malachi in the little crowd, grimly observing the scene. The cellarer, about to be dragged away, also glimpsed him. He wrested himself from the archer's grasp and flung himself on his brother, grabbing him by the habit and speaking to him briefly and desperately, his face close to the other man's, until the archers seized him again. But, as he was being led off roughly, he turned again toward Malachi and shouted at him, \"You swear, and I swear!\"\n\nMalachi did not answer at once, as if he were seeking the most suitable words. Then, as the cellarer was being pulled across the threshold, he said, \"I will do nothing to harm you.\"\n\nWilliam and I looked at each other, wondering what was the meaning of this scene. Bernard had also observed it, but did not appear upset by it; rather, he smiled at Malachi, as if to approve his words and to seal with him a sinister bargain. Then he announced that immediately after our meal a first court would meet in the chapter hall to open this investigation publicly. And he went out, ordering the cellarer to be taken to the forges, but not allowed to speak with Salvatore.\n\nAt that moment we heard Benno calling us, at our back. \"I came in right after you,\" he said in a whisper, \"when the room was still half empty, and Malachi was not here.\"\n\n\"He must have entered afterward,\" William said.\n\n\"No,\" Benno insisted, \"I was near the door, I saw the people come in. I tell you, Malachi was already inside... before.\"\n\n\"Before what?\"\n\n\"Before the cellarer entered. I cannot swear it, but I believe he came from behind that curtain, when there were already many of us in here.\" And he nodded toward an ample hanging that concealed the bed where Severinus had usually made anyone who had been given some medication lie down and rest.\n\n\"Are you insinuating he killed Severinus and hid there when the cellarer came in?\" William asked.\n\n\"Or else from behind the curtain he witnessed what happened out here. Why, otherwise, would the cellarer have implored him not to harm him, promising in return not to do him harm, either?\"\n\n\"That is possible,\" William said. \"In any case, there was a book here and it should still be here, because both the cellarer and Malachi went out empty-handed.\" William knew from my report that Benno knew; and at that moment he needed help. He went over to the abbot, who was sadly observing Severinus's corpse; William asked him to make everyone leave, because he wanted to examine the place more closely. The abbot consented and then left, not without giving William a skeptical look, as if reproaching him for always arriving too late. Malachi tried to remain, inventing various reasons, all quite vague; William pointed out that this was not the library, and that here Malachi could claim no rights. William was polite but inflexible, and he got his revenge for the time when Malachi had not allowed him to examine Venantius's desk.\n\nWhen only three of us were left, William cleared the rubble and papers away from one of the tables and told me to hand him, one after another, the books in Severinus's collection. A small collection, compared with the immense one of the labyrinth, but still there were dozens and dozens of volumes, of various sizes, which had formerly stood neatly on the shelves and now lay in disorder on the ground among other objects, already disturbed by the cellarer's frantic hands, some even torn, as if he were seeking not a book but something that could be placed between the pages of a book. Some had been ripped violently, separated from their binding. To collect them, rapidly ascertain their subject, and pile them up on the table was no easy undertaking; and everything had to be done in haste, because the abbot had given us little time: the monks had to come in and lay out Severinus's battered body and prepare it for burial. We also had to move about, search under the tables, behind the shelves, in the cupboards, to see whether anything had escaped the first inspection. William would not let Benno help me and allowed him only to stand guard at the door. Despite the abbot's orders, many were pressing to enter: servants terrified by the news, monks mourning their brother, novices carrying clean cloths and basins of water to wash and enshroud the corpse....\n\nSo we had to act fast. I grabbed the books and handed them to William, who examined them and set them on the table. Then we realized it was a long job, and we proceeded together: I would pick up a book, smooth it out if it was ruffled, read its title, and set it down. In many cases there were only scattered pages.\n\n\"De plantis libri tres. Damnation, that's not it,\" William said, slamming the book on the table.\n\n\"Thesaurus herbarum,\" I said, and William snapped, \"Drop it; we're looking for a Greek book!\"\n\n\"This?\" I asked, showing him a work whose pages were covered with abstruse letters. And William said, \"No, that's Arabic, idiot! Bacon was right: the scholar's first duty is to learn languages!\"\n\n\"But you don't know Arabic, either!\" I replied, irked, to which William answered, \"At least I understand when it is Arabic!\" And I blushed, because I could hear Benno snickering behind my back.\n\nThere were many books, and even more notes, scrolls with drawings of the heavenly vault, catalogues of strange plants, written on scattered pages, probably by the dead man. We worked a long time, exploring every corner of the laboratory. William, with great coldness, even shifted the corpse to see whether there was anything beneath it, and he rummaged inside the habit. Nothing.\n\n\"It has to be done,\" he said. \"Severinus locked himself in here with a book. The cellarer didn't have it.\u2026\"\n\n\"Can he have hidden it inside his habit?\" I asked. \"No, the book I saw the other morning under Venantius's desk was big, and we would have noticed.\"\n\n\"How was it bound?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know. It was lying open, and I saw it only for a few seconds, just long enough to realize it was in Greek, but I remember nothing else. Let us continue; the cellarer didn't take it, nor, I believe, did Malachi.\"\n\n\"Absolutely not,\" Benno confirmed. \"When the cellarer grabbed him by the chest, it was obvious he could have nothing under his scapular.\"\n\n\"Good. Or, rather, bad. If the book is not in this room, obviously someone else, besides Malachi and the cellarer, had come in here before.\"\n\n\"A third person, then, who killed Severinus?\"\n\n\"Too many people,\" William said.\n\n\"But anyway,\" I asked, \"who could have known the book was here?\"\n\n\"Jorge, for example, if he overheard us.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"but Jorge couldn't have killed a strong man like Severinus, and with such violence.\"\n\n\"No, certainly not. Besides, you saw him going toward the Aedificium, and the archers found him in the kitchen shortly before they found the cellarer. So he wouldn't have had time to come here and then go back to the kitchen.\"\n\n\"Let me think with my own head,\" I said, aiming at emulating my master. \"Alinardo was moving around in the vicinity, but he, too, can hardly stand, and he couldn't have overpowered Severinus. The cellarer was here, but the time between his leaving the kitchen and the arrival of the archers was so short that I think it would have been difficult for him to make Severinus open the door, to attack and kill him, and then to make all this mess. Malachi could have come before them all: Jorge hears us in the narthex, he goes to the scriptorium to tell Malachi that a book from the library is in Severinus's laboratory, Malachi comes here, persuades Severinus to open the door, and kills him, God knows why. But if he was looking for the book, he should have recognized it, without all this ransacking, because he's the librarian! So who's left?\"\n\n\"Benno,\" William said.\n\nBenno shook his head, in vigorous denial. \"No, Brother William, you know I was consumed with curiosity. But if I had come in here and had been able to leave with the book, I would not be here now keeping you company; I would be examining my treasure somewhere else....\"\n\n\"An almost convincing argument,\" William said, smiling. \"However, you don't know what the book looks like, either. You could have killed and now you would be here trying to identify the book.\"\n\nBenno blushed violently. \"I am not a murderer!\" he protested.\n\n\"No one is, until he commits his first crime,\" William said philosophically. \"Anyway, the book is missing, and this is sufficient proof that you didn't leave it here.\"\n\nThen he turned to contemplate the corpse. He seemed only at that point to take in his friend's death. \"Poor Severinus,\" he said, \"I had suspected even you and your poisons. And you were expecting some trick with poison; otherwise you wouldn't have worn those gloves. You feared a danger of the earth and instead it came to you from the heavenly vault....\" He picked up the sphere again, observing it with attention. \"I wonder why they used thit particular weapon....\"\n\n\"It was within reach.\"\n\n\"Perhaps. But there were other things, pots, gardening tools.... It is a fine example of the craft of metals and of astronomical science. It is ruined and... Good heavens!\" he cried, \"What is it?\"\n\n\"And the third part of the sun was smitten and the third part of the moon and the third part of the stars\u2026\" he quoted.\n\nI knew all too well the text of John the apostle. \"The fourth trumpet,\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"In fact. First hail, then blood, then water, and now the stars... If this is the case, then everything must be re-examined; the murderer did not strike at random, he was following a plan.... But is it possible to imagine a mind so evil that he kills only when he can do so while following the dictates of the book of the Apocalypse?\"\n\n\"What will happen with the fifth trumpet?\" I asked, terrified. I tried to recall: 'And I saw a star fallen from heaven unto the earth and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.... Will somebody die by drowning in the well?\"\n\n\"The fifth trumpet also promises many other things,\" William said. \"From the pit will come the smoke of a great furnace, then locusts will come from it to torment mankind with a sting similar to a scorpion's. And the shape of the locusts will resemble that of horses, with gold crowns on their heads and lions' teeth.... Our man could have various means at his disposal to carry out the words of the book.... But we must not pursue fantasies. Let us try, rather, to remember what Severinus said to us when he informed us he had found the book....\"\n\n\"You told him to bring it to you and he said he couldn't....\"\n\n\"So he did, and then we were interrupted. Why couldn't he? A book can be carried. And why did he put on gloves? Is there something in the book's binding connected with the poison that killed Berengar and Venantius? A mysterious trap, a poisoned tip...\"\n\n\"A snake!\" I said.\n\n\"Why not a whale? No, we are indulging in fantasies again. The poison, as we have seen, had to enter the mouth. Besides, Severinus didn't actually say he couldn't carry the book. He said he preferred to show it to me here. And then he put on his gloves.... So we know this book must be handled with gloves. And that goes for you, too, Benno, if you find it, as you hope to. And since you're being so helpful, you can help me further. Go up to the scriptorium again and keep an eye on Malachi. Don't let him out of your sight.\"\n\n\"I will!\" Benno said, and he went out, happy at his mission, it seemed to us.\n\nWe could restrain the other monks no longer, and the room was invaded. Mealtime was now past, and Bernard was probably assembling his tribunal in the chapter house.\n\n\"There is nothing more to be done here,\" William said.\n\nWith the infirmary, we abandoned my poor hypothesis, and as we were crossing the vegetable garden I asked William whether he really trusted Benno. \"Not entirely,\" William said, \"but we told him nothing he didn't already know, and we have made him fear the book. And, finally, in setting him to watch Malachi, we are also setting Malachi to watch him, and Malachi is obviously looking for the book on his own.\"\n\n\"What did the cellarer want, then?\"\n\n\"We'll soon know. Certainly he wanted something, and he wanted it quickly, to avert some danger that was terrifying him. This something must be known to Malachi: otherwise there would be no explanation of Remigio's desperate plea to him....\"\n\n\"Anyway, the book has vanished....\"\n\n\"This is the most unlikely thing,\" William said, as we arrived at the chapter house. \"If it was there, as Severinus told us it was, either it's been taken away or it's there still.\"\n\n\"And since it isn't there, someone has taken it away,\" I concluded.\n\n\"It is also possible that the argument should proceed from another minor premise. Since everything confirms the fact that nobody can have taken it away...\"\n\n\"Then it should be there still. But it is not there.\"\n\n\"Just a moment. We say it isn't there because we didn't find it. But perhaps we didn't find it because we haven't seen it where it was.\"\n\n\"But we looked everywhere!\"\n\n\"We looked, but did not see. Or else saw, but did not recognize.... Adso, how did Severinus describe that book to us? What words did he use?\"\n\n\"He said he had found a book that was not one of his, in Greek....\"\n\n\"No! Now I remember. He said a strange book. Severinus was a man of learning, and for a man of learning a book in Greek is not strange; even if that scholar doesn't know Greek, he would at least recognize the alphabet. And a scholar wouldn't call a book in Arabic strange, either, even if he doesn't know Arabic....\" He broke off. \"And what was an Arabic book doing in Severinus's laboratory?\"\n\n\"But why should he have called an Arabic book strange?\"\n\n\"This is the problem. If he called it strange it was because it had an unusual appearance, unusual at least for him, who was an herbalist and not a librarian.... And in libraries it can happen that several ancient manuscripts are bound together, collecting in one volume various and curious texts, one in Greek, one in Aramaic...\"\n\n\"\u2026 and one in Arabic!\" I cried, dazzled by this illumination.\n\nWilliam roughly dragged me out of the narthex and sent me running toward the infirmary. \"You Teuton animal, you turnip! You ignoramus! You looked only at the first pages and not at the rest!\"\n\n\"But, master,\" I gasped, \"you're the one who looked at the pages I showed you and said it was Arabic and not Greek!\"\n\n\"That's true, Adso, that's true: I'm the animal. Now hurry! Run!\"\n\nWe went back to the laboratory, but we had trouble entering, because the novices were carrying out the corpse. Other curious visitors were roaming about the room. William rushed to the table and picked up the volumes, seeking the fatal one, flinging away one after another before the amazed eyes of those present, then opening and reopening them all again. Alas, the Arabic manuscript was no longer there. I remembered it vaguely because of its old cover, not strong, quite worn, with light metal bands.\n\n\"Who came in here after I left?\" William asked a monk. The monk shrugged: it was clear that everyone and no one had come in.\n\nWe tried to consider the possibilities. Malachi? It was possible; he knew what he wanted, had perhaps spied on us, had seen us go out empty-handed, and had come back, sure of himself. Benno? I remembered that when William and I had gibed at each other over the Arabic text, he had laughed. At the time I believed he was laughing at my ignorance, but perhaps he had been laughing at William's ingenuousness: he knew very well the various guises in which an ancient manuscript could appear, and perhaps he had thought what we did not think immediately but should have thought namely, that Severinus knew no Arabic, and so it was odd that he should keep among his books one he was unable to read. Or was there a third person?\n\nWilliam was deeply humiliated. I tried to comfort him; I told him that for three days he had been looking for a text in Greek and it was natural in the course of his examination for him to discard all books not in Greek. And he answered that it is certainly human to make mistakes, but there are some human beings who make more than others, and they are called fools, and he was one of them, and he wondered whether it was worth the effort to study in Paris and Oxford if one was then incapable of thinking that manuscripts are also bound in groups, a fact even novices know, except stupid ones like me, and a pair of clowns like the two of us would be a great success at fairs, and that was what we should do instead of trying to solve mysteries, especially when we were up against people far more clever than we.\n\n\"But there's no use weeping,\" he concluded. \"If Malachi took it, he has already replaced it in the library. And we would find it only if we knew how to enter the finis Africae. If Benno took it, he must have assumed that sooner or later I would have the suspicion I did have and would return to the laboratory, or he wouldn't have acted in such haste. And so he must be hiding, and the one place where he has not hidden surely is the one where we would look for him immediately: namely, his cell. Therefore, let's go back to the chapter house and see if during the interrogation the cellarer says anything useful. Because, after all, I still don't see Bernard's plan clearly; he was seeking his man before the death of Severinus, and for other reasons.\"\n\nWe went back to the chapter. We would have done better to go to Benno's cell, because, as we were to learn later, our young friend did not have such a high opinion of William and had not thought he would go back to the laboratory so quickly; so, thinking he was not being sought from that quarter, he had gone straight to his cell to hide the book.\n\nBut I will tell of this later. In the meantime dramatic and disturbing events took place, enough to make anyone forget about the mysterious book. And though we did not forget it, we were engaged by other urgent tasks, connected with the mission that William, after all, was supposed to fulfill."
            },
            {
                "title": "NONES",
                "text": "In which justice is meted out, and there is the embarrassing impression that everyone is wrong.\n\nBernard Gui took his place at the center of the great walnut table in the chapter hall. Beside him a Dominican performed the function of notary, and two prelates of the papal legation sat flanking him, as judges. The cellarer was standing before the table, between two archers.\n\nThe abbot turned to William and whispered: \"I do not know whether this procedure is legitimate. The Lateran Council of 1215 decreed in its Canon Thirty-seven that a person cannot be summoned to appear before judges whose seat is more than two days' march from his domicile. Here the situation is perhaps different; it is the judge who has come from a great distance, but...\"\n\n\"The inquisitor is exempt from all normal jurisdiction,\" William said, \"and does not have to follow the precepts of ordinary law. He enjoys a special privilege and is not even bound to hear lawyers.\"\n\nI looked at the cellarer. Remigio was in wretched shape. He looked around like a frightened animal, as if he recognized the movements and gestures of a liturgy he feared. Now I know he was afraid for two reasons, equally terrifying: one, that he had been caught, to all appearances, in flagrant crime; the other, that the day before, when Bernard had begun his inquiry, collecting rumors and insinuations, Remigio had already been afraid his past would come to light; and his alarm had grown when he saw them arrest Salvatore.\n\nIf the hapless Remigio was in the grip ;of his own fear, Bernard Gui, for his part, knew how to transform his victims' fear into terror. He did not speak: while all were now expecting him to begin the interrogation, he kept his hands on the papers he had before him, pretending to arrange them, but absently. His gaze was really fixed on the accused, and it was a gaze in which hypocritical indulgence (as if to say: Never fear, you are in the hands of a fraternal assembly that can only want your good) mixed with icy irony (as if to say: You do not yet know what your good is, and I will shortly tell you) and merciless severity (as if to say: But in any case I am your judge here, and you are in my power). All things that the cellarer already knew, but which the judge's silence and delay served to make him feel more deeply, so that, as he became more and more humiliated, his uneasiness would be transformed into desperation instead of relaxation, and he would belong entirely to the judge, soft wax in his hands.\n\nFinally Bernard broke the silence. He uttered some ritual formulas, told the judges they would now proceed to the interrogation of the defendant with regard to two equally odious crimes, one of which was obvious to all but less deplorable than the other, because the defendant had been surprised in the act of murder when he was actually being sought for the crime of heresy.\n\nIt was said. The cellarer hid his face in his hands, which he could move only with difficulty because they were bound in chains. Bernard began the questioning.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Remigio of Varagine. I was born fifty-two years ago, and while still a boy, I entered the convent of the Minorites in Varagine.\"\n\n\"And how does it happen that today you are found in the order of Saint Benedict?\"\n\n\"Years ago, when the Pope issued the bull Sancta Romana, because I was afraid of being infected by the heresy of the Fraticelli\u2026 though I had never shared their notions... I thought it was better for my sinning soul to escape an atmosphere filled with seductions, and I applied and was received among the monks of this abbey, where for more than eight years I have served as cellarer.\"\n\n\"You escaped the seductions of heresy,\" Bernard mocked, \"or, rather, you escaped the investigation of those who had determined to discover the heresy and uproot it, and the good Cluniac monks believed they were performing an act of charity in receiving you and those like you. But changing habit is not enough to erase from the soul the evil of heretical depravity, and so we are here now to find out what lurks in the recesses of your impenitent soul and what you did before arriving at this holy place.\"\n\n\"My soul is innocent and I do not know what you mean when you speak of heretical depravity,\" the cellarer said cautiously.\n\n\"You see?\" Bernard cried, addressing the other judges. \"They're all alike! When one of them is arrested, he faces judgment as if his conscience were at peace and without remorse. And they do not realize this is the most obvious sign of their guilt, because a righteous man on trial is uneasy! Ask him whether he knows the reason why I had ordered his arrest. Do you know it, Remigio?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" the cellarer replied, \"I would be happy to learn it from your lips.\"\n\nI was surprised, because it seemed to me the cellarer was answering the ritual questions with equally ritual words, as if he were well versed in the rules of the investigation and its pitfalls and had long been trained to face such an eventuality.\n\n\"There,\" Bernard cried, \"the typical reply of the impenitent heretic! They cover trails like foxes and it is very difficult to catch them out, because their beliefs grant them the right to lie in order to evade due punishment. They recur to tortuous answers, trying to trap the inquisitor, who already has to endure contact with such loathsome people. So then, Remigio, you have never had anything to do with the so-called Fraticelli or Friars of the Poor Life, or the Beghards?\"\n\n\"I experienced the vicissitudes of the Minorites when there was long debate about poverty, but I have never belonged to the sect of the Beghards!\"\n\n\"You see?\" Bernard said. \"He denies ever having been a Beghard, because the Beghards, though they share the heresy of the Fraticelli, consider the latter a dead branch of the Franciscan order and consider themselves more pure and perfect. But much of the behavior of one group is like that of the others. Can you deny, Remigio, that you have been seen in church, huddled down with your face against the wall, or prostrate with your hood over your head, instead of kneeling with folded hands like other men?\"\n\n\"Also in the order of Saint Benedict the monks prostrate themselves, at the proper times.\u2026\"\n\n\"I am not asking what you did at the proper times, but at the improper ones! So do not deny that you assumed one posture or the other, typical of the Beghards! But you are not a Beghard, you say.... Tell me, then: what do you believe?\"\n\n\"My lord, I believe everything a good Christian should....\"\n\n\"A holy reply! And what does a good Christian believe?\"\n\n\"What the holy church teaches.\"\n\n\"And which holy church? The church that is so considered by those believers who call themselves perfect, the Pseudo Apostles, the heretical Fraticelli, or the church they compare to the whore of Babylon, in which all of us devoutly believe?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" the cellarer said, bewildered, \"tell me which you believe is the true church....\"\n\n\"I believe it is the Roman church, one, holy, and apostolic, governed by the Pope and his bishops.\"\n\n\"So I believe,\" the cellarer said.\n\n\"Admirable shrewdness!\" the inquisitor cried. \"Admirable cleverness de dicto! You all heard him: he means to say he believes that I believe in this church, and he evades the requirement of saying what he believes in! But we know well these weasel tricks! Let us come to the point. Do you believe that the sacraments were instituted by our Lord, that to do true penance you must confess to the servants of God, that the Roman church has the power to loosen and to bind on this earth that which will be bound and loosened in heaven?\"\n\n\"Should I not believe that?\"\n\n\"I did not ask what you should believe, but what you do believe!\"\n\n\"I believe everything that you and the other good doctors command me to believe,\" the frightened cellarer said.\n\n\"Ah! But are not the good doctors you mention perhaps those who command your sect? Is this what you meant when you spoke of the good doctors? Are these perverse liars the men you follow in recognizing your articles of faith? You imply that if I believe what they believe, then you will believe me; otherwise you will believe only them!\"\n\n\"I did not say that, my lord,\" the cellarer stammered. \"You are making me say it. I believe you, if you teach me what is good.\"\n\n\"Oh, what impudence!\" Bernard shouted, slamming his fist on the table. \"You repeat from memory with grim obstinacy the formula they teach in your sect. You say you will believe me only if I preach what your sect considers good. Thus the Pseudo Apostles have always answered and thus you answer now, perhaps without realizing it, because from your lips again the words emerge that you were once trained for deceiving inquisitors. And so you are accusing yourself with your own words, and I would fall into your trap only if I had not had a long experience of inquisition.... But let us come to the real question, perverse man! Have you ever heard of Gherardo Segarelli of Parma?\"\n\n\"I have heard him spoken of,\" the cellarer said, turning pale, if one could still speak of pallor on that destroyed face.\n\n\"Have you ever heard of Fra Dolcino of Novara?\"\n\n\"I have heard him spoken of.\"\n\n\"Have you ever seen him in person and had conversation with him?\"\n\nThe cellarer remained silent for a few moments, as if to gauge how far he should go in telling a part of the truth. Then he made up his mind and said' in a faint voice, \"I have seen him and spoken with him.\"\n\n\"Louder!\" Bernard shouted. \"Let a word of truth finally be heard escaping your lips! When did you speak with him?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" the cellarer said, \"I was a monk in a convent near Novara when Dolcino's people gathered in those parts, and they even went past my convent, and at first no one knew clearly who they were....\"\n\n\"You lie! How could a Franciscan of Varagine be in a convent in the Novara region? You were not in a convent, you were already a member of a band of Fraticelli roaming around those lands and living on alms, and then you joined the Dolcinians!\"\n\n\"How can you assert that, sir?\" the cellarer asked, trembling.\n\n\"I will tell you how I can, indeed I must, assert it,\" Bernard said, and he ordered Salvatore to be brought in.\n\nThe sight of the wretch, who had certainly spent the night under his own interrogation, not public and more severe than this one, moved me to pity. Salvatore's face, as I have said, was horrible normally, but that morning it was more bestial than ever. And though it showed no signs of violence, the way his chained body moved, the limbs disjointed, almost incapable of walking, the way he was dragged by the archers like a monkey tied to a rope, revealed very clearly how his ghastly questioning must have proceeded.\n\n\"Bernard has tortured him...\" I murmured to William.\n\n\"Not at all,\" William answered. \"An inquisitor never tortures. The custody of the defendant's body is always entrusted to the secular arm.\"\n\n\"But it's the same thing!\" I said.\n\n\"Not in the least. It isn't the same thing for the inquisitor, whose hands remain clean, or for the accused, who, when the inquisitor arrives, suddenly finds support in him, an easing of his sufferings, and so he opens his heart.\"\n\nI looked at my master. \"You're jesting,\" I said, aghast.\n\n\"Do these seem things to jest about?\" William replied.\n\nBernard was now questioning Salvatore, and my pen cannot transcribe the man's broken words\u2014if it were possible, more Babelish than ever, as he answered, unmanned, reduced to the state of a baboon, while all understood him only with difficulty. Guided by Bernard, who asked the questions in such a way that he could reply only yes or no, Salvatore was unable to tell any lies. And what Salvatore said my reader can easily imagine. He told, or confirmed that he had told during the night, a part of that story I had already pieced together: his wanderings as a Fraticello, Shepherd, and Pseudo Apostle; and how in the days of Fra Dolcino he met Remigio among the Dolcinians and escaped with him, following the Battle of Monte Rebello, taking refuge after various ups and downs in the Casale convent. Further, he added that the heresiarch Dolcino, near defeat and capture, had entrusted to Remigio certain letters, to be carried he did not know where or to whom. And Remigio always carried those letters with him, never daring to deliver them, and on his arrival at the abbey, afraid of keeping them on his person but not wanting to destroy them, he entrusted them to the librarian, yes, to Malachi, who was to hide them somewhere in the recesses of the Aedificium.\n\nAs Salvatore spoke, the cellarer was looking at him with hatred, and at a certain point he could not restrain himself from shouting, \"Snake, lascivious monkey, I was your father, friend, shield, and this is how you repay me!\"\n\nSalvatore looked at his protector, now in need of protection, and answered, with an effort, \"Lord Remigio, while I could be, I was your man. And you were to me dilectissimo. But you know the chief constable's family. Qui non habet caballum vadat cum pede.\u2026\"\n\n\"Madman!\" Remigio shouted at him again. \"Are you hoping to save yourself? You, too, will die as a heretic, you know? Say that you spoke under torture; say you invented it all!\"\n\n\"What do I know, lord, what all these heresias are called.... Patarini, gazzesi, leoniste, arnaldiste, speroniste, circoncisi... I am not homo literatus. I sinned with no malicia, and Signor Bernardo Magnificentissimo knows it, and I am hoping in his indulgencia in nomine patre et filio et spiritis sanctis\u2026\"\n\n\"We shall be indulgent insofar as our office allows,\" the inquisitor said, \"and we shall consider with paternal benevolence the good will with which you have opened your spirit. Go now, go and meditate further in your cell, and trust in the mercy of the Lord. Now we must debate a question of quite different import. So, then, Remigio, you were carrying with you some letters from Dolcino, and you gave them to your brother monk who is responsible for the library....\"\n\n\"That is not true, not true!\" the cellarer cried, as if such a defense could still be effective. And, rightly, Bernard interrupted him: \"But you are not the one who must confirm this: it is Malachi of Hildesheim.\"\n\nHe had the librarian called, but Malachi was not among those present. I knew he was either in the scriptorium or near the infirmary, seeking Benno and the book. They went to fetch him, and when he appeared, distraught, trying to look no one in the face, William muttered with dismay, \"And now Benno is free to do what he pleases.\" But he was mistaken, because I saw Benno's face peep up over the shoulders of the other monks crowding around the door of the hall, to follow the interrogation. I pointed him out to William. We thought that Benno's curiosity about what was happening was even stronger than his curiosity about the book. Later we learned that, by then, he had already concluded an ignoble bargain of his own.\n\nMalachi appeared before the judges, his eyes never meeting those of the cellarer.\n\n\"Malachi,\" Bernard said, \"this morning, after Salvatore's confession during the night, I asked you whether you had received from the defendant here present any letters....\"\n\n\"Malachi!\" the cellarer cried. \"You swore you would do nothing to harm me!\"\n\nMalachi shifted slightly toward the defendant, to whom his back was turned, and said in a low voice, which I could barely hear, \"I did not swear falsely. If I could have done anything to harm you, it was done already. The letters were handed over to Lord Bernard this morning, before you killed Severinus....\"\n\n\"But you know, you must know. I didn't kill Severinus! You know because you were there before me!\"\n\n\"I?\" Malachi asked. \"I went in there after they discovered you.\"\n\n\"Be that as it may,\" Bernard interrupted, \"what were you looking for in Severinus's laboratory, Remigio?\"\n\nThe cellarer turned to William with dazed eyes, then looked at Malachi, then at Bernard again. \"But this morning I... I heard Brother William here present tell Severinus to guard certain papers... and since last night, since Salvatore was captured, I have been afraid those letters\u2014\"\n\n\"Then you know something about those letters!\" Bernard cried triumphantly. The cellarer at this point was trapped. He was caught between two necessities: to clear himself of the accusation of heresy, and to dispel the suspicion of murder. He must have decided to face the second accusation\u2014instinctively, because by now he was acting by no rule, and without counsel. \"I will talk about the letters later.... I will explain... I will tell how they came into my possession.... But let me tell what happened this morning. I thought there would be talk of those letters when I saw Salvatore fall into the hands of Lord Bernard; for years the memory of those letters has been tormenting my heart... Then when I heard William and Severinus speaking of some papers... I cannot say... overcome with fear, I thought Malachi had got rid of them and given them to Severinus.... I wanted to destroy them and so I went to Severinus.... The door was open and Severinus was already dead, I started searching through his things for the letters.... I was just afraid....\"\n\nWilliam whispered into my ear, \"Poor fool, fearing one danger, he has plunged headlong into another....\"\n\n\"Let us assume that you are telling almost\u2014I say, almost\u2014the truth,\" Bernard intervened. \"You thought Severinus had the letters and you looked for them in his laboratory. And why did you think he had them? Why did you first kill the other brothers? Did you perhaps think those letters had for some time been passing through many hands? Is it perhaps customary in this abbey to gather relics of burned heretics?\"\n\nI saw the abbot start. Nothing could be more insidious than an accusation of collecting relics of heretics, and Bernard was very sly in mixing the murders with heresy, and every thing with the life of the abbey. I was interrupted in my reflections by the cellarer, who was shouting that he had nothing to do with the other crimes. Bernard indulgently calmed him: this, for the moment, was not the question they were discussing, Remigio was being interrogated for a crime of heresy, and he should not attempt (and here Bernard's voice became stern) to draw attention away from his heretical past by speaking of Severinus or trying to cast suspicion on Malachi. So he should therefore return to the letters.\n\n\"Malachi of Hildesheim,\" he said, addressing the witness. \"You are not here as a defendant. This morning you answered my questions and my request with no attempt to hide anything. Now you will repeat here what you said to me this morning, and you will have nothing to fear.\"\n\n\"I repeat what I said this morning,\" Malachi said. \"A short time after Remigio arrived up here, he began to take charge of the kitchen, and we met frequently for reasons connected with our duties\u2014as librarian, I am charged with shutting up the whole Aedificium at night, and therefore also the kitchen. I have no reason to deny that we became close friends, nor had I any reason to harbor suspicions of this man. He told me that he had with him some documents of a secret nature, entrusted to him in confession, which should not fall into profane hands and which he dared not keep himself. Since I was in charge of the only part of the monastery forbidden to all the others, he asked me to keep those papers, far from any curious gaze, and I consented, never suspecting the documents were of a heretical nature, nor did I even read them as I placed them\u2026 I placed them in the most inaccessible of the secret rooms of the library, and after that I forgot this matter, until this morning, when the lord inquisitor mentioned the papers to me, and then I fetched them and handed them over to him....\"\n\nThe abbot, frowning, took the floor. \"Why did you not inform me of this agreement of yours with the cellarer? The library is not intended to house things belonging to the monks!\" The abbot had made it clear that the abbey had no connection with this business.\n\n\"My lord,\" Malachi answered, confused, \"it seemed to me a thing of scarce importance. I sinned without malice.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course,\" Bernard said, in a cordial tone, \"we are all convinced the librarian acted in good faith, and his frankness in collaborating with this court is proof. I fraternally beg Your Magnificence not to chastise him for this imprudent act of the past. We believe Malachi. And we ask him only to confirm now, under oath, that the papers I will now show him are those he gave me this morning and are those that Remigio of Varagine consigned to him years ago, after his arrival at the abbey.\" He displayed two parchments among the papers lying on the table. Malachi looked at them and said in a firm voice, \"I swear by God the Father Almighty, by the most holy Virgin, and by all the saints that so it is and so it was.\"\n\n\"That is enough for me,\" Bernard said. \"You may go, Malachi of Hildesheim.\"\n\nJust before Malachi reached the door, his head bowed, a voice was heard from the curious crowd packed at the rear of the hall: \"You hid his letters and he showed you the novices' asses in the kitchen!\" There was some scattered laughter, and Malachi hurried out, pushing others aside left and right. I could have sworn the voice was Aymaro's, but the words had been shouted in falsetto. The abbot, his face purple, shouted for silence and threatened terrible punishments for all, commanding the monks to clear the hall. Bernard smiled treacherously; Cardinal Bertrand, at one side of the hall, bent to the ear of Jean d'Anneaux and said something to him. The other man reacted by covering his mouth with his hand and bowing his head as if he were coughing. William said to me, \"The cellarer was not only a carnal sinner for his own purposes; he also acted as procurer. But Bernard cares nothing about that, except that it embarrasses Abo, the imperial mediator.\u2026\"\n\nHe was interrupted by Bernard, who now spoke straight to him. \"I would also be interested to know from you, Brother William, what papers you were talking about this morning with Severinus, when the cellarer overheard you and misunderstood.\"\n\nWilliam returned his gaze. \"He did misunderstand me, in fact. We were referring to a copy of the treatise on canine hydrophobia by Ayyub al-Ruhawi, a remarkably erudite book that you must surely know of by reputation, and which must often have been of great use to you. Hydrophobia, Ayyub says, may be recognized by twenty-five evident signs....\"\n\nBernard, who belonged to the order of the Dominicans, the Domini canes, the Lord's dogs, did not consider it opportune to start another battle. \"So the matters were extraneous to the case under discussion,\" he said rapidly. And the trial continued.\n\n\"Let us come back to you, Brother Remigio, Minorite, far more dangerous than a hydrophobic dog. If Brother William in these past few days had paid more attention to the drool of heretics than to that of dogs, perhaps he would also have discovered what a viper was nesting in the abbey. Let us go back to these letters. Now, we know for certain that they were in your hands and that you took care to hide them as if they were a most poisonous thing, and that you actually killed\"\u2014with a gesture he forestalled an attempt at denial\u2014\"and of the killing we will speak later... that you killed, I was saying, so that I would never have them. So you recognize these papers as your possessions?\"\n\nThe cellarer did not answer, but his silence was sufficiently eloquent. So Bernard insisted: \"And what are these papers? They are two pages written in the hand of the heresiarch Dolcino, a few days before his capture. He entrusted them to a disciple who would take them to others of his sect still scattered about Italy. I could read you everything said in them, how Dolcino, fearing his imminent end, entrusts a message of hope\u2014he says to his brethren\u2014in the Devil! He consoles them, and though the dates he announces here do not coincide with those of his previous letters, when for the year 1305 he promised the complete destruction of all priests at the hand of the Emperor Frederick, still, he declares, this destruction was not far off. Once again the heresiarch was lying, because twenty and more years have gone by since that day, and none of his sinful predictions has come true. But it is not the ridiculous presumption of these prophecies that we must discuss but, rather, the fact that Remigio was their bearer. Can you still deny, heretical and impenitent monk, that you had traffic and cohabitation with the sect of the Pseudo Apostles?\"\n\nThe cellarer at this point could deny no longer. \"My lord,\" he said, \"my youth was filled with the direst errors. When I learned of the preaching of Dolcino, already seduced as I was by the Friars of the Poor Life, I believed in his words and I joined his band. Yes, it is true, I was with them in the regions of Brescia and Bergamo, I was with them at Como and in Valsesia, with them I took refuge on Bald Mountain and in the Rassa Valley, and finally on Monte Rebello. But I never took part in any evil deed, and when they began their sacking and their violence, I still maintained within me the spirit of meekness that was the quality of the sons of Francis, and on Monte Rebello itself I told Dolcino I no longer felt capable of participating in their battle, and he gave me permission to leave, because, he said, he did not want cowards with him, and he asked me only to take those letters for him to Bologna....\"\n\n\"To whom?\" Cardinal Bertrand asked.\n\n\"To some sectarians of his, whose names I believe I can remember, and when I remember them, I will tell them to you, my lord,\" Remigio hastily affirmed. And he uttered the names of some men that Cardinal Bertrand seemed to know, because he smiled with a contented look, exchanging a nod of approval with Bernard.\n\n\"Very well,\" Bernard said, and he made a note of those names. Then he asked Remigio, \"And why are you now handing your friends over to us?\"\n\n\"They are not friends of mine, my lord, and the proof is that I never delivered the letters. Indeed, I went further, and I will say it now after having tried to forget it for so many years: in order to leave that place without being seized by the Bishop of Vercelli's army, which was awaiting us on the plain, I managed to get in touch with some of his men, and in exchange for a safe-conduct I told them the passages that were good for attacking Dolcino's fortifications, so that the success of the church's troops was in part due to my collaboration.\u2026\"\n\n\"Very interesting. This tells us that you were not only a heretic, but also a coward and a traitor. Which does not alter your situation. just as today you tried to save yourself by accusing Malachi, who had done you a favor, so, then, to save yourself you handed your companions in sin over to the forces of law. But you betrayed their bodies, never their teachings, and you kept those letters as relics, hoping one day to have the courage, and the opportunity without running any risks, to deliver them, to win again the favor of the Pseudo Apostles.\"\n\n\"No, my lord, no,\" the cellarer said, covered with sweat, his hands shaking. \"No, I swear to you that...\"\n\n\"An oath!\" Bernard said. \"Here is another proof of your guile! You want to swear because you know that I know how Waldensian heretics are prepared to use any duplicity, and even to suffer death, rather than swear! And if fear overcomes them, they pretend to swear and mutter false oaths! But I am well aware you do not belong to the sect of the Poor of Lyons, you wicked fox, and you are trying to convince me you are not what you are not so I will not say you are what you are! You swear, do you? You swear, hoping to be absolved, but I tell you this: a single oath is not enough for me! I can require one, two, three, a hundred, as many as I choose. I know very well that you Pseudo Apostles grant dispensations to those who swear false oaths rather than betray the sect. And so every oath will be further proof of your guilt!\"\n\n\"But what must I do, then?\" the cellarer shouted, falling to his knees.\n\n\"Do not prostrate yourself like a Beghard! You must do nothing. At this point, only I know what must be done,\" Bernard said, with a terrible smile. \"You must only confess. And you will be damned and condemned if you confess, and damned and condemned if you do not confess, because you will be punished as a perjurer! So confess, then, if only to shorten this most painful interrogation, which distresses our consciences and our sense of meekness and compassion!\"\n\n\"But what must I confess?\"\n\n\"Two orders of sins: That you were in the sect of Dolcino, that you shared, its heretical notions, and its actions and its offenses to the dignity of the bishops and the city magistrates, that you impenitently continue in those lies and illusions, even though the heresiarch is dead and the sect has been dispersed, though not entirely extirpated and destroyed. And that, corrupted in your innermost spirit by the practices learned among the foul sect, you are guilty of the disorders against God and man perpetrated in this abbey, for reasons that still elude me but which need not even be totally clarified, once it has been luminously demonstrated (as we are doing) that the heresy of those who preached and preach poverty, against the teachings of the lord Pope and his bulls, can only lead to criminal acts. This is what the faithful must learn, and this will be enough for me. Confess.\"\n\nWhat Bernard wanted was clear. Without the slightest interest in knowing who had killed the other monks, he wanted only to show that Remigio somehow shared the ideas propounded by the Emperor's theologians. And once he had shown the connection between those ideas, which were also those of the chapter of Perugia, and the ideas of the Fraticelli and the Dolcinians, and had shown that one man in that abbey subscribed to all those heresies and had been the author of many crimes, he would thus have dealt a truly mortal blow to his adversaries. I looked at William and saw that he had understood but could do nothing, even though he had foreseen it all. I looked at the abbot and saw his face was grim: he was realizing, belatedly, that he, too, had been drawn into a trap, and that his own authority as mediator was crumbling, now that he was going to appear to be lord of a place where all the evils of the century had chosen to assemble. As for the cellarer, by now he no longer knew of what crime he might still try to proclaim his innocence. But perhaps at that moment he was incapable of any calculation; the cry that escaped his throat was the cry of his soul, and in it and with it he was releasing years of long and secret remorse. Or, rather, after a life of uncertainties, enthusiasms, and disappointments, cowardice and betrayal, faced with the ineluctability of his ruin, he decided to profess the faith of his youth, no longer asking himself whether it was right or wrong; but as if to prove to himself that he was capable of some faith.\n\n\"Yes, it is true,\" he shouted, \"I was with Dolcino, and I shared in his crimes, his license; perhaps I was mad, I confused the love of our Lord Jesus Christ with the need for freedom and with hatred of bishops. It is true that I have sinned, but I am innocent of everything that has happened in the abbey, I swear!\"\n\n\"For the present we have achieved something,\" Bernard said, \"since you admit having practiced the heresy of the Dolcinians, the witch Margaret, and her companions. Do you admit being with them near Trivero, when they hanged many faithful Christians, including an innocent child of ten? And when they hanged other men in the presence of their wives and parents because they would not submit to the whim of those dogs? Because, by then, blinded by your fury and pride, you thought no one could be saved unless he belonged to your community? Speak!\"\n\n\"Yes, I believed those things and did those things!\"\n\n\"And you were present when they captured some followers of the bishops and starved some to death in prison, and they cut off the arm and the hand of a woman with child, leaving her then to give birth to a baby who immediately died, unbaptized? And you were with them when they set fire and razed to the ground the villages of Mosso, Trivero, Cossila, and Clecchia, and many other localities in the zone of Crepacorio, and many houses of Mortiliano and Quorino, and they burned the church in Trivero after befouling the sacred images, tearing tombstones from the altars, breaking an arm of the statue of the Virgin, looting the chalices and vessels and books, destroying the spire, shattering the bells, seizing all the vessels of the confraternity and the possessions of the priest?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I was there, and none of us knew what we were doing by then, we wanted to herald the moment of punishment, we were the vanguard of the Emperor sent by heaven and the holy Pope, we were to hasten the descent of the angel of Philadelphia, when all would receive the grace of the Holy Spirit and the church would be renewed, and after the destruction of all the perverse, only the perfect would reign!\"\n\nThe cellarer seemed at once possessed and illuminated, the dam of silence and simulation now seemed broken, his past was returning not only in words but also in images, and he was feeling again the emotions that at one time had exalted him.\n\n\"So,\" Bernard resumed, \"you confess that you have revered Gherardo Segarelli as a martyr, that you have denied all power to the Roman church and declared that neither the Pope nor any authority could ordain for you a life different from the one your people led, that no one had the right to excommunicate you, that since the time of Saint Sylvester all the prelates of the church had been prevaricators and seducers except Peter of Morrone, that laymen are not required to pay tithes to priests who do not practice a condition of absolute perfection and poverty as the first apostles practiced, that tithes therefore should be paid to your sect alone, who are the only apostles and paupers of Christ, that to pray to God in a stable or in a consecrated church is the same thing; you also confess that you went through villages and seduced people crying 'Penitenziagite,' that you treacherously sang the 'Salve Regina' to draw crowds, and you passed yourselves off as penitents leading a perfect life before the eyes of the world and then allowed yourselves every license and every lustfulness because you did not believe in the sacrament of matrimony or in any other sacrament, and, deeming yourselves purer than anyone else, you could allow yourselves every filthiness and every offense to your bodies and the bodies of others? Speak!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I confess the true faith which I then believed with my whole soul, I confess that we took off our garments in sign of renunciation, that we renounced all our belongings while you, race of dogs, will never renounce anything; and from that time on we never accepted money from anyone or carried any about our persons, and we lived on alms and we saved nothing for the morrow, and when they received us and set a table for us, we ate and went away, leaving on the table anything that remained....\"\n\n\"And you burned and looted to seize the possessions of good Christians!\"\n\n\"And we burned and looted because we had proclaimed poverty the universal law, and we had the right to appropriate the illegitimate riches of others, and we wanted to strike at the heart of the network of greed that extended from parish to parish, but we never looted in order to possess, or killed in order to loot; we killed to punish, to purify the impure through blood. Perhaps we were driven by an overweening. desire for justice: a man can sin also through overweening love of God, through superabundance of perfection. We were the true spiritual congregation sent by the Lord and destined for the glory of the last days; we sought our reward in paradise, hastening the time of your destruction. We alone were the apostles of Christ, all the others had betrayed him, and Gherardo Segarelli had been a divine plant, planta Dei pullulans in radice fidei; our Rule came to us directly from God. We had to kill the innocent as well, in order to kill all of you more quickly. We wanted a better world, of peace and sweetness and happiness for all, we wanted to kill the war that you brought on with your greed, because you reproached us when, to establish justice and happiness, we had to shed a little blood.... The fact is... the fact is that it did not take much, the hastening, and it was worth turning the waters of the Carnasco red that day at Stavello, there was our own blood, too, we did not spare ourselves, our blood and your blood, much of it, at once, immediately, the times of Dolcino's prophecy were at hand, we had to hasten the course of events....\"\n\nHis whole body trembling, he rubbed his hands over his habit as if he wanted to cleanse them of the blood he was recalling. \"The glutton has become pure again,\" William said to me.\n\n\"But is this purity?\" I asked, horrified.\n\n\"There must be some other kind as well,\" William said, \"but, however it is, it always frightens me.\"\n\n\"What terrifies you most in purity?\" I asked.\n\n\"Haste,\" William answered.\n\n\"Enough, enough,\" Bernard was saying now. \"We sought a confession from you, not a summons to massacre. Very well, not only have you been a heretic: you are one still. Not only have you been a murderer: you have murdered again. Now tell us how you killed your brothers in this abbey, and why.\"\n\nThe cellarer stopped trembling, looked around as if he were coming out of a dream. \"No,\" he said, \"I have nothing to do with the crimes in the abbey. I have confessed everything I did: do not make me confess what I have not done....\"\n\n\"But what remains that you cannot have done? Do you now say you are innocent? O lamb, O model of meekness! You have heard him: he once had his hands steeped in blood and now he is innocent! Perhaps we were mistaken, Remigio of Varagine is a paragon of virtue, a loyal son of the church, an enemy of the enemies of Christ, he has always respected the order that the hand of the church has toiled to impose on villages and cities, the peace of trade, the craftsmen's shops, the treasures of the churches. He is innocent, he has committed nothing. Here, come to my arms, Brother Remigio, that I may console you for the accusations that evil men have brought against you!\" And as Remigio looked at him with dazed eyes, as if he were all of a sudden believing in a final absolution, Bernard resumed his demeanor and addressed the captain of the archers in a tone of command:\n\n\"It revolts me to have recourse to measures the church has always criticized when they are employed by the secular arm. But there is a law that governs and directs even my personal feelings. Ask the abbot to provide a place where the instruments of torture can be installed. But do not proceed at once. For three days let him remain in a cell, with his hands and feet in irons. Then have the instruments shown him. Only shown. And then, on the fourth day, proceed. justice is not inspired by haste, as the Pseudo Apostles believe, and the justice of God has centuries at its disposal. Proceed slowly, and by degrees. And, above all, remember what has been said again and again: avoid mutilations and the risk of death. One of the benefits this procedure grants the criminal is precisely that death be savored and expected, but it must not come before confession is full, and voluntary, and purifying.\"\n\nThe archers bent to lift the cellarer, but he planted his feet on the ground and put up resistance, indicating he wanted to speak. Given leave, he spoke, but the words could hardly come from his mouth, and his speech was like a drunkard's mumbling, and there was something obscene about it. Only gradually did he regain that kind of savage energy that had marked his confession a moment before.\n\n\"No, my lord. No, not torture. I am a cowardly man. I betrayed then, I denied for eleven years in this monastery my past faith, collecting tithes from vinedressers and peasants, inspecting stables and sties so that they would flourish and enrich the abbot; I have collaborated readily in the management of this estate of the Antichrist. And I was well off, I had forgotten my days of revolt, I wallowed in the pleasures of the palate and in others as well. I am a coward. Today I sold my former brothers of Bologna, then I sold Dolcino. And as a coward, disguised as one of the men of the crusade, I witnessed the capture of Dolcino and Margaret, when on Holy Saturday they were taken in the castle of Bugello. I wandered around Vercelli for three months until Pope Clement's letter arrived with the death sentence. And I saw Margaret cut to pieces before Dolcino's eyes, and she screamed, disemboweled as she was, poor body that I, too, had touched one night.... And as her lacerated body was burning, they fell on Dolcino and pulled off his nose and his testicles with burning tongs, and it is not true what they said afterward, that he did not utter even a moan. Dolcino was tall and strong, he had a great devil's beard and red hair that fell in curls to his shoulder blades, he was handsome and powerful when he led us, in his broad-brimmed hat with a plume, with his sword girded over his habit. Dolcino made men fear and women cry out with pleasure.... But when they tortured him he, too, cried, in pain, like a woman, like a calf, he was bleeding from all his wounds as they carried him from one corner to another, and they continued to wound him slightly, to show how long an emissary of the Devil could live, and he wanted to die, he asked them to finish him, but he died too late, after he reached the pyre and was only a mass of bleeding flesh. I followed him and I congratulated myself on having escaped that trial, I was proud of my cleverness, and that rogue Salvatore was with me, and he said to me: How wise we were, Brother Remigio, to act like sensible men, there is nothing nastier than torture! I would have foresworn a thousand religions that day. And for years, many years, I have told myself how base I was, and how happy I was to be base, and yet I was always hoping that I could demonstrate to myself that I was not such a coward. Today you have given me this strength, Lord Bernard; you have been for me what the pagan emperors were for the most cowardly of the martyrs. You have given me the courage to confess what I believe in my soul, as my body falls away from it. But do not demand too much courage of me, more than this mortal frame can bear. No, not torture. I will say whatever you want. Better the stake at once: you die of suffocation before you burn. Not torture, like Dolcino's. No. You want a corpse, and to have it you need me to assume the guilt for other corpses. I will be a corpse soon in any case. And so I will give you what you want. I killed Adelmo of Otranto out of hatred for his youth and for his wit in taunting monsters like me, old, fat, squat, and ignorant. I killed Venantius of Salvemec because he was too learned and read books I did not understand. I killed Berengar of Arundel out of hatred of his library, I, who studied theology by clubbing priests that were too fat. I killed Severinus of Sankt Wendel... why? Because he gathered herbs, I, who was on Monte Rebello, where we ate herbs and grasses without wondering about their properties. In truth, I could also kill the others, including our abbot: with the Pope or with the empire, he still belongs to my enemies, and I have always hated him, even when he fed me because I fed him. Is that enough for you? Ah, no, you also want to know how I killed all those people.... Why, I killed them... let me see... by calling up the infernal powers, with the help of a thousand legions brought under my command by the art that Salvatore taught me. To kill someone it is not necessary to strike: the Devil does it for you, if you know how to command the Devil.\"\n\nHe gave the onlookers a sly glance, laughing. But by now it was the laughter of a madman, even if, as William pointed out to me afterward, this madman was clever enough to drag Salvatore down with him also, to avenge his betrayal.\n\n\"And how could you command the Devil?\" Bernard insisted, taking this delirium as a legitimate confession.\n\n\"You yourself know: it is impossible to traffic for so many years with the possessed and not wear their habit! You yourself know, butcher of apostles! You take a black cat\u2014isn't that it?\u2014that does not have even one white hair (you know this), and you bind his four paws, and then you take him at midnight to a crossroads and you cry in a loud voice: O great Lucifer, Emperor of Hell, I call you and I introduce you into the body of my enemy just as I now hold prisoner this cat, and if you will bring my enemy to death, then the following night at midnight, in this same place, I will offer you this cat in sacrifice, and you will do what I command of you by the powers of the magic I now exercise according to the secret book of Saint Cyprian, in the name of all the captains of the great legions of hell, Adramelch, Alastor, and Azazel, to whom now I pray, with all their brothers....\" His lip trembled, his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, and he began to pray\u2014or, rather, he seemed to be praying, but he addressed his implorations to all the chiefs of the infernal legions: \"Abigor, pecca pro nobis... Amon, miserere nobis... Samael, libera nos a bono\u2026 Belial eleison... Focalor, in corruptionem meam intende... Haborym, damnamus dominum\u2026 Zaebos, anum meum aperies... Leonard, asperge me spermate tuo et inquinabor.\u2026\"\n\n\"Stop, stop!\" everyone in the hall cried, making the sign of the cross. \"O Lord, have mercy on us all!\"\n\nThe cellarer was now silent. When he had uttered the names of all these devils, he fell face down, a whitish saliva drooling from his twisted mouth and the clenched rows of his teeth. His hands, though tormented by his chains, opened and closed convulsively, his feet kicked the air in irregular fits. Seeing me gripped by a trembling of horror, William put his hand on my head and clasped me almost at the nape, pressing it, which calmed me again. \"You see?\" he said to me. \"Under torture or the threat of torture, a man says not only what he has done but what he would have liked to do even if he didn't know it. Remigio now wants death with all his soul.\"\n\nThe archers led the cellarer away, still in convulsions. Bernard, gathered his papers. Then he looked hard at those present, motionless, but in great agitation.\n\n\"The interrogation is over. The accused, guilty by his own confession, will be taken to Avignon, where the final trial will be held, as a scrupulous safeguard of truth and justice, and only after that formal trial will he be burned. He no longer belongs to you, Abo, nor does he belong any longer to me, who am only the humble instrument of the truth. The fulfillment of justice will take place elsewhere; the shepherds have done their duty, now the dogs must separate the infected sheep from the flock and purify it with fire. The wretched episode that has seen this man commit such ferocious crimes is ended. Now may the abbey live in peace. But the world\"\u2014here he raised his voice and addressed the group of envoys\u2014\"the world has still not found peace. The world is riven by heresy, which finds refuge even in the halls of imperial palaces! Let my brothers remember this: a cingulum diaboli binds Dolcino's perverse sectarians to the honored masters of the chapter of Perugia. We must not forget: in the eyes of God the ravings of the wretch we have just handed over to justice are no different from those of the masters who feast at the table of the excommunicated German of Bavaria. The source of the heretics' wickedness springs from many preachings, even respected, still unpunished. Hard passion and humble Calvary are the lot of him who has been called by God, like my own sinful person, to distinguish the viper of heresy wherever it may nest. But in carrying out this holy task, we learn that he who openly practices heresy is not the only kind of heretic. Heresy's supporters can be distinguished by five indicators. First, there are those who visit heretics secretly when they are in prison; second, those who lament their capture and have been their intimate friends (it is, in fact, unlikely that one who has spent much time with a heretic remains ignorant of his activity); third, those who declare the heretics have been unjustly condemned, even when their guilt has been proved; fourth, those who look askance and criticize those who persecute heretics and preach against them successfully, and this can be discovered from the eyes, nose, the expression they try to conceal, showing hatred toward those for whom they feel bitterness and love toward those whose misfortune so grieves them; the fifth sign, finally, is the fact that they collect the charred bones of burned heretics and make them an object of veneration.... But I attach great value also to a sixth sign, and I consider open friends of heretics the authors of those books where (even if they do not openly offend orthodoxy) the heretics have found the premises with which to syllogize in their perverse way.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he was looking at Ubertino. The whole French legation understood exactly what Bernard meant. By now the meeting had failed, and no one would dare repeat the discussion of that morning, knowing that every word would be weighed in the light of these latest, disastrous events. If Bernard had been sent by the Pope to prevent a reconciliation between the two groups, he had succeeded."
            },
            {
                "title": "VESPERS",
                "text": "In which Ubertino takes flight, Benno begins to observe the laws, and William makes some reflections on the various types of lust encountered that day.\n\nAs the monks slowly emerged from the chapter house, Michael came over to William, and then both of them were joined by Ubertino. Together we all went out into the open, to confer in the cloister under cover of the fog, which showed no sign of thinning out. Indeed, it was made even thicker by the shadows.\n\n\"I don't think it necessary to comment on what has happened,\" William said. \"Bernard has defeated us. Don't ask me whether that imbecile Dolcinian is really guilty of all those crimes. As far as I can tell, he isn't, not at all. The fact is, we are back where we started. John wants you alone in Avignon, Michael, and this meeting hasn't given you the guarantees we were looking for. On the contrary, it has given you an idea of how every word of yours, up there, could be distorted. Whence we must deduce, it seems to me, that you should not go.\"\n\nMichael shook his head. \"I will go, on the contrary. I do not want a schism. You, William, spoke very clearly today, and you said what you would like. Well, that is not what I want, and I realize that the decisions of the Perugia chapter have been used by the imperial theologians beyond our intentions. I want the Franciscan order to be accepted by the Pope with its ideal of poverty. And the Pope must understand that unless the order confirms the ideal of poverty, it will never be possible for it to recover the heretical offshoots. I will go to Avignon, and if necessary I will make an act of submission to John. I will compromise on everything except the principle of poverty.\"\n\nUbertino spoke up. \"You know you are risking your life?\"\n\n\"So be it,\" Michael answered. \"Better than risking my soul.\"\n\nHe did seriously risk his life, and if John was right (as I still do not believe), Michael also lost his soul. As everyone knows by now, Michael went to the Pope a week after the events I am narrating. He held out against him for four months, until in April of the following year John convened a consistory in which he called Michael a madman, a reckless, stubborn, tyrannical fomenter of heresy, a viper nourished in the very bosom of the church. And one might think that, according to his way of seeing things, John was right, because during those four months Michael had become a friend of my master's friend, the other William, the one from Occam, and had come to share his ideas\u2014more extreme, but not very different from those my master shared with Marsilius and had expounded that morning. The life of these dissidents became precarious in Avignon, and at the end of May, Michael, William of Occam, Bonagratia of Bergamo, Francis of Ascoli, and Henri de Talheim took flight, pursued, by the Pope's men to Nice, then Toulon, Marseilles, and Aigues-Mortes, where they were overtaken by Cardinal Pierre de Arrablay, who tried to persuade them to go back but was unable to overcome their resistance, their hatred of the Pontiff, their fear. In June they reached Pisa, where they were received in triumph by the imperial forces, and in the following months Michael was to denounce John publicly. Too late, by then. The Emperor's fortunes were ebbing; from Avignon John was plotting to give the Minorites a new superior general, and he finally achieved victory. Michael would have done better not to decide that day to go to the Pope: he could have led the Minorites' resistance more closely, without wasting so many months in his enemy's power, weakening his own position.... But perhaps divine omnipotence had so ordained things\u2014nor do I know now who among them all was in the right. After so many years even the fire of passion dies, and with it what was believed the light of the truth. Who of us is able to say now whether Hector or Achilles was right, Agamemnon or Priam, when they fought over the beauty of a woman who is now dust and ashes?\n\nBut I am straying into melancholy digressions. I must tell instead of the end of that sad conversation. Michael had made up his mind, and there was no way of convincing him to desist. But another problem arose, and William announced it without mincing words: Ubertino himself was no longer safe. The words Bernard had addressed to him, the hatred the Pope now felt toward him, the fact that, whereas Michael still represented a power with which to negotiate, Ubertino was a party unto himself at this point...\n\n\"John wants Michael at court and Ubertino in hell. If I know Bernard, before tomorrow is over, with the complicity of the fog, Ubertino will have been killed. And if anyone asks who did it, the abbey can easily bear another crime, and they will say it was done by devils summoned by Remigio and his black cats, or by some surviving Dolcinian still lurking inside these walls....\"\n\nUbertino was worried. \"Then\u2014?\" he asked.\n\n\"Then,\" William said, \"go and speak with the abbot. Ask him for a mount, some provisions, and a letter to some distant abbey, beyond the Alps. And take advantage of the darkness and the fog to leave at once.\"\n\n\"But are the archers not still guarding the gates?\"\n\n\"The abbey has other exits, and the abbot knows them. A servant has only to be waiting for you at one of the lower curves with a horse; and after slipping through some passage in the walls, you will have only to go through a stretch of woods. You must act immediately, before Bernard recovers from the ecstasy of his triumph. I must concern myself with something else. I had two missions: one has failed, at least the other must succeed. I want to get my hands on a book, and on a man. If all goes well, you will be out of here before I seek you again. So farewell, then.\" He opened his arms. Moved, Ubertino held him in a close embrace: \"Farewell, William. You are a mad and arrogant Englishman, but you have a great heart. Will we meet again?\"\n\n\"We will meet again,\" William assured him. \"God will wish it.\"\n\nGod, however, did not wish it. As I have already said, Ubertino died, mysteriously killed, two years later. A hard and adventurous life, the life of this mettlesome and ardent old man. Perhaps he was not a saint, but I hope God rewarded his adamantine certainty of being one. The older I grow and the more I abandon myself to God's will, the less I value intelligence that wants to know and will that wants to do; and as the only element of salvation I recognize faith, which can wait patiently, without asking too many questions. And Ubertino surely had great faith in the blood and agony of our Lord Crucified.\n\nPerhaps I was thinking these things even then, and the old mystic realized it, or guessed that I would think them one day. He smiled at me sweetly and embraced me, without the intensity with which he had sometimes gripped me in the preceding days. He embraced me as a grandfather embraces his grandson, and in the same spirit I returned the embrace. Then he went off with Michael to seek the abbot.\n\n\"And now?\" I asked William.\n\n\"And now, back to our crimes.\"\n\n\"Master,\" I said, \"today many things happened, grave things for Christianity, and our mission has failed. And yet you seem more interested in solving this mystery than in the conflict between the Pope and the Emperor.\"\n\n\"Madmen and children always speak the truth, Adso. It may be that, as imperial adviser, my friend Marsilius is better than I, but as inquisitor I am better. Even better than Bernard Gui, God forgive me. Because Bernard is interested, not in discovering the guilty, but in burning the accused. And I, on the contrary, find the most joyful delight in unraveling a nice, complicated knot. And it must also be because, at a time when as philosopher, I doubt the world has an order, I am consoled to discover, if not an order, at least a series of connections in small areas of the world's affairs. Finally, there is probably another reason: in this story things greater and more important than the battle between John and Louis may be at stake....\"\n\n\"But it is a story of theft and vengeance among monks of scant virtue!\" I cried, dubiously.\n\n\"Because of a forbidden book, Adso. A forbidden book!\" William replied.\n\nBy now the monks were heading for supper. Our meal was half over when Michael of Cesena sat down beside us and told us Ubertino had left. William heaved a sigh of relief.\n\nAt the end of the meal, we avoided the abbot, who was conversing with Bernard, and noted Benno, who greeted us with a half smile as he tried to follow the door. William overtook him and forced him to follow us to a corner of the kitchen.\n\n\"Benno,\" William asked him, \"where is the book?\"\n\n\"What book?\"\n\n\"Benno, neither of us is a fool. I am speaking of the book we were hunting for today in Severinus's laboratory, which I did not recognize. But you recognized it very well and went back to get it.\u2026\"\n\n\"What makes you think I took it?\"\n\n\"I think you did, and you think the same. Where is it?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Benno, if you refuse to tell me, I will speak with the abbot.\"\n\n\"I cannot tell by order of the abbot,\" Benno said, with a virtuous air. \"Today, after we saw each other, something happened that you should know about. On Berengar's death there was no assistant librarian. This afternoon Malachi proposed me for the position. Just half an hour ago the abbot agreed, and tomorrow morning, I hope, I will be initiated into the secrets of the library. True, I did take the book this morning, and I hid it in the pallet in my cell without even looking at it, because I knew Malachi was keeping an eye on me. Eventually Malachi made me the proposal I told you. And then I did what an assistant librarian must do: I handed the book over to him.\"\n\nI could not refrain from speaking out, and violently.\n\n\"But, Benno, yesterday and the day before you... you said you were burning with the curiosity to know, you didn't want the library to conceal mysteries any longer, you said a scholar must know.\u2026\"\n\nBenno was silent, blushing; but William stopped me: \"Adso, a few hours ago Benno joined the other side. Now he is the guardian of those secrets he wanted to know, and while he guards them he will have all the time he wants to learn them.\"\n\n\"But the others?\" I asked. \"Benno was speaking also in the name of all men of learning!\"\n\n\"Before,\" William said. And he drew me away, leaving Benno the prey of confusion.\n\n\"Benno,\" William then said to me, \"is the victim of a great lust, which is not that of Berengar or that of the cellarer. Like many scholars, he has a lust for knowledge. Knowledge for its own sake. Barred from a part of this knowledge, he wanted to seize it. Now he has it. Malachi knew his man: he used the best means to recover the book and seal Benno's lips. You will ask me what is the good of controlling such a hoard of learning if one has agreed not to put it at the disposal of everyone else. But this is exactly why I speak of lust. Roger Bacon's thirst for knowledge was not lust: he wanted to employ his learning to make God's people happier, and so he did not seek knowledge for its own sake. Benno's is merely insatiable curiosity, intellectual pride, another way for a monk to transform and allay the desires of his loins, or the ardor that makes another man a warrior of the faith or of heresy. There is lust not only of the flesh. Bernard Gui is lustful; his is a distorted lust for justice that becomes identified with a lust for power. Our holy and no longer Roman Pontiff lusts for riches. And the cellarer as a youth had a lust to testify and transform and do penance, and then a lust for death. And Benno's lust is for books. Like all lusts, including that of Onan, who spilled his seed on the ground, it is sterile and has nothing to do with love, not even carnal love....\"\n\n\"I know,\" I murmured, despite myself. William pretended not to hear. Continuing his observations, he said, \"True love wants the good of the beloved.\"\n\n\"Can it be that Benno wants the good of his books (and now they are also his) and thinks their good lies in their being kept far from grasping hands?\" I asked.\n\n\"The good of a book lies in its being read. A book is made up of signs that speak of other signs, which in their turn speak of things. Without an eye to read them, a book contains signs that produce no concepts; therefore it is dumb. This library was perhaps born to save the books it houses, but now it lives to bury them. This is why it has become a sink of iniquity. The cellarer says he betrayed. So has Benno. He has betrayed. Oh, what a nasty day, my good Adso! Full of blood and ruination. I have had enough of this day. Let us also go to compline, and then to bed.\"\n\nComing out of the kitchen, we encountered Aymaro. He asked us whether the rumor going around was true, that Malachi had proposed Benno as his assistant. We could only confirm it.\n\n\"Our Malachi has accomplished many fine things today,\" Aymaro said, with his usual sneer of contempt and indulgence. If justice existed, the Devil would come and take him this very night.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which a sermon is heard about the coming of the Antichrist, and Adso discovers the power of proper names.\n\nVespers had been sung in a confused fashion while the interrogation of the cellarer was still under way, with the curious novices escaping their master's control to observe through windows and cracks what was going on in the chapter hall. Now the whole community was to pray for the good soul of Severinus. Everyone expected the abbot to speak, and wondered what he would say. But instead, after the ritual homily of Saint Gregory, the responsory, and the three prescribed psalms, the abbot did step into the pulpit, but only to say he would remain silent this evening. Too many calamities had befallen the abbey, he said, to allow even the spiritual father to speak in a tone of reproach and admonition. Everyone, with no exceptions, should now make a strict examination of conscience. But since it was necessary for someone to speak, he suggested the admonition should come from the oldest of their number, now close to death, the brother who was the least involved of all in the terrestrial passions that had generated so many evils. By right of age Alinardo of Grottaferrata should speak, but all knew the fragile condition of the venerable brother's health. Immediately after Alinardo, in the order established by the inevitable progress of time, came Jorge. And the abbot now called upon him.\n\nWe heard a murmuring from the section of the stalls where Aymaro and the other Italians usually sat. I suspected the abbot had entrusted the sermon to Jorge without discussing the matter with Alinardo. My master pointed out to me, in a whisper, that the abbot's decision not to speak had been wise, because whatever he might have said would have been judged by Bernard and the other Avignonese present. Old Jorge, on the other hand, would confine himself to his usual mystical prophecies, and the Avignonese would not attach much importance to them. \"But I will,\" William added, \"because I don't believe Jorge agreed, and perhaps asked, to speak without a very precise purpose.\"\n\nJorge climbed into the pulpit, with someone's help. His face was illuminated by the tripod, which alone lighted the nave. The glow of the flame underlined the darkness shrouding his eyes, which seemed two black holes.\n\n\"Most beloved brothers,\" he began, \"and all of our guests, most dear to us. If you care to listen to this poor old man... The four deaths that have afflicted our abbey\u2014not to mention the sins, remote and recent, of the most abject among the living\u2014are not, as you know, to be attributed to the severity of nature, which, implacable in its rhythms, ordains our earthly day, from cradle to grave. All of you no doubt believe that, though you have been overwhelmed with grief, these sad events have not involved your soul, because all of you, save one, are innocent, and when this one has been punished, while you will, to be sure, continue to mourn the absence of those who have gone, you will not have to clear yourselves of any charge before the tribunal of God. So you believe. Madmen!\" he shouted in an awful voice. \"Madmen and presumptuous fools that you are! He who has killed will bear before God the burden of his guilt, but only because he agreed to become the vehicle of the decrees of God. Just as it was necessary for someone to betray Jesus in order for the mystery of redemption to be accomplished, yet the Lord sanctioned damnation and vituperation for the one who betrayed him. Thus someone has sinned in these days, bringing death and ruination, but I say to you that this ruination was, if not desired, at least permitted by God for the humbling of our pride!\"\n\nHe was silent, and turned his blank gaze on the solemn assembly as if his eyes could perceive its emotions, as in fact with his ear he savored the silence and consternation.\n\n\"In this community,\" he went on, \"for some time the serpent of pride has been coiled. But what pride? The pride of power, in a monastery isolated from the world? No, certainly not. The pride of wealth? My brothers, before the known world echoed with long debates about poverty and ownership, from the days of our founder, we, even when we had everything, have never had anything, our one true wealth being the observation of the Rule, prayer, and work. But of our work, the work of our order and in particular the work of this monastery, a part\u2014indeed, the substance\u2014is study, and the preservation of knowledge. Preservation of, I say, not search for, because the property of knowledge, as a divine thing, is that it is complete and has been defined since the beginning, in the perfection of the Word which expresses itself to itself. Preservation, I say, and not search, because it is a property of knowledge, as a human thing, that it has been defined and completed over the course of the centuries, from the preaching of the prophets to the interpretation of the fathers of the church. There is no progress, no revolution of ages, in the history of knowledge, but at most a continuous and sublime recapitulation. Human history proceeds with a motion that cannot be arrested, from the creation through the redemption, toward the return of Christ triumphant, who will appear seated on a cloud to judge the quick and the dead; but human and divine knowledge does not follow this path: steady as a fort that does not cede, it allows us, when we are humble and alert to its voice, to follow, to predict this path, but it is not touched by the path. I am He who is, said the God of the Jews. I am the way, the truth, and the life, said our Lord. \"There you have it: knowledge is nothing but the awed comment on these two truths. Everything else that has been said was uttered by the prophets, by the evangelists, by, the fathers and the doctors, to make these two sayings clearer. And sometimes an apposite comment came also from the pagans, who were ignorant of them, and their words have been taken into the Christian tradition. But beyond that there is nothing further to say. There is only to continue meditation, to gloss, preserve. This was and should be the office of our abbey with its splendid library\u2014nothing else. It is said that an Oriental caliph one day set fire to the library of a famous and glorious and proud city, and that, as those thousands of volumes were burning, he said that they could and should disappear: either they were repeating what the Koran already said, and therefore they were useless, or else they contradicted that book sacred to the infidels, and therefore they were harmful: The doctors of the church, and we along with them, did not reason in this way. Everything that involves commentary and clarification of Scripture must be preserved, because it enhances the glory of the divine writings; what contradicts must not be destroyed, because only if we preserve it can it be contradicted in its turn by those who can do so and are so charged, in the ways and times that the Lord chooses. Hence the responsibility of our order through the centuries, and the burden of our abbey today: proud of the truth we proclaim, humble and prudent in preserving those words hostile to the truth, without allowing ourselves to be soiled by them. Now, my brothers, what is the sin of pride that can tempt a scholar-monk? That of considering as his task not preserving but seeking some information not yet vouchsafed mankind, as if the last word had not already resounded in the words of the last angel who speaks in the last book of Scripture: 'For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book. If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: and if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.' There... does it not seem to you, my unfortunate brothers, that these words only adumbrate what has recently happened within these walls, whereas what has happened within these walls adumbrates only the same vicissitude as that afflicting the century in which we live, determined in word and in deed, in cities as in castles, in proud universities and cathedral churches, to seek anxiously to discover new codicils to the words of the truth, distorting the meaning of that truth already rich in all the scholia, and requiring only fearless defense and not foolish increment? This is the pride that lurked and is still lurking within these walls: and I say to him who has labored and labors to break the seals of the books that are not his to see, that it is this pride the Lord wanted to punish and will continue to punish if it is not brought down and does not humble itself, for the Lord has no difficulty in finding, always and still, thanks to our fragility, the instruments of His vengeance.\"\n\n\"Did you hear that, Adso?\" William murmured to me. \"The old man knows more than he is saying. Whether or not he had a hand in this business, he knows, and is warning, that if certain curious monks continue violating the library, the abbey will not regain its peace.\"\n\nJorge, after a long pause, now resumed speaking.\n\n\"But who, finally, is the very symbol of this pride, of whom the proud are the illustration and messengers, the accomplices and standard-bearers? Who in truth has acted and is perhaps acting also inside these walls, so as to warn us that the time is at hand\u2014and to console us, because if the time is at hand, the sufferings will surely be intolerable, but not infinite, since the great cycle of this universe is about to be fulfilled? Oh, you have all understood very well, and you fear to utter the name, for it is also yours and you are afraid of it, but though you have fear, I shall have none, and I will say this name in a loud voice so that your viscera may twist in fright and your teeth chatter and cut off your tongue, and the chill that forms in your blood make a dark veil descend over your eyes.... He is the foul beast, he is the Antichrist!\"\n\nHe paused for a long time. The listeners seemed dead. The only moving thing in the whole church was the flame in the tripod, but even the shadows it formed seemed to have frozen. The only sound, faint, was Jorge's gasping, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Then Jorge went on.\n\n\"You would perhaps like to say to me: No, he has not yet come; where are the signs of his coming? Fool who says this! Why, we have them before our eyes, day after day, in the great amphitheater of the world and in the narrower image of the abbey, the premonitory catastrophes.... It has been said that when the moment is near, a foreign king will rise in the West, lord of immense deceits, atheist, killer of men, fraudulent, thirsting for gold, skilled in tricks, wicked, enemy and persecutor of the faithful, and in his time he will not hold silver dear but will esteem only gold! I know well, you who listen to me hasten now to make your calculations to see whether he of whom I speak resembles the Pope or the Emperor or the King of France or whomever you will, so that you will be able to say: He is my enemy and I am on the right side! But I am not so ingenuous; I will not single out one man for you. The Antichrist, when he comes, comes in all and for all, and, each is a part of him. He will be in the bands of brigands who sack cities and countryside, he will be in unforeseen signs in the heavens whereby suddenly rainbows will appear, horns and fires, while the moaning of voices will be heard and the sea will boil. It has been said that men and animals will generate monsters, but this means that hearts will conceive hatred and discord. Do not look around you for a glimpse of the animals of the illuminations you so enjoy on parchments! It has been said that young wives not long wed will give birth to babes already able to speak perfectly, who will bring word that the time is at hand and will ask to be killed. But do not search the villages down below us, the too-wise babes have already been killed inside these very walls! And like those babes of the prophecies, they had the appearance of men already old, and in the prophecy they were the quadruped children, and the ghosts, and the embryos that were to prophesy in the mothers' wombs uttering magic spells. And all has been written, do you know that? It has been written that many will be the agitations among those of rank, and among the peoples, the churches; that wicked shepherds will rise up, perverse, disdainful, greedy, pleasure-seeking, lovers of gain, enjoyers of idle speech, boastful, proud, avid, arrogant, plunged in lewdness, seekers of vainglory, enemies of the Gospel, ready to repudiate the strait gate, to despise the true word; and they will hate every path of piety, they will not repent their sins, and therefore will spread among all peoples disbelief, fraternal hatred, wickedness, hardness of heart, envy, indifference, robbery, drunkenness, intemperance, lasciviousness, carnal pleasure, fornication, and all the other vices. Affliction will vanish, and humility, love of peace, poverty, compassion, the gift of tears.... Come, do you not recognize yourselves, all of you here present, monks of this abbey and mighty visitors from the outside world?\"\n\nIn the pause that followed a rustling was heard. It was Cardinal Bertrand wriggling on his bench. After all, I thought, Jorge was behaving like a great preacher, and as he lashed his brothers he was not sparing the guests, either. I would have given anything to know what was going through Bernard's mind at that moment, or the minds of the fat Avignonese.\n\n\"And it will be at this point, precisely this,\" Jorge thundered, \"that the Antichrist will have his blasphemous apparition, ape as he wants to be of our Lord. In those times (which are these) all kingdoms will be swept away, there will be famine and poverty, and poor harvests, and winters of exceptional severity. And the children of that time (which is this) will no longer have anyone to administer their goods and preserve food in their storerooms, and they will be harassed in the markets of buying and selling. Blessed, then, are those who will no longer live, or who, living, will be able to survive! Then will come the son of perdition, the enemy who boasts and swells up, displaying many virtues to deceive the whole earth and to prevail over the just. Syria will fall and mourn her sons. Cilicia will raise her head until he who is called to judge her shall appear. The daughter of Babylon will rise from the throne of her splendor to drink from the cup of bitterness. Cappadocia, Lycia, and Lycaonia will bow down, for whole throngs will be destroyed in the corruption of their iniquity. Barbarian camps and war chariots will appear on all sides to occupy the lands. In Armenia, in Pontus, and in Bithynia youths will die by the sword, girl children will be taken prisoner, sons and daughters will commit incest. Pisidia, who boasts in her glory, will be laid prostrate, the sword will pass through the midst of Phoenicia, Judaea will be garbed in mourning and will prepare for the day of perdition brought on by her impurity. On every side will appear abomination and desolation, the Antichrist will defeat the West and will destroy the trade routes; in his hand he will have sword and raging fire, and in violent fury the flame will burn: his strength will be blasphemy, his hand treachery, the right hand will be ruin, the left the bearer of darkness. These are the features that will mark him: his head will be of burning fire, his right eye will be bloodshot, his left eye a feline green with two pupils, and his eyebrows will be white, his lower lip swollen, his ankle weak, his feet big, his thumb crushed and elongated!\"\n\n\"It seems his own portrait,\" William whispered, chuckling. It was a very wicked remark, but I was grateful to him for it, because my hair was beginning to stand on end. I could barely stifle a laugh, my cheeks swelling as my clenched lips let out a puff. A sound that, in the silence following the old man's words, was clearly audible, but fortunately everyone thought someone was coughing, or weeping, or shuddering; and all of them were right.\n\n\"It is the moment,\" Jorge was now saying, \"when everything will fall into lawlessness, sons will raise their hands against fathers, wives will plot against husbands, husbands will bring wives to law, masters will be inhuman to servants and servants will disobey their masters, there will be no more respect for the old, the young will demand to rule, work will seem a useless chore to all, everywhere songs will rise praising license, vice, dissolute liberty of behavior. And after that, rape, adultery, perjury, sins against nature will follow in a great wave, and disease, and soothsaying, and spells, and flying bodies will appear in the heavens, in the midst of the good Christians false prophets will rise, false apostles, corrupters, impostors, wizards, rapists, usurers, perjurers and falsifiers; the shepherds will turn into wolves, priests will lie, monks will desire things of this world, the poor will not hasten to the aid of their lords, the powerful will be without mercy, the just will bear witness to injustice. All cities will be shaken by earthquakes, there will be pestilence in every land, storm winds will uproot the earth, the fields will be contaminated, the sea will secrete black humors, new and strange wonders will take place upon the moon, the stars will abandon their courses, other stars\u2014unknown\u2014will furrow the sky, it will snow in summer, and in winter the heat will be intense. And the times of the end will have come, and the end of time.... On the first day at the third hour in the firmament a great and powerful voice will be raised, a purple cloud will advance from the north, thunder and lightning will follow it, and on the earth a rain of blood will fall. On the second day the earth will be uprooted from its seat and the smoke of a great fire will pass through the gates of the sky. On the third day the abysses of the earth will rumble from the four corners of the cosmos. The pinnacles of the firmament will open, the air will be filled with columns of smoke, and there will be the stench of sulphur until the tenth hour. On the fourth day, early in the morning, the abyss will liquefy and emit explosions, and buildings will collapse. On the fifth day at the sixth hour the powers of light and the wheel of the sun will be destroyed, and there will be darkness over the earth till evening, and the stars and the moon will cease their office. On the sixth day at the fourth hour the firmament will split from east to west and the angels will be able to look down on the earth through the crack in the heavens and all those on earth will be able to see the angels looking down from heaven. Then all men will hide on the mountains to escape the gaze of the just angels. And on the seventh day Christ will arrive in the light of his Father. And there will then be the judgment of the just and their ascent, in the eternal bliss of bodies and souls. But this is not the object of your meditation this evening, proud brothers! It is not sinners who will see the dawn of the eighth day, when a sweet and tender voice will rise from the east, in the midst of the heavens, and that angel will be seen who commands all the other holy angels, and all the angels will advance together with him, seated on a chariot of clouds, filled with joy, speeding through the air, to set free the blessed who have believed, and all together they will rejoice because the destruction of this world will have been consummated! But this is not to make us rejoice proudly this evening! We will meditate instead on the words the Lord will utter to drive from him those who have not earned salvation: Far from me, ye accursed, into the eternal fire that has been prepared for you by the Devil and his ministers) You yourselves have earned it, and now enjoy it! Go ye from me, descending into the eternal darkness and into the unquenchable fire! I made you and you became followers of another! You became servants of another lord, go and dwell with him in the darkness, with him, the serpent who never rests, amid the gnashing of teeth! I gave you ears to hear the Scripture and you listened to the words of pagans! I formed a mouth for you to glorify God, and you used it for the lies of poets and the riddles of buffoons! I gave you eyes to see the light of my precepts, and you used them to peer into the darkness! I am a humane judge, but a just one. To each I shall give what he deserves. I would have mercy on you, but I find no oil in your jars. I would be impelled to take pity, but your lamps are not cleaned. Go from me.... Thus will speak the Lord. And they... and perhaps we... will descend into the eternal torment. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" all replied, with one voice.\n\nIn a line, without a murmur, the monks went off to their pallets. Feeling no desire to speak with one another, the Minorites and the Pope's men disappeared, longing for solitude and rest. My heart was heavy.\n\n\"To bed, Adso,\" William said to me, climbing the stairs of the pilgrims' hospice. \"This is not a night for roaming about. Bernard Gui might have the idea of heralding the end of the world by beginning with our carcasses. Tomorrow we must try to be present at matins, because immediately afterward Michael and the other Minorites will leave.\"\n\n\"Will Bernard leave, too, with his prisoners?\" I asked in a faint voice.\n\n\"Surely he has nothing more to do here. He will want to precede Michael to Avignon, but in such a way that Michael's arrival coincides with the trial of the cellarer, a Minorite, heretic, and murderer. The pyre of the cellarer will illuminate, like a propitiatory torch, Michael's first meeting with the Pope.\"\n\n\"And what will become of Salvatore and... the girl?\"\n\n\"Salvatore will go with the cellarer, because he will have to testify at the trial. Perhaps in exchange for this service Bernard will grant him his life. He may allow him to escape and then have him killed, or he may really let him go, because a man like Salvatore is of no interest to a man like Bernard. Who knows? Perhaps Salvatore will end up a cutthroat bandit in some forest of Languedoc....\"\n\n\"And the girl?\"\n\n\"I told you: she is burnt flesh. But she will be burned beforehand, along the way, to the edification of some Catharist village along the coast. I have heard it said that Bernard is to meet his colleague Jacques Fournier (remember that name: for the present he is burning Albigensians, but he has higher ambitions), and a beautiful witch to throw on the fire will increase the prestige and the fame of both....\"\n\n\"But can nothing be done to save them?\" I cried. \"Can't the abbot intervene?\"\n\n\"For whom? For the cellarer, a confessed criminal? For a wretch like Salvatore? Or are you thinking of the girl?\"\n\n\"What if I were?\" I made bold to say. 'After all, of the three she is the only truly innocent one: you know she is not a witch....\"\n\n\"And do you believe that the abbot, after what has happened, wants to risk for a witch what little prestige he has left?\"\n\n\"But he assumed the responsibility for Ubertino's escape!\"\n\n\"Ubertino was one of his monks and was not accused of anything. Besides, what nonsense are you saying? Ubertino is an important man; Bernard could have struck him only from behind.\"\n\n\"So the cellarer was right: the simple folk always pay for all, even for those who speak in their favor, even for those like Ubertino and Michael, who with their words of penance have driven the simple to rebel!\" I was in such despair that I did not consider that the girl was not even a Fraticello, seduced by Ubertino's mystical vision, but a peasant, paying for something that did not concern her.\n\n\"So it is,\" William answered me sadly. \"And if you are really seeking a glimmer of justice, I will tell you that one day the big dogs, the Pope and the Emperor, in order to make peace, will pass over the corpses of the smaller dogs who bit one another in their service. And Michael or Ubertino will be treated as your girl is being treated today.\"\n\nNow I know that William was prophesying\u2014or, rather, syllogizing\u2014on the basis of principles of natural philosophy. But at that moment his prophecies and his syllogisms did not console me in the least. The only sure thing was that the girl would be burned. And I felt responsible, because it was as if she would also expiate on the pyre the sin I had committed with her.\n\nI burst shamefully into sobs and fled to my cell, where all through the night I chewed my pallet and moaned helplessly, for I was not even allowed\u2014as they did in the romances of chivalry I had read with my companions at Melk\u2014to lament and call out the beloved's name.\n\nThis was the only earthly love of my life, and I could not, then or ever after, call that love by name."
            },
            {
                "title": "MATINS",
                "text": "In which the princes sederunt, and Malachi slumps to the ground.\n\nWe went down to matins. That last part of the night, virtually the first part of the imminent new day, was still foggy. As I crossed the cloister the dampness penetrated to my bones, aching after my uneasy sleep. Although the church was cold, I knelt under those vaults with a sigh of relief, sheltered from the elements, comforted by the warmth of other bodies, and by prayer.\n\nThe chanting of the psalms had just begun when William pointed to the stalls opposite us: there was an empty place in between Jorge and Pacificus of Tivoli. It was the place of Malachi, who always sat beside the blind man. Nor were we the only ones who had noticed the absence. On one side I caught a worried glance from the abbot, all too well aware, surely, that those vacancies always heralded grim news. And on the other I noticed that old Jorge was unusually agitated. His face, as a rule so inscrutable because of those white, blank eyes, was plunged almost entirely in darkness; but his hands were nervous and restless. In fact, more than once he groped at the seat beside him, as if to see whether it was occupied. He repeated that gesture again and again, at regular intervals, as if hoping that the absent man would appear at any moment but fearing not to find him.\n\n\"Where can the librarian be?\" I whispered to William.\n\n\"Malachi,\" William answered, \"is by now the sole possessor of the book. If he is not guilty of the crimes, then he may not know the dangers that book involves....\"\n\nThere was nothing further to be said. We could only wait. And we waited: William and I, the abbot, who continued to stare at the empty place, and Jorge, who never stopped questioning the darkness with his hands.\n\nWhen we reached the end of the office, the abbot reminded monks and novices that it was necessary to prepare for the Christmas High Mass; therefore, as was the custom, the time before lauds would be spent assaying the accord of the whole community in the performance of some chants prescribed for the occasion. That assembly of devout men was in effect trained as a single body, a single harmonious voice; through a process that had gone on for years, they acknowledged their unification, into a single soul, in their singing.\n\nThe abbot invited them to chant the \"Sederunt\":\n\n\u2003Sederunt principes\n\n\u2003et adversus me\n\n\u2003loquebantur, iniqui\n\n\u2003persecuti sunt me.\n\n\u2003Adiuva me, Domine\n\n\u2003Deus meus, salvum me\n\n\u2003fac propter magnam misericordiam tuam.\n\nI asked myself whether the abbot had not chosen deliberately that gradual to be chanted on that particular night, the cry to God of the persecuted, imploring help against wicked princes. And there, the princes' envoys were still present at the service, to be reminded of how for centuries our order had been prompt to resist the persecution of the powerful, thanks to its special bond with the Lord, God of hosts. And indeed the beginning of the chant created an impression of great power.\n\nOn the first syllable, a slow and solemn chorus began, dozens and dozens of voices, whose bass sound filled the naves and floated over our heads and yet seemed to rise from the heart of the earth. Nor did it break off, because as other voices began to weave, over that deep and continuing line, a series of vocalises and melismas, it\u2014telluric\u2014continued to dominate and did not cease for the whole time that it took a speaker to repeat twelve \"Ave Maria\"s in a slow and cadenced voice. And as if released from every fear by the confidence that the prolonged syllable, allegory of the duration of eternity, gave to those praying, the other voices (and especially the novices') on that rock-solid base raised cusps; columns, pinnacles of liquescent and underscored neumae. And as my heart was dazed with sweetness at the vibration of a climacus or a porrectus, a torculus or a salicus, those voices seemed to say to me that the soul (of those praying, and my own as I listened to them), unable to bear the exuberance of feeling, was lacerated through them to express joy, grief, praise, love, in an impetus of sweet sounds. Meanwhile, the obstinate insistence of the chthonian voices did not let up, as if the threatening presence of enemies, of the powerful who persecuted the people of the Lord, remained unresolved. Until that Neptunian roiling of a single note seemed overcome, or at least convinced and enfolded, by the rejoicing hallelujahs of those who opposed it, and all dissolved on a majestic and perfect chord and on a resupine neuma.\n\nOnce the \"sederunt\" had been uttered with a kind of stubborn difficulty, the \"principes\" rose in the air with grand and seraphic calm. I no longer asked myself who were the mighty who spoke against me (against us); the shadow of that seated, menacing ghost had dissolved, had disappeared.\n\nAnd other ghosts, I also believed, dissolved at that point, because on looking again at Malachi's stall, after my attention had been absorbed by the chant, I saw the figure of the librarian among the others in prayer, as if he had never been missing. I looked at William and saw a hint of relief in his eyes, the same relief that I noted from the distance in the eyes of the abbot. As for Jorge, he had once more extended his hands and, encountering his neighbor's body, had withdrawn them promptly. But I could not say what feelings stirred him.\n\nNow the choir was festively chanting the \"Adiuva me,\" whose bright a swelled happily through the church, and even the u did not seem grim as that to \"sederunt,\" but full of holy vigor. The monks and the novices sang, as the rule of chant requires, with body erect, throat free, head looking up, the book almost at shoulder height so they could read without having to lower their heads and thus causing the breath to come from the chest with less force. But it was still night, and though the trumpets of rejoicing blared, the haze of sleep trapped many of the singers, who, lost perhaps in the production of a long note, trusting the very wave of the chant, nodded at times, drawn by sleepiness. Then the wakers, even in that situation, explored the faces with a light, one by one, to bring them back to wakefulness of body and of soul.\n\nSo it was a waker who first noticed Malachi sway in a curious fashion, as if he had suddenly plunged back into the Cimmerian fog of a sleep that he had probably not enjoyed during the night. The waker went over to him with the lamp, illuminating his face and so attracting my attention. The librarian had no reaction. The man touched him, and Malachi slumped forward heavily. The waker barely had time to catch him before he fell.\n\nThe chanting slowed down, the voices died, there was brief bewilderment. William had jumped immediately from his seat and rushed to the place where Pacificus of Tivoli and the waker were now laying Malachi on the ground, unconscious.\n\nWe reached them almost at the same time as the abbot, and in the light of the lamp we saw the poor man's face. I have already described Malachi's countenance, but that night, in that glow, it was the very image of death: the sharp nose, the hollow eyes, the sunken temples, the white, wrinkled ears with lobes turned outward, the skin of the face now rigid, taut, and dry; the color of the cheeks yellowish and suffused with a dark shadow. The eyes were still open and a labored breathing escaped those parched lips. He opened his mouth, and as I stooped behind William, who had bent over him, I saw a now blackish tongue stir within the cloister of his teeth. William, his arm around Malachi's shoulders, raised him, wiping away with his free hand a film of sweat that blanche his brow. Malachi felt a touch, a presence; he stared straight ahead, surely not seeing, certainly not recognizing who was before him. He raised a trembling hand, grasped William by the chest, drawing his face down until they almost touched, then faintly and hoarsely he uttered some words: \"He told me... truly.... It had the power of a thousand scorpions.\u2026\"\n\n\"Who told you?\" William asked him. \"Who?\"\n\nMalachi tried again to speak. But he was seized by a great trembling and his head fell backward. His face lost all color, all semblance of life. He was dead.\n\nWilliam stood up. He noticed the abbot-beside him, but did not say a word to him. Then, behind the abbot, he saw Bernard Gui.\n\n\"My lord Bernard,\" William asked, \"who killed this man, after you so cleverly found and confined the murderers?\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" Bernard said. \"I have never said I had consigned to the law all the criminals loose in this abbey. I would have done so gladly, had I been able.\" He looked at William. \"But the others I now leave to the severity-or the excessive indulgence of my lord abbot.\" The abbot blanched and remained silent. Then Bernard left.\n\nAt that moment we heard a kind of whimpering, a choked sob. It was Jorge, on his kneeling bench, supported by a monk who must have described to him what had happened.\n\n\"It will never end...\" he said in a broken voice. \"O Lord, forgive us all!\"\n\nWilliam bent over the corpse for another moment. He grasped the wrists, turned the palms of the hands toward the light. The pads of the first three fingers of the right hand were darkened."
            },
            {
                "title": "LAUDS",
                "text": "In which a new cellarer is chosen, but not a new librarian.\n\nWas it time for lauds already? Was it earlier or later? From that point on I lost all temporal sense. Perhaps hours went by, perhaps less, in which Malachi's body was laid out in church on a catafalque, while the brothers formed a semicircle around it. The abbot issued instructions for a prompt funeral. I heard him summon Benno and Nicholas of Morimondo. In less than a day, he said, the abbey had been deprived of its librarian and its cellarer. \"You,\" he said to Nicholas, \"will take over the duties of Remigio. You know the jobs of many, here in the abbey. Name someone to take your place in charge of the forges, and provide for today's immediate necessities in the kitchen, the refectory. You are excused from offices. Go.\" Then to Benno he said, \"Only yesterday evening you were named Malachi's assistant. Provide for the opening of the scriptorium and make sure no one goes up into the library alone.\" Shyly, Benno pointed out that he had not yet been initiated into the secrets of that place. The abbot glared at him sternly. \"No one has said you will be. You see that work goes on and is offered as a prayer for our dead brothers... and for those who will yet die. Each monk will work only on the books already given him. Those who wish may consult the catalogue. Nothing else. You are excused from vespers, because at that hour you will lock up everything.\"\n\n\"But how will I come out?\" Benno asked.\n\n\"Good question. I will lock the lower doors after supper. Go.\"\n\nHe went out with them, avoiding William, who wanted to talk to him. In the choir, a little group remained: Alinardo, Pacificus of Tivoli, Aymaro of Alessandria, and Peter of Sant'Albano. Aymaro was sneering.\n\n\"Let us thank the Lord,\" he said. \"With the German dead, there was the risk of having a new librarian even more barbarous.\"\n\n\"Who do you think will be named in his place?\" William asked.\n\nPeter of Sant'Albano smiled enigmatically. \"After everything that has happened these past few days, the problem is no longer the librarian, but the abbot....\"\n\n\"Hush,\" Pacificus said to him. And Alinardo, with his usual pensive look, said, \"They will commit another injustice... as in my day. They must be stopped\"\n\n\"Who?\" William asked. Pacificus took him confidentially by the arm and led him a distance from the old man, toward the door.\n\n\"Alinardo... as you know... we love him very much. For us he represents the old tradition and the finest days of the abbey.... But sometimes he speaks without knowing what he says. We are all worried about the new librarian. The man must be worthy, and mature, and wise.... That is all there is to it.\"\n\n\"Must he know Greek?\" William asked.\n\n\"And Arabic, as tradition has it: his office requires it. But there are many among us with these gifts. I, if I may say so, and Peter, and Aymaro\u2026\"\n\n\"Benno knows Greek.\"\n\n\"Benno is too young. I do not know why Malachi chose him as his assistant yesterday, but...\"\n\n\"Did Adelmo know Greek?\"\n\n\"I believe not. No, surely not.\"\n\n\"But Venantius knew it. And Berengar. Very well, I thank you.\"\n\nWe left, to go and get something in the kitchen.\n\n\"Why did you want to find out who knew Greek?\" I asked.\n\n\"Because all those who die with blackened fingers know Greek. Therefore it would be well to expect the next corpse among those who know Greek. Including me. You are safe.\"\n\n\"And what do you think of Malachi's last words?\"\n\n\"You heard them. Scorpions. The fifth trumpet announces, among other thins, the coming of locusts that will torment men with a sting like a scorpion's. And Malachi informed us that someone had forewarned him.\"\n\n\"The sixth trumpet,\" I said, \"announces horses with lions' heads from whose mouths come smoke and fire and brimstone, ridden by men covered with breastplates the color of fire, jacinth, and brimstone.\"\n\n\"Too many things. But the next crime might take place near the horse barn. We must keep an eye on it. And we must prepare ourselves for the seventh blast. Two more victims still. Who are the most likely candidates? If the objective is the secret of the finis Africae, those who know it. And as far as I can tell, that means only the abbot. Unless the plot is something else. You heard them just now, scheming to depose the abbot, but Alinardo spoke in the plural....\"\n\n\"The abbot must be warned,\" I said.\n\n\"Of what? That they will kill him? I have no convincing evidence. I proceed as if the murderer and I think alike. But if he were pursuing another design? And if, especially, there were not a murderer?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I don't know exactly. But as I said to you, we must imagine all possible orders, and all disorders.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PRIME",
                "text": "In which Nicholas tells many things as the crypt of the treasure is visited.\n\nNicholas of Morimondo, in his new position as cellarer, was giving orders to the cooks, and they were supplying him with information about the operation of the kitchen. William wanted to speak with him, but Nicholas asked us to wait a few moments, until he had to go down into the crypt of the treasure to supervise the polishing of the glass cases, which was still his responsibility; there he would have more time for conversation.\n\nA little later, he did in fact ask us to follow him. He entered the church, went behind the main altar (while the monks were setting up a catafalque in the nave, to keep vigil over Malachi's corpse), and led us down a little ladder. At its foot we found ourselves in a room with a very low vaulted ceiling supported by thick rough-stone columns. We were in the crypt where the riches of the abbey were stored, a place of which the abbot was very jealous and which he allowed to be opened only under exceptional circumstances and for very important visitors.\n\nOn every side were cases of different dimensions; in them, objects of wondrous beauty shone in the glow of the torches (lighted by two of Nicholas's trusted assistants). Gold vestments, golden crowns studded with gems, coffers of various metals engraved with figures, works in niello and ivory. In ecstasy, Nicholas showed us an evangeliarium whose binding displayed amazing enamel plaques composing a variegated unity of graduated compartments, outlined in gold filigree and fixed by precious stones in the guise of nails. He showed us a delicate aedicula with two columns of lapis lazuli and gold which framed an Entombment of Christ in fine silver bas-relief surmounted by a golden cross set with thirteen diamonds against a background of grainy onyx, while the little pediment was scalloped with agate and rubies. Then I saw a chryselephantine diptych divided into five sections, with five scenes from the life of Christ, and in the center a mystical lamp composed of cells of gilded silver with glass paste, a single polychrome image on a ground of waxen whiteness.\n\nNicholas's face and gestures, as he illustrated these things for us, were radiant with pride. William praised the objects he had seen, then asked Nicholas what sort of man Malachi had been.\n\nNicholas moistened one finger and rubbed it over a crystal surface imperfectly polished, then answered with a half smile, not looking William in the face: \"As many said, Malachi seemed quite thoughtful, but on the contrary he was a very simple man. According to Alinardo, he was a fool.\"\n\n\"Alinardo bears a grudge against someone for a remote event, when he was denied the honor of being librarian.\"\n\n\"I, too, have heard talk of that, but it is an old story, dating back at least fifty years. When I arrived here the librarian was Robert of Bobbio, and the old monks muttered about an injustice committed against Alinardo. Robert had an assistant, who later died, and Malachi, still very young, was appointed in his place. Many said that Malachi was without merit, that though he claimed to know Greek and Arabic it was not true, he was only good at aping, copying manuscripts in those languages in fine calligraphy, without understanding what he was copying. Alinardo insinuated that Malachi had been put in that position to favor the schemes of his, Alinardo's, enemy. But I did not understand whom he meant. That is the whole story. There have always been whispers that Malachi protected the library like a guard dog, but with no knowledge of what he was guarding. For that matter, there was also whispering against Berengar, when Malachi chose him as assistant. They said that the young man was no cleverer than his master, that he was only an intriguer. They also said\u2014but you must have heard these rumors yourself by now\u2014that there was a strange relationship between him and Malachi.... Old gossip. Then, as you know, there was talk about Berengar and Adelmo, and the young scribes said that Malachi silently suffered horrible jealousy.... And then there was also murmuring about the ties between Malachi and Jorge. No, not m the sense you might believe\u2014no one has ever murmured against Jorge's virtue!\u2014but Malachi, as librarian, by tradition should have chosen the abbot as his confessor, whereas all the other monks go to Jorge for confession (or to Alinardo, but the old man is by now almost mindless).... Well, they said that in spite of this, the librarian conferred too often with Jorge, as if the abbot directed Malachi's soul but Jorge ruled his body, his actions, his work. Indeed, as you know yourself and have probably seen, if anyone wanted to know the location of an ancient, forgotten book, he did not ask Malachi, but Jorge. Malachi kept the catalogue and went up into the library, but Jorge knew what each title meant.\u2026\"\n\n\"Why did Jorge know so many things about the library?\"\n\n\"He is the oldest, after Alinardo; he has been here since his youth. Jorge must be over eighty, and they say he has been blind at least forty years, perhaps longer....\"\n\n\"How did he become so learned, before his blindness?\"\n\n\"Oh, there are legends about him. It seems that when he was only a boy he was already blessed by divine grace, and in his native Castile he read the books of the Arabs and the Greek doctors while still a child. And then even after his blindness, even now, he sits for long hours in the library, he has others recite the catalogue to him and bring him books, and a novice reads aloud to him for hours and hours.\"\n\n\"Now that Malachi and Berengar are dead, who is left who possesses the secrets of the library?\"\n\n\"The abbot, and the abbot must now hand them on to Benno... if he chooses....\"\n\n\"Why do you say. 'if he chooses'?\"\n\n\"Because Benno is young, and he was named assistant while Malachi was still alive; being assistant librarian is different from being librarian. By tradition, the librarian later becomes abbot....\"\n\n\"Ah, so that is it.... That is why the post of librarian is so coveted. But then Abo was once librarian?\"\n\n\"No, not Abo. His appointment took place before I arrived here; it must be thirty years ago now. Before that, Paul of Rimini was abbot, a curious man about whom they tell strange stories. It seems he was a most voracious reader, he knew by heart all the books in the library, but he had a strange infirmity: he was unable to write. They called him Abbas agraphicus.\u2026 He became abbot when very young; it was said he had the support of Algirdas of Cluny.\u2026 But this is old monkish gossip. Anyway, Paul became abbot, and Robert of Bobbio took his place in the library, but he wasted away as an illness consumed him; they knew he would never be able to govern the abbey, and when Paul of Rimini disappeared\u2026\"\n\n\"He died?\"\n\n\"No, he disappeared, I do not know how. One day he went off on a journey and never came back; perhaps he was killed by thieves in the course of his travels.... Anyway, when Paul disappeared, Robert could not take his place, and there were obscure plots. Abo\u2014it is said\u2014was the natural son of the lord of this district. He grew up in the abbey of Fossanova; it was said that as a youth he had tended Saint Thomas when he died there and had been in charge of carrying that great body down the stairs of a tower where the corpse could not pass.... That was his moment of glory, the malicious here murmured.... The fact is, he was elected abbot, even though he had not been librarian, and he was instructed by someone, Robert I believe, in the mysteries of the library. Now you understand why I do not know whether the abbot will want to instruct Benno: it would be like naming him his successor, a heedless youth, a half-barbarian grammarian from the Far North, what could he know about this country, the abbey, its relations with the lords of the area?\"\n\n\"But Malachi was not Italian, either, or Berengar, and yet both of them were appointed to the library.\"\n\n\"There is a mysterious thing for you. The monks grumble that for the past half century or more the abbey has been forsaking its traditions.... This is why, over fifty years ago, perhaps earlier, Alinardo aspired to the position of librarian. The librarian had always been Italian\u2014there is no scarcity of great minds in this land. And besides, you see...\" Here Nicholas hesitated, as if reluctant to say what he was about to say. \"\u2026 you see, Malachi and Berengar died, perhaps so that they would not become abbot.\"\n\nHe stirred, waved his hand before his face as if to dispel thoughts less than honest, then made the sign of the cross. \"Whatever am I saying? You see, in this country shameful things have been happening for many years, even in the monasteries, in the papal court, in the churches.... Conflicts to gain power, accusations of heresy to take a prebend from someone... How ugly! I am losing faith in the human race; I see plots and palace conspiracies on every side. That our abbey should come to this, a nest of vipers risen through occult magic in what had been a triumph of sainted members. Look: the past of this monastery!\"\n\nHe pointed to the treasures scattered all around, and, leaving the crosses and other vessels, he took us to see the reliquaries, which represented the glory of this place.\n\n\"Look,\" he said, \"this is the tip of the spear that pierced the side of the Saviour!\" We saw a golden box with a crystal lid, containing a purple cushion on which lay a piece of iron, triangular in shape, once corroded by rust but now restored to vivid splendor by long application of oils and waxes. But this was still nothing. For in another box, of silver studded with amethysts, its front panel transparent, I saw a piece of the venerated wood of the holy cross, brought to this abbey by Queen Helena herself, mother of the Emperor Constantine, after she had gone as a pilgrim to the holy places, excavated the hill of Golgotha and the holy sepulcher, and constructed a cathedral over it.\n\nThen Nicholas showed us other things, and I could not describe them all, in their number and their rarity. There was, in a case of aquamarine, a nail of the cross. In an ampoule, lying on a cushion of little withered roses, there was a portion of the crown of thorns; and in another box, again on a blanket of dried flowers, a yellowed shred of the tablecloth from the last supper. And then there was the purse of Saint Matthew, of silver links; and in a cylinder, bound by a violet ribbon eaten by time and sealed with gold, a bone from Saint Anne's arm. I saw, wonder of wonders, under a glass bell, on a red cushion embroidered with pearls, a piece of the manger of Bethlehem, and a hand's length of the purple tunic of Saint John the Evangelist, two links of the chains that bound the ankles of the apostle Peter in Rome, the skull of Saint Adalbert, the sword of Saint Stephen, a tibia of Saint Margaret, a finger of Saint Vitalis, a rib of Saint Sophia, the chin of Saint Eobanus, the upper part of Saint Chrysostom's shoulder blade, the engagement ring of Saint Joseph, a tooth of the Baptist, Moses's rod, a tattered scrap of very fine lace from the Virgin Mary's wedding dress.\n\nAnd then other things that were not relics but still bore perennial witness to wonders and wondrous beings from distant lands, brought to the abbey by monks who had traveled to the farthest ends of the world: a stuffed basilisk and hydra, a unicorn's horn, an egg that a hermit had found inside another egg, a piece of the manna that had fed the Hebrews to the desert, a whale's tooth, a coconut, the scapula of an animal from before the Flood, an elephant's ivory tusk, the rib of a dolphin. And then more relics that I did not identify, whose reliquaries were perhaps more precious than they, and some (judging by the craftsmanship of their containers, of blackened silver) very ancient: an endless series of fragments, bone, cloth, wood, metal, glass. And phials with dark powders, one of which, I learned, contained the charred remains of the city of Sodom, and another some mortar from the walls of Jericho. All things, even the humblest, for which an emperor would have given more than a castle, and which represented a hoard not only of immense prestige but also of actual material wealth for the abbey that preserved them.\n\nI continued wandering about, dumbfounded, for Nicholas had now stopped explaining the objects, each of which was described by a scroll anyway; and now I was free to roam virtually at random amid that display of priceless wonders, at times admiring things in full light, at times glimpsing them in semidarkness, as Nicholas's helpers moved to another part of the crypt with their torches. I was fascinated by those yellowed bits of cartilage, mystical and revolting at the same time, transparent and mysterious; by those shreds of clothing from some immemorial age, faded, threadbare, sometimes rolled up in a phial like a faded manuscript; by those crumbled materials mingling with the fabric that was their bed, holy jetsam of a life once animal (and rational) and now, imprisoned in constructions of crystal or of metal that in their minuscule size mimed the boldness of stone cathedrals with towers and turrets, all seemed transformed into mineral substance as well. Is this, then, how the bodies of the saints, buried, await the resurrection of the flesh? From these shards would there be reconstructed those organisms that in the splendor of the beatific vision, regaining their every natural sensitivity, would sense, as Pipernus wrote, even the minimas differentias odorum?\n\nWilliam stirred me from my meditations as he touched my shoulder. \"I am going,\" he said. \"I'm going up to the scriptorium. I have yet something to consult....\"\n\n\"But it will be impossible to have any books,\" I said. \"Benno was given orders.\u2026\"\n\n\"I have to re-examine only the books I was reading the other day; all are still in the scriptorium, on Venantius's desk. You stay here, if you like. This crypt is a beautiful epitome of the debates on poverty you have been following these past few days. And now you know why your brothers make mincemeat of one another as they aspire to the position of abbot.\"\n\n\"But do you believe what Nicholas implied? Are the crimes connected with a conflict over the investiture?\"\n\n\"I've already told you that for the present I don't want to put hypotheses into words. Nicholas said many things. And some interested me. But now I am going to follow yet another trail. Or perhaps the same, but from a different direction. And don't succumb too much to the spell of these cases. I have seen many other fragments of the cross, in other churches. If all were genuine, our Lord's torment could not have been on a couple of planks nailed together, but on an entire forest.\"\n\n\"Master!\" I said, shocked.\n\n\"So it is, Adso. And there are even richer treasuries. Some time ago, in the cathedral of Cologne, I saw the skull of John the Baptist at the age of twelve.\"\n\n\"Really?\" I exclaimed, amazed. Then, seized by doubt, I added, \"But the Baptist was executed at a more advanced age!\"\n\n\"The other skull must be in another treasury,\" William said, with a grave face. I never understood when he was jesting. In my country, when you joke you say something and then you laugh very noisily, so everyone shares in the joke. But William laughed only when he said serious things, and remained very serious when he was presumably joking."
            },
            {
                "title": "TERCE",
                "text": "In which Adso, listening to the \"Dies irae,\" has a dream, or vision, howsoever you may choose to define it.\n\nWilliam took his leave of Nicholas and went up to the scriptorium. By now I had seen my fill of the treasure and decided to go into the church and pray for Malachi's soul. I had never loved that man, who frightened me; and I will not deny that for a long time I believed him guilty of all the crimes. But now I had learned that he was perhaps a poor wretch, oppressed by unfulfilled passions, an earthenware vessel among vessels of iron, surly because bewildered, silent and evasive because conscious he had nothing to say. I felt a certain remorse toward him, and I thought that praying for his supernatural destiny might allay my feelings of guilt.\n\nThe church was now illuminated by a faint and livid glow, dominated by the poor man's corpse, and inhabited by the monotone murmur of the monks reciting the office of the dead.\n\nIn the monastery of Melk I had several times witnessed a brother's decease. It was not what I could call a happy occasion, but still it seemed to me serene, governed by calm and by a sense of rightness. The monks took turns in the dying man's cell, comforting him with good words, and each in his heart considered how the dying man was fortunate, because he was about to conclude a virtuous life and would soon join the choir of angels in that bliss without end. And a part of this serenity, the odor of that pious envy, was conveyed to the dying man, who in the end died serenely. How different the deaths of the past few days! Finally I had seen at close hand how a victim of the diabolical scorpions of the finis Africae died, and certainly Venantius and Berengar had also died like that, seeking relief in water, their faces already wasted as Malachi's had been.\n\nI sat at the back of the church, huddled down to combat the chill. As I felt a bit of warmth, I moved my lips to join the chorus of the praying brothers. I followed them almost without being aware of what my lips were saying, while my head nodded and my eyes wanted to close. Long minutes went by; I believe I fell asleep and woke up at least three or four times. Then the choir began to chant the \"Dies irae.\"\u2026 The chanting affected me like a narcotic. I went completely to sleep. Or perhaps, rather than slumber, I fell into an exhausted, agitated doze, bent double, like an infant still in its' mother's womb. And in that fog of the soul, finding myself as if in a region not of this world, I had a vision, or dream, if you prefer to call it that.\n\nI was descending some narrow steps into a low passage, as if I were entering the treasure crypt, but, continuing to descend, I arrived in a broader crypt, which was the kitchen of the Aedificium. It was certainly the kitchen, but there was a bustle among not only ovens and pots, but also bellows and hammers, as if Nicholas's smiths had assembled there as well. Everything glowed red from the stoves and cauldrons, and boiling pots gave off steam while huge bubbles rose to their surfaces and popped suddenly with a dull, repeated sound. The cooks turned spits in the air, as the novices, who had all gathered, leaped up to snatch the chickens and the other fowl impaled on those red-hot irons. But nearby the smiths hammered so powerfully that the whole air was deafened, and clouds of sparks rose from the anvils, mingling with those belching from the two ovens.\n\nI could not understand whether I was in hell or in such a paradise as Salvatore might have conceived, dripping with juices and throbbing with sausages. But I had no time to wonder where I was, because in rushed a swarm of little men, dwarfs with huge pot-shaped heads; sweeping me away, they thrust me to the threshold of the refectory, forcing me to enter.\n\nThe hall was bedecked for a feast. Great tapestries and banners hung on the walls, but the images adorning them were not those usually displayed for the edification of the faithful or the celebration of the glories of kings. They seemed inspired, on the contrary, by Adelmo's marginalia, and they reproduced his less awful and more comical images: hares dancing around the tree of plenty, rivers filled with fish that flung themselves spontaneously into frying pans held out by monkeys dressed as cook-bishops, monsters with fat bellies skipping around steaming kettles.\n\nIn the center of the table was the abbot, in feast-day dress, with a great vestment of embroidered purple, holding his fork like a scepter. Beside him, Jorge drank from a great mug of wine, and Remigio, dressed like Bernard Gui, held a book shaped like a scorpion, virtuously reading the lives of the saints and passages from the Gospels, but they were stories about Jesus joking with the apostle, reminding him that he was a stone and on that shameless stone that rolled over the plain he would build his church, or the story of Saint Jerome commenting on the Bible and saying that God wanted to bare Jerusalem's behind. And at every sentence the cellarer read, Jorge laughed, pounded his fist on the table, and shouted, \"You shall be the next abbot, by God's belly!\" Those were his very words, may the Lord forgive me.\n\nAt a merry signal from the abbot, the procession of virgins entered. It was a radiant line of richly dressed females, in whose midst I thought at first I could discern my mother; then I realized my error, because it was certainly the maiden terrible as an army with banners. Except that she wore a crown of white pearls on her head, a double strand, and two cascades of pearls fell on either side of her face, mingling with two other rows which hung on her bosom, and from each pearl hung a diamond as big as a plum. Further, from both ears descended rows of blue pearls, which joined to become a choker at the base of her neck, white and erect as a tower of Lebanon. The cloak was murex-colored, and in her hand she had a diamond-studded golden goblet in which I knew, I cannot say how, was contained the lethal unguent one day stolen from Severinus. This woman, fair as the dawn, was followed by other female forms. One was clothed in a white embroidered mantle over a dark dress adorned with a double stole of gold embroidered in wild flowers; the second wore a cloak of yellow damask on a pale-pink dress dotted with green leaves, and with two great spun squares in the form of a dark labyrinth; and the third had an emerald dress interwoven with little red animals, and she bore in her hands a white embroidered stole; I did not observe the clothing of the others, because I was trying to understand who they were, to be accompanying the maiden, who now resembled the Virgin Mary; and as if each bore in her hand a scroll, or as if a scroll came from each woman's mouth, I knew they were Ruth, Sarah, Susanna, and other women of Scripture.\n\nAt this point the abbot cried, \"Come on in, you whoresons!\" and into the refectory came another array of sacred personages, in austere and splendid dress, whom I recognized clearly; and in the center of the group was one seated on a throne who was our Lord but at the same time He was Adam, dressed in a purple cloak with a great diadem, red and white with rubies and pearls, holding the cloak on His shoulders, and on His head a crown similar to the maiden's, in His hand a larger goblet, brimming with pig's blood. Other most holy personages of whom I will speak, all familiar to me, surrounded him, along with a host of the King of France's archers, dressed either in green or in red, with a pale-emerald shield on which the monogram of Christ stood out. The chief of this band went to pay homage to the abbot, extending the goblet to him. At which point the abbot said, \"Age primum et septimum de quatuor,\" and all chanted, \"In finibus Africae, amen.\" Then all sederunt.\n\nWhen the two facing hosts had thus dispersed, at an order from Abbot Solomon the tables began to be laid, James and Andrew brought a bale of hay, Adam settled himself in the center, Eve lay down on a leaf, Cain entered dragging a plow, Abel came with a pail to milk Brunellus, Noah made a triumphal entry rowing the ark, Abraham sat under a tree, Isaac lay on the gold altar of the church, Moses crouched on a stone, Daniel appeared on a catafalque in Malachi's arms, Tobias stretched out on a bed, Joseph threw himself on a bushel, Benjamin reclined on a sack, and there were others still, but here the vision grew confused. David stood on a mound, John on the floor, Pharaoh on the sand (naturally, I said to myself, but why?), Lazarus on the table, Jesus on the edge of the well, Zaccheus on the boughs of a tree, Matthew on a stool, Raab on stubble, Ruth on straw, Thecla on the window sill (from outside, Adelmo's pale face appeared, as he warned her it was possible to fall down, down the cliff), Susanna in the garden, Judas among the graves, Peter on the throne, James on a net, Elias on a saddle, Rachel on a bundle. And Paul the apostle, putting down his sword, listened to Esau complain, while job moaned on the dungheap and Rebecca rushed to his aid with a garment and Judith with a blanket, Hagar with a shroud, and some novices carried a large steaming pot from which leaped Venantius of Salvemec, all red, as he began to distribute pig's-blood puddings.\n\nThe refectory was now becoming more and more crowded, and all were eating at full tilt; Jonas brought some gourds to the table, Isaiah some vegetables, Ezekiel blackberries, Zaccheus sycamore flowers, Adam lemons, Daniel lupins, Pharaoh peppers, Cain cardoons, Eve figs, Rachel apples, Anamas some plums as big as diamonds, Leah onions, Aaron olives, Joseph an egg, Noah grapes, Simeon peach pits, while Jesus was singing the \"Dies irae\" and gaily poured over all the dishes some vinegar that he squeezed from a little sponge he had taken from the spear of one of the King of France's archers.\n\nAt this point Jorge, having removed his vitra ad legendum, lighted a burning bush; Sarah had provided kindling for it, Jephtha had brought it, Isaac had unloaded it, Joseph had carved it, and while Jacob opened the well and Daniel sat down beside the lake, the servants brought water, Noah wine, Hagar a wineskin, Abraham a calf that Raab tied to a stake while Jesus held out the rope and Elijah bound its feet. Then Absalom hung. him by his hair, Peter held out his sword, Cain killed him, Herod shed his blood, Shem threw away his giblets and dung, Jacob added the oil, Molessadon the salt; Antiochus put him on the fire, Rebecca cooked him, and Eve first tasted him and was taken sick, but Adam said not to give it a thought and slapped Severinus on the back as he suggested adding aromatic herbs. Then Jesus broke the bread and passed around some fishes, Jacob shouted because Esau had eaten all the pottage, Isaac was devouring a roast kid, and Jonah a boiled whale, and Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights.\n\nMeanwhile, all came in and out bringing choice game of every shape and color, of which Benjamin always kept the biggest share and Mary the choicest morsel, while Martha complained of always having to wash the dishes. Then they divided up the calf, which had meanwhile grown very big, and John was given the head, Abessalom the brain, Aaron the tongue, Sampson the jaw, Peter the ear, Holofernes the head, Leah the rump, Saul the neck, Jonah the belly, Tobias the gall, Eve the rib, Mary the breast, Elizabeth the vulva, Moses the tail, Lot the legs, and Ezekiel the bones. All the while, Jesus was devouring a donkey, Saint Francis a wolf, Abel a lamb, Eve a moray, the Baptist a locust, Pharaoh an octopus (naturally, I said to myself, but why?), and David was eating Spanish fly, flinging himself on the maiden nigra sed formosa while Sampson bit into a lion's behind and Thecla fled screaming, pursued by a hairy black spider.\n\nAll were obviously drunk by now, and some slipped on the wine, some fell into the jars with only their legs sticking out, crossed like two stakes, and all of Jesus's fingers were black as he handed out pages of books saying': Take this and eat, these are the riddles of Synphosius, including the one about the fish that is the son of God and your Saviour.\n\nSprawled on his back, Adam gulped, and the wine came from 'his rib, Noah cursed Ham in his sleep, Holofernes snored, all unsuspecting, Jonah slept soundly, Peter kept watch till cockcrow, and Jesus woke with a start, hearing Bernard Gui and Bertrand del Poggetto plotting to burn the maiden; and he shouted: Father, if it be thy will, let this chalice pass from me! And some poured badly and some drank well, some died laughing and some laughed dying, some bore vases and some drank from another's cup. Susanna shouted that she would never grant her beautiful white body to the cellarer and to Salvatore for a miserable beef heart, Pilate wandered around the refectory like a lost soul asking for water to wash his hands, and Fra Dolcino, with his plumed hat, brought the water, then opened his garment, snickering, and displayed his pudenda red with blood, while Cain taunted him and embraced the beautiful Margaret of Trent: and Dolcino fell to weeping and went to rest his head on' the shoulder of Bernard Gui, calling him Angelic Pope, Ubertino consoled him with a tree of life, Michael of Cesena with a gold purse, the Marys sprinkled him with unguents, and Adam convinced him to bite into a freshly plucked apple.\n\nAnd then the vaults of the Aedificium opened and from the heavens descended Roger Bacon on a flying machine, unico homine regente. Then David played his lyre, Salome danced with her seven veils, and at the fall of each veil she blew one of the seven trumpets and showed one of the seven seals, until only the amicta sole remained. Everyone said there had never been such a jolly abbey, and Berengar pulled up everyone's habit, man and woman, kissing them all on the anus.\n\nThen it was that the abbot flew into a rage, because, he said, he had organized such a lovely feast and nobody was giving him anything; so they all outdid one another in bringing him gifts and treasures, a bull, a lamb, a lion, a camel, a stag, a calf, a mare, a chariot of the sun, the chin of Saint Eubanus, the tail of Saint Ubertina, the uterus of Saint Venantia, the neck of Saint Burgosina engraved like a goblet at the age of twelve, and a copy of the Pentagonum Salomonis. But the abbot started yelling that they were trying to distract his attention with their behavior, and in fact they were looting the treasure crypt, where we all were, and a most precious book had been stolen which spoke of scorpions and the seven trumpets, and he called the King of France's archers to search all the suspects. And, to everyone's shame, the archers found a multicolored cloth on Hagar, a gold seal on Rachel, a silver mirror in Thecla's bosom, a siphon under Benjamin's arm, a silk coverlet among Judith's clothes, a spear in Longinus's hand, and a neighbor's wife in the arms of Abimelech. But the worst was when they found a black rooster on the girl, black and beautiful she was, like a cat of the same color, and they called her a witch and a Pseudo Apostle, so all flung themselves on her, to punish her. The Baptist decapitated her, Abel cut her open, Adam drove her out, Nebuchadnezzar wrote zodiacal signs on her breast with a fiery hand, Elijah carried her off in a fiery chariot, Noah plunged her in water, Lot changed her into a pillar of salt, Susanna accused her of lust, Joseph betrayed her with another woman, Ananias stuck her into a furnace, Sampson chained her up, Paul flagellated her, Peter crucified her head down, Stephen stoned her, Lawrence burned her on a grate, Bartholomew skinned her, Judas denounced her, the cellarer burned her, and Peter denied everything. Then they all were on that body, flinging excrement on her, farting in her face, urinating on her head, vomiting on her bosom, tearing out her hair, whipping her buttocks with glowing torches. The girl's body, once so beautiful and sweet, was now lacerated, torn into fragments that were scattered among the glass cases and gold-and-crystal reliquaries of the crypt. Or, rather, it was not the body of the girl that went to fill the crypt, it was the fragments of the crypt that, whirling, gradually composed to form the girl's body, now something mineral, and then again decomposed and scattered, sacred dust of segments accumulated by insane blasphemy. It was now as if a single immense body had, in the course of millennia, dissolved into its parts, and these parts had been arranged to occupy the whole crypt, more splendid than the ossarium of the dead monks but not unlike it, and as if the substantial form of man's very body, the masterpiece of creation, had shattered into plural and separate accidental forms, thus becoming the image of its own opposite, form no longer ideal but earthly, of dust and stinking fragments, capable of signifying only death and destruction....\n\nNow I could no longer find the banqueters or the gifts they had brought, it was as if all the guests of the symposium were now in the crypt, each mummified in its own residue, each the diaphanous synecdoche of itself, Rachel as a bone, Daniel as a tooth, Sampson as a jaw, Jesus as a shred of purple garment. As if, at the end of the banquet, the feast transformed into the girl's slaughter, it had become the universal slaughter, and here I was seeing its final result, the bodies (no, the whole terrestrial and sublunar body of those ravenous and thirsting feasters) transformed into a single dead body, lacerated and tormented like Dolcino's body after his torture, transformed into a loathsome and resplendent treasure, stretched out to its full extent like the hide of a skinned and hung animal, which still contained, however, petrified, the leather sinews, the viscera, and all the organs, and even the features of the face. The skin with each of its folds, wrinkles, and scars, with its velvety plains, its forest of hairs, the dermis, the bosom, the pudenda, having become a sumptuous damask, and the breasts, the nails, the horny formations under the heel, the threads of the lashes, the watery substance of the eyes, the flesh of the lips, the thin spine of the back, the architecture of the bones, everything reduced to sandy powder, though nothing had lost its own form or respective placement, the legs emptied and limp as a boot, their flesh lying flat like a chasuble with all the scarlet embroidery of the veins, the engraved pile of the viscera, the intense and mucous ruby of the heart, the pearly file of even teeth arranged like a necklace, with the tongue as a pink-and-blue pendant, the fingers in a row like tapers, the seal of the navel reknotting the threads of the unrolled carpet of the belly... From every corner of the crypt, now I was grinned at, whispered to, bidden to death by this macrobody divided among glass cases and reliquaries and yet reconstructed in its vast and irrational whole, and it was the same body that at the supper had eaten and tumbled obscenely but here, instead, appeared to me fixed in the intangibility of its deaf and blind ruin. And Ubertino, seizing me by the arm, digging his nails into my flesh, whispered to me: \"You see, it is the same thing, what first triumphed in its folly and took delight in its jesting now is here, punished and rewarded, liberated from the seduction of the passions, rigidified by eternity, consigned to the eternal frost that is to preserve and purify it, saved from corruption through the triumph of corruption, because nothing more can reduce to dust that which is already dust and mineral substance, mors est quies viatoris, finis est omnis laboris....\"\n\nBut suddenly Salvatore entered the crypt, glowing like a devil, and cried, \"Fool! Can't you see this is the great Lyotard? What are you afraid of, my little master? Here is the cheese in batter!\" And suddenly the crypt was bright with reddish flashes and it was again the kitchen, but not so much a kitchen as the inside of a great womb, mucous and viscid, and in the center an animal black as a raven and with a thousand hands was chained to a huge grate, and it extended those limbs to snatch everybody around it, and as the peasant when thirsty squeezes a bunch of grapes, so that great beast squeezed those it had snatched so that its hands broke them all, the legs of some, the heads of others, and then it sated itself, belching a fire that seemed to stink more than sulphur. But, wondrous mystery, that scene no longer instilled fear in me, and I was surprised to see that I could watch easily that \"good devil\" (so I thought) who after all was none other than Salvatore, because now I knew all about the mortal human body, its sufferings and its corruption, and I feared nothing any more. In fact, in the light of that flame, which now seemed mild and convivial, I saw again all the guests of the supper, now restored to their original forms, singing and declaring, that everything was beginning again, and among them was the maiden, whole and most beautiful, who said to me, \"it is nothing, it is nothing, you will see: I shall be even more beautiful than before; just let me go for a moment and burn on the pyre, then we shall meet again here!\" And she displayed to me, God have mercy on me, her vulva, into which I entered, and I found myself in a beautiful cave, which seemed the happy valley of the golden age, dewy with waters and fruits and trees that bore cheeses in batter. And all were thanking the abbot for the lovely feast, and they showed him their affection and good humor by pushing him, kicking him, tearing his clothes, laying him on the ground, striking his rod with rods, as he laughed and begged them to stop tickling him. And, riding mounts whose nostrils emitted clouds of brimstone, the Friars of the Poor Life entered, carrying at their belts purses full of gold with which they transformed wolves into lambs and lambs into wolves and crowned them emperor with the approval of the assembly, of the people, who sang praises of God's infinite omnipotence. \"Ut cachinnis dissolvatur, torqueatur rictibus!\" Jesus shouted, waving his crown of thorns. Pope John came in, cursing the confusion and saying, \"At this rate I don't know where it all will end!\" But everyone mocked him and, led by the abbot, went out with the pigs to hunt truffles in the forest. \u00ed was about to follow them when in a corner I saw William, emerging from the labyrinth and carrying in his hand the magnet, which pulled him rapidly northward. \"Do not leave me, master!\" I shouted. \"I, too, want to see what is in the finis Africae!\"\n\n\"You have already seen it!\" William answered, far away by now. And I woke up as the last words of the funeral chant were ending in the church:\n\n\u2003Lacrimosa dies illa\n\n\u2003qua resurget ex favilla\n\n\u2003iudicandus homo reus:\n\n\u2003huic ergo parce deus!\n\n\u2003Pie Iesu domine\n\n\u2003dona eis requiem.\n\nA sign that my vision, rapid like all visions, if it had not lasted the space of an \"amen,\" as the saying goes, had lasted almost the length of a \"Dies irae.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER TERCE",
                "text": "In which William explains Adso's dream to him.\n\nDazed, I came out through the main door and discovered a little crowd there. The Franciscans were leaving, and William had come down to say good-bye to them.\n\nI joined in the farewells, the fraternal embraces. Then I asked William when the others would be leaving, with the prisoners. He told me they had already left, half an hour before, while we were in the treasure crypt, or perhaps, I thought, when I was dreaming.\n\nFor a moment I was aghast, then I recovered myself. Better so. I would not have been able to bear the sight of the condemned (I meant the poor wretched cellarer and Salvatore... and, of course, I also meant the girl) being dragged off, far away and forever. And besides, I was still so upset by my dream that my feelings seemed numb.\n\nAs the caravan of Minorites headed for the gate, to leave the abbey, William and I remained in front of the church, both melancholy, though for different reasons. Then I decided to tell my master my dream. Though the vision had been multiform and illogical, I remembered it with. amazing clarity, image by image, action by action, word by word. And so I narrated it, omitting nothing, because I knew that dreams are often mysterious messages in which learned people can read distinct prophecies.\n\nWilliam listened to me in silence, then asked me, \"Do you know what you have dreamed?\"\n\n\"Exactly what I told you\u2026\" I replied, at a loss.\n\n\"Of course, I realize that. But do you know that to a great extent what you tell me has already been written? You have added people and events of these past few days to a picture already familiar to you, because you have read the story of your dream somewhere, or it was told you as a boy, in school, in the convent. It is the Coena Cypriani.\"\n\nI remained puzzled briefly. Then I remembered. He was right! Perhaps I had forgotten the title, but what adult monk or unruly young novice has not smiled or laughed over the various visions, in prose or rhyme, of this story, which belongs to the tradition of the paschal season and the ioca monachorum? Though the work is banned or execrated by the more austere among novice masters, there is still not a convent in which the monks have not whispered it to one another, variously condensed and revised, while some piously copied it, declaring that behind a veil of mirth it concealed secret moral lessons, and others encouraged its circulation because, they said, through its jesting, the young could more easily commit to memory certain episodes of sacred history. A verse version had been written for Pope John VIII, with the inscription \"I loved to jest; accept me, dear Pope John, in my jesting. And, if you wish, you can also laugh.\" And it was said that Charles the Bald himself had staged it, in the guise of a comic sacred mystery, in a rhymed version to entertain his dignitaries at supper.\n\nAnd how many scoldings had I received from my masters when, with my companions, I recited passages from it! I remembered an old friar at Melk who used to say that a, virtuous man like Cyprian could not have written such an indecent thing, such a sacrilegious parody of Scripture, worthier of an infidel and a buffoon than of a holy martyr.... For years I had forgotten those childish jokes. Why on this day had the Coena reappeared so vividly in my dream? I had always thought that dreams were divine messages, or at worst absurd stammerings of the sleeping memory about things that had happened during the clay. I was now realizing that one can also dream books, and therefore dream of dreams.\n\n\"I should like to be Artemidorus to interpret your dream correctly,\" William said. \"But it seems to me that even without Artemidorus's learning it is easy to understand what happened. In these past days, my poor boy, you have experienced a series of events in which every upright rule seems to have been destroyed. And this morning, in your sleeping mind, there returned the memory of a kind of comedy in which, albeit with other intentions, the world is described upside down. You inserted into that work your most recent memories, your anxieties, your fears. From the marginalia of Adelmo you went on to relive a great carnival where everything seems to proceed in the wrong direction, and yet, as in the Coena, each does what he really did in life. And finally you asked yourself, in the dream, which world is the false one, and what it means to walk head down. Your dream no longer distinguished what is down and what is up, where life is and where death. Your dream cast doubt on the teachings you have received.\"\n\n\"My dream,\" I said virtuously, \"not I. But dreams are not divine messages, then; they are diabolical ravings, and they contain no truth!\"\n\n\"I don't know, Adso,\" William said. \"We already have so many truths in our possession that if the day came when someone insisted on deriving a truth even from our dreams, then the day of the Antichrist would truly be at hand. And yet, the more I think of your dream, the more revealing it seems to me. Perhaps not to you, but to me. Forgive me if I use your dream in order to work out my hypotheses; I know, it is a base action, it should not be done.... But I believe that your sleeping soul understood more things than I have in six days, and awake....\"\n\n\"Truly?\"\n\n\"Truly. Or perhaps not. I find your dream revealing because it coincides with one of my hypotheses. But you have given me great help. Thank you.\"\n\n\"But what was there in my dream that interests you so much? It made no sense, like all dreams!\"\n\n\"It had another sense like all dreams, and visions. It must be read as an allegory, or an analogy....\"\n\n\"Like Scripture?\"\n\n\"A dream is a scripture, and many scriptures are nothing but dreams.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SEXT",
                "text": "In which the succession of librarians is reconstructed, and there is further information about the mysterious book.\n\nWilliam decided to go back up to the scriptorium, from which he had just come. He asked Benno's leave to consult the catalogue, and he leafed through it rapidly. \"It must be around here,\" he said, \"I saw it just an hour ago....\" He stopped at one page. \"Here,\" he said, \"read this title.\"\n\nAs a single entry there was a group of four titles, indicating that one volume contained several texts. I read:\n\nI. ar. de dictis cuiusdam stulti\n\nII. syr. libellus alchemicus aegypt.\n\nIII. Expositio Magistri Alcofribae de coena beati Cypriani Cartaginensis Episcopi\n\nIV. Liber acephalus de stupris virginum et meretricum amoribus\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is our book,\" William whispered to me. \"This is why your dream reminded me of something. Now I am sure this is it. And in fact\"\u2014he glanced quickly at the pages immediately preceding and following\u2014\"in fact, here are the books I was thinking about, all together. But this isn't what I wanted to check. See here. Do you have your tablet? Good. We must make a calculation, and try to remember clearly what Alinardo told us the other day as well as what we heard this morning from Nicholas. Now, Nicholas told us he arrived here about thirty years ago, and Abo had already been named abbot. The abbot before him was Paul of Rimini. Is that right? Let's say this succession took place around 1290, more or less, it doesn't matter. Nicholas also told us that, when he arrived, Robert of Bobbio was already librarian. Correct? Then Robert died, and the post was given to Malachi, let's say at the beginning of this century. Write this down. There is a period, however, before Nicholas came, when Paul of Rimini was librarian. How long was he in that post? We weren't told. We could examine the abbey ledgers, but I imagine the abbot has them, and for the moment I would prefer not to ask him for them. Let's suppose Paul was appointed librarian sixty years ago. Write that. Why does Alinardo complain of the fact that, about fifty years ago, he should have been given the post of librarian and instead it went to another? Was he referring to Paul of Rimini?\"\n\n\"Or to Robert of Bobbio!\" I said.\n\n\"So it would seem. But now look at this catalogue. As you know, the titles are recorded in the order of acquisition. And who writes them in this ledger? The librarian. Therefore, by the changes of handwriting in these pages we can establish the succession of librarians. Now we will look at the catalogue from the end; the last handwriting is Malachi's, you see. And it fills only a few pages. The abbey has not acquired many books in these last thirty years. Then, as we work backward, a series of pages begins in a shaky hand. I clearly read the presence of Robert of Bobbio, who was ill. Robert probably did not occupy the position long. And then what do we find? Pages and pages in another hand, straight and confident, a whole series of acquisitions (including the group of books I was examining a moment ago), truly impressive. Paul of Rimini must have worked hard! Too hard, if you recall that Nicholas told us he became abbot while still a young man. But let's assume that in a few years this voracious reader enriched the abbey with so many books. Weren't we told he was called Abbas agraphicus because of that strange defect, or illness, which made him unable to write? Then who wrote these pages? His assistant librarian, I would say. But if by chance this assistant librarian were then named librarian, he would then have continued writing, and we would have figured out why there are so many pages here in the same hand. So, then, between Paul and Robert we would have another librarian, chosen about fifty years ago, who was the mysterious rival of Alinardo, who was hoping, as an older man, to succeed Paul. Then this man died, and somehow, contrary to Alinardo's expectations and the expectations of others, Robert was named in his place.\"\n\n\"But why are you so sure this is the right scansion? Even granting that this handwriting is the nameless librarian's, why couldn't Paul also have written the titles of the still earlier pages?\"\n\n\"Because among the acquisitions they recorded all bulls and decretals, and these are precisely dated. I mean, if you find here, as you do, the Firma cautela of Boniface the Seventh, dated 1296, you know that text did not arrive before that year, and you can assume it didn't arrive much later. I have these milestones, so to speak, placed along the years, so if I grant that Paul of Rimini became librarian in 1265 and abbot in 1275, and I find that his hand, or the hand of someone else who is not Robert of Bobbio, lasts from 1265 to 1285, then I discover a discrepancy of ten years.\"\n\nMy master was truly very sharp. \"But what conclusions do you draw from this discrepancy?\" I asked.\n\n\"None,\" he answered. \"Only some premises.\"\n\nThen he got up and went to talk with Benno, who was staunchly at his post, but with a very unsure air. He was still behind his old desk and had not dared take over Malachi's, by the catalogue. William addressed him with some coolness. We had not forgotten the unpleasant scene of the previous evening.\n\n\"Even in your new and powerful position, Brother Librarian, I trust you will answer a question. That morning when Adelmo and the others were talking here about witty riddles, and Berengar made the first reference to the finis Africae, did anybody mention the Coena Cypriani?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Benno said, \"didn't I tell you? Before they talked about the riddles of Symphosius, Venantius himself mentioned the Coena, and Malachi became furious, saying it was an ignoble work and reminding us that the abbot had forbidden anyone to read it....\"\n\n\"The abbot?\" William said. \"Very interesting. Thank you, Benno.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" Benno said, \"I want to talk with you.\" He motioned us to follow him out of the scriptorium, onto the stairs going down to the kitchen, so the others could not hear him. His lips were trembling.\n\n\"I'm frightened, William,\" he said. \"They've killed Malachi. Now I am the one who knows too many things. Besides, the group of Italians hate me.... They do not want another foreign librarian.... I believe the others were murdered for this very reason.... I've never told you about Alinardo's hatred for Malachi, his bitterness.\"\n\n\"Who was it who took the post from him, years ago?\"\n\n\"That I don't know: he always talks about it vaguely, and anyway it's ancient history. They must all be dead now. But the group of Italians around Alinardo speaks often... spoke often of Malachi as a straw man... put here by someone else, with the complicity of the abbot.... Not realizing it, I... I have become involved in the conflict of the two hostile factions.... I became aware of it only this morning.... Italy is a land of conspiracies: they poison popes here, so just imagine a poor boy like me.... Yesterday I hadn't understood, I believed that book was responsible for everything, but now I'm no longer sure. That was the pretext: you've seen that the book was found but Malachi died all the same.\u2026 I must... I want to... I would like to run away. What do you advise me to do?\"\n\n\"Stay calm. Now you ask advice, do you? Yesterday evening you seemed ruler of the world. Silly youth, if you had helped me yesterday we would have prevented this last crime. You are the one who gave Malachi the book that brought him to his death. But tell me one thing at least. Did you have that book in your hands, did you touch it, read it? Then why are you not dead?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I swear I didn't touch it; or, rather, I touched it when I took it in the laboratory but without opening it; I hid it inside my habit, then went and put it under the pallet in my cell. I knew Malachi was watching me, so I came back at once to the scriptorium. And afterward, when Malachi offered to make me his assistant, I gave him the book. That's the whole story.\"\n\n\"Don't tell me you didn't even open it.\"\n\n\"Yes, I did open it before hiding it, to make sure it really was the one you were also looking for. It began with an Arabic manuscript, then I believe one in Syriac, then there was a Latin text, and finally one in Greek.\u2026\"\n\nI remembered the abbreviations we had seen in the catalogue. The first two titles were listed as \"ar.\" and \"syr\" It was the book! But William persisted: \"You touched it and you are not dead. So touching it does not kill. And what can you tell me about the Greek text? Did you look at it?\"\n\n\"Very briefly. Just long enough to realize it had no title; it began as if a part were missing.\u2026\"\n\n\"Liber acephalus\u2026\" William murmured.\n\n\"I tried to read the first page, but the truth is that my Greek is very poor. And then my curiosity was aroused by another detail, connected with those same pages in Greek. I did not leaf through all of them, because I was unable to. The pages were\u2014how can I explain?\u2014damp, stuck together. It was hard to separate one from the other. Because the parchment was odd... softer than other parchments, and the first page was rotten, and almost crumbling. It was... well, strange.\"\n\n\"'Strange': the very word Severinus used,\" William said.\n\n\"The parchment did not seem like parchment.... It seemed like cloth, but very fine...\" Benno went on.\n\n\"Charta lintea, or linen paper,\" William said. \"Had you never seen it?\"\n\n\"I had heard of it, but I don't believe I ever saw it before. It is said to be very costly, and delicate. That's why it is rarely used. The Arabs make it, don't they?\"\n\n\"They were the first. But it is also made here in Italy, at Fabriano. And also... Why, of course, naturally!\" William's eyes shone. \"What a beautiful and interesting revelation! Good for you, Benno! I thank you! Yes, I imagine that here in the library charta lintea must be rare, because no very recent manuscripts have arrived. And besides, many are afraid linen paper will not survive through the centuries like parchment, and perhaps that is true. Let us imagine, if they wanted something here that was not more perennial than bronze... Charta lintea, then? Very well. Good-bye. And don't worry. You're in no danger.\"\n\nWe went away from the scriptorium, leaving Benno calmer, if not totally reassured.\n\nThe abbot was in the refectory. William went to him and asked to speak with him. Abo, unable to temporize, agreed to meet us in a short while at his house."
            },
            {
                "title": "NONES",
                "text": "In which the abbot refuses to listen to William, discourses on the language of gems, and expresses a wish that there be no further investigation of the recent unhappy events.\n\nThe abbot's apartments were over the chapter hall, and from the window of the large and sumptuous main room, where he received us, you could see, on that clear and windy day, beyond the roof of the abbatial church, the massive Aedificium.\n\nThe abbot, standing at the window, was in fact contemplating it, and he pointed it out to us with a solemn gesture.\n\n\"An admirable fortress,\" he said, \"whose proportions sum up the golden rule that governed the construction of the ark. Divided into three stories, because three is the number of the Trinity, three were the angels who visited Abraham, the days Jonah spent in the belly of the great fish, and the days Jesus and Lazarus passed in the sepulcher; three times Christ asked the Father to let the bitter chalice pass from him, and three times he hid himself to pray with the apostles. Three times Peter denied him, and three times Christ appeared to his disciples after the Resurrection. The theological virtues are three, and three are the holy languages, the parts of the soul, the classes of intellectual creatures, angels, men, and devils; there are three kinds of sound\u2014vox, flatus, pulsus\u2014and three epochs of human history, before, during, and after the law.\"\n\n\"A wondrous harmony of mystical relations,\" William agreed.\n\n\"But the square shape also,\" the abbot continued, \"is rich in spiritual lessons. The cardinal points are four, and the seasons, the elements, and heat, cold, wet, and dry; birth, growth, maturity, and old age; the species of animals, celestial, terrestrial, aerial, and aquatic; the colors forming the rainbow; and the number of years required to make a leap year.\"\n\n\"Oh, to be sure,\" William said, and three plus four is seven, a superlatively mystical number, whereas three multiplied by four makes twelve, like the apostles, and twelve by twelve makes one hundred forty-four, which is the number of the elect.\" And to this last display of mystical knowledge of the ideal world of numbers, the abbot had nothing further to add. Thus William could come to the point.\n\n\"We must talk about the latest events, on which I have reflected at length,\" he said.\n\nThe abbot turned his back to the window and looked straight at William with a stern face. \"At too-great length, perhaps. I must confess, Brother William, that I expected more of you. Almost six days have passed since you arrived here; four monks have died besides Adelmo, two have been arrested by the Inquisition\u2014it was justice, to be sure, but we could have avoided this shame if the inquisitor had not been obliged to concern himself with the previous crimes\u2014and finally the meeting over which I presided has\u2014precisely because of all these wicked deeds\u2014had a pitiful outcome....\"\n\nWilliam remained silent, embarrassed. Without question, the abbot was right.\n\n\"That is true,\" he admitted. \"I have not lived up to your expectations, but I will explain why, Your Sublimity. These crimes do not stem from a brawl or from some vendetta among the monks, but from deeds that, in their turn, originate in the remote history of the abbey....\"\n\nThe abbot looked at him uneasily. \"What do you mean? I myself realize that the key is not that miserable affair of the cellarer, which has intersected another story. But the other, that other which I may know but cannot discuss... I hoped it was clear, and that you would speak to me about it....\"\n\n\"Your Sublimity is thinking of some deed he learned about in confession.... The abbot looked away, and William continued: \"If Your Magnificence wants to know whether I know, without having learned it from Your Magnificence, that there were illicit relations between Berengar and Adelmo, and between Berengar and Malachi, well, yes, everyone in the abbey, knows this....\"\n\nThe abbot blushed violently. \"I do not believe it useful to speak of such things in the presence of this novice. And I do not believe, now that the. meeting is over, that you need him any longer as scribe. Go, boy,\" he said to me imperiously. Humiliated, I went. But in my curiosity I crouched outside the door of the hall, which I left ajar, so that I could follow the dialogue.\n\nWilliam resumed speaking: \"So, then, these illicit relations, if they did take place, had scant influence on the painful events. The key is elsewhere, as I thought you imagined. Everything turns on the theft and possession of a book, which was concealed in the finis Africae, and which is now there again thanks to Malachi's intervention, though, as you have seen, the sequence of crimes was not thereby arrested.\"\n\nA long silence followed; then the abbot resumed speaking, in a broken, hesitant voice, like someone taken aback by unexpected revelations. \"This is impossible... you\u2026 How do you know about the finis Africae? Have you violated my ban and entered the library?\"\n\nWilliam ought to have told the truth, but the abbot's rage would have known no bounds. Yet, obviously my master did not want to lie. He chose to answer the question with another question: \"Did Your Magnificence not say to me, at our first meeting, that a man like me, who had described Brunellus so well without ever having seen him, would have no difficulty picturing places to which he did not have access?\"\n\nSo that is it,\" Abo said. \"But why do you think what you think?\"\n\n\"How I arrived at my conclusion is too long a story. But a series of crimes was committed to prevent many from discovering something that it was considered undesirable for them to discover. Now all those who knew something of the library's secrets, whether rightly, or through trickery, are dead. Only one person remains: yourself.\"\n\n\"Do you wish to insinuate... you wish to insinuate...\" the abbot said.\n\n\"Do not misunderstand me,\" said William, who probably had indeed wished to insinuate. \"I say there is someone who knows and wants no one else to know. As the last to know, you could be the next victim. Unless you tell me what you know about that forbidden book, and, especially, who in the abbey might know what you know, and perhaps more, about the library.\"\n\n\"It is cold in here,\" the abbot said. \"Let us go out.\"\n\nI moved rapidly away from the door and waited for them at the head of the stairs. The abbot saw me and smiled at me.\n\n\"How many upsetting things this young monk must have heard in the past few days! Come, boy, do not allow yourself to be too distressed. It seems to me that more plots have been imagined than really exist....\"\n\nHe raised one hand and allowed the daylight to illuminate a splendid ring he wore on his fourth finger, the emblem of his power. The ring sparkled with all the brilliance of its stones.\n\n\"You recognize it, do you not?\" he said to me. \"The symbol of my authority, but also of my burden. It is not an ornament: it is a splendid syllogy of the divine word whose guardian I am.\" With his fingers he touched the stone\u2014or, rather, the arrangement of variegated stones composing that admirable masterpiece of human art and nature. \"This is amethyst,\" he said, \"which is the mirror of humility and reminds us of the ingenuousness and sweetness of Saint Matthew; this is chalcedony, mark of charity, symbol of the piety of Joseph and Saint James the Greater; this is jasper, which bespeaks faith and is associated with Saint Peter; and sardonyx, sign of martyrdom, which recalls Saint Bartholomew; this is sapphire, hope and contemplation, the stone of Saint Andrew and Saint Paul; and beryl, sound doctrine, learning, and longanimity, the virtues of Saint Thomas.... How splendid the language of gems is,\" he went on, lost in his mystical vision, \"which the lapidaries of tradition have translated from the reasoning of Aaron and the description of the heavenly Jerusalem in the book of the apostle. For that matter, the walls of Zion were decked with the same jewels that decorated the pectoral of Moses's brother, except for carbuncle, agate, and onyx, which, mentioned in Exodus, are replaced in the Apocalypse by chalcedony, sardonyx, chrysoprase, and jacinth.\"\n\nHe moved the ring and dazzled my eyes with its sparkling, as if he wanted to stun me. \"Marvelous language, is it not? For other fathers stones signify still other things. For Pope Innocent the Third the ruby announced calm and patience; the garnet, charity. For Saint Bruno aquamarine concentrates theological learning in the virtue of its purest rays. Turquoise signifies joy; sardonyx suggests the seraphim; topaz, the cherubim; jasper, thrones; chrysolite, dominions; sapphire, the virtues; onyx, the powers; beryl, principalities; ruby, archangels; and emerald, angels. The language of gems is multiform; each expresses several truths, according to the sense of the selected interpretation, according to the context in which they appear. And who decides what is the level of interpretation and what is the proper context? You know, my boy, for they have taught you: it is authority, the most reliable commentator of all and the most invested with prestige, and therefore with sanctity. Otherwise how to interpret the multiple signs that the world sets before our sinner's eyes, how to avoid the misunderstandings into which the Devil lures us? Mind you: it is extraordinary how the Devil hates the language of gems, as Saint Hildegard testifies. The foul beast sees in it a message illuminated by different meanings or levels of knowledge, and he would like to destroy it because he, the Enemy, senses in the splendor of stones the echo of the marvels in his possession before his fall, and he understands that this radiance is produced by fire, which is his torment.\" He held out the ring for me to kiss, and I knelt. He stroked my head. \"And so, boy, you must forget the things, no doubt erroneous, that you have heard these days. You have entered the noblest, the greatest order of all; of this order I am an abbot, and you are under my jurisdiction. Hear my command: forget, and may your lips be sealed forever. Swear.\"\n\nMoved, subjugated, I would certainly have sworn. And you, my good reader, would not be able now to read this faithful chronicle of mine. But at this point William intervened, not perhaps to prevent me from swearing, but in an instinctive reaction, out of irritation, to interrupt the abbot, to break that spell he had surely cast.\n\n\"What does the boy have to do with it? I asked you a question, I warned you of a danger, I asked you to tell me a name.... Do you now wish me, too, to kiss the ring and swear to forget what I have learned or what I suspect?\"\n\n\"Ah, you...\" the abbot said sadly, \"I do not expect a mendicant friar to understand the beauty of our traditions, or respect the reticence, the secrets, the mysteries of charity. .. yes, charity, and the sense of honor, and the vow of silence on which our greatness is based.... You have spoken to me of a strange story, an incredible story. About a banned book that has caused a chain of murders, about someone who knows what only I should know... Tales, meaningless accusations. Speak of it, if you wish: no one will believe you. And even if some element of your fanciful reconstruction were true... well, now everything is once more under my control, my jurisdiction. I will look into this, I have the means, I have the authority. At the very beginning I made a mistake, asking an outsider, however wise, however worthy of trust, to investigate things that are my responsibility alone. But you understood, as you have told me; I believed at the outset that it involved a violation of the vow of chastity, and (imprudent as I was) I wanted someone else to tell me what I had heard in confession. Well, now you have told me. I am very grateful to you for what you have done or have tried to do. The meeting of the legations has taken place, your mission here is over. I imagine you are anxiously awaited at the imperial court; one does not deprive oneself at length of a man like you. I give you permission to leave the abbey. Today it is perhaps late: I do not want you to travel after sunset, for the roads are not safe. You will leave tomorrow morning, early. Oh, do not thank me, it has been a joy to have you here, a brother among brothers, honoring you with our hospitality. You may withdraw now with your novice to prepare your baggage. I will say good-bye to you again tomorrow at dawn. I thank you, with all my heart. Naturally, it is not necessary for you to continue your investigations. Do not disturb the monks further. You may go.\"\n\nIt was more than a dismissal, it was an expulsion. William said good-bye and we went down the stairs.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" I asked. I no longer understood anything.\n\n\"Try to formulate a hypothesis. You must have learned how it is done.\"\n\n\"Actually, I have learned I must formulate at least two, one in opposition to the other, and both incredible. Very well, then\u2026\" I gulped: formulating hypotheses made me nervous. \"First hypothesis: the abbot knew everything already and imagined you would discover nothing. Second hypothesis: the abbot never suspected anything (about what I don't know, because I don't know what's in your mind). But, anyhow, he went on thinking it was all because of a quarrel between... between sodomite monks.... Now, however, you have opened his eyes, he has suddenly understood something terrible, has thought of a name, has a precise idea about who is responsible for the crimes. But at this point he wants to resolve the matter by himself and wants to be rid of you, in order to save the honor of the abbey.\"\n\n\"Good work. You are beginning to reason well. But you see already that in both cases our abbot is concerned for the good name of his monastery. Murderer or next victim as he may be, he does not want defamatory news about this holy community to travel beyond these mountains. Kill his monks, but do not touch the honor of his abbey. Ah, by...\" William was now becoming infuriated. \"That bastard of a feudal lord, that peacock who gained fame for having been the Aquinas's gravedigger, that inflated wineskin who exists only because he wears a ring as big as the bottom of a glass! Proud, proud, all of you Cluniacs, worse than princes, more baronial than barons!\"\n\n\"Master...\" I ventured, hurt, in a reproachful tone.\n\n\"You be quiet, you are made of the same stuff. Your band are not simple men, or sons of the simple. If a peasant comes along you may receive him, but as I saw yesterday, you do not hesitate to hand him over to the secular arm. But not one of your own, no; he must be shielded. Abo is capable of identifying the wretch, stabbing him in the treasure crypt, and passing out his kidneys among the reliquaries, provided the honor of the abbey is saved.... Have a Franciscan, a plebeian Minorite, discover the rat's nest of this holy house? Ah, no, this is something Abo cannot allow at any price. Thank you, Brother William, the Emperor needs you, you see what a beautiful ring I have, good-bye. But now the challenge is not just a matter between me and Abo, it is between me and the whole business: I am not leaving these walls until I have found out. He wants me to leave tomorrow morning, does he? Very well, it's his house; but by tomorrow morning I must know. I must.\"\n\n\"You must? Who obliges you now?\"\n\n\"No one ever obliges us to know, Adso. We must, that is all, even if we comprehend imperfectly.\"\n\nI was still confused and humiliated by William's words against my order and its abbots. And I tried to justify Abo in part, formulating a third hypothesis, exercising a skill at which, it seemed to me, I was becoming very dextrous. \"You have not considered a third possibility, master,\" I said. \"We had noticed these past days, and this morning it seemed quite clear to us after Nicholas's confidences and the rumors we heard in church, that there is a group of Italian monks reluctant to tolerate the succession of foreign librarians; they accuse the abbot of not respecting tradition, and, as I understand it, they hide behind old Alinardo, thrusting him forward like a standard, to ask for a different government of the abbey. So perhaps the abbot fears our revelations could give his enemies a weapon, and he wants to settle the question with great prudence....\"\n\n\"That is possible. But he is still an inflated wineskin, and he will get himself killed.\"\n\nWe were in the cloister. The wind was growing angrier all the time, the light dimmer, even if it was just past nones. The day was approaching its sunset, and we had very little time left.\n\n\"It is late,\" William said, \"and when a man has little time, he must take care to maintain his calm. We must act as if we had eternity before us. I have a problem to solve: how to penetrate the finis Africae, because the final answer must be there. Then we must save some person, I have not yet determined which. Finally, we should expect something from the direction of the stables, which you will keep an eye on.... Look at all the bustle....\"\n\nIn fact, the space between the Aedificium and the cloister was unusually animated. A moment before, a novice, coming from the abbot's house, had run toward the Aedificium. Now Nicholas was coming out of it, heading for the dormitories. In one corner, that mornings group, Pacificus, Aymaro, and Peter, were deep in discussion with Alinardo, as if trying to convince him of something.\n\nThen they seemed to reach a decision. Aymaro supported the still-reluctant Alinardo, and went with him toward the abbatial residence. They were just entering as Nicholas came out of the dormitory, leading Jorge in the same direction. Seeing the two Italians enter, he whispered something into Jorge's ear, and the old man shook his head. They continued, however, toward the chapter house.\n\n\"The abbot is taking the situation in hand...\" William murmured skeptically. From the Aedificium were emerging more monks, who belonged in the scriptorium, and they were immediately followed by Benno, who came toward us, more worried than ever.\n\n\"There is unrest in the scriptorium,\" he told us. \"Nobody is working, they are all talking among themselves.... What is happening?\"\n\n\"What's happening is that the people who until this morning seemed the most suspect are all dead. Until yesterday everyone was on guard against Berengar, foolish and treacherous and lascivious, then the cellarer, a suspect heretic, and finally Malachi, so generally disliked.... Now they don't know whom to be on guard against, and they urgently need to find an enemy, or a scapegoat. And each suspects the others; some are afraid, like you; others have decided to frighten someone else. You are all too agitated. Adso, take a look at the stables every now and then. I am going to get some rest.\"\n\nI should have been amazed: to go and rest when he had only a few hours left did not seem the wisest decision. But by now I knew my master. The more relaxed his body, the more ebullient his mind."
            },
            {
                "title": "BETWEEN VESPERS AND COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which long hours of bewilderment are briefly narrated.\n\nIt is difficult for me to narrate what happened in the hours that followed, between vespers and compline.\n\nWilliam was absent. I roamed around the stables but noticed nothing abnormal. The grooms were bringing in the animals, made nervous by the wind; otherwise all was calm.\n\nI entered the church. Everyone was already in his place among the stalls, but the abbot noticed Jorge was absent. With a gesture he delayed the beginning of the office. He called for Benno, to dispatch him to look for the old man, but Benno was not there. Someone pointed out that he was probably making the scriptorium ready for its evening closing. The abbot, annoyed, said it had been decided that Benno would close nothing because he did not know the rules. Aymaro of Alessandria rose from his stall: \"If Your Paternity agrees, I will go and summon him....\"\n\n\"No one asked anything of you,\" the abbot said curtly, and Aymaro sat back down in his place, not without casting an inscrutable glance at Pacificus of Tivoli. The abbot called for Nicholas, who was not present. Someone reminded him that Nicholas was preparing supper, and the abbot made a gesture of annoyance, as if he were displeased to reveal to all that he was upset.\n\n\"I want Jorge here,\" he cried. \"Find him! You go!\" he ordered the master of novices.\n\nAnother pointed out to him that Alinardo was also missing. \"I know,\" the abbot said, \"he is not well.\" I was near Peter of Sant'Albano and heard him say to his neighbor, Gunzo of Nola, in a vulgar dialect from central Italy which I partly understood, \"I should think so. Today, when he came out after the colloquy, the poor old man was distraught. Abo behaves like the whore of Avignon!\"\n\nThe novices were bewildered; with their innocent, boyish sensitivity they felt the tension reigning in choir, as I felt it. Long moments of silence and embarrassment ensued. The abbot ordered some psalms to be recited and he picked at random three that were not prescribed for vespers by the Rule. All looked at one another, then began praying in low voices. The novice master came back, followed by Benno, who took his seat, his head bowed. Jorge was not in the scriptorium or in his cell. The abbot commanded that the office begin.\n\nWhen it was over, before everyone headed for supper, I went to call William. He was stretched out on his pallet, dressed, motionless. He said he had not realized it was so late. I told him briefly what had happened. He shook his head.\n\nAt the door of the refectory we saw Nicholas, who a few hours earlier had been accompanying Jorge. William asked him whether the old man had gone in immediately to see the abbot. Nicholas said Jorge had had to wait a long time outside the door, because Alinardo and Aymaro of Alessandria were in the hall. After Jorge was received, he remained inside for some time, while Nicholas waited for him. Then he came out and asked Nicholas to accompany him to the church, still deserted an hour before vespers.\n\nThe abbot saw us talking with the cellarer. \"Brother William,\" he admonished, \"are you still investigating?\" He bade William sit at his table, as usual. For Benedictines hospitality is sacred.\n\nThe supper was more silent than usual, and sad. The abbot ate listlessly, oppressed by grim thoughts. At the end he told the monks to hurry to compline.\n\nAlinardo and Jorge were still absent. The monks pointed to the blind man's empty place and whispered. When the office was finished, the abbot asked all to say a special prayer for the health of Jorge of Burgos. It was not clear whether he meant physical health or eternal health. All understood that a new calamity was about to befall the community. Then the abbot ordered each monk to hurry, with greater alacrity than usual, to his own pallet. He commanded that no one, and he emphasized the words \"no one,\" should remain in circulation outside the dormitory. The frightened novices were the first to leave, cowls over their faces, heads bowed, without exchanging the remarks, the nudges, the flashing smiles, the sly and concealed trippings with which they usually provoked one another (for novices, though young monks, are still boys, and the reproaches of their master are of little avail in preventing them all from behaving like boys, as their tender age demands).\n\nWhen the adults filed out, I fell into line, unobtrusively, behind the group that by now had been characterized to me as \"the Italians.\" Pacificus was murmuring to Aymaro, \"Do you really believe Abo doesn't know where Jorge is?\" And Aymaro answered, \"He might know, and know that from where Jorge is he will never return. Perhaps the old man wanted too much, and Abo no longer wants him....\"\n\nAs William and I pretended to retire to the pilgrims' hospice, we glimpsed the abbot reentering the Aedificium through the still-open door of the refectory. William advised waiting a while; once the grounds were empty of every presence, he told me to follow him. We rapidly crossed the empty area and entered the church."
            },
            {
                "title": "AFTER COMPLINE",
                "text": "In which, almost by chance, William discovers the secret of entering the finis Africae.\n\nLike a pair of assassins, we lurked near the entrance, behind a column, whence we could observe the chapel with the skulls.\n\n\"Abo has gone to close the Aedificium,\" William said. \"When he has barred the doors from the inside, he can only come out through the ossarium.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"And then we will see what he does.\"\n\nWe did not discover what he did. An hour went by and he still had not reappeared. He's gone into the finis Africae, I said. Perhaps, William answered. Eager to formulate more hypotheses, I added: Perhaps he came out again through the refectory and has gone to look for Jorge. And William answered: That is also possible. Perhaps Jorge is already dead, I imagined further. Perhaps he is to the Aedificium and is killing the abbot. Perhaps they are both in some other place and some other person is lying in wait for them. What did \"the Italians\" want? And why was Benno so frightened? Was it perhaps only a mask he had assumed, to mislead us? Why had he lingered in the scriptorium during vespers, if he didn't know how to close the scriptorium or how to get out? Did he want to essay the passages of the labyrinth?\n\n\"All is possible,\" William said. \"But only one thing is happening, or has happened, or is about to happen. And at last divine Providence is endowing us with a radiant certitude.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" I asked, full of hope.\n\n\"That Brother William of Baskerville, who now has the impression of having understood everything, does not know how to enter the finis Africae. To the stables, Adso, to the stables.\"\n\n\"And what if the abbot finds us?\"\n\n\"We will pretend to be a pair of ghosts.\"\n\nTo me this did not seem a practical solution, but I kept silent. William was growing uneasy. We came out of the north door and crossed the cemetery, while the wind was whistling loudly and I begged the Lord not to make us encounter two ghosts, for the abbey, on that night, did not lack for souls in torment. We reached the stables and heard the horses, more nervous than ever because of the fury of the elements. The main door of the building had, at the level of a man's chest, a broad metal grating, through which the interior could be seen. In the darkness we discerned the forms of the horses. I recognized Brunellus, the first on the left. To his right, the third animal in line raised his head, sensing our presence, and whinnied. I smiled. \"Tertius equi,\" I said.\n\n\"What?\" William asked.\n\n\"Nothing. I was remembering poor Salvatore. He wanted to perform God knows what magic with that horse, and with his Latin he called him \"tertius equi: Which would be the u.\"\n\n\"The u?\" asked William, who had heard my prattle without paying much attention to it.\n\n\"Yes, because 'tertius equi' does not mean the third horse, but the third of the horse, and the third letter of the word 'equus' is u. But this is all nonsense....\"\n\nWilliam looked at me, and in the darkness I seemed to see his face transformed. \"God bless you, Adso!\" he said to me. \"Why, of course, suppositio materialis, the discourse is presumed de dicto and not de re.... What a fool I am!\" He gave himself such a great blow on the forehead that I heard a clap, and I believe he hurt himself. \"My boy, this is the second time today that wisdom has spoken through your mouth, first in dream and now waking! Run, run to your cell and fetch the lamp, or, rather, both the lamps we hid. Let no one see you, and join me in church at once! Ask no questions! Go!\"\n\nI asked no questions and went. The lamps were under my bed, already filled with oil, and I had taken care to trim them in advance. I had the flint in my habit. With the two precious instruments clutched to my chest, I ran into the church.\n\nWilliam was under the tripod and was rereading the parchment with Venantius's notes.\n\n\"Adso,\" he said to me, \" 'primum et septimum de quatuor' does not mean the first and seventh of four, but of the four, the word 'four'!\" For a moment I still did not understand, but then I was enlightened: \"Super thronos viginti quatuor! The writing! The verse! The words are carved over the mirror!\"\n\n\"Come,\" William said, \"perhaps we are still in time to save a life!\"\n\n\"Whose?\" I asked, as he was manipulating the skulls and opening the passage to the ossarium.\n\n\"The life of someone who does not deserve it,\" he said. We were already in the underground passage, our lamps alight, moving toward the door that led to the kitchen.\n\nI said before that at this point you pushed a wooden door and found yourself in the kitchen, behind the fireplace, at the foot of the circular staircase that led to the scriptorium. And just as we were pushing that door, we heard to our left some muffled sounds within the wall. They came from the wall beside the door, where the row of niches with skulls and bones ended. Instead of a last niche, there was a stretch of blank wall of large squared blocks of stone, with an old plaque in the center that had some worn monograms carved on it. The sounds came, it seemed, from behind the plaque, or else from above the plaque, partly beyond the wall, and partly almost over our heads.\n\nIf something of the sort had happened the first night, I would immediately have thought of dead monks. But by now I tended to expect worse from living monks. \"Who can that be?\" I asked.\n\nWilliam opened the door and emerged behind the fireplace. The blows were heard also along the wall that flanked the stairs, as if someone were prisoner inside the wall, or else in that thickness (truly vast) that presumably existed between the inner wall of the kitchen and the outer wall of the south tower.\n\n\"Someone is shut up inside there,\" William said. \"I have wondered all along whether there were not another access to the finis Africae, in this Aedificium so full of passages. Obviously there is. From the ossarium, before you come up into the kitchen, a stretch of wall opens, and you climb up a staircase parallel to this, concealed in the wall, which leads right to the blind room.\"\n\n\"But who is in there?\"\n\n\"The second person. One is in the finis Africae, another has tried to reach him, but the one above must have blocked the mechanism that controls the entrances. So the visitor is trapped. And he is making a great stir because, I imagine, there cannot be much air in that narrow space.\"\n\n\"Who is it? We must save him!\"\n\n\"We shall soon know who it is. And as for saving him, that can only be done by releasing the mechanism from above: we don't know the secret at this end. Let's hurry upstairs.\"\n\nSo we went up to the scriptorium, and from there to the labyrinth, and we quickly reached the south tower. Twice I had to curb my haste, because the wind that came through the slits that night created currents that, penetrating those passages, blew moaning through the rooms, rustling the scattered pages on the desks, so that I had to shield the flame with my hand.\n\nSoon we were in the mirror room, this time prepared for the game of distortion awaiting us. We raised the lamps to illuminate the verse that surmounted the frame. Super thronos viginti quatuor... At this point the secret was quite clear: the word \"quatuor\" has seven letters, and we had to press on the q and the r. I thought, in my excitement, to do it myself: I rapidly set the lamp down on the table in the center of the room. But I did this nervously, and the flame began to lick the binding of a book also set there.\n\n\"Watch out, idiot!\" William cried, and with a puff blew out the flame. \"You want to set fire to the library?\"\n\nI apologized and started to light the lamp again. \"It doesn't matter,\" William said, \"mine is enough. Take it and give me light, because the legend is too high and you couldn't reach it. We must hurry.\"\n\n\"And what if there is somebody armed in there?\" I asked, as William, almost groping, sought the fatal letters, standing on tiptoe, tall as he was, to touch the apocalyptic verse.\n\n\"Give me light, by the Devil, and never fear: God is with us!\" he answered me, somewhat incoherently. His fingers were touching the q of \"quatuor,\" and, standing a few paces back, I saw better than he what he was doing. I have already said that the letters of the verses seemed carved or incised in the wall: apparently those of the word \"quatuor\" were metal outlines, behind which a wondrous mechanism had been placed and walled up. When it was pushed forward, the q made a kind of sharp click, and the same thing happened when William pressed on the r. The whole frame of the mirror seemed to shudder, and the glass surface snapped back. The mirror was a door, hinged on its left side. William slipped his hand into the opening now created between the right edge and the wall, and pulled toward himself. Creaking, the door opened out, in our direction. William slipped through the opening and I scuttled behind him, the lamp high over my head.\n\nTwo hours after compline, at the end of the sixth day, in the heart of the night that was giving birth to the seventh day, we entered the finis Africae."
            },
            {
                "title": "NIGHT",
                "text": "In which, if it were to summarize the prodigious revelations of which it speaks, the title would have to be as long as the chapter itself, contrary to usage.\n\nWe found ourselves on the threshold of a room similar in shape to the other three heptagonal blind rooms, dominated by a strong musty odor, as of mildewed books. The lamp, which I held up high, first illuminated the vault; then, as I moved my arm downward, to right and left, the flame cast a vague light on the distant shelves along the walls. Finally, in the center, we saw a table covered with papers, and behind the table a seated figure, who seemed to be waiting for us in the darkness, immobile, if he was still alive. Even before the light revealed his face, William spoke.\n\n\"Happy night, venerable Jorge,\" he said. \"Were you waiting for us?\"\n\nThe lamp now, once we had taken a few steps forward, illuminated the face of the old man, looking at us as if he could see.\n\n\"Is that you, William of Baskerville?\" he asked. \"I have been waiting for you since this afternoon before vespers, when I came and closed myself in here. I knew you would arrive.\"\n\n\"And the abbot?\" William asked. \"Is he the one making that noise in the secret stairway?\"\n\nJorge hesitated for a moment. \"Is he still alive?\" he asked. \"I thought he would already have suffocated.\"\n\n\"Before we start talking,\" William said, \"I would like to save him. You can open from this side.\"\n\n\"No,\" Jorge said wearily, \"not any longer. The mechanism is controlled from below, by pressing on the plaque, and up here a lever snaps, which opens a door back there, behind that case.\" He nodded over his shoulder. \"Next to the case you could see a wheel with some counterweights, which controls the mechanism from up here. But when I heard the wheel turning, a sign that Abo had entered down below, I yanked at the rope that holds the weights, and the rope broke. Now the\" passage is closed on both sides, and you could never repair that device. The abbot is dead.\"\n\n\"Why did you kill him?\"\n\n\"Today, when he sent for me, he told me that thanks to you he had discovered everything. He did not yet know what I had been trying to protect he has never precisely understood the treasures and the ends of the library. He asked me to explain what he did not know. He wanted the finis Africae to be opened. The Italians had asked him to put an end to what they call the mystery kept alive by me and my predecessors. They are driven by the lust for new things....\"\n\n\"And you no doubt promised him you would come here and put an end to your life as you had put an end to the lives of the others, in such a way that the abbey's honor would be saved and no one would know anything. Then you told him the way to come, later, and check. But instead you waited for him, to kill him. Didn't you think he might enter through the mirror?\"\n\n\"No, Abo is too short; he would never have been able to reach the verse by himself. I told him about the other passage, which I alone still knew. It is the one I used for so many years, because it was simpler in the darkness. I had only to reach the chapel, then follow the bones of the dead to the end of the passage.\"\n\n\"So you had him come here, knowing you would kill him.\u2026\"\n\n\"I could no longer trust him. He was frightened. He had become famous because at Fossanova he managed to get a body down some circular stairs. Undeserved glory. Now he is dead because he was unable to climb his own stairway.\"\n\n\"You have been using it for forty years. When you realized you were going blind and would no longer be able to control the library, you acted shrewdly. You had a man you could trust elected abbot; and as librarian you first had him name Robert of Bobbio, whom you could direct as you liked, and then Malachi, who needed your help and never took a step without consulting you. For forty years you have been master of this abbey. This is what the Italian group realized, this is what Alinardo kept repeating, but no one would listen to him because they considered him mad by now. Am I right? But you were still awaiting me, and you couldn't block the mirror entrance, because the mechanism is set in the wall. Why were you waiting for me? How could you be sure I would arrive?\" William asked, but from his tone it was clear he had already guessed the answer and was expecting it as a reward for his own skill.\n\n\"From the first day I realized you would understand. From your voice, from the way you drew me to debate on a subject I did not want mentioned. You were better than the others: you would have arrived at the solution no matter what. You know that it suffices to think and to reconstruct in one's own mind the thoughts of the other. And then I heard you were asking the other monks questions, all of them the right ones. But you never asked questions about the library, as if you already knew its every secret. One night I came and knocked at your cell, and you were not in. You had to be here. Two lamps had disappeared from the kitchen,. I heard a servant say. And finally, when Severinus came to talk to you about a book the other day in the narthex, I was sure you were on my trail.\"\n\n\"But you managed to get the book away from me. You went to Malachi, who had had no idea of the situation. In his jealousy, the fool was still obsessed with the idea that Adelmo had stolen his beloved Berengar, who by then craved younger flesh. Malachi didn't understand what Venantius had to do with this business, and you confused his thinking even further. You probably told him Berengar had been intimate with Severinus, and as a reward Severinus had given him a book from the finis Africae; I don't know exactly what you told him. Crazed with jealousy, Malachi went to Severinus and killed him. Then he didn't have time to hunt for the book you had described to him, because the cellarer arrived. Is that what happened?\"\n\n\"More or less.\"\n\n\"But you didn't want Malachi to die. He had probably never looked at the books of the finis Africae, for he trusted you, respected your prohibitions. He confined himself to arranging the herbs at evening to frighten any intruders. Severinus supplied him with them. This is why Severinus let Malachi enter the infirmary the other day: it was his regular visit to collect the fresh herbs he prepared daily, by the abbot's order. Have I guessed?\"\n\n\"You have guessed. I did not want Malachi to die. I told him to find the book again, by whatever means, and bring it back here without opening it. I told him it had the power of a thousand scorpions. But for the first time the madman chose to act on his own initiative. I did not want him to die: he was a faithful agent. But do not repeat to me what you know: I know that you know. I do not want to feed your pride; you already see to that on your own. I heard you this morning in the scriptorium questioning Benno about the Coena Cypriani. You were very close to the truth. I do not know how you discovered the secret of the mirror, but when I learned from the abbot that you had mentioned the finis Africae, I was sure you would come shortly. This is why I was waiting for you. So, now, what do you want?\"\n\n\"I want,\" William said, \"to see the last manuscript of the bound volume that contains an Arabic text, a Syriac one, and an interpretation or a transcription of the Coena Cypriani. I want to see that copy in Greek, made perhaps by an Arab, or by a Spaniard, that you found when, as assistant to Paul of Rimini, you arranged to be sent back to your country to collect the finest manuscripts of the Apocalypse in Le\u00f3n and Castile, a booty that made you famous and respected here in the abbey and caused you to win the post of librarian, which rightfully belonged to Alinardo, ten years your senior. I want to see that Greek copy written on linen paper, which was then very rare and was manufactured in Silos, near Burgos, your home. I want to see the book you stole there after reading it, to keep others from reading it, and you hid it here, protecting it cleverly, and you did not destroy it because a man like you does not destroy a book, but simply guards it and makes sure no one touches it. I want to see the second book of the Poetics of Aristotle, the book everyone has believed lost or never written, and of which you hold perhaps the only copy\"\n\n\"What a magnificent librarian you would have been, William,\" Jorge said, with a tone at once admiring and regretful. \"So you know everything. Come, I believe there is a stool on your side of the table. Sit. Here is your prize.\"\n\nWilliam sat and put down the lamp, which I had handed him, illuminating Jorge's face from below. The old man took a volume that lay before him and passed it to William. I recognized the binding: it was the book I had opened in the infirmary, thinking it an Arabic manuscript.\n\n\"Read it, then, leaf through it, William,\" Jorge said. \"You have won.\"\n\nWilliam looked at the volume but did not touch it. From his habit he took a pair of gloves, not his usual mitts with the fingertips exposed, but the ones Severinus was wearing when we found him dead. Slowly he opened the worn and fragile binding. I came closer and bent over his shoulder. Jorge, with his sensitive hearing, caught the noise I made. \"Are you here, too, boy?\" he said. \"I will show it to you, too... afterward.\"\n\nWilliam rapidly glanced over the first pages. \"It is an Arabic manuscript on the sayings of some fool, according to the catalogue,\" he said. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Oh, silly legends of the infidels, which hold that fools utter clever remarks that amaze even their priests and delight their caliphs...\"\n\n\"The second is a Syriac manuscript, but according to the catalogue it is the translation of a little Egyptian book on alchemy. How does it happen to be in this collection?\"\n\n\"It is an Egyptian work from the third century of our era. Coherent with the work that follows, but less dangerous. No one would lend an ear to the ravings of an African alchemist. He attributes the creation of the world to divine laughter....\" He raised his face and recited, with the prodigious memory of a reader who for forty years now had been repeating to himself things read when he still had the gift of sight: \" 'The moment God laughed seven gods were born who governed the world, the moment he burst out laughing light appeared, at his second laugh appeared water, and on the seventh day of his laughing appeared the soul....' Folly. Likewise the work that comes after, by one of the countless idiots who set themselves to glossing the Coena\u2026 But these are not what interest you.\"\n\nWilliam, in fact, had rapidly passed over the pages and had come to the Greek text. I saw immediately that the pages were of a different, softer material, the first almost worn away, with a part of the margin consumed, spattered with pale stains, such as time and dampness usually produce on other books. William read the opening lines, first in Greek, then translating into Latin, and then he continued in this language so that I, too, could learn how the fatal book began:\n\nIn the first book we dealt with tragedy and saw how, by arousing pity and fear, it produces catharsis, the purification of those feelings. As we promised, we will now deal with comedy (as well as with satire and mime) and see how, in inspiring the pleasure of the ridiculous, it arrives at the purification of that passion. That such passion is most worthy of consideration we have already said in the book on the soul, inasmuch as\u2014alone among the animals\u2014man is capable of laughter. We will then define the type of actions of which comedy is the mimesis, then we will examine the means by which comedy excites laughter, and these means are actions and speech. We will show how the ridiculousness of actions is born from the likening of the best to the worst and vice versa, from arousing surprise through deceit, from the impossible, from violation of the laws of nature, from the irrelevant and the inconsequent, from the debasing of the characters, from the use of comical and vulgar pantomime, from disharmony, from the choice of the least worthy things. We will then show how the ridiculousness of speech is born from the misunderstandings of similar words for different things and different words for similar things, from garrulity and repetition, from play on words, from diminutives, from errors of pronunciation, and from barbarisms.\n\nWilliam translated with some difficulty, seeking the right words, pausing now and then. As he translated he smiled, as if he recognized things he was expecting to find. He read the first page aloud, then stopped, as if he were not interested in knowing more, and rapidly leafed through the following pages. But after a few pages he encountered resistance, because near the upper corner of the side edge, and along the top, some pages had stuck together, as happens when the damp and deteriorating papery substance forms a kind of sticky paste. Jorge realized that the rustle of pages had ceased, and he urged William on.\n\n\"Go on, read it, leaf through it. It is yours, you have earned it.\"\n\nWilliam laughed, seeming rather amused. \"Then it is not true that you consider me so clever, Jorge! You cannot see: I have gloves on. With my fingers made clumsy like this, I cannot detach one page from the next. I should proceed with bare hands, moistening my fingers with my tongue, as I happened to do this morning while reading in the scriptorium, so that suddenly that mystery also became clear to me. And I should go on leafing like that until a good portion of the poison had passed to my mouth. I am speaking of the poison that you, one day long ago, took from the laboratory of Severinus. Perhaps you were already worried then, because you had heard someone in the scriptorium display curiosity, either about the finis Africae or about the lost book of Aristotle, or about both. I believe you kept the ampoule for a long time, planning to use it the moment you sensed danger. And you sensed that days ago, when Venantius came too close to the subject of this book, and at the same time Berengar, heedless, vain, trying to impress Adelmo, showed he was less secretive than you had hoped. So you came and set your trap. Just in time, because a few nights later Venantius got in, stole the book, and avidly leafed through it, with an almost physical voracity. He soon felt ill and ran to seek help in the kitchen. Where he died. Am I mistaken?\n\n\"No. Go on.\"\n\n\"The rest is simple. Berengar finds Venantius's body in the kitchen, fears there will be an inquiry, because, after all, Venantius got into the Aedificium at night thanks to Berengar's prior revelation to Adelmo. He doesn't know what to do; he loads the body on his shoulders and flings it into the jar of blood, thinking everyone will be convinced Venantius drowned.\"\n\n\"And how do you know that was what happened?\"\n\n\"You know it as well. I saw how you reacted when they found a cloth stained with Berengar's blood. With that cloth the foolhardy man had wiped his hands after putting Venantius in the jar. But since Berengar had disappeared, he could only have disappeared with the book, which by this point had aroused his curiosity, too. And you were expecting him to be found somewhere, not bloodstained but poisoned. The rest is clear. Severinus finds the book, because Berengar went first to the infirmary to read it, safe from indiscreet eyes. Malachi, at your instigation, kills Severinus, then dies himself when he comes back here to discover what was so forbidden about the object that had made him a murderer. And thus we have an explanation for all the corpses.... What a fool...\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"I. Because of a remark of Alinardo's, I was convinced the series of crimes followed the sequence of the seven trumpets of the Apocalypse. Hail for Adelmo, and his death was a suicide. Blood for Venantius, and there it had been a bizarre notion of Berengar's; water for Berengar himself, and it had been a random act; the third part of the sky for Severinus, and Malachi had struck him with the armillary sphere because it was the only thing he found handy. And finally scorpions for Malachi... Why did you tell him that the book had the power of a thousand scorpions?\"\n\n\"Because of you. Alinardo had told me about his idea, and then I heard from someone that you, too, found it persuasive.... I became convinced that a divine plan was directing these deaths, for which I was not responsible. And I told Malachi that if he were to become curious he would perish in accordance with the same divine plan; and so he did.\"\n\n\"So, then... I conceived a false pattern to interpret the moves of the guilty man, and the guilty man fell in with it. And it was this same false pattern that put me on your trail. Everyone nowadays is obsessed with the book of John, but you seemed to me the one who pondered it most, and not so much because of your speculations about the Antichrist as because you came from the country that has produced the most splendid Apocalypses. One day somebody told me it was you who had brought the most beautiful codices of this book to the library. Then, another day. Alinardo was raving about a mysterious enemy who had been sent to seek books in Silos (my curiosity was piqued when he said this enemy had returned prematurely into the realm of darkness: at first it might have seemed the man he was speaking of had died young, but he was referring to your blindness). Silos is near Burgos, and this morning, in the catalogue, I found a series of acquisitions, all of them Spanish Apocalypses, from the period when you had succeeded or were about to succeed Paul of Rimini. And in that group of acquisitions there was this book also. But I couldn't be positive of my reconstruction until I learned that the stolen book was on linen paper. Then I remembered Silos, and I was sure. Naturally, as the idea of this book and its venomous power gradually began to take shape, the idea of an apocalyptic pattern began to collapse, though I couldn't understand how both the book and the sequence of the trumpets pointed to you. But I understood the story of the book better because, directed by the apocalyptic pattern, I was forced more and more to think of you, and your debates about laughter. So that this evening, when I no longer believed in the apocalyptic pattern, I insisted on watching the stables, and in the stables, by pure chance, Adso gave me the key to entering the finis Africae.\"\n\nI cannot follow you,\" Jorge said. \"You are proud to show me how, following the dictates of your reason, you arrived at me, and yet you have shown me you arrived here by following a false reasoning. What do you mean to say to me?\"\n\n\"To you, nothing. I am disconcerted, that is all. But it is of no matter. I am here.\"\n\n\"The Lord was sounding the seven trumpets. And you, even in your error, heard a confused echo of that sound.\"\n\n\"You said this yesterday evening in your sermon. You are trying to convince yourself that this whole story proceeded according to a divine plan, in order to conceal from yourself the fact that you are a murderer.\"\n\n\"I have killed no one. Each died according to his destiny because of his sins. I was only an instrument.\"\n\n\"Yesterday you said that Judas also was an instrument. That does not prevent him from being damned.\"\n\n\"I accept the risk of damnation. The Lord will absolve me, because He knows I acted for His glory. My duty was to protect the library.\"\n\n\"A few minutes a1o you were ready to kill me, too, and also this boy....\"\n\n\"You are subtler, but no better than the others.\"\n\n\"And now what will happen, now that I have eluded the trap?\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" Jorge answered. \"I do not necessarily want your death; perhaps I will succeed in convincing you. But first tell me: how did you guess it was the second book of Aristotle?\"\n\n\"Your anathemas against laughter would surely not have been enough for me, or what little I learned about your argument with the others. At first I didn't understand their significance. But there were references to a shameless stone that rolls over the plain, and to cicadas that will sing from the ground, to venerable fig trees. I had already read something of the sort: I verified it during these past few days. These are examples that Aristotle used in the first book of the Poetics, and in the Rhetoric. Then I remembered that Isidore of Seville defines comedy as something that tells of stupra virginum et amores meretricum\u2014how shall I put it?\u2014of less than virtuous loves.... Gradually this second book took shape in my mind as it had to be. I could tell you almost all of it, without reading the pages that were meant to poison me. Comedy is born from the komai\u2014that is, from the peasant villages\u2014as a joyous celebration after a meal or a feast. Comedy does not tell of famous and powerful men, but of base and ridiculous creatures, though not wicked; and it does not end with the death of the protagonists. It achieves the effect of the ridiculous by showing the defects and vices of ordinary men. Here Aristotle sees the tendency to laughter as a force for good, which can also have an instructive value: through witty riddles and unexpected metaphors, though it tells us things differently from the way they are, as if it were lying, it actually obliges us to examine them more closely, and it makes us say: Ah, this is just how things are, and I didn't know it. Truth reached by depicting men and the world as worse than they are or than we believe them to be, worse in any case than the epics, the tragedies, lives of the saints have shown them to us. Is that it?\"\n\n\"Fairly close. You reconstructed it by reading other books?\"\n\n\"Many of which Venantius was working on. I believe Venantius had been hunting for this book for some time. He must have read in the catalogue the indications I also read, and must have been convinced this was the book he was seeking. But he didn't know how to enter the finis Africae. When he heard Berengar speak of it with Adelmo, then he was of like a dog on the track of a hare.\"\n\n\"That is what happened. I understood at once. I realized the moment had come when I would have to defend the library tooth and nail....\"\n\n\"And you spread the ointment. It must have been a hard task... in the dark....\"\n\n\"By now my hands see more than your eyes. I had taken a brush from Severinus, and I also used gloves. It was a good idea, was it not? It took you a long time to arrive at it....\"\n\n\"Yes. I was thinking of a more complex device, a poisoned pin or something of the sort. I must say that your solution was exemplary: the victim poisoned himself when he was alone, and only to the extent that he wanted to read....\"\n\nI realized, with a shudder, that at this moment these two men, arrayed in a mortal conflict, were admiring each other, as if each had acted only to win the other's applause. The thought crossed my mind that he artifices Berengar used to seduce Adelmo, and the simple and natural acts with which the irl had aroused my passion and my desire, were noting compared with the cleverness and mad skill each used to conquer the other, nothing compared with the act of seduction going on before my eyes at that moment, which had unfolded over seven days, each of the two interlocutors making, as it were, mysterious appointments with the other, each secretly aspiring to the other's approbation, each fearing and hating the other.\n\n\"But now tell me,\" William was saying, \"why? Why did you want to shield this book more than so many others? Why did you hide\u2014though not at the price of crime\u2014treatises on necromancy, pages that may have blasphemed against the name of God, while for these pages you damned your brothers and have damned yourself? There are many other books that speak of coined y, many others that praise laughter. Why did this one fill you with such fear?\"\n\n\"Because it was by the Philosopher. Every book by that man has destroyed a part of the learning that Christianity had accumulated over the centuries. The fathers had said everything that needed to be known about the power of the Word, but then Boethius had only to gloss the Philosopher and the divine mystery of the Word was transformed into a human parody of categories and syllogism. The book of Genesis says what has to be known about the composition of the cosmos, but it sufficed to rediscover the Physics of the Philosopher to have the universe reconceived in terms of dull and slimy matter, and the Arab Averro\u00ebs almost convinced everyone of the eternity of the world. We knew everything about the divine names, and the Dominican buried by Abo\u2014seduced by the Philosopher\u2014renamed them, following the proud paths of natural reason. And so the cosmos, which for the Areopagite revealed itself to those who knew how to look up at the luminous cascade of the exemplary first cause, has become a preserve of terrestrial evidence for which they refer to an abstract agent. Before, we used to look to heaven, deigning only a frowning glance at the mire of matter; now we look at the earth, and we believe in the heavens because of earthly testimony. Every word of the Philosopher, by whom now even saints and prophets swear, has overturned the image of the word. But he had not succeeded in overturning the image of God. If this book were to become... had become an object for open interpretation, we would have crossed the last boundary.\"\n\n\"But what frightened you in this discussion of laughter? You cannot eliminate laughter by eliminating the book.\"\n\n\"No, to be sure. But laughter is weakness, corruption, the foolishness of our flesh. It is the peasant's entertainment, the drunkard's license; even the church in her wisdom has granted the moment of feast, carnival, fair, this diurnal pollution that releases humors and distracts from other desires and other ambitions.... Still, laughter remains base, a defense for the simple, a mystery desecrated for the plebeians. The apostle also said as much: it is better to marry than to burn. Rather than rebel against God's established order, laugh and enjoy your foul parodies of order, at the end of the meal, after you have drained jugs and flasks. Elect the king of fools, lose yourselves in the liturgy of the ass and the pig, play at performing your saturnalia head down.... But here, here\"\u2014now Jorge struck the table with his finger, near the book William was holding open\u2014\"here the function of laughter is reversed, it is elevated to art, the doors of the world of the learned are opened to it, it becomes the object of philosophy, and of perfidious theology.... You saw yesterday how the simple can conceive and carry out the most lurid heresies, disavowing the laws of God and the laws of nature. But the church can deal with the heresy of the simple, who condemn themselves on their own, destroyed by their ignorance. The ignorant madness of Dolcino and his like will never cause a crisis in the divine order. He will preach violence and will die of violence, will leave no trace, will be consumed as carnival is consumed, and it does not matter whether during the feast the epiphany of the world upside down will be produced on earth for a brief time. Provided the act is not transformed into plan, provided this vulgar tongue does not find a Latin that translates it. Laughter frees the villein from fear of the Devil, because in the feast of fools the Devil also appears poor and foolish, and therefore controllable. But this book could teach that freeing oneself of the fear of the Devil is wisdom. When he laughs, as the wine gurgles in his throat, the villein feels he is master, because he has overturned his position with respect to his lord; but this book could teach learned men the clever and, from that moment, illustrious artifices that could legitimatize the reversal. Then what in the villein is still, fortunately, an operation of the belly would be transformed into an operation of the brain. That laughter is proper to man is a sign of our limitation, sinners that we are. But from this book many corrupt minds like yours would draw the extreme syllogism, whereby laughter is man's end! Laughter, for a few moments, distracts the villein from fear. But law is imposed by fear, whose true name is fear of God. This book could strike the Luciferine spark that would set a new fire to the whole world, and laughter would be defined as the new art, unknown even to Prometheus, for canceling fear To the villein who laughs, at that moment, dying does not matter: but then, when the license is past, the liturgy again imposes on him, according to the divine plan, the fear of death. And from this book there could be born the new destructive aim to destroy death through redemption from fear. And what would we be, we sinful creatures, without fear, perhaps the most foresighted, the most loving of the divine gifts? For centuries the doctors and the fathers have, secreted perfumed essences of holy learning to redeem, through the thought of that which is lofty, the wretchedness and temptation of that which is base. And this book\u2014considering comedy a wondrous medicine, with its satire and mime, which would produce the purification of the passions through the enactment of defect, fault, weakness\u2014would induce false scholars to try to redeem the lofty with a diabolical reversal: through the acceptance of the base. This book could prompt the idea that man can wish to have on earth (as your Bacon suggested with regard to natural magic) the abundance of the land of Cockaigne. But this is what we cannot and must not have. Look at the young monks who shamelessly read the parodizing buffoonery of the Coena Cypriani. What a diabolical transfiguration of the Holy Scripture! And yet as they read it they know it is evil. But on the day when the Philosopher's word would justify the marginal jests of the debauched imagination, or when what has been marginal would leap to the center, every trace of the center would be lost. The people of God would be transformed into an assembly of monsters belched forth from the abysses of the terra incognita, and at that moment the edge of the known world would become the heart of the Christian empire, the Arimaspi on the throne of Peter, Blemmyes in the monasteries, dwarfs with huge bellies and immense heads in charge of the library! Servants laying down the law, we (but you, too, then) obeying, in the absence of any law. A Greek philosopher (whom your Aristotle quotes here, an accomplice and foul auctoritas) said that the seriousness of opponents must be dispelled with laughter, and laughter opposed with seriousness. The prudence of our fathers made its choice: if laughter is the delight of the plebeians, the license of the plebeians must be restrained and humiliated, and intimidated by sternness. And the plebeians have no weapons for refining their laughter until they have made it an instrument against the seriousness of the spiritual shepherds who must lead them to eternal life and rescue them from the seductions of belly, pudenda, food, their sordid desires. But if one day somebody, brandishing the words of the Philosopher and therefore speaking as a philosopher, were to raise the weapon of laughter to the condition of subtle weapon, if the rhetoric of conviction were replaced by the rhetoric of mockery, if the topics of the patient construction of the images of redemption were to be replaced by the topics of the impatient dismantling and upsetting of every holy and venerable image\u2014oh, that day even you, William, and all your knowledge, would be swept away!\"\n\n\"Why? I would match my wit with the wit of others. It would be a better world than the one where the fire and red-hot iron of Bernard Gui humiliate the fire and red-hart iron of Dolcino.\"\n\n\"You yourself would by then be caught in the Devil's plot. You would fight on the other side at the field of Armageddon, where the final conflict must take place. But by that day the church must be able to impose once again its rule on the conflict. Blasphemy does not frighten us, because even in the cursing of God we recognize the deformed image of the wrath of Jehovah, who curses the rebellious angels. We are not afraid of the violence of those who kill the shepherds in the name of some fantasy of renewal, because it is the same violence as that of the princes who tried to destroy the people of Israel. We are not afraid of the severity of the Donatists, the mad suicide of the Circumcellions, the lust of the Bogomils, the proud purity of the Albigensians, the flagellants' need for blood, the evil madness of the Brothers of the Free Spirit: we know them all and we know the root of their sins, which is also the root of our holiness. We are not afraid, and, above all, we know how to destroy them\u2014better, how to allow them to destroy themselves, arrogantly carrying to its zenith the will to die that is born from their own nadir. Indeed, I would say their presence is precious to us, it is inscribed in the plan of God, because their sin prompts our virtue, their cursing encourages our hymn of praise, their undisciplined penance regulates our taste for sacrifice, their impiety makes our piety shine, just as the Prince of Darkness was necessary, with his rebellion and his desperation, to make the glory of God shine more radiantly, the beginning and end of all hope. But if one day\u2014and no longer as plebeian exception, but as ascesis of the learned, devoted to the indestructible testimony of Scripture\u2014the art of mockery were to be made acceptable, and to seem noble and liberal and no longer mechanical; if one day someone could say (and be heard), 'I laugh at the Incarnation,' then we would have no weapons to combat that blasphemy, because it would summon the dark powers of corporal matter, those that are affirmed in the fart and the belch, and the fart and the belch would claim the right that is only of the spirit, to breathe where they list!\"\n\n\"Lycurgus had a statue erected to laughter.\"\n\n\"You read that in the libellus of Cloritian, who tried to absolve mimes of the sin of impiety, and tells how a sick man was healed by a doctor who helped him laugh. What need was there to heal him, if God had established that his earthly day had reached its end?\"\n\n\"I don't believe the doctor cured him. He taught him to laugh at his illness.\"\n\n\"Illness is not exorcised. It is destroyed.\"\n\n\"With the body of the sick man.\"\n\n\"If necessary.\"\n\n\"You are the Devil,\" William said then.\n\nJorge seemed not to understand. If he had been able to see, I would say he stared at his interlocutor with a dazed look. \"I?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes. They lied to you. The Devil is not the Prince of Matter; the Devil is the arrogance of the spirit, faith without smile, truth that is never seized by doubt. The Devil is grim because he knows where he is going, and, in moving, he always returns whence he came. You are the Devil, and like the Devil you live in darkness. If you wanted to convince me, you have failed. I hate you, Jorge, and if I could, I would lead you downstairs, across the ground, naked, with fowl's feathers stuck in your asshole and your face painted like a juggler and a buffoon, so the whole monastery would laugh at you and be afraid no longer. I would like to smear honey all over you and then roll you in feathers, and take you on a leash to fairs, to say to all: He was announcing the truth to you and telling you that the truth has the taste of death, and you believed, not in his words, but in his grimness. And now I say to you that, in the infinite whirl of possible things, God allows you also to imagine a world where the presumed interpreter of the truth is nothing but a clumsy raven, who repeats words learned long ago.\"\n\n\"You are worse than the Devil, Minorite,\" Jorge said. \"You are a clown, like the saint who gave birth to you all. You are like your Francis, who de toto corpore fecerat linguam, who preached sermons giving a performance like a mountebank's, who confounded the miser by putting fold pieces in his hand, who humiliated the nuns' devotion by reciting the 'Miserere' instead of the sermon, who begged in French, and imitated with a piece of wood the movements of a violin player, who disguised himself as a tramp to confound the gluttonous monks, who flung himself naked in the snow, spoke with animals and plants, transformed the very mystery of the Nativity into a village spectacle, called the lamb of Bethlehem by imitating the bleat of a sheep.... It was a good school. Was that Friar Diotisalvi of Florence not a Minorite?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" William smiled. \"The one who went to the convent of the preachers and said he would not accept food if first they did not give him a piece of Brother John's tunic to preserve as a relic, and when he was given it he wiped his behind and threw it in the dungheap and with a stick rolled it around in the dung, shouting: Alas, help me, brothers, because I dropped the saint's relic in the latrine!\"\n\n\"This story amuses you, apparently. Perhaps you would like to tell me also the one about that other Minorite Friar Paul Millemosche, who one day fell full length on the ice; when his fellow citizens mocked him and one asked him whether he would not like to lie on something better, he said to the man: Yes, your wife... That is how you and your brothers seek the truth.\"\n\n\"That is how Francis taught people to look at things from another direction.\"\n\n\"But we have disciplined them. You saw them yesterday, your brothers. They have rejoined our ranks, they no longer speak like the simple. The simple must not speak. This book would have justified the idea that the tongue of the simple is the vehicle of wisdom. This had to be prevented, which I have done. You say I am the Devil, but it is not true: I have been the hand of God.\"\n\n\"The hand of God creates; it does not conceal.\"\n\n\"There are boundaries beyond which it is not permitted to go. God decreed that certain papers should bear the words 'hic sunt leones.'\"\n\n\"God created the monsters, too. And you. And He wants everything to be spoken of.\"\n\nJorge reached out his shaking hands and drew the book to him. He held it open but turned it around, so that William could still see it in the right position. \"Then why,\" he said, \"did He allow this text to be lost over the course of the centuries, and only one copy to be saved, and the copy of that copy, which had ended up God knows where, to remain buried for years in the hands of an infidel who knew no Greek, and then to lie abandoned in the secrecy of an old library, where I, not you, was called by Providence to find it and to hide it for more years still? I know, I know as if I saw it written in adamantine letters, with my eyes, which see things you do not see, I know that this was the will of the Lord, and I acted, interpreting it. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "NIGHT",
                "text": "In which the ecpyrosis takes place, and because of excess virtue the forces of hell prevail.\n\nThe old man was silent. He held both hands open on the book, as if caressing its pages, flattening them the better to read them, or as if he wanted to protect the book from a raptor's talons.\n\n\"All of this, in any case, has been to no avail,\" William said to him. \"Now it is over. I have found you, I have found the book, and the others died in vain.\"\n\n\"Not in vain,\" Jorge said. \"Perhaps there were too many of them. And if you needed proof that this book is accursed, you have had it. And to ensure they have not died in vain, one more death will not be too many.\"\n\nHe spoke, and with his fleshless, diaphanous hands he began slowly tearing to strips and shreds the limp pages of the manuscript, stuffing them into his mouth, slowly swallowing as if he were consuming the host and he wanted to make it flesh of his flesh.\n\nWilliam looked at him, fascinated, and seemed not to grasp what was happening. Then he recovered himself and leaned forward, shouting, \"What are you doing?\" Jorge smiled, baring his bloodless gums, as a yellowish slime trickled from his pale lips over the sparse white hairs on his chin.\n\n\"You were awaiting the sound of the seventh trumpet, were you not? Now listen to what the voice says: Seal what the seven thunders have said and do not write it, take and devour it, it will make bitter your belly but to your lips it will be sweet as honey. You see? Now I seal that which was not to be said, in the grave I become.\"\n\nHe laughed, he, Jorge. For the first time I heard him laugh.... He laughed with his throat, though his lips did not assume the shape of gaiety, and he seemed almost to be weeping. \"You did not expect it, William, not this conclusion, did you? This old man, by the grace of God, wins once more, does he not?\" And as William tried to take the book away from him, Jorge, who sensed the movement, feeling the vibration of the air, drew back, clasping the volume to his chest with his left hand while his right went on tearing the pages and cramming them into his mouth.\n\nHe was on the other side of the table, and William, who could not reach him, tried abruptly to move around the obstacle. But he knocked over his stool, catching his habit in it, so that Jorge was able to perceive the disturbance. The old man laughed again, louder this . time, and with unexpected rapidity thrust out his right hand, groping for the lamp. Guided by the heat, he reached the flame and pressed his hand over it, unafraid of pain, and the light went out. The room was plunged into darkness, and for the last time we heard the laughter of Jorge, who said, \"Find me now! Now I am the one who sees best!\" Then he was silent and did not make another sound, moving with those silent footsteps that always made his appearances so unexpected; and we heard only, from time to time, in different parts of the room, the sound of the tearing paper.\n\n\"Adso!\" William cried. \"Stay by the door. Don't let him go out!\"\n\nBut he had spoken too late, because I, who for some moments had been yearning to fling myself on the old man, had jumped forward when the darkness fell, trying to circle the table on the side opposite the one around which my master had moved. Too late I realized I had enabled Jorge to gain the door, because the old man could move in the dark with extraordinary confidence. We heard a sound of tearing paper behind us\u2014somewhat muffled, because it came from the next room. And at the same time we heard another sound, a harsh, progressive creaking, the groan of hinges.\n\n\"The mirror!\" William cried. \"He is shutting us inside!\" Led by the sound, we both rushed toward the entrance; I stumbled over a stool and bruised my leg but paid no heed, because in a flash I realized that if Jorge shut us in we would never get out: in the darkness we would never find the way to open the door, not knowing what had to be maneuvered on this side, or how.\n\nI believe William moved with the same desperation as I did, because I felt him beside me as both of us, reaching the threshold, pressed ourselves against the back of the mirror, which was closing toward, us. We arrived in time; the door stopped, then gave way and reopened. Obviously Jorge, sensing the conflict was unequal, had left. We came out of the accursed room, but now we had no idea where the old man was heading, and the darkness was still complete.\n\nAll of a sudden I remembered: \"Master! I have the flint with me!\"\n\n\"What are you waiting for, then?\" William cried. \"Find the lamp and light it!\" I rushed back in the darkness, into the finis Africae, groping for the lamp. I found it at once, by divine miracle, then dug inside my scapular and pulled out the flint. My hands were trembling, and two or three times I failed before I was able to light it, as William gasped at the door, \"Hurry, hurry!\" Finally I made a light.\n\n\"Hurry!\" William urged me again. \"Otherwise the old man will eat up all of Aristotle!\"\n\n\"And die!\" I cried in anguish, overtaking him and joining in the search.\n\n\"I don't care whether he dies, damn the monster!\" William cried, peering in every direction, moving at random. \"With what he has eaten, his fate is already sealed. But I want the book!\"\n\nThen he stopped and added, more calmly, \"Wait. If we continue like this, we'll never find him. Hush: we'll remain still for a moment.\" We stiffened, in silence. And in the silence we heard, not far away, the sound of a body bumping into a case, and the racket of some falling books. \"That way!\" we shouted, together.\n\nWe ran in the direction of the noise, but soon realized we would have to slow our pace. In fact, outside the finis Africae, the library was filled that evening with gusts of air that hissed and moaned, in proportion to the strong wind outside. Heightened by our speed, they threatened to put out our light, so painfully recovered. Since we could not move faster, we would have to make Jorge move more slowly. But William had just the opposite idea and shouted, \"We've caught you, old man; now we have light!\" And it was a wise decision, because the revelation probably upset Jorge, who moved faster, compromising his magic sensibility, his gift for seeing in the darkness. Soon we heard another noise, and, following it, when we entered room Y of YSPANIA, we saw him lying on the floor, the book still in his hands, as he attempted to pull himself to his feet among the books that had spilled from the table he had struck and overturned. He was trying to stand, but he went on tearing the pages, determined to devour his prey as quickly as possible.\n\nBy the time we overtook him he was on his feet; sensing our presence, he confronted us, moving backward. His face, in the reddish glow of the lamp, now seemed horrible to us: the features were distorted, a malignant sweat streaked his brow and cheeks, his eyes, usually a deathly white, were bloodshot, from his mouth came scraps of parchment, and he looked like a ravening beast who had stuffed himself and could no longer swallow his food. Disfigured by anxiety, by the menace of the poison now flowing abundantly through his veins, by his desperate and diabolical determination, the venerable figure of the old man now seemed disgusting and grotesque. At other moments he might have inspired laughter, but we, too, were reduced to the condition of animals, dogs stalking their quarry.\n\nWe could have taken him calmly, but we fell on him with violence; he writhed, clasped his hands on his chest to defend the volume; I grasped him with my left hand while with my right I tried to hold the lamp high, but I grazed his face with the flame, he sensed the heat, let out a muffled cry, almost a roar, as bits of paper spilled from his mouth, and his right hand let go of the volume, darted toward the lamp, and abruptly tore it from me, flinging it away....\n\nThe lamp fell right on the pile of books that had been knocked from the table all in a heap, lying open. The oil spilled out, the fire immediately seized a fragile parchment, which blazed up like a bundle of dry twigs. Everything happened in a few moments, as if for centuries those ancient pages had been yearning for arson and were rejoicing in the sudden satisfaction of an immemorial thirst for ecpyrosis. William realized what was happening and let go of the old man, who, feeling himself free, stepped back a few paces. William hesitated an instant, most likely too long, uncertain whether to seize Jorge again or to hasten to put out the little pyre. One book, older than the others, burned almost immediately, sending up a tongue of flame.\n\nThe fine gusts of the wind, which might have extinguished a weak flicker, encouraged the stronger, livelier flame, and even carried sparks flying from it.\n\n\"Put out that fire! Quickly!\" William cried. \"Everything will burn up!\"\n\nI rushed toward the blaze, then stopped, because I was unsure what to do. William again moved after me, to come to my aid. We held out our hands as our eyes sought something to smother the fire. I had a flash of inspiration: I slipped my habit over my head and tried to throw it on the heart of the fire. But the flames by now were too high; they consumed my garment and were nourished by it. Snatching back my scorched hands, I turned toward William and saw Jorge, who had approached again, directly behind him. The heat was now so strong that the old man could feel it very easily, so he knew with absolute certainty where the fire was; he flung the Aristotle into it.\n\nIn an explosion of ire, William gave the old man a violent push. Jorge slammed into a case, banging his head against one corner. He fell to the ground.... But William, whom I believe I heard utter a horrible curse, paid no heed to him. He turned to the books. Too late. The Aristotle, or what had remained of it after the old man's meal, was already burning.\n\nMeanwhile, some sparks had flown toward the walls, and already the volumes of another bookcase were crumpling in the fury of the fire. By now, not one but two fires were burning in the room.\n\nWilliam, realizing we would not be able to put them out with our hands, decided to use books to save books. He seized a volume that seemed to him more stoutly bound than the others, more compact, and he tried to use it as a weapon to stifle the hostile element. But, slamming the studded binding on the pyre of glowing books, he merely stirred more sparks. Though he tried to scatter them with his feet, he achieved the opposite effect: fluttering scraps of parchment, half burned, rose and hovered like bats, while the air, allied with its airy fellow element, sent them to kindle the terrestrial matter of further pages.\n\nAs misfortune would have it, this was one of the most untidy rooms of the labyrinth. Rolled-up manuscripts hung from the shelves; other books, falling apart, let pages slip from their covers, as from gaping mouths, tongues of vellum dried up by the years; and the table must have held a great number of writings that Malachi (by then unassisted for some days) had neglected to put back in their places. So the room, after the spill Jorge caused, was invaded by parchments waiting only to be transformed into another element.\n\nIn no time the place was a brazier, a burning bush. The bookcases themselves also joined in this sacrifice and were beginning to crackle. I realized the whole labyrinth was nothing but an immense sacrificial pyre, all prepared for the first spark.\n\n\"Water. We need water!\" William was saying, but then he added, \"But where can any water be found in this inferno?\"\n\n\"In the kitchen, down in the kitchen!\" I cried.\n\nWilliam looked at me, puzzled, his face flushed by that raging glow. \"Yes, but by the time we've gone down and come back up... The Devil take it!\" he then cried. \"This room is lost, in any case, and perhaps the next one as well. Let's go down at once. I'll find water, and you rush out to give the alarm. We need a lot of people!\"\n\nWe found the way toward the stairs: the conflagration lighted the subsequent rooms as well, but more and more faintly, so we crossed the last two almost groping again. Below, the moon dimly illuminated the scriptorium, and from there we went down to the refectory. William rushed into the kitchen; I to the refectory door, fumbling to open it from the inside. I succeeded after a fair amount of labor, for my agitation made me clumsy and inept. I stepped out onto the grass, ran toward the dormitory, then realized I could not wake the monks one by one. I had an inspiration: I went into the church, hunting for the access to the bell tower. When I found it, I grabbed all the ropes, ringing the alarm. I pulled hard, and the central bell rope, as it rose, drew me up with it. In the library the backs of my hands had been burned. My palms were still unhurt, but now I burned them, too, letting them slip along the ropes until they bled and I had to let go.\n\nBy then, however, I had made enough noise. I rushed outside in time to see the first monks coming from the dormitory, as I heard in the distance the voices of the servants, who were appearing at the doors of their lodgings. I could not explain myself clearly, because I was unable to formulate words, and the first that came to my lips were in my mother tongue. With bleeding hand I pointed to the windows of the south wing of the Aedificium, at whose alabaster panes there-was an abnormal glow. I realized, from the intensity of the light, that the fire had spread to other rooms while I had come down and rung the bells. All the windows of Africa and the whole fa\u00e7ade between it and the east tower now flickered with irregular flashes.\n\n\"Water! Fetch water!\" I shouted.\n\nAt first no one understood. The monks were so used to considering the library a sacred and inaccessible place that they could not understand it was threatened by the sort of banal accident that might have befallen a peasant hut. The first who looked up at the windows blessed themselves, murmuring words of fear, and I realized they were thinking of further apparitions. I grabbed their clothing and begged them to understand, until someone finally translated my sobs into human words.\n\nIt was Nicholas of Morimondo, who said, \"The library is on fire!\"\n\n\"It is, indeed,\" I whispered, sinking to the ground, exhausted.\n\nNicholas displayed great energy, shouted orders to the servants, gave advice to the monks surrounding him, sent some to open the other doors of the Aedificium, others to seek water and vessels of every kind. He directed those present toward the wells and the water tanks of the abbey. He ordered the cowherds to use the mules and asses to transport jars.... If a man invested with authority had given these orders, he would have been obeyed at once. But the servants were accustomed to taking orders from Remigio, the scribes from Malachi, all of them from the abbot. And, alas, none of those three was present. The monks looked around for the abbot, to ask instructions and solace, and did not find him; only I knew that he was dead, or dying, at that moment, shut up in an airless passage that was now turning into an oven, a bull of Phalaris.\n\nNicholas shoved the cowherds in one direction, but some other monks, with the best of intentions, pushed them in another. Some of the brothers had obviously lost their heads, others were still dazed with sleep. I tried to explain, now that I had recovered the power of speech, but it must be remembered that I was almost naked, having thrown my habit on the flames, and the sight of a boy, as I was then, bleeding, his face smudged by soot, his body indecently hairless, numbed now by the cold, surely did not inspire much confidence.\n\nFinally Nicholas managed to drag a few brothers and some other men into the kitchen, which in the meantime someone had opened. Another monk had the good sense to bring some torches. We found the place in great disorder, and I realized William must have turned it upside down, seeking water and vessels to carry it.\n\nAt that point I saw William himself appear from the door of the refectory, his face singed, his habit smoking. He was carrying a large pot in his hand, and I felt pity for him, pathetic allegory of helplessness. I realized that even if he had succeeded in carrying a pan of water to the second floor without spilling it, and even if he had done so more than once, he could have achieved very little. I recalled the story of Saint Augustine, when he saw a boy trying to scoop up the water of the sea with a spoon: the boy was an angel and did this to make fun of a saint who wanted to understand the mysteries of the divine nature. And, like the angel, William spoke to me, leaning in exhaustion against the doorjamb: \"It is impossible, we will never do it, not even with all the monks of the abbey. The library is lost.\" Unlike the angel, William wept.\n\nI hugged him, as he tore a cloth from a table and tried to cover me. We stopped and, finally defeated, observed what was going on around us.\n\nThere was. a confused bustle, people going up the spiral staircase bare-handed and encountering others, bare-handed, who had been driven upstairs by their curiosity and were now coming down to look for vessels. Others, cleverer, had immediately started hunting for pans and basins, only to realize there was not sufficient water in the kitchen. Suddenly the great room was invaded by mules, bearing huge jars, and the cowherds driving the animals unloaded them and started to carry up the water. But they did not know how to climb to the scriptorium, and it was a while before some of the scribes told them, and when they went up they bumped into other* rushing down, terrified. jars broke and the water spread over the ground, though other jars were passed up the stairs by willing hands. I followed the group and found myself in the scriptorium. Thick smoke came from the access to the library; the last men who had tried to go up to the east tower were already coming down, coughing, red-eyed, and they announced it was no longer possible to penetrate that hell.\n\nThen I saw Benno. His face distorted, he was coming up from the lower floor with an enormous vessel. He heard what those coming down were saying and he attacked them: \"Hell will swallow you all, cowards!\" He turned, as if seeking help, and saw me. \"Adso,\" he cried, \"the library... the library\u2026\" He did not await my answer, but ran to the foot of the stairs and boldly plunged into the smoke. That was the last time I saw him.\n\nI heard a creaking sound from above. Bits of stone mixed with mortar were falling from the ceiling of the scriptorium. The keystone of a vault, carved in the shape of a flower, came loose and almost landed on my head. The floor of the labyrinth was giving way.\n\nI rushed downstairs and out into the open air. Some willing servants had brought ladders, with which they were trying to reach the windows of the upper floors, to take water up that way. But the highest ladders barely extended to the windows of the scriptorium, and those who had climbed up were unable to open them from the outside. They sent word down to have them opened from within, but at this point nobody dared try to go up there.\n\nMeanwhile, I was looking at the windows of the top floor. The whole library by now must have become a single smoking brazier as the fire raced from room to room, spreading rapidly among the thousands of dry pages. All the windows were alight, a black smoke came from the roof: the fire had already spread to the beams. The Aedificium, which had seemed so solid and tetragonous, revealed in these circumstances its weakness, its cracks, the walls corroded from within, the crumbling stones allowing the flames to reach the wooden elements wherever they were.\n\nSuddenly some windows shattered as if pressed by an inner force, the sparks flew out into the open air, dotting with fluttering glints the darkness of the night. The strong wind had become lighter: a misfortune, because, strong, it might have blown out the sparks, but light, it carried them, stimulating them, and with them made scraps of parchment swirl in the air, the delicate fragments of an inner torch. At that point an explosion was heard: the floor of the labyrinth had given way at some point and its blazing beams must have plunged to the floor below. Now I saw tongues of flame rise from the scriptorium, which was also tenanted by books and cases, and by loose papers, spread on the desks, ready to provoke the sparks. I heard cries of woe from a group of scribes who tore their hair and still thought of climbing up heroically, to recover their beloved parchments. In vain: the kitchen and refectory were now a crossroads of lost souls, rushing in all directions, each hindering the others. People bumped into one another, fell down; those carrying vessels spilled their redemptive contents; the mules brought into the kitchen had sensed the presence of fire and, with a clatter of hoofs, dashed toward the exits, knocking down the human beings and even their own terrified grooms. It was obvious, in any case, that this horde of villeins and of devout, wise, but unskilled men, with no one in command, was blocking even what aid might still have arrived.\n\nThe whole abbey was in the grip of disorder; but this was only the beginning of the tragedy. Pouring from the windows and the roof, the triumphant cloud of sparks, fostered by the wind, was now descending on all sides, touching the roof of the church. Everyone knows how the most splendid cathedrals are vulnerable to the sting of fire: the house of God appears beautiful and well defended as the heavenly Jerusalem itself thanks to the stone it proudly displays, but the walls and ceilings are supported by a fragile, if admirable, architecture of wood, and if the church of stone recalls the most venerable forests with its columns rising high, bold as oaks, to the vaults of the ceilings, these columns often have cores of oak-and many of the trappings are also of wood: the altars, the choirs, the painted panels, the benches, the stalls, the candelabra. And so it was with the abbatial church, whose beautiful door had so fascinated me on the first day. The church caught fire in no time. The monks and the whole population of the place then understood that the very survival of the abbey was at stake, and all began rushing even more earnestly, and in even greater confusion, to deal with the new danger.\n\nTo be sure, the church was more accessible, more easily defended than the library. The library had been doomed by its own impenetrability, by the mystery that protected it, by its few entrances. The church, maternally open to all in the hour of prayer, was open to all in the hour of succor. But there was no more water, or at least very little could be found stored, and the wells supplied it with natural parsimony and at a slow pace that did not correspond to the urgency of the need. All the monks would have liked to put out the fire of the church, but nobody knew how at this po int. Moreover, the fire was spreading from above, and it was difficult to hoist men up to beat on the flames or smother them with dirt or rags. And when the flames arrived from below, it was futile by then to throw earth or sand on them, for the ceiling was crashing down on the firefighters, striking more than a few of them.\n\nAnd so the cries of regret for the many riches burned were now joined by the cries of pain at seared faces, crushed limbs, bodies buried under a sudden collapse of the high vaults.\n\nThe wind had become furious again, and more furiously helped spread the fire. Immediately after the church, the barns and stables caught fire. The terrified animals broke their halters, kicked down the doors, scattered over the grounds, neighing, mooing, bleating, grunting horribly. Sparks caught the manes of many horses, and there were infernal creatures racing across the grass, flaming steeds that trampled everything in their path, without goal or respite. I saw old Alinardo wandering around, not understanding what was happening, knocked down by the magnificent Brunellus, haloed by fire; the old man was dragged in the dust, then abandoned there, a poor shapeless object. But I had neither means nor time to succor him, or to bemoan his end, because similar scenes were taking place everywhere.\n\nThe horses in flames had carried the fire to places where the wind had not yet brought it: now the forges were burning, and the novices' house. Hordes of people were running from one end of the compound to another, for no purpose or for illusory purposes. I saw Nicholas, his head wounded, his habit in shreds, now defeated, kneeling in the path from the gate, cursing the divine curse. I saw Pacificus of Tivoli, who, abandoning all notion of help, was trying to seize a crazed mule as it passed; when he succeeded, he shouted to me to do the same and to flee, to escape that horrid replica of Armageddon.\n\nI wondered where William was, fearing he had been trapped under some collapsing wall. I found him, after a long search, near the cloister. In his hand he had his traveling sack: when the fire was already spreading to the pilgrims' hospice, he had gone up to his cell to save at least his most precious belongings. He had collected my sack, too, and in it I found something to put on. We paused, breathless, to watch what was happening around us.\n\nBy now the abbey was doomed. Almost all its buildings, some more, some less, had been reached by the fire. Those still intact would not remain so for long, because everything, from the natural elements to the confused work of the rescuers, was now contributing to the spread of the fire. Only the parts without buildings remained safe, the vegetable patch, the garden outside the cloister.... Nothing more could be done to save the buildings; abandoning the idea of saving them, we were able to observe everything without danger, standing in an open space.\n\nWe looked at the church, now burning slowly, for it is characteristic of these great constructions to blaze up quickly in their wooden parts and then to agonize for hours, sometimes for days. The conflagration of the Aedificium was different. Here inflammable material was much more abundant, and the fire, having spread all through the scriptorium, had invaded the kitchen floor. As for the top floor, where once, and for hundreds of years, there had been the labyrinth, it was now virtually destroyed.\n\n\"It was the greatest library in Christendom,\" William said. \"Now,\" he added, \"the Antichrist is truly at hand, because no learning will hinder him any more. For that matter, we have seen his face tonight.\"\n\n\"Whose face?\" I asked, dazed.\n\n\"Jorge, I mean. In that face, deformed by hatred of philosophy, I saw for the first time the portrait of the Antichrist, who does not come from the tribe of Judas, as his heralds have it, or from a far country. The Antichrist can be born from piety itself, from excessive love of God or of the truth, as the heretic is born from the saint and the possessed from the seer. Fear prophets, Adso, and those prepared to die for the truth, for as a rule they make many others die with them, often before them, at times instead of them. Jorge did a diabolical thing because he loved his truth so lewdly that he dared anything in order to destroy falsehood. Jorge feared the second book of Aristotle because it perhaps really did teach how to distort the face of every truth, so that we would not become slaves of our ghosts. Perhaps the mission of those who love mankind is to make people laugh at the truth, to make truth laugh, because the only truth lies in learning to free ourselves from insane passion for the truth.\"\n\n\"But, master,\" I ventured, sorrowfully, \"you speak like this now because you are wounded in the depths of your spirit. There is one truth, however, that you discovered tonight, the one you reached by interpreting the clues you read over the past few days. Jorge has won, but you have defeated Jorge because you exposed his plot....\"\n\n\"There was no plot,\" William said, \"and I discovered it by mistake.\"\n\nThe assertion was self-contradictory, and I couldn't decide whether William really wanted it to be. \"But it was true that the tracks in the snow led to Brunellus,\" I said, \"it was true that Adelmo committed suicide, it was true that Venantius did not drown in the jar, it was true that the labyrinth was laid out the way you imagined it, it was true that one entered the finis Africae by touching the word 'quatuor,' it was true that the mysterious book was by Aristotle.... I could go on listing all the true things you discovered with the help of your learning\u2026\"\n\n\"I have never doubted the truth of signs, Adso; they are the only thins man has with which to orient himself in the word. What I did not understand was the relation among signs. I arrived at Jorge through an apocalyptic pattern that seemed to underlie all the crimes, and yet it was accidental. I arrived at Jorge seeking one criminal for all the crimes and we discovered that each crime was committed by a different person, or by no one. I arrived at Jorge pursuing the plan of a perverse and rational mind, and there was no plan, or, rather, Jorge himself was overcome by his own initial design and there began a sequence of causes, and concauses, and of causes contradicting one another, which proceeded on their own, creating relations that did not stem from any plan. Where is all my wisdom, then? I behaved, stubbornly, pursuing a semblance of order, when I should have known well that there is no order in the universe.\"\n\n\"But in imagining an erroneous order you still found something....\"\n\n\"What you say is very fine, Adso, and I thank you. The order that our mind imagines is like a net, or like a ladder, built to attain something. But afterward you must throw the ladder away, because you discover that, even if it was useful, it was meaningless. Er muoz gel\u00eechesame die leiter abewerfen, s\u00f4 er an ir ufgestigen.... Is that how you say it?\"\n\n\"That is how it is said in my language. Who told you that?\"\n\n\"A mystic from your land. He wrote it somewhere, I forget where. And it is not necessary for somebody one day to find that manuscript again. The only truths that are useful are instruments to be thrown away.\"\n\n\"You have no reason to reproach yourself: you did your best.\"\n\n\"A human best, which is very little. It's hard to accept the idea that there cannot be an order in the universe because it would offend the free will of God and His omnipotence. So the freedom of God is our condemnation, or at least the condemnation of our pride.\"\n\nI dared, for the first and last time, in my life, to express a theological conclusion: \"But how can a necessary being exist totally polluted with the possible? What difference is there, then, between God and primigenial chaos? Isn't affirming God's absolute omnipotence and His absolute freedom with regard to His own choices tantamount to demonstrating that God does not exist?\"\n\nWilliam looked at me without betraying any feeling in his features, and he said, \"How could a learned man go on communicating his learning if he answered yes to your question?\"\n\nI did not understand the meaning of his words. \"Do you mean,\" I asked, \"that there would be no possible and communicable learning any more if the very criterion of truth were lacking, or do you mean you could no longer communicate what you know because others would not allow you to?\"\n\nAt that moment a section of the dormitory roof collapsed with a huge din, blowing a cloud of sparks into the sky. Some of the sheep and the goats wandering through the grounds went past us, bleating horribly. A group of servants also went by us, shouting, nearly knocking us down.\n\n\"There is too much confusion here,\" William said. \"Non in commotione, non in commotione Dominus.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "LAST PAGE",
                "text": "The Abbey burned for three days and three nights, and the last efforts were of no avail. As early as that morning of the seventh day of our sojourn in that place, when the survivors were fully aware that no building could be saved, when the finest constructions showed only their ruined outer walls, and the church, as if drawing into itself, swallowed its tower\u2014even at that point everyone's will to combat the divine chastisement failed. The rush for the last few buckets of water grew more and more listless, while the chapter house and the superb apartments of the abbot were still burning. By the time the fire reached the far side of the various workshops, the servants had long since saved as many objects as they could, and had chosen to beat the countryside to recapture at least some of the livestock, which had fled beyond the walls in the confusion of the night.\n\nI saw some of the servants venture into what remained of the church: I presumed they were trying to get into the crypt to seize some precious object before running away. I do not know whether they succeeded, whether the crypt had not already collapsed, whether the louts did not sink into the bowels of the earth in their attempt to reach the treasure.\n\nMeanwhile, men were coming up from the village to lend a hand or to try to snatch some further booty. The dead for the most part remained among the ruins, which were still red-hot. On the third day, when the wounded had been treated and the corpses found outside had been buried, the monks and all the others collected their belongings and abandoned the still-smoking abbey, as a place accursed. They scattered, I do not know whereto.\n\nWilliam and I left those parts on two horses we found astray in the wood; we considered them res nullius by now. We headed east. When we reached Bobbio again, we began to receive bad news of the Emperor. On arriving in Rome, he had been crowned by the people. Considering any agreement with John now impossible, he had chosen an antipope, Nicholas V Marsilius had been named spiritual vicar of Rome, but through his fault, or his weakness, things very sad to report were taking place in that city. Priests loyal to the Pope and unwilling to say Mass were tortured, an Augustinian prior had been thrown into the lions' pit on the Capitoline. Marsilius and John of Jandun had declared John a heretic, and Louis had had him sentenced to death. But the Emperor's misrule was antagonizing the local lords and depleting public funds. Gradually, as we heard this news, we delayed our descent to Rome, and I realized that William did not want to find himself witnessing events that would dash his hopes.\n\nWhen we came to Pomposa, we learned that Rome had rebelled against Louis, who had moved back up toward Pisa, while John's legates were triumphantly entering the papal city.\n\nMeanwhile, Michael of Cesena had realized that his presence in Avignon was producing no results\u2014indeed, he feared for his life\u2014so he had fled, joining Louis in Pisa.\n\nSoon, foreseeing events and learning that the Bavarian would move on to Munich, we reversed our route and decided to proceed there, also because William sensed that Italy was becoming unsafe for him. In the ensuing months and years, Louis saw the alliance of his supporters, the Ghibelline lords, dissolve; and the following year the Antipope Nicholas was to surrender to John, presenting himself with a rope around his neck.\n\nWhen we came to Munich, I had to take leave of my good master, amid many tears. His destiny was uncertain, and my family preferred for me to return to Melk. After that tragic night when William revealed to me his dismay before the ruins of the abbey, as if by tacit agreement we had not spoken again of that story. Nor did we mention it in the course of our sorrowful farewell.\n\nMy master gave me much good advice about my future studies, and presented me with the glasses Nicholas had made for him, since he had his own back again. I was still young, he said to me, but one day they would come in handy (and, truly, I am wearing them on my nose now, as I write these lines). Then he embraced me with a father's tenderness and dismissed me.\n\nI never saw him. again. I learned much later that he had died during he great plague that raged through Europe toward the middle of this century. I pray always that God received his soul and forgave him the many acts of pride that his intellectual vanity had made him commit.\n\nYears later, as a grown man, I had occasion to make a journey to Italy, sent by my abbot. I could not resist temptation, and on my return I went far out of my way to revisit what remained of the abbey.\n\nThe two villages on the slopes of the mountain were deserted, the lands around them uncultivated. When I climbed up to the top, a spectacle of desolation and death appeared before my eyes, which moistened with tears.\n\nOf the great and magnificent constructions that once adorned that place, only scattered ruins remained, as had happened before with the monuments of the ancient pagans in the city of Rome. Ivy covered the shreds of wa is, columns, the few architraves still intact. Weeds invaded the ground on all sides, and there was no telling where the vegetables and the flowers had once grown. Only the location of the cemetery was recognizable, because of some graves that still rose above the level of the terrain. Sole sign of life, some birds of prey hunted lizards and serpents that, like basilisks, slithered anion g the stones or crawled over the walls. Of the church door only a few traces remained, eroded by mold. Half of the tympanum survived, and I still glimpsed there, dilated by the elements and dulled by lichens, the left eye of the enthroned Christ, and something of the lion's face.\n\nThe Aedificium, except for the south wall, which was in ruins, seemed yet to stand and defy the course of time. The two outer towers, over the cliff, appeared almost untouched, but all the windows were empty sockets whose slimy tears were rotting vines. Inside, the work of art, destroyed, became confused with the work of nature, and across vast stretches of the kitchen the eye ran to the open heavens through the breach of the upper floors and the roof, fallen like fallen angels. Everything that was not green with moss was still black from the smoke of so many decades ago.\n\nPoking about in the rubble, I found at times scraps of parchment that had drifted down from the scriptorium and the library and had survived like treasures buried in the earth; I began to collect them, as if I were going to piece together the torn pages of a book. Then I noticed that in one of the towers there rose, tottering but still intact, a circular staircase to the scriptorium, and from there, by climbing a sloping bit of the ruin, I could reach the level of the library: which, however, was only a sort of gallery next to the outside walls, looking down into the void at every point.\n\nAlong one stretch of wall I found a bookcase, still miraculously erect, having come through the fire I cannot say how; it was rotted by water and consumed by termites. In it there were still a few pages. Other remnants I found by rummaging in the ruins below. Mine was a poor harvest, but I spent a whole day reaping it, as if from those disiecta membra of the library a message might reach me. Some fragments of parchment had fade, others permitted the glimpse of an image's shadow, or the ghost of one or more words. At times I found pages where whole sentences were legible; more often, intact bindings, protected by what had once been metal studs.... Ghosts of books, apparently intact on the outside but consumed within; yet sometimes a half page had been saved, an incipit was discernible, a title.\n\nI collected every relic I could find, filling two traveling sacks with them, abandoning things useful to me in order to save that miserable hoard.\n\nAlong the return journey and afterward at Melk, I spent many, many hours trying to decipher those remains. Often from a word or a surviving image I could recognize what the work had been. When I found, in time, other copies of those books, I studied them with love, as if destiny had left me this bequest, as if having identified the destroyed copy were a clear sign from heaven that said to me: Tolle et lege. At the end of my patient reconstruction, I had before me a kind of lesser library, a symbol of the greater, vanished one: a library made up of fragments, quotations, unfinished sentences, amputated stumps of books.\n\nThe more I reread this list the more I am convinced it is the result of chance and contains no message. But these incomplete pages have accompanied me trough all the life that has been left me to live since then; I have often consulted them like an oracle, and I have almost had the impression that what I have written on these pages, which you will now read, unknown reader, is only a cento, a figured hymn, an immense acrostic that says and repeats nothing but what those fragments have suggested to me, nor do I know whether thus far I have been speaking of them or they have spoken through my mouth. But whichever of the two possibilities may be correct, the more I repeat to myself the story that has emerged from them, the less I manage to understand whether in it there is a design that goes beyond the natural sequence of the events and the times that connect them. And it is a hard thing for this old monk, on the threshold of death, not to know whether the letter he has written contains some hidden meaning, or more than one, or many, or none at all.\n\nBut this inability of mine to see is perhaps the effect of the shadow that the great darkness, as it approaches, is casting on the aged world.\n\nEst ubi gloria nunc Babyloniae? Where are the snows of yesteryear? The earth is dancing the dance of Macabr\u00e9; at times it seems to me that the Danube is crowded with ships loaded with fools going toward a dark place.\n\nAll I can do now is be silent. O quam salubre, quam iucundum et suave est sedere in solitudine et tacere et loqui cum Deo! Soon I shall be joined with my beginning, and I no longer believe that it is the God of glory of whom the abbots of my order spoke to me, or of boy, as the Minorites believed in those days, perhaps not even of piety. Gott ist ein lauter Nichts, ihn r\u00fchrt kein Nun noch Hier.\u2026 I shall soon enter this broad desert, perfectly level and boundless, where the truly pious heart succumbs in bliss. I shall sink into the divine shadow, in a dumb silence and an ineffable union, and in this sinking all equality and all inequality shall be lost, and in that abyss my spirit will lose itself, and will not know the equal or the unequal, or anything else: and all differences will be forgotten. I shall be in the simple foundation, in the silent desert where diversity is never seen, in the privacy where no one finds himself in his proper place. I shall fall into the silent and uninhabited divinity where there is no work and no image.\n\nIt is cold in the scriptorium, my thumb aches. I leave this manuscript, I do not know for whom; I no longer know what it is about: stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Decameron",
        "author": "Giovanni Boccaccio",
        "genres": [
            "Italy",
            "short stories",
            "14th century"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "HERE BEGINNETH THE BOOK CALLED DECAMERON AND SURNAMED PRINCE GALAHALT WHEREIN ARE CONTAINED AN HUNDRED STORIES IN TEN DAYS TOLD BY SEVEN LADIES AND THREE YOUNG MEN",
                "text": "A kindly thing it is to have compassion of the afflicted and albeit it well beseemeth every one, yet of those is it more particularly required who have erst had need of comfort and have found it in any, amongst whom, if ever any had need thereof or held it dear or took pleasure therein aforetimes, certes, I am one of these. For that, having from my first youth unto this present been beyond measure inflamed with a very high and noble passion (higher and nobler, perchance, than might appear, were I to relate it, to sort with my low estate) albeit by persons of discretion who had intelligence thereof I was commended therefor and accounted so much the more worth, natheless a passing sore travail it was to me to bear it, not, certes, by reason of the cruelty of the beloved lady, but because of the exceeding ardour begotten in my breast of an ill\u2013ordered appetite, for which, for that it suffered me not to stand content at any reasonable bounds, caused me ofttimes feel more chagrin than I had occasion for. In this my affliction the pleasant discourse of a certain friend of mine and his admirable consolations afforded me such refreshment that I firmly believe of these it came that I died not. But, as it pleased Him who, being Himself infinite, hath for immutable law appointed unto all things mundane that they shall have an end, my love,\u2014beyond every other fervent and which nor stress of reasoning nor counsel, no, nor yet manifest shame nor peril that might ensue thereof, had availed either to break or to bend,\u2014of its own motion, in process of time, on such wise abated that of itself at this present it hath left me only that pleasance which it is used to afford unto whoso adventureth himself not too far in the navigation of its profounder oceans; by reason whereof, all chagrin being done away, I feel it grown delightsome, whereas it used to be grievous. Yet, albeit the pain hath ceased, not, therefore, is the memory fled of the benefits whilom received and the kindnesses bestowed on me by those to whom, of the goodwill they bore me, my troubles were grievous; nor, as I deem, will it ever pass away, save for death. And for that gratitude, to my thinking, is, among the other virtues, especially commendable and its contrary blameworthy, I have, that I may not appear ungrateful, bethought myself, now that I can call myself free, to endeavour, in that little which is possible to me, to afford some relief, in requital of that which I received aforetime,\u2014if not to those who succoured me and who, belike, by reason of their good sense or of their fortune, have no occasion therefor,\u2014to those, at least, who stand in need thereof. And albeit my support, or rather I should say my comfort, may be and indeed is of little enough avail to the afflicted, natheless meseemeth it should rather be proffered whereas the need appeareth greater, as well because it will there do more service as for that it will still be there the liefer had. And who will deny that this comfort, whatsoever worth it be, it behoveth much more to give unto lovesick ladies than unto men? For that these within their tender bosoms, fearful and shamefast, hold hid the fires of love (which those who have proved know how much more puissance they have than those which are manifest), and constrained by the wishes, the pleasures, the commandments of fathers, mothers, brothers and husbands, abide most time enmewed in the narrow compass of their chambers and sitting in a manner idle, willing and willing not in one breath, revolve in themselves various thoughts which it is not possible should still be merry. By reason whereof if there arise in their minds any melancholy, bred of ardent desire, needs must it with grievous annoy abide therein, except it be done away by new discourse; more by token that they are far less strong than men to endure. With men in love it happeneth not on this wise, as we may manifestly see. They, if any melancholy or heaviness of thought oppress them, have many means of easing it or doing it away, for that to them, an they have a mind thereto, there lacketh not commodity of going about hearing and seeing many things, fowling, hunting, fishing, riding, gaming and trafficking; each of which means hath, altogether or in part, power to draw the mind unto itself and to divert it from troublous thought, at least for some space of time, whereafter, one way or another, either solacement superveneth or else the annoy groweth less. Wherefore, to the end that the unright of Fortune may by me in part be amended, which, where there is the less strength to endure, as we see it in delicate ladies, hath there been the more niggard of support, I purpose, for the succour and solace of ladies in love (unto others the needle and the spindle and the reel suffice) to recount an hundred stories or fables or parables or histories or whatever you like to style them, in ten days' time related by an honourable company of seven ladies and three young men made in the days of the late deadly pestilence, together with sundry canzonets sung by the aforesaid ladies for their diversion. In these stories will be found love\u2013chances, both gladsome and grievous, and other accidents of fortune befallen as well in times present as in days of old, whereof the ladies aforesaid, who shall read them, may at once take solace from the delectable things therein shown forth and useful counsel, inasmuch as they may learn thereby what is to be eschewed and what is on like wise to be ensued,\u2014the which methinketh cannot betide without cease of chagrin. If it happen thus (as God grant it may) let them render thanks therefor to Love, who, by loosing me from his bonds, hath vouchsafed me the power of applying myself to the service of their pleasures."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the First",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE FIRST DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN (AFTER DEMONSTRATION MADE BY THE AUTHOR OF THE MANNER IN WHICH IT CAME TO PASS THAT THE PERSONS WHO ARE HEREINAFTER PRESENTED FOREGATHERED FOR THE PURPOSE OF DEVISING TOGETHER) UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF PAMPINEA IS DISCOURSED OF THAT WHICH IS MOST AGREEABLE UNTO EACH ]\n\nAs often, most gracious ladies, as, taking thought in myself, I mind me how very pitiful you are all by nature, so often do I recognize that this present work will, to your thinking, have a grievous and a weariful beginning, inasmuch as the dolorous remembrance of the late pestiferous mortality, which it beareth on its forefront, is universally irksome to all who saw or otherwise knew it. But I would not therefore have this affright you from reading further, as if in the reading you were still to fare among sighs and tears. Let this grisly beginning be none other to you than is to wayfarers a rugged and steep mountain, beyond which is situate a most fair and delightful plain, which latter cometh so much the pleasanter to them as the greater was the hardship of the ascent and the descent; for, like as dolour occupieth the extreme of gladness, even so are miseries determined by imminent joyance. This brief annoy (I say brief, inasmuch as it is contained in few pages) is straightway succeeded by the pleasance and delight which I have already promised you and which, belike, were it not aforesaid, might not be looked for from such a beginning. And in truth, could I fairly have availed to bring you to my desire otherwise than by so rugged a path as this will be I had gladly done it; but being in a manner constrained thereto, for that, without this reminiscence of our past miseries, it might not be shown what was the occasion of the coming about of the things that will hereafter be read, I have brought myself to write them.\n\nI say, then, that the years of the era of the fruitful Incarnation of the Son of God had attained to the number of one thousand three hundred and forty\u2013eight, when into the notable city of Florence, fair over every other of Italy, there came the death\u2013dealing pestilence, which, through the operation of the heavenly bodies or of our own iniquitous dealings, being sent down upon mankind for our correction by the just wrath of God, had some years before appeared in the parts of the East and after having bereft these latter of an innumerable number of inhabitants, extending without cease from one place to another, had now unhappily spread towards the West. And thereagainst no wisdom availing nor human foresight (whereby the city was purged of many impurities by officers deputed to that end and it was forbidden unto any sick person to enter therein and many were the counsels given for the preservation of health) nor yet humble supplications, not once but many times both in ordered processions and on other wise made unto God by devout persons,\u2014about the coming in of the Spring of the aforesaid year, it began on horrible and miraculous wise to show forth its dolorous effects. Yet not as it had done in the East, where, if any bled at the nose, it was a manifest sign of inevitable death; nay, but in men and women alike there appeared, at the beginning of the malady, certain swellings, either on the groin or under the armpits, whereof some waxed of the bigness of a common apple, others like unto an egg, some more and some less, and these the vulgar named plague\u2013boils. From these two parts the aforesaid death\u2013bearing plague\u2013boils proceeded, in brief space, to appear and come indifferently in every part of the body; wherefrom, after awhile, the fashion of the contagion began to change into black or livid blotches, which showed themselves in many first on the arms and about the thighs and after spread to every other part of the person, in some large and sparse and in others small and thick\u2013sown; and like as the plague\u2013boils had been first (and yet were) a very certain token of coming death, even so were these for every one to whom they came.\n\nTo the cure of these maladies nor counsel of physician nor virtue of any medicine appeared to avail or profit aught; on the contrary,\u2014whether it was that the nature of the infection suffered it not or that the ignorance of the physicians (of whom, over and above the men of art, the number, both men and women, who had never had any teaching of medicine, was become exceeding great,) availed not to know whence it arose and consequently took not due measures thereagainst,\u2014not only did few recover thereof, but well nigh all died within the third day from the appearance of the aforesaid signs, this sooner and that later, and for the most part without fever or other accident. And this pestilence was the more virulent for that, by communication with those who were sick thereof, it gat hold upon the sound, no otherwise than fire upon things dry or greasy, whenas they are brought very near thereunto. Nay, the mischief was yet greater; for that not only did converse and consortion with the sick give to the sound infection of cause of common death, but the mere touching of the clothes or of whatsoever other thing had been touched or used of the sick appeared of itself to communicate the malady to the toucher. A marvellous thing to hear is that which I have to tell and one which, had it not been seen of many men's eyes and of mine own, I had scarce dared credit, much less set down in writing, though I had heard it from one worthy of belief. I say, then, that of such efficience was the nature of the pestilence in question in communicating itself from one to another, that, not only did it pass from man to man, but this, which is much more, it many times visibly did;\u2014to wit, a thing which had pertained to a man sick or dead of the aforesaid sickness, being touched by an animal foreign to the human species, not only infected this latter with the plague, but in a very brief space of time killed it. Of this mine own eyes (as hath a little before been said) had one day, among others, experience on this wise; to wit, that the rags of a poor man, who had died of the plague, being cast out into the public way, two hogs came up to them and having first, after their wont, rooted amain among them with their snouts, took them in their mouths and tossed them about their jaws; then, in a little while, after turning round and round, they both, as if they had taken poison, fell down dead upon the rags with which they had in an ill hour intermeddled.\n\nFrom these things and many others like unto them or yet stranger divers fears and conceits were begotten in those who abode alive, which well nigh all tended to a very barbarous conclusion, namely, to shun and flee from the sick and all that pertained to them, and thus doing, each thought to secure immunity for himself. Some there were who conceived that to live moderately and keep oneself from all excess was the best defence against such a danger; wherefore, making up their company, they lived removed from every other and shut themselves up in those houses where none had been sick and where living was best; and there, using very temperately of the most delicate viands and the finest wines and eschewing all incontinence, they abode with music and such other diversions as they might have, never suffering themselves to speak with any nor choosing to hear any news from without of death or sick folk. Others, inclining to the contrary opinion, maintained that to carouse and make merry and go about singing and frolicking and satisfy the appetite in everything possible and laugh and scoff at whatsoever befell was a very certain remedy for such an ill. That which they said they put in practice as best they might, going about day and night, now to this tavern, now to that, drinking without stint or measure; and on this wise they did yet more freely in other folk's houses, so but they scented there aught that liked or tempted them, as they might lightly do, for that every one\u2014as he were to live no longer\u2014had abandoned all care of his possessions, as of himself, wherefore the most part of the houses were become common good and strangers used them, whenas they happened upon them, like as the very owner might have done; and with all this bestial preoccupation, they still shunned the sick to the best of their power.\n\nIn this sore affliction and misery of our city, the reverend authority of the laws, both human and divine, was all in a manner dissolved and fallen into decay, for lack of the ministers and executors thereof, who, like other men, were all either dead or sick or else left so destitute of followers that they were unable to exercise any office, wherefore every one had license to do whatsoever pleased him. Many others held a middle course between the two aforesaid, not straitening themselves so exactly in the matter of diet as the first neither allowing themselves such license in drinking and other debauchery as the second, but using things in sufficiency, according to their appetites; nor did they seclude themselves, but went about, carrying in their hands, some flowers, some odoriferous herbs and other some divers kinds of spiceries, which they set often to their noses, accounting it an excellent thing to fortify the brain with such odours, more by token that the air seemed all heavy and attainted with the stench of the dead bodies and that of the sick and of the remedies used.\n\nSome were of a more barbarous, though, peradventure, a surer way of thinking, avouching that there was no remedy against pestilences better than\u2014no, nor any so good as\u2014to flee before them; wherefore, moved by this reasoning and recking of nought but themselves, very many, both men and women, abandoned their own city, their own houses and homes, their kinsfolk and possessions, and sought the country seats of others, or, at the least, their own, as if the wrath of God, being moved to punish the iniquity of mankind, would not proceed to do so wheresoever they might be, but would content itself with afflicting those only who were found within the walls of their city, or as if they were persuaded that no person was to remain therein and that its last hour was come. And albeit these, who opined thus variously, died not all, yet neither did they all escape; nay, many of each way of thinking and in every place sickened of the plague and languished on all sides, well nigh abandoned, having themselves, what while they were whole, set the example to those who abode in health.\n\nIndeed, leaving be that townsman avoided townsman and that well nigh no neighbour took thought unto other and that kinsfolk seldom or never visited one another and held no converse together save from afar, this tribulation had stricken such terror to the hearts of all, men and women alike, that brother forsook brother, uncle nephew and sister brother and oftentimes wife husband; nay (what is yet more extraordinary and well nigh incredible) fathers and mothers refused to visit or tend their very children, as they had not been theirs. By reason whereof there remained unto those (and the number of them, both males and females, was incalculable) who fell sick, none other succour than that which they owed either to the charity of friends (and of these there were few) or the greed of servants, who tended them, allured by high and extravagant wage; albeit, for all this, these latter were not grown many, and those men and women of mean understanding and for the most part unused to such offices, who served for well nigh nought but to reach things called for by the sick or to note when they died; and in the doing of these services many of them perished with their gain.\n\nOf this abandonment of the sick by neighbours, kinsfolk and friends and of the scarcity of servants arose an usage before well nigh unheard, to wit, that no woman, how fair or lovesome or well\u2013born soever she might be, once fallen sick, recked aught of having a man to tend her, whatever he might be, or young or old, and without any shame discovered to him every part of her body, no otherwise than she would have done to a woman, so but the necessity of her sickness required it; the which belike, in those who recovered, was the occasion of lesser modesty in time to come. Moreover, there ensued of this abandonment the death of many who peradventure, had they been succoured, would have escaped alive; wherefore, as well for the lack of the opportune services which the sick availed not to have as for the virulence of the plague, such was the multitude of those who died in the city by day and by night that it was an astonishment to hear tell thereof, much more to see it; and thence, as it were of necessity, there sprang up among those who abode alive things contrary to the pristine manners of the townsfolk.\n\nIt was then (even as we yet see it used) a custom that the kinswomen and she\u2013neighbours of the dead should assemble in his house and there condole with those who more nearly pertained unto him, whilst his neighbours and many other citizens foregathered with his next of kin before his house, whither, according to the dead man's quality, came the clergy, and he with funeral pomp of chants and candles was borne on the shoulders of his peers to the church chosen by himself before his death; which usages, after the virulence of the plague began to increase, were either altogether or for the most part laid aside, and other and strange customs sprang up in their stead. For that, not only did folk die without having a multitude of women about them, but many there were who departed this life without witness and few indeed were they to whom the pious plaints and bitter tears of their kinsfolk were vouchsafed; nay, in lieu of these things there obtained, for the most part, laughter and jests and gibes and feasting and merrymaking in company; which usance women, laying aside womanly pitifulness, had right well learned for their own safety.\n\nFew, again, were they whose bodies were accompanied to the church by more than half a score or a dozen of their neighbours, and of these no worshipful and illustrious citizens, but a sort of blood\u2013suckers, sprung from the dregs of the people, who styled themselves pickmen and did such offices for hire, shouldered the bier and bore it with hurried steps, not to that church which the dead man had chosen before his death, but most times to the nearest, behind five or six priests, with little light and whiles none at all, which latter, with the aid of the said pickmen, thrust him into what grave soever they first found unoccupied, without troubling themselves with too long or too formal a service.\n\nThe condition of the common people (and belike, in great part, of the middle class also) was yet more pitiable to behold, for that these, for the most part retained by hope or poverty in their houses and abiding in their own quarters, sickened by the thousand daily and being altogether untended and unsuccoured, died well nigh all without recourse. Many breathed their last in the open street, whilst other many, for all they died in their houses, made it known to the neighbours that they were dead rather by the stench of their rotting bodies than otherwise; and of these and others who died all about the whole city was full. For the most part one same usance was observed by the neighbours, moved more by fear lest the corruption of the dead bodies should imperil themselves than by any charity they had for the departed; to wit, that either with their own hands or with the aid of certain bearers, whenas they might have any, they brought the bodies of those who had died forth of their houses and laid them before their doors, where, especially in the morning, those who went about might see corpses without number; then they fetched biers and some, in default thereof, they laid upon some board or other. Nor was it only one bier that carried two or three corpses, nor did this happen but once; nay, many might have been counted which contained husband and wife, two or three brothers, father and son or the like. And an infinite number of times it befell that, two priests going with one cross for some one, three or four biers, borne by bearers, ranged themselves behind the latter, and whereas the priests thought to have but one dead man to bury, they had six or eight, and whiles more. Nor therefore were the dead honoured with aught of tears or candles or funeral train; nay, the thing was come to such a pass that folk recked no more of men that died than nowadays they would of goats; whereby it very manifestly appeared that that which the natural course of things had not availed, by dint of small and infrequent harms, to teach the wise to endure with patience, the very greatness of their ills had brought even the simple to expect and make no account of. The consecrated ground sufficing not to the burial of the vast multitude of corpses aforesaid, which daily and well nigh hourly came carried in crowds to every church,\u2014especially if it were sought to give each his own place, according to ancient usance,\u2014there were made throughout the churchyards, after every other part was full, vast trenches, wherein those who came after were laid by the hundred and being heaped up therein by layers, as goods are stowed aboard ship, were covered with a little earth, till such time as they reached the top of the trench.\n\nMoreover,\u2014not to go longer searching out and recalling every particular of our past miseries, as they befell throughout the city,\u2014I say that, whilst so sinister a time prevailed in the latter, on no wise therefor was the surrounding country spared, wherein, (letting be the castles, which in their littleness were like unto the city,) throughout the scattered villages and in the fields, the poor and miserable husbandmen and their families, without succour of physician or aid of servitor, died, not like men, but well nigh like beasts, by the ways or in their tillages or about the houses, indifferently by day and night. By reason whereof, growing lax like the townsfolk in their manners and customs, they recked not of any thing or business of theirs; nay, all, as if they looked for death that very day, studied with all their wit, not to help to maturity the future produce of their cattle and their fields and the fruits of their own past toils, but to consume those which were ready to hand. Thus it came to pass that the oxen, the asses, the sheep, the goats, the swine, the fowls, nay, the very dogs, so faithful to mankind, being driven forth of their own houses, went straying at their pleasure about the fields, where the very corn was abandoned, without being cut, much less gathered in; and many, well nigh like reasonable creatures, after grazing all day, returned at night, glutted, to their houses, without the constraint of any herdsman.\n\nTo leave the country and return to the city, what more can be said save that such and so great was the cruelty of heaven (and in part, peradventure, that of men) that, between March and the following July, what with the virulence of that pestiferous sickness and the number of sick folk ill tended or forsaken in their need, through the fearfulness of those who were whole, it is believed for certain that upward of an hundred thousand human beings perished within the walls of the city of Florence, which, peradventure, before the advent of that death\u2013dealing calamity, had not been accounted to hold so many? Alas, how many great palaces, how many goodly houses, how many noble mansions, once full of families, of lords and of ladies, abode empty even to the meanest servant! How many memorable families, how many ample heritages, how many famous fortunes were seen to remain without lawful heir! How many valiant men, how many fair ladies, how many sprightly youths, whom, not others only, but Galen, Hippocrates or \u00c6sculapius themselves would have judged most hale, breakfasted in the morning with their kinsfolk, comrades and friends and that same night supped with their ancestors in the other world!\n\nI am myself weary of going wandering so long among such miseries; wherefore, purposing henceforth to leave such part thereof as I can fitly, I say that,\u2014our city being at this pass, well nigh void of inhabitants,\u2014it chanced (as I afterward heard from a person worthy of credit) that there foregathered in the venerable church of Santa Maria Novella, one Tuesday morning when there was well nigh none else there, seven young ladies, all knit one to another by friendship or neighbourhood or kinship, who had heard divine service in mourning attire, as sorted with such a season. Not one of them had passed her eight\u2013and\u2013twentieth year nor was less than eighteen years old, and each was discreet and of noble blood, fair of favour and well\u2013mannered and full of honest sprightliness. The names of these ladies I would in proper terms set out, did not just cause forbid me, to wit, that I would not have it possible that, in time to come, any of them should take shame by reason of the things hereinafter related as being told or hearkened by them, the laws of disport being nowadays somewhat straitened, which at that time, for the reasons above shown, were of the largest, not only for persons of their years, but for those of a much riper age; nor yet would I give occasion to the envious, who are still ready to carp at every praiseworthy life, on anywise to disparage the fair fame of these honourable ladies with unseemly talk. Wherefore, so that which each saith may hereafterward be apprehended without confusion, I purpose to denominate them by names altogether or in part sorting with each one's quality. The first of them and her of ripest age I shall call Pampinea, the second Fiammetta, the third Filomena and the fourth Emilia. To the fifth we will give the name of Lauretta, to the sixth that of Neifile and the last, not without cause, we will style Elisa. These, then, not drawn of any set purpose, but foregathering by chance in a corner of the church, having seated themselves in a ring, after divers sighs, let be the saying of paternosters and fell to devising with one another many and various things of the nature of the time. After awhile, the others being silent, Pampinea proceeded to speak thus:\n\n\"Dear my ladies, you may, like myself, have many times heard that whoso honestly useth his right doth no one wrong; and it is the natural right of every one who is born here below to succour, keep and defend his own life as best he may, and in so far is this allowed that it hath happened whiles that, for the preservation thereof, men have been slain without any fault. If this much be conceded of the laws, which have in view the well\u2013being of all mortals, how much more is it lawful for us and whatsoever other, without offence unto any, to take such means as we may for the preservation of our lives? As often as I consider our fashions of this morning and those of many other mornings past and bethink me what and what manner discourses are ours, I feel, and you likewise must feel, that each of us is in fear for herself. Nor do I anywise wonder at this; but I wonder exceedingly, considering that we all have a woman's wit, that we take no steps to provide ourselves against that which each of us justly feareth. We abide here, to my seeming, no otherwise than as if we would or should be witness of how many dead bodies are brought hither for burial or to hearken if the friars of the place, whose number is come well nigh to nought, chant their offices at the due hours or by our apparel to show forth unto whosoever appeareth here the nature and extent of our distresses. If we depart hence, we either see dead bodies or sick persons carried about or those, whom for their misdeeds the authority of the public laws whilere condemned to exile, overrun the whole place with unseemly excesses, as if scoffing at the laws, for that they know the executors thereof to be either dead or sick; whilst the dregs of our city, fattened with our blood, style themselves pickmen and ruffle it everywhere in mockery of us, riding and running all about and flouting us with our distresses in ribald songs. We hear nothing here but 'Such an one is dead' or 'Such an one is at the point of death'; and were there any to make them, we should hear dolorous lamentations on all sides. And if we return to our houses, I know not if it is with you as with me, but, for my part, when I find none left therein of a great household, save my serving\u2013maid, I wax fearful and feel every hair of my body stand on end; and wherever I go or abide about the house, meseemeth I see the shades of those who are departed and who wear not those countenances that I was used to see, but terrify me with a horrid aspect, I know not whence newly come to them.\"\n\nBy reason of these things I feel myself alike ill at ease here and abroad and at home, more by token that meseemeth none, who hath, as we have, the power and whither to go, is left here, other than ourselves; or if any such there be, I have many a time both heard and perceived that, without making any distinction between things lawful and unlawful, so but appetite move them, whether alone or in company, both day and night, they do that which affordeth them most delight. Nor is it the laity alone who do thus; nay, even those who are shut in the monasteries, persuading themselves that what befitteth and is lawful to others alike sortable and unforbidden unto them, have broken the laws of obedience and giving themselves to carnal delights, thinking thus to escape, are grown lewd and dissolute. If thus, then, it be, as is manifestly to be seen, what do we here? What look we for? What dream we? Why are we more sluggish and slower to provide for our safety than all the rest of the townsfolk? Deem we ourselves of less price than others, or do we hold our life to be bounden in our bodies with a stronger chain than is theirs and that therefore we need reck nothing of aught that hath power to harm it? We err, we are deceived; what folly is ours, if we think thus! As often as we choose to call to mind the number and quality of the youths and ladies overborne of this cruel pestilence, we may see a most manifest proof thereof.\n\nWherefore, in order that we may not, through wilfulness or nonchalance, fall into that wherefrom we may, peradventure, an we but will, by some means or other escape, I know not if it seem to you as it doth to me, but methinketh it were excellently well done that we, such as we are, depart this city, as many have done before us, and eschewing, as we would death, the dishonourable example of others, betake ourselves quietly to our places in the country, whereof each of us hath great plenty, and there take such diversion, such delight and such pleasance as we may, without anywise overpassing the bounds of reason. There may we hear the small birds sing, there may we see the hills and plains clad all in green and the fields full of corn wave even as doth the sea; there may we see trees, a thousand sorts, and there is the face of heaven more open to view, the which, angered against us though it be, nevertheless denieth not unto us its eternal beauties, far goodlier to look upon than the empty walls of our city. Moreover, there is the air far fresher and there at this season is more plenty of that which behoveth unto life and less is the sum of annoys, for that, albeit the husbandmen die there, even as do the townsfolk here, the displeasance is there the less, insomuch as houses and inhabitants are rarer than in the city.\n\nHere, on the other hand, if I deem aright, we abandon no one; nay, we may far rather say with truth that we ourselves are abandoned, seeing that our kinsfolk, either dying or fleeing from death, have left us alone in this great tribulation, as it were we pertained not unto them. No blame can therefore befall the ensuing of this counsel; nay, dolour and chagrin and belike death may betide us, an we ensue it not. Wherefore, an it please you, methinketh we should do well to take our maids and letting follow after us with the necessary gear, sojourn to\u2013day in this place and to\u2013morrow in that, taking such pleasance and diversion as the season may afford, and on this wise abide till such time (an we be not earlier overtaken of death) as we shall see what issue Heaven reserveth unto these things. And I would remind you that it is no more forbidden unto us honourably to depart than it is unto many others of our sex to abide in dishonour.\"\n\nThe other ladies, having hearkened to Pampinea, not only commended her counsel, but, eager to follow it, had already begun to devise more particularly among themselves of the manner, as if, arising from their session there, they were to set off out of hand. But Filomena, who was exceeding discreet, said, \"Ladies, albeit that which Pampinea allegeth is excellently well said, yet is there no occasion for running, as meseemeth you would do. Remember that we are all women and none of us is child enough not to know how little reasonable women are among themselves and how ill, without some man's guidance, they know how to order themselves. We are fickle, wilful, suspicious, faint\u2013hearted and timorous, for which reasons I misdoubt me sore, an we take not some other guidance than our own, that our company will be far too soon dissolved and with less honour to ourselves than were seemly; wherefore we should do well to provide ourselves, ere we begin.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" answered Elisa, \"men are the head of women, and without their ordinance seldom cometh any emprise of ours to good end; but how may we come by these men? There is none of us but knoweth that of her kinsmen the most part are dead and those who abide alive are all gone fleeing that which we seek to flee, in divers companies, some here and some there, without our knowing where, and to invite strangers would not be seemly, seeing that, if we would endeavour after our welfare, it behoveth us find a means of so ordering ourselves that, wherever we go for diversion and repose, scandal nor annoy may ensue thereof.\"\n\nWhilst such discourse was toward between the ladies, behold, there entered the church three young men,\u2014yet not so young that the age of the youngest of them was less than five\u2013and\u2013twenty years,\u2014in whom neither the perversity of the time nor loss of friends and kinsfolk, no, nor fear for themselves had availed to cool, much less to quench, the fire of love. Of these one was called Pamfilo, another Filostrato and the third Dioneo, all very agreeable and well\u2013bred, and they went seeking, for their supreme solace, in such a perturbation of things, to see their mistresses, who, as it chanced, were all three among the seven aforesaid; whilst certain of the other ladies were near kinswomen of one or other of the young men.\n\nNo sooner had their eyes fallen on the ladies than they were themselves espied of them; whereupon quoth Pampinea, smiling, \"See, fortune is favourable to our beginnings and hath thrown in our way young men of worth and discretion, who will gladly be to us both guides and servitors, an we disdain not to accept of them in that capacity.\" But Neifile, whose face was grown all vermeil for shamefastness, for that it was she who was beloved of one of the young men, said, \"For God's sake, Pampinea, look what thou sayest! I acknowledge most frankly that there can be nought but all good said of which one soever of them and I hold them sufficient unto a much greater thing than this, even as I opine that they would bear, not only ourselves, but far fairer and nobler dames than we, good and honourable company. But, for that it is a very manifest thing that they are enamoured of certain of us who are here, I fear lest, without our fault or theirs, scandal and blame ensue thereof, if we carry them with us.\" Quoth Filomena, \"That skilleth nought; so but I live honestly and conscience prick me not of aught, let who will speak to the contrary; God and the truth will take up arms for me. Wherefore, if they be disposed to come, verily we may say with Pampinea that fortune is favourable to our going.\"\n\nThe other ladies, hearing her speak thus absolutely, not only held their peace, but all with one accord agreed that the young men should be called and acquainted with their project and bidden to be pleased bear them company in their expedition. Accordingly, without more words, Pampinea, who was knit by kinship to one of them, rising to her feet, made for the three young men, who stood fast, looking upon them, and saluting them with a cheerful countenance, discovered to them their intent and prayed them, on behalf of herself and her companions, that they would be pleased to bear them company in a pure and brotherly spirit. The young men at the first thought themselves bantered, but, seeing that the lady spoke in good earnest, they made answer joyfully that they were ready, and without losing time about the matter, forthright took order for that which they had to do against departure.\n\nOn the following morning, Wednesday to wit, towards break of day, having let orderly make ready all things needful and despatched them in advance whereas they purposed to go, the ladies, with certain of their waiting\u2013women, and the three young men, with as many of their serving\u2013men, departing Florence, set out upon their way; nor had they gone more than two short miles from the city, when they came to the place fore\u2013appointed of them, which was situate on a little hill, somewhat withdrawn on every side from the high way and full of various shrubs and plants, all green of leafage and pleasant to behold. On the summit of this hill was a palace, with a goodly and great courtyard in its midst and galleries and saloons and bedchambers, each in itself most fair and adorned and notable with jocund paintings, with lawns and grassplots round about and wonder\u2013goodly gardens and wells of very cold water and cellars full of wines of price, things more apt unto curious drinkers than unto sober and modest ladies. The new comers, to their no little pleasure, found the place all swept and the beds made in the chambers and every thing full of such flowers as might be had at that season and strewn with rushes.\n\nAs soon as they had seated themselves, Dioneo, who was the merriest springald in the world and full of quips and cranks, said, \"Ladies, your wit, rather than our foresight, hath guided us hither, and I know not what you purpose to do with your cares; as for my own, I left them within the city gates, whenas I issued thence with you awhile agone; wherefore, do you either address yourselves to make merry and laugh and sing together with me (in so far, I mean, as pertaineth to your dignity) or give me leave to go back for my cares and abide in the afflicted city.\" Whereto Pampinea, no otherwise than as if in like manner she had banished all her own cares, answered blithely, \"Dioneo, thou sayst well; it behoveth us live merrily, nor hath any other occasion caused us flee from yonder miseries. But, for that things which are without measure may not long endure, I, who began the discourse wherethrough this so goodly company came to be made, taking thought for the continuance of our gladness, hold it of necessity that we appoint some one to be principal among us, whom we may honour and obey as chief and whose especial care it shall be to dispose us to live joyously. And in order that each in turn may prove the burden of solicitude, together with the pleasure of headship; and that, the chief being thus drawn, in turn, from one and the other sex, there may be no cause for jealousy, as might happen, were any excluded from the sovranty, I say that unto each be attributed the burden and the honour for one day. Let who is to be our first chief be at the election of us all. For who shall follow, be it he or she whom it shall please the governor of the day to appoint, whenas the hour of vespers draweth near, and let each in turn, at his or her discretion, order and dispose of the place and manner wherein we are to live, for such time as his or her seignory shall endure.\"\n\nPampinea's words pleased mightily, and with one voice they elected her chief of the first day; whereupon Filomena, running nimbly to a laurel\u2013tree\u2014for that she had many a time heard speak of the honour due to the leaves of this plant and how worship\u2013worth they made whoso was deservedly crowned withal\u2014and plucking divers sprays therefrom, made her thereof a goodly and honourable wreath, which, being set upon her head, was thenceforth, what while their company lasted, a manifest sign unto every other of the royal office and seignory.\n\nPampinea, being made queen, commanded that every one should be silent; then, calling the serving\u2013men of the three young gentlemen and her own and the other ladies' women, who were four in number, before herself and all being silent, she spoke thus: \"In order that I may set you a first example, by which, proceeding from good to better, our company may live and last in order and pleasance and without reproach so long as it is agreeable to us, I constitute, firstly, Parmeno, Dioneo's servant, my seneschal and commit unto him the care and ordinance of all our household and especially that which pertaineth to the service of the saloon. Sirisco, Pamfilo's servant, I will shall be our purveyor and treasurer and ensue the commandments of Parmeno. Tindaro shall look to the service of Filostrato and the other two gentlemen in their bed chambers, what time the others, being occupied about their respective offices, cannot attend thereto. Misia, my woman, and Filomena's Licisca shall still abide in the kitchen and there diligently prepare such viands as shall be appointed them of Parmeno. Lauretta's Chimera and Fiammetta's Stratilia it is our pleasure shall occupy themselves with the ordinance of the ladies' chambers and the cleanliness of the places where we shall abide; and we will and command all and several, as they hold our favour dear, to have a care that, whithersoever they go or whencesoever they return and whatsoever they hear or see, they bring us from without no news other than joyous.\" These orders summarily given and commended of all, Pampinea, rising blithely to her feet, said, \"Here be gardens, here be meadows, here be store of other delectable places, wherein let each go a\u2013pleasuring at will; and when tierce soundeth, let all be here, so we may eat in the cool.\"\n\nThe merry company, being thus dismissed by the new queen, went straying with slow steps, young men and fair ladies together, about a garden, devising blithely and diverting themselves with weaving goodly garlands of various leaves and carolling amorously. After they had abidden there such time as had been appointed them of the queen, they returned to the house, where they found that Parmeno had made a diligent beginning with his office, for that, entering a saloon on the ground floor, they saw there the tables laid with the whitest of cloths and beakers that seemed of silver and everything covered with the flowers of the broom; whereupon, having washed their hands, they all, by command of the queen, seated themselves according to Parmeno's ordinance. Then came viands delicately drest and choicest wines were proffered and the three serving\u2013men, without more, quietly tended the tables. All, being gladdened by these things, for that they were fair and orderly done, ate joyously and with store of merry talk, and the tables being cleared away, the queen bade bring instruments of music, for that all the ladies knew how to dance, as also the young men, and some of them could both play and sing excellent well. Accordingly, by her commandment, Dioneo took a lute and Fiammetta a viol and began softly to sound a dance; whereupon the queen and the other ladies, together with the other two young men, having sent the serving\u2013men to eat, struck up a round and began with a slow pace to dance a brawl; which ended, they fell to singing quaint and merry ditties. On this wise they abode till it seemed to the queen time to go to sleep, and she accordingly dismissed them all; whereupon the young men retired to their chambers, which were withdrawn from the ladies' lodging, and finding them with the beds well made and as full of flowers as the saloon, put off their clothes and betook themselves to rest, whilst the ladies, on their part, did likewise.\n\nNone had not long sounded when the queen, arising, made all the other ladies arise, and on like wise the three young men, alleging overmuch sleep to be harmful by day; and so they betook themselves to a little meadow, where the grass grew green and high nor there had the sun power on any side. There, feeling the waftings of a gentle breeze, they all, as their queen willed it, seated themselves in a ring on the green grass; while she bespoke them thus, \"As ye see, the sun is high and the heat great, nor is aught heard save the crickets yonder among the olives; wherefore it were doubtless folly to go anywhither at this present. Here is the sojourn fair and cool, and here, as you see, are chess and tables, and each can divert himself as is most to his mind. But, an my counsel be followed in this, we shall pass away this sultry part of the day, not in gaming,\u2014wherein the mind of one of the players must of necessity be troubled, without any great pleasure of the other or of those who look on,\u2014but in telling stories, which, one telling, may afford diversion to all the company who hearken; nor shall we have made an end of telling each his story but the sun will have declined and the heat be abated, and we can then go a\u2013pleasuring whereas it may be most agreeable to us. Wherefore, if this that I say please you, (for I am disposed to follow your pleasure therein,) let us do it; and if it please you not, let each until the hour of vespers do what most liketh him.\" Ladies and men alike all approved the story\u2013telling, whereupon, \"Then,\" said the queen, \"since this pleaseth you, I will that this first day each be free to tell of such matters as are most to his liking.\" Then, turning to Pamfilo, who sat on her right hand, she smilingly bade him give beginning to the story\u2013telling with one of his; and he, hearing the commandment, forthright began thus, whilst all gave ear to him."
            },
            {
                "title": "MASTER CIAPPELLETTO DUPETH A HOLY FRIAR WITH A FALSE CONFESSION AND DIETH; AND HAVING BEEN IN HIS LIFETIME THE WORST OF MEN, HE IS, AFTER HIS DEATH, REPUTED A SAINT AND CALLED SAINT CIAPPELLETTO.",
                "text": "\"It is a seemly thing, dearest ladies, that whatsoever a man doth, he give it beginning from the holy and admirable name of Him who is the maker of all things. Wherefore, it behoving me, as the first, to give commencement to our story\u2013telling, I purpose to begin with one of His marvels, to the end that, this being heard, our hope in Him, as in a thing immutable, may be confirmed and His name be ever praised of us. It is manifest that, like as things temporal are all transitory and mortal, even so both within and without are they full of annoy and anguish and travail and subject to infinite perils, against which it is indubitable that we, who live enmingled therein and who are indeed part and parcel thereof, might avail neither to endure nor to defend ourselves, except God's especial grace lent us strength and foresight; which latter, it is not to be believed, descendeth unto us and upon us by any merit of our own, but of the proper motion of His own benignity and the efficacy of the prayers of those who were mortals even as we are and having diligently ensued His commandments, what while they were on life, are now with Him become eternal and blessed and unto whom we,\u2014belike not daring to address ourselves unto the proper presence of so august a judge,\u2014proffer our petitions of the things which we deem needful unto ourselves, as unto advocates informed by experience of our frailty. And this more we discern in Him, full as He is of compassionate liberality towards us, that, whereas it chanceth whiles (the keenness of mortal eyes availing not in any wise to penetrate the secrets of the Divine intent), that we peradventure, beguiled by report, make such an one our advocate unto His majesty, who is outcast from His presence with an eternal banishment,\u2014nevertheless He, from whom nothing is hidden, having regard rather to the purity of the suppliant's intent than to his ignorance or to the reprobate estate of him whose intercession be invoketh, giveth ear unto those who pray unto the latter, as if he were in very deed blessed in His aspect. The which will manifestly appear from the story which I purpose to relate; I say manifestly, ensuing, not the judgment of God, but that of men.\"\n\nIt is told, then, that Musciatto Franzesi, being from a very rich and considerable merchant in France become a knight and it behoving him thereupon go into Tuscany with Messire Charles Sansterre, brother to the king of France, who had been required and bidden thither by Pope Boniface, found his affairs in one part and another sore embroiled, (as those of merchants most times are,) and was unable lightly or promptly to disentangle them; wherefore he bethought himself to commit them unto divers persons and made shift for all, save only he abode in doubt whom he might leave sufficient to the recovery of the credits he had given to certain Burgundians. The cause of his doubt was that he knew the Burgundians to be litigious, quarrelsome fellows, ill\u2013conditioned and disloyal, and could not call one to mind, in whom he might put any trust, curst enough to cope with their perversity. After long consideration of the matter, there came to his memory a certain Master Ciapperello da Prato, who came often to his house in Paris and whom, for that he was little of person and mighty nice in his dress, the French, knowing not what Cepparello meant and thinking it be the same with Cappello, to wit, in their vernacular, Chaplet, called him, not Cappello, but Ciappelletto, and accordingly as Ciappelletto he was known everywhere, whilst few knew him for Master Ciapperello.\n\nNow this said Ciappelletto was of this manner life, that, being a scrivener, he thought very great shame whenas any of his instrument was found (and indeed he drew few such) other than false; whilst of the latter he would have drawn as many as might be required of him and these with a better will by way of gift than any other for a great wage. False witness he bore with especial delight, required or not required, and the greatest regard being in those times paid to oaths in France, as he recked nothing of forswearing himself, he knavishly gained all the suits concerning which he was called upon to tell the truth upon his faith. He took inordinate pleasure and was mighty diligent in stirring up troubles and enmities and scandals between friends and kinsfolk and whomsoever else, and the greater the mischiefs he saw ensue thereof, the more he rejoiced. If bidden to manslaughter or whatsoever other naughty deed, he went about it with a will, without ever saying nay thereto; and many a time of his proper choice he had been known to wound men and do them to death with his own hand. He was a terrible blasphemer of God and the saints, and that for every trifle, being the most choleric man alive. To church he went never and all the sacraments thereof he flouted in abominable terms, as things of no account; whilst, on the other hand, he was still fain to haunt and use taverns and other lewd places. Of women he was as fond as dogs of the stick; but in the contrary he delighted more than any filthy fellow alive. He robbed and pillaged with as much conscience as a godly man would make oblation to God; he was a very glutton and a great wine bibber, insomuch that bytimes it wrought him shameful mischief, and to boot, he was a notorious gamester and a caster of cogged dice. But why should I enlarge in so many words? He was belike the worst man that ever was born. His wickedness had long been upheld by the power and interest of Messer Musciatto, who had many a time safeguarded him as well from private persons, to whom he often did a mischief, as from the law, against which he was a perpetual offender.\n\nThis Master Ciappelletto then, coming to Musciatto's mind, the latter, who was very well acquainted with his way of life, bethought himself that he should be such an one as the perversity of the Burgundians required and accordingly, sending for him, he bespoke him thus: 'Master Ciappelletto, I am, as thou knowest, about altogether to withdraw hence, and having to do, amongst others, with certain Burgundians, men full of guile, I know none whom I may leave to recover my due from them more fitting than thyself, more by token that thou dost nothing at this present; wherefore, an thou wilt undertake this, I will e'en procure thee the favour of the Court and give thee such part as shall be meet of that which thou shalt recover.'\n\nDon Ciappelletto, who was then out of employ and ill provided with the goods of the world, seeing him who had long been his stay and his refuge about to depart thence, lost no time in deliberation, but, as of necessity constrained, replied that he would well. They being come to an accord, Musciatto departed and Ciappelletto, having gotten his patron's procuration and letters commendatory from the king, betook himself into Burgundy, where well nigh none knew him, and there, contrary to his nature, began courteously and blandly to seek to get in his payments and do that wherefor he was come thither, as if reserving choler and violence for a last resort. Dealing thus and lodging in the house of two Florentines, brothers, who there lent at usance and who entertained him with great honour for the love of Messer Musciatto, it chanced that he fell sick, whereupon the two brothers promptly fetched physicians and servants to tend him and furnished him with all that behoved unto the recovery of his health. But every succour was in vain, for that, by the physicians' report, the good man, who was now old and had lived disorderly, grew daily worse, as one who had a mortal sickness; wherefore the two brothers were sore concerned and one day, being pretty near the chamber where he lay sick, they began to take counsel together, saying one to the other, 'How shall we do with yonder fellow? We have a sorry bargain on our hands of his affair, for that to send him forth of our house, thus sick, were a sore reproach to us and a manifest sign of little wit on our part, if the folk, who have seen us first receive him and after let tend and medicine him with such solicitude, should now see him suddenly put out of our house, sick unto death as he is, without it being possible for him to have done aught that should displease us. On the other hand, he hath been so wicked a man that he will never consent to confess or take any sacrament of the church; and he dying without confession, no church will receive his body; nay, he will be cast into a ditch, like a dog. Again, even if he do confess, his sins are so many and so horrible that the like will come of it, for that there is nor priest nor friar who can or will absolve him thereof; wherefore, being unshriven, he will still be cast into the ditches. Should it happen thus, the people of the city, as well on account of our trade, which appeareth to them most iniquitous and of which they missay all day, as of their itch to plunder us, seeing this, will rise up in riot and cry out, \"These Lombard dogs, whom the church refuseth to receive, are to be suffered here no longer\";\u2014and they will run to our houses and despoil us not only of our good, but may be of our lives, to boot; wherefore in any case it will go ill with us, if yonder fellow die.'\n\nMaster Ciappelletto, who, as we have said, lay near the place where the two brothers were in discourse, being quick of hearing, as is most times the case with the sick, heard what they said of him and calling them to him, bespoke them thus: 'I will not have you anywise misdoubt of me nor fear to take any hurt by me. I have heard what you say of me and am well assured that it would happen even as you say, should matters pass as you expect; but it shall go otherwise. I have in my lifetime done God the Lord so many an affront that it will make neither more nor less, an I do Him yet another at the point of death; wherefore do you make shift to bring me the holiest and worthiest friar you may avail to have, if any such there be, and leave the rest to me, for that I will assuredly order your affairs and mine own on such wise that all shall go well and you shall have good cause to be satisfied.'\n\nThe two brothers, albeit they conceived no great hope of this, nevertheless betook themselves to a brotherhood of monks and demanded some holy and learned man to hear the confession of a Lombard who lay sick in their house. There was given them a venerable brother of holy and good life and a past master in Holy Writ, a very reverend man, for whom all the townsfolk had a very great and special regard, and they carried him to their house; where, coming to the chamber where Master Ciappelletto lay and seating himself by his side, he began first tenderly to comfort him and after asked him how long it was since he had confessed last; whereto Master Ciappelletto, who had never confessed in his life, answered, 'Father, it hath been my usance to confess every week once at the least and often more; it is true that, since I fell sick, to wit, these eight days past, I have not confessed, such is the annoy that my sickness hath given me.' Quoth the friar, 'My son, thou hast done well and so must thou do henceforward. I see, since thou confessest so often, that I shall be at little pains either of hearing or questioning.' 'Sir,' answered Master Ciappelletto, 'say not so; I have never confessed so much nor so often but I would still fain make a general confession of all my sins that I could call to mind from the day of my birth to that of my confession; wherefore I pray you, good my father, question me as punctually of everything, nay, everything, as if I had never confessed; and consider me not because I am sick, for that I had far liefer displease this my flesh than, in consulting its ease, do aught that might be the perdition of my soul, which my Saviour redeemed with His precious blood.'\n\nThese words much pleased the holy man and seemed to him to argue a well\u2013disposed mind; wherefore, after he had much commended Master Ciappelletto for that his usance, he asked him if he had ever sinned by way of lust with any woman. 'Father,' replied Master Ciappelletto, sighing, 'on this point I am ashamed to tell you the truth, fearing to sin by way of vainglory.' Quoth the friar, 'Speak in all security, for never did one sin by telling the truth, whether in confession or otherwise.' 'Then,' said Master Ciappelletto, 'since you certify me of this, I will tell you; I am yet a virgin, even as I came forth of my mother's body.' 'O blessed be thou of God!' cried the monk. 'How well hast thou done! And doing thus, thou hast the more deserved, inasmuch as, an thou wouldst, thou hadst more leisure to do the contrary than we and whatsoever others are limited by any rule.'\n\nAfter this he asked him if he had ever offended against God in the sin of gluttony; whereto Master Ciappelletto answered, sighing, Ay had he, and that many a time; for that, albeit, over and above the Lenten fasts that are yearly observed of the devout, he had been wont to fast on bread and water three days at the least in every week,\u2014he had oftentimes (and especially whenas he had endured any fatigue, either praying or going a\u2013pilgrimage) drunken the water with as much appetite and as keen a relish as great drinkers do wine. And many a time he had longed to have such homely salads of potherbs as women make when they go into the country; and whiles eating had given him more pleasure than himseemed it should do to one who fasteth for devotion, as did he. 'My son,' said the friar, 'these sins are natural and very slight and I would not therefore have thee burden thy conscience withal more than behoveth. It happeneth to every man, how devout soever he be, that, after long fasting, meat seemeth good to him, and after travail, drink.'\n\n'Alack, father mine,' rejoined Ciappelletto, 'tell me not this to comfort me; you must know I know that things done for the service of God should be done sincerely and with an ungrudging mind; and whoso doth otherwise sinneth.' Quoth the friar, exceeding well pleased, 'I am content that thou shouldst thus apprehend it and thy pure and good conscience therein pleaseth me exceedingly. But, tell me, hast thou sinned by way of avarice, desiring more than befitted or withholding that which it behoved thee not to withhold?' 'Father mine,' replied Ciappelletto, 'I would not have you look to my being in the house of these usurers; I have nought to do here; nay, I came hither to admonish and chasten them and turn them from this their abominable way of gain; and methinketh I should have made shift to do so, had not God thus visited me. But you must know that I was left a rich man by my father, of whose good, when he was dead, I bestowed the most part in alms, and after, to sustain my life and that I might be able to succour Christ's poor, I have done my little traffickings, and in these I have desired to gain; but still with God's poor have I shared that which I gained, converting my own half to my occasion and giving them the other, and in this so well hath my Creator prospered me that my affairs have still gone from good to better.'\n\n'Well hast thou done,' said the friar; 'but hast thou often been angered?' 'Oh,' cried Master Ciappelletto, 'that I must tell you I have very often been! And who could keep himself therefrom, seeing men do unseemly things all day long, keeping not the commandments of God neither fearing His judgment? Many times a day I had liefer been dead than alive, seeing young men follow after vanities and hearing them curse and forswear themselves, haunting the taverns, visiting not the churches and ensuing rather the ways of the world than that of God.' 'My son,' said the friar, 'this is a righteous anger, nor for my part might I enjoin thee any penance therefor. But hath anger at any time availed to move thee to do any manslaughter or to bespeak any one unseemly or do any other unright?' 'Alack, sir,' answered the sick man, 'you, who seem to me a man of God, how can you say such words? Had I ever had the least thought of doing any one of the things whereof you speak, think you I believe that God would so long have forborne me? These be the doings of outlaws and men of nought, whereof I never saw any but I said still, \"Go, may God amend thee!\"'\n\nThen said the friar, 'Now tell me, my son (blessed be thou of God), hast thou never borne false witness against any or missaid of another, or taken others' good, without leave of him to whom it pertained?' 'Ay, indeed, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto; 'I have missaid of others; for that I had a neighbour aforetime, who, with the greatest unright in the world, did nought but beat his wife, insomuch that I once spoke ill of him to her kinsfolk, so great was the compassion that overcame me for the poor woman, whom he used as God alone can tell, whenassoever he had drunken overmuch.' Quoth the friar, 'Thou tellest me thou hast been a merchant. Hast thou never cheated any one, as merchants do whiles!' 'I' faith, yes, sir,' answered Master Ciappelletto; 'but I know not whom, except it were a certain man, who once brought me monies which he owed me for cloth I had sold him and which I threw into a chest, without counting. A good month after, I found that they were four farthings more than they should have been; wherefore, not seeing him again and having kept them by me a full year, that I might restore them to him, I gave them away in alms.' Quoth the friar, 'This was a small matter, and thou didst well to deal with it as thou didst.'\n\nThen he questioned him of many other things, of all which he answered after the same fashion, and the holy father offering to proceed to absolution, Master Ciappelletto said, 'Sir, I have yet sundry sins that I have not told you.' The friar asked him what they were, and he answered, 'I mind me that one Saturday, after none, I caused my servant sweep out the house and had not that reverence for the Lord's holy day which it behoved me have.' 'Oh,' said the friar, 'that is a light matter, my son.' 'Nay,' rejoined Master Ciappelletto, 'call it not a light matter, for that the Lord's Day is greatly to be honoured, seeing that on such a day our Lord rose from the dead.' Then said the friar, 'Well, hast thou done aught else?' 'Ay, sir,' answered Master Ciappelletto; 'once, unthinking what I did, I spat in the church of God.' Thereupon the friar fell a\u2013smiling, and said, 'My son, that is no thing to be recked of; we who are of the clergy, we spit there all day long.' 'And you do very ill,' rejoined Master Ciappelletto; 'for that there is nought which it so straitly behoveth to keep clean as the holy temple wherein is rendered sacrifice to God.'\n\nBrief, he told him great plenty of such like things and presently fell a\u2013sighing and after weeping sore, as he knew full well to do, whenas he would. Quoth the holy friar, 'What aileth thee, my son?' 'Alas, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto, 'I have one sin left, whereof I never yet confessed me, such shame have I to tell it; and every time I call it to mind, I weep, even as you see, and meseemeth very certain that God will never pardon it me.' 'Go to, son,' rejoined the friar; 'what is this thou sayest? If all the sins that were ever wrought or are yet to be wrought of all mankind, what while the world endureth, were all in one man and he repented him thereof and were contrite therefor, as I see thee, such is the mercy and loving\u2013kindness of God that, upon confession, He would freely pardon them to him. Wherefore do thou tell it in all assurance.' Quoth Master Ciappelletto, still weeping sore, 'Alack, father mine, mine is too great a sin, and I can scarce believe that it will ever be forgiven me of God, except your prayers strive for me.' Then said the friar, 'Tell it me in all assurance, for I promise thee to pray God for thee.'\n\nMaster Ciappelletto, however, still wept and said nought; but, after he had thus held the friar a great while in suspense, he heaved a deep sigh and said, 'Father mine, since you promise me to pray God for me, I will e'en tell it you. Know, then, that, when I was little, I once cursed my mother.' So saying, he fell again to weeping sore. 'O my son,' quoth the friar, 'seemeth this to thee so heinous a sin? Why, men blaspheme God all day long and He freely pardoneth whoso repenteth him of having blasphemed Him; and deemest thou not He will pardon thee this? Weep not, but comfort thyself; for, certes, wert thou one of those who set Him on the cross, He would pardon thee, in favour of such contrition as I see in thee.' 'Alack, father mine, what say you?' replied Ciappelletto. 'My kind mother, who bore me nine months in her body, day and night, and carried me on her neck an hundred times and more, I did passing ill to curse her and it was an exceeding great sin; and except you pray God for me, it will not be forgiven me.'\n\nThe friar, then, seeing that Master Ciappelletto had no more to say, gave him absolution and bestowed on him his benison, holding him a very holy man and devoutly believing all that he had told him to be true. And who would not have believed it, hearing a man at the point of death speak thus? Then, after all this, he said to him, 'Master Ciappelletto, with God's help you will speedily be whole; but, should it come to pass that God call your blessed and well\u2013disposed soul to Himself, would it please you that your body be buried in our convent?' 'Ay, would it, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto. 'Nay, I would fain no be buried otherwhere, since you have promised to pray God for me; more by token that I have ever had a special regard for your order. Wherefore I pray you that whenas you return to your lodging, you must cause bring me that most veritable body of Christ, which you consecrate a\u2013mornings upon the altar, for that, with your leave, I purpose (all unworthy as I am) to take it and after, holy and extreme unction, to the intent that, if I have lived as a sinner, I may at the least die like a Christian.' The good friar replied that it pleased him much and that he said well and promised to see it presently brought him; and so was it done.\n\nMeanwhile, the two brothers, misdoubting them sore lest Master Ciappelletto should play them false, had posted themselves behind a wainscot, that divided the chamber where he lay from another, and listening, easily heard and apprehended that which he said to the friar and had whiles so great a mind to laugh, hearing the things which he confessed to having done, that they were like to burst and said, one to other, 'What manner of man is this, whom neither old age nor sickness nor fear of death, whereunto he seeth himself near, nor yet of God, before whose judgment\u2013seat he looketh to be ere long, have availed to turn from his wickedness nor hinder him from choosing to die as he hath lived?' However, seeing that he had so spoken that he should be admitted to burial in a church, they recked nought of the rest.\n\nMaster Ciappelletto presently took the sacrament and, growing rapidly worse, received extreme unction, and a little after evensong of the day he had made his fine confession, he died; whereupon the two brothers, having, of his proper monies, taken order for his honourable burial, sent to the convent to acquaint the friars therewith, bidding them come thither that night to hold vigil, according to usance, and fetch away the body in the morning, and meanwhile made ready all that was needful thereunto.\n\nThe holy friar, who had shriven him, hearing that he had departed this life, betook himself to the prior of the convent and, letting ring to chapter, gave out to the brethren therein assembled that Master Ciappelletto had been a holy man, according to that which he had gathered from his confession, and persuaded them to receive his body with the utmost reverence and devotion, in the hope that God should show forth many miracles through him. To this the prior and brethren credulously consented and that same evening, coming all whereas Master Ciappelletto lay dead, they held high and solemn vigil over him and on the morrow, clad all in albs and copes, book in hand and crosses before them, they went, chanting the while, for his body and brought it with the utmost pomp and solemnity to their church, followed by well nigh all the people of the city, men and women.\n\nAs soon as they had set the body down in the church, the holy friar, who had confessed him, mounted the pulpit and fell a\u2013preaching marvellous things of the dead man and of his life, his fasts, his virginity, his simplicity and innocence and sanctity, recounting, amongst other things, that which he had confessed to him as his greatest sin and how he had hardly availed to persuade him that God would forgive it him; thence passing on to reprove the folk who hearkened, 'And you, accursed that you are,' quoth he, 'for every waif of straw that stirreth between your feet, you blaspheme God and the Virgin and all the host of heaven.' Moreover, he told them many other things of his loyalty and purity of heart; brief, with his speech, whereto entire faith was yielded of the people of the city, he so established the dead man in the reverent consideration of all who were present that, no sooner was the service at an end, than they all with the utmost eagerness flocked to kiss his hands and feet and the clothes were torn off his back, he holding himself blessed who might avail to have never so little thereof; and needs must they leave him thus all that day, so he might be seen and visited of all.\n\nThe following night he was honourably buried in a marble tomb in one of the chapels of the church and on the morrow the folk began incontinent to come and burn candles and offer up prayers and make vows to him and hang images of wax at his shrine, according to the promise made. Nay, on such wise waxed the frame of his sanctity and men's devotion to him that there was scarce any who, being in adversity, would vow himself to another saint than him; and they styled and yet style him Saint Ciappelletto and avouch that God through him hath wrought many miracles and yet worketh, them every day for whoso devoutly commendeth himself unto him.\n\nThus, then, lived and died Master Cepperello da Prato and became a saint, as you have heard; nor would I deny it to be possible that he is beatified in God's presence, for that, albeit his life was wicked and perverse, he may at his last extremity have shown such contrition that peradventure God had mercy on him and received him into His kingdom; but, for that this is hidden from us, I reason according to that which, is apparent and say that he should rather be in the hands of the devil in perdition than in Paradise. And if so it be, we may know from this how great is God's loving\u2013kindness towards us, which, having regard not to our error, but to the purity of our faith, whenas we thus make an enemy (deeming him a friend) of His our intermediary, giveth ear unto us, even as if we had recourse unto one truly holy, as intercessor for His favour. Wherefore, to the end that by His grace we may be preserved safe and sound in this present adversity and in this so joyous company, let us, magnifying His name, in which we have begun our diversion, and holding Him in reverence, commend ourselves to Him in our necessities, well assured of being heard.\" And with this he was silent.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "ABRAHAM THE JEW, AT THE INSTIGATION OF JEHANNOT DE CHEVIGN\u00c9, GOETH TO THE COURT OF ROME AND SEEING THE DEPRAVITY OF THE CLERGY, RETURNETH TO PARIS AND THERE BECOMETH A CHRISTIAN",
                "text": "Pamfilo's story was in part laughed at and altogether commended by the ladies, and it being come to its end, after being diligently hearkened, the queen bade Neifile, who sat next him, ensue the ordinance of the commenced diversion by telling one of her fashion. Neifile, who was distinguished no less by courteous manners than by beauty, answered blithely that she would well and began on this wise: \"Pamfilo hath shown us in his story that God's benignness regardeth not our errors, when they proceed from that which is beyond our ken; and I, in mine, purpose to show you how this same benignness,\u2014patiently suffering the defaults of those who, being especially bounden both with words and deeds to bear true witness thereof yet practise the contrary,\u2014exhibiteth unto us an infallible proof of itself, to the intent that we may, with the more constancy of mind, ensue that which we believe.\"\n\nAs I have heard tell, gracious ladies, there was once in Paris a great merchant and a very loyal and upright man, whose name was Jehannot de Chevign\u00e9 and who was of great traffic in silks and stuffs. He had particular friendship for a very rich Jew called Abraham, who was also a merchant and a very honest and trusty man, and seeing the latter's worth and loyalty, it began to irk him sore that the soul of so worthy and discreet and good a man should go to perdition for default of faith; wherefore he fell to beseeching him on friendly wise leave the errors of the Jewish faith and turn to the Christian verity, which he might see still wax and prosper, as being holy and good, whereas his own faith, on the contrary, was manifestly on the wane and dwindling to nought. The Jew made answer that he held no faith holy or good save only the Jewish, that in this latter he was born and therein meant to live and die, nor should aught ever make him remove therefrom.\n\nJehannot for all that desisted not from him, but some days after returned to the attack with similar words, showing him, on rude enough wise (for that merchants for the most part can no better), for what reasons our religion is better than the Jewish; and albeit the Jew was a past master in their law, nevertheless, whether it was the great friendship he bore Jehannot that moved him or peradventure words wrought it that the Holy Ghost put into the good simple man's mouth, the latter's arguments began greatly to please him; but yet, persisting in his own belief, he would not suffer himself to be converted. Like as he abode obstinate, even so Jehannot never gave over importuning him, till at last the Jew, overcome by such continual insistence, said, 'Look you, Jehannot, thou wouldst have me become a Christian and I am disposed to do it; insomuch, indeed, that I mean, in the first place, to go to Rome and there see him who, thou sayest, is God's Vicar upon earth and consider his manners and fashions and likewise those of his chief brethren. If these appear to me such that I may, by them, as well as by your words, apprehend that your faith is better than mine, even as thou hast studied to show me, I will do as I have said; and if it be not so, I will remain a Jew as I am.'\n\nWhen Jehannot heard this, he was beyond measure chagrined and said in himself, 'I have lost my pains, which meseemed I had right well bestowed, thinking to have converted this man; for that, an he go to the court of Rome and see the lewd and wicked life of the clergy, not only will he never become a Christian, but, were he already a Christian, he would infallibly turn Jew again.' Then, turning to Abraham, he said to him, 'Alack, my friend, why wilt thou undertake this travail and so great a charge as it will be to thee to go from here to Rome? More by token that, both by sea and by land, the road is full of perils for a rich man such as thou art. Thinkest thou not to find here who shall give thee baptism? Or, if peradventure thou have any doubts concerning the faith which I have propounded to thee, where are there greater doctors and men more learned in the matter than are here or better able to resolve thee of that which thou wilt know or ask? Wherefore, to my thinking, this thy going is superfluous. Bethink thee that the prelates there are even such as those thou mayst have seen here, and indeed so much the better as they are nearer unto the Chief Pastor. Wherefore, an thou wilt be counselled by me, thou wilt reserve this travail unto another time against some jubilee or other, whereunto it may be I will bear thee company.' To this the Jew made answer, 'I doubt not, Jehannot, but it is as thou tellest me; but, to sum up many words in one, I am altogether determined, an thou wouldst have me do that whereof thou hast so instantly besought me, to go thither; else will I never do aught thereof.' Jehannot, seeing his determination, said, 'Go and good luck go with thee!' And inwardly assured that he would never become a Christian, when once he should have seen the court of Rome, but availing nothing in the matter, he desisted.\n\nThe Jew mounted to horse and as quickliest he might betook himself to the court of Rome, he was honourably entertained of his brethren, and there abiding, without telling any the reason of his coming, he began diligently to enquire into the manners and fashions of the Pope and Cardinals and other prelates and of all the members of his court, and what with that which he himself noted, being a mighty quick\u2013witted man, and that which he gathered from others, he found all, from the highest to the lowest, most shamefully given to the sin of lust, and that not only in the way of nature, but after the Sodomitical fashion, without any restraint of remorse or shamefastness, insomuch that the interest of courtezans and catamites was of no small avail there in obtaining any considerable thing.\n\nMoreover, he manifestly perceived them to be universally gluttons, wine\u2013bibbers, drunkards and slaves to their bellies, brute\u2013beast fashion, more than to aught else after lust. And looking farther, he saw them all covetous and greedy after money, insomuch that human, nay, Christian blood, no less than things sacred, whatsoever they might be, whether pertaining to the sacrifices of the altar or to the benefices of the church, they sold and bought indifferently for a price, making a greater traffic and having more brokers thereof than folk at Paris of silks and stuffs or what not else. Manifest simony they had christened 'procuration' and gluttony 'sustentation,' as if God apprehended not,\u2014let be the meaning of words but,\u2014the intention of depraved minds and would suffer Himself, after the fashion of men, to be duped by the names of things. All this, together with much else which must be left unsaid, was supremely displeasing to the Jew, who was a sober and modest man, and himseeming he had seen enough, he determined to return to Paris and did so.\n\nAs soon as Jehannot knew of his return, he betook himself to him, hoping nothing less than that he should become a Christian, and they greeted each other with the utmost joy. Then, after Abraham had rested some days, Jehannot asked him how himseemed of the Holy Father and of the cardinals and others of his court. Whereto the Jew promptly answered, 'Meseemeth, God give them ill one and all! And I say this for that, if I was able to observe aright, no piety, no devoutness, no good work or example of life or otherwhat did I see there in any who was a churchman; nay, but lust, covetise, gluttony and the like and worse (if worse can be) meseemed to be there in such favour with all that I hold it for a forgingplace of things diabolical rather than divine. And as far as I can judge, meseemeth your chief pastor and consequently all the others endeavour with all diligence and all their wit and every art to bring to nought and banish from the world the Christian religion, whereas they should be its foundation and support. And for that I see that this whereafter they strive cometh not to pass, but that your religion continually increaseth and waxeth still brighter and more glorious, meseemeth I manifestly discern that the Holy Spirit is verily the foundation and support thereof, as of that which is true and holy over any other. Wherefore, whereas, aforetime I abode obdurate and insensible to thine exhortations and would not be persuaded to embrace thy faith, I now tell thee frankly that for nothing in the world would I forbear to become a Christian. Let us, then, to church and there have me baptized, according to the rite and ordinance of your holy faith.'\n\nJehannot, who looked for a directly contrary conclusion to this, was the joyfullest man that might be, when he heard him speak thus, and repairing with him to our Lady's Church of Paris, required the clergy there to give Abraham baptism. They, hearing that the Jew himself demanded it, straightway proceeded to baptize him, whilst Jehannot raised him from the sacred font and named him Giovanni. After this, he had him thoroughly lessoned by men of great worth and learning in the tenets of our holy faith, which he speedily apprehended and thenceforward was a good man and a worthy and one of a devout life.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MELCHIZEDEK THE JEW, WITH A STORY OF THREE RINGS, ESCAPETH A PARLOUS SNARE SET FOR HIM BY SALADIN",
                "text": "Neifile having made an end of her story, which was commended of all, Filomena, by the queen's good pleasure, proceeded to speak thus: \"The story told by Neifile bringeth to my mind a parlous case the once betided a Jew; and for that, it having already been excellent well spoken both of God and of the verity of our faith, it should not henceforth be forbidden us to descend to the doings of mankind and the events that have befallen them, I will now proceed to relate to you the case aforesaid, which having heard, you will peradventure become more wary in answering the questions that may be put to you. You must know, lovesome companions mine, that, like as folly ofttimes draweth folk forth of happy estate and casteth them into the utmost misery, even so doth good sense extricate the wise man from the greatest perils and place him in assurance and tranquillity. How true it is that folly bringeth many an one from fair estate unto misery is seen by multitude of examples, with the recounting whereof we have no present concern, considering that a thousand instances thereof do every day manifestly appear to us; but that good sense is a cause of solacement I will, as I promised, briefly show you by a little story.\"\n\nSaladin,\u2014whose valour was such that not only from a man of little account it made him Soldan of Babylon, but gained him many victories over kings Saracen and Christian,\u2014having in divers wars and in the exercise of his extraordinary munificences expended his whole treasure and having an urgent occasion for a good sum of money nor seeing whence he might avail to have it as promptly as it behoved him, called to mind a rich Jew, by name Melchizedek, who lent at usance in Alexandria, and bethought himself that this latter had the wherewithal to oblige him, and he would; but he was so miserly that he would never have done it of his freewill and Saladin was loath to use force with him; wherefore, need constraining him, he set his every wit awork to find a means how the Jew might be brought to serve him in this and presently concluded to do him a violence coloured by some show of reason.\n\nAccordingly he sent for Melchizedek and receiving him familiarly, seated him by himself, then said to him, 'Honest man, I have understood from divers persons that thou art a very learned man and deeply versed in matters of divinity; wherefore I would fain know of thee whether of the three Laws thou reputest the true, the Jewish, the Saracen or the Christian.' The Jew, who was in truth a man of learning and understanding, perceived but too well that Saladin looked to entrap him in words, so he might fasten a quarrel on him, and bethought himself that he could not praise any of the three more than the others without giving him the occasion he sought. Accordingly, sharpening his wits, as became one who felt himself in need of an answer by which he might not be taken at a vantage, there speedily occurred to him that which it behoved him reply and he said, 'My lord, the question that you propound to me is a nice one and to acquaint you with that which I think of the matter, it behoveth me tell you a little story, which you shall hear.\n\nAn I mistake not, I mind me to have many a time heard tell that there was once a great man and a rich, who among other very precious jewels in his treasury, had a very goodly and costly ring, whereunto being minded, for its worth and beauty, to do honour and wishing to leave it in perpetuity to his descendants, he declared that whichsoever of his sons should, at his death, be found in possession thereof, by his bequest unto him, should be recognized as his heir and be held of all the others in honour and reverence as chief and head. He to whom the ring was left by him held a like course with his own descendants and did even as his father had done. In brief the ring passed from hand to hand, through many generations, and came at last into the possession of a man who had three goodly and virtuous sons, all very obedient to their father wherefore he loved them all three alike. The young men, knowing the usance of the ring, each for himself, desiring to be the most honoured among his folk, as best he might, besought his father, who was now an old man, to leave him the ring, whenas he came to die. The worthy man, who loved them all alike and knew not himself how to choose to which he had liefer leave the ring, bethought himself, having promised it to each, to seek to satisfy all three and privily let make by a good craftsman other two rings, which were so like unto the first that he himself scarce knew which was the true. When he came to die, he secretly gave each one of his sons his ring, wherefore each of them, seeking after their father's death, to occupy the inheritance and the honour and denying it to the others, produced his ring, in witness of his right, and the three rings being found so like unto one another that the true might not be known, the question which was the father's very heir abode pending and yet pendeth. And so say I to you, my lord, of the three Laws to the three peoples given of God the Father, whereof you question me; each people deemeth itself to have his inheritance, His true Law and His commandments; but of which in very deed hath them, even as of the rings, the question yet pendeth.'\n\nSaladin perceived that the Jew had excellently well contrived to escape the snare which he had spread before his feet; wherefore he concluded to discover to him his need and see if he were willing to serve him; and so accordingly he did, confessing to him that which he had it in mind to do, had he not answered him on such discreet wise. The Jew freely furnished him with all that he required, and the Soldan after satisfied him in full; moreover, he gave him very great gifts and still had him to friend and maintained him about his own person in high and honourable estate.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A MONK, HAVING FALLEN INTO A SIN DESERVING OF VERY GRIEVOUS PUNISHMENT, ADROITLY REPROACHING THE SAME FAULT TO HIS ABBOT, QUITTETH HIMSELF OF THE PENALTY",
                "text": "Filomena, having despatched her story, was now silent, whereupon Dioneo, who sat next her, knowing already, by the ordinance begun, that it fell to his turn to tell, proceeded, without awaiting farther commandment from the queen, to speak on this wise: \"Lovesome ladies, if I have rightly apprehended the intention of you all, we are here to divert ourselves with story\u2013telling; wherefore, so but it be not done contrary to this our purpose, I hold it lawful unto each (even as our queen told us a while agone) to tell such story as he deemeth may afford most entertainment. Accordingly having heard how, by the good counsels of Jehannot de Chevign\u00e9, Abraham had his soul saved and how Melchizedek, by his good sense, defended his riches from Saladin's ambushes, I purpose, without looking for reprehension from you, briefly to relate with what address a monk delivered his body from a very grievous punishment.\"\n\nThere was in Lunigiana, a country not very far hence, a monastery whilere more abounding in sanctity and monks than it is nowadays, and therein, among others, was a young monk, whose vigour and lustiness neither fasts nor vigils availed to mortify. It chanced one day, towards noontide, when all the other monks slept, that, as he went all alone round about the convent, which stood in a very solitary place, he espied a very well\u2013favoured lass, belike some husbandman's daughter of the country, who went about the fields culling certain herbs, and no sooner had he set eyes on her than he was violently assailed by carnal appetite. Wherefore, accosting her, he entered into parley with her and so led on from one thing to another that he came to an accord with her and brought her to his cell, unperceived of any; but whilst, carried away by overmuch ardour, he disported himself with her less cautiously than was prudent, it chanced that the abbot arose from sleep and softly passing by the monk's cell, heard the racket that the twain made together; whereupon he came stealthily up to the door to listen, that he might the better recognize the voices, and manifestly perceiving that there was a woman in the cell, was at first minded to cause open to him, but after bethought himself to hold another course in the matter and, returning to his chamber, awaited the monk's coming forth.\n\nThe latter, all taken up as he was with the wench and his exceeding pleasure and delight in her company, was none the less on his guard and himseeming he heard some scuffling of feet in the dormitory, he set his eye to a crevice and plainly saw the abbot stand hearkening unto him; whereby he understood but too well that the latter must have gotten wind of the wench's presence in his cell and knowing that sore punishment would ensue to him thereof, he was beyond measure chagrined. However, without discovering aught of his concern to the girl, he hastily revolved many things in himself, seeking to find some means of escape, and presently hit upon a rare device, which went straight to the mark he aimed at. Accordingly, making a show of thinking he had abidden long enough with the damsel, he said to her, 'I must go cast about for a means how thou mayest win forth hence, without being seen; wherefore do thou abide quietly until my return.'\n\nThen, going forth and locking the cell door on her, he betook himself straight to the abbot's chamber and presenting him with the key, according as each monk did, whenas he went abroad, said to him, with a good countenance, 'Sir, I was unable to make an end this morning of bringing off all the faggots I had cut; wherefore with your leave I will presently go to the wood and fetch them away.' The abbot, deeming the monk unaware that he had been seen of him, was glad of such an opportunity to inform himself more fully of the offence committed by him and accordingly took the key and gave him the leave he sought. Then, as soon as he saw him gone, he fell to considering which he should rather do, whether open his cell in the presence of all the other monks and cause them to see his default, so they might after have no occasion to murmur against himself, whenas he should punish the offender, or seek first to learn from the girl herself how the thing had passed; and bethinking himself that she might perchance be the wife or daughter of such a man that he would be loath to have done her the shame of showing her to all the monks, he determined first to see her and after come to a conclusion; wherefore, betaking himself to the cell, he opened it and, entering, shut the door after him.\n\nThe girl, seeing the abbot enter, was all aghast and fell a\u2013weeping for fear of shame; but my lord abbot, casting his eyes upon her and seeing her young and handsome, old as he was, suddenly felt the pricks of the flesh no less importunate than his young monk had done and fell a\u2013saying in himself, 'Marry, why should I not take somewhat of pleasure, whenas I may, more by token that displeasance and annoy are still at hand, whenever I have a mind to them? This is a handsome wench and is here unknown of any in the world. If I can bring her to do my pleasure, I know not why I should not do it. Who will know it? No one will ever know it and a sin that's hidden is half forgiven. Maybe this chance will never occur again. I hold it great sense to avail ourselves of a good, whenas God the Lord sendeth us thereof.'\n\nSo saying and having altogether changed purpose from that wherewith he came, he drew near to the girl and began gently to comfort her, praying her not to weep, and passing from one word to another, he ended by discovering to her his desire. The girl, who was neither iron nor adamant, readily enough lent herself to the pleasure of the abbot, who, after he had clipped and kissed her again and again, mounted upon the monk's pallet and having belike regard to the grave burden of his dignity and the girl's tender age and fearful of irking her for overmuch heaviness, bestrode not her breast, but set her upon his own and so a great while disported himself with her.\n\nMeanwhile, the monk, who had only made believe to go to the wood and had hidden himself in the dormitory, was altogether reassured, whenas he saw the abbot enter his cell alone, doubting not but his device should have effect, and when he saw him lock the door from within, he held it for certain. Accordingly, coming forth of his hiding\u2013place, he stealthily betook himself to a crevice, through which he both heard and saw all that the abbot did and said. When it seemed to the latter that he had tarried long enough with the damsel, he locked her in the cell and returned to his own chamber, whence, after awhile, he heard the monk stirring and deeming him returned from the wood, thought to rebuke him severely and cast him into prison, so himself might alone possess the prey he had gotten; wherefore, sending for him, he very grievously rebuked him and with a stern countenance and commanded that he should be put in prison.\n\nThe monk very readily answered, 'Sir, I have not yet pertained long enough to the order of St. Benedict to have been able to learn every particular thereof, and you had not yet shown me that monks should make of women a means of mortification, as of fasts and vigils; but, now that you have shown it me, I promise you, so you will pardon me this default, never again to offend therein, but still to do as I have seen you do.' The abbot, who was a quick\u2013witted man, readily understood that the monk not only knew more than himself, but had seen what he did; wherefore, his conscience pricking him for his own default, he was ashamed to inflict on the monk a punishment which he himself had merited even as he. Accordingly, pardoning him and charging him keep silence of that which he had seen, they privily put the girl out of doors and it is believed that they caused her return thither more than once thereafterward.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE MARCHIONESS OF MONFERRATO, WITH A DINNER OF HENS AND CERTAIN SPRIGHTLY WORDS, CURBETH THE EXTRAVAGANT PASSION OF THE KING OF FRANCE",
                "text": "The story told by Dioneo at first pricked the hearts of the listening ladies with somewhat of shamefastness, whereof a modest redness appearing in their faces gave token; but after, looking one at other and being scarce able to keep their countenance, they listened, laughing in their sleeves. The end thereof being come, after they had gently chidden him, giving him to understand that such tales were not fit to be told among ladies, the queen, turning to Fiammetta, who sat next him on the grass, bade her follow on the ordinance. Accordingly, she began with a good grace and a cheerful countenance, \"It hath occurred to my mind, fair my ladies,\u2014at once because it pleaseth me that we have entered upon showing by stories how great is the efficacy of prompt and goodly answers and because, like as in men it is great good sense to seek still to love a lady of higher lineage than themselves, so in women it is great discretion to know how to keep themselves from being taken with the love of men of greater condition than they,\u2014to set forth to you, in the story which it falleth to me to tell, how both with deeds and words a noble lady guarded herself against this and diverted another therefrom.\"\n\nThe Marquis of Monferrato, a man of high worth and gonfalonier of the church, had passed beyond seas on the occasion of a general crusade undertaken by the Christians, arms in hand, and it being one day discoursed of his merit at the court of King Phillippe le Borgne, who was then making ready to depart France upon the same crusade, it was avouched by a gentleman present that there was not under the stars a couple to match with the marquis and his lady, for that, even as he was renowned among knights for every virtue, so was she the fairest and noblest of all the ladies in the world. These words took such hold upon the mind of the King of France that, without having seen the marchioness, he fell of a sudden ardently in love with her and determined to take ship for the crusade, on which he was to go, no otherwhere than at Genoa, in order that, journeying thither by land, he might have an honourable occasion of visiting the marchioness, doubting not but that, the marquis being absent, he might avail to give effect to his desire.\n\nAs he had bethought himself, so he put his thought into execution; for, having sent forward all his power, he set out, attended only by some few gentlemen, and coming within a day's journey of the marquis's domains, despatched a vauntcourier to bid the lady expect him the following morning to dinner. The marchioness, who was well advised and discreet, replied blithely that in this he did her the greatest of favours and that he would be welcome and after bethought herself what this might mean that such a king should come to visit her in her husband's absence, nor was she deceived in the conclusion to which she came, to wit, that the report of her beauty drew him thither. Nevertheless, like a brave lady as she was, she determined to receive him with honour and summoning to her counsels sundry gentlemen of those who remained there, with their help, she let provide for everything needful. The ordinance of the repast and of the viands she reserved to herself alone and having forthright caused collect as many hens as were in the country, she bade her cooks dress various dishes of these alone for the royal table.\n\nThe king came at the appointed time and was received by the lady with great honour and rejoicing. When he beheld her, she seemed to him fair and noble and well\u2013bred beyond that which he had conceived from the courtier's words, whereat he marvelled exceedingly and commended her amain, waxing so much the hotter in his desire as he found the lady overpassing his foregone conceit of her. After he had taken somewhat of rest in chambers adorned to the utmost with all that pertaineth to the entertainment of such a king, the dinner hour being come, the king and the marchioness seated themselves at one table, whilst the rest, according to their quality, were honourably entertained at others. The king, being served with many dishes in succession, as well as with wines of the best and costliest, and to boot gazing with delight the while upon the lovely marchioness, was mightily pleased with his entertainment; but, after awhile, as the viands followed one upon another, he began somewhat to marvel, perceiving that, for all the diversity of the dishes, they were nevertheless of nought other than hens, and this although he knew the part where he was to be such as should abound in game of various kinds and although he had, by advising the lady in advance of his coming, given her time to send a\u2013hunting. However, much as he might marvel at this, he chose not to take occasion of engaging her in parley thereof, otherwise than in the matter of her hens, and accordingly, turning to her with a merry air, 'Madam,' quoth he, 'are hens only born in these parts, without ever a cock?' The marchioness, who understood the king's question excellent well, herseeming God had vouchsafed her, according to her wish, an opportune occasion of discovering her mind, turned to him and answered boldly, 'Nay, my lord; but women, albeit in apparel and dignities they may differ somewhat from others, are natheless all of the same fashion here as elsewhere.'\n\nThe King, hearing this, right well apprehended the meaning of the banquet of hens and the virtue hidden in her speech and perceived that words would be wasted upon such a lady and that violence was out of the question; wherefore, even as he had ill\u2013advisedly taken fire for her, so now it behoved him sagely, for his own honour's sake, stifle his ill\u2013conceived passion. Accordingly, without making any more words with her, for fear of her replies, he dined, out of all hope; and the meal ended, thanking her for the honourable entertainment he had received from her and commending her to God, he set out for Genoa, so by his prompt departure he might make amends for his unseemly visit.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "AN HONEST MAN, WITH A CHANCE PLEASANTRY, PUTTETH TO SHAME THE PERVERSE HYPOCRISY OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS",
                "text": "Emilia, who sat next after Fiammetta,\u2014the courage of the marchioness and the quaint rebuke administered by her to the King of France having been commended of all the ladies,\u2014began, by the queen's pleasure, boldly to speak as follows: \"I also, I will not keep silence of a biting reproof given by an honest layman to a covetous monk with a speech no less laughable than commendable.\"\n\nThere was, then, dear lasses, no great while agone, in our city, a Minor friar and inquisitor of heretical pravity, who, for all he studied hard to appear a devout and tender lover of the Christian religion, as do they all, was no less diligent in enquiring of who had a well\u2013filled purse than of whom he might find wanting in the things of the Faith. Thanks to this his diligence, he lit by chance upon a good simple man, richer, by far in coin than in wit, who, of no lack of religion, but speaking thoughtlessly and belike overheated with wine or excess of mirth, chanced one day to say to a company of his friends that he had a wine so good that Christ himself might drink thereof. This being reported to the inquisitor and he understanding that the man's means were large and his purse well filled, ran in a violent hurry cum gladiis et fustibus to clap up a right grievous suit against him, looking not for an amendment of misbelief in the defendant, but for the filling of his own hand with florins to ensue thereof (as indeed it did,) and causing him to be cited, asked him if that which had been alleged against him were true.\n\nThe good man replied that it was and told him how it chanced; whereupon quoth the most holy inquisitor, who was a devotee of St. John Goldenbeard, 'Then hast thou made Christ a wine\u2013bibber and curious in wines of choice, as if he were Cinciglione or what not other of your drunken sots and tavern\u2013haunters; and now thou speakest lowly and wouldst feign this to be a very light matter! It is not as thou deemest; thou hast merited the fire therefor, an we were minded to deal with thee as we ought.' With these and many other words he bespoke him, with as menacing a countenance as if the poor wretch had been Epicurus denying the immortality of the soul, and in brief so terrified him that the good simple soul, by means of certain intermediaries, let grease his palm with a good dose of St. John Goldenmouth's ointment (the which is a sovereign remedy for the pestilential covetise of the clergy and especially of the Minor Brethren, who dare not touch money), so he should deal mercifully with him.\n\nThis unguent, being of great virtue (albeit Galen speaketh not thereof in any part of his Medicines), wrought to such purpose that the fire denounced against him was by favour commuted into the wearing, by way of penance, of a cross, and to make the finer banner, as he were to go a crusading beyond seas, the inquisitor imposed it him yellow upon black. Moreover, whenas he had gotten the money, he detained him about himself some days, enjoining him, by way of penance, hear a mass every morning at Santa Croce and present himself before him at dinner\u2013time, and after that he might do what most pleased him the rest of the day; all which he diligently performed.\n\nOne morning, amongst others, it chanced that at the Mass he heard a Gospel, wherein these words were chanted, 'For every one ye shall receive an hundred and shall possess eternal life.' This he laid fast up in his memory and according to the commandment given him, presented him at the eating hour before the inquisitor, whom he found at dinner. The friar asked him if he had heard mass that morning, whereto he promptly answered, 'Ay have I, sir.' Quoth the inquisitor, 'Heardest thou aught therein whereof thou doubtest or would question?' 'Certes,' replied the good man, 'I doubt not of aught that I heard, but do firmly believe all to be true. I did indeed hear something which caused and yet causeth me have the greatest compassion of you and your brother friars, bethinking me of the ill case wherein you will find yourselves over yonder in the next life.' 'And what was it that moved thee to such compassion of us?' asked the inquisitor. 'Sir,' answered the other, 'it was that verse of the Evangel, which saith, \"For every one ye shall receive an hundred.\" 'That is true,' rejoined the inquisitor; 'but why did these words move thee thus?' 'Sir,' replied the good man, 'I will tell you. Since I have been used to resort hither, I have seen give out every day to a multitude of poor folk now one and now two vast great cauldrons of broth, which had been taken away from before yourself and the other brethren of this convent, as superfluous; wherefore, if for each one of these cauldrons of broth there be rendered you an hundred in the world to come, you will have so much thereof that you will assuredly all be drowned therein.'\n\nAll who were at the inquisitor's table fell a\u2013laughing; but the latter, feeling the hit at the broth\u2013swilling hypocrisy of himself and his brethren, was mightily incensed, and but that he had gotten blame for that which he had already done, he would have saddled him with another prosecution, for that with a laughable speech he had rebuked him and his brother good\u2013for\u2013noughts; wherefore, of his despite, he bade him thenceforward do what most pleased him and not come before him again.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "BERGAMINO, WITH A STORY OF PRIMASSO AND THE ABBOT OF CLUNY, COURTEOUSLY REBUKETH A FIT OF PARSIMONY NEWLY COME TO MESSER CANE DELLA SCALA",
                "text": "Emilia's pleasantness and her story moved the queen and all the rest to laugh and applaud the rare conceit of this new\u2013fangled crusader. Then, after the laughter had subsided and all were silent again, Filostrato, whose turn it was to tell, began to speak on this wise: \"It is a fine thing, noble ladies, to hit a mark that never stirreth; but it is well\u2013nigh miraculous if, when some unwonted thing appeareth of a sudden, it be forthright stricken of an archer. The lewd and filthy life of the clergy, in many things as it were a constant mark for malice, giveth without much difficulty occasion to all who have a mind to speak of, to gird at and rebuke it; wherefore, albeit the worthy man, who pierced the inquisitor to the quick touching the hypocritical charity of the friars, who give to the poor that which it should behove them cast to the swine or throw away, did well, I hold him much more to be commended of whom, the foregoing tale moving me thereto, I am to speak and who with a quaint story rebuked Messer Cane della Scala, a magnificent nobleman, of a sudden and unaccustomed niggardliness newly appeared in him, figuring, in the person of another, that which he purposed to say to him concerning themselves; the which was on this wise.\"\n\nAs very manifest renown proclaimeth well nigh throughout the whole world, Messer Cane della Scala, to whom in many things fortune was favourable, was one of the most notable and most magnificent gentlemen that have been known in Italy since the days of the Emperor Frederick the Second. Being minded to make a notable and wonder\u2013goodly entertainment in Verona, whereunto many folk should have come from divers parts and especially men of art of all kinds, he of a sudden (whatever might have been the cause) withdrew therefrom and having in a measure requited those who were come thither, dismissed them all, save only one, Bergamino by name, a man ready of speech and accomplished beyond the credence of whoso had not heard him, who, having received neither largesse nor dismissal, abode behind, in the hope that his stay might prove to his future advantage. But Messer Cane had taken it into his mind that what thing soever he might give him were far worse bestowed than if it had been thrown into the fire, nor of this did he bespeak him or let tell him aught.\n\nBergamino, after some days, finding himself neither called upon nor required unto aught that pertained to his craft and wasting his substance, to boot, in the hostelry with his horses and his servants, began to be sore concerned, but waited yet, himseeming he would not do well to depart. Now he had brought with him three goodly and rich suits of apparel, which had been given him of other noblemen, that he might make a brave appearance at the festival, and his host pressing for payment, he gave one thereof to him. After this, tarrying yet longer, it behoved him give the host the second suit, an he would abide longer with him, and withal he began to live upon the third, resolved to abide in expectation so long as this should last and then depart. Whilst he thus fed upon the third suit, he chanced one day, Messer Cane being at dinner, to present himself before him with a rueful countenance, and Messer Cane, seeing this, more by way of rallying him than of intent to divert himself with any of his speech, said to him, 'What aileth thee, Bergamino, to stand thus disconsolate? Tell us somewhat.' Whereupon Bergamino, without a moment's hesitation, forthright, as if he had long considered it, related the following story to the purpose of his own affairs.\n\n'My lord,' said he, 'you must know that Primasso was a very learned grammarian and a skilful and ready verse\u2013maker above all others, which things rendered him so notable and so famous that, albeit he might not everywhere be known by sight, there was well nigh none who knew him not by name and by report. It chanced that, finding himself once at Paris in poor case, as indeed he abode most times, for that worth is little prized of those who can most, he heard speak of the Abbot of Cluny, who is believed to be, barring the Pope, the richest prelate of his revenues that the Church of God possesseth, and of him he heard tell marvellous and magnificent things, in that he still held open house nor were meat and drink ever denied to any who went whereas he might be, so but he sought it what time the Abbot was at meat. Primasso, hearing this and being one who delighted in looking upon men of worth and nobility, determined to go see the magnificence of this Abbot and enquired how near he then abode to Paris. It was answered him that he was then at a place of his maybe half a dozen miles thence; wherefore Primasso thought to be there at dinner\u2013time, by starting in the morning betimes.\n\nAccordingly, he enquired the way, but, finding none bound thither, he feared lest he might go astray by mischance and happen on a part where there might be no victual so readily to be found; wherefore, in order that, if this should betide, he might not suffer for lack of food, he bethought himself to carry with him three cakes of bread, judging that water (albeit it was little to his taste) he should find everywhere. The bread he put in his bosom and setting out, was fortunate enough to reach the Abbot's residence before the eating\u2013hour. He entered and went spying all about and seeing the great multitude of tables set and the mighty preparations making in the kitchen and what not else provided against dinner, said in himself, \"Of a truth this Abbot is as magnificent as folk say.\" After he had abidden awhile intent upon these things, the Abbot's seneschal, eating\u2013time being come, bade bring water for the hands; which being done, he seated each man at table, and it chanced that Primasso was set right over against the door of the chamber, whence the Abbot should come forth into the eating\u2013hall.\n\nNow it was the usance in that house that neither wine nor bread nor aught else of meat or drink should ever be set on the tables, except the Abbot were first came to sit at his own table. Accordingly, the seneschal, having set the tables, let tell the Abbot that, whenas it pleased him, the meat was ready. The Abbot let open the chamber\u2013door, that he might pass into the saloon, and looking before him as he came, as chance would have it, the first who met his eyes was Primasso, who was very ill accoutred and whom he knew not by sight. When he saw him, incontinent there came into his mind an ill thought and one that had never yet been there, and he said in himself, \"See to whom I give my substance to eat!\" Then, turning back, he bade shut the chamber\u2013door and enquired of those who were about him if any knew yonder losel who sat at table over against his chamber\u2013door; but all answered no.\n\nMeanwhile Primasso, who had a mind to eat, having come a journey and being unused to fast, waited awhile and seeing that the Abbot came not, pulled out of his bosom one of the three cakes of bread he had brought with him and fell to eating. The Abbot, after he had waited awhile, bade one of his serving\u2013men look if Primasso were gone, and the man answered, \"No, my lord; nay, he eateth bread, which it seemeth he hath brought with him.\" Quoth the Abbot, \"Well, let him eat of his own, an he have thereof; for of ours he shall not eat to\u2013day.\" Now he would fain have had Primasso depart of his own motion, himseeming it were not well done to turn him away; but the latter, having eaten one cake of bread and the Abbot coming not, began upon the second; the which was likewise reported to the Abbot, who had caused look if he were gone.\n\nAt last, the Abbot still tarrying, Primasso, having eaten the second cake, began upon the third, and this again was reported to the Abbot, who fell a\u2013pondering in himself and saying, \"Alack, what new maggot is this that is come into my head to\u2013day? What avarice! What despite! And for whom? This many a year have I given my substance to eat to whosoever had a mind thereto, without regarding if he were gentle or simple, poor or rich, merchant or huckster, and have seen it with mine own eyes squandered by a multitude of ribald knaves; nor ever yet came there to my mind the thought that hath entered into me for yonder man. Of a surety avarice cannot have assailed me for a man of little account; needs must this who seemeth to me a losel be some great matter, since my soul hath thus repugned to do him honour.\"\n\nSo saying, he desired to know who he was and finding that it was Primasso, whom he had long known by report for a man of merit, come thither to see with his own eyes that which he had heard of his magnificence, was ashamed and eager to make him amends, studied in many ways to do him honour. Moreover, after eating, he caused clothe him sumptuously, as befitted his quality, and giving him money and a palfrey, left it to his own choice to go or stay; whereupon Primasso, well pleased with his entertainment, rendered him the best thanks in his power and returned on horseback to Paris, whence he had set out afoot.\n\nMesser Cane, who was a gentleman of understanding, right well apprehended Bergamino's meaning, without further exposition, and said to him, smiling, 'Bergamino, thou hast very aptly set forth to me thy wrongs and merit and my niggardliness, as well as that which thou wouldst have of me; and in good sooth, never, save now on thine account, have I been assailed of parsimony; but I will drive it away with that same stick which thou thyself hast shown me.' Then, letting pay Bergamino's host and clothing himself most sumptuously in a suit of his own apparel, he gave him money and a palfrey and committed to his choice for the nonce to go or stay.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GUGLIELMO BORSIERE WITH SOME QUAINT WORDS REBUKETH THE NIGGARDLINESS OF MESSER ERMINO DE' GRIMALDI",
                "text": "Next Filostrato sat Lauretta, who, after she had heard Bergamino's address commended, perceiving that it behoved her tell somewhat, began, without awaiting any commandment, blithely to speak thus: \"The foregoing story, dear companions, bringeth me in mind to tell how an honest minstrel on like wise and not without fruit rebuked the covetise of a very rich merchant, the which, albeit in effect it resembleth the last story, should not therefore be less agreeable to you, considering that good came thereof in the end.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Genoa, a good while agone, a gentleman called Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi, who (according to general belief) far overpassed in wealth of lands and monies the riches of whatsoever other richest citizen was then known in Italy; and like as he excelled all other Italians in wealth, even so in avarice and sordidness he outwent beyond compare every other miser and curmudgeon in the world; for not only did he keep a strait purse in the matter of hospitality, but, contrary to the general usance of the Genoese, who are wont to dress sumptuously, he suffered the greatest privations in things necessary to his own person, no less than in meat and in drink, rather than be at any expense; by reason whereof the surname de' Grimaldi had fallen away from him and he was deservedly called of all only Messer Ermino Avarizia.\n\nIt chanced that, whilst, by dint of spending not, he multiplied his wealth, there came to Genoa a worthy minstrel, both well\u2013bred and well\u2013spoken, by name Guglielmo Borsiere, a man no whit like those of the present day, who (to the no small reproach of the corrupt and blameworthy usances of those who nowadays would fain be called and reputed gentlefolk and seigniors) are rather to be styled asses, reared in all the beastliness and depravity of the basest of mankind, than minstrels, bred in the courts of kings and princes. In those times it used to be a minstrel's office and his wont to expend his pains in negotiating treaties of peace, where feuds or despites had befallen between noblemen, or transacting marriages, alliances and friendships, in solacing the minds of the weary and diverting courts with quaint and pleasant sayings, ay, and with sharp reproofs, father\u2013like, rebuking the misdeeds of the froward,\u2014and this for slight enough reward; but nowadays they study to spend their time in hawking evil reports from one to another, in sowing discord, in speaking naughtiness and obscenity and (what is worse) doing them in all men's presence, in imputing evil doings, lewdnesses and knaveries, true or false, one to other, and in prompting men of condition with treacherous allurements to base and shameful actions; and he is most cherished and honoured and most munificently entertained and rewarded of the sorry unmannerly noblemen of our time who saith and doth the most abominable words and deeds; a sore and shameful reproach to the present age and a very manifest proof that the virtues have departed this lower world and left us wretched mortals to wallow in the slough of the vices.\n\nBut to return to my story, from which a just indignation hath carried me somewhat farther astray than I purposed,\u2014I say that the aforesaid Guglielmo was honoured by all the gentlemen of Genoa and gladly seen of them, and having sojourned some days in the city and hearing many tales of Messer Ermino's avarice and sordidness, he desired to see him. Messer Ermino having already heard how worthy a man was this Guglielmo Borsiere and having yet, all miser as he was, some tincture of gentle breeding, received him with very amicable words and blithe aspect and entered with him into many and various discourses. Devising thus, he carried him, together with other Genoese who were in his company, into a fine new house of his which he had lately built and after having shown it all to him, said, 'Pray, Messer Guglielmo, you who have seen and heard many things, can you tell me of something that was never yet seen, which I may have depictured in the saloon of this my house?' Guglielmo, hearing this his preposterous question, answered, 'Sir, I doubt me I cannot undertake to tell you of aught that was never yet seen, except it were sneezings or the like; but, an it like you, I will tell you of somewhat which me thinketh you never yet beheld.' Quoth Messer Ermino, not looking for such an answer as he got, 'I pray you tell me what it is.' Whereto Guglielmo promptly replied, 'Cause Liberality to be here depictured.'\n\nWhen Messer Ermino heard this speech, there took him incontinent such a shame that it availed in a manner to change his disposition altogether to the contrary of that which it had been and he said, 'Messer Guglielmo, I will have it here depictured after such a fashion that neither you nor any other shall ever again have cause to tell me that I have never seen nor known it.' And from that time forth (such was the virtue of Guglielmo's words) he was the most liberal and the most courteous gentleman of his day in Genoa and he who most hospitably entreated both strangers and citizens.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE KING OF CYPRUS, TOUCHED TO THE QUICK BY A GASCON LADY, FROM A MEAN\u2013SPIRITED PRINCE BECOMETH A MAN OF WORTH AND VALIANCE",
                "text": "The Queen's last commandment rested with Elisa, who, without awaiting it, began all blithely, \"Young ladies, it hath often chanced that what all manner reproofs and many pains bestowed upon a man have not availed to bring about in him hath been effected by a word more often spoken at hazard than of purpose aforethought. This is very well shown in the story related by Lauretta and I, in my turn, purpose to prove to you the same thing by means of another and a very short one; for that, since good things may still serve, they should be received with a mind attent, whoever be the sayer thereof.\"\n\nI say, then, that in the days of the first King of Cyprus, after the conquest of the Holy Land by Godefroi de Bouillon, it chanced that a gentlewoman of Gascony went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre and returning thence, came to Cyprus, where she was shamefully abused of certain lewd fellows; whereof having complained, without getting any satisfaction, she thought to appeal to the King for redress, but was told that she would lose her pains, for that he was of so abject a composition and so little of worth that, far from justifying others of their wrongs, he endured with shameful pusillanimity innumerable affronts offered to himself, insomuch that whose had any grudge against him was wont to vent his despite by doing him some shame or insult.\n\nThe lady, hearing this and despairing of redress, bethought herself, by way of some small solacement of her chagrin, to seek to rebuke the king's pusillanimity; wherefore, presenting herself in tears before him, she said to him, 'My lord, I come not into thy presence for any redress that I expect of the wrong that hath been done me; but in satisfaction thereof, I prithee teach me how thou dost to suffer those affronts which I understand are offered unto thyself, so haply I may learn of thee patiently to endure mine own, the which God knoweth, an I might, I would gladly bestow on thee, since thou art so excellent a supporter thereof.'\n\nThe King, who till then had been sluggish and supine, awoke as if from sleep and beginning with the wrong done to the lady, which he cruelly avenged, thenceforth became a very rigorous prosecutor of all who committed aught against the honour of his crown.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MASTER ALBERTO OF BOLOGNA CIVILLY PUTTETH A LADY TO THE BLUSH WHO THOUGHT TO HAVE SHAMED HIM OF BEING ENAMOURED OF HER",
                "text": "Elisa being now silent, the last burden of the story\u2013telling rested with the queen, who, with womanly grace beginning to speak, said, \"Noble damsels, like as in the lucid nights the stars are the ornament of the sky and as in Spring\u2013time the flowers of the green meadows, even so are commendable manners and pleasing discourse adorned by witty sallies, which latter, for that they are brief, are yet more beseeming to women than to men, inasmuch as much and long speech, whenas it may be dispensed with, is straitlier forbidden unto women than to men, albeit nowadays there are few or no women left who understand a sprightly saying or, if they understand it, know how to answer it, to the general shame be it said of ourselves and of all women alive. For that virtue, which was erst in the minds of the women of times past, those of our day have diverted to the adornment of the body, and she on whose back are to be seen the most motley garments and the most gaudily laced and garded and garnished with the greatest plenty of fringes and purflings and broidery deemeth herself worthy to be held of far more account than her fellows and to be honoured above them, considering not that, were it a question of who should load her back and shoulders with bravery, an ass would carry much more thereof than any of them nor would therefore be honoured for more than an ass.\"\n\nI blush to avow it, for that I cannot say aught against other women but I say it against myself; these women that are so laced and purfled and painted and parti\u2013coloured abide either mute and senseless, like marble statues, or, an they be questioned, answer after such a fashion that it were far better to have kept silence. And they would have you believe that their unableness to converse among ladies and men of parts proceedeth from purity of mind, and to their witlessness they give the name of modesty, as if forsooth no woman were modest but she who talketh with her chamberwoman or her laundress or her bake\u2013wench; the which had Nature willed, as they would have it believed, she had assuredly limited unto them their prattle on other wise. It is true that in this, as in other things, it behoveth to have regard to time and place and with whom one talketh; for that it chanceth bytimes that women or men, thinking with some pleasantry or other to put another to the blush and not having well measured their own powers with those of the latter, find that confusion, which they thought to cast upon another, recoil upon themselves. Wherefore, so you may know how to keep yourselves and that, to boot, you may not serve as a text for the proverb which is current everywhere, to wit, that women in everything still take the worst, I would have you learn a lesson from the last of to\u2013day's stories, which falleth to me to tell, to the intent that, even as you are by nobility of mind distinguished from other women, so likewise you may show yourselves no less removed from them by excellence of manners.\n\nIt is not many years since there lived (and belike yet liveth) at Bologna a very great and famous physician, known by manifest renown to well nigh all the world. His name was Master Alberto and such was the vivacity of his spirit that, albeit he was an old man of hard upon seventy years of age and well nigh all natural heat had departed his body, he scrupled not to expose himself to the flames of love; for that, having seen at an entertainment a very beautiful widow lady, called, as some say, Madam Malgherida de' Ghisolieri, and being vastly taken with her, he received into his mature bosom, no otherwise than if he had been a young gallant, the amorous fire, insomuch that himseemed he rested not well by night, except the day foregone he had looked upon the delicate and lovesome countenance of the fair lady. Wherefore he fell to passing continually before her house, now afoot and now on horseback, as the occasion served him, insomuch that she and many other ladies got wind of the cause of his constant passings to and fro and oftentimes made merry among themselves to see a man thus ripe of years and wit in love, as if they deemed that that most pleasant passion of love took root and flourished only in the silly minds of the young and not otherwhere.\n\nWhat while he continued to pass back and forth, it chanced one holiday that, the lady being seated with many others before her door and espying Master Alberto making towards them from afar, they one and all took counsel together to entertain him and do him honour and after to rally him on that his passion. Accordingly, they all rose to receive him and inviting him to enter, carried him into a shady courtyard, whither they let bring the choicest of wines and sweetmeats and presently enquired of him, in very civil and pleasant terms, how it might be that he was fallen enamoured of that fair lady, knowing her to be loved of many handsome, young and sprightly gentlemen. The physician, finding himself thus courteously attacked, put on a blithe countenance and answered, 'Madam, that I love should be no marvel to any understanding person, and especially that I love yourself, for that you deserve it; and albeit old men are by operation of nature bereft of the vigour that behoveth unto amorous exercises, yet not for all that are they bereft of the will nor of the wit to apprehend that which is worthy to be loved; nay, this latter is naturally the better valued of them, inasmuch as they have more knowledge and experience than the young. As for the hope that moveth me, who am an old man, to love you who are courted of many young gallants, it is on this wise: I have been many a time where I have seen ladies lunch and eat lupins and leeks. Now, although in the leek no part is good, yet is the head thereof less hurtful and more agreeable to the taste; but you ladies, moved by a perverse appetite, commonly hold the head in your hand and munch the leaves, which are not only naught, but of an ill savour. How know I, madam, but you do the like in the election of your lovers? In which case, I should be the one chosen of you and the others would be turned away.'\n\nThe gentlewoman and her companions were somewhat abashed and said, 'Doctor, you have right well and courteously chastised our presumptuous emprise; algates, your love is dear to me, as should be that of a man of worth and learning; wherefore, you may in all assurance command me, as your creature, of your every pleasure, saving only mine honour.' The physician, rising with his companions, thanked the lady and taking leave of her with laughter and merriment, departed thence. Thus the lady, looking not whom she rallied and thinking to discomfit another, was herself discomfited; wherefrom, an you be wise, you will diligently guard yourselves.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "The sun had begun to decline towards the evening, and the heat was in great part abated, when the stories of the young ladies and of the three young men came to an end; whereupon quoth the queen blithesomely, \"Henceforth, dear companions, there remaineth nought more to do in the matter of my governance for the present day, save to give you a new queen, who shall, according to her judgment, order her life and ours, for that which is to come, unto honest pleasance. And albeit the day may be held to endure from now until nightfall, yet,\u2014for that whoso taketh not somewhat of time in advance cannot, meseemeth, so well provide for the future and in order that what the new queen shall deem needful for the morrow may be prepared,\u2014methinketh the ensuing days should commence at this hour. Wherefore, in reverence of Him unto whom all things live and for our own solacement, Filomena, a right discreet damsel, shall, as queen, govern our kingdom for the coming day.\" So saying, she rose to her feet and putting off the laurel\u2013wreath, set it reverently on the head of Filomena, whom first herself and after all the other ladies and the young men likewise saluted as queen, cheerfully submitting themselves to her governance.\n\nFilomena blushed somewhat to find herself invested with the queendom, but, calling to mind the words a little before spoken by Pampinea, \u2014in order that she might not appear witless, she resumed her assurance and in the first place confirmed all the offices given by Pampinea; then, having declared that they should abide whereas they were, she appointed that which was to do against the ensuing morning, as well as for that night's supper, and after proceeded to speak thus:\n\n\"Dearest companions, albeit Pampinea, more of her courtesy than for any worth of mine, hath made me queen of you all, I am not therefore disposed to follow my judgment alone in the manner of our living, but yours together with mine; and that you may know that which meseemeth is to do and consequently at your pleasure add thereto or abate thereof, I purpose briefly to declare it to you.\"\n\nIf I have well noted the course this day held by Pampinea, meseemeth I have found it alike praiseworthy and delectable; wherefore till such time as, for overlong continuance or other reason, it grow irksome to us, I judge it not to be changed. Order, then, being taken for the continuance of that which we have already begun to do, we will, arising hence, go awhile a\u2013pleasuring, and whenas the sun shall be for going under, we will sup in the cool of the evening, and after sundry canzonets and other pastimes, we shall do well to betake ourselves to sleep. To\u2013morrow, rising in the cool of the morning, we will on like wise go somewhither a\u2013pleasuring, as shall be most agreeable to every one; and as we have done to\u2013day, we will at the due hour come back to eat; after which we will dance and when we arise from sleep, as to\u2013day we have done, we will return hither to our story\u2013telling, wherein meseemeth a very great measure to consist alike of pleasance and of profit. Moreover, that which Pampinea had indeed no opportunity of doing, by reason of her late election to the governance, I purpose now to enter upon, to wit, to limit within some bound that whereof we are to tell and to declare it to you beforehand, so each of you may have leisure to think of some goodly story to relate upon the theme proposed, the which, an it please you, shall be on this wise; namely, seeing that since the beginning of the world men have been and will be, until the end thereof, bandied about by various shifts of fortune, each shall be holden to tell OF THOSE WHO AFTER BEING BAFFLED BY DIVERS CHANCES HAVE WON AT LAST TO A JOYFUL ISSUE BEYOND THEIR HOPE.\"\n\nLadies and men alike all commended this ordinance and declared themselves ready to ensue it. Only Dioneo, the others all being silent, said, \"Madam, as all the rest have said, so say I, to wit that the ordinance given by you is exceeding pleasant and commendable; but of especial favour I crave you a boon, which I would have confirmed to me for such time as our company shall endure, to wit, that I may not be constrained by this your law to tell a story upon the given theme, an it like me not, but shall be free to tell that which shall most please me. And that none may think I seek this favour as one who hath not stories, in hand, from this time forth I am content to be still the last to tell.\"\n\nThe queen,\u2014who knew him for a merry man and a gamesome and was well assured that he asked this but that he might cheer the company with some laughable story, whenas they should be weary of discoursing,\u2014with the others' consent, cheerfully accorded him the favour he sought. Then, arising from session, with slow steps they took their way towards a rill of very clear water, that ran down from a little hill, amid great rocks and green herbage, into a valley overshaded with many trees and there, going about in the water, bare\u2013armed and shoeless, they fell to taking various diversions among themselves, till supper\u2013time drew near, when they returned to the palace and there supped merrily. Supper ended, the queen called for instruments of music and bade Lauretta lead up a dance, whilst Emilia sang a song, to the accompaniment of Dioneo's lute. Accordingly, Lauretta promptly set up a dance and led it off, whilst Emilia amorously warbled the following song:\n\n\u2003I burn for mine own charms with such a fire,\n\n\u2002Methinketh that I ne'er\n\n\u2002Of other love shall reck or have desire.\n\n\u2002Whene'er I mirror me, I see therein\n\n\u2002That good which still contenteth heart and spright;\n\n\u2002Nor fortune new nor thought of old can win\n\n\u2002To dispossess me of such dear delight.\n\n\u2002What other object, then, could fill my sight,\n\n\u2002Enough of pleasance e'er\n\n\u2002To kindle in my breast a new desire?\n\n\u2002This good flees not, what time soe'er I'm fain\n\n\u2002Afresh to view it for my solacement;\n\n\u2002Nay, at my pleasure, ever and again\n\n\u2002With such a grace it doth itself present\n\n\u2002Speech cannot tell it nor its full intent\n\n\u2002Be known of mortal e'er,\n\n\u2002Except indeed he burn with like desire.\n\n\u2002And I, grown more enamoured every hour,\n\n\u2002The straitlier fixed mine eyes upon it be,\n\n\u2002Give all myself and yield me to its power,\n\n\u2002E'en tasting now of that it promised me,\n\n\u2002And greater joyance yet I hope to see,\n\n\u2002Of such a strain as ne'er\n\n\u2002Was proven here below of love\u2013desire.\n\nLauretta having thus made an end of her ballad, \u2014in the burden of which all had blithely joined, albeit the words thereof gave some much matter for thought,\u2014divers other rounds were danced and a part of the short night being now spent, it pleased the queen to give an end to the first day; wherefore, letting kindle the flambeaux, she commanded that all should betake themselves to rest until the ensuing morning, and all, accordingly, returning to their several chambers, did so."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Second",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE SECOND DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF FILOMENA IS DISCOURSED OF THOSE WHO AFTER BEING BAFFLED BY DIVERS CHANCES HAVE WON AT LAST TO A JOYFUL ISSUE BEYOND THEIR HOPE ]\n\nThe sun had already everywhere brought on the new day with its light and the birds, carolling blithely among the green branches, bore witness thereof unto the ear with their merry songs, when the ladies and the three young men, arising all, entered the gardens and pressing the dewy grass with slow step, went wandering hither and thither, weaving goodly garlands and disporting themselves, a great while. And like as they had done the day foregone, even so did they at present; to wit, having eaten in the cool and danced awhile, they betook them to repose and arising thence after none, came all, by command of their queen, into the fresh meadows, where they seated themselves round about her. Then she, who was fair of favour and exceeding pleasant of aspect, having sat awhile, crowned with her laurel wreath, and looked all her company in the face, bade Neifile give beginning to the day's stories by telling one of her fashion; whereupon the latter, without making any excuse, blithely began to speak thus:"
            },
            {
                "title": "MARTELLINO FEIGNETH HIMSELF A CRIPPLE AND MAKETH BELIEVE TO WAX WHOLE UPON THE BODY OF ST. ARRIGO. HIS IMPOSTURE BEING DISCOVERED, HE IS BEATEN AND BEING AFTER TAKEN FOR A THIEF, GOETH IN PERIL OF BEING HANGED BY THE NECK, BUT ULTIMATELY ESCAPETH",
                "text": "\"It chanceth oft, dearest ladies, that he who studieth to befool others, and especially in things reverend, findeth himself with nothing for his pains but flouts and whiles cometh not off scathless. Wherefore, that I may obey the queen's commandment and give beginning to the appointed theme with a story of mine, I purpose to relate to you that which, first misfortunately and after happily, beyond his every thought, betided a townsman of ours.\"\n\nNo great while agone there was at Treviso a German called Arrigo, who, being a poor man, served whoso required him to carry burdens for hire; and withal he was held of all a man of very holy and good life. Wherefore, be it true or untrue, when he died, it befell, according to that which the Trevisans avouch, that, in the hour of his death, the bells of the great church of Treviso began to ring, without being pulled of any. The people of the city, accounting this a miracle, proclaimed this Arrigo a saint and running all to the house where he lay, bore his body, for that of a saint, to the Cathedral, whither they fell to bringing the halt, the impotent and the blind and others afflicted with whatsoever defect or infirmity, as if they should all be made whole by the touch of the body.\n\nIn the midst of this great turmoil and concourse of folk, it chanced that there arrived at Treviso three of our townsmen, whereof one was called Stecchi, another Martellino and the third Marchese, men who visited the courts of princes and lords and diverted the beholders by travestying themselves and counterfeiting whatsoever other man with rare motions and grimaces. Never having been there before and seeing all the folk run, they marvelled and hearing the cause, were for going to see what was toward; wherefore they laid up their baggage at an inn and Marchese said, 'We would fain go look upon this saint; but, for my part, I see not how we may avail to win thither, for that I understand the Cathedral place is full of German and other men\u2013at\u2013arms, whom the lord of this city hath stationed there, so no riot may betide; more by token that they say the church is so full of folk that well nigh none else might enter there.' 'Let not that hinder you,' quoth Martellino, who was all agog to see the show; 'I warrant you I will find a means of winning to the holy body.' 'How so?' asked Marchese, and Martellino answered, 'I will tell thee. I will counterfeit myself a cripple and thou on one side and Stecchi on the other shall go upholding me, as it were I could not walk of myself, making as if you would fain bring me to the saint, so he may heal me. There will be none but, seeing us, will make way for us and let us pass.'\n\nThe device pleased Marchese and Stecchi and they went forth of the inn without delay, all three. Whenas they came to a solitary place, Martellino writhed his hands and fingers and arms and legs and eke his mouth and eyes and all his visnomy on such wise that it was a frightful thing to look upon, nor was there any saw him but would have avouched him to be verily all fordone and palsied of his person. Marchese and Stecchi, taking him up, counterfeited as he was, made straight for the church, with a show of the utmost compunction, humbly beseeching all who came in their way for the love of God to make room for them, the which was lightly yielded them. Brief, every one gazing on them and crying well nigh all, 'Make way! Make way!' they came whereas Saint Arrigo's body lay and Martellino was forthright taken up by certain gentlemen who stood around and laid upon the body, so he might thereby regain the benefit of health. Martellino, having lain awhile, whilst all the folk were on the stretch to see what should come of him, began, as right well he knew how, to make a show of opening first one finger, then a hand and after putting forth an arm and so at last coming to stretch himself out altogether. Which when the people saw, they set up such an outcry in praise of Saint Arrigo as would have drowned the very thunder.\n\nNow, as chance would have it, there was therenigh a certain Florentine, who knew Martellino very well, but had not recognized him, counterfeited as he was, whenas he was brought thither. However, when he saw him grown straight again, he knew him and straightway fell a\u2013laughing and saying, 'God confound him! Who that saw him come had not deemed him palsied in good earnest?' His words were overheard of sundry Trevisans, who asked him incontinent, 'How! Was he not palsied?' 'God forbid!' answered the Florentine. 'He hath ever been as straight as any one of us; but he knoweth better than any man in the world how to play off tricks of this kind and counterfeit what shape soever he will.'\n\nWhen the others heard this, there needed nothing farther; but they pushed forward by main force and fell a\u2013crying out and saying, 'Seize yonder traitor and scoffer at God and His saints, who, being whole of his body, hath come hither, in the guise of a cripple, to make mock of us and of our saint!' So saying, they laid hold of Martellino and pulled him down from the place where he lay. Then, taking him by the hair of his head and tearing all the clothes off his back, they fell upon him with cuffs and kicks; nor himseemed was there a man in the place but ran to do likewise. Martellino roared out, 'Mercy, for God's sake!' and fended himself as best he might, but to no avail; for the crowd redoubled upon him momently. Stecchi and Marchese, seeing this, began to say one to the other that things stood ill, but, fearing for themselves, dared not come to his aid; nay, they cried out with the rest to put him to death, bethinking them the while how they might avail to fetch him out of the hands of the people, who would certainly have slain him, but for a means promptly taken by Marchese; to wit, all the officers of the Seignory being without the church, he betook himself as quickliest he might, to him who commanded for the Provost and said, 'Help, for God's sake! There is a lewd fellow within who hath cut my purse, with a good hundred gold florins. I pray you take him, so I may have mine own again.'\n\nHearing this, a round dozen of sergeants ran straightway whereas the wretched Martellino was being carded without a comb and having with the greatest pains in the world broken through the crowd, dragged him out of the people's hands, all bruised and tumbled as he was, and haled him off to the palace, whither many followed him who held themselves affronted of him and hearing that he had been taken for a cutpurse and themseeming they had no better occasion of doing him an ill turn, began each on like wise to say that he had cut his purse. The Provost's judge, who was a crabbed, ill\u2013conditioned fellow, hearing this, forthright took him apart and began to examine him of the matter; but Martellino answered jestingly, as if he made light of his arrest; whereat the judge, incensed, caused truss him up and give him two or three good bouts of the strappado, with intent to make him confess that which they laid to his charge, so he might after have him strung up by the neck.\n\nWhen he was let down again, the judge asked him once more if that were true which the folk avouched against him, and Martellino, seeing that it availed him not to deny, answered, 'My lord, I am ready to confess the truth to you; but first make each who accuseth me say when and where I cut his purse, and I will tell you what I did and what not.' Quoth the judge, 'I will well,' and calling some of his accusers, put the question to them; whereupon one said that he had cut his purse eight, another six and a third four days agone, whilst some said that very day. Martellino, hearing this, said, 'My lord, these all lie in their throats and I can give you this proof that I tell you the truth, inasmuch as would God it were as sure that I had never come hither as it is that I was never in this place till a few hours agone; and as soon as I arrived, I went, of my ill fortune, to see yonder holy body in the church, where I was carded as you may see; and that this I say is true, the Prince's officer who keepeth the register of strangers can certify you, he and his book, as also can my host. If, therefore, you find it as I tell you, I beseech you torture me not neither put me to death at the instance of these wicked, men.'\n\nWhilst things were at this pass, Marchese and Stecchi, hearing that the judge of the Provostry was proceeding rigorously against Martellino and had already given him the strappado, were sore affeared and said in themselves, 'We have gone the wrong way to work; we have brought him forth of the frying\u2013pan and cast him into the fire.' Wherefore they went with all diligence in quest of their host and having found him, related to him how the case stood. He laughed and carried them to one Sandro Agolanti, who abode in Treviso and had great interest with the Prince, and telling him everything in order, joined with them in beseeching him to occupy himself with Martellino's affairs. Sandro, after many a laugh, repaired to the Prince and prevailed upon him to send for Martellino.\n\nThe Prince's messengers found Martellino still in his shirt before the judge, all confounded and sore adread, for that the judge would hear nothing in his excuse; nay, having, by chance, some spite against the people of Florence, he was altogether determined to hang him by the neck and would on no wise render him up to the Prince till such time as he was constrained thereto in his despite. Martellino, being brought before the lord of the city and having told him everything in order, besought him, by way of special favour, to let him go about his business, for that, until he should be in Florence again, it would still seem to him he had the rope about his neck. The Prince laughed heartily at his mischance and let give each of the three a suit of apparel, wherewith they returned home safe and sound, having, beyond all their hope, escaped so great a peril.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "RINALDO D'ASTI, HAVING BEEN ROBBED, MAKETH HIS WAY TO CASTEL GUGLIELMO, WHERE HE IS HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED BY A WIDOW LADY AND HAVING MADE GOOD HIS LOSS, RETURNETH TO HIS OWN HOUSE, SAFE AND SOUND",
                "text": "The ladies laughed immoderately at Martellino's misfortunes narrated by Neifile, as did also the young men and especially Filostrato, whom, for that he sat next Neifile, the queen bade follow her in story\u2013telling. Accordingly he began without delay, \"Fair ladies, needs must I tell you a story of things Catholic, in part mingled with misadventures and love\u2013matters, which belike will not be other than profitable to hear, especially to those who are wayfarers in the perilous lands of love, wherein whoso hath not said St. Julian his Paternoster is oftentimes ill lodged, for all he have a good bed.\"\n\nIn the days, then, of the Marquis Azzo of Ferrara, there came a merchant called Rinaldo d'Asti to Bologna on his occasions, which having despatched and returning homeward, it chanced that, as he issued forth of Ferrara and rode towards Verona, he fell in with certain folk who seemed merchants, but were in truth highwaymen and men of lewd life and condition, with whom he unwarily joined company and entered into discourse. They, seeing him to be a merchant and judging him to have monies about him, took counsel together to rob him, at the first opportunity that should offer; wherefore, that he might take no suspicion, they went devising with him, like decent peaceable folk, of things honest and seemly and of loyalty, ordering themselves toward him, in so far as they knew and could, with respect and complaisance, so that he deemed himself in great luck to have met with them, for that he was alone with a serving\u2013man of his on horseback.\n\nThus faring on and passing from one thing to another, as it chanceth in discourse, they presently fell to talking of the orisons that men offer up to God, and one of the highwaymen, who were three in number, said to Rinaldo, 'And you, fair sir, what orison do you use to say on a journey?' Whereto he answered, 'Sooth to say, I am but a plain man and little versed in these matters and have few orisons in hand; I live after the old fashion and let a couple of shillings pass for four\u2013and\u2013twenty pence. Nevertheless, I have still been wont, when on a journey, to say of a morning, what time I come forth of the inn, a Pater and an Ave for the soul of St. Julian's father and mother, after which I pray God and the saint to grant me a good lodging for the ensuing night. Many a time in my day have I, in the course of my journeyings, been in great perils, from all of which I have escaped and have still found myself at night, to boot, in a place of safety and well lodged. Wherefore I firmly believe that St. Julian, in whose honour I say it, hath gotten me this favour of God; nor meseemeth should I fare well by day nor come to good harbourage at night, except I had said it in the morning.' 'And did you say it this morning?' asked he who had put the question to him. 'Ay did I,' answered Rinaldo; whereupon quoth the other in himself, knowing well how the thing was to go, 'May it stand thee in stead! For, an no hindrance betide us, methinketh thou art e'en like to lodge ill.' Then, to Rinaldo, 'I likewise,' quoth he, 'have travelled much and have never said this orison, albeit I have heard it greatly commended, nor ever hath it befallen me to lodge other than well; and this evening maybe you shall chance to see which will lodge the better, you who have said it or I who have not. True, I use, instead thereof, the Dirupisti or the Intemerata or the De Profundis, the which, according to that which a grandmother of mine used to tell me, are of singular virtue.'\n\nDiscoursing thus of various matters and faring on their way, on the look out the while for time and place apt unto their knavish purpose, they came, late in the day, to a place a little beyond Castel Guglielmo, where, at the fording of a river, the three rogues, seeing the hour advanced and the spot solitary and close shut in, fell upon Rinaldo and robbed him of money, clothes and horse. Then, leaving him afoot and in his shirt, they departed, saying, 'Go see if thy St. Julian will give thee a good lodging this night, even as ours will assuredly do for us.' And passing the stream, they went their ways. Rinaldo's servant, seeing him attacked, like a cowardly knave as he was, did nought to help him, but turning his horse's head, never drew bridle till he came to Castel Guglielmo and entering the town, took up his lodging there, without giving himself farther concern.\n\nRinaldo, left in his shirt and barefoot, it being very cold and snowing hard, knew not what to do and seeing the night already at hand, looked about him, trembling and chattering the while with his teeth, if there were any shelter to be seen therenigh, where he might pass the night, so he should not perish of cold; but, seeing none, for that a little before there had been war in those parts and everything had been burnt, set off at a run, spurred by the cold, towards Castel Guglielmo, knowing not withal if his servant were fled thither or otherwise and thinking that, so he might but avail to enter therein, God would send him some relief. But darkness overtook him near a mile from the town, wherefore he arrived there so late that, the gates being shut and the draw\u2013bridges raised, he could get no admission. Thereupon, despairing and disconsolate, he looked about, weeping, for a place where he might shelter, so at the least it should not snow upon him, and chancing to espy a house that projected somewhat beyond the walls of the town, he determined to go bide thereunder till day. Accordingly, betaking himself thither, he found there a door, albeit it was shut, and gathering at foot thereof somewhat of straw that was therenigh, he laid himself down there, tristful and woebegone, complaining sore to St. Julian and saying that this was not of the faith he had in him.\n\nHowever, the saint had not lost sight of him and was not long in providing him with a good lodging. There was in the town a widow lady, as fair of favour as any woman living, whom the Marquis Azzo loved as his life and there kept at his disposition, and she abode in that same house, beneath the projection whereof Rinaldo had taken shelter. Now, as chance would have it, the Marquis had come to the town that day, thinking to lie the night with her, and had privily let make ready in her house a bath and a sumptuous supper. Everything being ready and nought awaited by the lady but the coming of the Marquis, it chanced that there came a serving\u2013man to the gate, who brought him news, which obliged him to take horse forthright; wherefore, sending to tell his mistress not to expect him, he departed in haste. The lady, somewhat disconsolate at this, knowing not what to do, determined to enter the bath prepared for the Marquis and after sup and go to bed.\n\nAccordingly she entered the bath, which was near the door, against which the wretched merchant was crouched without the city\u2013wall; wherefore she, being therein, heard the weeping and trembling kept up by Rinaldo, who seemed as he were grown a stork, and calling her maid, said to her, 'Go up and look over the wall who is at the postern\u2013foot and what he doth there.' The maid went thither and aided by the clearness of the air, saw Rinaldo in his shirt and barefoot, sitting there, as hath been said, and trembling sore; whereupon she asked him who he was. He told her, as briefliest he might, who he was and how and why he was there, trembling the while on such wise that he could scarce form the words, and after fell to beseeching her piteously not to leave him there all night to perish of cold, but to succour him, an it might be. The maid was moved to pity of him and returning to her mistress, told her all. The lady, on like wise taking compassion on him and remembering that she had the key of the door aforesaid, which served whiles for the privy entrances of the Marquis, said, 'Go softly and open to him; here is this supper and none to eat it and we have commodity enough for his lodging.'\n\nThe maid, having greatly commended her mistress for this her humanity, went and opening to Rinaldo, brought him in; whereupon the lady, seeing him well nigh palsied with cold, said to him, 'Quick, good man, enter this bath, which is yet warm.' Rinaldo, without awaiting farther invitation, gladly obeyed and was so recomforted with the warmth of the bath that himseemed he was come back from death to life. The lady let fetch him a suit of clothes that had pertained to her husband, then lately dead, which when he had donned, they seemed made to his measure, and whilst awaiting what she should command him, he fell to thanking God and St. Julian for that they had delivered him from the scurvy night he had in prospect and had, as he deemed, brought him to good harbourage.\n\nPresently, the lady, being somewhat rested, let make a great fire in her dining\u2013hall and betaking herself thither, asked how it was with the poor man; whereto the maid answered, 'Madam, he hath clad himself and is a handsome man and appeareth a person of good condition and very well\u2013mannered.' Quoth the lady, 'Go, call him and bid him come to the fire and sup, for I know he is fasting.' Accordingly, Rinaldo entered the hall and seeing the gentlewoman, who appeared to him a lady of quality, saluted her respectfully and rendered her the best thanks in his power for the kindness done him. The lady, having seen and heard him and finding him even as her maid had said, received him graciously and making him sit familiarly with her by the fire, questioned him of the chance that had brought him thither; whereupon he related everything to her in order. Now she had heard somewhat of this at the time of his servant's coming into the town, wherefore she gave entire belief to all he said and told him, in turn, what she knew of his servant and how he might lightly find him again on the morrow. Then, the table being laid, Rinaldo, at the lady's instance, washed his hands and sat down with her to supper. Now he was tall of his person and comely and pleasant of favour and very engaging and agreeable of manners and a man in the prime of life; wherefore the lady had several times cast her eyes on him and found him much to her liking, and her desires being already aroused for the Marquis, who was to have come to lie with her, she had taken a mind to him. Accordingly, after supper, whenas they were risen from table, she took counsel with her maid whether herseemed she would do well, the Marquis having left her in the lurch, to use the good which fortune had sent her. The maid, seeing her mistress's drift, encouraged her as best she might to ensue it; whereupon the lady, returning to the fireside, where she had left Rinaldo alone, fell to gazing amorously upon him and said to him, 'How now, Rinaldo, why bide you thus melancholy? Think you you cannot be requited the loss of a horse and of some small matter of clothes? Take comfort and be of good cheer; you are in your own house. Nay, I will e'en tell you more, that, seeing you with those clothes on your back, which were my late husband's, and meseeming you were himself, there hath taken me belike an hundred times to\u2013night a longing to embrace you and kiss you: and but that I feared to displease you, I had certainly done it.'\n\nRinaldo, who was no simpleton, hearing these words and seeing the lady's eyes sparkle, advanced towards her with open arms, saying, 'Madam, considering that I owe it to you to say that I am now alive and having regard to that from which you delivered me, it were great unmannerliness in me, did I not study to do everything that may be agreeable to you; wherefore do you embrace me and kiss me to your heart's content, and I will kiss and clip you more than willingly.' There needed no more words. The lady, who was all afire with amorous longing, straightway threw herself into his arms and after she had strained him desirefully to her bosom and bussed him a thousand times and had of him been kissed as often, they went off to her chamber, and there without delay betaking themselves to bed, they fully and many a time, before the day should come, satisfied their desires one of the other. Whenas the day began to appear, they arose,\u2014it being her pleasure, so the thing might not be suspected of any,\u2014and she, having given him some sorry clothes and a purse full of money and shown him how he should go about to enter the town and find his servant, put him forth at the postern whereby he had entered, praying him keep the matter secret.\n\nAs soon as it was broad day and the gates were opened, he entered the town, feigning to come from afar, and found his servant. Therewithal he donned the clothes that were in the saddle\u2013bags and was about to mount the man's horse and depart, when, as by a miracle, it befell that the three highwaymen, who had robbed him overnight, having been a little after taken for some other misdeed of them committed, were brought into the town and on their confession, his horse and clothes and money were restored to him, nor did he lose aught save a pair of garters, with which the robbers knew not what they had done. Rinaldo accordingly gave thanks to God and St. Julian and taking horse, returned home, safe and sound, leaving the three rogues to go kick on the morrow against the wind.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THREE YOUNG MEN SQUANDER THEIR SUBSTANCE AND BECOME POOR; BUT A NEPHEW OF THEIRS, RETURNING HOME IN DESPERATION, FALLETH IN WITH AN ABBOT AND FINDETH HIM TO BE THE KING'S DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND, WHO TAKETH HIM TO HUSBAND AND MAKETH GOOD ALL HIS UNCLES' LOSSES, RESTORING THEM TO GOOD ESTATE",
                "text": "The adventures of Rinaldo d'Asti were hearkened with admiration and his devoutness commended by the ladies, who returned thanks to God and St. Julian for that they had succoured him in his utmost need. Nor yet (though this was said half aside) was the lady reputed foolish, who had known how to take the good God had sent her in her own house. But, whilst they discoursed, laughing in their sleeves, of the pleasant night she had had, Pampinea, seeing herself beside Filostrato and deeming, as indeed it befell, that the next turn would rest with her, began to collect her thoughts and take counsel with herself what she should say; after which, having received the queen's commandment, she proceeded to speak thus, no less resolutely than blithely, \"Noble ladies, the more it is discoursed of the doings of Fortune, the more, to whoso is fain to consider her dealings aright, remaineth to be said thereof; and at this none should marvel, an he consider advisedly that all the things, which we foolishly style ours, are in her hands and are consequently, according to her hidden ordinance, transmuted by her without cease from one to another and back again, without any method known unto us. Wherefore, albeit this truth is conclusively demonstrated in everything and all day long and hath already been shown forth in divers of the foregoing stories, nevertheless, since it is our queen's pleasure that we discourse upon this theme, I will, not belike without profit for the listeners, add to the stories aforesaid one of my own, which methinketh should please.\"\n\nThere was once in our city a gentleman, by name Messer Tedaldo, who, as some will have it, was of the Lamberti family, albeit others avouch that he was of the Agolanti, arguing more, belike, from the craft after followed by his sons, which was like unto that which the Agolanti have ever practised and yet practise, than from aught else. But, leaving be of which of these two houses he was, I say that he was, in his time, a very rich gentleman and had three sons, whereof the eldest was named Lamberto, the second Tedaldo and the third Agolante, all handsome and sprightly youths, the eldest of whom had not reached his eighteenth year when it befell that the aforesaid Messer Tedaldo died very rich and left all his possessions, both moveable and immoveable, to them, as his legitimate heirs. The young men, seeing themselves left very rich both in lands and monies, began to spend without check or reserve or other governance than that of their own pleasure, keeping a vast household and many and goodly horses and dogs and hawks, still holding open house and giving largesse and making tilts and tournaments and doing not only that which pertaineth unto men of condition, but all, to boot, that it occurred to their youthful appetite to will.\n\nThey had not long led this manner of life before the treasure left by their father melted away and their revenues alone sufficing not unto their current expenses, they proceeded to sell and mortgage their estates, and selling one to\u2013day and another to\u2013morrow, they found themselves well nigh to nought, without perceiving it, and poverty opened their eyes, which wealth had kept closed. Whereupon Lamberto, one day, calling the other two, reminded them how great had been their father's magnificence and how great their own and setting before them what wealth had been theirs and the poverty to which they were come through their inordinate expenditure, exhorted them, as best he knew, ere their distress should become more apparent, to sell what little was left them and get them gone, together with himself. They did as he counselled them and departing Florence, without leavetaking or ceremony, stayed not till they came to England, where, taking a little house in London and spending very little, they addressed themselves with the utmost diligence to lend money at usance. In this fortune was so favourable to them that in a few years they amassed a vast sum of money, wherewith, returning to Florence, one after another, they bought back great part of their estates and purchased others to boot and took unto themselves wives.\n\nNevertheless, they still continued to lend money in England and sent thither, to look to their affairs, a young man, a nephew of theirs, Alessandro by name, whilst themselves all three at Florence, for all they were become fathers of families, forgetting to what a pass inordinate expenditure had aforetime brought them, began to spend more extravagantly than ever and were high in credit with all the merchants, who trusted them for any sum of money, however great. The monies remitted them by Alessandro, who had fallen to lending to the barons upon their castles and other their possessions, which brought him great profit, helped them for some years to support these expenses; but, presently, what while the three brothers spent thus freely and lacking money, borrowed, still reckoning with all assurance upon England, it chanced that, contrary to all expectation, there broke out war in England between the king and his son, through which the whole island was divided into two parties, some holding with the one and some with the other; and by reason thereof all the barons' castles were taken from Alessandro nor was there any other source of revenue that answered him aught. Hoping that from day to day peace should be made between father and son and consequently everything restored to him, both interest and capital, Alessandro departed not the island and the three brothers in Florence no wise abated their extravagant expenditure, borrowing more and more every day. But, when, after several years, no effect was seen to follow upon their expectation, the three brothers not only lost their credit, but, their creditors seeking to be paid their due, they were suddenly arrested and their possessions sufficing not unto payment, they abode in prison for the residue, whilst their wives and little ones betook themselves, some into the country, some hither and some thither, in very ill plight, unknowing what to expect but misery for the rest of their lives.\n\nMeanwhile, Alessandro, after waiting several years in England for peace, seeing that it came not and himseeming that not only was his tarrying there in vain, but that he went in danger of his life, determined to return to Italy. Accordingly, he set out all alone and as chance would have it, coming out of Bruges, he saw an abbot of white friars likewise issuing thence, accompanied by many monks and with a numerous household and a great baggage\u2013train in his van. After him came two old knights, kinsmen of the King, whom Alessandro accosted as acquaintances and was gladly admitted into their company. As he journeyed with them, he asked them softly who were the monks that rode in front with so great a train and whither they were bound; and one of them answered, 'He who rideth yonder is a young gentleman of our kindred, who hath been newly elected abbot of one of the most considerable abbeys of England, and for that he is younger than is suffered by the laws for such a dignity, we go with him to Rome to obtain of the Holy Father that he dispense him of his defect of overmuch youthfulness and confirm him in the dignity aforesaid; but this must not be spoken of with any.'\n\nThe new abbot, faring on thus, now in advance of his retinue and now in their rear, as daily we see it happen with noblemen on a journey, chanced by the way to see near him Alessandro, who was a young man exceedingly goodly of person and favour, well\u2013bred, agreeable and fair of fashion as any might be, and who at first sight pleased him marvellously, as nought had ever done, and calling him to his side, fell a\u2013discoursing pleasantly with him, asking him who he was and whence he came and whither he was bound; whereupon Alessandro frankly discovered to him his whole case and satisfied his questions, offering himself to his service in what little he might. The abbot, hearing his goodly and well\u2013ordered speech, took more particular note of his manners and inwardly judging him to be a man of gentle breeding, for all his business had been mean, grew yet more enamoured of his pleasantness and full of compassion for his mishaps, comforted him on very friendly wise, bidding him be of good hope, for that, an he were a man of worth, God would yet replace him in that estate whence fortune had cast him down, nay, in a yet higher. Moreover, he prayed him, since he was bound for Tuscany, that it would please him bear him company, inasmuch as himself was likewise on the way thitherward; whereupon Alessandro returned him thanks for his encouragement and declared himself ready to his every commandment.\n\nThe abbot, in whose breast new feelings had been aroused by the sight of Alessandro, continuing his journey, it chanced that, after some days, they came to a village not overwell furnished with hostelries, and the abbot having a mind to pass the night there, Alessandro caused him alight at the house of an innkeeper, who was his familiar acquaintance, and let prepare him his sleeping\u2013chamber in the least incommodious place of the house; and being now, like an expert man as he was, grown well nigh a master of the household to the abbot, he lodged all his company, as best he might, about the village, some here and some there. After the abbot had supped, the night being now well advanced and every one gone to bed, Alessandro asked the host where he himself could lie; whereto he answered, 'In truth, I know not; thou seest that every place is full and I and my household must needs sleep upon the benches. Algates, in the abbot's chamber there be certain grain\u2013sacks, whereto I can bring thee and spread thee thereon some small matter of bed, and there, an it please thee, thou shalt lie this night, as best thou mayst.' Quoth Alessandro, 'How shall I go into the abbot's chamber, seeing thou knowest it is little and of its straitness none of his monks might lie there? Had I bethought me of this, ere the curtains were drawn, I would have let his monks lie on the grain\u2013sacks and have lodged myself where they sleep.' 'Nay,' answered the host, 'the case standeth thus; but, an thou wilt, thou mayst lie whereas I tell thee with all the ease in the world. The abbot is asleep and his curtains are drawn; I will quickly lay thee a pallet\u2013bed there, and do thou sleep on it.' Alessandro, seeing that this might be done without giving the abbot any annoy, consented thereto and settled himself on the grain\u2013sacks as softliest he might.\n\nThe abbot, who slept not, nay, whose thoughts were ardently occupied with his new desires, heard what passed between Alessandro and the host and noted where the former laid himself to sleep, and well pleased with this, began to say in himself, 'God hath sent an occasion unto my desires; an I take it not, it may be long ere the like recur to me.' Accordingly, being altogether resolved to take the opportunity and himseeming all was quiet in the inn, he called to Alessandro in a low voice and bade him come couch with him. Alessandro, after many excuses, put off his clothes and laid himself beside the abbot, who put his hand on his breast and fell to touching him no otherwise than amorous damsels use to do with their lovers; whereat Alessandro marvelled exceedingly and misdoubted him the abbot was moved by unnatural love to handle him on that wise; but the latter promptly divined his suspicions, whether of presumption or through some gesture of his, and smiled; then, suddenly putting off a shirt that he wore, he took Alessandro's hand and laying it on his own breast, said, 'Alessandro, put away thy foolish thought and searching here, know that which I conceal.'\n\nAlessandro accordingly put his hand to the abbot's bosom and found there two little breasts, round and firm and delicate, no otherwise than as they were of ivory, whereby perceiving that the supposed prelate was a woman, without awaiting farther bidding, he straightway took her in his arms and would have kissed her; but she said to him, 'Ere thou draw nearer to me, hearken to that which I have to say to thee. As thou mayst see, I am a woman and not a man, and having left home a maid, I was on my way to the Pope, that he might marry me. Be it thy good fortune or my mishap, no sooner did I see thee the other day than love so fired me for thee, that never yet was woman who so loved man. Wherefore, I am resolved to take thee, before any other, to husband; but, an thou wilt not have me to wife, begone hence forthright and return to thy place.'\n\nAlessandro, albeit he knew her not, having regard to her company and retinue, judged her to be of necessity noble and rich and saw that she was very fair; wherefore, without overlong thought, he replied that, if this pleased her, it was mighty agreeable to him. Accordingly, sitting up with him in bed, she put a ring into his hand and made him espouse her before a picture wherein our Lord was portrayed, after which they embraced each other and solaced themselves with amorous dalliance, to the exceeding pleasure of both parties, for so much as remained of the night.\n\nWhen the day came, after they had taken order together concerning their affairs, Alessandro arose and departed the chamber by the way he had entered, without any knowing where he had passed the night. Then, glad beyond measure, he took to the road again with the abbot and his company and came after many days to Rome. There they abode some days, after which the abbot, with the two knights and Alessandro and no more, went in to the Pope and having done him due reverence, bespoke him thus, 'Holy Father, as you should know better than any other, whoso is minded to live well and honestly should, inasmuch as he may, eschew every occasion that may lead him to do otherwise; the which that I, who would fain live honestly, may throughly do, having fled privily with a great part of the treasures of the King of England my father, (who would have given me to wife to the King of Scotland, a very old prince, I being, as you see, a young maid), I set out, habited as you see me, to come hither, so your Holiness might marry me. Nor was it so much the age of the King of Scotland that made me flee as the fear, if I were married to him, lest I should, for the frailty of my youth, be led to do aught that might be contrary to the Divine laws and the honour of the royal blood of my father. As I came, thus disposed, God, who alone knoweth aright that which behoveth unto every one, set before mine eyes (as I believe, of His mercy) him whom it pleased Him should be my husband, to wit, this young man,' showing Alessandro, 'whom you see here beside me and whose fashions and desert are worthy of however great a lady, although belike the nobility of his blood is not so illustrious as the blood\u2013royal. Him, then, have I taken and him I desire, nor will I ever have any other than he, however it may seem to my father or to other folk. Thus, the principal occasion of my coming is done away; but it pleased me to make an end of my journey, at once that I might visit the holy and reverential places, whereof this city is full, and your Holiness and that through you I might make manifest, in your presence and consequently in that of the rest of mankind, the marriage contracted between Alessandro and myself in the presence of God alone. Wherefore I humbly pray you that this which hath pleased God and me may find favour with you and that you will vouchsafe us your benison, in order that with this, as with more assurance of His approof whose Vicar you are, we may live and ultimately die together.'\n\nAlessandro marvelled to hear that the damsel was the King's daughter of England and was inwardly filled with exceeding great gladness; but the two knights marvelled yet more and were so incensed, that, had they been otherwhere than in the Pope's presence, they had done Alessandro a mischief and belike the lady also. The Pope also, on his part, marvelled exceedingly both at the habit of the lady and at her choice; but, seeing that there was no going back on that which was done, he consented to satisfy her of her prayer. Accordingly, having first appeased the two knights, whom he knew to be angered, and made them well at one again with the lady and Alessandro, he took order for that which was to do, and the day appointed by him being come, before all the cardinals and many other men of great worship, come, at his bidding, to a magnificent bride\u2013feast prepared by him, he produced the lady, royally apparelled, who showed so fair and so agreeable that she was worthily commended of all, and on like wise Alessandro splendidly attired, in bearing and appearance no whit like a youth who had lent at usury, but rather one of royal blood, and now much honoured of the two knights. There he caused solemnly celebrate the marriage afresh and after goodly and magnificent nuptials made, he dismissed them with his benison.\n\nIt pleased Alessandro, and likewise the lady, departing Rome, to betake themselves to Florence, whither report had already carried the news. There they were received by the townsfolk with the utmost honour and the lady caused liberate the three brothers, having first paid every man his due. Moreover, she reinstated them and their ladies in their possessions and with every one's goodwill, because of this, she and her husband departed Florence, carrying Agolante with them, and coming to Paris, were honourably entertained by the King. Thence the two knights passed into England and so wrought with the King that the latter restored to his daughter his good graces and with exceeding great rejoicing received her and his son\u2013in\u2013law, whom he a little after made a knight with the utmost honour and gave him the Earldom of Cornwall. In this capacity he approved himself a man of such parts and made shift to do on such wise that he reconciled the son with his father, whereof there ensued great good to the island, and thereby he gained the love and favour of all the people of the country.\n\nMoreover, Agolante thoroughly recovered all that was there due to him and his brethren and returned to Florence, rich beyond measure, having first been knighted by Count Alessandro. The latter lived long and gloriously with his lady, and according as some avouch, what with his wit and valour and the aid of his father\u2013in\u2013law, he after conquered Scotland and was crowned King thereof.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "LANDOLFO RUFFOLO, GROWN POOR, TURNETH CORSAIR AND BEING TAKEN BY THE GENOESE, IS WRECKED AT SEA, BUT SAVETH HIMSELF UPON A COFFER FULL OF JEWELS OF PRICE AND BEING ENTERTAINED IN CORFU BY A WOMAN, RETURNETH HOME RICH",
                "text": "Lauretta, who sat next Pampinea, seeing her come to the glorious ending of her story, began, without awaiting more, to speak on this wise: \"Most gracious ladies, there can, to my judgment, be seen no greater feat of fortune than when we behold one raised from the lowest misery to royal estate, even as Pampinea's story hath shown it to have betided her Alessandro. And for that from this time forth whosoever relateth of the appointed matter must of necessity speak within these limits, I shall think no shame to tell a story, which, albeit it compriseth in itself yet greater distresses hath not withal so splendid an issue. I know well, indeed, that, having regard unto that, my story will be hearkened with less diligence; but, as I can no otherwise, I shall be excused.\"\n\nThe sea\u2013coast from Reggio to Gaeta is commonly believed to be well nigh the most delightful part of Italy, and therein, pretty near Salerno, is a hillside overlooking the sea, which the countryfolk call Amalfi Side, full of little towns and gardens and springs and of men as rich and stirring in the matter of trade as any in the world. Among the said cities is one called Ravello and therein, albeit nowadays there are rich men there, there was aforetime one, Landolfo Ruffolo by name, who was exceeding rich and who, his wealth sufficing him not, came nigh, in seeking to double it, to lose it all and himself withal. This man, then, having, after the usance of merchants, laid his plans, bought a great ship and freighting it all of his own monies with divers merchandise, repaired therewith to Cyprus. There he found sundry other ships come with the same kind and quality of merchandise as he had brought, by reason of which not only was he constrained to make great good cheap of his own venture, but it behoved him, an he would dispose of his goods, well nigh to throw them away, whereby he was brought near unto ruin.\n\nSore chagrined at this mischance and knowing not what to do, seeing himself thus from a very rich man in brief space grown in a manner poor, he determined either to die or repair his losses by pillage, so he might not return thither poor, whence he had departed rich. Accordingly, having found a purchaser for his great ship, with the price thereof and that which he had gotten of his wares, he bought a little vessel, light and apt for cruising and arming and garnishing it excellent well with everything needful unto such a service, addressed himself to make his purchase of other men's goods and especially of those of the Turks. In this trade fortune was far kinder to him than she had been in that of a merchant, for that, in some year's space, he plundered and took so many Turkish vessels that he found he had not only gotten him his own again that he had lost in trade, but had more than doubled his former substance. Whereupon, schooled by the chagrin of his former loss and deeming he had enough, he persuaded himself, rather than risk a second mischance, to rest content with that which he had, without seeking more. Accordingly he resolved to return therewith to his own country and being fearful of trade, concerned not himself to employ his money otherwise, but, thrusting his oars into the water, set out homeward in that same little vessel wherewith he had gained it.\n\nHe had already reached the Archipelago when there arose one evening a violent south\u2013east wind, which was not only contrary to his course, but raised so great a sea that his little vessel could not endure it; wherefore he took refuge in a bight of the sea, made by a little island, and there abode sheltered from the wind and purposing there to await better weather. He had not lain there long when two great Genoese carracks, coming from Constantinople, made their way with great difficulty into the little harbour, to avoid that from which himself had fled. The newcomers espied the little ship and hearing that it pertained to Landolfo, whom they already knew by report to be very rich, blocked against it the way by which it might depart and addressed themselves, like men by nature rapacious and greedy of gain, to make prize of it. Accordingly, they landed part of their men well harnessed and armed with crossbows and posted them on such wise that none might come down from the bark, an he would not be shot; whilst the rest, warping themselves in with small boats and aided by the current, laid Landolfo's little ship aboard and took it out of hand, crew and all, without missing a man. Landolfo they carried aboard one of the carracks, leaving him but a sorry doublet; then, taking everything out of the ship, they scuttled her.\n\nOn the morrow, the wind having shifted, the carracks made sail westward and fared on their voyage prosperously all that day; but towards evening there arose a tempestuous wind which made the waves run mountains high and parted the two carracks one from the other. Moreover, from stress of wind it befell that that wherein was the wretched and unfortunate Landolfo smote with great violence upon a shoal over against the island of Cephalonia and parting amidships, broke all in sunder no otherwise than a glass dashed against a wall. The sea was in a moment all full of bales of merchandise and chests and planks, that floated on the surface, as is wont to happen in such cases, and the poor wretches on board, swimming, those who knew how, albeit it was a very dark night and the sea was exceeding great and swollen, fell to laying hold of such things as came within their reach. Among the rest the unfortunate Landolfo, albeit many a time that day he had called for death, (choosing rather to die than return home poor as he found himself,) seeing it near at hand, was fearful thereof and like the others, laid hold of a plank that came to his hand, so haply, an he put off drowning awhile, God might send him some means of escape.\n\nBestriding this, he kept himself afloat as best he might, driven hither and thither of the sea and the wind, till daylight, when he looked about him and saw nothing but clouds and sea and a chest floating on the waves, which bytimes, to his sore affright, drew nigh unto him, for that he feared lest peradventure it should dash against him on such wise as to do him a mischief; wherefore, as often as it came near him, he put it away from him as best he might with his hand, albeit he had little strength thereof. But presently there issued a sudden flaw of wind out of the air and falling on the sea, smote upon the chest and drove it with such violence against Landolfo's plank that the latter was overset and he himself perforce went under water. However, he struck out and rising to the surface, aided more by fear than by strength, saw the plank far removed from him, wherefore, fearing he might be unable to reach it again, he made for the chest, which was pretty near him, and laying himself flat with his breast on the lid thereof, guided it with his arms as best he might.\n\nOn this wise, tossed about by the sea now hither and now thither, without eating, as one indeed who had not the wherewithal, but drinking more than he could have wished, he abode all that day and the ensuing night, unknowing where he was and descrying nought but sea; but, on the following day, whether it was God's pleasure or stress of wind that wrought it, he came, grown well nigh a sponge and clinging fast with both hands to the marges of the chest, even as we see those do who are like to drown, to the coast of the island of Corfu, where a poor woman chanced to be scouring her pots and pans and making them bright with sand and salt water. Seeing Landolfo draw near and discerning in him no human shape, she drew back, affrighted and crying out. He could not speak and scarce saw, wherefore he said nothing; but presently, the sea carrying him landward, the woman descried the shape of the chest and looking straitlier, perceived first the arms outspread upon it and then the face and guessed it for that which it was.\n\nAccordingly, moved with compassion, she entered somedele into the sea, which was now calm, and seizing Landolfo by the hair, dragged him ashore, chest and all. There having with difficulty unclasped his hands from the chest, she set the latter on the head of a young daughter of hers, who was with her, and carried him off, as he were a little child, to her hut, where she put him in a bagnio and so chafed and bathed him with warm water that the strayed heat returned to him, together with somewhat of his lost strength. Then, taking him up out of the bath, whenas it seemed good to her, she comforted him with somewhat of good wine and confections and tended him some days, as best she might, till he had recovered his strength and knew where he was, when she judged it time to restore him his chest, which she had kept safe for him, and to tell him that he might now prosecute his fortune.\n\nLandolfo, who had no recollection of the chest, yet took it, when the good woman presented it to him, thinking it could not be so little worth but that it might defray his expenses for some days, but, finding it very light, was sore abated of his hopes. Nevertheless, what while his hostess was abroad, he broke it open, to see what it contained, and found therein store of precious stones, both set and unset. He had some knowledge of these matters and seeing them, knew them to be of great value; wherefore he praised God, who had not yet forsaken him, and was altogether comforted. However, as one who had in brief space been twice cruelly baffled by fortune, fearing a third misadventure, he bethought himself that it behoved him use great wariness and he would bring those things home; wherefore, wrapping them, as best he might, in some rags, he told the good woman that he had no more occasion for the chest, but that, an it pleased her, she should give him a bag and take the chest herself. This she willingly did and he, having rendered her the best thanks in his power for the kindness received from her, shouldered his bag and going aboard a bark, passed over to Brindisi and thence made his way, along the coast, to Trani.\n\nHere he found certain townsmen of his, who were drapers and clad him for the love of God, after he had related to them all his adventures, except that of the chest; nay more, they lent him a horse and sent him, under escort, to Ravello, whither he said he would fain return. There, deeming himself in safety and thanking God who had conducted him thither, he opened his bag and examining everything more diligently than he had yet done, found he had so many and such stones that, supposing he sold them at a fair price or even less, he was twice as rich again as when he departed thence. Then, finding means to dispose of his jewels, he sent a good sum of money to Corfu to the good woman who had brought him forth of the sea, in requital of the service received, and the like to Trani to those who had reclothed him. The rest he kept for himself and lived in honour and worship to the end of his days, without seeking to trade any more.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "ANDREUCCIO OF PERUGIA, COMING TO NAPLES TO BUY HORSES, IS IN ONE NIGHT OVERTAKEN WITH THREE GRIEVOUS ACCIDENTS, BUT ESCAPETH THEM ALL AND RETURNETH HOME WITH A RUBY",
                "text": "\"The stones found by Landolfo,\" began Fiammetta, to whose turn it came to tell, \"have brought to my mind a story scarce less full of perilous scapes than that related by Lauretta, but differing therefrom inasmuch as the adventures comprised in the latter befell in the course of belike several years and these of which I have to tell in the space of a single night, as you shall hear.\"\n\nThere was once in Perugia, as I have heard tell aforetime, a young man, a horse\u2013courser, by name Andreuccio di Pietro, who, hearing that horses were good cheap at Naples, put five hundred gold florins in his purse and betook himself thither with other merchants, having never before been away from home. He arrived there one Sunday evening, towards vespers, and having taken counsel with his host, sallied forth next morning to the market, where he saw great plenty of horses. Many of them pleased him and he cheapened one and another, but could not come to an accord concerning any. Meanwhile, to show that he was for buying, he now and again, like a raw unwary clown as he was, pulled out the purse of florins he had with him, in the presence of those who came and went. As he was thus engaged, with his purse displayed, it chanced that a Sicilian damsel, who was very handsome, but disposed for a small matter to do any man's pleasure, passed near him, without his seeing her, and catching sight of the purse, said straightway in herself, 'Who would fare better than I, if yonder money were mine!' And passed on.\n\nNow there was with her an old woman, likewise a Sicilian, who, seeing Andreuccio, let her companion pass on and running to him, embraced him affectionately, which when the damsel saw, she stepped aside to wait for her, without saying aught. Andreuccio, turning to the old woman and recognizing her, gave her a hearty greeting and she, having promised to visit him at his inn, took leave, without holding overlong parley there, whilst he fell again to chaffering, but bought nothing that morning. The damsel, who had noted first Andreuccio's purse and after her old woman's acquaintance with him, began cautiously to enquire of the latter, by way of casting about for a means of coming at the whole or part of the money, who and whence he was and what he did there and how she came to know him. The old woman told her every particular of Andreuccio's affairs well nigh as fully as he himself could have done, having long abidden with his father, first in Sicily and after at Perugia, and acquainted her, to boot, where he lodged and wherefore he was come thither.\n\nThe damsel, being thus fully informed both of his name and parentage, thereby with subtle craft laid her plans for giving effect to her desire and returning home, set the old woman awork for the rest of the day, so she might not avail to return to Andreuccio. Then, calling a maid of hers, whom she had right well lessoned unto such offices, she despatched her, towards evensong, to the inn where Andreuccio lodged. As chance would have it, she found him alone at the door and enquired at him of himself. He answered that he was the man she sought, whereupon she drew him aside and said to him, 'Sir, an it please you, a gentlewoman of this city would fain speak with you.' Andreuccio, hearing this, considered himself from head to foot and himseeming he was a handsome varlet of his person, he concluded (as if there were no other well\u2013looking young fellow to be found in Naples,) that the lady in question must have fallen in love with him. Accordingly, he answered without further deliberation that he was ready and asked the girl when and where the lady would speak with him; whereto she answered, 'Sir, whenas it pleaseth you to come, she awaiteth you in her house'; and Andreuccio forthwith rejoined, without saying aught to the people of the inn, 'Go thou on before; I will come after thee.'\n\nThereupon the girl carried him to the house of her mistress, who dwelt in a street called Malpertugio, the very name whereof denoteth how reputable a quarter it is. But he, unknowing neither suspecting aught thereof and thinking to go to most honourable place and to a lady of quality, entered the house without hesitation,\u2014preceded by the serving\u2013maid, who called her mistress and said, 'Here is Andreuccio,'\u2014and mounting the stair, saw the damsel come to the stairhead to receive him. Now she was yet in the prime of youth, tall of person, with a very fair face and very handsomely dressed and adorned. As he drew near her, she came down three steps to meet him with open arms and clasping him round the neck, abode awhile without speaking, as if hindered by excess of tenderness; then kissed him on the forehead, weeping, and said, in a somewhat broken voice, 'O my Andreuccio, thou art indeed welcome.'\n\nHe was amazed at such tender caresses and answered, all confounded, 'Madam, you are well met.' Thereupon, taking him by the hand, she carried him up into her saloon and thence, without saying another word to him, she brought him into her chamber, which was all redolent of roses and orange flowers and other perfumes. Here he saw a very fine bed, hung round with curtains, and store of dresses upon the pegs and other very goodly and rich gear, after the usance of those parts; by reason whereof, like a freshman as he was, he firmly believed her to be no less than a great lady. She made him sit with her on a chest that stood at the foot of the bed and bespoke him thus, 'Andreuccio, I am very certain thou marvellest at these caresses that I bestow on thee and at my tears, as he may well do who knoweth me not and hath maybe never heard speak of me; but I have that to tell thee which is like to amaze thee yet more, namely, that I am thy sister; and I tell thee that, since God hath vouchsafed me to look upon one of my brothers, (though fain would I see you all,) before my death, henceforth I shall not die disconsolate; and as perchance thou has never heard of this, I will tell it thee.\n\nPietro, my father and thine, as I doubt not thou knowest, abode long in Palermo and there for his good humour and pleasant composition was and yet is greatly beloved of those who knew him; but, among all his lovers, my mother, who was a lady of gentle birth and then a widow, was she who most affected him, insomuch that, laying aside the fear of her father and brethren, as well as the care of her own honour, she became so private with him that I was born thereof and grew up as thou seest me. Presently, having occasion to depart Palermo and return to Perugia, he left me a little maid with my mother nor ever after, for all that I could hear, remembered him of me or her; whereof, were he not my father, I should blame him sore, having regard to the ingratitude shown by him to my mother (to say nothing of the love it behoved him bear me, as his daughter, born of no serving\u2013wench nor woman of mean extraction) who had, moved by very faithful love, without anywise knowing who he might be, committed into his hands her possessions and herself no less. But what skilleth it? Things ill done and long time passed are easier blamed than mended; algates, so it was.\n\nHe left me a little child in Palermo, where being grown well nigh as I am now, my mother, who was a rich lady, gave me to wife to a worthy gentleman of Girgenti, who, for her love and mine, came to abide at Palermo and there, being a great Guelph, he entered into treaty with our King Charles, which, being discovered by King Frederick, ere effect could be given to it, was the occasion of our being enforced to flee from Sicily, whenas I looked to be the greatest lady was ever in the island; wherefore, taking such few things as we might (I say few, in respect of the many we had) and leaving our lands and palaces, we took refuge in this city, where we found King Charles so mindful of our services that he hath in part made good to us the losses we had sustained for him, bestowing on us both lands and houses, and still maketh my husband, thy kinsman that is, a goodly provision, as thou shalt hereafter see. On this wise come I in this city, where, Godamercy and no thanks to thee, sweet my brother, I now behold thee.' So saying, she embraced him over again and kissed him on the forehead, still weeping for tenderness.\n\nAndreuccio, hearing this fable so orderly, so artfully delivered by the damsel, without ever stammering or faltering for a word, and remembering it to be true that his father had been in Palermo, knowing, moreover, by himself the fashions of young men and how lightly they fall in love in their youth and seeing the affectionate tears and embraces and the chaste kisses that she lavished on him, held all she told him for more than true; wherefore, as soon as she was silent, he answered her, saying, 'Madam, it should seem to you no very great matter if I marvel, for that in truth, whether it be that my father, for whatsoever reason, never spoke of your mother nor of yourself, or that if he did, it came not to my notice, I had no more knowledge of you than if you had never been, and so much the dearer is it to me to find you my sister here, as I am alone in this city and the less expected this. Indeed, I know no man of so high a condition that you should not be dear to him, to say nothing of myself, who am but a petty trader. But I pray you make me clear of one thing; how knew you that I was here?' Whereto she made answer, 'A poor woman, who much frequenteth me, gave me this morning to know of thy coming, for that, as she telleth me, she abode long with our father both at Palermo and at Perugia; and but that meseemed it was a more reputable thing that thou shouldst visit me in my own house than I thee in that of another, I had come to thee this great while agone.' After this, she proceeded to enquire more particularly of all his kinsfolk by name, and he answered her of all, giving the more credence, by reason of this, to that which it the less behoved him to believe.\n\nThe talk being long and the heat great, she called for Greek wine and confections and let give Andreuccio to drink, after which he would have taken leave, for that it was supper\u2013time; but she would on no wise suffer it and making a show of being sore vexed, embraced him and said, 'Ah, woe is me! I see but too clearly how little dear I am to thee! Who would believe that thou couldst be with a sister of thine, whom thou hast never yet seen and in whose house thou shouldst have lighted down, whenas thou earnest hither, and offer to leave her, to go sup at the inn? Indeed, thou shalt sup with me, and albeit my husband is abroad, which grieveth me mightily, I shall know well how to do thee some little honour, such as a woman may.' To which Andreuccio, unknowing what else he should say, answered, 'I hold you as dear as a sister should be held; but, an I go not, I shall be expected to supper all the evening and shall do an unmannerliness.' 'Praised be God!' cried she. 'One would think I had no one in the house to send to tell them not to expect thee; albeit thou wouldst do much greater courtesy and indeed but thy duty an thou sentest to bid thy companions come hither to supper; and after, am thou must e'en begone, you might all go away together.'\n\nAndreuccio replied that he had no desire for his companions that evening; but that, since it was agreeable to her, she might do her pleasure of him. Accordingly, she made a show of sending to the inn to say that he was not to be expected to supper, and after much other discourse, they sat down to supper and were sumptuously served with various meats, whilst she adroitly contrived to prolong the repast till it was dark night. Then, when they rose from table and Andreuccio would have taken his leave, she declared that she would on no wise suffer this, for that Naples was no place to go about in by night especially for a stranger, and that, whenas she sent to the inn to say that he was not to be expected to supper, she had at the same time given notice that he would lie abroad. Andreuccio, believing this and taking pleasure in being with her, beguiled as he was by false credence, abode where he was, and after supper they held much and long discourse, not without reason, till a part of the night was past, when she withdrew with her women into another room, leaving Andreuccio in her own chamber, with a little lad to wait upon him, if he should lack aught.\n\nThe heat being great, Andreuccio, as soon as he found himself alone, stripped to his doublet and putting off his hosen, laid them at the bedhead; after which, natural use soliciting him to rid himself of the overmuch burden of his stomach, he asked the boy where this might be done, who showed him a door in one corner of the room and said, 'Go in there.' Accordingly he opened the door and passing through in all assurance, chanced to set foot on a plank, which, being broken loose from the joist at the opposite end, flew up and down they went, plank and man together. God so favoured him that he did himself no hurt in the fall, albeit he fell from some height; but he was all bemired with the ordure whereof the place was full; and in order that you may the better apprehend both that which hath been said and that which ensueth, I will show you how the place lay. There were in a narrow alley, such as we often see between two houses, a pair of rafters laid from one house to another, and thereon sundry boards nailed and the place of session set up; of which boards that which gave way with Andreuccio was one.\n\nFinding himself, then, at the bottom of the alley and sore chagrined at the mishap, he fell a\u2013bawling for the boy; but the latter, as soon as he heard him fall, had run to tell his mistress, who hastened to his chamber and searching hurriedly if his clothes were there, found them and with them the money, which, in his mistrust, he still foolishly carried about him. Having now gotten that for which, feigning herself of Palermo and sister to a Perugian, she had set her snare, she took no more reck of him, but hastened to shut the door whereby he had gone out when he fell.\n\nAndreuccio, getting no answer from the boy, proceeded to call loudlier, but to no purpose; whereupon, his suspicions being now aroused, he began too late to smoke the cheat. Accordingly, he scrambled over a low wall that shut off the alley from the street, and letting himself down into the road, went up to the door of the house, which he knew very well, and there called long and loud and shook and beat upon it amain, but all in vain. Wherefore, bewailing himself, as one who was now fully aware of his mischance, 'Ah, woe is me!' cried he. 'In how little time have I lost five hundred florins and a sister!' Then, after many other words, he fell again to battering the door and crying out and this he did so long and so lustily that many of the neighbours, being awakened and unable to brook the annoy, arose and one of the courtezan's waiting\u2013women, coming to the window, apparently all sleepy\u2013eyed, said peevishly, 'Who knocketh below there?'\n\n'What?' cried Andreuccio. 'Dost thou not know me? I am Andreuccio, brother to Madam Fiordaliso.' Whereto quoth she, 'Good man, an thou have drunken overmuch, go sleep and come back to\u2013morrow morning. I know no Andreuccio nor what be these idle tales thou tellest. Begone in peace and let us sleep, so it please thee.' 'How?' replied Andreuccio. 'Thou knowest not what I mean? Certes, thou knowest; but, if Sicilian kinships be of such a fashion that they are forgotten in so short a time, at least give me back my clothes and I will begone with all my heart.' 'Good man,' rejoined she, as if laughing, 'methinketh thou dreamest'; and to say this and to draw in her head and shut the window were one and the same thing. Whereat Andreuccio, now fully certified of his loss, was like for chagrin to turn his exceeding anger into madness and bethought himself to seek to recover by violence that which he might not have again with words; wherefore, taking up a great stone, he began anew to batter the door more furiously than ever.\n\nAt this many of the neighbours, who had already been awakened and had arisen, deeming him some pestilent fellow who had trumped up this story to spite the woman of the house and provoked at the knocking he kept up, came to the windows and began to say, no otherwise than as all the dogs of a quarter bark after a strange dog, 'Tis a villainous shame to come at this hour to decent women's houses and tell these cock\u2013and\u2013bull stories. For God's sake, good man, please you begone in peace and let us sleep. An thou have aught to mell with her, come back to\u2013morrow and spare us this annoy to\u2013night.' Taking assurance, perchance, by these words, there came to the window one who was within the house, a bully of the gentlewoman's, whom Andreuccio had as yet neither heard nor seen, and said, in a terrible big rough voice, 'Who is below there?'\n\nAndreuccio, hearing this, raised his eyes and saw at the window one who, by what little he could make out, himseemed should be a very masterful fellow, with a bushy black beard on his face, and who yawned and rubbed his eyes, as he had arisen from bed or deep sleep; whereupon, not without fear, he answered, 'I am a brother of the lady of the house.' The other waited not for him to make an end of his reply, but said, more fiercely than before, 'I know not what hindereth me from coming down and cudgelling thee what while I see thee stir, for a pestilent drunken ass as thou must be, who will not let us sleep this night.' Then, drawing back into the house, he shut the window; whereupon certain of the neighbours, who were better acquainted with the fellow's quality, said softly to Andreuccio, 'For God's sake, good man, begone in peace and abide not there to\u2013night to be slain; get thee gone for thine own good.'\n\nAndreuccio, terrified at the fellow's voice and aspect and moved by the exhortations of the neighbours, who seemed to him to speak out of charity, set out to return to his inn, in the direction of the quarter whence he had followed the maid, without knowing whither to go, despairing of his money and woebegone as ever man was. Being loathsome to himself, for the stench that came from him, and thinking to repair to the sea to wash himself, he turned to the left and followed a street called Ruga Catalana, that led towards the upper part of the city. Presently, he espied two men coming towards him with a lantern and fearing they might be officers of the watch or other ill\u2013disposed folk, he stealthily took refuge, to avoid them, in a hovel, that he saw hard by. But they, as of malice aforethought, made straight for the same place and entering in, began to examine certain irons which one of them laid from off his shoulder, discoursing various things thereof the while.\n\nPresently, 'What meaneth this?' quoth one. 'I smell the worst stench meseemeth I ever smelt.' So saying, he raised the lantern and seeing the wretched Andreuccio, enquired, in amazement. 'Who is there?' Andreuccio made no answer, but they came up to him with the light and asked him what he did there in such a pickle; whereupon he related to them all that had befallen him, and they, conceiving where this might have happened, said, one to the other, 'Verily, this must have been in the house of Scarabone Buttafuocco.' Then, turning to him, 'Good man,' quoth one, 'albeit thou hast lost thy money, thou hast much reason to praise God that this mischance betided thee, so that thou fellest nor couldst after avail to enter the house again; for, hadst thou not fallen, thou mayst be assured that, when once thou wast fallen asleep, thou hadst been knocked on the head and hadst lost thy life as well as thy money. But what booteth it now to repine? Thou mayst as well look to have the stars out of the sky as to recover a farthing of thy money; nay, thou art like to be murdered, should yonder fellow hear that thou makest any words thereof.' Then they consulted together awhile and presently said to him, 'Look you, we are moved to pity for thee; wherefore, an thou wilt join with us in somewhat we go about to do, it seemeth to us certain that there will fall to thee for thy share much more than the value of that which thou hast lost.' Whereupon Andreuccio, in his desperation, answered that he was ready.\n\nNow there had been that day buried an archbishop of Naples, by name Messer Filippo Minutolo, and he had been interred in his richest ornaments and with a ruby on his finger worth more than five hundred florins of gold. Him they were minded to despoil and this their intent they discovered to Andreuccio, who, more covetous than well\u2013advised, set out with them for the cathedral. As they went, Andreuccio still stinking amain, one of the thieves said, 'Can we not find means for this fellow to wash himself a little, be it where it may, so he may not stink so terribly?' 'Ay can we,' answered the other. 'We are here near a well, where there useth to be a rope and pulley and a great bucket; let us go thither and we will wash him in a trice.' Accordingly they made for the well in question and found the rope there, but the bucket had been taken away; wherefore they took counsel together to tie him to the rope and let him down into the well, so he might wash himself there, charging him shake the rope as soon as he was clean, and they would pull him up.\n\nHardly had they let him down when, as chance would have it, certain of the watch, being athirst for the heat and with running after some rogue or another, came to the well to drink, and the two rogues, setting eyes on them, made off incontinent, before the officers saw them. Presently, Andreuccio, having washed himself at the bottom of the well, shook the rope, and the thirsty officers, laying by their targets and arms and surcoats, began to haul upon the rope, thinking the bucket full of water at the other end. As soon as Andreuccio found himself near the top, he let go the rope and laid hold of the marge with both hands; which when the officers saw, overcome with sudden affright, they dropped the rope, without saying a word, and took to their heels as quickliest they might. At this Andreuccio marvelled sore, and but that he had fast hold of the marge, would have fallen to the bottom, to his no little hurt or maybe death. However, he made his way out and finding the arms, which he knew were none of his companions' bringing, he was yet more amazed; but, knowing not what to make of it and misdoubting some snare, he determined to begone without touching aught and accordingly made off he knew not whither, bewailing his ill\u2013luck.\n\nAs he went, he met his two comrades, who came to draw him forth of the well; and when they saw him, they marvelled exceedingly and asked him who had drawn him up. Andreuccio replied that he knew not and told them orderly how it had happened and what he had found by the wellside, whereupon the others, perceiving how the case stood, told him, laughing, why they had fled and who these were that had pulled him up. Then, without farther parley, it being now middle night, they repaired to the cathedral and making their way thereinto lightly enough, went straight to the archbishop's tomb, which was of marble and very large. With their irons they raised the lid, which was very heavy, and propped it up so as a man might enter; which being done, quoth one, 'Who shall go in?' 'Not I,' answered the other. 'Nor I,' rejoined his fellow; 'let Andreuccio enter.' 'That will I not,' said the latter; whereupon the two rogues turned upon him and said, 'How! Thou wilt not? Cock's faith, an thou enter not, we will clout thee over the costard with one of these iron bars till thou fall dead.'\n\nAndreuccio, affrighted, crept into the tomb, saying in himself the while, 'These fellows will have me go in here so they may cheat me, for that, when I shall have given them everything, they will begone about their business, whilst I am labouring to win out of the tomb, and I shall abide empty\u2013handed.' Accordingly, he determined to make sure of his share beforehand; wherefore, as soon as he came to the bottom, calling to mind the precious ring whereof he had heard them speak, he drew it from the archbishop's finger and set it on his own. Then he passed them the crozier and mitre and gloves and stripping the dead man to his shirt, gave them everything, saying that there was nothing more. The others declared that the ring must be there and bade him seek everywhere; but he replied that he found it not and making a show of seeking it, kept them in play awhile. At last, the two rogues, who were no less wily than himself, bidding him seek well the while, took occasion to pull away the prop that held up the lid and made off, leaving him shut in the tomb.\n\nWhat became of Andreuccio, when he found himself in this plight, you may all imagine for yourselves. He strove again and again to heave up the lid with his head and shoulders, but only wearied himself in vain; wherefore, overcome with chagrin and despair, he fell down in a swoon upon the archbishop's dead body; and whoso saw him there had hardly known which was the deader, the prelate or he. Presently, coming to himself, he fell into a passion of weeping, seeing he must there without fail come to one of two ends, to wit, either he must, if none came thither to open the tomb again, die of hunger and stench, among the worms of the dead body, or, if any came and found him there, he would certainly be hanged for a thief.\n\nAs he abode in this mind, exceeding woebegone, he heard folk stirring in the Church and many persons speaking and presently perceived that they came to do that which he and his comrades had already done; whereat fear redoubled upon him. But, after the newcomers had forced open the tomb and propped up the lid, they fell into dispute of who should go in, and none was willing to do it. However, after long parley, a priest said, 'What fear ye? Think you he will eat you? The dead eat not men. I will go in myself.' So saying, he set his breast to the marge of the tomb and turning his head outward, put in his legs, thinking to let himself drop. Andreuccio, seeing this, started up and catching the priest by one of his legs, made a show of offering to pull him down into the tomb. The other, feeling this, gave a terrible screech and flung precipitately out of the tomb; whereupon all the others fled in terror, as they were pursued by an hundred thousand devils, leaving the tomb open.\n\nAndreuccio, seeing this, scrambled hastily out of the tomb, rejoiced beyond all hope, and made off out of the church by the way he had entered in. The day now drawing near, he fared on at a venture, with the ring on his finger, till he came to the sea\u2013shore and thence made his way back to his inn, where he found his comrades and the host, who had been in concern for him all that night. He told them what had betided him and themseemed, by the host's counsel, that he were best depart Naples incontinent. Accordingly, he set out forthright and returned to Perugia, having invested his money in a ring, whereas he came to buy horses.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM BERITOLA, HAVING LOST HER TWO SONS, IS FOUND ON A DESERT ISLAND WITH TWO KIDS AND GOETH THENCE INTO LUNIGIANA, WHERE ONE OF HER SONS, TAKING SERVICE WITH THE LORD OF THE COUNTRY, LIETH WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND IS CAST INTO PRISON. SICILY AFTER REBELLING AGAINST KING CHARLES AND THE YOUTH BEING RECOGNIZED BY HIS MOTHER, HE ESPOUSETH HIS LORD'S DAUGHTER, AND HIS BROTHER BEING LIKEWISE FOUND, THEY ARE ALL THREE RESTORED TO HIGH ESTATE",
                "text": "Ladies and young men alike laughed heartily at Andreuccio's adventures, as related by Fiammetta, and Emilia, seeing the story ended, began, by the queen's commandment, to speak thus: \"Grievous things and woeful are the various shifts of Fortune, whereof,\u2014for that, whenassoever it is discoursed of them, it is an awakenment for our minds, which lightly fall asleep under her blandishments,\u2014methinketh it should never be irksome either to the happy or the unhappy to hear tell, inasmuch as it rendereth the former wary and consoleth the latter. Wherefore, albeit great things have already been recounted upon this subject, I purpose to tell you thereanent a story no less true than pitiful, whereof, for all it had a joyful ending, so great and so longsome was the bitterness that I can scarce believe it to have been assuaged by any subsequent gladness.\"\n\nYou must know, dearest ladies, that, after the death of the Emperor Frederick the Second, Manfred was crowned King of Sicily, in very high estate with whom was a gentleman of Naples called Arrighetto Capece, who had to wife a fair and noble lady, also of Naples, by name Madam Beritola Caracciola. The said Arrighetto, who had the governance of the island in his hands, hearing that King Charles the First had overcome and slain Manfred at Benevento and that all the realm had revolted to him and having scant assurance of the short\u2013lived fidelity of the Sicilians, prepared for flight, misliking to become a subject of his lord's enemy; but, his intent being known of the Sicilians, he and many other friends and servants of King Manfred were suddenly made prisoners and delivered to King Charles, together with possession of the island.\n\nMadam Beritola, in this grievous change of affairs, knowing not what was come of Arrighetto and sore adread of that which had befallen, abandoned all her possessions for fear of shame and poor and pregnant as she was, embarked, with a son of hers and maybe eight years of age, Giusfredi by name, in a little boat and fled to Lipari, where she gave birth to another male child, whom she named Scacciato, and getting her a nurse, took ship with all three to return to her kinsfolk at Naples. But it befell otherwise than as she purposed; for that the ship, which should have gone to Naples, was carried by stress of wind to the island of Ponza, where they entered a little bight of the sea and there awaited an occasion for continuing their voyage. Madam Beritola, going up, like the rest, into the island and finding a remote and solitary place, addressed herself to make moan for her Arrighetto, all alone there.\n\nThis being her daily usance, it chanced one day that, as she was occupied in bewailing herself, there came up a pirate galley, unobserved of any, sailor or other, and taking them all at unawares, made off with her prize. Madam Beritola, having made an end of her diurnal lamentation, returned to the sea\u2013shore, as she was used to do, to visit her children, but found none there; whereat she first marvelled and after, suddenly misdoubting her of that which had happened, cast her eyes out to sea and saw the galley at no great distance, towing the little ship after it; whereby she knew but too well that she had lost her children, as well as her husband, and seeing herself there poor and desolate and forsaken, unknowing where she should ever again find any of them, she fell down aswoon upon the strand, calling upon her husband and her children. There was none there to recall her distracted spirits with cold water or other remedy, wherefore they might at their leisure go wandering whither it pleased them; but, after awhile, the lost senses returning to her wretched body, in company with tears and lamentations, she called long upon her children and went a great while seeking them in every cavern. At last, finding all her labour in vain and seeing the night coming on, she began, hoping and knowing not what, to be careful for herself and departing the sea\u2013shore, returned to the cavern where she was wont to weep and bemoan herself.\n\nShe passed the night in great fear and inexpressible dolour and the new day being come and the hour of tierce past, she was fain, constrained by hunger, for that she had not supped overnight, to browse upon herbs; and having fed as best she might, she gave herself, weeping, to various thoughts of her future life. Pondering thus, she saw a she\u2013goat enter a cavern hard by and presently issue thence and betake herself into the wood; whereupon she arose and entering whereas the goat had come forth, found there two little kidlings, born belike that same day, which seemed to her the quaintest and prettiest things in the world. Her milk being yet undried from her recent delivery, she tenderly took up the kids and set them to her breast. They refused not the service, but sucked her as if she had been their dam and thenceforth made no distinction between the one and the other. Wherefore, herseeming she had found some company in that desert place, and growing no less familiar with the old goat than with her little ones, she resigned herself to live and die there and abode eating of herbs and drinking water and weeping as often as she remembered her of her husband and children and of her past life.\n\nThe gentle lady, thus grown a wild creature, abiding on this wise, it befell, after some months, that there came on like wise to the place whither she had aforetime been driven by stress of weather, a little vessel from Pisa and there abode some days. On broad this bark was a gentleman named Currado of the family of the Marquises of Malespina, who, with his wife, a lady of worth and piety, was on his return home from a pilgrimage to all the holy places that be in the kingdom of Apulia. To pass away the time, Currado set out one day, with his lady and certain of his servants and his dogs, to go about the island, and not far from Madam Beritola's place of harbourage, the dogs started the two kids, which were now grown pretty big, as they went grazing. The latter, chased by the dogs, fled to no other place but into the cavern where was Madam Beritola, who, seeing this, started to her feet and catching up a staff, beat off the dogs. Currado and his wife, who came after them, seeing the lady, who was grown swart and lean and hairy, marvelled, and she yet more at them. But after Currado had, at her instance, called off his dogs, they prevailed with her, by dint of much entreaty, to tell them who she was and what she did there; whereupon she fully discovered to them her whole condition and all that had befallen her, together with her firm resolution to abide alone in the island.\n\nCurrado, who had know Arrighetto Capece very well, hearing this, wept for pity, and did his utmost to divert her with words from so barbarous a purpose, offering to carry her back to her own house or to keep her with himself, holding her in such honour as his sister, until God should send her happier fortune. The lady not yielding to these proffers, Currado left his wife with her, bidding the latter cause bring thither to eat and clothe the lady, who was all in rags, with some of her own apparel, and charging her contrive, by whatsoever means, to bring her away with her. Accordingly, the gentle lady, being left with Madam Beritola, after condoling with her amain of her misfortunes, sent for raiment and victual and prevailed on her, with all the pains in the world, to don the one and eat the other.\n\nUltimately, after many prayers, Madam Beritola protesting that she would never consent to go whereas she might be known, she persuaded her to go with her into Lunigiana, together with the two kids and their dam, which latter were meantime returned and had greeted her with the utmost fondness, to the no small wonderment of the gentlewoman. Accordingly, as soon as fair weather was come, Madam Beritola embarked with Currado and his lady in their vessel, carrying with her the two kids and the she\u2013goat (on whose account, her name being everywhere unknown, she was styled Cavriuola ) and setting sail with a fair wind, came speedily to the mouth of the Magra, where they landed and went up to Currado's castle. There Madam Beritola abode, in a widow's habit, about the person of Currado's lady, as one of her waiting\u2013women, humble, modest and obedient, still cherishing her kids and letting nourish them.\n\nMeanwhile, the corsairs, who had taken the ship wherein Madam Beritola came to Ponza, but had left herself, as being unseen of them, betook themselves with all the other folk to Genoa, where, the booty coming to be shared among the owners of the galley, it chanced that the nurse and the two children fell, amongst other things, to the lot of a certain Messer Guasparrino d'Oria, who sent them all three to his mansion, to be there employed as slaves about the service of the house. The nurse, afflicted beyond measure at the loss of her mistress and at the wretched condition where into she found herself and the two children fallen, wept long and sore; but, for that, albeit a poor woman, she was discreet and well\u2013advised, when she saw that tears availed nothing and that she was become a slave together with them, she first comforted herself as best she might and after, considering whither they were come, she bethought herself that, should the two children be known, they might lightly chance to suffer hindrance; wherefore, hoping withal that, sooner or later fortune might change and they, an they lived, regain their lost estate, she resolved to discover to no one who they were, until she should see occasion therefor, and told all who asked her thereof that they were her sons. The elder she named, not Giusfredi, but Giannotto di Procida (the name of the younger she cared not to change), and explained to him, with the utmost diligence, why she had changed his name, showing him in what peril he might be, an he were known. This she set out to him not once, but many and many a time, and the boy, who was quick of wit, punctually obeyed the enjoinment of his discreet nurse.\n\nAccordingly, the two boys and their nurse abode patiently in Messer Guasparrino's house several years, ill\u2013clad and worse shod and employed about the meanest offices. But Giannotto, who was now sixteen years of age, and had more spirit than pertained to a slave, scorning the baseness of a menial condition, embarked on board certain galleys bound for Alexandria and taking leave of Messer Guasparrino's service, journeyed to divers parts, without any wise availing to advance himself. At last some three or four years after his departure from Genoa, being grown a handsome youth and tall of his person and hearing that his father, whom he thought dead, was yet alive, but was kept by King Charles in prison and duresse, he went wandering at a venture, well nigh despairing of fortune, till he came to Lunigiana and there, as chance would have it, took service with Currado Malespina, whom he served with great aptitude and acceptance. And albeit he now and again saw his mother, who was with Currado's lady, he never recognized her nor she him, so much had time changed the one and the other from that which they were used to be, whenas they last set eyes on each other.\n\nGiannotto being, then, in Currado's service, it befell that a daughter of the latter, by name Spina, being left the widow of one Niccolo da Grignano, returned to her father's house and being very fair and agreeable and a girl of little more than sixteen years of age, chanced to cast eyes on Giannotto and he on her, and they became passionately enamoured of each other. Their love was not long without effect and lasted several months ere any was ware thereof. Wherefore, taking overmuch assurance, they began to order themselves with less discretion than behoveth unto matters of this kind, and one day, as they went, the young lady and Giannotto together, through a fair and thickset wood, they pushed on among the trees, leaving the rest of the company behind. Presently, themseeming they had far foregone the others, they laid themselves down to rest in a pleasant place, full of grass and flowers and shut in with trees, and there fell to taking amorous delight one of the other.\n\nIn this occupation, the greatness of their delight making the time seem brief to them, albeit they had been there a great while, they were surprised, first by the girl's mother and after by Currado, who, chagrined beyond measure at this sight, without saying aught of the cause, had them both seized by three of his serving\u2013men and carried in bonds to a castle of his and went off, boiling with rage and despite and resolved to put them both to a shameful death. The girl's mother, although sore incensed and holding her daughter worthy of the severest punishment for her default, having by certain words of Currado apprehended his intent towards the culprits and unable to brook this, hastened after her enraged husband and began to beseech him that it would please him not run madly to make himself in his old age the murderer of his own daughter and to soil his hands with the blood of one of his servants, but to find other means of satisfying his wrath, such as to clap them in prison and there let them pine and bewail the fault committed. With these and many other words the pious lady so wrought upon him that she turned his mind from putting them to death and he bade imprison them, each in a place apart, where they should be well guarded and kept with scant victual and much unease, till such time as he should determine farther of them. As he bade, so was it done, and what their life was in duresse and continual tears and in fasts longer than might have behoved unto them, each may picture to himself.\n\nWhat while Giannotto and Spina abode in this doleful case and had therein already abidden a year's space, unremembered of Currado, it came to pass that King Pedro of Arragon, by the procurement of Messer Gian di Procida, raised the island of Sicily against King Charles and took it from him, whereat Currado, being a Ghibelline, rejoiced exceedingly, Giannotto, hearing of this from one of those who had him in guard, heaved a great sigh and said, 'Ah, woe is me! These fourteen years have I gone ranging beggarlike about the world, looking for nought other than this, which, now that it is come, so I may never again hope for weal, hath found me in a prison whence I have no hope ever to come forth, save dead.' 'How so?' asked the gaoler. 'What doth that concern thee which great kings do to one another? What hast thou to do in Sicily?' Quoth Giannotto, 'My heart is like to burst when I remember me of that which my father erst had to do there, whom, albeit I was but a little child, when I fled thence, yet do I mind me to have been lord thereof, in the lifetime of King Manfred.' 'And who was thy father?' asked the gaoler. 'My father's name,' answered Giannotto, 'I may now safely make known, since I find myself in the peril whereof I was in fear, an I discovered it. He was and is yet, an he live, called Arrighetto Capece, and my name is, not Giannotto, but Giusfredi, and I doubt not a jot, an I were quit of this prison, but I might yet, by returning to Sicily, have very high place there.'\n\nThe honest man, without asking farther, reported Giannotto's words, as first he had occasion, to Currado, who, hearing this,\u2014albeit he feigned to the gaoler to make light of it,\u2014betook himself to Madam Beritola and courteously asked her if she had had by Arrighetto a son named Giusfredi. The lady answered, weeping, that, if the elder of her two sons were alive, he would so be called and would be two\u2013and\u2013twenty years old. Currado, hearing this, concluded that this must be he and bethought himself that, were it so, he might at once do a great mercy and take away his own and his daughter's shame by giving her to Giannotto to wife; wherefore, sending privily for the latter, he particularly examined him touching all his past life and finding, by very manifest tokens, that he was indeed Giusfredi, son of Arrighetto Capece, he said to him, 'Giannotto, thou knowest what and how great is the wrong thou hast done me in the person of my daughter, whereas, I having ever well and friendly entreated thee, it behoved thee, as a servant should, still to study and do for my honour and interest; and many there be who, hadst thou used them like as thou hast used me, would have put thee to a shameful death, the which my clemency brooked not. Now, if it be as thou tellest me, to wit, that thou art the son of a man of condition and of a noble lady, I purpose, an thou thyself be willing, to put an end to thy tribulations and relieving thee from the misery and duresse wherein thou abidest, to reinstate at once thine honour and mine own in their due stead. As thou knowest, Spina, whom thou hast, though after a fashion misbeseeming both thyself and her, taken with love\u2013liking, is a widow and her dowry is both great and good; as for her manners and her father and mother, thou knowest them, and of thy present state I say nothing. Wherefore, an thou will, I purpose that, whereas she hath unlawfully been thy mistress, she shall now lawfully become thy wife and that thou shalt abide here with me and with her, as my very son, so long as it shall please thee.'\n\nNow prison had mortified Giannotto's flesh, but had nothing abated the generous spirit, which he derived from his noble birth, nor yet the entire affection he bore his mistress; and albeit he ardently desired that which Currado proffered him and saw himself in the latter's power, yet no whit did he dissemble of that which the greatness of his soul prompted him to say; wherefore he answered, 'Currado, neither lust of lordship nor greed of gain nor other cause whatever hath ever made me lay snares, traitor\u2013wise, for thy life or thy good. I loved and love thy daughter and still shall love her, for that I hold her worthy of my love, and if I dealt with her less than honourably, in the opinion of the vulgar, my sin was one which still goeth hand in hand with youth and which an you would do away, it behoveth you first do away with youth. Moreover, it is an offence which, would the old but remember them of having been young and measure the defaults of others by their own and their own by those of others, would show less grievous than thou and many others make it; and as a friend, and not as an enemy, I committed it. This that thou profferest me I have still desired and had I thought it should be vouchsafed me, I had long since sought it; and so much the dearer will it now be to me, as my hope thereof was less. If, then, thou have not that intent which thy words denote, feed me not with vain hope; but restore me to prison and there torment me as thou wilt, for, so long as I love Spina, even so, for the love of her, shall I still love thee, whatsoever thou dost with me, and have thee in reverence.'\n\nCurrado, hearing this, marvelled and held him great of soul and his love fervent and tendered him therefore the dearer; wherefore, rising to his feet, he embraced him and kissed him and without more delay bade privily bring Spina thither. Accordingly, the lady\u2014who was grown lean and pale and weakly in prison and showed well nigh another than she was wont to be, as on like wise Giannotto another man\u2014being come, the two lovers in Currado's presence with one consent contracted marriage according to our usance. Then, after some days, during which he had let furnish the newly\u2013married pair with all that was necessary or agreeable to them, he deemed it time to gladden their mothers with the good news and accordingly calling his lady and Cavriuola, he said to the latter, 'What would you say, madam, an I should cause you have again your elder son as the husband of one of my daughters?' Whereto she answered, 'Of that I can say to you no otherwhat than that, could I be more beholden to you than I am, I should be so much the more so as you would have restored to me that which is dearer to me than mine own self; and restoring it to me on such wise as you say, you would in some measure re\u2013awaken in me my lost hope.' With this, she held her peace, weeping, and Currado said to his lady, 'And thou, mistress, how wouldst thou take it, were I to present thee with such a son\u2013in\u2013law?' The lady replied, 'Even a common churl, so he pleased you, would please me, let alone one of these, who are men of gentle birth.' 'Then,' said Currado, 'I hope, ere many days, to make you happy women in this.'\n\nAccordingly, seeing the two young folk now restored to their former cheer, he clad them sumptuously and said to Giusfredi, 'Were it not dear to thee, over and above thy present joyance, an thou sawest thy mother here?' Whereto he answered, 'I dare not flatter myself that the chagrin of her unhappy chances can have left her so long alive; but, were it indeed so, it were dear to me above all, more by token that methinketh I might yet, by her counsel, avail to recover great part of my estate in Sicily.' Thereupon Currado sent for both the ladies, who came and made much of the newly\u2013wedded wife, no little wondering what happy inspiration it could have been that prompted Currado to such exceeding complaisance as he had shown in joining Giannotto with her in marriage. Madam Beritola, by reason of the words she had heard from Currado, began to consider Giannotto and some remembrance of the boyish lineaments of her son's countenance being by occult virtue awakened in her, without awaiting farther explanation, she ran, open\u2013armed, to cast herself upon his neck, nor did overabounding emotion and maternal joy suffer her to say a word; nay, they so locked up all her senses that she fell into her son's arms, as if dead.\n\nThe latter, albeit he was sore amazed, remembering to have many times before seen her in that same castle and never recognized her, nevertheless knew incontinent the maternal odour and blaming himself for his past heedlessness, received her, weeping, in his arms and kissed her tenderly. After awhile, Madam Beritola, being affectionately tended by Currado's lady and Spina and plied both with cold water and other remedies, recalled her strayed senses and embracing her son anew, full of maternal tenderness, with many tears and many tender words, kissed him a thousand times, whilst he all reverently beheld and entreated her. After these joyful and honourable greetings had been thrice or four times repeated, to the no small contentment of the bystanders, and they had related unto each other all that had befallen them, Currado now, to the exceeding satisfaction of all, signified to his friends the new alliance made by him and gave ordinance for a goodly and magnificent entertainment.\n\nThen said Giusfredi to him, 'Currado, you have made me glad of many things and have long honourably entertained my mother; and now, that no whit may remain undone of that which it is in your power to do, I pray you gladden my mother and bride\u2013feast and myself with the presence of my brother, whom Messer Guasparrino d'Oria holdeth in servitude in his house and whom, as I have already told you, he took with me in one of his cruises. Moreover, I would have you send into Sicily one who shall thoroughly inform himself of the state and condition of the country and study to learn what is come of Arrighetto, my father, an he be alive or dead, and if he be alive, in what estate; of all which having fully certified himself, let him return to us.' Giusfredi's request was pleasing to Currado, and without any delay he despatched very discreet persons both to Genoa and to Sicily.\n\nHe who went to Genoa there sought out Messer Guasparrino and instantly besought him, on Currado's part, to send him Scacciato and his nurse, orderly recounting to him all his lord's dealings with Giusfredi and his mother. Messer Guasparrino marvelled exceedingly to hear this and said, 'True is it I would do all I may to pleasure Currado, and I have, indeed, these fourteen years had in my house the boy thou seekest and one his mother, both of whom I will gladly send him; but do thou bid him, on my part, beware of lending overmuch credence to the fables of Giannotto, who nowadays styleth himself Giusfredi, for that he is a far greater knave than he deemeth.' So saying, he caused honourably entertain the gentleman and sending privily for the nurse, questioned her shrewdly touching the matter. Now she had heard of the Sicilian revolt and understood Arrighetto to be alive, wherefore, casting off her former fears, she told him everything in order and showed him the reasons that had moved her to do as she had done.\n\nMesser Guasparrino, finding her tale to accord perfectly with that of Currado's messenger, began to give credit to the latter's words and having by one means and another, like a very astute man as he was, made enquiry of the matter and happening hourly upon things that gave him more and more assurance of the fact, took shame to himself of his mean usage of the lad, in amends whereof, knowing what Arrighetto had been and was, he gave him to wife a fair young daughter of his, eleven years of age, with a great dowry. Then, after making a great bride\u2013feast thereon, he embarked with the boy and girl and Currado's messenger and the nurse in a well\u2013armed galliot and betook himself to Lerici, where he was received by Currado and went up, with all his company, to one of the latter's castles, not far removed thence, where there was a great banquet toward.\n\nThe mother's joy at seeing her son again and that of the two brothers in each other and of all three in the faithful nurse, the honour done of all to Messer Guasparrino and his daughter and of him to all and the rejoicing of all together with Currado and his lady and children and friends, no words might avail to express; wherefore, ladies, I leave it to you to imagine. Thereunto, that it might be complete, it pleased God the Most High, a most abundant giver, whenas He beginneth, to add the glad news of the life and well\u2013being of Arrighetto Capece; for that, the feast being at its height and the guests, both ladies and men, yet at table for the first service, there came he who had been sent into Sicily and amongst other things, reported of Arrighetto that he, being kept in captivity by King Charles, whenas the revolt against the latter broke out in the land, the folk ran in a fury to the prison and slaying his guards, delivered himself and as a capital enemy of King Charles, made him their captain and followed him to expel and slay the French: wherefore he was become in especial favour with King Pedro, who had reinstated him in all his honours and possessions, and was now in great good case. The messenger added that he had received himself with the utmost honour and had rejoiced with inexpressible joy in the recovery of his wife and son, of whom he had heard nothing since his capture; moreover, he had sent a brigantine for them, with divers gentlemen aboard, who came after him.\n\nThe messenger was received and hearkened with great gladness and rejoicing, whilst Currado, with certain of his friends, set out incontinent to meet the gentlemen who came for Madam Beritola and Giusfredi and welcoming them joyously, introduced them into his banquet, which was not yet half ended. There both the lady and Giusfredi, no less than all the others, beheld them with such joyance that never was heard the like; and the gentlemen, ere they sat down to meat, saluted Currado and his lady on the part of Arrighetto, thanking them, as best they knew and might, for the honour done both to his wife and his son and offering himself to their pleasure, in all that lay in his power. Then, turning to Messer Guasparrino, whose kindness was unlooked for, they avouched themselves most certain that, whenas that which he had done for Scacciato should be known of Arrighetto, the like thanks and yet greater would be rendered him.\n\nThereafter they banqueted right joyously with the new\u2013made bridegrooms at the bride\u2013feast of the two newly\u2013wedded wives; nor that day alone did Currado entertain his son\u2013in\u2013law and other his kinsmen and friends, but many others. As soon as the rejoicings were somewhat abated, it appearing to Madam Beritola and to Giusfredi and the others that it was time to depart, they took leave with many tears of Currado and his lady and Messer Guasparrino and embarked on board the brigantine, carrying Spina with them; then, setting sail with a fair wind, they came speedily to Sicily, where all alike, both sons and daughters\u2013in\u2013law, were received by Arrighetto in Palermo with such rejoicing as might never be told; and there it is believed that they all lived happily a great while after, in love and thankfulness to God the Most High, as mindful of the benefits received.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE SOLDAN OF BABYLON SENDETH A DAUGHTER OF HIS TO BE MARRIED TO THE KING OF ALGARVE, AND SHE, BY DIVERS CHANCES, IN THE SPACE OF FOUR YEARS COMETH TO THE HANDS OF NINE MEN IN VARIOUS PLACES. ULTIMATELY, BEING RESTORED TO HER FATHER FOR A MAID, SHE GOETH TO THE KING OF ALGARVE TO WIFE, AS FIRST SHE DID",
                "text": "Had Emilia's story been much longer protracted, it is like the compassion had by the young ladies on the misfortunes of Madam Beritola would have brought them to tears; but, an end being now made thereof, it pleased the queen that Pamfilo should follow on with his story, and accordingly he, who was very obedient, began thus, \"Uneath, charming ladies, is it for us to know that which is meet for us, for that, as may oftentimes have been seen, many, imagining that, were they but rich, they might avail to live without care and secure, have not only with prayers sought riches of God, but have diligently studied to acquire them, grudging no toil and no peril in the quest, and who,\u2014whereas, before they became enriched, they loved their lives,\u2014once having gotten their desire, have found folk to slay them, for greed of so ample an inheritance. Others of low estate, having, through a thousand perilous battles and the blood of their brethren and their friends, mounted to the summit of kingdoms, thinking in the royal estate to enjoy supreme felicity, without the innumerable cares and alarms whereof they see and feel it full, have learned, at the cost of their lives, that poison is drunken at royal tables in cups of gold. Many there be who have with most ardent appetite desired bodily strength and beauty and divers personal adornments and perceived not that they had desired ill till they found these very gifts a cause to them of death or dolorous life. In fine, not to speak particularly of all the objects of human desire, I dare say that there is not one which can, with entire assurance, be chosen by mortal men as secure from the vicissitudes of fortune; wherefore, an we would do aright, needs must we resign ourselves to take and possess that which is appointed us of Him who alone knoweth that which behoveth unto us and is able to give it to us. But for that, whereas men sin in desiring various things, you, gracious ladies, sin, above all, in one, to wit, in wishing to be fair,\u2014insomuch that, not content with the charms vouchsafed you by nature, you still with marvellous art study to augment them,\u2014it pleaseth me to recount to you how ill\u2013fortunedly fair was a Saracen lady, whom it befell, for her beauty, to be in some four years' space nine times wedded anew.\"\n\nIt is now a pretty while since there was a certain Soldan of Babylon, by name Berminedab, to whom in his day many things happened in accordance with his pleasure. Amongst many other children, both male and female, he had a daughter called Alatiel, who, by report of all who saw her, was the fairest woman to be seen in the world in those days, and having, in a great defeat he had inflicted upon a vast multitude of Arabs who were come upon him, been wonder\u2013well seconded by the King of Algarve, had, at his request, given her to him to wife, of especial favour; wherefore, embarking her aboard a ship well armed and equipped, with an honourable company of men and ladies and store of rich and sumptuous gear and furniture, he despatched her to him, commending her to God.\n\nThe sailors, seeing the weather favourable, gave their sails to the wind and departing the port of Alexandria, fared on prosperously many days, and having now passed Sardinia, deemed themselves near the end of their voyage, when there arose one day of a sudden divers contrary winds, which, being each beyond measure boisterous, so harassed the ship, wherein was the lady, and the sailors, that the latter more than once gave themselves over for lost. However, like valiant men, using every art and means in their power, they rode it out two days, though buffeted by a terrible sea; but, at nightfall of the third day, the tempest abating not, nay, waxing momently, they felt the ship open, being then not far off Majorca, but knowing not where they were neither availing to apprehend it either by nautical reckoning or by sight, for that the sky was altogether obscured by clouds and dark night; wherefore, seeing no other way of escape and having each himself in mind and not others, they lowered a shallop into the water, into which the officers cast themselves, choosing rather to trust themselves thereto than to the leaking ship. The rest of the men in the ship crowded after them into the boat, albeit those who had first embarked therein opposed it, knife in hand,\u2014and thinking thus to flee from death, ran straight into it, for that the boat, availing not, for the intemperance of the weather, to hold so many, foundered and they perished one and all.\n\nAs for the ship, being driven by a furious wind and running very swiftly, albeit it was now well nigh water\u2013logged, (none being left on board save the princess and her women, who all, overcome by the tempestuous sea and by fear, lay about the decks as they were dead,) it stranded upon a beach of the island of Majorca and such and so great was the shock that it well nigh buried itself in the sand some stone's cast from the shore, where it abode the night, beaten by the waves, nor might the wind avail to stir it more. Broad day came and the tempest somewhat abating, the princess, who was half dead, raised her head and weak as she was, fell to calling now one, now another of her household, but to no purpose, for that those she called were too far distant. Finding herself unanswered of any and seeing no one, she marvelled exceedingly and began to be sore afraid; then, rising up, as best she might, she saw the ladies who were in her company and the other women lying all about and trying now one and now another, found few who gave any signs of life, the most of them being dead what with sore travail of the stomach and what with affright; wherefore fear redoubled upon her.\n\nNevertheless, necessity constraining her, for that she saw herself alone there and had neither knowledge nor inkling where she was, she so goaded those who were yet alive that she made them arise and finding them unknowing whither the men were gone and seeing the ship stranded and full of water, she fell to weeping piteously, together with them. It was noon ere they saw any about the shore or elsewhere, whom they might move to pity and succour them; but about that hour there passed by a gentleman, by name Pericone da Visalgo, returning by chance from a place of his, with sundry of his servants on horseback. He saw the ship and forthright conceiving what it was, bade one of the servants board it without delay and tell him what he found there. The man, though with difficulty, made his way on board and found the young lady, with what little company she had, crouched, all adread, under the heel of the bowsprit. When they saw him, they besought him, weeping, of mercy again and again; but, perceiving that he understood them not nor they him, they made shift to make known to him their misadventure by signs.\n\nThe servant having examined everything as best he might, reported to Pericone that which was on board; whereupon the latter promptly caused to bring the ladies ashore, together with the most precious things that were in the ship and might be gotten, and carried them off to a castle of his, where, the women being refreshed with food and rest, he perceived, from the richness of her apparel, that the lady whom he had found must needs be some great gentlewoman, and of this he was speedily certified by the honour that he saw the others do her and her alone; and although she was pale and sore disordered of her person, for the fatigues of the voyage, her features seemed to him exceeding fair; wherefore he forthright took counsel with himself, an she had no husband, to seek to have her to wife, and if he might not have her in marriage, to make shift to have her favours.\n\nHe was a man of commanding presence and exceeding robust and having for some days let tend the lady excellently well and she being thereby altogether restored, he saw her lovely past all conception and was grieved beyond measure that he could not understand her nor she him and so he might not learn who she was. Nevertheless, being inordinately inflamed by her charms, he studied, with pleasing and amorous gestures, to engage her to do his pleasure without contention; but to no avail; she altogether rejected his advances and so much the more waxed Pericone's ardour. The lady, seeing this and having now abidden there some days, perceived, by the usances of the folk, that she was among Christians and in a country where, even if she could, it had little profited her to make herself known and foresaw that, in the end, either perforce or for love, needs must she resign herself to do Pericone's pleasure, but resolved nevertheless by dint of magnanimity to override the wretchedness of her fortune; wherefore she commanded her women, of whom but three were left her, that they should never discover to any who she was, except they found themselves whereas they might look for manifest furtherance in the regaining of their liberty, and urgently exhorted them, moreover, to preserve their chastity, avouching herself determined that none, save her husband, should ever enjoy her. They commended her for this and promised to observe her commandment to the best of their power.\n\nMeanwhile Pericone, waxing daily more inflamed, insomuch as he saw the thing desired so near and yet so straitly denied, and seeing that his blandishments availed him nothing, resolved to employ craft and artifice, reserving force unto the last. Wherefore, having observed bytimes that wine was pleasing to the lady, as being unused to drink thereof, for that her law forbade it, he bethought himself that he might avail to take her with this, as with a minister of enus. Accordingly, feigning to reck no more of that whereof she showed herself so chary, he made one night by way of special festival a goodly supper, whereto he bade the lady, and therein, the repast being gladdened with many things, he took order with him who served her that he should give her to drink of various wines mingled. The cupbearer did his bidding punctually and she, being nowise on her guard against this and allured by the pleasantness of the drink, took more thereof than consisted with her modesty; whereupon, forgetting all her past troubles, she waxed merry and seeing some women dance after the fashion of Majorca, herself danced in the Alexandrian manner.\n\nPericone, seeing this, deemed himself on the high road to that which he desired and continuing the supper with great plenty of meats and wines, protracted it far into the night. Ultimately, the guests having departed, he entered with the lady alone into her chamber, where she, more heated with wine than restrained by modesty, without any reserve of shamefastness, undid herself in his presence, as he had been one of her women, and betook herself to bed. Pericone was not slow to follow her, but, putting out all the lights, promptly hid himself beside her and catching her in his arms, proceeded, without any gainsayal on her part, amorously to solace himself with her; which when once she had felt,\u2014having never theretofore known with what manner horn men butt,\u2014as if repenting her of not having yielded to Pericone's solicitations, thenceforth, without waiting to be bidden to such agreeable nights, she oftentimes invited herself thereto, not by words, which she knew not how to make understood, but by deeds.\n\nBut, in the midst of this great pleasance of Pericone and herself, fortune, not content with having reduced her from a king's bride to be the mistress of a country gentleman, had foreordained unto her a more barbarous alliance. Pericone had a brother by name Marato, five\u2013and\u2013twenty years of age and fair and fresh as a rose, who saw her and she pleased him mightily. Himseemed, moreover, according to that which he could apprehend from her gestures, that he was very well seen of her and conceiving that nought hindered him of that which he craved of her save the strait watch kept on her by Pericone, he fell into a barbarous thought, whereon the nefarious effect followed without delay.\n\nThere was then, by chance, in the harbour of the city a vessel laden with merchandise and bound for Chiarenza in Roumelia; whereof two young Genoese were masters, who had already hoisted sail to depart as soon as the wind should be fair. Marato, having agreed with them, took order how he should on the ensuing night be received aboard their ship with the lady; and this done, as soon as it was dark, having inwardly determined what he should do, he secretly betook himself, with certain of his trustiest friends, whom he had enlisted for the purpose, to the house of Pericone, who nowise mistrusted him. There he hid himself, according to the ordinance appointed between them, and after a part of the night had passed, he admitted his companions and repaired with them to the chamber where Pericone lay with the lady. Having opened the door, they slew Pericone, as he slept, and took the lady, who was now awake and in tears, threatening her with death, if she made any outcry; after which they made off, unobserved, with great part of Pericone's most precious things and betook themselves in haste to the sea\u2013shore, where Marato and the lady embarked without delay on board the ship, whilst his companions returned whence they came.\n\nThe sailors, having a fair wind and a fresh, made sail and set out on their voyage, whilst the princess sore and bitterly bewailed both her former and that her second misadventure; but Marato, with that Saint Waxeth\u2013in\u2013hand, which God hath given us men, proceeded to comfort her after such a fashion that she soon grew familiar with him and forgetting Pericone, began to feel at her ease, when fortune, as if not content with the past tribulations wherewith it had visited her, prepared her a new affliction; for that, she being, as we have already more than once said, exceeding fair of favour and of very engaging manners, the two young men, the masters of the ship, became so passionately enamoured of her that, forgetting all else, they studied only to serve and pleasure her, being still on their guard lest Marato should get wind of the cause. Each becoming aware of the other's passion, they privily took counsel together thereof, and agreed to join in getting the lady for themselves and enjoy her in common, as if love should suffer this, as do merchandise and gain.\n\nSeeing her straitly guarded by Marato and being thereby hindered of their purpose, one day, as the ship fared on at full speed under sail and Marato stood at the poop, looking out on the sea and nowise on his guard against them, they went of one accord and laying hold of him suddenly from behind, cast him into the sea, nor was it till they had sailed more than a mile farther that any perceived Marato to be fallen overboard. Alatiel, hearing this and seeing no possible way of recovering him, began anew to make moan for herself; whereupon the two lovers came incontinent to her succour and with soft words and very good promises, whereof she understood but little, studied to soothe and console the lady, who lamented not so much her lost husband as her own ill fortune. After holding much discourse with her at one time and another, themseeming after awhile they had well nigh comforted her, they came to words with one another which should first take her to lie with him. Each would fain be the first and being unable to come to any accord upon this, they first with words began a sore and hot dispute and thereby kindled into rage, they clapped hands to their knives and falling furiously on one another, before those on board could part them, dealt each other several blows, whereof one incontinent fell dead, whilst the other abode on life, though grievously wounded in many places.\n\nThis new mishap was sore unpleasing to the lady, who saw herself alone, without aid or counsel of any, and feared lest the anger of the two masters' kinsfolk and friends should revert upon herself; but the prayers of the wounded man and their speedy arrival at Chiarenza delivered her from danger of death. There she went ashore with the wounded man and took up her abode with him in an inn, where the report of her great beauty soon spread through the city and came to the ears of the Prince of the Morea, who was then at Chiarenza and was fain to see her. Having gotten sight of her and himseeming she was fairer than report gave out, he straightway became so sore enamoured of her that he could think of nothing else and hearing how she came thither, doubted not to be able to get her for himself. As he cast about for a means of effecting his purpose, the wounded man's kinsfolk got wind of his desire and without awaiting more, sent her to him forthright, which was mighty agreeable to the prince and to the lady also, for that herseemed she was quit of a great peril. The prince, seeing her graced, over and above her beauty, with royal manners and unable otherwise to learn who she was, concluded her to be some noble lady, wherefore he redoubled in his love for her and holding her in exceeding honour, entreated her not as a mistress, but as his very wife.\n\nThe lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles and herseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted and waxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that it seemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of her loveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome and doughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he was taken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him a visit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair and worshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received and sumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming to discourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she were indeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the prince answered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, but thine own eyes certify thee.' Accordingly, at the duke's solicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess's lodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them very courteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her between them, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for that she understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore each contented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, and especially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe that she was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with her sight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes, beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardently enamoured of her.\n\nAfter he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure to bethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others in having so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and various thoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour, he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour to despoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith. Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter and setting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thought to the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and one day, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with a privy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make ready in secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure.\n\nThe night come, he was, with a companion, both armed, stealthily introduced by the aforesaid Ciuriaci into the prince's chamber and saw the latter (the lady being asleep) standing, all naked for the great heat, at a window overlooking the sea\u2013shore, to take a little breeze that came from that quarter; whereupon, having beforehand informed his companion of that which he had to do, he went softly up to the window and striking the prince with a knife, stabbed him, through and through the small of his back; then, taking him up in haste, he cast him forth of the window. The palace stood over against the sea and was very lofty and the window in question looked upon certain houses that had been undermined by the beating of the waves and where seldom or never any came; wherefore it happened, as the duke had foreseen, that the fall of the prince's body was not nor might be heard of any. The duke's companion, seeing this done, pulled out a halter he had brought with him to that end and making a show of caressing Ciuriaci, cast it adroitly about his neck and drew it so that he could make no outcry; then, the duke coming up, they strangled him and cast him whereas they had cast the prince.\n\nThis done and they being manifestly certified that they had been unheard of the lady or of any other, the duke took a light in his hand and carrying it to the bedside, softly uncovered the princess, who slept fast. He considered her from head to foot and mightily commended her; for, if she was to his liking, being clothed, she pleased him, naked, beyond all compare. Wherefore, fired with hotter desire and unawed by his new\u2013committed crime, he couched himself by her side, with hands yet bloody, and lay with her, all sleepy\u2013eyed as she was and thinking him to be the prince. After he had abidden with her awhile in the utmost pleasure, he arose and summoning certain of his companions, caused take up the lady on such wise that she could make no outcry and carry her forth by a privy door, whereat he had entered; then, setting her on horseback, he took to the road with all his men, as softliest he might, and returned to his own dominions. However (for that he had a wife) he carried the lady, who was the most distressful of women, not to Athens, but to a very goodly place he had by the sea, a little without the city, and there entertained her in secret, causing honourably furnish her with all that was needful.\n\nThe prince's courtiers on the morrow awaited his rising till none, when, hearing nothing, they opened the chamber\u2013doors, which were but closed, and finding no one, concluded that he was gone somewhither privily, to pass some days there at his ease with his fair lady, and gave themselves no farther concern. Things being thus, it chanced next day that an idiot, entering the ruins where lay the bodies of the prince and Ciuriaci, dragged the latter forth by the halter and went haling him after him. The body was, with no little wonderment, recognized by many, who, coaxing the idiot to bring them to the place whence he had dragged it, there, to the exceeding grief of the whole city, found the prince's corpse and gave it honourable burial. Then, enquiring for the authors of so heinous a crime and finding that the Duke of Athens was no longer there, but had departed by stealth, they concluded, even as was the case, that it must be he who had done this and carried off the lady; whereupon they straightway substituted a brother of the dead man to their prince and incited him with all their might to vengeance. The new prince, being presently certified by various other circumstances that it was as they had surmised, summoned his friends and kinsmen and servants from divers parts and promptly levying a great and goodly and powerful army, set out to make war upon the Duke of Athens.\n\nThe latter, hearing of this, on like wise mustered all his forces for his own defence, and to his aid came many lords, amongst whom the Emperor of Constantinople sent Constantine his son and Manual his nephew, with a great and goodly following. The two princes were honourably received by the duke and yet more so by the duchess, for that she was their sister, and matters drawing thus daily nearer unto war, taking her occasion, she sent for them both one day to her chamber and there, with tears galore and many words, related to them the whole story, acquainting them with the causes of the war. Moreover, she discovered to them the affront done her by the duke in the matter of the woman whom it was believed he privily entertained, and complaining sore thereof, besought them to apply to the matter such remedy as best they might, for the honour of the duke and her own solacement.\n\nThe young men already knew all the facts as it had been; wherefore, without enquiring farther, they comforted the duchess, as best they might, and filled her with good hope. Then, having learned from her where the lady abode, they took their leave and having a mind to see the latter, for that they had oftentimes heard her commended for marvellous beauty, they besought the duke to show her to them. He, unmindful of that which had befallen the Prince of the Morea for having shown her to himself, promised to do this and accordingly next morning, having let prepare a magnificent collation in a very goodly garden that pertained to the lady's place of abode, he carried them and a few others thither to eat with her. Constantine, sitting with Alatiel, fell a\u2013gazing upon her, full of wonderment, avouching in himself that he had never seen aught so lovely and that certes the duke must needs be held excused, ay, and whatsoever other, to have so fair a creature, should do treason or other foul thing, and looking on her again and again and each time admiring her more, it betided him no otherwise than it had betided the duke; wherefore, taking his leave, enamoured of her, he abandoned all thought of the war and occupied himself with considering how he might take her from the duke, carefully concealing his passion the while from every one.\n\nWhilst he yet burnt in this fire, the time came to go out against the new prince, who now drew near to the duke's territories; wherefore the latter and Constantine and all the others, sallied forth of Athens according to the given ordinance and betook themselves to the defence of certain frontiers, so the prince might not avail to advance farther. When they had lain there some days, Constantine having his mind and thought still intent upon the lady and conceiving that, now the duke was no longer near her, he might very well avail to accomplish his pleasure, feigned himself sore indisposed of his person, to have an occasion of returning to Athens; wherefore, with the duke's leave, committing his whole power to Manuel, he returned to Athens to his sister, and there, after some days, putting her upon talk of the affront which herseemed she suffered from the duke by reason of the lady whom he entertained, he told her that, an it liked her, he would soon ease her thereof by causing take the lady from whereas she was and carry her off. The duchess, conceiving that he did this of regard for herself and not for love of the lady, answered that it liked her exceeding well so but it might be done on such wise that the duke should never know that she had been party thereto, which Constantine fully promised her, and thereupon she consented that he should do as seemed best to him.\n\nConstantine, accordingly, let secretly equip a light vessel and sent it one evening to the neighbourhood of the garden where the lady abode; then, having taught certain of his men who were on board what they had to do, he repaired with others to the lady's pavilion, where he was cheerfully received by those in her service and indeed by the lady herself, who, at his instance, betook herself with him to the garden, attended by her servitors and his companions. There, making as he would speak with her on the duke's part, he went with her alone towards a gate, which gave upon the sea and had already been opened by one of his men, and calling the bark thither with the given signal, he caused suddenly seize the lady and carry her aboard; then, turning to her people, he said to them, 'Let none stir or utter a word, an he would not die; for that I purpose not to rob the duke of his wench, but to do away the affront which he putteth upon my sister.'\n\nTo this none dared make answer; whereupon Constantine, embarking with his people and seating himself by the side of the weeping lady, bade thrust the oars into the water and make off. Accordingly, they put out to sea and not hieing, but flying, came, after a little after daybreak on the morrow, to Egina, where they landed and took rest, whilst Constantine solaced himself awhile with the lady, who bemoaned her ill\u2013fated beauty. Thence, going aboard the bark again, they made their way, in a few days, to Chios, where it pleased Constantine to take up his sojourn, as in a place of safety, for fear of his father's resentment and lest the stolen lady should be taken from him. There the fair lady bewailed her ill fate some days, but, being presently comforted by Constantine, she began, as she had done otherwhiles, to take her pleasure of that which fortune had foreordained to her.\n\nThings being at this pass, Osbech, King of the Turks, who abode in continual war with the Emperor, came by chance to Smyrna, where hearing how Constantine abode in Chios, without any precaution, leading a wanton life with a mistress of his, whom he had stolen away, he repaired thither one night with some light\u2013armed ships and entering the city by stealth with some of his people, took many in their beds, ere they knew of the enemy's coming. Some, who, taking the alert, had run to arms, he slew and having burnt the whole place, carried the booty and captives on board the ships and returned to Smyrna. When they arrived there, Osbech, who was a young man, passing his prisoners in review, found the fair lady among them and knowing her for her who had been taken with Constantine asleep in bed, was mightily rejoiced at sight of her. Accordingly, he made her his wife without delay, and celebrating the nuptials forthright, lay with her some months in all joyance.\n\nMeanwhile, the Emperor, who had, before these things came to pass, been in treaty with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, to the end that he should come down upon Osbech from one side with his power, whilst himself assailed him on the other, but had not yet been able to come to a full accord with him, for that he was unwilling to grant certain things which Bassano demanded and which he deemed unreasonable, hearing what had betided his son and chagrined beyond measure thereat, without hesitating farther, did that which the King of Cappadocia asked and pressed him as most he might to fall upon Osbech, whilst himself made ready to come down upon him from another quarter. Osbech, hearing this, assembled his army, ere he should be straitened between two such puissant princes, and marched against Bassano, leaving his fair lady at Smyrna, in charge of a trusty servant and friend of his. After some time he encountered the King of Cappadocia and giving him battle, was slain in the mellay and his army discomfited and dispersed; whereupon Bassano advanced in triumph towards Smyrna, unopposed, and all the folk submitted to him by the way, as to a conqueror.\n\nMeanwhile, Osbech's servant, Antiochus by name, in whose charge the lady had been left, seeing her so fair, forgot his plighted faith to his friend and master and became enamoured of her, for all he was a man in years. Urged by love and knowing her tongue (the which was mighty agreeable to her, as well as it might be to one whom it had behoved for some years live as she were deaf and dumb, for that she understood none neither was understanded of any) he began, in a few days, to be so familiar with her that, ere long, having no regard to their lord and master who was absent in the field, they passed from friendly commerce to amorous privacy, taking marvellous pleasure one of the other between the sheets. When they heard that Osbech was defeated and slain and that Bassano came carrying all before him, they took counsel together not to await him there and laying hands on great part of the things of most price that were there pertaining to Osbech, gat them privily to Rhodes, where they had not long abidden ere Antiochus sickened unto death.\n\nAs chance would have it, there was then in lodging with him a merchant of Cyprus, who was much loved of him and his fast friend, and Antiochus, feeling himself draw to his end, bethought himself to leave him both his possessions and his beloved lady; wherefore, being now nigh upon death, he called them both to him and bespoke them thus, 'I feel myself, without a doubt, passing away, which grieveth me, for that never had I such delight in life as I presently have. Of one thing, indeed, I die most content, in that, since I must e'en die, I see myself die in the arms of those twain whom I love over all others that be in the world, to wit, in thine, dearest friend, and in those of this lady, whom I have loved more than mine own self, since first I knew her. True, it grieveth me to feel that, when I am dead, she will abide here a stranger, without aid or counsel; and it were yet more grievous to me, did I not know thee here, who wilt, I trust, have that same care of her, for the love of me, which thou wouldst have had of myself. Wherefore, I entreat thee, as most I may, if it come to pass that I die, that thou take my goods and her into thy charge and do with them and her that which thou deemest may be for the solacement of my soul. And thou, dearest lady, I prithee forget me not after my death, so I may vaunt me, in the other world, of being beloved here below of the fairest lady ever nature formed; of which two things an you will give me entire assurance, I shall depart without misgiving and comforted.'\n\nThe merchant his friend and the lady, hearing these words, wept, and when he had made an end of his speech, they comforted him and promised him upon their troth to do that which he asked, if it came to pass that he died. He tarried not long, but presently departed this life and was honourably interred of them. A few days after, the merchant having despatched all his business in Rhodes and purposing to return to Cyprus on board a Catalan carrack that was there, asked the fair lady what she had a mind to do, for that it behoved him return to Cyprus. She answered that, an it pleased him, she would gladly go with him, hoping for Antiochus his love to be of him entreated and regarded as a sister. The merchant replied that he was content to do her every pleasure, and the better to defend her from any affront that might be offered her, ere they came to Cyprus, he avouched that she was his wife. Accordingly, they embarked on board the ship and were given a little cabin on the poop, where, that the fact might not belie his words, he lay with her in one very small bed. Whereby there came about that which was not intended of the one or the other of them at departing Rhodes, to wit, that\u2014darkness and commodity and the heat of the bed, matters of no small potency, inciting them,\u2014drawn by equal appetite and forgetting both the friendship and the love of Antiochus dead, they fell to dallying with each other and before they reached Baffa, whence the Cypriot came, they had clapped up an alliance together.\n\nAt Baffa she abode some time with the merchant till, as chance would have it, there came thither, for his occasions, a gentleman by name Antigonus, great of years and greater yet of wit, but little of wealth, for that, intermeddling in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, fortune had in many things been contrary to him. Chancing one day to pass by the house where the fair lady dwelt with the merchant, who was then gone with his merchandise into Armenia, he espied her at a window and seeing her very beautiful, fell to gazing fixedly upon her and presently began to recollect that he must have seen her otherwhere, but where he could on no wise call to mind. As for the lady, who had long been the sport of fortune, but the term of whose ills was now drawing near, she no sooner set eyes on Antigonus than she remembered to have seen him at Alexandria in no mean station in her father's service; wherefore, conceiving a sudden hope of yet by his aid regaining her royal estate, and knowing her merchant to be abroad, she let call him to her as quickliest she might and asked him, blushing, an he were not, as she supposed, Antigonus of Famagosta. He answered that he was and added, 'Madam, meseemeth I know you, but on no wise can I remember me where I have seen you; wherefore I pray you, an it mislike you not, put me in mind who you are.'\n\nThe lady hearing that it was indeed he, to his great amazement, cast her arms about his neck, weeping sore, and presently asked him if he had never seen her in Alexandria. Antigonus, hearing this, incontinent knew her for the Soldan's daughter Alatiel, who was thought to have perished at sea, and would fain have paid her the homage due to her quality; but she would on no wise suffer it and besought him to sit with her awhile. Accordingly, seating himself beside her, he asked her respectfully how and when and whence she came thither, seeing that it was had for certain, through all the land of Egypt, that she had been drowned at sea years agone. 'Would God,' replied she, 'it had been so, rather than that I should have had the life I have had; and I doubt not but my father would wish the like, if ever he came to know it.'\n\nSo saying, she fell anew to weeping wonder\u2013sore; whereupon quoth Antigonus to her, 'Madam, despair not ere it behove you; but, an it please you, relate to me your adventures and what manner of life yours hath been; it may be the matter hath gone on such wise that, with God's aid, we may avail to find an effectual remedy.' 'Antigonus,' answered the fair lady, 'when I beheld thee, meseemed I saw my father, and moved by that love and tenderness, which I am bounden to bear him, I discovered myself to thee, having it in my power to conceal myself from thee, and few persons could it have befallen me to look upon in whom I could have been so well\u2013pleased as I am to have seen and known thee before any other; wherefore that which in my ill fortune I have still kept hidden, to thee, as to a father, I will discover. If, after thou hast heard it, thou see any means of restoring me to my pristine estate, prithee use it; but, if thou see none, I beseech thee never tell any that thou hast seen me or heard aught of me.'\n\nThis said, she recounted to him, still weeping, that which had befallen her from the time of her shipwreck on Majorca up to that moment; whereupon he fell a\u2013weeping for pity and after considering awhile, 'Madam,' said he, 'since in your misfortunes it hath been hidden who you are, I will, without fail, restore you, dearer than ever, to your father and after to the King of Algarve to wife.' Being questioned of her of the means, he showed her orderly that which was to do, and lest any hindrance should betide through delay, he presently returned to Famagosta and going in to the king, said to him, 'My lord, an it like you, you have it in your power at once to do yourself exceeding honour and me, who am poor through you, a great service, at no great cost of yours.' The king asked how and Antigonus replied, 'There is come to Baffa the Soldan's fair young daughter, who hath so long been reputed drowned and who, to save her honour, hath long suffered very great unease and is presently in poor case and would fain return to her father. An it pleased you send her to him under my guard, it would be much to your honour and to my weal, nor do I believe that such a service would ever be forgotten of the Soldan.'\n\nThe king, moved by a royal generosity of mind, answered forthright that he would well and sending for Alatiel, brought her with all honour and worship to Famagosta, where she was received by himself and the queen with inexpressible rejoicing and entertained with magnificent hospitality. Being presently questioned of the king and queen of her adventures, she answered according to the instructions given her by Antigonus and related everything; and a few days after, at her request, the king sent her, under the governance of Antigonus, with a goodly and worshipful company of men and women, back to the Soldan, of whom let none ask if she was received with rejoicing, as also was Antigonus and all her company.\n\nAs soon as she was somewhat rested, the Soldan desired to know how it chanced that she was yet alive and where she had so long abidden, without having ever let him know aught of her condition; whereupon the lady, who had kept Antigonus his instructions perfectly in mind, bespoke him thus, 'Father mine, belike the twentieth day after my departure from you, our ship, having sprung a leak in a terrible storm, struck in the night upon certain coasts yonder in the West, near a place called Aguamorta, and what became of the men who were aboard I know not nor could ever learn; this much only do I remember that, the day come and I arisen as it were from death to life, the shattered vessel was espied of the country people, who ran from all the parts around to plunder it. I and two of my women were first set ashore and the latter were incontinent seized by certain of the young men, who fled with them, one this way and the other that, and what came of them I never knew.\n\nAs for myself, I was taken, despite my resistance, by two young men, and haled along by the hair, weeping sore the while; but, as they crossed over a road, to enter a great wood, there passed by four men on horseback, whom when my ravishers saw, they loosed me forthwith and took to flight. The new comers, who seemed to me persons of great authority, seeing this, ran where I was and asked me many questions; whereto I answered much, but neither understood nor was understanded of them. However, after long consultation they set me on one of their horses and carried me to a convent of women vowed to religion, according to their law, where, whatever they said, I was of all the ladies kindly received and still entreated with honour, and there with great devotion I joined them in serving Saint Waxeth\u2013in\u2013Deepdene, a saint for whom the women of that country have a vast regard.\n\nAfter I had abidden with them awhile and learned somewhat of their language, they questioned me of who I was and fearing, an I told the truth, to be expelled from amongst them, as an enemy of their faith, I answered that I was the daughter of a great gentleman of Cyprus, who was sending me to be married in Crete, when, as ill\u2013luck would have it, we had run thither and suffered shipwreck. Moreover, many a time and in many things I observed their customs, for fear of worse, and being asked by the chief of the ladies, her whom they call abbess, if I wished to return thence to Cyprus, I answered that I desired nothing so much; but she, tender of my honour, would never consent to trust me to any person who was bound for Cyprus, till some two months agone, when there came thither certain gentlemen of France with their ladies. One of the latter being a kinswoman of the abbess and she hearing that they were bound for Jerusalem, to visit the Sepulchre where He whom they hold God was buried, after He had been slain by the Jews, she commended me to their care and besought them to deliver me to my father in Cyprus.\n\nWith what honour these gentlemen entreated me and how cheerfully they received me together with their ladies, it were a long story to tell; suffice it to say that we took ship and came, after some days, to Baffa, where finding myself arrived and knowing none in the place, I knew not what to say to the gentlemen, who would fain have delivered me to my father, according to that which had been enjoined them of the reverend lady; but God, taking pity belike on my affliction, brought me Antigonus upon the beach what time we disembarked at Baffa, whom I straightway hailed and in our tongue, so as not to be understood of the gentlemen and their ladies, bade him receive me as a daughter. He promptly apprehended me and receiving me with a great show of joy, entertained the gentlemen and their ladies with such honour as his poverty permitted and carried me to the King of Cyprus, who received me with such hospitality and hath sent me back to you with such courtesy as might never be told of me. If aught remain to be said, let Antigonus, who hath ofttimes heard from me these adventures, recount it.'\n\nAccordingly Antigonus, turning to the Soldan, said, 'My lord, even as she hath many a time told me and as the gentlemen and ladies, with whom she came, said to me, so hath she recounted unto you. Only one part hath she forborne to tell you, the which methinketh she left unsaid for that it beseemeth her not to tell it, to wit, how much the gentlemen and ladies, with whom she came, said of the chaste and modest life which she led with the religious ladies and of her virtue and commendable manners and the tears and lamentations of her companions, both men and women, when, having restored her to me, they took leave of her. Of which things were I fain to tell in full that which they said to me, not only this present day, but the ensuing night would not suffice unto us; be it enough to say only that (according to that which their words attested and that also which I have been able to see thereof,) you may vaunt yourself of having the fairest daughter and the chastest and most virtuous of any prince that nowadays weareth a crown.'\n\nThe Soldan was beyond measure rejoiced at these things and besought God again and again to vouchsafe him of His grace the power of worthily requiting all who had succoured his daughter and especially the King of Cyprus, by whom she had been sent back to him with honour. After some days, having caused prepare great gifts for Antigonus, he gave him leave to return to Cyprus and rendered, both by letters and by special ambassadors, the utmost thanks to the king for that which he had done with his daughter. Then desiring that that which was begun should have effect, to wit, that she should be the wife of the King of Algarve, he acquainted the latter with the whole matter and wrote to him to boot, that, an it pleased him have her, he should send for her. The King of Algarve was mightily rejoiced at this news and sending for her in state, received her joyfully; and she, who had lain with eight men belike ten thousand times, was put to bed to him for a maid and making him believe that she was so, lived happily with him as his queen awhile after; wherefore it was said, 'Lips for kissing forfeit no favour; nay, they renew as the moon doth ever.'\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE COUNT OF ANTWERP, BEING FALSELY ACCUSED, GOETH INTO EXILE AND LEAVETH HIS TWO CHILDREN IN DIFFERENT PLACES IN ENGLAND, WHITHER, AFTER AWHILE, RETURNING IN DISGUISE AND FINDING THEM IN GOOD CASE, HE TAKETH SERVICE AS A HORSEBOY IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING OF FRANCE AND BEING APPROVED INNOCENT, IS RESTORED TO HIS FORMER ESTATE",
                "text": "The ladies sighed amain over the fortunes of the fair Saracen; but who knoweth what gave rise to those sighs? Maybe there were some of them who sighed no less for envy of such frequent nuptials than for pity of Alatiel. But, leaving that be for the present, after they had laughed at Pamfilo's last words, the queen, seeing his story ended, turned to Elisa and bade her follow on with one of hers. Elisa cheerfully obeyed and began as follows: \"A most ample field is that wherein we go to\u2013day a\u2013ranging, nor is there any of us but could lightly enough run, not one, but half a score courses there, so abounding hath Fortune made it in her strange and grievous chances; wherefore, to come to tell of one of these latter, which are innumerable, I say that.\"\n\nWhen the Roman Empire was transferred from the French to the Germans, there arose between the one and the other nation an exceeding great enmity and a grievous and continual war, by reason whereof, as well for the defence of their own country as for the offence of that of others, the King of France and a son of his, with all the power of their realm and of such friends and kinsfolk as they could command, levied a mighty army to go forth upon the foe; and ere they proceeded thereunto,\u2014not to leave the realm without governance,\u2014knowing Gautier, Count of Antwerp, for a noble and discreet gentleman and their very faithful friend and servant, and for that (albeit he was well versed in the art of war) he seemed to them more apt unto things delicate than unto martial toils, they left him vicar general in their stead over all the governance of the realm of France and went on their way. Gautier accordingly addressed himself with both order and discretion to the office committed unto him, still conferring of everything with the queen and her daughter\u2013in\u2013law, whom, for all they were left under his custody and jurisdiction, he honoured none the less as his liege ladies and mistresses.\n\nNow this Gautier was exceedingly goodly of his body, being maybe forty years old and as agreeable and well\u2013mannered a gentleman as might be; and withal, he was the sprightliest and daintiest cavalier known in those days and he who went most adorned of his person. His countess was dead, leaving him two little children, a boy and a girl, without more, and it befell that, the King of France and his son being at the war aforesaid and Gautier using much at the court of the aforesaid ladies and speaking often with them of the affairs of the kingdom, the wife of the king's son cast her eyes on him and considering his person and his manners with very great affection, was secretly fired with a fervent love for him. Feeling herself young and lusty and knowing him wifeless, she doubted not but her desire might lightly be accomplished unto her and thinking nought hindered her thereof but shamefastness, she bethought herself altogether to put that away and discover to him her passion. Accordingly, being one day alone and it seeming to her time, she sent for him into her chamber, as though she would discourse with him of other matters.\n\nThe count, whose thought was far from that of the lady, betook himself to her without any delay and at her bidding, seated himself by her side on a couch; then, they being alone together, he twice asked her the occasion for which she had caused him come thither; but she made him no reply. At last, urged by love and grown all vermeil for shame, well nigh in tears and all trembling, with broken speech she thus began to say: 'Dearest and sweet friend and my lord, you may easily as a man of understanding apprehend how great is the frailty both of men and of women, and that more, for divers reasons, in one than in another; wherefore, at the hands of a just judge, the same sin in diverse kinds of qualities of persons should not in equity receive one same punishment. And who is there will deny that a poor man or a poor woman, whom it behoveth gain with their toil that which is needful for their livelihood, would, an they were stricken with Love's smart and followed after him, be far more blameworthy than a lady who is rich and idle and to whom nothing is lacking that can flatter her desires? Certes, I believe, no one. For which reason methinketh the things aforesaid to wit, wealth and leisure and luxurious living should furnish forth a very great measure of excuse on behalf of her who possesseth them, if, peradventure, she suffer herself lapse into loving, and the having made choice of a lover of worth and discretion should stand for the rest, if she who loveth hath done that. These circumstances being both, to my seeming, in myself (beside several others which should move me to love, such as my youth and the absence of my husband), it behoveth now that they rise up in my behalf for the defence of my ardent love in your sight, wherein if they avail that which they should avail in the eyes of men of understanding, I pray you afford me counsel and succour in that which I shall ask of you. True is it, that availing not, for the absence of my husband, to withstand the pricks of the flesh nor the might of love\u2013liking, the which are of such potency that they have erst many a time overcome and yet all days long overcome the strongest men, to say nothing of weak women,\u2014and enjoying the commodities and the leisures wherein you see me, I have suffered myself lapse into ensuing Love his pleasures and becoming enamoured; the which,\u2014albeit, were it known, I acknowledge it would not be seemly, yet,\u2014being and abiding hidden, I hold well nigh nothing unseemly; more by token that Love hath been insomuch gracious to me that not only hath he not bereft me of due discernment in the choice of a lover, but hath lent me great plenty thereof to that end, showing me yourself worthy to be loved of a lady such as I,\u2014you whom, if my fancy beguile me not, I hold the goodliest, the most agreeable, the sprightliest and the most accomplished cavalier that may be found in all the realm of France; and even as I may say that I find myself without a husband, so likewise are you without a wife. Wherefore, I pray you, by the great love which I bear you, that you deny me not your love in return, but have compassion on my youth, the which, in very deed, consumeth for you, as ice before the fire.'\n\nWith these words her tears welled up in such abundance that, albeit she would fain have proffered him yet other prayers, she had no power to speak farther, but, bowing her face, as if overcome, she let herself fall, weeping, her head on the count's bosom. The latter, who was a very loyal gentleman, began with the gravest reproofs to rebuke so fond a passion and to repel the princess, who would fain have cast herself on his neck, avouching to her with oaths that he had liefer be torn limb from limb than consent unto such an offence against his lord's honour, whether in himself or in another. The lady, hearing this, forthright forgot her love and kindling into a furious rage, said, 'Felon knight that you are, shall I be this wise flouted by you of my desire? Now God forbid, since you would have me die, but I have you put to death or driven from the world!' So saying, she set her hands to her tresses and altogether disordered and tore them; then, rending her raiment at the breast, she fell to crying aloud and saying, 'Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp would do me violence.' The count, seeing this, misdoubting far more the courtiers' envy than his own conscience and fearful lest, by reason of this same envy, more credence should be given to the lady's malice than to his own innocence, started up and departing the chamber and the palace as quickliest he might, fled to his own house, where, without taking other counsel, he set his children on horseback and mounting himself to horse, made off with them, as most he might, towards Calais.\n\nMeanwhile, many ran to the princess's clamour and seeing her in that plight and hearing her account of the cause of her outcry, not only gave credence to her words, but added that the count's gallant bearing and debonair address had long been used by him to win to that end. Accordingly, they ran in a fury to his houses to arrest him, but finding him not, first plundered them all and after razed them to the foundations. The news, in its perverted shape, came presently to the army to the king and his son, who, sore incensed, doomed Gautier and his descendants to perpetual banishment, promising very great guerdons to whoso should deliver him to them alive or dead.\n\nThe count, woeful for that by his flight he had, innocent as he was, approved himself guilty, having, without making himself known or being recognized, reached Calais with his children, passed hastily over into England and betook himself in mean apparel to London, wherein ere he entered, with many words he lessoned his two little children, and especially in two things; first, that they should brook with patience the poor estate, whereunto, without their fault, fortune had brought them, together with himself,\u2014and after, that with all wariness they should keep themselves from ever discovering unto any whence or whose children they were, as they held life dear. The boy, Louis by name, who was some nine and the girl, who was called Violante and was some seven years old, both, as far as their tender age comported, very well apprehended their father's lessons and showed it thereafter by deed. That this might be the better done, he deemed it well to change their names; wherefore he named the boy Perrot and the girl Jeannette and all three, entering London, meanly clad, addressed themselves to go about asking alms, like as we see yonder French vagabonds do.\n\nThey being on this account one morning at a church door, it chanced that a certain great lady, the wife of one of the king's marshals of England, coming forth of the church, saw the count and his two little ones asking alms and questioned him whence he was and if the children were his, to which he replied that he was from Picardy and that, by reason of the misfeasance of a rakehelly elder son of his, it had behoved him depart the country with these two, who were his. The lady, who was pitiful, cast her eyes on the girl and being much taken with her, for that she was handsome, well\u2013mannered and engaging, said, 'Honest man, an thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I will willingly take her, for that she hath a good favour, and if she prove an honest woman, I will in due time marry her on such wise that she shall fare well.' This offer was very pleasing to the count, who promptly answered, 'Yes,' and with tears gave up the girl to the lady, urgently commending her to her care.\n\nHaving thus disposed of his daughter, well knowing to whom, he resolved to abide there no longer and accordingly, begging his way across the island, came, not without sore fatigue, as one who was unused to go afoot, into Wales. Here dwelt another of the king's marshals, who held great state and entertained a numerous household, and to his court both the count and his son whiles much resorted to get food. Certain sons of the said marshal and other gentlemen's children being there engaged in such boyish exercises as running and leaping, Perrot began to mingle with them and to do as dextrously as any of the rest, or more so, each feat that was practised among them. The marshal, chancing whiles to see this and being much taken with the manners and fashion of the boy, asked who he was and was told that he was the son of a poor man who came there bytimes for alms; whereupon he caused require him of the count, and the latter, who indeed besought God of nought else, freely resigned the boy to him, grievous as it was to him to be parted from him. Having thus provided his son and daughter, he determined to abide no longer in England and passing over into Ireland, made his way, as best he might, to Stamford, where he took service with a knight belonging to an earl of the country, doing all such things as pertain unto a lackey or a horseboy, and there, without being known of any, he abode a great while in unease and travail galore.\n\nMeanwhile Violante, called Jeannette, went waxing with the gentlewoman in London in years and person and beauty and was in such favour both with the lady and her husband and with every other of the house and whoso else knew her, that it was a marvellous thing to see; nor was there any who noted her manners and fashions but avouched her worthy of every greatest good and honour. Wherefore the noble lady who had received her from her father, without having ever availed to learn who he was, otherwise than as she had heard from himself, was purposed to marry her honourably according to that condition whereof she deemed her. But God, who is a just observer of folk's deserts, knowing her to be of noble birth and to bear, without fault, the penalty of another's sin, ordained otherwise, and fain must we believe that He of His benignity permitted that which came to pass to the end that the gentle damsel might not fall into the hands of a man of low estate.\n\nThe noble lady with whom Jeannette dwelt had of her husband one only son, whom both she and his father loved with an exceeding love, both for that he was their child and that he deserved it by reason of his worth and virtues. He, being some six years older than Jeannette and seeing her exceeding fair and graceful, became so sore enamoured of her that he saw nought beyond her; yet, for that he deemed her to be of mean extraction, not only dared he not demand her of his father and mother to wife, but, fearing to be blamed for having set himself to love unworthily, he held his love, as most he might, hidden; wherefore it tormented him far more than if he had discovered it; and thus it came to pass that, for excess of chagrin, he fell sick and that grievously. Divers physicians were called in to medicine him, who, having noted one and another symptom of his case and being nevertheless unable to discover what ailed him, all with one accord despaired of his recovery; whereat the young man's father and mother suffered dolour and melancholy so great that greater might not be brooked, and many a time, with piteous prayers, they questioned him of the cause of his malady, whereto or sighs he gave for answer or replied that he felt himself all wasting away.\n\nIt chanced one day that, what while a doctor, young enough, but exceedingly deeply versed in science, sat by him and held him by the arm in that part where leaches use to seek the pulse, Jeannette, who, of regard for his mother, tended him solicitously, entered, on some occasion or another, the chamber where the young man lay. When the latter saw her, without word said or gesture made, he felt the amorous ardour redouble in his heart, wherefore his pulse began to beat stronglier than of wont; the which the leach incontinent noted and marvelling, abode still to see how long this should last. As soon as Jeannette left the chamber, the beating abated, wherefore it seemed to the physician he had gotten impartment of the cause of the young man's ailment, and after waiting awhile, he let call Jeannette to him, as he would question her of somewhat, still holding the sick man by the arm. She came to him incontinent and no sooner did she enter than the beating of the youth's pulse returned and she being gone again, ceased. Thereupon, it seeming to the physician that he had full enough assurance, he rose and taking the young man's father and mother apart, said to them, 'The healing of your son is not in the succour of physicians, but abideth in the hands of Jeannette, whom, as I have by sure signs manifestly recognized, the young man ardently loveth, albeit, for all I can see, she is unaware thereof. You know now what you have to do, if his life be dear to you.'\n\nThe gentleman and his lady, hearing this, were well pleased, inasmuch as some means was found for his recoverance, albeit it irked them sore that the means in question should be that whereof they misdoubted them, to wit, that they should give Jeannette to their son to wife. Accordingly, the physician being gone, they went into the sick man and the lady bespoke him thus: 'Son mine, I could never have believed that thou wouldst keep from me any desire of thine, especially seeing thyself pine away for lack thereof; for that thou shouldst have been and shouldst be assured that there is nought I can for thy contentment, were it even less than seemly, which I would not do as for myself. But, since thou hast e'en done this, God the Lord hath been more pitiful over thee than thou thyself and that thou mayst not die of this sickness, hath shown me the cause of thine ill, which is no otherwhat than excess of love for some damsel or other, whoever she may be; and this, indeed, thou needest not have thought shame to discover, for that thine age requireth it, and wert thou not enamoured, I should hold thee of very little account. Wherefore, my son, dissemble not with me, but in all security discover to me thine every desire and put away from thee the melancholy and the thought\u2013taking which be upon thee and from which proceedeth this thy sickness and take comfort and be assured that there is nothing of that which thou mayst impose on me for thy satisfaction but I will do it to the best of my power, as she who loveth thee more than her life. Banish shamefastness and fearfulness and tell me if I can do aught to further thy passion; and if thou find me not diligent therein or if I bring it not to effect for thee, account me the cruellest mother that ever bore son.'\n\nThe young man, hearing his mother's words, was at first abashed, but presently, bethinking himself that none was better able than she to satisfy his wishes, he put away shamefastness and said thus to her: 'Madam, nothing hath wrought so effectually with me to keep my love hidden as my having noted of most folk that, once they are grown in years, they choose not to remember them of having themselves been young. But, since in this I find you reasonable, not only will I not deny that to be true which you say you have observed, but I will, to boot, discover to you of whom I am enamoured, on condition that you will, to the best of your power, give effect to your promise; and thus may you have me whole again.' Whereto the lady (trusting overmuch in that which was not to come to pass for her on such wise as she deemed in herself) answered freely that he might in all assurance discover to her his every desire, for that she would without any delay address herself to contrive that he should have his pleasure. 'Madam,' then said the youth, 'the exceeding beauty and commendable fashions of our Jeannette and my unableness to make her even sensible, still less to move her to pity, of my love and the having never dared to discover it unto any have brought me whereas you see me; and if that which you have promised me come not, one way or another, to pass, you may be assured that my life will be brief.'\n\nThe lady, to whom it appeared more a time for comfort than for reproof, said, smilingly, 'Alack, my son, hast thou then for this suffered thyself to languish thus? Take comfort and leave me do, once thou shalt be recovered.' The youth, full of good hope, in a very short time showed signs of great amendment, whereas the lady, being much rejoiced, began to cast about how she might perform that which she had promised him. Accordingly, calling Jeannette to her one day, she asked her very civilly, as by way of a jest, if she had a lover; whereupon she waxed all red and answered, 'Madam, it concerneth not neither were it seemly in a poor damsel like myself, banished from house and home and abiding in others' service, to think of love.' Quoth the lady, 'An you have no lover, we mean to give you one, in whom you may rejoice and live merry and have more delight of your beauty, for it behoveth not that so handsome a girl as you are abide without a lover.' To this Jeannette made answer, 'Madam, you took me from my father's poverty and have reared me as a daughter, wherefore it behoveth me to do your every pleasure; but in this I will nowise comply with you, and therein methinketh I do well. If it please you give me a husband, him do I purpose to love, but none other; for that, since of the inheritance of my ancestors nought is left me save only honour, this latter I mean to keep and preserve as long as life shall endure to me.'\n\nThis speech seemed to the lady very contrary to that whereto she thought to come for the keeping of her promise to her son,\u2014albeit, like a discreet woman as she was, she inwardly much commended the damsel therefor,\u2014and she said, 'How now, Jeannette? If our lord the king, who is a young cavalier, as thou art a very fair damsel, would fain have some easance of thy love, wouldst thou deny it to him?' Whereto she answered forthright, 'The king might do me violence, but of my consent he should never avail to have aught of me save what was honourable.' The lady, seeing how she was minded, left parleying with her and bethought herself to put her to the proof; wherefore she told her son that, whenas he should be recovered, she would contrive to get her alone with him in a chamber, so he might make shift to have his pleasure of her, saying that it appeared to her unseemly that she should, procuress\u2013wise, plead for her son and solicit her own maid.\n\nWith this the young man was nowise content and presently waxed grievously worse, which when his mother saw, she opened her mind to Jeannette, but, finding her more constant than ever, recounted what she had done to her husband, and he and she resolved of one accord, grievous though it seemed to them, to give her to him to wife, choosing rather to have their son alive with a wife unsorted to his quality than dead without any; and so, after much parley, they did; whereat Jeannette was exceeding content and with a devout heart rendered thanks to God, who had not forgotten her; but for all that she never avouched herself other than the daughter of a Picard. As for the young man, he presently recovered and celebrating his nuptials, the gladdest man alive, proceeded to lead a merry life with his bride.\n\nMeanwhile, Perrot, who had been left in Wales with the King of England's marshal, waxed likewise in favour with his lord and grew up very goodly of his person and doughty as any man in the island, insomuch that neither in tourneying nor jousting nor in any other act of arms was there any in the land who could cope with him; wherefore he was everywhere known and famous under the name of Perrot the Picard. And even as God had not forgotten his sister, so on like wise He showed that He had him also in mind; for that a pestilential sickness, being come into those parts, carried off well nigh half the people thereof, besides that most part of those who survived fled for fear into other lands; wherefore the whole country appeared desert. In this mortality, the marshal his lord and his lady and only son, together with many others, brothers and nephews and kinsmen, all died, nor was any left of all his house save a daughter, just husband\u2013ripe, and Perrot, with sundry other serving folk. The pestilence being somewhat abated, the young lady, with the approof and by the counsel of some few gentlemen of the country left alive, took Perrot, for that he was a man of worth and prowess, to husband and made him lord of all that had fallen to her by inheritance; nor was it long ere the King of England, hearing the marshal to be dead and knowing the worth of Perrot the Picard, substituted him in the dead man's room and made him his marshal. This, in brief, is what came of the two innocent children of the Count of Antwerp, left by him for lost.\n\nEighteen years were now passed since the count's flight from Paris, when, as he abode in Ireland, having suffered many things in a very sorry way of life, there took him a desire to learn, as he might, what was come of his children. Wherefore, seeing himself altogether changed of favour from that which he was wont to be and feeling himself, for long exercise, grown more robust of his person than he had been when young and abiding in ease and idlesse, he took leave of him with whom he had so long abidden and came, poor and ill enough in case, to England. Thence he betook himself whereas he had left Perrot and found him a marshal and a great lord and saw him robust and goodly of person; the which was mighty pleasing unto him, but he would not make himself known to him till he should have learned how it was with Jeannette. Accordingly, he set out and stayed not till he came to London, where, cautiously enquiring of the lady with whom he had left his daughter and of her condition, he found Jeannette married to her son, which greatly rejoiced him and he counted all his past adversity a little thing, since he had found his children again alive and in good case.\n\nThen, desirous of seeing Jeannette, he began beggarwise, to haunt the neighbourhood of her house, where one day Jamy Lamiens, (for so was Jeannette's husband called,) espying him and having compassion on him, for that he saw him old and poor, bade one of his servants bring him in and give him to eat for the love of God, which the man readily did. Now Jeannette had had several children by Jamy, whereof the eldest was no more than eight years old, and they were the handsomest and sprightliest children in the world. When they saw the count eat, they came one and all about him and began to caress him, as if, moved by some occult virtue, they divined him to be their grandfather. He, knowing them for his grandchildren, fell to fondling and making much of them, wherefore the children would not leave him, albeit he who had charge of their governance called them. Jeannette, hearing this, issued forth of a chamber therenigh and coming whereas the count was, chid them amain and threatened to beat them, an they did not what their governor willed. The children began to weep and say that they would fain abide with that honest man, who loved them better than their governor, whereat both the lady and the count laughed. Now the latter had risen, nowise as a father, but as a poor man, to do honour to his daughter, as to a mistress, and seeing her, felt a marvellous pleasure at his heart. But she nor then nor after knew him any whit, for that he was beyond measure changed from what he was used to be, being grown old and hoar and bearded and lean and swart, and appeared altogether another man than the count.\n\nThe lady then, seeing that the children were unwilling to leave him and wept, when she would have them go away, bade their governor let them be awhile and the children thus being with the good man, it chanced that Jamy's father returned and heard from their governor what had passed, whereupon quoth the marshal, who held Jeannette in despite, 'Let them be, God give them ill\u2013luck! They do but hark back to that whence they sprang. They come by their mother of a vagabond and therefore it is no wonder if they are fain to herd with vagabonds.' The count heard these words and was mightily chagrined thereat; nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders and put up with the affront, even as he had put up with many others. Jamy, hearing how the children had welcomed the honest man, to wit, the count, albeit it misliked him, nevertheless so loved them that, rather than see them weep, he commanded that, if the good man chose to abide there in any capacity, he should be received into his service. The count answered that he would gladly abide there, but he knew not to do aught other than tend horses, whereto he had been used all his lifetime. A horse was accordingly assigned to him and when he had cared for it, he busied himself with making sport for the children.\n\nWhilst fortune handled the Count of Antwerp and his children on such wise as hath been set out, it befell that the King of France, after many truces made with the Germans, died and his son, whose wife was she through whom the count had been banished, was crowned in his place; and no sooner was the current truce expired than he again began a very fierce war. To his aid the King of England, as a new\u2013made kinsman, despatched much people, under the commandment of Perrot his marshal and Jamy Lamiens, son of the other marshal, and with them went the good man, to wit, the count, who, without being recognized of any, abode a pretty while with the army in the guise of a horseboy, and there, like a man of mettle as he was, wrought good galore, more than was required of him, both with counsels and with deeds.\n\nDuring the war, it came to pass that the Queen of France fell grievously sick and feeling herself nigh unto death, contrite for all her sins, confessed herself unto the Archbishop of Rouen, who was held of all a very holy and good man. Amongst her other sins, she related to him that which the Count of Antwerp had most wrongfully suffered through her; nor was she content to tell it to him alone, nay, but before many other men of worth she recounted all as it had passed, beseeching them so to do with the king that the count, an he were on life, or, if not, one of his children, should be restored to his estate; after which she lingered not long, but, departing this life, was honourably buried. Her confession, being reported to the king, moved him, after he had heaved divers sighs of regret for the wrong done to the nobleman, to let cry throughout all the army and in many other parts, that whoso should give him news of the Count of Antwerp or of either of his children should for each be wonder\u2013well guerdoned of him, for that he held him, upon the queen's confession, innocent of that for which he had gone into exile and was minded to restore him to his first estate and more.\n\nThe count, in his guise of a horseboy, hearing this and being assured that it was the truth, betook himself forthright to Jamy Lamiens and prayed him go with him to Perrot, for that he had a mind to discover to them that which the king went seeking. All three being then met together, quoth the count to Perrot, who had it already in mind to discover himself, 'Perrot, Jamy here hath thy sister to wife nor ever had any dowry with her; wherefore, that thy sister may not go undowered, I purpose that he and none other shall, by making thee known as the son of the Count of Antwerp, have this great reward that the king promiseth for thee and for Violante, thy sister and his wife, and myself, who am the Count of Antwerp and your father.' Perrot, hearing this and looking steadfastly upon him, presently knew him and cast himself, weeping, at his feet and embraced him, saying, 'Father mine, you are dearly welcome.' Jamy, hearing first what the count said and after seeing what Perrot did, was overcome at once with such wonderment and such gladness that he scarce knew what he should do. However, after awhile, giving credence to the former's speech and sore ashamed for the injurious words he had whiles used to the hostler\u2013count, he let himself fall, weeping, at his feet and humbly besought him pardon of every past affront, the which the count, having raised him to his feet, graciously accorded him.\n\nThen, after they had all three discoursed awhile of each one's various adventures and wept and rejoiced together amain, Perrot and Jamy would have reclad the count, who would on nowise suffer it, but willed that Jamy, having first assured himself of the promised guerdon, should, the more to shame the king, present him to the latter in that his then plight and in his groom's habit. Accordingly, Jamy, followed by the count and Perrot, presented himself before the king, and offered, provided he would guerdon him according to the proclamation made, to produce to him the count and his children. The king promptly let bring for all three a guerdon marvellous in Jamy's eyes and commanded that he should be free to carry it off, whenas he should in very deed produce the count and his children, as he promised. Jamy, then, turning himself about and putting forward the count his horseboy and Perrot, said, 'My lord, here be the father and the son; the daughter, who is my wife and who is not here, with God's aid you shall soon see.'\n\nThe king, hearing this, looked at the count and albeit he was sore changed from that which he was used to be, yet, after he had awhile considered him, he knew him and well nigh with tears in his eyes raised him\u2014for that he was on his knees before him\u2014to his feet and kissed and embraced him. Perrot, also, he graciously received and commanded that the count should incontinent be furnished anew with clothes and servants and horses and harness, according as his quality required, which was straightway done. Moreover, he entreated Jamy with exceeding honour and would fain know every particular of his past adventures. Then, Jamy being about to receive the magnificent guerdons appointed him for having discovered the count and his children, the former said to him, 'Take these of the munificence of our lord the king and remember to tell thy father that thy children, his grandchildren and mine, are not by their mother born of a vagabond.' Jamy, accordingly, took the gifts and sent for his wife and mother to Paris, whither came also Perrot's wife; and there they all foregathered in the utmost joyance with the count, whom the king had reinstated in all his good and made greater than he ever was. Then all, with Gautier's leave, returned to their several homes and he until his death abode in Paris more worshipfully than ever.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "BERNABO OF GENOA, DUPED BY AMBROGIUOLO, LOSETH HIS GOOD AND COMMANDETH THAT HIS INNOCENT WIFE BE PUT TO DEATH. SHE ESCAPETH AND SERVETH THE SOLDAN IN A MAN'S HABIT. HERE SHE LIGHTETH UPON THE DECEIVER OF HER HUSBAND AND BRINGETH THE LATTER TO ALEXANDRIA, WHERE, HER TRADUCER BEING PUNISHED, SHE RESUMETH WOMAN'S APPAREL AND RETURNETH TO GENOA WITH HER HUSBAND, RICH",
                "text": "Elisa having furnished her due with her pitiful story, Filomena the queen, who was tall and goodly of person and smiling and agreeable of aspect beyond any other of her sex, collecting herself, said, \"Needs must the covenant with Dioneo be observed, wherefore, there remaining none other to tell than he and I, I will tell my story first, and he, for that he asked it as a favour, shall be the last to speak.\" So saying, she began thus, \"There is a proverb oftentimes cited among the common folk to the effect that the deceiver abideth at the feet of the deceived; the which meseemeth may by no reasoning be shown to be true, an it approve not itself by actual occurrences. Wherefore, whilst ensuing the appointed theme, it hath occurred to me, dearest ladies, to show you, at the same time, that this is true, even as it is said; nor should it mislike you to hear it, so you may know how to keep yourselves from deceivers.\"\n\nThere were once at Paris in an inn certain very considerable Italian merchants, who were come thither, according to their usance, some on one occasion and some on another, and having one evening among others supped all together merrily, they fell to devising of divers matters, and passing from one discourse to another, they came at last to speak of their wives, whom they had left at home, and one said jestingly, 'I know not how mine doth; but this I know well, that, whenas there cometh to my hand here any lass that pleaseth me, I leave on one side the love I bear my wife and take of the other such pleasure as I may.' 'And I,' quoth another, 'do likewise, for that if I believe that my wife pusheth her fortunes in my absence, she doth it, and if I believe it not, still she doth it; wherefore tit for tat be it; an ass still getteth as good as he giveth.' A third, following on, came well nigh to the same conclusion, and in brief all seemed agreed upon this point, that the wives they left behind had no mind to lose time in their husbands' absence. One only, who hight Bernabo Lomellini of Genoa, maintained the contrary, avouching that he, by special grace of God, had a lady to wife who was belike the most accomplished woman of all Italy in all those qualities which a lady, nay, even (in great part) in those which a knight or an esquire, should have; for that she was fair of favour and yet in her first youth and adroit and robust of her person; nor was there aught that pertaineth unto a woman, such as works of broidery in silk and the like, but she did it better than any other of her sex. Moreover, said he, there was no sewer, or in other words, no serving\u2013man, alive who served better or more deftly at a nobleman's table than did she, for that she was very well bred and exceeding wise and discreet. He after went on to extol her as knowing better how to ride a horse and fly a hawk, to read and write and cast a reckoning than if she were a merchant; and thence, after many other commendations, coming to that whereof it had been discoursed among them, he avouched with an oath that there could be found no honester nor chaster woman than she; wherefore he firmly believed that, should he abide half a score years, or even always, from home, she would never incline to the least levity with another man. Among the merchants who discoursed thus was a young man called Ambrogiuolo of Piacenza, who fell to making the greatest mock in the world of this last commendation bestowed by Bernabo upon his wife and asked him scoffingly if the emperor had granted him that privilege over and above all other men. Bernabo, some little nettled, replied that not the emperor, but God, who could somewhat more than the emperor, had vouchsafed him the favour in question. Whereupon quoth Ambrogiuolo, 'Bernabo, I doubt not a whit but that thou thinkest to say sooth; but meseemeth thou hast paid little regard to the nature of things; for that, hadst thou taken heed thereunto, I deem thee not so dull of wit but thou wouldst have noted therein certain matters which had made thee speak more circumspectly on this subject. And that thou mayst not think that we, who have spoken much at large of our wives, believe that we have wives other or otherwise made than thine, but mayst see that we spoke thus, moved by natural perception, I will e'en reason with thee a little on this matter. I have always understood man to be the noblest animal created of God among mortals, and after him, woman; but man, as is commonly believed and as is seen by works, is the more perfect and having more perfection, must without fail have more of firmness and constancy, for that women universally are more changeable; the reason whereof might be shown by many natural arguments, which for the present I purpose to leave be. If then man be of more stability and yet cannot keep himself, let alone from complying with a woman who soliciteth him, but even from desiring one who pleaseth him, nay more, from doing what he can, so he may avail to be with her,\u2014and if this betide him not once a month, but a thousand times a day,\u2014what canst thou expect a woman, naturally unstable, to avail against the prayers, the blandishments, the gifts and a thousand other means which an adroit man, who loveth her, will use? Thinkest thou she can hold out? Certes, how much soever thou mayst affirm it, I believe not that thou believest it; and thou thyself sayst that thy wife is a woman and that she is of flesh and blood, as are other women. If this be so, those same desires must be hers and the same powers that are in other women to resist these natural appetites; wherefore, however honest she be, it is possible she may do that which other women do; and nothing that is possible she be so peremptorily denied nor the contrary thereof affirmed with such rigour as thou dost.' To which Bernabo made answer, saying, 'I am a merchant, and not a philosopher, and as a merchant I will answer; and I say that I acknowledge that what thou sayst may happen to foolish women in whom there is no shame; but those who are discreet are so careful of their honour that for the guarding thereof they become stronger than men, who reck not of this; and of those thus fashioned is my wife.' 'Indeed,' rejoined Ambrogiuolo, 'if, for every time they occupy themselves with toys of this kind, there sprouted from their foreheads a horn to bear witness of that which they have done, there be few, I believe, who would incline thereto; but, far from the horn sprouting, there appeareth neither trace nor token thereof in those who are discreet, and shame and soil of honour consist not but in things discovered; wherefore, whenas they may secretly, they do it, or, if they forebear, it is for stupidity. And have thou this for certain that she alone is chaste, who hath either never been solicited of any or who, having herself solicited, hath not been hearkened. And although I know by natural and true reasons that it is e'en as I say, yet should I not speak thereof with so full an assurance, had I not many a time and with many women made essay thereof. And this I tell thee, that, were I near this most sanctified wife of thine, I warrant me I would in brief space of time bring her to that which I have already gotten of other women.' Whereupon quoth Bernabo, 'Disputing with words might be prolonged without end; thou wouldst say and I should say, and in the end it would all amount to nothing. But, since thou wilt have it that all women are so compliant and that thine address is such, I am content, so I may certify thee of my wife's honesty, to have my head cut off, and thou canst anywise avail to bring her to do thy pleasure in aught of the kind; and if thou fail thereof, I will have thee lose no otherwhat than a thousand gold florins.' 'Bernabo,' replied Ambrogiuolo, who was now grown heated over the dispute, 'I know not what I should do with thy blood, if I won the wager; but, an thou have a mind to see proof of that which I have advanced, do thou stake five thousand gold florins of thy monies, which should be less dear to thee than thy head, against a thousand of mine, and whereas thou settest no limit of time, I will e'en bind myself to go to Genoa and within three months from the day of my departure hence to have done my will of thy wife and to bring back with me, in proof thereof, sundry of her most precious things and such and so many tokens that thou shalt thyself confess it to be truth, so verily thou wilt pledge me thy faith not to come to Genoa within that term nor write her aught of the matter.' Bernabo said that it liked him well and albeit the other merchants endeavoured to hinder the affair, foreseeing that sore mischief might come thereof, the two merchants' minds were so inflamed that, in despite of the rest, they bound themselves one to other by express writings under their hands. This done, Bernabo abode behind, whilst Ambrogiuolo, as quickliest he might, betook himself to Genoa. There he abode some days and informing himself with the utmost precaution of the name of the street where the lady dwelt and of her manner of life, understood of her that and more than that which he had heard of her from Bernabo, wherefore himseemed he was come on a fool's errand. However, he presently clapped up an acquaintance with a poor woman, who was much about the house and whose great well\u2013wisher the lady was, and availing not to induce her to aught else, he debauched her with money and prevailed with her to bring him, in a chest wroughten after a fashion of his own, not only into the house, but into the gentlewoman's very bedchamber, where, according to the ordinance given her of him, the good woman commended it to her care for some days, as if she had a mind to go somewhither. The chest, then being left in the chamber and the night come, Ambrogiuolo, what time he judged the lady to be asleep, opened the chest with certain engines of his and came softly out into the chamber, where there was a light burning, with whose aid he proceeded to observe the ordinance of the place, the paintings and every other notable thing that was therein and fixed them in his memory. Then, drawing near the bed and perceiving that the lady and a little girl, who was with her, were fast asleep, he softly altogether uncovered the former and found that she was as fair, naked, as clad, but saw no sign about her that he might carry away, save one, to wit, a mole which she had under the left pap and about which were sundry little hairs as red as gold. This noted he covered her softly up again, albeit, seeing her so fair, he was tempted to adventure his life and lay himself by her side; however, for that he had heard her to be so obdurate and uncomplying in matters of this kind, he hazarded not himself, but, abiding at his leisure in the chamber the most part of the night, took from one of her coffers a purse and a night\u2013rail, together with sundry rings and girdles, and laying them all in his chest, returned thither himself and shut himself up therein as before; and on this wise he did two nights, without the lady being ware of aught. On the third day the good woman came back for the chest, according to the given ordinance, and carried it off whence she had taken it, whereupon Ambrogiuolo came out and having rewarded her according to promise, returned, as quickliest he might, with the things aforesaid, to Paris, where he arrived before the term appointed. There he summoned the merchants who had been present at the dispute and the laying of the wager and declared, in Bernabo's presence, that he had won the wager laid between them, for that he had accomplished that whereof he had vaunted himself; and to prove this to be true, he first described the fashion of the chamber and the paintings thereof and after showed the things he had brought with him thence, avouching that he had them of herself. Bernabo confessed the chamber to be as he had said and owned, moreover, that he recognized the things in question as being in truth his wife's; but said that he might have learned from one of the servants of the house the fashion of the chamber and have gotten the things in like manner; wherefore, an he had nought else to say, himseemed not that this should suffice to prove him to have won. Whereupon quoth Ambrogiuolo, 'In sooth this should suffice, but, since thou wilt have me say more, I will say it. I tell thee that Madam Ginevra thy wife hath under her left pap a pretty big mole, about which are maybe half a dozen little hairs as red as gold.' When Bernabo heard this, it was as if he had gotten a knife\u2013thrust in the heart, such anguish did he feel, and though he had said not a word, his countenance, being all changed, gave very manifest token that what Ambrogiuolo said was true. Then, after awhile, 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'that which Ambrogiuolo saith is true; wherefore, he having won, let him come whenassoever it pleaseth him and he shall be paid.' Accordingly, on the ensuing day Ambrogiuolo was paid in full and Bernabo, departing Paris, betook himself to Genoa with fell intent against the lady. When he drew near the city, he would not enter therein, but lighted down a good score miles away at a country house of his and despatched one of his servants, in whom he much trusted, to Genoa with two horses and letters under his hand, advising his wife that he had returned and bidding her come to him; and he privily charged the man, whenas he should be with the lady in such place as should seem best to him, to put her to death without pity and return to him. The servant accordingly repaired to Genoa and delivering the letters and doing his errand, was received with great rejoicing by the lady, who on the morrow took horse with him and set out for their country house. As they fared on together, discoursing of one thing and another, they came to a very deep and lonely valley, beset with high rocks and trees, which seeming to the servant a place wherein he might, with assurance for himself, do his lord's commandment, he pulled out his knife and taking the lady by the arm, said, 'Madam, commend your soul to God, for needs must you die, without faring farther.' The lady, seeing the knife and hearing these words, was all dismayed and said, 'Mercy, for God's sake! Ere thou slay me, tell me wherein I have offended thee, that thou wouldst put me to death.' 'Madam,' answered the man, 'me you have nowise offended; but wherein you have offended your husband I know not, save that he hath commanded me slay you by the way, without having any pity upon you, threatening me, an I did it not, to have me hanged by the neck. You know well how much I am beholden to him and how I may not gainsay him in aught that he may impose upon me; God knoweth it irketh me for you, but I can no otherwise.' Whereupon quoth the lady, weeping, 'Alack, for God's sake, consent not to become the murderer of one who hath never wronged thee, to serve another! God who knoweth all knoweth that I never did aught for which I should receive such a recompense from my husband. But let that be; thou mayst, an thou wilt, at once content God and thy master and me, on this wise; to wit, that thou take these my clothes and give me but thy doublet and a hood and with the former return to my lord and thine and tell him that thou hast slain me; and I swear to thee, by that life which thou wilt have bestowed on me, that I will remove hence and get me gone into a country whence never shall any news of me win either to him or to thee or into these parts.' The servant, who was loath to slay her, was lightly moved to compassion; wherefore he took her clothes and give her a sorry doublet of his and a hood, leaving her sundry monies she had with her. Then praying her depart the country, he left her in the valley and afoot and betook himself to his master, to whom he avouched that not only was his commandment accomplished, but that he had left the lady's dead body among a pack of wolves, and Bernabo presently returned to Genoa, where the thing becoming known, he was much blamed. As for the lady, she abode alone and disconsolate till nightfall, when she disguised herself as most she might and repaired to a village hard by, where, having gotten from an old woman that which she needed, she fitted the doublet to her shape and shortening it, made a pair of linen breeches of her shift; then, having cut her hair and altogether transformed herself in the guise of a sailor, she betook herself to the sea\u2013shore, where, as chance would have it, she found a Catalan gentleman, by name Senor Encararch, who had landed at Alba from a ship he had in the offing, to refresh himself at a spring there. With him she entered into parley and engaging with him as a servant, embarked on board the ship, under the name of Sicurano da Finale. There, being furnished by the gentleman with better clothes, she proceeded to serve him so well and so aptly that she became in the utmost favour with him. No great while after it befell that the Catalan made a voyage to Alexandria with a lading of his and carrying thither certain peregrine falcons for the Soldan, presented them to him. The Soldan, having once and again entertained him at meat and noting with approof the fashions of Sicurano, who still went serving him, begged him of his master, who yielded him to him, although it irked him to do it, and Sicurano, in a little while, by his good behaviour, gained the love and favour of the Soldan, even as he had gained that of the Catalan. Wherefore, in process of time, it befell that,\u2014the time coming for a great assemblage, in the guise of a fair, of merchants, both Christian and Saracen, which was wont at a certain season of the year to be held in Acre, a town under the seignory of the Soldan, and to which, in order that the merchants and their merchandise might rest secure, the latter was still used to despatch, besides other his officers, some one of his chief men, with troops, to look to the guard,\u2014he bethought himself to send Sicurano, who was by this well versed in the language of the country, on this service; and so he did. Sicurano accordingly came to Acre as governor and captain of the guard of the merchants and their merchandise and there well and diligently doing that which pertained to his office and going round looking about him, saw many merchants there, Sicilians and Pisans and Genoese and Venetians and other Italians, with whom he was fain to make acquaintance, in remembrance of his country. It befell, one time amongst others, that, having lighted down at the shop of certain Venetian merchants, he espied among other trinkets, a purse and a girdle, which he straightway knew for having been his and marvelled thereat; but, without making any sign, he carelessly asked to whom they pertained and if they were for sale. Now Ambrogiuolo of Piacenza was come thither with much merchandise on board a Venetian ship and hearing the captain of the guard ask whose the trinkets were, came forward and said, laughing, 'Sir, the things are mine and I do not sell them; but, if they please you, I will gladly give them to you.' Sicurano, seeing him laugh, misdoubted he had recognized him by some gesture of his; but yet, keeping a steady countenance, he said, 'Belike thou laughest to see me, a soldier, go questioning of these women's toys?' 'Sir,' answered Ambrogiuolo, 'I laugh not at that; nay, but at the way I came by them.' 'Marry, then,' said Sicurano, 'an it be not unspeakable, tell me how thou gottest them, so God give thee good luck.' Quoth Ambrogiuolo, 'Sir, a gentlewoman of Genoa, hight Madam Ginevra, wife of Bernabo Lomellini, gave me these things, with certain others, one night that I lay with her, and prayed me keep them for the love of her. Now I laugh for that I mind me of the simplicity of Bernabo, who was fool enough to lay five thousand florins to one that I would not bring his wife to do my pleasure; the which I did and won the wager; whereupon he, who should rather have punished himself for his stupidity than her for doing that which all women do, returned from Paris to Genoa and there, by what I have since heard, caused her put to death.' Sicurano, hearing this, understood forthwith what was the cause of Bernabo's anger against his wife and manifestly perceiving this fellow to have been the occasion of all her ills, determined not to let him go unpunished therefor. Accordingly he feigned to be greatly diverted with the story and artfully clapped up a strait acquaintance with him, insomuch that, the fair being ended, Ambrogiuolo, at his instance, accompanied him, with all his good, to Alexandria. Here Sicurano let build him a warehouse and lodged in his hands store of his own monies; and Ambrogiuolo, foreseeing great advantage to himself, willingly took up his abode there. Meanwhile, Sicurano, careful to make Bernabo clear of his innocence, rested not till, by means of certain great Genoese merchants who were then in Alexandria, he had, on some plausible occasion of his own devising, caused him come thither, where finding him in poor enough case, he had him privily entertained by a friend of his against it should seem to him time to do that which he purposed. Now he had already made Ambrogiuolo recount his story before the Soldan for the latter's diversion; but seeing Bernabo there and thinking there was no need to use farther delay in the matter, he took occasion to procure the Soldan to have Ambrogiuolo and Bernabo brought before him and in the latter's presence, to extort from the former, by dint of severity, an it might not easily be done by other means, the truth of that whereof he vaunted himself concerning Bernabo's wife. Accordingly, they both being come, the Soldan, in the presence of many, with a stern countenance commanded Ambrogiuolo to tell the truth how he had won of Bernabo the five thousand gold florins; and Sicurano himself, in whom he most trusted, with a yet angrier aspect, threatened him with the most grievous torments, an he told it not; whereupon Ambrogiuolo, affrighted on one side and another and in a measure constrained, in the presence of Bernabo and many others, plainly related everything, even as it passed, expecting no worse punishment therefor than the restitution of the five thousand gold florins and of the stolen trinkets. He having spoken, Sicurano, as he were the Soldan's minister in the matter, turned to Bernabo and said to him, 'And thou, what didst thou to thy lady for this lie?' Whereto Bernabo replied, 'Overcome with wrath for the loss of my money and with resentment for the shame which meseemed I had gotten from my wife, I caused a servant of mine put her to death, and according to that which he reported to me, she was straightway devoured by a multitude of wolves,' These things said in the presence of the Soldan and all heard and apprehended of him, albeit he knew not yet to what end Sicurano, who had sought and ordered this, would fain come, the latter said to him, 'My lord, you may very clearly see how much reason yonder poor lady had to vaunt herself of her gallant and her husband, for that the former at once bereaved her of honour, marring her fair fame with lies, and despoiled her husband, whilst the latter more credulous of others' falsehoods than of the truth which he might by long experience have known, caused her to be slain and eaten of wolves; and moreover, such is the goodwill and the love borne her by the one and the other that, having long abidden with her, neither of them knoweth her. But that you may the better apprehend that which each of these hath deserved, I will,\u2014so but you vouchsafe me, of special favour to punish the deceiver and pardon the dupe,\u2014e'en cause her come hither into your and their presence.' The Soldan, disposed in the matter altogether to comply with Sicurano's wishes, answered that he would well and bade him produce the lady; whereat Bernabo marvelled exceedingly, for that he firmly believed her to be dead, whilst Ambrogiuolo, now divining his danger, began to be in fear of worse than paying of monies and knew not whether more to hope or to fear from the coming of the lady, but awaited her appearance with the utmost amazement. The Soldan, then, having accorded Sicurano his wish, the latter threw himself, weeping, on his knees before him and putting off, as it were at one and the same time, his manly voice and masculine demeanour, said, 'My lord, I am the wretched misfortunate Ginevra, who have these six years gone wandering in man's disguise about the world, having been foully and wickedly aspersed by this traitor Ambrogiuolo and given by yonder cruel and unjust man to one of his servants to be slain and eaten of wolves.' Then, tearing open the fore part of her clothes and showing her breast, she discovered herself to the Soldan and all else who were present and after, turning to Ambrogiuolo, indignantly demanded of him when he had ever lain with her, according as he had aforetime boasted; but he, now knowing her and fallen well nigh dumb for shame, said nothing. The Soldan, who had always held her a man, seeing and hearing this, fell into such a wonderment that he more than once misdoubted that which he saw and heard to be rather a dream than true. However, after his amazement had abated, apprehending the truth of the matter, he lauded to the utmost the life and fashions of Ginevra, till then called Sicurano, and extolled her constancy and virtue; and letting bring her very sumptuous woman's apparel and women to attend her, he pardoned Bernabo, in accordance with her request, the death he had merited, whilst the latter, recognizing her, cast himself at her feet, weeping and craving forgiveness, which she, ill worthy as he was thereof, graciously accorded him and raising him to his feet, embraced him tenderly, as her husband. Then the Soldan commanded that Ambrogiuolo should incontinent be bound to a stake and smeared with honey and exposed to the sun in some high place of the city, nor should ever be loosed thence till such time as he should fall of himself; and so was it done. After this he commanded that all that had belonged to him should be given to the lady, the which was not so little but that it outvalued ten thousand doubloons. Moreover, he let make a very goodly banquet, wherein he entertained Bernabo with honour, as Madam Ginevra's husband, and herself as a very valiant lady and gave her, in jewels and vessels of gold and silver and monies, that which amounted to better than other ten thousand doubloons. Then, the banquet over, he caused equip them a ship and gave them leave to return at their pleasure to Genoa, whither accordingly they returned with great joyance and exceeding rich; and there they were received with the utmost honour, especially Madam Ginevra, who was of all believed to be dead and who, while she lived, was still reputed of great worth and virtue. As for Ambrogiuolo, being that same day bounded to the stake and anointed with honey, he was, to his exceeding torment, not only slain, but devoured, of the flies and wasps and gadflies, wherewith that country aboundeth, even to the bones, which latter, waxed white and hanging by the sinews, being left unremoved, long bore witness of his villainy to all who saw them. And on this wise did the deceiver abide at the feet of the deceived.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PAGANINO OF MONACO STEALETH AWAY THE WIFE OF MESSER RICCIARDO DI CHINZICA, WHO, LEARNING WHERE SHE IS, GOETH THITHER AND MAKING FRIENDS WITH PAGANINO, DEMANDETH HER AGAIN OF HIM. THE LATTER CONCEDETH HER TO HIM, AN SHE WILL; BUT SHE REFUSETH TO RETURN WITH HIM AND MESSER RICCIARDO DYING, SHE BECOMETH THE WIFE OF PAGANINO",
                "text": "Each of the honourable company highly commended for goodly the story told by their queen, especially Dioneo, with whom alone for that present day it now rested to tell, and who, after many praises bestowed upon the preceding tale, said, \"Fair ladies, one part of the queen's story hath caused me change counsel of telling you one that was in my mind, and determine to tell you another,\u2014and that is the stupidity of Bernabo (albeit good betided him thereof) and of all others who give themselves to believe that which he made a show of believing and who, to wit, whilst going about the world, diverting themselves now with this woman and now with that, imagine that the ladies left at home abide with their hands in their girdles, as if we knew not, we who are born and reared among the latter, unto what they are fain. In telling you this story, I shall at once show you how great is the folly of these folk and how greater yet is that of those who, deeming themselves more potent than nature herself, think by dint of sophistical inventions to avail unto that which is beyond their power and study to bring others to that which they themselves are, whenas the complexion of those on whom they practise brooketh it not.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Pisa a judge, by name Messer Ricciardo di Chinzica, more gifted with wit than with bodily strength, who, thinking belike to satisfy a wife by the same means which served him to despatch his studies and being very rich, sought with no little diligence to have a fair and young lady to wife; whereas, had he but known to counsel himself as he counselled others, he should have shunned both the one and the other. The thing came to pass according to his wish, for Messer Lotto Gualandi gave him to wife a daughter of his, Bartolomea by name, one of the fairest and handsomest young ladies of Pisa, albeit there be few there that are not very lizards to look upon. The judge accordingly brought her home with the utmost pomp and having held a magnificent wedding, made shift the first night to hand her one venue for the consummation of the marriage, but came within an ace of making a stalemate of it, whereafter, lean and dry and scant of wind as he was, it behoved him on the morrow bring himself back to life with malmsey and restorative confections and other remedies. Thenceforward, being now a better judge of his own powers than he was, he fell to teaching his wife a calendar fit for children learning to read and belike made aforetime at Ravenna, for that, according to what he feigned to her, there was no day in the year but was sacred not to one saint only, but to many, in reverence of whom he showed by divers reasons that man and wife should abstain from carnal conversation; and to these be added, to boot, fast days and Emberdays and the vigils of the Apostles and of a thousand other saints and Fridays and Saturdays and Lord's Day and all Lent and certain seasons of the moon and store of other exceptions, conceiving belike that it behoved to keep holiday with women in bed like as he did bytimes whilst pleading in the courts of civil law. This fashion (to the no small chagrin of the lady, whom he handled maybe once a month, and hardly that) he followed a great while, still keeping strait watch over her, lest peradventure some other should teach her to know working\u2013days, even as he had taught her holidays. Things standing thus, it chanced that, the heat being great and Messer Ricciardo having a mind to go a\u2013pleasuring to a very fair country\u2013seat he had, near Monte Nero, and there abide some days to take the air, he betook himself thither, carrying with him his fair lady. There sojourning, to give her some diversion, he caused one day fish and they went out to sea in two boats, he in one with the fishermen, and she in another with other ladies. The sport luring them on, they drifted some miles out to sea, well nigh without perceiving it, and whilst they were intent upon their diversion, there came up of a sudden a galliot belonging to Paganino da Mare, a famous corsair of those days. The latter, espying the boats, made for them, nor could they flee so fast but he overtook that in which were the women and seeing therein the judge's fair lady, he carried her aboard the galliot, in full sight of Messer Ricciardo, who was now come to land, and made off without recking of aught else. When my lord judge, who was so jealous that he misdoubted of the very air, saw this, it booteth not to ask if he was chagrined; and in vain, both at Pisa and otherwhere, did he complain of the villainy of the corsairs, for that he knew not who had taken his wife from him nor whither he had carried her. As for Paganino, finding her so fair, he deemed himself in luck and having no wife, resolved to keep her for himself. Accordingly, seeing her weeping sore, he studied to comfort her with soft words till nightfall, when, his calendar having dropped from his girdle and saints' days and holidays gone clean out of his head, he fell to comforting her with deeds, himseeming that words had availed little by day; and after such a fashion did he console her that, ere they came to Monaco, the judge and his ordinances had altogether escaped her mind and she began to lead the merriest of lives with Paganino. The latter carried her to Monaco and there, over and above the consolations with which he plied her night and day, he entreated her honourably as his wife. After awhile it came to Messer Ricciardo's ears where his wife was and he, being possessed with the most ardent desire to have her again and bethinking himself that none other might thoroughly suffice to do what was needful to that end, resolved to go thither himself, determined to spend any quantity of money for her ransom. Accordingly he set out by sea and coming to Monaco, there both saw and was seen of the lady, who told it to Paganino that same evening and acquainted him with her intent. Next morning Messer Ricciardo, seeing Paganino, accosted him and quickly clapped up a great familiarity and friendship with him, whilst the other feigned not to know him and waited to see at what he aimed. Accordingly, whenas it seemed to him time, Messer Ricciardo discovered to him, as best and most civilly he knew, the occasion of his coming and prayed him take what he pleased and restore him the lady. To which Paganino made answer with a cheerful countenance, 'Sir, you are welcome, and to answer you briefly, I say thus; it is true I have a young lady in my house, if she be your wife or another's I know not, for that I know you not nor indeed her, save in so much as she hath abidden awhile with me. If you be, as you say, her husband, I will, since you seem to me a civil gentleman, carry you to her and I am assured that she will know you right well. If she say it is as you avouch and be willing to go with you, you shall, for the sake of your civility, give me what you yourself will to her ransom; but, an it be not so, you would do ill to seek to take her from me, for that I am a young man and can entertain a woman as well as another, and especially such an one as she, who is the most pleasing I ever saw.' Quoth Messer Ricciardo, 'For certain she is my wife, an thou bring me where she is, thou shalt soon see it; for she will incontinent throw herself on my neck; wherefore I ask no better than that it be as thou proposest.' 'Then,' said Paganino, 'let us be going.' Accordingly they betook themselves to the corsair's house, where he brought the judge into a saloon of his and let call the lady, who issued forth of a chamber, all dressed and tired, and came whereas they were, but accosted Messer Ricciardo no otherwise than as she would any other stranger who might have come home with Paganino. The judge, who looked to have been received by her with the utmost joy, marvelled sore at this and fell a\u2013saying in himself, 'Belike the chagrin and long grief I have suffered, since I lost her, have so changed me that she knoweth me not.' Wherefore he said to her, 'Wife, it hath cost me dear to carry thee a\u2013fishing, for that never was grief felt like that which I have suffered since I lost thee, and now meseemeth thou knowest me not, so distantly dost thou greet me. Seest thou not that I am thine own Messer Ricciardo, come hither to pay that which this gentleman, in whose house we are, shall require to thy ransom and to carry thee away? And he, of his favour, restoreth thee to me for what I will.' The lady turned to him and said, smiling somewhat, 'Speak you to me, sir? Look you mistake me not, for, for my part, I mind me not ever to have seen you.' Quoth Ricciardo, 'Look what thou sayest; consider me well; an thou wilt but recollect thyself, thou wilt see that I am thine own Ricciardo di Chinzica.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'you will pardon me; belike it is not so seemly a thing as you imagine for me to look much on you. Nevertheless I have seen enough of you to know that I never before set eyes on you.' Ricciardo, concluding that she did this for fear of Paganino and chose not to confess to knowing him in the latter's presence, besought him of his favour that he might speak with her in a room alone. Paganino replied that he would well, so but he would not kiss her against her will, and bade the lady go with him into a chamber and there hear what he had to say and answer him as it should please her. Accordingly the lady and Messer Ricciardo went into a room apart and as soon as they were seated, the latter began to say, 'Alack, heart of my body, sweet my soul and my hope, knowest thou not thy Ricciardo, who loveth thee more than himself? How can this be? Am I so changed? Prithee, fair mine eye, do but look on me a little.' The lady began to laugh and without letting him say more, replied, 'You may be assured that I am not so scatterbrained but that I know well enough you are Messer Ricciardo di Chinzica, my husband; but, what time I was with you, you showed that you knew me very ill, for that you should have had the sense to see that I was young and lusty and gamesome and should consequently have known that which behoveth unto young ladies, over and above clothes and meat, albeit for shamefastness they name it not; the which how you performed, you know. If the study of the laws was more agreeable to you than your wife, you should not have taken her, albeit it never appeared to me that you were a judge; nay, you seemed to me rather a common crier of saints' days and sacraments and fasts and vigils, so well you knew them. And I tell you this, that, had you suffered the husbandmen who till your lands keep as many holidays as you allowed him who had the tilling of my poor little field, you would never have reaped the least grain of corn. However, as God, having compassion on my youth, hath willed it, I have happened on yonder man, with whom I abide in this chamber, wherein it is unknown what manner of thing is a holiday (I speak of those holidays which you, more assiduous in the service of God than in that of the ladies, did so diligently celebrate) nor ever yet entered in at this door Saturday nor Friday nor vigil nor Emberday nor Lent, that is so long; nay, here swink we day and night and thump our wool; and this very night after matinsong, I know right well how the thing went, once he was up. Wherefore I mean to abide with him and work; whilst I am young, and leave saints' days and jubilees and fasts for my keeping when I am old; so get you gone about your business as quickliest you may, good luck go with you, and keep as many holidays as you please, without me.' Messer Ricciardo, hearing these words, was distressed beyond endurance and said, whenas he saw she had made an end of speaking. 'Alack, sweet my soul, what is this thou sayest? Hast thou no regard for thy kinsfolk's honour and thine own? Wilt thou rather abide here for this man's whore and in mortal sin than at Pisa as my wife? He, when he is weary of thee, will turn thee away to thine own exceeding reproach, whilst I will still hold thee dear and still (e'en though I willed it not) thou shalt be mistress of my house. Wilt thou for the sake of a lewd and disorderly appetite, forsake thine honour and me, who love thee more than my life? For God's sake, dear my hope, speak no more thus, but consent to come with me; henceforth, since I know thy desire, I will enforce myself to content it; wherefore, sweet my treasure, change counsel and come away with me, who have never known weal since thou wast taken from me.' Whereto answered the lady, 'I have no mind that any, now that it availeth not, should be more tender of my honour than I myself; would my kinsfolk had had regard thereto, whenas they gave me to you! But, as they had then no care for my honour, I am under no present concern to be careful of theirs; and if I am herein mortar sin, I shall abide though it be in pestle sin. And let me tell you that here meseemeth I am Paganino's wife, whereas at Pisa meseemed I was your whore, seeing that there, by season of the moon and quadratures of geometry, needs must be planets concur to couple betwixt you and me, whereas here Paganino holdeth me all night in his arms and straineth me and biteth me, and how he serveth me, let God tell you for me. You say forsooth you will enforce yourself; to what? To do it in three casts and cause it stand by dint of cudgelling? I warrant me you are grown a doughty cavalier since I saw you last! Begone and enforce yourself to live, for methinketh indeed you do but sojourn here below upon sufferance, so peaked and scant o' wind you show to me. And yet more I tell you, that, should he leave me (albeit meseemeth he is nowise inclined thereto, so I choose to stay,) I purpose not therefor ever to return to you, of whom squeeze you as I might, there were no making a porringer of sauce; for that I abode with you once to my grievous hurt and loss, wherefore in such a case I should seek my vantage elsewhere. Nay, once again I tell you, here be neither saints' days nor vigils; wherefore here I mean to abide; so get you gone in God's name as quickliest you may, or I will cry out that you would fain force me.' Messer Ricciardo, seeing himself in ill case and now recognizing his folly in taking a young wife, whenas he was himself forspent, went forth the chamber tristful and woebegone, and bespoke Paganino with many words, that skilled not a jot. Ultimately, leaving the lady, he returned to Pisa, without having accomplished aught, and there for chagrin fell into such dotage that, as he went about Pisa, to whoso greeted him or asked him of anywhat, he answered nought but 'The ill hole will have no holidays;' and there, no great while after, he died. Paganino, hearing this and knowing the love the lady bore himself, espoused her to his lawful wife and thereafter, without ever observing saints' day or vigil or keeping Lent, they wrought what while their legs would carry them and led a jolly life of it. Wherefore, dear my ladies, meseemeth Bernabo, in his dispute with Ambrogiuolo, rode the she\u2013goat down the steep.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "This story gave such occasion for laughter to all the company that there was none whose jaws ached not therefor, and all the ladies avouched with one accord that Dioneo spoke sooth and that Bernabo had been an ass. But, after the story was ended and the laughter abated, the queen, observing that the hour was now late and that all had told and seeing that the end of her seignory was come, according to the ordinance commenced, took the wreath from her own head and set it on that of Neifile, saying, with a blithe aspect, \"Henceforth, companion dear, be thine the governance of this little people\"; and reseated herself. Neifile blushed a little at the honour received and became in countenance like as showeth a new\u2013blown rose of April or of May in the breaking of the day, with lovesome eyes some little downcast, sparkling no otherwise than the morning\u2013star. But, after the courteous murmur of the bystanders, whereby they gladsomely approved their goodwill towards the new\u2013made queen, had abated and she had taken heart again, she seated herself somewhat higher than of wont and said, \"Since I am to be your queen, I will, departing not from the manner holden of those who have foregone me and whose governance you have by your obedience commended, make manifest to you in few words my opinion, which, an it be approved by your counsel, we will ensue. To\u2013morrow, as you know, is Friday and the next day is Saturday, days which, by reason of the viands that are used therein, are somewhat irksome to most folk, more by token that Friday, considering that He who died for our life on that day suffered passion, is worthy of reverence; wherefore I hold it a just thing and a seemly that, in honour of the Divinity, we apply ourselves rather to orisons than to story\u2013telling. As for Saturday, it is the usance of ladies on that day to wash their heads and do away all dust and all uncleanliness befallen them for the labours of the past week; and many, likewise, use, in reverence of the Virgin Mother of the Son of God, to fast and rest from all manner of work in honour of the ensuing Sunday. Wherefore, we being unable fully to ensue the order of living taken by us, on like wise methinketh we were well to rest from story\u2013telling on that day also; after which, for that we shall then have sojourned here four days, I hold it opportune, an we would give no occasion for newcomers to intrude upon us, that we remove hence and get us gone elsewhither; where I have already considered and provided. There when we shall be assembled together on Sunday, after sleeping,\u2014we having to\u2013day had leisure enough for discoursing at large, \u2014I have bethought myself,\u2014at once that you may have more time to consider and because it will be yet goodlier that the license of our story\u2013telling be somewhat straitened and that we devise of one of the many fashions of fortune,\u2014that our discourse shall be OF SUCH AS HAVE, BY DINT OF DILIGENCE, ACQUIRED SOME MUCH DESIRED THING OR RECOVERED SOME LOST GOOD. Whereupon let each think to tell somewhat that may be useful or at least entertaining to the company, saving always Dioneo his privilege.\" All commended the speech and disposition of the queen and ordained that it should be as she had said. Then, calling for her seneschal, she particularly instructed him where he should set the tables that evening and after of what he should do during all the time of her seignory; and this done, rising to her feet, she gave the company leave to do that which was most pleasing unto each. Accordingly, ladies and men betook themselves to a little garden and there, after they had disported themselves awhile, the hour of supper being come, they supped with mirth and pleasance; then, all arising thence and Emilia, by the queen's commandment, leading the round, the ditty following was sung by Pampinea, whilst the other ladies responded:\n\n\u2002What lady aye should sing, and if not I,\n\n\u2002Who'm blest with all for which a maid can sigh?\n\n\u2002Come then, O Love, thou source of all my weal,\n\n\u2002All hope and every issue glad and bright\n\n\u2002Sing ye awhile yfere\n\n\u2002Of sighs nor bitter pains I erst did feel,\n\n\u2002That now but sweeten to me thy delight,\n\n\u2002Nay, but of that fire clear,\n\n\u2002Wherein I, burning, live in joy and cheer,\n\n\u2002And as my God, thy name do magnify.\n\n\u2002Thou settest, Love, before these eyes of mine\n\n\u2002Whenas thy fire I entered the first day,\n\n\u2002A youngling so beseen\n\n\u2002With valour, worth and loveliness divine,\n\n\u2002That never might one find a goodlier, nay,\n\n\u2002Nor yet his match, I ween.\n\n\u2002So sore I burnt for him I still must e'en\n\n\u2002Sing, blithe, of him with thee, my lord most high.\n\n\u2002And that in him which crowneth my liesse\n\n\u2002Is that I please him, as he pleaseth me,\n\n\u2002Thanks to Love debonair;\n\n\u2002Thus in this world my wish I do possess\n\n\u2002And in the next I trust at peace to be,\n\n\u2002Through that fast faith I bear\n\n\u2002To him; sure God, who seeth this, will ne'er\n\n\u2002The kingdom of His bliss to us deny.\n\nAfter this they sang sundry other songs and danced sundry dances and played upon divers instruments of music. Then, the queen deeming it time to go to rest, each betook himself, with torches before him, to his chamber, and all on the two following days, whilst applying themselves to those things whereof the queen had spoken, looked longingly for Sunday."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Third",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE THIRD DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF NEIFILE IS DISCOURSED OF SUCH AS HAVE BY DINT OF DILIGENCE ACQUIRED SOME MUCH DESIRED THING OR RECOVERED SOME LOST GOOD ]\n\nThe dawn from vermeil began to grow orange\u2013tawny, at the approach of the sun, when on the Sunday the queen arose and caused all her company rise also. The seneschal had a great while before despatched to the place whither they were to go store of things needful and folk who should there make ready that which behoved, and seeing the queen now on the way, straightway let load everything else, as if the camp were raised thence, and with the household stuff and such of the servants as remained set out in rear of the ladies and gentlemen. The queen, then, with slow step, accompanied and followed by her ladies and the three young men and guided by the song of some score nightingales and other birds, took her way westward, by a little\u2013used footpath, full of green herbs and flowers, which latter now all began to open for the coming sun, and chatting, jesting and laughing with her company, brought them a while before half tierce, without having gone over two thousand paces, to a very fair and rich palace, somewhat upraised above the plain upon a little knoll. Here they entered and having gone all about and viewed the great saloons and the quaint and elegant chambers all throughly furnished with that which pertaineth thereunto, they mightily commended the place and accounted its lord magnificent. Then, going below and seeing the very spacious and cheerful court thereof, the cellars full of choicest wines and the very cool water that welled there in great abundance, they praised it yet more. Thence, as if desirous of repose, they betook themselves to sit in a gallery which commanded all the courtyard and was all full of flowers, such as the season afforded, and leafage, whereupon there came the careful seneschal and entertained and refreshed them with costliest confections and wines of choice. Thereafter, letting open to them a garden, all walled about, which coasted the palace, they entered therein and it seeming to them, at their entering, altogether wonder\u2013goodly, they addressed themselves more intently to view the particulars thereof. It had about it and athwart the middle very spacious alleys, all straight as arrows and embowered with trellises of vines, which made great show of bearing abundance of grapes that year and being then all in blossom, yielded so rare a savour about the garden, that, as it blent with the fragrance of many another sweet\u2013smelling plant that there gave scent, themseemed they were among all the spiceries that ever grew in the Orient. The sides of these alleys were all in a manner walled about with roses, red and white, and jessamine, wherefore not only of a morning, but what while the sun was highest, one might go all about, untouched thereby, neath odoriferous and delightsome shade. What and how many and how orderly disposed were the plants that grew in that place, it were tedious to recount; suffice it that there is none goodly of those which may brook our air but was there in abundance. Amiddleward the garden (what was not less, but yet more commendable than aught else there) was a plat of very fine grass, so green that it seemed well nigh black, enamelled all with belike a thousand kinds of flowers and closed about with the greenest and lustiest of orange and citron trees, the which, bearing at once old fruits and new and flowers, not only afforded the eyes a pleasant shade, but were no less grateful to the smell. Midmost the grass\u2013plat was a fountain of the whitest marble, enchased with wonder\u2013goodly sculptures, and thence,\u2014whether I know not from a natural or an artificial source,\u2014there sprang, by a figure that stood on a column in its midst, so great a jet of water and so high towards the sky, whence not without a delectable sound it fell back into the wonder\u2013limpid fount, that a mill might have wrought with less; the which after (I mean the water which overflowed the full basin) issued forth of the lawn by a hidden way, and coming to light therewithout, encompassed it all about by very goodly and curiously wroughten channels. Thence by like channels it ran through well nigh every part of the pleasance and was gathered again at the last in a place whereby it had issue from the fair garden and whence it descended, in the clearest of streams, towards the plain; but, ere it won thither, it turned two mills with exceeding power and to the no small vantage of the lord. The sight of this garden and its fair ordinance and the plants and the fountain, with the rivulets proceeding therefrom, so pleased the ladies and the three young men that they all of one accord avouched that, an Paradise might be created upon earth, they could not avail to conceive what form, other than that of this garden, might be given it nor what farther beauty might possibly be added thereunto. However, as they went most gladsomely thereabout, weaving them the goodliest garlands of the various leafage of the trees and hearkening the while to the carols of belike a score of different kinds of birds, that sang as if in rivalry one of other, they became aware of a delectable beauty, which, wonderstricken as they were with the other charms of the place, they had not yet noted; to wit, they found the garden full of maybe an hundred kinds of goodly creatures, and one showing them to other, they saw on one side rabbits issue, on another hares run; here lay kids and there fawns went grazing, and there was many another kind of harmless animal, each going about his pastime at his pleasure, as if tame; the which added unto them a yet greater pleasure than the others. After they had gone about their fill, viewing now this thing and now that, the queen let set the tables around the fair fountain and at her commandment, having first sung half a dozen canzonets and danced sundry dances, they sat down to meat. There, being right well and orderly served, after a very fair and sumptuous and tranquil fashion, with goodly and delicate viands, they waxed yet blither and arising thence, gave themselves anew to music\u2013making and singing and dancing till it seemed good to the queen that those whom it pleased should betake themselves to sleep. Accordingly some went thither, whilst others, overcome with the beauty of the place, willed not to leave it, but, abiding there, addressed themselves, some to reading romances and some to playing chess or tables, whilst the others slept. But presently, the hour of none being past and the sleepers having arisen and refreshed their faces with cold water, they came all, at the queen's commandment, to the lawn hard by the fountain and there seating themselves, after the wonted fashion, waited to fall to story\u2013telling upon the subject proposed by her. The first upon whom she laid this charge was Filostrato, who began on this wise:"
            },
            {
                "title": "MASETTO OF LAMPORECCHIO FEIGNETH HIMSELF DUMB AND BECOMETH GARDENER TO A CONVENT OF WOMEN, WHO ALL FLOCK TO LIE WITH HIM",
                "text": "\"Fairest ladies, there be many men and women foolish enough to believe that, whenas the white fillet is bound about a girl's head and the black cowl clapped upon her back, she is no longer a woman and is no longer sensible of feminine appetites, as if the making her a nun had changed her to stone; and if perchance they hear aught contrary to this their belief, they are as much incensed as if a very great and heinous misdeed had been committed against nature, considering not neither having regard to themselves, whom full license to do that which they will availeth not to sate, nor yet to the much potency of idlesse and thought\u2013taking. On like wise there are but too many who believe that spade and mattock and coarse victuals and hard living do altogether purge away carnal appetites from the tillers of the earth and render them exceeding dull of wit and judgment. But how much all who believe thus are deluded, I purpose, since the queen hath commanded it to me, to make plain to you in a little story, without departing from the theme by her appointed.\"\n\nThere was (and is yet) in these our parts a convent of women, very famous for sanctity (the which, that I may not anywise abate its repute, I will not name), wherein no great while agone, there being then no more than eight nuns and an abbess, all young, in the nunnery, a poor silly dolt of a fellow was gardener of a very goodly garden of theirs, who, being miscontent with his wage, settled his accounts with the ladies' bailiff and returned to Lamporecchio, whence he came. There, amongst others who welcomed him home, was a young labouring man, stout and robust and (for a countryman) a well\u2013favoured fellow, by name of Masetto, who asked him where he had been so long. The good man, whose name was Nuto, told him, whereupon Masetto asked him in what he had served the convent, and he, 'I tended a great and goodly garden of theirs, and moreover I went while to the coppice for faggots and drew water and did other such small matters of service; but the nuns gave me so little wage that I could scare find me in shoon withal. Besides, they are all young and methinketh they are possessed of the devil, for there was no doing anything to their liking; nay, when I was at work whiles in the hortyard, quoth one, \"Set this here,\" and another, \"Set that here,\" and a third snatched the spade from my hand, saying, \"That is naught\"; brief, they gave me so much vexation that I would leave work be and begone out of the hortyard; insomuch that, what with one thing and what with another, I would abide there no longer and took myself off. When I came away, their bailiff besought me, an I could lay my hand on any one apt unto that service, to send the man to him, and I promised it him; but may God make him sound of the loins as he whom I shall get him, else will I send him none at all!' Masetto, hearing this, was taken with so great a desire to be with these nuns that he was all consumed therewith, judging from Nuto's words that he might avail to compass somewhat of that which he desired. However, foreseeing that he would fail of his purpose, if he discovered aught thereof to Nuto, he said to the latter, 'Egad, thou didst well to come away. How is a man to live with women? He were better abide with devils. Six times out of seven they know not what they would have themselves.' But, after they had made an end of their talk, Masetto began to cast about what means he should take to be with them and feeling himself well able to do the offices of which Nuto had spoken, he had no fear of being refused on that head, but misdoubted him he might not be received, for that he was young and well\u2013looked. Wherefore, after pondering many things in himself, he bethought himself thus: 'The place is far hence and none knoweth me there, an I can but make a show of being dumb, I shall for certain be received there.' Having fixed upon this device, he set out with an axe he had about his neck, without telling any whither he was bound, and betook himself, in the guise of a beggarman, to the convent, where being come, he entered in and as luck would have it, found the bailiff in the courtyard. Him he accosted with signs such as dumb folk use and made a show of asking food of him for the love of God and that in return he would, an it were needed, cleave wood for him. The bailiff willingly gave him to eat and after set before him divers logs that Nuto had not availed to cleave, but of all which Masetto, who was very strong, made a speedy despatch. By and by, the bailiff, having occasion to go to the coppice, carried him thither and put him to cutting faggots; after which, setting the ass before him, he gave him to understand by signs that he was to bring them home. This he did very well; wherefore the bailiff kept him there some days, so he might have him do certain things for which he had occasion. One day it chanced that the abbess saw him and asked the bailiff who he was. 'Madam,' answered he, 'this is a poor deaf and dumb man, who came hither the other day to ask an alms; so I took him in out of charity and have made him do sundry things of which we had need. If he knew how to till the hortyard and chose to abide with us, I believe we should get good service of him; for that we lack such an one and he is strong and we could make what we would of him; more by token that you would have no occasion to fear his playing the fool with yonder lasses of yours.' 'I' faith,' rejoined the abbess, 'thou sayst sooth. Learn if he knoweth how to till and study to keep him here; give him a pair of shoes and some old hood or other and make much of him, caress him, give him plenty to eat.' Which the bailiff promised to do. Masetto was not so far distant but he heard all this, making a show the while of sweeping the courtyard, and said merrily in himself, 'An you put me therein, I will till you your hortyard as it was never tilled yet.' Accordingly, the bailiff, seeing that he knew right well how to work, asked him by signs if he had a mind to abide there and he replied on like wise that he would do whatsoever he wished; whereupon the bailiff engaged him and charged him till the hortyard, showing him what he was to do; after which he went about other business of the convent and left him. Presently, as Masetto went working one day after another, the nuns fell to plaguing him and making mock of him, as ofttimes it betideth that folk do with mutes, and bespoke him the naughtiest words in the world, thinking he understood them not; whereof the abbess, mayhap supposing him to be tailless as well as tongueless, recked little or nothing. It chanced one day, however, that, as he rested himself after a hard morning's work, two young nuns, who went about the garden, drew near the place where he lay and fell to looking upon him, whilst he made a show of sleeping. Presently quoth one who was somewhat the bolder of the twain to the other, 'If I thought thou wouldst keep my counsel, I would tell thee a thought which I have once and again had and which might perchance profit thee also.' 'Speak in all assurance,' answered the other, 'for certes I will never tell it to any.' Then said the forward wench, 'I know not if thou have ever considered how straitly we are kept and how no man dare ever enter here, save the bailiff, who is old, and yonder dumb fellow; and I have again and again heard ladies, who come to visit us, say that all other delights in the world are but toys in comparison with that which a woman enjoyeth, whenas she hath to do with a man. Wherefore I have often had it in mind to make trial with this mute, since with others I may not, if it be so. And indeed he is the best in the world to that end, for that, e'en if he would, he could not nor might tell it again. Thou seest he is a poor silly lout of a lad, who hath overgrown his wit, and I would fain hear how thou deemest of the thing.' 'Alack!' rejoined the other, 'what is this thou sayest? Knowest thou not that we have promised our virginity to God?' 'Oh, as for that,' answered the first, 'how many things are promised Him all day long, whereof not one is fulfilled unto Him! An we have promised it Him, let Him find Himself another or others to perform it to Him.' 'Or if,' went on her fellow, 'we should prove with child, how would it go then?' Quoth the other, 'Thou beginnest to take thought unto ill ere it cometh; when that betideth, then will we look to it; there will be a thousand ways for us of doing so that it shall never be known, provided we ourselves tell it not.' The other, hearing this and having now a greater itch than her companion to prove what manner beast a man was, said, 'Well, then, how shall we do?' Quoth the first, 'Thou seest it is nigh upon none and methinketh the sisters are all asleep, save only ourselves; let us look about the hortyard if there be any there, and if there be none, what have we to do but to take him by the hand and carry him into yonder hut, whereas he harboureth against the rain, and there let one of us abide with him, whilst the other keepeth watch? He is so simple that he will do whatever we will.' Masetto heard all this talk and disposed to compliance, waited but to be taken by one of the nuns. The latter having looked well all about and satisfied themselves that they could be seen from nowhere, she who had broached the matter came up to Masetto and aroused him, whereupon he rose incontinent to his feet. The nun took him coaxingly by the hand and led him, grinning like an idiot, to the hut, where, without overmuch pressing, he did what she would. Then, like a loyal comrade, having had her will, she gave place to her fellow, and Masetto, still feigning himself a simpleton, did their pleasure. Before they departed thence, each of the girls must needs once more prove how the mute could horse it, and after devising with each other, they agreed that the thing was as delectable as they had heard, nay, more so. Accordingly, watching their opportunity, they went oftentimes at fitting seasons to divert themselves with the mute, till one day it chanced that one of their sisters, espying them in the act from the lattice of her cell, showed it to other twain. At first they talked of denouncing the culprits to the abbess, but, after, changing counsel and coming to an accord with the first two, they became sharers with them in Masetto's services, and to them the other three nuns were at divers times and by divers chances added as associates. Ultimately, the abbess, who had not yet gotten wind of these doings, walking one day alone in the garden, the heat being great, found Masetto (who had enough of a little fatigue by day, because of overmuch posting it by night) stretched out asleep under the shade of an almond\u2013tree, and the wind lifting the forepart of his clothes, all abode discovered. The lady, beholding this and seeing herself alone, fell into that same appetite which had gotten hold of her nuns, and arousing Masetto, carried him to her chamber, where, to the no small miscontent of the others, who complained loudly that the gardener came not to till the hortyard, she kept him several days, proving and reproving that delight which she had erst been wont to blame in others. At last she sent him back to his own lodging, but was fain to have him often again and as, moreover, she required of him more than her share, Masetto, unable to satisfy so many, bethought himself that his playing the mute might, an it endured longer, result in his exceeding great hurt. Wherefore, being one night with the abbess, he gave loose to his tongue and bespoke her thus: 'Madam, I have heard say that one cock sufficeth unto half a score hens, but that half a score men can ill or hardly satisfy one woman; whereas needs must I serve nine, and to this I can no wise endure; nay, for that which I have done up to now, I am come to such a pass that I can do neither little nor much; wherefore do ye either let me go in God's name or find a remedy for the matter.' The abbess, hearing him speak whom she held dumb, was all amazed and said, 'What is this? Methought thou wast dumb.' 'Madam,' answered Masetto, 'I was indeed dumb, not by nature, but by reason of a malady which bereft me of speech, and only this very night for the first time do I feel it restored to me, wherefore I praise God as most I may.' The lady believed this and asked him what he meant by saying that he had to serve nine. Masetto told her how the case stood, whereby she perceived that she had no nun but was far wiser than herself; but, like a discreet woman as she was, she resolved to take counsel with her nuns to find some means of arranging the matter, without letting Masetto go, so the convent might not be defamed by him. Accordingly, having openly confessed to one another that which had been secretly done of each, they all of one accord, with Masetto's consent, so ordered it that the people round about believed speech to have been restored to him, after he had long been mute, through their prayers and by the merits of the saint in whose name the convent was intituled, and their bailiff being lately dead, they made Masetto bailiff in his stead and apportioned his toils on such wise that he could endure them. Thereafter, albeit he began upon them monikins galore, the thing was so discreetly ordered that nothing took vent thereof till after the death of the abbess, when Masetto began to grow old and had a mind to return home rich. The thing becoming known, enabled him lightly to accomplish his desire, and thus Masetto, having by his foresight contrived to employ his youth to good purpose, returned in his old age, rich and a father, without being at the pains or expense of rearing children, to the place whence he had set out with an axe about his neck, avouching that thus did Christ entreat whoso set horns to his cap.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A HORSEKEEPER LIETH WITH THE WIFE OF KING AGILULF, WHO, BECOMING AWARE THEREOF, WITHOUT WORD SAID, FINDETH HIM OUT AND POLLETH HIM; BUT THE POLLED MAN POLLETH ALL HIS FELLOWS ON LIKE WISE AND SO ESCAPETH ILL HAP",
                "text": "The end of Filostrato's story, whereat whiles the ladies had some little blushed and other whiles laughed, being come, it pleased the queen that Pampinea should follow on with a story, and she accordingly, beginning with a smiling countenance, said, \"Some are so little discreet in seeking at all hazards to show that they know and apprehend that which it concerneth them not to know, that whiles, rebuking to this end unperceived defects in others, they think to lessen their own shame, whereas they do infinitely augment it; and that this is so I purpose, lovesome ladies, to prove to you by the contrary thereof, showing you the astuteness of one who, in the judgment of a king of worth and valour, was held belike of less account than Masetto himself.\"\n\nAgilulf, King of the Lombards, as his predecessors had done, fixed the seat of his kingship at Pavia, a city of Lombardy, and took to wife Theodolinda the widow of Autari, likewise King of the Lombards, a very fair lady and exceeding discreet and virtuous, but ill fortuned in a lover. The affairs of the Lombards having, thanks to the valour and judgment of King Agilulf, been for some time prosperous and in quiet, it befell that one of the said queen's horse\u2013keepers, a man of very low condition, in respect of birth, but otherwise of worth far above so mean a station, and comely of person and tall as he were the king, became beyond measure enamoured of his mistress. His mean estate hindered him not from being sensible that this love of his was out of all reason, wherefore, like a discreet man as he was, he discovered it unto none, nor dared he make it known to her even with his eyes. But, albeit he lived without any hope of ever winning her favour, yet inwardly he gloried in that he had bestowed his thoughts in such high place, and being all aflame with amorous fire, he studied, beyond every other of his fellows, to do whatsoever he deemed might pleasure the queen; whereby it befell that, whenas she had occasion to ride abroad, she liefer mounted the palfrey of which he had charge than any other; and when this happened, he reckoned it a passing great favour to himself nor ever stirred from her stirrup, accounting himself happy what time he might but touch her clothes. But, as often enough we see it happen that, even as hope groweth less, so love waxeth greater, so did it betide this poor groom, insomuch that sore uneath it was to him to avail to brook his great desire, keeping it, as he did, hidden and being upheld by no hope; and many a time, unable to rid himself of that his love, he determined in himself to die. And considering inwardly of the manner, he resolved to seek his death on such wise that it should be manifest he died for the love he bore the queen, to which end he bethought himself to try his fortune in an enterprise of such a sort as should afford him a chance of having or all or part of his desire. He set not himself to seek to say aught to the queen nor to make her sensible of his love by letters, knowing he should speak and write in vain, but chose rather to essay an he might by practice avail to lie with her; nor was there any other shift for it but to find a means how he might, in the person of the king, who, he knew, lay not with her continually, contrive to make his way to her and enter her bedchamber. Accordingly, that he might see on what wise and in what habit the king went, whenas he visited her, he hid himself several times by night in a great saloon of the palace, which lay between the king's bedchamber and that of the queen, and one night, amongst others, he saw the king come forth of his chamber, wrapped in a great mantle, with a lighted taper in one hand and a little wand in the other, and making for the queen's chamber, strike once or twice upon the door with the wand, without saying aught, whereupon it was incontinent opened to him and the taper taken from his hand. Noting this and having seen the king return after the same fashion, he bethought himself to do likewise. Accordingly, finding means to have a cloak like that which he had seen the king wear, together with a taper and a wand, and having first well washed himself in a bagnio, lest haply the smell of the muck should offend the queen or cause her smoke the cheat, he hid himself in the great saloon, as of wont. Whenas he knew that all were asleep and it seemed to him time either to give effect to his desire or to make his way by high emprise to the wished\u2013for death, he struck a light with a flint and steel he had brought with him and kindling the taper, wrapped himself fast in the mantle, then, going up to the chamber\u2013door, smote twice upon it with the wand. The door was opened by a bedchamber\u2013woman, all sleepy\u2013eyed, who took the light and covered it; whereupon, without saying aught, he passed within the curtain, put off his mantle and entered the bed where the queen slept. Then, taking her desirefully in his arms and feigning himself troubled (for that he knew the king's wont to be that, whenas he was troubled, he cared not to hear aught), without speaking or being spoken to, he several times carnally knew the queen; after which, grievous as it seemed to him to depart, yet, fearing lest his too long stay should be the occasion of turning the gotten delight into dolour, he arose and taking up the mantle and the light, withdrew, without word said, and returned, as quickliest he might, to his own bed. He could scarce yet have been therein when the king arose and repaired to the queen's chamber, whereat she marvelled exceedingly; and as he entered the bed and greeted her blithely, she took courage by his cheerfulness and said, 'O my lord, what new fashion is this of to\u2013night? You left me but now, after having taken pleasure of me beyond your wont, and do you return so soon? Have a care what you do.' The king, hearing these words, at once concluded that the queen had been deceived by likeness of manners and person, but, like a wise man, bethought himself forthright, seeing that neither she nor any else had perceived the cheat, not to make her aware thereof; which many simpletons would not have done, but would have said, 'I have not been here, I. Who is it hath been here? How did it happen? Who came hither?' Whence many things might have arisen, whereby he would needlessly have afflicted the lady and given her ground for desiring another time that which she had already tasted; more by token that, an he kept silence of the matter, no shame might revert to him, whereas, by speaking, he would have brought dishonour upon himself. The king, then, more troubled at heart than in looks or speech, answered, saying, 'Wife, seem I not to you man enough to have been here a first time and to come yet again after that?' 'Ay, my lord,' answered she. 'Nevertheless, I beseech you have regard to your health.' Quoth Agilulf, 'And it pleaseth me to follow your counsel, wherefore for the nonce I will get me gone again, without giving you more annoy.' This said, taking up his mantle, he departed the chamber, with a heart full of wrath and despite for the affront that he saw had been done him, and bethought himself quietly to seek to discover the culprit, concluding that he must be of the household and could not, whoever he might be, have issued forth of the palace. Accordingly, taking a very small light in a little lantern, he betook himself to a very long gallery that was over the stables of his palace and where all his household slept in different beds, and judging that, whoever he might be that had done what the queen said, his pulse and the beating of his heart for the swink endured could not yet have had time to abate, he silently, beginning at one end of the gallery, fell to feeling each one's breast, to know if his heart beat high. Although every other slept fast, he who had been with the queen was not yet asleep, but, seeing the king come and guessing what he went seeking, fell into such a fright that to the beating of the heart caused by the late\u2013had fatigue, fear added yet a greater and he doubted not but the king, if he became aware of this, would put him to death without delay, and many things passed through his thought that he should do. However, seeing him all unarmed, he resolved to feign sleep and await what he should do. Agilulf, then, having examined many and found none whom he judged to be he of whom he was in quest, came presently to the horsekeeper and feeling his heart beat high, said in himself, 'This is the man.' Nevertheless, an he would have nought be known of that which he purposed to do, he did nought to him but poll, with a pair of scissors he had brought with him, somewhat on one side of his hair, which they then wore very long, so by that token he might know him again on the morrow; and this done, he withdrew and returned to his own chamber. The culprit, who had felt all this, like a shrewd fellow as he was, understood plainly enough why he had been thus marked; wherefore he arose without delay and finding a pair of shears, whereof it chanced there were several about the stables for the service of the horses, went softly up to all who lay in the gallery and clipped each one's hair on like wise over the ear; which having done without being observed, he returned to sleep. When the king arose in the morning, he commanded that all his household should present themselves before him, or ever the palace\u2013doors were opened; and it was done as he said. Then, as they all stood before him with uncovered heads, he began to look that he might know him whom he had polled; but, seeing the most part of them with their hair clipped after one and the same fashion, he marvelled and said in himself, 'He whom I seek, for all he may be of mean estate, showeth right well he is of no mean wit.' Then, seeing that he could not, without making a stir, avail to have him whom he sought, and having no mind to incur a great shame for the sake of a paltry revenge, it pleased him with one sole word to admonish the culprit and show him that he was ware of the matter; wherefore, turning to all who were present, he said, 'Let him who did it do it no more and get you gone in peace.' Another would have been for giving them the strappado, for torturing, examining and questioning, and doing this, would have published that which every one should go about to conceal; and having thus discovered himself, though he should have taken entire revenge for the affront suffered, his shame had not been minished, nay, were rather much enhanced therefor and his lady's honour sullied. Those who heard the king's words marvelled and long debated amongst themselves what he meant by this speech; but none understood it, save he whom it concerned, and he, like a wise man, never, during Agilulf's lifetime, discovered the matter nor ever again committed his life to the hazard of such a venture.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "UNDER COLOUR OF CONFESSION AND OF EXCEEDING NICENESS OF CONSCIENCE, A LADY, BEING ENAMOURED OF A YOUNG MAN, BRINGETH A GRAVE FRIAR, WITHOUT HIS MISDOUBTING HIM THEREOF, TO AFFORD A MEANS OF GIVING ENTIRE EFFECT TO HER PLEASURE",
                "text": "Pampinea being now silent and the daring and subtlety of the horsekeeper having been extolled by several of the company, as also the king's good sense, the queen, turning to Filomena, charged her follow on; whereupon she blithely began to speak thus, \"I purpose to recount to you a cheat which was in very deed put by a fair lady upon a grave friar and which should be so much the more pleasing to every layman as these \u2014friars, to wit\u2014, albeit for the most part very dull fools and men of strange manners and usances, hold themselves to be in everything both better worth and wiser than others, whereas they are of far less account than the rest of mankind, being men who, lacking, of the meanness of their spirit, the ability to provide themselves, take refuge, like swine, whereas they may have what to eat. And this story, charming ladies, I shall tell you, not only for the ensuing of the order imposed, but to give you to know withal that even the clergy, to whom we women, beyond measure credulous as we are, yield overmuch faith, can be and are whiles adroitly befooled, and that not by men only, but even by certain of our own sex.\"\n\nIn our city, the which is fuller of cozenage than of love or faith, there was, not many years agone, a gentlewoman adorned with beauty and charms and as richly endowed by nature as any of her sex with engaging manners and loftiness of spirit and subtle wit, whose name albeit I know, I purpose not to discover it, no, nor any other that pertaineth unto the present story, for that there be folk yet alive who would take it in despite, whereas it should be passed over with a laugh. This lady, then, seeing herself, though of high lineage, married to a wool\u2013monger and unable, for that he was a craftsman, to put off the haughtiness of her spirit, whereby she deemed no man of mean condition, how rich soever he might be, worthy of a gentlewoman and seeing him moreover, for all his wealth, to be apt unto nothing of more moment than to lay a warp for a piece of motley or let weave a cloth or chaffer with a spinster anent her yarn, resolved on no wise to admit of his embraces, save in so far as she might not deny him, but to seek, for her own satisfaction, to find some one who should be worthier of her favours than the wool\u2013monger appeared to her to be, and accordingly fell so fervently in love with a man of very good quality and middle age, that, whenas she saw him not by day, she could not pass the ensuing night without unease. The gentleman, perceiving not how the case stood, took no heed of her, and she, being very circumspect, dared not make the matter known to him by sending of women nor by letter, fearing the possible perils that might betide. However, observing that he companied much with a churchman, who, albeit a dull lump of a fellow, was nevertheless, for that he was a man of very devout life, reputed of well nigh all a most worthy friar, she bethought herself that this latter would make an excellent go\u2013between herself and her lover and having considered what means she should use, she repaired, at a fitting season, to the church where he abode, and letting call him to her, told him that, an he pleased, she would fain confess herself to him. The friar seeing her and judging her to be a woman of condition, willingly gave ear to her, and she, after confession, said to him, 'Father mine, it behoveth me have recourse to you for aid and counsel anent that which you shall hear. I know, as having myself told you, that you know my kinsfolk and my husband, who loveth me more than his life, nor is there aught I desire but I have it of him incontinent, he being a very rich man and one who can well afford it; wherefore I love him more than mine own self and should I but think, let alone do, aught that might be contrary to his honour and pleasure, there were no woman more wicked or more deserving of the fire than I. Now one, whose name in truth I know not, but who is, meseemeth, a man of condition, and is, if I mistake not, much in your company,\u2014a well\u2013favoured man and tall of his person and clad in very decent sad\u2013coloured raiment,\u2014unaware belike of the constancy of my purpose, appeareth to have laid siege to me, nor can I show myself at door or window nor go without the house, but he incontinent presenteth himself before me, and I marvel that he is not here now; whereat I am sore concerned, for that such fashions as these often bring virtuous women into reproach, without their fault. I have whiles had it in mind to have him told of this by my brothers; but then I have bethought me that men oftentimes do messages on such wise that ill answers ensue, which give rise to words and from words they come to deeds; wherefore, lest mischief spring therefrom and scandal, I have kept silence of the matter and have determined to discover it to yourself rather than to another, at once because meseemeth you are his friend and for that it beseemeth you to rebuke not only friends, but strangers, of such things. I beseech you, therefore, for the one God's sake, that you rebuke him of this and pray him leave these his fashions. There be women enough, who incline belike to these toys and would take pleasure in being dogged and courted by him, whereas to me, who have no manner of mind to such matters, it is a very grievous annoy.' So saying, she bowed her head as she would weep. The holy friar understood incontinent of whom she spoke and firmly believing what she said to be true, greatly commended her righteous intent and promised her to do on such wise that she should have no farther annoy from the person in question; and knowing her to be very rich, he commended to her works of charity and almsdeeds, recounting to her his own need. Quoth the lady, 'I beseech you thereof for God's sake, and should he deny, prithee scruple not to tell him that it was I who told you this and complained to you thereof.' Then, having made her confession and gotten her penance, recalling the friar's exhortations to works of almsgiving, she stealthily filled his hand with money, praying him to say masses for the souls of her dead kinsfolk; after which she rose from his feet and taking leave of him, returned home. Not long after up came the gentleman, according to his wont, and after they had talked awhile of one thing and another, the friar, drawing his friend aside, very civilly rebuked him of the manner in which, as he believed, he pursued and spied upon the lady aforesaid, according to that which she had given him to understand. The other marvelled, as well he might, having never set eyes upon her and being used very rarely to pass before her house, and would have excused himself; but the friar suffered him not to speak, saying, 'Now make no show of wonderment nor waste words in denying it, for it will avail thee nothing; I learnt not these matters from the neighbours; nay, she herself told them to me, complaining sore of thee. And besides that such toys beseem not a man of thine age, I may tell thee this much of her, that if ever I saw a woman averse to these follies, it is she; wherefore, for thine own credit and her comfort, I prithee desist therefrom and let her be in peace.' The gentleman, quicker of wit than the friar, was not slow to apprehend the lady's device and feigning to be somewhat abashed, promised to meddle no more with her thenceforward; then, taking leave of the friar, he betook himself to the house of the lady, who still abode await at a little window, so she might see him, should he pass that way. When she saw him come, she showed herself so rejoiced and so gracious to him, that he might very well understand that he had gathered the truth from the friar's words, and thenceforward, under colour of other business, he began with the utmost precaution to pass continually through the street, to his own pleasure and to the exceeding delight and solace of the lady. After awhile, perceiving that she pleased him even as he pleased her and wishful to inflame him yet more and to certify him of the love she bore him, she betook herself again, choosing her time and place, to the holy friar and seating herself at his feet in the church, fell a\u2013weeping. The friar, seeing this, asked her affectionately what was to do with her anew. 'Alack, father mine,' answered she, 'that which aileth me is none other than yonder God\u2013accursed friend of yours, of whom I complained to you the other day, for that methinketh he was born for my especial torment and to make me do a thing, such that I should never be glad again nor ever after dare to seat myself at your feet.' 'How?' cried the friar. 'Hath he not given over annoying thee?' 'No, indeed,' answered she; 'nay, since I complained to you of him, as if of despite, maybe taking it ill that I should have done so, for every once he used to pass before my house, I verily believe he hath passed seven times. And would to God he were content with passing and spying upon me! Nay, he is grown so bold and so malapert that but yesterday he despatched a woman to me at home with his idle tales and toys and sent me a purse and a girdle, as if I had not purses and girdles galore; the which I took and take so ill that I believe, but for my having regard to the sin of it and after for the love of you, I had played the devil. However, I contained myself and would not do or say aught whereof I should not first have let you know. Nay, I had already returned the purse and the girdle to the baggage who brought them, that she might carry them back to him, and had given her a rough dismissal, but after, fearing she might keep them for herself and tell him that I had accepted them, as I hear women of her fashion do whiles, I called her back and took them, full of despite, from her hands and have brought them to you, so you may return them to him and tell him I want none of his trash, for that, thanks to God and my husband, I have purses and girdles enough to smother him withal. Moreover, if hereafter he desist not from this, I tell you, as a father, you must excuse me, but I will tell it, come what may, to my husband and my brothers; for I had far liefer he should brook an affront, if needs he must, than that I should suffer blame for him; wherefore let him look to himself.' So saying, still weeping sore, she pulled out from under her surcoat a very handsome and rich purse and a quaint and costly girdle and threw them into the lap of the friar, who, fully crediting that which she told him and incensed beyond measure, took them and said to her, 'Daughter, I marvel not that thou art provoked at these doings, nor can I blame thee therefor; but I much commend thee for following my counsel in the matter. I rebuked him the other day and he hath ill performed that which he promised me; wherefore, as well for that as for this that he hath newly done, I mean to warm his ears for him after such a fashion that methinketh he will give thee no farther concern; but do thou, God's benison on thee, suffer not thyself to be so overcome with anger that thou tell it to any of thy folk, for that overmuch harm might ensue thereof unto him. Neither fear thou lest this blame anywise ensue to thee, for I shall still, before both God and men, be a most constant witness to thy virtue.' The lady made believe to be somewhat comforted and leaving that talk, said, as one who knew his greed and that of his fellow\u2013churchmen, 'Sir, these some nights past there have appeared to me sundry of my kinsfolk, who ask nought but almsdeeds, and meseemeth they are indeed in exceeding great torment, especially my mother, who appeareth to me in such ill case and affliction that it is pity to behold. Methinketh she suffereth exceeding distress to see me in this tribulation with yonder enemy of God; wherefore I would have you say me forty masses of Saint Gregory for her and their souls, together with certain of your own prayers, so God may deliver them from that penitential fire.' So saying, she put a florin into his hand, which the holy father blithely received and confirming her devoutness with fair words and store of pious instances, gave her his benison and let her go. The lady being gone, the friar, never thinking how he was gulled, sent for his friend, who, coming and finding him troubled, at once divined that he was to have news of the lady and awaited what the friar should say. The latter repeated that which he had before said to him and bespeaking him anew angrily and reproachfully, rebuked him severely of that which, according to the lady's report, he had done. The gentleman, not yet perceiving the friar's drift, faintly enough denied having sent her the purse and the girdle, so as not to undeceive the friar, in case the lady should have given him to believe that he had done this; whereat the good man was sore incensed and said, 'How canst thou deny it, wicked man that thou art? See, here they are, for she herself brought them to me, weeping; look if thou knowest them.' The gentleman feigned to be sore abashed and answered, 'Yes, I do indeed know them and I confess to you that I did ill; but I swear to you, since I see her thus disposed, that you shall never more hear a word of this.' Brief, after many words, the numskull of a friar gave his friend the purse and the girdle and dismissed him, after rating him amain and beseeching him occupy himself no more with these follies, the which he promised him. The gentleman, overjoyed both at the assurance that himseemed he had of the lady's love and at the goodly gift, was no sooner quit of the friar than he betook himself to a place where he made shift to let his mistress see that he had the one and the other thing; whereat she was mightily rejoiced, more by token that herseemed her device went from good to better. She now awaited nought but her husband's going abroad to give completion to the work, and it befell not long after that it behoved him repair to Genoa on some occasion or other. No sooner had he mounted to horse in the morning and gone his way, than the lady betook herself to the holy man and after many lamentations, said to him, weeping, 'Father mine, I tell you now plainly that I can brook no more; but, for that I promised you the other day to do nought, without first telling you, I am come to excuse myself to you; and that you may believe I have good reason both to weep and to complain, I will tell you what your friend, or rather devil incarnate, did to me this very morning, a little before matins. I know not what ill chance gave him to know that my husband was to go to Genoa yestermorn; algates, this morning, at the time I tell you, he came into a garden of mine and climbing up by a tree to the window of my bedchamber, which giveth upon the garden, had already opened the lattice and was for entering, when I of a sudden awoke and starting up, offered to cry out, nay, would assuredly have cried out, but that he, who was not yet within, besought me of mercy in God's name and yours, telling me who he was; which when I heard, I held my peace for the love of you and naked as I was born, ran and shut the window in his face; whereupon I suppose he took himself off (ill\u2013luck go with him!), for I heard no more of him. Look you now if this be a goodly thing and to be endured. For my part I mean to bear with him no more; nay, I have already forborne him overmuch for the love of you.' The friar, hearing this, was the wrathfullest man alive and knew not what to say, except to ask again and again if she had well certified herself that it was indeed he and not another; to which she answered, 'Praised be God! As if I did not yet know him from another! I tell you it was himself, and although he should deny it, credit him not.' Then said the friar, 'Daughter, there is nothing to be said for it but that this was exceeding effrontery and a thing exceeding ill done, and in sending him off, as thou didst, thou didst that which it behoved thee to do. But I beseech thee, since God hath preserved thee from shame, that, like as thou hast twice followed my counsel, even so do thou yet this once; to wit, without complaining to any kinsman of thine, leave it to me to see an I can bridle yonder devil broke loose, whom I believed a saint. If I can make shift to turn him from this lewdness, well and good; if not, I give thee leave henceforth to do with him that which thy soul shall judge best, and my benison go with thee.' 'Well, then,' answered the lady, 'for this once I will well not to vex or disobey you; but look you do on such wise that he be ware of annoying me again, for I promise you I will never again return to you for this cause.' Thereupon, without saying more, she took leave of the friar and went away, as if in anger. Hardly was she out of the church when up came the gentleman and was called by the friar, who, taking him apart, gave him the soundest rating ever man had, calling him disloyal and forsworn and traitor. The other, who had already twice had occasion to know to what the monk's reprimands amounted, abode expectant and studied with embarrassed answers to make him speak out, saying, at the first, 'Why all this passion, Sir? Have I crucified Christ?' Whereupon, 'Mark this shameless fellow!' cried the friar. 'Hear what he saith! He speaketh as if a year or two were passed and he had for lapse of time forgotten his misdeeds and his lewdness! Hath it then escaped thy mind between this and matinsong that thou hast outraged some one this very morning? Where wast thou this morning a little before day?' 'I know not,' answered the gentleman; 'but wherever it was, the news thereof hath reached you mighty early.' Quoth the friar, 'Certes, the news hath reached me. Doubtless thou supposedst because her husband was abroad, that needs must the gentlewoman receive thee incontinent in her arms. A fine thing, indeed! Here's a pretty fellow! Here's an honourable man! He's grown a nighthawk, a garden\u2013breaker, a tree\u2013climber! Thinkest thou by importunity to overcome this lady's chastity, that thou climbest up to her windows anights by the trees? There is nought in the world so displeasing to her as thou; yet must thou e'en go essaying it again and again. Truly, thou hast profited finely by my admonitions, let alone that she hath shown thee her aversion in many ways. But this I have to say to thee; she hath up to now, not for any love she beareth thee, but at my instant entreaty, kept silence of that which thou hast done; but she will do so no more; I have given her leave to do what seemeth good to her, an thou annoy her again in aught. What wilt thou do, an she tell her brothers?' The gentleman having now gathered enough of that which it concerned him to know, appeased the friar, as best he knew and might, with many and ample promises, and taking leave of him, waited till matinsong of the ensuing night, when he made his way into the garden and climbed up by the tree to the window. He found the lattice open and entering the chamber as quickliest he might, threw himself into the arms of his fair mistress, who, having awaited him with the utmost impatience, received him joyfully, saying, 'Gramercy to my lord the friar for that he so well taught thee the way hither!' Then, taking their pleasure one of the other, they solaced themselves together with great delight, devising and laughing amain anent the simplicity of the dolt of a friar and gibing at wool\u2013hanks and teasels and carding\u2013combs. Moreover, having taken order for their future converse, they did on such wise that, without having to resort anew to my lord the friar, they foregathered in equal joyance many another night, to the like whereof I pray God, of His holy mercy, speedily to conduct me and all Christian souls who have a mind thereto.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "DOM FELICE TEACHETH FRA PUCCIO HOW HE MAY BECOME BEATIFIED BY PERFORMING A CERTAIN PENANCE OF HIS FASHION, WHICH THE OTHER DOTH, AND DOM FELICE MEANWHILE LEADETH A MERRY LIFE OF IT WITH THE GOOD MAN'S WIFE",
                "text": "Filomena, having made an end of her story, was silent and Dioneo having with dulcet speech mightily commended the lady's shrewdness and eke the prayer with which Filomena had concluded, the queen turned with a smile to Pamfilo and said, \"Come, Pamfilo, continue our diversion with some pleasant trifle.\" Pamfilo promptly answered that he would well and began thus: \"Madam, there are many persons who, what while they study to enter Paradise, unwittingly send others thither; the which happened, no great while since, to a neighbour of ours, as you shall hear.\"\n\nAccording to that which I have heard tell, there abode near San Pancrazio an honest man and a rich, called Puccio di Rinieri, who, devoting himself in his latter days altogether to religious practices, became a tertiary of the order of St. Francis, whence he was styled Fra Puccio, and ensuing this his devout life, much frequented the church, for that he had no family other than a wife and one maid and consequently, it behoved him not apply himself to any craft. Being an ignorant, clod\u2013pated fellow, he said his paternosters, went to preachments and attended mass, nor ever failed to be at the Lauds chanted by the seculars, and fasted and mortified himself; nay, it was buzzed about that he was of the Flagellants. His wife, whose name was Mistress Isabetta, a woman, yet young, of eight\u2013and\u2013twenty to thirty years of age, fresh and fair and plump as a lady\u2013apple, kept, by reason of the piety and belike of the age of her husband, much longer and more frequent fasts than she could have wished, and when she would have slept or maybe frolicked with him, he recounted to her the life of Christ and the preachments of Fra Nastagio or the Complaint of Mary Magdalene or the like. Meantime there returned home from Paris a monk hight Dom Felice, Conventual of San Pancrazio, who was young and comely enough of person, keen of wit and a profound scholar, and with him Fra Puccio contracted a strait friendship. And for that this Dom Felice right well resolved him his every doubt and knowing his pious turn of mind, made him a show of exceeding devoutness, Fra Puccio fell to carrying him home bytimes and giving him to dine and sup, as the occasion offered; and the lady also, for her husband's sake, became familiar with him and willingly did him honour. The monk, then, continuing to frequent Fra Puccio's house and seeing the latter's wife so fresh and plump, guessed what should be the thing whereof she suffered the most default and bethought himself, an he might, to go about to furnish her withal himself, and so spare Fra Puccio fatigue. Accordingly, craftily casting his eyes on her, at one time and another, he made shift to kindle in her breast that same desire which he had himself, which when he saw, he bespoke her of his wishes as first occasion betided him. But, albeit he found her well disposed to give effect to the work, he could find no means thereunto, for that she would on nowise trust herself to be with him in any place in the world save her own house, and there it might not be, seeing that Fra Puccio never went without the town. At this the monk was sore chagrined; but, after much consideration, he hit upon a device whereby he might avail to foregather with the lady in her own house, without suspect, for all Fra Puccio should be at home. Accordingly, the latter coming one day to visit him, he bespoke him thus, 'I have many a time understood, Fra Puccio, that all thy desire is to become a saint and to this end meseemeth thou goest about by a long road, whereas there is another and a very short one, which the Pope and the other great prelates, who know and practise it, will not have made known, for that the clergy, who for the most part live by alms, would incontinent be undone, inasmuch as the laity would no longer trouble themselves to propitiate them with alms or otherwhat. But, for that thou art my friend and hast very honourably entertained me, I would teach it thee, so I were assured thou wouldst practise it and wouldst not discover it to any living soul.' Fra Puccio, eager to know the thing, began straightway to entreat him with the utmost instancy that he would teach it him and then to swear that never, save in so far as it should please him, would he tell it to any, engaging, an if it were such as he might avail to follow, to address himself thereunto. Whereupon quoth the monk, 'Since thou promisest me this, I will e'en discover it to thee. Thou must know that the doctors of the church hold that it behoveth whoso would become blessed to perform the penance which thou shalt hear; but understand me aright; I do not say that, after the penance, thou wilt not be a sinner like as thou presently art; but this will betide, that the sins which thou hast committed up to the time of the penance will all by virtue thereof be purged and pardoned unto thee, and those which thou shalt commit thereafterward will not be written to thy prejudice, but will pass away with the holy water, as venial sins do now. It behoveth a man, then, in the first place, whenas he cometh to begin the penance, to confess himself with the utmost diligence of his sins, and after this he must keep a fast and a very strict abstinence for the space of forty days, during which time thou must abstain from touching, not to say other women, but even thine own wife. Moreover, thou must have in thine own house some place whence thou mayst see the sky by night, whither thou must betake thyself towards the hour of complines, and there thou must have a wide plank set up, on such wise that, standing upright, thou mayst lean thy loins against it and keeping thy feet on the ground, stretch out thine arms, crucifix fashion. An thou wouldst rest them upon some peg or other, thou mayst do it, and on this wise thou must abide gazing upon the sky, without budging a jot, till matins. Wert thou a scholar, thou wouldst do well to repeat certain orisons I would give thee; but, as thou art it not, thou must say three hundred Paternosters and as many Ave Marys, in honour of the Trinity, and looking upon heaven, still have in remembrance that God is the Creator of heaven and earth and the passion of Christ, abiding on such wise as He abode on the cross. When the bell ringeth to matins, thou mayst, an thou wilt, go and cast thyself, clad as thou art, on thy bed and sleep, and after, in the forenoon, betake thyself to church and there hear at least three masses and repeat fifty Paternosters and as many Aves; after which thou shalt with a single heart do all and sundry thine occasions, if thou have any to do, and dine and at evensong be in church again and there say certain orisons which I will give thee by writ and without which it cannot be done. Then, towards complines, do thou return to the fashion aforesaid, and thus doing, even as I have myself done aforetime, I doubt not but, ere thou come to the end of the penance, thou wilt, (provided thou shalt have performed it with devoutness and compunction,) feel somewhat marvellous of eternal beatitude.' Quoth Fra Puccio, 'This is no very burdensome matter, nor yet overlong, and may very well be done; wherefore I purpose in God's name to begin on Sunday.' Then, taking leave of him and returning home, he related everything in due order to his wife, having the other's permission therefor. The lady understood very well what the monk meant by bidding him stand fast without stirring till matins; wherefore, the device seeming to her excellent, she replied that she was well pleased therewith and with every other good work that he did for the health of his soul and that, so God might make the penance profitable to him, she would e'en fast with him, but do no more. They being thus of accord and Sunday come, Fra Puccio began his penance and my lord monk, having agreed with the lady, came most evenings to sup with her, bringing with him store of good things to eat and drink, and after lay with her till matinsong, when he arose and took himself off, whilst Fra Puccio returned to bed. Now the place which Fra Puccio had chosen for his penance adjoined the chamber where the lady lay and was parted therefrom but by a very slight wall, wherefore, Master Monk wantoning it one night overfreely with the lady and she with him, it seemed to Fra Puccio that he felt a shaking of the floor of the house. Accordingly, having by this said an hundred of his Paternosters, he made a stop there and without moving, called to his wife to know what she did. The lady, who was of a waggish turn and was then belike astride of San Benedetto his beast or that of San Giovanni Gualberto, answered, 'I' faith, husband mine, I toss as most I may.' 'How?' quoth Fra Puccio. 'Thou tossest? What meaneth this tossing?' The lady, laughing, for that she was a frolicsome dame and doubtless had cause to laugh, answered merrily; 'How? You know not what it meaneth? Why, I have heard you say a thousand times, \"Who suppeth not by night must toss till morning light.\"' Fra Puccio doubted not but that the fasting was the cause of her unableness to sleep and it was for this she tossed thus about the bed; wherefore, in the simplicity of his heart, 'Wife,' said he, 'I told thee not to fast; but, since thou wouldst e'en do it, think not of that, but address thyself to rest; thou givest such vaults about the bed that thou makest all in the place shake.' 'Have no care for that,' answered the lady; 'I know what I am about; do you but well, you, and I will do as well as I may.' Fra Puccio, accordingly, held his peace and betook himself anew to his Paternosters; and after that night my lord monk and the lady let make a bed in another part of the house, wherein they abode in the utmost joyance what while Fra Puccio's penance lasted. At one and the same hour the monk took himself off and the lady returned to her own bed, whereto a little after came Fra Puccio from his penance; and on this wise the latter continued to do penance, whilst his wife did her delight with the monk, to whom quoth she merrily, now and again, 'Thou hast put Fra Puccio upon performing a penance, whereby we have gotten Paradise.' Indeed, the lady, finding herself in good case, took such a liking to the monk's fare, having been long kept on low diet by her husband, that, whenas Fra Puccio's penance was accomplished, she still found means to feed her fill with him elsewhere and using discretion, long took her pleasure thereof. Thus, then, that my last words may not be out of accord with my first, it came to pass that, whereas Fra Puccio, by doing penance, thought to win Paradise for himself, he put therein the monk, who had shown him the speedy way thither, and his wife, who lived with him in great lack of that whereof Dom Felice, like a charitable man as he was, vouchsafed her great plenty.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "RICCIARDO, SURNAMED IL ZIMA, GIVETH MESSER FRANCESCO VERGELLESI A PALFREY OF HIS AND HATH THEREFOR HIS LEAVE TO SPEAK WITH HIS WIFE. SHE KEEPING SILENCE, HE IN HER PERSON REPLIETH UNTO HIMSELF, AND THE EFFECT AFTER ENSUETH IN ACCORDANCE WITH HIS ANSWER",
                "text": "Pamfilo having made an end, not without laughter on the part of the ladies, of the story of Fra Puccio, the queen with a commanding air bade Elisa follow on. She, rather tartly than otherwise, not out of malice, but of old habit, began to speak thus, \"Many folk, knowing much, imagine that others know nothing, and so ofttimes, what while they think to overreach others, find, after the event, that they themselves have been outwitted of them; wherefore I hold his folly great who setteth himself without occasion to test the strength of another's wit. But, for that maybe all are not of my opinion, it pleaseth me, whilst following on the given order of the discourse, to relate to you that which befell a Pistolese gentleman by reason thereof.\"\n\nThere was in Pistoia a gentleman of the Vergellesi family, by name Messer Francesco, a man of great wealth and understanding and well advised in all else, but covetous beyond measure. Being made provost of Milan, he had furnished himself with everything necessary for his honourable going thither, except only with a palfrey handsome enough for him, and finding none to his liking, he abode in concern thereof. Now there was then in the same town a young man called Ricciardo, of little family, but very rich, who still went so quaintly clad and so brave of his person that he was commonly known as Il Zima, and he had long in vain loved and courted Messer Francesco's wife, who was exceeding fair and very virtuous. Now he had one of the handsomest palfreys in all Tuscany and set great store by it for its beauty and it being public to every one that he was enamoured of Messer Francesco's wife, there were those who told the latter that, should he ask it, he might have the horse for the love Il Zima bore his lady. Accordingly, moved by covetise, Messer Francesco let call Il Zima to him and sought of him his palfrey by way of sale, so he should proffer it to him as a gift. The other, hearing this, was well pleased and made answer to him, saying, \"Sir, though you gave me all you have in the world, you might not avail to have my palfrey by way of sale, but by way of gift you may have it, whenas it pleaseth you, on condition that, ere you take it, I may have leave to speak some words with your lady in your presence, but so far removed from every one that I may be heard of none other than herself.' The gentleman, urged by avarice and looking to outwit the other, answered that it liked him well and that he might speak with her as much as he would; then, leaving him in the saloon of his palace, he betook himself to the lady's chamber and telling her how easily he might acquire the palfrey, bade her come hearken to Il Zima, but charged her take good care to answer neither little or much to aught that he should say. To this the lady much demurred, but, it behoving her ensue her husband's pleasure, she promised to do his bidding and followed him to the saloon, to hear what Il Zima should say. The latter, having renewed his covenant with the gentleman, seated himself with the lady in a part of the saloon at a great distance from every one and began to say thus, 'Noble lady, meseemeth certain that you have too much wit not to have long since perceived how great a love I have been brought to bear you by your beauty, which far transcendeth that of any woman whom methinketh I ever beheld, to say nothing of the engaging manners and the peerless virtues which be in you and which might well avail to take the loftiest spirits of mankind; wherefore it were needless to declare to you in words that this my love is the greatest and most fervent that ever man bore woman; and thus, without fail, will I do so long as my wretched life shall sustain these limbs, nay, longer; for that, if in the other world folk love as they do here below, I shall love you to all eternity. Wherefore you may rest assured that you have nothing, be it much or little worth, that you may hold so wholly yours and whereon you may in every wise so surely reckon as myself, such as I am, and that likewise which is mine. And that of this you may take assurance by very certain argument, I tell you that I should count myself more graced, did you command me somewhat that I might do and that would pleasure you, than if, I commanding, all the world should promptliest obey me. Since, then, I am yours, even as you have heard, it is not without reason that I dare to offer up my prayers to your nobility, wherefrom alone can all peace, all health and all well\u2013being derive for me, and no otherwhence; yea, as the humblest of your servants, I beseech you, dear my good and only hope of my soul, which, midmost the fire of love, feedeth upon its hope in you,\u2014that your benignity may be so great and your past rigour shown unto me, who am yours, on such wise be mollified that I, recomforted by your kindness, may say that, like as by your beauty I was stricken with love, even so by your pity have I life, which latter, an your haughty soul incline not to my prayers, will without fail come to nought and I shall perish and you may be said to be my murderer. Letting be that my death will do you no honour, I doubt not eke but that, conscience bytimes pricking you therefor, you will regret having wrought it and whiles, better disposed, will say in yourself, \"Alack, how ill I did not to have compassion upon my poor Zima!\" and this repentance, being of no avail, will cause you the great annoy. Wherefore, so this may not betide, now that you have it in your power to succour me, bethink yourself and ere I die, be moved to pity on me, for that with you alone it resteth to make me the happiest or the most miserable man alive. I trust your courtesy will be such that you will not suffer me to receive death in guerdon of such and so great a love, but will with a glad response and full of favour quicken my fainting spirits, which flutter, all dismayed, in your presence.' Therewith he held his peace and heaving the deepest of sighs, followed up with sundry tears, proceeded to await the lady's answer. The latter,\u2014whom the long court he had paid her, the joustings held and the serenades given in her honour and other like things done of him for the love of her had not availed to move,\u2014was moved by the passionate speech of this most ardent lover and began to be sensible of that which she had never yet felt, to wit, what manner of thing love was; and albeit, in ensuance of the commandment laid upon her by her husband, she kept silence, she could not withal hinder sundry gentle sighs from discovering that which, in answer to Il Zima, she would gladly have made manifest. Il Zima, having waited awhile and seeing that no response ensued, was wondered and presently began to divine the husband's device; but yet, looking her in the face and observing certain flashes of her eyes towards him now and again and noting, moreover, the sighs which she suffered not to escape her bosom with all her strength, conceived fresh hope and heartened thereby, took new counsel and proceeded to answer himself after the following fashion, she hearkening the while: 'Zima mine, this long time, in good sooth, have I perceived thy love for me to be most great and perfect, and now by thy words I know it yet better and am well pleased therewith, as indeed I should be. Algates, an I have seemed to thee harsh and cruel, I will not have thee believe that I have at heart been that which I have shown myself in countenance; nay, I have ever loved thee and held thee dear above all other men; but thus hath it behoved me do, both for fear of others and for the preserving of my fair fame. But now is the time at hand when I may show thee clearly that I love thee and guerdon thee of the love that thou hast borne and bearest me. Take comfort, therefore, and be of good hope, for that a few days hence Messer Francesco is to go to Milan for provost, as indeed thou knowest, who hast for the love of me given him thy goodly palfrey; and whenas he shall be gone, I promise thee by my troth and of the true love I bear thee, that, before many days, thou shalt without fail foregather with me and we will give gladsome and entire accomplishment to our love. And that I may not have to bespeak thee otherwhiles of the matter, I tell thee presently that, whenas thou shalt see two napkins displayed at the window of my chamber, which giveth upon our garden, do thou that same evening at nightfall make shift to come to me by the garden door, taking good care that thou be not seen. Thou wilt find me awaiting thee and we will all night long have delight and pleasance one of another, to our hearts' content.' Having thus spoken for the lady, he began again to speak in his own person and rejoined on this wise, 'Dearest lady, my every sense is so transported with excessive joy for your gracious reply that I can scarce avail to make response, much less to render you due thanks; nay, could I e'en speak as I desire, there is no term so long that it might suffice me fully to thank you as I would fain do and as it behoveth me; wherefore I leave it to your discreet consideration to imagine that which, for all my will, I am unable to express in words. This much only I tell you that I will without fail bethink myself to do as you have charged me, and being then, peradventure, better certified of so great a grace as that which you have vouchsafed me, I will, as best I may, study to render you the utmost thanks in my power. For the nonce there abideth no more to say; wherefore, dearest lady mine, God give you that gladness and that weal which you most desire, and so to Him I commend you.' For all this the lady said not a word; whereupon Il Zima arose and turned towards the husband, who, seeing him risen, came up to him and said, laughing 'How deemest thou? Have I well performed my promise to thee?' 'Nay, sir' answered Il Zima; 'for you promised to let me speak with your lady and you have caused me speak with a marble statue.' These words were mighty pleasing to the husband, who, for all he had a good opinion of the lady, conceived of her a yet better and said, 'Now is thy palfrey fairly mine.' 'Ay is it, sir,' replied Il Zima, 'but, had I thought to reap of this favour received of you such fruit as I have gotten, I had given you the palfrey, without asking it of you; and would God I had done it, for that now you have bought the palfrey and I have not sold it.' The other laughed at this and being now provided with a palfrey, set out upon his way a few days after and betook himself to Milan, to enter upon the Provostship. The lady, left free in her house, called to mind Il Zima's words and the love he bore her and the palfrey given for her sake and seeing him pass often by the house, said in herself, 'What do I? Why waste I my youth? Yonder man is gone to Milan and will not return these six months. When will he ever render me them again? When I am old? Moreover, when shall I ever find such a lover as Il Zima? I am alone and have no one to fear. I know not why I should not take this good opportunity what while I may; I shall not always have such leisure as I presently have. None will know the thing, and even were it to be known, it is better to do and repent, than to abstain and repent.' Having thus taken counsel with herself, she one day set two napkins in the garden window, even as Il Zima had said, which when he saw, he was greatly rejoiced and no sooner was the night come than he betook himself, secretly and alone, to the gate of the lady's garden and finding it open, passed on to another door that opened into the house, where he found his mistress awaiting him. She, seeing him come, started up to meet him and received him with the utmost joy, whilst he clipped and kissed her an hundred thousand times and followed her up the stair to her chamber, where, getting them to bed without a moment's delay, they knew the utmost term of amorous delight. Nor was this first time the last, for that, what while the gentleman abode at Milan and even after his coming back, Il Zima returned thither many another time, to the exceeding satisfaction of both parties.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "RICCIARDO MINUTOLO, BEING ENAMOURED OF THE WIFE OF FILIPPELLO FIGHINOLFI AND KNOWING HER JEALOUSY OF HER HUSBAND, CONTRIVETH, BY REPRESENTING THAT FILIPPELLO WAS ON THE ENSUING DAY TO BE WITH HIS OWN WIFE IN A BAGNIO, TO BRING HER TO THE LATTER PLACE, WHERE, THINKING TO BE WITH HER HUSBAND, SHE FINDETH THAT SHE HATH ABIDDEN WITH RICCIARDO",
                "text": "Elisa having no more to say, the queen, after commending the sagacity of Il Zima, bade Fiammetta proceed with a story, who answered, all smilingly, \"Willingly, Madam,\" and began thus: \"It behoveth somedele to depart our city (which, like as it aboundeth in all things else, is fruitful in instances of every subject) and as Elisa hath done, to recount somewhat of the things that have befallen in other parts of the world; wherefore, passing over to Naples, I shall tell how one of those she\u2013saints, who feign themselves so shy of love, was by the ingenuity of a lover of hers brought to taste the fruits of love, ere she had known its flowers; the which will at once teach you circumspection in the things that may hap and afford you diversion of those already befallen.\"\n\nIn Naples, a very ancient city and as delightful as any in Italy or maybe more so, there was once a young man, illustrious for nobility of blood and noted for his much wealth, whose name was Ricciardo Minutolo. Albeit he had to wife a very fair and lovesome young lady, he fell in love with one who, according to general opinion, far overpassed in beauty all the other ladies of Naples. Her name was Catella and she was the wife of another young gentleman of like condition, hight Filippello Fighinolfi, whom, like a very virtuous woman as she was, she loved and cherished over all. Ricciardo, then, loving this Catella and doing all those things whereby the love and favour of a lady are commonly to be won, yet for all that availing not to compass aught of his desire, was like to despair; and unknowing or unable to rid him of his passion, he neither knew how to die nor did it profit him to live.\n\nAbiding in this mind, it befell that he was one day urgently exhorted by certain ladies of his kinsfolk to renounce this passion of his, seeing he did but weary himself in vain, for that Catella had none other good than Filippello, of whom she lived in such jealousy that she fancied every bird that flew through the air would take him from her. Ricciardo, hearing of Catella's jealousy, forthright bethought himself how he might compass his wishes and accordingly proceeded to feign himself in despair of her love and to have therefore set his mind upon another lady, for whose love he began to make a show of jousting and tourneying and doing all those things which he had been used to do for Catella; nor did he do this long before well nigh all the Neapolitans, and among the rest the lady herself, were persuaded that he no longer loved Catella, but was ardently enamoured of this second lady; and on this wise he persisted until it was so firmly believed not only of others, but of Catella herself, that the latter laid aside a certain reserve with which she was wont to entreat him, by reason of the love he bore her, and coming and going, saluted him familiarly, neighbourwise, as she did others.\n\nIt presently befell that, the weather being warm, many companies of ladies and gentlemen went, according to the usance of the Neapolitans, to divert themselves on the banks of the sea and there to dine and sup, and Ricciardo, knowing Catella to be gone thither with her company, betook himself to the same place with his friends and was received into Catella's party of ladies, after allowing himself to be much pressed, as if he had no great mind to abide there. The ladies and Catella fell to rallying him upon his new love, and he, feigning himself sore inflamed therewith, gave them the more occasion for discourse. Presently, one lady going hither and thither, as commonly happeneth in such places, and Catella being left with a few whereas Ricciardo was, the latter cast at her a hint of a certain amour of Filippello her husband, whereupon she fell into a sudden passion of jealousy and began to be inwardly all afire with impatience to know what he meant. At last, having contained herself awhile and being unable to hold out longer, she besought Ricciardo, for that lady's sake whom he most loved, to be pleased to make her clear of that which he had said of Filippello; whereupon quoth he, 'You conjure me by such a person that I dare not deny aught you ask me; wherefore I am ready to tell it you, so but you promise me that you will never say a word thereof either to him or to any other, save whenas you shall by experience have seen that which I shall tell you to be true; for that, when you please, I will teach you how you may see it.'\n\nThe lady consented to that which he asked and swore to him never to repeat that which he should tell her, believing it the more to be true. Then, withdrawing apart with her, so they might not be overheard of any, he proceeded to say thus: 'Madam, an I loved you as once I loved, I should not dare tell you aught which I thought might vex you; but, since that love is passed away, I shall be less chary of discovering to you the whole truth. I know not if Filippello have ever taken umbrage at the love I bore you or have believed that I was ever loved of you. Be this as it may, he hath never personally shown me aught thereof; but now, having peradventure awaited a time whenas he deemed I should be less suspicious, it seemeth he would fain do unto me that which I misdoubt me he feareth I have done unto him, to wit, he seeketh to have my wife at his pleasure. As I find, he hath for some little time past secretly solicited her with sundry messages, all of which I have known from herself, and she hath made answer thereunto according as I have enjoined her. This very day, however, ere I came hither, I found in the house, in close conference with my wife, a woman whom I set down incontinent for that which she was, wherefore I called my wife and asked her what the woman wanted. Quoth she, \"She is the agent of Filippello, with whom thou hast saddled me, by dint of making me answer him and give him hopes, and she saith that he will e'en know once for all what I mean to do and that, an I will, he would contrive for me to be privily at a bagnio in this city; nay, of this he prayeth and importuneth me; and hadst thou not, I know not why, caused me keep this traffic with him, I would have rid myself of him after such a fashion that he should never more have looked whereas I might be.\" Thereupon meseemed this was going too far and that it was no longer to be borne; and I bethought myself to tell it to you, so you might know how he requiteth that entire fidelity of yours, whereby aforetime I was nigh upon death. And so you shall not believe this that I tell you to be words and fables, but may, whenas you have a mind thereto, openly both see and touch it, I caused my wife make this answer to her who awaited it, that she was ready to be at the bagnio in question to\u2013morrow at none, whenas the folk sleep; with which the woman took leave of her, very well pleased. Now methinketh not you believe that I will send my wife thither; but, were I in your place, I would contrive that he should find me there in the room of her he thinketh to meet, and whenas I had abidden with him awhile, I would give him to know with whom he had been and render him such honour thereof as should beseem him; by which means methinketh you would do him such a shame that the affront he would fain put upon yourself and upon me would at one blow be avenged.'\n\nCatella, hearing this, without anywise considering who it was that said it to her or suspecting his design, forthright, after the wont of jealous folk, gave credence to his words and fell a\u2013fitting to his story certain things that had already befallen; then, fired with sudden anger, she answered that she would certainly do as he counselled,\u2014it was no such great matter,\u2014and that assuredly, if Filippello came thither, she would do him such a shame that it should still recur to his mind, as often as he saw a woman. Ricciardo, well pleased at this and himseeming his device was a good one and in a fair way of success, confirmed her in her purpose with many other words and strengthened her belief in his story, praying her, natheless, never to say that she had heard it from him, the which she promised him on her troth.\n\nNext morning, Ricciardo betook himself to a good woman, who kept the bagnio he had named to Catella, and telling her what he purposed to do, prayed her to further him therein as most she might. The good woman, who was much beholden to him, answered that she would well and agreed with him what she should do and say. Now in the house where the bagnio was she had a very dark chamber, for that no window gave thereon by which the light might enter. This chamber she made ready and spread a bed there, as best she might, wherein Ricciardo, as soon as he had dined, laid himself and proceeded to await Catella. The latter, having heard Ricciardo's words and giving more credence thereto than behoved her, returned in the evening, full of despite, to her house, whither Filippello also returned and being by chance full of other thought, maybe did not show her his usual fondness. When she saw this, her suspicions rose yet higher and she said in herself, 'Forsooth, his mind is occupied with yonder lady with whom he thinketh to take his pleasure to\u2013morrow; but of a surety this shall not come to pass.' An in this thought she abode well nigh all that night, considering how she should bespeak him, whenas she should be with him in the bagnio.\n\nWhat more need I say? The hour of none come, she took her waiting\u2013woman and without anywise changing counsel, repaired to the bagnio that Ricciardo had named to her, and there finding the good woman, asked her if Filippello had been there that day, whereupon quoth the other, who had been duly lessoned by Ricciardo, 'Are you the lady that should come to speak with him?' 'Ay am I,' answered Catella. 'Then,' said the woman, 'get you in to him.' Catella, who went seeking that which she would fain not have found, caused herself to be brought to the chamber where Ricciardo was and entering with covered head, locked herself in. Ricciardo, seeing her enter, rose joyfully to his feet and catching her in his arms, said softly, 'Welcome, my soul!' Whilst she, the better to feign herself other than she was, clipped him and kissed him and made much of him, without saying a word, fearing to be known of him if she should speak. The chamber was very dark, wherewith each of them was well pleased, nor for long abiding there did the eyes recover more power. Ricciardo carried her to the bed and there, without speaking, lest their voices should betray them, they abode a long while, to the greater delight and pleasance of the one party than the other.\n\nBut presently, it seeming to Catella time to vent the resentment she felt, she began, all afire with rage and despite, to speak thus, 'Alas, how wretched is women's lot and how ill bestowed the love that many of them bear their husbands! I, unhappy that I am, these eight years have I loved thee more than my life, and thou, as I have felt, art all afire and all consumed with love of a strange woman, wicked and perverse man that thou art! Now with whom thinkest thou to have been? Thou hast been with her whom thou hast too long beguiled with thy false blandishments, making a show of love to her and being enamoured elsewhere. I am Catella, not Ricciardo's wife, disloyal traitor that thou art! Hearken if thou know my voice; it is indeed I; and it seemeth to me a thousand years till we be in the light, so I may shame thee as thou deservest, scurvy discredited cur that thou art! Alack, woe is me! To whom have I borne so much love these many years? To this disloyal dog, who, thinking to have a strange woman in his arms, hath lavished on me more caresses and more fondnesses in this little while I have been here with him than in all the rest of the time I have been his. Thou hast been brisk enough to\u2013day, renegade cur that thou art, that usest at home to show thyself so feeble and forspent and impotent; but, praised be God, thou hast tilled thine own field and not, as thou thoughtest, that of another. No wonder thou camest not anigh me yesternight; thou lookedst to discharge thee of thy lading elsewhere and wouldst fain come fresh to the battle; but, thanks to God and my own foresight, the stream hath e'en run in its due channel. Why answerest thou not, wicked man? Why sayst thou not somewhat? Art thou grown dumb, hearing me? Cock's faith, I know not what hindereth me from thrusting my hands into thine eyes and tearing them out for thee. Thou thoughtest to do this treason very secretly; but, perdie, one knoweth as much as another; thou hast not availed to compass thine end; I have had better beagles at thy heels than thou thoughtest.'\n\nRicciardo inwardly rejoiced at these words and without making any reply, clipped her and kissed her and fondled her more than ever; whereupon quoth she, following on her speech, 'Ay, thou thinkest to cajole me with thy feigned caresses, fashious dog that thou art, and to appease and console me; but thou art mistaken; I shall never be comforted for this till I have put thee to shame therefor in the presence of all our friends and kinsmen and neighbours. Am I not as fair as Ricciardo's wife, thou villain? Am I not as good a gentlewoman? Why dost thou not answer, thou sorry dog? What hath she more than I? Keep thy distance; touch me not; thou hast done enough feats of arms for to\u2013day. Now thou knowest who I am, I am well assured that all thou couldst do would be perforce; but, so God grant me grace, I will yet cause thee suffer want thereof, and I know not what hindereth me from sending for Ricciardo, who hath loved me more than himself and could never boast that I once even looked at him; nor know I what harm it were to do it. Thou thoughtest to have his wife here and it is as if thou hadst had her, inasmuch as it is none of thy fault that the thing hath miscarried; wherefore, were I to have himself, thou couldst not with reason blame me.'\n\nBrief, many were the lady's words and sore her complaining. However, at last, Ricciardo, bethinking himself that, an he let her go in that belief, much ill might ensue thereof, determined to discover himself and undeceive her; wherefore, catching her in his arms and holding her fast, so she might not get away, he said, 'Sweet my soul, be not angered; that which I could not have of you by simply loving you, Love hath taught me to obtain by practice; and I am your Ricciardo.' Catella, hearing this and knowing him by the voice, would have thrown herself incontinent out of bed, but could not; whereupon she offered to cry out; but Ricciardo stopped her mouth with one hand and said, 'Madam, this that hath been may henceforth on nowise be undone, though you should cry all the days of your life; and if you cry out or cause this ever anywise to be known of any one, two things will come thereof; the one (which should no little concern you) will be that your honour and fair fame will be marred, for that, albeit you may avouch that I brought you hither by practice, I shall say that it is not true, nay, that I caused you come hither for monies and gifts that I promised you, whereof for that I gave you not so largely as you hoped, you waxed angry and made all this talk and this outcry; and you know that folk are more apt to credit ill than good, wherefore I shall more readily be believed than you. Secondly, there will ensue thereof a mortal enmity between your husband and myself, and it may as well happen that I shall kill him as he me, in which case you are never after like to be happy or content. Wherefore, heart of my body, go not about at once to dishonour yourself and to cast your husband and myself into strife and peril. You are not the first woman, nor will you be the last, who hath been deceived, nor have I in this practised upon you to bereave you of your own, but for the exceeding love that I bear you and am minded ever to bear you and to be your most humble servant. And although it is long since I and all that I possess or can or am worth have been yours and at your service, henceforward I purpose that they shall be more than ever so. Now, you are well advised in other things and so I am certain you will be in this.'\n\nCatella, what while Ricciardo spoke thus, wept sore, but, albeit she was sore provoked and complained grievously, nevertheless, her reason allowed so much force to his true words that she knew it to be possible that it should happen as he said; wherefore quoth she, 'Ricciardo, I know not how God will vouchsafe me strength to suffer the affront and the cheat thou hast put upon me; I will well to make no outcry here whither my simplicity and overmuch jealousy have brought me; but of this be assured that I shall never be content till one way or another I see myself avenged of this thou hast done to me. Wherefore, leave me, hold me no longer; thou hast had that which thou desiredst and hast tumbled me to thy heart's content; it is time to leave me; let me go, I prithee.'\n\nRicciardo, seeing her mind yet overmuch disordered, had laid it to heart never to leave her till he had gotten his pardon of her; wherefore, studying with the softest words to appease her, he so bespoke and so entreated and so conjured her that she was prevailed upon to make peace with him, and of like accord they abode together a great while thereafter in the utmost delight. Moreover, Catella, having thus learned how much more savoury were the lover's kisses than those of the husband and her former rigour being changed into kind love\u2013liking for Ricciardo, from that day forth she loved him very tenderly and thereafter, ordering themselves with the utmost discretion, they many a time had joyance of their loves. God grant us to enjoy ours!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TEDALDO ELISEI, HAVING FALLEN OUT WITH HIS MISTRESS, DEPARTETH FLORENCE AND RETURNING THITHER, AFTER AWHILE, IN A PILGRIM'S FAVOUR, SPEAKETH WITH THE LADY AND MAKETH HER COGNISANT OF HER ERROR; AFTER WHICH HE DELIVERETH HER HUSBAND, WHO HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF MURDERING HIM, FROM DEATH AND RECONCILING HIM WITH HIS BRETHREN, THENCEFORWARD DISCREETLY ENJOYETH HIMSELF WITH HIS MISTRESS",
                "text": "Fiammetta being now silent, commended of all, the queen, to lose no time, forthright committed the burden of discourse to Emilia, who began thus: \"It pleaseth me to return to our city, whence it pleased the last two speakers to depart, and to show you how a townsman of ours regained his lost mistress.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Florence a noble youth, whose name was Tedaldo Elisei and who, being beyond measure enamoured of a lady called Madam Ermellina, the wife of one Aldobrandino Palermini, deserved for his praiseworthy fashions, to enjoy his desire. However, Fortune, the enemy of the happy, denied him this solace, for that, whatever might have been the cause, the lady, after complying awhile with Tedaldo's wishes, suddenly altogether withdrew her good graces from him and not only refused to hearken to any message of his, but would on no wise see him; wherefore he fell into a dire and cruel melancholy; but his love for her had been so hidden that none guessed it to be the cause of his chagrin. After he had in divers ways studied amain to recover the love himseemed he had lost without his fault and finding all his labour vain, he resolved to withdraw from the world, that he might not afford her who was the cause of his ill the pleasure of seeing him pine away; wherefore, without saying aught to friend or kinsman, save to a comrade of his, who knew all, he took such monies as he might avail to have and departing secretly, came to Ancona, where, under the name of Filippo di Sanlodeccio, he made acquaintance with a rich merchant and taking service with him, accompanied him to Cyprus on board a ship of his.\n\nHis manners and behaviour so pleased the merchant that he not only assigned him a good wage, but made him in part his associate and put into his hands a great part of his affairs, which he ordered so well and so diligently that in a few years he himself became a rich and famous and considerable merchant; and albeit, in the midst of these his dealings, he oft remembered him of his cruel mistress and was grievously tormented of love and yearned sore to look on her again, such was his constancy that seven years long he got the better of the battle. But, chancing one day to hear sing in Cyprus a song that himself had made aforetime and wherein was recounted the love he bore his mistress and she him and the pleasure he had of her, and thinking it could not be she had forgotten him, he flamed up into such a passion of desire to see her again that, unable to endure longer, he resolved to return to Florence.\n\nAccordingly, having set all his affairs in order, he betook himself with one only servant to Ancona and transporting all his good thither, despatched it to Florence to a friend of the Anconese his partner, whilst he himself, in the disguise of a pilgrim returning from the Holy Sepulchre, followed secretly after with his servant and coming to Florence, put up at a little hostelry kept by two brothers, in the neighbourhood of his mistress's house, whereto he repaired first of all, to see her, an he might. However, he found the windows and doors and all else closed, wherefore his heart misgave him she was dead or had removed thence and he betook himself, in great concern, to the house of his brethren, before which he saw four of the latter clad all in black. At this he marvelled exceedingly and knowing himself so changed both in habit and person from that which he was used to be, whenas he departed thence, that he might not lightly be recognized, he boldly accosted a cordwainer hard by and asked him why they were clad in black; whereto he answered, 'Yonder men are clad in black for that it is not yet a fortnight since a brother of theirs, who had not been here this great while, was murdered, and I understand they have proved to the court that one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is in prison, slew him, for that he was a well\u2013wisher of his wife and had returned hither unknown to be with her.'\n\nTedaldo marvelled exceedingly that any one should so resemble him as to be taken for him and was grieved for Aldobrandino's ill fortune. Then, having learned that the lady was alive and well and it being now night, he returned, full of various thoughts, to the inn and having supped with his servant, was put to sleep well nigh at the top of the house. There, what with the many thoughts that stirred him and the badness of the bed and peradventure also by reason of the supper, which had been meagre, half the night passed whilst he had not yet been able to fall asleep; wherefore, being awake, himseemed about midnight he heard folk come down into the house from the roof, and after through the chinks of the chamber\u2013door he saw a light come up thither. Thereupon he stole softly to the door and putting his eye to the chink, fell a\u2013spying what this might mean and saw a comely enough lass who held the light, whilst three men, who had come down from the roof, made towards her; and after some greetings had passed between them, one of them said to the girl, 'Henceforth, praised be God, we may abide secure, since we know now for certain that the death of Tedaldo Elisei hath been proved by his brethren against Aldobrandino Palermini, who hath confessed thereto, and judgment is now recorded; nevertheless, it behoveth to keep strict silence, for that, should it ever become known that it was we who slew him, we shall be in the same danger as is Aldobrandino.' Having thus bespoken the woman, who showed herself much rejoiced thereat, they left her and going below, betook themselves to bed.\n\nTedaldo, hearing this, fell a\u2013considering how many and how great are the errors which may befall the minds of men, bethinking him first of his brothers who had bewept and buried a stranger in his stead and after of the innocent man accused on false suspicion and brought by untrue witness to the point of death, no less than of the blind severity of laws and rulers, who ofttimes, under cover of diligent investigation of the truth, cause, by their cruelties, prove that which is false and style themselves ministers of justice and of God, whereas indeed they are executors of iniquity and of the devil; after which he turned his thought to the deliverance of Aldobrandino and determined in himself what he should do. Accordingly, arising in the morning, he left his servant at the inn and betook himself alone, whenas it seemed to him time, to the house of his mistress, where, chancing to find the door open, he entered in and saw the lady seated, all full of tears and bitterness of soul, in a little ground floor room that was there.\n\nAt this sight he was like to weep for compassion of her and drawing near to her, said, 'Madam, afflict not yourself; your peace is at hand.' The lady, hearing this, lifted her eyes and said, weeping, 'Good man, thou seemest to me a stranger pilgrim; what knowest thou of my peace or of my affliction?' 'Madam,' answered Tedaldo, 'I am of Constantinople and am but now come hither, being sent of God to turn your tears into laughter and to deliver your husband from death.' Quoth she, 'An thou be of Constantinople and newly come hither, how knowest thou who I am or who is my husband?' Thereupon, the pilgrim beginning from the beginning, recounted to her the whole history of Aldobrandino's troubles and told her who she was and how long she had been married and other things which he very well knew of her affairs; whereat she marvelled exceedingly and holding him for a prophet, fell on her knees at his feet, beseeching him for God's sake, an he were come for Aldobrandino's salvation, to despatch, for that the time was short.\n\nThe pilgrim, feigning himself a very holy man, said, 'Madam, arise and weep not, but hearken well to that which I shall say to you and take good care never to tell it to any. According to that which God hath revealed unto me, the tribulation wherein you now are hath betided you because of a sin committed by you aforetime, which God the Lord hath chosen in part to purge with this present annoy and will have altogether amended of you; else will you fall into far greater affliction.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'I have many sins and know not which one, more than another, God the Lord would have me amend; wherefore, an you know it, tell me and I will do what I may to amend it.' 'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'I know well enough what it is, nor do I question you thereof the better to know it, but to the intent that, telling it yourself, you may have the more remorse thereof. But let us come to the fact; tell me, do you remember, ever to have had a lover?'\n\nThe lady, hearing this, heaved a deep sigh and marvelled sore, supposing none had ever known it, albeit, in the days when he was slain who had been buried for Tedaldo, there had been some whispering thereof, for certain words not very discreetly used by Tedaldo's confidant, who knew it; then answered, 'I see that God discovereth unto you all men's secrets, wherefore I am resolved not to hide mine own from you. True it is that in my youth I loved over all the ill\u2013fortuned youth whose death is laid to my husband's charge, which death I have bewept as sore as it was grievous to me, for that, albeit I showed myself harsh and cruel to him before his departure, yet neither his long absence nor his unhappy death hath availed to tear him from my heart.' Quoth the pilgrim, 'The hapless youth who is dead you never loved, but Tedaldo Elisei ay. But tell me, what was the occasion of your falling out with him? Did he ever give you any offence?' 'Certes, no,' replied she; 'he never offended against me; the cause of the breach was the prate of an accursed friar, to whom I once confessed me and who, when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldo and the privacy I had with him, made such a racket about my ears that I tremble yet to think of it, telling me that, an I desisted not therefrom, I should go in the devil's mouth to the deepest deep of hell and there be cast into everlasting fire; whereupon there entered into me such a fear that I altogether determined to forswear all further converse with him, and that I might have no occasion therefor, I would no longer receive his letters or messages; albeit I believe, had he persevered awhile, instead of getting him gone (as I presume) in despair, that, seeing him, as I did, waste away like snow in the sun, my harsh resolve would have yielded, for that I had no greater desire in the world.'\n\n'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'it is this sin alone that now afflicteth you. I know for certain that Tedaldo did you no manner of violence; whenas you fell in love with him, you did it of your own free will, for that he pleased you; and as you yourself would have it, he came to you and enjoyed your privacy, wherein both with words and deeds you showed him such complaisance that, if he loved you before, you caused his love redouble a thousandfold. And this being so (as I know it was) what cause should have availed to move you so harshly to withdraw yourself from him? These things should be pondered awhile beforehand and if you think you may presently have cause to repent thereof, as of ill doing, you ought not to do them. You might, at your pleasure, have ordained of him, as of that which belonged to you, that he should no longer be yours; but to go about to deprive him of yourself, you who were his, was a theft and an unseemly thing, whenas it was not his will. Now you must know that I am a friar and am therefore well acquainted with all their usances; and if I speak somewhat at large of them for your profit, it is not forbidden me, as it were to another; nay, and it pleaseth me to speak of them, so you may henceforward know them better than you appear to have done in the past.\n\nFriars of old were very pious and worthy men, but those who nowadays style themselves friars and would be held such have nothing of the monk but the gown; nor is this latter even that of a true friar, for that,\u2014whereas of the founders of the monastic orders they were ordained strait and poor and of coarse stuff and demonstrative of the spirit of the wearers, who testified that they held things temporal in contempt whenas they wrapped their bodies in so mean a habit,\u2014those of our time have them made full and double and glossy and of the finest cloth and have brought them to a quaint pontifical cut, insomuch that they think it no shame to flaunt it withal peacock\u2013wise, in the churches and public places, even as do the laity with their apparel; and like as with the sweep\u2013net the fisher goeth about to take many fishes in the river at one cast, even so these, wrapping themselves about with the amplest of skirts, study to entangle therein great store of prudish maids and widows and many other silly women and men, and this is their chief concern over any other exercise; wherefore, to speak more plainly, they have not the friar's gown, but only the colours thereof.\n\nMoreover, whereas the ancients desired the salvation of mankind, those of our day covet women and riches and turn their every thought to terrifying the minds of the foolish with clamours and depicturements and to making believe that sins may be purged with almsdeeds and masses, to the intent that unto themselves (who, of poltroonery, not of devoutness, and that they may not suffer fatigue, have, as a last resort, turned friars) one may bring bread, another send wine and a third give them a dole of money for the souls of their departed friends. Certes, it is true that almsdeeds and prayers purge away sins; but, if those who give alms knew on what manner folks they bestow them, they would or keep them for themselves or cast them before as many hogs. And for that these know that, the fewer the possessors of a great treasure, the more they live at ease, every one of them studieth with clamours and bugbears to detach others from that whereof he would fain abide sole possessor. They decry lust in men, in order that, they who are chidden desisting from women, the latter may be left to the chiders; they condemn usury and unjust gains, to the intent that, it being entrusted to them to make restitution thereof, they may, with that which they declare must bring to perdition him who hath it, make wide their gowns and purchase bishopricks and other great benefices.\n\nAnd when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemly things that they do, they think that to answer, \"Do as we say and not as we do,\" is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if it were possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resist temptation than the shepherds. And how many there be of those to whom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after the fashion in which they say it, the most part of them know. The monks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill their purses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity, practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves from evil speaking,\u2014all things good, seemly and righteous; but why would they have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did, themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idleness may not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friar will not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow after women, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or a forgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corrupt thy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? They condemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as they make this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain and lead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if they will e'en give themselves unto this, why do they not ensue that other holy saying of the Gospel, \"Christ began to do and to teach?\" Let them first do and after teach others. I have in my time seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of lay women alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatest outcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thus fashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth if he do wisely.\n\nBut, granted even we are to allow that which the friar who chid you said to you, to wit, that it is a grievous sin to break the marriage vow, is it not a far greater sin to rob a man and a greater yet to slay him or drive him into exile, to wander miserably about the world? Every one must allow this. For a woman to have converse with a man is a sin of nature; but to rob him or slay him or drive him into exile proceedeth from malignity of mind. That you robbed Tedaldo I have already shown you, in despoiling him of yourself, who had become his of your spontaneous will, and I say also that, so far as in you lay, you slew him, for that it was none of your fault,\u2014showing yourself, as you did, hourly more cruel,\u2014that he slew not himself with his own hand; and the law willeth that whoso is the cause of the ill that is done be held alike guilty with him who doth it. And that you were the cause of his exile and of his going wandering seven years about the world cannot be denied. So that in whichever one of these three things aforesaid you have committed a far greater sin than in your converse with him.\n\nBut, let us see; maybe Tedaldo deserved this usage? Certes, he did not; you yourself have already confessed it, more by token that I know he loveth you more than himself. No woman was ever so honoured, so exalted, so magnified over every other of her sex as were you by him, whenas he found himself where he might fairly speak of you, without engendering suspicion. His every good, his every honour, his every liberty were all committed by him into your hands. Was he not noble and young? Was he not handsome among all his townsmen? Was he not accomplished in such things as pertain unto young men? Was he not loved, cherished and well seen of every one? You will not say nay to this either. Then how, at the bidding of a scurvy, envious numskull of a friar, could you take such a cruel resolve against him? I know not what error is that of women who eschew men and hold them in little esteem, whenas, considering what themselves are and what and how great is the nobility, beyond every other animal, given of God to man, they should rather glory whenas they are loved of any and prize him over all and study with all diligence to please him, so he may never desist from loving them. This how you did, moved by the prate of a friar, who must for certain have been some broth\u2013swilling pasty\u2013gorger, you yourself know; and most like he had a mind to put himself in the place whence he studied to expel others.\n\nThis, then, is the sin that Divine justice, the which with a just balance bringeth all its operations to effect, hath willed not to leave unpunished; and even as you without reason studied to withdraw yourself from Tedaldo, so on like wise hath your husband been and is yet, without reason, in peril for Tedaldo, and you in tribulation. Wherefrom an you would be delivered, that which it behoveth you to promise, and yet more to do, is this; that, should it ever chance that Tedaldo return hither from his long banishment, you will render him again your favour, your love, your goodwill and your privacy and reinstate him in that condition wherein he was, ere you foolishly hearkened to yonder crack\u2013brained friar.'\n\nThe pilgrim having thus made an end of his discourse, the lady, who had hearkened thereto with the utmost attention, for that his arguments appeared to her most true and that, hearing him say, she accounted herself of a certainty afflicted for the sin of which he spoke, said, 'Friend of God, I know full well that the things you allege are true, and in great part by your showing do I perceive what manner of folk are these friars, whom till now I have held all saints. Moreover, I acknowledge my default without doubt to have been great in that which I wrought against Tedaldo; and an I might, I would gladly amend it on such wise as you have said; but how may this be done? Tedaldo can never more return hither; he is dead; wherefore I know not why it should behove me promise that which may not be performed.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'according to that which God hath revealed unto me, Tedaldo is nowise dead, but alive and well and in good case, so but he had your favour.' Quoth the lady, 'Look what you say; I saw him dead before my door of several knife\u2013thrusts and had him in these arms and bathed his dead face with many tears, the which it may be gave occasion for that which hath been spoken thereof unseemly.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'whatever you may say, I certify you that Tedaldo is alive, and if you will e'en promise me that which I ask, with intent to fulfil your promise, I hope you shall soon see him.' Quoth she, 'That do I promise and will gladly perform; nor could aught betide that would afford me such content as to see my husband free and unharmed and Tedaldo alive.'\n\nThereupon it seemed to Tedaldo time to discover himself and to comfort the lady with more certain hope of her husband, and accordingly he said, 'Madam, in order that I may comfort you for your husband, it behoveth me reveal to you a secret, which look you discover not unto any, as you value your life.' Now they were in a very retired place and alone, the lady having conceived the utmost confidence of the sanctity which herseemed was in the pilgrim; wherefore Tedaldo, pulling out a ring, which she had given him the last night he had been with her and which he had kept with the utmost diligence, and showing it to her, said, 'Madam, know you this?' As soon as she saw it, she recognized it and answered, 'Ay, sir; I gave it to Tedaldo aforetime.' Whereupon the pilgrim, rising to his feet, hastily cast off his palmer's gown and hat and speaking Florence\u2013fashion, said, 'And know you me?'\n\nWhen the lady saw this, she knew him to be Tedaldo and was all aghast, fearing him as one feareth the dead, an they be seen after death to go as if alive; wherefore she made not towards him to welcome him as Tedaldo returned from Cyprus, but would have fled from him in affright, as he were Tedaldo come back from the tomb. Whereupon, 'Madam,' quoth he, 'fear not; I am your Tedaldo, alive and well, and have never died nor been slain, whatsoever you and my brothers may believe.' The lady, somewhat reassured and knowing his voice, considered him awhile longer and avouched in herself that he was certainly Tedaldo; wherefore she threw herself, weeping, on his neck and kissed him, saying, 'Welcome back, sweet my Tedaldo.'\n\nTedaldo, having kissed and embraced her, said, 'Madam, it is no time now for closer greetings; I must e'en go take order that Aldobrandino may be restored to you safe and sound; whereof I hope that, ere to\u2013morrow come eventide, you shall hear news that will please you; nay, if, as I expect, I have good news of his safety, I trust this night to be able to come to you and report them to you at more leisure than I can at this present.' Then, donning his gown and hat again, he kissed the lady once more and bidding her be of good hope, took leave of her and repaired whereas Aldobrandino lay in prison, occupied more with fear of imminent death than with hopes of deliverance to come. Tedaldo, with the gaoler's consent, went in to him, in the guise of a ghostly comforter, and seating himself by his side, said to him, 'Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, sent thee for thy deliverance by God, who hath taken pity on thee because of thine innocence; wherefore, if, in reverence to Him, thou wilt grant me a little boon that I shall ask of thee, thou shalt without fail, ere to\u2013morrow be night, whereas thou lookest for sentence of death, hear that of thine acquittance.'\n\n'Honest man,' replied the prisoner, 'since thou art solicitous of my deliverance, albeit I know thee not nor mind me ever to have seen thee, needs must thou be a friend, as thou sayst. In truth, the sin, for which they say I am to be doomed to death, I never committed; though others enough have I committed aforetime, which, it may be, have brought me to this pass. But this I say to thee, of reverence to God; an He presently have compassion on me, I will not only promise, but gladly do any thing, however great, to say nothing of a little one; wherefore ask that which pleaseth thee, for without fail, if it come to pass that I escape with life, I will punctually perform it.' Then said the pilgrim, 'What I would have of thee is that thou pardon Tedaldo's four brothers the having brought thee to this pass, believing thee guilty of their brother's death, and have them again for brethren and for friends, whenas they crave thee pardon thereof.' Whereto quoth Aldobrandino, 'None knoweth but he who hath suffered the affront how sweet a thing is vengeance and with what ardour it is desired; nevertheless, so God may apply Himself to my deliverance, I will freely pardon them; nay, I pardon them now, and if I come off hence alive and escape, I will in this hold such course as shall be to thy liking.'\n\nThis pleased the pilgrim and without concerning himself to say more to him, he exhorted him to be of good heart, for that, ere the ensuing day came to an end, he should without fail hear very certain news of his safety. Then, taking leave of him, he repaired to the Seignory and said privily to a gentleman who was in session there, 'My lord, every one should gladly labour to bring to light the truth of things, and especially those who hold such a room as this of yours, to the end that those may not suffer the penalty who have not committed the crime and that the guilty may be punished; that which may be brought about, to your honour and the bane of those who have merited it, I am come hither to you. As you know, you have rigorously proceeded against Aldobrandino Palermini and thinking you have found for truth that it was he who slew Tedaldo Elisei, are minded to condemn him; but this is most certainly false, as I doubt not to show you, ere midnight betide, by giving into your hands the murderers of the young man in question.'\n\nThe worthy gentleman, who was in concern for Aldobrandino, willingly gave ear to the pilgrim's words and having conferred at large with him upon the matter, on his information, took the two innkeeper brothers and their servant, without resistance, in their first sleep. He would have put them to the question, to discover how the case stood; but they brooked it not and each first for himself, and after all together, openly confessed that it was they who had slain Tedaldo Elisei, knowing him not. Being questioned of the case, they said that it was for that he had given the wife of one of them sore annoy, what while they were abroad, and would fain have enforced her to do his will.\n\nThe pilgrim, having heard this, with the magistrate's consent took his leave and repairing privily to the house of Madam Ermellina, found her alone and awaiting him, (all else in the house being gone to sleep,) alike desirous of having good news of her husband and of fully reconciling herself with her Tedaldo. He accosted her with a joyful countenance and said, 'Dearest lady mine, be of good cheer, for to\u2013morrow thou shalt certainly have thine Aldobrandino here again safe and sound'; and to give her more entire assurance thereof, he fully recounted to her that which he had done. Whereupon she, glad as ever woman was of two so sudden and so happy chances, to wit, the having her lover alive again, whom she verily believed to have bewept dead, and the seeing Aldobrandino free from peril, whose death she looked ere many days to have to mourn, affectionately embraced and kissed Tedaldo; then, getting them to bed together, with one accord they made a glad and gracious peace, taking delight and joyance one of the other. Whenas the day drew near, Tedaldo arose, after showing the lady that which he purposed to do and praying her anew to keep it a close secret, and went forth, even in his pilgrim's habit, to attend, whenas it should be time, to Aldobrandino's affairs. The day come, it appearing to the Seignory that they had full information of the matter, they straightway discharged Aldobrandino and a few days after let strike off the murderers' heads whereas they had committed the crime.\n\nAldobrandino being now, to the great joy of himself and his wife and of all his friends and kinsfolk, free and manifestly acknowledging that he owed his deliverance to the good offices of the pilgrim, carried the latter to his house for such time as it pleased him to sojourn in the city; and there they could not sate themselves of doing him honour and worship, especially the lady, who knew with whom she had to do. After awhile, deeming it time to bring his brothers to an accord with Aldobrandino and knowing that they were not only put to shame by the latter's acquittance, but went armed for fear of his resentment, he demanded of his host the fulfilment of his promise. Aldobrandino freely answered that he was ready, whereupon the pilgrim caused him prepare against the morrow a goodly banquet, whereat he told him he would have him and his kinsmen and kinswomen entertain the four brothers and their ladies, adding that he himself would go incontinent and bid the latter on his part to peace and his banquet. Aldobrandino consenting to all that liked the pilgrim, the latter forthright betook himself to the four brothers and plying them with store of such words as behoved unto the matter, in fine, with irrepugnable arguments, brought them easily enough to consent to regain Aldobrandino's friendship by asking pardon; which done, he invited them and their ladies to dinner with Aldobrandino next morning, and they, being certified of his good faith, frankly accepted the invitation.\n\nAccordingly, on the morrow, towards dinner\u2013time, Tedaldo's four brothers, clad all in black as they were, came, with sundry of their friends, to the house of Aldobrandino, who stayed for them, and there, in the presence of all who had been bidden of him to bear them company, cast down their arms and committed themselves to his mercy, craving forgiveness of that which they had wrought against him. Aldobrandino, weeping, received them affectionately, and kissing them all on the mouth, despatched the matter in a few words, remitting unto them every injury received. After them came their wives and sisters, clad all in sad\u2013coloured raiment, and were graciously received by Madam Ermellina and the other ladies. Then were all, ladies and men alike, magnificently entertained at the banquet, nor was there aught in the entertainment other than commendable, except it were the taciturnity occasioned by the yet fresh sorrow expressed in the sombre raiment of Tedaldo's kinsfolk. Now on this account the pilgrim's device of the banquet had been blamed of some and he had observed it; wherefore, the time being come to do away with the constraint aforesaid, he rose to his feet, according as he had foreordained in himself, what while the rest still ate of the fruits, and said, 'Nothing hath lacked to this entertainment that should make it joyful, save only Tedaldo himself; whom (since having had him continually with you, you have not known him) I will e'en discover to you.'\n\nSo saying, he cast off his palmer's gown and all other his pilgrim's weeds and abiding in a jerkin of green sendal, was with no little amazement, long eyed and considered of all, ere any would venture to believe it was indeed he. Tedaldo, seeing this, recounted many particulars of the relations and things betided between them, as well as of his own adventures; whereupon his brethren and the other gentlemen present ran all to embrace him, with eyes full of joyful tears, as after did the ladies on like wise, as well strangers as kinswomen, except only Madam Ermellina. Which Aldobrandino seeing, 'What is this, Ermellina?' quoth he. 'Why dost thou not welcome Tedaldo, as do the other ladies?' Whereto she answered, in the hearing of all, 'There is none who had more gladly welcomed and would yet welcome him than myself, who am more beholden to him than any other woman, seeing that by his means I have gotten thee again; but the unseemly words spoken in the days when we mourned him whom we deemed Tedaldo made me refrain therefrom.' Quoth her husband, 'Go to; thinkest thou I believe in the howlers? He hath right well shown their prate to be false by procuring my deliverance; more by token that I never believed it. Quick, rise and go and embrace him.'\n\nThe lady, who desired nothing better, was not slow to obey her husband in this and accordingly, arising, embraced Tedaldo, as the other ladies had done, and gave him joyous welcome. This liberality of Aldobrandino was mighty pleasing to Tedaldo's brothers and to every man and woman there, and thereby all suspect that had been aroused in the minds of some by the words aforesaid was done away. Then, every one having given Tedaldo joy, he with his own hands rent the black clothes on his brothers' backs and the sad\u2013coloured on those of his sisters and kinswomen and would have them send after other apparel, which whenas they had donned, they gave themselves to singing and dancing and other diversions galore; wherefore the banquet, which had had a silent beginning had a loud\u2013resounding ending. Thereafter, with the utmost mirth, they one and all repaired, even as they were, to Tedaldo's house, where they supped that night, and on this wise they continued to feast several days longer.\n\nThe Florentines awhile regarded Tedaldo with amazement, as a man risen from the dead; nay, in many an one's mind, and even in that of his brethren, there abode a certain faint doubt an he were indeed himself and they did not yet thoroughly believe it, nor belike had they believed it for a long time to come but for a chance which made them clear who the murdered man was which was on this wise. There passed one day before their house certain footmen of Lunigiana, who, seeing Tedaldo, made towards him and said, 'Give you good day, Faziuolo.' Whereto Tedaldo in his brothers' presence answered, 'You mistake me.' The others, hearing him speak, were abashed and cried him pardon, saying, 'Forsooth you resemble, more than ever we saw one man favour another, a comrade of ours called Faziuolo of Pontremoli, who came hither some fortnight or more agone, nor could we ever since learn what is come of him. Indeed, we marvelled at the dress, for that he was a soldier, even as we are.' Tedaldo's elder brother, hearing this, came forward and enquired how this Faziuolo had been clad. They told him and it was found to have been punctually as they said; wherefore, what with these and what with other tokens, it was known for certain that he who had been slain was Faziuolo and not Tedaldo, and all doubt of the latter accordingly departed the minds of his brothers and of every other. Tedaldo, then, being returned very rich, persevered in his love and the lady falling out with him no more, they long, discreetly dealing, had enjoyment of their love. God grant us to enjoy ours!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FERONDO, HAVING SWALLOWED A CERTAIN POWDER, IS ENTOMBED FOR DEAD AND BEING TAKEN FORTH OF THE SEPULCHRE BY THE ABBOT, WHO ENJOYETH HIS WIFE THE WHILE, IS PUT IN PRISON AND GIVEN TO BELIEVE THAT HE IS IN PURGATORY; AFTER WHICH, BEING RAISED UP AGAIN, HE REARETH FOR HIS OWN A CHILD BEGOTTEN OF THE ABBOT ON HIS WIFE",
                "text": "The end being come of Emilia's long story,\u2014which had not withal for its length been unpleasing to any of the company, nay, but was held of all the ladies to have been briefly narrated, having regard to the number and diversity of the incidents therein recounted,\u2014the queen, having with a mere sign intimated her pleasure to Lauretta, gave her occasion to begin thus: \"Dearest ladies, there occurreth to me to tell you a true story which hath much more semblance of falsehood than of that which it indeed is and which hath been recalled to my mind by hearing one to have been bewept and buried for another. I purpose then, to tell you how a live man was entombed for dead and how after he and many other folk believed himself to have come forth of the sepulchre as one raised from the dead, by reason whereof he was adored as a saint who should rather have been condemned as a criminal.\"\n\nThere was, then, and yet is, in Tuscany, an abbey situate, like as we see many thereof, in a place not overmuch frequented of men, whereof a monk was made abbot, who was a very holy man in everything, save in the matter of women, and in this he contrived to do so warily that well nigh none, not to say knew, but even suspected him thereof, for that he was holden exceeding godly and just in everything. It chanced that a very wealthy farmer, by name Ferondo, contracted a great intimacy with him, a heavy, clodpate fellow and dull\u2013witted beyond measure, whose commerce pleased the abbot but for that his simplicity whiles afforded him some diversion, and in the course of their acquaintance, the latter perceived that Ferondo had a very handsome woman to wife, of whom he became so passionately enamoured that he thought of nothing else day or night; but, hearing that, simple and shallow\u2013witted as Ferondo was in everything else, he was shrewd enough in the matter of loving and guarding his wife, he well nigh despaired of her.\n\nHowever, like a very adroit man as he was, he wrought on such wise with Ferondo that he came whiles, with his wife, to take his pleasance in the abbey\u2013garden, and there he very demurely entertained them with discourse of the beatitude of the life eternal and of the pious works of many men and women of times past, insomuch that the lady was taken with a desire to confess herself to him and asked and had Ferondo's leave thereof. Accordingly, to the abbot's exceeding pleasure, she came to confess to him and seating herself at his feet, before she proceeded to say otherwhat, began thus: 'Sir, if God had given me a right husband or had given me none, it would belike be easy to me, with the help of your exhortations, to enter upon the road which you say leadeth folk unto life eternal; but I, having regard to what Ferondo is and to his witlessness, may style myself a widow, and yet I am married, inasmuch as, he living, I can have no other husband; and dolt as he is, he is without any cause, so out of all measure jealous of me that by reason thereof I cannot live with him otherwise than in tribulation and misery; wherefore, ere I come to other confession, I humbly beseech you, as most I may, that it may please you give me some counsel concerning this, for that, an the occasion of my well\u2013doing begin not therefrom, confession or other good work will profit me little.'\n\nThis speech gave the abbot great satisfaction and himseemed fortune had opened him the way to his chief desire; wherefore, 'Daughter,' quoth he, 'I can well believe that it must be a sore annoy for a fair and dainty dame such as you are to have a blockhead to husband, but a much greater meseemeth to have a jealous man; wherefore, you having both the one and the other, I can lightly credit that which you avouch of your tribulation. But for this, speaking briefly, I see neither counsel nor remedy save one, the which is that Ferondo be cured of this jealousy. The medicine that will cure him I know very well how to make, provided you have the heart to keep secret that which I shall tell you.' 'Father mine,' answered the lady, 'have no fear of that, for I would liefer suffer death than tell any that which you bid me not repeat; but how may this be done?' Quoth the abbot, 'An we would have him cured, it behoveth of necessity that he go to purgatory.' 'But how,' asked she, 'can he go thither alive?' 'Needs must he die,' replied the abbot, 'and so go thither; and whenas he shall have suffered such penance as shall suffice to purge him of his jealousy, we will pray God, with certain orisons that he restore him to this life, and He will do it.' 'Then,' said the lady, 'I am to become a widow?' 'Ay,' answered the abbot, 'for a certain time, wherein you must look well you suffer not yourself to be married again, for that God would take it in ill part, and whenas Ferondo returned hither, it would behove you return to him and he would then be more jealous than ever.' Quoth she, 'Provided he be but cured of this calamity, so it may not behove me abide in prison all my life, I am content; do as it pleaseth you.' 'And I will do it,' rejoined he; 'but what guerdon am I to have of you for such a service?' 'Father,' answered the lady, 'you shall have whatsoever pleaseth you, so but it be in my power; but what can the like of me that may befit such a man as yourself?' 'Madam,' replied the abbot 'you can do no less for me than that which I undertake to do for you; for that, like as I am disposed to do that which is to be your weal and your solacement, even so can you do that which will be the saving and assainment of my life.' Quoth she, 'An it be so, I am ready.' 'Then,' said the abbot, 'you must give me your love and vouchsafe me satisfaction of yourself, for whom I am all afire with love and languishment.'\n\nThe lady, hearing this, was all aghast and answered, 'Alack, father mine, what is this you ask? Methought you were a saint. Doth it beseem holy men to require women, who come to them for counsel, of such things?' 'Fair my soul,' rejoined the abbot, 'marvel not, for that sanctity nowise abateth by this, seeing it hath its seat in the soul and that which I ask of you is a sin of the body. But, be that as it may, your ravishing beauty hath had such might that love constraineth me to do thus; and I tell you that you may glory in your charms over all other women, considering that they please holy men, who are used to look upon the beauties of heaven. Moreover, abbot though I be, I am a man like another and am, as you see, not yet old. Nor should this that I ask be grievous to you to do; nay, you should rather desire it, for that, what while Ferondo sojourneth in purgatory, I will bear you company by night and render you that solacement which he should give you; nor shall any ever come to know of this, for that every one believeth of me that, and more than that, which you but now believed of me. Reject not the grace that God sendeth you, for there be women enough who covet that which you may have and shall have, if, like a wise woman, you hearken to my counsel. Moreover, I have fair and precious jewels, which I purpose shall belong to none other than yourself. Do, then, for me, sweet my hope, that which I willingly do for you.'\n\nThe lady hung her head, knowing not how to deny him, whilst herseemed it were ill done to grant him what he asked; but the abbot, seeing that she hearkened and hesitated to reply and himseeming he had already half converted her, followed up his first words with many others and stayed not till he had persuaded her that she would do well to comply with him. Accordingly, she said, blushing, that she was ready to do his every commandment, but might not avail thereto till such time as Ferondo should be gone to purgatory; whereupon quoth the abbot, exceeding well pleased, 'And we will make shift to send him thither incontinent; do you but contrive that he come hither to\u2013morrow or next day to sojourn with me.' So saying, he privily put a very handsome ring into her hand and dismissed her. The lady rejoiced at the gift and looking to have others, rejoined her companions, to whom she fell to relating marvellous things of the abbot's sanctity, and presently returned home with them.\n\nA few days after Ferondo repaired to the abbey, whom, whenas the abbot saw, he cast about to send him to purgatory. Accordingly, he sought out a powder of marvellous virtue, which he had gotten in the parts of the Levant of a great prince who avouched it to be that which was wont to be used of the Old Man of the Mountain, whenas he would fain send any one, sleeping, into his paradise or bring him forth thereof, and that, according as more or less thereof was given, without doing any hurt, it made him who took it sleep more or less time on such wise that, whilst its virtue lasted, none would say he had life in him. Of this he took as much as might suffice to make a man sleep three days and putting it in a beaker of wine, that was not yet well cleared, gave it to Ferondo to drink in his cell, without the latter suspecting aught; after which he carried him into the cloister and there with some of his monks fell to making sport of him and his dunceries; nor was it long before, the powder working, Ferondo was taken with so sudden and overpowering a drowsiness, that he slumbered as yet he stood afoot and presently fell down fast asleep.\n\nThe abbot made a show of being concerned at this accident and letting untruss him, caused fetch cold water and cast it in his face and essay many other remedies of his fashion, as if he would recall the strayed life and senses from the oppression of some fumosity of the stomach or what not like affection that had usurped them. The monks, seeing that for all this he came not to himself and feeling his pulse, but finding no sign of life in him, all held it for certain that he was dead. Accordingly, they sent to tell his wife and his kinsfolk, who all came thither forthright, and the lady having bewept him awhile with her kinswomen, the abbot caused lay him, clad as he was, in a tomb; whilst the lady returned to her house and giving out that she meant never to part from a little son, whom she had had by her husband, abode at home and occupied herself with the governance of the child and of the wealth which had been Ferondo's. Meanwhile, the abbot arose stealthily in the night and with the aid of a Bolognese monk, in whom he much trusted and who was that day come thither from Bologna, took up Ferondo out of the tomb and carried him into a vault, in which there was no light to be seen and which had been made for prison of such of the monks as should make default in aught. There they pulled off his garments and clothing him monk\u2013fashion, laid him on a truss of straw and there left him against he should recover his senses, whilst the Bolognese monk, having been instructed by the abbot of that which he had to do, without any else knowing aught thereof, proceeded to await his coming to himself.\n\nOn the morrow, the abbot, accompanied by sundry of his monks, betook himself, by way of visitation, to the house of the lady, whom he found clad in black and in great tribulation, and having comforted her awhile, he softly required her of her promise. The lady, finding herself free and unhindered of Ferondo or any other and seeing on his finger another fine ring, replied that she was ready and appointed him to come to her that same night. Accordingly, night come, the abbot, disguised in Ferondo's clothes and accompanied by the monk his confidant, repaired thither and lay with her in the utmost delight and pleasance till the morning, when he returned to the abbey. After this he very often made the same journey on a like errand and being whiles encountered, coming or going, of one or another of the villagers, it was believed he was Ferondo who went about those parts, doing penance; by reason whereof many strange stories were after bruited about among the simple countryfolk, and this was more than once reported to Ferondo's wife, who well knew what it was.\n\nAs for Ferondo, when he recovered his senses and found himself he knew not where, the Bolognese monk came in to him with a horrible noise and laying hold of him, gave him a sound drubbing with a rod he had in his hand. Ferondo, weeping and crying out, did nought but ask, 'Where am I?' To which the monk answered, 'Thou art in purgatory.' 'How?' cried Ferondo. 'Am I then dead?' 'Ay, certes,' replied the other; whereupon Ferondo fell to bemoaning himself and his wife and child, saying the oddest things in the world. Presently the monk brought him somewhat of meat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, 'What!' cried he. 'Do the dead eat?' 'Ay do they,' answered the monk. 'This that I bring thee is what the woman, thy wife that was, sent this morning to the church to let say masses for thy soul, and God the Lord willeth that it be made over to thee.' Quoth Ferondo, 'God grant her a good year! I still cherished her ere I died, insomuch that I held her all night in mine arms and did nought but kiss her, and t' other thing also I did, when I had a mind thereto.' Then, being very sharp\u2013set, he fell to eating and drinking and himseeming the wine was not overgood, 'Lord confound her!' quoth he. 'Why did not she give the priest wine of the cask against the wall?'\n\nAfter he had eaten, the monk laid hold of him anew and gave him another sound beating with the same rod; whereat Ferondo roared out lustily and said, 'Alack, why dost thou this to me?' Quoth the monk, 'Because thus hath God the Lord ordained that it be done unto thee twice every day.' 'And for what cause?' asked Ferondo. 'Because,' answered the monk, 'thou wast jealous, having the best woman in the country to wife.' 'Alas!' said Ferondo. 'Thou sayst sooth, ay, and the kindest creature; she was sweeter than syrup; but I knew not that God the Lord held it for ill that a man should be jealous; else had I not been so.' Quoth the monk, 'Thou shouldst have bethought thyself of that, whenas thou wast there below, and have amended thee thereof; and should it betide that thou ever return thither, look thou so have in mind that which I do unto thee at this present that thou be nevermore jealous.' 'What?' said Ferondo. 'Do the dead ever return thither?' 'Ay,' answered the monk; 'whom God willeth.' 'Marry,' cried Ferondo, 'and I ever return thither, I will be the best husband in the world; I will never beat her nor give her an ill word, except it be anent the wine she sent hither this morning and for that she sent no candles, so it behoved me to eat in the dark.' 'Nay,' said the monk, 'she sent candles enough, but they were all burnt for the masses.' 'True,' rejoined Ferondo; 'and assuredly, an I return thither, I will let her do what she will. But tell me, who art thou that usest me thus?' Quoth the monk, 'I also am dead. I was of Sardinia and for that aforetime I much commended a master of mine of being jealous, I have been doomed of God to this punishment, that I must give thee to eat and drink and beat thee thus, till such time as God shall ordain otherwhat of thee and of me.' Then said Ferondo, 'Is there none here other than we twain?' 'Ay,' answered the monk, 'there be folk by the thousands; but thou canst neither see nor hear them, nor they thee.' Quoth Ferondo, 'And how far are we from our own countries?' 'Ecod,' replied the other, 'we are distant thence more miles than we can well cack at a bout.' 'Faith,' rejoined the farmer, 'that is far enough; meseemeth we must be out of the world, an it be so much as all that.'\n\nIn such and the like discourse was Ferondo entertained half a score months with eating and drinking and beating, what while the abbot assiduously visited the fair lady, without miscarriage, and gave himself the goodliest time in the world with her. At last, as ill\u2013luck would have it, the lady found herself with child and straightway acquainted the abbot therewith, wherefore it seemed well to them both that Ferondo should without delay be recalled from purgatory to life and return to her, so she might avouch herself with child by him. Accordingly, the abbot that same night caused call to Ferondo in prison with a counterfeit voice, saying, 'Ferondo, take comfort, for it is God's pleasure that thou return to the world, where thou shalt have a son by thy wife, whom look thou name Benedict, for that by the prayers of thy holy abbot and of thy wife and for the love of St. Benedict He doth thee this favour.' Ferondo, hearing this, was exceedingly rejoiced and said, 'It liketh me well, Lord grant a good year to Seignior God Almighty and to the abbot and St. Benedict and my cheesy sweet honey wife.' The abbot let give him, in the wine that he sent him, so much of the powder aforesaid as should cause him sleep maybe four hours and with the aid of his monk, having put his own clothes on him, restored him privily to the tomb wherein he had been buried.\n\nNext morning, at break of day, Ferondo came to himself and espying light,\u2014a thing which he had not seen for good ten months,\u2014through some crevice of the tomb, doubted not but he was alive again. Accordingly, he fell to bawling out, 'Open to me! Open to me!' and heaving so lustily at the lid of the tomb with his head that he stirred it, for that it was eath to move, and had begun to move it away, when the monks, having now made an end of saying matins, ran thither and knew Ferondo's voice and saw him in act to come forth of the sepulchre; whereupon, all aghast for the strangeness of the case, they took to their heels and ran to the abbot, who made a show of rising from prayer and said, 'My sons, have no fear; take the cross and the holy water and follow after me, so we may see that which God willeth to show forth to us of His might'; and as he said, so he did.\n\nNow Ferondo was come forth of the sepulchre all pale, as well might he be who had so long abidden without seeing the sky. As soon as he saw the abbot, he ran to cast himself at his feet and said, 'Father mine, according to that which hath been revealed to me, your prayers and those of St. Benedict and my wife have delivered me from the pains of purgatory and restored me to life, wherefore I pray God to give you a good year and good calends now and always.' Quoth the abbot, 'Praised be God His might! Go, my son, since He hath sent thee back hither; comfort thy wife, who hath been still in tears, since thou departedst this life, and henceforth be a friend and servant of God.' 'Sir,' replied Ferondo, 'so hath it indeed been said to me; only leave me do; for, as soon as I find her, I shall buss her, such goodwill do I bear her.'\n\nThe abbot, left alone with his monks, made a great show of wonderment at this miracle and caused devoutly sing Miserere therefor. As for Ferondo, he returned to his village, where all who saw him fled, as men use to do from things frightful; but he called them back and avouched himself to be raised up again. His wife on like wise feigned to be adread of him; but, after the folk were somewhat reassured anent him and saw that he was indeed alive, they questioned him of many things, and he, as it were he had returned wise, made answer to all and gave them news of the souls of their kinsfolk, making up, of his own motion, the finest fables in the world of the affairs of purgatory and recounting in full assembly the revelation made him by the mouth of the Rangel Bragiel ere he was raised up again. Then, returning to his house and entering again into possession of his goods, he got his wife, as he thought, with child, and by chance it befell that, in due time,\u2014to the thinking of the fools who believe that women go just nine months with child,\u2014the lady gave birth to a boy, who was called Benedict Ferondi.\n\nFerondo's return and his talk, well nigh every one believing him to have risen from the dead, added infinitely to the renown of the abbot's sanctity, and he himself, as if cured of his jealousy by the many beatings he had received therefor, thenceforward, according to the promise made by the abbot to the lady, was no more jealous; whereat she was well pleased and lived honestly with him, as of her wont, save indeed that, whenas she conveniently might, she willingly foregathered with the holy abbot, who had so well and diligently served her in her greatest needs.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GILLETTE DE NARBONNE RECOVERETH THE KING OF FRANCE OF A FISTULA AND DEMANDETH FOR HER HUSBAND BERTRAND DE ROUSSILLON, WHO MARRIETH HER AGAINST HIS WILL AND BETAKETH HIM FOR DESPITE TO FLORENCE, WHERE, HE PAYING COURT TO A YOUNG LADY, GILLETTE, IN THE PERSON OF THE LATTER, LIETH WITH HIM AND HATH BY HIM TWO SONS; WHEREFORE AFTER, HOLDING HER DEAR, HE ENTERTAINETH HER FOR HIS WIFE",
                "text": "Lauretta's story being now ended, it rested but with the queen to tell, an she would not infringe upon Dioneo's privilege; wherefore, without waiting to be solicited by her companions, she began all blithesomely to speak thus: \"Who shall tell a story that may appear goodly, now we have heard that of Lauretta? Certes, it was well for us that hers was not the first, for that few of the others would have pleased after it, as I misdoubt me will betide of those which are yet to tell this day. Natheless, be that as it may, I will e'en recount to you that which occurreth to me upon the proposed theme.\"\n\nThere was in the kingdom of France a gentleman called Isnard, Count of Roussillon, who, for that he was scant of health, still entertained about his person a physician, by name Master Gerard de Narbonne. The said count had one little son, and no more, hight Bertrand, who was exceeding handsome and agreeable, and with him other children of his own age were brought up. Among these latter was a daughter of the aforesaid physician, by name Gillette, who vowed to the said Bertrand an infinite love and fervent more than pertained unto her tender years. The count dying and leaving his son in the hands of the king, it behoved him betake himself to Paris, whereof the damsel abode sore disconsolate, and her own father dying no great while after, she would fain, an she might have had a seemly occasion, have gone to Paris to see Bertrand: but, being straitly guarded, for that she was left rich and alone, she saw no honourable way thereto; and being now of age for a husband and having never been able to forget Bertrand, she had, without reason assigned, refused many to whom her kinsfolk would have married her.\n\nNow it befell that, what while she burned more than ever for love of Bertrand, for that she heard he was grown a very goodly gentleman, news came to her how the King of France, by an imposthume which he had had in his breast and which had been ill tended, had gotten a fistula, which occasioned him the utmost anguish and annoy, nor had he yet been able to find a physician who might avail to recover him thereof, albeit many had essayed it, but all had aggravated the ill; wherefore the king, despairing of cure, would have no more counsel nor aid of any. Hereof the young lady was beyond measure content and bethought herself that not only would this furnish her with a legitimate occasion of going to Paris, but that, should the king's ailment be such as she believed, she might lightly avail to have Bertrand to husband. Accordingly, having aforetime learned many things of her father, she made a powder of certain simples useful for such an infirmity as she conceived the king's to be and taking horse, repaired to Paris.\n\nBefore aught else she studied to see Bertrand and next, presenting herself before the king, she prayed him of his favour to show her his ailment. The king, seeing her a fair and engaging damsel, knew not how to deny her and showed her that which ailed him. Whenas she saw it, she was certified incontinent that she could heal it and accordingly said, 'My lord, an it please you, I hope in God to make you whole of this your infirmity in eight days' time, without annoy or fatigue on your part.' The king scoffed in himself at her words, saying, 'That which the best physicians in the world have availed not neither known to do, how shall a young woman know?' Accordingly, he thanked her for her good will and answered that he was resolved no more to follow the counsel of physicians. Whereupon quoth the damsel, 'My lord, you make light of my skill, for that I am young and a woman; but I would have you bear in mind that I medicine not of mine own science, but with the aid of God and the science of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was my father and a famous physician whilst he lived.'\n\nThe king, hearing this, said in himself, 'It may be this woman is sent me of God; why should I not make proof of her knowledge, since she saith she will, without annoy of mine, cure me in little time?' Accordingly, being resolved to essay her, he said, 'Damsel, and if you cure us not, after causing us break our resolution, what will you have ensue to you therefor?' 'My lord,' answered she, 'set a guard upon me and if I cure you not within eight days, let burn me alive; but, if I cure you, what reward shall I have?' Quoth the king, 'You seem as yet unhusbanded; if you do this, we will marry you well and worshipfully.' 'My lord,' replied the young lady, 'I am well pleased that you should marry me, but I will have a husband such as I shall ask of you, excepting always any one of your sons or of the royal house.' He readily promised her that which she sought, whereupon she began her cure and in brief, before the term limited, she brought him back to health.\n\nThe king, feeling himself healed, said, 'Damsel, you have well earned your husband'; whereto she answered, 'Then, my lord, I have earned Bertrand de Roussillon, whom I began to love even in the days of my childhood and have ever since loved over all.' The king deemed it a grave matter to give him to her; nevertheless, having promised her and unwilling to fail of his faith, he let call the count to himself and bespoke him thus: 'Bertrand, you are now of age and accomplished in all that behoveth unto man's estate; wherefore it is our pleasure that you return to govern your county and carry with you a damsel, whom we have given you to wife.' 'And who is the damsel, my lord?' asked Bertrand; to which the king answered, 'It is she who hath with her medicines restored to us our health.'\n\nBertrand, who had seen and recognized Gillette, knowing her (albeit she seemed to him very fair) to be of no such lineage as sorted with his quality, said all disdainfully, 'My lord, will you then marry me to a she\u2013leach? Now God forbid I should ever take such an one to wife!' 'Then,' said the king, 'will you have us fail of our faith, the which, to have our health again, we pledged to the damsel, who in guerdon thereof demanded you to husband?' 'My lord,' answered Bertrand, 'you may, an you will, take from me whatsoever I possess or, as your liegeman, bestow me upon whoso pleaseth you; but of this I certify you, that I will never be a consenting party unto such a marriage.' 'Nay,' rejoined the king, 'but you shall, for that the damsel is fair and wise and loveth you dear; wherefore we doubt not but you will have a far happier life with her than with a lady of higher lineage.' Bertrand held his peace and the king let make great preparations for the celebration of the marriage.\n\nThe appointed day being come, Bertrand, sore against his will, in the presence of the king, espoused the damsel, who loved him more than herself. This done, having already determined in himself what he should do, he sought leave of the king to depart, saying he would fain return to his county and there consummate the marriage; then, taking horse, he repaired not thither, but betook himself into Tuscany, where, hearing that the Florentines were at war with those of Sienna, he determined to join himself to the former, by whom he was joyfully received and made captain over a certain number of men\u2013at\u2013arms; and there, being well provided of them, he abode a pretty while in their service.\n\nThe newly\u2013made wife, ill content with such a lot, but hoping by her fair dealing to recall him to his county, betook herself to Roussillon, where she was received of all as their liege lady. There, finding everything waste and disordered for the long time that the land had been without a lord, with great diligence and solicitude, like a discreet lady as she was, she set all in order again, whereof the count's vassals were mightily content and held her exceeding dear, vowing her a great love and blaming the count sore for that he accepted not of her. The lady, having thoroughly ordered the county, notified the count thereof by two knights, whom she despatched to him, praying him that, an it were on her account he forbore to come to his county, he should signify it to her and she, to pleasure him, would depart thence; but he answered them very harshly, saying, 'For that, let her do her pleasure; I, for my part, will return thither to abide with her, whenas she shall have this my ring on her finger and in her arms a son by me begotten.' Now the ring in question he held very dear and never parted with it, by reason of a certain virtue which it had been given him to understand that it had.\n\nThe knights understood the hardship of the condition implied in these two well nigh impossible requirements, but, seeing that they might not by their words avail to move him from his purpose, they returned to the lady and reported to her his reply; whereat she was sore afflicted and determined, after long consideration, to seek to learn if and where the two things aforesaid might be compassed, to the intent that she might, in consequence, have her husband again. Accordingly, having bethought herself what she should do, she assembled certain of the best and chiefest men of the county and with plaintive speech very orderly recounted to them that which she had already done for love of the count and showed them what had ensued thereof, adding that it was not her intent that, through her sojourn there, the count should abide in perpetual exile; nay, rather she purposed to spend the rest of her life in pilgrimages and works of mercy and charity for her soul's health; wherefore she prayed them take the ward and governance of the county and notify the count that she had left him free and vacant possession and had departed the country, intending nevermore to return to Roussillon. Many were the tears shed by the good folk, whilst she spoke, and many the prayers addressed to her that it would please her change counsel and abide there; but they availed nought. Then, commending them to God, she set out upon her way, without telling any whither she was bound, well furnished with monies and jewels of price and accompanied by a cousin of hers and a chamberwoman, all in pilgrims' habits, and stayed not till she came to Florence, where, chancing upon a little inn, kept by a decent widow woman, she there took up her abode and lived quietly, after the fashion of a poor pilgrim, impatient to hear news of her lord.\n\nIt befell, then, that on the morrow of her arrival she saw Bertrand pass before her lodging, a\u2013horseback with his company, and albeit she knew him full well, natheless she asked the good woman of the inn who he was. The hostess answered, 'That is a stranger gentleman, who calleth himself Count Bertrand, a pleasant man and a courteous and much loved in this city; and he is the most enamoured man in the world of a she\u2013neighbour of ours, who is a gentlewoman, but poor. Sooth to say, she is a very virtuous damsel and abideth, being yet unmarried for poverty, with her mother, a very good and discreet lady, but for whom, maybe, she had already done the count's pleasure.' The countess took good note of what she heard and having more closely enquired into every particular and apprehended all aright, determined in herself how she should do.\n\nAccordingly, having learned the house and name of the lady whose daughter the count loved, she one day repaired privily thither in her pilgrim's habit and finding the mother and daughter in very poor case, saluted them and told the former that, an it pleased her, she would fain speak with her alone. The gentlewoman, rising, replied that she was ready to hearken to her and accordingly carried her into a chamber of hers, where they seated themselves and the countess began thus, 'Madam, meseemeth you are of the enemies of Fortune, even as I am; but, an you will, belike you may be able to relieve both yourself and me.' The lady answered that she desired nothing better than to relieve herself by any honest means; and the countess went on, 'Needs must you pledge me your faith, whereto an I commit myself and you deceive me, you will mar your own affairs and mine.' 'Tell me anything you will in all assurance,' replied the gentlewoman; 'for never shall you find yourself deceived of me.'\n\nThereupon the countess, beginning with her first enamourment, recounted to her who she was and all that had betided her to that day after such a fashion that the gentlewoman, putting faith in her words and having, indeed, already in part heard her story from others, began to have compassion of her. The countess, having related her adventures, went on to say, 'You have now, amongst my other troubles, heard what are the two things which it behoveth me have, an I would have my husband, and to which I know none who can help me, save only yourself, if that be true which I hear, to wit, that the count my husband is passionately enamoured of your daughter.' 'Madam,' answered the gentlewoman, 'if the count love my daughter I know not; indeed he maketh a great show thereof. But, an it be so, what can I do in this that you desire?' 'Madam,' rejoined the countess, 'I will tell you; but first I will e'en show you what I purpose shall ensue thereof to you, an you serve me. I see your daughter fair and of age for a husband and according to what I have heard, meseemeth I understand the lack of good to marry her withal it is that causeth you keep her at home. Now I purpose, in requital of the service you shall do me, to give her forthright of mine own monies such a dowry as you yourself shall deem necessary to marry her honorably.'\n\nThe mother, being needy, was pleased with the offer; algates, having the spirit of a gentlewoman, she said, 'Madam, tell me what I can do for you; if it consist with my honour, I will willingly do it, and you shall after do that which shall please you.' Then said the countess, 'It behoveth me that you let tell the count my husband by some one in whom you trust, that your daughter is ready to do his every pleasure, so she may but be certified that he loveth her as he pretendeth, the which she will never believe, except he send her the ring which he carrieth on his finger and by which she hath heard he setteth such store. An he send you the ring, you must give it to me and after send to him to say that your daughter is ready do his pleasure; then bring him hither in secret and privily put me to bed to him in the stead of your daughter. It may be God will vouchsafe me to conceive and on this wise, having his ring on my finger and a child in mine arms of him begotten, I shall presently regain him and abide with him, as a wife should abide with her husband, and you will have been the cause thereof.'\n\nThis seemed a grave matter to the gentlewoman, who feared lest blame should haply ensue thereof to her daughter; nevertheless, bethinking her it were honourably done to help the poor lady recover her husband and that she went about to do this to a worthy end and trusting in the good and honest intention of the countess, she not only promised her to do it, but, before many days, dealing with prudence and secrecy, in accordance with the latter's instructions, she both got the ring (albeit this seemed somewhat grievous to the count) and adroitly put her to bed with her husband, in the place of her own daughter. In these first embracements, most ardently sought of the count, the lady, by God's pleasure, became with child of two sons, as her delivery in due time made manifest. Nor once only, but many times, did the gentlewoman gratify the countess with her husband's embraces, contriving so secretly that never was a word known of the matter, whilst the count still believed himself to have been, not with his wife, but with her whom he loved; and whenas he came to take leave of a morning, he gave her, at one time and another, divers goodly and precious jewels, which the countess laid up with all diligence.\n\nThen, feeling herself with child and unwilling to burden the gentlewoman farther with such an office, she said to her, 'Madam, thanks to God and you, I have gotten that which I desired, wherefore it is time that I do that which shall content you and after get me gone hence.' The gentlewoman answered that, if she had gotten that which contented her, she was well pleased, but that she had not done this of any hope of reward, nay, for that herseemed it behoved her to do it, an she would do well. 'Madam,' rejoined the countess, 'that which you say liketh me well and so on my part I purpose not to give you that which you shall ask of me by way of reward, but to do well, for that meseemeth behoveful so to do.' The gentlewoman, then, constrained by necessity, with the utmost shamefastness, asked her an hundred pounds to marry her daughter withal; but the countess, seeing her confusion and hearing her modest demand, gave her five hundred and so many rare and precious jewels as were worth maybe as much more. With this the gentlewoman was far more than satisfied and rendered the countess the best thanks in her power; whereupon the latter, taking leave of her, returned to the inn, whilst the other, to deprive Bertrand of all farther occasion of coming or sending to her house, removed with her daughter into the country to the house of one of her kinsfolk, and he, being a little after recalled by his vassals and hearing that the countess had departed the country, returned to his own house.\n\nThe countess, hearing that he had departed Florence and returned to his county, was mightily rejoiced and abode at Florence till her time came to be delivered, when she gave birth to two male children, most like their father, and let rear them with all diligence. Whenas it seemed to her time, she set out and came, without being known of any, to Montpellier, where having rested some days and made enquiry of the count and where he was, she learned that he was to hold a great entertainment of knights and ladies at Roussillon on All Saints' Day and betook herself thither, still in her pilgrim's habit that she was wont to wear. Finding the knights and ladies assembled in the count's palace and about to sit down to table, she went up, with her children in her arms and without changing her dress, into the banqueting hall and making her way between man and man whereas she saw the count, cast herself at his feet and said, weeping, 'I am thine unhappy wife, who, to let thee return and abide in thy house, have long gone wandering miserably about the world. I conjure thee, in the name of God, to accomplish unto me thy promise upon the condition appointed me by the two knights I sent thee; for, behold, here in mine arms is not only one son of thine, but two, and here is thy ring. It is time, then, that I be received of thee as a wife, according to thy promise.'\n\nThe count, hearing this, was all confounded and recognized the ring and the children also, so like were they to him; but yet he said, 'How can this have come to pass?' The countess, then, to his exceeding wonderment and that of all others who were present, orderly recounted that which had passed and how it had happened; whereupon the count, feeling that she spoke sooth and seeing her constancy and wit and moreover two such goodly children, as well for the observance of his promise as to pleasure all his liegemen and the ladies, who all besought him thenceforth to receive and honour her as his lawful wife, put off his obstinate despite and raising the countess to her feet, embraced her and kissing her, acknowledged her for his lawful wife and those for his children. Then, letting clothe her in apparel such as beseemed her quality, to the exceeding joyance of as many as were there and of all other his vassals who heard the news, he held high festival, not only all that day, but sundry others, and from that day forth still honoured her as his bride and his wife and loved and tendered her over all.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "ALIBECH, TURNING HERMIT, IS TAUGHT BY RUSTICO, A MONK, TO PUT THE DEVIL IN HELL, AND BEING AFTER BROUGHT AWAY THENCE, BECOMETH NEERBALE HIS WIFE",
                "text": "Dioneo, who had diligently hearkened to the queen's story, seeing that it was ended and that it rested with him alone to tell, without awaiting commandment, smilingly began to speak as follows: \"Charming ladies, maybe you have never heard tell how one putteth the devil in hell; wherefore, without much departing from the tenor of that whereof you have discoursed all this day, I will e'en tell it you. Belike, having learned it, you may catch the spirit thereof and come to know that, albeit Love sojourneth liefer in jocund palaces and luxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the less doth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and rugged mountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that all things are subject to his puissance.\"\n\nTo come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbary there was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children, had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not being a Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightily extol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questioned one of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the least hindrance. The other answered that they best served God who most strictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who had betaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebais. The girl, who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordered desire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealth and all alone, to go to the desert of Thebais, without letting any know her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, with no little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off, went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to see her there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, being inspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and was now in quest of one who should teach her how it behoved to serve Him.\n\nThe worthy man, seeing her young and very fair and fearing lest, an he entertained her, the devil should beguile him, commended her pious intent and giving her somewhat to eat of roots of herbs and wild apples and dates and to drink of water, said to her, 'Daughter mine, not far hence is a holy man, who is a much better master than I of that which thou goest seeking; do thou betake thyself to him'; and put her in the way. However, when she reached the man in question, she had of him the same answer and faring farther, came to the cell of a young hermit, a very devout and good man, whose name was Rustico and to whom she made the same request as she had done to the others. He, having a mind to make a trial of his own constancy, sent her not away, as the others had done, but received her into his cell, and the night being come, he made her a little bed of palm\u2013fronds and bade her lie down to rest thereon. This done, temptations tarried not to give battle to his powers of resistance and he, finding himself grossly deceived by these latter, turned tail, without awaiting many assaults, and confessed himself beaten; then, laying aside devout thoughts and orisons and mortifications, he fell to revolving in his memory the youth and beauty of the damsel and bethinking himself what course he should take with her, so as to win to that which he desired of her, without her taking him for a debauched fellow.\n\nAccordingly, having sounded her with sundry questions, he found that she had never known man and was in truth as simple as she seemed; wherefore he bethought him how, under colour of the service of God, he might bring her to his pleasures. In the first place, he showeth her with many words how great an enemy the devil was of God the Lord and after gave her to understand that the most acceptable service that could be rendered to God was to put back the devil into hell, whereto he had condemned him. The girl asked him how this might be done; and he, 'Thou shalt soon know that; do thou but as thou shalt see me do.' So saying, he proceeded to put off the few garments he had and abode stark naked, as likewise did the girl, whereupon he fell on his knees, as he would pray, and caused her abide over against himself.\n\nE cos\u00ed stando, essendo Rustico, pi\u00fa che mai, nel suo disidero acceso, per lo vederla cos\u00ed bella, venue la resurrezion della carne; la quale riguardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse: Rustico, quella che cosa \u00e8, che io ti veggio, che cos\u00ed si pigne in fuori, e non l' ho io? O figliuola mia, disse Rustico, questo \u00e8 il diavolo, di che io t'ho parlato, e vedi tu ora: egli mi d\u00e0 grandissima molestia, tanta, che io appena la posso sofferire. Allora disse la giovane. O lodato sia Iddio, ch\u00e9 io veggio, che io sto meglio, che non stai tu, ch\u00e9 io non ho cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di vero; ma tu hai un' altra cosa, che non l'ho io, et haila in iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech: O che? A cui Rustico disse: Hai l'inferno; e dicoti, che io mi credo, che Dio t'abbia qui mandata per la salute dell' anima mia; perci\u00f2che, se questo diavolo pur mi dar\u00e0 questa noia, ove tu cogli aver di me tanta piet\u00e0, e sofferire, che io in inferno il rimetta; tu mi darai grandissima consolazione, et a Dio farai grandissimo piacere, e servigio; se tu per quello fare in queste parti venuta se; che tu di. La giovane di buona fede rispose O padre mio, poscia che io ho l'inferno, sia pure quando vi piacer\u00e0 mettervi il diavolo. Disse allora Rustico: Figliuola mia benedetta sia tu: andiamo dunque, e rimettiamlovi s\u00ed, che egli poscia mi lasci stare. E cos\u00ed detto, menate la giovane sopra uno de' loro letticelli, le 'nsegn\u00f2, come star si dovesse a dover incarcerare quel maladetto da Dio. La giovane, che mai pi\u00fa non aveva in inferno messo diavolo alcuno, per la prima volta sent\u00ed un poco di noia; perch\u00e9 ella disse a Rustico.\n\nPer certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo diavolo, e veramente nimico di Iddio ch\u00e9 ancora all'inferno, non che altrui duole quando, egli v'\u00e8 dentro rimesso. Disse Rustico: Figliuola, egli non averr\u00e0 sempre cos\u00ed: e per fare, che questo non avvenisse, da sei volte anziche di su il letticel si movesero, ve 'l rimisero; tantoche per quella volta gli trasser s\u00ed la superbia del capo, che egli si stette volentieri in pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo pi\u00fa volte, e la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si disponesse, avvenne, che il giuoco le cominci\u00f2 a piacere; e cominci\u00f2 a dire a Rustico. Ben veggio, che il ver dicevano que valenti uomini in Capsa, che il servire a Dio era cos\u00ed dolce cosa, e per certo io non mi ricordo, che mai alcuna altra ne facessi, che di tanto diletto, e piacere mi fosse, quanto \u00e8 il rimettere il diavolo in inferno; e perci\u00f2 giudico ogn' altra persona, che ad altro che a servire a Dio attende, essere una bestia. Per la qual cosa essa spesse volte andava a Rustico, e gli diceva. Padre mio, io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non per istare oziosa; andiamo a rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La qual cosa faccendo, diceva ella alcuna volta. Rustico, io non so perch\u00e9 il diavolo si fugga di ninferno, ch\u00e9 s' egli vi stesse cos\u00ed volentiere, come l'inferno il riceve, e tiene; agli non sene uscirebbe mai. Cos\u00ed adunque invitando spesso la giovane Rustico, et al servigio di Dio confortandolo, se la bambagia del farsetto tratta gli avea, che egli a talora sentiva freddo, che un' altro sarebbe sudato; e perci\u00f2 egli incominci\u00f2 a dire alla giovane, che il diavolo non era da gastigare, n\u00e9 da rimettere in inferno, se non quando egli per superbia levasse il capo; e noi, per la grazia, di Dio, l'abbiamo s\u00ed sgannato, che egla priega Iddio di starsi in pace: e cos\u00ed alquanto impose di silenzio alla giovane. La qual, poiche vide che Rustico non la richiedeva a dovere il diavolo rimittere in inferno, gli disse un giorno. Rustico, se il diavolo tuo \u00e8 gastigato, e pi\u00fa non ti d\u00e0 noia me il mio ninferno non lascia stare: perch\u00e9 tu farai bene, che tu col tuo diavolo aiuti ad attutare la rabbia al mio inferno; come io col mio ninferno ho ajutato a trarre la superbia al tuo diavolo.\n\nRustico, who lived on roots and water, could ill avail to answer her calls and told her that it would need overmany devils to appease hell, but he would do what he might thereof. Accordingly he satisfied her bytimes, but so seldom it was but casting a bean into the lion's mouth; whereas the girl, herseeming she served not God as diligently as she would fain have done, murmured somewhat. But, whilst this debate was toward between Rustico his devil and Alibech her hell, for overmuch desire on the one part and lack of power on the other, it befell that a fire broke out in Capsa and burnt Alibech's father in his own house, with as many children and other family as he had; by reason whereof she abode heir to all his good. Thereupon, a young man called Neerbale, who had spent all his substance in gallantry, hearing that she was alive, set out in search of her and finding her, before the court had laid hands upon her father's estate, as that of a man dying without heir, to Rustico's great satisfaction, but against her own will, brought her back to Capsa, where he took her to wife and succeeded, in her right, to the ample inheritance of her father.\n\nThere, being asked by the women at what she served God in the desert, she answered (Neerbale having not yet lain with her) that she served Him at putting the devil in hell and that Neerbale had done a grievous sin in that he had taken her from such service. The ladies asked, 'How putteth one the devil in hell?' And the girl, what with words and what with gestures, expounded it to them; whereat they set up so great a laughing that they laugh yet and said, 'Give yourself no concern, my child; nay, for that is done here also and Neerbale will serve our Lord full well with thee at this.' Thereafter, telling it from one to another throughout the city, they brought it to a common saying there that the most acceptable service one could render to God was to put the devil in hell, which byword, having passed the sea hither, is yet current here. Wherefore do all you young ladies, who have need of God's grace, learn to put the devil in hell, for that this is highly acceptable to Him and pleasing to both parties and much good may grow and ensue thereof.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "A thousand times or more had Dioneo's story moved the modest ladies to laughter, so quaint and comical did his words appear to them; then, whenas he had made an end thereof, the queen, knowing the term of her sovranty to be come, lifted the laurel from her head and set it merrily on that of Filostrato, saying: \"We shall presently see if the wolf will know how to govern the ewes better than the ewes have governed the wolves.\" Filostrato, hearing this, said, laughing, \"An I were hearkened to, the wolves had taught the ewes to put the devil in hell, no worse than Rustico taught Alibech; wherefore do ye not style us wolven, since you yourselves have not been ewen. Algates, I will govern the kingdom committed to me to the best of my power. \"Harkye, Filostrato,\" rejoined Neifile, \"in seeking to teach us, you might have chanced to learn sense, even as did Masetto of Lamporecchio of the nuns, and find your tongue what time your bones should have learnt to whistle without a master.\"\n\nFilostrato, finding that he still got a Roland for his Oliver, gave over pleasantry and addressed himself to the governance of the kingdom committed to him. Wherefore, letting call the seneschal, he was fain to know at what point things stood all and after discreetly ordained that which he judged would be well and would content the company for such time as his seignory should endure. Then, turning to the ladies, \"Lovesome ladies,\" quoth he, \"since I knew good from evil, I have, for my ill fortune, been still subject unto Love for the charms of one or other of you; nor hath humility neither obedience, no, nor the assiduous ensuing him in all his usances, in so far as it hath been known of me, availed me but that first I have been abandoned for another and after have still gone from bad to worse; and so I believe I shall fare unto my death; wherefore it pleaseth me that it be discoursed to\u2013morrow of none other matter than that which is most conformable to mine own case, to wit, OF THOSE WHOSE LOVES HAVE HAD UNHAPPY ENDING, for that I in the long run look for a most unhappy issue to mine own; nor was the name by which you call me conferred on me for otherwhat by such an one who knew well what it meant.\" So saying, he rose to his feet and dismissed every one until supper\u2013time.\n\nThe garden was so goodly and so delightsome that there was none who elected to go forth thereof, in the hope of finding more pleasance elsewhere. Nay, the sun, now grown mild, making it nowise irksome to give chase to the fawns and kids and rabbits and other beasts which were thereabout and which, as they sat, had come maybe an hundred times to disturb them by skipping through their midst, some addressed themselves to pursue them. Dioneo and Fiammetta fell to singing of Messer Guglielmo and the Lady of Vergiu, whilst Filomena and Pamfilo sat down to chess; and so, some doing one thing and some another, the time passed on such wise that the hour of supper came well nigh unlooked for; whereupon, the tables being set round about the fair fountain, they supped there in the evening with the utmost delight.\n\nAs soon as the tables were taken away, Filostrato, not to depart from the course holden of those who had been queens before him, commanded Lauretta to lead up a dance and sing a song. \"My lord,\" answered she, \"I know none of other folk's songs, nor have I in mind any of mine own which should best beseem so joyous a company; but, an you choose one of those which I have, I will willingly sing it.\" Quote the king, \"Nothing of thine can be other than goodly and pleasing; wherefore sing us such as thou hast.\" Lauretta, then, with a sweet voice enough, but in a somewhat plaintive style, began thus, the other ladies answering:\n\n\u2002No maid disconsolate\n\n\u2002Hath cause as I, alack!\n\n\u2002Who sigh for love in vain, to mourn her fate.\n\n\u2002He who moves heaven and all the stars in air\n\n\u2002Made me for His delight\n\n\u2002Lovesome and sprightly, kind and debonair,\n\n\u2002E'en here below to give each lofty spright\n\n\u2002Some inkling of that fair\n\n\u2002That still in heaven abideth in His sight;\n\n\u2002But erring men's unright,\n\n\u2002Ill knowing me, my worth\n\n\u2002Accepted not, nay, with dispraise did bate.\n\n\u2002Erst was there one who held me dear and fain\n\n\u2002Took me, a youngling maid,\n\n\u2002Into his arms and thought and heart and brain,\n\n\u2002Caught fire at my sweet eyes; yea time, unstayed\n\n\u2002Of aught, that flits amain\n\n\u2002And lightly, all to wooing me he laid.\n\n\u2002I, courteous, nought gainsaid\n\n\u2002And held him worthy me;\n\n\u2002But now, woe's me, of him I'm desolate.\n\n\u2002Then unto me there did himself present\n\n\u2002A youngling proud and haught,\n\n\u2002Renowning him for valorous and gent;\n\n\u2002He took and holds me and with erring thought\n\n\u2002To jealousy is bent;\n\n\u2002Whence I, alack! nigh to despair am wrought,\n\n\u2002As knowing myself,\u2014brought\n\n\u2002Into this world for good\n\n\u2002Of many an one,\u2014engrossed of one sole mate.\n\n\u2002The luckless hour I curse, in very deed,\n\n\u2002When I, alas! said yea,\n\n\u2002Vesture to change,\u2014so fair in that dusk wede\n\n\u2002I was and glad, whereas in this more gay\n\n\u2002A weary life I lead,\n\n\u2002Far less than erst held honest, welaway!\n\n\u2002Ah, dolorous bridal day,\n\n\u2002Would God I had been dead\n\n\u2002Or e'er I proved thee in such ill estate!\n\n\u2002O lover dear, with whom well pleased was I\n\n\u2002Whilere past all that be,\u2014\n\n\u2002Who now before Him sittest in the sky\n\n\u2002Who fashioned us,\u2014have pity upon me\n\n\u2002Who cannot, though I die,\n\n\u2002Forget thee for another; cause me see\n\n\u2002The flame that kindled thee\n\n\u2002For me lives yet unquenched\n\n\u2002And my recall up thither impetrate.\n\nHere Lauretta made an end of her song, wherein, albeit attentively followed of all, she was diversely apprehended of divers persons, and there were those who would e'en understand, Milan\u2013fashion, that a good hog was better than a handsome wench; but others were of a loftier and better and truer apprehension, whereof it booteth not to tell at this present. Thereafter the king let kindle store of flambeaux upon the grass and among the flowers and caused sing divers other songs, until every star began to decline, that was above the horizon, when, deeming it time for sleep, he bade all with a good night betake themselves to their chambers."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Fourth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE FOURTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF FILOSTRATO IS DISCOURSED OF THOSE WHOSE LOVES HAVE HAD UNHAPPY ENDINGS ]\n\nDearest ladies, as well by words of wise men heard as by things many a time both seen and read of myself, I had conceived that the boisterous and burning blast of envy was apt to smite none but lofty towers or the highest summits of the trees; but I find myself mistaken in my conceit, for that, fleeing, as I have still studied to flee, from the cruel onslaught of that raging wind, I have striven to go, not only in the plains, but in the very deepest of the valleys, as many manifestly enough appear to whoso considereth these present stories, the which have been written by me, not only in vulgar Florentine and in prose and without author's name, but eke in as humble and sober a style as might be. Yet for all this have I not availed to escape being cruelly shaken, nay, well nigh uprooted, of the aforesaid wind and all torn of the fangs of envy; wherefore I can very manifestly understand that to be true which the wise use to say, to wit, that misery alone in things present is without envy.\n\nThere are then, discreet ladies, some who, reading these stories, have said that you please me overmuch and that it is not a seemly thing that I should take so much delight in pleasuring and solacing you; and some have said yet worse of commending you as I do. Others, making a show of wishing to speak more maturely, have said that it sorteth ill with mine age henceforth to follow after things of this kind, to wit, to discourse of women or to study to please them. And many, feigning themselves mighty tender of my repute, avouch that I should do more wisely to abide with the Muses on Parnassus than to busy myself among you with these toys. Again, there be some who, speaking more despitefully than advisedly, have said that I should do more discreetly to consider whence I might get me bread than to go peddling after these baubles, feeding upon wind; and certain others, in disparagement of my pains, study to prove the things recounted by me to have been otherwise than as I present them to you.\n\nWith such, then, and so many blusterings, such atrocious backbitings, such needle\u2013pricks, noble ladies, am I, what while I battle in your service, baffled and buffeted and transfixed even to the quick. The which things, God knoweth, I hear and apprehend with an untroubled mind; and albeit my defence in this pertaineth altogether unto you, natheless, I purpose not to spare mine own pains; nay, without answering so much at large as it might behove, I mean to rid mine ears of them with some slight rejoinder, and that without delay; for that if even now, I being not yet come to the third part of my travail, they are many and presume amain, I opine that, ere I come to the end thereof, they may, having had no rebuff at the first, on such wise be multiplied that with whatsoever little pains of theirs they might overthrow me, nor might your powers, great though they be, avail to withstand this.\n\nBut, ere I come to make answer to any of them, it pleaseth me, in mine own defence, to relate, not an entire story,\u2014lest it should seem I would fain mingle mine own stories with those of so commendable a company as that which I have presented to you,\u2014but a part of one,\u2014that so its very default of completeness may attest that it is none of those,\u2014and accordingly, speaking to my assailants, I say that in our city, a good while agone, there was a townsman, by name Filippo Balducci, a man of mean enough extraction, but rich and well addressed and versed in such matters as his condition comported. He had a wife, whom he loved with an exceeding love, as she him, and they lived a peaceful life together, studying nothing so much as wholly to please one another. In course of time it came to pass, as it cometh to pass of all, that the good lady departed this life and left Filippo nought of herself but one only son, begotten of him and maybe two years old. Filippo for the death of his lady abode as disconsolate as ever man might, having lost a beloved one, and seeing himself left alone and forlorn of that company which most he loved, he resolved to be no more of the world, but to give himself altogether to the service of God and do the like with his little son. Wherefore, bestowing all his good for the love of God, he repaired without delay to the top of Mount Asinajo, where he took up his abode with his son in a little hut and there living with him upon alms, in the practice of fasts and prayers, straitly guarded himself from discoursing whereas the boy was, of any temporal thing, neither suffered him see aught thereof, lest this should divert him from the service aforesaid, but still bespoke him of the glories of life eternal and of God and the saints, teaching him nought but pious orisons; and in this way of life he kept him many years, never suffering him go forth of the hermitage nor showing him aught other than himself.\n\nNow the good man was used to come whiles into Florence, where being succoured, according to his occasions, of the friends of God, he returned to his hut, and it chanced one day that, his son being now eighteen years old and Filippo an old man, the lad asked him whither he went. Filippo told him and the boy said, \"Father mine, you are now an old man and can ill endure fatigue; why do you not whiles carry me to Florence and bring me to know the friends and devotees of God and yourself, to the end that I, who am young and better able to toil than you, may after, whenas it pleaseth you, go to Florence for our occasions, whilst you abide here?\" The worthy man, considering that his son was now grown to man's estate and thinking him so inured to the service of God that the things of this world might thenceforth uneath allure him to themselves, said in himself, \"The lad saith well\"; and accordingly, having occasion to go thither, he carried him with him. There the youth, seeing the palaces, the houses, the churches and all the other things whereof one seeth all the city full, began, as one who had never to his recollection beheld the like, to marvel amain and questioned his father of many things what they were and how they were called. Filippo told him and he, hearing him, abode content and questioned of somewhat else.\n\nAs they went thus, the son asking and the father answering, they encountered by chance a company of pretty and well\u2013dressed young women, coming from a wedding, whom as soon as the young man saw, he asked his father what manner of things these were. \"My son,\" answered Filippo, \"cast your eyes on the ground and look not at them, for that they are an ill thing.\" Quoth the son, \"And how are they called?\" The father, not to awaken in the lad's mind a carnal appetite less than useful, would not name them by the proper name, to wit, women, but said, \"They are called green geese.\" Whereupon, marvellous to relate, he who have never seen a woman and who recked not of palaces nor oxen nor horses nor asses nor monies nor of aught else he had seen, said suddenly, \"Father mine, I prithee get me one of these green geese. \"Alack, my son,\" replied the father, \"hold they peace; I tell thee they are an ill thing. \"How!\" asked the youth. \"Are ill things then made after this fashion?\" and Filippo answered, \"Ay.\" Then said the son, \"I know not what you would say nor why these are an ill thing; for my part, meseemeth I never yet saw aught goodly or pleasing as are these. They are fairer than the painted angels you have shown me whiles. For God's sake, an you reck of me, contrive that we may carry one of yonder green geese back with us up yonder, and I will give it to eat. \"Nay,\" answered the father, \"I will not: thou knowest not whereon they feed.\" And he understood incontinent that nature was stronger than his wit and repented him of having brought the youth to Florence. But I will have it suffice me to have told this much of the present story and return to those for whose behoof I have related it.\n\nSome, then, of my censurers say that I do ill, young ladies, in studying overmuch to please you and that you please me overmuch. Which things I do most openly confess, to wit, that you please me and that I study to please you, and I ask them if they marvel thereat,\u2014considering (let be the having known the dulcet kisses and amorous embracements and delightsome couplings that are of you, most sweet ladies, often gotten) only my having seen and still seeing your dainty manners and lovesome beauty and sprightly grace and above all your womanly courtesy,\u2014whenas he who had been reared and bred on a wild and solitary mountain and within the bounds of a little cell, without other company than his father, no sooner set eyes on you than you alone were desired of him, you alone sought, you alone followed with the eagerness of passion. Will they, then, blame me, back bite me, rend me with their tongues if I, whose body Heaven created all apt to love you, I, who from my childhood vowed my soul to you, feeling the potency of the light of your eyes and the sweetness of your honeyed words and the flame enkindled by your piteous sighs,\u2014if, I say, you please me or if I study to please you, seeing that you over all else pleased a hermitling, a lad without understanding, nay, rather, a wild animal? Certes, it is only those, who, having neither sense nor cognizance of the pleasures and potency of natural affection, love you not nor desire to be loved of you, that chide me thus; and of these I reck little.\n\nAs for those who go railing anent mine age, it would seem they know ill that, for all the leek hath a white head, the tail thereof is green. But to these, laying aside pleasantry, I answer that never, no, not to the extreme limit of my life, shall I repute it to myself for shame to seek to please those whom Guido Cavalcanti and Dante Alighieri, when already stricken in years, and Messer Cino da Pistoja, when a very old man, held in honour and whose approof was dear to them. And were it not to depart from the wonted usance of discourse, I would cite history in support and show it to be all full of stories of ancient and noble men who in their ripest years have still above all studied to please the ladies, the which an they know not, let them go learn. That I should abide with the Muses on Parnassus, I confess to be good counsel; but, since we can neither abide for ever with the Muses, nor they with us, it is nothing blameworthy if, whenas it chanceth a man is parted from them, he take delight in seeing that which is like unto them. The muses are women, and albeit women may not avail to match with them, yet at first sight they have a semblance of them; insomuch that, an they pleased me not for aught else, for this they should please me; more by token that women have aforetime been to me the occasion of composing a thousand verses, whereas the Muses never were to me the occasion of making any. They aided me, indeed, and showed me how to compose the verses in question; and peradventure, in the writing of these present things, all lowly though they be, they have come whiles to abide with me, in token maybe and honour of the likeness that women bear to them; wherefore, in inditing these toys, I stray not so far from Mount Parnassus nor from the Muses as many belike conceive.\n\nBut what shall we say to those who have such compassion on my hunger that they counsel me provide myself bread? Certes, I know not, save that, whenas I seek to imagine in myself what would be their answer, an I should of necessity beseech them thereof, to wit, of bread, methinketh they would reply, \"Go seek it among thy fables.\" Indeed, aforetime poets have found more thereof among their fables than many a rich man among his treasures, and many, following after their fables, have caused their age to flourish; whereas, on the contrary, many, in seeking to have more bread than they needed, have perished miserably. What more shall I say? Let them drive me forth, whenas I ask it of them, not that, Godamercy, I have yet need thereof; and even should need betide, I know with the Apostle Paul both how to abound and suffer need; wherefore let none be more careful of me than I am of myself. For those who say that these things have not been such as I have here set them down, I would fain have them produce the originals, and an these latter accord not with that of which I write, I will confess their objection for just and will study to amend myself; but till otherwhat than words appeareth, I will leave them to their opinion and follow mine own, saying of them that which they say of me.\n\nWherefore, deeming that for the nonce I have answered enough, I say that, armed, as I hope to be, with God's aid and yours, gentlest ladies, and with fair patience, I will fare on with this that I have begun, turning my back to the wind aforesaid and letting it blow, for that I see not that aught can betide me other than that which betideth thin dust, the which a whirlwind, whenas it bloweth, either stirreth not from the earth, or, an it stir it, carrieth it aloft and leaveth it oftentimes upon the heads of men and upon the crowns of kings and emperors, nay, bytimes upon high palaces and lofty towers, whence an it fall, it cannot go lower than the place wherefrom it was uplifted. And if ever with all my might I vowed myself to seek to please you in aught, now more than ever shall I address myself thereto; for that I know none can with reason say otherwhat than that I and others who love you do according to nature, whose laws to seek to gainstand demandeth overgreat strength, and oftentimes not only in vain, but to the exceeding hurt of whoso striveth to that end, is this strength employed. Such strength I confess I have not nor ever desired in this to have; and an I had it, I had liefer lend it to others than use it for myself. Wherefore, let the carpers be silent and an they avail not to warm themselves, let them live star\u2013stricken and abiding in their delights\u2014or rather their corrupt appetites,\u2014leave me to abide in mine for this brief life that is appointed me. But now, fair ladies, for that we have strayed enough, needs must we return whence we set out and ensue the ordinance commenced.\n\nThe sun had already banished every star from the sky and had driven from the earth the humid vapours of the night, when Filostrato, arising, caused all his company arise and with them betook himself to the fair garden, where they all proceeded to disport themselves, and the eating\u2013hour come, they dined whereas they had supped on the foregoing evening. Then, after having slept, what time the sun was at its highest, they seated themselves, after the wonted fashion, hard by the fair fountain, and Filostrato bade Fiammetta give beginning to the story\u2013telling; whereupon, without awaiting further commandment, she began with womanly grace as follows:"
            },
            {
                "title": "TANCRED, PRINCE OF SALERNO, SLAYETH HIS DAUGHTER'S LOVER AND SENDETH HER HIS HEART IN A BOWL OF GOLD; WHEREUPON, POURING POISONED WATER OVER IT, SHE DRINKETH THEREOF AND DIETH",
                "text": "\"Our king hath this day appointed us a woeful subject of discourse, considering that, whereas we came hither to make merry, needs must we tell of others' tears, the which may not be recounted without moving both those who tell and those who hearken to compassion thereof. He hath mayhap done this somedele to temper the mirth of the foregoing days; but, whatsoever may have moved him thereto, since it pertaineth not to me to change his pleasure, I will relate a piteous chance, nay, an ill\u2013fortuned and a worthy of your tears.\"\n\nTancred, Lord of Salerno, was a humane prince and benign enough of nature, (had he not in his old age imbrued his hands in lover's blood,) who in all the course of his life had but one daughter, and happier had he been if he had none. She was of him as tenderly loved as ever daughter of father, and knowing not, by reason of this his tender love for her, how to part with her, he married her not till she had long overpassed the age when she should have had a husband. At last, he gave her to wife to a son of the Duke of Capua, with whom having abidden a little while, she was left a widow and returned to her father. Now she was most fair of form and favour, as ever was woman, and young and sprightly and learned perchance more than is required of a lady. Abiding, then, with her father in all ease and luxury, like a great lady as she was, and seeing that, for the love he bore her, he recked little of marrying her again, nor did it seem to her a seemly thing to require him thereof, she bethought herself to seek, an it might be, to get her privily a worthy lover. She saw men galore, gentle and simple, frequent her father's court, and considering the manners and fashions of many, a young serving\u2013man of her father's, Guiscardo by name, a man of humble enough extraction, but nobler of worth and manners than whatsoever other, pleased her over all and of him, seeing him often, she became in secret ardently enamoured, approving more and more his fashions every hour; whilst the young man, who was no dullard, perceiving her liking for him, received her into his heart, on such wise that his mind was thereby diverted from well nigh everything other than the love of her.\n\nEach, then, thus secretly tendering the other, the young lady, who desired nothing so much as to foregather with him, but had no mind to make any one a confidant of her passion, bethought herself of a rare device to apprize him of the means; to wit, she wrote him a letter, wherein she showed him how he should do to foregather with her on the ensuing day, and placing it in the hollow of a cane, gave the letter jestingly to Guiscardo, saying, 'Make thee a bellows thereof for thy serving\u2013maid, wherewith she may blow up the fire to\u2013night.' Guiscardo took the cane and bethinking himself that she would not have given it him nor spoken thus, without some cause, took his leave and returned therewith to his lodging. There he examined the cane and seeing it to be cleft, opened it and found therein the letter, which having read and well apprehended that which he had to do, he was the joyfullest man alive and set about taking order how he might go to her, according to the fashion appointed him of her.\n\nThere was, beside the prince's palace, a grotto hewn out of the rock and made in days long agone, and to this grotto some little light was given by a tunnel by art wrought in the mountain, which latter, for that the grotto was abandoned, was well nigh blocked at its mouth with briers and weeds that had overgrown it. Into this grotto one might go by a privy stair which was in one of the ground floor rooms of the lady's apartment in the palace and which was shut in by a very strong door. This stair was so out of all folk's minds, for that it had been unused from time immemorial, that well nigh none remembered it to be there; but Love, to whose eyes there is nothing so secret but it winneth, had recalled it to the memory of the enamoured lady, who, that none should get wind of the matter, had laboured sore many days with such tools as she might command, ere she could make shift to open the door; then, going down alone thereby into the grotto and seeing the tunnel, she sent to bid Guiscardo study to come to her thereby and acquainted him with the height which herseemed should be from the mouth thereof to the ground.\n\nTo this end Guiscardo promptly made ready a rope with certain knots and loops, whereby he might avail to descend and ascend, and donning a leathern suit, that might defend him from the briers, he on the ensuing night repaired, without letting any know aught of the matter, to the mouth of the tunnel. There making one end of the rope fast to a stout tree\u2013stump that had grown up in the mouth, he let himself down thereby into the grotto and there awaited the lady, who, on the morrow, feigning a desire to sleep, dismissed her women and shut herself up alone in her chamber; then, opening the privy door, she descended into the grotto, where she found Guiscardo. They greeted one another with marvellous joy and betook themselves to her chamber, where they abode great part of the day in the utmost delight; and after they had taken order together for the discreet conduct of their loves, so they might abide secret, Guiscardo returned to the grotto, whilst she shut the privy door and went forth to her women. The night come, Guiscardo climbed up by his rope to the mouth of the tunnel and issuing forth whence he had entered in, returned to his lodging; and having learned this road, he in process of time returned many times thereafter.\n\nBut fortune, jealous of so long and so great a delight, with a woeful chance changed the gladness of the two lovers into mourning and sorrow; and it befell on this wise. Tancred was wont to come bytimes all alone into his daughter's chamber and there abide with her and converse awhile and after go away. Accordingly, one day, after dinner, he came thither, what time the lady (whose name was Ghismonda) was in a garden of hers with all her women, and willing not to take her from her diversion, he entered her chamber, without being seen or heard of any. Finding the windows closed and the curtains let down over the bed, he sat down in a corner on a hassock at the bedfoot and leant his head against the bed; then, drawing the curtain over himself, as if he had studied to hide himself there, he fell asleep. As he slept thus, Ghismonda, who, as ill chance would have it, had appointed her lover to come thither that day, softly entered the chamber, leaving her women in the garden, and having shut herself in, without perceiving that there was some one there, opened the secret door to Guiscardo, who awaited her. They straightway betook themselves to bed, as of their wont, and what while they sported and solaced themselves together, it befell that Tancred awoke and heard and saw that which Guiscardo and his daughter did; whereat beyond measure grieved, at first he would have cried out at them, but after bethought himself to keep silence and abide, an he might, hidden, so with more secrecy and less shame to himself he might avail to do that which had already occurred to his mind.\n\nThe two lovers abode a great while together, according to their usance, without observing Tancred, and coming down from the bed, whenas it seemed to them time, Guiscardo returned to the grotto and she departed the chamber; whereupon Tancred, for all he was an old man, let himself down into the garden by a window and returned, unseen of any, to his own chamber, sorrowful unto death. That same night, at the time of the first sleep, Guiscardo, by his orders, was seized by two men, as he came forth of the tunnel, and carried secretly, trussed as he was in his suit of leather, to Tancred, who, whenas he saw him, said, well nigh weeping, 'Guiscardo, my kindness to thee merited not the outrage and the shame thou hast done me in mine own flesh and blood, as I have this day seen with my very eyes.' Whereto Guiscardo answered nothing but this, 'Love can far more than either you or I.' Tancred then commanded that he should be kept secretly under guard and in one of the chambers of the palace, and so was it done.\n\nOn the morrow, having meanwhile revolved in himself many and divers devices, he betook himself, after eating, as of his wont, to his daughter's chamber and sending for the lady, who as yet knew nothing of these things, shut himself up with her and proceeded, with tears in his eyes, to bespeak her thus: 'Ghismonda, meseemed I knew thy virtue and thine honesty, nor might it ever have occurred to my mind, though it were told me, had I not seen it with mine own eyes, that thou wouldst, even so much as in thought, have abandoned thyself to any man, except he were thy husband; wherefore in this scant remnant of life that my eld reserveth unto me, I shall still abide sorrowful, remembering me of this. Would God, an thou must needs stoop to such wantonness, thou hadst taken a man sortable to thy quality! But, amongst so many who frequent my court, thou hast chosen Guiscardo, a youth of the meanest condition, reared in our court, well nigh of charity, from a little child up to this day; wherefore thou hast put me in sore travail of mind, for that I know not what course to take with thee. With Guiscardo, whom I caused take yesternight, as he issued forth of the tunnel and have in ward, I am already resolved how to deal; but with thee God knoweth I know not what to do. On one side love draweth me, which I still borne thee more than father ever bore daughter, and on the other most just despite, conceived for thine exceeding folly; the one would have me pardon thee, the other would have me, against my nature, deal harshly by thee. But ere I come to a decision, I would fain hear what thou hast to say to this.' So saying, he bowed his head and wept sore as would a beaten child.\n\nGhismonda, hearing her father's words and seeing that not only was her secret love discovered, but Guiscardo taken, felt an inexpressible chagrin and came many a time near upon showing it with outcry and tears, as women mostly do; nevertheless, her haughty soul overmastering that weakness, with marvellous fortitude she composed her countenance and rather than proffer any prayer for herself, determined inwardly to abide no more on life, doubting not but her Guiscardo was already dead. Wherefore, not as a woman rebuked and woeful for her default, but as one undaunted and valiant, with dry eyes and face open and nowise troubled, she thus bespoke her father: 'Tancred, I purpose neither to deny nor to entreat, for that the one would profit me nothing nor would I have the other avail me; more by token that I am nowise minded to seek to render thy mansuetude and thine affection favourable to me, but rather, confessing the truth, first with true arguments to vindicate mine honour and after with deeds right resolutely to ensue the greatness of my soul. True is it I have loved and love Guiscardo, and what while I live, which will be little, I shall love him, nor, if folk live after death, shall I ever leave loving him; but unto this it was not so much my feminine frailty that moved me as thy little solicitude to remarry me and his own worth.\n\nIt should have been manifest to thee, Tancred, being as thou art flesh and blood, that thou hadst begotten a daughter of flesh and blood and not of iron or stone; and thou shouldst have remembered and should still remember, for all thou art old, what and what like are the laws of youth and with what potency they work; nor, albeit thou, being a man, hast in thy best years exercised thyself in part in arms, shouldst thou the less know what ease and leisure and luxury can do in the old, to say nothing of the young. I am, then, as being of thee begotten, of flesh and blood and have lived so little that I am yet young and (for the one and the other reason) full of carnal desire, whereunto the having aforetime, by reason of marriage, known what pleasure it is to give accomplishment to such desire hath added marvellous strength. Unable, therefore, to withstand the strength of my desires, I addressed myself, being young and a woman, to ensue that whereto they prompted me and became enamoured. And certes in this I set my every faculty to the endeavouring that, so far as in me lay, no shame should ensue either to thee or to me through this to which natural frailty moved me. To this end compassionate Love and favouring Fortune found and showed me a very occult way, whereby, unknown of any, I won to my desire, and this, whoever it be discovered it to thee or howsoever thou knowest it, I nowise deny.\n\nGuiscardo I took not at hazard, as many women do; nay, of deliberate counsel I chose him before every other and with advisement prepense drew him to me and by dint of perseverance and discretion on my part and on his, I have long had enjoyment of my desire. Whereof it seemeth that thou, ensuing rather vulgar prejudice than truth, reproachest me with more bitterness than of having sinned by way of love, saying (as if thou shouldst not have been chagrined, had I chosen therefor a man of gentle birth,) that I have committed myself with a man of mean condition. Wherein thou seest not that thou blamest not my default, but that of fortune, which too often advanceth the unworthy to high estate, leaving the worthiest alow.\n\nBut now let us leave this and look somewhat to the first principles of things, whereby thou wilt see that we all get our flesh from one same stock and that all souls were by one same Creator created with equal faculties, equal powers and equal virtues. Worth it was that first distinguished between us, who were all and still are born equal; wherefore those who had and used the greatest sum thereof were called noble and the rest abode not noble. And albeit contrary usance hath since obscured this primary law, yet is it nowise done away nor blotted out from nature and good manners; wherefore he who doth worthily manifestly showeth himself a gentleman, and if any call him otherwise, not he who is called, but he who calleth committeth default. Look among all thy gentlemen and examine into their worth, their usances and their manners, and on the other hand consider those of Guiscardo; if thou wilt consent to judge without animosity, thou wilt say that he is most noble and that these thy nobles are all churls. With regard to his worth and virtue, I trusted not to the judgment of any other, but to that of thy words and of mine own eyes. Who ever so commended him as thou didst in all those praiseworthy things wherefor a man of worth should be commended? And certes not without reason; for, if mine eyes deceived me not, there was no praise given him of thee which I saw him not justify by deeds, and that more admirably than thy words availed to express; and even had I suffered any deceit in this, it is by thyself I should have been deceived. An, then, thou say that I have committed myself with a man of mean condition, thou sayst not sooth; but shouldst thou say with a poor man, it might peradventure be conceded thee, to thy shame who hast so ill known to put a servant of thine and a man of worth in good case; yet poverty bereaveth not any of gentilesse; nay, rather, wealth it is that doth this. Many kings, many great princes were once poor and many who delve and tend sheep were once very rich.\n\nThe last doubt that thou broachest, to wit, what thou shouldst do with me, drive it away altogether; an thou in thine extreme old age be disposed to do that which thou usedst not, being young, namely, to deal cruelly, wreak thy cruelty upon me, who am minded to proffer no prayer unto thee, as being the prime cause of this sin, if sin it be; for of this I certify thee, that whatsoever thou hast done or shalt do with Guiscardo, an thou do not the like with me, mine own hands shall do it. Now begone; go shed tears with women and waxing cruel, slay him and me with one same blow, an it seem to thee we have deserved it.'\n\nThe prince knew the greatness of his daughter's soul, but notwithstanding believed her not altogether so firmly resolved as she said unto that which her words gave out. Wherefore, taking leave of her and having laid aside all intent of using rigour against her person, he thought to cool her fervent love with other's suffering and accordingly bade Guiscardo's two guardians strangle him without noise that same night and taking out his heart, bring it to him. They did even as it was commanded them, and on the morrow the prince let bring a great and goodly bowl of gold and setting therein Guiscardo's heart, despatched it to his daughter by the hands of a very privy servant of his, bidding him say, whenas he gave it her, 'Thy father sendeth thee this, to solace thee of the thing thou most lovest, even as thou hast solaced him of that which he loved most.'\n\nNow Ghismonda, unmoved from her stern purpose, had, after her father's departure, let bring poisonous herbs and roots and distilled and reduced them in water, so she might have it at hand, an that she feared should come to pass. The serving\u2013man coming to her with the prince's present and message, she took the cup with a steadfast countenance and uncovered it. Whenas she saw the heart and apprehended the words of the message, she was throughly certified that this was Guiscardo's heart and turning her eyes upon the messenger, said to him, 'No sepulchre less of worth than one of gold had beseemed a heart such as this; and in this my father hath done discreetly.' So saying, she set the heart to her lips and kissing it, said, 'Still in everything and even to this extreme limit of my life have I found my father's love most tender towards me; but now more than ever; wherefore do than render him on my part for so great a gift the last thanks I shall ever have to give him.'\n\nThen, bending down over the cup, which she held fast, she said, looking upon the heart, 'Alack, sweetest harbourage of all my pleasures, accursed be his cruelty who maketh me now to see thee with the eyes of the body! Enough was it for me at all hours to behold thee with those of the mind. Thou hast finished thy course and hast acquitted thyself on such wise as was vouchsafed thee of fortune; thou art come to the end whereunto each runneth; thou hast left the toils and miseries of the world, and of thy very enemy thou hast that sepulchre which thy worth hath merited. There lacked nought to thee to make thy funeral rites complete save her tears whom in life thou so lovedst, the which that thou mightest have, God put it into the heart of my unnatural father to send thee to me and I will give them to thee, albeit I had purposed to die with dry eyes and visage undismayed of aught; and having given them to thee, I will without delay so do that my soul, thou working it, shall rejoin that soul which thou erst so dearly guardedst. And in what company could I betake me more contentedly or with better assurance to the regions unknown than with it? Certain am I that it abideth yet herewithin and vieweth the seats of its delights and mine and as that which I am assured still loveth me, awaiteth my soul, whereof it is over all beloved.'\n\nSo saying, no otherwise than as she had a fountain of water in her head, bowing herself over the bowl, without making any womanly outcry, she began, lamenting, to shed so many and such tears that they were a marvel to behold, kissing the dead heart the while an infinite number of times. Her women, who stood about her, understood not what this heart was nor what her words meant, but, overcome with compassion, wept all and in vain questioned her affectionately of the cause of her lament and studied yet more, as best they knew and might, to comfort her. The lady, having wept as much as herseemed fit, raised her head and drying her eyes, said, 'O much\u2013loved heart, I have accomplished mine every office towards thee, nor is there left me aught else to do save to come with my soul and bear thine company.' So saying, she called for the vial wherein was the water she had made the day before and poured the latter into the bowl where was the heart bathed with so many of her tears; then, setting her mouth thereto without any fear, she drank it all off and having drunken, mounted, with the cup in her hand, upon the bed, where composing her body as most decently she might, she pressed her dead lover's heart to her own and without saying aught, awaited death.\n\nHer women, seeing and hearing all this, albeit they knew not what water this was she had drunken, had sent to tell Tancred everything, and he, fearing that which came to pass, came quickly down into his daughter's chamber, where he arrived what time she laid herself on her bed and addressed himself too late to comfort her with soft words; but, seeing the extremity wherein she was, he fell a\u2013weeping grievously; whereupon quoth the lady to him, 'Tancred, keep these tears against a less desired fate than this of mine and give them not to me, who desire them not. Who ever saw any, other than thou, lament for that which he himself hath willed? Nevertheless, if aught yet live in thee of the love which once thou borest me, vouchsafe me for a last boon that, since it was not thy pleasure that I should privily and in secret live with Guiscardo, my body may openly abide with his, whereassoever thou hast caused cast him dead.' The agony of his grief suffered not the prince to reply; whereupon the young lady, feeling herself come to her end, strained the dead heart to her breast and said, 'Abide ye with God, for I go hence.' Then, closing her eyes and losing every sense, she departed this life of woe. Such, then, as you have heard, was the sorrowful ending of the loves of Guiscardo and Ghismonda, whose bodies Tancred, after much lamentation, too late repenting him of his cruelty, caused honourably bury in one same sepulchre, amid the general mourning of all the people of Salerno.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FRA ALBERTO GIVETH A LADY TO BELIEVE THAT THE ANGEL GABRIEL IS ENAMOURED OF HER AND IN HIS SHAPE LIETH WITH HER SUNDRY TIMES; AFTER WHICH, FOR FEAR OF HER KINSMEN, HE CASTETH HIMSELF FORTH OF HER WINDOW INTO THE CANAL AND TAKETH REFUGE IN THE HOUSE OF A POOR MAN, WHO ON THE MORROW CARRIETH HIM, IN THE GUISE OF A WILD MAN OF THE WOODS, TO THE PIAZZA, WHERE, BEING RECOGNIZED, HE IS TAKEN BY HIS BRETHREN AND PUT IN PRISON",
                "text": "The story told by Fiammetta had more than once brought the tears to the eyes of the ladies her companions; but, it being now finished, the king with a stern countenance said, \"My life would seem to me a little price to give for half the delight that Guiscardo had with Ghismonda, nor should any of you ladies marvel thereat, seeing that every hour of my life I suffer a thousand deaths, nor for all that is a single particle of delight vouchsafed me. But, leaving be my affairs for the present, it is my pleasure that Pampinea follow on the order of the discourse with some story of woeful chances and fortunes in part like to mine own; which if she ensue like as Fiammetta hath begun, I shall doubtless begin to feel some dew fallen upon my fire.\" Pampinea, hearing the order laid upon her, more by her affection apprehended the mind of the ladies her companions than that of Filostrato by his words, wherefore, being more disposed to give them some diversion than to content the king, farther than in the mere letter of his commandment, she bethought herself to tell a story, that should, without departing from the proposed theme, give occasion for laughter, and accordingly began as follows:\n\n\"The vulgar have a proverb to the effect that he who is naught and is held good may do ill and it is not believed of him; the which affordeth me ample matter for discourse upon that which hath been proposed to me and at the same time to show what and how great is the hypocrisy of the clergy, who, with garments long and wide and faces paled by art and voices humble and meek to solicit the folk, but exceeding loud and fierce to rebuke in others their own vices, pretend that themselves by taking and others by giving to them come to salvation, and to boot, not as men who have, like ourselves, to purchase paradise, but as in a manner they were possessors and lords thereof, assign unto each who dieth, according to the sum of the monies left them by him, a more or less excellent place there, studying thus to deceive first themselves, an they believe as they say, and after those who put faith for that matter in their words. Anent whom, were it permitted me to discover as much as it behoved, I would quickly make clear to many simple folk that which they keep hidden under those huge wide gowns of theirs. But would God it might betide them all of their cozening tricks, as it betided a certain minor friar, and he no youngling, but held one of the first casuists in Venice; of whom it especially pleaseth me to tell you, so as peradventure somewhat to cheer your hearts, that are full of compassion for the death of Ghismonda, with laughter and pleasance.\"\n\nThere was, then, noble ladies, in Imola, a man of wicked and corrupt life, who was called Berto della Massa and whose lewd fashions, being well known of the Imolese, had brought him into such ill savour with them that there was none in the town who would credit him, even when he said sooth; wherefore, seeing that his shifts might no longer stand him in stead there, he removed in desperation to Venice, the receptacle of every kind of trash, thinking to find there new means of carrying on his wicked practices. There, as if conscience\u2013stricken for the evil deeds done by him in the past, feigning himself overcome with the utmost humility and waxing devouter than any man alive, he went and turned Minor Friar and styled himself Fra Alberta da Imola; in which habit he proceeded to lead, to all appearance, a very austere life, greatly commending abstinence and mortification and never eating flesh nor drinking wine, whenas he had not thereof that which was to his liking. In short, scarce was any ware of him when from a thief, a pimp, a forger, a manslayer, he suddenly became a great preacher, without having for all that forsworn the vices aforesaid, whenas he might secretly put them in practice. Moreover, becoming a priest, he would still, whenas he celebrated mass at the altar, an he were seen of many, beweep our Saviour's passion, as one whom tears cost little, whenas he willed it. Brief, what with his preachings and his tears, he contrived on such wise to inveigle the Venetians that he was trustee and depository of well nigh every will made in the town and guardian of folk's monies, besides being confessor and counsellor of the most part of the men and women of the place; and doing thus, from wolf he was become shepherd and the fame of his sanctity was far greater in those parts than ever was that of St. Francis at Assisi.\n\nIt chanced one day that a vain simple young lady, by name Madam Lisetta da Ca Quirino, wife of a great merchant who was gone with the galleys into Flanders, came with other ladies to confess to this same holy friar, at whose feet kneeling and having, like a true daughter of Venice as she was (where the women are all feather\u2013brained), told him part of her affairs, she was asked of him if she had a lover. Whereto she answered, with an offended air, 'Good lack, sir friar, have you no eyes in your head? Seem my charms to you such as those of yonder others? I might have lovers and to spare, an I would; but my beauties are not for this one nor that. How many women do you see whose charms are such as mine, who would be fair in Paradise?' Brief, she said so many things of this beauty of hers that it was a weariness to hear. Fra Alberto incontinent perceived that she savoured of folly and himseeming she was a fit soil for his tools, he fell suddenly and beyond measure in love with her; but, reserving blandishments for a more convenient season, he proceeded, for the nonce, so he might show himself a holy man, to rebuke her and tell her that this was vainglory and so forth. The lady told him he was an ass and knew not what one beauty was more than another, whereupon he, unwilling to vex her overmuch, took her confession and let her go away with the others.\n\nHe let some days pass, then, taking with him a trusty companion of his, he repaired to Madam Lisetta's house and withdrawing with her into a room apart, where none might see him, he fell on his knees before her and said, 'Madam, I pray you for God's sake pardon me that which I said to you last Sunday, whenas you bespoke me of your beauty, for that the following night I was so cruelly chastised there that I have not since been able to rise from my bed till to\u2013day.' Quoth Mistress Featherbrain, 'And who chastised you thus?' 'I will tell you,' replied the monk. 'Being that night at my orisons, as I still use to be, I saw of a sudden a great light in my cell and ere I could turn me to see what it might be, I beheld over against me a very fair youth with a stout cudgel in his hand, who took me by the gown and dragging me to my feet, gave me such a drubbing that he broke every bone in my body. I asked him why he used me thus and he answered, \"For that thou presumedst to\u2013day, to disparage the celestial charms of Madam Lisetta, whom I love over all things, save only God. \"Who, then, are you?\" asked I; and he replied that he was the angel Gabriel. \"O my lord,\" said I, \"I pray you pardon me\"; and he, \"So be it; I pardon thee on condition that thou go to her, as first thou mayst, and get her pardon; but if she pardons thee not, I will return to thee and give thee such a bout of it that I will make thee a woeful man for all the time thou shalt live here below.\" That which he said to me after I dare not tell you, except you first pardon me.'\n\nMy Lady Addlepate, who was somewhat scant of wit, was overjoyed to hear this, taking it all for gospel, and said, after a little, 'I told you, Fra Alberto, that my charms were celestial, but, so God be mine aid, it irketh me for you and I will pardon you forthright, so you may come to no more harm, provided you tell me truly that which the angel said to you after.' 'Madam,' replied Fra Alberto, 'since you pardon me, I will gladly tell it you; but I must warn you of one thing, to wit, that whatever I tell you, you must have a care not to repeat it to any one alive, an you would not mar your affairs, for that you are the luckiest lady in the world. The angel Gabriel bade me tell you that you pleased him so much that he had many a time come to pass the night with you, but that he feared to affright you. Now he sendeth to tell you by me that he hath a mind to come to you one night and abide awhile with you and (for that he is an angel and that, if he came in angel\u2013form, you might not avail to touch him,) he purposeth, for your delectation, to come in guise of a man, wherefore he biddeth you send to tell him when you would have him come and in whose form, and he will come hither; whereof you may hold yourself blest over any other lady alive.'\n\nMy Lady Conceit answered that it liked her well that the angel Gabriel loved her, seeing she loved him well nor ever failed to light a candle of a groat before him, whereas she saw him depictured, and that what time soever he chose to come to her, he should be dearly welcome and would find her all alone in her chamber, but on this condition, that he should not leave her for the Virgin Mary, whose great well\u2013wisher it was said he was, as indeed appeareth, inasmuch as in every place where she saw him limned, he was on his knees before her. Moreover, she said it must rest with him to come in whatsoever form he pleased, so but she was not affrighted.\n\nThen said Fra Alberto, 'Madam, you speak sagely and I will without fail take order with him of that which you tell me. But you may do me a great favour, which will cost you nothing; it is this, that you will him come with this my body. And I will tell you in what you will do me a favour; you must know that he will take my soul forth of my body and put it in Paradise, whilst he himself will enter into me; and what while he abideth with you, so long will my soul abide in Paradise.' 'With all my heart,' answered Dame Littlewit. 'I will well that you have this consolation, in requital of the buffets he gave you on my account.' Then said Fra Alberto, 'Look that he find the door of your house open to\u2013night, so he may come in thereat, for that, coming in human form, as he will, he might not enter save by the door.' The lady replied that it should be done, whereupon the monk took his leave and she abode in such a transport of exultation that her breech touched not her shift and herseemed a thousand years till the angel Gabriel should come to her.\n\nMeanwhile, Fra Alberto, bethinking him that it behoved him play the cavalier, not the angel, that night proceeded to fortify himself with confections and other good things, so he might not lightly be unhorsed; then, getting leave, as soon as it was night, he repaired with one of his comrades to the house of a woman, a friend of his, whence he was used whiles to take his start what time he went to course the fillies; and thence, whenas it seemed to him time, having disguised himself, he betook him to the lady's house. There he tricked himself out as an angel with the trappings he had brought with him and going up, entered the chamber of the lady, who, seeing this creature all in white, fell on her knees before him. The angel blessed her and raising her to her feet, signed to her to go to bed, which she, studious to obey, promptly did, and the angel after lay down with his devotee. Now Fra Alberto was a personable man of his body and a lusty and excellent well set up on his legs; wherefore, finding himself in bed with Madam Lisetta, who was young and dainty, he showed himself another guess bedfellow than her husband and many a time that night took flight without wings, whereof she avowed herself exceeding content; and eke he told her many things of the glories of heaven. Then, the day drawing near, after taking order for his return, he made off with his trappings and returned to his comrade, whom the good woman of the house had meanwhile borne amicable company, lest he should get a fright, lying alone.\n\nAs for the lady, no sooner had she dined than, taking her waiting\u2013woman with her, she betook herself to Fra Alberto and gave him news of the angel Gabriel, telling him that which she had heard from him of the glories of life eternal and how he was made and adding to boot, marvellous stories of her own invention. 'Madam,' said he, 'I know not how you fared with him; I only know that yesternight, whenas he came to me and I did your message to him, he suddenly transported my soul amongst such a multitude of roses and other flowers that never was the like thereof seen here below, and I abode in one of the most delightsome places that was aye until the morning; but what became of my body meanwhile I know not.' 'Do I not tell you?' answered the lady. 'Your body lay all night in mine arms with the angel Gabriel. If you believe me not, look under your left pap, whereas I gave the angel such a kiss that the marks of it will stay by you for some days to come.' Quoth the friar, 'Say you so? Then will I do to\u2013day a thing I have not done this great while; I will strip myself, to see if you tell truth.' Then, after much prating, the lady returned home and Fra Alberto paid her many visits in angel\u2013form, without suffering any hindrance.\n\nHowever, it chanced one day that Madam Lisetta, being in dispute with a gossip of hers upon the question of female charms, to set her own above all others, said, like a woman who had little wit in her noddle, 'An you but knew whom my beauty pleaseth, in truth you would hold your peace of other women.' The other, longing to hear, said, as one who knew her well, 'Madam, maybe you say sooth; but knowing not who this may be, one cannot turn about so lightly.' Thereupon quoth Lisetta, who was eath enough to draw, 'Gossip, it must go no farther; but he I mean is the angel Gabriel, who loveth me more than himself, as the fairest lady (for that which he telleth me) who is in the world or the Maremma.' The other had a mind to laugh, but contained herself, so she might make Lisetta speak farther, and said, 'Faith, madam, an the angel Gabriel be your lover and tell you this, needs must it be so; but methought not the angels did these things.' 'Gossip,' answered the lady, 'you are mistaken; zounds, he doth what you wot of better than my husband and telleth me they do it also up yonder; but, for that I seem to him fairer than any she in heaven, he hath fallen in love with me and cometh full oft to lie with me; seestow now?'\n\nThe gossip, to whom it seemed a thousand years till she should be whereas she might repeat these things, took her leave of Madam Lisetta and foregathering at an entertainment with a great company of ladies, orderly recounted to them the whole story. They told it again to their husbands and other ladies, and these to yet others, and so in less than two days Venice was all full of it. Among others to whose ears the thing came were Lisetta's brothers\u2013in\u2013law, who, without saying aught to her, bethought themselves to find the angel in question and see if he knew how to fly, and to this end they lay several nights in wait for him. As chance would have it, some inkling of the matter came to the ears of Fra Alberto, who accordingly repaired one night to the lady's house, to reprove her, but hardly had he put off his clothes ere her brothers\u2013in\u2013law, who had seen him come, were at the door of her chamber to open it.\n\nFra Alberto, hearing this and guessing what was to do, started up and having no other resource, opened a window, which gave upon the Grand Canal, and cast himself thence into the water. The canal was deep there and he could swim well, so that he did himself no hurt, but made his way to the opposite bank and hastily entering a house that stood open there, besought a poor man, whom he found within, to save his life for the love of God, telling him a tale of his own fashion, to explain how he came there at that hour and naked. The good man was moved to pity and it behoving him to go do his occasions, he put him in his own bed and bade him abide there against his return; then, locking him in, he went about his affairs. Meanwhile, the lady's brothers\u2013in\u2013law entered her chamber and found that the angel Gabriel had flown, leaving his wings there; whereupon, seeing themselves baffled, they gave her all manner hard words and ultimately made off to their own house with the angel's trappings, leaving her disconsolate.\n\nBroad day come, the good man with whom Fra Alberto had taken refuge, being on the Rialto, heard how the angel Gabriel had gone that night to lie with Madam Lisetta and being surprised by her kinsmen, had cast himself for fear into the canal, nor was it known what was come of him, and concluded forthright that this was he whom he had at home. Accordingly, he returned thither and recognizing the monk, found means after much parley, to make him fetch him fifty ducats, an he would not have him give him up to the lady's kinsmen. Having gotten the money and Fra Alberto offering to depart thence, the good man said to him, 'There is no way of escape for you, an it be not one that I will tell you. We hold to\u2013day a festival, wherein one bringeth a man clad bear\u2013fashion and another one accoutred as a wild man of the woods and what not else, some one thing and some another, and there is a hunt held in St. Mark's Place, which finished, the festival is at an end and after each goeth whither it pleaseth him with him whom he hath brought. An you will have me lead you thither, after one or other of these fashions, I can after carry you whither you please, ere it be spied out that you are here; else I know not how you are to get away, without being recognized, for the lady's kinsmen, concluding that you must be somewhere hereabout, have set a watch for you on all sides.'\n\nHard as it seemed to Fra Alberto to go on such wise, nevertheless, of the fear he had of the lady's kinsmen, he resigned himself thereto and told his host whither he would be carried, leaving the manner to him. Accordingly, the other, having smeared him all over with honey and covered him with down, clapped a chain about his neck and a mask on his face; then giving him a great staff in on hand and in the other two great dogs which he had fetched from the shambles he despatched one to the Rialto to make public proclamation that whoso would see the angel Gabriel should repair to St. Mark's Place; and this was Venetian loyalty! This done, after a while, he brought him forth and setting him before himself, went holding him by the chain behind, to the no small clamour of the folk, who said all, 'What be this? What be this?' till he came to the place, where, what with those who had followed after them and those who, hearing the proclamation, were come thither from the Rialto, were folk without end. There he tied his wild man to a column in a raised and high place, making a show of awaiting the hunt, whilst the flies and gads gave the monk exceeding annoy, for that he was besmeared with honey. But, when he saw the place well filled, making as he would unchain his wild man, he pulled off Fra Alberto's mask and said, 'Gentlemen, since the bear cometh not and there is no hunt toward, I purpose, so you may not be come in vain, that you shall see the angel Gabriel, who cometh down from heaven to earth anights, to comfort the Venetian ladies.'\n\nNo sooner was the mask off than Fra Alberto was incontinent recognized of all, who raised a general outcry against him, giving him the scurviest words and the soundest rating was ever given a canting knave; moreover, they cast in his face, one this kind of filth and another that, and so they baited him a great while, till the news came by chance to his brethren, whereupon half a dozen of them sallied forth and coming thither, unchained him and threw a gown over him; then, with a general hue and cry behind them, they carried him off to the convent, where it is believed he died in prison, after a wretched life. Thus then did this fellow, held good and doing ill, without it being believed, dare to feign himself the angel Gabriel, and after being turned into a wild man of the woods and put to shame, as he deserved, bewailed, when too late, the sins he had committed. God grant it happen thus to all other knaves of his fashion!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THREE YOUNG MEN LOVE THREE SISTERS AND FLEE WITH THEM INTO CRETE, WHERE THE ELDEST SISTER FOR JEALOUSY SLAYETH HER LOVER. THE SECOND, YIELDING HERSELF TO THE DUKE OF CRETE, SAVETH HER SISTER FROM DEATH, WHEREUPON HER OWN LOVER SLAYETH HER AND FLEETH WITH THE ELDEST SISTER. MEANWHILE THE THIRD LOVER AND THE YOUNGEST SISTER ARE ACCUSED OF THE NEW MURDER AND BEING TAKEN, CONFESS IT; THEN, FOR FEAR OF DEATH, THEY CORRUPT THEIR KEEPERS WITH MONEY AND FLEE TO RHODES, WHERE THEY DIE IN POVERTY",
                "text": "Filostrato, having heard the end of Pampinea's story, bethought himself awhile and presently, turning to her, said, \"There was some little that was good and that pleased me in the ending of your story; but there was overmuch before that which gave occasion for laughter and which I would not have had there.\" Then, turning to Lauretta, \"Lady,\" said he, \"ensue you with a better, and it may be.\" Quoth she, laughing, \"You are too cruel towards lovers, an you desire of them only an ill end; but, to obey you, I will tell a story of three who all ended equally ill, having had scant enjoyment of their loves.\" So saying, she began thus: \"Young ladies, as you should manifestly know, every vice may turn to the grievous hurt of whoso practiseth it, and often of other folk also; but of all others that which with the slackest rein carrieth us away to our peril, meseemeth is anger, which is none otherwhat than a sudden and unconsidered emotion, aroused by an affront suffered, and which, banishing all reason and overclouding the eyes of the understanding with darkness, kindleth the soul to the hottest fury. And although this often cometh to pass in men and more in one than in another, yet hath it been seen aforetime to work greater mischiefs in women, for that it is lightlier enkindled in these latter and burneth in them with a fiercer flame and urgeth them with less restraint. Nor is this to be marvelled at, for that, an we choose to consider, we may see that fire, of its nature, catcheth quicklier to light and delicate things than to those which are denser and more ponderous; and we women, indeed,\u2014let men not take it ill,\u2014are more delicately fashioned than they and far more mobile. Wherefore, seeing that we are naturally inclined thereunto and considering after how our mansuetude and our loving kindness are of repose and pleasance to the men with whom we have to do and how big with harm and peril are anger and fury, I purpose, to the intent that we may with a more steadfast, mind keep ourselves from these latter, to show you by my story how the loves of three young men and as many ladies came, as I said before, to an ill end, becoming through the ire of one of the latter, from happy most unhappy.\"\n\nMarseilles is, as you know, a very ancient and noble city, situate in Provence on the sea\u2013shore, and was once more abounding in rich and great merchants than it is nowadays. Among the latter was one called Narnald Cluada, a man of mean extraction, but of renowned good faith and a loyal merchant, rich beyond measure in lands and monies, who had by a wife of his several children, whereof the three eldest were daughters. Two of these latter, born at a birth, were fifteen and the third fourteen years old, nor was aught awaited by their kinsfolk to marry them but the return of Narnald, who was gone into Spain with his merchandise. The names of the two elder were the one Ninetta and the other Maddalena and the third called Bertella. Of Ninetta a young man of gentle birth, though poor, called Restagnone, was enamoured as much as man might be, and she of him, and they had contrived to do on such wise that, without any knowing it, they had enjoyment of their loves.\n\nThey had already a pretty while enjoyed this satisfaction when it chanced that two young companions, named the one Folco and the other Ughetto, whose fathers were dead, leaving them very rich, fell in love, the one with Maddalena and the other with Bertella. Restagnone, noting this (it having been shown him of Ninetta), bethought himself that he might make shift to supply his own lack by means of the newcomers' love. Accordingly, he clapped up an acquaintance with them, so that now one, now the other of them accompanied him to visit their mistresses and his; and when himseemed he was grown privy enough with them and much their friend, he called them one day into his house and said to them, 'Dearest youths, our commerce should have certified you how great is the love I bear you and that I would do for you that which I would do for myself; and for that I love you greatly, I purpose to discover to you that which hath occurred to my mind, and you and I together will after take such counsel thereof as shall seem to you best. You, an your words lie not and for that to boot which meseemeth I have apprehended by your deeds, both daily and nightly, burn with an exceeding passion for the two young ladies beloved of you, as do I for the third their sister; and to this ardour, an you will consent thereunto, my heart giveth me to find a very sweet and pleasing remedy, the which is as follows. You are both very rich, which I am not; now, if you will agree to bring your riches into a common stock, making me a third sharer with you therein, and determine in which part of the world we shall go lead a merry life with our mistresses, my heart warranteth me I can without fail so do that the three sisters, with a great part of their father's good, will go with, us whithersoever we shall please, and there, each with his wench, like three brothers, we may live the happiest lives of any men in the world. It resteth with you now to determine whether you will go about to solace yourself in this or leave it be.'\n\nThe two young men, who were beyond measure inflamed, hearing that they were to have their lasses, were not long in making up their minds, but answered that, so this should ensue, they were ready to do as he said. Restagnone, having gotten this answer from the young men, found means a few days after to foregather with Ninetta, to whom he could not come without great unease, and after he had abidden with her awhile, he told her what he had proposed to the others and with many arguments studied to commend the emprise to her. This was little uneath to him, seeing that she was yet more desirous than himself to be with him without suspect; wherefore she answered him frankly that it liked her well and that her sisters would do whatever she wished, especially in this, and bade him make ready everything needful therefor as quickliest he might. Restagnone accordingly returned to the two young men, who still importuned him amain to do that whereof he had bespoken them, and told them that, so far as concerned their mistresses, the matter was settled. Then, having determined among themselves to go to Crete, they sold certain lands they had, under colour of meaning to go a\u2013trading with the price, and having made money of all their other goods, bought a light brigantine and secretly equipped it to the utmost advantage.\n\nMeanwhile, Ninetta, who well enough knew her sisters' mind, with soft words inflamed them with such a liking for the venture that themseemed they might not live to see the thing accomplished. Accordingly, the night come when they were to go aboard the brigantine, the three sisters opened a great coffer of their father's and taking thence a vast quantity of money and jewels, stole out of the house, according to the given order. They found their gallants awaiting them and going straightway all aboard the brigantine, they thrust the oars into the water and put out to sea nor rested till they came, on the following evening, to Genoa, where the new lovers for the first time took ease and joyance of their loves. There having refreshed themselves with that whereof they had need, they set out again and sailing from port to port, came, ere it was the eighth day, without any hindrance, to Crete, where they bought great and goodly estates near Candia and made them very handsome and delightsome dwelling\u2013houses thereon. Here they fell to living like lords and passed their days in banquets and joyance and merrymaking, the happiest men in the world, they and their mistresses, with great plenty of servants and hounds and hawks and horses.\n\nAbiding on this wise, it befell (even as we see it happen all day long that, how much soever things may please, they grow irksome, an one have overgreat plenty thereof) that Restagnone, who had much loved Ninetta, being now able to have her at his every pleasure, without let or hindrance, began to weary of her, and consequently his love for her began to wane. Having seen at entertainment a damsel of the country, a fair and noble young lady, who pleased him exceedingly, he fell to courting her with all his might, giving marvellous entertainments in her honor and plying her with all manner gallantries; which Ninetta coming to know, she fell into such a jealousy that he could not go a step but she heard of it and after harassed both him and herself with words and reproaches on account thereof. But, like as overabundance of aught begetteth weariness, even so doth the denial of a thing desired redouble the appetite; accordingly, Ninetta's reproaches did but fan the flame of Restagnone's new love and in process of time it came to pass that, whether he had the favours of the lady he loved or not, Ninetta held it for certain, whoever it was reported it to her; wherefore she fell into such a passion of grief and thence passed into such a fit of rage and despite that the love which she bore Restagnone was changed to bitter hatred, and blinded by her wrath, she bethought herself to avenge, by his death, the affront which herseemed she had received.\n\nAccordingly, betaking herself to an old Greek woman, a past mistress in the art of compounding poisons, she induced her with gifts and promises to make her a death\u2013dealing water, which she, without considering farther, gave Restagnone one evening to drink he being heated and misdoubting him not thereof; and such was the potency of the poison that, ere morning came, it had slain him. Folco and Ughetto and their mistresses, hearing of his death and knowing not of what poison he had died, bewept him bitterly, together with Ninetta, and caused bury him honourably. But not many days after it chanced that the old woman, who had compounded the poisoned water for Ninetta, was taken for some other misdeed and being put to the torture, confessed to this amongst her other crimes, fully declaring that which had betided by reason thereof; whereupon the Duke of Crete, without saying aught of the matter, beset Folco's palace by surprise one night and without any noise or gainsayal, carried off Ninetta prisoner, from whom, without putting her to the torture, he readily got what he would know of the death of Restagnone.\n\nFolco and Ughetto (and from them their ladies) had privy notice from the duke why Ninetta had been taken, the which was exceeding grievous to them and they used their every endeavour to save her from the fire, whereto they doubted not she would be condemned, as indeed she richly deserved; but all seemed vain, for that the duke abode firm in willing to do justice upon her. However, Maddalena, who was a beautiful young woman and had long been courted by the duke, but had never yet consented to do aught that might pleasure him, thinking that, by complying with his wishes, she might avail to save her sister from the fire, signified to him by a trusty messenger that she was at his commandment in everything, provided two things should ensue thereof, to wit, that she should have her sister again safe and sound and that the thing should be secret. Her message pleased the duke, and after long debate with himself if he should do as she proposed, he ultimately agreed thereto and said that he was ready. Accordingly, one night, having, with the lady's consent, caused detain Folco and Ughetto, as he would fain examine them of the matter, he went secretly to couch with Maddalena and having first made a show of putting Ninetta in a sack and of purposing to let sink her that night in the sea, he carried her with him to her sister, to whom on the morrow he delivered her at parting, in payment of the night he had passed with her, praying her that this, which had been the first of their loves, might not be the last and charging her send the guilty lady away, lest blame betide himself and it behove him anew proceed against her with rigour.\n\nNext morning, Folco and Ughetto, having heard that Ninetta had been sacked overnight and believing it, were released and returned home to comfort their mistresses for the death of their sister. However, for all Maddalena could do to hide her, Folco soon became aware of Ninetta's presence in the palace, whereat he marvelled exceedingly and suddenly waxing suspicious,\u2014for that he had heard of the duke's passion for Maddalena,\u2014asked the latter how her sister came to be there. Maddalena began a long story, which she had devised to account to him therefor, but was little believed of her lover, who was shrewd and constrained her to confess the truth, which, after long parley, she told him. Folco, overcome with chagrin and inflamed with rage, pulled out a sword and slew her, whilst she in vain besought mercy; then, fearing the wrath and justice of the duke, he left her dead in the chamber and repairing whereas Ninetta was, said to her, with a feigned air of cheerfulness, 'Quick, let us begone whither it hath been appointed of thy sister that I shall carry thee, so thou mayst not fall again into the hands of the duke.' Ninetta, believing this and eager, in her fearfulness, to begone, set out with Folco, it being now night, without seeking to take leave of her sister; whereupon he and she, with such monies (which were but few) as he could lay hands on, betook themselves to the sea\u2013shore and embarked on board a vessel; nor was it ever known whither they went.\n\nOn the morrow, Maddalena being found murdered, there were some who, of the envy and hatred they bore to Ughetto, forthright gave notice thereof to the duke, whereupon the latter, who loved Maddalena exceedingly, ran furiously to the house and seizing Ughetto and his lady, who as yet knew nothing of the matter,\u2014to wit, of the departure of Folco and Ninetta,\u2014constrained them to confess themselves guilty, together with Folco, of his mistress's death. They, apprehending with reason death in consequence of this confession, with great pains corrupted those who had them in keeping, giving them a certain sum of money, which they kept hidden in their house against urgent occasions, and embarking with their guards, without having leisure to take any of their goods, fled by night to Rhodes, where they lived no great while after in poverty and distress. To such a pass, then, did Restagnone's mad love and Ninetta's rage bring themselves and others.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GERBINO, AGAINST THE PLIGHTED FAITH OF HIS GRANDFATHER, KING GUGLIELMO OF SICILY, ATTACKETH A SHIP OF THE KING OF TUNIS, TO CARRY OFF A DAUGHTER OF HIS, WHO BEING PUT TO DEATH OF THOSE ON BOARD, HE SLAYETH THESE LATTER AND IS AFTER HIMSELF BEHEADED",
                "text": "Lauretta, having made an end of her story, was silent, whilst the company bewailed the illhap of the lovers, some blaming Ninetta's anger and one saying one thing and another another, till presently the king, raising his head, as if aroused from deep thought, signed to Elisa to follow on; whereupon she began modestly, \"Charming ladies, there are many who believe that Love launcheth his shafts only when enkindled of the eyes and make mock of those who hold that one may fall in love by hearsay; but that these are mistaken will very manifestly appear in a story that I purpose to relate, wherein you will see that report not only wrought this, without the lovers having ever set eyes on each other, but it will be made manifest to you that it brought both the one and the other to a miserable death.\"\n\nGuglielmo, the Second, King of Sicily, had (as the Sicilians pretend) two children, a son called Ruggieri and a daughter called Costanza. The former, dying before his father, left a son named Gerbino, who was diligently reared by his grandfather and became a very goodly youth and a renowned for prowess and courtesy. Nor did his fame abide confined within the limits of Sicily, but, resounding in various parts of the world, was nowhere more glorious than in Barbary, which in those days was tributary to the King of Sicily. Amongst the rest to whose ears came the magnificent fame of Gerbino's valour and courtesy was a daughter of the King of Tunis, who, according to the report of all who had seen her, was one of the fairest creatures ever fashioned by nature and the best bred and of a noble and great soul. She, delighting to hear tell of men of valour, with such goodwill received the tales recounted by one and another of the deeds valiantly done of Gerbino and they so pleased her that, picturing to herself the prince's fashion, she became ardently enamoured of him and discoursed more willingly of him than of any other and hearkened to whoso spoke of him.\n\nOn the other hand, the great renown of her beauty and worth had won to Sicily, as elsewhither, and not without great delight nor in vain had it reached the ears of Gerbino; nay, it had inflamed him with love of her, no less than that which she herself had conceived for him. Wherefore, desiring beyond measure to see her, against he should find a colourable occasion of having his grandfather's leave to go to Tunis, he charged his every friend who went thither to make known to her, as best he might, his secret and great love and bring him news of her. This was very dexterously done by one of them, who, under pretence of carrying her women's trinkets to view, as do merchants, throughly discovered Gerbino's passion to her and avouched the prince and all that was his to be at her commandment. The princess received the messenger and the message with a glad flavour and answering that she burnt with like love for the prince, sent him one of her most precious jewels in token thereof. This Gerbino received with the utmost joy wherewith one can receive whatsoever precious thing and wrote to her once and again by the same messenger, sending her the most costly gifts and holding certain treaties with her, whereby they should have seen and touched one another, had fortune but allowed it.\n\nBut, things going thus and somewhat farther than was expedient, the young lady on the one hand and Gerbino on the other burning with desire, it befell that the King of Tunis gave her in marriage to the King of Granada, whereat she was beyond measure chagrined, bethinking herself that not only should she be separated from her lover by long distance, but was like to be altogether parted from him; and had she seen a means thereto, she would gladly, so this might not betide, have fled from her father and betaken herself to Gerbino. Gerbino, in like manner, hearing of this marriage, was beyond measure sorrowful therefor and often bethought himself to take her by force, if it should chance that she went to her husband by sea. The King of Tunis, getting some inkling of Gerbino's love and purpose and fearing his valour and prowess, sent to King Guglielmo, whenas the time came for despatching her to Granada, advising him of that which he was minded to do and that, having assurance from him that he should not be hindered therein by Gerbino or others, he purposed to do it. The King of Sicily, who was an old man and had heard nothing of Gerbino's passion and consequently suspected not that it was for this that such an assurance was demanded, freely granted it and in token thereof, sent the King of Tunis a glove of his. The latter, having gotten the desired assurance, caused equip a very great and goodly ship in the port of Carthage and furnish it with what was needful for those who were to sail therein and having fitted and adorned it for the sending of his daughter into Granada, awaited nought but weather.\n\nThe young lady, who saw and knew all this, despatched one of her servants secretly to Palermo, bidding him salute the gallant Gerbino on her part and tell him that she was to sail in a few days for Granada, wherefore it would now appear if he were as valiant a man as was said and if he loved her as much as he had sundry times declared to her. Her messenger did his errand excellent well and returned to Tunis, whilst Gerbino, hearing this and knowing that his grandfather had given the King of Tunis assurance, knew not what to do. However, urged by love and that he might not appear a craven, he betook himself to Messina, where he hastily armed two light galleys and manning them with men of approved valour, set sail with them for the coast of Sardinia, looking for the lady's ship to pass there. Nor was he far out in his reckoning, for he had been there but a few days when the ship hove in sight with a light wind not far from the place where he lay expecting it.\n\nGerbino, seeing this, said to his companions, 'Gentlemen, an you be the men of mettle I take you for, methinketh there is none of you but hath either felt or feeleth love, without which, as I take it, no mortal can have aught of valour or worth in himself; and if you have been or are enamoured, it will be an easy thing to you to understand my desire. I love and love hath moved me to give you this present pains; and she whom I love is in the ship which you see becalmed yonder and which, beside that thing which I most desire, is full of very great riches. These latter, an ye be men of valour, we may with little difficulty acquire, fighting manfully; of which victory I desire nothing to my share save one sole lady, for whose love I have taken up arms; everything else shall freely be yours. Come, then, and let us right boldly assail the ship; God is favourable to our emprise and holdeth it here fast, without vouchsafing it a breeze.'\n\nThe gallant Gerbino had no need of many words, for that the Messinese, who were with him being eager for plunder, were already disposed to do that unto which he exhorted them. Wherefore, making a great outcry, at the end of his speech, that it should be so, they sounded the trumpets and catching up their arms, thrust the oars into the water and made for the Tunis ship. They who were aboard this latter, seeing the galleys coming afar off and being unable to flee, made ready for defence. The gallant Gerbino accosting the ship, let command that the masters thereof should be sent on board the galleys, an they had no mind to fight; but the Saracens, having certified themselves who they were and what they sought, declared themselves attacked of them against the faith plighted them by King Guglielmo; in token whereof they showed the latter's glove, and altogether refused to surrender themselves, save for stress of battle, or to give them aught that was in the ship.\n\nGerbino, who saw the lady upon the poop, far fairer than he had pictured her to himself, and was more inflamed than ever, replied to the showing of the glove that there were no falcons there at that present and consequently there needed no gloves; wherefore, an they chose not to give up the lady, they must prepare to receive battle. Accordingly, without further parley, they fell to casting shafts and stones at one another, and on this wise they fought a great while, with loss on either side. At last, Gerbino, seeing that he did little to the purpose, took a little vessel he had brought with him out of Sardinia and setting fire therein, thrust it with both the galleys aboard the ship. The Saracens, seeing this and knowing that they must of necessity surrender or die, fetched the king's daughter, who wept below, on deck and brought her to the ship's prow; then, calling Gerbino, they butchered her before his eyes, what while she called for mercy and succour, and cast her into the sea, saying, 'Take her; we give her to thee, such as we may and such as thine unfaith hath merited.'\n\nGerbino, seeing their barbarous deed, caused lay himself alongside the ship and recking not of shaft or stone, boarded it, as if courting death, in spite of those who were therein; then,\u2014even as a hungry lion, coming among a herd of oxen, slaughtereth now this, now that, and with teeth and claws sateth rather his fury than his hunger,\u2014sword in hand, hewing now at one, now at another, he cruelly slew many of the Saracens; after which, the fire now waxing in the enkindled ship, he caused the sailors fetch thereout what they might, in payment of their pains, and descended thence, having gotten but a sorry victory over his adversaries. Then, letting take up the fair lady's body from the sea, long and with many tears he bewept it and steering for Sicily, buried it honourably in Ustica, a little island over against Trapani; after which he returned home, the woefullest man alive.\n\nThe King of Tunis, hearing the heavy news, sent his ambassadors, clad all in black, to King Guglielmo, complaining of the ill observance of the faith which he had plighted him. They recounted to him how the thing had passed, whereat King Guglielmo was sore incensed and seeing no way to deny them the justice they sought, caused take Gerbino; then himself,\u2014albeit there was none of his barons but strove with prayers to move him from his purpose,\u2014condemned him to death and let strike off his head in his presence, choosing rather to abide without posterity than to be held a faithless king. Thus, then, as I have told you, did these two lovers within a few days die miserably a violent death, without having tasted any fruit of their loves.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "LISABETTA'S BROTHERS SLAY HER LOVER, WHO APPEARETH TO HER IN A DREAM AND SHOWETH HER WHERE HE IS BURIED, WHEREUPON SHE PRIVILY DISINTERRETH HIS HEAD AND SETTETH IT IN A POT OF BASIL. THEREOVER MAKING MOAN A GREAT WHILE EVERY DAY, HER BROTHERS TAKE IT FROM HER AND SHE FOR GRIEF DIETH A LITTLE THEREAFTERWARD",
                "text": "Elisa's tale being ended and somedele commended of the king, Filomena was bidden to discourse, who, full of compassion for the wretched Gerbino and his mistress, after a piteous sigh, began thus: \"My story, gracious ladies, will not treat of folk of so high condition as were those of whom Elisa hath told, yet peradventure it will be no less pitiful; and what brought me in mind of it was the mention, a little before, of Messina, where the case befell.\"\n\nThere were then in Messina three young brothers, merchants and left very rich by their father, who was a man of San Gimignano, and they had an only sister, Lisabetta by name, a right fair and well\u2013mannered maiden, whom, whatever might have been the reason thereof, they had not yet married. Now these brothers had in one of their warehouses a youth of Pisa, called Lorenzo, who did and ordered all their affairs and was very comely and agreeable of person; wherefore, Lisabetta looking sundry times upon him, it befell that he began strangely to please her; of which Lorenzo taking note at one time and another, he in like manner, leaving his other loves, began to turn his thoughts to her; and so went the affair, that, each being alike pleasing to the other, it was no great while before, taking assurance, they did that which each of them most desired.\n\nContinuing on this wise and enjoying great pleasure and delight one of the other, they knew not how to do so secretly but that, one night, Lisabetta, going whereas Lorenzo lay, was, unknown to herself, seen of the eldest of her brothers, who, being a prudent youth, for all the annoy it gave him to know this thing, being yet moved by more honourable counsel, abode without sign or word till the morning, revolving in himself various things anent the matter. The day being come, he recounted to his brothers that which he had seen the past night of Lisabetta and Lorenzo, and after long advisement with them, determined (so that neither to them nor to their sister should any reproach ensue thereof) to pass the thing over in silence and feign to have seen and known nothing thereof till such time as, without hurt or unease to themselves, they might avail to do away this shame from their sight, ere it should go farther. In this mind abiding and devising and laughing with Lorenzo as was their wont, it befell that one day, feigning to go forth the city, all three, a\u2013pleasuring, they carried him with them to a very lonely and remote place; and there, the occasion offering, they slew him, whilst he was off his guard, and buried him on such wise that none had knowledge of it; then, returning to Messina, they gave out that they had despatched him somewhither for their occasions, the which was the lightlier credited that they were often used to send him abroad about their business.\n\nLorenzo returning not and Lisabetta often and instantly questioning her brothers of him, as one to whom the long delay was grievous, it befell one day, as she very urgently enquired of him, that one of them said to her, 'What meaneth this? What hast thou to do often of him? An thou question of him with Lorenzo, that thou askest thus more, we will make thee such answer as thou deservest.' Wherefore the girl, sad and grieving and fearful she knew not of what, abode without more asking; yet many a time anights she piteously called him and prayed him come to her, and whiles with many tears she complained of his long tarrying; and thus, without a moment's gladness, she abode expecting him alway, till one night, having sore lamented Lorenzo for that he returned not and being at last fallen asleep, weeping, he appeared to her in a dream, pale and all disordered, with clothes all rent and mouldered, and herseemed he bespoke her thus: 'Harkye, Lisabetta; thou dost nought but call upon me, grieving for my long delay and cruelly impeaching me with thy tears. Know, therefore, that I may never more return to thee, for that, the last day thou sawest me, thy brothers slew me.' Then, having discovered to her the place where they had buried him, he charged her no more call him nor expect him and disappeared; whereupon she awoke and giving faith to the vision, wept bitterly.\n\nIn the morning, being risen and daring not say aught to her brothers, she determined to go to the place appointed and see if the thing were true, as it had appeared to her in the dream. Accordingly, having leave to go somedele without the city for her disport, she betook herself thither, as quickliest she might, in company of one who had been with them otherwhiles and knew all her affairs; and there, clearing away the dead leaves from the place, she dug whereas herseemed the earth was less hard. She had not dug long before she found the body of her unhappy lover, yet nothing changed nor rotted, and thence knew manifestly that her vision was true, wherefore she was the most distressful of women; yet, knowing that this was no place for lament, she would fain, an she but might, have borne away the whole body, to give it fitter burial; but, seeing that this might not be, she with a knife did off the head from the body, as best she could, and wrapping it in a napkin, laid it in her maid's lap. Then, casting back the earth over the trunk, she departed thence, without being seen of any, and returned home, where, shutting herself in her chamber with her lover's head, she bewept it long and bitterly, insomuch that she bathed it all with her tears, and kissed it a thousand times in every part. Then, taking a great and goodly pot, of those wherein they plant marjoram or sweet basil, she set the head therein, folded in a fair linen cloth, and covered it with earth, in which she planted sundry heads of right fair basil of Salerno; nor did she ever water these with other water than that of her tears or rose or orange\u2013flower water. Moreover she took wont to sit still near the pot and to gaze amorously upon it with all her desire, as upon that which held her Lorenzo hid; and after she had a great while looked thereon, she would bend over it and fall to weeping so sore and so long that her tears bathed all the basil, which, by dint of long and assiduous tending, as well as by reason of the fatness of the earth, proceeding from the rotting head that was therein, waxed passing fair and very sweet of savour.\n\nThe damsel, doing without cease after this wise, was sundry times seen of her neighbours, who to her brothers, marvelling at her waste beauty and that her eyes seemed to have fled forth her head for weeping, related this, saying, 'We have noted that she doth every day after such a fashion.' The brothers, hearing and seeing this and having once and again reproved her therefor, but without avail, let secretly carry away from her the pot, which she, missing, with the utmost instance many a time required, and for that it was not restored to her, stinted not to weep and lament till she fell sick; nor in her sickness did she ask aught other than the pot of basil. The young men marvelled greatly at this continual asking and bethought them therefor to see what was in this pot. Accordingly, turning out the earth, they found the cloth and therein the head, not yet so rotted but they might know it, by the curled hair, to be that of Lorenzo. At this they were mightily amazed and feared lest the thing should get wind; wherefore, burying the head, without word said, they privily departed Messina, having taken order how they should withdraw thence, and betook themselves to Naples. The damsel, ceasing never from lamenting and still demanding her pot, died, weeping; and so her ill\u2013fortuned love had end. But, after a while the thing being grown manifest unto many, there was one who made thereon the song that is yet sung, to wit:\n\n\u2003Alack! ah, who can the ill Christian be,\n\n\u2003That stole my pot away?\" etc."
            },
            {
                "title": "ANDREVUOLA LOVETH GABRIOTTO AND RECOUNTETH TO HIM A DREAM SHE HATH HAD, WHEREUPON HE TELLETH HER ONE OF HIS OWN AND PRESENTLY DIETH SUDDENLY IN HER ARMS. WHAT WHILE SHE AND A WAITING WOMAN OF HERS BEAR HIM TO HIS OWN HOUSE, THEY ARE TAKEN BY THE OFFICERS OF JUSTICE AND CARRIED BEFORE THE PROVOST, TO WHOM SHE DISCOVERETH HOW THE CASE STANDETH. THE PROVOST WOULD FAIN FORCE HER, BUT SHE SUFFERETH IT NOT AND HER FATHER, COMING TO HEAR OF THE MATTER, PROCURETH HER TO BE SET AT LIBERTY, SHE BEING FOUND INNOCENT; WHEREUPON, ALTOGETHER REFUSING TO ABIDE LONGER IN THE WORLD, SHE BECOMETH A NUN",
                "text": "Filomela's story was very welcome to the ladies, for that they had many a time heard sing this song, yet could never, for asking, learn the occasion of its making. But the king, having heard the end thereof, charged Pamfilo follow on the ordinance; whereupon quoth he, \"The dream in the foregoing story giveth me occasion to recount one wherein is made mention of two dreams, which were of a thing to come, even as the former was of a thing already betided, and scarce were they finished telling by those who had dreamt them than the accomplishment followed of both. You must know, then, lovesome ladies, that it is an affection common to all alive to see various things in sleep, whereof,\u2014albeit to the sleeper, what while he sleepeth, they all appear most true and he, awakened, accounteth some true, others probable and yet others out of all likelihood,\u2014many are natheless found to be come to pass. By reason whereof many lend to every dream as much belief as they would to things they should see, waking, and for their proper dreams they sorrow or rejoice, according as by these they hope or fear. And contrariwise, there are those who believe none thereof, save after they find themselves fallen into the peril foreshown. Of these, I approve neither the one nor other, for that dreams are neither always true nor always false. That they are not all true, each one of us must often enough have had occasion to know; and that they are not all false hath been already shown in Filomena her story, and I also purpose, as I said before, to show it in mine. Wherefore I am of opinion that, in the matter of living and doing virtuously, one should have no fear of any dream contrary thereto nor forego good intentions by reason thereof; as for perverse and wicked things, on the other hand, however favourable dreams may appear thereto and how much soever they may hearten him who seeth them with propitious auguries, none of them should be credited, whilst full faith should be accorded unto all that tend to the contrary. But to come to the story.\"\n\nThere was once in the city of Brescia a gentleman called Messer Negro da Ponte Carraro, who amongst sundry other children had a daughter named Andrevuola, young and unmarried and very fair. It chanced she fell in love with a neighbour of hers, Gabriotto by name, a man of mean condition, but full laudable fashions and comely and pleasant of his person, and by the means and with the aid of the serving\u2013maid of the house, she so wrought that not only did Gabriotto know himself beloved of her, but was many and many a time brought, to the delight of both parties, into a goodly garden of her father's. And in order that no cause, other than death, should ever avail to sever those their delightsome loves, they became in secret husband and wife, and so stealthily continuing their foregatherings, it befell that the young lady, being one night asleep, dreamt that she was in her garden with Gabriotto and held him in her arms, to the exceeding pleasure of each; but, as they abode thus, herseemed she saw come forth of his body something dark and frightful, the form whereof she could not discern; the which took Gabriotto and tearing him in her despite with marvellous might from her embrace, made off with him underground, nor ever more might she avail to see either the one or the other.\n\nAt this she fell into an inexpressible passion of grief, whereby she awoke, and albeit, awaking, she was rejoiced to find that it was not as she had dreamed, nevertheless fear entered into her by reason of the dream she had seen. Wherefore, Gabriotto presently desiring to visit her that next night, she studied as most she might to prevent his coming; however, seeing his desire and so he might not misdoubt him of otherwhat, she received him in the garden and having gathered great store of roses, white and red (for that it was the season), she went to sit with him at the foot of a very goodly and clear fountain that was there. After they had taken great and long delight together, Gabriotto asked her why she would have forbidden his coming that night; whereupon she told him, recounting to him the dream she had seen the foregoing night and the fear she had gotten therefrom.\n\nHe, hearing this, laughed it to scorn and said that it was great folly to put any faith in dreams, for that they arose of excess of food or lack thereof and were daily seen to be all vain, adding, 'Were I minded to follow after dreams, I had not come hither, not so much on account of this of thine as of one I myself dreamt last night; which was that meseemed I was in a fair and delightsome wood, wherein I went hunting and had taken the fairest and loveliest hind was ever seen; for methought she was whiter than snow and was in brief space become so familiar with me that she never left me a moment. Moreover, meseemed I held her so dear that, so she might not depart from me, I had put a collar of gold about her neck and held her in hand with a golden chain. After this medreamed that, once upon a time, what while this hind lay couched with its head in my bosom, there issued I know not whence a greyhound bitch as black as coal, anhungred and passing gruesome of aspect, and made towards me. Methought I offered it no resistance, wherefore meseemed it thrust its muzzle into my breast on the left side and gnawed thereat till it won to my heart, which methought it tore from me, to carry it away. Therewith I felt such a pain that my sleep was broken and awaking, I straightway clapped my hand to my side, to see if I had aught there; but, finding nothing amiss with me, I made mock of myself for having sought. But, after all, what booteth this dream? I have dreamed many such and far more frightful, nor hath aught in the world befallen me by reason thereof; wherefore let it pass and let us think to give ourselves a good time.'\n\nThe young lady, already sore adread for her own dream, hearing this, waxed yet more so, but hid her fear, as most she might, not to be the occasion of any unease to Gabriotto. Nevertheless, what while she solaced herself with him, clipping and kissing him again and again and being of him clipped and kissed, she many a time eyed him in the face more than of her wont, misdoubting she knew not what, and whiles she looked about the garden, and she should see aught of black come anywhence. Presently, as they abode thus, Gabriotto heaved a great sigh and embracing her said, 'Alas, my soul, help me, for I die!' So saying, he fell to the ground upon the grass of the lawn. The young lady, seeing this, drew him up into her lap and said, well nigh weeping, 'Alack, sweet my lord, what aileth thee?' He answered not, but, panting sore and sweating all over, no great while after departed this life.\n\nHow grievous, how dolorous was this to the young lady, who loved him more than her life, each one of you may conceive for herself. She bewept him sore and many a time called him in vain; but after she had handled him in every part of his body and found him cold in all, perceiving that he was altogether dead and knowing not what to do or to say, she went, all tearful as she was and full of anguish, to call her maid, who was privy to their loves, and discovered to her misery and her grief. Then, after they had awhile made woeful lamentation over Gabriotto's dead face, the young lady said to the maid, 'Since God hath bereft me of him I love, I purpose to abide no longer on life; but, ere I go about to slay myself, I would fain take fitting means to preserve my honour and the secret of the love that hath been between us twain and that the body, wherefrom the gracious spirit is departed, may be buried.'\n\n'Daughter mine,' answered the maid, 'talk not of seeking to slay thyself, for that, if thou have lost him in this world, by slaying thyself thou wouldst lose him in the world to come also, since thou wouldst go to hell, whither I am assured his soul hath not gone; for he was a virtuous youth. It were better far to comfort thyself and think of succouring his soul with prayers and other good works, so haply he have need thereof for any sin committed. The means of burying him are here at hand in this garden and none will ever know of the matter, for none knoweth that he ever came hither. Or, an thou wilt not have it so, let us put him forth of the garden and leave him be; he will be found to\u2013morrow morning and carried to his house, where his kinsfolk will have him buried.' The young lady, albeit she was full of bitter sorrow and wept without ceasing, yet gave ear to her maid's counsels and consenting not to the first part thereof, made answer to the second, saying, 'God forbid that I should suffer so dear a youth and one so beloved of me and my husband to be buried after the fashion of a dog or left to lie in the street! He hath had my tears and inasmuch as I may, he shall have those of his kinsfolk, and I have already bethought me of that which we have to do to that end.'\n\nTherewith she despatched her maid for a piece of cloth of silk, which she had in a coffer of hers, and spreading it on the earth, laid Gabriotto's body thereon, with his head upon a pillow. Then with many tears she closed his eyes and mouth and weaving him a chaplet of roses, covered him with all they had gathered, he and she; after which she said to the maid, 'It is but a little way hence to his house; wherefore we will carry him thither, thou and I, even as we have arrayed him, and lay him before the door. It will not be long ere it be day and he will be taken up; and although this may be no consolation to his friends, yet to me, in whose arms he died, it will be a pleasure.' So saying, once more with most abundant tears she cast herself upon his face and wept a great while. Then, being urged by her maid to despatch, for that the day was at hand, she rose to her feet and drawing from her finger the ring wherewith Gabriotto had espoused her, she set it on his and said, weeping, 'Dear my lord, if thy soul now seeth my tears or if any sense or cognizance abide in the body, after the departure thereof, benignly receive her last gift, whom, living, thou lovedst so well.' This said, she fell down upon him in a swoon, but, presently coming to herself and rising, she took up, together with her maid, the cloth whereon the body lay and going forth the garden therewith, made for his house.\n\nAs they went, they were discovered and taken with the dead body by the officers of the provostry, who chanced to be abroad at that hour about some other matter. Andrevuola, more desirous of death than of life, recognizing the officers, said frankly, 'I know who you are and that it would avail me nothing to seek to flee; I am ready to go with you before the Seignory and there declare how the case standeth; but let none of you dare to touch me, provided I am obedient to you, or to remove aught from this body, an he would not be accused of me.' Accordingly, without being touched of any, she repaired, with Gabriotto's body, to the palace, where the Provost, hearing what was to do, arose and sending for her into his chamber, proceeded to enquire of this that had happened. To this end he caused divers physicians look if the dead man had been done to death with poison or otherwise, who all affirmed that it was not so, but that some imposthume had burst near the heart, the which had suffocated him. The magistrate hearing this and feeling her to be guilty in but a small matter, studied to make a show of giving her that which he could not sell her and told her that, an she would consent to his pleasures, he would release her; but, these words availing not, he offered, out of all seemliness, to use force. However, Andrevuola, fired with disdain and waxed strong for indignation, defended herself manfully, rebutting him with proud and scornful words.\n\nMeanwhile, broad day come and these things being recounted to Messer Negro, he betook himself, sorrowful unto death, to the palace, in company with many of his friends, and being there acquainted by the Provost with the whole matter, demanded resentfully that his daughter should be restored to him. The Provost, choosing rather to accuse himself of the violence he would have done her than to be accused of her, first extolled the damsel and her constancy and in proof thereof, proceeded to tell that which he had done; by reason whereof, seeing her of so excellent a firmness, he had vowed her an exceeding love and would gladly, an it were agreeable to him, who was her father, and to herself, espouse her for his lady, notwithstanding she had had a husband of mean condition. Whilst they yet talked, Andrevuola presented herself and weeping, cast herself before her father and said, 'Father mine, methinketh there is no need that I recount to you the story of my boldness and my illhap, for I am assured that you have heard and know it; wherefore, as most I may, I humbly ask pardon of you for my default, to wit, the having without your knowledge taken him who most pleased me to husband. And this boon I ask of you, not for that my life may be spared me, but to die your daughter and not your enemy.' So saying, she fell weeping at his feet.\n\nMesser Negro, who was an old man and kindly and affectionate of his nature, hearing these words, began to weep and with tears in his eyes raised his daughter tenderly to her feet and said, 'Daughter mine, it had better pleased me that thou shouldst have had such a husband as, according to my thinking, behoved unto thee; and that thou shouldst have taken such an one as was pleasing unto thee had also been pleasing to me; but that thou shouldst have concealed him, of thy little confidence in me, grieveth me, and so much the more as I see thee to have lost him, ere I knew it. However, since the case is so, that which had he lived, I had gladly done him, to content thee, to wit, honour, as to my son\u2013in\u2013law, be it done him, now he is dead.' Then, turning to his sons and his kinsfolk, he commanded that great and honourable obsequies should be prepared for Gabriotto.\n\nMeanwhile, the kinsmen and kinswomen of the young man, hearing the news, had flocked thither, and with them well nigh all the men and women in the city. Therewith, the body, being laid out amiddleward the courtyard upon Andrevuola's silken cloth and strewn, with all her roses, was there not only bewept by her and his kinsfolk, but publicly mourned by well nigh all the ladies of the city and by many men, and being brought forth of the courtyard of the Seignory, not as that of a plebeian, but as that of a nobleman, it was with the utmost honour borne to the sepulchre upon the shoulders of the most noble citizens. Some days thereafterward, the Provost ensuing that which he had demanded, Messer Negro propounded it to his daughter, who would hear nought thereof, but, her father being willing to comply with her in this, she and her maid made themselves nuns in a convent very famous for sanctity and there lived honourably a great while after.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SIMONA LOVETH PASQUINO AND THEY BEING TOGETHER IN A GARDEN, THE LATTER RUBBETH A LEAF OF SAGE AGAINST HIS TEETH AND DIETH. SHE, BEING TAKEN AND THINKING TO SHOW THE JUDGE HOW HER LOVER DIED, RUBBETH ONE OF THE SAME LEAVES AGAINST HER TEETH AND DIETH ON LIKE WISE",
                "text": "Pamfilo having delivered himself of his story, the king, showing no compassion for Andrevuola, looked at Emilia and signed to her that it was his pleasure she should with a story follow on those who had already told; whereupon she, without delay, began as follows: \"Dear companions, the story told by Pamfilo putteth me in mind to tell you one in nothing like unto his save that like as Andrevuola lost her beloved in a garden, even so did she of whom I have to tell, and being taken in like manner as was Andrevuola, freed herself from the court, not by dint of fortitude nor constancy, but by an unlooked\u2013for death. And as hath otherwhile been said amongst us, albeit Love liefer inhabiteth the houses of the great, yet not therefor doth he decline the empery of those of the poor; nay, whiles in these latter he so manifesteth his power that he maketh himself feared, as a most puissant seignior, of the richer sort. This, if not in all, yet in great part, will appear from my story, with which it pleaseth me to re\u2013enter our own city, wherefrom this day, discoursing diversely of divers things and ranging over various parts of the world, we have so far departed.\"\n\nThere was, then, no great while ago, in Florence a damsel very handsome and agreeable, according to her condition, who was the daughter of a poor father and was called Simona; and although it behoved her with her own hands earn the bread she would eat and sustain her life by spinning wool, she was not therefor of so poor a spirit but that she dared to admit into her heart Love, which,\u2014by means of the pleasing words and fashions of a youth of no greater account than herself, who went giving wool to spin for a master of his, a wool\u2013monger,\u2014had long made a show of wishing to enter there. Having, then, received Him into her bosom with the pleasing aspect of the youth who loved her whose name was Pasquino, she heaved a thousand sighs, hotter than fire, at every hank of yarn she wound about the spindle, bethinking her of him who had given it her to spin and ardently desiring, but venturing not to do more. He, on his side, grown exceeding anxious that his master's wool should be well spun, overlooked Simona's spinning more diligently than that of any other, as if the yarn spun by her alone and none other were to furnish forth the whole cloth; wherefore, the one soliciting and the other delighting to be solicited, it befell that, he growing bolder than of his wont and she laying aside much of the timidity and shamefastness she was used to feel, they gave themselves up with a common accord to mutual pleasures, which were so pleasing to both that not only did neither wait to be bidden thereto of the other, but each forewent other in the matter of invitation.\n\nEnsuing this their delight from day to day and waxing ever more enkindled for continuance, it chanced one day that Pasquino told Simona he would fain have her find means to come to a garden, whither he wished to carry her so they might there foregather more at their ease and with less suspect. Simona answered that she would well and accordingly on Sunday, after eating, giving her father to believe that she meant to go a\u2013pardoning to San Gallo, she betook herself, with a friend of hers, called Lagina, to the garden appointed her of Pasquino. There she found him with a comrade of his, whose name was Puccino, but who was commonly called Stramba, and an amorous acquaintance being quickly clapped up between the latter and Lagina, Simona and her lover withdrew to one part of the garden, to do their pleasure, leaving Stramba and Lagina in another.\n\nNow in that part of the garden, whither Pasquino and Simona had betaken themselves, was a very great and goodly bush of sage, at the foot whereof they sat down and solaced themselves together a great while, holding much discourse of a collation they purposed to make there at their leisure. Presently, Pasquino turned to the great sage\u2013bush and plucking a leaf thereof, began to rub his teeth and gums withal, avouching that sage cleaned them excellent well of aught that might be left thereon after eating. After he had thus rubbed them awhile, he returned to the subject of the collation, of which he had already spoken, nor had he long pursued his discourse when he began altogether to change countenance and well nigh immediately after lost sight and speech, and in a little while he died. Simona, seeing this, fell to weeping and crying out and called Stramba and Lagina, who ran thither in haste and seeing Pasquino not only dead, but already grown all swollen and full of dark spots about his face and body, Stramba cried out of a sudden, 'Ah, wicked woman! Thou hast poisoned him.' Making a great outcry, he was heard of many who dwelt near the garden and who, running to the clamour, found Pasquino dead and swollen.\n\nHearing Stramba lamenting and accusing Simona of having poisoned him of her malice, whilst she, for dolour of the sudden mishap that had carried off her lover, knew not how to excuse herself, being as it were beside herself, they all concluded that it was as he said; and accordingly she was taken and carried off, still weeping sore, to the Provost's palace, where, at the instance of Stramba and other two comrades of Pasquino, by name Atticciato and Malagevole, who had come up meanwhile, a judge addressed himself without delay to examine her of the fact and being unable to discover that she had done malice in the matter or was anywise guilty, he bethought himself, in her presence, to view the dead body and the place and manner of the mishap, as recounted to him by her, for that he apprehended it not very well by her words.\n\nAccordingly, he let bring her, without any stir, whereas Pasquino's body lay yet, swollen as it were a tun, and himself following her thither, marvelled at the dead man and asked her how it had been; whereupon, going up to the sage\u2013bush, she recounted to him all the foregoing story and to give him more fully to understand how the thing had befallen, she did even as Pasquino had done and rubbed one of the sage\u2013leaves against her teeth. Then,\u2014whilst her words were, in the judge's presence, flouted by Stramba and Atticciato and the other friends and comrades of Pasquino as frivolous and vain and they all denounced her wickedness with the more instance, demanding nothing less than that the fire should be the punishment of such perversity,\u2014the wretched girl, who abode all confounded for dolour of her lost lover and fear of the punishment demanded by Stramba fell, for having rubbed the sage against her teeth, into that same mischance, whereinto her lover had fallen and dropped dead, to the no small wonderment of as many as were present. O happy souls, to whom it fell in one same day to terminate at once your fervent love and your mortal life! Happier yet, an ye went together to one same place! And most happy, if folk love in the other life and ye love there as you loved here below! But happiest beyond compare,\u2014at least in our judgment who abide after her on life,\u2014was Simona's soul, whose innocence fortune suffered not to fall under the testimony of Stramba and Atticciato and Malagevole, wool\u2013carders belike or men of yet meaner condition, finding her a more honourable way, with a death like unto that of her lover, to deliver herself from their calumnies and to follow the soul, so dearly loved of her, of her Pasquino.\n\nThe judge, in a manner astonied, as were likewise as many as were there, at this mischance and unknowing what to say, abode long silent; then, recollecting himself, he said, 'It seemeth this sage is poisonous, the which is not wont to happen of sage. But, so it may not avail to offend on this wise against any other, be it cut down even to the roots and cast into the fire.' This the keeper of the garden proceeded to do in the judge's presence, and no sooner had he levelled the great bush with the ground than the cause of the death of the two unfortunate lovers appeared; for thereunder was a toad of marvellous bigness, by whose pestiferous breath they concluded the sage to have become venomous. None daring approach the beast, they made a great hedge of brushwood about it and there burnt it, together with the sage. So ended the judge's inquest upon the death of the unfortunate Pasquino, who, together with his Simona, all swollen as they were, was buried by Stramba and Atticciato and Guccio Imbratta and Malagevole in the church of St. Paul, whereof it chanced they were parishioners.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GIROLAMO LOVETH SALVESTRA AND BEING CONSTRAINED BY HIS MOTHER'S PRAYERS TO GO TO PARIS, RETURNETH AND FINDETH HIS MISTRESS MARRIED; WHEREUPON HE ENTERETH HER HOUSE BY STEALTH AND DIETH BY HER SIDE; AND HE BEING CARRIED TO A CHURCH, SALVESTRA DIETH BESIDE HIM",
                "text": "Emilia's story come to an end, Neifile, by the king's commandment, began thus: \"There are some, noble ladies, who believe themselves to know more than other folk, albeit, to my thinking, they know less, and who, by reason thereof, presume to oppose their judgment not only to the counsels of men, but even to set it up against the very nature of things; of which presumption very grave ills have befallen aforetime, nor ever was any good known to come thereof. And for that of all natural things love is that which least brooketh contrary counsel or opposition and whose nature is such that it may lightlier consume of itself than be done away by advisement, it hath come to my mind to narrate to you a story of a lady, who, seeking to be wiser than pertained unto her and than she was, nay, than the matter comported in which she studied to show her wit, thought to tear out from an enamoured heart a love which had belike been set there of the stars, and so doing, succeeded in expelling at once love and life from her son's body.\"\n\nThere was, then, in our city, according to that which the ancients relate, a very great and rich merchant, whose name was Lionardo Sighieri and who had by his wife a son called Girolamo, after whose birth, having duly set his affairs in order, he departed this life. The guardians of the boy, together with his mother, well and loyally ordered his affairs, and he, growing up with his neighbour's children, became familiar with a girl of his own age, the daughter of the tailor, more than with any other of the quarter. As he waxed in age, use turned to love so great and so ardent that he was never easy save what time he saw her, and certes she loved him no less than she was loved of him. The boy's mother, observing this, many a time chid and rebuked him therefor and after, Girolamo availing not to desist therefrom, complained thereof to his guardians, saying to them, as if she thought, thanks to her son's great wealth, to make an orange\u2013tree of a bramble, 'This boy of ours, albeit he is yet scarce fourteen years old, is so enamoured of the daughter of a tailor our neighbour, by name Salvestra, that, except we remove her from his sight, he will peradventure one day take her to wife, without any one's knowledge, and I shall never after be glad; or else he will pine away from her, if he see her married to another; wherefore meseemeth, to avoid this, you were best send him somewhither far from here, about the business of the warehouse; for that, he being removed from seeing her, she will pass out of his mind and we may after avail to give him some well\u2013born damsel to wife.'\n\nThe guardians answered that the lady said well and that they would do this to the best of their power; wherefore, calling the boy into the warehouse, one of them began very lovingly to bespeak him thus, 'My son, thou art now somewhat waxen in years and it were well that thou shouldst begin to look for thyself to thine affairs; wherefore it would much content us that thou shouldst go sojourn awhile at Paris, where thou wilt see how great part of thy wealth is employed, more by token that thou wilt there become far better bred and mannered and more of worth than thou couldst here, seeing the lords and barons and gentlemen who are there in plenty and learning their usances; after which thou mayst return hither.' The youth hearkened diligently and answered curtly that he was nowise disposed to do this, for that he believed himself able to fare as well at Florence as another. The worthy men, hearing this, essayed him again with sundry discourse, but, failing to get other answer of him, told his mother, who, sore provoked thereat, gave him a sound rating, not because of his unwillingness to go to Paris, but of his enamourment; after which, she fell to cajoling him with fair words, coaxing him and praying him softly be pleased to do what his guardians wished; brief, she contrived to bespeak him to such purpose that he consented to go to France and there abide a year and no more.\n\nAccordingly, ardently enamoured as he was, he betook himself to Paris and there, being still put off from one day to another, he was kept two years; at the end of which time, returning, more in love than ever, he found his Salvestra married to an honest youth, a tent maker. At this he was beyond measure woebegone; but, seeing no help for it, he studied to console himself therefor and having spied out where she dwelt, began, after the wont of young men in love, to pass before her, expecting she should no more have forgotten him than he her. But the case was otherwise; she had no more remembrance of him than if she had never seen him; or, if indeed she remembered aught of him, she feigned the contrary; and of this, in a very brief space of time, Girolamo became aware, to his no small chagrin. Nevertheless, he did all he might to bring himself to her mind; but, himseeming he wrought nothing, he resolved to speak with her, face to face, though he should die for it.\n\nAccordingly, having learned from a neighbour how her house stood, one evening that she and her husband were gone to keep wake with their neighbours, he entered therein by stealth and hiding himself behind certain tent cloths that were spread there, waited till, the twain having returned and gotten them to bed, he knew her husband to be asleep; whereupon he came whereas he had seen Salvestra lay herself and putting his hand upon her breast, said softly, 'Sleepest thou yet, O my soul?' The girl, who was awake, would have cried out; but he said hastily, 'For God's sake, cry not, for I am thy Girolamo.' She, hearing this, said, all trembling, 'Alack, for God's sake, Girolamo, get thee gone; the time is past when it was not forbidden unto our childishness to be lovers. I am, as thou seest, married and it beseemeth me no more to have regard to any man other than my husband; wherefore I beseech thee, by God the Only, to begone, for that, if my husband heard thee, even should no other harm ensue thereof, yet would it follow that I might never more avail to live with him in peace or quiet, whereas now I am beloved of him and abide with him in weal and in tranquility.'\n\nThe youth, hearing these words, was grievously endoloured and recalled to her the time past and his love no whit grown less for absence, mingling many prayers and many great promises, but obtained nothing; wherefore, desiring to die, he prayed her at last that, in requital of so much love, she would suffer him couch by her side, so he might warm himself somewhat, for that he was grown chilled, awaiting her, promising her that he would neither say aught to her nor touch her and would get him gone, so soon as he should be a little warmed. Salvestra, having some little compassion of him, granted him this he asked, upon the conditions aforesaid, and he accordingly lay down beside her, without touching her. Then, collecting into one thought the long love he had borne her and her present cruelty and his lost hope, he resolved to live no longer; wherefore, straitening in himself his vital spirits, he clenched his hands and died by her side, without word or motion.\n\nAfter a while the young woman, marvelling at his continence and fearing lest her husband should awake, began to say, 'Alack, Girolamo, why dost thou not get thee gone?' Hearing no answer, she concluded that he had fallen asleep and putting out her hand to awaken him, found him cold to the touch as ice, whereat she marvelled sore; then, nudging him more sharply and finding that he stirred not, she felt him again and knew that he was dead; whereat she was beyond measure woebegone and abode a great while, unknowing what she should do. At last she bethought herself to try, in the person of another, what her husband should say was to do in such a case; wherefore, awakening him, she told him, as having happened to another, that which had presently betided herself and after asked him what counsel she should take thereof, if it should happen to herself. The good man replied that himseemed the dead man should be quietly carried to his house and there left, without bearing any ill will thereof to the woman, who, it appeared to him, had nowise done amiss. Then said Salvestra, 'And so it behoveth us do'; and taking his hand, made him touch the dead youth; whereupon, all confounded, he arose, without entering into farther parley with his wife, and kindled a light; then, clothing the dead body in its own garments, he took it, without any delay, on his shoulders and carried it, his innocence aiding him, to the door of Girolamo's house, where he set it down and left it.\n\nWhen the day came and Girolamo was found dead before his own door, great was outcry, especially on the part of his mother, and the physicians having examined him and searched his body everywhere, but finding no wound nor bruise whatsoever on him, it was generally concluded that he had died of grief, as was indeed the case. Then was the body carried into a church and the sad mother, repairing thither with many other ladies, kinswomen and neighbours, began to weep without stint and make sore moan over him, according to our usance. What while the lamentation was at it highest, the good man, in whose house he had died, said to Salvestra, 'Harkye, put some mantlet or other on thy head and get thee to the church whither Girolamo hath been carried and mingle with the women and hearken to that which is discoursed of the matter; and I will do the like among the men, so we may hear if aught be said against us.' The thing pleased the girl, who was too late grown pitiful and would fain look upon him, dead, whom, living, she had not willed to pleasure with one poor kiss, and she went thither. A marvellous thing it is to think how uneath to search out are the ways of love! That heart, which Girolamo's fair fortune had not availed to open, his illhap opened and the old flames reviving all therein, whenas she saw the dead face it melted of a sudden into such compassion that she pressed between the women, veiled as she was in the mantlet, and stayed not till she won to the body, and there, giving a terrible great shriek, she cast herself, face downward, on the dead youth, whom she bathed not with many tears, for that no sooner did she touch him than grief bereaved her of life, even as it had bereft him.\n\nThe women would have comforted her and bidden her arise, not yet knowing her; but after they had bespoken her awhile in vain, they sought to lift her and finding her motionless, raised her up and knew her at once for Salvestra and for dead; whereupon all who were there, overcome with double pity, set up a yet greater clamour of lamentation. The news soon spread abroad among the men without the church and came presently to the ears of her husband, who was amongst them and who, without lending ear to consolation or comfort from any, wept a great while; after which he recounted to many of those who were there the story of that which had befallen that night between the dead youth and his wife; and so was the cause of each one's death made everywhere manifest, the which was grievous unto all. Then, taking up the dead girl and decking her, as they use to deck the dead, they laid her beside Girolamo on the same bier and there long bewept her; after which the twain were buried in one same tomb, and so these, whom love had not availed to conjoin on life, death conjoined with an inseparable union.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SIR GUILLAUME DE ROUSSILLON GIVETH HIS WIFE TO EAT THE HEART OF SIR GUILLAUME DE GUARDESTAING BY HIM SLAIN AND LOVED OF HER, WHICH SHE AFTER COMING TO KNOW, CASTETH HERSELF FROM A HIGH CASEMENT TO THE GROUND AND DYING, IS BURIED WITH HER LOVER",
                "text": "Neifile having made an end of her story, which had awakened no little compassion in all the ladies her companions, the king, who purposed not to infringe Dioneo his privilege, there being none else to tell but they twain, began, \"Gentle ladies, since you have such compassion upon ill\u2013fortuned loves, it hath occurred to me to tell you a story whereof it will behove you have no less pity than of the last, for that those to whom that which I shall tell happened were persons of more account than those of whom it hath been spoken and yet more cruel was the mishap that befell them.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that according to that which the Proven\u00e7als relate, there were aforetime in Provence two noble knights, each of whom had castles and vassals under him, called the one Sir Guillaume de Roussillon and the other Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing, and for that they were both men of great prowess in arms, they loved each other with an exceeding love and were wont to go still together and clad in the same colours to every tournament or jousting or other act of arms. Although they abode each in his own castle and were distant, one from other, a good half score miles, yet it came to pass that, Sir Guillaume de Roussillon having a very fair and lovesome lady to wife, Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing, notwithstanding the friendship and fellowship that was between them, become beyond measure enamoured of her and so wrought, now with one means and now with another, that the lady became aware of his passion and knowing him for a very valiant knight, it pleased her and she began to return his love, insomuch that she desired and tendered nothing more than him nor awaited otherwhat than to be solicited of him; the which was not long in coming to pass and they foregathered once and again.\n\nLoving each other amain and conversing together less discreetly than behoved, it befell that the husband became aware of their familiarity and was mightily incensed thereat, insomuch that the great love he bore to Guardestaing was turned into mortal hatred; but this he knew better to keep hidden than the two lovers had known to conceal their love and was fully resolved in himself to kill him. Roussillon being in this mind, it befell that a great tourneying was proclaimed in France, the which he forthright signified to Guardestaing and sent to bid him come to him, an it pleased him, so they might take counsel together if and how they should go thither; whereto the other very joyously answered that he would without fail come to sup with him on the ensuing day. Roussillon, hearing this, thought the time come whenas he might avail to kill him and accordingly on the morrow he armed himself and mounting to horse with a servant of his, lay at ambush, maybe a mile from his castle, in a wood whereas Guardestaing must pass.\n\nThere after he had awaited him a good while, he saw him come, unarmed and followed by two servants in like case, as one who apprehends nothing from him; and when he saw him come whereas he would have him, he rushed out upon him, lance in hand, full of rage and malice, crying, 'Traitor, thou art dead!' And to say thus and to plunge the lance into his breast were one and the same thing. Guardestaing, without being able to make any defence or even to say a word, fell from his horse, transfixed of the lance, and a little after died, whilst his servants, without waiting to learn who had done this, turned their horses' heads and fled as quickliest they might, towards their lord's castle. Roussillon dismounted and opening the dead man's breast with a knife, with his own hands tore out his heart, which he let wrap in the pennon of a lance and gave to one of his men to carry. Then, commanding that none should dare make words of the matter, he remounted, it being now night, and returned to his castle.\n\nThe lady, who had heard that Guardestaing was to be there that evening to supper and looked for him with the utmost impatience, seeing him not come, marvelled sore and said to her husband, 'How is it, sir, that Guardestaing is not come?' 'Wife,' answered he, 'I have had word from him that he cannot be here till to\u2013morrow'; whereat the lady abode somewhat troubled. Roussillon then dismounted and calling the cook, said to him, 'Take this wild boar's heart and look thou make a dainty dish thereof, the best and most delectable to eat that thou knowest, and when I am at table, send it to me in a silver porringer.' The cook accordingly took the heart and putting all his art thereto and all his diligence, minced it and seasoning it with store of rich spices, made of it a very dainty ragout.\n\nWhen it was time, Sir Guillaume sat down to table with his wife and the viands came; but he ate little, being hindered in thought for the ill deed he had committed. Presently the cook sent him the ragout, which he caused set before the lady, feigning himself disordered that evening and commending the dish to her amain. The lady, who was nowise squeamish, tasted thereof and finding it good, ate it all; which when the knight saw, he said to her, 'Wife, how deem you of this dish?' 'In good sooth, my lord,' answered she, 'it liketh me exceedingly.' Whereupon, 'So God be mine aid,' quoth Roussillon; 'I do indeed believe it you, nor do I marvel if that please you, dead, which, alive, pleased you more than aught else.' The lady, hearing this, hesitated awhile, then said, 'How? What have you made me eat?' 'This that you have eaten,' answered the knight, 'was in very truth the heart of Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing, whom you, disloyal wife as you are, so loved; and know for certain that it is his very heart, for that I tore it from his breast with these hands a little before my return.'\n\nIt needeth not to ask if the lady were woebegone, hearing this of him whom she loved more than aught else; and after awhile she said, 'You have done the deed of a disloyal and base knight, as you are; for, if I, unenforced of him, made him lord of my love and therein offended against you, not he, but I should have borne the penalty thereof. But God forfend that ever other victual should follow upon such noble meat the heart of so valiant and so courteous a gentleman as was Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing!' Then, rising to her feet, without any manner of hesitation, she let herself fall backward through a window which was behind her and which was exceeding high above the ground; wherefore, as she fell, she was not only killed, but well nigh broken in pieces.\n\nSir Guillaume, seeing this, was sore dismayed and himseemed he had done ill; wherefore, being adread of the country people and of the Count of Provence, he let saddle his horses and made off. On the morrow it was known all over the country how the thing had passed; whereupon the two bodies were, with the utmost grief and lamentation, taken up by Guardestaing's people and those of the lady and laid in one same sepulchre in the chapel of the latter's own castle; and thereover were verses written, signifying who these were that were buried therewithin and the manner and occasion of their death.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A PHYSICIAN'S WIFE PUTTETH HER LOVER FOR DEAD IN A CHEST, WHICH TWO USURERS CARRY OFF TO THEIR OWN HOUSE, GALLANT AND ALL. THE LATTER, WHO IS BUT DRUGGED, COMETH PRESENTLY TO HIMSELF AND BEING DISCOVERED, IS TAKEN FOR A THIEF; BUT THE LADY'S MAID AVOUCHETH TO THE SEIGNORY THAT SHE HERSELF HAD PUT HIM INTO THE CHEST STOLEN BY THE TWO USURERS, WHEREBY HE ESCAPETH THE GALLOWS AND THE THIEVES ARE AMERCED IN CERTAIN MONIES",
                "text": "Filostrato having made an end of his telling, it rested only with Dioneo to accomplish his task, who, knowing this and it being presently commanded him of the king, began as follows: 'The sorrows that have been this day related of ill fortuned loves have saddened not only your eyes and hearts, ladies, but mine also; wherefore I have ardently longed for an end to be made thereof. Now that, praised be God, they are finished (except I should choose to make an ill addition to such sorry ware, from which God keep me!), I will, without farther ensuing so dolorous a theme, begin with something blither and better, thereby perchance affording a good argument for that which is to be related on the ensuing day.\n\nYou must know, then, fairest lasses, that there was in Salerno, no great while since, a very famous doctor in surgery, by name Master Mazzeo della Montagna, who, being already come to extreme old age, took to wife a fair and gentle damsel of his city and kept better furnished with sumptuous and rich apparel and jewels and all that can pleasure a lady than any woman of the place. True it is she went a\u2013cold most of her time, being kept of her husband ill covered abed; for, like as Messer Ricardo di Chinzica (of whom we already told) taught his wife to observe saints' days and holidays, even so the doctor pretended to her that once lying with a woman necessitated I know not how many days' study to recruit the strength and the like toys; whereof she abode exceeding ill content and like a discreet and high\u2013spirited woman as she was, bethought herself, so she might the better husband the household good, to betake herself to the highway and seek to spend others' gear. To this end, considering divers young men, at last she found one to her mind and on him she set all her hope; whereof he becoming aware and she pleasing him mightily, he in like manner turned all his love upon her.\n\nThe spark in question was called Ruggieri da Jeroli, a man of noble birth, but of lewd life and blameworthy carriage, insomuch that he had left himself neither friend nor kinsman who wished him well or cared to see him and was defamed throughout all Salerno for thefts and other knaveries of the vilest; but of this the lady recked little, he pleasing her for otherwhat, and with the aid of a maid of hers, she wrought on such wise that they came together. After they had taken some delight, the lady proceeded to blame his past way of life and to pray him, for the love of her, to desist from these ill fashions; and to give him the means of doing this, she fell to succouring him, now with one sum of money and now with another. On this wise they abode together, using the utmost discretion, till it befell that a sick man was put into the doctor's hands, who had a gangrened leg, and Master Mazzeo, having examined the case, told the patient's kinsfolk that, except a decayed bone he had in his leg were taken out, needs must he have the whole limb cut off or die, and that, by taking out the bone, he might recover, but that he would not undertake him otherwise than for a dead man; to which those to whom the sick man pertained agreed and gave the latter into his hands for such. The doctor, judging that the patient might not brook the pain nor would suffer himself to be operated, without an opiate, and having appointed to set about the matter at evensong, let that morning distil a certain water of his composition, which being drunken by the sick man, should make him sleep so long as he deemed necessary for the performing of the operation upon him, and fetching it home, set it in his chamber, without telling any what it was.\n\nThe hour of vespers come and the doctor being about to go to the patient in question, there came to him a messenger from certain very great friends of his at Malfi, charging him fail not for anything to repair thither incontinent, for that there had been a great fray there, in which many had been wounded. Master Mazzeo accordingly put off the tending of the leg until the ensuing morning and going aboard a boat, went off to Malfi, whereupon his wife, knowing that he would not return home that night, let fetch Ruggieri, as of her wont, and bringing him into her chamber, locked him therewithin, against certain other persons of the house should be gone to sleep. Ruggieri, then, abiding in the chamber, awaiting his mistress, and being,\u2014whether for fatigue endured that day or salt meat that he had eaten or maybe for usance,\u2014sore, athirst, caught sight of the flagon of water, which the doctor had prepared for the sick man and which stood in the window, and deeming it drinking water, set it to his mouth and drank it all off; nor was it long ere a great drowsiness took him and he fell asleep.\n\nThe lady came to the chamber as first she might and finding Ruggieri asleep, nudged him and bade him in a low voice arise, but to no effect, for he replied not neither stirred anywhit; whereat she was somewhat vexed and nudged him more sharply, saying, 'Get up, slugabed! An thou hadst a mind to sleep, thou shouldst have betaken thee to thine own house and not come hither.' Ruggieri, being thus pushed, fell to the ground from a chest whereon he lay and gave no more sign of life than a dead body; whereupon the lady, now somewhat alarmed, began to seek to raise him up and to shake him more roughly, tweaking him by the nose and plucking him by the beard, but all in vain; he had tied his ass to a fast picket. At this she began to fear lest he were dead; nevertheless she proceeded to pinch him sharply and burn his flesh with a lighted taper, but all to no purpose; wherefore, being no doctress, for all her husband was a physician, she doubted not but he was dead in very deed. Loving him over all else as she did, it needeth no asking if she were woebegone for this and daring not make any outcry, she silently fell a\u2013weeping over him and bewailing so sore a mishap.\n\nAfter awhile, fearing to add shame to her loss, she bethought herself that it behoved her without delay find a means of carrying the dead man forth of the house and knowing not how to contrive this, she softly called her maid and discovering to her her misadventure sought counsel of her. The maid marvelled exceedingly and herself pulled and pinched Ruggieri, but, finding him without sense or motion, agreed with her mistress that he was certainly dead and counselled her put him forth of the house. Quoth the lady, 'And where can we put him, so it may not be suspected, whenas he shall be seen to\u2013morrow morning, that he hath been brought out hence?' 'Madam,' answered the maid, 'I saw, this evening at nightfall, over against the shop of our neighbour yonder the carpenter, a chest not overbig, the which, an the owner have not taken it in again, will come very apt for our affair; for that we can lay him therein, after giving him two or three slashes with a knife, and leave him be. I know no reason why whoso findeth him should suppose him to have been put there from this house rather than otherwhence; nay, it will liefer be believed, seeing he was a young man of lewd life, that he hath been slain by some enemy of his, whilst going about to do some mischief or other, and after clapped in the chest.'\n\nThe maid's counsel pleased the lady, save that she would not hear of giving him any wound, saying that for naught in the world would her heart suffer her to do that. Accordingly she sent her to see if the chest were yet whereas she had noted it and she presently returned and said, 'Ay.' Then, being young and lusty, with the aid of her mistress, she took Ruggieri on her shoulders and carrying him out,\u2014whilst the lady forewent her, to look if any came,\u2014clapped him into the chest and shutting down the lid, left him there. Now it chanced that, a day or two before, two young men, who lent at usance, had taken up their abode in a house a little farther and lacking household gear, but having a mind to gain much and spend little, had that day espied the chest in question and had plotted together, if it should abide there the night, to carry it off to their own house. Accordingly, midnight come, they sallied forth and finding the chest still there, without looking farther, they hastily carried it off, for all it seemed to them somewhat heavy, to their own house, where they set it down beside a chamber in which their wives slept and there leaving it, without concerning themselves for the nonce to settle it overnicely, betook them to bed.\n\nPresently, the morning drawing near, Ruggieri, who had slept a great while, having by this time digested the sleeping draught and exhausted its effects, awoke and albeit his sleep was broken and his senses in some measure restored, there abode yet a dizziness in his brain, which held him stupefied, not that night only, but some days after. Opening his eyes and seeing nothing, he put out his hands hither and thither and finding himself in the chest, bethought himself and said, 'What is this? Where am I? Am I asleep or awake? Algates I mind me that I came this evening into my mistress's chamber and now meseemeth I am in a chest. What meaneth this? Can the physician have returned or other accident befallen, by reason whereof the lady hath hidden me here, I being asleep? Methinketh it must have been thus; assuredly it was so.' Accordingly, he addressed himself to abide quiet and hearken if he could hear aught and after he had abidden thus a great while, being somewhat ill at ease in the chest, which was small, and the side whereon he lay irking him, he would have turned over to the other and wrought so dexterously that, thrusting his loins against one of the sides of the chest, which had not been set on a level place, he caused it first to incline to one side and after topple over. In falling, it made a great noise, whereat the women who slept therenigh awoke and being affrighted, were silent for fear. Ruggieri was sore alarmed at the fall of the chest, but, finding that it had opened in the fall, chose rather, if aught else should betide, to be out of it than to abide therewithin. Accordingly, he came forth and what with knowing not where he was and what with one thing and another, he fell to groping about the house, so haply he should find a stair or a door, whereby he might get him gone.\n\nThe women, hearing this, began to say, 'Who is there?' But Ruggieri, knowing not the voice, answered not; whereupon they proceeded to call the two young men, who, for that they had overwatched themselves, slept fast and heard nothing of all this. Thereupon the women, waxing more fearful, arose and betaking themselves to the windows, fell a\u2013crying, 'Thieves! Thieves!' At this sundry of the neighbours ran up and made their way, some by the roof and some by one part and some by another, into the house; and the young men also, awaking for the noise, arose and seized Ruggieri, who finding himself there, was in a manner beside himself for wonderment and saw no way of escape. Then they gave him into the hands of the officers of the governor of the city, who had now run thither at the noise and carried him before their chief. The latter, for that he was held of all a very sorry fellow, straightway put him to the question and he confessed to having entered the usurers' house to steal; whereupon the governor thought to let string him up by the neck without delay.\n\nThe news was all over Salerno by the morning that Ruggieri had been taken in the act of robbing the money\u2013lenders' house, which the lady and her maid hearing, they were filled with such strange and exceeding wonderment that they were like to persuade themselves that they had not done, but had only dreamed of doing, that which they had done overnight; whilst the lady, to boot, was so concerned at the news of the danger wherein Ruggieri was that she was like to go mad. Soon after half tierce the physician, having returned from Malfi and wishing to medicine his patient, called for his prepared water and finding the flagon empty, made a great outcry, saying that nothing could abide as it was in his house. The lady, who was troubled with another great chagrin, answered angrily, saying 'What wouldst thou say, doctor, of grave matter, whenas thou makest such an outcry anent a flagonlet of water overset? Is there no more water to be found in the world?' 'Wife,' rejoined the physician, 'thou thinkest this was common water; it was not so; nay, it was a water prepared to cause sleep'; and told her for what occasion he had made it. When she heard this, she understood forthright that Ruggieri had drunken the opiate and had therefore appeared to them dead and said to her husband, 'Doctor, we knew it not; wherefore do you make yourself some more'; and the physician, accordingly, seeing he might not do otherwise, let make thereof anew.\n\nA little after, the maid, who had gone by her mistress's commandment to learn what should be reported of Ruggieri, returned and said to her, 'Madam, every one missaith of Ruggieri; nor, for aught I could hear, is there friend or kinsman who hath risen up or thinketh to rise up to assist him, and it is held certain that the prefect of police will have him hanged to\u2013morrow. Moreover, I have a strange thing to tell you, to wit, meseemeth I have discovered how he came into the money\u2013lenders' house, and hear how. You know the carpenter overagainst whose shop was the chest wherein we laid him; he was but now at the hottest words in the world with one to whom it seemeth the chest belonged; for the latter demanded of him the price of his chest, and the carpenter replied that he had not sold it, but that it had that night been stolen from him. Whereto, \"Not so,\" quoth the other, \"nay, thou soldest it to the two young men, the money\u2013lenders yonder, as they told me yesternight, when I saw it in their house what time Ruggieri was taken. \"They lie,\" answered the carpenter. \"I never sold it to them; but they stole it from me yesternight. Let us go to them.\" So they went off with one accord to the money\u2013lenders' house, and I came back hither. On this wise, as you may see, I conclude that Ruggieri was transported whereas he was found; but how he came to life again I cannot divine.'\n\nThe lady now understood very well how the case stood and telling the maid what she had heard from the physician, besought her help to save Ruggieri, for that she might, an she would, at once save him and preserve her honour. Quoth she, 'Madam, teach me how, and I will gladly do anything.' Whereupon the lady, whose wits were sharpened by the urgency of the case, having promptly bethought herself of that which was to do, particularly acquainted the maid therewith, who first betook herself to the physician and weeping, began to say to him, 'Sir, it behoveth me ask you pardon of a great fault, which I have committed against you.' 'In what?' asked the doctor, and she, never giving over weeping, answered, 'Sir, you know what manner young man is Ruggieri da Jeroli. He took a liking to me awhile agone and partly for fear and partly for love, needs must I become his mistress. Yesternight, knowing that you were abroad, he cajoled me on such wise that I brought him into your house to lie with me in my chamber, and he being athirst and I having no whither more quickly to resort for water or wine, unwilling as I was that your lady, who was in the saloon, should see me, I remembered me to have seen a flagon of water in your chamber. Accordingly, I ran for it and giving him the water to drink, replaced the flagon whence I had taken it, whereof I find you have made a great outcry in the house. And certes I confess I did ill; but who is there doth not ill bytimes? Indeed, I am exceeding grieved to have done it, not so much for the thing itself as for that which hath ensued of it and by reason whereof Ruggieri is like to lose his life. Wherefore I pray you, as most I may, pardon me and give me leave to go succour Ruggieri inasmuch as I can.' The physician, hearing this, for all he was angry, answered jestingly, 'Thou hast given thyself thine own penance therefor, seeing that, whereas thou thoughtest yesternight to have a lusty young fellow who would shake thy skincoats well for thee, thou hadst a sluggard; wherefore go and endeavour for the deliverance of thy lover; but henceforth look thou bring him not into the house again, or I will pay thee for this time and that together.'\n\nThe maid, thinking she had fared well for the first venue, betook herself, as quickliest she might, to the prison, where Ruggieri lay and coaxed the gaoler to let her speak with the prisoner, whom after she had instructed what answers he should make to the prefect of police, an he would fain escape, she contrived to gain admission to the magistrate himself. The latter, for that she was young and buxom, would fain, ere he would hearken to her, cast his grapnel aboard the good wench, whereof she, to be the better heard, was no whit chary; then, having quitted herself of the grinding due, 'Sir,' said she, 'you have here Ruggieri da Jeroli taken for a thief; but the truth is not so.' Then, beginning from the beginning, she told him the whole story; how she, being his mistress, had brought him into the physician's house and had given him the drugged water to drink, unknowing what it was, and how she had put him for dead into the chest; after which she told him the talk she had heard between the master carpenter and the owner of the chest, showing him thereby how Ruggieri had come into the money\u2013lenders' house.\n\nThe magistrate, seeing it an easy thing to come at the truth of the matter, first questioned the physician if it were true of the water and found that it was as she had said; whereupon he let summon the carpenter and him to whom the chest belonged and the two money\u2013lenders and after much parley, found that the latter had stolen the chest overnight and put it in their house. Ultimately he sent for Ruggieri and questioned him where he had lain that night, whereto he replied that where he had lain he knew not; he remembered indeed having gone to pass the night with Master Mazzeo's maid, in whose chamber he had drunken water for a sore thirst he had; but what became of him after he knew not, save that, when he awoke, he found himself in the money\u2013lenders' house in a chest. The prefect, hearing these things and taking great pleasure therein, caused the maid and Ruggieri and the carpenter and the money\u2013lenders repeat their story again and again; and in the end, seeing Ruggieri to be innocent, he released him and amerced the money\u2013lenders in half a score ounces for that they had stolen the chest. How welcome this was to Ruggieri, none need ask, and it was beyond measure pleasing to his mistress, who together with her lover and the precious maid, who had proposed to give him the slashes with the knife, many a time after laughed and made merry of the matter, still continuing their loves and their disport from good to better; the which I would well might so betide myself, save always the being put in the chest.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "If the former stories had saddened the hearts of the lovesome ladies, this last one of Dioneo's made them laugh heartily, especially when he spoke of the prefect casting his grapnel aboard the maid, that they were able thus to recover themselves of the melancholy caused by the others. But the king, seeing that the sun began to grow yellow and that the term of his seignory was come, with very courteous speech excused himself to the fair ladies for that which he had done, to wit, that he had caused discourse of so sorrowful a matter as that of lovers' infelicity; which done, he rose to his feet and taking from his head the laurel wreath, whilst the ladies waited to see on whom he should bestow it, set it daintily on Fiammetta's fair head, saying, \"I make over this crown to thee, as to her who will, better than any other, know how with to\u2013morrow's pleasance to console these ladies our companions of to\u2013day's woefulness.\"\n\nFiammetta, whose locks were curled and long and golden and fell over her white and delicate shoulders and whose soft\u2013rounded face was all resplendent with white lilies and vermeil roses commingled, with two eyes in her head as they were those of a peregrine falcon and a dainty little mouth, the lips whereof seemed twin rubies, answered, smiling, \"And I, Filostrato, I take it willingly, and that thou mayst be the better cognizant of that which thou hast done, I presently will and command that each prepare to discourse to\u2013morrow of THAT WHICH HATH HAPPILY BETIDED LOVERS AFTER SUNDRY CRUEL AND MISFORTUNATE ADVENTURES.\" Her proposition was pleasing unto all and she, after summoning the seneschal and taking counsel with him of things needful, arising from session, blithely dismissed all the company until supper\u2013time. Accordingly, they all proceeded, according to their various appetites, to take their several pleasures, some wandering about the garden, whose beauties were not such as might lightly tire, and other some betaking themselves towards the mills which wrought therewithout, whilst the rest fared some hither and some thither, until the hour of supper, which being come, they all foregathered, as of their wont, anigh the fair fountain and there supped with exceeding pleasance and well served. Presently, arising thence, they addressed themselves, as of their wont, to dancing and singing, and Filomena leading off the dance, the queen said, \"Filostrato, I purpose not to depart from the usance of those who have foregone me in the sovranty, but, like as they have done, so I intend that a song be sung at my commandment; and as I am assured that thy songs are even such as are thy stories, it is our pleasure that, so no more days than this be troubled with thine ill fortunes, thou sing such one thereof as most pleaseth thee.\" Filostrato replied that he would well and forthright proceeded to sing on this wise:\n\n\u2002Weeping, I demonstrate\n\n\u2002How sore with reason doth my heart complain\n\n\u2002Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain.\n\n\u2002Love, whenas first there was of thee imprest\n\n\u2002Thereon her image for whose sake I sigh,\n\n\u2002Sans hope of succour aye,\n\n\u2002So full of virtue didst thou her pourtray,\n\n\u2002That every torment light accounted I\n\n\u2002That through thee to my breast\n\n\u2002Grown full of drear unrest\n\n\u2002And dole, might come; but now, alack! I'm fain\n\n\u2002To own my error, not withouten pain.\n\n\u2002Yea, of the cheat first was I made aware,\n\n\u2002Seeing myself of her forsaken sheer,\n\n\u2002In whom I hoped alone;\n\n\u2002For, when I deemed myself most fairly grown\n\n\u2002Into her favour and her servant dear,\n\n\u2002Without her thought or care\n\n\u2002Of my to\u2013come despair,\n\n\u2002I found she had another's merit ta'en\n\n\u2002To heart and put me from her with disdain.\n\n\u2002Whenas I knew me banished from my stead,\n\n\u2002Straight in my heart a dolorous plaint there grew,\n\n\u2002That yet therein hath power,\n\n\u2002And oft I curse the day and eke the hour\n\n\u2002When first her lovesome visage met my view,\n\n\u2002Graced with high goodlihead;\n\n\u2002And more enamour\u00e9d\n\n\u2002Than eye, my soul keeps up its dying strain,\n\n\u2002Faith, ardour, hope, blaspheming still amain.\n\n\u2002How void my misery is of all relief\n\n\u2002Thou mayst e'en feel, so sore I call thee, sire,\n\n\u2002With voice all full of woe;\n\n\u2002Ay, and I tell thee that it irks me so\n\n\u2002That death for lesser torment I desire.\n\n\u2002Come, death, then; shear the sheaf\n\n\u2002Of this my life of grief\n\n\u2002And with thy stroke my madness eke assain;\n\n\u2002Go where I may, less dire will be my bane.\n\n\u2002No other way than death is left my spright,\n\n\u2002Ay, and none other solace for my dole;\n\n\u2002Then give it me straightway,\n\n\u2002Love; put an end withal to my dismay:\n\n\u2002Ah, do it; since fate's spite\n\n\u2002Hath robbed me of delight;\n\n\u2002Gladden thou her, lord, with my death, love\u2013slain,\n\n\u2002As thou hast cheered her with another swain.\n\n\u2002My song, though none to learn thee lend an ear,\n\n\u2002I reck the less thereof, indeed, that none\n\n\u2002Could sing thee even as I;\n\n\u2002One only charge I give thee, ere I die,\n\n\u2002That thou find Love and unto him alone\n\n\u2002Show fully how undear\n\n\u2002This bitter life and drear\n\n\u2002Is to me, craving of his might he deign\n\n\u2002Some better harbourage I may attain.\n\n\u2002Weeping I demonstrate\n\n\u2002How sore with reason doth my heart complain\n\n\u2002Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain.\n\nThe words of this song clearly enough discovered the state of Filostrato's mind and the cause thereof, the which belike the countenance of a certain lady who was in the dance had yet plainlier declared, had not the shades of the now fallen night hidden the blushes that rose to her face. But, when he had made an end of his song, many others were sung, till such time as the hour of sleep arrived, whereupon, at the queen's commandment, each of the ladies withdrew to her chamber."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Fifth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE FIFTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF FIAMMETTA IS DISCOURSED OF THAT WHICH HATH HAPPILY BETIDED LOVERS AFTER SUNDRY CRUEL AND MISFORTUNATE ADVENTURES ]\n\nThe East was already all white and the rays of the rising sun had made it light through all our hemisphere, when Fiammetta, allured by the sweet song of the birds that blithely chanted the first hour of the day upon the branches, arose and let call all the other ladies and the three young men; then, with leisured pace descending into the fields, she went a\u2013pleasuring with her company about the ample plain upon the dewy grasses, discoursing with them of one thing and another, until the sun was somewhat risen, when, feeling that its rays began to grow hot, she turned their steps to their abiding\u2013place. There, with excellent wines and confections, she let restore the light fatigue had and they disported themselves in the delightsome garden until the eating hour, which being come and everything made ready by the discreet seneschal, they sat blithely down to meat, such being the queen's pleasure, after they had sung sundry roundelays and a ballad or two. Having dined orderly and with mirth, not unmindful of their wonted usance of dancing, they danced sundry short dances to the sound of songs and tabrets, after which the queen dismissed them all until the hour of slumber should be past. Accordingly, some betook themselves to sleep, whilst others addressed themselves anew to their diversion about the fair garden; but all, according to the wonted fashion, assembled together again, a little after none, near the fair fountain, whereas it pleased the queen. Then she, having seated herself in the chief room, looked towards Pamfilo and smilingly charged him make a beginning with the fair\u2013fortuned stories; whereto he willingly addressed himself and spoke as follows:"
            },
            {
                "title": "CIMON, LOVING, WAXETH WISE AND CARRIETH OFF TO SEA IPHIGENIA HIS MISTRESS. BEING CAST INTO PRISON AT RHODES, HE IS DELIVERED THENCE BY LYSIMACHUS AND IN CONCERT WITH HIM CARRIETH OFF IPHIGENIA AND CASSANDRA ON THEIR WEDDING\u2013DAY, WITH WHOM THE TWAIN FLEE INTO CRETE, WHERE THE TWO LADIES BECOME THEIR WIVES AND WHENCE THEY ARE PRESENTLY ALL FOUR RECALLED HOME",
                "text": "\"Many stories, delightsome ladies, apt to give beginning to so glad a day as this will be, offer themselves unto me to be related; whereof one is the most pleasing to my mind, for that thereby, beside the happy issue which is to mark this day's discourses, you may understand how holy, how puissant and how full of all good is the power of Love, which many, unknowing what they say, condemn and vilify with great unright; and this, an I err not, must needs be exceeding pleasing to you, for that I believe you all to be in love.\"\n\nThere was, then, in the island of Cyprus, (as we have read aforetime in the ancient histories of the Cypriots,) a very noble gentleman, by name Aristippus, who was rich beyond any other of the country in all temporal things and might have held himself the happiest man alive, had not fortune made him woeful in one only thing, to wit, that amongst his other children he had a son who overpassed all the other youths of his age in stature and goodliness of body, but was a hopeless dullard and well nigh an idiot. His true name was Galesus, but for that neither by toil of teacher nor blandishment nor beating of his father nor study nor endeavour of whatsoever other had it been found possible to put into his head any inkling of letters or good breeding and that he had a rough voice and an uncouth and manners more befitting a beast than a man, he was of well nigh all by way of mockery called Cimon, which in their tongue signified as much as brute beast in ours. His father brooked his wastrel life with the most grievous concern and having presently given over all hope of him, he bade him begone to his country house and there abide with his husbandmen, so he might not still have before him the cause of his chagrin; the which was very agreeable to Cimon, for that the manners and usages of clowns and churls were much more to his liking than those of the townsfolk.\n\nCimon, then, betaking himself to the country and there employing himself in the things that pertained thereto, it chanced one day, awhile after noon, as he passed from one farm to another, with his staff on his shoulder, that he entered a very fair coppice which was in those parts and which was then all in leaf, for that it was the month of May. Passing therethrough, he happened (even as his fortune guided him thither) upon a little mead compassed about with very high trees, in one corner whereof was a very clear and cool spring, beside which he saw a very fair damsel asleep upon the green grass, with so thin a garment upon her body that it hid well nigh nothing of her snowy flesh. She was covered only from the waist down with a very white and light coverlet; and at her feet slept on like wise two women and a man, her servants. When Cimon espied the young lady, he halted and leaning upon his staff, fell, without saying a word, to gazing most intently upon her with the utmost admiration, no otherwise than as he had never yet seen a woman's form, whilst in his rude breast, wherein for a thousand lessonings no least impression of civil pleasance had availed to penetrate, he felt a thought awaken which intimated to his gross and material spirit that this maiden was the fairest thing that had been ever seen of any living soul. Thence he proceeded to consider her various parts,\u2014commending her hair, which he accounted of gold, her brow, her nose, her mouth, her throat and her arms, and above all her breast, as yet but little upraised,\u2014and grown of a sudden from a churl a judge of beauty, he ardently desired in himself to see the eyes, which, weighed down with deep sleep, she kept closed. To this end, he had it several times in mind to awaken her; but, for that she seemed to him beyond measure fairer than the other women aforetime seen of him, he misdoubted him she must be some goddess. Now he had wit enough to account things divine worthy of more reverence than those mundane; wherefore he forbore, waiting for her to awake of herself; and albeit the delay seemed overlong to him, yet, taken as he was with an unwonted pleasure, he knew not how to tear himself away.\n\nIt befell, then, that, after a long while, the damsel, whose name was Iphigenia, came to herself, before any of her people, and opening her eyes, saw Cimon (who, what for his fashion and uncouthness and his father's wealth and nobility, was known in a manner to every one in the country) standing before her, leant on his staff, marvelled exceedingly and said, 'Cimon, what goest thou seeking in this wood at this hour?' He made her no answer, but, seeing her eyes open, began to look steadfastly upon them, himseeming there proceeded thence a sweetness which fulfilled him with a pleasure such as he had never before felt. The young lady, seeing this, began to misdoubt her lest his so fixed looking upon her should move his rusticity to somewhat that might turn to her shame; wherefore, calling her women, she rose up, saying, 'Cimon, abide with God.' To which he replied, 'I will begone with thee'; and albeit the young lady, who was still in fear of him, would have declined his company, she could not win to rid herself of him till he had accompanied her to her own house.\n\nThence he repaired to his father's house in the city, and declared to him that he would on no wise consent to return to the country; the which was irksome enough to Aristippus and his kinsfolk; nevertheless they let him be, awaiting to see what might be the cause of his change of mind. Love's arrow having, then, through Iphigenia's beauty, penetrated into Cimon's heart, whereinto no teaching had ever availed to win an entrance, in a very brief time, proceeding from one idea to another, he made his father marvel and all his kinsfolk and every other that knew him. In the first place he besought his father that he would cause him go bedecked with clothes and every other thing, even as his brothers, the which Aristippus right gladly did. Then, consorting with young men of condition and learning the fashions and carriage that behoved unto gentlemen and especially unto lovers, he first, to the utmost wonderment of every one, in a very brief space of time, not only learned the first elements of letters, but became very eminent among the students of philosophy, and after (the love which he bore Iphigenia being the cause of all this) he not only reduced his rude and rustical manner of speech to seemliness and civility, but became a past master of song and sound and exceeding expert and doughty in riding and martial exercises, both by land and by sea. In short, not to go recounting every particular of his merits, the fourth year was not accomplished from the day of his first falling in love, ere he was grown the sprightliest and most accomplished gentleman of all the young men in the island of Cyprus, ay, and the best endowed with every particular excellence. What, then, charming ladies, shall we say of Cimon? Certes, none other thing than that the lofty virtues implanted by heaven in his generous soul had been bounden with exceeding strong bonds of jealous fortune and shut in some straitest corner of his heart, all which bonds Love, as a mightier than fortune, broke and burst in sunder and in its quality of awakener and quickener of drowsed and sluggish wits, urged forth into broad daylight the virtues aforesaid, which had till then been overdarkened with a barbarous obscurity, thus manifestly discovering from how mean a room it can avail to uplift those souls that are subject unto it and to what an eminence it can conduct them with its beams.\n\nAlthough Cimon, loving Iphigenia as he did, might exceed in certain things, as young men in love very often do, nevertheless Aristippus, considering that Love had turned him from a dunce into a man, not only patiently bore with the extravagances into which it might whiles lead him, but encouraged him to ensue its every pleasure. But Cimon, (who refused to be called Galesus, remembering that Iphigenia had called him by the former name,) seeking to put an honourable term to his desire, once and again caused essay Cipseus, Iphigenia's father, so he should give him his daughter to wife; but Cipseus still answered that he had promised her to Pasimondas, a young nobleman of Rhodes, to whom he had no mind to fail of his word. The time coming the covenanted nuptials of Iphigenia and the bridegroom having sent for her, Cimon said to himself, 'Now, O Iphigenia, is the time to prove how much thou are beloved of me. By thee am I become a man and so I may but have thee, I doubt not to become more glorious than any god; and for certain I will or have thee or die.'\n\nAccordingly, having secretly recruited certain young noblemen who were his friends and let privily equip a ship with everything apt for naval battle, he put out to sea and awaited the vessel wherein Iphigenia was to be transported to her husband in Rhodes. The bride, after much honour done of her father to the bridegroom's friends, took ship with the latter, who turned their prow towards Rhodes and departed. On the following day, Cimon, who slept not, came out upon them with his ship and cried out, in a loud voice, from the prow, to those who were on board Iphigenia's vessel, saying, 'Stay, strike your sails or look to be beaten and sunken in the sea.' Cimon's adversaries had gotten up their arms on deck and made ready to defend themselves; whereupon he, after speaking the words aforesaid, took a grappling\u2013iron and casting it upon the poop of the Rhodians, who were making off at the top of their speed, made it fast by main force to the prow of his own ship. Then, bold as a lion, he leapt on board their ship, without waiting for any to follow him, as if he held them all for nought, and Love spurring him, he fell upon his enemies with marvellous might, cutlass in hand, striking now this one and now that and hewing them down like sheep.\n\nThe Rhodians, seeing this, cast down their arms and all as with one voice confessed themselves prisoners; whereupon quoth Cimon to them, 'Young men, it was neither lust of rapine nor hate that I had against you made me depart Cyprus to assail you, arms in hand, in mid sea. That which moved me thereunto was the desire of a thing which to have gotten is a very grave matter to me and to you a very light one to yield me in peace; it is, to wit, Iphigenia, whom I loved over all else and whom, availing not to have of her father on friendly and peaceful wise, Love hath constrained me to win from you as an enemy and by force of arms. Wherefor I mean to be to her that which your friend Pasimondas should have been. Give her to me, then, and begone and God's grace go with you.'\n\nThe Rhodians, more by force constrained than of freewill, surrendered Iphigenia, weeping, to Cimon, who, seeing her in tears, said to her, 'Noble Lady, be not disconsolate; I am thy Cimon, who by long love have far better deserved to have thee than Pasimondas by plighted faith.' Thereupon he caused carry her aboard his own ship and returning to his companions, let the Rhodians go, without touching aught else of theirs. Then, glad beyond any man alive to have gotten so dear a prey, after devoting some time to comforting the weeping lady, he took counsel with his comrades not to return to Cyprus at that present; wherefore, of one accord, they turned the ship's head towards Crete, where well nigh every one, and especially Cimon, had kinsfolk, old and new, and friends in plenty and where they doubted not to be in safety with Iphigenia. But fortune the unstable, which had cheerfully enough vouchsafed unto Cimon the acquisition of the lady, suddenly changed the inexpressible joyance of the enamoured youth into sad and bitter mourning; for it was not four full told hours since he had left the Rhodians when the night (which Cimon looked to be more delightsome than any he had ever known) came on and with it a very troublous and tempestuous shift of weather, which filled all the sky with clouds and the sea with ravening winds, by reason whereof none could see what to do or whither to steer, nor could any even keep the deck to do any office.\n\nHow sore concerned was Cimon for this it needeth not to ask; himseemed the gods had vouchsafed him his desire but to make death the more grievous to him, whereof, without that, he had before recked little. His comrades lamented on like wise, but Iphigenia bewailed herself over all, weeping sore and fearing every stroke of the waves; and in her chagrin she bitterly cursed Cimon's love and blamed his presumption, avouching that the tempest had arisen for none other thing but that the gods chose not that he, who would fain against their will have her to wife, should avail to enjoy his presumptuous desire, but, seeing her first die, should after himself perish miserably.\n\nAmidst such lamentations and others yet more grievous, the wind waxing hourly fiercer and the seamen knowing not what to do, they came, without witting whither they went or availing to change their course, near to the island of Rhodes, and unknowing that it was Rhodes, they used their every endeavour to get to land thereon, an it were possible, for the saving of their lives. In this fortune was favourable to them and brought them into a little bight of the sea, where the Rhodians whom Cimon had let go had a little before arrived with their ship; nor did they perceive that they had struck the island of Rhodes till the dawn broke and made the sky somewhat clearer, when they found themselves maybe a bowshot distant from the ship left of them the day before. At this Cimon was beyond measure chagrined and fearing lest that should betide them which did in very deed ensue, bade use every endeavour to issue thence and let fortune after carry them whither it should please her, for that they could be nowhere in worse case than there. Accordingly, they made the utmost efforts to put to sea, but in vain; for the wind blew so mightily against them that not only could they not avail to issue from the little harbour, but whether they would or no, it drove them ashore.\n\nNo sooner were they come thither than they were recognized by the Rhodian sailors, who had landed from their ship, and one of them ran nimbly to a village hard by, whither the young Rhodian gentlemen had betaken themselves, and told the latter that, as luck would have it, Cimon and Iphigenia were come thither aboard their ship, driven, like themselves, by stress of weather. They, hearing this, were greatly rejoiced and repairing in all haste to the sea\u2013shore, with a number of the villagers, took Cimon, together with Iphigenia and all his company, who had now landed and taken counsel together to flee into some neighbouring wood, and carried them to the village. The news coming to Pasimondas, he made his complaint to the senate of the island and according as he had ordered it with them, Lysimachus, in whom the chief magistracy of the Rhodians was for that year vested, coming thither from the city with a great company of men\u2013at\u2013arms, haled Cimon and all his men to prison. On such wise did the wretched and lovelorn Cimon lose his Iphigenia, scantwhile before won of him, without having taken of her more than a kiss or two; whilst she herself was received by many noble ladies of Rhodes and comforted as well for the chagrin had of her seizure as for the fatigue suffered by reason of the troubled sea; and with them she abode against the day appointed for her nuptials.\n\nAs for Cimon and his companions, their lives were granted them, in consideration of the liberty given by them to the young Rhodians the day before,\u2014albeit Pasimondas used his utmost endeavour to procure them to be put to death,\u2014and they were condemned to perpetual prison, wherein, as may well be believed, they abode woebegone and without hope of any relief. However, whilst Pasimondas, as most he might, hastened the preparations for his coming nuptials, fortune, as if repenting her of the sudden injury done to Cimon, brought about a new circumstance for his deliverance, the which was on this wise. Pasimondas had a brother called Ormisdas, less in years, but not in merit, than himself, who had been long in treaty for the hand of a fair and noble damsel of the city, by name Cassandra, whom Lysimachus ardently loved, and the match had sundry times been broken off by divers untoward accidents. Now Pasimondas, being about to celebrate his own nuptials with the utmost splendour, bethought himself that it were excellently well done if he could procure Ormisdas likewise to take wife on the same occasion, not to resort afresh to expense and festival making. Accordingly, he took up again the parleys with Cassandra's parents and brought them to a successful issue; wherefore he and his brother agreed, in concert with them, that Ormisdas should take Cassandra to wife on the same day whenas himself took Iphigenia.\n\nLysimachus hearing this, it was beyond measure displeasing to him, for that he saw himself bereaved of the hope which he cherished, that, an Ormisdas took her not, he should certainly have her. However, like a wise man, he kept his chagrin hidden and fell to considering on what wise he might avail to hinder this having effect, but could see no way possible save the carrying her off. This seemed easy to him to compass for the office which he held, but he accounted the deed far more dishonourable than if he had not held the office in question. Ultimately, however, after long deliberation, honour gave place to love and he determined, come what might of it, to carry off Cassandra. Then, bethinking himself of the company he must have and the course he must hold to do this, he remembered him of Cimon, whom he had in prison with his comrades, and concluded that he might have no better or trustier companion than Cimon in this affair.\n\nAccordingly, that same night he had him privily into his chamber and proceeded to bespeak him on this wise: 'Cimon, like as the gods are very excellent and bountiful givers of things to men, even so are they most sagacious provers of their virtues, and those, whom they find resolute and constant under all circumstances, they hold deserving, as the most worthy, of the highest recompenses. They have been minded to have more certain proof of thy worth than could be shown by thee within the limits of thy father's house, whom I know to be abundantly endowed with riches; wherefore, first, with the poignant instigations of love they brought thee from a senseless animal to be a man, and after with foul fortune and at this present with prison dour, they would fain try if thy spirit change not from that which it was, whenas thou wast scantwhile glad of the gotten prize. If that be the same as it was erst, they never yet vouchsafed thee aught so gladsome as that which they are presently prepared to bestow on thee and which, so thou mayst recover thy wonted powers and resume thy whilom spirit, I purpose to discover to thee.\n\nPasimondas, rejoicing in thy misadventure and a diligent promoter of thy death, bestirreth himself as most he may to celebrate his nuptials with thine Iphigenia, so therein he may enjoy the prize which fortune first blithely conceded thee and after, growing troubled, took from thee of a sudden. How much this must grieve thee, an thou love as I believe, I know by myself, to whom Ormisdas his brother prepareth in one same day to do a like injury in the person of Cassandra, whom I love over all else. To escape so great an unright and annoy of fortune, I see no way left open of her to us, save the valour of our souls and the might of our right hands, wherein it behoveth us take our swords and make us a way to the carrying off of our two mistresses, thee for the second and me for the first time. If, then, it be dear to thee to have again\u2014I will not say thy liberty, whereof methinketh thou reckest little without thy lady, but\u2014thy mistress, the gods have put her in thy hands, an thou be willing to second me in my emprize.'\n\nAll Cimon's lost spirit was requickened in him by these words and he replied, without overmuch consideration, 'Lysimachus, thou canst have no stouter or trustier comrade than myself in such an enterprise, an that be to ensue thereof for me which thou avouchest; wherefore do thou command me that which thou deemest should be done of me, and thou shalt find thyself wonder\u2013puissantly seconded.' Then said Lysimachus, 'On the third day from this the new\u2013married wives will for the first time enter their husbands' houses, whereinto thou with thy companions armed and I with certain of my friends, in whom I put great trust, will make our way towards nightfall and snatching up our mistresses out of the midst of the guests, will carry them off to a ship, which I have caused secretly equip, slaying whosoever shall presume to offer opposition.' The devise pleased Cimon and he abode quiet in prison until the appointed time.\n\nThe wedding\u2013day being come, great and magnificent was the pomp of the festival and every part of the two brothers' house was full of mirth and merrymaking; whereupon Lysimachus, having made ready everything needful, divided Cimon and his companions, together with his own friends, all armed under their clothes, into three parties and having first kindled them to his purpose with many words, secretly despatched one party to the harbour, so none might hinder their going aboard the ship, whenas need should be. Then, coming with the other twain, whenas it seemed to him time, to Pasimondas his house, he left one party of them at the door, so as none might shut them up therewithin or forbid them the issue, and with Cimon and the rest went up by the stairs. Coming to the saloon where the new\u2013wedded brides were seated orderly at meat with many other ladies, they rushed in upon them and overthrowing the tables, took each his mistress and putting them in the hands of their comrades, bade straightway carry them to the ship that was in waiting. The brides fell a\u2013weeping and shrieking, as did likewise the other ladies and the servants, and the whole house was of a sudden full of clamour and lamentation.\n\nCimon and Lysimachus and their companions, drawing their swords, made for the stairs, without any opposition, all giving way to them, and as they descended, Pasimondas presented himself before them, with a great cudgel in his hand, being drawn thither by the outcry; but Cimon dealt him a swashing blow on the head and cleaving it sheer in sunder, laid him dead at his feet. The wretched Ormisdas, running to his brother's aid, was on like wise slain by one of Cimon's strokes, and divers others who sought to draw nigh them were in like manner wounded and beaten off by the companions of the latter and Lysimachus, who, leaving the house full of blood and clamour and weeping and woe, drew together and made their way to the ship with their prizes, unhindered of any. Here they embarked with their mistresses and all their companions, the shore being now full of armed folk come to the rescue of the ladies, and thrusting the oars into the water, made off, rejoicing, about their business. Coming presently to Crete, they were there joyfully received by many, both friends and kinsfolk, and espousing their mistresses with great pomp, gave themselves up to the glad enjoyment of their purchase. Loud and long were the clamours and differences in Cyprus and in Rhodes by reason of their doings; but, ultimately, their friends and kinsfolk, interposing in one and the other place, found means so to adjust matters that, after some exile, Cimon joyfully returned to Cyprus with Iphigenia, whilst Lysimachus on like wise returned to Rhodes with Cassandra, and each lived long and happily with his mistress in his own country.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "COSTANZA LOVETH MARTUCCIO GOMITO AND HEARING THAT HE IS DEAD, EMBARKETH FOR DESPAIR ALONE IN A BOAT, WHICH IS CARRIED BY THE WIND TO SUSA. FINDING HER LOVER ALIVE AT TUNIS, SHE DISCOVERETH HERSELF TO HIM AND HE, BEING GREAT IN FAVOUR WITH THE KING FOR COUNSELS GIVEN, ESPOUSETH HER AND RETURNETH RICH WITH HER TO LIPARI",
                "text": "The queen, seeing Pamfilo's story at an end, after she had much commended it, enjoined Emilia to follow on, telling another, and she accordingly began thus: \"Every one must naturally delight in those things wherein he seeth rewards ensue according to the affections; and for that love in the long run deserveth rather happiness than affliction, I shall, intreating of the present theme, obey the queen with much greater pleasure to myself than I did the king in that of yesterday.\"\n\nYou must know, then, dainty dames, that near unto Sicily is an islet called Lipari, wherein, no great while agone, was a very fair damsel called Costanza, born of a very considerable family there. It chanced that a young man of the same island, called Martuccio Gomito, who was very agreeable and well bred and of approved worth in his craft, fell in love with her; and she in like manner so burned for him that she was never easy save whenas she saw him. Martuccio, wishing to have her to wife, caused demand her of her father, who answered that he was poor and that therefore he would not give her to him. The young man, enraged to see himself rejected for poverty, in concert with certain of his friends and kinsmen, equipped a light ship and swore never to return to Lipari, except rich. Accordingly, he departed thence and turning corsair, fell to cruising off the coast of Barbary and plundering all who were weaker than himself; wherein fortune was favourable enough to him, had he known how to set bounds to his wishes; but, it sufficing him not to have waxed very rich, he and his comrades, in a brief space of time, it befell that, whilst they sought to grow overrich, he was, after a long defence, taken and plundered with all his companions by certain ships of the Saracens, who, after scuttling the vessel and sacking the greater part of the crew, carried Martuccio to Tunis, where he was put in prison and long kept in misery.\n\nThe news was brought to Lipari, not by one or by two, but by many and divers persons, that he and all on board the bark had been drowned; whereupon the girl, who had been beyond measure woebegone for her lover's departure, hearing that he was dead with the others, wept sore and resolved in herself to live no longer; but, her heart suffering her not to slay herself by violence, she determined to give a new occasion to her death. Accordingly, she issued secretly forth of her father's house one night and betaking herself to the harbour, happened upon a fishing smack, a little aloof from the other ships, which, for that its owners had but then landed therefrom, she found furnished with mast and sail and oars. In this she hastily embarked and rowed herself out to sea; then, being somewhat skilled in the mariner's art, as the women of that island mostly are, she made sail and casting the oars and rudder adrift, committed herself altogether to the mercy of the waves, conceiving that it must needs happen that the wind would either overturn a boat without lading or steersman or drive it upon some rock and break it up, whereby she could not, even if she would, escape, but must of necessity be drowned. Accordingly, wrapping her head in a mantle, she laid herself, weeping, in the bottom of the boat.\n\nBut it befell altogether otherwise than as she conceived, for that, the wind being northerly and very light and there being well nigh no sea, the boat rode it out in safety and brought her on the morrow, about vespers, to a beach near a town called Susa, a good hundred miles beyond Tunis. The girl, who, for aught that might happen, had never lifted nor meant to lift her head, felt nothing of being ashore more than at sea; but, as chance would have it, there was on the beach, whenas the bark struck upon it, a poor woman in act to take up from the sun the nets of the fishermen her masters, who, seeing the bark, marvelled how it should be left to strike full sail upon the land. Thinking that the fishermen aboard were asleep, she went up to the bark and seeing none therein but the damsel aforesaid, who slept fast, called her many times and having at last aroused her and knowing her by her habit for a Christian, asked her in Latin how she came there in that bark all alone. The girl, hearing her speak Latin, misdoubted her a shift of wind must have driven her back to Lipari and starting suddenly to her feet, looked about her, but knew not the country, and seeing herself on land, asked the good woman where she was; to which she answered, 'Daughter mine, thou art near unto Susa in Barbary.' The girl, hearing this, was woeful for that God had not chosen to vouchsafe her the death she sought, and being in fear of shame and knowing not what to do, she seated herself at the foot of her bark and fell a\u2013weeping.\n\nThe good woman, seeing this, took pity upon her and brought her, by dint of entreaty, into a little hut of hers and there so humoured her that she told her how she came thither; whereupon, seeing that she was fasting, she set before her her own dry bread and somewhat of fish and water and so besought her that she ate a little. Costanza after asked her who she was that she spoke Latin thus; to which she answered that she was from Trapani and was called Carapresa and served certain Christian fishermen there. The girl, hearing the name of Carapresa, albeit she was exceeding woebegone and knew not what reason moved her thereunto, took it unto herself for a good augury to have heard this name and began to hope, without knowing what, and somewhat to abate of her wish to die. Then, without discovering who or whence she was, she earnestly besought the good woman to have pity, for the love of God, on her youth and give her some counsel how she might escape any affront being offered her.\n\nCarapresa, like a good woman as she was, hearing this, left her in her hut, whilst she hastily gathered up her nets; then, returning to her, she wrapped her from head to foot in her own mantle and carried her to Susa, where she said to her, 'Costanza, I will bring thee into the house of a very good Saracen lady, whom I serve oftentimes in her occasions and who is old and pitiful. I will commend thee to her as most I may and I am very certain that she will gladly receive thee and use thee as a daughter; and do thou, abiding with her, study thine utmost, in serving her, to gain her favour, against God send thee better fortune.' And as she said, so she did. The lady, who was well stricken in years, hearing the woman's story, looked the girl in the face and fell a\u2013weeping; then taking her by the hand, she kissed her on the forehead and carried her into her house, where she and sundry other women abode, without any man, and wrought all with their hands at various crafts, doing divers works of silk and palm\u2013fibre and leather. Costanza soon learned to do some of these and falling to working with the rest, became in such favour with the lady and the others that it was a marvellous thing; nor was it long before, with their teaching, she learnt their language.\n\nWhat while she abode thus at Susa, being now mourned at home for lost and dead, it befell that, one Mariabdela being King of Tunis, a certain youth of great family and much puissance in Granada, avouching that that kingdom belonged to himself, levied a great multitude of folk and came upon King Mariabdela, to oust him from the kingship. This came to the ears of Martuccio Gomito in prison and he knowing the Barbary language excellent well and hearing that the king was making great efforts for his defence, said to one of those who had him and his fellows in keeping, 'An I might have speech of the king, my heart assureth me that I could give him a counsel, by which he should gain this his war.' The keeper reported these words to his chief, and he carried them incontinent to the king, who bade fetch Martuccio and asked him what might be his counsel; whereto he made answer on this wise, 'My lord, if, what time I have otherwhiles frequented these your dominions, I have noted aright the order you keep in your battles, meseemeth you wage them more with archers than with aught else; wherefore, if a means could be found whereby your adversary's bowmen should lack of arrows, whilst your own had abundance thereof, methinketh your battle would be won.' 'Without doubt,' answered the king, 'and this might be compassed, I should deem myself assured of victory.' Whereupon, 'My lord,' quoth Martuccio, 'an you will, this may very well be done, and you shall hear how. You must let make strings for your archers' bows much thinner than those which are everywhere commonly used and after let make arrows, the notches whereof shall not serve but for these thin strings. This must be so secretly done that your adversary should know nought thereof; else would he find a remedy therefor; and the reason for which I counsel you thus is this. After your enemy's archers and your own shall have shot all their arrows, you know that, the battle lasting, it will behove your foes to gather up the arrows shot by your men and the latter in like manner to gather theirs; but the enemy will not be able to make use of your arrows, by reason of the strait notches which will not take their thick strings, whereas the contrary will betide your men of the enemy's arrows, for that the thin strings will excellently well take the wide\u2013notched arrows; and so your men will have abundance of ammunition, whilst the others will suffer default thereof.'\n\nThe king, who was a wise prince, was pleased with Martuccio's counsel and punctually following it, found himself thereby to have won his war. Wherefore Martuccio became in high favour with him and rose in consequence to great and rich estate. The report of these things spread over the land and it came presently to Costanza's ears that Martuccio Gomito, whom she had long deemed dead, was alive, whereupon the love of him, that was now grown cool in her heart, broke out of a sudden into fresh flame and waxed greater than ever, whilst dead hope revived in her. Therewithal she altogether discovered her every adventure to the good lady, with whom she dwelt, and told her that she would fain go to Tunis, so she might satisfy her eyes of that whereof her ears had made them desireful, through the reports received. The old lady greatly commended her purpose and taking ship with her, carried her, as if she had been her mother, to Tunis, where they were honourably entertained in the house of a kinswoman of hers. There she despatched Carapresa, who had come with them, to see what she could learn of Martuccio, and she, finding him alive and in great estate and reporting this to the old gentlewoman, it pleased the latter to will to be she who should signify unto Martuccio that his Costanza was come thither to him; wherefore, betaking herself one day whereas he was, she said to him, 'Martuccio, there is come to my house a servant of thine from Lipari, who would fain speak with thee privily there; wherefore, not to trust to others, I have myself, at his desire, come to give thee notice thereof.' He thanked her and followed her to her house, where when Costanza saw him, she was like to die of gladness and unable to contain herself, ran straightway with open arms to throw herself on his neck; then, embracing him, without availing to say aught, she fell a\u2013weeping tenderly, both for compassion of their past ill fortunes and for present gladness.\n\nMartuccio, seeing his mistress, abode awhile dumb for amazement, then said sighing, 'O my Costanza, art thou then yet alive? It is long since I heard that thou wast lost; nor in our country was aught known of thee.' So saying, he embraced her, weeping, and kissed her tenderly. Costanza then related to him all that had befallen her and the honourable treatment which she had received from the gentlewoman with whom she dwelt; and Martuccio, after much discourse, taking leave of her, repaired to the king his master and told him all, to wit, his own adventures and those of the damsel, adding that, with his leave, he meant to take her to wife, according to our law. The king marvelled at these things and sending for the damsel and hearing from her that it was even as Martuccio had avouched, said to her, 'Then hast thou right well earned him to husband.' Then, letting bring very great and magnificent gifts, he gave part thereof to her and part to Martuccio, granting them leave to do one with the other that which was most pleasing unto each of them; whereupon Martuccio, having entreated the gentlewoman who had harboured Costanza with the utmost honour and thanked her for that which she had done to serve her and bestowed on her such gifts as sorted with her quality, commended her to God and took leave of her, he and his mistress, not without many tears from the latter. Then, with the king's leave, they embarked with Carapresa on board a little ship and returned with a fair wind to Lipari, where so great was the rejoicing that it might never be told. There Martuccio took Costanza to wife and held great and goodly nuptials; after which they long in peace and repose had enjoyment of their loves.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PIETRO BOCCAMAZZA, FLEEING WITH AGNOLELLA, FALLETH AMONG THIEVES; THE GIRL ESCAPETH THROUGH A WOOD AND IS LED BY FORTUNE TO A CASTLE, WHILST PIETRO IS TAKEN BY THE THIEVES, BUT PRESENTLY, ESCAPING FROM THEIR HANDS, WINNETH, AFTER DIVERS ADVENTURES, TO THE CASTLE WHERE HIS MISTRESS IS AND ESPOUSING HER, RETURNETH WITH HER TO ROME",
                "text": "There was none among all the company but commended Emilia's story, which the queen seeing to be finished, turned to Elisa and bade her follow on. Accordingly, studious to obey, she began: \"There occurreth to my mind, charming ladies, an ill night passed by a pair of indiscreet young lovers; but, for that many happy days ensued thereon, it pleaseth me to tell the story, as one that conformeth to our proposition.\"\n\nThere was, a little while agone, at Rome,\u2014once the head, as it is nowadays the tail of the world, \u2014a youth, called Pietro Boccamazza, of a very worshipful family among those of the city, who fell in love with a very fair and lovesome damsel called Agnolella, the daughter of one Gigliuozzo Saullo, a plebeian, but very dear to the Romans, and loving her, he contrived so to do that the girl began to love him no less than he loved her; whereupon, constrained by fervent love and himseeming he might no longer brook the cruel pain that the desire he had of her gave him, he demanded her in marriage; which no sooner did his kinsfolk know than they all repaired to him and chid him sore for that which he would have done; and on the other hand they gave Gigliuozzo to understand that he should make no account of Pietro's words, for that, an he did this, they would never have him for friend or kinsman. Pietro seeing that way barred whereby alone he deemed he might avail to win to his desire, was like to die of chagrin, and had Gigliuozzo consented, he would have taken his daughter to wife, in despite of all his kindred. However, he determined, an it liked the girl, to contrive to give effect to their wishes, and having assured himself, by means of an intermediary, that this was agreeable to her, he agreed with her that she should flee with him from Rome.\n\nAccordingly, having taken order for this, Pietro arose very early one morning and taking horse with the damsel, set out for Anagni, where he had certain friends in whom he trusted greatly. They had no leisure to make a wedding of it, for that they feared to be followed, but rode on, devising of their love and now and again kissing one another. It chanced that, when they came mayhap eight miles from Rome, the way not being overwell known to Pietro, they took a path to the left, whereas they should have kept to the right; and scarce had they ridden more than two miles farther when they found themselves near a little castle, wherefrom, as soon as they were seen, there issued suddenly a dozen footmen. The girl, espying these, whenas they were already close upon them, cried out, saying, 'Pietro, let us begone, for we are attacked'; then, turning her rouncey's head, as best she knew, towards a great wood hard by, she clapped her spurs fast to his flank and held on to the saddlebow, whereupon the nag, feeling himself goaded, bore her into the wood at a gallop.\n\nPietro, who went gazing more at her face than at the road, not having become so quickly aware as she of the new comers, was overtaken and seized by them, whilst he still looked, without yet perceiving them, to see whence they should come. They made him alight from his hackney and enquired who he was, which he having told, they proceeded to take counsel together and said, 'This fellow is of the friends of our enemies; what else should we do but take from him these clothes and this nag and string him up to one of yonder oaks, to spite the Orsini?' They all fell in with this counsel and bade Pietro put off his clothes, which as he was in act to do, foreboding him by this of the ill fate which awaited him, it chanced that an ambush of good five\u2013and\u2013twenty footmen started suddenly out upon the others, crying, 'Kill! Kill!' The rogues, taken by surprise, let Pietro be and turned to stand upon their defence, but, seeing themselves greatly outnumbered by their assailants, betook themselves to flight, whilst the others pursued them.\n\nPietro, seeing this, hurriedly caught up his gear and springing on his hackney, addressed himself, as best he might, to flee by the way he had seen his mistress take; but finding her not and seeing neither road nor footpath in the wood neither perceiving any horse's hoof marks, he was the woefullest man alive; and as soon as himseemed he was safe and out of reach of those who had taken him, as well as of the others by whom they had been assailed, he began to drive hither and thither about the wood, weeping and calling; but none answered him and he dared not turn back and knew not where he might come, an he went forward, more by token that he was in fear of the wild beasts that use to harbour in the woods, at once for himself and for his mistress, whom he looked momently to see strangled of some bear or some wolf. On this wise, then, did the unlucky Pietro range all day about the wood, crying and calling, whiles going backward, when as he thought to go forward, until, what with shouting and weeping and fear and long fasting, he was so spent that he could no more and seeing the night come and knowing not what other course to take, he dismounted from his hackney and tied the latter to a great oak, into which he climbed, so he might not be devoured of the wild beasts in the night. A little after the moon rose and the night being very clear and bright, he abode there on wake, sighing and weeping and cursing his ill luck, for that he durst not go to sleep, lest he should fall, albeit, had he had more commodity thereof, grief and the concern in which he was for his mistress would not have suffered him to sleep.\n\nMeanwhile, the damsel, fleeing, as we have before said, and knowing not whither to betake herself, save whereas it seemed good to her hackney to carry her, fared on so far into the wood that she could not see where she had entered, and went wandering all day about that desert place, no otherwise than as Pietro had done, now pausing to hearken and now going on, weeping the while and calling and making moan of her illhap. At last, seeing that Pietro came not and it being now eventide, she happened on a little path, into which her hackney turned, and following it, after she had ridden some two or more miles she saw a little house afar off. Thither she made her way as quickliest she might and found there a good man sore stricken in years and a woman, his wife alike old, who, seeing her alone, said to her, 'Daughter, what dost thou alone at this hour in these parts?' The damsel replied, weeping, that she had lost her company in the wood and enquired how near she was to Anagni. 'Daughter mine,' answered the good man, 'this is not the way to go to Anagni; it is more than a dozen miles hence.' Quoth the girl, 'And how far is it hence to any habitations where I may have a lodging for the night?' To which the good man answered, 'There is none anywhere so near that thou mayst come thither by daylight.' Then said the damsel, 'Since I can go no otherwhere, will it please you harbour me here to\u2013night for the love of God?' 'Young lady,' replied the old man, 'thou art very welcome to abide with us this night; algates, we must warn you that there are many ill companies, both of friends and of foes that come and go about these parts both by day and by night, who many a time do us sore annoy and great mischief; and if, by ill chance, thou being here, there come any of them and seeing thee, fair and young as thou art, should offer to do thee affront and shame, we could not avail to succour thee therefrom. We deem it well to apprise thee of this, so that, an it betide, thou mayst not be able to complain of us.'\n\nThe girl, seeing that it was late, albeit the old man's words affrighted her, said, 'An it please God, He will keep both you and me from that annoy; and even if it befall me, it were a much less evil to be maltreated of men than to be mangled of the wild beasts in the woods.' So saying, she alighted from the rouncey and entered the poor man's house, where she supped with him on such poor fare as they had and after, all clad as she was, cast herself, together with them, on a little bed of theirs. She gave not over sighing and bewailing her own mishap and that of Pietro all night, knowing not if she might hope other than ill of him; and when it drew near unto morning, she heard a great trampling of folk approaching, whereupon she arose and betaking herself to a great courtyard, that lay behind the little house, saw in a corner a great heap of hay, in which she hid herself, so she might not be so quickly found, if those folk should come thither. Hardly had she made an end of hiding herself when these, who were a great company of ill knaves, came to the door of the little house and causing open to them, entered and found Agnolella's hackney yet all saddled and bridled; whereupon they asked who was there and the good man, not seeing the girl, answered, 'None is here save ourselves; but this rouncey, from whomsoever it may have escaped, came hither yestereve and we brought it into the house, lest the wolves should eat it.' 'Then,' said the captain of the troop, 'since it hath none other master, it is fair prize for us.'\n\nThereupon they all dispersed about the little house and some went into the courtyard, where, laying down their lances and targets, it chanced that one of them, knowing not what else to do, cast his lance into the hay and came very near to slay the hidden girl and she to discover herself, for that the lance passed so close to her left breast that the steel tore a part of her dress, wherefore she was like to utter a great cry, fearing to be wounded; but, remembering where she was, she abode still, all fear\u2013stricken. Presently, the rogues, having dressed the kids and other meat they had with them and eaten and drunken, went off, some hither and some thither, about their affairs, and carried with them the girl's hackney. When they had gone some distance, the good man asked his wife, 'What befell of our young woman, who came thither yestereve? I have seen nothing of her since we arose.' The good wife replied that she knew not and went looking for her, whereupon the girl, hearing that the rogues were gone, came forth of the hay, to the no small contentment of her host, who, rejoiced to see that she had not fallen into their hands, said to her, it now growing day, 'Now that the day cometh, we will, an it please thee, accompany thee to a castle five miles hence, where thou wilt be in safety; but needs must thou go afoot, for yonder ill folk, that now departed hence, have carried off thy rouncey.' The girl concerned herself little about the nag, but besought them for God's sake to bring her to the castle in question, whereupon they set out and came thither about half tierce.\n\nNow this castle belonged to one of the Orsini family, by name Lionello di Campodifiore, and there by chance was his wife, a very pious and good lady, who, seeing the girl, knew her forthright and received her with joy and would fain know orderly how she came thither. Agnolella told her all and the lady, who knew Pietro on like wise, as being a friend of her husband's, was grieved for the ill chance that had betided and hearing where he had been taken, doubted not but he was dead; wherefore she said to Agnolella, 'Since thou knowest not what is come of Pietro, thou shalt abide here till such time as I shall have a commodity to send thee safe to Rome.'\n\nMeanwhile Pietro abode, as woebegone as could be, in the oak, and towards the season of the first sleep, he saw a good score of wolves appear, which came all about his hackney, as soon as they saw him. The horse, scenting them, tugged at his bridle, till he broke it, and would have fled, but being surrounded and unable to escape, he defended himself a great while with his teeth and his hoofs. At last, however, he was brought down and strangled and quickly disembowelled by the wolves, which took all their fill of his flesh and having devoured him, made off, without leaving aught but the bones, whereat Pietro, to whom it seemed he had in the rouncey a companion and a support in his troubles, was sore dismayed and misdoubted he should never avail to win forth of the wood. However, towards daybreak, being perished with cold in the oak and looking still all about him, he caught sight of a great fire before him, mayhap a mile off, wherefore, as soon as it was grown broad day, he came down from the oak, not without fear, and making for the fire, fared on till he came to the place, where he found shepherds eating and making merry about it, by whom he was received for compassion.\n\nAfter he had eaten and warmed himself, he acquainted them with his misadventure and telling them how he came thither alone, asked them if there was in those parts a village or castle, to which he might betake himself. The shepherds answered that some three miles thence there was a castle belonging to Lionello di Campodifiore, whose lady was presently there; whereat Pietro was much rejoiced and besought them that one of them should accompany him to the castle, which two of them readily did. There he found some who knew him and was in act to enquire for a means of having search made about the forest for the damsel, when he was bidden to the lady's presence and incontinent repaired to her. Never was joy like unto his, when he saw Agnolella with her, and he was all consumed with desire to embrace her, but forbore of respect for the lady, and if he was glad, the girl's joy was no less great. The gentle lady, having welcomed him and made much of him and heard from him what had betided him, chid him amain of that which he would have done against the will of his kinsfolk; but, seeing that he was e'en resolved upon this and that it was agreeable to the girl also, she said in herself, 'Why do I weary myself in vain? These two love and know each other and both are friends of my husband. Their desire is an honourable one and meseemeth it is pleasing to God, since the one of them hath scaped the gibbet and the other the lance\u2013thrust and both the wild beasts of the wood; wherefore be it as they will.' Then, turning to the lovers, she said to them, 'If you have it still at heart to be man and wife, it is my pleasure also; be it so, and let the nuptials be celebrated here at Lionello's expense. I will engage after to make peace between you and your families.' Accordingly, they were married then and there, to the great contentment of Pietro and the yet greater satisfaction of Agnolella, and the gentle lady made them honourable nuptials, in so far as might be in the mountains. There, with the utmost delight, they enjoyed the first\u2013fruits of their love and a few days after, they took horse with the lady and returned, under good escort, to Rome, where she found Pietro's kinsfolk sore incensed at that which he had done, but contrived to make his peace with them, and he lived with his Agnolella in all peace and pleasance to a good old age.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "RICCIARDO MANARDI, BEING FOUND BY MESSER LIZIO DA VALBONA WITH HIS DAUGHTER, ESPOUSETH HER AND ABIDETH IN PEACE WITH HER FATHER",
                "text": "Elisa holding her peace and hearkening to the praises bestowed by the ladies her companions upon her story, the Queen charged Filostrato tell one of his own, whereupon he began, laughing, \"I have been so often rated by so many of you ladies for having imposed on you matter for woeful discourse and such as tended to make you weep, that methinketh I am beholden, an I would in some measure requite you that annoy, to relate somewhat whereby I may make you laugh a little; and I mean therefore to tell you, in a very short story, of a love that, after no worse hindrance than sundry sighs and a brief fright, mingled with shame, came to a happy issue.\"\n\nIt is, then, noble ladies, no great while ago since there lived in Romagna a gentleman of great worth and good breeding, called Messer Lizio da Valbona, to whom, well nigh in his old age, it chanced there was born of his wife, Madam Giacomina by name, a daughter, who grew up fair and agreeable beyond any other of the country; and for that she was the only child that remained to her father and mother, they loved and tendered her exceeding dear and guarded her with marvellous diligence, looking to make some great alliance by her. Now there was a young man of the Manardi of Brettinoro, comely and lusty of his person, by name Ricciardo, who much frequented Messer Lizio's house and conversed amain with him and of whom the latter and his lady took no more account than they would have taken of a son of theirs. Now, this Ricciardo, looking once and again upon the young lady and seeing her very fair and sprightly and commendable of manners and fashions, fell desperately in love with her, but was very careful to keep his love secret. The damsel presently became aware thereof and without anywise seeking to shun the stroke, began on like wise to love him; whereat Ricciardo was mightily rejoiced. He had many a time a mind to speak to her, but kept silence of misdoubtance; however, one day, taking courage and opportunity, he said to her, 'I prithee, Caterina, cause me not die of love.' To which she straightway made answer, 'Would God thou wouldst not cause me die!'\n\nThis answer added much courage and pleasure to Ricciardo and he said to her, 'Never shall aught that may be agreeable to thee miscarry for me; but it resteth with thee to find a means of saving thy life and mine.' 'Ricciardo,' answered she, 'thou seest how straitly I am guarded; wherefore, for my part, I cannot see how thou mayst avail to come at me; but, if thou canst see aught that I may do without shame to myself, tell it me and I will do it.' Ricciardo, having bethought himself of sundry things, answered promptly, 'My sweet Caterina, I can see no way, except that thou lie or make shift to come upon the gallery that adjoineth thy father's garden, where an I knew that thou wouldst be anights, I would without fail contrive to come to thee, how high soever it may be.' 'If thou have the heart to come thither,' rejoined Caterina, 'methinketh I can well enough win to be there.' Ricciardo assented and they kissed each other once only in haste and went their ways.\n\nNext day, it being then near the end of May, the girl began to complain before her mother that she had not been able to sleep that night for the excessive heat. Quoth the lady, 'Of what heat dost thou speak, daughter? Nay, it was nowise hot.' 'Mother mine,' answered Caterina, 'you should say \"To my seeming,\" and belike you would say sooth; but you should consider how much hotter are young girls than ladies in years.' 'Daughter mine,' rejoined the lady, 'that is true; but I cannot make it cold and hot at my pleasure, as belike thou wouldst have me do. We must put up with the weather, such as the seasons make it; maybe this next night will be cooler and thou wilt sleep better.' 'God grant it may be so!' cried Caterina. 'But it is not usual for the nights to go cooling, as it groweth towards summer.' 'Then what wouldst thou have done?' asked the mother; and she answered, 'An it please my father and you, I would fain have a little bed made in the gallery, that is beside his chamber and over his garden, and there sleep. There I should hear the nightingale sing and having a cooler place to lie in, I should fare much better than in your chamber.' Quoth the mother, 'Daughter, comfort thyself; I will tell thy father, and as he will, so will we do.'\n\nMesser Lizio hearing all this from his wife, said, for that he was an old man and maybe therefore somewhat cross\u2013grained, 'What nightingale is this to whose song she would sleep? I will yet make her sleep to the chirp of the crickets.' Caterina, coming to know this, more of despite than for the heat, not only slept not that night, but suffered not her mother to sleep, still complaining of the great heat. Accordingly, next morning, the latter repaired to her husband and said to him, 'Sir, you have little tenderness for yonder girl; what mattereth it to you if she lie in the gallery? She could get no rest all night for the heat. Besides, can you wonder at her having a mind to hear the nightingale sing, seeing she is but a child? Young folk are curious of things like themselves. Messer Lizio, hearing this, said, 'Go to, make her a bed there, such as you think fit, and bind it about with some curtain or other, and there let her lie and hear the nightingale sing to her heart's content.'\n\nThe girl, learning this, straightway let make a bed in the gallery and meaning to lie there that same night, watched till she saw Ricciardo and made him a signal appointed between them, by which he understood what was to be done. Messer Lizio, hearing the girl gone to bed, locked a door that led from his chamber into the gallery and betook himself likewise to sleep. As for Ricciardo, as soon as he heard all quiet on every hand, he mounted a wall, with the aid of a ladder, and thence, laying hold of certain toothings of another wall, he made his way, with great toil and danger, if he had fallen, up to the gallery, where he was quietly received by the girl with the utmost joy. Then, after many kisses, they went to bed together and took delight and pleasure one of another well nigh all that night, making the nightingale sing many a time. The nights being short and the delight great and it being now, though they thought it not, near day, they fell asleep without any covering, so overheated were they what with the weather and what with their sport, Caterina having her right arm entwined about Ricciardo's neck and holding him with the left hand by that thing which you ladies think most shame to name among men.\n\nAs they slept on this wise, without awaking, the day came on and Messer Lizio arose and remembering him that his daughter lay in the gallery, opened the door softly, saying in himself, 'Let us see how the nightingale hath made Caterina sleep this night.' Then, going in, he softly lifted up the serge, wherewith the bed was curtained about, and saw his daughter and Ricciardo lying asleep, naked and uncovered, embraced as it hath before been set out; whereupon, having recognized Ricciardo, he went out again and repairing to his wife's chamber, called to her, saying, 'Quick, wife, get thee up and come see, for that thy daughter hath been so curious of the nightingale that she hath e'en taken it and hath it in hand.' 'How can that be?' quoth she; and he answered, 'Thou shalt see it, an thou come quickly.' Accordingly, she made haste to dress herself and quietly followed her husband to the bed, where, the curtain being drawn, Madam Giacomina might plainly see how her daughter had taken and held the nightingale, which she had so longed to hear sing; whereat the lady, holding herself sore deceived of Ricciardo, would have cried out and railed at him; but Messer Lizio said to her, 'Wife, as thou holdest my love dear, look thou say not a word, for, verily, since she hath gotten it, it shall be hers. Ricciardo is young and rich and gently born; he cannot make us other than a good son\u2013in\u2013law. An he would part from me on good terms, needs must he first marry her, so it will be found that he hath put the nightingale in his own cage and not in that of another.'\n\nThe lady was comforted to see that her husband was not angered at the matter and considering that her daughter had passed a good night and rested well and had caught the nightingale, to boot, she held her tongue. Nor had they abidden long after these words when Ricciardo awoke and seeing that it was broad day, gave himself over for lost and called Caterina, saying, 'Alack, my soul, how shall we do, for the day is come and hath caught me here?' Whereupon Messer Lizio came forward and lifting the curtain, answered, 'We shall do well.' When Ricciardo saw him, himseemed the heart was torn out of his body and sitting up in bed, he said, 'My lord, I crave your pardon for God's sake. I acknowledged to have deserved death, as a disloyal and wicked man; wherefore do you with me as best pleaseth you; but, I prithee, an it may be, have mercy on my life and let me not die.' 'Ricciardo,' answered Messer Lizio, 'the love that I bore thee and the faith I had in thee merited not this return; yet, since thus it is and youth hath carried thee away into such a fault, do thou, to save thyself from death and me from shame, take Caterina to thy lawful wife, so that, like as this night she hath been thine, she may e'en be thine so long as she shall live. On this wise thou mayst gain my pardon and thine own safety; but, an thou choose not to do this, commend thy soul to God.'\n\nWhilst these words were saying, Caterina let go the nightingale and covering herself, fell to weeping sore and beseeching her father to pardon Ricciardo, whilst on the other hand she entreated her lover to do as Messer Lizio wished, so they might long pass such nights together in security. But there needed not overmany prayers, for that, on the one hand, shame of the fault committed and desire to make amends for it, and on the other, the fear of death and the wish to escape,\u2014to say nothing of his ardent love and longing to possess the thing beloved,\u2014made Ricciardo freely and without hesitation avouch himself ready to do that which pleased Messer Lizio; whereupon the latter borrowed of Madam Giacomina one of her rings and there, without budging, Ricciardo in their presence took Caterina to his wife. This done, Messer Lizio and his lady departed, saying, 'Now rest yourselves, for belike you have more need thereof than of rising.' They being gone, the young folk clipped each other anew and not having run more than half a dozen courses overnight, they ran other twain ere they arose and so made an end of the first day's tilting. Then they arose and Ricciardo having had more orderly conference with Messer Lizio, a few days after, as it beseemed, he married the damsel over again, in the presence of their friends and kinsfolk, and brought her with great pomp to his own house. There he held goodly and honourable nuptials and after went long nightingale\u2013fowling with her to his heart's content, in peace and solace, both by night and by day.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GUIDOTTO DA CREMONA LEAVETH TO GIACOMINO DA PAVIA A DAUGHTER OF HIS AND DIETH. GIANNOLE DI SEVERINO AND MINGHINO DI MINGOLE FALL IN LOVE WITH THE GIRL AT FAENZA AND COME TO BLOWS ON HER ACCOUNT. ULTIMATELY SHE IS PROVED TO BE GIANNOLE'S SISTER AND IS GIVEN TO MINGHINO TO WIFE",
                "text": "All the ladies, hearkening to the story of the nightingale, had laughed so much that, though Filostrato had made an end of telling, they could not yet give over laughing. But, after they had laughed awhile, the queen said to Filostrato, \"Assuredly, if thou afflictedest us ladies yesterday, thou hast so tickled us to\u2013day that none of us can deservedly complain of thee.\" Then, addressing herself to Neifile, she charged her tell, and she blithely began to speak thus: \"Since Filostrato, discoursing, hath entered into Romagna, it pleaseth me on like wise to go ranging awhile therein with mine own story.\"\n\nI say, then, that there dwelt once in the city of Fano two Lombards, whereof the one was called Guidotto da Cremona and the other Giacomino da Pavia, both men advanced in years, who had in their youth been well nigh always soldiers and engaged in deeds of arms. Guidotto, being at the point of death and having nor son nor other kinsmen nor friend in whom he trusted more than in Giacomino, left him a little daughter he had, of maybe ten years of age, and all that he possessed in the world, and after having bespoken him at length of his affairs, he died. In those days it befell that the city of Faenza, which had been long in war and ill case, was restored to somewhat better estate and permission to sojourn there was freely conceded to all who had a mind to return thither; wherefore Giacomino, who had abidden there otherwhile and had a liking for the place, returned thither with all his good and carried with him the girl left him by Guidotto, whom he loved and entreated as his own child.\n\nThe latter grew up and became as fair a damsel as any in the city, ay, and as virtuous and well bred as she was fair; wherefore she began to be courted of many, but especially two very agreeable young men of equal worth and condition vowed her a very great love, insomuch that for jealousy they came to hold each other in hate out of measure. They were called, the one Giannole di Severino and the other Minghino di Mingole; nor was there either of them but would gladly have taken the young lady, who was now fifteen years old, to wife, had it been suffered of his kinsfolk; wherefore, seeing her denied to them on honourable wise, each cast about to get her for himself as best he might. Now Giacomino had in his house an old serving\u2013wench and a serving\u2013man, Crivello by name, a very merry and obliging person, with whom Giannole clapped up a great acquaintance and to whom, whenas himseemed time, he discovered his passion, praying him to be favourable to him in his endeavour to obtain his desire and promising him great things an he did this; whereto quoth Crivello, 'Look you, I can do nought for thee in this matter other than that, when next Giacomino goeth abroad to supper, I will bring thee whereas she may be; for that, an I offered to say a word to her in thy favour, she would never stop to listen to me. If this like thee, I promise it to thee and will do it; and do thou after, an thou know how, that which thou deemest shall best serve thy purpose.' Giannole answered that he desired nothing more and they abode on this understanding. Meanwhile Minghino, on his part, had suborned the maidservant and so wrought with her that she had several times carried messages to the girl and had well night inflamed her with love of him; besides which she had promised him to bring him in company with her, so soon as Giacomino should chance to go abroad of an evening for whatever cause.\n\nNot long after this it chanced that, by Crivello's contrivance, Giacomino went to sup with a friend of his, whereupon Crivello gave Giannole to know thereof and appointed with him that, whenas he made a certain signal, he should come and would find the door open. The maid, on her side, knowing nothing of all this, let Minghino know that Giacomino was to sup abroad and bade him abide near the house, so that, whenas he saw a signal which she should make he might come and enter therein. The evening come, the two lovers, knowing nothing of each other's designs, but each misdoubting of his rival, came, with sundry companions armed, to enter into possession. Minghino, with his troop took up his quarters in the house of a friend of his, a neighbour of the young lady's; whilst Giannole and his friends stationed themselves at a little distance from the house. Meanwhile, Crivello and the maid, Giacomino being gone, studied each to send the other away. Quoth he to her, 'Why dost thou not get thee to bed? Why goest thou still wandering about the house?' 'And thou,' retorted she, 'why goest thou not for thy master? What awaitest thou here, now that thou hast supped?' And so neither could make other avoid the place; but Crivello, seeing the hour come that he had appointed with Giannole said in himself, 'What reck I of her? An she abide not quiet, she is like to smart for it.'\n\nAccordingly, giving the appointed signal, he went to open the door, whereupon Giannole, coming up in haste with two companions, entered and finding the young lady in the saloon, laid hands on her to carry her off. The girl began to struggle and make a great outcry, as likewise did the maid, which Minghino hearing, he ran thither with his companions and seeing the young lady being presently dragged out at the door, they pulled out their swords and cried all, 'Ho, traitors, ye are dead men! The thing shall not go thus. What is this violence?' So saying, they fell to hewing at them, whilst the neighbors, issuing forth at the clamour with lights and arms, began to blame Giannole's behaviour and to second Minghino; wherefore, after long contention, the latter rescued the young lady from his rival and restored her to Giacomino's house. But, before the fray was over, up came the town\u2013captain's officers and arrested many of them; and amongst the rest Minghino and Giannole and Crivello were taken and carried off to prison. After matters were grown quiet again, Giacomino returned home and was sore chagrined at that which had happened; but, enquiring how it had come about and finding that the girl was nowise at fault, he was somewhat appeased and determined in himself to marry her as quickliest he might, so the like should not again betide.\n\nNext morning, the kinsfolk of the two young men, hearing the truth of the case and knowing the ill that might ensue thereof for the imprisoned youths, should Giacomino choose to do that which he reasonably might, repaired to him and prayed him with soft words to have regard, not so much to the affront which he had suffered from the little sense of the young men as to the love and goodwill which they believed he bore to themselves who thus besought him, submitting themselves and the young men who had done the mischief to any amends it should please him take. Giacomino, who had in his time seen many things and was a man of sense, answered briefly, 'Gentlemen, were I in mine own country, as I am in yours, I hold myself so much your friend that neither in this nor in otherwhat would I do aught save insomuch as it should please you; besides, I am the more bounden to comply with your wishes in this matter, inasmuch as you have therein offended against yourselves, for that the girl in question is not, as belike many suppose, of Cremona nor of Pavia; nay, she is a Faentine, albeit neither I nor she nor he of whom I had her might ever learn whose daughter she was; wherefore, concerning that whereof you pray me, so much shall be done by me as you yourselves shall enjoin me.'\n\nThe gentlemen, hearing this, marvelled and returning thanks to Giacomino for his gracious answer, prayed him that it would please him tell them how she came to his hands and how he knew her to be a Faentine; whereto quoth he, 'Guidotto da Cremona, who was my friend and comrade, told me, on his deathbed, that, when this city was taken by the Emperor Frederick and everything given up to pillage, he entered with his companions into a house and found it full of booty, but deserted by its inhabitants, save only this girl, who was then some two years old or thereabouts and who, seeing him mount the stairs, called him \"father\"; whereupon, taking compassion upon her, he carried her off with him to Fano, together with all that was in the house, and dying there, left her to me with what he had, charging me marry her in due time and give her to her dowry that which had been hers. Since she hath come to marriageable age, I have not yet found an occasion of marrying her to my liking, though I would gladly do it, rather than that another mischance like that of yesternight should betide me on her account.'\n\nNow among the others there was a certain Guiglielmino da Medicina, who had been with Guidotto in that affair and knew very well whose house it was that he had plundered, and he, seeing the person in question there among the rest, accosted him, saying, 'Bernabuccio, hearest thou what Giacomino saith?' 'Ay do I,' answered Bernabuccio, 'and I was presently in thought thereof, more by token that I mind me to have lost a little daughter of the age whereof Giacomino speaketh in those very troubles.' Quoth Guiglielmino, 'This is she for certain, for that I was once in company with Guidotto, when I heard him tell where he had done the plundering and knew it to be thy house that he had sacked; wherefore do thou bethink thee if thou mayst credibly recognize her by any token and let make search therefor; for thou wilt assuredly find that she is thy daughter.'\n\nAccordingly, Bernabuccio bethought himself and remembered that she should have a little cross\u2013shaped scar over her left ear, proceeding from a tumour, which he had caused cut for her no great while before that occurrence; whereupon, without further delay, he accosted Giacomino, who was still there, and besought him to carry him to his house and let him see the damsel. To this he readily consented and carrying him thither, let bring the girl before him. When Bernabuccio set eyes on her, himseemed he saw the very face of her mother, who was yet a handsome lady; nevertheless, not contenting himself with this, he told Giacomino that he would fain of his favour have leave to raise her hair a little above her left ear, to which the other consented. Accordingly, going up to the girl, who stood shamefast, he lifted up her hair with his right hand and found the cross; whereupon, knowing her to be indeed his daughter, he fell to weeping tenderly and embracing her, notwithstanding her resistance; then, turning to Giacomino, 'Brother mine,' quoth he, 'this is my daughter; it was my house Guidotto plundered and this girl was, in the sudden alarm, forgotten there of my wife and her mother; and until now we believed that she had perished with the house, which was burned me that same day.'\n\nThe girl, hearing this, and seeing him to be a man in years, gave credence to his words and submitting herself to his embraces, as moved by some occult instinct, fell a\u2013weeping tenderly with him. Bernabuccio presently sent for her mother and other her kinswomen and for her sisters and brothers and presented her to them all, recounting the matter to them; then, after a thousand embraces, he carried her home to his house with the utmost rejoicing, to the great satisfaction of Giacomino. The town\u2013captain, who was a man of worth, learning this and knowing that Giannole, whom he had in prison, was Bernabuccio's son and therefore the lady's own brother, determined indulgently to overpass the offence committed by him and released with him Minghino and Crivello and the others who were implicated in the affair. Moreover, he interceded with Bernabuccio and Giacomino concerning these matters and making peace between the two young men, gave the girl, whose name was Agnesa, to Minghino to wife, to the great contentment of all their kinsfolk; whereupon Minghino, mightily rejoiced, made a great and goodly wedding and carrying her home, lived with her many years after in peace and weal.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GIANNI DI PROCIDA BEING FOUND WITH A YOUNG LADY, WHOM HE LOVED AND WHO HAD BEEN GIVEN TO KING FREDERICK OF SICILY, IS BOUND WITH HER TO A STAKE TO BE BURNT; BUT, BEING RECOGNIZED BY RUGGIERI DELL' ORIA, ESCAPETH AND BECOMETH HER HUSBAND",
                "text": "Neifile's story, which had much pleased the ladies, being ended, the queen bade Pampinea address herself to tell another, and she accordingly, raising her bright face, began: \"Exceeding great, charming ladies, is the might of Love and exposeth lovers to sore travails, ay, and to excessive and unforeseen perils, as may be gathered from many a thing that hath been related both to\u2013day and otherwhiles; nevertheless, it pleaseth me yet again to demonstrate it to you with a story of an enamoured youth.\"\n\nIschia is an island very near Naples, and therein, among others, was once a very fair and sprightly damsel, by name Restituta, who was the daughter of a gentleman of the island called Marino Bolgaro and whom a youth named Gianni, a native of a little island near Ischia, called Procida, loved more than his life, as she on like wise loved him. Not only did he come by day from Procida to see her, but oftentimes anights, not finding a boat, he had swum from Procida to Ischia, at the least to look upon the walls of her house, an he might no otherwise. During the continuance of this so ardent love, it befell that the girl, being all alone one summer day on the sea\u2013shore, chanced, as she went from rock to rock, loosening shell\u2013fish from the stones with a knife, upon a place hidden among the cliffs, where, at once for shade and for the commodity of a spring of very cool water that was there, certain young men of Sicily, coming from Naples, had taken up their quarters with a pinnace they had. They, seeing that she was alone and very handsome and was yet unaware of them, took counsel together to seize her and carry her off and put their resolve into execution. Accordingly, they took her, for all she made a great outcry, and carrying her aboard the pinnace, made the best of their way to Calabria, where they fell to disputing of whose she should be. Brief, each would fain have her; wherefore, being unable to agree among themselves and fearing to come to worse and to mar their affairs for her, they took counsel together to present her to Frederick, King of Sicily, who was then a young man and delighted in such toys. Accordingly, coming to Palermo, they made gift of the damsel to the king, who, seeing her to be fair, held her dear; but, for that he was presently somewhat infirm of his person, he commanded that, against he should be stronger, she should be lodged in a very goodly pavilion, belonging to a garden of his he called La Cuba, and there tended; and so it was done.\n\nGreat was the outcry in Ischia for the ravishment of the damsel and what most chagrined them was that they could not learn who they were that had carried her off; but Gianni, whom the thing concerned more than any other, not looking to get any news of this in Ischia and learning in what direction the ravishers had gone, equipped another pinnace and embarking therein, as quickliest as he might, scoured all the coast from La Minerva to La Scalea in Calabria, enquiring everywhere for news of the girl. Being told at La Scalea that she had been carried off to Palermo by some Sicilian sailors, he betook himself thither, as quickliest he might, and there, after much search, finding that she had been presented to the king and was by him kept under ward at La Cuba, he was sore chagrined and lost well nigh all hope, not only of ever having her again, but even of seeing her. Nevertheless, detained by love, having sent away his pinnace and seeing that he was known of none there, he abode behind and passing often by La Cuba, he chanced one day to catch sight of her at a window and she saw him, to the great contentment of them both.\n\nGianni, seeing the place lonely, approached as most he might and bespeaking her, was instructed by her how he must do, an he would thereafterward have further speech of her. He then took leave of her, having first particularly examined the ordinance of the place in every part, and waited till a good part of the night was past, when he returned thither and clambering up in places where a woodpecker had scarce found a foothold, he made his way into the garden. There he found a long pole and setting it against the window which his mistress had shown him, climbed up thereby lightly enough. The damsel, herseeming she had already lost her honour, for the preservation whereof she had in times past been somewhat coy to him, thinking that she could give herself to none more worthily than to him and doubting not to be able to induce him to carry her off, had resolved in herself to comply with him in every his desire; wherefore she had left the window open, so he might enter forthright. Accordingly, Gianni, finding it open, softly made his way into the chamber and laid himself beside the girl, who slept not and who, before they came to otherwhat, discovered to him all her intent, instantly beseeching him to take her thence and carry her away. Gianni answered that nothing could be so pleasing to him as this and promised that he would without fail, as soon as he should have taken his leave of her, put the matter in train on such wise that he might carry her away with him, the first time he returned thither. Then, embracing each other with exceeding pleasure, they took that delight beyond which Love can afford no greater, and after reiterating it again and again, they fell asleep, without perceiving it, in each other's arms.\n\nMeanwhile, the king, who had at first sight been greatly taken with the damsel, calling her to mind and feeling himself well of body, determined, albeit it was nigh upon day, to go and abide with her awhile. Accordingly, he betook himself privily to La Cuba with certain of his servants and entering the pavilion, caused softly open the chamber wherein he knew the girl slept. Then, with a great lighted flambeau before him, he entered therein and looking upon the bed, saw her and Gianni lying asleep and naked in each other's arms; whereas he was of a sudden furiously incensed and flamed up into such a passion of wrath that it lacked of little but he had, without saying a word, slain them both then and there with a dagger he had by his side. However, esteeming it a very base thing of any man, much more a king, to slay two naked folk in their sleep, he contained himself and determined to put them to death in public and by fire; wherefore, turning to one only companion he had with him, he said to him, 'How deemest thou of this vile woman, on whom I had set my hope?' And after he asked him if he knew the young man who had dared enter his house to do him such an affront and such an outrage; but he answered that he remembered not ever to have seen him. The king then departed the chamber, full of rage, and commanded that the two lovers should be taken and bound, naked as they were, and that, as soon as it was broad day, they should be carried to Palermo and there bound to a stake, back to back, in the public place, where they should be kept till the hour of tierce, so they might be seen of all, and after burnt, even as they had deserved; and this said, he returned to his palace at Palermo, exceeding wroth.\n\nThe king gone, there fell many upon the two lovers and not only awakened them, but forthright without any pity took them and bound them; which when they saw, it may lightly be conceived if they were woeful and feared for their lives and wept and made moan. According to the king's commandment, they were carried to Palermo and bound to a stake in the public place, whilst the faggots and the fire were made ready before their eyes, to burn them at the hour appointed. Thither straightway flocked all the townsfolk, both men and women, to see the two lovers; the men all pressed to look upon the damsel and like as they praised her for fair and well made in every part of her body, even so, on the other hand, the women, who all ran to gaze upon the young man, supremely commended him for handsome and well shapen. But the wretched lovers, both sore ashamed, stood with bowed heads and bewailed their sorry fortune, hourly expecting the cruel death by fire.\n\nWhilst they were thus kept against the appointed hour, the default of them committed, being bruited about everywhere, came to the ears of Ruggieri dell' Oria, a man of inestimable worth and then the king's admiral, whereupon he repaired to the place where they were bound and considering first the girl, commended her amain for beauty, then, turning to look upon the young man, knew him without much difficulty and drawing nearer to him, asked him if he were not Gianni di Procida. The youth, raising his eyes and recognizing the admiral, answered, 'My lord, I was indeed he of whom you ask; but I am about to be no more.' The admiral then asked him what had brought him to that pass, and he answered, 'Love and the king's anger.' The admiral caused him tell his story more at large and having heard everything from him as it had happened, was about to depart, when Gianni called him back and said to him, 'For God's sake, my lord, an it may be, get me one favour of him who maketh me to abide thus.' 'What is that?' asked Ruggieri; and Gianni said, 'I see I must die, and that speedily, and I ask, therefore, by way of favour,\u2014as I am bound with my back to this damsel, whom I have loved more than my life, even as she hath loved me, and she with her back to me,\u2014that we may be turned about with our faces one to the other, so that, dying, I may look upon her face and get me gone, comforted.' 'With all my heart,' answered Ruggieri, laughing; 'I will do on such wise that thou shalt yet see her till thou grow weary of her sight.'\n\nThen, taking leave of him, he charged those who were appointed to carry the sentence into execution that they should proceed no farther therein, without other commandment of the king, and straightway betook himself to the latter, to whom, albeit he saw him sore incensed, he spared not to speak his mind, saying, 'King, in what have the two young folk offended against thee, whom thou hast commanded to be burned yonder in the public place?' The king told him and Ruggieri went on, 'The offence committed by them deserveth it indeed, but not from thee; for, like as defaults merit punishment, even so do good offices merit recompense, let alone grace and clemency. Knowest thou who these are thou wouldst have burnt?' The king answered no, and Ruggieri continued, 'Then I will have thee know them, so thou mayst see how discreetly thou sufferest thyself to be carried away by the transports of passion. The young man is the son of Landolfo di Procida, own brother to Messer Gian di Procida, by whose means thou art king and lord of this island, and the damsel is the daughter of Marino Bolgaro, to whose influence thou owest it that thine officers have not been driven forth of Ischia. Moreover, they are lovers who have long loved one another and constrained of love, rather than of will to do despite to thine authority, have done this sin, if that can be called sin which young folk do for love. Wherefore, then, wilt thou put them to death, whenas thou shouldst rather honour them with the greatest favours and boons at thy commandment?'\n\nThe king, hearing this and certifying himself that Ruggieri spoke sooth, not only forbore from proceeding to do worse, but repented him of that which he had done, wherefore he commanded incontinent that the two lovers should be loosed from the stake and brought before him; which was forthright done. Therewith, having fully acquainted himself with their case, he concluded that it behoved him requite them the injury he had done them with gifts and honour; wherefore he let clothe them anew on sumptuous wise and finding them of one accord, caused Gianni to take the damsel to wife. Then, making them magnificent presents, he sent them back, rejoicing, to their own country, where they were received with the utmost joyance and delight.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TEODORO, BEING ENAMOURED OF VIOLANTE, DAUGHTER OF MESSER AMERIGO HIS LORD, GETTETH HER WITH CHILD AND IS CONDEMNED TO BE HANGED; BUT, BEING RECOGNIZED AND DELIVERED BY HIS FATHER, AS THEY ARE LEADING HIM TO THE GALLOWS, SCOURGING HIM THE WHILE, HE TAKETH VIOLANTE TO WIFE",
                "text": "The ladies, who abode all fearful in suspense to know if the lovers should be burnt, hearing of their escape, praised God and were glad; whereupon the queen, seeing that Pampinea had made an end of her story, imposed on Lauretta the charge of following on, who blithely proceeded to say: \"Fairest ladies, in the days when good King William ruled over Sicily, there was in that island a gentleman hight Messer Amerigo Abate of Trapani, who, among other worldly goods, was very well furnished with children; wherefore, having occasion for servants and there coming thither from the Levant certain galleys of Genoese corsairs, who had, in their cruises off the coast of Armenia, taken many boys, he bought some of these latter, deeming them Turks, and amongst them one, Teodoro by name, of nobler mien and better bearing than the rest, who seemed all mere shepherds. Teodoro, although entreated as a slave, was brought up in the house with Messer Amerigo's children and conforming more to his own nature than to the accidents of fortune, approved himself so accomplished and well\u2013bred and so commended himself to Messer Amerigo that he set him free and still believing him to be a Turk, caused baptize him and call him Pietro and made him chief over all his affairs, trusting greatly in him.\"\n\nAs Messer Amerigo's children grew up, there grew up with them a daughter of his, called Violante, a fair and dainty damsel, who, her father tarrying overmuch to marry her, became by chance enamoured of Pietro and loving him and holding his manners and fashions in great esteem, was yet ashamed to discover this to him. But Love spared her that pains, for that Pietro, having once and again looked upon her by stealth, had become so passionately enamoured of her that he never knew ease save whenas he saw her; but he was sore afraid lest any should become aware thereof, himseeming that in this he did other than well. The young lady, who took pleasure in looking upon him, soon perceived this and to give him more assurance, showed herself exceeding well pleased therewith, as indeed she was. On this wise they abode a great while, daring not to say aught to one another, much as each desired it; but, whilst both, alike enamoured, languished enkindled in the flames of love, fortune, as if it had determined of will aforethought that this should be, furnished them with an occasion of doing away the timorousness that baulked them.\n\nMesser Amerigo had, about a mile from Trapani, a very goodly place, to which his lady was wont ofttimes to resort by way of pastime with her daughter and other women and ladies. Thither accordingly they betook themselves one day of great heat, carrying Pietro with them, and there abiding, it befell, as whiles we see it happen in summer time, that the sky became of a sudden overcast with dark clouds, wherefore the lady set out with her company to return to Trapani, so they might not be there overtaken of the foul weather, and fared on as fast as they might. But Pietro and Violante, being young, outwent her mother and the rest by a great way, urged belike, no less by love than by fear of the weather, and they being already so far in advance that they were hardly to be seen, it chanced that, of a sudden, after many thunderclaps, a very heavy and thick shower of hail began to fall, wherefrom the lady and her company fled into the house of a husbandman.\n\nPietro and the young lady, having no readier shelter, took refuge in a little old hut, well nigh all in ruins, wherein none dwelt, and there huddled together under a small piece of roof, that yet remained whole. The scantness of the cover constrained them to press close one to other, and this touching was the means of somewhat emboldening their minds to discover the amorous desires that consumed them both; and Pietro first began to say, 'Would God this hail might never give over, so but I might abide as I am!' 'Indeed,' answered the girl, 'that were dear to me also.' From these words they came to taking each other by the hands and pressing them and from that to clipping and after to kissing, it hailing still the while; and in short, not to recount every particular, the weather mended not before they had known the utmost delights of love and had taken order to have their pleasure secretly one of the other. The storm ended, they fared on to the gate of the city, which was near at hand, and there awaiting the lady, returned home with her.\n\nThereafter, with very discreet and secret ordinance, they foregathered again and again in the same place, to the great contentment of them both, and the work went on so briskly that the young lady became with child, which was sore unwelcome both to the one and the other; wherefore she used many arts to rid herself, contrary to the course of nature, of her burden, but could nowise avail to accomplish it. Therewithal, Pietro, fearing for his life, bethought himself to flee and told her, to which she answered, 'An thou depart, I will without fail kill myself.' Whereupon quoth Pietro, who loved her exceedingly, 'Lady mine, how wilt thou have me abide here? Thy pregnancy will discover our default and it will lightly be pardoned unto thee; but I, poor wretch, it will be must needs bear the penalty of thy sin and mine own.' 'Pietro,' replied she, 'my sin must indeed be discovered; but be assured that thine will never be known, an thou tell not thyself.' Then said he, 'Since thou promisest me this, I will remain; but look thou keep thy promise to me.'\n\nAfter awhile, the young lady, who had as most she might, concealed her being with child, seeing that, for the waxing of her body, she might no longer dissemble it, one day discovered her case to her mother, beseeching her with many tears to save her; whereupon the lady, beyond measure woeful, gave her hard words galore and would know of her how the thing had come about. Violante, in order that no harm might come to Pietro, told her a story of her own devising, disguising the truth in other forms. The lady believed it and to conceal her daughter's default, sent her away to a country house of theirs. There, the time of her delivery coming and the girl crying out, as women use to do, what while her mother never dreamed that Messer Amerigo, who was well nigh never wont to do so, should come thither, it chanced that he passed, on his return from hawking, by the chamber where his daughter lay and marvelling at the outcry she made, suddenly entered the chamber and demanded what was to do. The lady, seeing her husband come unawares, started up all woebegone and told him that which had befallen the girl. But he, less easy of belief than his wife had been, declared that it could not be true that she knew not by whom she was with child and would altogether know who he was, adding that, by confessing it, she might regain his favour; else must she make ready to die without mercy.\n\nThe lady did her utmost to persuade her husband to abide content with that which she had said; but to no purpose. He flew out into a passion and running, with his naked sword in his hand, at his daughter, who, what while her mother held her father in parley, had given birth to a male child, said, 'Either do thou discover by whom the child was begotten, or thou shalt die without delay.' The girl, fearing death, broke her promise to Pietro and discovered all that had passed between him and her; which when the gentleman heard, he fell into a fury of anger and hardly withheld himself from slaying her.\n\nHowever, after he had said to her that which his rage dictated to him, he took horse again and returning to Trapani, recounted the affront that Pietro had done him to a certain Messer Currado, who was captain there for the king. The latter caused forthright seize Pietro, who was off his guard, and put him to the torture, whereupon he confessed all and being a few days after sentenced by the captain to be flogged through the city and after strung up by the neck, Messer Amerigo (whose wrath had not been done away by the having brought Pietro to death,) in order that one and the same hour should rid the earth of the two lovers and their child, put poison in a hanap with wine and delivering it, together with a naked poniard, to a serving\u2013man of his, said to him, 'Carry these two things to Violante and bid her, on my part, forthright take which she will of these two deaths, poison or steel; else will I have her burned alive, even as she hath deserved, in the presence of as many townsfolk as be here. This done, thou shalt take the child, a few days agone born of her, and dash its head against the wall and after cast it to the dogs to eat.' This barbarous sentence passed by the cruel father upon his daughter and his grandchild, the servant, who was more disposed to ill than to good, went off upon his errand.\n\nMeanwhile, Pietro, as he was carried to the gallows by the officers, being scourged of them the while, passed, according as it pleased those who led the company, before a hostelry wherein were three noblemen of Armenia, who had been sent by the king of that country ambassadors to Rome, to treat with the Pope of certain matters of great moment, concerning a crusade that was about to be undertaken, and who had lighted down there to take some days' rest and refreshment. They had been much honoured by the noblemen of Trapani and especially by Messer Amerigo, and hearing those pass who led Pietro, they came to a window to see. Now Pietro was all naked to the waist, with his hands bounden behind his back, and one of the three ambassadors, a man of great age and authority, named Fineo, espied on his breast a great vermeil spot, not painted, but naturally imprinted on his skin, after the fashion of what women here call roses. Seeing this, there suddenly recurred to his memory a son of his who had been carried off by corsairs fifteen years agone upon the coast of Lazistan and of whom he had never since been able to learn any news; and considering the age of the poor wretch who was scourged, he bethought himself that, if his son were alive, he must be of such an age as Pietro appeared to him. Wherefore he began to suspect by that token that it must be he and bethought himself that, were he indeed his son, he should still remember him of his name and that of his father and of the Armenian tongue. Accordingly, as he drew near, he called out, saying, 'Ho, Teodoro!' Pietro, hearing this, straightway lifted up his head and Fineo, speaking in Armenian, said to him, 'What countryman art thou and whose son?' The sergeants who had him in charge halted with him, of respect for the nobleman, so that Pietro answered, saying, 'I was of Armenia and son to one Fineo and was brought hither, as a little child, by I know not what folk.'\n\nFineo, hearing this, knew him for certain to be the son whom he had lost, wherefore he came down, weeping, with his companions, and ran to embrace him among all the sergeants; then, casting over his shoulders a mantle of the richest silk, which he had on his own back, he besought the officer who was escorting him to execution to be pleased to wait there till such time as commandment should come to him to carry the prisoner back; to which he answered that he would well. Now Fineo had already learned the reason for which Pietro was being led to death, report having noised it abroad everywhere; wherefore he straightway betook himself, with his companions and their retinue, to Messer Currado and bespoke him thus: 'Sir, he whom you have doomed to die, as a slave, is a free man and my son and is ready to take to wife her whom it is said he hath bereft of her maidenhead; wherefore may it please you to defer the execution till such time as it may be learned if she will have him to husband, so, in case she be willing, you may not be found to have done contrary to the law.' Messer Currado, hearing that the condemned man was Fineo's son, marvelled and confessing that which the latter said to be true, was somewhat ashamed of the unright of fortune and straightway caused carry Pietro home; then, sending for Messer Amerigo, he acquainted him with these things.\n\nMesser Amerigo, who by this believed his daughter and grandson to be dead, was the woefullest man in the world for that which he had done, seeing that all might very well have been set right, so but Violante were yet alive. Nevertheless, he despatched a runner whereas his daughter was, to the intent that, in case his commandment had not been done, it should not be carried into effect. The messenger found the servant sent by Messer Amerigo rating the lady, before whom he had laid the poniard and the poison, for that she made not her election as speedily as he desired, and would have constrained her to take the one or the other. But, hearing his lord's commandment, he let her be and returning to Messer Amerigo, told him how the case stood, to the great satisfaction of the latter, who, betaking himself whereas Fineo was, excused himself, well nigh with tears, as best he knew, of that which had passed, craving pardon therefor and evouching that, an Teodoro would have his daughter to wife, he was exceeding well pleased to give her to him. Fineo gladly received his excuses and answered, 'It is my intent that my son shall take your daughter to wife; and if he will not, let the sentence passed upon him take its course.'\n\nAccordingly, being thus agreed, they both repaired whereas Teodoro abode yet all fearful of death, albeit he was rejoiced to have found his father again, and questioned him of his mind concerning this thing. When he heard that, an he would, he might have Violante to wife, such was his joy that himseemed he had won from hell to heaven at one bound, and he answered that this would be to him the utmost of favours, so but it pleased both of them. Thereupon they sent to know the mind of the young lady, who, whereas she abode in expectation of death, the woefullest woman alive, hearing that which had betided and was like to betide Teodoro, after much parley, began to lend some faith to their words and taking a little comfort, answered that, were she to ensue her own wishes in the matter, no greater happiness could betide her than to be the wife of Teodoro; algates, she would do that which her father should command her.\n\nAccordingly, all parties being of accord, the two lovers were married with the utmost magnificence, to the exceeding satisfaction of all the townsfolk; and the young lady, heartening herself and letting rear her little son, became ere long fairer than ever. Then, being risen from childbed, she went out to meet Fineo, whose return was expected from Rome, and paid him reverence as to a father; whereupon he, exceeding well pleased to have so fair a daughter\u2013in\u2013law, caused celebrate their nuptials with the utmost pomp and rejoicing and receiving her as a daughter, ever after held her such. And after some days, taking ship with his son and her and his little grandson, he carried them with him into Lazistan, where the two lovers abode in peace and happiness, so long as life endured unto them.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "NASTAGIO DEGLI ONESTI, FALLING IN LOVE WITH A LADY OF THE TRAVERSARI FAMILY, SPENDETH HIS SUBSTANCE WITHOUT BEING BELOVED IN RETURN, AND BETAKING HIMSELF, AT THE INSTANCE OF HIS KINSFOLK, TO CHIASSI, HE THERE SEETH A HORSEMAN GIVE CHASE TO A DAMSEL AND SLAY HER AND CAUSE HER BE DEVOURED OF TWO DOGS. THEREWITHAL HE BIDDETH HIS KINSFOLK AND THE LADY WHOM HE LOVETH TO A DINNER, WHERE HIS MISTRESS SEETH THE SAME DAMSEL TORN IN PIECES AND FEARING A LIKE FATE, TAKETH NASTAGIO TO HUSBAND",
                "text": "No sooner was Lauretta silent than Filomena, by the queen's commandment, began thus: \"Lovesome ladies, even as pity is in us commended, so also is cruelty rigorously avenged by Divine justice; the which that I may prove to you and so engage you altogether to purge yourselves therefrom, it pleaseth me tell you a story no less pitiful than delectable.\"\n\nIn Ravenna, a very ancient city of Romagna, there were aforetime many noblemen and gentlemen, and amongst the rest a young man called Nastagio degli Onesti, who had, by the death of his father and an uncle of his, been left rich beyond all estimation and who, as it happeneth often with young men, being without a wife, fell in love with a daughter of Messer Paolo Traversari, a young lady of much greater family than his own, hoping by his fashions to bring her to love him in return. But these, though great and goodly and commendable, not only profited him nothing; nay, it seemed they did him harm, so cruel and obdurate and intractable did the beloved damsel show herself to him, being grown belike, whether for her singular beauty or the nobility of her birth, so proud and disdainful that neither he nor aught that pleased him pleased her. This was so grievous to Nastagio to bear that many a time, for chagrin, being weary of complaining, he had it in his thought to kill himself, but held his hand therefrom; and again and again he took it to heart to let her be altogether or have her, an he might, in hatred, even as she had him. But in vain did he take such a resolve, for that, the more hope failed him, the more it seemed his love redoubled. Accordingly, he persisted both in loving and in spending without stint or measure, till it seemed to certain of his friends and kinsfolk that he was like to consume both himself and his substance; wherefore they besought him again and again and counselled him depart Ravenna and go sojourn awhile in some other place, for that, so doing, he would abate both his passion and his expenditure. Nastagio long made light of this counsel, but, at last, being importuned of them and able no longer to say no, he promised to do as they would have him and let make great preparations, as he would go into France or Spain or some other far place. Then, taking horse in company with many of his friends, he rode out of Ravenna and betook himself to a place called Chiassi, some three miles from the city, where, sending for tents and pavilions, he told those who had accompanied him thither that he meant to abide and that they might return to Ravenna. Accordingly, having encamped there, he proceeded to lead the goodliest and most magnificent life that was aye, inviting now these, now those others, to supper and to dinner, as he was used.\n\nIt chanced one day, he being come thus well nigh to the beginning of May and the weather being very fair, that, having entered into thought of his cruel mistress, he bade all his servants leave him to himself, so he might muse more at his leisure, and wandered on, step by step, lost in melancholy thought, till he came unwillingly into the pine\u2013wood. The fifth hour of the day was well nigh past and he had gone a good half mile into the wood, remembering him neither of eating nor of aught else, when himseemed of a sudden he heard a terrible great wailing and loud cries uttered by a woman; whereupon, his dulcet meditation being broken, he raised his head to see what was to do and marvelled to find himself among the pines; then, looking before him, he saw a very fair damsel come running, naked through a thicket all thronged with underwood and briers, towards the place where he was, weeping and crying sore for mercy and all dishevelled and torn by the bushes and the brambles. At her heels ran two huge and fierce mastiffs, which followed hard upon her and ofttimes bit her cruelly, whenas they overtook her; and after them he saw come riding upon a black courser a knight arrayed in sad\u2013coloured armour, with a very wrathful aspect and a tuck in his hand, threatening her with death in foul and fearsome words.\n\nThis sight filled Nastagio's mind at once with terror and amazement and after stirred him to compassion of the ill\u2013fortuned lady, wherefrom arose a desire to deliver her, an but he might, from such anguish and death. Finding himself without arms, he ran to take the branch of a tree for a club, armed wherewith, he advanced to meet the dogs and the knight. When the latter saw this, he cried out to him from afar off, saying, 'Nastagio, meddle not; suffer the dogs and myself to do that which this wicked woman hath merited.' As he spoke, the dogs, laying fast hold of the damsel by the flanks, brought her to a stand and the knight, coming up, lighted down from his horse; whereupon Nastagio drew near unto him and said, 'I know not who thou mayst be, that knowest me so well; but this much I say to see that it is a great felony for an armed knight to seek to slay a naked woman and to set the dogs on her, as she were a wild beast; certes, I will defend her as most I may.'\n\n'Nastagio,' answered the knight, 'I was of one same city with thyself and thou wast yet a little child when I, who hight Messer Guido degli Anastagi, was yet more passionately enamoured of this woman than thou art presently of yonder one of the Traversari and my ill fortune for her hard\u2013heartedness and barbarity came to such a pass that one day I slew myself in despair with this tuck thou seest in my hand and was doomed to eternal punishment. Nor was it long ere she, who was beyond measure rejoiced at my death, died also and for the sin of her cruelty and of the delight had of her in my torments (whereof she repented her not, as one who thought not to have sinned therein, but rather to have merited reward,) was and is on like wise condemned to the pains of hell. Wherein no sooner was she descended than it was decreed unto her and to me, for penance thereof, that she should flee before me and that I, who once loved her so dear, should pursue her, not as a beloved mistress, but as a mortal enemy, and that, as often as I overtook her, I should slay her with this tuck, wherewith I slew myself, and ripping open her loins, tear from her body, as thou shalt presently see, that hard and cold heart, wherein nor love nor pity might ever avail to enter, together with the other entrails, and give them to the dogs to eat. Nor is it a great while after ere, as God's justice and puissance will it, she riseth up again, as she had not been dead, and beginneth anew her woeful flight, whilst the dogs and I again pursue her. And every Friday it betideth that I come up with her here at this hour and wreak on her the slaughter that thou shalt see; and think not that we rest the other days; nay, I overtake her in other places, wherein she thought and wrought cruelly against me. Thus, being as thou seest, from her lover grown her foe, it behoveth me pursue her on this wise as many years as she was cruel to me months. Wherefore leave me to carry the justice of God into effect and seek not to oppose that which thou mayst not avail to hinder.'\n\nNastagio, hearing these words, drew back, grown all adread, with not an hair on his body but stood on end, and looking upon the wretched damsel, began fearfully to await that which the knight should do. The latter, having made an end of his discourse, ran, tuck in hand, as he were a ravening dog, at the damsel, who, fallen on her knees and held fast by the two mastiffs, cried him mercy, and smiting her with all his might amiddleward the breast, pierced her through and through. No sooner had she received this stroke than she fell grovelling on the ground, still weeping and crying out; whereupon the knight, clapping his hand to his hunting\u2013knife, ripped open her loins and tearing forth her heart and all that was thereabout, cast them to the two mastiffs, who devoured them incontinent, as being sore anhungred. Nor was it long ere, as if none of these things had been, the damsel of a sudden rose to her feet and began to flee towards the sea, with the dogs after her, still rending her; and in a little while they had gone so far that Nastagio could see them no more. The latter, seeing these things, abode a great while between pity and fear, and presently it occurred to his mind that this might much avail him, seeing that it befell every Friday; wherefore, marking the place, he returned to his servants and after, whenas it seemed to him fit, he sent for sundry of his kinsmen and friends and said to them, 'You have long urged me leave loving this mine enemy and put an end to my expenditure, and I am ready to do it, provided you will obtain me a favour; the which is this, that on the coming Friday you make shift to have Messer Paolo Traversari and his wife and daughter and all their kinswomen and what other ladies soever it shall please you here to dinner with me. That for which I wish this, you shall see then.' This seemed to them a little thing enough to do, wherefore, returning to Ravenna, they in due time invited those whom Nastagio would have to dine with him, and albeit it was no easy matter to bring thither the young lady whom he loved, natheless she went with the other ladies. Meanwhile, Nastagio let make ready a magnificent banquet and caused set the tables under the pines round about the place where he had witnessed the slaughter of the cruel lady.\n\nThe time come, he seated the gentlemen and the ladies at table and so ordered it that his mistress should be placed right over against the spot where the thing should befall. Accordingly, hardly was the last dish come when the despairful outcry of the hunted damsel began to be heard of all, whereat each of the company marvelled and enquired what was to do, but none could say; whereupon all started to their feet and looking what this might be, they saw the woeful damsel and the knight and the dogs; nor was it long ere they were all there among them. Great was the clamor against both dogs and knight, and many rushed forward to succour the damsel; but the knight, bespeaking them as he had bespoken Nastagio, not only made them draw back, but filled them all with terror and amazement. Then did he as he had done before, whereat all the ladies that were there (and there were many present who had been kinswomen both to the woeful damsel and to the knight and who remembered them both of his love and of his death) wept as piteously as if they had seen this done to themselves.\n\nThe thing carried to its end and the damsel and the knight gone, the adventure set those who had seen it upon many and various discourses; but of those who were the most affrighted was the cruel damsel beloved of Nastagio, who had distinctly seen and heard the whole matter and understood that these things concerned her more than any other who was there, remembering her of the cruelty she had still used towards Nastagio; wherefore herseemed she fled already before her enraged lover and had the mastiffs at her heels. Such was the terror awakened in her thereby that,\u2014so this might not betide her,\u2014no sooner did she find an opportunity (which was afforded her that same evening) than, turning her hatred into love, she despatched to Nastagio a trusty chamberwoman of hers, who besought him that it should please him to go to her, for that she was ready to do all that should be his pleasure. He answered that this was exceeding agreeable to him, but that, so it pleased her, he desired to have his pleasure of her with honour, to wit, by taking her to wife. The damsel, who knew that it rested with none other than herself that she had not been his wife, made answer to him that it liked her well; then, playing the messenger herself, she told her father and mother that she was content to be Nastagio's wife, whereat they were mightily rejoiced, and he, espousing her on the ensuing Sunday and celebrating his nuptials, lived with her long and happily. Nor was this affright the cause of that good only; nay, all the ladies of Ravenna became so fearful by reason thereof, that ever after they were much more amenable than they had before been to the desires of the men.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FEDERIGO DEGLI ALBERIGHI LOVETH AND IS NOT LOVED. HE WASTETH HIS SUBSTANCE IN PRODIGAL HOSPITALITY TILL THERE IS LEFT HIM BUT ONE SOLE FALCON, WHICH, HAVING NOUGHT ELSE, HE GIVETH HIS MISTRESS TO EAT, ON HER COMING TO HIS HOUSE; AND SHE, LEARNING THIS, CHANGETH HER MIND AND TAKING HIM TO HUSBAND, MAKETH HIM RICH AGAIN",
                "text": "Filomena having ceased speaking, the queen, seeing that none remained to tell save only herself and Dioneo, whose privilege entitled him to speak last, said, with blithe aspect, \"It pertaineth now to me to tell and I, dearest ladies, will willingly do it, relating a story like in part to the foregoing, to the intent that not only may you know how much the love of you can avail in gentle hearts, but that you may learn to be yourselves, whenas it behoveth, bestowers of your guerdons, without always suffering fortune to be your guide, which most times, as it chanceth, giveth not discreetly, but out of all measure.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, who was of our days and maybe is yet a man of great worship and authority in our city and illustrious and worthy of eternal renown, much more for his fashions and his merit than for the nobility of his blood, being grown full of years, delighted oftentimes to discourse with his neighbours and others of things past, the which he knew how to do better and more orderly and with more memory and elegance of speech than any other man. Amongst other fine things of his, he was used to tell that there was once in Florence a young man called Federigo, son of Messer Filippo Alberighi and renowned for deeds of arms and courtesy over every other bachelor in Tuscany, who, as betideth most gentlemen, became enamoured of a gentlewoman named Madam Giovanna, in her day held one of the fairest and sprightliest ladies that were in Florence; and to win her love, he held jousts and tourneyings and made entertainments and gave gifts and spent his substance without any stint; but she, being no less virtuous than fair, recked nought of these things done for her nor of him who did them. Federigo spending thus far beyond his means and gaining nought, his wealth, as lightly happeneth, in course of time came to an end and he abode poor, nor was aught left him but a poor little farm, on whose returns he lived very meagrely, and to boot a falcon he had, one of the best in the world. Wherefore, being more in love than ever and himseeming he might no longer make such a figure in the city as he would fain do, he took up his abode at Campi, where his farm was, and there bore his poverty with patience, hawking whenas he might and asking of no one.\n\nFederigo being thus come to extremity, it befell one day that Madam Giovanna's husband fell sick and seeing himself nigh upon death, made his will, wherein, being very rich, he left a son of his, now well grown, his heir, after which, having much loved Madam Giovanna, he substituted her to his heir, in case his son should die without lawful issue, and died. Madam Giovanna, being thus left a widow, betook herself that summer, as is the usance of our ladies, into the country with her son to an estate of hers very near that of Federigo; wherefore it befell that the lad made acquaintance with the latter and began to take delight in hawks and hounds, and having many a time seen his falcon flown and being strangely taken therewith, longed sore to have it, but dared not ask it of him, seeing it so dear to him. The thing standing thus, it came to pass that the lad fell sick, whereat his mother was sore concerned, as one who had none but him and loved him with all her might, and abode about him all day, comforting him without cease; and many a time she asked him if there were aught he desired, beseeching him tell it her, for an it might be gotten, she would contrive that he should have it. The lad, having heard these offers many times repeated, said, 'Mother mine, an you could procure me to have Federigo's falcon, methinketh I should soon be whole.'\n\nThe lady hearing this, bethought herself awhile and began to consider how she should do. She knew that Federigo had long loved her and had never gotten of her so much as a glance of the eye; wherefore quoth she in herself, 'How shall I send or go to him to seek of him this falcon, which is, by all I hear, the best that ever flew and which, to boot, maintaineth him in the world? And how can I be so graceless as to offer to take this from a gentleman who hath none other pleasure left?' Perplexed with this thought and knowing not what to say, for all she was very certain of getting the bird, if she asked for it, she made no reply to her son, but abode silent. However, at last, the love of her son so got the better of her that she resolved in herself to satisfy him, come what might, and not to send, but to go herself for the falcon and fetch it to him. Accordingly she said to him, 'My son, take comfort and bethink thyself to grow well again, for I promise thee that the first thing I do to\u2013morrow morning I will go for it and fetch it to thee.' The boy was rejoiced at this and showed some amendment that same day.\n\nNext morning, the lady, taking another lady to bear her company, repaired, by way of diversion, to Federigo's little house and enquired for the latter, who, for that it was no weather for hawking nor had been for some days past, was then in a garden he had, overlooking the doing of certain little matters of his, and hearing that Madam Giovanna asked for him at the door, ran thither, rejoicing and marvelling exceedingly. She, seeing him come, rose and going with womanly graciousness to meet him, answered his respectful salutation with 'Give you good day, Federigo!' then went on to say, 'I am come to make thee amends for that which thou hast suffered through me, in loving me more than should have behooved thee; and the amends in question is this that I purpose to dine with thee this morning familiarly, I and this lady my companion.' 'Madam,' answered Federigo humbly, 'I remember me not to have ever received any ill at your hands, but on the contrary so much good that, if ever I was worth aught, it came about through your worth and the love I bore you; and assuredly, albeit you have come to a poor host, this your gracious visit is far more precious to me than it would be an it were given me to spend over again as much as that which I have spent aforetime.' So saying, he shamefastly received her into his house and thence brought her into his garden, where, having none else to bear her company, he said to her, 'Madam, since there is none else here, this good woman, wife of yonder husbandman, will bear you company, whilst I go see the table laid.'\n\nNever till that moment, extreme as was his poverty, had he been so dolorously sensible of the straits to which he had brought himself for the lack of those riches he had spent on such disorderly wise. But that morning, finding he had nothing wherewithal he might honourably entertain the lady, for love of whom he had aforetime entertained folk without number, he was made perforce aware of his default and ran hither and thither, perplexed beyond measure, like a man beside himself, inwardly cursing his ill fortune, but found neither money nor aught he might pawn. It was now growing late and he having a great desire to entertain the gentle lady with somewhat, yet choosing not to have recourse to his own labourer, much less any one else, his eye fell on his good falcon, which he saw on his perch in his little saloon; whereupon, having no other resource, he took the bird and finding him fat, deemed him a dish worthy of such a lady. Accordingly, without more ado, he wrung the hawk's neck and hastily caused a little maid of his pluck it and truss it and after put it on the spit and roast it diligently. Then, the table laid and covered with very white cloths, whereof he had yet some store, he returned with a blithe countenance to the lady in the garden and told her that dinner was ready, such as it was in his power to provide. Accordingly, the lady and her friend, arising, betook themselves to table and in company with Federigo, who served them with the utmost diligence, ate the good falcon, unknowing what they did.\n\nPresently, after they had risen from table and had abidden with him awhile in cheerful discourse, the lady, thinking it time to tell that wherefor she was come, turned to Federigo and courteously bespoke him, saying, 'Federigo, I doubt not a jot but that, when thou hearest that which is the especial occasion of my coming hither, thou wilt marvel at my presumption, remembering thee of thy past life and of my virtue, which latter belike thou reputedst cruelty and hardness of heart; but, if thou hadst or hadst had children, by whom thou mightest know how potent is the love one beareth them, meseemeth certain that thou wouldst in part hold me excused. But, although thou hast none, I, who have one child, cannot therefore escape the common laws to which other mothers are subject and whose enforcements it behoveth me ensue, need must I, against my will and contrary to all right and seemliness, ask of thee a boon, which I know is supremely dear to thee (and that with good reason, for that thy sorry fortune hath left thee none other delight, none other diversion, none other solace), to wit, thy falcon, whereof my boy is so sore enamoured that, an I carry it not to him, I fear me his present disorder will be so aggravated that there may presently ensue thereof somewhat whereby I shall lose him. Wherefore I conjure thee,\u2014not by the love thou bearest me and whereto thou art nowise beholden, but by thine own nobility, which in doing courtesy hath approved itself greater than in any other,\u2014that it please thee give it to me, so by the gift I may say I have kept my son alive and thus made him for ever thy debtor.'\n\nFederigo, hearing what the lady asked and knowing that he could not oblige her, for that he had given her the falcon to eat, fell a\u2013weeping in her presence, ere he could answer a word. The lady at first believed that his tears arose from grief at having to part from his good falcon and was like to say that she would not have it. However, she contained herself and awaited what Federigo should reply, who, after weeping awhile, made answer thus: 'Madam, since it pleased God that I should set my love on you, I have in many things reputed fortune contrary to me and have complained of her; but all the ill turns she hath done me have been a light matter in comparison with that which she doth me at this present and for which I can never more be reconciled to her, considering that you are come hither to my poor house, whereas you deigned not to come what while I was rich, and seek of me a little boon, the which she hath so wrought that I cannot grant you; and why this cannot be I will tell you briefly. When I heard that you, of your favour, were minded to dine with me, I deemed it a light thing and a seemly, having regard to your worth and the nobility of your station, to honour you, as far as in me lay, with some choicer victual than that which is commonly set before other folk; wherefore, remembering me of the falcon which you ask of me and of his excellence, I judged him a dish worthy of you. This very morning, then, you have had him roasted upon the trencher, and indeed I had accounted him excellently well bestowed; but now, seeing that you would fain have had him on other wise, it is so great a grief to me that I cannot oblige you therein that methinketh I shall never forgive myself therefor.' So saying, in witness of this, he let cast before her the falcon's feathers and feet and beak.\n\nThe lady, seeing and hearing this, first blamed him for having, to give a woman to eat, slain such a falcon, and after inwardly much commended the greatness of his soul, which poverty had not availed nor might anywise avail to abate. Then, being put out of all hope of having the falcon and fallen therefore in doubt of her son's recovery, she took her leave and returned, all disconsolate, to the latter, who, before many days had passed, whether for chagrin that he could not have the bird or for that his disorder was e'en fated to bring him to that pass, departed this life, to the inexpressible grief of his mother. After she had abidden awhile full of tears and affliction, being left very rich and yet young, she was more than once urged by her brothers to marry again, and albeit she would fain not have done so, yet, finding herself importuned and calling to mind Federigo's worth and his last magnificence, to wit, the having slain such a falcon for her entertainment, she said to them, 'I would gladly, an it liked you, abide as I am; but, since it is your pleasure that I take a second husband, certes I will never take any other, an I have not Federigo degli Alberighi.' Whereupon her brothers, making mock of her, said 'Silly woman that thou art, what is this thou sayest? How canst thou choose him, seeing he hath nothing in the world?' 'Brothers mine,' answered she, 'I know very well that it is as you say; but I would liefer have a man that lacketh of riches than riches that lack of a man.' Her brethren, hearing her mind and knowing Federigo for a man of great merit, poor though he was, gave her, with all her wealth, to him, even as she would; and he, seeing himself married to a lady of such worth and one whom he had loved so dear and exceeding rich, to boot, became a better husband of his substance and ended his days with her in joy and solace.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PIETRO DI VINCIOLO GOETH TO SUP ABROAD, WHEREUPON HIS WIFE LETTETH FETCH HER A YOUTH TO KEEP HER COMPANY, AND HER HUSBAND RETURNING, UNLOOKED FOR, SHE HIDETH HER GALLANT UNDER A HEN\u2013COOP. PIETRO TELLETH HER HOW THERE HAD BEEN FOUND IN THE HOUSE OF ONE ARCOLANO, WITH WHOM HE WAS TO HAVE SUPPED, A YOUNG MAN BROUGHT IN BY HIS WIFE, AND SHE BLAMETH THE LATTER. PRESENTLY, AN ASS, BY MISCHANCE, SETTETH FOOT ON THE FINGERS OF HIM WHO IS UNDER THE COOP AND HE ROARETH OUT, WHEREUPON PIETRO RUNNETH THITHER AND ESPYING HIM, DISCOVERETH HIS WIFE'S UNFAITH, BUT ULTIMATELY COMETH TO AN ACCORD WITH HER FOR HIS OWN LEWD ENDS",
                "text": "The queen's story come to an end and all having praised God for that He had rewarded Federigo according to his desert, Dioneo, who never waited for commandment, began on this wise: \"I know not whether to say if it be a casual vice, grown up in mankind through perversity of manners and usances, or a defect inherent in our nature, that we laugh rather at things ill than at good works, especially when they concern us not. Wherefore, seeing that the pains I have otherwhiles taken and am now about to take aim at none other end than to rid you of melancholy and afford you occasion for laughter and merriment,\u2014albeit the matter of my present story may be in part not altogether seemly, nevertheless, lovesome lasses, for that it may afford diversion, I will e'en tell it you, and do you, hearkening thereunto, as you are wont to do, whenas you enter into gardens, where, putting out your dainty hands, you cull the roses and leave the thorns be. On this wise must you do with my story, leaving the naughty man of whom I shall tell you to his infamy and ill\u2013luck go with him, what while you laugh merrily at the amorous devices of his wife, having compassion, whenas need is, of the mischances of others.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Perugia, no great while agone, a rich man called Pietro di Vinciolo, who, belike more to beguile others and to abate the general suspect in which he was had of all the Perugians, than for any desire of his own, took him a wife, and fortune in this was so far conformable to his inclination that the wife he took was a thickset, red\u2013haired, hot\u2013complexioned wench, who would liefer have had two husbands than one, whereas she happened upon one who had a mind far more disposed to otherwhat than to her. Becoming, in process of time, aware of this and seeing herself fair and fresh and feeling herself buxom and lusty, she began by being sore incensed thereat and came once and again to unseemly words thereof with her husband, with whom she was well nigh always at variance. Then, seeing that this might result rather in her own exhaustion than in the amendment of her husband's depravity, she said in herself, 'Yonder caitiff forsaketh me to go of his ribaldries on pattens through the dry, and I will study to carry others on shipboard through the wet. I took him to husband and brought him a fine great dowry, knowing him to be a man and supposing him desireful of that whereunto men are and should be fain; and had I not believed that he would play the part of a man, I had never taken him. He knew that I was a woman; why, then, did he take me to wife, if women were not to his mind? This is not to be suffered. Were I minded to renounce the world, I should have made myself a nun; but, if, choosing to live in the world, as I do, I look for delight or pleasure from yonder fellow, I may belike grow old, expecting in vain, and whenas I shall be old, I shall in vain repent and bemoan myself of having wasted my youth, which latter he himself is a very good teacher and demonstrator how I should solace, showing me by example how I should delect myself with that wherein he delighteth, more by token that this were commendable in me, whereas in him it is exceeding blameworthy, seeing that I should offend against the laws alone, whereas he offendeth against both law and nature.'\n\nAccordingly, the good lady, having thus bethought herself and belike more than once, to give effect privily to these considerations, clapped up an acquaintance with an old woman who showed like Saint Verdiana, that giveth the serpents to eat, and still went to every pardoning, beads in hand, nor ever talked of aught but the lives of the Holy Fathers or of the wounds of St. Francis and was of well nigh all reputed a saint, and whenas it seemed to her time, frankly discovered to her her intent. 'Daughter mine,' replied the beldam, 'God who knoweth all knoweth that thou wilt do exceeding well, and if for nought else, yet shouldst thou do it, thou and every other young woman, not to lose the time of your youth, for that to whoso hath understanding, there is no grief like that of having lost one's time. And what a devil are we women good for, once we are old, save to keep the ashes about the fire\u2013pot? If none else knoweth it and can bear witness thereof, that do and can I; for, now that I am old, I recognize without avail, but not without very sore and bitter remorse of mind, the time that I let slip, and albeit I lost it not altogether (for that I would not have thee deem me a ninny), still I did not what I might have done; whereof whenas I remember me, seeing myself fashioned as thou seest me at this present, so that thou wouldst find none to give me fire to my tinder, God knoweth what chagrin I feel. With men it is not so; they are born apt for a thousand things, not for this alone, and most part of them are of much more account old than young; but women are born into the world for nothing but to do this and bear children, and it is for this that they are prized; the which, if from nought else, thou mayst apprehend from this, that we women are still ready for the sport; more by token that one woman would tire out many men at the game, whereas many men cannot tire one woman; and for that we are born unto this, I tell thee again that thou wilt do exceeding well to return thy husband a loaf for his bannock, so thy soul may have no cause to reproach thy flesh in thine old age. Each one hath of this world just so much as he taketh to himself thereof, and especially is this the case with women, whom it behoveth, much more than men, make use of their time, whilst they have it; for thou mayst see how, when we grow old, nor husband nor other will look at us; nay, they send us off to the kitchen to tell tales to the cat and count the pots and pans; and what is worse, they tag rhymes on us and say:\n\n\u2003\"Tidbits for wenches young;\n\n\u2003Gags for the old wife's tongue.\"\n\nAnd many another thing to the like purpose. And that I may hold thee no longer in parley, I tell thee in fine that thou couldst not have discovered thy mind to any one in the world who can be more useful to thee than I, for that there is no man so high and mighty but I dare tell him what behoveth, nor any so dour or churlish but I know how to supple him aright and bring him to what I will. Wherefore do thou but show me who pleaseth thee and after leave me do; but one thing I commend to thee, daughter mine, and that is, that thou be mindful of me, for that I am a poor body and would have thee henceforth a sharer in all my pardonings and in all the paternosters I shall say, so God may make them light and candles for thy dead.'\n\nWith this she made an end of her discourse, and the young lady came to an understanding with her that, whenas she chanced to spy a certain young spark who passed often through that quarter and whose every feature she set out to her, she should know what she had to do; then, giving her a piece of salt meat, she dismissed her with God's blessing; nor had many days passed ere the old woman brought her him of whom she had bespoken her privily into her chamber, and a little while after, another and another, according as they chanced to take the lady's fancy, who stinted not to indulge herself in this as often as occasion offered, though still fearful of her husband. It chanced one evening that, her husband being to sup abroad with a friend of his, Ercolano by name, she charged the old woman bring her a youth, who was one of the goodliest and most agreeable of all Perugia, which she promptly did; but hardly had the lady seated herself at table to sup with her gallant, when, behold, Pietro called out at the door to have it opened to him. She, hearing this, gave herself up for lost, but yet desiring, an she might, to conceal the youth and not having the presence of mind to send him away or hide him elsewhere, made him take refuge under a hen\u2013coop, that was in a shed adjoining the chamber where they were at supper, and cast over him the sacking of a pallet\u2013bed that she had that day let empty.\n\nThis done, she made haste to open to her husband, to whom quoth she, as soon as he entered the house, 'You have very soon despatched this supper of yours!' 'We have not so much as tasted it,' replied he; and she said, 'How was that?' Quoth he, 'I will tell thee. Scarce were we seated at table, Ercolano and his wife and I, when we heard some one sneeze hard by, whereof we took no note the first time nor the second; but, he who sneezed sneezing yet a third time and a fourth and a fifth and many other times, it made us all marvel; whereupon Ercolano, who was somewhat vexed with his wife for that she had kept us a great while standing at the door, without opening to us, said, as if in a rage, \"What meaneth this? Who is it sneezeth thus?\" And rising from table, made for a stair that stood near at hand and under which, hard by the stairfoot, was a closure of planks, wherein to bestow all manner things, as we see those do every day who set their houses in order. Himseeming it was from this that came the noise of sneezing, he opened a little door that was therein and no sooner had he done this than there issued forth thereof the frightfullest stench of sulphur that might be. Somewhat of this smell had already reached us and we complaining thereof, the lady had said, \"It is because I was but now in act to bleach my veils with sulphur and after set the pan, over which I had spread them to catch the fumes, under the stair, so that it yet smoketh thereof.\"\n\nAs soon as the smoke was somewhat spent, Ercolano looked into the cupboard and there espied him who had sneezed and who was yet in act to sneeze, for that the fumes of the sulphur constrained him thereto, and indeed they had by this time so straitened his breast that, had he abidden a while longer, he had never sneezed nor done aught else again. Ercolano, seeing him, cried out, \"Now, wife, I see why, whenas we came hither awhile ago, we were kept so long at the door, without its being opened to us; but may I never again have aught that shall please me, an I pay thee not for this!\" The lady, hearing this and seeing that her sin was discovered, stayed not to make any excuse, but started up from table and made off I know not whither. Ercolano, without remarking his wife's flight, again and again bade him who sneezed come forth; but the latter, who was now at the last gasp, offered not to stir, for all that he could say; whereupon, taking him by one foot, he haled him forth of his hiding\u2013place and ran for a knife to kill him; but I, fearing the police on mine own account, arose and suffered him not to slay him or do him any hurt; nay, crying out and defending him, I gave the alarm to certain of the neighbours, who ran thither and taking the now half\u2013dead youth, carried him forth the house I know not whither. Wherefore, our supper being disturbed by these things, I have not only not despatched it, nay, I have, as I said, not even tasted it.'\n\nThe lady, hearing this, knew that there were other women as wise as herself, albeit illhap bytimes betided some of them thereof, and would fain have defended Ercolano's wife with words; but herseeming that, by blaming others' defaults, she might make freer way for her own, she began to say, 'Here be fine doings! A holy and virtuous lady indeed she must be! She, to whom, as I am an honest woman, I would have confessed myself, so spiritually minded meseemed she was! And the worst of it is that she, being presently an old woman, setteth a mighty fine example to the young. Accursed by the hour she came into the world and she also, who suffereth herself to live, perfidious and vile woman that she must be, the general reproach and shame of all the ladies of this city, who, casting to the winds her honour and the faith plighted to her husband and the world's esteem, is not ashamed to dishonour him, and herself with him, for another man, him who is such a man and so worshipful a citizen and who used her so well! So God save me, there should be no mercy had of such women as she; they should be put to death; they should be cast alive into the fire and burned to ashes.' Then, bethinking her of her gallant, whom she had hard by under the coop, she began to exhort Pietro to betake himself to bed, for that it was time; but he, having more mind to eat than to sleep, enquired if there was aught for supper. 'Supper, quotha!' answered the lady. 'Truly, we are much used to get supper, whenas thou art abroad! A fine thing, indeed! Dost thou take me for Ercolano's wife? Alack, why dost thou not go to sleep for to\u2013night? How far better thou wilt do!' Now it chanced that, certain husbandmen of Pietro's being come that evening with sundry matters from the farm and having put up their asses, without watering them, in a little stable adjoining the shed, one of the latter, being sore athirst, slipped his head out of the halter and making his way out of the stable, went smelling to everything, so haply he might find some water, and going thus, he came presently full on the hen\u2013coop, under which was the young man. The latter having, for that it behoved him abide on all fours, put out the fingers of one hand on the ground beyond the coop, such was his luck, or rather let us say, his ill luck, that the ass set his hoof on them, whereupon the youth, feeling an exceeding great pain, set up a terrible outcry. Pietro, hearing this, marvelled and perceived that the noise came from within the house; wherefore he went out into the shed and hearing the other still clamouring, for that the ass had not lifted up his hoof from his fingers, but still trod hard upon them, said, 'Who is there?' Then, running to the hen\u2013coop, he raised it and espied the young man, who, beside the pain he suffered from his fingers that were crushed by the ass's hoof, was all a\u2013trembling for fear lest Pietro should do him a mischief.\n\nThe latter, knowing him for one whom he had long pursued for his lewd ends, asked him what he did there, whereto he answered him nothing, but prayed him for the love of God do him no harm. Quoth Pietro, 'Arise and fear not that I will do thee any hurt; but tell me how thou comest here and for what purpose.' The youth told him all, whereupon Pietro, no less rejoiced to have found him than his wife was woeful, taking him by the hand, carried him into the chamber, where the lady awaited him with the greatest affright in the world, and seating himself overagainst her, said, 'But now thou cursedst Ercolano's wife and avouchedst that she should be burnt and that she was the disgrace of all you women; why didst thou not speak of thyself? Or, an thou choosedst not to speak of thyself, how could thy conscience suffer thee to speak thus of her, knowing thyself to have done even as did she? Certes, none other thing moved thee thereunto save that you women are all made thus and look to cover your own doings with others' defaults; would fire might come from heaven to burn you all up, perverse generation that you are!'\n\nThe lady, seeing that, in the first heat of the discovery, he had done her no harm other than in words and herseeming she saw that he was all agog with joy for that he held so goodly a stripling by the hand, took heart and said, 'Of this much, indeed, I am mighty well assured, that thou wouldst have fire come from heaven to burn us women all up, being, as thou art, as fain to us as a dog to cudgels; but, by Christ His cross, thou shalt not get thy wish. However, I would fain have a little discourse with thee, so I may know of what thou complainest. Certes, it were a fine thing an thou shouldst seek to even me with Ercolano's wife, who is a beat\u2013breast, a smell\u2013sin, and hath of her husband what she will and is of him held dear as a wife should be, the which is not the case with me. For, grant that I am well clad and shod of thee, thou knowest but too well how I fare for the rest and how long it is since thou hast lain with me; and I had liefer go barefoot and rags to my back and be well used of thee abed than have all these things, being used as I am of thee. For understand plainly, Pietro; I am a woman like other women and have a mind unto that which other women desire; so that, an I procure me thereof, not having it from thee, thou hast no call to missay of me therefor; at the least, I do thee this much honour that I have not to do with horseboys and scald\u2013heads.'\n\nPietro perceived that words were not like to fail her for all that night; wherefore, as one who recked little of her, 'Wife,' said he, 'no more for the present; I will content thee aright of this matter; but thou wilt do us a great courtesy to let us have somewhat to sup withal, for that meseemeth this lad, like myself, hath not yet supped.' 'Certes, no,' answered the lady, 'he hath not yet supped; for we were sitting down to table, when thou camest in thine ill hour.' 'Go, then,' rejoined Pietro, 'contrive that we may sup, and after I will order this matter on such wise that thou shalt have no cause to complain.' The lady, finding that her husband was satisfied, arose and caused straightway reset the table; then, letting bring the supper she had prepared, she supped merrily in company with her caitiff of a husband and the young man. After supper, what Pietro devised for the satisfaction of all three hath escaped my mind; but this much I know that on the following morning the youth was escorted back to the public place, not altogether certain which he had the more been that night, wife or husband. Wherefore, dear my ladies, this will I say to you, 'Whoso doth it to you, do you it to him'; and if you cannot presently, keep it in mind till such time as you can, so he may get as good as he giveth.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "Dioneo having made an end of his story, which had been less laughed at by the ladies than usual, more for shamefastness than for the little delight they took therein, the queen, seeing the end of her sovranty come, rose to her feet and putting off the laurel crown, set it blithely on Elisa's head, saying, \"With you, madam, henceforth it resteth to command.\" Elisa, accepting the honour, did even as it had been done before her, in that, having first, to the satisfaction of the company, taken order with the seneschal for that whereof there was need for the time of her governance, she said, \"We have many a time heard how, by dint of smart sayings and ready repartees and prompt advisements, many have availed with an apt retort to take the edge off other folks' teeth or to fend off imminent perils; and, for that the matter is goodly and may be useful, I will that to\u2013morrow, with God's aid, it be discoursed within these terms, to wit, OF WHOSO, BEING ASSAILED WITH SOME JIBING SPEECH, HATH VINDICATED HIMSELF OR HATH WITH SOME READY REPLY OR ADVISEMENT ESCAPED LOSS, PERIL OR SHAME.\"\n\nThis was much commended of all, whereupon the queen, rising to her feet, dismissed them all until supper time. The honourable company, seeing her risen, stood up all and each, according to the wonted fashion, applied himself to that which was most agreeable to him. But, the crickets having now given over singing, the queen let call every one and they betook themselves to supper, which being despatched with merry cheer, they all gave themselves to singing and making music, and Emilia having, at the queen's commandment, set up a dance, Dioneo was bidden sing a song, whereupon he straightway struck up with \"Mistress Aldruda, come lift up your fud\u2013a, for I bring you, I bring you, good tidings.\" Whereat all the ladies fell a\u2013laughing and especially the queen, who bade him leave that and sing another. Quoth Dioneo, \"Madam, had I a tabret, I would sing 'Come truss your coats, I prithee, Mistress Burdock,' or 'Under the olive the grass is'; or will you have me say 'The waves of the sea do great evil to me'? But I have no tabret, so look which you will of these others. Will it please you have 'Come forth unto us, so it may be cut down, like a May in the midst of the meadows'?\"Nay,\" answered the queen; \"give us another. \"Then,\" said Dioneo, \"shall I sing, 'Mistress Simona, embarrel, embarrel! It is not the month of October'?\" Quoth the queen, laughing, \"Ill luck to thee, sing us a goodly one, an thou wilt, for we will none of these. \"Nay, madam,\" rejoined Dioneo, \"fash not yourself; but which then like you better? I know more than a thousand. Will you have 'This my shell an I prick it not well,' or 'Fair and softly, husband mine' or 'I'll buy me a cock, a cock of an hundred pounds sterling'?\" Therewithal the queen, somewhat provoked, though all the other ladies laughed, said, \"Dioneo, leave jesting and sing us a goodly one; else shalt thou prove how I can be angry.\" Hearing this, he gave over his quips and cranks and forthright fell a\u2013singing after this fashion:\n\n\u2002O Love, the amorous light\n\n\u2002That beameth from yon fair one's lovely eyes\n\n\u2002Hath made me thine and hers in servant\u2013guise.\n\n\u2002The splendour of her lovely eyes, it wrought\n\n\u2002That first thy flames were kindled in my breast,\n\n\u2002Passing thereto through mine;\n\n\u2002Yea, and thy virtue first unto my thought\n\n\u2002Her visage fair it was made manifest,\n\n\u2002Which picturing, I twine\n\n\u2002And lay before her shrine\n\n\u2002All virtues, that to her I sacrifice,\n\n\u2002Become the new occasion of my sighs.\n\n\u2002Thus, dear my lord, thy vassal am I grown\n\n\u2002And of thy might obediently await\n\n\u2002Grace for my lowliness;\n\n\u2002Yet wot I not if wholly there be known\n\n\u2002The high desire that in my breast thou'st set\n\n\u2002And my sheer faith, no less,\n\n\u2002Of her who doth possess\n\n\u2002My heart so that from none beneath the skies,\n\n\u2002Save her alone, peace would I take or prize.\n\n\u2002Wherefore I pray thee, sweet my lord and sire,\n\n\u2002Discover it to her and cause her taste\n\n\u2002Some scantling of thy heat\n\n\u2002To\u2013me\u2013ward,\u2014for thou seest that in the fire,\n\n\u2002Loving, I languish and for torment waste\n\n\u2002By inches at her feet,\u2014\n\n\u2002And eke in season meet\n\n\u2002Commend me to her favour on such wise\n\n\u2002As I would plead for thee, should need arise.\n\nDioneo, by his silence, showing that his song was ended, the queen let sing many others, having natheless much commended his. Then, somedele of the night being spent and the queen feeling the heat of the day to be now overcome of the coolness of the night, she bade each at his pleasure betake himself to rest against the ensuing day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Sixth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE SIXTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF ELISA IS DISCOURSED OF WHOSO BEING ASSAILED WITH SOME JIBING SPEECH HATH VINDICATED HIMSELF OR HATH WITH SOME READY REPLY OR ADVISEMENT ESCAPED LOSS, PERIL OR SHAME ]\n\nThe moon, being now in the middest heaven, had lost its radiance and every part of our world was bright with the new coming light, when, the queen arising and letting call her company, they all with slow step fared forth and rambled over the dewy grass to a little distance from the fair hill, holding various discourse of one thing and another and debating of the more or less goodliness of the stories told, what while they renewed their laughter at the various adventures related therein, till such time as the sun mounting high and beginning to wax hot, it seemed well to them all to turn homeward. Wherefore, reversing their steps, they returned to the palace and there, by the queen's commandment, the tables being already laid and everything strewn with sweet\u2013scented herbs and fair flowers, they addressed themselves to eat, ere the heat should grow greater. This being joyously accomplished, ere they did otherwhat, they sang divers goodly and pleasant canzonets, after which some went to sleep, whilst some sat down to play at chess and other some at tables and Dioneo fell to singing, in concert with Lauretta, of Troilus and Cressida. Then, the hour come for their reassembling after the wonted fashion, they all, being summoned on the part of the queen, seated themselves, as of their usance, about the fountain; but, as she was about to call for the first story, there befell a thing that had not yet befallen there, to wit, that a great clamour was heard by her and by all, made by the wenches and serving\u2013men in the kitchen.\n\nThe seneschal, being called and questioned who it was that cried thus and what might be the occasion of the turmoil, answered that the clamour was between Licisca and Tindaro, but that he knew not the cause thereof, being but then come thither to make them bide quiet, whenas he had been summoned on her part. The queen bade him incontinent fetch thither the two offenders and they being come, enquired what was the cause of their clamour; whereto Tindaro offering to reply, Licisca, who was well in years and somewhat overmasterful, being heated with the outcry she had made, turned to him with an angry air and said, \"Mark this brute of a man who dareth to speak before me, whereas I am! Let me speak.\" Then, turning again to the queen, \"Madam,\" quoth she, \"this fellow would teach me, forsooth, to know Sicofante's wife and neither more nor less than as if I had not been familiar with her, would fain give me to believe that, the first night her husband lay with her, Squire Maul made his entry into Black Hill by force and with effusion of blood; and I say that it is not true; nay, he entered there in peace and to the great contentment of those within. Marry, this fellow is simple enough to believe wenches to be such ninnies that they stand to lose their time, abiding the commodity of their fathers and brothers, who six times out of seven tarry three or four years more than they should to marry them. Well would they fare, forsooth, were they to wait so long! By Christ His faith (and I should know what I say, when I swear thus) I have not a single gossip who went a maid to her husband; and as for the wives, I know full well how many and what tricks they play their husbands; and this blockhead would teach me to know women, as if I had been born yesterday.\"\n\nWhat while Licisca spoke, the ladies kept up such a laughing that you might have drawn all their teeth; and the queen imposed silence upon her a good half dozen times, but to no purpose; she stinted not till she had said her say. When she had at last made an end of her talk, the queen turned to Dioneo and said, laughing, \"Dioneo, this is a matter for thy jurisdiction; wherefore, when we shall have made an end of our stories, thou shalt proceed to give final judgment thereon.\" Whereto he answered promptly, \"Madam, the judgment is already given, without hearing more of the matter; and I say that Licisca is in the right and opine that it is even as she saith and that Tindaro is an ass.\" Licisca, hearing this, fell a\u2013laughing and turning to Tindaro, said, \"I told thee so; begone and God go with thee; thinkest thou thou knowest better than I, thou whose eyes are not yet dry? Gramercy, I have not lived here below for nothing, no, not I!\" And had not the queen with an angry air imposed silence on her and sent her and Tindaro away, bidding her make no more words or clamour, an she would not be flogged, they had had nought to do all that day but attend to her. When they were gone, the queen called on Filomena to make a beginning with the day's stories and she blithely began thus:"
            },
            {
                "title": "A GENTLEMAN ENGAGETH TO MADAM ORETTA TO CARRY HER A\u2013HORSEBACK WITH A STORY, BUT, TELLING IT DISORDERLY, IS PRAYED BY HER TO SET HER DOWN AGAIN",
                "text": "\"Young ladies, like as stars, in the clear nights, are the ornaments of the heavens and the flowers and the leaf\u2013clad shrubs, in the Spring, of the green fields and the hillsides, even so are praiseworthy manners and goodly discourse adorned by sprightly sallies, the which, for that they are brief, beseem women yet better than men, inasmuch as much speaking is more forbidden to the former than to the latter. Yet, true it is, whatever the cause, whether it be the meanness of our understanding or some particular grudge borne by heaven to our times, that there be nowadays few or no women left who know how to say a witty word in due season or who, an it be said to them, know how to apprehend it as it behoveth; the which is a general reproach to our whole sex. However, for that enough hath been said aforetime on the subject by Pampinea, I purpose to say no more thereof; but, to give you to understand how much goodliness there is in witty sayings, when spoken in due season, it pleaseth me to recount to you the courteous fashion in which a lady imposed silence upon a gentleman.\"\n\nAs many of you ladies may either know by sight or have heard tell, there was not long since in our city a noble and well\u2013bred and well\u2013spoken gentlewoman, whose worth merited not that her name be left unsaid. She was called, then, Madam Oretta and was the wife of Messer Geri Spina. She chanced to be, as we are, in the country, going from place to place, by way of diversion, with a company of ladies and gentlemen, whom she had that day entertained to dinner at her house, and the way being belike somewhat long from the place whence they set out to that whither they were all purposed to go afoot, one of the gentlemen said to her, 'Madam Oretta, an you will, I will carry you a\u2013horseback great part of the way we have to go with one of the finest stories in the world.' 'Nay, sir,' answered the lady, 'I pray you instantly thereof; indeed, it will be most agreeable to me.' Master cavalier, who maybe fared no better, sword at side than tale on tongue, hearing this, began a story of his, which of itself was in truth very goodly; but he, now thrice or four or even half a dozen times repeating one same word, anon turning back and whiles saying, 'I said not aright,' and often erring in the names and putting one for another, marred it cruelly, more by token that he delivered himself exceedingly ill, having regard to the quality of the persons and the nature of the incidents of his tale. By reason whereof, Madam Oretta, hearkening to him, was many a time taken with a sweat and failing of the heart, as she were sick and near her end, and at last, being unable to brook the thing any more and seeing the gentleman engaged in an imbroglio from which he was not like to extricate himself, she said to him pleasantly, 'Sir, this horse of yours hath too hard a trot; wherefore I pray you be pleased to set me down.' The gentleman, who, as it chanced, understood a hint better than he told a story, took the jest in good part and turning it off with a laugh, fell to discoursing of other matters and left unfinished the story that he had begun and conducted so ill.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "CISTI THE BAKER WITH A WORD OF HIS FASHION MAKETH MESSER GERI SPINA SENSIBLE OF AN INDISCREET REQUEST OF HIS",
                "text": "Madam Oretta's saying was greatly commended of all, ladies and men, and the queen bidding Pampinea follow on, she began thus: \"Fair ladies, I know not of mine own motion to resolve me which is the more at fault, whether nature in fitting to a noble soul a mean body or fortune in imposing a mean condition upon a body endowed with a noble soul, as in one our townsman Cisti and in many another we may have seen it happen; which Cisti being gifted with a very lofty spirit, fortune made him a baker. And for this, certes, I should curse both nature and fortune like, did I not know the one to be most discreet and the other to have a thousand eyes, albeit fools picture her blind; and I imagine, therefore, that, being exceeding well\u2013advised, they do that which is oftentimes done of human beings, who, uncertain of future events, bury their most precious things, against their occasions, in the meanest places of their houses, as being the least suspect, and thence bring them forth in their greatest needs, the mean place having the while kept them more surely than would the goodly chamber. And so, meseemeth, do the governors of the world hide oftentimes their most precious things under the shadow of crafts and conditions reputed most mean, to the end that, bringing them forth therefrom in time of need, their lustre may show the brighter. Which how Cisti the baker made manifest, though in but a trifling matter, restoring to Messer Geri Spina (whom the story but now told of Madam Oretta, who was his wife, hath recalled to my memory) the eyes of the understanding, it pleaseth me to show you in a very short story.\"\n\nI must tell you, then, that Pope Boniface, with whom Messer Geri Spina was in very great favour, having despatched to Florence certain of his gentlemen on an embassy concerning sundry important matters of his, they lighted down at the house of Messer Geri and he treating the pope's affairs in company with them, it chanced, whatever might have been the occasion thereof, that he and they passed well nigh every morning afoot before Santa Maria Ughi, where Cisti the baker had his bakehouse and plied his craft in person. Now, albeit fortune had appointed Cisti a humble enough condition, she had so far at the least been kind to him therein that he was grown very rich and without ever choosing to abandon it for any other, lived very splendidly, having, amongst his other good things, the best wines, white and red, that were to be found in Florence or in the neighbouring country. Seeing Messer Geri and the pope's ambassadors pass every morning before his door and the heat being great, he bethought himself that it were a great courtesy to give them to drink of his good white wine; but, having regard to his own condition and that of Messer Geri, he deemed it not a seemly thing to presume to invite them, but determined to bear himself on such wise as should lead Messer Geri to invite himself.\n\nAccordingly, having still on his body a very white doublet and an apron fresh from the wash, which bespoke him rather a miller than a baker, he let set before his door, every morning, towards the time when he looked for Messer Geri and the ambassadors to pass, a new tinned pail of fair water and a small pitcher of new Bolognese ware, full of his good white wine, together with two beakers, which seemed of silver, so bright they were, and seated himself there, against they should pass, when, after clearing his throat once or twice, he fell to drinking of that his wine with such a relish that he had made a dead man's mouth water for it. Messer Geri, having seen him do thus one and two mornings, said on the third, 'How now, Cisti? Is it good?' Whereupon he started to his feet and said, 'Ay is it, Sir; but how good I cannot give you to understand, except you taste thereof.' Messer Geri, in whom either the nature of the weather or belike the relish with which he saw Cisti drink had begotten a thirst, turned to the ambassadors and said, smiling, 'Gentlemen, we shall do well to taste this honest man's wine; belike it is such that we shall not repent thereof.' Accordingly, he made with them towards Cisti, who let bring a goodly settle out of his bakehouse and praying them sit, said to their serving\u2013men, who pressed forward to rinse the beakers, 'Stand back, friends, and leave this office to me, for that I know no less well how to skink than to wield the baking\u2013peel; and look you not to taste a drop thereof.' So saying, he with his own hands washed out four new and goodly beakers and letting bring a little pitcher of his good wine, busied himself with giving Messer Geri and his companions to drink, to whom the wine seemed the best they had drunken that great while; wherefore they commended it greatly, and well nigh every morning, whilst the ambassadors abode there, Messer Geri went thither to drink in company with them.\n\nAfter awhile, their business being despatched and they about to depart, Messer Geri made them a magnificent banquet, whereto he bade a number of the most worshipful citizens and amongst the rest, Cisti, who would, however, on no condition go thither; whereupon Messer Geri bade one of his serving\u2013men go fetch a flask of the baker's wine and give each guest a half beaker thereof with the first course. The servant, despiteful most like for that he had never availed to drink of the wine, took a great flagon, which when Cisti saw, 'My son,' said he, 'Messer Geri sent thee not to me.' The man avouched again and again that he had, but, getting none other answer, returned to Messer Geri and reported it to him. Quoth he, 'Go back to him and tell him that I do indeed send thee to him; and if he still make thee the same answer, ask him to whom I send thee, an it be not to him.' Accordingly, the servant went back to the baker and said to him, 'Cisti, for certain Messer Geri sendeth me to thee and none other.' 'For certain, my son,' answered the baker, 'he doth it not.' 'Then,' said the man, 'to whom doth he send me?' 'To the Arno,' replied Cisti; which answer when the servant reported to Messer Geri, the eyes of his understanding were of a sudden opened and he said to the man, 'Let me see what flask thou carriedst thither.'\n\nWhen he saw the great flagon aforesaid, he said, 'Cisti saith sooth,' and giving the man a sharp reproof, made him take a sortable flask, which when Cisti saw, 'Now,' quoth he, 'I know full well that he sendeth thee to me,' and cheerfully filled it unto him. Then, that same day, he let fill a little cask with the like wine and causing carry it softly to Messer Geri's house, went presently thither and finding him there, said to him, 'Sir. I would not have you think that the great flagon of this morning frightened me; nay, but, meseeming that which I have of these past days shown you with my little pitchers had escaped your mind, to wit, that this is no household wine, I wished to recall it to you. But, now, for that I purpose no longer to be your steward thereof, I have sent it all to you; henceforward do with it as it pleaseth you.' Messer Geri set great store by Cisti's present and rendering him such thanks as he deemed sortable, ever after held him for a man of great worth and for friend.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM NONNA DE' PULCI, WITH A READY RETORT TO A NOT ALTOGETHER SEEMLY PLEASANTRY, IMPOSETH SILENCE ON THE BISHOP OF FLORENCE",
                "text": "Pampinea having made an end of her story and both Cisti's reply and his liberality having been much commended of all, it pleased the queen that the next story should be told be Lauretta, who blithely began as follows, \"Jocund ladies, first Pampinea and now Filomena have spoken truly enough touching our little worth and the excellence of pithy sayings, whereto that there may be no need now to return, I would fain remind you, over and above that which hath been said on the subject, that the nature of smart sayings is such that they should bite upon the hearer, not as the dog, but as the sheep biteth; for that, an a trait bit like a dog, it were not a trait, but an affront. The right mean in this was excellently well hit both by Madam Oretta's speech and Cisti's reply. It is true that, if a smart thing be said by way of retort, and the answerer biteth like a dog, having been bitten on like wise, meseemeth he is not to be blamed as he would have been, had this not been the case; wherefore it behoveth us look how and with whom, no less than when and where, we bandy jests; to which considerations, a prelate of ours, taking too little heed, received at least as sharp a bite as he thought to give, as I shall show you in a little story.\"\n\nMesser Antonio d'Orso, a learned and worthy prelate, being Bishop of Florence, there came thither a Catalan gentleman, called Messer Dego della Ratta, marshal for King Robert, who, being a man of a very fine person and a great amorist, took a liking to one among other Florentine ladies, a very fair lady and granddaughter to a brother of the said bishop, and hearing that her husband, albeit a man of good family, was very sordid and miserly, agreed with him to give him five hundred gold florins, so he would suffer him lie a night with his wife. Accordingly, he let gild so many silver poplins, a coin which was then current, and having lain with the lady, though against her will, gave them to the husband. The thing after coming to be known everywhere, the sordid wretch of a husband reaped both loss and scorn, but the bishop, like a discreet man as he was, affected to know nothing of the matter. Wherefore, he and the marshal consorting much together, it chanced, as they rode side by side with each other, one St. John's Day, viewing the ladies on either side of the way where the mantle is run for, the prelate espied a young lady,\u2014of whom this present pestilence hath bereft us and whom all you ladies must have known, Madam Nonna de' Pulci by name, cousin to Messer Alessio Rinucci, a fresh and fair young woman, both well\u2013spoken and high\u2013spirited, then not long before married in Porta San Piero,\u2014and pointed her out to the marshal; then, being near her, he laid his hand on the latter's shoulder and said to her, 'Nonna, how deemest thou of this gallant? Thinkest thou thou couldst make a conquest of him?' It seemed to the lady that those words somewhat trenched upon her honour and were like to sully it in the eyes of those (and there were many there) who heard them; wherefore, not thinking to purge away the soil, but to return blow for blow, she promptly answered, 'Maybe, sir, he would not make a conquest of me; but, in any case, I should want good money.' The marshal and the bishop, hearing this, felt themselves alike touched to the quick by her speech, the one as the author of the cheat put upon the bishop's brother's granddaughter and the other as having suffered the affront in the person of his kinswoman, and made off, shamefast and silent, without looking at one another or saying aught more to her that day. Thus, then, the young lady having been bitten, it was not forbidden her to bite her biter with a retort.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "CHICHIBIO, COOK TO CURRADO GIANFIGLIAZZI, WITH A READY WORD SPOKEN TO SAVE HIMSELF, TURNETH HIS MASTER'S ANGER INTO LAUGHTER AND ESCAPETH THE PUNISHMENT THREATENED HIM BY THE LATTER",
                "text": "Lauretta being silent and Nonna having been mightily commended of all, the queen charged Neifile to follow on, and she said, \"Although, lovesome ladies, a ready wit doth often furnish folk with words both prompt and useful and goodly, according to the circumstances, yet fortune whiles cometh to the help of the fearful and putteth of a sudden into their mouths such answers as might never of malice aforethought be found of the speaker, as I purpose to show you by my story.\"\n\nCurrado Gianfigliazzi, as each of you ladies may have both heard and seen, hath still been a noble citizen of our city, liberal and magnificent, and leading a knightly life, hath ever, letting be for the present his weightier doings, taken delight in hawks and hounds. Having one day with a falcon of his brought down a crane and finding it young and fat, he sent it to a good cook he had, a Venetian hight Chichibio, bidding him roast it for supper and dress it well. Chichibio, who looked the new\u2013caught gull he was, trussed the crane and setting it to the fire, proceeded to cook it diligently. When it was all but done and gave out a very savoury smell, it chanced that a wench of the neighbourhood, Brunetta by name, of whom Chichibio was sore enamoured, entered the kitchen and smelling the crane and seeing it, instantly besought him to give her a thigh thereof. He answered her, singing, and said, 'Thou shalt not have it from me, Mistress Brunetta, thou shalt not have it from me.' Whereat she, being vexed, said to him, 'By God His faith, an thou give it me not, thou shalt never have of me aught that shall pleasure thee.' In brief, many were the words between them and at last, Chichibio, not to anger his mistress, cut off one of the thighs of the crane and gave it her.\n\nThe bird being after set before Messer Currado and certain stranger guests of his, lacking a thigh, and the former marvelling thereat, he let call Chichibio and asked him what was come of the other thigh; whereto the liar of a Venetian answered without hesitation, 'Sir, cranes have but one thigh and one leg.' 'What a devil?' cried Currado in a rage. 'They have but one thigh and one leg? Have I never seen a crane before?' 'Sir,' replied Chichibio, 'it is as I tell you, and whenas it pleaseth you, I will cause you see it in the quick.' Currado, out of regard for the strangers he had with him, chose not to make more words of the matter, but said, 'Since thou sayst thou wilt cause me see it in the quick, a thing I never yet saw or heard tell of, I desire to see it to\u2013morrow morning, in which case I shall be content; but I swear to thee, by Christ His body, that, an it be otherwise, I will have thee served on such wise that thou shalt still have cause to remember my name to thy sorrow so long as thou livest.' There was an end of the talk for that night; but, next morning, as soon as it was day, Currado, whose anger was nothing abated for sleep, arose, still full of wrath, and bade bring the horses; then, mounting Chichibio upon a rouncey, he carried him off towards a watercourse, on whose banks cranes were still to be seen at break of day, saying, 'We shall soon see who lied yestereve, thou or I.'\n\nChichibio, seeing that his master's wrath yet endured and that needs must be made good his lie and knowing not how he should avail thereunto, rode after Currado in the greatest fright that might be, and fain would he have fled, so but he might. But, seeing no way of escape, he looked now before him and now behind and now on either side and took all he saw for cranes standing on two feet. Presently, coming near to the river, he chanced to catch sight, before any other, of a round dozen of cranes on the bank, all perched on one leg, as they use to do, when they sleep; whereupon he straightway showed them to Currado, saying, 'Now, sir, if you look at those that stand yonder, you may very well see that I told you the truth yesternight, to wit, that cranes have but one thigh and one leg.' Currado, seeing them, answered, 'Wait and I will show thee that they have two,' and going somewhat nearer to them, he cried out, 'Ho! Ho!' At this the cranes, putting down the other leg, all, after some steps, took to flight; whereupon Currado said to him, 'How sayst thou now, malapert knave that thou art? Deemest thou they have two legs?' Chichibio, all confounded and knowing not whether he stood on his head or his heels, answered, 'Ay, sir; but you did not cry, \"Ho! Ho!\" to yesternight's crane; had you cried thus, it would have put out the other thigh and the other leg, even as did those yonder.' This reply so tickled Currado that all his wrath was changed into mirth and laughter and he said, 'Chichibio, thou art in the right; indeed, I should have done it.' Thus, then, with his prompt and comical answer did Chichibio avert ill luck and made his peace with his master.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MESSER FORESE DA RABATTA AND MASTER GIOTTO THE PAINTER COMING FROM MUGELLO, EACH JESTINGLY RALLIETH THE OTHER ON HIS SCURVY FAVOUR",
                "text": "Neifile being silent and the ladies having taken much pleasure in Chichibio's reply, Pamfilo, by the queen's desire, spoke thus: \"Dearest ladies, it chanceth often that, like as fortune whiles hideth very great treasures of worth and virtue under mean conditions, as hath been a little before shown by Pampinea, even so, under the sorriest of human forms are marvellous wits found to have been lodged by nature; and this very plainly appeared in two townsmen of ours, of whom I purpose briefly to entertain you. For that the one, who was called Messer Forese da Rabatta, though little of person and misshapen, with a flat camoys face, that had been an eyesore on the shoulders of the foulest cadger in Florence, was yet of such excellence in the interpretation of the laws, that he was of many men of worth reputed a very treasury of civil right; whilst the other, whose name was Giotto, had so excellent a genius that there was nothing of all which Nature, mother and mover of all things, presenteth unto us by the ceaseless revolution of the heavens, but he with pencil and pen and brush depicted it and that so closely that not like, nay, but rather the thing itself it seemed, insomuch that men's visual sense is found to have been oftentimes deceived in things of his fashion, taking that for real which was but depictured. Wherefore, he having brought back to the light this art, which had for many an age lain buried under the errors of certain folk who painted more to divert the eyes of the ignorant than to please the understanding of the judicious, he may deservedly be styled one of the chief glories of Florence, the more so that he bore the honours he had gained with the utmost humility and although, while he lived, chief over all else in his art, he still refused to be called master, which title, though rejected by him, shone so much the more gloriously in him as it was with greater eagerness greedily usurped by those who knew less than he, or by his disciples. Yet, great as was his skill, he was not therefore anywise goodlier of person or better favoured than Messer Forese. But, to come to my story.\"\n\nI must tell you that Messer Forese and Giotto had each his country house at Mugello and the former, having gone to visit his estates, at that season of the summer when the Courts hold holiday, and returning thence on a sorry cart\u2013horse, chanced to fall in with the aforesaid Giotto, who had been on the same errand and was then on his way back to Florence nowise better equipped than himself in horse and accoutrements. Accordingly, they joined company and fared on softly, like old men as they were. Presently, it chanced, as we often see it happen in summer time, that a sudden shower overtook them, from which, as quickliest they might, they took shelter in the house of a husbandman, a friend and acquaintance of both of them. After awhile, the rain showing no sign of giving over and they wishing to reach Florence by daylight, they borrowed of their host two old homespun cloaks and two hats, rusty with age, for that there were no better to be had, and set out again upon their way.\n\nWhen they had gone awhile and were all drenched and bemired with the splashing that their hackneys kept up with their hoofs\u2014things which use not to add worship to any one's looks,\u2014the weather began to clear a little and the two wayfarers, who had long fared on in silence, fell to conversing together. Messer Forese, as he rode, hearkening to Giotto, who was a very fine talker, fell to considering his companion from head to foot and seeing him everywise so ill accoutred and in such scurvy case, burst out laughing and without taking any thought to his own plight, said to him, 'How sayst thou, Giotto? An there encountered us here a stranger who had never seen thee, thinkest thou he would believe thee to be, as thou art, the finest painter in the world?' 'Ay, sir,' answered Giotto forthright, 'methinketh he might e'en believe it whenas, looking upon you, he should believe that you knew your A B C.' Messer Forese, hearing this, was sensible of his error and saw himself paid with money such as the wares he had sold.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MICHELE SCALZA PROVETH TO CERTAIN YOUNG MEN THAT THE CADGERS OF FLORENCE ARE THE BEST GENTLEMEN OF THE WORLD OR THE MAREMMA AND WINNETH A SUPPER",
                "text": "The ladies yet laughed at Giotto's prompt retort, when the queen charged Fiammetta follow on and she proceeded to speak thus: \"Young ladies, the mention by Pamfilo of the cadgers of Florence, whom peradventure you know not as doth he, hath brought to my mind a story, wherein, without deviating from our appointed theme, it is demonstrated how great is their nobility; and it pleaseth me, therefore, to relate it.\"\n\nIt is no great while since there was in our city a young man called Michele Scalza, who was the merriest and most agreeable man in the world and he had still the rarest stories in hand, wherefore the young Florentines were exceeding glad to have his company whenas they made a party of pleasure amongst themselves. It chanced one day, he being with certain folk at Monte Ughi, that the question was started among them of who were the best and oldest gentlemen of Florence. Some said the Uberti, others the Lamberti, and one this family and another that, according as it occurred to his mind; which Scalza hearing, he fell a\u2013laughing and said, 'Go to, addlepates that you are! You know not what you say. The best gentlemen and the oldest, not only of Florence, but of all the world or the Maremma, are the Cadgers, a matter upon which all the phisopholers and every one who knoweth them, as I do, are of accord; and lest you should understand it of others, I speak of the Cadgers your neighbors of Santa Maria Maggiore.'\n\nWhen the young men, who looked for him to say otherwhat, heard this, they all made mock of him and said, 'Thou gullest us, as if we knew not the Cadgers, even as thou dost.' 'By the Evangels,' replied Scalza, 'I gull you not; nay, I speak the truth, and if there be any here who will lay a supper thereon, to be given to the winner and half a dozen companions of his choosing, I will willingly hold the wager; and I will do yet more for you, for I will abide by the judgment of whomsoever you will.' Quoth one of them, called Neri Mannini, 'I am ready to try to win the supper in question'; whereupon, having agreed together to take Piero di Fiorentino, in whose house they were, to judge, they betook themselves to him, followed by all the rest, who looked to see Scalza lose and to make merry over his discomfiture, and recounted to him all that had passed. Piero, who was a discreet young man, having first heard Neri's argument, turned to Scalza and said to him, 'And thou, how canst thou prove this that thou affirmest?' 'How, sayest thou?' answered Scalza. 'Nay, I will prove it by such reasoning that not only thou, but he who denieth it, shall acknowledge that I speak sooth. You know that, the ancienter men are, the nobler they are; and so was it said but now among these. Now the Cadgers are more ancient than any one else, so that they are nobler; and showing you how they are the most ancient, I shall undoubtedly have won the wager. You must know, then, that the Cadgers were made by God the Lord in the days when He first began to learn to draw; but the rest of mankind were made after He knew how to draw. And to assure yourselves that in this I say sooth, do but consider the Cadgers in comparison with other folk; whereas you see all the rest of mankind with faces well composed and duly proportioned, you may see the Cadgers, this with a visnomy very long and strait and with a face out of all measure broad; one hath too long and another too short a nose and a third hath a chin jutting out and turned upward and huge jawbones that show as they were those of an ass, whilst some there be who have one eye bigger than the other and other some who have one set lower than the other, like the faces that children used to make, whenas they first begin to learn to draw. Wherefore, as I have already said, it is abundantly apparent that God the Lord made them, what time He was learning to draw; so that they are more ancient and consequently nobler than the rest of mankind.' At this, both Piero, who was the judge, and Neri, who had wagered the supper, and all the rest, hearing Scalza's comical argument and remembering themselves, fell all a\u2013laughing and affirmed that he was in the right and had won the supper, for that the Cadgers were assuredly the noblest and most ancient gentlemen that were to be found not in Florence alone, but in the world or the Maremma. Wherefore it was very justly said of Pamfilo, seeking to show the foulness of Messer Forese's visnomy, that it would have showed notably ugly on one of the Cadgers.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM FILIPPA, BEING FOUND BY HER HUSBAND WITH A LOVER OF HERS AND BROUGHT TO JUSTICE, DELIVERETH HERSELF WITH A PROMPT AND PLEASANT ANSWER AND CAUSETH MODIFY THE STATUTE",
                "text": "Fiammetta was now silent and all laughed yet at the novel argument used by Scalza for the ennoblement over all of the Cadgers, when the queen enjoined Filostrato to tell and he accordingly began to say, \"It is everywise a fine thing, noble ladies, to know how to speak well, but I hold it yet goodlier to know how to do it whereas necessity requireth it, even as a gentlewoman, of whom I purpose to entertain you, knew well how to do on such wise that not only did she afford her hearers matter for mirth and laughter, but did herself loose from the toils of an ignominious death, as you shall presently hear.\"\n\nThere was, then, aforetime, in the city of Prato, a statute in truth no less blameworthy than cruel, which, without making any distinction, ordained that any woman found by her husband in adultery with any her lover should be burnt, even as she who should be discovered to have sold her favours for money. What while this statute was in force, it befell that a noble and beautiful lady, by name Madam Filippa, who was of a singularly amorous complexion, was one night found by Rinaldo de' Pugliesi her husband, in her own chamber in the arms of Lazzerino de' Guazzagliotri, a noble and handsome youth of that city, whom she loved even as herself. Rinaldo, seeing this, was sore enraged and scarce contained himself from falling upon them and slaying them; and but that he feared for himself, an he should ensue the promptings of his anger, he had certainly done it. However, he forbore from this, but could not refrain from seeking of the law of Prato that which it was not permitted him to accomplish with his own hand, to wit, the death of his wife. Having, therefore, very sufficient evidence to prove the lady's default, no sooner was the day come than, without taking other counsel, he lodged an accusation against her and caused summon her before the provost.\n\nMadam Filippa, being great of heart, as women commonly are who are verily in love, resolved, although counselled to the contrary by many of her friends and kinsfolk, to appear, choosing rather, confessing the truth, to die with an undaunted spirit, than, meanly fleeing, to live an outlaw in exile and confess herself unworthy of such a lover as he in whose arms she had been the foregoing night. Wherefore, presenting herself before the provost, attended by a great company of men and ladies and exhorted of all to deny the charge, she demanded, with a firm voice and an assured air, what he would with her. The magistrate, looking upon her and seeing her very fair and commendable of carriage and according as her words testified, of a lofty spirit, began to have compassion of her, fearing lest she should confess somewhat wherefore it should behoove him, for his own honour's sake, condemn her to die. However, having no choice but to question her of that which was laid to her charge, he said to her, 'Madam, as you see, here is Rinaldo your husband, who complaineth of you, avouching himself to have found you in adultery with another man and demanding that I should punish you therefor by putting you to death, according to the tenor of a statute which here obtaineth; but this I cannot do, except you confess it; wherefore look well what you answer and tell me if that be true whereof your husband impeacheth you.'\n\nThe lady, no wise dismayed, replied very cheerfully, 'Sir, true it is that Rinaldo is my husband and that he found me last night in the arms of Lazzarino, wherein, for the great and perfect love I bear him, I have many a time been; nor am I anywise minded to deny this. But, as I am assured you know, laws should be common to all and made with the consent of those whom they concern; and this is not the case with this statute, which is binding only upon us unhappy women, who might far better than men avail to satisfy many; more by token that, when it was made, not only did no woman yield consent thereunto, but none of us was even cited to do so; wherefore it may justly be styled naught. However, an you choose, to the prejudice of my body and of your own soul, to be the executor of this unrighteous law, it resteth with you to do so; but, ere you proceed to adjudge aught, I pray you do me one slight favour, to wit, that you question my husband if at all times and as often as it pleased him, without ever saying him nay, I have or not vouchsafed him entire commodity of myself.'\n\nRinaldo, without waiting to be questioned of the provost, straightway made answer that undoubtedly the lady had, at his every request, accorded him his every pleasure of herself; whereupon, 'Then, my lord provost,' straightway rejoined she, 'if he have still taken of me that which was needful and pleasing to him, what, I ask you, was or am I to do with that which remaineth over and above his requirements? Should I cast it to the dogs? Was it not far better to gratify withal a gentleman who loveth me more than himself, than to leave it waste or spoil?' Now well nigh all the people of Prato had flocked thither to the trial of such a matter and of so fair and famous a lady, and hearing so comical a question, they all, after much laughter, cried out as with one voice that she was in the right of it and that she said well. Moreover, ere they departed thence, at the instance of the provost, they modified the cruel statute and left it to apply to those women only who should for money make default to their husbands. Thereupon Rinaldo, having taken nought but shame by so fond an emprise, departed the court, and the lady returned in triumph to her own house, joyful and free and in a manner raised up out of the fire.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FRESCO EXHORTETH HIS NIECE NOT TO MIRROR HERSELF IN THE GLASS, IF, AS SHE SAITH, IT IRKETH HER TO SEE DISAGREEABLE FOLK",
                "text": "The story told by Filostrato at first touched the hearts of the listening ladies with some little shamefastness and they gave token thereof by a modest redness that appeared upon their faces; but, after looking one at another, they hearkened thereto, tittering the while and scarce able to abstain from laughing. As soon as he was come to the end thereof, the queen turned to Emilia and bade her follow on, whereupon, sighing no otherwise than as she had been aroused from a dream, she began, \"Lovesome lasses, for that long thought hath held me far from here, I shall, to obey our queen content myself with relating a story belike much slighter than that which I might have bethought myself to tell, had my mind been present here, recounting to you the silly default of a damsel, corrected by an uncle of hers with a jocular retort, had she been woman enough to have apprehended it.\"\n\nA certain Fresco da Celatico, then, had a niece familiarly called Ciesca, who, having a comely face and person (though none of those angelical beauties that we have often seen aforetime), set so much store by herself and accounted herself so noble that she had gotten a habit of carping at both men and women and everything she saw, without anywise taking thought to herself, who was so much more fashous, froward and humoursome than any other of her sex that nothing could be done to her liking. Beside all this, she was so prideful that, had she been of the blood royal of France, it had been overweening; and when she went abroad, she gave herself so many airs that she did nought but make wry faces, as if there came to her a stench from whomsoever she saw or met. But, letting be many other vexatious and tiresome fashions of hers, it chanced one day that she came back to the house, where Fresco was, and seating herself near him, all full of airs and grimaces, did nothing but puff and blow; whereupon quoth he, 'What meaneth this, Ciesca, that, to\u2013day being a holiday, thou comest home so early?' To which she answered, all like to die away with affectation, 'It is true I have come back soon, for that I believe there were never in this city so many disagreeable and tiresome people, both men and women, as there are to\u2013day; there passeth none about the streets but is hateful to me as ill\u2013chance, and I do not believe there is a woman in the world to whom it is more irksome to see disagreeable folk than it is to me; wherefore I have returned thus early, not to see them.' 'My lass,' rejoined Fresco, to whom his niece's airs and graces were mighty displeasing, 'if disagreeable folk be so distasteful to thee as thou sayest, never mirror thyself in the glass, so thou wouldst live merry.' But she, emptier than a reed, albeit herseemed she was a match for Solomon in wit, apprehended Fresco's true speech no better than a block; nay, she said that she chose to mirror herself in the glass like other women; and so she abode in her folly and therein abideth yet.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GUIDO CAVALCANTI WITH A PITHY SPEECH COURTEOUSLY FLOUTETH CERTAIN FLORENTINE GENTLEMEN WHO HAD TAKEN HIM BY SURPRISE",
                "text": "The queen, seeing Emilia delivered of her story and that it rested with none other than herself to tell, saving him who was privileged to speak last, began thus, \"Although, sprightly ladies, you have this day taken out of my mouth at the least two stories, whereof I had purposed to relate one, I have yet one left to tell, the end whereof compriseth a saying of such a fashion that none, peradventure, of such pertinence, hath yet been cited to us.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there were in our city, of times past, many goodly and commendable usances, whereof none is left there nowadays, thanks to the avarice that hath waxed therein with wealth and hath banished them all. Among these there was a custom to the effect that the gentlemen of the various quarters of Florence assembled together in divers places about the town and formed themselves into companies of a certain number, having a care to admit thereinto such only as might aptly bear the expense, whereof to\u2013day the one and to\u2013morrow the other, and so all in turn, hold open house, each his day, for the whole company. At these banquets they often entertained both stranger gentlemen, whenas there came any thither, and those of the city; and on like wise, once at the least in the year, they clad themselves alike and rode in procession through the city on the most notable days and whiles they held passes of arms, especially on the chief holidays or whenas some glad news of victory or the like came to the city.\n\nAmongst these companies was one of Messer Betto Brunelleschi, whereinto the latter and his companions had studied amain to draw Guido, son of Messer Cavalcante de' Cavalcanti, and not without cause; for that, besides being one of the best logicians in the world and an excellent natural philosopher (of which things, indeed, they recked little), he was very sprightly and well\u2013bred and a mighty well\u2013spoken man and knew better than any other to do everything that he would and that pertained unto a gentleman, more by token that he was very rich and knew wonder\u2013well how to entertain whomsoever he deemed deserving of honour. But Messer Betto had never been able to win and to have him, and he and his companions believed that this betided for that Guido, being whiles engaged in abstract speculations, became much distraught from mankind; and for that he inclined somewhat to the opinion of the Epicureans, it was reported among the common folk that these his speculations consisted only in seeking if it might be discovered that God was not.\n\nIt chanced one day that Guido set out from Orto San Michele and came by way of the Corso degli Ademari, the which was oftentimes his road, to San Giovanni, round about which there were at that present divers great marble tombs (which are nowadays at Santa Reparata) and many others. As he was between the columns of porphyry there and the tombs in question and the door of the church, which was shut, Messer Betto and his company, coming a\u2013horseback along the Piazza di Santa Reparata, espied him among the tombs and said, 'Let us go plague him.' Accordingly, spurring their horses, they charged all down upon him in sport and coming upon him ere he was aware of them, said to him, 'Guido, thou refusest to be of our company; but, harkye, whenas thou shalt have found that God is not, what wilt thou have accomplished?' Guido, seeing himself hemmed in by them, answered promptly, 'Gentlemen, you may say what you will to me in your own house'; then, laying his hand on one of the great tombs aforesaid and being very nimble of body, he took a spring and alighting on the other side, made off, having thus rid himself of them.\n\nThe gentlemen abode looking one upon another and fell a\u2013saying that he was a crack\u2013brain and that this that he had answered them amounted to nought seeing that there where they were they had no more to do than all the other citizens, nor Guido himself less than any of themselves. But Messer Betto turned to them and said, 'It is you who are the crackbrains, if you have not apprehended him. He hath courteously and in a few words given us the sharpest rebuke in the world; for that, an you consider aright, these tombs are the houses of the dead, seeing they are laid and abide therein, and these, saith he, are our house, meaning thus to show us that we and other foolish and unlettered men are, compared with him and other men of learning, worse than dead folk; wherefore, being here, we are in our own house.' Thereupon each understood what Guido had meant to say and was abashed nor ever plagued him more, but held Messer Betto thenceforward a gentleman of a subtle wit and an understanding.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FRA CIPOLLA PROMISETH CERTAIN COUNTRY FOLK TO SHOW THEM ONE OF THE ANGEL GABRIEL'S FEATHERS AND FINDING COALS IN PLACE THEREOF, AVOUCHETH THESE LATTER TO BE OF THOSE WHICH ROASTED ST. LAWRENCE",
                "text": "Each of the company being now quit of his story, Dioneo perceived that it rested with him to tell; whereupon, without awaiting more formal commandment, he began on this wise, silence having first been imposed on those who commended Guido's pregnant retort: \"Charming ladies, albeit I am privileged to speak of that which most liketh me, I purpose not to\u2013day to depart from the matter whereof you have all very aptly spoken; but, ensuing in your footsteps, I mean to show you how cunningly a friar of the order of St. Anthony, by name Fra Cipolla, contrived with a sudden shift to extricate himself from a snare which had been set for him by two young men; nor should it irk you if, for the complete telling of the story, I enlarge somewhat in speaking, an you consider the sun, which is yet amiddleward in the sky.\"\n\nCertaldo, as you may have heard, is a burgh of Val d' Elsa situate in our country, which, small though it be, was once inhabited by gentlemen and men of substance; and thither, for that he found good pasture there, one of the friars of the order of St. Anthony was long used to resort once a year, to get in the alms bestowed by simpletons upon him and his brethren. His name was Fra Cipolla and he was gladly seen there, no less belike, for his name's sake than for other reasons, seeing that these parts produce onions that are famous throughout all Tuscany. This Fra Cipolla was little of person, red\u2013haired and merry of countenance, the jolliest rascal in the world, and to boot, for all he was no scholar, he was so fine a talker and so ready of wit that those who knew him not would not only have esteemed him a great rhetorician, but had avouched him to be Tully himself or may be Quintilian; and he was gossip or friend or well\u2013wisher to well nigh every one in the country.\n\nOne August among others he betook himself thither according to his wont, and on a Sunday morning, all the goodmen and goodwives of the villages around being come to hear mass at the parish church, he came forward, whenas it seemed to him time, and said, 'Gentlemen and ladies, it is, as you know, your usance to send every year to the poor of our lord Baron St. Anthony of your corn and of your oats, this little and that much, according to his means and his devoutness, to the intent that the blessed St. Anthony may keep watch over your beeves and asses and swine and sheep; and besides this, you use to pay, especially such of you as are inscribed into our company, that small due which is payable once a year. To collect these I have been sent by my superior, to wit, my lord abbot; wherefore, with the blessing of God, you shall, after none, whenas you hear the bells ring, come hither without the church, where I will make preachment to you after the wonted fashion and you shall kiss the cross; moreover, for that I know you all to be great devotees of our lord St. Anthony, I will, as an especial favour show you a very holy and goodly relic, which I myself brought aforetime from the holy lands beyond seas; and that is one of the Angel Gabriel's feathers, which remained in the Virgin Mary's chamber, whenas he came to announce to her in Nazareth.' This said, he broke off and went on with his mass.\n\nNow, when he said this, there were in the church, among many others, two roguish young fellows, hight one Giovanni del Bragioniera and the other Biagio Pizzini, who, after laughing with one another awhile over Fra Cipolla's relic, took counsel together, for all they were great friends and cronies of his, to play him some trick in the matter of the feather in question. Accordingly, having learned that he was to dine that morning with a friend of his in the burgh, they went down into the street as soon as they knew him to be at table, and betook themselves to the inn where he had alighted, purposing that Biagio should hold his servant in parley, whilst Giovanni should search his baggage for the feather aforesaid, whatever it might be, and carry it off, to see what he should say to the people of the matter.\n\nFra Cipolla had a servant, whom some called Guccio Balena, others Guccio Imbratta and yet others Guccia Porco and who was such a scurvy knave that Lipo Topo never wrought his like, inasmuch as his master used oftentimes to jest of him with his cronies and say, 'My servant hath in him nine defaults, such that, were one of them in Solomon or Aristotle or Seneca, it would suffice to mar all their worth, all their wit and all their sanctity. Consider, then, what a man he must be, who hath all nine of them and in whom there is neither worth nor wit nor sanctity.' Being questioned whiles what were these nine defaults and having put them into doggerel rhyme, he would answer, 'I will tell you. He's a liar, a sloven, a slugabed; disobedient, neglectful, ill bred; o'erweening, foul\u2013spoken, a dunderhead; beside which he hath divers other peccadilloes, whereof it booteth not to speak. But what is most laughable of all his fashions is that, wherever he goeth, he is still for taking a wife and hiring a house; for, having a big black greasy beard, him\u2013seemeth he is so exceeding handsome and agreeable that he conceiteth himself all the women who see him fall in love with him, and if you let him alone, he would run after them all till he lost his girdle. Sooth to say, he is of great assistance to me, for that none can ever seek to speak with me so secretly but he must needs hear his share; and if it chance that I be questioned of aught, he is so fearful lest I should not know how to answer, that he straightway answereth for me both Ay and No, as he judgeth sortable.'\n\nNow Fra Cipolla, in leaving him at the inn, had bidden him look well that none touched his gear, and more particularly his saddle\u2013bags, for that therein were the sacred things. But Guccio, who was fonder of the kitchen than the nightingale of the green boughs, especially if he scented some serving\u2013wench there, and who had seen in that of the inn a gross fat cookmaid, undersized and ill\u2013made, with a pair of paps that showed like two manure\u2013baskets and a face like a cadger's, all sweaty, greasy and smoky, leaving Fra Cipolla's chamber and all his gear to care for themselves, swooped down upon the kitchen, even as the vulture swoopeth upon carrion, and seating himself by the fire, for all it was August, entered into discourse with the wench in question, whose name was Nuta, telling her that he was by rights a gentleman and had more than nine millions of florins, beside that which he had to give others, which was rather more than less, and that he could do and say God only knew what. Moreover, without regard to his bonnet, whereon was grease enough to have seasoned the caldron of Altopascio, and his doublet all torn and pieced and enamelled with filth about the collar and under the armpits, with more spots and patches of divers colours than ever had Turkey or India stuffs, and his shoes all broken and hose unsewn, he told her, as he had been the Sieur de Ch\u00e2tillon, that he meant to clothe her and trick her out anew and deliver her from the wretchedness of abiding with others, and bring her to hope of better fortune, if without any great wealth in possession, and many other things, which, for all he delivered them very earnestly, all turned to wind and came to nought, as did most of his enterprises.\n\nThe two young men, accordingly, found Guccio busy about Nuta, whereat they were well pleased, for that it spared them half their pains, and entering Fra Cipolla's chamber, which they found open, the first thing that came under their examination was the saddle\u2013bags wherein was the feather. In these they found, enveloped in a great taffetas wrapper, a little casket and opening this latter, discovered therein a parrot's tail\u2013feather, which they concluded must be that which the friar had promised to show the people of Certaldo. And certes he might lightly cause it to be believed in those days, for that the refinements of Egypt had not yet made their way save into a small part of Tuscany, as they have since done in very great abundance, to the undoing of all Italy; and wherever they may have been some little known, in those parts they were well nigh altogether unknown of the inhabitants; nay the rude honesty of the ancients yet enduring there, not only had they never set eyes on a parrot, but were far from having ever heard tell of such a bird. The young men, then, rejoiced at finding the feather, laid hands on it and not to leave the casket empty, filled it with some coals they saw in a corner of the room and shut it again. Then, putting all things in order as they had found them, they made off in high glee with the feather, without having been seen, and began to await what Fra Cipolli should say, when he found the coals in place thereof.\n\nThe simple men and women who were in the church, hearing that they were to see the Angel Gabriel's feather after none, returned home, as soon as mass was over, and neighbor telling it to neighbor and gossip to gossip, no sooner had they all dined than so many men and women flocked to the burgh that it would scarce hold them, all looking eagerly to see the aforesaid feather. Fra Cipolla, having well dined and after slept awhile, arose a little after none and hearing of the great multitude of country folk come to see the feather, sent to bid Guccio Imbratta come thither with the bells and bring his saddle\u2013bags. Guccio, tearing himself with difficulty away from the kitchen and Nuta, betook himself with the things required to the appointed place, whither coming, out of breath, for that the water he had drunken had made his belly swell amain, he repaired, by his master's commandment, to the church door and fell to ringing the bells lustily.\n\nWhen all the people were assembled there, Fra Cipolla, without observing that aught of his had been meddled with, began his preachment and said many words anent his affairs; after which, thinking to come to the showing of the Angel Gabriel's feather, he first recited the Confiteor with the utmost solemnity and let kindle a pair of flambeaux; then, pulling off his bonnet, he delicately unfolded the taffetas wrapper and brought out the casket. Having first pronounced certain ejaculations in praise and commendation of the Angel Gabriel and of his relic, he opened the casket and seeing it full of coals, suspected not Guccio Balena of having played him this trick, for that he knew him not to be man enough; nor did he curse him for having kept ill watch lest others should do it, but silently cursed himself for having committed to him the care of his gear, knowing him, as he did, to be negligent, disobedient, careless and forgetful.\n\nNevertheless, without changing colour, he raised his eyes and hands to heaven and said, so as to be heard of all, 'O God, praised be still thy puissance!' Then, shutting the casket and turning to the people, 'Gentlemen and ladies,' quoth he, 'you must know that, whilst I was yet very young, I was dispatched by my superior to those parts where the sun riseth and it was expressly commanded me that I should seek till I found the Privileges of Porcellana, which, though they cost nothing to seal, are much more useful to others than to us. On this errand I set out from Venice and passed through Borgo de' Greci, whence, riding through the kingdom of Algarve and Baldacca, I came to Parione, and from there, not without thirst, I came after awhile into Sardinia. But what booteth it to set out to you in detail all the lands explored by me? Passing the straits of San Giorgio, I came into Truffia and Buffia, countries much inhabited and with great populations, and thence into the land of Menzogna, where I found great plenty of our brethren and of friars of other religious orders, who all went about those parts, shunning unease for the love of God, recking little of others' travail, whenas they saw their own advantage to ensue, and spending none other money than such as was uncoined. Thence I passed into the land of the Abruzzi, where the men and women go in clogs over the mountains, clothing the swine in their own guts; and a little farther I found folk who carried bread on sticks and wine in bags. From this I came to the Mountains of the Bachi, where all the waters run down hill; and in brief, I made my way so far inward that I won at last even to India Pastinaca, where I swear to you, by the habit I wear on my back, that I saw hedge\u2013bills fly, a thing incredible to whoso hath not seen it. But of this Maso del Saggio will confirm me, whom I found there a great merchant, cracking walnuts and selling the shells by retail.\n\nBeing unable to find that which I went seeking, for that thence one goeth thither by water, I turned back and arrived in those holy countries, where, in summer\u2013years, cold bread is worth four farthings a loaf and the hot goeth for nothing. There I found the venerable father my lord Blamemenot Anitpleaseyou, the very worshipful Patriarch of Jerusalem, who, for reverence of the habit I have still worn of my lord Baron St. Anthony, would have me see all the holy relics that he had about him and which were so many that, an I sought to recount them all to you, I should not come to an end thereof in several miles. However, not to leave you disconsolate, I will tell you some thereof. First, he showed me the finger of the Holy Ghost, as whole and sound as ever it was, and the forelock of the seraph that appeared to St. Francis and one of the nails of the Cherubim and one of the ribs of the Verbum Caro Get\u2013thee\u2013to\u2013the\u2013windows and some of the vestments of the Holy Catholic Faith and divers rays of the star that appeared to the Three Wise Men in the East and a vial of the sweat of St. Michael, whenas he fought with the devil, and the jawbone of the death of St. Lazarus and others. And for that I made him a free gift of the Steeps of Monte Morello in the vernacular and of some chapters of the Caprezio, which he had long gone seeking, he made me a sharer in his holy relics and gave me one of the teeth of the Holy Rood and somewhat of the sound of the bells of Solomon's Temple in a vial and the feather of the Angel Gabriel, whereof I have already bespoken you, and one of the pattens of St. Gherardo da Villa Magna, which not long since at Florence I gave to Gherardo di Bonsi, who hath a particular devotion for that saint; and he gave me also of the coals wherewith the most blessed martyr St. Lawrence was roasted; all which things I devoutly brought home with me and yet have. True it is that my superior hath never suffered me to show them till such time as he should be certified if they were the very things or not. But now that, by certain miracles performed by them and by letters received from the patriarch, he hath been made certain of this, he hath granted me leave to show them; and I, fearing to trust them to others, still carry them with me.\n\nNow I carry the Angel Gabriel's feather, so it may not be marred, in one casket, and the coals wherewith St. Lawrence was roasted in another, the which are so like one to other, that it hath often happened to me to take one for the other, and so hath it betided me at this present, for that, thinking to bring hither the casket wherein was the feather, I have brought that wherein are the coals. The which I hold not to have been an error; nay, meseemeth certain that it was God's will and that He Himself placed the casket with the coals in my hands, especially now I mind me that the feast of St. Lawrence is but two days hence; wherefore God, willing that, by showing you the coals wherewith he was roasted, I should rekindle in your hearts the devotion it behoveth you have for him, caused me take, not the feather, as I purposed, but the blessed coals extinguished by the sweat of that most holy body. So, O my blessed children, put off your bonnets and draw near devoutly to behold them; but first I would have you knew that whoso is scored with these coals, in the form of the sign of the cross, may rest assured, for the whole year to come, that fire shall not touch him but he shall feel it.'\n\nHaving thus spoken, he opened the casket, chanting the while a canticle in praise of St. Lawrence, and showed the coals, which after the simple multitude had awhile beheld with reverent admiration, they all crowded about Fra Cipolla and making him better offerings than they were used, besought him to touch them withal. Accordingly, taking the coals in hand, he fell to making the biggest crosses for which he could find room upon their white smocks and doublets and upon the veils of the women, avouching that how much soever the coals diminished in making these crosses, they after grew again in the casket, as he had many a time proved. On this wise he crossed all the people of Certaldo, to his no small profit, and thus, by his ready wit and presence of mind, he baffled those who, by taking the feather from him, had thought to baffle him and who, being present at his preachment and hearing the rare shift employed by him and from how far he had taken it and with what words, had so laughed that they thought to have cracked their jaws. Then, after the common folk had departed, they went up to him and with all the mirth in the world discovered to him that which they had done and after restored him his feather, which next year stood him in as good stead as the coals had done that day.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "This story afforded unto all the company alike the utmost pleasure and solace, and it was much laughed of all at Fra Cipolla, and particularly of his pilgrimage and the relics seen and brought back by him. The queen, seeing the story and likewise her sovantry at an end, rose to her feet and put off the crown, which she set laughingly on Dioneo's head, saying, \"It is time, Dioneo, that thou prove awhile what manner charge it is to have ladies to govern and guide; be thou, then, king and rule on such wise that, in the end, we may have reason to give ourselves joy of thy governance.\" Dioneo took the crown and answered, laughing, \"You may often enough have seen much better kings than I, I mean chess\u2013kings; but, an you obey me as a king should in truth be obeyed, I will cause you enjoy that without which assuredly no entertainment is ever complete in its gladness. But let that talk be; I will rule as best I know.\"\n\nThen, sending for the seneschal, according to the wonted usance, he orderly enjoined him of that which he should do during the continuance of his seignory and after said, \"Noble ladies, it hath in divers manners been devised of human industry and of the various chances of fortune, insomuch that, had not Dame Licisca come hither a while agone and found me matter with her prate for our morrow's relations, I misdoubt me I should have been long at pains to find a subject of discourse. As you heard, she avouched that she had not a single gossip who had come to her husband a maid and added that she knew right well how many and what manner tricks married women yet played their husbands. But, letting be the first part, which is a childish matter, methinketh the second should be an agreeable subject for discourse; wherefore I will and ordain it that, since Licisca hath given us occasion therefor, it be discoursed to\u2013morrow OF THE TRICKS WHICH, OR FOR LOVE OR FOR THEIR OWN PRESERVATION, WOMEN HAVE HERETOFORE PLAYED THEIR HUSBANDS, WITH OR WITHOUT THE LATTER'S COGNIZANCE THEREOF.\"\n\nIt seemed to some of the ladies that to discourse of such a matter would ill beseem them and they prayed him, therefore, to change the theme proposed; wherefore answered he, \"Ladies, I am no less cognizant than yourselves of that which I have ordained, and that which you would fain allege to me availed not to deter me from ordaining it, considering that the times are such that, provided men and women are careful to eschew unseemly actions, all liberty of discourse is permitted. Know you not that, for the malignity of the season, the judges have forsaken the tribunals, that the laws, as well Divine as human, are silent and full licence is conceded unto every one for the preservation of his life? Wherefore, if your modesty allow itself some little freedom in discourse, not with intent to ensue it with aught of unseemly in deeds, but to afford yourselves and others diversion, I see not with what plausible reason any can blame you in the future. Moreover, your company, from the first day of our assembling until this present, hath been most decorous, nor, for aught that hath been said here, doth it appear to me that its honour hath anywise been sullied. Again, who is there knoweth not your virtue? Which, not to say mirthful discourse, but even fear of death I do not believe could avail to shake. And to tell you the truth, whosoever should hear that you shrank from devising bytimes of these toys would be apt to suspect that you were guilty in the matter and were therefore unwilling to discourse thereof. To say nothing of the fine honour you would do me in that, I having been obedient unto all, you now, having made me your king, seek to lay down the law to me, and not to discourse of the subject which I propose. Put off, then, this misdoubtance, apter to mean minds than to yours, and good luck to you, let each of you bethink herself of some goodly story to tell.\" When the ladies heard this, they said it should be as he pleased; whereupon he gave them all leave to do their several pleasures until supper\u2013time.\n\nThe sun was yet high, for that the discoursement had been brief; wherefor Dioneo having addressed himself to play at tables with the other young men, Elisa called the other ladies apart and said to them, \"Since we have been here, I have still wished to carry you to a place very near at hand, whither methinketh none of you hath ever been and which is called the Ladies' Valley, but have never yet found an occasion of bringing you thither unto to\u2013day; wherefore, as the sun is yet high, I doubt not but, an it please you come thither, you will be exceeding well pleased to have been there.\" They answered that they were ready and calling one of their maids, set out upon their way, without letting the young men know aught thereof; nor had they gone much more than a mile, when they came to the Ladies' Valley. They entered therein by a very strait way, on one side whereof ran a very clear streamlet, and saw it as fair and as delectable, especially at that season whenas the heat was great, as most might be conceived. According to that which one of them after told me, the plain that was in the valley was as round as if it had been traced with the compass, albeit it seemed the work of nature and not of art, and was in circuit a little more than half a mile, encompassed about with six little hills not over\u2013high, on the summit of each of which stood a palace builded in guise of a goodly castle. The sides of these hills went sloping gradually downward to the plain on such wise as we see in amphitheatres, the degrees descend in ordered succession from the highest to the lowest, still contracting their circuit; and of these slopes those which looked toward the south were all full of vines and olives and almonds and cherries and figs and many another kind of fruit\u2013bearing trees, without a span thereof being wasted; whilst those which faced the North Star were all covered with thickets of dwarf oaks and ashes and other trees as green and straight as might be. The middle plain, which had no other inlet than that whereby the ladies were come thither, was full of firs and cypresses and laurels and various sorts of pines, as well arrayed and ordered as if the best artist in that kind had planted them; and between these little or no sun, even at its highest, made its way to the ground, which was all one meadow of very fine grass, thick\u2013sown with flowers purpurine and others. Moreover, that which afforded no less delight than otherwhat was a little stream, which ran down from a valley that divided two of the hills aforesaid and falling over cliffs of live rock, made a murmur very delectable to hear, what while it showed from afar, as it broke over the stones, like so much quicksilver jetting out, under pressure of somewhat, into fine spray. As it came down into the little plain, it was there received into a fair channel and ran very swiftly into the middest thereof, where it formed a lakelet, such as the townsfolk made whiles, by way of fishpond, in their gardens, whenas they have a commodity thereof. This lakelet was no deeper than a man's stature, breast high, and its waters being exceeding clear and altogether untroubled with any admixture, it showed its bottom to be of a very fine gravel, the grains whereof whoso had nought else to do might, an he would, have availed to number; nor, looking into the water, was the bottom alone to be seen, nay, but so many fish fleeting hither and thither that, over and above the pleasure thereof, it was a marvel to behold; nor was it enclosed with other banks than the very soil of the meadow, which was the goodlier thereabout in so much as it received the more of its moisture. The water that abounded over and above the capacity of the lake was received into another channel, whereby, issuing forth of the little valley, it ran off into the lower parts.\n\nHither then came the young ladies and after they had gazed all about and much commended the place, they took counsel together to bathe, for that the heat was great and that they saw the lakelet before them and were in no fear of being seen. Accordingly, bidding their serving maid abide over against the way whereby one entered there and look if any should come and give them notice thereof, they stripped themselves naked, all seven, and entered the lake, which hid their white bodies no otherwise than as a thin glass would do with a vermeil rose. Then, they being therein and no troubling of the water ensuing thereof, they fell, as best they might, to faring hither and thither in pursuit of the fish, which had uneath where to hide themselves, and seeking to take them with the naked hand. After they had abidden awhile in such joyous pastime and had taken some of the fish, they came forth of the lakelet and clad themselves anew. Then, unable to commend the place more than they had already done and themseeming time to turn homeward, they set out, with soft step, upon their way, discoursing much of the goodliness of the valley.\n\nThey reached the palace betimes and there found the young men yet at play where they had left them; to whom quoth Pampinea, laughing. \"We have e'en stolen a march on you to\u2013day. \"How?\" asked Dioneo. \"Do you begin to do deeds ere you come to say words?\" \"Ay, my lord,\" answered she and related to him at large whence they came and how the place was fashioned and how far distant thence and that which they had done. The king, hearing tell of the goodliness of the place and desirous of seeing it, caused straightway order the supper, which being dispatched to the general satisfaction, the three young men, leaving the ladies, betook themselves with their servants to the valley and having viewed it in every part, for that none of them had ever been there before, extolled it for one of the goodliest things in the world. Then, for that it grew late, after they had bathed and donned their clothes, they returned home, where they found the ladies dancing a round, to the accompaniment of a song sung by Fiammetta.\n\nThe dance ended, they entered with them into a discourse of the Ladies' Valley and said much in praise and commendation thereof. Moreover, the king, sending for the seneschal, bade him look that the dinner be made ready there on the following morning and have sundry beds carried thither, in case any should have a mind to lie or sleep there for nooning; after which he let bring lights and wine and confections and the company having somedele refreshed themselves, he commanded that all should address themselves to dancing. Then, Pamfilo having, at his commandment, set up a dance, the king turned to Elisa and said courteously to her, \"Fair damsel, thou has to\u2013day done me the honour of the crown and I purpose this evening to do thee that of the song; wherefore look thou sing such an one as most liketh thee.\" Elisa answered, smiling, that she would well and with dulcet voice began on this wise:\n\n\u2002Love, from thy clutches could I but win free,\n\n\u2002Hardly, methinks, again\n\n\u2002Shall any other hook take hold on me.\n\n\u2002I entered in thy wars a youngling maid,\n\n\u2002Thinking thy strife was utmost peace and sweet,\n\n\u2002And all my weapons on the ground I laid,\n\n\u2002As one secure, undoubting of defeat;\n\n\u2002But thou, false tyrant, with rapacious heat,\n\n\u2002Didst fall on me amain\n\n\u2002With all the grapnels of thine armoury.\n\n\u2002Then, wound about and fettered with thy chains,\n\n\u2002To him, who for my death in evil hour\n\n\u2002Was born, thou gav'st me, bounden, full of pains\n\n\u2002And bitter tears; and syne within his power\n\n\u2002He hath me and his rule's so harsh and dour\n\n\u2002No sighs can move the swain\n\n\u2002Nor all my wasting plaints to set me free.\n\n\u2002My prayers, the wild winds bear them all away;\n\n\u2002He hearkeneth unto none and none will hear;\n\n\u2002Wherefore each hour my torment waxeth aye;\n\n\u2002I cannot die, albeit life irks me drear.\n\n\u2002Ah, Lord, have pity on my heavy cheer;\n\n\u2002Do that I seek in vain\n\n\u2002And give him bounden in thy chains to me.\n\n\u2002An this thou wilt not, at the least undo\n\n\u2002The bonds erewhen of hope that knitted were;\n\n\u2002Alack, O Lord, thereof to thee I sue,\n\n\u2002For, an thou do it, yet to waxen fair\n\n\u2002Again I trust, as was my use whilere,\n\n\u2002And being quit of pain\n\n\u2002Myself with white flowers and with red besee.\n\nElisa ended her song with a very plaintive sigh, and albeit all marvelled at the words thereof, yet was there none who might conceive what it was that caused her sing thus. But the king, who was in a merry mood, calling for Tindaro, bade him bring out his bagpipes, to the sound whereof he let dance many dances; after which, a great part of the night being now past, he bade each go sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Seventh",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE SEVENTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF DIONEO IS DISCOURSED OF THE TRICKS WHICH OR FOR LOVE OR FOR THEIR OWN PRESERVATION WOMEN HAVE HERETOFORE PLAYED THEIR HUSBANDS WITH OR WITHOUT THE LATTER'S COGNIZANCE THEREOF ]\n\nEvery star was already fled from the parts of the East, save only that which we style Lucifer and which shone yet in the whitening dawn, when the seneschal, arising, betook himself, with a great baggage\u2013train, to the Ladies' Valley, there to order everything, according to commandment had of his lord. The king, whom the noise of the packers and of the beasts had awakened, tarried not long after his departure to rise and being risen, caused arouse all the ladies and likewise the young men; nor had the rays of the sun yet well broken forth, when they all entered upon the road. Never yet had the nightingales and the other birds seemed to them to sing so blithely as they did that morning, what while, accompanied by their carols, they repaired to the Ladies' Valley, where they were received by many more, which seemed to them to make merry for their coming. There, going round about the place and reviewing it all anew, it appeared to them so much fairer than on the foregoing day as the season of the day was more sorted to its goodliness. Then, after they had broken their fast with good wine and confections, not to be behindhand with the birds in the matter of song, they fell a\u2013singing and the valley with them, still echoing those same songs which they did sing, whereto all the birds, as if they would not be outdone, added new and dulcet notes. Presently, the dinner\u2013hour being come and the tables spread hard by the fair lakelet under the thickset laurels and other goodly trees, they seated themselves there, as it pleased the king, and eating, watched the fish swim in vast shoals about the lake, which gave bytimes occasion for talk as well as observation. When they had made an end of dining and the meats and tables were removed, they fell anew to singing more blithely than ever; after which, beds having been spread in various places about the little valley and all enclosed about by the discreet seneschal with curtains and canopies of French serge, whoso would might with the king's permission, go sleep; whilst those who had no mind to sleep might at their will take pleasure of their other wonted pastimes. But, after awhile, all being now arisen and the hour come when they should assemble together for story\u2013telling, carpets were, at the king's commandment, spread upon the grass, not far from the place where they had eaten, and all having seated themselves thereon hard by the lake, the king bade Emilia begin; whereupon she blithely proceeded to speak, smiling, thus:"
            },
            {
                "title": "GIANNI LOTTERINGHI HEARETH KNOCK AT HIS DOOR BY NIGHT AND AWAKENETH HIS WIFE, WHO GIVETH HIM TO BELIEVE THAT IT IS A PHANTOM; WHEREUPON THEY GO TO EXORCISE IT WITH A CERTAIN ORISON AND THE KNOCKING CEASETH",
                "text": "\"My Lord, it had been very agreeable to me, were such your pleasure, that other than I should have given a beginning to so goodly a matter as is that whereof we are to speak; but, since it pleaseth you that I give all the other ladies assurance by my example, I will gladly do it. Moreover, dearest ladies, I will study to tell a thing that may be useful to you in time to come, for that, if you others are as fearful as I, and especially of phantoms, (though what manner of thing they may be God knoweth I know not, nor ever found I any woman who knew it, albeit all are alike adread of them,) you may, by noting well my story, learn a holy and goodly orison of great virtue for the conjuring them away, should they come to you.\"\n\nThere was once in Florence, in the quarter of San Brancazio, a wool\u2013comber called Gianni Lotteringhi, a man more fortunate in his craft than wise in other things, for that, savoring of the simpleton, he was very often made captain of the Laudsingers of Santa Maria Novella and had the governance of their confraternity, and he many a time had other little offices of the same kind, upon which he much valued himself. This betided him for that, being a man of substance, he gave many a good pittance to the clergy, who, getting of him often, this a pair of hose, that a gown and another a scapulary, taught him in return store of goodly orisons and gave him the paternoster in the vulgar tongue, the Song of Saint Alexis, the Lamentations of Saint Bernard, the Canticles of Madam Matilda and the like trumpery, all which he held very dear and kept very diligently for his soul's health. Now he had a very fair and lovesome lady to wife, by name Mistress Tessa, who was the daughter of Mannuccio dalla Cuculia and was exceeding discreet and well advised. She, knowing her husband's simplicity and being enamoured of Federigo di Neri Pegolotti, a brisk and handsome youth, and he of her, took order with a serving\u2013maid of hers that he should come speak with her at a very goodly country house which her husband had at Camerata, where she sojourned all the summer and whither Gianni came whiles to sup and sleep, returning in the morning to his shop and bytimes to his Laudsingers.\n\nFederigo, who desired this beyond measure, taking his opportunity, repaired thither on the day appointed him towards vespers and Gianni not coming thither that evening, supped and lay the night in all ease and delight with the lady, who, being in his arms, taught him that night a good half dozen of her husband's lauds. Then, neither she nor Federigo purposing that this should be the last, as it had been the first time of their foregathering, they took order together on this wise, so it should not be needful to send the maid for him each time, to wit, that every day, as he came and went to and from a place he had a little farther on, he should keep his eye on a vineyard that adjoined the house, where he would see an ass's skull set up on one of the vine poles, which whenas he saw with the muzzle turned towards Florence, he should without fail and in all assurance betake himself to her that evening after dark; and if he found the door shut he should knock softly thrice and she would open to him; but that, whenas he saw the ass's muzzle turned towards Fiesole, he should not come, for that Gianni would be there; and doing on this wise, they foregathered many a time.\n\nBut once, amongst other times, it chanced that, Federigo being one night to sup with Mistress Tessa and she having let cook two fat capons, Gianni, who was not expected there that night, came thither very late, whereat the lady was much chagrined and having supped with her husband on a piece of salt pork, which she had let boil apart, caused the maid wrap the two boiled capons in a white napkin and carry them, together with good store of new\u2013laid eggs and a flask of good wine, into a garden she had, whither she could go, without passing through the house, and where she was wont to sup whiles with her lover, bidding her lay them at the foot of a peach\u2013tree that grew beside a lawn there. But such was her trouble and annoy that she remembered not to bid the maid wait till Federigo should come and tell him that Gianni was there and that he should take the viands from the garden; wherefore, she and Gianni betaking themselves to bed and the maid likewise, it was not long before Federigo came to the door and knocked softly once. The door was so near to the bedchamber that Gianni heard it incontinent, as also did the lady; but she made a show of being asleep, so her husband might have no suspicion of her. After waiting a little, Federigo knocked a second time, whereupon Gianni, marvelling, nudged his wife somewhat and said, 'Tessa, hearest thou what I hear? Meseemeth there is a knocking at our door.'\n\nThe lady, who had heard it much better than he, made a show of awaking and said, 'Eh? How sayst thou?' 'I say,' answered Gianni, 'that meseemeth there is a knocking at our door.' 'Knocking!' cried she. 'Alack, Gianni mine, knowst thou not what it is? It is a phantom, that hath these last few nights given me the greatest fright that ever was, insomuch that, whenas I hear it, I put my head under the clothes and dare not bring it out again until it is broad day.' Quoth Gianni, 'Go to, wife; have no fear, if it be so; for I said the Te Lucis and the Intemerata and such and such other pious orisons, before we lay down, and crossed the bed from side to side, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, so that we have no need to fear, for that, what power soever it have, it cannot avail to harm us.'\n\nThe lady, fearing lest Federigo should perchance suspect otherwhat and be angered with her, determined at all hazards to arise and let him know that Gianni was there; wherefore quoth she to her husband, 'That is all very well; thou sayst thy words, thou; but, for my part, I shall never hold myself safe nor secure, except we exorcise it, since thou art here.' 'And how is it to be exorcised?' asked he; and she, 'I know full well how to exorcise it; for, the other day, when I went to the Pardon at Fiesole, a certain anchoress (the very holiest of creatures, Gianni mine, God only can say how holy she is,) seeing me thus fearful, taught me a pious and effectual orison and told me that she had made trial of it several times, ere she became a recluse, and that it had always availed her. God knoweth I should never have dared go alone to make proof of it; but, now that thou art here, I would have us go exorcise the phantom.'\n\nGianni answered that he would well and accordingly they both arose and went softly to the door, without which Federigo, who now began to misdoubt him of somewhat, was yet in waiting. When they came thither, the lady said to Gianni, 'Do thou spit, whenas I shall bid thee.' And he answered, 'Good.' Then she began the conjuration and said, 'Phantom, phantom that goest by night, with tail upright thou cam'st to us; now get thee gone with tail upright. Begone into the garden to the foot of the great peach tree; there shalt thou find an anointed twice\u2013anointed one and an hundred turds of my sitting hen; set thy mouth to the flagon and get thee gone again and do thou no hurt to my Gianni nor to me.' Then to her husband, 'Spit, Gianni,' quoth she, and he spat. Federigo, who heard all this from without and was now quit of jealousy, had, for all his vexation, so great a mind to laugh that he was like to burst, and when Gianni spat, he said under his breath 'Would it were thy teeth!'\n\nThe lady, having thrice conjured the phantom on this wise, returned to bed with her husband, whilst Federigo, who had not supped, looking to sup with her, and had right well apprehended the words of the conjuration, betook himself to the garden and finding the capons and wine and eggs at the foot of the great peach\u2013tree, carried them off to his house and there supped at his ease; and after, when he next foregathered with the lady, he had a hearty laugh with her anent the conjuration aforesaid. Some say indeed that the lady had actually turned the ass's skull towards Fiesole, but that a husbandman, passing through the vineyard, had given it a blow with a stick and caused it spin round and it had become turned towards Florence, wherefore Federigo, thinking himself summoned, had come thither, and that the lady had made the conjuration on this wise: 'Phantom, phantom, get thee gone in God's name; for it was not I turned the ass's head; but another it was, God put him to shame! and I am here with my Gianni in bed'; whereupon he went away and abode without supper or lodging. But a neighbour of mine, a very ancient lady, telleth me that, according to that which she heard, when a child, both the one and the other were true; but that the latter happened, not to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to one Gianni di Nello, who abode at Porta San Piero and was no less exquisite a ninny than the other. Wherefore, dear my ladies, it abideth at your election to take whether of the two orisons most pleaseth you, except you will have both. They have great virtue in such cases, as you have had proof in the story you have heard; get them, therefore, by heart and they may yet avail you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "PERONELLA HIDETH A LOVER OF HERS IN A VAT, UPON HER HUSBAND'S UNLOOKED FOR RETURN, AND HEARING FROM THE LATTER THAT HE HATH SOLD THE VAT, AVOUCHETH HERSELF TO HAVE SOLD IT TO ONE WHO IS PRESENTLY THEREWITHIN, TO SEE IF IT BE SOUND; WHEREUPON THE GALLANT, JUMPING OUT OF THE VAT, CAUSETH THE HUSBAND SCRAPE IT OUT FOR HIM AND AFTER CARRY IT HOME TO HIS HOUSE",
                "text": "Emilia's story was received with loud laughter and the conjuration commended of all as goodly and excellent; and this come to an end, the king bade Filostrato follow on, who accordingly began, \"Dearest ladies, so many are the tricks that men, and particularly husbands, play you, that, if some woman chance whiles to put a cheat upon her husband, you should not only be blithe that this hath happened and take pleasure in coming to know it or hearing it told of any, but should yourselves go telling it everywhere, so men may understand that, if they are knowing, women, on their part, are no less so! the which cannot be other than useful unto you, for that, when one knoweth that another is on the alert, he setteth himself not overlightly to cozen him. Who, then, can doubt but that which we shall say to\u2013day concerning this matter, coming to be known of men, may be exceeding effectual in restraining them from cozening you ladies, whenas they find that you likewise know how to cozen, an you will? I purpose, therefore, to tell you the trick which, on the spur of the moment, a young woman, albeit she was of mean condition, played her husband for her own preservation.\"\n\nIn Naples no great while agone there was a poor man who took to wife a fair and lovesome damsel called Peronella, and albeit he with his craft, which was that of a mason, and she by spinning, earned but a slender pittance, they ordered their life as best they might. It chanced one day that a young gallant of the neighbourhood saw this Peronella and she pleasing him mightily, he fell in love with her and importuned her one way and another till he became familiar with her and they took order with each other on this wise, so they might be together; to wit, seeing that her husband arose every morning betimes to go to work or to find work, they agreed that the young man should be whereas he might see him go out, and that, as soon as he was gone,\u2014the street where she abode, which was called Avorio, being very solitary,\u2014he should come to her house. On this wise they did many times; but one morning, the good man having gone out and Giannello Strignario (for so was the lover named) having entered the house and being with Peronella, it chanced that, after awhile, the husband returned home, whereas it was his wont to be abroad all day, and finding the door locked within, knocked and after fell a\u2013saying in himself, 'O my God, praised be Thou ever! For, though Thou hast made me poor, at least Thou hast comforted me with a good and honest damsel to wife. See how she locked the door within as soon as I was gone out, so none might enter to do her any annoy.'\n\nPeronella, knowing her husband by his way of knocking, said to her lover, 'Alack, Giannello mine, I am a dead woman! For here is my husband, whom God confound, come back and I know not what this meaneth, for never yet came he back hither at this hour; belike he saw thee whenas thou enteredst here. But, for the love of God, however the case may be, get thee into yonder vat, whilst I go open to him, and we shall see what is the meaning of his returning home so early this morning.' Accordingly, Giannello betook himself in all haste into the vat, whilst Peronella, going to the door, opened to her husband and said to him, with an angry air, 'What is to do now, that thou returnest home so soon this morning? Meseemeth thou hast a mind to do nought to\u2013day, that I see thee come back, tools in hand; and if thou do thus, on what are we to live? Whence shall we get bread? Thinkest thou I will suffer thee pawn my gown and my other poor clothes? I, who do nothing but spin day and night, till the flesh is come apart from my nails, so I may at the least have so much oil as will keep our lamp burning! Husband, husband, there is not a neighbour's wife of ours but marvelleth thereat and maketh mock of me for the pains I give myself and all that I endure; and thou, thou returnest home to me, with thy hands a\u2013dangle, whenas thou shouldst be at work.'\n\nSo saying, she fell a\u2013weeping and went on to say, 'Alack, woe is me, unhappy woman that I am! In what an ill hour was I born, at what an ill moment did I come hither! I who might have had a young man of such worth and would none of him, so I might come to this fellow here, who taketh no thought to her whom he hath brought home! Other women give themselves a good time with their lovers, for there is none I know but hath two and some three, and they enjoy themselves and show their husbands the moon for the sun. But I, wretch that I am! because I am good and occupy myself not with such toys, I suffer ill and ill hap. I know not why I do not take me a lover, as do other women. Understand well, husband mine, that had I a mind to do ill, I could soon enough find the wherewithal, for there be store of brisk young fellows who love me and wish me well and have sent to me, proffering money galore or dresses and jewels, at my choice; but my heart would never suffer me to do it, for that I was no mother's daughter of that ilk; and here thou comest home to me, whenas thou shouldst be at work.'\n\n'Good lack, wife,' answered the husband, 'fret not thyself, for God's sake; thou shouldst be assured that I know what manner of woman thou art, and indeed this morning I have in part had proof thereof. It is true that I went out to go to work; but it seemeth thou knowest not, as I myself knew not, that this is the Feast\u2013day of San Galeone and there is no work doing; that is why I am come back at this hour; but none the less I have provided and found a means how we shall have bread for more than a month, for I have sold yonder man thou seest here with me the vat which, as thou knowest, hath this long while cumbered the house; and he is to give me five lily\u2013florins for it.' Quoth Peronella, 'So much the more cause have I to complain; thou, who art a man and goest about and should be versed in the things of the world, thou hast sold a vat for five florins, whilst I, a poor silly woman who hath scarce ever been without the door, seeing the hindrance it gave us in the house, have sold it for seven to an honest man, who entered it but now, as thou camest back, to see if it were sound!' When the husband heard this, he was more than satisfied and said to him who had come for the vat, 'Good man, begone in peace; for thou hearest that my wife hath sold the vat for seven florins, whereas thou wast to give me but five for it.' 'Good,' replied the other and went his way; whereupon quoth Peronella to her husband, 'Since thou art here, come up and settle with him thyself.' Giannello, who abode with his ears pricked up to hear if it behoved him fear or be on his guard against aught, hearing his mistress's words, straightway scrambled out of the vat and cried out, as if he had heard nothing of the husband's return, 'Where art thou, good wife?' whereupon the goodman, coming up, answered, 'Here am I; what wouldst thou have?' 'Who art thou?' asked Giannello. 'I want the woman with whom I made the bargain for this vat.' Quoth the other, 'You may deal with me in all assurance, for I am her husband.' Then said Giannello, 'The vat appeareth to me sound enough; but meseemeth you have kept dregs or the like therein, for it is all overcrusted with I know not what that is so hard and dry that I cannot remove aught thereof with my nails; wherefore I will not take it, except I first see it clean.' 'Nay,' answered Peronella, 'the bargain shall not fall through for that; my husband will clean it all out.' 'Ay will I,' rejoined the latter, and laying down his tools, put off his coat; then, calling for a light and a scraper, he entered the vat and fell to scraping. Peronella, as if she had a mind to see what he did, thrust her head and one of her arms, shoulder and all, in at the mouth of the vat, which was not overbig, and fell to saying, 'Scrape here' and 'There' and 'There also' and 'See, here is a little left.'\n\nWhilst she was thus engaged in directing her husband and showing him where to scrape, Giannello, who had scarce yet that morning done his full desire, when they were interrupted by the mason's coming, seeing that he could not as he would, bethought himself to accomplish it as he might; wherefore, boarding her, as she held the mouth of the vat all closed up, on such wise as in the ample plains the unbridled stallions, afire with love, assail the mares of Parthia, he satisfied his juvenile ardour, the which enterprise was brought to perfection well nigh at the same moment as the scraping of the vat; whereupon he dismounted and Peronella withdrawing her head from the mouth of the vat, the husband came forth thereof. Then said she to her gallant, 'Take this light, good man, and look if it be clean to thy mind.' Giannello looked in and said that it was well and that he was satisfied and giving the husband seven florins, caused carry the vat to his own house.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "FRA RINALDO LIETH WITH HIS GOSSIP AND BEING FOUND OF HER HUSBAND CLOSETED WITH HER IN HER CHAMBER, THEY GIVE HIM TO BELIEVE THAT HE WAS IN ACT TO CONJURE WORMS FROM HIS GODSON",
                "text": "Filostrato had not known to speak so obscurely of the mares of Parthia but that the roguish ladies laughed thereat, making believe to laugh at otherwhat. But, when the king saw that his story was ended, he bade Elisa tell, who accordingly, with obedient readiness, began, \"Charming ladies, Emilia's conjuration of the phantom hath brought to my memory the story of another conjuration, which latter, though it be not so goodly as hers, nevertheless, for that none other bearing upon our subject occurreth to me at this present, I will proceed to relate.\"\n\nYou must know that there was once in Siena a very agreeable young man and of a worshipful family, by name Rinaldo, who was passionately enamored of a very beautiful lady, a neighbour of his and the wife of a rich man, and flattered himself that, could he but find means to speak with her unsuspected, he might avail to have of her all that he should desire. Seeing none other way and the lady being great with child, he bethought himself to become her gossip and accordingly, clapping up an acquaintance with her husband, he offered him, on such wise as appeared to him most seemly, to be godfather to his child. His offer was accepted and he being now become Madam Agnesa's gossip and having a somewhat more colourable excuse for speaking with her, he took courage and gave her in so many words to know that of his intent which she had indeed long before gathered from his looks; but little did this profit him, although the lady was nothing displeased to have heard him.\n\nNot long after, whatever might have been the reason, it came to pass that Rinaldo turned friar and whether or not he found the pasturage to his liking, he persevered in that way of life; and albeit, in the days of his becoming a monk, he had for awhile laid on one side the love he bore his gossip, together with sundry other vanities of his, yet, in process of time, without quitting the monk's habit, he resumed them and began to delight in making a show and wearing fine stuffs and being dainty and elegant in all his fashions and making canzonets and sonnets and ballads and in singing and all manner other things of the like sort. But what say I of our Fra Rinaldo, of whom we speak? What monks are there that do not thus? Alack, shame that they are of the corrupt world, they blush not to appear fat and ruddy in the face, dainty in their garb and in all that pertaineth unto them, and strut along, not like doves, but like very turkey\u2013cocks, with crest erect and breast puffed out; and what is worse (to say nothing of having their cells full of gallipots crammed with electuaries and unguents, of boxes full of various confections, of phials and flagons of distilled waters and oils, of pitchers brimming with Malmsey and Cyprus and other wines of price, insomuch that they seem to the beholder not friars' cells, but rather apothecaries' or perfumers' shops) they think no shame that folk should know them to be gouty, conceiving that others see not nor know that strict fasting, coarse viands and spare and sober living make men lean and slender and for the most part sound of body, and that if indeed some sicken thereof, at least they sicken not of the gout, whereto it is used to give, for medicine, chastity and everything else that pertaineth to the natural way of living of an honest friar. Yet they persuade themselves that others know not that,\u2014let alone the scant and sober living,\u2014long vigils, praying and discipline should make men pale and mortified and that neither St. Dominic nor St. Francis, far from having four gowns for one, clad themselves in cloth dyed in grain nor in other fine stuffs, but in garments of coarse wool and undyed, to keep out the cold and not to make a show. For which things, as well as for the souls of the simpletons who nourish them, there is need that God provide.\n\nFra Rinaldo, then, having returned to his former appetites, began to pay frequent visits to his gossip and waxing in assurance, proceeded to solicit her with more than his former instancy to that which he desired of her. The good lady, seeing herself hard pressed and Fra Rinaldo seeming to her belike goodlier than she had thought him aforetime, being one day sore importuned of him, had recourse to that argument which all women use who have a mind to yield that which is asked of them and said, 'How now, Fra Rinaldo? Do monks such things?' 'Madam,' answered he, 'when as I shall have this gown off my back,\u2014and I can put it off mighty easily,\u2014I shall appear to you a man fashioned like other men and not a monk.' The lady pulled a demure face and said, 'Alack, wretched me! You are my gossip; how can I do this? It were sadly ill, and I have heard many a time that it is a very great sin; but, certes, were it not for this, I would do that which you wish.' Quoth Fra Rinaldo, 'You are a simpleton, if you forbear for this; I do not say that it is not a sin, but God pardoneth greater than this to whoso repenteth. But tell me, who is more akin to your child, I who held him at baptism or your husband who begat him?' 'My husband is more akin to him,' answered the lady; whereupon, 'You say sooth,' rejoined the friar. 'And doth not your husband lie with you?' 'Ay doth he,' replied she. 'Then,' said Fra Rinaldo, 'I, who am less akin to your child than is your husband, may lie with you even as doth he.' The lady, who knew no logic and needed little persuasion, either believed or made a show of believing that the friar spoke the truth and answered, 'Who might avail to answer your learned words?' And after, notwithstanding the gossipship, she resigned herself to do his pleasure; nor did they content themselves with one bout, but foregathered many and many a time, having the more commodity thereof under cover of the gossipship, for that there was less suspicion.\n\nBut once, amongst other times, it befell that Fra Rinaldo, coming to the lady's house and finding none with her but a little maid of hers, who was very pretty and agreeable, despatched his comrade with the latter to the pigeon\u2013loft, to teach her her Paternoster, and entered with the lady, who had her child in her hand, into her bedchamber, where they locked themselves in and fell to taking their pleasure upon a daybed that was there. As they were thus engaged, it chanced that the husband came home and making for the bedchamber\u2013door, unperceived of any, knocked and called to the lady, who, hearing this, said to the friar, 'I am a dead woman, for here is my husband, and now he will certainly perceive what is the reason of our familiarity.' Now Rinaldo was stripped to his waistcoat, to wit, he had put off his gown and his scapulary, and hearing this, answered, 'You say sooth; were I but dressed, there might be some means; but, if you open to him and he find me thus, there can be no excuse for us.' The lady, seized with a sudden idea, said, 'Harkye, dress yourself and when you are dressed, take your godchild in your arms and hearken well to that which I shall say to him, so your words may after accord with mine, and leave me do.' Then, to the good man, who had not yet left knocking, 'I come to thee,' quoth she and rising, opened the chamber\u2013door and said, with a good countenance, 'Husband mine, I must tell thee that Fra Rinaldo, our gossip, is come hither and it was God sent him to us; for, certes, but for his coming, we should to\u2013day have lost our child.'\n\nThe good simple man, hearing this, was like to swoon and said, 'How so?' 'O husband mine,' answered Agnesa, 'there took him but now of a sudden a fainting\u2013fit, that methought he was dead, and I knew not what to do or say; but just then Fra Rinaldo our gossip came in and taking him in his arms, said, \"Gossip, these be worms he hath in his body, the which draw near to his heart and would infallibly kill him; but have no fear, for I will conjure them and make them all die; and ere I go hence, you shall see the child whole again as ever you saw him.\" And for that we had need of thee to repeat certain orisons and that the maid could not find thee, he caused his comrade say them in the highest room of our house, whilst he and I came hither and locked ourselves in, so none should hinder us, for that none other than the child's mother might be present at such an office. Indeed, he hath the child yet in his arms and methinketh he waiteth but for his comrade to have made an end of saying the orisons and it will be done, for that the boy is already altogether restored to himself.' The good simple man, believing all this, was so straitened with concern for his child that it never entered his mind to suspect the cheat put upon him by his wife; but, heaving a great sigh, he said, 'I will go see him.' 'Nay,' answered she, 'thou wouldst mar that which hath been done. Wait; I will go see an thou mayst come in and call thee.'\n\nMeanwhile, Fra Rinaldo, who had heard everything and had dressed himself at his leisure, took the child in his arms and called out, as soon as he had ordered matters to his mind, saying, 'Harkye, gossip, hear I not my gossip your husband there?' 'Ay, sir,' answered the simpleton; whereupon, 'Then,' said the other, 'come hither.' The cuckold went to him and Fra Rinaldo said to him, 'Take your son by the grace of God whole and well, whereas I deemed but now you would not see him alive at vespers; and look you let make a waxen image of his bigness and set it up, to the praise and glory of God, before the statue of our lord St. Ambrose, through whose intercession He hath vouchsafed to restore him unto you.' The child, seeing his father, ran to him and caressed him, as little children used to do, whilst the latter, taking him, weeping, in his arms, no otherwise than as he had brought him forth of the grave, fell to kissing him and returning thanks to his gossip for that he had made him whole.\n\nMeanwhile, Fra Rinaldo's comrade, who had by this taught the serving\u2013wench not one, but maybe more than four paternosters, and had given her a little purse of white thread, which he had from a nun, and made her his devotee, hearing the cuckold call at his wife's chamber\u2013door, had softly betaken himself to a place whence he could, himself unseen, both see and hear what should betide and presently, seeing that all had passed off well, came down and entering the chamber, said, 'Fra Rinaldo, I have despatched all four of the orisons which you bade me say.' 'Brother mine,' answered the friar, 'thou hast a good wind and hast done well; I, for my part, had said but two thereof, when my gossip came; but God the Lord, what with thy pains and mine, hath shown us such favour that the child is healed.' Therewithal the cuckold let bring good wines and confections and entertained his gossip and the latter's comrade with that whereof they had more need than of aught else. Then, attending them to the door, he commended them to God and letting make the waxen image without delay, he sent to hang it up with the others before the statue of St. Ambrose, but not that of Milan.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TOFANO ONE NIGHT SHUTTETH HIS WIFE OUT OF DOORS, WHO, AVAILING NOT TO RE\u2013ENTER BY DINT OF ENTREATIES, FEIGNETH TO CAST HERSELF INTO A WELL AND CASTETH THEREIN A GREAT STONE. TOFANO COMETH FORTH OF THE HOUSE AND RUNNETH THITHER, WHEREUPON SHE SLIPPETH IN AND LOCKING HIM OUT, BAWLETH REPROACHES AT HIM FROM THE WINDOW",
                "text": "The king no sooner perceived Elisa's story to be ended than, turning without delay to Lauretta, he signified to her his pleasure that she should tell; whereupon she, without hesitation, began thus, \"O Love, how great and how various is thy might! How many thy resources and thy devices! What philosopher, what craftsman could ever have availed or might avail to teach those shifts, those feints, those subterfuges which thou on the spur of the moment suggestest to whoso ensueth in thy traces! Certes, all others' teaching is halting compared with thine, as may very well have been apprehended by the devices which have already been set forth and to which, lovesome ladies, I will add one practised by a woman of a simple wit enough and such as I know none but Love could have taught her.\"\n\nThere was once, then, in Arezzo, a rich man called Tofano and he was given to wife a very fair lady, by name Madam Ghita, of whom, without knowing why, he quickly waxed jealous. The lady, becoming aware of this, was despited thereat and questioned him once and again of the reason of his jealousy; but he was able to assign her none, save such as were general and naught; wherefore it occurred to her mind to cause him die of the disease whereof he stood without reason in fear. Accordingly, perceiving that a young man, who was much to her taste, sighed for her, she proceeded discreetly to come to an understanding with him and things being so far advanced between them that there lacked but with deeds to give effect to words, she cast about for a means of bringing this also to pass; wherefore, having already remarked, amongst her husband's other ill usances, that he delighted in drinking, she began not only to commend this to him, but would often artfully incite him thereto. This became so much his wont that, well nigh whensoever it pleased her, she led him to drink even to intoxication, and putting him to bed whenas she saw him well drunken, she a first time foregathered with her lover, with whom many a time thereafter she continued to do so in all security. Indeed, she grew to put such trust in her husband's drunkenness that not only did she make bold to bring her gallant into the house, but went whiles to pass a great part of the night with him in his own house, which was not very far distant.\n\nThe enamoured lady continuing on this wise, it befell that the wretched husband came to perceive that she, whilst encouraging him to drink, natheless herself drank never; wherefore suspicion took him that it might be as in truth it was, to wit, that she made him drunken, so she might after do her pleasure what while he slept, and wishing to make proof of this, an it were so, he one evening, not having drunken that day, feigned himself, both in words and fashions, the drunkenest man that was aye. The lady, believing this and judging that he needed no more drink, put him to bed in all haste and this done, betook herself, as she was used to do whiles, to the house of her lover, where she abode till midnight. As for Tofano, no sooner did he know the lady to have left the house than he straightway arose and going to the doors, locked them from within; after which he posted himself at the window, so he might see her return and show her that he had gotten wind of her fashions; and there he abode till such time as she came back. The lady, returning home and finding herself locked out, was beyond measure woeful and began to essay an she might avail to open the door by force, which, after Tofano had awhile suffered, 'Wife,' quoth he, 'thou weariest thyself in vain, for thou canst nowise come in here again. Go, get thee back whereas thou hast been till now and be assured that thou shalt never return thither till such time as I shall have done thee, in respect of this affair, such honour as beseemeth thee in the presence of thy kinsfolk and of the neighbours.'\n\nThe lady fell to beseeching him for the love of God that it would please him open to her, for that she came not whence he supposed, but from keeping vigil with a she\u2013neighbour of hers, for that the nights were long and she could not sleep them all out nor watch at home alone. However, prayers profited her nought, for that her brute of a husband was minded to have all the Aretines know their shame, whereas none as yet knew it; wherefore, seeing that prayers availed her not, she had recourse to threats and said, 'An thou open not to me, I will make thee the woefullest man alive.' 'And what canst thou do to me?' asked Tofano, and Mistress Tessa, whose wits Love had already whetted with his counsels, replied, 'Rather than brook the shame which thou wouldst wrongfully cause me suffer, I will cast myself into this well that is herenigh, where when I am found dead, there is none will believe otherwise than that thou, for very drunkenness, hast cast me therein; wherefore it will behove thee flee and lose all thou hast and abide in banishment or have thy head cut off for my murderer, as thou wilt in truth have been.'\n\nTofano was nowise moved by these words from his besotted intent; wherefore quoth she to him, 'Harkye now, I can no longer brook this thy fashery, God pardon it thee! Look thou cause lay up this distaff of mine that I leave here.' So saying, the night being so dark that one might scarce see other by the way, she went up to the well and taking a great stone that lay thereby, cried out, 'God pardon me!' and let it drop into the water. The stone, striking the water, made a very great noise, which when Tofano heard, he verily believed that she had cast herself in; wherefore, snatching up the bucket and the rope, he rushed out of the house and ran to the well to succour her. The lady, who had hidden herself near the door, no sooner saw him run to the well than she slipped into the house and locked herself in; then, getting her to the window, 'You should water your wine, whenas you drink it,' quoth she, 'and not after and by night.' Tofano, hearing this, knew himself to have been fooled and returned to the door, but could get no admission and proceeded to bid her open to him; but she left speaking softly, as she had done till then, and began, well nigh at a scream, to say, 'By Christ His Cross, tiresome sot that thou art, thou shalt not enter here to\u2013night; I cannot brook these thy fashions any longer; needs must I let every one see what manner of man thou art and at what hour thou comest home anights.' Tofano, on his side, flying into a rage, began to rail at her and bawl; whereupon the neighbours, hearing the clamour, arose, both men and women, and coming to the windows, asked what was to do. The lady answered, weeping, 'It is this wretch of a man, who still returneth to me of an evening, drunken, or falleth asleep about the taverns and after cometh home at this hour; the which I have long suffered, but, it availing me not and I being unable to put up with it longer, I have bethought me to shame him therefor by locking him out of doors, to see and he will mend himself thereof.'\n\nTofano, on the other hand, told them, like an ass as he was, how the case stood and threatened her sore; but she said to the neighbours, 'Look you now what a man he is! What would you say, were I in the street, as he is, and he in the house, as am I? By God His faith, I doubt me you would believe he said sooth. By this you may judge of his wits; he saith I have done just what methinketh he hath himself done. He thought to fear me by casting I know not what into the well; but would God he had cast himself there in good sooth and drowned himself, so he might have well watered the wine which he hath drunken to excess.' The neighbours, both men and women, all fell to blaming Tofano, holding him at fault, and chid him for that which he said against the lady; and in a short time the report was so noised abroad from neighbour to neighbour that it reached the ears of the lady's kinsfolk, who came thither and hearing the thing from one and another of the neighbours, took Tofano and gave him such a drubbing that they broke every bone in his body. Then, entering the house, they took the lady's gear and carried her off home with them, threatening Tofano with worse. The latter, finding himself in ill case and seeing that his jealousy had brought him to a sorry pass, for that he still loved his wife heartily, procured certain friends to intercede for him and so wrought that he made his peace with the lady and had her home again with him, promising her that he would never be jealous again. Moreover, he gave her leave to do her every pleasure, provided she wrought so discreetly that he should know nothing thereof; and on this wise, like a crack\u2013brained churl as he was, he made peace after suffering damage. So long live Love and death to war and all its company!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A JEALOUS HUSBAND, IN THE GUISE OF A PRIEST, CONFESSETH HIS WIFE, WHO GIVETH HIM TO BELIEVE THAT SHE LOVETH A PRIEST, WHO COMETH TO HER EVERY NIGHT; AND WHILST THE HUSBAND SECRETLY KEEPETH WATCH AT THE DOOR FOR THE LATTER, THE LADY BRINGETH IN A LOVER OF HERS BY THE ROOF AND LIETH WITH HIM",
                "text": "Lauretta having made an end of her story and all having commended the lady for that she had done aright and even as befitted her wretch of a husband, the king, to lose no time, turned to Fiammetta and courteously imposed on her the burden of the story\u2013telling; whereupon she began thus, \"Most noble ladies, the foregoing story moveth me to tell you, on like wise, of a jealous husband, accounting, as I do, all that their wives do unto such,\u2014particularly whenas they are jealous without cause,\u2014to be well done and holding that, if the makers of the laws had considered everything, they should have appointed none other penalty unto women who offend in this than that which they appoint unto whoso offendeth against other in self\u2013defence; for that jealous men are plotters against the lives of young women and most diligent procurers of their deaths. Wives abide all the week mewed up at home, occupying themselves with domestic offices and the occasions of their families and households, and after they would fain, like every one else, have some solace and some rest on holidays and be at leisure to take some diversion even as do the tillers of the fields, the artisans of the towns and the administrators of the laws, according to the example of God himself, who rested from all His labours the seventh day, and to the intent of the laws, both human and Divine, which, looking to the honour of God and the common weal of all, have distinguished working days from those of repose. But to this jealous men will on no wise consent; nay, those days which are gladsome for all other women they make wretcheder and more doleful than the others to their wives, keeping them yet closelier straitened and confined; and what a misery and a languishment this is for the poor creatures those only know who have proved it. Wherefore, to conclude, I say that what a woman doth to a husband who is jealous without cause should certes not be condemned, but rather commended.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Arimino a merchant, very rich both in lands and monies, who, having to wife a very fair lady, became beyond measure jealous of her; nor had he other cause for this save that, as he loved her exceedingly and held her very fair and saw that she studied with all her might to please him, even so he imagined that every man loved her and that she appeared fair to all and eke that she studied to please others as she did himself, which was the reasoning of a man of nought and one of little sense. Being grown thus jealous, he kept such strict watch over her and held her in such constraint that belike many there be of those who are condemned to capital punishment who are less straitly guarded of their gaolers; for, far from being at liberty to go to weddings or entertainments or to church or indeed anywise to set foot without the house, she dared not even stand at the window nor look abroad on any occasion; wherefore her life was most wretched and she brooked this annoy with the more impatience as she felt herself the less to blame. Accordingly, seeing herself unjustly suspected of her husband, she determined, for her own solacement, to find a means (an she but might) of doing on such wise that he should have reason for his ill usage of her. And for that she might not station herself at the window and so had no opportunity of showing herself favourable to the suit of any one who might take note of her, as he passed along her street, and pay his court to her,\u2014knowing that in the adjoining house there was a certain young man both handsome and agreeable,\u2014she bethought herself to look if there were any hole in the wall that parted the two houses and therethrough to spy once and again till such time as she should see the youth aforesaid and find an occasion of speaking with him and bestowing on him her love, so he would accept thereof, purposing, if a means could be found, to foregather with him bytimes and on this wise while away her sorry life till such time as the demon of jealousy should take leave of her husband.\n\nAccordingly, she went spying about the walls of the house, now in one part and now in another, whenas her husband was abroad, and happened at last upon a very privy place where the wall was somewhat opened by a fissure and looking therethrough, albeit she could ill discover what was on the other side, algates she perceived that the opening gave upon a bedchamber there and said in herself, 'Should this be the chamber of Filippo,' to wit, the youth her neighbour, 'I were half sped.' Then, causing secretly enquire of this by a maid of hers, who had pity upon her, she found that the young man did indeed sleep in that chamber all alone; wherefore, by dint of often visiting the crevice and dropping pebbles and such small matters, whenas she perceived him to be there, she wrought on such wise that he came to the opening, to see what was to do; whereupon she called to him softly. He, knowing her voice, answered her, and she, profiting by the occasion, discovered to him in brief all her mind; whereat the youth was mightily content and made shift to enlarge the hole from his side on such wise that none could perceive it; and therethrough they many a time bespoke one another and touched hands, but could go no farther, for the jealous vigilance of the husband.\n\nAfter awhile, the Feast of the Nativity drawing near, the lady told her husband that, an it pleased him, she would fain go to church on Christmas morning and confess and take the sacrament, as other Christians did. Quoth he, 'And what sin hast thou committed that thou wouldst confess?' 'How?' answered the lady. 'Thinkest thou that I am a saint, because thou keepest me mewed up? Thou must know well enough that I commit sins like all others that live in this world; but I will not tell them to thee, for that thou art not a priest.' The jealous wretch took suspicion at these words and determined to seek to know what sins she had committed; wherefore, having bethought himself of a means whereby he might gain his end, he answered that he was content, but that he would have her go to no other church than their parish chapel and that thither she must go betimes in the morning and confess herself either to their chaplain or to such priest as the latter should appoint her and to none other and presently return home. Herseemed she half apprehended his meaning; but without saying otherwhat, she answered that she would do as he said.\n\nAccordingly, Christmas Day come, the lady arose at daybreak and attiring herself, repaired to the church appointed her of her husband, who, on his part, betook himself to the same place and reached it before her. Having already taken order with the chaplain of that which he had a mind to do, he hastily donned one of the latter's gowns, with a great flapped cowl, such as we see priests wear, and drawing the hood a little over his face, seated himself in the choir. The lady, entering the chapel, enquired for the chaplain, who came and hearing from her that she would fain confess, said that he could not hear her, but would send her one of his brethren. Accordingly, going away, he sent her the jealous man, in an ill hour for the latter, who came up with a very grave air, and albeit the day was not over bright and he had drawn the cowl far over his eyes, knew not so well to disguise himself but he was readily recognized by the lady, who, seeing this, said in herself, 'Praised be God! From a jealous man he is turned priest; but no matter; I will e'en give him what he goeth seeking.'\n\nAccordingly, feigning not to know him, she seated herself at his feet. My lord Jealousy had put some pebbles in his mouth, to impede his speech somewhat, so his wife might not know him by his voice, himseeming he was in every other particular so thoroughly disguised that he was nowise fearful of being recognized by her. To come to the confession, the lady told him, amongst other things, (having first declared herself to be married,) that she was enamoured of a priest, who came every night to lie with her. When the jealous man heard this, himseemed he had gotten a knife\u2013thrust in the heart, and had not desire constrained him to know more, he had abandoned the confession and gone away. Standing fast, then, he asked the lady, 'How! Doth not your husband lie with you?' 'Ay doth he, sir,' replied she. 'How, then,' asked the jealous man, 'can the priest also lie with you?' 'Sir,' answered she, 'by what art he doth it I know not, but there is not a door in the house so fast locked but it openeth so soon as he toucheth it; and he telleth me that, whenas he cometh to the door of my chamber, before opening it, he pronounceth certain words, by virtue whereof my husband incontinent falleth asleep, and so soon as he perceiveth him to be fast, he openeth the door and cometh in and lieth with me; and this never faileth.' Quoth the mock priest, 'Madam, this is ill done, and it behoveth you altogether to refrain therefrom.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'methinketh I could never do that, for that I love him too well.' 'Then,' said the other, 'I cannot shrive you.' Quoth she, 'I am grieved for that; but I came not hither to tell you lies; an I thought I could do it, I would tell you so.' 'In truth, madam,' replied the husband, 'I am concerned for you, for that I see you lose your soul at this game; but, to do you service, I will well to take the pains of putting up my special orisons to God in your name, the which maybe shall profit you, and I will send you bytimes a little clerk of mine, to whom you shall say if they have profited you or not; and if they have profited you, we will proceed farther.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'whatever you do, send none to me at home, for, should my husband come to know of it, he is so terribly jealous that nothing in the world would get it out of his head that your messenger came hither for nought but ill, and I should have no peace with him this year to come.' Quoth the other, 'Madam, have no fear of that, for I will certainly contrive it on such wise that you shall never hear a word of the matter from him.' Then said she, 'So but you can engage to do that, I am content.' Then, having made her confession and gotten her penance, she rose to her feet and went off to hear mass; whilst the jealous man, (ill luck go with him!) withdrew, bursting with rage, to put off his priest's habit, and returned home, impatient to find a means of surprising the priest with his wife, so he might play the one and the other an ill turn.\n\nPresently the lady came back from church and saw plainly enough from her husband's looks that she had given him an ill Christmas; albeit he studied, as most he might, to conceal that which he had done and what himseemed he had learned. Then, being inwardly resolved to lie in wait near the street\u2013door that night and watch for the priest's coming, he said to the lady, 'Needs must I sup and lie abroad to\u2013night, wherefore look thou lock the street\u2013door fast, as well as that of the midstair and that of thy chamber, and get thee to bed, whenas it seemeth good to thee.' The lady answered, 'It is well,' and betaking herself, as soon as she had leisure, to the hole in the wall, she made the wonted signal, which when Filippo heard, he came to her forthright. She told him how she had done that morning and what her husband had said to her after dinner and added, 'I am certain he will not leave the house, but will set himself to watch the door; wherefore do thou find means to come hither to me to\u2013night by the roof, so we may lie together.' The young man was mightily rejoiced at this and answered, 'Madam, leave me do.'\n\nAccordingly, the night come, the jealous man took his arms and hid himself by stealth in a room on the ground floor, whilst the lady, whenas it seemed to her time,\u2014having caused lock all the doors and in particular that of the midstair, so he might not avail to come up,\u2014summoned the young man, who came to her from his side by a very privy way. Thereupon they went to bed and gave themselves a good time, taking their pleasure one of the other till daybreak, when the young man returned to his own house. Meanwhile, the jealous man stood to his arms well nigh all night beside the street\u2013door, sorry and supperless and dying of cold, and waited for the priest to come till near upon day, when, unable to watch any longer, he returned to the ground floor room and there fell asleep. Towards tierce he awoke and the street door being now open, he made a show of returning from otherwhere and went up into his house and dined. A little after, he sent a lad, as he were the priest's clerkling that had confessed her, to the lady to ask if she wot of were come thither again. She knew the messenger well enough and answered that he had not come thither that night and that if he did thus, he might haply pass out of her mind, albeit she wished it not. What more should I tell you? The jealous man abode on the watch night after night, looking to catch the priest at his entering in, and the lady still had a merry life with her lover the while.\n\nAt length the cuckold, able to contain himself no longer, asked his wife, with an angry air, what she had said to the priest the morning she had confessed herself to him. She answered that she would not tell him, for that it was neither a just thing nor a seemly; whereupon, 'Vile woman that thou art!' cried he. 'In despite of thee I know what thou saidst to him, and needs must I know the priest of whom thou art so mightily enamoured and who, by means of his conjurations, lieth with thee every night; else will I slit thy weasand.' She replied that it was not true that she was enamoured of any priest. 'How?' cried the husband, 'Saidst thou not thus and thus to the priest who confessed thee?' And she, 'Thou couldst not have reported it better, not to say if he had told it thee, but if thou hadst been present; ay, I did tell him this.' 'Then,' rejoined the jealous man, 'tell me who is this priest, and that quickly.'\n\nThe lady fell a\u2013smiling and answered, 'It rejoiceth me mightily to see a wise man led by the nose by a woman, even as one leadeth a ram by the horns to the shambles, albeit thou art no longer wise nor hast been since the hour when, unknowing why, thou sufferedst the malignant spirit of jealousy to enter thy breast; and the sillier and more besotted thou art, so much the less is my glory thereof. Deemest thou, husband mine, I am as blind of the eyes of the body as thou of those of the mind? Certes, no; I perceived at first sight who was the priest that confessed me and know that thou wast he; but I had it at heart to give thee that which thou wentest seeking, and in sooth I have done it. Wert thou as wise as thou thinkest to be, thou wouldst not have essayed by this means to learn the secrets of thy good wife, but wouldst, without taking vain suspicion, have recognized that which she confessed to thee to be the very truth, without her having sinned in aught. I told thee that I loved a priest, and wast not thou, whom I am much to blame to love as I do, become a priest? I told thee that no door of my house could abide locked, whenas he had a mind to lie with me; and what door in the house was ever kept against thee, whenas thou wouldst come whereas I might be? I told thee that the priest lay with me every night, and when was it that thou layest not with me? And whenassoever thou sentest thy clerk to me, which was thou knowest, as often as thou layest from me, I sent thee word that the priest had not been with me. What other than a crack\u2013brain like thee, who has suffered thyself to be blinded by thy jealousy, had failed to understand these things? Thou hast abidden in the house, keeping watch anights, and thoughtest to have given me to believe that thou wast gone abroad to sup and sleep. Bethink thee henceforth and become a man again, as thou wast wont to be; and make not thyself a laughing stock to whoso knoweth thy fashions, as do I, and leave this unconscionable watching that thou keepest; for I swear to God that, an the fancy took me to make thee wear the horns, I would engage, haddest thou an hundred eyes, as thou hast but two, to do my pleasure on such wise that thou shouldst not be ware thereof.'\n\nThe jealous wretch, who thought to have very adroitly surprised his wife's secrets, hearing this, avouched himself befooled and without answering otherwhat, held the lady for virtuous and discreet; and whenas it behoved him to be jealous, he altogether divested himself of his jealousy, even as he had put it on, what time he had no need thereof. Wherefore the discreet lady, being in a manner licensed to do her pleasures, thenceforward no longer caused her lover to come to her by the roof, as go the cats, but e'en brought him in at the door, and dealing advisedly, many a day thereafter gave herself a good time and led a merry life with him.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM ISABELLA, BEING IN COMPANY WITH LEONETTO HER LOVER, IS VISITED BY ONE MESSER LAMBERTUCCIO, OF WHOM SHE IS BELOVED; HER HUSBAND RETURNING, UNEXPECTED, SHE SENDETH LAMBERTUCCIO FORTH OF THE HOUSE, WHINGER IN HAND, AND THE HUSBAND AFTER ESCORTETH LEONETTO HOME",
                "text": "The company were wonder\u2013well pleased with Fiammetta's story, all affirming that the lady had done excellently well and as it behoved unto such a brute of a man, and after it was ended, the king bade Pampinea follow on, who proceeded to say, \"There are many who, speaking ignorantly, avouch that love bereaveth folk of their senses and causeth whoso loveth to become witless. Meseemeth this is a foolish opinion, as hath indeed been well enough shown by the things already related, and I purpose yet again to demonstrate it.\"\n\nIn our city, which aboundeth in all good things, there was once a young lady both gently born and very fair, who was the wife of a very worthy and notable gentleman; and as it happeneth often that folk cannot for ever brook one same food, but desire bytimes to vary their diet, this lady, her husband not altogether satisfying her, became enamoured of a young man called Leonetto and very well bred and agreeable, for all he was of no great extraction. He on like wise fell in love with her, and as you know that seldom doth that which both parties desire abide without effect, it was no great while before accomplishment was given to their loves. Now it chanced that, she being a fair and engaging lady, a gentleman called Messer Lambertuccio became sore enamoured of her, whom, for that he seemed to her a disagreeable man and a tiresome, she could not for aught in the world bring herself to love. However, after soliciting her amain with messages and it availing him nought, he sent to her threatening her, for that he was a notable man, to dishonour her, an she did not his pleasure; wherefore she, fearful and knowing his character, submitted herself to do his will.\n\nIt chanced one day that the lady, whose name was Madam Isabella, being gone, as is our custom in summer\u2013time, to abide at a very goodly estate she had in the country and her husband having ridden somewhither to pass some days abroad, she sent for Leonetto to come and be with her, whereat he was mightily rejoiced and betook himself thither incontinent. Meanwhile Messer Lambertuccio, hearing that her husband was gone abroad, took horse and repairing, all alone, to her house, knocked at the door. The lady's waiting\u2013woman, seeing him, came straight to her mistress, who was closeted with Leonetto, and called to her, saying, 'Madam, Messer Lambertuccio is below, all alone.' The lady, hearing this, was the woefullest woman in the world, but, as she stood in great fear of Messer Lambertuccio, she besought Leonetto not to take it ill to hide himself awhile behind the curtains of her bed till such time as the other should be gone. Accordingly, Leonetto, who feared him no less than did the lady, hid himself there and she bade the maid go open to Messer Lambertuccio, which being done, he lighted down in the courtyard and making his palfrey fast to a staple there, went up into the house. The lady put on a cheerful countenance and coming to the head of the stair, received him with as good a grace as she might and asked him what brought him thither; whereupon he caught her in his arms and clipped her and kissed her, saying, 'My soul, I understood that your husband was abroad and am come accordingly to be with you awhile.' After these words, they entered a bedchamber, where they locked themselves in, and Messer Lambertuccio fell to taking delight of her.\n\nAs they were thus engaged, it befell, altogether out of the lady's expectation, that her husband returned, whom when the maid saw near the house, she ran in haste to the lady's chamber and said, 'Madam, here is my lord come back; methinketh he is already below in the courtyard.' When the lady heard this, bethinking her that she had two men in the house and knowing that there was no hiding Messer Lambertuccio, by reason of his palfrey which was in the courtyard, she gave herself up for lost. Nevertheless, taking a sudden resolution, she sprang hastily down from the bed and said to Messer Lambertuccio, 'Sir, an you wish me anywise well and would save me from death, do that which I shall bid you. Take your hanger naked in your hand and go down the stair with an angry air and all disordered and begone, saying, \"I vow to God that I will take him elsewhere.\" And should my husband offer to detain you or question you of aught, do you say no otherwhat than that which I have told you, but take horse and look you abide not with him on any account.' The gentleman answered that he would well, and accordingly, drawing his hanger, he did as she had enjoined him, with a face all afire what with the swink he had furnished and with anger at the husband's return. The latter was by this dismounted in the courtyard and marvelled to see the palfrey there; then, offering to go up into the house, he saw Messer Lambertuccio come down and wondering both at his words and his air, said, 'What is this, sir?' Messer Lambertuccio putting his foot in the stirrup and mounting to horse, said nought but, 'Cock's body, I shall find him again otherwhere,' and made off.\n\nThe gentleman, going up, found his wife at the stairhead, all disordered and fearful, and said to her, 'What is all this? Whom goeth Messer Lambertuccio threatening thus in such a fury?' The lady, withdrawing towards the chamber where Leonetto was, so he might hear her, answered, 'Sir, never had I the like of this fright. There came fleeing hither but now a young man, whom I know not, followed by Messer Lambertuccio, hanger in hand, and finding by chance the door of this chamber open, said to me, all trembling, \"For God's sake, madam, help me, that I be not slain in your arms.\" I rose to my feet and was about to question him who he was and what ailed him, when, behold, in rushed Messer Lambertuccio, saying, \"Where art thou, traitor?\" I set myself before the chamber\u2013door and hindered him from entering; and he was in so far courteous that, after many words, seeing it pleased me not that he should enter there, he went his way down, as you have seen.' Quoth the husband, 'Wife, thou didst well, it were too great a reproach to us, had a man been slain in our house, and Messer Lambertuccio did exceeding unmannerly to follow a person who had taken refuge here.'\n\nThen he asked where the young man was, and the lady answered, 'Indeed sir, I know not where he hath hidden himself.' Then said the husband 'Where art thou? Come forth in safety.' Whereupon Leonetto, who had heard everything, came forth all trembling for fear, (as indeed he had had a great fright,) of the place where he had hidden himself, and the gentleman said to him, 'What hast thou to do with Messer Lambertuccio?' 'Sir,' answered he, 'I have nothing in the world to do with him, wherefore methinketh assuredly he is either not in his right wits or he hath mistaken me for another; for that no sooner did he set eyes on me in the road not far from this house than he forthright clapped his hand to his hanger and said, \"Traitor, thou art a dead man!\" I stayed not to ask why, but took to my heels as best I might and made my way hither, where, thanks to God and to this gentlewoman, I have escaped.' Quoth the husband, 'Go to; have no fears; I will bring thee to thine own house safe and sound, and thou canst after seek out what thou hast to do with him.' Accordingly, when they had supped, he mounted him a\u2013horseback and carrying him back to Florence, left him in his own house. As for Leonetto, that same evening, according as he had been lessoned of the lady, he privily bespoke Messer Lambertuccio and took such order with him, albeit there was much talk of the matter thereafterward, the husband never for all that became aware of the cheat that had been put on him by his wife.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "LODOVICO DISCOVERETH TO MADAM BEATRICE THE LOVE HE BEARETH HER, WHEREUPON SHE SENDETH EGANO HER HUSBAND INTO THE GARDEN, IN HER OWN FAVOUR, AND LIETH MEANWHILE WITH LODOVICO, WHO, PRESENTLY ARISING, GOETH AND CUDGELLETH EGANO IN THE GARDEN",
                "text": "Madam Isabella's presence of mind, as related by Pampinea, was held admirable by all the company; but, whilst they yet marvelled thereat, Filomena, whom the king had appointed to follow on, said, \"Lovesome ladies, and I mistake not, methinketh I can tell you no less goodly a story on the same subject, and that forthright.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there was once in Paris a Florentine gentleman, who was for poverty turned merchant and had thriven so well in commerce that he was grown thereby very rich. He had by his lady one only son, whom he had named Lodovico, and for that he might concern himself with his father's nobility and not with trade, he had willed not to place him in any warehouse, but had sent him to be with other gentlemen in the service of the King of France, where he learned store of goodly manners and other fine things. During his sojourn there, it befell that certain gentlemen, who were returned from visiting the Holy Sepulchre, coming in upon a conversation between certain young men, of whom Lodovico was one, and hearing them discourse among themselves of the fair ladies of France and England and other parts of the world, one of them began to say that assuredly, in all the lands he had traversed and for all the ladies he had seen, he had never beheld the like for beauty of Madam Beatrice, the wife of Messer Egano de' Gulluzzi of Bologna; to which all his companions, who had with him seen her at Bologna, agreed.\n\nLodovico, who had never yet been enamoured of any woman, hearkening to this, was fired with such longing to see her that he could hold his thought to nothing else and being altogether resolved to journey to Bologna for that purpose and there, if she pleased him, to abide awhile, he feigned to his father that he had a mind to go visit the Holy Sepulchre, the which with great difficulty he obtained of him. Accordingly, taking the name of Anichino, he set out for Bologna, and on the day following his arrival, as fortune would have it, he saw the lady in question at an entertainment, where she seemed to him fairer far than he had imagined her; wherefore, falling most ardently enamoured of her, he resolved never to depart Bologna till he should have gained her love. Then, devising in himself what course he should take to this end, he bethought himself, leaving be all other means, that, an he might but avail to become one of her husband's servants, whereof he entertained many, he might peradventure compass that which he desired. Accordingly, having sold his horses and disposed as best might be of his servants, bidding them make a show of knowing him not, he entered into discourse with his host and told him that he would fain engage for a servant with some gentleman of condition, could such an one be found. Quoth the host, 'Thou art the right serving\u2013man to please a gentleman of this city, by name Egano, who keepeth many and will have them all well looking, as thou art. I will bespeak him of the matter.' As he said, so he did, and ere he took leave of Egano, he had brought Anichino to an accord with him, to the exceeding satisfaction of the latter, who, abiding with Egano and having abundant opportunity of seeing his lady often, proceeded to serve him so well and so much to his liking that he set such store by him that he could do nothing without him and committed to him the governance, not of himself alone, but of all his affairs.\n\nIt chanced one day that, Egano being gone a\u2013fowling and having left Anichino at home, Madam Beatrice (who was not yet become aware of his love for her, albeit, considering him and his fashions, she had ofttimes much commended him to herself and he pleased her,) fell to playing chess with him and he, desiring to please her, very adroitly contrived to let himself be beaten, whereat the lady was marvellously rejoiced. Presently, all her women having gone away from seeing them play and left them playing alone, Anichino heaved a great sigh, whereupon she looked at him and said, 'What aileth thee, Anichino? Doth it irk thee that I should beat thee?' 'Madam,' answered he, 'a far greater thing than that was the cause of my sighing.' Quoth the lady, 'Prithee, as thou wishest me well, tell it me.' When Anichino heard himself conjured, 'as thou wishest me well,' by her whom he loved over all else, he heaved a sigh yet heavier than the first; wherefore the lady besought him anew that it would please him tell her the cause of his sighing. 'Madam,' replied Anichino, 'I am sore fearful lest it displease you, if I tell it you, and moreover I misdoubt me you will tell it again to others.' Whereto rejoined she, 'Certes, it will not displease me, and thou mayst be assured that, whatsoever thou sayest to me I will never tell to any, save whenas it shall please thee.' Quoth he, 'Since you promise me this, I will e'en tell it you.' Then, with tears in his eyes, he told her who he was and what he had heard of her and when and how he was become enamoured of her and why he had taken service with her husband and after humbly besought her that it would please her have compassion on him and comply with him in that his secret and so fervent desire, and in case she willed not to do this, that she should suffer him to love her, leaving him be in that his then present guise.\n\nO singular blandness of the Bolognese blood! How art thou still to be commended in such circumstance! Never wast thou desirous of tears or sighs; still wast thou compliant unto prayers and amenable unto amorous desires! Had I words worthy to commend thee, my voice should never weary of singing thy praises. The gentle lady, what while Anichino spoke, kept her eyes fixed on him and giving full credence to his words, received, by the prevalence of his prayers, the love of him with such might into her heart that she also fell a\u2013sighing and presently answered, 'Sweet my Anichino, be of good courage; neither presents nor promises nor solicitations of nobleman or gentleman or other (for I have been and am yet courted of many) have ever availed to move my heart to love any one of them; but thou, in this small space of time that thy words have lasted, hast made me far more thine than mine own. Methinketh thou hast right well earned my love, wherefore I give it thee and promise thee that I will cause thee have enjoyment thereof ere this next night be altogether spent. And that this may have effect, look thou come to my chamber about midnight. I will leave the door open; thou knowest which side the bed I lie; do thou come thither and if I sleep, touch me so I may awake, and I will ease thee of this so long desire that thou hast had. And that thou mayst believe this that I say, I will e'en give thee a kiss by way of arles.' Accordingly, throwing her arms about his neck, she kissed him amorously and he on like wise kissed her. These things said, he left her and went to do certain occasions of his, awaiting with the greatest gladness in the world the coming of the night.\n\nPresently, Egano returned from fowling and being weary, betook himself to bed, as soon as he had supper, and after him the lady, who left the chamber\u2013door open, as she had promised. Thither, at the appointed hour, came Anichino and softly entering the chamber, shut the door again from within; then, going up to the bed on the side where the lady lay, he put his hand to her breast and found her awake. As soon as she felt him come, she took his hand in both her own and held it fast; then, turning herself about in the bed, she did on such wise that Egano, who was asleep, awoke; whereupon quoth she to him, 'I would not say aught to thee yestereve, for that meseemed thou was weary; but tell me, Egano, so God save thee, whom holdest thou thy best and trustiest servant and him who most loveth thee of those whom thou hast in the house?' 'Wife,' answered Egano, 'what is this whereof thou askest me? Knowest thou it not? I have not nor had aye any in whom I so trusted and whom I loved as I love and trust in Anichino. But why dost thou ask me thereof?'\n\nAnichino, seeing Egano awake and hearing talk of himself, was sore afraid lest the lady had a mind to cozen him and offered again and again to draw his hand away, so he might begone; but she held it so fast that he could not win free. Then said she to Egano, 'I will tell thee. I also believed till to\u2013day that he was even such as thou sayest and that he was more loyal to thee than any other, but he hath undeceived me; for that, what while thou wentest a\u2013fowling to\u2013day, he abode here, and whenas it seemed to him time, he was not ashamed to solicit me to yield myself to his pleasures, and I, so I might make thee touch and see this thing and that it might not behove me certify thee thereof with too many proofs, replied that I would well and that this very night, after midnight, I would go into our garden and there await him at the foot of the pine. Now for my part I mean not to go thither; but thou, an thou have a mind to know thy servant's fidelity, thou mayst lightly do it by donning a gown and a veil of mine and going down yonder to wait and see if he will come thither, as I am assured he will.' Egano hearing this, answered, 'Certes, needs must I go see,' and rising, donned one of the lady's gowns, as best he knew in the dark; then, covering his head with a veil, he betook himself to the garden and proceeded to await Anichino at the foot of the pine.\n\nAs for the lady, as soon as she knew him gone forth of the chamber, she arose and locked the door from within, whilst Anichino, (who had had the greatest fright he had ever known and had enforced himself as most he might to escape from the lady's hands, cursing her and her love and himself who had trusted in her an hundred thousand times,) seeing this that she had done in the end, was the joyfullest man that was aye. Then, she having returned to bed, he, at her bidding, put off his clothes and coming to bed to her, they took delight and pleasure together a pretty while; after which, herseeming he should not abide longer, she caused him arise and dress himself and said to him, 'Sweetheart, do thou take a stout cudgel and get thee to the garden and there, feigning to have solicited me to try me, rate Egano, as he were I, and ring me a good peal of bells on his back with the cudgel, for that thereof will ensue to us marvellous pleasance and delight.' Anichino accordingly repaired to the garden, with a sallow\u2013stick in his hand, and Egano, seeing him draw near the pine, rose up and came to meet him, as he would receive him with the utmost joy; whereupon quoth Anichino, 'Ah, wicked woman, art thou then come hither, and thinkest thou I would do my lord such a wrong? A thousand times ill come to thee!' Then, raising the cudgel, he began to lay on to him.\n\nEgano, hearing this and seeing the cudgel, took to his heels, without saying a word, whilst Anichino still followed after him, saying, 'Go to, God give thee an ill year, vile woman that thou art! I will certainly tell it to Egano to\u2013morrow morning.' Egano made his way back to the chamber as quickliest he might, having gotten sundry good clouts, and being questioned of the lady if Anichino had come to the garden, 'Would God he had not!' answered he. 'For that, taking me for thee, he hath cudgelled me to a mummy and given me the soundest rating that was aye bestowed upon lewd woman. Certes, I marvelled sore at him that he should have said these words to thee, with intent to do aught that might be a shame to me; but, for that he saw thee so blithe and gamesome, he had a mind to try thee.' Then said the lady, 'Praised be God that he hath tried me with words and thee with deeds! Methinketh he may say that I suffered his words more patiently than thou his deeds. But, since he is so loyal to thee, it behoveth thee hold him dear and do him honour.' 'Certes,' answered Egano, 'thou sayst sooth'; and reasoning by this, he concluded that he had the truest wife and the trustiest servant that ever gentleman had; by reason whereof, albeit both he and the lady made merry more than once with Anichino over this adventure, the latter and his mistress had leisure enough of that which belike, but for this, they would not have had, to wit, to do that which afforded them pleasance and delight, that while it pleased Anichino abide with Egano in Bologna.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A MAN WAXETH JEALOUS OF HIS WIFE, WHO BINDETH A PIECE OF PACKTHREAD TO HER GREAT TOE ANIGHTS, SO SHE MAY HAVE NOTICE OF HER LOVER'S COMING. ONE NIGHT HER HUSBAND BECOMETH AWARE OF THIS DEVICE AND WHAT WHILE HE PURSUETH THE LOVER, THE LADY PUTTETH ANOTHER WOMAN TO BED IN HER ROOM. THIS LATTER THE HUSBAND BEATETH AND CUTTETH OFF HER HAIR, THEN FETCHETH HIS WIFE'S BROTHERS, WHO, FINDING HIS STORY SEEMINGLY UNTRUE, GIVE HIM HARD WORDS",
                "text": "It seemed to them all that Madam Beatrice had been extraordinarily ingenious in cozening her husband and all agreed that Anichino's fright must have been very great, whenas, being the while held fast by the lady, he heard her say that he had required her of love. But the king, seeing Filomena silent, turned to Neifile and said to her, \"Do you tell\"; whereupon she, smiling first a little, began, \"Fair ladies, I have a hard task before me if I desire to pleasure you with a goodly story, as those of you have done, who have already told; but, with God's aid, I trust to discharge myself thereof well enough.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there was once in our city a very rich merchant called Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who, foolishly thinking, as merchants yet do every day, to ennoble himself by marriage, took to wife a young gentlewoman ill sorting with himself, by name Madam Sismonda, who, for that he, merchant\u2013like, was much abroad and sojourned little with her, fell in love with a young man called Ruberto, who had long courted her, and clapped up a lover's privacy with him. Using belike over\u2013little discretion in her dealings with her lover, for that they were supremely delightsome to her, it chanced that, whether Arriguccio scented aught of the matter or how else soever it happened, the latter became the most jealous man alive and leaving be his going about and all his other concerns, applied himself well nigh altogether to the keeping good watch over his wife; nor would he ever fall asleep, except he first felt her come into the bed; by reason whereof the lady suffered the utmost chagrin, for that on no wise might she avail to be with her Ruberto.\n\nHowever, after pondering many devices for finding a means to foregather with him and being to boot continually solicited thereof by him, it presently occurred to her to do on this wise; to wit, having many a time observed that Arriguccio tarried long to fall asleep, but after slept very soundly, she determined to cause Ruberto come about midnight to the door of the house and to go open to him and abide with him what while her husband slept fast. And that she might know when he should be come, she bethought herself to hang a twine out of the window of her bedchamber, which looked upon the street, on such wise that none might perceive it, one end whereof should well nigh reach the ground, whilst she carried the other end along the floor of the room to the bed and hid it under the clothes, meaning to make it fast to her great toe, whenas she should be abed. Accordingly, she sent to acquaint Ruberto with this and charged him, when he came, to pull the twine, whereupon, if her husband slept, she would let it go and come to open to him; but, if he slept not, she would hold it fast and draw it to herself, so he should not wait. The device pleased Ruberto and going thither frequently, he was whiles able to foregather with her and whiles not.\n\nOn this wise they continued to do till, one night, the lady being asleep, it chanced that her husband stretched out his foot in bed and felt the twine, whereupon he put his hand to it and finding it made fast to his wife's toe, said in himself, 'This should be some trick'; and presently perceiving that the twine led out of window, he held it for certain. Accordingly, he cut it softly from the lady's toe and making it fast to his own, abode on the watch to see what this might mean. He had not waited long before up came Ruberto and pulled at the twine, as of his wont; whereupon Arriguccio started up; but, he not having made the twine well fast to his toe and Ruberto pulling hard, it came loose in the latter's hand, whereby he understood that he was to wait and did so. As for Arriguccio, he arose in haste and taking his arms, ran to the door, to see who this might be and do him a mischief, for, albeit a merchant, he was a stout fellow and a strong. When he came to the door, he opened it not softly as the lady was used to do, which when Ruberto, who was await, observed, he guessed how the case stood, to wit, that it was Arriguccio who opened the door, and accordingly made off in haste and the other after him. At last, having fled a great way and Arriguccio stinting not from following him, Ruberto, being also armed, drew his sword and turned upon his pursuer, whereupon they fell to blows, the one attacking and the other defending himself.\n\nMeanwhile, the lady, awaking, as Arriguccio opened the chamber\u2013door, and finding the twine cut from her toe, knew incontinent that her device was discovered, whereupon, perceiving that her husband had run after her lover, she arose in haste and foreseeing what might happen, called her maid, who knew all, and conjured her to such purpose that she prevailed with her to take her own place in the bed, beseeching her patiently to endure, without discovering herself, whatsoever buffets Arriguccio might deal her, for that she would requite her therefor on such wise that she should have no cause to complain; after which she did out the light that burnt in the chamber and going forth thereof, hid herself in another part of the house and there began to await what should betide.\n\nMeanwhile, the people of the quarter, aroused by the noise of the affray between Arriguccio and Ruberto, arose and fell a\u2013railing at them; whereupon the husband, fearing to be known, let the youth go, without having availed to learn who he was or to do him any hurt, and returned to his house, full of rage and despite. There, coming into the chamber, he cried out angrily, saying, 'Where art thou, vile woman? Thou hast done out the light, so I may not find thee; but thou art mistaken.' Then, coming to the bedside, he seized upon the maid, thinking to take his wife, and laid on to her so lustily with cuffs and kicks, as long as he could wag his hands and feet, that he bruised all her face, ending by cutting off her hair, still giving her the while the hardest words that were ever said to worthless woman. The maid wept sore, as indeed she had good cause to do, and albeit she said whiles, 'Alas, mercy, for God's sake!' and 'Oh, no more!' her voice was so broken with sobs and Arriguccio was so hindered with his rage that he never discerned it to be that of another woman than his wife.\n\nHaving, then, as we have said, beaten her to good purpose and cut off her hair, he said to her, 'Wicked woman that thou art, I mean not to touch thee otherwise, but shall now go fetch thy brothers and acquaint them with thy fine doings and after bid them come for thee and deal with thee as they shall deem may do them honour and carry thee away; for assuredly in this house thou shalt abide no longer.' So saying, he departed the chamber and locking the door from without, went away all alone. As soon as Madam Sismonda, who had heard all, was certified of her husband's departure, she opened the door and rekindling the light, found her maid all bruised and weeping sore; whereupon she comforted her as best she might and carried her back to her own chamber, where she after caused privily tend her and care for her and so rewarded her of Arriguccio's own monies that she avouched herself content. No sooner had she done this than she hastened to make the bed in her own chamber and all restablished it and set it in such order as if none had lain there that night; after which she dressed and tired herself, as if she had not yet gone to bed; then, lighting a lamp, she took her clothes and seated herself at the stairhead, where she proceeded to sew and await the issue of the affair.\n\nMeanwhile Arriguccio betook himself in all haste to the house of his wife's brothers and there knocked so long and so loudly that he was heard and it was opened to him. The lady's three brothers and her mother, hearing that it was Arriguccio, rose all and letting kindle lights, came to him and asked what he went seeking at that hour and alone. Whereupon, beginning from the twine he had found tied to wife's toe, he recounted to them all that he had discovered and done, and to give them entire proof of the truth of his story, he put into their hands the hair he thought to have cut from his wife's head, ending by requiring them to come for her and do with her that which they should judge pertinent to their honour, for that he meant to keep her no longer in his house. The lady's brothers, hearing this and holding it for certain, were sore incensed against her and letting kindle torches, set out to accompany Arriguccio to his house, meaning to do her a mischief; which their mother seeing, she followed after them, weeping and entreating now the one, now the other not to be in such haste to believe these things of their sister, without seeing or knowing more of the matter, for that her husband might have been angered with her for some other cause and have maltreated her and might now allege this in his own excuse, adding that she marvelled exceedingly how this whereof he accused her could have happened, for that she knew her daughter well, as having reared her from a little child, with many other words to the like purpose.\n\nWhen they came to Arriguccio's house, they entered and proceeded to mount the stair, whereupon Madam Sismonda, hearing them come, said, 'Who is there?' To which one of her brothers answered, 'Thou shalt soon know who it is, vile woman that thou art!' 'God aid us!' cried she. 'What meaneth this?' Then, rising to her feet, 'Brothers mine,' quoth she, 'you are welcome; but what go you all three seeking at this hour?' The brothers,\u2014seeing her seated sewing, with no sign of beating on her face, whereas Arriguccio avouched that he had beaten her to a mummy,\u2014began to marvel and curbing the violence of their anger, demanded of her how that had been whereof Arriguccio accused her, threatening her sore, and she told them not all. Quoth she, 'I know not what you would have me say nor of what Arriguccio can have complained to you of me.' Arriguccio, seeing her thus, eyed her as if he had lost his wits, remembering that he had dealt her belike a thousand buffets on the face and scratched her and done her all the ill in the world, and now he beheld her as if nothing of all this had been.\n\nHer brothers told her briefly what they had heard from Arriguccio, twine and beating and all, whereupon she turned to him and said, 'Alack, husband mine, what is this I hear? Why wilt thou make me pass, to thine own great shame, for an ill woman, where as I am none, and thyself for a cruel and wicked man, which thou art not? When wast thou in this house to\u2013night till now, let alone with me? When didst thou beat me? For my part, I have no remembrance of it.' 'How, vile woman that thou art!' cried he. 'Did we not go to bed together here? Did I not return hither, after running after thy lover? Did I not deal thee a thousand buffets and cut off thy hair?' 'Thou wentest not to bed in this house to\u2013night,' replied Sismonda. 'But let that pass, for I can give no proof thereof other than mine own true words, and let us come to that which thou sayest, to wit, that thou didst beat me and cut off my hair. Me thou hast never beaten, and do all who are here and thou thyself take note of me, if I have any mark of beating in any part of my person. Indeed, I should not counsel thee make so bold as to lay a hand on me, for, by Christ His Cross, I would mar thy face for thee! Neither didst thou cut off my hair, for aught that I felt or saw; but haply thou didst it on such wise that I perceived it not; let me see if I have it shorn or no.' Then, putting off her veil from her head, she showed that she had her hair unshorn and whole.\n\nHer mother and brothers, seeing and hearing all this, turned upon her husband and said to him, 'What meanest thou, Arriguccio? This is not that so far which thou camest to tell us thou hadst done, and we know not how thou wilt make good the rest.' Arriguccio stood as one in a trance and would have spoken; but, seeing that it was not as he thought he could show, he dared say nothing; whereupon the lady, turning to her brothers, said to them, 'Brothers mine, I see he hath gone seeking to have me do what I have never yet chosen to do, to wit, that I should acquaint you with his lewdness and his vile fashions, and I will do it. I firmly believe that this he hath told you hath verily befallen him and that he hath done as he saith; and you shall hear how. This worthy man, to whom in an ill hour for me you gave me to wife, who calleth himself a merchant and would be thought a man of credit, this fellow, forsooth, who should be more temperate than a monk and chaster than a maid, there be few nights but he goeth fuddling himself about the taverns, foregathering now with this lewd woman and now with that and keeping me waiting for him, on such wise as you find me, half the night and whiles even till morning. I doubt not but that, having well drunken, he went to bed with some trull of his and waking, found the twine on her foot and after did all these his fine feats whereof he telleth, winding up by returning to her and beating her and cutting off her hair; and not being yet well come to himself, he fancied (and I doubt not yet fancieth) that he did all this to me; and if you look him well in the face, you will see he is yet half fuddled. Algates, whatsoever he may have said of me, I will not have you take it to yourselves except as a drunken man's talk, and since I forgive him, do you also pardon him.'\n\nHer mother, hearing this, began to make an outcry and say, 'By Christ His Cross, daughter mine, it shall not pass thus! Nay, he should rather be slain for a thankless, ill\u2013conditioned dog, who was never worthy to have a girl of thy fashion to wife. Marry, a fine thing, forsooth! He could have used thee no worse, had he picked thee up out of the dirt! Devil take him if thou shalt abide at the mercy of the spite of a paltry little merchant of asses' dung! They come to us out of their pigstyes in the country, clad in homespun frieze, with their bag\u2013breeches and pen in arse, and as soon as they have gotten a leash of groats, they must e'en have the daughters of gentlemen and right ladies to wife and bear arms and say, \"I am of such a family\" and \"Those of my house did thus and thus.\" Would God my sons had followed my counsel in the matter, for that they might have stablished thee so worshipfully in the family of the Counts Guidi, with a crust of bread to thy dowry! But they must needs give thee to this fine jewel of fellow, who, whereas thou art the best girl in Florence and the modestest, is not ashamed to knock us up in the middle of the night, to tell us that thou art a strumpet, as if we knew thee not. But, by God His faith, an they would be ruled by me, he should get such a trouncing therefor that he should stink for it!' Then, turning to the lady's brothers, 'My sons,' said she, 'I told you this could not be. Have you heard how your fine brother\u2013in\u2013law here entreateth your sister? Four\u2013farthing huckster that he is! Were I in your shoes, he having said what he hath of her and doing that which he doth, I would never hold myself content nor appeased till I had rid the earth of him; and were I a man, as I am a woman, I would trouble none other than myself to despatch his business. Confound him for a sorry drunken beast, that hath no shame!'\n\nThe young men, seeing and hearing all this, turned upon Arriguccio and gave him the soundest rating ever losel got; and ultimately they said to him. 'We pardon thee this as to a drunken man; but, as thou tenderest thy life, look henceforward we hear no more news of this kind, for, if aught of the like come ever again to our ears, we will pay thee at once for this and for that.' So saying, they went their ways, leaving Arriguccio all aghast, as it were he had taken leave of his wits, unknowing in himself whether that which he had done had really been or whether he had dreamed it; wherefore he made no more words thereof, but left his wife in peace. Thus the lady, by her ready wit, not only escaped the imminent peril that threatened her, but opened herself a way to do her every pleasure in time to come, without evermore having any fear of her husband.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "LYDIA, WIFE OF NICOSTRATUS, LOVETH PYRRHUS, WHO, SO HE MAY BELIEVE IT, REQUIRETH OF HER THREE THINGS, ALL WHICH SHE DOTH. MOREOVER, SHE SOLACETH HERSELF WITH HIM IN THE PRESENCE OF NICOSTRATUS AND MAKETH THE LATTER BELIEVE THAT THAT WHICH HE HATH SEEN IS NOT REAL",
                "text": "Neifile's story so pleased the ladies that they could neither give over to laugh at nor to talk of it, albeit the king, having bidden Pamfilo tell his story, had several times imposed silence upon them. However, after they had held their peace, Pamfilo began thus: \"I do not believe, worshipful ladies, that there is anything, how hard and doubtful soever it be, that whoso loveth passionately will not dare to do; the which, albeit it hath already been demonstrated in many stories, methinketh, nevertheless, I shall be able yet more plainly to show forth to you in one which I purpose to tell you and wherein you shall hear of a lady, who was in her actions much more favoured of fortune than well\u2013advised of reason; wherefore I would not counsel any one to adventure herself in the footsteps of her of whom I am to tell, for that fortune is not always well disposed nor are all men in the world equally blind.\"\n\nIn Argos, city of Achia far more famous for its kings of past time than great in itself, there was once a nobleman called Nicostratus, to whom, when already neighbouring on old age, fortune awarded a lady of great family to wife, whose name was Lydia and who was no less high\u2013spirited than fair. Nicostratus, like a nobleman and a man of wealth as he was, kept many servants and hounds and hawks and took the utmost delight in the chase. Among his other servants he had a young man called Pyrrhus, who was sprightly and well bred and comely of his person and adroit in all that he had a mind to do, and him he loved and trusted over all else. Of this Pyrrhus Lydia became so sore enamoured that neither by day nor by night could she have her thought otherwhere than with him; but he, whether it was that he perceived not her liking for him or that he would none of it, appeared to reck nothing thereof, by reason whereof the lady suffered intolerable chagrin in herself and being altogether resolved to give him to know of her passion, called a chamberwoman of hers, Lusca by name, in whom she much trusted, and said to her, 'Lusca, the favours thou hast had of me should make thee faithful and obedient; wherefore look thou none ever know that which I shall presently say to thee, save he to whom I shall charge thee tell it. As thou seest, Lusca, I am a young and lusty lady, abundantly endowed with all those things which any woman can desire; in brief, I can complain of but one thing, to wit, that my husband's years are overmany, an they be measured by mine own, wherefore I fare but ill in the matter of that thing wherein young women take most pleasure, and none the less desiring it, as other women do, I have this long while determined in myself, since fortune hath been thus little my friend in giving me so old a husband, that I will not be so much mine own enemy as not to contrive to find means for my pleasures and my weal; which that I may have as complete in this as in other things, I have bethought myself to will that our Pyrrhus, as being worthier thereof than any other, should furnish them with his embracements; nay, I have vowed him so great a love that I never feel myself at ease save whenas I see him or think of him, and except I foregather with him without delay, methinketh I shall certainly die thereof. Wherefore, if my life be dear to thee, thou wilt, on such wise as shall seem best to thee, signify to him any love and beseech him, on my part, to be pleased to come to me, whenas thou shalt go for him.'\n\nThe chamberwoman replied that she would well and taking Pyrrhus apart, whenas first it seemed to her time and place, she did her lady's errand to him as best she knew. Pyrrhus, hearing this, was sore amazed thereat, as one who had never anywise perceived aught of the matter, and misdoubted him the lady had let say this to him to try him; wherefore he answered roughly and hastily, 'Lusca, I cannot believe that these words come from my lady; wherefore, have a care what thou sayst; or, if they do indeed come from her, I do not believe that she caused thee say them with intent, and even if she did so, my lord doth me more honour than I deserve and I would not for my life do him such an outrage; wherefore look thou bespeak me no more of such things.' Lusca, nowise daunted by his austere speech, said to him, 'Pyrrhus, I will e'en bespeak thee both of this and of everything else wherewithal my lady shall charge me when and as often as she shall bid me, whether it cause thee pleasure or annoy; but thou art an ass.' Then, somewhat despited at his words, she returned to her mistress, who, hearing what Pyrrhus had said, wished for death, but, some days after, she again bespoke the chamberwoman of the matter and said to her, 'Lusca, thou knowest that the oak falleth not for the first stroke; wherefore meseemeth well that thou return anew to him who so strangely willeth to abide loyal to my prejudice, and taking a sortable occasion, throughly discover to him my passion and do thine every endeavour that the thing may have effect; for that, an it fall through thus, I shall assuredly die of it. Moreover, he will think to have been befooled, and whereas we seek to have his love, hate will ensue thereof.'\n\nThe maid comforted her and going in quest of Pyrrhus found him merry and well\u2013disposed and said to him, 'Pyrrhus I showed thee, a few days agone, in what a fire my lady and thine abideth for the love she beareth thee, and now anew I certify thee thereof, for that, an thou persist in the rigour thou showedst the other day, thou mayst be assured that she will not live long; wherefore I prithee be pleased to satisfy her of her desire, and if thou yet abide fast in thine obstinacy, whereas I have still accounted thee mighty discreet, I shall hold thee a blockhead. What can be a greater glory for thee than that such a lady, so fair and so noble, should love thee over all else? Besides, how greatly shouldst thou acknowledge thyself beholden unto Fortune, seeing that she proffereth thee a thing of such worth and so conformable to the desires of thy youth and to boot, such a resource for thy necessities! Which of thy peers knowest thou who fareth better by way of delight than thou mayst fare, an thou be wise? What other couldst thou find who may fare so well in the matter of arms and horses and apparel and monies as thou mayst do, so thou wilt but vouchsafe thy love to this lady? Open, then, thy mind to my words and return to thy senses; bethink thee that once, and no oftener, it is wont to betide that fortune cometh unto a man with smiling face and open arms, who an he know not then to welcome, if after he find himself poor and beggarly, he hath himself and not her to blame. Besides, there is no call to use that loyalty between servants and masters that behoveth between friends and kinsfolk; nay, servants should use their masters, in so far as they may, like as themselves are used of them. Thinkest thou, an thou hadst a fair wife or mother or daughter or sister, who pleased Nicostratus, that he would go questing after this loyalty that thou wouldst fain observe towards him in respect of this lady? Thou are a fool, if thou think thus; for thou mayst hold it for certain that, if blandishments and prayers sufficed him not, he would not scruple to use force in the matter, whatsoever thou mightest deem thereof. Let us, then, entreat them and their affairs even as they entreat us and ours. Profit by the favour of fortune and drive her not away, but welcome her with open arms and meet her halfway, for assuredly, and thou do it not, thou wilt yet (leave alone the death that will without fail ensue thereof to thy lady) repent thee thereof so many a time thou wilt be fain to die therefor.'\n\nPyrrhus, who had again and again pondered the words that Lusca had said to him, had determined, and she should return to him, to make her another guess answer and altogether to submit himself to comply with the lady's wishes, so but he might be certified that it was not a trick to try him, and accordingly answered, 'Harkye, Lusca; all that thou sayst to me I allow to be true; but, on the other hand, I know my lord for very discreet and well\u2013advised, and as he committeth all his affairs to my hands, I am sore adread lest Lydia, with his counsel and by his wish, do this to try me; wherefore, an it please her for mine assurance do three things that I shall ask, she shall for certain thereafterward command me nought but I will do it forthright. And the three things I desire are these: first, that in Nicostratus his presence she slay his good hawk; secondly, that she send me a lock of her husband's beard and lastly, one of his best teeth.' These conditions seemed hard unto Lusca and to the lady harder yet; however, Love, who is an excellent comforter and a past master in shifts and devices, made her resolve to do his pleasure and accordingly she sent him word by her chamberwoman that she would punctually do what he required and that quickly, and that over and above this, for that he deemed Nicostratus so well\u2013advised, she would solace herself with him in her husband's presence and make the latter believe that it was not true.\n\nPyrrhus, accordingly, began to await what the lady should do, and Nicostratus having, a few days after, made, as he oftentimes used to do, a great dinner to certain gentlemen, Madam Lydia, whenas the tables were cleared away, came forth of her chamber, clad in green samite and richly bedecked, and entered the saloon where the guests were. There, in the sight of Pyrrhus and of all the rest, she went up to the perch, whereon was the hawk that Nicostratus held so dear, and cast it loose, as she would set it on her hand; then, taking it by the jesses, she dashed it against the wall and killed it; whereupon Nicostratus cried out at her, saying, 'Alack, wife, what hast thou done?' She answered him nothing, but, turning to the gentlemen who had eaten with him, she said to them, 'Gentlemen, I should ill know how to avenge myself on a king who did me a despite, an I dared not take my wreak of a hawk. You must know that this bird hath long robbed me of all the time which should of men be accorded to the pleasuring of the ladies; for that no sooner is the day risen than Nicostratus is up and drest and away he goeth a\u2013horseback, with his hawk on his fist, to the open plains, to see him fly, whilst I, such as you see me, abide in bed alone and ill\u2013content; wherefore I have many a time had a mind to do that which I have now done, nor hath aught hindered me therefrom but that I waited to do it in the presence of gentlemen who would be just judges in my quarrel, as methinketh you will be.' The gentlemen, hearing this and believing her affection for Nicostratus to be no otherwise than as her words denoted, turned all to the latter, who was angered, and said, laughing, 'Ecod, how well hath the lady done to avenge herself of her wrong by the death of the hawk!' Then, with divers of pleasantries upon the subject (the lady being now gone back to her chamber), they turned Nicostratus his annoy into laughter; whilst Pyrrhus, seeing all this, said in himself, 'The lady hath given a noble beginning to my happy loves; God grant she persevere!'\n\nLydia having thus slain the hawk, not many days were passed when, being in her chamber with Nicostratus, she fell to toying and frolicking with him, and he, pulling her somedele by the hair, by way of sport, gave her occasion to accomplish the second thing required of her by Pyrrhus. Accordingly, taking him of a sudden by a lock of his beard, she tugged so hard at it, laughing the while, that she plucked it clean out of his chin; whereof he complaining, 'How now?' quoth she. 'What aileth thee to pull such a face? Is it because I have plucked out maybe half a dozen hairs of thy beard? Thou feltest not that which I suffered, whenas thou pulledst me now by the hair.' On this wise continuing their disport from one word to another, she privily kept the lock of hair that she had plucked from his beard and sent it that same day to her lover.\n\nAnent the last of the three things required by Pyrrhus she was harder put to it for a device; nevertheless, being of a surpassing wit and Love making her yet quicker of invention, she soon bethought herself what means she should use to give it accomplishment. Nicostratus had two boys given him of their father, to the intent that, being of gentle birth, they might learn somewhat of manners and good breeding in his house, of whom, whenas he was at meat, one carved before him and the other gave him to drink. Lydia called them both and giving them to believe that they stank at the mouth, enjoined them that, whenas they served Nicostratus, they should still hold their heads backward as most they might nor ever tell this to any. The boys, believing that which she said, proceeded to do as she had lessoned them, and she after a while said to her husband one day, 'Hast thou noted that which yonder boys do, whenas they serve thee?' 'Ay have I,' replied Nicostratus; 'and indeed I had it in mind to ask them why they did it.' Quoth the lady, 'Do it not, for I can tell thee the reason; and I have kept it silent from thee this long while, not to cause thee annoy; but, now I perceive that others begin to be aware thereof, it skilleth not to hide it from thee longer. This betideth thee for none other what than that thou stinkest terribly at the mouth, and I know not what can be the cause thereof; for that it used not to be thus. Now this is a very unseemly thing for thee who hast to do with gentlemen, and needs must we see for a means of curing it.' Whereupon said he, 'What can this be? Can I have some rotten tooth in my head?' 'Maybe ay,' answered Lydia and carried him to a window, where she made him open his mouth, and after she had viewed it in every part, 'O Nicostratus,' cried she, 'how canst thou have put up with it so long? Thou hast a tooth on this side which meseemth is not only decayed, but altogether rotten, and assuredly, and thou keep it much longer in thy mouth, it will mar thee those which be on either side; wherefore I counsel thee have it drawn, ere the thing go farther.' 'Since it seemeth good to thee,' answered he, 'I will well; let a surgeon be sent for without more delay, who shall draw it for me.' 'God forbid,' rejoined the lady, 'that a surgeon come hither for that! Methinketh it lieth on such wise that I myself, without any surgeon, can very well draw it for thee; more by token that these same surgeons are so barbarous in doing such offices that my heart would on no account suffer me to see or know thee in the hands of any one of them; for, an it irk thee overmuch, I will at least loose thee incontinent, which a surgeon would not do.'\n\nAccordingly, she let fetch the proper instruments and sent every one forth of the chamber, except only Lusca; after which, locking herself in, she made Nicostratus lie down on a table and thrusting the pincers into his mouth, what while the maid held him fast, she pulled out one of his teeth by main force, albeit he roared out lustily for the pain. Then, keeping to herself that which she had drawn, she brought out a frightfully decayed tooth she had ready in her hand and showed it to her husband, half dead as he was for pain, saying, 'See what thou hast had in thy mouth all this while.' Nicostratus believed what she said and now that the tooth was out, for all he had suffered the most grievous pain and made sore complaint thereof, him seemed he was cured; and presently, having comforted himself with one thing and another and the pain being abated, he went forth of the chamber; whereupon his wife took the tooth and straightway despatched it to her gallant, who, being now certified of her love, professed himself ready to do her every pleasure.\n\nThe lady, albeit every hour seemed to her a thousand till she should be with him, desiring to give him farther assurance and wishful to perform that which she had promised him, made a show one day of being ailing and being visited after dinner by Nicostratus, with no one in his company but Pyrrhus, she prayed them, by way of allaying her unease, to help her go into the garden. Accordingly, Nicostratus taking her on one side and Pyrrhus on the other, they carried her into the garden and set her down on a grassplot, at the foot of a fine pear\u2013tree; where, after they had sat awhile, the lady, who had already given her gallant to know what he had to do, said, 'Pyrrhus, I have a great desire to eat of yonder pears; do thou climb up and throw us down some of them.' Pyrrhus straightway climbed up into the tree and fell to throwing down of the pears, which as he did, he began to say, 'How now, my lord! What is this you do? And you, madam, are you not ashamed to suffer it in my presence? Think you I am blind? But now you were sore disordered; how cometh it you have so quickly recovered that you do such things? An you have a mind unto this, you have store of goodly chambers; why go you not do it in one of these? It were more seemly than in my presence.'\n\nThe lady turned to her husband and said, 'What saith Pyrrhus? Doth he rave?' 'No, madam,' answered the young man, 'I rave not. Think you I cannot see?' As for Nicostratus, he marvelled sore and said, 'Verily, Pyrrhus, methinketh thou dreamest.' 'My lord,' replied Pyrrhus, 'I dream not a jot, neither do you dream; nay, you bestir yourselves on such wise that were this tree to do likewise, there would not be a pear left on it.' Quoth the lady, 'What may this be? Can it be that this he saith appeareth to him to be true? So God save me, and I were whole as I was aforetime, I would climb up into the tree, to see what marvels are those which this fellow saith he seeth.' Meanwhile Pyrrhus from the top of the pear\u2013tree still said the same thing and kept up the pretence; whereupon Nicostratus bade him come down. Accordingly he came down and his master said to him, 'Now, what sayst thou thou sawest?' 'Methinketh,' answered he, 'you take me for a lackwit or a loggerhead. Since I must needs say it, I saw you a\u2013top of your lady, and after, as I came down, I saw you arise and seat yourself where you presently are.' 'Assuredly,' said Nicostratus, 'thou dotest; for we have not stirred a jot, save as thou seest, since thou climbest up into the pear\u2013tree.' Whereupon quoth Pyrrhus, 'What booteth it to make words of the matter? I certainly saw you; and if I did see you, it was a\u2013top of your own.'\n\nNicostratus waxed momently more and more astonished, insomuch that he said, 'Needs must I see if this pear\u2013tree is enchanted and if whoso is thereon seeth marvels.' Thereupon he climbed up into the tree and no sooner was he come to the top than the lady and Pyrrhus fell to solacing themselves together; which when Nicostratus saw, he began to cry out, saying, 'Ah, vile woman that thou art, what is this thou dost? And thou, Pyrrhus, in whom I most trusted?' So saying, he proceeded to descend the tree, whilst the lovers said, 'We are sitting here'; then, seeing him come down, they reseated themselves whereas he had left them. As soon as he was down and saw his wife and Pyrrhus where he had left them, he fell a\u2013railing at them; whereupon quoth Pyrrhus, 'Now, verily, Nicostratus, I acknowledged that, as you said before, I must have seen falsely what while I was in the pear\u2013tree, nor do I know it otherwise than by this, that I see and know yourself to have seen falsely in the like case. And that I speak the truth nought else should be needful to certify you but that you have regard to the circumstances of the case and consider if it be possible that your lady, who is the most virtuous of women and discreeter than any other of her sex, could, an she had a mind to outrage you on such wise, bring herself to do it before your very eyes. I speak not of myself, who would rather suffer myself to be torn limb\u2013meal than so much as think of such a thing, much more come to do it in your presence. Wherefore the fault of this misseeing must needs proceed from the pear\u2013tree, for that all the world had not made me believe but that you were in act to have carnal knowledge of your lady here, had I not heard you say that it appeared to yourself that I did what I know most certainly I never thought, much less did.'\n\nThereupon the lady, feigning to be mightily incensed, rose to her feet and said, 'Ill luck betide thee, dost thou hold me so little of wit that, an I had a mind to such filthy fashions as thou wouldst have us believe thou sawest, I should come to do them before thy very eyes? Thou mayst be assured of this that, if ever the fancy took me thereof, I should not come hither; marry, methinketh I should have sense enough to contrive it in one of our chambers, on such wise and after such a fashion that it would seem to me an extraordinary thing if ever thou camest to know of it.' Nicostratus, himseeming that what the lady and Pyrrhus said was true, to wit, that they would never have ventured upon such an act there before himself, gave over words and reproaches and fell to discoursing of the strangeness of the fact and the miracle of the sight, which was thus changed unto whoso climbed up into the pear\u2013tree. But his wife, feigning herself chagrined for the ill thought he had shown of her, said, 'Verily, this pear\u2013tree shall never again, if I can help it, do me nor any other lady the like of this shame; wherefore do thou run, Pyrrhus, and fetch a hatchet and at one stroke avenge both thyself and me by cutting it down; albeit it were better yet lay it about Nicostratus his cosard, who, without any consideration, suffered the eyes of his understanding to be so quickly blinded, whenas, however certain that which thou saidst might seem to those which thou hast in thy head, thou shouldst for nought in the world in the judgment of thy mind have believed or allowed that such a thing could be.'\n\nPyrrhus very readily fetched the hatchet and cut down the tree, which when the lady saw fallen, she said to Nicostratus, 'Since I see the enemy of mine honour overthrown, my anger is past,' and graciously forgave her husband, who besought her thereof, charging him that it should never again happen to him to presume such a thing of her, who loved him better than herself. Accordingly, the wretched husband, thus befooled, returned with her and her lover to the palace, where many a time thereafterward Pyrrhus took delight and pleasance more at ease of Lydia and she of him. God grant us as much!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TWO SIENNESE LOVE A LADY, WHO IS GOSSIP TO ONE OF THEM; THE LATTER DIETH AND RETURNING TO HIS COMPANION, ACCORDING TO PROMISE MADE HIM, RELATETH TO HIM HOW FOLK FARE IN THE OTHER WORLD",
                "text": "It now rested only with the king to tell and he accordingly, as soon as he saw the ladies quieted, who lamented the cutting down of the unoffending pear\u2013tree, began, \"It is a very manifest thing that every just king should be the first to observe the laws made by him, and an he do otherwise, he must be adjudged a slave deserving of punishment and not a king, into which offence and under which reproach I, who am your king, am in a manner constrained to fall. True it is that yesterday I laid down the law for to\u2013day's discourses, purposing not this day to make use of my privilege, but, submitting myself to the same obligation as you, to discourse of that whereof you have all discoursed. However, not only hath that story been told which I had thought to tell, but so many other and far finer things have been said upon the matter that, for my part, ransack my memory as I will, I can call nothing to mind and must avouch myself unable to say aught anent such a subject that may compare with those stories which have already been told. Wherefore, it behoving me transgress against the law made by myself, I declare myself in advance ready, as one deserving of punishment, to submit to any forfeit which may be imposed on me, and so have recourse to my wonted privilege. Accordingly, dearest ladies, I say that Elisa's story of Fra Rinaldo and his gossip and eke the simplicity of the Siennese have such efficacy that they induce me, letting be the cheats put upon foolish husbands by their wily wives, to tell you a slight story of them, which though it have in it no little of that which must not be believed, will natheless in part, at least, be pleasing to hear.\"\n\nThere were, then, in Siena two young men of the people, whereof one was called Tingoccio Mini and the other Meuccio di Tura; they abode at Porta Salaja and consorted well nigh never save one with the other. To all appearance they loved each exceedingly and resorting, as men do, to churches and preachings, they had many a time heard tell of the happiness and of the misery that are, according to their deserts, allotted in the next world to the souls of those who die; of which things desiring to have certain news and finding no way thereto, they promised one another that whichever of them died first should, an he might, return to him who abode on life and give him tidings of that which he would fain know; and this they confirmed with an oath. Having come to this accord and companying still together, as hath been said, it chanced that Tingoccio became godfather to a child which one Ambruogio Anselmini, abiding at Campo Reggi, had had of his wife, Mistress Mita by name, and from time to time visiting, together with Meuccio, his gossip who was a very fair and lovesome lady, he became, notwithstanding the gossipship, enamoured of her. Meuccio, on like wise, hearing her mightily commended of his friend and being himself much pleased with her, fell in love with her, and each hid his love from the other, but not for one same reason. Tingoccio was careful not to discover it to Meuccio, on account of the naughty deed which himseemed he did to love his gossip and which he had been ashamed that any should know. Meuccio, on the other hand, kept himself therefrom, for that he had already perceived that the lady pleased Tingoccio; whereupon he said in himself, 'If I discover this to him, he will wax jealous of me and being able, as her gossip, to bespeak her at his every pleasure, he will, inasmuch as he may, bring me in ill savour with her, and so I shall never have of her aught that may please me.'\n\nThings being at this pass, it befell that Tingoccio, having more leisure of discovering his every desire to the lady, contrived with acts and words so to do that he had his will of her, of which Meuccio soon became aware and albeit it sore misliked him, yet, hoping some time or other to compass his desire, he feigned ignorance thereof, so Tingoccio might not have cause or occasion to do him an ill turn or hinder him in any of his affairs. The two friends loving thus, the one more happily than the other, it befell that Tingoccio, finding the soil of his gossip's demesne soft and eath to till, so delved and laboured there that there overcame him thereof a malady, which after some days waxed so heavy upon him that, being unable to brook it, he departed this life. The third day after his death (for that belike he had not before been able) he came by night, according to the promise made, into Meuccio's chamber and called the latter, who slept fast. Meuccio awoke and said, 'Who art thou?' Whereto he answered, 'I am Tingoccio, who, according to the promise which I made thee, am come back to thee to give thee news of the other world.'\n\nMeuccio was somewhat affrighted at seeing him; nevertheless, taking heart, 'Thou art welcome, brother mine,' quoth he, and presently asked him if he were lost. 'Things are lost that are not to be found,' replied Tingoccio; 'and how should I be here, if I were lost?' 'Alack,' cried Meuccio, 'I say not so; nay, I ask thee if thou art among the damned souls in the avenging fire of hell.' Whereto quoth Tingoccio, 'As for that, no; but I am, notwithstanding, in very grievous and anguishful torment for the sins committed by me.' Meuccio then particularly enquired of him what punishments were awarded in the other world for each of the sins that folk use to commit here below, and he told him them all. After this Meuccio asked if there were aught he might do for him in this world, whereto Tingoccio replied that there was, to wit, that he should let say for him masses and orisons and do alms in his name, for that these things were mightily profitable to those who abode yonder. Meuccio said that he would well and Tingoccio offering to take leave of him, he remembered himself of the latter's amour with his gossip and raising his head, said, 'Now that I bethink me, Tingoccio, what punishment is given thee over yonder anent thy gossip, with whom thou layest, whenas thou wast here below?' 'Brother mine,' answered Tingoccio, 'whenas I came yonder, there was one who it seemed knew all my sins by heart and bade me betake myself to a certain place, where I bemoaned my offences in exceeding sore punishment and where I found many companions condemned to the same penance as myself. Being among them and remembering me of that which I had done whilere with my gossip, I looked for a much sorer punishment on account thereof than that which had presently been given me and went all shivering for fear, albeit I was in a great fire and an exceeding hot; which one who was by my side perceiving, he said to me, \"What aileth thee more than all the others who are here that thou shiverest, being in the fire?'\n\n'Marry,\" said I, \"my friend, I am sore in fear of the sentence I expect for a grievous sin I wrought aforetime.\" The other asked me what sin this was, and I answered, \"It was that I lay with a gossip of mine, and that with such a vengeance that it cost me my life\"; whereupon quoth he, making merry over my fear, \"Go to, fool; have no fear. Here is no manner of account taken of gossips.\" Which when I heard, I was altogether reassured.' This said and the day drawing near, 'Meuccio,' quoth he, 'abide with God, for I may no longer be with thee,' and was suddenly gone. Meuccio, hearing that no account was taken of gossips in the world to come, began to make mock of his own simplicity, for that whiles he had spared several of them; wherefore, laying by his ignorance, he became wiser in that respect for the future. Which things if Fra Rinaldo had known, he had not needed to go a\u2013syllogizing, whenas he converted his good gossip to his pleasure.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 85",
                "text": "Zephyr was now arisen, for the sun that drew near unto the setting, when the king, having made an end of his story and there being none other left to tell, put off the crown from his own head and set it on that of Lauretta, saying, \"Madam, with yourself I crown you queen of our company; do you then, from this time forth, as sovereign lady, command that which you may deem shall be for the pleasure and solacement of all.\" This said, he reseated himself, whereupon Lauretta, become queen, let call the seneschal and bade him look that the tables be set in the pleasant valley somewhat earlier than of wont, so they might return to the palace at their leisure; after which she instructed him what he should do what while her sovranty lasted. Then, turning to the company, she said, \"Dioneo willed yesterday that we should discourse to\u2013day of the tricks that women play their husbands and but that I am loath to show myself of the tribe of snappish curs, which are fain incontinent to avenge themselves of any affront done them, I would say that to\u2013morrow's discourse should be of the tricks that men play their wives. But, letting that be, I ordain that each bethink himself to tell OF THE TRICKS THAT ALL DAY LONG WOMEN PLAY MEN OR MEN WOMEN OR MEN ONE ANOTHER; and I doubt not but that in this there will be no less of pleasant discourse than there hath been to\u2013day.\" So saying, she rose to her feet and dismissed the company till supper\u2013time.\n\nAccordingly, they all, ladies and men alike, arose and some began to go barefoot through the clear water, whilst others went a\u2013pleasuring upon the greensward among the straight and goodly trees. Dioneo and Fiammetta sang together a great while of Arcite and Palemon, and on this wise, taking various and divers delights, they passed the time with the utmost satisfaction until the hour of supper; which being come, they seated themselves at table beside the lakelet and there, to the song of a thousand birds, still refreshed by a gentle breeze, that came from the little hills around, and untroubled of any fly, they supped in peace and cheer. Then, the tables being removed and the sun being yet half\u2013vespers high, after they had gone awhile round about the pleasant valley, they wended their way again, even as it pleased their queen, with slow steps towards their wonted dwelling\u2013place, and jesting and chattering a thousand things, as well of those whereof it had been that day discoursed as of others, they came near upon nightfall to the fair palace, where having with the coolest of wines and confections done away the fatigues of the little journey, they presently fell to dancing about the fair fountain, carolling now to the sound of Tindaro's bagpipe and anon to that of other instruments. But, after awhile, the queen bade Filomena sing a song, whereupon she began thus:\n\n\u2002Alack, my life forlorn!\n\n\u2002Will't ever chance I may once more regain\n\n\u2002Th' estate whence sorry fortune hath me torn?\n\n\u2002Certes, I know not, such a wish of fire\n\n\u2002I carry in my thought\n\n\u2002To find me where, alas! I was whilere.\n\n\u2002O dear my treasure, thou my sole desire,\n\n\u2002That holdst my heart distraught.\n\n\u2002Tell it me, thou; for whom I know nor dare\n\n\u2002To ask it otherwhere.\n\n\u2002Ah, dear my lord, oh, cause me hope again,\n\n\u2002So I may comfort me my spright wayworn.\n\n\u2002What was the charm I cannot rightly tell\n\n\u2002That kindled in me such\n\n\u2002A flame of love that rest nor day nor night\n\n\u2002I find; for, by some strong unwonted spell,\n\n\u2002Hearing and touch\n\n\u2002And seeing each new fires in me did light,\n\n\u2002Wherein I burn outright;\n\n\u2002Nor other than thyself can soothe my pain\n\n\u2002Nor call my senses back, by love o'erborne.\n\n\u2002O tell me if and when, then, it shall be\n\n\u2002That I shall find thee e'er\n\n\u2002Whereas I kissed those eyes that did me slay.\n\n\u2002O dear my good, my soul, ah, tell it me,\n\n\u2002When thou wilt come back there,\n\n\u2002And saying \"Quickly,\" comfort my dismay\n\n\u2002Somedele. Short be the stay\n\n\u2002Until thou come, and long mayst thou remain!\n\n\u2002I'm so love\u2013struck, I reck not of men's scorn.\n\n\u2002If once again I chance to hold thee aye,\n\n\u2002I will not be so fond\n\n\u2002As erst I was to suffer thee to fly;\n\n\u2002Nay, fast I'll hold thee, hap of it what may,\n\n\u2002And having thee in bond,\n\n\u2002Of thy sweet mouth my lust I'll satisfy.\n\n\u2002Now of nought else will I\n\n\u2002Discourse. Quick, to thy bosom come me strain;\n\n\u2002The sheer thought bids me sing like lark at morn.\n\nThis song caused all the company conclude that a new and pleasing love held Filomena in bonds, and as by the words it appeared that she had tasted more thereof than sight alone, she was envied of this by certain who were there and who held her therefor so much the happier. But, after her song was ended, the queen, remembering her that the ensuing day was Friday, thus graciously bespoke all, \"You know, noble ladies and you also, young men, that to\u2013morrow is the day consecrated to the passion of our Lord, the which, an you remember aright, what time Neifile was queen, we celebrated devoutly and therein gave pause to our delightsome discoursements, and on like wise we did with the following Saturday. Wherefore, being minded to follow the good example given us by Neifile, I hold it seemly that to\u2013morrow and the next day we abstain, even as we did a week agone, from our pleasant story\u2013telling, recalling to memory that which on those days befell whilere for the salvation of our souls.\" The queen's pious speech was pleasing unto all and a good part of the night being now past, they all, dismissed by her, betook them to repose."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Eighth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE EIGHTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF LAURETTA IS DISCOURSED OF THE TRICKS THAT ALL DAY LONG WOMEN PLAY MEN OR MEN WOMEN OR MEN ONE ANOTHER ]\n\nAlready on the Sunday morning the rays of the rising light appeared on the summits of the higher mountains and every shadow having departed, things might manifestly be discerned, when the queen, arising with her company, went wandering first through the dewy grass and after, towards half\u2013tierce, visiting a little neighboring church, heard there divine service; then, returning home, they ate with mirth and joyance and after sang and danced awhile till the queen dismissed them, so whoso would might go rest himself. But, whenas the sun had passed the meridian, they all seated themselves, according as it pleased the queen, near the fair fountain, for the wonted story\u2013telling, and Neifile, by her commandment, began thus:"
            },
            {
                "title": "GULFARDO BORROWETH OF GUASPARRUOLO CERTAIN MONIES, FOR WHICH HE HATH AGREED WITH HIS WIFE THAT HE SHALL LIE WITH HER, AND ACCORDINGLY GIVETH THEM TO HER; THEN, IN HER PRESENCE, HE TELLETH GUASPARRUOLO THAT HE GAVE THEM TO HER, AND SHE CONFESSETH IT TO BE TRUE",
                "text": "\"Since God hath so ordered it that I am to give a beginning to the present day's discourses, with my story, I am content, and therefore, lovesome ladies, seeing that much hath been said of the tricks played by women upon men, it is my pleasure to relate one played by a man upon a woman, not that I mean therein to blame that which the man did or to deny that it served the woman aright, nay, rather to commend the man and blame the woman and to show that men also know how to cozen those who put faith in them, even as themselves are cozened by those in whom they believe. Indeed, to speak more precisely, that whereof I have to tell should not be called cozenage; nay, it should rather be styled a just requital; for that, albeit a woman should still be virtuous and guard her chastity as her life nor on any account suffer herself be persuaded to sully it, yet, seeing that, by reason of our frailty, this is not always possible as fully as should be, I affirm that she who consenteth to her own dishonour for a price is worthy of the fire, whereas she who yieldeth for Love's sake, knowing his exceeding great puissance, meriteth forgiveness from a judge not too severe, even as, a few days agone, Filostrato showed it to have been observed towards Madam Filippa at Prato.\"\n\nThere was, then, aforetime at Milan a German, by name Gulfardo, in the pay of the state, a stout fellow of his person and very loyal to those in whose service he engaged himself, which is seldom the case with Germans; and for that he was a very punctual repayer of such loans as were made him, he might always find many merchants ready to lend him any quantity of money at little usance. During his sojourn in Milan, he set his heart upon a very fair lady called Madam Ambruogia, the wife of a rich merchant, by name Guasparruolo Cagastraccio, who was much his acquaintance and friend, and loving her very discreetly, so that neither her husband nor any other suspected it, he sent one day to speak with her, praying her that it would please her vouchsafe him her favours and protesting that he, on his part, was ready to do whatsoever she should command him. The lady, after many parleys, came to this conclusion, that she was ready to do that which Gulfardo wished, provided two things should ensue thereof; one, that this should never be by him discovered to any and the other, that, as she had need of two hundred gold florins for some occasion of hers, he, who was a rich man, should give them to her; after which she would still be at his service.\n\nGulfardo, hearing this and indignant at the sordidness of her whom he had accounted a lady of worth, was like to exchange his fervent love for hatred and thinking to cheat her, sent back to her, saying that he would very willingly do this and all else in his power that might please her and that therefore she should e'en send him word when she would have him go to her, for that he would carry her the money, nor should any ever hear aught of the matter, save a comrade of his in whom he trusted greatly and who still bore him company in whatsoever he did. The lady, or rather, I should say, the vile woman, hearing this, was well pleased and sent to him, saying that Guasparruolo her husband was to go to Genoa for his occasions a few days hence and that she would presently let him know of this and send for him. Meanwhile, Gulfardo, taking his opportunity, repaired to Guasparruolo and said to him, 'I have present occasion for two hundred gold florins, the which I would have thee lend me at that same usance whereat thou art wont to lend me other monies.' The other replied that he would well and straightway counted out to him the money.\n\nA few days thereafterward Guasparruolo went to Genoa, even as the lady had said, whereupon she sent to Gulfardo to come to her and bring the two hundred gold florins. Accordingly, he took his comrade and repaired to the lady's house, where finding her expecting him, the first thing he did was to put into her hands the two hundred gold florins, in his friend's presence, saying to her, 'Madam, take these monies and give them to your husband, whenas he shall be returned.' The lady took them, never guessing why he said thus, but supposing that he did it so his comrade should not perceive that he gave them to her by way of price, and answered, 'With all my heart; but I would fain see how many they are.' Accordingly, she turned them out upon the table and finding them full two hundred, laid them up, mighty content in herself; then, returning to Gulfardo and carrying him into her chamber, she satisfied him of her person not that night only, but many others before her husband returned from Genoa.\n\nAs soon as the latter came back, Gulfardo, having spied out a time when he was in company with his wife, betook himself to him, together with his comrade aforesaid, and said to him, in the lady's presence, 'Guasparruolo, I had no occasion for the monies, to wit, the two hundred gold florins, thou lentest me the other day, for that I could not compass the business for which I borrowed them. Accordingly, I brought them presently back to thy lady here and gave them to her; wherefore look thou cancel my account.' Guasparruolo, turning to his wife, asked her if she had the monies, and she, seeing the witness present, knew not how to deny, but said, 'Ay, I had them and had not yet remembered me to tell thee.' Whereupon quoth Guasparruolo, 'Gulfardo, I am satisfied; get you gone and God go with you: I will settle your account aright.' Gulfardo gone, the lady, finding herself cozened, gave her husband the dishonourable price of her baseness; and on this wise the crafty lover enjoyed his sordid mistress without cost.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE PARISH PRIEST OF VARLUNGO LIETH WITH MISTRESS BELCOLORE AND LEAVETH HER A CLOAK OF HIS IN PLEDGE; THEN, BORROWING A MORTAR OF HER, HE SENDETH IT BACK TO HER, DEMANDING IN RETURN THE CLOAK LEFT BY WAY OF TOKEN, WHICH THE GOOD WOMAN GRUDGINGLY GIVETH HIM BACK",
                "text": "Men and ladies alike commended that which Gulfardo had done to the sordid Milanese lady, and the queen, turning to Pamfilo, smilingly charged him follow on; whereupon quoth he, \"Fair ladies, it occurreth to me to tell you a little story against those who continually offend against us, without being open to retaliation on our part, to wit, the clergy, who have proclaimed a crusade against our wives and who, whenas they avail to get one of the latter under them, conceive themselves to have gained forgiveness of fault and pardon of penalty no otherwise than as they had brought the Soldan bound from Alexandria to Avignon. Whereof the wretched laymen cannot return them the like, albeit they wreak their ire upon the priests' mothers and sisters, doxies and daughters, assailing them with no less ardour than the former do their wives. Wherefore I purpose to recount to you a village love\u2013affair, more laughable for its conclusion than long in words, wherefrom you may yet gather, by way of fruit, that priests are not always to be believed in everything.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there was once at Varlungo,\u2014a village very near here, as each of you ladies either knoweth or may have heard,\u2014a worthy priest and a lusty of his person in the service of the ladies, who, albeit he knew not overwell how to read, natheless regaled his parishioners with store of good and pious saws at the elmfoot on Sundays and visited their women, whenas they went abroad anywhither, more diligently than any priest who had been there aforetime, carrying them fairings and holy water and a stray candle\u2013end or so, whiles even to their houses. Now it chanced that, among other his she\u2013parishioners who were most to his liking, one pleased him over all, by name Mistress Belcolore, the wife of a husbandman who styled himself Bentivegna del Mazzo, a jolly, buxom country wench, brown\u2013favoured and tight\u2013made, as apt at turning the mill as any woman alive. Moreover, it was she who knew how to play the tabret and sing 'The water runneth to the ravine' and lead up the haye and the round, when need was, with a fine muckender in her hand and a quaint, better than any woman of her neighbourhood; by reason of which things my lord priest became so sore enamoured of her that he was like to lose his wits therefor and would prowl about all day long to get a sight of her. Whenas he espied her in church of a Sunday morning, he would say a Kyrie and a Sanctus, studying to show himself a past master in descant, that it seemed as it were an ass a\u2013braying; whereas, when he saw her not there, he passed that part of the service over lightly enough. But yet he made shift to do on such wise that neither Bentivegna nor any of his neighbours suspected aught; and the better to gain Mistress Belcolore's goodwill, he made her presents from time to time, sending her whiles a clove of garlic, which he had the finest of all the countryside in a garden he tilled with his own hands, and otherwhiles a punnet of peascods or a bunch of chives or scallions, and whenas he saw his opportunity, he would ogle her askance and cast a friendly gibe at her; but she, putting on the prude, made a show of not observing it and passed on with a demure air; wherefore my lord priest could not come by his will of her.\n\nIt chanced one day that as he sauntered about the quarter on the stroke of noon, he encountered Bentivegna del Mazzo, driving an ass laden with gear, and accosting him, asked whither he went. 'Faith, sir,' answered the husbandman, 'to tell you the truth, I am going to town about a business of mine and am carrying these things to Squire Bonaccorri da Ginestreto, so he may help me in I know not what whereof the police\u2013court judge hath summoned me by his proctor for a peremptory attendance.' The priest was rejoiced to hear this and said, 'Thou dost well, my son; go now with my benison and return speedily; and shouldst thou chance to see Lapuccio or Naldino, forget not to bid them bring me those straps they wot of for my flails.' Bentivegna answered that it should be done and went his way towards Florence, whereupon the priest bethought himself that now was his time to go try his luck with Belcolore. Accordingly, he let not the grass grow under his feet, but set off forthright and stayed not till he came to her house and entering in, said, 'God send us all well! Who is within there?' Belcolore, who was gone up into the hay\u2013loft, hearing him, said, 'Marry, sir, you are welcome; but what do you gadding it abroad in this heat?' 'So God give me good luck,' answered he, 'I came to abide with thee awhile, for that I met thy man going to town.'\n\nBelcolore came down and taking a seat, fell to picking over cabbage\u2013seed which her husband had threshed out a while before; whereupon quoth the priest to her, 'Well, Belcolore, wilt thou still cause me die for thee on this wise?' She laughed and answered, 'What is it I do to you?' Quoth he, 'Thou dost nought to me, but thou sufferest me not do to thee that which I would fain do and which God commandeth.' 'Alack!' cried Belcolore, 'Go to, go to. Do priests do such things?' 'Ay do we,' replied he, 'as well as other men; and why not? And I tell thee more, we do far and away better work and knowest thou why? Because we grind with a full head of water. But in good sooth it shall be shrewdly to thy profit, an thou wilt but abide quiet and let me do.' 'And what might this \"shrewdly to my profit\" be?' asked she. 'For all you priests are stingier than the devil.' Quoth he, 'I know not; ask thou. Wilt have a pair of shoes or a head\u2013lace or a fine stammel waistband or what thou wilt?' 'Pshaw!' cried Belcolore. 'I have enough and to spare of such things; but an you wish me so well, why do you not render me a service, and I will do what you will?' Quoth the priest, 'Say what thou wilt have of me, and I will do it willingly.' Then said she, 'Needs must I go to Florence, come Saturday, to carry back the wool I have spun and get my spinning\u2013wheel mended; and an you will lend me five crowns, which I know you have by you, I can take my watchet gown out of pawn and my Sunday girdle that I brought my husband, for you see I cannot go to church nor to any decent place, because I have them not; and after I will still do what you would have me.' 'So God give me a good year,' replied the priest, 'I have them not about me; but believe me, ere Saturday come, I will contrive that thou shalt have them, and that very willingly.' 'Ay,' said Belcolore, 'you are all like this, great promisers, and after perform nothing to any. Think you to do with me as you did with Biliuzza, who went off with the ghittern\u2013player? Cock's faith, then, you shall not, for that she is turned a common drab only for that. If you have them not about you, go for them.' 'Alack,' cried the priest, 'put me not upon going all the way home. Thou seest that I have the luck just now to find thee alone, but maybe, when I return, there will be some one or other here to hinder us; and I know not when I shall find so good an opportunity again.' Quoth she, 'It is well; an you choose to go, go; if not, go without.'\n\nThe priest, seeing that she was not in the humour to do his pleasure without a salvum me fac, whereas he would fain have done it sine custodi\u00e2, said, 'Harkye, thou believest not that I will bring thee the money; but, so thou mayst credit me, I will leave thee this my blue\u2013cloth cloak.' Belcolore raised her eyes and said, 'Eh what! That cloak? What is it worth?' 'Worth?' answered the priest. 'I would have thee know that it is cloth of Douay, nay, Threeay, and there be some of our folk here who hold it for Fouray. It is scarce a fortnight since it cost me seven crowns of hard money to Lotto the broker, and according to what Buglietto telleth me (and thou knowest he is a judge of this kind of cloth), I had it good five shillings overcheap.' 'Indeed!' quoth Belcolore. 'So God be mine aid, I had never thought it. But give it me first of all.' My lord priest, who had his arbalest ready cocked, pulled off the cloak and gave it her; and she, after she had laid it up, said, 'Come, sir, let us go into the barn, for no one ever cometh there.' And so they did. There the priest gave her the heartiest busses in the world and making her sib to God Almighty, solaced himself with her a great while; after which he took leave of her and returned to the parsonage in his cassock, as it were he came from officiating at a wedding.\n\nThere, bethinking himself that all the candle\u2013ends he got by way of offertory in all the year were not worth the half of five crowns, himseemed he had done ill and repenting him of having left the cloak, he fell to considering how he might have it again without cost. Being shrewd enough in a small way, he soon hit upon a device and it succeeded to his wish; for that on the morrow, it being a holiday, he sent a neighbour's lad of his to Mistress Belcolore's house, with a message praying her be pleased to lend him her stone mortar, for that Binguccio dal Poggio and Nuto Buglietti were to dine with him that morning and he had a mind to make sauce. She sent it to him and towards dinner\u2013time, the priest, having spied out when Bentivegna and his wife were at meat together, called his clerk and said to him, 'Carry this mortar back to Belcolore and say to her, 'His reverence biddeth you gramercy and prayeth you send him back the cloak that the boy left you by way of token.' The clerk accordingly repaired to her house and there, finding her at table with Bentivegna, set down the mortar and did the priest's errand. Belcolore, hearing require the cloak again, would have answered; but her husband said, with an angry air, 'Takest thou a pledge of his reverence? I vow to Christ, I have a mind to give thee a good clout over the head! Go, give it quickly back to him, pox take thee! And in future, let him ask what he will of ours, (ay, though he should seek our ass,) look that it be not denied him.' Belcolore rose, grumbling, and pulling the cloak out of the chest, gave it to the clerk, saying, 'Tell her reverence from me, Belcolore saith, she voweth to God you shall never again pound sauce in her mortar; you have done her no such fine honour of this bout.'\n\nThe clerk made off with the cloak and did her message to the priest, who said, laughing, 'Tell her, when thou seest her, that, an she will not lend me her mortar, I will not lend her my pestle; and so we shall be quits.' Bentivegna concluded that his wife had said this, because he had chidden her, and took no heed thereof; but Belcolore bore the priest a grudge and held him at arm's length till vintage\u2013time; when, he having threatened to cause her go into the mouth of Lucifer the great devil, for very fear she made her peace with him over must and roast chestnuts and they after made merry together time and again. In lieu of the five crowns, the priest let put new parchment to her tabret and string thereto a cast of hawk's bells, and with this she was fain to be content.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "CALANDRINO, BRUNO AND BUFFALMACCO GO COASTING ALONG THE MUGNONE IN SEARCH OF THE HELIOTROPE AND CALANDRINO THINKETH TO HAVE FOUND IT. ACCORDINGLY HE RETURNETH HOME, LADEN WITH STONES, AND HIS WIFE CHIDETH HIM; WHEREUPON, FLYING OUT INTO A RAGE, HE BEATETH HER AND RECOUNTETH TO HIS COMPANIONS THAT WHICH THEY KNOW BETTER THAN HE",
                "text": "Pamfilo having made an end of his story, at which the ladies had laughed so much that they laugh yet, the queen bade Elisa follow on, who, still laughing, began, \"I know not, charming ladies, if with a little story of mine, no less true than pleasant, I shall succeed in making you laugh as much as Pamfilo hath done with his; but I will do my endeavor thereof.\"\n\nIn our city, then, which hath ever abounded in various fashions and strange folk, there was once, no great while since, a painter called Calandrino, a simple\u2013witted man and of strange usances. He companied most of his time with other two painters, called the one Bruno and the other Buffalmacco, both very merry men, but otherwise well\u2013advised and shrewd, who consorted with Calandrino for that they ofttimes had great diversion of his fashions and his simplicity. There was then also in Florence a young man of a mighty pleasant humor and marvellously adroit in all he had a mind to do, astute and plausible, who was called Maso del Saggio, and who, hearing certain traits of Calandrino's simplicity, determined to amuse himself at his expense by putting off some cheat on him or causing him believe some strange thing. He chanced one day to come upon him in the church of San Giovanni and seeing him intent upon the carved work and paintings of the pyx, which is upon the altar of the said church and which had then not long been placed there, he judged the place and time opportune for carrying his intent into execution. Accordingly, acquainting a friend of his with that which he purposed to do, they both drew near unto the place where Calandrino sat alone and feigning not to see him, fell a\u2013discoursing together of the virtues of divers stones, whereof Maso spoke as authoritatively as if he had been a great and famous lapidary.\n\nCalandrino gave ear to their talk and presently, seeing that it was no secret, he rose to his feet and joined himself to them, to the no small satisfaction of Maso, who, pursuing his discourse, was asked by Calandrino where these wonder\u2013working stones were to be found. Maso replied that the most of them were found in Berlinzone, a city of the Basques, in a country called Bengodi, where the vines are tied up with sausages and a goose is to be had for a farthing and a gosling into the bargain, and that there was a mountain all of grated Parmesan cheese, whereon abode folk who did nothing but make maccaroni and ravioli and cook them in capon\u2013broth, after which they threw them down thence and whoso got most thereof had most; and that hard by ran a rivulet of vernage, the best ever was drunk, without a drop of water therein. 'Marry,' cried Calandrino, 'that were a fine country; but tell me, what is done with the capons that they boil for broth?' Quoth Maso, 'The Basques eat them all.' Then said Calandrino, 'Wast thou ever there?' 'Was I ever there, quotha!' replied Maso. 'If I have been there once I have been there a thousand times.' 'And how many miles is it distant hence?' asked Calandrino; and Maso, 'How many? a million or more; you might count them all night and not know.' 'Then,' said Calandrino, 'it must be farther off than the Abruzzi?' 'Ay, indeed,' answered Maso; 'it is a trifle farther.'\n\nCalandrino, like a simpleton as he was, hearing Maso tell all this with an assured air and without laughing, gave such credence thereto as can be given to whatsoever verity is most manifest and so, holding it for truth, said, 'That is overfar for my money; though, were it nearer, I tell thee aright I would go thither with thee once upon a time, if but to see the maccaroni come tumbling headlong down and take my fill thereof. But tell me, God keep thee merry, is there none of those wonder\u2013working stones to be found in these parts?' 'Ay is there,' answered Maso; 'there be two kinds of stones of very great virtue found here; the first are the grits of Settignano and Montisci, by virtue whereof, when they are wrought into millstones, flour is made; wherefore it is said in those parts that grace cometh from God and millstones from Montisci; but there is such great plenty of these grits that they are as little prized with us as emeralds with the folk over yonder, where they have mountains of them bigger than Mount Morello, which shine in the middle of the night, I warrant thee. And thou must know that whoso should cause set fine and perfect millstones, before they are pierced, in rings and carry them to the Soldan might have for them what he would. The other is what we lapidaries call Heliotrope, a stone of exceeding great virtue, for that whoso hath it about him is not seen of any other person whereas he is not, what while he holdeth it.' Quoth Calandrino, 'These be indeed great virtues; but where is this second stone found?' To which Maso replied that it was commonly found in the Mugnone. 'What bigness is this stone,' asked Calandrino, 'and what is its colour?' Quoth Maso, 'It is of various sizes, some more and some less; but all are well nigh black of colour.'\n\nCalandrino noted all this in himself and feigning to have otherwhat to do, took leave of Maso, inwardly determined to go seek the stone in question, but bethought himself not to do it without the knowledge of Bruno and Buffalmacco, whom he most particularly affected. Accordingly he addressed himself to seek for them, so they might, without delay and before any else, set about the search, and spent all the rest of the morning seeking them. At last, when it was past none, he remembered him that they were awork in the Ladies' Convent at Faenza and leaving all his other business, he betook himself thither well nigh at a run, notwithstanding the great heat. As soon as he saw them, he called them and bespoke them thus: 'Comrades, an you will hearken to me, we may become the richest men in all Florence, for that I have learned from a man worthy of belief that in the Mugnone is to be found a stone, which whoso carrieth about him is not seen of any; wherefore meseemeth we were best go thither in quest thereof without delay, ere any forestall us. We shall certainly find it, for that I know it well, and when we have gotten it, what have we to do but put it in our poke and getting us to the moneychangers' tables, which you know stand still laden with groats and florins, take as much as we will thereof? None will see us, and so may we grow rich of a sudden, without having to smear walls all day long, snail\u2013fashion.'\n\nBruno and Buffalmacco, hearing this, fell a\u2013laughing in their sleeves and eyeing each other askance, made a show of exceeding wonderment and praised Calandrino's counsel, but Bruno asked how the stone in question was called. Calandrino, who was a clod\u2013pated fellow, had already forgotten the name, wherefore quoth he, 'What have we to do with the name, since we know the virtue of the stone? Meseemeth we were best go about the quest without more ado.' 'Well, then,' said Bruno, 'how is it fashioned?' 'It is of all fashions,' replied Calandrino; 'but all are well nigh black; wherefore meseemeth that what we have to do is to gather up all the black stones we see, till we happen upon the right. So let us lose no time, but get us gone.' Quoth Bruno, 'Wait awhile,' and turning to his comrade, said, 'Methinketh Calandrino saith well; but meseemeth this is no season for the search, for that the sun is high and shineth full upon the Mugnone, where it hath dried all the stones, so that certain of those that be there appear presently white, which of a morning, ere the sun have dried them, show black; more by token that, to\u2013day being a working day, there be many folk, on one occasion or another abroad along the banks, who, seeing us, may guess what we are about and maybe do likewise, whereby the stone may come to their hands and we shall have lost the trot for the amble. Meseemeth (an you be of the same way of thinking) that this is a business to be undertaken of a morning, whenas the black may be the better known from the white, and of a holiday, when there will be none there to see us.'\n\nBuffalmacco commended Bruno's counsel and Calandrino fell in therewith; wherefore they agreed to go seek for the stone all three on the following Sunday morning, and Calandrino besought them over all else not to say a word of the matter to any one alive, for that it had been imparted to him in confidence, and after told them that which he had heard tell of the land of Bengodi, affirming with an oath that it was as he said. As soon as he had taken his leave, the two others agreed with each other what they should do in the matter and Calandrino impatiently awaited the Sunday morning, which being come, he arose at break of day and called his friends, with whom he sallied forth of the city by the San Gallo gate and descending into the bed of the Mugnone, began to go searching down stream for the stone. Calandrino, as the eagerest of the three, went on before, skipping nimbly hither and thither, and whenever he espied any black stone, he pounced upon it and picking it up, thrust it into his bosom. His comrades followed after him picking up now one stone and now another; but Calandrino had not gone far before he had his bosom full of stones; wherefore, gathering up the skirts of his grown, which was not cut Flanders fashion, he tucked them well into his surcingle all round and made an ample lap thereof. However, it was no great while ere he had filled it, and making a lap on like wise of his mantle, soon filled this also with stones. Presently, the two others seeing that he had gotten his load and that dinner\u2013time drew nigh, quoth Bruno to Buffalmacco, in accordance with the plan concerted between them, 'Where is Calandrino?' Buffalmacco, who saw him hard by, turned about and looking now here and now there, answered, 'I know not; but he was before us but now.' 'But now, quotha!' cried Bruno. 'I warrant you he is presently at home at dinner and hath left us to play the fool here, seeking black stones down the Mugnone.' 'Egad,' rejoined Buffalmacco 'he hath done well to make mock of us and leave us here, since we were fools enough to credit him. Marry, who but we had been simple enough to believe that a stone of such virtue was to be found in the Mugnone?'\n\nCalandrino, hearing this, concluded that the heliotrope had fallen into his hands and that by virtue thereof they saw him not, albeit he was present with them, and rejoiced beyond measure at such a piece of good luck, answered them not a word, but determined to return; wherefore, turning back, he set off homeward. Buffalmacco, seeing this, said to Bruno, 'What shall we do? Why do we not get us gone?' Whereto Bruno answered, 'Let us begone; but I vow to God that Calandrino shall never again serve me thus, and were I presently near him as I have been all the morning, I would give him such a clout on the shins with this stone that he should have cause to remember this trick for maybe a month to come.' To say this and to let fly at Calandrino's shins with the stone were one and the same thing; and the latter, feeling the pain, lifted up his leg and began to puff and blow, but yet held his peace and fared on. Presently Buffalmacco took one of the flints he had picked up and said to Bruno, 'Look at this fine flint; here should go for Calandrino's loins!' So saying, he let fly and dealt him a sore rap in the small of the back with the stone. Brief, on this wise, now with one word and now with another, they went pelting him up the Mugnone till they came to the San Gallo gate, where they threw down the stones they had gathered and halted awhile at the custom house.\n\nThe officers, forewarned by them, feigned not to see Calandrino and let him pass, laughing heartily at the jest, whilst he, without stopping, made straight for his house, which was near the Canto alla Macina, and fortune so far favoured the cheat that none accosted him, as he came up the stream and after through the city, as, indeed, he met with few, for that well nigh every one was at dinner. Accordingly, he reached his house, thus laden, and as chance would have it, his wife, a fair and virtuous lady, by name Mistress Tessa, was at the stairhead. Seeing him come and somewhat provoked at his long tarriance, she began to rail at him, saying, 'Devil take the man! Wilt thou never think to come home betimes? All the folk have already dined whenas thou comest back to dinner.' Calandrino, hearing this and finding that he was seen, was overwhelmed with chagrin and vexation and cried out, 'Alack, wicked woman that thou art, wast thou there? Thou hast undone me; but, by God His faith, I will pay thee therefor!' Therewithal he ran up to a little saloon he had and there disburdened himself of the mass of stones he had brought home; then, running in a fury at his wife, he laid hold of her by the hair and throwing her down at his feet, cuffed and kicked her in every part as long as he could wag his arms and legs, without leaving a hair on her head or a bone in her body that was not beaten to a mash, nor did it avail her aught to cry him mercy with clasped hands.\n\nMeanwhile Bruno and Buffalmacco, after laughing awhile with the keepers of the gate, proceeded with slow step to follow Calandrino afar off and presently coming to the door of his house, heard the cruel beating he was in act to give his wife; whereupon, making a show of having but then come back, they called Calandrino, who came to the window, all asweat and red with anger and vexation, and prayed them come up to him. Accordingly, they went up, making believe to be somewhat vexed, and seeing the room full of stones and the lady, all torn and dishevelled and black and blue in the face for bruises, weeping piteously in one corner of the room, whilst Calandrino sat in another, untrussed and panting like one forspent, eyed them awhile, then said, 'What is this, Calandrino? Art thou for building, that we see all these stones here? And Mistress Tessa, what aileth her? It seemeth thou hast beaten her. What is all this ado?' Calandrino, outwearied with the weight of the stones and the fury with which he had beaten his wife, no less than with chagrin for the luck which himseemed he had lost, could not muster breath to give them aught but broken words in reply; wherefore, as he delayed to answer, Buffalmacco went on, 'Harkye, Calandrino, whatever other cause for anger thou mightest have had, thou shouldst not have fooled us as thou hast done, in that, after thou hadst carried us off to seek with thee for the wonder\u2013working stone, thou leftest us in the Mugnone, like a couple of gulls, and madest off home, without saying so much as God be with you or devil; the which we take exceeding ill; but assuredly this shall be the last trick thou shalt ever play us.'\n\nTherewithal, Calandrino enforcing himself, answered, 'Comrades, be not angered; the case standeth otherwise than as you deem. I (unlucky wretch that I am!) had found the stone in question, and you shall hear if I tell truth. When first you questioned one another of me, I was less than half a score yards distant from you; but, seeing that you made off and saw me not, I went on before you and came back hither, still keeping a little in front of you.' Then, beginning from the beginning, he recounted to them all that they had said and done, first and last, and showed them how the stones had served his back and shins; after which, 'And I may tell you,' continued he, 'that, whenas I entered in at the gate, with all these stones about me which you see here, there was nothing said to me, albeit you know how vexatious and tiresome these gatekeepers use to be in wanting to see everything; more by token that I met by the way several of my friends and gossips, who are still wont to accost me and invite me to drink; but none of them said a word to me, no, nor half a word, as those who saw me not. At last, being come home hither, this accursed devil of a woman presented herself before me, for that, as you know, women cause everything lose its virtue, wherefore I, who might else have called myself the luckiest man in Florence, am become the most unlucky. For this I have beaten her as long as I could wag my fists and I know not what hindereth me from slitting her weasand, accursed be the hour when first I saw her and when she came to me in this house.' Then, flaming out into fresh anger, he offered to rise and beat her anew.\n\nBruno and Buffalmacco, hearing all this, made believe to marvel exceedingly and often confirmed that which Calandrino said, albeit they had the while so great a mind to laugh that they were like to burst; but, seeing him start up in a rage to beat his wife again, they rose upon him and withheld him, avouching that the lady was nowise at fault, but that he had only himself to blame for that which had happened, since he knew that women caused things to lose their virtue and had not bidden her beware of appearing before him that day, and that God had bereft him of foresight to provide against this, either for that the adventure was not to be his or because he had had it in mind to cozen his comrades, to whom he should have discovered the matter, as soon as he perceived that he had found the stone. Brief, after many words, they made peace, not without much ado, between him and the woebegone lady and went their ways, leaving him disconsolate, with the house full of stones.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE RECTOR OF FIESOLE LOVETH A WIDOW LADY, BUT IS NOT LOVED BY HER AND THINKING TO LIE WITH HER, LIETH WITH A SERVING\u2013WENCH OF HERS, WHILST THE LADY'S BROTHERS CAUSE THE BISHOP FIND HIM IN THIS CASE",
                "text": "Elisa being come to the end of her story, which she had related to the no small pleasure of all the company, the queen turned to Emilia, and signified to her her wish that she should follow after with her story, whereupon she promptly began thus: \"I have not forgotten, noble ladies, that it hath already been shown, in sundry of the foregoing stories, how much we women are exposed to the importunities of the priests and friars and clergy of every kind; but, seeing that so much cannot be said thereof but that yet more will remain to say, I purpose, to boot, to tell you a story of a rector, who, maugre all the world, would e'en have a gentlewoman wish him well, whether she would or not; whereupon she, like a very discreet woman as she was, used him as he deserved.\"\n\nAs all of you know, Fiesole, whose hill we can see hence, was once a very great and ancient city, nor, albeit it is nowadays all undone, hath it ever ceased to be, as it is yet, the seat of a bishop. Near the cathedral church there a widow lady of noble birth, by name Madam Piccarda, had an estate, where, for that she was not overwell to do, she abode the most part of the year in a house of hers that was not very big, and with her, two brothers of hers, very courteous and worthy youths. It chanced that, the lady frequenting the cathedral church and being yet very young and fair and agreeable, the rector of the church became so sore enamoured of her that he could think of nothing else, and after awhile, making bold to discover his mind to her, he prayed her accept of his love and love him as he loved her. Now he was already old in years, but very young in wit, malapert and arrogant and presumptuous in the extreme, with manners and fashions full of conceit and ill grace, and withal so froward and ill\u2013conditioned that there was none who wished him well; and if any had scant regard for him, it was the lady in question, who not only wished him no whit of good, but hated him worse than the megrims; wherefore, like a discreet woman as she was, she answered him, 'Sir, that you love me should be mighty pleasing to me, who am bound to love you and will gladly do so; but between your love and mine nothing unseemly should ever befall. You are my spiritual father and a priest and are presently well stricken in years, all which things should make you both modest and chaste; whilst I, on the other hand, am no girl, nor do these amorous toys beseem my present condition, for that I am a widow and you well know what discretion is required in widows; wherefore I pray you hold me excused, for that I shall never love you after the fashion whereof you require me; nor do I wish to be thus loved of you.'\n\nThe rector could get of her no other answer for that time, but, nowise daunted or disheartened by the first rebuff, solicited her again and again with the most overweening importunity, both by letter and message, nay, even by word of mouth, whenas he saw her come into the church. Wherefor, herseeming that this was too great and too grievous an annoy, she cast about to rid herself of him after such a fashion as he deserved, since she could no otherwise, but would do nought ere she had taken counsel with her brothers. Accordingly, she acquainted them with the rector's behaviour towards her and that which she purposed to do, and having therein full license from them, went a few days after to the church, as was her wont. As soon as the rector saw her, he came up to her and with his usual assurance, accosted her familiarly. The lady received him with a cheerful countenance and withdrawing apart with him, after he had said many words to her in his wonted style, she heaved a great sigh and said, 'Sir, I have heard that there is no fortalice so strong but that, being every day assaulted, it cometh at last to be taken, and this I can very well see to have happened to myself; for that you have so closely beset me with soft words and with one complaisance and another, that you have made me break my resolve, and I am now disposed, since I please you thus, to consent to be yours.' 'Gramercy, madam,' answered the rector, overjoyed, 'to tell you the truth, I have often wondered how you could hold out so long, considering that never did the like betide me with any woman; nay, I have said whiles, \"Were women of silver, they would not be worth a farthing, for that not one of them would stand the hammer.\" But let that pass for the present. When and where can we be together?' Whereto quoth the lady, 'Sweet my lord, as for the when, it may be what time soever most pleaseth us, for that I have no husband to whom it behoveth me render an account of my nights; but for the where I know not how to contrive.' 'How?' cried the priest. 'Why, in your house to be sure.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'you know I have two young brothers, who come and go about the house with their companions day and night, and my house is not overbig; wherefore it may not be there, except one chose to abide there mute\u2013fashion, without saying a word or making the least sound, and be in the dark, after the manner of the blind. An you be content to do this, it might be, for they meddle not with my bedchamber; but their own is so close to mine that one cannot whisper the least word, without its being heard.' 'Madam,' answered the rector, 'this shall not hinder us for a night or two, against I bethink me where we may foregather more at ease.' Quoth she, 'Sir, let that rest with you; but of one thing I pray you, that this abide secret, so no word be ever known thereof.' 'Madam,' replied he, 'have no fear for that; but, an it may be, make shift that we shall foregather this evening.' 'With all my heart,' said the lady; and appointing him how and when he should come, she took leave of him and returned home.\n\nNow she had a serving\u2013wench, who was not overyoung, but had the foulest and worst\u2013favoured visnomy was ever seen; for she had a nose flattened sore, a mouth all awry, thick lips and great ill\u2013set teeth; moreover, she inclined to squint, nor was ever without sore eyes, and had a green and yellow complexion, which gave her the air of having passed the summer not at Fiesole, but at Sinigaglia. Besides all this, she was hipshot and a thought crooked on the right side. Her name was Ciuta, but, for that she had such a dog's visnomy of her own, she was called of every one Ciutazza; and for all she was misshapen of her person, she was not without a spice of roguishness. The lady called her and said to her, 'Harkye, Ciutazza, an thou wilt do me a service this night. I will give thee a fine new shift.' Ciutazza, hearing speak of the shift, answered, 'Madam, so you give me a shift, I will cast myself into the fire, let alone otherwhat.' 'Well, then,' said her mistress, 'I would have thee lie to\u2013night with a man in my bed and load him with caresses, but take good care not to say a word, lest thou be heard by my brothers, who, as thou knowest, sleep in the next room; and after I will give thee the shift.' Quoth Ciutazza, 'With all my heart. I will lie with half a dozen men, if need be, let alone one.' Accordingly, at nightfall, my lord the rector made his appearance, according to agreement, whilst the two young men, by the lady's appointment, were in their bedchamber and took good care to make themselves heard; wherefore he entered the lady's chamber in silence and darkness and betook himself, as she had bidden him, straight to the bed, whither on her part came Ciutazza, who had been well lessoned by the lady of that which she had to do. My lord rector, thinking he had his mistress beside him, caught Ciutazza in his arms and fell to kissing her, without saying a word, and she him; whereupon he proceeded to solace himself with her, taking, as he thought, possession of the long\u2013desired good.\n\nThe lady, having done this, charged her brothers carry the rest of the plot into execution, wherefore, stealing softly out of the chamber, they made for the great square and fortune was more favorable to them than they themselves asked in that which they had a mind to do, inasmuch as, the heat being great, the bishop had enquired for the two young gentlemen, so he might go a\u2013pleasuring to their house and drink with them. But, seeing them coming, he acquainted them with his wish and returned with them to their house, where, entering a cool little courtyard of theirs, in which were many flambeaux alight, he drank with great pleasure of an excellent wine of theirs. When he had drunken, the young men said to him, 'My lord, since you have done us so much favour as to deign to visit this our poor house, whereto we came to invite you, we would have you be pleased to view a small matter with which we would fain show you.' The bishop answered that he would well; whereupon one of the young men, taking a lighted flambeau in his hand, made for the chamber where my lord rector lay with Ciutazza, followed by the bishop and all the rest. The rector, to arrive the quicklier at his journey's end, had hastened to take horse and had already ridden more than three miles before they came thither; wherefore, being somewhat weary, he had, notwithstanding the heat, fallen asleep with Ciutazza in his arms. Accordingly, when the young man entered the chamber, light in hand, and after him the bishop and all the others, he was shown to the prelate in this plight; whereupon he awoke and seeing the light and the folk about him, was sore abashed and hid his head for fear under the bed\u2013clothes. The bishop gave him a sound rating and made him put out his head and see with whom he had lain; whereupon the rector, understanding the trick that had been played him of the lady, what with this and what with the disgrace himseemed he had gotten, became of a sudden the woefullest man that was aye. Then, having, by the bishop's commandment, reclad himself, he was despatched to his house under good guard, to suffer sore penance for the sin he had committed. The bishop presently enquiring how it came to pass that he had gone thither to lie with Ciutazza, the young men orderly related everything to him, which having heard, he greatly commended both the lady and her brothers for that, without choosing to imbrue their hands in the blood of a priest, they had entreated him as he deserved. As for the rector, he caused him bewail his offence forty days' space; but love and despite made him rue it for more than nine\u2013and\u2013forty, more by token that, for a great while after, he could never go abroad but the children would point at him and say, 'See, there is he who lay with Ciutazza'; the which was so sore an annoy to him that he was like to go mad therefor. On such wise did the worthy lady rid herself of the importunity of the malapert rector and Ciutazza gained the shift and a merry night.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THREE YOUNG MEN PULL THE BREECHES OFF A MARCHEGAN JUDGE IN FLORENCE, WHAT WHILE HE IS ON THE BENCH, ADMINISTERING JUSTICE",
                "text": "Emilia having made an end of her story and the widow lady having been commended of all, the queen looked to Filostrato and said, \"It is now thy turn to tell.\" He answered promptly that he was ready and began, \"Delightsome ladies, the mention by Elisa a little before of a certain young man, to wit, Maso del Saggio, hath caused me leave a story I purposed to tell you, so I may relate to you one of him and certain companions of his, which, if (albeit it is nowise unseemly) it offer certain expressions which you think shame to use, is natheless so laughable that I will e'en tell it.\"\n\nAs you may all have heard, there come oftentimes to our city governors from the Marches of Ancona, who are commonly mean\u2013spirited folk and so paltry and sordid of life that their every fashion seemeth nought other than a lousy cadger's trick; and of this innate paltriness and avarice, they bring with them judges and notaries, who seem men taken from the plough\u2013tail or the cobbler's stall rather than from the schools of law. Now, one of these being come hither for Provost, among the many judges whom he brought with him was one who styled himself Messer Niccola da San Lepidio and who had more the air of a tinker than of aught else, and he was set with other judges to hear criminal causes. As it oft happeneth that, for all the townsfolk have nought in the world to do at the courts of law, yet bytimes they go thither, it befell that Maso del Saggio went thither one morning, in quest of a friend of his, and chancing to cast his eyes whereas this said Messer Niccola sat, himseemed that here was a rare outlandish kind of wild fowl. Accordingly, he went on to examine him from head to foot, and albeit he saw him with the miniver bonnet on his head all black with smoke and grease and a paltry inkhorn at his girdle, a gown longer than his mantle and store of other things all foreign to a man of good breeding and manners, yet of all these the most notable, to his thinking, was a pair of breeches, the backside whereof, as the judge sat, with his clothes standing open in front for straitness, he perceived came halfway down his legs. Thereupon, without tarrying longer to look upon him, he left him with whom he went seeking and beginning a new quest, presently found two comrades of his, called one Ribi and the other Matteuzzo, men much of the same mad humour as himself, and said to them, 'As you tender me, come with me to the law courts, for I wish to show you the rarest scarecrow you ever saw.'\n\nAccordingly, carrying them to the court house, he showed them the aforesaid judge and his breeches, whereat they fell a\u2013laughing, as soon as they caught sight of him afar off; then, drawing nearer to the platform whereon my lord judge sat, they saw that one might lightly pass thereunder and that, moreover, the boards under his feet were so broken that one might with great ease thrust his hand and arm between them; whereupon quoth Maso to his comrades, 'Needs must we pull him off those breeches of his altogether, for that it may very well be done.' Each of the others had already seen how; wherefore, having agreed among themselves what they should say and do, they returned thither next morning, when, the court being very full of folk, Matteuzzo, without being seen of any, crept under the bench and posted himself immediately beneath the judge's feet. Meanwhile, Maso came up to my lord judge on one side and taking him by the skirt of his gown, whilst Ribi did the like on the other side, began to say, 'My lord, my lord, I pray you for God's sake, ere yonder scurvy thief on the other side of you go elsewhere, make him restore me a pair of saddle\u2013bags whereof he hath saith indeed he did it not; but I saw him, not a month ago, in act to have them resoled.' Ribi on his side cried out with all his might, 'Believe him not, my lord; he is an arrant knave, and for that he knoweth I am come to lay a complaint against him for a pair of saddle\u2013bags whereof he hath robbed me, he cometh now with his story of the boothose, which I have had in my house this many a day. An you believe me not, I can bring you to witness my next\u2013door neighbor Trecca and Grassa the tripewoman and one who goeth gathering the sweepings from Santa Masia at Verjaza, who saw him when he came back from the country.\n\nMaso on the other hand suffered not Ribi to speak, but bawled his loudest, whereupon the other but shouted the more. The judge stood up and leaned towards them, so he might the better apprehend what they had to say, wherefore Matteuzzo, watching his opportunity, thrust his hand between the crack of the boards and laying hold of Messer Niccola's galligaskins by the breech, tugged at them amain. The breeches came down incontinent, for that the judge was lean and lank of the crupper; whereupon, feeling this and knowing not what it might be, he would have sat down again and pulled his skirts forward to cover himself; but Maso on the one side and Ribi on the other still held him fast and cried out, 'My lord, you do ill not to do me justice and to seek to avoid hearing me and get you gone otherwhere; there be no writs granted in this city for such small matters as this.' So saying, they held him fast by the clothes on such wise that all who were in the court perceived that his breeches had been pulled down. However, Matteuzzo, after he had held them awhile, let them go and coming forth from under the platform, made off out of the court and went his way without being seen; whereupon quoth Ribi, himseeming he had done enough, 'I vow to God I will appeal to the syndicate!' Whilst Maso, on his part, let go the mantle and said, 'Nay, I will e'en come hither again and again until such time as I find you not hindered as you seem to be this morning.' So saying, they both made off as quickliest they might, each on his own side, whilst my lord judge pulled up his breeches in every one's presence, as if he were arisen from sleep; then, perceiving how the case stood, he enquired whither they were gone who were at difference anent the boothose and the saddle\u2013bags; but they were not to be found, whereupon he began to swear by Cock's bowels that need must he know and learn if it were the wont at Florence to pull down the judges' breeches, whenas they sat on the judicial bench. The Provost, on his part, hearing of this, made a great stir; but, his friends having shown him that this had only been done to give him notice that the Florentines right well understood how, whereas he should have brought judges, he had brought them sorry patches, to have them better cheap, he thought it best to hold his peace, and so the thing went no farther for the nonce.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "BRUNO AND BUFFALMACCO, HAVING STOLEN A PIG FROM CALANDRINO, MAKE HIM TRY THE ORDEAL WITH GINGER BOLUSES AND SACK AND GIVE HIM (INSTEAD OF THE GINGER) TWO DOG\u2013BALLS COMPOUNDED WITH ALOES, WHEREBY IT APPEARETH THAT HE HIMSELF HATH HAD THE PIG AND THEY MAKE HIM PAY BLACKMAIL, AN HE WOULD NOT HAVE THEM TELL HIS WIFE",
                "text": "No sooner had Filostrato despatched his story, which had given rise to many a laugh, than the queen bade Filomena follow on, whereupon she began: \"Gracious ladies, even as Filostrato was led by the mention of Maso to tell the story which you have just heard from him, so neither more nor less am I moved by that of Calandrino and his friends to tell you another of them, which methinketh will please you.\"\n\nWho Calandrino, Bruno and Buffalmacco were I need not explain to you, for that you have already heard it well enough; wherefore, to proceed with my story, I must tell you that Calandrino owned a little farm at no great distance from Florence, that he had had to his wife's dowry. From this farm, amongst other things that he got thence, he had every year a pig, and it was his wont still to betake himself thither, he and his wife, and kill the pig and have it salted on the spot. It chanced one year that, his wife being somewhat ailing, he went himself to kill the pig, which Bruno and Buffalmacco hearing and knowing that his wife was not gone to the farm with him, they repaired to a priest, very great friend of theirs and a neighbor of Calandrino, to sojourn some days with him. Now Calandrino had that very morning killed the pig and seeing them with the priest, called to them saying, 'You are welcome. I would fain have you see what a good husband I am.' Then carrying them into the house, he showed them the pig, which they seeing to be a very fine one and understanding from Calandrino that he meant to salt it down for his family, 'Good lack,' quoth Bruno to him, 'what a ninny thou art! Sell it and let us make merry with the price, and tell thy wife that it hath been stolen from thee.' 'Nay, answered Calandrino, 'she would never believe it and would drive me out of the house. Spare your pains, for I will never do it.' And many were the words, but they availed nothing.\n\nCalandrino invited them to supper, but with so ill a grace that they refused to sup there and took their leave of him; whereupon quoth Bruno and Buffalmacco, 'What sayest thou to stealing yonder pig from him to\u2013night?' 'Marry,' replied the other, 'how can we do it?' Quoth Bruno, 'I can see how well enough, an he remove it not from where it was but now.' 'Then,' rejoined his companion, 'let us do it. Why should we not? And after we will make merry over it with the parson here.' The priest answered that he would well, and Bruno said, 'Here must some little art be used. Thou knowest, Buffalmacco, how niggardly Calandrino is and how gladly he drinketh when others pay; let us go and carry him to the tavern, where the priest shall make believe to pay the whole scot in our honor nor suffer him to pay aught. Calandrino will soon grow fuddled and then we can manage it lightly enough, for that he is alone in the house.' As he said, so they did and Calandrino seeing that the priest suffered none to pay, gave himself up to drinking and took in a good load, albeit it needed no great matter to make him drunk. It was pretty late at night when they left the tavern and Calandrino, without troubling himself about supper, went straight home, where, thinking to have shut the door, he left it open and betook himself to bed. Buffalmacco and Bruno went off to sup with the priest and after supper repaired quietly to Calandrino's house, carrying with them certain implements wherewithal to break in whereas Bruno had appointed it; but, finding the door open, they entered and unhooking the pig, carried it off to the priest's house, where they laid it up and betook themselves to sleep.\n\nOn the morrow, Calandrino, having slept off the fumes of the wine, arose in the morning and going down, missed his pig and saw the door open; whereupon he questioned this one and that if they knew who had taken it and getting no news of it, began to make a great outcry, saying, 'Woe is me, miserable wretch that I am!' for that the pig had been stolen from him. As soon as Bruno and Buffalmacco were risen, they repaired to Calandrino's house, to hear what he would say anent the pig, and he no sooner saw them than he called out to them, well nigh weeping, and said, 'Woe's me, comrades mine; my pig hath been stolen from me!' Whereupon Bruno came up to him and said softly, 'It is a marvel that thou hast been wise for once.' 'Alack,' replied Calandrino, 'indeed I say sooth.' 'That's the thing to say,' quoth Bruno. 'Make a great outcry, so it may well appear that it is e'en as thou sayst.' Therewithal Calandrino bawled out yet loudlier, saying, 'Cock's body, I tell thee it hath been stolen from me in good earnest!' 'Good, good,' replied Bruno; 'that's the way to speak; cry out lustily, make thyself well heard, so it may seem true.' Quoth Calandrino, 'Thou wouldst make me give my soul to the Fiend! I tell thee and thou believest me not. May I be strung up by the neck an it have not been stolen from me!' 'Good lack!' cried Bruno. 'How can that be? I saw it here but yesterday. Thinkest thou to make me believe that it hath flown away?' Quoth Calandrino, 'It is as I tell thee.' 'Good lack,' repeated Bruno, 'can it be?' 'Certes,' replied Calandrino, 'it is so, more by token that I am undone and know not how I shall return home. My wife will never believe me; or even if she do, I shall have no peace with her this year to come.' Quoth Bruno, 'So God save me, this is ill done, if it be true; but thou knowest, Calandrino, I lessoned thee yesterday to say thus and I would not have thee at once cozen thy wife and us.' Therewithal Calandrino fell to crying out and saying, 'Alack, why will you drive me to desperation and make me blaspheme God and the Saints? I tell you the pig was stolen from me yesternight.'\n\nThen said Buffalmacco, 'If it be so indeed, we must cast about for a means of having it again, an we may contrive it.' 'But what means,' asked Calandrino, 'can we find?' Quoth Buffalmacco, 'We may be sure that there hath come none from the Indies to rob thee of thy pig; the thief must have been some one of thy neighbors. An thou canst make shift to assemble them, I know how to work the ordeal by bread and cheese and we will presently see for certain who hath had it.' 'Ay,' put in Bruno, 'thou wouldst make a fine thing of bread and cheese with such gentry as we have about here, for one of them I am certain hath had the pig, and he would smoke the trap and would not come.' 'How, then, shall we do?' asked Buffalmacco, and Bruno said, 'We must e'en do it with ginger boluses and good vernage and invite them to drink. They will suspect nothing and come, and the ginger boluses can be blessed even as the bread and cheese.' Quoth Buffalmacco, 'Indeed, thou sayst sooth. What sayst thou, Calandrino? Shall's do 't?' 'Nay,' replied the gull, 'I pray you thereof for the love of God; for, did I but know who hath had it, I should hold myself half consoled.' 'Marry, then,' said Bruno, 'I am ready to go to Florence, to oblige thee, for the things aforesaid, so thou wilt give me the money.' Now Calandrino had maybe forty shillings, which he gave him, and Bruno accordingly repaired to Florence to a friend of his, a druggist, of whom he bought a pound of fine ginger boluses and caused compound a couple of dogballs with fresh confect of hepatic aloes; after which he let cover these latter with sugar, like the others, and set thereon a privy mark by which he might very well know them, so he should not mistake them nor change them. Then, buying a flask of good vernage, he returned to Calandrino in the country and said to him, 'Do thou to\u2013morrow morning invite those whom thou suspectest to drink with thee; it is a holiday and all will willingly come. Meanwhile, Buffalmacco and I will to\u2013night make the conjuration over the pills and bring them to thee to\u2013morrow morning at home; and for the love of thee I will administer them myself and do and say that which is to be said and done.'\n\nCalandrino did as he said and assembled on the following morning a goodly company of such young Florentines as were presently about the village and of husbandmen; whereupon Bruno and Buffalmacco came with a box of pills and the flask of wine and made the folk stand in a ring. Then said Bruno, 'Gentlemen, needs must I tell you the reason wherefore you are here, so that, if aught betide that please you not, you may have no cause to complain of me. Calandrino here was robbed yesternight of a fine pig, nor can he find who hath had it; and for that none other than some one of us who are here can have stolen it from him, he proffereth each of you, that he may discover who hath had it, one of these pills to eat and a draught of wine. Now you must know that he who hath had the pig will not be able to swallow the pill; nay, it will seem to him more bitter than poison and he will spit it out; wherefore, rather than that shame be done him in the presence of so many, he were better tell it to the parson by way of confession and I will proceed no farther with this matter.'\n\nAll who were there declared that they would willingly eat of the pills, whereupon Bruno ranged them in order and set Calandrino among them; then, beginning at one end of the line, he proceeded to give each his bolus, and whenas he came over against Calandrino, he took one of the dogballs and put it into his hand. Calandrino clapped it incontinent into his mouth and began to chew it; but no sooner did his tongue taste the aloes, than he spat it out again, being unable to brook the bitterness. Meanwhile, each was looking other in the face, to see who should spit out his bolus, and whilst Bruno, not having made an end of serving them out, went on to do so, feigning to pay no heed to Calandrino's doing, he heard say behind him, 'How now, Calandrino? What meaneth this?' Whereupon he turned suddenly round and seeing that Calandrino had spat out his bolus, said, 'Stay, maybe somewhat else hath caused him spit it out. Take another of them.' Then, taking the other dogball, he thrust it into Calandrino's mouth and went on to finish giving out the rest. If the first ball seemed bitter to Calandrino, the second was bitterer yet; but, being ashamed to spit it out, he kept it awhile in his mouth, chewing it and shedding tears that seemed hazel\u2013nuts so big they were, till at last, unable to hold out longer, he cast it forth, like as he had the first. Meanwhile Buffalmacco and Bruno gave the company to drink, and all, seeing this, declared that Calandrino had certainly stolen the pig from himself; nay, there were those there who rated him roundly.\n\nAfter they were all gone, and the two rogues left alone with Calandrino, Buffalmacco said to him, 'I still had it for certain that it was thou tookst the pig thyself and wouldst fain make us believe that it had been stolen from thee, to escape giving us one poor while to drink of the monies thou hadst for it.' Calandrino, who was not yet quit of the bitter taste of the aloes, began to swear that he had not had it, and Buffalmacco said, 'But in good earnest, comrade, what gottest thou for it? Was it six florins?' Calandrino, hearing this, began to wax desperate, and Bruno said, 'Harkye, Calandrino, there was such an one in the company that ate and drank with us, who told me that thou hast a wench over yonder, whom thou keepest for thy pleasure and to whom thou givest whatsoever thou canst scrape together, and that he held it for certain that thou hadst sent her the pig. Thou hast learned of late to play pranks of this kind; thou carriedst us off t'other day down the Mugnone, picking up black stones, and whenas thou hadst gotten us aboard ship without biscuit, thou madest off and wouldst after have us believe that thou hadst found the magic stone; and now on like wise thou thinkest, by dint of oaths, to make us believe that the pig, which thou hast given away or more like sold, hath been stolen from thee. But we are used to thy tricks and know them; thou shalt not avail to play us any more of them, and to be plain with thee, since we have been at pains to make the conjuration, we mean that thou shalt give us two pairs of capons; else will we tell Mistress Tessa everything.' Calandrino, seeing that he was not believed and himseeming he had had vexation enough, without having his wife's scolding into the bargain, gave them two pairs of capons, which they carried off to Florence, after they had salted the pig, leaving Calandrino to digest the loss and the flouting as best he might.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A SCHOLAR LOVETH A WIDOW LADY, WHO, BEING ENAMOURED OF ANOTHER, CAUSETH HIM SPEND ONE WINTER'S NIGHT IN THE SNOW AWAITING HER, AND HE AFTER CONTRIVETH, BY HIS SLEIGHT, TO HAVE HER ABIDE NAKED, ALL ONE MID\u2013JULY DAY, ON THE SUMMIT OF A TOWER, EXPOSED TO FLIES AND GADS AND SUN",
                "text": "The ladies laughed amain at the unhappy Calandrino and would have laughed yet more, but that it irked them to see him fleeced of the capons, to boot, by those who had already robbed him of the pig. But, as soon as the end of the story was come, the queen charged Pampinea tell hers, and she promptly began thus: \"It chanceth oft, dearest ladies, that craft is put to scorn by craft and it is therefore a sign of little wit to delight in making mock of others. We have, for several stories, laughed amain at tricks that have been played upon folk and whereof no vengeance is recorded to have been taken; but I purpose now to cause you have some compassion of a just retribution wreaked upon a townswoman of ours, on whose head her own cheat recoiled and was retorted well nigh unto death; and the hearing of this will not be without profit unto you, for that henceforward you will the better keep yourselves from making mock of others, and in this you will show great good sense.\"\n\nNot many years ago there was in Florence, a young lady, by name Elena, fair of favour and haughty of humour, of very gentle lineage and endowed with sufficient abundance of the goods of fortune, who, being widowed of her husband, chose never to marry again, for that she was enamoured of a handsome and agreeable youth of her own choice, and with the aid of a maid of hers, in whom she put great trust, being quit of every other care, she often with marvellous delight gave herself a good time with him. In these days it chanced that a young gentleman of our city, by name Rinieri, having long studied in Paris, not for the sake of after selling his knowledge by retail, as many do, but to know the nature of things and their causes, the which excellently becometh a gentleman, returned thence to Florence and there lived citizen\u2013fashion, much honoured as well for his nobility as for his learning. But, as it chanceth often that those, who have the most experience of things profound, are the soonest snared of love, even so it befell this Rinieri; for, having one day repaired, by way of diversion, to an entertainment, there presented herself before his eyes the aforesaid Elena, clad all in black, as our widows go, and full, to his judgment, of such beauty and pleasantness as himseemed he had never beheld in any other woman; and in his heart he deemed that he might call himself blest whom God should vouchsafe to hold her naked in his arms. Then, furtively considering her once and again and knowing that great things and precious were not to be acquired without travail, he altogether determined in himself to devote all his pains and all his diligence to the pleasing her, to the end that thereby he might gain her love and so avail to have his fill of her.\n\nThe young lady, (who kept not her eyes fixed upon the nether world, but, conceiting herself as much and more than as much as she was, moved them artfully hither and thither, gazing all about, and was quick to note who delighted to look upon her,) soon became aware of Rinieri and said, laughing, in herself, 'I have not come hither in vain to\u2013day; for, an I mistake not, I have caught a woodcock by the bill.' Accordingly, she fell to ogling him from time to time with the tail of her eye and studied, inasmuch as she might, to let him see that she took note of him, thinking that the more men she allured and ensnared with her charms, so much the more of price would her beauty be, especially to him on whom she had bestowed it, together with her love. The learned scholar, laying aside philosophical speculations, turned all his thoughts to her and thinking to please her, enquired where she lived and proceeded to pass to and fro before her house, colouring his comings and goings with various pretexts, whilst the lady, idly glorying in this, for the reason already set out, made believe to take great pleasure in seeing him. Accordingly, he found means to clap up an acquaintance with her maid and discovering to her his love, prayed her make interest for him with her mistress, so he might avail to have her favour. The maid promised freely and told the lady, who hearkened with the heartiest laughter in the world and said, 'Seest thou where yonder man cometh to lose the wit he hath brought back from Paris? Marry, we will give him that which he goeth seeking. An he bespeak thee again, do thou tell him that I love him far more than he loveth me; but that it behoveth me look to mine honour, so I may hold up my head with the other ladies; whereof and he be as wise as folk say, he will hold me so much the dearer.' Alack, poor silly soul, she knew not aright, ladies mine, what it is to try conclusions with scholars. The maid went in search of Rinieri and finding him, did that which had been enjoined her of her mistress, whereat he was overjoyed and proceeded to use more urgent entreaties, writing letters and sending presents, all of which were accepted, but he got nothing but vague and general answers; and on this wise she held him in play a great while.\n\nAt last, to show her lover, to whom she had discovered everything and who was whiles somewhat vexed with her for this and had conceived some jealousy of Rinieri, that he did wrong to suspect her thereof, she despatched to the scholar, now grown very pressing, her maid, who told him, on her mistress's part, that she had never yet had an opportunity to do aught that might pleasure him since he had certified her of his love, but that on the occasion of the festival of the Nativity she hoped to be able to be with him; wherefore, an it liked him, he was on the evening of the feast to come by night to her courtyard, whither she would go for him as first she might. At this the scholar was the gladdest man alive and betook himself at the appointed time to his mistress's house, where he was carried by the maid into a courtyard and being there locked in, proceeded to wait the lady's coming. The latter had that evening sent for her lover and after she had supped merrily with him, she told him that which she purposed to do that night, adding, 'And thou mayst see for thyself what and how great is the love I have borne and bear him of whom thou hast taken a jealousy.' The lover heard these words with great satisfaction and was impatient to see by the fact that which the lady gave him to understand with words.\n\nIt had by chance snowed hard during the day and everything was covered with snow, wherefore the scholar had not long abidden in the courtyard before he began to feel colder than he could have wished; but, looking to recruit himself speedily, he was fain to endure it with patience. Presently, the lady said to her lover, 'Let us go look from a lattice what yonder fellow, of whom thou art waxed jealous, doth and hear what he shall answer the maid, whom I have sent to parley with him.' Accordingly, they betook themselves to a lattice and thence, seeing, without being seen, they heard the maid from another lattice bespeak the scholar and say, 'Rinieri, my lady is the woefullest woman that was aye, for that there is one of her brothers come hither to\u2013night, who hath talked much with her and after must needs sup with her, nor is yet gone away; but methinketh he will soon be gone; wherefore she hath not been able to come to thee, but will soon come now and prayeth thee not to take the waiting in ill part.' Rinieri, believing this to be true, replied, 'Tell my lady to give herself no concern for me till such time as she can at her commodity come to me, but bid her do this as quickliest she may.' The maid turned back into the house and betook herself to bed, whilst the lady said to her gallant, 'Well, how sayst thou? Thinkest thou that, an I wished him such weal as thou fearest, I would suffer him stand a\u2013freezing down yonder?' So saying, she betook herself to bed with her lover, who was now in part satisfied, and there they abode a great while in joyance and liesse, laughing and making mock of the wretched scholar, who fared to and fro the while in the courtyard, making shift to warm himself with exercise, nor had whereas he might seat himself or shelter from the night\u2013damp. He cursed her brother's long stay with the lady and took everything he heard for the opening of a door to him by her, but hoped in vain.\n\nThe lady, having solaced herself with her lover till near upon midnight, said to him, 'How deemest thou, my soul, of our scholar? Whether seemeth to thee the greater, his wit or the love I bear him? Will the cold which I presently cause him suffer do away from thy mind the doubts which my pleasantries aroused therein the other day?' Whereto he replied, 'Heart of my body, yes, I know right well that, like as thou art my good and my peace and my delight and all my hope, even so am I thine.' 'Then,' rejoined she, 'kiss me a thousand times, so I may see if thou say sooth.' Whereupon he clipped her fast in his arms and kissed her not a thousand, but more than an hundred thousand times. Then, after they had abidden awhile in such discourse, the lady said, 'Marry, let us arise a little and go see if the fire is anydele spent, wherein this my new lover wrote me that he burnt all day long.' Accordingly, they arose and getting them to the accustomed lattice, looked out into the courtyard, where they saw the scholar dancing a right merry jig on the snow, so fast and brisk that never had they seen the like, to the sound of the chattering of the teeth that he made for excess of cold; whereupon quoth the lady, 'How sayst thou, sweet my hope? Seemeth to thee that I know how to make folk jig it without sound of trump or bagpipe?' Whereto he answered, laughing, 'Ay dost thou, my chief delight.' Quoth the lady, 'I will that we go down to the door; thou shalt abide quiet, whilst I bespeak him, and we shall hear what he will say; belike we shall have no less diversion thereof than we had from seeing him.'\n\nAccordingly, they softly opened the chamber and stole down to the door, where, without opening it anydele, the lady called to the scholar in a low voice by a little hole that was there. Rinieri hearing himself called, praised God, taking it oversoon for granted that he was to be presently admitted, and coming up to the door, said, 'Here am I, madam; open for God's sake, for I die of cold.' 'O ay,' replied the lady, 'I know thou art a chilly one; is then the cold so exceeding great, because, forsooth, there is a little snow about? I wot the nights are much colder in Paris. I cannot open to thee yet, for that accursed brother of mine, who came to sup with me to\u2013night, is not yet gone; but he will soon begone and I will come incontinent to open to thee. I have but now very hardly stolen away from him, that I might come to exhort thee not to wax weary of waiting.' 'Alack, madam,' cried the scholar, 'I pray you for God's sake open to me, so I may abide within under cover, for that this little while past there is come on the thickest snow in the world and it yet snoweth, and I will wait for you as long as it shall please you.' 'Woe's me, sweet my treasure,' replied the lady, 'that cannot I; for this door maketh so great a noise, whenas it is opened, that it would lightly be heard of my brother, if I should open to thee; but I will go bid him begone, so I may after come back and open to thee.' 'Then go quickly,' rejoined he; 'and I prithee let make a good fire, so I may warm me as soon as I come in, for that I am grown so cold I can scarce feel myself.' Quoth the lady, 'That should not be possible, an that be true which thou hast many a time written me, to wit, that thou burnest for the love of me. Now, I must go, wait and be of good heart.' Then, with her lover, who had heard all this with the utmost pleasure, she went back to bed, and that night they slept little, nay, they spent it well nigh all in dalliance and delight and in making mock of Rinieri.\n\nMeanwhile, the unhappy scholar (now well nigh grown a stork, so sore did his teeth chatter,) perceiving at last that he was befooled, essayed again and again to open the door and sought an he might not avail to issue thence by another way; but, finding no means thereunto, he fell a\u2013ranging to and fro like a lion, cursing the foulness of the weather and the lady's malignity and the length of the night, together with his own credulity; wherefore, being sore despited against his mistress, the long and ardent love he had borne her was suddenly changed to fierce and bitter hatred and he revolved in himself many and various things, so he might find a means of revenge, the which he now desired far more eagerly than he had before desired to be with the lady. At last, after much long tarriance, the night drew near unto day and the dawn began to appear; whereupon the maid, who had been lessoned by the lady, coming down, opened the courtyard door and feigning to have compassion of Rinieri, said, 'Bad luck may he have who came hither yestereve! He hath kept us all night upon thorns and hath caused thee freeze; but knowest thou what? Bear it with patience, for that which could not be to\u2013night shall be another time. Indeed, I know nought could have happened that had been so displeasing to my lady.'\n\nThe despiteful scholar, like a wise man as he was, who knew that threats are but arms for the threatened, locked up in his breast that which untempered will would fain have vented and said in a low voice, without anywise showing himself vexed, 'In truth I have had the worst night I ever had; but I have well apprehended that the lady is nowise to blame for this, inasmuch as she herself of her compassion for me, came down hither to excuse herself and to hearten me; and as thou sayest, that which hath not been to\u2013night shall be another time. Commend me to her and God be with thee.' Therewithal, well nigh stark with cold, he made his way, as best he might, back to his house, where, being drowsed to death, he cast himself upon his bed to sleep and awoke well nigh crippled of his arms and legs; wherefore, sending for sundry physicians and acquainting them with the cold he had suffered, he caused take order for his cure. The leaches, plying him with prompt and very potent remedies, hardly, after some time, availed to recover him of the shrinking of the sinews and cause them relax; and but that he was young and that the warm season came on, he had overmuch to suffer. However, being restored to health and lustihead, he kept his hate to himself and feigned himself more than ever enamoured of his widow.\n\nNow it befell, after a certain space of time, that fortune furnished him with an occasion of satisfying his desire for vengeance, for that the youth beloved of the widow being, without any regard for the love she bore him, fallen enamoured of another lady, would have nor little nor much to say to her nor do aught to pleasure her, wherefore she pined in tears and bitterness. But her maid, who had great compassion of her, finding no way of rousing her mistress from the chagrin into which the loss of her lover had cast her and seeing the scholar pass along the street, after the wonted manner, entered into a fond conceit, to wit, that the lady's lover might be brought by some necromantic operation or other to love her as he had been wont to do and that the scholar should be a past master in this manner of thing, and told her thought to her mistress. The latter, little wise, without considering that, had the scholar been acquainted with the black art, he would have practised it for himself, lent her mind to her maid's words and bade her forthright learn from him if he would do it and give him all assurance that, in requital thereof, she would do whatsoever pleased him. The maid did her errand well and diligently, which when the scholar heard, he was overjoyed and said in himself, 'Praised be Thou, my God! The time is come when with Thine aid I may avail to make yonder wicked woman pay the penalty of the harm she did me in requital of the great love I bore her.' Then to the maid, 'Tell my lady,' quoth he, 'that she need be in no concern for this, for that, were her lover in the Indies, I would speedily cause him come to her and crave pardon of that which he hath done to displeasure her; but the means she must take to this end I purpose to impart to herself, when and where it shall most please her. So say to her and hearten her on my part.'\n\nThe maid carried his answer to her mistress and it was agreed that they should foregather at Santa Lucia del Prato, whither, accordingly, the lady, and the scholar being come and speaking together alone, she, remembering her not that she had aforetime brought him well nigh to death's door, openly discovered to him her case and that which she desired and besought him to succour her. 'Madam,' answered he, 'it is true that amongst the other things I learned at Paris was necromancy, whereof for certain I know that which is extant thereof; but for that the thing is supremely displeasing unto God, I had sworn never to practise it either for myself or for others. Nevertheless, the love I bear you is of such potency that I know not how I may deny you aught that you would have me do; wherefore, though it should behove me for this alone go to the devil's stead, I am yet ready to do it, since it is your pleasure. But I must forewarn you that the thing is more uneath to do than you perchance imagine, especially whenas a woman would recall a man to loving her or a man a woman, for that this cannot be done save by the very person unto whom it pertaineth; and it behoveth that whoso doth it be of an assured mind, seeing it must be done anights and in solitary places without company; which things I know not how you are disposed to do.' The lady, more enamoured than discreet, replied, 'Love spurreth me on such wise that there is nothing I would not do to have again him who hath wrongfully forsaken me. Algates, an it please you, show me in what I must approve myself assured of mind.' 'Madam,' replied the scholar, who had a patch of ill hair to his tail, 'I must make an image of pewter in his name whom you desire to get again, which whenas I shall send you, it will behove you seven times bathe yourself therewith, all naked, in a running stream, at the hour of the first sleep, what time the moon is far on the wane. Thereafter, naked as you are, you must get you up into a tree or to the top of some uninhabited house and turning to the north, with the image in your hand, seven times running say certain words which I shall give you written; which when you shall have done, there will come to you two of the fairest damsels you ever beheld, who will salute you and ask you courteously what you would have done. Do you well and throughly discover to them your desires and look it betide you not to name one for another. As soon as you have told them, they will depart and you may then come down to the place where you shall have left your clothes and re\u2013clothe yourself and return home; and for certain, ere it be the middle of the ensuing night, your lover will come, weeping, to crave you pardon and mercy; and know that from that time forth he will never again leave you for any other.'\n\nThe lady, hearing all this and lending entire faith thereto, was half comforted, herseeming she already had her lover again in her arms, and said, 'Never fear; I will very well do these things, and I have therefor the finest commodity in the world; for I have, towards the upper end of the Val d'Arno, a farm, which is very near the river\u2013bank, and it is now July, so that bathing will be pleasant; more by token that I mind me there is, not far from the stream, a little uninhabited tower, save that the shepherds climb up bytimes, by a ladder of chestnut\u2013wood that is there, to a sollar at the top, to look for their strayed beasts: otherwise it is a very solitary out\u2013of\u2013the\u2013way place. Thither will I betake myself and there I hope to do that which you shall enjoin me the best in the world.' The scholar, who very well knew both the place and the tower mentioned by the lady, was rejoiced to be certified of her intent and said, 'Madam, I was never in these part and therefore know neither the farm nor the tower; but, an it be as you say, nothing in the world can be better. Wherefore, whenas it shall be time, I will send you the image and the conjuration; but I pray you instantly, whenas you shall have gotten your desire and shall know I have served you well, that you be mindful of me and remember to keep your promise to me.' She answered that she would without fail do it and taking leave of him, returned to her house; whilst the scholar, rejoiced for that himseemed his desire was like to have effect, made an image with certain talismanic characters of his own devising, and wrote a rigmarole of his fashion, by way of conjuration; the which, whenas it seemed to him time, he despatched to the lady and sent to tell her that she must that very night, without more tarriance, do that which he had enjoined her; after which he secretly betook himself, with a servant of his, to the house of one of his friends who abode very near the tower, so he might give effect to his design.\n\nThe lady, on her part, set out with her maid and repaired to her farm, where, as soon as the night was come, she made a show of going to bed and sent the maid away to sleep, but towards the hour of the first sleep, she issued quietly forth of the house and betook herself to the bank of the Arno hard by the tower, where, looking first well all about and seeing nor hearing any, she put off her clothes and hiding them under a bush, bathed seven times with the image; after which, naked as she was, she made for the tower, image in hand. The scholar, who had, at the coming on of the night, hidden himself with his servant among the willows and other trees near the tower and had witnessed all this, seeing her, as she passed thus naked close to him, overcome the darkness of the night with the whiteness of her body and after considering her breast and the other parts of her person and seeing them fair, bethought himself what they should become in a little while and felt some compassion of her; whilst, on the other hand, the pricks of the flesh assailed him of a sudden and caused that stand on end which erst lay prone, inciting him to issue forth of his ambush and go take her and do his will of her. Between the one and the other he was like to be overcome; but, calling to mind who he was and what the injury he had suffered and wherefore and at whose hands and he being thereby rekindled in despite and compassion and carnal appetite banished, he abode firm in his purpose and let her go.\n\nThe lady, going up on to the tower and turning to the north, began to repeat the words given her by the scholar, who, coming quietly into the tower awhile after, little by little removed the ladder, which led to the sollar where she was, and after awaited that which she should do and say. Meanwhile, the lady, having seven times said her conjuration, began to look for the two damsels and so long was her waiting (more by token that she felt it cooler than she could have wished) that she saw the dawn appear; whereupon, woeful that it had not befallen as the scholar had told her, she said in herself, 'I fear me yonder man hath had a mind to give me a night such as that which I gave him; but, an that be his intent, he hath ill known to avenge himself, for that this night hath not been as long by a third as was his, forbye that the cold was of anothergates sort.' Then, so the day might not surprise her there, she proceeded to seek to go down from the tower, but found the ladder gone; whereupon her courage forsook her, as it were the world had failed beneath her feet, and she fell down aswoon upon the platform of the tower. As soon as her sense returned to her, she fell to weeping piteously and bemoaning herself, and perceiving but too well that this must have been the scholar's doing, she went on to blame herself for having affronted others and after for having overmuch trusted in him whom she had good reason to believe her enemy; and on this wise she abode a great while. Then, looking if there were no way of descending and seeing none, she fell again to her lamentation and gave herself up to bitter thought, saying in herself, 'Alas, unhappy woman! What will be said of thy brothers and kinsfolk and neighbours and generally of all the people of Florence, when it shall be known that thou has been found here naked? Thy repute, that hath hitherto been so great, will be known to have been false; and shouldst thou seek to frame lying excuses for thyself, (if indeed there are any to be found) the accursed scholar, who knoweth all thine affairs, will not suffer thee lie. Oh wretched woman, that wilt at one stroke have lost the youth so ill\u2013fatedly beloved and thine own honour!'\n\nTherewithal she fell into such a passion of woe that she was like to cast herself down from the tower to the ground; but, the sun being now risen and she drawing near to one side of the walls of the tower, to look if any boy should pass with cattle, whom she might send for her maid, it chanced that the scholar, who had slept awhile at the foot of a bush, awaking, saw her and she him; whereupon quoth he to her, 'Good day, madam; are the damsels come yet?' The lady, seeing and hearing him, began afresh to weep sore and besought him to come within the tower, so she might speak with him. In this he was courteous enough to comply with her and she laying herself prone on the platform and showing only her head at the opening, said, weeping, 'Assuredly, Rinieri, if I gave thee an ill night, thou hast well avenged thyself of me, for that, albeit it is July, I have thought to freeze this night, naked as I am, more by token that I have so sore bewept both the trick I put upon thee and mine own folly in believing thee that it is a wonder I have any eyes left in my head. Wherefore I entreat thee, not for the love of me, whom thou hast no call to love, but for the love of thyself, who are a gentleman, that thou be content, for vengeance of the injury I did thee, with that which thou hast already done and cause fetch me my clothes and suffer me come down hence, nor seek to take from me that which thou couldst not after restore me, an thou wouldst, to wit, my honour; for, if I took from thee the being with me that night, I can render thee many nights for that one, whenassoever it liketh thee. Let this, then, suffice and let it content thee, as a man of honour, to have availed to avenge thyself and to have caused me confess it. Seek not to use thy strength against a woman; no glory is it for an eagle to have overcome a dove, wherefore, for the love of God and thine own honour, have pity on me.'\n\nThe scholar, with stern mind revolving in himself the injury suffered and seeing her weep and beseech, felt at once both pleasure and annoy; pleasure in the revenge which he had desired more than aught else, and annoy he felt, for that his humanity moved him to compassion of the unhappy woman. However, humanity availing not to overcome the fierceness of his appetite for vengeance, 'Madam Elena,' answered he, 'if my prayers (which, it is true, I knew not to bathe with tears nor to make honeyed, as thou presently knowest to proffer thine,) had availed, the night when I was dying of cold in thy snow\u2013filled courtyard, to procure me to be put of thee but a little under cover, it were a light matter to me to hearken now unto thine; but, if thou be presently so much more concerned for thine honour than in the past and it be grievous to thee to abide up there naked, address these thy prayers to him in whose arms thou didst not scruple, that night which thou thyself recallest, to abide naked, hearing me the while go about thy courtyard, chattering with my teeth and trampling the snow, and get thee succour of him; cause him fetch thee thy clothes and set thee the ladder, whereby thou mayest descend, and study to inform him with tenderness for thine honour, the which thou hast not scrupled both now and a thousand other times to imperil for him. Why dost thou not call him to come help thee? To whom pertaineth it more than unto him? Thou art his; and what should he regard or succour, an he regard not neither succour thee? Call him, silly woman that thou art, and prove if the love thou bearest him and thy wits and his together can avail to deliver thee from my folly, whereof, dallying with him the while, thou questionedst aforetime whether himseemed the greater, my folly or the love thou borest him. Thou canst not now be lavish to me of that which I desire not, nor couldst thou deny it to me, an I desired it; keep thy nights for thy lover, an it chance that thou come off hence alive; be they thine and his. I had overmuch of one of them and it sufficeth me to have been once befooled. Again, using thy craft and wiliness in speech, thou studiest, by extolling me, to gain my goodwill and callest me a gentleman and a man of honour, thinking thus to cajole me into playing the magnanimous and forebearing to punish thee for thy wickedness; but thy blandishments shall not now darken me the eyes of the understanding, as did thy disloyal promises whilere. I know myself, nor did I learn so much of myself what while I sojourned at Paris as thou taughtest me in one single night of thine. But, granted I were indeed magnanimous, thou art none of those towards whom magnanimity should be shown; the issue of punishment, as likewise of vengeance, in the case of wild beasts such as thou art, behoveth to be death, whereas for human beings that should suffice whereof thou speakest. Wherefore, albeit I am no eagle, knowing thee to be no dove, but a venomous serpent, I mean to pursue thee, as an immemorial enemy, with every hate and all my might, albeit this that I do to thee can scarce properly be styled vengeance, but rather chastisement, inasmuch as vengeance should overpass the offence and this will not attain thereto; for that, an I sought to avenge myself, considering to what a pass thou broughtest my soul, thy life, should I take it from thee, would not suffice me, no, nor the lives of an hundred others such as thou, since, slaying thee, I should but slay a vile, wicked and worthless trull of a woman. And what a devil more account (setting aside this thy scantling of fair favour, which a few years will mar, filling it with wrinkles,) art thou than whatsoever other sorry serving\u2013drab? Whereas it was no fault of thine that thou failedst of causing the death of a man of honour, as thou styledst me but now, whose life may yet in one day be of more service to the world than an hundred thousand of thy like could be what while the world endureth. I will teach thee, then, by means of this annoy that thou sufferest, what it is to flout men of sense, and particularly scholars, and will give thee cause never more, an thou comest off alive, to fall into such a folly. But, an thou have so great a wish to descend, why dost thou not cast thyself down? On this wise, with God's help, thou wilt, by breaking thy neck, at once deliver thyself from the torment, wherein it seemeth to thee thou art, and make me the joyfullest man in the world. Now, I have no more to say to thee. I knew to contrive on such wise that I caused thee go up thither; do thou now contrive to come down thence, even as thou knewest to befool me.'\n\nWhat while the scholar spoke thus, the wretched lady wept without ceasing and the time lapsed by, the sun still rising high and higher; but, when she saw that he was silent, she said, 'Alack, cruel man, if the accursed night was so grievous to thee and if my default seem to thee so heinous a thing that neither my young beauty nor my bitter tears and humble prayers may avail to move thee to any pity, at least let this act of mine alone some little move thee and abate the rigour of thy rancour, to wit, that I but now trusted in thee and discovered to thee mine every secret, opening withal to thy desire a way whereby thou mightest avail to make me cognizant of my sin; more by token that, except I had trusted in thee, thou hadst had no means of availing to take of me that vengeance, which thou seemest to have so ardently desired. For God's sake, leave thine anger and pardon me henceforth; I am ready, so thou wilt but forgive me and bring me down hence, altogether to renounce yonder faithless youth and to have thee alone to lover and lord, albeit thou decriest my beauty, avouching it short\u2013lived and little worth; natheless, whatever it be, compared with that of other women, yet this I know, that, if for nought else, it is to be prized for that it is the desire and pastime and delight of men's youth, and thou art not old. And albeit I am cruelly entreated of thee, I cannot believe withal that thou wouldst fain see me die so unseemly a death as were the casting myself down from this tower, as in desperation, before thine eyes, wherein, an thou was not a liar as thou are since become, I was erst so pleasing. Alack, have ruth on me for God's sake and pity's! The sun beginneth to wax hot, and like as the overmuch cold irked me this night, even so doth the heat begin to do me sore annoy.'\n\nThe scholar, who held her in parley for his diversion, answered, 'Madam, thou hast not presently trusted thine honour in my hands for any love that thou borest me, but to regain him whom thou hast lost, wherefore it meriteth but greater severity, and if thou think that this way alone was apt and opportune unto the vengeance desired of me, thou thinkest foolishly; I had a thousand others; nay, whilst feigning to love thee, I had spread a thousand snares about thy feet, and it would not have been long, had this not chanced, ere thou must of necessity have fallen into one of them, nor couldst thou have fallen into any but it had caused thee greater torment and shame than this present, the which I took, not to ease thee, but to be the quicklier satisfied. And though all else should have failed me, the pen had still been left me, wherewithal I would have written such and so many things of thee and after such a fashion that, whenas thou camest (as thou wouldst have come) to know of them, thou wouldst a thousand times a day have wished thyself never born. The power of the pen is far greater than they imagine who have not proved it with experience. I swear to God (so may He gladden me to the end of this vengeance that I take of thee, even as He hath made me glad thereof in the beginning!) that I would have written such things of thee, that, being ashamed, not to say before other folk, but before thine own self, thou shouldst have put out thine own eyes, not to see thyself in the glass; wherefore let not the little rivulet twit the sea with having caused it wax. Of thy love or that thou be mine, I reck not, as I have already said, a jot; be thou e'en his, an thou may, whose thou wast erst and whom, as I once hated, so at this present I love, having regard unto that which he hath wrought towards thee of late. You women go falling enamoured of young springalds and covet their love, for that you see them somewhat fresher of colour and blacker of beard and they go erect and jaunty and dance and joust, all which things they have had who are somewhat more in years, ay, and these know that which those have yet to learn. Moreover, you hold them better cavaliers and deem that they fare more miles in a day than men of riper age. Certes, I confess that they jumble a wench's furbelows more briskly; but those more in years, being men of experience, know better where the fleas stick, and little meat and savoury is far and away rather to be chosen than much and insipid, more by token that hard trotting undoth and wearieth folk, how young soever they be, whereas easy going, though belike it bring one somewhat later to the inn, at the least carrieth him thither unfatigued. You women perceive not, animals without understanding that you are, how much ill lieth hid under this scantling of fair seeming. Young fellows are not content with one woman; nay, as many as they see, so many do they covet and of so many themseemeth they are worthy; wherefore their love cannot be stable, and of this thou mayst presently of thine own experience bear very true witness. Themseemeth they are worthy to be worshipped and caressed of their mistresses and they have no greater glory than to vaunt them of those whom they have had; the which default of theirs hath aforetime cast many a woman into the arms of the monks, who tell no tales. Albeit thou sayst that never did any know of thine amours, save thy maid and myself, thou knowest it ill and believest awry, an thou think thus. His quarter talketh well nigh of nothing else, and thine likewise; but most times the last to whose ears such things come is he to whom they pertain. Young men, to boot, despoil you, whereas it is given you of men of riper years. Since, then, thou hast ill chosen, be thou his to whom thou gavest thyself and leave me, of whom thou madest mock, to others, for that I have found a mistress of much more account than thou, who hath been wise enough to know me better than thou didst. And that thou mayst carry into the other world greater assurance of the desire of mine eyes than meseemeth thou gatherest from my words, do but cast thyself down forthright and thy soul, being, as I doubt not it will be, straightway received into the arms of the devil, will be able to see if mine eyes be troubled or not at seeing thee fall headlong. But, as medoubteth thou wilt not consent to do me so much pleasure, I counsel thee, if the sun begin to scorch thee, remember thee of the cold thou madest me suffer, which an thou mingle with the heat aforesaid, thou wilt without fail feel the sun attempered.'\n\nThe disconsolate lady, seeing that the scholar's words tended to a cruel end, fell again to weeping and said, 'Harkye, since nothing I can say availeth to move thee to pity of me, let the love move thee, which thou bearest that lady whom thou hast found wiser than I and of whom thou sayst thou art beloved, and for the love of her pardon me and fetch me my clothes, so I may dress myself, and cause me descend hence.' Therewith the scholar began to laugh and seeing that tierce was now passed by a good hour, replied, 'Marry, I know not how to say thee nay, since thou conjurest me by such a lady; tell me where thy clothes are and I will go for them and help thee come down from up yonder.' The lady, believing this, was somewhat comforted and showed him where she had laid her clothes; whereupon he went forth of the tower and bidding his servant not depart thence, but abide near at hand and watch as most he might that none should enter there till such time as he should return, went off to his friend's house, where he dined at his ease and after, whenas himseemed time, betook himself to sleep; whilst the lady, left upon the tower, albeit some little heartened with fond hope, natheless beyond measure woebegone, sat up and creeping close to that part of the wall where there was a little shade, fell a\u2013waiting, in company of very bitter thoughts. There she abode, now hoping and now despairing of the scholar's return with her clothes, and passing from one thought to another, she presently fell asleep, as one who was overcome of dolour and who had slept no whit the past night.\n\nThe sun, which was exceeding hot, being now risen to the meridian, beat full and straight upon her tender and delicate body and upon her head, which was all uncovered, with such force that not only did it burn her flesh, wherever it touched it, but cracked and opened it all over little by little, and such was the pain of the burning that it constrained her to awake, albeit she slept fast. Feeling herself on the roast and moving somewhat, it seemed as if all her scorched skin cracked and clove asunder for the motion, as we see happen with a scorched sheepskin, if any stretch it, and to boot her head irked her so sore that it seemed it would burst, which was no wonder. And the platform of the tower was so burning hot that she could find no restingplace there either for her feet or for otherwhat; wherefore, without standing fast, she still removed now hither and now thither, weeping. Moreover, there being not a breath of wind, the flies and gads flocked thither in swarms and settling upon her cracked flesh, stung her so cruelly that each prick seemed to her a pike\u2013stab; wherefore she stinted not to fling her hands about, still cursing herself, her life, her lover and the scholar.\n\nBeing thus by the inexpressible heat of the sun, by the flies and the gads and likewise by hunger, but much more by thirst, and by a thousand irksome thoughts, to boot, tortured and stung and pierced to the quick, she started to her feet and addressed herself to look if she might see or hear any one near at hand, resolved, whatever might betide thereof, to call him and crave aid. But of this resource also had her unfriendly fortune deprived her. The husbandmen were all departed from the fields for the heat, more by token that none had come that day to work therenigh, they being all engaged in threshing out their sheaves beside their houses; wherefore she heard nought but crickets and saw the Arno, which latter sight, provoking in her desire of its waters, abated not her thirst, but rather increased it. In several places also she saw thickets and shady places and houses here and there, which were all alike to her an anguish for desire of them. What more shall we say of the ill\u2013starred lady? The sun overhead and the heat of the platform underfoot and the stings of the flies and gads on every side had so entreated her that, whereas with her whiteness she had overcome the darkness of the foregoing night, she was presently grown red as ruddle, and all bescabbed as she was with blood, had seemed to whoso saw her the foulest thing in the world.\n\nAs she abode on this wise, without aught of hope or counsel, expecting death more than otherwhat, it being now past half none, the scholar, arising from sleep and remembering him of his mistress, returned to the tower, to see what was come of her, and sent his servant, who was yet fasting, to eat. The lady, hearing him, came, all weak and anguishful as she was for the grievous annoy she had suffered, overagainst the trap\u2013door and seating herself there, began, weeping, to say, 'Indeed, Rinieri, thou hast beyond measure avenged thyself, for, if I made thee freeze in my courtyard by night, thou hast made me roast, nay burn, on this tower by day and die of hunger and thirst to boot; wherefore I pray thee by the One only God that thou come up hither and since my heart suffereth me not give myself death with mine own hands, give it me thou, for that I desire it more than aught else, such and so great are the torments I endure. Or, an thou wilt not do me that favour, let bring me, at the least, a cup of water, so I may wet my mouth, whereunto my tears suffice not; so sore is the drouth and the burning that I have therein.'\n\nThe scholar knew her weakness by her voice and eke saw, in part, her body all burnt up of the sun; wherefore and for her humble prayers there overcame him a little compassion of her; but none the less he answered, 'Wicked woman, thou shalt not die by my hands; nay, by thine own shalt thou die, an thou have a mind thereto; and thou shalt have of me as much water for the allaying of thy heat as I had fire of thee for the comforting of my cold. This much I sore regret that, whereas it behoved me heal the infirmity of my cold with the heat of stinking dung, that of thy heat will be healed with the coolth of odoriferous rose\u2013water; and whereas I was like to lose both limbs and life, thou, flayed by this heat, wilt abide fair none otherwise than doth the snake, casting its old skin.' 'Alack, wretch that I am,' cried the lady, 'God give beauties on such wise acquired to those who wish me ill! But thou, that are more cruel than any wild beast, how couldst thou have the heart to torture me after this fashion? What more could I expect from thee or any other, if I had done all thy kinsfolk to death with the cruellest torments? Certes, meknoweth not what greater cruelty could be wreaked upon a traitor who had brought a whole city to slaughter than that whereto thou hast exposed me in causing me to be roasted of the sun and devoured of the flies and withal denying me a cup of water, whenas to murderers condemned of justice is oftentimes, as they go to their death, given to drink of wine, so but they ask it. Nay, since I see thee abide firm in thy savage cruelty and that my sufferance availeth not anywise to move thee, I will resign myself with patience to receive death, so God, whom I beseech to look with equitable eyes upon this thy dealing, may have mercy upon my soul.'\n\nSo saying, she dragged herself painfully to the midward of the platform, despairing to escape alive from so fierce a heat; and not once, but a thousand times, over and above her other torments, she thought to swoon for thirst, still weeping and bemoaning her illhap. However, it being now vespers and it seeming to the scholar he had done enough, he caused his servant take up the unhappy lady's clothes and wrap them in his cloak; then, betaking himself to her house, he found her maid seated before the door, sad and disconsolate and unknowing what to do, and said to her, 'Good woman, what is come of thy mistress?' 'Sir,' replied she, 'I know not. I thought to find her this morning in the bed whither meseemed I saw her betake herself yesternight; but I can find her neither there nor otherwhere and know not what is come of her; wherefore I suffer the utmost concern. But you, sir, can you not tell me aught of her?' Quoth he, 'Would I had had thee together with her whereas I have had her, so I might have punished thee of thy default, like as I have punished her for hers! But assuredly thou shalt not escape from my hands, ere I have so paid thee for thy dealings that thou shalt never more make mock of any man, without remembering thee of me.' Then to his servant, 'Give her the clothes,' quoth he, 'and bid her go to her mistress, an she will.' The man did his bidding and gave the clothes to the maid, who, knowing them and hearing what Rinieri said, was sore afraid lest they should have slain her mistress and scarce refrained from crying out; then, the scholar being done, she set out with the clothes for the tower, weeping the while.\n\nNow it chanced that one of the lady's husbandmen had that day lost two of his swine and going in search of them, came, a little after the scholar's departure, to the tower. As he went spying about everywhere if he should see his hogs, he heard the piteous lamentation made of the miserable lady and climbing up as most he might, cried out, 'Who maketh moan there aloft?' The lady knew her husbandman's voice and calling him by name, said to him, 'For God's sake, fetch me my maid and contrive so she may come up hither to me.' Whereupon quoth the man, recognizing her, 'Alack, madam, who hath brought you up yonder? Your maid hath gone seeking you all day; but who had ever thought you could be here?' Then, taking the ladder\u2013poles, he set them up in their place and addressed himself to bind the cross\u2013staves thereto with withy bands. Meanwhile, up came the maid, who no sooner entered the tower than, unable any longer to hold her tongue, she fell to crying out, buffeting herself the while with her hands, 'Alack, sweet my lady, where are you?' The lady, hearing her, answered as loudliest she might, 'O sister mine, I am here aloft. Weep not, but fetch me my clothes quickly.' When the maid heard her speak, she was in a manner all recomforted and with the husbandman's aid, mounting the ladder, which was now well nigh repaired, reached the sollar, where, whenas she saw her lady lying naked on the ground, all forspent and wan, more as she were a half\u2013burnt log than a human being, she thrust her nails into her own face and fell a\u2013weeping over her, no otherwise than as she had been dead.\n\nThe lady besought her for God's sake be silent and help her dress herself, and learning from her that none knew where she had been save those who had carried her the clothes and the husbandman there present, was somewhat comforted and prayed them for God's sake never to say aught of the matter to any one. Then, after much parley, the husbandman, taking the lady in his arms, for that she could not walk, brought her safely without the tower; but the unlucky maid, who had remained behind, descending less circumspectly, made a slip of the foot and falling from the ladder to the ground, broke her thigh, whereupon she fell a\u2013roaring for the pain, that it seemed a lion. The husbandman, setting the lady down on a plot of grass, went to see what ailed the maid and finding her with her thigh broken, carried her also to the grass\u2013plat and laid her beside her mistress, who, seeing this befallen in addition to her other troubles and that she had broken her thigh by whom she looked to have been succoured more than by any else, was beyond measure woebegone and fell a\u2013weeping afresh and so piteously that not only could the husbandman not avail to comfort her, but himself fell a\u2013weeping like wise. But presently, the sun being now low, he repaired, at the instance of the disconsolate lady, lest the night should overtake them there, to his own house, and there called his wife and two brothers of his, who returned to the tower with a plank and setting the maid thereon, carried her home, whilst he himself, having comforted the lady with a little cold water and kind words, took her up in his arms and brought her to her own chamber.\n\nHis wife gave her a wine\u2013sop to eat and after, undressing her, put her to bed; and they contrived that night to have her and her maid carried to Florence. There, the lady, who had shifts and devices great plenty, framed a story of her fashion, altogether out of conformity with that which had passed, and gave her brothers and sisters and every one else to believe that this had befallen herself and her maid by dint of diabolical bewitchments. Physicians were quickly at hand, who, not without putting her to very great anguish and vexation, recovered the lady of a sore fever, after she had once and again left her skin sticking to the sheets, and on like wise healed the maid of her broken thigh. Wherefore, forgetting her lover, from that time forth she discreetly forbore both from making mock of others and from loving, whilst the scholar, hearing that the maid had broken her thigh, held himself fully avenged and passed on, content, without saying otherwhat thereof. Thus, then, did it befall the foolish young lady of her pranks, for that she thought to fool it with a scholar as she would have done with another, unknowing that scholars,\u2014I will not say all, but the most part of them,\u2014know where the devil keepeth his tail. Wherefore, ladies, beware of making mock of folk, and especially of scholars.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TWO MEN CONSORTING TOGETHER, ONE LIETH WITH THE WIFE OF HIS COMRADE, WHO, BECOMING AWARE THEREOF, DOTH WITH HER ON SUCH WISE THAT THE OTHER IS SHUT UP IN A CHEST, UPON WHICH HE LIETH WITH HIS WIFE, HE BEING INSIDE THE WHILE",
                "text": "Elena's troubles had been irksome and grievous to the ladies to hear; natheless, for that they deemed them in part justly befallen her, they passed them over with more moderate compassion, albeit they held the scholar to have been terribly stern and obdurate, nay, cruel. But, Pampinea being now come to the end of her story, the queen charged Fiammetta follow on, who, nothing loath to obey, said, \"Charming ladies, for that meseemeth the severity of the offended scholar hath somedele distressed you, I deem it well to solace your ruffled spirits with somewhat more diverting; wherefore I purpose to tell you a little story of a young man who received an injury in a milder spirit and avenged it after a more moderate fashion, by which you may understand that, whenas a man goeth about to avenge an injury suffered, it should suffice him to give as good as he hath gotten, without seeking to do hurt overpassing the behoof of the feud.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there were once in Siena, as I have understood aforetime, two young men in easy enough case and of good city families, whereof one was named Spinelloccio Tanena and the other Zeppa di Mino, and they were next\u2013door neighbours in Camollia. These two young men still companied together and loved each other, to all appearance, as they had been brothers, or better; and each of them had a very fair wife. It chanced that Spinelloccio, by dint of much frequenting Zeppa's house, both when the latter was at home and when he was abroad, grew so private with his wife that he ended by lying with her, and on this wise they abode a pretty while, before any became aware thereof. However, at last, one day, Zeppa being at home, unknown to his wife, Spinelloccio came to call him and the lady said that he was abroad; whereupon the other came straightway up into the house and finding her in the saloon and seeing none else there, he took her in his arms and fell to kissing her and she him. Zeppa, who saw this, made no sign, but abode hidden to see in what the game should result and presently saw his wife and Spinelloccio betake themselves, thus embraced, to a chamber and there lock themselves in; whereat he was sore angered. But, knowing that his injury would not become less for making an outcry nor for otherwhat, nay, that shame would but wax therefor, he set himself to think what revenge he should take thereof, so his soul might abide content, without the thing being known all about, and himseeming, after long consideration, he had found the means, he abode hidden so long as Spinelloccio remained with his wife.\n\nAs soon as the other was gone away, he entered the chamber and there finding the lady, who had not yet made an end of adjusting her head\u2013veils, which Spinelloccio had plucked down in dallying with her, said to her, 'Wife, what dost thou?' Quoth she, 'Seest thou not?' And Zeppa answered, 'Ay, indeed, I have seen more than I could wish.' So saying, he taxed her with that which had passed and she, in sore affright, confessed to him, after much parley, that which she could not aptly deny of her familiarity with Spinelloccio. Then she began to crave him pardon, weeping, and Zeppa said to her, 'Harkye, wife, thou hast done ill, and if thou wilt have me pardon it to thee, bethink thee punctually to do that which I shall enjoin thee, which is this; I will have thee bid Spinelloccio find an occasion to part company with me to\u2013morrow morning, towards tierce, and come hither to thee. When he is here I will come back and so soon as thou hearest me, do thou make him enter this chest here and lock him therein. Then, when thou shalt have done this, I will tell thee what else thou shalt do; and have thou no fear of doing this, for that I promise thee I will do him no manner of hurt.' The lady, to satisfy him, promised to do his bidding, and so she did.\n\nThe morrow come and Zeppa and Spinelloccio being together towards tierce, the latter, who had promised the lady to be with her at that hour, said to the former, 'I am to dine this morning with a friend, whom I would not keep waiting for me; wherefore God be with thee.' Quoth Zeppa, 'It is not dinner\u2013time yet awhile'; but Spinelloccio answered, 'No matter; I am to speak with him also of an affair of mine, so that needs must I be there betimes.' Accordingly, taking leave of him, he fetched a compass and making for Zeppa's house, entered a chamber with the latter's wife. He had not been there long ere Zeppa returned, whom when the lady heard, feigning to be mightily affrighted, she made him take refuge in the chest, as her husband had bidden her, and locking him therein, went forth of the chamber. Zeppa, coming up, said, 'Wife, is it dinner\u2013time?' 'Ay,' answered she, 'forthright.' Quoth he, 'Spinelloccio is gone to dine this morning with a friend of his and hath left his wife alone; get thee to the window and call her and bid her come dine with us.' The lady, fearing for herself and grown therefor mighty obedient, did as he bade her and Spinelloccio's wife, being much pressed by her and hearing that her own husband was to dine abroad, came hither.\n\nZeppa made much of her and whispering his wife begone into the kitchen, took her familiarly by the hand and carried her into the chamber, wherein no sooner were they come than, turning back, he locked the door within. When the lady saw him do this, she said, 'Alack, Zeppa, what meaneth this? Have you then brought me hither for this? Is this the love you bear Spinelloccio and the loyal companionship you practise towards him?' Whereupon quoth Zeppa, drawing near to the chest wherein was her husband locked up and holding her fast, 'Madam, ere thou complainest, hearken to that which I have to say to thee. I have loved and love Spinelloccio as a brother, and yesterday, albeit he knoweth it not, I found that the trust I had in him was come to this, that he lieth with my wife even as with thee. Now, for that I love him, I purpose not to take vengeance of him, save on such wise as the offence hath been; he hath had my wife and I mean to have thee. An thou wilt not, needs must I take him here and for that I mean not to let this affront go unpunished, I will play him such a turn that neither thou nor he shall ever again be glad.' The lady, hearing this and believing what Zeppa said, after many affirmations made her of him, replied, 'Zeppa mine, since this vengeance is to fall on me, I am content, so but thou wilt contrive, notwithstanding what we are to do, that I may abide at peace with thy wife, even as I intend to abide with her, notwithstanding this that she hath done to me.' 'Assuredly,' rejoined Zeppa, 'I will do it; and to boot, I will give thee a precious and fine jewel as none other thou hast.' So saying, he embraced her; then, laying her flat on the chest, there to his heart's content, he solaced himself with her, and she with him.\n\nSpinelloccio, hearing from within the chest all that Zeppa said his wife's answer and feeling the morrisdance that was toward over his head, was at first so sore despited that himseemed he should die; and but that he stood in fear of Zeppa, he had rated his wife finely, shut up as he was. However, bethinking himself that the offence had begun with him and that Zeppa was in his right to do as he did and had indeed borne himself towards him humanely and like a comrade, he presently resolved in himself to be, an he would, more than ever his friend. Zeppa, having been with the lady so long as it pleased him, dismounted from the chest, and she asking for the promised jewel, he opened the chamber\u2013door and called his wife, who said nought else than 'Madam, you have given me a loaf for my bannock'; and this she said laughing. To her quoth Zeppa, 'Open this chest.' Accordingly she opened it and therein Zeppa showed the lady her husband, saying, 'Here is the jewel I promised thee.' It were hard to say which was the more abashed of the twain, Spinelloccio, seeing Zeppa and knowing that he knew what he had done, or his wife, seeing her husband and knowing that he had both heard and felt that which she had done over his head. But Spinelloccio, coming forth of the chest, said, without more parley, 'Zeppa, we are quits; wherefore it is well, as thou saidst but now to my wife, that we be still friends as we were, and that, since there is nothing unshared between us two but our wives, we have these also in common.' Zeppa was content and they all four dined together in the utmost possible harmony; and thenceforward each of the two ladies had two husbands and each of the latter two wives, without ever having any strife or grudge anent the matter.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MASTER SIMONE THE PHYSICIAN, HAVING BEEN INDUCED BY BRUNO AND BUFFALMACCO TO REPAIR TO A CERTAIN PLACE BY NIGHT, THERE TO BE MADE A MEMBER OF A COMPANY THAT GOETH A\u2013ROVING, IS CAST BY BUFFALMACCO INTO A TRENCH FULL OF ORDURE AND THERE LEFT",
                "text": "After the ladies had chatted awhile over the community of wives practised by the two Siennese, the queen, with whom alone it rested to tell, so she would not do Dioneo an unright, began on this wise: \"Right well, lovesome ladies, did Spinelloccio deserve the cheat put upon him by Zeppa; wherefore meseemeth he is not severely to be blamed (as Pampinea sought awhile ago to show), who putteth a cheat on those who go seeking it or deserve it. Now Spinelloccio deserved it, and I mean to tell you of one who went seeking it for himself. Those who tricked him, I hold not to be blameworthy, but rather commendable, and he to whom it was done was a physician, who, having set out for Bologna a sheepshead, returned to Florence all covered with miniver.\"\n\nAs we see daily, our townsmen return hither from Bologna, this a judge, that a physician and a third a notary, tricked out with robes long and large and scarlets and minivers and store of other fine paraphernalia, and make a mighty brave show, to which how far the effects conform we may still see all day long. Among the rest a certain Master Simone da Villa, richer in inherited goods than in learning, returned hither, no great while since, a doctor of medicine, according to his own account, clad all in scarlet and with a great miniver hood, and took a house in the street which we call nowadays the Via del Cocomero. This said Master Simone, being thus newly returned, as hath been said, had, amongst other his notable customs, a trick of asking whosoever was with him who was no matter what man he saw pass in the street, and as if of the doings and fashions of men he should compound the medicines he gave his patients, he took note of all and laid them all up in his memory. Amongst others on whom it occurred to him more particularly to cast his eyes were two painters of whom it hath already twice to\u2013day been discoursed, namely, Bruno and Buffalmacco, who were neighbours of his and still went in company. Himseeming they recked less of the world and lived more merrily than other folk, as was indeed the case, he questioned divers persons of their condition and hearing from all that they were poor men and painters, he took it into his head that it might not be they lived so blithely of their poverty, but concluded, for that he had heard they were shrewd fellows, that they must needs derive very great profits from some source unknown to the general; wherefore he was taken with a desire to clap up an acquaintance, an he might, with them both, or at least with one of them, and succeeded in making friends with Bruno. The latter, perceiving, after he had been with him a few times, that the physician was a very jackass, began to give himself the finest time in the world with him and to be hugely diverted with his extraordinary humours, whilst Master Simone in like manner took a marvellous delight in his company.\n\nAfter a while, having sundry times bidden him to dinner and thinking himself entitled in consequence to discourse familiarly with him, he discovered to him the wonderment that he felt at him and Buffalmacco, how, being poor men, they lived so merrily, and besought him to apprise him how they did. Bruno, hearing this talk from the physician and himseeing the question was one of his wonted witless impertinences, fell a\u2013laughing in his sleeve, and bethinking himself to answer him according as his folly deserved, said, 'Doctor, there are not many whom I would tell how we do; but you I shall not scruple to tell, for that you are a friend and I know you will not repeat it to any. It is true we live, my friend and I, as merrily and as well as it appeareth to you, nay, more so, albeit neither of our craft nor of revenues we derive from any possessions might we have enough to pay for the very water we consume. Yet I would not, for all that, have you think that we go steal; nay, we go a\u2013roving, and thence, without hurt unto any, we get us all to which we have a mind or for which we have occasion; hence the merry life you see us lead.'\n\nThe physician, hearing this and believing it, without knowing what it was, marvelled exceedingly and forthright conceiving an ardent desire to know what manner of thing this going a\u2013roving might be, besought him very urgently to tell him, affirming that he would assuredly never discover it to any. 'Alack, doctor,' cried Bruno, 'what is this you ask me? This you would know is too great a secret and a thing to undo me and drive me from the world, nay, to bring me into the mouth of the Lucifer of San Gallo, should any come to know it. But so great is the love I bear your right worshipful pumpkinheadship of Legnaja and the confidence I have in you that I can deny you nothing you would have; wherefore I will tell it you, on condition that you swear to me by the cross at Montesone, never, as you have promised, to tell it to any one.\n\nThe physician declared that he would never repeat what he should tell him, and Bruno said, 'You must know, then, honey doctor mine, that not long since there was in this city a great master in necromancy, who was called Michael Scott, for that he was of Scotland, and who received the greatest hospitality from many gentlemen, of whom few are nowadays alive; wherefore, being minded to depart hence, he left them, at their instant prayers, two of his ablest disciples, whom he enjoined still to hold themselves in readiness to satisfy every wish of the gentlemen who had so worshipfully entertained him. These two, then, freely served the aforesaid gentlemen in certain amours of theirs and other small matters, and afterward, the city and the usages of the folk pleasing them, they determined to abide there always. Accordingly, they contracted great and strait friendship with certain of the townfolk, regarding not who they were, whether gentle or simple, rich or poor, but solely if they were men comfortable to their own usances; and to pleasure these who were thus become their friends, they founded a company of maybe five\u2013and\u2013twenty men, who should foregather twice at the least in the month in some place appointed of them, where being assembled, each should tell them his desire, which they would forthright accomplish unto him for that night. Buffalmacco and I, having an especial friendship and intimacy with these two, were put of them on the roll of the aforesaid company and are still thereof. And I may tell you that, what time it chanceth that we assemble together, it is a marvellous thing to see the hangings about the saloon where we eat and the tables spread on royal wise and the multitude of noble and goodly servants, as well female as male, at the pleasure of each one who is of the company, and the basons and ewers and flagons and goblets and the vessels of gold and silver, wherein we eat and drink, more by token of the many and various viands that are set before us, each in its season, according to that which each one desireth. I could never avail to set out to you what and how many are the sweet sounds of innumerable instruments and the songs full of melody that are heard there; nor might I tell you how much wax is burned at these suppers nor what and how many are the confections that are consumed there nor how costly are the wines that are drunken. But I would not have you believe, good saltless pumpkinhead mine, that we abide there in this habit and with these clothes that you see us wear every day; nay, there is none of us of so little account but would seem to you an emperor, so richly are we adorned with vestments of price and fine things. But, over all the other pleasures that be there is that of fair ladies, who, so one but will it, are incontinent brought thither from the four quarters of the world. There might you see the Sovereign Lady of the Rascal\u2013Roughs, the Queen of the Basques, the wife of the Soldan, the Empress of the Usbeg Tartars, the Driggledraggletail of Norroway, the Moll\u2013a\u2013green of Flapdoodleland and the Madkate of Woolgathergreen. But why need I enumerate them to you? There be all the queens in the world, even, I may say, to the Sirreverence of Prester John, who hath his horns amiddleward his arse; see you now? There, after we have drunken and eaten confections and walked a dance or two, each lady betaketh herself to her bedchamber with him at whose instance she hath been brought thither. And you must know that these bedchambers are a very paradise to behold, so goodly they are; ay, and they are no less odoriferous than are the spice\u2013boxes of your shop, whenas you let bray cummin\u2013seed, and therein are beds that would seem to you goodlier than that of the Doge of Venice, and in these they betake themselves to rest. Marry, what a working of the treadles, what a hauling\u2013to of the battens to make the cloth close, these weaveresses keep up, I will e'en leave you to imagine; but of those who fare best, to my seeming, are Buffalmacco and myself, for that he most times letteth come thither the Queen of France for himself, whilst I send for her of England, the which are two of the fairest ladies in the world, and we have known so to do that they have none other eye in their head than us. Wherefore you may judge for yourself if we can and should live and go more merrily than other men, seeing we have the love of two such queens, more by token that, whenas we would have a thousand or two thousand florins of them, we get them not. This, then, we commonly style going a\u2013roving, for that, like as the rovers take every man's good, even so do we, save that we are in this much different from them that they never restore that which they take, whereas we return it again, whenas we have used it. Now, worthy doctor mine, you have heard what it is we call going a\u2013roving; but how strictly this requireth to be kept secret you can see for yourself, and therefore I say no more to you nor pray you thereof.'\n\nThe physician, whose science reached no farther belike than the curing children of the scald\u2013head, gave as much credit to Bruno's story as had been due to the most manifest truth and was inflamed with as great desire to be received into that company as might be kindled in any for the most desirable thing in the world; wherefore he made answer to him that assuredly it was no marvel if they went merry and hardly constrained himself to defer requesting him to bring him to be there until such time as, having done him further hospitality, he might with more confidence proffer his request to him. Accordingly, reserving this unto a more favourable season, he proceeded to keep straiter usance with Bruno, having him morning and evening to eat with him and showing him an inordinate affection; and indeed so great and so constant was this their commerce that it seemed as if the physician could not nor knew how to live without the painter. The latter, finding himself in good case, so he might not appear ungrateful for the hospitality shown him, had painted Master Simone a picture of Lent in his saloon, besides an Agnus Dei at the entering in of his chamber and a chamber\u2013pot over the street\u2013door, so those who had occasion for his advice might know how to distinguish him from the others; and in a little gallery he had, he had depictured him the battle of the rats and the cats, which appeared to the physician a very fine thing. Moreover, he said whiles to him, whenas he had not supper with him overnight, 'I was at the society yesternight and being a trifle tired of the Queen of England, I caused fetch me the Dolladoxy of the Grand Cham of Tartary.' 'What meaneth Dolladoxy?' asked Master Simone. 'I do not understand these names.' 'Marry, doctor mine,' replied Bruno, 'I marvel not thereat, for I have right well heard that Porcograsso and Vannacena say nought thereof.' Quoth the physician. 'Thou meanest Ipocrasso and Avicenna.' 'I' faith,' answered Bruno, 'I know not; I understand your names as ill as you do mine; but Dolladoxy in the Grand Cham's lingo meaneth as much as to say Empress in our tongue. Egad, you would think her a plaguy fine woman! I dare well say she would make you forget your drugs and your clysters and all your plasters.'\n\nOn this wise he bespoke him at one time and another, to enkindle him the more, till one night, what while it chanced my lord doctor held the light to Bruno, who was in act to paint the battle of the rats and the cats, the former, himseeming he had now well taken him with his hospitalities, determined to open his mind to him, and accordingly, they being alone together, he said to him, 'God knoweth, Bruno, there is no one alive for whom I would do everything as I would for thee; indeed, shouldst thou bid me go hence to Peretola, methinketh it would take little to make me go thither; wherefore I would not have thee marvel if I require thee of somewhat familiarly and with confidence. As thou knowest, it is no great while since thou bespokest me of the fashions of your merry company, wherefore so great a longing hath taken me to be one of you that never did I desire aught so much. Nor is this my desire without cause, as thou shalt see, if ever it chance that I be of your company; for I give thee leave to make mock of me an I cause not come thither the finest serving\u2013wench thou ever setst eyes on. I saw her but last year at Cacavincigli and wish her all my weal; and by the body of Christ, I had e'en given her half a score Bolognese groats, so she would but have consented to me; but she would not. Wherefore, as most I may, I prithee teach me what I must do to avail to be of your company and do thou also do and contrive so I may be thereof. Indeed, you will have in me a good and loyal comrade, ay, and a worshipful. Thou seest, to begin with, what a fine man I am and how well I am set up on my legs. Ay, and I have a face as it were a rose, more by token that I am a doctor of medicine, such as I believe you have none among you. Moreover, I know many fine things and goodly canzonets; marry, I will sing you one.' And incontinent he fell a\u2013singing.\n\nBruno had so great a mind to laugh that he was like to burst; however he contained himself and the physician, having made an end of his song, said, 'How deemedst thou thereof?' 'Certes,' answered Bruno, 'there's no Jew's harp but would lose with you, so archigothically do you caterwarble it.' Quoth Master Simone, 'I tell thee thou wouldst never have believed it, hadst thou not heard me.' 'Certes,' replied Bruno, 'you say sooth!' and the physician went on, 'I know store of others; but let that be for the present. Such as thou seest me, my father was a gentleman, albeit he abode in the country, and I myself come by my mother of the Vallecchio family. Moreover, as thou mayst have seen, I have the finest books and gowns of any physician in Florence. Cock's faith, I have a gown that stood me, all reckoned, in nigh upon an hundred pounds of doits, more than half a score years ago; wherefore I pray thee as most I may, to bring me to be of your company, and by Cock's faith, an thou do it, thou mayst be as ill as thou wilt, for I will never take a farthing of thee for my services.'\n\nBruno, hearing this and the physician seeming to him a greater numskull than ever, said, 'Doctor, hold the light a thought more this way and take patience till I have made these rats their tails, and after I will answer you.' The tails being finished, Bruno made believe that the physician's request was exceeding irksome to him and said, 'Doctor mine, these be great things you would do for me and I acknowledge it; nevertheless, that which you ask of me, little as it may be for the greatness of your brain, is yet to me a very grave matter, nor know I any one in the world for whom, it being in my power, I would do it, an I did it not for you, both because I love you as it behoveth and on account of your words, which are seasoned with so much wit that they would draw the straps out of a pair of boots, much more me from my purpose; for the more I consort with you, the wiser you appear to me. And I may tell you this, to boot, that, though I had none other reason, yet do I wish you well, for that I see you enamoured of so fair a creature as is she of whom you speak. But this much I will say to you; I have no such power in this matter as you suppose and cannot therefore do for you that which were behoving; however, an you will promise me, upon your solemn and surbated faith, to keep it me secret, I will tell you the means you must use and meseemeth certain that, with such fine books and other gear as you tell me you have, you will gain your end.'\n\nQuoth the doctor, 'Say on in all assurance; I see thou art not yet well acquainted with me and knowest not how I can keep a secret. There be few things indeed that Messer Guasparruolo da Saliceto did, whenas he was judge of the Provostry at Forlimpopoli, but he sent to tell me, for that he found me so good a secret\u2013keeper. And wilt thou judge an I say sooth? I was the first man whom he told that he was to marry Bergamina: seest thou now?' 'Marry, then,' rejoined Bruno, 'all is well; if such a man trusted in you, I may well do so. The course you must take is on this wise. You must know that we still have to this our company a captain and two counsellors, who are changed from six months to six months, and without fail, at the first of the month, Buffalmacco will be captain and I shall be counsellor; for so it is settled. Now whoso is captain can do much by way of procuring whomsoever he will to be admitted into the company; wherefore meseemeth you should seek, inasmuch as you may, to gain Buffalmacco's friendship and do him honour. He is a man, seeing you so wise, to fall in love with you incontinent, and whenas with your wit and with these fine things you have you shall have somedele ingratiated yourself with him, you can make your request to him; he will not know how to say you nay. I have already bespoken him of you and he wisheth you all the weal in the world; and whenas you shall have done this, leave me do with him.' Quoth the physician, 'That which thou counsellest liketh me well. Indeed, an he be a man who delighteth in men of learning and talketh but with me a little, I will engage to make him go still seeking my company, for that, as for wit, I have so much thereof that I could stock a city withal and yet abide exceeding wise.'\n\nThis being settled, Bruno imparted the whole matter to Buffalmacco, wherefore it seemed to the latter a thousand years till they should come to do that which this arch\u2013zany went seeking. The physician, who longed beyond measure to go a\u2013roving, rested not till he made friends with Buffalmacco, which he easily succeeded in doing, and therewithal he fell to giving him, and Bruno with him, the finest suppers and dinners in the world. The two painters, like the accommodating gentlemen they were, were nothing loath to engage with him and having once tasted the excellent wines and fat capons and other good things galore, with which he plied them, stuck very close to him and ended by quartering themselves upon him, without awaiting overmuch invitation, still declaring that they would not do this for another. Presently, whenas it seemed to him time, the physician made the same request to Buffalmacco as he had made Bruno aforetime; whereupon Buffalmacco feigned himself sore chagrined and made a great outcry against Bruno, saying, 'I vow to the High God of Pasignano that I can scarce withhold myself from giving thee such a clout over the head as should cause thy nose drop to thy heels, traitor that thou art; for none other than thou hath discovered these matters to the doctor.'\n\nMaster Simone did his utmost to excuse Bruno, saying and swearing that he had learned the thing from another quarter, and after many of his wise words, he succeeded in pacifying Buffalmacco; whereupon the latter turned to him and said, 'Doctor mine, it is very evident that you have been at Bologna and have brought back a close mouth to these parts; and I tell you moreover that you have not learnt your A B C on the apple as many blockheads are fain to do; nay, you have learned it aright on the pumpkin, that is so long; and if I mistake not, you were baptized on a Sunday. And albeit Bruno hath told me that you told me that you studied medicine there, meseemeth you studied rather to learn to catch men, the which you, with your wit and your fine talk, know better to do than any man I ever set eyes on.' Here the physician took the words out of his mouth and breaking in, said to Bruno, 'What a thing it is to talk and consort with learned men! Who would so have quickly apprehended every particular of my intelligence as hath this worthy man? Thou didst not half so speedily become aware of my value as he; but, at the least, that which I told thee, whenas thou saidst to me that Buffalmacco delighted in learned men, seemeth it to thee I have done it?' 'Ay hast thou,' replied Bruno, 'and better.'\n\nThen said the doctor to Buffalmacco, 'Thou wouldst have told another tale, hadst thou seen me at Bologna, where there was none, great or small, doctor or scholar, but wished me all the weal in the world, so well did I know to content them all with my discourse and my wit. And what is more, I never said a word there, but I made every one laugh, so hugely did I please them; and whenas I departed thence, they all set up the greatest lament in the world and would all have had me remain there; nay, to such a pass came it for that I should abide there, that they would have left it to me alone to lecture on medicine to as many students as were there; but I would not, for that I was e'en minded to come hither to certain very great heritages which I have here and which have still been in my family; and so I did.' Quoth Bruno to Buffalmacco, 'How deemest thou? Thou believedst me not, whenas I told it thee. By the Evangels, there is not a leach in these parts who is versed in asses' water to compare with this one, and assuredly thou wouldst not find another of him from here to Paris gates. Marry, hold yourself henceforth if you can, from doing that which he will.' Quoth Master Simone, 'Bruno saith sooth; but I am not understood here. You Florentines are somewhat dull of wit; but I would have you see me among the doctors, as I am used to be.' 'Verily, doctor,' said Buffalmacco, 'you are far wiser than I could ever have believed; wherefore to speak to you as it should be spoken to scholars such as you are, I tell you, cut\u2013and\u2013slash fashion, I will without fail procure you to be of our company.'\n\nAfter this promise the physician redoubled in his hospitalities to the two rogues, who enjoyed themselves at his expense, what while they crammed him with the greatest extravagances in the world and fooled him to the top of his bent, promising him to give him to mistress the Countess of Jakes, who was the fairest creature to be found in all the back\u2013settlements of the human generation. The physician enquired who this countess was, whereto quoth Buffalmacco, 'Good my seed\u2013pumpkin, she is a very great lady and there be few houses in the world wherein she hath not some jurisdiction. To say nothing of others, the Minor Friars themselves render her tribute, to the sound of kettle\u2013drums. And I can assure you that, whenas she goeth abroad, she maketh herself well felt, albeit she abideth for the most part shut up. Natheless, it is no great while since she passed by your door, one night that she repaired to the Arno, to wash her feet and take the air a little; but her most continual abiding\u2013place is in Draughthouseland. There go ofttimes about store of her serjeants, who all in token of her supremacy, bear the staff and the plummet, and of her barons many are everywhere to be seen, such as Sirreverence of the Gate, Goodman Turd, Hardcake, Squitterbreech and others, who methinketh are your familiars, albeit you call them not presently to mind. In the soft arms, then, of this great lady, leaving be her of Cacavincigli, we will, an expectation cheat us not, bestow you.'\n\nThe physician, who had been born and bred at Bologna, understood not their canting terms and accordingly avouched himself well pleased with the lady in question. Not long after this talk, the painters brought him news that he was accepted to member of the company and the day being come before the night appointed for their assembly, he had them both to dinner. When they had dined, he asked them what means it behoved him take to come thither; whereupon quoth Buffalmacco, 'Look you, doctor, it behoveth you have plenty of assurance; for that, an you be not mighty resolute, you may chance to suffer hindrance and do us very great hurt; and in what it behoveth you to approve yourself very stout\u2013hearted you shall hear. You must find means to be this evening, at the season of the first sleep, on one of the raised tombs which have been lately made without Santa Maria Novella, with one of your finest gowns on your back, so you may make an honourable figure for your first appearance before the company and also because, according to what was told us (we were not there after) the Countess is minded, for that you are a man of gentle birth, to make you a Knight of the Bath at her own proper costs and charges; and there you must wait till there cometh for you he whom we shall send. And so you may be apprised of everything, there will come for you a black horned beast, not overbig, which will go capering about the piazza before you and making a great whistling and bounding, to terrify you; but, when he seeth that you are not to be daunted, he will come up to you quietly. Then do you, without any fear, come down from the tomb and mount the beast, naming neither God nor the Saints; and as soon as you are settled on his back, you must cross your hands upon your breast, in the attitude of obeisance, and touch him no more. He will then set off softly and bring you to us; but if you call upon God or the Saints or show fear, I must tell you that he may chance to cast you off or strike you into some place where you are like to stink for it; wherefore, an your heart misgive you and unless you can make sure of being mighty resolute, come not thither, for you would but do us a mischief, without doing yourself any good.'\n\nQuoth the physician, 'I see you know me not yet; maybe you judge of me by my gloves and long gown. If you knew what I did aforetimes at Bologna anights, when I went a\u2013wenching whiles with my comrades, you would marvel. Cock's faith, there was such and such a night when, one of them refusing to come with us, (more by token that she was a scurvy little baggage, no higher than my fist,) I dealt her, to begin with, good store of cuffs, then, taking her up bodily, I dare say I carried her a crossbowshot and wrought so that needs must she come with us. Another time I remember me that, without any other in my company than a serving\u2013man of mine, I passed yonder alongside the Cemetery of the Minor Friars, a little after the Ave Maria, albeit there had been a woman buried there that very day, and felt no whit of fear; wherefore misdoubt you not of this, for I am but too stout of heart and lusty. Moreover, I tell you that, to do you credit at my coming thither, I will don my gown of scarlet, wherein I was admitted doctor, and we shall see if the company rejoice not at my sight and an I be not made captain out of hand. You shall e'en see how the thing will go, once I am there, since, without having yet set eyes on me, this countess hath fallen so enamoured of me that she is minded to make me a Knight of the Bath. It may be knighthood will not sit so ill on me nor shall I be at a loss to carry it off with worship! Marry, only leave me do.' 'You say very well,' answered Buffalmacco; 'but look you leave us not in the lurch and not come or not be found at the trysting\u2013place, whenas we shall send for you; and this I say for that the weather is cold and you gentlemen doctors are very careful of yourselves thereanent.' 'God forbid!' cried Master Simone. 'I am none of your chilly ones. I reck not of the cold; seldom or never, whenas I rise of a night for my bodily occasions, as a man will bytimes, do I put me on more than my fur gown over my doublet. Wherefore I will certainly be there.'\n\nThereupon they took leave of him and whenas it began to grow towards night, Master Simone contrived to make some excuse or other to his wife and secretly got out his fine gown; then, whenas it seemed to him time, he donned it and betook himself to Santa Maria Novella, where he mounted one of the aforesaid tombs and huddling himself up on the marble, for that the cold was great, he proceeded to wait the coming of the beast. Meanwhile Buffalmacco, who was tall and robust of his person, made shift to have one of those masks that were wont to be used for certain games which are not held nowadays, and donning a black fur pelisse, inside out, arrayed himself therein on such wise that he seemed a very bear, save that his mask had a devil's face and was horned. Thus accoutred, he betook himself to the new Piazza of Santa Maria, Bruno following him to see how the thing should go. As soon as he perceived that the physician was there, he fell a\u2013capering and caracoling and made a terrible great blustering about the piazza, whistling and howling and bellowing as he were possessed of the devil. When Master Simone, who was more fearful than a woman, heard and saw this, every hair of his body stood on end and he fell a\u2013trembling all over, and it was now he had liefer been at home than there. Nevertheless, since he was e'en there, he enforced himself to take heart, so overcome was he with desire to see the marvels whereof the painters had told him.\n\nAfter Buffalmacco had raged about awhile, as hath been said, he made a show of growing pacified and coming up to the tomb whereon was the physician, stood stock\u2013still. Master Simone, who was all a\u2013tremble for fear, knew not what to do, whether to mount or abide where he was. However, at last, fearing that the beast should do him a mischief, an he mounted him not, he did away the first fear with the second and coming down from the tomb, mounted on his back, saying softly, 'God aid me!' Then he settled himself as best he might and still trembling in every limb, crossed his hands upon his breast, as it had been enjoined him; whereupon Buffalmacco set off at an amble towards Santa Maria della Scala and going on all fours, brought him hard by the Nunnery of Ripole. In those days there were dykes in that quarter, wherein the tillers of the neighbouring lands let empty the jakes, to manure their fields withal; whereto whenas Buffalmacco came nigh, he went up to the brink of one of them and taking the opportunity, laid hold of one of the physician's legs and jerking him off his back, pitched him clean in, head foremost. Then he fell a\u2013snorting and snarling and capering and raged about awhile; after which he made off alongside Santa Maria della Scala till he came to Allhallows Fields. There he found Bruno, who had taken to flight, for that he was unable to restrain his laughter; and with him, after they had made merry together at Master Simone's expense, he addressed himself to see from afar what the bemoiled physician should do.\n\nMy lord leech, finding himself in that abominable place, struggled to arise and strove as best he might to win forth thereof; and after falling in again and again, now here and now there, and swallowing some drachms of the filth, he at last succeeded in making his way out of the dyke, in the woefullest of plights, bewrayed from head to foot and leaving his bonnet behind him. Then, having wiped himself as best he might with his hands and knowing not what other course to take, he returned home and knocked till it was opened to him. Hardly was he entered, stinking as he did, and the door shut again ere up came Bruno and Buffalmacco, to hear how he should be received of his wife, and standing hearkening, they heard the lady give him the foulest rating was ever given poor devil, saying, 'Good lack, what a pickle thou art in! Thou hast been gallanting it to some other woman and must needs seek to cut a figure with thy gown of scarlet! What, was not I enough for thee? Why, man alive, I could suffice to a whole people, let alone thee. Would God they had choked thee, like as they cast thee whereas thou deservedst to be thrown! Here's a fine physician for you, to have a wife of his own and go a\u2013gadding anights after other folk's womankind!' And with these and many other words of the same fashion she gave not over tormenting him till midnight, what while the physician let wash himself from head to foot.\n\nNext morning up came Bruno and Buffalmacco, who had painted all their flesh under their clothes with livid blotches, such as beatings use to make, and entering the physician's house, found him already arisen. Accordingly they went in to him and found the whole place full of stench, for that they had not yet been able so to clean everything that it should not stink there. Master Simone, seeing them enter, came to meet them and bade God give them good day; whereto the two rogues, as they had agreed beforehand, replied with an angry air, saying, 'That say we not to you; nay, rather, we pray God give you so many ill years that you may die a dog's death, as the most disloyal man and the vilest traitor alive; for it was no thanks to you that, whereas we studied to do you pleasure and worship, we were not slain like dogs. As it is, thanks to your disloyalty, we have gotten so many buffets this past night that an ass would go to Rome for less, without reckoning that we have gone in danger of being expelled the company into which we had taken order for having you received. An you believe us not, look at our bodies and see how they have fared.' Then, opening their clothes in front, they showed him, by an uncertain light, their breasts all painted and covered them up again in haste.\n\nThe physician would have excused himself and told of his mishaps and how and where he had been cast; but Buffalmacco said, 'Would he had thrown you off the bridge into the Arno! Why did you call on God and the Saints? Were you not forewarned of this?' 'By God His faith,' replied the physician, 'I did it not.' 'How?' cried Buffalmacco. 'You did not call on them? Egad, you did it again and again; for our messenger told us that you shook like a reed and knew not where you were. Marry, for the nonce you have befooled us finely; but never again shall any one serve us thus, and we will yet do you such honour thereof as you merit.' The physician fell to craving pardon and conjuring them for God's sake not to dishonour him and studied to appease them with the best words he could command. And if aforetime he had entreated them with honour, from that time forth he honoured them yet more and made much of them, entertaining them with banquets and otherwhat, for fear lest they should publish his shame. Thus, then, as you have heard, is sense taught to whoso hath learned no great store thereof at Bologna.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A CERTAIN WOMAN OF SICILY ARTFULLY DESPOILETH A MERCHANT OF THAT WHICH HE HAD BROUGHT TO PALERMO; BUT HE, MAKING BELIEVE TO HAVE RETURNED THITHER WITH MUCH GREATER PLENTY OF MERCHANDISE THAN BEFORE, BORROWETH MONEY OF HER AND LEAVETH HER WATER AND TOW IN PAYMENT",
                "text": "How much the queen's story in divers places made the ladies laugh, it needed not to ask; suffice it to say that there was none of them to whose eyes the tears had not come a dozen times for excess of laughter: but, after it had an end, Dioneo, knowing that it was come to his turn to tell, said, \"Gracious ladies, it is a manifest thing that sleights and devices are the more pleasing, the subtler the trickster who is thereby artfully outwitted. Wherefore, albeit you have related very fine stories, I mean to tell you one, which should please you more than any other that hath been told upon the same subject, inasmuch as she who was cheated was a greater mistress of the art of cheating others than was any of the men or women who were cozened by those of whom you have told.\"\n\nThere used to be, and belike is yet, a custom, in all maritime places which have a port, that all merchants who come thither with merchandise, having unloaded it, should carry it all into a warehouse, which is in many places called a customhouse, kept by the commonality or by the lord of the place. There they give unto those who are deputed to that end a note in writing of all their merchandise and the value thereof, and they thereupon make over to each merchant a storehouse, wherein he layeth up his goods under lock and key. Moreover, the said officers enter in the book of the Customs, to each merchant's credit, all his merchandise, causing themselves after he paid their dues of the merchants, whether for all his said merchandise or for such part thereof as he withdraweth from the customhouse. By this book of the Customs the brokers mostly inform themselves of the quality and the quantity of the goods that are in bond there and also who are the merchants that own them; and with these latter, as occasion serveth them, they treat of exchanges and barters and sales and other transactions. This usance, amongst many other places, was current at Palermo in Sicily, where likewise there were and are yet many women, very fair of their person, but sworn enemies to honesty, who would be and are by those who know them not held great ladies and passing virtuous and who, being given not to shave, but altogether to flay men, no sooner espy a merchant there than they inform themselves by the book of the Customs of that which he hath there and how much he can do; after which by their lovesome and engaging fashions and with the most dulcet words, they study to allure the said merchants and draw them into the snare of their love; and many an one have they aforetime lured thereinto, from whom they have wiled great part of their merchandise; nay, many have they despoiled of all, and of these there be some who have left goods and ship and flesh and bones in their hands, so sweetly hath the barberess known to ply the razor.\n\nIt chanced, not long since, that there came thither, sent by his masters, one of our young Florentines, by name Niccolo da Cignano, though more commonly called Salabaetto, with as many woollen cloths, left on his hands from the Salerno fair, as might be worth some five hundred gold florins, which having given the customhouse officers the invoice thereof, he laid up in a magazine and began, without showing overmuch haste to dispose of them, to go bytimes a\u2013pleasuring about the city. He being of a fair complexion and yellow\u2013haired and withal very sprightly and personable, it chanced that one of these same barberesses, who styled herself Madam Biancofiore, having heard somewhat of his affairs, cast her eyes on him; which he perceiving and taking her for some great lady, concluded that he pleased her for his good looks and bethought himself to order this amour with the utmost secrecy; wherefore, without saying aught thereof to any, he fell to passing and repassing before her house. She, noting this, after she had for some days well enkindled him with her eyes, making believe to languish for him, privily despatched to him one of her women, who was a past mistress in the procuring art and who, after much parley, told him, well nigh with tears in her eyes, that he had so taken her mistress with his comeliness and his pleasing fashions that she could find no rest day or night; wherefore, whenas it pleased him, she desired, more than aught else, to avail to foregather with him privily in a bagnio; then, pulling a ring from her pouch, she gave it to him on the part of her mistress. Salabaetto, hearing this, was the joyfullest man that was aye and taking the ring, rubbed it against his eyes and kissed it; after which he set it on his finger and replied to the good woman that, if Madam Biancofiore loved him, she was well requited it, for that he loved her more than his proper life and was ready to go whereassoever it should please her and at any hour. The messenger returned to her mistress with this answer and it was appointed Salabaetto out of hand at what bagnio he should expect her on the ensuing day after vespers.\n\nAccordingly, without saying aught of the matter to any, he punctually repaired thither at the hour appointed him and found the bagnio taken by the lady; nor had he waited long ere there came two slave\u2013girls laden with gear and bearing on their heads, the one a fine large mattress of cotton wool and the other a great basket full of gear. The mattress they set on a bedstead in one of the chambers of the bagnio and spread thereon a pair of very fine sheets, laced with silk, together with a counterpane of snow\u2013white Cyprus buckram and two pillows wonder\u2013curiously wrought. Then, putting off their clothes they entered the bath and swept it all and washed it excellent well. Nor was it long ere the lady herself came thither, with other two slave\u2013girls, and accosted Salabaetto with the utmost joy; then, as first she had commodity, after she had both clipped and kissed him amain, heaving the heaviest sighs in the world, she said to him, 'I know not who could have brought me to this pass, other than thou; thou hast kindled a fire in my vitals, little dog of a Tuscan!' Then, at her instance, they entered the bath, both naked, and with them two of the slave\u2013girls; and there, without letting any else lay a finger on him, she with her own hands washed Salabaetto all wonder\u2013well with musk and clove\u2013scented soap; after which she let herself be washed and rubbed of the slave\u2013girls. This done, the latter brought two very white and fine sheets, whence came so great a scent of roses that everything there seemed roses, in one of which they wrapped Salabaetto and in the other the lady and taking them in their arms, carried them both to the bed prepared for them. There, whenas they had left sweating, the slave\u2013girls did them loose from the sheets wherein they were wrapped and they abode naked in the others, whilst the girls brought out of the basket wonder\u2013goodly casting\u2013bottles of silver, full of sweet waters, rose and jessamine and orange and citron\u2013flower scented, and sprinkled them all therewith; after which boxes of succades and wines of great price were produced and they refreshed themselves awhile.\n\nIt seemed to Salabaetto as he were in Paradise and he cast a thousand glances at the lady, who was certes very handsome, himseeming each hour was an hundred years till the slave\u2013girls should begone and he should find himself in her arms. Presently, at her commandment, the girls departed the chamber, leaving a flambeau alight there; whereupon she embraced Salabaetto and he her, and they abode together a great while, to the exceeding pleasure of the Florentine, to whom it seemed she was all afire for love of him. Whenas it seemed to her time to rise, she called the slave\u2013girls and they clad themselves; then they recruited themselves somedele with a second collation of wine and sweetmeats and washed their hands and faces with odoriferous waters; after which, being about to depart, the lady said to Salabaetto, 'So it be agreeable to thee, it were doing me a very great favour an thou camest this evening to sup and lie the night with me.' Salabaetto, who was by this time altogether captivated by her beauty and the artful pleasantness of her fashions and firmly believed himself to be loved of her as he were the heart out of her body, replied, 'Madam, your every pleasure is supremely agreeable to me, wherefore both to\u2013night and at all times I mean to do that which shall please you and that which shall be commanded me of you.'\n\nAccordingly the lady returned to her house, where she caused well bedeck her bedchamber with her dresses and gear and letting make ready a splendid supper, awaited Salabaetto, who, as soon as it was grown somewhat dark, betook himself thither and being received with open arms, supped with all cheer and commodity of service. Thereafter they betook themselves into the bedchamber, where he smelt a marvellous fragrance of aloes\u2013wood and saw the bed very richly adorned with Cyprian singing\u2013birds and store of fine dresses upon the pegs, all which things together and each of itself made him conclude that this must be some great and rich lady. And although he had heard some whispers to the contrary anent her manner of life, he would not anywise believe it; or, if he e'en gave so much credit thereto as to allow that she might erst have cozened others, for nothing in the world could he have believed that this might possibly happen to himself. He lay that night with her in the utmost delight, still waxing more enamoured, and in the morning she girt him on a quaint and goodly girdle of silver, with a fine purse thereto, saying, 'Sweet my Salabaetto, I commend myself to thy remembrance, and like as my person is at thy pleasure, even so is all that is here and all that dependeth upon me at thy service and commandment.' Salabaetto, rejoiced, embraced and kissed her; then, going forth of her house, he betook himself whereas the other merchants were used to resort.\n\nOn this wise consorting with her at one time and another, without its costing him aught in the world, and growing every hour more entangled, it befell that he sold his stuffs for ready money and made a good profit thereby; of which the lady incontinent heard, not from him, but from others, and Salabaetto being come one night to visit her, she fell to prattling and wantoning with him, kissing and clipping him and feigning herself so enamoured of him that it seemed she must die of love in his arms. Moreover, she would fain have given him two very fine hanaps of silver that she had; but he would not take them, for that he had had of her, at one time and another, what was worth a good thirty gold florins, without availing to have her take of him so much as a groat's worth. At last, whenas she had well enkindled him by showing herself so enamoured and freehanded, one of her slave\u2013girls called her, as she had ordained beforehand; whereupon she left the chamber and coming back, after awhile, in tears cast herself face downward on the bed and fell to making the woefullest lamentation ever woman made. Salabaetto, marvelling at this, caught her in his arms and fell a\u2013weeping with her and saying, 'Alack, heart of my body, what aileth thee thus suddenly? What is the cause of this grief? For God's sake, tell it me, my soul.' The lady, after letting herself be long entreated, answered, 'Woe's me, sweet my lord, I know not what to say or to do; I have but now received letters from Messina and my brother writeth me that, should I sell or pawn all that is here, I must without fail send him a thousand gold florins within eight days from this time, else will his head be cut off; and I know not how I shall do to get this sum so suddenly. Had I but fifteen days' grace, I would find a means of procuring it from a certain quarter whence I am to have much more, or I would sell one of our farms; but, as this may not be, I had liefer be dead than that this ill news should have come to me.'\n\nSo saying, she made a show of being sore afflicted and stinted not from weeping; whereupon quoth Salabaetto, whom the flames of love had bereft of great part of his wonted good sense, so that he believed her tears to be true and her words truer yet, 'Madam, I cannot oblige you with a thousand florins, but five hundred I can very well advance you, since you believe you will be able to return them to me within a fortnight from this time; and this is of your good fortune that I chanced but yesterday to sell my stuffs; for, had it not been so, I could not have lent you a groat.' 'Alack,' cried the lady, 'hast thou then been straitened for lack of money? Marry, why didst thou not require me thereof? Though I have not a thousand, I had an hundred and even two hundred to give thee. Thou hast deprived me of all heart to accept of thee the service thou profferest me.' Salabaetto was more than ever taken with these words and said, 'Madam, I would not have you refrain on that account, for, had I had such an occasion therefor as you presently have, I would assuredly have asked you.' 'Alack, Salabaetto mine,' replied the lady, 'now know I aright that thine is a true and perfect love for me, since, without waiting to be required, thou freely succoureth me, in such a strait, with so great a sum of money. Certes, I was all thine without this, but with this I shall be far more so; nor shall I ever forget that I owe thee my brother's life. But God knoweth I take it sore unwillingly, seeing that thou art a merchant and that with money merchants transact all their affairs; however, since need constraineth me, and I have certain assurance of speedily restoring it to thee, I will e'en take it; and for the rest, an I find no readier means, I will pawn all these my possessions.' So saying, she let herself fall, weeping, on Salabaetto's neck. He fell to comforting her and after abiding the night with her, he, next morning, to approve himself her most liberal servant, without waiting to be asked by her, carried her five hundred right gold florins, which she received with tears in her eyes, but laughter in her heart, Salabaetto contenting himself with her simple promise.\n\nAs soon as the lady had the money, the signs began to change, and whereas before he had free access to her whenassoever it pleased him, reasons now began to crop up, whereby it betided him not to win admission there once out of seven times, nor was he received with the same countenance nor the same caresses and rejoicings as before. And the term at which he was to have had his monies again being, not to say come, but past by a month or two and he requiring them, words were given him in payment. Thereupon his eyes were opened to the wicked woman's arts and his own lack of wit, wherefore, feeling that he could say nought of her beyond that which might please her concerning the matter, since he had neither script nor other evidence thereof, and being ashamed to complain to any, as well for that he had been forewarned thereof as for fear of the scoffs which he might reasonably expect for his folly, he was beyond measure woeful and inwardly bewailed his credulity.\n\nAt last, having had divers letters from his masters, requiring him to change the monies in question and remit them to them, he determined to depart, lest, an he did it not, his default should be discovered there, and accordingly, going aboard a little ship, he betook himself, not to Pisa, as he should have done, but to Naples. There at that time was our gossip Pietro dello Canigiano, treasurer to the Empress of Constantinople, a man of great understanding and subtle wit and a fast friend of Salabaetto and his family; and to him, as to a very discreet man, the disconsolate Florentine recounted that which he had done and the mischance that had befallen him, requiring him of aid and counsel, so he might contrive to gain his living there, and avouching his intention nevermore to return to Florence. Canigiano was concerned for this and said, 'Ill hast thou done and ill hast thou carried thyself; thou hast disobeyed thy masters and hast, at one cast, spent a great sum of money in wantonness; but, since it is done, we must look for otherwhat.' Accordingly, like a shrewd man as he was, he speedily bethought himself what was to be done and told it to Salabaetto, who was pleased with the device and set about putting it in execution. He had some money and Canigiano having lent him other some, he made up a number of bales well packed and corded; then, buying a score of oil\u2013casks and filling them, he embarked the whole and returned to Palermo, where, having given the customhouse officers the bill of lading and the value of the casks and let enter everything to his account, he laid the whole up in the magazines, saying that he meant not to touch them till such time as certain other merchandise which he expected should be come.\n\nBiancofiore, getting wind of this and hearing that the merchandise he had presently brought with him was worth good two thousand florins, without reckoning what he looked for, which was valued at more than three thousand, bethought herself that she had flown at too small game and determined to restore him the five hundred florins, so she might avail to have the greater part of the five thousand. Accordingly, she sent for him and Salabaetto, grown cunning, went to her; whereupon, making believe to know nothing of that which he had brought with him, she received him with a great show of fondness and said to him, 'Harkye, if thou wast vexed with me, for that I repaid thee not thy monies on the very day\u2026' Salabaetto fell a\u2013laughing and answered; 'In truth, madam, it did somewhat displease me, seeing I would have torn out my very heart to give it you, an I thought to pleasure you withal; but I will have you hear how I am vexed with you. Such and so great is the love I bear you, that I have sold the most part of my possessions and have presently brought hither merchandise to the value of more than two thousand florins and expect from the westward as much more as will be worth over three thousand, with which I mean to stock me a warehouse in this city and take up my sojourn here, so I may still be near you, meseeming I fare better of your love than ever lover of his lady.'\n\n'Look you, Salabaetto,' answered the lady, 'every commodity of thine is mighty pleasing to me, as that of him whom I love more than my life, and it pleaseth me amain that thou art returned hither with intent to sojourn here, for that I hope yet to have good time galore with thee; but I would fain excuse myself somedele to thee for that, whenas thou wast about to depart, thou wouldst bytimes have come hither and couldst not, and whiles thou camest and wast not so gladly seen as thou wast used to be, more by token that I returned thee not thy monies at the time promised. Thou must know that I was then in very great concern and sore affliction, and whoso is in such case, how much soever he may love another, cannot always show him so cheerful a countenance or pay him such attention as he might wish. Moreover, thou must know that it is mighty uneasy for a woman to avail to find a thousand gold florins; all day long we are put off with lies and that which is promised us is not performed unto us; wherefore needs must we in our turn lie unto others. Hence cometh it, and not of my default, that I gave thee not back thy monies. However, I had them a little after thy departure, and had I known whither to send them, thou mayst be assured that I would have remitted them to thee; but, not knowing this, I kept them for thee.' Then, letting fetch a purse wherein were the very monies he had brought her, she put it into his hand, saying, 'Count them if there be five hundred.' Never was Salabaetto so glad; he counted them and finding them five hundred, put them up and said, 'Madam, I am assured that you say sooth; but you have done enough to convince me of your love for me, and I tell you that, for this and for the love I bear you, you could never require me, for any your occasion, of whatsoever sum I might command, but I would oblige you therewith; and whenas I am established here, you may put this to the proof.'\n\nHaving again on this wise renewed his loves with her in words, he fell again to using amically with her, whilst she made much of him and showed him the greatest goodwill and honour in the world, feigning the utmost love for him. But he, having a mind to return her cheat for cheat, being one day sent for by her to sup and sleep with her, went thither so chapfallen and so woebegone that it seemed as he would die. Biancofiore, embracing him and kissing him, began to question him of what ailed him to be thus melancholy, and he, after letting himself be importuned a good while, answered, 'I am a ruined man, for that the ship, wherein is the merchandise I expected, hath been taken by the corsairs of Monaco and held to ransom in ten thousand gold florins, whereof it falleth to me to pay a thousand, and I have not a farthing, for that the five hundred pieces thou returnedst to me I sent incontinent to Naples to lay out in cloths to be brought hither; and should I go about at this present to sell the merchandise I have here, I should scarce get a penny for two pennyworth, for that it is no time for selling. Nor am I yet so well known that I could find any here to help me to this, wherefore I know not what to do or to say; for, if I send not the monies speedily, the merchandise will be carried off to Monaco and I shall never again have aught thereof.'\n\nThe lady was mightily concerned at this, fearing to lose him altogether, and considering how she should do, so he might not go to Monaco, said, 'God knoweth I am sore concerned for the love of thee; but what availeth it to afflict oneself thus? If I had the monies, God knoweth I would lend them to thee incontinent; but I have them not. True, there is a certain person here who obliged me the other day with the five hundred florins that I lacked; but he will have heavy usance for his monies; nay, he requireth no less than thirty in the hundred, and if thou wilt borrow of him, needs must he be made secure with a good pledge. For my part, I am ready to engage for thee all these my goods and my person, to boot, for as much as he will lend thereon; but how wilt thou assure him of the rest?' Salabaetto readily apprehended the reason that moved her to do him this service and divined that it was she herself who was to lend him the money; wherewith he was well pleased and thanking her, answered that he would not be put off for exorbitant usance, need constraining him. Moreover, he said that he would give assurance of the merchandise he had in the customhouse, letting inscribe it to him who should lend him the money; but that needs must be kept the key of the magazines, as well that he might be able to show his wares, an it were required of him, as that nothing might be touched or changed or tampered withal.\n\nThe lady answered that it was well said and that this was good enough assurance; wherefore, as soon as the day was come, she sent for a broker, in whom she trusted greatly, and taking order with him of the matter, gave him a thousand gold florins, which he lent to Salabaetto, letting inscribe in his own name at the customhouse that which the latter had there; then, having made their writings and counter\u2013writings together and being come to an accord, they occupied themselves with their other affairs. Salabaetto, as soonest he might, embarked, with the fifteen hundred gold florins, on board a little ship and returned to Pietro dello Canigiano at Naples, whence he remitted to his masters, who had despatched him with the stuffs, a good and entire account thereof. Then, having repaid Pietro and every other to whom he owed aught, he made merry several days with Canigiano over the cheat he had put upon the Sicilian trickstress; after which, resolved to be no more a merchant, he betook himself to Ferrara.\n\nMeanwhile, Biancofiore, finding that Salabaetto had left Palermo, began to marvel and wax misdoubtful and after having awaited him good two months, seeing that he came not, she caused the broker force open the magazines. Trying first the casks, which she believed to be filled with oil, she found them full of seawater, save that there was in each maybe a runlet of oil at the top near the bunghole. Then, undoing the bales, she found them all full of tow, with the exception of two, which were stuffs; and in brief, with all that was there, there was not more than two hundred florins' worth. Wherefore Biancofiore, confessing herself outwitted, long lamented the five hundred florins repaid and yet more the thousand lent, saying often, 'Who with a Tuscan hath to do, Must nor be blind nor see askew.' On this wise, having gotten nothing for her pains but loss and scorn, she found, to her cost, that some folk know as much as others.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 97",
                "text": "No sooner had Dioneo made an end of his story than Lauretta, knowing the term to be come beyond which she was not to reign and having commended Canigiano's counsel (which was approved good by its effect) and Salabaetto's shrewdness (which was no less commendable) in carrying it into execution, lifted the laurel from her own head and set it on that of Emilia, saying, with womanly grace, \"Madam, I know not how pleasant a queen we shall have of you; but, at the least, we shall have a fair one. Look, then, that your actions be conformable to your beauties.\" So saying, she returned to her seat, whilst Emilia, a thought abashed, not so much at being made queen as to see herself publicly commended of that which women use most to covet, waxed such in face as are the new\u2013blown roses in the dawning. However, after she had kept her eyes awhile lowered, till the redness had given place, she took order with the seneschal of that which concerned the general entertainment and presently said, \"Delightsome ladies, it is common, after oxen have toiled some part of the day, confined under the yoke, to see them loosed and eased thereof and freely suffered to go a\u2013pasturing, where most it liketh them, about the woods; and it is manifest also that leafy gardens, embowered with various plants, are not less, but much more fair than groves wherein one seeth only oaks. Wherefore, seeing how many days we have discoursed, under the restraint of a fixed law, I opine that, as well unto us as to those whom need constraineth to labour for their daily bread, it is not only useful, but necessary, to play the truant awhile and wandering thus afield, to regain strength to enter anew under the yoke. Wherefore, for that which is to be related to\u2013morrow, ensuing your delectable usance of discourse, I purpose not to restrict you to any special subject, but will have each discourse according as it pleaseth him, holding it for certain that the variety of the things which will be said will afford us no less entertainment than to have discoursed of one alone; and having done thus, whoso shall come after me in the sovranty may, as stronger than I, avail with greater assurance to restrict us within the limits of the wonted laws.\" So saying, she set every one at liberty till supper\u2013time.\n\nAll commended the queen of that which she had said, holding it sagely spoken, and rising to their feet, addressed themselves, this to one kind of diversion and that to another, the ladies to weaving garlands and to gambolling and the young men to gaming and singing. On this wise they passed the time until the supper\u2013hour, which being come, they supped with mirth and good cheer about the fair fountain and after diverted themselves with singing and dancing according to the wonted usance. At last, the queen, to ensue the fashion of her predecessors, commanded Pamfilo to sing a song, notwithstanding those which sundry of the company had already sung of their freewill; and he readily began thus:\n\n\u2002Such is thy pleasure, Love\n\n\u2002And such the allegresse I feel thereby\n\n\u2002That happy, burning in thy fire, am I.\n\n\u2002The abounding gladness in my heart that glows,\n\n\u2002For the high joy and dear\n\n\u2002Whereto thou hast me led,\n\n\u2002Unable to contain there, overflows\n\n\u2002And in my face's cheer\n\n\u2002Displays my happihead;\n\n\u2002For being enamour\u00e9d\n\n\u2002In such a worship\u2013worthy place and high\n\n\u2002Makes eath to me the burning I aby.\n\n\u2002I cannot with my finger what I feel\n\n\u2002Limn, Love, nor do I know\n\n\u2002My bliss in song to vent;\n\n\u2002Nay, though I knew it, needs must I conceal,\n\n\u2002For, once divulged, I trow\n\n\u2002'Twould turn to dreariment.\n\n\u2002Yet am I so content,\n\n\u2002All speech were halt and feeble, did I try\n\n\u2002The least thereof with words to signify.\n\n\u2002Who might conceive it that these arms of mine\n\n\u2002Should anywise attain\n\n\u2002Whereas I've held them aye,\n\n\u2002Or that my face should reach so fair a shrine\n\n\u2002As that, of favour fain\n\n\u2002And grace, I've won to? Nay,\n\n\u2002Such fortune ne'er a day\n\n\u2002Believed me were; whence all afire am I,\n\n\u2002Hiding the source of my liesse thereby.\n\nThis was the end of Pamfilo's song, whereto albeit it had been completely responded of all, there was none but noted the words thereof with more attent solicitude than pertained unto him, studying to divine that which, as he sang, it behoved him to keep hidden from them; and although sundry went imagining various things, nevertheless none happened upon the truth of the case. But the queen, seeing that the song was ended and that both young ladies and men would gladly rest themselves, commanded that all should betake themselves to bed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Ninth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE NINTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF EMILIA EACH DISCOURSETH ACCORDING AS IT PLEASETH HIM AND OF THAT WHICH IS MOST TO HIS LIKING ]\n\nThe light, from whose resplendence the night fleeth, had already changed all the eighth heaven from azure to watchet\u2013colour and the flowerets began to lift their heads along the meads, when Emilia, uprising, let call the ladies her comrades and on like wise the young men, who, being come, fared forth, ensuing the slow steps of the queen, and betook themselves to a coppice but little distant from the palace. Therein entering, they saw the animals, wild goats and deer and others, as if assured of security from the hunters by reason of the prevailing pestilence, stand awaiting them no otherwise than as they were grown without fear or tame, and diverted themselves awhile with them, drawing near, now to this one and now to that, as if they would fain lay hands on them, and making them run and skip. But, the sun now waxing high, they deemed it well to turn back. They were all garlanded with oak leaves, with their hands full of flowers and sweet\u2013scented herbs, and whoso encountered them had said no otherwhat than \"Or these shall not be overcome of death or it will slay them merry.\" On this wise, then, they fared on, step by step, singing and chatting and laughing, till they came to the palace, where they found everything orderly disposed and their servants full of mirth and joyous cheer. There having rested awhile, they went not to dinner till half a dozen canzonets, each merrier than other, had been carolled by the young men and the ladies; then, water being given to their hands, the seneschal seated them all at table, according to the queen's pleasure, and the viands being brought, they all ate blithely. Rising thence, they gave themselves awhile to dancing and music\u2013making, and after, by the queen's commandment, whoso would betook himself to rest. But presently, the wonted hour being come, all in the accustomed place assembled to discourse, whereupon the queen, looking at Filomena, bade her give commencement to the stories of that day, and she, smiling, began on this wise:"
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM FRANCESCA, BEING COURTED BY ONE RINUCCIO PALERMINI AND ONE ALESSANDRO CHIARMONTESI AND LOVING NEITHER THE ONE NOR THE OTHER, ADROITLY RIDDETH HERSELF OF BOTH BY CAUSING ONE ENTER FOR DEAD INTO A SEPULCHRE AND THE OTHER BRING HIM FORTH THEREOF FOR DEAD, ON SUCH WISE THAT THEY CANNOT AVAIL TO ACCOMPLISH THE CONDITION IMPOSED",
                "text": "\"Since it is your pleasure, madam, I am well pleased to be she who shall run the first ring in this open and free field of story\u2013telling, wherein your magnificence hath set us; the which an I do well, I doubt not but that those who shall come after will do well and better. Many a time, charming ladies, hath it been shown in our discourses what and how great is the power of love; natheless, for that medeemeth not it hath been fully spoken thereof (no, nor would be, though we should speak of nothing else for a year to come,) and that not only doth love bring lovers into divers dangers of death, but causeth them even to enter for dead into the abiding\u2013places of the dead, it is my pleasure to relate to you a story thereof, over and above those which have been told, whereby not only will you apprehend the puissance of love, but will know the wit used by a worthy lady in ridding herself of two who loved her against her will.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there was once in the city of Pistoia a very fair widow lady, of whom two of our townsmen, called the one Rinuccio Palermini and the other Alessandro Chiarmontesi, there abiding by reason of banishment from Florence, were, without knowing one of other, passionately enamoured, having by chance fallen in love with her and doing privily each his utmost endeavour to win her favour. The gentlewoman in question, whose name was Madam Francesca de' Lazzari, being still importuned of the one and the other with messages and entreaties, to which she had whiles somewhat unwisely given ear, and desiring, but in vain, discreetly to retract, bethought herself how she might avail to rid herself of their importunity by requiring them of a service, which, albeit it was possible, she conceived that neither of them would render her, to the intent that, they not doing that which she required, she might have a fair and colourable occasion of refusing to hearken more to their messages; and the device which occurred to her was on this wise.\n\nThere had died that very day at Pistoia, one, who, albeit his ancestors were gentlemen, was reputed the worst man that was, not only in Pistoia, but in all the world; more by token that he was in his lifetime so misshapen and of so monstrous a favour that whoso knew him not, seeing him for the first time, had been affeared of him; and he had been buried in a tomb without the church of the Minor Friars. This circumstance she bethought herself would in part be very apt to her purpose and accordingly she said to a maid of hers, 'Thou knowest the annoy and the vexation I suffer all day long by the messages of yonder two Florentines, Rinuccio and Alessandro. Now I am not disposed to gratify either of them with my love, and to rid myself of them, I have bethought myself, for the great proffers that they make, to seek to make proof of them in somewhat which I am certain they will not do; so shall I do away from me this their importunity, and thou shalt see how. Thou knowest that Scannadio, for so was the wicked man called of whom we have already spoken, 'was this morning buried in the burial\u2013place of the Minor Brethren, Scannadio, of whom, whenas they saw him alive, let alone dead, the doughtiest men of this city went in fear; wherefore go thou privily first to Alessandro and bespeak him, saying, \"Madam Francesca giveth thee to know that now is the time come whenas thou mayst have her love, which thou hast so much desired, and be with her, an thou wilt, on this wise. This night, for a reason which thou shalt know after, the body of Scannadio, who was this morning buried, is to be brought to her house by a kinsman of hers, and she, being in great fear of him, dead though he be, would fain not have him there; wherefore she prayeth thee that it please thee, by way of doing her a great service, go this evening, at the time of the first sleep, to the tomb wherein he is buried, and donning the dead man's clothes, abide as thou wert he until such time as they shall come for thee. Then, without moving or speaking, thou must suffer thyself be taken up out of the tomb and carried to her house, where she will receive thee, and thou mayst after abide with her and depart at thy leisure, leaving to her the care of the rest.\" An he say that he will do it, well and good; but, should he refuse, bid him on my part, never more show himself whereas I may be and look, as he valueth his life, that he send me no more letters or messages. Then shalt thou betake thee to Rinuccio Palermini and say to him, \"Madam Francesca saith that she is ready to do thine every pleasure, an thou wilt render her a great service, to wit, that to\u2013night, towards the middle hour, thou get thee to the tomb wherein Scannadio was this morning buried and take him up softly thence and bring him to her at her house, without saying a word of aught thou mayst hear or feel. There shalt thou learn what she would with him and have of her thy pleasure; but, an it please thee not to do this, she chargeth thee never more send her writ nor message.\"'\n\nThe maid betook herself to the two lovers and did her errand punctually to each, saying as it had been enjoined her; whereto each made answer that, an it pleased her, they would go, not only into a tomb, but into hell itself. The maid carried their reply to the lady and she waited to see if they would be mad enough to do it. The night come, whenas it was the season of the first sleep, Alessandro Chiarmontesi, having stripped himself to his doublet, went forth of his house to take Scannadio's place in the tomb; but, by the way, there came a very frightful thought into his head and he fell a\u2013saying in himself, 'Good lack, what a fool I am! Whither go I? How know I but yonder woman's kinsfolk, having maybe perceived that I love her and believing that which is not, have caused me do this, so they may slaughter me in yonder tomb? An it should happen thus, I should suffer for it nor would aught in the world be ever known thereof to their detriment. Or what know I but maybe some enemy of mine hath procured me this, whom she belike loveth and seeketh to oblige therein?' Then said he, 'But, grant that neither of these things be and that her kinsfolk are e'en for carrying me to her house, I must believe that they want not Scannadio's body to hold it in their arms or to put it in hers; nay, it is rather to be conceived that they mean to do it some mischief, as the body of one who maybe disobliged them in somewhat aforetime. She saith that I am not to say a word for aught that I may feel. But, should they put out mine eyes or draw my teeth or lop off my hands or play me any other such trick, how shall I do? How could I abide quiet? And if I speak, they will know me and mayhap do me a mischief, or, though they do me no hurt, yet shall I have accomplished nothing, for that they will not leave me with the lady; whereupon she will say that I have broken her commandment and will never do aught to pleasure me.' So saying, he had well nigh returned home; but, nevertheless, his great love urged him on with counter arguments of such potency that they brought him to the tomb, which he opened and entering therein, stripped Scannadio of his clothes; then, donning them and shutting the tomb upon himself, he laid himself in the dead man's place. Thereupon he began to call to mind what manner of man the latter had been and remembering him of all the things whereof he had aforetime heard tell as having befallen by night, not to say in the sepulchres of the dead, but even otherwhere, his every hair began to stand on end and himseemed each moment as if Scannadio should rise upright and butcher him then and there. However, aided by his ardent love, he got the better of these and the other fearful thoughts that beset him and abiding as he were the dead man, he fell to awaiting that which should betide him.\n\nMeanwhile, Rinuccio, midnight being now at hand, departed his house, to do that which had been enjoined him of his mistress, and as he went, he entered into many and various thoughts of the things which might possibly betide him; as, to wit, that he might fall into the hands of the police, with Scannadio's body on his shoulders, and be doomed to the fire as a sorcerer, and that he should, an the thing came to be known, incur the ill\u2013will of his kinsfolk, and other like thoughts, whereby he was like to have been deterred. But after, bethinking himself again, 'Alack,' quoth he, 'shall I deny this gentlewoman, whom I have so loved and love, the first thing she requireth of me, especially as I am thereby to gain her favour? God forbid, though I were certainly to die thereof, but I should set myself to do that which I have promised!' Accordingly, he went on and presently coming to the sepulchre, opened it easily; which Alessandro hearing, abode still, albeit he was in great fear. Rinuccio, entering in and thinking to take Scannadio's body, laid hold of Alessandro's feet and drew him forth of the tomb; then, hoisting him on his shoulders, he made off towards the lady's house.\n\nGoing thus and taking no manner of heed to his burden, he jolted it many a time now against one corner and now another of certain benches that were beside the way, more by token that the night was so cloudy and so dark he could not see whither he went. He was already well nigh at the door of the gentlewoman, who had posted herself at the window with her maid, to see if he would bring Alessandro, and was ready armed with an excuse to send them both away, when it chanced that the officers of the watch, who were ambushed in the street and abode silently on the watch to lay hands upon a certain outlaw, hearing the scuffling that Rinuccio made with his feet, suddenly put out a light, to see what was to do and whither to go, and rattled their targets and halberds, crying, 'Who goeth there?' Rinuccio, seeing this and having scant time for deliberation, let fall his burden and made off as fast as his legs would carry him; whereupon Alessandro arose in haste and made off in his turn, for all he was hampered with the dead man's clothes, which were very long. The lady, by the light of the lantern put out by the police, had plainly recognized Rinuccio, with Alessandro on his shoulders, and perceiving the latter to be clad in Scannadio's clothes, marvelled amain at the exceeding hardihood of both; but, for all her wonderment, she laughed heartily to see Alessandro cast down on the ground and to see him after take to flight. Then, rejoiced at this accident and praising God that He had rid her of the annoy of these twain, she turned back into the house and betook herself to her chamber, avouching to her maid that without doubt they both loved her greatly, since, as it appeared, they had done that which she had enjoined them.\n\nMeanwhile Rinuccio, woeful and cursing his ill fortune, for all that returned not home, but, as soon as the watch had departed the neighbourhood, he came back whereas he had dropped Alessandro and groped about, to see if he could find him again, so he might make an end of his service; but, finding him not and concluding that the police had carried him off, he returned to his own house, woebegone, whilst Alessandro, unknowing what else to do, made off home on like wise, chagrined at such a misadventure and without having recognized him who had borne him thither. On the morrow, Scannadio's tomb being found open and his body not to be seen, for that Alessandro had rolled it to the bottom of the vault, all Pistoia was busy with various conjectures anent the matter, and the simpler sort concluded that he had been carried off by the devils. Nevertheless, each of the two lovers signified to the lady that which he had done and what had befallen and excusing himself withal for not having full accomplished her commandment, claimed her favour and her love; but she, making believe to credit neither of this, rid herself of them with a curt response to the effect that she would never consent to do aught for them, since they had not done that which she had required of them.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "AN ABBESS, ARISING IN HASTE AND IN THE DARK TO FIND ONE OF HER NUNS, WHO HAD BEEN DENOUNCED TO HER, IN BED WITH HER LOVER AND THINKING TO COVER HER HEAD WITH HER COIF, DONNETH INSTEAD THEREOF THE BREECHES OF A PRIEST WHO IS ABED WITH HER; THE WHICH THE ACCUSED NUN OBSERVING AND MAKING HER AWARE THEREOF, SHE IS ACQUITTED AND HATH LEISURE TO BE WITH HER LOVER",
                "text": "Filomena was now silent and the lady's address in ridding herself of those whom she chose not to love having been commended of all, whilst, on the other hand, the presumptuous hardihood of the two gallants was held of them to be not love, but madness, the queen said gaily to Elisa, \"Elisa, follow on.\" Accordingly, she promptly began, \"Adroitly, indeed, dearest ladies, did Madam Francesca contrive to rid herself of her annoy, as hath been told; but a young nun, fortune aiding her, delivered herself with an apt speech from an imminent peril. As you know, there be many very dull folk, who set up for teachers and censors of others, but whom, as you may apprehend from my story, fortune bytimes deservedly putteth to shame, as befell the abbess, under whose governance was the nun of whom I have to tell.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that there was once in Lombardy a convent, very famous for sanctity and religion, wherein, amongst the other nuns who were there, was a young lady of noble birth and gifted with marvellous beauty, who was called Isabetta and who, coming one day to the grate to speak with a kinsman of hers, fell in love with a handsome young man who accompanied him. The latter, seeing her very fair and divining her wishes with his eyes, became on like wise enamoured of her, and this love they suffered a great while without fruit, to the no small unease of each. At last, each being solicited by a like desire, the young man hit upon a means of coming at his nun in all secrecy, and she consenting thereto, he visited her, not once, but many times, to the great contentment of both. But, this continuing, it chanced one night that he was, without the knowledge of himself or his mistress, seen of one of the ladies of the convent to take leave of Isabetta and go his ways. The nun communicated her discovery to divers others and they were minded at first to denounce Isabetta to the abbess, who was called Madam Usimbalda and who, in the opinion of the nuns and of whosoever knew her, was a good and pious lady; but, on consideration, they bethought themselves to seek to have the abbess take her with the young man, so there might be no room for denial. Accordingly, they held their peace and kept watch by turns in secret to surprise her.\n\nNow it chanced that Isabetta, suspecting nothing of this nor being on her guard, caused her lover come thither one night, which was forthright known to those who were on the watch for this and who, whenas it seemed to them time, a good part of the night being spent, divided themselves into two parties, whereof one abode on guard at the door of her cell, whilst the other ran to the abbess's chamber and knocking at the door, till she answered, said to her, 'Up, madam; arise quickly, for we have discovered that Isabetta hath a young man in her cell.' Now the abbess was that night in company with a priest, whom she ofttimes let come to her in a chest; but, hearing the nuns' outcry and fearing lest, of their overhaste and eagerness, they should push open the door, she hurriedly arose and dressed herself as best she might in the dark. Thinking to take certain plaited veils, which nuns wear on their heads and call a psalter, she caught up by chance the priest's breeches, and such was her haste that, without remarking what she did, she threw them over her head, in lieu of the psalter, and going forth, hurriedly locked the door after her, saying, 'Where is this accursed one of God?' Then, in company with the others, who were so ardent and so intent upon having Isabetta taken in default that they noted not that which the abbess had on her head, she came to the cell\u2013door and breaking it open, with the aid of the others, entered and found the two lovers abed in each other's arms, who, all confounded at such a surprise, abode fast, unknowing what to do.\n\nThe young lady was incontinent seized by the other nuns and haled off, by command of the abbess, to the chapter\u2013house, whilst her gallant dressed himself and abode await to see what should be the issue of the adventure, resolved, if any hurt were offered to his mistress, to do a mischief to as many nuns as he could come at and carry her off. The abbess, sitting in chapter, proceeded, in the presence of all the nuns, who had no eyes but for the culprit, to give the latter the foulest rating that ever woman had, as having by her lewd and filthy practices (an the thing should come to be known without the walls) sullied the sanctity, the honour and the fair fame of the convent; and to this she added very grievous menaces. The young lady, shamefast and fearful, as feeling herself guilty, knew not what to answer and keeping silence, possessed the other nuns with compassion for her. However, after a while, the abbess multiplying words, she chanced to raise her eyes and espied that which the former had on her head and the hose\u2013points that hung down therefrom on either side; whereupon, guessing how the matter stood, she was all reassured and said, 'Madam, God aid you, tie up your coif and after say what you will to me.'\n\nThe abbess, taking not her meaning, answered, 'What coif, vile woman that thou art? Hast thou the face to bandy pleasantries at such a time? Thinkest thou this that thou hast done is a jesting matter?' 'Prithee, madam,' answered Isabetta, 'tie up your coif and after say what you will to me.' Thereupon many of the nuns raised their eyes to the abbess's head and she also, putting her hand thereto, perceived, as did the others, why Isabetta spoke thus; wherefore the abbess, becoming aware of her own default and perceiving that it was seen of all, past hope of recoverance, changed her note and proceeding to speak after a fashion altogether different from her beginning, came to the conclusion that it is impossible to withstand the pricks of the flesh, wherefore she said that each should, whenas she might, privily give herself a good time, even as it had been done until that day. Accordingly, setting the young lady free, she went back to sleep with her priest and Isabetta returned to her lover, whom many a time thereafter she let come thither, in despite of those who envied her, whilst those of the others who were loverless pushed their fortunes in secret, as best they knew.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MASTER SIMONE, AT THE INSTANCE OF BRUNO AND BUFFALMACCO AND NELLO, MAKETH CALANDRINO BELIEVE THAT HE IS WITH CHILD; WHEREFORE HE GIVETH THEM CAPONS AND MONEY FOR MEDICINES AND RECOVERETH WITHOUT BRINGING FORTH",
                "text": "After Elisa had finished her story and all the ladies had returned thanks to God, who had with a happy issue delivered the young nun from the claws of her envious companions, the queen bade Filostrato follow on, and he, without awaiting further commandment, began, \"Fairest ladies, the unmannerly lout of a Marchegan judge, of whom I told you yesterday, took out of my mouth a story of Calandrino and his companions, which I was about to relate; and for that, albeit it hath been much discoursed of him and them, aught that is told of him cannot do otherwise than add to our merriment, I will e'en tell you that which I had then in mind.\"\n\nIt hath already been clearly enough shown who Calandrino was and who were the others of whom I am to speak in this story, wherefore, without further preface, I shall tell you that an aunt of his chanced to die and left him two hundred crowns in small coin; whereupon he fell a\u2013talking of wishing to buy an estate and entered into treaty with all the brokers in Florence, as if he had ten thousand gold florins to expend; but the matter still fell through, when they came to the price of the estate in question. Bruno and Buffalmacco, knowing all this, had told him once and again that he were better spend the money in making merry together with them than go buy land, as if he had had to make pellets; but, far from this, they had never even availed to bring him to give them once to eat. One day, as they were complaining of this, there came up a comrade of theirs, a painter by name Nello, and they all three took counsel together how they might find a means of greasing their gullets at Calandrino's expense; wherefore, without more delay, having agreed among themselves of that which was to do, they watched next morning for his coming forth of his house, nor had he gone far when Nello accosted him, saying, 'Good\u2013day, Calandrino.' Calandrino answered God give him good day and good year, and Nello, halting awhile, fell to looking him in the face; whereupon Calandrino asked him, 'At what lookest thou?' Quoth the painter, 'Hath aught ailed thee this night? Meseemeth thou are not thyself this morning.' Calandrino incontinent began to quake and said, 'Alack, how so? What deemest thou aileth me?' 'Egad,' answered Nello, 'as for that I can't say; but thou seemest to me all changed; belike it is nothing.' So saying, he let him pass, and Calandrino fared on, all misdoubtful, albeit he felt no whit ailing; but Buffalmacco, who was not far off, seeing him quit of Nello, made for him and saluting him, enquired if aught ailed him. Quoth Calandrino, 'I know not; nay, Nello told me but now that I seemed to him all changed. Can it be that aught aileth me?' 'Ay,' rejoined Buffalmacco, 'there must e'en be something or other amiss with thee, for thou appearest half dead.'\n\nBy this time it seemed to Calandrino that he had the fevers, when, lo, up came Bruno and the first thing he said was, 'Calandrino, what manner of face is this?' Calandrino, hearing them all in the same tale, held it for certain that he was in an ill way and asked them, all aghast, 'what shall I do?' Quoth Bruno, 'Methinketh thou wert best return home and get thee to bed and cover thyself well and send thy water to Master Simone the doctor, who is, as thou knowest, as our very creature and will tell thee incontinent what thou must do. We will go with thee and if it behoveth to do aught, we will do it.' Accordingly, Nello having joined himself to them, they returned home with Calandrino, who betook himself, all dejected, into the bedchamber and said to his wife, 'Come, cover me well, for I feel myself sore disordered.' Then, laying himself down, he despatched his water by a little maid to Master Simone, who then kept shop in the Old Market, at the sign of the Pumpkin, whilst Bruno said to his comrades, 'Abide you here with him, whilst I go hear what the doctor saith and bring him hither, if need be.' 'Ay, for God's sake, comrade mine,' cried Calandrino, 'go thither and bring me back word how the case standeth, for I feel I know not what within me.'\n\nAccordingly, Bruno posted off to Master Simone and coming thither before the girl who brought the water, acquainted him with the case; wherefore, the maid being come and the physician, having seen the water, he said to her, 'Begone and bid Calandrino keep himself well warm, and I will come to him incontinent and tell him that which aileth him and what he must do.' The maid reported this to her master nor was it long before the physician and Bruno came, whereupon the former, seating himself beside Calandrino, fell to feeling his pulse and presently, the patient's wife being there present, he said, 'Harkye, Calandrino, to speak to thee as a friend, there aileth thee nought but that thou art with child.' When Calandrino heard this, he fell a\u2013roaring for dolour and said, 'Woe's me! Tessa, this is thy doing, for that thou wilt still be uppermost; I told thee how it would be.' The lady, who was a very modest person, hearing her husband speak thus, blushed all red for shamefastness and hanging her head, went out of the room, without answering a word; whilst Calandrino, pursuing his complaint, said, 'Alack, wretch that I am! How shall I do? How shall I bring forth this child? Whence shall he issue? I see plainly I am a dead man, through the mad lust of yonder wife of mine, whom God make as woeful as I would fain be glad! Were I as well as I am not, I would arise and deal her so many and such buffets that I would break every bone in her body; albeit it e'en serveth me right, for that I should never have suffered her get the upper hand; but, for certain, an I come off alive this time, she may die of desire ere she do it again.'\n\nBruno and Buffalmacco and Nello were like to burst with laughter, hearing Calandrino's words; however, they contained themselves, but Doctor Simple\u2013Simon laughed so immoderately that you might have drawn every tooth in his head. Finally, Calandrino commending himself to the physician and praying him give him aid and counsel in this his strait, the latter said to him, 'Calandrino, I will not have thee lose heart; for, praised be God, we have taken the case so betimes that, in a few days and with a little trouble, I will deliver thee thereof; but it will cost thee some little expense.' 'Alack, doctor mine,' cried Calandrino, 'ay, for the love of God, do it! I have here two hundred crowns, wherewith I was minded to buy me an estate; take them all, if need be, so I be not brought to bed; for I know not how I should do, seeing I hear women make such a terrible outcry, whereas they are about to bear child, for all they have ample commodity therefor, that methinketh, if I had that pain to suffer, I should die ere I came to the bringing forth.' Quoth the doctor, 'Have no fear of that; I will let make thee a certain ptisan of distilled waters, very good and pleasant to drink, which will in three mornings' time carry off everything and leave thee sounder than a fish; but look thou be more discreet for the future and suffer not thyself fall again into these follies. Now for this water it behoveth us have three pairs of fine fat capons, and for other things that are required thereanent, do thou give one of these (thy comrades) five silver crowns, so he may buy them, and let carry everything to my shop; and to\u2013morrow, in God's name, I will send thee the distilled water aforesaid, whereof thou shalt proceed to drink a good beakerful at a time.' 'Doctor mine,' replied Calandrino, 'I put myself in your hands'; and giving Bruno five crowns and money for three pairs of capons, he besought him to oblige him by taking the pains to buy these things.\n\nThe physician then took his leave and letting make a little clary, despatched it to Calandrino, whilst Bruno, buying the capons and other things necessary for making good cheer, ate them in company with his comrades and Master Simone. Calandrino drank of his clary three mornings, after which the doctor came to him, together with his comrades, and feeling his pulse, said to him, 'Calandrino, thou art certainly cured; wherefore henceforth thou mayst safely go about thine every business nor abide longer at home for this.' Accordingly, Calandrino arose, overjoyed, and went about his occasions, mightily extolling, as often as he happened to speak with any one, the fine cure that Master Simone had wrought of him, in that he had unbegotten him with child in three days' time, without any pain; whilst Bruno and Buffalmacco and Nello abode well pleased at having contrived with this device to overreach his niggardliness, albeit Dame Tessa, smoking the cheat, rated her husband amain thereanent.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "CECCO FORTARRIGO GAMETH AWAY AT BUONCONVENTO ALL HIS GOOD AND THE MONIES OF CECCO ANGIOLIERI \u2014 HIS MASTER \u2014 MOREOVER, RUNNING AFTER THE LATTER, IN HIS SHIRT, AND AVOUCHING THAT HE HATH ROBBED HIM, HE CAUSETH HIM BE TAKEN OF THE COUNTRYFOLK; THEN, DONNING ANGIOLIERI'S CLOTHES AND MOUNTING HIS PALFREY, HE MAKETH OFF AND LEAVETH THE OTHER IN HIS SHIRT",
                "text": "Calandrino's speech concerning his wife had been hearkened of all the company with the utmost laughter; then, Filostrato being silent, Neifile, as the queen willed it, began, \"Noble ladies, were it not uneather for men to show forth unto others their wit and their worth than it is for them to exhibit their folly and their vice, many would weary themselves in vain to put a bridle on their tongues; and this hath right well been made manifest to you by the folly of Calandrino, who had no call, in seeking to be made whole of the ailment in which his simplicity caused him believe, to publish the privy diversions of his wife; and this hath brought to my mind somewhat of contrary purport to itself, to wit, a story of how one man's knavery got the better of another's wit, to the grievous hurt and confusion of the over\u2013reached one, the which it pleaseth me to relate to you.\"\n\nThere were, then, in Siena, not many years ago, two (as far as age went) full\u2013grown men, each of whom was called Cecco. One was the son of Messer Angiolieri and the other of Messer Fortarrigo, and albeit in most other things they sorted ill of fashions one with the other, they were natheless so far of accord in one particular, to wit, that they were both hated of their fathers, that they were by reason thereof grown friends and companied often together. After awhile, Angiolieri, who was both a handsome man and a well\u2013mannered, himseeming he could ill live at Siena of the provision assigned him of his father and hearing that a certain cardinal, a great patron of his, was come into the Marches of Ancona as the Pope's Legate, determined to betake himself to him, thinking thus to better his condition. Accordingly, acquainting his father with his purpose, he took order with him to have at once that which he was to give him in six months, so he might clothe and horse himself and make an honourable figure. As he went seeking some one whom he might carry with him for his service, the thing came to Fortarrigo's knowledge, whereupon he presently repaired to Angiolieri and besought him, as best he knew, to carry him with him, offering himself to be to him lackey and serving\u2013man and all, without any wage beyond his expenses paid. Angiolieri answered that he would nowise take him, not but he knew him to be right well sufficient unto every manner of service, but for that he was a gambler and bytimes a drunkard, to boot. But the other replied that he would without fail keep himself from both of these defaults and affirmed it unto him with oaths galore, adding so many prayers that Angiolieri was prevailed upon and said that he was content.\n\nAccordingly, they both set out one morning and went to dine at Buonconvento, where, after dinner, the heat being great, Angiolieri let make ready a bed at the inn and undressing himself, with Fortarrigo's aid, went to sleep, charging the latter call him at the stroke of none. As soon as his master was asleep, Fortarrigo betook himself to the tavern and there, after drinking awhile, he fell to gaming with certain men, who in a trice won of him some money he had and after, the very clothes he had on his back; whereupon, desirous of retrieving himself, he repaired, in his shirt as he was, to Angiolieri's chamber and seeing him fast asleep, took from his purse what monies he had and returning to play, lost these as he had lost the others. Presently, Angiolieri awoke and arising, dressed himself and enquired for Fortarrigo. The latter was not to be found and Angiolieri, concluding him to be asleep, drunken, somewhere, as was bytimes his wont, determined to leave him be and get himself another servant at Corsignano. Accordingly, he caused put his saddle and his valise on a palfrey he had and thinking to pay the reckoning, so he might get him gone, found himself without a penny; whereupon great was the outcry and all the hostelry was in an uproar, Angiolieri declaring that he had been robbed there and threatening to have the host and all his household carried prisoners to Siena.\n\nAt this moment up came Fortarrigo in his shirt, thinking to take his master's clothes, as he had taken his money, and seeing the latter ready to mount, said, 'What is this, Angiolieri? Must we needs be gone already? Good lack, wait awhile; there will be one here forthwith who hath my doublet in pawn for eight\u2013and\u2013thirty shillings; and I am certain that he will render it up for five\u2013and\u2013thirty, money down.' As he spoke, there came one who certified Angiolieri that it was Fortarrigo who had robbed him of his monies, by showing him the sum of those which the latter had lost at play; wherefore he was sore incensed and loaded Fortarrigo with reproaches; and had he not feared others more than he feared God, he had done him a mischief; then, threatening to have him strung up by the neck or outlawed from Siena, he mounted to horse. Fortarrigo, as if he spoke not to him, but to another, said, 'Good lack, Angiolieri, let be for the nonce this talk that skilleth not a straw, and have regard unto this; by redeeming it forthright, we may have it again for five\u2013and\u2013thirty shillings; whereas, if we tarry but till to\u2013morrow, he will not take less than the eight\u2013and\u2013thirty he lent me thereon; and this favour he doth me for that I staked it after his counsel. Marry, why should we not better ourselves by these three shillings?'\n\nAngiolieri, hearing him talk thus, lost all patience (more by token that he saw himself eyed askance by the bystanders, who manifestly believed, not that Fortarrigo had gamed away his monies, but that he had yet monies of Fortarrigo's in hand) and said to him, 'What have I to do with thy doublet? Mayst thou be strung up by the neck, since not only hast thou robbed me and gambled away my money, but hinderest me to boot in my journey, and now thou makest mock of me.' However, Fortarrigo still stood to it, as it were not spoken to him and said, 'Ecod, why wilt thou not better me these three shillings? Thinkest thou I shall not be able to oblige thee therewith another time? Prithee, do it, an thou have any regard for me. Why all this haste? We shall yet reach Torrenieri betimes this evening. Come, find the purse; thou knowest I might ransack all Siena and not find a doublet to suit me so well as this; and to think I should let yonder fellow have it for eight\u2013and\u2013thirty shillings! It is worth yet forty shillings or more, so that thou wouldst worsen me in two ways.'\n\nAngiolieri, beyond measure exasperated to see himself first robbed and now held in parley after this fashion, made him no further answer, but, turning his palfrey's head, took the road to Torrenieri, whilst Fortarrigo, bethinking himself of a subtle piece of knavery, proceeded to trot after him in his shirt good two miles, still requiring him of his doublet. Presently, Angiolieri pricking on amain, to rid his ears of the annoy, Fortarrigo espied some husbandmen in a field, adjoining the highway in advance of him, and cried out to them, saying, 'Stop him, stop him!' Accordingly, they ran up, some with spades and others with mattocks, and presenting themselves in the road before Angiolieri, concluding that he had robbed him who came crying after him in his shirt, stopped and took him. It availed him little to tell them who he was and how the case stood, and Fortarrigo, coming up, said with an angry air, 'I know not what hindereth me from slaying thee, disloyal thief that thou wast to make off with my gear!' Then, turning to the countrymen, 'See, gentlemen,' quoth he, 'in what a plight he left me at the inn, having first gamed away all his own! I may well say by God and by you have I gotten back this much, and thereof I shall still be beholden to you.'\n\nAngiolieri told them his own story, but his words were not heeded; nay, Fortarrigo, with the aid of the countrymen, pulled him off his palfrey and stripping him, clad himself in his clothes; then, mounting to horse, he left him in his shirt and barefoot and returned to Siena, avouching everywhere that he had won the horse and clothes of Angiolieri, whilst the latter, who had thought to go, as a rich man, to the cardinal in the Marches, returned to Buonconvento, poor and in his shirt, nor dared for shamefastness go straight back to Siena, but, some clothes being lent him, he mounted the rouncey that Fortarrigo had ridden and betook himself to his kinsfolk at Corsignano, with whom he abode till such time as he was furnished anew by his father. On this wise Fortarrigo's knavery baffled Angiolieri's fair advisement, albeit his villainy was not left by the latter unpunished in due time and place.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "CALANDRINO FALLETH IN LOVE WITH A WENCH AND BRUNO WRITETH HIM A TALISMAN, WHEREWITH WHEN HE TOUCHETH HER, SHE GOETH WITH HIM; AND HIS WIFE FINDING THEM TOGETHER, THERE BETIDETH HIM GRIEVOUS TROUBLE AND ANNOY",
                "text": "Neifile's short story being finished and the company having passed it over without overmuch talk or laughter, the queen turned to Fiammetta and bade her follow on, to which she replied all blithely that she would well and began, \"Gentlest ladies, there is, as methinketh you may know, nothing, how much soever it may have been talked thereof, but will still please, provided whoso is minded to speak of it know duly to choose the time and the place that befit it. Wherefore, having regard to our intent in being here (for that we are here to make merry and divert ourselves and not for otherwhat), meseemeth that everything which may afford mirth and pleasance hath here both due place and due time; and albeit it may have been a thousand times discoursed thereof, it should natheless be none the less pleasing, though one speak of it as much again. Wherefore, notwithstanding it hath been many times spoken among us of the sayings and doings of Calandrino, I will make bold, considering, as Filostrato said awhile ago, that these are all diverting, to tell you yet another story thereof, wherein were I minded to swerve from the fact, I had very well known to disguise and recount it under other names; but, for that, in the telling of a story, to depart from the truth of things betided detracteth greatly from the listener's pleasure, I will e'en tell it you in its true shape, moved by the reason aforesaid.\"\n\nNiccolo Cornacchini was a townsman of ours and a rich man and had, among his other possessions, a fine estate at Camerata, whereon he let build a magnificent mansion and agreed with Bruno and Buffalmacco to paint it all for him; and they, for that the work was great, joined to themselves Nello and Calandrino and fell to work. Thither, for that there was none of the family in the house, although there were one or two chambers furnished with beds and other things needful and an old serving\u2013woman abode there, as guardian of the place, a son of the said Niccolo, by name Filippo, being young and without a wife, was wont bytimes to bring some wench or other for his diversion and keep her there a day or two and after send her away. It chanced once, among other times, that he brought thither one called Niccolosa, whom a lewd fellow, by name Mangione, kept at his disposal in a house at Camaldoli and let out on hire. She was a woman of a fine person and well clad and for her kind well enough mannered and spoken.\n\nOne day at noontide, she having come forth her chamber in a white petticoat, with her hair twisted about her head, and being in act to wash her hands and face at a well that was in the courtyard of the mansion, it chanced that Calandrino came thither for water and saluted her familiarly. She returned him his greeting and fell to eying him, more because he seemed to her an odd sort of fellow than for any fancy she had for him; whereupon he likewise fell a\u2013considering her and himseeming she was handsome, he began to find his occasions for abiding there and returned not to his comrades with the water, but, knowing her not, dared not say aught to her. She, who had noted his looking, glanced at him from time to time, to make game of him, heaving some small matter of sighs the while; wherefore Calandrino fell suddenly over head and ears in love with her and left not the courtyard till she was recalled by Filippo into the chamber. Therewithal he returned to work, but did nought but sigh, which Bruno, who had still an eye to his doings, for that he took great delight in his fashions, remarking, 'What a devil aileth thee, friend Calandrino?' quoth he. 'Thou dost nought but sigh.' 'Comrade,' answered Calandrino, 'had I but some one to help me, I should fare well.' 'How so?' enquired Bruno; and Calandrino replied, 'It must not be told to any; but there is a lass down yonder, fairer than a fairy, who hath fallen so mightily in love with me that 'twould seem to thee a grave matter. I noted it but now, whenas I went for the water.' 'Ecod,' cried Bruno, 'look she be not Filippo's wife.' Quoth Calandrino, 'Methinketh it is she, for that he called her and she went to him in the chamber; but what of that? In matters of this kind I would jockey Christ himself, let alone Filippo; and to tell thee the truth, comrade, she pleaseth me more than I can tell thee.' 'Comrade,' answered Bruno, 'I will spy thee out who she is, and if she be Filippo's wife, I will order thine affairs for thee in a brace of words, for she is a great friend of mine. But how shall we do, so Buffalmacco may not know? I can never get a word with her, but he is with me.' Quoth Calandrino, 'Of Buffalmacco I reck not; but we must beware of Nello, for that he is Tessa's kinsman and would mar us everything.' And Bruno said, 'True.'\n\nNow he knew very well who the wench was, for that he had seen her come and moreover Filippo had told him. Accordingly, Calandrino having left work awhile and gone to get a sight of her, Bruno told Nello and Buffalmacco everything and they took order together in secret what they should do with him in the matter of this his enamourment. When he came back, Bruno said to him softly, 'Hast seen her?' 'Alack, yes,' replied Calandrino; 'she hath slain me.' Quoth Bruno, 'I must go see an it be she I suppose; and if it be so, leave me do.' Accordingly, he went down into the courtyard and finding Filippo and Niccolosa there, told them precisely what manner of man Calandrino was and took order with them of that which each of them should do and say, so they might divert themselves with the lovesick gull and make merry over his passion. Then, returning to Calandrino, he said, 'It is indeed she; wherefore needs must the thing be very discreetly managed, for, should Filippo get wind of it, all the water in the Arno would not wash us. But what wouldst thou have me say to her on thy part, if I should chance to get speech of her?' 'Faith,' answered Calandrino, 'thou shalt tell her, to begin with, that I will her a thousand measures of that good stuff that getteth with child, and after, that I am her servant and if she would have aught\u2026 Thou takest me?' 'Ay,' said Bruno, 'leave me do.'\n\nPresently, supper\u2013time being come, the painters left work and went down into the courtyard, where they found Filippo and Niccolosa and tarried there awhile, to oblige Calandrino. The latter fell to ogling Niccolosa and making the oddest grimaces in the world, such and so many that a blind man would have remarked them. She on her side did everything that she thought apt to inflame him, and Filippo, in accordance with the instructions he had of Bruno, made believe to talk with Buffalmacco and the others and to have no heed of this, whilst taking the utmost diversion in Calandrino's fashions. However, after a while, to the latter's exceeding chagrin, they took their leave and as they returned to Florence, Bruno said to Calandrino, 'I can tell thee thou makest her melt like ice in the sun. Cock's body, wert thou to fetch thy rebeck and warble thereto some of those amorous ditties of thine, thou wouldst cause her cast herself out of window to come to thee.' Quoth Calandrino, 'Deemest thou, gossip? Deemest thou I should do well to fetch it?' 'Ay, do I,' answered Bruno; and Calandrino went on, 'Thou wouldst not credit me this morning, whenas I told it thee; but, for certain, gossip, methinketh I know better than any man alive to do what I will. Who, other than I, had known to make such a lady so quickly in love with me? Not your trumpeting young braggarts, I warrant you, who are up and down all day long and could not make shift, in a thousand years, to get together three handsful of cherry stones. I would fain have thee see me with the rebeck; 'twould be fine sport for thee. I will have thee to understand once for all that I am no dotard, as thou deemest me, and this she hath right well perceived, she; but I will make her feel it othergates fashion, so once I get my claw into her back; by the very body of Christ, I will lead her such a dance that she will run after me, as the madwoman after her child.' 'Ay,' rejoined Bruno, 'I warrant me thou wilt rummage her; methinketh I see thee, with those teeth of thine that were made for virginal jacks, bite that little vermeil mouth of hers and those her cheeks, that show like two roses, and after eat her all up.'\n\nCalandrino, hearing this, fancied himself already at it and went singing and skipping, so overjoyed that he was like to jump out of his skin. On the morrow, having brought the rebeck, he, to the great diversion of all the company, sang sundry songs thereto; and in brief, he was taken with such an itch for the frequent seeing of her that he wrought not a whit, but ran a thousand times a day, now to the window, now to the door and anon into the courtyard, to get a look at her, whereof she, adroitly carrying out Bruno's instructions, afforded him ample occasion. Bruno, on his side, answered his messages in her name and bytimes brought him others as from her; and whenas she was not there, which was mostly the case, he carried him letters from her, wherein she gave him great hopes of compassing his desire, feigning herself at home with her kinsfolk, where he might not presently see her. On this wise, Bruno, with the aid of Buffalmacco, who had a hand in the matter, kept the game afoot and had the greatest sport in the world with Calandrino's antics, causing him give them bytimes, as at his mistress's request, now an ivory comb, now a purse and anon a knife and such like toys, for which they brought him in return divers paltry counterfeit rings of no value, with which he was vastly delighted; and to boot, they had of him, for their pains, store of dainty collations and other small matters of entertainment, so they might be diligent about his affairs.\n\nOn this wise they kept him in play good two months, without getting a step farther, at the end of which time, seeing the work draw to an end and bethinking himself that, an he brought not his amours to an issue in the meantime, he might never have another chance thereof, he began to urge and importune Bruno amain; wherefore, when next the girl came to the mansion, Bruno, having first taken order with her and Filippo of what was to be done, said to Calandrino, 'Harkye, gossip, yonder lady hath promised me a good thousand times to do that which thou wouldst have and yet doth nought thereof, and meseemeth she leadeth thee by the nose; wherefore, since she doth it not as she promiseth, we will an it like thee, make her do it, will she, nill she.' 'Ecod, ay!' answered Calandrino. 'For the love of God let it be done speedily.' Quoth Bruno, 'Will thy heart serve thee to touch her with a script I shall give thee?' 'Ay, sure,' replied Calandrino; and the other, 'Then do thou make shift to bring me a piece of virgin parchment and a live bat, together with three grains of frankincense and a candle that hath been blessed by the priest, and leave me do.' Accordingly, Calandrino lay in wait all the next night with his engines to catch a bat and having at last taken one, carried it to Bruno, with the other things required; whereupon the latter, withdrawing to a chamber, scribbled divers toys of his fashion upon the parchment, in characters of his own devising, and brought it to him, saying, 'Know, Calandrino, that, if thou touch her with this script, she will incontinent follow thee and do what thou wilt. Wherefore, if Filippo should go abroad anywhither to\u2013day, do thou contrive to accost her on some pretext or other and touch her; then betake thyself to the barn yonder, which is the best place here for thy purpose, for that no one ever frequenteth there. Thou wilt find she will come thither, and when she is there, thou knowest well what thou hast to do.' Calandrino was the joyfullest man alive and took the script, saying, 'Gossip, leave me do.'\n\nNow Nello, whom Calandrino mistrusted, had as much diversion of the matter as the others and bore a hand with them in making sport of him: wherefore, of accord with Bruno, he betook himself to Florence to Calandrino's wife and said to her, 'Tessa, thou knowest what a beating Calandrino gave thee without cause the day he came back, laden with stones from the Mugnone; wherefore I mean to have thee avenge thyself on him; and if thou do it not, hold me no more for kinsman or for friend. He hath fallen in love with a woman over yonder, and she is lewd enough to go very often closeting herself with him. A little while agone, they appointed each other to foregather together this very day; wherefore I would have thee come thither and lie in wait for him and chastise him well.' When the lady heard this, it seemed to her no jesting matter, but, starting to her feet, she fell a\u2013saying, 'Alack, common thief that thou art, is it thus that thou usest me? By Christ His Cross, it shall not pass thus, but I will pay thee therefor!' Then, taking her mantle and a little maid to bear her company, she started off at a good round pace for the mansion, together with Nello.\n\nAs soon as Bruno saw the latter afar off, he said to Filippo, 'Here cometh our friend'; whereupon the latter, betaking himself whereas Calandrino and the others were at work, said, 'Masters, needs must I go presently to Florence; work with a will.' Then, going away, he hid himself in a place when he could, without being seen, see what Calandrino should do. The latter, as soon as he deemed Filippo somewhat removed, came down into the courtyard and finding Niccolosa there alone, entered into talk with her, whilst she, who knew well enough what she had to do, drew near him and entreated him somewhat more familiarly than of wont. Thereupon he touched her with the script and no sooner had he done so than he turned, without saying a word, and made for the barn, whither she followed him. As soon as she was within, she shut the door and taking him in her arms, threw him down on the straw that was on the floor; then, mounting astride of him and holding him with her hands on his shoulders, without letting him draw near her face, she gazed at him, as he were her utmost desire, and said, 'O sweet my Calandrino, heart of my body, my soul, my treasure, my comfort, how long have I desired to have thee and to be able to hold thee at my wish! Thou hast drawn all the thread out of my shift with thy gentilesse; thou hast tickled my heart with thy rebeck. Can it be true that I hold thee?' Calandrino, who could scarce stir, said, 'For God's sake, sweet my soul, let me buss thee.' 'Marry,' answered she, 'thou art in a mighty hurry. Let me first take my fill of looking upon thee; let me sate mine eyes with that sweet face of thine.'\n\nNow Bruno and Buffalmacco were come to join Filippo and all three heard and saw all this. As Calandrino was now offering to kiss Niccolosa perforce, up came Nello with Dame Tessa and said, as soon as he reached the place, 'I vow to God they are together.' Then, coming up to the door of the barn, the lady, who was all a\u2013fume with rage, dealt it such a push with her hands that she sent it flying, and entering, saw Niccolosa astride of Calandrino. The former, seeing the lady, started up in haste and taking to flight, made off to join Filippo, whilst Dame Tessa fell tooth and nail upon Calandrino, who was still on his back, and clawed all his face; then, clutching him by the hair and haling him hither and thither, 'Thou sorry shitten cur,' quoth she, 'dost thou then use me thus? Besotted dotard that thou art, accursed be the weal I have willed thee! Marry, seemeth it to thee thou hast not enough to do at home, that thou must go wantoning it in other folk's preserves? A fine gallant, i'faith! Dost thou not know thyself, losel that thou art? Dost thou not know thyself, good for nought? Wert thou to be squeezed dry, there would not come as much juice from thee as might suffice for a sauce. Cock's faith, thou canst not say it was Tessa that was presently in act to get thee with child, God make her sorry, who ever she is, for a scurvy trull as she must be to have a mind to so fine a jewel as thou!'\n\nCalandrino, seeing his wife come, abode neither dead nor alive and had not the hardihood to make any defence against her; but, rising, all scratched and flayed and baffled as he was, and picking up his bonnet, he fell to humbly beseeching her leave crying out, an she would not have him cut in pieces, for that she who had been with him was the wife of the master of the house; whereupon quoth she, 'So be it, God give her an ill year.' At this moment, Bruno and Buffalmacco, having laughed their fill at all this, in company with Filippo and Niccolosa, came up, feigning to be attracted by the clamour, and having with no little ado appeased the lady, counselled Calandrino betake himself to Florence and return thither no more, lest Filippo should get wind of the matter and do him a mischief. Accordingly he returned to Florence, chapfallen and woebegone, all flayed and scratched, and never ventured to go thither again; but, being plagued and harassed night and day with his wife's reproaches, he made an end of his fervent love, having given much cause for laughter to his companions, no less than to Niccolosa and Filippo.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN LODGE THE NIGHT WITH AN INNKEEPER, WHEREOF ONE GOETH TO LIE WITH THE HOST'S DAUGHTER, WHILST HIS WIFE UNWITTINGLY COUCHETH WITH THE OTHER; AFTER WHICH HE WHO LAY WITH THE GIRL GETTETH HIM TO BED WITH HER FATHER AND TELLETH HIM ALL, THINKING TO BESPEAK HIS COMRADE. THEREWITHAL THEY COME TO WORDS, BUT THE WIFE, PERCEIVING HER MISTAKE, ENTERETH HER DAUGHTER'S BED AND THENCE WITH CERTAIN WORDS APPEASETH EVERYTHING",
                "text": "Calandrino, who had otherwhiles afforded the company matter for laughter, made them laugh this time also, and whenas the ladies had left devising of his fashions, the queen bade Pamfilo tell, whereupon quoth he, \"Laudable ladies, the name of Niccolosa, Calandrino's mistress, hath brought me back to mind a story of another Niccolosa, which it pleaseth me to tell you, for that therein you shall see how a goodwife's ready wit did away a great scandal.\"\n\nIn the plain of Mugnone there was not long since a good man who gave wayfarers to eat and drink for their money, and although he was poor and had but a small house, he bytimes at a pinch gave, not every one, but sundry acquaintances, a night's lodging. He had a wife, a very handsome woman, by whom he had two children, whereof one was a fine buxom lass of some fifteen or sixteen years of age, who was not yet married, and the other a little child, not yet a year old, whom his mother herself suckled. Now a young gentleman of our city, a sprightly and pleasant youth, who was often in those parts, had cast his eyes on the girl and loved her ardently; and she, who gloried greatly in being beloved of a youth of his quality, whilst studying with pleasing fashions to maintain him in her love, became no less enamoured of him, and more than once, by mutual accord, this their love had had the desired effect, but that Pinuccio (for such was the young man's name) feared to bring reproach upon his mistress and himself. However, his ardour waxing from day to day, he could no longer master his desire to foregather with her and bethought himself to find a means of harbouring with her father, doubting not, from his acquaintance with the ordinance of the latter's house, but he might in that event contrive to pass the night in her company, without any being the wiser; and no sooner had he conceived this design than he proceeded without delay to carry it into execution.\n\nAccordingly, in company with a trusty friend of his called Adriano, who knew his love, he late one evening hired a couple of hackneys and set thereon two pairs of saddle\u2013bags, filled belike with straw, with which they set out from Florence and fetching a compass, rode till they came overagainst the plain of Mugnone, it being by this night; then, turning about, as they were on their way back from Romagna, they made for the good man's house and knocked at the door. The host, being very familiar with both of them, promptly opened the door and Pinuccio said to him, 'Look you, thou must needs harbour us this night. We thought to reach Florence before dark, but have not availed to make such haste but that we find ourselves here, as thou seest at this hour.' 'Pinuccio,' answered the host, 'thou well knowest how little commodity I have to lodge such men as you are; however, since the night hath e'en overtaken you here and there is no time for you to go otherwhere, I will gladly harbour you as I may.' The two young men accordingly alighted and entered the inn, where they first eased their hackneys and after supper with the host, having taken good care to bring provision with them.\n\nNow the good man had but one very small bedchamber, wherein were three pallet\u2013beds set as best he knew, two at one end of the room and the third overagainst them at the other end; nor for all that was there so much space left that one could go there otherwise than straitly. The least ill of the three the host let make ready for the two friends and put them to lie there; then, after a while neither of the gentlemen being asleep, though both made a show thereof, he caused his daughter betake herself to bed in one of the two others and lay down himself in the third, with his wife, who set by the bedside the cradle wherein she had her little son. Things being ordered after this fashion and Pinuccio having seen everything, after a while, himseeming that every one was asleep, he arose softly and going to the bed where slept the girl beloved of him, laid himself beside the latter, by whom, for all she did it timorously, he was joyfully received, and with her he proceeded to take of that pleasure which both most desired. Whilst Pinuccio abode thus with his mistress, it chanced that a cat caused certain things fall, which the good wife, awaking, heard; whereupon, fearing lest it were otherwhat, she arose, as she was, in the dark and betook herself whereas she had heard the noise.\n\nMeanwhile, Adriano, without intent aforethought, arose by chance for some natural occasion and going to despatch this, came upon the cradle, whereas it had been set by the good wife, and unable to pass without moving it, took it up and set it down beside his own bed; then, having accomplished that for which he had arisen, he returned and betook himself to bed again, without recking of the cradle. The good wife, having searched and found the thing which had fallen was not what she thought, never troubled herself to kindle a light, to see it, but, chiding the cat, returned to the chamber and groped her way to the bed where her husband lay. Finding the cradle not there, 'Mercy o' me!' quoth she in herself. 'See what I was about to do! As I am a Christian, I had well nigh gone straight to our guest's bed.' Then, going a little farther and finding the cradle, she entered the bed whereby it stood and laid herself down beside Adriano, thinking to couch with her husband. Adriano, who was not yet asleep, feeling this, received her well and joyously and laying her aboard in a trice, clapped on all sail, to the no small contentment of the lady.\n\nMeanwhile, Pinuccio, fearing lest sleep should surprise him with his lass and having taken of her his fill of pleasure, arose from her, to return to his own bed, to sleep, and finding the cradle in his way, took the adjoining bed for that of his host; wherefore, going a little farther, he lay down with the latter, who awoke at his coming. Pinuccio, deeming himself beside Adriano, said, 'I tell thee there never was so sweet a creature as is Niccolosa. Cock's body, I have had with her the rarest sport ever man had with woman, more by token that I have gone upwards of six times into the country, since I left thee.' The host, hearing this talk and being not overwell pleased therewith, said first in himself, 'What a devil doth this fellow here?' Then, more angered than well\u2013advised, 'Pinuccio,' quoth he, 'this hath been a great piece of villainy of thine, and I know not why thou shouldst have used me thus; but, by the body of God, I will pay thee for it!!' Pinuccio, who was not the wisest lad in the world, seeing his mistake, addressed not himself to mend it as best he might, but said, 'Of what wilt thou pay me? What canst thou do to me?' Therewithal the hostess, who thought herself with her husband, said to Adriano, 'Good lack, hark to our guests how they are at I know not what words together!' Quoth Adriano, laughing, 'Leave them do, God land them in an ill year! They drank overmuch yesternight.'\n\nThe good wife, herseeming she had heard her husband scold and hearing Adriano speak, incontinent perceived where and with whom she had been; whereupon, like a wise woman as she was, she arose forthright, without saying a word, and taking her little son's cradle, carried it at a guess, for that there was no jot of light to be seen in the chamber, to the side of the bed where her daughter slept and lay down with the latter; then, as if she had been aroused by her husband's clamour, she called him and enquired what was to do between himself and Pinuccio. He answered, 'Hearest thou not what he saith he hath done this night unto Niccolosa?' 'Marry,' quoth she, 'he lieth in his throat, for he was never abed with Niccolosa, seeing that I have lain here all night; more by token that I have not been able to sleep a wink; and thou art an ass to believe him. You men drink so much of an evening that you do nothing but dream all night and fare hither and thither, without knowing it, and fancy you do wonders. 'Tis a thousand pities you don't break your necks. But what doth Pinuccio yonder? Why bideth he not in his own bed?' Adriano, on his part, seeing how adroitly the good wife went about to cover her own shame and that of her daughter, chimed in with, 'Pinuccio, I have told thee an hundred times not to go abroad, for that this thy trick of arising in thy sleep and telling for true the extravagances thou dreamest will bring thee into trouble some day or other. Come back here, God give thee an ill night!'\n\nThe host, hearing what his wife and Adriano said, began to believe in good earnest that Pinuccio was dreaming; and accordingly, taking him by the shoulders, he fell to shaking and calling him, saying, 'Pinuccio, awake; return to thine own bed.' Pinuccio having apprehended all that had been said began to wander off into other extravagances, after the fashion of a man a\u2013dream; whereat the host set up the heartiest laughter in the world. At last, he made believe to awake for stress of shaking, and calling to Adriano, said, 'Is it already day, that thou callest me?' 'Ay,' answered the other, 'come hither.' Accordingly, Pinuccio, dissembling and making a show of being sleepy\u2013eyed, arose at last from beside the host and went back to bed with Adriano. The day come and they being risen, the host fell to laughing and mocking at Pinuccio and his dreams; and so they passed from one jest to another, till the young men, having saddled their rounceys and strapped on their valises and drunken with the host, remounted to horse and rode away to Florence, no less content with the manner in which the thing had betided than with the effect itself thereof. Thereafter Pinuccio found other means of foregathering with Niccolosa, who vowed to her mother that he had certainly dreamt the thing; wherefore the goodwife, remembering her of Adriano's embracements, inwardly avouched herself alone to have waked.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TALANO DI MOLESE DREAMETH THAT A WOLF MANGLETH ALL HIS WIFE'S NECK AND FACE AND BIDDETH HER BEWARE THEREOF; BUT SHE PAYETH NO HEED TO HIS WARNING AND IT BEFALLETH HER EVEN AS HE HAD DREAMED",
                "text": "Pamfilo's story being ended and the goodwife's presence of mind having been commended of all, the queen bade Pampinea tell hers and she thereupon began, \"It hath been otherwhile discoursed among us, charming ladies, of the truths foreshown by dreams, the which many of our sex scoff at; wherefore, notwithstanding that which hath been said thereof, I shall not scruple to tell you, in a very few words, that which no great while ago befell a she\u2013neighbour of mine for not giving credit to a dream of herself seen by her husband.\"\n\nI know not if you were acquainted with Talano di Molese, a very worshipful man, who took to wife a young lady called Margarita, fair over all others, but so humoursome, ill\u2013conditioned and froward that she would do nought of other folk's judgment, nor could others do aught to her liking; the which, irksome as it was to Talano to endure, natheless, as he could no otherwise, needs must he put up with. It chanced one night that, being with this Margarita of his at an estate he had in the country, himseemed in his sleep he saw his wife go walking in a very fair wood which they had not far from their house, and as she went, himseemed there came forth of a thicket a great and fierce wolf, which sprang straight at her throat and pulling her to the ground, enforced himself to carry her off, whilst she screamed for aid; and after, she winning free of his fangs, it seemed he had marred all her throat and face. Accordingly, when he arose in the morning, he said to the lady, 'Wife, albeit thy frowardness hath never suffered me to have a good day with thee, yet it would grieve me should ill betide thee; wherefore, an thou wilt hearken to my counsel, thou wilt not go forth the house to\u2013day'; and being asked of her why, he orderly recounted to her his dream.\n\nThe lady shook her head and said, 'Who willeth thee ill, dreameth thee ill. Thou feignest thyself mighty careful of me; but thou dreamest of me that which thou wouldst fain see come to pass; and thou mayst be assured that I will be careful both to\u2013day and always not to gladden thee with this or other mischance of mine.' Quoth Talano, 'I knew thou wouldst say thus; for that such thanks still hath he who combeth a scald\u2013head; but, believe as thou listeth, I for my part tell it to thee for good, and once more I counsel thee abide at home to\u2013day or at least beware of going into our wood.' 'Good,' answered the lady, 'I will do it'; and after fell a\u2013saying to herself, 'Sawest thou how artfully yonder man thinketh to have feared me from going to our wood to\u2013day? Doubtless he hath given some trull or other tryst there and would not have me find him with her. Marry, it were fine eating for him with blind folk and I should be a right simpleton an I saw not his drift and if I believed him! But certes he shall not have his will; nay, though I abide there all day, needs must I see what traffic is this that he hath in hand to\u2013day.'\n\nAccordingly, her husband being gone out at one door, she went out at the other and betook herself as most secretly she might straight to the wood and hid herself in the thickest part thereof, standing attent and looking now here and now there, an she should see any one come. As she abode on this wise, without any thought of danger, behold, there sallied forth of a thick coppice hard by a terrible great wolf, and scarce could she say, 'Lord, aid me!' when it flew at her throat and laying fast hold of her, proceeded to carry her off, as she were a lambkin. She could neither cry nor aid herself on other wise, so sore was her gullet straitened; wherefore the wolf, carrying her off, would assuredly have throttled her, had he not encountered certain shepherds, who shouted at him and constrained him to loose her. The shepherds knew her and carried her home, in a piteous plight, where, after long tending by the physicians, she was healed, yet not so wholly but she had all her throat and a part of her face marred on such wise that, whereas before she was fair, she ever after appeared misfeatured and very foul of favour; wherefore, being ashamed to appear whereas she might be seen, she many a time bitterly repented her of her frowardness and her perverse denial to put faith, in a matter which cost her nothing, in her husband's true dream.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "BIONDELLO CHEATETH CIACCO OF A DINNER, WHEREOF THE OTHER CRAFTILY AVENGETH HIMSELF, PROCURING HIM TO BE SHAMEFULLY BEATEN",
                "text": "The merry company with one accord avouched that which Talano had seen in sleep to have been no dream, but a vision, so punctually, without there failing aught thereof, had it come to pass. But, all being silent the queen charged Lauretta follow on, who said, \"Like as those, most discreet ladies, who have to\u2013day foregone me in speech, have been well nigh all moved to discourse by something already said, even so the stern vengeance wreaked by the scholar, of whom Pampinea told us yesterday, moveth me to tell of a piece of revenge, which, without being so barbarous as the former, was nevertheless grievous unto him who brooked it.\"\n\nI must tell you, then, that there was once in Florence a man whom all called Ciacco, as great a glutton as ever lived. His means sufficing him not to support the expense that his gluttony required and he being, for the rest, a very well\u2013mannered man and full of goodly and pleasant sayings, he addressed himself to be, not altogether a buffoon, but a spunger and to company with those who were rich and delighted to eat of good things; and with these he went often to dine and sup, albeit he was not always bidden. There was likewise at Florence, in those days, a man called Biondello, a little dapper fellow of his person, very quaint of his dress and sprucer than a fly, with his coif on his head and his yellow periwig still drest to a nicety, without a hair awry, who plied the same trade as Ciacco. Going one morning in Lent whereas they sell the fish and cheapening two very fine lampreys for Messer Vieri de' Cerchj, he was seen by Ciacco, who accosted him and said, 'What meaneth this?' Whereto Biondello made answer, 'Yestereve there were sent unto Messer Corso Donati three lampreys, much finer than these, and a sturgeon; to which sufficing him not for a dinner he is minded to give certain gentlemen, he would have me buy these other two. Wilt thou not come thither, thou?' Quoth Ciacco, 'Thou knowest well that I shall be there.'\n\nAccordingly, whenas it seemed to him time, he betook himself to Messer Corso's house, where he found him with sundry neighbours of his, not yet gone to dinner, and being asked of him what he went doing, answered, 'Sir, I am come to dine with you and your company.' Quoth Messer Corso, 'Thou art welcome; and as it is time, let us to table.' Thereupon they seated themselves at table and had, to begin with, chickpease and pickled tunny, and after a dish of fried fish from the Arno, and no more, Ciacco, perceiving the cheat that Biondello had put upon him, was inwardly no little angered thereat and resolved to pay him for it; nor had many days passed ere he again encountered the other, who had by this time made many folk merry with the trick he had played him. Biondello, seeing him, saluted him and asked him, laughing, how he had found Messer Corso's lampreys; to which Ciacco answered, 'That shalt thou know much better than I, ere eight days be past.'\n\nThen, without wasting time over the matter, he took leave of Biondello and agreeing for a price with a shrewd huckster, carried him near to the Cavicciuoli Gallery and showing him a gentleman there, called Messer Filippo Argenti, a big burly rawboned fellow and the most despiteful, choleric and humoursome man alive, gave him a great glass flagon and said to him, 'Go to yonder gentleman with this flask in hand and say to him, \"Sir Biondello sendeth me to you and prayeth you be pleased to rubify him this flask with your good red wine, for that he would fain make merry somedele with his minions.\" But take good care he lay not his hands on thee; else will he give thee an ill morrow and thou wilt have marred my plans.' 'Have I aught else to say,' asked the huckster; and Ciacco answered, 'No; do but go and say this and after come back to me here with the flask and I will pay thee.' The huckster accordingly set off and did his errand to Messer Filippo, who, hearing the message and being lightly ruffled, concluded that Biondello, whom he knew, had a mind to make mock of him, and waxing all red in the face, said, 'What \"rubify me\" and what \"minions\" be these? God land thee and him an ill year!' Then, starting to his feet, he put out his hand to lay hold of the huckster; but the latter, who was on his guard, promptly took to his heels and returning by another way to Ciacco, who had seen all that had passed, told him what Messer Filippo had said to him. Ciacco, well pleased, paid him and rested not till he found Biondello, to whom quoth he, 'Hast thou been late at the Cavicciuoli Gallery?' 'Nay,' answered the other. 'Why dost thou ask me?' 'Because,' replied Ciacco, 'I must tell thee that Messer Filippo enquireth for thee; I know not what he would have.' 'Good,' rejoined Biondello; 'I am going that way and will speak with him.' Accordingly, he made off, and Ciacco followed him, to see how the thing should pass.\n\nMeanwhile Messer Filippo, having failed to come at the huckster, abode sore disordered and was inwardly all a\u2013fume with rage, being unable to make anything in the world of the huckster's words, if not that Biondello, at whosesoever instance, was minded to make mock of him. As he fretted himself thus, up came Biondello, whom no sooner did he espy than he made for him and dealt him a sore buffet in the face. 'Alack, sir,' cried Biondello, 'what is this?' Whereupon Messer Filippo, clutching him by the hair and tearing his coif, cast his bonnet to the ground and said, laying on to him amain the while, 'Knave that thou art, thou shalt soon see what it is! What is this thou sendest to say to me with thy \"rubify me\" and thy \"minions\"? Deemest thou me a child, to be flouted on this wise?' So saying, he battered his whole face with his fists, which were like very iron, nor left him a hair on his head unruffled; then, rolling him in the mire, he tore all the clothes off his back; and to this he applied himself with such a will that Biondello could not avail to say a word to him nor ask why he served him thus. He had heard him indeed speak of 'rubify me' and 'minions,' but knew not what this meant.\n\nAt last, Messer Filippo having beaten him soundly, the bystanders, whereof many had by this time gathered about them, dragged him, with the utmost difficulty, out of the other's clutches, all bruised and battered as he was, and told him why the gentleman had done this, blaming him for that which he had sent to say to him and telling him that he should by that time have known Messer Filippo better and that he was not a man to jest withal. Biondello, all in tears protested his innocence, declaring that he had never sent to Messer Filippo for wine, and as soon as he was somewhat recovered, he returned home, sick and sorry, divining that this must have been Ciacco's doing. When, after many days, the bruises being gone, he began to go abroad again, it chanced that Ciacco encountered him and asked him, laughing, 'Harkye, Biondello, how deemest thou of Messer Filippo's wine?' 'Even as thou of Messer Corso's lampreys,' replied the other; and Ciacco said, 'The thing resteth with thee henceforth. Whenever thou goest about to give me to eat as thou didst, I will give thee in return to drink after t'other day's fashion.' Biondello, knowing full well that it was easier to wish Ciacco ill than to put it in practise, besought God of his peace and thenceforth was careful to affront him no more.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "TWO YOUNG MEN SEEK COUNSEL OF SOLOMON, ONE HOW HE MAY BE LOVED AND THE OTHER HOW HE MAY AMEND HIS FROWARD WIFE, AND IN ANSWER HE BIDDETH THE ONE LOVE AND THE OTHER GET HIM TO GOOSEBRIDGE",
                "text": "None other than the queen remaining to tell, so she would maintain Dioneo his privilege, she, after the ladies had laughed at the unlucky Biondello, began blithely to speak thus: \"Lovesome ladies, if the ordinance of created things be considered with a whole mind, it will lightly enough be seen that the general multitude of women are by nature, by custom and by law subjected unto men and that it behoveth them order and govern themselves according to the discretion of these latter; wherefore each woman, who would have quiet and ease and solace with those men to whom she pertaineth, should be humble, patient and obedient, besides being virtuous, which latter is the supreme and especial treasure of every wise woman. Nay, though the laws, which in all things regard the general weal, and usance or (let us say) custom, whose puissance is both great and worship\u2013worth, taught us not this, nature very manifestly showeth it unto us, inasmuch as she hath made us women tender and delicate of body and timid and fearful of spirit and hath given us little bodily strength, sweet voices and soft and graceful movements, all things testifying that we have need of the governance of others. Now, those who have need to be helped and governed, all reason requireth that they be obedient and submissive and reverent to their governors; and whom have we to governors and helpers, if not men? To men, therefore, it behoveth us submit ourselves, honouring them supremely; and whoso departeth from this, I hold her deserving, not only of grave reprehension, but of severe punishment. To these considerations I was lead, though not for the first time, by that which Pampinea told us a while ago of Talano's froward wife, upon whom God sent that chastisement which her husband had not known to give her; wherefore, as I have already said, all those women who depart from being loving, compliant and amenable, as nature, usance and law will it, are, in my judgment, worthy of stern and severe chastisement. It pleaseth me, therefore, to recount to you a counsel given by Solomon, as a salutary medicine for curing women who are thus made of that malady; which counsel let none, who meriteth not such treatment, repute to have been said for her, albeit men have a byword which saith, 'Good horse and bad horse both the spur need still, And women need the stick, both good and ill.' Which words, an one seek to interpret them by way of pleasantry, all women will lightly allow to be true; nay, but considering them morally, I say that the same must be conceded of them; for that women are all naturally unstable and prone to frailty, wherefore, to correct the iniquity of those who allow themselves too far to overpass the limits appointed them, there needeth the stick which punisheth them, and to support the virtue of others who suffer not themselves to transgress, there needeth the stick which sustaineth and affeareth them. But, to leave be preaching for the nonce and come to that which I have it in mind to tell.\"\n\nYou must know that, the high renown of Solomon's miraculous wisdom being bruited abroad well nigh throughout the whole world, no less than the liberality with which he dispensed it unto whoso would fain be certified thereof by experience, there flocked many to him from divers parts of the world for counsel in their straitest and most urgent occasions. Amongst others who thus resorted to him was a young man, Melisso by name, a gentleman of noble birth and great wealth, who set out from the city of Lajazzo, whence he was and where he dwelt; and as he journeyed towards Jerusalem, it chanced that, coming forth of Antioch, he rode for some distance with a young man called Giosefo, who held the same course as himself. As the custom is of wayfarers, he entered into discourse with him and having learned from him what and whence he was, he asked him whither he went and upon what occasion; to which Giosefo replied that he was on his way to Solomon, to have counsel of him what course he should take with a wife he had, the most froward and perverse woman alive, whom neither with prayers nor with blandishments nor on any other wise could he avail to correct of her waywardness. Then he in his turn questioned Melisso whence he was and whither he went and on what errand, and he answered, 'I am of Lajazzo, and like as thou hast a grievance, even so have I one; I am young and rich and spend my substance in keeping open house and entertaining my fellow\u2013townsmen, and yet, strange to say, I cannot for all that find one who wisheth me well; wherefore I go whither thou goest, to have counsel how I may win to be beloved.'\n\nAccordingly, they joined company and journeyed till they came to Jerusalem, where, by the introduction of one of Solomon's barons, they were admitted to the presence of the king, to whom Melisso briefly set forth his occasion. Solomon answered him, 'Love'; and this said, Melisso was straightway put forth and Giosefo told that for which he was there. Solomon made him no other answer than 'Get thee to Goosebridge'; which said, Giosefo was on like wise removed, without delay, from the king's presence and finding Melisso awaiting him without, told him that which he had had for answer. Thereupon, pondering Solomon's words and availing to apprehend therefrom neither significance nor profit whatsoever for their occasions, they set out to return home, as deeming themselves flouted. After journeying for some days, they came to a river, over which was a fine bridge, and a caravan of pack\u2013mules and sumpter\u2013horses being in act to pass, it behoved them tarry till such time as these should be crossed over. Presently, the beasts having well nigh all crossed, it chanced that one of the mules took umbrage, as oftentimes we see them do, and would by no means pass on; whereupon a muleteer, taking a stick, began to beat it at first moderately enough to make it go on; but the mule shied now to this and now to that side of the road and whiles turned back altogether, but would on no wise pass on; whereupon the man, incensed beyond measure, fell to dealing it with the stick the heaviest blows in the world, now on the head, now on the flanks and anon on the crupper, but all to no purpose.\n\nMelisso and Giosefo stood watching this and said often to the muleteer, 'Alack, wretch that thou art, what dost thou? Wilt thou kill the beast? Why studiest thou not to manage him by fair means and gentle dealing? He will come quicklier than for cudgeling him as thou dost.' To which the man answered, 'You know your horses and I know my mule; leave me do with him.' So saying, he fell again to cudgelling him and belaboured him to such purpose on one side and on the other, that the mule passed on and the muleteer won the bout. Then, the two young men being now about to depart, Giosefo asked a poor man, who sat at the bridge\u2013head, how the place was called, and he answered, 'Sir, this is called Goosebridge.' When Giosefo heard this, he straightway called to mind Solomon's words and said to Melisso, 'Marry, I tell thee, comrade, that the counsel given me by Solomon may well prove good and true, for I perceive very plainly that I knew not how to beat my wife; but this muleteer hath shown me what I have to do.'\n\nAccordingly, they fared on and came, after some days, to Antioch, where Giosefo kept Melisso with him, that he might rest himself a day or two, and being scurvily enough received of his wife, he bade her prepare supper according as Melisso should ordain; whereof the latter, seeing that it was his friend's pleasure, acquitted himself in a few words. The lady, as her usance had been in the past, did not as Melisso had ordained, but well nigh altogether the contrary; which Giosefo seeing, he was vexed and said, 'Was it not told thee on what wise thou shouldst prepare the supper?' The lady, turning round haughtily, answered, 'What meaneth this? Good lack, why dost thou not sup, an thou have a mind to sup? An if it were told me otherwise, it seemed good to me to do thus. If it please thee, so be it; if not, leave it be.' Melisso marvelled at the lady's answer and blamed her exceedingly; whilst Giosefo, hearing this, said, 'Wife, thou art still what thou wast wont to be; but, trust me, I will make thee change thy fashion.' Then turning to Melisso, 'Friend,' said he, 'we shall soon see what manner of counsel was Solomon's; but I prithee let it not irk thee to stand to see it and hold that which I shall do for a sport. And that thou mayest not hinder me, bethink thee of the answer the muleteer made us, when we pitied his mule.' Quoth Melisso, 'I am in thy house, where I purpose not to depart from thy good pleasure.'\n\nGiosefo then took a round stick, made of a young oak, and repaired a chamber, whither the lady, having arisen from table for despite, had betaken herself, grumbling; then, laying hold of her by the hair, he threw her down at his feet and proceeded to give her a sore beating with the stick. The lady at first cried out and after fell to threats; but, seeing that Giosefo for all that stinted not and being by this time all bruised, she began to cry him mercy for God's sake and besought him not to kill her, declaring that she would never more depart from his pleasure. Nevertheless, he held not his hand; nay, he continued to baste her more furiously than ever on all her seams, belabouring her amain now on the ribs, now on the haunches and now about the shoulder, nor stinted till he was weary and there was not a place left unbruised on the good lady's back. This done, he returned to his friend and said to him, 'To\u2013morrow we shall see what will be the issue of the counsel to go to Goosebridge.' Then, after he had rested awhile and they had washed their hands, he supped with Melisso and in due season they betook themselves to bed.\n\nMeanwhile the wretched lady arose with great pain from the ground and casting herself on the bed, there rested as best she might until the morning, when she arose betimes and let ask Giosefo what he would have dressed for dinner. The latter, making merry over this with Melisso, appointed it in due course, and after, whenas it was time, returning, they found everything excellently well done and in accordance with the ordinance given; wherefore they mightily commended the counsel at first so ill apprehended of them. After some days, Melisso took leave of Giosefo and returning to his own house, told one, who was a man of understanding, the answer he had had from Solomon; whereupon quoth the other, 'He could have given thee no truer nor better counsel. Thou knowest thou lovest no one, and the honours and services thou renderest others, thou dost not for love that thou bearest them, but for pomp and ostentation. Love, then, as Solomon bade thee, and thou shalt be loved.' On this wise, then, was the froward wife corrected and the young man, loving, was beloved.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "DOM GIANNI, AT THE INSTANCE OF HIS GOSSIP PIETRO, PERFORMETH A CONJURATION FOR THE PURPOSE OF CAUSING THE LATTER'S WIFE TO BECOME A MARE; BUT, WHENAS HE COMETH TO PUT ON THE TAIL, PIETRO MARRETH THE WHOLE CONJURATION, SAYING THAT HE WILL NOT HAVE A TAIL",
                "text": "The queen's story made the young men laugh and gave rise to some murmurs on the part of the ladies; then, as soon as the latter were quiet, Dioneo began to speak thus, \"Sprightly ladies, a black crow amongst a multitude of white doves addeth more beauty than would a snow\u2013white swan, and in like manner among many sages one less wise is not only an augmentation of splendour and goodliness to their maturity, but eke a source of diversion and solace. Wherefore, you ladies being all exceeding discreet and modest, I, who savour somewhat of the scatterbrain, should be dearer to you, causing, as I do, your worth to shine the brightlier for my default, than if with my greater merit I made this of yours wax dimmer; and consequently, I should have larger license to show you myself such as I am and should more patiently be suffered of you, in saying that which I shall say, than if I were wiser. I will, therefore, tell you a story not overlong, whereby you may apprehend how diligently it behoveth to observe the conditions imposed by those who do aught by means of enchantment and how slight a default thereof sufficeth to mar everything done by the magician.\"\n\nA year or two agone there was at Barletta a priest called Dom Gianni di Barolo, who, for that he had but a poor cure, took to eking out his livelihood by hawking merchandise hither and thither about the fairs of Apulia with a mare of his and buying and selling. In the course of his travels he contracted a strait friendship with one who styled himself Pietro da Tresanti and plied the same trade with the aid of an ass he had. In token of friendship and affection, he called him still Gossip Pietro, after the Apulian fashion, and whenassoever he visited Barletta, he carried him to his parsonage and there lodged him with himself and entertained him to the best of his power. Gossip Pietro, on his part, albeit he was very poor and had but a sorry little house at Tresanti, scarce sufficing for himself and a young and buxom wife he had and his ass, as often as Dom Gianni came to Tresanti, carried him home with him and entertained him as best he might, in requital of the hospitality received from him at Barletta. Nevertheless, in the matter of lodging, having but one sorry little bed, in which he slept with his handsome wife, he could not entertain him as he would, but, Dom Gianni's mare being lodged with Pietro's ass in a little stable he had, needs must the priest himself lie by her side on a truss of straw.\n\nThe goodwife, knowing the hospitality which the latter did her husband at Barletta, would more than once, whenas the priest came thither, have gone to lie with a neighbor of hers, by name Zita Caraprese, daughter of Giudice Leo, so he might sleep in the bed with her husband, and had many a time proposed it to Dom Gianni, but he would never hear of it; and once, amongst other times, he said to her, 'Gossip Gemmata, fret not thyself for me; I fare very well, for that, whenas it pleaseth me, I cause this mare of mine become a handsome wench and couch with her, and after, when I will, I change her into a mare again; wherefore I care not to part from her.'\n\nThe young woman marvelled, but believed his tale and told her husband, saying, 'If he is so much thy friend as thou sayest, why dost thou not make him teach thee his charm, so thou mayst avail to make of me a mare and do thine affairs with the ass and the mare? So should we gain two for one; and when we were back at home, thou couldst make me a woman again, as I am.' Pietro, who was somewhat dull of wit, believed what she said and falling in with her counsel, began, as best he knew, to importune Dom Gianni to teach him the trick. The latter did his best to cure him of that folly, but availing not thereto, he said, 'Harkye, since you will e'en have it so, we will arise to\u2013morrow morning before day, as of our wont, and I will show you how it is done. To tell thee the truth, the uneathest part of the matter is the putting on of the tail, as thou shalt see.'\n\nAccordingly, whenas it drew near unto day, Goodman Pietro and Gossip Gemmata, who had scarce slept that night, with such impatience did they await the accomplishment of the matter, arose and called Dom Gianni, who, arising in his shirt, betook himself to Pietro's little chamber and said to him, 'I know none in the world, except you, for whom I would do this; wherefore since it pleaseth you, I will e'en do it; but needs must you do as I shall bid you, an you would have the thing succeed.' They answered that they would do that which he should say; whereupon, taking the light, he put it into Pietro's hand and said to him, 'Mark how I shall do and keep well in mind that which I shall say. Above all, have a care, an thou wouldst not mar everything, that, whatsoever thou hearest or seest, thou say not a single word, and pray God that the tail may stick fast.' Pietro took the light, promising to do exactly as he said, whereupon Dom Gianni let strip Gemmata naked as she was born and caused her stand on all fours, mare\u2013fashion, enjoining herself likewise not to utter a word for aught that should betide. Then, passing his hand over her face and her head, he proceeded to say, 'Be this a fine mare's head,' and touching her hair, said, 'Be this a fine mare's mane'; after which he touched her arms, saying, 'Be these fine mare's legs and feet,' and coming presently to her breast and finding it round and firm, such an one awoke that was not called and started up on end, whereupon quoth he, 'Be this a fine mare's chest.' And on like wise he did with her back and belly and crupper and thighs and legs. Ultimately, nothing remaining to do but the tail, he pulled up his shirt and taking the dibble with which he planted men, he thrust it hastily into the furrow made therefor and said, 'And be this a fine mare's tail.'\n\nPietro, who had thitherto watched everything intently, seeing this last proceeding and himseeming it was ill done, said, 'Ho there, Dom Gianni, I won't have a tail there, I won't have a tail there!' The radical moisture, wherewith all plants are made fast, was by this come, and Dom Gianni drew it forth, saying, 'Alack, gossip Pietro, what hast thou done? Did I not bid thee say not a word for aught that thou shouldst see? The mare was all made; but thou hast marred everything by talking, nor is there any means of doing it over again henceforth.' Quoth Pietro, 'Marry, I did not want that tail there. Why did you not say to me, \"Make it thou\"? More by token that you were for setting it too low.' 'Because,' answered Dom Gianni, 'thou hadst not known for the first time to set it on so well as I.' The young woman, hearing all this, stood up and said to her husband, in all good faith, 'Dolt that thou art, why hast thou marred thine affairs and mine? What mare sawest thou ever without a tail? So God aid me, thou art poor, but it would serve thee right, wert thou much poorer.' Then, there being now, by reason of the words that Pietro had spoken, no longer any means of making a mare of the young woman, she donned her clothes, woebegone and disconsolate, and Pietro, continuing to ply his old trade with an ass, as he was used, betook himself, in company with Dom Gianni, to the Bitonto fair, nor ever again required him of such a service.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 109",
                "text": "How much the company laughed at this story, which was better understood of the ladies than Dioneo willed, let her who shall yet laugh thereat imagine for herself. But, the day's stories being now ended and the sun beginning to abate of its heat, the queen, knowing the end of her seignory to be come, rose to her feet and putting off the crown, set it on the head of Pamfilo, whom alone it remained to honour after such a fashion, and said, smiling, \"My lord, there devolveth on thee a great burden, inasmuch as with thee it resteth, thou being the last, to make amends for my default and that of those who have foregone me in the dignity which thou presently holdest; whereof God lend thee grace, even as He hath vouchsafed it unto me to make thee king.\" Pamfilo blithely received the honour done him and answered, \"Your merit and that of my other subjects will do on such wise that I shall be adjudged deserving of commendation, even as the others have been.\" Then, having, according to the usance of his predecessors, taken order with the seneschal of the things that were needful, he turned to the expectant ladies and said to them, \"Lovesome ladies, it was the pleasure of Emilia, who hath this day been our queen, to give you, for the purpose of affording some rest to your powers, license to discourse of that which should most please you; wherefore, you being now rested, I hold it well to return to the wonted ordinance, and accordingly I will that each of you bethink herself to discourse to\u2013morrow of this, to wit, OF WHOSO HATH ANYWISE WROUGHT GENEROUSLY OR MAGNIFICENTLY IN MATTERS OF LOVE OR OTHERWHAT. The telling and doing of these things will doubtless fire your well\u2013disposed minds to do worthily; so will our life, which may not be other than brief in this mortal body, be made perpetual in laudatory renown; a thing which all, who serve not the belly only, as do the beasts, should not only desire, but with all diligence seek and endeavour after.\"\n\nThe theme pleased the joyous company, who having all, with the new king's license, arisen from session, gave themselves to their wonted diversions, according to that unto which each was most drawn by desire; and on this wise they did until the hour of supper, whereunto they came joyously and were served with diligence and fair ordinance. Supper at an end, they arose to the wonted dances, and after they had sung a thousand canzonets, more diverting of words than masterly of music, the king bade Neifile sing one in her own name; whereupon, with clear and blithesome voice, she cheerfully and without delay began thus:\n\n\u2002A youngling maid am I and full of glee,\n\n\u2002Am fain to carol in the new\u2013blown May,\n\n\u2002Love and sweet thoughts\u2013a\u2013mercy, blithe and free.\n\n\u2002I go about the meads, considering\n\n\u2002The vermeil flowers and golden and the white,\n\n\u2002Roses thorn\u2013set and lilies snowy\u2013bright,\n\n\u2002And one and all I fare a\u2013likening\n\n\u2002Unto his face who hath with love\u2013liking\n\n\u2002Ta'en and will hold me ever, having aye\n\n\u2002None other wish than as his pleasures be;\n\n\u2002Whereof when one I find me that doth show,\n\n\u2002Unto my seeming, likest him, full fain\n\n\u2002I cull and kiss and talk with it amain\n\n\u2002And all my heart to it, as best I know,\n\n\u2002Discover, with its store of wish and woe,\n\n\u2002Then it with others in a wreath I lay,\n\n\u2002Bound with my hair so golden\u2013bright of blee.\n\n\u2002Ay, and that pleasure which the eye doth prove,\n\n\u2002By nature, of the flower's view, like delight\n\n\u2002Doth give me as I saw the very wight\n\n\u2002Who hath inflamed me of his dulcet love,\n\n\u2002And what its scent thereover and above\n\n\u2002Worketh in me, no words indeed can say;\n\n\u2002But sighs thereof bear witness true for me,\n\n\u2002The which from out my bosom day nor night\n\n\u2002Ne'er, as with other ladies, fierce and wild,\n\n\u2002Storm up; nay, thence they issue warm and mild\n\n\u2002And straight betake them to my loved one's sight,\n\n\u2002Who, hearing, moveth of himself, delight\n\n\u2002To give me; ay, and when I'm like to say\n\n\u2002\"Ah come, lest I despair,\" still cometh he.\n\nNeifile's canzonet was much commended both of the king and of the other ladies; after which, for that a great part of the night was now spent, the king commanded that all should betake themselves to rest until the day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Day the Tenth",
                "text": "[ HERE BEGINNETH THE TENTH AND LAST DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF PAMFILO IS DISCOURSED OF WHOSO HATH ANYWISE WROUGHT GENEROUSLY OR MAGNIFICENTLY IN MATTERS OF LOVE OR OTHERWHAT ]\n\nCertain cloudlets in the West were yet vermeil, what time those of the East were already at their marges grown lucent like unto very gold, when Pamfilo, arising, let call his comrades and the ladies, who being all come, he took counsel with them of whither they should go for their diversion and fared forth with slow step, accompanied by Filomena and Fiammetta, whilst all the others followed after. On this wise, devising and telling and answering many things of their future life together, they went a great while a\u2013pleasuring; then, having made a pretty long circuit and the sun beginning to wax overhot, they returned to the palace. There they let rinse the beakers in the clear fountain and whoso would drank somewhat; after which they went frolicking among the pleasant shades of the garden until the eating\u2013hour. Then, having eaten and slept, as of their wont, they assembled whereas it pleased the king and there he called upon Neifile for the first discourse, who blithely began thus:"
            },
            {
                "title": "A KNIGHT IN THE KING'S SERVICE OF SPAIN THINKING HIMSELF ILL GUERDONED, THE KING BY VERY CERTAIN PROOF SHOWETH HIM THAT THIS IS NOT HIS FAULT, BUT THAT OF HIS OWN PERVERSE FORTUNE, AND AFTER LARGESSETH HIM MAGNIFICENTLY",
                "text": "\"Needs, honourable ladies, must I repute it a singular favour to myself that our king hath preferred me unto such an honour as it is to be the first to tell of magnificence, the which, even as the sun is the glory and adornment of all the heaven, is the light and lustre of every other virtue. I will, therefore, tell you a little story thereof, quaint and pleasant enough to my thinking, which to recall can certes be none other than useful.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that, among the other gallant gentlemen who have from time immemorial graced our city, there was one (and maybe the most of worth) by name Messer Ruggieri de' Figiovanni, who, being both rich and high\u2013spirited and seeing that, in view of the way of living and of the usages of Tuscany, he might, if he tarried there, avail to display little or nothing of his merit, resolved to seek service awhile with Alfonso, King of Spain, the renown of whose valiance transcended that of every other prince of his time; wherefore he betook himself, very honourably furnished with arms and horses and followers, to Alfonso in Spain and was by him graciously received. Accordingly, he took up his abode there and living splendidly and doing marvellous deeds of arms, he very soon made himself known for a man of worth and valour.\n\nWhen he had sojourned there a pretty while and had taken particular note of the king's fashions, himseemed he bestowed castles and cities and baronies now upon one and now upon another with little enough discretion, as giving them to those who were unworthy thereof, and for that to him, who held himself for that which he was, nothing was given, he conceived that his repute would be much abated by reason thereof; wherefore he determined to depart and craved leave of the king. The latter granted him the leave he sought and gave him one of the best and finest mules that ever was ridden, the which, for the long journey he had to make, was very acceptable to Messer Ruggieri. Moreover, he charged a discreet servant of his that he should study, by such means as seemed to him best, to ride with Messer Ruggieri on such wise that he should not appear to have been sent by the king, and note everything he should say of him, so as he might avail to repeat it to him, and that on the ensuing morning he should command him return to the court. Accordingly, the servant, lying in wait for Messer Ruggieri's departure, accosted him, as he came forth the city, and very aptly joined company with him, giving him to understand that he also was bound for Italy. Messer Ruggieri, then, fared on, riding the mule given him by the king and devising of one thing and another with the latter's servant, till hard upon tierce, when he said, 'Methinketh it were well done to let our beasts stale.' Accordingly, they put them up in a stable and they all staled, except the mule; then they rode on again, whilst the squire still took note of the gentleman's words, and came presently to a river, where, as they watered their cattle, the mule staled in the stream; which Messer Ruggieri seeing, 'Marry,' quoth he, 'God confound thee, beast, for that thou art made after the same fashion as the prince who gave thee to me!' The squire noted these words and albeit he took store of many others, as he journeyed with him all that day, he heard him say nought else but what was to the highest praise of the king.\n\nNext morning, they being mounted and Ruggieri offering to ride towards Tuscany, the squire imparted to him the king's commandment, whereupon he incontinent turned back. When he arrived at court, the king, learning what he had said of the mule, let call him to himself and receiving him with a cheerful favour, asked him why he had likened him to his mule, or rather why he had likened the mule to him. 'My lord,' replied Ruggieri frankly, 'I likened her to you for that, like as you give whereas it behoveth not and give not whereas it behoveth, even so she staled not whereas it behoved, but staled whereas it behoved not.' Then said the king, 'Messer Ruggieri, if I have not given to you, as I have given unto many who are of no account in comparison with you, it happened not because I knew you not for a most valiant cavalier and worthy of every great gift; nay, but it is your fortune, which hath not suffered me guerdon you according to your deserts, that hath sinned in this, and not I; and that I may say sooth I will manifestly prove to you.' 'My lord,' replied Ruggieri, 'I was not chagrined because I have gotten no largesse of you, for that I desire not to be richer than I am, but because you have on no wise borne witness to my merit. Natheless, I hold your excuse for good and honourable and am ready to see that which it shall please you show me, albeit I believe you without proof.' The king then carried him into a great hall of his, where, as he had ordered it beforehand, were two great locked coffers, and said to him, in presence of many, 'Messer Ruggieri, in one of these coffers is my crown, the royal sceptre and the orb, together with many goodly girdles and ouches and rings of mine, and in fine every precious jewel I have; and the other is full of earth. Take, then, one and be that which you shall take yours; and you may thus see whether of the twain hath been ungrateful to your worth, myself of your ill fortune.'\n\nMesser Ruggieri, seeing that it was the king's pleasure, took one of the coffers, which, being opened by Alfonso's commandment, was found to be that which was full of earth; whereupon quoth the king, laughing, 'Now can you see, Messer Ruggieri, that this that I tell you of your fortune is true; but certes your worth meriteth that I should oppose myself to her might. I know you have no mind to turn Spaniard and therefore I will bestow upon you neither castle nor city in these parts; but this coffer, of which fortune deprived you, I will in her despite shall be yours, so you may carry it off to your own country and justly glorify yourself of your worth in the sight of your countrymen by the witness of my gifts.' Messer Ruggieri accordingly took the coffer and having rendered the king those thanks which sorted with such a gift, joyfully returned therewith to Tuscany.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "GHINO DI TACCO TAKETH THE ABBOT OF CLUNY AND HAVING CURED HIM OF THE STOMACH\u2013COMPLAINT, LETTETH HIM GO; WHEREUPON THE ABBOT, RETURNING TO THE COURT OF ROME, RECONCILETH HIM WITH POPE BONIFACE AND MAKETH HIM A PRIOR OF THE HOSPITALLERS",
                "text": "The magnificence shown by King Alfonso to the Florentine cavalier having been duly commended, the king, who had been mightily pleased therewith, enjoined Elisa to follow on, and she straightway began thus: \"Dainty dames, it cannot be denied that for a king to be munificent and to have shown his munificence to him who had served him is a great and a praiseworthy thing; but what shall we say if a churchman be related to have practised marvellous magnanimity towards one, whom if he had used as an enemy, he had of none been blamed therefor? Certes, we can say none otherwise than that the king's magnificence was a virtue, whilst that of the churchman was a miracle, inasmuch as the clergy are all exceeding niggardly, nay, far more so than women, and sworn enemies of all manner of liberality; and albeit all men naturally hunger after vengeance for affronts received, we see churchmen, for all they preach patience and especially commend the remission of offences, pursue it more eagerly than other folk. This, then, to wit, how a churchman was magnanimous, you may manifestly learn from the following story of mine.\"\n\nGhino di Tacco, a man very famous for his cruelty and his robberies, being expelled Transcriber's Note: missing 'from' Siena and at feud with the Counts of Santa Fiore, raised Radicofani against the Church of Rome and taking up his sojourn there, caused his swashbucklers despoil whosoever passed through the surrounding country. Now, Boniface the Eighth being pope in Rome, there came to court the Abbot of Cluny, who is believed to be one of the richest prelates in the world, and having there marred his stomach, he was advised by the physicians to repair to the baths of Siena and he would without fail be cured. Accordingly, having gotten the pope's leave, he set out on his way thither in great pomp of gear and baggage and horses and servitors, unrecking of Ghino's ill report. The latter, hearing of his coming, spread his nets and hemmed him and all his household and gear about in a strait place, without letting a single footboy escape. This done, he despatched to the abbot one, the most sufficient, of his men, well accompanied, who in his name very lovingly prayed him be pleased to light down and sojourn with the aforesaid Ghino in his castle. The abbot, hearing this, answered furiously that he would nowise do it, having nought to do with Ghino, but that he would fare on and would fain see who should forbid his passage. Whereto quoth the messenger on humble wise, 'Sir, you are come into parts where, barring God His might, there is nothing to fear for us and where excommunications and interdicts are all excommunicated; wherefore, may it please you, you were best comply with Ghino in this.'\n\nDuring this parley, the whole place had been encompassed about with men\u2013at\u2013arms; wherefore the abbot, seeing himself taken with his men, betook himself, sore against his will, to the castle, in company with the ambassador, and with him all his household and gear, and alighting there, was, by Ghino's orders, lodged all alone in a very dark and mean little chamber in one of the pavilions, whilst every one else was well enough accommodated, according to his quality, about the castle and the horses and all the gear put in safety, without aught thereof being touched. This done, Ghino betook himself to the abbot and said to him, 'Sir, Ghino, whose guest you are, sendeth to you, praying you acquaint him whither you are bound and on what occasion.' The abbot, like a wise man, had by this laid by his pride and told him whither he went and why. Ghino, hearing this, took his leave and bethought himself to go about to cure him without baths. Accordingly, he let keep a great fire still burning in the little room and causing guard the place well, returned not to the abbot till the following morning, when he brought him, in a very white napkin, two slices of toasted bread and a great beaker of his own Corniglia vernage and bespoke him thus, 'Sir, when Ghino was young, he studied medicine and saith that he learned there was no better remedy for the stomach\u2013complaint than that which he purposeth to apply to you and of which these things that I bring you are the beginning; wherefore do you take them and refresh yourself.'\n\nThe abbot, whose hunger was greater than his desire to bandy words, ate the bread and drank the wine, though he did it with an ill will, and after made many haughty speeches, asking and counselling of many things and demanding in particular to see Ghino. The latter, hearing this talk, let part of it pass as idle and answered the rest very courteously, avouching that Ghino would visit him as quickliest he might. This said, he took his leave of him and returned not until the ensuing day, when he brought him as much toasted bread and as much malmsey; and so he kept him several days, till such time as he perceived that he had eaten some dried beans, which he had of intent aforethought brought secretly thither and left there; whereupon he asked him, on Ghino's part, how he found himself about the stomach. The abbot answered, 'Meseemeth I should fare well, were I but out of his hands; and after that, I have no greater desire than to eat, so well have his remedies cured me.' Thereupon Ghino caused the abbot's own people array him a goodly chamber with his own gear and let make ready a magnificent banquet, to which he bade the prelate's whole household, together with many folk of the burgh. Next morning, he betook himself to the abbot and said to him, 'Sir, since you feel yourself well, it is time to leave the infirmary.' Then, taking him by the hand, he brought him to the chamber prepared for him and leaving him there in company of his own people, occupied himself with caring that the banquet should be a magnificent one.\n\nThe abbot solaced himself awhile with his men and told them what his life had been since his capture, whilst they, on the other hand, avouched themselves all to have been wonder\u2013well entreated of Ghino. The eating\u2013hour come, the abbot and the rest were well and orderly served with goodly viands and fine wines, without Ghino yet letting himself be known of the prelate; but, after the latter had abidden some days on this wise, the outlaw, having let bring all his gear into one saloon and all his horses, down to the sorriest rouncey, into a courtyard that was under the windows thereof, betook himself to him and asked him how he did and if he deemed himself strong enough to take horse. The abbot answered that he was strong enough and quite recovered of his stomach\u2013complaint and that he should fare perfectly well, once he should be out of Ghino's hands. Ghino then brought him into the saloon, wherein was his gear and all his train, and carrying him to a window, whence he might see all his horses, said, 'My lord abbot, you must know that it was the being a gentleman and expelled from his house and poor and having many and puissant enemies, and not evilness of mind, that brought Ghino di Tacco (who is none other than myself) to be, for the defence of his life and his nobility, a highway\u2013robber and an enemy of the court of Rome. Nevertheless, for that you seem to me a worthy gentleman, I purpose not, now that I have cured you of your stomach\u2013complaint, to use you as I would another, from whom, he being in my hands as you are, I would take for myself such part of his goods as seemed well to me; nay, it is my intent that you, having regard to my need, shall appoint to me such part of your good as you yourself will. It is all here before you in its entirety and your horses you may from this window see in the courtyard; take, therefore, both part and all, as it pleaseth you, and from this time forth be it at your pleasure to go or to stay.'\n\nThe abbot marvelled to hear such generous words from a highway\u2013robber and was exceeding well pleased therewith, insomuch that, his anger and despite being of a sudden fallen, nay, changed into goodwill, he became Ghino's hearty friend and ran to embrace him, saying, 'I vow to God that, to gain the friendship of a man such as I presently judge thee to be, I would gladly consent to suffer a far greater affront than that which meseemed but now thou hadst done me. Accursed be fortune that constrained thee to so damnable a trade!' Then, letting take of his many goods but a very few necessary things, and the like of his horses, he left all the rest to Ghino and returned to Rome. The pope had had news of the taking of the abbot and albeit it had given him sore concern, he asked him, when he saw him, how the baths had profited him; whereto he replied, smiling, 'Holy Father, I found a worthy physician nearer than at the baths, who hath excellently well cured me'; and told him how, whereat the pope laughed, and the abbot, following on his speech and moved by a magnanimous spirit, craved a boon of him. The pope, thinking he would demand otherwhat, freely offered to do that which he should ask; and the abbot said, 'Holy Father, that which I mean to ask of you is that you restore your favour to Ghino di Tacco, my physician, for that, of all the men of worth and high account whom I ever knew, he is certes one of the most deserving; and for this ill that he doth, I hold it much more fortune's fault than his; the which if you change by bestowing on him somewhat whereby he may live according to his condition, I doubt not anywise but you will, in brief space of time, deem of him even as I do.' The pope, who was great of soul and a lover of men of worth, hearing this, replied that he would gladly do it, an Ghino were indeed of such account as the abbot avouched, and bade the latter cause him come thither in all security. Accordingly, Ghino, at the abbot's instance, came to court, upon that assurance, nor had he been long about the pope's person ere the latter reputed him a man of worth and taking him into favour, bestowed on him a grand priory of those of the Hospitallers, having first let make him a knight of that order; which office he held whilst he lived, still approving himself a loyal friend and servant of Holy Church and of the Abbot of Cluny.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MITHRIDANES, ENVYING NATHAN HIS HOSPITALITY AND GENEROSITY AND GOING TO KILL HIM, FALLETH IN WITH HIMSELF, WITHOUT KNOWING HIM, AND IS BY HIM INSTRUCTED OF THE COURSE HE SHALL TAKE TO ACCOMPLISH HIS PURPOSE; BY MEANS WHEREOF HE FINDETH HIM, AS HE HIMSELF HAD ORDERED IT, IN A COPPICE AND RECOGNIZING HIM, IS ASHAMED AND BECOMETH HIS FRIEND",
                "text": "Themseemed all they had heard what was like unto a miracle, to wit, that a churchman should have wrought anywhat magnificently; but, as soon as the ladies had left discoursing thereof, the king bade Filostrato proceed, who forthright began, \"Noble ladies, great was the magnificence of the King of Spain and that of the Abbot of Cluny a thing belike never yet heard of; but maybe it will seem to you no less marvellous a thing to hear how a man, that he might do generosity to another who thirsted for his blood, nay, for the very breath of his nostrils, privily bethought himself to give them to him, ay, and would have done it, had the other willed to take them, even as I purpose to show you in a little story of mine.\"\n\nIt is a very certain thing (if credit may be given to the report of divers Genoese and others who have been in those countries) that there was aforetime in the parts of Cattajo a man of noble lineage and rich beyond compare, called Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining a highway whereby as of necessity passed all who sought to go from the Ponant to the Levant or from the Levant to the Ponant, and being a man of great and generous soul and desirous that it should be known by his works, assembled a great multitude of artificers and let build there, in a little space of time, one of the fairest and greatest and richest palaces that had ever been seen, the which he caused excellently well furnished with all that was apt unto the reception and entertainment of gentlemen. Then, having a great and goodly household, he there received and honourably entertained, with joyance and good cheer, whosoever came and went; and in this praiseworthy usance he persevered insomuch that not only the Levant, but well nigh all the Ponant, knew him by report. He was already full of years nor was therefore grown weary of the practice of hospitality, when it chanced that his fame reached the ears of a young man of a country not far from his own, by name Mithridanes, who, knowing himself no less rich than Nathan and waxing envious of his renown and his virtues, bethought himself to eclipse or shadow them with greater liberality. Accordingly, letting build a palace like unto that of Nathan, he proceeded to do the most unbounded courtesies that ever any did whosoever came or went about those parts, and in a short time he became without doubt very famous.\n\nIt chanced one day that, as he abode all alone in the midcourt of his palace, there came in, by one of the gates, a poor woman, who sought of him an alms and had it; then, coming in again to him by the second, she had of him another alms, and so on for twelve times in succession; but, whenas she returned for the thirteenth time, he said to her, 'Good woman, thou art very diligent in this thine asking,' and natheless gave her an alms. The old crone, hearing these words, exclaimed, 'O liberality of Nathan, how marvellous art thou! For that, entering in by each of the two\u2013and\u2013thirty gates which his palace hath, and asking of him an alms, never, for all that he showed, was I recognized of him, and still I had it; whilst here, having as yet come in but at thirteen gates, I have been both recognized and chidden.' So saying, she went her ways and returned thither no more. Mithridanes, hearing the old woman's words, flamed up into a furious rage, as he who held that which he heard of Nathan's fame a diminishment of his own, and fell to saying, 'Alack, woe is me! When shall I attain to Nathan's liberality in great things, let alone overpass it, as I seek to do, seeing that I cannot approach him in the smallest? Verily, I weary myself in vain, an I remove him not from the earth; wherefore, since eld carrieth him not off, needs must I with mine own hands do it without delay.'\n\nAccordingly, rising upon that motion, he took horse with a small company, without communicating his design to any, and came after three days whereas Nathan abode. He arrived there at eventide and bidding his followers make a show of not being with him and provide themselves with lodging, against they should hear farther from him, abode alone at no great distance from the fair palace, where he found Nathan all unattended, as he went walking for his diversion, without any pomp of apparel, and knowing him not, asked him if he could inform him where Nathan dwelt. 'My son,' answered the latter cheerfully, 'there is none in these parts who is better able than I to show thee that; wherefore, whenas it pleaseth thee, I will carry thee thither.' Mithridanes rejoined that this would be very acceptable to him, but that, an it might be, he would fain be neither seen nor known of Nathan; and the latter said, 'That also will I do, since it pleaseth thee.' Mithridanes accordingly dismounted and repaired to the goodly palace, in company with Nathan, who quickly engaged him in most pleasant discourse. There he caused one of his servants take the young man's horse and putting his mouth to his ear, charged him take order with all those of the house, so none should tell the youth that he was Nathan; and so was it done. Moreover, he lodged him in a very goodly chamber, where none saw him, save those whom he had deputed to this service, and let entertain him with the utmost honour, himself bearing him company.\n\nAfter Mithridanes had abidden with him awhile on this wise, he asked him (albeit he held him in reverence as a father) who he was; to which Nathan answered, 'I am an unworthy servant of Nathan, who have grown old with him from my childhood, nor hath he ever advanced me to otherwhat than that which thou seest me; wherefore, albeit every one else is mighty well pleased with him, I for my part have little cause to thank him.' These words afforded Mithridanes some hope of availing with more certitude and more safety to give effect to his perverse design, and Nathan very courteously asking him who he was and what occasion brought him into those parts and proffering him his advice and assistance insomuch as lay in his power, he hesitated awhile to reply, but, presently, resolving to trust himself to him, he with a long circuit of words required him first of secrecy and after of aid and counsel and entirely discovered to him who he was and wherefore and on what motion he came. Nathan, hearing his discourse and his cruel design, was inwardly all disordered; but nevertheless, without much hesitation, he answered him with an undaunted mind and a firm countenance, saying, 'Mithridanes, thy father was a noble man and thou showest thyself minded not to degenerate from him, in having entered upon so high an emprise as this thou hast undertaken, to wit, to be liberal unto all; and greatly do I commend the jealousy thou bearest unto Nathan's virtues, for that, were there many such, the world, that is most wretched, would soon become good. The design that thou hast discovered to me I will without fail keep secret; but for the accomplishment thereof I can rather give thee useful counsel than great help; the which is this. Thou mayst from here see a coppice, maybe half a mile hence, wherein Nathan well nigh every morning walketh all alone, taking his pleasure there a pretty long while; and there it will be a light matter to thee to find him and do thy will of him. If thou slay him, thou must, so thou mayst return home without hindrance, get thee gone, not by that way thou camest, but by that which thou wilt see issue forth of the coppice on the left hand, for that, albeit it is somewhat wilder, it is nearer to thy country and safer for thee.'\n\nMithridanes, having received this information and Nathan having taken leave of him, privily let his companions, who had, like himself, taken up their sojourn in the palace, know where they should look for him on the morrow; and the new day came, Nathan, whose intent was nowise at variance with the counsel he had given Mithridanes nor was anywise changed, betook himself alone to the coppice, there to die. Meanwhile, Mithridanes arose and taking his bow and his sword, for other arms he had not, mounted to horse and made for the coppice, where he saw Nathan from afar go walking all alone. Being resolved, ere he attacked him, to seek to see him and hear him speak, he ran towards him and seizing him by the fillet he had about his head, said, 'Old man, thou art dead.' Whereto Nathan answered no otherwhat than, 'Then have I merited it.' Mithridanes, hearing his voice and looking him in the face, knew him forthright for him who had so lovingly received him and familiarly companied with him and faithfully counselled him; whereupon his fury incontinent subsided and his rage was changed into shame. Accordingly, casting away the sword, which he had already pulled out to smite him, and lighting down from his horse, he ran, weeping, to throw himself at Nathan's feet and said to him, 'Now, dearest father, do I manifestly recognize your liberality, considering with what secrecy you are come hither to give me your life, whereof, without any reason, I showed myself desirous, and that to yourself; but God, more careful of mine honour than I myself, hath, in the extremest hour of need, opened the eyes of my understanding, which vile envy had closed. Wherefore, the readier you have been to comply with me, so much the more do I confess myself beholden to do penance for my default. Take, then, of me the vengeance which you deem conformable to my sin.'\n\nNathan raised Mithridanes to his feet and tenderly embraced and kissed him, saying, 'My son, it needeth not that thou shouldst ask nor that I should grant forgiveness of thine emprise, whatever thou choosest to style it, whether wicked or otherwise; for that thou pursuedst it, not of hatred, but to win to be held better. Live, then, secure from me and be assured that there is no man alive who loveth thee as I do, having regard to the loftiness of thy soul, which hath given itself, not to the amassing of monies, as do the covetous, but to the expenditure of those that have been amassed. Neither be thou ashamed of having sought to slay me, so though mightest become famous, nor think that I marvel thereat. The greatest emperors and the most illustrious kings have, with well nigh none other art than that of slaying, not one man, as thou wouldst have done, but an infinite multitude of men, and burning countries and razing cities, enlarged their realms and consequently their fame; wherefore, an thou wouldst, to make thyself more famous, have slain me only, thou diddest no new nor extraordinary thing, but one much used.'\n\nMithridanes, without holding himself excused of his perverse design, commended the honourable excuse found by Nathan and came, in course of converse with him, to say that he marvelled beyond measure how he could have brought himself to meet his death and have gone so far as even to give him means and counsel to that end; whereto quoth Nathan, 'Mithridanes, I would not have thee marvel at my resolution nor at the counsel I gave thee, for that, since I have been mine own master and have addressed myself to do that same thing which thou hast undertaken to do, there came never any to my house but I contented him, so far as in me lay, of that which was required of me by him. Thou camest hither, desirous of my life; wherefore, learning that thou soughtest it, I straightway determined to give it thee, so thou mightest not be the only one to depart hence without his wish; and in order that thou mightest have thy desire, I gave thee such counsel as I thought apt to enable thee to have my life and not lose thine own; and therefore I tell thee once more and pray thee, an it please thee, take it and satisfy thyself thereof. I know not how I may better bestow it. These fourscore years have I occupied it and used it about my pleasures and my diversions, and I know that in the course of nature, according as it fareth with other men and with things in general, it can now be left me but a little while longer; wherefore I hold it far better to bestow it by way of gift, like as I have still given and expended my other treasures, than to seek to keep it until such times as it shall be taken from me by nature against my will. To give an hundred years is no great boon; how much less, then, is it to give the six or eight I have yet to abide here? Take it, then, an it like thee. Prithee, then, take it, an thou have a mind thereto; for that never yet, what while I have lived here, have I found any who hath desired it, nor know I when I may find any such, an thou, who demandest it, take it not. And even should I chance to find any one, I know that, the longer I keep it, the less worth will it be; therefore, ere it wax sorrier, take it, I beseech thee.'\n\nMithridanes was sore abashed and replied, 'God forbid I should, let alone take and sever from you a thing of such price as your life, but even desire to do so, as but late I did,\u2014your life, whose years far from seeking to lessen, I would willingly add thereto of mine own!' Whereto Nathan straightway rejoined, 'And art thou indeed willing, it being in thy power to do it, to add of thy years unto mine and in so doing, to cause me do for thee that which I never yet did for any man, to wit, take of thy good, I who never yet took aught of others?' 'Ay am I,' answered Mithridanes in haste. 'Then,' said Nathan, 'thou must do as I shall bid thee. Thou shalt take up thine abode, young as thou art, here in my house and bear the name of Nathan, whilst I will betake myself to thy house and let still call myself Mithridanes.' Quoth Mithridanes, 'An I knew how to do as well as you have done and do, I would, without hesitation, take that which you proffer me; but, since meseemeth very certain that my actions would be a diminishment of Nathan's fame and as I purpose not to mar in another that which I know not how to order in myself, I will not take it.' These and many other courteous discourses having passed between them, they returned, at Nathan's instance, to the latter's palace, where he entertained Mithridanes with the utmost honour sundry days, heartening him in his great and noble purpose with all manner of wit and wisdom. Then, Mithridanes desiring to return to his own house with his company, he dismissed him, having throughly given him to know that he might never avail to outdo him in liberality.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MESSER GENTILE DE' CARISENDI, COMING FROM MODONA, TAKETH FORTH OF THE SEPULCHRE A LADY WHOM HE LOVETH AND WHO HATH BEEN BURIED FOR DEAD. THE LADY, RESTORED TO LIFE, BEARETH A MALE CHILD AND MESSER GENTILE RESTORETH HER AND HER SON TO NICCOLUCCIO CACCIANIMICO, HER HUSBAND",
                "text": "It seemed to all a marvellous thing that a man should be lavish of his own blood and they declared Nathan's liberality to have verily transcended that of the King of Spain and the Abbot of Cluny. But, after enough to one and the other effect had been said thereof, the king, looking towards Lauretta, signed to her that he would have her tell, whereupon she straightway began, \"Young ladies, magnificent and goodly are the things that have been recounted, nor meseemeth is there aught left unto us who have yet to tell, wherethrough we may range a story\u2013telling, so throughly have they all been occupied with the loftiness of the magnificences related, except we have recourse to the affairs of love, which latter afford a great abundance of matter for discourse on every subject; wherefore, at once on this account and for that the theme is one to which our age must needs especially incline us, it pleaseth me to relate to you an act of magnanimity done by a lover, which, all things considered, will peradventure appear to you nowise inferior to any of those already set forth, if it be true that treasures are lavished, enmities forgotten and life itself, nay, what is far more, honour and renown, exposed to a thousand perils, so we may avail to possess the thing beloved.\"\n\nThere was, then, in Bologna, a very noble city of Lombardy, a gentleman very notable for virtue and nobility of blood, called Messer Gentile Carisendi, who, being young, became enamoured of a noble lady called Madam Catalina, the wife of one Niccoluccio Caccianimico; and for that he was ill repaid of his love by the lady, being named provost of Modona, he betook himself thither, as in despair of her. Meanwhile, Niccoluccio being absent from Bologna and the lady having, for that she was with child, gone to abide at a country house she had maybe three miles distant from the city, she was suddenly seized with a grievous fit of sickness, which overcame her with such violence that it extinguished in her all sign of life, so that she was even adjudged dead of divers physicians; and for that her nearest kinswomen declared themselves to have had it from herself that she had not been so long pregnant that the child could be fully formed, without giving themselves farther concern, they buried her, such as she was, after much lamentation, in one of the vaults of a neighbouring church.\n\nThe thing was forthright signified by a friend of his to Messer Gentile, who, poor as he had still been of her favour, grieved sore therefor and ultimately said in himself, 'Harkye, Madam Catalina, thou art dead, thou of whom, what while thou livedst, I could never avail to have so much as a look; wherefore, now thou canst not defend thyself, needs must I take of thee a kiss or two, all dead as thou art.' This said, he took order so his going should be secret and it being presently night, he mounted to horse with one of his servants and rode, without halting, till he came whereas the lady was buried and opened the sepulchre with all despatch. Then, entering therein, he laid himself beside her and putting his face to hers, kissed her again and again with many tears. But presently,\u2014as we see men's appetites never abide content within any limit, but still desire farther, and especially those of lovers,\u2014having bethought himself to tarry there no longer, he said, 'Marry, now that I am here, why should I not touch her somedele on the breast? I may never touch her more, nor have I ever yet done so.' Accordingly, overcome with this desire, he put his hand into her bosom and holding it there awhile, himseemed he felt her heart beat somewhat. Thereupon, putting aside all fear, he sought more diligently and found that she was certainly not dead, scant and feeble as he deemed the life that lingered in her; wherefore, with the help of his servant, he brought her forth of the tomb, as softliest he might, and setting her before him on his horse, carried her privily to his house in Bologna.\n\nThere was his mother, a worthy and discreet gentlewoman, and she, after she had heard everything at large from her son, moved to compassion, quietly addressed herself by means of hot baths and great fires to recall the strayed life to the lady, who, coming presently to herself, heaved a great sigh and said, 'Ah me, where am I?' To which the good lady replied, 'Be of good comfort; thou art in safety.' Madam Catalina, collecting herself, looked about her and knew not aright where she was; but, seeing Messer Gentile before her, she was filled with wonderment and besought his mother to tell her how she came thither; whereupon Messer Gentile related to her everything in order. At this she was sore afflicted, but presently rendered him such thanks as she might and after conjured him, by the love he had erst borne her and of his courtesy, that she might not in his house suffer at his hands aught that should be anywise contrary to her honour and that of her husband and that, as soon as the day should be come, he would suffer her return to her own house. 'Madam,' answered Messer Gentile, 'whatsoever may have been my desire of time past, I purpose not, either at this present or ever henceforth, (since God hath vouchsafed me this grace that He hath restored you to me from death to life, and that by means of the love I have hitherto borne you,) to use you either here or elsewhere otherwise than as a dear sister; but this my service that I have done you to\u2013night meriteth some recompense; wherefore I would have you deny me not a favour that I shall ask you.'\n\nThe lady very graciously replied that she was ready to do his desire, so but she might and it were honourable. Then said he, 'Madam, your kinsfolk and all the Bolognese believe and hold you for certain to be dead, wherefore there is no one who looketh for you more at home, and therefore I would have you of your favour be pleased to abide quietly here with my mother till such time as I shall return from Modona, which will be soon. And the reason for which I require you of this is that I purpose to make a dear and solemn present of you to your husband in the presence of the most notable citizens of this place.' The lady, confessing herself beholden to the gentleman and that his request was an honourable one, determined to do as he asked, how much soever she desired to gladden her kinsfolk of her life, and so she promised it to him upon her faith. Hardly had she made an end of her reply, when she felt the time of her delivery to be come and not long after, being lovingly tended of Messer Gentile's mother, she gave birth to a goodly male child, which manifold redoubled his gladness and her own. Messer Gentile took order that all things needful should be forthcoming and that she should be tended as she were his proper wife and presently returned in secret to Modona. There, having served the term of his office and being about to return to Bologna, he took order for the holding of a great and goodly banquet at his house on the morning he was to enter the city, and thereto he bade many gentlemen of the place, amongst whom was Niccoluccio Caccianimico. Accordingly, when he returned and dismounted, he found them all awaiting him, as likewise the lady, fairer and sounder than ever, and her little son in good case, and with inexpressible joy seating his guests at table, he let serve them magnificently with various meats.\n\nWhenas the repast was near its end, having first told the lady what he meant to do and taken order with her of the course that she should hold, he began to speak thus: 'Gentlemen, I remember to have heard whiles that there is in Persia a custom and to my thinking a pleasant one, to wit, that, whenas any is minded supremely to honour a friend of his, he biddeth him to his house and there showeth him the thing, be it wife or mistress or daughter or whatsoever else, he holdeth most dear, avouching that, like as he showeth him this, even so, an he might, would he yet more willingly show him his very heart; which custom I purpose to observe in Bologna. You, of your favour, have honoured my banquet with your presence, and I in turn mean to honour you, after the Persian fashion, by showing you the most precious thing I have or may ever have in the world. But, ere I proceed to do this, I pray you tell me what you deem of a doubt which I shall broach to you and which is this. A certain person hath in his house a very faithful and good servant, who falleth grievously sick, whereupon the former, without awaiting the sick man's end, letteth carry him into the middle street and hath no more heed of him. Cometh a stranger, who, moved to compassion of the sick man, carrieth him off to his own house and with great diligence and expense bringeth him again to his former health. Now I would fain know whether, if he keep him and make use of his services, his former master can in equity complain of or blame the second, if, he demanding him again, the latter refuse to restore him.'\n\nThe gentlemen, after various discourse among themselves, concurring all in one opinion, committed the response to Niccoluccio Caccianimico, for that he was a goodly and eloquent speaker; whereupon the latter, having first commended the Persian usage, declared that he and all the rest were of opinion that the first master had no longer any right in his servant, since he had, in such a circumstance, not only abandoned him, but cast him away, and that, for the kind offices done him by the second, themseemed the servant was justly become his; wherefore, in keeping him, he did the first no hurt, no violence, no unright whatsoever. The other guests at table (and there were men there of worth and worship) said all of one accord that they held to that which had been answered by Niccoluccio; and Messer Gentile, well pleased with this response and that Niccoluccio had made it, avouched himself also to be of the same opinion. Then said he, 'It is now time that I honour you according to promise,' and calling two of his servants, despatched them to the lady, whom he had let magnificently dress and adorn, praying her be pleased to come gladden the company with her presence. Accordingly, she took her little son, who was very handsome, in her arms and coming into the banqueting\u2013hall, attended by two serving\u2013men seated herself, as Messer Gentile willed it, by the side of a gentleman of high standing. Then said he, 'Gentlemen, this is the thing which I hold and purpose to hold dearer than any other; look if it seem to you that I have reason to do so.'\n\nThe guests, having paid her the utmost honour, commending her amain and declaring to Messer Gentile that he might well hold her dear, fell to looking upon her; and there were many there who had avouched her to be herself, had they not held her for dead. But Niccoluccio gazed upon her above all and unable to contain himself, asked her, (Messer Gentile having withdrawn awhile,) as one who burned to know who she was, if she were a Bolognese lady or a foreigner. The lady, seeing herself questioned of her husband, hardly restrained herself from answering; but yet, to observe the appointed ordinance, she held her peace. Another asked her if the child was hers and a third if she were Messer Gentile's wife or anywise akin to him; but she made them no reply. Presently, Messer Gentile coming up, one of his guests said to him, 'Sir, this is a fair creature of yours, but she seemeth to us mute; is she so?' 'Gentlemen,' replied he, 'her not having spoken at this present is no small proof of her virtue.' And the other said, 'Tell us, then, who she is.' Quoth Messer Gentile, 'That will I gladly, so but you will promise me that none, for aught that I shall say, will budge from his place till such time as I shall have made an end of my story.'\n\nAll promised this and the tables being presently removed, Messer Gentile, seating himself beside the lady, said, 'Gentlemen, this lady is that loyal and faithful servant, of whom I questioned you awhile agone and who, being held little dear of her folk and so, as a thing without worth and no longer useful, cast out into the midward of the street, was by me taken up; yea, by my solicitude and of my handiwork I brought her forth of the jaws of death, and God, having regard to my good intent, hath caused her, by my means, from a frightful corpse become thus beautiful. But, that you may more manifestly apprehend how this betided me, I will briefly declare it to you.' Then, beginning from his falling enamoured of her, he particularly related to them that which had passed until that time, to the great wonderment of the hearers, and added, 'By reason of which things, an you, and especially Niccoluccio, have not changed counsel since awhile ago, the lady is fairly mine, nor can any with just title demand her again of me.' To this none made answer; nay, all awaited that which he should say farther; whilst Niccoluccio and the lady and certain of the others who were there wept for compassion.\n\nThen Messer Gentile, rising to his feet and taking the little child in his arms and the lady by the hand, made for Niccoluccio and said to him, 'Rise up, gossip; I do not restore thee thy wife, whom thy kinsfolk and hers cast away; nay, but I will well bestow on thee this lady my gossip, with this her little son, who I am assured, was begotten of thee and whom I held at baptism and named Gentile; and I pray thee that she be none the less dear to thee for that she hath abidden near upon three months in my house; for I swear to thee,\u2014by that God who belike caused me aforetime fall in love with her, to the intent that my love might be, as in effect it hath been, the occasion of her deliverance,\u2014that never, whether with father or mother or with thee, hath she lived more chastely than she hath done with my mother in my house.' So saying, he turned to the lady and said to her, 'Madam, from this time forth I absolve you of every promise made me and leave you free to return to Niccoluccio.' Then, giving the lady and the child into Niccoluccio's arms, he returned to his seat. Niccoluccio received them with the utmost eagerness, so much the more rejoiced as he was the farther removed from hope thereof, and thanked Messer Gentile, as best he might and knew; whilst the others, who all wept for compassion, commended the latter amain of this; yea, and he was commended of whosoever heard it. The lady was received in her house with marvellous rejoicing and long beheld with amazement by the Bolognese, as one raised from the dead; whilst Messer Gentile ever after abode a friend of Niccoluccio and of his kinsfolk and those of the lady.\n\nWhat, then, gentle ladies, will you say of this case? Is, think you, a king's having given away his sceptre and his crown or an abbot's having, without cost to himself, reconciled an evildoer with the pope or an old man's having proffered his weasand to the enemy's knife to be evened with this deed of Messer Gentile, who, being young and ardent and himseeming he had a just title to that which the heedlessness of others had cast away and he of his good fortune had taken up, not only honourably tempered his ardour, but, having in his possession that which he was still wont with all his thoughts to covet and to seek to steal away, freely restored it to its owner? Certes, meseemeth none of the magnificences already recounted can compare with this.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "MADAM DIANORA REQUIRETH OF MESSER ANSALDO A GARDEN AS FAIR IN JANUARY AS IN MAY, AND HE BY BINDING HIMSELF TO PAY A GREAT SUM OF MONEY TO A NIGROMANCER, GIVETH IT TO HER. HER HUSBAND GRANTETH HER LEAVE TO DO MESSER ANSALDO'S PLEASURE, BUT HE, HEARING OF THE FORMER'S GENEROSITY, ABSOLVETH HER OF HER PROMISE, WHEREUPON THE NIGROMANCER, IN HIS TURN, ACQUITTETH MESSER ANSALDO OF HIS BOND, WITHOUT WILLING AUGHT OF HIS",
                "text": "Messer Gentile having by each of the merry company been extolled to the very skies with the highest praise, the king charged Emilia follow on, who confidently, as if eager to speak, began as follows: \"Dainty dames, none can with reason deny that Messer Gentile wrought magnificently; but, if it be sought to say that his magnanimity might not be overpassed, it will not belike be uneath to show that more is possible, as I purpose to set out to you in a little story of mine.\"\n\nIn Friuli, a country, though cold, glad with goodly mountains and store of rivers and clear springs, is a city called Udine, wherein was aforetime a fair and noble lady called Madam Dianora, the wife of a wealthy gentleman named Gilberto, who was very debonair and easy of composition. The lady's charm procured her to be passionately loved of a noble and great baron by name Messer Ansaldo Gradense, a man of high condition and everywhere renowned for prowess and courtesy. He loved her fervently and did all that lay in his power to be beloved of her, to which end he frequently solicited her with messages, but wearied himself in vain. At last, his importunities being irksome to the lady and she seeing that, for all she denied him everything he sought of her, he stinted not therefor to love and solicit her, she determined to seek to rid herself of him by means of an extraordinary and in her judgment an impossible demand; wherefore she said one day to a woman, who came often to her on his part, 'Good woman, thou hast many times avouched to me that Messer Ansaldo loveth me over all things and hast proffered me marvellous great gifts on his part, which I would have him keep to himself, seeing that never thereby might I be prevailed upon to love him or comply with his wishes; but, an I could be certified that he loveth me in very deed as much as thou sayest, I might doubtless bring myself to love him and do that which he willeth; wherefore, an he choose to certify me of this with that which I shall require of him, I shall be ready to do his commandments.' Quoth the good woman, 'And what is that, madam, which you would have him do?' 'That which I desire,' replied the lady, 'is this; I will have, for this coming month of January, a garden, near this city, full of green grass and flowers and trees in full leaf, no otherwise than as it were May; the which if he contrive not, let him never more send me thee nor any other, for that, an he importune me more, so surely as I have hitherto kept his pursuit hidden from my husband and my kinsfolk, I will study to rid myself of him by complaining to them.'\n\nThe gentleman, hearing the demand and the offer of his mistress, for all it seemed to him a hard thing and in a manner impossible to do and he knew it to be required of the lady for none otherwhat than to bereave him of all hope, determined nevertheless to essay whatsoever might be done thereof and sent into various parts about the world, enquiring if there were any to be found who would give him aid and counsel in the matter. At last, he happened upon one who offered, so he were well guerdoned, to do the thing by nigromantic art, and having agreed with him for a great sum of money, he joyfully awaited the appointed time, which come and the cold being extreme and everything full of snow and ice, the learned man, the night before the calends of January, so wrought by his arts in a very goodly meadow adjoining the city, that it appeared in the morning (according to the testimony of those who saw it) one of the goodliest gardens was ever seen of any, with grass and trees and fruits of every kind. Messer Ansaldo, after viewing this with the utmost gladness, let cull of the finest fruits and the fairest flowers that were there and caused privily present them to his mistress, bidding her come and see the garden required by her, so thereby she might know how he loved her and after, remembering her of the promise made him and sealed with an oath, bethink herself, as a loyal lady, to accomplish it to him.\n\nThe lady, seeing the fruits and flowers and having already from many heard tell of the miraculous garden, began to repent of her promise. Natheless, curious, for all her repentance, of seeing strange things, she went with many other ladies of the city to view the garden and having with no little wonderment commended it amain, returned home, the woefullest woman alive, bethinking her of that to which she was bounden thereby. Such was her chagrin that she availed not so well to dissemble it but needs must it appear, and her husband, perceiving it, was urgent to know the reason. The lady, for shamefastness, kept silence thereof a great while; but at last, constrained to speak, she orderly discovered to him everything; which Gilberto, hearing, was at the first sore incensed, but presently, considering the purity of the lady's intent and chasing away anger with better counsel, he said, 'Dianora, it is not the part of a discreet nor of a virtuous woman to give ear unto any message of this sort nor to compound with any for her chastity under whatsoever condition. Words received into the heart by the channel of the ears have more potency than many conceive and well nigh every thing becometh possible to lovers. Thou didst ill, then, first to hearken and after to enter into terms of composition; but, for that I know the purity of thine intent, I will, to absolve thee of the bond of the promise, concede thee that which peradventure none other would do, being thereto the more induced by fear of the nigromancer, whom Messer Ansaldo, an thou cheat him, will maybe cause make us woeful. I will, then, that thou go to him and study to have thyself absolved of this thy promise, preserving thy chastity, if thou mayst anywise contrive it; but, an it may not be otherwise, thou shalt, for this once, yield him thy body, but not thy soul.'\n\nThe lady, hearing her husband's speech, wept and denied herself willing to receive such a favour from him; but, for all her much denial, he would e'en have it be so. Accordingly, next morning, at daybreak, the lady, without overmuch adorning herself, repaired to Messer Ansaldo's house, with two of her serving\u2013men before and a chamberwoman after her. Ansaldo, hearing that his mistress was come to him, marvelled sore and letting call the nigromancer, said to him, 'I will have thee see what a treasure thy skill hath gotten me.' Then, going to meet her, he received her with decency and reverence, without ensuing any disorderly appetite, and they entered all into a goodly chamber, wherein was a great fire. There he caused set her a seat and said, 'Madam, I prithee, if the long love I have borne you merit any recompense, let it not irk you to discover to me the true cause which hath brought you hither at such an hour and in such company.' The lady, shamefast and well nigh with tears in her eyes, answered, 'Sir, neither love that I bear you nor plighted faith bringeth me hither, but the commandment of my husband, who, having more regard to the travails of your disorderly passion than to his honour and mine own, hath caused me come hither; and by his behest I am for this once disposed to do your every pleasure.' If Messer Ansaldo had marvelled at the sight of the lady, far more did he marvel, when he heard her words, and moved by Gilberto's generosity, his heat began to change to compassion and he said, 'God forbid, madam, an it be as you say, that I should be a marrer of his honour who hath compassion of my love; wherefore you shall, what while it is your pleasure to abide here, be no otherwise entreated than as you were my sister; and whenas it shall be agreeable to you, you are free to depart, so but you will render your husband, on my part, those thanks which you shall deem befitting unto courtesy such as his hath been and have me ever, in time to come, for brother and for servant.'\n\nThe lady, hearing these words, was the joyfullest woman in the world and answered, saying, 'Nothing, having regard to your fashions, could ever make me believe that aught should ensue to me of my coming other than this that I see you do in the matter; whereof I shall still be beholden to you.' Then, taking leave, she returned, under honourable escort, to Messer Gilberto and told him that which had passed, of which there came about a very strait and loyal friendship between him and Messer Ansaldo. Moreover, the nigromancer, to whom the gentleman was for giving the promised guerdon, seeing Gilberto's generosity towards his wife's lover and that of the latter towards the lady, said, 'God forbid, since I have seen Gilberto liberal of his honour and you of your love, that I should not on like wise be liberal of my hire; wherefore, knowing it will stand you in good stead, I intend that it shall be yours.' At this the gentleman was ashamed and studied to make him take or all or part; but, seeing that he wearied himself in vain and it pleasing the nigromancer (who had, after three days, done away his garden) to depart, he commended him to God and having extinguished from his heart his lustful love for the lady, he abode fired with honourable affection for her. How say you now, lovesome ladies? Shall we prefer Gentile's resignation of the in a manner dead lady and of his love already cooled for hope forspent, before the generosity of Messer Ansaldo, whose love was more ardent than ever and who was in a manner fired with new hope, holding in his hands the prey so long pursued? Meseemeth it were folly to pretend that this generosity can be evened with that.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "KING CHARLES THE OLD, THE VICTORIOUS, FALLETH ENAMOURED OF A YOUNG GIRL, BUT AFTER, ASHAMED OF HIS FOND THOUGHT, HONOURABLY MARRIETH BOTH HER AND HER SISTER",
                "text": "It were over longsome fully to recount the various discourse that had place among the ladies of who used the greatest generosity, Gilberto or Messer Ansaldo or the nigromancer, in Madam Dianora's affairs; but, after the king had suffered them debate awhile, he looked at Fiammetta and bade her, telling a story, put an end to their contention; whereupon she, without hesitation, began as follows: \"Illustrious ladies, I was ever of opinion that, in companies such as ours, it should still be discoursed so much at large that the overstraitness of intent of the things said be not unto any matter for debate, the which is far more sortable among students in the schools than among us women, who scarce suffice unto the distaff and the spindle. Wherefore, seeing that you are presently at cross\u2013purposes by reason of the things already said, I, who had in mind a thing maybe somewhat doubtful of meaning, will leave that be and tell you a story, treating nowise of a man of little account, but of a valiant king, who therein wrought knightly, in nothing attainting his honour.\"\n\nEach one of you must many a time have heard tell of King Charles the Old or First, by whose magnanimous emprise, and after by the glorious victory gained by him over King Manfred, the Ghibellines were expelled from Florence and the Guelphs returned thither. In consequence of this a certain gentleman, called Messer Neri degli Uberti, departing the city with all his household and much monies and being minded to take refuge no otherwhere than under the hand of King Charles, betook himself to Castellamare di Stabia. There, belike a crossbowshot removed from the other habitations of the place, among olive\u2013trees and walnuts and chestnuts, wherewith the country aboundeth, he bought him an estate and built thereon a goodly and commodious dwelling\u2013house, with a delightsome garden thereby, amiddleward which, having great plenty of running water, he made, after our country fashion, a goodly and clear fishpond and lightly filled it with good store of fish. Whilst he concerned himself to make his garden goodlier every day, it befell that King Charles repaired to Castellamare, to rest himself awhile in the hot season, and there hearing tell of the beauty of Messer Neri's garden, he desired to behold it. Hearing, moreover, to whom it belonged, he bethought himself that, as the gentleman was of the party adverse to his own, it behoved to deal the more familiarly with him, and accordingly sent to him to say that he purposed to sup with him privily in his garden that evening, he and four companions. This was very agreeable to Messer Neri, and having made magnificent preparation and taken order with his household of that which was to do, he received the king in his fair garden as gladliest he might and knew. The latter, after having viewed and commended all the garden and Messer Neri's house and washed, seated himself at one of the tables, which were set beside the fishpond, and seating Count Guy de Montfort, who was of his company, on one side of him and Messer Neri on the other, commanded other three, who were come thither with them, to serve according to the order appointed of his host. Thereupon there came dainty meats and there were wines of the best and costliest and the ordinance was exceeding goodly and praiseworthy, without noise or annoy whatsoever, the which the king much commended.\n\nPresently, as he sat blithely at meat, enjoying the solitary place, there entered the garden two young damsels of maybe fifteen years of age, with hair like threads of gold, all ringleted and hanging loose, whereon was a light chaplet of pervinck\u2013blossoms. Their faces bespoke them rather angels than otherwhat, so delicately fair they were, and they were clad each upon her skin in a garment of the finest linen and white as snow, the which from the waist upward was very strait and thence hung down in ample folds, pavilionwise, to the feet. She who came first bore on her left shoulder a pair of hand\u2013nets and in her right hand a long pole, and the other had on her left shoulder a frying\u2013pan and under the same arm a faggot of wood, whilst in her left hand she held a trivet and in the other a flask of oil and a lighted flambeau. The king, seeing them, marvelled and in suspense awaited what this should mean. The damsels came forward modestly and blushingly did obeisance to him, then, betaking themselves whereas one went down into the fishpond, she who bore the frying\u2013pan set it down and the other things by it and taking the pole that the other carried, they both entered the water, which came up to their breasts. Meanwhile, one of Messer Neri's servants deftly kindled fire under the trivet and setting the pan thereon, poured therein oil and waited for the damsels to throw him fish. The latter, the one groping with the pole in those parts whereas she knew the fish lay hid and the other standing ready with the net, in a short space of time took fish galore, to the exceeding pleasure of the king, who eyed them attently; then, throwing some thereof to the servant, who put them in the pan, well nigh alive, they proceeded, as they had been lessoned, to take of the finest and cast them on the table before the king and his table\u2013fellows. The fish wriggled about the table, to the marvellous diversion of the king, who took of them in his turn and sportively cast them back to the damsels; and on this wise they frolicked awhile, till such time as the servant had cooked the fish which had been given him and which, Messer Neri having so ordered it, were now set before the king, more as a relish than as any very rare and delectable dish.\n\nThe damsels, seeing the fish cooked and having taken enough, came forth of the water, their thin white garments all clinging to their skins and hiding well nigh nought of their delicate bodies, and passing shamefastly before the king, returned to the house. The latter and the count and the others who served had well considered the damsels and each inwardly greatly commended them for fair and well shapen, no less than for agreeable and well mannered. But above all they pleased the king, who had so intently eyed every part of their bodies, as they came forth of the water, that, had any then pricked him, he would not have felt it, and as he called them more particularly to mind, unknowing who they were, he felt a very fervent desire awaken in his heart to please them, whereby he right well perceived himself to be in danger of becoming enamoured, an he took no heed to himself thereagainst; nor knew he indeed whether of the twain it was the more pleased him, so like in all things was the one to the other. After he had abidden awhile in this thought, he turned to Messer Neri and asked him who were the two damsels, to which the gentleman answered, 'My lord, these are my daughters born at a birth, whereof the one is called Ginevra the Fair and the other Isotta the Blonde.' The king commended them greatly and exhorted him to marry them, whereof Messer Neri excused himself, for that he was no more able thereunto. Meanwhile, nothing now remaining to be served of the supper but the fruits, there came the two damsels in very goodly gowns of sendal, with two great silver platters in their hands, full of various fruits, such as the season afforded, and these they set on the table before the king; which done, they withdrew a little apart and fell to singing a canzonet, whereof the words began thus:\n\n\u2003Whereas I'm come, O Love,\n\n\u2003It might not be, indeed, at length recounted, etc.\n\nThis song they carolled on such dulcet wise and so delightsomely that to the king, who beheld and hearkened to them with ravishment, it seemed as if all the hierarchies of the angels were lighted there to sing. The song sung, they fell on their knees and respectfully craved of him leave to depart, who, albeit their departure was grievous to him, yet with a show of blitheness accorded it to them. The supper being now at an end, the king remounted to horse with his company and leaving Messer Neri, returned to the royal lodging, devising of one thing and another. There, holding his passion hidden, but availing not, for whatsoever great affair might supervene, to forget the beauty and grace of Ginevra the Fair, (for love of whom he loved her sister also, who was like unto her,) he became so fast entangled in the amorous snares that he could think of well nigh nought else and feigning other occasions, kept a strait intimacy with Messer Neri and very often visited his fair garden, to see Ginevra.\n\nAt last, unable to endure longer and bethinking himself, in default of other means of compassing his desire, to take not one alone, but both of the damsels from their father, he discovered both his passion and his intent to Count Guy, who, for that he was an honourable man, said to him, 'My lord, I marvel greatly at that which you tell me, and that more than would another, inasmuch as meseemeth I have from your childhood to this day known your fashions better than any other; wherefore, meseeming never to have known such a passion in your youth, wherein Love might lightlier have fixed his talons, and seeing you presently hard upon old age, it is so new and so strange to me that you should love by way of enamourment that it seemeth to me well nigh a miracle, and were it my office to reprove you thereof, I know well that which I should say to you thereanent, having in regard that you are yet with your harness on your back in a kingdom newly gained, amidst a people unknown and full of wiles and treasons, and are all occupied with very grave cares and matters of high moment, nor have you yet availed to seat yourself in security; and yet, among such and so many affairs, you have made place for the allurements of love. This is not the fashion of a magnanimous king; nay, but rather that of a pusillanimous boy. Moreover, what is far worse, you say that you are resolved to take his two daughters from a gentleman who hath entertained you in his house beyond his means and who, to do you the more honour, hath shown you these twain in a manner naked, thereby attesting how great is the faith he hath in you and that he firmly believeth you to be a king and not a ravening wolf. Again, hath it so soon dropped your memory that it was the violences done of Manfred to women that opened you the entry into this kingdom? What treason was ever wroughten more deserving of eternal punishment than this would be, that you should take from him who hospitably entreateth you his honour and hope and comfort? What would be said of you, an you should do it? You think, maybe, it were a sufficient excuse to say, \"I did it for that he is a Ghibelline.\" Is this of the justice of kings, that they who resort on such wise to their arms should be entreated after such a fashion, be they who they may? Let me tell you, king, that it was an exceedingly great glory to you to have overcome Manfred, but a far greater one it is to overcome one's self; wherefore do you, who have to correct others, conquer yourself and curb this appetite, nor offer with such a blot to mar that which you have so gloriously gained.'\n\nThese words stung the king's conscience to the quick and afflicted him the more inasmuch as he knew them for true; wherefore, after sundry heavy sighs, he said, 'Certes, Count, I hold every other enemy, however strong, weak and eath enough to the well\u2013lessoned warrior to overcome in comparison with his own appetites; natheless, great as is the travail and inexpressible as is the might it requireth, your words have so stirred me that needs must I, ere many days be past, cause you see by deed that, like as I know how to conquer others, even so do I know how to overcome myself.' Nor had many days passed after this discourse when the king, having returned to Naples, determined, as well to deprive himself of occasion to do dishonourably as to requite the gentleman the hospitality received from him, to go about (grievous as it was to him to make others possessors of that which he coveted over all for himself) to marry the two young ladies, and that not as Messer Neri's daughters, but as his own. Accordingly, with Messer Neri's accord, he dowered them magnificently and gave Ginevra the Fair to Messer Maffeo da Palizzi and Isotta the Blonde to Messer Guglielmo della Magna, both noble cavaliers and great barons, to whom with inexpressible chagrin consigning them, he betook himself into Apulia, where with continual fatigues he so mortified the fierceness of his appetite that, having burst and broken the chains of love, he abode free of such passion for the rest of his life. There are some belike who will say that it was a little thing for a king to have married two young ladies, and that I will allow; but a great and a very great thing I call it, if we consider that it was a king enamoured who did this and who married to another her whom he loved, without having gotten or taking of his love leaf or flower or fruit. On this wise, then, did this magnanimous king, at once magnificently guerdoning the noble gentleman, laudably honouring the young ladies whom he loved and bravely overcoming himself.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "KING PEDRO OF ARRAGON, COMING TO KNOW THE FERVENT LOVE BORNE HIM BY LISA, COMFORTETH THE LOVE\u2013SICK MAID AND PRESENTLY MARRIETH HER TO A NOBLE YOUNG GENTLEMAN; THEN, KISSING HER ON THE BROW, HE EVER AFTER AVOUCHETH HIMSELF HER KNIGHT",
                "text": "Fiammetta having made an end of her story and the manful magnanimity of King Charles having been much commended, albeit there was one lady there who, being a Ghibelline, was loath to praise him, Pampinea, by the king's commandment, began thus, \"There is no one of understanding, worshipful ladies, but would say that which you say of good King Charles, except she bear him ill\u2013will for otherwhat; but, for that there occurreth to my memory a thing, belike no less commendable than this, done of one his adversary to one of our Florentine damsels, it pleaseth me to relate it to you.\"\n\nAt the time of the expulsion of the French from Sicily, one of our Florentines was an apothecary at Palermo, a very rich man called Bernardo Puccini, who had by his wife an only daughter, a very fair damsel and already apt for marriage. Now King Pedro of Arragon, become lord of the island, held high festival with his barons at Palermo, wherein he tilting after the Catalan fashion, it chanced that Bernardo's daughter, whose name was Lisa, saw him running at the ring from a window where she was with other ladies, and he so marvellously pleased her that, looking upon him once and again, she fell passionately in love with him; and the festival ended and she abiding in her father's house, she could think of nothing but of this her illustrious and exalted love. And what most irked her in this was the consciousness of her own mean condition, which scarce suffered her to cherish any hope of a happy issue; natheless, she could not therefor bring herself to leave loving the king, albeit, for fear of greater annoy, she dared not discover her passion. The king had not perceived this thing and recked not of her, wherefor she suffered intolerable chagrin, past all that can be imagined. Thus it befell that, love still waxing in her and melancholy redoubling upon melancholy, the fair maid, unable to endure more, fell sick and wasted visibly away from day to day, like snow in the sun. Her father and mother, sore concerned for this that befell her, studied with assiduous tenderness to hearten her and succoured her in as much as might be with physicians and medicines, but it availed nothing, for that, despairing of her love, she had elected to live no longer.\n\nIt chanced one day that, her father offering to do her every pleasure, she bethought herself, and she might aptly, to seek, before she died, to make the king acquainted with her love and her intent, and accordingly she prayed him bring her Minuccio d'Arezzo. Now this Minuccio was in those days held a very quaint and subtle singer and player and was gladly seen of the king; and Bernardo concluded that Lisa had a mind to hear him sing and play awhile. Accordingly, he sent to tell him, and Minuccio, who was a man of a debonair humour, incontinent came to her and having somedele comforted her with kindly speech, softly played her a fit or two on a viol he had with him and after sang her sundry songs, the which were fire and flame unto the damsel's passion, whereas he thought to solace her. Presently she told him that she would fain speak some words with him alone, wherefore, all else having withdrawn, she said to him, 'Minuccio, I have chosen thee to keep me very faithfully a secret of mine, hoping in the first place that thou wilt never discover it to any one, save to him of whom I shall tell thee, and after that thou wilt help me in that which lieth in thy power; and of this I pray thee Thou must know, then, Minuccio mine, that the day our lord King Pedro held the great festival in honour of his exaltation to the throne, it befell me, as he tilted, to espy him at so dour a point that for the love of him there was kindled in my heart a fire that hath brought me to this pass wherein thou seest me, and knowing how ill my love beseemeth to a king, yet availing not, let alone to drive it away, but even to abate it, and it being beyond measure grievous to me to bear, I have as a lesser evil elected to die, as I shall do. True it is that I should begone hence cruelly disconsolate, an he first knew it not; wherefore, unknowing by whom I could more aptly acquaint him with this my resolution than by thyself, I desire to commit it to thee and pray thee that thou refuse not to do it, and whenas thou shalt have done it, that thou give me to know thereof, so that, dying comforted, I may be assoiled of these my pains.' And this said, she stinted, weeping.\n\nMinuccio marvelled at the greatness of the damsel's soul and at her cruel resolve and was sore concerned for her; then, it suddenly occurring to his mind how he might honourably oblige her, he said to her, 'Lisa, I pledge thee my faith, whereof thou mayst live assured that thou wilt never find thyself deceived, and after, commending thee of so high an emprise as it is to have set thy mind upon so great a king, I proffer thee mine aid, by means whereof I hope, an thou wilt but take comfort, so to do that, ere three days be past, I doubt not to bring thee news that will be exceeding grateful to thee; and to lose no time, I mean to go about it forthright.' Lisa, having anew besought him amain thereof and promised him to take comfort, bade him God speed; whereupon Minuccio, taking his leave, betook himself to one Mico da Siena, a mighty good rhymer of those days, and constrained him with prayers to make the following canzonet:\n\n\u2002Bestir thee, Love, and get thee to my Sire\n\n\u2002And tell him all the torments I aby;\n\n\u2002Tell him I'm like to die,\n\n\u2002For fearfulness concealing my desire.\n\n\u2002Love, with clasped hands I cry thee mercy, so\n\n\u2002Thou mayst betake thee where my lord doth dwell.\n\n\u2002Say that I love and long for him, for lo,\n\n\u2002My heart he hath inflamed so sadly well;\n\n\u2002Yea, for the fire wherewith I'm all aglow,\n\n\u2002I fear to die nor yet the hour can tell\n\n\u2002When I shall part from pain so fierce and fell\n\n\u2002As that which, longing, for his sake I dree\n\n\u2002In shame and fear; ah me,\n\n\u2002For God's sake, cause him know my torment dire.\n\n\u2002Since first enamoured, Love, of him I grew,\n\n\u2002Thou hast not given me the heart to dare\n\n\u2002So much as one poor once my lord unto\n\n\u2002My love and longing plainly to declare,\n\n\u2002My lord who maketh me so sore to rue;\n\n\u2002Death, dying thus, were hard to me to bear.\n\n\u2002Belike, indeed, for he is debonair,\n\n\u2002'Twould not displease him, did he know what pain\n\n\u2002I feel and didst thou deign\n\n\u2002Me daring to make known to him my fire.\n\n\u2002Yet, since 'twas not thy pleasure to impart,\n\n\u2002Love, such assurance to me that by glance\n\n\u2002Or sign or writ I might make known my heart\n\n\u2002Unto my lord, for my deliverance\n\n\u2002I prithee, sweet my master, of thine art\n\n\u2002Get thee to him and give him souvenance\n\n\u2002Of that fair day I saw him shield and lance\n\n\u2002Bear with the other knights and looking more,\n\n\u2002Enamoured fell so sore\n\n\u2002My heart thereof doth perish and expire.\n\nThese words Minuccio forthwith set to a soft and plaintive air, such as the matter thereof required, and on the third day he betook himself to court, where, King Pedro being yet at meat, he was bidden by him sing somewhat to his viol. Thereupon he fell to singing the song aforesaid on such dulcet wise that all who were in the royal hall appeared men astonied, so still and attent stood they all to hearken, and the king maybe more than the others. Minuccio having made an end of his singing, the king enquired whence came this song that himseemed he had never before heard. 'My lord,' replied the minstrel, 'it is not yet three days since the words were made and the air.' The king asked for whom it had been made; and Minuccio answered, 'I dare not discover it save to you alone.' The king, desirous to hear it, as soon as the tables were removed, sent for Minuccio into his chamber and the latter orderly recounted to him all that he had heard from Lisa; wherewith Don Pedro was exceeding well pleased and much commended the damsel, avouching himself resolved to have compassion of so worthful a young lady and bidding him therefore go comfort her on his part and tell her that he would without fail come to visit her that day towards vespers. Minuccio, overjoyed to be the bearer of such pleasing news, betook himself incontinent, viol and all, to the damsel and bespeaking her in private, recounted to her all that had passed and after sang her the song to his viol; whereat she was so rejoiced and so content that she straightway showed manifest signs of great amendment and longingly awaited the hour of vespers, whenas her lord should come, without any of the household knowing or guessing how the case stood.\n\nMeanwhile, the king, who was a debonair and generous prince, having sundry times taken thought to the things heard from Minuccio and very well knowing the damsel and her beauty, waxed yet more pitiful over her and mounting to horse towards vespers, under colour of going abroad for his diversion, betook himself to the apothecary's house, where, having required a very goodly garden which he had to be opened to him, he alighted therein and presently asked Bernardo what was come of his daughter and if he had yet married her. 'My lord,' replied the apothecary, 'she is not married; nay, she hath been and is yet very sick; albeit it is true that since none she hath mended marvellously.' The king readily apprehended what this amendment meant and said, 'In good sooth, 'twere pity so fair a creature should be yet taken from the world. We would fain go visit her.' Accordingly, a little after, he betook himself with Bernardo and two companions only to her chamber and going up to the bed where the damsel, somedele upraised, awaited him with impatience, took her by the hand and said to her, 'What meaneth this, my mistress? You are young and should comfort other women; yet you suffer yourself to be sick. We would beseech you be pleased, for the love of us, to hearten yourself on such wise that you may speedily be whole again.' The damsel, feeling herself touched of his hands whom she loved over all else, albeit she was somewhat shamefast, felt yet such gladness in her heart as she were in Paradise and answered him, as best she might, saying, 'My lord, my having willed to subject my little strength unto very grievous burdens hath been the cause to me of this mine infirmity, whereof, thanks to your goodness, you shall soon see me quit.' The king alone understood the damsel's covert speech and held her momently of more account; nay, sundry whiles he inwardly cursed fortune, who had made her daughter unto such a man; then, after he had tarried with her awhile and comforted her yet more, he took his leave.\n\nThis humanity of the king was greatly commended and attributed for great honour to the apothecary and his daughter, which latter abode as well pleased as ever was woman of her lover, and sustained of better hope, in a few days recovered and became fairer than ever. When she was whole again, the king, having taken counsel with the queen of what return he should make her for so much love, mounting one day to horse with many of his barons, repaired to the apothecary's house and entering the garden, let call Master Bernardo and his daughter; then, the queen presently coming thither with many ladies and having received Lisa among them, they fell to making wonder\u2013merry. After a while, the king and queen called Lisa to them and the former said to her, 'Noble damsel, the much love you have borne us hath gotten you a great honour from us, wherewith we would have you for the love of us be content; to wit, that, since you are apt for marriage, we would have you take him to husband whom we shall bestow on you, purposing, notwithstanding this, to call ourselves still your knight, without desiring aught from you of so much love but one sole kiss.' The damsel, grown all vermeil in the face for shamefastness, making the king's pleasure hers, replied in a low voice on this wise, 'My lord, I am well assured that, were it known that I had fallen enamoured of you, most folk would account me mad therefor, thinking belike that I had forgotten myself and knew not mine own condition nor yet yours; but God, who alone seeth the hearts of mortals, knoweth that, in that same hour whenas first you pleased me, I knew you for a king and myself for the daughter of Bernardo the apothecary and that it ill beseemed me to address the ardour of my soul unto so high a place. But, as you know far better than I, none here below falleth in love according to fitness of election, but according to appetite and inclination, against which law I once and again strove with all my might, till, availing no farther, I loved and love and shall ever love you. But, since first I felt myself taken with love of you, I determined still to make your will mine; wherefore, not only will I gladly obey you in this matter of taking a husband at your hands and holding him dear whom it shall please you to bestow on me, since that will be mine honour and estate, but, should you bid me abide in the fire, it were a delight to me, an I thought thereby to pleasure you. To have you, a king, to knight, you know how far it befitteth me, wherefore to that I make no farther answer; nor shall the kiss be vouchsafed you, which alone of my love you would have, without leave of my lady the queen. Natheless, of such graciousness as hath been yours towards me and that of our lady the queen here God render you for me both thanks and recompense, for I have not the wherewithal.' And with that she was silent.\n\nHer answer much pleased the queen and she seemed to her as discreet as the king had reported her. Don Pedro then let call the girl's father and mother and finding that they were well pleased with that which he purposed to do, summoned a young man, by name Perdicone, who was of gentle birth, but poor, and giving certain rings into his hand, married him, nothing loath, to Lisa; which done, he then and there, over and above many and precious jewels bestowed by the queen and himself upon the damsel, gave him Ceffalu and Calatabellotta, two very rich and goodly fiefs, and said to him, 'These we give thee to the lady's dowry. That which we purpose to do for thyself, thou shalt see in time to come.' This said, he turned to the damsel and saying, 'Now will we take that fruit which we are to have of your love,' took her head in his hands and kissed her on the brow. Perdicone and Lisa's father and mother, well pleased, (as indeed was she herself,) held high festival and joyous nuptials; and according as many avouch, the king very faithfully kept his covenant with the damsel, for that, whilst she lived, he still styled himself her knight nor ever went about any deed of arms but he wore none other favour than that which was sent him of her. It is by doing, then, on this wise that subjects' hearts are gained, that others are incited to do well and that eternal renown is acquired; but this is a mark at which few or none nowadays bend the bow of their understanding, most princes being presently grown cruel and tyrannical.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SOPHRONIA, THINKING TO MARRY GISIPPUS, BECOMETH THE WIFE OF TITUS QUINTIUS FULVUS AND WITH HIM BETAKETH HERSELF TO ROME, WHITHER GISIPPUS COMETH IN POOR CASE AND CONCEIVING HIMSELF SLIGHTED OF TITUS, DECLARETH, SO HE MAY DIE, TO HAVE SLAIN A MAN. TITUS, RECOGNIZING HIM, TO SAVE HIM, AVOUCHETH HIMSELF TO HAVE DONE THE DEED, AND THE TRUE MURDERER, SEEING THIS, DISCOVERETH HIMSELF; WHEREUPON THEY ARE ALL THREE LIBERATED BY OCTAVIANUS AND TITUS, GIVING GISIPPUS HIS SISTER TO WIFE, HATH ALL HIS GOOD IN COMMON WITH HIM",
                "text": "Pampinea having left speaking and all having commended King Pedro, the Ghibelline lady more than the rest, Fiammetta, by the king's commandment, began thus, \"Illustrious ladies, who is there knoweth not that kings, when they will, can do everything great and that it is, to boot, especially required of them that they be magnificent? Whoso, then, having the power, doth that which pertaineth unto him, doth well; but folk should not so much marvel thereat nor exalt him to such a height with supreme praise as it would behove them do with another, of whom, for lack of means, less were required. Wherefore, if you with such words extol the actions of kings and they seem to you fair, I doubt not anywise but those of our peers, whenas they are like unto or greater than those of kings, will please you yet more and be yet highlier commended of you, and I purpose accordingly to recount to you, in a story, the praiseworthy and magnanimous dealings of two citizens and friends with each other.\"\n\nYou must know, then, that at the time when Octavianus C\u00e6sar (not yet styled Augustus) ruled the Roman empire in the office called Triumvirate, there was in Rome a gentleman called Publius Quintius Fulvus, who, having a son of marvellous understanding, by name Titus Quintius Fulvus, sent him to Athens to study philosophy and commended him as most he might to a nobleman there called Chremes, his very old friend, by whom Titus was lodged in his own house, in company of a son of his called Gisippus, and set to study with the latter, under the governance of a philosopher named Aristippus. The two young men, coming to consort together, found each other's usances so conformable that there was born thereof a brotherhood between them and a friendship so great that it was never sundered by other accident than death, and neither of them knew weal nor peace save in so much as they were together. Entering upon their studies and being each alike endowed with the highest understanding, they ascended with equal step and marvellous commendation to the glorious altitudes of philosophy; and in this way of life they continued good three years, to the exceeding contentment of Chremes, who in a manner looked upon the one as no more his son than the other. At the end of this time it befell, even as it befalleth of all things, that Chremes, now an old man, departed this life, whereof the two young men suffered a like sorrow, as for a common father, nor could his friends and kinsfolk discern which of the twain was the more in need of consolation for that which had betided them.\n\nIt came to pass, after some months, that the friends and kinsfolk of Gisippus resorted to him and together with Titus exhorted him to take a wife, to which he consenting, they found him a young Athenian lady of marvellous beauty and very noble parentage, whose name was Sophronia and who was maybe fifteen years old. The term of the future nuptials drawing nigh, Gisippus one day besought Titus to go visit her with him, for that he had not yet seen her. Accordingly, they being come into her house and she seated between the twain, Titus proceeded to consider her with the utmost attention, as if to judge of the beauty of his friend's bride, and every part of her pleasing him beyond measure, what while he inwardly commended her charms to the utmost, he fell, without showing any sign thereof, as passionately enamoured of her as ever yet man of woman. After they had been with her awhile, they took their leave and returned home, where Titus, betaking himself alone into his chamber, fell a\u2013thinking of the charming damsel and grew the more enkindled the more he enlarged upon her in thought; which, perceiving, he fell to saying in himself, after many ardent sighs, 'Alack, the wretchedness of thy life, Titus! Where and on what settest thou thy mind and thy love and thy hope? Knowest thou not that it behoveth thee, as well for the kindness received from Chremes and his family as for the entire friendship that is between thee and Gisippus, whose bride she is, to have yonder damsel in such respect as a sister? Whom, then, lovest thou? Whither lettest thou thyself be carried away by delusive love, whither by fallacious hope? Open the eyes of thine understanding and recollect thyself, wretch that thou art; give place to reason, curb thy carnal appetite, temper thine unhallowed desires and direct thy thoughts unto otherwhat; gainstand thy lust in this its beginning and conquer thyself, whilst it is yet time. This thou wouldst have is unseemly, nay, it is dishonourable; this thou art minded to ensue it behoveth thee, even wert thou assured (which thou art not) of obtaining it, to flee from, an thou have regard unto that which true friendship requireth and that which thou oughtest. What, then, wilt thou do, Titus? Thou wilt leave this unseemly love, an thou wouldst do that which behoveth.'\n\nThen, remembering him of Sophronia and going over to the contrary, he denounced all that he had said, saying, 'The laws of love are of greater puissance than any others; they annul even the Divine laws, let alone those of friendship; how often aforetime hath father loved daughter, brother sister, stepmother stepson, things more monstrous than for one friend to love the other's wife, the which hath already a thousand times befallen! Moreover, I am young and youth is altogether subject to the laws of Love; wherefor that which pleaseth Him, needs must it please me. Things honourable pertain unto maturer folk; I can will nought save that which Love willeth. The beauty of yonder damsel deserveth to be loved of all, and if I love her, who am young, who can justly blame me therefor? I love her not because she is Gisippus's; nay, I love her for that I should love her, whosesoever she was. In this fortune sinneth that hath allotted her to Gisippus my friend, rather than to another; and if she must be loved, (as she must, and deservedly, for her beauty,) Gisippus, an he came to know it, should be better pleased that I should love her, I, than another.' Then, from that reasoning he reverted again to the contrary, making mock of himself, and wasted not only that day and the ensuing night in passing from this to that and back again, but many others, insomuch that, losing appetite and sleep therefor, he was constrained for weakness to take to his bed.\n\nGisippus, having beheld him several days full of melancholy thought and seeing him presently sick, was sore concerned and with every art and all solicitude studied to comfort him, never leaving him and questioning him often and instantly of the cause of his melancholy and his sickness. Titus, after having once and again given him idle tales, which Gisippus knew to be such, by way of answer, finding himself e'en constrained thereunto, with tears and sighs replied to him on this wise, 'Gisippus, had it pleased the Gods, death were far more a\u2013gree to me than to live longer, considering that fortune hath brought me to a pass whereas it behoved me make proof of my virtue and that I have, to my exceeding shame, found this latter overcome; but certes I look thereof to have ere long the reward that befitteth me, to wit, death, and this will be more pleasing to me than to live in remembrance of my baseness, which latter, for that I cannot nor should hide aught from thee, I will, not without sore blushing, discover to thee.' Then, beginning from the beginning, he discovered to him the cause of his melancholy and the conflict of his thoughts and ultimately gave him to know which had gotten the victory and confessed himself perishing for love of Sophronia, declaring that, knowing how much this misbeseemed him, he had for penance thereof resolved himself to die, whereof he trusted speedily to make an end.\n\nGisippus, hearing this and seeing his tears, abode awhile irresolute, as one who, though more moderately, was himself taken with the charms of the fair damsel, but speedily bethought himself that his friend's life should be dearer to him than Sophronia. Accordingly, solicited to tears by those of his friend, he answered him, weeping, 'Titus, wert thou not in need as thou art of comfort, I should complain of thee to thyself, as of one who hath transgressed against our friendship in having so long kept thy most grievous passion hidden from me; since, albeit it appeared not to thee honourable, nevertheless dishonourable things should not, more than honourable, be hidden from a friend; for that a friend, like as he rejoiceth with his friend in honourable things, even so he studieth to do away the dishonourable from his friend's mind; but for the present I will refrain therefrom and come to that which I perceive to be of greater urgency. That thou lovest Sophronia, who is betrothed to me, I marvel not: nay, I should marvel, indeed, if it were not so, knowing her beauty and the nobility of thy mind, so much the more susceptible of passion as the thing that pleaseth hath the more excellence. And the more reason thou hast to love Sophronia, so much the more unjustly dost thou complain of fortune (albeit thou expressest this not in so many words) in that it hath awarded her to me, it seeming to thee that thy love for her had been honourable, were she other than mine; but tell me, if thou be as well advised as thou usest to be, to whom could fortune have awarded her, whereof thou shouldst have more cause to render it thanks, than of having awarded her to me? Whoso else had had her, how honourable soever thy love had been, had liefer loved her for himself than for thee, a thing which thou shouldst not fear from me, an thou hold me a friend such as I am to thee, for that I mind me not, since we have been friends, to have ever had aught that was not as much thine as mine. Now, were the matter so far advanced that it might not be otherwise, I would do with her as I have done with my other possessions; but it is yet at such a point that I can make her thine alone; and I will do so, for that I know not why my friendship should be dear to thee, if, in respect of a thing that may honourably be done, I knew not of a desire of mine to make thine. True it is that Sophronia is my promised bride and that I loved her much and looked with great joyance for my nuptials with her; but, since thou, being far more understanding than I, with more ardour desirest so dear a thing as she is, live assured that she shall enter my chamber, not as my wife, but as thine. Wherefore leave thought\u2013taking, put away melancholy, call back thy lost health and comfort and allegresse and from this time forth expect with blitheness the reward of thy love, far worthier than was mine.'\n\nWhen Titus heard Gisippus speak thus, the more the flattering hopes given him of the latter afforded him pleasure, so much the more did just reason inform him with shame, showing him that, the greater was Gisippus his liberality, the more unworthy it appeared of himself to use it; wherefore, without giving over weeping, he with difficulty replied to him thus, 'Gisippus, thy generous and true friendship very plainly showeth me that which it pertaineth unto mine to do. God forfend that her, whom He hath bestowed upon thee as upon the worthier, I should receive from thee for mine! Had He judged it fitting that she should be mine, nor thou nor others can believe that He would ever have bestowed her on thee. Use, therefore, joyfully, thine election and discreet counsel and His gifts, and leave me to languish in the tears, which, as to one undeserving of such a treasure, He hath prepared unto me and which I will either overcome, and that will be dear to thee, or they will overcome me and I shall be out of pain.' 'Titus,' rejoined Gisippus, 'an our friendship might accord me such license that I should enforce thee to ensue a desire of mine and if it may avail to induce thee to do so, it is in this case that I mean to use it to the utmost, and if thou yield not to my prayers with a good grace, I will, with such violence as it behoveth us use for the weal of our friends, procure that Sophronia shall be thine. I know how great is the might of love and that, not once, but many a time, it hath brought lovers to a miserable death; nay, unto this I see thee so near that thou canst neither turn back nor avail to master thy tears, but, proceeding thus, wouldst pine and die; whereupon I, without any doubt, should speedily follow after. If, then, I loved thee not for otherwhat, thy life is dear to me, so I myself may live. Sophronia, therefore, shall be thine, for that thou couldst not lightly find another woman who would so please thee, and as I shall easily turn my love unto another, I shall thus have contented both thyself and me. I should not, peradventure, be so free to do this, were wives as scarce and as uneath to find as friends; however, as I can very easily find me another wife, but not another friend, I had liefer (I will not say lose her, for that I shall not lose her, giving her to thee, but shall transfer her to another and a better self, but) transfer her than lose thee. Wherefore, if my prayers avail aught with thee, I beseech thee put away from thee this affliction and comforting at once thyself and me, address thee with good hope to take that joyance which thy fervent love desireth of the thing beloved.'\n\nAlthough Titus was ashamed to consent to this, namely, that Sophronia should become his wife, and on this account held out yet awhile, nevertheless, love on the one hand drawing him and Gisippus his exhortations on the other urging him, he said, 'Look you, Gisippus, I know not which I can say I do most, my pleasure or thine, in doing that whereof thou prayest me and which thou tellest me is so pleasing to thee, and since thy generosity is such that it overcometh my just shame, I will e'en do it; but of this thou mayst be assured that I do it as one who knoweth himself to receive of thee, not only the beloved lady, but with her his life. The Gods grant, an it be possible, that I may yet be able to show thee, for thine honour and thy weal, how grateful to me is that which thou, more pitiful for me than I for myself, dost for me!' These things said, 'Titus,' quoth Gisippus, 'in this matter, an we would have it take effect, meseemeth this course is to be held. As thou knowest, Sophronia, after long treaty between my kinsfolk and hers, is become my affianced bride; wherefore, should I now go about to say that I will not have her to wife, a sore scandal would ensue thereof and I should anger both her kinsfolk and mine own. Of this, indeed, I should reck nothing, an I saw that she was thereby to become thine; but I misdoubt me that, an I renounce her at this point, her kinsfolk will straightway give her to another, who belike will not be thyself, and so wilt thou have lost that which I shall not have gained. Wherefore meseemeth well, an thou be content, that I follow on with that which I have begun and bring her home as mine and hold the nuptials, and thou mayst after, as we shall know how to contrive, privily lie with her as with thy wife. Then, in due place and season, we will make manifest the fact, which, if it please them not, will still be done and they must perforce be content, being unable to go back upon it.'\n\nThe device pleased Titus; wherefore Gisippus received the lady into his house, as his, (Titus being by this recovered and in good case,) and after holding high festival, the night being come, the ladies left the new\u2013married wife in her husband's bed and went their ways. Now Titus his chamber adjoined that of Gisippus and one might go from the one room into the other; wherefore Gisippus, being in his chamber and having put out all the lights, betook himself stealthily to his friend and bade him go couch with his mistress. Titus, seeing this, was overcome with shame and would fain have repented and refused to go; but Gisippus, who with his whole heart, no less than in words, was minded to do his friend's pleasure, sent him thither, after long contention. Whenas he came into the bed, he took the damsel in his arms and asked her softly, as if in sport, if she chose to be his wife. She, thinking him to be Gisippus, answered, 'Yes'; whereupon he set a goodly and rich ring on her finger, saying, 'And I choose to be thy husband.' Then, the marriage consummated, he took long and amorous pleasance of her, without her or others anywise perceiving that other than Gisippus lay with her.\n\nThe marriage of Sophronia and Titus being at this pass, Publius his father departed this life, wherefore it was written him that he should without delay return to Rome, to look to his affairs, and he accordingly took counsel with Gisippus to betake himself thither and carry Sophronia with him; which might not nor should aptly be done without discovering to her how the case stood. Accordingly, one day, calling her into the chamber, they thoroughly discovered to her the fact and thereof Titus certified her by many particulars of that which had passed between them twain. Sophronia, after eying the one and the other somewhat despitefully, fell a\u2013weeping bitterly, complaining of Gisippus his deceit; then, rather than make any words of this in his house, she repaired to that of her father and there acquainted him and her mother with the cheat that had been put upon her and them by Gisippus, avouching herself to be the wife of Titus and not of Gisippus, as they believed. This was exceeding grievous to Sophronia's father, who made long and sore complaint thereof to her kinsfolk and those of Gisippus, and much and great was the talk and the clamour by reason thereof. Gisippus was held in despite both by his own kindred and those of Sophronia and every one declared him worthy not only of blame, but of severe chastisement; whilst he, on the contrary, avouched himself to have done an honourable thing and one for which thanks should be rendered him by Sophronia's kinsfolk, having married her to a better than himself.\n\nTitus, on his part, heard and suffered everything with no little annoy and knowing it to be the usance of the Greeks to press on with clamours and menaces, till such times as they found who should answer them, and then to become not only humble, but abject, he bethought himself that their clamour was no longer to be brooked without reply and having a Roman spirit and an Athenian wit, he adroitly contrived to assemble Gisippus his kinsfolk and those of Sophronia in a temple, wherein entering, accompanied by Gisippus alone, he thus bespoke the expectant folk: 'It is the belief of many philosophers that the actions of mortals are determined and foreordained of the immortal Gods, wherefore some will have it that all that is or shall ever be done is of necessity, albeit there be others who attribute this necessity to that only which is already done. If these opinions be considered with any diligence, it will very manifestly be seen that to blame a thing which cannot be undone is to do no otherwhat than to seek to show oneself wiser than the Gods, who, we must e'en believe, dispose of and govern us and our affairs with unfailing wisdom and without any error; wherefore you may very easily see what fond and brutish overweening it is to presume to find fault with their operations and eke how many and what chains they merit who suffer themselves be so far carried away by hardihood as to do this. Of whom, to my thinking, you are all, if that be true which I understand you have said and still say for that Sophronia is become my wife, whereas you had given her to Gisippus, never considering that it was foreordained from all eternity that she should become not his, but mine, as by the issue is known at this present. But, for that to speak of the secret foreordinance and intention of the Gods appeareth unto many a hard thing and a grievous to apprehend, I am willing to suppose that they concern not themselves with aught of our affairs and to condescend to the counsels of mankind, in speaking whereof, it will behove me to do two things, both very contrary to my usances, the one, somedele to commend myself, and the other, in some measure to blame or disparage others; but, for that I purpose, neither in the one nor in the other, to depart from the truth and that the present matter requireth it, I will e'en do it.\n\nYour complainings, dictated more by rage than by reason, upbraid, revile and condemn Gisippus with continual murmurs or rather clamours, for that, of his counsel, he hath given me to wife her whom you of yours had given him; whereas I hold that he is supremely to be commended therefor, and that for two reasons, the one, for that he hath done that which a friend should do, and the other, for that he hath in this wrought more discreetly than did you. That which the sacred laws of friendship will that one friend should do for the other, it is not my intention at this present to expound, being content to have recalled to you this much only thereof, to wit, that the bonds of friendship are far more stringent than those of blood or of kindred, seeing that the friends we have are such as we choose for ourselves and our kinsfolk such as fortune giveth us; wherefore, if Gisippus loved my life more than your goodwill, I being his friend, as I hold myself, none should marvel thereat. But to come to the second reason, whereanent it more instantly behoveth to show you that he hath been wiser than yourselves, since meseemeth you reck nothing of the foreordinance of the Gods and know yet less of the effects of friendship:\u2014I say, then, that you of your judgment, of your counsel and of your deliberation, gave Sophronia to Gisippus, a young man and a philosopher; Gisippus of his gave her to a young man and a philosopher; your counsel gave her to an Athenian and that of Gisippus to a Roman; your counsel gave her to a youth of noble birth and his to one yet nobler; yours to a rich youth, his to a very rich; yours to a youth who not only loved her not, but scarce knew her, his to one who loved her over his every happiness and more than his very life. And to show you that this I say is true and that Gisippus his action is more commendable than yours, let us consider it, part by part. That I, like Gisippus, am a young man and a philosopher, my favour and my studies may declare, without more discourse thereof. One same age is his and mine and still with equal step have we proceeded studying. True, he is an Athenian and I am a Roman. If it be disputed of the glory of our native cities, I say that I am a citizen of a free city and he of a tributary one; I am of a city mistress of the whole world and he of a city obedient unto mine; I am of a city most illustrious in arms, in empery and in letters, whereas he can only commend his own for letters. Moreover, albeit you see me here on lowly wise enough a student, I am not born of the dregs of the Roman populace; my houses and the public places of Rome are full of antique images of my ancestors and the Roman annals will be found full of many a triumph led by the Quintii up to the Roman Capitol; nor is the glory of our name fallen for age into decay, nay, it presently flourisheth more splendidly than ever. I speak not, for shamefastness, of my riches, bearing in mind that honourable poverty hath ever been the ancient and most ample patrimony of the noble citizens of Rome; but, if this be condemned of the opinion of the vulgar and treasures commended, I am abundantly provided with these latter, not as one covetous, but as beloved of fortune. I know very well that it was and should have been and should be dear unto you to have Gisippus here in Athens to kinsman; but I ought not for any reason to be less dear to you at Rome, considering that in me you would have there an excellent host and an useful and diligent and powerful patron, no less in public occasions than in matters of private need.\n\nWho then, letting be wilfulness and considering with reason, will commend your counsels above those of my Gisippus? Certes, none. Sophronia, then, is well and duly married to Titus Quintius Fulvus, a noble, rich and long\u2013descended citizen of Rome and a friend of Gisippus; wherefore whoso complaineth or maketh moan of this doth not that which he ought neither knoweth that which he doth. Some perchance will say that they complain not of Sophronia being the wife of Titus, but of the manner wherein she became his wife, to wit, in secret and by stealth, without friend or kinsman knowing aught thereof; but this is no marvel nor thing that betideth newly. I willingly leave be those who have aforetime taken husbands against their parents' will and those who have fled with their lovers and have been mistresses before they were wives and those who have discovered themselves to be married rather by pregnancy or child\u2013bearing than with the tongue, yet hath necessity commended it to their kinsfolk; nothing of which hath happened in Sophronia's case; nay, she hath orderly, discreetly and honourably been given by Gisippus to Titus. Others will say that he gave her in marriage to whom it appertained not to do so; but these be all foolish and womanish complaints and proceed from lack of advisement. This is not the first time that fortune hath made use of various means and strange instruments to bring matters to foreordained issues. What have I to care if it be a cordwainer rather than a philosopher, that hath, according to his judgment, despatched an affair of mine, and whether in secret or openly, provided the issue be good? If the cordwainer be indiscreet, all I have to do is to look well that he have no more to do with my affairs and thank him for that which is done. If Gisippus hath married Sophronia well, it is a superfluous folly to go complaining of the manner and of him. If you have no confidence in his judgment, look he have no more of your daughters to marry and thank him for this one.\n\nNevertheless I would have you to know that I sought not, either by art or by fraud, to impose any stain upon the honour and illustriousness of your blood in the person of Sophronia, and that, albeit I took her secretly to wife, I came not as a ravisher to rob her of her maidenhead nor sought, after the manner of an enemy, whilst shunning your alliance, to have her otherwise than honourably; but, being ardently enkindled by her lovesome beauty and by her worth and knowing that, had I sought her with that ordinance which you will maybe say I should have used, I should not (she being much beloved of you) have had her, for fear lest I should carry her off to Rome, I used the occult means that may now be discovered to you and caused Gisippus, in my person, consent unto that which he himself was not disposed to do. Moreover, ardently as I loved her, I sought her embraces not as a lover, but as a husband, nor, as she herself can truly testify, did I draw near to her till I had first both with the due words and with the ring espoused her, asking her if she would have me for husband, to which she answered ay. If it appear to her that she hath been deceived, it is not I who am to blame therefor, but she, who asked me not who I was. This, then, is the great misdeed, the grievous crime, the sore default committed by Gisippus as a friend and by myself as a lover, to wit, that Sophronia hath secretly become the wife of Titus Quintius, and this it is for which you defame and menace and plot against him. What more could you do, had he bestowed her upon a churl, a losel or a slave? What chains, what prison, what gibbets had sufficed thereunto?\n\nBut let that be for the present; the time is come which I looked not for yet, to wit, my father is dead and it behoveth me return to Rome; wherefore, meaning to carry Sophronia with me, I have discovered to you that which I should otherwise belike have yet kept hidden from you and with which, an you be wise, you will cheerfully put up, for that, had I wished to cheat or outrage you, I might have left her to you, scorned and dishonored; but God forfend that such a baseness should ever avail to harbour in a Roman breast! She, then, namely Sophronia, by the consent of the Gods and the operation of the laws of mankind, no less than by the admirable contrivance of my Gisippus and mine own amorous astuteness, is become mine, and this it seemeth that you, holding yourselves belike wiser than the Gods and than the rest of mankind, brutishly condemn, showing your disapproval in two ways both exceedingly noyous to myself, first by detaining Sophronia, over whom you have no right, save in so far as it pleaseth me to allow it, and secondly, by entreating Gisippus, to whom you are justly beholden, as an enemy. How foolishly you do in both which things I purpose not at this present to make farther manifest to you, but will only counsel you, as a friend, to lay by your despites and altogether leaving your resentments and the rancours that you have conceived, to restore Sophronia to me, so I may joyfully depart your kinsman and live your friend; for of this, whether that which is done please you or please you not, you may be assured that, if you offer to do otherwise, I will take Gisippus from you and if I win to Rome, I will without fail, however ill you may take it, have her again who is justly mine and ever after showing myself your enemy, will cause you know by experience that whereof the despite of Roman souls is capable.'\n\nTitus, having thus spoken, rose to his feet, with a countenance all disordered for anger, and taking Gisippus by the hand, went forth of the temple, shaking his head threateningly and showing that he recked little of as many as were there. The latter, in part reconciled by his reasonings to the alliance and desirous of his friendship and in part terrified by his last words, of one accord determined that it was better to have him for a kinsman, since Gisippus had not willed it, than to have lost the latter to kinsman and gotten the former for an enemy. Accordingly, going in quest of Titus, they told him that they were willing that Sophronia should be his and to have him for a dear kinsman and Gisippus for a dear friend; then, having mutually done each other such honours and courtesies as beseem between kinsmen and friends, they took their leaves and sent Sophronia back to him. She, like a wise woman, making a virtue of necessity, readily transferred to Titus the affection she bore Gisippus and repaired with him to Rome, where she was received with great honour.\n\nMeanwhile, Gisippus abode in Athens, held in little esteem of well nigh all, and no great while after, through certain intestine troubles, was, with all those of his house, expelled from Athens, in poverty and misery, and condemned to perpetual exile. Finding himself in this case and being grown not only poor, but beggarly, he betook himself, as least ill he might, to Rome, to essay if Titus should remember him. There, learning that the latter was alive and high in favour with all the Romans and enquiring for his dwelling\u2013place, he stationed himself before the door and there abode till such time as Titus came, to whom, by reason of the wretched plight wherein he was, he dared not say a word, but studied to cause himself be seen of him, so he might recognize him and let call him to himself; wherefore Titus passed on, without noting him, and Gisippus, conceiving that he had seen and shunned him and remembering him of that which himself had done for him aforetime, departed, despiteful and despairing. It being by this night and he fasting and penniless, he wandered on, unknowing whither and more desirous of death than of otherwhat, and presently happened upon a very desert part of the city, where seeing a great cavern, he addressed himself to abide the night there and presently, forspent with long weeping, he fell asleep on the naked earth and ill in case. To this cavern two, who had gone a\u2013thieving together that night, came towards morning, with the booty they had gotten, and falling out over the division, one, who was the stronger, slew the other and went away. Gisippus had seen and heard this and himseemed he had found a way to the death so sore desired of him, without slaying himself; wherefore he abode without stirring, till such time as the Serjeants of the watch, who had by this gotten wind of the deed, came thither and laying furious hands of him, carried him off prisoner. Gisippus, being examined, confessed that he had murdered the man nor had since availed to depart the cavern; whereupon the pr\u00e6tor, who was called Marcus Varro, commanded that he should be put to death upon the cross, as the usance then was.\n\nNow Titus was by chance come at that juncture to the pr\u00e6torium and looking the wretched condemned man in the face and hearing why he had been doomed to die, suddenly knew him for Gisippus; whereupon, marvelling at his sorry fortune and how he came to be in Rome and desiring most ardently to succour him, but seeing no other means of saving him than to accuse himself and thus excuse him, he thrust forward in haste and cried out, saying, 'Marcus Varro, call back the poor man whom thou hast condemned, for that he is innocent. I have enough offended against the Gods with one crime, in slaying him whom thine officer found this morning dead, without willing presently to wrong them with the death of another innocent.' Varro marvelled and it irked him that all the pr\u00e6torium should have heard him; but, being unable, for his own honour's sake, to forbear from doing that which the laws commanded, he caused bring back Gisippus and in the presence of Titus said to him, 'How camest thou to be so mad that, without suffering any torture, thou confessedst to that which thou didst not, it being a capital matter? Thou declaredst thyself to be he who slew the man yesternight, and now this man cometh and saith that it was not thou, but he that slew him.'\n\nGisippus looked and seeing that it was Titus, perceived full well that he did this to save him, as grateful for the service aforetime received from him; wherefore, weeping for pity, 'Varro,' quoth he, 'indeed it was I slew him and Titus his solicitude for my safety is now too late.' Titus on the other hand, said, 'Pr\u00e6tor, do as thou seest, this man is a stranger and was found without arms beside the murdered man, and thou mayst see that his wretchedness giveth him occasion to wish to die; wherefore do thou release him and punish me, who have deserved it.' Varro marvelled at the insistence of these two and beginning now to presume that neither of them might be guilty, was casting about for a means of acquitting them, when, behold, up came a youth called Publius Ambustus, a man of notorious ill life and known to all the Romans for an arrant rogue, who had actually done the murder and knowing neither of the twain to be guilty of that whereof each accused himself, such was the pity that overcame his heart for the innocence of the two friends that, moved by supreme compassion, he came before Varro and said, 'Pr\u00e6tor, my fates impel me to solve the grievous contention of these twain and I know not what God within me spurreth and importuneth me to discover to thee my sin. Know, then, that neither of these men is guilty of that whereof each accuseth himself. I am verily he who slew yonder man this morning towards daybreak and I saw this poor wretch asleep there, what while I was in act to divide the booty gotten with him whom I slew. There is no need for me to excuse Titus; his renown is everywhere manifest and every one knoweth him to be no man of such a condition. Release him, therefore, and take of me that forfeit which the laws impose on me.'\n\nBy this Octavianus had notice of the matter and causing all three be brought before him, desired to hear what cause had moved each of them to seek to be the condemned man. Accordingly, each related his own story, whereupon Octavianus released the two friends, for that they were innocent, and pardoned the other for the love of them. Thereupon Titus took his Gisippus and first reproaching him sore for lukewarmness and diffidence, rejoiced in him with marvellous great joy and carried him to his house, where Sophronia with tears of compassion received him as a brother. Then, having awhile recruited him with rest and refreshment and reclothed him and restored him to such a habit as sorted with his worth and quality, he first shared all his treasures and estates in common with him and after gave him to wife a young sister of his, called Fulvia, saying, 'Gisippus, henceforth it resteth with thee whether thou wilt abide here with me or return with everything I have given thee into Achaia.' Gisippus, constrained on the one hand by his banishment from his native land and on the other by the love which he justly bore to the cherished friendship of Titus, consented to become a Roman and accordingly took up his abode in the city, where he with his Fulvia and Titus with his Sophronia lived long and happily, still abiding in one house and waxing more friends (an more they might be) every day.\n\nA most sacred thing, then, is friendship and worthy not only of especial reverence, but to be commended with perpetual praise, as the most discreet mother of magnanimity and honour, the sister of gratitude and charity and the enemy of hatred and avarice, still, without waiting to be entreated, ready virtuously to do unto others that which it would have done to itself. Nowadays its divine effects are very rarely to be seen in any twain, by the fault and to the shame of the wretched cupidity of mankind, which, regarding only its own profit, hath relegated it to perpetual exile, beyond the extremest limits of the earth. What love, what riches, what kinship, what, except friendship, could have made Gisippus feel in his heart the ardour, the tears and the sighs of Titus with such efficacy as to cause him yield up to his friend his betrothed bride, fair and gentle and beloved of him? What laws, what menaces, what fears could have enforced the young arms of Gisippus to abstain, in solitary places and in dark, nay, in his very bed, from the embraces of the fair damsel, she mayhap bytimes inviting him, had friendship not done it? What honours, what rewards, what advancements, what, indeed, but friendship, could have made Gisippus reck not of losing his own kinsfolk and those of Sophronia nor of the unmannerly clamours of the populace nor of scoffs and insults, so that he might pleasure his friend? On the other hand, what, but friendship, could have prompted Titus, whenas he might fairly have feigned not to see, unhesitatingly to compass his own death, that he might deliver Gisippus from the cross to which he had of his own motion procured himself to be condemned? What else could have made Titus, without the least demur, so liberal in sharing his most ample patrimony with Gisippus, whom fortune had bereft of his own? What else could have made him so forward to vouchsafe his sister to his friend, albeit he saw him very poor and reduced to the extreme of misery? Let men, then, covet a multitude of comrades, troops of brethren and children galore and add, by dint of monies, to the number of their servitors, considering not that every one of these, who and whatsoever he may be, is more fearful of every least danger of his own than careful to do away the great from father or brother or master, whereas we see a friend do altogether the contrary.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SALADIN, IN THE DISGUISE OF A MERCHANT, IS HONOURABLY ENTERTAINED BY MESSER TORELLO D'ISTRIA, WHO, PRESENTLY UNDERTAKING THE THIRD CRUSADE, APPOINTETH HIS WIFE A TERM FOR HER MARRYING AGAIN. HE IS TAKEN BY THE SARACENS AND COMETH, BY HIS SKILL IN TRAINING HAWKS, UNDER THE NOTICE OF THE SOLDAN, WHO KNOWETH HIM AGAIN AND DISCOVERING HIMSELF TO HIM, ENTREATETH HIM WITH THE UTMOST HONOUR. THEN, TORELLO FALLING SICK FOR LANGUISHMENT, HE IS BY MAGICAL ART TRANSPORTED IN ONE NIGHT FROM ALEXANDRIA TO PAVIA, WHERE, BEING RECOGNIZED BY HIS WIFE AT THE BRIDE\u2013FEAST HELD FOR HER MARRYING AGAIN, HE RETURNETH WITH HER TO HIS OWN HOUSE",
                "text": "Filomena having made an end of her discourse and the magnificent gratitude of Titus having been of all alike commended, the king, reserving the last place unto Dioneo, proceeded to speak thus: \"Assuredly, lovesome ladies, Filomena speaketh sooth in that which she saith of friendship and with reason complaineth, in concluding her discourse, of its being so little in favour with mankind. If we were here for the purpose of correcting the defaults of the age or even of reprehending them, I might ensue her words with a discourse at large upon the subject; but, for that we aim at otherwhat, it hath occurred to my mind to set forth to you, in a story belike somewhat overlong, but withal altogether pleasing, one of the magnificences of Saladin, to the end that, if, by reason of our defaults, the friendship of any one may not be throughly acquired, we may, at the least, be led, by the things which you shall hear in my story, to take delight in doing service, in the hope that, whenassoever it may be, reward will ensue to us thereof.\"\n\nI must tell you, then, that, according to that which divers folk affirm, a general crusade was, in the days of the Emperor Frederick the First, undertaken by the Christians for the recovery of the Holy Land, whereof Saladin, a very noble and valiant prince, who was then Soldan of Babylon, having notice awhile beforehand, he bethought himself to seek in his own person to see the preparations of the Christian princes for the undertaking in question, so he might the better avail to provide himself. Accordingly, having ordered all his affairs in Egypt, he made a show of going a pilgrimage and set out in the disguise of a merchant, attended by two only of his chiefest and sagest officers and three serving\u2013men. After he had visited many Christian countries, it chanced that, as they rode through Lombardy, thinking to pass beyond the mountains, they encountered, about vespers, on the road from Milan to Pavia, a gentleman of the latter place, by name Messer Torello d'Istria, who was on his way, with his servants and dogs and falcons, to sojourn at a goodly country seat he had upon the Tesino, and no sooner set eyes on Saladin and his company than he knew them for gentlemen and strangers; wherefore, the Soldan enquiring of one of his servants how far they were yet distant from Pavia and if he might win thither in time to enter the city, he suffered not the man to reply, but himself answered, 'Gentlemen, you cannot reach Pavia in time to enter therein.' 'Then,' said Saladin, 'may it please you acquaint us (for that we are strangers) where we may best lodge the night.' Quoth Messer Torello, 'That will I willingly do. I had it presently in mind to dispatch one of my men here to the neighborhood of Pavia for somewhat: I will send him with you and he shall bring you to a place where you may lodge conveniently enough.' Then, turning to the discreetest of his men he privily enjoined him what he should do and sent him with them, whilst he himself, making for his country house, let order, as best he might, a goodly supper and set the tables in the garden; which done, he posted himself at the door to await his guests.\n\nMeanwhile, the servant, devising with the gentlemen of one thing and another, led them about by certain by\u2013roads and brought them, without their suspecting it, to his lord's residence, where, whenas Messer Torello saw them, he came to meet them afoot and said, smiling, 'Gentlemen, you are very welcome.' Saladin, who was very quick of apprehension, understood that the gentleman had misdoubted him they would not have accepted his invitation, had he bidden them whenas he fell in with them, and had, therefore, brought them by practice to his house, so they might not avail to refuse to pass the night with him, and accordingly, returning his greeting, he said, 'Sir, an one could complain of men of courtesy, we might complain of you, for that (letting be that you have somewhat hindered us from our road) you have, without our having merited your goodwill otherwise than by a mere salutation, constrained us to accept of such noble hospitality as is this of yours.' 'Gentlemen,' answered Messer Torello, who was a discreet and well\u2013spoken man, 'it is but a sorry hospitality that you will receive from us, regard had to that which should behove unto you, an I may judge by that which I apprehend from your carriage and that of your companions; but in truth you could nowhere out of Pavia have found any decent place of entertainment; wherefore, let it not irk you to have gone somedele beside your way, to have a little less unease.' Meanwhile, his servants came round about the travellers and helping them to dismount, eased their horses.\n\nMesser Torello then brought the three stranger gentlemen to the chambers prepared for them, where he let unboot them and refresh them somewhat with very cool wines and entertained them in agreeable discourse till such time as they might sup. Saladin and his companions and servants all knew Latin, wherefore they understood very well and were understood, and it seemed to each of them that this gentleman was the most pleasant and well\u2013mannered man they had ever seen, ay, and the best spoken. It appeared to Messer Torello, on the other hand, that they were men of magnificent fashions and much more of account than he had at first conceived, wherefore he was inwardly chagrined that he could not honour them that evening with companions and with a more considerable entertainment. But for this he bethought himself to make them amends on the morrow, and accordingly, having instructed one of his servants of that which he would have done, he despatched him to Pavia, which was very near at hand and where no gate was ever locked, to his lady, who was exceeding discreet and great\u2013hearted. Then, carrying the gentlemen into the garden, he courteously asked them who they were, to which Saladin answered, 'We are merchants from Cyprus and are bound to Paris on our occasions.' 'Would to God,' cried Messer Torello, 'that this our country produced gentlemen of such a fashion as I see Cyprus doth merchants!' In these and other discourses they abode till it was time to sup, whereupon he left it to them to honour themselves at table, and there, for an improvised supper, they were very well and orderly served; nor had they abidden long after the tables were removed, when Messer Torello, judging them to be weary, put them to sleep in very goodly beds and himself a little after in like manner betook himself to rest.\n\nMeanwhile the servant sent to Pavia did his errand to the lady, who, with no womanly, but with a royal spirit, let call in haste a great number of the friends and servants of Messer Torello and made ready all that behoved unto a magnificent banquet. Moreover, she let bid by torchlight many of the noblest of the townfolk to the banquet and bringing out cloths and silks and furs, caused throughly order that which her husband had sent to bid her do. The day come, Saladin and his companions arose, whereupon Messer Torello took horse with them and sending for his falcons, carried them to a neighbouring ford and there showed them how the latter flew; then, Saladin enquiring for some one who should bring him to Pavia and to the best inn, his host said, 'I will be your guide, for that it behoveth me go thither.' The others, believing this, were content and set out in company with him for the city, which they reached about tierce and thinking to be on their way to the best inn, were carried by Messer Torello to his own house, where a good half\u2013hundred of the most considerable citizens were already come to receive the stranger gentlemen and were straightway about their bridles and stirrups. Saladin and his companions, seeing this, understood but too well what was forward and said, 'Messer Torello, this is not what we asked of you; you have done enough for us this past night, ay, and far more than we are worth; wherefore you might now fitly suffer us fare on our way.' 'Gentlemen,' replied Messer Torello, 'for my yesternight's dealing with you I am more indebted to fortune than to you, which took you on the road at an hour when it behoved you come to my poor house; but of your this morning's visit I shall be beholden to yourselves, and with me all these gentlemen who are about you and to whom an it seem to you courteous to refuse to dine with them, you can do so, if you will.'\n\nSaladin and his companions, overcome, dismounted and being joyfully received by the assembled company, were carried to chambers which had been most sumptuously arrayed for them, where having put off their travelling gear and somewhat refreshed themselves, they repaired to the saloon, where the banquet was splendidly prepared. Water having been given to the hands, they were seated at table with the goodliest and most orderly observance and magnificently served with many viands, insomuch that, were the emperor himself come thither, it had been impossible to do him more honour, and albeit Saladin and his companions were great lords and used to see very great things, natheless, they were mightily wondered at this and it seemed to them of the greatest, having regard to the quality of the gentleman, whom they knew to be only a citizen and not a lord. Dinner ended and the tables removed, they conversed awhile of divers things; then, at Messer Torello's instance, the heat being great, the gentlemen of Pavia all betook themselves to repose, whilst he himself, abiding alone with his three guests, carried them into a chamber and (that no precious thing of his should remain unseen of them) let call thither his noble lady. Accordingly, the latter, who was very fair and tall of her person, came in to them, arrayed in rich apparel and flanked by two little sons of hers, as they were two angels, and saluted them courteously. The strangers, seeing her, rose to their feet and receiving her with worship, caused her sit among them and made much of her two fair children. Therewithal she entered into pleasant discourse with them and presently, Messer Torello having gone out awhile, she asked them courteously whence they were and whither they went; to which they made answer even as they had done to her husband; whereupon quoth she, with a blithe air, 'Then see I that my womanly advisement will be useful; wherefore I pray you, of your especial favour, refuse me not neither disdain a slight present, which I shall cause bring you, but accept it, considering that women, of their little heart, give little things and regarding more the goodwill of the giver than the value of the gift.' Then, letting fetch them each two gowns, one lined with silk and the other with miniver, no wise citizens' clothes nor merchants, but fit for great lords to wear, and three doublets of sendal and linen breeches to match, she said, 'Take these; I have clad my lord in gowns of the like fashion, and the other things, for all they are little worth, may be acceptable to you, considering that you are far from your ladies and the length of the way you have travelled and that which is yet to travel and that merchants are proper men and nice of their persons.'\n\nThe Saracens marvelled and manifestly perceived that Messer Torello was minded to leave no particular of hospitality undone them; nay, seeing the magnificence of the unmerchantlike gowns, they misdoubted them they had been recognized of him. However, one of them made answer to the lady, saying, 'Madam, these are very great matters and such as should not lightly be accepted, an your prayers, to which it is impossible to say no, constrained us not thereto.' This done and Messer Torello being now returned, the lady, commending them to God, took leave of them and let furnish their servants with like things such as sorted with their condition. Messer Torello with many prayers prevailed upon them to abide with him all that day; wherefore, after they had slept awhile, they donned their gowns and rode with him somedele about the city; then, the supper\u2013hour come, they supped magnificently with many worshipful companions and in due time betook themselves to rest. On the morrow they arose with day and found, in place of their tired hackneys, three stout and good palfreys, and on likewise fresh and strong horses for their servants, which when Saladin saw, he turned to his companions and said, 'I vow to God that never was there a more accomplished gentleman nor a more courteous and apprehensive than this one, and if the kings of the Christians are kings of such a fashion as this is a gentleman, the Soldan of Babylon can never hope to stand against a single one of them, not to speak of the many whom we see make ready to fall upon him.' Then, knowing that it were in vain to seek to refuse this new gift, they very courteously thanked him therefor and mounted to horse.\n\nMesser Torello, with many companions, brought them a great way without the city, till, grievous as it was to Saladin to part from him, (so much was he by this grown enamoured of him,) natheless, need constraining him to press on, he presently besought him to turn back; whereupon, loath as he was to leave them, 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'since it pleaseth you, I will do it; but one thing I will e'en say to you; I know not who you are nor do I ask to know more thereof than it pleaseth you to tell me; but, be you who you may, you will never make me believe that you are merchants, and so I commend you to God.' Saladin, having by this taken leave of all Messer Torello's companions, replied to him, saying, 'Sir, we may yet chance to let you see somewhat of our merchandise, whereby we may confirm your belief; meantime, God be with you.' Thereupon he departed with his followers, firmly resolved, if life should endure to him and the war he looked for undo him not, to do Messer Torello no less honour than that which he had done him, and much did he discourse with his companions of him and of his lady and all his affairs and fashions and dealings, mightily commending everything. Then, after he had, with no little fatigue, visited all the West, he took ship with his companions and returned to Alexandria, where, being now fully informed, he addressed himself to his defence. As for Messer Torello, he returned to Pavia and went long in thought who these might be, but never hit upon the truth, no, nor came near it.\n\nThe time being now come for the crusade and great preparations made everywhere, Messer Torello, notwithstanding the tears and entreaties of his wife, was altogether resolved to go thereon and having made his every provision and being about to take horse, he said to his lady, whom he loved over all, 'Wife, as thou seest, I go on this crusade, as well for the honour of my body as for the health of my soul. I commend to thee our affairs and our honour, and for that I am certain of the going, but of the returning, for a thousand chances that may betide, I have no assurance, I will have thee do me a favour, to wit, that whatever befall of me, an thou have not certain news of my life, thou shalt await me a year and a month and a day, ere thou marry again, beginning from this the day of my departure.' The lady, who wept sore, answered, 'Messer Torello, I know not how I shall endure the chagrin wherein you leave me by your departure; but, an my life prove stronger than my grief and aught befall you, you may live and die assured that I shall live and die the wife of Messer Torello and of his memory.' 'Wife,' rejoined Messer Torello, 'I am very certain that, inasmuch as in thee lieth, this that thou promisest me will come to pass; but thou art a young woman and fair and of high family and thy worth is great and everywhere known; wherefore I doubt not but many great and noble gentlemen will, should aught be misdoubted of me, demand thee of thy brethren and kinsfolk; from whose importunities, how much soever thou mightest wish, thou wilt not be able to defend thyself and it will behove thee perforce comply with their wishes; and this is why I ask of thee this term and not a greater one.' Quoth the lady, 'I will do what I may of that which I have told you, and should it nevertheless behove me to do otherwise, I will assuredly obey you in this that you enjoin me; but I pray God that He bring nor you nor me to such an extremity in these days.' This said, she embraced him, weeping, and drawing a ring from her finger, gave it to him, saying, 'And it chance that I die ere I see you again, remember me when you look upon this ring.'\n\nTorello took the ring and mounted to horse; then, bidding all his people adieu, he set out on his journey and came presently with his company to Genoa. There he embarked on board a galleon and coming in a little while to Acre, joined himself to the other army of the Christians, wherein, well nigh out of hand, there began a sore sickness and mortality. During this, whether by Saladin's skill or of his good fortune, well nigh all the remnant of the Christians who had escaped alive were taken by him, without blow stricken, and divided among many cities and imprisoned. Messer Torello was one of those taken and was carried prisoner to Alexandria, where, being unknown and fearing to make himself known, he addressed himself, of necessity constrained, to the training of hawks, of which he was a great master, and by this he came under the notice of Saladin, who took him out of prison and entertained him for his falconer. Messer Torello, who was called by the Soldan by none other name than the Christian, recognized him not nor did Saladin recognize him; nay, all his thoughts were in Pavia and he had more than once essayed to flee, but without avail; wherefore, certain Genoese coming ambassadors to Saladin, to treat for the ransom of sundry of their townsmen, and being about to depart, he bethought himself to write to his lady, giving her to know that he was alive and would return to her as quickliest he might and bidding her await him. Accordingly, he wrote letters to this effect and instantly besought one of the ambassadors, whom he knew, to cause them come to the hands of the Abbot of San Pietro in Ciel d'Oro, who was his uncle.\n\nThings being at this pass with him, it befell one day that, as Saladin was devising with him of his hawks, Messer Torello chanced to smile and made a motion with his mouth, which the former had much noted, what while he was in his house at Pavia. This brought the gentleman to his mind and looking steadfastly upon him, himseemed it was himself; wherefore, leaving the former discourse, 'Harkye, Christian, said he, 'What countryman art thou of the West?' 'My lord,' replied Torello, 'I am a Lombard of a city called Pavia, a poor man and of mean condition.' Saladin, hearing this, was in a manner certified of the truth of his suspicion and said joyfully in himself, 'God hath vouchsafed me an opportunity of showing this man how grateful his courtesy was to me.' Accordingly, without saying otherwhat, he let lay out all his apparel in a chamber and carrying him thither, said to him, 'Look, Christian, if there be any among these gowns that thou hast ever seen.' Torello looked and saw those which his lady had given Saladin; but, natheless, conceiving not that they could possibly be the same, he answered, 'My lord, I know none of them; albeit, in good sooth, these twain do favour certain gowns wherewithal I, together with three merchants who came to my house, was invested aforetime.' Thereupon Saladin, unable to contain himself farther, embraced him tenderly, saying, 'You are Messer Torello d'Istria and I am one of the three merchants to whom your lady gave these gowns; and now is the time come to certify you what manner merchandise mine is, even as I told you, at my parting from you, might chance to betide.' Messer Torello, hearing this, was at once rejoiced and ashamed; rejoiced to have had such a guest and ashamed for that himseemed he had entertained him but scurvily. Then said Saladin, 'Messer Torello, since God hath sent you hither to me, henceforth consider that not I, but you are master here.' Accordingly, after they had mightily rejoiced in each other, he clad him in royal apparel and carrying him into the presence of all his chief barons, commanded, after saying many things in praise of his worth, that he should of all who held his favour dear be honoured as himself, which was thenceforward done of all, but above all of the two gentlemen who had been Saladin's companions in his house.\n\nThe sudden height of glory to which Messer Torello thus found himself advanced put his Lombardy affairs somedele out of his mind, more by token that he had good reason to hope that his letters were by this come to his uncle's hands. Now there had died and been buried in the camp or rather in the host, of the Christians, the day they were taken by Saladin, a Proven\u00e7al gentleman of little account, by name Messer Torello de Dignes, by reason whereof, Messer Torello d'Istria being renowned throughout the army for his magnificence, whosoever heard say, 'Messer Torello is dead,' believed it of Messer Torello d'Istria, not of him of Dignes. The hazard of the capture that ensued thereupon suffered not those who had been thus misled to be undeceived; wherefore many Italians returned with this news, amongst whom were some who scrupled not to avouch that they had seen him dead and had been at the burial. This, coming to be known of his wife and kinsfolk, was the cause of grievous and inexpressible sorrow, not only to them, but to all who had known him. It were longsome to set forth what and how great was the grief and sorrow and lamentation of his lady; but, after having bemoaned herself some months in continual affliction, coming to sorrow less and being sought in marriage with the chiefest men in Lombardy, she began to be presently importuned by her brothers and other her kinsfolk to marry again. After having again and again refused with many tears, needs must she at the last consent perforce to do her kinsfolk's will, on condition that she should abide, without going to a husband, so long as she had promised Messer Torello.\n\nThe lady's affairs at Pavia being at this pass and there lacking maybe eight days of the term appointed for her going to her new husband, it chanced that Messer Torello espied one day in Alexandria one whom he had seen embark with the Genoese ambassadors on board the galley that was to carry them back to Genoa, and calling him, asked him what manner voyage they had had and when they had reached Genoa; whereto the other replied, 'Sir, the galleon (as I heard in Crete, where I remained,) made an ill voyage; for that, as she drew near unto Sicily, there arose a furious northerly wind, which drove her on to the Barbary quicksands, nor was any one saved; and amongst the rest two brothers of mine perished there.' Messer Torello, giving credit to his words, which were indeed but too true, and remembering him that the term required by him of his wife ended a few days thence, concluded that nothing could be known at Pavia of his condition and held it for certain that the lady must have married again; wherefore he fell into such a chagrin that he lost sleep and appetite and taking to his bed, determined to die. When Saladin, who loved him above all, heard of this, he came to him and having, by dint of many and urgent prayers, learned the cause of his grief and his sickness, upbraided him sore for that he had not before told it to him and after besought him to be comforted, assuring him that, if he would but take heart, he would so contrive that he should be in Pavia at the appointed term and told him how. Messer Torello, putting faith in Saladin's words and having many a time heard say that this was possible and had indeed been often enough done, began to take comfort and pressed Saladin to despatch. The Soldan accordingly charged a nigromancer of his, of whose skill he had aforetime made proof, to cast about for a means whereby Messer Torello should be in one night transported upon a bed to Pavia, to which the magician replied that it should be done, but that, for the gentleman's own weal, he must put him to sleep.\n\nThis done, Saladin returned to Messer Torello and finding him altogether resolved to seek at any hazard to be in Pavia at the term appointed, if it were possible, and in default thereof, to die, bespoke him thus; 'Messer Torello, God knoweth that I neither will nor can anywise blame you if you tenderly love your lady and are fearful of her becoming another's, for that, of all the women I ever saw, she it is whose manners, whose fashions and whose demeanour, (leaving be her beauty, which is but a short\u2013lived flower,) appear to me most worthy to be commended and held dear. It had been very grateful to me, since fortune hath sent you hither, that we should have passed together, as equal masters in the governance of this my realm, such time as you and I have to live, and if this was not to be vouchsafed me of God, it being fated that you should take it to heart to seek either to die or to find yourself in Pavia at the appointed term, I should above all have desired to know it in time, that I might have you transported to your house with such honour, such magnificence and in such company as your worth meriteth. However, since this hath not been vouchsafed and you desire to be presently there, I will e'en, as I may, despatch you thither after the fashion whereof I have bespoken you.' 'My lord,' replied Messer Torello, 'your acts, without your words, have given me sufficient proof of your favour, which I have never merited in such supreme degree, and of that which you say, though you had not said it, I shall live and die most assured; but, since I have taken this resolve, I pray you that that which you tell me you will do may be done speedily, for that to\u2013morrow is the last day I am to be looked for.'\n\nSaladin answered that this should without fail be accomplished and accordingly, on the morrow, meaning to send him away that same night, he let make, in a great hall of his palace, a very goodly and rich bed of mattresses, all, according to their usance, of velvet and cloth of gold and caused lay thereon a counterpoint curiously wrought in various figures with great pearls and jewels of great price (the which here in Italy was after esteemed an inestimable treasure) and two pillows such as sorted with a bed of that fashion. This done, he bade invest Messer Torello, who was presently well and strong again, in a gown of the Saracen fashion, the richest and goodliest thing that had ever been seen of any, and wind about his head, after their guise, one of his longest turban\u2013cloths. Then, it growing late, he betook himself with many of his barons to the chamber where Messer Torello was and seating himself, well nigh weeping, by his side, bespoke him thus; 'Messer Torello, the hour draweth near that is to sunder me from you, and since I may not bear you company nor cause you to be accompanied, by reason of the nature of the journey you have to make, which suffereth it not, needs must I take leave of you here in this chamber, to which end I am come hither. Wherefore, ere I commend you to God, I conjure you, by that love and that friendship that is between us, that you remember you of me and if it be possible, ere our times come to an end, that, whenas you have ordered your affairs in Lombardy, you come at the least once to see me, to the end that, what while I am cheered by your sight, I may then supply the default which needs must I presently commit by reason of your haste; and against that betide, let it not irk you to visit me with letters and require me of such things as shall please you; for that of a surety I will more gladly do them for you than for any man alive.'\n\nAs for Messer Torello, he could not contain his tears; wherefore, being hindered thereby, he answered, in a few words, that it was impossible his benefits and his nobility should ever escape his mind and that he would without fail do that which he enjoined him, whenas occasion should be afforded him; whereupon Saladin, having tenderly embraced him and kissed him, bade him with many tears God speed and departed the chamber. The other barons then all took leave of him and followed the Soldan into the hall where he had caused make ready the bed. Meanwhile, it waxing late and the nigromant awaiting and pressing for despatch, there came a physician to Messer Torello with a draught and making him believe that he gave it him to fortify him, caused him drink it; nor was it long ere he fell asleep and so, by Saladin's commandment, was carried into the hall and laid upon the bed aforesaid, whereon the Soldan placed a great and goodly crown of great price and inscribed it on such wise that it was after manifestly understood to be sent by him to Messer Torello's lady; after which he put on Torello's finger a ring, wherein was a carbuncle enchased, so resplendent that it seemed a lighted flambeau, the value whereof could scarce be reckoned, and girt him with a sword, whose garniture might not lightly be appraised. Moreover, he let hang a fermail on his breast, wherein were pearls whose like were never seen, together with other precious stones galore, and on his either side he caused set two great basins of gold, full of doubloons, and many strings of pearls and rings and girdles and other things, which it were tedious to recount, round about him. This done, he kissed him once more and bade the nigromant despatch, whereupon, in his presence, the bed was incontinent taken away, Messer Torello and all, and Saladin abode devising of him with his barons.\n\nMeanwhile, Messer Torello had been set down, even as he had requested, in the church of San Pietro in Ciel d'Oro at Pavia, with all the jewels and ornaments aforesaid, and yet slept when, matins having sounded, the sacristan of the church entered, with a light in his hand, and chancing suddenly to espy the rich bed, not only marvelled, but, seized with a terrible fright, turned and fled. The abbot and the monks, seeing him flee, marvelled and questioned him of the cause, which he told them; whereupon quoth the abbot, 'Marry, thou art no child nor art thou new to the church that thou shouldst thus lightly take fright; let us go see who hath played the bugbear with thee.' Accordingly, kindling several lights, the abbot and all his monks entered the church and saw that wonder\u2013rich and goodly bed and thereon the gentleman asleep; and what while, misdoubting and fearful, they gazed upon the noble jewels, without drawing anywise near to the bed, it befell that, the virtue of the draught being spent, Messer Torello awoke and heaved a great sigh, which when the monks saw and heard, they took to flight, abbot and all, affrighted and crying, 'Lord aid us!' Messer Torello opened his eyes and looking about him, plainly perceived himself to be whereas he had asked Saladin to have him carried, at which he was mightily content. Then, sitting up, he particularly examined that which he had about him, and for all he had before known of the magnificence of Saladin, it seemed to him now greater and he knew it more. Nevertheless, without moving farther, seeing the monks flee and divining why, he proceeded to call the abbot by name, praying him be not afraid, for that he was Torello his nephew. The abbot, hearing this, waxed yet more fearful, as holding him as dead many months before; but, after awhile, taking assurance by true arguments and hearing himself called, he made the sign of the cross and went up to him; whereupon quoth Messer Torello, 'How now, father mine, of what are you adread? Godamercy, I am alive and returned hither from beyond seas.'\n\nThe abbot, for all he had a great beard and was clad after the Saracen fashion, presently recognized him and altogether reassured, took him by the hand, saying, 'My son, thou art welcome back.' Then he continued, 'Thou must not marvel at our affright, for that there is not a man in these parts but firmly believeth thee to be dead, insomuch that I must tell thee that Madam Adalieta thy wife, overmastered by the prayers and threats of her kinsfolk and against her own will, is married again and is this morning to go to her new husband; ay, and the bride\u2013feast and all that pertaineth unto the nuptial festivities is prepared.' Therewithal Messer Torello arose from off the rich bed and greeting the abbot and the monks with marvellous joyance, prayed them all to speak with none of that his return, against he should have despatched an occasion of his; after which, having caused lay up the costly jewels in safety, he recounted to his uncle all that had befallen him up to that moment. The abbot rejoiced in his happy fortunes and together with him, rendered thanks to God, after which Messer Torello asked him who was his lady's new husband. The abbot told him and Torello said, 'I have a mind, ere folk know of my return, to see what manner countenance is that of my wife in these nuptials; wherefore, albeit it is not the usance of men of your habit to go to entertainments of this kind, I would have you contrive, for the love of me, that we may go thither, you and I.' The abbot replied that he would well and accordingly, as soon as it was day, he sent to the new bridegroom, saying that he would fain be at his nuptials with a friend of his, whereto the gentleman answered that it liked him passing well.\n\nAccordingly, eating\u2013time come, Messer Torello, clad as he was, repaired with his uncle to the bridegroom's house, beheld with wonderment of all who saw him, but recognized of none; and the abbot told every one that he was a Saracen sent ambassador from the Soldan to the King of France. He was, therefore, seated at a table right overagainst his lady, whom he beheld with the utmost pleasure, and himseemed she was troubled in countenance at these new nuptials. She, in her turn, looked whiles upon him, but not of any cognizance that she had of him, for that his great beard and outlandish habit and the firm assurance she had that he was dead hindered her thereof. Presently, whenas it seemed to him time to essay if she remembered her of him, he took the ring she had given him at his parting and calling a lad who served before her, said to him, 'Say to the bride, on my part, that it is the usance in my country, whenas any stranger, such as I am here, eateth at the bride\u2013feast of any new\u2013married lady, like herself, that she, in token that she holdeth him welcome at her table, send him the cup, wherein she drinketh, full of wine, whereof after the stranger hath drunken what he will, the cup being covered again, the bride drinketh the rest.'\n\nThe page did his errand to the lady, who, like a well\u2013bred and discreet woman as she was, believing him to be some great gentleman, commanded, to show him that she had his coming in gree, that a great gilded cup, which stood before her, should be washed and filled with wine and carried to the gentleman; and so it was done. Messer Torello, taking her ring in his mouth, contrived in drinking to drop it, unseen of any, into the cup, wherein having left but a little wine, he covered it again and despatched it to the lady. Madam Adalieta, taking the cup and uncovering it, that she might accomplish his usance, set it to her mouth and seeing the ring, considered it awhile, without saying aught; then, knowing it for that which she had given to Messer Torello at parting, she took it up and looking fixedly upon him whom she deemed a stranger, presently recognized him; whereupon, as she were waxen mad, she overthrew the table she had before her and cried out, saying, 'It is my lord, it is indeed Messer Torello!' Then, running to the place where he sat, she cast herself as far forward as she might, without taking thought to her clothes or to aught that was on the table, and clipped him close in her arms nor could, for word or deed of any there, be loosed from his neck till she was bidden of Messer Torello contain herself somewhat, for that time enough would yet be afforded her to embrace him. She accordingly having arisen and the nuptials being by this all troubled, albeit in part more joyous than ever for the recovery of such a gentleman, every one, at Messer Torello's request, abode quiet; whereupon he related to them all that had betided him from the day of his departure up to that moment, concluding that the gentleman, who, deeming him dead, had taken his lady to wife, must not hold it ill if he, being alive, took her again unto himself.\n\nThe bridegroom, though somewhat mortified, answered frankly and as a friend that it rested with himself to do what most pleased him of his own. Accordingly, the lady put off the ring and crown had of her new groom and donned the ring which she had taken from the cup and the crown sent her by the Soldan; then, issuing forth of the house where they were, they betook themselves, with all the nuptial train, to Messer Torello's house and there recomforted his disconsolate friends and kindred and all the townsfolk, who regarded his return as well nigh a miracle, with long and joyous festival. As for Messer Torello, after imparting of his precious jewels to him who had had the expense of the nuptials, as well as to the abbot and many others, and signifying his happy repatriation by more than one message to Saladin, whose friend and servant he still professed himself, he lived many years thereafterward with his noble lady and thenceforth, used more hospitality and courtesy than ever. Such then was the issue of the troubles of Messer Torello and his beloved lady and the recompense of their cheerful and ready hospitalities, the which many study to practise, who, albeit they have the wherewithal, do yet so ill contrive it that they make those on whom they bestow their courtesies buy them, ere they have done with them, for more than their worth; wherefore, if no reward ensue to them thereof, neither themselves nor others should marvel thereat.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE MARQUESS OF SALUZZO, CONSTRAINED BY THE PRAYERS OF HIS VASSALS TO MARRY, BUT DETERMINED TO DO IT AFTER HIS OWN FASHION, TAKETH TO WIFE THE DAUGHTER OF A PEASANT AND HATH OF HER TWO CHILDREN, WHOM HE MAKETH BELIEVE TO HER TO PUT TO DEATH; AFTER WHICH, FEIGNING TO BE GROWN WEARY OF HER AND TO HAVE TAKEN ANOTHER WIFE, HE LETTETH BRING HIS OWN DAUGHTER HOME TO HIS HOUSE, AS SHE WERE HIS NEW BRIDE, AND TURNETH HIS WIFE AWAY IN HER SHIFT; BUT, FINDING HER PATIENT UNDER EVERYTHING, HE FETCHETH HER HOME AGAIN, DEARER THAN EVER, AND SHOWING HER HER CHILDREN GROWN GREAT, HONOURETH AND LETTETH HONOUR HER AS MARCHIONESS",
                "text": "The king's long story being ended and having, to all appearance, much pleased all, Dioneo said, laughing, \"The good man, who looked that night to abase the phantom's tail upright, had not given a brace of farthings of all the praises that you bestow on Messer Torello.\" Then, knowing that it rested with him alone to tell, he proceeded: \"Gentle ladies mine, it appeareth to me that this day hath been given up to Kings and Soldans and the like folk; wherefore, that I may not remove overfar from you, I purpose to relate to you of a marquess, not an act of magnificence, but a monstrous folly, which, albeit good ensued to him thereof in the end, I counsel not any to imitate, for it was a thousand pities that weal betided him thereof.\"\n\nIt is now a great while agone since the chief of the house among the Marquesses of Saluzzo was a youth called Gualtieri, who, having neither wife nor children, spent his time in nought but hunting and hawking nor had any thought of taking a wife nor of having children; wherein he deserved to be reputed very wise. The thing, however, not pleasing his vassals, they besought him many times to take a wife, so he might not abide without an heir nor they without a lord, and offered themselves to find him one of such a fashion and born of such parents that good hopes might be had of her and he be well content with her; whereto he answered, 'My friends, you constrain me unto that which I was altogether resolved never to do, considering how hard a thing it is to find a wife whose fashions sort well within one's own humour and how great an abundance there is of the contrary sort and how dour a life is his who happeneth upon a woman not well suited unto him. To say that you think, by the manners and fashions of the parents, to know the daughters, wherefrom you argue to give me a wife such as will please me, is a folly, since I know not whence you may avail to know their fathers nor yet the secrets of their mothers; and even did you know them, daughters are often unlike their parents. However, since it e'en pleaseth you to bind me in these chains, I am content to do your desire; but, that I may not have occasion to complain of other than myself, if it prove ill done, I mean to find a wife for myself, certifying you that, whomsoever I may take me, if she be not honoured of you as your lady and mistress, you shall prove, to your cost, how much it irketh me to have at your entreaty taken a wife against mine own will.'\n\nThe good honest men replied that they were content, so he would but bring himself to take a wife. Now the fashions of a poor girl, who was of a village near to his house, had long pleased Gualtieri, and himseeming she was fair enough, he judged that he might lead a very comfortable life with her; wherefore, without seeking farther, he determined to marry her and sending for her father, who was a very poor man, agreed with him to take her to wife. This done, he assembled all his friends of the country round and said to them, 'My friends, it hath pleased and pleaseth you that I should dispose me to take a wife and I have resigned myself thereto, more to complease you than of any desire I have for marriage. You know what you promised me, to wit, that you would be content with and honour as your lady and mistress her whom I should take, whosoever she might be; wherefore the time is come when I am to keep my promise to you and when I would have you keep yours to me. I have found a damsel after mine own heart and purpose within some few days hence to marry her and bring her home to my house; wherefore do you bethink yourselves how the bride\u2013feast may be a goodly one and how you may receive her with honour, on such wise that I may avouch myself contented of your promise, even as you will have cause to be of mine.' The good folk all answered joyfully that this liked them well and that, be she who he would, they would hold her for lady and mistress and honour her as such in all things; after which they all addressed themselves to hold fair and high and glad festival and on like wise did Gualtieri, who let make ready very great and goodly nuptials and bade thereto many his friends and kinsfolk and great gentlemen and others of the neighbourhood. Moreover, he let cut and fashion store of rich and goodly apparel, after the measure of a damsel who seemed to him like of her person to the young woman he was purposed to marry, and provided also rings and girdles and a rich and goodly crown and all that behoveth unto a bride.\n\nThe day come that he had appointed for the nuptials, Gualtieri towards half tierce mounted to horse, he and all those who were come to do him honour, and having ordered everything needful. 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'it is time to go fetch the bride.' Then, setting out with all his company, he rode to the village and betaking himself to the house of the girl's father, found her returning in great haste with water from the spring, so she might after go with other women to see Gualtieri's bride come. When the marquess saw her, he called her by name, to wit, Griselda, and asked her where her father was; to which she answered bashfully, 'My lord, he is within the house.' Thereupon Gualtieri dismounted and bidding all await him, entered the poor house alone, where he found her father, whose name was Giannucolo, and said to him, 'I am come to marry Griselda, but first I would fain know of her somewhat in thy presence.' Accordingly, he asked her if, an he took her to wife, she would still study to please him, nor take umbrage at aught that he should do or say, and if she would be obedient, and many other like things, to all of which she answered ay; whereupon Gualtieri, taking her by the hand, led her forth and in the presence of all his company and of every one else, let strip her naked. Then, sending for the garments which he had let make, he caused forthright clothe and shoe her and would have her set the crown on her hair, all tumbled as it was; after which, all marvelling at this, he said, 'Gentlemen, this is she who I purpose shall be my wife, an she will have me to husband.' Then, turning to her, where she stood, all shamefast and confounded, he said to her, 'Griselda, wilt thou have me to thy husband?' To which she answered, 'Ay, my lord.' Quoth he, 'And I will have thee to my wife'; and espoused her in the presence of all. Then, mounting her on a palfrey, he carried her, honourably accompanied, to his mansion, where the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost splendour and rejoicing, no otherwise than as he had taken to wife the king's daughter of France.\n\nThe young wife seemed to have, together with her clothes, changed her mind and her manners. She was, as we have already said, goodly of person and countenance, and even as she was fair, on like wise she became so engaging, so pleasant and so well\u2013mannered that she seemed rather to have been the child of some noble gentleman than the daughter of Giannucolo and a tender of sheep; whereof she made every one marvel who had known her aforetime. Moreover, she was so obedient to her husband and so diligent in his service that he accounted himself the happiest and best contented man in the world; and on like wise she bore herself with such graciousness and such loving kindness towards her husband's subjects that there was none of them but loved and honoured her with his whole heart, praying all for her welfare and prosperity and advancement; and whereas they were used to say that Gualtieri had done as one of little wit to take her to wife, they now with one accord declared that he was the sagest and best\u2013advised man alive, for that none other than he might ever have availed to know her high worth, hidden as it was under poor clothes and a rustic habit. Brief, it was no great while ere she knew so to do that, not only in her husband's marquisate, but everywhere else, she made folk talk of her virtues and her well\u2013doing and turned to the contrary whatsoever had been said against her husband on her account, whenas he married her.\n\nShe had not long abidden with Gualtieri ere she conceived with child and in due time bore a daughter, whereat he rejoiced greatly. But, a little after, a new thought having entered his mind, to wit, to seek, by dint of long tribulation and things unendurable, to make trial of her patience, he first goaded her with words, feigning himself troubled and saying that his vassals were exceeding ill content with her, by reason of her mean extraction, especially since they saw that she bore children, and that they did nothing but murmur, being sore chagrined for the birth of her daughter. The lady, hearing this, replied, without anywise changing countenance or showing the least distemperature, 'My lord, do with me that which thou deemest will be most for thine honour and solace, for that I shall be content with all, knowing, as I do, that I am of less account than they and that I was unworthy of this dignity to which thou hast advanced me of thy courtesy.' This reply was mighty agreeable to Gualtieri, for that he saw she was not uplifted into aught of pridefulness for any honour that himself or others had done her; but, a little after, having in general terms told her that his vassals could not brook this girl that had been born of her, he sent to her a serving\u2013man of his, whom he had lessoned and who said to her with a very woeful countenance, 'Madam, an I would not die, needs must I do that which my lord commandeth me. He hath bidden me take this your daughter and\u2026' And said no more. The lady, hearing this and seeing the servant's aspect and remembering her of her husband's words, concluded that he had enjoined him put the child to death; whereupon, without changing countenance, albeit she felt a sore anguish at heart, she straightway took her from the cradle and having kissed and blessed her, laid her in the servant's arms, saying, 'Take her and punctually do that which thy lord hath enjoined thee; but leave her not to be devoured of the beasts and the birds, except he command it thee.' The servant took the child and reported that which the lady had said to Gualtieri, who marvelled at her constancy and despatched him with the child to a kinswoman of his at Bologna, praying her to bring her up and rear her diligently, without ever saying whose daughter she was.\n\nIn course of time the lady again conceived and in due season bore a male child, to her husband's great joy; but, that which he had already done sufficing him not, he addressed himself to probe her to the quick with a yet sorer stroke and accordingly said to her one day with a troubled air, 'Wife, since thou hast borne this male child, I have nowise been able to live in peace with these my people, so sore do they murmur that a grandson of Giannucolo should become their lord after me; wherefore I misdoubt me, an I would not be driven forth of my domains, it will behove me do in this case that which I did otherwhen and ultimately put thee away and take another wife.' The lady gave ear to him with a patient mind nor answered otherwhat then, 'My lord, study to content thyself and to satisfy thy pleasure and have no thought of me, for that nothing is dear to me save in so much as I see it please thee.' Not many days after, Gualtieri sent for the son, even as he had sent for the daughter, and making a like show of having him put to death, despatched him to Bologna, there to be brought up, even as he had done with the girl; but the lady made no other countenance nor other words thereof than she had done of the girl; whereat Gualtieri marvelled sore and affirmed in himself that no other woman could have availed to do this that she did; and had he not seen her tender her children with the utmost fondness, what while it pleased him, he had believed that she did this because she recked no more of them; whereas in effect he knew that she did it of her discretion. His vassals, believing that he had caused put the children to death, blamed him sore, accounting him a barbarous man, and had the utmost compassion of his wife, who never answered otherwhat to the ladies who condoled with her for her children thus slain, than that that which pleased him thereof who had begotten them, pleased her also.\n\nAt last, several years being passed since the birth of the girl, Gualtieri, deeming it time to make the supreme trial of her endurance, declared, in the presence of his people, that he could no longer endure to have Griselda to wife and that he perceived that he had done ill and boyishly in taking her, wherefore he purposed, as far as in him lay, to make interest with the Pope to grant him a dispensation, so he might put her away and take another wife. For this he was roundly taken to task by many men of worth, but answered them nothing save that needs must it be so. The lady, hearing these things and herseeming she must look to return to her father's house and maybe tend sheep again as she had done aforetime, what while she saw another woman in possession of him to whom she willed all her weal, sorrowed sore in herself; but yet, even as she had borne the other affronts of fortune, so with a firm countenance she addressed herself to bear this also. Gualtieri no great while after let come to him from Rome counterfeit letters of dispensation and gave his vassals to believe that the Pope had thereby licensed him to take another wife and leave Griselda; then, sending for the latter, he said to her, in presence of many, 'Wife, by concession made me of the Pope, I am free to take another wife and put thee away, and accordingly, for that mine ancestors have been great gentlemen and lords of this country, whilst thine have still been husbandmen, I mean that thou be no more my wife, but that thou return to Giannucolo his house with the dowry which thou broughtest me, and I will after bring hither another wife, for that I have found one more sorted to myself.'\n\nThe lady, hearing this, contained her tears, contrary to the nature of woman, though not without great unease, and answered, 'My lord, I ever knew my mean estate to be nowise sortable with your nobility, and for that which I have been with you I have still confessed myself indebted to you and to God, nor have I ever made nor held it mine, as given to me, but have still accounted it but as a loan. It pleaseth you to require it again and it must and doth please me to restore it to you. Here is your ring wherewith you espoused me; take it. You bid me carry away with me that dowry which I brought hither, which to do you will need no paymaster and I neither purse nor packhorse, for I have not forgotten that you had me naked, and if you account it seemly that this my body, wherein I have carried children begotten of you, be seen of all, I will begone naked; but I pray you, in requital of my maidenhead, which I brought hither and bear not hence with me, that it please you I may carry away at the least one sole shift over and above my dowry.' Gualtieri, who had more mind to weep than to otherwhat, natheless kept a stern countenance and said, 'So be it; carry away a shift.' As many as stood around besought him to give her a gown, so that she who had been thirteen years and more his wife should not be seen go forth of his house on such mean and shameful wise as it was to depart in her shift; but their prayers all went for nothing; wherefore the lady, having commended them to God, went forth his house in her shift, barefoot and nothing on her head, and returned to her father, followed by the tears and lamentations of all who saw her. Giannucolo, who had never been able to believe it true that Gualtieri should entertain his daughter to wife and went in daily expectation of this event, had kept her the clothes which she had put off the morning that Gualtieri had married her and now brought them to her; whereupon she donned them and addressed herself, as she had been wont to do, to the little offices of her father's house, enduring the cruel onslaught of hostile fortune with a stout heart.\n\nGualtieri, having done this, gave out to his people that he had chosen a daughter of one of the Counts of Panago and letting make great preparations for the nuptials, sent for Griselda to come to him and said to her, 'I am about to bring home this lady, whom I have newly taken to wife, and mean, at this her first coming, to do her honour. Thou knowest I have no women about me who know how to array me the rooms nor to do a multitude of things that behove unto such a festival; wherefore do thou, who art better versed than any else in these household matters, order that which is to do here and let bid such ladies as it seemeth good to thee and receive them as thou wert mistress here; then, when the nuptials are ended, thou mayst begone back to thy house.' Albeit these words were all daggers to Griselda's heart, who had been unable to lay down the love she bore him as she had laid down her fair fortune, she replied, 'My lord, I am ready and willing.' Then, in her coarse homespun clothes, entering the house, whence she had a little before departed in her shift, she fell to sweeping and ordering the chambers and letting place hangings and cover\u2013cloths about the saloons and make ready the viands, putting her hand to everything, as she were some paltry serving\u2013wench of the house, nor ever gave over till she had arrayed and ordered everything as it behoved. Thereafter, having let invite all the ladies of the country on Gualtieri's part, she awaited the day of the festival, which being come, with a cheerful countenance and the spirit and bearing of a lady of high degree, for all she had mean clothes on her back, she received all the ladies who came thither.\n\nMeanwhile, Gualtieri, who had caused the two children be diligently reared in Bologna by his kinswoman, (who was married to a gentleman of the Panago family,) the girl being now twelve years old and the fairest creature that ever was seen and the boy six, had sent to his kinsman at Bologna, praying him be pleased to come to Saluzzo with his son and daughter and take order to bring with him a goodly and honourable company and bidding him tell every one that he was carrying him the young lady to his wife, without otherwise discovering to any aught of who she was. The gentleman did as the marquess prayed him and setting out, with the girl and boy and a goodly company of gentlefolk, after some days' journey, arrived, about dinner\u2013time, at Saluzzo, where he found all the countryfolk and many others of the neighbourhood awaiting Gualtieri's new bride. The latter, being received by the ladies and come into the saloon where the tables were laid, Griselda came to meet her, clad as she was, and accosted her blithely, saying, 'Welcome and fair welcome to my lady.' Thereupon the ladies (who had urgently, but in vain, besought Gualtieri to suffer Griselda to abide in a chamber or lend her one of the gowns that had been hers, so that she might not go thus before his guests) were seated at table and it was proceeded to serve them. The girl was eyed by every one and all declared that Gualtieri had made a good exchange; and among the rest Griselda commended her amain, both her and her young brother.\n\nGualtieri perceiving that the strangeness of the case in no wise changed her and being assured that this proceeded not from lack of understanding, for that he knew her to be very quick of wit, himseemed he had now seen fully as much as he desired of his lady's patience and he judged it time to deliver her from the bitterness which he doubted not she kept hidden under her constant countenance; wherefore, calling her to himself, he said to her, smiling, in the presence of every one, 'How deemest thou of our bride?' 'My lord,' answered she, 'I deem exceeding well of her, and if, as I believe, she is as discreet as she is fair, I doubt not a whit but you will live the happiest gentleman in the world with her; but I beseech you, as most I may, that you inflict not on her those pangs which you inflicted whilere on her who was sometime yours; for methinketh she might scarce avail to endure them, both because she is younger and because she hath been delicately reared, whereas the other had been in continual fatigues from a little child.' Thereupon, Gualtieri, seeing she firmly believed that the young lady was to be his wife nor therefore spoke anywise less than well, seated her by his side and said to her, 'Griselda, it is now time that thou reap the fruits of thy long patience and that those who have reputed me cruel and unjust and brutish should know that this which I have done I wrought to an end aforeseen, willing to teach thee to be a wife and to show them how to take and use one and at the same time to beget myself perpetual quiet, what while I had to live with thee; the which, whenas I came to take a wife, I was sore afraid might not betide me, and therefore, to make proof thereof, I probed and afflicted thee after such kind as thou knowest. And meseeming, for that I have never perceived that either in word or in deed hast thou departed from my pleasure, that I have of thee that solace which I desired, I purpose presently to restore thee, at one stroke, that which I took from thee at many and to requite thee with a supreme delight the pangs I have inflicted on thee. Wherefore with a joyful heart take this whom thou deemest my bride and her brother for thy children and mine; for these be they whom thou and many others have long accounted me to have barbarously let put to death; and I am thy husband, who loveth thee over all else, believing I may vaunt me that there is none else who can be so content of his wife as can I.'\n\nSo saying, he embraced her and kissed her; then, rising up, he betook himself with Griselda, who wept for joy, whereas the daughter, hearing these things, sat all stupefied, and tenderly embracing her and her brother, undeceived her and many others who were there. Thereupon the ladies arose from table, overjoyed, and withdrew with Griselda into a chamber, where, with happier augury, pulling off her mean attire, they clad her anew in a magnificent dress of her own and brought her again to the saloon, as a gentlewoman, which indeed she appeared, even in rags. There she rejoiced in her children with wonder\u2013great joy, and all being overjoyed at this happy issue, they redoubled in feasting and merrymaking and prolonged the festivities several days, accounting Gualtieri a very wise man, albeit they held the trials which he had made of his lady overharsh, nay, intolerable; but over all they held Griselda most sage. The Count of Panago returned, after some days, to Bologna, and Gualtieri, taking Giannucolo from his labour, placed him in such estate as befitted his father\u2013in\u2013law, so that he lived in honour and great solace and so ended his days; whilst he himself, having nobly married his daughter, lived long and happily with Griselda, honouring her as most might be. What more can here be said save that even in poor cottages there rain down divine spirits from heaven, like as in princely palaces there be those who were worthier to tend swine than to have lordship over men? Who but Griselda could, with a countenance, not only dry, but cheerful, have endured the barbarous and unheard proofs made by Gualtieri? Which latter had not belike been ill requited, had he happened upon one who, when he turned her out of doors in her shift, had let jumble her furbelows of another to such purpose that a fine gown had come of it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 121",
                "text": "Dioneo's story being finished and the ladies having discoursed amain thereof, some inclining to one side and some to another, this blaming one thing and that commending it, the king, lifting his eyes to heaven and seeing that the sun was now low and the hour of vespers at hand, proceeded, without arising from session, to speak thus, \"Charming ladies, as I doubt not you know, the understanding of mortals consisteth not only in having in memory things past and taking cognizance of things present; but in knowing, by means of the one and the other of these, to forecast things future is reputed by men of mark to consist the greatest wisdom. To\u2013morrow, as you know, it will be fifteen days since we departed Florence, to take some diversion for the preservation of our health and of our lives, eschewing the woes and dolours and miseries which, since this pestilential season began, are continually to be seen about our city. This, to my judgment, we have well and honourably done; for that, an I have known to see aright, albeit merry stories and belike incentive to concupiscence have been told here and we have continually eaten and drunken well and danced and sung and made music, all things apt to incite weak minds to things less seemly, I have noted no act, no word, in fine nothing blameworthy, either on your part or on that of us men; nay, meseemeth I have seen and felt here a continual decency, an unbroken concord and a constant fraternal familiarity; the which, at once for your honour and service and for mine own, is, certes, most pleasing to me. Lest, however, for overlong usance aught should grow thereof that might issue in tediousness, and that none may avail to cavil at our overlong tarriance,\u2014each of us, moreover, having had his or her share of the honour that yet resideth in myself,\u2014I hold it meet, an it be your pleasure, that we now return whence we came; more by token that, if you consider aright, our company, already known to several others of the neighbourhood, may multiply after a fashion that will deprive us of our every commodity. Wherefore, if you approve my counsel, I will retain the crown conferred on me until our departure, which I purpose shall be to\u2013morrow morning; but, should you determine otherwise, I have already in mind whom I shall invest withal for the ensuing day.\"\n\nMuch was the debate between the ladies and the young men; but ultimately they all took the king's counsel for useful and seemly and determined to do as he proposed; whereupon, calling the seneschal, he bespoke him of the manner which he should hold on the ensuing morning and after, having dismissed the company until supper\u2013time, he rose to his feet. The ladies and the young men, following his example, gave themselves, this to one kind of diversion and that to another, no otherwise than of their wont; and supper\u2013time come, they betook themselves to table with the utmost pleasure and after fell to singing and carolling and making music. Presently, Lauretta leading up a dance, the king bade Fiammetta sing a song, whereupon she very blithely proceeded to sing thus:\n\n\u2002If love came but withouten jealousy,\n\n\u2002I know no lady born\n\n\u2002So blithe as I were, whosoe'er she be.\n\n\u2002If gladsome youthfulness\n\n\u2002In a fair lover might content a maid,\n\n\u2002Virtue and worth discreet,\n\n\u2002Valiance or gentilesse,\n\n\u2002Wit and sweet speech and fashions all arrayed\n\n\u2002In pleasantness complete,\n\n\u2002Certes, I'm she for whose behoof these meet\n\n\u2002In one; for, love\u2013o'erborne,\n\n\u2002All these in him who is my hope I see.\n\n\u2002But for that I perceive\n\n\u2002That other women are as wise as I,\n\n\u2002I tremble for affright\n\n\u2002And tending to believe\n\n\u2002The worst, in others the desire espy\n\n\u2002Of him who steals my spright;\n\n\u2002Thus this that is my good and chief delight\n\n\u2002Enforceth me, forlorn,\n\n\u2002Sigh sore and live in dole and misery.\n\n\u2002If I knew fealty such\n\n\u2002In him my lord as I know merit there,\n\n\u2002I were not jealous, I;\n\n\u2002But here is seen so much\n\n\u2002Lovers to tempt, how true they be soe'er,\n\n\u2002I hold all false; whereby\n\n\u2002I'm all disconsolate and fain would die,\n\n\u2002Of each with doubting torn\n\n\u2002Who eyes him, lest she bear him off from me.\n\n\u2002Be, then, each lady prayed\n\n\u2002By God that she in this be not intent\n\n\u2002'Gainst me to do amiss;\n\n\u2002For, sure, if any maid\n\n\u2002Should or with words or becks or blandishment\n\n\u2002My detriment in this\n\n\u2002Seek or procure and if I know't, ywis,\n\n\u2002Be all my charms forsworn\n\n\u2002But I will make her rue it bitterly.\n\nNo sooner had Fiammetta made an end of her song than Dioneo, who was beside her, said, laughing, \"Madam, you would do a great courtesy to let all the ladies know who he is, lest you be ousted of his possession through ignorance, since you would be so sore incensed thereat.\" After this divers other songs were sung and the night being now well nigh half spent, they all, by the king's commandment, betook themselves to repose. As the new day appeared, they arose and the seneschal having already despatched all their gear in advance, they returned, under the guidance of their discreet king, to Florence, where the three young men took leave of the seven ladies and leaving them in Santa Maria Novella, whence they had set out with them, went about their other pleasures, whilst the ladies, whenas it seemed to them time, returned to their houses."
            },
            {
                "title": "HERE ENDETH THE TENTH AND LAST DAY OF THE DECAMERON",
                "text": "Most noble damsels, for whose solace I have addressed myself to so long a labour, I have now, methinketh, with the aid of the Divine favour, (vouchsafed me, as I deem, for your pious prayers and not for my proper merits,) throughly accomplished that which I engaged, at the beginning of this present work, to do; wherefore, returning thanks first to God and after to you, it behoveth to give rest to my pen and to my tired hand. Which ere I accord them, I purpose briefly to reply, as to objections tacitly broached, to certain small matters that may peradventure be alleged by some one of you or by others, since meseemeth very certain that these stories have no especial privilege more than other things; nay, I mind me to have shown, at the beginning of the fourth day, that they have none such. There are, peradventure, some of you who will say that I have used overmuch license in inditing these stories, as well as in making ladies whiles say and very often hearken to things not very seemly either to be said or heard of modest women. This I deny, for that there is nothing so unseemly as to be forbidden unto any one, so but he express it in seemly terms, as meseemeth indeed I have here very aptly done. But let us suppose that it is so (for that I mean not to plead with you, who would overcome me,) I say that many reasons very readily offer themselves in answer why I have done this. Firstly, if there be aught thereof in any of them, the nature of the stories required it, the which, an they be considered with the rational eye of a person of understanding, it will be abundantly manifest that I could not have otherwise recounted, an I would not altogether disfeature them. And if perchance there be therein some tittle, some wordlet or two freer, maybe, than liketh your squeamish hypocritical prudes, who weigh words rather than deeds and study more to appear, than to be, good, I say that it should no more be forbidden me to write them than it is commonly forbidden unto men and women to say all day long hole and peg and mortar and pestle and sausage and polony and all manner like things; without reckoning that no less liberty should be accorded to my pen than is conceded to the brush of the limner, who, without any (or, at the least, any just) reprehension, maketh\u2014let be St. Michael smite the serpent with sword or spear and St. George the dragon, whereas it pleaseth them\u2014but Adam male and Eve female and affixeth to the cross, whiles with one nail and whiles with two, the feet of Him Himself who willed for the salvation of the human race to die upon the rood. Moreover, it is eath enough to see that these things are spoken, not in the church, of the affairs whereof it behoveth to speak with a mind and in terms alike of the chastest (albeit among its histories there are tales enough to be found of anothergates fashion than those written by me), nor yet in the schools of philosophy, where decency is no less required than otherwhere, nor among churchmen or philosophers anywhere, but amidst gardens, in a place of pleasance and diversion and among men and women, though young, yet of mature wit and not to be led astray by stories, at a time when it was not forbidden to the most virtuous to go, for their own preservation, with their breeches on their heads. Again, such as they are, these stories, like everything else, can both harm and profit, according to the disposition of the listener. Who knoweth not that wine, though, according to Cinciglione and Scolajo and many others, an excellent thing for people in health, is hurtful unto whoso hath the fever? Shall we say, then, because it harmeth the fevered, that it is naught? Who knoweth not that fire is most useful, nay, necessary to mortals? Shall we say, because it burneth houses and villages and cities, that it is naught? Arms on like wise assure the welfare of those who desire to live in peace and yet oftentimes slay men, not of any malice of their own, but of the perversity of those who use them wrongfully. Corrupt mind never understood word healthily, and even as seemly words profit not depraved minds, so those which are not altogether seemly avail not to contaminate the well\u2013disposed, any more than mire can sully the rays of the sun or earthly foulness the beauties of the sky. What books, what words, what letters are holier, worthier, more venerable than those of the Divine Scriptures? Yet many there be, who, interpreting them perversely, have brought themselves and others to perdition. Everything in itself is good unto somewhat and ill used, may be in many things harmful; and so say I of my stories. If any be minded to draw therefrom ill counsel or ill practice, they will nowise forbid it him, if perchance they have it in them or be strained and twisted into having it; and who so will have profit and utility thereof, they will not deny it him, nor will they be ever styled or accounted other than useful and seemly, if they be read at those times and to those persons for which and for whom they have been recounted. Whoso hath to say paternosters or to make tarts and puddings for her spiritual director, let her leave them be; they will not run after any to make her read them; albeit your she\u2013saints themselves now and again say and even do fine things.\n\nThere be some ladies also who will say that there are some stories here, which had been better away. Granted; but I could not nor should write aught save those actually related, wherefore those who told them should have told them goodly and I would have written them goodly. But, if folk will e'en pretend that I am both the inventor and writer thereof (which I am not), I say that I should not take shame to myself that they were not all alike goodly, for that there is no craftsman living (barring God) who doth everything alike well and completely; witness Charlemagne, who was the first maker of the Paladins, but knew not to make so many thereof that he might avail to form an army of them alone. In the multitude of things, needs must divers qualities thereof be found. No field was ever so well tilled but therein or nettles or thistles or somewhat of briers or other weeds might be found mingled with the better herbs. Besides, having to speak to simple lasses, such as you are for the most part, it had been folly to go seeking and wearying myself to find very choice and exquisite matters, and to use great pains to speak very measuredly. Algates, whoso goeth reading among these, let him leave those which offend and read those which divert. They all, not to lead any one into error, bear branded upon the forefront that which they hold hidden within their bosoms.\n\nAgain, I doubt not but there be those who will say that some of them are overlong; to whom I say again that whoso hath overwhat to do doth folly to read these stories, even though they were brief. And albeit a great while is passed from the time when I began to write to this present hour whenas I come to the end of my toils, it hath not therefor escaped my memory that I proffered this my travail to idle women and not to others, and unto whoso readeth to pass away the time, nothing can be overlong, so but it do that for which he useth it. Things brief are far better suited unto students, who study, not to pass away, but usefully to employ time, than to you ladies, who have on your hands all the time that you spend not in the pleasures of love; more by token that, as none of you goeth to Athens or Bologna or Paris to study, it behoveth to speak to you more at large than to those who have had their wits whetted by study. Again, I doubt not a jot but there be yet some of you who will say that the things aforesaid are full of quips and cranks and quodlibets and that it ill beseemeth a man of weight and gravity to have written thus. To these I am bound to render and do render thanks, for that, moved by a virtuous jealousy, they are so tender of my fame; but to their objection I reply on this wise; I confess to being a man of weight and to have been often weighed in my time, wherefore, speaking to those ladies who have not weighed me, I declare that I am not heavy; nay, I am so light that I abide like a nutgall in water, and considering that the preachments made of friars, to rebuke men of their sins, are nowadays for the most part seen full of quips and cranks and gibes, I conceived that these latter would not sit amiss in my stories written to ease women of melancholy. Algates, an they should laugh overmuch on that account, the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Passion of our Saviour and the Complaint of Mary Magdalen will lightly avail to cure them thereof.\n\nAgain, who can doubt but there will to boot be found some to say that I have an ill tongue and a venomous, for that I have in sundry places written the truth anent the friars? To those who shall say thus it must be forgiven, since it is not credible that they are moved by other than just cause, for that the friars are a good sort of folk, who eschew unease for the love of God and who grind with a full head of water and tell no tales, and but that they all savour somewhat of the buck\u2013goat, their commerce would be far more agreeable. Natheless, I confess that the things of this world have no stability and are still on the change, and so may it have befallen of my tongue, the which, not to trust to mine own judgment, (which I eschew as most I may in my affairs,) a she\u2013neighbour of mine told me, not long since, was the best and sweetest in the world; and in good sooth, were this the case, there had been few of the foregoing stories to write. But, for that those who say thus speak despitefully, I will have that which hath been said suffice them for a reply; wherefore, leaving each of you henceforth to say and believe as seemeth good to her, it is time for me to make an end of words, humbly thanking Him who hath, after so long a labour, brought us with His help to the desired end. And you, charming ladies, abide you in peace with His favour, remembering you of me, if perchance it profit any of you aught to have read these stories."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(The Last Kingdom 12) Sword of Kings",
        "author": "Bernard Cornwell",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "A Fool's Errand",
                "text": "Gydene was missing.\n\nShe was not the first of my ships to vanish. The savage sea is vast and ships are small and Gydene, which simply meant 'goddess', was smaller than most. She had been built at Grimesbi on the Humbre and had been named Haligw\u00e6ter. She had fished for a year before I bought her and, because I wanted no ship named Holy Water in my fleet, I paid a virgin one shilling to piss in her bilge, renamed her Gydene, and gave her to the fisherfolk of Bebbanburg. They cast their nets far offshore and, when Gydene did not return on a day when the wind was brisk, the sky grey, and the waves were crashing white and high on the rocks of the Farnea Islands, we assumed she had been overwhelmed and had given Bebbanburg's small village six widows and almost three times as many orphans. Maybe I should have left her name alone, all seamen know that you risk fate by changing a ship's name, though they know equally well that a virgin's piss averts that fate. Yet the gods can be as cruel as the sea.\n\nThen Egil Skallagrimmrson came from his land that I had granted to him, land that formed the border of my territory and Constantin of Scotland's realm, and Egil came by sea as he always did and there was a corpse in the belly of Banama\u00f0r, his serpent-ship. 'Washed ashore in the Tuede,' he told me, 'he's yours, isn't he?'\n\n'The Tuede?' I asked.\n\n'Southern shore. Found him on a mudbank. The gulls found him first.'\n\n'I can see.'\n\n'He was one of yours, wasn't he?'\n\n'He was,' I said. The dead man's name was Haggar Bentson, a fisherman, helmsman of the Gydene, a big man, too fond of ale, scarred from too many brawls, a bully, a wife-beater, and a good sailor.\n\n'Wasn't drowned, was he?' Egil remarked.\n\n'No.'\n\n'And the gulls didn't kill him,' Egil sounded amused.\n\n'No,' I said, 'the gulls didn't kill him.' Instead Haggar had been hacked to death. His corpse was naked and fish-white, except for the hands and what was left of his face. Great wounds had been slashed across his belly, chest and thighs, the savage cuts washed clean by the sea.\n\nEgil touched a boot against a gaping wound that had riven Haggar's chest from the shoulder to the breastbone. 'I'd say that was the axe blow that killed him,' he said, 'but someone cut off his balls first.'\n\n'I noticed that.'\n\nEgil stooped to the corpse and forced the lower jaw down. Egil Skallagrimmrson was a strong man, but it still took an effort to open Haggar's mouth. The bone made a cracking sound and Egil straightened. 'Took his teeth too,' he said.\n\n'And his eyes.'\n\n'That might have been the gulls. Partial to an eyeball, they are.'\n\n'But they left his tongue,' I said. 'Poor bastard.'\n\n'Miserable way to die,' Egil agreed, then turned to look at the harbour entrance. 'Only two reasons I can think of to torture a man before you kill him.'\n\n'Two?'\n\n'To enjoy themselves? Maybe he insulted them.' he shrugged. 'The other is to make him talk. Why else leave his tongue?'\n\n'Them?' I asked. 'The Scots?'\n\nEgil looked back to the mangled corpse. 'He must have annoyed someone, but the Scots have been quiet lately. Doesn't seem like them.' He shrugged. 'Could be something personal. Another fisherman he angered?'\n\n'No other bodies?' I asked. There had been six men and two boys in the Gydene's crew. 'No wreckage?'\n\n'Just this poor bastard so far. But the others could be out there, still floating.'\n\nThere was little more to say or do. If the Scots had not captured Gydene then I assumed it was either a Norse raider or else a Frisian ship using the early summer weather to enrich herself with the Gydene's catch of herring, cod, and haddock. Whoever it was, the Gydene was gone, and I suspected her surviving crew had been put on their captor's rowing benches and that suspicion turned to near certainty when, two days after Egil brought me the corpse, the Gydene herself washed ashore north of Lindisfarena. She was a dismasted hulk, barely afloat as the waves heaved her onto the sands. No more bodies appeared, just the wreck, which we left on the sands, certain that the storms of autumn would break her up.\n\nA week after the Gydene lurched brokenly ashore another fishing boat vanished, and this one on a windless day as calm as any the gods ever made. The lost ship had been called the Swealwe and, like Haggar, her master had liked to cast nets far out to sea, and the first I knew of the Swallow's disappearance was when three widows came to Bebbanburg, led by their gap-toothed village priest who was named Father Gadd. He bobbed his head. 'There was \u2026' he began.\n\n'Was what?' I asked, resisting the urge to imitate the hissing noise the priest made because of his missing teeth.\n\nFather Gadd was nervous, and no wonder. I had heard that he preached sermons that lamented that his village's overlord was a pagan, but his courage had fled now that he was face to face with that pagan.\n\n'Bolgar Haruldson, lord. He's the\u2014'\n\n'I know who Bolgar is,' I interrupted. He was another fisherman.\n\n'He saw two ships on the horizon, lord. On the day the Swealwe vanished.'\n\n'There are many ships,' I said, 'trading ships. It would be strange if he didn't see ships.'\n\n'Bolgar says they headed north, then south.'\n\nThe nervous fool was not making much sense, but in the end I understood what he was trying to say. The Swealwe had rowed out to sea, and Bolgar, an experienced man, saw where she vanished beyond the horizon. He then saw the masthead of the two ships go towards the Swealwe, pause for some time, then turn back. The Swealwe had been beneath the horizon and the only visible sign of her meeting with the mysterious ships was their masts going north, pausing, then going south, and that did not sound like the movement of any trading ship. 'You should have brought Bolgar to me,' I said, then gave the three widows silver and the priest two pennies for bringing me the news.\n\n'What news?' Finan asked me that evening.\n\nWe were sitting on the bench outside Bebbanburg's hall, staring across the eastern ramparts to the moon's wrinkling reflection on the wide sea. From inside the hall came the sounds of men singing, of men laughing. They were my warriors, all but for the score who watched from our high walls. A small east wind brought the smell of the sea. It was a quiet night and Bebbanburg's lands had been peaceful ever since we had crossed the hills and defeated Sk\u00f6ll in his high fortress a year before. After that grisly fight we had thought the Norsemen were beaten and that the western part of Northumbria was cowed, but travellers brought news across the high passes that still the Northmen came, their dragon-boats landing on our western coasts, their warriors finding land, but no Norseman called himself king as Sk\u00f6ll had done, and none crossed the hills to disturb Bebbanburg's pastures, and so there was peace of a sort. Constantin of Alba, which some men call Scotland, was at war with the Norse of Strath Clota, led by a king called Owain, and Owain left us alone and Constantin wanted peace with us until he could defeat Owain's Norsemen. It was what my father had called 'a Scottish peace', meaning that there were constant and savage cattle raids, but there are always cattle raids, and we always retaliated by striking into the Scottish valleys to bring back livestock. We stole just as many as they stole, and it would have been much simpler to have had no raids, but in times of peace young men must be taught the ways of war.\n\n'The news,' I told Finan, 'is that there are raiders out there,' I nodded at the sea, 'and they've plucked two of our ships.'\n\n'There are always raiders.'\n\n'I don't like these,' I said.\n\nFinan, my closest friend, an Irishman who fought with the passion of his race and the skill of the gods, laughed. 'Got a stench in your nostril?'\n\nI nodded. There are times when knowledge comes from nothing, from a feeling, from a scent that cannot be smelled, from a fear that has no cause. The gods protect us and they send that sudden prickling of the nerves, the certainty that an innocent landscape has hidden killers. 'Why would they torture Haggar?' I asked.\n\n'Because he was a sour bastard, of course.'\n\n'He was,' I said, 'but it feels worse than that.'\n\n'So what will you do?'\n\n'Go hunting, of course.'\n\nFinan laughed. 'Are you bored?' he asked, but I said nothing, which made him laugh again. 'You're bored,' he accused me, 'and just want an excuse to play with Spearhafoc.'\n\nAnd that was true. I wanted to take Spearhafoc to sea, and so I would go hunting.\n\nSpearhafoc was named for the sparrowhawks that nested in Bebbanburg's sparse woodlands and, like those sparrowhawks, she was a huntress. She was long with a low freeboard amidships and a defiant prow that held a carving of a sparrowhawk's head. Her benches held forty rowers. She had been built by a pair of Frisian brothers who had fled their country and started a shipyard on the banks of the Humbre where they had made Spearhafoc from good Mercian oak and ash. They had formed her hull by nailing eleven long planks on either flank of her frame, then stepped a mast of supple Northumbrian pinewood, braced with lines and supporting a yard from which her sail hung proud. Proud because the sail showed my symbol, the symbol of Bebbanburg, the head of a snarling wolf. The wolf and the sparrowhawk, both hunters and both savage. Even Egil Skallagrimmrson who, like most Norsemen, despised Saxon ships and Saxon sailors, grudgingly approved of Spearhafoc. 'Though of course,' he had said to me, 'she's not really Saxon, is she? She's Frisian.'\n\nSaxon or not, Spearhafoc slid out through Bebbanburg's narrow harbour channel in a hazed summer dawn. It had been a week since I had heard the news of Swealwe, a week in which my fisherfolk never went far from land. Up and down the coast, on all Bebbanburg's harbours, there was fear, and so Spearhafoc went to seek vengeance. The tide was flooding, there was no wind, and my oarsmen stroked hard and well, surging the ship against the current to leave a widening wake. The only noises were the creak of the oars as they pulled against the tholes, the ripple of water along the hull, the slap of feeble waves on the beach, and the forlorn cries of gulls over Bebbanburg's great fortress.\n\nForty men hauled on the long oars, another twenty crouched either between the benches or on the bow's platform. All wore mail and all had their weapons, though the rowers' spears, axes and swords were piled amidships with the heaps of shields. Finan and I stood on the steersman's brief deck. 'There might be wind later?' Finan suggested.\n\n'Or might not,' I grunted.\n\nFinan was never comfortable at sea and never understood my love of ships, and he only accompanied me that day because there was the prospect of a fight. 'Though whoever killed Haggar is probably long gone,' he grumbled as we left the harbour channel.\n\n'Probably,' I agreed.\n\n'So we're wasting our time then.'\n\n'Most likely,' I said. Spearhafoc was lifting her prow to the long, sullen swells, making Finan grip the sternpost to keep his balance. 'Sit,' I told him, 'and drink some ale.'\n\nWe rowed into the rising sun, and as the day warmed a small wind sprang from the west, enough of a breeze to let my crew haul the yard to the mast's top and let loose the wolf's head sail. The oarsmen rested gratefully as Spearhafoc rippled the slow heaving sea. The land was lost in the haze behind us. There had been a pair of small fishing craft beside the Farnea Islands, but once we were further out to sea we saw no masts or hulls and seemed to be alone in a wide world. For the most part I could let the steering-oar trail in the water as the ship took us slowly eastwards, the wind barely sufficient to fill the heavy sail. Most of my men slept as the sun climbed higher.\n\nDream time. This, I thought was how Ginnungagap must have been, that void between the furnace of heaven and the ice beneath, the void in which the world was made. We sailed in a blue-grey emptiness in which my thoughts wandered slow as the ship. Finan was sleeping. Every now and then the sail would sag as the wind dropped, then belly out again with a dull thud as the small breeze returned. The only real evidence that we were moving was the gentle ripple of Spearhafoc's wake.\n\nAnd in the void I thought of kings and of death, because Edward still lived. Edward, who styled himself Anglorum Saxonum Rex, King of the Angles and the Saxons. He was King of Wessex and of Mercia and of East Anglia, and he still lived. He had been ill, he had recovered, he had fallen sick again, then rumour said he was dying, yet still Edward lived. And I had taken an oath to kill two men when Edward died. I had made that promise, and I had no idea how I was to keep it.\n\nBecause to keep it I would have to leave Northumbria and go deep into Wessex. And in Wessex I was Uhtred the Pagan, Uhtred the Godless, Uhtred the Treacherous, Uhtred Ealdordeofol, which means Chief of the Devils, and, most commonly, I was called Uhtred\u00e6rwe, which simply means Uhtred the Wicked. In Wessex I had powerful enemies and few friends. Which gave me three choices. I could invade with a small army, which would inevitably be beaten, I could go with a few men and risk discovery, or I could break the oath. The first two choices would lead to my death, the third would lead to the shame of a man who had failed to keep his word, the shame of being an oathbreaker.\n\nEadith, my wife, had no doubts about what I should do. 'Break the oath,' she had told me tartly. We had been lying in our chamber behind Bebbanburg's great hall and I was gazing into the shadowed rafters, blackened by smoke and by night, and I had said nothing. 'Let them kill each other,' she had urged me. 'It's a quarrel for the southerners, not us. We're safe here.' And she was right, we were safe in Bebbanburg, but still her demand had angered me. The gods mark our promises, and to break an oath is to risk their wrath. 'You would die for a stupid oath?' Eadith had been angry too. 'Is that what you want?' I wanted to live, but I wanted to live without the stain of dishonour that marked an oathbreaker.\n\nSpearhafoc took my mind from the quandary by quickening to a freshening wind and I grasped the steering-oar again and felt the quiver of the water coming through the long ash shaft. At least this choice was simple. Strangers had slaughtered my men, and we sailed to seek revenge across a wind-rippled sea that reflected a myriad flashes of sunlight. 'Are we home yet?' Finan asked.\n\n'I thought you were asleep.'\n\n'Dozing,' Finan grunted, then heaved himself upright and stared around. 'There's a ship out there.'\n\n'Where?'\n\n'There,' he pointed north. Finan had the sharpest eyesight of any man I've ever known. He might be getting older, like me, yet his sight was as keen as ever. 'Just a mast,' he said, 'no sail.'\n\nI stared into the haze, seeing nothing. Then I thought I saw a flicker against the pale sky, a line as tremulous as a charcoal scratch. A mast? I lost it, looked, found it again, and turned the ship northwards. The sail protested until we hauled in the steerboard sheet and Spearhafoc leaned again to the breeze and the water seethed louder down her flanks. My men stirred, woken by Spearhafoc's sudden liveliness, and turned to look at the far ship.\n\n'No sail on her,' Finan said.\n\n'She's going into the wind,' I said, 'so they're rowing. Probably a trader.' No sooner had I spoken than the tiny scratch mark on the hazed horizon disappeared, replaced by a newly dropped sail. I watched her, the blur of the big square sail much easier to distinguish than the mast. 'She's turning towards us,' I said.\n\n'It's Banama\u00f0r,' Finan said.\n\nI laughed at that. 'You're guessing!'\n\n'No guess,' Finan said, 'she has an eagle on her sail, it's Egil.'\n\n'You can see that!'\n\n'You can't?'\n\nOur two ships were sailing towards each other now, and within moments I could clearly see a distinctive lime-washed upper strake that showed clearly against the lower hull's darker planks. I could also see the big black outline of a spread-winged eagle on the sail and the eagle's head on her high prow. Finan was right, it was Banama\u00f0r, a name that meant 'killer'. It was Egil's ship.\n\nAs the Banama\u00f0r drew closer I dropped my sail and let Spearhafoc wallow in the livening waves. It was a sign to Egil that he could come alongside, and I watched as his ship curved towards us. She was smaller than Spearhafoc, but just as sleek, a Frisian-built raider that was Egil's joy because, like almost all Norsemen, he was happiest when he was at sea. I watched the sea break white at Banama\u00f0r's cutwater, she kept turning, the great yard dropped and men hauled the sail inboard, turned the long yard with its furled sail fore and aft, and then, sweet as any seaman could desire, she slewed alongside our steerboard flank. A man in Banama\u00f0r's bows threw a line, a second line sailed towards me from her stern, and Egil was shouting at his crew to drape sailcloth or cloaks over the pale upper strake so our timbers did not crash and grind together. He grinned at me. 'Are you doing what I think you're doing?'\n\n'Wasting my time,' I called back.\n\n'Maybe not.'\n\n'And you?'\n\n'Looking for the bastards who took your ships, of course. Can I come aboard?'\n\n'Come!'\n\nEgil waited to judge the waves, then leaped across. He was a Norseman, a pagan, a poet, a seaman, and a warrior. He was tall, like me, and wore his fair hair long and wild. He was clean-shaven with a chin as sharp as a dragon-boat's prow, he had deep eyes, an axe-blade of a nose and a mouth that smiled often. Men followed him eagerly, women even more eagerly. I had only known him for a year, but in that year I had come to like and trust him. He was young enough to be my son and he had brought seventy Norse warriors who had sworn their allegiance to me in return for the land I had given them along the Tuede's southern bank.\n\n'We should go south,' Egil said briskly.\n\n'South?' I asked.\n\nEgil nodded at Finan, 'Good morning, lord,' he always called Finan 'lord' to their shared amusement. He looked back to me. 'You're not wasting your time. We met a Scottish trader sailing northwards, and he told us there were four ships down there.' He nodded southwards. 'Way out to sea,' he said, 'out of sight of land. Four Saxon ships, just waiting. One of them stopped him, they demanded three shillings duty, and when he couldn't pay, they stole his whole cargo.'\n\n'They wanted to charge him duty!'\n\n'In your name.'\n\n'In my name,' I said softly, angrily.\n\n'I was on my way back to tell you.' Egil looked into Banama\u00f0r where around forty men waited. 'I don't have enough men to take on four ships, but the two of us could do some damage?'\n\n'How many men in the ships?' Finan had scrambled to his feet and was looking eager.\n\n'The one that stopped the Scotsman had forty, he said two of the others were about the same size, and the last one smaller.'\n\n'We could do some damage,' I said vengefully.\n\nFinan, while he listened to us, had been watching Egil's crew. Three men were struggling to take the eagle's head from the prow. They laid the heavy piece of wood on the brief foredeck, then helped the others who were unlacing the sail. 'What are they doing?' Finan asked.\n\nEgil turned to Banama\u00f0r. 'If the scum see a ship with an eagle on the sail,' he said, 'they'll know we're a fighting ship. If they see my eagle they'll know it's me. So I'm turning the sail around.' He grinned. 'We're a small ship, they'll think we're easy prey.'\n\nI understood what he was suggesting. 'So I'm to follow you?'\n\n'Under oars,' he suggested. 'If you're under sail they'll see you sooner. We'll suck them in with Banama\u00f0r as the bait, then you can help me finish them.'\n\n'Help?' I repeated scornfully, which made him laugh.\n\n'But who are they?' Finan asked.\n\nThat was the question that nagged at me as we rowed southwards. Egil had gone back to his ship and, with his sail showing a drab frontage, was plunging ahead of us. Despite his suggestion, the Spearhafoc was also under sail, but at least a half-mile behind Banama\u00f0r. I did not want my men wearied by hard rowing if they were to fight, and so we had agreed that Egil would turn Banama\u00f0r if he sighted the three ships. He would turn and pretend to flee towards the coast and so lead the enemy, we hoped, into our ambush. I would drop our sail when he turned, so that the enemy would not see the great wolf's head, but would think us just another trading ship that would prove easy prey. We had taken the sparrowhawk's head from the prow. The great carved symbols were there to placate the gods, to frighten enemies, and drive off evil spirits, but custom dictated that they could be removed in safe waters and so, instead of being nailed or scarfed into the prow, they were easily dismounted.\n\n'Four ships,' Finan said flatly, 'Saxons.'\n\n'And being clever,' I said.\n\n'Clever? You call poking you with a sharp stick clever?'\n\n'They attack ships from Bebbanburg, but only harass the others. How long before King Constantin hears that Uhtred of Bebbanburg is confiscating Scottish cargoes?'\n\n'He's probably heard already.'\n\n'So how long before the Scots decide to punish us?' I asked. 'Constantin might be fighting Owain of Strath Clota, but he still has ships he can send to our coast.' I gazed at Banama\u00f0r that was heeling gently to the west wind and leaving a white wake. For a small boat she was quick and lively. 'Somebody,' I went on, 'wants to tangle us in a quarrel with the Scots.'\n\n'And not just the Scots,' Finan said.\n\n'Not just the Scots,' I agreed. Ships from Scotland, from East Anglia, from Frisia, and from all the Viking homelands sailed past our coast. Even ships from Wessex. And I had never charged duty on those cargoes. I reckoned it was none of my business if a Scotsman sailed past my coast with a ship filled with pelts or pottery. True, if a ship put into one of my harbours then I would charge a fee, but so did everyone else. But now a small fleet had come to my waters and was levying a duty in my name, and I suspected I knew where that fleet had come from. And if I was right, then the four ships had come from the south, from the lands of Edward, Anglorum Saxonum Rex.\n\nSpearhafoc plunged her bows into a green sea to shatter a hard white foam along her decks. Banama\u00f0r was pitching too, driven by a rising west wind, both of us sailing southwards to hunt down the ships that had killed my tenants, and if I was right about those ships, then I had a bloodfeud on my hands.\n\nA bloodfeud is a war between two families, both sworn to destroy the other. My first had been against Kjartan the Cruel who had slaughtered the whole household of Ragnar, the Dane who had adopted me as a son. I had welcomed that feud, and ended it too by killing both Kjartan and his son, but this new bloodfeud was against a far more powerful enemy. An enemy who lived far to the south in Edward's Wessex, where they could raise an army of household warriors. And to kill them I must go there, to where that army waited to kill me. 'She's turning!' Finan interrupted my thoughts.\n\nBanama\u00f0r was indeed turning. I saw her sail come down, saw the late morning light reflected from oar-blades as they were thrust outboard. Saw the long oars dip and pull, and saw Banama\u00f0r labouring westwards as if seeking the safety of a Northumbrian harbour.\n\nSo the bloodfeud, it seemed, had come to me.\n\nI had liked \u00c6thelhelm the Elder. He had been Wessex's richest ealdorman, a lord of many estates, a genial and even a generous man, and yet he had died as my enemy and as my prisoner.\n\nI had not killed him. I had taken him prisoner when he fought against me, then treated him with the honour that his rank deserved. But then he had caught a sweating sickness, and though we had bled him, though we had paid our Christian priests to pray for him, and though we had wrapped him in pelts and given him the herbs that women had said might cure him, he had died. His son, \u00c6thelhelm the Younger, spread the lie that I had killed his father, and he swore to take revenge. He swore a bloodfeud against me.\n\nYet I had thought of \u00c6thelhelm the Elder as a friend before his eldest daughter married King Edward of Wessex and gave the king a son. That son, \u00c6thelhelm's grandson, \u00c6lfweard, became the \u00e6theling. Crown Prince \u00c6lfweard! He was a petulant and spoiled child who had grown to be a sour, sullen and selfish young man, cruel and vain. Yet \u00c6lfweard was not Edward's eldest son, that was \u00c6thelstan, and \u00c6thelstan was also my friend.\n\nSo why was \u00c6thelstan not the \u00e6theling? Because \u00c6thelhelm spread the rumour, a false rumour, that \u00c6thelstan was a bastard, that Edward had never married his mother. So \u00c6thelstan was exiled to Mercia, where I had met him and where I came to admire the boy. He grew into a warrior, a man of justice, and the only fault I could find in him was his passionate adherence to his Christian god.\n\nAnd now Edward was sick. Men knew he must die soon. And when he died there would be a struggle between the supporters of \u00c6thelhelm the Younger, who wanted \u00c6lfweard on the throne, and those who knew that \u00c6thelstan would make the better king. Wessex and Mercia, joined in an uncertain union, would be torn apart by battle. And so \u00c6thelstan had asked me to swear an oath. That on King Edward's death I would kill \u00c6thelhelm and so destroy his power over the nobles who must meet in the Witan to confirm the new king.\n\nAnd that was why I would need go to Wessex, where my enemies were numerous.\n\nBecause I had sworn an oath.\n\nAnd I had no doubt that \u00c6thelhelm had sent the ships north to weaken me, to distract me, and, with any luck, to kill me.\n\nThe four ships appeared in the summer haze. They were wallowing in the summer sea, but as we appeared they hoisted their sails and turned to pursue us.\n\nBanama\u00f0r had dropped her sail so that, as she pretended to flee westwards, the four ships would not see the black eagle that now faced aft. And we, the moment we saw Banama\u00f0r turn, also dropped our sail so that the enemy would not see the wolf's head of Bebbanburg.\n\n'Now row!' Finan called to the benches. 'Row!'\n\nThe summer haze was thinning. I could see the distant sails bellying in the gusting wind and could see they were gaining on Egil, who was only using three oarsmen on each side. To show more oars was to betray that his ship was no merchant's vessel, but a serpent-ship crammed with men. I wondered for a moment whether I should follow his example, then decided that the four distant ships were unlikely to fear a single warship. They outnumbered us, and I did not doubt that these men had been sent to kill me if they had the chance.\n\nSo I would give them the chance.\n\nBut would they take it? More urgently, they were gaining on Banama\u00f0r, driven fast by the brisk wind, and I decided to reveal myself, shouting at my crew to hoist the big sail again. The sight of the wolf's head might give the enemy pause, but surely they must reckon on winning the coming fight, even against Uhtred\u00e6rwe.\n\nThe sail flapped as it rose, boomed in the wind, then was sheeted home, and Spearhafoc leaned into the sea as her speed increased. The oars were brought inboard and the oarsmen pulled on their mail coats and fetched their shields and weapons. 'Rest while you can!' I called to them.\n\nThe sea was white-flecked now, the crests of the waves being blown to spume. Spearhafoc was dipping her bow, drenching the deck, then rising, before plunging down into the next roller. The steering-oar was heavy in my hands, needing all my strength to push or pull as it quivered with speed. I was still sailing south to face the four ships, to challenge them, and Egil now did the same. Two ships against four.\n\n'You think those are \u00c6thelhelm's ships?' Finan asked.\n\n'Who else?'\n\n'He won't be on any of them,' Finan grunted.\n\nI laughed at that. 'He's safe home in Wiltunscir. He hired these bastards.'\n\nThe bastards were in a line now, spread across our path. Three of the ships looked to be about the size of Spearhafoc, while the fourth, which was furthest east, was smaller, no bigger than Banama\u00f0r. That ship, seeing us race southwards, was lagging as if reluctant to join a fight. We were still far away, but it seemed to me that the smaller ship had very few crewmen.\n\nUnlike the three larger ships, which kept coming towards us. 'They're well manned,' Finan said calmly.\n\n'Egil's Scotsman said there were about forty men in the ship that stopped him.'\n\n'I'd guess more.'\n\n'We'll find out.'\n\n'And they have archers.'\n\n'They do?'\n\n'I can see them.'\n\n'We have shields,' I said, 'and archers like a steady ship, not a boat pitching like an unbroken colt.'\n\nRoric, my servant, brought me my helmet. Not the proud helmet with the silver wolf crouching on its crest, but a serviceable helm that had belonged to my father and was always left on board Spearhafoc. The metal cheek-pieces had rusted and been replaced with boiled leather. I pulled the helmet over my head and Roric laced the cheek-pieces so that an enemy would see nothing but my eyes.\n\nThree of the ships bore no symbols on their sails, though the craft furthest west, closest to the unseen Northumbrian coast, showed a coiled snake, which, like our wolf, was probably woven from wool. The huge slab of cloth was reinforced with rope that made a diamond pattern through which the black snake showed. I could see the water shattering white at her bow.\n\nEgil had turned Banama\u00f0r so, instead of feigning a clumsy flight west towards the harbours of the Northumbrian coast, he was now sailing south next to Spearhafoc. Like me he had hoisted his sail, his crew just sheeting it home as we came abreast of him. I cupped my hands and shouted across the churning water. 'I'm aiming for the second one!' I pointed to the ship nearest the snake-sailed vessel. Egil nodded to show he had heard. 'But I'm going to attack the snake one!' I pointed again. 'You too!'\n\n'Me too!' he called back. He was grinning, his fair hair streaming from beneath his helmet's rim.\n\nThe enemy had spread into a line so that any two of their ships could close on one of ours. If that notion had worked they could board us from both sides at once and the sword-work would be brief, bitter, and bloody. I let them think that plan would succeed by heading slightly off the wind towards the second ship from the west and saw the other two larger ships slightly change their direction so that they were headed towards the place where they thought we would meet their line. They were still spread out, at least four or five ships' lengths between each, but their line was shrinking. The smaller ship, slower than the others, lagged further behind.\n\nEgil's ship, slower than mine because she was shorter, had fallen behind, and I ordered the steerboard sheet to be loosened to slow Spearhafoc, then turned and waved to Egil, pointing to my steerboard side, indicating he should come up on that flank. He understood, and slowly the Banama\u00f0r crept up to my right. We would go into battle together, but not where the enemy hoped.\n\n'Christ!' Finan swore. 'That big bastard has a lot of men!'\n\n'Which big bastard?'\n\n'The one in the centre. Seventy men? Eighty?'\n\n'How many on the snake bastard?'\n\n'Maybe forty, fifty?'\n\n'Enough to frighten a merchantman,' I said.\n\n'They don't seem frightened of us,' he said drily. The three larger ships were still coursing towards us, confident that they outnumbered us. 'Be careful of that big bastard,' Finan said, pointing to the middle ship, the one with the larger crew.\n\nI gazed at the ship, which had a lime-washed cross mounted high on its prow. 'Doesn't matter how many they have,' I said, 'they reckon we only have forty men.'\n\n'They do?' he seemed amused by my confidence.\n\n'They tortured Haggar. What could he tell them? They'd have asked how often our ships go to sea and how many men crewed them. What would he have said?'\n\n'That you keep two warships in the harbour, that Spearhafoc is the bigger one, and usually has a crew of forty, but sometimes not so many.'\n\n'Exactly.'\n\n'And that usually it's Berg who takes her to sea.'\n\nBerg was Egil's youngest brother, and I had saved his life on a Welsh beach many years before and, ever since, he had served me well and faithfully. Berg had been disappointed to be left behind on this voyage, but with Finan and me at sea, he was the best man to command Bebbanburg's remaining garrison. I would usually have left my son in charge, but he was in the central hills of Northumbria to settle a dispute between two of my tenants.\n\n'They think we're about forty men,' I said, 'and they'll reckon Banama\u00f0r at about thirty.' I laughed, then touched the hilt of Serpent-Breath, my sword, before shouting across to Egil. 'Turn now!' I heaved the steering-oar to windward and Spearhafoc dipped her prow as she slewed around. 'Tighten the sail!' I shouted. The trap was sprung, and now the snake would discover how the wolf and the eagle fought.\n\nI had tightened Spearhafoc's sail to quicken her again. She was faster than the enemy's ships. I could see the weed thick on the snake-ship's bottom whenever she reared on a wave. She was slow. We dried our ships out on a falling tide and scraped their lower hulls clean, which kept us fast. I turned back towards Banama\u00f0r. 'I plan to sink the bastard,' I shouted, 'then go east after the second one!'\n\nEgil waved, and I assumed he had heard me. Not that it mattered, Spearhafoc was pulling ahead, she was as close to the wind as I dared take her, but she was carving her swift path, she was breaking the sea white at her cutwater. She was as deadly as her name now, and Egil would realise soon enough what I planned.\n\n'You're going to ram her?' Finan asked.\n\n'If I can, and I want you in the prow. If I don't hit her right you'll need to get aboard her and kill their helmsman. Then ditch their steering-oar.'\n\nFinan went forward, shouting at men to follow him. We were closing on the snake-ship now, near enough to see a group of men in her bow and see the spears they carried. Their helmets reflected the light. One clung to the forestay, another hefted his spear. There was a group of archers in the belly of the boat, arrows already on their strings. 'Beornoth!' I shouted, 'Folcbald! Come here! Bring your shields!' Beornoth was a stolid, reliable man, a Saxon, while Folcbald was an enormous Frisian, one of my strongest warriors. 'You're to protect me,' I said. 'You see those archers? They'll aim for me.'\n\nThe helmsman was in the most vulnerable place on a ship. Most of my men were crouched in Spearhafoc's belly behind raised shields, Finan had gone to the bow where he and six men also made a barrier of shields, but I had to stand at the steering-oar. The arrows would come soon, we were seething through the green seas and were close enough that I could see the nail heads on the snake-ship's hull. I glanced to my left. The other three enemy ships had seen where we were going and had turned to help, but that turn meant they were now heading directly into the wind and their sails were flattening against the masts. Men were scrambling to lower the sails and to thrust oars through their holes, but they were slow and their ships were being blown backwards and pitching hard in the rising seas.\n\n'Now!' Beornoth growled and raised his shield. He had seen the archers loose their arrows.\n\nA half-dozen arrows thumped into the sail, others flickered past to plunge into the sea. I could hear the waves roaring, the wind's song through the rigging, and then I shoved the steering blade hard, putting all my strength into the oar's great loom, and I saw the snake-ship turning towards us, which is what her helmsman should have done moments before, but now it was too late. We were close, and closing fast. 'Spears!' Finan shouted the warning from the prow.\n\n'Brace!' I bellowed. An arrow glanced off the iron rim at the top of Folcbald's shield, a spear-blade scarred the deck at my feet, then Spearhafoc heeled into the turn and a gust of wind buried her rail. I staggered, an arrow smacked hard into the sternpost, then Spearhafoc recovered, her sail protesting as we turned into the wind, water streaming from her scuppers, and above the sounds of the sea and the howl of the wind I heard the shouts of alarm from the enemy.\n\n'Hold hard!' I shouted at my crew.\n\nAnd we struck.\n\nWe lurched violently forward as we jarred to a stop. There was a huge splintering sound, bellows of fright, a churning of water, curses. The backstay beside me tautened frighteningly and, for an instant, I thought our mast would collapse across the bows, but the twisted sealhide held, even though it vibrated like a plucked harp string. Beornoth and Folcbald both fell. Spearhafoc had ridden up on the snake-ship's hull and now settled back with a grinding noise. We had turned into the wind to ram the enemy and I had worried that we would lose way and so strike her less hard than if we had rammed her downwind, but Spearhafoc's weight and speed had been enough to shatter the snake-ship's hull. Our sail was now pressed against the mast and was pushing us back, though it seemed as if our bow was tangled with the enemy's hull because the ships stayed together and Spearhafoc slewed slowly around to larboard and, to my alarm, she began to go down at the prow. Then I heard a sharp crack and Spearhafoc quivered, there was a ripping sound, and she suddenly righted. Her prow had been caught by the broken strakes of the snake-ship's hull, but she had broken free.\n\nThe snake-ship was sinking. We had struck her with our prow, the strongest part of Spearhafoc's hull, and we had splintered her low freeboard as easily as cracking an egg. Water was flowing in, she was tilting, and her bilge, which was crammed with ballast stones, was flooding fast. Her crew, dressed in mail, was doomed, except for those few who had managed to cling to our ship, and meanwhile we were being blown backwards towards the other enemy boats, who, their oars at last in the water, were straining to reach us. We were wallowing. I bellowed at men to haul in the larboard sheet of the sail and loosen the steerboard sheet. To my right the snake-ship was on her side in a maelstrom of white water, surrounded by flotsam, and then she vanished, the last sight of her a small triangular banner at the peak of her canted mast.\n\nI thrust the steering-oar over, praying that Spearhafoc would gain enough way to make the oar's big blade bite, but she was still sluggish. Our prisoners, there were five of them, had been hauled inboard, and Finan had men stripping them of mail, helmets, and sword belts. 'Watch behind, lord!' Folcbald said, sounding alarmed.\n\nThe nearest enemy ship, the vessel with the lime-washed cross on her high prow, was closing on us. She was as large as Spearhafoc and looked much heavier. Her crew was bigger than the snake-ship's doomed crew, but her commander had only ordered twenty-four men to the oars, a dozen on each side, because he wanted the rest ready to leap aboard Spearhafoc. There were helmeted warriors in the bows and more crammed into her waist. At least seventy of them, I thought, maybe more. The first arrows flew, and most went high to slap into our sail, but one whipped close beside me. I instinctively made sure Serpent-Breath was at my side and shouted for Roric.\n\n'Lord?' he called back.\n\n'Have my shield ready!' The cross-prowed ship was lumbering towards us, and we were being wind-driven towards her. She was not coming fast because she was rowing into the wind, she was heavy, and she had too few oarsmen, so it was doubtful that she could sink us as we had sunk the snake-ship, but the height of her prow would let her warriors leap down into our wide belly.\n\nThen Banama\u00f0r suddenly crossed our bows. She was running before the wind and I saw Egil thrust his steering-oar to turn towards the cross-prowed ship. The helmsman of that ship saw the Norseman coming and, even though Banama\u00f0r was half his size, he must have feared being rammed because he shouted at his larboard oarsmen to back water and so slewed to meet Egil's threat bows on. He was close to us now, so close! I shoved the steering-oar, but still it would not bite, which meant Spearhafoc was dead in the water and still being wind-driven towards the enemy. I let go of the oar's loom and took my shield from Roric. 'Get ready!' I shouted. I drew Wasp-Sting, my seax, and the short blade hissed from the fleece-lined scabbard. Broken waves slopped between our ships. The enemy ship had turned towards Egil and would now crash broadside into us, and her crew, armed and mailed, was standing ready to leap. I saw a half-dozen archers raise their bows, then there was sudden chaos in the belly of the cross-prowed ship as Banama\u00f0r slid down her larboard side to shatter the oars. The oar looms were driven hard into the bellies of the rowers, the ship seemed to shiver, the archers staggered and their arrows flew wild, Egil loosed his sail to fly free in the wind as he turned to slide his bows against the enemy's stern. He had men with long-bearded axes ready to grapple the enemy, Banama\u00f0r's bows glanced on the enemy's stern quarter, both ships lurched, the axes fell to draw the two hulls together and I saw the first screaming Norsemen leap onto the cross-prowed ship's stern.\n\nThen we hit. We crashed into the enemy's steerboard oars first, which cracked and splintered, but also held her off for a moment. One huge man, his mouth open as he yelled, leaped at Spearhafoc, but his own ship lurched as he jumped and his bellow of defiance turned into a desperate shout as he fell between the ships. He flailed as he tried to grab our rail, but one of my men kicked his hands and he vanished, dragged down by his armour. The wind drove our stern against the enemy and I jumped onto her steering platform, followed by Folcbald and Beornoth. Egil's savage Norsemen had already killed the helmsman and were now fighting in the belly of the boat, and I was shouting at men to follow me. I jumped down from the steering platform, and a boy, no more than a child, screamed in terror. I kicked him under a rower's bench and snarled at him to stay there.\n\n'Another bastard coming!' Oswi, who had once been my servant and had become an eager, vicious fighter, shouted from Spearhafoc, and I saw the last of the enemy's larger ships was coming to the rescue of the boat we had boarded. Thorolf, Egil's brother, had stayed aboard Banama\u00f0r with just three men, and they now loosed their ship and let the wind carry her out of the approaching boat's way. More of my men were leaping aboard to join me, but there was little room for us to fight. The wide belly of the boat was crammed with warriors, the Norsemen grinding forward from bench to bench, their shield wall stretching the full width of the big ship's waist. The enemy crew was trapped there between Egil's ferocious attackers and Finan's men, who had managed to reach the platform on the prow and were thrusting down with spears. Our challenge then would be to defeat the third ship, which was being rowed towards us. I climbed back onto the steering platform.\n\nThe approaching ship, like the one on which we fought, had a cross high on her prow. It was a dark cross, the wood smeared with pitch, and behind it were crammed the armed and helmeted warriors. The ship was heavy and slow. A man at the prow was shouting instructions to the helmsman and thrusting an arm northwards, and slowly the big ship turned that way and I saw the men in the prow raise their shields. They planned to board us at our stern and attack Egil's men from behind. The rowers on the ship's steerboard side slid their long looms from the holes and the big ship coasted slowly towards us. The rowers picked up shields and drew swords. I noted that the shields were not painted, bearing neither a cross nor any other symbol. If these men had been sent by \u00c6thelhelm, and I was increasingly sure of that, then had clearly been ordered to disguise that truth. 'Shield wall!' I shouted. 'And brace yourselves!'\n\nThere must have been a dozen men on the steering platform with me. There was no room for more, though the enemy, whose prow was higher than our stern, planned to join us. I looked through the finger-width gap between my shield and Folcbald's and saw the great prow just feet away. A wave lifted it, then it crashed down and slammed into us, splintering the top strake, then the enemy's dark bow grated down our stern as I staggered from the impact. I had a glimpse of a man leaping onto me, axe raised, and I lifted the shield and felt the shudder as his axe buried its blade in the willow board.\n\nAlmost any fight on shipboard is a confusion of men packed too close together. In battle even the best disciplined shield wall tends to spread as men try to make room for their weapons, but on a ship there is no space to spread. There is only the foetid breath of an enemy trying to kill you, the press of men and steel, the screams of blade-pierced victims, the raw stink of blood in the scuppers, and the crush of death on a lurching deck.\n\nWhich is why I had drawn Wasp-Sting. She is a short blade, scarce longer than my fore-arm, but there is no room to swing a long-sword in the crush of death. Except there was no crush. The ship had struck us, had broken the strake, but even as more of the enemy readied themselves to leap down at us, a heave of the sea lifted and drove their ship back. Not far, scarcely a pace on land, but the first men to leap flailed as the ships drifted apart. The axeman, his blade still buried in my shield, sprawled on the deck and Folcbald, on my right, stabbed down with his seax and the man shrieked like a child as the blade punctured mail, broke ribs and buried itself in the man's lungs. I kicked the man's shrieking face, stabbed Wasp-Sting into his thick beard, and saw the blood spread across the ship's pale deck planks.\n\n'More coming!' Beornoth shouted behind me. I ripped Wasp-Sting to one side, widening the bloody slash in the axeman's throat, then raised my shield and half crouched. I saw the dark prow loom again, saw it strike our hull again, and then something heavy struck my shield. I could not see what it was, but blood was dripping from the iron rim. 'Got him!' Beornoth called. He was close behind me, and, like most of the second rank, was holding an ash-shafted spear that slanted towards the enemy ship's high prow. Men who leaped on us risked being impaled on those long blades. Another heave of the waves parted the ships again, and the dying man slid from my shield as Beornoth tugged the spear-blade loose. The dying man still moved, and Wasp-Sting struck again. The deck was red now, red and slippery. Another enemy, face contorted in rage, made a giant leap, hammering his shield forward to break our line, but Beornoth heaved on me from behind and the man's shield clashed on mine and he staggered back against the rail. He lunged his seax past my shield, his toothless mouth opened in a silent bellow of rage, but the point of his blade slid off my mail and I hammered my shield forward and the man cursed as he was forced backwards. I pushed my shield again, and he cried aloud as he fell between the ships.\n\nThe wind drove us back onto the big enemy ship. Her prow was a good three feet higher than the stern where we stood. Five men had managed to board us, and all five were dead, and now the enemy on that high prow tried to kill us by thrusting spears at us. The lunges were futile, simply banging into our shields. I could hear a man encouraging them. 'They're pagans! Do God's work! Board them and slaughter them!'\n\nBut they had no belly for boarding. They had to jump down onto the waiting spears, and instead I could see men going to the waist of their ship where it would be easier to cross to us, except that Egil's men had finished their killing and now waited for the next fight. 'Beornoth!' I somehow stepped back, forcing my way through the second rank. 'Stay here,' I told him, 'keep those bastards busy.' I left six men to help him, then led the rest down into the blood-spattered waist. 'Oswi! Folcbald! We're crossing over! All of you! Come!'\n\nThe wind and sea were turning us so that at any moment the two ships would lie side by side. The enemy waited in their ship's belly. They had a shield wall, which told me they did not want to board us, but instead were daring us to leap aboard their ship and die on their shields. They were not shouting, they looked frightened, and a frightened enemy is already half beaten. 'Bebbanburg!' I bellowed, stepped onto a rower's bench, ran, and jumped. The man who had shouted that we were pagans was still yelling. 'Kill them! Kill them!' He was on the prow's high platform where a dozen men were still thrusting futile spears at Beornoth and his companions. The rest of the crew, and I doubted they numbered more than forty, were facing us in the dark ship's belly. The man in front of me, a youngster with terrified eyes, a leather helmet and a battered shield, stepped back as I landed. 'You want to die?' I snarled at him. 'Throw your shield down, boy, and live.'\n\nInstead he raised the shield and thrust it at me. He screamed as he thrust, though he had taken no hurt. I met his shield with my own, turned mine so that his turned too, and that opened his body for Wasp-Sting's lethal thrust that took him low in the belly. I ripped her upwards, gutting him like a fat salmon. Folcbald was to my right, Oswi to my left, and the three of us broke through the thin shield wall, stepping over dying men, slipping on blood. Then I heard Finan shout, 'I've got their stern!'\n\nA man came from my right, Folcbald tripped him, Wasp-Sting sliced across his eyes and he was still screaming as Folcbald heaved him overboard. I turned and saw that Finan and his men were on the steering platform. They were throwing the dead overboard and, for all I knew, the living as well. The enemy was now split into two groups, some at the prow, the rest between my men and Finan's men who were being joined by Egil's eager warriors. Egil himself, his sword, Adder, red to the hilt, was carving a path between the rowers' benches. Men shrank from his Norse fury. 'Throw down your shields!' I called to the enemy. 'Throw down your blades!'\n\n'Kill them!' the man on the prow shouted, 'God is on our side! We cannot be defeated!'\n\n'You can die,' Oswi snarled.\n\nI had twenty men with me. I left ten to guard against the men behind us as I led the rest towards the prow. We made a shield wall, and slowly, obstructed by the rowers' benches and by the discarded oars, we walked forward. We clashed blades against our shields, we shouted insults, we were death approaching, and the enemy had taken enough. They dropped their shields, threw down their weapons, and knelt in submission. More of my men clambered aboard, joined by Egil's Norsemen. A shriek told me that a man died behind me, but it was the last shriek from a defeated crew because this enemy was beaten. I glanced right to see that the fourth enemy ship, the smallest one, had sheeted in her sail and was racing southwards. She was running away. 'This fight is over,' I called to the enemy who were now crammed beneath the cross that decorated the prow of their ship. 'Don't die for nothing.' We had sunk one ship and captured two. 'Throw down your shields!' I called as I stepped forward, 'It's over!'\n\nShields clattered on the deck. Spears and swords were dropped. It was over, all except for one defiant warrior, just one. He was young, tall, and had a thick blonde beard and fiery eyes. He stood on the prow where he carried a long-sword and a plain shield. 'God is on our side!' he shouted, 'God won't desert us! God never fails!' He hammered the blade against his shield. 'Pick up your weapons and kill them!'\n\nNot one of his companions moved. They knew they were beaten, their only hope now was that we would let them live. The young man, who had a silver chain and crucifix hanging over his mail, hammered the sword a last time, realised he was alone and, to my astonishment, jumped down from the prow's platform and took two paces towards me. 'You are Uhtred\u00e6rwe?' he demanded.\n\n'Men call me that,' I acknowledged mildly.\n\n'We were sent to kill you.'\n\n'You're not the first to be sent on that errand,' I said. 'Who are you?'\n\n'I am God's chosen one.'\n\nHis face was framed by his helmet, which was fine piece of work, chased with silver and topped by a cross on the ridged crest. He was good-looking, tall and proud. 'Does God's chosen one have a name?' I asked. I tossed Wasp-Sting to Oswi and slid Serpent-Breath from her fleece-lined scabbard. God's chosen one seemed determined to fight, and he would fight alone, so there would be room for Serpent-Breath to work her savagery.\n\n'My name,' the young man said haughtily, 'is for God to know. Father!' he turned and shouted.\n\n'My son?' a harsh voice answered. It was a priest who had been standing amidst the spearmen on the ship's prow and, from his grating voice, I recognised him as the man who had been encouraging our slaughter.\n\n'If I die here I'll go to heaven?' The youngster asked the question earnestly.\n\n'You will be at God's side this very day, my son. You will be with the blessed saints! Now do God's work!'\n\nThe young man knelt for an instant. He closed his eyes and made a clumsy sign of the cross with the hand holding his sword. Egil's men, my men, and the surviving enemy watched, and I saw the Christians among my crew also make the sign of the cross. Were they praying for me or were they begging forgiveness because they had captured cross-prowed ships? 'Don't be a fool, boy,' I said.\n\n'I am no fool,' he said proudly as he stood. 'God does not choose fools to do his work.'\n\n'Which is?'\n\n'To rid the earth of your wickedness.'\n\n'In my experience,' I said, 'your god almost always chooses fools.'\n\n'Then I will be God's fool,' he said defiantly. There was a clatter behind him and he turned, startled, only to see that another of his companions had thrown down spear and shield. 'You should have more faith,' he told the man derisively, then turned to me and charged.\n\nHe was brave, of course. Brave and foolish. He knew he would die. Maybe not at my hands, but if he had succeeded in killing me then my men would have hacked him down mercilessly, which meant this fool knew he had only minutes to live, yet he believed he would have another life in the sunlit boredom of the Christian heaven. And did he believe he could kill me? Nothing is certain in battle. He might have killed me if he had both the sword-skill and the shield-craft that make a great warrior, but I suspected his faith was not rooted in hard-won craft, but in the belief that his god would reach down and give him victory, and that foolish belief spurred him towards me.\n\nWhile he had been praying I had slipped my hand out of my shield's leather grips and was now holding it by just the outer loop. He must have noticed, but he thought nothing of it. I held both shield and sword low, waited until he was just six or seven paces away, then I drew my left arm back and threw the shield. I threw it low, threw it hard, and threw it at his feet and, sure enough, he tripped on the shield and a heave of the waves tipped him sideways so that he sprawled on a rower's bench, and I stepped forward, swept Serpent-Breath once, and her blade hit his blade with a dull sound and broke it. Two-thirds of his sword clattered across the deck as he desperately stabbed the remaining stub at my thigh. I reached down and took his wrist and held it firm. 'Are you really so eager to die?' I asked him.\n\nHe struggled against my grip, then tried to hit me with the iron-rimmed edge of his shield, which banged against my thigh without hurting me. 'Give me another sword,' he demanded.\n\nI laughed at that. 'Answer me, fool. Are you really so eager to die?'\n\n'God commanded me to kill you!'\n\n'Or were you told to kill me by a priest who dripped poison in your ear?' I asked.\n\nHe drove the shield against me again so I placed Serpent-Breath in its way. 'God commanded me,' he insisted.\n\n'Then your nailed god is as big a fool as you,' I said harshly. 'Where are you from, fool?'\n\nHe hesitated, but I squeezed his wrist and bent his arm back painfully. 'Wessex,' he muttered.\n\n'I can tell that from your accent. Whereabouts in Wessex?'\n\n'Andefera,' he spoke reluctantly.\n\n'And Andefera,' I said, 'is in Wiltunscir.' He nodded. 'Where \u00c6thelhelm is ealdorman,' I added, and saw him flinch at \u00c6thelhelm's name. 'Let go of the sword, boy.'\n\nHe resisted, but I bent his wrist again and he let the broken sword fall. Judging by the hilt that was decorated with gold wire it had been an expensive sword, but it had shattered when it was struck by Serpent-Breath. I tossed the hilt to Oswi. 'Take this holy fool and tie him to Spearhafoc's mast,' I said, 'he can live.'\n\n'But Spearhafoc might not,' Finan said drily. 'She's foundering.'\n\nI looked across the deck of the intervening ship and saw that Finan was right.\n\nSpearhafoc was sinking.\n\nSpearhafoc had sprung two planks when she struck the first enemy ship, and water was pouring into her bows. By the time I reached her she was already low at the prow. Gerbruht, a big Frisian, had ripped up the deck planking and now had men lifting the ballast stones, which they carried to the stern to balance the ship. 'We can plug it, lord!' he shouted when he saw me. 'The leak's only on one side.'\n\n'Do you need men?' I called.\n\n'We'll manage!'\n\nEgil had followed me onto Spearhafoc's stern. 'We'll not catch that last one,' he said, looking at the enemy's smallest ship, which was now almost at the southern horizon.\n\n'I'm hoping to save this one,' I said grimly. Gerbruht might be optimistic about plugging Spearhafoc's leaks, but the wind was rising and the seas building. A dozen men were bailing the ship, some using their helmets to scoop the water overboard. Still,' I went on, 'we can get home in one of those ships.' I nodded towards the two we'd captured.\n\n'They're lumps of shit,' Egil said, 'too heavy!'\n\n'They might be useful for cargo,' I suggested.\n\n'Better as firewood.'\n\nGerbruht, his hands under the bilge's water, was stuffing cloth into the gap left by the sprung planks, while other men were hurling water overboard. One of the two enemy ships we had captured was also leaking, the ship with the lime-washed cross, which had been damaged when the last ship joined the fight. Her stern had been hit by the larger boat and her planking had cracked to spring a leak at the waterline. We put most of our prisoners on that ship, after taking their weapons, their mail, their shields, and their helmets. We took their sail, which was new and valuable, and their few supplies, which were meagre; some rock-hard cheese, a sack of damp bread, and two barrels of ale. I left them just six oars and then cut them loose. 'You're letting them go?' Egil asked, surprised.\n\n'I don't want to feed the bastards at Bebbanburg,' I said. 'And how far can they go? They've no food, nothing to drink, and no sail. Half of them are wounded and they're in a leaking boat. If they've any sense they'll row for shore.'\n\n'Against the wind,' Egil was amused at the thought.\n\n'And when they get ashore,' I said, 'they'll have no weapons. So welcome to Northumbria.'\n\nWe had rescued eleven of the fishermen who had crewed the Gydene and the Swealwe, all of them forced to row for their captors. The prisoners we had taken were all either West Saxons or East Anglians and subjects of King Edward, if he still lived. I had kept a dozen to take back to Bebbanburg, including the priest who had so feverishly called on his men to slaughter us. He was brought to me on Spearhafoc, which was still bows down, but Gerbruht's efforts were stemming the worst of the leak, and moving much of the ballast aft had steadied the hull.\n\nThe priest was young and stocky, with a round face, black hair, and a sour expression. There was something familiar about him. 'Have we met?' I asked.\n\n'Thank God, no.'\n\nHe was standing just below the steering platform, guarded by a grinning Beornoth. We had raised the sail and were going northwards, going home, driven by the steady west wind. Most of my men were on the large ship we had captured, only a few were still on Spearhafoc, and those few were still bailing water. The young man who had sworn to kill me was still tied to the mast, from where he glowered at me. 'That young fool,' I said, talking to the priest and nodding towards the young man, 'is from Wessex, but you sound Mercian.'\n\n'Christ's kingdom has no boundaries,' he retorted.\n\n'Unlike my mercy,' I said, to which he answered nothing. 'I'm from Northumbria,' I went on, ignoring his defiance, 'and in Northumbria I am an ealdorman. You call me lord.' He still said nothing, just looked up at me with a scowl. Spearhafoc was still sluggish, reluctant to lift her bows, but she was sailing and she was heading home. Banama\u00f0r and the captured ship were keeping us company, ready to take us off if Spearhafoc began to sink, though minute by minute I sensed that she would survive to be dragged ashore and repaired. 'You call me lord,' I repeated. 'Where are you from?'\n\n'Christ's kingdom.'\n\nBeornoth drew back a meaty hand to strike the priest, but I shook my head. 'You see that we're in danger of sinking?' I asked the priest, who stayed stubbornly silent. I doubted he could sense that Spearhafoc, far from foundering, was recovering her grace. 'And if we do sink,' I went on, 'I'll tie you to the mast alongside that idiot child. Unless, of course, you tell me what I want to know. Where are you from?'\n\n'I was born in Mercia,' he spoke reluctantly, 'but God saw fit to send me to Wessex.'\n\n'If he doesn't call me lord again,' I told Beornoth, 'you can smack him as hard as you like.' I smiled at the priest. 'Where in Wessex?'\n\n'Wintanceaster,' he said, paused, then sensed Beornoth moving and hastily added, 'lord.'\n\n'And what,' I asked, 'is a priest from Wintanceaster doing in a ship off the Northumbrian coast?'\n\n'We were sent to kill you!' he snarled, then yelped as Beornoth smacked the back of his head.\n\n'Be strong in the Lord, father!' the young man shouted from the mast.\n\n'What is that idiot's name?' I asked, amused.\n\nThe priest hesitated a heartbeat, giving the young man a sideways glance. 'Wistan, lord,' he said.\n\n'And your name?' I asked.\n\n'Father Ceolnoth,' there was again a slight pause before he added 'lord.'\n\nAnd I knew then why he was familiar and why he hated me. And that made me laugh. We limped on home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "We took Spearhafoc home. It was not easy. Gerbruht had slowed the leak, yet still the sleek hull wallowed in the afternoon seas. I had a dozen men bailing her and feared that worsening weather might doom her, but the gusting wind was kind, settling into a steady westerly, and the fretting sea calmed and Spearhafoc's wolf-sail carried us slowly north. It was dusk when we reached the Farnea Islands and limped between them and a western sky that was a red-streaked furnace of savage fire against which Bebbanburg's ramparts were outlined black. It was a weary crew that rowed the stricken ship through the narrow channel into Bebbanburg's harbour. We beached Spearhafoc, and in the morning I would assemble teams of oxen to drag her above the tideline where her bows could be mended. Banama\u00f0r and the captured ship followed us through the channel.\n\nI had talked with Father Ceolnoth as we laboured home, but he had proved sullen and unhelpful. Wistan, the young man who had believed his god wanted my death, had been miserable and equally unhelpful. I had asked them both who had sent them north to kill me, and neither would answer. I had released Wistan from the mast and showed him a heap of captured swords. 'You can take one and try to kill me again,' I told him. He blushed when my men laughed and urged him to accept the offer, but he made no attempt to do his god's work. Instead he just sat in the scuppers until Gerbruht told him to start bailing. 'You want to live, boy? Start slinging water!'\n\n'Your father,' I spoke to Father Ceolnoth, 'is Ceolberht?'\n\nHe seemed surprised that I knew, though in truth it had been a guess. 'Yes,' he said curtly.\n\n'I knew him as a boy.'\n\n'He told me,' the priest said, a pause, then, 'lord.'\n\n'He didn't like me then,' I said, 'and I daresay he dislikes me still.'\n\n'Our God teaches us to forgive,' he said, though in the bitter tone some Christian priests use when they are forced to admit an uncomfortable truth.\n\n'So where is your father now?' I asked.\n\nHe stayed silent for a while, then evidently decided his answer revealed no secrets. 'My father serves God in Wintanceaster's minster. So does my uncle.'\n\n'I'm glad they both live!' I said, though that was not true because I disliked both men. They were twins from Mercia, as alike to each other as two apples. They had been hostages with me, caught by the Danes, and while Ceolnoth and Ceolberht had resented that fate, I had welcomed it. I liked the Danes, but the twins were fervent Christians, sons of a bishop, and they had been taught that all pagans were the devil's spawn. After their release from captivity they had both studied for the priesthood and grew to become passionate haters of paganism. Fate had decreed that our paths should cross often enough, and they had ever despised me, calling me an enemy of the church and worse, and I had finally repaid an insult by kicking out most of Father Ceolberht's teeth. Ceolnoth bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, but I had guessed that the toothless Ceolberht would name his son after his brother. And so he had.\n\n'So what is the son of a toothless father doing in Northumbrian waters?' I had asked him.\n\n'God's work,' was all he would say.\n\n'Torturing and killing fishermen?' I asked, and to that question the priest had no answer.\n\nWe had taken prisoner those men who appeared to be the leaders of the defeated ships, and that night they were imprisoned in an empty stable that was guarded by my men, but I had invited Father Ceolnoth and the misery-stricken Wistan to eat in the great hall. It was not a feast, most of the garrison had eaten earlier, so the meal was just for the men who had crewed the ships. The only woman present, besides the serving girls, was Eadith my wife, and I sat Father Ceolnoth to her left. I did not like the priest, but I accorded him the dignity of his office, a gesture I regretted as soon as he took his place at the high table's bench. He raised his hands to the smoke-darkened rafters and began to pray in a loud and piercing voice. I suppose it was brave of him, but it was the bravery of a fool. He asked his god to rain fire on this 'pestilential fortress', to lay it waste, and to defeat the abominations that lurked inside its ramparts. I let him rant for a moment, asked him to be silent, and, when he just raised his voice and begged his god to consign us to the devil's cesspit, I beckoned to Berg. 'Take the holy bastard to the pigs,' I said, 'and chain him there. He can preach to the sows.'\n\nBerg dragged the priest from the hall, and my men, even the Christians, cheered. Wistan, I noticed, watched silently and sadly. He intrigued me. His helmet and mail, which were now mine, were of quality workmanship and suggested that Wistan was nobly-born. I also sensed that, for all his foolishness, he was a thoughtful young man. I pointed him out to Eadith, my wife. 'When we're done,' I told her, 'we'll take him to the chapel.'\n\n'The chapel!' she sounded surprised.\n\n'He probably wants to pray.'\n\n'Just kill the pup,' Egil put in cheerfully.\n\n'I think he'll talk,' I said. We had learned much from the other prisoners. The small fleet of four ships had been assembled at Dumnoc in East Anglia and was crewed by a mix of men from that port, other East Anglian harbours, and from Wessex. Mostly from Wessex. The men were paid well and had been offered a reward if they succeeded in killing me. The leaders of the fleet, we learned, had been Father Ceolnoth, the boy Wistan and a West Saxon warrior named Egbert. I had never heard of Egbert, though the prisoners claimed he was a famed warrior. 'A big man, lord,' one had told me, 'even taller than you! A scarred face!' the prisoner had shuddered in remembered fear.\n\n'Was he on the ship that sank?' I had asked. We had not captured anyone resembling Egbert's description so I assumed he was dead.\n\n'He was on the H\u00e6lubearn, lord, the small ship.'\n\nH\u00e6lubearn meant 'child of healing', but it was also a term the Christians used for themselves, and I wondered if all four ships had carried pious names. I suspected they did because another prisoner, clutching a wooden cross hanging at his breast, said that Father Ceolnoth had promised every man that they would go straight to heaven with all their sins forgiven if they succeeded in slaughtering me. 'Why would Egbert be on the smallest ship?' I had wondered aloud.\n\n'It was the fastest, lord,' the first prisoner told me. 'Those other boats are pigs to sail. H\u00e6lubearn might be small, but she's nimble.'\n\n'Meaning he could escape if there was trouble,' I had commented sourly, and the prisoners just nodded.\n\nI reckoned I would learn nothing from Father Ceolnoth, but Wistan, I thought, was vulnerable to kindness and so, when the meal was over, Eadith and I took the boy to Bebbanburg's chapel, which is built on a lower ledge of rock beside the great hall. It is made of timber like most of the fortress, but the Christians among my men had laid a flagstone floor which they had covered with rugs. The chapel is not large, maybe twenty paces long and half as wide. There are no windows, just a wooden altar at the eastern end, a scattering of milking stools, and a bench against the western wall. Three of the walls are hung with plain woollen cloths that block the draughts, while on the altar is a silver cross, kept well polished, and two large candles which are permanently lit.\n\nWistan seemed bemused when I led him inside. He glanced nervously at Eadith who, like him, wore a cross. 'Lord?' he asked nervously.\n\nI sat on the bench and leaned against the wall. 'We thought you might want to pray,' I said.\n\n'It's a consecrated space,' Eadith reassured the boy.\n\n'We have a priest too,' I added. 'Father Cuthbert. He's a friend and he lives in the fortress here. He's blind and old and some days he feels unwell and then he asks the priest from the village to take his place.'\n\n'There's a church in the village,' Eadith said. 'You can go there tomorrow.'\n\nWistan was now thoroughly confused. He had been taught that I was Uhtred the Wicked, a stubborn pagan, an enemy of his church and a priest-killer, yet now I was showing him a Christian chapel inside my fortress and talking to him of Christian priests. He stared at me, then at Eadith, and had nothing to say.\n\nI rarely carried Serpent-Breath when I was inside Bebbanburg, but I had Wasp-Sting at my hip and now I drew the short-sword, turned her so that the hilt was towards Wistan, then slid the blade across the flagstones. 'Your god says you must kill me. Why don't you?'\n\n'Lord \u2026' he said, then had nothing more to say.\n\n'You told me you were sent to rid the world of my wickedness,' I pointed out. 'You know they call me Uhtred\u00e6rwe?'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he said, scarce above a whisper.\n\n'Uhtred the priest-killer?'\n\nHe nodded. 'Yes, lord.'\n\n'I have killed priests,' I said, 'and monks.'\n\n'Not on purpose,' Eadith put in.\n\n'Sometimes on purpose,' I said, 'but usually in anger.' I shrugged. 'Tell me what else you know about me.'\n\nWistan hesitated, then found his courage. 'You are a pagan, lord, and a warlord. You are friends with the heathen, you encourage them!' He hesitated again.\n\n'Go on,' I said.\n\n'Men say you want \u00c6thelstan to be king in Wessex because you have bewitched him. That you will use him to take the throne for yourself!'\n\n'Is that all?' I asked, amused.\n\nHe had not been looking at me, but now raised his eyes to gaze into mine. 'They say you killed \u00c6thelhelm the Elder and that you forced his daughter to marry your son. That she was raped! Here, in your fortress.' He had anger on his face and tears in his eyes and, for a heartbeat, I thought he would snatch up Wasp-Sting.\n\nThen Eadith laughed. She said nothing, just laughed, and her apparent amusement puzzled Wistan. Eadith was looking quizzically at me, and I nodded. She knew what the nod meant and so went into the windswept night. The candles fluttered wildly as she opened and closed the door, but they stayed lit. They were the only illumination in the small chapel, so Wistan and I spoke in near darkness. 'It's a rare day when there's no wind,' I said mildly. 'Wind and rain, rain and wind, Bebbanburg's weather.'\n\nHe said nothing.\n\n'Tell me,' I said, still sitting beside the chapel wall, 'how did I kill Ealdorman \u00c6thelhelm?'\n\n'How would I know, lord?'\n\n'How do men in Wessex say that he died?' He did not answer. 'You are from Wessex?'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he muttered.\n\n'Then tell me what men in Wessex say about Ealdorman \u00c6thelhelm's death.'\n\n'They say he was poisoned, lord.'\n\nI half smiled. 'By a pagan sorcerer?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'You would know, lord, not me.'\n\n'Then, Wistan of Wessex,' I went on, 'let me tell you what I do know. I did not kill Ealdorman \u00c6thelhelm. He died of the fever despite all the care we gave him. He received the last rites of your church. His daughter was with him when he died, and she was neither raped nor forced into marriage with my son.'\n\nHe said nothing. The light of the big candles flickered their reflection from Wasp-Sting's blade. The night wind rattled the chapel door and sighed about the roof. 'Tell me what you know of Prince \u00c6thelstan,' I said.\n\n'That he is a bastard,' Wistan said, 'and would take the throne from \u00c6lfweard.'\n\n'\u00c6lfweard,' I said, 'who is nephew to the present Ealdorman \u00c6thelhelm, and is King Edward's second oldest son. Does Edward still live?'\n\n'Praise God, yes.'\n\n'And \u00c6lfweard is his second son, yet you claim he should be king after his father.'\n\n'He is the \u00e6theling, lord.'\n\n'The eldest son is the \u00e6theling,' I pointed out.\n\n'And in the eyes of God the king's eldest son is \u00c6lfweard,' Wistan insisted, 'because \u00c6thelstan is a bastard.'\n\n'A bastard,' I repeated.\n\n'Yes, lord,' he said stubbornly.\n\n'Tomorrow,' I said, 'I'll introduce you to Father Cuthbert. You'll like him! I keep him safe in this fortress, do you know why?' Wistan shook his head. 'Because many years ago,' I went on, 'Father Cuthbert was foolish enough to marry the young Prince Edward to a pretty Centish girl, the daughter of a bishop. That girl died in childbirth, but she left twin children, Eadgyth and \u00c6thelstan. I say Father Cuthbert was foolish because Edward did not have his father's permission to marry, but nevertheless the marriage was consecrated by a Christian priest in a Christian church. And those who would deny \u00c6thelstan his true inheritance have been trying to silence Father Cuthbert ever since. They would kill him, Wistan, so that the truth is never known, and that is why I keep him safe in this fortress.'\n\n'But \u2026' he began, and again he had nothing to say. For his whole life, which I guessed was about twenty years, he had been told by everyone in Wessex that \u00c6thelstan was a bastard, and that \u00c6lfweard was the true heir to Edward's throne. He had believed that lie, he had believed that \u00c6thelstan was whelped on a whore, and now I was destroying that belief. He believed me, and he did not want to believe me, and so he said nothing.\n\n'And you believe your god sent you to kill me?' I asked.\n\nHe still said nothing. He just gazed at the sword that lay by his feet.\n\nI laughed. 'My wife is a Christian, my son is a Christian, my oldest and closest friend is a Christian, and over half my men are Christians. Wouldn't your god have asked one of them to kill me instead of sending you? Why send you all the way from Wessex when there are a hundred or more Christians here who can strike me down?' He neither moved nor spoke. 'The fisherman you tortured and killed was also a Christian,' I said.\n\nHe started at that and shook his head. 'I tried to stop that, but Edgar \u2026'\n\nHis voice tailed away to silence, but I had noted the very slight hesitation before the name Edgar. 'Edgar isn't his real name, is it?' I asked. 'Who is he?'\n\nBut the church door creaked open before he could answer, and Eadith led \u00c6lswyth into the wind-fluttering candlelight. \u00c6lswyth stopped as soon as she entered, she stared at Wistan, and then she smiled with delight.\n\n\u00c6lswyth is my daughter-in-law, the daughter of my enemy, and sister to his son, who hates me as much as his father did. Her father, \u00c6thelhelm the Elder, planned to make her a queen, to exchange her beauty for some throne in Christendom, but my son gained her first and she had lived at Bebbanburg ever since. To look at her was to think that no girl so wan, so pale and thin could survive the harsh winters and brutal winds of Northumbria, let alone the agonies of childbirth, yet \u00c6lswyth had given me two grandsons and she alone in the fortress seemed immune to the aches, sneezes, shivers, and coughs that marked our winter months. She looked frail, but was as strong as steel. Her face, so lovely, lit with joy when she saw Wistan. She had a smile that could melt the heart of a beast, but Wistan did not smile back, instead he just gaped at her as if shocked.\n\n'\u00c6thelwulf!' Eadith exclaimed and went towards him with open arms.\n\n'\u00c6thelwulf!' I repeated, amused. The name meant 'noble wolf' and the young man who had called himself Wistan might look noble, yet he looked anything but wolflike.\n\n\u00c6thelwulf blushed. He let \u00c6lswyth embrace him, then looked at me sheepishly. 'I am \u00c6thelwulf,' he admitted, and in a tone that suggested I should recognise the name.\n\n'My brother!' \u00c6lswyth said happily. 'My youngest brother!' It was then she saw Wasp-Sting on the stone floor and frowned, looking to me for an explanation.\n\n'Your brother,' I said, 'was sent to kill me.'\n\n'Kill you?' \u00c6lswyth sounded shocked.\n\n'In revenge for the way we treated you,' I continued. 'Weren't you raped and forced into an unwanted marriage?'\n\n'No!' she protested.\n\n'And all that,' I said, 'after I had murdered your father.'\n\n\u00c6lswyth looked up into her brother's face. 'Our father died of the fever!' she said fiercely, 'I was with him through the whole illness. And no one raped me, no one forced me to marry. I love this place!'\n\nPoor \u00c6thelwulf. He looked as if the foundations of his life had just been ripped away. He believed \u00c6lswyth of course, how could he not? There was joy on her face and enthusiasm in her voice, while \u00c6thelwulf looked as if he was about to cry.\n\n'Let's go to bed,' I said to Eadith, then turned to \u00c6lswyth. 'And you two can talk.'\n\n'We shall!' \u00c6lswyth said.\n\n'I'll send a servant to show you where you can sleep,' I told \u00c6thelwulf, 'but you do know you're a prisoner here?'\n\nHe nodded. 'Yes, lord.'\n\n'An honoured prisoner,' I said, 'but if you try to leave the fortress, that will change.'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he said again.\n\nI picked up Wasp-Sting, patted my prisoner on the shoulder, and went to bed. It had been a long day.\n\nSo \u00c6thelhelm the Younger had sent his youngest brother to kill me. He had equipped a fleet, and offered gold to the crew, and placed a rancid priest on the ships to inspire \u00c6thelwulf with righteous anger. \u00c6thelhelm knew it would be next to impossible to kill me while I stayed inside the fortress and knew too that he could not send sufficient men to ambush me on my lands without those men being discovered and slaughtered by Northumbria's warriors, so he had been clever. He had sent men to ambush me at sea.\n\n\u00c6thelwulf was the fleet's leader, but \u00c6thelhelm knew that his brother, though imbued with the family's hatred for me, was not the most ruthless of men, and so he had sent Father Ceolnoth to fill \u00c6thelwulf with holy stupidity, and he had also sent the man they called Edgar. Except that was not his real name. \u00c6thelhelm had wanted no one to know of the fleet's true allegiance, or to connect my death to his orders. He had hoped the blame would be placed on piracy, or on some passing Norse ship, and so he had commanded the leaders to use any name except their own. \u00c6thelwulf had become Wistan, and I learned that Edgar was really Waormund.\n\nI knew Waormund. He was a huge West Saxon, a brutal man, with a slab face scarred from his right eyebrow to his lower left jaw. I remembered his eyes, dead as stone. In battle Waormund was a man you would want standing beside you because he was capable of terrible violence, but he was also a man who revelled in that savagery. A strong man, even taller than me, and implacable. He was a warrior, and, though you might want his help in a battle, no one but a fool would want Waormund as an enemy. 'Why,' I asked \u00c6thelwulf the next morning, 'was Waormund in your smallest ship?'\n\n'I ordered him into that ship, lord, because I wanted him gone! He's not a Christian.'\n\n'He's a pagan?'\n\n'He's a beast. It was Waormund who tortured the captives. I tried to stop him.'\n\n'But Father Ceolnoth encouraged him?'\n\n'Yes.' \u00c6thelwulf nodded miserably. We were walking on Bebbanburg's seaward ramparts. The sun glittered from an empty sea and a small wind brought the smell of seaweed and salt. 'I tried to stop Waormund,' \u00c6thelwulf went on, 'and he cursed me and he cursed God.'\n\n'He cursed your god?' I asked, amused.\n\n\u00c6thelwulf made the sign of the cross. 'I said God would not forgive his cruelty, and he said God was far more cruel than man. So I ordered him into H\u00e6lubearn because I couldn't abide his company.'\n\nI walked on a few paces. 'I know your brother hates me,' I said, 'but why send you north to kill me? Why now?'\n\n'Because he knows you swore an oath to kill him,' \u00c6thelwulf said, and that answer shocked me. I had indeed sworn that oath, but I had thought it was a secret between \u00c6thelstan and myself, yet \u00c6thelhelm knew of that oath. How? No wonder \u00c6thelhelm wanted me dead before I attempted to fulfil the oath.\n\nMy sworn enemy's brother looked at me nervously. 'Is it true, lord?'\n\n'Yes,' I said, 'but not until King Edward dies.'\n\n\u00c6thelwulf had flinched when I told him that brutal truth. 'But why?' he asked. 'Why kill my brother?'\n\n'Did you ask your brother why he wanted to kill me?' I retorted angrily. 'Don't answer, I know why. Because he believes I killed your father, and because I'm Uhtred\u00e6rwe the Pagan, Uhtred the Priest-Killer.'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he said in a low voice.\n\n'Your brother has tried to kill \u00c6thelstan,' I said, 'and he's tried to kill me, and you wonder why I want to kill him?' He said nothing to that. 'Tell me what happens when Edward dies?' I asked harshly.\n\n'I pray he lives,' \u00c6thelwulf said, making the sign of the cross. 'He was in Mercia when I left, lord, but had taken to his bed. The priests visited him.'\n\n'To give him the last rites?'\n\n'So they said, lord, but he's recovered before.'\n\n'So what happens if he doesn't recover?'\n\nHe paused, unwilling to give the answer he knew I did not want to hear. 'When he dies, lord,' he made the sign of the cross again, '\u00c6lfweard becomes King of Wessex.'\n\n'And \u00c6lfweard is your nephew,' I said, 'and \u00c6lfweard is a sparrow-witted piece of shit, but if he becomes king, your brother thinks he can control him, and he thinks he can rule Wessex through \u00c6lfweard. There's just one problem, isn't there? That \u00c6thelstan's parents really were married, which means \u00c6thelstan is no bastard, so when Edward dies there'll be civil war. Saxon against Saxon, Christian against Christian, \u00c6lfweard against \u00c6thelstan. And long ago I swore an oath to protect \u00c6thelstan. I sometimes wish I hadn't.'\n\nHe stopped in surprise. 'You do, lord?'\n\n'Truly,' I said, and explained no further. I drew him on, pacing the long rampart. It was true I had sworn an oath to protect \u00c6thelstan, but increasingly I was not certain that I liked him. He was too pious, too like his grandfather, and, I also knew, too ambitious. There is nothing wrong with ambition. \u00c6thelstan's grandfather, King Alfred, had been a man of ambition, and \u00c6thelstan had inherited his grandfather's dreams, and those dreams meant uniting the kingdoms of Saxon Britain. Wessex had invaded East Anglia, it had swallowed Mercia, and it was no secret that Wessex wished to rule Northumbria, my Northumbria, the last British kingdom where men and women were free to worship as they wished. \u00c6thelstan had sworn never to invade Northumbria while I lived, but how long could that be? No man lives for ever, and I was already old, and I feared that by supporting \u00c6thelstan I was condemning my country to the rule of southern kings and their grasping bishops. Yet I had sworn an oath to the man most likely to make that happen.\n\nI am a Northumbrian and Northumbria is my country. My people are Northumbrians, and Northumbrians are a hard, tough people, yet we are a small country. To our north lies Alba, full of ambitious Scots who raid us, revile us, and want our land. To the west lies Ireland, home to Norsemen who are never satisfied with the land they have, and always want more. The Danes are restless across the eastern sea, and they have never relinquished their claim to my land where so many Danes have already settled. So to the east, to the west, and to the north we have enemies, and we are a small country. And to the south are Saxons, folk who speak our language, and they too want Northumbria.\n\nAlfred had always believed that all the folk who speak the English language should live in the same country, a country he dreamed of, a country called Englaland. And fate, that bitch who controls our lives, had meant I had fought for Alfred and his dream. I had killed Danes, I had killed Norsemen, and every death, every stroke of the sword, had extended the rule of the Saxons. Northumbria, I knew, could not survive. She was too small. The Scots wanted the land, but the Scots had other enemies; they were fighting the Norsemen of Strath Clota and of the Isles, and those enemies distracted King Constantin. The Norse of Ireland were fearsome, but could rarely agree on one leader, though that did not stop their dragon-headed ships crossing the Irish Sea bringing warriors to settle on Northumbria's wild western coast. The Danes were more cautious about Britain now, the Saxons had become too strong, and so the Danish boats went further south in search of easier prey. And the Saxons were getting stronger. So one day, I knew, Northumbria would fall, and it was likely, in my judgement, to fall to the Saxons. I did not want that, but to fight against it was to draw a sword against fate, and if that fate was inevitable, and I believed it was, then it was better that \u00c6thelstan should inherit Wessex. \u00c6lfweard was my enemy. His family hated me, and if he took Northumbria he would bring the whole might of Saxon Britain against Bebbanburg. \u00c6thelstan had sworn to protect me, as I had sworn to protect him.\n\n'He's using you!' Eadith had told me bitterly when I confessed to her that I had sworn to kill \u00c6thelhelm the Younger on King Edward's death.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan is?'\n\n'Of course! And why are you helping him? He's not your friend.'\n\n'I like him well enough.'\n\n'But does he like you?' she had demanded.\n\n'I swore an oath to protect him.'\n\n'Men and oaths! You think \u00c6thelstan will keep his oath? You believe he won't invade Northumbria?'\n\n'Not while I live.'\n\n'He's a fox!' Eadith had said. 'He's ambitious! He wants to be King of Wessex, King of Mercia, King of East Anglia, king of everything! And he doesn't care who or what he destroys to get what he wants. Of course he'll break his oath! He never married!'\n\nI stared at her. 'What has that to do with it?'\n\nShe had looked frustrated. 'He has no love!' she had insisted and looked puzzled by my lack of understanding. 'His mother died giving birth to him.' She made the sign of the cross. 'Everyone knows the devil marks those babies!'\n\n'My mother died giving birth to me,' I retorted.\n\n'You're different,' she had said. 'I don't trust him. And you should stay here when Edward dies!' That had been her final word, spoken bitterly. Eadith was a strong, clever woman, and only a fool ignores such a woman's advice, yet her anger aroused a fury in me. I knew she was right, but I was stubborn, and her resentment only made me more determined to keep the oath.\n\nFinan had agreed with Eadith. 'If you go south I'll come with you,' the Irishman had told me, 'but we shouldn't be going.'\n\n'You want \u00c6thelhelm to live?'\n\n'I'd like to poke his eyeballs out by shoving Soul-Stealer up his rotten arse,' Finan had said, speaking of his sword. 'But I'd rather leave that pleasure to \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'I swore an oath.'\n\n'You're my lord,' he had said, 'but you're still a bloody fool. When do we leave?'\n\n'As soon as we hear of Edward's death.'\n\nFor a year I had been expecting one of \u00c6thelstan's warriors to come from the south bringing news of a king's death, but three days after I had first spoken with \u00c6thelwulf a priest came instead. He found me in Bebbanburg's harbour where Spearhafoc, newly repaired, was being launched. It was a hot day and I was stripped to the waist, helping the men who pushed the sleek hull down the beach. At first the priest did not believe I was Lord Uhtred, but \u00c6thelwulf, who was with me and who was dressed as a nobleman, assured him I was indeed the ealdorman.\n\nKing Edward, the priest told me, still lived, 'God be praised,' he added. The priest was young, tired, and saddle sore. His horse was a fine mare, but like the rider she was dusty, sweat-soaked, and bone weary. The priest had ridden hard.\n\n'You rode all this way to tell me the king still lives?' I asked harshly.\n\n'No, lord, I rode to bring you a message.'\n\nI heard his message, and next day, at dawn, I went south.\n\nI left Bebbanburg with just five men for company. Finan, of course, was one, while the other four were all good warriors, sword-skilled and loyal. I left the priest who had brought me the message in Bebbanburg and told my son, who had returned from the hills and was to command the garrison while I was away, to guard him well. I did not want the priest's news spreading. I also gave my son instructions to keep \u00c6thelwulf as an honoured prisoner. 'He might be an innocent fool,' I said, 'but I still don't want him riding south to warn his brother that I'm coming.'\n\n'His brother will know anyway,' Finan had said drily. 'He already knows you're sworn to kill him!'\n\nAnd that, I thought as I pounded the long road to Eoferwic, was strange. \u00c6thelstan and I had sworn oaths to each other and agreed to keep those oaths secret. I had broken that agreement by telling Eadith, Finan, my son, and his wife, but I trusted all of them to keep the secret. So if \u00c6thelhelm knew, then \u00c6thelstan must have told someone, who, in turn, had told \u00c6thelhelm of the threat, and that suggested there were spies in \u00c6thelstan's employment. That was no surprise, indeed I would have been astonished if \u00c6thelhelm did not have men reporting to him from Mercia, but it did mean my enemy was forewarned of the threat I posed.\n\nThere was one last person I needed to tell of my oath, and I knew he would not be happy. I was right. He was furious.\n\nSigtryggr had been my son-in-law and was now King of Northumbria. He was a Norseman, and he owed his throne to me, which meant, I thought ruefully, that I was to Sigtryggr what \u00c6thelhelm was to Edward. I was his most powerful noble, the one man he must either placate or kill, but he was also my friend, though when I met him in the old Roman palace of Eoferwic he fell into a rage. 'You promised to kill \u00c6thelhelm?' he snarled at me.\n\n'I took an oath.'\n\n'Why!' It was not a question. 'To protect \u00c6thelstan?'\n\n'I took an oath to protect him. I took that oath years\u2014'\n\n'And he wants you to go south again!' Sigtryggr interrupted me. 'To save Wessex from its own chaos! To save Wessex! That's what you did last year! You saved that bastard \u00c6thelstan. We needed him dead! But no, you had to save the miserable arsehole's life! You won't go, I forbid it.'\n\n'\u00c6thelstan,' I pointed out, 'is your brother-in-law.'\n\nSigtryggr uttered one word to that, then kicked a table. A Roman jug of blue glass fell and shattered, causing one of his wolfhounds to whine. He pointed a finger at me. 'You must not go. I forbid it!'\n\n'Do you break your oaths, lord King?' I asked.\n\nHe snarled again, paced angrily on the tiled floor, then turned on me again. 'When Edward dies,' he said, 'the Saxons will start fighting amongst themselves. True?'\n\n'Probably true,' I said.\n\n'Then let them fight!' Sigtryggr said. 'Pray that the bastards kill each other! It's none of our business. While they're fighting each other they can't fight us!'\n\n'And if \u00c6lfweard wins,' I pointed out, 'he will attack us anyway.'\n\n'You think \u00c6thelstan won't? You think he won't lead an army across our frontier?'\n\n'He promised not to. Not while I live.'\n\n'And that can't be long,' Sigtryggr said, making it sound like a threat.\n\n'And you're married to his twin sister,' I retorted.\n\n'You think that will stop him?' Sigtryggr glared at me. He had first been married to my daughter, who had died defending Eoferwic, and after her death King Edward had forced the marriage between Sigtryggr and Eadgyth, threatening invasion if Sigtryggr refused, and Sigtryggr, assailed by other enemies, accepted. Edward claimed the marriage was a symbol of peace between the Saxon kingdoms and Norse-ruled Northumbria, but only a fool did not recognise that the real reason for the marriage was to place a Saxon Christian queen in what was enemy country. If Sigtryggr died then his son, my grandson, would be too young to rule, and the Danes and Norse would never accept the pious Eadgyth as their ruler, and in her stead they would place one of their own on Northumbria's throne and thus give the Saxon kingdoms a reason to invade. They would claim they came to restore Eadgyth to her proper place, and so Northumbria, my country, would be swallowed by Wessex.\n\nAnd all that was true. Yet still I would travel south.\n\nI took an oath, not just to \u00c6thelstan, but to \u00c6thelflaed who had been King Alfred's daughter and once my lover. I swore to protect \u00c6thelstan and I swore to kill his enemies when Edward died. And if a man breaks an oath he has no honour. We might have much in this life. We might be born to wealth, to land, to success, and I had been given all those things, but when we die we go to the afterlife with nothing except reputation, and a man without honour has no reputation. I would keep my oath.\n\n'How many men are you taking?' Sigtryggr asked me.\n\n'Just forty.'\n\n'Just forty!' he echoed scornfully. 'And what if Constantin of Scotland invades?'\n\n'He won't. He's too busy fighting Owain of Strath Clota.'\n\n'And the Norse in the west?' he demanded.\n\n'We defeated them last year.'\n\n'And they have new leaders, there are more ships arriving!'\n\n'Then we'll defeat them next year,' I said.\n\nHe sat again, and two of his wolfhounds came to be petted. 'My younger brother came from Ireland,' he said.\n\n'Brother?' I asked. I had known Sigtryggr had a brother, but he had rarely been mentioned and I had thought he had stayed in Ireland.\n\n'Guthfrith,' he said the name sourly. 'He expects me to clothe and feed him.'\n\nI looked around the big chamber where men watched us. 'He's here?'\n\n'Probably in a whorehouse. You're going south then?' he asked grumpily. He looked old, I thought, yet he was younger than me. His once handsome face with its missing eye was creased, his hair was grey and lank, his beard thin. I had not seen his new queen in the palace, reports said that she spent much of her time in a convent she had established in the city. She had given Sigtryggr no child.\n\n'We're going south,' I confirmed.\n\n'Where the worst of the trouble comes from. But don't travel through Lindcolne,' he sounded unhappy.\n\n'No?'\n\n'There's a report of the plague there.'\n\nFinan, standing beside me, crossed himself. 'I'll avoid Lindcolne,' I said, raising my voice slightly. There were a dozen servants and household warriors within earshot and I wanted them to hear what I said. 'We'll take the western road through Mameceaster.'\n\n'Then come back soon,' Sigtryggr said, 'and come back alive.'\n\nHe meant that, he just didn't sound as if he meant it. We left next day.\n\nI had no intention of going south by any road, but I had wanted any listeners in Sigtryggr's court to repeat my words. \u00c6thelhelm had his spies in Sigtryggr's court, and I wanted him watching the Roman roads that led south from Northumbria to Wessex.\n\nI had ridden to Eoferwic, knowing it was my duty to speak with Sigtryggr, but while we rode, Berg had taken Spearhafoc down the coast to a small harbour on the Humbre's northern bank where he would be waiting for us.\n\nEarly on the morning after my meeting with Sigtryggr, and feeling sour with the ale and wine of the night before, I led my five men out of the city. We rode south, but once out of sight of Eoferwic's ramparts we turned eastwards and that evening we found Spearhafoc, manned by a crew of forty, riding at anchor on a falling tide. Next morning I sent six men to take our horses back to Bebbanburg while the rest of us took Spearhafoc to sea.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm would hear that we had been in Eoferwic and would be told that we had left the city by the southern gate. He would probably assume I was heading for Mercia to join \u00c6thelstan, but he would be puzzled that I travelled with only five companions. I wanted him to be nervous and to be watching all the wrong places.\n\nIn the meantime I had told no one, not Eadith, not my son, not even Finan, what we were doing. Eadith and Finan had expected me to travel south on the news of Edward's death, but, though the king still lived, I had left in a hurry. 'What did that priest tell you?' Finan asked as Spearhafoc coasted south under the summer wind.\n\n'He told me that I needed to go south.'\n\n'And what,' Finan asked, 'are we doing when we get there?'\n\n'I wish I knew.'\n\nHe laughed at that. 'Forty of us,' he said, nodding at Spearhafoc's crowded belly, 'invading Wessex?'\n\n'More than forty,' I said, then fell silent. I stared at the sun-glossed sea as it slid past Spearhafoc's sleek hull. We could not have wished for a better day. We had a wind to drive us and a sea to carry us, and that sea was rippled by dazzling light, broken only by small frills of foam curling at the wave crests. That weather should have been a good omen, but I was assailed by unease. I had launched this voyage impulsively, seizing what I thought was an opportunity, but now the doubts were nagging me. I touched Thor's hammer hanging at my neck. 'The priest,' I said to Finan, 'brought me a message from Eadgifu.'\n\nFor a moment he looked puzzled, then recognised the name. 'Lavender tits!'\n\nI half smiled, remembering that I had once told Finan that Eadgifu's breasts smelled of lavender. Eadith had told me that many women infused lavender into lanolin and smeared it on their cleavage. 'Eadgifu has tits that smell like lavender,' I confirmed to Finan, 'and she asks for our help.'\n\nFinan stared at me. 'Christ on his cross!' he finally said. 'What in God's name are we doing?'\n\n'Going to find Eadgifu, of course,' I said.\n\nHe still stared at me. 'Why us?'\n\n'Who else can she ask?'\n\n'Anyone!'\n\nI shook my head. 'She'll have a few friends in Wessex, none in Mercia or East Anglia. She's desperate.'\n\nBut why ask for your help?'\n\n'Because she knows I'm the enemy of her enemy.'\n\n'\u00c6thelhelm.'\n\n'Who hates her,' I said.\n\nThat hatred was easy to understand. Edward had met Eadgifu while he was still married to \u00c6fflaed, \u00c6thelhelm's sister and \u00c6lfweard's mother. The new, younger and prettier woman had won that rivalry, usurping \u00c6fflaed's place in the king's bed and even persuading Edward to name her as Queen of Mercia. To make \u00c6thelhelm's hatred even more intense she had given Edward two more sons, Edmund and Eadred. Both boys were infants, yet the eldest, Edmund, had a claim on the throne if, so some believed, \u00c6thelstan was illegitimate, and, as many realised, \u00c6lfweard was simply too stupid, cruel and unreliable to be the next king. \u00c6thelhelm understood that danger to his nephew's future, which was why Eadgifu, in her desperation, had sent the priest to Bebbanburg.\n\n'She knows what \u00c6thelhelm is planning for her,' I told Finan.\n\n'She knows?'\n\n'She has spies, just as he does, and she was told that as soon as Edward dies \u00c6thelhelm plans to carry her off to Wiltunscir. She's to be placed in a nunnery and her two boys are to be raised in \u00c6thelhelm's household.'\n\nFinan gazed across the summer sea. 'Meaning,' he said slowly, 'that both boys will have their throats slit.'\n\n'Or else die of a convenient illness, yes.'\n\n'So what are we going to do? Rescue her?'\n\n'Rescue her,' I agreed.\n\n'But, Christ! She's protected by the king's household troops! And \u00c6thelhelm will be watching her like a hawk.'\n\n'She's already rescued herself,' I said. 'She and her children went to Cent. She told her husband she was going to pray for him at the shrine of Saint Bertha, but in truth she wants to raise troops who'll protect her and the boys.'\n\n'Dear God,' Finan looked appalled. 'And men will follow her?'\n\n'Why not? Remember that her father was Sigehelm.' Sigehelm had been the ealdorman of Cent until he was killed fighting the Danes in East Anglia. He had been wealthy, though nothing like as rich as \u00c6thelhelm, and Sigehelm's son, Sigulf, had inherited that wealth along with his father's household warriors. 'Sigulf probably has three hundred men,' I said.\n\n'And \u00c6thelhelm has double that, at least! And he'll have the king's warriors too!'\n\n'And those warriors will be watching \u00c6thelstan in Mercia,' I said. 'Besides, if Eadgifu and her brother march against \u00c6thelhelm then others will follow them.' That, I thought, was a slender hope, but not an impossible one.\n\nFinan frowned at me. 'I thought your oath was to \u00c6thelstan. Now it's to Lavender Tits?'\n\n'My oath is to \u00c6thelstan,' I said.\n\n'But Eadgifu will expect you to make her son the next king!'\n\n'Edmund is too young,' I said firmly. 'He's an infant. The Witan will never appoint him king, not till he's of age.'\n\n'By which time,' Finan pointed out, '\u00c6thelstan will be on the throne with sons of his own!'\n\n'I'll be dead by then,' I said, and touched the hammer again.\n\nFinan gave a mirthless laugh. 'So we're sailing to join a Centish rebellion?'\n\n'To lead it. It's my best chance to kill \u00c6thelhelm.'\n\n'Why not join \u00c6thelstan in Mercia?'\n\n'Because if the West Saxons hear that \u00c6thelstan is using Northumbrian troops they'll regard that as a declaration of war by Sigtryggr.'\n\n'That won't matter if \u00c6thelstan wins!'\n\n'But he has fewer men than \u00c6thelhelm, he has less money than \u00c6thelhelm. The best way to help him win is to kill \u00c6thelhelm.' Far to the east a speck of sail showed. I had been watching it for some time, but saw now that the distant ship was travelling northwards and would come nowhere near us.\n\n'Damn your oaths,' Finan said mildly.\n\n'I agree. But remember, \u00c6thelhelm has tried to kill me. So oath or no oath I owe him a death.'\n\nFinan nodded because that explanation made sense to him even if he did believe we were on a voyage to madness. 'And his nephew? What of him?'\n\n'We'll kill \u00c6lfweard too.'\n\n'You swore an oath to kill him too?' Finan asked.\n\n'No,' I admitted, but then touched my hammer once more. 'But I swear one now. I'll kill that little earsling along with his uncle.'\n\nFinan grinned. 'One ship's crew, eh? Forty of us! Forty men to kill the King of Wessex and his most powerful ealdorman?'\n\n'Forty men,' I said, 'and the troops of Cent.'\n\nFinan laughed. 'I sometimes think you're moon-crazed, lord,' he said, 'but, God knows, you've not lost yet.'\n\nWe spent the next two nights sheltering in East Anglian rivers. We saw no one, just a landscape of reeds. On the second night the wind freshened in the darkness and the sky, that had been clear all day, clouded over to hide the stars, while far off to the west I saw lightning flicker and heard Thor's growl in the night. Spearhafoc, even though she was tied securely in a safe haven, shivered under the wind's assault. Rain spattered on the deck, the wind gusted, and the rain fell harder. Few of us slept.\n\nThe dawn brought low clouds, drenching rain, and a hard wind, but I judged it safe enough to turn the ship and let the wind carry us downriver. We half-hoisted the sail, and Spearhafoc leaped ahead like a wolfhound loosed from the leash. The rain drove from astern, heavy and slanting in the wind's grip. The steering-oar bent and groaned and I called on Gerbruht, the big Frisian, to help me. Spearhafoc was defying the flooding tide, racing past mudbanks and reeds, then at last we were clear of the shoals at the river's mouth and could turn southwards. The ship bent alarmingly to the wind and I released the larboard sheet and still she drove on, shattering water at the bows. This, I thought, was madness. Impatience had driven me to sea when any sensible seaman would have stayed in shelter. 'Where are we going, lord?' Gerbruht shouted.\n\n'Across the estuary of the Temes!'\n\nThe wind rose. Thunder hammered to the west. This coast was shallow, shortening the waves that shattered against our hull and drenched the rain-sodden crew with spray. Men clung to the benches as they bailed water. They were praying. I was praying. They were praying to survive, while I was asking the gods to forgive my stupidity in thinking a ship could survive this wind's anger. It was dark, the sun utterly hidden by the roiling clouds, and we saw no other ships. Sailors were letting the storm blow over, but we hammered on southwards across the wide mouth of the Temes.\n\nThe estuary's southern shore appeared as a sullen stretch of sand pounded by foam beyond which were dark woods on low hills. The thunder came closer. The sky above distant Lundene was black as night, sometimes split by a jagged stab of lightning. The rain teemed down, and I searched the shore for a landmark, any landmark that I might recognise. The steering-oar, taking all my and Gerbruht's strength, quivered like a live thing.\n\n'There!' I shouted at Gerbruht, pointing. I had seen the island ahead, an island of reeds and mud, and to its left was the wide, wind-whipped entrance to the Swalwan Creek. Spearhafoc pounded on, clawing her way towards the creek's safety. 'I had a ship called Middelniht once!' I bellowed to Gerbruht.\n\n'Lord?' he asked, puzzled.\n\n'She'd been stranded on that island,' I shouted, 'on Sceapig! And the Middelniht proved to be a good ship! A Frisian ship! It's a good omen!'\n\nHe grinned. Water was dripping from his beard. 'I hope so, lord!' He did not sound confident.\n\n'It's a good omen, Gerbruht! Trust me, we'll be in calmer water soon!'\n\nWe plunged on, the ship's hull shaking with every wave that pounded her, but at last we cleared the island's western tip where marker withies were being bent flat by the gale, and once in the creek the seas calmed to a vicious chop and we dropped the sodden sail and our oars took us into the wide channel that ran between the Isle of Sceapig and the Centish mainland. I could see farmsteads on Sceapig, the smoke from their roof-holes being whipped eastwards on the wind. The channel narrowed. The wind and rain still beat down on us, but the water was sheltered here and the creek's banks had tamed the ship-killing waves. We went slowly, the oars rising and falling, and I thought how the dragon-boats must have crept down this waterway bringing savage men to plunder the rich fields and towns of Cent, and how the villagers must have been terrified as the serpent-headed war boats appeared from the river mists. I have never forgotten Father Beocca, my childhood tutor, clasping his hands and praying nightly: 'From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us.' Now I, a northerner, was bringing swords, spears and shields to Cent.\n\nThe priest who had brought me Eadgifu's message said that though she had announced her pious intention of praying at Saint Bertha's tomb in Contwaraburg, in truth she had taken refuge in a small town called F\u00e6fresham where she had endowed a convent. 'The queen will be safe there,' the priest had told me.\n\n'Safe! Protected by nuns?'\n\n'And by God, lord,' he had reproved me, 'the queen is protected by God.'\n\n'But why didn't she go to Contwaraburg?' I had asked him. Contwaraburg was a considerable town, had a stout wall, and, I assumed, men to defend it.\n\n'Contwaraburg is inland, lord.' The priest had meant that if Eadgifu was threatened by failure, if \u00c6thelhelm discovered her and sent troops, then she wanted to be in a place where she could escape by sea. From where she could cross to Frankia, and F\u00e6fresham was very close to a harbour on the Swalwan Creek. It was, I supposed, a prudent choice.\n\nWe rowed west and I saw the masts of a half-dozen ships showing above the sodden thatch of a small village on the creek's southern bank. The village, I knew, was called Ora and lay a short distance north of F\u00e6fresham. I had sailed this coast with its wide marshes, tide-swamped mudbanks, and hidden creeks often enough, I had fought Danes on its shores and had buried good men in its inland pastures.\n\n'Into the harbour,' I told Gerbruht and we turned Spearhafoc, and my weary crew rowed her into Ora's shallow harbour. It was a bedraggled, poor excuse for a harbour with rotting wharves either side of a tidal creek. On the western bank, where the wharves showed signs of being in repair, there were four tubby merchant ships, big bellied and squat, whose normal duties were to carry food and fodder upriver to Lundene. The water, though sheltered from the gale, was choppy and white-flecked, slapping irritably against the pilings and against three more ships that were moored at the harbour's southern end. Those ships were long, high-prowed, and sleek. Each had a cross mounted on the bows. Finan saw them and climbed onto the steering platform beside me. 'Whose are those?' he asked.\n\n'You tell me,' I said, wondering whether they were ships that Eadgifu was keeping in case she had to flee for her life.\n\n'They're fighting ships,' Finan said dourly, 'but whose?'\n\n'Saxon, for sure,' I said. The crosses on the bows told me that.\n\nThere were buildings on both banks of the harbour. Most of them were shacks, presumably storing fishermen's gear or cargo that awaited shipment, but some of the buildings were larger and had smoke streaming eastwards from their roof-holes. One of those, the biggest, stood at the centre of the western wharves and had a barrel hanging as a sign above a wide thatched porch. It was a tavern, I assumed, and then the door beneath the porch opened and two men appeared and stood watching us. I knew then who had brought the three fighting ships into the harbour.\n\nFinan knew too and swore under his breath.\n\nBecause the two men wore dull red cloaks, and only one man insisted that his warriors wore matching red cloaks. \u00c6thelhelm the Elder had started the fashion, and his son, my enemy, had continued the tradition.\n\nSo \u00c6thelhelm's men had reached this part of Cent before us. 'What do we do?' Gerbruht asked.\n\n'What do you think we do?' Finan snarled. 'We kill the buggers.'\n\nBecause when queens call for help, warriors go to war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "We swung Spearhafoc against one of the western wharves. The two men still watched from the tavern as we secured her lines, and then as Gerbruht, Folcbald and I came ashore. Folcbald, like Gerbruht, was a Frisian and, also like Gerbruht, a huge man, strong as any two others.\n\n'You know what to say?' I asked Gerbruht.\n\n'Of course, lord.'\n\n'Don't call me lord.'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\nThe rain was slashing into our faces as we walked towards the tavern. All three of us were wearing mail beneath sodden cloaks, but we had neither helmets nor swords, just rough woollen caps and the knives any seaman wears at his belt. I was limping, half supported by Gerbruht. The ground was mud, the rain pouring off the tavern's thatch.\n\n'That's enough! Stop there!' The taller of the two red-cloaked men called as we neared the tavern door. We stopped obediently. The two men were standing under a porch and seemed amused that we were forced to wait in the pelting rain. 'And what's your business here?' the taller man demanded.\n\n'We need shelter, lord,' Gerbruht said.\n\n'I'm no lord. And ships pay for shelter here,' the man said. He was tall, broad-faced, with a thick beard cut short and square. He wore mail beneath his red cloak, had an enamelled cross on his chest and a long-sword at his side. He looked confident and capable.\n\n'Of course, master,' Gerbruht said humbly. 'Do we pay you, master?'\n\n'Of course you pay me, I'm the town reeve. It's three shillings.' He held out his hand.\n\nGerbruht was not my quickest thinker and he just gaped, which was the right response to the outrageous demand. 'Three shillings!' I said. 'We only pay a shilling in Lundene!'\n\nThe man smiled unpleasantly. 'Three shillings, grandpa. Or do you want my men to search your miserable boat and take what we want?'\n\n'Of course not, master,' Gerbruht found his voice. 'Pay him,' he ordered me.\n\nI took the coins from a pouch and held them towards the man. 'Bring it to me, you old fool,' the man demanded.\n\n'Yes, master,' I said and limped through a puddle.\n\n'And who are you?' he demanded, scooping the silver from my palm.\n\n'His father,' I said, nodding back towards Gerbruht.\n\n'We're pilgrims from Frisia, master,' Gerbruht explained, 'and my father seeks the blessing of Saint Gregory's slippers at Contwaraburg.'\n\n'I do,' I said. I had hidden my hammer amulet beneath my mail, but both my companions were Christians and wore crosses at their necks. The wind was tearing at the tavern's thatch and swinging the barrel sign dangerously. The rain was unrelenting.\n\n'God damn Frisian foreigners,' the tall man said suspiciously. 'And pilgrims? Since when do pilgrims wear mail?'\n\n'The warmest clothes we have, master,' Gerbruht said.\n\n'And there are Danish ships at sea,' I added.\n\nThe man sneered. 'You're too old to fight anyone, grandpa, let alone take on some Danish raider!' He looked back to Gerbruht. 'You're looking for holy slippers?' he asked mockingly.\n\n'A touch of Saint Gregory's slippers cures the sick, master,' Gerbruht said, 'and my father suffers ague in his feet.'\n\n'You've brought a lot of pilgrims to cure one old man's feet!' the man said suspiciously, nodding towards Spearhafoc.\n\n'They're mostly slaves, master,' Gerbruht said, 'and some of them we'll sell in Lundene.'\n\nThe man still stared at Spearhafoc, but my crew was either slumped on the benches or huddling under the steering platform, and in the day's dull light and because of the sheeting rain he could not tell whether they were slaves or not. 'You're slave-traders?'\n\n'We are,' I said.\n\n'Then there's customs duty to pay! How many slaves?'\n\n'Thirty, master,' I said.\n\nHe paused. I could see he was wondering how much he dared ask. 'Fifteen shillings,' he finally said, thrusting out a hand. This time I just gaped at him, and he put a hand on his sword hilt. 'Fifteen shillings,' he said slowly, as if he suspected a Frisian could not understand him, 'or we confiscate your cargo.'\n\n'Yes, master,' I said, and carefully counted fifteen silver shillings and dropped them into his palm.\n\nHe grinned, happy to have fooled foreigners. 'Got any juicy women in that ship?'\n\n'We sold the last three at Dumnoc, master,' I said.\n\n'Pity,' he said.\n\nHis companion chuckled. 'Wait a few days and we might have a couple of young boys to sell you.'\n\n'How young?'\n\n'Infants.'\n\n'It's none of your business!' The first man interrupted, plainly angered that his companion had mentioned the boys.\n\n'We pay well for small boys,' I said. 'They can be whipped and trained. A plump docile boy can fetch a good price!' I took a gold coin from my purse and tossed it up and down a couple of times. I was doing my best to imitate Gerbruht's Frisian accent and was evidently successful because neither man seemed to suspect anything. 'Young boys,' I said, 'sell almost as well as young women.'\n\n'The boys might or might not be for sale,' the first man said grudgingly, 'and if you do buy them you'll have to sell them abroad. Can't be sold here.' He was eyeing the gold coin that I slipped back into the pouch, making sure it clinked against the other coins.\n\n'Your name, master?' I asked respectfully.\n\n'Wighelm.'\n\n'I am Liudulf,' I said, using a common Frisian name. 'And we seek shelter, nothing more.'\n\n'How long are you staying, old man?'\n\n'How far to Contwaraburg?' I asked.\n\n'Ten miles,' he said. 'A man can walk there in a morning, but it might take you a week. How do you plan to get there? Crawl?' He and his companion laughed.\n\n'I would stay long enough to reach Contwaraburg and then return,' I said.\n\n'And we crave shelter, master,' Gerbruht added from behind me.\n\n'Use one of the cottages over there,' Wighelm said, nodding towards the further bank of the small harbour, 'but make sure your damned slaves stay shackled.'\n\n'Of course, master,' I said, 'and thank you, master. God will bless your kindness.'\n\nWighelm sneered at that, then he and his companion stepped back into the tavern. I had a glimpse of men at tables, then the door was slammed and I heard the bar drop into its brackets.\n\n'Was he the town reeve?' Folcbald asked as we walked back to the ship.\n\nIt was not a foolish question. I knew \u00c6thelhelm had land all across southern Britain, and he probably did own parts of Cent, but it was most unlikely that Eadgifu would seek refuge anywhere near one of those estates. 'He's a lying bastard is what he is,' I said, 'and he owes me eighteen shillings.'\n\nI assumed Wighelm or one of his men was watching from the tavern as we rowed Spearhafoc across the creek and moored against a half-rotted wharf. I made most of my crew shuffle as they left the ship, pretending to be shackled. They grinned at the deception, but the rain was so hard and the day so dark that I doubted anyone would notice the pretence. Most of the crew had to use a store hut for their shelter because there was no room in the small cottage, where a driftwood fire blazed furiously. The cottager, a big man called Kalf, was a fisherman. He and his wife watched sullenly as a dozen of us filled his room. 'You were mad to be at sea in this weather,' he finally said in broken English.\n\n'The gods preserved us,' I answered in Danish.\n\nHis face brightened. 'You're Danes!'\n\n'Danes, Saxons, Irish, Frisians, Norsemen, and everything in between.' I put two shillings on a barrel that was used as their table. I was not surprised to find Danes here, they had invaded this part of Cent years before and many had stayed, had married Centish women, and adopted Christianity. 'One of those,' I said, nodding at the silver shillings, 'is for sheltering us. The other is for opening your mouth.'\n\n'My mouth?' he was puzzled.\n\n'To tell me what's happening here,' I said as I took Serpent-Breath and my helmet from the big leather bag.\n\n'Happening?' Kalf asked nervously, watching as I buckled the big sword at my waist.\n\n'In the town,' I said, nodding southwards. Ora and its small harbour lay a short walk from F\u00e6fresham itself, which was built on the higher ground inland. 'And those men in red cloaks,' I went on, 'how many are they?'\n\n'Three crews.'\n\n'Ninety men?'\n\n'About that, lord.' Kalf had heard Berg address me as 'lord'.\n\n'Three crews,' I repeated. 'How many are here?'\n\n'There are twenty-eight men in the tavern, lord,' Kalf's wife answered confidently and, when I looked enquiringly at her, she nodded. 'I had to cook for the bastards, lord. There are twenty-eight.'\n\nTwenty-eight men to guard the ships. Our story of being Frisian slave-traders must have convinced Wighelm or else he would surely have tried to stop us landing. Or possibly, knowing his small force could not fight my much larger crew, he was being cautious, first by insisting we landed on the creek's far side from the tavern, and then by sending a messenger south to F\u00e6fresham. 'So the rest of the crews are in F\u00e6fresham?' I asked Kalf.\n\n'We don't know, lord.'\n\n'So tell me what you do know.'\n\nTwo weeks before, he said, at the last full moon, a ship had come from Lundene carrying a group of women, a small boy, two babies, and a half-dozen men. They had gone to F\u00e6fresham, he knew, and the women and children had vanished into the convent. Four of the men had stayed in the town, the other two had purchased horses and ridden away. Then, just three days ago, the three ships with their red-cloaked crews had arrived in the harbour, and most of the newcomers had gone south to the town. 'They don't tell us what they're doing here, lord.'\n\n'They're not nice!' the wife put in.\n\n'Nor are we,' I said grimly.\n\nI could only guess what had happened, though it was not hard. Eadgifu's plan had plainly been betrayed and \u00c6thelhelm had sent men to thwart her. The priest who came to Bebbanburg had told me that she had endowed a convent in F\u00e6fresham, and \u00c6thelhelm might well have assumed she would flee there and have sent men to trap her. 'Are the women and children still in F\u00e6fresham?' I asked Kalf.\n\n'We haven't heard that they've left,' he said uncertainly.\n\n'But you'd have heard if the men in red cloaks had invaded the convent?'\n\nKalf's wife made the sign of the cross. 'We'd have heard that, lord!' she said grimly.\n\nSo the king still lived, or at least the news of his death had yet to reach F\u00e6fresham. It was obvious what \u00c6thelhelm's men had come to do in Cent, but they would not dare lay hands on Queen Eadgifu and her sons until they were certain Edward was dead. The king had recovered before, and while he lived he still possessed the power of the throne and there would be trouble if he recovered again and then discovered his wife had been forcibly detained by \u00c6thelhelm's men. Thunder hammered close and the wind seemed to shake the small cottage. 'Is there a way to reach F\u00e6fresham,' I asked Kalf, 'without being seen from the tavern across the water?'\n\nHe frowned for a moment. 'There's a drainage ditch back yonder,' he pointed eastwards. 'Follow that south, lord, and you'll find reed beds. They'll hide you.'\n\n'What about the creek?' I asked. 'Do we need to cross it to reach the town?'\n\n'There's a bridge,' Kalf's wife said.\n\n'And the bridge might be guarded,' I said, though I doubted any guards would be alert in this filthy weather.\n\n'It'll be low tide soon,' Kalf assured me, 'you can wade it.'\n\n'Don't tell me we're going back into this rain,' Finan said.\n\n'We're going back into this rain. Thirty of us. You want to stay and guard Spearhafoc?'\n\n'I want to watch what you're doing. I like watching crazy people.'\n\n'Do we take shields?' Berg asked, more sensibly.\n\nI thought about that. We had to cross the creek, and shields were heavy, and my plan was to turn back once we were on the far bank and rid ourselves of Wighelm and his men. The fight, I thought, would be inside the tavern and I did not intend to give the enemy time to equip themselves for battle. In a small room the large shields would be an encumbrance, not a help. 'No shields,' I said.\n\nIt was madness. Not just to go into the afternoon's storm and wade through a flooding ditch, but to be here at all. It was an easy excuse to say I was trapped by my oath to \u00c6thelstan, but I could have discharged that oath by simply riding with a handful of followers to join \u00c6thelstan's forces in Mercia. Instead I was wading through a mucky ditch, soaked to the skin, cold, deep inside a country that thought me an enemy, and relying on a fickle queen to let me fulfil my oath.\n\nEadgifu had failed. If what the priest had told me was true she had come south to raise forces from her brother Sigulf, the Ealdorman of Cent, and instead she was inside a convent that was ringed by her enemies. Those enemies would wait until the king died before they seized her, but seize her they would and then arrange for the death of her two young sons. She had claimed to be making a pilgrimage to Contwaraburg, but \u00c6thelhelm, who was staying close to the dying king, had seen through that pretence, he had sent men to find her, and, I suspected, despatched more men to persuade Sigulf that any attempt to support his sister would be met with overwhelming force. So \u00c6thelhelm had won.\n\nExcept \u00c6thelhelm did not know I was in Cent. That was a small advantage.\n\nThe ditch led south. For a time we waded with the water up to our waists, well hidden from Ora by the thick reeds. I tripped twice on eel traps, cursed the weather, but after a half mile or so the ditch bent east to skirt higher ground and we could clamber from the mucky water and cross a soggy pasture only to see the creek in front of us. The track from the harbour to F\u00e6fresham lay beyond the creek. No one moved there. To my left was F\u00e6fresham, hidden behind wind-tossed trees and sheeting rain, and to my right the harbour, still hidden by the small swell of land we had just crossed.\n\nKalf had said the creek could be waded at low tide, which was soon, but the rain was flooding from a dozen ditches, and the creek's water was running fast and high. Lightning split the dark clouds ahead of us and the thunder crashed across the low clouds. 'I hope that's a sign from your god,' Finan grumbled. 'How in hell do we cross that?'\n\n'Lord!' Berg called from my left. 'A fish trap!' He was pointing upstream where water churned and foamed around willow stakes.\n\n'That's how we cross,' I told Finan.\n\nIt was hard, it was wet, and it was treacherous. The willow stakes with their netting were not made to support a man, but they gave us a tenuous safety as we struggled through the creek. At its deepest the water came to my chest and tried to drag me under. I stumbled in the creek's centre and would have gone underwater if it had not been for Folcbald hauling me upright. I was grateful none of us was carrying a heavy iron-rimmed shield. The wind screeched. It was already late in the day, the hidden sun was sinking, the rain was in our faces, the thunder was crashing above, and we crawled out of the water, sodden and chilled. 'We go that way,' I pointed right, northwards.\n\nThe first thing to do was to retrieve eighteen shillings and to destroy the ship guards in Ora's tavern. We were between those men and F\u00e6fresham now. It was possible that Wighelm had warned the larger force in the town of our arrival and that his few men would be reinforced, but I doubted it. Weather like this persuaded men to stay near the hearth, so perhaps Thor was on my side. I had no sooner thought that than a deafening clap of thunder sounded and the skies were ripped by jagged light. 'We'll be warm soon,' I promised my men.\n\nIt was a short walk to the harbour. The track was raised on an embankment and floodwaters lapped at the sides. 'I need prisoners,' I said.\n\nI half drew Serpent-Breath then let her fall back into her fleece-lined scabbard. 'You know what this storm means?' Finan had to shout to make himself heard above the wind's noise and the pelting rain.\n\n'That Thor is on our side!'\n\n'It means the king has died!'\n\nI stepped over a flooded rut. 'There was no storm when Alfred died.'\n\n'Edward is dead!' Finan insisted. 'He must have died yesterday!'\n\n'We'll find out,' I said, unconvinced.\n\nAnd then we were in the outskirts of the village, the street lined by small hovels. The tavern was in front of us. It had sheds at the back, probably stables or storage. The wind streamed the hearth-smoke eastwards from the tavern's roof. 'Folcbald,' I said, 'you keep two men with you and stop anyone escaping.' Kalf had told me the tavern had only two doors, a front and a back, but men could easily escape through the shuttered windows. Folcbald's task was to stop any fugitive from reaching F\u00e6fresham. I could see the masts of \u00c6thelhelm's three ships swaying in the wind above the roof. My plan was simple enough, to burst in through the tavern's back door and overwhelm the men inside, who, I assumed, would be huddled as close to the flaming hearth as possible.\n\nWe were about fifty paces from the tavern's back door when a man came outside. He hunched against the rain, hurried to a shed, struggled with the latched door and, as he pulled it open, turned and saw us. For a heartbeat he just gazed, then he ran back inside. I swore.\n\nI shouted at my men to hurry, but we were so cold, so drenched, that we could manage little more than a fast, stumbling walk, and Wighelm's men, warm and dry, reacted swiftly. Four men appeared first, each carrying a shield and spear. More men followed, no doubt cursing that they were forced into the storm, but all carrying shields which showed the dark outline of a leaping stag, \u00c6thelhelm's symbol. I had planned a bloody tavern brawl, and instead the enemy was making a shield wall between the sheds. They faced us with levelled spears, and we had none. They were protected by shields, and we had none.\n\nWe stopped. Despite the seething rain and the howl of the wind I could hear the clatter of iron-rimmed shields touching each other. I could see Wighelm, tall and black-bearded, at the centre of the wall that was just thirty paces away.\n\n'Wolf trap!' I said, then swerved to my right, beckoning my men to follow, and hurried between two hovels. Once out of sight of Wighelm and his spearmen I turned back the way we had come. We broke down a rough driftwood fence, skirted a dung heap, and filed into another narrow alley between two of the cottages. Once hidden in the alley I held up a hand.\n\nWe stopped and none of my men made a noise. A dog howled nearby and a baby cried from inside a hovel. We drew our swords. Waited. I was proud of my men. They knew what I meant by a wolf trap and not one had questioned me or asked what we were doing. They knew because we had trained for this. Wars are not only won on the battlefield, but in the practice yard of fortresses.\n\nWolves are the enemies of shepherds. Dogs are their friends, but shepherds' dogs rarely kill a wolf, though they might frighten them away We hunt wolves in Northumbria's hills and our wolfhounds will kill, yet the wolves are never defeated. They come back, they prey on flocks, they leave bloody carcasses strewn on the grass. I offer a bounty to folk who bring in a fresh, stinking wolf pelt, and I pay the bounty often, yet still the wolves ravage livestock. They can be deterred, they can be hunted, yet wolves are a cunning and subtle enemy. I have known flocks to be regularly attacked, and we have beaten the surrounding woods and hills, ridden with our sharpened wolf spears, sent the hounds searching, and found no trace of a wolf, and next day another dozen sheep or lambs are ripped apart. When that happens we might set a wolf trap, which means that instead of searching for the wolves, we invite them to search for us.\n\nMy father liked to use an old ram for the trap. We would tether the beast close to where the wolf pack had made its last kill, then wait in ambush upwind of the bait. I preferred to use a pig, which was more expensive than an aging ram, but more effective too. The pig would squeal in protest at being tethered, a sound that seemed to attract wolves, and squeal even louder when a wolf appeared. Then we would release the hounds, lower spears, and spur to the kill. We lost the pig as often as not, but we killed the wolf.\n\nI had few doubts that my men were better fighters than Wighelm's troops, but to ask men to attack a shield wall without shields of their own, and without axes to haul down an enemy's shield or spears to pierce the gaps between the enemy's shields, is to invite death. We would win, but at a cost I was not willing to pay. I needed to break Wighelm's shield wall and do it without leaving a couple of my men gutted by his spears. So we waited.\n\nI had made a mistake. I had assumed Wighelm's men would be sheltering from the storm, and that we could approach the tavern unseen. I should have crept behind the cottages until we were closer, but now I would invite Wighelm to make a mistake. Curiosity would be his undoing, or so I hoped. He had seen us approaching, he had made his shield wall, and then we had vanished into an alley. And we had not reappeared. He would be gazing into the storm, looking past the sheeting rain, wondering if we had retreated southwards. He could not ignore us. Just because we had vanished from his sight did not mean we had fled. He needed to know where we were. He needed to know whether we still barred his road to F\u00e6fresham. He waited a long time, nervously hoping we had gone altogether, or hoping he would catch a glimpse that would tell him where we were, but we did not move, we made no noise, we waited.\n\nI beckoned Oswi to my side. He was young, lithe, cunning, and savage. He had once been my servant before growing old enough and skilled enough to join the shield wall. 'Sneak up the back of the cottages,' I told him, pointing southwards, 'go as far as you can, show yourself, stare at them, show them your naked arse, and then pretend to run away.'\n\nHe grinned, turned, and disappeared behind the southern hovel. Finan was lying flat at the street corner, peering towards the tavern through a patch of nettles. Still we waited. The rain was pelting, bouncing in the street, cascading from the roofs, and swirling in the gusting wind. Thunder crackled and faded. I pulled my hammer amulet free, clutched it, closed my eyes briefly and prayed that Thor would preserve me.\n\n'They're coming!' Finan called.\n\n'How?' I needed to know whether Wighelm had stayed in the shield wall or was hurrying to catch us.\n\n'They're running!' Finan called. He wriggled back out of sight, stood and wiped mud from Soul-Stealer's blade. 'Or trying to run!'\n\nIt seemed that Oswi's insult had worked. Wighelm, if he had possessed an ounce of sense, should have sent two or three men to explore the village, but he had kept his shield wall together and now hurried his men in pursuit of Oswi who, he must have assumed, was running with the rest of us. So Wighelm had broken his own shield wall and now chivvied his men up the street in what he fondly imagined was a pursuit.\n\nAnd we burst from our alley, screaming a war cry that was as much a protest against the cold and wet as a challenge to the red-cloaked men. They were straggling in the muddy street, miserable because of the weather, and, best of all, scattered. We struck them with the force of the storm itself and Thor must have heard my prayer because he released a sky-splintering hammer of thunder directly over our heads, and I saw a young man turn towards me, terror on his face, and he raised his shield that I hit with my full weight, driving him down into the mud. Someone, I assumed it was Wighelm, was bellowing for the West Saxons to make their shield wall, but it was much too late. Berg passed me as I kicked the youngster's sword arm away and the day's gloom was lit by a bright spray of blood as Berg's savage blade sliced the fallen man's throat. Berg kept running, hamstringing a burly man who was shouting incoherently. The man screamed as Berg's sword sliced through the back of his knees and then shrieked as Gerbruht lunged a sword into his belly.\n\nI was running towards Wighelm who turned his spear towards me. He looked as terrified as his men. I knocked the spear aside with my sword, body-charged his shield, and threw him down into the mud. I kicked his head, stood over him and held Serpent-Breath at his throat. 'Don't move!' I snarled. Finan snatched Wighelm's spear and lunged it left-handed at the shield of a tall man half crouching to meet Folcbald's charge. The spear struck the bottom edge of the shield, tipping it downwards, and Finan's fast sword slashed viciously across the man's eyes. Folcbald finished the blinded man with a savage two-handed thrust that pierced mail and ripped up from belly to breastbone. The flooded rut in the street turned red, the rain hammered and splashed pink, and the wind howled over the marshes to drown the agonised sobs.\n\nBerg, usually so lethal in a fight, had slipped in the mud. He fell, sprawling, desperately trying to kick himself away from a red-cloaked spearman who, seeing his chance, raised his spear for the fatal lunge. I hurled Serpent-Breath at the man and the blade, whirling through the rain, struck him on the shoulder. It did no damage, but made him look towards me, and Vidarr Leifson leaped to grab his spear arm then pulled him and turned him, dragging him into Beornoth's sword. Wighelm, seeing I had no weapon, tried to slam his shield against my thigh, but I put a boot on his face and pressed his head into the mud. He began to choke. I kept my boot there, leaned down, and plucked his sword from its scabbard.\n\nI had no need of Wighelm's sword because the fight ended swiftly. Our attack had been so sudden and so savage that Wighelm's miserable, wet men stood no chance. We had killed six of them, wounded four, and the others had thrown down their shields and weapons and were begging for mercy. Three fled into an alley, but Oswi and Berg hunted them down and brought them back to the tavern where we stripped the prisoners of their mail and sat them in a wet, miserable huddle at one end of the biggest room. We fed the hearth with more fuel. I sent Berg and Gerbruht to discover a small boat, then to cross the creek and bring Spearhafoc back with the men who had been left to guard her, and Vidarr Leifson and Beornoth were set to watch the road from F\u00e6fresham. Oswi was cleaning Serpent-Breath while Finan was making certain our prisoners were securely tied with sealhide ropes.\n\nI had spared Wighelm's life. I drew him away from the other prisoners and sat him on a bench close to the hearth that was spitting sparks from the driftwood fuel. 'Free his hands,' I told Finan, then held out my own hand. 'Eighteen shillings,' I said, 'for grandpa.' He grudgingly took the coins from his pouch and put them in my palm. 'And now the rest,' I demanded.\n\nHe spat mud from his mouth. 'The rest?' he asked.\n\n'The rest of your coins, you fool. Give me all you've got.'\n\nHe untied the pouch and gave it to me. 'Who are you?' he asked.\n\n'I told you, Liudulf of Frisia. Believe that and you're a bigger fool than I already think you are.' Thunder sounded loud and the seethe of rain on the roof became stronger. I tipped the coins from Wighelm's pouch onto my hand and gave the money to Finan. 'I doubt these bastards have paid the tavern keeper,' I said, 'so find him and give him this. Then tell him we need food. Not for them,' I looked at the prisoners, 'but for us.' I looked back to Wighelm and drew a short knife from my belt. I smiled at him, and drew the blade across my thumb as if testing the edge. 'Now you're going to talk to grandpa,' I told him, and laid the flat of the blade on his cheek. He shuddered.\n\nThen he talked and so confirmed much of what I had guessed. Eadgifu's declaration that she was travelling to Contwaraburg to pray at the shrine of Saint Bertha had not deceived \u00c6thelhelm for a moment. Even as the queen and her small entourage travelled south \u00c6thelhelm's men were galloping toward Wiltunscir where they roused a troop of his household warriors. Those men, in turn, went to Lundene where \u00c6thelhelm kept ships which had brought them to this creek on the muddy shore of Cent where, just as \u00c6thelhelm had surmised, Eadgifu had taken shelter. 'What are your orders?' I asked Wighelm.\n\nHe shrugged. 'Stay here, keep her here, wait for more orders.'\n\n'Orders that will come when the king dies?'\n\n'I suppose so.'\n\n'You weren't told to go to Contwaraburg? To order the queen's brother to stay quiet?'\n\n'Other men went there.'\n\n'What other men? Who? And to do what?'\n\n'Dreogan. He took fifty men and I don't know why he went there.'\n\n'And Dreogan is?'\n\n'He commands fifty of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's household troops.'\n\n'What about Waormund?' I asked.\n\nThe mention of that name made Wighelm shudder. He made the sign of the cross. 'Waormund went to East Anglia,' he said, 'but why? I don't know.'\n\n'You don't like Waormund?' I asked.\n\n'No one likes Waormund,' he replied bitterly, 'except perhaps Lord \u00c6thelhelm. Waormund is Lord \u00c6thelhelm's beast.'\n\n'I've met the beast,' I said bleakly, remembering the huge, vacant-faced warrior who was taller and stronger than any man I had ever met except for Steapa, who was another fearsome West Saxon warrior. Steapa had been a slave, but had become one of King Alfred's most trusted warriors. He had been my enemy too, but had become a friend. 'Does Lord Steapa still live?' I asked.\n\nWighelm looked momentarily confused at the unexpected question, but nodded. 'He's old. But he lives.'\n\n'Good,' I said, 'and who is in F\u00e6fresham?'\n\nAgain Wighelm looked puzzled by the sudden change of questioning. 'Eadgifu is there \u2026' he recovered.\n\n'I know that! Who leads the men there?'\n\n'Eanwulf.'\n\n'And how many men does he have?'\n\n'About fifty.'\n\nI turned to Immar Hergildson, a young man whose life I had saved and who had served me devotedly ever since. 'Tie his hands,' I ordered him.\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Lord?' Wighelm repeated the word nervously. 'You're a\u2014'\n\n'I'm a lord,' I said savagely.\n\nThe thunder sounded, but further away now, carrying Thor's anger out to the turbulent sea. The wind still shook the tavern, but with less anger than before. 'Storm's passing, I reckon,' Finan brought me a pot of ale.\n\n'It's passing,' I agreed. I pulled a shutter open, making the flames in the hearth flicker. It was almost dark outside. 'Send someone to tell Vidarr and Beornoth to come back,' I said. There was no chance that men from Eanwulf's troop in F\u00e6fresham would come north in the darkness, so there was no need to watch for them.\n\n'And tomorrow?' Finan asked.\n\n'Tomorrow we rescue a queen,' I said.\n\nA queen whose feeble revolt against \u00c6thelhelm had failed. And she was my best hope of keeping the oath to kill Wessex's most powerful lord and his nephew, who, if Finan's premonition that the storm was sent to mark the death of a king, was king already.\n\nAnd we had come to make certain his reign was brief.\n\nTomorrow.\n\nThe storm blew itself out overnight, leaving fallen trees, sodden thatch, and flooded marshland. The dawn was damp and sullen, as if the weather was ashamed of the previous day's anger. The clouds were high, the creek had settled, and the wind was fitful.\n\nI had to decide what to do with the prisoners. My first thought was to put them in a stout shack on the harbour's western side and leave two men to guard them, but Wighelm's men were young, they were strong, they were bitter, and they would surely find some way to break out of the shack, and the last thing I wanted was to have vengeful warriors following me south to F\u00e6fresham. Nor did I want to leave any men behind, either to guard the prisoners or to protect Spearhafoc. If we were to go to F\u00e6fresham then I would need all of my men.\n\n'Just kill the bastards,' Vidarr Leifson suggested.\n\n'Put them on the island,' Finan said, meaning Sceapig.\n\n'And if they can swim?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'Not many can!'\n\n'A fishing boat might rescue them.'\n\n'Then do as Vidarr suggests,' Finan said, tired of my doubts.\n\nThere was a risk in stranding them, but I could think of no better solution and so we herded them onto Spearhafoc, rowed a mile eastwards down the Swalwan Creek, and there found an island of reeds that, judging by the line of flotsam heaped on the shore, did not flood at high tide. We stripped the prisoners naked and sent them ashore, making them carry their four wounded men. Wighelm was the last to go. 'You can reach Sceapig easily enough,' I told him. The island of reeds was only a long bow shot from Sceapig's marshes, 'but if you hurt anyone ashore I'll find out and I'll come for you, and when I find you I'll kill you slowly, you understand?'\n\nHe nodded sullenly. 'Yes, lord.' He knew who I was now and he was afraid.\n\n'All these people,' I said, gesturing at both Sceapig and the mainland, 'are under my protection, and I am Uhtred\u00e6rwe! Who am I?'\n\n'Uhtred of Bebbanburg, lord,' he said fearfully.\n\n'I am Uhtred\u00e6rwe, and my enemies die. Now go!'\n\nIt was midday before we were back in the creek's harbour and another hour before we set off on the southwards road. We had eaten a poor meal of fish stew and hard bread, cleaned our mail and weapons, and donned the dark red cloaks that were the marks of \u00c6thelhelm's men. We had captured twenty-four of \u00c6thelhelm's shields, all painted with the leaping stag, and I had given those to my men. The rest of us would go to F\u00e6fresham without shields. My pagans, like me, hid their hammer amulets. Ideally I would have sent a couple of men to scout the town, but streets and alleys are harder to explore unseen than woodlands and hedgerows, and I feared the men might be captured, questioned too harshly, and so reveal our presence. Better, I thought, to arrive at F\u00e6fresham in force, even though that force was only half the enemy's number. I did send Eadric, the most cunning of my scouts, to explore the edge of the town, but ordered him to remain hidden. 'Don't be captured!'\n\n'Bastards won't get a smell of me, lord.'\n\nThe sky cleared as we walked southwards. The wind was dying, gusting occasionally to stir our borrowed cloaks. There was warmth in the sun, which glittered off the flooded pastures. We met a small girl, maybe eight or nine years old, driving three cows northwards. She shrank onto the road's side as we passed, looking fearful. 'Better weather today!' Beornoth called cheerfully to her, but she just shivered and kept her eyes lowered. We passed orchards where trees had been felled by the storm and one stout trunk had been split and scorched by lightning. I shivered when I saw a dead swan, lying with a broken neck in a flooded ditch. It was not a good omen and I raised my eyes in hope of seeing a better sign, but saw only the storm's ragged rear-guard of clouds. A woman was digging in the garden of a small reed-thatched cottage, but seeing us she went indoors and I heard the locking bar drop into place. Was this, I wondered, how folk had behaved when they saw Roman troops approaching? Or Danes? F\u00e6fresham was nervous, fearful, a small town caught again at the crossroads of powerful men's ambitions.\n\nI was nervous too. If Wighelm had told me the truth then \u00c6thelhelm's men in F\u00e6fresham outnumbered mine. If they were alert, if they were expecting trouble, then we would be swiftly overwhelmed. I had thought to use the captured cloaks and shields as a means of entering the town unsuspected, but Eadric returned to tell me that a dozen spearmen were guarding the road. 'They're not lazy buggers either,' he said. 'Wide awake, they are.'\n\n'Just twelve men?'\n\n'With plenty more to back them up, lord,' Eadric said grimly.\n\nWe had left the road to hide behind the blackthorn hedge of a rain-soaked pasture. If Eadric was right then an assault on the twelve guards would bring more enemy running and I could find myself in a ragged fight far from the safety of Spearhafoc. 'Can you get into the town?' I asked Eadric.\n\nHe nodded. 'Plenty of alleyways, lord.' He was a middle-aged Saxon who could move through woodland like a ghost, but he was confident he could get past \u00c6thelhelm's sentries and use his cunning to stay undiscovered in the town. 'I'm old, lord,' he said, 'and they don't look at old men like young ones.' He discarded his weapons, stripped off his mail, and, looking like a peasant, slipped through a gap in the blackthorn hedge that sheltered us. We waited. The last clouds were thinning and the sunlight offered welcome warmth. The smoke from F\u00e6fresham's cooking fires drifted upwards instead of being flayed sideways by the wind. Eadric did not return for a long time and I had begun to fear he had been captured and Finan feared the same. He sat beside me, fidgeting, then went very still as a band of red-cloaked horsemen appeared to the east. There were at least twenty of them and for a moment I thought they might be searching for us and I half drew Serpent-Breath, but then the horsemen turned back towards the town.\n\n'Just exercising the horses,' I said, relieved.\n\n'They were good horses too,' Finan said, 'not cheap country nags.'\n\n'I'm sure they have good horses here,' I said. 'It's good land once you're off the marshes.'\n\n'But the bastards came by ship,' Finan pointed out. 'No one told us they brought horses with them.'\n\n'So they took them from the townsfolk.'\n\n'Or they've been reinforced,' Finan said ominously. 'It feels bad, lord. We should go back.'\n\nFinan was no coward. I am ashamed even to have thought this. Of course he was no coward! He was among the two or three bravest men I have ever known, a swordsman of lightning speed and deadly skill, but that day he had an instinct of doom. It was a feeling of dread, a certainty based on nothing he could see or hear, but a certainty all the same. He claimed the Irish had a knowledge denied to the rest of us, that they could scent fate, and though he was a Christian I knew he believed the world to be seething with spirits and it seemed those unseen creatures had spoken to him. In the night he had tried to persuade me to board Spearhafoc and sail back north. We were too few, he had said, and our enemies too numerous. 'And I saw you dead, lord,' he had finished, sounding grieved to speak of such a thing.\n\n'Dead?' I had asked.\n\n'Naked, blood-covered, lord, in a field of barley.' He paused, but I said nothing. 'We should go home, lord.'\n\nI was tempted. And Finan's vision or dream had almost convinced me. I touched my hammer amulet. 'We've come this far,' I told him, 'but I need to speak to Eadgifu.'\n\n'Why, for God's sake?' We had been sitting on a bench beside the tavern's hearth. All around us men snored. The wind still rattled the shutters and fretted at the reed thatch, and rain still fell through the roof-hole to hiss in the fire, but the storm had gone out to sea and only the remnants disturbed the night.\n\n'Because that's what I came to do,' I had answered stubbornly.\n\n'And she was supposed to raise a force of Centish men?'\n\n'That's what the priest told me.'\n\n'And has she?'\n\nI had sighed. 'You know the answer as well as I do.'\n\n'So tomorrow we go inland?' he asked. 'We've no horses. What happens if we get cut off from the harbour?'\n\nI had thought of answering him by saying I needed to fulfil my oath, but of course Finan was right. There were other ways to keep my promise to \u00c6thelstan. I could have joined him in Mercia, but instead I had chosen to believe the priest and had hoped to lead a rebellious band of Centish warriors to attack \u00c6thelhelm from within Wessex. 'So I'm a fool,' I had said instead to Finan, 'but tomorrow we find Eadgifu.'\n\nHe had heard the resolve in my voice and accepted it. 'Amazing what a pair of good-smelling tits will make a man do,' he had said, 'and you should sleep.'\n\nSo I had slept, and now I was on the edge of F\u00e6fresham, and Eadric was missing, and my closest friend was feeling doomed. 'We'll wait till dusk,' I said. 'If Eadric hasn't returned, we'll go back to Spearhafoc.'\n\n'God be praised,' Finan said, and no sooner had he made the sign of the cross than Eadric appeared at the hedge.\n\nHe brought us a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese. 'Cost me a shilling, lord.'\n\n'You went into the town?'\n\n'And it's swarming with the buggers, lord. It's not good news. Another sixty men came yesterday just before the storm struck. Came from Lundene, all of them in those silly red cloaks. They came on horseback.' I swore and Finan made the sign of the cross. 'The lady is still in the convent, lord,' Eadric went on. 'They've not tried to winkle her out, not yet. No news of the king's death, you see? A shilling, lord.'\n\nI gave him two. 'How did you find all that out?'\n\n'Saw the priest! Father R\u00e6dwulf. Nice man. Gave me a blessing, he did.'\n\n'Who did you say you were?'\n\n'Told him the truth, of course! Told him we were trying to rescue the lady.'\n\n'And he said?'\n\n'He said he'd pray for us, lord.'\n\nSo my foolish dreams had ended. Here, in the damp grass behind a thorn hedge, reality had smacked me. The town was crammed with the enemy, we had come too late, and I had failed. 'You were right,' I told Finan ruefully.\n\n'I'm Irish, lord, of course I was right.'\n\n'We'll go back to Spearhafoc,' I said. 'Burn \u00c6thelhelm's three ships in the harbour, then go back north.'\n\nMy father had once told me to make few oaths. 'Oaths will bind you, boy,' he had said, 'and you're a fool. You were born a fool. You jump before you think. So think before you swear an oath.'\n\nI had been a fool again. Finan had been right, Sigtryggr had been right, Eadith had been right, and my father had been right. I had no business here. The fool's errand was over.\n\nExcept it was not.\n\nBecause the horsemen came."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "There were thirty-six horsemen, all in mail, all with shields and half of them carrying long spears. They came from the east, circling below the small swell of pasture where we were crouched beside the blackthorn hedge. We had seen them, but they had not yet seen us.\n\nMy first instinct was to draw Serpent-Breath, and my first thought was that \u00c6thelhelm's men must have seen Eadric and followed him from the town. My second thought was the realisation that we had few shields. Men on foot who lack shields are easy meat for horsemen. My third thought was that these men were not wearing red cloaks and their shields did not show \u00c6thelhelm's badge of the leaping stag. The shields seemed to show some kind of animal, but the paint had faded and I did not recognise the symbol.\n\nThen the leader of the horsemen saw us and held up his hand to check his men. The horses turned towards us, their big hooves churning the wet turf to muddy ruin. 'What's on the shields?' I asked Finan.\n\n'Some are showing a bull's head,' he answered, 'with bloody horns, and the rest are crossed swords.'\n\n'Then they're Centishmen,' I said, feeling relief, and just then the newcomers saw our shields showing the leaping stag, they saw our dark red cloaks, and their swords slid free of scabbards, their spurs went back and the spears were lowered.\n\n'Drop your weapons!' I shouted to my men. 'Drop the shields!' The big horses were lumbering up the damp slope, spear-points glittering. I ran a few paces towards them, stopped, and rammed Serpent-Breath point first into the turf. 'No fight!' I shouted at the approaching horsemen. I spread my arms to show that I carried no weapons or shield.\n\nThe leading horseman curbed his stallion and held his sword aloft to check his men. The horses snorted and scraped at the wet pasture with heavy hooves. I walked on down the gentle slope as the Centish leader nudged his horse towards me. He stopped and pointed his sword towards me. 'Are you surrendering, old man?' he asked.\n\n'Who are you?' I demanded.\n\n'The man who'll kill you if you don't surrender.' He looked past me towards my men. If it had not been for the silver cross hanging at his neck and for the symbols on his men's shields I might have taken him for a Dane or a Norseman. He wore his black hair very long, cascading to his waist from beneath his fine silver-chased helmet. His mail was polished, while his bridle and saddle were studded with small silver stars. His tall, mud-spattered boots were of the finest leather and carried long silver spurs. His sword, which he still held towards me, had delicate golden decorations on its crosspiece. 'Are you surrendering or dying?' he asked.\n\n'I'm asking who are you?' I said harshly.\n\nHe looked at me as if I were a piece of dung while he decided whether or not to answer. He finally did, but with a sneer. 'My name,' he said, 'is Awyrgan of Contwaraburg. And you are?'\n\n'I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' I said, just as arrogantly, and that answer provoked a satisfying reaction. Awyrgan, his name meant 'cursed' so I assumed he had chosen the name himself rather than been christened with it, lowered the sword so that it pointed at the wet grass, then just stared at me in astonishment. He saw a bedraggled, grey-bearded, mud-covered warrior in battered mail and with a scarred helmet. I stared at him and saw a handsome young man with dark eyes, a straight long nose, and a clean-shaven chin. I suspected Awyrgan of Contwaraburg had been born to privilege and could not imagine a life without it. 'Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' I added, stressing the 'lord'.\n\n'Truly?' he asked, then hastily added, 'Lord.'\n\n'Truly,' I snarled.\n\n'He is Lord Uhtred,' an older man said brusquely. He had walked his horse close behind Awyrgan's stallion and now looked down at me with an evident dislike. He, like Awyrgan, wore fine mail, was well-horsed, and carried a drawn sword, which, I could see, had a well-worn edge. His close-cut beard was grey and his hard face crossed with two scars, and I assumed he was an old and experienced soldier entrusted to give advice to the younger man. 'I fought alongside you in East Anglia, lord,' he said to me. He spoke curtly.\n\n'And you are?'\n\n'Swithun Swithunson,' he said, still in a distinctly unfriendly tone, 'and you, lord, are a long way from home.' He had said 'lord' with a marked reluctance.\n\n'I was invited here,' I said.\n\n'By?' Awyrgan asked.\n\n'The Lady Eadgifu.'\n\n'The queen invited you?' Awyrgan sounded astonished.\n\n'I just said so.'\n\nThere was an awkward silence, then Awyrgan pushed his sword into its long scabbard. 'You are indeed welcome, lord,' he said. He might be arrogant, but he was no fool. His horse tossed its head and skittered sideways and he calmed it with a gloved hand on its neck. 'Any news of the king?'\n\n'None.'\n\n'And of the lady?'\n\n'So far as I know,' I said, 'she's still in the convent and kept there by \u00c6thelhelm's men who now number well over a hundred. What are you hoping to do?'\n\n'Rescue her, of course.'\n\n'With thirty-six men?'\n\nAwyrgan smiled. 'Ealdorman Sigulf has another hundred and fifty horsemen to the east.'\n\nSo Eadgifu's brother had answered his sister's call. I had sailed south with the thought of allying myself with the men of Cent to free Wessex of \u00c6lfweard's kingship, but now that I was face to face with two of Cent's leaders my doubts increased. Awyrgan was an arrogant youth and Swithun plainly hated me. Finan had come to join me, standing just a pace behind and to my right. I heard him growl, a signal that he wanted me to abandon this madness, to go back to Spearhafoc and so home.\n\n'What happened to Dreogan?' I asked.\n\n'Dreogan?' Awyrgan responded, puzzled.\n\n'One of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's men,' I explained, 'he led men to Contwaraburg to persuade Ealdorman Sigulf to stay in his bed.'\n\nAwyrgan smiled. 'Those men! We have their mail, we have their weapons, and we have their horses. I assume Lord Sigulf will have their lives too if they make trouble.'\n\n'And Ealdorman Sigulf,' I went on, 'sent you to do what?'\n\nAwyrgan gestured to the west. 'Stop the bastards escaping, lord. We're to block the road to Lundene.' He made it sound easy. Perhaps it was.\n\n'Do that then,' I said.\n\nAwyrgan was taken aback by my tone, which had been harsh, but he nodded to me and beckoned to his horsemen. 'Will you come with us?' he asked.\n\n'You don't need me,' I said.\n\n'True, we don't,' Swithun growled, then spurred his horse away. The Centish horsemen were keeping to the lower ground, trying to stay hidden from the town, though I suspected they must have been seen already because there was little cover in this low, damp land.\n\n'So do we help them?' Finan demanded.\n\nI still gazed after the horsemen. 'It seems a pity,' I said, 'to come this far and not smell her tits again.'\n\nFinan treated that jest with contempt. 'They weren't happy to see us. So why help them?'\n\n'Swithun wasn't happy,' I agreed, 'and I'm not surprised. He remembers us from East Anglia.'\n\nCent had ever been a restless shire. It had once been its own kingdom, but that was far in the past and it was now a part of Wessex, though every now and then there were stirrings of independence, and that ancient pride had driven Sigulf's grandfather to side with the Danes of East Anglia shortly after Edward became king. That alliance had not lasted, I had shamed the Centishmen into fighting for Wessex, but they had never forgotten the disgrace of their near treachery. Now Sigulf was rebelling again, this time to help Edmund, his sister's eldest son, inherit the throne of Wessex.\n\n'If we join their fight,' Finan said, 'we're fighting for Eadgifu's boys.'\n\nI nodded. 'True.'\n\n'For God's sake, why? I thought you supported \u00c6thelstan!'\n\n'I do.'\n\n'Then \u2026'\n\n'There are three claimants for the throne of Wessex,' I interrupted him. '\u00c6lfweard, \u00c6thelstan and Edmund. Doesn't it make sense that two of those should join together to defeat the third?'\n\n'And when he's defeated? What happens to the two?'\n\nI shrugged. 'Eadgifu's boy is an infant. The Witan will never choose him.'\n\n'So now we fight for Eadgifu?'\n\nI paused a long while, then shook my head. 'No.'\n\n'No?'\n\nFor a moment I did not answer. Instead I was thinking of Finan's omen, his vision of my naked corpse in a field of barley, then I remembered the dead swan I had seen lying in the drab ditch with a broken neck. And that, I thought, was an omen if ever there was one, and at that moment I heard the beat of wings and looked skywards to see two swans flying north. Thor had sent me a sign and it could not have been clearer. Go north, go home, go now.\n\nWhat a fool I was! To think I could lead a Centish rebellion against Wessex? To defeat \u00c6thelhelm with a ragged band of Centishmen and a handful of Northumbrians? It was pride, I thought, mere foolish pride. I was Uhtred of Bebbanburg and one of my poets, one of the men who compose songs for the winter nights in Bebbanburg's hall, always called me Uhtred the Unbeaten. Did I believe him? I had been beaten often enough, though a kindly fate had always given me revenge. But every man knows, or should know, that fate is fickle. 'Wyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u00e3r\u00e6d,' I told Finan. Fate is inexorable.\n\n'And fate is a bitch too,' he said, 'but what's our fate now?'\n\n'To avoid all fields of barley,' I said lightly.\n\nHe did not smile. 'Are we going home, lord?'\n\nI nodded. 'We're going back to Spearhafoc,' I said, 'and we're going home.'\n\nHe looked at me almost with disbelief, then made the sign of the cross. 'And thank the living Christ for that.'\n\nAnd so we walked back north. Crows or foxes had savaged the swan's corpse, strewing feathers around the exposed ribs, and I touched Thor's hammer and silently thanked the gods for sending me their signs.\n\n'Those dreams,' Finan said awkwardly, 'they're not always right.'\n\n'They're a warning, though.'\n\n'Aye, that they are.' We walked on. 'So what happens to Lavender Tits now?' Finan asked, anxious not to talk any longer about his premonition.\n\n'That's up to her brother. I tried, now he must.'\n\n'Fair enough.'\n\n'And Awyrgan,' I said, 'is guarding the wrong road.'\n\n'He is?'\n\n'If \u00c6thelhelm's men retreat they'll likely come down this road. Some of them, anyway. They won't want to lose their ships.'\n\n'And that pompous little earsling doesn't know they have ships?'\n\n'Apparently not,' I said. 'And I didn't think to tell him.'\n\n'So let the pompous bastard waste his time,' Finan said happily.\n\nIt was late in the summer afternoon. The sky had cleared, the air had warmed and sunlight glittered its reflection from the flooded meadows and marshes. 'I'm sorry,' I said to Finan.\n\n'Sorry?'\n\n'I should have listened to you. To Eadith. To Sigtryggr.'\n\nHe was embarrassed by my apology. 'Oaths,' he said after a few paces, 'sit hard on a man's conscience.'\n\n'They do, but I still should have listened. I'm sorry. We'll take the ship north and then I'll ride south to join \u00c6thelstan in Mercia.'\n\n'And I'll come with you,' Finan said enthusiastically. He turned to look back the way we had come. 'I wonder how Sigulf is doing?' There was no sound of battle from F\u00e6fresham, but we were probably far enough to be out of earshot of the clash of weapons and the screams of the wounded.\n\n'If Sigulf has any sense,' I said, 'he'll negotiate before he fights.'\n\n'Does he have sense?'\n\n'No more than me,' I said bitterly. 'He doesn't have a reputation, not that I've heard, and his father was a treacherous fool. Still, he's attacking \u00c6thelhelm and I wish him luck, but he'll need more than a couple of hundred men to fight off \u00c6thelhelm's revenge.'\n\n'And that's not your fight, eh?'\n\n'Anyone who fights \u00c6thelhelm is on my side,' I said, 'but coming here was madness.'\n\n'You tried, lord,' Finan said, trying to console me. 'You can tell \u00c6thelstan you tried to keep the oath.'\n\n'But I failed,' I said. I hate failure and I had failed.\n\nBut fate is a bitch and the bitch had not done with me yet.\n\nOswi was the first to spot our pursuers. He called to me from behind, 'Lord!'\n\nI turned and saw horsemen coming. They were a good way behind us, but I could see the red cloaks. Finan, of course, saw more than I did. 'Twenty men?' he said. 'Maybe thirty. In a hurry.'\n\nI turned to look southwards, wondering if we could reach Spearhafoc before the horsemen reached us and decided we could not. I turned again. My worry was that the small group of approaching men was merely a vanguard, that a horde of \u00c6thelhelm's warriors was close behind them, but the distant road beyond the galloping horsemen stayed empty. 'Shield wall!' I called. 'Three ranks! Red cloaks in the front!'\n\nThe horsemen would see their own men barring the road. They might wonder why, but I did not doubt they would think us their allies. 'Sigulf must have chased them out,' I said to Finan.\n\n'And killed the rest?' he asked. 'I doubt it. There were\u2014' He stopped suddenly, staring. 'They have women!' I could see that for myself now. Behind the leading horsemen were four or five riders all cloaked in grey except one who wore black. I was not certain they were women, but Finan was. 'It's Lavender Tits,' he said.\n\n'Is it?'\n\n'Has to be.'\n\nSo \u00c6thelhelm's men in F\u00e6fresham must have decided to remove Eadgifu and her women before the Centish forces could reach the town's centre. They were now cantering down the road, heading for their ships, and doubtless relying on Wighelm and his men to provide much of the crew, but Wighelm was somewhere on the Isle of Sceapig, naked.\n\n'Don't look threatening!' I told my men. 'Rest the shields on the ground! I want them to think we're friends!' I turned back to Finan. 'We'll have to be quick,' I said. 'Name half a dozen of your men to seize the women's bridles.'\n\n'And once we've rescued her?' he asked. 'What do we do with her?'\n\n'Take her to Bebbanburg.'\n\n'The sooner the better,' he grunted.\n\nThe approaching horsemen were half hidden by a tall stand of reeds and still no one followed them from the town. I closed my helmet's leather cheek-pieces to conceal my face. 'Berg,' I called. Berg was in the front rank, one of the men cloaked in red and carrying \u00c6thelhelm's leaping stag on his shield. 'When they get close, hold up a hand! Make them think we have a message!'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\nThe horsemen emerged from the thick reeds and spurred towards us. 'Front rank,' I called, 'you take care of the leading horsemen!' I had thirty men in three ranks. 'Second rank!' I was in the second rank, thinking I was less likely to be recognised than if I stood in the front. 'We get rid of the horsemen behind the women. Finan! You take the women, then go where you're needed.' Meaning he would reinforce whichever of us needed help. I could hear the hooves now and see dark clods of mud spewing from the racing horses. One of the leading men half stood in his stirrups and shouted, but whatever he said was lost in the noise of hooves and jangling bridles, then Berg took a pace forward and held up his hand and the horsemen had no choice but to curb their beasts. 'Wighelm!' the leading man shouted. 'Go back!'\n\n'He's at the ships!' I called back.\n\n'Get out of the way!' The man had been forced to a halt, and his followers milled uncertainly behind him. 'Get out of the way!' he bellowed again, angrily. 'Get out of the way and go back to the harbour!' He spurred his horse straight at my front rank, evidently expecting us to make way for him.\n\n'Now!' I called and drew Serpent-Breath.\n\nBerg slapped his shield hard across the face of the leading man's stallion. The beast slewed sideways, slipped in the mud and fell. The rest of my front rank was charging into the confused horsemen, using the spears we had captured from Wighelm's men to savage both horses and men. Terrified beasts reared, riders were dragged from their saddles. Berg hauled the man who had shouted at us from beneath his fallen and floundering horse. 'Keep that one alive!' I shouted at him. The enemy, at least those closest to us, had not even had the time to draw their swords, and my men were fast and savage. The women, I could now see they were women, were looking terrified. I ran past them to be faced by a horseman levelling his sword as he spurred his stallion towards me. I hammered his blade aside with Serpent-Breath and then rammed her up into his armpit. I felt her pierce mail and grind on bone, then blood flowed down the blade. Gerbruht ran past me, bellowing in Frisian. Two of the horsemen had managed to turn their beasts and were spurring back towards F\u00e6fresham. 'Let them go!' I shouted at Oswi who had begun sprinting after them. He would not catch them and I expected to be at sea long before any help arrived from the town. The man whose shoulder I had wounded had switched his sword to his other hand and now clumsily tried to strike down at me from across his saddle, but then he suddenly vanished, tugged down by Vidarr. I pulled myself onto his horse, gathered the reins, and kicked my heels. 'Lady Eadgifu!' I shouted, and one of the grey-hooded women turned to me and I recognised her pale face framed with her raven black hair. 'Ride on!' I called to her. 'Ride on! We have a ship waiting. Go! Beornoth!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Get a horse, protect the ladies!' I could see that three of the women had small children on their saddles. 'Go!'\n\nSome of the enemy had spurred off the road and were trying to get past us, but the land was a bog, sodden with water, and the horses struggled. Their riders savaged the poor beasts with spurs, the animals whinnied in protest, but could not move. A half-dozen of Finan's men attacked them with spears that far out-reached the riders' swords. Two of the enemy simply threw themselves from their saddles and stumbled into the reeds as the others flung down their weapons in surrender. Back on the road Berg was holding his blade at the throat of the group's leader, who lay flat on his back.\n\nThe best ways to win any battle are to surprise the enemy, to outnumber the enemy, and to attack that enemy with such speed and ferocity that he has no idea what is happening until a sword is at his throat or a spear-blade is deep in his guts. We had achieved all three, though at a cost. Immar Hergildson, the least experienced of my men, had seen a red-cloaked rider and thrust up with his spear and so wounded Oswi who had mounted a riderless stallion. Oswi was now cursing and threatening revenge, the horses were still panicking, a woman was screaming, a wounded horse was hammering the road with his hooves, and some of the enemy were scrambling towards the reed beds. 'Oswi!' I bellowed. 'How badly are you hurt?'\n\n'Scratched, lord.'\n\n'Then shut your mouth!'\n\nSome of the West Saxons had escaped, but most were our prisoners now, including the young man who had evidently been their leader. Berg was still holding him on the road with the sword at his throat. 'Let him up,' I said. I saw that the women were safe, some fifty paces down the road from where they now watched us. 'What's your name,' I demanded of the young man.\n\nHe hesitated, unwilling to answer, but a twitch of Serpent-Breath changed his mind. 'Herewulf,' he muttered, staring down at his fallen blade.\n\nI leaned down from the saddle and forced his head up with Serpent-Breath's tip. 'Do you know who I am?' He shook his head. 'I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' I said and saw the fear in his eyes, 'and you call me lord. So what were your orders, Herewulf?'\n\n'To keep the Lady Eadgifu safe, lord.'\n\n'Where?'\n\n'Cippanhamm, lord,' he said sullenly.\n\nCippanhamm was a fine town in Wiltunscir and doubtless Herewulf had thought to take the women and children up the Temes, through Lundene, and so to \u00c6thelhelm's shire. 'Any news of the king?' I asked him.\n\n'He's still sick, lord,' he said. 'That's all we know.'\n\n'Take off his mail,' I ordered Berg. 'You're lucky,' I spoke to Herewulf, 'because I might leave you alive. Might.' He just stared at me. 'What's happening in F\u00e6fresham?' I asked.\n\nFor a moment he was tempted to be defiant, but I touched Serpent-Breath to his cheek and that loosened his tongue. 'They're talking,' he said reluctantly.\n\n'Talking?'\n\n'To the east of the town.'\n\nThat made sense. Sigulf had brought warriors to his sister's aid only to discover a force equal to his own guarding her. If they fought then men would die and others would be wounded in an uncertain battle. Sigulf was being prudent, hoping to talk his sister out of her enemy's grip, but that enemy had been clever. Under the cloak of talking they had spirited her out of the convent and sent her north towards their ships. The risk they were taking was that Edward might recover and punish them, but better his anger than an heir to the throne safely out of \u00c6thelhelm's grasp. 'You were sent to keep the Lady Eadgifu safe?' I asked the prisoner.\n\n'I told you so,' Herewulf was recovering his defiance.\n\n'Then tell Lord \u00c6thelhelm that I'll do that job for him.'\n\n'When \u00c6lfweard is king,' Herewulf responded, 'Lord \u00c6thelhelm will take your fortress and feed your carcass to the pigs.'\n\n'His father tried,' I said, sheathing Serpent-Breath, 'and he's worm-food now. Be grateful I've let you live.'\n\nWe took the mail from all the prisoners, took their weapons and their horses, then left them on the road where one stallion lay dead, its blood darkening the mud. Two men had been killed, though a dozen others of \u00c6thelhelm's men were bleeding, as was Oswi, though he claimed he could hardly feel the wound. I kicked my horse to where the Lady Eadgifu waited. 'We have to move, my lady,' I said. 'They'll pursue us soon and we need to get to the ship.'\n\n'Lord Uhtred,' she said in a tone of amazement. 'You came!'\n\n'We must go, my lady.'\n\n'But my brother!'\n\n'Is talking to \u00c6thelhelm's men, my lady, and I can't wait to find out what they decide. Do you wish to wait? You can stay here, and I'll go.' There were four women with Eadgifu, I assumed they were her servants or companions, one of whom was holding a small boy, just three or four years old, while two carried babes in arms. There was also a priest who wore a black cloak.\n\n'Lord Uhtred is right, my lady,' the priest said nervously.\n\n'But my brother has come!' Eadgifu stared towards F\u00e6fresham as if expecting men with bulls or swords on their shields to come to her rescue.\n\n'And a lot of Ealdorman \u00c6thelhelm's men have come too,' I said, 'and until I know who's won that battle we must stay with the boat.'\n\n'Can't we go back?' Eadgifu pleaded.\n\nI stared at her. She was undeniably beautiful. She had skin as pale as milk, dark eyebrows and black hair, rich lips and an understandable look of anxiety. 'Lady,' I said as patiently as I could, 'you asked for my help and I'm here. And I don't help you by taking you back into a town that is full of brawling men, half of whom want to kill your children.'\n\n'I \u2026' she began, then decided not to speak.\n\n'We go that way,' I insisted, pointing north. I looked behind and still saw there was no pursuit. 'Let's go!' I shouted.\n\nEadgifu kicked her horse alongside mine. 'Can we wait to find out what happened in F\u00e6fresham?' she asked.\n\n'We can wait,' I agreed, 'but only once we're aboard my ship.'\n\n'I worry for my brother.'\n\n'And for your husband?' I asked brutally.\n\nShe made the sign of the cross. 'Edward is dying. Maybe he's already dead.'\n\n'And if he is,' I said, still speaking harshly, '\u00c6lfweard is king.'\n\n'He is a rotten soul,' she spat, 'an evil creature. The spawn of a devil woman.'\n\n'Who will kill your children in the time it takes to drown a kitten,' I said, 'so we must take you somewhere safe.'\n\n'Where is safe?' The question had come from one of Eadgifu's women, the only one who was not holding a child. She kicked her horse so that she rode on my left, then asked, 'Where will we go?' It was plain that English, which she spoke with a delicate accent, was not her native tongue.\n\n'You are?' I asked.\n\n'I am Benedetta,' she said with a dignity that intrigued me.\n\nThe unusual name intrigued me too, for it was neither Saxon nor Danish. 'Benedetta,' I repeated it clumsily.\n\n'I am from Lupiae,' she said proudly and, when I said nothing, 'you have heard of Lupiae?'\n\nI must have stared vacantly at her, because Eadgifu answered for me. 'Benedetta is from Italy!'\n\n'Rome!' I said.\n\n'Lupiae is far to the south of Rome,' Benedetta said dismissively.\n\n'Benedetta is my treasured companion,' Eadgifu explained.\n\n'And evidently a long way from home,' I remarked.\n\n'Home!' Benedetta almost spat the word at me. 'Where is home, Lord Uhtred, when slavers come and take you away?'\n\n'Slavers?'\n\n'Saraceni pigs,' she said. 'I was twelve years old. And you have not answered me, Lord Uhtred.'\n\nI looked at her again and thought this fine, defiant woman was as beautiful as her royal mistress. 'I haven't answered you?'\n\n'Where is safe?'\n\n'If Lady Eadgifu's brother survives,' I said, 'then she is free to join him. If not, we go to Bebbanburg.'\n\n'Sigulf will come,' Eadgifu said confidently, though immediately after speaking she made the sign of the cross.\n\n'I hope so,' I said awkwardly, and wondered how I would cope with Eadgifu and her companions in Bebbanburg. The fortress was comfortable, but offered nothing like the luxuries of the palaces at Wintanceaster and Lundene. Then there were the rumours of plague in the north, and if Eadgifu and her children were to die in my fortress then men in Wessex would say I had killed them just as they claimed I had killed \u00c6thelhelm the Elder.\n\n'My brother will come,' Eadgifu interrupted my thoughts, 'and besides, I cannot go to Bebbanburg.'\n\n'You'll be safe there, my lady,' I said.\n\n'My son,' she said, pointing to the eldest of her children, 'should be King of Wessex. He cannot be king if we are hiding in Northumbria!'\n\nI half smiled. '\u00c6lfweard will be king,' I said gently, 'and \u00c6thelstan will try to be king, so there will be war, my lady. Best to be far away from it.'\n\n'There will be no war,' she said, 'because \u00c6thelstan will be king.'\n\n'\u00c6thelstan?' I asked, surprised. I had thought she would press her son's claim to the throne over \u00c6thelstan's. 'He'll only be king if he defeats \u00c6lfweard,' I added.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan will be King of Mercia. My husband,' she said those last two words with venom in her tone, 'has made the decision. It is in his will. \u00c6lfweard, horrible boy, will be King of Wessex and of East Anglia, and \u00c6thelstan will be King of Mercia. It is decided.' I just stared at her, scarce believing what I had heard. 'They are half-brothers,' Eadgifu went on, 'and they each get what they want, so there will be no war.'\n\nAnd still I stared. Edward was dividing his kingdom? That was madness. His father's dream had been to make one kingdom out of four, and Edward had brought that dream so close to reality, yet now he would take an axe to it? And he believed that would bring peace? 'Truly?' I asked.\n\n'Truly!' Eadgifu answered. '\u00c6thelstan will rule in Mercia and the nasty pig boy will rule the other two kingdoms until my brother defeats him. Then my Edmund will be king.'\n\nMadness, I thought again, pure madness. Fate, that malevolent bitch, had surprised me again, and I tried to persuade myself that it was none of my business. Let \u00c6lfweard and \u00c6thelstan fight it out, let the Saxons kill each other in a welter of blood and I would go back north. But the malevolent bitch had still not done with me. \u00c6thelhelm lived, and I had made an oath.\n\nWe rode on.\n\nOnce back in the harbour we piled our captured shields, weapons, and mail in Spearhafoc's belly. They could all be sold. The ship was floating some three or four feet below the level of the wharf and Eadgifu protested that she could not jump down, nor would she be carried. 'I am a queen,' I heard her complain to her Italian companion, 'not some fishwife.'\n\nGerbruht and Folcbald ripped up two long timbers from the wharf and made a crude gangplank, which, after some protests, Eadgifu agreed to use. Her priest escorted her down the perilous slope. Her eldest son, Edmund, followed her down and immediately ran to the heap of captured weapons and dragged out a sword with a blade as long as he was tall. 'Put it down, boy!' I called from the wharf.\n\n'You should call him prince,' the priest reproved me.\n\n'I'll call him prince when he proves he deserves the title. Put it down!' Edmund ignored me and tried to swing the blade. 'Put it down, you little shit!' I bellowed.\n\nThe boy did not drop the sword, just stared at me with defiance that turned to fear as I jumped down into Spearhafoc's belly. He began to cry, but Benedetta, the Italian woman, intervened. She stepped in front of me and took the sword from Edmund's hand. 'If you are told to drop a sword,' she said calmly, 'then you drop it. And do not cry. Your father is a king and maybe you will be a king one day, and kings do not cry.' She tossed the sword onto the pile of captured weapons. 'Now say you are sorry to the Lord Uhtred.'\n\nEdmund looked at me, muttered something I could not hear, then fled to Spearhafoc's bows where he clung to his mother's skirts. Eadgifu put an arm around him and glared at me. 'He meant no harm, Lord Uhtred,' she said coldly.\n\n'He might have meant no harm,' I answered harshly, 'but he could have caused it.'\n\n'He could also have hurt himself, my lady,' Benedetta said.\n\nEadgifu nodded at that, she even smiled, and I understood why she had called the Italian woman her treasured companion. There was a confidence in Benedetta that suggested she was Eadgifu's protector. She was a strong woman, as competent as she was attractive.\n\n'Thank you,' I said to her softly.\n\nBenedetta, I saw, had a small smile. She caught my eye and the smile stayed. I held her gaze, wondering at her beauty, but then the priest stepped between us. 'Edmund is a prince,' he insisted, 'and should be treated as royalty.'\n\n'And I'm an ealdorman,' I snarled, 'and should be treated with respect. And who are you?'\n\n'I'm the prince's tutor, lord, and the queen's confessor. Father Aart.'\n\n'Then you must be a busy man,' I said.\n\n'Busy, lord?'\n\n'I imagine Queen Eadgifu has much to confess,' I said, and Father Aart blushed and looked away. 'And is she a queen?' I demanded. 'Wessex doesn't recognise that title.'\n\n'She is Queen of Mercia until we hear of her husband's death,' he said primly, and he was, indeed, a prim little man with a coronet of wispy brown hair surrounding a bald pate. He noticed the hammer at my neck and grimaced. 'The queen,' he continued, still looking at the hammer, 'wishes that we wait for news from the town.'\n\n'We'll wait,' I said.\n\n'And then, lord?'\n\n'If she wishes to go with her brother? She can go. Otherwise she goes with us to Bebbanburg.' I looked up at the wharf. 'Gerbruht!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Get rid of those ships!' I pointed to the three ships that had brought \u00c6thelhelm's men from Lundene to this muddy harbour. 'Take what's useful from them first,' I called after him.\n\nWe salvaged sealhide ropes, new oars made from larch wood, two barrels of ale, three of salted pork, and a faded banner of the leaping stag. We heaped them all in Spearhafoc, then Gerbruht fetched a metal bucket of embers from the tavern's hearth and blew the embers to life in the bellies of the three ships. 'The crosses,' Father Aart said when he realised what was happening.\n\n'Crosses?'\n\n'On the front of the ships! You can't burn our Lord's symbol.'\n\nI growled in frustration, but recognised his unhappiness. 'Gerbruht,' I bellowed, 'remove the crosses from the prows!'\n\nAll three ships were alight before he and Beornoth managed to knock out the pegs holding the crosses. 'What do I do with it?' he asked when the first came loose.\n\n'I don't care! Float it!'\n\nHe threw the cross overboard, then jumped to help Beornoth loosen the second cross. They freed it, scrambled aft, and escaped the flames just in time, but were too late to save the third cross, and I wondered what kind of omen that was. My men apparently saw nothing sinister because they were cheering. They always enjoyed destruction and they whooped like children as the flames seared up the tarred rigging, then as the fire reached the sails that were furled tight on the yards and they too erupted in flame and smoke. 'Was that necessary?' Father Aart asked.\n\n'You want to be pursued by three shiploads of \u00c6thelhelm's warriors?' I asked in return.\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'It was necessary,' I said, though in truth I doubted that any of the three ships could have caught Spearhafoc. They were typical West Saxon ships, well-made but heavy, brutish to row and sluggish under sail.\n\nThe wind had gone around to the south-west. The evening air was warm, the sky almost cloudless, though now smirched by the pyre of dark smoke from the burning boats. The tide was low, but had turned and the flood had begun. I had moved Spearhafoc well away from the blazing ships and moored her to the most northerly wharf, close to the entrance channel. Fisherfolk watched from their houses, but they stayed well clear both of the fire and of us. They were wary, and with good reason. The sun was low in the west, but the summer days were long and we had two or three hours of daylight left. 'I won't stay here overnight, my lady,' I told Eadgifu.\n\n'We'll be safe, won't we?'\n\n'Probably. But we still won't stay.'\n\n'Where do we go?'\n\n'We'll find a mooring on Sceapig,' I said, 'then if we've heard nothing from your brother we go north tomorrow.' I watched the village through the shimmer of fire. No one had appeared from F\u00e6fresham, so whoever had won the confrontation in the town was evidently staying there. Two ravens flew high above the smoke. They were flying north and I could not have wished for a better sign from the gods.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan might be in Lundene,' Eadgifu told me.\n\nI looked at her, struck as ever by her loveliness. 'Why would he be there, my lady?'\n\n'Lundene belongs to Mercia, doesn't it?'\n\n'It did once,' I said. 'Your husband's father changed that. It belongs to Wessex now.'\n\n'Nevertheless,' she said, 'I heard that \u00c6thelstan would garrison Lundene as soon as he heard of my husband's death.'\n\n'But your husband still lives,' I said, though whether that was true or not I did not know.\n\n'I pray so,' she said entirely unconvincingly. 'Yet surely Prince \u00c6thelstan must have forces near Lundene?'\n\nShe was a cunning bitch, as clever as she was beautiful. I say cunning because her words made absolute sense. If she was right and Edward had divided his kingdom then \u00c6thelstan, who was no fool and who must have heard of the will's contents, would move quickly to take Lundene and so sever East Anglia from Wessex. And Eadgifu, who well knew of my long friendship with \u00c6thelstan, was trying to persuade me to take her to Lundene rather than to Bebbanburg.\n\n'We don't know that \u00c6thelstan is in Lundene,' I said, 'and we won't know until after Edward is dead.'\n\n'They say the prince has put his troops just north of Lundene,' Benedetta said.\n\n'Who's they?'\n\nShe shrugged. 'Folk in Lundene say that.'\n\n'A king is dying,' I said, 'and whenever a king dies there are rumours and more rumours. Believe nothing you cannot see with your own eyes.'\n\n'But if \u00c6thelstan is in Lundene,' Eadgifu persisted, 'you would take me there?'\n\nI hesitated, then nodded. 'If he's there, yes.'\n\n'And he will let my children live?' she asked. Besides Edmund she had two babies, a boy called Eadred and a girl named Eadburh.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan is not a man to kill children,' I said, which was not the answer she wanted, 'but if you have a choice between \u00c6lfweard and \u00c6thelstan, choose \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'What I want,' she said angrily, 'is \u00c6lfweard dead and my son on the throne.'\n\n'With you ruling for him?' I asked, but she had no answer to that, or at least none that she wanted to speak.\n\n'Lord!' Immar called. 'Lord!' and I turned to see three horsemen appear in the shroud of smoke that drifted from the burning boats. The horsemen saw us and spurred towards us.\n\n'Awyrgan!' Eadgifu shrieked the name with alarm. She stood and gazed at the men who flogged their tired horses towards our wharf. Behind them came a score of red-cloaked men in pursuit. 'Awyrgan!' Eadgifu shouted again, fear for him plain in her voice.\n\n'Gerbruht!' I called. 'Cut the forward line!'\n\n'You can't leave him here,' Eadgifu screamed at me.\n\n'Cut it!' I bellowed.\n\nGerbruht sliced through the bow line with an axe and I drew Serpent-Breath and moved to the aft line. Eadgifu clutched at my arm. 'Let me go!' I snarled, shook her off, then sliced through the sealhide rope. Spearhafoc trembled. The tide was pushing her onto the wharf, but the wind was against the tide and there was just enough wind on the furled sail to float us out into the channel. Beornoth helped by seizing an oar and thrusting against a weed-thick piling. The three horsemen had reached the wharf. They threw themselves from their saddles and ran. I saw the terror on Awyrgan's face because \u00c6thelhelm's men were close behind, their horses' hooves drumming loud on the wharf's timbers. 'Jump!' I shouted. 'Jump!'\n\nThey jumped. They made a desperate life-saving leap, and two collapsed sprawling on Spearhafoc's rowing benches while Awyrgan fell just short, but managed to grasp Spearhafoc's low midships rail where two of my men took hold of him. The pursuing horsemen reined in and two of them threw spears. One blade thumped into the baulks of timber supporting our mast, the second missed Awyrgan by a finger's breadth, but the men in Spearhafoc's bow were using oars to pole her off the channel's muddy bank and north towards the wider waters of the Swalwan Creek. More spears followed, but all fell short.\n\n'If we'd stayed,' I told Eadgifu, 'those horsemen would have rained spears on us. Men would have been wounded, men would have been killed,'\n\n'He almost drowned!' she said, her eyes on Awyrgan, who was being hauled aboard.\n\nSo that, I thought, was why she had come to Cent? 'And they'd have aimed their spears at your sons,' I said.\n\nShe seemed not to hear me, but instead went forward to where the half-drenched Awyrgan was sitting on a bench. I turned and caught Benedetta's gaze. She held my eyes, as if daring me to speak aloud of what I suspected, and I thought again what a beauty she was. She was older than Eadgifu, but age had added wisdom to beauty. She had a dark skin, which gave her grey-green eyes a striking intensity, a long nose in a slender, grave face, wide lips, and hair as black as Eadgifu's.\n\n'Where to?' Gerbruht distracted me. He had come aft and taken the steering-oar.\n\nThe sky was darkening. It was dusk, a long summer dusk, and no time to begin a long voyage. 'Cross the creek,' I said, 'find somewhere to spend the night.'\n\n'And in the morning, lord?'\n\n'We go north, of course.'\n\nNorth to Bebbanburg, north to home, and north to where no kings died and no madness ruled.\n\nWe crossed the creek in the dying light and found an inlet that twisted deep into Sceapig's reeds where we could spend the short summer night. The ships we had set on fire burned bright, throwing lurid shadows on the small harbour, their last flames only extinguished as the first stars showed.\n\nWe could have sailed that evening, but we were tired and the shoals around Sceapig are treacherous and best tackled in daylight. We were safe for the night, we could sleep under the watch of our sentries and there was a hummock of dry ground where we could make a fire.\n\nThe wind died in the darkness, then came again with the dawn, only now it was a west wind, brisk and warm. I wanted to leave, wanted to be sailing Spearhafoc north along the East Anglian coast, wanted to leave Wessex and its treachery far behind, but Benedetta asked me to wait.\n\n'Why wait?' I asked her.\n\n'We have things to do,' she said distantly.\n\n'So do I! A voyage!'\n\n'It will not take long, lord.' She still wore the grey cloak and hood, her face shadowed from the sun that rose behind her to gloss the Swalwan Creek with a shimmer of red gold.\n\n'What won't take long?' I asked irritably.\n\n'What we must do,' she said stubbornly.\n\nI understood then. 'There's privacy under the steering platform,' I told her, 'and buckets.'\n\n'Eadgifu is a queen!' Benedetta said with a touch of anger. 'Queens do not crouch in a stinking space over a dirty bucket!'\n\n'We can wash the buckets,' I suggested, but received nothing in reply but a scornful look. I sighed. 'You want me to find her a palace?'\n\n'I want you to give her some privacy. Some dignity,' Benedetta said. 'She is a queen! We can go to the alehouse, yes?' she pointed across the creek.\n\n'That harbour will be full of \u00c6thelhelm's troops,' I said. 'Better to piss in a bucket than fall into their hands.'\n\n'Then the reeds will do,' she said stiffly, 'but your men must stay away.'\n\nWhich meant I had to order two of the rowing benches to be loosened and fashioned into a makeshift gangplank, then post sentries to guard the reeds from anyone approaching whatever place the women chose, and finally threaten death by dismemberment if any of those sentries were within sight of the women. Then we waited. I talked to Awyrgan as the sun rose higher, but he could tell me little of what had happened in F\u00e6fresham the previous day. He had posted his men as guards on the road that led to Lundene, then been surprised by \u00c6thelhelm's horsemen who had attacked him from the south. 'We fled, lord,' he confessed.\n\n'What of Sigulf?'\n\n'I don't know, lord.'\n\n'The last I heard,' I said, 'they were negotiating.'\n\n'Which only bought them time to take her ladyship from the convent,' Awyrgan said bitterly.\n\n'Then you're fortunate I was here,' I said.\n\nHe hesitated, then nodded. 'Indeed, lord.'\n\nI looked across the reed beds, wondering what on earth took the women so long, then back over the creek. At first light the harbour had appeared deserted, but now I could see men there, red-cloaked men. I pointed to them. '\u00c6thelhelm's men,' I told Awyrgan, 'which suggests Sigulf lost. And they can see us. They'll be coming for us.'\n\n'You burned their ships, lord.'\n\n'But I didn't burn their fishing boats, did I?' I cupped my hands and bellowed at the reeds, 'My lady! We have to go!'\n\nAnd it was then I saw the ship. A small ship, coming from the west, rowing down the Swalwan Creek. I could not see the hull, which was hidden by the tall reeds, but there was a cross on the prow, and the distance between that cross and the high mast suggested it could not hold more than ten or twelve benches on each side. The approaching ship's crew had lowered their sail, presumably for fear that a sudden gust of wind might drive them onto a mudbank and leave them waiting for the tide. Oars were slower, but much safer. 'Gerbruht!' I bellowed.\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'We have to stop that ship! Get us under way!'\n\n'The women!' Awyrgan protested.\n\n'We'll come back for them. Oars! Hurry!'\n\nI threw off the only mooring line, which we had tied to a massive log that had drifted ashore, then men began poling the ship out of the narrow inlet. 'Mail!' I called, meaning that men should don their armour. I pulled my own mail coat over my head, holding my breath as the stinking leather liner scraped my face. I buckled Serpent-Breath to my waist. The bow oars were in clear water now and Spearhafoc lunged ahead. I shoved the steering-oar over, held my breath again as the hull touched mud, but a heave of the oars pulled her free. We turned westwards and more oars found purchase as we slid into deeper water. I could see the approaching ship now and see she was half the size of Spearhafoc and with fewer than twenty men aboard. I had suspected she might be a trading ship, but she had a lean hull and a high prow, a ship made for swift passage. Her oars checked as they saw us and I could see a man in a red cloak shouting from the stern, perhaps wanting his oarsmen to turn the ship so they could flee, but Spearhafoc was too close and too threatening. 'Put on red cloaks!' I shouted at Finan who had assembled a group of mailed and armed men at Spearhafoc's bows. He waved in reply and called for a man to bring the cloaks. 'Don't kill the bastards!' I bellowed. 'I just want to talk to them!'\n\nI had asked Finan's men to wear the red cloaks so that the approaching ship would believe that we, like them, served \u00c6thelhelm. I did not think they would fight us, we were too big, but they could have veered into the southern bank and fled across the marshes if they thought we were enemies. The pretence must have worked because the ship began rowing towards us again, their panic over.\n\n'Lord!' Vidarr Leifson, who was standing on one of the rowing benches closest to the stern, called to me. He pointed behind and I turned to see that a fishing boat crammed with red-cloaked men was being laboriously rowed from the harbour entrance. I glanced across the reed beds, but could see neither the stranded women nor the five sentries we had posted. A pair of cranes flew from the reeds, their huge wings beating laboriously and the red feathers of their heads bright in the morning sun. They slowly gained height, long legs trailing, and one of the men on the fishing boat hurled a spear at the closest bird. It missed and plunged harmlessly into the creek. A good omen, I thought. 'We'll deal with that fishing boat soon,' I told Vidarr, hoping that the men on that boat had no idea that the women and children they had come to recapture were almost unguarded on Sceapig, then I called to the oarsmen to stop rowing as Spearhafoc's prow loomed above the smaller ship. We coasted for a few paces, then I felt a quiver in the hull as we touched her. Finan and two men jumped onto the stranger's deck. 'Hold her here,' I told Gerbruht, meaning he should try to keep Spearhafoc next to the smaller ship, then I went forward to see that Finan was arguing with the red-cloaked man. No swords had been drawn. 'What is it?' I called down.\n\n'A hired boat,' Finan answered laconically, 'bringing messengers from \u00c6thelhelm.'\n\n'Bring them on board.'\n\n'This fellow doesn't like that idea,' Finan said with a grin. 'He doesn't believe I serve that piece of shit \u00c6thelhelm!'\n\nThe red cloaks had at least made them believe we were friends until Finan and his men boarded their small ship. 'You have a choice,' I snarled at the man facing Finan. 'You either come aboard my ship or we practise our sword-skill on you. You choose.'\n\n'And you are?' he demanded.\n\n'Uhtred\u00e6rwe,' I said, and was rewarded with a visible shudder. Reputation is sometimes enough to end a confrontation, and the red-cloaked man, whoever he was, had no desire to add his death to my reputation. He clambered up onto Spearhafoc's prow, urged on by a slap from Finan, and was followed by a priest. I judged both men to be middle-aged, while the one who had argued with Finan was richly dressed and had a silver chain at his neck. 'Throw your oars overboard!' I called to the smaller ship's master. 'Finan! Cut his halliards!' The twenty oarsmen watched sullenly as Finan slashed through every line he could find. By the time he was done the smaller ship could neither row nor sail, while the flooding tide would take it gently away from F\u00e6fresham. 'When we're gone,' I called to the master, 'you can swim for your oars and splice your lines.' His only answer was to spit overboard. He was unhappy and I could not blame him, but I did not want him returning to Lundene to spread news of my arrival in Wessex.\n\nI let Gerbruht turn Spearhafoc, a tricky task in the narrow and shallow channel, but one he did with his usual skill as I went forward and confronted our two visitors. 'First, who are you?'\n\n'Father Hedric,' the priest answered.\n\n'You're one of \u00c6thelhelm's sorcerers?'\n\n'I serve in his household,' the priest answered proudly. He was a small tubby man with a wisp of white beard.\n\n'And you?' I asked the well-dressed man who wore the silver chain. He was tall, thin, with a long jaw, and dark, deep-set eyes. A clever man, I thought, which made him dangerous.\n\n'I am Halldor.'\n\n'A Dane?' I asked, his name was Danish.\n\n'A Christian Dane,' he said.\n\n'And what does a Christian Dane do in \u00c6thelhelm's household?'\n\n'I serve at Lord \u00c6thelhelm's wishes,' he answered icily.\n\n'You have a message?' They were both silent.\n\n'Where to, lord?' Gerbruht called from the stern.\n\nI saw that the fishing boat was waiting. She was too small and the number of men aboard too few to dare challenge us, but even as I watched I saw a second and equally heavily laden boat come from the harbour. 'Pick up the women!' I called to Gerbruht. 'We'll deal with those boats after.' I turned back to our two prisoners. 'You have a message?' I demanded a second time.\n\n'King Edward is dead,' Father Hedric said, then made the sign of the cross. 'God rest his soul.'\n\n'And King \u00c6lfweard reigns,' Halldor the Dane added, 'and may God give him a long and prosperous reign.'\n\nThe king was dead. And I had come to kill the new king. Wyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u00e3r\u00e6d."
            },
            {
                "title": "City of Darkness",
                "text": "Eadgifu, her women, and her three children must all have been waiting for us because they were crouched with the sentries just inside the tall reeds at the creek's edge, hidden from \u00c6thelhelm's men, who rowed clumsily to confront us. We steered Spearhafoc into the muddy bank, feeling the hull touch bottom. 'Come on!' I called to the women. 'Hurry!'\n\n'We'll get wet!' Eadgifu protested.\n\n'Wet is better than dead, my lady, now hurry!'\n\nShe still hesitated until Awyrgan leaped overboard then waded ashore and held out his hand. I saw her smile as she took it, then Awyrgan, along with the sentries, helped them all into the creek. Eadgifu squealed as the water came over her waist, but Benedetta calmed her. 'Lord Uhtred is right, my lady. Better to be wet than dead.' Once at the ship's side we unceremoniously lifted Eadgifu into the ship. She scowled as she reached the deck. 'Your husband's dead,' I told her with deliberate brutality.\n\n'Good, may he rot in peace,' was her curt answer, though I suspect her anger was delivered more towards me for soaking her rich clothes than at her husband. She turned and offered a hand to help Awyrgan into the boat, but Beornoth gently edged her aside and lifted the man by himself. Then Eadgifu saw Halldor and the priest at the stern of the boat and she spat towards them. 'Why are they here?'\n\n'Prisoners,' I said curtly.\n\n'Kill the Dane,' she said.\n\n'He has to answer questions first,' I told her, then reached down and took one of the babies from Benedetta's grasp.\n\n'Bastards are coming!' Finan warned me from Spearhafoc's stern.\n\nThe two small fishing boats crammed with \u00c6thelhelm's men were rowing towards us, though they were still a long way off. They were rowing hard, but their boats were clumsy, heavy and sluggish. We pulled the last woman and child aboard, then poled Spearhafoc off the bank and out into deeper water. 'Oarsmen! Pull!' I shouted. 'Finan! Put the bird on the prow!'\n\nThat made my men cheer. They liked it when our sleek sparrowhawk carving crested the prow, though in truth she looked more like an eagle than a sparrowhawk because her beak was far too long, but she had savage eyes and a menacing presence. Finan and two other men slotted her into place and hammered home the two pegs that held her firm. The crews of the two fishing boats, seeing us coming eastwards towards them, had stopped rowing and were now standing with spears in their hands. But either the sudden appearance of the sparrowhawk's feral head or the sight of the small waves beginning to break white and quick at Spearhafoc's cutwater persuaded them to sit and pull desperately for the southern shore. They feared a ramming. 'Pull!' I bellowed at the oarsmen.\n\nThe rowers dragged on the oars' looms, thrusting Spearhafoc still faster. Gerbruht and two other men hauled on the main halliard to hoist the sail. The fishing boats were still trying to escape us and I heard a man scream at his oarsmen to pull harder. I was steering towards them, and, as the sail caught the wind, our ship seemed to leap ahead, but then, just before we reached spear-range, I hauled the steering-oar towards me, and Spearhafoc turned to slide past them on the creek's further side. We could easily have sunk both fishing boats, but instead I would avoid them. Not because I feared them, but in the closing moments before we rammed the first boat we were likely to be assailed by spears, and I had no wish for a single man of Spearhafoc's crew to be wounded or worse. We had escaped and that was victory enough.\n\nA dozen spears were hurled as we passed, but all fell far short, and then we were coursing eastwards towards the open sea. We brought the oars inboard and lashed them down. Gerbruht had tied down the sail's last sheet and so I gave him the steering-oar. 'Just follow the creek,' I told him, 'then steer north. We're going home.'\n\n'God be praised,' he said.\n\nI jumped down from the steering platform. Our two prisoners, the tall, well-dressed Dane and the smaller priest, were under guard by the mainmast. Awyrgan, his clothes soaked, had been joined by the two men who had escaped pursuit with him, and was standing over the prisoners with a drawn sword. He was taunting them. 'Leave us,' I told him.\n\n'I\u2014'\n\n'Leave us!' I snarled. He irritated me.\n\nHe went to join Eadgifu and her ladies at the stern, and I drew the short knife from my belt. 'I don't have time to persuade you to answer my questions,' I told the two men, 'so if either of you don't answer straightaway I'll blind you both. When did the king die?'\n\n'A week ago?' the priest, shivering with fright, answered quickly. 'Maybe six days. I've lost count, lord.'\n\n'You were with him at the end?'\n\n'We were in Ferentone,' the Dane said stiffly.\n\n'Where he died,' the priest added quickly.\n\n'And \u00c6thelhelm was there?'\n\n'Lord \u00c6thelhelm was with the king to the end,' Halldor said.\n\n'And \u00c6thelhelm sent you south?' The priest nodded. The poor man still looked terrified, and no wonder. I was holding the short knife near his left cheekbone and he was imagining the blade slicing into his eye. I twitched it. 'He sent you south to do what?' I demanded.\n\nThe priest whimpered, but Halldor answered. 'To remove the Lady Eadgifu and her children to a place of safety.'\n\nI left that lie unchallenged. Eadgifu might have been safely walled up in a convent, but the two boys would be lucky to see another autumn. The girl, who had no claim to the throne, might have lived, but I doubted it. \u00c6thelhelm would probably wish to cull the whole brood. 'And the king,' I said, 'divided the kingdom?'\n\n'Yes, lord,' the priest muttered.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan is king in Mercia?' I asked. 'And that piece of weasel shit, \u00c6lfweard, rules in Wessex?'\n\n'King \u00c6lfweard rules in Wessex and East Anglia,' the priest confirmed, 'and \u00c6thelstan is named King of Mercia.'\n\n'But only if the Witan confirms the king's dying wishes,' Halldor said, 'which they will not.'\n\n'They won't?'\n\n'Why would they consent to the bastard being King of Mercia? \u00c6lfweard must be made king of all three kingdoms.'\n\nAnd that, I thought, was probably true. The West Saxon and East Anglian Witans, both firmly under \u00c6thelhelm's influence, would never vote to accept \u00c6thelstan as a rival king in Mercia. They would claim all three kingdoms for \u00c6lfweard.\n\n'So you don't feel bound by the king's last wishes?' I asked.\n\n'Do you?' Halldor asked belligerently.\n\n'He wasn't my king,' I said.\n\n'It is my belief,' Halldor said, 'that King Edward was of unsound mind when he dictated his will. So no, I do not feel bound by his final wishes.'\n\nI agreed with Halldor that Edward had been a lackwit when he divided his kingdoms, but I was not going to admit that. 'Where was King \u00c6thelstan when his father died?' I asked instead.\n\nHalldor bridled at my calling \u00c6thelstan a king, but managed to suppress his indignation. 'I believe that Faeger Cnapa was still in Ceaster,' he said coldly, 'or maybe in Gleawecestre.'\n\n'Faeger Cnapa?' I asked. He had said it as a name, but it means 'pretty boy'. Faege, though, also means 'doomed'. Whatever he meant it was plainly an insult.\n\nHalldor looked at me coldly. 'Men call him that.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'Because he's handsome?' Halldor suggested.\n\nHis answer had been fatuous, but I let it pass. 'And \u00c6thelhelm?' I asked. 'Where is he now? Lundene?'\n\n'God, no,' the priest answered with a shudder, earning a scowl from the tall Dane.\n\n'No?' I asked, and again neither man replied so I touched the knife's sharp tip onto the priest's left cheek, just beneath the eye.\n\n'Mercian forces occupied Lundene,' the priest said hurriedly. 'We were lucky to escape unnoticed.'\n\nGerbruht shouted orders from Spearhafoc's stern. We were leaving the Swalwan Creek, turning northwards, and the ship pounded into the first of the wide estuary's larger waves. 'Loosen that sheet!' Gerbruht pointed to the windward sheet. 'And haul in on that line!' he pointed to the other sheet, and the sail turned to drive the boat north. The wind was freshening, the sea sparkled with reflected sunlight, and our white wake spread as we left Wessex behind and headed northwards. Father Aart, the priest who accompanied Eadgifu, suddenly lurched to the ship's leeward rail and vomited. 'There's only once cure for seasickness, father!' Gerbruht bellowed from the stern. 'Sit under a tree!'\n\nMy men laughed at the old joke. They were happy because they were sailing north. North to home, north to safety. We would soon be in sight of the estuary's further shore, the vast mud expanse where the East Saxons had settled. Then, if this wind held, we would sail up the East Anglian coast and so to the wilder shores of Bebbanburg.\n\nExcept \u00c6thelstan's men were in Lundene. For a few moments I was tempted to ignore that news. What did it matter to me if \u00c6thelstan's men had captured Lundene? I was going home to Bebbanburg, but \u00c6thelstan's forces were in Lundene?\n\n'You saw \u00c6thelstan's men?' I asked the two prisoners.\n\n'We did,' Halldor answered, 'and they have no right to be there!'\n\n'Lundene is part of Mercia,' I said.\n\n'Not since King Alfred's day,' the Dane insisted.\n\nWhich was probably true. Alfred had made certain that his West Saxon troops garrisoned Lundene and, despite Mercia's legal claim to the city, it had been effectively ruled from Wintanceaster ever since. But \u00c6thelstan had acted fast. Eadgifu had been right; he must have had troops north of the city, waiting for his orders, and those troops now separated Wessex from East Anglia. 'Was there fighting?' I asked.\n\n'None,' Halldor sounded disappointed.\n\n'The garrison wasn't strong, lord,' the priest explained, 'and the Mercians came suddenly and in great numbers. We were not expecting them.'\n\n'That was treachery!' Halldor snarled.\n\n'Or cleverness,' I said. 'So where is \u00c6thelhelm now?'\n\nBoth men shrugged. 'He's probably still in Wintanceaster, lord,' Halldor said grudgingly.\n\nThat made sense. Wintanceaster was the capital of Wessex and in the heartland of \u00c6thelhelm's lavish estates. I had no doubt that \u00c6lfweard was there too, hungry for the Witan to announce that he was truly king. Edward's body, escorted by his own household troops, would be travelling south to Wintanceaster so he could be buried beside his father, and that funeral would assemble the West Saxon lords whose troops \u00c6thelhelm would need. And \u00c6thelstan, wherever he was, would be sending messengers to the Mercian lords demanding warriors to preserve his Mercian throne. In brief, both \u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6thelstan would be gathering the forces necessary to unpick Edward's division of his kingdoms, but at least \u00c6thelstan had shown forethought and sense in capturing Lundene before \u00c6thelhelm could reinforce the city's small garrison.\n\n'Is King \u00c6thelstan in Lundene?' I asked Halldor.\n\nAgain he grimaced at the word 'king', but made no comment on it. 'I don't know,' he said.\n\n'But you're quite sure his men are?'\n\nHe nodded unwillingly. By now the coast of East Seax was in sight, a low, dull brown streak of mud topped with a fringe of summer green. The few trees were small and wind-bent, the mud speckled with the white of seabirds. The tide would soon be ebbing, which made any landfall on that coast treacherous. We could be stranded on a falling tide for hours, yet I was determined to nose Spearhafoc into the shore. I pointed ahead. 'That's Fughelness,' I told the two prisoners. 'There's little there except sand, mud, and birds. And soon you too, because I'm putting you ashore there.' Fughelness was a bleak place, windswept and barren, locked in by tidal creeks, marshes and mudbanks. It would take Halldor and the priest the rest of the day to find a way to firmer ground, and then more time to work their way back to Wintanceaster if that was, indeed, where \u00c6thelhelm was.\n\nWe lowered the sail as we neared the shore, and then, using a dozen oars, nosed our way gently through small breaking waves until Spearhafoc's cutwater slid onto mud. 'It would be easier to kill them,' Awyrgan said as Berg, grinning, prodded the two captives off the bows towards the water.\n\n'Why would I kill them?' I asked.\n\n'They're enemies.'\n\n'They're helpless enemies,' I said, 'and I don't kill the helpless.'\n\nHe looked at me defiantly. 'And what about the priests you killed?'\n\nI wanted to kill Awyrgan at that moment. 'Anger leads to savagery,' I said curtly, 'and to stupidity.' He must have felt my anger because he backed away. The priest was protesting that jumping into the water would give him a fever, but every moment we waited the wind was nudging Spearhafoc further onto the mud. 'Get rid of him!' I called to Berg.\n\nBerg more or less threw the priest overboard. 'Wade ashore!' Berg called. 'You won't drown!'\n\n'Pole her off!' I called, and the men in the bows shoved their oars into the sticky mud and heaved. For a heartbeat Spearhafoc seemed reluctant to move, then to my relief she lurched and slid back into safer, deeper water.\n\n'Same course, lord?' Gerbruht asked me. 'Hoist the sail and up the coast?'\n\nI shook my head. 'Lundene.'\n\n'Lundene?'\n\n'Oars!' I shouted.\n\nWe turned west. We were not going home after all, but upriver to Lundene.\n\nBecause King \u00c6thelstan's troops were there and I had an oath to keep.\n\nIt was a hard row against the wind, against the tide, and against the river's current, but it would become easier when the tide turned and the flood would carry us upriver. I knew these waters, knew the river, because when Gisela was alive I had commanded the Lundene garrison. I had become fond of the city.\n\nWe passed Caninga, a marshy island on the East Seax shore, beyond which was Beamfleot where, in Alfred's reign, we had stormed the Danish fort and put a whole army to the sword. I remembered Skade and did not want to remember her. She had died there, killed by the man she had betrayed, while all around them the women screamed and the blood flowed. Finan stared and he too was thinking of the sorceress. 'Skade,' he said.\n\n'I remember,' I said.\n\n'What was her lover's name?'\n\n'Harald. He killed her.'\n\nHe nodded. 'And we captured thirty ships.'\n\nI was still thinking of Skade, remembering. 'War seemed cleaner then.'\n\n'No, we were younger then, that's all.' The two of us were standing in the prow. I could see the hills rising beyond Beamfleot, and I remembered a villager telling me that the god Thor had walked the ridge there. He was a Christian, yet he had seemed proud that Thor had walked his fields.\n\nWe had taken the sparrowhawk's head from the prow so that to a casual glance we were just another ship rowing upriver to the wharves of Lundene. Low hills of ripening wheat rose beyond the muddy banks. The oars creaked as they pulled. A man stretching a net to catch marsh birds stood from his task to watch us pass. He saw we were a ship of warriors and made the sign of the cross, then bent to his task again. As the estuary narrowed we began passing close to ships coming downriver, their sails bellying in the south-west wind, and we shouted for news as passing ships always do. Were there Mercian troops in Lundene? There were. Was King \u00c6thelstan there? No one could say, and so, still largely ignorant of what happened in Lundene, let alone Wessex, we rowed on towards the wide smear of dark smoke that always hung above the city. The tide had turned and we were using just six rowers on each side to keep the boat's heading. Berg had the steering-oar now, while Eadgifu, her children and her companions were huddled under the prow platform where Finan and I stood. 'So it's over,' Finan said to me.\n\nI knew he had been brooding over my sudden decision to go west to Lundene instead of north to Bebbanburg. 'Over?' I asked.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan's men are in Lundene. We join him. We fight a battle. We kill \u00c6thelhelm. We go home.'\n\nI nodded. 'That's my hope.'\n\n'The men are worried.'\n\n'About a battle?'\n\n'About the plague.' He crossed himself. 'They have wives and children, so do I.'\n\n'The plague wasn't at Bebbanburg.'\n\n'It's in the north. Who knows how far it's spread?'\n\n'Rumour said it was at Lindcolne,' I said, 'but that's a long way from Bebbanburg.'\n\n'That's small consolation to men worrying about their families.'\n\nI had been trying to ignore those rumours of the plague. Rumours are just that and most are not true, and the days around a king's death provoke many rumours, but Sigtryggr had warned me of the sickness in Lindcolne, others had spoken of death in the north, and Finan had been right to remind me. My men wanted to be reunited with their families. They would follow me into battle, they would fight like demons, but a threat to their wives and children was far more important to them than any oath of mine. 'Tell them,' I said, 'that we'll be home soon.'\n\n'What's soon?' Finan demanded.\n\n'Let me find the news in Lundene first,' I said.\n\n'And what if \u00c6thelstan's there?' Finan asked. 'And what if he wants you to march with him?'\n\n'Then I march,' I said bleakly, 'and you can take Spearhafoc home.'\n\n'Me!' Finan said, sounding alarmed. 'Not me! Berg can sail her.'\n\n'Berg can sail her,' I agreed, 'but you'll command Berg.' I knew Finan was no seaman.\n\n'I'll command nothing!' he retorted fiercely. 'I'll stay with you.'\n\n'You don't have to\u2014'\n\n'I took an oath to protect you!' he interrupted me.\n\n'You? I never asked any oath of you!'\n\n'You didn't,' he agreed, 'but I still swore an oath to protect you.'\n\n'When?' I asked. 'I don't remember any such oath.'\n\n'I took it two heartbeats ago,' he said, 'and if you can be tied by a stupid oath, so can I.'\n\n'I release you from any oath\u2014'\n\nAgain he interrupted me. 'Someone has to keep you alive. Seems God gave me the task of keeping you away from barley fields.'\n\nI touched the hammer and tried to convince myself that I was making the right decision. 'There are no barley fields in Lundene,' I told Finan.\n\n'That's true.'\n\n'Then we shall live, my friend,' I said, touching him on the shoulder, 'we shall live and we'll go home.'\n\nI walked to the stern where the lowering sun cast a long rippling shadow behind Spearhafoc. I sat on one of the low steps that led to the steering platform. A swan flew northwards and I idly worried it was an omen that we should also go north, but there were other birds, other omens. Sometimes it is hard to know the will of the gods, and even when we do know we cannot be certain they are not toying with us. I touched the hammer again.\n\n'You believe that has power?' a voice asked.\n\nI looked up and saw it was Benedetta, her face shadowed by the hood she wore. 'I believe the gods have power,' I answered.\n\n'One god,' she insisted. I shrugged, too tired to argue. Benedetta stared at the slow passing bank of East Seax. 'We're going to Lundene?' she asked.\n\n'We are.'\n\n'I hate Lundene,' she said bitterly.\n\n'It's a lot to hate.'\n\n'When the slavers came \u2026' she began, then stopped.\n\n'You told me you were twelve?'\n\nShe nodded. 'I was to be married that summer. To a good man, a fisherman.'\n\n'They killed him too?'\n\n'They killed everyone! Saraceni!' She spat the word. 'They killed anyone who fought back or anyone they didn't want as a slave. They wanted me.' There was a terrible savagery in the last three words.\n\n'Who are the Saraceni?' I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.\n\n'Men from across the sea. Some even live in my land! They are not Christian. They are savages!'\n\nI patted the step beside me. She hesitated, then sat. 'And you came to Britain?' I asked, curious.\n\nShe was silent for a while, then shrugged. 'I was sold,' she said simply, 'and taken north, I don't know where. I was told this is valuable,' she touched a finger to her skin, which was lightly brushed with a golden darkness, 'it is valuable in the north where the skin is pale like sour milk and in the north I was sold again. I was still just twelve years old,' she paused to look at me, 'and I was already a woman, not a child.'\n\nHer voice was bitter. I nodded to show I understood.\n\n'A year later,' she went on, 'I was sold again. To a Saxon from Lundene. A slave-trader. He paid much money and his name,' she was speaking so softly that I almost could not hear her, 'his name was Gunnald.'\n\n'Gunnald,' I repeated.\n\n'Gunnald Gunnaldson.' She was gazing at the northern bank where a small village came down to the water. A child waved from a decaying wharf. I watched the oars, dipping, pulling, then rising slowly with water dripping from the long blades. 'They brought me to Lundene where they sold their slaves,' Benedetta went on, 'and both raped me. Father and son, both, but the son was the worst. They would not sell me, they wanted to use me, so I tried to kill myself. It was better than being used by those pigs.'\n\nShe had said the last few words very softly so she could not be overheard by the men on the nearest rowing bench. 'Kill yourself?' I asked just as quietly.\n\nShe turned to look at me, then slowly, without a word, pushed back the hood and unwound the grey scarf she always wore about her neck. I saw the scar then, a deep scar across the right side of her slender neck. She let me look for a moment, then replaced the scarf. 'I did not cut deep enough,' she said bleakly, 'but it was enough to make them sell me.'\n\n'To Edward.'\n\n'To his steward. I would work in his kitchens and in his bed, but Queen Eadgifu rescued me, so I serve her now.'\n\n'As a trusted servant.'\n\n'As a trusted slave.' She still sounded bitter. 'I am not free, lord.' She pulled the hood back over her raven black hair. 'Do you keep slaves?' she asked belligerently.\n\n'No,' I said, which was not strictly true. Bebbanburg had many estates where my household warriors farmed and I knew many of them had slaves, and my father had kept a score in the fortress to cook, clean, sweep, and warm his bed, and some of those were still there, aged now and paid as servants. I had taken no new slaves because my own experience as a slave, when I had been condemned to pull an oar through wintry seas, had soured me against slavery. But then, I thought, I did not need slaves. I had enough men and women to keep the fortress safe, warm and fed, and I had enough silver to reward them. 'I've killed slave-traders,' I remarked, knowing as I said it that it was only spoken to attract Benedetta's approval.\n\n'If we go to Lundene,' she said, 'you may kill one for me.'\n\n'Gunnald? He's still there?'\n\n'He was two years ago,' she answered bleakly. 'I saw him. He saw me too, and he smiled. It was not a good smile.'\n\n'You saw him? In Lundene?'\n\nShe nodded. 'King Edward liked to visit. The queen liked it too. She could buy things.'\n\n'King Edward could have arranged Gunnald's death for you,' I said.\n\nShe sneered at that. 'Edward took money from Gunnald. Why kill him? I meant nothing to Edward, rest his soul.' She made the sign of the cross. 'What happens to us in Lundene?'\n\n'We meet with \u00c6thelstan, if he's there.'\n\n'And if he's not?'\n\n'We go to meet him.'\n\n'And what will he do to us? To my lady? To her children?'\n\n'Nothing,' I said flatly. 'I'll tell him you're under my protection.'\n\n'He will honour that?' She sounded sceptical.\n\n'I have known King \u00c6thelstan since he was a child,' I said, 'and he is an honourable man. He will send you under escort to my home at Bebbanburg while we fight our war.'\n\n'Bebbanburg!' She pronounced the name in her strange accent. 'What is at Bebbanburg?'\n\n'Safety. You'll be under my protection there.'\n\n'Awyrgan says we are wrong to accept a pagan's protection,' she said flatly.\n\n'Awyrgan doesn't have to go with the queen,' I said.\n\nI thought she would smile for a heartbeat, but the impulse left her and she just nodded. 'He will go with her,' she said in a tone of disapproval, then turned her large grey-green eyes on me. 'Are you truly a pagan?'\n\n'I am.'\n\n'That is not good,' she said seriously.\n\n'Tell me,' I said, 'is Gunnald Gunnaldson a pagan?'\n\nShe did not answer for a long while, then she shook her head abruptly. 'He wears the cross.'\n\n'Does that make him a better man than me?'\n\nShe hesitated for a brief moment. 'No,' she finally admitted.\n\n'Then maybe,' I said, 'if he's still in Lundene, I'll kill him.'\n\n'No,' she said firmly.\n\n'No?'\n\n'Let me kill him,' she said and, almost for the first time since I had met her, Benedetta looked happy. We rowed on.\n\nWe reached Lundene at dusk, a dusk made darker by the city's canopy of smoke. At least a score of other ships were lumbering upriver, most laden with the food and supplies that a city's horde of people and horses need, one ship so heavily laden that it looked like a floating hayrick as it rode the flooding tide about the river's great bends. We passed the smaller settlements built to Lundene's east; the shipbuilders with their stacks of timber and the smoking pits where they burned pine to make stinking pitch, and the tanners who made a stink all of their own as they cured pelts with shit. Above it all was Lundene's own thick stench of woodsmoke and sewage. 'It's not a river,' Finan complained, 'it's a cesspool.'\n\n'You get used to it,' I said.\n\n'Who'd want to?' He looked down at the water flowing past Spearhafoc's hull. 'Those are turds!'\n\nWe left the marshy banks for the two low hills of Lundene. It was getting dark now, but there was still just enough light to show three spearmen standing on the high stone rampart of the small Roman bastion that guarded the eastern end of the city. None of the three was wearing a dark red cloak and no leaping stag banners hung against the wall. Nor did the three men show any interest as we passed. The wharves, packed with ships, began just beyond the small fort, and in their centre, still downstream of the great bridge, was the stone wall I knew so well. The wall had been made by the Romans and protected a masonry platform on which they had built a lavish house. I had lived there with Gisela.\n\nNo ship was tied to the stone wall and so I pushed the steering-oar over and the tired rowers dragged their last strokes. 'Oars in!' I called, and Spearhafoc slid gently against the massive stone blocks. Gerbruht threaded the bow line through one of the vast iron rings set in the wall and waited as Spearhafoc coasted the last few yards. Her stern thumped against the stone and Berg seized another of the rings. I tossed him the stern line and our ship was hauled in to grate her hull against the wall. When I had kept a ship here before I had packed canvas sacks with straw to cushion the hull, but that was a task that could wait for the morning.\n\nA narrow flight of steps was inset into the stone to allow folk to climb the wall at low tide. 'Wait,' I told my crew and passengers, then Finan and I jumped onto the steps and climbed to the wide river terrace where, on evenings when the wind came from the north to blow away the Temes's stench, Gisela and I had liked to sit. Night was falling fast now and the house was dark except for a dim light behind one of the shutters and the glimmer of flames in the central courtyard. 'Someone's living here,' Finan said.\n\n'The house belongs to the king,' I said. 'Alfred always gave it to the garrison commander, though most never used it. I did.'\n\n'But which king?'\n\n'\u00c6thelstan's now,' I said, 'but the West Saxons will want it back.' Lundene was valuable, the city's customs dues alone could finance a small kingdom, and I wondered if Edward, in his will, had declared which of his sons, \u00c6lfweard or \u00c6thelstan, was to rule here. In the end, of course, it was whichever half-brother could muster the most spears.\n\nThe house door opened.\n\nWaormund walked out.\n\nI did not recognise him at first, nor did he recognise me. Behind him the passage that led to the courtyard was lit with torches, so his face was in shadow, while I was probably the last person he had ever expected to see in Lundene. At first all I was aware of was the man's size; a huge man, a head taller than myself, broad-shouldered, shaggy haired, with booted legs like tree trunks. Light from the torches flickered off the links of a mail coat that fell to his thighs. He was eating meat that he tore off the bone with his teeth. 'You can't leave your poxy ship there,' he growled, then went utterly still. 'Christ!' he said, threw the bone away and drew his seax, then leaped at me with a surprising speed for such a huge man.\n\nI had not brought Serpent-Breath from the ship, though my own seax, Wasp-Sting, hung at my waist. I stepped fast to my right, away from Finan so that Waormund would have an enemy on two sides, and dragged the short-sword from her scabbard. Waormund's first slash missed me by a finger's breadth, I ducked the second, a wild swing aimed at my head, and parried the third with Wasp-Sting, catching his blade at the root of the short-sword. The blow jarred up my arm. His strength was prodigious. Like me, Finan only had a seax, but he moved behind Waormund, who somehow sensed the Irishman's approach, turned and swept his short blade to drive Finan back. I went to my right, stepping past Waormund and dragging Wasp-Sting's blade across the back of his left leg. I was trying to slice his hamstring, but Wasp-Sting was a short stabbing weapon, not made for cutting, and the blade hardly pierced his tall leather boot. He turned on me, roaring, and I stepped back, lunged Wasp-Sting to strike and pierce his thigh, then fell sideways to avoid his savage response. Wasp-Sting had wounded him, I had felt the blade pierce, but Waormund did not seem to notice the injury. He turned back, snarling, as Finan attacked again to distract him, but we were like terriers assaulting a boar, and one of us, I knew, must be gored soon. Waormund had driven Finan back and now came for me, launching a massive kick that should have crushed my ribs. I was still getting to my feet, raised Wasp-Sting and, by luck or by the favour of the gods, she parried Waormund's blade that he had hacked down at me. Once again the shock of the impact seared up my arm. Finan stabbed at Waormund, and the huge man again had to turn away from me, back-handing his sword, but Finan was lightning fast and danced back. 'This way!' he called to me.\n\nI had scrambled to my feet. Finan was still shouting at me to go towards Spearhafoc, but Waormund prevented that by running at me. He was roaring. There were no words, just a bellow of rage and a stench of ale on his breath. I stepped to my right, towards Finan, Waormund reached with his free hand and grabbed the neck of my mail coat and hauled me towards him. I saw him grin, teeth missing, knew I was about to die, felt his enormous strength as he dragged me effortlessly into his close embrace and I saw his seax coming from my right, the blade's point aimed at the base of my ribs. I tried to tear myself free and could not. But Finan was just as fast and his lunge at Waormund's back must have wounded the big man because he roared again and twisted away to drive Finan back. He still held my coat and I sliced at his arm with Wasp-Sting. She did not break his mail, but the force of the blow made him let go of me and I back-handed Wasp-Sting across his neck. The blade's edge hit the base of his skull, but he was still moving, which robbed the blow of almost all its force and, for all the good it did, I might as well have stroked his neck with a feather. He turned back, his scarred face a grimace of rage, and suddenly a spear flashed across my sight, the blade reflecting the small flame-light, and it struck Waormund's blade and glanced off. My men had come from Spearhafoc. A dozen were running towards us and more were coming up the narrow stone steps.\n\nWaormund might have been in a rage, he might have drunk too much ale, but he was no fool when it came to a fight. He had stood in too many shield walls, had felt the shadows of defeat and the imminence of death too often, and so he knew when to retreat. He spun away from me towards the house where, just as my men came from the ship, three of his companions burst through the door with their long-swords drawn.\n\n'Back!' Waormund bellowed. He was suddenly outnumbered and he and his men went through the door, which they slammed shut. I heard the locking bar drop into place.\n\n'Dear God,' Finan said, 'he's a brute. Are you wounded?'\n\n'Bruised,' I said. It had been stupid to approach the house so lightly armed. 'I'm not hurt,' I went on as Berg handed me Serpent-Breath, 'you?'\n\n'I'm alive,' he said dourly.\n\nAlive, but in confusion. Every person we had spoken to had been certain that \u00c6thelstan's troops occupied Lundene, yet here was one of \u00c6thelhelm's most feared warriors at the very heart of the city. I went to the house door, knowing it would not pull open, nor did it. A woman screamed from somewhere inside. 'Get an axe,' I ordered.\n\nI knew the house all too well, and knew there was no way in from the river terrace except by this door. The stone walls were built to the very edge of the masonry platform, so there was no way to walk down the sides of the house, while the windows were guarded with iron bars.\n\nBeornoth brought the axe and struck a giant blow that made the stout door shudder. A woman screamed again. I could hear other noises inside the house, footsteps and muttered words, but what they meant I could not tell. Then the axe fell again with another mighty blow and the noises beyond the door faded away. 'They've gone,' Finan said.\n\n'Or they're waiting to ambush us,' I answered.\n\nBeornoth's axe crashed through the thick wood. I stooped to peer through the hole and saw the passageway beyond was empty. Torchlight still flickered in the courtyard at the passageway's end. 'Keep going,' I told Beornoth, and two more blows were enough to let him reach through the shattered door and lift the locking bar.\n\nThe house was empty. The great rooms, closest to the river, had six straw mattresses, some cloaks, a litter of ale pots and half-eaten bread, and an empty scabbard. Waormund or one of his men had kicked over a pail of shit and piss that was smeared across the tiled floor of the room where Gisela and I had once slept. The servants' rooms, across the courtyard, still had a simmering cauldron of bean and mutton stew and a heap of firewood stacked against one wall, but no servants. I went to the front door, opened it cautiously, and stepped onto the street with Serpent-Breath in my hand. There was no one in sight.\n\nFinan pulled me back into the house. 'You stay here,' he said. 'I'll go talk to the sentries at the bastion.' I began to protest, but Finan cut me off. 'Stay here!' he insisted, and I let him take a half-dozen men along the dark street. I locked the door and went back to the larger rooms where Eadgifu was spreading her own cloak on one of the mattresses. Edmund, her eldest son, was peering into the other room with its stinking floor, but I dragged him away and thrust him back to his mother. Father Aart, who had vomited helplessly for almost all of Spearhafoc's voyage, had recovered, and opened his mouth to protest at my treatment of the prince, but one look at my face persuaded him to stay silent. He was frightened of me.\n\n'The straw has fleas,' Awyrgan complained.\n\n'Lice too, probably,' I said. 'And don't be in too much of a hurry to make beds.'\n\n'I'm not making a bed,' Eadgifu said, 'just a place to sit. We're going to the palace, surely? In Lundene I always stay in the palace!'\n\n'We'll go to the palace, my queen,' Awyrgan reassured her.\n\n'Don't be a bloody fool,' I snarled at him. 'Those were \u00c6thelhelm's men. If we're wrong and they're still occupying the city, then we leave. We leave tonight. Finan's gone to discover what's happening.'\n\nAwyrgan stared at me. 'Leave tonight?'\n\nIt would be difficult. The Temes was wide, and though the current would help us downstream there were shoals in the river that would make it a perilous journey in darkness. But if \u00c6thelhelm's men were still holding the city we would have no choice. 'How long do you think we'll all live,' I asked Awyrgan with a patience I did not feel, 'if \u00c6thelhelm's troops are here?'\n\n'Maybe they're not?' Eadgifu asked.\n\n'Which is what Finan is finding out, my lady,' I said, 'so be ready to leave in a hurry.'\n\nOne of the babies began crying and a maidservant hurried the child out of the room. 'But if \u00c6thelstan's men are here,' Eadgifu pleaded, 'we can go to the palace? I have clothes there! I need clothes!'\n\n'Maybe we'll go to the palace,' I said, too tired to discuss it. If the city was safe then I would let her find her luxury, but till then she could scratch her flea-bites.\n\nI went back to the river terrace to escape the stench of the house and there sat on the low wall that fronted the Temes and gazed down as Berg and two men turned Spearhafoc so that her prow was pointing downstream. They did it efficiently, made her fast again, and so ready to leave the city in a hurry if Finan brought bad news, then all three settled into the ship's wide belly. They would guard the ship from the night thieves who could strip rigging and steal oars.\n\nI watched the river swirl and tried to make some sense of the day. I reckoned Waormund must have sailed straight back to Lundene when he saw our ships destroying his small fleet off the Northumbrian coast, but if \u00c6thelstan controlled the city, as we had been told, then why was Waormund still here? Why had the big West Saxon not left with the rest of \u00c6thelhelm's men? And why only six warriors? I had seen four men, but there had been six straw beds, and that too was strange. Why would six men quarter themselves in this riverside house when presumably the rest of \u00c6thelhelm's men would be lodged in the old fort or guarding the palace at Lundene's north-western corner?\n\nNight had fallen now. There were buildings on the Temes's south bank, and the torch flames that lit the entrance to a church flickered their shimmering reflections on the river. A three-quarter's moon slid behind a cloud. The ships moored at the nearby wharves groaned in the wind, their halliards slapping lazily against masts. I heard men laughing from the Dead Dane, a nearby tavern.\n\nThe house door opened and I turned, expecting Finan, but it was Roric, my servant, who brought a flaming torch that he put into a bracket by the door. He glanced at me, seemed to be about to speak, then thought better of it and went back into the house, first holding open the door for a hooded figure who walked slowly and carefully towards me carrying two beakers. One of the beakers was held towards me. 'It is wine.' It was Benedetta who offered me the drink. 'It is not good wine, but it is better than ale.'\n\n'You don't like ale?'\n\n'Ale is sour,' she said, 'and so is this wine.'\n\nI sipped it. She was right, it was sour, but I was used to sour-tasting wine. 'You like sweet wine?' I asked.\n\n'I like good wine,' she sat beside me. 'This vinegar was found in the kitchens of the house. Maybe they cook with it? It stinks!'\n\n'The wine?'\n\n'The river.'\n\n'It's a city,' I said. 'All cities make their rivers stink.'\n\n'I remember this smell,' she said.\n\n'Hard to forget it.'\n\nBenedetta sat to my left and I remembered the heavy wooden bench where Gisela and I would sit, with Gisela always on my left. 'The queen is not happy,' Benedetta said, 'she wants her comfort.'\n\nI grimaced. 'She wants a mattress filled with feathers?'\n\n'She would like that, yes.'\n\n'She asked for my help,' I said harshly, 'and I gave it to her. When I get her to a safe place she can have all the damned feathers she wants, but till then she can suffer fleas like the rest of us.'\n\n'I shall tell her,' Benedetta said, sounding as if she looked forward to giving that piece of bad news. 'You think Lundene is not safe?'\n\n'Not till I know who controls the city,' I said. 'Finan should be back soon.' I had heard no shouts in the night, no sound of running feet, no clash of swords. That lack of sounds suggested that Finan and his men had met no enemies.\n\nBenedetta had half pushed back her hood and I gazed at her in the night. She had a strong-boned face with large eyes that looked bright against her bronze-darkened skin. 'You are looking at me,' she said flatly.\n\n'I am.'\n\n'Men look at women,' she went on, 'and take what they want.' She shrugged. 'But I am a slave, so what can I expect?'\n\n'You serve a queen. You should demand respect.'\n\n'I do demand it! But that does not make me liked or make me safe.' She paused. 'Edward looked at me too.' I said nothing, but I suppose the question was written all over my face. She shrugged. 'He was kinder than some.'\n\n'How many men do I have to kill for you?'\n\nShe smiled at that. 'I killed one myself.'\n\n'Good.'\n\n'That one was a pig, a porco! He was on top of me, and I put a knife into his ribs while he was grunting like a pig.' She turned to look at me. 'Will you really let me kill Gunnald Gunnaldson?'\n\n'Is that what you want?'\n\n'That would be good,' she said wistfully. 'But how can I kill the porco if you send us to your home in the north?'\n\n'We don't know what we're doing yet.'\n\n'If Gunnald Gunnaldson lives,' Benedetta went on, 'then I think it is not far from here. It is by the river, I know, because the smell was always there. A big building, dark. It had a private place where their ships tied up.'\n\n'A wharf.'\n\n'A wharf,' she repeated the word, 'with a wooden wall. And two ships were kept there. And there was a courtyard with a fence, another wall. He would show the slaves there, or his father would show us. I thought I was in hell. Men would laugh as they fingered us.' She stopped abruptly. She was staring towards the house and I saw the glint of a tear. 'I was just a child.'\n\n'Yet the child went to a palace,' I said gently.\n\n'Yes.' She stopped after that one word and I thought she would say no more, then she spoke again. 'Where I was a toy till the queen wanted me to serve her. That was three years ago.'\n\n'How long ago\u2014' I began, but she interrupted me.\n\n'Twenty-two years, lord. I count the years. Twenty-two years since the Saraceni took me from my home.' She looked upriver to where the gaunt storehouses stood above the wharves. 'I would enjoy killing him.'\n\nThe house door opened again and Finan appeared. Benedetta started to stand, but I put a hand on her arm to keep her seated. 'Finan,' I greeted him.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan's men are here,' Finan said.\n\n'Thank the gods for that.'\n\n'But \u00c6thelstan isn't. They think he's still in Gleawecestre, but they're not sure. Is that ale?'\n\n'Wine.'\n\n'Devil's piss,' Finan said, 'but I'll drink it.' He took the beaker from me and sat at the angle of the wall. 'Your old friend Merewalh commands here.'\n\nAnd that news was a relief. Merewalh was indeed an old friend. He had led \u00c6thelflaed's household warriors, he had fought beside me many times, and I valued him as a sober, sensible and reliable man.\n\n'Only he's not here either,' Finan went on. 'He left yesterday. He took most of his men to Werlameceaster.'\n\n'He took them to Werlameceaster! Why?' It was as much a protest as a question.\n\n'God alone knows why,' Finan said. 'The fellow I talked to just knew Merewalh was gone! Didn't know why he left, but it was all done in a hurry. He left a man called Bedwin in command here.'\n\n'Bedwin,' I repeated the name. 'Never heard of him. How many men did \u00c6thelstan take?'\n\n'Over five hundred.'\n\nI swore, briefly and uselessly. 'And how many did he leave here?'\n\n'Two hundred.'\n\nWhich was not nearly enough to defend Lundene. 'And most of those,' I said bitterly, 'are probably the oldest and weakest men.' I gazed up, seeing a star wink between two hurrying clouds. 'And Waormund?' I asked.\n\n'The devil only knows where that bastard is. I saw no sight or sound of him.'\n\n'Waormund?' Benedetta asked with alarm in her voice.\n\n'He was in the house when we arrived,' I explained.\n\n'He is a devil,' she said angrily and made the sign of the cross. 'He is vile!'\n\nI could guess why she spoke so fiercely, but did not ask her. 'He's gone,' I reassured her instead.\n\n'He's disappeared,' Finan corrected me grimly, 'but the bastard must be lurking somewhere.'\n\nAnd Waormund only had five men, which surely meant we were safe from him. And he had evidently taken the women servants from the house, which suggested he had other plans for the night rather than attacking us. But why, I wondered, was Waormund even in the city? And why had Merewalh taken most of the garrison north? 'Has the war started?' I asked.\n\n'Probably,' Finan said, then drained the wine. 'God, that's swill.'\n\n'Where is this place?' Benedetta asked, then tried to pronounce it, 'Werla \u2026'\n\n'Werlameceaster?'\n\n'Where is that?'\n\n'A day's march north of here,' I said. 'It's an old Roman town.'\n\n'A Mercian town?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Maybe they attack it?' she suggested.\n\n'Maybe,' I said, but I thought it far more likely that Merewalh had taken men to garrison Werlameceaster, because the town, with its strong Roman walls, lay across one of the main roads from East Anglia, and the lords of that kingdom were now firmly allied with Wessex.\n\nFinan must have thought the same. 'So maybe he's stopping an East Anglian army from reinforcing \u00c6thelhelm?' he suggested.\n\n'I'd guess as much. But I have to find out.' I stood.\n\n'How?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'By asking Bedwin,' I said, 'whoever he is. He'll be at the palace, I suppose, so I'll start there.'\n\n'Don't forget Waormund is here,' Finan warned me.\n\n'I won't go alone. You're coming. It's a mess,' I said angrily. But in truth it was a mess of my own making. Because I had sworn an oath. 'Let's go.'\n\n'I'm coming!' Benedetta said, standing.\n\n'You're coming!' I turned to her startled.\n\nMy surprise had made me speak too harshly and she looked frightened for a heartbeat. 'The queen wants me to go,' she said uncertainly, and then, like a mare going from a stumbling walk into a smart trot, she went on more confidently, 'she wishes me to fetch some robes she left in the palace. And some slippers.' Finan and I still just stared at her. 'Queen Eadgifu,' Benedetta went on with dignity now, 'keeps clothing in each royal house. She has need of some. When those pigs took her from F\u00e6fresham they would not let us carry clothes.' She paused, looking at us. 'We need clothes!'\n\nThere was another awkward pause as Finan and I digested that. 'Then you'd better come,' I said.\n\nI left Berg in charge of the house and the ship. I would rather have taken the young Norseman with me because he was invaluable in a fight, but after Finan he was my most reliable man. 'Keep the doors barred,' I told him, 'and put a larger guard on Spearhafoc. I don't want her burned in the night.'\n\n'You think Waormund will come back?'\n\n'I don't know what Waormund will do,' I told him. So far as I could tell Waormund only had the five men, far fewer than I did, but his presence in the city still troubled me. My reason said that he was helpless, trapped and outnumbered in a city possessed by his enemies, but my instinct was screaming that there was danger. 'Maybe \u00c6thelhelm has others hidden in the city,' I told Berg. 'Your job is to keep the queen and her sons safe. You don't fight a battle if Waormund comes, you get everyone on board Spearhafoc and you take her out into the river where the queen will be safe.'\n\n'She will be safe, lord,' Berg promised me.\n\n'And you hold the ship in the river till we come back,' I ordered him.\n\n'And if you don't come back?' Berg asked, hastily adding, 'Which you will, lord. Of course you will.'\n\n'Then you go home to Bebbanburg and you take Queen Eadgifu with you.'\n\n'I go home?' he sounded appalled that he would have to leave without me.\n\n'You go home,' I said.\n\nI took Finan and six other men, all in mail, all helmeted, and all carrying long-swords. We walked east, following the wall the Romans had built to face the river, a wall that was now much pierced by ragged holes to give access to the busy wharves. I suspected we passed the slave house where Benedetta had been treated so brutally, but if we did she said nothing. The narrow street was dark except where flame-light was cast through a door or window, and as we approached any such building the noise inside would cease at the sound of our footsteps. Babies were hushed and dogs quieted. Any person we saw, and they were very few, scurried out of our path into the shadows of a doorway or alley. The city was nervous, frightened of becoming the victim to men's ambitions.\n\nWe turned into the wider street that led uphill from Lundene's bridge. We passed a big tavern called the Red Pig, an ale-house that had always been popular with \u00c6thelhelm's troops when they were in the city. 'Remember the Pig?' I asked Finan.\n\nHe chuckled. 'You hanged a man from the tavern sign.'\n\n'A Centishman,' I said. A fight had started in the street and had looked as if it might turn into a riot, and the quickest way to end it had been to hang a man.\n\nA torch burned outside the Red Pig, but despite that flickering light Finan tripped on a slab and almost fell. He swore, then wiped his hand on his cloak. 'Lundene,' he said bitterly, 'where the streets are paved with shit.'\n\n'Saxons are dirty people,' Benedetta said.\n\n'Cities are dirty,' I said.\n\n'They do not wash,' Benedetta went on, 'even the women! Most of them.'\n\nI found I had nothing to say. Lundene was indeed dirty, it was filthy, yet it fascinated me. We passed pillars that had once graced great buildings, but which were now surrounded by wattle and clay. Shadows lay beneath arches that led to nowhere. New buildings had been made since I left, filling the gaps between the Roman houses, some of which still had tiled roofs above three or four stone-built storeys. You could see, even in the night, that this had once been a glorious place, proud with pillars and gleaming with marble. Now, except for the streets closest to the river, it was largely abandoned and gone to ruin. Folk had always believed that the ghosts of the Romans stalked these ancient streets and so they preferred to settle in the new Saxon city built to the west and, though Alfred and his son Edward had encouraged people to move back inside the old walls, much of Lundene was still a wasteland.\n\nWe passed a newly thatched church and turned left at the top of the hill and, ahead of us, on the city's western hill, flaming torches lit the palace, which lay close by the cathedral that Alfred had ordered to be rebuilt. We had to cross the shallow valley where the Weala brook flowed south to the Temes. We crossed the bridge and walked uphill towards the palace that had first been built for Mercia's kings. The entrance was a Roman arch carved with spearmen who carried long oblong shields, and it was guarded by four men who had round shields painted with \u00c6thelstan's symbol, the dragon holding a lightning bolt. That symbol was something of a relief. Finan had assured me that \u00c6thelstan's men still occupied the city, but the dragon with its jagged lightning was my first proof. 'They're old men,' Finan grunted.\n\n'Probably younger than you and me,' I said, which made him laugh.\n\nThe old men at the gate were evidently alarmed by our approach because one hammered on the closed doors with the butt of his spear and, a moment later, three more men appeared. They pulled the doors shut behind them then lined beneath the arch and levelled their weapons. 'Who are you?' one of the newcomers demanded.\n\n'Is Bedwin in the palace?' I asked.\n\nThe man who had spoken hesitated. 'He is,' he finally said.\n\n'And I'm the Jarl Uhtred of Bebbanburg, here to see him.' I rarely used the Danish title, but the man's surly tone had angered me, and my men, hearing the arrogance in my voice, drew their swords.\n\nThere was a brief pause, then at a signal, the spears were lowered. Six of the men just gaped at me, but the surly man still wanted to keep his authority. 'You have to surrender your weapons,' he demanded.\n\n'Is there a king here?'\n\nThe question seemed to confuse him. 'No,' he managed to say.\n\n'No, lord,' I snarled.\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Then it isn't a king's hall tonight, is it? We keep our weapons. Open the doors.'\n\nHe hesitated again, then relented and the high doors creaked open on their ancient iron hinges and I led my men into the lantern-lit corridor beyond. We passed the stairs where, so often, I had climbed to meet \u00c6thelflaed, and that memory was as sharp and painful as the recollection of Gisela on the river terrace. Where were they now? I wondered. Did Gisela wait for me in Asgard, the home of the gods? Did \u00c6thelflaed watch me from her Christian heaven? I have known many wise men, but none who could answer those questions.\n\nWe walked through a courtyard where a wooden chapel stood above the remnants of a Roman pool, then through a broken arch into a passage made of thin Roman bricks. 'You can put your swords in their scabbards,' I told my men, then pushed open the crude wooden door that had replaced some piece of Roman magnificence. The feasting hall beyond was lit by a myriad rushlights and candles, but there were only a dozen men seated about the one table. They looked alarmed as we entered, then stood, not in welcome but to give themselves space to draw their swords. 'Who are you?' a man demanded.\n\nI had no chance to answer because another man answered for me. 'He is the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.' It was a tall, stern priest who had spoken and who now offered me a slight bow. 'It is good to see you again, lord. Welcome.'\n\n'Father Oda,' I said. 'It's a surprise to see you.'\n\n'A surprise, lord?'\n\n'I thought you were in Mameceaster.'\n\n'I was, and now I am here.' His words were touched by a Danish accent. His parents had come as invaders to East Anglia, but the son had converted to Christianity and now served \u00c6thelstan. 'And I am surprised to see you too, lord,' he went on, 'but glad of it. Now come,' he gestured me towards the table, 'there's wine.'\n\n'I came to see Bedwin.'\n\nFather Oda indicated the man at the head of the table who had challenged us when we entered and who now walked towards us. He was a tall man, dark haired, with a long face and long moustaches that hung down to the ornate silver cross at his breast. 'I am Bedwin,' he said, sounding anxious. Two wolfhounds growled when he spoke, but quieted at a gesture from him. He stopped some paces away, his face still showing puzzlement at our arrival, an expression that swiftly changed to resentment. Did he think I had come to usurp his place as commander of the city? 'We were not told of your coming, lord,' he said, and it was almost a reproof.\n\n'I came to see King \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'Who is in Gleawecestre,' Bedwin said, almost as if he was ordering me to go across Britain.\n\n'You say there's wine, father?' I asked Oda.\n\n'Which needs drinking,' the priest answered.\n\nI gestured for my men to follow me, then sat on the bench and allowed Oda to pour me a generous beaker. 'This,' I held a hand towards Benedetta, 'is one of Queen Eadgifu's attendants. She's come to collect some of the queen's robes. I'm sure she would like some wine too.'\n\n'Queen Eadgifu?' Bedwin asked as if he had never heard of her.\n\n'Who is here in Lundene,' I said, 'with her children. She'd like to use her old chambers in this palace.'\n\n'Queen Eadgifu!' Bedwin sounded angry. 'What is she doing here? She should be with her husband's corpse!'\n\nI drank the wine, which was much better than the swill I had drunk earlier. 'She fled from Mercia,' I said patiently, 'because Lord \u00c6thelhelm threatened her life and those of her children. I rescued her from his forces and she now seeks the protection of King \u00c6thelstan.' That was not quite true, Eadgifu trusted \u00c6thelstan almost as little as she trusted \u00c6thelhelm, but Bedwin did not need to know that.\n\n'Then she must travel to Gleawecestre,' Bedwin said indignantly. 'There's no room for her here!'\n\n'Merewalh might have a different opinion,' I suggested.\n\n'Merewalh has gone north,' Bedwin said.\n\n'To Werlameceaster, I hear?'\n\nBedwin nodded, then frowned as Father Oda refilled my beaker. It was Father Oda who answered me, his voice smooth. 'We had a report that an East Anglian army was coming, lord,' he explained, 'and Merewalh thought the danger sufficient to take most of his men to Werlameceaster.'\n\n'Leaving Lundene almost defenceless,' I said unhappily.\n\n'Indeed, lord,' Father Oda spoke calmly, but could not hide his disapproval of what Merewalh had chosen to do. 'But Merewalh will return when he has dissuaded the East Anglians.'\n\n'When he's beaten the shit out of them, you mean?'\n\n'No, lord. Dissuaded them. King \u00c6thelstan insists that we do not begin the fighting. Lord \u00c6thelhelm must kill first. King \u00c6thelstan will not have the blood of fellow Christians on his hands unless he is attacked.'\n\n'Yet he captured Lundene! Are you telling me there was no fighting?'\n\nBedwin answered. 'The West Saxons abandoned the city.'\n\nI stared at Bedwin with astonishment. 'They abandoned it?' It seemed unbelievable to me. Lundene was Britain's largest city, it was the fortress that joined East Anglia to Wessex, it was the place where a king could earn a small fortune in fees and taxes, and \u00c6thelhelm had simply given it up?\n\nFather Oda again offered an explanation. 'We came, lord, they numbered fewer than two hundred men, they asked for a flag of truce, we described in some detail what fate awaited them if they insisted on defending the city and, seeing the sense of our proposals, they left.'\n\n'Some stayed,' I said.\n\n'No, lord,' Bedwin insisted. 'They left.'\n\n'Waormund is here,' I said. 'I fought him not two hours ago.'\n\n'Waormund!' Bedwin made the sign of the cross. I doubt he was even aware of doing it, but the fear that Waormund's name aroused was plain on Bedwin's face. 'You know it was Waormund?' he asked.\n\nI did not answer because none of this made sense. \u00c6thelhelm knew as well as any man that Lundene was a prize, and not a prize to be given up lightly. Even if \u00c6lfweard and \u00c6thelstan agreed to keep to the terms of their father's will, and \u00c6lfweard would rule Wessex while \u00c6thelstan was King of Mercia, they would still fight over Lundene, because whoever ruled Lundene was the richest king of Britain, and riches bought spears and shields. Yet \u00c6thelhelm's men had simply abandoned the city? Now, astonishingly, Merewalh had done the same.\n\n'You're sure it was Waormund?' Oda repeated Bedwin's query.\n\n'It was Waormund,' Finan said curtly.\n\n'He had men with him?' the priest asked.\n\n'A few,' I said, 'maybe only five.'\n\n'Then he's no danger,' Bedwin remarked.\n\nI ignored his stupidity. Waormund was a one-man army, a destroyer, a killer, a man who could dominate a shield wall and change history with his sword. So why was he here? 'How,' I asked, 'did you discover this East Anglian army? The one Merewalh has gone to stop.'\n\n'News came from Werlameceaster, lord,' Bedwin said stiffly, 'and it told of an East Anglian army ready to march into the heart of Mercia.'\n\nThere was some sense in that. \u00c6thelstan would be watching southwards, guarding the Temes's crossing places, and an enemy army at his back would be a distraction at best and a looming disaster at worst, but though it all became clear to me, I could still feel the prickle of instinct telling me it was all wrong. Then, suddenly, like a mist lifting from the morning land to reveal hedgerow and spinney, it all made sense to me. 'Have you sent patrols eastwards?' I asked Bedwin.\n\n'Eastwards?' he asked, puzzled.\n\n'Towards Celmeresburh!' Celmeresburh was a town to the north-east, a town on one of the main Roman roads leading from East Anglia's heartland to Lundene.\n\nBedwin shrugged. 'I have few enough men to hold the city, lord, without sending men away.'\n\n'We should have sent patrols,' Oda said quietly.\n\n'Priests should not concern themselves with such matters,' Bedwin snapped, and I realised the two men had disagreed.\n\n'It is always wise,' I said acidly, 'to listen to a Dane when he talks of warfare.' Oda smiled, though I did not. 'Send a patrol in the morning,' I ordered Bedwin. 'At dawn! A strong patrol. At least fifty men, and give them your fastest horses.'\n\nBedwin hesitated. He did not like me giving him orders, but I was a lord, an ealdorman, and a warrior with a reputation. Even so he bridled and was searching for the words to argue with me, but those words never came.\n\nBecause a horn sounded in the night. It blew again and again, an urgent, even desperate call. And then it stopped abruptly.\n\nA church bell clanged. Then another. And I knew that my orders had been given too late because \u00c6thelhelm's trap was sprung.\n\nBecause surely Waormund had been left behind to do just one thing; to open a gate in the dead of night. And somewhere along the city's eastern ramparts there must already be slaughtered guards and an open gate, which meant that \u00c6thelhelm's East Anglian army was nowhere near Werlameceaster. It was coming into Lundene.\n\nAnd so the screaming began."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "I swore. Much good that did.\n\nBedwin was gaping, the other men about the table were looking equally confused, each of them just waiting for someone to tell them what to do.\n\n'This way,' I snarled at my men and grasped the sleeve of Benedetta's robe, 'come!'\n\nAt that moment, of course, I did not know what was happening, but the insistent horn and the clangour of bells spoke of an attack. The only other event that might have started such an alarm was a fire, but as we ran from the palace door there was no glow in the sky. The guards were just standing there, staring eastwards. 'What do we do, lord?' one called to me.\n\n'Go inside, join Bedwin!' The last thing I needed was nervous half-trained men trailing me. The bells announced that there would be killing in the city this night, and I needed to reach Spearhafoc. I shouted at my men to follow me down the hill, but before we were halfway to the river I saw horsemen pouring from a nearby street, the points of their spear-blades catching and reflecting the light of a torch. I was still holding Benedetta's arm and she gasped in alarm as I veered sharply right to dive into an alley. I would have preferred to go left, to head eastwards towards Spearhafoc, but there was no alley or street close enough.\n\nI stopped in the alley and swore again, and it did no more good than the first curse. 'What is it?' Beornoth asked.\n\n'The enemy,' Vidarr Leifson answered for me.\n\n'Coming from the east by the look of it,' Finan said quietly.\n\n'I told the fool to send scouts,' a voice said, 'but he refused! He said he had too few men, but he'll have even fewer now.'\n\nThe alley was dark and I could not see the speaker, but his Danish accent betrayed him. It was Father Oda. 'What are you doing here?' I asked harshly.\n\n'Seeking safety,' he answered calmly, 'and I trust you to protect me, lord, more than I trust that fool Bedwin.'\n\nFor a moment I was tempted to order him back to the palace, then relented. One more man would make no difference to us, even if the man was a Christian priest and carried no weapon. 'This way!' I said. I still went downhill, but now using backstreets and alleys. The sound of the horses' hooves was muffled, but I heard a scream, then heard the clash of sword on metal. We kept running.\n\nThe horsemen I had seen had been coming from the east. The riverside house where I had left Berg, the rest of my men and Eadgifu were all to the east, and the house was not far from the city's easternmost gate. Waormund, I thought, must have attacked that gate to let in the approaching troops who now spread through the city. Worse, Waormund would know exactly where to find me, and he had doubtless led men straight to the house. So had Berg managed to escape? If he had, then he would have taken Spearhafoc into the river's centre and would be holding her there, but as we stumbled down the alleys I wondered how we would ever reach her.\n\n'Down here, lord!' Oswi called.\n\nOswi was young, clever, and a good warrior. I had met him when he was an orphan haunting the streets of Lundene and making a living by theft. He had tried to steal from me, had been caught and, instead of giving him the whipping he deserved, I had pardoned him and trained him as a fighter. He knew the city, and he must have known what was in my mind because he led us downhill through a maze of alleys. The footing was treacherous in the dark and I almost fell twice. Father Oda was guiding Benedetta now, the rest of us all had drawn swords. The noise in the night was louder, the roar of men, of screaming women, of howling dogs and the hammer of iron-shod hooves, but no enemy had yet pierced these narrow alleys in the western part of the city.\n\n'Stop!' Oswi held up a hand. We had reached the street that ran just inside the old river wall, and the bridge was close to our left. We were hidden by dark shadow, but the approach to the bridge was lit by torches and there were men there, too many men, men in mail and helmets, men with shields, spears and swords. None wore the dull red cloak of \u00c6thelhelm's men, but nor did any of them carry \u00c6thelstan's symbol on their shields.\n\n'East Anglians?' Finan asked me.\n\n'Who else?'\n\nThe East Anglians were barring our way eastwards, and we shrank back into deep shadow as dozens of horsemen came into sight. They came from the east, were led by a man wearing a red cloak, and were carrying long spears. I heard laughter, then a command to go uphill. The hoofbeats sounded again as we shrank into the alley, hidden there by shadow and fear.\n\nI swore for the third time. I had hoped to get down to the tangle of wharves and work my way along the river bank to the house, but that had always been a forlorn ambition. Berg and his men had either been overwhelmed and slaughtered, or else they had reached Spearhafoc and were even now out in the river's darkness. But had this East Anglian army come by boat too? That seemed unlikely. It would take a seaman of uncanny ability to negotiate the seaward twists of the Temes in the moon-shrouded darkness, but one thing was sure; the eastern part of the city, the part I needed to reach, was swarming with the enemy.\n\n'We go north,' I said, and knew I was trying to lead us out of a mistake. There had never been a real chance of reaching Spearhafoc and in taking my men and Benedetta down the hill I had gone in the wrong direction.\n\n'North?' Oswi asked.\n\n'If we can leave the city,' I said, 'we have a chance to reach the road to Werlameceaster.'\n\n'We have no horses,' Father Oda pointed out calmly.\n\n'Then, damn it, we walk!' I snarled.\n\n'And the enemy,' he went on, still speaking calmly, 'will send horsemen on patrol.'\n\nI said nothing, nor did anyone else speak until Finan broke the silence. 'It is always wise,' he said drily and using the words I had spoken to Bedwin not long before, 'to listen to a Dane when he talks of warfare.'\n\n'So we won't stay on the road,' I said. 'We'll use the woods where the horsemen can't find us. Oswi, get us to one of the northern gates.'\n\nThe attempt to reach the northern city wall also failed. Whoever led the East Anglian army was no fool. He had sent men to capture and then guard each of the seven gates. Two of those gates pierced the walls of the Roman fort built at the city's north-western corner and, when we drew close, we heard the sound of men fighting. There was an open space in front of the fort and to the west of the ruined amphitheatre, and a score of bodies lay on that paved square that was lit by the torches burning on the palace walls. Blood had run on the stone and trickled into the weed-thick gaps between the old paving slabs where men in red cloaks were stripping the corpses of mail. The fort's southern gate, one of the two that led into the city, was wide open, and six horsemen came through the arch. They were led by an imposing man who rode a great black stallion, wore a white cloak, and had a mail coat of brightly polished metal. 'That's Varin,' Father Oda whispered.\n\n'Varin?' I asked. We were again hidden in the deep shadow of an alley.\n\n'An East Anglian,' Father Oda explained, 'and one of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's commanders.'\n\n'Varin is a Danish name,' I said.\n\n'He is a Dane,' the priest said, 'and like me he is a Christian. I know him well. We were friends once.'\n\n'In East Anglia?' I asked. I knew that Father Oda's parents had settled in East Anglia, sailing there from their home across the North Sea.\n\n'In East Anglia,' Father Oda said, 'which is as much a Danish land as it is Saxon. A third of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's East Anglian troops are Danes. Maybe more than a third?'\n\nThat should not have surprised me. East Anglia had fallen to the Danes before Alfred had come to the throne and had long been ruled by Danish kings. Their sovereignty ended when Edward's West Saxon army defeated them and, though many had died in the fighting, the Danes who survived had known which way fate's wind was blowing and so had converted to Christianity. They then swore loyalty to the new Saxon lords who took over the wide estates. \u00c6thelhelm the Elder, who had died while my prisoner, had been given vast tracts of East Anglia and had raised an army of hard-bitten Danes to defend it. Those were the men who, with their Saxon comrades, had come to Lundene this night.\n\n'We'll not be getting out of the city this way,' Finan said sourly.\n\nVarin's men had captured the gates, the bridge, and the Roman fort, which meant Lundene had fallen. Merewalh had been lured northwards, Bedwin had failed to guard the eastern roads, and now squads of \u00c6thelhelm's warriors began to probe into the deep alleys and streets of the city to end any hope of resistance from Bedwin's defeated troops. We were trapped.\n\nAnd I had made a second mistake that night. The first was the vain attempt to reach Spearhafoc, the second was to try to leave by a northern gate, and my best hope now was to find a boat and escape downriver. 'Get us back to the wharves,' I told Oswi, 'east of the bridge.' I wanted to be downriver of the bridge, which had perilous narrow gaps between the stone piers where the water seethed, churned, and had capsized many a smaller boat.\n\n'Bastards were swarming down there,' Finan warned me.\n\n'Then we hide!' I snarled. My anger was with myself, not with Finan. I felt like a rat trapped by terriers; still fighting but with no place to run.\n\nNo place to run, but there were places to hide, and Oswi knew Lundene like a rat knows a stable yard. He led us quickly, keeping to the small alleys that the enemy had not yet reached. We went eastwards now and, though we had still not met the enemy, we could hear them. We could hear shouts and shrieks, the clash of blades, the laughter of men enjoying an easy victory. Some people had fled to the churches to seek sanctuary and, as we skirted one wooden church, I heard a woman wailing and a baby crying.\n\nWe had to cross the wide street that led from the bridge to the big market square at the top of the hill. Torches burned on either side of the street, spewing dark smoke into the troubled air. There were groups of men beneath the flames, their swords sheathed and their shields stacked against walls. One group had rolled a barrel from the Red Pig tavern and an axeman stove in the lid to provoke cheers. A woman screamed, then abruptly went silent. Lundene had fallen and the captors were enjoying the spoils, but then a red-cloaked horseman spurred up from the river. 'To the palace, lads!' he called. 'Leave that ale, there's plenty more!'\n\nThe street emptied slowly, but it was still dangerous. I peered downhill and saw there were men guarding the bridge and some of them began to climb towards us. I guessed that this main street would stay busy all night, yet we had to cross it if we were to find a ship on the wharves to the east of the bridge. 'We just stroll across,' I said.\n\n'Stroll?' Father Oda asked.\n\n'We don't run. We don't look frightened. We just stroll.'\n\nSo we did. We walked across the street slowly, as if we had not a care in the world. Benedetta was still with Father Oda, and one of the men coming from the bridge saw her. 'You found a woman?' he shouted.\n\n'A woman!' a half-dozen voices echoed.\n\n'Share her!' the first man called.\n\n'Keep going,' I said, and followed Oswi through a half-broken arch that led into another alley. 'Now hurry!' I called, but hurrying was treacherous because it was pitch dark, the alley was narrow, and its footing nothing but earth and broken stone. I heard our pursuers shout again. They had reached the arch and were following us into the darkness. 'Finan,' I said.\n\n'A pleasure,' he answered grimly, and the two of us let the others go past.\n\n'Bring her here!' a man shouted. He received no answer, he could hear nothing but stumbling footsteps. 'You bastards!' he called again. 'Bring the bitch here!'\n\nAgain he received no answer and so he came towards us, followed by four men. We could see them outlined against the small light from the main street, but they would have seen little of us because their looming shadows obscured our drawn swords. 'Bring her here!' the man bellowed again and then made a mewing sound as Serpent-Breath pierced his mail, tore through the muscles of his belly, and then twisted in his guts. He collapsed into me, his sword clattering on the ground, his right hand clutching at my mail coat. I brought my right knee up into his chin and the scream that had just begun became a bloody gurgle. I stepped back and wrenched Serpent-Breath free. Finan, with his usual lightning speed, had put his man down with no noise except for the hoarse bubbling gasp of a cut throat. I saw the blood spurt black across the alley and some splashed on my face as I stepped over the gut-slit man to thrust my blade into another. He tried to twist aside, but Serpent-Breath sliced across his ribs, tearing mail, then he tripped on the first dying man, and Beornoth, behind me, hammered down with his sword's pommel to break the man's skull open like an egg. Finan had taken a man's eyes, and that man was screaming, hands clutched to his bloody face.\n\nThe last man stopped, then fled from the alley. Finan started after him, but I seized his arm. 'Back,' I said, 'back! Leave him!' The fugitive had already reached the wider torch-lit street.\n\nWe ran, looking for Oswi. I turned right into another alley, tripped, skinned my left hand on a wall, turned left again. Sudden shouts came as men discovered the carnage we had made. Finan tugged my sleeve and I followed him down three stone steps. The moon had come from behind cloud and I could see again, except that we were in the black shadow of gaunt stone walls. Ruins, I thought, then we crossed a moonlit space and turned into another alley. Where the hell was Oswi? I could hear shouts behind us. The last bell in the west of the city stopped tolling, then a voice called near us, 'This way! This way!' I saw a shadow within a shadow on top of a mound of broken stone. We clambered over and dropped down into bleak darkness. I trod on someone, Benedetta, who gasped, then I dropped beside her. 'Quiet, lord!' Oswi whispered. 'Quiet!'\n\nLike hunted beasts we had gone to ground, but the hunters wanted more blood. One of our pursuers carried a flaming torch and the blundering shadows of big men were thrown onto a broken wall beside us. The hunters stopped, I held my breath and heard voices muttering. 'This way!' one said, and the shadows faded as the footsteps went further east. None of us moved, none of us spoke. Then a woman screamed terribly from not far away and men roared in triumph. She screamed again. Benedetta whispered something bitter. I did not understand a word, but I sensed she was trembling and I reached out to touch her and she seized my skinned hand and held it tightly.\n\nAnd so we waited. The noises subsided, but we could still hear the woman whimpering. 'Pigs,' Benedetta said softly.\n\n'Where are we?' I whispered in Oswi's direction.\n\n'Safe, lord,' he murmured, though our refuge seemed anything but safe to me. We appeared to be in the ruins of a small stone house with no way out except to go back the way we had entered. Other houses nearby were still being used. I saw flame-light appear and vanish at a shuttered window. Another woman screamed and Benedetta's hand gripped mine hard. Oswi whispered something and I heard Finan grunt in reply.\n\nThen flint struck on steel, there a puff of breath, another spark, and the small kindling from Finan's pouch caught fire. The flame was tiny, but just enough to show what looked like a small cave mouth in the rubble at the base of the broken wall, the dark opening supported by a shattered and tilted pillar. Oswi crawled into the hole, Finan handed him a scrap of burning wood and the small flame vanished inside the hole. 'This way!' Oswi hissed.\n\nFinan followed, then one by one we wriggled into the cave. Finan had lit a larger piece of wood and in its light I saw we were in a cellar. I dropped down to a stone floor and almost gagged at the stench. The cellar had to be close to a cesspit. Benedetta held her scarf to her mouth and nose. Thick pillars of narrow Roman bricks supported the ceiling. 'We used to hide here,' Oswi said, then clambered through a gap in the stone wall on the cellar's far side. 'Be careful here!'\n\nAgain Finan followed him. The flame of the makeshift torch flickered. Beyond the gap was another cellar, but deeper, and to my right was the cesspit. A narrow ledge led to a brick arch and it was through that last opening that Oswi vanished. A boy's voice challenged him, more voices added to the sudden noise, then Finan handed the torch to Vidarr and drew his sword. He stepped through the arch and shouted for silence. There was immediate quiet.\n\nI followed Finan to discover a dozen children in the final cellar. The oldest might have been thirteen, the youngest only half that age. Three girls and nine ragged boys, all of them looking starved, their eyes big against pale, wild faces. They had beds of straw, their clothes were rags, and their hair hung lank and long. Oswi had lit a small fire, using straw and scraps of wood, and in its light I could see that one of the older boys held a knife. 'Put it away, boy,' I snarled and the knife vanished. 'Is this the only entrance?' I asked from the brick arch.\n\n'The only one, lord,' Oswi said, tending his fire.\n\n'He's a lord?' a boy asked. None of us answered him.\n\n'Who are they?' I asked, though it was a stupid question because the answer was plain to see.\n\n'Orphans,' Oswi said.\n\n'Like you.'\n\n'Like me, lord.'\n\n'Aren't there convents?' Benedetta asked. 'Places to look after motherless children?'\n\n'Convents are cruel,' Oswi said harshly. 'If they don't like you they sell you to the slavers on the river.'\n\n'What's happening?' the boy who had hidden the knife asked.\n\n'Enemy troops,' I answered. 'They took the city. You'd best stay hidden till they calm down.'\n\n'And you're running from them?' he asked.\n\n'What do you think?' I asked, and he said nothing. But I knew what he was thinking, that he could earn a small fortune by betraying us, which is why I had asked Oswi if there was another way out of this stinking, dark cellar. 'You'll stay here till we say you can leave,' I added. The boy just looked at me and said nothing. 'What's your name, boy?'\n\nHe hesitated, as if wanting to challenge me, then muttered his name. 'Aldwyn.'\n\n'Aldwyn, lord,' I corrected him.\n\n'Lord,' he added reluctantly.\n\nI crossed to him, stepping over rags and straw. I crouched and stared into his dark eyes. 'If you betray us, Aldwyn, the enemy will give you a shilling. Maybe two shillings. But if you do me service, boy, I will give you gold.' I took a coin from my pouch and showed it to him. He stared at it, looked up into my eyes, and then back to the coin. He did not speak, but I could see the hunger in his gaze. 'Do you know that man?' I asked, nodding towards Oswi.\n\nHe glanced at Oswi, then back to me. 'No, lord.'\n\n'Look at him,' I said. The boy frowned, not understanding, but obediently looked at Oswi who was lit by the flames of the small fire. Aldwyn saw a warrior with a trimmed beard, a fine mail coat, and a sword belt thick with embroidery and small silver panels. 'Tell him who you are, Oswi,' I commanded, 'and what you were.'\n\n'I'm a warrior of Northumbria,' Oswi said proudly, 'but I was once like you, boy. I lived in this cellar, I stole my food and I ran from the slavers like you do. Then I met my lord and he became my gold-giver.'\n\nAldwyn looked back to me. 'You are really a lord?'\n\nI ignored the question. 'How old are you, Aldwyn?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'I don't know, lord. Twelve?'\n\n'You lead these boys and girls?'\n\nHe nodded. 'I look after them, lord.'\n\n'Are you cruel?' I asked.\n\n'Cruel?' he frowned.\n\n'Are you cruel?' I asked again.\n\nHe still seemed puzzled by that question and, instead of answering, glanced at his companions. It was one of the girls who responded. 'He can hurt us, lord,' she said, 'but only when we do something wrong.'\n\n'If you serve me,' I said, 'I will be a gold-giver to you all. And yes, Aldwyn, I am a lord. I am a great lord. I have land, I have ships, and I have men. And in time I will drive the enemy from this city and the streets will run with their blood and the dogs will gnaw their flesh and the birds will feast on their eyes.'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he whispered.\n\nAnd I hoped I had told him the truth.\n\nSpearhafoc was gone, the stone wharf was empty, and no corpses lay on the terrace.\n\nMy new troops brought me the news, or rather Aldwyn and his younger brother went as my scouts and came back bubbling with happiness at a successful mission. Father Oda had tried to warn me against employing them, saying that the temptation for them to betray us was too great, but I had seen the hunger in Aldwyn's young eyes. It was not a hunger for treachery, nor for the satisfaction of greed, but a hunger to belong, to be valued. They returned.\n\n'There were soldiers there, lord,' Aldwyn said excitedly.\n\n'What was on their shields?'\n\n'A bird, lord.' These were city children and would not know a crow from a kittiwake, but I assumed the bird, whatever it might have been, was a symbol from East Anglia.\n\n'And no corpses?'\n\n'None, lord. No blood either.'\n\nThat was a sensible observation. 'How close did you get?'\n\n'We went inside the house, lord! We said we were beggars.'\n\n'What did they do?'\n\n'One hit me around the head, lord, and told me to piss off.'\n\n'So you pissed off?'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he grinned.\n\nI gave him silver and promised him gold if he continued to serve me. So Spearhafoc was gone, which was a relief, but there was always the chance that an East Anglian fleet had been waiting in the sea reach of the Temes to reinforce the men who had captured the city, and that fleet could have captured Berg and my ship. I touched my hammer amulet, said a silent prayer to the gods, and tried to plan a future, but could see no hope beyond the immediate need to find food and ale.\n\n'We steal,' Aldwyn said when I asked him how his small band fed themselves.\n\n'You can't steal enough food for us,' I said. 'We'll have to buy.'\n\n'They know us in the markets, lord,' Aldwyn said gloomily. 'They chase us away.'\n\n'And the best markets,' one of the girls said, 'are outside the city.' She meant in the sprawling Saxon-built town to the west of the Roman walls. Folk preferred living there, far from the ghosts of Lundene.\n\n'What do you need?' Father Oda asked me.\n\n'Ale, bread, cheese, smoked fish. Anything.'\n\n'I will go,' Benedetta said.\n\nI shook my head. 'It's not safe for a woman yet. Maybe tomorrow, when things calm down.'\n\n'She'll be safe in the company of a priest,' Father Oda remarked.\n\nI looked at him. The only light in the cellar came from a crack in the roof that also served as the smoke-hole. 'But we only have a fire at night, lord,' Aldwyn had told me, 'and no one has ever noticed the smoke.'\n\n'You can't go, father,' I told Oda.\n\nHe bristled. 'Why not?'\n\n'They know you, father,' I said, 'you're from East Anglia.'\n\n'I've grown a beard since then,' he said calmly. It was a short beard, neatly cropped. 'You either starve or let us go,' he went on. 'And if they take me captive? What can they do?'\n\n'Kill you, father,' Finan said.\n\nA flicker of a smile touched the priest's face. 'My lord Uhtred is known as the priest-killer, not Lord \u00c6thelhelm.'\n\n'What will they do to you?' I asked.\n\nHe shrugged. 'Either ignore me or, more likely, send me to Lord \u00c6thelhelm. He is angry with me.'\n\n'You! Why?'\n\n'Because I served him once,' Father Oda said calmly. 'I was one of his confessors. But I left his service.'\n\nI stared at him in surprise. When I had first met Father Oda he had been in the company of Osferth, an ally of \u00c6thelstan's, and now I discovered he had been in \u00c6thelhelm's service.\n\n'Why did you leave?' Finan asked.\n\n'He demanded we all give an oath to Prince \u00c6lfweard, and in conscience I could not do so. \u00c6lfweard is a cruel, unnatural boy.'\n\n'And King of Wessex now,' Finan added.\n\n'Which is why Lord Uhtred is here,' Oda went on, still calm. 'Soon the priest-killer will be a killer of kings too.' He looked away from me to Oswi. 'You will come with us, but no mail coat, no weapons. I am a priest, the lady Benedetta will say she is my wife, and you are our servant, and we go to buy food and ale for the brethren of Saint Erkenwald.' I knew there was a monastery dedicated to Saint Erkenwald in the east of the city. 'You, boy,' Father Oda pointed at Aldwyn, 'will follow us as far as the city gate and come back here if you see we are in trouble with the guards. And you, lord,' he smiled at me, 'will give us money.'\n\nI always carried a pouch of coins, a heavy pouch, though I suspected it would lighten fast unless I could devise a way of escaping the city. I gave Father Oda a handful of silver shillings. I was hesitant to allow Benedetta to go with him, but as Oda pointed out the presence of a woman and a priest would allay suspicions. 'They are looking for warriors, lord,' Oda said, 'not for married couples.'\n\n'It's still dangerous for a woman,' I insisted.\n\n'And only men may face danger?' Benedetta challenged me.\n\n'She will come to no harm,' Oda said firmly. 'If any man offends her I will threaten him with the eternal furnaces of hell and the endless torments of Satan.'\n\nI had been raised with those threats hanging over me and, despite my belief in the older gods, I still felt a shiver of fear. I touched the hammer. 'Go, then,' I said, and so they did and returned safely three hours later with three sacks of food and two small barrels of ale.\n\n'No one followed them, lord,' Aldwyn told us.\n\n'There was no trouble,' Oda reported with his usual calm. 'I talked to the commander of the gate and he tells me there are now four hundred men in the city and more are coming.'\n\n'By sea?' I asked, fearing for Spearhafoc.\n\n'He did not say. Lord \u00c6thelhelm is not here, nor is King \u00c6lfweard. Those two remain in Wintanceaster as far as he knows. The new garrison is commanded by Lord Varin.'\n\n'Who we saw yesterday.'\n\n'Indeed.'\n\n'It was good to breathe proper air,' Benedetta said wistfully.\n\nShe was surely right because the stench of the cesspit was overwhelming. I was sitting on the damp floor, leaning my head against the dank bricks, and I thought that Jarl Uhtred, Lord of Bebbanburg, had come to this. I was a fugitive in a Lundene cellar leading a handful of warriors, one priest, a royal slave, and a band of ragged children. I touched the hammer hanging at my neck and closed my eyes. 'We have to leave this damned city,' I said bitterly.\n\n'The walls are guarded,' Father Oda warned me.\n\nI opened my eyes to look at him. 'Four hundred men, you say. It's not enough.'\n\n'No?' Benedetta looked surprised.\n\n'Lundene's wall must be near two miles round?' I said, looking at Finan, who nodded agreement. 'And that doesn't count the river wall,' I went on. 'Four hundred men can't defend two miles of wall. You'd need two and a half thousand men to fight off any attack.'\n\n'But four hundred men can guard the gates,' Finan said quietly.\n\n'But not the river wall. Too many gaps in that.'\n\n'Reinforcements are coming,' Father Oda reminded me, 'and there's more.'\n\n'More?'\n\n'No one can move in the streets after sunset,' he said. 'Varin sent men to announce that edict. Folk must stay indoors until sunrise.'\n\nNo one spoke for a moment. The children were tearing into the bread and cheese that Benedetta had given them. 'No!' she cried sternly, stopping their squabbling. 'You must have manners! Children without manners are worse than animals. You, boy,' she pointed at Aldwyn, 'you have a knife and you will cut the food. You will cut it evenly, the same for everyone.'\n\n'Yes, lady,' he said.\n\nFinan grinned at the boy's obedience. 'You're thinking,' he said to me, 'of stealing a boat?'\n\n'What else? We can't drop over the wall into the city's ditch, we won't fight our way through a gate without starting a pursuit by horsemen, but a boat might serve.'\n\n'They'll have captured the wharves,' Finan said, 'and be guarding them. They're not fools.'\n\n'There were soldiers on the wharves, lord,' Aldwyn put in.\n\n'I know where we might find a boat,' I said, and looked at Benedetta.\n\nShe looked back, her eyes glinting in the cellar's darkness. 'You are thinking of Gunnald Gunnaldson?' she asked.\n\n'You told me his wharves are protected by fences? They're separate from the other docks?'\n\n'They are,' she said, 'but maybe they captured his ships too?'\n\n'Maybe,' I said, 'or maybe not. But I made you a promise.'\n\n'Yes, lord, you did.' She offered me one of her rare smiles.\n\nNo one else understood what we spoke about, nor did I explain. 'Tomorrow,' I said, 'we go tomorrow.'\n\nBecause Uhtred, son of Uhtred, the killer of priests and the would-be killer of a king would become a killer of slavers too.\n\nAldwyn and his younger brother, who everyone called the R\u00e6t, were my scouts again. They were gone for much of the day, and the longer they stayed away the more nervous I became. I had two men standing guard outside the cellar mouth, concealed there by the mounds of rubble. I joined them at noon to escape the foetid stench of the cesspit and found Benedetta with one of the smaller girls. 'She's called Alaina,' she told me.\n\n'Pretty name,' I said.\n\n'For a pretty girl,' Benedetta was cuddling the child, who had very dark hair, frightened eyes, and skin the same light golden colour as Benedetta. I guessed she was seven or eight years old, and I had noticed her in the cellar's gloom because she was both better dressed and looked to be in better health then the other children. She had also looked more miserable, her eyes red from crying. Benedetta stroked the girl's hair. 'She came here just before us!'\n\n'Yesterday?'\n\nBenedetta nodded. 'Yesterday, and her mother is like me. From Italy.' She said something in her own language to Alaina, then looked back to me. 'A slave.' She spoke defiantly, as if it were my fault.\n\n'The child's a slave?' I asked.\n\nBenedetta shook her head. 'No, no. Nor is the mother any more. Her mama is married to one of Merewalh's men and she left the house to take food to her husband and the other sentries. That's when the enemy came.'\n\n'The girl was alone?'\n\n'Alone.' She bent to kiss the child's hair. 'Her mother said she would be home soon, but she never came home. And the poor child heard screaming and she ran from the sound. Aldwyn found her and here she is.'\n\nAlaina stared at me with wide eyes. She looked scared. She saw an older man with a scarred, hard face, a battered mail coat, a gold chain, and a brace of swords at his waist. I smiled at her and she looked away, burying her face in Benedetta's clothes. 'Maybe,' Benedetta said, 'the two boys are caught?'\n\n'They're cunning,' I said, 'they won't be caught.'\n\n'Gunnald would like to have them as slaves. Especially the young one. He can sell small boys almost as easily as little girls.' She leaned down and kissed Alaina's forehead. 'And this poor one? She would fetch a good price.'\n\n'The boys will come back,' I said, touching the hammer and so earning an Italian scowl.\n\n'You think?'\n\n'I think,' I touched the hammer again.\n\n'And what will you do with them?'\n\n'Do?'\n\n'What will you do with them!' she repeated the question aggressively as if to suggest I had wilfully misunderstood it the first time. 'You take them with you?'\n\n'If they want to come.'\n\n'All of them?'\n\nI shrugged. I had not really thought about the children's future. 'I suppose so. If they want to come.'\n\n'Then what do they do if they come?'\n\n'There's always a need for servants at Bebbanburg,' I said. 'The girls will work in the kitchen, the hall or the dairy. The boys in the stables or armoury.'\n\n'As slaves?'\n\nI shook my head. 'They will be paid. The girls will grow and be married, the boys become warriors. If they don't like it they can leave. So no, they won't be slaves.'\n\n'You will not teach them?'\n\n'Sword-skill, yes.'\n\n'To read!'\n\nI hesitated. 'It's not a very useful skill for most folk. Can you read?'\n\n'A little, not much. I would like to.'\n\n'Then maybe you can teach them what little you know.'\n\n'Then Alaina can read her prayers,' Benedetta said.\n\n'I can pray!' Alaina said.\n\n'You speak \u00c6nglisc!' I said, surprised.\n\n'Of course she does!' Benedetta said scornfully. 'Her father is Saxon. We will find her father and her mother? Yes?'\n\n'If we can.'\n\nThough what we could do, or rather what I hoped we could do, had to wait for Aldwyn and the R\u00e6t to return, which they did in the late afternoon, slithering down the rubbled slope and grinning proudly. I took them into the cellar where Finan and the rest of my men could hear what they had to say.\n\n'There are not many guards on the wharves,' Aldwyn said. 'They walk up and down in three groups. Six men in each.'\n\n'With spears and shields,' the R\u00e6t added.\n\n'The bird on most shields,' Aldwyn said, 'and some with just a cross.'\n\n'Not many men for that length of wharves,' Finan said.\n\n'The slaver's house is near the bridge,' Aldwyn said. 'He has a wharf there, but we couldn't get there.'\n\n'Which side?' I asked.\n\n'Towards the sea, lord,' Aldwyn said.\n\n'We couldn't reach the wharf,' the R\u00e6t explained, 'because there's a wooden fence.'\n\n'But there was a gap in the wood,' Aldwyn said, 'and a ship there.'\n\n'We looked through!' the R\u00e6t, who I guessed was seven or eight years old, said proudly.\n\n'How big?' I asked.\n\n'A big gap!' the R\u00e6t said, and held his grubby hands maybe two finger-widths apart.\n\n'The ship,' I said patiently.\n\n'The ship? Oh, big, lord,' Aldwyn said, 'long!'\n\n'And just one ship?'\n\n'Just one.'\n\n'And the entrance from the street?' I asked.\n\n'A big gate, lord. Big! And men with spears inside.'\n\n'You looked through the gate?'\n\n'We waited till they opened it, lord, and men came out. We could see the guards inside.'\n\n'Big guards,' the R\u00e6t said open-eyed, 'three of them.'\n\n'Three guards are nothing, lord,' Beornoth put in.\n\n'But the noise we make breaking down a big gate will bring the East Anglians,' I said. 'It's close to the bridge and the bastards are thick there.'\n\n'There must be other ships to steal,' Finan suggested.\n\n'We saw no oars on the other ships, lord,' Aldwyn said.\n\n'They usually lie between the rowers' benches,' I said.\n\nAldwyn nodded. 'That's where you told us to look and we saw none.' Which meant, I thought, that the East Anglians had confiscated the oars to stop men escaping. 'Except in the slave ship,' Aldwyn added.\n\n'She had oars?'\n\n'I think so, lord.' He sounded uncertain.\n\n'Like thin logs, lord,' the R\u00e6t said. 'I saw them!'\n\n'We need oars,' I said, and wondered how my few men were to row a big ship downriver. 'There was a sail?'\n\n'Bundled on the stick, lord, like you said.' Aldwyn meant the yard. But unless the gods were kind and sent us a westerly wind we would have a hard time taking a stolen ship downriver under sail. We needed oars, and I was relying on the report of an eager boy who was not entirely sure of what he had seen.\n\n'We can't stay here,' I said. No one spoke. The East Anglians, I thought, could not close down the city for ever. Merchant ships would arrive and others would want to leave, and \u00c6thelhelm would want the riches that customs dues could bring him. That meant there would be more shipping and perhaps, if we waited, a chance would come to seize one of those vessels. Yet I kept going back to the thought of Gunnald the slave-trader. Was that because of the promise I had made to Benedetta? I looked at her long solemn face and just then she looked back to me and our eyes held each other. Her expression did not change and she said nothing. 'We don't have a choice,' I said, 'we go tonight.'\n\n'Lord Varin has forbidden people to walk the streets at night,' Father Oda pointed out.\n\n'We go tonight,' I insisted, 'just before dawn.'\n\n'Sharpen your swords, lads,' Finan said softly.\n\nI had said we had no choice, but of course we did. A lifetime of war had taught me that fighting a battle without forethought was usually to invite defeat. Some battles start by accident, but most are planned. It can still go horribly wrong, even the best plans can be ripped apart by the enemy's plan, but a good leader does his best to scout the enemy, to learn all he can about that enemy, and all I had was the report of two boys. They had seen a ship that they thought had oars and they had seen three guards. Beornoth was right, three guards were nothing, but the noise we made in breaking into the slaver's yard and defeating his men could bring the bridge garrison running. Then there was Varin's order that no one was to be in the streets at night. So first we must reach the slaver's yard without being seen and then we must break into the yard silently before stealing a ship. So yes, there was a choice, and a sensible man would wait until the city fell back into its daily routine, would wait until folk could walk the streets at night, and wait until the guards on the wharves were bored and careless.\n\nBut could we wait? The stench of the cesspit alone was reason to leave. Varin had captured the city, but he had yet to search it thoroughly, and there was the ever looming danger that he would send men to rake though Lundene's ruins and cellars in search of the enemies he must know had survived the city's capture. And soon he would have more men as reinforcements arrived from East Anglia and from Wessex. 'The guards patrolling the streets,' I asked, 'do they carry shields?'\n\n'The men on the wharves had shields,' Aldwyn said, 'but they weren't carrying them.'\n\n'The shields were stacked?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'And the men we saw patrolling the streets didn't have shields,' Father Oda said.\n\n'The guards at the city gate did,' Benedetta added.\n\nThat made sense. Iron-rimmed willow-board shields are heavy. The sentinels on Bebbanburg's walls did not carry shields, though they were always close at hand. A shield is the last thing a warrior picks up before battle and the first to be discarded after. Men patrolling streets only faced townsfolk, not screaming mail-clad warriors, so a shield was merely an encumbrance. 'And we don't have shields,' Finan said with a crooked grin.\n\n'So we won't look strange walking the streets without shields,' I said, 'but we do have children.'\n\nFor a heartbeat Aldwyn looked as though he would protest that he was no child, then curiosity defeated his indignation. 'Children, lord?'\n\n'Children,' I said grimly, 'because I'm going to sell the lot of you. Tonight.'\n\nWe waited until the night was almost gone, until the first hint of wolf-grey light edged the east; we waited until the time when men who have stayed awake all night are tired and when they yearn for their replacements to come on duty.\n\nThen we marched. We did not sneak through the city, edging from shadow to shadow, but instead walked boldly down the main street towards the bridge. We carried drawn swords and wore our helmets and mail. We were eight warriors who surrounded the children. Those youngsters were excited, knowing they were going on an adventure, but I had told them to look miserable. 'You're captives!' I snarled at them. 'You're going to be sold!'\n\nBenedetta walked with them, her head covered by a dark hood, while Father Oda was beside me wearing his long black robe and with a silver cross gleaming in the feeble light of the guttering torches. Ahead of us a fire burned in a brazier at the bridge's northern end and, as we went nearer, two men strolled towards us. 'Who are you?' one of them asked.\n\n'Lord Varin's men,' Father Oda answered, and his Danish accent only made the lie more believable.\n\n'Crossing the bridge, father?' the man asked.\n\n'Going that way,' Father Oda pointed to the street that led eastwards along the back of the wharves and warehouses.\n\n'We're taking these little bastards to be sold,' I explained.\n\n'They're vermin!' Father Oda added, cuffing Aldwyn's head. 'We found them stealing in the palace storerooms.'\n\n'Selling them are you?' the man seemed amused. 'Best thing for them!'\n\nWe wished him a good day and turned down the street. 'Not this gate,' Aldwyn muttered, 'but the next.'\n\nGunnald's slave-yard was perilously close to the bridge where a dozen men stood guard beside the brazier. Whatever we did would have to be done quietly, though it began noisily enough when I hammered on the gate with Serpent-Breath's hilt. No one answered. I hammered again and kept beating the gate until a small hatch was pushed open and a face appeared in the shadow. 'What is it?' the man growled.\n\n'Lord Varin sending you merchandise.'\n\n'Who's Lord Varin?'\n\n'He commands the city. Now open the gate.'\n\n'Jesus Christ,' the man grumbled. I could see a slight gleam of one eye as he stared into the street, seeing children and warriors. 'Couldn't it wait?'\n\n'You want the little bastards or not?'\n\n'Any girls?'\n\n'Three ripe ones.'\n\n'Wait.' The hatch closed and we waited. I assumed the man had gone to wake his master, or perhaps an overseer. The grey wolf-light seeped into the east, turning the sky brighter and touching the edges of the high-flying clouds with a silvery gleam. A door opened further down the street and a woman appeared with a pail, presumably to fetch water. She looked nervously at my warriors and went back into her house.\n\nThe hatch opened again and there was just enough light to see a bearded face. The man stared and said nothing. 'Lord Varin,' I said, 'does not like being kept waiting.'\n\nThere was a grunt, the hatch closed, and I heard locking bars being lifted, then one of the two heavy gates was dragged open, scraping on the paving stones, which, I suspected, had been there since the Romans first laid the yard. 'Bring them in,' the bearded man said.\n\n'Inside!' I snarled at the children.\n\nThere were three men in the yard, none wearing mail, but with thick leather jerkins over which they wore short swords in plain wooden scabbards. One man, tall and lank-haired, had a coiled whip hanging at his waist. He was the man who had opened the gate and now watched the children file in, then spat on the stones. 'Miserable-looking bunch,' he said.\n\n'They were caught in the palace storerooms,' I said.\n\n'Thieving little bastards. Not worth much.'\n\n'And you need Lord Varin's goodwill,' I said.\n\nThe man grunted at that. 'Shut the gate!' he ordered his companions. The gate scraped shut and two locking bars dropped into place. 'Make a line!' he snapped at the children, and they obediently shuffled into a rough line. They looked terrified. They might have known this was all pretence, but the lank-haired man with his coiled whip was frightening. He began inspecting them, lifting Aldwyn's face to look closer.\n\n'I know none of these men,' Benedetta whispered close to me.\n\n'They need feeding,' the man said, and stopped to look at Alaina. He tilted up her face and grinned. 'Pretty little thing.' I felt Benedetta stiffen beside me, but she said nothing. 'Very pretty,' the man said and put his hand to the neck of Alaina's dress as if he was about to rip it down.\n\n'She's not yours yet,' I growled.\n\nThe man looked at me, surprised to be challenged. 'Something wrong with the bitch?' he asked. 'Got pox rash, has she?'\n\n'Leave her alone!' Father Oda and I said at the same time.\n\nThe man snatched his hand away, but scowled. 'If she's clean,' he said grudgingly, 'she might be worth something, but not this little bastard.' He had moved on to the R\u00e6t.\n\nI was looking around the yard. The entrance gates faced a high building as large as any mead hall. The lowest floor was made of big blocks of dressed stone, while above that the higher floors were constructed of tarred timber. There was only one door, and a single window that was a small shuttered opening set very high on the forbidding black gable. To the right was a smaller shed, which, from the horse-droppings in the yard, I suspected was a stable. That too had a closed door. 'How many men are usually here?' I asked Benedetta in a low voice.\n\n'Ten? Twelve?' she whispered, but her memory was from twenty years before and she sounded uncertain. I wondered how Gunnald Gunnaldson, if he still lived, manned his ship, which, if Aldwyn was right, must have benches for at least twenty rowers. Presumably he hired men for each voyage or, more likely, used slaves. Finan and I had been slaves aboard just such a ship, chained to the benches and scarred by the whips.\n\nThe other two guards now stood beside the door of the larger building, lounging there with bored expressions. One yawned. I strolled along the line of children with Serpent-Breath still in my hand. 'This one should be valuable,' I said, stopping beside a tall, thin girl who had straggly brown hair framing a freckled face. 'She'll be pretty if you clean her up.'\n\n'Let me look.' The lank-haired man walked towards me and I brought Serpent-Breath up and lunged her into his throat and I kept pushing her as his blood brightened the dawn, and one small boy screamed in fright before Aldwyn silenced him with a hand, then the boy just watched wide-eyed as the dying man went backwards, hands fumbling at the blade in his torn gullet, and his bowels opening to foul the morning with his stench. He went down hard onto the red-slicked stones and I wrenched the blade left and right, opening the savage cut, and pressed again until the blade jarred against his spine. Blood was still pulsing, spurting, but each spurt was smaller, the gurgling noise of his dying fading with each gasping breath, and by the time his twitching stopped my men had crossed the yard and had butchered one guard and captured the other. We had killed two and seized the third without making too much noise, but then some of the smaller children started wailing.\n\n'Quiet!' I snarled at them. They went silent in terror. I glanced up as a movement caught my eye and wondered if it had been the shutter on the small window, which appeared to be open a crack. Had it been like that before? Then a kite launched itself from the high gable and flew westwards. Maybe that bird was all I had seen moving. An omen? Alaina ran and buried herself in Benedetta's skirt. I pulled Serpent-Breath free and wiped her tip on the dead man's jerkin. Aldwyn was grinning at me, excited by the death, but the grin vanished when he saw my glowering face that was spattered by the dead man's blood. 'Finan,' I said, and pointed to the shed.\n\nHe took two men, dragged the door open, and went inside. 'A stable,' he reported a moment later. 'Two horses, nothing else.'\n\n'Take the children in there,' I told Benedetta. 'Shut the door, wait till I send for you.'\n\n'Remember your promise,' she said.\n\n'Promise?'\n\n'To let me kill Gunnald!'\n\nI walked her to the stable. 'I have not forgotten,' I said.\n\n'Make sure he is alive,' she said bitterly, 'when you send for me.'\n\nI looked up. Night was fading and the sky was a dark blue, not a cloud in sight.\n\nThen the dogs started howling."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "So we had been heard. The crying of frightened children had alerted Gunnald's men inside the warehouse and they had loosed dogs that now barked frantically. I heard footsteps, a shouted command, and a woman's yelp of protest. I was standing at the door where the man we had taken captive was pinned against the wall with Vidarr's sword at his throat. 'How many men inside?' I snarled at him.\n\n'Nine inside!' he managed to say despite the blade's pressure.\n\nHe had already been disarmed. I now kicked him hard between the legs and he crumpled, yelping as Vidarr's blade sliced a shallow cut on his chin as he fell. 'Stay there,' I snarled. 'Finan?'\n\n'Lord?' he called from the stable door.\n\n'Nine men left,' I called as I beckoned him.\n\n'And dogs,' he said drily. I heard paws scrabbling furiously on the door's far side.\n\nThe door was barred. I lifted the heavy latch and tried pulling and pushing, but it would not budge. And now, I thought, the men inside would be sending for help from the East Anglians on the bridge. I cursed.\n\nAnd then the door opened. It seemed that the men inside wanted to loose the dogs on us.\n\nTwo dogs came, both big dogs, both black and tan with slavering mouths, both with yellow teeth and matted hair. They leaped at us. The first one tried to take a bite from my belly and got a mouthful of mail instead. Serpent-Breath sliced once, Vidarr cut from my left, then I stepped over the poor dying beast, saw Finan despatch the other, and both of us charged into the huge warehouse. It was dark inside. A spear flashed by my left side and thumped into the doorpost. There were screams.\n\nThe men defending the warehouse had loosed the dogs, and fighting dogs are formidable beasts. They attack savagely, apparently without fear, and though they are easily enough despatched their attack will force men to break ranks, so the skill of using war dogs is to attack at the same time. Let the dogs distract the enemy and, while that enemy is fighting off tooth and claw, hit him with spears and swords.\n\nBut the warehouse defenders thought the dogs could do all the work and, instead of attacking us, they just waited in a line that stretched between two cages. Women were screaming to my right, but I had no time to look because the defenders faced me, men with small shields and long-swords. I could not count them, it was too dim, so I just charged them and bellowed a war cry. 'Bebbanburg!'\n\nI teach my young warriors that caution is a virtue in warfare. There is always the temptation to attack blindly, to go screaming at the enemy's shield wall and hope that sheer anger and savagery will break it. That temptation comes from fear and sometimes the best way to overcome fear is to shriek a war cry, charge and kill, but the enemy is likely to have the same impulse and the same fear. He will kill too. Given a choice I would rather be attacked by men maddened by fear than make the attack myself. Men in a rage, men acting on mindless impulse, will fight like wolves, yet sword-skill and discipline will almost always beat them.\n\nYet here I was, screaming a war cry and charging straight at a group of men who blocked the whole width of the passage between the cages. They had not made a shield wall, their shields were too small and merely meant to parry a blow, but they were a wall of swords. But they were also a slaver's guards, which meant they were paid to keep order, paid to frighten, and paid to use their whips on helpless victims. They were not paid to face Northumbrian warriors. Some, I was sure, had seen service in the shield wall. They had learned their skills, they had beaten down an enemy's shield, they had killed and they had survived, but since then I doubted they had practised as my men practised. They no longer spent hours with heavy swords and shields because their enemies were unarmed slaves, many of them women and children. The worst they expected was a truculent man who could easily be cudgelled senseless. Now they faced warriors; my warriors.\n\nFinan was beside me, shouting in his own language, while Beornoth was to my left. 'Bebbanburg!' I bellowed again, and doubtless it meant nothing to them, but they saw warriors in mail and helmets, warriors who seemed fearless in the fight, warriors who screamed for their deaths, warriors who killed.\n\nI was running towards a man in a leather jerkin, a man as tall as I was with a stubby black beard and a sword held like a spear. He took a pace backwards as we came near, but still held the sword straight in front of him. Did he hope I would impale myself? Instead I cuffed his blade aside with my mail-clad left arm and sank Serpent-Breath in his belly as I smelled the stink of his breath. He was big, but I threw him backwards into the man behind, and to my right a man was screaming because Finan's quick sword had taken his eyes and Beornoth was beside me, blade red, and I twisted to my right, dragged my blade free of the falling man and stepped into the next man, who carried a seax. My mail stopped his blade. He pushed, but he was already stepping back in terror and his thrust had no power. He began to whimper, tried to shake his head, and perhaps he was trying to surrender, but I slammed my helmeted head into his face, the whimper turned to a grunt, then his eyes opened wide as Beornoth's blade took him in the ribs. They were the eyes of a man about to sink into the torments of hell. He fell, I took one more step and I was behind the makeshift line of enemies, ahead of me was an open door beyond which sunlight glittered on water and on the ship we needed. I turned back, still shouting, and dragged Serpent-Breath's hungry edge across a man's neck and suddenly there were no enemies, just men shouting for mercy, men twitching in agony, men dying, blood on the stone floor, and one heavy man fleeing in panic up a stairway that was built beside the women's cage.\n\nWe are warriors.\n\n'Gerbruht!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Fetch Benedetta and the children.'\n\nWe had faced nine men, I counted them. Five were dead or dying, three were on their knees, and one had fled upstairs. Women were crying with fear behind the bars on one side, there were men cowering in the gloom on the other. 'Beornoth!' I pointed to the three men on their knees. 'Bring the bugger we captured in the yard to join those three, strip them all of their mail, lock them up and see if any of the slaves want to be rowers!'\n\nI had been given a mere glimpse of the man who had fled up the stairway. A big man, not big like Beornoth or Folcbald who were tall and muscled, but fat. I had glimpsed him panicking, scrambling up the stairs, his footsteps thumping loudly, and now I followed with Serpent-Breath naked in my hand.\n\nThe stairs must have been built by the Romans because the first few steps were stone, though above those neat masonry steps was a more recent wooden flight that led to a small landing where dust motes danced. I climbed slowly. There was no noise from the upper floors. I assumed the fat man, whoever he was, would be waiting for me. Finan joined me and the two of us crept up the wooden flight, flinching when the timber creaked. 'One man,' I whispered.\n\nAn open doorway hung with a thick woollen curtain opened to the right of the small landing. I suspected that as soon as I stepped onto that landing a spear would be thrust through the wool, so I reached up with Serpent-Breath and edged it aside. There was no spear thrust. I edged the curtain further aside and heard a stifled whimper. There were more heavy footsteps, suggesting that the fat man was climbing yet more stairs.\n\n'Gunnald?' Finan suggested.\n\n'I suspect so.' I said, no longer trying to be quiet. I took the last step and ripped the curtain down. There was a gasp, a scream, and I saw another cage, which held three women who watched me with eyes wide with terror. I put a finger to my lips and they crouched silent, their eyes going to another wooden stairway that led to the top floor. 'Gunnald!' I shouted.\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n'Gunnald! I came here to keep a promise!' I climbed the stairs, deliberately heavy-footed. 'You hear me, Gunnald?'\n\nThere was still no answer, just a scuffling sound deep in the attic. This last floor was built under the roof. Beams crossed it. There was little light, but as I reached the top I saw the fat man standing at the far end. He had a sword in his hand. He was shaking. I had rarely seen a man so frightened.\n\nFinan went past me and pushed open the small shutter I had seen from the courtyard, and in the new light I saw heavy timber chests and a sturdy wooden bed heaped with furs. There was a girl half-hidden in the bed, watching us fearfully. 'Gunnald?' I asked the man. 'Gunnald Gunnaldson?'\n\n'Yes,' he said scarce above a whisper.\n\n'I'd drop the sword,' I said, 'unless you want to fight me?'\n\nHe shook his head, but still gripped the weapon.\n\n'My name,' I said, 'is Uhtred, son of Uhtred, Lord of Bebbanburg.'\n\nThe sword fell from a nerveless hand, clattering on the wooden floor. Gunnald followed it, dropping to his knees and holding clasped hands towards me. 'Lord!'\n\nThere was a second shuttered window in the gable facing the river. I walked past the kneeling man and pushed the shutter open to let more light into the room. 'I don't like slave-traders,' I said mildly as I went back to Gunnald.\n\n'Many don't, lord,' he whispered.\n\n'Is she a slave?' I asked, pointing Serpent-Breath at the girl in the bed.\n\n'Yes, lord,' Gunnald's whisper was scarcely audible.\n\n'Not any longer,' I said. Gunnald said nothing. He was still shaking. I saw a robe or gown on the floor, a threadbare thing of linen. I picked it up with Serpent-Breath's bloodied tip and tossed it to the girl. 'Do you remember a slave-trader called Halfdan?' I asked Gunnald. He hesitated, perhaps surprised at the question. His face was round, his eyes small, and his beard too scanty to cover his thick jowls. His hair was thinning. He wore a mail coat, but too small, so he had ripped the sides upward so the mail would cover his belly. A big belly. 'We don't see many fat people,' I said, 'isn't that right, Finan?'\n\n'A few monks,' Finan said, 'and a bishop or two.'\n\n'You must eat plenty,' I told Gunnald, 'to get a belly like that. Your slaves are all thin.'\n\n'I feed them well, lord,' he muttered.\n\n'You do?' I asked with pretended surprise.\n\n'Meat, lord. They eat meat.'\n\n'Are you telling me you treat your slaves with kindness?' I asked. I crouched in front of him and let Serpent-Breath's tip rest on the floor by his knees. He stared at the blade. 'Well?' I prompted him.\n\n'A contented slave is a healthy slave, lord,' Gunnald managed to say, his eyes on the blade's drying blood.\n\n'So you do treat them well?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'So that girl wasn't forced to your bed?'\n\n'No, lord,' and again his whisper was almost inaudible.\n\nI stood. 'You'll think I'm a strange man, Gunnald,' I said, 'because I don't like seeing women beaten or raped. You think that's strange?' He just looked at me, then lowered his eyes again. 'Halfdan treated women badly,' I said. 'Do you remember Halfdan?'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he whispered.\n\n'Tell me about him.'\n\n'Tell you, lord?'\n\n'Tell me about him!' I encouraged him.\n\nHe managed to raise his eyes to me again. 'He had a yard on the other side of the bridge, lord,' he said. 'He did business with my father.'\n\n'He died, yes?'\n\n'Halfdan, lord?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'He died, lord. He was killed.'\n\n'Killed!' I sounded surprised. 'Who killed him?'\n\n'No one knows, lord.'\n\nI crouched again. 'It was me, Gunnald,' I whispered, 'I killed him.'\n\nThe only answer was a whimper. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and I turned to see Father Oda, Vidarr Leifson and Benedetta come into the attic. Benedetta's hood shadowed her face. Another whimper made me look back to Gunnald who was shivering, and not from the cold. 'You, lord?'\n\n'I killed Halfdan,' I said. 'He was fat too.'\n\nThat killing had been years before and in a riverside yard not unlike Gunnald's. Halfdan had thought I had come to buy slaves and had greeted me with an effusive politeness. I still remember his bald head, his waist-long beard, his false smile, and his swollen belly. Finan had been with me that day, and both of us had been thinking of the months we had been enslaved together, chained to a bench of a slaver's ship, whipped through the ice-cold seas, and kept alive only by the thoughts of revenge. We had seen our fellow oarsmen whipped to death, heard the women sobbing, and seen children dragged screaming to our owner's house. Halfdan had not been responsible for any of that misery, but he had paid for it all the same. Finan had hamstrung Halfdan and I had slit his throat, and that was the day we freed Mehrasa, a dark-skinned girl who came from the lands beyond the Mediterranean. She had married Father Cuthbert and now lived in Bebbanburg. Wyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u00e3r\u00e6d.\n\n'Halfdan,' I still crouched close to the shivering Gunnald, 'liked to rape his slaves. Do you rape your slaves?'\n\nGunnald, terrified, retained enough cunning to understand that I had this strange dislike of slavers raping their own property. 'No, lord,' he lied.\n\n'I can't hear you,' I said, standing again, this time taking his abandoned sword with me.\n\n'No, lord!'\n\n'So you treat your slaves well?'\n\n'Yes, lord. I do, lord!' He sounded frantic now.\n\n'I am glad to hear it,' I said. I tossed Gunnald's sword to Finan, then drew Wasp-Sting and held the seax hilt first towards Benedetta. 'You'll find this easier,' I told her.\n\n'Thank you,' she said.\n\nFather Oda began to say something, then looked at my face and thought better of it. 'One last thing,' I said, and turned back to the kneeling Gunnald. I stood behind him and dragged the ragged mail coat over his head so that all he wore was a thin woollen robe. When the coat was free of his face and he could see again, he gasped because Benedetta had pushed back her hood. He stammered something, then, as he saw the hatred on her face and the blade in her hand, the stammering turned into a moan. 'You two know each other, I think,' I said.\n\nGunnald's mouth still moved, or at least quivered, but no sound came now. Benedetta turned the sword so that the attic's small light glinted on the steel. 'No, lord!' Gunnald managed to say in a panicked voice as he shuffled backwards. I kicked him hard, he went still, then moaned again as his bladder gave way.\n\n'Porco!' Benedetta spat at him.\n\n'Father Oda,' I said, 'come downstairs with us. Vidarr, you stay here.'\n\n'Of course, lord.'\n\n'Don't interfere. Just make sure it's a fair fight.'\n\n'A fair fight, lord?' Vidarr asked, puzzled.\n\n'He's got a cock, she's got a sword. Seems fair to me.' I smiled at Benedetta. 'There's no hurry. We won't leave for a while. Come, Finan! You, girl!' I looked at the bed. 'Are you dressed?' She nodded. 'Then come!'\n\nThere was a coiled whip made of braided leather hanging on a nail driven into the newel post of the stairs. I took it and saw dried blood crusted in the whip's tip. I tossed the whip to Vidarr, then went downstairs.\n\nLeaving Benedetta, Vidarr, and Gunnald in the attic.\n\nAnd Gunnald was screaming before I reached the middle floor.\n\n'The church,' Father Oda said to me when we reached the bottom of the two stairways, 'does not condone slavery, lord.'\n\n'Yet I've known churchmen own slaves.'\n\n'It is not seemly,' he said, 'yet the scriptures do not forbid it.'\n\n'What are you telling me, father?'\n\nHe flinched as another scream sounded, this one more terrible than any that had assaulted our ears as we came downstairs. 'Well done, girl,' Finan muttered.\n\n'Vengeance must belong to God,' Father Oda said, 'and only to God.'\n\n'Your god,' I said harshly.\n\nHe flinched again. 'In his epistle to the Romans,' the priest said, 'Paul tells us to leave revenge to the Lord.'\n\n'The lord took his time revenging Benedetta,' I said.\n\n'And the fat bastard deserves it, father,' Finan put in.\n\n'I don't doubt it, but by encouraging her,' he was looking at me now, 'you have encouraged her to commit a mortal sin.'\n\n'Then you can shrive her,' I said curtly.\n\n'She is a fragile woman,' Oda said, 'and I would not burden her fragility with a sin that separates her from Christ's grace.'\n\n'She's stronger than you think,' I said.\n\n'She is a woman!' he said sternly. 'And women are the weaker vessels. I was at fault,' he paused, plainly disturbed, 'and I should have stopped her. If the man deserved death then it should have been at your hands, not hers.'\n\nHe was right, of course. I did not doubt that Gunnald deserved death for a multitude of crimes, but what I had just unleashed in the slaver's attic was cruel. I had condemned him to a long, terrible, and painful death. I could have satisfied justice with a swift killing, as swift as the one I had given Halfdan so many years before, but I had chosen cruelty instead. Why? Because I knew that choice would please Benedetta. Another scream sounded, faded, grew again. 'It is not seemly,' Father Oda repeated, 'that you have put that woman's mortal soul at risk!' He spoke fervently and I wondered if the Danish priest was attracted to Benedetta and that thought gave me a pulse of jealousy. She was beautiful, undeniably beautiful, but there was a darkness in that beauty and an anger in her soul. I told myself she was ridding herself of that shadow with Wasp-Sting.\n\n'You pray for her, father,' I said dismissively, 'and I'm going to look at the ship that will take us home.' I led Finan into the early sunlight. Gunnald's screams had faded and the loudest noise came from the gulls fighting over a carcass stranded on the mud at the far side of the Temes. A small breeze, too small to be of any use to a sailor, rippled the river. Gunnald, while he still lived, owned two wharves, both protected by walls of wooden staves. His ship was on the left-hand wharf, a long, big-bellied ship, made for distant voyages. She looked heavy. Her timbers were dark, almost pitch-black, and weed was thick at her waterline. A sail was furled on the yard, but its ragged cloth was crusted with bird droppings. I walked down the wharf, then stopped. Finan stopped with me, swore, then began to laugh. 'Taking her to Bebbanburg, are we?' he asked.\n\nThere was water in the ship's wide belly. The dark of her timbers was not pitch, but rot. There were a half-dozen oars, good only for firewood, their looms warped and their blades cracked. A gull screamed at me. I stepped down onto a bench that creaked alarmingly and prodded the hull with Serpent-Breath, and her blade's tip went into the wood as though it were fungus. This ship could not cross the river, let alone take us home to Bebbanburg.\n\nI had captured a wreck.\n\nFinan was grinning. 'It would be quicker to swim to Bebbanburg!'\n\n'We might have to,' I answered sourly. 'It's my fault. I should have sent Oswi to take a look. Not the boy.'\n\n'I think it's aground,' Finan said.\n\nI climbed back to the wharf and gazed across the useless ship at the further berth, which was empty. 'Benedetta said he had two ships.'\n\nFinan followed my gaze and shrugged. 'A second ship isn't much use if it's not here,' he said. I made no answer. 'Maybe he's sent some slaves to Frankia?' Finan suggested. 'They say prices are higher there.'\n\nThat would explain the empty berth. 'How many slaves have we got?'\n\n'A dozen women, four children, and three half-starved young men.'\n\n'I expected more.'\n\n'So maybe his second ship will be back in a day or two!'\n\n'Maybe,' I grunted. I looked beyond the empty wharf and saw there were four guards watching us from the high parapet of the bridge that was a long bowshot away. I waved to them, and after a moment's hesitation, one waved back. I doubted they had heard the commotion as we captured the yard, and though they could probably hear Gunnald's desperate shrieks of pain they would surely not think such sounds unusual coming from a slaver's warehouse.\n\n'So what do we do?' Finan asked.\n\n'We think,' I said sharply, but in truth I had no idea what we should do. My father, I thought, had been right. I was impetuous. I had been goaded by the attacks on my ships and, with the excuse of my oath to \u00c6thelstan, I had come south thinking to find \u00c6thelhelm and kill him. Now Spearhafoc was gone and I was trapped in an enemy-held city. 'We wait for the second ship, I suppose. A pity we can't ask Gunnald where it is.'\n\n'We can ask his men, they'll know.'\n\nBenedetta was coming down the wharf, her hood still pushed back so that the sun glinted on her long dark hair that had come loose. To my eyes she looked like a Valkyrie, one of the messengers of the gods who take slain warriors to the feast hall in Valhalla. She was unsmiling, blood had splashed onto her grey robe, while Wasp-Sting was coated to the hilt with gore. I looked quickly up to the bridge parapet, wondering what the guards would make of a blood-covered blade, but they had all turned their backs. 'I will wash it for you, lord,' Benedetta said, showing me the sword.\n\n'Give it to one of the boys to wash,' I said. 'Tell Aldwyn to scrub it.'\n\n'And thank you, lord.'\n\nI looked into her grey-green eyes. 'Father Oda says I encouraged you to commit a sin.'\n\n'That is what I am thanking you for, lord.'\n\n'Did you make the bastard suffer?' Finan asked.\n\n'They will have heard his screams in hell,' she said.\n\n'Then you did well, so you did!' the Irishman said happily.\n\n'I did what I have dreamed of doing for over twenty years. I am happy.' She turned to look into the wreckage. 'Is this the boat?'\n\n'No,' I said.\n\n'That is good,' she said gravely, making both Finan and me laugh.\n\n'It's not funny,' Finan said.\n\n'It's not,' I agreed, still laughing.\n\nThen someone began hammering on the outer gate, and a moment later Aldwyn came running. 'Lord, lord! There are soldiers outside! Soldiers!'\n\n'God help us,' Finan said.\n\nSomeone had to.\n\nThe hammering started again. I had run through the warehouse and into the yard where I opened the small hatch in the gate. Two soldiers only, both wearing mail and both looking bored, and with them were two men, evidently servants who were standing by a handcart that was loaded with two barrels. 'I'm opening the gate!' I called.\n\n'Take your time!' one of the mailed men answered sourly.\n\nFinan and Vidarr were with me. There were also two dead men and two slaughtered dogs sprawled on the stones. I pointed at them, then at the stable, and Finan took one corpse, Vidarr the other, and began dragging them out of sight.\n\n'Hurry!' a voice called from beyond the gate.\n\n'I'm hurrying!' I called, and lifted the first locking bar. I dropped it noisily and saw Vidarr was dragging the dogs into the stable. I lifted the other bar, taking my time, waiting till Finan had closed the stable, then I pulled open the gates.\n\nOne of the two men I had supposed were servants took a backward step, evidently surprised by my appearance. 'Who are you?' he asked.\n\n'Who are you?' I responded harshly.\n\n'I am the under-steward from the palace,' he answered nervously, 'delivering the supplies, of course. But where's \u00c6lfrin?'\n\n'Sick,' I said, suddenly realising that I was wearing my hammer amulet openly. The man who was questioning me saw it too and looked back to my eyes warily.\n\n'Sick?'\n\n'Fever.'\n\n'Most of the lads are sweating like pigs,' Finan added to my story, 'and the slaves too. A couple of them are already dead.'\n\nThe man took another backwards step, as did the two soldiers. Both of the mailed men looked strong and confident, but even the most confident warrior who had experienced the hell of shield walls feared the plague. Finan feared it too and, doubtless remembering the rumours of sickness in the north, made the sign of the cross.\n\n'Did Lord Varin send you?' I asked.\n\n'Of course,' the under-steward said. 'We couldn't send any in the last two weeks because the pretty boy's men were in charge, but things are normal again now.'\n\n'For Christ's sake, hurry,' one of the soldiers growled.\n\n'So Gunnald hired you?' the under-steward asked me.\n\nI gestured towards the warehouse. 'Go and ask him.'\n\n'He's sweating too,' Finan said, 'God preserve him.'\n\n'Four shillings,' the man said, evidently tired of the conversation. He beckoned at the handcart. 'Just pay and take the barrels.'\n\n'I thought it was just two?' Finan had the wit to bargain. 'Gunnald said two shillings.'\n\nOne of the soldiers stepped towards us. 'Four shillings,' he snarled. 'They hired the two of us to keep your damned food safe, so the price has gone up. Four shillings.'\n\nI felt into my rapidly diminishing pouch, gave the under-steward four shillings, and helped Finan and Vidarr carry the two barrels into the yard. They stank.\n\n'Next week!' the under-steward said. He gave a shilling each to the two soldiers, kept two for himself, then all four walked away.\n\nI closed and barred the gates. 'What was that about?' I asked.\n\nFinan made a noise of disgust. He had levered the lid from one barrel that was two thirds full of cloudy ale. He dipped a finger and tasted. 'Sour,' he said, 'tastes worse than badger piss.'\n\n'You'd know?' Vidarr asked.\n\nFinan ignored that, opening the second barrel and recoiling as the stench in the yard worsened. 'Sweet Jesus! We paid silver for this?'\n\nI crossed to the two barrels and saw that the second one was half full of meat, which I thought was pork, though this pork was riddled with rancid fat and crawling with maggots. 'Gunnald did say he fed them meat,' I muttered.\n\n'Is that tree bark?' Finan was bending over the barrel and poking the rotten meat with a finger. 'The bastards mixed this with bark!'\n\nI rammed the lid back into place. 'Where do they get this filth?'\n\nThe answer was given by one of the captured guards who told us that Gunnald had an arrangement with the palace steward who sold unused ale and food to feed the slaves. 'The women cook it in the kitchen,' he said.\n\n'They won't cook that,' I said and ordered the barrel's contents to be pitched into the river. The captured guard told us more, that Gunnald's son had taken slaves to Frankia and that the ship had been gone now for three days. 'Did he go to buy slaves too?' I asked.\n\n'Just to sell them, lord.' The captured man's name was Deogol. He was younger than the other three captives and eager to please. He was a West Saxon who had lost a hand fighting when Edward had invaded East Anglia. 'I couldn't work at home,' he had explained, lifting the stump of his right arm, 'and Gunnald gave me work. A man has to eat.'\n\n'So Gunnald's son is selling slaves?'\n\n'War isn't good for trade, lord, that's what they say. Prices are low in Lundene so he's selling the best across the water. All except for \u2026' he paused, decided to say nothing, but I saw him glance to where the stairs began.\n\n'Except for the girls who were upstairs?' I asked.\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Why isn't he selling those? They look valuable to me.'\n\n'They're his girls, lord,' Deogol said miserably. 'His father's girls really, but they share them.'\n\n'Gunnald Gunnaldson and his son?' I asked, and Deogol just nodded. 'What's the son's name?'\n\n'Lyfing, lord.'\n\n'Where's his mother?'\n\n'Dead, lord.'\n\n'And who rows his ship?'\n\n'Slaves, lord,'\n\n'How many?'\n\n'Just twenty oars,' Deogol said, 'ten a side.'\n\n'So a small ship?'\n\n'But it's fast,' he said. 'That old one,' he jerked his head towards the wreck on the wharf, 'needed twice as many men and she was always a pig.'\n\nSo Gunnald had bought a smaller, lighter vessel that needed fewer men on the oars and, if our captive was right, was fast enough to escape most Frisian or Danish raiders looking for easy prey. And that lighter ship might return any day, but meanwhile I had nineteen freed slaves, four captive guards, a dozen children, my seven men, a priest, Benedetta, and the two horses in the stable to feed. Luckily there were a dozen sacks of oats in the kitchen, a mound of firewood, a stone hearth that still had glowing embers, and a great cauldron. We would not starve. 'But it's a pity about the mouse droppings,' Finan said, looking at a handful of oats.\n\n'We've eaten worse.'\n\nBenedetta, the bloodstains dry on her gown, found her way to the kitchen that was a grimy shed built alongside the wharf. She brought Alaina, an arm around the girl's shoulder. 'She's hungry.'\n\n'We'll boil some oats,' I said.\n\n'I can make oatcakes,' Alaina said brightly.\n\n'Then we need some lard,' Benedetta said, starting to hunt through boxes and jars stored on a shelf, 'and some water. Salt, if there is any. Help me search!'\n\n'I like oatcakes,' Alaina said.\n\nI looked at Benedetta questioningly and she smiled. 'Alaina's doing well,' she said, 'she's a good girl.'\n\n'And you'll find my mama?' Alaina asked me earnestly.\n\n'Of course he will!' Benedetta answered for me. 'Lord Uhtred can do anything!'\n\nLord Uhtred, I thought, would need a miracle to find the child's mother, let alone escape from Lundene, but for the moment all I could do was wait for the slave ship to return. I ordered the dead bodies brought to the wharf and heaped against the western wall where they were hidden from any inquisitive guard on the bridge. The dead would all be tipped into the river after dark. Gunnald's fat, pale, and blood-streaked corpse was dragged down the stairs, his grimacing eyeless head bumping on each step. I searched his attic lair and found a sturdy box full of money. There were West Saxon and Mercian shillings, Danish hacksilver, and Northumbrian gold, besides Frisian, Frankish, and other strange coins, some inscribed with letters of an alphabet and language I had never seen before. 'These are from Africa,' Benedetta told me, fingering a big round silver piece. 'They are Saraceni coins. We used them in Lupiae.' She put it back with the rest of the money. 'How safe are we?' she asked.\n\n'Safe enough,' I said, trying to reassure her and hoping I told the truth. 'The East Anglians will think we all escaped on Spearhafoc. They won't be searching for us.'\n\n'And Spearhafoc,' she stumbled over the unfamiliar name, 'is where?'\n\n'Well on her way home by now, I hope.'\n\n'And will your people send help?'\n\n'They won't even know whether we're alive,' I said, 'so if they've any sense they'll shut the fortress doors, guard the ramparts, and wait for news. That's what I'd do.'\n\n'And what do we do?'\n\n'We capture Gunnald's second ship,' I said, 'and follow Spearhafoc home.'\n\n'So we stay here till then?'\n\n'Better that than the cellar next to the cesspit.'\n\n'Lord!' Beornoth called from the foot of the stairs. 'You'll want to see this!'\n\nI went back down to the wharf and followed Beornoth to the end of the westernmost pier where Finan was waiting. The Irishman jerked his head downstream. 'Enough of the bastards,' he said.\n\nFour ships were being rowed upriver. They looked to be Saxon ships, big and heavy, and all four had crosses on their prows. The tide was ebbing, which made the water seethe through the spaces between the bridge piers, but none of these ships was trying to go upstream because all four had masts crossed by spars on which sails were furled and none of their crews was trying to lower those masts. They began to turn towards the downstream wharves, their oarsmen struggling against tide and current, and as they turned I saw the ships' big bellies were crammed with men and many of those men wore the dark red cloak that was \u00c6thelhelm's mark. 'The reinforcements,' I said bleakly.\n\n'Enough of the bastards,' Finan said again.\n\nMy only consolation as I watched my enemy bringing more men to the city was that Spearhafoc was not being towed or rowed with them. Not that four such heavily-loaded ships would have had a chance of outrunning and capturing my ship, but it suggested Berg and his crew had slipped past them and were on their way north. That thought made me wonder about Bebbanburg and the rumours of plague. I touched my hammer amulet and said a prayer to the gods that my son was safe, that his prisoners were securely held, and that Eadgifu and her children would not sicken. I had saved her sons from \u00c6thelhelm's spite, but had I sent them instead to an agonising death from the plague?\n\n'What are you thinking?' Finan had seen me touch the hammer.\n\n'That we hide here,' I said, 'we wait, and then we go home.'\n\nHome, I thought wistfully. I should never have left it.\n\nAll we could do was wait. The ship commanded by Gunnald's son could return at any moment which meant I had to have men watching on the wharf, and other men guarding the courtyard gate, and still others in the warehouse where we had chained the captured guards in one of the slave pens. The slaves themselves were neither chained nor penned, but forbidden to leave because I dared not risk one of them betraying our presence.\n\nWe had tipped the naked corpses into the river at night. The falling tide and the current would have taken them eastwards, though I did not doubt the bodies would be stranded on a mudbank long before they reached the distant sea. No one would take note. There would be enough corpses this summer as men struggled to take the throne of Wessex.\n\nMore ships brought more men to Lundene. They brought reinforcements for Jarl Varin, who still commanded the garrison on \u00c6thelhelm's behalf. We knew that because after two days there was a proclamation bellowed throughout the old city that folk could walk safely after dark and, despite Finan's dour warning, I went that night to a big riverside alehouse called Wulfred's Tavern, though everyone called it the Dead Dane because a falling tide had once revealed a Danish warrior impaled on one of the rotting stakes of an old wharf. For years the dead man's hand had been nailed to one of the tavern's doorposts and everyone who entered would touch a finger. The hand had long gone, though a crude picture of a corpse still decorated the sign hanging above the door. I pushed inside, followed by Father Oda and Benedetta.\n\nOda had suggested he accompany me. 'A priest commands respect,' he had claimed, 'not suspicion. And Benedetta should come too, as my wife.'\n\nI had almost bridled when he spoke of Benedetta as his wife, but had the sense to hide my irritation. 'It's not safe for women,' I said.\n\n'Women have walked the streets all day,' Oda said calmly.\n\n'Benedetta should stay here,' I insisted.\n\n'The East Anglians,' Oda said patiently, 'must suspect there are fugitives still hiding in the city. They will be looking for young men, not for a priest and his wife. You want news, yes? So let us come. Strangers will trust a priest.'\n\n'Suppose you're recognised?'\n\nHe had shaken his head. 'I left East Anglia as a beardless youth. No one will know me now.'\n\nI was swathed in a big, dark cloak. I had ransacked both Gunnald's attic and the room beneath where his son lived, and discovered the cloak with its hood. I wore it and belted the cloak with a length of rope, then borrowed a wooden cross from Gerbruht and hung it around my neck. I carried no sword, only a knife concealed beneath the big cloak. 'You look like a monk,' Finan had said.\n\n'Bless you, my son.'\n\nWe found a table in a dark corner of the tavern. The room was almost full. There were some local people, women as well as men, sitting at tables to one side of the large room, but most of the customers were troops, almost all wearing swords, who watched us with curiosity, but looked smartly away when Father Oda sketched the sign of the cross towards them. They were here to drink, not to hear a sermon. Some were here for more than a drink and climbed the wooden staircase that led to the rooms where the tavern's whores did their trade. Everyone who climbed the stairs received a chorus of cheers and jeers from their companions, raucous sounds that earned frowns from Father Oda, though he said nothing.\n\n'The men going upstairs\u2014' Benedetta began.\n\n'Yes,' Oda said curtly.\n\n'They're young men,' I said, 'far from home.'\n\nA drab girl came to our table and we asked for ale, bread, and cheese. 'Is Wulfred still alive?' I asked her.\n\nShe peered at me, seeing nothing under the deep shadow of my hood. 'He died, father,' she said, evidently mistaking me for another priest.\n\n'Pity,' I said.\n\nThe girl shrugged. 'I'll bring you a rushlight,' she said.\n\nI made the sign of the cross towards her. 'Bless you, my child,' I said, and earned a disapproving intake of breath from Oda.\n\nThe East Anglians began singing as the evening wore on. The first song was in Danish, a lament by seafarers for the women they had left behind, but then the Saxons in the alehouse drowned the Danes with an old song that was plainly intended for our ears, and Father Oda, hearing the words, frowned into his ale. Benedetta took longer to understand, then gazed at me wide-eyed. 'It's called the \"Tanner's Wife\",' I said, beating my hand on the table in time with the song.\n\n'But the song is about a priest?' Benedetta asked. 'No?'\n\n'Yes,' Father Oda hissed.\n\n'It's about a tanner's wife and a priest,' I said. 'She goes to him for confession and he says he doesn't understand what she's confessing so he tells her to show him.'\n\n'To do it with him, you mean?'\n\n'To do it with him,' I said, and to my surprise she laughed.\n\n'I thought we were here to learn news,' Father Oda growled at me.\n\n'The news will come to us,' I said, and sure enough a moment later, when the rowdy troops had moved to a new song, a middle-aged man with a cropped grey beard brought an ale-jug and a beaker to our table. He wore a sword with a well-worn hilt and had a slight limp that suggested a spear-thrust taken in a shield wall. He looked quizzically at Father Oda, who nodded permission, and the man sat on a bench opposite me. 'I apologise for that song, father.'\n\nOda smiled. 'I have been with soldiers before, my son.'\n\nThe man, who looked old enough to be Oda's father, raised his beaker. 'Then your good health, father,' he said.\n\n'I pray God it is good,' Oda answered carefully, 'and yours too.'\n\n'You're Danish?' the man asked.\n\n'I am Danish,' Oda confirmed.\n\n'Me too. Jorund,' he introduced himself.\n\n'I am Father Oda, this is my wife and my uncle.' Oda was speaking Danish now.\n\n'What brings you to Lundene?' Jorund asked. He was friendly, with no suspicion in his voice, but I did not doubt that the East Anglians had been warned to look for enemies in the city, but, just as Oda had claimed, a priest and his wife looked the most unlikely of enemies and Jorund seemed merely curious.\n\n'We seek a ship to carry us across the sea,' Oda said.\n\n'We are going to Rome,' I put in, telling the tale we had agreed on.\n\n'We are pilgrims,' Oda explained. 'My wife ails.' He reached out and put a hand over Benedetta's hand. 'We seek the blessing of the Holy Father.'\n\n'I'm sorry for your wife, father,' Jorund said sincerely and, watching the priest's hand, I felt another pulse of jealousy. I looked at Benedetta and she looked back, her eyes sad, and for a moment we held each other's gaze. 'It's a long way you have to travel,' Jorund went on.\n\n'A long journey indeed, my son,' Oda answered, looking suddenly startled because Benedetta had drawn her hand sharply away. 'We seek a ship here,' the priest went on, 'to cross to Frankia.'\n\n'There are plenty of ships,' Jorund said, 'I wish there weren't.'\n\n'Why?' Father Oda asked.\n\n'That's our job. Searching them before they leave.'\n\n'Searching them?'\n\n'To make sure no enemy escapes.'\n\n'Enemy?' Father Oda pretended surprise.\n\nJorund took a long drink of his ale. 'There was a rumour, father, that Uhtred\u00e6rwe was in Lundene. You know who he is?'\n\n'Everyone knows.'\n\n'Then you know that they don't want him as an enemy. So find him, they tell us, find him and capture him.'\n\n'And kill him?' I asked.\n\nJorund shrugged. 'Someone will kill him, but I doubt it will be us. He's not here. Why would he be here? It's just a rumour. There's a war coming and that always means rumours.'\n\n'Isn't there already a war?' Father Oda asked. 'There was fighting here, I'm told.'\n\n'There's always fighting,' Jorund said morosely. 'I mean a proper war, father, a war of shield walls and armies. And it shouldn't be, it shouldn't be.'\n\n'Shouldn't be?' Oda enquired gently.\n\n'It's not so far off harvest time, father. We shouldn't be here, not now. We should be at home, sharpening sickles. There's real work to be done! Wheat, barley, and rye don't harvest themselves!'\n\nThe mention of barley made me touch my hammer, only to find the wooden cross. 'You were summoned here?' I asked.\n\n'By a Saxon lord,' Jorund said, 'who won't wait for harvest.'\n\n'Lord \u00c6thelhelm?'\n\n'Coenwald,' Jorund said, 'but he holds land from \u00c6thelhelm so yes, it's \u00c6thelhelm who summoned us and Coenwald has to obey.' He paused to pour ale from the jug.\n\n'And Coenwald summoned you?' I asked.\n\n'Didn't have much choice did he? Harvest or no harvest.'\n\n'Did you have a choice?' Oda asked.\n\nJorund shrugged. 'We swore fealty to Coenwald when we converted.' He paused, perhaps reflecting on how the Danish settlers of East Anglia had lost their war to keep a Danish king. 'We fought against him and we lost, but he let us live, he let us keep our land and he lets us thrive, so now we have to fight for him.' He shrugged. 'Maybe it'll all be over by harvest.'\n\n'I pray so,' Oda said quietly.\n\n'Maybe there'll be no war?' I suggested.\n\n'When two men want one chair?' Jorund asked scathingly. 'Good men will have to die just to decide which royal arse warms the damned thing.' He turned as angry voices sounded, then a woman's shriek made me shiver. 'Oh god,' he groaned.\n\nThe angry shouts had come from the upper floor. There was a yelp and then a man was hurled down the stairs. He was a young man who crashed against the steps, bounced and collapsed on the floor. He did not move. Men stood, either to help him or to protest against the violence, but then all of them went very still.\n\nThey went still because a man was coming down the stairs. A big man. The first we saw were his boots, then massive thighs, and then he came into view, and I saw it was Waormund. He was bare chested, his clothes over his arm. He carried a sword belt with a sheathed sword; a big blade for a big man. There was not a sound in the tavern except for those heavy boots on the stairs. He paused after a few steps and his harsh face, blank-eyed and scarred, looked around the room. Benedetta gasped, and I put my hand over hers, warning her to keep silent.\n\n'Scum!' Waormund snarled at the room. 'Little Danish bastard thought to use my woman. Told me to hurry! Anyone else in a hurry to use her?' He waited, but no one made a sound. He was terrifying; the width of that muscled chest, the sneer on his face, and the size of the heavy sword had cowed the room into submission. Benedetta was clutching my hand beneath the table now, her grip tight.\n\nWaormund came down the last steps. He paused again, looking down at the youngster who had offended him. Then, very deliberately, he kicked him. Kicked him again and again. There was a yelp from the boy, then no sound except for Waormund's massive boot crashing into the prone body. 'East Anglian pussies!' Waormund snarled. He looked around the tavern again, plainly hoping someone would defy him, but still no one spoke or moved. He looked at our corner, but just saw two hooded people and a priest. The rushlight was weak, the room shadowed, and he ignored us. 'Danish god-damned pussies!' He was still trying to provoke a fight, but when no one responded he picked an ale pot from the closest table, drained it, and stalked into the night.\n\nBenedetta was crying softly. 'I hate him,' she whispered, 'I hate him.'\n\nI held onto her hand beneath the table. Men were helping the fallen youth and conversation was starting again, but subdued now. Jorund, who had stood when the boy was thrown down the stairs, had gone to see what damage had been done and came back a moment later. 'Poor boy. Broken ribs, crushed balls, lost half his teeth, and he'll be lucky to keep an eye.' He sat and drank some ale. 'I hate that man,' he added bitterly.\n\n'Who is he?' I asked.\n\n'Bastard called Waormund. Lord \u00c6thelhelm's mastiff.'\n\n'And it seems he doesn't like Danes,' I said mildly.\n\n'Danes!' Jorund said wryly. 'He doesn't like anyone! Saxon or Dane.'\n\n'And you?' Father Oda asked. 'You fought against the Saxons, yet now you fight alongside them?'\n\nJorund chuckled. 'Saxon and Dane! It's a forced marriage, father. Most of my lads are Saxons, but maybe a third are Danes, and I'm always having to stop the silly bastards from hammering each other senseless. But that's young men, isn't it?'\n\n'You lead men?' I asked, surprised.\n\n'I do.'\n\n'A Dane leading Saxons?' I explained my surprise.\n\n'The world changes, doesn't it?' Jorund sounded amused. 'Coenwald could have taken my land, but he didn't, and he knows I'm the most experienced of all his warriors.' He turned to look at the room. 'And most of those lads need experience. They've never seen a proper fight. God help them, they think it's a tavern brawl with spears. Still, I hope to lead every last one of them home, and soon!'\n\nJorund was a good man, I thought, yet fate, that most capricious bitch, might demand that I face him in a shield wall one day. 'I hope you lead them home very soon,' I said, 'and that you gather your harvest in safely.'\n\n'I pray the same,' Jorund said. 'And I pray never to see another shield wall as long as I live. But if it is to be a real war then it won't take long.'\n\n'It won't?' I asked.\n\n'It's us and the West Saxons against the Mercians. Two against one, see?'\n\n'Maybe the Northumbrians will fight alongside the Mercians,' I suggested mischievously.\n\n'They'll not come south,' Jorund said scornfully.\n\n'Yet you say there's a rumour that Uhtred of Bebbanburg is already here,' I said.\n\n'If he was here,' Jorund said flatly, 'he'd have his army of northern savages with him. Besides, there's plague up north.' He made the sign of the cross. 'We hear tales,' he went on, 'and they say Jorvik is a city of corpses.'\n\n'Jorvik!' I asked, unable to keep the alarm from my voice.\n\n'So they say,' Jorund said.\n\nI felt a cold shiver. My hand went to touch my hammer amulet and again found Gerbruht's wooden cross. Father Oda saw the gesture. 'I pray God that's just another rumour,' the priest said too hurriedly. 'You leave the city soon?' he asked Jorund, evidently trying to move the conversation beyond the fear of plague.\n\n'God knows, father,' Jorund said, 'and God isn't telling me. We stay here, or maybe we don't stay here. Maybe the Mercian lad will make trouble, and maybe he won't. He won't if he has any sense.' He poured the last of the jug's ale into our beakers. 'But I didn't come to bore you with talk of war, father,' he said, 'but wondered if you'd be kind enough to give us a blessing?'\n\n'With pleasure, my son,' Father Oda said.\n\n'I hope you recover, mistress,' Jorund said to Benedetta. She had not understood the conversation in Danish, but smiled her thanks to Jorund, who now called the room to silence.\n\nFather Oda gave the blessing, enjoining his god to bring peace and to spare the lives of all the men in the tavern. Jorund thanked him and we left, walking the riverside street in silence for a while. 'So they're searching all the ships that leave,' Oda said.\n\n'But they don't have men in Gunnald's yard,' I said. 'Once we get the new ship we'll leave at dawn, hope for an ebbing tide and row hard.' I made it sound easy, but I knew better and again went to touch my hammer and found the cross.\n\nWe walked a few paces more, then Father Oda chuckled. 'What?' I asked.\n\n'Northern savages,' he said, amused.\n\nWas that our reputation? If so, it pleased me. But the northern savages, or a handful of them, were trapped, and our savagery would win us nothing unless we managed to escape. We needed a ship.\n\nAnd next morning she came."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Field of Barley",
                "text": "It was late morning and Immar was standing as sentry on the western wharf, or rather he was sitting in the summer sunlight on the western wharf with a pot of sour ale and with two small boys, both from Aldwyn's tribe of orphans, sitting at his feet and listening awestruck to whatever tall tales he told them. Immar was a young Mercian whom I had saved from being hanged the previous year, though he had been forced to watch his father dancing the rope-death on my orders. Despite that experience he had sworn loyalty to me and now wore mail and carried a sword. He had learned his sword-skill remarkably quickly and had proved to be a ferocious fighter on two cattle raids, but he had yet to be tested in a shield wall. Still, the two small boys were captivated by his stories, as was Alaina who had wandered to join them and now listened just as keenly.\n\n'Nice little girl,' Finan said.\n\n'She is,' I agreed. Finan and I were sharing a bench on the landward wharf, watching Immar and idly discussing the chances of having a west wind instead of the persistent but gentle south-easterly that had blown all night and morning.\n\n'You think her mother is alive?' Finan asked, nodding towards Alaina.\n\n'Mother's more likely to be alive than her father.'\n\n'True,' he allowed, 'poor woman.' He took a bite of an oatcake. 'Be nice for Alaina if we could find her.'\n\n'It would,' I agreed. 'But she's a tough little girl. She'll survive.'\n\n'She made these oatcakes?'\n\n'She did.'\n\n'They're horrible,' Finan said, throwing the rest of his oatcake into the river.\n\n'It's the mouse shit in the oats,' I pointed out.\n\n'We need better food,' Finan grumbled.\n\n'What about those two horses in the stable?' I suggested.\n\n'They don't mind eating mouse crap. It's probably the best food they've had in years! Poor beasts. They need a month or two on good pasture.'\n\n'I don't mean that,' I said, 'I mean why don't we kill the two beasts, skin them, butcher them, and stew them?'\n\nFinan looked at me aghast. 'Eat them?'\n\n'Must be enough meat on those two horses to last us a week?'\n\n'You're a barbarian,' Finan said. 'I'll let you persuade Father Oda.'\n\nFather Oda would disapprove of eating horse meat. The church had forbidden its followers to eat the flesh of horses because, the clerics insisted, that flesh only came from pagan sacrifices. In truth we pagans are reluctant to offer Odin a sacrificial horse, the beasts are too valuable, though when times are desperate the gift of a prized stallion might placate the gods. I had made just such sacrifices, though always with regret. 'Father Oda doesn't have to eat the stew,' I pointed out, 'he can live on mouse shit.'\n\n'But I can't,' Finan said firmly, 'I want something decent. There must be fish for sale?'\n\n'Horse meat tastes good,' I insisted. 'Especially an older horse. My father always swore that an older horse's liver was a meal fit for the gods. He once made me kill a foal just so he could taste the liver, and he hated it, and after that he always insisted on an older horse. But you mustn't overcook it, it's best while it's still a bit bloody.'\n\n'Oh, dear God,' Finan said, 'and I thought your father was a Christian.'\n\n'He was, so every time he ate horse liver he added it to the other sins he confessed, and there were enough of those.'\n\n'And you'll find your Benedetta won't eat horse meat,' Finan said slyly, 'she's a good Christian.'\n\n'My Benedetta?' I asked.\n\nHe just chuckled and I thought of Eadith in far-off Bebbanburg. Was there really plague in the north? And if there was, had it reached my fortress? Jorund had heard a rumour that it was ravaging Eoferwic where two of my grandchildren lived with their father, and I touched my hammer amulet and sent a wordless prayer to the gods. Finan saw the gesture. 'Worried?' he asked.\n\n'I should never have left Bebbanburg,' I said.\n\nI knew Finan agreed with me, but he had the decency to say nothing of that. He just stared at the glitter of sunlight on the river, then stiffened and put a hand on my arm. 'What's happening?'\n\nI came out of my reverie and saw Immar was standing and staring downriver. Then Immar turned and, looking at me, pointed eastwards, and I saw a mast, crossed with a yard on which a sail was furled, showing above the eastern palisade. 'Come back!' I shouted at Immar. 'And bring the boys! Alaina! Come!'\n\nWe had planned to present Gunnald's son with a small mystery when he arrived. Usually, the captive guards had told us, there would be at least one man on the wharf to take the arriving ship's lines. 'Lyfing Gunnaldson needs help, lord,' Deogol the one-handed captive had told me. 'He can't handle a ship like his father. And if there's no one on the wharf he sounds a horn and we'll run to help him.'\n\n'And if no one helps him?' I had asked.\n\nDeogol had shrugged. 'He'll get ashore somehow, lord.'\n\nI was insisting that the arriving ship must find the wharf deserted and that no one should help Lyfing Gunnaldson tie up. If he saw strangers on the wharf he would be suspicious, and he would likely draw off until he saw a familiar face, and I dared not risk it. Better to let him think the guards were lazy and let him moor the ship himself.\n\nI was not even sure that the approaching ship was the one we wanted, but she did have a mast, and no ship with a mast could get under the bridge, so any that did come this far upriver were trying to reach one of the very few wharves that lay this close to where the Temes foamed and fell between the bridge piers.\n\nFinan and I went back into the warehouse where Benedetta was playing with the smaller children. Their laughter, I thought, was a rare sound in this grim place and it was a pity to interrupt it. I clapped my hands. 'Everyone be quiet now! Not a sound! Beornoth! If any of those bastards makes a noise you can kill them.' I meant the four captured guards who were shackled inside the smallest cage. Beornoth would keep the captives quiet, while Father Oda and Benedetta would make sure that none of the children or freed slaves made any noise.\n\nFinan and I stood just behind the half-open door that led to the wharf. Five men, all in mail and all with swords, waited behind us. I took a pace forward, still in shadow, and saw the mast coming closer and then the ship's bows came into sight. A small wooden cross was mounted on her prow. The ship was making painfully slow headway against the tide and the fierce current. 'They're tired,' Finan said of the oarsmen.\n\n'They've come a long way.'\n\n'Poor bastards,' he said, remembering our own time chained to the benches when we had hauled on oar looms with calloused hands and tried not to catch the eyes of the men carrying whips. 'But that's our ship,' Finan added grimly.\n\nIt was plainly a slave-driven ship because two men with whips were stalking between the benches. Three more men stood at the stern, where one, a fair-haired man wearing high boots and a white jerkin, handled the steering-oar. The other two crewmen were standing at the prow. One was holding a horn, the other had a looped berthing line. 'Seven men,' Finan said.\n\nI grunted, watching as the ship turned towards the empty wharf. The river was flowing through the bridge arches with violent speed, heaping up on the far side, then churning white as it seethed through the gaps. The speed of the current caught the steersman by surprise and the ship was being swept back downriver. 'Pull, you bastards!' the steersman shouted, and the two men with whips lashed the rowers' backs. They were too late. The ship drifted out of sight behind the wall and it was a minute or two before it came back into view. The slaves were pulling harder now, encouraged by the whips, and the steersman had the sense to aim his prow well upriver of the wharf. 'Pull!' he shouted. 'Pull!' The horn sounded, demanding help, but we stayed in the doorway's deep shadow.\n\nThe whips cracked, the rowers heaved on their long oars, and the ship surged towards the wharf, but even so it was being driven downstream. 'Pull!' the steersman screamed. The oar-blades dipped, they hauled, and the ship came into the gap between the wreck and the empty wharf, but again the steersman had misjudged, and he was now too far from the empty wharf and the current was driving him back towards the wrecked ship. 'Bring in the oars!' he bellowed, not wanting his precious blades splintered against the wreck.\n\nFinan chuckled. The Irishman was no seaman, but he recognised a clumsy display of ship handling when he saw it. The slaving ship drifted and struck, pinned against the wreck, and with no one on the wharf to take the lines. '\u00c6lfrin!' the steersman shouted towards us. '\u00c6lfrin, you lazy bastard! Come here!' \u00c6lfrin, we had learned, had commanded the guards left at the yard and was the first man I had killed. By now his body was somewhere downriver, presumably stranded on a mudbank where the gulls would be feasting on his bloated corpse.\n\nOne man had to struggle across the half sunken wreck, taking the bitter end of a line, then walk around to the empty wharf where he hauled the ship's bow into the western wharf. He tied off the line, then caught a second line hurled from the stern and so pulled the ship into its berth. The oarsmen were slumped on their benches. I could see blood on some backs. My own back still carried the scars.\n\n'\u00c6lfrin!' the steersman bellowed towards us, and again there was no answer. I heard a muttered curse, then the clattering sound of heavy oars being stowed amidships. One of the crewmen was unshackling the rowers on the two benches nearest the prow and I remembered my days on the Trader, the slave-driven ship where Finan and I had been chained to a bench, and how cautious the crew was when it came time to unshackle us. We were released two at a time and escorted by men with whips and swords to whatever hovel would be our home. It seemed Gunnald's son was just as cautious. Another crewman made sure the two berthing lines were well secured, then added a third.\n\n'Let's go,' I said.\n\nI had deliberately waited until the ship was firmly tied to the wharf so it could not back out into the current when the crew saw us. Now, with three lines lashed down, it was too late for them to escape. Nor did they even try. The fair-haired man who had made such a mess of docking the ship just stood at the stern and stared at us. 'Who are you?' he shouted.\n\n'Lord Varin's men,' I called back, strolling down the wharf.\n\n'Who in God's name is Lord Varin?'\n\n'The man who captured the city,' I said, 'welcome to East Anglia.'\n\nThat confused him and he still just gazed at us as we came closer. Our swords were sheathed and we seemed to be in no hurry. 'Where's my father?' he asked, finding his voice again.\n\n'Is he the fat fellow?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'He's somewhere,' I said vaguely. 'What are you carrying?'\n\n'Carrying?'\n\n'What cargo?'\n\n'Nothing.'\n\n'We were told you sold slaves in Frankia. Did you give them away?'\n\n'Of course not!'\n\n'So you got paid?' I asked, standing by the ship's stern.\n\nLyfing Gunnaldson saw where the questions were leading and looked uncomfortable. 'We were paid,' he muttered.\n\n'Then your cargo is money!' I said cheerfully. 'Bring it ashore.'\n\nHe hesitated, looking at his crewmen, but those men were not wearing mail and we were, they had either short-swords or a mariner's knife, and we all carried long blades. Lyfing still hesitated, then he saw me put a hand on Serpent-Breath's hilt and he stepped off the steering platform, reached beneath it, and pulled out a small wooden chest, which, from the effort he needed to lift it, was plainly heavy.\n\n'It's just customs dues,' I said reassuringly. 'Bring it ashore!'\n\n'Customs dues,' he said bitterly, but still obeyed. He clambered up from the ship and dropped the box on the wharf. There was a happy sound of coins. His face, reddened by wind and sun, was soured by resentment. 'How much do you want?'\n\n'Open it,' I ordered.\n\nHe bent to unclasp the iron latch and I kicked him hard in the ribs, drawing Serpent-Breath as I did. I stooped and pulled his seax from her scabbard and tossed the sword into the boat where she fell at the feet of an oarsman who looked scared. One of the men with whips drew his arm back. 'Use that whip,' I shouted at him, 'and I'll strangle you with it!' The man glared at me and bared his teeth. He only had two that I could see, while his scarred face was framed by black greasy ringlets and a beard that fell to his waist. 'Drop the whip!' I snarled at him. He hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed.\n\nLyfing Gunnaldson was trying to get to his feet. I kicked him again and told Immar to stand guard on him. 'Kill him if he tries to stand.'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\nIt was simple after that. We went on board, disarmed the crewmen, and prodded them up to the wharf. There was no fight in them, not even in the black-bearded man who had wanted to defy me. They still believed we were East Anglians who had taken over their city. One wanted to know when he would get his sword back and I just snarled at him to be silent. 'And you all stay where you are!' I called to the slaves on the rowing benches. 'Vidarr?'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Make sure they stay!' The rowers were shackled with iron rings about their ankles, the rings threaded by long chains that ran from the prow to the ship's stern. The two chains had already been freed from their prow staples and the slaves could have escaped easily enough, but they were weary, they were frightened, and so they stayed. I left two men to make sure the rowers remained quiet, locked our new captives in the same cage as the other guards, then stood at the warehouse door and gazed at the ship. She looked new, her rigging was taut, and her furled sail unfrayed. I touched my hammer and sent a wordless prayer of thanks because I could take my men home.\n\n'Now what?' Finan had joined me.\n\n'We get the oarsmen off the ship,' I said, 'and wait for dawn tomorrow.'\n\n'Dawn tomorrow?' Finan asked. 'Why not go now?'\n\nWe were standing in warm sunlight. It was a calm day with no wind to speak of, certainly not the west wind I wanted, but the river was running fast, helped by an ebbing tide, so that even with tired rowers it would be a quick passage to the estuary, and the afternoon could well bring a breeze to take us northwards. And like Finan I wanted to go home. I wanted to smell Bebbanburg's sea and rest in Bebbanburg's hall. I had thought to leave in the dawn, shrouded from curious eyes by the remnants of darkness and a river mist, but why not leave now? The city seemed quiet. Jorund had told us the previous night that ships wanting to leave the docks were searched, but no East Anglian soldiers were taking any interest in our wharf. 'Why not go now?' I repeated.\n\n'Let's just go home,' Finan said forcibly.\n\nSo we told everyone; the freed slaves, the children, Father Oda, and Benedetta to board the boat. We had cooked more shit-speckled cakes with the last of the oats and they were carried on board with whatever plunder we wanted from Gunnald's yard. Among that plunder were four good large shields, a dozen mail coats, two boxes of coins and hacksilver, ten leather jerkins, and a heap of other clothing. The last cask of ale was loaded.\n\nThe ship was crowded. There were children crammed in the stern, the freed slave girls huddled at the prow, and all of them staring fearfully at the oarsmen who were ragged-haired, filthy, and frightening. 'I am your new master,' I told those oarsmen, 'and if you do what I ask you will all be freed.'\n\nThere must have been men from several races because I heard muttering as my words were translated. One man stood. 'You'll free us?' he sounded suspicious. 'Where?'\n\nHe had spoken in Danish and I answered in the same language. 'In the north.'\n\n'When?'\n\n'This week.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'Because you are saving my life,' I said, 'so as a reward I will give you your life back. What's your name?'\n\n'Irenmund.'\n\nI stooped to the deck and picked up one of the short-swords we had taken from the ship's crew, then walked the passage between the slaves. Irenmund watched me suspiciously. He was still shackled, but he was a formidably strong young man. His hair, blonde and ragged, hung to his shoulders, his blunt face was fearful, but still defiant. He looked at the sword in my hand, then back to my eyes. 'How were you captured?' I asked him.\n\n'We were driven ashore in Frisia.'\n\n'We?'\n\n'I was a crewman on a trading ship. Three of us, the master and two seamen. We managed to get ashore and were captured.'\n\n'And were sold?'\n\n'We were sold,' he said bitterly.\n\n'You were a good seaman?'\n\n'I am a good seaman,' he said defiantly.\n\n'Then catch,' I said, and tossed the sword hilt first to him. He caught it and looked at me in bemusement. 'That's my pledge that I'll free you,' I said, 'but first you have to get me home. Finan!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Release them all!'\n\n'Are you sure, lord?'\n\nI looked back to the slaves and raised my voice. 'If you stay here in Lundene you will remain slaves. If you come with me you'll be free men, and I swear I will do my best to send you home.' There was the sound of iron links rattling on the deck and clanking through the fetters as the long chains were pulled back.\n\n'We'll need a smith to knock those manacles from their ankles,' Finan said. 'Remember ours? We had sores for weeks afterwards.'\n\n'I never forget,' I said grimly, then raised my voice. 'Irenmund! Are you released?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Yes, lord!' Finan corrected him.\n\n'Come here,' I called.\n\nIrenmund came to the steering platform, the heavy metal rings attached to his ankle fetters clinking as he walked. 'Lord?' He said the word uncertainly.\n\n'I am a jarl,' I told him, 'and I want you to tell me about this ship.'\n\nHe sneered. 'She's stern heavy, lord, and she yaws like a bullock.'\n\n'They didn't move the ballast?'\n\nHe spat over the side. 'Lyfing Gunnaldson knows nothing about ships and I wasn't going to tell him.'\n\n'Does the ship have a name?'\n\n'Brimwisa,' he said with another sneer. The name meant 'sea monarch', and, whatever else she was, this ship was no ruler of the waves. 'One more thing, lord,' Irenmund said hesitantly.\n\n'What?'\n\nHe hefted the short-sword. 'Five minutes ashore?'\n\nI looked into his eyes, blue eyes in a face hurt by cruelty, and I was about to deny him, but then remembered my own feelings when I had been released from the shackles. 'How many of them?'\n\n'Just the one, lord.'\n\nI nodded. 'Just the one. Gerbruht! Oswi! Vidarr! Go with this man. Let him do what he wants, but make sure he does it quickly.'\n\nI moved the children into the bows to help balance the ship and, when Irenmund returned, still holding the sword, though now it was red with blood, we cast off the mooring lines and the tired oarsmen backed the ship gently into the river's current. The stern was immediately swung downstream so that we were pointing westwards instead of downriver, but a few strokes of the steerboard oars turned the hull until our cross-decorated prow pointed towards the distant sea. 'Slowly now!' I called. 'Take her gently! We're in no hurry!'\n\nNor was I in a hurry. It was better to leave slowly, raising no suspicion that we had cause to flee the city. The wind was no help to us so we rowed only enough to keep our headway, carried more by the ebbing tide and the river's current than by the sweep of oars. Finan came to stand by me. 'I've been in some mad places with you,' he said.\n\n'Is this mad?'\n\n'A ship of slaves? In a city of enemies? Yes, I'd say it was mad.' He grinned. 'So what do we do?'\n\n'We get out of the estuary, we turn north, and we pray for a good wind. We should make Bebbanburg in three days, maybe four.' I paused, watching swans on the sun-touched water. 'But it means I've failed.'\n\n'Failed? You're getting us home!'\n\n'I came to kill \u00c6thelhelm and his rotten nephew.'\n\n'You'll kill them yet,' Finan said.\n\nThe sun was warm. Most of the oarsmen were young, stripped to the waist, sunburned and sinewy. Word of Irenmund's revenge had spread through the benches and the rowers were grinning even though they were tired. I had assumed Irenmund had wanted to kill Lyfing Gunnaldson, but instead it had been the burly black-ringleted man whose screams had reached the wharf. 'He made a mess of him, lord,' Vidarr had told me with indecent relish, 'but he was quick.' Now Irenmund was back on his bench, hauling the oar, but slowly. The current would carry us till the tide turned, then the hard work would begin unless the gods sent a friendly wind.\n\nFather Oda had been talking to the oarsmen and now joined us. 'Mostly Saxons,' he said, 'but three Danes, two Frisians, a Scot, and two of your countrymen, Finan. And all of them,' he added pointedly, looking at me, 'Christians.'\n\n'You can pray with them father,' I said cheerfully.\n\nWe were passing the wharves on the northern bank. Shipping was thick there, though to my relief there were few warriors visible on the wharves. The day seemed lazy and quiet, even the river's traffic was scanty. Nothing was coming upriver against the tide, but we passed a handful of smaller boats that ferried goods to the southern bank. The air smelled cleaner out in the river's centre, though the Lundene stench of smoke and shit was still there, but by tonight, I thought, we would be in the open sea beneath the stars. I was going home and my only regret was that my oath was unfulfilled, but I consoled myself that I had done my best. \u00c6thelhelm still lived and his vile nephew was now called King of Wessex, but I was taking my people home.\n\nWe passed the Dead Dane and came in sight of my old home, the Roman house on its stone wharf at the river's edge. Gisella had died there and I touched the hammer at my neck. In my heart I believed she was waiting for me somewhere in the realms of the gods. 'Three days, you think?' Finan interrupted my thoughts.\n\n'To get home? Yes. Maybe four.'\n\n'We'll need food.'\n\n'We'll call into a harbour in East Anglia. Take what we need.'\n\n'There'll be no one to stop us,' Finan said with amusement, 'the bastards are all here!'\n\nHe was staring at the house, my old house where we had taken refuge when we first arrived in Lundene. A ship was moored there, a long, low ship moored to face upstream, with a high prow on which a cross was mounted. Her mast was raked, giving her a predatory appearance. I guessed she was twice as long as the Brimwisa, which made her a much faster ship, and for a heartbeat I was tempted to steal her, but rejected the idea when I saw men come from the house onto the terrace. There were a dozen men, half of them in mail, and they watched as we slid past. I waved to them, hoping the gesture would convince them that we were no threat.\n\nThen one man, taller than the others, came from the house and pushed through his companions. He stood at the edge of the stone wharf and stared at us.\n\nAnd I cursed. It was Waormund. I stared at him and he stared at me, and he recognised me. I heard his bellow of rage, or perhaps of challenge, and then he was shouting at the men around him and I saw them running towards the lethal-looking ship. I swore again.\n\n'What?' Father Oda asked.\n\n'Speed the rowers,' I told Finan.\n\n'Speed them?'\n\n'We're being pursued,' I said. I looked up at the sky and saw that darkness was still many hours away.\n\nAnd we were no longer safe.\n\nThe ebbing tide was nearing low water, which meant it was running faster and gave us some help as, with the river's current, it swept us downriver. Finan was hammering the time with a stave and he quickened it, but the oarsmen were too tired after rowing upriver against the ebb. The current, of course, would help our enemy as much as it helped us, but I hoped it would take Waormund a long time to assemble sufficient oarsmen, but hope is never something to rely on in warfare. My father had always said that if you hope the enemy will march east, then plan for them marching west.\n\nWe passed the old Roman fort that marked the eastern extremity of the old city and I looked back and saw my father had been right. The ship was already pulling away from the wharf, her rowers turning the longsleek hull to follow us. 'It's not a full crew,' Finan said.\n\n'How many?'\n\n'Maybe twenty-four oars?'\n\n'They'll still catch us,' I said grimly.\n\n'That's a big ship for just twenty-four oars.'\n\n'They'll catch us.'\n\nFinan touched the cross at his neck. 'I thought someone said this was a fast ship?'\n\n'For her size, she is.'\n\n'But the longer a ship, the faster she is,' Finan said unhappily. He had heard me say that too many times, but had never understood why that was true. I did not understand it either, yet I knew the pursuing ship must inevitably catch us. I was steering Brimwisa to follow the huge horseshoe bend in the river that would sweep us southwards before curving north. I was using the outside of the bend, which was a longer row, but there the current was fastest and I needed all the speed I could find. 'There are men at her prow,' Finan said, still staring behind.\n\n'They're the ones who'll board us,' I said.\n\n'So what do we do? Go ashore?'\n\n'Not yet.'\n\nThe current was racing us southwards. The river was low, with wide stretches of glistening mud on each bank, and beyond them little but desolate marshland where a few hovels showed where folk made a living from trapping eels. I turned and saw our pursuer was gaining on us. I could see the mailed men in the prow, see their shields with \u00c6thelhelm's leaping stag, and see the afternoon sun glinting from spearheads. Those men planned to jump down onto the Brimwisa's deck. 'How many in the prow?' I asked Finan.\n\n'Too many,' he said grimly. 'I reckon he has forty men at least.'\n\nSo Waormund had roughly half his men rowing and the other half armed and ready to overwhelm us. 'They'll ram us,' I said, 'and board us.'\n\n'And what do we do? Die?'\n\n'We outrun them, of course.'\n\n'But you said they'll catch us!'\n\n'They will!' I could feel the water vibrating through the loom of the steering-oar. That meant we were going fast, but we needed to be faster. 'If you want to be free men,' I shouted at the oarsmen, 'then row as you've never rowed before! I know you're tired, but row as if the devil is at your heels!' Which he was. 'Row!'\n\nThey put their feeble strength into the oars. Four of my men had taken the places of the weaker oarsmen, and they called the time as the strokes quickened. We had gone around the vast southern bend and were heading northwards now. The pursuing ship was a little more than three hundred paces behind us and her rowers, fresher than ours, were pulling faster. I saw the river break white at her cutwater, saw how each pull of the oars surged her a pace nearer. 'If we go ashore,' Finan began nervously.\n\n'They'll hunt us in the marshes. It won't be pretty.'\n\n'So?'\n\n'So we don't go ashore,' I said, deliberately confusing him.\n\n'But\u2014'\n\n'Yet,' I finished.\n\nHe gave me a weary look. 'So tell me.'\n\n'We won't reach Bebbanburg, at least not for a while.'\n\n'Because?'\n\n'See those trees ahead?' I pointed. About a mile ahead of us the river turned east again towards the sea, but on the northern bank was a prominent clump of trees. 'Just beyond those trees is a river,' I went on, 'the Ligan, and it takes us north into Mercia.'\n\n'It takes them north too,' Finan said, nodding astern.\n\n'Half a lifetime ago,' I went on, 'the Danes took their ships up the Ligan and Alfred built a fort to block the river. They lost all their ships. That was a fight we missed.'\n\n'We didn't miss many,' Finan said grumpily.\n\nI turned to look behind and saw that the big ship was now a little more than two hundred paces away. I could see Waormund too, looming above the other men in the prow. He turned and evidently shouted at his oarsmen to row faster. 'That ship may be longer than ours,' I told Finan, 'and she's certainly quicker, but she draws more water. The Ligan is shallow, so if we're lucky,' and I touched the hammer, 'she'll go aground.'\n\n'And if we're unlucky?'\n\n'We die.'\n\nI had never sailed the Ligan. I knew the river was tidal for a few miles upstream, and deep enough beyond the tidal head to take boats almost as far as Heorotforda, but I also knew it was a difficult river. The Ligan's last few miles flowed through dense marshland where the river divided into a dozen shallow streams that changed their courses over the years. I had seen ships using those channels, but that had been years before. And we were very close to the tide's ebb, when the water would be at its shallowest. If I was unlucky we would go aground and then there would be blood in the Ligan.\n\nOur rowers were weakening, our pursuers were nearer, and once we turned into the Ligan we would be rowing against the current. 'Pull!' I shouted. 'Pull! Your lives depend on it! You can rest soon, but pull now!' I could see that the freed slave girls, crouched in the bows with the children, were crying. They knew just what they could expect if the bigger ship caught us.\n\nWe were close to the end of the northern reach, but Waormund's ship was now only a hundred paces behind. I prayed he had no bowmen on board. I watched the river's northern bank appear as we began the eastwards turn. Trees grew in the marshes and the Ligan's channels threaded those trees. 'Poplars,' I said.\n\n'Poplars?'\n\n'Just hope the mast doesn't catch on a branch.'\n\n'Mary, mother of God,' Finan said, and touched his cross.\n\n'Pull! Pull! Pull!' I shouted and heaved the steering-oar over, and the Brimwisa turned across the river's current and headed for the Ligan. She slowed immediately, no longer helped by tide or river, and I bellowed at the oarsmen again. The big ship was following us, close enough now for a man to try throwing a spear that fell into our feeble wake just a few paces short. 'Pull!' I bellowed. 'Pull!'\n\nAnd we slid out of the Temes into the clearer water of the Ligan and the oarsmen were grimacing, hauling on the looms, and still I bellowed at them as we turned into the widest of the Ligan's channels. To the left, driven deep into the river's margin, were four giant stakes. I wondered if they were markers, or perhaps the remnants of a wharf, then forgot them as the steerboard side oars touched bottom and I hauled the steering-oar towards me and shouted at the oarsmen to keep rowing. There was a small island of reeds ahead. Did I go to the left of it or to the right? I felt panic. It would be so easy to go aground, but just then a small ship nosed into view behind a screen of poplars. The ship was little more than a barge, loaded with hay, and she was aiming towards the easternmost channel. I touched my hammer again and thanked the gods for sending a sign. 'Row!' I shouted. 'Row!'\n\nThe helmsman of the barge would know the river, and know just which channels had enough depth to float his heavily laden barge. He was using the ebbing tide to carry his cargo down the Ligan and, once at the river's mouth he would wait for the flood tide to float him and carry him up the Temes to Lundene. He had four oars, scarce enough to move the vast load, but the tides would do most of his work.\n\nOur rowers could clearly see Waormund's ship, and see the mailed and helmeted men crowded into her prow. The oarsmen were bone-weary, but they pulled hard and we slid up the easternmost channel, passing the hay barge, and again our steerboard oars struck the river bed and I screamed at those rowers to keep pulling. Another spear was thrown and hammered into our stern post. Finan plucked it loose. The men on the hay barge watched us open mouthed. The barge's four oarsmen were so astonished at our sudden appearance that they had stopped rowing to stare at us, while the steersman just gaped and his ship slewed across the river. There was a bellow of anger from behind as Waormund's ship slammed into the barge and veered into the eastern bank. Men lurched forward as the big hull grounded.\n\nAnd we rowed on, struggling against the current and the last of the ebb. I let the oarsmen slow, content just to make a walking pace as we slid between the marshes. Waormund's ship was aground, but men were already leaping overboard to shove her back into the channel. The hay barge had gone ashore on the other bank and its crew had been sensible enough to leap overboard and flee through the marshes.\n\n'So we're safe?' Finan asked.\n\n'They'll be afloat soon.'\n\n'Jesus,' he muttered.\n\nI was gazing ahead, trying to pick a course through the tangled waterways. Our oars touched the river's bed every few strokes, and once I felt the shudder of mud beneath the keel and held my breath till we had slid into deeper water. The branch of a poplar brushed our furled sail's yard and scattered leaves on the rowers. Birds fled from us, their wings white, and I tried to discern an omen in their flight, but the gods had given me the gift of the hay barge and offered me nothing more. An otter slid into the water, looked up at me for an instant, then dived out of sight. We were still rowing through marshes, but ahead of us the land rose almost imperceptibly. There were small fields of wheat and rye and I thought of Jorund, whom we had met in the Dead Dane, and how he wanted to be home for the harvest.\n\n'Bastards are coming,' Finan said. But the bastards were having a more difficult time than the Brimwisa, their oars were fouling more often and their pace was slowed by the river's depth. They had a man in the prow who was watching for the shallows and shouting directions. 'They'll give up soon,' Finan added.\n\n'They won't,' I said, because ahead of us the river twisted like a serpent. It flowed south on its way to the Temes, then turned sharply northwards before another tight bend brought it south again to where we struggled against the current. We would be well ahead of Waormund when we reached that first bend, but as we rowed south his ship would be just forty or fifty paces away on the northward reach. 'Irenmund!' I shouted.\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'I want you here! Vidarr? Take his oar!' I waited for Irenmund to reach me. 'You can steer a ship?' I asked.\n\n'Been doing it since I was eight years old,' he said.\n\nI gave him the steering-oar. 'Stay on the outside of that bend,' I said, 'then keep her in the middle of the river.'\n\nHe grinned, happy to be given the responsibility, and I pulled on my old, battered helmet with its boiled-leather cheek-pieces. Finan pulled on his own helmet and gave me a quizzical glance. 'Why that fellow?' he asked softly, nodding at Irenmund. 'And not Gerbruht?'\n\n'Because we'll be fighting soon,' I said. Gerbruht was a fine seamen, but he was also an immensely strong man who was pulling an oar and we needed all the strength we could find. 'Or we will be fighting,' I went on, 'if Waormund has half a brain.'\n\n'He's got tripe for brains,' Finan said.\n\n'But sooner or later he'll see his chance.'\n\nThat chance was caused by how closely the southern reach lay to the northern. Just a narrow strip of marsh separated the two, which meant that Waormund could send men across the inter vening marsh to assail us with spears. Irenmund was already taking us into the bend, keeping to the outside where the water would be deepest, but the current was also fastest there and our progress was painfully slow. Most of our rowers were at the end of their endurance, their faces grimacing as they hauled on the heavy oars. 'Not much longer now!' I shouted as I made my way forward to where the children, the women, and Father Oda were sitting on the deck beneath the small prow platform. Benedetta looked up at me anxiously and I tried to reassure her with a smile.\n\n'I want the smallest children under the platform,' I told Benedetta, pointing to the small space at the prow, 'and the rest on this side of the deck.' I was on the b\u00e6cbord side because once we rounded the sharp bend, that side would be facing the enemy ship as it rowed northwards. 'Immar!' I shouted. 'Come here!'\n\nHe scrambled back to me and I handed him one of the big shields we had discovered in Gunnald's yard. 'The bastards might be throwing spears,' I explained, 'and your job is to stop them. Catch them on the shield.'\n\nFinan, Immar, Oswi and I had shields. Finan would protect the steering platform, Immar would try to defend the women and children huddled beneath the ship's rail, while Oswi and I must somehow keep spears from striking the rowers. 'It would be a long throw,' Oswi said dubiously. He was gazing at the enemy ship that was nearing the first bend just as we struggled out of it.\n\n'They won't throw from the ship,' I said, 'and maybe they won't throw at all.' I touched the hammer, hoping I was right.\n\nThe helmsman on the enemy ship stayed too close to the inner bank of the curve and I saw the big ship lurch as she ran aground again. For a few heartbeats it just stayed there, then a dozen men leaped overboard. I thought they were about to attempt to push the big ship off the mud, but instead they carried spears and began running towards us.\n\n'Pull!' I shouted. 'Irenmund! Keep to the right!' The steerboard oars began fouling the river bed again, but they also found purchase and the Brimwisa kept moving. The rowers on the b\u00e6cbord benches looked anxiously at the enemy who were stumbling through the marsh's reeds and tussocks. 'Just keep rowing!' I called.\n\n'Why?' A bare-chested man with a spade beard challenged me. He stopped hauling his oar, stood, and looked at me truculently. 'They're your enemy, they're not ours!'\n\nHe was right, of course, but there was no time to argue with him, especially as some of the oarsmen muttered sullen agreement. I just drew Serpent-Breath, stepped over the next bench and thrust hard. He had time to look astonished, then his calloused hands closed on the long blade that had glanced off a rib and driven deep into his chest. He made a gasping noise, blood bubbled at his open mouth and spilled down his beard as his eyes stared at me beseechingly. I snarled, wrenched the blade sideways and so toppled him over the side. Blood spread on the water.\n\n'Does anyone else want to argue?' I asked. No one did. 'Those men,' I pointed the blood-streaked blade at our pursuers, 'will sell you! I will free you. Now row!' The death of one man spurred the others to renewed effort and Brimwisa surged forward against the river's swirling current. 'Folcbald,' I shouted, 'take this oar! Aldwyn!' The boy ran to me and I gave him Serpent-Breath. 'Clean it.'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Dip the blade in the river,' I told him, 'then wipe off every drop of blood and water. Bring it back when it's dry. Really dry!'\n\nI had not wanted to kill the man, but I had sensed resentment among the bone-weary oarsmen who had been trapped in a struggle that was none of their business. The dead man, whose body now floated belly down towards our pursuers, could have roused that resentment into outright refusal. Even now, as the oarsmen pulled desperately on their looms, I saw the distrust on their faces, but then Irenmund, standing proud at the stern, called out. 'Lord Uhtred is right! We'd just have been sold again! So row!'\n\nThey rowed, but even with the new energy born of fear, they could not outpace the men hurrying across the marsh. I counted them. Twelve men carrying two spears each. Waormund was not among them, he was still on board the pursuing ship that was being heaved off the mudbank. I could just hear him bawling orders.\n\nThen the leading spearman decided to chance his arm. It was a long throw, but he hurled his spear and it soared across the river, aimed at Irenmund, and I heard it thump into Finan's shield. The other men kept coming, then two stopped and threw their spears. One fell short, plunging into the river, the other struck Brimwisa's hull and quivered there.\n\nWaormund had been clever enough. He had realised that spearmen on foot could catch us and cripple us by slaughtering enough oarsmen, but he had not been clever enough to tell them that their best chance was to throw their spears together. A man can dodge a spear or catch it on his shield, but a shower of spears is far more deadly. One by one the men threw the heavy blades, and one by one we either stopped them or watched them fly high or low. Not every spear missed. One oarsman was hit in the thigh, the blade gouging a deep cut that Father Oda hurried to bandage. Another glanced off the iron rim of my shield and scored a long shallow wound across a man's naked back, but most of the spears were wasted, and still we rowed on, nearing the next bend that would take us north again. North into Mercia.\n\nWaormund had freed his ship and had his men hauling on their oars again, but Irenmund was already taking us into the sharp curve. I saw Beornoth readying to hurl a spear back at the frustrated men who could only watch as we rowed away from them. 'No!' I called to him.\n\n'I can skewer one of the bastards, lord!' he called back.\n\n'And give them a chance to throw it back? Don't throw!'\n\nWaormund's men had used all their spears and his only chance now was to row faster, but the deeper draught of his big ship was turning against him and the tide was blessedly low. We turned the bend and headed north and saw our pursuer shudder to another stop. We rowed on, gaining distance with every stroke, still threading the wide marsh, but ahead of us now there were low wooded hills and the smoke from cooking hearths. The river was becoming dirtier, with streaks of foul-smelling brown water. There was a village, I remembered, built where the Roman road from Lundene to Colneceaster forded the Ligan and I feared that the East Anglians might have left men there to guard the crossing. We were rowing now between thick willow trees that snagged on our mast and yard and I could see the small smoke from the village smearing the sky. Benedetta had come aft to join me as we passed between the village's first small cottages. She wrinkled her nose. 'The stink!'\n\n'Tanners,' I said.\n\n'Leather?'\n\n'They cure the hides with shit.'\n\n'It is filthy.'\n\n'The world is filthy,' I said.\n\nBenedetta paused, and then, in a lower voice, 'I have to say something.'\n\n'Say it.'\n\n'The slave girls,' Benedetta said, nodding towards the bow where the girls we had freed from Gunnald's warehouse were huddled. 'They are frightened.'\n\n'We're all frightened,' I said.\n\n'But they have been kept from the men. It is not your enemy they fear, but the other slaves. I am frightened of them too.' She paused and then, more harshly, 'You should not have freed the men with oars, Lord Uhtred. They should all be chained still!'\n\n'I'm giving them freedom,' I said.\n\n'Freedom to take what they want.'\n\nI gazed at the women. All were young, and the four who had been kept for Gunnald's use were undeniably attractive. They stared back at me with fear on their faces. 'Short of killing the rowers,' I said, 'the best I can do is protect the women. My men won't touch them.'\n\n'I'll kill any man who does,' Finan put in. He had been listening to our conversation.\n\n'Men are not kind,' Benedetta said, 'I know.'\n\nWe passed a wooden church, and beyond it a woman was pulling weeds from a vegetable garden. 'Are there soldiers here?' I called to her, but she pretended not to hear and walked towards her thatched hovel.\n\n'Can't see any troops,' Finan said, 'and why would they have an outpost here?' He nodded ahead to where a ripple of water showed where the road forded the river. 'Isn't that the road to East Anglia? They can't be expecting enemies on that road.'\n\nI shrugged and said nothing. Irenmund still steered us. A dog chased us along the bank, barking frantically, then gave up the pursuit as we reached the ford. Our keel touched the bottom again, even though we were keeping to the middle of the river, but the ominous scraping died and the slight grounding hardly checked our small speed. 'He won't get past that,' I told Finan.\n\n'Waormund?'\n\n'That ford will stop him dead. He'll have to wait hours.'\n\n'God be praised,' Benedetta said.\n\nAldwyn brought me Serpent-Breath. I checked that the blade was clean and dry, slid the sword into her fleece-lined scabbard, and patted Aldwyn's head. 'Well done,' I said, then looked behind and could see no sign of our pursuer. 'I think we're safe.'\n\n'God be praised,' Benedetta said again, but Finan just nodded westwards.\n\nAnd on the road to Lundene, at the village's western end, were horsemen. The sun was low, dazzling my eyes, but I could see men hauling themselves into saddles. They were not many, perhaps eight or nine, but two of them wore the distinctive dull red cloaks. 'So they did leave sentries here,' I said bitterly.\n\n'Or maybe a forage party,' Finan said dourly.\n\n'They don't seem interested in us,' I said as we rowed on northwards.\n\n'You hope,' Finan said. Then the horsemen disappeared behind an orchard. The sun might have been low, but it was summer and a long evening lay ahead.\n\nWhich could yet bring us death."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "It should have been a pleasant evening. The day was warm, but not too hot, the sun slanted across a green land, and we rowed slowly, almost gently. The oarsmen were near the end of their strength, but I did not demand more effort. We were travelling at a walking pace, content that no one pursued us. True, we had seen a small group of \u00c6thelhelm's men at the village by the Ligan's ford, but it seemed they had taken no interest in us, and no horsemen appeared in the fields to our left and so we went slowly northwards between willows and alders, past meadows where cattle grazed, and by small steadings marked by smoke that rose into the windless air. We kept rowing as the shadows lengthened into the long summer evening. Hardly anyone spoke, even the children were quiet. The loudest noises were the creaking of the oars and the splashes of the blades that left ripples which the current swirled downstream. I relieved Irenmund on the steering-oar and he took the oar of a youngster who looked on the point of collapse. Finan squatted beside me on the steering platform, and Benedetta perched on the rail with one hand on the sternpost. 'This is Mercia?' she asked me.\n\n'The river is the frontier,' I explained. 'Which means that is East Anglia,' I pointed to the right bank, 'and that,' I pointed into the setting sun, 'is Mercia.'\n\n'But if it is Mercia,' she went on, 'then we surely find friends?'\n\nOr we would find enemies, I thought, but I said nothing. We were rowing up a long straight river stretch and I could see no sign of any pursuit. I was certain Waormund's ship would not have been able to pass the ford, at least not until the tide rose, and his men, tired from rowing and burdened by mail and weapons, could never catch us on foot. My fear was that Waormund would find horses and then he would be on to us like a stoat slaughtering leverets, but as the sun blazed its last in the west we saw no sign of any horsemen.\n\nWe passed by two more villages. The first was on the western bank and was surrounded by the rotting remnants of a palisade and by a ditch that was half filled in. That fallen palisade was a reminder of how peaceful this part of Britain had become. It had been a wild frontier once, the border between the Saxons of Mercia and the Danes of East Anglia. King Alfred had signed a treaty with those Danes, ceding them all the land to the east, but his son had conquered East Anglia, and the river was peaceful again. Now Edward's will, that divided his kingdom between \u00c6thelstan and \u00c6lfweard, might mean that the palisade would need to be repaired and the ditch deepened. The second village was on the eastern bank and had a wharf fronting the river where four barges, each about the size of Brimwisa, were tied. None of the barges had a mast stepped, but all were equipped with stout tholes for oars and one had her deck heaped with sawn timbers. Beyond the wharf were felled trunks that two men were splitting with wedges and mauls. 'Timber for Lundene,' I said to Finan.\n\n'Lundene?'\n\n'The ships don't have their masts stepped,' I said, 'so they can get under the bridge.' The Saxon city beyond Lundene's Roman walls was where the hunger for timber, for new houses, for new wharves, and for firewood, was unending.\n\nThe two men splitting the trunks paused to watch us pass. 'There's a ford up there,' one shouted, pointing north. He spoke in Danish. 'Careful now!'\n\n'What's this place called?' I called back in the same language.\n\nHe shrugged. 'A timber yard!'\n\nFinan chuckled, I scowled, then looked behind, but still saw no pursuing horsemen. At best, I thought, Waormund would return to Lundene and set out in the morning with sufficient men to slaughter us. He would search the river till he found Brimwisa and, if she was deserted, scour the nearby countryside. For a moment I even thought of turning the ship and rowing downstream, hoping to reach the Temes and then the open sea, but it would be a night-time journey against the tide with an exhausted crew in a shoaling river, and if Waormund had a shred of sense he would leave his ship with sufficient men to block the Ligan and so trap us.\n\nWe crossed the ford north of the timber yard without scraping the shingle, though some of the oars faltered as they struck the river bed. 'We must stop soon,' Benedetta insisted, 'look at the men!'\n\n'We keep going while there's light,' I said.\n\n'But they are tired!' she said. I was tired too, tired of trying to escape a predicament all of my own making and anxious because of the horsemen we had seen. I wanted to stop and I feared to stop. The river was wide here, wide and shallow, and Benedetta was right, the oarsmen were near the end of their strength and we were barely making progress against the sluggish current. The sun was low now, touching the crests of distant hills, but outlined against that burning sun I could just see a high thatched roof above a stand of elms. A hall, I thought, and a chance to rest. I pulled the steering-oar towards me and ran Brimwisa aground, her bows just nudging the bank.\n\nFinan glanced at me. 'Stopping?'\n\n'It'll be dark soon. I want a place to shelter.'\n\n'We could stay on the boat?'\n\n'We've come about as far we can,' I said. The river was increasingly shallow and for the last few minutes we had been rowing through sinuous water weed and our oars and keel had been constantly scraping the river bed. I decided it was time to abandon the Brimwisa. 'We could wait for the flood tide,' I told Finan, 'and make a few more miles, but we'll be waiting for hours. Better to walk now.'\n\n'And rest first?'\n\n'And rest first,' I assured him.\n\nWe went ashore, taking with us the captured weapons, clothes, food, mail, and money. I distributed the food, letting everyone take what they could carry. The last things I took were the two long chains that had linked the shackles of the rowers. 'Why these, lord?' Immar asked me after I draped one of the heavy coiled chains around his neck.\n\n'Chain is valuable,' I said.\n\nBefore we left the river I had Gerbruht and Beornoth, the only two of my men who could swim, take off their boots and mail, then take Brimwisa's bow line across the river. Once there they hauled the ship to the East Anglian bank, tied her to a willow, then half waded and half swam back. It was a small and probably useless precaution, but if Waormund did follow us then he would discover the ship on the eastern bank and might perhaps lead his men across the river and so away from us.\n\nIt was twilight as we walked across a lush river meadow that was thick with buttercups, through the elms and so to a large steading, which, like the villages we had passed, had no palisade. Two tethered dogs greeted us with frantic barking. There was a large hall from which smoke rose into the evening, a newly-thatched barn, and some smaller buildings which I took to be granaries and stables. The three dogs barked more urgently, straining at the thick ropes that held them to the hall, and only stopped when the door was thrown open and four men were outlined against the glow of the fire inside. Three of the men carried hunting bows that had arrows notched on their cords, the fourth held a sword. It was that man who bellowed at the dogs to stop their damned noise, then looked at us. 'Who are you?' he shouted.\n\n'Travellers,' I called back.\n\n'Jesus, enough of you!'\n\nI gave my sword belt to Finan and, accompanied only by Benedetta and Father Oda, walked towards the hall. As I got closer I saw that the man holding the sword was elderly, but still hale. 'I seek shelter for a night,' I explained, 'and have silver to pay you.'\n\n'Silver is always welcome,' he said guardedly. 'But who are you and where are you going?'\n\n'I am a friend of King \u00c6thelstan,' I answered.\n\n'Maybe,' he said cautiously, 'but you're not Mercian.'\n\nMy accent had told him that. 'I am from Northumbria.'\n\n'A Northumbrian is a friend of the king?' he asked scornfully.\n\n'As I was also a friend to the Lady \u00c6thelflaed.'\n\nThat name gave him pause. He stared at us in the fast fading light and I saw him look down at the hammer amulet hanging from my neck. 'A Northumbrian pagan,' he said slowly, 'who was a friend to the Lady \u00c6thelflaed.' He looked back to my face as he lowered the sword. 'You're Uhtred of Bebbanburg!' He spoke in a tone of amazement.\n\n'I am.'\n\n'Then you are welcome, lord.' He sheathed his sword, gestured for his companions to lower their bows, then took a few paces towards us, stopping just a sword's length away. 'My name is R\u00e6dwalh R\u00e6dwalhson.'\n\n'You're well met,' I said fervently.\n\n'I fought at Fearnhamme, lord.'\n\n'A bad fight that,' I responded.\n\n'We won, lord! You won!' He smiled. 'You are indeed welcome!'\n\n'I might not be so welcome if you know that we're being pursued.'\n\n'By those bastards who captured Lundene?'\n\n'They will come,' I said, 'and if they find us here they'll punish you.'\n\n'East Anglians!' R\u00e6dwalh said angrily. 'They've already sent men to raid our storehouses and steal cattle.'\n\n'We have food,' I said, 'but we need ale and a place to rest. Not in your hall, I can't endanger your household.'\n\nHe thought for a moment. An elderly woman, I assumed she was his wife, came to the door and watched us. The first bats were leaving the barn, dark against the sky in which the first stars were showing. 'There's a place a short mile south of here,' R\u00e6dwalh said, 'and you can rest there safe enough.' He looked past me at the motley collection of slaves, children, and warriors. 'But you lead a mighty strange army, lord,' he went on, amused, 'so what in God's name are you doing?'\n\n'You have time for a story?'\n\n'Don't we always, lord?\n\nIt had been the mention of \u00c6thelflaed that had unlocked R\u00e6dwalh's generosity. The Mercians had loved her, admired her, and now mourned her. It was \u00c6thelflaed who had driven the Danes from Mercia, who had endowed churches, monasteries and convents, and who had built the burhs that defended the northern frontier. She was the Lady of Mercia, a ruler who had fiercely defended Mercia's pride and Mercia's wealth, and all Mercians knew I had been her friend and a few even suspected I had been her lover. R\u00e6dwalh talked of her as he led us south around the flank of a wooded hill, then listened as I told him of our escape from Lundene. 'If the bastards come looking for you,' he assured me, 'I won't say a word. Nor will any of my people. We've no love for East Anglians.'\n\n'The man leading the search,' I said, 'is a West Saxon.'\n\n'We haven't much love for them either! Don't worry, lord, none of us have seen you.'\n\nThe night was bright with moonlight. We were walking the river meadows, and I worried that Waormund might have sent men north on foot to find Brimwisa. I saw her mast above the shadowed willows as we went south, but saw no sign of any enemy. 'If you want that ship,' I said to R\u00e6dwalh, 'she's yours.'\n\n'Never did like ships, lord.'\n\n'Her timbers might be useful?'\n\n'That's true! A good ship's timbers will build a couple of cottages. Careful here.' We had come to a reed-fringed ditch and, once across, R\u00e6dwalh led us west towards low wooded hills. We followed a track that wound through ash and elm to a clearing where an old decaying barn stood gaunt in the moonlight. 'This was part of my father's steading,' R\u00e6dwalh explained, 'and part of mine too, but the old fellow who owned the river meadows died ten years back and I bought the land from his widow. She died four years after her old fellow, so we moved into their hall.' He pushed open a half-collapsed door. 'It's dry enough in there, lord. I'll send ale to you and whatever food the wife can spare. There's cheese, I know.'\n\n'You mustn't go hungry because of us,' I said, 'we just need ale.'\n\n'There's a spring back and beyond,' R\u00e6dwalh nodded towards the higher ground to the west, 'and the water's safe.'\n\n'Then all I need is shelter.' I felt in my pouch.\n\nR\u00e6dwalh heard the chink of coins. 'It don't seem right taking money from you, lord, not for a night's shelter in an old barn.'\n\n'I stole the money from a slave-trader.'\n\n'In that case,' he grinned and held out a hand. 'And where are you going, lord? If you don't mind me asking.'\n\n'Further north,' I said, deliberately vague. 'We're looking for King \u00c6thelstan's forces.'\n\n'North!' R\u00e6dwalh sounded surprised. 'You don't need to go north, lord, there's a fair few hundred of King \u00c6thelstan's men in Werlameceaster! Both my sons are there, serving Lord Merewalh.'\n\nIt was my turn to sound surprised. 'Werlameceaster?' I asked. 'Is that close by?'\n\n'The good Lord love you, lord,' R\u00e6dwalh said, amused, 'no more than two dozen miles from here!'\n\nSo Merewalh, my friend, was close, and with him were the hundreds of men he had so foolishly marched out of Lundene. 'Merewalh's still there?'\n\n'He was a week ago,' R\u00e6dwalh said. 'I rode there to give the boys some bacon.'\n\nI felt a sudden surge of hope, of relief. I touched the hammer. 'So where are we?' I asked.\n\n'God love you, lord, this is Cestrehunt!'\n\nI had never heard of the place, though plainly R\u00e6dwalh considered it notable. I felt in my pouch again and brought out a piece of gold. 'Do you have a reliable servant?'\n\n'I have six, lord.'\n\n'And a good horse?'\n\n'Six of those too.'\n\n'Then can one of your servants ride to Werlameceaster tonight,' I said, holding out the coin, 'and tell Merewalh I'm here and that I need help?'\n\nR\u00e6dwalh hesitated, then took the coin. 'I'll send two men, lord.' He hesitated again. 'Is there going to be a war?'\n\n'There already is,' I said bleakly, 'there was fighting in Lundene, and once a war starts it's hard to stop.'\n\n'Because we have two kings instead of one?'\n\n'Because we have one king,' I said, 'and a vile boy who thinks he's a king.'\n\nR\u00e6dwalh heard the bitterness in my voice. '\u00c6lfweard?'\n\n'Him and his uncle.'\n\n'Who won't stop till they've swallowed Mercia,' R\u00e6dwalh said sourly.\n\n'But what if Mercia swallows Wessex and East Anglia?' I asked.\n\nHe thought about that, then crossed himself. 'I'd rather there was no war, lord. There's been too much. I don't want my sons in a shield wall, but if there has to be war than I pray young \u00c6thelstan wins it. Is that why you're here, lord? To help him?'\n\n'I'm here,' I said, 'because I'm a fool.'\n\nAnd I was. I was an impetuous fool, but the gods had brought me close to \u00c6thelstan's forces, so maybe the gods were on my side.\n\nThe morning would tell.\n\nI would not allow a fire. If Waormund had sent men to follow us through the night then a fire, even inside the old barn, would betray us. We ate stale oatcakes and dried fish, drank the water from the spring that R\u00e6dwalh had said was pure, and then I ordered the oarsmen to sleep at one end of the old barn, the women and children at the other, while I and my men would stay between them. I put our plunder, the spare clothes, mail coats, money, and spears with the women. Then I made all my men draw their swords. A small moonlight leaked through the barn's splintered roof, just enough light so that the oarsmen could see the glint of swords. 'I'm chaining you,' I told them. There was silence for a couple of heartbeats, then a growl. 'I'm freeing you too!' I quietened them. 'I promised it and I keep my promises. But this night you wear the chains, maybe for the last time. Immar, Oswi! Do it.'\n\nThat was why I had brought the chains. The oarsmen were bone-tired, and that might be enough to keep them sleeping all night, but Benedetta's warning had stayed with me. Men whose ankles were linked by chain would find it impossible to move silently, and any attempt to remove the chain would surely alert us. Benedetta and the women watched as Oswi and Immar threaded the links. There was no way of stapling the chains, so they just tied clumsy knots in their ends.\n\n'Now sleep,' I told them, then watched as they sullenly settled on the rancid straw before I took Finan out into the moonlight. 'We're going to need sentries,' I said. We were gazing across the meadows to where the moon-touched river slid silver between the willows.\n\n'You think the bastards are following us?'\n\n'They might be, but even if they're not\u2014\n\n'We need sentries,' he interrupted me.\n\n'I'll take the first part of the night,' I said, 'and you the second. We each need three men with us.'\n\n'Out here?' he asked. We were standing just outside the barn.\n\n'One man out here,' I said, 'and you or me inside with the other two.'\n\n'Inside?'\n\n'Do you trust the slaves?' I asked.\n\n'They're chained,' he said.\n\n'And desperate. They know we're being pursued. Maybe they think it's better to run now than wait for Waormund's troops to capture us. And they know we have money, women, and weapons.'\n\nHe thought for a heartbeat, then, 'Jesus,' he said quietly, 'you really think they'll dare attack us?'\n\n'I think we should be ready if they do.'\n\n'And there's near thirty of them. If they all attack us \u2026' his voice trailed away.\n\n'Even if only half,' I said, 'or maybe I'm imagining it.'\n\n'And if they do attack?'\n\n'Put them down hard and fast,' I said grimly.\n\n'Jesus,' he said again.\n\n'And warn all our men,' I added.\n\nWe went back inside. Moonlight came through the ragged holes in the shattered roof. Men were snoring. I could hear a child crying, and Benedetta singing softly to her. After a while the crying ended. An owl hooted in the woods beyond the barn.\n\nI put Oswi outside the barn and sat inside with Beornoth and Gerbruht, the three of us leaning against the wall in dark shadow. None of us spoke and my thoughts drifted as I fought against sleep. I remembered the Lundene house where I had lived with Gisela and I tried to conjure her face in my memory, but it would not come. It never did. Stiorra, my daughter, had resembled her mother, but Stiorra was dead too, and her face was just as elusive. What I could remember was Ravn, the blind skald, who was father to Ragnar the Fearless. It had been Ragnar who had captured me when I was a child, who had enslaved me and then made me his son.\n\nRavn had been a great warrior till a Saxon sword took his eyes, and so he had become a skald. He had laughed when I said I did not know what a skald was. 'You would call a skald a scop,' he had explained.\n\n'A shaper?'\n\n'A poet, boy. A weaver of dreams, a man who makes glory from nothing and dazzles you with its making.'\n\n'What use is a poet?' I had asked.\n\n'None at all, boy, none at all! Poets are quite useless! But when the world ends folk will remember our songs, and in Valhalla they will sing those songs and so the middle-earth's glory will not die.'\n\nRavn had taught me about his gods and, now that I was as old as Ravn had been when I knew him, I wished I had asked him more, but I did remember him saying that he believed there was a place in the afterworld for families. 'I will see my wife again,' he had told me wistfully, and I had been too young to know what to say and too foolish to ask him more. All I had wanted to hear was his tales of battle, but now, in the moonlit barn, I clung to those few words spoken so long ago and dreamed of Gisela waiting in some sunlit hall to welcome me. I tried again to summon her face, her smile. I saw her in my dreams sometimes, but never when I was awake.\n\n'Lord,' Beornoth hissed, elbowing me.\n\nI must have fallen half asleep, but woke abruptly. Serpent-Breath was drawn, lying hidden in the straw beside me and I instinctively took her hilt. I looked to my right where the rowers had bedded down. I could see none moving and could hear nothing but snoring, but after a moment I also heard low muttering and assumed that sound had alerted Beornoth. I could make out no words. The muttering stopped then started again. I heard the filthy straw rustling and the clink of the chains. That sound had not stopped all night, but sleeping men move their feet and I had dismissed it. The moon was low in the sky, so little light leaked through the barn's broken roof, but all the rowers appeared to be sleeping. I listened, trying to distinguish the noise a chain might make if it were being slowly drawn through the ring of an ankle fetter, but all I heard were snores. An owl called. One of the children at the other end of the barn cried in her sleep and was hushed. A chain clinked again, stopped, and then sounded louder. The straw rustled, then went quiet. I waited, tense, my hand tight on Serpent-Breath's hilt.\n\nThen it happened. A big man, little more than a shadow in the darkness, stood and charged towards me. He bellowed a challenge as he lunged at me. The chain clattered behind him. I shouted too, a wordless shout of rage, and I lifted Serpent-Breath and let the big man run onto the blade. I was trying to stand, but the weight of the man pushed me against Beornoth and we both fell back. Serpent-Breath had gone deep, I had felt her punch through layers of muscle, but the man, still roaring, swung at me with a seax, which must have been the blade I had given to Irenmund, and I felt my mail rip and a sharp pain score across my left shoulder. I had been driven down to the barn's floor. I was still gripping Serpent-Breath and was suddenly aware of warm blood soaking my right hand. Beornoth was shouting, children were screaming, I heard Finan curse, but I could see nothing because I was still trapped beneath the big man who was breathing gutturally, gasping into my face. I heaved him off me, managed to get to my knees, and ripped Serpent-Breath up. I should have been using Wasp-Sting because there was no room to wield the long blade, but before I could free the sword, two more men came at me, their faces distorted by fear and rage. The big man was dying, but had my left leg in his grip. I twisted Serpent-Breath in his guts just as one of the two men lunged at my belly and in the moonlight I saw a small knife in his hand. I twisted away and the dying man's grip tripped me so I fell again and the man with the knife followed me down, snarling, the knife aimed at my right eye. I held his wrist with my left hand, the right still holding Serpent-Breath, and the knife-man snarled again and used his strength to drive his blade down. He had been pulling an oar and his strength was prodigious. I wanted to slash his neck with Serpent-Breath, but the second man was trying to tug the sword away from me, and I remember thinking that this was a futile way to die. The first man was inching the knife closer. In the dim moonlit barn I could see it was not really a knife, but a ship's nail, a spike, and he was grunting with the effort of trying to push it into my eye while I was trying to thrust his hand away and still keep hold of Serpent-Breath.\n\nIt was a battle I was losing. The spike came nearer and nearer and he was stronger than me, but then, quite suddenly, his eyes went wide, he stopped snarling, his hand lost all its strength and the long nail fell, just missing my eye. He began to vomit blood, great gouts of blood that were black in the night, blood spurting with extraordinary force to blind me, blood warm on my face as the man choked and gurgled from the sudden slash in his gullet. At almost the same instant the second man let go of both my arm and of Serpent-Breath's crosspiece.\n\nA woman shrieked like a demon in pain. I was standing, shouting as much from fear as relief. The barn stank of blood. The man who had tried to take Serpent-Breath was backing away, a spear threatening him. He had been wounded in the ribs, presumably by the spear, and I finished him by slicing Serpent-Breath back-handed and so opening his gullet. The big man who had started the fight was still gripping my leg, but feebly, and I stabbed down with my blood-soaked blade and pierced his arm, then, filled with rage, I rammed Serpent-Breath through his eye and deep into his skull.\n\nThere was a moan, some gasps from the women and cries from the children, then silence.\n\n'Anyone wounded?' Finan called.\n\n'Me,' I said bitterly, 'but I'll live.'\n\n'Bastards,' Finan spat.\n\nTen of the oarsmen had been persuaded that their best chance lay in killing us and now all ten were either dead or dying in the blood-reeking barn. The rest were huddled against the far wall. Irenmund was one of them. 'We didn't know, lord\u2014' he began.\n\n'Quiet!' I silenced him, then stooped and plucked the seax from the dead man's hand. 'How did he get this sword?' I demanded of Irenmund.\n\n'I was sleeping, lord,' he sounded terrified. 'He must have stolen it, lord!'\n\nThe big man had stolen the seax and then, slowly and quietly, he had undone the knots in one of the chains. He had loosened it link by link, working through the dark, until he reckoned he could move unhindered. Then he had attacked.\n\nIt had been Benedetta who had shrieked like a demon in pain, not because she was hurt, but in astonishment as she had lunged the spear into the ribs of the man trying to take Serpent-Breath. She still held the weapon, her eyes wide in the moonlight, but her astonishment was nothing compared to mine because beside her was little Alaina, also holding a spear, and it was Alaina who had thrust her blade into the throat of the man trying to stab me with his makeshift knife. She appeared quite unconcerned, but just looked up at me proudly. 'Thank you,' I said hoarsely.\n\nTwo of the other girls had seized spears and helped my men woken by the sudden fight. The freed slaves should have overwhelmed us, but the chain had hindered them and they had only the one sword and two makeshift knives, and my men were given just enough time to seize their own weapons.\n\n'That was too close,' I told Finan as the dawn showed a sullen grey in the east.\n\n'How's your shoulder?' he asked.\n\n'Cut deep, feels stiff, but it'll mend.'\n\n'The women saved us.'\n\n'And a child.'\n\n'She's a little wonder,' Finan said.\n\nI nearly died that night and it was a child with a spear who saved me. I have been in too many battles and stood in too many shield walls, but that night I felt the despair of death come as close to me as ever I felt it. I still remember that spike getting inexorably nearer to my eye, still smell the man's rancid breath, still feel the terror of losing Serpent-Breath and thus being denied my place in Valhalla, but then a child, a seven-year-old girl, had driven death away.\n\nWyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u00e3r\u00e6d.\n\nThere was no sign of any pursuit in the dawn, but that did not mean our enemies had given up the chase. There was a mist over the river meadows and that mist, together with the trees on the higher ground and the hedgerows in the fields beyond, could have hidden a dozen scouts who were looking for us. R\u00e6dwalh came with the rising sun, riding a big grey mare and bringing a gift of hard cheese and bread. 'I sent two men to Werlameceaster last night, lord,' he told me, 'they haven't come back.'\n\n'Did you expect them to?'\n\n'Not if they've any sense, lord.' He stared towards the river mist. 'We've seen no East Anglians for a couple of weeks so they should have had no trouble. I dare say they'll be coming back with Merewalh's men. And you, lord, what will you do?'\n\n'I won't stay here,' I said.\n\nR\u00e6dwalh looked at the children who were wandering around the door of the old barn. 'You won't get far with those little ones.'\n\n'With a spear up their backsides?' I asked, which made him laugh. 'And I've left you a problem,' I went on.\n\n'A problem, lord?' I led him into the barn and showed him the slaughtered oarsmen. He grimaced. 'Aye, that's a problem.'\n\n'I can drag the corpses into the wood,' I offered, 'let the beasts have at them.'\n\n'Maybe better in the river,' he suggested, and so I ordered all ten corpses to be stripped naked and dragged down to the river.\n\nThen we walked towards Werlameceaster. R\u00e6dwalh had given me directions to follow a wagon track until we reached the great road, then to keep on westwards. 'The great road?' I had interrupted him.\n\n'You must know it, lord!' he said, sounding astonished at the possibility that I did not. 'The road from Lundene to the north!'\n\nI did indeed know that road. It had been made by the Romans and it led from Lundene to Eoferwic and beyond that to Bebbanburg. I had ridden that road more times than I could remember. 'Is it close?' I asked.\n\n'Close?' R\u00e6dwalh had laughed. 'You could spit on it from the other side of these woods. You only need reach the road,' he had continued, 'then walk two or three miles north and you'll come to a crossroads\u2014'\n\n'I don't want to spend any time on the road,' I had interrupted him.\n\n'Not if you want to stay hidden,' he had noted shrewdly. My curious group of warriors, freed slaves, women, and children would be noticeable, and travellers would talk. If our pursuers came from Lundene then they would use the old Roman road and would question everyone they met, so the fewer people who saw us the better.\n\n'So I cross the road?'\n\n'You cross the road and keep going westwards! You'll find plenty of woodland to hide in, and if you go a small way north you'll find a good track that leads all the way to Werlameceaster.'\n\n'Is it busy?'\n\n'Maybe a few drovers, lord, maybe some pilgrims.'\n\n'Pilgrims?'\n\n'Saint Alban is buried in Werlameceaster, lord.' R\u00e6dwalh had made the sign of the cross. 'He was executed there, lord, and his killer's eyes popped out, and quite right too.'\n\nI had given R\u00e6dwalh another gold coin and then we had left. The sky was almost cloudless and as the sun rose so did the warmth. We went slowly and cautiously, pausing among trees to wait for the Roman road to be empty before we crossed, then following hedgerows and ditches that led us westwards. Alaina insisted on carrying the spear which she had used to kill the man trying to pierce my throat. The weapon was far too big for her, but she dragged the hilt along the ground with a stubborn look on her face. 'You'll never take it off her now,' Benedetta said with a smile.\n\n'I'll put her in the next shield wall,' I said.\n\nWe walked on in silence, dropping into a shallow valley filled with trees. We followed a forester's track that led through thick stands of oak, ash, and coppiced beech. A black scar showed where a charcoal maker had burned his fierce fire. We saw no one and heard nothing except our own footfalls, the song of birds, and the clatter of wings through leaves. The woodland ended at a dry ditch beyond which a field of barley climbed to a low crest. Barley. I touched my hammer and told myself I was being a fool. We had passed two other such fields and I had told myself I could not spend the rest of my life avoiding barley fields. Finan must have known what I was thinking. 'It was only a dream,' he said.\n\n'Dreams are messages,' I said uncertainly.\n\n'I dreamed you fought me over ownership of a cow once,' he said, 'what sort of message was that?'\n\n'Who won?'\n\n'I think I woke up before we found out.'\n\n'What dream?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'Ah, just nonsense,' Finan said.\n\nWe were following a blackthorn hedge that marked the field's northern boundary, a hedge dense with bindweed and bright with cornflowers, with poppies and pink bramble blossom. North of the hedge lay a field that had been cut for hay. The stubble dropped gently to the road that led to Werlameceaster. We saw no travellers. 'Wouldn't it be easier to walk on the road?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'Yes,' I said, 'but that's where the enemy will look for us.'\n\nShe thought about that as we climbed the last few paces to the low crest. 'But they are behind us, yes?'\n\n'They're behind us,' I said confidently, then turned and pointed east to where the road came from the woods. 'We'll see them come from there.'\n\n'You're sure now?' Finan asked.\n\n'I'm sure,' I said, and then suddenly I was not sure at all. I still stared at where the road came from the stunted beeches, but I was thinking of Waormund. What would he do? I despised the man, knew him to be cruel and brutal, but had that opinion made me think him stupid? Waormund knew we had escaped up the River Ligan, and he knew too that we could not have gone too far upriver on the low tide before our ship grounded. But when we had abandoned the Brimwisa I had not known how close we were to Werlameceaster. I had left the ship on the eastern bank, hoping to mislead Waormund, but now I doubted that he had even bothered to search upriver for us. It did not need a clever man to work out where we would be going. Waormund knew we needed allies and he knew too that I could not expect to find any in East Anglia, but westwards, scarcely a morning's walk from the river, lay an army of \u00c6thelstan's men. Why would Waormund bother to follow us when he could lay in wait for us? I had been searching the eastern and southern ground for any sight of a scout, looking for the glint of sunlight glancing off a helmet or spear-point, but I should have been staring westwards. 'I'm a fool,' I said.\n\n'And is that supposed to surprise us?' Finan asked.\n\n'He's ahead of us,' I said. I did not know why I sounded so certain, but the instinct of too many years, of too many battles, and of too much danger was convincing me. Or perhaps it was simply that of all the possibilities the one that scared me most was to have Waormund readying an ambush ahead of us. Prepare for the worst, my father had liked to say, though on the day of his death he had ignored that advice and been cut down by a Dane.\n\nI halted. To my right was the hedgerow, to my left the big field of barley that was almost ready for harvest, while ahead was a long, gentle slope that dropped to another belt of woodland. It all looked so peaceful. Buntings flew among the barley, a hawk soared high overhead, and a small breeze stirred the leaves. Far to the north a drift of smoke showed where a village lay in a hazed hollow. It seemed impossible that death stalked this summer land.\n\n'What is it?' Father Oda had joined us.\n\nI did not answer. I was gazing at the belt of woodland that lay like a wall across our path, and I felt despair. I had seven men, a priest, four women, some freed slaves, and a group of frightened children. I had no horses. I could send no scouts to search our path, I could only hope to hide, yet here I was on the high swell of sunlit land, in a field of barley, and my enemy was waiting for me.\n\n'What do we do?' Father Oda tried a different question.\n\n'We go back,' I said.\n\n'Back?'\n\n'Back the way we came.' I turned to stare east, at the woods where we had passed the black scar of the charcoal makers. 'We go back to the trees,' I said, 'and look for somewhere to hide.'\n\n'But\u2014' Oda began.\n\nAnd was interrupted by Benedetta. 'Saraceni,' she hissed. Just that one word, but a word suffused with fear.\n\nAnd the one word made me turn to see what had alarmed her.\n\nHorsemen.\n\n'Merewalh's men!' Father Oda said. 'Praise God!'\n\nThere were maybe twenty horsemen on the pilgrim track, all in mail, all with helmets, and half of them carrying long spears. They were at the place where the road disappeared into the western trees and they had paused there, gazing ahead.\n\n'They are not the enemy?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'They're the enemy,' Finan said in a low voice. Two more men had come from the wood, and both wore the red cloak of \u00c6thelhelm's troops. We could see them through a gap in the hedge, but it seemed that for the moment they had not seen us.\n\n'Back!' I snarled. 'Back! All of you! Back to the trees.' The children just stared at me, the freed slaves looked confused, and Father Oda opened his mouth as if to speak, but I snarled again, 'Run! Go! Now!' They still hesitated until I stepped threateningly towards them. 'Go!' They ran, too frightened to stay. 'All of you, go!' I was talking to my men who, with Benedetta, had stayed with me. 'Go with me!'\n\n'Too late,' Finan said.\n\nWaormund, I assumed he was one of the horsemen on the road below us, had done what I would have done in his place. He had sent scouts up through the trees and they now appeared where the barley field ended. There were two of them, both mounted on grey horses, and both were staring along the hedgerow to where I stood on their skyline. One of them lifted a horn and blew it. The mournful sound faded, then came again. More men appeared on the road. There were forty now, at least forty.\n\n'Go,' I said to my men, 'you too, Finan.'\n\n'But\u2014'\n\n'Go!' I howled the word at him. He hesitated. I untied the heavy money pouch from my belt and forced it into his hands, then pushed Benedetta towards him. 'Keep her alive, keep her safe! Keep my men alive! Now go!'\n\n'But, lord\u2014'\n\n'They want me, not you, now go!' He still hesitated. 'Go!' I howled the word like a soul in pain.\n\nFinan went. I know he would rather have stayed, but my rage and the demand that he protect Benedetta persuaded him. Or perhaps he knew that it was pointless to die while there was a chance of life. Someone had to take the news to Bebbanburg.\n\nEverything ends. Summer ends. Happiness ends. Days of joy are followed by days of sorrow. Even the gods will meet their end in the last battle of Ragnarok when all the evil of the world brings chaos and the sun will turn dark, the black waters will drown the homes of men, and the great beamed hall of Valhalla will burn to ashes. Everything ends.\n\nI drew Serpent-Breath and walked towards the scouts. Nothing good would come to me, but fate had led me to this moment and a man must endure his fate. There is no choice, and I had invited this fate. I had tried to keep an oath made to \u00c6thelstan, and I had been impetuous and foolish. That was the thought that would not leave my mind as I walked between the summer-bright hedge and the tall stand of barley. A field of barley, I thought. And I thought that I was a fool and I was walking towards a fool's end.\n\nAnd maybe, I thought, this foolish decision would not save my men. It would not save Benedetta. It would not save the girls or the children. But it was the last slender hope. If I had fled with them then the horsemen would have pursued us all and cut down every man. Waormund wanted me, he did not want them, and so I had to stay in the barley field to give Finan, Benedetta and all the rest their one slender hope. Fate would decide, and then I stopped beside a patch of blood-bright poppies because the scout's horn had drawn the enemy from the road and they were spurring up the slope towards me. I touched the hammer about my neck, but I knew the gods had deserted me. The three Norns were measuring my life's thread and one of those cackling women held a pair of shears. Everything ends.\n\nAnd so I waited. The horsemen filed through a gap in the hedge, but rather than ride straight to me they swerved into the tall barley, the big hooves trampling the stalks. I had my back to the hedge and the horsemen made a wide half circle around me. Some held spears that they pointed at me as if they feared I would charge them.\n\nAnd the last horseman to come was Waormund.\n\nI had met him only once before that fight in the old house beside Lundene's river, and at that first meeting I had humiliated him by slapping his face. It was an ugly face, a flat face slashed from his right eyebrow to his lower left jaw by a battle scar. He had a bristling brown beard, eyes dead as stone, and a thin-lipped mouth. He was a huge man, taller even than me, a man to place at the centre of a shield wall to terrify an enemy. This day he rode a great black stallion, the bridle and saddle trimmed with silver. He leaned on the pommel, staring at me, then smiled, except the smile looked more like a grimace. 'Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' he said.\n\nI said nothing. I gripped Serpent-Breath's hilt. I prayed that I would die with the sword in my hand.\n\n'Lost your tongue, lord?' Waormund asked. I still said nothing. 'We'll cut it out before you die,' he promised, 'and cut your balls off too.'\n\nEverything dies. We all die. And all that is left of us is reputation. I hoped I would be remembered as a warrior, as a just man, and as a good lord. And perhaps this miserable death by a hedge would be forgotten. My screams would fade, and reputation would echo on in the songs men sang in the hall. And Waormund? He had a reputation too, and his renown was cruelty. He would be remembered as a man who could dominate a shield wall, but who delighted in making men suffer and in making women suffer. Yet just as I was known as the man who had killed Ubba by the sea and as the warrior who had slain Cnut, so Waormund would be known as the man who had killed Uhtred of Bebbanburg.\n\nHe dismounted. He wore mail beneath the red cloak. Around his neck was a silver chain, and his helmet was ringed by silver, the symbols that showed he was one of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's commanders, a warrior to lead warriors, a man to fight his lord's battles. For a moment I dared hope he would face me in single combat, but instead he gestured for his troops to dismount. 'Take him,' he said.\n\nEight long ash-hafted spears surrounded and threatened me. One blade, its edge touched by rust, was at my throat. For a heartbeat I thought to raise Serpent-Breath and beat that spear away and hack at the men who faced me, and perhaps I should have fought, but fate had me in her grip, fate told me I had come to the end, and everything ends. I did nothing.\n\nA frightened man stepped between the spears and took Serpent-Breath from me. I resisted, but the rust-edged spear-blade pricked my throat and I let my sword go. Another man came from my left and kicked my legs, forcing me to my knees. I was ringed by enemies, Serpent-Breath was gone, and I could not fight back.\n\nEverything ends."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "It seemed I was not to die by the hedge. Waormund wanted reputation. He wanted to be known as Waormund Uhtredslayer, and a killing by a hedge would not inspire the poets to write songs about his prowess. He wanted to carry me in triumph to his master, to \u00c6thelhelm my enemy, and he wanted the news of my death to be carried along the Roman roads till all Britain knew and feared the name of Waormund Uhtredslayer.\n\nYet if my death was not to be swift, I was still to be humbled. He walked towards me slowly, relishing the moment. He said nothing, just nodded grimly to a man standing close behind me. I thought for a heartbeat that was my end, that a knife was about to slice my throat, but instead the man just lifted off my helmet, and Waormund slapped me.\n\nThat was revenge for the slap I had given him years before, but this slap was no mere insult as mine had been. It was a fearful blow that threw me sideways, as bad and painful a blow as the stone that had been hurled from Heahburh's high wall to split my helmet and lay me low. My sight suddenly blackened, my head spun, while my skull filled with sound, darkness, and pain. And that, perhaps, was a blessing, because I was not really aware as they ripped the hammer amulet from about my neck, unbuckled my sword belt, took Wasp-Sting, stripped my mail coat, tugged off my boots, slit my shirt, then kicked my naked body. I could hear men's laughter, felt the warmth as they pissed on me, and then I was forced to my feet, my head still ringing, and they lashed my wrists in front of me and tied the rope to the tail of Waormund's horse. They wove the stallion's tail into two plaits that they tied into a loop of the rope to make sure I could not drag the tether loose.\n\nWaormund, towering above me, spat into my face. 'Lord \u00c6thelhelm wants to speak with you,' he said, 'and his nephew wants to make you scream.'\n\nI said nothing. There was blood in my mouth, one ear was pain, I was staggering with dizziness. I suppose I must have looked at him, one of my eyes half-closed, because I remember he spat again and laughed. 'King \u00c6lfweard wants to make you scream. He's good at that.' I said nothing, which angered him and he hit me in the belly, his face distorted with hatred. I folded over, breathless, and he seized my hair and dragged my head up. 'The king will want to kill you, but I'll make it easy for him first.' He reached out and forced my jaw open, paused, then spat into my mouth. That amused him.\n\nHe had tossed Wasp-Sting and her scabbard to one of his men, but kept my sword belt with Serpent-Breath's scabbard for himself. He took off his own belt and sword, tossed them to a tall warrior, then buckled my belt about his waist. He took Serpent-Breath from the man who had disarmed me and ran a finger up the blood groove in her blade. 'Mine,' he said, almost crooning with joy, 'mine,' and I could have wept. Serpent-Breath! I had owned her almost all of my life, and she was a sword as fine as any in the world, a sword forged by Ealdwulf the Smith and given the sorcerous spells of a warrior and of a woman, and now I had lost her. I looked at her bright pommel where Hild's silver cross glinted and all I could feel was despair and an impotent hatred.\n\nWaormund laid my own sword's blade against my neck and for a brief moment I thought his anger would make him cut, but instead he just spat again and then slid Serpent-Breath into her scabbard. 'Back to the road!' he called to his men. 'Mount up!'\n\nThey would ride east to find the great road that led south to Lundene, the Roman road I had crossed that morning. Waormund led them through a gap in the hedge, though the gap was thick with brambles and the thorns ripped me as I stumbled after his horse. 'Tread in my horse's dung, earsling!' Waormund shouted back at me.\n\nThe stubble of the pasture cut my feet as I staggered downhill. Twenty men rode ahead, Waormund followed, and another twenty rode behind us. Two horsemen, both with spears, flanked me. It had to be near midday, the sun was high and bright, and the road rutted with dried mud. I was thirsty, but all I could swallow was blood. I stumbled and the horse dragged me for a dozen paces, the mud and stones lacerating me until Waormund stopped, turned in his saddle and laughed as I struggled to my feet. 'Keep up, earsling,' he said and kicked his feet so the stallion jerked ahead and I almost fell again. The sudden jolt started blood from the wound in my left shoulder.\n\nThe road led through the coppiced beeches. Finan was hidden somewhere in this wood and I dared to hope that he would rescue me, but he had just six men, and Waormund had over forty. Waormund must have known that I had not been alone and I feared he would send men to find my companions, but it seemed he was content with his prize, his reputation was assured, and he would ride in triumph to Lundene where my enemies would watch me die in misery and pain.\n\nWe passed two priests and their two servants who were walking west towards Werlameceaster. They stood at the side of the road and watched me stumble by. 'Uhtred of Bebbanburg!' Waormund boasted to them. 'Uhtred the Pagan! On his way to death!' One of the priests made the sign of the cross, but neither spoke.\n\nI staggered again, fell again, and was torn by the road again. I did it twice more. Slow them down, I was thinking, slow them down, though what that would achieve other than delaying my death I did not know. Waormund became angry with me, but then ordered one of his men to dismount and I was draped over the empty saddle, though still tied to his stallion's tail. The dismounted man walked beside me and amused himself by slapping my naked arse, crowing with laughter with each slap.\n\nWe went faster now that I could no longer stumble, and the Roman road soon came in sight. It ran north and south through a wide and shallow valley, while far beyond it I could glimpse a silvery stretch of the River Ligan. The land here was good and plump, rich with pastureland and thick crops, with orchards heavy with ripening fruit, and stands of valuable woodland. Waormund ordered his men to trot, forcing my arse-slapping guard to hold onto the empty stirrup as he ran beside the horse. 'We'll make Lundene by nightfall!' Waormund shouted at his men.\n\n'Use the river, lord?' a man suggested. I gave a croak of laughter to hear Waormund addressed as 'lord'. He did not hear me, but the man whose horse carried me did and he slapped me again.\n\n'I hate boats,' Waormund snarled.\n\n'A ship might be quicker, lord?' the man suggested. 'And safer?'\n\n'Safer?' Waormund sneered. 'We're not in danger! The only troops Pretty Boy has near here are at Werlameceaster, and they're useless.' He turned in his saddle to enjoy looking at me. 'Besides,' he went on, 'what do we do with the horses?'\n\nI wondered how he had found the beasts. He had followed me up the river and there had been no horses in his big ship, yet now he had mustered forty or more. Had he somehow gone all the way back to Lundene to find the horses? That seemed unlikely. 'We could take the horses back to Toteham, lord?' the man suggested. 'And you take the earsling to Lundene by river?'\n\n'Those lazy bastards in Toteham can piss into the wind,' Waormund growled, 'and we'll keep their damned horses.'\n\nI had no idea where Toteham was, but plainly it was not far away. I knew that Merewalh was in Werlameceaster, and I supposed that \u00c6thelhelm had sent troops to watch him and harass his forage parties. Maybe those troops were at Toteham where Waormund had found his horses, but what did any of that matter? I was bloody, bruised, and naked, a captive of my enemy, and doomed.\n\nI closed my eyes lest any of my enemies saw tears. There was a clatter of hooves on stone as the leading horsemen reached the Roman road and there we turned southwards, going towards Lundene. The road had no hedges here. To the right a long slope of grassland that had been cut for hay led to a wooded crest, while to the left was another field of stubble and beyond that was the low wooded hill where we had fought the slaves in the moonlit barn. The man slapped my arse again, and again he laughed, and I kept my eyes tight shut as if I could blot out the pain with darkness. But I knew there was more pain to come, nothing but pain and death in Lundene where Ur\u00f0r, Ver\u00f0andi and Skuld, the three pitiless Norns who spin our lives at the foot of Yggdrasil, would cut my thread at last.\n\nThen Finan came.\n\nWaormund reckoned that \u00c6thelstan had no forces closer to Lundene than the garrison at Werlameceaster, which is why he rode southwards without any scouts ranging the pastures and low wooded hills either side of the Roman road. So far as he knew this was safe ground and all he could think of was the joy of his triumph and the sweet revenge of my death.\n\nBut R\u00e6dwalh's two servants had reached Werlameceaster in the night, and Merewalh, who had fought beside me in \u00c6thelflaed's service, had sent sixty men to rescue me, and those horsemen did have scouts riding ahead. They had seen Waormund's men, but being uncertain how many warriors the West Saxon led, they had followed cautiously. They had seen my capture, but had not known it was me, and so they had followed Waormund further eastwards and, in the wood of coppiced beech, had found Finan and the rest of my company.\n\nNow, caution swept to the wind, they came from a wood to the west of the Roman road. They came at a gallop, the high sun reflecting off spear-points, from sword-blades, and from shields bright painted with \u00c6thelstan's symbol of a dragon clutching a lightning bolt. Their horses' hooves threw up great clods of pastureland, the thunder of the horses suddenly loud.\n\nWaormund's men were tired, their horses white with sweat. For a few heartbeats they just stared in disbelief, then men dragged swords from scabbards and turned to face the charge, but Waormund just went on staring. I heard shouting, though whether it was bellows of surprise from the West Saxons or war cries from the Mercians, I could not tell, but the shouts seemed to startle Waormund who suddenly turned his horse away from the attackers and spurred it towards the field of stubble that lay between the road and the tree-covered hill. His stallion, checked by my weight that was still tied to its tail, reared. Waormund savaged the spurs back, the horse screamed, then bolted. My horse followed, but then it was my turn to scream as I was dragged from the saddle. Behind me were other screams as the Mercian horsemen slashed into the West Saxons. I saw none of it, did not see the blood on the Roman stones nor the men in their death throes. I was being dragged across the dry stubble, being lacerated by the short, sharp stalks, bouncing and sobbing as the horse fled, hauling on my tether in an attempt to prevent my arms being wrenched from their sockets, and as I sobbed I half saw another horse come alongside me, saw the earth flung up by giant hooves, and saw the sword lifted above me.\n\nThen the sword sliced down. I screamed. And I saw nothing.\n\nNot far from Bebbanburg is a cave where the Christians claim Saint Cuthbert's body was hidden when the Danes sacked Lindisfarena and the monks fled with the saint's corpse. Others say that Saint Cuthbert lived in the cave for a time, but whichever story is true, whether Saint Cuthbert was alive or dead, the Christians revere the cave. Sometimes, when hunting deer or boar, I will pass the cave and see the crosses made from twisted grass or reeds that are left by people praying for the saint's help. It is a sacred place and I hate it. We call it a cave, but in truth it is a massive ledge of rock jutting from a hillside and supported by one small stone pillar. A man can shelter from a storm beneath that ledge. Perhaps Saint Cuthbert did, but that is not why I hate the place.\n\nWhen I was a child, maybe six or seven years old, my father had taken me to Saint Cuthbert's cave and forced me to crawl under that vast ledge of rock. He had five men with him, all warriors. 'You stay there, boy,' he had said, then taken a war hammer from one of his men and struck the pillar a great ringing blow.\n\nI had wanted to scream in terror, imagining the massive rock crushing me, but knew I would be beaten bloody if I made a sound. I cringed, but stayed silent. 'You stay there, boy,' my father had said again, then using all his strength he hit the pillar a second time. 'One day, boy,' he had continued, 'this pillar will crumble and the rock will fall. Maybe that day is today.' He hammered it again, and again I kept silent. 'You stay there, boy,' he had said a third time, then mounted his horse and rode away, leaving two men to watch me. 'Don't talk to the boy,' he had ordered them, 'and don't let him leave,' nor did they.\n\nFather Beocca, my tutor, was sent to rescue me at nightfall and discovered me shaking with fear. 'Your father does it,' Beocca had explained to me, 'to teach you to conquer your fear. But you were in no danger. I prayed to the blessed Saint Cuthbert.'\n\nThat night and for many nights after I dreamed of that great lump of rock crushing me. It did not fall fast in my dreams, but came slowly, inch by ponderous inch, the stone groaning as it descended so inexorably, and in my dream I was powerless to move. I would see the rock coming, know that I was going to be slowly crushed to death, and I would wake screaming.\n\nI had not had that nightmare for years, but I had it that day, and again I woke screaming, only now I was in a farm cart, cushioned on straw and cloaks, my body covered by a dark red cloak. 'All's well, lord,' a woman said. She was riding in the cart with me as it lurched along the rough road to Werlameceaster.\n\n'Finan,' I said. The sun was in my eyes, too bright. 'Finan.'\n\n'Aye, it's me,' Finan answered. He was riding alongside the cart.\n\nThe woman bent over me, shadowing my face. 'Benedetta,' I said.\n\n'I'm here, lord, with the children. We're all here.'\n\nI closed my eyes. 'No Serpent-Breath,' I said.\n\n'I do not understand,' Benedetta said.\n\n'My sword!'\n\n'You'll have her again, lord,' Finan called.\n\n'Waormund?'\n\n'The big bastard escaped, lord. Rode his horse straight into the river. But I'll find him.'\n\n'I'll find him,' I croaked.\n\n'You'll sleep now, lord,' Benedetta said and she laid a gentle hand on my forehead. 'You must sleep, lord, you must sleep.'\n\nI did sleep, and at least that was an escape from the pain that filled me. I remember little of that day after the sight of Finan's bright sword slashing down to sever the rope that had tied me to Waormund's stallion.\n\nI was taken to Werlameceaster. I do remember opening my eyes and seeing the Roman arch of the eastern gate above me, but I must have slept again, or else the pain just drove me to unconsciousness. I was put on a bed, I was washed, and my wounds, and they were many, were smeared with honey. I dreamed of the cave again, saw the rock coming to crush me, but instead of screaming I just woke shaking to see I was in a stone-walled room lit by stinking rushlights. I was confused. For a moment I could only think about rushlights and how bad they smelled when the fat used to smear them was rancid, and then I felt the pain, remembered my humiliation, and groaned. I wanted the blessing of sleep, but someone put a damp cloth on my forehead. 'You're a hard man to kill,' a woman said.\n\n'Benedetta?'\n\n'It is Benedetta,' she said. She gave me weak ale to drink. I struggled to sit up and she put two straw-filled bags behind me.\n\n'I'm ashamed,' I said.\n\n'Hush,' she said and held my hand. It embarrassed me and I took my hand away.\n\n'I'm ashamed,' I said again.\n\n'Of what?'\n\n'I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg. They humiliated me.'\n\n'And I am Benedetta of nowhere,' she said, 'and I have been humiliated all my life, raped all my life, enslaved all my life, but I am not ashamed.' I closed my eyes to stop myself crying, and she took my hand again. 'If you are powerless, lord,' she went on, 'then why be ashamed of what the strong inflict on you? It is for them to be ashamed.'\n\n'Waormund,' I said the name quietly, as if testing it.\n\n'You will kill him, lord,' Benedetta said, 'as I killed Gunnald Gunnaldson.'\n\nI let her hold my hand, but I turned away from her so she would not see my tears.\n\nI was ashamed.\n\nNext day Finan brought me my mail coat, he brought me Wasp-Sting, with a sword belt to which he had attached Wasp-Sting's scabbard, and he brought me my boots and my old shabby helmet. All that was missing was my torn mail coat, the hammer amulet, and Serpent-Breath. 'We took all these off the dead, lord,' Finan explained, placing Wasp-Sting and the helmet on the bed, and I was glad it was not my fine war-helmet, the helmet that was crested by the silver wolf, because the wolf of Bebbanburg had been humiliated. 'Six or seven of the bastards got away,' the Irishman said.\n\n'With Serpent-Breath.'\n\n'Aye, with Serpent-Breath, but we'll fetch her back.'\n\nI said nothing to that. The knowledge of my failure was too harsh, too strong. What had I thought when I sailed from Bebbanburg? That I could pierce the West Saxon kingdom and cut out the rot that lay at its heart? Yet my enemies were strong. \u00c6thelhelm led an army, he had allies, his nephew was King of Wessex, and I was lucky to be alive, but the shame of my failure galled me. 'How many dead?' I asked Finan.\n\n'We killed sixteen of the bastards,' he said happily, 'and we have nineteen prisoners. Two of the Mercians died, and a couple have nasty injuries.'\n\n'Waormund,' I said, 'he has Serpent-Breath.'\n\n'We'll fetch her back,' Finan said again.\n\n'Serpent-Breath,' I said quietly. 'Her blade was beaten out on Odin's anvil, tempered by Thor's fire, and quenched in the blood of her enemies.'\n\nFinan looked at Benedetta, who shrugged as if to suggest my mind was wandering. Perhaps it was. 'He must sleep,' she said.\n\n'No,' Finan answered. 'He must fight. He's Uhtred of Bebbanburg. He doesn't lie in a bed feeling sorry for himself. Uhtred of Bebbanburg puts on his mail, straps on a sword, and takes death to his enemies.' He stood in the room's doorway, the sun bright behind him. 'Merewalh has five hundred men here, and they're doing nothing. They're sitting around like turds in a bucket. It's time to fight.'\n\nI said nothing. My body ached. My head hurt. I closed my eyes.\n\n'We fight,' Finan said, 'and then we go home.'\n\n'Perhaps I should have died,' I said, 'maybe it was time.'\n\n'Don't be such a pathetic fool,' he snarled. 'The gods didn't want your rotten carcass in Valhalla, not yet. They haven't done with you. What is it you like to tell us all the time? Wyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u00e3r\u00e6d?' His Irish accent mangled the words. 'Well fate hasn't finished with you, and the gods didn't leave you alive for no reason, and you're a lord, so get on your damned feet, strap on a sword, and take us south.'\n\n'South?'\n\n'Because that's where your enemies are. In Lundene.'\n\n'Waormund,' I said, and flinched inwardly as I remembered what had happened beside the hedge in the field of barley. Remembered Waormund and his men laughing as they pissed on my bruised, naked body.\n\n'Aye, he'll be in Lundene,' Finan said grimly. 'He'll have run home to his master with his tail between his legs.'\n\n'\u00c6thelhelm,' I said, naming my enemies.\n\n'We're told he's there too. With his nephew.'\n\n'\u00c6lfweard.'\n\n'That's three men you have to kill, and you'll not do that while your arse is in bed.'\n\nI opened my eyes again. 'What news from the north?'\n\n'None,' Finan said curtly. 'King \u00c6thelstan blocked the great road at Lindcolne to keep the plague from spreading south. Every other road too.'\n\n'The plague,' I repeated.\n\n'Aye, the plague, and the sooner we're home to find out who's dead and who lives the better, but I'll not let you slink home like a beaten man. You fetch Serpent-Breath, lord, you kill your enemies, and then you lead us home.'\n\n'Serpent-Breath,' I said, and the thought of that great blade in my enemy's hands made me sit up. It hurt. Every muscle and bone hurt, but I sat up. Benedetta put out a hand to help me, but I refused it. I swung my legs onto the floor rushes and, with an agonising lurch, stood. 'Help me dress,' I said, 'and find me a sword.'\n\nBecause we were going to Lundene.\n\n'No!' Merewalh said the next day. 'No! We are not going to Lundene.'\n\nThere were a dozen of us, sitting just outside Werlameceaster's great hall, which looked much the same as Ceaster's hall, which was no surprise because both had been built by the Romans. Merewalh's men had dragged benches into the sunlight where the twelve of us sat, though around us, sitting in the dust of the big square that lay in front of the hall, were close to a hundred men who listened. Servants brought us ale. Some chickens scratched by the hall door, watched by a lazy dog. Finan sat to my right while Father Oda was to my left. Two priests and the leaders of Merewalh's troops made up the rest of the company. I hurt still. I knew my body would hurt for days. My left eye was still half closed and my left ear clogged with scabbed blood.\n\n'How many men garrison Lundene?' Father Oda asked.\n\n'At least a thousand,' Merewalh said.\n\n'They need two thousand,' I said.\n\n'And I have only five hundred men,' Merewalh said, 'and some of those are ill.'\n\nI liked Merewalh. He was a sober, sensible man. I had known him since he was a youngster, but his beard and hair had turned grey now and his shrewd eyes were surrounded by deep wrinkles. He looked anxious, but even as a young man he had always appeared worried. He was a good and loyal warrior who had commanded \u00c6thelflaed's household troops and had led them with unshakeable loyalty and an admirable caution. He was no risk-taker, and perhaps that was good in a man who saw defence as his deepest responsibility. \u00c6thelstan plainly trusted him, which was why Merewalh had been given command of the fine troops who had captured Lundene, but then Merewalh had lost the city, tricked by a false report that an army was advancing through Werlameceaster.\n\nNow he held these walls instead of Lundene's massive ramparts. 'What are your orders now?' I asked him.\n\n'To stop reinforcements reaching Lundene from East Anglia.'\n\n'Those reinforcements don't go by road,' I said, 'they go by ship, and we saw them arrive. Ship after ship loaded with men.'\n\nMerewalh frowned at that, but it was surely no surprise to him that \u00c6thelhelm was using ships to strengthen Lundene's garrison. 'Mercia has no ships,' he said as if that excused his failure to stop the reinforcements.\n\n'So you just guard the roads coming from East Anglia?' I asked.\n\n'Without shipping? That's all we can do. And we send patrols to watch Lundene.'\n\n'And to watch Toteham?' I pressed him. I was not sure where Toteham was, but from what I had overheard it must have been between Lundene and Werlameceaster.\n\nMy assumption proved to be right because the question provoked an awkward silence. 'Toteham has only a small garrison,' a man called Heorstan finally said. He was a middle-aged man who served as Merewalh's deputy. 'They're too few to cause us trouble.'\n\n'Small?'\n\n'Maybe seventy-five men?'\n\n'So the seventy-five men at Toteham don't cause you trouble,' I said caustically, 'so what do they do?'\n\n'They just watch us,' one of Merewalh's warriors answered. He sounded surly.\n\n'And you just ignore them?' I was looking at Merewalh.\n\nThere was another awkward silence and some of the men sitting in the sunlight shuffled and stared at the dusty ground, suggesting to me that they had already proposed attacking Toteham and that Merewalh had rejected the idea.\n\n'If \u00c6thelhelm sends an army out of Lundene to attack King \u00c6thelstan,' one of the priests spoke up, evidently trying to save Merewalh from embarrassment, 'we are to follow them. Those are also our orders. We are to fall on their rear as the king assaults their vanguard.'\n\n'And where is King \u00c6thelstan?' I asked.\n\n'He guards the Temes,' Merewalh said, 'with twelve hundred warriors.'\n\n'Guards!' the priest stressed the word, still attempting to defend Merewalh's inactivity. 'The king watches the Temes as we watch the roads to Lundene. King \u00c6thelstan insists that we do not provoke a war.'\n\n'There's already a war,' I put in harshly. 'Men died two days ago.'\n\nThe priest, a plump man with a circlet of brown hair, waved as if those deaths were trivial. 'There is skirmishing, lord, yes, but King \u00c6thelstan will not invade Wessex, and thus far the armies of Lord \u00c6thelhelm have not invaded Mercia.'\n\n'Lundene is Mercian,' I insisted.\n\n'Arguably, yes,' the priest said irritably, 'but since the days of King Alfred it has been garrisoned by West Saxons.'\n\n'Is that why you left?' I asked Merewalh. It was a brutally unkind question, reminding him of his foolishness in abandoning the city.\n\nHe flinched, conscious of all the men who sat listening to our discussion. 'You've never made a bad decision, Lord Uhtred?'\n\n'You know I have. You just rescued me from one of my worst.'\n\nHe smiled at that. 'Brihtwulf did,' he said, nodding at a young man sitting to his left.\n\n'And he did it well,' I spoke fervently, earning a smile from Brihtwulf, who, on Merewalh's orders, had led the men who had rescued me. He was the youngest of Merewalh's commanders and had brought the largest number of troops, well over a hundred men, which should have qualified him to be Merewalh's deputy, but his youth and inexperience had counted against him. He was tall, dark-haired, strongly built, and newly wealthy, having inherited his father's estates just two months before. Finan approved of him. 'He's got more silver than sense,' the Irishman had told me, 'but he's a belligerent bastard. Keen to fight.'\n\n'Brihtwulf rescued you,' Merewalh went on, 'and are you now trying to rescue me from my bad judgement?'\n\n'It was not bad judgement,' Heorstan said firmly. It was plain that Merewalh's deputy supported his commander's cautious approach. 'We had no choice.'\n\n'Except the invading army didn't exist!' Brihtwulf commented savagely.\n\n'My scouts were certain of what they saw,' Heorstan responded angrily. 'There were men on the road from\u2014'\n\n'Enough!' I interrupted him with a snarl. It was not really my place to command this assembly, but if they started arguing over past mistakes we would never agree on the future. 'Tell me,' I said, turning to Merewalh, 'if there's no war, what is there?'\n\n'Talking,' Merewalh said.\n\n'At Elentone,' the plump priest added.\n\nElentone was a town on the Temes, the river that was the border between Wessex and Mercia. 'Is \u00c6thelstan at Elentone?' I asked.\n\n'No, lord,' the priest answered. 'The king thought it unwise to go himself, so he sent envoys to speak for him. He is at Wicumun.'\n\n'Which is close by,' I said. Wicumun was a settlement among the hills north of the Temes, while Elentone was on the river's southern bank, both towns an easy march west of Lundene. Was \u00c6thelstan truly seeking a treaty with his half-brother, \u00c6lfweard? It was possible, I supposed, but at least he had shown sense in not risking capture by crossing into his half-brother's country. 'So what are these envoys talking about?' I asked.\n\n'Peace, of course,' the priest said.\n\n'Father Edwyn just came from Elentone,' Merewalh explained, nodding towards the priest.\n\n'Where we were searching for agreement,' Father Edwyn said, 'and praying there will be no war.'\n\n'King Edward,' I said harshly, 'did something stupid. He left Wessex to \u00c6lfweard and Mercia to \u00c6thelstan and both want the other one's country. How can there be peace without war?' I waited for an answer, but no one spoke. 'Will \u00c6lfweard give up Wessex?' Again there was silence. 'Or will \u00c6thelstan agree to let \u00c6lfweard rule Mercia?' I knew no one would answer that. 'So there can't be peace,' I said flatly, 'and they can talk as much as they like, but undoing Edward's stupidity will be decided with swords.'\n\n'Men of goodwill are trying to forge an agreement,' Father Edwyn said weakly.\n\nI let those words fall flat. These men did not need me to tell them that \u00c6thelhelm's goodwill extended no further than his family. The warriors around Merewalh still stared at the ground, apparently unwilling to revive an old argument about what Merewalh should be doing with his troops. Yet it was plain to me, and it was probably plain to Merewalh too, that he was being too cautious.\n\n'Who has the most troops?' I asked. '\u00c6thelhelm or \u00c6thelstan?'\n\nFor a moment no one responded, even though they all knew the answer. '\u00c6thelhelm,' Merewalh finally admitted.\n\n'So why is \u00c6thelhelm talking?' I asked. 'If he has more men, why isn't he attacking?' No one answered again. 'He's talking,' I went on, 'because that gives him time. Time to assemble a great army in Lundene, time to bring all his followers from East Anglia. And he'll go on talking until his army is so large that \u00c6thelstan will have no chance to defeat it. You say King \u00c6thelstan is guarding the Temes?'\n\n'He is,' Merewalh said.\n\n'With twelve hundred men? Who are all scattered along the river?'\n\n'They must guard all the bridges and fords,' Merewalh admitted.\n\n'And how many West Saxons guard the southern bank of the Temes?'\n\n'Two thousand? Three?' Merewalh suggested uncertainly, then challenged me. 'So what do you think King \u00c6thelstan should do?'\n\n'Stop talking and start fighting,' I said, and there were murmurs of agreement from the men on the benches. I noticed it was the younger men who nodded first, though a couple of older warriors also muttered approval. 'You say he's at Wicumun? Then he should attack Lundene before \u00c6thelhelm attacks him.'\n\n'Lord Uhtred is right,' Brihtwulf spoke. His flat statement had prompted no response and, emboldened by that silence, he continued. 'We're doing nothing here! The enemy isn't sending men by road so we're just getting fat. We need to fight!'\n\n'But how?' Merewalh asked. 'And where? Wessex has twice as many men as Mercia!'\n\n'And if you wait much longer,' I retorted, 'they'll have three times as many.'\n\n'So what would you do?' Heorstan asked. He had not liked the way I had peremptorily cut him off earlier, and the question was almost a sneer, certainly a challenge.\n\n'I would cut off the heads of Wessex,' I answered. 'You say \u00c6thelhelm and his earsling nephew are in Lundene?'\n\n'We were told so,' Merewalh answered.\n\n'And I was in Lundene not long ago,' I went on, 'and the men from East Anglia don't want to fight. They don't want to die for Wessex. They want to get home for the harvest. If we cut off Wessex's two heads they'll thank us.'\n\n'Two heads?' Father Edwyn asked.\n\n'\u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6lfweard,' I said harshly. 'We find them, we kill them.'\n\n'Amen,' Brihtwulf said.\n\n'And how,' Heorstan asked, still with challenge in his voice, 'would we do that?'\n\nSo I told him.\n\n'I was a big baby,' Finan told me later that day.\n\nI stared at him. 'Big?'\n\n'So my ma said! She said it was like giving birth to a pig. Poor woman. They said she squealed horribly when she squeezed me out.'\n\n'I'm fascinated,' I said.\n\n'And I'm not really a big fellow at all. Not tall like you!'\n\n'More like a weasel than a pig,' I said.\n\n'But there was a wise woman at my birth,' Finan ignored my sarcasm, 'and she read the blood.'\n\n'She read the blood?'\n\n'To see the future, of course! She looked at the blood on my wee body before they washed it away.'\n\n'Your wee body,' I said, and laughed. The laughter made my cracked ribs hurt. 'But that's sorcery,' I went on, 'and I thought you Irish were all Christians?'\n\n'So we are. We just like to improve it with a touch of harmless sorcery.' He grinned. 'And she said I'd live a long life and die in my bed.'\n\n'That's all she said?'\n\n'That's all,' Finan said, 'and that wise woman was never wrong! And I'm not likely to go to bed in Lundene, am I?'\n\n'Stay out of bed,' I said, 'and you'll live for ever.' And I should have avoided barley, I thought.\n\nI knew why Finan was telling me of the wise woman's prophecy. He was trying to encourage me. He knew I was reluctant to return to Lundene, that I had pressed Merewalh to attack simply because men expected me to lead them into battle. Yet the truth was that I only wanted to go home, to ride the great road to Northumbria and so gain the safety of Bebbanburg's walls.\n\nYet much as I wanted the comfort and safety of home, I wanted to salvage my reputation too. My pride had been hurt and my sword stolen. Finan, who had wanted to go home for so long, was now pressing me to take up the fight again. Was it his reputation too? 'It's a huge risk,' I told him.\n\n'Of course it's a risk! Life is a risk! But are you going to let that bastard Waormund boast of defeating you?'\n\nI did not answer, but I was thinking that we must all die, and when we die all that remains of us is reputation. So I must go to Lundene whether I liked it or not.\n\nWhich was why one hundred and eighty of Merewalh's men were scraping their shields that afternoon. We had no lime and not nearly enough pitch, so instead of trying to repaint the shields men were using knives and adzes to scratch off \u00c6thelstan's symbol of the dragon and lightning strike. Then, once the willow boards were scraped clean, they used red hot-irons to burn a dark cross into the pale wood. It was a crude symbol, nothing like the triple-crown badge that many East Anglians carried, nor like \u00c6thelhelm's symbol of the leaping stag, but the best I could devise. Even I would carry a shield with the Christian cross.\n\nBecause we would go to Lundene under a false badge, pretending to be East Anglians come to reinforce the swelling garrison. Merewalh and Heorstan had opposed the plan, but their protests had become weaker as other men urged that we should attack instead of just waiting in Werlameceaster for other men to decide the conflict. Two arguments had persuaded them, and I made both of them, though in my heart I did not really trust either. I wanted to go home, yet the oath bound me, and Serpent-Breath drew me.\n\nMy first argument was that if we waited then \u00c6thelhelm's forces must inevitably grow stronger, and that was true, yet already we were woefully outnumbered by his garrison in Lundene. Merewalh had given me one hundred and eighty men and we would assault a city garrisoned by at least a thousand and, quite probably, two thousand.\n\nThose odds should have dissuaded any man from following me, but I had made a second argument that had convinced them. I spoke of the East Anglians we had met in the Dead Dane tavern, how they had been reluctant to fight. 'They were only there because their lord demanded their presence,' I had said, 'and not one wanted to fight.'\n\n'Which doesn't mean they won't fight,' Merewalh had pointed out.\n\n'But for who?' I had retorted. 'They hate the West Saxons! Which was the last army to invade East Anglia?'\n\n'The West Saxon.'\n\n'And East Anglia,' I had argued, 'is a proud country. It has lost its king, it has been ruled by Danes, but now Wessex has imposed a king on them and they don't love him.'\n\n'But will they love us?' Merewalh had asked.\n\n'They will follow the enemy of their enemy,' I had said, and did I believe that?\n\nIt was possible that some East Anglians would fight on the side of Mercia while others might refuse to fight altogether, but it is hard to persuade men to rebel against their lord. Men hold land from their lord, they look to their lord for food in hard times, for silver in good times, and even if that lord served a harsh and cruel king, he is still their lord. They might not fight with enthusiasm, but most would fight. I knew that truth, and Merewalh knew it too, yet in the end he was persuaded. And perhaps that persuasion did not come from my arguments, but rather from a passionate speech given by Father Oda.\n\n'I am an East Anglian,' he had said, 'and a Dane.' There had been murmurs at those words, but Oda stood tall and stern. He had presence, an air of authority, and the murmurs had faded. 'I was raised a pagan,' he had continued, 'but by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ I have come to His throne, I have become one of His priests and one of His people. I am one of Christ's people! I have no country. I fled East Anglia to live in Wessex, and there I served as a priest in the house of \u00c6thelhelm.' Again there were murmurs, but low and cut short when Oda lifted a hand. 'And in the house of \u00c6thelhelm,' he had continued, making sure that his voice was heard throughout the whole square, 'I looked upon the face of evil. I saw a lord without honour and a prince in whom the devil has found a home. \u00c6lfweard,' he spat the name, 'is a boy of cruelty, a boy of deceit, a boy of sin! And so I fled again, this time to Mercia, and there I found a prince of God, a man of honour, I found King \u00c6thelstan!' And then the murmurs were approving, but again Oda had held up a hand to still the crowd.\n\n'The East Anglians will fight!' he had continued. 'But what is East Anglia? Is it a country? Their last Saxon king died a generation ago, they have been ruled by the Danes and now by West Saxons! They are a people without a country and they yearn for a country and in our scripture Saint Peter tells us that those who have no country belong to the country of God. And in that country God is our lord, God is our ruler, and \u00c6thelstan of Mercia is His instrument. And the dispossessed of East Anglia will follow us! They will fight for our god because they want to dwell in God's country and be God's people! As are we!'\n\nI had just stared in amazement because men were standing and cheering. I needed to say nothing more because the gamble of leading a few men on a desperate mission to Lundene had been turned into a holy duty. If men had their wish they would have ridden for Lundene that very moment, expecting \u00c6thelhelm's East Anglian troops to change their allegiance as soon as we showed our banners.\n\nEven Merewalh had been persuaded, but his natural caution still ruled him. 'We might succeed,' he allowed, 'if God is with us. But King \u00c6thelstan must know.'\n\n'So tell him.'\n\n'I already sent a messenger.'\n\n'So \u00c6thelstan can forbid it?' I challenged him.\n\n'If he wishes, yes.'\n\n'So we must wait for his answer?' I asked. 'And wait while his advisers debate?'\n\nI had sounded scornful, yet a part of me almost wanted \u00c6thelstan to forbid the madness, but again it was Father Oda who urged boldness. 'I believe God wishes us to conquer,' he had told Merewalh, 'even if a pagan leads us.'\n\n'Even if I lead them?' I asked.\n\n'Even so,' he had spoken as though there was a stench in his nostrils.\n\n'You believe it is God's will?' Merewalh had asked the priest.\n\n'I know it is God's will,' Oda had said fervently, and so now men scraped shields and burned crosses onto the willow boards. And, watching them, I wondered if I was again making a terrible mistake. The enemy in Lundene was so numerous, and Merewalh had given me just one hundred and eighty men, and sense told me I was being an impetuous fool, yet whenever I felt a temptation to abandon the foolishness a small voice told me that success was possible.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm was gathering his troops in Lundene because there he was safe behind sturdy Roman walls in a city large enough to quarter his growing army. And doubtless he hoped that \u00c6thelstan would attack him there because there is no quicker way to destroy an enemy's army than to kill it as it assaulted stone walls. \u00c6thelstan could hurl his men at Lundene's Roman battlements and they would die in their hundreds and the survivors would be hunted and slaughtered across the length and breadth of Mercia. \u00c6lfweard would take the thrones of Wessex, Mercia, and East Anglia, and call them Englaland, before taking his new and even bigger army north to my country of Northumbria.\n\nYet it was not just numbers. The men of East Anglia might follow \u00c6thelhelm and acknowledge his nephew as their new king, but they did not love either man. Most East Anglians had obeyed \u00c6thelhelm's summons because to disobey it would be to invite punishment. They were a conquered nation and they harboured a sullen resentment for their conquerors. If I could pierce into the heart of Lundene and cut out the centre of \u00c6thelhelm's forces they would not want revenge on me. Yet half of that army in Lundene were West Saxons, and how would they respond? I did not know. I did know that many West Saxon lords resented the power and reach of \u00c6thelhelm's wealth, that they despised \u00c6lfweard as a callow and vicious youth, yet would they welcome \u00c6thelstan?\n\nSo yes, there was a chance, if a despairingly small chance, that a sudden lunge into the heart of Lundene would undo the damage made by Edward's will. Yet I knew that the real reason I wanted to go back was because my enemy was there. The enemy who had humiliated me, the enemy who was doubtless boasting of his triumph over Uhtred of Bebbanburg, the enemy who held my sword.\n\nI was going for revenge.\n\nFinan was not with me that afternoon as we scraped and branded the shields. I had sent him with two of our men and a pair of Brihtwulf's warriors to wait on the road to Lundene. I had told them to hide themselves beside that road and, just two miles south of Werlameceaster, they had found a spinney of blackthorn and hazel that offered them cover. They waited and did not return until the sun was low in the west, casting long shadows from Werlameceaster's ramparts.\n\nI was in the hall with Merewalh, Heorstan, and Brihtwulf. The two older men were nervous. Merewalh had accepted my plan after Father Oda's fiery sermon, but now he was finding nothing but difficulties. The enemy was too strong, Lundene's walls too high, and the chance of success too low. Heorstan agreed with him, but was less certain that we must fail. 'The Lord Uhtred,' he said, half bowing his head towards me, 'has a reputation for winning. Perhaps we should trust him?'\n\nMerewalh looked at me mournfully. 'But if you're defeated before I can bring my troops into the city?' he asked hesitantly.\n\n'I die,' I said curtly.\n\n'And Brihtwulf and his men die with you,' Merewalh said unhappily, 'and they are my responsibility too.'\n\n'We surprise the enemy,' I said. 'We're planning a night attack when most are sleeping, just as they surprised us when they captured the city. We get inside and we open the gate to you and your men.'\n\n'If you assault the gate\u2014' Merewalh began.\n\n'We don't assault the gate,' I interrupted him. 'They'll think we're East Anglian troops come to reinforce them.'\n\n'After dark?' Merewalh was intent on finding problems and, if I was honest, there were many. 'Men usually don't travel after dark, lord. What if they refuse to open the gate?'\n\n'Then we wait till morning,' I said. 'In fact it might be even easier in daylight. We'll have crosses on our shields. We just have to persuade them we're East Anglians, not Mercians.'\n\nIt was at that moment that Finan came into the hall with one of Brihtwulf's warriors. Both men looked hot and tired, but Finan was grinning. The four of us fell silent as the two men paced towards us. 'Six men,' Finan said as they reached us.\n\nMerewalh looked puzzled, but I spoke before he could question Finan. 'Did they see you?' I asked.\n\n'They were riding too hard,' Finan found a half-filled pot of ale on a table and drank, before offering it to his companion, 'and they didn't see a thing.'\n\n'They didn't see us,' Brihtwulf's man confirmed. His name was Wihtgar, and he was a lean, dark-faced man with a long jaw and just one ear. The missing ear had been sliced off by a Danish axe in a skirmish and the puckered scar left by the axe was half hidden by long greasy black hair. Brihtwulf, whom I liked, had told me Wihtgar was his best and most vicious warrior and, looking at the man, I believed it.\n\nMerewalh was frowning. 'Six men?' he asked, confused by the brief conversation.\n\n'An hour or so ago,' Finan explained, 'we saw six men riding south, and all of them from this garrison.'\n\nMerewalh looked indignant. 'But I ordered no patrols! Certainly not this late in the day.'\n\n'And all six were Heorstan's men,' Wihtgar added menacingly. We had sent two of Brihtwulf's men with Finan because they would recognise any horsemen from Merewalh's forces.\n\n'My men?' Heorstan took a backwards step.\n\n'Your men,' Wihtgar said, 'your men,' he repeated, then named the six. He spoke the names very slowly and very harshly, all the while staring into Heorstan's bearded face.\n\nHeorstan looked at Merewalh, then gave a weak smile. 'I sent them to exercise the horses, lord.'\n\n'So the six have returned?' I asked.\n\nHe opened his mouth, found he had nothing to say, then realised silence would condemn him. 'I'm sure they've returned!' he said hurriedly.\n\nI slid Wasp-Sting from her scabbard. 'So send for them,' I growled.\n\nHe took another backwards step. 'I'm sure they'll return soon \u2026' he began, then fell silent.\n\n'I'm counting to three,' I said, 'and if you want to live you will answer my next question before I reach three. Where did they go? One,' I paused, 'two,' I drew Wasp-Sting back, ready to lunge.\n\n'Toteham!' Heorstan gasped. 'They went to Toteham!'\n\n'On your orders?' I asked, still pointing Wasp-Sting towards his belly. 'To warn \u00c6thelhelm's troops?' I pressed him.\n\n'I was going to tell you!' Heorstan said desperately, now looking beseechingly at Merewalh. 'Lord Uhtred's plan is madness! It will never work! I didn't know how to stop our men being slaughtered in Lundene so thought I would warn \u00c6thelhelm and tell you afterwards. Then you'd have to abandon this madness!'\n\n'How much money has \u00c6thelhelm been paying you?' I asked.\n\n'No money!' Heorstan gabbled. 'No money! I was just trying to save our men!' He looked at Merewalh. 'I was going to tell you!'\n\n'And it was your scouts that drew the garrison out of Lundene,' I accused him, 'with false stories of an army approaching Werlameceaster.'\n\n'No!' he protested. 'No!'\n\n'Yes,' I said, and touched Wasp-Sting's sharp tip to his belly, 'and if you want to live, you'll tell us how much \u00c6thelhelm paid you.' I pressed the seax against him. 'You do want to live? You'll live if you tell us.'\n\n'He paid me!' Heorstan said, now in terror. 'He paid me gold!'\n\n'Three,' I said, and drove Wasp-Sting into his belly. Heorstan half folded over the short blade and then, ignoring the agony in my shoulders, I used both hands to rip the seax upwards and he made a mewing sound that turned into a choking scream which faded as he collapsed slowly, his blood reddening the floor rushes. He stared up at me, his mouth opening and closing and his eyes full of tears. 'You said I could live!' he managed to gasp.\n\n'I did,' I answered, 'I just didn't say how long you could live.'\n\nHe lived a few painful minutes longer, finally bleeding to death. Merewalh was shocked, not by Heorstan's death, he had seen enough killing not to be worried by the spreading blood and choking breaths, but by the revelation that Heorstan had betrayed him. 'I thought him a friend! How did you know?'\n\n'I didn't know,' I answered, 'but if our plan was to be betrayed we needed to know. So I sent Finan south.'\n\n'But it is betrayed!' Merewalh protested. 'Why didn't you stop the men?'\n\n'Because I wanted the men to reach Toteham,' I said, cleaning Wasp-Sting's blade on a scrap of cloth, 'of course.'\n\n'You wanted them \u2026' Merewalh began. 'But why? In God's name why?'\n\n'Because the plan I told you and Heorstan was false. That was what I wanted the enemy to hear.'\n\n'Then how do we do it?' Merewalh asked.\n\nSo I told him. And next day we rode to war."
            },
            {
                "title": "Serpent-Breath",
                "text": "The dawn brought a mist that lingered above the meadows, drifted across the Roman walls, and was lost in the smoke from Werlameceaster's hearths. Men walked horses in the town's streets where a priest offered blessings outside a small wooden church. Scores of warriors knelt to receive a muttered prayer and a touch of his fingers on their foreheads. Women carried buckets of water from the town wells.\n\nNo one had tried to leave the town during the short summer night. Merewalh had doubled the number of sentries who guarded Werlameceaster's gates and paced its walls. Those men would stay in the town as a small garrison while the rest of us, one hundred and eighty men under my command and two hundred led by Merewalh, assaulted the enemy in Lundene.\n\nI had long been awake as the dawn silvered the mist. I had pulled on my mail coat, buckled the sword belt with its borrowed blade, and then had nothing better to do than sit and watch the men who must fight and the women they would leave behind.\n\nBenedetta joined me on the bench, which stood in a street leading from the wide square in front of the great hall. She said nothing. Alaina, who now followed Benedetta everywhere, sat on the street's far side and watched us both anxiously. She had found a kitten that she petted, though she never took her eyes from us.\n\n'So you will go today,' Benedetta finally said.\n\n'Today.'\n\n'And tomorrow? The day after?'\n\nI had no answer to her implied questions, so said nothing. A crow flew down from a rooftop, pecked at something in the square, and flew again. Was that an omen? I had tried to read every sign that morning, watched every bird in the mist, had tried to recall my dreams, but nothing made sense. I drew the borrowed sword and gazed at its blade, wondering if there was some message in the dull steel. Nothing. I lay the sword down. The gods were silent.\n\n'How are you feeling?' Benedetta asked.\n\n'Just a bit sore,' I said, 'that's all.' My body felt stiff, my shoulders were sore, the muscles of my arms ached, my skin's lacerations stung, the inside of my cheek was swollen, my head throbbed, and my ribs were bruised if not broken.\n\n'You should not go,' Benedetta said firmly and, when I did not reply, repeated herself. 'You should not go, it is dangerous.'\n\n'War is dangerous.'\n\n'Father Oda,' she said, 'was speaking to me last night. He said the thing you plan is madness.'\n\n'It is madness,' I agreed, 'but Father Oda wants us to attack. He was the one who persuaded Merewalh to attack.'\n\n'But he said it is the madness of God, so you will be blessed.' She sounded dubious.\n\nThe madness of God. Was that why my own gods had sent me no sign? Because this was the madness of the Christian god, not of my gods? Unlike the Christians, who insist that all other gods are false, even insisting that they do not exist, I have always acknowledged that the nailed god has power. So perhaps the Christian god would give us victory? Or perhaps my gods, angered that I harboured that hope, would punish me with death.\n\n'But God is not mad,' Benedetta went on, 'and God will not want you dead.'\n\n'Christians have been praying for my death for years.'\n\n'Then they are mad,' she said with great certainty and, when I smiled, she became angry. 'Why are you going? Tell me that! Why?'\n\n'To fetch my sword,' I said, because I did not really know the answer to her question.\n\n'Then you are mad,' she said with finality.\n\n'It doesn't matter if I go,' I said, speaking slowly, 'but I should not be taking other men with me.'\n\n'Because they will die?'\n\n'Because I will lead them to their deaths, yes.' I paused and instinctively touched my hammer, but of course it was gone. 'Or perhaps to a victory?' I added.\n\nShe heard the doubt in my last few words. 'In your heart,' Benedetta pressed me, 'which do you believe?'\n\nI could not admit the truth, which was that I was sorely tempted to tell Merewalh that we should abandon the assault. The easy course was to let \u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6thelstan battle out their quarrel while I went north, went home, went to Bebbanburg.\n\nYet there was a chance, a slight chance, that what we planned could end the war almost before it had begun. Merewalh was to lead two hundred horsemen south to attack \u00c6thelhelm's small garrison at Toteham, then ride on towards Lundene. He would be close to the city by nightfall and would doubtless encounter forage parties who would flee to tell \u00c6thelhelm's men that an enemy force was approaching. Then, as dark fell, his men would light fires, as many as they could, on the heaths that lay some three miles north of the city. The glow of those fires would surely convince the city's garrison that a besieging force had come and, in the dawn, they would be gazing northwards, readying to send patrols to discover the enemy's strength and ensuring that the walls were fully manned.\n\nAnd it was then that I planned to lead the smaller force into the city and give the enemy a gut-stroke like that which had killed Heorstan. But just as flesh closes around a sword, sometimes making it almost impossible to drag the trapped blade free, so \u00c6thelhelm's men would close on us and outnumber us. It was Father Oda's conviction that the East Anglians would change sides, but I reckoned that would only happen if we had first killed or captured \u00c6thelhelm and his nephew King \u00c6lfweard. That was why I was going, not just to retrieve Serpent-Breath, but to kill my enemies.\n\n'The enemy knows you're coming!' Benedetta protested.\n\nI smiled at her. 'The enemy knows what I want them to know. That's why we let Heorstan's men ride south yesterday, to mislead the enemy.'\n\n'And that will be enough?' she asked. 'To mislead them? You will win because of that?' She was scornful. I said nothing. 'You lie to me because you are not well! Your ribs! You are hurting. You think you can fight? Tell me what you believe!'\n\nAnd still I said nothing, because lurking in my heart was the temptation to break my oath to \u00c6thelstan. Why kill his enemies even if they were mine? If a great war broke out between Wessex and Mercia then my country would be safer. For all my adult life I had watched Wessex grow stronger, defeating the Danes, subduing Mercia, and conquering East Anglia, and all in pursuit of King Alfred's dream that there should be one country for all the folk who spoke \u00c6nglisc, the language of the Saxons. But Northumbria also spoke that language, and Northumbria was my land, and Northumbria was ruled by the last pagan king in Britain. Did I want to see Northumbria swallowed into a greater land, a Christian land? Better, I thought, to let \u00c6thelstan and \u00c6lfweard fight it out, to let them weaken each other. And all that was true, except I had given my oath and I had lost my sword. Sometimes we do not know why we do the things we do, we are driven to it by fate, by impulse, or by mere stupidity.\n\n'You're not speaking,' Benedetta said accusingly, 'you're not answering me.'\n\nI stood and picked up the sword that I would carry to the fight and felt the sharp loss of the sword I wished I was carrying. I pushed the blade into its scabbard. 'It's time to go.'\n\n'But you\u2014' she began.\n\n'I swore an oath,' I interrupted her harshly, 'and I lost a sword.'\n\n'And what of me?' she asked, almost crying. 'What of Alaina?'\n\nI stooped and looked into her beautiful face. 'I will come for you,' I said, 'and for the children. When it's over we'll all go north.'\n\nI thought of Eadith in Bebbanburg and thrust that uncomfortable thought away. For a heartbeat I was tempted to touch Benedetta's cheek, to assure her I would come back, but instead I turned away.\n\nBecause it was time to fight.\n\nOr it was time, rather, to ride the pilgrim road again, to cross the great road, and so to the River Ligan, and that meant passing the hilltop where Waormund had humiliated me. I could barely bring myself to look up the slope to the hedgerow, nor look at the dry ruts in the road that had lacerated me. I hurt. Finan rode to my right with his battered helmet hanging from his saddle pommel and a broad-brimmed rye straw hat shading his eyes from the rising sun. Wihtgar, with whom Finan seemed to have struck up a friendship, rode beyond Finan, and the two were arguing about horses, Wihtgar maintaining that a gelding could outrun a stallion any day, to which Finan, of course, retorted that the horses of Ireland were so swift, so brave, that no horse in the world could outrun them, though he allowed that Sleipnir might. Wihtgar had never heard of Sleipnir, so Finan had to explain that Sleipnir was Thor's horse and ran on eight legs, to which Wihtgar retorted that Sleipnir's dam must have been a spider, which made them both laugh.\n\nIn truth I knew Finan was talking to distract me. He had deliberately said Sleipnir was Thor's horse when he knew full well he was Odin's stallion, and he was thus inviting me to correct him. I kept silent.\n\nMerewalh had ridden first, but he and his two hundred men had turned south on the great road and were long out of sight when we crossed and kept riding eastwards. We numbered one hundred and eighty men, of whom sixty were Brihtwulf's troops, led by Brihtwulf himself, and by Wihtgar, who was his most experienced warrior. A dozen servants, brought to take the horses back to Werlameceaster, accompanied us with packhorses on which we had loaded barrels of ale and boxes of oatcakes. My few men, all on captured West Saxon horses, rode behind me, but the rest of the troops were Mercians who had wanted to come with us, inspired or convinced by Father Oda's sermon. The priest was also with us, though I had not wanted his company. 'You're a priest,' I had told him, 'and we need warriors.'\n\n'You need the living Christ at your side,' he had responded fiercely, 'and you need more.'\n\n'More gods?' I had needled him.\n\n'You need an East Anglian,' he had ignored my taunt. 'You're pretending to be \u00c6thelhelm's men and you know nothing of his eastern estates, nothing of his tenants. I do.'\n\nHe had been right, and so he rode with us though he refused both a mail coat and a weapon. I carried a long plain sword with an ash handle. The blade, which Merewalh had given me, had no name. 'But it's a fine sword, lord,' he had assured me, and so it was, but it was no Serpent-Breath.\n\nOnce at the Ligan we turned south. Wihtgar had sent scouts ahead who came back to say there were no red-cloaked troops at the village where the ford crossed the Ligan. 'No ship either,' one of the scouts reported. I had supposed that the ship in which Waormund had been pursuing us would be grounded at the ford, and so it probably had been, but she was evidently gone. 'Did you cross the ford?' I asked.\n\n'No, lord. We did what we were told to do. Look for the enemy in the village. We were told they left two days ago.'\n\nThat, if true, was a relief. I did not mind if Merewalh's two hundred men were discovered by \u00c6thelhelm's forces, indeed we wanted them to be discovered. We wanted the troops garrisoning Lundene to be watching northwards, watching Merewalh, while my smaller force went southwards. But to go southwards we needed ships and we needed to stay unseen.\n\nWe splashed across the ford to the Ligan's East Anglian bank, then turned south again, riding to the big timber yard where, on our voyage upriver in Brimwisa, I had seen four barges being loaded with split timbers.\n\nThree of the barges were still there. They were flat-bottomed, made for river work, with a wide beam, a blunt prow, and a steering-oar with a blade the size of a small barn door. All three possessed masts, but the masts were stepped, lying lengthwise in the wide flat bellies of the craft along with their shrouds, a sail yard each, and three neatly furled sails. There were no benches for oarsmen, instead the rowers stood and used the dozen tholes on each side for their long, heavy oars. They were horrible, clumsy looking boats, but they would get us to Lundene. I dismounted, flinching because of the pain in my ribs, and walked towards the barges.\n\n'You can't take them!' An irate elderly man stormed out of a house built next to a vast open shed where timbers were seasoning. He spoke Danish. 'You can't take them!' he repeated.\n\n'Are you going to stop us?' It was Wihtgar who snarled that response, and in Danish too, which surprised me.\n\nThe man took one look into Wihtgar's scarred face and all defiance fled. 'How do I get them back?' he pleaded.\n\nI ignored the question. 'Lord \u00c6thelhelm needs them,' I said, 'and doubtless he'll return them.'\n\n'Lord \u00c6thelhelm?' The elderly man was confused now.\n\n'I'm his cousin, \u00c6thelwulf,' I said, using the name of \u00c6thelhelm's younger brother who I hoped was still a prisoner in Bebbanburg, then had an impulse to touch my hammer to ward off the thoughts of plague in the north. I had no hammer, but I did have my pouch of money that Finan had returned, and so I gave the man hacksilver. 'We're joining my cousin in Lundene,' I told him, 'so look for your ships there.' I saw a thin silver chain under his jerkin, reached out to free it, and found he was wearing a silver hammer. He edged back, alarmed. Our shields were burned with crosses and he plainly feared Christian vengeance. 'How much?' I asked.\n\n'Much, lord?'\n\n'For the hammer?'\n\n'Two shillings, lord.'\n\nI gave him three, then hung the hammer around my neck and touched it with a forefinger. It was a consolation.\n\nOne of the barges was half loaded with stacks of split timber and we unloaded it, then waited for the tide to turn. I sat on a thick oak trunk, gazing across the river, which swirled slow and sluggish. Two swans drifted upstream on the flood tide. I was thinking of Eadith and of Benedetta when a voice interrupted my thoughts. 'You said we were Lord \u00c6thelhelm's men, lord?' Wihtgar was standing over me.\n\n'I didn't want him complaining to \u00c6thelhelm,' I explained. Not that the elderly man was likely to send a messenger to Lundene, but nor did I want news spreading through the neighbourhood of a Mercian force taking boats. 'Besides,' I went on, 'we are \u00c6thelhelm's men now, or we are until we start killing them.' We had plenty of captured red cloaks, and we had the charred crosses on our shields. I looked up at Wihtgar. 'So you speak Danish?' That was unusual for a Saxon.\n\nHe gave me a lopsided grin. 'Married to one, lord.' He touched the wrinkled scar where his left ear had been. 'Her husband did this. He got my ear, I got his woman. A fair exchange.'\n\n'Indeed,' I said. 'Did he live?'\n\n'Not long, lord.' He patted the hilt of his sword. 'Fl\u00e6scmangere saw to that.'\n\nI half smiled. Fl\u00e6scmangere was a good name for a sword, and the butcher's blade, I thought, would soon be busy in Lundene.\n\nIt was midday before the ebb started, but even before the tide turned, when it was slack water, we untied the ships, poled them off the wharf, and started downriver. It was another bright summer's day, too hot to wear mail. The sun dazzled from the river's ripples, a lazy west wind stirred the willow leaves, and slowly, slowly, we lumbered downstream. We used the oars, but clumsily, because the Mercians were not used to rowing. I had put Gerbruht on the second barge and Beornoth on the third because they were both Frisian seamen and both knew boats. Their barges lumbered behind ours, the oars splashing and clashing, and mostly it was the river's current and the fall of the quickening tide that took us southwards.\n\nWe reached the Temes in the late afternoon and it was there that I discovered the purpose of the four great posts buried in the river bed where the Ligan's channels joined the greater river. A hay barge was moored to one of the posts. The crew, just three men, were waiting for the tide to turn and, rather than run aground, they were floating, tethered to the post, which meant they did not have to wait for the flood tide to lift them from the mud, but could take advantage of the first strong tidal surge to carry them towards Lundene. We moored with them, then waited again.\n\nThe sun blazed. There was hardly a breath of wind now. No clouds. Yet to the west there was a great dark smear in the sky, ominous as any thunderhead. That was the smoke of Lundene. It was a city, I thought, of darkness. I wondered if the smoke lingered above Bebbanburg, or whether a sea breeze was blowing it inland, and then I touched my new hammer to avert the curse of plague. I closed my eyes and gripped the hammer so tightly that it hurt my fingers. I prayed to Thor. I prayed that my lacerations would heal, that my ribs would stop hurting with every breath, and that my torn shoulder would let me wield a sword. I prayed for Bebbanburg, for Northumbria, for my son, for all the folk at home. I thought of Berg, with his strange cargo of a fugitive queen and her children. I prayed there was no plague.\n\n'You're praying,' Finan accused me.\n\n'That the sky stays cloudless,' I said, opening my eyes.\n\n'You're worrying about rain?'\n\n'I want moonlight,' I said. 'We'll be going upriver after sundown.'\n\nIt was still full daylight when the tethered boats swung ponderously to the new tide. We unmoored from the massive posts and used the big oars to take us into the Temes, then let the tide carry us. The sinking sun was hazed by the great smear of smoke as slowly the western sky turned into a furnace.\n\nThere was little river traffic, just two more hay barges and some fishing craft. Our long sweeps creaked in their tholes, giving us just enough speed for the steering-oar to bite. The sky slowly darkened, pricked with the first stars, and a half-moon was bright overhead as the sun died in scarlet glory. By now, I thought, Merewalh's men had swept the enemy out of Toteham and had harried them south. The fires would soon be lit on the heaths, telling \u00c6thelhelm that an enemy had come. Let him stare north, I prayed, let him stare north as we crept westwards through the night.\n\nTowards the city of darkness.\n\nWe reached the city without going aground, the flooding tide carrying us safely in the deepest channels. We were not alone. Two ships passed us, close together, their oar-blades flashing in the moonlight, and both ships were crammed with men. The leading ship hailed us as she passed, wanting to know where we were from, and Father Oda called back that we were Ealhstan's men from Herutceaster. 'Where's Herutceaster?' I muttered to him.\n\n'I made it up,' he said loftily. 'They won't know.'\n\n'Let's hope we're not too late!' a man from the second ship shouted. 'All those Mercian girls just waiting for us!' He jerked his hips and his tired oarsmen managed a cheer, then the two ships were past us and became mere shadows on the moon-glossed river.\n\nWe could smell the city from miles away. I gazed north, hoping to see the glow of fires from Merewalh's men, but saw nothing. Nor, truly, did I expect to. The heaths were far off, but Lundene was coming ever closer. The flood was nearing its end and we quickened the big oars as we rowed past the city's eastern bastion. A torch burned there and I saw a dull red cloak and the red reflection of flame from a spear-point. The wharves, as ever, were dense with shipping, while a long ship with a high prow on which a cross was mounted was moored to the stone wall where Gisela and I had lived. It was Waormund's ship, I was certain, but no one watched from the stone terrace. A light flickered behind a shutter of the house, then we were past and I could hear men singing in the Dead Dane tavern. Once past the tavern I searched the wharves for a place to berth. There was no empty space, so we moored the three barges outboard of other ships, men jumping from our decks to lash our clumsy craft to the landward hulls. A man crawled from beneath the steering platform of the ship I had chosen. 'Who are you?' he asked irritably.\n\n'Troops from Herutceaster,' I said.\n\n'Where's Herutceaster?'\n\n'North of Earsling,' I said.\n\n'Funny man,' he growled, saw that Vidarr was doing no damage to his ship, but merely tying off our lines, and so went back to his bed.\n\nThere were sentries on the wharves, but none near us, nor did those who had seen us arrive take much notice. One sauntered down the long landward wharf where torches burned feebly in brackets mounted on the river wall. He stared across the intervening ships and saw that our barges were filled with troops, some wearing the distinctive red cloak, and so wandered back to his post. It was evident no one saw anything remarkable in our arrival, we were just the latest of \u00c6thelhelm's levies to come from his estates in East Anglia. 'I wonder how many troops are here?' Father Oda said to me.\n\n'Too many.'\n\n'Full of comfort, aren't you?' he said, making the sign of the cross. 'We need to know what's happening.'\n\n'What's happening,' I said, 'is that \u00c6thelhelm is gathering the biggest army he can possibly muster. Two, three thousand men? Maybe more.'\n\n'He'll find it hard to feed that many,' Oda said.\n\nThat was true. Feeding an army was a much harder task than assembling one. 'So perhaps he plans to march soon,' I guessed, 'then overwhelm \u00c6thelstan by sheer numbers and so be done with it.'\n\n'It would be good to know if that's true,' the priest said and, without another word, he climbed up onto the next ship.\n\n'Where are you going?' I called after him.\n\n'To find news, of course.' He crossed the two ships that lay between our barge and the wharf and I saw him walk towards the nearest group of sentries. He talked to them for a long time, then made the sign of the cross, presumably giving them a blessing, before walking back. I helped him down onto our deck.\n\n'The sentries,' he said, 'are East Anglians. And they're not happy. Lord Varin is dead.'\n\n'You sound sorry too.'\n\n'I did not dislike Varin,' Father Oda said carefully. He brushed his black robe, then sat on the barge's low rail. 'He was not a bad man, but he was killed for allowing you to escape. He hardly deserved that fate.'\n\n'For allowing me to escape! He was put to death?'\n\n'You sound surprised.'\n\n'I am!'\n\nOda shrugged. '\u00c6thelhelm knows you swore an oath to kill him. He fears that oath.'\n\n'He fears a pagan's oath?'\n\n'A pagan's oath,' Oda said sharply, 'has the devil's force, and a man is wise to fear Satan.'\n\nI looked across the river at the few flickering lights showing in the settlement on the southern bank. 'If letting me escape deserves death,' I said, 'then surely \u00c6thelhelm should kill Waormund too?'\n\nOda shook his head. 'Waormund is beloved of Lord \u00c6thelhelm and Varin was not. Waormund is a West Saxon and Varin was not.' He paused and I listened to the water rippling past the hull. We were well downstream of the bridge, but I could still hear the river pouring ceaselessly through the narrow arches. 'The boy was allowed to kill him,' Oda went on bleakly.\n\n'\u00c6lfweard?'\n\n'It seems Lord Varin was tied to a post and the boy was given a sword. It took some time.' He made the sign of the cross. 'Men were made to watch, and were told it was the fit punishment for a lack of vigilance. And Lord Varin was not even given a Christian burial! His corpse was thrown to the dogs, and what the dogs left was burned. And to think that \u00c6lfweard is a grandson of King Alfred!' He said the last words bitterly, then added, almost as an afterthought, 'The sentries believe the army will march soon.'\n\n'Of course it will,' I said. \u00c6thelhelm had assembled a massive army and he needed to feed it, and the easiest way to do that was to march into Mercia and steal whatever food could be found. For the moment his troops would be surviving on the supplies they had discovered in Lundene's storehouses and on what food they had brought with them, but hunger would come soon enough. Doubtless \u00c6thelhelm still hoped that \u00c6thelstan would assault Lundene and that he could slaughter the Mercians beneath the city walls, but if \u00c6thelstan did not oblige him then he would be forced to leave the city and seek to destroy the enemy in battle. And the West Saxons, I reflected bitterly, must be confident. They had the bigger army, much the bigger army, and that army would march soon.\n\n'The signal,' Father Oda went on, 'will be the ringing of the city bells. When they sound, the troops must assemble at the old fort.'\n\n'Ready to march,' I grunted.\n\n'Ready to march,' Oda confirmed. 'But it is an unhappy army.'\n\n'Unhappy?'\n\n'The East Anglians are treated as serfs by the West Saxons, and the Christians are unhappy too.'\n\nI snorted a humourless laugh. 'Why?'\n\n'Because the archbishop,' Oda began, then stopped.\n\n'Athelm?'\n\n'They say he's a prisoner in the palace here. An honoured one, perhaps.' He paused, frowning. 'But still they dared lay hands on Christ's servant!'\n\nI had long suspected that Athelm, the Archbishop of Contwaraburg, was an opponent of \u00c6thelhelm and his family, even though Athelm was himself a distant cousin to the ealdorman. Perhaps that kinship explained his hostility, an hostility born of knowing \u00c6thelhelm and his nephew only too well. 'They won't dare kill the archbishop,' I said.\n\n'Of course they will,' Oda said brusquely. 'They'll say he's sick,' and once again he made the sign of the cross, 'then claim he died of a fever. Who is to know? But it won't happen yet. They need him to place the helmet on the boy's head.' \u00c6lfweard would not be properly king until that ceremony was performed, and \u00c6thelhelm would surely insist that Archbishop Athelm lifted the gem-encrusted helmet of Wessex. Any lesser bishop would be seen as a poor substitute, calling into question \u00c6lfweard's legitimacy.\n\n'Has the Witan met?' I asked. \u00c6lfweard needed the Witan's approval before he could receive the royal helmet.\n\nOda shrugged. 'Who can tell? Maybe? But my suspicion is that \u00c6thelhelm is waiting until the Witan of all three kingdoms can meet. He wants to proclaim \u00c6lfweard as the king of all the Saxons.' He turned, frowning, as sudden loud voices sounded from the sentries, but it was only the arrival of two girls. Whores, I assumed, from one of the river taverns. '\u00c6thelhelm has the support of the West Saxon lords, of course,' Oda went on, 'and the East Anglians are too frightened to oppose him, but to get the Mercian support he needs to crush \u00c6thelstan. Once that's done he'll kill the Mercian lords who defied him and appoint new men to their estates. Then \u00c6thelhelm's family will rule all Englaland.'\n\n'Not Northumbria,' I growled.\n\n'And how will you oppose his invasion? You can raise three thousand warriors?'\n\n'Not even half that number,' I admitted.\n\n'And he'll probably come with more than three thousand,' Oda said, 'and what will you do then? You think your walls at Bebbanburg can defy that army?'\n\n'It won't happen,' I said.\n\n'No?'\n\n'Because tomorrow I kill \u00c6thelhelm,' I said.\n\n'Not tonight?'\n\n'Tomorrow,' I said firmly. Oda lifted a quizzical eyebrow, but said nothing. 'Tomorrow,' I explained, 'is when Heorstan's men would have told \u00c6thelhelm to expect us. He expects me to try to force an entry through one of the northern gates, so they'll be watching from the northern ramparts.'\n\n'Meaning they'll be awake and alert,' Oda pointed out.\n\n'As they will be tonight, too,' I said. Night is when evil stirs, when spirits and shadow-walkers haunt the world, and when a man's fear of death is felt most keenly. \u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6lfweard would be deep in the palace, and their red-cloaked guards would be all around them. No stranger would be permitted through the palace archways except perhaps those who brought an urgent message, and even they would be disarmed beyond the gates. The corridors and great hall would be full of household warriors, both \u00c6thelhelm's and the royal guards. We might just succeed in breaking through one gate, but would then find ourselves in a maze of passages and courtyards swarming with enemies. Come morning, when the dawn chased the evil spirits back to their lairs, the palace gates would open and \u00c6thelhelm would surely want to watch from the northern wall. It was there, I thought, that I would have to find him.\n\n'And how will you kill him tomorrow?' Oda asked.\n\n'I don't know,' I said, nor did I. In truth my only plan was to wait for an opportunity, and that was no plan at all. It was not a cold night, but still, thinking of what I had promised to do next day, I shivered.\n\nThe dawn came early, a summer dawn with another cloudless sky smeared only by the city's smoke. I had slept badly. We had unrolled the barge's sail and laid it on the deck, set sentries, and then I had worried through the short night. My ribs hurt, my shoulders ached, my skin was sore. I must have dozed, but I was still tired when the sunrise brought a freshening south-west wind, and I took that wind as a sign from the gods.\n\nBack in Werlameceaster my plan had seemed possible. Not likely, perhaps, but possible. I had thought that if \u00c6thelhelm's men were watching for me from Lundene's northern wall we could climb the hill from the river, and then what? I had imagined discovering \u00c6thelhelm and his nephew somewhere close to the walls, and that a sudden assault would overcome his guards and give us the chance to slaughter both. Their deaths, I had hoped, would be enough to rouse the East Anglians who, once we had opened a gate to let Merewalh's men into the city, would help chase the West Saxons out of Lundene. \u00c6thelhelm ruled by fear, so to remove that fear was to destroy his power, but now, as the sun climbed higher, I felt nothing but despair. Lundene was a city crammed with my enemies, and my feeble hopes depended on persuading some of those enemies to fight for us. It was madness. We were in a city garrisoned by thousands of the enemy, and we were one hundred and eighty men.\n\nBrihtwulf and Wihtgar had walked into the city at dawn. I had not known they were going and would have stopped them for fear that one of Heorstan's six men might recognise them, but they returned safely to report that there had been frequent fights during the darkness. 'West Saxons against East Anglians,' Brihtwulf said.\n\n'Just tavern fights,' Wihtgar said dismissively.\n\n'But men died,' Brihtwulf added.\n\nBoth men sat on my barge's deck and began to stroke their sword-blades with sharpening stones. 'Not surprising, is it?' Brihtwulf said. 'The East Anglians hate the West Saxons! They were enemies not too long ago.'\n\nIt had not been that many years since the West Saxons had invaded East Anglia and defeated the Danish jarls. Those jarls had been squabbling, unable to choose their own king after the death of Eohric who, twenty years before Edward's death, I had cut down in a ditch. I remembered Eohric as a fat, pig-eyed man who had squealed as we hacked him with our blades, and the squealing had only stopped when Serpent-Breath delivered the killing stroke.\n\nAnd so had died the last true Danish King of East Anglia. Eohric had tried to preserve his kingdom by pretending to be a Christian, thus averting the power of Wessex, though I remember his hand desperately clutching the hilt of his broken sword in his death throes so that he would be taken to Valhalla. He had ruled a country of his own people, the Danish settlers, but they were outnumbered by Saxon Christians who should have welcomed King Edward's troops. And many did welcome the West Saxons, until tales of rape, theft, and murder soured the conquest. Now those East Anglians, both Danish and Saxon, were expected to fight for Wessex, for \u00c6thelhelm and for \u00c6lfweard.\n\n'God-damned West Saxons,' Wihtgar snarled, 'strutting about as if they own the city.'\n\n'They do own it,' Finan said drily.\n\nFinan, Brihtwulf and Wihtgar were talking together while I mostly listened. Brihtwulf described how he had been challenged as he returned to the wharf. 'Some arrogant bastard said we were going the wrong way. He said we should go to the walls.'\n\n'And you told him what?' I asked.\n\n'That we'd go where we damn well liked.'\n\n'And maybe we should go,' I said.\n\nBrihtwulf looked puzzled. 'Already? I thought you told Merewalh to wait till past noon.'\n\n'I did.'\n\nWihtgar glanced at the sky. 'Long time till noon, lord.'\n\nI was sitting on the great oak block where the barge's mast would be stepped. 'We have a westerly wind,' I said, 'and it's brisk.'\n\nBrihtwulf glanced at Wihtgar, who just shrugged as if to say he had no idea what I was talking about. 'A westerly?' Brihtwulf asked.\n\n'A westerly wind lets us leave the city,' I explained. 'We can steal three ships, fast ships, and we sail downriver.'\n\nThere was a pause, then Brihtwulf spoke with evident disbelief. 'Now? We leave now?'\n\n'Now,' I said.\n\n'Jesus,' Finan muttered. The other two just stared at me.\n\n'Father Oda believes there may be three thousand men in Lundene,' I went on, 'so even if we succeed in opening a gate for Merewalh, we'll be outnumbered by what? Five men to our one? Six to one?' The numbers had haunted me through the short summer night.\n\n'How many of those are East Anglians?' Brihtwulf asked.\n\n'Most of them,' Wihtgar muttered.\n\n'But will they fight against their lords?' I asked. Brihtwulf had been right when he said that the East Anglians hated the West Saxons, but that did not mean they would lift a sword against \u00c6thelhelm's troops. I had sailed to Cent hoping to raise a force of Centishmen to fight \u00c6thelhelm, and that had failed, now I was pinning my hopes on East Anglians, a hope that seemed as frail as that which had faded in F\u00e6fresham. 'If I lead you into the city,' I said, 'and even if we succeed in opening a gate for Merewalh, we all die.'\n\n'And we just abandon Merewalh?' Brihtwulf asked indignantly.\n\n'Merewalh and his horsemen will retreat north,' I said, 'and \u00c6thelhelm won't pursue too far. He'll fear a trap. And besides, he wants to destroy \u00c6thelstan's army, not a handful of horsemen from Werlameceaster.'\n\n'He wants to kill you,' Finan said.\n\nI ignored that. 'If Merewalh sees horsemen coming from the city he'll retreat. He'll go back to Werlameceaster.' I hated abandoning the plans that we had persuaded Merewalh to join, but all night I had brooded, and the dawn had brought me to my senses. It was better we should live, than die uselessly. 'Merewalh will survive,' I finished.\n\n'So we just \u2026' Brihtwulf began, then paused. I suspect he was about to say that we would just run away, but he curbed the words. 'Then we just go back to Werlameceaster?'\n\n'Serpent-Breath,' Finan muttered to me.\n\nI smiled at that. In truth I was wondering whether the west wind was truly a sign from the gods that I should abandon this reckless adventure and instead seize three good ships and fly in front of the wind to the sea and safety. I remember Ravn, the blind poet and father to Ragnar, often telling me that courage was like a horn of ale. 'We begin with a full horn, boy,' he had told me, 'but we drain it. Some men drain it fast, maybe their horn was not full to begin with, and others drain it slowly, but courage lessens as we age.' I was trying to persuade myself that it was not a lack of courage that made me want to leave, but rather prudence and an unwillingness to lead good men into a city filled with enemies, even if those good men wanted to fight.\n\nFather Oda joined us to sit on the great oak block. 'I said a prayer,' he announced.\n\nYou need to, I thought, but stayed silent.\n\n'A prayer, father?' Finan asked.\n\n'For success,' Oda said confidently. 'King \u00c6thelstan is destined to rule over all Englaland and we today make that possible! God is with us!'\n\nI was about to give him a sour answer, about to confess that I doubted our success, but before I could say a word the first church bell sounded.\n\nThere was only a handful of bells in Lundene, perhaps five or six churches had raised or been given enough silver to buy them. King Alfred, when he had decided to rebuild the old Roman city, had wanted to hang bells at each gate, but the first two had been stolen within days, and so he decreed that horns be used instead. Most churches simply hung a metal rod or sheet that could be beaten to summon the faithful to worship, and now, together with the few bells, all of them began to sound, a cacophony that panicked birds into the sky.\n\nNone of us spoke as the clangour went on. Dogs howled.\n\n'That must,' Brihtwulf broke our silence, paused, then raised his voice so he could be heard, 'that must be Merewalh.'\n\n'It's too early,' Wihtgar said.\n\n'Then \u00c6thelhelm is assembling his army,' I said, 'ready to march. And we're too late.'\n\n'What do you mean?' Father Oda asked indignantly. 'Too late?'\n\nThe bells were surely summoning \u00c6thelhelm's army, which meant he would be leading that horde out of the city to attack \u00c6thelstan's weaker forces. We were all standing now, gazing north, though there was nothing to be seen there.\n\n'What do you mean?' Father Oda insisted. 'Why are we too late?'\n\nBut before I could say a word in answer there was a bellow of anger from further down the wharves. The shout was followed by more yelling, by the clash of blades, then by hurried footsteps. A man appeared, running for his life. A spear followed him, and the spear, with deadly aim, struck him in the back. He took a few stumbling steps, then collapsed. He lay for a heartbeat, the spear's shaft wavering above him, then tried to crawl. Two men in red cloaks appeared. One seized the spear's haft and drove it downwards, the other kicked the wounded man in the ribs. The man jerked, then shuddered. The clangour of the bells was lessening.\n\n'You will go to the walls!' a voice shouted. More men in red cloaks appeared on the landward wharf. They were evidently searching the ships, rousting out men who had slept on board, then herding them through the gaps in the river wall and so into the city. I assumed the dying man who still shuddered on the wooden planks had defied them.\n\n'Do we kill them?' Finan asked. The red-cloaked men, I could see about thirty of them, had not yet reached our three barges. 'They're here to stop men leaving,' Finan guessed, and I guessed he was right.\n\nI gave him no answer. I was thinking of what Brihtwulf had said, how the East Anglians hated the West Saxons. I was thinking of Serpent-Breath. I was thinking of the oath I had given to \u00c6thelstan. I was thinking that Brihtwulf despised me for being a coward who wanted to run away. I was thinking that fate was a malevolent and capricious bitch, and I was thinking that we must slaughter the men in red cloaks and steal three good ships to make our escape from Lundene.\n\n'You! Who are you?' A tall man in \u00c6thelhelm's red cloak was staring at us from the wharf. 'And why aren't you moving?'\n\n'Who are we?' Brihtwulf muttered, looking at me.\n\nIt was Father Oda who answered. He stood, his pectoral cross bright above his black robes, and shouted back. 'We are Lord Ealhstan's men from Herutceaster!'\n\nThe tall man did not question either name, both of which were Oda's inventions. 'Then what in Christ's name are you doing?' he snarled. 'You're supposed to be on the walls!'\n\n'Why did you kill that man?' Oda demanded sternly.\n\nThe red-cloaked killer hesitated, plainly offended at being questioned, but Oda's natural authority and the fact that he was a priest made the man reply, if surlily. 'Him and a dozen others. The bastards thought they'd run away. Didn't want to fight. Now for God's sake, move!'\n\nThe clamour of the bells, the death of the men on the wharf, and the anger of the man shouting at us seemed an enormous commotion in response to Merewalh and his two hundred men. 'Move where?' Brihtwulf called back. 'We only arrived last night. No one told us what to do.'\n\n'I'm telling you now! Go to the walls!'\n\n'What's happening?' Father Oda shouted.\n\n'Pretty Boy has come with his whole army. Seems he wants to die today, so move your East Anglian arses and do some killing! Go that way!' He pointed west. 'Someone will tell you what to do when you get there, now go! Move!'\n\nWe moved. It seemed that the west wind was indeed an omen.\n\nBecause it had brought \u00c6thelstan from the west. He had come to Lundene.\n\nSo we would fight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "'Pretty boy?' Brihtwulf asked as he paced beside me.\n\n'He means \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'Why pretty boy?'\n\nI shrugged. 'Just an insult.'\n\n'And he's come to attack Lundene?' Brihtwulf asked, astonished.\n\n'So he said, who knows?' I had no answer, unless the garrison had mistaken Merewalh's two hundred men for \u00c6thelstan's army, which seemed unlikely.\n\nTwo horsemen in red cloaks spurred past us, going west. 'What's happening?' Brihtwulf shouted at them, but they ignored us. We had gone through one of the gaps in the river wall and were walking west along the street beyond. We passed Gunnald's yard, the gates shut, and I had a sudden image of Benedetta in her cowled gown. If I lived through this day, I thought, I would go to Werlameceaster and find her, and that made me think of Eadith, and I pushed that uncomfortable thought away just as we reached the slight bend in the street where it led up to the northern end of the great bridge.\n\n'It has to be \u00c6thelstan,' Finan said. He was staring south across the wide river.\n\nMerewalh had sent a messenger to \u00c6thelstan, seeking permission for this madness, but had the message encouraged \u00c6thelstan to join it? I stared at the troops on the opposite bank of the Temes. There were not many in sight, perhaps forty or fifty showing between the houses of Su\u00f0geweork, which was the settlement built at the bridge's southern end, but those men were plainly there to threaten the high wooden-walled fortress that protected the bridge itself. A dozen spearmen were hurrying south across the bridge, presumably to reinforce the fort's garrison.\n\nThe men among Su\u00f0geweork's houses were too far away for me to make out any symbol on their shields, though I could see they were in mail and wore helmets. If they were \u00c6thelstan's men then they must have crossed the river above Lundene and marched downstream to surround the Su\u00f0geweork fort. Those men, or at least the ones I could see, were not enough to capture the fort's ramparts, and I could see no ladders, but their very presence was sufficient to draw defenders away from the walls of Lundene.\n\nThere were a score of men still manning the barricade at the bridge's northern end. They were commanded by a red-cloaked man on horseback who stood in his stirrups to watch the southern bank, then turned as we drew near. 'Who are you?' he shouted. Father Oda gave his usual reply, that we were Lord Ealhstan's men from Herutceaster, and again the names provoked no curiosity. 'What are your orders?' the man asked and, when none of us answered, he scowled. 'So where are you going?'\n\nI nudged Brihtwulf. I was too well known to too many men in Wessex and had no desire to draw attention to myself. 'We don't have orders,' Brihtwulf answered, 'we just got here.'\n\nThe horseman put two fingers between his lips and gave a piercing whistle to draw the attention of the men crossing the bridge. 'How many do you need?' he shouted.\n\n'Many as you've got!' a man yelled back.\n\n'Lord who?' the horseman asked, spurring towards us.\n\n'You,' I muttered to Brihtwulf, who stepped forward.\n\n'I am Ealdorman Ealhstan.'\n\n'Then take your men across the bridge now, lord,' the man ordered with scant courtesy, 'and stop the bastards taking the fort.'\n\nBrihtwulf hesitated. Like me he had not imagined for a moment that we would go to the southern bank of the Temes. We had come to kill \u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6lfweard and those two would be here, on the northern bank, but suddenly I knew that fate had offered me a chance of pure gold. 'Over the bridge,' I muttered to Brihtwulf.\n\n'For God's sake, hurry!' the horseman said.\n\n'What's happening?' Finan called.\n\n'What do you think, grandpa? The pretty boy is here! Now move!'\n\n'I'll kill that earsling,' Finan muttered.\n\nI kept my head down. I was wearing the helmet I had kept on board Spearhafoc, the helmet that had belonged to my father. I had laced together the thick cheek-pieces of boiled leather to hide my face, yet I still feared that one of the West Saxons would recognise me. I had fought alongside them often enough, though on this hot day I was not dressed in my usual fine mail and crested helmet. Finan and I filed through the small gap in the barricade and the men who guarded it jeered us. 'Keep walking grandpa!'\n\n'East Anglians!'\n\n'Mud babies!'\n\n'Hope you bastards have learned to fight,' another added.\n\n'Enough!' the horseman silenced his men.\n\nWe started across the bridge's uneven planks. The piers had been built by the Romans and I guessed they would stay solid for a thousand years, but the roadway was constantly being repaired. The last time I had been on the bridge it had had a great jagged gap where the Danes had ripped up the timber road. Alfred had repaired the damage, but still some planks were rotten and others moved alarmingly as we trod on them. There were gaps between the roadway's timbers through which I could see the seething river churning white as it was channelled between the stone piers, and I wondered, as I did so often, how the Romans had built so well. 'What in God's name is \u00c6thelstan doing?' Finan asked me.\n\n'Capturing Lundene?' I suggested.\n\n'How in God's name does he hope to do that?'\n\nIt was a good question. \u00c6thelhelm had sufficient men to defend Lundene's walls, yet \u00c6thelstan had evidently appeared in front of the ramparts, and that could only mean that he meant to make an assault. The last I had heard was that \u00c6thelstan was at Wicumun, which lay a long day's march west of Lundene. I stared upriver as we crossed the bridge, but could see no movement beyond the city's wall where the River Fleot poured the filth of tanneries, slaughteryards, and sewage into the Temes. The Saxon town, built beyond the valley of the Fleot, showed no sign of an army come to assault the city, but undoubtedly something had caused the city bells and horns to sound the alarm.\n\n'He'll never get across those walls,' Finan said.\n\n'We did.'\n\n'We got through them,' Finan insisted, 'we never tried to cross the ditch and wall. Still, it was a rare fight!'\n\nI instinctively touched my chest where Thor's hammer was hidden beneath the mail. It had been years since Finan and I, with a small band of men, had used deceit to capture the Roman bastion that guarded Ludd's Gate, one of Lundene's western gates, and we had defended that bastion against a furious Danish assault. We had held the bastion and we had returned the city to Saxon rule. Now we had to fight for the city again. '\u00c6thelstan must know the East Anglians are unhappy,' I said, 'so maybe he's relying on that?'\n\n'If the East Anglians change sides,' Finan sounded dubious.\n\n'If,' I agreed.\n\n'They won't fight unless they see we're losing,' Brihtwulf put in.\n\n'Then we mustn't lose,' I said. We had gone around two hundred paces, perhaps a third of the way across the long bridge. Father Oda had filed through the barricade last, lingering to talk with the horseman who commanded its guard, and he now hurried to catch up with us. 'It seems King \u00c6thelstan is to the north-west of the city,' he said.\n\n'So he's threatening the fort?' I asked.\n\n'They've seen his banners,' the priest said, ignoring my question, 'and it appears he is here in force.'\n\n'The fort is the last place I'd assault,' I said sourly.\n\n'Me too,' Brihtwulf muttered. He was walking beside me.\n\n'And surely,' Oda went on, 'we'll be of no use to the king if we're south of the river?'\n\n'I thought you Danes were supposed to be good at warfare?' I said.\n\nOda bridled at that, but decided to take no offence. 'It is the fate of Englaland,' he said as we neared the southern end of the bridge. 'That's what we decide today, lord, the fate of Englaland.'\n\n'And that fate,' I said, 'will be decided here.'\n\n'How?'\n\nSo I told him as we walked. We were not hurrying, despite the horseman's last urgent request. As we neared the southern bank I could see more of the troops who still watched the fort from Su\u00f0geweork's houses, but they were making no apparent effort to assault the strong wooden ramparts. At the bridge's end was a timber gateway with a fighting platform from which \u00c6thelhelm's flag with its leaping stag flapped in the brisk wind. Beneath it the gates were open and a harassed-looking man was beckoning to us. 'Hurry!' he called plaintively. 'Up to the ramparts!'\n\n'Up to the ramparts!' I echoed to my men.\n\n'Thank God you're here,' the harassed man said as we passed.\n\n'Onto the ramparts!' Brihtwulf called.\n\nI stepped aside, drawing Finan with me. I beckoned for my six men, Oswi, Gerbruht, Folcbald, Immar, Beornoth and Immar to join me, then let the rest of the men pass us by. The fort was not large, but a quick look around the walls showed only about forty spearmen on the fighting platforms. A dozen guarded the wooden arch above the gate that led south, a gate that probably needed twice that number if it was to be adequately defended. No wonder the harassed man had been pleased to see us. 'Who are you?' I asked him.\n\n'Hyglac Haruldson,' he answered, 'and you?'\n\n'Osbert,' I said, using the name I had been given at birth before the death of my elder brother made my father give me his own name.\n\n'East Anglian?' Hyglac asked. He was younger than me, but still looked old. He had sunken cheeks because of missing teeth, a short grey beard, grey hair showing beneath his helmet, and deep lines around his eyes and mouth. It was a warm morning, too warm to be wearing leather-lined mail, and his face was running with sweat.\n\n'East Anglian,' I said, 'and you?'\n\n'Hamptonscir,' he said shortly.\n\n'And you command the fort?'\n\n'I do.'\n\n'How many men do you have?'\n\n'Till you came? I had forty-two. We were supposed to have more, but they never came.'\n\n'We're here now,' I said, looking at my troops who were climbing the ladders that led to the timber ramparts, 'and if I were you I'd shut the bridge gates.' Hyglac frowned at that. 'I'm not saying it's likely,' I went on, 'but a small group of men could sneak around the fort and climb up to the bridge.'\n\n'I suppose they're better closed,' Hyglac allowed. He did not sound convinced, but was so relieved that we had arrived to bolster his garrison that he would probably have agreed to fight stark naked if I had suggested it.\n\nI told Gerbruht and Folcbald to push the great gates shut so that the men guarding the barricade at the bridge's northern end could see nothing of what happened inside the small fort. 'Are all your men West Saxons?' I asked Hyglac.\n\n'All of them.'\n\n'So you're one of Lord \u00c6thelhelm's tenants?'\n\nHe seemed surprised to be asked. 'I hold land from the abbot at Basengas,' he said, 'and he ordered me to bring my men.' Which meant that the abbot at Basengas had received gold from \u00c6thelhelm who had always paid generously for the clergy's support. 'Do you know what's happening?' Hyglac asked.\n\n'Pretty boy is to the city's north-east,' I said, 'that's all I know.'\n\n'Some of them are here too,' Hyglac said, 'too many! But you're here, thank God, and they'll not capture us now.'\n\nI nodded south. 'How many are out there?'\n\n'Maybe seventy. Maybe more. They're in the alleys, they're hard to count.'\n\n'And they haven't attacked?'\n\n'Not yet.'\n\n'Do you have horses?' I asked Hyglac.\n\n'We left them in the city,' he said. 'There's a stable there,' he nodded towards the smaller of the two thatched buildings that lay inside the fort. 'If you need it,' he added, perhaps thinking we had horsemen following us across the bridge.\n\n'We came by boat,' I said. Both the buildings looked new and both were made of stout timbers. I assumed the larger was to house the garrison, which in peacetime would surely not number more than twenty men, just sufficient to stand guard over whoever collected the custom dues from the merchants entering or leaving the city. I nodded towards the larger building. 'That looks sturdy enough.'\n\n'Sturdy?' Hyglac asked.\n\n'To keep prisoners,' I explained.\n\nHe grimaced. 'Lord \u00c6thelhelm won't like that. He says we're not to take prisoners. We're to kill them all. Every last man.'\n\n'All of them?'\n\n'More land, you see? He says he'll share out Mercian land to us. And give us all of Northumbria too!'\n\n'All of Northumbria!'\n\nHyglac shrugged. 'Not sure I want to be part of that war. They're god-damned savages in Northumbria.'\n\n'They are,' Finan said fervently.\n\n'I still need a place to keep prisoners,' I said.\n\n'Lord \u00c6thelhelm won't like that,' Hyglac warned me again.\n\n'You're right,' I said, 'he won't, because you're the prisoners.'\n\n'Me?' He was certain he had misheard or, at the least, misunderstood.\n\n'You,' I said mildly. 'I'm giving you a choice, Hyglac.' I spoke softly, reasonably. 'You can die here, or you can give me your sword. You and your men will be stripped of your mail, your weapons and boots, then put into that building. It's that or death.' I smiled. 'Which is it to be?'\n\nHe stared at me, still trying to understand what I had said. He opened his mouth, revealing three crooked yellow teeth, said nothing and so closed it.\n\nI held out my hand. 'Your sword, Hyglac.'\n\nHe still seemed dazed. 'Who are you?'\n\n'Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' I said, 'lord of the Northumbrian savages.' For a moment I thought he was going to piss himself with terror. 'Your sword,' I said politely, and he just gave it to me.\n\nIt was that easy.\n\nA warrior called Rumwald led the Mercians who had threatened Su\u00f0geweork's fort. He was a short man with a round cheerful face, a straggling grey beard, and a brisk manner. He had led one hundred and thirty-five men into the fort. 'You had us worried, lord,' he confessed.\n\n'Worried?'\n\n'We were about to assault the fort, then your men showed up. I thought we'd never capture the place after that!'\n\nYet captured it was, and we now had a little more than three hundred men, ten of whom I would leave to guard Hyglac's garrison, who were safely imprisoned inside the larger of the two buildings. The West Saxons had been surly, resentful, and outnumbered, but they had little choice except to surrender, and once they had been disarmed and shut away we had opened the fort's southern gates and shouted at the Mercians to join us. Rumwald had been reluctant to let his men approach the fort, fearing a trap, and in the end Brihtwulf had walked without shield or sword to persuade his fellow Mercians that we were allies.\n\n'What were you supposed to do after capturing the fort?' I asked Rumwald. I had learned that he and his men had crossed the Temes at Westmynster, then walked along the river's southern bank.\n\n'Tear up the bridge, lord.'\n\n'Tear up the bridge?' I asked. 'You mean destroy it?'\n\n'Rip up the planks, make sure the bastards couldn't escape.' He grinned.\n\n'So,' I said, '\u00c6thelstan really means to assault the city?' I had half convinced myself that the Mercian army had come merely to scout the city, to unsettle \u00c6thelhelm, and then withdraw.\n\n'God love you, lord!' Rumwald said happily. 'He plans to assault once you open a gate for him.'\n\n'Once I open \u2026' I began, then ran out of words.\n\n'He got a message, lord, from Merewalh,' Rumwald explained. 'It said you would open one of the northern gates, and that's why he's come! He reckons he can take the city if there's an open gate, and he doesn't want half \u00c6thelhelm's army to escape, does he? Of course he didn't mean this gate!' Rumwald saw my confusion. 'You did mean to open a gate, lord?'\n\n'Yes,' I said, remembering my wish, not two hours before, to flee Lundene. So \u00c6thelstan now expected me to unlock the city for him? 'Yes,' I said again, 'I do mean to open a gate. Do you have a banner?'\n\n'A banner?' Rumwald asked, then nodded. 'Of course, lord. We have King \u00c6thelstan's banner. You want me to tear that rag down?' He nodded at \u00c6thelhelm's banner of the leaping stag that still flew above the fort's northern arch.\n\n'No!' I said. 'I just want you to bring the flag with us. And keep it hidden till I tell you.'\n\n'So we're going into the city, lord?' Rumwald asked. He sounded excited.\n\n'We're going into the city,' I said. I did not want to, the night's dread was still lurking inside me, making me fear that this was the day when the vast boulder of Saint Cuthbert's cave would finally fall on me.\n\nI left Rumwald and climbed the ladder that led to the fighting platform above the bridge's entrance, and from there I stared across the river. The city smoke was being blown eastwards and there was little sign that anything happened beneath that perpetual pall of smoke. There was still a squad of soldiers guarding the barricade at the bridge's northern end, while another score of soldiers guarded the downstream wharves, presumably to stop men from deserting. I could see into Gunnald's slave-yard where the only ship was the wreck and where no men moved. More usefully I could see up the hill that climbed from the bridge and could even see men slumping on benches outside the Red Pig tavern. If, as Father Oda had said, this was the day that would decide the fate of Englaland, then it all looked peaceful, strangely so. Finan joined me. He was hot and had taken off his helmet and was wearing his ragged rye-straw hat again. 'Three hundred of us now,' he said.\n\n'Yes,' I answered. Finan leaned on the wooden parapet. I was searching the sky for an omen, any omen.\n\n'Rumwald reckons \u00c6thelstan has twelve hundred men,' Finan remarked.\n\n'Fourteen hundred if Merewalh has joined him.'\n\n'Should be enough,' Finan said, 'so long as the East Anglians don't fight too hard.'\n\n'Maybe.'\n\n'Maybe,' Finan repeated, and then, after a pause, 'horsemen.' He pointed and I saw two horsemen riding down the hill towards the far end of the bridge. They paused by the Red Pig and after a moment the men lounging on the benches stood, picked up their shields, crossed the street, and vanished into the western alleys. The horsemen came on down to the bridge, reining in at the barricade. 'Those earslings at the barricade aren't doing any good,' Finan said. I supposed they were there to stop men crossing the river to escape the battle, but if any man did try to flee they would only reach Su\u00f0geweork's fort, which they must assume was still under \u00c6thelhelm's control. The small force at the barricade was pointless, and it seemed the horsemen had come to order them away. 'Pity,' Finan said.\n\n'Pity?'\n\n'I wanted to slaughter that bastard for calling me grandpa. Now he's gone.' The men had indeed been ordered away from the barricade. The horsemen accompanied them westwards and we watched till they disappeared up a side street. 'Nothing to stop us now,' Finan said, and I knew he sensed my reluctance. My ribs hurt, my shoulders hurt. I gazed at the smoke-smeared sky, but saw no omen, good or bad. 'If we meet Waormund,' Finan said quietly, 'I'll fight him.' And I knew from those words that he did not just sense my reluctance, he sensed my fear.\n\n'We must go,' I said harshly.\n\nMost of Rumwald's troops carried shields that bore \u00c6thelstan's badge of the dragon with its lightning bolt. It was horribly dangerous to show that shield inside the city, but I could not ask men to fight without shields. It was a risk we must take, though I also took care to make sure some men wore the red cloaks we had captured, and for others to carry the shields we had taken from Hyglac's garrison, which showed a fish and a cross, evidently the badge of the Abbot of Basengas. I was fearful that when men in the city saw us crossing the bridge they would realise we were the enemy and would send a force to oppose us, but perhaps the red cloaks and the sight of \u00c6thelhelm's banner still flying above Su\u00f0geweork's fort would deceive them. I had known when I first decided to cross to the southern bank that returning over the river would be a dangerous moment, but I had wanted the men besieging the fort to join us. The easy capture of the fort had swollen our numbers, but we were still a pitifully small force. We needed to reach a gate, and if \u00c6thelhelm's men suspected that the three hundred soldiers crossing the bridge were a threat then we would end up being slaughtered in Lundene's streets. I told the men to straggle, to take their time. Attackers would have hurried, but we walked slowly, and all the while I watched the street beyond the abandoned barricade and watched the men on the wharves. They saw us, but none showed alarm. Rumwald's men had vanished from between the houses across the river, so did those red-cloaked troops think the Mercians had withdrawn? And that we were coming to reinforce \u00c6thelhelm?\n\nAnd so three hundred men, at least a third of whom displayed \u00c6thelstan's badge, filed through the barricade, which I had ordered left intact in case we needed to retreat. The sun was high and hot, and the city still and silent. \u00c6thelhelm's men, I knew, would be on the northern walls, watching \u00c6thelstan's army, while the citizens of London, if they had any sense, would be behind barred doors.\n\nIt was time to leave the bridge and to climb up into the city. 'Keep your men closed up now!' I told Brihtwulf and Rumwald.\n\n'Should we tear up the bridge roadway, lord?' Rumwald asked eagerly.\n\n'And trap ourselves on this side of it? Leave it alone.' I started climbing the hill, Rumwald keeping pace with me. 'Besides,' I went on, 'if any of \u00c6thelhelm's men try to escape across the bridge they'll have to fight through that closed gate.'\n\n'We only left ten men there, lord,' Rumwald, for the first time, sounded anxious.\n\n'Six men could hold that gate for ever,' I said dismissively. And how likely was it that we would have a victory that forced \u00c6thelhelm's great force to flee in panic? I said nothing of that.\n\n'You think six men are enough, lord?' Rumwald asked.\n\n'I know so.'\n\n'Then he'll be king!' Rumwald had regained his optimism. 'By sundown, lord, \u00c6thelstan will be King of Englaland!'\n\n'Not of Northumbria,' I growled.\n\n'No, not Northumbria,' Rumwald agreed, then looked up at me. 'I've always wanted to fight alongside you, lord! It'll be something to tell my grandchildren! That I fought with the great Lord Uhtred!'\n\nThe great Lord Uhtred! I felt a vast weight on my heart when I heard those words. Reputation! We seek it, we prize it, and then it turns on us like a cornered wolf. What did Rumwald expect? A miracle? We were three hundred in a city of three thousand, and the great Lord Uhtred had a battered body and a fearful heart. Yes, we might open a gate, and we might even hold it long enough to let \u00c6thelstan's men into the city, but what then? We would still be outnumbered. 'It's an honour to fight beside you,' I told Rumwald, merely saying what he would like to hear, 'and we need a horse.'\n\n'A horse?'\n\n'If we capture a gate,' I said, 'we have to send word to King \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'Of course!'\n\nAnd at that moment a horseman appeared. He came from the top of the hill, his grey stallion stepping carefully on the old paving slabs. He turned towards us and I held up a hand to check our progress close beside the empty benches outside the Red Pig. 'Who are you?' the horseman called as he approached.\n\n'Lord Ealhstan!' Brihtwulf came to stand on my right. Finan, who had been walking behind me, stood on my left.\n\nThe horseman could see red cloaks, he could see the fish symbol on Rumwald's borrowed shield, but he could not see \u00c6thelstan's dragon shields because we had placed those men at the back.\n\n'East Anglians?' The horseman curbed the stallion just in front of us. He was young, his mail was finely made, his horse's trappings were polished leather studded with silver, and his sword was in a silver-coated scabbard. A thin gold chain circled his neck. His horse, a fine stallion, was nervous and stepped sideways, and the rider patted it with a gloved hand on which two rings glittered.\n\n'We're East Anglians and West Saxons,' Brihtwulf said arrogantly, 'and you are?'\n\n'Edor H\u00e6ddeson, lord,' the horseman said, then glanced at me, and for a heartbeat there was a startled look on his face, but it vanished as he looked back to Brihtwulf. 'I serve in Lord \u00c6thelhelm's household,' he explained. 'Where's Hyglac?' He had evidently recognised the fish shields.\n\n'He stayed at the fort,' Brihtwulf said. 'The pretty boy's troops gave up and walked back westwards, but Hyglac kept enough men there in case they come back.'\n\n'They went westwards?' Edor asked. 'Then that's where we need you, all of you!' He patted his skittish horse's neck again and looked back to me. If he served in \u00c6thelhelm's household then it was likely he had seen me at one of the meetings between King Edward and my son-in-law, Sigtryggr, but I had always been in my war-glory, my arms thick with the rings of silver and gold. Now I wore ragged mail, carried a shield scarred with the cross, and my face, still lacerated from Waormund's treatment, was half hidden by the leather cheek-pieces of my rust-touched helmet. 'Who are you?' he demanded.\n\n'Osbert Osbertson,' I said, then nodded at Brihtwulf. 'I'm his grandfather.'\n\n'Where do you need us?' Brihtwulf asked hurriedly.\n\n'You're to go west.' Edor pointed to a side street. 'Follow that street. You'll find men at the far end, join them.'\n\n'\u00c6thelstan's going to attack there?' Brihtwulf asked.\n\n'Pretty boy? Christ no! We're going to attack him from there.'\n\nSo \u00c6thelhelm planned to attack \u00c6thelstan's army, maybe not in hope of crushing the enemy, but at least to drive him away from Lundene and inflict casualties in the process. I felt in my pouch, took a step closer to Edor's horse and bent down, grunting from the pain in my ribs. I touched the stone of the road, then straightened, holding a silver shilling. 'Did you drop this?' I asked Edor, holding the bright coin towards him.\n\nFor a heartbeat he was tempted to lie, then greed conquered honesty. 'I must have,' he lied, then reached down for the coin. I dropped the silver, seized his left wrist, and pulled hard, sending an agonising lance of pain through my shoulder. Finan's sword, Soul-Stealer, was already sliding from its scabbard. The horse, alarmed, stepped away, but that only helped me pull Edor out of the saddle. He shouted in rage or alarm. He was falling, but his left foot was trapped in the stirrup and he was being pulled away. My shoulder, torn from being dragged behind Waormund's horse, felt as if a red-hot poker was being thrust into the joint. Then Wihtgar seized the stallion's reins, Soul-Stealer sliced down with the sun reflecting bright from her blade, and suddenly there was blood on the road. Edor was on the ground, coughing blood, moaning, and then Soul-Stealer struck again, point first, to pierce mail, leather, and ribs. Edor gave a high pitched gasp, his left hand seemed to reach towards me, made a clutching motion, then fell. He lay still, his eyes gazing sightless at the cloudless sky. Finan crouched, snapped the gold chain and tugged it free, unbuckled the rich sword belt with its weapon, then worked the rings off Edor's gloved fingers.\n\n'Jesus,' Rumwald breathed.\n\n'The horse is yours,' I told Brihtwulf, 'you're Lord Ealhstan, so mount up. Gerbruht!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Drag that thing into an alley.' I nudged Edor's corpse with my foot.\n\n'No one saw a thing!' Rumwald said in amazement.\n\n'Of course they did,' I said, 'they just don't want us to know they saw us.' I looked along the windows of the street and could see no one, but I was certain folk were watching us. 'Just pray they don't send word to \u00c6thelhelm.' I turned. 'Oswi!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Take us to the nearest gate to the north, and I want to avoid the palace.'\n\n'The Crepelgate, lord,' Oswi said, then led us confidently, taking us through a maze of small streets and alleys. The Roman buildings gave way to newer houses, all made of timber with thatched roofs, then those houses ended and we were at the top of the city's low eastern hill, and in front of us was a wasteland of ruins, hazel saplings, and weeds. I could see the palace a long way to the west, close to it were the remnants of the amphitheatre and, beyond that ruin, the fort at the city's north-western corner.\n\nAnd in front of us were the walls.\n\nThey are extraordinary, those walls. They ring the whole city, are built of dressed stone, and are three times the height of a tall man. Towers are built every two or three hundred paces, and the seven gates are flanked by great stone bastions. The walls have stood for three or four hundred years, perhaps longer, and for most of their length the ramparts still stand as the Romans built them. Some gaps have appeared across the years, and many of the towers have lost their roofs, but the gaps have been plugged with great timbers and the roofs replaced with thatch. There are stone stairs leading up to the ramparts and, where the wall has fallen into the ditch and been repaired in timber, there are wooden fighting platforms. Lundene's wall is a marvel, making me wonder, as so often, how the Romans had ever lost Britain.\n\nAnd in front of us, too, were men. Hundreds of men. Most were on the ramparts, from where they gazed northwards, but some, too many, were behind the gate. From where we stood we could only see one gate, the Crepelgate, with its two massive bastions looming over the roadway and \u00c6thelhelm's banner flying from the nearest tower, while beneath it, amidst tall weeds and the rubble of old walls, were troops. I could not see how many, they were sitting on crumbling walls or resting, but I could see enough to know they were too many. 'They expect \u00c6thelstan to attack here?' Brihtwulf asked.\n\n'They probably have forces waiting inside each gate,' I said. 'How many can you see?' Brihtwulf, high in his saddle, could see more than us.\n\n'Two hundred?'\n\n'We outnumber them!' Rumwald said excitedly.\n\n'And how many on the gate ramparts?' I asked, ignoring Rumwald.\n\n'Thirty?' again Brihtwulf sounded uncertain.\n\n'And how far away are \u00c6thelstan's men?' I asked, though I did not ask it of Brihtwulf or of anyone else because the question was unanswerable until we had climbed the ramparts and could see the country to the north.\n\n'So what do we do?' Brihtwulf asked.\n\nI touched my mail where it covered the silver hammer. I looked westwards, but knew that the next city gate was built into the walls of the fort, and that would mean first capturing an entrance to the fort. It was this nearest gate, I thought, or else abandon the whole madness. 'What we do,' I answered Brihtwulf, 'is what we came to do. Wihtgar! Take forty men. You'll climb the stairs to the right of the gate.' I looked up at Brihtwulf. 'I need thirty of your men for the steps to the left. I'll lead them.' He nodded, and I turned to Rumwald. 'And I'll need your banner. You take every man that's left and follow Brihtwulf to the gate. You tell the bastards you've been ordered to make a sally northwards. They probably won't believe you so you can start killing them, but open the damned gates first. And once the gate is open,' I looked up at Brihtwulf again, 'you will ride like the wind to find \u00c6thelstan.'\n\n'And if the king doesn't come in time?' Father Oda asked.\n\n'We die,' I said brutally.\n\nOda made the sign of the cross. 'The Lord of Hosts is with us,' he said.\n\n'He damned well better be,' I said grimly. 'So let's move.'\n\nWe moved.\n\nThe city had seemed deserted as we came up from the river, but now we could see men all along the walls, others waiting just inside the gate, and small groups of men, women, and children watching from the edge of the wasteland. Many of those city folk were accompanied by priests, presumably hoping that the clergymen could protect them if the Mercians invaded the city. They might be right, I thought. \u00c6thelstan was famously as pious as his grandfather Alfred, and would doubtless have given his troops dire warnings against offending his god.\n\nWe followed a track eastwards until we reached a fine new church, the lower walls of stone, the upper of bright timber, which stood at the edge of the houses. We turned north at the church to follow a road of beaten earth that led to the gate. Two goats cropped weeds on the verge where Roman stonework was half buried. A woman watched us, made the sign of the cross, and said nothing. The men resting inside the gate stood as we came nearer. Many of their shields were unpainted, just bare wood, while others were decorated with a cross. None showed the leaping stag. 'East Anglians?' Finan muttered to me.\n\n'Probably.'\n\n'They look like the fyrd to me,' Finan said, meaning they were not household warriors, but ploughmen and carpenters, foresters and masons, dragged from their fields or workshops to fight for their lord. Some had spears or swords, but many carried only an axe or a reaping hook.\n\nBrihtwulf rode ahead, tall on his stolen horse, pointedly ignoring the first men who stood to question his coming. I trudged behind, sweat trickling down my face, sometimes glancing up at the men on the ramparts. They were watching us too, but not with any alarm because most of them would have no idea what was happening. They knew \u00c6thelstan's forces were near, they had heard the commotion of the city bells, but ever since that first excitement they would have been told little and understood less. They were hot, they were thirsty, they were bored, and we were just more troops coming to wait in the hot sun for something to happen.\n\n'This way!' I called to the men who would follow me. 'Up the steps!' I slanted off the road and headed for the stairs leading up to the rampart on the left of the gate. Immar was behind me, carrying \u00c6thelstan's banner that was tightly furled on its pole. 'You can't fight holding that thing,' I told him, 'so stay out of trouble.' Hulbert, one of Brihtwulf's men, would turn left at the rampart's top and, with ten men, defend our backs as we captured the gate itself.\n\nBrihtwulf had reached the great archway where he was challenged by an older man who leaned over the arch's rampart. 'Who are you? What do you want?'\n\n'I'm Ealdorman Ealhstan,' Brihtwulf curbed his horse and stared up at the man. 'And I want the gates opened.'\n\n'For God's sake why?'\n\n'Because Lord \u00c6thelhelm wants it,' Brihtwulf called. He was keeping both hands on his saddle's pommel. His shield, fire-scarred with the cross, hung at his back. His sword hung low to his left.\n\n'I was told not to open the gates to the Lord God Almighty Himself!' the man answered.\n\n'He can't come,' Brihtwulf said, 'so Lord \u00c6thelhelm sent me instead.'\n\n'Why?' The older man had seen me and my men start up the stairs. 'Stop!' he shouted at me, holding out a warning hand. I stopped halfway up the timeworn stairs, the shield heavy on my back. The troops on the gate's rampart were not from any fyrd, they were in good mail and carried spears and swords.\n\n'The pretty boy,' Brihtwulf shouted, 'is over there.' He pointed vaguely north-west. 'We're sending men out of the western gates to give him a spanking, but we need to keep him in place. If he sees another force coming from this gate he won't know which one to defend against. Of course you can always go and ask Lord \u00c6thelhelm himself.'\n\nThe man had been looking down at Brihtwulf, but now glanced at us to see that I had only paused for a heartbeat and then kept climbing and had now reached the ramparts. He frowned, but I gave him a friendly nod. His shield, showing \u00c6thelhelm's leaping stag, was propped against the inner parapet. The men below, I thought, might be from the East Anglian fyrd, but the shield betrayed that the spearmen on the ramparts were West Saxons and probably fiercely loyal to \u00c6thelhelm. 'Hot day!' I said to the older man, my voice muffled by the laced cheek-pieces, then walked to the outer parapet. I leaned on the sun-warmed stone and for a moment everything to the north appeared as I remembered it. Beneath the walls was a scum-covered ditch crossed by a stone bridge. A small crowd had gathered beyond the bridge. There were merchants come from the north with packhorses, folk from the villages with eggs or vegetables to sell, all of them barred from entering the city, but unwilling to leave. Small hovels lined the road, and a graveyard had spread into parched pastureland, beyond which were woods thick with summer leaves. A village lay a mile or so to the north where smoke rose into the west wind. Then more woods before the land climbed to a bare hilltop. Other villages, betrayed by smoke, lay hidden in the woods to the west. A small child drove a flock of geese across the pasture and I fancied I could hear her singing, but perhaps that was my imagination. A man, seeing me appear on the wall, shouted that he wanted to bring his packhorses into the city, but I ignored him, gazing instead into the heat-hazed distance. And then I saw them. I saw horsemen shadowed by trees, scores of horsemen.\n\n'Merewalh?' Finan suggested.\n\n'\u00c6thelstan, I hope,' I said fervently, but whoever the far horsemen were, they were just watching.\n\n'So will you please open the damned gate?' Brihtwulf demanded loudly and angrily from beneath us.\n\n'Twenty-eight men up here,' Finan said, still talking low. He meant twenty-eight men on the gate's parapet, most of them crowded onto the half-circles of the twin bastions that jutted out to the ditch's edge. I nodded.\n\nWihtgar and his men had reached the parapet at the far side of the gate. The older man looked at them, frowned, turned back to me, then saw that Immar was carrying the furled banner. 'Is that a banner, boy!' he demanded.\n\n'Will you open the gate?' Brihtwulf called.\n\n'Show me the banner, boy!'\n\nI turned and held out a hand to Immar. 'Give it to me,' I said. I took the staff and unrolled a foot or so of the flag, then tossed it at the older man's feet. 'Look for yourself,' I said, 'it's the dragon of Wessex.' And so it would be, I thought, if the gods were with me today. The man leaned down to the staff and I took a step towards him.\n\nFinan put a hand on my arm. 'You're still slow, lord,' he said in a very low voice, 'let me.'\n\nHe kept his hand on my arm, watching as the older man took hold of the flag's edge to unroll it. All of his men were watching as he pulled to reveal the dragon's clawed forelegs. He pulled again, about to reveal the lightning bolt in the dragon's grip. Then Finan moved.\n\nAnd it began.\n\nFinan was the fastest man I have ever seen in a fight. He was thin, lithe, and moved like a wildcat. I have spent hours practising sword-skill with him and I reckon he would have killed me nine times out of ten, and the older man never stood a chance. He was looking up in surprise as Finan reached him, Soul-Stealer was already out of her scabbard, but Finan just kicked him under the chin, jerking his head back, then the blade swung in a savage back cut that threw the man sideways, throat severed and blood spurting high over the inner parapet, and Finan was already threatening the men watching from the bastion. They were not ready, any more than the older man whose life pulsed away onto \u00c6thelstan's banner had been ready. They were still lowering their spears as Finan attacked, and my borrowed sword was only halfway out of her scabbard as he thrust Soul-Stealer into a man's belly and ripped her sideways.\n\n'Open the gate!' I shouted. 'Open it!'\n\nI shrugged the shield off my shoulder. Wihtgar was attacking from the far side of the gate. The fighting had started so fast, so unexpectedly, and our enemy was still confused. Their leader was dead, they were suddenly assailed by swords and by Folcbald wielding a massive axe. Hulbert and his Mercians were attacking westwards, driving the defenders on the ramparts away from the gate, while I joined Finan in clearing the bastions and the fighting platform above the arch. We were desperate. We had managed to cross an enemy-held city, we had reached this gate without being discovered, and now we were surrounded by enemies, and our only hope of living was to kill.\n\nThere is pity in war. A dying boy, gutted like a beast and calling for his mother is pitiable, regardless that a moment before he had been screaming curses and trying to kill me. My borrowed sword was no Serpent-Breath, but she went through the boy's mail and leather easily enough, and I cut off his yelps for his mother with a downwards thrust through his left eye. Beside me Finan, screaming in his Irish tongue, had put two men down and his blade was red to the hilt. Gerbruht, bellowing in his native Frisian, was swinging an axe against men who had not been given time to retrieve their shields. We were thrusting the West Saxons back into the half circle of the bastion, and they were screaming for mercy. Some had not even had time to draw their swords and they were so packed together that their spearmen could not lower their weapons. 'Drop your blades,' I bellowed, 'and jump into the ditch!'\n\nAll that mattered was to clear the gate's parapet. Wihtgar, with his Mercians, was savaging the enemy on the eastern side of the archway, and his sword, Fl\u00e6scmangere, was as red as Finan's Soul-Stealer. I ran back to the steps and saw that Rumwald's men were thrusting the confused East Anglians away from the gate's arch, but Brihtwulf, his stallion white-eyed and frightened, was still inside the closed gates. One locking bar had been freed from the iron brackets, but the second was high and heavy. 'Hurry!' I bellowed, and four men used spears to push the bar upwards. It fell with a crash, making Brihtwulf's horse rear, then the huge gates were pushed outwards on squealing hinges. 'Go!' I called. 'Go!' And Brihtwulf kicked his heels and the stallion bolted across the bridge. The folk waiting outside scattered.\n\nRumwald had made a shield wall across the road. Behind it were bodies, some moving, most motionless in puddles of their blood. Father Oda was shouting at the East Anglians, telling them their war was over, that God Almighty had sent King \u00c6thelstan to bring peace and plenty. I let him harangue them and went back to the parapet where terrified West Saxons, relieved of their weapons, were being forced to jump off the high bastion into the filth of the flooded ditch. 'The shit will kill them if they don't drown,' Finan said.\n\n'We have to barricade the parapet,' I said, 'both ways.'\n\n'We will,' Finan said.\n\nWe had taken the twin bastions and the arch's fighting platform between them, and Rumwald's men, beating swords against shields, were driving back a larger number of East Anglians who seemed reluctant to fight and equally reluctant to surrender. I knew we would be attacked down there soon, but the immediate danger came from the men manning the walls on either side of the gate. For the moment, dazed and confused by our sudden assault, they were holding back, but other men were running along the walls, coming to retake the gate.\n\nThey were coming because Immar had pulled down the leaping stag and hoisted the blood-drenched banner of King \u00c6thelstan. The dragon and the lightning bolt now flew above the Crepelgate, and revenge for that was coming.\n\nThe Crepelgate. Under the pitiless midday sun we had to hold the gate, and I remembered that Alfred, distressed by the number of maimed and blinded folk in Lundene, many of them men he had led into battle, had issued a decree allowing cripples to beg from travellers at this gate. Was that an omen? We had to defend the gate now and the fight would surely make more cripples. I touched the silver hammer, then cleaned the blood from my borrowed sword and slid her back into her scabbard.\n\nAnd knew she must be drawn again soon."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "The enemy's first response was ragged, brave, and ineffectual. The troops manning the long stretches of the wall either side of the captured Crepelgate attacked along the ramparts, but a shield wall of just four men could easily defend the width of the fighting platform. A dozen men, arrayed in three ranks, would be an even more formidable obstacle, but the day's heat and the undoubted ferocity of the enemy's attacks would wear that small force down fast, so I had men bringing stones from the nearby ruins. We piled them on the fighting platform to make two crude barricades, and by the time the wall's defenders to our west had organised a disciplined assault, our makeshift wall was already knee high. Gerbruht and Folcbald led that defence, using the spears we had captured from the West Saxons, and within a short time the knee-high wall was heightened by mail-clad corpses. Wihtgar, to the east, faced less opposition, and his men went on piling stones.\n\nBrihtwulf had left the city and vanished among the far trees, but neither he nor any of \u00c6thelstan's men had reappeared. Inside the gate the East Anglians had retreated fifty or more paces, and Father Oda was still shouting at them, but they had not dropped their shields nor lowered their banner, which showed a crudely embroidered boar's head.\n\nEverything was now happening either very fast or painfully slowly. It was fast on the wall's top where we piled still more stones as vengeful West Saxons assaulted both crude barricades, but it was slow inside the city where Rumwald's shield wall stood ready to defend the open gate against an East Anglian force that showed no desire to attack. Yet I knew it was there, on the road between the rubble and weeds of the ruined city, that this fight would be decided.\n\nThe West Saxons on the eastern reach of the wall had been reluctant to attack at first, and had given Wihtgar's men the chance to make their stone barrier chest high. The enemy there hurled spears over the crude wall, but after the first attackers tried to clamber over the heap of stones and were met by spears thrusting from below, they were more cautious. Yet to the west the fighting was far more vicious. The pile of stones was broad there, but only knee high, and the enemy kept coming, urged on by a black-bearded man in polished mail and wearing a glittering helmet. He shouted his troops forward, though I noted he never joined them as they charged with shields held high and spears levelled. He was screaming at them to kill, to charge faster, and that was a mistake. Men hurried to cross the crude barrier and their haste made them trip on the stones and they came to our shield wall raggedly only to be met by swords, spears, and axes. Their fallen bodies made an ever-growing barrier on top of the first, a new barrier made worse by the men dying in agony who were trodden underfoot by other men trying to cross the blood-soaked obstacle.\n\n'The wall will hold,' Finan told me. We were standing halfway up the steps, he was watching the fight above as I stared west towards Lundene's higher hill.\n\n'The men need ale or water,' I said. The day was getting hotter. Sweat was stinging my eyes and trickling inside my mail.\n\n'There'll be ale in the guard house,' Finan said, meaning one of the chambers inside the twin bastions. 'I'll have it sent up here.'\n\nA spear struck the stone between us. The West Saxons on the western wall had seen us, and several had hurled spears, but this was the first to reach us. It skidded off the step and fell down to the road. 'Bastards will give up soon,' Finan said.\n\nHe was right. The men attacking us along the wall were tired of dying and had become aware that other men would do the fighting instead, and those men were appearing, heralded by blasts from horns that made us all gaze across the northern stretch of Lundene. Closest to us the land was a ruin of old walls, then it dropped to where the Weala brook flowed towards the Temes. Beyond it the land rose to Lundene's western hill on which stood the ruins of the amphitheatre and, on the amphitheatre's further side, the walls of the old Roman fortress. And a stream of men was coming from that fort. Many were mounted, most were on foot, but all were in mail, and even as Finan and I watched, a group of horsemen came through the gate surrounded by standard-bearers, their flags bright in the noonday sun.\n\n'Jesus,' Finan said quietly.\n\n'We came here to fight,' I said.\n\n'But how many men does he have?' Finan asked incredulously, because the procession of mailed warriors seemed unending.\n\nI made no answer, instead I climbed back to the wall's top and stared across the pastureland to the far woods where no horsemen were in sight. For now, it seemed, we were alone, and if \u00c6thelstan's men did not come from those distant woods we would die alone.\n\nI sent half the men who had been defending the barricades down to stiffen Rumwald's shield wall, then took one last glance northwards to see no sign of \u00c6thelstan or his men. Come, I urged him silently, if you want a kingdom, come! Then I went down the steps to where a battle must be fought.\n\nIt would be a battle, I thought bitterly, to decide which royal arse would warm a throne, and what business did I have deciding the throne of Wessex? Yet fate, that callous bitch, had tied my life's threads to King Alfred's dream. Was there really a Christian heaven? If there was then King Alfred would be gazing down on us even now. And what would he want? Of that I had no doubt. He wanted a Christian country of all the men who spoke the \u00c6nglisc tongue, and he wanted that country led by a Christian king. He would be praying for \u00c6thelstan. So damn him, I thought, damn Alfred and his piety, damn his stern face, always so disapproving, damn his righteousness, and damn him for making me fight for his cause a lifetime after his death. Because today, I thought, if \u00c6thelstan did not come, I would die for Alfred's dream.\n\nI thought of Bebbanburg and its windswept ramparts, I thought of Eadith, of my son, and then of Benedetta, and I wanted to ignore that last regret and so I shouted at Rumwald's men to get ready. They were in three ranks and had made a small half-circle about the open gate. It was a perilously small shield wall and was about to be attacked by the might of Wessex. It was no longer time to think, to indulge in regrets or to wonder about the Christian heaven, but time to fight. 'You're Mercians!' I shouted. 'You've defeated the Danes, you've fought off the Welsh, and now you'll make a new song of Mercia! A new victory! Your king is coming!' I knew I lied, but men facing battle do not want truth. 'Your king is coming!' I shouted again. 'So stay firm! I am Uhtred! And I am proud to fight alongside you!' And the poor doomed bastards cheered as Finan and I pushed through the ranks to stand where the shield wall barred the road.\n\n'You shouldn't be here,' Finan muttered.\n\n'I am here.'\n\nAnd I hurt still from the beating Waormund had given me. I hurt all over. I hurt and I was tired, while the weight of the shield made my left shoulder feel as if an augur was twisting into the joint. I lowered the shield to rest it on the roadway, then looked westwards, but none of the troops coming from the fort had yet appeared out of the Weala's shallow valley. 'If I die \u2026' I began in a very low voice.\n\n'Quiet,' Finan snarled, then, much lower, 'you shouldn't be here. Go to the rear rank.'\n\nI gave him no answer, nor did I move. In all my years I had never fought anywhere except the front rank. A man who leads others to death's doorway must lead, not follow. I felt stifled, and so I undid the knot that held the boiled-leather cheek-pieces and let them swing free so I could breathe more easily.\n\nFather Oda paced in front of our wall, talking now to us and seemingly oblivious of the East Anglians behind him. 'God is with us!' he called. 'God is our strength and our shield! Today we shall strike down the forces of evil! Today we fight for God's country!'\n\nI stopped paying attention because, not far to the west, the first banners were appearing above the lip of the Weala's valley. And I could hear drums beating. The heartbeat of war was coming nearer. A man a few paces away in our front rank bent over and vomited. 'Something I ate,' he said, but that was not true. Our shields were propped against legs that trembled, there was bile in our throats, our stomachs were sour, and our laughter at bad jests was forced.\n\nThe first men of Wessex appeared from the shallow valley, a line of grey sparked with spear-points. The East Anglians who had faced us so irresolutely began to edge backwards, as if making room for the approaching horde. We had been right, I thought ruefully. The East Anglians did not want to fight, neither for the West Saxons nor, it seemed, for us either.\n\nThe enemy who had come from the fort were getting closer. Their banners were bright; banners with crosses, with saints, with the dragon of Wessex, with \u00c6thelhelm's leaping stag and, leading all of them, a banner I had never seen before. It was being waved from side to side so we could see it clearly and it showed a dull grey dragon of Wessex beneath a leaping stag embroidered in deep scarlet. A small cross showed in the upper corner.\n\n'God is with us!' Oda shouted. 'And your king is coming!'\n\nI hoped he was right and dared not leave the shield wall to find out. The gate was open and we just had to keep it open until \u00c6thelstan arrived.\n\nRumwald stood to my right. He was shaking slightly. 'Keep together!' he called to his men. 'Stand fast!' His voice was uncertain. 'He is coming, lord?' he asked me. 'Of course he's coming. He won't let us down.' He talked on, saying nothing of importance, just talking to cover his fear. The drums became louder. Horsemen rode on the flanks of the approaching West Saxons and still more footmen came, their spears thick. I could see the leaping stags on the shields now. The front rank, that was ragged because men were stepping over the remnants of walls, numbered about twenty, but there were at least twenty ranks behind. It was a daunting mass of household warriors who advanced in front of a group of horsemen, and there were still more ranks behind those mounted men. They had begun shouting, though they were still too far away to hear their insults.\n\nI picked up my shield, wincing at the stab of pain, then drew Wasp-Sting, and even that short blade felt heavy. I beat her against the shield. '\u00c6thelstan is coming!' I shouted. '\u00c6thelstan is coming!' I remembered the boy I had taught how to kill, a boy who, on my command, had killed his first man. He had executed a traitor in a ditch where bog-myrtles grew. Now that boy was a warrior king, and my life depended on him. '\u00c6thelstan is coming!' I shouted again, and kept clashing Wasp-Sting's blade on the ironbound boards of willow. Rumwald's men took up the chant and began to beat their swords on shields. The second rank just shouted. They carried spears with shafts axe-hacked to half their length. A spear needs two hands, but a short spear can be wielded with one hand. They would close up behind us and thrust the spears between our shields. The fighting on the walls had stopped because the enemy there, frustrated by our makeshift barriers, was content to watch as the larger force overwhelmed us. Wihtgar had brought twenty men down from the ramparts and now waited with them under the gate's arch, ready to reinforce any part of our shield wall that looked to be fragile. I wished I had Wihtgar beside me instead of Rumwald, who still chattered needlessly, but Rumwald had provided most of the men for this fight and I could not deny him his place of honour beside me.\n\nHonour was his word, not mine. 'It's an honour to stand in a shield wall with you, lord,' he had said more than once. 'I shall tell my grandchildren!' And that had made me touch the silver hammer that I had pulled out from under my mail. I touched it because my grandchildren were in Eoferwic and we had heard no denials of the rumours of plague in the north. Let them live, I prayed, and I was not the only man praying in that shield wall, nor was I the only one praying to Thor. These men might all call themselves Christians, but many warriors had a lurking fear that the older gods were just as real, and when the enemy is coming near and the drums of war are beating and the shields are heavy then men pray to any god and every god.\n\n'God is our shield!' Father Oda had come inside our half-circle of men and was now standing on the steps leading to the ramparts. 'We must prevail!' he shouted hoarsely, and he needed to shout because the West Saxons were very near now. A horseman was leading them across our front, driving the East Anglians still further away.\n\nI gazed at our enemy. Good troops, I thought. Their mail, their helmets, and their weapons looked well maintained. '\u00c6thelhelm's household warriors?' I muttered to Finan.\n\n'Looks like it,' he said. It was too hot for men to wear \u00c6thelhelm's red cloaks, and besides a cloak is an encumbrance in battle, but all the shields were painted with the leaping stag. They stopped forty paces away, too far for a spear's throw, turned towards us, and began beating swords against their shields. 'Four hundred of them?' Finan suggested, but they were just the beginning because still more men came to beat their blades on shields, some painted with the stag and others with the badges of West Saxon noblemen. This was the army of Wessex, forged by Alfred to fight the Danes and now arrayed against their fellow Saxons, and all led by the men on horseback who, under their gaudy banners, rode to confront us.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm, wearing a red cloak despite the heat, sat on a magnificent bay stallion. His mail had been cleaned and polished, and on his chest was a cross of gold. His face was hidden by the gold-encrusted cheek-pieces of his helmet, which was crested with a golden stag. The hilt of his sword glittered with gold, his stallion's bridle and girth were decorated with small golden plates, and even his stirrups had golden decorations. His eyes were shadowed by his lavish helmet, but I did not doubt he was looking at us with contempt. On \u00c6thelhelm's right, mounted on a tall grey stallion and draped in a white cloak edged with red, was his nephew \u00c6lfweard, who alone among the horsemen wore no helmet. He had a vacant, slack-mouthed moon face that now showed excitement. The boy could not wait to see us slaughtered and doubtless expected to help kill whichever of us survived the coming onslaught, but his lack of a helmet suggested his uncle wanted the boy to take no part in the fighting. He had a coat of shining mail and a long scabbard criss-crossed with golden strips, but what caught the eye was what he wore in place of a helmet. He was wearing King Alfred's crown, the golden crown studded with the emeralds of Wessex.\n\nTwo priests mounted on geldings and six spearmen on stallions waited behind \u00c6thelhelm. The spearmen were plainly guarding \u00c6lfweard and his uncle, as was the horseman whose tall stallion stood to \u00c6thelhelm's left, a horseman who looked too big for his horse. It was Waormund, a looming and baleful figure who, in contrast to the other horsemen, was shabby. His mail was dull, his stag-painted shield was deeply scored by blades, and his battered helmet had no cheek-pieces. He was grinning. This was Waormund's delight. He had an enemy shield wall to break and men to kill and, as if he could not wait for the slaughter to begin, he swung himself out of the saddle, looked at us derisively, and spat.\n\nThen he drew his sword. He drew Serpent-Breath. He drew my sword, the whorls on her steel blade reflecting a lance of sunlight to dazzle me. He spat towards us a second time, then turned and swept Serpent-Breath up in a salute to \u00c6lfweard. 'Lord King!' he bellowed.\n\nIt seemed to me that \u00c6lfweard giggled in reply. He was certainly laughing as his troops all shouted the same words, 'Lord King! Lord King!' They chanted it, still beating their swords against their shields until \u00c6thelhelm held up a leather-gloved hand to silence them and kicked his stallion forward.\n\n'He doesn't know you're here,' Finan muttered to me. He meant Waormund. My cheek-pieces were open, but I was holding the shield high, half obscuring my face.\n\n'He'll find out,' I said grimly.\n\n'But I fight him,' Finan insisted, 'not you.'\n\n'Men of Mercia!' \u00c6thelhelm shouted, then waited for silence. I saw him glance up to the western walls and gaze intently for an instant, and I realised he was watching for a signal that \u00c6thelstan's forces were coming. He looked back to us, betraying no alarm. 'Men of Mercia!' he called again, then beckoned for a standard-bearer to come forward. The man waved his flag slowly, the new flag on which the stag of \u00c6thelhelm dominated the dragon of Wessex.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm has loosened the gold-chased cheek-pieces of his helmet so that men could see his narrow face; a handsome face, long and commanding, clean shaven and with deep-set brown eyes. He pointed to the flag. 'That flag,' he called, 'is the new flag of Englaland! It is our flag! Your flag and my flag, the flag of one country under one king!'\n\n'King \u00c6thelstan!' a man shouted from our ranks.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm ignored the shout. I saw him glance again to the walls, then look back to us unperturbed. 'One country!' he said, his voice easily carrying to the men on the ramparts. 'It will be our country! Yours and mine! We are not enemies! The enemy are the pagans, and where are the pagans? Where do the hated Northmen rule? In Northumbria! Join me and I promise that every man here will share in the wealth of that heathen country. You will have land! You will have silver! You will have women!'\n\n\u00c6lfweard grinned at that and said something to Waormund, who gave a bark of laughter. He still held Serpent-Breath. 'Your king,' \u00c6thelhelm pointed to his grinning nephew, 'is King of Wessex, King of East Anglia, and he offers you pardon, mercy and forgiveness. He offers you life!' Again a quick glance at the far walls. 'Together,' \u00c6thelhelm went on, 'we will make one country of all the Saxons!'\n\n'Of all Christians!' Father Oda called. \u00c6thelhelm looked at the priest and must have recognised him as the man who had fled his service in disgust, but he betrayed no annoyance, just smiled. 'Father Oda is right,' he shouted, 'we will make a country for all Christian men! And Northumbria is the land of Guthfrith the Pagan and together we shall take his land, and you, the men of Mercia, will be given their steadings, their woodlands, their flocks, their herds, their young women, and their pastures!'\n\nGuthfrith? Guthfrith! I stared at \u00c6thelhelm in a daze. Guthfrith was Sigtryggr's brother, and if he was indeed king, then Sigtryggr, my ally, was dead. And if he was dead and if it was the plague that had killed him, then who else had died in Eoferwic? Sigtryggr's heir was my grandson who was too young to rule, but Guthfrith had taken the throne? 'Lord,' Finan muttered, nudging me with his sword arm.\n\n'Fight me here,' \u00c6thelhelm called, 'and you fight against God's anointed king! You fight for a bastard, born to a whore! But drop your shields and sheathe your swords and I will grant you the land of our real enemy, the enemy of all Christian Englaland! I will give you Northumbria!' He paused, there was silence, and I realised that Rumwald's men were listening, and that they were almost persuaded that the lies \u00c6thelhelm told were the truth. 'I will give you wealth!' \u00c6thelhelm promised. 'I will give you the land of Northumbria!'\n\n'It's not yours to give,' I snarled. 'You faithless bastard, you earsling, you son of a poxed whore, you piece of slug shit, you liar!' Finan tried to restrain me, but I shook him off and stepped forward. 'You are slime from a cesspit,' I spat at \u00c6thelhelm, 'and I will give your lands, all of them, to the men of Mercia!'\n\nHe stared at me. \u00c6lfweard stared and Waormund stared and slowly it dawned on all three that, dishevelled as I was, I was their enemy. And for a heartbeat I swear I saw fear on \u00c6thelhelm's face. It came and it went, but he did edge his horse backwards. He said nothing.\n\n'I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg!' I was talking to the West Saxons shield wall now. 'Many of you have fought under my banner. We fought for Alfred, for Edward, for Wessex, and now you would die for that piece of weasel shit!' I pointed Wasp-Sting at \u00c6lfweard.\n\n'Kill him!' \u00c6lfweard squealed.\n\n'Lord?' Waormund growled to his master.\n\n'Kill him,' \u00c6thelhelm snapped.\n\nI was full of anger. Guthfrith ruled? Grief was thick inside me, threatening to overwhelm me, but I was angry too. Angry that \u00c6thelhelm should think to give away my land, that his filthy nephew would be king of Bebbanburg's fields. I just wanted to kill.\n\nBut Waormund wanted to kill too, and he was the bigger man, and I remembered his speed in a fight. He was skilled too, as skilled as any man with a sword, a spear, or an axe. He was younger, he was taller, he outreached me, and he was probably faster. I might have matched him for speed if my body had not been racked by his horse dragging me across fields, but I was sore, I ached, and I was weary.\n\nBut I was also angry. It was a cold anger holding grief at bay, an anger that wanted to destroy both Waormund and his reputation that had been made at my expense. He was walking slowly towards me, his heavy boots crunching the gravel of the road leading to the gate, his scarred face grinning. He carried no shield, just my sword.\n\nI let my shield drop to the road, put Wasp-Sting into my left hand and drew the borrowed sword with my right. Finan made one last effort to stop me, coming towards me with an outstretched arm.\n\n'Step back, Irish scum,' Waormund growled, 'you're next.'\n\n'My fight,' I told Finan.\n\n'Lord \u2026'\n\n'My fight,' I said again, louder.\n\nIt occurred to me as I walked slowly towards my enemy that \u00c6thelhelm had made a mistake. Why had he waited? Why had he not tried to overwhelm us and close the gates? And by letting Waormund fight me he gave \u00c6thelstan more time to reach us. Or perhaps \u00c6thelhelm knew more than I did, that the men he had sent to the western gates were already fighting the Mercian army beyond the walls, and that \u00c6thelstan was too busy to come. I saw \u00c6thelhelm look again to the walls, but again he showed no alarm. 'Kill him, Waormund!' he called.\n\n'Cripple him!' \u00c6lfweard commanded in a high voice. 'I must kill him! Just cripple him for me!'\n\nWaormund had stopped. He beckoned me with his left hand. 'Come!' he crooned as if I were a child. 'Come and be crippled.'\n\nSo I stopped and stood still. If \u00c6thelstan was to come then I must give him as much time as I could. And so I waited. Sweat stung my eyes. The helmet was hot. I hurt.\n\n'Frightened?' Waormund asked, then laughed. 'He's frightened of me!' He had turned and was shouting to the West Saxons behind \u00c6thelhelm. 'That's Uhtred of Bebbanburg! And I've already beaten him once! Dragged him naked at my horse's arse! And this is his sword!' he held Serpent-Breath high. 'It's a good sword.' He turned his dull, cruel, animal eyes to look at me. 'You don't deserve this blade,' he snarled, 'you gutless turd.'\n\n'Kill him!' \u00c6thelhelm called.\n\n'Cripple him!' \u00c6lfweard demanded in his shrill voice.\n\n'Come, old man,' Waormund again beckoned me, 'come!'\n\nMen watched. I did not move. I held my sword low. She did not have a name. Sweat ran down my face. Waormund charged.\n\nHe charged suddenly and, for a big man, he was quick. He held Serpent-Breath in his right hand, his left hand empty. He wanted the fight to be over swiftly and I was not making it easy by standing still, and so he had decided to charge me, to swing Serpent-Breath in one mighty blow to batter down my parry and then hit me with his full weight so that I would be thrown to the ground where he could disarm me, then give me to \u00c6lfweard's mercy. So do the unexpected, I told myself, and took a half step to my right, which he did expect, then hurled myself straight at him. I hit him with my left shoulder and the pain was sudden and fierce. I had hoped Wasp-Sting would pierce his mail, but he moved into me at the very last instant and her lunge slid past his waist as we collided and I smelled the ale on his breath and the stink of the sweat-soaked leather under his mail coat. It was like throwing my weight against a bullock, but I had been expecting the impact and was ready for it, Waormund was not. He staggered slightly, but still kept his footing then turned fast with Serpent-Breath swinging. I parried her with Wasp-Sting, saw his left hand reaching for me, but he was still off balance and I stepped away before he could grasp me. I turned to lunge with the borrowed sword, but he was too quick and had backed away.\n\n'Hurry!' \u00c6thelhelm called. He must have realised that this fight was wasting time, time he might not have, but he also knew that my death would dispirit the Mercians and make them easier to slaughter, so he would let Waormund finish me. 'Get it done, man!' he added irritably.\n\n'Piece of northern shit,' Waormund said, then sneered, 'they're all dead in the north! You will be soon.' He took a half step towards me, Serpent-Breath raised, but I did not move. I had been watching his eyes and knew it was a feint. He stepped back. 'Good sword this,' he said, 'better than a turd like you deserves.' Then he came for me again, for real this time, lunging Serpent-Breath and again hoping to knock me off my feet with his weight, but I used my long-sword to throw Serpent-Breath off to my right and stepped left. He back-swung the blade as he turned towards me, I parried with my sword and felt the jolt of steel on steel, then I stepped to the right, still close to him, stepping into his sword arm, and I kept moving, and as I moved I stabbed Wasp-Sting at his belly.\n\nI knew at that moment I was making a mistake, that he had fooled me, that I was doing just what he wanted. I suddenly remembered the fight on the terrace above the Temes and how he had gripped my mail coat. That was how he fought. He wanted me close so he could grab hold of me and shake me as a terrier shakes a rat. He wanted me close where his height, weight and strength could overwhelm me, and now I was very close. I was passing him, still going to my right, and I saw his left hand reaching for me and I almost pulled away, but the thought was too late, I was committed and so I thrust the seax. I ignored the fiery pain in my left shoulder and I just rammed Wasp-Sting as hard as I could. It hurt, that thrust, it hurt terribly. The effort to drive Wasp-Sting deep made me gasp aloud, but I kept thrusting her, ignoring the pain.\n\nWaormund had been reaching to grip one of my cheek-pieces, but Wasp-Sting was quicker. She pierced mail and leather. She broke through thick muscle. She buried half her length in his gut, and his reaching hand fell away as he turned quickly, grimacing, so quickly that he tore Wasp-Sting's hilt from my hand so that she stayed in his belly, blood just showing in the links she had pierced. I backed away. 'You're slow,' I said, the first words I had spoken to him.\n\n'Bastard,' he spat and, ignoring the seax in his gut, came for me again. He was angry now. He had been contemptuous before, but now he was nothing but fury, hacking Serpent-Breath in savage short strokes, her blade ringing on my blade as he forced me to retreat by the sheer weight of the blows. But his anger was hot, it made him unthinking, and the blows, though brutally hard, were easy enough to parry. I taunted him. Called him a beef-witted piece of shit, said his mother had shat him instead of giving birth, that through all Britain men called him \u00c6thelhelm's arse-licker. 'You're dying, you maggot,' I mocked him, 'that blade in your belly is killing you!' He knew that was probably true. I have seen men recover from ghastly wounds, but rarely from a gut stroke. 'It will be a slow painful death,' I told him, 'and men will remember me as the man who killed \u00c6thelhelm's arse-licker.'\n\n'Bastard!' Waormund was almost crying in his fury. He knew he was probably doomed, but at least he could kill me first and so salvage his reputation. He swung again and I parried Serpent-Breath and felt the force of the blow shudder up my arm. Serpent-Breath had shattered many a blade, but by a miracle my borrowed sword had not broken from any of his blows. He lunged fast, I twisted away, almost tripped on a loose stone, and Waormund was bellowing now, half rage and half pain. Wasp-Sting was deep in his entrails, she had ripped them open, and the blood at his belly was welling through the mail to drip on the road. He tried to pull her free, but the flesh had closed on her blade, gripping it, and his attempt only hurt him, and he left her there, lunged again, but slower, and I knocked his thrust aside and lunged in turn, aiming for his face, then dropping my blade to strike Wasp-Sting's hilt. That hurt him, I saw it in his eyes. He swayed back, stumbled, and then found a new fury and a new energy. He attacked frantically, driving me back with swing after massive swing, grunting with each huge effort. I parried some blows, stepped away from others, content now to let Wasp-Sting kill him slowly and so buy us time. Waormund was weakening, but his strength was prodigious and I was being forced back towards Rumwald's shield wall. The Mercians had cheered when they saw me stab Wasp-Sting into Waormund's gut, but now they were silent, awed by the sight of the giant warrior, a sword-hilt sticking from his belly, attacking with such demented anger. He was in pain, he was slowing, but still he tried to hack me down.\n\nThen a horn sounded to the west. An urgent horn. It was being blown from the ramparts, and the sound half checked Waormund. 'Now!' \u00c6thelhelm bellowed. 'Now!\n\nHe was telling his shield wall to advance, telling them to kill us, telling them to close the gate.\n\nBut Waormund had momentarily turned at the sound of his master's voice and my borrowed sword, with its edges nicked by the violence of Serpent-Breath's attacks, slid through his tangled beard and into his throat. Blood jetted into the hot air. He looked back to me, all strength gone, and for a heartbeat he just stared at me in apparent disbelief. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but blood spilled from his lips and then, oddly slowly, he fell to his knees on the dusty gravel that was soaked with his blood. He still looked at me, only now it seemed he was begging for pity, but I had no pity. I struck Wasp-Sting's hilt again and Waormund whimpered, and then fell sideways.\n\n'Kill them all!' \u00c6thelhelm bellowed.\n\nI just had time to drop the blood-tipped borrowed sword, stoop and prise Serpent-Breath from Waormund's weakening fingers. Then I ran, or at least stumbled, back to the shield wall where Finan handed me my fallen shield. The drums began to beat again. The horn still sounded its urgent warning. And the warriors of Wessex were coming to kill us.\n\nThey came slowly. The poets tell us that men charge into battle, welcoming the slaughter as eagerly as any lover, but a shield wall is a fearsome thing. The men of Wessex knew they would not break us with a wild charge, but would only reach the gate behind us by keeping their ranks tight and their shields overlapped and firm, and so they walked to us, their faces watchful and grim above the iron rims of their stag-painted shields. Every third man carried a shortened spear, the others came with either a seax or an axe. I had left Wasp-Sting in Waormund's belly, and I needed her. A long-sword is no weapon for a shield wall, but Serpent-Breath was in my hand and she would have to serve.\n\n'Our king is coming!' I shouted. 'Hold them!'\n\n'Kill them!' \u00c6lfweard's high-pitched voice screamed. 'Slaughter them!'\n\nThe West Saxon spears were lowered. I had thought their rear ranks might throw spears, but none came, though Wihtgar's men hurled spears over our heads. The blades thumped into West Saxon shields. 'Break them!' \u00c6thelhelm shouted, and they came forward, still cautiously, men stepping around Waormund's massive corpse. Their shields made a constant clatter, edge touching edge. They were close now, so close. They stared into our eyes, we stared into theirs. Men took a breath, steeling themselves for the clash of shields. Harsh voices were ordering them onwards. 'Kill them!' \u00c6lfweard shouted excitedly. He had drawn a sword, but was staying well back from the fight.\n\n'For God and for the king!' a West Saxon shouted, and then they came. They screamed, they shouted, they charged the last two paces, and our shields met with a thunder of clashing wood. My shield was pressed back, I heaved. An axe hacked at the rim, narrowly missing my face, a warrior with gritted teeth and a badly mended helmet was grimacing at me, just inches from my face. He was trying to thread a seax past my shield's edge as the axeman attempted to pull my shield down, but the axe's blade slipped from the rent it had made and I heaved again, pushing the grimacing man back, and Finan must have lunged his seax into him because he sank down, giving me space enough to lunge Serpent-Breath at the axeman.\n\nMen were shouting. Blades were clashing. Priests were calling on their god to kill us. A Mercian spearman behind me thrust past my shield. I heard \u00c6thelhelm's voice, touched with panic, yelling at his men that they must close the gate. I looked up when he shouted and caught his eye an instant. 'Close the gate!' His voice was shrill. I looked away from him as an axe thumped on my shield. I shook the blade off as a Mercian spearman thrust a spear past me. I rammed Serpent-Breath forward, felt her strike wood and lunged again, but my elbow was jarred by Rumwald who had staggered against me. He was whimpering, then his shield fell and he sank down, the spearman behind me tried to take his place, but Rumwald was thrashing wildly, suddenly screaming in agony, and so stopped him. A West Saxon spear pierced Rumwald's mail, then a merciful axe split his helmet, shattered his skull. The spearman lunged at Rumwald's killer, but a West Saxon seized the ash shaft and tugged until Serpent-Breath skewered his armpit.\n\n'Kill them!' \u00c6lfweard screeched. 'kill them! Kill them! Kill them all!'\n\n'You must close the gate!' \u00c6thelhelm bellowed.\n\n'God is with us!' Father Oda's voice was hoarse. The men in our rear rank were shouting, encouraging us to kill. Wounded men moaned, the dying screamed, the battle stench of blood and shit filled my nostrils.\n\n'Hold them!' I bellowed. A spear or a seax scored across my left thigh, Finan lunged. The spearman from the second rank had stepped across Rumwald's body and his shield touched mine. He lasted maybe long enough to lunge his spear once, then the axe drove into his shoulder, opening him deep and he fell beside his lord, and the axeman, a fair-haired man with a blood-spattered beard, swung his blade at me and I raised the shield to block the blow, saw the wood split where the blade struck, swung the shield down and drove Serpent-Breath at his eyes. He jerked away, another man had taken the dying Mercian's place and he stabbed with a shortened spear, driving the blade into the axeman's groin. The axe dropped, the man shrieked in agony and, like Waormund, fell to his knees. There were dead and dying men between us and the enemy, who had to step on the bodies to reach us and try to stab and lunge and hack their way to the gate. The drums still pounded, shields were splintering, the West Saxons were driving us back by weight of numbers.\n\nThen there was a bellow behind me, a cheer, a clatter of hooves, and something slammed into my back, throwing me to my knees and I looked up to see a horseman thrusting a long spear over my head. More horsemen came. The Mercian cheers grew. I managed to stand. Finan had thrown down his seax and drawn Soul-Stealer because the horsemen were driving the West Saxons back, giving us space for longer blades. 'Break them!' another voice shouted, and I had a glimpse of \u00c6thelstan, his helmet a glory of polished steel circled with gold, thrusting his stallion into the West Saxon ranks. The warrior king had come, glorious in gold, ruthless in steel, and he hacked with a long-sword, beating down his enemies. His men spurred to join him, spears stabbing, and suddenly the enemy broke.\n\nThey just broke. The longer spears of the Mercian horsemen had reached deep into the West Saxon ranks and on another day, on another battlefield, that would not have mattered. Horses are easy to wound and a panicked horse is no help to his rider, but on that day, by the gate of cripples, the horsemen came with a savage fury, led by a king who wanted to fight and who led his men from the front. There was blood on his stallion's chest, but the horse kept plunging, rearing, flailing with heavy hooves, and \u00c6thelstan kept shouting his men onwards, his long-sword reddened, and our shield wall, saved from death, found new passion. Our line, so short and so vulnerable, now surged forward. Brihtwulf had returned and joined the charge, bellowing at his men to follow, then \u00c6thelstan's horsemen split the enemy shield wall and the West Saxons broke in panic.\n\nBecause a king had come and a king now fled.\n\n'Sweet Jesus,' Finan said.\n\nWe were sitting on the lowest step of the stairs leading to the ramparts that were rapidly emptying of the enemy. I lifted off my helmet and dropped it on the ground. 'It's so damned hot,' I said.\n\n'Summer,' Finan said bleakly.\n\nStill more of \u00c6thelstan's men were streaming through the gate. The East Anglians who had first threatened us had dropped their shields and seemed to have no interest in what happened in the city. A few had wandered back to the gate in search of ale, and they took no notice of us and we took no notice of them. Immar had brought me Wasp-Sting. She lay on the ground in front of me, waiting for her blade to be cleaned, while Serpent-Breath lay on my knees and I kept touching her blade, scarce able to believe I had found her again.\n\n'You gutted that bastard,' Finan said, nodding towards Waormund's corpse. There were perhaps forty of fifty other corpses left from \u00c6thelhelm's shield wall. The wounded had been helped into the shade where they groaned.\n\n'He was fast,' I said, 'but he was clumsy. I didn't expect that. I thought he was better.'\n\n'Big bastard though.'\n\n'Big bastard,' I agreed. I looked down at my left thigh. The bleeding had stopped. The wound was shallow and I started laughing.\n\n'What's funny?' Finan asked.\n\n'I swore an oath.'\n\n'You always were an idiot.'\n\nI nodded agreement. 'I swore to kill \u00c6thelhelm and \u00c6lfweard, and I didn't.'\n\n'You tried.'\n\n'I tried to keep the oath,' I said.\n\n'They're probably dead by now,' Finan said, 'and they wouldn't be dead if you hadn't taken the gate, so yes, you kept your oath. And if they're not dead they soon will be.'\n\nI stared across the city where the killing continued. 'It would be nice to kill them both though,' I said wistfully.\n\n'For Christ's sake, you've done enough!'\n\n'We've done enough,' I corrected him. \u00c6thelstan and his men were hunting through the streets and alleys of Lundene, seeking out \u00c6thelhelm, \u00c6lfweard, and their supporters, and those supporters were few. The East Anglians did not want to fight for them, and many of the West Saxons simply threw down their shields and weapons. \u00c6thelhelm's vaunted army, as large an army as had been seen in Britain for many a year, had proved as fragile as an eggshell. \u00c6thelstan was king.\n\nAnd that evening as the smoke above Lundene glowed red in the light of the sinking sun, the king sent for me. He was King of Wessex now, King of East Anglia, and King of Mercia. 'It is all one country,' he told me that night. We were in the great hall of Lundene's palace, originally built for the kings of Mercia, then occupied by Alfred of Wessex, then by his son, Edward of Wessex, and now the property of \u00c6thelstan, but \u00c6thelstan of what? Of Englaland? I looked into his dark, clever eyes, so like the eyes of his grandfather Alfred, and knew he was thinking of the fourth Saxon kingdom, Northumbria.\n\n'You swore an oath, lord King,' I reminded him.\n\n'I did indeed,' he said, not looking at me, but gazing down the hall where the leaders of his warriors were gathered at two long tables. Finan was there with Brihtwulf, as were Wihtgar and Merewalh, all drinking ale or wine because this was a feast, a celebration, and the victors were eating the food that had belonged to the defeated. Some of the defeated West Saxons were there too, those who had surrendered quickly and sworn allegiance to their conqueror. Most men still wore their mail, though \u00c6thelstan had stripped off his own armour and wore a costly black coat beneath a short cloak dyed a deep and rich blue. The cloak's hems were embroidered with gold thread, he had a gold chain about his neck from which hung a golden cross, and about his head was a simple gold circlet. He was no longer the boy I had protected through the long years when his enemies had tried to destroy him. Now he had the stern face of a warrior king. He looked like a king too; he was tall, straight-backed, and handsome, but that was not why his enemies had called him Faeger Cnapa. They had used that derisive name because \u00c6thelstan had let his dark hair grow long and then twisted it into a dozen ringlets that were threaded with gold wires. Before the feast, when I had been summoned to share the high table, he had seen me staring at the glittering strands beneath the golden circlet and he had given me a defiant look.\n\n'A king,' he had said defensively, 'must appear kingly.'\n\n'He must indeed, lord King,' I had said. He had looked at me with those clever eyes, judging whether I mocked him, but before he could say more I had dropped to one knee. 'I take pleasure at your victory, lord King,' I had said humbly.\n\n'As I am grateful for all you did,' he had said, then raised me up and insisted that I should sit at his right hand where, gazing down at the celebrating warriors, I had just reminded him of the oath he had sworn to me.\n\n'I did indeed swear an oath,' he said. 'I swore not to invade Northumbria while you live,' he paused and reached for a silver jug that was etched with \u00c6thelhelm's stag. 'And you can be sure,' he went on, 'that I am mindful of the oath.' His voice was guarded and still he looked into hall, but then he turned to me and smiled. 'And I thank God that you do live, Lord Uhtred.' He poured me wine from the jug. 'I am told you rescued Queen Eadgifu?'\n\n'I did, lord King.' I still found it strange to address him as I had addressed his grandfather. 'So far as I know she's safe at Bebbanburg.'\n\n'That was well done,' he said. 'You can send her to Cent and assure her of our protection.'\n\n'And for her sons too?'\n\n'Of course!' He sounded annoyed that I had even asked. 'They are my nephews.' He sipped wine, his eyes brooding on the tables below us. 'And I hear you hold Aethelwulf as a prisoner?'\n\n'I do, lord King.'\n\n'You will send him to me. And release the priest.' He did not wait for my assent, but simply assumed I would obey him. 'What do you know of Guthfrith?'\n\nI had expected the question, because Guthfrith, brother to Sigtryggr, had taken the throne in Eoferwic. Sigtryggr had died of the plague and that was almost all the news \u00c6thelstan knew of the north. He had heard that the sickness had ended and he had ordered the roads to Eoferwic to be opened again, but of Bebbanburg he could tell me nothing. Nor did he know of the fate of his sister, Sigtryggr's queen, nor of my grandchildren. 'All I know, lord King,' I answered him carefully, 'is that Sigtryggr wasn't fond of his brother.'\n\n'He's a Norseman.'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'And a pagan,' he said, glancing at the silver hammer I still wore.\n\n'And some pagans, lord King,' I said sharply, 'helped keep the Crepelgate open for you.'\n\nHe just nodded at that, poured the last of the wine into his goblet, then stood and hammered the empty jug on the table to silence the hall. He hammered it at least a dozen times before the noise subsided and the warriors were all looking at him. He raised his goblet. 'I have to thank the Lord Uhtred,' he turned and inclined his head to me, 'who this day gave us Lundene!'\n\nThe warriors cheered and I had wanted to remind the king that Brihtwulf had helped, and poor Rumwald had died helping, and so many good men had fought at the Crepelgate where they had expected to die for him and some had, but before I could say anything \u00c6thelstan turned to Father Oda who sat on his left. I knew he was inviting the Danish priest to serve in his household, an invitation I knew Oda would accept.\n\n\u00c6thelhelm was dead. He had been caught trying to escape through one of the western gates, and Merewalh, who had joined \u00c6thelstan's army, had been one of the men who pierced him with a spear. \u00c6lfweard had become separated from his uncle and with just four men tried to escape across Lundene's bridge only to find the fort at the southern end barred to him by the handful of men we had left there. He had begged them to let him pass, had offered them gold which they accepted, but when he rode through the opened gate they had hauled him from his horse and taken both his gold and his crown. His four men had just watched.\n\nNow, after the feast, when men were singing and a harpist playing, \u00c6lfweard was brought to \u00c6thelstan. Candles lit the hall, the shadows thrown by their flickering flames leaping about the high rafters. The boy, he was twenty years old but looked six or seven years younger, was escorted by two warriors. He looked terrified, his moon face crumpled by crying. He no longer wore his fine mail, but was dressed in a grubby shift that hung to his knees. He was pushed up the stairs of the high table's dais, and the harpist stopped playing, the singing died, and \u00c6thelstan stood and walked to the front of the table so that every man in the now silent hall could see this meeting of the half-brothers. One was so tall and commanding, the other looked so pathetic as he dropped to his knees. One of the two men guarding \u00c6lfweard was holding the crown the boy had worn in the battle, and \u00c6thelstan now held out his hand and took it. He turned it in his hands so that the emeralds flashed in the candlelight, then he held it out to \u00c6lfweard. 'Wear it!' he told his half-brother. 'And stand.'\n\n\u00c6lfweard looked up but said nothing. His hands were shaking.\n\n\u00c6thelstan smiled. 'Come, brother,' he said and held out his left hand to help \u00c6lfweard to his feet, then gave him the crown. 'Wear it proudly! It was our father's gift to you.'\n\n\u00c6lfweard had looked astonished, but now, grinning because he believed he would be King of Wessex still, albeit in submission to \u00c6thelstan, he put the crown on his head. 'I will be loyal,' he promised his half-brother.\n\n'Of course you will,' \u00c6thelstan said gently. He looked at one of the guards. 'Your sword,' he commanded, and when he had the long blade in his hand, he pointed it at \u00c6lfweard. 'Now you will swear an oath to me,' he said.\n\n'Gladly,' \u00c6lfweard bleated.\n\n'Touch the sword, brother,' \u00c6thelstan said, still gently, and when \u00c6lfweard put a tentative hand on the blade \u00c6thelstan just lunged. One straight, savage lunge that shattered his half-brother's ribcage, drove him back with \u00c6thelstan following, and then the sword pierced \u00c6lfweard's heart. Some men gasped, a serving girl screamed, Father Oda made the sign of the cross, but \u00c6thelstan just watched his brother die. 'Take him to Wintanceaster,' he said when the last blood had pulsed and the last twitch ended. He tugged the blade free. 'Bury him beside his father.'\n\nThe emerald-encrusted crown had rolled under the table where it struck my ankle. I retrieved it and held it for a few heartbeats. This was the crown of Wessex, Alfred's crown, and I remember the dying king telling me it was a crown of thorns. I placed it on the linen cloth that covered the board and looked at \u00c6thelstan. 'Your crown, lord King.'\n\n'Not until Archbishop Athelm consecrates me,' \u00c6thelstan said. The archbishop, who had been held in the palace as a privileged prisoner, sat at the high table. He looked confused, his hands shaking as he ate and drank, but he nodded at \u00c6thelstan's words. 'And you will come to the ceremony, Lord Uhtred,' \u00c6thelstan demanded, meaning that I should attend the solemn moment when the Archbishop of Contwaraburg placed the royal helmet of Wessex on the new king's head.\n\n'With your permission, lord King,' I said. 'I would go home.'\n\nHe hesitated a moment, and then nodded abruptly. 'You have my permission,' he said.\n\nI was going home.\n\nIn time we heard that \u00c6thelstan was crowned. The ceremony was performed at Cyningestun, on the Temes, where his father had been given the royal helmet of Wessex, but \u00c6thelstan refused the helmet, instead insisting that the archbishop place the emerald crown on his gold-threaded hair. The ealdormen of three kingdoms acclaimed the moment, and Alfred's dream of one Christian kingdom thus came one step nearer.\n\nAnd now I sat on Bebbanburg's high rock, the flame-lit hall behind me and the moon-silvered sea before me, and I thought of the dead. Of Folcbald, killed by a spear thrust in the shield wall by the Crepelgate. Of Sigtryggr, felled by fever and dying in his bed with a sword in his hand. Of his two children, my grandchildren, both dead. Of Eadith who had gone to Eoferwic to care for the children and had caught their plague and now was buried.\n\n'Why did she go?' I had asked my son.\n\n'She thought you would want her to go.'\n\nI had said nothing, just felt guilt. The plague had not reached as far north as Bebbanburg. My son had barred the roads, threatening travellers with death if they tried to come onto our land, and so the sickness had ravaged the land from Lindcolne to Eoferwic, and then spread through the great vale of farms that surrounded the city, but it had been kept from Bebbanburg. The plague had died itself by the time we reached Eoferwic on our journey north.\n\nAnd Guthfrith was king there, his election supported by the Danish jarls who still ruled much of Northumbria. I had met him briefly. Like his brother Sigtryggr he was a thin, fair-haired man with a handsome face, but unlike Sigtryggr he was sour and suspicious. The night I met him, when he reluctantly feasted me in his great hall, he had demanded my allegiance, had demanded that I swear an oath to him, but he had not demanded it instantly, suggesting that when the feast was over there would be time enough for that brief ceremony. Then he had drunk mead and ale, had demanded more mead, then cheered raucously when one of his men bent a serving girl over a table. 'Bring her here!' he shouted. 'Bring the bitch here!' But by the time the girl had been dragged to the platform where we ate, Guthfrith was vomiting into the rushes and he slept soon after. We left in the morning, mounted on horses taken from \u00c6thelhelm's beaten army, and I had sworn no oath.\n\nI had ridden home with my men. With Finan, an Irishman, with Gerbruht, a Frisian, with Immar, a Dane, with Vidarr, a Norseman, and with Beornoth and Oswi, both Saxons. We were seven warriors, but we were brothers too. And with us rode the children we had rescued in Lundene, a dozen of the slaves we had freed from Gunnald's ship, and Benedetta.\n\nAnd Eadith was dead.\n\nAnd I was at home at last, where the sea wind swept across the rock and where I thought of the dead, where I thought of the future, and where I thought of the three kingdoms that were now one and wanted a fourth.\n\nBenedetta sat beside me. Alaina, as ever, was near her. The child crouched, watching as Benedetta took my hand. I gripped hers, maybe too hard, yet she did not complain or take it away. 'You did not want her dead,' she said.\n\n'But I did,' I spoke softly and bleakly.\n\n'Then God will forgive you,' she said, and leaned her head on my shoulder. 'He made us,' she added, 'so He must take us as we are. That is His fate.'\n\nI had come home.\n\n[ Historical Note ]\n\nEdward the Elder, as he is now known, died in July 924. He had reigned for twenty-five years, succeeding his father, Alfred, as King of Wessex in 899. In the regnal lists he is usually followed by \u00c6thelstan, but there is plenty of evidence that \u00c6lfweard, half-brother to \u00c6thelstan, ruled Wessex for about a month following his father's death. If that is true, as for fictional purposes I have plainly assumed it is, then \u00c6lfweard's death was extremely convenient for \u00c6thelstan who thereby became the king of the three southern kingdoms of Saxon Britain: Wessex, East Anglia, and Mercia.\n\nMuch of the novel is fictional. We do not know how \u00c6lfweard died, and his death probably took place at Oxford rather than Lundene, and it took another month before the West Saxons accepted \u00c6thelstan as their new king. He was crowned at Kingston upon Thames that same year and was the first king to insist on being invested with the crown rather than with a helmet. Much of the reluctance to accept \u00c6thelstan as king surely arose from the rumour that Edward had not married his mother, that he was indeed a bastard.\n\nEdward's reign left much of southern England free of the Viking scourge. King Alfred's strategy of building burhs, which are heavily fortified towns, had been adopted by Edward and by his sister \u00c6thelflaed in Mercia. East Anglia, which had been a Danish kingdom, was conquered and its towns fortified. Edward built more burhs along the Welsh border and in the north of Mercia to deter raids from western Northumbria where there were powerful Norse settlements. Sigtryggr, a Norseman, was King of Northumbria, ruling from York, and for purely fictional purposes I have brought his death forward by three years.\n\nKing Alfred undoubtedly dreamed of a united England, or Englaland, which would be one realm of everyone who spoke the '\u00c6nglisc' tongue. That sounds simple, though in truth an inhabitant of Kent would have found the English speech of a Northumbrian difficult to comprehend and vice versa, but nevertheless it was the same language. Nor was that ambition restricted to language. Alfred was famously pious, a man dedicated to the church, and all Christian folk, whether Saxon, Dane, or Norse, were included in his dream. Conversion was just as important as conquest. \u00c6thelstan, when he assumed the throne of his father, inherited a much wider realm, a kingdom that included most English speakers, but there was still that awkward kingdom to the north, a kingdom that was part Christian and part pagan, part Saxon and part settled by Danes and Norsemen; the kingdom of Northumbria. That country's fate must wait for another novel.\n\n\u00c6thelstan ruled for fifteen years and completed the unification of the English-speaking peoples. He never married and so left no heirs and was succeeded first by Edmund, the eldest son of Edward and Eadgifu, then by Edmund's younger brother, Eadred. I have set the battle at the end of the novel at the Crepelgate, Cripplegate, and though the name does stretch back to Saxon times I invented Alfred's decree allowing the severely handicapped the right to beg at that gate.\n\nSword of Kings is fiction, yet I hope it echoes a process that is little known; the creation of a country called England. Its birth is still some time off, and will prove bloody, but Uhtred will live to see it."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Last Kingdom 09",
        "author": "Bernard Cornwell",
        "genres": [],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "There was fire in the night. Fire that seared the sky and paled the stars. Fire that churned thick smoke across the land between the rivers.\n\nFinan woke me. 'Trouble,' was all he said.\n\nEadith stirred and I pushed her away from me. 'Stay there,' I told her and rolled out from under the fleeces. I fumbled for a bearskin cloak and pulled it around my shoulders before following Finan into the street. There was no moon, just the flames reflecting from the great pall of smoke that drifted inland on the night wind. 'We need more men on the walls,' I said.\n\n'Done it,' Finan said.\n\nSo all that was left for me to do was curse. I cursed.\n\n'It's Brunanburh,' Finan said bleakly and I cursed again.\n\nFolk were gathering in Ceaster's main street. Eadith had come from the house, wrapped in a great cloak and with her red hair shining in the light of the lanterns that burned at the church door. 'What is it?' she asked sleepily.\n\n'Brunanburh,' Finan said grimly. Eadith made the sign of the cross. I had a glimpse of her naked body as her hand slipped from beneath the cloak to touch her forehead, then she clutched the heavy woollen cloth tight to her belly again.\n\n'Loki,' I spoke the name aloud. He is the god of fire, whatever the Christians might tell you. And Loki is the most slippery of all the gods, a trickster who deceives, charms, betrays and hurts us. Fire is his two-edged weapon that can warm us, cook for us, scorch us, or kill us. I touched Thor's hammer that hung from my neck. '\u00c6thelstan's there,' I said.\n\n'If he lives,' Finan said.\n\nThere was nothing to be done in the darkness. The journey to Brunanburh took at least two hours on horseback and would take longer in this dark night, when we would be stumbling through woods and possibly riding into an ambush set by the men who had fired the distant burh. All I could do was watch from Ceaster's walls in case an attack burst from the dawn.\n\nI did not fear such an attack. Ceaster had been built by the Romans and it was as tough a fortress as any in Britain. The Northmen would need to cross a flooded ditch and put ladders against the high stone walls, and Northmen have ever been reluctant to attack fortresses. But Brunanburh was aflame, so who knew what unlikely things the dawn might bring? Brunanburh was our newest burh, built by \u00c6thelflaed who ruled over Mercia, and it guarded the River M\u00e6rse, which offered the Northmen's boats an easy route into central Britain. In years past the M\u00e6rse had been busy, the oars dipping and pulling, and the dragon-headed boats surging against the river's current to bring new warriors to the unending struggle between the Northmen and the Saxons, but Brunanburh had stopped that traffic. We kept a fleet of twelve ships there, their crews protected by Brunanburh's thick timber walls, and the Northmen had learned to fear those ships. Now, if they landed on Britain's west coast, they went to Wales or else to Cumbraland, which was the fierce wild country north of the M\u00e6rse.\n\nExcept tonight. Tonight there were flames by the M\u00e6rse.\n\n'Get dressed,' I told Eadith. There would be no more sleep this night.\n\nShe touched the emerald encrusted cross at her neck. '\u00c6thelstan,' she said softly as if she prayed for him while fingering the cross. She had become fond of \u00c6thelstan.\n\n'He either lives or is dead,' I said curtly, 'and we won't know till the dawn.'\n\nWe rode just before the dawn, rode north in the wolf-light, following the paved road through the shadowed cemetery of Roman dead. I took sixty men, all mounted on fast light horses so that if we ran into an army of howling Northmen we could flee. I sent scouts ahead, but we were in a hurry so there was no time for our normal precaution, which was to wait for the scouts' reports before we rode on. Our warning this time would be the death of the scouts. We left the Roman road to follow the track we had made through the woods. Clouds had come from the west and a drizzle was falling, but still the smoke rose ahead of us. Rain might extinguish Loki's fire, but not drizzle, and the smoke mocked and beckoned us.\n\nThen we came from the woods to where the fields turned into mudflats and the mudflats merged with the river, and there, far to our west on that wide stretch of silver-grey water, was a fleet. Twenty, thirty ships, maybe more, it was impossible to tell because they were moored so close together, but even from far away I could see that their prows were decorated with the Northmen's beasts; with eagles, dragons, serpents, and wolves. 'Sweet God,' Finan said, appalled.\n\nWe hurried now, following a cattle track that meandered along higher ground on the river's southern bank. The wind was in our faces, gusting suddenly to send ripples scurrying across the M\u00e6rse. We still could not see Brunanburh because the fort lay beyond a wooded rise, but a sudden movement at the wood's edge betrayed the presence of men, and my two scouts turned their horses and galloped back towards us. Whoever had alarmed them vanished into the thick spring leaves and a moment later a horn sounded, the noise mournful in the grey damp dawn.\n\n'It's not the fort burning,' Finan said uncertainly.\n\nInstead of answering I swerved inland off the track onto the lush pasture. The two scouts came close, their horses' hooves hurling up clods of damp turf. 'There are men in the trees, lord!' one shouted. 'At least a score, probably more!'\n\n'And ready for a fight,' the other reported.\n\n'Ready for a fight?' Finan asked.\n\n'Shields, helmets, weapons,' the second man explained.\n\nI led my sixty men southwards. The belt of young woodland stood like a barrier between us and Brunanburh, and if an enemy waited then they would surely be barring the track. If we followed the track we could ride straight into their shield wall hidden among the trees, but by cutting inland I would force them to move, to lose their order, and so I quickened the pace, kicking my horse into a canter. My son rode up on my left side. 'It's not the fort burning!' he shouted.\n\nThe smoke was thinning. It still rose beyond the trees, a smear of grey that melted into the low clouds. It seemed to be coming from the river, and I suspected Finan and my son were right, that it was not the fort burning, but rather the ships. Our ships. But how had an enemy reached those ships? If they had come by daylight they would have been seen and the fort's defenders would have manned the boats and challenged the enemy, while coming by night seemed impossible. The M\u00e6rse was shallow and barred with mudbanks, and no shipmaster could hope to bring a vessel this far inland in the dark of a moonless night.\n\n'It's not the fort!' Uhtred called to me again. He made it sound like good news, but my fear was that the fort had fallen and its stout timber walls now protected a horde of Northmen. Why should they burn what they could easily defend?\n\nThe ground was rising. I could see no enemy in the trees. That did not mean they were not there. How many enemy? Thirty ships? That could easily be a thousand men, and those men must have known that we would ride from Ceaster. If I had been the enemy's leader I would be waiting just beyond the trees, and that suggested I should slow our advance and send the scouts ahead again, but instead I kicked the horse. My shield was on my back and I left it there, just loosening Serpent-Breath in her scabbard. I was angry and I was careless, but instinct told me that no enemy waited just beyond the woodland. They might have been waiting on the track, but by swerving inland I had given them little time to reform a shield wall on the higher ground. The belt of trees still hid what lay beyond, and I turned the horse and rode west again. I plunged into the leaves, ducked under a branch, let the horse pick its own way through the wood, and then I was through the trees, and I hauled on the reins, slowing, watching, stopping.\n\nNo enemy.\n\nMy men crashed through the undergrowth and stopped behind me.\n\n'Thank Christ,' Finan said.\n\nThe fort had not been taken. The white horse of Mercia still flew above the ramparts and with it was \u00c6thelflaed's goose flag. A third banner hung from the walls, a new banner I had ordered made by the women of Ceaster. It showed the dragon of Wessex, and the dragon was holding a lightning bolt in one raised claw. It was Prince \u00c6thelstan's symbol. The boy had asked to have a Christian cross on his flag, but I had ordered the lightning bolt embroidered there instead.\n\nI called \u00c6thelstan a boy, but he was a man now, fourteen or fifteen years old. He had grown tall, and his boyish mischief had been tempered by experience. There were men who wanted \u00c6thelstan dead, and he knew it, and so his eyes had become watchful. He was handsome too, or so Eadith told me, those watchful grey eyes set in a strong-boned face beneath hair black as a raven's wing. I called him Prince \u00c6thelstan, while those men who wanted him dead called him a bastard.\n\nAnd many folk believed their lies. \u00c6thelstan had been born to a pretty Centish girl who had died whelping him, but his father was Edward, son of King Alfred and now king of Wessex himself. Edward had since married a West Saxon girl and fathered another son, which made \u00c6thelstan an inconvenience, especially as it was rumoured that in truth he was not a bastard at all because Edward had secretly married the girl from Cent. True or not, and I had good cause to know the story of the first marriage was entirely true, it did not matter because to many in his father's kingdom \u00c6thelstan was the unwanted son. He had not been raised in Wintanceaster like Edward's other children, but sent to Mercia. Edward professed to like the boy, but ignored him, and in truth \u00c6thelstan was an embarrassment. He was the king's eldest son, the \u00e6theling, but he had a younger half-brother whose vengeful mother wanted \u00c6thelstan dead because he stood between her son and the throne of Wessex. But I liked \u00c6thelstan. I liked him enough to want him to reach the throne that was his birthright, but to be king he first needed to learn a man's responsibilities, and so I had given him command of the fort and of the fleet at Brunanburh.\n\nAnd now the fleet was gone. It was burned. The hulls were smoking beside the charred remnants of the pier we had spent a year building. We had driven elm pilings deep into the foreshore and thrust the walkway out past the low water mark to make a wharf where a battle fleet could be ever ready. Now the wharf was gone, along with the sleek high-prowed ships. Four of those ships had been stranded above the tide mark and were still smouldering, the rest were just blackened ribs in the shallow water, while, at the pier's end, three dragon-headed ships lay moored against the scorched pilings. Five more ships lay just beyond, using their oars to hold the hulls against the river's current and the ebbing tide. The rest of the enemy fleet was a half mile upriver.\n\nAnd ashore, between us and the burned wharf, were men. Men in mail, men with shields and helmets, men with spears and swords. There were perhaps two hundred of them, and they had herded what few cattle they could find and were pushing the beasts towards the river bank where they were being slaughtered so the flesh could be carried away. I glanced at the fort. \u00c6thelstan commanded a hundred and fifty men there, and I could see them thick on the ramparts, but he was making no attempt to impede the enemy's retreat. 'Let's kill some of the bastards,' I said.\n\n'Lord?' Finan asked, wary of the enemy's greater number.\n\n'They'll run,' I said. 'They want the safety of their ships, they don't want a fight on land.'\n\nI drew Serpent-Breath. The Norsemen who had come ashore were all on foot, and they were scattered. Most were close to the burned wharf's landward end where they could quickly form a shield wall, but dozens of others were struggling with the cattle. I aimed for those men.\n\nAnd I was angry. I commanded the garrison at Ceaster, and Brunanburh was a part of that garrison. It was an outlying fort and it had been surprised and its ships had been burned and I was angry. I wanted blood in the dawn. I kissed Serpent-Breath's hilt then struck back with my spurs, and we went down that shallow slope at the full gallop, our swords drawn and spears reaching. I wished I had brought a spear, but it was too late for regrets. The cattle herders saw us and tried to run, but they were on the mudflats and the cattle were panicking and our hooves were loud on the dew-wet turf. The largest group of enemy was making a shield wall where the charred remains of the pier reached dry land, but I had no intention of fighting them. 'I want prisoners!' I bellowed at my men, 'I want prisoners!'\n\nOne of the Northmen's ships started for the beach, either to reinforce the men ashore or to offer them an escape. A thousand white birds rose from the grey water, calling and shrieking, circling above the pasture where the shield wall had formed. I saw a banner raised above the locked shields, but I had no time to look at that standard because my horse thundered across the track, down the bank and onto the foreshore. 'Prisoners!' I shouted again. I passed a slaughtered bullock, its blood thick and black on the mud. The men had started to butcher it, but had fled, and then I was among those fugitives and I used the flat of Serpent-Breath's blade to knock one man down. I turned. My horse slipped in the mud, reared, and as he came down I used his weight to drive Serpent-Breath into a second man's chest. The blade pierced his shoulder, drove deep, blood bubbled at his mouth and I kicked the stallion so he would drag the heavy blade free of the dying man. Finan went past me, then my son galloped by, holding his sword Raven-Beak low and bending from the saddle to plunge it into a running man's back. A wild-eyed Norseman swung an axe at me, which I avoided easily, then Berg Skallagrimmrson's spear blade went through the man's spine, through his guts, and showed bright and blood-streaked at his belly. Berg was riding bare-headed, his fair hair, long as a woman's, was hung with knuckle bones and ribbons. He grinned at me as he let go of the spear's ash pole and drew his sword. 'I ruined his mail, lord!'\n\n'I want prisoners, Berg!'\n\n'I kill some bastards first, yes?' He spurred away, still grinning. He was a Norse warrior, maybe eighteen or nineteen summers old, but he had already rowed a ship to Horn on the island of fire and ice that lay far off in the Atlantic, and he had fought in Ireland, in Scotland, and in Wales, and he had stories of rowing inland through forests of birch trees, which, he claimed, grew east of the Norsemen's land. There were frost giants there, he told me, and wolves the size of stallions. 'I should have died a thousand times, lord,' he told me, but he was only alive now because I had saved his life. He had become my man, sworn to me, and in my service he took the head from a fugitive with one swing of his sword. 'Yah!' he bellowed back to me, 'I sharpen the blade good!'\n\nFinan was close to the water's edge, close enough that a man on the approaching ship hurled a spear at him. The weapon stuck in the mud, and Finan contemptuously bent from the saddle to seize the shaft and spurred to where a man lay fallen and bleeding in the mud. He looked back to the ship, making sure he was being watched, then raised the spear ready to plunge the blade into the wounded man's belly. Then he paused and, to my surprise, tossed the spear away. He dismounted and knelt by the wounded man, talked for a moment and then stood. 'Prisoners,' he shouted, 'we need prisoners!'\n\nA horn sounded from the fort and I turned to see men pouring out of Brunanburh's gate. They came with shields, spears, and swords, ready to make a wall that would drive the enemy's shield wall into the river, but those invaders were already leaving and needed no help from us. They were wading past the charred pilings, and edging around the smoking boats to clamber aboard the nearest ships. The approaching ship paused, churning the shallows with its oars, reluctant to face my men, who called insults to them and waited at the river's edge with drawn swords and bloodied spears. More of the enemy waded out towards the dragon-headed boats. 'Let them be!' I shouted. I had wanted blood in the dawn, but there was no advantage in slaughtering a handful of men in the M\u00e6rse's shallows and losing maybe a dozen myself. The enemy's main fleet, which had to contain hundreds more men, was already rowing upriver. To weaken it I needed to kill those hundreds, not just a few.\n\nThe crews of the nearer ships were jeering at us. I watched as men were hauled aboard, and I wondered where this fleet had come from. It had been years since I had seen so many northern ships. I kicked my horse to the water's edge. A man hurled a spear, but it fell short, and I deliberately sheathed Serpent-Breath to show the enemy I accepted that the fight was over, and I saw a grey-bearded man strike the elbow of a youth who wanted to throw another spear. I nodded to the greybeard, who raised a hand in acknowledgement.\n\nSo who were they? The prisoners would tell us soon enough, and we had taken almost a score of men, who were now being stripped of their mail, helmets, and valuables. Finan was kneeling by the wounded man again, talking to him, and I kicked my horse towards him, then stopped, astonished, because Finan had stood and was now pissing on the man, who struck feebly at his tormentor with a gloved hand. 'Finan?' I called.\n\nHe ignored me. He spoke to his prisoner in his own Irish tongue and the man answered angrily in the same language. Finan laughed, then seemed to curse the man, chanting words brutally and distinctly, and holding his outspread fingers towards the piss-soaked face as though casting a spell. I reckoned that whatever happened was none of my business and I looked back to the ships at the end of the ruined wharf just in time to see the enemy's standard-bearer climb aboard the last remaining high-prowed vessel. The man was in mail and had a hard time pulling himself over the ship's side until he handed up his banner and held up both arms so he could be hauled aboard by two other warriors. And I recognised the banner, and I hardly dared believe what I saw.\n\nHaesten?\n\nHaesten.\n\nIf this world ever contained one worthless, treacherous slime-coated piece of human dung then it was Haesten. I had known him for a lifetime, indeed I had saved his miserable life and he had sworn loyalty to me, clasping his hands about mine which, in turn, were clasped about Serpent-Breath's hilt, and he had wept tears of gratitude as he vowed to be my man, to defend me, to serve me, and in return to receive my gold, my loyalty, and within months he had broken the oath and was fighting against me. He had sworn peace with Alfred and had broken that oath too. He had led armies to ravage Wessex and Mercia, until finally, at Beamfleot, I had cornered his men and turned the creeks and marshes dark with their blood. We had filled ditches with his dead, the ravens had gorged themselves that day, but Haesten had escaped. He always escaped. He had lost his army, but not his cunning, and he had come again, this time in the service of Sigurd Thorrson and Cnut Ranulfson, and they had died in another slaughter, but once again Haesten had slipped away.\n\nNow he was back, and his banner was a bleached skull mounted on a pole. It mocked me from the nearest ship, which was now rowing away. The men aboard called insults, and the standard-bearer waved the skull from side to side. Beyond that ship was a larger one, prowed with a great dragon that reared its fanged mouth high, and at the ship's stern I could see a cloaked man wearing a silver helmet crowned with black ravens' wings. He took the helmet off and gave me a mocking bow, and I saw that it was Haesten. He was laughing. He had burned my boats and had stolen a few cattle, and for Haesten that was victory enough. It was not revenge for Beamfleot, he would need to kill me and all my men to balance that bloody scale, but he had made us look fools and he had opened the M\u00e6rse to a great fleet of Northmen who now rowed upriver. A fleet of enemies who came to take our land, led by Haesten.\n\n'How can a bastard like Haesten lead so many men?' I asked aloud.\n\n'He doesn't.' My son had walked his horse into the shallows and reined in beside me.\n\n'He doesn't?'\n\n'Ragnall Ivarson leads them.'\n\nI said nothing, but felt a chill pass through me. Ragnall Ivarson was a name I knew, a name we all knew, a name that had spread fear up and down the Irish Sea. He was a Norseman who called himself the Sea King, for his lands were scattered wherever the wild waves beat on rock or sand. He ruled where the seals swam and the puffins flew, where the winds howled and where ships were wrecked, where the cold bit like a knife and the souls of drowned men moaned in the darkness. His men had captured the wild islands off Scotland, had bitten land from the coast of Ireland, and enslaved folk in Wales and on the Isle of Mann. It was a kingdom without borders, for whenever an enemy became too strong, Ragnall's men took to their long ships and sailed to another wild coast. They had raided the shores of Wessex, taking away slaves and cattle, and had even rowed up the S\u00e6fern to threaten Gleawecestre, though the walls of that fortress had daunted them. Ragnall Ivarson. I had never met him, but I knew him. I knew his reputation. No man sailed a ship better, no man fought more fiercely, no man was held in more fear. He was a savage, a pirate, a wild king of nowhere, and my daughter Stiorra had married his brother.\n\n'And Haesten has sworn loyalty to Ragnall,' my son went on. He watched the ships pull away. 'Ragnall Ivarson,' he still gazed at the fleet as he spoke, 'has given up his Irish land. He's told his men that fate has granted him Britain instead.'\n\nHaesten was a nothing, I thought. He was a rat allied to a wolf, a ragged sparrow perched on an eagle's shoulder. 'Ragnall has abandoned his Irish land?' I asked.\n\n'So the man said.' My son gestured to where the prisoners stood.\n\nI grunted. I knew little of what happened in Ireland, but over the last few years there had come news of Northmen being harried out of that land. Ships had crossed the sea with survivors of grim fights, and men who had thought to take land in Ireland now sought it in Cumbraland or on the Welsh coast, and some went even further, to Neustria or Frankia. 'Ragnall's powerful,' I said, 'why would he just abandon Ireland?'\n\n'Because the Irish persuaded him to leave.'\n\n'Persuaded?'\n\nMy son shrugged. 'They have sorcerers, Christian sorcerers, who see the future. They said Ragnall will be king of all Britain if he leaves Ireland, and they gave him warriors to help.' He nodded at the fleet. 'There are one hundred Irish warriors on those ships.'\n\n'King of all Britain?'\n\n'That's what the prisoner said.'\n\nI spat. Ragnall was not the first man to dream of ruling the whole island. 'How many men does he have?'\n\n'Twelve hundred.'\n\n'You're sure of that?'\n\nMy son smiled. 'You taught me well, Father.'\n\n'What did I teach you?'\n\n'That a spear-point in a prisoner's liver is a very persuasive thing.'\n\nI watched the last boats row eastwards. They would be lost to sight soon. 'Beadwulf!' I shouted. He was a small wiry man whose face was decorated with inked lines in Danish fashion, though Beadwulf himself was a Saxon. He was one of my best scouts, a man who could cross open grassland like a ghost. I nodded at the disappearing ships. 'Take a dozen men,' I told Beadwulf, 'and follow the bastards. I want to know where they land.'\n\n'Lord,' he said, and started to turn away.\n\n'And Beadwulf!' I called, and he looked back. 'Try to see what banners are on the ships,' I told him, 'and look for a red axe! If you see a red axe I want to know, fast!'\n\n'The red axe, lord,' he repeated and sped away.\n\nThe red axe was the symbol of Sigtryggr Ivarson, my daughter's husband. Men now called him Sigtryggr One-Eye because I had taken his right eye with the tip of Serpent-Breath. He had attacked Ceaster and been beaten away, but in his defeat he had taken Stiorra with him. She had not gone as a captive, but as a lover, and once in a while I would hear news of her. She and Sigtryggr possessed land in Ireland, and she wrote letters to me because I had made her learn writing and reading. 'We ride horses on the sand,' she had written, 'and across the hills. It is beautiful here. They hate us.' She had a daughter, my first grandchild, and she had called the daughter Gisela after her own mother. 'Gisela is beautiful,' she wrote, 'and the Irish priests curse us. At night they scream their curses and sound like wild birds dying. I love this place. My husband sends you greetings.'\n\nMen had always reckoned that Sigtryggr was the more dangerous of the two brothers. He was said to be cleverer than Ragnall and his skill with a sword was legendary, but the loss of his eye or perhaps his marriage to Stiorra had calmed him. Rumour said that Sigtryggr was content to farm his fields, fish his seas, and defend his lands, but would he stay content if his older brother was capturing Britain? That was why I had told Beadwulf to look for the red axe. I wanted to know if my daughter's husband had become my enemy.\n\nPrince \u00c6thelstan found me as the last of the enemy ships vanished from sight. He came with a half-dozen companions, all of them mounted on big stallions. 'Lord,' he called, 'I'm sorry!'\n\nI waved him to silence, my attention with Finan again. He was chanting in fury at the man who lay wounded at his feet, and the wounded man was shouting back, and I did not need to speak any of the strange Irish tongue to know that they exchanged curses. I had rarely seen Finan so angry. He was spitting, ranting, chanting, his rhythmic words heavy as hammer blows. Those words beat down his opponent who, already wounded, seemed to weaken under the assault of insults. Men stared at the two, awed by their anger, then Finan turned and snatched up the spear he had thrown aside. He stalked back to his victim, spoke more words, and touched the crucifix about his neck. Then, as if he were a priest raising the host, he lifted the spear in both hands, the blade pointing downwards, and held it high. He paused, then spoke in English.\n\n'May God forgive me,' he said.\n\nThen he rammed the spear down hard, screaming with the effort to thrust the blade through mail and bone to the heart within, and the man leaped under the spear's blow and blood welled from his mouth, and his arms and legs flailed for a few dying heartbeats, and then there were no more heartbeats and he was dead, open-mouthed, pinned to the shore's edge with a spear that had gone clean through his heart into the soil beneath.\n\nFinan was weeping.\n\nI urged my horse near him and stooped to touch his shoulder. He was my friend, my oldest friend, my companion of a hundred shield walls. 'Finan?' I asked, but he did not look at me. 'Finan!' I said again.\n\nAnd this time he did look up at me and there were tears on his cheeks and misery in his eyes. 'I think he was my son,' he said.\n\n'He was what?' I asked, aghast.\n\n'Son or nephew, I don't know. Christ help me, I don't know. But I killed him.'\n\nHe walked away.\n\n'I'm sorry,' \u00c6thelstan said again, sounding as miserable as Finan. He stared at the smoke drifting slow above the river. 'They came in the night,' he said, 'and we didn't know until we saw the flames. I'm sorry. I failed you.'\n\n'Don't be a fool,' I snarled. 'You couldn't stop that fleet!' I waved towards the bend in the river where the last of the Sea King's ships had disappeared behind a stand of trees. One of our burning ships gave a lurch, and there was a hiss as steam thickened the smoke.\n\n'I wanted to fight them,' \u00c6thelstan said.\n\n'Then you're a damned fool,' I retorted.\n\nHe frowned, then gestured towards the burning ships and at the butchered carcass of a bullock. 'I wanted to stop this!' he said.\n\n'You choose your battles,' I said harshly. 'You were safe behind your walls, so why lose men? You couldn't stop the fleet. Besides, they wanted you to come out and fight them, and it isn't sensible to do what the enemy wants.'\n\n'That's what I told him, lord,' R\u00e6dwald put in. R\u00e6dwald was an older Mercian, a cautious man who I had posted in Brunanburh to advise \u00c6thelstan. The prince commanded the garrison, but he was young and so I had given him a half-dozen older and wiser men to keep him from making youth's mistakes.\n\n'They wanted us to come out?' \u00c6thelstan asked, puzzled.\n\n'Where would they rather fight you?' I asked. 'With you behind walls? Or out in the open, shield wall to shield wall?'\n\n'I told him that, lord!' R\u00e6dwald said. I ignored him.\n\n'Choose your battles,' I snarled at \u00c6thelstan. 'That space between your ears was given so that you can think! If you just charge whenever you see an enemy you'll earn yourself an early grave.'\n\n'That's...' R\u00e6dwald began.\n\n'That's what you told him, I know! Now be quiet!' I gazed upstream at the empty river. Ragnall had brought an army to Britain, but what would he do with that army? He needed land to feed his men, he needed fortresses to protect them. He had passed Brunanburh, but was he planning to double back and attack Ceaster? The Roman walls made that city a fine base, but also a formidable obstacle. So where was he going?\n\n'But that's what you did!' \u00c6thelstan interrupted my thoughts.\n\n'Did what?'\n\n'You charged the enemy!' He looked indignant. 'Just now! You charged down the hill even though they outnumbered you.'\n\n'I needed prisoners, you miserable excuse for a man.'\n\nI wanted to know how Ragnall had come upriver in the darkness. It had either been an incredible stroke of fortune that his great fleet had negotiated the M\u00e6rse's mudbanks without any ship going aground, or else he was an even greater ship-handler than his reputation suggested. It had been an impressive feat of seamanship, but it had also been unnecessary. His fleet was huge, and we had only a dozen boats. He could have brushed us aside without missing an oar stroke, yet he had decided to attack in the night. Why risk that?\n\n'He didn't want us to block the channel,' my son suggested, and that was probably the truth. If we had been given just a few hours' warning we could have sunk our ships in the river's main channel. Ragnall would still have got past eventually, but he would have been forced to wait for a high tide, and his heavier ships would have had a difficult passage, and meanwhile we would have sent messengers upriver to make sure more barricades blocked the M\u00e6rse and more men waited to greet his ships. Instead he had slipped past us, he had wounded us, and he was already rowing inland.\n\n'It was the Frisians,' \u00c6thelstan said unhappily.\n\n'Frisians?'\n\n'Three merchant ships arrived last night, lord. They moored in the river. They were carrying pelts from Dyflin.'\n\n'You inspected them?'\n\nHe shook his head. 'They said they carried the plague, lord.'\n\n'So you didn't board them?'\n\n'Not with the plague, lord, no.' The garrison at Brunanburh had the duty of inspecting every ship that entered the river, mainly to levy a tax on whatever cargo the ship carried, but no one would board a ship that had sickness aboard. 'They said they were carrying pelts, lord,' \u00c6thelstan explained, 'and they paid us their fees.'\n\n'And you left them alone?'\n\nHe nodded miserably. The prisoners told me the rest. The three merchant ships had anchored where the M\u00e6rse's channel was narrowest, the place where a fleet faced the greatest danger of running aground, and they had burned lanterns that had guided Ragnall's ships past the peril. The tide had done the rest. Let a vessel drift and it will usually follow the swiftest current in the deepest channel and, once past the three merchant ships, Ragnall had simply let the flood carry him to our wharf. There he had burned both wharf and ships, so that his own vessels could now use the river safely. Reinforcements could now come from his sea kingdom. He had ripped apart our defence of the M\u00e6rse and he was loose in Britain with an army.\n\nI let \u00c6thelstan decide what to do with the prisoners. There were fourteen of them, and \u00c6thelstan chose to have them executed. 'Wait for low tide,' he ordered R\u00e6dwald, 'then tie them to the stakes.' He nodded at the charred pilings that jutted at awkward angles from the swirling river. 'Let them drown in the rising tide.'\n\nI had already sent Beadwulf eastwards, but would not expect to hear his news for at least a day. I ordered Sihtric to send men south. 'They're to ride fast,' I said, 'and tell the Lady \u00c6thelflaed what's happening. Tell her I want men, a lot of men, all her men!'\n\n'At Ceaster?' Sihtric asked.\n\nI shook my head, thinking. 'Tell her to send them to Liccelfeld. And tell her I'm going there.' I turned and pointed to \u00c6thelstan, 'and you're coming with me, lord Prince. And bringing most of Brunanburh's garrison with you. And you,' I looked at R\u00e6dwald, 'will stay here. Defend what's left. You can have fifty men.'\n\n'Fifty! That's not enough...'\n\n'Forty,' I snarled, 'and if you lose the fort I'll cut your kidneys out and eat them.'\n\nWe were at war.\n\nFinan was at the water's edge, sitting on a great driftwood log. I sat beside him. 'So tell me about that,' I said, nodding at the corpse that was still fixed by the spear.\n\n'What do you want to know?'\n\n'Whatever you choose to tell me.'\n\nWe sat in silence. Geese flew above us, their wings beating the morning. A flurry of rain spat past. One of the corpses farted. 'We're going to Liccelfeld,' I said.\n\nFinan nodded. 'Why Liccelfeld?' he asked after a moment. The question was dutiful. He was not thinking about Ragnall or the Norsemen or anything except the spear-pierced corpse at the river's brink.\n\n'Because I don't know where Ragnall's going,' I said, 'but from Liccelfeld we can go north or south easily.'\n\n'North or south,' he repeated dully.\n\n'The bastard needs land,' I said, 'and he'll either try to take it in northern Mercia or from southern Northumbria. We have to stop him fast.'\n\n'He'll go north,' Finan said, though he still spoke carelessly. He shrugged, 'Why would he pick a fight with Mercia?'\n\nI suspected he was right. Mercia had become powerful, its frontiers protected by burhs, fortified towns, while to the north were the troubled lands of Northumbria. That was Danish land, but the Danish lords were squabbling and fighting amongst themselves. A strong man like Ragnall could unite them. I had repeatedly told \u00c6thelflaed that we should march north and take land from the fractious Danes, but she would not invade Northumbria until her brother Edward brought his West Saxon army to help. 'Whether Ragnall goes north or comes south,' I said, 'now's the time to fight him. He's just arrived here. He doesn't know the land. Haesten does, of course, but how far does Ragnall trust that piece of weasel-shit? And from what the prisoners said, Ragnall's army has never fought together, so we hit him hard now, before he has a chance to find a refuge and before he feels safe. We do to him what the Irish did, we make him feel unwanted.'\n\nSilence again. I watched the geese, looking for an omen in their numbers, but there were too many birds to count. Yet the goose was \u00c6thelflaed's symbol, so their presence was surely a good sign? I touched the hammer that hung at my neck. Finan saw the gesture and frowned. Then he grasped the crucifix that hung at his neck, and, with a sudden grimace, tugged it hard enough to break the leather cord. He looked at the silver bauble for a moment, then flung it into the water. 'I'm going to hell,' he said.\n\nFor a moment I did not know what to say. 'At least we'll still be together,' I finally spoke.\n\n'Aye,' he said, unsmiling. 'A man who kills his own blood is doomed.'\n\n'The Christian priests tell you that?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Then how do you know?'\n\n'I just know. That was why my brother didn't kill me so long ago. He sold me to that bastard slaver instead.'\n\nThat was how Finan and I had first met, chained as slaves to a bench and pulling on long oars. We still carried the slaver's brand on our skin, though the slaver himself was long dead, slaughtered by Finan in an orgy of revenge.\n\n'Why would your brother want to kill you?' I asked, knowing I trod on dangerous ground. In all the long years of our friendship I had never discovered why Finan was an exile from his native Ireland.\n\nHe grimaced. 'A woman.'\n\n'Surprise me,' I said wryly.\n\n'I was married,' he went on as though I had not spoken. 'A good woman, she was, a royal daughter of the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill, and I was a prince of my people. My brother was too. Prince Conall.'\n\n'Conall,' I said after a few heartbeats of silence.\n\n'They're small kingdoms in Ireland,' he said bleakly, staring across the water. 'Small kingdoms and great kings, and we fight. Christ, how we love to fight! The U\u00ed N\u00e9ill, of course, are the great ones, at least in the north. We were their clients. We gave them tribute. We fought for them when they demanded it, we drank with them and we married their good women.'\n\n'And you married a U\u00ed N\u00e9ill woman?' I prompted him.\n\n'Conall is younger than me,' he said, ignoring my question. 'I should have been the next king, but Conall met a maid from the \u00d3 Domhnaill. God, lord, but she was beautiful! She was nothing by birth! She was no chieftain's daughter, but a dairy girl. And she was lovely,' he spoke wistfully, his eyes gleaming wet. 'She had hair dark as night and eyes like stars and a body as graceful as an angel in flight.'\n\n'And she was called?' I asked.\n\nHe shook his head abruptly, rejecting the question. 'And God help us we fell in love. We ran away. We took horses and we rode south. Just Conall's wife and me. We thought we'd ride, we'd hide, and we'd never be found.'\n\n'And Conall pursued you?' I guessed.\n\n'The U\u00ed N\u00e9ill pursued us. God knows it was a hunt. Every Christian in Ireland knew of us, knew of the gold they would make if they found us, and yes, Conall rode with the men of the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill.'\n\nI said nothing. I waited.\n\n'Nothing is hidden in Ireland,' Finan went on. 'You can't hide. The little people see you. Folk see you. Find an island in a lake and they know you're there. Go to a mountain top and they'll find you, hide in a cave and they'll hunt you down. We should have taken ship, but we were young. We didn't know.'\n\n'They found you.'\n\n'They found us, and Conall promised he would make my life worse than death.'\n\n'By selling you to Sverri?' Sverri was the slaver who had branded us.\n\nHe nodded. 'I was stripped of my gold, whipped, made to crawl through U\u00ed N\u00e9ill shit, and then sold to Sverri. I am the king that never was.'\n\n'And the girl?'\n\n'And Conall took my U\u00ed N\u00e9ill wife as his own. The priests allowed it, they encouraged it, and he raised my sons as his own. They cursed me, lord. My own sons cursed me. That one,' he nodded at the corpse, 'cursed me just now. I am the betrayer, the cursed.'\n\n'And he's your son?' I asked gently.\n\n'He wouldn't say. He could be. Or Conall's boy. He's my blood, anyway.'\n\nI walked to the dead man, put my right foot on his belly, and tugged the spear free. It was a struggle and the corpse made an obscene sucking noise as I wrenched the wide blade out. A bloody cross lay on the dead man's chest. 'The priests will bury him,' I said, 'they'll say prayers over him.' I hurled the spear into the shallows and turned back to Finan. 'What happened to the girl?'\n\nHe stared empty-eyed across the river that was smeared dark with the ash of our ships. 'For one day,' he said, 'they let the warriors of the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill do as they wished with her. They made me watch. And then they were merciful, lord. They killed her.'\n\n'And your brother,' I said, 'has sent men to help Ragnall?'\n\n'The U\u00ed N\u00e9ill sent men to help Ragnall. And yes, my brother leads them.'\n\n'And why would they do that?' I asked.\n\n'Because the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill would be kings of all the north. Of Ireland and of Scotland too, of all the north. Ragnall can have the Saxon lands. That's the agreement. He helps them, they help him.'\n\n'And he begins with Northumbria?'\n\n'Or Mercia,' Finan suggested with a shrug. 'But they won't rest there,' he went on, 'because they want everything.'\n\nIt was the ancient dream, the dream that had haunted my whole life, the dream of the Northmen to conquer all Britain. They had tried so often and they had come so close to success, yet still we Saxons lived and still we fought back so that now half the island was ours again. Yet we should have lost! The Northmen were savage, they came with fury and anger, and their armies darkened the land, but they had one fatal weakness. They were like dogs that fought each other, and only when one dog was strongest and could snarl and bite and force the others to his bidding were the invasions dangerous. But one defeat shattered their armies. They followed a man so long as he was successful, but if that man showed weakness they deserted in droves to find other, easier prey.\n\nAnd Ragnall had led an army here. An army of Norsemen and Danes and Irish, and that meant Ragnall had united our enemies. That made him dangerous.\n\nExcept he had not whipped all the dogs to his bidding.\n\nI learned one other thing from our prisoners. Sigtryggr, my daughter's husband, had refused to sail with his brother. He was still in Ireland. Beadwulf would think otherwise because he would see the flag of the red axe and he would think it belonged to Sigtryggr, but two of the prisoners told me that the brothers shared the symbol. It was their dead father's flag, the bloody red axe of Ivar, but Sigtryggr's axe, at least for the moment, was resting. Ragnall's axe had chopped a bloody hole in our defences, but my son-in-law was still in Ireland. I touched my hammer and prayed he stayed there.\n\n'We must go,' I told Finan.\n\nBecause we had to whip Ragnall into defeat.\n\nAnd I thought we would ride east."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "The priests came to me early next morning. There were four of them, led by the Mercian twins Ceolnoth and Ceolberht who hated me. I had known them since boyhood and had no more love for them than they had for me, but at least I could now tell them apart. For years I had never known which twin I spoke to, they were as alike as two eggs, but one of our arguments had ended with me kicking out Ceolberht's teeth, so now I knew that he was the one who hissed when he spoke. He dribbled too. 'Will you be back by Easter, lord?' he asked me. He was being very respectful, perhaps because he still had one or two teeth left and wanted to keep them.\n\n'No,' I said, then urged my horse forward a pace. 'Godwin! Put the fish in sacks!'\n\n'Yes, lord!' Godwin called back. Godwin was my servant, and he and three other men had been rolling barrels from one of Ceaster's storehouses. The barrels were filled with smoked fish, and the men were trying to make rope slings that would let each packhorse carry two barrels. Godwin frowned. 'Do we have sacks, lord?'\n\n'There are twenty-two sacks of fleeces in my storeroom,' I told him. 'Tell my steward to empty them!' I looked back to Father Ceolberht. 'We won't get all the wool out of the sacks,' I told him, 'and some of the wool will stick to the fish and then get caught in our teeth.' I smiled at him. 'If we have teeth.'\n\n'How many men will be left to defend Ceaster?' his brother asked sternly.\n\n'Eighty,' I said.\n\n'Eighty!'\n\n'And half of those are sick,' I added. 'So you'll have forty fit men and the rest will be cripples.'\n\n'It isn't enough!' he protested.\n\n'Of course it isn't enough,' I snarled, 'but I need an army to finish off Ragnall. Ceaster will have to take its chances.'\n\n'But if the heathens come...' Father Wissian suggested nervously.\n\n'The heathens won't know how big the garrison is,' I said, 'but they will know how strong the walls are. Leaving so few men here is a risk, but it's a risk I'm taking. And you'll have men from the fyrd. Godwin! Use the sacks for the bread too!'\n\nI was taking just over three hundred men, leaving behind barely enough troops to defend the ramparts of Ceaster and Brunanburh. It might sound simple to say I was leading three hundred men, as if all we had to do was mount our horses, leave Ceaster and ride eastwards, but it takes time to organise the army. We had to carry our own food. We would be riding into country where food could be bought, but never enough for all of us. The Northmen would steal what they wanted, but we paid because we rode in our own country, and so I had a packhorse laden with silver coins and guarded by two of my warriors. And we would number well over three hundred because many men would take servants, some would take the women they could not bear to leave behind, and then there were the boys to lead the spare horses and the herd of packhorses laden with armour, weapons, and the sacks of salted meat, smoked fish, hard-baked bread, and thick-rinded cheese.\n\n'You do know what happens at Easter!' Ceolnoth demanded sternly.\n\n'Of course I know,' I said, 'we make babies.'\n\n'That is the most ridiculous...' Ceolberht began to protest, then went silent when his brother glared at him.\n\n'It's my favourite feast,' I continued happily. 'Easter is baby-making day!'\n\n'It is the most solemn and joyous feast of the Christian year,' Ceolnoth lectured me, 'solemn because we remember the agony of our Saviour's death, and joyous because of His resurrection.'\n\n'Amen,' Father Wissian said.\n\nWissian was another Mercian, a young man with a shock of prematurely white hair. I rather liked Wissian, but he was cowed by the twins. Father Cuthbert stood beside him, blind and smiling. He had heard this argument before and was enjoying it. I glowered at the priests. 'Why is it called Easter?' I demanded.\n\n'Because our Lord died and was resurrected in the east, of course,' Ceolnoth answered.\n\n'Horse shit,' I said, 'it's called Easter because it's Eostre's feast, and you know it.'\n\n'It is not...' Ceolberht began indignantly.\n\n'Eostre!' I overrode him. 'Goddess of the spring! Goddess of baby-making! You Christians stole both her name and her feast!'\n\n'Ignore him,' Ceolnoth said, but he knew I was right. Eostre is the goddess of the spring, and a merry goddess she is too, which means many babies are born in January. The Christians, of course, try to stop the merriment, claiming that the name Easter is all about the east, but as usual the Christians are spouting nonsense. Easter is Eostre's feast and despite all the sermons that insisted feast was solemn and sacred, most folk had a half memory of their duties towards Eostre and so the babies duly arrived every winter. In the three years I had lived at Ceaster I had always insisted on a fair to celebrate Eostre's feast. There were fire-walkers and jugglers, musicians and acrobats, wrestling matches and horse races. There were booths selling everything from pottery to jewellery, and there was dancing. The priests disapproved of the dancing, but folk danced anyway, and the dances ensured that the babies came on time.\n\nBut this year was going to be different. The Christians had decided to create a Bishop of Ceaster and had set Easter as the date of his enthronement. The new bishop was called Leofstan, and I had never met the man and knew little of him except that he came from Wessex and had an exaggerated reputation for piety. He was a scholar, I had been told, and was married, but on being named as the new bishop he had famously sworn to fast three days in every week and to stay celibate. Blind Father Cuthbert, who revelled in nonsense, had told me of the new bishop's oath, knowing it would amuse me. 'He did what?' I asked.\n\n'He vowed to give up pleasuring his wife, lord.'\n\n'Maybe she's old and ugly?'\n\n'Men say she's comely,' Father Cuthbert said dubiously, 'but our bishop-to-be says that our Lord gave up His life for us and the very least we can do is to give up our carnal pleasures for Him.'\n\n'The man's an idiot,' I had said.\n\n'I can't agree with you,' Cuthbert said slyly, 'but yes, lord, Leofstan's an idiot.'\n\nThe idiot's consecration was what had brought Ceolnoth and Ceolberht to Ceaster. They were planning the ceremonies and had invited abbots, bishops, and priests from all across Mercia, from Wessex, and from even further afield in Frankia. 'We need to ensure their safety,' Ceolnoth insisted now. 'We have promised them the city will be defended against any attack. Eighty men isn't enough!' he said scornfully.\n\nI pretended to be worried. 'You mean your churchmen might all be slaughtered if the Danes come?'\n\n'Of course!' Then he saw my smile and that only increased his fury. 'We need five hundred men! King Edward might come! The Lady \u00c6thelflaed will certainly be here!'\n\n'She won't,' I said. 'She'll be with me, fighting Ragnall. If the Northmen come you'd better just pray. Your god is supposed to work miracles, isn't he?'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed, I knew, would come north as soon as my messengers reached Gleawecestre. Those same messengers would then order new ships from the boatbuilders along the S\u00e6fern. I would have preferred to buy ships from Lundene where the yards employed skilled Frisian boatbuilders, but for now we would buy three vessels from the shipwrights on the S\u00e6fern. 'Tell them I want their smaller ships,' I told the messengers, 'no more than thirty oars on each side!' The S\u00e6fern men built heavy ships, wide and deep, which could ride the rough seas to Ireland, but such vessels would be cumbersome in a shallow river. There was no hurry. The men who would man those ships were riding east with me, and in our absence I ordered R\u00e6dwald to start rebuilding the wharf. He would do the job well, though slowly.\n\nI had sent my son ahead with fifty men, all mounted on light fast horses. They had left the day before and their job was to pursue the enemy, attack their forage parties and ambush their scouts. Beadwulf was already following Ragnall's men, but his task was simply to report back to me where the army went ashore, and that must happen soon because the river became unnavigable after a few miles. Once ashore, Ragnall's army would spread out to find horses, food, and slaves, and my son had been sent to slow them, annoy them, and, if he was sensible, avoid a major fight with them.\n\n'What if Ragnall goes north?' Finan asked me.\n\n'I told Uhtred not to leave Saxon land,' I said. I knew what Finan was asking. If Ragnall chose to take his men north he would be entering Northumbria, a land ruled by the Danes, and if my son and his war-band followed they would find themselves in enemy land, outnumbered and surrounded.\n\n'And you think he'll obey you?' Finan asked.\n\n'He's no fool.'\n\nFinan half smiled. 'He's like you.'\n\n'Meaning?'\n\n'Meaning he's like you, so as like or not he'll chase Ragnall halfway to Scotland before he comes to his senses.' He stooped to tighten his saddle's girth. 'Besides, how can you tell where Mercia ends and Northumbria begins?'\n\n'He'll be careful,' I said.\n\n'He'd better be, lord.' He put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle where he settled himself, collected the reins, and turned to look at the four priests. They were talking to each other, heads bowed, hands gesticulating. 'What did they want?'\n\n'For me to leave an army here to protect their damned bishops.'\n\nFinan sneered at that, then turned and stared northwards. 'Life's a crock of shit, isn't it?' he said bitterly. I said nothing, just watched as Finan loosened his sword, Soul-Stealer, in its scabbard. He had buried his son or nephew beside the river, digging the grave himself and marking it with a stone. 'Families,' he said bitterly, 'now let's go and kill more of the bastards.'\n\nI pulled myself up into the saddle. The sun was up now, but still low in the east where it was shrouded by grey clouds. A chill wind blew from the Irish Sea. Men were mounting and the last spears were being tied to packhorses when a horn sounded from the northern gate. That horn only sounded if the sentries had seen something worth my attention and so I kicked my horse up the main street and my men, thinking we were leaving, followed. The horn sounded again as I cantered past Ceaster's great hall, then a third time as I slid from the saddle and climbed the stone steps that led to the rampart above the gate arch.\n\nA dozen horsemen were approaching, spurring their stallions across the Roman cemetery, coming as fast as they could ride. I recognised my son's grey horse, then saw Beadwulf was with him. They slewed to a stop just beyond the ditch and my son looked up. 'They're at Eads Byrig,' he called.\n\n'A thousand of the bastards,' Beadwulf added.\n\nI instinctively looked eastwards, even though I knew Eads Byrig was not visible from the gateway. But it was close. It lay no further to the east than Brunanburh did to the west. 'They're digging in!' my son shouted.\n\n'What is it?' Finan had joined me on the rampart.\n\n'Ragnall's not going north,' I said, 'and he's not going south.'\n\n'Then where?'\n\n'He's here,' I said, still staring east. 'He's coming here.'\n\nTo Ceaster.\n\nEads Byrig lay on a low ridge that ran north and south. The hill was simply a higher part of the ridge, a grassy hump rising like an island above the oaks and sycamores that grew thick about its base. The slopes were mostly shallow, an easy stroll, except that the ancient people who had lived in Britain long before my ancestors had crossed the sea, indeed before even the Romans came, had ringed the hill with walls and ditches. They were not stone walls, as the Romans had made at Lundene and Ceaster, nor wooden palisades as we build, but walls made of earth. They had dug a deep ditch all around the hill's long crest and thrown the soil up to make a steep embankment inside the ditch, then made a second ditch and wall inside the first, and though the long years and the hard rain had eroded the double walls and half filled the two ditches, the defences were still formidable. The hill's name meant Ead's stronghold, and doubtless some Saxon called Ead had once lived there and used the walls to defend his herds and home, but the stronghold was much older than its name suggested. There were such grassy forts on high hills throughout Britain, proof that men have fought for this land as long as men have lived here, and I sometimes wonder whether a thousand years from now folk will still be making walls in Britain and setting sentries in the night to watch for enemies in the dawn.\n\nIt was difficult to approach Ead's stronghold. The woods were dense and an ambush among the trees was all too easy. My son's men had managed to get close to the ridge before Ragnall's numbers forced them away. They had retreated to the open pastureland to the west of the forest, where I found them watching the thick woods. 'They're deepening the ditches,' one of Beadwulf's men greeted my arrival, 'we could see the bastards shovelling away, lord.'\n\n'Cutting trees too, lord,' Beadwulf added.\n\nI could hear the axes working. They sounded far off, muffled by the spring foliage. 'He's making a burh,' I said. Ragnall's troops would be deepening the old ditches and raising the earth walls, on top of which they would build a wooden palisade. 'Where did the ships land?' I asked Beadwulf.\n\n'By the fish traps, lord.' He nodded to the north, showing where he meant, then turned as a distant crash announced a tree's fall. 'They went aground before that. They took a fair time to get their ships off the mud.'\n\n'The ships are still there?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'They were at dawn.'\n\n'They'll be guarded,' Finan warned me. He suspected I was thinking of attacking Ragnall's ships and burning them, but that was the last thing I had in mind.\n\n'I'd rather he went back to Ireland,' I said. 'So leave his ships alone. I don't want to trap the bastard here.' I grimaced. 'It looks as if the priests will get what they want.'\n\n'Which is?' my son asked.\n\n'If Ragnall stays here,' I said, 'then so must we.' I had thought to take my three hundred men eastwards to Liccelfeld where I could meet the forces \u00c6thelflaed would send from Gleawecestre, but if Ragnall was staying at Eads Byrig then I must stay to protect Ceaster. I sent all the packhorses back to the city, and sent more messengers south to tell the reinforcements to abandon their march on Liccelfeld and to come to Ceaster instead. And then I waited.\n\nI was waiting for \u00c6thelflaed and her army of Mercia. I had three hundred men, and Ragnall had over a thousand, and more were joining him every day. It was frustrating. It was maddening. The garrison at Brunanburh could only watch as the beast-prowed ships rowed up the M\u00e6rse. There were two ships the first day and three the second, and still more every following day, ships heavy with men who had come from Ragnall's furthest islands. Other men came by land, travelling from the Danish steadings in Northumbria, lured to Eads Byrig by the promise of Saxon silver, Saxon land, and Saxon slaves. Ragnall's army grew larger and I could do nothing.\n\nHe outnumbered me by at least three to one, and to attack him I needed to take men through the forest that surrounded Eads Byrig, and that forest was a death-trap. An old Roman road ran just south of the hill, but the trees had invaded the road, and once among their thick foliage we would not be able to see more than thirty or forty paces. I sent a party of scouts into the trees and only three of those four men returned. The fourth was beheaded, and his naked body thrown out onto the pastureland. My son wanted to take all our men and crash through the woodland in search of a fight. 'What good will that do?' I asked him.\n\n'They must have men guarding their ships,' he said, 'and others building their new wall.'\n\n'So?'\n\n'So we won't have to fight all his men. Maybe just half of them?'\n\n'You're an idiot,' I said, 'because that's exactly what he wants us to do.'\n\n'He wants to attack Ceaster,' my son insisted.\n\n'No, that's what I want him to do.'\n\nAnd that was the mutual trap Ragnall and I had set each other. He might outnumber me, but even so he would be reluctant to assault Ceaster. His younger brother had attempted to take the city and had lost his right eye and the best part of his army in the attempt. Ceaster's walls were formidable. Ragnall's men needed to cross a deep, flooded ditch spiked with elm stakes, then climb a wall twice the height of a man while we rained spears, axes, boulders and buckets of shit on them. He would lose. His men would die under our ramparts. I wanted him to come to the city, I wanted him to attack our walls, I wanted to kill his men at Ceaster's defences, and he knew I wanted that, which is why he did not come.\n\nBut we could not assault him either. Even if I could lead every fit man through the forest unscathed I would still have to climb Eads Byrig and cross the high ditch and clamber up the earthen bank where a new wall was being made, and Ragnall's Northmen and Irishmen would outnumber us and have a great killing that their poets would turn into a triumphant battle song. What would they call it? The Song of Ragnall the Mighty? It would tell of blades falling, foemen dying, of a ditch filled with blood, and of Uhtred, great Uhtred, cut down in his battle glory. Ragnall wanted that song, he wanted me to attack him, and I knew he wanted it, which is why I did not oblige him. I waited.\n\nWe were not idle. I had men driving new sharpened stakes into the ditch around Ceaster, and other men riding south and east to raise the fyrd, that army of farmers and free men who could man a burh wall even if they could not fight a Norse shield wall in open battle. And each day I sent a hundred horsemen to circle Eads Byrig, riding well south of the great forest and then curling northwards. I led that patrol on the third day, the same day that four more ships rowed up the M\u00e6rse, each holding at least forty warriors.\n\nWe wore mail and carried weapons, though we left our heavy shields behind. I wore a rusted coat of mail and an old undecorated helmet. I carried Serpent-Breath, but left my standard-bearer behind in Ceaster. I did not ride in my full war-glory because I did not seek a fight. We were scouting, looking for Ragnall's forage parties and for his patrolling scouts. He had sent no men towards Ceaster, which was puzzling, so what was he doing?\n\nWe crossed the ridge four or five miles south of Ragnall's hill. Once on the low crest I spurred my horse to the top of a knoll and stared northwards, though I could see almost nothing of what happened on that distant hilltop. I knew the palisade was being built there, that men were pounding oak trunks into the summit of the earthen bank, and just as surely Ragnall knew I would not waste my men's lives by attacking that wall. So what was he hoping for? That I would be a fool, lose patience and attack anyway?\n\n'Lord,' Sihtric interrupted my thoughts. He was pointing north-east, and I saw, perhaps a mile away, a dozen horsemen. More riders were further off, perhaps a score of them, all of them heading eastwards.\n\n'So they've found horses,' I said. From what we had seen, and from our questioning of the prisoners we had taken, the enemy had brought very few horses on their ships, but the forage parties, I assumed that was what the horsemen were, proved that they had managed to capture a few, and those few, in turn, could ride further afield to find more, though by now the countryside was alerted to their presence. There were few steadings here because this was border country, land that belonged neither to the Danes of Northumbria nor to the Saxons of Mercia, and what folk lived here would already have left their homes and driven their livestock south to the nearest burh. Fear ruled this land now.\n\nWe rode on eastwards, dropping from the ridge into wooded country where we followed an overgrown drover's path. I sent no scouts ahead, reckoning that Ragnall's men did not have enough horses to send a war-band large enough to confront us, nor did we see the enemy, not even when we turned north and rode into the pastureland where we had glimpsed the horsemen earlier. 'They're staying out of our way,' Sihtric said, sounding disappointed.\n\n'Wouldn't you?'\n\n'The more he kills of us, lord, the fewer to fight on Ceaster's walls.'\n\nI ignored that foolish answer. Ragnall had no intention of killing his men beneath Ceaster's ramparts, not yet anyway. So what did he plan? I looked back in puzzlement. It was a dry morning, or at least it was not raining, though the air felt damp and the wind was chill, but it had rained hard in the night and the ground was sopping wet, yet I had seen no hoofmarks crossing the drover's path. If Ragnall wanted horses and food then he would find the richer steadings to our south, deeper inside Mercia, yet it seemed he had sent no men that way. Perhaps I had missed the tracks, but I doubted I could have overlooked something so obvious. And Ragnall was no fool. He knew reinforcements must join us from the south, yet it seemed he had no patrols searching for those new enemies.\n\nWhy?\n\nBecause, I thought, he did not care about our reinforcements. I was staring northwards, seeing nothing there except thick woods and damp fields, and I was thinking what Ragnall had achieved. He had taken away our small fleet, which meant we could not cross the M\u00e6rse easily, not unless we rode even further eastwards to find an unguarded crossing. He was making a fortress on Eads Byrig, a stronghold that was virtually impregnable until we had sufficient men to overwhelm his army. And there was only one reason to fortify Eads Byrig, and that was to threaten Ceaster, yet he was sending no patrols towards the city, nor was he trying to stop any reinforcements reaching the garrison. 'Is there water on Eads Byrig?' I asked Sihtric.\n\n'There's a spring to the south-east of the hill,' he said, sounding dubious, 'but it's just a trickle, lord. Not enough for a whole army.'\n\n'He's not strong enough to attack Ceaster,' I said, thinking aloud, 'and he knows we're not going to waste men against Eads Byrig's walls.'\n\n'He just wants a fight!' Sihtric said dismissively.\n\n'No,' I said, 'he doesn't. Not with us.' There was an idea in my head. I could not say it aloud because I did not understand it yet, but I sensed what Ragnall was doing. Eads Byrig was a deception, I thought, and we were not the enemy, not yet. We would be in time, but not yet. I turned on Sihtric. 'Take the men back to Ceaster,' I told him. 'Go back by the same path we came on. Let the bastards see you. And tell Finan to patrol to the edge of the forest tomorrow.'\n\n'Lord?' he asked again.\n\n'Tell Finan it should be a big patrol! A hundred and fifty men at least! Let Ragnall see them! Tell him to patrol from the road to the river, make him think we're planning an attack from the west.'\n\n'An attack from the...' he began.\n\n'Just do it,' I snarled. 'Berg! You come with me!'\n\nRagnall had stopped us from crossing the river and he was making us concentrate all our attention on Eads Byrig. He seemed to be behaving cautiously, making a great fortress and deliberately not provoking us by sending war-bands to the south, yet everything I knew about Ragnall suggested he was anything but a cautious man. He was a warrior. He moved fast, struck hard, and called himself a king. He was a gold-giver, a lord, a patron of warriors. Men would follow him so long as his swords and spears took captives and captured farmland, and no man became rich by building a fortress in a forest and inviting attack. 'Tell FinanI'll be back tomorrow or the day after,' I told Sihtric, then beckoned to Berg and rode eastwards. 'Tomorrow or the day after!' I shouted back to Sihtric.\n\nBerg Skallagrimmrson was a Norseman who had sworn loyalty to me, a loyalty he had proven in the three years since I had saved his life on a beach in Wales. He could have ridden north any time to the kingdom of Northumbria and there found a Dane or a fellow Norseman who would welcome a young, strong warrior, but Berg had stayed true. He was a thin-faced, blue-eyed young man, serious and thoughtful. He wore his hair long in Norse fashion, and had persuaded Sihtric's daughter to make a scribble on his left cheek with oak-gall ink and a needle. 'What is it?' I had asked him as the scars were still healing.\n\n'It's a wolf's head, lord!' he had said, sounding indignant. The wolf's head was my symbol and the inked device was his way of showing loyalty, but even when it healed it looked more like a smeared pig's head.\n\nNow the two of us rode eastwards. I still did not fear any enemy war-band because I had a suspicion of what Ragnall really wanted, and it was that suspicion that kept us riding into the afternoon, by which time we had turned north and were following a Roman road that led to Northumbria. We were still well to the east of Eads Byrig, but as the afternoon waned we climbed a low hill and I saw where a bridge carried the road across the river, and there, clustered close to two cottages that had been built on the M\u00e6rse's north bank, were men in mail. Men with spears. 'How many?' I asked Berg, whose eyes were younger than mine.\n\n'At least forty, lord.'\n\n'He doesn't want us to cross the river, does he?' I suggested. 'Which means we need to get across.'\n\nWe rode east for an hour, keeping a cautious eye for enemies, and at dusk we turned north and came to where the M\u00e6rse slid slow between pastureland. 'Can your horse swim?' I asked Berg.\n\n'We'll find out, lord.'\n\nThe river was wide here, at least fifty paces, and its banks were earthen bluffs. The water was murky, but I sensed it was deep and so, rather than risk swimming the beasts over, we turned back upstream until we discovered a place where a muddy track led into the river from the south and another climbed the northern bank, suggesting this was a ford. It was certainly no major crossing place, but rather a spot where some farmer had discovered he could cross with his cattle, but I suspected the river was usually lower. Rain had swollen it.\n\n'We have to cross,' I said, and spurred my horse into the water. The river came up to my boots, then above them, and I could feel the horse struggling against the current. He slipped once, and I lurched sideways, thought I must be thrown into the water, but somehow the stallion found his footing and surged ahead, driven more by fear than by my urging. Berg came behind and kicked his horse faster so that he passed me and left the river before I did, his horse flailing up the far bank in a flurry of water and mud.\n\n'I hate crossing rivers,' I growled as I joined him.\n\nWe found a spinney of ash trees a mile beyond the river and we spent the night there, the horses tethered while we tried to sleep. Berg, being young, slept like the dead, but I was awake much of the night, listening to the wind in the leaves. I had not dared light a fire. This land, like the country south of the M\u00e6rse, appeared deserted, but that did not mean no enemy was near, and so I shivered through the darkness. I slept fitfully as the dawn approached, waking to see Berg carefully cutting a lump of bread into two pieces. 'For you, lord,' he said, holding out the larger piece.\n\nI took the smaller, then stood, aching in every bone. I walked to the edge of the trees and gazed out at greyness. Grey sky, grey land, grey mist. It was the wolf-light of dawn. I heard Berg moving behind me. 'Shall I saddle the horses, lord?' he asked.\n\n'Not yet.'\n\nHe came and stood beside me. 'Where are we, lord?'\n\n'Northumbria,' I said. 'Everything north of the M\u00e6rse is Northumbria.'\n\n'Your country, lord.'\n\n'My country,' I agreed. I was born in Northumbria and I hope to die in Northumbria, though my birth had been on the eastern coast, far from these mist-shrouded fields by the M\u00e6rse. My land is Bebbanburg, the fortress by the sea, which had been treacherously stolen by my uncle and, though he was long dead, the great stronghold was still held by his son. One day, I promised myself, I would slaughter my cousin and take back my birthright. It was a promise I made every day of my life.\n\nBerg gazed into the grey dampness. 'Who rules here?' he asked.\n\nI half smiled at the question. 'Tell me,' I said, 'have you heard of Sygfrothyr?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Knut Onehand?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Halfdan Othirson?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Eowels the Strong?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Eowels wasn't that strong,' I said wryly, 'because he was killed by Ingver Brightsword. Have you heard of Ingver?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'Sygfrothyr, Knut, Halfdan, Eowels, and Ingver,' I repeated the names, 'and in the last ten years each of those men has called himself King of Jorvik. And only one of them, Ingver, is alive today. You know where Jorvik is?'\n\n'To the north, lord. A city.'\n\n'It was a great city once,' I said bleakly. 'The Romans made it.'\n\n'Like Ceaster, lord?' he asked earnestly. Berg knew little of Britain. He had served Rognvald, a Norseman who had died in a welter of bloodshed on a Welsh beach. Since then Berg had served me, living in Ceaster and fighting the cattle-raiders who came from Northumbria or the Welsh kingdoms. He was eager to learn though.\n\n'Jorvik is like Ceaster,' I said, 'and like Ceaster its strength lies in its walls. It guards a river, but the man who rules in Jorvik can claim to rule Northumbria. Ingver Brightsword is King of Jorvik, but he calls himself King of Northumbria.'\n\n'And is he?'\n\n'He pretends he is,' I said, 'but in truth he's just a chieftain in Jorvik. But no one else can call himself King of Northumbria unless he holds Jorvik.'\n\n'But it's not strong?' Berg asked.\n\n'Eoferwic's walls are strong,' I said, using the Saxon name for Jorvik, 'they're very strong! They're formidable! My father died attacking those walls. And the city lies in rich country. The man who rules Eoferwic can be a gold-giver, he can buy men, he can give estates, he can breed horses, he can command an army.'\n\n'And this is what King Ingver does?'\n\n'Ingver couldn't command a dog to piss,' I sneered. 'He has maybe two hundred warriors. And outside the walls? He has nothing. Other men rule beyond the walls, and one day one of those men will kill Ingver as Ingver killed Eowels, and the new man will call himself king. Sygfrothyr, Knut, Halfdan, and Eowels, they all called themselves King of Northumbria and they were all killed by a rival. Northumbria isn't a kingdom, it's a pit of rats and terriers.'\n\n'Like Ireland,' Berg said.\n\n'Like Ireland?'\n\n'A country of little kings,' he said. He frowned for a moment. 'Sometimes one calls himself the High King? And maybe he is, but there are still many little kings, and they squabble like dogs, and you think such dogs will be easy to kill, but when you attack them? They come together.'\n\n'There's no high king in Northumbria,' I said, 'not yet.'\n\n'There will be?'\n\n'Ragnall,' I said.\n\n'Ah!' he said, understanding. 'And one day we must take this land?'\n\n'One day,' I said, and I wanted that day to be soon, but \u00c6thelflaed, who ruled Mercia, insisted that first we drive the Danes from her country. She wanted to restore the ancient frontier of Mercia, and only then lead an army into Northumbria, and even then she would not invade unless she had her brother's blessing, but now Ragnall had come and threatened to make the conquest of the north even more difficult.\n\nWe saddled the horses and rode slowly westwards. The M\u00e6rse made great lazy loops to our left, twisting through overgrown water meadows. No one farmed these lands. There had been Danes and Norsemen settled here once, their steadings fat in a fat land, but we had driven them northwards away from Ceaster, and thistles now grew tall where cattle had grazed. Two heron flew downriver. A light rain blew from the distant sea.\n\n'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed is coming, lord?' Berg asked me as we pushed the horses through a gap in a ragged hedge, then across a flooded ditch. The mist had lifted, though there were still patches above the river's wide bends.\n\n'She's coming!' I said, and surprised myself by feeling a distinct pang of pleasure at the thought of seeing \u00c6thelflaed again. 'She was coming anyway for this nonsense with the new bishop.' The enthronement was the sort of ceremony she enjoyed, though how anyone could endure three or four hours of chanting monks and ranting priests was beyond my understanding, just as it was beyond my understanding to know why bishops needed thrones. They would be demanding crowns next. 'Now she'll be bringing her whole army as well,' I said.\n\n'And we'll fight Ragnall?'\n\n'She'll want to drive him out of Mercia,' I said, 'and if he stays behind his new walls that will be a bloody business.' I had turned north towards a low hill that I remembered from raids we had made across the river. The hill was crowned with a stand of pine trees, and from its summit we could see Ceaster on a clear day. There was no chance of seeing the city on this grey day, but I could see Eads Byrig rising green from the trees on the river's far side, and I could see the raw timber of the new wall atop the fort's embankment, and, much closer, I could see Ragnall's fleet clustered at a great bend of the M\u00e6rse.\n\nAnd I saw a bridge.\n\nAt first I was not sure what I was seeing, but I asked Berg, whose eyes were so much younger than mine. He gazed for a while, frowned, and finally nodded. 'They make a bridge with their boats, lord.'\n\nIt was a crude bridge made by mooring ships hull to hull so that they stretched across the river and carried a crude plank roadway on their decks. So many horses and men had already used the makeshift bridge that they had worn a new road in the fields on this side of the river, a muddy streak that showed dark against the pale pasture and then fanned out into lesser streaks that all led northwards. There were men riding the tracks now, three small groups spurring away from the M\u00e6rse and going deeper into Northumbria, and one large band of horsemen travelling south towards the river.\n\nAnd on the river's southern bank where the trees grew dense there was smoke. At first I took it for a thickening of the river mist, but the longer I looked the more I became convinced that there were campfires in the woodland. A lot of fires, sifting their smoke above the leaves, and that smoke told me that Ragnall was keeping many of his men beside the M\u00e6rse. There was a garrison at Eads Byrig, a garrison busy making a palisade, but not enough water there for the whole army. And that army, instead of making tracks south into Mercia, was trampling new paths northwards. 'We can go home now,' I said.\n\n'Already?' Berg sounded surprised.\n\n'Already,' I said. Because I knew what Ragnall was doing.\n\nWe went back the way we had come. We rode slowly, sparing the horses. A small rain blew from behind us, carried by a cold morning wind from the Irish Sea, and that made me remember Finan's words that Ragnall had made a pact with the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill. The Irish rarely crossed the sea except to trade and, once in a while, to look for slaves along Britain's western coast. I knew there were Irish settlements in Scotland, and even some on the wild western shore of Northumbria, but I had never seen Irish warriors in Mercia or Wessex. We had enough trouble with the Danes and the Norse, let alone dealing with the Irish. It was true that Ragnall only had one crew of Irishmen, but Finan boasted that one crew of his countrymen was worth three from any other tribe. 'We fight like mad dogs,' he had told me proudly. 'If it comes to a battle then Ragnall will have his Irish at the front. He'll let them loose on us.' I had seen Finan fight often enough and I believed him.\n\n'Lord!' Berg startled me. 'Behind us, lord!'\n\nI turned to see three riders following us. We were in open country with nowhere to hide, but I cursed myself for carelessness. I had been daydreaming, trying to decide what Ragnall would do, and I had not looked behind. If we had seen the three men earlier we might have turned away into a copse or thicket, but now there was no avoiding the horsemen, who were coming fast.\n\n'I'll talk to them,' I told Berg, then turned my horse and waited.\n\nThe three were young, none more than twenty years old. Their horses were good, spirited and brisk. All three wore mail, though none had a shield or helmet. They spread out as they approached, and then curbed their horses some ten paces away. They wore their hair long and had the inked patterns on their faces that told me they were Northmen, but what else did I expect on this side of the river? 'I wish you good morning,' I said politely.\n\nThe young man in the centre of the three kicked his horse forward. His mail was good, his sword scabbard was decorated with silver panels, while the hammer about his neck glinted with gold. He had long black hair, oiled and smoothed, then gathered with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. He looked at my horse, then up at me, then gazed at Serpent-Breath. 'That's a good sword, Grandad.'\n\n'It's a good sword,' I said mildly.\n\n'Old men don't need swords,' he said, and his two companions laughed.\n\n'My name,' I still spoke softly, 'is Hefring Fenirson and this is my son, Berg Hefringson.'\n\n'Tell me, Hefring Fenirson,' the young man said, 'why you ride eastwards.'\n\n'Why not?'\n\n'Because Jarl Ragnall is calling men to his side, and you ride away from him.'\n\n'Jarl Ragnall has no need of old men,' I said.\n\n'True, but he has need of young men.' He looked at Berg.\n\n'My son has no skill with a sword,' I said. In truth Berg was lethally fast with a blade, but there was an innocence to his face that suggested he might have no love for fighting. 'And who,' I asked respectfully, 'are you?'\n\nHe hesitated, plainly reluctant to give me his name, then shrugged as if to suggest it did not matter. 'Othere Hardgerson,' he said.\n\n'You came with the ships from Ireland?' I asked.\n\n'Where we are from is none of your concern,' he said. 'Did you swear loyalty to Jarl Ragnall?'\n\n'I swear loyalty to no man,' I said, and that was true. \u00c6thelflaed had my oath.\n\nOthere sneered at that. 'You are a jarl, perhaps?'\n\n'I am a farmer.'\n\n'A farmer,' he said derisively, 'has no need of a fine horse. He has no need of a sword. He has no need of a coat of mail, even that rusty coat. And as for your son,' he kicked his horse past mine to stare at Berg, 'if he cannot fight then he too has no need of mail, sword or horse.'\n\n'You wish to buy them?' I asked.\n\n'Buy them!' Othere laughed at that suggestion. 'I will give you a choice, old man,' he said, turning back to me. 'You can ride with us and swear loyalty to Jarl Ragnall or you can give us your horses, weapons, and mail, and go on your way. Which is it to be?'\n\nI knew Othere's kind. He was a young warrior, raised to fight and taught to despise any man who did not earn a living with a sword. He was bored. He had come across the sea on the promise of land and plunder, and though Ragnall's present caution was doubtless justified, it had left Othere frustrated. He was being forced to wait while Ragnall gathered more men, and those men were evidently being recruited from Northumbria, from the Danes and Norsemen who had settled that riven country. Othere, ordered to the dull business of patrolling the river's northern bank to guard against any Saxon incursion across the M\u00e6rse, wanted to start the conquest of Britain, and if Ragnall would not lead him into battle then he would seek a fight of his own. Besides, Othere was an over-confident young bully, and what did he have to fear from an old man?\n\nI suppose I was old. My beard had turned grey and my face showed the years, but even so, Othere and his two companions should have been more cautious. What farmer would ride a swift horse? Or carry a great sword? Or wear mail? 'I give you a choice, Othere Hardgerson,' I said, 'you can either ride away and thank whatever gods you worship that I let you live, or you can take the sword from me. Your choice, boy.'\n\nHe gazed at me for a heartbeat, looking for that moment as if he did not believe what he had just heard, then he laughed. 'On horse or on foot, old man?'\n\n'Your choice, boy,' I said again, and this time invested the word 'boy' with pure scorn.\n\n'Oh, you're dead, old man,' he retorted. 'On foot, you old bastard.' He swung easily from the saddle and dropped lithely to the damp grass. I assumed he had chosen to fight on foot because his horse was not battle-trained, but that suited me. I also dismounted, but did it slowly as though my old bones and aching muscles hampered me. 'My sword,' Othere said, 'is called Blood-Drinker. A man should know what weapon sends him to his grave.'\n\n'My sword...'\n\n'Why do I need to know the name of your sword?' he interrupted me, then laughed again as he pulled Blood-Drinker from her scabbard. He was right-handed. 'I shall make it quick, old man. Are you ready?' The last question was mocking. He did not care if I was ready, instead he was sneering because I had unsheathed Serpent-Breath and was holding her clumsily, as if she felt unfamiliar in my hand. I even tried holding her in my left hand before putting her back in my right, all to suggest to him that I was unpractised. I was so convincing that he lowered his blade and shook his head. 'You're being stupid, old man. I don't want to kill you, just give me the sword.'\n\n'Gladly,' I said, and moved towards him. He held out his left hand and I sliced Serpent-Breath up with a twist of my wrist and knocked that hand away, brought the blade back hard to beat Blood-Drinker aside, then lunged once to drive Serpent-Breath's tip against his breast. She struck the mail above his breastbone, driving him back, and he half stumbled and roared in anger as he swept his sword around in a hay-making slice that should have sheared my head from my body, but I already had Serpent-Breath lifted in the parry, the blades struck and I took one more step forward and slammed her hilt into his face. He managed to half turn away so that the blow landed on his jawbone rather than his nose.\n\nHe tried to cut my neck, but had no room for the stroke, and I stepped back, flicking Serpent-Breath up so that her tip cut through his chin, though not with any great force. She drew blood and the sight of it must have prompted one of his companions to draw his sword, and I heard but did not see, a clash of blades, and knew Berg was fighting. There was a gasp behind me, another ringing clash of steel on steel, and Othere's eyes widened as he stared at whatever happened. 'Come, boy,' I said, 'you're fighting me, not Berg.'\n\n'Then to the grave, old man,' he snarled, and stepped forward, sword swinging, but that was easy to parry. He had no great sword-craft. He was probably faster than I was, he was, after all, younger, but I had a lifetime of sword knowledge. He pressed me, cutting again and again, and I parried every stroke, and only after six or seven of his savage swings did I suddenly step back, lowering my blade, and his sword hissed past me, unbalancing him, and I rammed Serpent-Breath forward, skewering his sword shoulder, piercing the mail and mangling the flesh beneath, and I saw his arm drop, and I backswung my blade onto his neck and held it there, blood welling along Serpent-Breath's edge. 'My name, boy, is Uhtred of Bebbanburg, and this sword is called Serpent-Breath.'\n\n'Lord!' He dropped to his knees, unable to lift his arm. 'Lord,' he said again, 'I didn't know!'\n\n'Do you always bully old men?'\n\n'I didn't know!' he pleaded.\n\n'Hold your sword tight, boy,' I said, 'and look for me in Valhalla,' and I grimaced as I dragged the blade back, sawing at his neck, then thrust it forward, still sawing and he made a whimpering noise as his blood spurted far across the damp pasture. He made a choking sound. 'Hold onto Blood-Drinker!' I snarled at him. He seemed to nod, then the light went from his eyes and he fell forward. The sword was still in his hand, so I would meet him again across the ale-board of the gods.\n\nBerg had disarmed one of the remaining horsemen, while the other was already two hundred paces away and spurring his horse frantically. 'Should I kill this one, lord?' Berg asked me.\n\nI shook my head. 'He can take a message.' I walked to the young man's horse and hauled him hard downwards. He fell from the saddle and sprawled on the turf. 'Who are you?' I demanded.\n\nHe gave a name, I forget what it was now. He was a boy, younger than Berg, and he answered our questions willingly enough. Ragnall was making a great wall at Eads Byrig, but he had also made an encampment beside the river where the boats bridged the water. He was collecting men there, making a new army. 'And where will the army go?' I asked the boy.\n\n'To take the Saxon town,' he said.\n\n'Ceaster?'\n\nHe shrugged. He did not know the name. 'The town nearby, lord.'\n\n'Are you making ladders?'\n\n'Ladders? No, lord.'\n\nWe stripped Othere's corpse of its mail, took his sword and horse, then did the same to the boy Berg had disarmed. He was not badly wounded, more frightened than hurt, and he shivered as he watched us remount. 'Tell Ragnall,' I told him, 'that the Saxons of Mercia are coming. Tell him that his dead will number in the thousands. Tell him that his own death is just days away. Tell him that promise comes from Uhtred of Bebbanburg.'\n\nHe nodded, too frightened to speak.\n\n'Say my name aloud, boy,' I ordered him, 'so I know you can repeat it to Ragnall.'\n\n'Uhtred of Bebbanburg,' he stammered.\n\n'Good boy,' I said, and then we rode home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Bishop Leofstan arrived the next day. Of course he was not the bishop yet, for the time being he was just Father Leofstan, but everyone excitedly called him Bishop Leofstan and kept telling each other that he was a living saint and a scholar. The living saint's arrival was announced by Eadger, one of my men who was with a work party in the quarry south of the River Dee where they were loading rocks onto a cart, rocks that would eventually be piled on Ceaster's ramparts as a greeting to any Northman who tried to clamber over our walls. I was fairly certain Ragnall planned no such assault, but if he lost his mind and did try, I wanted him to enjoy a proper welcome. 'There's at least eighty of the bastards,' Eadger told me.\n\n'Priests?'\n\n'There are plenty enough priests,' he said dourly, 'but the rest of them?' He made the sign of the cross, 'God knows what they are, lord, but there's at least eighty of them, and they're coming.'\n\nI walked to the southern ramparts and gazed at the road beyond the Roman bridge, but saw nothing there. The city gate was closed again. All Ceaster's gates would stay closed until Ragnall's men had left the district, but the news of the bishop's approach was spreading through the town, and Father Ceolnoth came running down the main street, clutching the skirt ofhis long robe up to his waist. 'We should open the gates!' he shouted. 'He is come unto the gate of my people! Even unto Jerusalem!'\n\nI looked at Eadger, who shrugged. 'Sounds like the scripture, lord.'\n\n'Open the gates!' Ceolnoth shouted breathlessly.\n\n'Why?' I called down from the fighting platform above the arch.\n\nCeolnoth came to an abrupt halt. He had not seen me on the ramparts. He scowled. 'Bishop Leofstan is coming!'\n\n'The gates stay closed,' I said, then turned to look across the river. I could hear singing now.\n\nFinan and my son joined me. The Irishman stared south, frowning. 'Father Leofstan is coming,' I explained the excitement. A crowd was gathering in the street, all of them watching the big closed gates.\n\n'So I heard,' Finan said curtly. I hesitated. I wanted to say something comforting, but what do you say to a man who has killed his own kin? Finan must have sensed my gaze because he growled. 'Stop your worrying about me, lord.'\n\n'Who said I was worried?'\n\nHe half smiled. 'I'll kill some of Ragnall's men. Then I'll kill Conall. That'll cure whatever ails me. Sweet Jesus! What is that?'\n\nHis question was prompted by the appearance of children. They were on the road south of the bridge and, so far as I could tell, all were dressed in white robes. There must have been a score of them, and they were singing as they walked. Some of them were waving small branches in time to their song. Behind them was a group of dark-robed priests and, last of all, a shambling crowd.\n\nFather Ceolnoth had been joined by his twin brother, and the pair had climbed to the ramparts from where they stared south with ecstatic looks on their ugly faces. 'What a holy man!' Ceolnoth said.\n\n'The gates must be open!' Ceolberht insisted. 'Why aren't the gates open?'\n\n'Because I haven't ordered them opened,' I growled, 'that's why.' The gates stayed closed.\n\nThe strange procession crossed the river and approached the walls. The children were waving ragged willow fronds in time to their singing, but the fronds drooped and the singing faltered when they reached the flooded ditch and realised they could go no further. Then the voices died away altogether as a young priest pushed his way through the white-robed choir and called up to us. 'The gates! Open the gates!'\n\n'Who are you?' I called back.\n\nThe priest looked outraged. 'Father Leofstan has come!'\n\n'Praise God,' Father Ceolnoth said, 'he is come!'\n\n'Who?' I asked.\n\n'Oh, dear Jesus!' Ceolberht exclaimed behind me.\n\n'Father Leofstan!' the young priest called. 'Father Leofstan is your...'\n\n'Quiet! Hush!' A skinny priest mounted on an ass called the command. He was so tall and the ass was so small that his feet almost dragged on the roadway. 'The gates must be closed,' he called to the angry young priest, 'because there are heathens close by!' He half fell off the ass, then limped across the ditch's wooden bridge. He looked up at us, smiling. 'Greetings in the name of the living God!'\n\n'Father Leofstan!' Ceolnoth called and waved.\n\n'Who are you?' I demanded.\n\n'I am Leofstan, a humble servant of God,' the skinny priest answered, 'and you must be the Lord Uhtred?' I nodded for answer. 'And I humbly ask your permission to enter the city, Lord Uhtred,' Leofstan went on.\n\nI looked at the grubby-robed choir, then at the shambolic crowd, and shuddered. Leofstan waited patiently. He was younger than I had expected, with a broad, pale face, thick lips, and dark eyes. He smiled. I had the impression that he always smiled. He waited patiently, still smiling, just staring at me. 'Who are those people?' I demanded, pointing to the shambles who followed him. They were a shambles too. I had never seen so many people in rags. There must have been almost a hundred of them; cripples, hunchbacks, the blind, and a group of evidently moon-crazed men and women who shook and gibbered and dribbled.\n\n'These little ones,' Leofstan placed his hands on the heads of two of the children, 'are orphans, Lord Uhtred, who have been placed under my humble care.'\n\n'And the others?' I demanded, jerking my head at the gibbering crowd.\n\n'God's children!' Leofstan said happily. 'They are the halt, the lame, and the blind! They are beggars and outcasts! They are the hungry, the naked and the friendless! They are all God's children!'\n\n'And what are they doing here?' I asked.\n\nLeofstan chuckled as though my question was too easy to answer. 'Our dear Lord commands us to look after the helpless, Lord Uhtred. What does the blessed Matthew tell us? That when I was hungry you gave me food! When I was thirsty you gave me drink, when I was a stranger, you gave me shelter, when I was naked you clothed me, and when I was sick you visited me! To clothe the naked and to give help to the poor, Lord Uhtred, is to obey God! These dear people,' he swept an arm at the hopeless crowd, 'are my family!'\n\n'Sweet suffering Jesus,' Finan murmured, sounding amused for the first time in days.\n\n'Praise be to God,' Ceolnoth said, though without much enthusiasm.\n\n'You do know,' I called down to Leofstan, 'that there's an army of Northmen not a half-day's march away?'\n\n'The heathen pursue us,' he said, 'they rage all about us! Yet God shall preserve us!'\n\n'And this city might be under siege soon,' I persevered.\n\n'The Lord is my strength!'\n\n'And if we are besieged,' I demanded angrily, 'how am I supposed to feed your family?'\n\n'The Lord will provide!'\n\n'You'll not win this one,' Finan said softly.\n\n'And where do they live?' I asked harshly.\n\n'The church has property here, I am told,' Leofstan answered gently, 'so the church will house them. They shall not come nigh thee!'\n\nI growled, Finan grinned, and Leofstan still smiled. 'Open the damned gates,' I said, then went down the stone steps. I reached the street just as the new bishop limped through the long gate arch and, once inside, he dropped to his knees and kissed the roadway. 'Blessed be this place,' he intoned, 'and blessed be the folk who live here.' He struggled to his feet and smiled at me. 'I am honoured to meet you, Lord Uhtred.'\n\nI fingered the hammer hanging at my neck, but even that symbol of paganism could not wipe the smile from his face. 'One of these priests,' I gestured at the twins, 'will show you where you live.'\n\n'There is a fine house waiting for you, father,' Ceolnoth said.\n\n'I need no fine house!' Leofstan exclaimed. 'Our Lord dwelt in no mansion! The foxes have holes and the birds of the sky have their nests, but something humble will suffice for us.'\n\n'Us?' I asked. 'All of you? Your cripples as well?'\n\n'For my dear wife and I,' Leofstan said, and gestured for a woman to step forward from among his accompanying priests. At least I assumed she was a woman, because she was so swathed in cloaks and robes that it was hard to tell what she was. Her face was invisible under the shadow of a deep hood. 'This is my dear wife Gomer,' he introduced her, and the bundle of robes nodded towards me.\n\n'Gomer?' I thought I had misheard because it was a name I had never heard before.\n\n'A name from the scriptures!' Leofstan said brightly. 'And you should know, lord, that my dear wife and I have taken vows of poverty and chastity. A hovel will suffice us, isn't that so, dearest?'\n\nDearest nodded, and there was the hint of a squeak from beneath the swathe of hoods, robes, and cloak.\n\n'I've taken neither vow,' I said with too much vehemence. 'You're both welcome,' I added those words grudgingly because they were not true, 'but keep your damned family out of the way of my soldiers. We have work to do.'\n\n'We shall pray for you!' He turned. 'Sing, children, sing! Wave your fronds merrily! Make a joyful noise unto the Lord as we enter his city!'\n\nAnd so Bishop Leofstan came to Ceaster.\n\n'I hate the bastard,' I said.\n\n'No, you don't,' Finan said, 'you just don't like the fact that you like him.'\n\n'He's a smiling, oily bastard,' I said.\n\n'He's a famous scholar, a living saint and a very fine priest.'\n\n'I hope he gets worms and dies.'\n\n'They say he speaks Latin and Greek!'\n\n'Have you ever met a Roman?' I demanded, 'or a Greek? What's the point of speaking their damned languages?'\n\nFinan laughed. Leofstan's arrival and my splenetic hatred of the man seemed to have cheered him, and now the two of us led a hundred and thirty men on fast horses to patrol the edge of the forest that surrounded and protected Eads Byrig. So far we had ridden the southern and eastern boundaries of the trees because those were the directions Ragnall's men would take if they wanted to raid deep into Mercia, but not one of our scouts had seen any evidence of such raids. Today, the morning after Leofstan's arrival, we were close to the forest's western edge, and riding north towards the M\u00e6rse. We could see no enemy, but I was certain they could see us. There would be men standing guard at the margin of the thick woodland. 'Do you think it's true that he's celibate?' Finan asked.\n\n'How would I know?'\n\n'His wife probably looks like a shrivelled turnip, poor man.' He slapped at a horsefly on his stallion's neck. 'What is her name?'\n\n'Gomer.'\n\n'Ugly name, ugly woman,' he said, grinning.\n\nIt was a windy day with high clouds scudding fast inland. Heavier clouds were gathering above the distant sea, but now an early-morning shaft of sunlight glinted off the M\u00e6rse's water that lay a mile ahead of us. Two more dragon-boats had rowed upriver the previous day, one with more than forty men aboard, the other smaller, but still crammed with warriors. The heavy weather threatening to the west would probably mean no boats arriving today, but still Ragnall's strength grew. What would he do with that strength?\n\nTo find the answer to that question we had brought a score of riderless horses with us. All were saddled. Anyone watching from the forest would assume they were spare mounts, but their purpose was quite different. I let my horse slow so that Beadwulf could catch up with me. 'You don't have to do this,' I told him.\n\n'It will be easy, lord.'\n\n'You're sure?' I asked him.\n\n'It will be easy, lord,' he said again.\n\n'We'll be back this time tomorrow,' I promised him.\n\n'Same place?'\n\n'Same place.'\n\n'So let's do it, lord,' he suggested with a grin.\n\nI wanted to know what happened both at Eads Byrig and at the river crossing to the north of the hill. I had seen the bridge of boats across the M\u00e6rse, and the density of the smoke rising from the woods on the river's southern bank had suggested Ragnall's main camp was there. If it was, how was it protected? And how complete were the new walls at Eads Byrig? We could have assembled a war-band and followed the Roman track that led through the forest and then turned north up the spine of the ridge, and I did not doubt we could reach Eads Byrig's low summit, but Ragnall would be waiting for just such an incursion. His scouts would give warning of our approach and his men would flood the woodland, and our withdrawal would be a desperate fight in thick trees against an outnumbering enemy. Beadwulf, though, could scout the hill and the riverside camp like a phantom and the enemy would never know he was there.\n\nThe problem was to get Beadwulf into the forest without the enemy seeing his arrival, and that was the reason we had brought the riderless horses. 'Draw swords!' I called to my men as I pulled Serpent-Breath free of her scabbard. 'Now!' I shouted.\n\nWe spurred our horses, turning them directly eastwards and galloping for the trees as though we planned to ride clean through the forest to the distant hill. We plunged into the wood, but instead of riding straight on towards Eads Byrig, we suddenly swung the horses southwards so we were riding among the trees at the edge of the woods. A horn sounded behind us. It sounded three times, and that had to be one of Ragnall's sentinels sending a warning that we had entered the great forest, but in truth we were merely thundering along its margin. A man ran from a thicket to our left and Finan swerved, chopped down once, and there was a bright red splash among the spring-green leaves. Our horses galloped into sunlight as we crossed a clearing dense with bracken, then we were back among the thick trunks, ducking under the low branches, and another of Ragnall's scouts broke cover and my son rode him down, spearing his sword into the man's back.\n\nI galloped through a thicket of young hazel trees and elder-berries. 'He's gone!' Sihtric called from behind me, and I saw Beadwulf's riderless horse off to my right. We kept going for another half-mile, but saw no more sentries. The horn still called, answered by a distant one presumably on the hill. Ragnall's men would be pulling on mail and buckling sword belts, but long before any could reach us we had swerved back to the open pasture and onto the cattle tracks that would lead us back to Ceaster. We paused in a fitful patch of sunlight, collected the riderless horses and waited, but no enemy showed at the woodland's edge. Birds that had panicked to fly above the woods as we rode through the trees went back to their roosts. The horns had gone silent and the forest was quiet again.\n\nRagnall's scouts would have seen a war-band go into the forest and then leave the forest. If Beadwulf had simply dropped from his saddle to find a hiding place then that enemy might have noticed that one horse had lost its rider among the trees, but I was certain no sentry would have bothered to count our riderless stallions. One more would not be noticed. Beadwulf, I reckoned, was safely hidden among our enemies. Cloud shadow raced to engulf us and a heavy drop of rain spattered on my helmet. 'Time to go home,' I said, and so we rode back to Ceaster.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed arrived that same afternoon. She was leading over eight hundred men and was in a thoroughly bad temper that was not improved when she saw Eadith. The day had turned stormy, and the long tail and mane of \u00c6thelflaed's mare, Gast, lifted to the gusting wind, as did Eadith's long red hair. 'Why,' \u00c6thelflaed demanded of me with no other form of greeting, 'does she wear her hair unbound?'\n\n'Because she's a virgin,' I said, and watched Eadith hurry through the spatter of rain towards the house we shared on Ceaster's main street.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed scowled. 'She's no maid. She's...' she bit back whatever she was about to say.\n\n'A whore?' I suggested.\n\n'Tell her to bind her hair properly.'\n\n'Is there a proper way for a whore to bind her hair?' I asked. 'Most of the ones I've enjoyed prefer to leave it loose, but there was a black-haired girl in Gleawecestre who Bishop Wulfheard liked to hump when his wife wasn't in the city, and he made her coil her hair around her head like ropes. He made her plait her hair first and then insisted that she...'\n\n'Enough!' she snapped. 'Tell your woman she can at least try to look respectable.'\n\n'You can tell her that yourself, my lady, and welcome to Ceaster.'\n\nShe scowled again, then swung down from Gast. She hated Eadith, whose brother had tried to kill her, and that was doubtless reason enough to dislike the girl, but most of the hatred stemmed from the simple fact that Eadith shared my bed. \u00c6thelflaed had also disliked Sigunn, who had been my lover for many years but had succumbed to a fever two winters before. I had wept for her. \u00c6thelflaed had also been my lover and perhaps still was, though in the mood that soured her arrival she was more likely to be my foe. 'All our ships lost!' she exclaimed. 'And a thousand Northmen not a half-day's march away!'\n\n'Two thousand by now,' I said, 'and at least a hundred battle-crazed Irish warriors with them.'\n\n'And this garrison is here to stop that happening!' she spat. The priests who accompanied her looked at me accusingly. \u00c6thelflaed was almost always escorted by priests, but there seemed to be more than usual, and then I remembered that Eostre's feast was just days away and we were to enjoy the thrill of consecrating the humble, ever-smiling Leofstan. 'So what do we do about it?' \u00c6thelflaed demanded.\n\n'I've no idea,' I said, 'I'm not a Christian. I suppose you shove the poor man into the church, stick him onto a throne, and have the usual caterwauling?'\n\n'What are you talking about?'\n\n'I honestly don't see why we need a bishop anyway. We already have enough useless mouths to feed, and this wretched creature Leofstan has brought half the cripples of Mercia with him.'\n\n'What do we do about Ragnall!' she snapped.\n\n'Oh him!' I said, pretending surprise. 'Why nothing, of course.'\n\nShe stared at me. 'Nothing?'\n\n'Unless you can think of something?' I suggested. 'I can't!'\n\n'Good God!' she spat the words at me, then shivered as a blast of wind brought a slap of cold rain to the street. 'We'll talk in the Great Hall,' she said, 'and bring Finan!'\n\n'Finan's patrolling,' I said.\n\n'Thank God someone's doing something here,' she snarled, and strode towards the Great Hall, which was a monstrous Roman building at the centre of the town. The priests scuttled after her, leaving me with two close friends who had accompanied \u00c6thelflaed north. One was Osferth, her half-brother and illegitimate son of King Alfred. He had been my liegeman for years, one of my better commanders, but he had joined \u00c6thelflaed's household as a councillor. 'You shouldn't tease her,' he reproved me sternly.\n\n'Why not?' I asked.\n\n'Because she's in a bad mood,' Merewalh said, climbing down from his horse and grinning at me. He was the commander of her household warriors, and was as reliable a man as any I have ever known. He stamped his feet, stretched his arms, then patted his horse's neck. 'She's in a downright filthy mood,' he said.\n\n'Why? Because of Ragnall?'\n\n'Because at least half the guests for Father Leofstan's enthronement have said they're not coming,' Osferth said gloomily.\n\n'The idiots are frightened?'\n\n'They're not idiots,' he said patiently, 'but respected churchmen. We promised them a sacred Easter celebration, a chance for joyful fellowship, and instead there's a war here. You can't expect the likes of Bishop Wulfheard to risk capture! Ragnall Ivarson is known for his bestial cruelty.'\n\n'The girls at the Wheatsheaf will be pleased Wulfheard's staying in Gleawecestre,' I said.\n\nOsferth sighed heavily and set off after \u00c6thelflaed. The Wheatsheaf was a fine tavern in Gleawecestre that employed some equally fine whores, most of whom had shared the bishop's bed whenever his wife was absent. Merewalh grinned at me again. 'You shouldn't tease Osferth either.'\n\n'He looks more like his father every day,' I said.\n\n'He's a good man!'\n\n'He is,' I agreed. I liked Osferth, even though he was a solemn and censorious man. He felt cursed by his bastardy and had struggled to overcome the curse by living a blameless life. He had been a good soldier, brave and prudent, and I did not doubt he was a good councillor to his half-sister, with whom he shared not just a father but a deep piety. 'So \u00c6thelflaed,' I started walking with Merewalh towards the Great Hall, 'is upset because a pack of bishops and monks can't come to see Leofstan made a bishop?'\n\n'She's upset,' Merewalh said, 'because Ceaster and Brunanburh are close to her heart. She regards them as her conquests, and she isn't happy that the pagans are threatening them.' He stopped abruptly and frowned. The frown was not for me, but rather for a young dark-haired man who galloped past, his stallion's hooves splashing mud and rainwater. The man slewed the tall horse to an extravagant stop and leaped from the saddle leaving a servant to catch the sweat-stained stallion. The young man swirled a black cloak, nodded a casual acknowledgement towards Merewalh, then strode towards the Great Hall.\n\n'Who's that?' I asked.\n\n'Cynl\u00e6f Haraldson,' Merewalh said shortly.\n\n'One of yours?'\n\n'One of hers.'\n\n'\u00c6thelflaed's lover?' I asked, astonished.\n\n'Christ, no. Her daughter's lover probably, but she pretends not to know.'\n\n'\u00c6lfwynn's lover!' I still sounded surprised, but in truth I would have been more surprised if \u00c6lfwynn had not taken a lover. She was a pretty and flighty girl who should have been married three or four years by now, but for whatever reason her mother had not found a suitable husband. For a time everyone had assumed \u00c6lfwynn would marry my son, but that marriage had raised no enthusiasm, and Merewalh's next words suggested it never would.\n\n'Don't be surprised if they marry soon,' he said sourly.\n\nCynl\u00e6f's stallion snorted as it was led past me, and I saw the beast had a big C and H branded on its rump. 'Does he do that to all his horses?'\n\n'His dogs too. Poor \u00c6lfwynn will probably end up with his name burned onto her buttocks.'\n\nI watched Cynl\u00e6f, who had paused between the big pillars that fronted the hall and was giving orders to two servants. He was a good-looking young man, long-faced and dark-eyed, with an expensive mail coat and a gaudy sword belt from which hung a scabbard of red leather studded with gold. I recognised the scabbard. It had belonged to the Lord \u00c6thelred, \u00c6thelflaed's husband. A generous gift, I thought. Cynl\u00e6f saw me looking at him and bowed, before turning away and disappearing through the big Roman doors. 'Where did he come from?' I asked.\n\n'He's a West Saxon. He was one of King Edward's warriors, but after he met \u00c6lfwynn he moved to Gleawecestre,' he paused and half smiled, 'Edward didn't seem to mind losing him.'\n\n'Noble?'\n\n'A thegn's son,' he said dismissively, 'but she thinks the sun shines out of his arse.'\n\nI laughed. 'You don't like him.'\n\n'He's a useless lump of self-important gristle,' Merewalh said, 'but the Lady \u00c6thelflaed thinks otherwise.'\n\n'Can he fight?'\n\n'Well enough,' Merewalh sounded grudging. 'He's no coward. And he's ambitious.'\n\n'Not a bad thing,' I said.\n\n'It is when he wants my job.'\n\n'She won't replace you,' I said confidently.\n\n'Don't be so sure,' he said gloomily.\n\nWe followed Cynl\u00e6f into the hall. \u00c6thelflaed had settled into a chair behind the high table, and Cynl\u00e6f had taken the stool to her right, Osferth was on her left, and she now indicated that Merewalh and I should join them. The fire in the central hearth was smoky, and the brisk wind gusting through the hole in the Roman roof was swirling the smoke thick about the big chamber. The hall filled slowly. Many of my men, those who were not riding with Finan or standing guard on the high stone walls, came to hear whatever news \u00c6thelflaed had brought. I sent for \u00c6thelstan, and he was ordered to join us at the high table where the twin priests Ceolnoth and Ceolberht also took seats. \u00c6thelflaed's warriors filled the rest of the hall as servants brought water and cloths so the newly arrived guests at the high table could wash their hands. Other servants brought ale, bread, and cheese. 'So what,' \u00c6thelflaed demanded as the ale was poured, 'is happening here?'\n\nI let \u00c6thelstan tell the story of the burning of Brunanburh's boats. He was embarrassed by the telling, certain he had let his aunt down by his lack of vigilance, but he still told the tale clearly and did not try to shrink from the responsibility. I was proud of him and \u00c6thelflaed treated him gently, saying that no one could have expected ships to sail up the M\u00e6rse at night. 'But why,' she asked harshly, 'did we have no warning of Ragnall's coming?'\n\nNo one answered. Father Ceolnoth began to say something, glancing at me as he spoke, but then decided to be silent. \u00c6thelflaed understood what he had wanted to say and looked at me. 'Your daughter,' she sounded disapproving, 'is married to Ragnall's brother.'\n\n'Sigtryggr isn't supporting his brother,' I said, 'and I assume he doesn't approve of what Ragnall is doing.'\n\n'But he must have known what Ragnall planned?'\n\nI hesitated. 'Yes,' I finally admitted. It was unthinkable that Sigtryggr and Stiorra had not known, and I could only presume they had not wanted to send me any warning. Perhaps my daughter now wanted a pagan Britain, but if that was the case, why had Sigtryggr not joined the invasion?\n\n'And your son-in-law sent you no warning?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'Perhaps he did,' I said, 'but the Irish Sea is treacherous. Perhaps his messenger drowned.'\n\nThat feeble explanation was greeted with a snort of derision from Father Ceolnoth. 'Perhaps your daughter preferred\u2014' he began, but \u00c6thelflaed cut him short before he could say more.\n\n'We mostly rely on the church for our news from Ireland,' she said acidly. 'Have you stopped corresponding with the clerics and monasteries of that land?'\n\nI watched as she listened to the churchmen's limping excuses. She was King Alfred's eldest daughter, the brightest of his large brood, and as a child she had been quick, happy, and full of laughter. She had grown to be a beauty with pale gold hair and bright eyes, but marriage to \u00c6thelred, Lord of Mercia, had etched harsh lines on her face. His death had taken away much of her unhappiness, but she was now the ruler of Mercia, and the care of that kingdom had added streaks of grey to her hair. She was handsome rather than beautiful now, stern-faced and thin, ever watchful. Watchful because there were still men who believed no woman should rule, though most men in Mercia loved her and followed her willingly. She had her father's intelligence as well as his piety. I knew her to be passionate, but as she aged she had become ever more dependent on priests for the reassurance that the Christians' nailed god was on her side. And perhaps he was, for her rule had been successful. We had been pushing the Danes back, taking from them the ancient lands they had stolen from Mercia, but now Ragnall had arrived to threaten all she had achieved.\n\n'It's no accident,' Father Ceolnoth insisted, 'that he has come at Easter!'\n\nI did not see the significance and nor, apparently, did \u00c6thelflaed. 'Why Easter, father?' she asked.\n\n'We reconquer land,' Ceolnoth explained, 'and we build burhs to protect the land, and we rely on warriors to keep the burhs safe,' that last statement was accompanied by a quick and spiteful glance in my direction, 'but the land is not truly safe until the church has placed God's guardian hand over the new pastures! The psalmist said as much! God is my shepherd and I shall lack for nothing.'\n\n'Baaaaa,' I said, and was rewarded by a savage look from \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'So you think,' she said, pointedly ignoring me, 'that Ragnall wants to stop the consecration?'\n\n'It is why he has come now,' Ceolnoth said, 'and why we must thwart his evil intent by enthroning Leofstan!'\n\n'You believe he will attack Ceaster?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'Why else is he here?' Ceolnoth said heatedly. 'He has brought over a thousand pagans to destroy us.'\n\n'Two thousand by now,' I corrected him, 'and some Christians too.'\n\n'Christians?' \u00c6thelflaed asked sharply.\n\n'He has Irish in his army,' I reminded her.\n\n'Two thousand pagans?' Cynl\u00e6f spoke for the first time.\n\nI ignored him. If he wanted me to respond then he needed to use more courtesy, but he had asked a sensible question, and \u00c6thelflaed also wanted the answer. 'Two thousand? You're certain he has that many?' she demanded of me.\n\nI stood and walked around the table so that I was at the front of the dais. 'Ragnall brought over a thousand warriors,' I said, 'and he used those to occupy Eads Byrig. At least another thousand have joined him since, coming either by sea or on the roads south through Northumbria. He grows strong! But despite his strength he has not sent a single man southwards. Not one cow has been stolen from Mercia, not one child taken as a slave. He hasn't even burned a village church! He hasn't sent scouts to look at Ceaster, he's ignored us.'\n\n'Two thousand?' \u00c6thelflaed again echoed Cynl\u00e6f's question.\n\n'Instead,' I said, 'he's made a bridge across the M\u00e6rse and his men have been going north. What lies to the north?' I let the question hang in the smoky hall.\n\n'Northumbria,' someone said helpfully.\n\n'Men!' I said. 'Danes! Northmen! Men who hold land and fear that we'll take it from them. Men who have no king unless you count that weakling in Eoferwic. Men, my lady, who are looking for a leader who will make them safe. He's recruiting men from Northumbria, so yes, his army grows every day.'\n\n'All at Eads Byrig?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'Maybe three, four hundred men there,' I said. 'There isn't enough water for more, but the rest are camped by the M\u00e6rse where Ragnall's made a bridge of boats. I think that's where he's gathering his army, and by next week he'll have three thousand men.'\n\nThe priests crossed themselves. 'How in God's name,' Ceolberht asked quietly, 'do we fight a horde like that?'\n\n'Ragnall,' I went on remorselessly, talking directly to \u00c6thelflaed now, 'leads the largest enemy army to be seen in Britain since the days of your father. And every day that army gets bigger.'\n\n'We shall trust in the Lord our God!' Father Leofstan spoke for the first time, 'and in the Lord Uhtred too!' he added slyly. The bishop elect had been invited to join \u00c6thelflaed on the high dais, but had preferred to sit at one of the lower tables. He beamed his smile at me then wagged a disapproving finger. 'You're trying to frighten us, Lord Uhtred!'\n\n'Jarl Ragnall,' I said, 'is a frightening man.'\n\n'But we have you! And you smite the heathen!'\n\n'I am a heathen!'\n\nHe chuckled at that. 'The Lord will provide!'\n\n'Then perhaps someone can tell me,' I turned back to the high table, 'how the Lord will provide for us to defeat Ragnall?'\n\n'What has been done so far?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'I've summoned the fyrd,' I said, 'and sent all the folk who wanted refuge to the burhs. We've deepened the ditch here, we've sharpened the stakes in the ditch, we've stacked missiles on the walls, and we've filled the storerooms. And we have a scout in the woods now, exploring the new camp as well as Eads Byrig.'\n\n'So now is the time to smite Ragnall!' Father Ceolnoth said enthusiastically.\n\nI spat towards him. 'Will someone please tell that drivelling idiot why we cannot fight Ragnall.'\n\nThe silence was finally broken by Sihtric. 'Because he's protected by the walls of Eads Byrig.'\n\n'Not the men by the river!' Ceolnoth pointed out. 'They're not protected!'\n\n'We don't know that,' I said, 'which is why my scout is in the woods. But even if they don't have a palisade, they do have the forest. Lead an army into a forest and it will be ambushed.'\n\n'You could cross the river to the east,' Father Ceolnoth decided to offer military advice, 'and attack the bridge from the north.'\n\n'And why would I do that, you spavined idiot?' I demanded. 'I want the bridge there! If I destroy the bridge then I've trapped three thousand Northmen inside Mercia. I want them out of Mercia! I want the bastards across the river.' I paused, then decided to speak what my instinct told me was the truth, a truth I confidently expected Beadwulf to confirm. 'And that's what they want too.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed frowned at me, puzzled. 'They want to be across the river?'\n\nCeolnoth muttered something about the idea being a nonsense, but Cynl\u00e6f had understood what I was suggesting. 'The Lord Uhtred,' he said, investing my name with respect, 'believes that what Ragnall really means to do is invade Northumbria. He wants to be king there.'\n\n'Then why is he here?' Ceolberht asked plaintively.\n\n'To make the Northumbrians believe his ambitions are here,' Cynl\u00e6f explained. 'He's misleading his pagan enemies. Ragnall doesn't want to invade Mercia...'\n\n'Yet,' I intervened strongly.\n\n'He wants to be king of the north,' Cynl\u00e6f finished.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed looked at me. 'Is he right?'\n\n'I think he is,' I said.\n\n'So Ragnall isn't coming to Ceaster?'\n\n'He knows what I did to his brother here,' I said.\n\nLeofstan looked puzzled. 'His brother?'\n\n'Sigtryggr attacked Ceaster,' I told the priest, 'and we slaughtered his men, and I took his right eye.'\n\n'And he took your daughter to wife!' Father Ceolnoth could not resist saying.\n\n'At least she gets humped,' I said, still looking at Leofstan. I turned back to \u00c6thelflaed. 'Ragnall's not interested in attacking Ceaster,' I assured her, 'not for a year or two, anyway. One day? Yes, if he can, but not yet. So no,' I spoke firmly to reassure her, 'he's not coming here.'\n\nAnd he came next morning.\n\nThe Northmen came from the forest's edge in six great streams. They still lacked sufficient horses, so many of them came on foot, but they all came in mail and helmeted, carrying shields and weapons, emerging from the far trees beneath their banners that showed eagles and axes, dragons and ravens, ships and thunderbolts. Some flags showed the Christian cross, and those, I assumed, were Conall's Irishmen, while one banner was Haesten's simple emblem of a human skull held aloft on a pole. The biggest flag was Ragnall's blood-red axe that flew in the strong wind above a group of mounted men who advanced ahead of the great horde, which slowly shook itself into a massive battle line that faced Ceaster's eastern ramparts. A horn sounded three times from the enemy ranks as if they thought we had somehow not noticed their coming.\n\nFinan had returned ahead of the enemy, warning me that he had seen movement in the forest, and now he joined me and my son on the ramparts and looked at the vast army, which had emerged from the distant trees and faced us across half a mile of open land. 'No ladders,' he said.\n\n'Not that I can see.'\n\n'The heathen are mighty!' Father Leofstan had also come to the ramparts and called to us from some paces away. 'Yet shall we prevail! Is that not right, Lord Uhtred?'\n\nI ignored him. 'No ladders,' I said to Finan, 'so this isn't an attack.'\n\n'It's impressive though,' my son said, staring at the vast army. He turned as a small voice squeaked from the steps leading up to the ramparts. It was Father Leofstan's wife, or at least it was a bundle of cloaks, robes, and hoods that resembled the bundle he had arrived with.\n\n'Gomer dearest!' Father Leofstan cried, and hurried to help the bundle up the steep stairs. 'Careful, my cherub, careful!'\n\n'He married a gnome,' my son said.\n\nI laughed. Father Leofstan was so tall, and the bundle was so small and, swathed in robes as she was, she did resemble a plump little gnome. She reached out a hand and her husband helped her up the last of the worn steps. She squeaked in relief when she reached the top, then gasped as she saw Ragnall's army that was now advancing through the Roman cemetery. She stood close beside her husband, her head scarcely reaching his waist, and she clutched his priestly robe as if fearing she might topple off the wall's top. I tried to see her face, but it was too deeply shadowed by her big hood. 'Are they the pagans?' she asked in a small voice.\n\n'Have faith, my darling,' Father Leofstan said cheerfully, 'God has sent us Lord Uhtred, and God will vouchsafe us victory.' He raised his broad face to the sky and lifted his hands, 'pour out Thy fury upon the heathen, oh Lord!' he prayed, 'vex them with Thy wrath and smite them with Thine anger!'\n\n'Amen,' his wife squeaked.\n\n'Poor little thing,' Finan said quietly as he looked at her. 'She's got to be ugly as a toad under all those clothes. He's probably relieved he doesn't have to plough her.'\n\n'Maybe she's relieved,' I said.\n\n'Or maybe she's a beauty,' my son said wistfully.\n\n'Two silver shillings says she's a toad,' Finan said.\n\n'Done!' My son held out his hand to seal the wager.\n\n'Don't be such damned fools,' I snarled. 'I have enough trouble with your damned church without either of you plugging the bishop's wife.'\n\n'His gnome, you mean,' my son said.\n\n'Just keep your dirty hands to yourself,' I ordered him, then turned to see eleven riders spurring ahead of the massive shield wall. They came under three banners and were riding towards our ramparts. 'It's time to go,' I said.\n\nTime to meet the enemy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Our horses were waiting in the street where Godric, my servant, carried my fine wolf-crested helmet, a newly painted shield, and my bearskin cloak. My standard-bearer shook out the great banner of the wolf's head as I heaved myself into the saddle. I was riding Tintreg, a new night-black stallion, huge and savage. His name meant Torment, and he had been a gift from my old friend Steapa who had been commander of King Edward's household troops until he had retired to his lands in Wiltunscir. Tintreg, like Steapa, was battle-trained and bad-tempered. I liked him.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed was already waiting at the north gate. She was mounted on Gast, her white mare, and wearing her polished mail beneath a snow-white cloak. Merewalh, Osferth and Cynl\u00e6f were with her, as was Father Fraomar, her confessor and chaplain. 'How many men are coming from the pagans?' \u00c6thelflaed asked me.\n\n'Eleven.'\n\n'Bring one more man,' she ordered Merewalh. That added man, with her standard-bearer and mine, and with my son and Finan as my companions, would make the same number as Ragnall brought towards us.\n\n'Bring Prince \u00c6thelstan!' I told Merewalh.\n\nMerewalh looked at \u00c6thelflaed, who nodded assent. 'But tell him to hurry!' she added curtly.\n\n'Make the bastards wait,' I growled, a comment \u00c6thelflaed ignored.\n\n\u00c6thelstan was already dressed for battle in mail and helmet, so the only delay was as his horse was saddled. He grinned at me as he mounted, then gave his aunt a respectful bow. 'Thank you, my lady!'\n\n'Just keep silent,' \u00c6thelflaed ordered him, then raised her voice. 'Open the gates!'\n\nThe huge gates creaked and squealed and scraped as they were pushed outwards. Men were still pounding up the stone steps to the ramparts as our two standard-bearers led the way through the arch's long tunnel. \u00c6thelflaed's cross-holding goose and my wolf's head were the two banners that were lifted to a weak spring sunlight as we clattered over the bridge that crossed the flooded ditch. Then we spurred towards Ragnall and his men, who had reined in some three hundred yards away.\n\n'You don't need to be here,' I told \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'Why not?'\n\n'Because it will be nothing but insults.'\n\n'You think I'm afraid of words?'\n\n'I think he'll insult you and try to offend you, and his victory will be your anger.'\n\n'Our scripture teaches us that a fool is full of words!' Father Fraomar said. He was a pleasant enough young man and intensely loyal to \u00c6thelflaed. 'So let the wretch speak and betray his foolishness.'\n\nI turned in my saddle to look at Ceaster's walls. They were thick with men, the sun glinting from spear-points along the whole length of the ramparts. The ditch had been cleared and newly planted with sharpened stakes, and the walls were hung with banners, most of them showing Christian saints. The defences, I thought, looked formidable. 'If he tries to attack the city,' I said, 'then he is a fool.'\n\n'Then why is he here?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'This morning? To scare us, insult us, and provoke us.'\n\n'I want to see him,' she said. 'I want to see what kind of man he is.'\n\n'He's a dangerous one,' I said, and I wondered how many times I had ridden in my war-glory to meet an enemy before battle. It was a ritual. To my mind the ritual meant nothing and it changed nothing and it decided nothing, but \u00c6thelflaed was evidently curious about her enemy, and so we indulged Ragnall by riding to endure his insults.\n\nWe halted a few paces from the Northmen. They carried three standards. Ragnall's red axe was the largest, and it was flanked by a banner showing a ship sailing through a sea of blood and by Haesten's bare skull on its tall pole. Haesten sat on his horse beneath the skull, and he grinned at me as if we were old friends. He looked old, but I suppose I did too. His helmet was decorated with silver and had a pair of raven's wings mounted on its crown. He was plainly enjoying himself, unlike the man whose banner showed a ship in a sea of blood. He was also an older man, thin-faced and grey-bearded, with a scar slashing across one cheek. He wore a fine helmet that framed his face and was crested with a long black horse's tail, which cascaded down his back. The helmet was circled by a ring of gold, a king's helmet. He wore a cross above his mail, a gold cross studded with amber, showing that he was the only Christian among the enemies who faced us, but what distinguished him that morning was the murderous gaze directed at Finan. I glanced at Finan and saw the Irishman's face was also taut with anger. So the man in the gold-ringed horsetail helmet, I thought, had to be Conall, Finan's brother. You could feel the mutual hatred. One word from either, I reckoned, and swords would be drawn.\n\n'Dwarves!' the silence was broken by the hulking man beneath the flag of the red axe, who kicked his big stallion one pace forward.\n\nSo this was Ragnall Ivarson, the Sea King, Lord of the Islands and would-be King of Britain. He wore leather trews tucked into tall boots that were plated with gold badges, the same golden plaques that studded his sword belt, from which hung a monstrous blade. He wore neither mail nor helmet, instead his bare chest was crossed by two leather straps beneath which his muscles bulged. His chest was hairy, and under the hair were ink marks; eagles, serpents, dragons, and axes that writhed from his belly to his neck, around which was twisted a chain of gold. His arms were thick with the silver and gold rings of conquest, while his long hair, dark brown, was threaded with gold rings. His face was broad, hard and grim, and across his forehead was an inked eagle, its wings spread and its talons needle-written onto his cheekbones. 'Dwarves,' he sneered again, 'have you come to surrender your city?'\n\n'You have something to tell us?' \u00c6thelflaed asked in Danish.\n\n'Is that a woman in mail?' Ragnall addressed the question to me, perhaps because I was the biggest man in our party, or else because my battle finery was the most elaborate. 'I have seen many things,' he told me in a conversational tone. 'I have seen the strange lights glitter in the northern sky, I have seen ships swallowed by whirlpools, I have seen ice the size of mountains floating in the sea, I have watched whales break a ship in two, and seen fire spill from a hillside like vomit, but I have never seen a woman in mail. Is that the creature who is said to rule Mercia?'\n\n'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed asked you a question,' I said.\n\nRagnall stared at her, lifted himself a hand's breadth from the saddle, and let out a loud and long fart. 'She's answered,' he said, evidently amused as he settled back. \u00c6thelflaed must have shown some distaste because he laughed at her. 'They told us,' he looked back to me, 'that the ruler of Mercia was a pretty woman. Is that her grandmother?'\n\n'She's the woman who will grant you a grave's length of her land,' I said. It was a feeble answer, but I did not want to match insult with insult. I was too aware of the hatred between Finan and Conall, and feared that it could break into a fight.\n\n'So it is the woman ruler!' Ragnall sneered. He shuddered, pretending horror. 'And so ugly!'\n\n'I hear that no pig, goat, or dog is safe from you,' I said, provoked to anger, 'so what would you know of beauty?'\n\nHe ignored that. 'Ugly!' he said again. 'But I command men who don't care what a woman looks like, and they tell me that an old worn boot is more comfortable than a new one.' He nodded at \u00c6thelflaed. 'And she looks old and worn, so think how they'll enjoy using her! Maybe she'll enjoy it too?' He looked at me as if expecting an answer.\n\n'You made more sense when you farted,' I said.\n\n'And you must be the Lord Uhtred,' he said, 'the fabled Lord Uhtred!' He shuddered suddenly. 'You killed one of my men, Lord Uhtred.'\n\n'The first of many.'\n\n'Othere Hardgerson,' he said the name slowly. 'I shall revenge him.'\n\n'You'll follow him to a grave,' I said.\n\nHe shook his head, making the gold rings in his hair clink softly together. 'I liked Othere Hardgerson. He played dice well and could hold his drink.'\n\n'He had no sword-craft,' I said, 'maybe he learned from you?'\n\n'A month from now, Lord Uhtred, I shall be drinking Mercian ale from a cup fashioned from your skull. My wives will use your long bones to stir their stew, and my babes will play knucklebones with your toes.'\n\n'Your brother made the same kind of boasts,' I responded, 'and the blood of his men still stains our streets. I fed his right eye to my dogs, and the taste of it made them vomit.'\n\n'But he still took your daughter,' Ragnall said slyly.\n\n'Even the pigs won't eat your rancid flesh,' I said.\n\n'And a pretty daughter she is too,' he said musingly, 'too good for Sigtryggr!'\n\n'We shall burn your body,' I said, 'what's left of it, and the stench of the smoke will make the gods turn away in disgust.'\n\nHe laughed at that. 'The gods love my stench,' he said, 'they revel in it! The gods love me! And the gods have given me this land. So,' he nodded towards the walls of Ceaster, 'who commands in that place?'\n\n'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed commands,' I said.\n\nRagnall looked left and right at his followers. 'Lord Uhtred amuses us! He claims that a woman commands warriors!' His men dutifully laughed, all except for Conall who still stared malevolently at his brother. Ragnall looked back to me. 'Do you all squat when you piss?'\n\n'If he has nothing useful to say,' \u00c6thelflaed's voice was filled with anger, 'then we shall return to the city.' She wrenched Gast's reins unnecessarily hard.\n\n'Running away?' Ragnall jeered. 'And I brought you a gift, lady. A gift and a promise.'\n\n'A promise?' I asked. \u00c6thelflaed had turned her mare back and was listening.\n\n'Leave the city by dusk tomorrow,' Ragnall said, 'and I shall be merciful. I shall spare your miserable lives.'\n\n'And if we don't?' \u00c6thelstan asked the question. His voice was defiant and earned him an angry glance from \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'The puppy barks,' Ragnall said. 'If you don't leave the city, little boy, then my men will cross your walls like a storm-driven wave. Your young women will be my pleasure, your children shall be my slaves, and your weapons my playthings. Your corpses will rot, your churches will burn, and your widows weep.' He paused and gestured at his standard. 'You can take that flag,' he was talking to me, 'and display it above the city. Then I shall know you're leaving.'\n\n'I shall take your banner anyway,' I said, 'and use it to wipe my arse.'\n\n'It will be easier,' he spoke to me now as if he addressed a small child, 'if you just leave. Go to another town! I shall find you there anyway, worry not, but you'll live a little longer.'\n\n'Come to us tomorrow,' I said in the same tone of voice, 'try to cross our walls, be our guests, and your lives will be a little shorter.'\n\nHe chuckled. 'I shall take a delight in killing you, Lord Uhtred. My poets will sing of it! How Ragnall, Lord of the Sea and King of all Britain, made the great Lord Uhtred whimper like a child! How Uhtred died begging for mercy. How he cried as I gutted him.' The last few words were spoken with sudden vehemence, but then he smiled again. 'I almost forgot the gift!' He beckoned to one of his men and pointed to the grass between our horses. 'Put it there.'\n\nThe man dismounted and brought a wooden chest that he laid on the grass. The chest was square, about the size of a cooking cauldron, and decorated with painted carvings. The lid was a picture of the crucifixion, while the sides showed men with haloes about their heads, and I recognised the chest as one that had probably held a Christian gospel book or else one of the relics that Christians so revered. 'That is my gift to you,' Ragnall said, 'and it comes with my promise that if you are not gone by tomorrow's dusk then you will stay here for ever as ashes, as bones, and as raven food.' He turned his horse abruptly and savaged it with his spurs. I felt relief as Conall, grey-bearded, dark-eyed King Conall, turned and followed.\n\nHaesten paused a moment. He had said nothing. He looked so old to me, but then he was old. His hair was grey, his beard was grey, but his face still held a sly humour. I had known him since he was a young man, and I had trusted him at first, only to discover that he broke oaths as easily as a child breaks eggs. He had tried to make himself a king in Britain and I had thwarted every attempt until, at Beamfleot, I had destroyed his last army. He looked prosperous now, gold-hung, his mail bright, his bridle studded with gold, and his brown cloak edged with thick fur, but he had become a client to Ragnall, and where he had once led thousands he now commanded only scores of men. He had to hate me, yet he smiled at me as though he believed I would be glad to see him. I glared at him, despising him, and he seemed surprised by that. I thought, for a heartbeat, that he would speak, but then he pulled on his reins and spurred after Ragnall's horsemen.\n\n'Open it,' \u00c6thelflaed commanded Cynl\u00e6f, who slid from his horse and walked to the gospel box. He stooped, lifted the lid and recoiled.\n\nThe box held Beadwulf's head. I gazed down at it. His eyes had been gouged out, his tongue torn from his mouth, and his ears cut off. 'The bastard,' my son hissed.\n\nRagnall reached his shield wall. He must have shouted an order because the tight ranks dissolved and the spearmen went back towards the trees.\n\n'Tomorrow,' I announced loudly, 'we ride to Eads Byrig.'\n\n'And die in the forest?' Merewalh asked anxiously.\n\n'But you said...' \u00c6thelflaed began.\n\n'Tomorrow,' I cut her off harshly, 'we ride to Eads Byrig.'\n\nTomorrow.\n\nThe night was calm and moonlit. Silver touched the land. The rainy weather had gone eastwards and the sky was bright with stars. A small wind came from the far sea, but it had no malice.\n\nI was on Ceaster's ramparts, gazing north and east and praying that my gods would tell me what Ragnall was doing. I thought I knew, but doubts always creep in, and so I looked for an omen. The sentinels had edged aside to give me space. All was quiet in the town behind me, though earlier I had heard a fight break out in one of the streets. It had not lasted long. It had doubtless been two drunks fighting and then being pulled apart before either could kill the other, and now Ceaster was quiet and I heard nothing except the small wind across the roofs, a cry of a child in its sleep, a dog whining, the scrape of feet on the ramparts, and a spear butt knocking on stone. None of those was a sign from the gods. I wanted to see a star die, blazing in its bright death across the darkness high overhead, but the stars stayed stubbornly alive.\n\nAnd Ragnall, I thought, would be listening and watching for a sign too. I prayed that the owl would call to his ears and let him know the fear of that sound that foretells death. I listened and heard nothing except the night's small noises.\n\nThen I heard the clapping sound. Quick and soft. It started and stopped. It had come from the fields to the north, from the rough pasture that lay between Ceaster's ditch and the Roman cemetery. Some of my men wanted to dig up the cemetery and throw the dead onto a fire, but I had forbidden it. They feared the dead, reckoning that ancient ghosts in bronze armour would come to haunt their sleep, but the ghosts had built this city, they had made the strong walls that protected us, and we owed them our protection now.\n\nThe clapping sounded again.\n\nI should have told Ragnall of the ghosts. His insults had been better than mine, he had won that ritual of abuse, but if I had thought of the Roman graves with their mysterious stones I could have told him of an invisible army of the dead that rose in the night with sharpened swords and vicious spears. He would have mocked the idea, of course, but it would have lodged in his fears. In the morning, I thought, we should pour wine on the graves as thanks to the protecting dead.\n\nThe clapping started again, followed by a whirring noise. It was not harsh, but neither was it tuneful. 'Early in the year for a nightjar,' Finan said behind me.\n\n'I didn't hear you!' I said, surprised.\n\n'I move like a ghost,' he sounded amused. He came and stood beside me and listened to the sudden clapping sound. It was the noise made by the long wings of the bird beating together in the dark. 'He wants a mate,' Finan said.\n\n'It's that time of year. Eostre's feast.'\n\nWe stood in companionable silence for a while. 'So are we really going to Eads Byrig tomorrow?' Finan finally asked.\n\n'We are.'\n\n'Through the forest?'\n\n'Through the forest to Eads Byrig,' I said, 'then north to the river.'\n\nHe nodded. For a while he said nothing, just gazed at the distant shine of moonlight on the M\u00e6rse. 'No one else is to kill him,' he broke the silence fiercely.\n\n'Conall?'\n\n'He's mine.'\n\n'He's yours,' I agreed. I paused, listening to the nightjar. 'I thought you were going to kill him this morning.'\n\n'I would have done. I wish I had. I will.' He touched his breast where the crucifix had hung. 'I prayed for this, prayed God would send Conall back to me.' He paused and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. 'Tomorrow then.'\n\n'Tomorrow,' I said.\n\nHe slapped the wall in front of him, then laughed. 'The boys need a fight, by Christ they do. They were trying to kill each other earlier.'\n\n'I heard it. What happened?'\n\n'Young Godric got in a fight with Heargol.'\n\n'Godric!' He was my servant. 'He's an idiot!'\n\n'Heargol was too drunk. He was punching air.'\n\n'Even so,' I said, 'one of his punches could kill young Godric.' Heargol was one of \u00c6thelflaed's household warriors, a great brute of a man who revelled in the close work of a shield wall.\n\n'I pulled the bastard off before he could do any harm, and then I smacked Godric. Told him to grow up.' He shrugged. 'No harm done.'\n\n'What were they fighting over?'\n\n'There's a new girl at the Pisspot.' The Pisspot was a tavern. Its proper name was the Plover and that bird was painted on its sign, but for some reason it was always called the Pisspot, and it was a place that sold good ale and bad women. The holy twins, Ceolnoth and Ceolberht, had tried to close the tavern, calling it a den of iniquity, and so it was, which is why I wanted it left open. I commanded a garrison of young warriors and they needed everything the Pisspot provided. 'Mus,' Finan said.\n\n'Mus?'\n\n'That's her name.'\n\n'Mouse?'\n\n'You should go see her,' Finan said, grinning. 'Sweet God in His heaven, lord, but she's worth seeing.'\n\n'Mus,' I said.\n\n'You won't regret it!'\n\n'He won't regret what?' a woman's voice asked, and I turned to see \u00c6thelflaed had come to the ramparts.\n\n'He won't regret cutting the big willows downstream of Brunanburh, my lady,' Finan said. 'We need new shield wood.' He gave her a respectful bow.\n\n'And you need your sleep,' \u00c6thelflaed said, 'if you're to ride to Eads Byrig tomorrow.' She laid a stress on the word 'if'.\n\nFinan knew when he was being dismissed. He bowed again. 'I bid you both goodnight,' he said.\n\n'Look out for mice,' I said.\n\nHe grinned. 'We assemble at dawn?'\n\n'All of us,' I said. 'Mail, shields, weapons.'\n\n'It's time we killed a few of the bastards,' Finan said. He hesitated, wanting an invitation to stay, but none came and he walked away.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed took his place and gazed at the moon-silvered land for a moment. 'Are you really going to Eads Byrig?'\n\n'Yes. And you should send Merewalh and six hundred men with me.'\n\n'So they can die in the forest?'\n\n'They won't,' I said and hoped I did not lie. Had the nightjar been the omen I had wanted? I did not know how to interpret the clapping sound. The direction that a bird flies has meaning, as does the stoop of a falcon or the hollow call of an owl, but a drumming noise in the darkness? Then I heard it again and something about the sound made me think of the clatter of shields as men made a shield wall. It was the omen I sought.\n\n'You told us!' \u00c6thelflaed was insistent. 'You said that once you were among the trees you can't see where the enemy is. That they could get behind you. That you'll be ambushed! So what's changed?' She paused and, when I did not answer, grew angry. 'Or is this stupidity? You let Ragnall insult us so now you have to attack him?'\n\n'He won't be there,' I said.\n\nShe frowned at me. 'He won't be there?' she repeated.\n\n'Why did he give us a full day to leave the city?' I asked. 'Why not tell us to leave at dawn? Why not tell us to leave immediately?'\n\nShe thought about the questions, but found no answer. 'Tell me,' she demanded.\n\n'He knows we're not going to leave,' I said, 'but he wants us to think we have a whole day before he attacks us. He needs that day because he's leaving. He's going north across his bridge of boats and he doesn't want us interfering with that. He's no intention of attacking Ceaster. He's got a brand new army and he doesn't want to lose two or three hundred men trying to cross these walls. He wants to take the army to Eoferwic because he needs to be King of Northumbria before he attacks Mercia.'\n\n'How do you know?'\n\n'A nightjar told me.'\n\n'You can't be sure!'\n\n'I'm not sure,' I admitted, 'and perhaps it's a ruse to persuade us to go into the forest tomorrow and be killed. But I don't think so. He wants us to leave him in peace so he can withdraw, and if that's what he wants then we shouldn't give it to him.'\n\nShe put her arm through mine, a gesture that told me she had accepted both my argument and my plan. She was silent a long time. 'I suppose,' she said at last, her voice low and small, 'that we should attack him in Northumbria?'\n\n'I've been saying we should invade Northumbria for months.'\n\n'So you can retake Bebbanburg?'\n\n'So we can drive the Danes out.'\n\n'My brother says we shouldn't.'\n\n'Your brother,' I said, 'doesn't want you to be the champion of the Saxons. He wants to be that himself.'\n\n'He's a good man.'\n\n'He's cautious,' I said, and so he was. Edward of Wessex had wanted to be King of Mercia too, but he had bowed to Mercian wishes when they had chosen his sister \u00c6thelflaed to rule instead of him. Perhaps he had expected her to fail, but in that he had been disappointed. Now his armies were busy in East Anglia, driving the Danes north out of that land, and he had insisted that his sister do no more than reconquer the old Mercian lands. To conquer the north, he said, we would need both the armies of Wessex and of Mercia, and perhaps he was right. I thought we should invade anyway and take back a slew of towns in southern Northumbria, but \u00c6thelflaed had accepted her brother's wishes. She needed his support, she told me. She needed the gold that Wessex gave Mercia, and she needed the West Saxon warriors who manned the burhs in eastern Mercia. 'In a year or two,' I said, 'Edward will have secured East Anglia and then he'll come here with his army.'\n\n'That's good,' she said. She sounded cautious, not because she did not want her brother to join his forces to hers, but because she knew I believed she should strike north long before her brother was ready.\n\n'And he'll lead your army and his into Northumbria.'\n\n'Good,' she insisted.\n\nAnd that invasion would make the dream real. It was the dream of \u00c6thelflaed's father, King Alfred, that all the folk who spoke the English language would live in one kingdom under one king. There would be a new kingdom, Englaland, and Edward wanted to be the first man to carry the title of King of Englaland. 'There's only one problem,' I said bleakly, 'right now Northumbria is weak. It has no strong king and it can be taken piece by piece. But a year from now? Ragnall will be king, and he's strong. Conquering Northumbria will be far more difficult once Ragnall rules there.'\n\n'We're not strong enough to invade Northumbria on our own,' \u00c6thelflaed insisted. 'We need my brother's army.'\n\n'Give me Merewalh and six hundred men,' I said, 'and I'll be in Eoferwic in three weeks. A month from now I'll see you crowned queen of Northumbria, and I'll bring you Ragnall's head in a gospel box.'\n\nShe laughed at that, thinking that I joked. I did not. She squeezed my arm. 'I'd like his head as a gift,' she said, 'but for now you need your sleep. And so do I.'\n\nAnd I hoped the message of the nightjar was true.\n\nI would find out tomorrow.\n\nThe sun had risen into a sky of ragged clouds and scudding wind by the time we left Ceaster. Seven hundred men rode to Eads Byrig.\n\nThe horsemen streamed through Ceaster's northern gate, a torrent of mail and weapons, hooves clattering on the gate-tunnel's stone, the bright spear-points raised to the fitful sun as we followed the Roman road north and east.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed insisted on coming herself. She was mounted on Gast, her white mare, and followed by her standard-bearer, by a bodyguard of ten picked warriors, and by five priests, one of whom was Bishop Leofstan. He was not formally the bishop yet, but would be soon. He was mounted on a roan gelding, a placid horse. 'I don't like riding when I can walk,' he told me.\n\n'You can walk if you prefer, father,' I said.\n\n'I limp.'\n\n'I noticed.'\n\n'I was kicked by a yearling when I was ten,' he explained, 'it was a gift from God!'\n\n'Your god gives strange gifts.'\n\nHe laughed at that. 'The gift, Lord Uhtred, was the pain. It lets me understand the crippled, it permits me to share a little in their agony. It is a lesson from God! But today I must ride or else I won't see your victory.'\n\nHe was riding beside me, just in front of my great wolf's head banner. 'What makes you think it will be a victory?' I asked.\n\n'God will grant you the victory! We prayed for that this morning.' He smiled at me.\n\n'Did you pray to my god or your god?'\n\nHe laughed, then suddenly winced. I saw a look of pain cross his face, a grimace as he bent forward in the saddle. 'What is it?' I asked.\n\n'Nothing,' he said. 'God afflicts me with pain sometimes. It comes and it goes.' He straightened and smiled at me. 'There! Gone already!'\n\n'A strange god,' I said viciously, 'who gives his worshippers pain.'\n\n'He gave his own son a cruel death, why should we not suffer a little pain?' He laughed again. 'Bishop Wulfheard warned me against you! He calls you the spawn of Satan! He said you would oppose everything I try to achieve. Is that true, Lord Uhtred?'\n\n'You leave me alone, father,' I said sourly, 'and I'll leave you alone.'\n\n'I shall pray for you! You can't object to that!' He looked at me as if expecting a response, but I said nothing. 'I'm not your enemy, Lord Uhtred,' he said gently.\n\n'Count yourself fortunate in that,' I said, knowing that I was being boorish.\n\n'I do!' He had taken no offence. 'My mission here is to be like Christ! To feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and to be a father to the fatherless. Your task, if I understand it right, is to protect us! God gave us different missions. You do yours and I will do mine. I am not Bishop Wulfheard!' he said that with a surprising slyness, 'I shall not interfere with you! I know nothing of war!'\n\nI made a grunting sound that he could take as grateful acceptance of his words.\n\n'Do you think I wanted this burden?' he asked me. 'To become a bishop?'\n\n'You don't?'\n\n'Dear Lord, no! I was happy, Lord Uhtred! I laboured in King Edward's household as a humble priest. My duty was to draw up charters and write the king's letters, but my joy was translating Saint Augustine's City of God. It is all I ever wanted from life. A pot of ink, a sheaf of quills, and a church father to guide my thoughts. I'm a scholar, not a bishop!'\n\n'Then why...' I began.\n\n'God called me,' he answered my question before I finished it. 'I walked the streets of Wintanceaster and saw men kicking beggars, saw children forced into slavery, saw women degraded, saw cruelty, saw cripples dying in the ditches. That was not the city of God! For those people it was hell, and the church was doing nothing! Well, a little! There were convents and monasteries that tended the sick, but not enough of them! So I began to preach, and tried to feed the hungry and help the helpless. I preached that the church should spend less on silver and gold and more on food for the hungry and on clothes for the naked.'\n\nI half smiled. 'I can't think that made you popular.'\n\n'Of course it didn't! Why do you think they sent me here?'\n\n'To be the bishop,' I said, 'it's a promotion!'\n\n'No, it's a punishment,' he said, laughing. 'Let that fool Leofstan deal with the Lord Uhtred!'\n\n'Is that the punishment?' I asked, curious.\n\n'Good Lord, yes. They're all terrified of you!'\n\n'And you're not?' I asked, amused.\n\n'My tutor in Christ was Father Beocca.'\n\n'Ah,' I said. Beocca had been my tutor too. Poor Father Beocca, crippled and ugly, but a better man never walked this earth.\n\n'He was fond of you,' Leofstan said, 'and proud of you too.'\n\n'He was?'\n\n'And he told me often that you are a kind man who tries to hide his kindness.'\n\nI grunted again. 'Beocca,' I said, 'was full of...'\n\n'Wisdom,' Leofstan interrupted me firmly. 'So no, I'm not frightened of you and I will pray for you.'\n\n'And I'll keep the Northmen from slaughtering you,' I said.\n\n'Why do you think I pray for you?' he asked, laughing. 'Now go, I'm certain you have more pressing duties than talking to me. And God be with you!'\n\nI kicked back my heels, riding hard to the front of the column. Damn it, I thought, but now I liked Leofstan. He would join that small group of priests like Beocca, Willibald, Cuthbert, and Pyrlig, whom I admired and liked, a group hugely outnumbered by the corrupt, venal and ambitious clerics who governed the church so jealously. 'Whatever you do,' I told Berg, who was the leading horseman, 'never believe the Christians when they tell you to love your enemies.'\n\nHe looked puzzled. 'Why would I want to love them?'\n\n'I don't know! Just Christian shit. Have you seen any enemy?'\n\n'Nothing,' he said.\n\nI had sent no scouts ahead. Ragnall would learn soon enough that we were coming, and he would either gather his men to oppose us or, if I was right, he would refuse battle. I would learn which soon enough. \u00c6thelflaed, even though she had decided to trust my instinct, feared I was being impetuous, and I was not so sure that she was wrong and so had attempted to persuade her to stay in Ceaster. 'And what will men think of me,' she had asked, 'if I cower behind stone walls while they ride to fight Mercia's enemies?'\n\n'They'll think you're a sensible woman.'\n\n'I am the ruler of Mercia,' she said. 'Men won't follow unless I lead.'\n\nWe followed the Roman road, which would eventually lead to a crossroads where ruined stone buildings stood above deep shafts dug into the layers of salt that had once made this region rich. Old men remembered clambering down the long ladders to reach the white rock, but the shafts now lay in the uncertain land between the Saxons and the Danes, and so the buildings, which the Romans had made, decayed. 'If we garrison Eads Byrig,' I told \u00c6thelflaed as we rode, 'we can reopen the mines.' A burh on the hill would protect the country for miles around. 'Salt from a mine is much cheaper than salt from fire pans.'\n\n'Let's capture Eads Byrig first,' she said grimly.\n\nWe did not go as far as the old shafts, turning north a few miles short of the crossroads and plunging into the forest. Ragnall would know we were coming by now and we made no attempt to hide our progress. We rode on the ridge's crest, following an ancient track from where I could see the green slopes of Eads Byrig rising above the sea of trees, and I could see the bright raw wood of the newly-made palisade, then the track plunged leftwards into trees and I lost sight of the hill until we burst out into the great space that Ragnall had cleared around the ancient fort. The trees had been cut down, leaving stumps, wood chips, and sheared branches. Our appearance in that waste land prompted the defenders of the fort to jeer at us, one even hurled a spear that fell a hundred paces short of our nearest horseman. Bright banners flew above the ramparts, the largest showing Ragnall's red axe. 'Merewalh!' I shouted.\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Keep a hundred men here! Just watch the fort! Don't start a fight. If they leave the fort to follow us then ride ahead of them and join us!'\n\n'Lord?' he called questioningly.\n\n'Just watch them! Don't fight them!' I shouted and rode on, skirting the hill's western flank. 'Cynl\u00e6f!'\n\nThe West Saxon caught up with me. 'Lord?' The expensive red scabbard with the gold plaques bounced at his side.\n\n'Keep Lady \u00c6thelflaed at the back!'\n\n'She won't...'\n\n'Just do it!' I snarled. 'Hold her bridle if you must, but don't let her get caught up in the fighting.' I quickened the pace and drew Serpent-Breath and the sight of that long blade prompted my men to unsheathe their own swords.\n\nRagnall had not faced us at Eads Byrig. True there were men on the fort's ramparts, but not his full army. The spear-points had been spaced apart, not crowded together, and that told me most of Ragnall's men were to the north. He had landed his ships on the banks of the M\u00e6rse and then fortified Eads Byrig to deceive his real enemy, to persuade the feeble king in Eoferwic that his ambitions lay in Mercia, but Northumbria was much easier prey. Dozens of Northumbrian jarls had already joined Ragnall, some no doubt believing he would lead them south, but by now he would have fired them with enthusiasm for the attack northwards. They would be lured by promises of gold, of land taken from King Ingver and his supporters, and, doubtless, of the prospect of a renewed assault on Mercia once Northumbria was secure.\n\nOr so I believed. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Ragnall was marching on Ceaster or waiting at the river with a shield wall. His banner had flown over Eads Byrig, but that, I thought, was a deception intended to make us think he was inside the new palisade. The prickle of instinct told me he was crossing the river. Why, then, had he left men at Eads Byrig? That was a question that must wait, and then I forgot it altogether because I suddenly saw a group of men running ahead of me. They were not in mail. We had been following a newly-made track through the trees, a track that must lead from Eads Byrig to the bridge of boats, and the men ahead were carrying sacks and barrels. I suspected they were servants, but whoever they were they scattered into the undergrowth when they saw us. We pounded on, ducking under branches, and more men were running away from us, and suddenly the green shadows under the trees lightened and I saw open land ahead, land scattered with makeshift shelters and the remnants of campfires, and I knew we had come to the place beside the river where Ragnall had made his temporary encampment.\n\nI spurred Tintreg out into the sunlight. The river was now a hundred paces away and a crowd was waiting to cross the bridge of boats. The far bank was already thick with men and horses, a horde, most of whom were already marching north, but on this side of the river were more men with their horses, livestock, families, and servants. My instinct had been right. Ragnall was going north.\n\nAnd then we struck.\n\nRagnall would have known we were coming, but he must have assumed we would ride straight to Eads Byrig and stay there, lured by his great banner into the belief that he was inside the walls, and our sudden and fast ride northwards took his rearguard by surprise.\n\nIt was kind to call it a rearguard. What was left on the M\u00e6rse's southern bank was a couple of hundred warriors, their servants, some women and children, and a scattering of pigs, goats, and sheep. 'This way!' I shouted, swerving left. I did not want to charge straight into the panicking crowd who were now struggling to reach the bridge, instead I wanted to cut them off, and so I skirted them and then spurred Tintreg along the river bank towards the bridge. At least a dozen men stayed close behind me. A child screamed. One man tried to stop us, hurling a heavy spear that flew past my helmet. I ignored him, but one of my men must have struck because I heard the butcher's sound of sword on bone. Tintreg snapped his teeth as he ploughed into the folk closest to the bridge. They were trying to escape, some scrambling onto the closest boat, some jumping into the river or else pushing desperately back towards the forest, and then I hauled on the reins and swung out of the saddle. 'No!' a woman was trying to shelter two small children, but I ignored her, instead going to where the planks of the bridge stretched down to the muddy bank, and I stood there, and one by one my men joined me and we unslung our shields and clashed the iron rims together.\n\n'Put your weapons down!' I shouted at the panicked crowd. They had no escape now. Hundreds of my horsemen had come from the trees and I had a shield wall barring their path across the M\u00e6rse. I had hoped to trap more than this ragged handful, but Ragnall must have marched early, and we had left Ceaster too late.\n\n'They're burning the boats!' Finan called to me. He had joined me, but was still on horseback. Women were shrieking, children screaming, and my men bellowing at the trapped enemy to put down their weapons. I turned and saw that Ragnall's huge fleet was either beached or moored on the M\u00e6rse's far bank and that men were hurling firebrands into the hulls. Other men were setting fire to the ships that supported the crude plank roadway. The boats had been readied for burning, their hulls filled with tinder and soaked in pitch. A handful of vessels were upstream of the others, tied with long lines to poles driven into the shelving mud, and I guessed those were the few ships that were being saved from the flames. 'God in His heaven,' Finan said as he dismounted, 'but that's a fortune going up in flames!'\n\n'Worth losing a fleet to gain a kingdom,' I said.\n\n'Northumbria,' Finan said.\n\n'Northumbria, Eoferwic, Cumbraland, he'll take it all,' I said, 'he'll take the whole north country between here and Scotland! All of it, under a strong king.'\n\nThe smoke was churning now as the strong flames leaped from ship to ship. I had thought to try to rescue one of the vessels, but the roadway was firmly lashed to the ships, which, in turn, were lashed to each other. There was no time to cut the lashings and prise the nailed planks apart. The bridge would soon be ash, but as I stared at it I saw a single horseman come through the smoke. He was a bare-chested, long-haired, tall rider on a great black stallion. It was Ragnall who rode the burning road. He came within thirty paces of us, the smoke whipping around horse and man. He drew his sword, and the long blade reflected the flames that surrounded him. 'I will be back, Lord Uhtred!' he shouted. He paused, as if waiting for an answer. A ship's mast collapsed behind him, spewing sparks and a burst of darker smoke. Still he waited, but when I said nothing he turned the horse and vanished into the fire.\n\n'I hope you burn,' I growled.\n\n'But why did he leave men at Eads Byrig?' Finan asked.\n\nThe sorry rearguard at the river put up no fight. They were hugely outnumbered and the women screamed at their men to drop their weapons. Behind me the bridge broke and burning ships drifted downstream. I slid Serpent-Breath back into her scabbard, remounted, and forced Tintreg into the mass of frightened enemy. Most of my men were now on foot, collecting swords, spears, and shields, though young \u00c6thelstan was still on horseback and like me was pushing his way through the defeated crowd. 'What do we do with them, lord?' he called to me.\n\n'You're a prince,' I said, 'so you tell me.'\n\nHe shrugged and looked about him at the frightened women, crying children, and sullen men, and I thought as I watched him how he had grown from a mischievous child into a strong and handsome youth. He should be king, I thought. He was his father's eldest child, son of Wessex's king, a man who should be king himself. 'Kill the men,' he suggested, 'enslave the children, put the women to work?'\n\n'That's the usual,' I said, 'but this is your aunt's land. She decides.' I could see \u00c6thelstan was staring at a girl and I moved my horse to get a better view. She was a pretty little thing with a mass of unruly fair hair, very blue eyes, and a clear unblemished skin. She was clutching an older woman's skirts, presumably her mother. 'What's your name?' I asked the girl in Danish.\n\nHer mother began screaming and begging, then went to her knees and turned a tear-stained face to me. 'She's all I have, lord, all I have!'\n\n'Quiet, woman,' I snarled, 'you don't know how lucky your daughter is. What's her name?'\n\n'Frigga, lord.'\n\n'How old is she?'\n\nThe mother hesitated, perhaps tempted to lie, but I snarled and she blurted out her answer. 'She'll be fourteen at Baldur's Day, lord.'\n\nBaldur's Feast was the midsummer so the girl was more than old enough to wed. 'Bring her here,' I commanded.\n\n\u00c6thelstan frowned, thinking I was taking Frigga for myself, and I confess I was tempted, but I called to \u00c6thelstan's servant instead. 'Tie the girl to your horse's tail,' I ordered him, 'she's not to be touched! She's not to be hurt! You protect her, understand?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'And you,' I looked back to the mother, 'can you cook?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Sew?'\n\n'Of course, lord.'\n\n'Then stay with your daughter.' I turned to \u00c6thelstan. 'Your household just increased by two,' I told him, and, as I glanced back at Frigga, thought what a lucky bastard he was, except he was not a bastard, but the true-born son of a king.\n\nA cheer sounded from the horsemen watching from the south. I thrust Tintreg through the prisoners and saw that Father Fraomar, \u00c6thelflaed's confessor, had made some announcement. He was mounted on a grey mare, the horse's colour matching Father Fraomar's white hair. He was close to \u00c6thelflaed, who smiled as I drew near. 'Good news,' she called.\n\n'What news?'\n\n'God be praised,' Father Fraomar said happily, 'but the men at Eads Byrig have surrendered!'\n\nI felt disappointment. I had been looking forward to a fight. Ragnall seemed to have left a substantial part of his army behind the walls of Eads Byrig, presumably because he wanted to hold onto the newly constructed fort, and I had wanted that garrison's death to be a warning to the rest of his followers. 'They surrendered?'\n\n'God be praised, they did.'\n\n'So Merewalh is inside the fort?'\n\n'Not yet!'\n\n'What do you mean, not yet? They've surrendered!'\n\nFraomar smiled. 'They're Christians, Lord Uhtred! The garrison is Christian!'\n\nI frowned. 'I don't care if they worship weevils,' I said, 'but if they've surrendered then our forces should be inside the fort. Are they?'\n\n'They will be,' Father Fraomar said. 'It's all agreed.'\n\n'What's agreed?' I demanded.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed looked troubled. 'They've agreed to surrender,' she said, looking to her confessor for confirmation. Fraomar nodded. 'And we don't fight Christians,' \u00c6thelflaed finished.\n\n'I do,' I said savagely, then called for my servant. 'Godric! Sound the horn!' Godric glanced at \u00c6thelflaed as if seeking her approval, and I lashed out and struck his left arm. 'The horn! Sound it!'\n\nHe blew it hurriedly, and my men, who had been disarming the enemy, ran to mount their horses.\n\n'Lord Uhtred!' \u00c6thelflaed protested.\n\n'If they've surrendered,' I said, 'then the fort is ours. If the fort is not ours then they haven't surrendered.' I looked from her to Fraomar. 'So which is it?'\n\nNeither answered.\n\n'Finan! Bring the men!' I shouted, and, ignoring \u00c6thelflaed and Fraomar, spurred back southwards.\n\nBack to Eads Byrig."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "I should have guessed. It was Haesten. He had a tongue that could turn turds into gold and he was using it on Merewalh.\n\nI found the two men, each attended by a dozen companions, a hundred paces outside the fort on the western side where the slope was gentler. The two sides stood a few paces apart beneath their respective banners. Merewalh, of course, had \u00c6thelflaed's flag showing the goose of Saint Werburgh, while Haesten, instead of his usual skull on a pole, was flaunting a new standard, this one a grey flag on which was sewn a white cross. 'He's shameless!' I called to Finan as I spurred Tintreg up the slope.\n\nFinan laughed. 'He's a slippery bastard, lord.'\n\nThe slippery bastard had been talking animatedly as we came from the trees, but as soon as he saw me he fell silent and stepped back into the protective company of his men. He greeted me by name as I arrived, but I ignored him, turning Tintreg in the space between the two sides and then sliding from the saddle. 'Why haven't you occupied the fort?' I demanded of Merewalh as I threw the stallion's reins to Godric.\n\n'I...' he began, then looked past me. \u00c6thelflaed and her entourage were approaching fast and he plainly preferred to await their arrival before answering.\n\n'Has the bastard surrendered?' I asked.\n\n'The Jarl Haesten...' Merewalh began again, then shrugged as if he neither knew what to say nor understood what was happening.\n\n'It's an easy question!' I said threateningly. Merewalh was a good man and a stalwart fighter, but he looked desperately uncomfortable, his eyes flicking towards the half-dozen priests who stood around him. Father Ceolnoth and his toothless twin Ceolberht were there, as was Leofstan, all of them looking extremely discomfited by my sudden arrival. 'Has he surrendered?' I asked again, slowly and loudly.\n\nMerewalh was saved from the question by \u00c6thelflaed's arrival. She pushed her mare through the priests. 'If you have things to say, Lord Uhtred,' she spoke icily from her saddle, 'then say them to me.'\n\n'I just want to know whether this piece of shit has surrendered,' I said, pointing at Haesten.\n\nIt was Father Ceolnoth who answered. 'My lady,' the priest said, pointedly ignoring me, 'the Jarl Haesten has agreed to swear loyalty to you.'\n\n'He has done what?' I asked.\n\n'Quiet!' \u00c6thelflaed snapped. She was still in her saddle, dominating us. Her men, at least a hundred and fifty, had followed her from the river bank and now stood their horses lower down the slope. 'Tell me what you have agreed,' she demanded of Father Ceolnoth.\n\nCeolnoth gave me a nervous glance, then looked back to \u00c6thelflaed. 'The Jarl Haesten is a Christian, my lady, and he seeks your protection.'\n\nAt least three of us all began to speak at once, but \u00c6thelflaed clapped her hands for silence. 'Is this true?' she demanded of Haesten.\n\nHaesten bowed to her, then fingered the silver cross he wore over his mail. 'Thank God, lady, it is true.' He spoke quietly, humbly, with convincing sincerity.\n\n'Lying bastard,' I growled.\n\nHe ignored me. 'I have found redemption, lady, and I come to you as a supplicant.'\n\n'He is redeemed, my lady,' a tall man standing next to Haesten spoke firmly. 'We are prepared, my lady, nay, we are eager to swear our loyalty,' the tall man said, 'and as fellow Christians we beseech you for protection.' He used the English tongue and spoke respectfully, bowing slightly to \u00c6thelflaed as he finished. She looked surprised, and no wonder because the tall man appeared to be a Christian priest, or at least he was wearing a long black robe belted with rope and had a wooden cross hanging at his breast.\n\n'Who are you?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'Father Haruld, my lady.'\n\n'Danish?'\n\n'I was born here in Britain,' he said, 'but my parents came across the sea.'\n\n'And you're a Christian?'\n\n'By the grace of God, yes.' Haruld was stern, dark-faced, with flecks of grey at his temples. He was not the first Dane I had met who had converted, nor was he the first to become a Christian priest. 'I have been a Christian since I was a child,' he told \u00c6thelflaed. He sounded grave and confident, but I noticed his fingers were compulsively clasping and unclasping. He was nervous.\n\n'And you're telling me that piece of rancid lizard shit is a Christian too?' I jerked my head at Haesten.\n\n'Lord Uhtred!' \u00c6thelflaed said warningly.\n\n'I baptised him myself,' Haruld answered me with dignity, 'thank God.'\n\n'Amen,' Ceolnoth put in loudly.\n\nI stared into Haesten's eyes. I had known him all his adult life, indeed he owed me that life because I had saved it. He had sworn loyalty to me back then and I had believed him because he had a trustworthy face and an earnest manner, but he had broken every oath he ever swore. He was a weasel of a man, cunning and deadly. His ambitions far outreached his achievements, and for that he blamed me because fate had decreed that I would thwart him time after time. The last time had been at Beamfleot where I had destroyed his army and burned his fleet, but Haesten's fate was to escape from every disaster. And here he was again, apparently trapped at Eads Byrig, but smiling at me as though we were the oldest of friends. 'He's no more a Christian than I am,' I snarled.\n\n'My lady,' Haesten looked at \u00c6thelflaed and then, astonishingly, dropped to his knees, 'I swear by our Saviour's sacrifice that I am a true Christian.' He spoke humbly, shaking with intense feeling. There were even tears in his eyes. He suddenly spread his arms wide and turned his face to the sky. 'May God strike me dead this very moment if I lie!'\n\nI drew Serpent-Breath, her blade scraping loud and fast on her scabbard's throat.\n\n'Lord Uhtred!' \u00c6thelflaed called in alarm. 'No!'\n\n'I was about to do your god's work,' I said, 'and strike him dead. You'd stop me?'\n\n'God can do his own work,' \u00c6thelflaed said tartly, then looked back to the Danish priest. 'Father Haruld, are you convinced of Jarl Haesten's conversion?'\n\n'I am, my lady. He shed tears of contrition and tears of joy at his baptism.'\n\n'Praise God,' Father Ceolnoth whispered.\n\n'Enough!' I said. I still held Serpent-Breath. 'Why aren't our men inside the fort?'\n\n'They will be!' Ceolnoth said waspishly. 'It is agreed!'\n\n'Agreed?' \u00c6thelflaed's voice was very guarded, and it was clear she suspected the priests had overstepped their authority in making any agreement without her approval. 'What has been agreed?' she asked.\n\n'The Jarl Haesten,' Ceolnoth spoke very carefully, 'begged that he might swear his loyalty to you, my lady, at the Easter mass. He desires this so that the joy of our Lord's resurrection will consecrate this act of reconciliation.'\n\n'I don't give a rat's turd if he waits till Eostre's feast,' I said, 'so long as we occupy the fort now!'\n\n'It will be handed over on Easter Sunday,' Ceolnoth said. 'That was agreed!'\n\n'Easter day?' \u00c6thelflaed asked, and any man who knew her well could have detected the unhappiness in her voice. She was no fool, but nor was she ready to discard the hope that Haesten truly was a Christian.\n\n'It will be a cause for rejoicing,' Ceolnoth urged her.\n\n'And who are you to make that agreement?' I demanded.\n\n'It is a matter for Christians to decide,' Ceolnoth insisted, looking at \u00c6thelflaed in hope of her support.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed, in turn, looked at me, then to Haesten. 'Why,' she asked, 'should we not occupy the fort now?'\n\n'I agreed\u2014' Ceolnoth began weakly.\n\n'My lady,' Haesten intervened, shuffling forward on his knees, 'it is my sincerest wish that all my men be baptised at Easter. But some, a few, are reluctant. I need time, Father Haruld needs time! We need time to convince those reluctant few of the saving grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.'\n\n'Twisted bastard,' I said.\n\nNo one spoke for a moment. 'I swear this is true,' Haesten said humbly.\n\n'Whenever he says that,' I looked at \u00c6thelflaed, 'you can tell that he's lying.'\n\n'And if Father Ceolnoth were to visit us,' Haesten went on, 'or better still, Father Leofstan, and if they were to preach to us, that would be a help and a blessing, my lady.'\n\n'I would be happy to...' Ceolnoth began, but stopped when \u00c6thelflaed raised a hand. She said nothing for a while, but just gazed down at Haesten. 'You propose a mass baptism?' she asked.\n\n'All my men, my lady!' Haesten said eagerly, 'all of them coming to Christ's mercy and to your service.'\n\n'How many men, you turd?' I asked Haesten.\n\n'There's just a few, Lord Uhtred, who persist in their paganism. Twenty men, perhaps, or thirty? But with God's help we shall convert them!'\n\n'How many men in the fort, you miserable bastard?'\n\nHe hesitated, then realised that hesitation was a mistake, and smiled. 'Five hundred and eighty, Lord Uhtred.'\n\n'That many!' Father Ceolnoth exulted. 'It will be a light to lighten the gentiles!' he pleaded with \u00c6thelflaed. 'Imagine it, my lady, a mass conversion of pagans! We can baptise them in the river!'\n\n'You can drown the bastards,' I muttered.\n\n'And my lady,' Haesten, still on his knees, clasped his hands as he gazed up at \u00c6thelflaed. His face was so trustworthy and his voice so earnest. He was the best liar I had ever met in all my life. 'I would invite you into the fort now! I would pray with you there, my lady, I would sing God's praises alongside you! But those few of my men are still bitter. They might resist. A little time is all I beg, a little time for God's grace to work on those bitter souls.'\n\n'You treacherous piece of arse slime,' I snarled at him.\n\n'And if it will convince you,' Haesten said humbly, ignoring me, 'I will swear loyalty to you now, my lady, this very minute!'\n\n'God be praised,' Father Ceolberht lisped.\n\n'There's one small problem,' I said, and everyone looked at me. 'He can't swear an oath to you, my lady.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed gave me a sharp look. 'Why not?'\n\n'Because he swore loyalty to another lord, my lady, and that lord has not yet released him from his oath.'\n\n'I was released from my oath to Jarl Ragnall when I gave my allegiance to Almighty God,' Haesten said.\n\n'But not from the oath you swore to me,' I said.\n\n'But you are also a pagan, Lord Uhtred,' Haesten said slyly, 'and Jesus Christ absolves me of all allegiance to pagans.'\n\n'This is true!' Father Ceolnoth said excitedly. 'He has cast off the devil, my lady! He has spurned the devil and all his works! A newly converted Christian is absolved of all oaths made to pagans, the church insists on it.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed still pondered. Finally she looked at Leofstan. 'You haven't spoken, father.'\n\nLeofstan half smiled. 'I promised the Lord Uhtred I would not interfere with his work if he did not interfere with mine.' He offered Father Ceolnoth an apologetic smile. 'I rejoice in the conversion of pagans, my lady, but the fate of a fortress? Alas, that is beyond my competence. Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, my lady, and the fate of Eads Byrig is Caesar's affair or, more strictly, yours.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed nodded abruptly and gestured at Haesten. 'But do you believe this man?'\n\n'Believe him?' Leofstan frowned. 'May I question him?'\n\n'Do,' \u00c6thelflaed commanded.\n\nLeofstan limped to Haesten and knelt in front of him. 'Give me your hands,' Leofstan said quietly and waited as Haesten dutifully obeyed. 'Now tell me,' the bishop-elect still spoke softly, 'what you believe.'\n\nHaesten blinked back his tears. 'I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth,' he spoke scarcely above a whisper, 'and in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of the Father; God of God, Light of Light!' His voice had risen as he said the last few words, and then he seemed to choke. 'I believe, father!' he pleaded, and the tears ran down his face again. He shook his head. 'The Lord Uhtred is right, he is right! I have been a sinner. I have broken oaths. I have offended heaven! Yet Father Haruld prayed with me, he prayed for me, and my wife prayed, and, praise God, I believe!'\n\n'Praise God indeed,' Leofstan said.\n\n'Does Ragnall know you're a Christian?' I asked harshly.\n\n'It was necessary to deceive him,' Haesten said humbly.\n\n'Why?'\n\nHaesten still had his hands in Leofstan's grip. 'I was driven to take refuge on Mann,' he was answering my question, but looking up at \u00c6thelflaed as he spoke, 'and it was on that island that Father Haruld converted me. Yet we were surrounded by pagans who would kill us if they knew. I prayed!' He looked back to Leofstan. 'I prayed for guidance! Should I stay and convert the heathen? Yet God's answer was to bring my followers here and offer our swords to the service of Christ.'\n\n'To the service of Ragnall,' I said harshly.\n\n'The Jarl Ragnall did demand my service,' Haesten was speaking to \u00c6thelflaed again, 'but I saw God's will in that demand! God had offered us a way off the island! I had no ships, I only had faith in Christ Jesus and in Saint Werburgh.'\n\n'Saint Werburgh!' \u00c6thelflaed exclaimed.\n\n'My dear wife prays to her, my lady,' Haesten said, sounding so innocent. Somehow the slimy bastard had learned of \u00c6thelflaed's veneration of the goose-frightener.\n\n'You lying bastard,' I said.\n\n'His repentance is sincere,' Ceolnoth insisted.\n\n'Father Leofstan?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'I want to believe him, my lady!' Leofstan said earnestly. 'I want to believe that this is a miracle to accompany my enthronement! That on Easter day we will have the joy of bringing a pagan horde into the service of Jesus Christ!'\n\n'This is Christ's doing!' Father Ceolberht said through his toothless gums.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed still pondered, staring down at the two kneeling men. One part of her surely knew I was right, but she was also swayed by the piety she had inherited from her father. And by Leofstan's eagerness to believe. Leofstan was her choice. She had persuaded the Archbishop of Contwaraburg to appoint him, she had written letters to bishops and abbots praising Leofstan's sincerity and glowing faith, and she had sent money to shrines and churches, all to sway opinion in Leofstan's favour. The church might have preferred a more worldly man who could expand the see's land-holdings and extort more cash from northern Mercia's nobles, but \u00c6thelflaed had wanted a saint. And that saint was now depicting Haesten's conversion as a sign of heavenly approval of her choice. 'Think, my lady,' Leofstan at last let go of Haesten's hands, and, still on his knees, turned to \u00c6thelflaed, 'think what rejoicing there will be when a pagan leads his men to Christ's throne!' And that idea seduced her too. Her father had always forgiven Danes who converted, even allowing some to settle in Wessex, and Alfred had often claimed that the fight was not to establish Englaland but to convert the heathen to Christ, and \u00c6thelflaed saw this mass conversion of heathen Danes as a sign of God's power.\n\nShe urged Gast forward a pace. 'You will swear loyalty to me now?'\n\n'With joy, my lady,' Haesten said, 'with joy!'\n\nI spat towards the treacherous bastard, walked away, slammed Serpent-Breath back into her scabbard and hauled myself into Tintreg's saddle. 'Lord Uhtred!' Lady \u00c6thelflaed called sharply. 'Where are you going?'\n\n'Back to the river,' I said curtly. 'Finan! Sihtric! All of you! With me!'\n\nWe rode away from whatever farce was about to happen outside Eads Byrig.\n\nOne hundred and twenty-three of us rode. We rode our horses through the ranks of \u00c6thelflaed's followers, then turned north and rode towards the river.\n\nBut once among the trees and well hidden from the fools who surrounded \u00c6thelflaed I turned my men eastwards.\n\nBecause I was determined to do the Christian god's work.\n\nAnd strike Haesten dead.\n\nWe rode fast, our horses twisting through trees. Finan spurred alongside me. 'What are we doing?'\n\n'Taking Eads Byrig,' I said, 'of course.'\n\n'Sweet Jesus.'\n\nI said nothing as Tintreg dropped into a gully of thick ferns, then pounded up the short slope beyond. How many men did Haesten lead? He had claimed five hundred and eighty, but I did not believe him. He had lost his army along with his reputation at Beamfleot. He had not been present at that battle, but if he had as many as one hundred followers I would be surprised, though doubtless Ragnall would have left some men inside the fortress too. 'How big is the fortress?' I asked Finan.\n\n'Eads Byrig? It's big.'\n\n'If you walked around the walls, how many paces?'\n\nHe thought about his answer. I had turned slightly northwards, setting Tintreg to a long slope that climbed through the oaks and sycamores. 'Nine hundred?' Finan guessed. 'Maybe a thousand?'\n\n'That's what I reckon.'\n\n'It's a big place, sure enough.'\n\nKing Alfred had tried to reduce life to rules. Most of those rules, of course, came from his Christian scriptures, but there had been others. The towns he built were measured, and each plot of land carefully surveyed. The walls of the town were also measured to discover their height, depth, and extent, and it had been that last figure, the length of the wall, which determined how many men were needed to defend the town. That number had been worked out by clever priests rattling wooden balls along wire strings, and their conclusion was that each burh needed four defenders for every five paces of wall. Wessex had become a garrison under Alfred, its borders studded with the newly built burhs and the walls manned by the fyrd. Every large town had been walled so that the Danes, piercing deep into Wessex, would be frustrated by ramparts, and those ramparts would be defended by an exact number of men corresponding to the wall's total length. It had worked, and Mercia was now the same. As \u00c6thelflaed reconquered Mercia's ancestral lands she secured them with burhs like Ceaster and Brunanburh, and ensured that the garrison could supply four men for every five paces of rampart. At the first sign of trouble, folk could retreat into the nearest burh, taking their livestock with them. A whole army was needed to capture a burh, and the Danes had never succeeded. Their way of war was to raid deep, to capture slaves and cattle, and an army that stayed still, that remained camped outside the walls of a burh, was soon struck by disease. Besides, no enemy army had ever proved big enough to surround a burh and starve it into submission. The strategy of the burhs had worked.\n\nBut it worked because there were men to defend them. Every man over the age of twelve was expected to fight. They might not be trained warriors like the men I now led through the rising woodland, but they could hold a spear or throw a rock or swing an axe. That was the fyrd, the army of farmers and butchers and craftsmen. The fyrd might not be armoured with mail or carry linden-wood shields, but its men could line the walls of a burh and hack enemies to death if they tried to climb the ramparts. A woodsman's axe in the hands of a strong farmer is a fearsome weapon, as is a sharpened hoe if swung fiercely enough. Four men to every five paces, and Eads Byrig was a thousand paces, and that meant Haesten would need at least seven hundred men to defend the whole length of its ramparts. 'I'd be surprised,' I told Finan, 'if he had two hundred men.'\n\n'Then why is he staying there?'\n\nAnd that was a good question. Why had Ragnall left a garrison in Eads Byrig? I did not believe for a moment that Haesten had decided to stay south of the M\u00e6rse in order to seek \u00c6thelflaed's protection, he was only there because Ragnall wanted him there. We had slowed now, the horses walking uphill, their hooves loud in the leaf mould. So why had Ragnall left Haesten behind? Haesten was not the best fighter in Ragnall's army, he might well have been the worst, but he was certainly the best liar, and suddenly I understood. I had thought Eads Byrig was a deception aimed at the weak king in Eoferwic, but it was not. It was aimed at us. At me. 'He's staying,' I told Finan, 'because Ragnall's coming back.'\n\n'He has to take Eoferwic first,' Finan said drily.\n\nI curbed Tintreg and held up my hand to stop my men. 'Stay mounted,' I told them, then slid out of the saddle and threw the reins to Godric. 'Keep Tintreg here,' I told him.\n\nFinan and I walked slowly uphill. 'Ingver's support will crumble,' I told Finan. 'He's a weakling. Ragnall will find himself King of Eoferwic without a struggle. Jarls will already be flocking to him, bringing men, swearing allegiance. He doesn't even need to go to Eoferwic! He can send three hundred men to take the city from Ingver, turn around and come back here. He just wants us to think that he's going there.'\n\nThe trees were thinning and I caught a glimpse of the raw new timbers of Eads Byrig's eastern wall. We stooped and crept forward, wary of any sentry on the high timber ramparts.\n\n'And Ragnall has to reward his followers,' I went on, 'what better than land in northern Mercia?'\n\n'But Eads Byrig?' Finan sounded dubious.\n\n'It's a foothold in Mercia,' I said, 'and a base to attack Ceaster. He needs a big victory, something to send the signal that he's a winner. He wants even more men to come across the sea, and to bring them he has to strike a heavy blow. Capturing Eoferwic doesn't count. It's had half a dozen kings in as many years, but if he takes Ceaster?'\n\n'If,' Finan said, still dubious.\n\n'If he captures Ceaster,' I went on, 'he destroys \u00c6thelflaed's reputation. He gains territory. He controls the M\u00e6rse and the Dee, he has burhs to frustrate us. He'll lose men in the assault, but he has men to lose. But to do that he needs Eads Byrig. That's his base. Once inside Eads Byrig we'll never get him out. But if we hold Eads Byrig then he'll find it damned hard to besiege Ceaster.'\n\nBy now we were at the edge of the trees where we crouched in the undergrowth and stared at the newly-made walls above us. They were taller than a man and protected by the outer ditch. 'How many men do you see there?' I asked.\n\n'Not one.'\n\nIt was true. There was not a single man or spear-point visible above Eads Byrig's eastern wall. 'There's no fighting platform,' I said.\n\nFinan frowned. He was thinking. There, just a hundred paces from us, was a wall, but no visible defenders. There had to be sentries there, but if there was no fighting platform then those men were looking through the chinks between the newly-felled logs, and those logs were uneven, their tops not yet aligned. The wall had been built in a hurry. 'It's a bluff,' he said.\n\n'It's all a bluff! Haesten's conversion is a bluff. He's just buying time until Ragnall can get back here. Four days? Five?'\n\n'That quickly?'\n\n'He's probably already on his way back,' I said. It seemed obvious now. He had burned his bridge of boats to make us think he had abandoned Mercia, but to return, all he needed to do was march a few miles eastwards and follow the Roman road south to where it bridged the M\u00e6rse. He was coming, I was sure of it.\n\n'But how many bastards are inside those walls?' Finan asked.\n\n'Only one way to find out.'\n\nHe chuckled. 'And you are always telling young \u00c6thelstan to be cautious before starting a fight?'\n\n'There's a time for caution,' I said, 'and a time to just kill the bastards.'\n\nHe nodded. 'But how do we cross that wall? We don't have ladders.'\n\nSo I told him.\n\nTwelve of my youngest men led the assault. My son was among them.\n\nThe trick was to reach the wall fast and to cross it fast. We had no ladders, and the wall was some nine or ten feet high, but we did have horses.\n\nThat was how we had captured Ceaster. My son had stood on his horse's saddle and climbed over the gate, and that is what I told the twelve young men to do. Ride fast to the wall and use the height of the horse to reach the wall's top. The rest of us would follow hard behind. I would have liked to have led the twelve, but I was not as agile as I had been. This was a job for young men.\n\n'And if there are two hundred bastards waiting for them on the other side?' Finan asked.\n\n'Then they don't cross the wall,' I said.\n\n'And if Lady \u00c6thelflaed has just agreed a truce?'\n\nI ignored that question. I suspected that the happy Christians were agreeing to let Haesten stay on the hilltop till Easter, but I was not part of that agreement because Haesten was my man. He had sworn loyalty to me. That oath might have been made a long time ago, and Haesten had broken it repeatedly, but an oath was still an oath and he owed me obedience. Christians might declare that an oath sworn to a pagan had no force, but I was under no compulsion to believe that. Haesten was my man, like it or not, and he had no right to make a truce with \u00c6thelflaed unless I agreed, and I wanted the bastard dead. 'Go,' I told my son, 'go!'\n\nThe twelve men spurred their horses, crashing through undergrowth and out onto the cleared land. I let them get twenty or thirty paces ahead, then kicked Tintreg. 'All of you,' I called, 'with me!'\n\nMy son was ahead of the rest, his horse pounding up the slope. I saw his stallion drop into the ditch and struggle up the far side where Uhtred reached with both hands for the wall's top. He scrabbled with his feet, swung a leg over and now the rest of the dozen were pulling themselves up onto the logs. One man fell back, rolling into the ditch. The abandoned horses just stood there, in our way.\n\nAnd then the wall fell.\n\nI had just reached the ditch. It was shallow because Haesten's men had not had time to deepen it again. There were no stakes, no obstacles, just a steep short bank climbing to the earth wall's crest where the logs had been sunk, but they had not been buried deep enough, and the weight of the men on their tops was throwing them down. Tintreg shied away from the noise, and I wrenched him back. Horsemen went past me, not bothering to dismount, just spurring the stallions up the bank and onto the fallen logs. 'Dismount!' Finan shouted. A horse slipped and fell on the logs. The beast was thrashing and screaming, driving other men to the edges of the gap that was not wide enough for the mass of frightened horses and hurrying men. 'Dismount!' Finan bellowed again. 'Come on foot! Shields! Shields! I want shields!'\n\nThat was the order to make a shield wall. Men were flinging themselves out of their saddles and flooding over the fallen wall. I led Tintreg by his reins. 'Keep your horse with you!' I called to Berg. In front of me were the fallen logs that had tilted down into the inner ditch, beyond which was the second earth wall. Neither was a formidable obstacle. My men were clambering over the fallen wall, drawing their swords, while ahead of us were three large huts, newly built with rough timber walls and bright thatch, and beyond the huts were men, but those men were a long way off at the fort's further end. As far as I could see there had been no sentries at this end of the fort.\n\n'Shield wall!' I shouted.\n\n'On me!' Finan was standing just beyond the three huts, arms spread to show where he wanted the shield wall to form.\n\n'Berg! Help me!' I called, and Berg cupped his hands and heaved me back into Tintreg's saddle. I drew Serpent-Breath. 'Mount up and follow me,' I snarled at Berg.\n\nI spurred around the end of our hastily forming wall. Now I could see the rest of the fort. Two hundred men? I doubted there were more than two hundred. Those men had been gathered at the fort's far end, doubtless waiting to hear what agreement had been reached with \u00c6thelflaed, and now we were behind them. But closer to us, and even more numerous, was a crowd of women and children. They were running. A handful of men were with them, all of them fleeing our sudden invasion of the fort's eastern end. 'We have to stop those fugitives,' I told Berg. 'Come on!' I spurred Tintreg forward.\n\nI was Uhtred, Lord of Bebbanburg, in my war-glory. The arm rings of fallen enemies glinted on my forearms, my shield was newly painted with the snarling wolf's head of my house, while another wolf, this one of silver, crouched on the crest of my polished helmet. My mail was tight, polished with sand, my sword belt and scabbard and bridle and saddle were studded with silver, there was a gold chain at my neck, my boots were panelled with silver, my drawn sword was grey with the whorls of its making running from the hilt to its hungry tip. I was the lord of war mounted on a great black horse, and together we would make panic.\n\nI charged through the fleeing people, cutting Tintreg in front of a woman running with a child in her arms. A man heard the hooves and turned to swing an axe. Too late. Serpent-Breath drank her first blood of the day and the woman screamed. Berg was threading the crowd, sword low, and my son had remounted his horse and was leading three other riders into the chaos. 'Cut them off!' I yelled at him, and steered Tintreg towards the leading fugitives. I wanted to keep them between my shield wall and the larger number of enemy who were hurrying into their own shield wall at the fortress's further end. 'Drive them back!' I called to my son. 'Back towards Finan!' Then I galloped Tintreg in front of the crowd, my sword low and threatening. I was causing panic, but panic with a purpose. We were herding the women and children back towards our own shield wall. Dogs howled and children screamed, but back they went, desperate to escape the thumping hooves and the light-glinting swords as our horses crossed and re-crossed in front of them. 'Now come forward!' I shouted at Finan. 'But come slowly!'\n\nI stayed close to the crowd which, terrified of our big horses, shrank towards Finan's advancing shield wall. I told Berg to watch my back while I looked at the rest of the fort. More huts stretched down the southern flank, but most of the interior was worn grass on which massive log piles were stacked. Haesten had started constructing a hall at the further end, where his men now formed their shield wall. It was a wall of three ranks and it was wider than our wall. Wider and deeper, and above it was Haesten's old banner, the bleached skull on its long pole. The shield wall looked formidable, but Haesten's men were almost as panicked as their wives and children. Some were shouting and pointing at us, plainly wanting to advance and fight, but others were looking back to the far ramparts which, as far as I could see, was the only stretch of wall that had been given fighting platforms. The men on those platforms were watching \u00c6thelflaed's troops. One man was shouting at the shield wall, but was too far away for me to hear what he said.\n\n'Finan!' I bellowed.\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'Burn those huts!' I wanted \u00c6thelflaed's troops to menace that far rampart and so keep the enemy looking both ways, and the sight of smoke should at least tell them that Haesten's fortress was in trouble. 'And come faster!' I pointed Serpent-Breath towards the enemy line. 'Let's kill them!'\n\nFinan gave the command and his shield wall doubled its pace. They began beating their swords against their shields as they advanced, driving the fugitives in front of them. 'Let them go,' I called to my son, 'but keep them in the centre of the fort!' He understood immediately and wheeled his horse away, taking his men to the northern side of the fortress. 'Berg?' I summoned him. 'We'll manage this southern flank.'\n\n'What are we doing, lord?'\n\n'Letting the women and children go to their men,' I said, 'but make them go straight ahead.'\n\nIt is a hard and bloody task to break a shield wall. Two lines of men must clash together and try to break the other with axes, spears, and swords, but for every enemy who is struck down there is another ready to take his place. Whoever commanded Haesten's men in the fort had three ranks of warriors waiting for us, while Finan only had two ranks. Our shield wall was too thin, it was outnumbered, but if we could break their line then we would turn the hilltop's turf dark with their blood. And that was why I shepherded the women and children straight towards the enemy's shield wall. Those fugitives would be frantic to escape the grim noise of our swords beating a rhythm on the painted shields, and they would claw their way through Haesten's wall, their panic would infect his men, their desperate attempts to escape our blades would open gaps in Haesten's wall, and we would use the gaps to split the wall into small groups that could be slaughtered.\n\nAnd so our few horsemen galloped out of the space between the two shield walls and the women and children, seeing escape, ran for the refuge of their own menfolk's shields. Berg and I made sure they could not run around the end of the enemy's wall, but were forced to go straight towards Haesten's shields, and Finan, seeing what was happening, quickened his pace still further. My men were chanting, beating blades on willow, cheering.\n\nAnd I knew we had an easy victory.\n\nI could smell the enemy's fear and see their panic. They had been left here by Ragnall and told to keep Eads Byrig safe till his return, and Haesten was relying on trickery and lies to keep the fort secure. The new wall had looked formidable, but it was a sham, the logs had not been sunk deep enough and so it had toppled. Now we were inside the fort, and \u00c6thelflaed had scores more men outside, and Haesten's troops saw annihilation coming. Their families were clawing at them, desperate to open the locked shields and get behind the wall, and Finan saw the gaps appear and ordered the charge.\n\n'Kill the men!' I shouted.\n\nWe are cruel. Now that I am old and the brightest sunlight is dim and the roar of the waves crashing on rocks is muted, I think of all the men I have sent to Valhalla. Bench after bench is filled by them, brave men, spear-Danes, staunch fighters, fathers and husbands, whose blood I loosed and bones I shattered. When I remember that fight on Eads Byrig's hilltop I know I could have demanded their surrender and the skull banner would have fallen and the swords would have been tossed to the turf, but we were fighting Ragnall the Cruel. That was the name he craved for himself, and a message had to be given to Ragnall the Cruel, or rather to his men, that we were to be feared even more than Ragnall. I knew we would have to fight him, that eventually our shield wall would have to meet his shield wall, and I wanted his men to have fear in their hearts when they faced us.\n\nAnd so we killed. The enemy's panic broke his own shield wall. Men, women, and children fled for the gate behind them, and they were too many to get through the narrow entrance and so they crowded behind it, and my men killed them there. We are cruel, we are savage, we are warriors.\n\nI let Tentrig pick his own path. Some few men tried to escape by climbing over the wall and I slashed them off the logs with Serpent-Breath. I wounded rather than killed. I wanted dead men, but I also wanted crippled men to stagger north and take a message to Ragnall. The screams clawed at my ears. Some of the enemy tried to shelter in the half-built hall, but Finan's shield-warriors were in a slaughtering mood. Spears took men in the back. Children watched their fathers die, women shrieked for their husbands, and still my wolf-soldiers went on killing, hacking down with swords and axes, lunging with spears. Our shield wall was no more, there was no need for it because the enemy was not fighting back, but trying to escape. Some few men tried to fight. I saw two turn on Finan, and the Irishman shouted at his companions to stand back, and I watched him throw down his shield and taunt the two. He parried their clumsy attacks and used his speed to first pierce one in the waist and plunge the blade deep, and then duck the other man's savage blow, rip the sword free, and thrust it two-handed into the second assailant's throat. He made it look easy.\n\nA spearman charged me, face contorted, shouting that I was a turd, and he aimed his spear at Tintreg's belly, knowing that if he could bring the stallion down then I would be easy meat for his blade. He could see from my helmet, from the gold and silver that adorned my belt, bridle, boots, and scabbard, that I was a warrior of renown, but to kill me at his own dying would give his name glory. A poet might even sing of him, might sing the lay of Uhtred's death, and I let him come, then touched my heels to Tintreg and he leaped ahead and the spearman was forced to swing the blade, which, instead of opening the stallion's belly, scored a bloody cut along his flank, and I cut back with Serpent-Breath, breaking the spear's ash shaft and the man leaped after me, seizing my right leg and tried to haul me down from the saddle. I stabbed Serpent-Breath down, the blade scraping his helmet's rim to rake his face, slashing off nose and chin, and his blood soaked my right boot as he twisted back in sudden pain, releasing me, and I gave him another blow, this time splitting his helmet. He made a gurgling sound, half crying, clutching his hands to his ruined face as I kicked Tintreg on.\n\nMen were surrendering. They were throwing down their shields, dropping their weapons, and kneeling on the grass. Their women shielded them, shrieking at my killers to stop their madness, and I decided the women were right. We had killed enough.\n\n'Finan,' I called, 'take prisoners!'\n\nAnd the horn sounded from beyond the gate.\n\nThe fight, which had begun so suddenly, ended abruptly, almost as if the horn were a signal to both sides. It sounded again, urgently, and I saw the crowd at the gate push back into the fort to make way.\n\nBishop Leofstan appeared, mounted on his gelding with his legs almost dangling to the ground. A rather more impressive band of warriors followed the priest, led by Merewalh, and all of them surrounding \u00c6thelflaed. Haesten and his men came next, while behind them were still more of \u00c6thelflaed's Mercians. 'You have broken the truce!' Father Ceolnoth accused me, more in sorrow than in anger. 'Lord Uhtred, you broke the solemn promise we made!' He looked at the bodies sprawled on the turf, bodiesthat were gutted, their intestines mangled with shattered mail, bodies with brains leaking from split helmets, bodies red with blood that was already attracting flies. 'We made a promise before God,' he said sadly.\n\nFather Haruld, his face taut with anger, knelt and took the hand of a dying man. 'You have no honour,' he spat at me.\n\nI kicked Tintreg forward and dropped Serpent-Breath's bloody point so it touched the Danish priest's neck. 'You know what they call me?' I asked him. 'They call me the priest-killer. Speak to me of honour again and I'll make you eat your own turds.'\n\n'You...' he began, but I slapped his head hard with the flat of Serpent-Breath's blade, knocking him to the turf.\n\n'You lied, priest,' I said, 'you lied, so don't talk to me of honour.'\n\nHe went silent.\n\n'Finan,' I snarled, 'disarm them all!'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed pushed her horse to the front of the defeated Northmen. 'Why?' she asked me bitterly. 'Why?'\n\n'They are enemies.'\n\n'The fort would have surrendered on Easter day.'\n\n'My lady,' I said tiredly, 'Haesten has never told a truth in his life.'\n\n'He swore an oath to me!'\n\n'And I never released him from his oath to me,' I snapped back at her, suddenly angry. 'Haesten is my man, sworn to me! No amount of priests or praying can change that!'\n\n'And you,' she said, 'are sworn to me. So your men are my men, and I made a pact with Haesten.'\n\nI turned my horse. Bishop Leofstan had come close, but recoiled from me. Both Tintreg and I were smeared with blood, we stank of it, my sword blade glittered with it. I stood in the stirrups and shouted at Haesten's men, those who survived. 'All of you who are Christians, step forward!' I waited. 'Hurry!' I shouted. 'I want all the Christians over here!' I pointed my sword towards an empty patch of turf between two of the log stacks.\n\nHaesten opened his mouth to speak and I swept Serpent-Breath around to point at him. 'One word from you,' I said, 'and I'll cut your tongue out!' He closed his mouth. 'Christians,' I bellowed, 'over here, now!'\n\nFour men moved. Four men and perhaps thirty women. That was all. 'Now look at the rest,' I said to \u00c6thelflaed, pointing at the men who had not moved. 'See what's hanging at their necks, my lady? Do you see crosses or hammers?'\n\n'Hammers,' she said the word quietly.\n\n'He lied,' I said. 'He told you that all but a few of his men were Christians, that they were waiting for Eostre's feast to convert the others, but look at them! They're pagans like me, and Haesten lies. He always lies.' I pushed Tintreg through her men, speaking as I went. 'He was told to hold onto Eads Byrig until Ragnall returns, and that will be soon. And so he lied because he can't speak the truth. His tongue is bent. He breaks oaths, my lady, and he swears black is white and white is black, and men believe him because he has honey on his bent tongue. But I know him, my lady, because he's my man, he's sworn to me.' And with that I leaned down from the saddle and took hold of Haesten's mail coat, shirt, and cloak, and hauled him up. He was much heavier than I expected, but I heaved him over the saddle and then turned Tintreg back. 'I've known him all my life, my lady,' I said, 'and in all that time he has never spoken one true word. He twists like a serpent, he lies like a weasel, and he has the courage of a mouse.'\n\nBruna, Haesten's wife, began screaming at me from the back of the crowd, then pushed her way through with her big meaty fists. She was calling me a murderer, a heathen, a creature of the devil, and she was a Christian, I knew. Haesten had even encouraged her conversion because it had persuaded King Alfred to treat him leniently. He twisted on my saddle and I thumped his arse with Serpent-Breath's heavy hilt. 'Uhtred,' I shouted at my son, 'if that fat bitch lays a finger on me or my horse, break her damned neck!'\n\n'Lord Uhtred,' Leofstan half moved to stop me, then looked at the blood on Serpent-Breath and on Tintreg's flank and stepped back.\n\n'What, father?' I asked.\n\n'He knew the creed,' he spoke hesitantly.\n\n'I know the creed, father, does that make me a Christian?'\n\nLeofstan looked heartbroken. 'He's not?'\n\n'He's not,' I said, 'and I'll prove it to you. Watch.' I threw Haesten off the horse, then dismounted. I threw the reins to Godric, then nodded at Haesten. 'You have your sword, draw it.'\n\n'No, lord,' he said.\n\n'You won't fight?'\n\nThe bastard turned to \u00c6thelflaed. 'Doesn't our Lord command us to love our enemies? To turn the other cheek? If I am to die, my lady, I die a Christian. I die as Christ died, willingly. I die as a witness to...'\n\nWhatever he was a witness to he never managed to say because I hit him over the back of his helmet with the flat of Serpent-Breath. The blow knocked him flat on the ground. 'Get up,' I said.\n\n'My lady,' he said, looking up at \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'Get up!' I shouted.\n\n'Stand,' \u00c6thelflaed commanded him. She was watching very closely.\n\nHaesten stood. 'Now fight, you slime turd,' I told him.\n\n'I will not fight,' he said. 'I forgive you.' He made the sign of the cross, then had the gall to drop to his knees and clasp the silver cross in both his hands, which he held up in front of his face as though he was praying. 'Saint Werburgh,' he called, 'pray for me now and at the hour of my death!'\n\nI swung Serpent-Breath so hard that \u00c6thelflaed gasped. The blade whistled in the air, aiming for Haesten's neck. It was a wild swing, lavish and fast, and I checked it at the very last instant so that the bloodied blade stopped just short of Haesten's skin. And he did what I knew he would do. His right hand, that had been clutching the cross, dropped to the hilt of his sword. He gripped it, though he made no attempt to draw it.\n\nI touched Serpent-Breath's blade to his neck. 'Are you frightened,' I asked him, 'that you won't go to Valhalla? Is that why you gripped the sword?'\n\n'Let me live,' he begged, 'and I'll tell you what Ragnall plans.'\n\n'I know what Ragnall plans.' I pressed Serpent-Breath against the side of his neck and he shuddered. 'You're not worth fighting,' I said, and I looked past \u00c6thelflaed to her nephew. 'Prince \u00c6thelstan! Come here!'\n\n\u00c6thelstan looked at his aunt, but she just nodded, and he slid from his saddle. 'You'll fight Haesten,' I told \u00c6thelstan, 'because it's time you killed a jarl, even a pathetic jarl like this one.' I took my sword from Haesten's neck. 'Get up,' I ordered him.\n\nHaesten stood. He glanced at \u00c6thelstan. 'You'd make me fight a boy?'\n\n'Beat the boy and you live,' I promised him.\n\nAnd \u00c6thelstan was little more than a boy, slender and young, while Haesten was experienced in war, yet Haesten must have known I would not risk \u00c6thelstan's life unless I was confident that the youngster would win and, knowing that, Haesten tried to cheat. He drew his sword and ran at \u00c6thelstan, who had been waiting for my command to start the fight. Haesten roared as he charged, then swung his blade, but \u00c6thelstan was fast, sidestepping the charge and ripping his own long blade free of its scabbard. He parried the backswing and I heard the clangour of swords and watched as Haesten turned to deliver an overhead blow designed to split \u00c6thelstan's skull in two, but the young man just swayed back, let the blade pass him, then mocked his older enemy with laughter. He lowered his own sword, inviting another attack, but Haesten was cautious now. He was content to circle \u00c6thelstan, who kept turning to keep his sword facing his foe.\n\nI had reason to let \u00c6thelstan fight and win. He might have been King Edward's oldest son and therefore the \u00e6theling of Wessex, but he had a younger half-brother, and there were powerful men in Wessex who favoured the younger boy as their next king. That was not because the younger boy was better, stronger, or wiser, but simply because he was the grandson of Wessex's most powerful ealdorman, and to fight the influence of those wealthy men I would pay a poet bright gold to make a song of this fight, and it would not matter that the song bore no resemblance to the fight, only that it made \u00c6thelstan into a hero who had fought a Danish chieftain to the death in the woods of northern Mercia. Then I would send the poet south into Wessex to sing the song in firelit mead halls so that men and women would know that \u00c6thelstan was worthy.\n\nMy men were jeering Haesten now, shouting that he was frightened of a lad, goading him to attack, but Haesten stayed cautious. Then \u00c6thelstan advanced a step and cut at the Dane, his stroke almost casual, but he was judging the swiftness of the older man's responses and what he discovered he liked because he began attacking with short, sharp strokes, forcing Haesten back, not trying to wound him yet, but simply to force Haesten onto his back foot and give him no time to make his own assault. Then suddenly he stepped back, flinching as though he had pulled a muscle and Haesten lunged at him and \u00c6thelstan stepped aside and chopped down hard, viciously hard, the stroke fast as a swift's wingbeat, and the blade struck Haesten's right knee with savage force and the older man stumbled and \u00c6thelstan hacked down hard to cut through the mail of Haesten's shoulder and so drove the Dane to the turf. I saw the battle-joy on \u00c6thelstan's face and heard Haesten cry out in despair as the young man stepped over him with his sword raised for the killing blow.\n\n'Hold!' I shouted. 'Hold! Step back!'\n\nMy watching men fell silent. \u00c6thelstan looked puzzled, but nevertheless obeyed me and stepped back from his defeated enemy. Haesten was flinching with pain, but managed to struggle to his feet. He staggered unsteadily on his wounded right leg. 'You will spare my life, lord?' he asked me. 'I will be your man!'\n\n'You are my man,' I said and I took hold of his right arm.\n\nHe understood then what I was about to do and his face was distorted with despair. 'No!' he shouted. 'I beg you, no!'\n\nI gripped his wrist, then twisted the sword out of his hand. 'No!' he wailed. 'No! No!'\n\nI tossed the sword away and stepped back. 'Finish your work,' I told \u00c6thelstan curtly.\n\n'Give me my sword!' Haesten cried and limped a painful step towards the fallen blade, but I stood in his path.\n\n'So you can go to Valhalla?' I sneered. 'You think you can share ale with those good men who wait for me in the bone hall? Those brave men? And why does a Christian believe in Valhalla?'\n\nHe said nothing. I looked at \u00c6thelflaed, then at Ceolnoth. 'Did you hear?' I demanded. 'This good Christian wants to go to Valhalla. You still think he's a Christian?' \u00c6thelflaed nodded to me, accepting the proof, but Ceolnoth would not meet my gaze.\n\n'My sword!' Haesten said, tears on his cheeks, but I just beckoned \u00c6thelstan forward and stepped aside. 'No!' Haesten wailed. 'My sword! I beg you!' He gazed at \u00c6thelflaed. 'My lady, give me my sword!'\n\n'Why?' she asked coldly, and Haesten had no answer.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed nodded to her nephew, and \u00c6thelstan skewered Haesten with his blade, lunging the steel straight into Haesten's belly, straight through mail and skin and sinew and flesh and he ripped the sword up, grunting with the effort as he looked his enemy in the eye, and the blood was gushing with the man's guts as they spilled on Eads Byrig's thin turf.\n\nSo died Haesten the Dane.\n\nAnd Ragnall was coming.\n\nHe would be harder to kill."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "We had taken too many prisoners and too many of those prisoners were warriors who, if they lived, were likely to fight us again. Most were Ragnall's followers, a few had been Haesten's men, but all were dangerous. If we had just let them loose they would have rejoined Ragnall's army that was already powerful enough, so my advice was to kill every last one of them. We could not feed almost two hundred men, let alone their families, and I had youngsters in my ranks who needed practice with sword or spear, but \u00c6thelflaed shrank from the slaughter. She was not a weak woman, far from it, and in the past she had watched impassively as other prisoners had been killed, but she was in a merciful or perhaps a squeamish mood. 'So what would you have me do with them?' I asked.\n\n'The Christians can stay in Mercia,' she said, frowning at the handful who had confessed to her faith.\n\n'And the rest?'\n\n'Just don't kill them,' she said brusquely.\n\nSo in the end I had my men hack off the prisoners' sword hands that we collected in sacksful. There were also forty-three dead men on the hilltop, and I ordered all of their corpses beheaded and the severed heads brought to me. The prisoners were then released, along with the older captives, all of them sent east along the Roman road. I told them they would find a crossroads a half-day's walk away and if they turned north it would take them across the river and back into Northumbria. 'You'll meet your master coming the other way,' I told them, 'and you can give him a message. If he comes back to Ceaster he'll lose more than one hand.' We kept the young women and children. Most would be sent to the slave markets of Lundene, but a few would probably find new husbands among my men.\n\nWe carted all the captured weapons to Ceaster where they would be given to the fyrd, replacing hoes or sharpened spades. Then we pulled down Eads Byrig's newly-made wall. It fell easily and we used the logs to make a great funeral pyre on which we burned the headless bodies. The corpses shrivelled in the fire, curling up as they shrank and sending the stench of death east with the plume of smoke. Ragnall, I thought, would see that smoke and wonder if it was an omen. Would it deter him? I doubted it. He would surely realise that it was Eads Byrig that burned so fiercely, but his ambition would persuade him to ignore the omen. He would be coming.\n\nAnd I wanted to welcome him, and so I left forty-three logs standing like pillars spaced about Eads Byrig's perimeter and we pegged a severed head to each of those and next day I had the bloody hands nailed onto trees either side of the Roman road so that when Ragnall returned he would be greeted first by the hands and then by the raven-pecked heads ringing the slighted fort. 'You really think he'll come?' \u00c6thelflaed asked me.\n\n'He's coming,' I said firmly. Ragnall needed a victory, and to defeat Mercia, let alone Wessex, he needed to capture a burh. There were other burhs he could attack, but Ceaster had to tempt him. Control Ceaster and he would command the seaways to Ireland and dominate all of north-western Mercia. It would be an expensive victory, but Ragnall had men to spend. He would come.\n\nIt was night-time, two days after we had taken Eads Byrig, and the two of us were standing above Ceaster's northern gate staring at a sky filled with bright stars. 'If he wants Ceaster so badly,' \u00c6thelflaed asked after a moment's quiet, 'why didn't he come here as soon as he landed? Why go north first?'\n\n'Because by taking Northumbria,' I said, 'he doubled the size of his army. And he doesn't want an enemy at his back. If he had besieged us without taking Northumbria then he would have given Ingver time to assemble troops.'\n\n'Ingver of Eoferwic is weak,' she said scornfully.\n\nI resisted the temptation to ask why, if she believed that, she had resolutely refused to invade Northumbria. I knew the answer. She wanted to secure the rest of Mercia first and she would not invade the north without her brother's support. 'He might be weak,' I said instead, 'but he's still King of Jorvik.'\n\n'Eoferwic,' she corrected me.\n\n'And Jorvik's walls are formidable,' I went on, 'and Ingver still has followers. If Ragnall gave him time then Ingver could probably gather a thousand men. By going north Ragnall panics Ingver. Men in Northumbria face a choice now, Ingver or Ragnall, and you know who they'll choose.'\n\n'Ragnall,' she said quietly.\n\n'Because he's a beast and a fighter. They're scared of him. If Ingver has any sense he's on a ship now, going back to Denmark.'\n\n'And you think Ragnall will come here?' she said.\n\n'Within a week,' I guessed. 'Maybe as soon as tomorrow?'\n\nShe stared at the glow of fire on the eastern horizon. Those campfires had been lit by our men who were still at Eads Byrig. They had to finish the fortress's destruction, and then, I hoped, find a way to capture the handful of ships Ragnall had left on the M\u00e6rse's northern bank. I had put young \u00c6thelstan in command there, though I made sure he had older men to advise him, yet even so I touched the hammer that hung from my neck and prayed to the gods that he did nothing foolish.\n\n'I should make Eads Byrig a burh,' \u00c6thelflaed said.\n\n'You should,' I said, 'but you won't have time before Ragnall gets here.'\n\n'I know that,' she said impatiently.\n\n'But without Eads Byrig,' I said, 'he'll be in trouble.'\n\n'What's to stop him making new walls?'\n\n'We stop him,' I said firmly. 'Do you know how long it will take to make a proper wall around that hilltop? Not that fake thing Haesten put up, but a real wall? It will take all summer! And you have the rest of the army coming here, we have the fyrd, we'll outnumber him within a week and we'll give him no peace. We raid, we kill, we haunt him. He can't build walls if his men are constantly in mail and waiting to be attacked. We slaughter his forage parties, we send big war-bands into the forest, we make his life a living hell. He'll last two months at most.'\n\n'He'll assault us here,' she said.\n\n'Eventually he will,' I said, 'and I hope he does! He'll fail. These walls are too strong. I'd be more worried about Brunanburh. Put extra men there and dig the ditch deeper. If he takes Brunanburh then he has his fortress and we have problems.'\n\n'I'm strengthening Brunanburh,' she said.\n\n'Dig the ditch deeper,' I said again, 'deeper and wider, and put two hundred extra men into the garrison. He'll never capture it.'\n\n'It will all be done,' she said, then touched my elbow and smiled. 'You sound very confident.'\n\n'By summer's end,' I said vengefully, 'I'll have Ragnall's sword and he'll have a grave in Mercia.'\n\nI touched the hammer at my neck, wondering whether by saying that aloud I had tempted the three Norns who weave our fate at the foot of Yggdrasil. It was not a cold night, but I shivered.\n\nWyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u0101r\u00e6d.\n\nOn the night before Eostre's feast there was another fight outside the Pisspot. A Frisian in \u00c6thelflaed's service was killed, while a second man, one of mine, lost an eye. At least a dozen other men were hurt badly before my son and Sihtric managed to end the street battle. It was my son who brought me the news, waking me in the middle of the night. 'We've managed to stop the fighting,' he said, 'but it was damned close to being a slaughter.'\n\n'What happened?' I asked.\n\n'Mus happened,' he said flatly.\n\n'Mus?'\n\n'She's too pretty,' my son said, 'and men fight over her.'\n\n'How many is it now?' I snarled.\n\n'Three nights in a row,' my son said, 'but this is the first death.'\n\n'It won't be the last unless we stop the little bitch.'\n\n'What little bitch?' Eadith asked. She had woken and now sat up, clutching the bed pelts to her breasts.\n\n'Mus,' he said.\n\n'Mouse?'\n\n'She's a whore,' I explained, and looked back to my son, 'so tell Byrdnoth that if there's another fight I'll close his damned tavern down!'\n\n'She doesn't work for Byrdnoth any more,' my son spoke from the doorway where he was just a shadow against the darkness of the courtyard behind. 'And Lady \u00c6thelflaed's men are wanting to keep the fight going.'\n\n'Mus doesn't work for Byrdnoth now?' I asked. I had climbed out of bed and was groping on the floor for something to wear.\n\n'Not any more,' Uhtred said, 'she did, but I'm told the other whores don't like her. She was too popular.'\n\n'So if the other girls don't like her what's she doing in the Pisspot?'\n\n'She's not. She's working her magic in a shed next door.'\n\n'Her magic?' I sneered at that, then pulled on trews and a stinking jerkin.\n\n'An empty shed,' my son ignored my question. 'It's one of those old hay stores that belong to Saint Peter's church.'\n\nA church building! That was hardly surprising. \u00c6thelflaed had granted half the city's property to the church, and half those buildings were unused. I assumed that Leofstan would be putting his cripples and orphans into some of them, but I planned to use most to shelter the fyrd who would garrison Ceaster. Many of the fyrd had already arrived, country men and boys bringing axes, spears, hoes, and hunting bows. 'A whore in a church building?' I asked as I dragged on boots. 'The new bishop won't like that.'\n\n'He might love it,' my son said, amused, 'she's a very talented girl. But Byrdnoth wants her out of the shed. He says she's ruining his business.'\n\n'So why doesn't he hire her back? Why doesn't he smack the other girls into line and hire the bitch?'\n\n'She won't be hired now, she says she hates Byrdnoth, she hates the other girls, and she hates the Pisspot.'\n\n'And idiots like you keep her busy,' I said savagely.\n\n'She's a pretty little mouse,' he said wistfully. Eadith giggled.\n\n'Expensive?' I asked.\n\n'Anything but! Give her a duck egg and she'll bounce you off the shed walls.'\n\n'Got bruises, have you?' I asked him. He did not answer. 'So they're fighting over her now?'\n\nHe shrugged. 'They were.' He looked over his shoulder. 'She seems to favour our men over \u00c6thelflaed's and that causes the trouble. Sihtric has a dozen men keeping them apart for now, but for how long?'\n\nI had covered my clothes with a cloak, but now hesitated. 'Godric!' I shouted, then shouted again until the boy came running. He was my servant, and a good one, but he was of an age when I needed to find another so Godric could stand in the shield wall. 'Bring me my mail coat, my sword and a helmet,' I said.\n\n'You're going to fight?' my son sounded astonished.\n\n'I'm going to frighten the mouse-bitch,' I said. 'If she's setting our men against Lady \u00c6thelflaed's then she's doing Ragnall's work.'\n\nThere was a crowd of men outside the Pisspot, their angry faces lit by flaming torches bracketed to the tavern's walls. They were jeering Sihtric who, with a dozen men, guarded the alley that apparently led to the mouse's shed. The crowd fell silent as I arrived. Merewalh appeared at the same moment and looked askance at my mail, helmet, and sword. He was soberly dressed in black with a silver cross hanging at his neck. 'Lady \u00c6thelflaed sent me,' he explained, 'and she's not happy.'\n\n'Nor am I.'\n\n'She's at the vigil, of course. So was I.'\n\n'The vigil?'\n\n'The vigil before Easter,' he said, frowning. 'We pray in church all night and greet the dawn with song.'\n\n'What a wild life you Christians do lead,' I said, then looked at the crowd. 'All of you,' I shouted, 'go to bed! The excitement's over!'\n\nOne man, with more ale inside him than sense, wanted to protest, but I stalked towards him with my hand on Serpent-Breath's hilt and his companions dragged him away. I stood, malevolent and glowering, waiting until the crowd had dispersed, then turned back to Sihtric. 'Is the wretched girl still in her shed?'\n\n'Yes, lord.' He sounded relieved that I had come.\n\nEadith had also arrived, tall and striking in a long green dress and with her flame-red hair loosely tied on top of her head. I beckoned her into the alley and my son followed. There had been a dozen men waiting in the narrow space, but they had vanished as soon as they heard my voice. There were five or six sheds at the alley's end, all of them low wooden buildings that were used to store hay, but only one showed a glimmer of light. There was no door, just an opening that I ducked under, and then stopped.\n\nBecause, by the gods, the mouse was beautiful.\n\nReal beauty is rare. Most of us suffer the pox and so have faces dotted with scars, and what teeth we have left go yellow, and our skin has warts, wens, and carbuncles, and we stink like sheep dung. Any girl who survives into womanhood with teeth and a clear skin is accounted a beauty, but this girl had so much more. She had a radiance. I thought of Frigg, the mute girl who had married Cnut Ranulfson and who now lived on my son's estate, though he thought I did not know. Frigg was glorious and beautiful, but where she was dark and lithe, this girl was fair and generous. She was stark naked, her thighs lifted, and her flawless skin seemed to glow with health. Her breasts were full, but not fallen, her blue eyes lively, her lips plump, and her face full of joy until I hauled the man out from between her thighs. 'Go and piss it into a ditch,' I snarled at him. He was one of my men and he pulled up his trews and scuttled out of the shed as if twenty demons were at his arse.\n\nThe mus fell backwards on the hay. She bounced there, giggling and smiling. 'Welcome again, Lord Uhtred,' she spoke to my son, who said nothing. There was a shielded lantern perched on a pile of hay and I saw my son blush in its dim and flickering light.\n\n'Talk to me,' I growled, 'not him.'\n\nShe stood and brushed pieces of straw from her perfect skin. Not a scar, not a blemish, though when she turned to me I saw there was a birthmark on her forehead, a small red mark shaped like an apple. It was almost a relief to see that she was not perfect, because even her hands were unscarred. Women's hands grow old fast, burned by pots, worn out by distaffs, and rubbed raw by scrubbing clothes, yet Mus had hands like a baby, soft and flawless. She seemed utterly unworried by her nakedness. She smiled at me and half bobbed down respectfully. 'Greetings, Lord Uhtred,' she spoke demurely, her eyes showing amusement at my anger.\n\n'Who are you?'\n\n'I'm called Mus.'\n\n'What did your parents name you?'\n\n'Trouble,' she said, still smiling.\n\n'Then listen to me, Trouble,' I snarled, 'you have a choice. Either you work for Byrdnoth in the Plover next door, or you leave Ceaster. Do you understand?'\n\nShe frowned and bit her lower lip as she pretended to think, then gave me her bright smile again. 'I was only celebrating Eostre's feast,' she said slyly, 'as I'm told you like it celebrated.'\n\n'What I don't like,' I said, biting back my annoyance at her cleverness, 'is that a man died fighting over you tonight.'\n\n'I tell them not to fight,' she said, all wide-eyed and innocent. 'I don't want them to fight! I want them to...'\n\n'I know what you want,' I snarled, 'but what matters is what I want! And I'm telling you to either work for Byrdnoth or leave Ceaster.'\n\nShe wrinkled her nose. 'I don't like Byrdnoth.'\n\n'You'll like me even less.'\n\n'Oh, no,' she said, and laughed, 'oh no, lord, never!'\n\n'You work for Byrdnoth,' I insisted, 'or you leave!'\n\n'I won't work for him, lord,' she said, 'he's so fat and slimy!'\n\n'Your choice, bitch,' I said, and I was having trouble from keeping my eyes from those beautiful plump breasts and from her small body that was both compact and generous, and she knew I was having trouble and it amused her.\n\n'Why Byrdnoth?' she asked.\n\n'Because he won't let you cause trouble,' I said. 'You'll hump who he tells you to hump.'\n\n'Including him,' she said, 'and it's disgusting! It's like being bounced by a greased pig.' She gave a shiver of horror.\n\n'If you won't work at the Plover,' I ignored her exaggerated shudder, 'then you're leaving Ceaster. I don't care where you go, but you're leaving.'\n\n'Yes, lord,' she said meekly, then glanced at Eadith. 'May I dress, lord?' she asked me.\n\n'Get dressed,' I snapped. 'Sihtric?'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'You'll guard her tonight. Lock her up in one of the granaries and see her on the road south tomorrow.'\n\n'It's Easter tomorrow, lord, no one will be travelling,' he said nervously.\n\n'Then keep her quiet till someone does go south! Then pack her off and make certain she doesn't come back.'\n\n'Yes, lord,' he said.\n\n'And tomorrow,' I turned on my son, 'you'll pull down these sheds.'\n\n'Yes, father.'\n\n'And if you do come back,' I looked back to the girl, 'I'll whip the skin off your back till your ribs are showing, you understand?'\n\n'I understand, lord,' she said in a contrite voice. She smiled at Sihtric, her jailer, then stooped into a gap between the piles of hay. Her clothes had been carelessly dropped into the gap and she went down on all fours to retrieve them. 'I'll just get dressed,' she said, 'and I won't cause you any trouble! I promise.' And with those words she suddenly shot forward and vanished through a hole in the shed's back wall. A small hand snaked back and snatched a cloak or dress, and then she was gone.\n\n'After her!' I said. She had wriggled through the mousehole, leaving a small pile of coins and hacksilver beside the lantern. I stooped, but saw the hole was too small for me to negotiate, so I ducked back into the alley. There was no passage to the rear of the shed and by the time we had made our way through the neighbouring house she had long disappeared. I stood at an alley's mouth, staring down an empty side street, and swore in frustration. 'Someone must know where the bitch lives,' I said.\n\n'She's a mouse,' my son said, 'so you need a cat.'\n\nI growled. At least, I thought, I had scared the girl, so perhaps she'd stop her nonsense. And why did she favour my men over \u00c6thelflaed's? Mine were no cleaner or richer. I guessed she was just a trouble-maker who enjoyed having men fight over her.\n\n'You pull the sheds down tomorrow,' I told my son, 'and look for the bitch. Find her and lock her up.'\n\nEadith and I walked back towards our house. 'She's beautiful,' Eadith said wistfully.\n\n'With that birthmark on her forehead?' I asked in a hopeless attempt to pretend I did not agree.\n\n'She is beautiful,' Eadith insisted.\n\n'And so are you,' I said, and so she was.\n\nShe smiled at the compliment, though her smile was dutiful, even touched by sadness. 'She's what? Sixteen? Seventeen? When you find her you should marry her off.'\n\n'What man would marry a whore like her?' I asked savagely, thinking that what I truly wanted was to take the whore to bed and plough her ripe little body.\n\n'Maybe a husband would tame her,' Eadith said.\n\n'Maybe I should marry you,' I said impulsively.\n\nEadith stopped, looked at me. We were just outside the big church where the Easter vigil was being kept, and a wash of candlelight came through the open door to shadow her face and to glint off the tears on her cheeks. She reached up with both hands and held the cheek-pieces of my helmet, then stood on tiptoe to kiss me.\n\nGod, what fools women make of us.\n\nI always liked to make something special of Eostre's feast, hiring jugglers, musicians, and acrobats, but Ragnall's appearance a few days before the feast had deterred such folk from coming to Ceaster. The same fear meant that many of the guests invited to Leofstan's enthronement had also failed to appear, though Saint Peter's church was still full.\n\nEnthronement? Who in the cloud-filled heavens did these people think they were? Kings sat on thrones. Lady \u00c6thelflaed should have had a throne, and sometimes used her dead husband's throne in Gleawecestre, and when, as a lord, I sat in judgement I used a throne, not because I was royal, but because I represented royal justice. But a bishop? Why would some weasel-brained bishop need a throne? Wulfheard had a throne larger than King Edward's, a high-backed chair carved with gormless saints and bellowing angels. I asked the fool once why he needed so large a chair for his skinny backside, and he told me he was God's representative in Hereford. 'It is God's throne, not mine,' he had said pompously, though I noted that he screeched in anger if anyone else dared park their bum on the carved seat.\n\n'Does your god ever visit Hereford?' I asked him.\n\n'He is omnipresent, so yes, he sits on the throne.'\n\n'So you sit on his lap? That's nice.'\n\nI somehow doubted that the Christian god would be visiting Ceaster because Leofstan had chosen a milking-stool as his throne. It was a three-legged stool that he had bought at the market, and it now stood waiting for him in front of the altar. I had wanted to sneak into the church the night before Eostre's feast to saw a finger's width off two of the legs, but the vigil had thwarted that plan. 'A stool?' I had asked \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'He's a humble man.'\n\n'But Bishop Wulfheard says it's your god's throne.'\n\n'God is humble too.'\n\nA humble god! You might as well have a toothless wolf! The gods are the gods, ruling thunder and commanding storms, they are the lords of night and day, of fire and ice, the givers of disaster and of triumph. To this day I do not understand why folk become Christians unless it's simply that the other gods enjoy a joke. I have often suspected that Loki, the trickster god, invented Christianity because it has his wicked stench all over it. I can imagine the gods sitting in Asgard one night, all of them bored and probably drunk, and Loki amuses them with a typical piece of his nonsense, 'Let's invent a carpenter,' he suggests, 'and tell the fools that he was the son of the only god, that he died and came back to life, that he cured blindness with lumps of clay, and that he walked on water!' Who would believe that nonsense? But the trouble with Loki is that he always takes his jests too far.\n\nThe street outside the church was piled with weapons, shields, and helmets belonging to the men who attended the enthronement. They needed to be armed, or at least to stay close to their weapons, because our scouts had come back from the upper M\u00e6rse to tell us that Ragnall's army was approaching. They had seen his campfires in the night, and dawn had brought the sight of smoke smeared across the eastern sky. By now, I reckoned, he should be discovering the remnants of Eads Byrig. He would come to Ceaster next, but we would see him approaching, and the neat piles of weapons and shields were ready for the men inside the church. When they heard the alarm they would have to abandon the bishop's sermon and take to the ramparts.\n\nThere had been some good news that morning. \u00c6thelstan had succeeded in taking two ships from the hulls Ragnall had left on the M\u00e6rse's northern bank. Both were wide-bellied, high-prowed fighting ships, one with benches for sixty oars and the other for forty. 'The rest of the ships were beached,' \u00c6thelstan reported to me, 'and we couldn't drag them off.'\n\n'They weren't guarded?'\n\n'Probably sixty or seventy men there, lord.'\n\n'How many did you have?'\n\n'Seven of us crossed the river, lord.'\n\n'Seven!'\n\n'None of the others could swim.'\n\n'You can swim?'\n\n'Like a herring, lord!'\n\n\u00c6thelstan and his six companions had stripped naked, and, in the dead of night, crossed the river at the height of the tide. They had managed to cut the lines of the two moored boats, which had then drifted down the M\u00e6rse and were now safely tied to the remnants of the pier at Brunanburh. I wanted to put \u00c6thelstan back in charge of that fort, but \u00c6thelflaed insisted that Osferth, her half-brother, should command there, and that decision meant that \u00c6thelstan, poor boy, was now condemned to endure the interminable service that turned Father Leofstan into Bishop Leofstan.\n\nI peered into the church a couple of times. There was the usual chanting, while a dozen priests wafted smoke from swinging censers. An abbot with a waist-length beard gave an impassioned sermon that must have lasted two hours and which drove me to a tavern across the street. When I next looked I saw Leofstan prostrate on the church's floor with his arms outspread. All his cripples were there, while the moon-touched lunatics gibbered and scratched at the back of the church, and the white-robed orphans fidgeted. Most of the congregation was kneeling, and I could see \u00c6thelflaed next to the bishop's wife who, as usual, was swathed in layers of clothing and was now rocking backwards and forwards with her clasped hands held high above her head as though she was experiencing an ecstatic vision. It was, I thought, a sad way to celebrate Eostre's feast.\n\nI walked to the northern gate, climbed the ramparts, and stared at the empty countryside. My son joined me, but said nothing. He was in command of the guard this morning, which meant he was excused from attending the church service, and the two of us stood in companionable silence. There should have been a busy fair in the strip of pastureland between the city ditch and the Roman cemetery, but instead the few market stalls had been placed in the main street. Eostre would not be pleased, though perhaps she would be forgiving because she was not a vengeful goddess. I had heard stories of her when I was a small child, though the stories had been whispered because we were supposed to be Christians, but I heard how she skipped through the dawn, scattering flowers, and how the animals followed her two by two, and how the elves and sprites gathered around with pipes made from reeds and with drums made of thistle-heads, and played their wild music as Eostre sang the world into a new creation. She would look like Mus, I thought, remembering the firm body, the glow of her skin, the glint of joy in her eyes, and the mischief in her smile. Even the memory of her one flaw, the apple-shaped birthmark, seemed attractive now. 'Did you find the girl?' I broke the silence.\n\n'Not yet,' he sounded disconsolate. 'We searched everywhere.'\n\n'You're not keeping her hidden yourself?'\n\n'No, father, I promise.'\n\n'She has to live somewhere!'\n\n'We've asked. We've looked. She just vanished!' He made the sign of the cross. 'I'm thinking she doesn't really exist. That she's a night-walker?'\n\n'Don't be an idiot,' I scoffed. 'Of course she exists! We saw her. And you've more than seen her!'\n\n'But no one saw her last night,' he said, 'and she was naked when she vanished.'\n\n'She took a cloak.'\n\n'Even so, someone would have seen her! A half-naked girl running through the streets? How could she just disappear? But she did!' He paused, frowning. 'She's a night-walker! A shadow-walker!'\n\nA shadow-walker? I had scorned the idea, but shadow-walkers did exist. They were ghosts and spirits and goblins, malevolent creatures who only appeared in the night. And Mus, I thought, was truly malevolent, she was causing trouble by setting my men against \u00c6thelflaed's warriors. And she was too perfect to be real. So was she an apparition sent by the gods to taunt us? To taunt me, anyway, as I remembered the lantern light on her plump breasts. 'She has to be stopped,' I said, 'unless you want a nightly battle between our men and Lady \u00c6thelflaed's.'\n\n'She won't appear again tonight,' my son said uncertainly, 'she won't dare.'\n\n'Unless you're right,' I said, 'and she is a shadow-walker,' I touched the hammer at my neck.\n\nAnd then I kept my hand on the talisman.\n\nBecause from the far woods, from the forest that shrouded the land all around distant Eads Byrig, Ragnall's army was coming.\n\nRagnall's men came in a line, and that was impressive because the line did not trail out of the forest on the Roman road in a long procession, but instead appeared altogether at the edge of the trees and so suddenly filled the land. One moment the fields were empty, then a great line of horsemen emerged from the woodlands. It must have taken time to arrange that display and it was intended to awe us.\n\nOne of my men hammered the iron bar that hung above the gate's fighting rampart. The bar served as a makeshift alarm bell and its harsh sound was brutal and loud, summoning the defenders to the walls. 'Keep hitting it,' I told him. I could see men pouring out of the church, hurrying to snatch up the shields, helmets, and weapons that were stacked in the street.\n\n'Five hundred of them?' my son suggested.\n\nI turned back to stare at the enemy. I divided the far line into half, then half again and counted horses, then multiplied my answer by four. 'Six hundred,' I reckoned. 'Maybe that's all the horses he has.'\n\n'He'll have more men, though.'\n\n'Two thousand, at least.'\n\nSix hundred horsemen were no threat to Ceaster, but I still kept the iron bar's clangour sounding across the town. Men were climbing the ramparts now, and Ragnall would see our spear-points thickening above the high stone walls. I wished he would attack. There is no easier way to kill an enemy than when he is trying to assault a well-defended rampart.\n\n'He'll have been to Eads Byrig,' my son suggested. He was staring eastwards to where the smoke of our corpse-burning fire still smeared the sky. He was thinking that Ragnall would be enraged by the severed heads I had left to greet him and hoping, I think, that those bloodied heads would prompt Ragnall into a foolish assault on the city.\n\n'He won't attack today,' I said. 'He might be headstrong, but he's no fool.'\n\nA horn sounded from that long line of men who now advanced slowly across the pastureland. The sound of the horn was as harsh as the clangour of my iron bar. I could see men on foot behind the horsemen, but even so there were not more than seven hundred enemy in sight. That was not nearly enough to assault our walls, but I was not summoning the defenders in expectation of any attack, but rather to show Ragnall that we were ready for him. We were both making a display.\n\n'I wish he'd make an assault,' my son said wistfully.\n\n'Not today.'\n\n'He'll lose men if he does!' He was hoping I was wrong, hoping he would have a chance to kill men trying to scale stone walls.\n\n'He has men to lose,' I said drily.\n\n'If I was him,' my son began, then checked.\n\n'Go on.'\n\n'I wouldn't want to lose two hundred men on these walls. I'd raid deeper into Mercia. I'd go south. There are rich pickings down south, but here?'\n\nI nodded. He was right, of course. To attack Ceaster was to assault one of Mercia's strongest fortresses, and the country around Ceaster would be poor territory for plunder or slaves. Folk had gone to their nearest burh, taking their families and livestock with them. We were ready for war, even wanting battle, but a sudden march south into the heartland would find plump farms and easy plunder. 'He will raid deeper into Mercia,' I said, 'but he still wants Ceaster. He won't attack today, but he will attack.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'Because he can't be King of Britain without capturing the burhs,' I said. 'And because Ceaster is Lady \u00c6thelflaed's achievement. There are plenty of men who still think a woman shouldn't rule a land, but they can't argue with her success. She's fortified this whole district! Her husband was scared of the place. All he did was piss into the wind, but she drove the Danes out. If she does nothing else, then Ceaster stands as her victory! So take this city from her and you make her look weak. Take Ceaster and you've opened up all western Mercia to invasion. If Ragnall wins here he could destroy all Mercia, and he knows it. He won't just be King of Northumbria, but of Mercia too, and that's worth losing two hundred men.'\n\n'But without Eads Byrig...'\n\n'Losing Eads Byrig has made life difficult for him,' I interrupted him, 'but he still needs Ceaster! The Irish are driving the Norse out of Ireland, and where will they go? Here! But they can't come here if we hold the rivers.' Indeed it was our failure to hold the rivers that had let Ragnall into Britain in the first place. 'So, yes,' I went on, 'the battle we fight here isn't just for Ceaster, but for everything! For Mercia and in the end for Wessex too.'\n\nThe great line of horsemen had stopped, and a smaller group now rode towards the city. There were perhaps a hundred horsemen in the smaller group, followed by some footmen, all of them beneath two great banners. One showed the red axe of Ragnall, the same symbol that his brother Sigtryggr flew, but the second banner was new to me. It was a flag, a big flag, and it was black. Just that, a black flag, except it was made more sinister because the flag's trailing edge had been ripped to tattered shreds so that it blew ragged in the sea wind. 'Whose flag is that?' I asked.\n\n'Never seen it,' my son said.\n\nFinan, Merewalh, and \u00c6thelflaed came to the rampart. None of them recognised the flag. What made it strange was that the flag was every bit as big as Ragnall's axe, suggesting that whoever marched beneath the ragged black banner was his equal.\n\n'There's a woman there,' Finan said. He had eyes like a falcon.\n\n'Ragnall's wife?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'Could be,' Merewalh said, 'they say he has four.'\n\n'It's a woman in black,' Finan said. He was shading his eyes as he peered at the approaching enemy. 'She's on the small horse right in front of the flag.'\n\n'Unless it's a priest?' Merewalh suggested uncertainly.\n\nThe great line of horsemen had begun beating their swords against their shields, a rhythmic and threatening sound, harsh in the day's warm sunlight. I could see the woman now. She was swathed in black, with a black hood over her head, and she rode a small black horse that was dwarfed by the stallions of the men who surrounded her. 'He won't have a priest with him,' Finan said, 'it's a woman, sure enough.'\n\n'Or a child,' I said. The rider of the small horse was also small.\n\nThe horsemen stopped. They were some two hundred paces away, well beyond the distance we could hurl a spear or an axe. Some members of the fyrd carried bows, but they were short hunting bows that were not powerful enough to pierce mail. Such bows forced an enemy to keep his exposed face below his shield, and they were useful at very short distances, but to loose an arrow at two hundred paces was a waste, provoking the enemy to jeer. Two archers did loose and I bellowed at them to put their weapons down. 'They've come to talk,' I shouted, 'not to fight.'\n\n'Yet,' Finan muttered.\n\nI could see Ragnall clearly enough. He was flamboyant as ever, his long hair blowing in the wind and his inked chest bare. He kicked his stallion a few paces forward and stood in his stirrups. 'Lord Uhtred,' he shouted, 'I bring you gifts!' He turned back towards his standard as the men on foot threaded their way between the horses and came towards the ramparts.\n\n'Oh no,' \u00c6thelflaed said, 'no!'\n\n'Forty-three,' I said bitterly. I did not even need to count.\n\n'Play with the devil,' Finan said, 'and you get burned.'\n\nForty-three men carrying drawn swords were pushing forty-three prisoners towards us. The swordsmen spread into a rough line and stopped, then thrust the prisoners down onto their knees. The prisoners, all of whose hands were bound behind their backs, were mostly men, but there were women among them, women who stared in desperation at our banners that hung from the ramparts. I had no idea who the prisoners were, except they must be Saxon and Christian. They were revenge.\n\nRagnall must have been told of the forty-three heads waiting on the summit of Eads Byrig and this was his answer. There was nothing we could do. We had manned the walls of Ceaster, but I had not thought to mount men on horses to make any sally out of the gate. We could only listen as the victims wailed and only watch as the swords fell, as the bright blood splashed the morning, and as the heads rolled on the thin turf. Ragnall mocked us with his handsome smile as the swordsmen wiped their blades on the clothes of their victims.\n\nAnd then there was one last gift, one last prisoner.\n\nThat prisoner could not walk. He or she was brought draped over the back of a horse and at first I could not see if it was a man or a woman, I could only see that it was a person dressed in white who was heaved off the horse onto the blood-wet grass. None of us spoke. Then I saw it was a man and I thought him dead until he slowly rolled over and I saw he was dressed in the white robes of a priest, but what was strange was that the front of his skirt was panelled in bright red.\n\n'Christ,' Finan breathed.\n\nBecause the skirt was not panelled. It was coloured by blood. The man curled up as if to crush the pain in his groin, and at that moment the black-robed rider spurred her horse forward.\n\nShe came close, careless of the threat of our throwing spears, our arrows, or axes. She stopped just yards away from the ditch and pushed back the hood of her cloak and stared up at us. She was an old woman, her face lined and harsh, her hair sparse and white, her lips a thin grimace of hatred. 'What I did to him,' she said, pointing at the wounded man lying behind her, 'I shall do to you! To all of you. One at a time!' She suddenly produced a small curved knife. 'I shall geld your boys, your women shall be whores, and your children slaves, because you are cursed. All of you!' She shrieked those last three words and swept the gelding knife in a curve as if to point to all of us watching from the ramparts. 'You will all die! You are cursed by day and by night, by fire and by water, by fate!'\n\nShe spoke our language, the English tongue.\n\nShe rocked backwards and forwards in her saddle as if gathering strength and then she took a deep breath and pointed the knife at me. 'And you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Uhtred of Nothing, will die last and die slowest because you have betrayed the gods. You are cursed. You are all cursed!' She cackled then, a mad sound, before pointing the blade at me again. 'The gods hate you, Uhtred! You were their son, you were their favourite, you were loved by them, but you chose to use your gifts for the false god, for the filthy Christian god, and now the real gods hate you and curse you! I speak to the gods, they listen to me, they will give you to me and I will kill you so slowly that your death will last till Ragnarok!' And with that she hurled the small knife at me. It fell short, clattering on the wall and dropping to the ditch. She turned away, and all the enemy went with her, back to the trees.\n\n'Who is she?' \u00c6thelflaed asked, her voice scarce above a whisper.\n\n'Her name,' I said, 'is Brida.'\n\nAnd the gelded priest turned an agonised face towards me and called for help. 'Father!'\n\nHe was my son."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Ghost Fence",
                "text": "Brida.\n\nShe was a Saxon who was raised a Christian; a wild-child, my first lover, a girl of passion and fire, and Brida, like me, had found the older gods, but where I have always accepted that the god of the Christians has power like all the other gods, Brida had convinced herself that the Christian god was a demon and that Christianity was an evil that must be eradicated if the world was ever to be good again. She had married my dear friend, Ragnar, she had become more Danish than the Danes, and she had tried to suborn me, to tempt me, to persuade me to fight for the Danes against the Saxons, and she had hated me ever since I had refused. She was a widow now, but she still ruled Ragnar's great fortress of Dunholm, which, after Bebbanburg, was the most formidable stronghold in Northumbria. She had now sided with Ragnall and, as I was later to learn, her declaration of support was enough to drive poor King Ingver into exile. Brida had brought Ragnar's army south, she had added her men to Ragnall's, and the Northmen now had the strength to attack Ceaster and to accept the deaths that would soak the Roman walls with northern blood.\n\nBeware the hatred of a woman.\n\nLove curdles into hate. I had loved Brida, but she possessed an anger I could never match, an anger she believed came directly from the rage of the gods. It had been Brida who gave Serpent-Breath her name, who had cast a spell on the sword because, even as a child, she had believed the gods spoke directly to her. She had been a black-haired girl, thin as a twig, with a fierceness that burned like the fire that had killed the elder Ragnar and which we had watched together from the high trees. The only child Brida ever bore was mine, but the boy was born dead and she had never had another, so now her offspring were the songs she made and the curses she uttered. Ragnar's father, the blind Ravn, had prophesied that Brida would grow to be a skald and a sorceress, and so she had, but of the bitterest kind. She was an enchantress, white-haired and wizened now, chanting her skald's songs about dead Christians and of Odin triumphant. Songs of hate.\n\n'What she wants,' I told \u00c6thelflaed, 'is to take your god and nail him back to his tree.'\n\n'He came back to life once,' she said piously, 'and he would rise again.'\n\nI ignored that. 'And she wants all Britain worshipping the old gods.'\n\n'A stale old dream,' \u00c6thelflaed said scornfully.\n\n'Just because it's been dreamed before,' I said, 'doesn't mean it can't come true.'\n\nThe old dream was the Northmen's vision of ruling all Britain. Again and again their armies had marched, they had invaded Mercia and Wessex, they had slaughtered the Saxons in battle, yet they had never succeeded in taking the whole island. \u00c6thelflaed's father, King Alfred, had defeated them, he had saved Wessex, and ever since we Saxons had been fighting back, thrusting the Northmen ever further northwards. Now a new leader, stronger than any who had come before, threatened us with the old dream.\n\nFor me the war was about land. Perhaps that was because my uncle had stolen my land, had stolen the wild country around Bebbanburg, and to take back that land I first needed to defeat the Danes who surrounded it. My whole life has been about that windswept fortress beside the sea, about the land that is mine and was taken from me.\n\nFor King Alfred, for his son Edward, and his daughter \u00c6thelflaed, the war was also about land, about the kingdoms of the Saxons. Alfred had saved Wessex, and his daughter was now thrusting the Northmen from Mercia while her brother, Edward of Wessex, took back the lands of East Anglia. But for both of them there was another cause worthy of death, their god. They fought for the Christian god, and in their minds the land belonged to their god and they would only reclaim it by doing his will. 'Englaland,' King Alfred had once said, 'will be God's land. If it exists it will exist because of Him, because He wishes it.' For a time he had even called it Godland, but the name had not stuck.\n\nFor Brida there was only one cause, her hatred of that Christian god. For her the war was a battle between the gods, between truth and falsehood, and she would happily have allowed the Saxons to kill every Northman if only they would abandon their religion and turn back to the old gods of Asgard. And now, at last, she had found a champion who would use sword and spear and axe to fight for her gods. And Ragnall? I doubt he cared about the gods. He wanted land, all of it, and he had wanted Brida's hardened warriors to come from their stronghold at Dunholm to add their blades to his army.\n\nAnd my son?\n\nMy son.\n\nI had disowned him, disinherited him, and spurned him, and now he had been returned to me by an enemy and he was no longer a man. He was gelded. The blood on his gown was crusted. 'He's dying,' Bishop Leofstan said sadly and made the sign of the cross over Uhtred's pale face.\n\nHis name had been Uhtred, the name always given to the eldest son of our family, but I had taken the name from him when he became a Christian priest. I had named him Judas instead, though he called himself Oswald. Father Oswald, famous for his honesty and piety, and famous too for being my son. My prodigal son. Now I knelt beside him and called him by his old name. 'Uhtred? Uhtred!'\n\nBut he could not answer. There was sweat on his forehead and he was shivering. After that one despairing cry of 'Father!' he seemed unable to speak. He tried, but no words came, just a whimper of excruciating pain. 'He's dying,' Bishop Leofstan said again, 'he has the death fever, lord.'\n\n'Then save him,' I snarled.\n\n'Save him?'\n\n'That's what you do, isn't it? Heal the god-damned sick? So heal him.'\n\nHe stared at me, suddenly frightened. 'My wife...' he began, then faltered.\n\n'What of her?'\n\n'She heals the sick, lord,' he said, 'she has the touch of God in her hands. It is her calling, lord.'\n\n'Then take him to her.'\n\nFolcbald, one of my Frisian warriors and a man of prodigious strength, lifted Uhtred in his arms like a baby and so we took him into the city, following the bishop, who scurried ahead. He led us to one of the more substantial Roman houses on the main street, a house with a deep-arched gateway leading into a pillared courtyard from which a dozen doors led into large rooms. It was not unlike my own house in Ceaster and I was about to make some scornful remark about the bishop's taste for luxury when I saw that the arcade around the courtyard was filled with sick folk lying on straw pallets. 'There's not room for them all inside,' the bishop explained, then watched as the crippled gatekeeper picked up a short metal bar and struck a second bar that was hanging from the gateway's ceiling. Like my alarm bell it made a harsh sound and the gatekeeper went on striking it and I saw robed and hooded women scurrying away into the shadowed doorways. 'The sisters have abjured the company of men,' the bishop explained, 'unless the men are sick, dying, or wounded.'\n\n'They're nuns?' I asked.\n\n'They are a lay sisterhood,' he said, 'and one close to my heart! Most are poor women who wish to dedicate their lives to God's service, while others among them are sinners.' He made the sign of the cross. 'Fallen women,' he paused as though unable to bring himself to say the next words, 'women of the streets, lord! Of the alleyways! But all of them dear creatures we have brought back to God's grace.'\n\n'Whores, you mean.'\n\n'Fallen women, lord, yes.'\n\n'And you live here with them?' I asked sarcastically.\n\n'Oh no, lord!' He was amused rather than offended by the question. 'That would not be seemly! Dear me, no! My dear wife and I have a small dwelling in the alley behind the smithy. Praise God I am not sick, dying or wounded.' The gatekeeper finally put the small iron bar down and the last echo of the clangour died away as a tall, gaunt woman stalked across the courtyard. She had broad shoulders, a grim face, and hands like shovels. Leofstan was a tall man, but this woman towered over him.\n\n'Bishop?' she demanded harshly. She faced Leofstan squarely, arms crossed, glaring down at him.\n\n'Sister Ymma,' Leofstan said humbly as he pointed to the blood-drenched figure in Folcbald's arms, 'here is a grievously wounded priest. He needs my wife's care.'\n\nSister Ymma, who looked as if she might be useful in a shield wall, looked around and finally pointed to a corner of the arcade. 'There's space over...'\n\n'He will be given his own room,' I interrupted her, 'and a bed.'\n\n'He will...'\n\n'Have his own room and a bed,' I repeated harshly, 'unless you want my men to scour this damned place clear of Christians? I command in this town, woman, not you!'\n\nSister Ymma bridled and wanted to protest, but the bishop placated her. 'We shall find room, sister!'\n\n'You'll need room,' I said. 'In the next week you'll have at least a hundred more wounded.' I turned and poked a finger at Sihtric. 'Find space for the bishop. Two houses, three! Space for the wounded!'\n\n'Wounded?' Leofstan asked, concerned.\n\n'There's going to be a fight, bishop,' I told him angrily, 'and it won't be pretty.'\n\nA room was cleared and my son was carried across the courtyard and through a narrow door into a small chamber where he was placed gently on a bed. He muttered something and I stooped to listen, but his words made no sense and then he curled himself by drawing up his legs and whimpered.\n\n'Heal him,' I snarled at Sister Ymma.\n\n'If it is God's will.'\n\n'It's my will!'\n\n'Sister Gomer will tend him,' the bishop told Sister Ymma who, it seemed, was the one sister allowed to confront men, a task she evidently undertook with relish.\n\n'Sister Gomer is your wife?' I asked, remembering the strange name.\n\n'Praise God, she is,' Leofstan said, 'and a dear darling creature she is too.'\n\n'With a strange name,' I said, staring at my son, who moaned on the bed, still curled around his agony.\n\nThe bishop smiled. 'She was named Sunngifu by her mother, but when the dear sisters are born again into Christ Jesus they are given a new name, a baptismal name, and so my dear Sunngifu is now known as Sister Gomer. And with her new name God granted her the power of healing.'\n\n'He did indeed,' Sister Ymma said grimly.\n\n'And she will tend him,' the bishop assured me, 'and we shall pray for him!'\n\n'As will I,' I said, and touched the hammer hanging at my neck.\n\nI left. I turned at the gate and saw the cloaked, hooded sisters scurry out of their hiding places. Two went into my son's room and I fingered the hammer again. I had thought I hated my eldest son, but I did not. And so I left him there, lying tight about his cruel wound, and he shivered and he sweated and he moaned strange things in his fever, but he did not die that day, nor the next.\n\nAnd I took revenge.\n\nThe gods loved me because that evening they sent grim clouds rolling from the west. They were sky-darkening clouds, heavy and black, and they came suddenly, building higher, looming in the evening sky to shroud the sunset, and with the clouds came rain and wind. Those grim clouds also brought opportunity, and with the opportunity came argument.\n\nThe argument raged inside Ceaster's Great Hall, while the paved Roman street outside was loud with the noise of horses. It was the noise of great war stallions crashing their hooves on stone paving, horses whinnying and snorting as men struggled to saddle the beasts in the seething rain. I was assembling horsemen, warriors of the storm.\n\n'It will leave Ceaster undefended!' Merewalh protested.\n\n'The fyrd will defend the city,' I said.\n\n'The fyrd needs household warriors!' Merewalh insisted. He rarely disagreed with me, indeed he had always been one of my strongest supporters even when he had served \u00c6thelred who had hated me, but my proposal that stormy night alarmed Merewalh. 'The fyrd can fight,' he allowed, 'but they need trained men to help them!'\n\n'The city won't be attacked,' I snarled. Thunder crashed across the night sky to send the dogs that lived in the Great Hall slinking off to the dark corners. The rain was beating on the roof and leaking through a score of places in the old Roman tiles.\n\n'Why else has Ragnall returned,' \u00c6thelflaed asked, 'if not to attack us?'\n\n'He won't attack tonight and he won't attack tomorrow,' I said. 'Which gives us a chance to claw the bastard.'\n\nI was dressed for battle. I wore a knee-length leather jerkin beneath my finest mail coat that was cinched by a thick sword belt from which hung Serpent-Breath. My leather trews were tucked into tall boots reinforced by iron strips. My forearms were thick with warrior rings. Godric, my servant, held my wolf-crested helmet, a thick-hafted spear, and my shield with the snarling wolf's head of Bebbanburg painted on the iron-bound willow-boards. I was dressed for a killing and most in the hall were shrinking from the prospect.\n\nCynl\u00e6f Haraldson, \u00c6thelflaed's young favourite, who was rumoured to be marrying her daughter, sided with Merewalh. So far he had taken care to avoid antagonising me, using flattery and agreement to avoid any confrontation, but what I was now suggesting drove him to disagreement. 'What has changed, lord?' he asked respectfully.\n\n'Changed?'\n\n'When Ragnall was here before you were reluctant to lead men into the forest.'\n\n'You feared ambush,' Merewalh put in.\n\n'His men were in Eads Byrig,' I said. 'It was his refuge, his fortress. What was the point of leading men through ambush to die on its walls?'\n\n'He still has...' Cynl\u00e6f began.\n\n'No, he doesn't!' I snapped. 'We didn't know the walls were false! We thought it a fortress! Now it's just a hilltop.'\n\n'He outnumbers us,' Merewalh said unhappily.\n\n'And he always will outnumber us,' I said, 'until we kill enough of his men, and then we'll outnumber him.'\n\n'The safe thing,' \u00c6thelflaed began, then faltered. She sat in the great chair, a throne really, lit by the flickering fire in the central hearth. She had been listening carefully, her eyes looking from speaker to speaker, her face worried. Priests were gathered behind her and they too thought my plans rash.\n\n'The safe thing?' I prompted her, but she just shook her head as if to suggest she had thought better of whatever she had been about to say.\n\n'The safe thing,' Father Ceolnoth said firmly, 'is to make certain Ceaster does not fall!' Men murmured agreement and Father Ceolnoth, emboldened by the support, stepped forward to stand in the firelight beside \u00c6thelflaed's chair. 'Ceaster is our newest diocese! It controls great areas of farmland! It protects the seaway. It is a bulwark against the Welsh! It protects Mercia from the pagan north! It must not be lost!' He stopped abruptly, maybe remembering the savagery with which I usually greeted military advice from priests.\n\n'Take note of the bulwarks!' his brother lisped through his missing teeth, 'that you can tell it to the next generation!'\n\nI stared at him, wondering if he had lost his brains along with his teeth, but the other priests all muttered and nodded approval. 'The words of the psalmist,' blind Father Cuthbert explained to me. Cuthbert was the one priest who supported me, but then he had always been eccentric.\n\n'We cannot tell the next generation,' Father Ceolberht hissed, 'if the bulwarks are lost! We must protect the bulwarks! We cannot abandon Ceaster's walls.'\n\n'It is the word of the Lord, praise be the Lord,' Ceolnoth said.\n\nCynl\u00e6f smiled at me. 'Only a fool ignores your advice,' he said with patronising flattery, 'and the defeat of Ragnall is our aim, of course, but the protection of Ceaster is just as important!'\n\n'And to leave the walls undefended...' Merewalh said unhappily, but did not finish the thought.\n\nAnother rumble of thunder sounded. Rain was pouring through the hole in the roof and hissing in the hearth. 'God speaks!' Father Ceolnoth said.\n\nWhich god? Thor was the god of thunder. I was tempted to remind them of that, but saying as much would only antagonise them.\n\n'We must shelter from the storm,' Ceolberht said, 'and the thunder is the sign that we must stay within these walls.'\n\n'We should stay...' \u00c6thelflaed began, but then was interrupted.\n\n'Forgive me,' Bishop Leofstan said, 'dear lady, please, forgive me!'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed looked indignant at the interruption, but managed a gracious smile. 'Bishop?'\n\n'What did our Lord say?' the bishop asked as he limped to the open space by the hearth where rain spattered on his robe. 'Did our Lord say that we should stay at home? Did he encourage us to crouch by the cottage fire? Did he tell his disciples to close the door and huddle by the hearth? No! He sent his followers forth! Two by two! And why? Because he gave them power over the overpowering enemy!' he spoke passionately, and, with astonishment, I realised he was supporting me. 'The kingdom of heaven is not spread by staying at home,' the bishop said fervently, 'but by going forth as our Lord commanded!'\n\n'Saint Mark,' a very young priest ventured.\n\n'Well spoken, Father Olbert!' the bishop said. 'The commandment is indeed found in the gospel of Mark!' Another peal of thunder crashed in the night. The wind was rising, howling in the dark as the hall dogs whined. The rain was falling harder now, glinting in the firelight where it slanted down to hiss in the bright flames. 'We are commanded to go forth!' the bishop said. 'To go forth and conquer!'\n\n'Bishop,' Cynl\u00e6f began.\n\n'The ways of the Lord are strange,' Leofstan ignored Cynl\u00e6f. 'I cannot explain why our God has blessed us with the Lord Uhtred's presence, but one thing I do know. The Lord Uhtred wins battles! He is a mighty warrior for the Lord!' He paused suddenly, flinching, and I remembered the sudden pains that assailed him. For a moment he looked in agony, one hand clutched to the robe above his heart, then the pain vanished from his face. 'Is anyone here a greater warrior than the Lord Uhtred?' he asked. 'If so, let them stand up!' Most of the men were already standing, but they seemed to know what Leofstan meant. 'Does anyone here know more of war than Lord Uhtred? Is there anyone here who strikes more fear into the enemy?' He paused, waiting, but no one spoke or stirred. 'I do not deny that he is grievously mistaken about our faith, that he is in need of God's grace and of Christ's forgiveness, but God has sent him to us and we must not reject the gift.' He bowed to \u00c6thelflaed. 'My lady, forgive my humble opinions, but I urge you to listen to the Lord Uhtred.'\n\nI could have kissed him.\n\n\u00c6thelflaed looked about the hall. A spike of lightning lit the roof-hole, followed by a monstrous clap of thunder that shook the sky. Men shuffled their feet, but no one spoke to contradict the bishop. 'Merewalh,' \u00c6thelflaed stood to show that the discussion was finished, 'you will stay in the city with one hundred men. All the rest,' she hesitated a moment, glancing at me, then made her decision, 'will ride with Lord Uhtred.'\n\n'We leave two hours before dawn,' I said.\n\n'Vengeance is mine!' the bishop said happily.\n\nHe was wrong. It was mine.\n\nWe were leaving Ceaster to attack Ragnall.\n\nI led almost eight hundred men into the darkness. We rode out through the north gate into a storm as wild as any I remembered. Thunder filled the sky, lightning splintered across the clouds, the rain seethed and the wind howled like the shrieks of the damned. I led my men and \u00c6thelflaed's men, the warriors of Mercia, soldiers of the storm, all mounted on good stallions, all in mail and armed with swords, spears, and axes. Bishop Leofstan had stood on the gate's rampart shouting blessings down on us, his voice snatched away by the gale. 'You do the Lord's work!' he had called. 'The Lord is with you, His blessing is upon you!'\n\nThe Lord's work was to break Ragnall. And of course it was a risk. Maybe even now Ragnall's warriors were filing through the wet darkness towards Ceaster, carrying ladders and readying themselves to fight and die on a Roman wall. But probably not. I needed neither omens nor scouts to tell me that Ragnall was not ready to assault Ceaster yet.\n\nRagnall had moved fast. He had taken his large army and lunged towards Eoferwic, and that city, key to the north, had fallen without a fight, and so Ragnall had turned back to make his assault on Ceaster. His men had marched unceasingly. They were tired. They had reached Eads Byrig to find it blood-soaked and ruined, and now they faced a Roman fort packed with defenders. They needed a day or two, more even, to ready themselves, to make the ladders and to find forage and to allow the laggards to catch up with the army.\n\nMerewalh and the others were right, of course. The easiest and safest way to preserve Ceaster was to stay inside the high walls and let Ragnall's men die against the stones. And they would die. Much of the fyrd had arrived, bringing their axes, hoes, and spears. They had brought their families and livestock too, so the streets were filled with cattle, pigs, and sheep. The walls of Ceaster would be well defended, though that would not stop Ragnall making an attempt to cross the ramparts. But if we just stayed inside the walls and waited for that attempt we would yield all the surrounding countryside to his mercy. He would make an assault, and the assault would probably fail, but such was the size of his army that he could afford that failure and attack again. And all the time his troops would be raiding deep into Mercia, burning and killing, taking slaves and capturing livestock, and \u00c6thelflaed's army would be locked into Ceaster, helpless to defend the land it was sworn to protect.\n\nSo I wanted to drive him away from Ceaster. I wanted to hit him hard now.\n\nI wanted to hit him in the dark of the night's ending, hit him in the thunder of Thor's providential storm, hit him under the lash of Thor's lightning, strike him in the wind and the rain of the gods. I would bring him chaos. He had hoped to have Eads Byrig as a refuge, but he had no refuge now except for the shields of his men, and those men would be cowering in the storm, chilled and tired, and we rode to kill them.\n\nAnd to kill Brida. I thought of my son, my gelded son, lying curled on his bed of pain, and I touched Serpent-Breath's hilt and promised myself her blade would taste blood before the sun was risen. I wanted to find Brida, the sorceress who had cut my son, and I swore I would make that vile creature scream till her voice drowned out even Thor's loud thunder.\n\nCynl\u00e6f led \u00c6thelflaed's men. I would have preferred Merewalh, but \u00c6thelflaed wanted someone reliable to guard Ceaster's walls and she had insisted Merewalh stayed, and sent Cynl\u00e6f in his place. She had told her favourite that he was to obey me. \u00c6thelflaed, of course, had wanted to come herself and for once I had won that argument, telling her that the chaos of a fight in the half-light of a storm-ridden dawn was no place for her. 'It will be a killing, my lady,' I had told her, 'nothing but killing. And if you're there I'll have to give you a bodyguard, and those men can't join the slaughter. I need them all and I don't need to be worrying whether you're safe or not.' She had reluctantly accepted the argument, sending Cynl\u00e6f in her place, and he now rode close to me, saying nothing. We went slowly, we could not hurry. The only light came from the intermittent flashes of lightning that streaked to earth and silvered the sky, but I did not need light. What we did was simple. We would make chaos, and to make it we only needed to reach the forest's edge and wait there until the first faint wolf-light of dawn revealed the trees among the night's shadows and so let us ride safely to a slaughter.\n\nA bolt of lightning showed when we reached the end of the pastureland. In front of us all was black, trees and bushes and ghosts. We stopped and the rain pounded about us. Finan moved his horse next to mine. I could hear his saddle creaking and the thump as his stallion pawed the wet ground. 'Make sure they're well spread out,' I said.\n\n'They are,' Finan responded.\n\nI had ordered the horsemen to form eight groups. Each would advance on its own, careless of what the others did. We were a rake with eight tines, a rake to claw through the forest. The only rules of the morning were that the groups were to kill, they were to avoid the inevitable shield wall that would eventually form, and they were to obey the sound of the horn when it called for withdrawal. I planned to be back in Ceaster for breakfast.\n\nUnless the enemy knew we were coming. Unless their sentries had seen us approach, had seen us silvered in the wet darkness by the bright streaks of Thor's lightning. Unless they were already touching iron-rimmed shields together to make the wall that would be our death. It is during the time of waiting that the mind crawls into a coward's cave and whines to be spared. I thought of all that could go wrong and felt the temptation to be safe, to take the troops back to Ceaster and man the walls and let the enemy die in a furious assault. No one would blame me, and if Ragnall died beneath Ceaster's stones then his death would provide another song of Uhtred that would be chanted in mead halls across all Mercia. I touched the hammer hanging at my neck. All along the forest's edge men were touching their talismans, saying prayers to their god or gods, feeling the creep of fear chill their bones more thoroughly than the soaking rain and gusting wind.\n\n'Almost,' Finan said in a low voice.\n\n'Almost,' I answered. The wolf-light is the light between dark and light, between the night and the dawn. There are no colours, just the grey of a sword blade, of mist, the grey that swallows the ghosts and elves and goblins. Foxes seek their dens, badgers go to earth, and the owl flies home. Another bellow of thunder shook the sky and I looked up, the rain pelting on my face, and I prayed to Thor and to Odin. I do this for you, I said, for your amusement. The gods watch us, they reward us, and sometimes they punish us. At the foot of Yggdrasil the three hags were watching and smiling, and were they sharpening the shears? I thought of \u00c6thelflaed, sometimes so cold and sometimes so desperate for warmth. She hated Eadith, who was so loyal to me and so loving and so fearful of \u00c6thelflaed, and I thought of Mus, that creature of the dark who drove men wild, and I wondered if she feared anyone, and was instead a messenger from the gods.\n\nI looked back to the woods and could see the shape of trees now, dark in the darkness, see the slash of rain. 'Almost,' I said again.\n\n'In the name of God,' Finan muttered. I saw him make the sign of the cross. 'If you see my brother,' he said louder, 'he's mine.'\n\n'If I see your brother,' I promised, 'he's yours.' Godric had offered me the heavy spear, but I preferred a sword, and so I pulled Serpent-Breath from her scabbard and held her straight out, and I could see the sheen of her blade like a shimmer of misted light in the dark. A horse whinnied. I raised the blade and kissed the steel. 'For Eostre,' I said, 'for Eostre and for Mercia!'\n\nAnd the shadows beneath the trees dissolved into shapes, into bushes and trunks, of leaves thrashing in the wind. It was still night, but the wolf-light had come.\n\n'Let's go,' I said to Finan, then raised my voice to a shout. 'Let's go!'\n\nThe time for hiding was over. Now it was speed and noise. I crouched in the saddle, wary of low branches, letting Tintreg pick his own way, but urging him on. The small light grew. The rain was beating on the leaves, the woods were full of the noise of horses, the wind was tossing high branches like mad things in torment. I waited to hear a horn calling to summon our enemies, but none sounded. Lightning flickered to the north, casting stark black shadows among the trees, then the thunder sounded and just then I saw the first pale light of a fire ahead. Campfires! Ragnall's men were in the clearings, and if he had set sentries they had not seen us, or we had passed them, and the flicker of fires fighting the drenching rain became brighter. I saw shadows among the fires. Some men were awake, presumably feeding the flames and oblivious that we were riding to their deaths. Then far off to my right, where the Roman road led into the forest, I heard shouts and knew our killing had begun.\n\nThat dawn was savage. Ragnall had thought we were sheltering behind Ceaster's walls, cowed there by his killings on Eostre's feast, but instead we burst on his men, coming with the thunder, and they were not ready. I crashed out of the trees into a wide clearing and saw miserable shelters hastily made from branches, and a man crawled from one, looked up and took Serpent-Breath in his face. The blade struck bone, jarred up my arm, and another man was running and I speared him in the back with the sword's tip. All around me horsemen were wounding and killing. 'Keep going,' I bellowed, 'keep going!' This was just one encampment in a clearing, the main camp was still ahead. A glow above the dark trees showed where fires were lit on the summit of Eads Byrig and I rode that way.\n\nBack into the trees. The light was growing, shrouded by storm clouds, but ahead I could see the wide swathe of land cleared of trees that surrounded the slopes of Eads Byrig and it was there, among the stumps, that most of Ragnall's men were camped, and it was there we killed them. We burst from the woods with bloodied swords and we rode among the panicked men and we cut them down. Women screamed, children cried. My son led men from my right, slicing into fugitives fleeing from our swords. Tintreg thumped into a man, throwing him down into a fire that erupted sparks. His hair caught the flames. He shrieked and I back-handed Serpent-Breath to chop down another man running with wide eyes, his mail coat in his arms, and ahead of me a warrior bellowed defiance and waited with a spear for my charge and then turned, hearing hooves behind him, and died under a Frisian axe that clove his skull. Newly woken men were scrambling through the first ditch and over the earth wall and a horn was now sounding from the old fort's summit. I spurred into a group of men, slashing Serpent-Breath down savagely as Godric rode in with his levelled spear to slice a man's belly open. Tintreg snapped at a man, biting his face, then plunged on as thunder ripped the sky above us. Berg galloped past me, whooping, with a length of entrails dragging from his sword. He chopped the weapon down, turned his horse, and chopped again. The man Tintreg had bitten reeled away, hands clutched to his ruined face and blood seeping through his fingers. The brightest thing in that wolf-light was not the fires, but the blood of enemies reflecting the sudden glare of lightning.\n\nI spurred towards the entrance of the ruined fort and saw a shield wall had formed across the track there. Men were running to join it, pushing their way into the ranks and lining their round shields to make the wall wider. Banners flew above them, but the flags were so soaked by rain that even that dawn's strong wind could not lift them. My son spurred past me, riding for the track, and I called him back. 'Leave them!' There were at least a hundred men guarding the entrance path. Horses could not break them. I was certain Ragnall was there, as was Brida, both beneath their waterlogged banners, but their deaths must wait for another day. We had come to kill, not to fight against a shield wall.\n\nI had told my men that each had only to kill one man and that killing would almost halve Ragnall's army. We were wounding more than we were killing, but a wounded man is more trouble to an enemy than a dead man. A corpse can be buried or burned, he can be mourned and abandoned, but the wounded need care. The sight of men with missing eyes or with bellies welling blood or with splintered bones showing through flesh will give fear to an enemy. A wounded army is a slow army, full of terror, and we slowed Ragnall even more by driving his horses back into the forest. We drove women and children too, encouraging them by killing any that defied us. Ragnall's men would know their womenfolk were in our hands and their children were destined for our slave markets. War is not kind, but Ragnall had brought war to Mercia in expectation that a land ruled by a woman would be easy to conquer. Now he was discovering just how easy.\n\nI watched Cynl\u00e6f hunt down three men, all armed with spears and all trying to gut his horse before killing him. He dealt with them easily, using his skills as a horseman as well as his sword-craft to wound two and kill the third. 'Impressive,' Finan said grudgingly as we watched the young West Saxon turn his stallion, cut fast with his blade to open a man's arm from elbow to shoulder, then use the horse's weight to drive the last enemy down to the turf where he casually finished him off by leaning from the saddle and stabbing. Cynl\u00e6f saw we had watched him and grinned at us. 'Good hunting this morning, lord!' he called.\n\n'Sound the horn,' I told Godric, who was grinning because he had killed and survived.\n\nIt was time to leave. We had ripped Ragnall's encampments apart, soaked the wolf-light in blood, and hurt the enemy grievously. Bodies lay among the campfires that now died under the lash of rain. A good part of Ragnall's army had survived, and those men were on the summit of Eads Byrig where they could only watch as our rampaging horsemen hunted down the last few survivors from the lower encampments. I gazed through the pelting downpour and thought I saw Ragnall standing next to a diminutive figure cloaked in black, and that could have been Brida. 'My brother's there,' Finan said bitterly.\n\n'You can see him?'\n\n'See him and smell him.' He rammed his sword back into its scabbard. 'Another day. I'll kill him yet.'\n\nWe turned away. We had come, we had killed, and now we left, driving horses, women and children ahead of us through the storm-drenched forest. No one pursued us. Ragnall's men, imbued with confidence because of their leader's arrogance, had been sheltering from the storm, and we had come with the thunder and now left with the dawn.\n\nWe lost eleven men. Just eleven. Two, I know, drove their horses across the ditches and up into the shield wall on Eads Byrig's summit, but the rest? I never discovered what happened to those nine men, but it was a small price to pay for the havoc we had inflicted on Ragnall's army. We had killed or wounded three or four hundred men and, once back in Ceaster, we discovered we had captured one hundred and seventeen horses, sixty-eight women, and ninety-four children. Even Ceolberht and Ceolnoth, the priests whose hatred for me was so fierce, stood applauding as the captives were driven through the gate. 'Praise God!' Father Ceolnoth exclaimed.\n\n'Praise Him in the highest!' his brother hissed through missing teeth. A captive woman screamed at him and he stepped forward to slap her hard about the head. 'You're fortunate, woman,' he told her, 'you are in God's hands! You will be a Christian now!'\n\n'All the little ones brought to Christ!' Bishop Leofstan exclaimed, looking eagerly at the crying children.\n\n'Brought to Frankish slave markets,' Finan muttered.\n\nI dropped from Tintreg's saddle, unbuckled the sword belt, and gave Serpent-Breath to Godric. 'Clean it well,' I told him, 'and grease it. Then find Father Gl\u00e6dwine and send him to me.'\n\nGodric stared at me. 'You want a priest?' he asked in disbelief.\n\n'I want Father Gl\u00e6dwine,' I said, 'so fetch him.'\n\nThen I went to find breakfast.\n\nFather Gl\u00e6dwine was one of \u00c6thelflaed's priests, a young man with a high pale forehead and a perpetual frown. He was said to be learned, the product of one of King Alfred's schools in Wessex, and \u00c6thelflaed used him as a clerk. He wrote her letters, copied her laws, and drew up land-charters, but his reputation went far beyond such menial duties. He was a poet, famed for the hymns he composed. Those hymns were chanted by monks in church and by harpists in halls, and I had been forced to listen to some, mainly when harpists sang in \u00c6thelflaed's palace. I had expected them to be dull, but Father Gl\u00e6dwine liked his songs to tell stories and, despite my distaste, I had enjoyed listening. One of his better songs told of the woman blacksmith who had forged the nails used to crucify the nailed god. There had been three nails and three curses, the first of which resulted in one of her children being eaten by a wolf, the second doomed her husband to drowning in a Galilean cesspit, and the third gave her the shaking disease and turned her brain to pottage, all of which evidently proved the power of the Christian god.\n\nIt was a good story and that was why I summoned Gl\u00e6dwine, who looked as if his own brain had been turned to pottage when he came to the courtyard of my house where Godwin was plunging my mail coat into a barrel. The water had turned pink. 'That's blood,' I told a nervous Gl\u00e6dwine.\n\n'Yes, lord,' he stammered.\n\n'Pagan blood.'\n\n'God be praised,' he began, then remembered I was a pagan, 'that you lived, lord,' he added hastily and cleverly.\n\nI struggled out of the leather jerkin that I wore beneath the mail coat. It stank. The courtyard was full of petitioners, but it always was. Men came for justice, for favours, or simply to remind me that they existed. Now they waited in the shelter of the roofed walkway that edged the courtyard. It still rained, though much of the storm's malevolence had faded. I saw Gerbruht, the big Frisian, among the petitioners. He was forcing a prisoner to his knees. I did not recognise the man, but assumed he was one of \u00c6thelflaed's men who had been caught stealing. Gerbruht caught my eye and began to speak.\n\n'Later,' I told him, and looked back to the pale priest. 'You will write a song, Gl\u00e6dwine.'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'A song of Eads Byrig.'\n\n'Of course, lord.'\n\n'This song will tell how Ragnall the Sea King, Ragnall the Cruel, came to Ceaster and was defeated there.'\n\n'He was defeated, lord,' Gl\u00e6dwine repeated. He blinked as the rain fell into his eyes.\n\n'You will tell how his men were cut down, how his women were captured, and his children enslaved.'\n\n'Enslaved, lord,' he nodded.\n\n'And how the men of Mercia carried their blades to an enemy and made them crawl in the mud.'\n\n'The mud, lord.'\n\n'It will be a song of triumph, Gl\u00e6dwine!'\n\n'Of course, lord,' he said, frowning, then looked nervously around the courtyard. 'But don't you have your own poets, lord? Your harpists?'\n\n'And what will my poets chant of Eads Byrig?'\n\nHe fluttered his ink-stained hands, wondering what answer I wanted. 'They will tell of your victory, lord, of course\u2014'\n\n'And that's what I don't want!' I interrupted him. 'This will be a song of Lady \u00c6thelflaed's victory, you understand? Leave me out of it! Say the Lady \u00c6thelflaed led the men of Mercia to their slaughter of the pagans, say your god led her and inspired her and gave her the triumph.'\n\n'My God?' he asked astonished.\n\n'I want a Christian poem, you idiot.'\n\n'You want a...' the idiot began, then bit off the rest of his question. 'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed's triumph, yes, lord.'\n\n'And Prince \u00c6thelstan,' I said, 'mention him too.' \u00c6thelstan had ridden with my son and acquitted himself well.\n\n'Yes, lord, Prince \u00c6thelstan too.'\n\n'He killed scores! Say that! That \u00c6thelstan made corpses of the pagans. This is a song of \u00c6thelflaed and \u00c6thelstan, you don't even need to mention my name. You can say I stayed in Ceaster with a sore toe.'\n\n'A sore toe, lord,' Gl\u00e6dwine repeated, frowning. 'You want this victory ascribed to Almighty God?'\n\n'And to \u00c6thelflaed,' I insisted.\n\n'And it's Eastertide,' Gl\u00e6dwine said, almost to himself.\n\n'Eostre's feast,' I corrected him.\n\n'I can say it is the Easter victory, lord!' he sounded excited.\n\n'It can be whatever you like,' I snarled, 'but I want that song chanted in every hall. I want it shouted in Wessex, heard in East Anglia, told to the Welsh, and sung in Frankia. Make it good, priest, make it bloody, make it exciting!'\n\n'Of course, lord!'\n\n'The song of Ragnall's defeat,' I said, though of course Ragnall was not defeated, not yet. More than half his army remained, and that half probably still outnumbered us, but he had been shown to be vulnerable. He had come across the sea and he had taken most of Northumbria with speed and daring, and the stories of those exploits would spread until men believed that Ragnall was fated to be a conqueror, so now was the time to tell folk that Ragnall could be beaten and that he would be beaten. And it was better that it was \u00c6thelflaed who was shown to be Ragnall's doom because many men would not allow songs of Uhtred to be sung in their halls. I was a pagan, they were Christian. They would hear Gl\u00e6dwine's song, though, which would give the nailed god all the credit and take away some of the fear of Ragnall. And there were still fools who thought a woman should not rule, so let the fools hear a song about a woman's triumph.\n\nI gave Gl\u00e6dwine gold. Like most poets he claimed he invented his songs because he had no choice, 'I never asked to be a poet,' he had told me once, 'but the words just come to me, lord. They come from the Holy Ghost! He is my inspiration!' That might have been true, though I noticed the Holy Ghost was a lot more inspiring when it smelt gold or silver. 'Write well,' I told him, then waved him away.\n\nThe moment that Gl\u00e6dwine scuttled to the gate all the petitioners surged forward to be checked by my spearmen. I nodded to Gerbruht. 'You're next.'\n\nGerbruht kicked his prisoner towards me. 'He's a Norseman, lord,' he said, 'one of Ragnall's scum.'\n\n'Then why does he have both hands?' I asked. We had taken some men prisoner along with the women and children and I had ordered their sword hands chopped off before we let them go. 'He should be back at Eads Byrig,' I said, 'with a bloody stump for a wrist.' I took a pot of ale from one of the maids and drank it all. When I looked back I saw that the prisoner was crying. He was a good-looking man, maybe in his middle twenties, with a battle-scarred face and cheeks marked with inked axes. I was used to boys crying, but the prisoner was a hard-looking man and he was sobbing. That intrigued me. Most men face mutilation bravely or with defiance, but this man was weeping like a child. 'Wait,' I told Gerbruht, who had drawn a knife.\n\n'I wasn't going to chop him here!' Gerbruht protested, 'Not here. Your lady Eadith doesn't like blood all over the courtyard. Remember that sow we butchered at Yule? She wasn't happy at all!' He kicked the sobbing prisoner. 'And we didn't capture this one in the dawn fight, lord, he only just arrived.'\n\n'He only just arrived?'\n\n'He rode his horse to the gate, lord. There were bastards chasing him, but he got here first.'\n\n'Then we won't chop him or kill him,' I said, 'yet.' I used my boot to raise the prisoner's chin. 'Tell me your name?'\n\n'Vidarr, lord,' he said, trying to control his sobs.\n\n'Norse? Dane?'\n\n'Norse, lord.'\n\n'Why are you here, Vidarr?'\n\nHe took a huge breath. Gerbruht evidently thought he would not answer and slapped him around the head. 'My wife!' Vidarr said hurriedly.\n\n'Your wife.'\n\n'My wife!' he said again, and his face crumpled into grief. 'My wife, lord.' He seemed incapable of saying anything else.\n\n'Leave him alone,' I told Gerbruht, who was about to hit the prisoner again. 'Tell me about your wife,' I ordered Vidarr.\n\n'She's your prisoner, lord.'\n\n'So?'\n\nHis voice was little more than a whisper. 'She's my wife, lord.'\n\n'And you love her?' I asked harshly.\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'God in His heaven,' Gerbruht mocked. 'He loves her! She's probably been...'\n\n'Quiet,' I snarled. I looked at Vidarr. 'Who has your oath?'\n\n'Jarl Ragnall, lord.'\n\n'So what do you expect me to do? Give you back your wife and let you go?'\n\nHe shook his head. 'No, lord.'\n\n'A man who breaks his oath,' I said, 'can't be trusted.'\n\n'I swore an oath to Askatla too, lord.'\n\n'Askatla? She's your wife?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'And that oath is greater than the one to Jarl Ragnall?'\n\nHe knew the answer to that and did not want to say it aloud, so instead he raised his head to look at me. 'I love her, lord,' he pleaded. He sounded pathetic and he knew it, but he had been driven to this humiliation by love. A woman can do that. They have power. We might all say that the oath to our lord is the strong oath that guides our lives, the oath that binds us and rules all the other oaths, but few men would not abandon every oath under the sun for a woman. I have broken oaths. I am not proud of that, but almost every oath I broke was for a woman.\n\n'Give me one reason I should not have you taken to the ditch and killed,' I said to Vidarr. He said nothing. 'Or have you sent back to Jarl Ragnall,' I added. We dare not admit that women have such power, and so I was harsh with him.\n\nHe just shook his head, not knowing how to answer me. Gerbruht leered happily, but then Vidarr tried one last desperate appeal. 'I know why your son came to Ragnall!'\n\n'My son?'\n\n'The priest, lord.' He gazed up at me, despair on his face. I said nothing, and he mistook that silence for anger. 'The priest the sorceress cut, lord,' he added in a low voice.\n\n'I know what she did to him,' I said.\n\nHis face dropped. 'Spare me, lord,' he almost whispered the words, 'and I will serve you.'\n\nHe had intrigued me. I lifted his head with my right hand. 'Why did my son go to Ragnall?' I asked.\n\n'He was an emissary of peace, lord.'\n\n'An emissary?' I asked. That made little sense. 'From whom?'\n\n'From Ireland, lord!' he said in a tone suggesting he thought I already knew. 'From your daughter.'\n\nFor a moment I was too astonished to speak. I just stared at him. The rain fell on his face, but I was oblivious of the weather. 'Stiorra?' I finally asked. 'Why would she send an emissary for peace?'\n\n'Because they're at war, lord!'\n\n'They?'\n\n'Ragnall and his brother!'\n\nI still just stared at him. Vidarr opened his mouth to say more, but I silenced him by shaking my head. So Sigtryggr was Ragnall's enemy too? My son-in-law was an ally?\n\nI shouted to Godric. 'Bring me Serpent-Breath! Now!'\n\nHe gave me the sword. I looked into Vidarr's eyes, raised the blade and saw him flinch, then I brought the weapon down hard so that her tip struck into the soft earth between two of the paving stones. I clasped my hands around the hilt. 'Swear loyalty to me,' I ordered him.\n\nHe put his hands around mine and swore to be my man, to be loyal to me, to serve me, to die for me. 'Find him a sword,' I commanded Gerbruht, 'and a coat of mail, a shield, and his wife.'\n\nThen I went to find my son. My eldest son.\n\nWyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u0101r\u00e6d."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Later that morning Finan led two hundred and fifty horsemen into the country south of Eads Byrig where they discovered two of Ragnall's foraging parties. They killed every man of the first and put the second to panicked flight, capturing an eleven-year-old boy who was the son of a Northumbrian jarl. 'He'll pay a ransom for the boy,' Finan predicted. He had also brought back sixteen horses and a dozen coats of mail, along with weapons, helmets, and shields. I had sent Vidarr with Finan's men to test the newcomer's loyalty. 'Aye, he killed well enough,' Finan told me, 'and he knows his trade.' Out of curiosity I had summoned Vidarr and his wife to my house so I could see for myself what kind of woman drove a man to treason and tears, and discovered she was a small, plump creature with beady eyes and a shrill tongue. 'Will we get land?' she demanded of me, and, when her husband tried to silence her, turned on him like a vixen. 'Don't you hush me, Vidarr Leifson! Jarl Ragnall promised us land! I didn't cross an ocean to die in a Saxon ditch!' She might have driven me to tears, though never to treason, yet Vidarr gazed at her as though she were the queen of Asgard.\n\nFinan's tired horsemen were elated as they returned. They knew they were beating Ragnall's horde and knew that any ransom and the sale of the captured weapons would bring gold to their purses. Men clamoured to ride, and that evening Sihtric led another hundred men to scour the same countryside. I wanted to keep Ragnall embattled, to let him know there would be no peace so long as he stayed close to Ceaster. We had hurt him badly on the day after Eostre's feast and I wanted the pain to continue.\n\nI also wanted to speak to my son, but he seemed incapable of speech. He lay heaped with blankets and furs, sweating and shivering at the same time. 'His fever must burn out,' Ymma, the gaunt woman who seemed to be the only sister allowed to talk to men, told me, 'he needs prayer and sweat,' she said, 'a lot of sweat!' When I had arrived at the house, the crippled gatekeeper had bashed the iron bar to announce a male visitor and there had been a scurrying of hooded women rushing to hide themselves as Sister Ymma emerged grimly from wherever she lurked. 'His bleeding has stopped, thank God,' she said, making the sign of the cross, 'thanks to Saint Werburgh's breastcloth.'\n\n'Thanks to what?'\n\n'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed lent it to us,' she said, 'it is a holy relic.' She shuddered. 'I was privileged to touch it!'\n\n'Breastcloth?'\n\n'The blessed Saint Werburgh bound her breasts with a strip of cloth,' Sister Ymma explained sternly. 'She bound them tightly, so she would not tempt men. And she put thorns beneath the cloth as a reminder of her Lord's suffering.'\n\n'She put pricks on her tits?' I said aghast.\n\n'That is one way of glorifying God!' Sister Ymma replied.\n\nI will never understand Christians. I have seen men and women whip themselves till their backs were nothing but strips of flesh hanging from exposed ribs, watched pilgrims limp on bleeding broken feet to worship the tooth of the whale that swallowed Jonah, and seen a man hammer nails through his own feet. What god wants such nonsense? And why prefer a god who wants you to torture yourself instead of worshipping Eostre who wants you to take a girl into the woods and make babies?\n\n'The bishop himself prayed over him last night,' Sister Ymma said, stroking my son's forehead with a surprisingly gentle touch, 'and he brought the tongue of Saint Cedd and laid it on his wound. And, of course, Sister Gomer tends him. If anyone can work God's miracle it is Sister Gomer.'\n\n'The bishop's wife,' I said.\n\n'A living saint,' Sister Ymma said reverently.\n\nMy son needed a living saint, or at least a miracle. He no longer lay curled about his pain, yet he still seemed incapable of speech. I spoke his name aloud and I thought he recognised it, but I could not be certain. I was not even sure he was awake. 'You bloody damned fool,' I told him, 'what were you doing in Ireland?' Of course he did not answer.\n\n'We can be certain he was doing Christ's work,' Sister Ymma said confidently, 'and now he is a martyr for the faith. He has the privilege of suffering for Christ!'\n\nMy son was suffering, but it seemed Sister Gomer was indeed working miracles because next morning the bishop sent me a message that my son was recovering. I went back to the house, waited while the courtyard was cleared of women, then went to the small room where Uhtred lay. Except he was no longer Uhtred. He called himself Father Oswald now and I found him propped up in his bed with colour in his cheeks. He looked up at me and I looked down at him. 'You damned fool,' I said.\n\n'Welcome, father,' he answered weakly. He had evidently eaten because an empty bowl and a wooden spoon lay on the fur covering. He was clutching a crucifix.\n\n'You almost died, you stupid bastard,' I growled.\n\n'Would you have cared?'\n\nI did not answer, but stood in the doorway and glowered out into the courtyard. 'Do these damned women talk to you?'\n\n'They whisper,' he said.\n\n'Whisper?'\n\n'As little as possible. Silence is their gift to god.'\n\n'A silent woman,' I said. 'It's not a bad thing, I suppose.'\n\n'They are just obeying the scripture.'\n\n'The scripture?'\n\n'In his letter to Timothy,' my son said primly, 'Saint Paul says a woman should \"be in silence\" .'\n\n'He was probably married to some dreadful creature who nagged him,' I said, thinking of Vidarr's shrill wife, 'but why would a god want silence?'\n\n'Because his ears are battered by prayers. Thousands of prayers. Prayers from the sick, from the lonely, from the dying, the miserable, the poor and the needy. Silence is a gift to those souls, allowing their prayers to reach God.'\n\nI watched sparrows bicker on the courtyard's grass. 'And you think your god answers those prayers?'\n\n'I'm alive,' he said simply.\n\n'So am I,' I retorted, 'and enough damned Christians have prayed for my death.'\n\n'That's true.' He sounded amused, but when I turned back I saw that his face was a grimace of pain.\n\nI watched him, not knowing what to say. 'That must hurt,' I finally said.\n\n'It hurts,' he agreed.\n\n'How did you get yourself captured by Ragnall? That was a stupid thing to do!'\n\n'I went to him with authority,' my son said tiredly, 'as an emissary. It wasn't stupid, he had agreed to receive me.'\n\n'You were in Ireland?'\n\n'Not when I met him, no. But I'd come from there.'\n\n'From Stiorra?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\nA dwarf woman arrived with a pot of water or ale and whimpered as a way of getting my attention. She wanted me to move from the doorway. 'Get out,' I snarled at her, then looked back to my son. 'Did that bitch Brida cut off your cock as well?'\n\nHe hesitated, then nodded. 'Yes.'\n\n'I don't suppose it matters. You're a damned priest. You can piss like a woman.'\n\nI was angry. I might have disowned Uhtred, I might have disinherited him and spurned him, but he was still my son, and an attack on him was an attack on my family. I glowered at him. His hair was cut very short. He had always been a good-looking boy, thin-faced and quick to smile, though doubtless his smile had vanished with his cock. He was better looking than my second son, I decided, who was said to resemble me, blunt-faced and scarred.\n\nHe stared back at me. 'I still honour you as my father,' he said after a pause.\n\n'Honour me as the man who'll take revenge for you,' I said, 'and tell me what's happened to Stiorra.'\n\nHe sighed, then flinched in pain as he moved under the bed covers. 'She and her husband are under siege.'\n\n'From?'\n\n'From the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill,' he frowned, 'they're a clan, a tribe, a kingdom in Ireland.' He paused, evidently wanting to explain more, then just shrugged as if any explanation would be too tiring. 'Things are different in Ireland.'\n\n'And they're Ragnall's allies?'\n\n'They are,' he said carefully, 'but they don't trust each other.'\n\n'Who would trust Ragnall?' I asked savagely.\n\n'He takes hostages. That's how he keeps his men loyal.'\n\nI was finding it difficult to understand what he was trying to say. 'Are you telling me the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill gave him hostages?'\n\nHe nodded. 'Ragnall yielded them his land in Ireland, but part of the price was one crew's service for one year.'\n\n'They're mercenaries!' I said, surprised.\n\n'Mercenaries,' he repeated the word, 'and their service is part of the land price. But another part was the death of Sigtryggr. If the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill don't give him that?'\n\n'If they fail,' I said, 'he has a crew of their men in his power. You think he'd kill them as revenge?'\n\n'What do you think? Conall and his men are mercenaries, but they're hostages too.'\n\nAnd that, at last, made sense. Neither Finan nor I could understand why there were Irish warriors serving Ragnall, and none of the prisoners we had taken had been able to offer an explanation. They were hired warriors, mercenaries, and a surety of Sigtryggr's death.\n\n'What's the quarrel between Ragnall and his brother?' I asked.\n\n'Sigtryggr refused to join his brother's army.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'They don't like each other. When their father died he divided his land between them and Ragnall resented that. He thinks it all ought to be his.' He paused to give a mirthless snort of laughter. 'And, of course, Ragnall wants Stiorra.'\n\nI stared at him. 'He what?'\n\n'Ragnall wants Stiorra,' he said again. I still stared at him and said nothing. 'She's grown to be a beautiful woman,' he explained.\n\n'I know what she is! And she's a pagan too.'\n\nHe nodded sadly. 'She says she's a pagan, but I think she's like you, father. She says it to annoy people.'\n\n'I am a pagan!' I said angrily. 'And so is Stiorra!'\n\n'I pray for her,' he said.\n\n'So do I,' I growled.\n\n'And Ragnall wants her,' he said simply. 'He has four wives already, now he wants Stiorra as well.'\n\n'And the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill are supposed to capture her?'\n\n'They're supposed to capture her,' he agreed, 'and to kill Sigtryggr. It's all part of the land price.'\n\nI prowled back to the door and gazed into the courtyard. A weak sun was casting shadows from the remains of a stone-walled ornamental pool that had long lost its water. The edge of the pool's wall was carved with running nymphs and goat-legged men. The eternal chase. 'Finan tells me the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill are the most powerful tribe in Ireland,' I spoke from the door, 'and you tell me they're pursuing Stiorra?'\n\n'They were,' my son said.\n\n'Were?' I asked, but he only sighed again and seemed reluctant to speak. I turned and looked at him. 'Were?' I repeated harshly.\n\n'They're frightened of her,' he really was reluctant to speak, unable to meet my gaze.\n\n'Why would a powerful tribe fear Stiorra?' I asked.\n\nHe sighed. 'They believe she's a sorceress.'\n\nI laughed. My daughter a sorceress! I was proud of her. 'So Sigtryggr and Stiorra are under siege,' I said, 'but the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill won't attack because they think Stiorra has the gods on her side?'\n\n'The devil, perhaps,' he said primly.\n\n'You think she commands Satan?' I asked harshly.\n\nHe shook his head. 'The Irish are superstitious,' he said more energetically. 'God knows there's too much superstition in Britain! Too many folk won't wholly abandon the old beliefs...'\n\n'Good,' I said.\n\n'But it's worse in Ireland! Even some of the priests there visit the old shrines. So yes, they're scared of Stiorra and her pagan gods.'\n\n'And how did you come to be mixed up in it? I thought you were safe in Wessex.'\n\n'An abbot in Ireland sent me the news. The monasteries of Ireland are different. They're larger, they have more power, the abbots are like lesser kings in some ways. He wanted the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill gone from his land because they were slaughtering his livestock and eating his grain. I went there, as he requested...'\n\n'What did they think you could do?' I interrupted him impatiently.\n\n'They wanted a peacemaker.'\n\nI sneered at that. 'So you did what? Crawled to Ragnall and begged him to be a nice man and leave your sister alone?'\n\n'I carried an offer to Ragnall,' he said.\n\n'Offer?'\n\n'Sigtryggr offered two helmets filled with gold if Ragnall would ask the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill to lift their siege.'\n\n'And Ragnall cut your balls off.'\n\n'He refused the offer. He laughed at it. He was going to send me back to Ireland with his reply, but then Brida of Dunholm came to his camp.'\n\n'That bitch,' I said vengefully. I looked back into the courtyard. The women must have decided my presence was not too corrupting because a few of them were carrying linens and food across the worn grass. 'Brida,' I said, 'was my first lover and she hates me.'\n\n'Love can turn to hatred,' he said.\n\n'Can it?' I asked savagely. I looked back to him. 'She cut you because you're my son.'\n\n'And because I'm a Christian. She hates Christians.'\n\n'She's not entirely bad then,' I said, then regretted the jest. 'She hates Christians because they're spoiling the land!' I explained. 'This land belonged to Thor and to Odin, every stream, every river, every field had a spirit or a nymph, now it has a foreign god.'\n\n'The one God,' he said quietly.\n\n'I'll kill her,' I said.\n\n'Father...'\n\n'Don't give me your Christian shit about forgiveness,' I snarled. 'I don't turn the other cheek! The bitch cut you and I'll cut her. I'll cut her damned womb out and feed it to my dogs. Where is Sigtryggr?'\n\n'Sigtryggr?' He was not really asking, just recovering from my blast of anger.\n\n'Yes, Sigtryggr and Stiorra! Where are they?'\n\n'On the other side of the Irish Sea.' He sounded tired now. 'There's a great inlet of the sea called Loch Cuan. On its western side is a fort on a hill, it's almost an island.'\n\n'Loch Cuan,' I repeated the unfamiliar name.\n\n'Any shipmaster who knows Ireland can take you to Loch Cuan.'\n\n'How many men does Sigtryggr lead?'\n\n'There were a hundred and forty when I was there.'\n\n'And their wives?'\n\n'And their wives and children, yes.'\n\nI grunted and looked back to the courtyard where two of the bishop's hunchbacks were laying out heavy flax sheets to dry on the grass. As soon as they were gone a small dog wandered out of the shadows and pissed on one of the sheets.\n\n'What are you laughing at?' my son asked.\n\n'Nothing,' I said. 'So there must be five hundred people in his fort?'\n\n'Close to that, yes, if...' he hesitated.\n\n'If what?'\n\n'If they have enough food.'\n\n'So the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill,' I said, 'won't attack, but they will starve them out?'\n\nHe nodded. 'Sigtryggr has enough food for a while, and there are fish, of course, and there's a spring on the headland. I'm no soldier...'\n\n'More's the pity,' I interrupted.\n\n'But Sigtryggr's fort is defensible. The land approach is narrow and rocky. Twenty men can hold that path, he says. Orvar Freyrson attacked with ships, but he lost men on the only beach.'\n\n'Orvar Freyrson?' I asked.\n\n'He's one of Ragnall's shipmasters. He has four ships in the loch.'\n\n'And Sigtryggr has none?'\n\n'None.'\n\n'So in the end he'll lose. He'll run out of food.'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'And my granddaughter will be slaughtered.'\n\n'Not if God wills otherwise.'\n\n'I wouldn't trust your god to save a worm.' I looked down at him. 'What happens to you now?'\n\n'Bishop Leofstan has offered to make me his chaplain, if God wills it.'\n\n'If you live, you mean?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'And that means you'll stay in Ceaster?'\n\nHe nodded. 'I assume so.' He hesitated. 'And you command the garrison here, father, so I assume you don't want me here.'\n\n'What I want,' I said, 'is what I've always wanted. Bebbanburg.'\n\nHe nodded. 'So you won't stay here,' he sounded hopeful. 'You won't stay in Ceaster?'\n\n'Of course not, you damned fool,' I said, 'I'm going to Ireland.'\n\n'You will not go to Ireland,' \u00c6thelflaed said. Or rather commanded me.\n\nIt was early afternoon. The sun had vanished again, replaced by another mass of low and ominous clouds that promised a hard rain before nightfall. It was a day to stay indoors, but instead we were well to the east of Eads Byrig and south of the Roman road along which I had led three hundred men from Ceaster. Almost half were my men, the rest were \u00c6thelflaed's. We had turned south off the road long before reaching its closest point to Eads Byrig, hoping to find more foraging parties, but we saw none.\n\n'Did you hear me?' \u00c6thelflaed demanded.\n\n'I'm not deaf.'\n\n'Except when you want to be,' she said tartly. She was mounted on Gast, her white horse, and dressed for war. I had not wanted her to come, telling her that the country around Ceaster was still too dangerous for anyone except warriors, but as usual she had scorned the advice. 'I am the ruler of Mercia,' she had told me grandly, 'and I ride wherever I wish in my own country.'\n\n'At least you'll be buried in your own country.'\n\nThere seemed no likelihood of that. If Ragnall had sent foraging parties they must have gone directly eastwards because there were none to the south. We had ridden overgrown pastures, crossed streams, and now sat our horses among the remnants of a coppiced wood, though it must have been at least ten years since the last forester had come to trim the oaks that were growing ragged again. I was debating whether to turn back when Berg called that one of our scouts was returning from the north. I had sent half a dozen men to take another look at the Roman road, but the afternoon seemed so quiet that I expected them to find nothing.\n\nI was wrong. 'They're leaving, lord!' Grimdahl, a Mercian, was the scout, and he shouted the news as he spurred his tired horse closer to us. He was grinning. 'They're leaving!' he called again.\n\n'Leaving?' \u00c6thelflaed asked.\n\n'All of them, my lady.' Grimdahl curbed his horse and jerked his head eastwards. 'They're taking the road out and going!'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed kicked her horse forward. 'Wait!' I called, then spurred ahead of her. 'Finan! Twenty-five men. Now!'\n\nWe chose men on the fastest horses and I led them across pastureland that was rich with spring grass. These lands had been abandoned for years because the Northmen were too close and anyone farming here could only face raids and killings. It was good land, but the fields were choked with weeds and thick with hazel saplings. We followed an overgrown cattle path eastwards, forced our way through a wood dense with brambles, and so out onto a stretch of heath. There was another belt of woodland ahead, and Grimdahl, who was riding beside me, nodded at the trees. 'The road's not far beyond those pines, lord.'\n\n'We should attack!' \u00c6thelflaed called. She had followed us, spurring Gast to catch up.\n\n'You shouldn't be here,' I told her.\n\n'You do like wasting your breath,' she retorted.\n\nI ignored her. Tintreg plunged into the pine trees. There was little undergrowth and thus little concealment and so I went cautiously, walking the stallion forward until I could see the Roman road. And there they were. A long line of men, horses, women, and children, all trudging eastwards.\n\n'We should attack,' \u00c6thelflaed said again.\n\nI shook my head. 'They're doing what we want them to do. They're leaving. Why disturb them?'\n\n'Because they shouldn't have come here in the first place,' she said vengefully.\n\nI should talk to the priest Gl\u00e6dwine again, I thought. His song of \u00c6thelflaed's victory could now end with the enemy slinking away like whipped dogs. I watched Ragnall's army retreat eastwards and I knew this was triumph. The largest northern army to invade Mercia or Wessex since the days of King Alfred had come, it had flaunted its power in front of Ceaster's walls, and now it was running away. There were no banners flying, no defiance, they were abandoning their hopes of capturing Ceaster. And Ragnall, I thought, was in real trouble. His army could even fall apart. The Danes and the Norse were terrible enemies, fearsome in battle and savage fighters, but they were opportunists too. When things went well, when land and slaves and gold and livestock fell into their hands they would follow a leader gladly, but as soon as that leader failed they would melt away. Ragnall, I thought, would have a struggle on his hands. He had taken Eoferwic, I knew, but how long could he hold that city? He had needed a great victory and he had been whipped.\n\n'I want to kill more of them,' \u00c6thelflaed said.\n\nI was tempted. Ragnall's men were strung along the road and it would have been simple to ride among them and slaughter the panicked fugitives. But they were still on Mercian soil, and Ragnall must have given orders that they were to march in mail, with shields and weapons ready. If we attacked they would make shield walls, and help would come from the front and the rear of the long column. 'I want them gone,' \u00c6thelflaed said, 'but I also want them dead!'\n\n'We won't attack them,' I said, and saw her bridle with indignation, so held up a hand to calm her. 'We'll let them attack us.'\n\n'Attack us?'\n\n'Wait,' I said. I could see some thirty or forty of Ragnall's men on horseback, all of them riding on the flanks of the column as if they shepherded the fugitives to safety. At least as many other men led their horses, and all those horses were worth gold to an army. Horses allowed an army to move fast and horses were riches. A man was judged by the quality of his gold, his armour, his weapons, his woman, and his horses, and Ragnall, I knew, was still short of horses, and to deprive him of more would hurt him. 'Grimdahl,' I turned in the saddle, 'go back to Sihtric. Tell him to bring everyone to the far wood.' I pointed to the trees on the other side of the heathland. 'He's to bring everyone! And they're to stay hidden.'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'The rest of you!' I raised my voice. 'We're not attacking them! We're just insulting them! I want you to mock them, jeer them! Laugh at them! Taunt them!' I lowered my voice. 'You can come, my lady, but don't ride too near the road.'\n\nAllowing \u00c6thelflaed to show herself so close to a humiliated enemy was a risk, of course, but I reckoned her presence would drive some of the Norsemen to fury, while others would see a chance to capture her and thus snatch an unlikely victory from their humiliating defeat. She was my bait. 'You hear me?' I demanded of her. 'I want you to show yourself, but be ready to retreat when I give the order.'\n\n'Retreat?' She did not like the word.\n\n'You want to give the orders instead of me?'\n\nShe smiled. 'I will behave myself, Lord Uhtred,' she said with mock humility. She was enjoying herself.\n\nI waited until I saw Sihtric's warriors among the far trees and then I led my few men and one woman out onto the open ground beside the road. The enemy saw us, of course, but at first assumed we were just a patrol that did not want trouble, but gradually we veered closer to the road, always keeping pace with the beaten troops. Once within earshot we shouted our insults, we mocked them, we called them frightened boys. I pointed to \u00c6thelflaed, 'You were beaten by a woman! By a woman!' And my men began chanting the words, 'Beaten by a woman! Beaten by a woman!'\n\nThe enemy looked sullen. One or two shouted back, but without enthusiasm, and we edged still closer, laughing at them. One man spurred away from the column, his sword drawn, but sheered away when he realised that no one was following him. Yet I saw that men who had been leading their horses were now pulling themselves into their saddles, and other horsemen were returning from the front of the column while still more spurred from the rear. 'Berg!' I called to the young Norseman.\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'You'll stay close beside the Lady \u00c6thelflaed,' I said, 'and make sure she rides away safely.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed gave an indignant snort, but did not argue. My men were still jeering, but I angled slightly away from the road and turned them back so we were now riding towards the place where Sihtric's men were hidden. We had got as close as forty paces to the beaten army, but I widened the gap now as I watched the enemy horsemen gather. I reckoned there were over a hundred of them, more than enough to slaughter my twenty-five men, and of course they were tempted. We had ridiculed them, they were slinking away from a defeat, and our deaths would be a small consolation.\n\n'They're coming,' Finan warned me.\n\n'Go!' I called to \u00c6thelflaed, then twisted in the saddle. 'We run away!' I called to my men and put my spurs to Tintreg's flanks. I slapped Gast's rump to make her leap away.\n\nNow it was Ragnall's men who jeered. They saw us fleeing and the horsemen quickened as they pursued us. We plunged back into the pines and I saw \u00c6thelflaed's white horse race ahead with Berg close behind her. I touched the spurs again, putting Tintreg to a full gallop so I could get ahead of \u00c6thelflaed and, once in the ragged stretch of heathland beyond the pine wood, I led my fleeing men directly westwards between the two strips of trees. We were sixty or seventy paces ahead of our pursuers, who were whooping and shouting as they urged their horses ever faster. I snatched a backwards glimpse and saw the glint of steel, the flashing sunlight reflecting from swords and spears, and then Sihtric came from the southern trees. The ambush was perfect.\n\nAnd we slewed around, turf and torn bracken flying from the hooves of our stallions, and the enemy saw the trap and realised they had seen it too late and Sihtric's men crashed into them and the swords fell and the spears lunged. I spurred back, Serpent-Breath alive in my hand. A black horse went down, hooves thrashing. Godric, my servant, who had stayed with Sihtric, was leaning from the saddle to plunge a spear into a fallen rider's breast. A Norseman saw him and rode towards him, his sword ready to lance into Godric's spine, but Finan was faster and the Irishman's blade hissed in a savage cut and the Norseman fell away.\n\n'I want their horses!' I bellowed. 'Take their horses!'\n\nThe rearmost men of the pursuing enemy had managed to turn and were trying to escape, but a rush of my men caught them and the swords fell again. I looked for \u00c6thelflaed, but could not see her. A man bleeding from the head was leading his horse northwards and I rode him down, letting Tintreg trample him. I snatched the reins of his horse and turned it back, then slapped its rump with Serpent-Breath to send it into the southern trees and it was then I saw the glint of steel among the thick undergrowth and kicked my horse into the woodland.\n\nBerg was on foot, fighting off two men who had also dismounted. The trees and the bushes were too thick and the branches too low to let men fight on horseback and the two men had seen \u00c6thelflaed ride into the wood and pursued her. She was just behind Berg, still mounted on Gast. 'Ride away!' I shouted at her.\n\nShe ignored me. Berg parried a sword cut and was struck by the second man with a lunge that started blood from his thigh, then I was on them, Serpent-Breath slammed down and the man who had wounded Berg was staggering away with his helmet split. I followed him, pushing a low branch out of my face, and hacked again, this time cleaving Serpent-Breath into his neck. I dragged her back savagely, sawing her edge through blood and flesh, and he half fell against the trunk of a hornbeam. I clambered out of the saddle. I was furious, not because of the enemy, but because of \u00c6thelflaed, and my fury made me hack at the wounded man who was too hurt to resist. He was an older man, doubtless an experienced warrior. He was mumbling and I suspected afterwards that he was asking for mercy. He had a thick beard flecked with white, three arm rings, and finely wrought mail. Such mail had value, but I was angry and careless, disembowelling him with a savage thrust and a two-handed rip upwards that ruined the mail coat. I shouted at him, cut him clumsily across his helmeted head, then finally killed him with a lunge to the throat. He died with his sword in his hand and I knew he would be waiting for me in Valhalla, another enemy who would welcome me to the feasting-hall and pour ale as we retold our stories.\n\nBerg had killed his man, but was bleeding from his thigh. The wound looked deep. 'Lie down,' I told him, then snarled at \u00c6thelflaed, 'I said you shouldn't have come!'\n\n'Be quiet,' she said dismissively, then dismounted to tend Berg's wound.\n\nWe took thirty-six horses. The enemy left sixteen dead men among the bracken, and twice that number of wounded men. We abandoned those wounded after taking their weapons and mail. Ragnall could either look after his injured men or leave them to die, either way we had hurt him again.\n\n'Will he have left a garrison at Eads Byrig?' \u00c6thelflaed asked as we rode away.\n\nI thought for a moment. It was possible that Ragnall had left a small garrison on the hilltop, but the more I considered that idea the more unlikely it seemed. There were no walls to defend such a garrison, and no prospect for them except death at Mercian hands. Ragnall had been trounced, driven out, defeated, and any men left at Eads Byrig would meet the same fate as Haesten's force. 'No,' I said.\n\n'Then I want to go there,' \u00c6thelflaed demanded, and so, as the sun began to sink behind the thickening western clouds, I led our horsemen up the ridge and thus back to the ancient fort.\n\nRagnall had left men there. There were some twenty-seven men who were too wounded to be moved. They had been stripped of their mail and their weapons, then left to die. Some older women were with them and those women fell to their knees and wailed at us. 'What do we do?' \u00c6thelflaed asked, appalled by the stench of the wounds.\n\n'We kill the bastards,' I said. 'It will be a mercy.' The first heavy drops of rain fell.\n\n'There's been enough killing,' \u00c6thelflaed said, evidently forgetting her bitter demands to kill more of Ragnall's men earlier in the afternoon. Now, as the rain began to fall harder, she walked among the injured and stared into their inked faces and desperate eyes. One man reached out to her and she took his hand and held it, then looked at me. 'We'll bring wagons,' she said, 'and move them to Ceaster.'\n\n'And what will you do with them when they're healed?' I asked, though I suspected most would die before they ever reached the city.\n\n'By then,' she said, relinquishing the wounded man's hand, 'they will have been converted to Christ.' I swore at that. She half smiled and took my arm, leading me past the ashes of the buildings that had been burned on the hilltop. We walked to the wall where the palisade had stood and she gazed northwards into the rain-smeared haze that was Northumbria. 'We will go north,' she promised me.\n\n'Tomorrow?'\n\n'When my brother is ready.' She meant Edward, King of Wessex. She wanted his army alongside hers before she pierced the pagan north. She squeezed my forearm through my stiff mail. 'And you're not to go to Ireland,' she said gently.\n\n'My daughter...' I began.\n\n'Stiorra made a choice,' she interrupted me firmly. 'She chose to abandon God and marry a pagan. She chose! And she must live with the choice.'\n\n'And you wouldn't rescue your own daughter?' I asked harshly.\n\nShe said nothing to that. Her daughter was so unlike her. \u00c6lfl\u00e6d was flighty and silly, though I liked her well enough. 'I need you here,' \u00c6thelflaed said instead of answering my question, 'and I need your men here.' She looked up at me. 'You can't leave now, not when we're so close to victory!'\n\n'You have your victory,' I said sullenly. 'Ragnall's defeated.'\n\n'Defeated here,' she said, 'but will he leave Mercia?'\n\nLightning flickered far to the north and I wondered what omen that was. No sound of thunder followed. The clouds were darkening to black as the dusk drew nearer. 'He'll send some men to Eoferwic,' I guessed, 'because he dare not lose that city. But he won't send all his men there. No, he won't leave Mercia.'\n\n'So he's not defeated,' she said.\n\nShe was right, of course. 'He's going to keep most of his army here,' I said, 'and look for plunder. He'll move fast, he'll burn, he'll take slaves, he'll pillage. He has to reward his men. He needs to capture slaves, gold, and livestock, so yes, he'll raid deep into Mercia. His only chance of holding onto what's left of his army is to reward them with land, cattle, and captives.'\n\n'Which is why I need you here,' she said, still holding my arm. I said nothing, but she knew I was thinking about Stiorra. 'You say she's trapped by the sea?'\n\n'In a sea loch.'\n\n'And you'd bring her back? If you could?'\n\n'Of course I would.'\n\nShe smiled. 'You can send the fishing boat we use to provision Brunanburh.' She was talking of a small boat with room enough for perhaps ten men, but well-made and a good sea boat. It had belonged to a stubborn Mercian who had settled in the empty land west of Brunanburh. We had told him that Norse raiders regularly crossed the mouth of the M\u00e6rse to steal cattle or sheep, but he had insisted he would survive. He did survive too, for all of a week, after which he and his family had all been killed or enslaved, but for some reason the raiders had left the man's boat tied to its post in the river's mud, and we now used it to send heavy supplies from Ceaster to Brunanburh. It was much easier to float ten barrels of ale around to the fort by sea than lumber them across the land by wagon.\n\n'Send men in that boat,' she told me. 'They can give Stiorra and her daughter the chance to escape.' I nodded, but said nothing. Ten men in a small boat? When Ragnall had left dragon-ships crammed with sea-warriors in Loch Cuan? 'We can spare a few men,' \u00c6thelflaed went on, 'but if we're to catch Ragnall and kill him? You must stay.' She paused. 'You think like Ragnall so I need you here to fight him. I need you.'\n\nSo did my daughter.\n\nAnd I needed a shipmaster who knew Ireland.\n\nWe had sent scouts to follow the retreating army and, just as I had predicted, Ragnall's force divided into two parts. The smaller part went north, presumably towards Eoferwic, while the other, about seven hundred strong, travelled on eastwards. The next day, the day after we had ambushed his retreat, we saw the first pillars of smoke smudge the distant sky, which told us that Ragnall was burning homesteads and barns in northern Mercia.\n\n'He needs to be harassed,' \u00c6thelflaed told me as we watched the far smoke.\n\n'I know what needs to be done,' I said testily.\n\n'I'll give you two hundred men,' she said, 'to add to your men. And I want you to pursue him, harry him, make his life hell.'\n\n'It will be hell,' I promised her, 'but I need a day to prepare.'\n\n'A day?'\n\n'I'll be ready to leave before dawn tomorrow,' I promised her, 'but I need a day to get things ready. The horses are tired, the weapons are blunt, we have to carry our own food. And I have to equip Blesian.'\n\nAnd all of that was true. Blesian, which meant blessing, was the fishing boat the Norse had left behind in the M\u00e6rse, perhaps because they thought the vessel cursed by the big wooden cross mounted at its prow. 'I'm sending Uhtred to Ireland,' I told \u00c6thelflaed.\n\n'He's well enough to travel?'\n\n'Not him! My younger son.' I made sure she heard the resentment in my voice. 'The boat needs food, supplies.'\n\nShe frowned. 'It's not a long voyage, is it?'\n\n'A day if the wind is good,' I said, 'two days if it's calm, but you don't go to sea without provisions. If they get hit by a storm they could be a week at sea.'\n\nShe touched my arm. 'I'm sorry about Stiorra,' she began.\n\n'So am I.'\n\n'But defeating Ragnall is our first duty,' she said firmly. 'Once he's finally beaten, you can go to Ireland.'\n\n'Stop worrying,' I told her, 'I'll be ready to leave before dawn tomorrow.'\n\nAnd I was."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "One hundred and twenty-two of us rode before dawn, our hoofbeats loud in the stone tunnel of Ceaster's northern gateway where two torches blazed and smoked. Servants followed with thirteen packhorses loaded with shields, spears, and sacks of hard-baked bread, smoked fish, and flitches of bacon. We were riding to war.\n\nMy helmet hung from my saddle's pommel, Serpent-Breath was at my side, Finan rode to my right and Sihtric to my left. Behind me my standard-bearer carried Bebbanburg's flag of the wolf's head. We followed the Roman road that took us north through the cemetery where the spectres watched from their shadowed stones and from their dark grave mounds. The road turned sharply east just before it reached the bank of the M\u00e6rse, and it was there I stopped and looked back. Ceaster was a dark shape, its ramparts outlined by the small glow of torches inside the city. There was no moonlight, clouds hid the stars, and I reckoned no one on the city walls could see us.\n\nRagnall's men were somewhere far to the east. Dawn would reveal great smears of smoke to show where they plundered and burned plump homesteads. Those fires had moved steadily southwards the previous day, showing that his army was moving away from the northern burhs into land that was less protected.\n\nThat war was being waged to the east of Ceaster. And we turned west.\n\nWe rode west to Brunanburh, following the dyked path that edged the river's southern bank. The darkness forced us to go slowly, but as the wolf-light slowly grew behind us we quickened our pace. The tide was ebbing and the river made gurgling noises as it drained from the mudbanks. Sea birds cried to welcome the dawn. A fox raced across our path with a broken-winged gull in its jaws and I tried to find some good omen in that sight. The river shimmered like dull silver, stirred by the smallest wind. I had been hoping for more wind, for a half gale of wind, but the air was almost still.\n\nAnd then we came to Brunanburh and the fort was a dark shape, its rampart's top edged with a line of red to show that fires burned in the courtyard. The track turned left here, going to the fort's main gate, but we swerved right, heading for the river where dark shapes showed against the silvered water. They were the two ships that \u00c6thelstan and his companions had loosed from their moorings north of Eads Byrig. The larger one was named S\u00e6broga, the Sea-Terror, and she was now mine.\n\nI had chosen the name because I did not know what the Norsemen had called her. Some ships have a name carved into a strake of the bow, but S\u00e6broga had no such carving. Nor was a name scratched into her mast. All seamen will tell you that it is bad luck to change a ship's name, though I have done it often enough, but never without the necessary precaution of having a virgin piss into the bilge. That averts the ill luck, and so I had made certain a child had peed into the S\u00e6broga's ballast stones. The newly baptised ship was the largest of the two, and she was a beauty; wide-bellied, sleek in her long lines, and high-prowed. A great axe blade carved from a massive piece of oak was mounted on her rearing prow where most pagan ships flaunted a dragon, a wolf, or an eagle, and the axe made me wonder if this had been Ragnall's own ship. The axe blade had once been painted bright red, though now the paint had largely faded. She had benches for sixty oarsmen, a finely woven sail, and a full set of oars.\n\n'God save us,' Dudda said, then hiccuped, 'but she's lovely.'\n\n'She is,' I agreed.\n\n'A good ship,' he said, sketching a shape with his hands, 'is like a woman.' He said that very seriously, as if no one had ever had the thought before, then slid from his saddle with all the grace of a stunned ox. He grunted as he hit the ground, then lumbered onto the mud at the river's edge where he lowered his hose and pissed. 'A good ship,' he said again, 'is like a woman.' He turned, still pissing mightily. 'Did you ever see that Mus, lord? Little girl Mus? The one with the apple mark on her forehead? Talk about lovely! I could chew her apple down to the core!'\n\nDudda was, or had been, a shipmaster who had sailed the Irish sea since boyhood. He had also probably drunk the equivalent of that sea in ale and mead, which had left him bloated, red-faced and unsteady on his feet, but he was sober that morning, an unnatural state, and trying to impress me with his knowledge. 'We need,' he said, waving vaguely towards the S\u00e6broga, 'to bring her closer. Warp her in. Lord, warp her in.' She was moored to one of the few pilings that had survived Ragnall's first attack. A new pier was being built, but it had not yet reached the deeper water.\n\n'Why don't you swim out to her?' I suggested to Dudda.\n\n'Christ on his little wooden cross,' he said, alarmed, 'I don't swim, lord! I'm a sailor! Fish swim, not me!' He suddenly sat at the track's edge, tired out by the effort of walking five paces. We had searched Ceaster's taverns for a man who knew the Irish coast, and Dudda, hopeless as he seemed, was the only one we discovered. 'Loch Cuan?' he had slurred when I had first questioned him, 'I could find Loch Cuan blindfolded on a dark night, been there a hundred times, lord.'\n\n'But can you find it when you're drunk?' I had asked him savagely.\n\n'I always have before, lord,' he had replied, grinning.\n\nTwo of my younger men were stripping off their mail and boots, readying themselves to wade out to the S\u00e6broga that tugged on her piling as the ebbing tide tried to carry her to sea. One of them nodded towards the fort, 'Horsemen, lord.'\n\nI turned to see Osferth approaching with four companions. He was now commanding Brunanburh's garrison, placed there by \u00c6thelflaed, his half-sister. He was one of my oldest friends, a man who had shared many a shield wall, and he smiled when he saw me. 'I wasn't expecting to see you, lord!'\n\nI had last seen him a few days before when I had ridden to Brunanburh to see the two prizes for myself. Now I jerked my head at S\u00e6broga. 'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed wants that one moved to the Dee,' I said. 'She thinks it will be safer there.'\n\n'It's safe enough here!' he said confidently. 'We haven't seen a pagan ship in a week now. But if the Lady \u00c6thelflaed wishes it...' He left the thought unfinished as he looked east to where the dawn was blushing the sky with a pale pink glow. 'You've got a good day for your voyage, lord!'\n\n'You want to come with us?' I asked, praying he refused.\n\nHe smiled, evidently amused at the thought of taking a day away from his duties. 'We must finish the wharf.'\n\n'You're making good progress!' I said, looking to where the sturdily rebuilt pier crossed the muddy foreshore.\n\n'We are,' Osferth said, 'though the difficult part of the work is still ahead, but with God's help?' He made the sign of the cross. He had inherited all of his father's piety, but also Alfred's sense of duty. 'You're leaving the smaller ship here?' he asked anxiously.\n\nI had thought of taking both ships, but decided S\u00e6broga should sail alone. 'Lady \u00c6thelflaed said nothing about the smaller ship,' I said.\n\n'Good! Because I plan to use it to drive the pilings into the deeper water,' he explained. He watched as my two men tied a long hempen line to S\u00e6broga's bow. One of them brought the line ashore while the other unmoored the ship from her piling, then a score of my men chanted enthusiastically as they hauled S\u00e6broga in to the beach.\n\n'Load her up!' Finan shouted when her high bow slid onto the mud.\n\nI gave Osferth what news I had as my men heaved sacks of provisions onto the ship. I told him how Ragnall had fled eastwards and was now raiding deep into Mercia. 'He won't be coming back here,' I told him, 'at least not for a while, so Lady \u00c6thelflaed might want some of your men back in Ceaster.'\n\nOsferth nodded. He was watching S\u00e6broga's loading and seemed puzzled. 'You're taking a lot of supplies for a short voyage,' he said.\n\n'You never go to sea without precautions,' I told him. 'Everything might look calm this morning, but that doesn't mean a storm couldn't blow us off course by midday.'\n\n'I pray that doesn't happen,' he said piously, watching the last sack being heaved on board.\n\nI tossed Godric a small purse filled with hacksilver. 'You'll take the horses back to Ceaster,' I ordered him.\n\n'Yes, lord.' Godric hesitated. 'Can't I come with you, lord? Please?'\n\n'You'll look after the horses,' I said harshly. I was taking no one except my shield-wall warriors. No servants were coming, only men who could pull an oar or wield a sword. I suspected I would need all the space I could find in S\u00e6broga if we were to bring Sigtryggr's men off their fort, and however heavily we loaded her we still would not have enough space for all his people. That might have been a good reason to take the smaller ship as well, but I feared dividing my small force into two. We only had the one shipmaster, only one man who claimed to know how to reach Loch Cuan, and if the smaller ship lost touch with S\u00e6broga in the night I might never see her crew again. 'I'll see you tonight,' I lied to Godric for Osferth's benefit, then waded out to S\u00e6broga's waist and waited as the massive Gerbruht hauled Dudda over the ship's side. Dudda grunted and gasped, then collapsed onto a rowers' bench like an exhausted seal. Gerbruht grinned, held out a meaty hand, and pulled me up onto the ship. Godric had also waded out and now handed me my helmet, sword, and shield. Finan was already standing beside the steering oar. 'Pole us off,' I told my men, and a half-dozen of them used the long oars to thrust S\u00e6broga off the shelving bank and into deeper water.\n\nI called farewell to Osferth. Away to the east I could see three horsemen hurrying along the track from Ceaster. Too late, I thought, too late. I grinned, watching as my men found their places on the benches and thrust the oars into their tholes, and then we turned that high, proud axe towards the distant sea. I took hold of the steering oar and Finan thumped his foot on the deck. 'On my command!' he called. 'Now!'\n\nAnd the oar-blades bit and the long hull surged and the wildfowl scattered like scraps in the small wind. I felt the steering oar respond, felt the shudder of a ship in my hand, and felt my heart lift to the song of a boat on the sea. The tide was ebbing fast, rippling the river with glittering new sunlight, and Finan shouted the rhythm, stamping his foot, and the sixty rowers pulled harder and I felt the ship coming alive, pulsing with the oar beats, the steering loom resisting me now, and I heard the sound of water sluicing along the hull and saw a wake spreading behind. The three messengers, I assumed they had come from Ceaster, had reached Osferth and he was now galloping along the bank, waving and shouting. I thought I heard him call that we were to come back, that we were ordered back, but S\u00e6broga was moving fast into the river's centre, going ever further from the shore, and I just waved to him. He beckoned frantically and I waved again.\n\nWhat did \u00c6thelflaed think I would do? In the name of her so-called merciful god, what? Did she think I would abandon my daughter to Ragnall's hunger? Let him slaughter my grandchild so he could plant his own seed in Stiorra? He had already gelded my son, now he would rape my daughter? I vowed I would hear him screaming, I would watch him bleed, I would tear his flesh piece by piece before I would worry about \u00c6thelflaed. This was family. This was revenge.\n\nThe S\u00e6broga reared her prow to the larger seas as we left the river. To my left now were the wide treacherous mudbanks that edged Wirhealum, the land between the rivers. In a hard gale and a high tide those flats were a maelstrom of whipping waves and wind-blown foam, a place where ships died, and the bones of too many vessels stood stark and black where the tide sluiced out across the rippled shallows. The wind was rising, but coming from the west, which was not what we needed, but ahead of me was the Blesian, hove to about a mile offshore.\n\nMy younger son, the one I had renamed Uhtred, was waiting in the smaller ship. He and six men had waited all night, their boat laden with ale barrels, the one thing we could not have carried from Ceaster on our horses. We drew alongside, lashed the two boats together, then rigged a whip from the yardarm and hoisted ale, more food, and a bundle of heavy spears aboard the S\u00e6broga. Dudda, who was watching the ale barrels come aboard, had assured me the voyage should not take longer than a day, perhaps a day and a half, but the Irish Sea was notorious for its sudden storms. I was taking enough ale to last us a week just in case a malevolent fate drove us out to the wider ocean.\n\n'What do we do with the Blesian?' my son asked. He looked cheerful for a man who had just spent a nervous night keeping his boat away from the sound of waves seething across a nearby mudflat.\n\n'Just let her go.'\n\n'It seems a pity,' he said wistfully, 'she's a good ship.'\n\nI had thought of towing her and had immediately rejected the thought. The Blesian was heavy and her weight would slow us by half. 'Just let her go,' I said again, and we retrieved the lines that had held her close and let her drift. The wind would eventually strand her on Wirhealum's mudflats where she would be pounded to death. We rowed on, driving the S\u00e6broga into the wind and waves until Dudda, reckoning we were far enough offshore, turned us north-westwards. 'We'll come to Mann if you hold this course,' he said, sitting on the deck and leaning against the side of the ship. 'Will you be opening one of those barrels?' he looked longingly at the ale that had been lashed to the base of the mast.\n\n'Soon,' I said.\n\n'Be careful at the island,' he said, meaning Mann. 'There's nothing they like better than capturing a ship.'\n\n'Do I go west of it or east?'\n\n'West.' He glanced up at the rising sun. 'Just stay as you are. We'll get there.' He closed his eyes.\n\nThe wind backed by mid-morning and we could raise S\u00e6broga's great sail, and the sight of it convinced me that we had indeed captured Ragnall's own ship because the sail flaunted a great red axe blade. The sail itself was made from heavy linen, an expensive cloth, close woven and double layered. The axe was a third layer, sewn onto the other two, which were reinforced by a criss-cross pattern of hemp ropes. We shipped the oars when the sail was sheeted home and the boat leaned over, driven by the freshening wind that was flicking the wave-tops white. 'She's a beautiful thing,' I said to Finan as I felt the sea's pressure on the steering-oar.\n\nHe grinned. 'To you, yes. But you love ships, lord.'\n\n'I love this one!'\n\n'Me,' he said, 'I'm happiest when I can touch a tree.'\n\nWe saw two other ships that morning, but both fled from the sight of the great red axe on our sail. They were either fishing or cargo vessels and they rightly feared a sea-wolf seething northwards with the waves foaming white at her jaws. Dudda might have warned me of the pirates of Mann, but it would take a brave fool to tackle S\u00e6broga with her full crew of savage warriors. Most of those savage warriors were sleeping now, slumped between the benches.\n\n'So,' Finan said, 'your son-in-law.'\n\n'My son-in-law.'\n\n'The fool's got himself trapped, is that right?'\n\n'So I'm told.'\n\n'With nigh-on five hundred folk?'\n\nI nodded.\n\n'It's just that I'm thinking,' he said, 'that we might cram another forty people on board this bucket, but five hundred?'\n\nS\u00e6broga dipped her bows and a spatter of spray flicked down the hull. The wind was rising, but I sensed no malice in it. I leaned on the oar to turn our bows slightly westwards, knowing that the wind would be pressing us ever to the east. A mound of clouds showed far ahead of our bows, and Dudda reckoned they were heaping above the island called Mann. 'Just hold your course, lord,' he said, 'hold your course.'\n\n'Five hundred people,' Finan reminded me.\n\nI grinned. 'Have you ever heard of a man called Orvar Freyrson?'\n\n'Never,' he shook his head.\n\n'Ragnall left him in Ireland,' I said, 'with four ships. He's already attacked Sigtryggr once and got a bloody nose for his trouble. So now, I suspect, he's content to make sure no one supplies Sigtryggr with food. He's keeping other ships away, hoping to starve the fort into surrender.'\n\n'Makes sense,' Finan said.\n\n'But why does Orvar Freyrson need four ships?' I asked. 'That's just greedy. He'll have to learn to share, won't he?'\n\nFinan smiled. He looked back, but the land had vanished. We were out in the wide sea now, reaching on a brisk wind and splitting the green waves white. We were a sea-wolf given her freedom. 'Her ladyship won't be happy with you,' he remarked.\n\n'\u00c6thelflaed? She'll be spitting like a wildcat,' I said, 'but it's Eadith I feel sorry for.'\n\n'Eadith?'\n\n'\u00c6thelflaed hates her. Eadith won't like being left alone in Ceaster.'\n\n'Poor lass.'\n\n'But we'll be back,' I said.\n\n'And you think either woman will forgive you?'\n\n'Eadith will.'\n\n'And Lady \u00c6thelflaed?'\n\n'I'll just have to take her a gift,' I said.\n\nHe laughed at that. 'Christ, but it will have to be some gift! It's not as if she needs any more gold or jewels! So what were you thinking of giving her?'\n\nI smiled. 'I was thinking of giving her Eoferwic.'\n\n'Holy Mary!' Finan said, suddenly coming alert. He sat up straight and stared at me for a heartbeat. 'You're serious! And how in God's name are you going to do that?'\n\n'I don't know,' I said, then laughed.\n\nBecause I was at sea and I was happy.\n\nThe weather worsened that afternoon. The wind veered, forcing us to lower the great sail and lash it to the yard, and then we rowed into a short sharp sea, struggling against wind and current, while above us the clouds rolled from the west to darken the sky. Rain spattered the rowers and dripped from the rigging. S\u00e6broga was a beautiful craft, elegant and sleek, but as the wind rose and the seas shortened I saw she had a bad habit of burying her head to shatter spray along the deck. 'It's the axe,' I said to Finan.\n\n'Axe?'\n\n'On the prow! It's too heavy.'\n\nHe was huddled in his cloak beside me. He peered forward. 'It's a massive piece of wood, that's for sure.'\n\n'We need to move some of the ballast stones aft,' I said.\n\n'But not now!' he sounded alarmed at the thought of wet men struggling with heavy stones while S\u00e6broga pitched in the pounding seas.\n\nI smiled. 'Not now.'\n\nWe made landfall at Mann and I kept the island well to our east as the night fell. The wind calmed with the darkness and I held S\u00e6broga off the island's coast, unwilling to journey further in the blackness of night. Not that the night was all black. There were gleams of firelight from the island's distant slopes, faint lights that kept us safe by letting us judge our position. I let my son take the steering-oar and slept till dawn. 'We go west now,' a bleary-eyed Dudda told me in the wolf-light, 'due west, lord, and we'll come to Loch Cuan.'\n\n'And Christ only knows what we find there,' Finan said.\n\nSigtryggr dead? My daughter abducted? An ancient fort smeared with blood? There are times when the demons persecute us, they give us doubts, they try to persuade us that our fate is doom unless we listen to them. I am convinced that this middle earth swarms with demons, invisible demons, Loki's servants, wafting on the wind to make mischief. I remember, years ago, how dear Father Beocca, my childhood tutor and old friend, told me that Satan sent demons to tempt good Christians. 'They try to keep us from doing God's purpose,' he had told me earnestly. 'Did you know that God has a purpose for all of us, even for you?'\n\nI had shaken my head. I was perhaps eight years old and even then I thought my purpose was to learn sword-craft, not to master the dull skills of reading and writing.\n\n'Let me see if you can discover God's purpose on your own!' Beocca had said enthusiastically. We had been sitting on a ledge of Bebbanburg's rock, staring at the wild sea as it foamed about the Farnea Islands. He had been making me read aloud from a small book that told how Saint Cuthbert had lived on one of those lonely rocks and had preached to the puffins and seals, but then Beocca started bouncing up and down on his scrawny bum as he always did when he became excited. 'I want you to think about what I say! And perhaps you can find the answer on your own! God,' his voice had become very earnest, 'made us in His own image. Think of that!'\n\nI remember thinking that was very strange of God because Beocca was club-footed, had a cock-eyed squint, a squashed nose, wild red hair, and a palsied hand. 'So God's a cripple?' I had asked.\n\n'Of course not,' he had said, slapping me with his good right hand, 'God is perfect!' He slapped me again, harder. 'He is perfect!' I remember thinking that perhaps God looked like Eadburga, one of the kitchen maids, who had taken me behind the fortress chapel and shown me her tits. 'Think!' Father Beocca had urged me, but all I could think of was Eadburga's breasts, so I shook my head. Father Beocca had sighed. 'He made us look like Him,' he explained patiently, 'because the purpose of life is to be like Him.'\n\n'To be like Him?'\n\n'To be perfect! We must learn to be good. To be good men and women!'\n\n'And kill children?' I had asked earnestly.\n\nHe had squinted at me. 'And kill children?'\n\n'You told me the story!' I had said excitedly. 'How the two bears killed all the boys! And God made them do it. Tell me again!'\n\nPoor Beocca had looked distraught. 'I should never have read that story to you,' he had said miserably.\n\n'But it is true?'\n\nHe had nodded unhappily. 'It is true, yes. It's in our scripture.'\n\n'The boys were rude to the prophet?'\n\n'Elisha, yes.'\n\n'They called him baldie, yes?'\n\n'So the scripture tells us.'\n\n'So God sent two bears to kill them all! As a punishment?'\n\n'Female bears, yes.'\n\n'And forty boys died?'\n\n'Forty-two children died,' he had said miserably.\n\n'The bears tore them apart! I like that story!'\n\n'I'm sure God wanted the children to die quickly,' Beocca had said unconvincingly.\n\n'Do the scriptures say that?'\n\n'No,' he had admitted, 'but God is merciful!'\n\n'Merciful? He killed forty-two children...'\n\nHe had cuffed me again. 'It's time we read more about the blessed Saint Cuthbert and his mission to the seals. Start at the top of the page.'\n\nI smiled at the memory as S\u00e6broga slammed her prow into a green-hearted sea and slung cold spray down the length of her deck. I had liked Beocca, he was a good man, but so easy to tease. And in truth that story in the Christians' holy book proved that their god was not so unlike my own. The Christians pretended he was good and perfect, but he was just as capable of losing his temper and slaughtering children as any god in Asgard. If the purpose of life was to be an unpredictable, murderous tyrant then it would be easy to be godlike, but I suspected we had a different duty and that was to try to make the world better. And that too was confusing. I thought then and think still that the world would be a better place if men and women worshipped Thor, Woden, Freya, and Eostre, yet I drew my sword on the side of the child-slaughtering Christian god. But at least I had no doubts about the purpose of this voyage. I sailed to take revenge. If I discovered that Sigtryggr had been defeated and Stiorra captured then we would turn S\u00e6broga back eastwards and hunt Ragnall down to the last shadowed corner on earth, where I would rip the guts out of his belly and dance on his spine.\n\nWe fought weather all that day, butting S\u00e6broga's heavy prow into a west wind. I had begun to think the gods did not want me to make this voyage, but late in the afternoon they sent a raven as an omen. The bird was exhausted and landed on the small platform in the ship's prow where, for a time, it just huddled in misery. I watched the bird, knowing it was sent by Odin. All my men, even the Christians, knew it was an omen, and so we waited, pulling oars into short seas, swept by showers, waited for the bird to reveal its message. That message came at dusk as the wind dropped and the seas settled and the Irish coast appeared off our bows. To me the far coast looked like a green blur, but Dudda preened. 'Just there, lord!' he said, pointing a shade or two to the right of our bows. 'That's the entrance, right there!'\n\nI waited. The raven strutted two steps one way, two steps the other. S\u00e6broga pitched as a larger wave rolled under her hull, and just then the raven took to the air and, with renewed energy, flew straight as a spear for the Irish coast. The omen was favourable.\n\nI leaned on the steering oar, turning S\u00e6broga northwards.\n\n'It's there. Lord!' Dudda protested as I turned the ship's head past the place he had indicated and kept on turning her. 'The entrance, lord! There! Just beyond the headland. We'll make the narrows before dark, lord!'\n\n'I'm not taking a ship into enemy waters at dusk,' I growled.\n\nOrvar Freyrson had four ships in Loch Cuan, four warships manned by Ragnall's warriors. When I entered the loch I needed to take him by surprise, not row in and immediately be forced to look for somewhere safe to anchor or moor. Dudda had warned me that the loch was full of ledges, islands, and shallows, so it was no place to arrive in the near darkness while enemy ships that were familiar with the dangers might lurk nearby. 'We enter at dawn,' I told Dudda.\n\nHe looked nervous. 'Better to wait for slack water, lord. By dawn the tide will be flooding.'\n\n'Is that what Orvar Freyrson would expect?' I asked. 'That we'd wait for slack water?'\n\n'Yes, lord.' He sounded nervous.\n\nI clapped him on a meaty shoulder. 'Never do what an enemy expects, Dudda. We'll go in at dawn. On the flood.'\n\nThat was a bad night. We were close to a rockbound coast, the sky was clouded, and the seas choppy. We rowed, always heading north, and I worried that one of Orvar's men might have recognised S\u00e6broga' s distinctive prow when we first made landfall. That was unlikely. We had turned northwards well offshore and had been under oars so no one on land could have seen the much larger red axe on the big sail. But if the ship had been recognised then Orvar would be wondering why we had turned away rather than seek shelter for the night.\n\nThe wind fretted in the darkness, blowing us towards the Irish shore, but I had twelve men pulling on the oars to hold us steady. I listened for the dreaded sound of surf breaking or of seas crashing on rocks. Sometimes I thought I heard those noises and felt a surge of panic, but that was likely a sea-demon playing tricks, and Ran, the sea-goddess, who can be a jealous and savage bitch, was in a good mood that night. The sea sparkled and glimmered with her jewels, the strange lights that flicker and glow in the water. When an oar-blade dipped the sea would shatter into thousands of glowing droplets that faded slowly. Ran only sent the jewels when she was feeling kind, but even so I was fearful. Yet there was no need to be nervous because when the dawn broke grey and slow we were still well offshore. 'Sweet Jesus,' Dudda said when at last he could make out the coast, 'sweet mother of God. Thank Christ!' He too had been nervous, drinking steadily through the night, and now he gazed bleary-eyed at the green strip of land. 'Just go south, lord, just go south.'\n\n'How far?'\n\n'One hour?'\n\nIt took longer, not because Dudda was wrong, but because I gave my men time to eat, then to pull on their mail coats. 'Keep your helmets and weapons close,' I told them, 'but I don't want anyone in a helmet yet. And put cloaks over your mail!' We could not arrive at the loch looking ready for war, but rather like men tired from a voyage and wanting nothing more than to join their comrades. I called Vidarr, the Norseman who had deserted to join his wife, back to the stern. 'What can you tell me of Orvar Freyrson?' I asked him.\n\nVidarr frowned. 'He's one of Ragnall's shipmasters, lord, and a good one.'\n\n'Good at what?'\n\n'Seamanship, lord.'\n\n'Good at fighting too?'\n\nVidarr shrugged. 'We're all fighters, lord, but Orvar's older now, he's cautious.'\n\n'Does he know you?'\n\n'Oh yes, lord. I sailed with him in the northern islands.'\n\n'Then you'll hail him, or hail whoever we meet, understand? Tell him we're sent to attack Sigtryggr. And if you betray me...'\n\n'I won't, lord!'\n\nI paused, watching him. 'Have you been into the loch?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'Tell me about it.'\n\nHe told me what Dudda had already described to me, that Loch Cuan was a massive sea-lake dotted with rocks and islets, and entered by a long and very narrow channel through which the tide flowed with astonishing speed. 'There's plenty of water in the channel's centre, lord, but the edges are treacherous.'\n\n'And the place where Sigtryggr is trapped?'\n\n'It's almost an island, lord. The land bridge is narrow. A wall of ten men can block it easily.'\n\n'So Orvar would attack by sea?'\n\n'That's difficult too, lord. The headland is surrounded by rocks, and the channel to the beach is narrow.'\n\nWhich explained why Orvar was trying to starve Sigtryggr into submission unless, of course, he had already captured the fort.\n\nWe were close to the land now, close enough to see smoke drifting up from cooking fires and close enough to see the waves breaking on rocks and then draining white to the foam-scummed sea. An east wind had livened after the dawn and allowed us to raise the sail again, and S\u00e6broga was moving fast as she dipped her steerboard strakes towards the brisk waves. 'When we get there,' I told Dudda, 'I want to sail or row straight through the channel. I don't want to stop and feel my way through shallows.'\n\n'It's safer...' he began.\n\n'Damn safer!' I snarled. 'We have to look as if we know what we're doing, not as if we're nervous! Would Ragnall look nervous?'\n\n'No, lord.'\n\n'So we go in fast!'\n\n'You can sail in, lord,' he said, 'but for Christ's sake stay in the channel's centre.' He hesitated. 'The narrows run almost straight north, lord. The wind and tide will carry us through, but the hills confuse the wind. It's no place to be taken aback.' He meant that the hills would sometimes block the wind altogether, or veer it unexpectedly, and such a change could drive S\u00e6broga onto the rocks that evidently lined the narrows, or drive her into the whirlpool that Dudda described as 'vicious'.\n\n'So we use oars as well as sail,' I said.\n\n'The current is frightening, lord,' Vidarr said warningly.\n\n'Best to go really fast then,' I said. 'Do you know where Orvar keeps his men when they're ashore?' I asked him.\n\n'Just off the channel, lord. On the western bank. There's a bay that offers shelter.'\n\n'I want to run straight past him,' I told Dudda, 'as fast as we can.'\n\n'The tide will help,' he said, 'it's flooding nicely, but Vidarr's right. The current will take you like the wind, lord. It runs like a deer.'\n\nWe hit rough water south of the headland that protected the entrance to the narrows. I suspected there were rocks not far beneath S\u00e6broga's keel, but Dudda was unworried. 'It's a bad place when the tide ebbs, lord, but safe enough on the flood.' We were running before the wind now, the big red axe sail bellied out to drive S\u00e6broga's prow hard into the churning water. 'Before we sail back,' I said, 'I want to move ballast stones aft.'\n\n'If we live,' Dudda said quietly, then sketched the sign of the cross.\n\nWe turned north, slewing the sail around to keep the ship moving fast and I felt her picking up speed as the tide caught her. I could see Dudda was nervous. His hands were clenching and unclenching as he gazed ahead. The waves seemed to be racing northwards, lifting S\u00e6broga's stern and hurling her forward. Water seethed at the hull, waves shattered white at the prow, and the sound of seas crashing on rocks was incessant. 'Loch Cuan,' Finan had to speak loudly, 'means the calm lake!' he laughed.\n\n'We call it Strangrfj\u00f6rthr!' Vidarr shouted.\n\nThe sea was thrusting us as if she wanted to dash us onto the great rocks either side of the channel's entrance. Those rocks were wreathed in huge plumes of white spray. The steering-oar felt slack. 'Oars!' I shouted. We needed speed. 'Row harder!' I bellowed. 'Row as if the devil were up your arse!'\n\nWe needed speed! We already had speed! The tide and wind were carrying S\u00e6broga faster than any boat I had ever sailed, but most of that speed was the current, and we needed to be faster than the seething water if the long steering-oar was to control the hull. 'Row, you ugly bastards,' I shouted, 'row!'\n\n'Sweet Jesus,' Finan muttered.\n\nMy son made a whooping noise. He was grinning, holding onto the boat's side. The waves were broken, slapping into white caps, shredding the heaving rowers with spray. We were racing into a cauldron of rock and churning seas. 'When you're past the entrance,' Dudda was shouting, 'you'll see an island! Go to the east of it!'\n\n'Does it get calmer inside?'\n\n'It gets worse!'\n\nI laughed. The wind was rising, whipping my hair across my eyes. Then suddenly, we were in the entrance, in the jaws of rock and wind-driven foam, and I could see the island and I pulled to steerboard, but the blade had no bite. The current was stronger than ever, sweeping us towards the rocks ahead. 'Row!' I bellowed. 'Row!' I heaved on the steering-oar and S\u00e6broga slowly responded. Then the hills caused a wind shadow and the huge sail flapped like a crazy thing, but still we raced inland. To right and left were maelstroms where the water eddied and broke over hidden rocks, where white birds shrieked at us. The waves no longer heaved us forward, but the current was rushing us through the narrow channel. 'Row!' I shouted at my sweating men. 'Row!'\n\nThe green hills on either bank looked so calm. The day promised to be fine. The sky was blue with just a few tattered white clouds. There were sheep grazing on a green meadow. 'Glad to be home?' I called to Finan.\n\n'If I ever get home!' he said morosely.\n\nI had never seen a channel so rockbound or so treacherous, but by staying in the centre where the current ran strongest, we stayed in deep water. Other ships had died here, their black ribs stark above the hurrying water. Dudda guided us, pointing out the whirlpool that ripped the sea's surface into turmoil. 'That'll kill you,' he said, 'sure as eggs are eggs. I've seen that thing tear the bottom out of a good ship, lord! She went down like a stone.' The pool was to our right and still we seethed on, leaving it safely behind.\n\n'The harbour, lord!' Vidarr shouted, and he pointed to where two masts could be seen above a low rocky headland.\n\n'Row!' I shouted. The channel was at its narrowest and the current was sliding us at astonishing speed. A gust of wind bellied the sail, adding speed, and we cleared the point of land and I saw the huts above a shingle beach and a dozen men standing on the rocky shore. They waved and I waved back. 'Orvar has four ships, yes?' I asked Vidarr.\n\n'Four, lord.'\n\nSo two were probably ahead of us, somewhere in the long reaches of the loch, and that lay not far ahead, just beyond a low grassy island.\n\n'Don't go near the island, lord,' Dudda said, 'there are rocks all around it.'\n\nThen suddenly, amazingly, S\u00e6broga shot into calm water. One moment she was in the grip of an angry sea, the next she was floating as placid as a swan on a sun-dappled lake. The sail that had beaten dementedly now filled tamely, the hull slowed, and my men slumped on their oars as we gently coasted on a limpid calm. 'Welcome to Loch Cuan,' Finan said with a crooked smile.\n\nI felt the tension go from my arms. I had not even realised I was gripping the steering-oar so hard. Then I stooped and took the pot of ale from Dudda's hand and drained it. 'You're still not safe, lord,' he said with a grin.\n\n'No?'\n\n'Ledges! Reefs! This place can claw your hull to splinters! Best put a man on the prow, lord. It looks calm enough but it's full of sunken rocks!'\n\nAnd full of enemies. Those who had seen us did not pursue us because they must have thought we had been sent by Ragnall and they were content to wait to discover our business. The great axe on the prow and the huge axe on the sail had lulled them, and I trusted those blood-dark symbols to deceive the other ships that waited somewhere ahead.\n\nAnd so we rowed into a heaven. I have rarely seen a place so beautiful or so lush. It was a sea-lake dotted by islands with seals on the beaches, fish beneath our oars, and more birds than a god could count. The hills were gentle, the grass rich, and the loch's edges lined with fish traps. No man could starve here. The oars dipped slowly and S\u00e6broga slid through the gentle water with scarcely a tremor. Our wake widened softly, rocking ducks, geese, and gulls.\n\nThere were a few small crude fishing boats being paddled or rowed, none with more than three men, and all of them hurried out of our path. Berg, who had refused to stay in Ceaster despite his wounded thigh, stood high in the prow with one arm hooked over the axe head, watching the water. I kept glancing behind, looking to see if either of the two ships we had seen in the narrows would put to sea and follow us, but their masts stayed motionless. A cow lowed on shore. A shawled woman collecting shellfish watched us pass. I waved, but she ignored the gesture. 'So where's Sigtryggr?' I asked Vidarr.\n\n'The western bank, lord.' He could not remember precisely where, but there was a smear of smoke on the loch's western side and so we rowed towards that distant mark. We went slowly, wary of the sunken ledges and rocks. Berg made hand signals to guide us, but even so the oars on the steerboard side of the ship scraped stone twice. The small wind dropped, letting the sail sag, but I left it hanging as a signal that this was Ragnall's ship.\n\n'There,' Finan said, pointing ahead.\n\nHe had seen a mast behind a low island. Orvar, I knew, had two ships on the loch and I guessed one was north of Sigtryggr and the other south. They had evidently failed to assault Sigtryggr's fort, so the task of the ships now was to stop any small craft from carrying food to the besieged garrison. I strapped Serpent-Breath at my waist, then covered her with a rough brown woollen cloak. 'I want you by my side, Vidarr,' I said, 'and my name is Ranulf Godricson.'\n\n'Ranulf Godricson,' he repeated.\n\n'A Dane,' I told him.\n\n'Ranulf Godricson,' he said again.\n\nI gave the steering-oar to Dudda, who, though half hazed by ale, was a competent enough helmsman. 'When we reach that ship,' I said, nodding towards the distant mast, 'I'll want to go alongside. If he doesn't let us then we'll have to break some of his oars, but not too many because we need them. Just put our bow alongside his.'\n\n'Bow to bow,' Dudda said.\n\nI sent Finan with twenty men to S\u00e6broga's bow where they crouched or lay. No one wore a helmet, our mail was covered by cloaks, and our shields were left flat on the deck. To a casual glance we were unprepared for war.\n\nThe far ship had seen us now. She appeared from behind the small island and I saw the sunlight flash from her oar banks as the blades rose wet from the water. A ripple of white showed at her prow as she turned towards us. A dragon or an eagle, it was hard to tell which, reared at that prow. 'That's Orvar's ship,' Vidarr told me.\n\n'Good.'\n\n'The Hr\u00e6svelgr,' he said.\n\nI smiled at the name. Hr\u00e6svelgr is the eagle that sits at the topmost branch of Yggdrasil, the world tree. It is a vicious bird, watching both gods and men, and ever ready to stoop and rend with claws or beak. Orvar's job was to watch Sigtryggr, but it was Hr\u00e6svelgr that was about to be rended.\n\nWe brailed up the sail, tying it loosely to the great yard. 'When I tell you,' I called to the rowers, 'bring the oars in slow! Make it ragged! Make it look as if you're tired!'\n\n'We are tired,' one of them called back.\n\n'And Christians,' I called, 'hide your crosses!' I watched as the talismans were kissed, then tucked beneath mail coats. 'And when we attack we go in fast! Finan!'\n\n'Lord?'\n\n'I want at least one prisoner. Someone who looks as if he knows what he's talking about.'\n\nWe rowed on, rowing slow as weary men would, and then we were close enough for me to see that it was an eagle on Hr\u00e6svelgr's bow and the bird's eyes were painted white and the tip of her hooked beak red. A man was in her bows, presumably watching for sunken rocks just as Berg did. I tried to count the oars and guessed there were no more than twelve on each side. 'And remember,' I shouted, 'look dozy. We want to surprise them!'\n\nI waited through ten more lazy oar beats. 'Ship oars!'\n\nThe oars came up clumsily. There was a moment's confusion as the long looms were brought inboard and laid in S\u00e6broga's centre, then the ship settled as we coasted on. Whoever commanded the other ship saw what we intended and shipped his oars too. It was a lovely piece of seamanship, the two great boats gliding softly together. My men were slumped on their benches, but their hands were already gripping the hilts of swords or the hafts of axes.\n\n'Hail them,' I told Vidarr.\n\n'Jarl Orvar!' he shouted.\n\nA man waved from the stern of the Hr\u00e6svelgr. 'Vidarr!' he bellowed. 'Is that you? Is the Jarl with you?'\n\n'Jarl Ranulf is here!'\n\nThe name could not have meant anything to Orvar, but he ignored it for the moment. 'Why are you here?' he called.\n\n'Why do you think?'\n\nOrvar spat over the side. 'You've come for Sigtryggr's bitch? You go and fetch her!'\n\n'The Jarl wants her!' I shouted in Danish. 'He can't wait!'\n\nOrvar spat again. He was a burly man, grey-bearded, sun-darkened, standing beside his own steersman. Hr\u00e6svelgr had far fewer men than S\u00e6broga, a mere fifty or so. 'He'll have the bitch soon enough,' he called back as the two ships closed on each other, 'they must starve soon!'\n\n'How does a man starve here?' I demanded, just as a fish leaped from the water with a flash of silver scales. 'We have to attack them!'\n\nOrvar strode between his rowers' benches, going to Hr\u00e6svelgr's prow to see us better. 'Who are you?' he demanded.\n\n'Ranulf Godricson,' I called back.\n\n'Never heard of you,' he snarled.\n\n'I've heard of you!'\n\n'The Jarl sent you?'\n\n'He's tired of waiting,' I said. I did not need to shout because the ships were just paces apart now, slowly coming together.\n\n'So how many men must die just so he can get between that bitch's thighs?' Orvar demanded, and at that moment the two boats touched and my men seized Hr\u00e6svelgr's upper strake and hauled her into S\u00e6broga's steerboard flank.\n\n'Go!' I shouted. I could not leap the gap from the stern, but I hurried forward as the first of my men scrambled across, weapons showing. Finan led, jumping across the gap with a drawn sword.\n\nJumping to slaughter.\n\nThe crew of Hr\u00e6svelgr were good men, brave men, warriors of the north. They deserved better. They were not ready for battle, they were grinning a welcome one moment and dying the next. Few even had time to find a weapon. My men, like hounds smelling blood, poured across the boats' sides and started killing. They gutted the centre of Hr\u00e6svelgr instantly, clearing a space in her belly. Finan led his men towards her stern while I took mine towards the eagle-proud bows. By now some of Orvar's crew had seized swords or axes, but none was dressed in mail. A blade thumped on my ribs, did not cut the iron links, and I chopped Serpent-Breath sideways, striking the man on the side of his neck with the base of the blade. He went down and my son finished him with a thrust of his sword Raven-Beak. Men retreated in front of us, tripping over the benches, and some leaped overboard rather than face our wet blades. I could not see Orvar, but I could hear a man roaring, 'No! No! No! No!'\n\nA youngster lunged at me from the deck, plunging his sword two-handed at my waist. I turned the lunge away with Serpent-Breath and kneed him in the face, then stamped on his groin.\n\n'No! No!' the voice still roared. The youngster kicked me and I tripped on a stiff coil of rope and sprawled onto the deck, and two of my men stepped protectively over me. Eadger slid his sword point into the youngster's mouth, then drove the point hard down to the deck beneath. Vidarr gave me his hand and hauled me upright. The voice still shouted, 'No! No!'\n\nI rammed Serpent-Breath at a man readying to strike at Eadger with an axe. The man fell backwards. I was ready to slide Serpent-Breath into his ribcage when the axe was snatched from his hand and I saw that Orvar had pushed his way from the ship's prow and now stood on a bench above the prone axeman. 'No, no!' Orvar shouted at me, then realised he had been bellowing the wrong message because he dropped the axe and spread his hands wide, 'I yield!' he called, 'I yield!' He was staring at me, shock and pain on his face, 'I yield!' he cried again. 'Stop fighting!'\n\n'Stop fighting!' It was my turn to shout. 'Stop!'\n\nThe deck was slippery with blood. Men groaned, men cried, men whimpered as the two ships, tied together now, rocked slightly on the lake's placid water. One of Orvar's men lurched to Hr\u00e6svelgr's side and vomited blood.\n\n'Stop fighting!' Finan echoed my shout.\n\nOrvar still stared at me, then he took a sword from one of his men, stepped down from the bench and held the sword's hilt to me. 'I yield,' he said again, 'I yield, you bastard.'\n\nAnd now I had two ships."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "A smear of red discoloured the water. It drifted away, turned pink and slowly vanished. The deck of Hr\u00e6svelgr was thick with blood, while the air stank of blood and shit. There were sixteen dead men, eight prisoners, and the rest of Orvar's crew were in the bloodied water clinging to oars that floated close by the hull. We hauled those men aboard, then searched both them and the dead for coins, hacksilver, or anything else of value. We piled the plunder and the captured weapons by S\u00e6broga's mast, close to which Orvar sat watching as the first of his dead crewmen were thrown overboard from Hr\u00e6svelgr, which was still lashed to our larger ship. 'Who are you?' he asked me.\n\n'I'm the bitch's father,' I said.\n\nHe flinched, then closed his eyes for a second. 'Uhtred of Bebbanburg?'\n\n'I'm Uhtred.'\n\nHe laughed, which surprised me, though it was a bitter laugh, bereft of any amusement. 'Jarl Ragnall sacrificed a black stallion to Thor as a pledge of your death.'\n\n'Did it die well?'\n\nHe shook his head. 'They bodged it. It took three blows of the hammer.'\n\n'I was given a black stallion not long ago,' I said.\n\nHe flinched again, recognising that the gods had favoured me and that Ragnall's sacrifice had been rejected. 'The gods love you then,' he said, 'lucky you.' He was about my age, which meant he was old. He looked grizzled, lined and hard. His beard, grey with dark streaks, had ivory rings woven into the hair, he wore golden rings in his ears, and had worn a thick golden chain with a golden hammer until my son took it from him. 'Did you have to kill them?' he asked, looking at the corpses of his men floating naked in the reddened water.\n\n'You have my daughter under siege,' I said angrily, 'she and my granddaughter. What was I supposed to do? Kiss you?'\n\nHe nodded reluctant acceptance of my anger. 'But they were good boys,' he said, grimacing as another corpse was tossed over Hr\u00e6svelgr's side. 'How did you capture the \u00d8xt\u00edvar?' he asked.\n\n'\u00d8xt\u00edvar?'\n\n'His ship!' He rapped the mast. 'This ship!'\n\nSo that had been S\u00e6broga's name, \u00d8xt\u00edvar. It meant axe of the gods and it was a good name, but S\u00e6broga was better. 'The same way I sent Ragnall running away from Ceaster,' I said, 'by beating him in battle.'\n\nHe frowned at me as if assessing whether I told the truth, then gave another of his mirthless laughs. 'We've heard nothing from the Jarl,' he said, 'not since he left. Does he live?'\n\n'Not for long.'\n\nHe grimaced. 'Nor me, I suppose?' He waited for a response, but I said nothing, so he just patted the mast. 'He loves this ship.'\n\n'Loved,' I corrected him. 'But he kept too much weight forward.'\n\nHe nodded. 'He always did. But he likes to see his oarsmen get soaked because it amuses him. He says it toughens them. His father was the same.'\n\n'And Sigtryggr?' I asked.\n\n'What of him?'\n\n'Does he like toughening his crew?'\n\n'No,' Orvar said, 'he's the good brother.'\n\nThat answer surprised me, not because I thought Sigtryggr bad, but because Orvar served Ragnall and loyalty alone would have suggested a different response. 'The good brother?' I asked.\n\n'People like him,' Orvar said, 'they've always liked him. He's generous. Ragnall's cruel and Sigtryggr's generous. You should know that, he married your daughter!'\n\n'I like him,' I said, 'and it sounds as if you do too.'\n\n'I do,' he said simply, 'but Ragnall has my oath.'\n\n'You had a choice?'\n\nHe shook his head. 'Their father ordered it. Some of us were sworn to Ragnall, some to Sigtryggr. I think Jarl Olaf thought they'd divide his lands peaceably, but once he died they fell out with each other instead.' He looked at the floating bodies. 'And here I am.' He watched as I sorted through the captured weapons, weighing the swords one by one. 'So now you'll kill me?' he asked.\n\n'You have a better idea?' I asked sarcastically.\n\n'Either you kill me or the Irish will,' Orvar said gloomily.\n\n'I thought they were your allies?'\n\n'Some allies!' he said scornfully. 'They agreed to attack the land side of the fort while we assaulted the beach, but the bastards never came. I lost twenty-three men! The damned Irish said the omens were bad.' He spat. 'I don't believe they ever did intend to attack! They just lied.'\n\n'And they won't attack,' I suggested, 'because of my daughter's sorcery?'\n\n'She's got them scared, right enough, but I also think they want us to do all the fighting for them so they can move in and kill the survivors. Then take your daughter to...' he did not finish that sentence. 'We fight,' he said wryly, 'and they win. They're not fools.'\n\nI looked up, seeing small white clouds sailing serene in a perfect blue. The sun lit the land almost a luminous green. I could see why men lusted after this land, but I had known Finan long enough to learn that it was no easy place to settle. 'I don't understand,' I told Orvar. 'You like Sigtryggr, you mistrust your allies, so why didn't you just make a truce with him? Why not join Sigtryggr?'\n\nOrvar had been gazing at the water, but now raised his eyes to look into mine. 'Because Ragnall has my wife as a hostage.'\n\nI winced at that.\n\n'My children too,' Orvar went on. 'He took my wife and he took Bjarke's woman too.'\n\n'Bjarke?'\n\n'Bjarke Neilson,' he said, 'shipmaster on the Nidhogg,' he jerked his head northwards and I realised the Nidhogg must be the second ship that was blockading Sigtryggr's fastness, and the jerk of Orvar's head told me she was somewhere to the north of the loch. If Hr\u00e6svelgr was the eagle perched at the top of the life tree then Nidhogg was the serpent coiled at its roots, a vile creature that gnawed at the corpses of dishonoured men. It was a strange name for a ship, but one, I supposed, that would strike fear into enemies. Orvar frowned. 'I suppose you'll want to capture her too?'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'And you can't risk any of us warning Nidhogg by shouting,' he said, 'but at least let us die with swords in our hands?' He looked at me pleadingly. 'I beg you, lord, let us die like warriors.'\n\nI found the best sword from among the captured weapons. It was long-bladed with a fine hilt of carved ivory and crosspieces shaped like hammers. I weighed it in my hand, liking its heft. 'Was this yours?'\n\n'And my father's before me,' he said, staring at the blade.\n\n'So tell me,' I said, 'what must you do to get your family back?'\n\n'Give Ragnall your daughter, of course. What else?'\n\nI turned the sword around, holding it by the blade to offer him the hilt. 'Then why don't we do just that?' I asked.\n\nHe stared at me.\n\nSo I explained.\n\nI needed men. I needed an army. For years \u00c6thelflaed had refused to cross the frontier into Northumbria except to punish the Norse or Danes who had stolen cattle or slaves from Mercia. Such revenge raids could be brutal, but they were just raids, never an invasion. She wanted to secure Mercia first, to build a chain of burhs along its northern border, but by refusing to capture Northumbrian land she was also doing her brother's bidding.\n\nEdward of Wessex had proved to be a good enough king. He was not the equal of his father, of course. He lacked Alfred's intense cleverness and Alfred's single-minded determination to rescue the Saxons and Christianity from the pagan Northmen, but Edward had continued his father's work. He had led the West Saxon army into East Anglia where he was winning back land and building burhs. The land ruled by Wessex was being pushed slowly northwards, and Saxons were settling estates that had belonged to Danish jarls. Alfred had dreamed of one kingdom, a kingdom of Saxon Christians, ruled by a Saxon Christian king and speaking the language of the Saxons. Alfred had called himself the King of the English-Speaking people, which was not quite the same thing as being King of Englaland, but that dream, the dream of a united country, was slowly coming true.\n\nBut to make it wholly true meant subduing the Norse and the Danes in Northumbria, and that \u00c6thelflaed was reluctant to do. She did not fear the risks, but rather feared the displeasure of her brother and of the church. Wessex was far richer than war-torn Mercia. West Saxon silver supported \u00c6thelflaed's troops and West Saxon gold was poured into Mercian churches, and Edward did not want his sister to be reckoned a greater ruler than himself. If Northumbria was to be invaded, then Edward would lead the army and Edward would gain the reputation, and so he forbade his sister from invading Northumbria without him, and \u00c6thelflaed, knowing how reliant she was on her brother's gold and, besides, reluctant to offend him, was content to reclaim Mercia's northern lands. The time would come, she liked to tell me, when the combined armies of Mercia and Wessex would march triumphantly to the Scottish border and when that happened there would be a new country, not Wessex, not Mercia, not East Anglia, not Northumbria, but Englaland.\n\nAll of which might have been true, but it was too slow for me. I was growing old. There were aches in my bones, grey hairs in my beard, and an old dream in my heart. I wanted Bebbanburg. Bebbanburg was mine. I was and am the Lord of Bebbanburg. Bebbanburg belonged to my father and to his father, and it will belong to my son and to his son. And Bebbanburg lay deep inside Northumbria. To besiege it, to capture it from my cousin whose father had stolen it from me, I needed to be in Northumbria. I needed to lay siege and I could not hope to do that with a horde of bitter Norsemen and vengeful Danes surrounding me. I had already tried to capture Bebbanburg once by approaching the fortress from the sea, and that attempt had failed. Next time, I vowed, I would take an army to Bebbanburg, and to do that I first had to capture the land around the fortress, and that meant defeating the Northmen who ruled that territory. I needed to invade Northumbria.\n\nWhich meant I needed an army.\n\nThe idea had come to me when I had light-heartedly told Finan that my forgiveness gift to \u00c6thelflaed would be Eoferwic, by which I had meant that one way or the other I would rid that city of Ragnall's forces.\n\nBut now, suddenly, I saw the idea clearly.\n\nI needed Bebbanburg. To gain Bebbanburg I needed to defeat the Northmen of Northumbria, and to defeat the Northmen of Northumbria I needed an army.\n\nAnd if \u00c6thelflaed would not let me use the Mercian army then I would use Ragnall's.\n\nSigtryggr's fortress was almost an island. It was a steep hump of rock-strewn land rearing from the lough's water and protected from a sea approach by ledges, islets, and rocks. The land approach was even worse. The only path to the hump of rock was a low and narrow neck, scarce wide enough for six men to walk abreast. Even if men could cross the neck they faced a steep climb to the summit of Sigtryggr's fort, the same climb that any attackers from the sea would find beyond the thin beach. To reach that beach a ship first had to negotiate a twisting channel that dog-legged from the south, but once the troops had leaped off the boat's prow they would be confronted by high bluffs and precipitous slopes above which the defenders waited. The headland was like Bebbanburg, a place made to frustrate an attacker, though, unlike Bebbanburg, there was no palisade because none was needed, just the rocky heights above which cooking fires smoked on the hill's wide green summit.\n\nS\u00e6broga approached the fort from the south, picking a delicate path between the hidden ledges and rocks. Gerbruht stood in the prow, probing the water with an oar and shouting when its blade struck rock. I had just twelve men rowing, there was no need for more because we dared not travel fast. We could only creep through the dangers.\n\nSigtryggr's garrison saw a boat crammed with men, glinting with weapons and displaying Ragnall's big red axe at its prow. They would recognise S\u00e6broga and think that either Ragnall himself had come to finish them or else sent one of his more trusted war chiefs. I watched as the garrison formed a shield wall on the slope and I listened to the harsh clash of war-blades striking willow-boards. Sigtryggr's banner, a red axe just like his brother's symbol, was unfurled higher on the hill and I thought I saw Stiorra standing beside the banner. Her husband, blond hair bright in the sunlight, pushed through his shield wall and strode halfway down to the beach. 'Come and die!' he bellowed from the summit of one of the headland's many rock bluffs. 'Come join your friends!' He gestured with his drawn sword and I saw human heads had been placed on rocks along the shore. Just as I had welcomed Ragnall with the severed heads at Eads Byrig, so Sigtryggr was welcoming visitors to his refuge.\n\n'It's a corpse fence,' Finan said.\n\n'A what?'\n\n'The heads! You think twice before crossing a corpse fence.' He made the sign of the cross.\n\n'I need more heads!' Sigtryggr shouted. 'So bring me yours! I beg you!' Behind him the swords clattered on shields. No attacker could hope to survive an assault on that rock, not unless he could bring an army to the shore and so overwhelm the few defenders, and that would be impossible. There was only room for three or perhaps four ships on the beach, and those ships would be forced to approach single file between the hazards. We inched our way, and more than once the S\u00e6broga's bows touched rock and we had to back water and try again as Gerbruht bellowed instructions.\n\n'To make it easy for you,' Sigtryggr shouted, 'we'll let you land!' He stood on the bluff beside one of the heads. His long golden hair hung below his shoulders around which a chain of gold was looped three times. He was in mail, but wore no helmet nor carried a shield. He had his long-sword in his right hand, the blade naked. He was grinning, looking forward to a battle he knew he would win. I remembered young Berg describing him as a lord of war, and even though he was trapped and besieged, he looked magnificent.\n\nI went forward and told Gerbruht to make way for me, then climbed onto the small platform just beneath the axe-head prow. I wore a plain helmet with closed cheek-pieces and Sigtryggr mistook me for Orvar. 'Welcome back, Orvar! You brought me more men to be killed? You didn't lose enough last time?'\n\n'Do I look like Orvar?' I bellowed back. 'You half-blind idiot! You spawn of a goat! Do you want me to take your other eye?'\n\nHe stared.\n\n'Can't a father visit his daughter without being insulted by some shit-brained, one-eyed arse-dropping Norseman?' I called.\n\nHe held up his free hand, indicating that his men should stop beating their shields. And still he stared. Behind him the clatter of blades on willow slowly faded.\n\nI took the helmet off and tossed it back to Gerbruht. 'Is this the welcome a loving father-in-law gets?' I demanded. 'I come all this way to rescue your worthless arse and you threaten me with your feeble insults? Why aren't you showering me with gold and gifts, you wall-eyed piece of ungrateful toad shit?'\n\nHe began to laugh, then he danced. He capered for a few heartbeats, then stopped and spread his arms wide. 'It's amazing!' he shouted.\n\n'What's amazing, you goat dropping?'\n\n'That a mere Saxon should bring a boat safe from Britain! Was the voyage very frightening?'\n\n'About as scary as facing you in battle,' I said.\n\n'So you pissed yourself then?' he asked, grinning.\n\nI laughed. 'We borrowed your brother's boat!'\n\n'So I see!' He sheathed his sword. 'You're safe now! You've got deep water all the way to the beach!'\n\n'Pull!' I called to the rowers, and they tugged on the looms and S\u00e6broga surged across the last few yards to grind her bow on the shingle. I stepped back off the platform and clambered over the steerboard bow strake. I dropped into water that came up to my thighs and almost lost my balance, but Sigtryggr had come down from his boulder, stretched out a hand, and pulled me ashore. He embraced me.\n\nEven without an eye he was still a handsome man, hawk-faced and fair-haired, quick to smile, and I understood so well why Stiorra had sailed with him from Britain. I had been seeking a husband for her, looking among the warriors of Mercia and Wessex for a man who could match her intelligence and fierce passion, but she had taken the choice from me. She had married my enemy and now he was my ally. I was pleased to see him, even surprised by the surge of pleasure I felt.\n\n'You took your time coming, lord,' he said happily.\n\n'I knew you weren't in real trouble,' I said, 'so why should I hurry?'\n\n'Because we were running out of ale, of course.' He turned and shouted up the rocky slope. 'You can put your swords away! These ugly bastards are friends!' He plucked my elbow. 'Come and meet your granddaughter, lord.'\n\nStiorra came to me instead, leading a small child by the hand, and I confess the breath caught in my throat. It was not the child that misted my eyes. I have never liked small children, not even my own, but I loved my daughter and I could see why Ragnall would go to war for her. Stiorra had become a woman, graceful and confident, and so like her mother that it hurt just to look at her. She smiled as she approached, then offered me a dutiful curtsey. 'Father,' she said.\n\n'I'm not crying,' I said, 'dust got in my eye.'\n\n'Yes, father,' she said.\n\nI embraced her, then held her at arm's length. She wore a dark dress of finely woven linen beneath a woollen cloak dyed black. An ivory hammer hung at her neck and a golden torque circled it. She wore her hair high, pinned by combs of gold and ivory. She took a step back, but only so she could draw her daughter forward. 'This is your granddaughter,' she said, 'Gisela Sigtryggdottir.'\n\n'That's a mouthful.'\n\n'She's a handful.'\n\nI glanced at the girl who looked like her mother and grandmother. She was dark, with large eyes and long black hair. She looked back at me very solemnly, but neither of us had anything to say and so said nothing. Stiorra laughed at our tongue-tied silence, then turned away to greet Finan. My men were securing the S\u00e6broga to the shore, using long lines that they lashed around boulders.\n\n'You might want to leave men aboard,' Sigtryggr warned me, 'because two of my brother's ships are patrolling the loch. Hr\u00e6svelgr and Nidhogg.'\n\n'Hr\u00e6svelgr is already ours,' I told him, 'and Nidhogg soon will be. We'll capture the other two as well.'\n\n'You captured Hr\u00e6svelgr?' he asked, evidently astonished at the news.\n\n'You didn't see it?' I asked, and looked south and saw that islands would have hidden the S\u00e6broga's meeting with the Hr\u00e6svelgr. 'We should have five ships by tomorrow,' I said brusquely, 'but with their crews, my crew, and your people? They'll be crowded! But if the weather stays calm like this, we should be safe enough. Unless you want to stay here?'\n\nHe was still trying to comprehend what I was saying. 'Their crews?'\n\n'Your crews, really,' I said, deliberately confusing him with a flood of good news. He looked over my shoulder and I turned to see that the Hr\u00e6svelgr had just appeared around the headland. Orvar was back in command of her. I watched and, sure enough, a second ship was following in her wake, 'That must be the Nidhogg,' I said to Sigtryggr.\n\n'It is.'\n\n'Orvar Freyrson,' I told him, 'is going to swear loyalty to you. I assume Bjarke is too, and every man of their crews as well. If any of them refuse, I suggest we strand them on an island here, unless you'd rather kill them.'\n\n'Orvar will swear loyalty?' he asked.\n\n'And Bjarke too, I suspect.'\n\n'If Orvar and Bjarke swear,' he said, frowning as he tried to comprehend the significance of all I was telling him, 'their crews will too. All of them.'\n\n'And Orvar is confident he can persuade the other two ships to do the same,' I said.\n\n'How did you persuade...' he began, then just stopped, still trying to understand how fate had turned that morning. He had woken trapped and besieged, now he was commanding a small fleet.\n\n'How?' I asked. 'Because I offered him land, a lot of land. Your land, as it happens, but I didn't think you'd mind.'\n\n'My land?' he asked, now totally confused.\n\n'I'm making you King of Eoferwic,' I explained, as if that was something I did every day, 'and of Northumbria too. Don't thank me!' He had made no sign of thanking me, he was just staring at me in astonishment. 'Because there will be conditions! But for now we should get the ships ready for a voyage. I'm reckoning we must empty some of their ballast because they're going to be loaded to the upper strake. I'm told the weather on this coast can change in an eyeblink, but this looks settled enough and we should leave as soon as we can. And Dudda tells me we should leave the lough at slack water, so perhaps tomorrow morning?'\n\n'Dudda?'\n\n'My shipmaster,' I explained, 'and usually drunk, but it doesn't seem to make much difference to him. So tomorrow morning?'\n\n'Where are we going?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'To Cair Ligualid.'\n\nHe stared at me vacantly. It was plain he had never heard of the place. 'And Cair whatever it is,' he asked, 'is where?'\n\n'Over there,' I said, pointing east, 'a day's voyage.'\n\n'King of Northumbria?' he asked, still trying to understand what I was telling him.\n\n'If you agree,' I said, 'then I'm making you King of Northumbria. King of Jorvik, really, but whoever holds that throne usually calls himself King of Northumbria too. Your brother reckons he's the king there now, but you and I should be able to give him a grave instead.' Hr\u00e6svelgr had just beached, and Orvar leaped off the prow to stumble awkwardly on the rocky shore. 'He's either going to kill you,' I said, watching Orvar, 'or else kneel to you.'\n\nOrvar, his golden chain restored, just as all his men had been given back their weapons, coins, hacksilver, and talismans, crossed the short stretch of beach. He gave Stiorra a respectful and embarrassed nod, then looked Sigtryggr in the eye. 'Lord?' he said.\n\n'You gave my brother your oath,' Sigtryggr said harshly.\n\n'And your brother took my family hostage,' Orvar said, 'which no oath-lord should ever do.'\n\n'True,' Sigtryggr said. He looked away as the Nidhogg grounded, her prow scraping on the shingle. Her master, Bjarke, leaped off the bow and stood watching Sigtryggr, who drew his long-sword. The blade hissed as it scraped through the scabbard's throat. For a heartbeat Sigtryggr seemed to threaten Orvar with the long blade, then he let the sword fall so that its tip was planted in the shingle. 'You know what to do,' he told Orvar.\n\nThe crews of Hr\u00e6svelgr and Nidhogg watched as Orvar knelt and clasped his hands around Sigtryggr's hands, which, in turn, held the sword. Orvar took a breath, but before speaking the oath he looked up at me. 'You promise my family will live, lord?'\n\n'What I promise,' I said carefully, 'is that I will do everything I can to make certain that they live and are unharmed.' I touched the hammer at my neck, 'and I swear that by Thor and by the lives of my own family.'\n\n'And how do you keep that oath?' Sigtryggr asked me.\n\n'By giving Ragnall your wife, of course. Now let Jarl Orvar swear you loyalty.'\n\nAnd on a beach, beside a placid lough, under a sky of blue and white, the oaths were made.\n\nIt is not difficult to be a lord, a jarl, or even a king, but it is difficult to be a leader.\n\nMost men want to follow, and what they demand of their leader is prosperity. We are the ring-givers, the gold-givers. We give land, we give silver, we give slaves, but that alone is not enough. They must be led. Leave men standing or sitting for days at a time and they get bored, and bored men make trouble. They must be surprised and challenged, given tasks they think beyond their abilities. And they must fear. A leader who is not feared will cease to rule, but fear is not enough. They must love too. When a man has been led into the shield wall, when an enemy is roaring defiance, when the blades are clashing on shields, when the soil is about to be soaked in blood, when the ravens circle in wait for the offal of men, then a man who loves his leader will fight better than a man who merely fears him. At that moment we are brothers, we fight for each other, and a man must know that his leader will sacrifice his own life to save any one of his men.\n\nI learned all that from Ragnar, a man who led with joy in his soul, though he was feared too. His great enemy, Kjartan, knew only how to lead by fear, and Ragnall was the same. Men who lead by fear might become great kings and might rule lands so great that no man knows their boundaries, but they can be beaten too, beaten by men who fight as brothers.\n\n'What my brother offered,' Sigtryggr told me that night, 'was that I should be king of the islands and he would be king of Britain.'\n\n'The islands?'\n\n'All the sea islands,' he explained, 'everything along the coast.' He waved northwards. I had sailed those waters and knew that everything north of the Irish Sea is a tangle of islands, rocks and wild waves.\n\n'The Scots might not have liked that,' I said, amused. 'And the Scots are nothing but trouble.'\n\nHe grinned. 'That, I think, was in Ragnall's mind. I would keep the Scots off his back while he conquered the Saxon lands.' He paused, watching the sparks whirl up into the darkness. 'I'd get the rocks, the seaweed, the gulls, and the goats, and he'd get the gold, the wheat, and the women.'\n\n'You said no?'\n\n'I said yes.'\n\n'Why?'\n\nHe looked at me with his one eye. The other was a pucker of sunken scar tissue. 'It's family,' he said, 'it's what our father wanted. Life has become hard here in Ireland and it's time to find new lands.' He shrugged. 'Besides, if I was Lord of the Islands I could turn their rocks into gold.'\n\n'Rocks, seaweed, gulls, and goats?' I asked.\n\n'And ships,' he said wolfishly. He was thinking piracy. 'And they say there are lands beyond the sea.'\n\n'I've heard those stories,' I said dubiously.\n\n'But think of it! New lands! Waiting to be settled.'\n\n'There's nothing but fire and ice out there,' I said. 'I sailed it once, out to where the ice glitters and the mountains spill fire.'\n\n'Then we use the fire to melt the ice.'\n\n'And beyond that?' I asked. 'Men say there are other lands, but haunted by monsters.'\n\n'Then we slaughter the monsters,' he said happily.\n\nI smiled at his enthusiasm. 'So you said yes to your brother?'\n\n'I did! I would be the Sea King and he would be King of Britain,' he paused, 'but then he demanded Stiorra.'\n\nThere was silence around the fire. Stiorra had been listening, her long face grave, and now she caught my eye and smiled slightly, a secret smile. Men leaned in beyond the inner circle, trying to hear what was being said and relaying the words to those who were out of earshot.\n\n'He wanted Stiorra,' I said flatly.\n\n'He always wants hostages,' Orvar said.\n\nI grimaced. 'You hold your enemies' families hostage, not your friends.'\n\n'We're all enemies to Ragnall,' Bjarke put in. He was Nidhogg's shipmaster, a tall and lean Norseman with a long plaited beard and a face marked with an inked ship on either cheek.\n\n'He holds your wife too?' I asked.\n\n'My wife, two daughters, and my son.'\n\nSo Ragnall ruled by fear, and only by fear. Men were scared of him and so they should be because he was a frightening man, but a leader who rules by fear must also be successful. He must lead his men from victory to victory because the moment he shows himself weak then he is vulnerable, and Ragnall had been beaten. I had thrashed him in the woods about Eads Byrig, I had driven him from the lands around Ceaster, and it was no wonder, I thought, that the men he had left in Ireland were so ready to betray the oaths they had sworn to him.\n\nAnd that was another question. If a man swears an oath of loyalty and afterwards the lord takes hostages for the fulfilment of that oath, is the oath valid? When a man clasped hands with me, when he said the words that bound his fate to mine, then he became like a brother. Ragnall trusted no one, it seemed. He took oaths and he took hostages. Every man was his enemy, and a man owes no loyalty to an enemy.\n\nSvart, a huge man who was Sigtryggr's second-in-command, growled, 'He didn't want the Lady Stiorra as a hostage,' he said.\n\n'No,' Sigtryggr agreed.\n\n'I was to be his wife,' Stiorra said, 'his fifth wife.'\n\n'He told you that?' I asked.\n\n'Fulla told me,' she said. 'Fulla is his first wife. She showed me her scars too.' She spoke very calmly. 'Did you ever beat your wives, father?'\n\nI smiled at her through the flames. 'I'm weak that way, no.'\n\nShe smiled back. 'I remember you telling us that a man does not beat a woman. You said it often.'\n\n'Only a weak man beats a woman,' I said. Some of the listening men looked uncomfortable, but none of them argued. 'But it might take a strong man to have more than one wife?' I went on, looking at Sigtryggr, who laughed.\n\n'I wouldn't dare,' he said, 'she'd beat me to a pulp.'\n\n'So Ragnall demanded Stiorra?' I prompted him.\n\n'He brought his whole fleet to take her! Hundreds of men! It was his right, he said. And so we came here.'\n\n'Fled here,' Stiorra said drily.\n\n'We had six ships,' Sigtryggr explained, 'and he had thirty-six.'\n\n'What happened to the six ships?'\n\n'We bribed the Irish with them, exchanged them for grain and ale.'\n\n'The same Irish who were paid to kill you?' I asked. Sigtryggr nodded. 'So why haven't they killed you?'\n\n'Because they don't want to die on these rocks,' Sigtryggr said, 'and because of your daughter.'\n\nI looked at her. 'Because of your sorcery?'\n\nStiorra nodded, then stood, her face cast into stern shadows by the flames. 'Come with me, father,' she said and I saw that Sigtryggr's men were grinning, enjoying some secret jest. 'Father?' Stiorra beckoned westwards. 'It's time, anyway.'\n\n'Time?'\n\n'You'll see.'\n\nI followed her westwards. She gave me her hand to guide me down the slope because the night was dark and the path off the hilltop was steep. We went slowly, our eyes adjusting to the night's blackness. 'It's me,' she called softly as we reached the foot of the hill.\n\n'Mistress,' a voice acknowledged from the dark. There were evidently sentries beside the crude stone wall that had been built to bar the narrow neck of land that led away from the fort. I could see fires now, campfires, a long way off on the mainland.\n\n'How many men around those fires?' I asked.\n\n'Hundreds,' Stiorra said calmly. 'Enough to overwhelm us, so we needed to use other methods to keep them away.' She climbed onto the wall's top and let go of my hand. I could hardly see her now. She wore a cloak as black as the night, as black as her hair, but I was aware of her standing straight and tall, facing the distant enemy.\n\nAnd then she began to sing.\n\nOr rather she crooned and she moaned, her voice sliding up and down eerily, crying in the darkness, and sometimes pausing to yelp like a vixen. Then she would stop and there would be silence in the night except for the sigh of wind across the land. She started again, yelping again, short sharp barks that she spat westwards before letting her voice slide up into a desperate scream that slowly, slowly faded into a whimper and then to nothing.\n\nAnd then, as if in answer, the western horizon was lit by lightning. Not the sharp stabs of Thor's thunderbolts, not the jagged streaks of anger that split the sky, but flickering sheets of silent summer lightning. They showed, distant and bright, then went, leaving darkness again and a stillness that felt full of menace. There was one last burst of far light and I saw the white skulls of the death fence arrayed along the wall where Stiorra stood.\n\n'There, father,' she held out a hand, 'they're cursed again.'\n\nI took her hand and helped her down from the wall. 'Cursed?'\n\n'They think I'm a sorceress.'\n\n'And are you?'\n\n'They fear me,' she said. 'I call the spirits of the dead to haunt them and they know I speak to the gods.'\n\n'I thought they were Christians?'\n\n'They are, but they fear the older gods, and I keep them frightened.' She paused, staring up into the dark. 'There's something different here in Ireland,' she said, sounding puzzled, 'as if the old magic still clings to the earth. You can feel it.'\n\n'I can't.'\n\nShe smiled. I saw the white of her teeth. 'I learned the runesticks. Fulla taught me.'\n\nI had given her the runesticks that her mother had used, the slender polished shafts that, when cast, made intricate patterns that were said to tell the future. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.\n\n'They said you'd come, and they said Ragnall will die. They said a third thing...' she stopped abruptly.\n\n'A third thing?' I asked.\n\n'No,' she shook her head. 'Sometimes they're hard to read,' she said dismissively, taking my arm and leading me back towards the fire on the hilltop. 'In the morning the Christian sorcerers will try to undo my magic. They'll fail.'\n\n'Christian sorcerers?'\n\n'Priests,' she said dismissively.\n\n'And did the runesticks tell you that your eldest brother would be gelded?'\n\nShe stopped and looked up at me in the darkness. 'Gelded?'\n\n'He almost died.'\n\n'No!' she said. 'No!'\n\n'Brida did it.'\n\n'Brida?'\n\n'A hell-bitch,' I said bitterly, 'who has joined Ragnall.'\n\n'No!' she protested again. 'But Uhtred was here! He went to Ragnall in peace!'\n\n'He's called Father Oswald now,' I said, 'and that's what he'll never be, a father.'\n\n'This Brida,' she asked fiercely, 'is she an enchantress?'\n\n'She thinks so, she says so.'\n\nShe breathed a sigh of relief. 'And that was the third thing the runesticks said, father, that an enchantress must die.'\n\n'The runesticks said that?'\n\n'It must be her,' she said vengefully. She had plainly feared the sticks had foretold her own death. 'It will be her,' she said.\n\nAnd I followed her back to the fire.\n\nIn the morning three Irish priests approached the narrow neck of land where the skulls stood on the low stone wall. They stopped at least fifty paces from the skulls, where they held their hands in the air and chanted prayers. One of them, a wild-haired man, danced in circles as he chanted. 'What do they hope to do?' I asked.\n\n'They're praying that God will destroy the skulls,' Finan said. He made the sign of the cross.\n\n'They really fear them,' I said in wonder.\n\n'You wouldn't?'\n\n'They're just skulls.'\n\n'They're the dead!' he said fiercely. 'Didn't you know that when you put the heads around Eads Byrig?'\n\n'I just wanted to horrify Ragnall,' I said.\n\n'You gave him a ghost fence,' Finan said, 'and it's no wonder he left the place. And this one?' He nodded downhill to where Stiorra had arranged the skulls to face the mainland. 'This ghost fence has power!'\n\n'Power?'\n\n'Let me show you.' He led me across the hilltop to a stone-lined pit. It was not large, perhaps six feet square, but every inch of space had been crammed with bones. 'God knows how long they've been there,' Finan said, 'they were covered with that slab.' He pointed to a stone slab that had been shoved away from the pit. The surface of the slab had a cross scratched into it, the cross now filled with lichen. The bones had been sorted so that the long yellowed leg bones were all stacked together and the ribs carefully piled. There were pelvises, knucklebones, arm bones, but no skulls. 'I reckon the skulls were the top layer,' Finan said.\n\n'Who were they?' I stooped to look into the pit.\n\n'Monks probably. Maybe slaughtered when the first Norsemen came?' He turned and stared westwards. 'And those poor bastards are terrified of them. It's an army of the dead, their own dead! They'll be wanting more gold before they cross this ghost fence.'\n\n'More gold?'\n\nFinan half smiled. 'Ragnall paid the U\u00ed N\u00e9ill gold to capture Stiorra. But if they have to fight the dead as well as the living they'll want a lot more than the gold he's given them so far.'\n\n'The dead don't fight,' I said.\n\nFinan scorned that. 'You Saxons! I sometimes think you know nothing! No, the dead don't fight, but they take revenge! You want your milk sour from the udder? You want your crops to shrivel? Your cattle to have the staggers? Your children sick?'\n\nI could hear the Irish priests making yelping noises and I wondered if the air was filled with unseen spirits fighting a battle of magic. The thought made me touch the hammer about my neck, then I forgot the phantoms as my son shouted from down the hill. 'Father!' he called. 'The ships!'\n\nI saw that the last two ships were coming from the south, which meant Orvar had talked their crews into betraying Ragnall. I had my fleet now and the beginnings of an army. 'We have to rescue Orvar's family,' I said.\n\n'We made that promise,' Finan agreed.\n\n'Ragnall won't have them with his horsemen,' I guessed. 'You don't want women and children slowing you down when you're raiding deep in hostile country.'\n\n'But he'll have them kept safe,' Finan said.\n\nWhich meant, I thought, that they were in Eoferwic. That city was Ragnall's base, his stronghold. We knew he had sent part of his army back there, presumably to hold the Roman walls while the rest of his men ravaged Mercia. 'Let's just hope they're not in Dunholm,' I said. Brida's fortress was formidable, perched on its crag above the river.\n\n'That place would be a bitch to capture again,' Finan said.\n\n'They'll be in Eoferwic,' I said, praying I was right.\n\nAnd Eoferwic, I thought, was where my story had all begun. Where my father had died. Where I had become the Lord of Bebbanburg. Where I had met Ragnar and learned of the ancient gods.\n\nAnd it was time to go back."
            },
            {
                "title": "War of the Brothers",
                "text": "I have endured nightmare voyages. I was a slave once, pulling a heavy oar in tumbling seas, freezing in the spray, fighting waves and wind, dragging a boat towards a rock-bound shore rimmed with ice. I had almost wished that the sea would take us. We were whimpering with fear and cold.\n\nThis was worse.\n\nI had been aboard Alfred's ship Heahengel when Guthrum's fleet had died in a sudden storm that whipped the sea off the West Saxon coast to frenzy. The wind had shrieked, the waves were white devils, masts went overboard, sails were ripped to crazed tatters, and the great boats had sunk one after the other. The cries of the drowning had lived with me for days.\n\nBut this was worse.\n\nThis was worse even though the sea was calm, the waves placid and what small wind did blow wafted gently from the west. We saw no enemies. We crossed a sea as tame as a duck pond, yet every moment of that voyage was terrifying.\n\nWe left the lough at high water when the savage currents that streamed through the narrows were sullen and still. We had five ships now. All of Ragnall's crews in Loch Cuan had sworn their loyalty to Sigtryggr, but that meant we had their families and all Sigtryggr's people and all my men. Ships that were meant to carry no more than seventy crew had close to two hundred people aboard. They rode low in the water, the small waves constantly slopping over the upper strakes so that those men not rowing had to bail. We had thrown some of the ballast stones overboard, but that made the ships perilously top heavy so they rocked alarmingly whenever an errant breath of wind came from the north or south, and even the smallest cross-sea threatened to sink us. We crept across that gentle sea, but never for one moment did I feel out of danger. Even in the worst storm men can row, they can fight the gods, but those fragile five ships in a calm sea felt so vulnerable. The worst moments were in the night-time. The wind dropped to nothing, which might have been our salvation, but in the dark we could not see the small waves, only feel them as they spilled over the boats' sides. We pulled slow and steady through the darkness and we hammered the ears of the gods with prayers. We watched for oar-splashes, straining to stay close to the other ships, and still we prayed to every god known to us.\n\nThe gods must have listened because next day all five ships came safely to Britain's coast. There was a mist on the beach, just thick enough to shroud the headlands north and south so that Dudda frowned in puzzlement. 'God knows where we are,' he finally admitted.\n\n'Wherever it is,' I said, 'we're going ashore.' And so we rowed the boats straight at the beach where small waves slopped and the sound of the keel grating on sand was the sweetest sound I ever heard. 'Sweet Jesus,' Finan said. He had leaped ashore and now dropped to his knees. He crossed himself. 'I pray to God I never see another ship.'\n\n'Just pray we're not in Strath Clota,' I said. All I knew was that by rowing eastwards we had crossed the sea to where Northumbria bordered Scotland, and that the coast of Scotland was inhabited by savages who called their country Strath Clota. This was wild country, a place of raiding parties, grim forts, and pitiless skirmishes. We had more than enough men to fight our way south if we had landed on Scottish soil, but I did not want to be pursued by wild-haired tribesmen wanting revenge, plunder, and slaves.\n\nI gazed into the mist, seeing grass on dunes and the dim slopes of a hill beyond, and I thought this was how my ancestor must have felt when he brought his ship across the North Sea and landed on a strange beach in Britain, not knowing where he was or what dangers waited for him. His name was Ida, Ida the Flamebearer, and it was Ida who had captured the great crag beside the grey sea where Bebbanburg would be built. And his men, like the men who now landed from the five ships, must have waded through the small surf to bring their weapons to a strange land and gazed inland wondering what enemies waited for them. They had defeated those enemies, and the land Ida's warriors had conquered was now our land. Ida the Flamebearer's enemies had been driven from their pastures and valleys, hunted to Wales, to Scotland, or to Cornwalum, and the land they left behind was now ours, the land we wanted one day to be called Englaland.\n\nSigtryggr leaped ashore. 'Welcome to your kingdom, lord,' I said, 'at least I hope it's your kingdom.'\n\nHe gazed at the dunes where pale grass grew. 'This is Northumbria?'\n\n'I hope so.'\n\nHe grinned. 'Why not your kingdom, lord?'\n\nI confess I had been tempted. To be King of Northumbria? To be lord of the lands that had once been my family's kingdom? Because my family had been kings once. Ida the Flamebearer's descendants had been rulers of Bernicia, a kingdom that embraced Northumbria and the southern parts of Scotland, and it had been a king of Bernicia who had reared Bebbanburg on its grim rock beside the sea. For a moment, standing on that mist-shrouded beach beside the slow breaking waves, I imagined a crown on my head, and then I thought of Alfred.\n\nI had never liked him any more than he had liked me, but I was not such a fool as to think him a bad king. He had been a good king, but being a king meant nothing but duty and responsibility, and those had weighed Alfred down and put furrows on his face and callouses on his knees worn out by praying. My temptation came from a child's view of kingship, as if by being king I could do whatever I wished, and for some reason I had a vision of Mus, the night-child in Ceaster, and I must have smiled and Sigtryggr mistook the smile for acceptance of his suggestion. 'You should be king, lord,' he said.\n\n'No,' I responded firmly, and for a heartbeat I was tempted to tell him the truth, but I could not make him King of Northumbria and tell him, at the same instant, that Northumbria was doomed.\n\nWe cannot know the future. Perhaps some, like my daughter, can read the runesticks and find prophecies in their tangle, and others, like the bitch-hag in the cave who had once foretold my life, might get dreams from the gods, but for most of us the future is a mist and we only see as far ahead as the mist allows, yet I was certain Northumbria was doomed. To its north was Scotland, and the people of that land are wild, savage, and proud. We are fated to fight them, probably for ever, but I had no wish to lead an army into their bitter hills. To stay in the valleys of Scotland meant ambush, while to march on the heights meant starvation. The Scots were welcome to their land, and if they thought to take ours then we would kill them as we always did just as they slaughtered us if we invaded their hills.\n\nAnd to the south of Northumbria were the Saxons and they had a dream, Alfred's dream, the dream I had served for almost my whole life, and that dream was to unite the kingdoms where Saxons lived and call it one country, and Northumbria was the last part of that dream, and \u00c6thelflaed passionately wanted that dream to come true. I have broken many oaths in my life, but I had never broken an oath to \u00c6thelflaed. I would make Sigtryggr king, but the condition was that he lived in peace with \u00c6thelflaed's Mercia. I would make him king to destroy his brother and to give me a chance to attack Bebbanburg, and I would make him king even as I sowed the seeds of his kingdom's destruction, because while he must swear to live in peace with Mercia I could not and would not demand that \u00c6thelflaed live in peace with him. Sigtryggr's Northumbria would be trapped between the savagery of the north and the ambitions of the south.\n\nAnd I told Sigtryggr none of that. Instead I put my arm around his shoulder and walked him to the top of a dune from where we watched men and women come ashore. The mist was lifting, and all along the beach I could see weapons and shields being carried through the low surf. Children, released from the tightly-packed ships, raced about the sand shrieking and tumbling. 'We'll march under your banner,' I told Sigtryggr.\n\n'The red axe.'\n\n'Because men will think you serve your brother.'\n\n'And we go to Jorvik,' he said.\n\n'To Eoferwic, yes.'\n\nHe frowned, thinking. A sea breeze had started and it stirred his fair hair. He gazed at the ships and I knew he was thinking that it would be a pity to abandon them, but there was no choice. A small boy climbed the dune and stared open-mouthed at Sigtryggr. I growled and the child looked terrified, then ran away. 'You don't like children?' Sigtryggr asked, amused.\n\n'Hate them. Noisy little bastards.'\n\nHe laughed. 'Your daughter says you were a good father.'\n\n'That's because she hardly ever saw me,' I said. I felt a slight pang. I had been fortunate in my children. Stiorra was a woman any man would be proud to call his daughter, while Uhtred, who was carrying spears through the shallows and laughing with his companions, was a fine man and a good warrior, but my eldest? My gelded son? He, I thought, was the cleverest of my three, and perhaps the best of them, but we would never be friends. 'My father never liked me,' I said.\n\n'Nor did mine,' Sigtryggr said, 'not till I was a man, anyway.' He turned and looked inland. 'So what do we do now?' he asked.\n\n'We find out where we are. With any luck we're close to Cair Ligualid, so we'll go there first and find places for the families. Then we march on Eoferwic.'\n\n'How far's that?'\n\n'Without horses? It'll take us a week.'\n\n'Is it defensible?'\n\n'It has good walls,' I said, 'but it lies in flat land. It needs a large garrison.'\n\nHe nodded. 'And if my brother's there?'\n\n'We'll have a fight on our hands,' I said, 'but we have that anyway. You're not safe till he's dead.'\n\nI doubted that Ragnall would have returned to Eoferwic. Despite his defeat at Eads Byrig he still possessed a large army, and he needed to give that army plunder. I suspected he was still ravaging Mercia, but I also suspected he would have sent a force back to Eoferwic to hold the city till he returned. I also suspected I could be wrong. We were marching blind, but at least our ships had landed in Northumbria because late that morning, when the mist had cleared entirely, I climbed a nearby hill and saw smoke rising from a substantial town to our north. It could only be Cair Ligualid, for there was no other large settlement in Cumbraland.\n\nCumbraland was that part of Northumbria west of the mountains. It had always been a wild and lawless place. The kings who ruled in Eoferwic might claim to rule in Cumbraland, but few would travel there without a large army, and even fewer would see any advantage in making the journey at all. It was a region of hills and lakes, deep valleys, and deeper woods. The Danes and the Norse had settled it, building steadings protected by stout palisades, but it was no land to make a man rich. There were sheep and goats, a few paltry fields of barley, and enemies everywhere. The old inhabitants, small and dark, still lived in the high valleys where they worshipped gods that had been forgotten elsewhere, and always there were Scots crossing the River Hedene to steal cattle and slaves. Cair Ligualid guarded that river, and even that town would not have existed if it had not been for the Romans who had built it, fortified it, and left a great church at its centre.\n\nIt might have been a daunting fortress once, as formidable as Ceaster or Eoferwic, but time had not been kind to Cair Ligualid. The stone walls had partly fallen, the Roman buildings had mostly collapsed, and what was left was an untidy collection of timber huts with roofs of mossy thatch. The church still stood, though almost all of its walls had fallen to be replaced with timber, and the old tiled roof had long gone. Yet I loved that church because it was there that I had first seen Gisela. I felt the pang of her loss as we came into Cair Ligualid, and I stole a glance at Stiorra who so resembled her mother.\n\nThere were still monks in the town, though at first I thought they were beggars or vagabonds in strange robes. The brown cloth was patched, the hems tattered, and it was only the tonsures and the heavy wooden crosses that betrayed the half-dozen men as monks. The oldest, who had a wispy beard stretching almost to his waist, strode to meet us. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'What do you want? When are you leaving?'\n\n'Who are you?' I retorted.\n\n'I am Abbot Hengist,' he said in a tone that suggested I should recognise the name.\n\n'Who rules here?' I asked.\n\n'Almighty God.'\n\n'He's the jarl?'\n\n'He is the mighty jarl of all the earth and everything in it. He is the jarl of creation!'\n\n'Then why hasn't he repaired the walls here?'\n\nAbbot Hengist frowned at that, not sure what to answer. 'Who are you?'\n\n'The man who's going to pull the guts out of your arsehole if you don't tell me who rules in Cair Ligualid,' I said pleasantly.\n\n'I do!' Hengist said, backing away.\n\n'Good!' I said briskly. 'We're staying two nights. Tomorrow we'll help repair your wall. I don't suppose you have enough food for all of us, but you'll supply us with ale. We'll be leaving the women and children here under your protection, and you will feed them till we send for them.'\n\nAbbot Hengist gaped at the crowd who had come into his town. 'I can't feed that...'\n\n'You're a Christian?'\n\n'Of course!'\n\n'You believe in miracles?' I asked, and he nodded. 'Then you'd better fetch your five loaves and two fishes,' I went on, 'and pray that your wretched god provides the rest. I'm leaving some warriors here too, they need feeding as well.'\n\n'We can't...'\n\n'Yes, you can,' I growled. I walked up to him and seized the front of his grubby robe, grabbing a handful of white beard at the same time. 'You will feed them, you horrible little man,' I said, 'and you will protect them,' I shook him as I spoke, 'and if I find one child missing or one child hungry when I send for them I'll strip the flesh off your scrawny bones and feed it to the dogs. You have fish traps? You have seed grain? You have livestock?' I waited until he gave a reluctant nod to each question. 'Then you will feed them!' I shook him again, then let him go. He staggered and fell back on his arse. 'There,' I said happily, 'that's agreed.' I waited till he had scrambled to his feet. 'We'll also need timber to repair the walls,' I told him.\n\n'There is none!' he whined.\n\nI had noticed few trees close to the town, and those few were stunted and wind-bent, no good for filling the gaps in the ancient ramparts. 'No timber?' I asked. 'So what's your monastery built from?'\n\nHe stared at me for a moment. 'Timber,' he finally whispered.\n\n'There!' I said cheerfully. 'You have an answer for all our problems!'\n\nI could not take the wives and children to Eoferwic. The women could march as well as the men, but children would slow us down. Besides, we carried no food, so everything we ate on our journey would have to be bought, stolen, or scrounged, so the fewer mouths we had to feed the better. We were liable to end up in Eoferwic hungry, but I was certain that once there we would find storehouses filled with grain, smoked meat, and fish.\n\nYet before we could march we needed to protect the families we would leave behind. Men will fight willingly enough, but need to know their women and children are safe, and so we spent a day filling the gaps in Cair Ligualid's wall with heavy timbers pulled down from the monastery. There were only seven monks and two small boys who lived in buildings that could have sheltered seventy, and the rafters and pillars made stout palisades. To man the wall we left thirty-six warriors, mostly the older men or the wounded. They had no hope of resisting a full-scale assault by a horde of shrieking warriors from Strath Clota, but such an attack was unlikely. The Scottish war-bands were rarely more than forty or fifty strong, all of them vicious fighters mounted on small horses, but they did not cross the river to die on Roman walls. They came to snatch slaves from the fields and cattle from the hill pastures, and the few men we left, along with the townspeople, should be more than enough to deter an attack on the town. Just to make sure, we lifted a slab in the church to find an ancient crypt stacked with bones from which we took sixty-three skulls that we placed around the town's ramparts with their empty eyes staring outwards. Abbot Hengist objected. 'They are monks, lord,' he said nervously.\n\n'You want an enemy raping your two novices?' I asked.\n\n'God help us, no!'\n\n'It's a ghost fence,' I said. 'The dead will protect the living.'\n\nStiorra, swathed in black, chanted strange incantations to each of the sixty-three guardians, then daubed their foreheads with a symbol that meant nothing to me. It was just a swirl of dampened soot, but Hengist saw the swirl and heard the chant and feared a pagan magic that was too powerful for his feeble faith. I almost felt sorry for him because he was trying to keep his religion alive in a place of paganism. The nearest farmlands were owned by Norsemen who worshipped Thor and Odin, who sacrificed beasts to the old gods and had no love for Hengist's nailed redeemer. 'I'm surprised they didn't kill you,' I told him.\n\n'The pagans?' he shrugged. 'Some wanted to, but the strongest jarl here is Geir,' he jerked his head towards the south, indicating where Geir's land lay, 'and his wife was sick unto death, lord, and he brought her to us and instructed us to use our God to save her. Which, in His great mercy, He did.' He made the sign of the cross.\n\n'What did you do?' I asked. 'Pray?'\n\n'Of course, lord, but we also pricked her buttocks with one of Saint Bega's arrows.'\n\n'You pricked her arse?' I asked, astonished.\n\nHe nodded. 'Saint Bega defended her convent's land with a bow, lord, but didn't aim to kill. Just to frighten away the wrongdoers. She always said God aimed her arrows, and we're lucky to own just one of them.'\n\n'God shot the bastards in the arse?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'And now you live under Geir's protection?' I asked.\n\n'We do, lord, thanks to the blessed Saint Bega and her holy arrows.'\n\n'So where is Geir?'\n\n'He joined Ragnall, lord.'\n\n'And what news do you have of Ragnall or Geir?'\n\n'None, lord.'\n\nNor did I expect any news. Cumbraland was too remote, but it was significant that Geir had thought it worth his while to cross the hills and join Ragnall's forces. 'Why did he go to Jarl Ragnall?' I asked the monk.\n\nAbbot Hengist shivered and his hand twitched as if he was about to cross himself. 'He was frightened, lord!' He looked at me nervously. 'Jarl Ragnall sent word that he'd slaughter every man here if they didn't march to join him.' He made the sign of the cross and momentarily closed his eyes. 'They all went, lord! All the landowners who had weapons. They fear him. And I hear the Jarl Ragnall hates Christians!'\n\n'He does.'\n\n'God preserve us,' he whispered.\n\nSo Ragnall was ruling purely by fear, and that would work so long as he was successful, and I had a moment's pang of guilt as I thought what his forces would be doing in Mercia. They would be slaughtering and burning and destroying anything and anyone not protected by a burh, but \u00c6thelflaed should have attacked northwards. She was defending Mercia when she should have been attacking Northumbria. A man does not rid his home of a plague of wasps by swatting them one by one, but by finding the nest and burning it. I was Ida the Flamebearer's descendant and, just as he had brought fire across the sea, I would carry flames across the hills.\n\nWe set out next morning.\n\nIt was a hard journey across hard country. We had found three ponies and a mule close to Cair Ligualid, but no horses. Stiorra, with her daughter, rode one of the ponies, but the rest of us travelled on foot and carried our own mail, weapons, food, and shields. We drank from mountain streams, slaughtered sheep for supper, and roasted their ribs over paltry fires of bracken and furze. We were all either used to riding to war or else rowing, and our boots were not fit for the journey. By the second day the stony tracks threatened to rip the boots apart and I ordered men to walk barefoot and save the boots for battle. That slowed us as men limped and stumbled. There were no convenient Roman roads showing the way, just goat paths and sheep tracks and high hills and wind from the north bringing rain in vicious gusts. There was no shelter the first two nights and little food, but on the third day we descended into a fertile valley where a rich steading offered warmth. A woman and two elderly servants watched us arrive. There were over three hundred and fifty of us, all carrying weapons, and the woman left the gate of her palisade wide open to show that she could offer no resistance. She was grey-haired, straight-backed, and blue-eyed, the mistress of a hall, two barns, and a rotting cattle shed. 'My husband,' she greeted us icily, 'is not here.'\n\n'He went to Ragnall?' I asked.\n\n'To Jarl Ragnall, yes,' she sounded disapproving.\n\n'With how many men?'\n\n'Sixteen,' she said, 'and who are you?'\n\n'Men summoned by Jarl Ragnall,' I said evasively.\n\n'I hear he needs more men,' she said scornfully.\n\n'Mistress,' I asked, intrigued by her tone, 'what have you heard?'\n\n'Njall will tell you,' she said. 'I suppose you're about to rob me?'\n\n'I'll pay for whatever we take.'\n\n'Which will still leave us hungry. I can't feed my people on your hacksilver.'\n\nNjall proved to be one of the sixteen warriors who had gone south to join Ragnall's army. He had lost his right hand at Eads Byrig and had returned to this lonely valley where he farmed a few thin fields. He came to the hall that night, a morose man with a red beard and a bandaged stump and a thin, resentful wife. Most of my men were eating in the largest barn, dining on three slaughtered pigs and two goats, but Lifa, who was the mistress of the steading during her husband's absence, insisted that some of us join her in the hall where she served us a meal of beef, barley, bread, and ale. 'We have a harpist,' she told me, 'but he went south with my husband.'\n\n'And won't return,' Njall said.\n\n'He was killed,' Lifa explained. 'What kind of enemy kills harpists?'\n\n'I was there,' Njall said gloomily, 'I saw him take a spear in the back.'\n\n'So tell your story, Njall,' our hostess commanded imperiously, 'tell these men what enemy they will face.'\n\n'Uhtred,' Njall snarled.\n\n'I've heard of him,' I said.\n\nNjall looked at me resentfully. 'But you haven't fought him,' he said.\n\n'True.' I poured him ale. 'So what happened?'\n\n'He has a witch to help him,' Njall said, touching the hammer at his neck, 'a sorceress.'\n\n'I'd not heard that.'\n\n'The witch of Mercia. She's called \u00c6thelflaed.'\n\n'\u00c6thelflaed is a witch?' Finan put in.\n\n'How else can she rule Mercia?' Njall asked resentfully. 'You think a woman can rule unless she uses witchcraft?'\n\n'So what happened?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\nWe coaxed the tale from him. He claimed that Ragnall had us all trapped in Ceaster, though he could not remember the name of that town, only that it was a place that had stone walls, which he assumed had been built by spirits working for \u00c6thelflaed. 'Even so, they were trapped in the city,' he said, 'and the Jarl said he would keep them there while he captured the rest of Mercia. But the witch sent a storm and Uhtred rode the morning wind.'\n\n'Rode the wind?'\n\n'He came with the storm. A horde of them came, but he led. He has a sword of fire and a shield of ice. He came with the thunder.'\n\n'And Jarl Ragnall?' I asked.\n\nNjall shrugged. 'He lives. He still has an army, but so does Uhtred.' He knew little more because, captured at Eads Byrig, he had been one of the men we had released after severing his hand. He had walked home, he said, but then added one more scrap of news. 'The Jarl could be dead for all I know. But he planned to raid Mercia till his own witch worked her magic.'\n\n'His own witch?' I asked.\n\nHe touched the hammer again. 'How do you fight a sorceress? With another sorceress, of course. The Jarl has found a powerful one! An old hag, and she's making the dead.'\n\nI just stared at him for a moment. 'She's making the dead?'\n\n'I journeyed north with her,' he said, clutching the hammer now, 'and she explained.'\n\n'Explained what?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'The Christians worship the dead,' Njall said. 'All their churches have an idol of a dead man and they keep bits of dead people in silver boxes.'\n\n'I've seen those,' I said.\n\n'Relics,' Finan put in.\n\n'And they talk to the pieces of dead people,' Njall said, 'and the dead people talk to their god.' He looked around the table, fearing that no one believed him. 'It's how they do it!' he insisted. 'It's how they talk to their god!'\n\n'It makes sense,' Sigtryggr said cautiously, looking at me.\n\nI nodded. 'It's hard for the living to talk to the gods,' I said.\n\n'But not for Christians,' Njall said. 'That's why they win! That's why their witch is so powerful! Their god listens to the dead.'\n\nFinan, the only Christian at the table, smiled wryly. 'Maybe the Christians win because they have Uhtred?'\n\n'And why do they have Uhtred?' Njall asked forcefully. 'Men say he worships our gods, yet he fights for the Christian god. The witch has charmed him!'\n\n'That's true,' Finan said rather too enthusiastically, and I almost kicked him beneath the table.\n\n'He must be a lonely god,' Lifa, our hostess, said thoughtfully. 'Our gods have company. They feast together, fight together, but their god? He has no one.'\n\n'So he listens to the dead,' Sigtryggr said.\n\n'But only to the Christian dead,' Njall insisted.\n\n'But what can Jarl Ragnall's witch,' I almost named Brida, but avoided it at the last moment, 'do to change that?'\n\n'She's sending a message to their god,' Njall said.\n\n'A message?'\n\n'She says she'll send him a host of dead people. They'll tell him to take away the Mercian witch's power or else she'll kill every Christian in Britain.'\n\nI almost laughed aloud. Only Brida, I thought, would be mad enough to threaten a god! And then I shuddered. She wanted to send a cloud of messengers? And where would she find those messengers? They had to be Christians or else their nailed god would not listen to them, and in many parts of Northumbria the monasteries and convents had been burned down and their monks and nuns either killed or driven to exile. But there was one place the church still flourished. One place where she could find enough Christians to send screaming into the afterlife with a defiant message to the nailed god.\n\nShe had gone to Eoferwic.\n\nAnd there we went too.\n\nI had told Sigtryggr that Eoferwic lay in flat land and that was true, though that flat land was raised slightly above the rest of the plain where the city lay. It also lay between the junction of two rivers, and that alone made it a difficult city to attack. The walls made it almost impossible because they were twice the height of the walls at Ceaster. There had been great gaps in the wall when my father had led an assault on the city, but those gaps had been baits for a trap, and he had died in the trap's jaw. Those gaps were filled now, the new masonry looking much lighter than the old. Jarl Ragnall's flag of the blood-red axe hung from the walls and stirred idly on a tall pole above the southernmost gate.\n\nWe were a ragged band, still mostly on foot though we had stolen or bought a dozen horses as we journeyed from Lifa's steading in the hills. Most of us were barefoot, weary, and dusty. Some thirty men had fallen behind, but the rest still carried their mail, their weapons, and shields. Now, as we approached the city, we flew Sigtryggr's banner, which was identical to his brother's flag, and we mounted Orvar and his men on the stallions. Stiorra, dressed in a white gown, rode a small black mare with her daughter perched in front of her. She appeared to be guarded by Finan and by two of Orvar's Norsemen, who rode either side of her. Sigtryggr and I walked among the mass of men who followed the horsemen towards the city's gate.\n\nThe wall was high, and built atop a bank of earth. 'This is where your grandfather died,' I told my son, 'and where I was captured by the Danes.' I pointed to one of the paler stretches of new masonry. 'Your grandfather led an attack right there. I thought we'd won! There was a gap in the wall there and he stormed the mound and went into the city.'\n\n'What happened?'\n\n'They'd built a new wall behind it. It was a trap, and once our army was inside they attacked and slew them all.'\n\nHe stared ahead, noting the church towers topped by crosses. 'But if it's been Danish for so long why is it still Christian?'\n\n'Some of the Danes converted,' I said. 'Your uncle for one.'\n\n'My uncle?'\n\n'Your mother's brother.'\n\n'Why?'\n\nI shrugged. 'He ruled here. Most of his people were Saxons, Christian Saxons. He wanted them to fight for him, so he changed his religion. I don't think he was a very good Christian, but it was convenient.'\n\n'There are a lot of Danish Christians here,' Sigtryggr put in. He sounded gloomy. 'They marry Saxon girls and convert.'\n\n'Why?' my son asked again.\n\n'Peace and quiet,' Sigtryggr said. 'And a good pair of tits will persuade most men to change their religion.'\n\n'Missionaries,' Finan said happily. 'Show us your missionaries!'\n\nThe city gate opened. Our leading horsemen were still two hundred paces away, but the sight of Sigtryggr's great banner had reassured the guards. Just two horsemen galloped to meet us, and Orvar, who was pretending to be the leader of our small army, held up his hand to halt us as they approached. I edged forward to listen.\n\n'Orvar!' One of the approaching horsemen recognised him.\n\n'I've brought the Jarl his girl,' Orvar said, jerking a thumb towards Stiorra. She sat straight-backed in her saddle, her hands clasped protectively about Gisela.\n\n'You did well!' One of the horsemen pushed through Orvar's men to look at Stiorra. 'And what of her husband?'\n\n'Feeding the fish in Ireland.'\n\n'Dead?'\n\n'Cut to pieces,' Orvar said.\n\n'Leaving a pretty widow.' The man chuckled and reached out a gloved hand to lift Stiorra's chin. Sigtryggr growled beside me and I put a cautionary hand on his arm. I had made him wear a helmet with closed cheek-pieces that hid his face. He also wore old mail, no arm rings and no gold, appearing to be a man not worth a second glance. The horseman who had come from the city smiled nastily at Stiorra. 'Oh, very pretty,' he said. 'When the Jarl has finished with you, darling, I'll give you a treat you won't forget.'\n\nStiorra spat in his face. The man immediately brought back his hand to hit her, but Finan, who was mounted on one of our few horses, caught the man's wrist. 'What's your name?' he asked, sounding friendly.\n\n'Brynk\u00e6til,' the man said sullenly.\n\n'Touch her, Brynk\u00e6til,' Finan said pleasantly, 'and I'll feed her your balls,' he smiled, 'fried, as a treat.'\n\n'Enough!' Orvar kicked his horse to come between the two men. 'Is the Jarl here?'\n\n'The Jarl is raping Mercia,' Brynk\u00e6til said, still glowering, 'but the old bitch is here.' He gave the rest of us a cursory glance and was evidently not impressed by what he saw.\n\n'The old bitch?' Orvar asked.\n\n'She's called Brida of Dunholm,' he growled. 'You'll meet her. Just follow me.' He jerked his head towards the gate.\n\nAnd so, after many years, I came to Eoferwic again. I had known the city as a child, I had visited it often when I was young, but fate had taken me to Wessex, and Eoferwic lay far to the north. It was the second most important city in Britain, at least if you judge a city by size and wealth, though in truth Eoferwic was a poor place compared to Lundene, which grew fatter and richer and dirtier with every passing year. Yet Eoferwic had its wealth, brought to it by the rich farmlands that surrounded it, and by the ships that could sail all the way up the rivers to where a bridge stopped them. A Roman bridge, of course. Most of Eoferwic had been built by the Romans, including the great walls that surrounded the city.\n\nI walked through the gate tunnel and came into a street with houses that had stairways! Lundene had such houses too, and they always amaze me. Houses that have one floor piled on another! I remembered that Ragnar had a house in Eoferwic with two stairways, and his son Rorik and I used to race around and around, up one stair and down the other, whooping and shouting, leading a pack of barking dogs in a mad chase to nowhere until Ragnar would corner us, thump us about the ears, and tell us to go and annoy someone else.\n\nMost of the houses had shops opening onto the street, and, as we followed Orvar and his horsemen, I saw that the shops were full of goods. I saw leatherware, pottery, cloth, knives, and a goldsmith with two mailed warriors guarding his stock, but though the goods were plentiful the streets were strangely empty. The city had a sullen air. A beggar scuttled away from us, hiding in an alley, a woman peered at us from an upper floor, then closed the shutters. We passed two churches though neither had an open door, which suggested that the Christians of the city were fearful. And no wonder if Brida was ruling the place. She who hated Christians had come to one of the only two places in Britain that had an archbishop. Contwaraburg was the other. An archbishop is important to the Christians, he knows more sorcery than ordinary priests, even more than the bishops, and he has more authority. I have met several archbishops over the years and there was not one of them I would trust to run a market stall selling carrots. They are all sly, two-faced, and vindictive. \u00c6thelflaed, of course, thought them the holiest of men. If Plegmund, Archbishop of Contwaraburg, so much as farted she chanted amen.\n\nFinan must have been thinking much the same thoughts as me because he turned in his saddle. 'What happened to the archbishop here?' he asked Brynk\u00e6til.\n\n'The old man?' Brynk\u00e6til laughed. 'We burned him alive. Never heard a man squeal so much!'\n\nThe palace at Eoferwic's centre must have been the place from which a Roman lord ruled the north. It had decayed over the years, but what great buildings left by the Romans had not crumbled to ruin? It had become the palace of the kings of Northumbria, and I remembered seeing King Osbert, the last Saxon to rule without Danish support, being slaughtered by drunken Danes in the great hall. His belly had been sliced open and his guts had spilled out. They had let the dogs eat his intestines while he lived, though the dogs had taken one bite and then been repelled by the taste. 'It must have been something he ate,' blind Ravn had told me when I described the scene to him, 'or else our dogs just don't like the taste of Saxons.' King Osbert had died weeping and screaming.\n\nThere was an open space in front of the palace. Six huge Roman pillars had stood there when I was a child, though to what purpose I never did discover, and as we came out of the street's dark shadow I saw that just four of them remained like great markers at the edge of the wide space. And I heard my son gasp.\n\nIt was not the high carved pillars that prompted the gasp, nor the pale stone facade of the palace with its Roman statues, not even the size of the church that had been built to one side of the open space. Instead it was what filled the great square that shocked him. Crosses. And on each cross a naked body. 'Christians!' Brynk\u00e6til said in curt explanation.\n\n'Does Brida rule here?' I asked him.\n\n'Who's asking?'\n\n'A man who deserves an answer,' Orvar growled.\n\n'She rules for Ragnall,' Brynk\u00e6til said sullenly.\n\n'It will be a pleasure to meet her,' I said. He just sneered at that. 'Is she pretty?' I asked.\n\n'Depends how desperate you are,' he answered, amused. 'She's old, dried up, and as vicious as a wildcat.' He looked down at me. 'Ideal for an old man like you. I'd better tell her you're coming so she can get herself ready.' He spurred his horse towards the palace.\n\n'Jesus,' Finan said, crossing himself and looking at the crucifixions. There were thirty-four crosses and thirty-four naked bodies, both men and women. Some had torn hands, the dried blood black on their wrists, and I realised that Brida, it had to be Brida, had tried to nail them by the hands to the crossbars, but the hands could not take the weight and the bodies must have fallen. Now the thirty-four were lashed to the crosses with leather ropes, though all had nailed hands and feet as well. One, a young woman, was still alive, though barely. She stirred and groaned. So this was how Brida sent a message to the Christian god? What a fool, I thought. I might share her distaste for the Christian god, lonely and vengeful as he was, but I had never denied his power, and what man or woman spits in a god's face?\n\nI pushed alongside Stiorra's horse. 'Are you ready for this?'\n\n'Yes, father.'\n\n'I'll stay close,' I said, 'so will Sigtryggr.'\n\n'Don't be recognised!' she said.\n\nI had a helmet like the one which Sigtryggr wore and I now closed the face-pieces, hiding my face. Like him I wore none of my finery. To a casual glance we both looked like lowly warriors, men who could fill a shield wall, but had never filled our own purses with plunder. Orvar was the best-dressed of us and, for the moment, Orvar pretended to be our leader.\n\n'No weapons in the hall!' a man shouted as we approached the palace. 'No weapons!'\n\nThat was customary. No ruler let men carry weapons in a hall, except for his own housecarls who could be trusted with blades, and so we ostentatiously threw down our spears and swords, clattering them into a pile that we would leave our own warriors to guard. I laid Serpent-Breath down, but that did not leave me weaponless. I wore a homespun brown cloak that was long enough to hide Wasp-Sting, my seax.\n\nEvery shield wall warrior carries two swords. The long one, the sword that is scabbarded in silver or gold and that carries a noble name, is the sword we treasure. Mine was Serpent-Breath, and to this day I keep her close so that by the help of her hilt I will be carried to Valhalla when death comes for me. But we carry a second sword too, a seax, and a seax is a short, stubby blade, less flexible than the long-sword and less beautiful, but in the shield wall, when you can smell the stink of your enemy's breath and see the lice in his beard, a seax is the weapon to use. A man stabs with a seax. He puts it between the shields and thrusts it into an enemy's guts. Serpent-Breath was too long for a shield wall, her reach too distant, and in that lover's embrace of death a man needs a short-sword that can stab in the press of sweating men struggling to kill each other. Wasp-Sting was just such a sword, her stout blade no longer than my hand and forearm, but in the crushed space of a shield wall she was lethal.\n\nI hid her sheathed at my spine beneath the cloak because, once in the hall, Wasp-Sting would be needed.\n\nSigtryggr and I hung back with our men, letting Orvar and his crews go first because they would be recognised by any of Ragnall's men who might be waiting inside the palace. Those men would not look to see who came in last and, even if they did, Sigtryggr's face, like mine, was hidden by a helmet. I left Sihtric and six men to guard our weapons. 'You know what to do?' I muttered to Sihtric.\n\n'I know, lord,' he said wolfishly.\n\n'Do it well,' I said, and then, when the last of Orvar's men had filed into the building, Sigtryggr and I followed.\n\nI remembered the hall so well. It was larger than the Great Hall of Ceaster and far more elegant, though its beauty had faded as water leached into the walls, collapsing most of the marble sheets that had once sheathed the thin red bricks. In other places the water had peeled away the plaster, though patches remained with faint pictures showing men and women draped in what appeared to be shrouds. Great columns supported a high roof. Sparrows flew between the beams, some darting out through holes in the roof tiles. Some of the holes were patched with straw thatch, but most were open to the sky and let in shafts of sunlight. The floor had once been covered in small tiles, none bigger than a fingernail, which had shown Roman gods, but most of the tiles had long disappeared, leaving dull grey stones covered in dried rushes. At the hall's far end was a wooden dais some three feet high, approached by steps, and on the dais was a throne draped in a black cloth. Warriors flanked the throne. They must have been Brida's men because they were allowed weapons in the hall, each of them carrying a long-hafted broad-bladed spear. There were eight guards on the dais, and more standing down the shadowed sides of the hall. The throne was empty.\n\nCourtesy said we should have been greeted with ale and with basins of water to wash our hands, though there were so many of us that I hardly expected we would all be so treated. Even so a steward should have sought our leaders to offer a welcome, but instead a thin man dressed all in black came from a door that led onto the dais and rapped a staff on the wooden floor. He rapped again, frowning at us. He had black hair oiled tight to his scalp, a haughty face, and a short beard that had been carefully trimmed. 'The Lady of Dunholm,' he announced when the hall was silent, 'will be here soon. You will wait!'\n\nOrvar took a step forward. 'My men need food,' he said, 'and shelter.'\n\nThe thin man stared at Orvar. 'Are you,' he asked after a long pause, 'the one they call Orvar?'\n\n'I am Orvar Freyrson, and my men...'\n\n'Need food, you said so.' He looked at the rest of us, distaste on his face. 'When the Lady of Dunholm arrives, you will kneel.' He shuddered. 'So many of you! And you smell!' He stalked back the way he had come, and the guards on the dais exchanged smirks.\n\nMore men were coming to the hall, some pushing in behind us, others using doors in the side walls until there must have been close to four hundred men under the high roof. Sigtryggr looked at me quizzically, but I just shrugged. I did not know what was happening, only that Brynk\u00e6til must have announced our arrival and that Brida was coming. I edged through the men in front, making my way to Stiorra, who stood beside Orvar, her hand holding her daughter's hand.\n\nAnd just as I reached her the drum sounded.\n\nOne beat, loud and sudden, and the newcomers, those who had followed us into the hall and knew what was expected of them, dropped to their knees.\n\nAnd the drum sounded again. One slow beat after another. Ominous, regular and remorseless, a heartbeat of doom.\n\nWe knelt."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Only the guards remained standing.\n\nThe drumbeat went on. The drum itself was in a room beyond the hall, but from its sound I knew it to be one of the great goatskin-covered tubs that were so massive that they needed to be carried to war on carts, which was why they were so rarely heard on a battlefield, though if they were present then their deep, heart-pounding sound could strike fear into an enemy. The beat was slow, each ominous blow fading to silence before another sounded, and the beat became slower so that I continually thought the drummer had stopped altogether, then there would be another pounding and we all watched the dais, waiting for Brida to appear.\n\nThen the drumbeat did stop and the silence that followed was even more ominous. No one spoke. We were kneeling, and I sensed the terror in the room. No one even moved, but just waited.\n\nThen there was a suppressed gasp as an ungreased hinge squealed. The door that led onto the dais was pushed open and I watched, expecting to see Brida, but instead two small children came into the hall, both girls and both in black dresses with long skirts that brushed the floor. They were perhaps five or six years old, each with black hair that fell to their waists. They could have been twins, maybe they were, and their appearance made Stiorra gasp.\n\nBecause both girls had been blinded.\n\nIt took me a moment to see that their eyes were nothing but scarred, gouged pits; wrinkled holes of dark horror in faces that had once been lovely. The two girls walked onto the dais and then hesitated, unsure which way to turn, but the thin man hurried behind them and used his black staff to guide them. He placed one on each side of the throne, then stood behind it, his dark eyes watching us, despising us.\n\nThen Brida entered.\n\nShe shuffled in, muttering under her breath and hurrying as though she were late. She wore a great swathing black cloak pinned at her neck with a golden brooch. She stopped beside the black-draped throne and darted glances into the hall where we knelt. She looked indignant, as if our presence was a nuisance.\n\nI stared at her under the rim of my helmet and I could not see the girl I had loved in the crone who had entered the hall. She had saved my life once, she had conspired with me and laughed with me and she had watched Ragnar die with me, and I had thought her beautiful, fascinating and so full of life, but her beauty had soured into rancor, and her love into hatred. Now she gazed at us and I sensed a shiver of apprehension in the hall. The guards stood straighter and avoided looking at her. I ducked down, fearing she would recognise me even with the helmet's cheek-pieces closed.\n\nShe sat on the throne, which dwarfed her. Her face was malignant, her eyes bright, and her sparse hair white. The thin man moved a footstool, the scrape of its wooden legs unexpectedly loud in the hall. She rested her feet on the stool and placed a black bag on her lap. The two blind girls did not move. The thin man bent to the throne and whispered in Brida's ear and she nodded impatiently. 'Onarr Gormson,' she called in a husky voice, 'is Onarr Gormson here?'\n\n'My lady,' a man answered from the body of the hall.\n\n'Approach, Onarr Gormson,' she said.\n\nThe man stood and walked to the dais. He climbed the steps and knelt in front of Brida. He was a big man with a brutally scarred face on which ravens had been inked. He looked like a warrior who had carved his way through shield walls, yet his nervousness was apparent as he bowed his head in front of Brida.\n\nThe thin man had been whispering again and Brida nodded. 'Onarr Gormson brought us twenty-nine Christians yesterday,' she announced, 'twenty-nine! Where did you find them, Onarr?'\n\n'A convent, my lady, in the hills to the north.'\n\n'They were hiding?' Her voice was a croak, harsh as a raven's call.\n\n'They were hiding, my lady.'\n\n'You have done well, Onarr Gormson,' she said. 'You have served the gods and they will reward you. As will I.' She fumbled in the bag and brought out a pouch clinking with coins that she handed to the kneeling man. 'We will cleanse this country,' she said, 'cleanse it of the false god!' She waved Onarr away, then suddenly stopped him by holding up a claw-like hand. 'A convent?'\n\n'Yes, my lady.'\n\n'Are they all women?'\n\n'All of them, my lady,' he said. I saw he had not raised his face once to meet Brida's gaze, but had kept his eyes on her small feet.\n\n'If your men want the young ones,' she said, 'they are yours. The rest will die.' She waved him away again. 'Is Skopti Alsvartson here?'\n\n'My lady!' another man answered, and he too had found Christians, three priests who he had brought to Eoferwic. He too received a purse and he too did not raise his eyes as he knelt at Brida's feet. It seemed that this gathering in the hall was a daily occurrence, a chance for Brida to reward the men who were doing her bidding and to encourage the ones who were laggards.\n\nOne of the two blind girls suddenly gasped, then made a pathetic mewing noise. I thought Brida would be angry with the child's interruption, but instead she leaned down and the girl whispered into Brida's ear. Brida, straightening, offered us a grimace that was intended to be a smile. 'The gods have spoken!' she announced, 'and tell us that the Jarl Ragnall has burned three more towns in Mercia!' The second child now whispered, and again Brida listened. 'He has taken captives by the score,' she seemed to be repeating what the child had told her, 'and he is sending the treasure of ten churches north to our keeping.' A murmur of appreciation sounded in the hall, but I was puzzled. What towns? Any town of size in Mercia was a burh and it defied the imagination to believe that Ragnall had captured three. 'The foul \u00c6thelflaed still cowers in Ceaster,' Brida went on, 'protected by the traitor Uhtred! They will not last long.' I almost smiled when she mentioned my name. So she was inventing the stories and pretending they came from the two blinded children. 'The man who calls himself king in Wessex has retreated to Lundene,' Brida declared, 'and soon Jarl Ragnall will scour him from that city. Soon all Britain will be ours!'\n\nThe thin man welcomed that claim by thumping his staff on the wooden dais, and the men in the hall, those who were accustomed to this ritual, responded by slapping the floor. Brida smiled, or at least she bared her yellow teeth in another grimace. 'And I am told that Orvar Freyrson has returned from Ireland!'\n\n'I have!' Orvar said. He sounded nervous.\n\n'Come here, Orvar Freyrson,' Brida ordered.\n\nOrvar stood and went to the dais. The two men who had received purses had gone back to the crowd, and Orvar knelt alone in front of the black-draped throne with its malevolent occupant.\n\n'You bring the girl from Ireland?' Brida asked, knowing the answer because she was staring at Stiorra.\n\n'Yes, lady,' Orvar spoke in a whisper.\n\n'And her husband?'\n\n'Is dead, lady.'\n\n'Dead?'\n\n'Cut down by our swords, lady.'\n\n'Did you bring me his head?' Brida asked.\n\n'I didn't think, lady. No.'\n\n'A pity,' she said, still gazing at Stiorra. 'But you have done well, Orvar Freyrson. You have brought us Stiorra Uhtredsdottir and her spawn. You have fulfilled the Jarl's bidding, your name will be told in Asgard, you will be beloved of the gods! You are blessed!' She gave him a purse, much heavier than the two she had already presented, then peered into the body of the hall again. For a moment I thought her old eyes looked straight into mine and I felt a shiver of fear, but her gaze moved on. 'You bring men, Orvar!' she said. 'Many men!'\n\n'Five crews,' he muttered. He, like the men who had knelt to her before, stared down at her footstool.\n\n'You will take them to Jarl Ragnall,' Brida ordered. 'You will leave tomorrow and march to help his conquest. Go now,' she waved him away, 'back to your place.' Orvar seemed relieved to be off the dais. He came back to the stone floor and knelt beside Stiorra.\n\nBrida turned in the throne. 'Fritjof!' The thin man hurried to offer his mistress an arm to help her out of the throne. 'Take me to the girl,' she ordered.\n\nThere was not a sound in the Great Hall as she shuffled down from the dais and across the rush-covered stones. Fritjof, smiling, held her arm until she shook him off when she was five paces from Stiorra. 'Stand, girl,' she ordered.\n\nStiorra stood.\n\n'And your whelp,' Brida snarled, and Stiorra tugged Gisela to her feet. 'You will go south with Orvar,' Brida told Stiorra, 'to your new life as a wife to Jarl Ragnall. You are fortunate, girl, that he chose you. If your fate was mine?' She paused and shuddered. 'Fritjof!'\n\n'My lady,' the thin man murmured.\n\n'She must go arrayed as a bride. That grubby smock won't do. You will find suitable clothes.'\n\n'Something beautiful, my lady,' Fritjof said. He looked Stiorra up and down. 'As beautiful as the lady herself.'\n\n'How would you know?' Brida asked nastily. 'But find her something fit for a queen of all Britain,' Brida almost spat the last four words. 'Something fit for the Jarl. But if you disappoint the Jarl,' she was talking to Stiorra again, 'you will be mine, girl, do you understand?'\n\n'No,' Stiorra said, not because that was true, but because she wanted to annoy Brida.\n\nShe succeeded. 'You're not queen yet!' Brida screeched. 'Not yet, girl! And if Jarl Ragnall tires of you then you'll wish you were a slave girl in the lowest brothel of Britain.' She shuddered. 'And that will happen, girl, it will happen! You are your father's daughter and his rotten blood will show in you.' She cackled suddenly. 'Go to your queendom, girl, but know you will end as my slave and then you will wish your mother had never opened her thighs. Now give me your daughter.'\n\nStiorra did not move. She just clutched Gisela's hand tighter. There was not a sound in the Great Hall. It seemed to me that every man there held his breath.\n\n'Give me your daughter!' Brida hissed each word separately, distinctly.\n\n'No,' Stiorra said.\n\nI was slowly, carefully, moving Wasp-Sting's scabbard so my right hand could reach her hilt. I grasped it and went still again.\n\n'Your daughter is fortunate,' Brida said, crooning now as if she wanted to seduce Stiorra into obedience. 'Your new husband doesn't want your spawn! And you can't keep her! But I will give her a new life of great wisdom, I will make her an enchantress! She will be given the power of the gods!' She held out her hand, but Stiorra stubbornly held onto her daughter. 'Odin,' Brida said, 'sacrificed an eye so he could learn wisdom. Your child will have the same wisdom! She will see the future!'\n\n'You'd blind her?' Stiorra asked, horrified.\n\nI slowly, so slowly, eased the short blade from its scabbard. Stiorra's dark cloak hid me from Brida.\n\n'I won't blind her, fool,' Brida snarled, 'but open her eyes to the gods. Give her to me!'\n\n'No!' Stiorra said. I held Wasp-Sting by the blade.\n\n'Fritjof,' Brida said, 'take the child.'\n\n'Blind her now?' Fritjof asked.\n\n'Blind her now,' Brida said.\n\nFritjof laid down his staff and took an awl from a pouch at his belt. The awl had a bulbous wooden handle that held a short and stout metal spike, the kind used by leather-workers to punch holes. 'Come child,' he said, and stepped forward, reaching, and Stiorra took a pace backwards. She thrust Gisela behind her and I took the child's hand and, at the same moment, pushed Wasp-Sting's hilt into Stiorra's grasp. Fritjof, not yet understanding what was happening, leaned forward to snatch the child from behind Stiorra's back, and she stabbed Wasp-Sting up and forward.\n\nThe first Brida knew of any trouble was when Fritjof gave a shriek. He recoiled, the awl clattering on the stones, and then he clutched at his groin and moaned as blood spilled down his legs. I thrust Gisela back into the crowd and stood myself. All around me men were producing seaxes or knives, Sigtryggr was pushing through the throng, and Sihtric came with him, carrying Serpent-Breath. 'We killed the two outside, lord,' he said, giving me the sword.\n\nFritjof collapsed. Stiorra's thrust had glanced off his ribs, scored down his belly and cut him to the groin, and he was now mewing pathetically, his legs kicking beneath his long robe. My men were all standing now, swords or seaxes in hand. One guard was foolish enough to level his spear and he went down under a welter of sword-blows. I thrust Sigtryggr forward. 'Get to the dais,' I told him, 'the throne is yours!'\n\n'No!' the shriek was Brida's. It had taken her a shocked moment to understand what was happening, to understand that her Great Hall had been invaded by an outnumbering enemy. She stared at Fritjof for a heartbeat then launched herself at Stiorra, only to be caught by Sigtryggr, who thrust her backwards so violently that she tripped on the stones and sprawled on her back.\n\n'The dais!' I called to Sigtryggr. 'Leave her!'\n\nMy men, I counted Orvar's crews among my men now, far outnumbered the rest. I saw my son striding down one side of the hall, using his sword to knock the guards' spears to the floor. Sihtric had his sword at Brida's throat, keeping her down. He looked at me quizzically, but I shook my head. It would not be his privilege to kill her. Sigtryggr had reached the dais where the two blind girls were crying hysterically, and the guards, still with spears in their hands, stared in shock at the chaos beneath them. Sigtryggr stood beside the throne and looked at the guards one by one, and one by one their spears were lowered. He plucked the black cloth from the throne, tossed it aside, then kicked the footstool away and sat. He reached out and gathered the two girls, holding them close to his knees and soothing them. 'Keep the bitch there,' I told Sihtric, then joined Sigtryggr on the dais. 'You,' I snarled at the eight spearmen who had guarded the throne, 'leave your spears here and join the others,' I pointed to the body of the hall, then waited as they obeyed me. Only one of Brida's men had put up any kind of fight and even he, I reckoned, had raised his weapon from panic rather than out of loyalty. Brida, like Ragnall, ruled by terror, and her support had vanished like mist under a burning sun.\n\n'My name,' I stood at the front of the dais, 'is Uhtred of Bebbanburg.'\n\n'No!' Brida screeched.\n\n'Keep her quiet,' I told Sihtric. I waited as he shifted the tip of his sword, and Brida went utterly still. I looked at the men in the hall, those I did not know, and I saw no defiance among them. 'I present to you,' I said, 'your new king, Sigtryggr Ivarson.'\n\nThere was silence. I sensed that many of Brida's supporters were relieved, but naming Sigtryggr as king did not make him the ruler, not while his brother lived. Every one of Brida's followers was thinking the same thing, wondering which brother they should support.\n\n'I present to you,' I said again, making my voice threatening, 'your new king, Sigtryggr Ivarson.'\n\nMy men cheered, and, slowly, hesitantly, the others joined the clamour. Sigtryggr had taken off his helmet and was smiling. He listened to the acclaim for a moment, then held up his hand for silence. When the hall was quiet he said something to one of the blind girls, but spoke too low for me to catch his words. He stooped to hear the child's answer and I looked back to the nervous hall. 'Oaths will be sworn,' I said.\n\n'But first!' Sigtryggr stood. 'That thing,' he pointed to the wounded Fritjof, 'blinded these girls and would have blinded my daughter.' He strode to the edge of the dais and drew his long-sword. He still smiled. He was tall, striking, confident, a man who looked as if he should be king. 'A man who blinds children,' he said as he descended the stone steps, 'is not a man.' He walked to Fritjof, who gazed up in terror. 'Did the girls scream?' Sigtryggr asked him. Fritjof, who was in pain rather than grievously wounded, did not answer. 'I asked you a question,' Sigtryggr said, 'did the girls scream when you blinded them?'\n\n'Yes,' Fritjof's answer was a whisper.\n\n'Then listen, girls!' Sigtryggr called. 'Listen well! Because this is your revenge.' He placed the tip of his sword on Fritjof's face, and the man did scream in pure terror.\n\nSigtryggr paused, letting the scream echo in the hall, then his sword struck three times. One piercing stab for each eye, a third for the throat, and Fritjof's blood pooled on the floor to be diluted by his piss. Sigtryggr watched the man die. 'Quicker than he deserved,' he said bitterly. He stooped and cleaned the tip of his sword on Fritjof's cloak, then sheathed the long blade. He drew his seax instead and nodded to Sihtric who still guarded Brida. 'Let her stand.'\n\nSihtric stepped away. Brida hesitated, then suddenly scrambled to her feet and lunged at Sigtryggr as if trying to snatch the seax from his hand, but he held her at arm's length with contemptuous ease. 'You would have blinded my daughter,' he said bitterly.\n\n'I would have given her wisdom!'\n\nSigtryggr held her with his left hand and raised the seax with his right, but Stiorra intervened. She touched his right arm. 'She's mine,' she said.\n\nSigtryggr hesitated, then nodded. 'She's yours,' he agreed.\n\n'Give her the sword,' Stiorra said. She still held Wasp-Sting.\n\n'Give her the sword?' Sigtryggr asked, frowning.\n\n'Give it to her,' Stiorra commanded. 'Let's discover who the gods love. Uhtredsdottir or her.'\n\nSigtryggr held the seax hilt first to Brida. 'Let's see who the gods love,' he agreed.\n\nBrida was darting her eyes around the hall, looking for support that was not there. For a heartbeat she ignored the proffered seax, then suddenly snatched it from Sigtryggr's hand and immediately lunged it at his belly, but he just knocked it contemptuously aside with his right hand. A seax rarely has a sharpened edge, it is a weapon made to pierce, not to slash, and the blade left no mark on Sigtryggr's wrist. 'She's yours,' he said to Stiorra again.\n\nAnd so died my first lover. She did not die well because there was an anger in my daughter. Stiorra had inherited her mother's beauty, she looked so calm, so graceful, but under that loveliness was a soul of steel. I had watched her kill a priest once and seen the joy on her face, and now I saw the joy again as she hacked Brida to death. She could have killed the old woman quickly, but she chose to kill her slowly, reducing her to a whimpering, piss-soaked, blood-spattered mess, before finishing her with a hard lunge to the gullet.\n\nAnd thus did Sigtryggr Ivarson, Sigtryggr One-Eye, become King of Jorvik.\n\nMost of the men in Eoferwic had sworn oaths to Ragnall, but almost all now knelt to his brother, clasped his hands, and once again I felt their relief. The Christians who had been captured and held ready for Brida's next mass slaughter were released. 'There will be no rape,' I told Onarr Gormson. He, like almost all the men in the city, had knelt to Sigtryggr, though a handful of warriors refused to abandon their oath to his brother. Skopti Alsvartson, the man who had found three priests and brought them to Eoferwic for Brida's amusement, was one. He was a stubborn Norseman, wolf-faced, experienced in battle, his long hair plaited to his waist. He led thirty-eight men, his crew, and Ragnall had given him land south of the city. 'I made an oath,' he told me defiantly.\n\n'To Ragnall's father, Olaf.'\n\n'And to his son.'\n\n'You were commanded to make that oath,' I said, 'by Olaf.'\n\n'I gave it willingly,' he insisted.\n\nI would not kill a man for refusing to abandon an oath. Brida's followers had been freed of their obligation by her death, and most of those followers were confused by the fate that had changed their lives so suddenly. Some had fled, doubtless going to the grim fort at Dunholm where one day they would need to be scoured out by steel, but most knelt to Sigtryggr. A few, no more than a dozen, cursed us for killing her and those few died. Brynk\u00e6til, who had tried to strike my daughter and then insulted me, was among those few. He offered his oath, but he had made an enemy of me and so he died. Skopti Alsvartson did not curse us, he did not challenge us, but simply said he would keep his oath to Ragnall. 'So do what you wish with me,' he growled, 'just let me die like a man.'\n\n'Have I taken your sword away?' I asked him, and he shook his head. 'So keep your sword,' I told him, 'but make me one promise.'\n\nHe looked at me cautiously. 'A promise?'\n\n'That you will not leave the city till I give you permission.'\n\n'And when will that be?'\n\n'Soon,' I said, 'very soon.'\n\nHe nodded. 'And I can join Jarl Ragnall?'\n\n'You can do whatever you like,' I said, 'but not till I give you leave.'\n\nHe thought for a heartbeat, then nodded again. 'I promise.'\n\nI spat on my hand and held it to him. He spat on his and we shook.\n\nOrvar had found his wife. We found all the hostages kept prisoner in what had been a convent, and all said they had been well-treated, though that did not stop some of them sighing with obvious relief when Sigtryggr told them of Brida's death. 'How many of you,' he asked, 'have husbands serving with my brother?' Eight women raised their hands. Their men were far to the south, riding in Ragnall's service, raiding and raping, stealing and burning. 'We shall be going south,' Sigtryggr told those women, 'and you will come with us.'\n\n'But your children must stay here,' I insisted. 'They will be safe.'\n\n'They will be safe,' Sigtryggr echoed. The eight women protested, but Sigtryggr cut their indignation short. 'You will come with us,' he decreed, 'and your children will not.'\n\nWe now had over seven hundred men, though despite their oaths we could not be certain that all would prove loyal. Many, I knew, had sworn to follow Sigtryggr simply to avoid trouble, and maybe those men would return to their steadings at the first opportunity. The city was still frightened, scared of Ragnall's revenge or perhaps fearful that Brida, an enchantress, was not really dead, which was why we paraded her corpse through the streets. We laid her body on a handcart with her black banner dragging behind, and we took it to the river bank south of the city where we burned her corpse. We gave a feast that night, roasting three whole oxen on great fires made from Brida's crosses. Four men died in fighting started by the ale, but that was a small price. Most were content to listen to the songs, drink, and look for Eoferwic's whores.\n\nAnd while they sang, drank, and whored, I wrote a letter.\n\nAlfred had insisted that I learn to read and write. I had never wanted to. As a boy I had wanted to learn horsemanship, sword-craft and shield-skill, but my tutors had beaten me until I could read their tedious tales of dull men who preached sermons to seals, puffins, and salmon. I could write too, though my letters were crabbed. I did not have the patience to make them neat that night, instead I scratched them across the page with a blunt quill, but reckoned the words were readable.\n\nI wrote to \u00c6thelflaed. I told her I was in Eoferwic, which had a new king who had forsworn Northumbria's ambitions against Mercia and was ready to sign a truce with her. First, though, Ragnall must be destroyed, to which end we would be marching south within a week. 'I will bring five hundred warriors,' I wrote, though I hoped it would be more. Ragnall, I insisted, would outnumber us, which he would, though I did not tell her that I doubted the loyalty of many of his men. He commanded jarls whose wives had been held hostage in Eoferwic and those women would travel with us. Ragnall ruled by terror and I would turn the terror against him by showing his men that we now held their families, but I told \u00c6thelflaed none of that. 'What I would wish,' I wrote laboriously, 'is that you follow Ragnall's horde as they march towards us, which they most surely will, and that you help us to destroy him even if that destruction takes place in Northumbria.' I knew she would be reluctant to lead an army across the Northumbrian border because of her brother's insistence that she not invade the northern kingdom without him, so I suggested she would simply be leading a large raid in retaliation for the damage being done to Mercia by Ragnall's army.\n\nI sent my son to carry the letter, telling him that we would follow him south in three or four days. 'We'll march to Lindcolne,' I told him. From that city there was a choice of roads, one going on south towards Lundene, the other slanting south-west into Mercia's centre. 'We'll probably take the road to Ledecestre,' I told him, meaning the route that headed into the heart of Mercia.\n\n'And Ragnall will march to meet you,' my son said.\n\n'So tell \u00c6thelflaed that! Or tell whoever commands her army. Tell them they're to follow hard on his heels!'\n\n'If they've even left Ceaster,' my son said dubiously.\n\n'We're all in trouble if they haven't,' I said, touching the hammer.\n\nI gave my son an escort of thirty men and one of the priests we had saved from Brida's mad challenge to the Christian god. The priest was called Father Wilfa, an earnest young man whose sincerity and apparent piety I thought would impress \u00c6thelflaed. 'Tell her your story,' I ordered him, 'and tell her what happened here!' I had shown him the bodies we had taken down from Brida's crosses and I had seen the horror on his face and made sure he knew that it was a pagan army of Norse and Danes that had stopped the massacres. 'And tell her,' I said, 'that Uhtred of Bebbanburg has done all this in her service.'\n\n'I will tell her, lord,' Father Wilfa said. I liked him. He was respectful, but not subservient. 'Do you know, lord, what happened to Archbishop \u00c6thelbald?'\n\n'He was burned alive,' I told Wilfa.\n\n'God help us,' he said, wincing. 'And the cathedral was desecrated?'\n\n'Tell the Lady \u00c6thelflaed that his death is revenged, that the churches are open again, and the cathedral is being cleansed.' Brida had stabled horses in the cavernous church. She had hacked the altars apart, torn down the sacred banners, and pulled the dead from their graves. 'And tell her that King Sigtryggr has promised his protection to Christians.'\n\nIt seemed strange to call him King Sigtryggr. A circlet of gilt bronze had been discovered in the palace treasury, and I made him wear it as a crown. On the morning after the feast, the Great Hall was filled with petitioners, many of them men whose land had been taken away by Ragnall to be given to his supporters. They brought charters to prove their ownership, and Stiorra, because she could read, sat at a table by her husband's throne and deciphered the ancient documents. One had even been signed by my father, ceding land I never knew he owned. Many men had no charter, just the indignant claim that their fields had been owned by their father, grandfather and great-grandfather back to the dawn of time. 'What do I do?' Sigtryggr asked me, 'I don't know who's telling the truth!'\n\n'Tell them nothing will be done till Ragnall is dead. Then find a priest who can read and have him make a list of all the claims.'\n\n'What good will that do?'\n\n'It delays,' I said. 'It gives you time. And when your brother's dead you can assemble a Witan.'\n\n'Witan?'\n\n'A council. Have all the men who claim land gather in the hall, have them present their claims one by one, and let the council vote. They know who really owns the land. They know their neighbours. They'll also know what land belongs to the men who support your brother, and that land is now yours to give away. But wait till your brother's dead.'\n\nTo kill him we needed horses. Finan had searched the city and sent men into the wide valley of the Use and had collected four hundred and sixty-two horses. Many had belonged to Brida's men, but others we purchased using coin and hacksilver from Brida's treasury. They were not good horses, there was not one I would want to ride into battle, but they would carry us south faster than our own legs, and that was all we needed. I took a dozen of the poorest animals and gave them to Skopti Alsvartson who had kept his promise to stay in the city till I gave him permission to leave. 'You can go,' I told him two days after my son had ridden south.\n\nSkopti was no fool. He knew I was using him. He would ride into Mercia and give Ragnall news of what had happened to Brida and to Ragnall's own supporters in Eoferwic, and he would warn Ragnall that we were coming. That was what I wanted. I deliberately let Skopti see the horses we had collected and even gave him time to count them so he could tell Ragnall that our army was small, fewer than five hundred men. I had told \u00c6thelflaed I would march with more than five hundred, but that hope was fading and I knew our army would be perilously small, but the army of Mercia would make up the numbers. 'Tell him,' I said, 'that we will meet him and kill him. And we'll kill you too if you stay loyal to him.'\n\n'He has my oath,' Skopti said stubbornly.\n\nHe rode south. Most of his crew had to walk, and they would follow Skopti, who, I reckoned, should reach Ragnall within three or four days. It was possible Ragnall already knew what had happened in Eoferwic, already knew of his brother's return and the death of Brida. A steady trickle of slaves had made their way northwards, always escorted by Ragnall's warriors, and it was more than possible that fugitives from the city had met one such group, who would then have turned to carry word back to Ragnall. One way or another he either knew or would know soon, and what would he do about Sigtryggr's return? He knew \u00c6thelflaed's army was seeking him, or at least I hoped it was, and now he had a new enemy coming from the north. 'If he has any sense,' Finan told me, 'he'll go east. Find ships and sail away.'\n\n'If he has any sense,' I said, 'he'd turn on \u00c6thelflaed and destroy her, then come to defeat us. But he won't.'\n\n'No?'\n\nI shook my head. 'He hates his brother too much. He'll look for us first.'\n\nAnd two days after Skopti left to warn Ragnall, we also rode south.\n\nWe were a small army. In the end only three hundred and eighty-four men rode, the rest we left in Eoferwic under Orvar's command. I had wanted to take more, far more, but we had too few horses and some of those horses were needed to carry supplies. Sigtryggr was also concerned that Brida's followers, too many of whom had escaped north immediately after their mistress's death, could summon enough help to assault Eoferwic. I thought it more likely that those fugitives would barricade themselves behind Dunholm's high walls, but I yielded to Sigtryggr's wishes to leave a substantial garrison in Eoferwic. He was, after all, the king.\n\nThree hundred and eighty-four men rode, but also nine women. Stiorra was one. Like \u00c6thelflaed, she would not be denied, and I think she was also wary of being left behind with Orvar who, so recently, had been Ragnall's man. I trusted Orvar, as did Sigtryggr who had insisted that his daughter, my granddaughter, stay in the city under Orvar's protection. Stiorra was unhappy, but agreed. The remaining eight women had all been Ragnall's hostages, the wives of men who were the Sea King's jarls, and they were now my weapon.\n\nWe followed the Roman road south. Ragnall, if he had learned anything of the Roman network of roads that laced Britain, would guess we were riding from Eoferwic to Lindcolne, because that route offered us the quickest journey, but I doubted he would have had the time to move his army to block our path. The last I had seen of him, admittedly many days before, he had been moving further south into Mercia, and so I did not expect to see the smoke of his fires until we had passed Lindcolne and were well on the road to Ledecestre, a Mercian town that had been in Danish hands for all my lifetime. Ledecestre lay in that great swathe of northern Mercia that remained unconquered by the Saxons, land that \u00c6thelflaed had sworn to retake. Once south of Ledecestre we would approach country that neither Dane nor Saxon ruled, a place of raids and ruin, the land that lay between two tribes and two religions.\n\nWe had scouts ahead. We might be in Northumbria still and flying Ragnall's own banner of the red axe, but I still treated the country as enemy land. We lit no campfires at night, but instead sought a place well away from the road to sleep, eat, and rest the horses. We stayed to the west of Lindcolne, though Sigtryggr and I crossed the Roman bridge with a dozen men and climbed the steep hill into the town where we were met by a steward wearing a silver chain of office. He was elderly, grey-bearded, and had lost one arm. 'Lost it fighting the West Saxons,' he told us cheerfully, 'but the bastard who took it lost both of his!'\n\nThe steward was a Dane called Asmund whose master was a jarl named Steen Stigson. 'He joined Ragnall a month ago,' Asmund told us, 'and you're on your way to join him too?'\n\n'We are,' Sigtryggr answered.\n\n'But where is he?' I asked.\n\n'Who knows?' Asmund said, still cheerful. 'Last we heard they were way down south. What I can tell you is that Jarl Steen sent us fifty head of cattle a week ago and the drovers said it took them four days' journey.'\n\n'And the Mercians?' I asked.\n\n'Haven't seen any! Haven't heard anything.' We were talking by one of the gates that led through the Roman walls, and from their ramparts a man could look far across the countryside, but no plume of smoke smeared the sky. The land looked peaceful, lush, green. It was hard to imagine that armies sought each other in that tangle of woods, pasture, and arable.\n\n'Ragnall was sending slaves to Eoferwic,' I said. We had been hoping to meet some of Ragnall's men bringing those slaves out of Mercia and discover from them where Ragnall might be, but we had seen none.\n\n'Haven't seen anyone pass for a week now! Maybe he's collecting the poor bastards at Ledecestre? Bring it here!' The last three words were called to a maidservant who had brought a tray heaped with pots of ale. Asmund took two of the pots and handed them up to us, then beckoned the girl to carry the rest to our men. 'Best thing you can do, lords, is keep riding south!' Asmund urged us a little too enthusiastically. 'You'll find someone!'\n\nThe enthusiasm intrigued me. 'Did you see Skopti Alsvartson?' I asked.\n\n'Skopti Alsvartson?' There was a slight hesitation. 'Don't know him, lord.'\n\nI put the ale into my left hand and used my right to touch Serpent-Breath's hilt, and Asmund took a hurried step backwards. I pretended I was just shifting the sword for comfort, then finished the ale and gave the pot to the maid. 'We'll keep riding south,' I said to Asmund's relief.\n\nAsmund had been telling us lies. He had done it well, convincingly, but Skopti Alsvartson must have come through Lindcolne. Skopti, like us, would have taken the swiftest route south, and that would explain why we had met none of Ragnall's men coming the other way, because they had been warned by Skopti. It was possible, of course, that Skopti and his men had ridden straight past the city, but not likely. They would have wanted food and they had probably demanded fresh horses to replace the tired nags I had given them. I looked into Asmund's eyes and thought I saw nervousness. I smiled. 'Thank you for the ale.'\n\n'You're welcome, lord.'\n\n'How many men do you have here?' I asked.\n\n'Not enough, lord.' He meant not enough to defend the walls. Lindcolne was a burh, but I suspected that most of the garrison had marched south with Jarl Steen, and one day, I thought, men would have to die on these Roman walls to make Englaland.\n\nI took a last look southwards from the vantage point offered by Lindcolne's hill. Ragnall was out there, I could feel it. And by now he knew Brida was dead and Eoferwic was taken and he would want revenge.\n\nHe was coming to kill us. And I gazed at that great spread of rich land where cloud shadows slid over copse and pasture, over the bright green of new crops, over orchards and fields, and knew that death was hidden there. Ragnall was coming north.\n\nWe rode on south.\n\n'Two days,' I said when we had left Lindcolne behind.\n\n'Two days?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'Ragnall will find us in two days,' I said.\n\n'With seven hundred men.'\n\n'More, probably.'\n\nWe had seen no sign of Ragnall's marauding army, nor of any Mercian forces. There had been no far smear of smoke to show where an army lit campfires. There was smoke, of course, there is always smoke in the sky. Villagers kept their cooking fires burning and there were charcoal burners in the woods, but there was no massive haze of smoke betraying an army's existence. The campfires of the Mercian army, if it even existed, would be far to the west, and that afternoon we left the Roman road and turned west. I was no longer marching to bring Ragnall to battle, but rather looking for help. I needed \u00c6thelflaed's warriors.\n\nLate that afternoon we came to a woodland clearing where an abandoned hovel decayed. It might have been a forester's home once, but now it was little more than a great heap of thatch covering a hole scraped into the clearing's thin soil. We spent an hour chopping branches and heaping them over the thatch, then rode on westwards leaving two scouts behind. We followed no road, just cattle tracks that led forever towards the setting sun. We stopped at dusk and, looking back into the night-encroaching east, I saw the fire blaze sudden among the trees. The scouts had lit the thatch, and the blaze was a beacon to our enemies. My hope was that Ragnall would see the smoke besmirching the dawn sky and would ride eastwards in search of us while we rode on westwards.\n\nThe smoke was still there next morning, grey against a blue sky. We left it far behind as we travelled away from the rising sun. Our scouts rode well to the south of our path, but saw no enemy. They saw no friends either, and I remembered the argument in Ceaster's Great Hall when I had wanted to ride out against the enemy, and every man there, except for Bishop Leofstan, had argued to remain in Ceaster. Was that what \u00c6thelflaed had done? My son, if he had survived, must have reached \u00c6thelflaed by now even if she was still sheltering in Ceaster, and was she so angry with me that she would leave us to die in these low hills?\n\n'What are we doing, father?' Stiorra asked me.\n\nThe truthful answer? We were running away. The truthful answer was that I was heading west towards distant Ceaster in hopes of finding Mercian forces. 'I want to draw Ragnall north,' I said instead, 'to where he's caught between us and the Mercian army.' That was also true. That was why I had led these men south from Eoferwic, but ever since Lindcolne I had been assailed by the fear that we were alone, that no Mercians stalked Ragnall, and we would have to face him alone. I tried to sound cheerful. 'We just have to avoid Ragnall till we know the Mercians are close enough to help!'\n\n'And the Mercians know that?'\n\nThat was the proper question, of course, a question to which I had no proper answer. 'If your brother reached them,' I said, 'yes.'\n\n'And if he didn't?'\n\n'And if he didn't,' I said, no longer cheerful, 'then you and Sigtryggr go north as fast as you can. Go and rescue your daughter, then find somewhere safe. Go across the sea! Just go!' My last few words were spoken in anger, but I was not angry with my daughter, but at myself.\n\n'My husband doesn't run away,' Stiorra said.\n\n'Then he's a fool,' I said.\n\nBut I was the bigger fool. I had hammered young \u00c6thelstan with advice, telling him not to be headstrong, to use his brain before he used his sword, and now I had led a small army into disaster by not thinking. I had thought to join a Mercian army, thought we could trap Ragnall between two forces, but I was the one who would be trapped. I knew Ragnall was coming. I could not see him or smell him, but I knew it. Every hour the suspicion grew that we were not alone in this innocent-looking countryside. Instinct was shrieking at me, and I had learned to trust instinct. I was being stalked, and there was no help at hand. There was no smoke from an army's campfires in the sky, but nor would there be. Ragnall would rather freeze to death than betray his presence. He knew where we were, and we did not know where his army marched. That morning we saw his scouts for the first time. We had glimpses of far distant horsemen, and Eadger, who was the best of my scouts, led half a dozen men in pursuit of two such riders, but he was headed off by a score of mounted men. All he could report to me was that the larger group had been to the south. 'We couldn't get past the bastards, lord,' he told me. He had tried, wanting to catch a glimpse of Ragnall's army, but the enemy had baulked him. 'But they can't be far off, lord,' Eadger said, and he was right. I thought of turning north, of going back to Eoferwic and hoping to outpace Ragnall's pursuit, but even if we reached Eoferwic we would merely be trapped inside that city. \u00c6thelflaed's forces would never march that far into Northumbria to help us, there would be no rescue, just an assault on Eoferwic's walls and a merciless slaughter in its narrow streets.\n\nWhat had I thought? I had assumed that \u00c6thelflaed would have sent men to harass Ragnall, that somewhere close to his army was a Mercian force of at least four or five hundred men who would join us. I had thought to astonish \u00c6thelflaed with the capture of Eoferwic, to give her a new King of Northumbria sworn to keep peace with her and to offer her Ragnall's blood-red banner as a trophy. I had thought to give Mercia a new song of Uhtred, but instead I was giving Ragnall's poets a new song.\n\nSo I did not tell Stiorra the truth, which was that I had led her into disaster, but at midday it was surely obvious to all my men. We were riding a crest above a wide river valley. The river curled in great loops, running quietly to the sea between meadows thick with grass where sheep grazed. This was what we fought for, for this rich land. We were still heading west, following the ridge line above the river, though I had no idea of where we were. We asked a shepherd, but all he could say was 'home', as if that explained everything. Then, moments later as we paused at the top of a small rise, I saw horsemen far ahead. There were three of them. 'Not ours,' Finan grunted.\n\nSo Ragnall's scouts were ahead of us. They were to our west, to our south, and doubtless behind us too. I glanced at the river. We were south of it. I supposed we could cross it somewhere and head north, but our horses were poor beasts, and if Ragnall was as close as I now suspected then he would easily overtake us and fight us on ground of his own choosing. It was time to go to earth and so I sent Finan and a score of men to find a place we could defend. Like a hunted beast I would turn on our pursuers and choose a place where we could maul the enemy before he overwhelmed us. A place, I thought, where we would die unless the Mercians came. 'Look for a hilltop,' I told Finan, who hardly needed the advice.\n\nHe found something better. 'You remember that place where Eardwulf had us trapped?' he asked me on his return.\n\n'I remember.'\n\n'It's like that, only better.'\n\nEardwulf had led a rebellion against \u00c6thelflaed, and he had trapped us in the remains of an old Roman fort built where two rivers met. We had survived that trap, saved by \u00c6thelflaed's arrival, but I was abandoning any hopes of rescue now.\n\n'The river bends ahead,' Finan told me. 'We have to cross it, but there's a ford. And on the other bank there's a fort.' He was right. The place he had found was as good as I could have hoped for, a place made for defence, a place made, once again, by the Romans and, like Alencestre where Eardwulf had trapped us, a place where two rivers met. Both rivers were too deep for men to cross on foot, and between them was a square Roman earthwork that stood atop higher ground. The only approach was from the ford to the north, from the direction we had come, which meant Ragnall would be forced to march around the fort and cross the ford, and that would take time, time for a Mercian army to come and save us. And if no Mercian army came then we had a fort to defend and a wall on which to kill our enemies.\n\nIt was almost dusk when we filed our horses through the fort's northern entrance. That entrance had no gate, it was just a track through the remains of the earthwork which, like the old walls around Eads Byrig, had decayed under the assault of rain and time. There was no trace of any Roman buildings inside the fort, just a steading with a thickly thatched hall of dark timber and next to it a barn and a cattle shed, but there was no sign of any cattle, nor of any people except for an old man who lived in one of the hovels outside the fort wall. Berg brought him to me. 'He says the place belongs to a Dane called Egill,' he said.\n\n'Used to belong to a Saxon,' the old man said. He was a Saxon himself, 'Hrothwulf! I remember Hrothwulf! He was a good man.'\n\n'What's this place called?' I asked him.\n\nHe frowned. 'Hrothwulf's farm, of course!'\n\n'Where is Hrothwulf?'\n\n'Dead and buried, lord, under the soil. Gone to heaven, I hope. Sent there by a Dane,' he spat. 'I was just a lad! Nothing more than a lad. It was Egill's grandfather that killed him. I saw it! Spitted him like a lark.'\n\n'And Egill?'\n\n'He left, lord, took everything with him.'\n\n'Left today,' Finan said. He pointed to some cattle dung just outside the barn. 'A cow shat that this morning,' he said.\n\nI dismounted and drew Serpent-Breath. Finan joined me, sword in hand, and we pushed open the hall door. The hall was empty except for two crude tables, some benches, a straw-filled mattress, a rusted cooking pot, a broken scythe, and a pile of threadbare, stinking pelts. There was a stone hearth in the hall's centre and I crouched beside it and felt the grey ash. 'Still warm,' I said. I stirred the ash with Serpent-Breath's tip and saw embers glowing. So Egill the Dane had been in the house not long before, but he had left, taking his livestock. 'He was warned,' I told Sigtryggr when I joined him on the earthen rampart. 'Egill knew we were coming.'\n\nAnd Egill, I thought, had been given time to take his cattle and possessions, which meant he must have been given at least a half-day's warning, and that, in turn, meant Ragnall's scouts must have been watching us since early that morning. I gazed north along the gentle ridge between the rivers. 'You should take Stiorra north,' I told Sigtryggr.\n\n'And leave you and your men here?'\n\n'You should go,' I said.\n\n'I'm king here,' he said, 'no one chases me from my own land.'\n\nThe ridge to the north was flat-topped and ran between the two rivers, which joined just south of the fort. The ridge was mostly pastureland that dropped very gently away from us before rising, just as gently, to a band of thick woods where horsemen suddenly appeared. 'They're our scouts,' Finan said as men put their hands on sword hilts.\n\nThere were six of them and they rode across the pasture together, and as they drew nearer I saw that two were injured. One slumped in his saddle, the other had a bloody head. The six men rode their tired horses to the fort's entrance. 'They're coming, lord,' Eadger said from his saddle. He jerked his head to the south.\n\nI turned, but the land beyond the rivers was silent, still, sun-warmed, empty.\n\n'What did you see?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'There's a farmstead beyond those woods,' Eadger pointed towards trees across the river. 'At least a hundred men are there and more are coming. Coming from all over.' He paused as Folcbald lifted the injured man down from his saddle. 'A half-dozen of them chased us,' Eadger went on, 'and Ceadda took a spear in the belly.'\n\n'We emptied two saddles though,' the man with the bleeding scalp said.\n\n'They're well scattered, lord,' Eadger said, 'like they're coming from east, west, and south, coming from all over, but they're coming.'\n\nFor a wild moment I thought of taking our men and attacking the vanguard of Ragnall's forces. We would cross the river, find the newly arrived men beyond the far wood, then slash havoc among them before the rest of their army arrived, but just then Finan grunted and I turned back to see that a single horseman had appeared at the northern tree line. The man rode a grey horse that he stood motionless. He was watching us. Two more men appeared, then a half-dozen.\n\n'They're across the river,' Finan said.\n\nAnd still more men showed at the distant tree line. They just stood watching us. I turned and looked south, and this time I saw horsemen, streams of horsemen, following the road that led to the ford. 'They're all here,' I said.\n\nRagnall had found us."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "The first fire was lit not long after sunset. It blazed somewhere deep among the woods beyond the ridge's pastureland, its flames flickering lurid shadows among the trees.\n\nMore fires were lit, one after the other, fires that burned bright in the northern woods that stretched between the rivers. So many fires that at times it seemed as if the whole belt of trees burned. Then, deep in the firelit night, we heard hooves on the ridge and I saw the shadow of a horseman galloping towards us, then turning away. 'They want to keep us awake,' Sigtryggr said. A second horseman followed, while off to the southern side of the ridge an unseen enemy clashed a blade against a shield.\n\n'They are keeping us awake,' I answered, then looked at Stiorra, 'and why didn't you ride north?'\n\n'I forgot,' she said.\n\nEgill had left two spades in his barn and we were using them to deepen the old trench in front of the earthen wall. It would not be a deep trench, but it would be a small obstacle to an advancing shield wall. I did not have enough men to fight in the open pastureland, so we would make our own shield wall on what remained of the Roman rampart. The Romans, I knew, had made two kinds of fort. There were the great fastnesses like Eoferwic, Lundene or Ceaster that were defended by massive stone walls, and then there were these country forts, scores of them, which were little more than a ditch and a bank topped by a wooden wall. These smaller forts guarded river crossings and road junctions, and though the timbers of this fort had long disappeared, its bank of earth, despite its decay, was still steep enough to make a formidable obstacle. Or so I told myself. Ragnall's men would have to negotiate the ditch, then clamber up the bank into our axes, spears, and swords, and their dead and wounded would make another barrier to trip men coming to kill us. The weakest point was the fort's entrance, which was nothing but a flat track through the bank, but there were thorns growing thick by the river junction and my son took a score of men who hacked the bushes down and dragged them back to make a barricade.\n\nSigtryggr had looked around the fort before the sun set and the darkness shrouded us. 'We could do with another hundred men,' he had said grimly.\n\n'Pray he attacks us straight on,' I had answered.\n\n'He's no fool.'\n\nWe had sufficient men to defend one wall of the fort. If Ragnall came down the track that led across the pastureland and assaulted us head-on then I reckoned we could hold till what the Christians called doomsday. But if he also sent men to either side of the fort to attack the eastern and western walls we would be sorely stretched. Luckily the ground fell away towards the rivers on both sides, but the slopes were not impossibly steep, and that meant I would need men on both flanking walls, and more men on the southern wall if Ragnall's forces surrounded us. The truth, and I knew it, was that Ragnall would overwhelm us. We would put up a fight, we would slaughter some of his best warriors, but by midday we would all be corpses or prisoners unless Ragnall obliged me by simply assaulting the northern wall.\n\nOr unless the Mercians came.\n\n'We do have the hostages,' Sigtryggr said. We were standing on the northern wall, watching the threatening fires and listening to the hacking sound of our spades deepening the ditch. Another enemy rode close to the fort, man and horse outlined by the glare of the fires burning in the distant wood.\n\n'We have the hostages,' I agreed. The eight women were all wives of Ragnall's jarls. The youngest was around fourteen, the oldest perhaps thirty. They were, unsurprisingly, sullen and resentful. We had them all in Egill's hall, guarded there by four men. 'What did he fear?' I asked Sigtryggr.\n\n'Fear?'\n\n'Why did he take hostages?'\n\n'Disloyalty,' he said simply.\n\n'An oath isn't enough to make men loyal?'\n\n'Not for my brother,' Sigtryggr said, then sighed. 'Five years ago, maybe six, father led an army to the south of Ireland. Things didn't go well, and half the army just took to their ships and sailed away.'\n\n'Which happens,' I said.\n\n'If you're capturing land, slaves, cattle,' Sigtryggr said, 'then men stay loyal, but as soon as there are difficulties? They melt away. Hostages are Ragnall's answer.'\n\n'You take hostages from the enemy,' I said, 'not from your own side.'\n\n'Unless you're my brother,' Sigtryggr said. He was stroking a stone down the edge of his long-sword. The sound was monotonous. I gazed at the far woods and knew our enemies were also sharpening their blades. They had to be confident. They knew the dawn would bring them a battle, victory, plunder, and reputation.\n\n'What will you do with the hostages?' Finan asked.\n\n'Show them,' Sigtryggr said.\n\n'And threaten them?' Stiorra asked.\n\n'They're a weapon to use,' Sigtryggr answered unhappily.\n\n'And you'll kill them?' Stiorra demanded. Sigtryggr did not answer. 'If you kill them,' my daughter said, 'then you lose the power of them.'\n\n'It should be enough to just threaten their deaths,' Sigtryggr answered.\n\n'Those men,' Stiorra nodded her head towards the fires in the woodland, 'know you. They know you won't kill women.'\n\n'We might have to,' Sigtryggr said unhappily. 'One, at least.'\n\nNone of us spoke. Behind us, in the fort, men sat around campfires. Some of them sang, though the songs were not happy. They were laments. The men knew what faced them and I wondered how many I could rely on. I was sure of my own men and of Sigtryggr's, but a quarter of the warriors had been sworn to Ragnall not a week or two before, and how would they fight? Would they desert? Or would their fear of Ragnall's wrath persuade them to fight even harder for me?\n\n'Remember Eardwulf?' Finan suddenly asked.\n\nI half smiled. 'I know what you're thinking.'\n\n'Eardwulf?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'An ambitious man,' I said, 'and he had us trapped like this. Just like this. And moments before he slaughtered us the Lady \u00c6thelflaed arrived.'\n\n'With an army?'\n\n'He thought she had an army,' I said, 'in fact she didn't, but he thought she did and so he left us alone.'\n\n'And tomorrow?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'There should be a Mercian army following Ragnall,' I said.\n\n'Should be,' Sigtryggr said flatly.\n\nI still hoped for that Mercian army. I told myself that it could be two hours' march away, somewhere to the west. Perhaps Merewalh was leading it? He would be wise enough not to light campfires, clever enough to march before dawn to assault Ragnall from the rear. I had to cling to that hope, even though every instinct told me it was a vain hope. Without help, I knew, we were doomed.\n\n'There are other hostages,' Finan said unexpectedly. We all looked at him. 'My brother's troops,' he explained.\n\n'You think they won't fight?' I asked him.\n\n'Of course they'll fight,' he said, 'they're Irish. But in the morning, lord, lend me your helmet, your arm rings, and all the gold and silver you can find.'\n\n'They're mercenaries,' I said, 'you're going to buy them?'\n\nHe shook his head. 'And I want our best horse too.'\n\n'You can have whatever you want,' I said.\n\n'To do what?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\nAnd Finan smiled. 'Sorcery,' he said, 'just Irish sorcery.'\n\nWe waited for the dawn.\n\nA small mist greeted the wolf-light. The fires in the far wood faded, though they were still there, dim among the misted trees. Finan tried to count those fires, but they were too many. We were all counting. We had just over three hundred and eighty men fit to fight, and the enemy had to have three times that number, maybe four times. We all counted, though no one spoke of it.\n\nThe first horsemen came soon after dawn. They were young men from Ragnall's army and they could not resist taunting us. They came from the trees and cantered till they were squarely in front of our northern wall, and there they would simply wait, usually some thirty or forty paces away, daring any one of us to cross the ditch and fight in single combat. I had given orders that no one was to accept such challenges, and our refusal prompted more of Ragnall's young men to provoke us. His army was still hidden in the trees that were a half-mile away, but he permitted his hot-headed warriors to confront us.\n\n'You're cowards!' one bellowed.\n\n'Come and kill me! If you dare!' Another trotted up and down in front of us.\n\n'If you're frightened of me, shall I send my sister to fight one of you?'\n\nThey were showing off to each other as much as to us. Such insults have always been a part of battle. It takes time for men to form a shield wall, and even more time to summon the courage to attack another wall, and the ritual of insult and challenge was a part of that summoning. Ragnall had yet to reveal his men, he was keeping them among the trees, though every now and then we would see a glimpse of metal through the far leaves. He would be haranguing his leaders, telling them what he expected and how they would be rewarded, and meanwhile his young men came to mock us.\n\n'Two of you come and fight!' a man shouted. 'I'll kill you both!'\n\n'Pup,' Sigtryggr growled.\n\n'I seem to remember you taunting me at Ceaster,' I said.\n\n'I was young and foolish.'\n\n'You haven't changed.'\n\nHe smiled. He was in a mail coat that had been scoured with sand and vinegar so that it reflected the new sunlight. His sword belt was studded with gold buttons, and a gold chain was wrapped three times around his neck and from it hung a golden hammer. He wore no helmet, but around his fair hair he had the gilt-bronze circlet we had discovered in Eoferwic. 'I'll lend Finan the chain,' he offered.\n\nFinan was saddling a tall black stallion. Like Sigtryggr he wore polished mail, and he had borrowed my sword belt with its intricate silver panels riveted to the leather. He had braided his hair and hung it with ribbons, while his forearms were thick with warrior rings. The iron rim of his shield had been scraped free of rust, while the faded paint on the willow-boards had also been scraped down to make a Christian cross out of the fresh wood. Whatever sorcery he planned was evidently Christian, but he would not tell me what it was. I watched as he cinched the stallion's girth tight, then just turned, leaned against the placid horse, and looked out through the thorn-blocked gateway to where a half-dozen of Ragnall's young warriors still taunted us. The rest had become bored and had ridden back to the far trees, but these six had kicked their horses right to the ditch's edge where they sneered at us. 'Are you all so frightened?' one asked. 'I'll fight two of you! Don't be babies! Come and fight!'\n\nThree more horsemen came from the northern trees and cantered to join the six. 'I'd love to go and kill some of them,' Sigtryggr growled.\n\n'Don't.'\n\n'I won't.' He watched the three horsemen, who had drawn their swords. 'Aren't they eager?' he asked scornfully.\n\n'The young always are,' I said.\n\n'Were you?'\n\n'I remember my first shield wall,' I said, 'and I was scared.' It had been against cattle raiders from Wales and I had been terrified. Since then I had fought against the best that the Northmen could send against us, I had clashed shields and smelled my enemy's stinking breath as I killed him, and I still feared the shield wall. One day I would die in such a wall. I would go down, biting against the pain, and an enemy's blade would tear the life from me. Maybe today, I thought, probably today. I touched the hammer.\n\n'What are they doing?' Sigtryggr asked. He was not looking at me, but at the three approaching horsemen who had spurred their stallions into full gallop and now charged the men insulting us. Those men turned, not certain what was happening, and their hesitation was their doom. All three newcomers unhorsed an opponent, the one in the centre charging his enemy's horse and throwing it down by the collision, then turning on a second man and lunging with his sword. I saw the long blade sink through mail, saw the Norseman bend over the blade, saw his own sword drop to the grass, then watched his attacker gallop past and almost get pulled from the saddle because his sword's blade was buried in the dying man's guts. The attacking rider was wrenched backwards by the blade's suction, but managed to drag the weapon free. He turned his horse fast and chopped the blade down on the wounded man's spine. One of the six men who had been jeering us was racing away along the ridge, the other five were either dead or wounded. None was mounted any longer.\n\nThe three turned towards us and I saw their leader was my son, Uhtred, who grinned at me as he trotted towards the thorn fence that barred the fort's entrance. We dragged a section of the fence back to let the three men through and they arrived to cheers. I saw that my son was wearing a big iron hammer amulet about his neck. I held his horse while he dismounted, then embraced him. 'You pretended to be a Dane?' I asked, touching his hammer.\n\n'I did!' he said. 'And no one even questioned us! We came last night.' His companions were both Danes who had sworn oaths to me. They grinned, proud of what they had just done. I took two rings from my arms and gave one to each of the Danes.\n\n'You could have stayed with Ragnall,' I told them, 'but you didn't.'\n\n'You're our oath-lord,' one said.\n\n'And you haven't led us to defeat yet, lord,' the other said, and I felt a pang of guilt, because surely they had galloped to their deaths by crossing the wide pasture.\n\n'You were easy to find,' my son said. 'Northmen are swarming here like wasps to honey.'\n\n'How many?' Sigtryggr asked.\n\n'Too many,' my son said grimly.\n\n'And the Mercian army?' I asked.\n\nHe shook his head. 'What Mercian army?'\n\nI swore and looked back to the pasture that was empty now except for three corpses and two lamed men who were staggering back towards the trees. 'Lady \u00c6thelflaed didn't pursue Ragnall?' I asked.\n\n'The Lady \u00c6thelflaed,' my son said, 'pursued him, but then went back to Ceaster for Bishop Leofstan's funeral.'\n\n'She did what?' I gaped at him.\n\n'Leofstan died,' Uhtred said. 'One minute he lived and the next he was dead. I'm told he was celebrating mass when it happened. He gave a cry of pain and collapsed.'\n\n'No!' I was surprised by the grief I felt. I had hated Leofstan when he first came to the city, arriving so full of a humility that I thought must be false, but I had come to like him, even to admire him. 'He was a good man,' I said.\n\n'He was.'\n\n'And \u00c6thelflaed took the army back for his funeral?'\n\nMy son shook his head, then paused to take a cup of water from Berg. 'Thank you,' he said. 'She went back with a score of men and her usual priests,' he said, when he had drunk, 'but she left Cynl\u00e6f commanding the army.'\n\nCynl\u00e6f, her favourite, the man marked to marry her daughter. 'And Cynl\u00e6f?' I asked bitterly.\n\n'The last I heard he was well south of Ledecestre,' my son said, 'and refusing to lead troops into Northumbria.'\n\n'Bastard,' I said.\n\n'We went to Ceaster,' he said, 'and pleaded with her.'\n\n'And?'\n\n'She sent orders for Cynl\u00e6f to march north and find you, but he's probably only getting those orders today.'\n\n'And he's a day's march away.'\n\n'At least a day's march,' my son said, 'so we have to beat these bastards all on our own.' He grinned, then astonished me one more time by turning and looking at Finan. 'Hey, Irishman!'\n\nFinan looked surprised to be called that, but he took no offence. 'Lord Uhtred?' he responded mildly.\n\nMy son was grinning like a madman. 'You owe me two shillings,' he said.\n\n'I do?'\n\n'You said the bishop's wife would look like a toad, remember?'\n\nFinan nodded. 'I remember.'\n\n'She doesn't. So you owe me two shillings.'\n\nFinan snorted. 'I only have your word for it, lord! And what's your word worth? You thought that tavern maid in Gleawecestre was beautiful, and she had a face like a bullock's backside. Even Gerbruht wouldn't touch her and I've seen him hump things a dog wouldn't sniff!'\n\n'Oh, Sister Gomer is beautiful,' my son said, 'just ask my father.'\n\n'Me?' I exclaimed. 'How would I know?'\n\n'Because,' my son said, 'Sister Gomer has an apple birthmark, father. Right here,' and he touched a gloved finger to his forehead.\n\nI was speechless. I just stared at him. I even forgot Ragnall for a moment, thinking only of that ripe body in the hay shed.\n\n'Well?' Finan asked.\n\n'You owe my son two shillings,' I said, and started laughing.\n\nAnd Ragnall came to give battle.\n\nI remembered how Ragnall had led his horsemen from the trees at Ceaster when he had taken revenge for the heads arrayed around the remnants of the fort at Eads Byrig. He had brought his men from the wood in a line so they appeared all at once, and now he did it again. One moment the far trees were bright with a sun-drenched morning's light, their green leaves peaceful, and then they came. Ranks of men on foot, men with shields, men with weapons, a shield wall that was meant to awe us, and it did.\n\nA shield wall is a terrible thing. It is a wall of wood, iron, and steel with one purpose alone, to kill.\n\nAnd this shield wall was massive, a wall of painted round shields stretching wide across the ridge's flat top, and above it were the banners of the jarls, chieftains, and kings who had come to kill us. At the centre, of course, was Ragnall's red axe, but the axe was flanked by forty or fifty other banners bright with ravens, eagles, wolves, serpents, and with creatures that no man had ever seen except in nightmares. The shield-warriors who followed those banners came from the wood and there they stopped and began clashing their shields together, a constant thunder. I counted them as best I could and reckoned they numbered at least a thousand men. The flanks of the wall were on the ridge's slopes, and that suggested they would wrap that great wall around the fort and attack on three sides. My own men were on the fort's wall. They could count too, and they were silent as they watched Ragnall's massive force and listened to the thunder of his shields.\n\nRagnall was still not ready to attack. He was letting his men see us, letting them realise how few we were. Those men who clashed shields to make the thunder of challenge would see the fort's wall and, on its summit, a much smaller shield wall than their own. They would see we had just two banners, the wolf's head and the red axe, and Ragnall wanted them to know how easy this victory would be. I saw him riding a black horse behind his wall and calling to his men. He was assuring them of victory and promising our deaths. He was filling them with confidence, and it was just moments, I knew, before he came to insult us. He would offer us a chance to surrender, and, when we refused, he would bring his shield wall forward.\n\nBut before Ragnall could move, Finan rode towards the enemy.\n\nHe rode alone and he rode slowly, his horse high-stepping in the lush pasture. Man and horse were magnificent, gold-hung, silver-shining. He had Sigtryggr's thick golden chain about his neck, though he had removed the hammer, and he wore my helmet with its crouching silver wolf on the crown from which he had hung strips of dark cloth that mimicked the horse's tail plume of his brother's helmet. And it was to his brother that he rode, towards the banner of the dark ship sailing on a blood-red sea. That banner was on the right of Ragnall's line, at the edge of the plateau. The Irish carried other flags decorated with the Christian cross, the same symbol that Finan had scraped into his shield that hung at his left side above the glittering scabbard in which he carried Soul-Stealer, a sword he had taken from a Norseman in battle. Soul-Stealer was lighter than most swords, though its reach was just as long, a blade that I feared could be easily broken by the heavy swords most of us carried. But Finan, who had given the sword its name, loved Soul-Stealer.\n\nTwo men rode from Ragnall's ranks to challenge Finan. Their horses must have been kept close behind the shield wall, and I assumed Ragnall had given them permission to fight, and I heard his army cheering as the two men rode. I had no doubt that the two were battle-tested, full of sword-craft and terrible in combat, and Ragnall, and all his men too, must have assumed Finan would accept the challenge of one or the other, but instead he rode past them. They followed him, taunting, but neither attacked him. That too was part of battle's ritual. Finan had ridden alone and he would choose his enemy. He rode on, slow and deliberate, until he faced the Irishmen beneath their banners.\n\nAnd he spoke to them.\n\nI was much too far away to hear anything he said, and even if I had been at his elbow I would not have understood his tongue. The two champions, perhaps realising that the challenge was from one Irishman to his countrymen, turned away, and Finan spoke on.\n\nHe must have taunted them. And in his thoughts there must have been a girl lovely as a dream, a dark-haired girl of the \u00d3 Domhnaill, a girl worth defying fate for, a girl to love and to worship, and a girl who had been dragged through the mud to be his brother's plaything, a girl who had haunted Finan in all the long years since her death.\n\nAnd a man stepped out of the Irish ranks.\n\nIt was not Conall. The enemy shield wall was a long way off, but even I could see that this man was much bigger than Conall, bigger than Finan too. He was a great brute of a man, hulking in his mail, carrying a shield larger than any other in the wall and hefting a sword that looked as if it were made for a god, not for a man, a sword as heavy as a war axe, a sword for butchery. And Finan slid from his saddle.\n\nTwo armies watched.\n\nFinan threw away his shield, and I remembered that far-off day, so long ago, when I had faced Steapa in single combat. That was before we became friends, and no man had given me a chance against Steapa. He had been known then as Steapa Snotor, Steapa the Clever, which was a cruel joke because he was not the cleverest of men, but he was loyal, he was thoughtful, and he was unstoppable in battle. He, like the man striding towards Finan, was huge and hugely strong, a giver of death, and I had fought him, supposedly to the death, and one of us would have died that day had the Danes not surged across the frontier that same morning. And when I had fought Steapa I had begun by casting aside my shield and even taking off my mail coat. Steapa had watched me, expressionless. He knew what I was doing. I was making myself fast. I would not be cumbered by weight, I would be quick and I would dance around the larger man like a nimble dog baiting a bull.\n\nFinan kept his mail coat, but he threw the shield down, then just waited.\n\nAnd we saw the big man charge, using his shield to batter Finan away, and what happened next was so swift that none of us could be certain of what we saw. It was far away, too far to see clearly, but the two figures closed, I saw the big man ram the shield to slam Finan and, thinking he had struck Finan, begin to turn with the massive sword raised to kill. And then he just dropped.\n\nIt was fast, so fast, but I have never known a man swifter than Finan. He was not big, indeed he looked skinny, but he was quick. He could carry Soul-Stealer because he rarely needed to parry with the blade, he could dance out of a blow's way. I had fought him in practice often enough and I had rarely got past his guard. The big man, I assumed he was Conall's champion, dropped to his knees, and Finan sliced Soul-Stealer down onto his neck and that was the end of the fight. It had been over in two or three heartbeats and Finan had made it look so easy. The thunder of the far shields stopped.\n\nAnd Finan spoke to his countrymen again. I never learned what he said, but I saw him walk to the shield wall, walk within the reach of their swords and spears, and there he spoke to his brother. I could see it was his brother because Conall's helmet was brighter than the rest and he stood directly beneath the blood-red banner. The brothers stood face to face. I remembered the hatred between them at Ceaster, and the same hatred must have been there, but Conall did not move. He had seen his champion die and had no wish to follow him down to hell.\n\nFinan took one pace backwards.\n\nTwo armies watched.\n\nFinan turned his back on his brother and began walking towards his horse.\n\nAnd Conall charged.\n\nWe gasped. I think every man on the field who saw it gasped. Conall charged, his sword reaching for Finan's spine, and Finan spun.\n\nSoul-Stealer flashed. I did not hear the clash of blades, just saw Conall's sword fly up as it was deflected, saw Soul-Stealer slice at Conall's face, then saw Finan turn his back and walk away again. No one who watched spoke. They saw Conall step back, blood on his face, and watched Finan walk away. And again Conall attacked. This time he lunged for the nape of Finan's neck, and Finan ducked, turned again, and punched Soul-Stealer's hilt into his brother's face. Conall staggered, then tripped on his heel and sat heavily.\n\nFinan walked to him. He ignored his brother's sword, but just held Soul-Stealer at Conall's neck. I expected to see the lunge and the sudden splash of blood, but instead Finan held the blade at his brother's throat and spoke to his brother's men. Conall tried to lift his sword, but Finan kicked it contemptuously aside, then he stooped and, using his left hand, seized his brother's helmet.\n\nHe dragged it free.\n\nHe still stood over his brother. Now, with even greater contempt, he sheathed Soul-Stealer. He took off my helmet and replaced it with his brother's black horse-tailed helmet with its royal circlet. King Finan.\n\nThen he just walked away and, retrieving his shield from the grass, he climbed back into his saddle. He had humiliated his brother and now he rode the stallion along the face of Ragnall's whole line. He did not hurry. He dared men to come and face him and none did. There was scorn in that ride. The horse-tail of the gold-ringed helmet streamed behind him as at last he kicked his stallion into a canter and rode back to us.\n\nHe reached the thorn fence and tossed me my helmet. 'Conall's men won't fight us now,' was all he said.\n\nWhich only left about a thousand men who would.\n\nWe had given Ragnall a problem and Finan had worsened it. Ragnall had to be confident that he could beat us, but knew he would pay a price for that victory. The Roman fort was old, but its walls were steep, and men climbing those short slopes would be vulnerable. In the end he would break us. He had too many men and we had too few, but too many of Ragnall's men would die in killing us. That is why battles of the shield wall are slow to start. Men have to nerve themselves for the horror. The fort's ditches were not much of an obstacle, but we had hammered short stakes into the ditch during the night, and men advancing behind shields can see little, and, especially if they are pushed on by the rank behind, they can trip, and a man who falls in the shield wall is as good as dead. At \u00c6sc's Hill, so many years ago, I had seen an army of victorious Danes defeated by a ditch that Alfred defended. The rearmost ranks had pushed the shield wall forward and the front ranks had stumbled in the ditch where the West Saxon warriors had killed them till the ditch was brimming red. So Ragnall's men were reluctant to attack, and made more reluctant by the omen of Conall's humiliation. It was Ragnall's task to fire them now, to fill them with anger as well as ale. You can smell the ale on an enemy's breath in the shield wall. We had none. We would fight sober.\n\nThe sun was halfway to his summit by the time Ragnall came to insult us. That too was a part of the pattern of battle. First the young fools challenge the enemy to single combat, then the speeches are made to fire men with the lust for blood, and finally the enemy is insulted. 'Maggots!' Ragnall called to us. 'Sow turds! You want to die here?' My men rhythmically clashed seax blades against shields, making the music of death to drown his words. 'Send me my little brother,' Ragnall shouted, 'and you can live!'\n\nRagnall had donned mail and helmet for battle. He rode his black stallion, and, for a weapon, carried a massive axe. A dozen men accompanied him, grim warriors on big horses, their faces made mysterious by closed cheek-pieces. They were inspecting the ditch and wall, readying to warn their men what difficulties they would face. Two rode towards the thorn fence and only turned away when a spear struck the ground between their horses. One of them seized the quivering haft and carried it away.\n\n'We have ravaged Mercia!' Ragnall shouted. 'Razed farmsteads, taken captives, stripped the fields of cattle! The old hag who calls herself the ruler of Mercia is hiding behind stone walls! Her country is ours and I have her land to give away! You want good land, rich land? Come to me!'\n\nInstead of insulting us he was trying to bribe us. Behind him, across the ridge's wide pastureland, I could see the ale-skins being passed among the enemy. Shields were resting on the ground, their upper rims against men's thighs, and spears were held upright, their points glinting in the sun. There was a mass of those spear-points beneath Ragnall's banner at the centre of his line, and that told me he planned to use the long spears to shatter the centre of our line. It was what I would have done. He would have assembled his biggest men there, the most savage, the men who revelled in killing and who boasted of the widows they had made, and he would loose those men at the fort's entrance and follow it with a rush of swordsmen to peel our wall apart and kill us like trapped rats.\n\nHe tired of shouting. We had not responded, and the clash of blades on shields had not ceased, and besides, his men had seen what obstacles we had waiting and they needed to see no more and Ragnall, after spitting towards us and shouting that we had chosen death instead of life, rode back to his men. And those men, seeing him come, picked up their shields, and I watched as the shields were hefted and overlapped. The spearmen parted to let Ragnall and his companions ride through the wall, then the shields closed again. I saw Ragnall dismount, saw him push through to the front rank. They were coming.\n\nBut first Sigtryggr rode.\n\nHe rode with eight warriors and with the eight hostages. The women's hands were tied in front of their bodies, and their horses were led by the eight men. Ragnall must have known we had captured the women when we had taken Eoferwic, but it would have been a surprise for him to see them here. A surprise and a shock. And the eight men whose women we had as captives? I remembered Orvar's words that men liked Sigtryggr, but feared Ragnall, and now Sigtryggr, resplendent in his shining mail and with the kingly circlet about his helmet, rode towards them, and behind him came the hostages, each escorted by a man with a drawn sword, and Ragnall's men must have thought they would see blood and I heard a murmur of anger swelling from the pasture's far side.\n\nSigtryggr stopped halfway between the armies. The women were in a line, each woman threatened with a blade. The message was obvious. If Ragnall attacked, then the women would die, but it was equally clear that if Sigtryggr killed the hostages he would merely provoke an attack. 'He should just bring them back here,' Finan said.\n\n'Why?'\n\n'He can't kill them there! If they're hidden in the hall then the enemy won't know what's happening to them.'\n\nInstead Sigtryggr raised his right arm in a signal to his eight men, then dropped it fast. 'Now!' he called.\n\nThe eight swords were used to cut the bonds that had loosely tied the women's wrists. 'Go,' Sigtryggr told them, 'go find your husbands, just go.'\n\nThe women hesitated a moment, then clumsily kicked their horses towards Ragnall's line that had fallen abruptly silent when Sigtryggr, instead of slaughtering the wives, had released them. One woman, unable to control her nervous horse, climbed out of the saddle and ran towards her husband's banner. I saw two men come the other way, hurrying to greet their women, and Ragnall, understanding that he had lost power over men he wanted to fear him, also understood that he had to attack now. I saw him turn and shout, saw him beckon his shield wall forward. Horns brayed, banners were lifted, the spear-points dropped to the attack, and men started forward. They cheered.\n\nBut not every man was cheering.\n\nThe shield wall did start forward. The men at the centre, the men I feared most, were advancing steadily and, either side of them, other men were coming, but out at the flanks there was hesitation. The Irish had not moved, and the contingents next to them also stayed still. Other men stayed put. I saw a man embracing his wife, and his followers were not moving either. Maybe half of Ragnall's line was marching towards us, the other half had lost their fear of him.\n\nSigtryggr was riding back to us, but he paused when he heard the loud horns. He turned his horse and saw how half of his brother's shield wall was reluctant to attack. Horsemen were galloping behind Ragnall's shields, bellowing at reluctant men to advance. The Irish had not even picked up their shields, but stood stubbornly still. We were watching an army in two minds, an army that had lost confidence. The men whose wives had been restored to them were weighing their loyalty, and we could see it in their hesitation.\n\nSigtryggr turned and looked at me. 'Lord Uhtred!' he called. His voice was urgent. 'Lord Uhtred!' he called again.\n\n'I know!' I shouted.\n\nHe laughed. My son-in-law took a delight in war. He was a warrior born, a lord of war, a Norseman, and he had seen what I saw. If a man rules by fear he must succeed. He must keep his followers docile by showing that he cannot be beaten, that his fate is victory and riches. Wyrd bi\u00f0 ful \u0101r\u00e6d. Fate is inexorable. A man who rules by fear cannot afford a single setback, and Sigtryggr's release of the hostages had loosened the bonds of fear. But the men who hesitated would not stay defiant for long. If they saw Ragnall's spearmen cut their savage way through the thorn fence and through the fort's entrance, if they saw men swarming up the wall, if they saw the axes chopping at our shields on the wall's top, then they would join the battle. Men want to be on the winning side. In a few moments all they would see was Ragnall's men crowding at our defences and outflanking them, and they would fear that Ragnall's victory would bring Ragnall's revenge on those who had hung back.\n\nWhat Sigtryggr had seen and what I had seen was that they must not be given that glimpse of Ragnall's victory. We could not defend the fort even though it was made for defence, because those of Ragnall's men who advanced were still more than enough to overwhelm us, and the sight of those men forcing their way into the fort would bring the rest of Ragnall's army into the battle.\n\nSo we had to give the rest of Ragnall's army a glimpse of Ragnall's defeat.\n\nWe had to offer them hope.\n\nWe had to leave our refuge.\n\nWe had to attack.\n\n'Forward!' I shouted. 'Forward and kill them!'\n\n'Jesus Christ,' Finan said beside me.\n\nMy men hesitated for a heartbeat, not out of reluctance, but from surprise. All night we had prepared them to defend the fort and now we were leaving it to carry our blades to the enemy. I jumped down the wall into the ditch. 'Come on!' I shouted. 'We're going to kill them!'\n\nMen kicked the thorn fence aside. Other men scrambled down the fort's wall and through the ditch to reform the shield wall on its far side. 'Keep going!' I shouted. 'Keep going and kill them!'\n\nSigtryggr and his horsemen scattered from our path. We advanced along the ridge's flat top, still clashing blades on shields. The enemy had stopped, astonished.\n\nMen need a battle cry. I could not ask them to shout for Mercia, because most of my force were not Mercians, they were Norsemen. I could have called Sigtryggr's name and doubtless all my men would have echoed that because we fought for his throne, but some impulse made me offer a different shout. 'For Mus,' I bellowed, 'for the best whore in Britain! For Mus!'\n\nThere was a pause, and then my men burst into laughter. 'For Mus!' they shouted.\n\nAn enemy sees his attackers laughing? It is better than all the insults. A man who laughs as he goes into battle is a man who has confidence, and a man with confidence is terrifying to an enemy. 'For the whore!' I shouted. 'For Mus!' And the shout spread along my line as men who had never heard of Mus learned she was a whore and a good one too. They loved the idea. They were all laughing or shouting her name now. Shouting for a whore as they went to death's embrace. 'Mus! Mus! Mus!'\n\n'She'd better reward them,' Finan said grimly.\n\n'She will!' my son called from my other side.\n\nRagnall was shouting for his spearmen to advance, but they were watching Sigtryggr, who had ridden with his horsemen off to their right. He was shouting at the men who had not joined the advance, men who were now lagging behind Ragnall's shield wall. He was encouraging them to turn against Ragnall.\n\n'Just kill them!' I shouted and quickened my pace. We had to close on the enemy before the laggards decided we were doomed. Men love to be on the winning side, so we needed to win! 'Faster,' I shouted, 'for the whore!' Thirty paces, twenty, and you can see the eyes of the men who will try to kill you, and see the spear-blades, and the instinct is to stop, to straighten the shields. We cringe from battle, fear claws at us, time seems to stop, there is silence though a thousand men shout, and at that moment, when terror savages the heart like a trapped beast, you must hurl yourself into the horror.\n\nBecause the enemy feels the same.\n\nAnd you have come to kill him. You are the beast from his nightmares. The man facing me had crouched slightly, his spear levelled and his shield high. I knew he would either raise or lower the blade as I closed, and I wanted him to raise it so I deliberately let my shield down so it covered my legs. I did not think about it. I knew what would happen. I had fought too many battles, and sure enough the spear-blade came up, aimed at my chest or neck as he braced himself, and I lifted the shield so the spear glanced off it to go high in the air, and then we hit.\n\nThe crash of the shield walls, the sudden noise, the hammering of wood and steel and men screaming their war cries, and I thrust Wasp-Sting into the gap between two shields and the man behind me had hooked the enemy's shield with his axe and was tugging, and the man was struggling to pull his spear back as I rammed the seax up into his ribs. I felt it burst through the links of his mail, slice through the leather beneath to grate on bone. I twisted the blade and tugged her back as a sword struck my shield a ringing blow. Finan was protecting my right, his own seax stabbing. My opponent let go of his spear, it was far too long a weapon for the shield wall. It was meant to break open another wall and was almost useless in defence. He drew his seax, but before the blade had left the scabbard I raked Wasp-Sting across his face that was inked with ravens. She left an open wound spilling blood that blinded him and turned his short beard red. Another stab, this to his throat and he was down and the man in the rank behind him lunged over the falling body with a sword thrust that turned my shield and sliced into my son's arm. I almost tripped on the fallen man, who still tried to stab up with his seax.\n\n'Kill him!' I shouted to the man behind me and rammed my shield at the swordsman, who snarled as he tried to lunge with the blade again, and my shield slammed into his body and I stabbed Wasp-Sting down to open his thigh from groin to knee. A blade crashed against my helmet. An axe swung overhead and I ducked down fast, raising the shield, and the axe split the iron rim, shattered willow, and tilted the shield over my head, but I could see the bleeding thigh and I stabbed again, upwards this time in the wicked blow that made the man shriek and took him from the fight. Finan ripped the axeman's cheek away from his jaw with his seax and stabbed again, aiming for the eyes. Gerbruht, behind me, seized the axe and turned it against the enemy. He thought, because I was crouching, that I was wounded, and he bellowed in anger as he pushed past me and swung the huge weapon with all the force of his huge strength. A sword pierced his upper chest, but slid upwards as his axe cut a helmet and a skull in two, and there was a mist of blood as a spatter of brains slapped on my helmet. I stood, covering Gerbruht with my shield. My son was heaving forward on my left, stamping his foot on an enemy's face. We had taken down Ragnall's two front ranks and the men behind were stepping back, trying to escape our blood-painted shields, our wet blades, our snarling love of slaughter.\n\nAnd I heard another clash and heard shouting and though I could not see what happened I felt the shudder from my left and knew that other men had joined the fight. 'For the whore!' I shouted. 'For the whore!'\n\nThat was a mad shout! But now the battle-joy had come, the song of slaughter. Folcbald had arrived to the left of my son, and he was as strong as Gerbruht and armed with a short-handled axe that had a massive head, and he was hooking down enemy shields so my son could lunge over them. A spear slid beneath my shield to strike against the iron strips in my boot. I stamped on the blade, rammed Wasp-Sting between two shields, felt her bite. I was keening a wordless song. Finan was using his seax to give short fast lunges between shields, raking his enemies' forearms with the blade till their weapons dropped, when he would slice the blade up into their ribcage. Folcbald had abandoned his shattered shield and was hacking with the axe, bellowing a Frisian challenge, smashing the heavy blade through helmets and skulls, making a pile of blood-spattered enemy dead and shouting at men to come and be killed. Somewhere ahead, not far, I could see Ragnall's banner. I shouted for him. 'Ragnall! You bastard! Ragnall! You shrivelled piece of shit! Come and die, you bastard! For the whore!'\n\nOh the madness of battle! We fear it, we celebrate it, the poets sing of it, and when it fills the blood like fire it is a real madness. It is joy! All the terror is swept away, a man feels he could live for ever, he sees the enemy retreating, knows he himself is invincible, that even the gods would shrink from his blade and his bloodied shield. And I was still keening that mad song, the battle song of slaughter, the sound that blotted out the screams of dying men and the crying of the wounded. It is fear, of course, that feeds the battle madness, the release of fear into savagery. You win in the shield wall by being more savage than your enemy, by turning his savagery back into fear.\n\nI wanted to kill Ragnall, but I could not see him. All I could see were shield rims, bearded faces, blades, men snarling, a man spitting teeth from a mouth filled with blood, a boy screaming for his mother, another weeping on the ground and shaking. A wounded man groaned and turned over on the grass, and I thought he was trying to lift a seax to stab me and I slid Wasp-Sting down into his throat and the jet of blood struck warm on my face. I ground the blade downwards, cursing the man, then ripped the blade free as I saw a short man come from my right. I back-handed the blade, striking the man, who sank down and shrieked, 'Father!' It was a boy, not a man. 'Father!' That second call was my son, pulling me backwards. The weeping and shaking boy was crying hysterically, gasping for breath, his face laced with blood. I had put him on the ground. I had not known. I had just seen him coming from my right and struck at him, but he could not have been more than nine years old, maybe ten, and I had half severed his left arm. 'It's over,' my son said, holding my sword arm, 'it's over.'\n\nIt was not quite over. Men still clashed shield against shield, the blades still hacked and lunged, but Ragnall's own men had turned on him. The Irish had joined the fight, but on our side. They were keening their battle sound, a high-pitched scream as they savaged Ragnall's remaining warriors. The men whose wives we had released had also turned against Ragnall and, of his thousand men, only a few were left, maybe two hundred or so, but they were surrounded.\n\n'Enough!' Sigtryggr shouted. 'Enough!' He had found a horse from somewhere and hauled himself into the saddle. He carried his bloodied sword as he shouted at the men struggling to kill his brother. 'Enough! Let them live!' His brother was in the centre of the men who still fought for him, the outnumbered and encircled men who now lowered their weapons as the battle died.\n\n'Look after that boy,' I told my son. The boy was crouching over his dead father, weeping hysterically. That had been me, I thought, at Eoferwic, how many years ago? I looked at Finan. 'How old are we?' I asked.\n\n'Too old, lord.' There was blood on his face. His beard was grey, trickling blood.\n\n'Are you hurt?' I asked, and he shook his head. He still wore his brother's helmet with its golden circlet that had been dented by a sword blow. 'Are you going home?' I asked him.\n\n'Home?' he was puzzled by my question.\n\n'To Ireland,' I said. I looked at the circlet, 'King Finan.'\n\nHe smiled. 'I am home, lord.'\n\n'And your brother?'\n\nFinan shrugged. 'He'll have to live with the shame of this day for ever. He's finished. Besides,' he made the sign of the cross, 'a man shouldn't kill his own brother.'\n\nSigtryggr killed his own brother. He offered life to the men who would surrender, and afterwards, as those men deserted Ragnall, Sigtryggr fought him. It was a fair fight. I did not watch, but afterwards Sigtryggr had a sword slash on one hip and a broken rib. 'He could fight,' he said happily, 'but I fought better.'\n\nI looked at the men in the pasture. Hundreds of men. 'They're all yours now,' I said.\n\n'Mine,' he agreed.\n\n'You should return to Eoferwic,' I told him. 'Give away land, but make sure you have sufficient men to guard the city walls. Four men for every five paces. Some of those men can be butchers, bakers, leather-workers, labourers, but salt them with your warriors. And capture Dunholm.'\n\n'I will.' He looked at me, grinned, and we embraced. 'Thank you,' he said.\n\n'For what?'\n\n'For making your daughter a queen.'\n\nI took my men away next morning. We had lost sixteen in the battle, only sixteen, though another forty were too wounded to move. I embraced my daughter, then bowed to her because she was indeed a queen. Sigtryggr tried to give me his great gold chain, but I refused it. 'I have enough gold,' I told him, 'and you are now the gold-giver. Be generous.'\n\nAnd we rode away.\n\nI met \u00c6thelflaed six days later. We met in the Great Hall of Ceaster. Cynl\u00e6f was there, as were Merewalh, Osferth, and young Prince \u00c6thelstan. The warriors of Mercia were there too, the men who had not pursued Ragnall north of Ledecestre. Ceolnoth and Ceolberht stood among their fellow priests. My other son, Father Oswald, was also there, and he stood protectively close to Bishop Leofstan's widow, Sister Gomer, the Mus. She smiled at me, but the smile vanished when I glared at her.\n\nI had not cleaned my mail. Rain had washed most of the blood away, but the blade-torn gaps in the rings were still there and the leather beneath was stained with blood. My helmet had a gash in one side from an axe blow that I had hardly felt in the heat of battle, though now my head still throbbed with a dull pain. I stalked into the hall with Uhtred, my son, with Finan, and with Rorik. That was the boy's name, the boy I had wounded in battle, and he carried the same name as Ragnar's son, my boyhood friend. This Rorik's arm was healing, indeed was healed well enough for him to hold a big bronze casket that had pictures of saints around its sides and a depiction of Christ in glory on its lid. He was a good boy, fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a strong mischievous face. He had never known his mother and I had killed his father. 'This is Rorik,' I introduced him to \u00c6thelflaed and the company, 'and he is as a son to me.' I touched the golden hammer amulet around Rorik's neck. The amulet had belonged to his father, as did the sword that hung, far too big, at his skinny waist. 'Rorik,' I went on, 'is what you call a pagan, and he will stay a pagan.' I looked at the priests, and only Father Oswald met my eye. He nodded.\n\n'I have a daughter,' I said, looking back to \u00c6thelflaed who sat in the chair that passed for a throne in Ceaster, 'and she is now queen of Northumbria. Her husband is king. He has sworn not to attack Mercia. He will also cede to you some Mercian land that is presently under Danish rule as a gesture of his friendship, and he will make a treaty with you.'\n\n'Thank you, Lord Uhtred,' \u00c6thelflaed said. Her face was unreadable, but she met my gaze and held it for a moment before looking at the boy beside me. 'And welcome, Rorik.'\n\n'It seemed best, my lady,' I said, 'to put a friendly pagan on Northumbria's throne because it seems the men of Mercia are too cowardly to enter that country,' I was looking at Cynl\u00e6f, 'even to pursue their enemies.'\n\nCynl\u00e6f bridled. 'I...' he began, then faltered.\n\n'You what?' I challenged him.\n\nHe looked to \u00c6thelflaed for help, but she offered none. 'I was advised,' he finally said weakly.\n\n'By a priest?' I asked, looking at Ceolnoth.\n\n'We were commanded not to enter Northumbria!' Cynl\u00e6f protested.\n\n'You will learn from the Lord Uhtred,' \u00c6thelflaed said, still looking at me even though she spoke to Cynl\u00e6f, 'that there are times when you disobey orders.' She turned to him, and her voice was icy. 'You made the wrong decision.'\n\n'But it's of no consequence,' I said, looking at Father Ceolnoth, 'because Thor and Woden answered my prayers.'\n\n\u00c6thelflaed gave a glimmer of a smile. 'You will eat with us tonight, Lord Uhtred?'\n\n'And leave tomorrow,' I said, 'with my men and their families.' I looked to the side of the hall where Eadith stood among the shadows. 'And with you too,' I said, and she nodded.\n\n'Tomorrow! You're leaving?' \u00c6thelflaed asked, surprised and indignant.\n\n'By your leave, lady, yes.'\n\n'To go where?'\n\n'To go north, my lady, north.'\n\n'North?' she frowned.\n\n'But before I leave,' I said, 'I have a gift for you.'\n\n'Where in the north?'\n\n'I have business in the north, lady,' I said, then touched Rorik's shoulder. 'Go, boy,' I said, 'lay it at her feet.'\n\nThe boy carried the heavy bronze casket around the hearth, then knelt and dropped his burden with a clang at the foot of \u00c6thelflaed's throne. He backed away to my side, the big sword dragging through the stale rushes on the hall floor. 'I planned to give you Eoferwic, my lady,' I told her, 'but I gave that city to Sigtryggr instead. That gift is in its place.'\n\nShe knew what was in the box even before it was opened, but she snapped her fingers and a servant hurried from the shadows, knelt, and opened the heavy lid. Men craned to see what was inside and I heard some of the priests hiss with distaste, but \u00c6thelflaed just smiled. Ragnall's bloody head grimaced at her from the casket. 'Thank you, Lord Uhtred,' she said calmly, 'the gift is most generous.'\n\n'And what you wanted,' I said.\n\n'It is.'\n\n'Then with your permission, lady,' I bowed, 'my work is done and I would rest.'\n\nShe nodded. I beckoned to Eadith and walked to the hall's great doors. 'Lord Uhtred!' \u00c6thelflaed called, and I turned. 'What business in the north?' she asked.\n\nI hesitated, then told her the truth. 'I am the Lord of Bebbanburg, lady.'\n\nAnd I am. I have ancient parchments that say that Uhtred, son of Uhtred, is the lawful and sole owner of the lands that are carefully marked by stones and by dykes, by oaks and by ash, by marsh and by sea. They are wave-beaten lands, wild beneath the wind-driven sky, and they were stolen from me.\n\nI had business in the north."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "Doomsday Book",
        "author": "Connie Willis",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "science fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "time travel",
            "medieval",
            "Oxford Time Travel"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "\"What a ringer needs most is not strength but the ability to keep time... You must bring these two things together in your mind and let them rest there forever\u2014bells and time, bells and time.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Akenfield",
                "text": "Mr. Dunworthy opened the door to the laboratory and his spectacles promptly steamed up.\n\n\"Am I too late?\" he said, yanking them off and squinting at Mary.\n\n\"Shut the door,\" she said. \"I can't hear you over the sound of those ghastly carols.\"\n\nDunworthy closed the door, but it didn't completely shut out the sound of \"O Come, All Ye Faithful\" wafting in from the quad. \"Am I too late?\" he said again.\n\nMary shook her head. \"All you've missed is Gilchrist's speech.\" She leaned back in her chair to let Dunworthy squeeze past her into the narrow observation area. She had taken off her coat and wool hat and set them on the only other chair, along with a large shopping bag full of parcels. Her gray hair was in disarray, as if she had tried to fluff it up after taking her hat off. \"A very long speech about Mediaeval's maiden voyage in time,\" she said, \"and the college of Brasenose taking its rightful place as the jewel in history's crown. Is it still raining?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, wiping his spectacles on his muffler. He hooked the wire rims over his ears and went up to the thin-glass partition to look at the net. In the center of the laboratory was a smashed-up wagon surrounded by overturned trunks and wooden boxes. Above them hung the protective shields of the net, draped like a gauzy parachute.\n\nKivrin's tutor Latimer, looking older and even more infirm than usual, was standing next to one of the trunks. Montoya was standing over by the console wearing jeans and a terrorist jacket and looking impatiently at the digital on her wrist. Badri was sitting in front of the console, typing something in and frowning at the display screens.\n\n\"Where's Kivrin?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I haven't seen her,\" Mary said. \"Do come and sit down. The drop isn't scheduled till noon, and I doubt very much that they'll get her off by then. Particularly if Gilchrist makes another speech.\"\n\nShe draped her coat over the back of her own chair and set the shopping bag full of parcels on the floor by her feet. \"I do hope this doesn't go all day. I must pick up my great-nephew Colin at the Underground station at three. He's coming in on the tube.\"\n\nShe rummaged in her shopping bag. \"My niece Deirdre is off to Kent for the holidays and asked me to look after him. I do hope it doesn't rain the entire time he's here,\" she said, still rummaging. \"He's twelve, a nice boy, very bright, though he has the most wretched vocabulary. Everything is either necrotic or apocalyptic. And Deirdre allows him entirely too many sweets.\"\n\nShe continued to dig through the contents of the shopping bag. \"I got this for him for Christmas.\" She hauled up a narrow red-and-green-striped box. \"I'd hoped to get the rest of my shopping done before I came here, but it was pouring rain, and I can only tolerate that ghastly digital carillon music on the High Street for brief intervals.\"\n\nShe opened the box and folded back the tissue. \"I've no idea what twelve-year-old boys are wearing these days, but mufflers are timeless, don't you think, James? James?\"\n\nHe turned from where he had been staring blindly at the display screens. \"What?\"\n\n\"I said, mufflers are always an appropriate Christmas gift for boys, don't you think?\"\n\nHe looked at the muffler she was holding up for his inspection. It was of dark gray plaid wool. He would not have been caught dead in it when he was a boy, and that had been fifty years ago. \"Yes,\" he said, and turned back to the thin-glass.\n\n\"What is it, James? Is something wrong?\"\n\nLatimer picked up a small brass-bound casket, and then looked vaguely around, as if he had forgotten what he intended to do with it. Montoya glanced impatiently at her digital.\n\n\"Where's Gilchrist?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"He went through there,\" Mary said, pointing at a door on the far side of the net. \"He orated on Mediaeval's place in history, talked to Kivrin for a bit, the tech ran some tests, and then Gilchrist and Kivrin went through that door. I assume he's still in there with her, getting her ready.\"\n\n\"Getting her ready,\" Dunworthy muttered.\n\n\"James, do come and sit down, and tell me what's wrong,\" she said, jamming the muffler back in its box and stuffing it into the shopping bag, \"and where you've been? I expected you to be here when I arrived. After all, Kivrin's your favorite pupil.\"\n\n\"I was trying to reach the Head of the History Faculty,\" Dunworthy said, looking at the display screens.\n\n\"Basingame? I thought he was off somewhere on Christmas vac.\"\n\n\"He is, and Gilchrist maneuvered to be appointed Acting Head in his absence so he could get the Middle Ages opened to time travel. He rescinded the blanket ranking of ten and arbitrarily assigned rankings to each century. Do you know what he assigned the 1300s? A six. A six! If Basingame had been here, he'd never have allowed it. But the man's nowhere to be found.\" He looked hopefully at Mary. \"You don't know where he is, do you?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"Somewhere in Scotland, I think.\"\n\n\"Somewhere in Scotland,\" he said bitterly. \"And meanwhile, Gilchrist is sending Kivrin into a century which is clearly a ten, a century which had scrofula and the plague and burned Joan of Arc at the stake.\"\n\nHe looked at Badri, who was speaking into the console's ear now. \"You said Badri ran tests. What were they? A coordinates check? A field projection?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" She waved vaguely at the screens, with their constantly changing matrices and columns of figures. \"I'm only a doctor, not a net technician. I thought I recognized the technician. He's from Balliol, isn't he?\"\n\nDunworthy nodded. \"He's the best tech Balliol has,\" he said, watching Badri, who was tapping the console's keys one at a time, his eyes on the changing readouts. \"All of New College's techs were gone for the vac. Gilchrist was planning to use a first-year apprentice who'd never run a manned drop. A first-year apprentice for a remote! I talked him into using Badri. If I can't stop this drop, at least I can see that it's run by a competent tech.\"\n\nBadri frowned at the screen, pulled a meter out of his pocket, and started toward the wagon.\n\n\"Badri!\" Dunworthy called.\n\nBadri gave no indication he'd heard. He walked around the perimeter of the boxes and trunks, looking at the meter. He moved one of the boxes slightly to the left.\n\n\"He can't hear you,\" Mary said.\n\n\"Badri!\" he shouted. \"I need to speak to you.\"\n\nMary had stood up. \"He can't hear you, James,\" she said. \"The partition's soundproofed.\"\n\nBadri said something to Latimer, who was still holding the brass-bound casket. Latimer looked bewildered. Badri took the casket from him and set it down on the chalked mark.\n\nDunworthy looked around for a microphone. He couldn't see one. \"How were you able to hear Gilchrist's speech?\" he asked Mary.\n\n\"Gilchrist pressed a button on the inside there,\" she said, pointing at a wall panel next to the net.\n\nBadri had sat down in front of the console again and was speaking into the ear. The net shields began to lower into place. Badri said something else, and they rose to where they'd been.\n\n\"I told Badri to recheck everything, the net, the apprentice's calculations, everything,\" he said, \"and to abort the drop immediately if he found any errors, no matter what Gilchrist said.\"\n\n\"But surely Gilchrist wouldn't jeopardize Kivrin's safety,\" Mary protested. \"He told me he'd taken every precaution\u2014\"\n\n\"Every precaution! He hasn't run recon tests or parameter checks. We did two years of unmanneds in Twentieth Century before we sent anyone through. He hasn't done any. Badri told him he should delay the drop until he could do at least one, and instead he moved the drop up two days. The man's a complete incompetent.\"\n\n\"But he explained why the drop had to be today,\" Mary said. \"In his speech. He said the contemps in the 1300s paid no attention to dates, except planting and harvesting times and church holy days. He said the concentration of holy days was greatest around Christmas, and that was why Mediaeval had decided to send Kivrin now, so she could use the Advent holy days to determine her temporal location and ensure her being at the drop site on the twenty-eighth of December.\"\n\n\"His sending her now has nothing to do with Advent or holy days,\" he said, watching Badri. He was back to tapping one key at a time and frowning. \"He could send her next week and use Epiphany for the rendezvous date. He could run unmanneds for six months and then send her lapse-time. Gilchrist is sending her now because Basingame's off on holiday and isn't here to stop him.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Mary said. \"I rather thought he was rushing it myself. When I told him how long I needed Kivrin in Infirmary, he tried to talk me out of it. I had to explain that her inoculations needed time to take effect.\"\n\n\"A rendezvous on the twenty-eighth of December,\" Dunworthy said bitterly. \"Do you realize what holy day that is? The Feast of the Slaughter of the Innocents. Which, in light of how this drop is being run, may be entirely appropriate.\"\n\n\"Why can't you stop it?\" Mary said. \"You can forbid Kivrin to go, can't you? You're her tutor.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I'm not. She's a student at Brasenose. Latimer's her tutor.\" He waved his hand in the direction of Latimer, who had picked up the brass-bound casket again and was peering absentmindedly into it. \"She came to Balliol and asked me to tutor her unofficially.\"\n\nHe turned and stared blindly at the thin-glass. \"I told her then that she couldn't go.\"\n\nKivrin had come to see him when she was a first-year student. \"I want to go to the Middle Ages,\" she had said. She wasn't even a meter and a half tall, and her fair hair was in braids. She hadn't looked old enough to cross the street by herself.\n\n\"You can't,\" he had said, his first mistake. He should have sent her back to Mediaeval, told her she would have to take the matter up with her tutor. \"The Middle Ages are closed. They have a ranking of ten.\"\n\n\"A blanket ten,\" Kivrin said, \"which Mr. Gilchrist says they don't deserve. He says that ranking would never hold up under a year-by-year analysis. It's based on the contemps' mortality rate, which was largely due to bad nutrition and no med support. The ranking wouldn't be nearly as high for an historian who'd been inoculated against disease. Mr. Gilchrist plans to ask the History Faculty to reevaluate the ranking and open part of the fourteenth century.\"\n\n\"I cannot conceive of the History Faculty opening a century that had not only the Black Death and cholera, but the Hundred Years War,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"But they might, and if they do, I want to go.\"\n\n\"It's impossible,\" he said. \"Even if it were opened, Mediaeval wouldn't send a woman. An unaccompanied woman was unheard of in the fourteenth century. Only women of the lowest class went about alone, and they were fair game for any man or beast who happened along. Women of the nobility and even the emerging middle class were constantly attended by their fathers or their husbands or their servants, usually all three, and even if you weren't a woman, you're an undergraduate. The fourteenth century is far too dangerous for Mediaeval to consider sending an undergraduate. They would send an experienced historian.\"\n\n\"It's no more dangerous than the twentieth century,\" Kivrin said. \"Mustard gas and automobile crashes and pinpoints. At least no one's going to drop a bomb on me. And who's an experienced mediaeval historian? Nobody has on-site experience, and your twentieth-century historians here at Balliol don't know anything about the Middle Ages. Nobody knows anything. There are scarcely any records, except for parish registers and tax rolls, and nobody knows what their lives were like at all. That's why I want to go. I want to find out about them, how they lived, what they were like. Won't you please help me?\"\n\nHe finally said, \"I'm afraid you'll have to speak with Mediaeval about that,\" but it was too late.\n\n\"I've already talked to them,\" she said. \"They don't know anything about the Middle Ages either. I mean, anything practical. Mr. Latimer's teaching me Middle English, but it's all pronomial inflections and vowel shifts. He hasn't taught me to say anything.\n\n\"I need to know the language and the customs,\" she said, leaning over Dunworthy's desk, \"and the money and table manners and things. Did you know they didn't use plates? They used flat loaves of bread called manchets, and when they finished eating their meat, they broke them into pieces and ate them. I need someone to teach me things like that, so I won't make mistakes.\"\n\n\"I'm a twentieth-century historian, not a mediaevalist. I haven't studied the Middle Ages in forty years.\"\n\n\"But you know the sorts of things I need to know. I can look them up and learn them, if you'll just tell me what they are.\"\n\n\"What about Gilchrist?\" he said, even though he considered Gilchrist a self-important fool.\n\n\"He's working on the reranking and hasn't any time.\"\n\nAnd what good will the reranking do if he has no historians to send? Dunworthy thought. \"What about the visiting American professor, Montoya? She's working on a mediaeval dig out near Witney, isn't she? She should know something about the customs.\"\n\n\"Ms. Montoya hasn't any time either; she's so busy trying to recruit people to work on the Skendgate dig. Don't you see? They're all useless. You're the only one who can help me.\"\n\nHe should have said, \"Nevertheless, they are members of Brasenose's faculty, and I am not,\" but instead he had been maliciously delighted to hear her tell him what he had thought all along, that Latimer was a doddering old man and Montoya a frustrated archaeologist, that Gilchrist was incapable of training historians. He had been eager to use her to show Mediaeval how it should be done.\n\n\"We'll have you augmented with an interpreter,\" he had said. \"And I want you to learn Church Latin, Norman French, and Old German, in addition to Mr. Latimer's Middle English,\" and she had immediately pulled a pencil and an exercise book from her pocket and begun making a list.\n\n\"You'll need practical experience in farming\u2014milking a cow, gathering eggs, vegetable gardening,\" he'd said, ticking them off on his fingers. \"Your hair isn't long enough. You'll need to take cortixidils. You'll need to learn to spin, with a spindle, not a spinning wheel. The spinning wheel wasn't invented yet. And you'll need to learn to ride a horse.\"\n\nHe had stopped, finally coming to his senses. \"Do you know what you need to learn?\" he had said, watching her, earnestly bent over the list she was scribbling, her braids dangling over her shoulders. \"How to treat open sores and infected wounds, how to prepare a child's body for burial, how to dig a grave. The mortality rate will still be worth a ten, even if Gilchrist somehow succeeds in getting the ranking changed. The average life expectancy in 1300 was thirty-eight. You have no business going there.\"\n\nKivrin had looked up, her pencil poised above the paper. \"Where should I go to look at dead bodies?\" she had said earnestly. \"The morgue? Or should I ask Dr. Ahrens in Infirmary?\"\n\n\"I told her she couldn't go,\" Dunworthy said, still staring unseeing at the glass, \"but she wouldn't listen.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Mary said. \"She wouldn't listen to me either.\"\n\nDunworthy sat down stiffly next to her. The rain and all the chasing after Basingame had aggravated his arthritis. He still had his overcoat on. He struggled out of it and unwound the muffler from around his neck.\n\n\"I wanted to cauterize her nose for her,\" Mary said. \"I told her the smells of the fourteenth century could be completely incapacitating, that we're simply not used to excrement and bad meat and decomposition in this day and age. I told her nausea would interfere significantly with her ability to function.\"\n\n\"But she wouldn't listen,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I tried to explain to her that the Middle Ages were dangerous and Gilchrist wasn't taking sufficient precautions, and she told me I was worrying over nothing.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we are,\" Mary said. \"After all, it's Badri who's running the drop, not Gilchrist, and you said he'd abort if there was any problem.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, watching Badri through the glass. He was typing again, one key at a time, his eyes on the screens. Badri was not only Balliol's best tech, but the University's. And he had run dozens of remotes.\n\n\"And Kivrin's well prepared,\" Mary said. \"You've tutored her, and I've spent the last month in Infirmary getting her physically ready. She's protected against cholera and typhoid and anything else that was extant in 1320, which, by the way, the plague you are so worried over wasn't. There were no cases in England until the Black Death reached there in 1348. I've removed her appendix and augmented her immune system. I've given her full-spectrum antivirals and a short course in mediaeval medicine. And she's done a good deal of work on her own. She was studying medicinal-herbs while she was in Infirmary.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Dunworthy said. She had spent the last Christmas vac memorizing masses in Latin and learning to weave and embroider, and he had taught her everything he could think of. But was it enough to protect her from being trampled by a horse, or raped by a drunken knight on his way home from the Crusades? They were still burning people at the stake in 1320. There was no inoculation to protect her from that or from someone seeing her come through and deciding she was a witch.\n\nHe looked back through the thin-glass. Latimer picked the trunk up for the third time and set it back down. Montoya looked at her watch again. The tech punched the keys and frowned.\n\n\"I should have refused to tutor her,\" he said. \"I only did it to show Gilchrist up for the incompetent he is.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" Mary said. \"You did it because she's Kivrin. She's you all over again\u2014bright, resourceful, determined.\"\n\n\"I was never that foolhardy.\"\n\n\"Of course you were. I can remember a time when you couldn't wait to rush off to the London Blitz and have bombs dropped on your head. And I seem to remember a certain incident involving the old Bodleian\u2014\"\n\nThe prep-room door flared open, and Kivrin and Gilchrist came into the room, Kivrin holding her long skirts up as she stepped over the scattered boxes. She was wearing the white rabbit-fur-lined cloak and the bright blue kirtle she had come to show him yesterday. She had told him the cloak was hand-woven. It looked like an old wool blanket someone had draped over her shoulders, and the kirtle's sleeves were too long. They nearly covered her hands. Her long, fair hair was held back by a fillet and fell loosely onto her shoulders. She still didn't look old enough to cross the street by herself.\n\nDunworthy stood up, ready to pound on the glass again as soon as she looked in his direction, but she stopped midway into the clutter, her face still half-averted from him, looked down at the marks on the floor, stepped forward a little, and arranged her dragging skirts around her.\n\nGilchrist went over to Badri, said something to him, and picked up a carryboard that was lying on top of the console. He began checking items off with a brisk poke of the light pen.\n\nKivrin said something to him and pointed at the brass-bound casket. Montoya straightened impatiently up from leaning over Badri's shoulder, and came over to where Kivrin was standing, shaking her head. Kivrin said something else, more firmly, and Montoya knelt down and moved the trunk over next to the wagon.\n\nGilchrist checked another item off his list. He said something to Latimer, and Latimer went and got a flat metal box and handed it to Gilchrist. Gilchrist said something to Kivrin, and she brought her flattened hands together in front of her chest. She bent her head over them and began speaking.\n\n\"Is he having her practice praying?\" Dunworthy said. \"That will be useful, since God's help may be the only help she gets on this drop.\"\n\n\"They're checking the implant,\" Mary said.\n\n\"What implant?\"\n\n\"A special chip corder so she can record her field work. Most of the contemps can't read or write, so I implanted an ear and an A-to-D in one wrist and a memory in the other. She activates it by pressing the pads of her palms together. When she's speaking into it, it looks like she's praying. The chips have a 2.5-gigabyte capacity, so she'll be able to record her observations for the full two and a half weeks.\"\n\n\"You should have implanted a locator as well so she could call for help.\"\n\nGilchrist was messing with the flat metal box. He shook his head and then moved Kivrin's folded hands up a little higher. The too-long sleeve fell back. Her hand was cut. A thin brown line of dried blood ran down the cut.\n\n\"Something's wrong,\" Dunworthy said, turning toward Mary. \"She's hurt.\"\n\nKivrin was talking into her hands again. Gilchrist nodded. Kivrin looked at him, saw Dunworthy, and flashed him a delighted smile. Her temple was bloody, too. Her hair under the fillet was matted with it. Gilchrist looked up, saw Dunworthy, and hurried toward the thin-glass partition, looking irritated.\n\n\"She hasn't even gone yet, and they've already let her be injured!\" Dunworthy pounded on the glass.\n\nGilchrist walked over to the wall panel, pressed a key, and then came over and stood in front of Dunworthy. \"Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said. He nodded at Mary. \"Dr. Ahrens. I'm so pleased you decided to come see Kivrin off,\" He put the faintest emphasis on the last three words, so that they sounded like a threat.\n\n\"What's happened to Kivrin?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Happened?\" Gilchrist said, sounding surprised. \"I don't know what you mean.\"\n\nKivrin had started over to the partition, holding up the skirt of her kirtle with a bloody hand. There was a reddish bruise on her cheek.\n\n\"I want to speak to her,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I'm afraid there isn't time,\" Gilchrist said. \"We have a schedule to keep to.\"\n\n\"I demand to speak to her.\"\n\nGilchrist pursed his lips and two white lines appeared on either side of his nose. \"May I remind you, Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said coldly, \"that this drop is Brasenose's, not Balliol's. I of course appreciate the assistance you have given in loaning us your tech, and I respect your many years of experience as an historian, but I assure you I have everything well in hand.\"\n\n\"Then why is your historian injured before she's even left?\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Dunworthy, I'm so glad you came,\" Kivrin said, coming up to the glass. \"I was afraid I wouldn't be able to say good-bye to you. Isn't this exciting?\"\n\nExciting. \"You're bleeding,\" Dunworthy said. \"What's gone wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" Kivrin said, touching her temple gingerly and then looking at her fingers. \"It's part of the costume.\" She looked past him at Mary. \"Dr. Ahrens, you came, too. I'm so glad.\"\n\nMary had stood up, still holding her shopping bag. \"I want to see your antiviral inoculation,\" she said. \"Have you had any other reaction besides the swelling? Any itching?\"\n\n\"It's all right, Dr. Ahrens,\" Kivrin said. She held the sleeve back and then let it fall again before Mary could possibly have had a good look at the underside of her arm. There was another reddish bruise on Kivrin's forearm, already beginning to turn black and blue.\n\n\"It would seem to be more to the point to ask her why she's bleeding,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"It's part of the costume. I told you, I'm Isabel de Beauvrier, and I'm supposed to have been waylaid by robbers while traveling,\" Kivrin said. She turned and gestured at the boxes and smashed wagon. \"My things were stolen, and I was left for dead. I got the idea from you, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said reproachfully.\n\n\"I certainly never suggested that you start out bloody and beaten,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Stage blood was impractical,\" Gilchrist said. \"Probability couldn't give us statistically significant odds that no one would tend her wound.\"\n\n\"And it never occurred to you to dupe a realistic wound? You knocked her on the head instead?\" Dunworthy said angrily.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, may I remind you\u2014\"\n\n\"That this is Brasenose's project, not Balliol's? You're bloody right it isn't. If it were Twentieth Century's, we'd be trying to protect the historian from injury, not inflicting it on her ourselves. I want to speak to Badri. I want to know if he's rechecked the apprentice's calculations.\"\n\nGilchrist's lips pursed. \"Mr. Dunworthy, Mr. Chaudhuri may be your net technician, but this is my drop. I assure you we have considered every possible contingency\u2014\"\n\n\"It's just a nick,\" Kivrin said. \"It doesn't even hurt. I'm all right, really. Please don't get upset, Mr. Dunworthy. The idea of being injured was mine. I remembered what you said about how a woman in the Middle Ages was so vulnerable, and I thought it would be a good idea if I looked more vulnerable than I was.\"\n\nIt would be impossible for you to look more vulnerable than you are, Dunworthy thought.\n\n\"If I pretend to be unconscious, then I can overhear what people are saying about me, and they won't ask a lot of questions about who I am, because it will be obvious that\u2014\"\n\n\"It's time for you to get into position,\" Gilchrist said, moving threateningly over to the wall panel.\n\n\"I'm coming,\" Kivrin said, not budging.\n\n\"We're ready to set the net.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said firmly. \"I'll be there as soon as I've told Mr. Dunworthy and Dr. Ahrens good-bye.\"\n\nGilchrist nodded curtly and walked back into the debris. Latimer asked him something, and he snapped an answer.\n\n\"What does getting into position entail?\" Dunworthy asked. \"Having him take a cosh to you because Probability's told him there's a statistical possibility someone won't believe you're truly unconscious?\"\n\n\"It involves lying down and closing my eyes,\" Kivrin said, grinning. \"Don't worry.\"\n\n\"There's no reason you can't wait until tomorrow and at least give Badri time to run a parameter check,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I want to see that inoculation again,\" Mary said.\n\n\"Will you two stop fretting?\" Kivrin said. \"My inoculation doesn't itch, the cut doesn't hurt, Badri's spent all morning running checks. I know you're worried about me, but please don't be. The drop's on the main road from Oxford to Bath only two miles from Skendgate. If no one comes along, I'll walk into the village and tell them I've been attacked by robbers. After I've determined my location so I can find the drop again.\" She put her hand up to the glass. \"I just want to thank you both for everything you've done. I've wanted to go to the Middle Ages more than anything, and now I'm actually going.\"\n\n\"You're likely to experience headache and fatigue after the drop,\" Mary said. \"They're a normal side effect of the time lag.\"\n\nGilchrist came back over to the thin-glass. \"It's time for you to get into position,\" he said.\n\n\"I've got to go,\" she said, gathering up her heavy skirts. \"Thank you both so much. I wouldn't be going if it weren't for you two helping me.\"\n\n\"Good-bye,\" Mary said.\n\n\"Be careful,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I will,\" Kivrin said, but Gilchrist had already pressed the wall panel, and Dunworthy couldn't hear her. She smiled, held up her hand in a little wave, and went over to the smashed wagon.\n\nMary sat back down and began rummaging through the shopping bag for a handkerchief. Gilchrist was reading off items from the carryboard. Kivrin nodded at each one, and he ticked them off with the light pen.\n\n\"What if she gets blood poisoning from that cut on her temple?\" Dunworthy said, still standing at the glass.\n\n\"She won't get blood poisoning,\" Mary said. \"I enhanced her immune system.\" She blew her nose.\n\nKivrin was arguing with Gilchrist about something. The white lines along his nose were sharply defined. She shook her head, and after a minute he checked off the next item with an abrupt, angry motion.\n\nGilchrist and the rest of Mediaeval might be incompetent, but Kivrin wasn't. She had learned Middle English and Church Latin and Anglo-Saxon. She had memorized the Latin masses and taught herself to embroider and milk a cow. She had come up with an identity and a rationale for being alone on the road between Oxford and Bath, and she had the interpreter and augmented stem cells and no appendix.\n\n\"She'll do swimmingly,\" Dunworthy said, \"which will only serve to convince Gilchrist Mediaeval's methods aren't slipshod and dangerous.\"\n\nGilchrist walked over to the console and handed the carryboard to Badri. Kivrin folded her hands again, closer to her face this time, her mouth nearly touching them, and began to speak into them.\n\nMary came closer and stood beside Dunworthy, clutching her handkerchief. \"When I was nineteen\u2014which was, oh, Lord, forty years ago, it doesn't seem that long\u2014my sister and I traveled all over Egypt,\" she said. \"It was during the Pandemic. Quarantines were being slapped on all about us, and the Israelis were shooting Americans on sight, but we didn't care. I don't think it even occurred to us that we might be in danger, that we might catch it or be mistaken for Americans. We wanted to see the Pyramids.\"\n\nKivrin had stopped praying. Badri left his console and came over to where she was standing. He spoke to her for several minutes, the frown never leaving his face. She knelt and then lay down on her side next to the wagon, turning so she was on her back with one arm flung over her head and her skirts tangled about her legs. The tech arranged her skirts, pulled out the light measure, and paced around her, walked back to the console, and spoke into the ear. Kivrin lay quite still, the blood on her forehead almost black under the light.\n\n\"Oh, dear, she looks so young,\" Mary said.\n\nBadri spoke into the ear, glared at the results on the screen, went back to Kivrin. He stepped over her, straddling her legs, and bent down to adjust her sleeve. He took a measurement, moved her arm so it was across her face as if warding off a blow from her attackers, measured again.\n\n\"Did you see the Pyramids?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"What?\" Mary said.\n\n\"When you were in Egypt. When you went tearing about the Middle East oblivious to danger. Did you manage to see the Pyramids?\"\n\n\"No. Cairo was put under quarantine the day we landed.\" She looked at Kivrin, lying there on the floor. \"But we saw the Valley of the Kings.\"\n\nBadri moved Kivrin's arm a fraction of an inch, stood frowning at her for a moment, and then went back to the console. Gilchrist and Latimer followed him. Montoya stepped back to make room for all of them around the screen. Badri spoke into the console's ear, and the semitransparent shields began to lower into place, covering Kivrin like a veil.\n\n\"We were glad we went,\" Mary said. \"We came home without a scratch.\"\n\nThe shields touched the ground, draped a little like Kivrin's too-long skirts, stopped.\n\n\"Be careful,\" Dunworthy whispered. Mary took hold of his hand.\n\nLatimer and Gilchrist huddled in front of the screen, watching the sudden explosion of numbers. Montoya glanced at her digital. Badri leaned forward and opened the net. The air inside the shields glittered with sudden condensation.\n\n\"Don't go,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000008\u2013000242):\n\n\u2002First entry. 22 December, 2054. Oxford. This will be a record of my historical observations of life in Oxfordshire, England, 13 December, 1320, to 28 December, 1320 (Old Style).\n\n\u2002Mr. Dunworthy, I'm calling this the Domesday Book because it's supposed to be a record of life in the Middle Ages, which is what William the Conqueror's survey turned out to be, even though he intended it as a method of making sure he got every pound of gold and tax his tenants owed him.\n\n\u2002I am also calling it the Domesday Book because I would imagine that's what you'd like to call it, you are so convinced something awful's going to happen to me. I'm watching you in the observation area right now, telling poor Dr. Ahrens all the dreadful dangers of the 1300s. You needn't bother. She's already warned me about time lag and every single mediaeval disease in gruesome detail, even though I'm supposed to be immune to all of them. And warned me about the prevalence of rape in the 1300s. And when I tell her I'll be perfectly all right she doesn't listen to me either. I will be perfectly all right, Mr. Dunworthy.\n\n\u2002Of course you will already know that, and that I made it back in one piece and all according to schedule, by the time you get to hear this, so you won't mind my teasing you a little. I know you are only concerned for me, and I know very well that without all your help and preparation I wouldn't make it back in one piece or at all.\n\n\u2002I am therefore dedicating the Domesday Book to you, Mr. Dunworthy. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here in kirtle and cloak, talking into this corder, waiting for Badri and Mr. Gilchrist to finish their endless calculations and wishing they would hurry so I can go."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "I'm here.\n\n\"Well,\" Mary said on a long, drawn-out breath. \"I could do with a drink.\"\n\n\"I thought you had to go fetch your great-nephew,\" Dunworthy said, still watching the place where Kivrin had been. The air glittered with ice particles inside the veil of shields. Near the floor, frost had formed on the inside of the thin-glass.\n\nThe unholy three of Mediaeval were still watching the screens, even though they showed nothing but the flat line of arrival. \"I needn't fetch Colin until three,\" Mary said. \"You look as though you could use a bit of bracing up yourself, and the Lamb and Cross is just down the street.\"\n\n\"I want to wait until he has the fix,\" Dunworthy said, watching the tech.\n\nThere was still no data on the screens. Badri was frowning. Montoya looked at her digital and said something to Gilchrist. Gilchrist nodded, and she scooped up a bag that had been lying half under the console, waved good-bye to Latimer, and went out through the side door.\n\n\"Unlike Montoya, who obviously cannot wait to return to her dig, I would like to stay until I'm certain Kivrin got through without incident,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I'm not suggesting you go back to Balliol,\" Mary said, wrestling her way into her coat, \"but the fix will take at least an hour, if not two, and in the meantime, your standing here won't hurry it along. Watched pot and all that. The pub's just across the way. It's very small and quite nice, the sort of place that doesn't put up Christmas decorations or play artificial bell music.\" She held his overcoat out to him. \"We'll have a drink and something to eat, and then you can come back here and pace holes in the floor until the fix comes in.\"\n\n\"I want to wait here,\" he said, still looking at the empty net. \"Why didn't Basingame have a locator implanted in his wrist? The Head of the History Faculty has no business going off on holiday and not even a number where he can be reached.\"\n\nGilchrist straightened himself up from the still-unchanging screen and clapped Badri on the shoulders. Latimer blinked as if he wasn't sure where he was. Gilchrist shook his hand, smiling expansively. He started across the floor toward the thin-glass partition, looking smug.\n\n\"Let's go,\" Dunworthy said, snatching his overcoat from Mary and opening the door. A blast of \"While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night\" hit them. Mary darted through the door as though she were escaping, and Dunworthy pulled it to behind them and followed Mary through the quad and out through Brasenose's gate.\n\nIt was bitter cold, but it wasn't raining. It looked at though it might at any moment, though, and the crush of shoppers on the pavement in front of Brasenose had apparently decided it would. At least half of them had umbrellas already opened. A woman with a large red one and both arms full of parcels bumped into Dunworthy. \"Watch where you're going, can't you?\" she said, and hurried on.\n\n\"The Christmas spirit,\" Mary said, buttoning her coat with one hand and hanging on to her shopping bag with the other. \"The pub's just down there past the chemist's,\" she said, nodding her head at the opposite side of the street. \"It's these ghastly bells, I think. They'd ruin anyone's mood.\"\n\nShe started off down the pavement through the maze of umbrellas. Dunworthy debated putting his coat on and then decided it wasn't worth the struggle for so short a distance. He plunged after her, trying to keep clear of the deadly umbrellas and to determine what carol was being slaughtered now. It sounded like a cross between a call to arms and a dirge, but it was most probably \"Jingle Bells.\"\n\nMary was standing at the curb opposite the chemist's, digging in her shopping bag again. \"What is that ghastly din supposed to be?\" she said, coming up with a collapsible umbrella. \"'Little Town of Bethlehem'?\"\n\n\"'Jingle Bells,'\" Dunworthy said and stepped out into the street.\n\n\"James!\" Mary said and grabbed hold of his sleeve.\n\nThe bicycle's front tire missed him by centimeters, and the near pedal caught him on the leg. The rider swerved, shouting, \"Don't you know how to cross a bleeding street?\"\n\nDunworthy stepped backward and crashed into a six-year-old holding a plush Santa. The child's mother glared.\n\n\"Do be careful, James,\" Mary said.\n\nThey crossed the street, Mary leading the way. Halfway across it began to rain. Mary ducked under the chemist's overhang and tried to get her umbrella open. The chemist's window was draped in green and gold tinsel and had a sign posted in among the perfumes that said, \"Save the Marston Parish Church Bells. Give to the Restoration Fund.\"\n\nThe carillon had finished obliterating \"Jingle Bells\" or \"O Little Town of Bethlehem\" and was now working on \"We Three Kings of Orient Are.\" Dunworthy recognized the minor key.\n\nMary still couldn't get her umbrella up. She shoved it back in the bag and took off down the pavement again. Dunworthy followed, trying to avoid collisions, past a stationer's and a tobacconist's hung with blinking red and green lights, through the door Mary was holding open for him.\n\nHis spectacles steamed up immediately. He took them off to wipe at them with the collar of his overcoat. Mary shut the door and plunged them into a blur of brown and blissful silence.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Mary said. \"I told you they were the sort that wouldn't put up decorations.\"\n\nDunworthy put his spectacles back on. The shelves behind the bar were strung with blinking lights in pale green, pink, and an anemic blue. On the corner of the bar was a large fiber-op Christmas tree on a revolving stand.\n\nThere was no one else in the narrow pub except a beefy-looking man behind the bar. Mary squeezed between two empty tables and into the corner.\n\n\"At least we can't hear those wretched bells in here,\" she said, putting her bag down on the settle. \"No, I'll get the drinks. You sit down. That cyclist nearly put you out.\"\n\nShe excavated some mangled pound notes out of the shopping bag and went up to the bar. \"Two pints of bitter,\" she told the barman. \"Do you want something to eat?\" she asked Dunworthy. \"They've sandwiches and cheese rolls.\"\n\n\"Did you see Gilchrist staring at the console and grinning like the Cheshire cat? He didn't even look to see whether Kivrin had gone or whether she was still lying there, half-dead.\"\n\n\"Make that two pints and a good stiff whiskey,\" Mary said.\n\nDunworthy sat down. There was a cr\u00e8che on the table complete with tiny plastic sheep and a half-naked baby in a manger. \"Gilchrist should have sent her from the dig,\" he said. \"The calculations for a remote are exponentially more complicated than for an on-site. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't send her lapse-time as well. The first-year apprentice couldn't do the calculations. I was afraid when I loaned him Badri, Gilchrist would decide he wanted a lapse-time drop instead of a real-time.\"\n\nHe moved one of the plastic sheep closer to the shepherd. \"If he's aware there's a difference,\" he said. \"Do you know what he said when I told him he should run at least one unmanned? He said, 'If something unfortunate does happen, we can go back in time and pull Ms. Engle out before it happens, can't we?' The man has no notion of how the net works, no notion of the paradoxes, no notion that Kivrin is there, and what happens to her is real and irrevocable.\"\n\nMary maneuvered her way between the tables, carrying the whiskey in one hand and the two pints awkwardly in the other. She set the whiskey down in front of him. \"It's my standard prescription for cycling victims and overprotective fathers. Did it catch you in the leg?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I had a bicycle accident in last week. One of your Twentieth Centuries. Just back from a World War I drop. Two weeks unscathed at Belleau Wood and then walked into a high-wheeler on the Broad.\" She went back to the bar to fetch her cheese roll.\n\n\"I hate parables,\" Dunworthy said. He picked up the plastic Virgin. She was dressed in blue with a white cloak. \"If he had sent her lapse-time, at least she wouldn't have been in danger of freezing to death. She should have had something warmer than a rabbit-fur lining, or didn't it occur to Gilchrist that 1320 was the beginning of the Little Ice Age?\"\n\n\"I've just thought who you remind me of,\" Mary said, setting down her plate and a napkin. \"William Gaddson's mother.\"\n\nThat was a truly unfair remark. William Gaddson was one of his first-year students. His mother had been up six times this term, the first time to bring William a pair of earmuffs.\n\n\"He catches a chill if he doesn't wear them,\" she had told Dunworthy. \"Willy's always been susceptible to chill, and now he's so far away from home and all. His tutor isn't taking proper care of him, even though I've spoken to him repeatedly.\"\n\nWilly was the size of an oak tree and looked as susceptible to chill as one. \"I'm certain he can take care of himself,\" he had told Mrs. Gaddson, which was a mistake. She had promptly added Dunworthy to the list of people who refused to take proper care of Willy, but it hadn't stopped her coming up every two weeks to deliver vitamins to Dunworthy and insist that Willy be taken off the rowing team because he was overexerting himself.\n\n\"I would hardly put my concern for Kivrin in the same category as Mrs. Gaddson's overprotectiveness,\" Dunworthy said. \"The 1300s are full of cutthroats and thieves. And worse.\"\n\n\"That's what Mrs. Gaddson said about Oxford,\" Mary said placidly, sipping her pint of ale. \"I told her she couldn't protect Willy from life. And you can't protect Kivrin. You didn't become an historian by staying safely at home. You've got to let her go, even if it is dangerous. Every century's a ten, James.\"\n\n\"This century doesn't have the Black Death.\"\n\n\"It had the Pandemic, which killed sixty-five million people. And the Black Death wasn't in England in 1320,\" she said. \"It didn't reach there till 1348.\" She put her mug down on the table, and the figurine of Mary fell over. \"But even if it had, Kivrin couldn't get it. I immunized her against bubonic plague.\" She smiled ruefully at Dunworthy. \"I have my own moments of Mrs. Gaddsonitis. Besides, she would never get the plague because we're both worrying over it. None of the things one frets about ever happen. Something one's never thought of does.\"\n\n\"Very comforting.\" He placed the blue-and-white Mary next to the figure of Joseph. It fell over. He set it carefully back up.\n\n\"It should be comforting, James,\" she said briskly. \"Because it's obvious you've thought of every possible dreadful thing that could happen to Kivrin. Which means she's perfectly all right. She's probably already sitting in a castle having peacock pie for lunch, although I suppose it isn't the same time of day there.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"There will have been slippage\u2014God only knows how much, since Gilchrist didn't do parameter checks. Badri thought it would be several days.\"\n\nOr several weeks, he thought, and if it were the middle of January, there wouldn't be any holy days for Kivrin to determine the date by. Even a discrepancy of several hours could put her on the Oxford-Bath road in the middle of the night.\n\n\"I do hope the slippage won't mean she'll miss Christmas,\" Mary said. \"She was terribly keen to observe a mediaeval Christmas mass.\"\n\n\"It's two weeks till Christmas there,\" he said. \"They're still using the Julian calendar. The Gregorian calendar wasn't adopted till 1752.\"\n\n\"I know. Mr. Gilchrist orated on the subject of the Julian calendar in his speech. He went on at considerable length about the history of calendar reform and the discrepancy in dates between the Old Style and Gregorian calendars. At one point I thought he was going to draw a diagram. What day is it there?\"\n\n\"The thirteenth of December.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it's just as well we don't know the exact time. Deirdre and Colin were in the States for a year, and I was worried sick about them, but out of synch. I was always imagining Colin being run over on the way to school when it was actually the middle of the night. Fretting doesn't work properly unless one can visualize disasters in all their particulars, including the weather and the time of day. For a time I worried about not knowing what to worry about, and then I didn't worry at all. Perhaps it will be the same with Kivrin.\"\n\nIt was true. He had been visualizing Kivrin as he last saw her, lying amid the wreckage with her temple bloody, but that was probably all wrong. She had gone through nearly an hour ago. Even if no traveler had come along yet, the road would get cold, and he couldn't imagine Kivrin lying there docilely in the Middle Ages with her eyes closed.\n\nThe first time he had gone through to the past he had been doing there-and-backs while they calibrated the fix. They had sent him through in the middle of the quad in the middle of the night, and he was supposed to stand there while they did the calculations on the fix and picked him up again. But he was in Oxford in 1956, and the check was bound to take at least ten minutes. He had sprinted four blocks down the Broad to see the old Bodleian and nearly given the tech heart failure when she opened the net and couldn't find him.\n\nKivrin would not still be lying there with her eyes shut, not with the mediaeval world spread out before her. He could see her suddenly, standing there in that ridiculous white cloak, scanning the Oxford-Bath road for unwary travelers, ready to fling herself back on the ground at a moment's notice, and in the meantime taking it all in, her implanted hands clasped together in a prayer of impatience and delight, and he felt suddenly reassured.\n\nShe would be perfectly all right. She would step back through the net in two weeks' time, her white cloak grubby beyond belief, full of stories about harrowing adventures and hairbreadth escapes, tales to curdle the blood, no doubt, things that would give him nightmares for weeks after her telling him about them.\n\n\"She'll be all right, you know, James,\" Mary said, frowning at him.\n\n\"I know,\" he said. He went and got them another half pint apiece. \"When did you say your great-nephew was getting in?\"\n\n\"At three. Colin's staying a week, and I've no idea what to do with him. Except worry, of course. I suppose I could take him to the Ashmolean. Children always like museums, don't they? Pocahontas's robe and all that?\"\n\nDunworthy remembered Pocahontas's robe as being a completely uninteresting scrap of stiff grayish material much like Colin's intended muffler. \"I'd suggest the Natural History Museum.\"\n\nThere was a rattle of tinsel and some \"Ding Dong, Merrily on High\" and Dunworthy looked anxiously over at the door. His secretary was standing on the threshold, squinting blindly into the pub.\n\n\"Perhaps I should send Colin up Carfax Tower to vandalize the carillon,\" Mary said.\n\n\"It's Finch,\" Dunworthy said, and put his hand up so he could see them, but Finch had already started for their table. \"I've been looking for you everywhere, sir,\" he said. \"Something's gone wrong.\"\n\n\"With the fix?\"\n\nHis secretary looked blank. \"The fix? No, sir. It's the Americans. They've arrived early.\"\n\n\"What Americans?\"\n\n\"The bell ringers. From Colorado. The Western States Women's Guild of Change and Handbell Ringers.\"\n\n\"Don't tell me you've imported more Christmas bells,\" Mary said.\n\n\"I thought they were supposed to arrive on the twenty-second,\" Dunworthy said to Finch.\n\n\"This is the twenty-second,\" Finch said. \"They were to arrive this afternoon but their concert at Exeter was canceled, so they're ahead of schedule. I called Mediaeval, and Mr. Gilchrist told me he thought you'd gone out to celebrate.\" He looked at Dunworthy's empty mug.\n\n\"I'm not celebrating,\" Dunworthy said. \"I'm waiting for the fix on one of my undergraduates.\" He looked at his watch. \"It will take at least another hour.\"\n\n\"You promised you'd take them on a tour of the local bells, sir.\"\n\n\"There's really no reason why you need to be here,\" Mary said. \"I can ring you at Balliol as soon as the fix is in.\"\n\n\"I'll come when we have the fix,\" Dunworthy said, glaring at Mary. \"Show them round the college and then give them lunch. That should take an hour.\"\n\nFinch looked unhappy. \"They're only here until four o'clock. They have a handbell concert tonight in Ely, and they're extremely eager to see Christ Church's bells.\"\n\n\"Then take them to Christ Church. Show them Great Tom. Take them up in St. Martin's tower. Or take them round to New College. I will be there as soon as I can.\"\n\nFinch looked like he was going to ask something else and then changed his mind. \"I'll tell them you'll be there within the hour, sir,\" he said and started for the door. Halfway there he stopped and came back. \"I almost forgot, sir. The vicar called to ask if you'd be willing to read the Scripture for the Christmas Eve interchurch service. It's to be at St. Mary the Virgin's this year.\"\n\n\"Tell him yes,\" Dunworthy said, thankful that he'd given up on the change ringers. \"And tell him we'll need to get into the belfry this afternoon so I can show these Americans the bells.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he said. \"What about Iffley? Do you think I should take them out to Iffley? They've a very nice eleventh century.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" Dunworthy said. \"Take them to Iffley. I will be back as soon as I can.\"\n\nFinch opened his mouth and closed it again. \"Yes, sir,\" he said, and went out the door to the accompaniment of \"The Holly and the Ivy.\"\n\n\"You were a bit hard on him, don't you think?\" Mary asked. \"After all, Americans can be terrifying.\"\n\n\"He'll be back in five minutes asking me whether he should take them to Christ Church first,\" Dunworthy said. \"The boy has absolutely no initiative.\"\n\n\"I thought you admired that in young people,\" Mary said wryly. \"At any rate, he won't go running off to the Middle Ages.\"\n\nThe door opened, and \"The Holly and the Ivy\" started up again. \"That'll be him wanting to know what he should give them for lunch.\"\n\n\"Boiled beef and overcooked vegetables,\" Mary said. \"Americans love to tell stories about our dreadful cooking. Oh, dear.\"\n\nDunworthy looked toward the door. Gilchrist and Latimer stood there, haloed in the gray light from outside. Gilchrist was smiling broadly and saying something over the bells. Latimer struggled to collapse a large black umbrella.\n\n\"I suppose we've got to be civil and invite them to join us,\" Mary said.\n\nDunworthy reached for his coat. \"Be civil if you like. I have no intention of listening to those two congratulating each other for having sent an inexperienced young girl into danger.\"\n\n\"You're sounding like you-know-who again,\" Mary said. \"They wouldn't be here if anything had gone wrong. Perhaps Badri's got the fix.\"\n\n\"It's too soon for that,\" he said, but he sat back down again. \"More likely he threw them out so he could get on with it.\"\n\nGilchrist had apparently caught sight of him as he stood up. He half turned, as if to walk back out again, but Latimer was already nearly to the table. Gilchrist followed, no longer smiling.\n\n\"Is the fix in?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"The fix?\" Gilchrist said vaguely.\n\n\"The fix \" Dunworthy said. \"The determination of where and when Kivrin is that makes it possible to pull her out again.\"\n\n\"Your tech said it would take at least an hour to determine the coordinates,\" Gilchrist said stuffily. \"Does it always take him that long? He said he would come tell us when it was completed, but that the preliminary readings indicate that the drop went perfectly and that there was minimal slippage.\"\n\n\"What good news!\" Mary said, sounding relieved. \"Do come sit down. We've been waiting for the fix, too, and having a pint. Will you have something to drink?\" she asked Latimer, who had got the umbrella down and was fastening the strap.\n\n\"Why, I believe I shall,\" Latimer said. \"This is after all a great day. A drop of brandy, I think. Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us leste. \" He fumbled with the strap, getting it tangled in the ribs of the umbrella. \"At last we have the chance to observe the loss of adjectival inflection and the shift to the nominative singular at firsthand.\"\n\nA great day, Dunworthy thought, but he felt relieved in spite of himself. The slippage had been his greatest worry. It was the most unpredictable part of a drop, even with parameter checks.\n\nThe theory was that it was the net's own safety and abort mechanism, Time's way of protecting itself from continuum paradoxes. The shift forward in time was supposed to prevent collisions or meetings or actions that would affect history, sliding the historian neatly past the critical moment when he might shoot Hitler or rescue the drowning child.\n\nBut net theory had never been able to determine what those critical moments were or how much slippage any given drop might produce. The parameter checks gave probabilities, but Gilchrist hadn't done any. Kivrin's drop might have been off by two weeks or a month. For all Gilchrist knew, she might have come through in April, in her fur-lined cloak and winter kirtle.\n\nBut Badri had said minimal slippage. That meant Kivrin was off by no more than a few days, with plenty of time to find out the date and make the rendezvous.\n\n\"Mr. Gilchrist?\" Mary was saying. \"Can I get you a brandy?\"\n\n\"No, thank you,\" he said.\n\nMary rummaged for another crumpled note and went over to the bar.\n\n\"Your tech seems to have done a passable job,\" Gilchrist said, turning to Dunworthy. \"Mediaeval would like to arrange to borrow him for our next drop. We'll be sending Ms. Engle to 1355 to observe the effects of the Black Death. Contemporary accounts are completely unreliable, particularly in the area of mortality rates. The accepted figure of fifty million deaths is clearly inaccurate, and estimates that it killed one third to one half of Europe are obvious exaggerations. I'm eager to have Ms. Engle make trained observations.\"\n\n\"Aren't you being rather premature?\" Dunworthy said. \"Perhaps you should wait to see if Kivrin manages to survive this drop or at the very least gets through to 1320 safely.\"\n\nGilchrist's face took on its pinched look. \"It strikes me as somewhat unjust that you constantly assume Mediaeval is incapable of carrying out a successful drop,\" he said. \"I assure you we have carefully thought out its every aspect. The method of Kivrin's arrival has been researched in every detail.\n\n\"Probability puts the frequency of travelers on the Oxford-Bath road as one every 1.6 hours, and it indicates a 92 percent chance of her story of an assault being believed, due to the frequency of such assaults. A wayfarer in Oxfordshire had a 42.5 percent chance of being robbed in winter, 58.6 percent in summer. That's an average, of course. The chances were greatly increased in parts of Otmoor and the Wychwood and on the smaller roads.\"\n\nDunworthy wondered how on earth Probability had arrived at those figures. The Domesday Book didn't list thieves, with the possible exception of the king's census takers, who sometimes took more than the census, and the cutthroats of the time surely hadn't kept records of whom they had robbed and murdered, the locations marked neatly on a map. Proofs of deaths away from home had been entirely de facto: the person had failed to come back. And how many bodies had lain in the woods, undiscovered and unmarked by anyone?\n\n\"I assure you we have taken every precaution possible to protect Kivrin,\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"Such as parameter checks?\" Dunworthy said. \"And unmanneds and symmetry tests?\"\n\nMary came back. \"Here we are, Mr. Latimer,\" she said, putting a glass of brandy down in front of him. She hooked Latimer's wet umbrella over the back of the settle and sat down beside him.\n\n\"I was just assuring Mr. Dunworthy that every aspect of this drop was exhaustively researched,\" Gilchrist said. He picked up the plastic figurine of a wise man carrying a gilt box. \"The brass-bound casket in her equipage is an exact reproduction of a jewel casket in the Ashmolean.\" He set the wise man down. \"Even her name was painstakingly researched. Isabel is the woman's name listed most frequently in the Assize Rolls and the Regista Regum for 1295 through 1320.\n\n\"It is actually a corrupted form of Elizabeth,\" Latimer said, as if it were one of his lectures. \"Its widespread use in England from the twelfth century is thought to trace its origin to Isavel of Angoul\u00eame, wife of King John.\"\n\n\"Kivrin told me she'd been given an actual identity, that Isabel de Beauvrier was one of the daughters of a Yorkshire nobleman,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"She was,\" Gilchrist said. \"Gilbert de Beauvrier had four daughters in the appropriate age range, but their Christian names were not listed in the rolls. That was a common practice. Women were frequently listed only by surname and relationship, even in parish registers and on tombstones.\"\n\nMary put a restraining hand on Dunworthy's arm. \"Why did you choose Yorkshire?\" she asked quickly. \"Won't that put her a long way from home?\"\n\nShe's seven hundred years from home, Dunworthy thought, in a century that didn't value women enough to even list their names when they died.\n\n\"Ms. Engle was the one who suggested that,\" Gilchrist said. \"She felt having the estate so distant would ensure that no attempt would be made to contact the family.\"\n\nOr to cart her back to them, miles from the drop. Kivrin had suggested it. She had probably suggested the whole thing, searching through exchequer rolls and church registers for a family with a daughter the right age and no court connections, a family far enough up into the East Riding that the snow and the impassable roads would make it impossible for a messenger to ride and tell the family a missing daughter had been found.\n\n\"Mediaeval has given the same careful attention to every detail of this drop,\" Gilchrist said, \"even to the pretext for her journey, her brother's illness. We were careful to ascertain that there had been an outbreak of influenza in that section of Gloucestershire in 1319, even though illness was abundant during the Middle Ages, and he could just as easily have contracted cholera or blood poisoning.\"\n\n\"James,\" Mary said warningly.\n\n\"Ms. Engle's costume was hand-sewn. The blue cloth for her dress was hand-dyed with woad using a mediaeval recipe. And Ms. Montoya has exhaustively researched the village of Skendgate where Kivrin will spend the two weeks.\"\n\n\"If she makes it there,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"James,\" Mary said.\n\n\"What precautions have you taken to ensure that the friendly traveler who happens along every 1.6 hours doesn't decide to cart her off to the convent at Godstow or a brothel in London, or see her come through and decide she's a witch? What precautions have you taken to ensure that the friendly traveler is in fact friendly and not one of the cutthroats who waylay 42.5 percent of all passersby?\"\n\n\"Probability indicated there was no more than a 0.04 percent chance of someone being at the location at the time of the drop.\"\n\n\"Oh, look, here's Badri already,\" Mary said, standing up and putting herself between Dunworthy and Gilchrist. \"That was quick work, Badri. Did you get the fix all right?\"\n\nBadri had come away without his coat. His lab uniform was wet and his face was pinched with cold. \"You look half-frozen,\" Mary said. \"Come and sit down.\" She motioned to the empty place on the settle next to Latimer. \"I'll fetch you a brandy.\"\n\n\"Did you get the fix?\" Dunworthy said.\n\nBadri was not only wet, he was drenched. \"Yes,\" he said, and his teeth started to chatter.\n\n\"Good man,\" Gilchrist said, standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. \"I thought you said it would take an hour. This calls for a toast. Have you any champagne?\" he called out to the barman, clapped Badri on the shoulder again, and went over to the bar.\n\nBadri stood looking after him, rubbing his arms and shivering. He seemed inattentive, almost dazed.\n\n\"You definitely got the fix?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, still looking after Gilchrist.\n\nMary came back to the table, carrying the brandy. \"This should warm you up a bit,\" she said, handing it to him. \"There. Drink it down. Doctor's orders.\"\n\nHe frowned at the glass as if he didn't know what it was. His teeth were still chattering.\n\n\"What is it?\" Dunworthy said. \"Kivrin's all right, isn't she?\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said, still staring at the glass, and then seemed suddenly to come to himself. He set the glass down. \"I need you to come,\" he said, and started to push his way back through the tables to the door.\n\n\"What's happened?\" Dunworthy said, standing up. The cr\u00e8che figures fell over, and one of the sheep rolled across the table and fell off.\n\nBadri opened the door on the carillon's clanging of \"Good Christian Men, Rejoice.\"\n\n\"Badri, wait, we're to have a toast,\" Gilchrist said, coming back to the table with a bottle and a tangle of glasses.\n\nDunworthy reached for his coat.\n\n\"What is it?\" Mary said, reaching for her shopping bag. \"Didn't he get the fix?\"\n\nDunworthy didn't answer. He grabbed up his overcoat and took off after Badri. The tech was already halfway down the street, pushing his way through the Christmas shoppers as if they weren't even there. It was raining hard, but Badri seemed oblivious to that, too. Dunworthy pulled his overcoat more or less on and shoved into the crowd.\n\nSomething had gone wrong. There had been slippage after all, or the first-year apprentice had made an error in the calculations. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the net itself. But it had safeties and layereds and aborts. If anything had gone wrong with the net, Kivrin simply couldn't have gone through. And Badri had said he'd got the fix.\n\nIt had to be the slippage. It was the only thing that could have gone wrong and the drop still take place.\n\nAhead Badri crossed the street, narrowly avoiding a bicycle. Dunworthy barged between two women carrying shopping bags even larger than Mary's, and over a white terrier on a leash, and caught sight of him again two doors up.\n\n\"Badri!\" he called. The tech half turned and crashed straight into a middle-aged woman with a large flowered umbrella.\n\nThe woman was bent against the rain, holding the umbrella nearly in front of her, and she obviously didn't see Badri either. The umbrella, which was covered with lavender violets, seemed to explode upward, and then fell top down onto the pavement. Badri, still plunging blindly ahead, nearly fell over it.\n\n\"Watch where you're going, won't you?\" the woman said angrily, grabbing at the edge of the umbrella. \"This is hardly the place to run, then, is it?\"\n\nBadri looked at her and then at the umbrella with the same dazed look he had had in the pub. \"Sorry,\" Dunworthy could see him say and bend to pick it up. The two of them seemed to wrestle over the expanse of violets for a moment before Badri got hold of the handle and righted the umbrella. He handed it to the woman, whose heavy face was red with rage or the cold rain or both.\n\n\"Sorry?!\" she said, raising the handle over her head as if she were going to strike him with it. \"Is that all you've got to say?\"\n\nHe put his hand uncertainly up to his forehead and then, as he had in the pub, seemed to remember where he was and took off again, practically running. He turned in at Brasenose's gate, and Dunworthy followed, across the quad, in a side door to the laboratory, down a passage, and into the net area. Badri was already at the console, bending over it and frowning at the screen.\n\nDunworthy had been afraid it would be awash with garbage, or, worse, blank, but it showed the orderly columns of figures and matrices of a fix.\n\n\"You got the fix?\" Dunworthy said, panting.\n\n\"Yes,\" Badri said. He turned and looked at Dunworthy. He had stopped frowning, but there was an odd, abstracted look on his face, as if he were trying hard to concentrate.\n\n\"When was...\" he said and began to shiver. His voice trailed off as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.\n\nThe thin-glass door banged, and Gilchrist and Mary came in, with Latimer at their heels, fumbling with his umbrella. \"What is it? What's happened?\" Mary said.\n\n\"When was what, Badri?\" Dunworthy demanded.\n\n\"I got the fix,\" Badri said. He turned and looked at the screen.\n\n\"Is this it?\" Gilchrist said, leaning over his shoulder. \"What do all these symbols mean? You'll need to translate for us laymen.\"\n\n\"When was what?\" Dunworthy repeated.\n\nBadri put his hand up to his forehead. \"There's something wrong,\" he said.\n\n\"What? \" Dunworthy shouted. \"Slippage? Is it the slippage?\"\n\n\"Slippage?\" Badri said, shivering so hard he could hardly get the word out.\n\n\"Badri,\" Mary said. \"Are you all right?\"\n\nBadri got the odd, abstracted look again, as if he were considering the answer.\n\n\"No,\" he said, and pitched forward across the console."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "She heard the bell as she came through. It sounded thin and tinny, like the piped-in bell music they were playing in the High for Christmas. The control room was supposed to be soundproof, but every time someone opened the anteroom door from outside, she had been able to hear the faint, ghostly sound of Christmas carols.\n\nDr. Ahrens had come in first, and then Mr. Dunworthy, and both times Kivrin had been convinced they were there to tell her she wasn't going after all. Dr. Ahrens had nearly canceled the drop in hospital, when Kivrin's antiviral inoculation had swelled up into a giant red welt on the underside of her arm. \"You're not going anywhere until the swelling goes down,\" Dr. Ahrens had said, and refused to discharge her from hospital. Kivrin's arm still itched, but she wasn't about to tell Dr. Ahrens that because she might tell Mr. Dunworthy, who had been acting horrified ever since he found out she was going.\n\nI told him two years ago I wanted to go, Kivrin thought. Two years ago, and when she'd gone to show him her costume yesterday, he was still trying to talk her out of it.\n\n\"I don't like the way Mediaeval's running this drop,\" he'd said. \"And even if they were taking the proper precautions, a young woman has no business going to the Middle Ages alone.\"\n\n\"It's all worked out,\" she'd told him. \"I'm Isabel de Beauvrier, daughter of Gilbert de Beauvrier, a nobleman who lived in the East Riding from 1276 to 1332.\"\n\n\"And what was the daughter of a Yorkshire nobleman doing on the Oxford-Bath road alone?\"\n\n\"I wasn't. I was with all my servants, traveling to Evesham to fetch my brother, who's lying ill in the monastery there, and we were set upon by robbers.\"\n\n\"By robbers,\" he said, blinking at her through his spectacles.\n\n\"I got the idea from you. You said young women didn't travel anywhere alone in the Middle Ages, that they were always attended. So I was attended, but my servants bolted when we were attacked, and the robbers took the horses and all my goods. Mr. Gilchrist thinks it's a plausible story. He said the probability of\u2014\"\n\n\"It's a plausible story because the Middle Ages were full of cutthroats and thieves.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said impatiently, \"and disease carriers and marauding knights and other dangerous types. Weren't there any nice people in the Middle Ages?\"\n\n\"They were all busy burning witches at the stake.\"\n\nShe had decided she'd better change the subject. \"I came to show you my costume,\" she'd said, turning slowly so he could see her blue kirtle and white fur-lined cloak. \"My hair will be down for the drop.\"\n\n\"You have no business wearing white to the Middle Ages,\" he'd said. \"It will only get dirty.\"\n\nHe hadn't been any better this morning. He had paced the narrow observation area like an expectant father. She had worried the whole morning that he would suddenly try to call a halt to the whole proceeding.\n\nThere had been delays and more delays. Mr. Gilchrist had had to tell her all over again how the corder worked, as if she were a first-year student. Not one of them had any faith in her, except possibly Badri, and even he had been maddeningly careful, measuring and remeasuring the net area and once erasing an entire series of coordinates and entering it again.\n\nShe had thought the time would never come for her to get into position, and after she had, it was even worse, lying there with her eyes closed, wondering what was going on. Latimer told Gilchrist he was worried about the spelling of Isabel they had chosen, as if anyone back then had known how to read, let alone spell. Montoya came and stood over her and told her the way to identify Skendgate was by its church's frescoes of the Last Judgment, something she had told Kivrin at least a dozen times before.\n\nSomeone, she thought Badri because he was the only one who didn't have any instructions for her, bent and moved her arm a little in toward her body and tugged at the skirt of her kirtle. The floor was hard, and something was digging into her side just below her ribs. Mr. Gilchrist said something, and the bell started up again.\n\nPlease, Kivrin thought, please, wondering if Dr. Ahrens had suddenly decided Kivrin needed another inoculation or if Dunworthy had raced off to the History Faculty and gotten them to change the rating back to a ten.\n\nWhoever it was must be holding the door open\u2014she could still hear the bell, though she couldn't make out the tune. It wasn't a tune. It was a slow, steady tolling that paused and then went on, and Kivrin thought, I'm through.\n\nShe was lying on her left side, her legs sprawled awkwardly as if she had been knocked down by the men who had robbed her, and her arm half-flung over her face to ward off the blow that had sent the blood trickling down the side of her face. The position of her arm should make it possible for her to open her eyes without being seen, but she didn't open them yet. She lay still, trying to listen.\n\nExcept for the bell, there was no sound at all. If she were lying on a fourteenth-century roadside, there should be birds and squirrels at least. They had probably been shocked into silence by her sudden appearance or by the net's halo, which left shimmering frostlike particles in the air for several minutes.\n\nAfter a long minute, a bird twittered, and then another one. Something rustled nearby, then stopped and rustled again. A fourteenth-century squirrel or a wood mouse. There was a thinner rustle that was probably wind in the branches of the trees, though she couldn't feel any breeze on her face, and above it, from very far away, the distant sound of the bell.\n\nShe wondered why it was tolling. It could be ringing vespers. Or matins. Badri had told her he didn't have any idea how much slippage there would be. He had wanted to postpone the drop while he ran a series of checks, but Mr. Gilchrist had said Probability had predicted average slippage of 6.4 hours.\n\nShe didn't know what time she had come through. It had been a quarter to eleven when she came out of prep\u2014she had seen Ms. Montoya looking at her digital and asked her what time it was\u2014but she had no idea how long it had taken after that. It had seemed like hours.\n\nThe drop had been scheduled for noon. If she had come through on time and Probability was right about the slippage, it would be six o'clock in the evening, which was too late for vespers. And if it were vespers, why did the bell go on tolling?\n\nIt could be tolling for mass, or for a funeral or a wedding. Bells had rung almost constantly in the Middle Ages\u2014to warn of invasions or fires, to help a lost child find its way back to the village, even to ward off thunderstorms. It could be ringing for any reason at all.\n\nIf Mr. Dunworthy were here, he'd be convinced it was a funeral. \"Life expectancy in 1300 was thirty-eight years,\" he had told her when she first said she wanted to go to the Middle Ages, \"and you only lived that long if you survived cholera and smallpox and blood poisoning, and if you didn't eat rotten meat or drink polluted water or get trampled by a horse. Or get burned at the stake for witchcraft.\"\n\nOr freeze to death, Kivrin thought. She was beginning to feel stiff with cold though she had been lying there only a little while. Whatever was poking her in the side felt like it had gone through her rib cage and was puncturing her lung. Mr. Gilchrist had told her to lie there for several minutes and then stagger to her feet, as if coming out of unconsciousness. Kivrin had thought several minutes was hardly enough, considering Probability's assessment of the number of people on the road. It would surely be more than several minutes before a traveler happened along, and she was unwilling to give up the advantage her appearing to be unconscious gave her.\n\nAnd it was an advantage, in spite of Mr. Dunworthy's idea that half of England would converge on an unconscious woman to rape her while the other half waited nearby with the stake they intended to burn her at. If she was conscious, her rescuers would ask her questions. If she was out cold, they would discuss her and other things besides. They would talk about where to take her and speculate on who she might be and where she might have come from, speculations with a good deal more information in them than \"Who are you?\" had.\n\nBut now she felt an overwhelming urge to do what Mr. Gilchrist had suggested\u2014get up and look around. The ground was cold, her side hurt, and her head was starting to throb in time with the bell. Dr. Ahrens had told her that would happen. Traveling this far into the past would give her symptoms of time lag\u2014headache, insomnia, and a general botch-up of the Circadian rhythms. She felt so cold. Was that a symptom of the time lag, too, or was the ground she was lying on cold enough to penetrate her fur-lined cloak this quickly? Or was the slippage worse than the tech had thought and it was really the middle of the night?\n\nShe wondered if she was lying in the road. If she was, she should certainly not stay there. A fast horse or the wagon that had made the ruts might roll right over her in the dark.\n\nBells don't ring in the middle of the night, she told herself, and there was too much light filtering through her closed eyelids for it to be dark. But if the bell she could hear was a vespers bell, that would mean it was getting dark, and she had better get up and look around before night fell.\n\nShe listened all over again, to the birds, to the wind in the branches, to a steady scraping sound. The bell stopped, the echo of it ringing in the air, and there was a little sound, like an intaken breath or the shuffle of a foot on soft dirt, very close.\n\nKivrin tensed, hoping the involuntary movement didn't show through her concealing cloak, and waited, but there were no footsteps or voices. And no birds. There was someone, or something, standing over her. She was sure of it. She could hear its breathing, feel its breath on her. It stood there for a long time, not moving. After what seemed like an endless space of time, Kivrin realized she was holding her own breath and let it out slowly. She listened, but now she couldn't hear anything over the throbbing of her own pulse. She took a deep, sighing breath, and moaned.\n\nNothing. Whatever it was didn't move, didn't make a sound, and Mr. Dunworthy had been right: pretending to be unconscious was no way to come into a century where wolves still prowled the forests. And bears. The birds abruptly began to sing again, which meant either it was not a wolf or the wolf had gone away. Kivrin went through the ritual of listening again, and opened her eyes.\n\nShe couldn't see anything but her sleeve, which was against her nose, but just the act of opening her eyes made her head ache worse. She closed her eyes, whimpered, and stirred, moving her arm enough so that when she opened her eyes again she would be able to see something. She moaned again and fluttered her eyes open.\n\nThere was no one standing over her, and it wasn't the middle of the night. The sky overhead through the tangled branches of the trees was a pale grayish-blue. She sat up and looked around.\n\nAlmost the first thing Mr. Dunworthy had said to her that first time she had told him she wanted to go to the Middle Ages was, \"They were filthy and disease-ridden, the muck hole of history, and the sooner you get rid of any fairy-tale notions you have about them, the better.\"\n\nAnd he was right. Of course he was right. But here she was, in a fairy wood. She and the wagon and all the rest of it had come through in a little open space too small and shadowed to be called a glade. Tall, thick trees arched above and over it.\n\nShe was lying under an oak tree. She could see a few scalloped leaves in the bare branches high above. The oak was full of nests, though the birds had stopped again, traumatized by her movement. The underbrush was thick, a mat of dead leaves and dry weeds that should have been soft but wasn't. The hard thing Kivrin had been lying on was the cap of an acorn. White mushrooms spotted with red clustered near the gnarled roots of the oak tree. They, and everything else in the little glade\u2014the tree trunks, the wagon, the ivy\u2014glittered with the frosty condensation of the halo.\n\nIt was obvious that no one had been here, had ever been here, and equally obvious that this wasn't the Oxford-Bath road and that no traveler was going to happen along in 1.6 hours. Or ever. The mediaeval maps they'd used to determine the site of the drop had apparently been as inaccurate as Mr. Dunworthy'd said they were. The road was obviously farther north than the maps had indicated, and she was south of it, in Wychwood Forest.\n\n\"Ascertain your exact spatial and temporal location immediately,\" Mr. Gilchrist had said. She wondered how she was supposed to do that\u2014ask the birds? They were too far above her for her to see what species they were, and the mass extinctions hadn't started until the 1970s. Short of them being passenger pigeons or dodoes, their presence wouldn't point to any particular time or place, anyway.\n\nShe started to sit up, and the birds exploded into a wild flurry of flapping wings. She stayed still until the noise subsided and then rose to her knees. The flapping started all over again. She clasped her hands, pressing the flesh of her palms together and closing her eyes so if the traveler who was supposed to find her happened by, it would look like she was praying.\n\n\"I'm here,\" she said and then stopped. If she reported that she had landed in the middle of a wood, instead of on the Oxford-Bath road, it would just confirm what Mr. Dunworthy was thinking, that Mr. Gilchrist hadn't known what he was doing and that she couldn't take care of herself, and then she remembered that it wouldn't make any difference, that he would never hear her report until she was safely back.\n\nIf she got safely back, which she wouldn't if she was still in this wood when night fell. She stood up and looked around. It was either late afternoon or very early morning, she couldn't tell in the woods, and she might not be able to tell by the sun's position even when she got where she could see the sky. Mr. Dunworthy had told her that people sometimes stayed hopelessly turned around for their entire stay in the past. He had made her learn to sight using shadows, but she had to know what time it was to do that, and there was no time to waste on wondering which direction was which. She had to find her way out of here. The forest was almost entirely in shadow.\n\nThere was no sign of a road or even a path. Kivrin circled the wagon and boxes, looking for an opening in the trees. The woods seemed thinner to what felt like the west, but when she went that way, looking back every few steps to make sure she could still see the weathered blue of the wagon's cloth covering, it was only a stand of birches, their white trunks giving an illusion of space. She went back to the wagon and started out again in the opposite direction, even though the woods looked darker that way.\n\nThe road was only a hundred yards away. Kivrin clambered over a fallen log and through a thicket of drooping willows, and looked out onto the road. A highway, Probability had called it. It didn't look like a highway. It didn't even look like a road. It looked more like a footpath. Or a cow path. So these were the wonderful highways of fourteenth-century England, the highways that were opening trade and broadening horizons.\n\nThe road was barely wide enough for a wagon, though it was obvious that wagons had used it, or at least a wagon. The road was rutted into deep grooves, and leaves had drifted across and into the ruts. Black water stood in some of them and along the road's edge, and a skim of ice had formed on some of the puddles.\n\nKivrin was standing at the bottom of a depression. The road climbed steadily up in both directions from where she was, and, to what felt like the north, the trees stopped halfway up the hill. She turned around to look back. It was possible to catch a glimpse of the wagon from here\u2014the merest patch of blue\u2014but no one would. The road dived here into woods on either side, and narrowed, making it a perfect spot in which to be waylaid by cutthroats and thieves.\n\nIt was just the place to lend credibility to her story, but they would never see her, hurrying through the narrow stretch of road, or if they did catch sight of the barely visible corner of blue, they would think it was someone lying in wait and spur their horses into flight.\n\nIt came to Kivrin suddenly that lurking there in the thicket, she looked more like one of those cutthroats than like an innocent maiden who'd been recently coshed on the head.\n\nShe stepped out onto the road and put her hand up to her temple. \" O holpen me, for I am ful sore in drede! \" she cried.\n\nThe interpreter was supposed to automatically translate what she said into Middle English, but Mr. Dunworthy had insisted she memorize her first speeches. She and Mr. Latimer had worked on the pronunciation all yesterday afternoon.\n\n\"Holpen me, for I haf been y-robbed by fel thefes,\" she said.\n\nShe considered falling down on the road, but now that she was out in the open she could see it was even later than she'd guessed, nearly sundown, and if she was going to see what lay at the top of the hill, she had better do it now. First, though, she needed to mark the rendezvous with some kind of sign.\n\nThere was nothing distinctive about any of the willows along the road. She looked for a rock to lay at the spot where she could still glimpse the wagon, but there wasn't a sign of one in the rough weeds at the edge of the road. Finally she clambered back through the thicket, catching her hair and her cloak on the willow branches, got the little brass-bound casket that was a copy of one in the Ashmolean, and carried it back to the side of the road.\n\nIt wasn't perfect\u2014it was small enough for someone passing by to carry off\u2014but she was only going as far as the top of the hill. If she decided to walk to the nearest village, she'd come back and make a more permanent sign. And there weren't going to be any passersby anytime soon. The steep sides of the ruts were frozen hard, the leaves were undisturbed, and the skim of ice on the puddles was unbroken. Nobody had been on the road all day, all week maybe.\n\nShe straightened weeds up around the chest and then started up the hill. The road, except for the frozen mudhole at the bottom, was smoother than Kivrin had expected, and pounded flat, which meant horses used it a good deal in spite of its empty look.\n\nIt was an easy climb, but Kivrin felt tired before she had gone even a few steps, and her temple began to throb again. She hoped her time-lag symptoms wouldn't get worse\u2014she could already see that she was a long way from anywhere. Or maybe that was just an illusion. She still hadn't \"ascertained her exact temporal location,\" and this lane, this wood, had nothing about them that said positively 1320.\n\nThe only signs of civilization at all were those ruts, which meant she could be in any time after the invention of the wheel and before paved roads, and not even definitely then. There were still lanes exactly like this not five miles from Oxford, lovingly preserved by the National Trust for the Japanese and American tourists.\n\nShe might not have gone anywhere at all, and on the other side of this hill she would find the M-l or Ms. Montoya's dig, or an SDI installation. I would hate to ascertain my temporal location by being struck by a bicycle or an automobile, she thought, and stepped gingerly to the side of the road. But if I haven't gone anywhere, why do I have this wretched headache and feel like I can't walk another step?\n\nShe reached the top of the hill and stopped, out of breath. There was no need to have gotten out of the road. No car had been driven along it as yet. Or horse and buggy either. And she was, as she had thought, a long way from anywhere. There weren't any trees here, and she could see for miles. The wood the wagon was in came halfway up the hill and then straggled south and west for a long way. If she had come through farther into the tress, she would have been lost.\n\nThere were trees far to the east, too, following a river that she could catch occasional silver-blue glimpses of\u2014the Thames? the Cherwell?\u2014and little clumps and lines and blobs of trees dotting all the country between, more trees than she could imagine ever having been in England. The Domesday Book in 1086 had reported no more than fifteen percent of the land wooded, and Probability had estimated that lands cleared for fields and settlements would have reduced that to twelve percent by the 1300s. They, or the men who had written the Domesday Book, had underestimated the numbers badly. There were trees everywhere.\n\nKivrin couldn't see any villages. The woods were bare, their branches gray-black in the late-afternoon light, and she should be able to see the churches and manor houses through them, but she couldn't see anything that looked like a settlement.\n\nThere had to be settlements, though, because there were fields, and they were narrow strip fields that were definitely mediaeval. There were sheep in one of the fields, and that was mediaeval, too, but she couldn't see anyone tending them. Far off to the east there was a square gray blur that had to be Oxford. Squinting, she was almost able to make out the walls and the squat shape of Carfax Tower, though she couldn't see any sign of the towers of St. Frideswide's or Osney in the fading light.\n\nThe light was definitely fading. The sky up here was a pale bluish-lavender with a hint of pink near the western horizon, and she wasn't turned around because even while she had stood here, it had gotten darker.\n\nKivrin crossed herself and then folded her hands in prayer, bringing her steepled fingers close to her face. \"Well, Mr. Dunworthy, I'm here. I seem to be in the right place, more or less. I'm not right on the Oxford-Bath road. I'm about five hundred yards south of it on a side road. I can see Oxford. It looks like it's ten miles away.\"\n\nShe gave her estimate of what season and time of day it was, and described what she thought she could see, and then stopped and pressed her face against her hands. She should tell the Domesday Book what she intended to do, but she didn't know what that was. There should be a dozen villages on the rolling plain west of Oxford, but she couldn't see any of them, even though the cultivated fields that belonged to them were there, and the road.\n\nThere was no one on the road. It curved down the other side of the hill and disappeared immediately into a thick copse, but half a mile farther on was the highway where the drop should have landed her, wide and flat and pale green, and where this road obviously led. There was no one on the highway for as far as she could see.\n\nOff to her left and halfway across the plain toward Oxford she caught a glimpse of distant movement, but it was only a line of cows heading home to a huddle of trees that must hide a village. It wasn't the village Ms. Montoya had wanted her to look for\u2014Skendgate was south of the highway.\n\nUnless she was in the wrong place altogether, and she wasn't. That was definitely Oxford there to the east, and the Thames curving away south of it down to the brownish-gray haze that had to be London, but none of that told her where the village was. It might be between here and the highway, just out of sight, or it might be back the other way, or on another side road or path altogether. There was no time to go and see.\n\nIt was rapidly getting darker. In another half hour there might be lights to go by, but she couldn't afford to wait. The pink had already darkened to lavender in the west, and the blue overhead was almost purple. And it was getting colder. The wind was picking up. The folds of her cloak flapped behind her, and she pulled it tighter around her. She didn't want to spend a December night in a forest with a splitting headache and a pack of wolves, but she didn't want to spend it lying out on the cold-looking highway either, hoping for someone to come along.\n\nShe could start for Oxford, but there was no way she could reach it before dark. If she could just see a village, any village, she could spend the night there and look for Ms. Montoya's village later. She looked back down the road she had come up, trying to catch a glimpse of light or smoke from a hearth or something, but there wasn't anything. Her teeth began to chatter.\n\nAnd the bells began to ring. The Carfax bell first, sounding just like it always had even though it must have been recast at least three times since 1300, and then, before the first stroke had died away, the others, as if they had been waiting for a signal from Oxford. They were ringing vespers, of course, calling the people in from the fields, beckoning them to stop work and come to prayers.\n\nAnd telling her where the villages were. The bells were chiming almost in unison, yet she could hear each one separately, some so distant only the final, deeper echo reached her. There, along that line of trees, and there, and there. The village the cows were heading to was there, behind that low ridge. The cows began to walk faster at the sound of the bell.\n\nThere were two villages practically under her nose\u2014one just the other side of the highway, the other several fields away, next to the little tree-lined stream. Skendgate, Ms. Montoya's village, lay where she thought it did, back the way she had come, past the frozen ruts and over the low hill not more than two miles.\n\nKivrin clasped her hands. \"I just found out where the village is,\" she said, wondering if the sounds of the bells would make it onto the Domesday Book. \"It's on this side road. I'm going to go fetch the wagon and drag it out onto the road, and then I'm going to stagger into the village before it gets dark and collapse on somebody's doorstep.\"\n\nOne of the bells was far away to the southwest and so faint she could scarcely hear it. She wondered if it was the bell she had heard earlier, and why it had been ringing. Maybe Dunworthy was right, and it was a funeral. \"I'm all right, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said into her hands. \"Don't worry about me. I've been here over an hour and nothing bad has happened so far.\"\n\nThe bells died away slowly, the bell from Oxford leading the way again, though, impossibly, its sound hung longer on the air than any of the others. The sky turned violet-blue, and a star came out in the southeast. Kivrin's hands were still folded in prayer. \"It's beautiful here.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000249\u2013000614):\n\n\u2002Well, Mr. Dunworthy, I'm here. I seem to be in the right place, more or less. I'm not right on the Oxford-Bath road. I'm about five hundred yards south of it on a side road. I can see Oxford. It's about ten miles away.\n\n\u2002I don't know exactly when I came through, but if it was noon as scheduled, there's been about four hours slippage. It's the right time of year. The leaves are mostly off the trees, but the ones on the ground are still more or less intact, and only about a third of the fields have been plowed under. I won't be able to tell my exact temporal location until I reach the village and can ask someone what day it is. You probably know more about where and when I am than I do, or at least you will after you've done the fix.\n\n\u2002But I know I'm in the right century. I can see fields from the little hill I'm on. They're classic mediaeval strip fields, with the rounded ends where the oxen turn. The pastures are bounded with hedges, and about a third of them are Saxon dead hedges, while the rest are Norman hawthorn. Probability put the ratio in 1300 at twenty-five to seventy-five percent, but that was based on Suffolk, which is farther east.\n\n\u2002To the south and west is forest\u2014Wychwood?\u2014all deciduous as far as I can tell. To the east I can see the Thames. I can almost see London, even though I know that's impossible. In 1320 it would have been over fifty miles away, wouldn't it, instead of only twenty. I still think I can see it. I can definitely see the city walls of Oxford, and Carfax Tower.\n\n\u2002It's beautiful here. It doesn't feel as though I were seven hundred years away from you. Oxford is right there, within walking distance, and I cannot get the idea out of my head that if I walked down this hill and into town I would find all of you, still standing there in the lab at Brasenose waiting for the fix, Badri frowning at the displays and Ms. Montoya fretting to get back to her dig, and you, Mr. Dunworthy, clucking like an old mother hen. I don't feel separated from you at all, or even very far away."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Badri's hand came away from his forehead as he fell, and his elbow hit the console and broke his fall for a second, and Dunworthy glanced anxiously at the screen, afraid he might have hit one of the keys and scrambled the display. Badri crumpled to the floor.\n\nLatimer and Gilchrist didn't try to grab him either. Latimer didn't even seem to realize anything had gone wrong. Mary grabbed for Badri immediately, but she was standing behind the others and only caught a fold of his sleeve. She was instantly on her knees beside him, straightening him out onto his back and jamming an earphone into her ear.\n\nShe rummaged in her shopping bag, came up with a bleeper, and held the call button down for a full five seconds. \"Badri?\" she said loudly, and it was only then that Dunworthy realized how deathly silent it was in the room. Gilchrist was standing where he had been when Badri fell. He looked furious. I assure you we've considered every possible contingency. He obviously hadn't considered this one.\n\nMary let go of the bleeper button and shook Badri's shoulders gently. There was no response. She tilted his head far back and bent over his face, her ear practically in his open mouth and her head turned so she could see his chest. He hadn't stopped breathing. Dunworthy could see his chest rising and falling, and Mary obviously could, too. She raised her head immediately, already pressing on the bleeper, and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck, held them there for what seemed an endless time, and then raised the bleeper to her mouth.\n\n\"We're at Brasenose. In the history laboratory,\" she said into the bleeper. \"Five-two. Collapse. Syncope. No evidence of seizure.\" She took her hand off the call button and pulled Badri's eyelids up.\n\n\"Syncope?\" Gilchrist said. \"What's that? What's happened?\"\n\nShe glanced irritably at him. \"He's fainted,\" she said. \"Get me my kit,\" she said to Dunworthy. \"In the shopping bag.\"\n\nShe had knocked the bag over getting the bleeper out. It lay on its side. Dunworthy fumbled through the boxes and parcels, found a hard plastic box that looked the right size, and snapped it open. It was full of red and green foil Christmas crackers. He jammed it back in the bag.\n\n\"Come along,\" Mary said, unbuttoning Badri's lab shirt. \"I haven't got all day.\"\n\n\"I can't find\u2014\" Dunworthy began.\n\nShe snatched the bag away and upended it. The crackers rolled everywhere. The box with the muffler came open, and the muffler fell out. Mary grabbed up her handbag, zipped it open, and pulled out a large flat kit. She opened it and took out a tach bracelet. She fastened the bracelet around Badri's wrist and turned to look at the blood pressure reads on the kit's monitor.\n\nThe wave form didn't tell Dunworthy anything, and he couldn't tell from Mary's reaction what she thought it meant. Badri hadn't stopped breathing, his heart hadn't stopped beating, and he wasn't bleeding anywhere that Dunworthy could see. Perhaps he had only fainted. But people didn't simply fall over, except in books or the vids. He must be injured or ill. He had seemed to be almost in shock when he came into the pub. Could he have been struck by a bicycle like the one that had just missed hitting Dunworthy, and not realized at first that he was injured? That would account for his disconnected manner, his peculiar agitation.\n\nBut not for the fact that he had come away without his coat, that he had said, \"I need you to come,\" that he had said, \"There's something wrong.\"\n\nDunworthy turned and looked at the console screen. It still showed the matrices it had when the tech collapsed. He couldn't read them, but it looked like a normal fix, and Badri had said Kivrin had gone through all right. There's something wrong.\n\nWith her hands flat, Mary was patting Badri's arms, the sides of his chest, down his legs. Badri's eyelids fluttered, and then his eyes closed again.\n\n\"Do you know if Badri had any health problems?\"\n\n\"He's Mr. Dunworthy's tech,\" Gilchrist said accusingly. \"From Balliol. He was on loan to us,\" he added, making it sound like Dunworthy was somehow responsible for this, had arranged the tech's collapse to sabotage the project.\n\n\"I don't know of any health problems,\" Dunworthy said. \"He'd have had a full screen and seasonals at the start of term.\"\n\nMary looked dissatisfied. She put on her stethoscope and listened to his heart for a long minute, rechecked the blood pressure reads, took his pulse again. \"And you don't know anything of a history of epilepsy? Diabetes?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Has he ever used drugs or illegal endorphins?\" She didn't wait for him to answer. She pressed the button on her bleeper again. \"Ahrens here. Pulse 110. BP 100 over 60. I'm doing a blood screen.\" She tore open a gauze wipe, swabbed at the arm without the bracelet, tore open another packet.\n\nDrugs or illegal endorphins. That would account for his agitated manner, his disconnected speech. But if he used, it would have shown up on the beginning-of-term screen, and he couldn't possibly have worked the elaborate calculations of the net if he was using. There's something wrong.\n\nMary swabbed at the arm again and slid a cannula under the skin. Badri's eyes fluttered open.\n\n\"Badri,\" Mary said. \"Can you hear me?\" She reached in her coat pocket and produced a bright red capsule. \"I need to give you your temp,\" she said and held it to his lips, but he didn't give any indication he'd heard.\n\nShe put the capsule back in her pocket and began rummaging in the kit. \"Tell me when the reads come up on that cannula,\" she said to Dunworthy, taking everything out of the kit and then putting it back in. She laid the kit down and started through her handbag. \"I thought I had a skin-temp thermometer with me,\" she said.\n\n\"The reads are up,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nMary picked her bleeper up and began reading the numbers into it.\n\nBadri opened his eyes. \"You have to...\" he said, and closed them again. \"So cold,\" he murmured.\n\nDunworthy took off his overcoat, but it was too wet to lay over him. He looked helplessly around the room for something to cover him with. If this had happened before Kivrin left, they could have used that blanket of a cloak she'd been wearing. Badri's jacket was wadded underneath the console. Dunworthy laid it sideways over him.\n\n\"Freezing,\" Badri murmured, and began to shiver.\n\nMary, still reciting reads into the bleeper, looked sharply across at him. \"What did he say?\"\n\nBadri murmured something else and then said clearly, \"Headache.\"\n\n\"Headache,\" Mary said. \"Do you feel nauseated?\"\n\nHe moved his head a little to indicate no. \"When was\u2014\" he said and clutched at her arm.\n\nShe put her hand over his, frowned, and pressed her other hand to his forehead.\n\n\"He's got a fever,\" she said.\n\n\"There's something wrong,\" Badri said, and closed his eyes. His hand let go of her arm and dropped back to the floor.\n\nMary picked his limp arm up, looked at the reads, and felt his forehead again. \"Where is that damned skin-temp?\" she said, and began rummaging through the kit again.\n\nThe bleeper chimed. \"They're here,\" she said. \"Somebody go show them the way in.\" She patted Badri's chest. \"Just lie still.\"\n\nThey were already at the door when Dunworthy opened it. Two medics from Infirmary pushed through carrying kits the size of steamer trunks.\n\n\"Immediate transport,\" Mary said before they could get the trunks open. She got up off her knees. \"Fetch the stretcher,\" she said to the female medic. \"And get me a skin-temp and a sucrose drip.\"\n\n\"I assumed Twentieth Century's personnel had been screened for dorphs and drugs,\" Gilchrist said.\n\nOne of the medics knocked past him with a pump feed.\n\n\"Mediaeval would never allow\u2014\" He stepped out of the way as the other one came in with the stretcher.\n\n\"Is this a drugover?\" the male medic said, glancing at Gilchrist.\n\n\"No,\" Mary said. \"Did you bring the skin-temp?\"\n\n\"We don't have one,\" he said, plugging the feed into the shunt. \"Just a thermistor and temps. We'll have to wait till we get him in.\" He held the plastic bag over his head for a minute till the grav feed kicked the motor on and then taped the bag to Badri's chest.\n\nThe female medic took the jacket off Badri and covered him with a gray blanket. \"Cold,\" Badri said. \"You have to\u2014\"\n\n\"What do I have to do?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"The fix\u2014\"\n\n\"One, two,\" the medics said in unison, and rolled him onto the stretcher.\n\n\"James, Mr. Gilchrist, I'll need you to come to hospital with me to fill out his admission forms,\" Mary said. \"And I'll need his medical history. One of you can come in the ambulance, and the other follow.\"\n\nDunworthy didn't wait to argue with Gilchrist over which of them should ride in the ambulance. He clambered in and up next to Badri, who was breathing hard, as if being carried on the stretcher had been too much exertion.\n\n\"Badri,\" he said urgently, \"you said something was wrong. Did you mean something went wrong with the fix?\"\n\n\"I got the fix,\" Badri said, frowning.\n\nThe male medic, attaching Badri to a daunting array of displays, looked irritated.\n\n\"Did the apprentice get the coordinates wrong? It's important, Badri. Did he make an error in the remote coordinates?\"\n\nMary climbed into the ambulance.\n\n\"As Acting Head, I feel I should be the one to accompany the patient in the ambulance,\" Dunworthy heard Gilchrist say.\n\n\"Meet us in Casualties at Infirmary,\" Mary said and pulled the doors to. \"Have you got a temp yet?\" she asked the medic.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"39.5 C. BP 90 over 55, pulse 115.\"\n\n\"Was there an error in the coordinates?\" Dunworthy said to Badri.\n\n\"Are you set back there?\" the driver said over the intercom.\n\n\"Yes,\" Mary said. \"Code one.\"\n\n\"Did Puhalski make an error in the locational coordinates for the remote?\"\n\n\"No,\" Badri said. He grabbed at the lapel of Dunworthy's coat.\n\n\"Is it the slippage then?\"\n\n\"I must have\u2014\" Badri said. \"So worried.\"\n\nThe sirens blared, drowning out the rest of what he said. \"You must have what?\" Dunworthy shouted over their up-and-down klaxon.\n\n\"Something wrong,\" Badri said, and fainted again.\n\nSomething wrong. It had to be the slippage. Except for the coordinates, it was the only thing that could go wrong with a drop that wouldn't abort it, and he had said the locational coordinates were right. How much slippage, though? Badri had told him it might be as much as two weeks, and he wouldn't have run all the way to the pub in the pouring rain without his coat unless it were much more than that. How much more? A month? Three months? But he'd told Gilchrist the preliminaries showed minimal slippage.\n\nMary elbowed past him and put her hand on Badri's forehead again. \"Add sodium thiosalicylate to the drip,\" she said. \"And start a WBC screen. James, get out of the way.\"\n\nDunworthy edged past Mary and sat down on the bench, near the back of the ambulance.\n\nMary picked up her bleeper again. \"Stand by for a full CBC and serotyping.\"\n\n\"Pyelonephritis?\" the medic said, watching the reads change. BP 96 over 60, pulse 120, temp 39.5.\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Mary said. \"There's no apparent abdominal pain, but it's obviously an infection of some sort, with that temp.\"\n\nThe sirens dived suddenly down in frequency and stopped. The medic began pulling wires out of the wall hookups.\n\n\"We're here, Badri,\" Mary said, patting his chest again. \"We'll soon have you right as rain.\"\n\nHe gave no indication he had heard. Mary pulled the blanket up to his neck and arranged the dangling wires on top of it. The driver yanked the door open, and they slid the stretcher out. \"I want a full blood workup,\" Mary said, holding on to the door as she climbed down. \"CF, HI, and antigenic ID.\" Dunworthy clambered down after her and followed her into the Casualties Department.\n\n\"I need a med hist,\" she was already telling the registrar. \"On Badri\u2014what's his last name, James?\"\n\n\"Chaudhuri,\" he said.\n\n\"National Health Service number?\" the registrar asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said. \"He works at Balliol.\"\n\n\"Would you be so good as to spell the name for me, please?\"\n\n\"C-h-a-\" he said. Mary was disappearing into Casualties. He started after her.\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir,\" the registrar said, darting up from her console to block his way. \"If you'll just be seated\u2014\"\n\n\"I must talk to the patient you just admitted,\" he said.\n\n\"Are you a relative?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I'm his employer. It's very important.\"\n\n\"He's in an examining cubicle just now,\" she said. \"I'll ask for permission for you to see him as soon as the examination is completed.\" She sat gingerly back down at the console, as if ready to leap up again at the slightest movement on his part.\n\nDunworthy thought of simply barging in on the examination, but he didn't want to risk being barred from hospital altogether, and at any rate, Badri was in no condition to talk. He had been clearly unconscious when they took him out of the ambulance. Unconscious and with a fever of 39.5. Something wrong.\n\nThe registrar was looking suspiciously up at him. \"Would you mind terribly giving me that spelling again?\"\n\nHe spelled Chaudhuri for her and then asked where he could find a telephone.\n\n\"Just down the corridor,\" she said. \"Age?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said. \"Twenty-five? He's been at Balliol for four years.\"\n\nHe answered the rest of her questions as best he could and then looked out the door to see if Gilchrist had come and went down the corridor to the telephones and rang up Brasenose. He got the porter, who was decorating an artificial Christmas tree that stood on the lodge counter.\n\n\"I need to speak to Puhalski,\" Dunworthy said, hoping that was the name of the first-year tech.\n\n\"He's not here,\" the porter said, draping a silver garland over the branches with his free hand.\n\n\"Well, as soon as he returns, please tell him I need to speak with him. It's very important. I need him to read a fix for me. I'm at\u2014\" Dunworthy waited pointedly for the porter to finish arranging the garland and write the number of the call box down, which he finally did, scribbling it on the lid of a box of ornaments. \"If he can't reach me at this number, have him ring the Casualties Department at Infirmary. How soon will he return, do you think?\"\n\n\"That's difficult to say,\" the porter said, unwrapping an angel. \"Some of them come back a few days early, but most of them don't show up until the first day of term.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Isn't he staying in college?\"\n\n\"He was. He was going to run the net for Mediaeval, but when he found he wasn't needed, he went home.\"\n\n\"I need his home address then and his telephone number.\"\n\n\"It's somewhere in Wales, I believe, but you'd have to talk to the college secretary for that, and she's not here just now either.\"\n\n\"When will she be back?\"\n\n\"I can't say, sir. She went to London to do a bit of Christmas shopping.\"\n\nDunworthy gave another message while the porter straightened the angel's wings, and then rang off and tried to think if there were any other techs in Oxford for Christmas. Clearly not, or Gilchrist wouldn't have used a first-year apprentice in the first place.\n\nHe put a call through to Magdalen anyway, but got no answer. He rang off, thought a minute, and then rang up Balliol. There was no answer there either. Finch must still be out showing the American bell ringers the bells at Great Tom. He looked at his digital. It was only half past two. It seemed much later. They might only be at lunch.\n\nHe rang up the phone in Balliol's hall, but still got no answer. He went back into the waiting area, expecting Gilchrist to be there. He wasn't, but the two medics were, talking to a staff nurse. Gilchrist had probably gone back to Brasenose to plot his next drop or the one after that. Perhaps he'd send Kivrin straight into the Black Death the third time round for direct observation.\n\n\"There you are,\" the staff nurse said. \"I was afraid you'd left. If you'll just come with me.\"\n\nDunworthy had assumed she was speaking to him, but the medics followed her out the door, too, and down a corridor.\n\n\"Here we are, then,\" she said, holding a door open for them. The medics filed through. \"There's tea on the trolley, and a WC just through there.\"\n\n\"When will I be able to see Badri Chaudhuri?\" Dunworthy asked, holding the door so she couldn't shut it.\n\n\"Dr. Ahrens will be with you directly,\" she said and shut the door in spite of him.\n\nThe female medic had already slouched down in a chair, her hands in her pockets. The man was over by the tea trolley, plugging in the electric kettle. Neither of them had asked the registrar any questions on the way down the corridor, so perhaps this was routine, though Dunworthy couldn't imagine why they would want to see Badri. Or why they had all been brought here.\n\nThis waiting room was in an entirely different wing from the Casualties Ward. It had the same spine-destroying chairs of the waiting room in Casualties, the same tables with inspirational pamphlets fanned out on them, the same foil garland draped over the tea trolley and secured with bunches of plastene holly. There were no windows, though, not even in the door. It was self-contained and private, the sort of room where people waited for bad news.\n\nDunworthy sat down, suddenly tired. Bad news. An infection of some sort. BP 96, pulse 120, temp 39.5. The only other tech in Oxford off in Wales and Basingame's secretary out doing her Christmas shopping. And Kivrin somewhere in 1320, days or even weeks from where she was supposed to be. Or months.\n\nThe male medic poured milk and sugar into a cup and stirred it, waiting for the electric kettle to heat. The woman appeared to have gone to sleep.\n\nDunworthy stared at her, thinking about the slippage. Badri had said the preliminary calculations indicated minimal slippage, but they were only preliminary. Badri had told him he thought two weeks' slippage was likely, and that made sense.\n\nThe farther back the historian was sent, the greater the average slippage. Twentieth Century's drops usually had only a few minutes, Eighteenth Century's a few hours. Magdalen, which was still running unmanneds to the Renaissance, was getting slippage of from three to six days.\n\nBut those were only averages. The slippage varied from person to person, and it was impossible to predict for any given drop. Nineteenth Century had had one off by forty-eight days, and in uninhabited areas there was often no slippage at all.\n\nAnd often the amount seemed arbitrary, whimsical. When they'd run the first slippage checks for Twentieth Century back in the twenties, he'd stood in Balliol's empty quad and been sent through to two a.m. on the fourteenth of September, 1956, with only three minutes' slippage. But when they sent him through again at 2:08, there had been nearly two hours', and he'd come through nearly on top of an undergraduate sneaking in after a night out.\n\nKivrin might be six months from where she was supposed to be, with no idea of when the rendezvous was. And Badri had come running to the pub to tell him to pull her out.\n\nMary came in, still wearing her coat. Dunworthy stood up. \"Is it Badri?\" he asked, afraid of the answer.\n\n\"He's still in Casualties,\" she said. \"We need his NHS number, and we can't find his records in Balliol's file.\"\n\nHer gray hair was mussed again, but otherwise she seemed as businesslike as she was when she discussed Dunworthy's students with him.\n\n\"He's not a member of the college,\" Dunworthy said, feeling relieved. \"Techs are assigned to the individual colleges, but they're officially employed by the University.\"\n\n\"Then his records would be in the Registrar's Office. Good. Do you know if he's traveled outside England in the past month?\"\n\n\"He did an on-site for Nineteenth Century in Hungary two weeks ago. He's been in England since then.\"\n\n\"Has he had any relations visit him from Pakistan?\"\n\n\"He hasn't any. He's third-generation. Have you found out what he's got?\"\n\nShe wasn't listening. \"Where are Gilchrist and Montoya?\" she said.\n\n\"You told Gilchrist to meet us here, but he hadn't come in yet when I was brought in here.\"\n\n\"And Montoya?\"\n\n\"She left as soon as the drop was completed,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Have you any idea where she might have gone?\"\n\nNo more than you have, Dunworthy thought. You watched her leave, too. \"I assume she went back to Witney to her dig. She spends the majority of her time there.\"\n\n\"Her dig?\" Mary said, as if she'd never heard of it.\n\nWhat is it? he thought. What's wrong? \"In Witney,\" he said. \"The National Trust farm. She's excavating a mediaeval village.\"\n\n\"Witney?\" she said, looking unhappy. \"She'll have to come in immediately.\"\n\n\"Shall I try to ring her up?\" Dunworthy said, but Mary had already gone over to the medic standing by the tea trolley.\n\n\"I need you to fetch someone in from Witney,\" she said to him. He put down his cup and saucer and shrugged on his jacket. \"From the National Trust site. Lupe Montoya.\" She went out the door with him.\n\nHe expected her to come back as soon as she'd finished giving him the directions to Witney. When she didn't, he started after her. She wasn't in the corridor. Neither was the medic, but the nurse from Casualties was.\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir,\" she said, barring his path the way the registrar in Casualties had. \"Dr. Ahrens asked that you wait for her here.\"\n\n\"I'm not leaving the Infirmary. I need to put a call through to my secretary.\"\n\n\"I'll be glad to fetch you a phone, sir,\" she said firmly. She turned and looked down the corridor.\n\nGilchrist and Latimer were coming. \"... hope Ms. Engle has the opportunity to observe a death,\" Gilchrist was saying. \"Attitudes toward death in the 1300s differed greatly from ours. Death was a common and accepted part of life, and the contemps were incapable of feeling loss or grief.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" the nurse said, tugging at his arm, \"if you'll just wait inside, I'll bring you a telephone.\"\n\nShe went to meet Gilchrist and Latimer. \"If you'll come with me, please,\" she said, and ushered them into the waiting room.\n\n\"I'm Acting Head of the History Faculty,\" Gilchrist said, glaring at Dunworthy. \"Badri Chaudhuri is my responsibility.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" the nurse said, shutting the door. \"Dr. Ahrens will be with you directly.\"\n\nLatimer set his umbrella on one of the chairs and Mary's shopping bag on the one next to it. He had apparently retrieved all the parcels Mary had dumped on the floor. Dunworthy could see the muffler box and one of the Christmas crackers sticking out of the top. \"We couldn't find a taxi,\" he said, breathing hard. He sat down next to his burdens. \"We had to take the tube.\"\n\n\"Where is the apprentice tech you were going to use on the drop\u2014Puhalski\u2014from?\" Dunworthy said. \"I need to speak with him.\"\n\n\"Concerning what, if I may ask? Or have you taken over Mediaeval entirely in my absence?\"\n\n\"It's essential that someone read the fix and make sure it's all right.\"\n\n\"You'd be delighted if something were to go wrong, wouldn't you? You've been attempting to obstruct this drop from the beginning.\"\n\n\"Were to go wrong?\" Dunworthy said disbelievingly. \"It's already gone wrong. Badri is lying in hospital unconscious and we don't have any idea if Kivrin is when or where she's supposed to be. You heard Badri. He said something was wrong with the fix. We've got to get a tech here to find out what it is.\"\n\n\"I should hardly put any credence in what someone says under the influence of drugs or dorphs or whatever it is he's been taking,\" Gilchrist said. \"And may I remind you, Mr. Dunworthy, that the only thing to have gone wrong on this drop is Twentieth Century's part in it. Mr. Puhalski was doing a perfectly adequate job. However, at your insistence, I allowed your tech to replace him. It's obvious I shouldn't have.\"\n\nThe door opened, and they all turned and looked at it. The sister brought in a portable telephone, handed it to Dunworthy, and ducked out again.\n\n\"I must ring up Brasenose and tell them where I am,\" Gilchrist said.\n\nDunworthy ignored him, flipped up the phone's visual screen, and rang up Jesus. \"I need the names and home telephone numbers of your techs,\" he told the Acting Principal's secretary when she appeared on the screen. \"None of them are here over vac, are they?\"\n\nNone of them were there. He wrote down the names and numbers on one of the inspirational pamphlets, thanked the senior tutor, hung up, and started on the list of numbers.\n\nThe first number he punched was engaged. The others got him an engaged tone before he'd even finished punching in the town exchanges, and on the last a computer voice broke in and said, \"All lines are engaged. Please attempt your call later.\"\n\nHe rang Balliol, both the hall and his own office. He didn't get an answer at either number. Finch must have taken the Americans to London to hear Big Ben.\n\nGilchrist was still standing next to him, waiting to use the phone. Latimer had wandered over to the tea cart and was trying to plug in the electric kettle. The medic came out of her drowse to assist him. \"Have you finished with the telephone?\" Gilchrist said stiffly.\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said and tried Finch again. There was still no answer.\n\nHe rang off. \"I want you to get your tech back to Oxford and pull Kivrin out. Now. Before she's left the drop site.\"\n\n\"You want?\" Gilchrist said. \"Might I remind you that this is Mediaeval's drop, not yours.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter whose it is,\" Dunworthy said, trying to keep his temper. \"It's University policy to abort a drop if there's any sort of problem.\"\n\n\"May I also remind you that the only problem we've encountered on this drop is that you failed to screen your tech for dorphs.\" He reached for the phone. \" I will decide if and when this drop needs to be aborted.\"\n\nThe phone rang.\n\n\"Gilchrist here,\" Gilchrist said. \"Just a moment, please.\" He handed the telephone to Dunworthy.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" Finch said, looking harried. \"Thank goodness. I've been calling round everywhere. You won't believe the difficulties I've had.\"\n\n\"I've been detained,\" Dunworthy said before Finch could launch into an account of his difficulties. \"Now listen carefully. I need you to go and fetch Badri Chaudhuri's employment file from the bursar's office. Dr. Ahrens needs it. Ring her up. She's here at Infirmary. Insist on speaking directly to her. She'll tell you what information she wants from the file.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Finch said, taking up a pad and pencil and taking rapid notes.\n\n\"As soon as you've done that, I want you to go straight to New College and see the Senior Tutor. Tell him I must speak with him immediately and give him this telephone number. Tell him it's an emergency, that it's essential that we locate Basingame. He must come back to Oxford immediately.\"\n\n\"Do you think he'll be able to, sir?\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Has there been a message from Basingame? Has something happened to him?\"\n\n\"Not that I know of, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, then, of course he'll be able to come back. He's only on a fishing trip. It's not as if he's on a schedule. After you've spoken to the Senior Tutor, ask any staff and students you can find. Perhaps one of them has an idea as to where Basingame is. And while you're there, find out whether any of their techs are here in Oxford.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Finch said. \"But what should I do with the Americans?\"\n\n\"You'll have to tell them I'm sorry to have missed them, but that I was unavoidably detained. They're supposed to leave for Ely at four, aren't they?\"\n\n\"They were, but\u2014\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I took them round to see Great Tom and Old Marston Church and all, but when I tried to take them out to Iffley, we were stopped.\"\n\n\"Stopped?\" Dunworthy said. \"By whom?\"\n\n\"The police, sir. They had barricades up. The thing is, the Americans are very upset about their handbell concert.\"\n\n\"Barricades?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes, sir. On the A4158. Should I put the Americans up in Salvin, sir? William Gaddson and Tom Gailey are on the north staircase, but Basevi's being painted.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Dunworthy said. \"Why were you stopped?\"\n\n\"The quarantine,\" Finch said, looking surprised. \"I could put them in Fisher's. The heat's been turned off for vac, but they could use the fireplaces.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000618\u2013000735):\n\n\u2002I'm back at the drop site. It's some distance from the road. I'm going to drag the wagon out onto the road so that my chances of being seen are better, but if no one happens along in the next half hour, I intend to walk to Skendgate, which I have located thanks to the bells of evening vespers.\n\n\u2002I am experiencing considerable time lag. My head aches pretty badly, and I keep having chills. The symptoms are worse than I understood them to be from Badri and Dr. Ahrens. The headache particularly. I'm glad the village isn't far."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Quarantine. Of course, Dunworthy thought. The medic sent to fetch Montoya, and Mary's questions about Pakistan, and all of them put here in this isolated, self-contained room with a ward sister guarding the door. Of course.\n\n\"Will Salvin do then? For the Americans?\" Finch was asking.\n\n\"Did the police say why a quar\u2014\" He stopped. Gilchrist was watching him, but Dunworthy didn't think he could see the screen from where he was. Latimer was fussing over the tea trolley, trying to open a sugar packet. The female medic was asleep. \"Did the police say why these precautions had been taken?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Only that it was Oxford and immediate environs, and to contact the National Health for instructions.\"\n\n\"Did you contact them?\"\n\n\"No, sir. I've been trying. I can't get through. All the trunk lines have been engaged. The Americans have been trying to reach Ely to cancel their concert, but the lines are jammed.\"\n\nOxford and environs. That meant they had stopped the tube as well, and the bullet train to London, as well as blocking all the roads. No wonder the lines were jammed. \"How long ago was this? When you went out to Iffley?\"\n\n\"It was a bit after three, sir. I've been phoning round since then, trying to find you, and then I thought, Perhaps he knows about it already. I rang up Infirmary and then started calling round to all the hospitals.\"\n\nI didn't know about it already, Dunworthy thought. He tried to recall the conditions required for calling a quarantine. The original regulations had required it in every case of \"unidentified disease or suspicion of contagion,\" but those had been passed in the first hysteria after the Pandemic, and they had been amended and watered down every few years since then till Dunworthy had no idea what they were now.\n\nHe did know that a few years ago they'd been \"absolute identification of dangerous infectious disease\" because there'd been a fuss in the papers when Lassa fever had raged unchecked for three weeks in a town in Spain. The local doctors hadn't done viral typing, and the whole mess had resulted in a push to put teeth in the regulations, but he had no idea if they had gone through.\n\n\"Should I assign them rooms in Salvin then, sir?\" Finch asked again.\n\n\"Yes. No. Put them in the junior common room for now. They can practice their changes or whatever it is they do. Get Badri's file and phone it in. If the lines are all engaged, you'd best phone it in to this number. I'll be here even if Dr. Ahrens isn't. And then find out about Basingame. It's more important than ever that we locate him. You can assign the Americans rooms later.\"\n\n\"They're very upset, sir.\"\n\nSo am I, Dunworthy thought. \"Tell the Americans I'll find out what I can about the situation and ring you back.\" He watched the screen go gray.\n\n\"You can't wait to inform Basingame of what you perceive to be Mediaeval's failure, can you?\" Gilchrist said. \"In spite of the fact that it was your tech who has jeopardized this drop by using drugs, a fact of which you may be sure I will inform Mr. Basingame on his return.\"\n\nDunworthy looked at his digital. It was half past four. Finch had said they'd been stopped at a bit after three. An hour and a half. Oxford had only had two temp quarantines in recent years. One had turned out to be an allergic reaction to an injection, and the other one had turned out to be nothing at all, a schoolgirl prank. Both had been called off as soon as they had the results of the blood tests, and those hadn't taken even a quarter of an hour. Mary had taken blood in the ambulance. Dunworthy had seen the medic hand the vials to the house officer when they came into Casualties. There had been ample time for them to obtain the results.\n\n\"I'm certain Mr. Basingame will also be interested in hearing that it was your failure to have your tech screened that's resulted in this drop being jeopardized,\" Gilchrist said.\n\nDunworthy should have recognized the symptoms as those of an infection: Badri's low blood pressure, his labored breathing, his elevated temp. Mary had even said in the ambulance that it had to be an infection of some kind with his temp that high, but he had assumed she meant a localized infection, staph or an inflamed appendix. And what disease could it be? Smallpox and typhoid had been eradicated back in the twentieth century and polio in this one. Bacterials didn't have a chance against antibody specification, and the antivirals worked so well nobody even had colds anymore.\n\n\"It seems distinctly odd that after being so concerned about the precautions Mediaeval was taking that you wouldn't take the obvious precaution of screening your tech for drugs,\" Gilchrist said.\n\nIt must be a thirdworld disease. Mary had asked all those questions about whether Badri had been out of the Community, about his Pakistani relatives. But Pakistan wasn't thirdworld, and Badri couldn't have gone out of the Community without a whole series of inoculations. And he hadn't gone outside the EC. Except for the Hungarian on-site, he'd been in England all term.\n\n\"I would like to use the telephone,\" Gilchrist was saying. \"I quite agree that we need Basingame here to take matters in hand.\"\n\nDunworthy was still holding the phone. He blinked at it, surprised.\n\n\"Do you mean to prevent me from phoning Basingame?\" Gilchrist said.\n\nLatimer stood up. \"What is it?\" he said, his arms held out as if he thought Dunworthy might pitch forward into them. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Badri isn't using,\" Dunworthy said to Gilchrist. \"He's ill.\"\n\n\"I fail to see how you can claim to know that without having run a screen,\" Gilchrist said, looking pointedly at the phone.\n\n\"We're under quarantine,\" Dunworthy said. \"It's some sort of infectious disease.\"\n\n\"It's a virus,\" Mary said from the door. \"We don't have it sequenced yet, but the preliminary results ID it as a viral infection.\"\n\nShe had unbuttoned her coat, and it flapped behind her like Kivrin's cloak as she hurried into the room. She was carrying a lab tray by the handle. It was piled high with equipment and paper packets.\n\n\"The tests indicate that it's probably a myxovirus,\" she said, setting the tray down on one of the end tables. \"Badri's symptoms are compatible with that: high fever, disorientation, headache. It's definitely not a retrovirus or a Picornavirus, which is good news, but it will be some time yet before we have a complete ID.\"\n\nShe pulled two chairs up next to the table and sat down on one. \"We've notified the World Influenza Centre in London and sent them samples for ident and sequencing. Until we have a positive ID, a temp quarantine has been called as required by NHS regulations in cases of possible epidemic conditions.\" She pulled on a pair of imperm gloves.\n\n\"Epidemic!\" Gilchrist said, shooting a furious glance at Dunworthy as if accusing him of engineering the quarantine to discredit Mediaeval.\n\n\"Possible epidemic conditions,\" Mary corrected, tearing open paper packets. \"There is no epidemic as yet. Badri's is the only case so far. We've run a Community computer check, and there have been no other cases with Badri's profile, which is also good news.\"\n\n\"How can he have a viral infection?\" Gilchrist said, still glaring at Dunworthy. \"I suppose Mr. Dunworthy didn't bother to check for that either.\"\n\n\"Badri's an employee of the University,\" Mary said. \"He should have had the usual start-of-term physical and antivirals.\"\n\n\"You don't know?\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"The Registrar's office is closed for Christmas,\" she said. \"I haven't been able to reach the Registrar, and I can't call up Badri's files without his NHS number.\"\n\n\"I've sent my secretary to our bursar's office to see if we have hard copies of the University's files,\" Dunworthy said. \"We should at the least have his number.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Mary said. \"We'll be able to tell a good deal more about the sort of virus we're dealing with when we know what antivirals Badri's had and how recently. He may have a history of anomalous reactions, and there's also a chance he's missed a seasonal. Do you happen to know his religion, Mr. Dunworthy? Is he New Hindu?\"\n\nDunworthy shook his head. \"He's Church of England,\" he said, knowing what Mary was getting at. The New Hindus believed that all life was sacred, including killed viruses, if killed was the right word. They refused to have any inoculations or vaccines. The University gave them waivers on religious grounds but didn't allow them to live in college. \"Badri's had his start-of-term clearance. He'd never have been allowed to work the net without it.\"\n\nMary nodded as if she had already come to that conclusion. \"As I said, this is very likely an anomaly.\"\n\nGilchrist started to say something, but stopped when the door opened. The nurse who had been guarding the door came in, wearing a mask and gown and carrying pencils and a sheaf of papers in her imperm-gloved hands.\n\n\"As a precaution, we need to test those people who have been in contact with the patient for antibodies. We'll need bloods and temps, and we need each of you to list all of your contacts and those of Mr. Chaudhuri.\"\n\nThe nurse handed several sheets of paper and a pencil to Dunworthy. The top sheet was an hospital admissions form. The one underneath was headed \"Primaries\" and divided into columns marked \"Name, location, time.\" The bottom sheet was just the same except that it was headed \"Secondaries.\"\n\n\"Since Badri is our only case,\" Mary said, \"we are considering him the index case. We do not have a positive mode of transmission yet, so you must list anyone who's had any contact with Badri, however momentary. Anyone he spoke to, touched, has had any contact with.\"\n\nDunworthy had a sudden image of Badri leaning over Kivrin, adjusting her sleeve, moving her arm.\n\n\"Anyone at all who may have been exposed,\" Mary said.\n\n\"Including all of us,\" the medic said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Mary said.\n\n\"And Kivrin,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nFor a moment she looked like she had no idea at all who Kivrin was.\n\n\"Ms. Engle has had full-spectrum antivirals and T-cell enhancement,\" Gilchrist said. \"She would not be at risk, would she?\"\n\nDr. Ahrens hesitated only a second. \"No. She didn't have any contact with Badri before this morning, did she?\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy only offered me the use of his tech two days ago,\" Gilchrist said, practically snatching the papers and pencil the nurse was offering him out of her hands. \"I, of course, assumed that Mr. Dunworthy had taken the same precautions with his techs which Mediaeval had. It has become apparent, however, that he didn't, and you may be sure I will inform Basingame of your negligence, Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\n\"If Kivrin's first contact with Badri was this morning, she was fully protected,\" Mary said. \"Mr. Gilchrist, if you'd be so good.\" She indicated the chair, and he came and sat down.\n\nMary took one of the sets of papers from the nurse and held up the sheet marked \"Primaries.\" \"Any person Badri had contact with is a primary contact. Any person you have had contact with is a secondary. On this sheet I would like you to list all contacts you have had with Badri Chaudhuri over the last three days, and any contacts of his that you know of. On this sheet\"\u2014she held up the sheet marked \"Secondaries\"\u2014 \"list all your contacts with the time you had them. Begin with the present and work backward.\"\n\nShe popped a temp into Gilchrist's mouth, peeled a portable monitor off its paper strip, and stuck it on his wrist. The nurse passed the papers out to Latimer and the medic. Dunworthy sat down and began filling out his own.\n\nThe Infirmary form asked for his name, National Health Service number, and a complete medical history, which the NHS number could no doubt call up in better detail than he could remember it. Illnesses. Surgeries. Inoculations. If Mary didn't have Badri's NHS number that meant he was still unconscious.\n\nDunworthy had no idea what date his last start-of-term antivirals had been. He put question marks next to them, turned to the Primaries sheet, and wrote his own name at the top of the column. Latimer, Gilchrist, the two medics. He didn't know their names, and the female medic was asleep again. She held her papers bunched in one hand, her arms folded across her chest. Dunworthy wondered if he needed to list the doctors and nurses who had worked on Badri when he came in. He wrote \"Casualties Department staff\" and then put a question mark after it. Montoya.\n\nAnd Kivrin, who, according to Mary, was fully protected. \"Something's wrong,\" Badri had said. Had he meant this infection? Had he realized he was getting ill while he was trying to get the fix and come running to the pub to tell them he had exposed Kivrin?\n\nThe pub. There hadn't been anyone in the pub except the barman. And Finch, but he'd gone before Badri got there. Dunworthy lifted up the sheet and wrote Finch's name under \"Secondaries,\" and then turned back to the first sheet and wrote \"barman, Lamb and Cross.\" The pub had been empty, but the streets hadn't been. He could see Badri in his mind's eye, pushing his way through the Christmas crowd, barging into the woman with the lavender flowered umbrella and elbowing his way past the old man and the little boy with the white terrier. \"Anyone he's had any contact with,\" Mary had said.\n\nHe looked across at Mary, who was holding Gilchrist's wrist and making careful entries in a chart. Was she going to try to get bloods and temps from everyone on these lists? It was impossible. Badri had touched or brushed past or breathed on dozens of people in his headlong flight back to Brasenose, none of whom Dunworthy, or Badri, would recognize again. Doubtless he had come in contact with as many or more on his way to the pub, and each of them had come in contact with how many others in the busy shops?\n\nHe wrote down \"Large number of shoppers and pedestrians, High Street(?)\" drew a line, and tried to remember the other occasions on which he'd seen Badri. He hadn't asked him to run the net until two days ago, when he'd found out from Kivrin that Gilchrist was intending to use a first-year apprentice.\n\nBadri had just gotten back from London when Dunworthy telephoned. Kivrin had been in hospital that day for her final examination, which was good. She couldn't have had any contact with him then, and he'd been in London before that.\n\nTuesday Badri had come to see Dunworthy to tell him he'd checked the first-year student's coordinates and done a full systems check. Dunworthy hadn't been there, so he'd left a note. Kivrin had come to Balliol Tuesday, as well, to show him her costume, but that had been in the morning. Badri had said in his note that he'd spent all morning at the net. And Kivrin had said she was going to see Latimer at the Bodleian in the afternoon. But she might have gone back to the net after that, or have been there before she came to show him her costume.\n\nThe door opened and the nurse ushered Montoya in. Her terrorist jacket and jeans were wet. It must still be raining. \"What's going on?\" she said to Mary, who was labeling a vial of Gilchrist's blood.\n\n\"It seems,\" Gilchrist said, pressing a wad of cotton wool to the inside of his arm and standing up, \"that Mr. Dunworthy failed to have his tech properly checked for inoculations before he ran the net, and now he is in hospital with a temperature of 39.5. He apparently has some sort of exotic fever.\"\n\n\"Fever?\" Montoya said, looking bewildered. \"Isn't 39.5 low?\"\n\n\"It's 103 degrees in Fahrenheit,\" Mary said, sliding the vial into its carrier. \"Badri's infection is possibly contagious. I need to run some tests and you'll need to write down all of your contacts and Badri's.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Montoya said. She sat down in the chair Gilchrist had vacated and shrugged off her jacket. Mary swabbed the inside of her arm and clipped a new vial and disposable punch together. \"Let's get it over with. I've got to get back to my dig.\"\n\n\"You can't go back,\" Gilchrist said. \"Haven't you heard? We're under quarantine, thanks to Mr. Dunworthy's carelessness.\"\n\n\"Quarantine?\" she said and jerked so the punch missed her arm completely. The idea of a disease she might contract had not affected her at all, but the mention of a quarantine did. \"I have to get back,\" she said, appealing to Mary. \"You mean I have to stay here?\"\n\n\"Until we have the blood test results,\" Mary said, trying to find a vein for the punch.\n\n\"How long will that be?\" Montoya said, trying to look at her digital with the arm Mary was working on. \"The guy who brought me in didn't even let me cover up the site or turn off the heaters, and it's raining like crazy out there. I've got a dig that's going to be full of water if I don't get out there.\"\n\n\"As long as it takes to get blood samples from all of you and run an antibodies count on them,\" Mary said, and Montoya must have gotten the message because she straightened out her arm and held it still. Mary filled a vial with her blood, gave her her temp, and slid a tach bracelet on. Dunworthy watched her, wondering if she had been telling the truth. She hadn't said Montoya could leave after they had the test results, only that she had to stay here until they were in. And what then? Would they be taken to an isolation ward together or separately? Or given some sort of medication? Or more tests?\n\nMary took Montoya's tach bracelet off and handed her the last set of papers. \"Mr. Latimer? You're next.\"\n\nLatimer stood up, holding his papers. He looked at them confusedly, then set them down on the chair he'd been sitting on, and started over to Mary. Halfway there, he turned and went back for Mary's shopping bag. \"You left this at Brasenose,\" he said, holding it out to Mary.\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" she said. \"Just set it next to the table, won't you? These gloves are sterile.\"\n\nLatimer set the bag down, tipping it slightly. The end of the muffler trailed out on the floor. He methodically tucked it back in.\n\n\"I'd completely forgotten I left it there,\" Mary said, watching him. \"In all the excitement, I\u2014\" She clapped her gloved hand over her mouth. \"Oh, my Lord! Colin! I'd forgotten all about him. What time is it?\"\n\n\"Four-oh-eight,\" Montoya said without looking at her digital.\n\n\"He was supposed to come in at three,\" Mary said, standing up and clattering the vials of blood in their carrier.\n\n\"Perhaps when you weren't there he went round to your rooms,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nShe shook her head. \"This is the first time he's been to Oxford. That's why I told him I'd be there to meet him. I never even gave him a thought until now,\" she said, almost to herself.\n\n\"Well, then, he'll still be at the Underground station,\" Dunworthy said. \"Shall I go and fetch him?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"You've been exposed.\"\n\n\"I'll phone the station then. You can tell him to take a taxi here. Where was he coming in? Cornmarket?\"\n\n\"Yes, Cornmarket.\"\n\nDunworthy rang up information, got through on the third try, got the number off the screen, and rang the station. The line was engaged. He hit disconnect and punched the number in again.\n\n\"Is Colin your grandson?\" Montoya said. She had put aside her papers. The others didn't seem to be paying any attention to this latest development. Gilchrist was filling in his forms and glaring, as if this were one more example of negligence and incompetence. Latimer was sitting patiently by the tray, his sleeve rolled up. The medic was still asleep.\n\n\"Colin's my great-nephew,\" Mary said. \"He was coming up on the tube to spend Christmas with me.\"\n\n\"What time was the quarantine called?\"\n\n\"Ten past three,\" Mary said.\n\nDunworthy held up his hand to indicate he'd gotten through. \"Is that Cornmarket Underground Station?\" he said. It obviously was. He could see the gates and a lot of people behind an irritated-looking Stationmaster. \"I'm phoning about a boy who came in on the tube at three o'clock. He's twelve. He would have come in from London.\" Dunworthy held his hand over the receiver and asked Mary, \"What does he look like?\"\n\n\"He's blond and has blue eyes. He's tall for his age.\"\n\n\"Tall,\" Dunworthy said loudly over the sound of the crowd. \"His name is Colin\u2014\"\n\n\"Templer,\" Mary said. \"Deirdre said he'd take the tube from Marble Arch at one.\"\n\n\"Colin Templer. Have you seen him?\"\n\n\"What the bloody hell do you mean have I seen him?\" the Stationmaster shouted. \"I've got five hundred people in this station and you want to know if I've seen a little boy. Look at this mess.\"\n\nThe visual abruptly showed a milling crowd. Dunworthy scanned it, looking for a tallish boy with blond hair and blue eyes. It switched back to the Stationmaster.\n\n\"There's just been a temp quarantine,\" he shouted over the roar that seemed to get louder by the minute, \"and I've got a station full of people who want to know why the trains have stopped and why don't I do something about it. I've got all I can do to keep them from tearing the place apart. I can't bother about a boy.\"\n\n\"His name is Colin Templer,\" Dunworthy shouted. \"His great-aunt was supposed to meet him.\"\n\n\"Well, why didn't she then and make one less problem for me to deal with? I've got a crowd of angry people here who want to know how long the quarantine's going to last and why don't I do something about that \u2014\" He cut off suddenly. Dunworthy wondered if he'd hung up or had the phone snatched out of his hand by an angry shopper.\n\n\"Had the Stationmaster seen him?\" Mary said.\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"You'll have to send someone after him.\"\n\n\"Yes, all right. I'll send one of the staff,\" she said, and started out.\n\n\"The quarantine was called at three-ten, and he wasn't supposed to get here till three,\" Montoya said. \"Maybe he was late.\"\n\nThat hadn't occurred to Dunworthy. If the quarantine had been called before his train reached Oxford, it would have been stopped at the nearest station and the passengers rerouted or sent back to London.\n\n\"Ring the station back,\" he said, handing her the phone. He told her the number. \"Tell them his train left Marble Arch at one. I'll have Mary phone her niece. Perhaps Colin's back already.\"\n\nHe went out in the corridor, intending to ask the nurse to fetch Mary, but she wasn't there. Mary must have sent her to the station.\n\nThere was no one in the corridor. He looked down it at the call box he had used before and then walked rapidly down to it and punched in Balliol's number. There was an off-chance that Colin had gone to Mary's rooms after all. He would send Finch round and, if Colin wasn't there, down to the station. It would very likely take more than one person looking to find Colin in that mess.\n\n\"Hi,\" a woman said.\n\nDunworthy frowned at the number in the inset, but he hadn't misdialed. \"I'm trying to reach Mr. Finch at Balliol College.\"\n\n\"He's not here right now,\" the woman, obviously American, said. \"I'm Ms. Taylor. Can I take a message?\"\n\nThis must be one of the bell ringers. She was younger than he'd expected, not much over thirty, and she looked rather delicate to be a bell ringer. \"Would you have him call Mr. Dunworthy at Infirmary as soon as he returns, please?\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy.\" She wrote it down, and then looked up sharply. \"Mr. Dun worthy,\" she said in an entirely different tone of voice, \"are you the person responsible for our being held prisoner here?\"\n\nThere was no good answer to that. He should never have phoned the junior common room. He had sent Finch to the bursar's office.\n\n\"The National Health Service issues temp quarantines in cases of an unidentified disease. It's a precautionary measure. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it's caused you. I've instructed my secretary to make your stay comfortable, and if there's anything I can do for you\u2014\"\n\n\"Do? Do?! You can get us to Ely, that's what you can do. My ringers were supposed to give a handbell concert at the cathedral at eight o'clock, and tomorrow we have to be in Norwich. We're ringing a peal on Christmas Eve.\"\n\nHe was not about to be the one to tell her they were not going to be in Norwich tomorrow. \"I'm sure that Ely is already aware of the situation, but I will be more than happy to phone the cathedral and explain\u2014\"\n\n\"Explain! Perhaps you'd like to explain it to me, too. I'm not used to having my civil liberties taken away like this. In America, nobody would dream of telling you where you can or can't go.\"\n\nAnd over thirty million Americans died during the Pandemic as a result of that sort of thinking, he thought. \"I assure you, madam, that the quarantine is solely for your protection and that all of your concert dates will be more than willing to reschedule. In the meantime, Balliol is delighted to have you as our guests. I am looking forward to meeting you in person. Your reputation precedes you.\"\n\nAnd if that were true, he thought, I would have told you Oxford was under quarantine when you wrote for permission to come.\n\n\"There is no way to reschedule a Christmas Eve peal. We were to have rung a new peal, the Chicago Surprise Minor. The Norwich Chapter is counting on us to be there, and we intend\u2014\"\n\nHe hit the disconnect button. Finch was probably in the bursar's office, looking for Badri's medical records, but Dunworthy wasn't going to risk getting another bell ringer. He looked up Regional Transport's number instead and started to punch it in.\n\nThe door at the end of the corridor opened, and Mary came through it.\n\n\"I'm trying Regional Transport,\" Dunworthy said, punching in the rest of the number and passing her the receiver.\n\nShe waved it away, smiling. \"It's all right. I've just spoken to Deirdre. Colin's train was stopped at Barton. The passengers were put on the tube back to London. She's going down to Marble Arch to meet him.\" She sighed. \"Deirdre didn't sound very glad that he's coming home. She planned to spend Christmas with her new livein's family, and I think she rather wanted him out of the way, but it can't be helped. I'm simply glad he's out of this.\"\n\nHe could hear the relief in her voice. He put the receiver back. \"Is it that bad?\"\n\n\"We just got the preliminary ident back. It's definitely a Type A myxovirus. Influenza.\"\n\nHe had been expecting something worse, some thirdworld fever or a retrovirus. He had had the flu back in the days before antivirals. He had felt terrible, congested, feverish, and achy for a few days and then gotten over it without anything but bedrest and fluids.\n\n\"Will they call the quarantine off then?\"\n\n\"Not until we get Badri's medical records,\" she said. \"I keep hoping he skipped his last course of antivirals. If not, then we'll have to wait till we locate the source.\"\n\n\"But it's only the flu.\"\n\n\"If there's a small antigenic shift, a point or two, it's only the flu,\" she corrected him. \"If there's a large shift, it's influenza, which is an entirely different matter. The Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918 was a myxovirus. It killed twenty million people. Viruses mutate every few months. The antigens on their surface change so that they're unrecognizable to the immune system. That's why seasonals are necessary. But they can't protect against a large point shift.\"\n\n\"And that's what this is?\"\n\n\"I doubt it. Major mutations only happen every ten years or so. I think it's more likely that Badri failed to get his seasonals. Do you know if he was running an on-site at the beginning of term?\"\n\n\"No. He may have been.\"\n\n\"If he was, he may simply have forgotten to go in for them, in which case all he has is this winter's flu.\"\n\n\"What about Kivrin? Has she had her seasonals?\"\n\n\"Yes, and full-spectrum antivirals and T-cell enhancement. She's fully protected.\"\n\n\"Even if it's influenza?\"\n\nShe hesitated a fraction of a second. \"If she was exposed to the virus through Badri this morning, she's fully protected.\"\n\n\"And if she saw him before then?\"\n\n\"If I tell you this, you'll only worry, and I'm certain there's no need to.\" She took a breath. \"The enhancement and the antivirais were given so that she would have peak immunity at the beginning of the drop.\"\n\n\"And Gilchrist moved the drop up by two days,\" Dunworthy said bitterly.\n\n\"I wouldn't have allowed her to go through if I hadn't thought it was all right.\"\n\n\"But you hadn't counted on her being exposed to an influenza virus before she even left.\"\n\n\"No, but it doesn't change anything. She has partial immunity, and we're not certain she was even exposed. Badri scarcely went near her.\"\n\n\"And what if she was exposed earlier?\"\n\n\"I knew I shouldn't have told you,\" Mary said. She sighed. \"Most myxoviruses have an incubation period of from twelve to forty-eight hours. Even if Kivrin was exposed two days ago, she'd have had enough immunity to prevent the virus from replicating sufficiently to cause anything but minor symptoms. But it's not influenza.\" She patted his arm. \"And you're forgetting the paradoxes. If she'd been exposed, she'd have been highly contagious. The net would never have let her through.\"\n\nShe was right. Diseases couldn't go through the net if there was any possibility of the contemps contracting them. The paradoxes wouldn't allow it. The net wouldn't have opened.\n\n\"What are the chances of the population in 1320 being immune?\" he asked.\n\n\"To a modern-day virus? Almost none. There are eighteen hundred possible mutation points. The contemps would have all had to have had the exact virus, or they'd be vulnerable.\"\n\nVulnerable. \"I want to see Badri,\" he said. \"When he came to the pub, he said there was something wrong. He kept repeating it in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.\"\n\n\"Something is wrong,\" Mary said. \"He has a serious viral infection.\"\n\n\"Or he knows he exposed Kivrin. Or he didn't get the fix.\"\n\n\"He said he got the fix.\" She looked sympathetically at him. \"I suppose it's useless to tell you not to worry about Kivrin. You saw how I've just acted over Colin. But I meant it when I said they're both safer out of this. Kivrin's much better off where she is than she would be here, even among those cutthroats and thieves you persist in imagining. At least she won't have to deal with NHS quarantine regulations.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Or American change ringers. America hadn't been discovered yet.\" He reached for the door handle.\n\nThe door at the end of the corridor banged open and a large woman carrying a valise barged through it. \"There you are, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she shouted the length of the corridor. \"I've been looking everywhere for you.\"\n\n\"Is that one of your bell ringers?\" Mary said, turning to look down the corridor at her.\n\n\"Worse,\" Dunworthy said. \"It's Mrs. Gaddson.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "It was growing dark under the trees and at the bottom of the hill. Kivrin's head began to ache before she had even reached the frozen wagon ruts, as if it had something to do with microscopic changes in altitude or light.\n\nShe couldn't see the wagon at all, even standing directly in front of the little chest, and squinting into the darkness past the thicket made her head feel even worse. If this was one of the \"minor symptoms\" of time lag, she wondered what a major one would be like.\n\nWhen I get back, she thought, struggling through the thicket, I intend to have a little talk with Dr. Ahrens on the subject. I think they are underestimating the debilitating effects these minor symptoms can have on an historian. Walking down the hill had left her more out of breath than climbing it had, and she was so cold.\n\nHer cloak and then her hair caught on the willows as she pushed her way through the thicket, and she got a long scratch on her arm that immediately began to ache, too. She tripped once and nearly fell flat, and the effect on her headache was to jolt it so that it stopped hurting and then returned with redoubled force.\n\nIt was almost completely dark in the clearing, though what little she could see was still very clear, the colors not so much fading as deepening toward black\u2014black-green and black-brown and black-gray. The birds were settling in for the night. They must have got used to her. They didn't so much as pause in their prebedtime twitterings and settlings down.\n\nKivrin hastily grabbed up the scattered boxes and splintered kegs, and flung them into the tilting wagon. She took hold of the wagon's tongue and began to pull it toward the road. The wagon scraped a few inches, slid easily across a patch of leaves, and stuck. Kivrin braced her foot and pulled again. It scraped a few more inches and tilted even more. One of the boxes fell out.\n\nKivrin put it back in and walked around the wagon, trying to see where it was stuck. The right wheel was jammed against a tree root, but it could be pushed up and over, if only she could get a decent purchase. She couldn't on this side\u2014Mediaeval had taken an ax to the side so that it would look like the wagon had been smashed when it overturned, and they had done a good job. It was nothing but splinters. I told Mr. Gilchrist he should have let me have gloves, she thought.\n\nShe came around to the other side, took hold of the wheel, and shoved. It didn't budge. She pulled her skirts and cloak out of the way and knelt beside the wheel so she could put her shoulder to it.\n\nThe footprint was in front of the wheel, in a little space swept bare of leaves and only as wide as the foot. The leaves had drifted up against the roots of the oaks on either side. The leaves did not hold any print that she could see in the graying light, but the print in the dirt was perfectly clear.\n\nIt can't be a footprint, Kivrin thought. The ground is frozen. She reached out to put her hand in the indentation, thinking it might be some trick of shadow or the failing light. The frozen ruts out in the road would not have taken any print at all. But the dirt gave easily under her hand, and the print was deep enough to feel.\n\nIt had been made by a soft-soled shoe with no heel, and the foot that had made it was large, larger even than hers. A man's foot, but men in the 1300s had been smaller, shorter, with feet not even as big as hers. And this was a giant's foot.\n\nMaybe it's an old footprint, she thought wildly. Maybe it's the footprint of a woodcutter, or a peasant looking for a lost sheep. Maybe this is one of the king's woodlands, and they've been through here hunting. But it wasn't the footprint of someone chasing a deer. It was the print of someone who had stood there for a long time, watching her. I heard him, she thought, and a little flutter of panic forced itself up into her throat. I heard him standing there.\n\nShe was still kneeling, holding on to the wheel for balance. If the man, whoever it was, and it had to be a man, a giant, were still here in this glade, watching, he must know that she had found the footprint. She stood up. \"Hello!\" she called, and frightened the birds to death again. They flapped and squawked themselves into hushed silence. \"Is someone there?\"\n\nShe waited, listening, and it seemed to her that in the silence she could hear the breathing again. \" Speke,\" she said. \"I am in distresse an my servauntes fled.\"\n\nLovely, she thought even as she said it. Tell him you're helpless and all alone.\n\n\"Halloo!\" she called again and began a cautious circuit of the glade, peering out into the trees. If he was still standing there, it was so dark she wouldn't be able to see him. She couldn't make out anything past the edges of the glade. She couldn't even tell for sure which way the thicket and the road lay. If she waited any longer, it would be completely dark, and she would never be able to get the wagon to the road.\n\nBut she couldn't move the wagon. Whoever had stood there between the two trees, watching her, knew that the wagon was here. Maybe he had even seen it come through, bursting on the sparkling air like something conjured by an alchemist. If that were the case, he had probably run off to get the stake Dunworthy was so sure the populace kept in readiness. But surely if that were the case, he would have said something, even if it was only \"Yoicks!\" or \"Heavenly Father!\" and she would have heard him crashing through the underbrush as he ran away.\n\nHe hadn't run away, though, which meant he hadn't seen her come through. He had come upon her afterward, lying inexplicably in the middle of the woods beside a smashed wagon, and thought what? That she had been attacked on the road and then dragged here to hide the evidence?\n\nThen why hadn't he tried to help her? Why had he stood there, silent as an oak, long enough to leave a deep footprint, and then gone away again? Maybe he had thought she was dead. He would have beep frightened of her unshriven body. People as late as the fifteenth century had believed that evil spirits took immediate possession of any body not properly buried.\n\nOr maybe he had gone for help, to one of those villages that Kivrin had heard, maybe even Skendgate, and was even now on his way back with half the town, all of them carrying lanterns.\n\nIn that case, she should stay where she was and wait for him to come back. She should even lie down again. When the townspeople arrived, they could speculate about her and then bear her to the village, giving her examples of the language, the way her plan had been intended to work in the first place. But what if he came back alone, or with friends who had no intention of helping her?\n\nShe couldn't think. Her headache had spread out from her temple to behind her eyes. As she rubbed her forehead, it began to throb. And she was so cold! This cloak, in spite of its rabbit-fur lining, wasn't warm at all. How had people survived the Little Ice Age dressed only in cloaks like this? How had the rabbits survived?\n\nAt least she could do something about the cold. She could gather some wood and start a fire, and then if the footprint person came back with evil intentions, she could hold him off with a flaming brand. And if he had gone off for help and not been able to find his way back in the dark, the fire would lead him to her.\n\nShe made the circuit of the glade again, looking for wood. Dunworthy had insisted she learn to build a fire without tinder or flint. \"Gilchrist expects you to wander around the Middle Ages in the dead of winter without knowing how to build a fire?\" he had said, outraged, and she had defended him, told him Mediaeval didn't expect her to spend that much time out-of-doors. But they should have realized how cold it could get.\n\nThe sticks made her hands cold, and every time she bent over to pick up a stick, her head hurt. Eventually she stopped bending over altogether and simply stooped and grabbed for the broken-off twigs, keeping her head straight. That helped a little, but not much. Maybe she was feeling this way because she was so cold. Maybe the headache, the breathlessness, were coming from being so cold. She had to get the fire started.\n\nThe wood felt icy cold and wet. It would never burn. And the leaves would be damp, too, far too damp to use for tinder. She had to have dry kindling and a sharp stick to start a fire. She laid the wood down in a little bundle by the roots of a tree, careful to keep her head straight, and went back to the wagon.\n\nThe bashed-in side of the wagon had several broken pieces of wood she could use for kindling. She got two splinters in her hand before she managed to pull the pieces free, but the wood at least felt dry, though it was cold, too. There was a large, sharp spur of wood just above the wheel. She bent over to grab it and nearly fell, gasping with the sudden nauseating dizziness.\n\n\"You'd better lie down,\" she said out loud.\n\nShe eased herself to sitting, holding on to the ribs of the wagon for support. \"Dr. Ahrens,\" she said a little breathlessly, \"you ought to come up with something to prevent time lag. This is awful.\"\n\nIf she could just lie down for a bit, perhaps the dizziness would go away and she could build the fire. She couldn't do it without bending over, though, and just the thought of doing that brought the nausea back.\n\nShe pulled her hood up over her head and closed her eyes, and even that hurt, the action seeming to focus the pain in her head. Something was wrong. This could not possibly be a reaction to time lag. She was supposed to have a few minor symptoms that would fade within an hour or two of her arrival, not get worse. A little headache, Dr. Ahrens had said, some fatigue. She hadn't said anything about nausea, about being racked with cold.\n\nShe was so cold. She pulled the skirts of her cloak around her like a blanket, but the action seemed to make her even colder. Her teeth began to chatter, the way they had up on the hill, and great, convulsive shudders shook her shoulders.\n\nI'm going to freeze to death, she thought. But it can't be helped. I can't get up and start the fire. I can't. I'm too cold. It's too bad you were wrong about the contemps, Mr. Dunworthy, she thought, and even the thought was dizzy. Being burned at the stake sounds lovely.\n\nShe would not have believed that she could have fallen asleep, huddled there on the cold ground. She had not noticed any spreading warmth, and if she had she would have been afraid it was the creeping numbness of hypothermia and tried to fight it. But she must have slept because when she opened her eyes again it was night in the glade, full night with frosty stars in the net of branches overhead, and she was on the ground looking up at them.\n\nShe had slid down as she slept, so that the top of her head was against the wheel. She was still shivering with cold, though her teeth had stopped chattering. Her head had begun to throb, tolling like a bell, and her whole body ached, especially her chest, where she had held the wood against her while she gathered sticks for the fire.\n\nSomething's wrong, she thought, and this time there was real panic in the thought. Maybe she was having some kind of allergic reaction to time travel. Was there even such a thing? Dunworthy had never said anything about an allergic reaction, and he had warned her about everything: rape and cholera and typhoid and the plague.\n\nShe twisted her hand around inside the cloak and felt under her arm for the place where she had had the welt from the antiviral inoculation. The welt was still there, though it didn't hurt to touch it, and it had stopped itching. Maybe that was a bad sign, she thought. Maybe the fact that it had stopped itching meant that it had stopped working.\n\nShe tried to lift her head. The dizziness came back instantly. She lay her head back down and disentangled her hands from the cloak, carefully and slowly, the nausea cutting across every movement. She folded her hands and pressed them against her face. \"Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said. \"I think you'd better come and get me.\"\n\nShe slept again, and when she woke up she could hear the faint, jangling sound of the piped-in Christmas music. Oh, good, she thought, they've got the net open, and tried to pull herself to sitting against the wheel.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Dunworthy, I'm so glad you came back,\" she said, fighting the nausea. \"I was afraid you wouldn't get my message.\"\n\nThe jangling sound became louder, and she could see a wavering light. She pulled herself up a little farther. \"You got the fire started,\" she said. \"You were right about it getting cold.\" The wagon's wheel felt icy through her cloak. Her teeth started to chatter again. \"Dr. Ahrens was right. I should have waited till the swelling went down. I didn't know the reaction would be this bad.\"\n\nIt wasn't a fire, after all. It was a lantern. Dunworthy was carrying it as he walked toward her.\n\n\"This doesn't mean I'm getting a virus, does it? Or the plague?\" She was having trouble getting the words out, her teeth were chattering so hard. \"Wouldn't that be awful? Having the plague in the Middle Ages? At least I'd fit right in.\"\n\nShe laughed, a high-pitched, almost-hysterical laugh that would probably frighten Mr. Dunworthy to death. \"It's all right,\" she said, and she could hardly understand her own words. \"I know you were worried, but I'll be perfectly all right. I just\u2014\"\n\nHe stopped in front of her, the lantern lighting a wobbling circle on the ground in front of her. She could see Dunworthy's feet. He was wearing shapeless leather shoes, the kind that had made the footprint. She tried to say something about the shoes, to ask him whether Mr. Gilchrist had made him put on authentic mediaeval dress just to come and fetch her, but the light's movement was making her dizzy again.\n\nShe closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, he was kneeling in front of her. He had set the lantern down, and the light lit the hood of his cloak and folded hands.\n\n\"It's all right,\" she said. \"I know you were worried, but I'm all right. Truly. I just felt a little ill.\"\n\nHe raised his head. \" Certes, it been derlostuh dayes forgott foreto getest hissahntes im aller,\" he said.\n\nHe had a hard, lined face, a cruel face, a cutthroat's face. He had watched her lying there and then he had gone away and waited for it to get dark, and now he had come back.\n\nKivrin tried to put up a hand to fend him off, but her hands had got tangled somehow in the cloak. \"Go away,\" she said, her teeth chattering so hard she couldn't get the words out. \"Go away.\"\n\nHe said something else, with a rising inflection this time, a question. She couldn't understand what he was saying. It's Middle English, she thought. I studied it for three years, and Mr. Latimer taught me everything there is to know about adjectival inflection. I should be able to understand it. It's the fever, she thought. That's why I can't make out what he's saying.\n\nHe repeated the question or asked some other question, she couldn't even tell that much.\n\nIt's because I'm ill, she thought. I can't understand him because I'm ill. \"Kind sir,\" she began, but she could not remember the rest of the speech. \"Help me,\" she said, and tried to think how to say that in Middle English, but she couldn't remember anything but the Church Latin. \" Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina,\" she said.\n\nHe bowed his head over his hands and began to murmur so low she could not hear, and then she must have lost consciousness again because he had picked her up and was carrying her. She could still hear the jangling sound of the bells from the open net, and she tried to tell what direction they were coming from, but her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn't hear.\n\n\"I'm ill,\" she said as he set her on the white horse. She fell forward, clutching at the horse's mane to keep from falling off. He put his hand up to her side and held her there. \"I don't know how this happened. I had all my inoculations.\"\n\nHe led the donkey off slowly. The bells on its bridle jingled tinnily.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000740\u2013000751):\n\n\u2002Mr. Dunworthy, I think you'd better come and get me."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "\"I knew it,\" Mrs. Gaddson said, steaming down the corridor toward them. \"He's contracted some horrible disease, hasn't he? It's all that rowing.\"\n\nMary stepped forward. \"You can't come in here,\" she said. \"This is an isolation area.\"\n\nMrs. Gaddson kept coming. The transparent poncho she was wearing over her coat threw off large, spattering drops as she walked toward them, swinging the valise like a weapon. \"You can't put me off like that. I'm his mother. I demand to see him.\"\n\nMary put up her hand like a policeman. \"Stop,\" she said in her best ward sister voice.\n\nAmazingly, Mrs. Gaddson stopped. \"A mother has a right to see her son,\" she said. Her expression softened. \"Is he very ill?\"\n\n\"If you mean your son William, he's not ill at all,\" Mary said, \"at least so far as I know.\" She put her hand up again. \"Please don't come any closer. Why do you think William's ill?\"\n\n\"I knew it the minute I heard about the quarantine. A sharp pain went through me when the Stationmaster said 'temp quarantine.' \" She set down the valise so she could indicate the location of the sharp pain. \"It's because he didn't take his vitamins. I asked the college to be sure to give them to him,\" she said, shooting a glance at Dunworthy that was the rival of any of Gilchrist's, \"and they said he was able to take care of himself. Well, obviously, they were wrong.\"\n\n\"William is not the reason the temp quarantine was called. One of the University techs has come down with a viral infection,\" Mary said.\n\nDunworthy noticed gratefully that she didn't say \"Balliol's tech.\"\n\n\"The tech is the only case, and there is no indication that there will be any others,\" Mary said. \"The quarantine is a purely precautionary measure, I assure you.\"\n\nMrs. Gaddson didn't look convinced. \"My Willy's always been sickly, and he simply will not take care of himself. He studies far too hard in that drafty room of his,\" she said with another dark look at Dunworthy. \"I'm surprised he hasn't come down with a viral infection before this.\"\n\nMary took her hand down and put it in the pocket she carried her bleeper in. I do hope she's calling for help, Dunworthy thought.\n\n\"By the end of one term at Balliol, Willy's health was completely broken down, and then his tutor forced him to stay up over Christmas and read Petrarch,\" Mrs. Gaddson said. \"That's why I came up. The thought of him all alone in this horrid place for Christmas, eating heaven knows what and doing all sorts of things to endanger his health, was something this mother's heart could simply not bear.\"\n\nShe pointed to the place where the pain had gone through her at the words \"temp quarantine.\" \"And it is positively providential that I came when I did. Positively providential. I nearly missed the train, my valise was so cumbersome, and I almost thought, Ah, well, there'll be another along, but I wanted to get to my Willy, so I shouted at them to hold the doors, and I hadn't so much as stepped off at Cornmarket when the Stationmaster said, 'Temp quarantine. Train service is temporarily suspended.' Only just think, if I'd missed that train and taken the next one, I would have been stopped by the quarantine.\"\n\nOnly just think. \"I'm sure William will be surprised to see you,\" Dunworthy said, hoping she would go find him.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said grimly. \"He's probably sitting there without even his muffler on. He'll get this viral infection, I know it. He gets everything. He used to break out in horrible rashes when he was little. He's bound to come down with it. At least his mother is here to nurse him through it.\"\n\nThe door was flung open and two people wearing masks, gowns, gloves, and some sort of paper covering over their shoes came racing through it. They slowed to a walk when they saw there was no one collapsed on the floor.\n\n\"I need this area cordoned off and an isolation ward sign posted,\" Mary said. She turned to Mrs. Gaddson. \"I'm afraid there's a possibility you've been exposed to the virus. We do not have a positive mode of transmission yet, and we can't rule out the possibility of its being airborne,\" she said, and for one horrible moment Dunworthy thought she meant to put Mrs. Gaddson in the waiting room with them.\n\n\"Would you escort Mrs. Gaddson to an isolation cubicle?\" she asked one of the masked-and-gowneds. \"We'll need to run blood tests and get a list of your contacts. Mr. Dunworthy, if you'll just come with me,\" she said and led him into the waiting room and shut the door before Mrs. Gaddson could protest. \"They can keep her awhile and give poor Willy a few last hours of freedom.\"\n\n\"That woman would make anyone break out in a rash,\" he said.\n\nEveryone except the medic had looked up at their entrance. Latimer was sitting patiently by the tray, his sleeve rolled up. Montoya was still using the phone.\n\n\"Colin's train was turned back,\" Mary said. \"He's safely at home by now.\"\n\n\"Oh, good,\" Montoya said and put the phone down. Gilchrist leaped for it.\n\n\"Mr. Latimer, I'm sorry to keep you waiting,\" Mary said. She broke open a pair of imperm gloves, put them on, and began assembling a punch.\n\n\"Gilchrist here. I wish to speak with the Senior Tutor,\" Gilchrist said into the telephone. \"Yes. I'm trying to reach Mr. Basingame. Yes, I'll wait.\"\n\nThe Senior Tutor has no idea where he is, Dunworthy thought, and neither has the secretary. He'd already spoken to them when he was trying to stop the drop. The secretary hadn't even known he was in Scotland.\n\n\"I'm glad they found the kid,\" Montoya said, looking at her digital. \"How long do you think they'll keep us here? I've got to get back to my dig before it turns into a swamp. We're excavating Skendgate's churchyard right now. Most of the graves date from the 1400s, but we've got some Black Deaths and a few pre-William the Conquerors. Last week we found a knight's tomb. Beautiful condition. I wonder if Kivrin's there yet?\"\n\nDunworthy assumed she meant at the village and not in one of the graves. \"I hope so,\" he said.\n\n\"I told her to start recording her observations of Skendgate immediately, the village and the church. Especially the tomb. The inscription's partly worn off, and some of the carving. The date's readable, though\u20141318.\"\n\n\"It's an emergency,\" Gilchrist said. He fumed through a long pause. \"I know he's fishing in Scotland. I want to know where.\"\n\nMary put a plaster on Latimer's arm and motioned to Gilchrist. He shook his head at her. She went over to the medic and shook her awake. She followed her over to the tray, blinking sleepily.\n\n\"There are so many things only direct observation can tell us,\" Montoya said. \"I told Kivrin to record every detail. I hope there's room on the corder. It's so small.\" She looked at her watch again. \"Of course it had to be. Did you get a chance to see it before they implanted it? It really does look like a bone spur.\"\n\n\"Bone spur?\" Dunworthy said, watching the medic's blood spurt into the vial.\n\n\"That's so it can't cause an anachronism even if it's discovered. It fits right against the palmar surface of the scaphoid bone.\" She rubbed the wrist bone above the thumb.\n\nMary motioned to Dunworthy, and the medic stood up, rolling down her sleeve. Dunworthy took her place in the chair. Mary peeled the back from a monitor, stuck it to the inside of Dunworthy's wrist, and handed him a temp to swallow.\n\n\"Have the bursar call me at this number as soon as he returns,\" Gilchrist said, and hung up.\n\nMontoya snatched up the phone, punched in a number, and said, \"Hi. Can you tell me the quarantine perimeter? I need to know if Witney's inside it. My dig's there.\" Whoever she was talking to apparently told her no. \"Then who can I talk to about getting the perimeter changed? It's an emergency.\"\n\nThey're worried about their \"emergencies,\" Dunworthy thought, and neither of them's even given a thought to worrying about Kivrin. Well, what was there to worry about? Her corder had been disguised to look like a bone spur so it wouldn't cause an anachronism when the contemps decided to chop off her hands before they burned her at the stake.\n\nMary took his blood pressure and then jabbed him with the punch. \"If the phone ever becomes available,\" she said, slapping on the plaster and motioning to Gilchrist, who was standing next to Montoya, looking impatient, \"you might ring up William Gaddson and warn him that his mother's coming.\"\n\nMontoya said, \"Yes. The number for the National Trust,\" hung up the phone, and scribbled a number on one of the brochures.\n\nThe phone trilled. Gilchrist, halfway to Mary, launched himself at it, grabbing it up before Montoya could reach it. \"No,\" he said and handed it grudgingly over to Dunworthy.\n\nIt was Finch. He was in the bursar's office. \"Have you got Badri's medical records?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes, sir. The police are here, sir. They're looking for places to put all the detainees who don't live in Oxford.\"\n\n\"And they want us to put them up at Balliol,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes, sir. How many shall I tell them we can take?\"\n\nMary had stood up, Gilchrist's vial of blood in hand, and was signaling to Dunworthy.\n\n\"Wait a minute, please,\" he said, and punched hold on the mouthpiece.\n\n\"Are they asking you to board detainees?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Don't commit to filling all your rooms,\" she said. \"We may need infirmary space.\"\n\nDunworthy took his hand away and said, \"Tell them we can put them in Fisher and whatever rooms are left in Salvin. If you haven't assigned rooms to the bell ringers, double them up. Tell the police Infirmary has asked for Bulkeley-Johnson as an emergency ward. Did you say you'd found Badri's medical records?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I had the very devil of a time finding them. The bursar had filed them under Badri comma Chaudhuri, and the Americans\u2014\"\n\n\"Did you find his NHS number?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I'm putting Dr. Ahrens on,\" he said before Finch could launch into tales of the bell ringers. He motioned to Mary. \"You can give her the information directly.\"\n\nMary attached a plaster to Gilchrist's arm and a temp monitor to the back of his hand.\n\n\"I got through to Ely, sir,\" Finch said. \"I informed them of the handbell concert cancellation and they were quite pleasant, but the Americans are still very unhappy.\"\n\nMary finished entering Latimer's reads, stripped off the gloves, and came over to take the phone from Dunworthy.\n\n\"Finch? Dr. Ahrens here. Read me Badri's NHS number.\"\n\nDunworthy handed her his Secondaries sheet and a pencil, and she wrote it down and then asked for Badri's inoculation records and made a number of notations Dunworthy couldn't decipher.\n\n\"Any reactions or allergies?\" There was a pause, and then she said, \"All right, no. I can get the rest off the computer. I'll ring you back if I need additional information.\" She handed the phone back to Dunworthy. \"He wants to speak with you again,\" she said, and left, taking the paper with her.\n\n\"They're most unhappy at being kept here,\" Finch said. \"Ms. Taylor is threatening to sue for involuntary breach of contract.\"\n\n\"When was Badri's last course of antivirais?\"\n\nFinch took a considerable time looking through his sheaf of papers. \"Here it is, sir. September fourteenth.\"\n\n\"Did he have the full course?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Receptor analogues, MPA booster, and seasonals.\"\n\n\"Has he ever had a reaction to an antiviral?\"\n\n\"No, sir. There's nothing under allergies in the history. I already told Dr. Ahrens that.\"\n\nBadri had had all his antivirals. He had no history of reactions.\n\n\"Have you been to New College yet?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"No, sir, I'm just on my way. What should I do about supplies, sir? We've adequate stores of soap, but we're very low on lavatory paper.\"\n\nThe door opened, but it wasn't Mary. It was the medic who had been sent to fetch Montoya. He went over to the tea trolley and plugged in the electric kettle.\n\n\"Should I ration the lavatory paper, do you think, sir,\" Finch said, \"or put up notices asking everyone to conserve?\"\n\n\"Whatever you think best,\" Dunworthy said and rang off.\n\nIt must still be raining. The medic's uniform was wet, and when the kettle boiled, he put his red hands over the steam, as if trying to warm them.\n\n\"Are you quite finished using the telephone?\" Gilchrist said.\n\nDunworthy handed it to him. He wondered what the weather was like where Kivrin was, and whether Gilchrist had had Probability compute the chances of her coming through in the rain. Her cloak had not looked especially waterproof, and that friendly traveler who was supposed to come along within 1.6 hours would have holed up in a hostelry or haymow till the roads dried enough to be passable.\n\nDunworthy had taught Kivrin how to make a fire, but she could hardly do so with wet kindling and numb hands. Winters in the 1300s had been cold. It might even be snowing. The Little Ice Age had just begun in 1320, the weather eventually getting so cold that the Thames froze over. The lower temps and erratic weather had played such havoc with the crops that some historians blamed the Black Death's horrors on the malnourished state of the peasants. The weather had certainly been bad. In the autumn of 1348, it had rained in one part of Oxfordshire every day from Michaelmas to Christmas. Kivrin was probably lying there on the wet road, half-dead from hypothermia.\n\nAnd broken out in a rash, he thought, from her overdoting tutor worrying too much about her. Mary was right. He did sound like Mrs. Gaddson. The next thing he knew he'd be plunging off into 1320, forcing the doors of the net open like Mrs. Gaddson on the tube, and Kivrin would be as glad to see him as William was going to be to see his mother. And as in need of help.\n\nKivrin was the brightest and most resourceful student he had ever had. She surely knew enough to get in out of the rain. For all he knew, she had spent her last vac with the Eskimos, learning to build an igloo.\n\nShe had certainly thought of everything else, even down to her fingernails. When she had come in to show him her costume, she had held up her hands. Her nails had been broken off, and there were traces of dirt in the cuticles. \"I know I'm supposed to be nobility, but rural nobility, and they did a lot of farm chores in between Bayeaux Tapestries, and East Riding ladies didn't have scissors till the 1600s, so I spent Sunday afternoon in Montoya's dig, grubbing among the dead bodies, to get this effect.\" Her nails had looked dreadful, and utterly authentic. There was obviously no reason to worry about a minor detail like snow.\n\nBut he couldn't help it. If he could speak to Badri, ask him what he'd meant when he said, \"Something wrong,\" make certain the drop had gone properly and that there hadn't been too much slippage, he might be able to stop worrying. But Mary had not been able even to get Badri's NHS number till Finch phoned with it. He wondered if Badri were still unconscious. Or worse.\n\nHe got up and went over to the tea trolley and made himself a cup of tea. Gilchrist was on the phone again, apparently speaking to the porter. The porter didn't know where Basingame was either. When Dunworthy had talked to him, he had told him he thought Basingame had mentioned Loch Balkillan, a lake that turned out not to exist.\n\nDunworthy drank his tea. Gilchrist rang up the bursar and the deputy warden, neither of whom knew where Basingame had gone. The nurse who had guarded the door earlier came in and finished the blood tests. The male medic picked up one of the inspirational brochures and began to read it.\n\nMontoya filled out her admissions form and her lists of contacts. \"What am I supposed to do?\" she asked Dunworthy. \"Write down the people I've been in contact with today?\"\n\n\"The past three days,\" he said.\n\nThey continued to wait. Dunworthy drank another cup of tea. Montoya rang up the NHS and tried to persuade them to give her a quarantine exemption so she could go back to the dig. The female medic went back to sleep.\n\nThe nurse wheeled in a trolley with supper on it. \"' Greet chere made our hoste us everichon, And to the soper sette us anon, ' \" Latimer said, the only remark he had made all afternoon.\n\nWhile they ate, Gilchrist regaled Latimer with his plans for sending Kivrin to the aftermath of the Black Death. \"The accepted historical view is that it completely destroyed mediaeval society,\" he told Latimer as he cut his roast beef, \"but my research indicates it was purgative rather than catastrophic.\"\n\nFrom whose point of view? Dunworthy thought, wondering what was taking so long. He wondered if they were truly processing the blood tests or if they were simply waiting for one or all of them to collapse across the tea trolley so they could get a fix on the incubation period.\n\nGilchrist rang up New College again and asked for Basingame's secretary.\n\n\"She's not there,\" Dunworthy said. \"She's in Devonshire with her daughter for Christmas.\"\n\nGilchrist ignored him. \"Yes. I need to get a message through to her. I'm trying to reach Mr. Basingame. It's an emergency. We've just sent an historian to the 1300s, and Balliol failed to properly screen the tech who ran the net. As a result, he's contracted a contagious virus.\" He put the phone down. \"If Mr. Chaudhuri failed to have any of the necessary antivirals, I'm holding you personally responsible, Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\n\"He had the full course in September,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Have you proof of that?\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"Did it come through?\" the medic asked.\n\nThey all, even Latimer, turned to look at her in surprise. Until she'd spoken, she'd seemed fast asleep, her head far forward on her chest and her arms folded, holding the contacts lists.\n\n\"You said you sent somebody back to the Middle Ages,\" she said belligerently. \"Did it?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I don't\u2014\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"This virus,\" she said. \"Could it have come through the time machine?\"\n\nGilchrist looked nervously at Dunworthy. \"That isn't possible, is it?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. It was obvious Gilchrist knew nothing about the continuum paradoxes or string theory. The man had no business being Acting Head. He didn't even know how the net he had so blithely sent Kivrin through worked. \"The virus couldn't have come through the net.\"\n\n\"Dr. Ahrens said the Indian was the only case,\" the medic said. \"And you said\"\u2014she pointed at Dunworthy\u2014\"that he'd had the full course. If he's had his antivirals, he couldn't catch a virus unless it was a disease from somewhere else. And the Middle Ages was full of diseases, wasn't it? Smallpox and the plague?\"\n\nGilchrist said, \"I'm certain that Mediaeval has taken steps to protect against that possibility\u2014\"\n\n\"There is no possibility of a virus coming through the net,\" Dunworthy said angrily. \"The space-time continuum does not allow it to happen.\"\n\n\"You send people through,\" she persisted, \"and a virus is smaller than a person.\"\n\nDunworthy hadn't heard that argument since the early years of the nets, when the theory was only partially understood.\n\n\"I assure you we've taken every precaution,\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"Nothing that would affect the course of history can go through a net,\" Dunworthy explained, glaring at Gilchrist. The man was simply encouraging her with this talk of precautions and probabilities. \"Radiation, toxins, microbes, none of them has ever passed through a net. If they're present, the net simply won't open.\"\n\nThe medic looked unconvinced.\n\n\"I assure you\u2014\" Gilchrist said, and Mary came in.\n\nShe was carrying a sheaf of variously colored papers. Gilchrist stood up immediately. \"Dr. Ahrens, is there a possibility that this viral infection Mr. Chaudhuri has contracted might have come through the net?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" she said, frowning as if the whole idea were ridiculous. \"In the first place, diseases can't come through the net. It would violate the paradoxes. In the second place, if it had, which it can't, Badri would have caught it less than an hour after it came through, which would mean the virus had an incubation period of an hour, an utter impossibility. But if it did, which it can't, you all would be down ill already\"\u2014 she looked at her digital\u2014\"since it's been over three hours since you were exposed to it.\" She began collecting the contacts lists.\n\nGilchrist looked irritated. \"As Acting Head of the History Faculty I have responsibilities I must attend to,\" he said. \"How long do you intend to keep us here?\"\n\n\"Only long enough to collect your contacts lists,\" she said. \"And to give you your instructions. Perhaps five minutes.\"\n\nShe took Latimer's list from him. Montoya grabbed hers up from the end table and began writing hastily.\n\n\"Five minutes?\" the medic who had asked about the virus coming through the net said. \"Do you mean we're free to go?\"\n\n\"On medical probation,\" she said. She put the lists at the bottom of her sheaf of papers and began passing the top sheets, which were a virulent pink, around to everyone. They appeared to be a release form of some sort, absolving the Infirmary of any and all responsibility.\n\n\"We've completed your blood tests,\" she went on, \"and none of them show an increased level of antibodies.\"\n\nShe handed Dunworthy a blue sheet which absolved the NHS of any and all responsibility and confirmed willingness to pay any and all charges not covered by the NHS in full and within thirty days.\n\n\"I've been in touch with the WIC, and their recommendation is controlled observation, with continuous febrile monitoring and blood samples at twelve-hour intervals.\"\n\nThe sheet she was distributing now was green and headed \"Instructions for Primary Contacts.\" Number one was \"Avoid contact with others.\"\n\nDunworthy thought of Finch and the bell ringers waiting, no doubt, at the gate of Balliol with summons and Scriptures, and of all those Christmas shoppers and detainees between here and there.\n\n\"Record your temp at half-hour intervals,\" she said, passing round a yellow form. \"Come in immediately if your monitor\"\u2014she tapped at her own\u2014\"shows a marked increase in temp. Some fluctuation is normal. Temps tend to rise in the late afternoon and evening. Any temp between 36 and 37.4 is normal. Come in immediately if your temp exceeds 37.4 or rises suddenly, or if you begin to feel any symptoms\u2014headache, tightness in the chest, mental confusion, or dizziness.\"\n\nEveryone looked at his or her monitor, and, no doubt, began to feel a headache coming on. Dunworthy had had a headache all afternoon.\n\n\"Avoid contact with others as much as possible,\" Mary said. \"Keep careful track of any contacts you do have. We're still uncertain of the mode of transmission, but most myxoviruses spread by droplet and direct contact. Wash your hands with soap and water frequently.\"\n\nShe handed Dunworthy another pink sheet. She was running out of colors. This one was a log, headed \"Contacts,\" and under it, \"Name, Address, Type of Contact, Time.\"\n\nIt was unfortunate that Badri's virus had not had to deal with the CDC, the NHS, and the WIC. It would never have got in the door.\n\n\"You must report back here at seven tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I'd recommend a good supper and then to bed. Rest is the best defense against any virus. You are off-duty,\" she said, looking at the medics, \"for the duration of the temp quarantine.\" She passed out several more rainbow-hued papers and then asked brightly, \"Any questions?\"\n\nDunworthy looked at the medic, waiting for her to ask Mary if smallpox had come through the net, but she was looking uninterestedly at her clutch of papers.\n\n\"Can I go back to my dig?\" Montoya asked.\n\n\"Not unless it's inside the quarantine perimeter,\" Mary said.\n\n\"Well, great,\" she said, jamming her papers angrily into the pockets of her terrorist jacket. \"The whole village will have washed away while I'm stuck here.\" She stomped out.\n\n\"Are there any other questions?\" Mary said imperturbably. \"Very well, then, I'll see you all at seven o'clock.\"\n\nThe medics ambled out, the one who had asked about the virus yawning and stretching as if she were preparing for another nap. Latimer was still sitting down, watching his temp monitor. Gilchrist said something snappish to him, and he got up and put his coat on and collected his umbrella and his stack of papers.\n\n\"I expect to be kept informed of every development,\" Gilchrist said. \"I am contacting Basingame and telling him it's essential that he return and take charge of this matter.\" He swept out and then had to wait, holding the door open, for Latimer to pick up two papers he had dropped.\n\n\"Go round in the morning and collect Latimer, won't you?\" Mary said, looking through the contacts lists. \"He'll never remember he's to be here at seven.\"\n\n\"I want to see Badri,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"'Laboratory, Brasenose,'\" she said, reading from the sheets. \"'Dean's office, Brasenose. Laboratory, Brasenose.' Didn't anyone see Badri except in the net?\"\n\n\"In the ambulance on the way here he said, 'Something wrong,'\" Dunworthy said. \"There could have been slippage. If she's more than a week off, she'll have no idea when to rendezvous.\"\n\nShe didn't answer. She sorted through the sheets again, frowning.\n\n\"I need to make certain there weren't any problems with the fix,\" he said insistently.\n\nShe looked up. \"Very well,\" she said. \"These contact sheets are hopeless. There are great gaps in Badri's whereabouts for the past three days. He's the only person who can tell us where he was and with whom he came in contact.\" She led the way back down the corridor. \"I've had a nurse with him, asking him questions, but he's very disoriented and fearful of her. Perhaps he won't be as frightened of you.\"\n\nShe led the way down the corridor to the lift and said, \"Ground floor, please,\" into its ear. \"Badri's only conscious for a few moments at a time,\" she said to Dunworthy. \"It may be most of the night.\"\n\n\"That's all right,\" Dunworthy said. \"I won't be able to rest till I'm sure Kivrin is safely through.\"\n\nThey went up two flights in the lift, down another corridor, and through a door marked \"no entrance, isolation ward.\" Inside the door, a grim-looking ward sister was sitting at a desk watching a monitor.\n\n\"I'm taking Mr. Dunworthy in to see Mr. Chaudhuri,\" Mary said. \"We'll need SPG's. How is he?\"\n\n\"His fever's up again\u201439.8,\" the sister said, handing them the SPG's, which were plastene-sealed bundles of paper clothing gowns that stripped up the back, caps, imperm masks that were impossible to get on over the caps, bootielike snugs that went on over their shoes, and imperm gloves. Dunworthy made the mistake of putting his gloves on first and took what seemed like hours attempting to unfold the gown and affix the mask.\n\n\"You'll need to ask very specific questions,\" Mary said. \"Ask him what he did when he got up this morning, if he'd stayed the night with anyone, where he ate breakfast, who was there, that sort of thing. His high fever means that he's very disoriented. You may have to ask your questions several times.\" She opened the door to the room.\n\nIt wasn't really a room\u2014there was only space for the bed and a narrow campstool, not even a chair. The wall behind the bed was covered with displays and equipment. The far wall had a curtained window and more equipment. Mary glanced briefly at Badri and then began scanning the displays.\n\nDunworthy looked at the screens. The one nearest him was full of numbers and letters. The bottom line read \"ICU 14320691 22-12-54 1803 200/RPT 1800CRS IMJPCLN 200MG/q6h NHS40-211-7 M AHRENS.\" Apparently the doctor's orders.\n\nThe other screens showed spiking lines and columns of figures. None of them made any sense except for a number in the middle of the small display second from the right. It read \"Temp: 39.9.\" Dear God.\n\nHe looked at Badri. He was lying with his arms outside the bedclothes, his arms both connected to drips that hung from stanchions. One of the drips had at least five bags feeding into the main tube. His eyes were closed, and his face looked thin and drawn, as if he had lost weight since this morning. His dark skin had a strange purplish cast to it.\n\n\"Badri,\" Mary said, leaning over him, \"can you hear us?\"\n\nHe opened his eyes and looked at them without recognition, which was probably due less to the virus than to the fact that they were covered from head to foot in paper.\n\n\"It's Mr. Dunworthy,\" Mary said helpfully. \"He's come to see you.\" Her bleeper started up.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy?\" he said hoarsely and tried to sit up.\n\nMary pushed him gently down into the pillow. \"Mr. Dunworthy has some questions for you,\" she said, patting his chest gently the way she had in the laboratory at Brasenose. She straightened up, watching the displays on the wall behind him. \"Lie still. I need to leave now, but Mr. Dunworthy will stay with you. Rest and try to answer Mr. Dunworthy's questions.\" She left.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy?\" Badri said again as if he were trying to make sense of the words.\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. He sat down on the campstool. \"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"When do you expect him back?\" Badri said, and his voice sounded weak and strained. He tried to sit up again. Dunworthy put out his hand to stop him.\n\n\"Have to find him,\" he said. \"There's something wrong.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "They were burning her at the stake. She could feel the flames. They must already have tied her to the stake, though she could not remember that. She remembered them lighting the fire. She had fallen off the white horse, and the cutthroat had picked her up and carried her over to it.\n\n\"We must go back to the drop,\" she had told him.\n\nHe had leaned over her, and she could see his cruel face in the flickering firelight.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy will open the net as soon as he realizes something's wrong,\" she had told him. She shouldn't have told him that. He had thought she was a witch and had brought her here to be burned.\n\n\"I'm not a witch,\" she said, and immediately a hand came out of nowhere and rested coolly on her forehead.\n\n\"Shh,\" a voice said.\n\n\"I am not a witch,\" she said, trying to speak slowly so they would understand her. The cutthroat hadn't understood her. She had tried to tell him they shouldn't leave the drop, but he had paid no attention to her. He had put her on his white horse and led it out of the clearing and through the stand of white-trunked birches, into the thickest part of the forest.\n\nShe had tried to pay attention to which way they were going so she could find her way back, but the man's swinging lantern had lit only a few inches of ground at their feet, and the light had hurt her eyes. She had closed them, and that was a mistake because the horse's awkward gait made her dizzy, and she had fallen off the horse onto the ground.\n\n\"I am not a witch,\" she said. \"I'm an historian.\"\n\n\"Hawey fond enyowuh thissla dey? \" the woman's voice said, far away. She must have come forward to put a faggot on the fire and then stepped back again, away from the heat.\n\n\"Enwodes fillenun gleydund sore destroyste \" a man's voice said, and the voice sounded like Mr. Dunworthy's. \" Ayeen mynarmehs hoor alle op hider ybar.\"\n\n\"Sweltes shay dumorte blauen? \" the woman said.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" Kivrin said, holding out her arms to him, \"I've fallen among cutthroats!\" but she couldn't see him through the smothering smoke.\n\n\"Shh,\" the woman said, and Kivrin knew that it was later, that she had, impossibly, slept. How long does it take to burn, she wondered. The fire was so hot she should be ashes by now, but when she held her hand up, it looked untouched, though little red flames flickered along the edges of the fingers. The light from the flames hurt her eyes. She closed them.\n\nI hope I don't fall off the horse again, she thought. She had been clinging to the horse, both arms around its neck, though its uneven walk made her head ache even worse, and she had not let go, but she had fallen off, even though Mr. Dunworthy had insisted she learn how to ride, had arranged for her to have lessons at a riding stable near Woodstock. Mr. Dunworthy had told her this would happen. He had told her they would burn her at the stake.\n\nThe woman put a cup to her lips. It must be vinegar in a sponge, Kivrin thought, they gave that to martyrs. But it wasn't. It was a warm, bitter liquid. The woman had to tilt Kivrin's head forward to drink it, and it came to Kivrin for the first time that she was lying down.\n\nI'll have to tell Mr. Dunworthy, she thought, they burned people at the stake lying down. She tried to bring her hands up to her lips in the position of prayer to activate the corder, but the weight of the flames dragged them down again.\n\nI'm ill, Kivrin thought, and knew that the warm liquid had been a medicinal potion of some kind, and that it had brought her fever down a little. She was not lying on the ground after all, but in a bed in a dark room, and the woman who had hushed her and given her the liquid was there beside her. She could hear her breathing. Kivrin tried to move her head to see her, but the effort made it hurt again. The woman must be asleep. Her breathing was even and loud, almost like snoring. It hurt Kivrin's head to listen to it.\n\nI must be in the village, she thought. The redheaded man must have brought me here.\n\nShe had fallen off the horse, and the cutthroat had helped her back on, but when she looked into his face, he hadn't looked like a cutthroat at all. He was young, with red hair and a kind expression, and he had leaned over her where she was sitting against the wagon wheel, kneeling on one knee beside her, and said, \"Who are you?\"\n\nShe had understood him perfectly.\n\n\"Canstawd ranken derwyn? \" the woman said and tilted Kivrin's head forward for more of the bitter liquid. Kivrin could barely swallow. The fire was inside her throat now. She could feel the little orange flames, though the liquid should have put them out. She wondered if he had taken her to some foreign land, Spain or Greece, where the people spoke a language they hadn't put into the interpreter.\n\nShe had understood the redheaded man perfectly. \"Who are you?\" he had asked, and she had thought that the other man must be a slave he'd brought back from the Crusades, a slave who spoke Turkish or Arabic, and that was why she couldn't understand him.\n\n\"I'm an historian,\" she had said, but when she looked up into his kind face it wasn't him. It was the cutthroat.\n\nShe looked wildly around for the redheaded man, but he wasn't there. The cutthroat picked up sticks and laid them on some stones for a fire.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy!\" Kivrin called out desperately, and the cutthroat came and knelt in front of her, the light from his lantern flickering on his face.\n\n\"Fear not,\" he said. \"He will return soon.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy!\" she screamed, and the redheaded man came and knelt beside her again.\n\n\"I shouldn't have left the drop,\" she told him, watching his face so he wouldn't turn into the cutthroat. \"Something must have gone wrong with the fix. You must take me back there.\"\n\nHe unfastened the cloak he was wearing, swinging it easily off his shoulders, and laid it over her, and she knew he understood.\n\n\"I need to go home,\" she said to him as he bent over her. He had a lantern with him, and it lit his kind face and flickered on his red hair like flames.\n\n\"Godufadur,\" he called out, and she thought, That's the slave's name: Gauddefaudre. He will ask the slave to tell him where he found me, and then he'll take me back to the drop. And Mr. Dunworthy. Mr. Dunworthy would be frantic that she wasn't there when he opened the net. It's all right, Mr. Dunworthy, she had said silently. I'm coming.\n\n\"Dreede nawmaydde,\" the redheaded man had said and lifted her up in his arms. \" Fawrthah Galwinnath coam.\"\n\n\"I'm ill,\" Kivrin said to the woman, \"so I can't understand you,\" but this time no one leaned forward out of the darkness to quiet her. Maybe they had tired of watching her burn and had gone away. It was certainly taking a long time, though the fire seemed to be growing hotter now.\n\nThe redheaded man had set her on the white horse before him and ridden into the woods, and she had thought he must be taking her back to the drop. The horse had a saddle now, and bells, and the bells jangled as they rode, playing a tune. It was \"O Come, All Ye Faithful,\" and the bells grew louder and louder with each verse, till they sounded like the bells of St. Mary the Virgin's.\n\nThey rode a long way, and she thought they must surely be near the drop by now.\n\n\"How far is the drop?\" she asked the redheaded man. \"Mr. Dunworthy will be so worried,\" but he didn't answer her. He rode out of the woods and down a hill. The moon was up, shining palely in the branches of a stand of narrow, leafless trees, and on the church at the bottom of the hill.\n\n\"This isn't the drop,\" she said, and tried to pull on the horse's reins to turn it back the way they had come, but she did not dare take her arms from around the redheaded man's neck for fear she might fall. And then they were at a door, and it opened, and opened again, and there was a fire and light and the sound of bells, and she knew they had brought her back to the drop after all.\n\n\"Shay boyen syke nighonn tdeeth,\" the woman said. Her hands were wrinkled and rough on Kivrin's skin. She pulled the bed coverings up around Kivrin. Fur, Kivrin could feel soft fur against her face, or maybe it was her hair.\n\n\"Where have you brought me to?\" Kivrin asked. The woman leaned forward a little, as if she couldn't hear her, and Kivrin realized she must have spoken in English. Her interpreter wasn't working. She was supposed to be able to think her words in English and speak them in Middle English. Perhaps that was why she couldn't understand them, because her interpreter wasn't working.\n\nShe tried to think how to say it in Middle English. \" Where hast thou bringen me to? \" The construction was wrong. She must ask, \"What is this place?\" but she could not remember the Middle English for place.\n\nShe could not think. The woman kept piling on blankets, and the more furs she laid over her, the colder Kivrin got, as if the woman were somehow putting out the fire.\n\nThey would not understand what she meant if she asked, \"What is this place?\" She was in a village. The redheaded man had brought her to a village. They had ridden past a church and up to a large house. She must ask, \"What is the name of this village?\"\n\nThe word for \"place\" was demain, but the construction was still wrong. They would use the French construction, wouldn't they?\n\n\"Quelle demeure avez vous m'apport\u00e9? \" she said aloud, but the woman had gone away, and that was not right. They had not been French for two hundred years. She must ask the question in English. \"Where is the village you have brought me to?\" But what was the word for village?\n\nMr. Dunworthy had told her she might not be able to depend on the interpreter, that she had to take lessons in Middle English and Norman French and German to counterbalance discrepancies in pronunciation. He had made her memorize pages and pages of Chaucer. \" Soun ye nought but eyr ybroken And every speche that ye spoken. \" No. No. \"Where is this village you have brought me to?\" What was the word for village?\n\nHe had brought her to a village and knocked on a door. A big man had come to the door, carrying an ax. To cut the wood for the fire, of course. A big man and then a woman, and they had both spoken words Kivrin couldn't understand, and the door had shut, and they had been outside in the darkness.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy! Dr. Ahrens!\" she had cried, and her chest hurt too much to get the words out. \"You mustn't let them close the drop,\" she had said to the redheaded man, but he had changed again into a cutthroat, a thief.\n\n\"Nay,\" he had said. \"She is but injured,\" and then the door had opened again, and he had carried her in to be burnt.\n\nShe was so hot.\n\n\"Thawmot goonawt plersoun roshundt prayenum comth ithre,\" the woman said, and Kivrin tried to raise her head to drink, but the woman wasn't holding a cup. She was holding a candle close to Kivrin's face. Too close. Her hair would catch fire.\n\n\"Der maydemot nedes dya,\" the woman said.\n\nThe candle flickered close to her cheek. Her hair was on fire. Orange and red flames burned along the edges of her hair, catching stray wisps and twisting them into ash.\n\n\"Shh,\" the woman said, and tried to capture Kivrin's hands, but Kivrin struggled against her until her hands were free. She struck at her hair, trying to put the flames out. Her hands caught fire.\n\n\"Shh,\" the woman said, and held her hands still. It was not the woman. The hands were too strong. Kivrin tossed her head from side to side, trying to escape the flames, but they were holding her head still, too. Her hair blazed up in a cloud of fire.\n\nIt was smoky in the room when she woke up. The fire must have gone out while she slept. That had happened to one of the martyrs when they had burned him at the stake. His friends had piled green faggots on the fire so he would die of the smoke before the fire reached him, but it had put the fire nearly out instead, and he had smoldered for hours.\n\nThe woman leaned over her. It was so smoky Kivrin couldn't see whether she was young or old. The redheaded man must have put out the fire. He had spread his cloak over her and then gone over to the fire and put it out, kicking it apart with his boots, and the smoke had come up and blinded her.\n\nThe woman dripped water on her, and the drops sizzled on her skin. \" Hauccaym anchi towoem denswile? \" the woman said.\n\n\"I am Isabel de Beauvrier,\" Kivrin said. \"My brother lies ill at Evesham.\" She could not think of any of the words. Quelle demeure. Perced to the rote. \"Where am I?\" she said in English.\n\nA face leaned close to hers. \" Hau hightes towe? \" it said. It was the cutthroat face of the enchanted wood. She pulled back from it, frightened.\n\n\"Go away!\" she said. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti,\" he said.\n\nLatin, she thought thankfully. There must be a priest here. She tried to raise her head to see past the cutthroat to the priest, but she could not. It was too smoky in the room. I can speak Latin, she thought. Mr. Dunworthy made me learn it.\n\n\"You shouldn't have let him in here!\" she said in Latin. \"He's a cutthroat!\" Her throat hurt, and she seemed to have no breath to put behind the words, but from the way the cutthroat drew back in surprise, she knew they had heard her.\n\n\"You must not be afraid,\" the priest said, and she understood him perfectly. \"You do but go home again.\"\n\n\"To the drop?\" Kivrin said. \"Are you taking me to the drop?\"\n\n\"Asperges me, Domine, hyssope et mundabor,\" the priest said. Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, O Lord, and I shall be cleansed. She could understand him perfectly.\n\n\"Help me,\" she said in Latin. \"I must return to the place from which I came.\"\n\n\"...nominus...\" the priest said, so softly she couldn't hear him. Name. Something about her name. She raised her head. It felt curiously light, as though all her hair had burned away.\n\n\"My name?\" she said.\n\n\"Can you tell me your name?\" he said in Latin.\n\nShe was supposed to tell them she was Isabel de Beauvrier, daughter of Gilbert de Beauvrier, from the East Riding, but her throat hurt so she didn't think she could get it out.\n\n\"I have to go back,\" she said. \"They won't know where I've gone.\"\n\n\"Confiteor deo omnipotenti,\" the priest said from very far away. She couldn't see him. When she tried to look past the cutthroat, all she could see were flames. They must have lit the fire again. \" Beatae Mariae semper Virgini...\"\n\nHe's saying the Confiteor Deo, she thought, the prayer of confession. The cutthroat shouldn't be here. There shouldn't be anyone else in the room during a confession.\n\nIt was her turn. She tried to fold her hands in prayer and couldn't, but the priest helped her, and when she couldn't remember the words, he recited them with her. \"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, I confess to Almighty God, and to you, Father, that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, deed, and omission, through my fault.\"\n\n\"Mea culpa,\" she whispered,\" mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. \" Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault, but that wasn't right, that wasn't what she was supposed to say.\n\n\"How have you sinned?\" the priest said.\n\n\"Sinned?\" she said blankly.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said gently, leaning so close he was practically whispering in her ear. \"That you may confess your sins and have God's forgiveness, and enter into the kingdom eternal.\"\n\nAll I wanted to do was go to the Middle Ages, she thought. I worked so hard, learning the languages and the customs and doing everything Mr. Dunworthy told me. All I wanted to do was to be an historian.\n\nShe swallowed, a feeling like flame. \"I have not sinned.\"\n\nThe priest drew back then, and she thought he had gone away angry because she wouldn't confess her sins.\n\n\"I should have listened to Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said. \"I shouldn't have left the drop.\"\n\n\"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti. Amen,\" the priest said. His voice was gentle, comforting. She felt his cool, cool touch on her forehead.\n\n\"Quid quid deliquisti,\" the priest murmured. \"Through this holy unction and His own most tender mercy...\" He touched her eyes, her ears, her nostrils, so lightly she couldn't feel his hand at all, but only the cool touch of the oil.\n\nThat isn't part of the sacrament of penance, Kivrin thought. That's the ritual for extreme unction. He's saying the last rites.\n\n\"Don't\u2014\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Be not afraid,\" he said. \"May the Lord pardon thee whatever offenses thou has committed by walking,\" he said and put out the fire that was burning the soles of her feet.\n\n\"Why are you giving me the last rites?\" Kivrin said and then remembered they were burning her at the stake. I'm going to die here, she thought, and Mr. Dunworthy will never know what happened to me.\n\n\"My name is Kivrin,\" she said. \"Tell Mr. Dunworthy\u2014\"\n\n\"May you behold your Redeemer face-to-face,\" the priest said, only it was the cutthroat speaking. \"And standing before Him may you gaze with blessed eyes on the truth made manifest.\"\n\n\"I'm dying, aren't I?\" she asked the priest.\n\n\"There is naught to fear,\" he said, and took her hand.\n\n\"Don't leave me,\" she said, and clutched his hand.\n\n\"I will not,\" he said, but she couldn't see him for all the smoke. \"May Almighty God have mercy upon thee, and forgive thee thy sins, and bring thee unto life everlasting,\" he said.\n\n\"Please come and get me, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said, and the flames roared up between them.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000806\u2013000882):\n\n\u2002Domine, mittere digneris sanctum Angelum tuum de caelis, qui custodiat, foveat, protegat, visitet, atque defendat omnes habitantes in hoc habitaculo.\n\n\u2002Exaudi orationim meam et clamor meus ad te veniat.\n\n\u2002Translation: O Lord, vouchsafe to send Thy holy angel from heaven, to guard, cherish, protect, visit, and defend all those that are assembled together in this house.\n\n\u2002Hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee.\n\n\"What is it, Badri? What's wrong?\" Dunworthy asked. \"Cold,\" Badri said. Dunworthy leaned across him and pulled the sheet and blanket up over his shoulders. The blanket seemed pitifully inadequate, as thin as the paper gown Badri was wearing. No wonder he was cold.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Badri murmured. He pulled his hand out from under the bedclothes and took hold of Dunworthy's. He closed his eyes.\n\nDunworthy glanced anxiously at the displays, but they were as inscrutable as ever. The temp still read 39.9. Badri's hand felt very hot, even through the imperm glove, and the fingernails looked odd, almost a dark blue. Badri's skin seemed darker, too, and his face looked somehow thinner even than when they had brought him in.\n\nThe ward sister, whose outline under her paper robe looked uncomfortably like Mrs. Gaddson's, came in and said gruffly, \"The list of primary contacts is on the chart.\" No wonder Badri was afraid of her. \"CH1,\" she said, pointing to the keyboard under the first display on the left.\n\nA chart divided into hour-long blocks came up on the screen. His own name, Mary's, and the ward sister's were at the top of the chart with the letters SPG after them, in parentheses, presumably to indicate that they were wearing protective garments when they came into contact with him.\n\n\"Scroll,\" Dunworthy said, and the chart moved up over the screen through the arrival at the hospital, the ambulance medics, the net, the last two days. Badri had been in London Monday morning setting up an on-site for Jesus College. He had come up to Oxford on the tube at noon.\n\nHe had come to see Dunworthy at half past two and was there until four. Dunworthy entered the times on the chart. Badri had told him he'd gone to London Sunday, though he couldn't remember what time. He entered, \"London\u2014phone Jesus for time of arrival.\"\n\n\"He drifts in and out a good bit,\" the sister said disapprovingly. \"It's the fever.\" She checked the drips, gave a yank to the bedclothes, and went out.\n\nThe door's shutting seemed to wake Badri up. His eyes fluttered open.\n\n\"I need to ask you some questions, Badri,\" Dunworthy said. \"We need to find out who you've seen and talked to. We don't want them to come down with this, and we need you to tell us who they are.\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but his hand was holding tightly to Dunworthy's. \"In the laboratory.\"\n\n\"This morning?\" Dunworthy said. \"Did you see Kivrin before this morning? Did you see her yesterday?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What did you do yesterday?\"\n\n\"I checked the net,\" he said weakly, and his hand clung to Dunworthy's.\n\n\"Were you there all day?\"\n\nHe shook his head, the effort producing a whole series of bleeps and climbs on the displays. \"I went to see you.\"\n\nDunworthy nodded. \"You left me a note. What did you do after that? Did you see Kivrin?\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said. \"I checked Puhalski's coordinates.\"\n\n\"Were they correct?\"\n\nHe frowned. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are you certain?\"\n\n\"Yes. I verified them twice.\" He stopped to catch his breath. \"I ran an internal check and a comparator.\"\n\nDunworthy felt a rush of relief. There hadn't been a mistake in the coordinates. \"What about the slippage? How much slippage was there?\"\n\n\"Headache,\" he murmured. \"This morning. Must have drunk too much at the dance.\"\n\n\"What dance?\"\n\n\"Tired,\" he murmured.\n\n\"What dance did you go to?\" Dunworthy persisted, feeling like an Inquisition torturer. \"When was it? Monday?\"\n\n\"Tuesday,\" Badri said. \"Drank too much.\" He turned his head away on the pillow.\n\n\"You rest now,\" Dunworthy said. He gently disengaged his hand from Badri's. \"Try to get some sleep.\"\n\n\"Glad you came,\" Badri said, and reached for it again.\n\nDunworthy held it, watching Badri and the displays by turns as he slept. It was raining. He could hear the patter of drops behind the closed curtains.\n\nHe had not realized how ill Badri really was. He had been too worried about Kivrin to even think about him. Perhaps he shouldn't be so angry with Montoya and the rest of them. They had their preoccupations, too, and none of them had stopped to think what Badri's illness meant except in terms of the difficulties and inconvenience it caused. Even Mary, talking about needing Bulkeley-Johnson for an infirmary and the possibilities of an epidemic, hadn't brought home the reality of Badri's illness and what it meant. He had had his antivirals, and yet he lay here with a fever of 39.9.\n\nThe evening passed. Dunworthy listened to the rain and the chiming of the quarter hours at St. Hilda's and, more distantly, Christ Church. The ward sister informed Dunworthy grimly that she was going off-duty, and a much smaller and more cheerful blond nurse, wearing the insignia of a student, came in to check the drips and look at the displays.\n\nBadri struggled in and out of consciousness with an effort Dunworthy would hardly have described as \"drifting.\" He seemed more and more exhausted each time he fought his way back to consciousness, and less and less able to answer Dunworthy's questions.\n\nDunworthy kept at it mercilessly. The Christmas dance had been in Headington. Badri had gone to a pub afterward. He couldn't remember the name of it. Monday night he had worked alone in the laboratory, checking Puhalski's coordinates. He had come up at noon from London. On the tube. This was impossible. Tube passengers and partygoers, and everyone he'd had contact with in London. They would never be able to trace and test all of them, even if Badri knew who they were.\n\n\"How did you get to Brasenose this morning?\" Dunworthy asked the next time Badri \"drifted\" awake again.\n\n\"Morning?\" Badri said, looking at the curtained window as if he thought it were morning already. \"How long have I been asleep?\"\n\nDunworthy didn't know how to answer that. He'd been asleep off and on all evening. \"It's ten,\" he said, looking at his digital. \"We brought you in to hospital at half past one. You ran the net this morning. You sent Kivrin through. Do you remember when you began feeling ill?\"\n\n\"What's the date?\" Badri said suddenly.\n\n\"December the twenty-second. You've only been here part of one day.\"\n\n\"The year,\" Badri said, attempting to sit up. \"What's the year?\"\n\nDunworthy glanced anxiously at the displays. His temp was nearly 40.0. \"The year is 2054,\" he said, bending over him to calm him. \"It's December the twenty-second.\"\n\n\"Back up,\" Badri said.\n\nDunworthy straightened and stepped back from the bed.\n\n\"Back up,\" he said again. He pushed himself up farther and looked around the room. \"Where's Mr. Dunworthy? I need to speak to him.\"\n\n\"I'm right here, Badri.\" Dunworthy took a step toward the bed and then stopped, afraid of upsetting him. \"What did you want to tell me?\"\n\n\"Do you know where he might be then?\" Badri said. \"Would you give him this note?\"\n\nHe handed him an imaginary sheet of paper, and Dunworthy realized he must be reliving Tuesday afternoon when he had come to Balliol.\n\n\"I have to get back to the net.\" He looked at an imaginary digital. \"Is the laboratory open?\"\n\n\"What did you want to talk to Mr. Dunworthy about?\" Dunworthy asked. \"Was it the slippage?\"\n\n\"No. Back up! You're going to drop it. The lid!\" He looked straight at Dunworthy, his eyes bright with fever. \"What are you waiting for? Go and fetch him.\"\n\nThe student nurse came in.\n\n\"He's delirious,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nShe gave Badri a cursory glance and then looked up at the displays. They seemed ominous to Dunworthy, feeding numbers frantically across the screens and zigzagging in three dimensions, but the student nurse didn't seem particularly concerned. She looked at each of the displays in turn and calmly began adjusting the flow on the drips.\n\n\"Let's lie down, all right?\" she said, still without looking at Badri, and amazingly he did.\n\n\"I thought you'd gone,\" he said to her, lying back against the pillow. \"Thank goodness you're here,\" he said, and seemed to collapse all over again, though this time there was nowhere to fall.\n\nThe student nurse hadn't noticed. She was still adjusting the drips.\n\n\"He's fainted,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nShe nodded and began calling reads onto the display. She didn't so much as glance at Badri, who looked deathly pale under his dark skin.\n\n\"Don't you think you should call a doctor?\" Dunworthy said, and the door opened and a tall woman in SPG's came in.\n\nShe didn't look at Badri either. She read the monitors one by one, and then asked, \"Indications of pleural involvement?\"\n\n\"Cyanosis and chills,\" the nurse said.\n\n\"What's he getting?\"\n\n\"Myxabravine,\" she said.\n\nThe doctor took a stethoscope down from the wall, untangling the chestpiece from the connecting cord. \"Any hemoptysis?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Cold,\" Badri said from the bed. Neither of them paid the slightest attention. Badri began to shiver. \"Don't drop it. It was china, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"I want fifty cc's of acqueous penicillin and an ASA pack,\" the doctor said. She sat Badri, shivering harder than ever, up in bed and peeled the velcro strips of his paper nightgown open. She pressed the stethoscope's chestpiece against Badri's back in what seemed to Dunworthy to be a cruel and unusual punishment.\n\n\"Take a deep breath,\" the doctor said, her eyes on the display. Badri did, his teeth chattering.\n\n\"Minor pleural consolidation lower left,\" the doctor said cryptically and moved the chestpiece over a centimeter. \"Another.\" She moved the chestpiece several more times and then said, \"Do we have an ident yet?\"\n\n\"Myxovirus,\" the nurse said, filling a syringe. \"Type A.\"\n\n\"Sequencing?\"\n\n\"Not yet.\" She fit the syringe into the cannula and pushed the plunger down. Somewhere outside a telephone rang.\n\nThe doctor velcroed the top of Badri's nightgown together, lowered him back to the bed again, and flipped the sheet carelessly over his legs.\n\n\"Give me a gram stain,\" she said, and left. The phone was still ringing.\n\nDunworthy longed to pull the blanket up over Badri properly, but the student nurse was hooking another drip onto the stanchion. He waited till she had finished with the drip and gone out, and then straightened the sheet and pulled the blanket carefully up over Badri's shoulders and tucked it in at the side of the bed.\n\n\"Is that better?\" he said, but Badri had already stopped shivering and gone to sleep. Dunworthy looked at the displays. His temp was already down to 39.2, and the previously frantic lines on the other screens were steady and strong.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" the student nurse's voice came from somewhere on the wall, \"there's a telephone call for you. It's a Mr. Finch.\"\n\nDunworthy opened the door. The student nurse, out of her SPG's, motioned to him to take off his gown. He did, dumping the garments in the large cloth hamper she indicated. \"Your spectacles, please,\" she said. He handed them to her and she began spritzing disinfectant on them. He picked up the phone, squinting at the screen.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, I've been looking for you everywhere,\" Finch said. \"The most dreadful thing's happened.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Dunworthy said. He glanced at his digital. It was ten o'clock. Too early for someone to have come down with the virus if the incubation period was twelve hours. \"Is someone ill?\"\n\n\"No, sir. It's worse than that. It's Mrs. Gaddson. She's in Oxford. She got through the quarantine perimeter somehow.\"\n\n\"I know. The last train. She made them hold the doors.\"\n\n\"Yes, well, she called from hospital. She insists on staying at Balliol, and she accused me of not taking proper care of William because I was the one who typed out the tutor assignments, and apparently his tutor's made him stay up over vac to read Petrarch.\"\n\n\"Tell her we haven't any room. Tell her the dormitories are being sterilized.\"\n\n\"I did, sir, but she said in that case she would room with William. I don't like to do that to him, sir.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"There are some things one shouldn't have to endure, even in an epidemic. Have you told William his mother's coming?\"\n\n\"No, sir. I tried, but he's not in college. Tom Gailey told me Mr. Gaddson was visiting a young lady at Shrewsbury, so I rang her up, but there was no answer.\"\n\n\"No doubt they're out reading Petrarch somewhere,\" Dunworthy said, wondering what would happen if Mrs. Gaddson should come upon the unwary couple on her way to Balliol.\n\n\"I don't see why he should be doing that, sir,\" Finch said, sounding troubled. \"Or why his tutor should have assigned Petrarch at all. He's reading for mods.\"\n\n\"Yes, well, when Mrs. Gaddson arrives, put her in Warren.\" The nurse looked up sharply from polishing his spectacles. \"It's across the quad at any rate. Give her a room that doesn't look out on anything. And check our supply of rash ointment.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Finch said. \"I spoke with the bursar at New College. She said Mr. Basingame told her before he left that he wanted to be 'free of distractions,' but she said she assumed he'd told someone where he was going and that she'd try to phone his wife as soon as the lines settled down.\"\n\n\"Did you ask about their techs?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Finch said. \"All of them have gone home for the holidays.\"\n\n\"Which of our techs lives the closest to Oxford?\"\n\nFinch thought for a moment. \"That would be Andrews. In Reading. Would you like his number?\"\n\n\"Yes, and make me up a list of the others' numbers and addresses.\"\n\nFinch recited Andrews's number. \"I've taken steps to remedy the lavatory paper situation. I've put up notices with the motto: Waste Leads to Want.\"\n\n\"Wonderful,\" Dunworthy said. He rang off and tried Andrews's number. It was engaged.\n\nThe student nurse handed him back his spectacles and a new bundle of SPG's, and he put them on, taking care this time to put the mask on before the cap and to leave the gloves till last. It still took an unconscionable amount of time to array himself. He hoped the nurse would be significantly faster if Badri rang the bell for help.\n\nHe went back in. Badri was still restlessly asleep. He glanced at the display. His temp read 39.4.\n\nHis head ached. He took off his spectacles and rubbed at the space between his eyes. Then he sat down on the campstool and looked at the chart of contacts he had pieced together thus far. It could scarcely be called a chart, there were so many gaps in it. The name of the pub Badri had gone to after the dance. Where Badri had been Monday evening. And Monday afternoon. He had come up from London on the tube at noon, and Dunworthy had phoned him to ask him to run the net at half past two. Where had he been those two and a half hours?\n\nAnd where had he gone Tuesday afternoon after he came to Balliol and left the note saying he'd run a systems check on the net? Back to the laboratory? Or to another pub? He wondered if perhaps someone at Balliol had spoken to Badri while he was there. When Finch called back to inform him of the latest developments in American bell ringers and lavatory paper, he would tell him to ask everyone who'd been in college if they'd seen Badri.\n\nThe door opened, and the student nurse, swathed in SPG's, came in. Dunworthy looked automatically at the displays, but he couldn't see any dramatic changes. Badri was still asleep. The nurse entered some figures on the display, checked the drip, and tugged at a corner of the bedclothes. She opened the curtain and then stood there, twisting the cord in her hands.\n\n\"I couldn't help overhearing you on the telephone,\" she said. \"You mentioned a Mrs. Gaddson. I know it's terribly rude of me to ask, but might that have been William Gaddson's mother you were speaking of?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, surprised. \"William's an undergraduate at Balliol. Do you know him?\"\n\n\"He's a friend of mine,\" she said, flushing such a bright pink he could see it through her imperm mask.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, wondering when William had time to read Petrarch. \"William's mother is here in hospital,\" he said, feeling he should warn her but unclear as to whom to warn her about. \"It seems she's come to visit him for Christmas.\"\n\n\"She's here?\" the nurse said, flushing an even brighter pink. \"I thought we were under quarantine.\"\n\n\"Hers was the last train up from London,\" Dunworthy said wistfully.\n\n\"Does William know?\"\n\n\"My secretary is attempting to notify him,\" he said, omitting the bit about the young lady at Shrewsbury.\n\n\"He's at the Bodleian,\" she said, \"reading Petrarch.\" She unwrapped the curtain cord from her hand and went out, no doubt to telephone the Bodleian.\n\nBadri stirred and murmured something Dunworthy could not make out. He looked flushed, and his breathing seemed more labored.\n\n\"Badri?\" he said.\n\nBadri opened his eyes. \"Where am I?\" he said.\n\nDunworthy glanced at the monitors. His fever was down a half a point and he seemed more alert than before.\n\n\"In Infirmary,\" he said. \"You collapsed in the lab at Brasenose while you were working the net. Do you remember?\"\n\n\"I remember feeling odd,\" he said. \"Cold. I came to the pub to tell you I'd got the fix...\" A strange, frightened look came over his face.\n\n\"You told me there was something wrong,\" Dunworthy said. \"What was it? Was it the slippage?\"\n\n\"Something wrong,\" Badri repeated. He tried to raise himself on his elbow. \"What's wrong with me?\"\n\n\"You're ill,\" Dunworthy said. \"You have the flu.\"\n\n\"Ill? I've never been ill.\" He struggled to sit up. \"They died, didn't they?\"\n\n\"Who died?\"\n\n\"It killed them all.\"\n\n\"Did you see someone, Badri? This is important. Did someone else have the virus?\"\n\n\"Virus?\" he said, and there was obvious relief in his voice. \"Do I have a virus?\"\n\n\"Yes. A type of flu. It's not fatal. They've been giving you antimicrobials, and an analogue's on the way. You'll be recovered in no time. Do you know who you caught it from? Did someone else have the virus?\"\n\n\"No.\" He eased himself back down onto the pillow. \"I thought\u2014Oh!\" He looked up in alarm at Dunworthy. \"There's something wrong,\" he said desperately.\n\n\"What is it?\" He reached for the bell. \"What's wrong?\"\n\nHis eyes were wide with fright. \"It hurts!\"\n\nDunworthy pushed the bell. The nurse and a house officer came in immediately and went through their routine again, prodding him with the icy stethoscope.\n\n\"He complained of being cold,\" Dunworthy said. \"And of something hurting.\"\n\n\"Where does it hurt?\" the house officer said, looking at a display.\n\n\"Here,\" Badri said. He pressed his hand to the right side of his chest. He began to shiver again.\n\n\"Lower right pleurisy,\" the house officer said.\n\n\"Hurts when I breathe,\" Badri said through chattering teeth. \"There's something wrong.\"\n\nSomething wrong. He had not meant the fix. He had meant that something was wrong with him. He was how old? Kivrin's age? They had begun giving routine rhinovirus antivirals nearly twenty years ago. It was entirely possible that when he'd said he'd never been ill, he meant he'd never had so much as a cold.\n\n\"Oxygen?\" the nurse said.\n\n\"Not yet,\" the house officer said on his way out. \"Start him on two hundred units of chloramphenicol.\"\n\nThe nurse laid Badri back down, attached a piggyback to the drip, watched Badri's temp drop for a minute, and went out.\n\nDunworthy looked out the window at the rainy night. \"I remember feeling odd,\" he had said. Not ill. Odd. Someone who'd never had a cold wouldn't know what to make of a fever or chills. He would only have known something was wrong and would have left the net and hurried to the pub to tell someone. Have to tell Dunworthy. Something wrong.\n\nDunworthy took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. The disinfectant made them smart. He felt exhausted. He had said he couldn't relax until he knew Kivrin was all right. Badri was asleep, the harshness of his breathing taken away by the impersonal magic of the doctors. And Kivrin was asleep, too, in a flea-ridden bed seven hundred years away. Or wide awake, impressing the contemps with her table manners and her dirty fingernails, or kneeling on a filthy stone floor, telling her adventures into her hands.\n\nHe must have dozed off. He dreamed he heard a telephone ringing. It was Finch. He told him the Americans were threatening to sue for insufficient supplies of lavatory paper and that the vicar had called with the Scripture. \"It's Matthew 2:11,\" Finch said. \"Waste leads to want,\" and at that point the nurse opened the door and told him Mary needed him to meet her in Casualties.\n\nHe looked at his digital. It was twenty past four. Badri was still asleep, looking almost peaceful. The nurse met him outside with the disinfectant bottle and told him to take the elevator.\n\nThe smell of disinfectant from his spectacles helped wake him up. By the time he reached the ground floor he was almost awake. Mary was there waiting for him in a mask and the rest of it. \"We've got another case,\" she said, handing him a bundle of SPG's. \"It's one of the detainees. It might be someone from that crowd of shoppers. I want you to try to identify her.\"\n\nHe got into the garments as clumsily as the first time, nearly tearing the gown in his efforts to get the velcro strips apart. \"There were dozens of shoppers on the High,\" he said, pulling the gloves on. \"And I was watching Badri. I doubt that I could identify anyone on that street.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Mary said. She led the way down the corridor and through the door to Casualties. It seemed like years since he'd been there.\n\nAhead, a cluster of people, all anonymous in paper, were wheeling a stretcher trolley in. The house officer, also papered, was taking information from a thin, frightened-looking woman in a wet mackintosh and matching rain hat.\n\n\"Her name is Beverly Breen,\" the woman told him in a faint voice, \"226 Plover Way, Surbiton. I knew something was wrong. She kept saying we needed to take the tube to Northampton.\"\n\nShe was carrying an umbrella and a large handbag, and when the house officer asked for the patient's NHS number, she leaned the umbrella against the admissions desk, opened the handbag, and looked through it.\n\n\"She was just brought in from the tube station complaining of headache and chills,\" Mary said. \"She was in line to be assigned lodging.\"\n\nShe signaled the medics to stop the stretcher trolley and pulled the blanket back from the woman's neck and chest so he could get a better look at her, but he didn't need it.\n\nThe woman in the wet mac had found the card. She handed it to the officer, picked up the umbrella, the handbag, and a sheaf of varicolored papers, and came over to the stretcher trolley carrying them. The umbrella was a large one. It was covered with lavender violets.\n\n\"Badri collided with her on the way back to the net,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Are you absolutely certain?\" Mary said.\n\nHe pointed at the woman's friend, who had sat down now and was filling out forms. \"I recognize the umbrella.\"\n\n\"What time was that?\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not positive. Half past one?\"\n\n\"What type of contact was it? Did he touch her?\"\n\n\"He ran straight into her,\" he said, trying to recall the scene. \"He collided with the umbrella, and then he told her he was sorry, and she yelled at him for a bit. He picked up the umbrella and handed it to her.\"\n\n\"Did he cough or sneeze?\"\n\n\"I can't remember.\"\n\nThe woman was being wheeled into Casualties. Mary stood up. \"I want her put in Isolation,\" she said, and started after them.\n\nThe woman's friend stood up, dropping one of the forms and clutching the others awkwardly to her chest. \"Isolation?\" she said frightenedly. \"What's wrong with her?\"\n\n\"Come with me, please,\" Mary said to her and led her off somewhere to have her blood taken and her friend's umbrella spritzed with disinfectant before Dunworthy could ask her whether she wanted him to wait for her. He started to ask the registrar and then sat down tiredly in one of the chairs against the wall. There was an inspirational brochure on the chair next to him. Its title was \"The Importance of a Good Night's Sleep.\"\n\nHis neck hurt from his uncomfortable sleep on the campstool, and his eyes were smarting again. He supposed he should go back up to Badri's room, but he wasn't certain he had the energy to put on another set of SPG's. And he didn't think he could bear to wake Badri and ask him who else would be shortly wheeled into Casualties with a temp of 39.5.\n\nAt any rate Kivrin wouldn't be one of them. It was half past four. Badri had collided with the woman with the lavender umbrella at half past one. That meant an incubation of fifteen hours, and fifteen hours ago Kivrin had been fully protected.\n\nMary came back, her cap off and her mask dangling from her neck. Her hair was in disarray, and she looked as bone-weary as Dunworthy felt.\n\n\"I'm discharging Mrs. Gaddson,\" she told the registrar. \"She's to be back here at seven for a blood test.\" She came over to where Dunworthy was sitting. \"I'd forgotten all about her,\" she said, smiling. \"She was rather upset. She threatened to sue me for unlawful detainment.\"\n\n\"She should get along well with my bell ringers. They're threatening to go to court over involuntary breach of contract.\"\n\nMary ran her hand through her disorderly hair. \"We got an ident from the World Influenza Centre on the influenza virus.\" She stood up as if she had had a sudden infusion of energy. \"I could do with a cup of tea,\" she said. \"Come along.\"\n\nDunworthy glanced at the registrar, who was watching them attentively, and hauled himself to his feet.\n\n\"I'll be in the surgical waiting room,\" Mary said to the registrar.\n\n\"Yes, Doctor,\" the registrar said. \"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation...\" she said hesitantly.\n\nMary stiffened.\n\n\"You told me you were discharging Mrs. Gaddson, and then I heard you mention the name 'William,' and I was just wondering if Mrs. Gaddson is by any chance William Gaddson's mother.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Mary said, looking puzzled.\n\n\"You're a friend of his?\" Dunworthy said, wondering if she would blush like the blond student nurse.\n\nShe did. \"I've come to know him rather well this vac. He's stayed up to read Petrarch.\"\n\n\"Among other things,\" Dunworthy said and, while she was busy blushing, steered Mary past the \"no entrance: isolation area\" sign and down the corridor.\n\n\"What in heaven's name was that all about?\" she asked.\n\n\"Sickly William is even more self-sufficient than we had at first assumed,\" he said, and opened the door to the waiting room.\n\nMary flicked the light on and went over to the tea trolley. She shook the electric kettle and disappeared into the WC with it. He sat down. Someone had taken away the tray of blood-testing equipment and moved the end table back to its proper place, but Mary's shopping bag was still sitting in the middle of the floor. He leaned forward and moved it over next to the chairs.\n\nMary reappeared with the kettle. She bent and plugged it in. \"Did you have any luck discovering Badri's contacts?\" she said.\n\n\"If you could call it that. He went to a Christmas dance in Headington last night. He took the tube both ways. How bad is it?\"\n\nMary opened two tea packets and draped them over the cups. \"There's only powdered milk, I'm afraid. Do you know if he's had any contact recently with someone from the States?\"\n\n\"No. Why?\"\n\n\"Do you take sugar?\"\n\n\"How bad is it?\"\n\nShe poured powdered milk into the cups. \"The bad news is that Badri's very ill.\" She spooned in sugar. \"He had his seasonals through the University, which requires broader-spectrum protection than the NHS. He should be completely protected against a five-point shift, and partially resistant to a ten-point shift. But he's exhibiting full influenza symptoms, which indicates a major mutation.\"\n\nThe kettle was screaming. \"Which means an epidemic.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"A pandemic?\"\n\n\"Possibly. If the WIC can't sequence the virus quickly, or the staff bolts. Or the quarantine doesn't hold.\"\n\nShe unplugged the kettle and poured hot water into their cups. \"The good news is that the WIC thinks it's an influenza that originated in South Carolina.\" She brought a cup over to Dunworthy. \"In which case it's already been sequenced and an analogue and vaccine manufactured, it responds well to antimicrobials and symptomatic treatment, and it's not fatal.\"\n\n\"How long is its incubation period?\"\n\n\"Twelve to forty-eight hours.\" She stood against the tea trolley and took a sip of tea. \"The WIC is sending blood samples to the CDC in Atlanta for matching, and they're sending their recommended course of treatment.\"\n\n\"When did Kivrin check into Infirmary on Monday for her antivirals?\"\n\n\"Three o'clock,\" Mary said. \"She was here until nine the next morning. I kept her overnight to ensure she got a good night's sleep.\"\n\n\"Badri says he didn't see her yesterday,\" Dunworthy said, \"but he could have had contact with her Monday before she went into Infirmary.\"\n\n\"She'd need to have been exposed before her antiviral inoculation, and the virus have had a chance to replicate unchecked for her to be in danger, James,\" Mary said. \"Even if she did see Badri Monday or Tuesday, she's in less danger of developing symptoms than you are.\" She looked seriously at him over her teacup. \"You're still worried over the fix, aren't you?\"\n\nHe half shook his head. \"Badri says he checked the apprentice's coordinates and they were correct, and he'd already told Gilchrist the slippage was minimal,\" he said, wishing Badri had answered him when he asked him about the slippage.\n\n\"What else is there that can have gone wrong?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"I don't know. Nothing. Except that she's alone in the Middle Ages.\"\n\nMary set her cup of tea down on the trolley. \"She may be safer there than here. We're going to have a good many ill patients. Influenza spreads like wildfire, and the quarantine will only make it worse. The medical staff are always the first exposed. If they come down with it, or the supply of antimicrobials gives out, this century could be the one that's a ten.\"\n\nShe pushed her hand tiredly over her untidy hair. \"Sorry, it's the fatigue speaking. This isn't the Middle Ages, after all. It's not even the twentieth century. We have metabolizers and adjuvants, and if it's the South Carolina virus, we've an analogue and a vaccine. But I'm still glad Colin and Kivrin are safely out of this.\"\n\n\"Safely in the Middle Ages,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nMary smiled at him. \"With the cutthroats.\"\n\nThe door banged open. A tallish blond boy with large feet and a rugby duffel came in, dripping water on the floor.\n\n\"Colin!\" Mary said.\n\n\"So this is where you've got to,\" Colin said. \"I've been looking everywhere for you.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000893\u2013000898):\n\n\u2002Mr. Dunworthy, ad adjuvandum me festina.\n\n\u2002Translation: Make haste to help me."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "\u2003In the bleak midwinter\n\n\u2003Frosty wind made moan,\n\n\u2003Earth stood hard as iron,\n\n\u2003Water like a stone;\n\n\u2003Snow had fallen, snow on snow,\n\n\u2003Snow on snow,\n\n\u2003In the bleak midwinter\n\n\u2003Long ago.\n\n\u2014Christina Rossetti\n\nThe fire was out. Kivrin could still smell smoke in the room, but she knew it was from a fire burning in a hearth somewhere. It's no wonder, she thought, chimneys didn't become extant in England until the late fourteenth century, and this is only 1320. And as soon as she had formed the thought, awareness of the rest of it came: I am in 1320, and I've been ill. I've had a fever.\n\nFor a while she didn't think any further than that. It was peaceful to just lie there and rest. She felt worn out, as if she had come through some terrible ordeal that took all her strength. I thought they were trying to burn me at the stake, she thought. She remembered struggling against them and the flames leaping up, licking at her hands, burning her hair.\n\nThey had to cut off my hair, she thought, and wondered if that were a memory or something she had dreamed. She was too tired to raise her hand to her hair, too tired to even try to remember. I have been very ill, she thought. They gave me the last rites. \"There is naught to fear,\" he had said. \"You do but go home again.\" Requiscat in pace. And slept.\n\nWhen she woke again, it was dark in the room, and a bell was ringing a long way off. She had the idea that it had been ringing for a long time, the way the lone bell had rung when she came through, but after a minute another one chimed in, and then one so close it seemed to be just outside the window, drowning out the others as they rang. Matins, Kivrin thought, and seemed to remember them ringing like that before, a ragged, out-of-tune chiming that matched the beating of her heart, but that was impossible.\n\nShe must have dreamed it. She had dreamed they were burning her at the stake. She had dreamed they cut off her hair. She had dreamed the contemps spoke a language she didn't understand.\n\nThe nearest bell stopped, and the others went on for a while, as if glad of the opportunity to make themselves heard, and Kivrin remembered that, too. How long had she been here? It had been night, and now it was morning. It seemed like one night, but now she remembered the faces leaning over her. When the woman had brought her the cup and again when the priest had come in, and the cutthroat with him, she had been able to see them clearly, without the flicker of unsteady candlelight. And in between she remembered darkness and the smoky light of tallow lamps and the bells, ringing and stopping and ringing again.\n\nShe felt a sudden stab of panic. How long had she been lying here? What if she had been ill for weeks and had already missed the rendezvous? But that was impossible. People weren't delirious for weeks, even if they had typhoid fever, and she couldn't have typhoid fever. She had had her inoculations.\n\nIt was cold in the room, as if the fire had gone out in the night. She felt for the bed coverings, and hands came up out of the dark immediately and pulled something soft over her shoulders.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Kivrin said, and slept.\n\nThe cold woke her again, and she had the feeling she had only slept a few moments, though there was a little light in the room now. It came from a narrow window recessed in the stone wall. The window's shutters had been opened, and that was where the cold was coming from, too.\n\nA woman was standing on tiptoe on the stone seat under the window, fastening a cloth over the opening. She was wearing a black robe and a white wimple and coif, and for a moment Kivrin thought, I'm in a nunnery, and then remembered that women in the 1300s covered their hair when they were married. Only unmarried girls wore their hair loose and uncovered.\n\nThe woman didn't look old enough to be married, or to be a nun either. There had been a woman in the room while she was ill, but that woman had been much older. When Kivrin had clutched at her hands in her delirium, they had been rough and wrinkled, and the woman's voice had been harsh with age, though perhaps that had been part of the delirium, too.\n\nThe woman leaned into the light from the window. The white coif was yellowed and it was not a robe, but a kirtle like Kivrin's, with a dark green surcote over it. It was badly dyed and looked like it had been made from a burlap sack, the weave so large Kivrin could see it easily even in the dim light. She must be a servant, then, but servants didn't wear linen wimples or carry bunches of keys like the one that hung from the woman's belt. She had to be a person of some importance, the housekeeper, perhaps.\n\nAnd this was a place of importance. Probably not a castle, because the wall the bed lay up against wasn't stone\u2014it was unfinished wood\u2014but very likely a manor house of at least the first order of nobility, a minor baron, and possibly higher than that. The bed she was lying in was a real bed with a raised wooden frame and hangings and stiff linen sheets, not just a pallet, and the coverings were fur. The stone seat under the window had embroidered cushions on it.\n\nThe woman tied the cloth to little projections of stone on either side of the narrow window, stepped down from the window seat, and leaned over to get something. Kivrin couldn't see what it was because the bed hangings obstructed her view. They were heavy, almost like rugs, and had been pulled back and tied with what looked like rope.\n\nThe woman straightened up again, holding a wooden bowl, and then, catching her skirts up with her free hand, stepped onto the window seat and began brushing something thick onto the cloth. Oil, Kivrin thought. No, wax. Waxed linen used in place of glass in windows. Glass was supposed to have been common in fourteenth-century manor houses. The nobility were supposed to have carried glass windows along with the luggage and the furniture when they traveled from house to house.\n\nI must get this on the corder, Kivrin thought, that some manor houses didn't have glass windows, and she raised her hands and pressed them together, but the effort of holding them up was too great, and she let them fall back onto the coverings.\n\nThe woman glanced over toward the bed and then turned back to the window and went on painting the cloth with long, unconcerned strokes. I must be getting better, Kivrin thought. She was right by the bed the whole time I was ill. She wondered again how long that time had been. I will have to find out, she thought, and then I must find the drop.\n\nIt couldn't be very far. If this was the village she had intended to go to, the drop wasn't more than a mile away. She tried to remember how long the trip to the village had taken. It had seemed to take a long time. The cutthroat had put her on a white horse, and it had had bells on its harness. But he wasn't a cutthroat. He was a kind-looking young man with red hair.\n\nShe would have to ask the name of the village she had been brought to, and hopefully it would be Skendgate. But even if it wasn't, she would know from the name where she was in relation to the drop. And, of course, as soon as she was a little stronger, they could show her where it was.\n\nWhat is the name of this village you have brought me to? She had not been able to think of the words last night, but that was because of the fever, of course. She had no trouble now. Mr. Latimer had spent months on her pronunciation. They would certainly be able to understand,\" In whatte londe am I? \" or even,\" Whatte be thisse holding? \" and even if there were some variation in local dialect, the interpreter would automatically correct it.\n\n\"Whatte place hast thou brotte me? \" Kivrin said.\n\nThe woman turned, looking startled. She stepped down from the window seat, still holding the bowl in one hand and the brush in the other, only it wasn't a brush, Kivrin could see as she approached the bed. It was a squarish wooden spoon with a nearly flat bowl.\n\n\"Gottebae plaise tthar tleve,\" the woman said, holding spoon and bowl together in front of her. \" Beth naught agast.\"\n\nThe interpreter was supposed to translate what was said immediately. Maybe Kivrin's pronunciation was all off, so far off that the woman thought she was speaking a foreign language and was trying to answer her in clumsy French or German.\n\n\"Whatte place hast thou brotte me? \" she said slowly so the interpreter would have time to translate what she said.\n\n\"Wick londebay yae comen lawdayke awtreen godelae deynorm andoar sic straunguwlondes. Spekefaw eek waenoot awfthy taloorbrede.\"\n\n\"Lawyes sharess toostee? \" a voice said.\n\nThe woman turned around to look at a door Kivrin couldn't see, and another woman came in, much older, her face under the coif wrinkled and her hands the hands Kivrin remembered from her delirium, rough and old. She was wearing a silver chain and carrying a small leather chest. It looked like the casket Kivrin had brought through with her, but it was smaller and bound with iron instead of brass. She set the casket down on the window seat.\n\n\"Auf specheryit darmayt?\"\n\nShe remembered the voice, too, harsh and almost angry-sounding, speaking to the woman by Kivrin's bed as if she were a servant. Well, perhaps she was, and this was the lady of the house, though her coif was no whiter, her dress no finer. But there weren't any keys at her belt, and now Kivrin remembered that it wasn't the housekeeper who carried the keys but the lady of the house.\n\nThe lady of the manor in yellowed linen and badly dyed burlap, which meant that Kivrin's dress was all wrong, as wrong as Latimer's pronunciations, as wrong as Dr. Ahrens's assurances that she would not get any mediaeval diseases.\n\n\"I had my inoculations,\" she murmured, and both women turned to look at her.\n\n\"Ellavih swot wardesdoor feenden iss? \" the older woman asked sharply. Was she the younger woman's mother, or her mother-in-law, or her nurse? Kivrin had no idea. None of the words she'd said, not even a proper name or a form of address, separated itself out.\n\n\"Maetinkerr woun dahest wexe hoordoumbe,\" the younger woman said, and the older one answered,\" Nor nayte bawcows derouthe.\"\n\nNothing. Shorter sentences were supposed to be easier to translate, but Kivrin couldn't even tell whether she had said one word or several.\n\nThe younger woman's chin in the tight coif lifted angrily. \" Certessan, shreevadwomn wolde nadae seyvous \" she said sharply.\n\nKivrin wondered if they were arguing over what to do with her. She pushed on the coverlet with her weak hands, as if she could push herself away from them, and the young woman set down her bowl and spoon and came immediately up beside the bed.\n\n\"Spaegun yovor tongawn glais? \" she said, and it might be \"Good morning,\" or \"Are you feeling better?\" or \"We're burning you at dawn,\" for all Kivrin knew. Perhaps her illness was keeping the interpreter from working. Perhaps when the fever went down, she would understand everything they said.\n\nThe old woman knelt beside the bed, holding a small silver box at the end of the chain between her folded hands, and began to pray. The young woman leaned forward to look at Kivrin's forehead and then reached around behind her head, doing something that pulled at Kivrin's hair, and she realized they must have bandaged the wound on her forehead. She touched her hand to the cloth and then put it on her neck, feeling for her tangled locks, but there was nothing there. Her hair ended in a ragged fringe just below her ears.\n\n\"Vae motten tiyez thynt,\" the young woman said worriedly. \" Far thotyiwort wount sorr. \" She was giving Kivrin some kind of explanation, though Kivrin couldn't understand it, and actually she did understand it: she had been very ill, so ill she had thought her hair was on fire. She remembered someone\u2014the old woman?\u2014trying to grab at her hands and her flailing wildly at the flames. They had had no alternative.\n\nAnd Kivrin had hated the unwieldy mass of hair and the endless time it took to brush it, had worried about how mediaeval women wore their hair, whether they braided it or not, and wondered how on earth she was going to get through two weeks without washing it. She should be glad they had cut it off, but all she could think of was Joan of Arc, who had had short hair, whom they had burned at the stake.\n\nThe young woman had drawn her hands back from the bandage and was watching Kivrin, looking frightened. Kivrin smiled at her, a little quaveringly, and she smiled back. She had a gap where two teeth were missing on the right side of her mouth, and the tooth next to the gap was brown, but when she smiled she looked no older than a first-year student.\n\nShe finished untying the bandage and laid it on the coverlet. It was the same yellowed linen as her coif, but torn into fraying strips, and stained with brownish blood. There was more blood than Kivrin would have thought there would be. Mr. Gilchrist's wound must have started bleeding again.\n\nThe woman touched Kivrin's temple nervously, as if she wasn't sure what to do. \" Vexeyaw hongroot? \" she said, and put one hand behind Kivrin's neck and helped her raise her head.\n\nHer head felt terribly light. That must be because of my hair, Kivrin thought.\n\nThe older woman handed the young one a wooden bowl, and she put it to Kivrin's lips. Kivrin sipped carefully at it, thinking confusedly that it was the same bowl that had held the wax. It wasn't, and it wasn't the drink they'd given her before. It was a thin, grainy gruel, less bitter than the drink last night, but with a greasy aftertaste.\n\n\"Thasholde nayive gros vitaille towayte,\" the older woman said, her voice harsh with impatient criticism.\n\nDefinitely her mother-in-law, Kivrin thought.\n\n\"Shimote lese hoor fource,\" the young woman answered back mildly.\n\nThe gruel tasted good. Kivrin tried to drink it all, but after only a few sips she felt worn out.\n\nThe young woman handed the bowl to the older one, who had come around to the side of the bed, too, and eased Kivrin's head back down onto the pillow. She picked up the bloody bandage, touched Kivrin's temple again as if she were debating whether to put the bandage back on again, and then handed it to the other woman, who set it and the bowl down on the chest that must be at the foot of the bed.\n\n\"Lo, liggethsteallouw,\" the young woman said, smiling her gap-toothed smile, and there was no mistaking her tone even though she couldn't make out the words at all. The woman had told her to go to sleep. She closed her eyes.\n\n\"Durmidde shoalausbrekkeynow,\" the older woman said, and they left the room, shutting the heavy door behind them.\n\nKivrin repeated the words slowly to herself, trying to catch some familiar word. The interpreter was supposed to enhance her ability to separate out phonemes and recognize syntactical patterns, not just store Middle English vocabulary, but she might as well be listening to Serbo-Croatian.\n\nAnd maybe I am, she thought. Who knows where they've brought me? I was delirious. Maybe the cutthroat put me on a boat and took me across the Channel. She knew that wasn't possible. She remembered most of the night's journey, even though it had a disjointed, dreamlike quality to it. I fell off the horse, she thought, and a redheaded man picked me up. And we came past a church.\n\nShe frowned, trying to remember more about the direction they had traveled. They had headed into the woods, away from the thicket, and then come to a road, and the road forked, and that was where she had fallen off. If she could find the fork in the road, perhaps she could find the drop from there. The fork was only a little way from the tower.\n\nBut if the drop was that close, she was in Skendgate and the women were speaking Middle English, but if they were speaking Middle English, why couldn't she understand them?\n\nMaybe I hit my head when I fell off the horse, and it's done something to the interpreter, she thought, but she had not hit her head. She had let go and slid down until she was sitting on the road. It's the fever, she thought. It's somehow keeping the interpreter from recognizing the words.\n\nIt recognized the Latin, she thought, and a little knot of fear began to form in her chest. It recognized the Latin, and I can't be ill. I had my inoculations. She remembered suddenly that her antiviral inoculation had itched and made a lump under her arm, but Dr. Ahrens had checked it just before she came through. Dr. Ahrens had said it was all right. And none of her other inoculations had itched except the plague inoculation. I can't have the plague, she thought. I don't have any of the symptoms.\n\nPlague victims had huge lumps under their arms and on the insides of their thighs. They vomited blood, and the blood vessels under their skin ruptured and turned black. It wasn't the plague, but what was it, and how had she contracted it? She had been inoculated against every major disease extant in 1320, and anyway, she hadn't been exposed to any disease. She had begun to have symptoms as soon as she came through, before she had even met anyone. Germs didn't just hover near a drop, waiting for someone to come through. They had to be spread by contact or sneezing or fleas. The plague had been spread by fleas.\n\nIt's not the plague, she told herself firmly. People who have the plague don't wonder if they have it. They're too busy dying.\n\nIt wasn't the plague. The fleas that had spread it lived on rats and humans, not out in the middle of a forest, and the Black Death hadn't reached England till 1348. It must be some mediaeval disease Dr. Ahrens hadn't known about. There had been all sorts of strange diseases in the Middle Ages\u2014the king's evil and St. Vitus's dance and unnamed fevers. It must be one of them, and it had taken her enhanced immune system a while to figure out what it was and begin fighting it. But now it had, and her temperature was down and the interpreter would begin working. All she had to do was rest and wait and get better. Comforted by that thought, she closed her eyes again and slept.\n\nSomeone was touching her. She opened her eyes. It was the mother-in-law. She was examining Kivrin's hands, turning them over and over again in hers, rubbing her chapped forefinger along the backs, scrutinizing the nails. When she saw Kivrin's eyes were open, she dropped her hands, as if in disgust, and said,\" Sheavost ahvheigh parage attelest, bant hoore der wikkonasshae haswfolletwe?\"\n\nNothing. Kivrin had hoped that somehow, while she slept, the interpreter's enhancers would have sorted and deciphered everything she'd heard, and she would wake to find the interpreter working. But their words were still unintelligible. It sounded a little like French, with its dropped endings and delicate rising inflections, but Kivrin knew Norman French\u2014Mr. Dunworthy had made her learn it\u2014and she couldn't make out any of the words.\n\n\"Hastow naydepesse? \" the old woman said.\n\nIt sounded like a question, but all French sounded like a question.\n\nThe old woman took hold of Kivrin's arm with one rough hand and put her other arm around her, as if to help her up. I'm too ill to get up, Kivrin thought. Why would she make me get up? To be questioned? To be burned?\n\nThe younger woman came into the room, carrying a footed cup. She set it down on the window seat and came to take Kivrin's other arm. \" Hastontee natour yowrese? \" she asked, smiling her gap-toothed smile at Kivrin, and Kivrin thought, Maybe they're taking me to the bathroom, and made an effort to sit up and put her legs over the side of the bed.\n\nShe was immediately dizzy. She sat, her bare legs dangling over the side of the high bed, waiting for it to pass. She was wearing her linen shift and nothing else. She wondered where her clothes were. At least they had let her keep her shift. People in the Middle Ages didn't usually wear anything to bed.\n\nPeople in the Middle Ages didn't have indoor plumbing either, she thought, and hoped she wouldn't have to go outside to a privy. Castles sometimes had enclosed garderobes, or corners over a shaft that had to be cleaned out at the bottom, but this wasn't a castle.\n\nThe young woman put a thin, folded blanket around Kivrin's shoulders like a shawl, and they both helped her off the bed. The planked wooden floor was icy. She took a few steps and was dizzy all over again. I'll never make it all the way outside, she thought.\n\n\"Wotan shay wootes nawdaor youse der jordane? \" the old woman said sharply, and Kivrin thought she recognized jardin, the French for garden, but why would they be discussing gardens?\n\n\"Thanway maunhollp anhour,\" the young woman said, putting her arm around Kivrin and draping Kivrin's arm over her shoulders. The old woman gripped her other arm with both hands. She scarcely came to Kivrin's shoulder, and the young woman didn't look like she weighed more than ninety pounds, but between them they walked her to the end of the bed.\n\nKivrin got dizzier with every step. I'll never make it all the way outside, she thought, but they had stopped at the end of the bed. There was a chest there, a low wooden box with a bird or possibly an angel carved roughly into the top. On it lay a wooden basin full of water, the bloody bandage that had been around Kivrin's forehead, and a smaller, empty bowl. Kivrin, concentrating on not falling over, didn't realize what it was until the old woman said,\" Swoune nawmaydar oupondre yorresette \" and pantomimed lifting her heavy skirts and sitting on it.\n\nA chamber pot, Kivrin thought gratefully. Mr. Dunworthy, chamber pots were extant in country village manor houses in 1320. She nodded to show she understood and let them ease her down onto it, though she was so dizzy she had to grab at the heavy bed hangings to keep from falling, and her chest hurt so badly when she tried to stand up again that she doubled over.\n\n\"Maisry! \" the old woman shouted toward the door. \" Maisry, com undtvae holpoon! \" and the inflection indicated clearly that she was calling someone\u2014Marjorie? Mary?\u2014to come and help, but no one appeared, so perhaps she was wrong about that, too.\n\nShe straightened a little, testing the pain, and then tried to stand up, and the pain had lessened a little, but they still had to nearly carry her back to the bed, and she was exhausted by the time she was back under the bed coverings. She closed her eyes.\n\n\"Slaeponpon donu paw daton,\" the young woman said, and she had to be saying \"Rest,\" or \"Go to sleep,\" but she still couldn't decipher it. The interpreter's broken, she thought, and the little knot of panic started to form again, worse than the pain in her chest.\n\nIt can't be broken, she told herself. It's not a machine. It's a chemical syntax and memory enhancer. It can't be broken. It could only work with words in its memory, though, and obviously Mr. Latimer's Middle English was useless. Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote. Mr. Latimer's pronunciations were so far off the interpreter couldn't recognize what it was hearing as the same words, but that didn't mean it was broken. It only meant it had to collect new data, and the few sentences it had heard so far weren't enough.\n\nIt recognized the Latin, she thought, and the panic stabbed at her again, but she resisted it. It had been able to recognize the Latin because the rite of extreme unction was a set piece. She had already known what words should be there. The words the women spoke weren't a set piece, but they were still decipherable. Proper names, forms of address, nouns and verbs and prepositional phrases would appear in set positions that repeated again and again. They would separate themselves out rapidly, and the interpreter would be able to use them as the key to the rest of the code. And what she needed to do now was collect data, listen to what was said without even trying to understand it, and let the interpreter work.\n\n\"Thin keowre hoorwoun desmoortale? \" the young woman asked.\n\n\"Got talion wottes,\" the old woman said.\n\nA bell began to ring, far away. Kivrin opened her eyes. Both women had turned to look at the window, even though they couldn't see through the linen.\n\n\"Bere wichebay gansanon,\" the young woman said.\n\nThe old woman didn't answer. She was staring at the window, as if she could see past the stiffened linen, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer.\n\n\"Aydreddit ister fayve riblaun,\" the young woman said, and in spite of her resolution, Kivrin tried to make it into \"It is time for vespers,\" or \"There is the vespers bell,\" but it wasn't vespers. The bell went on tolling, and no other bells joined in. She wondered if it was the bell she had heard before, ringing all alone in the late afternoon.\n\nThe old woman turned abruptly away from the window. \" Nay, Elwiss, itbahn diwolffin. \" She picked up the chamber pot from the wooden chest. \" Gawynha thesspyd\u2014\"\n\nThere was a sudden scuffling outside the door, a sound of footsteps running up stairs, and a child's voice crying,\" Modder! Eysmertemay!\"\n\nA little girl burst into the room, blond braids and cap strings flying, nearly colliding with the old woman and the chamber pot. The child's round face was red and smeared with tears.\n\n\"Wol yadothoos for shame ahnyous! \" the old woman growled at her, lifting the treacherous bowl out of reach. \" Yowe maun naroonso inhus.\"\n\nThe little girl paid no attention to her. She ran straight at the young woman, sobbing,\" Rawzamun hattmay smerte, Modder!\"\n\nKivrin gasped. Modder. That had to be \"mother.\"\n\nThe little girl held up her arms, and her mother, oh, yes, definitely mother, picked her up. She fastened her arms around her mother's neck and began to howl.\n\n\"Shh, ahnyous, shh,\" the mother said. That guttural's a G, Kivrin thought. A hacking German G. Shh, Agnes.\n\nStill holding her, the mother sat down on the window seat. She wiped at the tears with the tail of her coif. \" Spekenaw dothass bifel, Agnes.\"\n\nYes, definitely Agnes. And speken was \"tell.\" Tell me what happened.\n\n\"Shayoss mayswerte! \" Agnes said, pointing at another child who had just come into the room. The second girl was considerably older, nine or ten at least. She had long brown hair that hung down her back and was held in place by a dark blue kerchief.\n\n\"Itgan naso, ahnyous,\" she said. \"Tha pighte rennin gown derstayres,\" and there was no mistaking that combination of affection and contempt. She didn't look like the blond little girl, but Kivrin was willing to bet this dark-haired girl was the little one's older sister. \" Shay pighte renninge ahndist eyres, Modder.\"\n\n\"Mother\" again, and shay was \"she\" and pighte must be \"fell.\" It sounded French, but the key to this was German. The pronunciations, the constructions, were German. Kivrin could almost feel it click into place.\n\n\"Na comfitte horr thusselwys,\" the older woman said. \"She hathnau woundes. Hoor teres been fornaught mais gain thy pitye.\"\n\n\"Hoor nay ganful bloody,\" the woman said, but Kivrin couldn't hear her. She was hearing instead the interpreter's translation, still clumsy and obviously more than a beat behind, but a translation:\n\n\"Don't pamper her, Eliwys. She is not injured. Her tears are but to get your attention.\"\n\nAnd the mother, whose name was Eliwys, \"Her knee is bleeding.\"\n\n\"Rossmunt, brangund oorwarsted frommecofre,\" she said, pointing at the foot of the bed, and the interpreter was right behind her. \"Rosemund, fetch me the cloth on the chest.\" The ten-year-old moved immediately toward the trunk at the foot of the bed.\n\nThe older girl was Rosemund, and the little one was Agnes, and the impossibly young mother in her wimple and coif was Eliwys.\n\nRosemund held out a frayed cloth that must surely be the one Eliwys had taken off Kivrin's forehead.\n\n\"Touch it not! Touch it not!\" Agnes screamed, and Kivrin wouldn't have even needed the interpreter for that one. It was still far more than a beat behind.\n\n\"I would but tie a cloth to stop the bleeding,\" Eliwys said, taking the rag from Rosemund. Agnes tried to push it away. \"The cloth will not\u2014\" There was a blank space as if the interpreter didn't know a word, and then, \"\u2014you, Agnes.\" The word was obviously \"hurt\" or \"harm,\" and Kivrin wondered if the interpreter had not had the word in its memory and why it couldn't have come up with an approximation from context.\n\n\"\u2014will penaunce,\" Agnes shouted, and the interpreter echoed, \"It will\u2014\" and then the blank again. The space must be so that she could hear the actual word and make her own guess at its meaning. It wasn't a bad idea, but the interpreter was so far behind the space that Kivrin couldn't hear the word she was intended to. If the interpreter did this every time it didn't recognize a word, she was in serious trouble.\n\n\"It will penaunce,\" Agnes wailed, pushing her mother's hand away from her knee. \"It will pain,\" the interpreter whispered, and Kivrin felt relieved that it had managed to come up with something, even though \"to pain\" was scarcely a verb.\n\n\"How came you to fall?\" Eliwys asked to distract Agnes.\n\n\"She was running up the stairs,\" Rosemund said. \"She was running to give you the news that... had come.\"\n\nThe interpreter left a space again, but Kivrin caught the word this time. Gawyn, which was probably a proper name, and the interpreter had apparently reached the same conclusion because by the time Agnes had shrieked,\" I would have told Mother Gawyn had come,\" the interpreter included it in the translation.\n\n\"I would have told,\" Agnes said, really crying now, and buried her face against her mother, who promptly took advantage of the opportunity to tie the bandage around Agnes's knee.\n\n\"You can tell me now,\" she said.\n\nAgnes shook her buried head.\n\n\"You tie the bandage too loosely, daughter-in-law,\" the older woman said. \"It will but fall away.\"\n\nThe bandage looked tight enough to Kivrin, and obviously any attempt to bind the wound tighter would result in renewed screams. The old woman was still holding the chamber pot in both hands. Kivrin wondered why she didn't go empty it.\n\n\"Shh, shh,\" Eliwys said, rocking the little girl gently and patting her back. \"I would fain have you tell me.\"\n\n\"Pride goes before a fall,\" the old woman said, seemingly determined to make Agnes cry again. \"You were to blame that you fell. You should not have run on the stairs.\"\n\n\"Was Gawyn riding a white mare?\" Eliwys asked.\n\nA white mare. Kivrin wondered if Gawyn could be the man who had helped her onto his horse and brought her to the manor.\n\n\"Nay,\" Agnes said in a tone that indicated her mother had made some sort of joke. \"He was riding his own black stallion Gringolet. And he rode up to me and said, 'Good Lady Agnes, I would speak with your mother.'\"\n\n\"Rosemund, your sister was hurt because of your carelessness,\" the old woman said. She hadn't succeeded in upsetting Agnes, so she'd decided to go after some other victim. \"Why were you not tending her?\"\n\n\"I was at my broidery,\" Rosemund said, looking to her mother for support. \"Maisry was to keep watch over her.\"\n\n\"Maisry went out to see Gawyn,\" Agnes said, sitting up on her mother's lap.\n\n\"And dally with the stableboy,\" the old woman said. She went to the door and shouted, \"Maisry!\"\n\nMaisry. That was the name the old woman had called out before, and now the interpreter wasn't even leaving spaces when it came to proper names. Kivrin didn't know who Maisry was, probably a servant, but if the way things were going was any indication, Maisry was going to be in a lot of trouble. The old woman was determined to find a victim, and the missing Maisry seemed perfect.\n\n\"Maisry!\" she shouted again, and the name echoed.\n\nRosemund took the opportunity to go and stand beside her mother. \"Gawyn bade us tell you he begged leave to come and speak with you.\"\n\n\"Waits he below?\" Eliwys asked.\n\n\"Nay. He went first to the church to speak of the lady with Father Rock.\"\n\nPride goes before a fall. The interpreter was obviously getting overconfident. Father Rolfe, perhaps, or Father Peter. Obviously not Father Rock.\n\n\"Why went he to speak to Father Rock?\" the old woman demanded, coming back into the room.\n\nKivrin tried to hear the real word under the maddening whisper of the translation. Roche. The French word for \"rock.\" Father Roche.\n\n\"Mayhap he has found somewhat of the lady,\" Eliwys said, glancing at Kivrin. It was the first indication she, or anyone, had given that they remembered Kivrin was in the room. Kivrin quickly closed her eyes to make them think she was asleep so they would go on discussing her.\n\n\"Gawyn rode out this morning to seek the ruffians,\" Eliwys said. Kivrin opened her eyes to slits, but she was no longer looking at her. \"Mayhap he has found them.\" She bent and tied the dangling strings of Agnes's linen cap. \"Agnes, go to the church with Rosemund and tell Gawyn we would speak with him in the hall. The lady sleeps. We must not disturb her.\"\n\nAgnes darted for the door, shouting,\" I would be the one to tell him, Rosemund.\"\n\n\"Rosemund, let your sister tell,\" Eliwys called after them. \"Agnes, do not run.\"\n\nThe girls disappeared out the door and down the invisible stairs, obviously running.\n\n\"Rosemund is near grown,\" the old woman said. \"It is not seemly for her to run after your husband's men. Ill will come of your daughters being untended. You would do wisely to send to Oxenford for a nurse.\"\n\n\"No,\" Eliwys said with a firmness Kivrin wouldn't have guessed at. \"Maisry can keep watch over them.\"\n\n\"Maisry is not fit to watch sheep. We should not have come from Bath in such haste. Certes we could have waited till...\" something.\n\nThe interpreter left a gap again, and Kivrin didn't recognize the phrase, but she had caught the important facts. They had come from Bath. They were near Oxford.\n\n\"Let Gawyn fetch a nurse. And a leech-woman to see to the lady.\"\n\n\"We will send for no one,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"To...\" another place name the interpreter couldn't manage. \"Lady Yvolde has repute with injuries. And she would gladly lend us one of her waiting women for a nurse.\"\n\n\"No,\" Eliwys said. \"We will tend her ourselves. Father Roche\u2014\"\n\n\"Father Roche,\" she said contemptuously. \"He knows naught of medicine.\"\n\nBut I understood everything he said, Kivrin thought. She remembered his quiet voice chanting the last rites, his gentle touch on her temples, her palms, the soles of her feet. He had told her not to be afraid and asked her her name. And held her hand.\n\n\"If the lady is of noble birth,\" the older woman said, \"would you have it told you let an ignorant village priest tend her? Lady Yvolde\u2014\"\n\n\"We will send for no one,\" Eliwys said, and for the first time Kivrin realized she was afraid. \"My husband bade us keep here till he come.\"\n\n\"He had sooner have come with us.\"\n\n\"You know he could not,\" Eliwys said. \"He will come when he can. I must go to speak with Gawyn,\" she said, walking past the old woman to the door. \"Gawyn told me he would search the place where first he found the lady to seek for signs of her attackers. Mayhap he has found somewhat that will tell us what she is.\"\n\nThe place where first he found the lady. Gawyn was the man who had found her, the man with the red hair and the kind face who had helped her onto his horse and brought her here. That much at least she hadn't dreamed, though she must have dreamed the white horse. He had brought her here, and he knew where the drop was.\n\n\"Wait,\" Kivrin said. She pushed herself up against the pillows. \"Wait. Please. I would speak with Gawyn.\"\n\nThe women stopped. Eliwys came around beside the bed, looking alarmed.\n\n\"I would speak with the man called Gawyn,\" Kivrin said carefully, waiting before each word until she had the translation. Eventually the process would be automatic, but for now she thought the word and then waited till the interpreter translated it and repeated it out loud. \"I must discover this place where he found me.\"\n\nEliwys laid her hand on Kivrin's forehead, and Kivrin brushed it impatiently away.\n\n\"I would speak with Gawyn,\" she said.\n\n\"She has no fever, Imeyne,\" Eliwys said to the old woman, \"and yet she tries to speak, though she knows we cannot understand her.\"\n\n\"She speaks in a foreign tongue,\" Imeyne said, making it sound criminal. \"Mayhap she is a French spy.\"\n\n\"I'm not speaking French,\" Kivrin said. \"I'm speaking Middle English.\"\n\n\"Mayhap it is Latin,\" Eliwys said. \"Father Roche said she spoke in Latin when he shrove her.\"\n\n\"Father Roche can scarce say his Paternoster,\" Lady Imeyne said. \"We should send to...\" the unrecognizable name again. Kersey? Courcy?\n\n\"I would speak with Gawyn,\" Kivrin said in Latin.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said. \"We will await my husband.\"\n\nThe old woman wheeled angrily, slopping the contents of the chamber pot onto her hand. She wiped it off onto her skirt and went out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Eliwys started after her.\n\nKivrin grabbed at her hands. \"Why don't you understand me?\" she said. \"I understand you. I have to talk to Gawyn. He has to tell me where the drop is.\"\n\nEliwys disengaged Kivrin's hand. \"There, you mustn't cry,\" she said kindly. \"Try to sleep. You must rest, so you can go home.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (000915\u2013001284):\n\n\u2002I'm in a lot of trouble, Mr. Dunworthy. I don't know where I am, and I can't speak the language. Something's gone wrong with the interpreter. I can understand some of what the contemps say, but they can't understand me at all. And that's not the worst of it.\n\n\u2002I've caught some sort of disease. I don't know what it is. It's not the plague because I don't have any of the right symptoms and because I'm getting better. And I had a plague inoculation. I had all my inoculations and T-cell enhancement and everything, but one of them must not have worked or else this is some Middle Ages disease there aren't any inoculations for.\n\n\u2002The symptoms are headache and fever and dizziness, and I get a pain in my chest when I try to move. I was delirious for a while, which is why I don't know where I am. A man named Gawyn brought me here on his horse, but I don't remember very much about the trip except that it was dark and it seemed to take hours. I'm hoping I was wrong and the fever made it seem longer, and I'm in Ms. Montoya's village after all.\n\n\u2002It could be Skendgate. I remember a church, and I think this is a manor house. I'm in a bedroom or a solar, and it's not just a loft because there are stairs, so that means the house of a minor baron at least. There's a window, and as soon as the dizziness subsides I'll climb up on the window seat and see if I can see the church. It has a bell\u2014it rang for vespers just now. The one at Ms. Montoya's village didn't have a bell tower, and that makes me afraid I'm not in the right place. I know we're fairly close to Oxford, because one of the contemps talked about fetching a doctor from there. It's also close to a village called Kersey\u2014or Courcy\u2014which is not one of the villages on the map of Ms. Montoya's I memorized, but that could be the name of the landowner.\n\n\u2002Because of being out of my head, I'm not sure of my temporal location either. I've been trying to remember, and I think I've only been ill two days, but it might be more. And I can't ask them what day it is because they don't understand me, and I can't get out of bed without falling over, and they've cut my hair off, and I don't know what to do. What happened? Why won't the interpreter work? Why didn't the T-cell enhancement?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "\u2002There's a rat under my bed. I can hear it scrabbling in the dark.\n\nThey couldn't understand her. Kivrin had tried to communicate with Eliwys, to make her understand, but she had merely smiled kindly, uncomprehendingly, and told Kivrin to rest.\n\n\"Please,\" Kivrin had said as Eliwys started for the door. \"Don't leave. This is important. Gawyn is the only one who knows where the drop is.\"\n\n\"Sleep,\" Eliwys said. \"I will be back in a little.\"\n\n\"You have to let me see him,\" Kivrin said desperately, but Eliwys was already nearly to the door. \"I don't know where the drop is.\"\n\nThere was a clattering on the stairs. Eliwys opened the door and said, \"Agnes, I bade you go tell\u2014\"\n\nShe stopped in midsentence and took a step back. She did not look frightened or even upset, but her hand on the lintel jerked a little, as if she would have slammed the door, and Kivrin's heart began to pound. This is it, she thought wildly. They've come to take me to the stake.\n\n\"Good morning, my lady,\" a man's voice said. \"Your daughter Rosemund told me I would find you in hall, but I did not.\"\n\nHe came into the room. Kivrin couldn't see his face. He was standing at the foot of the bed, hidden from her by the hangings. She tried to shift her head so she could see him, but the movement made her head spin violently. She lay back down.\n\n\"I thought I would find you with the wounded lady,\" the man said. He was wearing a padded jerkin and leather hose. And a sword. She could hear it clank as he took a step forward. \"How does she?\"\n\n\"She fares better today,\" Eliwys said. \"My husband's mother has gone to brew her a decoction of woundwort for her injuries.\"\n\nShe had taken her hand from the door, and his comment about \"your daughter Rosemund\" surely meant that this was Gawyn, the man she had sent to look for Kivrin's attackers, but Eliwys had taken two more steps backward as he spoke, and her face looked guarded, wary. The thought of danger flickered through Kivrin's mind again, and she wondered suddenly if she might have not dreamed Mr. Dunworthy's cutthroat after all, if that man, with his cruel face, might be Gawyn.\n\n\"Found you aught that might tell us of the lady's identity?\" Eliwys said carefully.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said. \"Her goods had all been stolen and the horses taken. I hoped the lady might tell me somewhat of her attackers, how many there were and from what direction they came upon her.\"\n\n\"I fear she cannot tell you anything,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"Is she mute then?\" he said and moved so she could see him.\n\nHe was not so tall as Kivrin remembered him, standing over her, and his hair looked less red and more blond in the daylight, but his face still looked as kind as when he had set her on his horse. His black horse Gringolet.\n\nAfter he had found her in the clearing. He was not the cutthroat\u2014she had dreamed the cutthroat, conjured him out of her delirium and Mr. Dunworthy's fears, along with the white horse and the Christmas carols\u2014and she must be misunderstanding Eliwys's reactions the way she had misunderstood their getting her up to use the chamber pot.\n\n\"She is not mute, but speaks in some strange tongue I do not know,\" Eliwys said. \"I fear her injuries have addled her wits.\" She came around to the side of the bed and Gawyn followed her. \"Good lady. I have brought my husband's priv\u00e9, Gawyn.\"\n\n\"Good day, my lady,\" Gawyn said, speaking slowly and overdistinctly, as if he thought Kivrin were deaf.\n\n\"It was he who found you in the woods,\" Eliwys said.\n\nWhere in the woods? Kivrin thought desperately.\n\n\"I am pleased that your wounds are healing,\" Gawyn said, emphasizing every word. \"Can you tell me of the men who attacked you?\"\n\nI don't know if I can tell you anything, she thought, afraid to speak for fear he wouldn't understand her either. He had to understand her. He knew where the drop was.\n\n\"How many men were there?\" Gawyn said. \"Were they on horseback?\"\n\nWhere did you find me? she thought, emphasizing the words the way Gawyn had. She waited for the interpreter to work out the whole sentence, listening carefully to the intonations, checking them against the language lessons Mr. Dunworthy had given her.\n\nGawyn and Eliwys were waiting, watching her intently. She took a deep breath. \"Where did you find me?\"\n\nThey exchanged quick glances, his surprised, hers saying plainly, \"You see?\"\n\n\"She spoke thus that night,\" he said. \"I thought it was her injury that made her speak so.\"\n\n\"And so I do,\" Eliwys said. \"My husband's mother thinks she is of France.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"It is not French she speaks.\" He turned back to Kivrin. \"Good lady,\" he said, nearly shouting, \"came you from another land?\"\n\nYes, Kivrin thought, another land, and the only way back is the drop, and only you know where it is.\n\n\"Where did you find me?\" she said again.\n\n\"Her goods were all taken,\" Gawyn said, \"but her wagon was of rich make, and she had many boxes.\"\n\nEliwys nodded. \"I fear she is of high birth and her people seeking her.\"\n\n\"In what part of the woods did you find me?\" Kivrin said, her voice rising.\n\n\"We are upsetting her,\" Eliwys said. She leaned over Kivrin and patted her hand. \"Shh. Take your rest.\" She moved away from the bed, and Gawyn followed.\n\n\"Would you have me ride to Bath to Lord Guillaume?\" Gawyn said, out of sight behind the hangings.\n\nEliwys stepped back the way she had when he first came in, as if she were afraid of him. But they had stood side by side at the bed, their hands nearly touching. They had spoken together like old friends. This wariness must be coming from something else.\n\n\"Would you have me bring your husband?\" Gawyn said.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said, looking down at her hands. \"My lord has enough to worry him, and he cannot leave until the trial is finished. And he bade you stay with us and guard us.\"\n\n\"By your leave, then, I will return to the place where the lady was set upon and search further.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Eliwys said, still not looking at him. \"In their haste, some token may have fallen to the ground nearby that will tell us of her.\"\n\nThe place where the lady was set upon, Kivrin recited under her breath, trying to hear his words under the interpreter's translation and memorize them. The place where I was set upon.\n\n\"I will take my leave and ride out again,\" Gawyn said.\n\nEliwys looked up at him. \"Now?\" she said. \"It grows dark.\"\n\n\"Show me the place where I was set upon,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"I do not fear the dark, Lady Eliwys,\" he said, and strode out, the sword clanking.\n\n\"Take me with you,\" Kivrin said, but it was no use. They were already gone, and the interpreter was broken. She had deceived herself into thinking it was working. She had understood what they were saying because of the language lessons Mr. Dunworthy had given her, not because of the interpreter, and perhaps she was only deceiving herself that she understood them.\n\nPerhaps the conversation had not been about who she was at all, but about something else altogether\u2014finding a missing sheep or putting her on trial.\n\nThe lady Eliwys had shut the door when they went out, and Kivrin couldn't hear anything. Even the tolling bell had stopped, and the light from the waxed linen was faintly blue. It grows dark.\n\nGawyn had said he was going to ride back to the drop. If the window overlooked the courtyard, she might at least be able to see which way he rode out. It is not far, he had said. If she could just see the direction he rode, she could find the drop herself.\n\nShe pushed herself up in the bed, but even that much exertion made the pain in her chest stab again. She put her feet over the side, but the action made her dizzy. She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes.\n\nDizziness and fever and a pain in the chest. What were those symptoms of? Smallpox started out with fever and chills, and the pox didn't appear until the second or third day. She lifted her arm up to see if there were the beginnings of the pox. She had no idea how long she had been ill, but it couldn't be smallpox because the incubation period was ten to twenty-one days. Ten days ago she had been in hospital in Oxford, where the smallpox virus had been extinct for nearly a hundred years.\n\nShe had been in hospital, getting inoculated against all of them: smallpox, typhoid fever, cholera, plague. So how could it be any of them? And if it wasn't any of them, what was it? Saint Vitus's dance? She had told herself that before, that this was something she had not been vaccinated against, but she had had her immune system augmented, too, to fight off any infection.\n\nThere was a sound of running on stairs. \"Modder!\" a voice that she already recognized as Agnes's shouted. \"Rosemund waited not!\"\n\nShe didn't burst into the room with quite as much violence because the heavy door was shut and she had to push it open, but as soon as she had squeezed through, she raced for the window seat, wailing.\n\n\"Modder! I would have told Gawyn!\" she sobbed, and then stopped when she saw her mother wasn't in the room. The tears stopped, too, Kivrin noticed.\n\nAgnes stood by the window for a minute, as if she were debating whether to try this scene at a later time, and then ran back to the door. Halfway there, she spied Kivrin and stopped again.\n\n\"I know who you are,\" she said, coming around to the side of the bed. She was scarcely tall enough to see over the bed. Her cap strings had come undone again. \"You are the lady Gawyn found in the wood.\"\n\nKivrin was afraid that her answer, garbled as the interpreter obviously made it, would frighten the little girl. She pushed herself up a little against the pillows and nodded.\n\n\"What befell your hair?\" Agnes asked. \"Did the robbers steal it?\"\n\nKivrin shook her head, smiling at the odd idea.\n\n\"Maisry says the robbers stole your tongue,\" Agnes said. She pointed at Kivrin's forehead. \"Hurt you your head?\"\n\nKivrin nodded.\n\n\"I hurt my knee,\" she said, and tried to pick it up with both hands so Kivrin could see the dirty bandage. The old woman was right. It was already slipping. She could see the wound under it. Kivrin had supposed it was just a skinned knee, but the wound looked fairly deep.\n\nAgnes tottered, let go of the knee, and leaned against the bed again. \"Will you die?\"\n\nI don't know, Kivrin thought, thinking of the pain in her chest. The mortality rate for smallpox had been seventy-five percent in 1320, and her augmented immune system wasn't working.\n\n\"Brother Hubard died,\" Agnes said wisely. \"And Gilbert. He fell from his horse. I saw him. His head was all red. Rosemund said Brother Hubard died of the blue sickness.\"\n\nKivrin wondered what the blue sickness was\u2014choking perhaps, or apoplexy\u2014and if he was the chaplain that Eliwys's mother-in-law was so eager to replace. It was usual for noble households to travel with their own priests. Father Roche was apparently the local priest, probably uneducated and possibly even illiterate, though she had understood his Latin perfectly well. And he had been kind. He had held her hand and told her not to be afraid. There are nice people in the Middle Ages, Mr. Dunworthy, she thought. Father Roche and Eliwys and Agnes.\n\n\"My father said he would bring me a magpie when he comes from Bath,\" Agnes said. \"Adeliza has a tercel. She lets me hold him sometimes.\" She held her bent arm up and out, the dimpled fist closed as if a falcon were perched on her imaginary gauntlet. \"I have a hound.\"\n\n\"What is your hound's name?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"I call him Blackie,\" Agnes said, though Kivrin was certain that was only the interpreter's version. More likely she had said Blackamon or Blakkin. \"He is black. Have you a hound?\"\n\nKivrin was too surprised to answer. She had spoken and made herself understood. Agnes hadn't even acted like her pronunciation was unusual. She had spoken without thinking about the interpreter or waiting for it to translate, and perhaps that was the secret.\n\n\"Nay, I have no hound,\" she said finally, trying to duplicate what she'd done before.\n\n\"I will teach my magpie to talk. I will teach him to say, 'Good morrow, Agnes.'\"\n\n\"Where is your hound?\" Kivrin said, trying again. The words sounded different to her, lighter, with that murmuring French inflection she had heard in the women's speech.\n\n\"Do you wish to see Blackie? He is in the stable,\" Agnes said. It sounded like a direct response, but the way Agnes talked it was difficult to tell. She might simply have been volunteering information. To be sure, Kivrin would have to ask her something completely off the subject and something with only one answer.\n\nAgnes was stroking the soft fur of the bed covering and humming a toneless little tune.\n\n\"What is your name?\" Kivrin asked, trying to let the interpreter control her words. It translated her modern sentence into something like,\" How are youe cleped? \" which she was not sure was correct, but Agnes didn't hesitate.\n\n\"Agnes,\" the little girl said promptly. \"My father says I may have a tercel when I am old enough to ride a mare. I have a pony.\" She stopped stroking the fur, propped her elbows on the edge of the bed, and rested her chin in her little hands. \"I know your name,\" she said, sounding smugly pleased. \"It is Katherine.\"\n\n\"What?\" Kivrin said blankly. Katherine. How had they come up with Katherine? Her name was supposed to be Isabel. Was it possible that they thought they knew who she was?\n\n\"Rosemund said none knew your name,\" she went on, looking smug, \"but I heard Father Roche tell Gawyn you were called Katherine. Rosemund said you could not speak, but yet you can.\"\n\nKivrin had a sudden image of the priest bending over her, his face obscured by the flames that seemed constantly in front of her, saying in Latin, \"What is your name that you might be shriven?\"\n\nAnd she, trying to form the word though her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak, afraid she would die and they would never know what had happened to her.\n\n\"Are you called Katherine?\" Agnes was demanding, and she could hear the little girl's voice clearly under the interpreter's translation. It sounded just like Kivrin.\n\n\"Aye,\" Kivrin said, and felt like crying.\n\n\"Blackie has a...\" Agnes said. The interpreter didn't catch the word. Karette? Chavette? \"It is red. Do you wish to see it?\" and before Kivrin could stop her, she went running out through the still partly opened door.\n\nKivrin waited, hoping she would come back and that a karette wasn't alive, wishing she had asked where she was and how long she'd been here, though Agnes was probably too young to know. She looked no more than three, though of course she would be much smaller than a modern three-year-old. Five, then, or possibly six. I should have asked her how old she was, Kivrin thought, and then remembered that she might not know that either. Joan of Arc hadn't known how old she was when the Inquisitors asked her at her trial.\n\nAt least she could ask questions, Kivrin thought. The interpreter was not broken after all. It must have been temporarily stymied by the strange pronunciations, or affected somehow by her fever, but it was all right now, and Gawyn knew where the drop was and could show it to her.\n\nShe sat up straighter among the pillows so she could see the door. The effort hurt her chest and made her dizzy, and her head ached. She anxiously felt her forehead and then her cheeks. They felt warm, but that could be because her hands were cold. It was icy in the room, and on her excursion to the chamber pot, she hadn't seen any sign of a brazier or even a warming pan.\n\nHad warming pans been invented yet? They must have. Otherwise how would people have survived the Little Ice Age? It was so cold.\n\nShe was beginning to shiver. Her fever must be going back up. Were they supposed to come back? In History of Meds she had read about fevers breaking, and after that the patient was weak, but the fever didn't come back, did it? Of course it did. What about malaria? Shivering, headache, sweats, recurring fever. Of course they came back.\n\nWell, it obviously wasn't malaria. Malaria had never been endemic to England, mosquitoes didn't live in Oxford in midwinter and never had, and the symptoms were wrong. She hadn't experienced any sweating, and the shivering she was having was due to fever.\n\nTyphus produced headache and a high fever, and it was transmitted by body lice and rat fleas, both of which were endemic to England in the Middle Ages and probably endemic to the bed she was lying on, but the incubation period was too long, nearly two weeks.\n\nTyphoid fever's incubation period was only a few days, and it caused headache, aching in the limbs, and high fever, too. She didn't think it was a recurring fever, but she remembered it was normally highest at night, so that must mean it went down during the day and then up again in the evening.\n\nKivrin wondered what time it was. Eliwys had said, \"It grows dark,\" and the light from the linen-covered window was faintly blue, but the days were short in December. It might only be midafternoon. She felt sleepy, but that was no sign either. She had slept off and on all day.\n\nDrowsiness was a symptom of typhoid fever. She tried to remember the others from Dr. Ahrens's \"short course\" in mediaeval medicine. Nosebleeds, coated tongue, rose-colored rash. The rash wasn't supposed to appear until the seventh or eighth day, but Kivrin pulled her shift up and looked at her stomach and chest. No rash, so it couldn't be typhoid. Or smallpox. With smallpox, the pox started appearing by the second or third day.\n\nShe wondered what had happened to Agnes. Perhaps someone had belatedly had the good sense to bar her from the sickroom, or perhaps the unreliable Maisry was actually watching her. Or, more likely, she had stopped to see her puppy in the stable and forgotten she was going to show her chavotte to Kivrin.\n\nThe plague started out with a headache and a fever. It can't be the plague, Kivrin thought. You don't have any of the symptoms. Buboes that grew to the size of oranges, a tongue that swelled till it filled the whole mouth, subcutaneous hemorrhages that turned the whole body black. You don't have the plague.\n\nIt must be some sort of flu. It was the only disease that came on so suddenly, and Dr. Ahrens had been upset over Mr. Gilchrist's moving the date up because the antivirals wouldn't take full effect until the fifteenth, and she'd only have partial immunity. It had to be the flu. What was the treatment for the flu? Antivirals, rest, fluids.\n\nWell then, rest, she told herself, and closed her eyes.\n\nShe did not remember falling asleep, but she must have, because the two women were in the room again, talking, and Kivrin had no memory of their having come in.\n\n\"What said Gawyn?\" the old woman said. She was doing something with a bowl and a spoon, mashing the spoon against the side of it. The iron-bound casket sat open beside her, and she reached into it, pulled out a small cloth bag, sprinkled the contents into the bowl, and stirred it again.\n\n\"He found naught among her belongings that might tell us the lady's origins. Her goods had all been stolen, the chests broken open and emptied of all that might identify her. But he said her wagon was of rich make. Certes, she is of good family.\"\n\n\"And certes, her family searches for her,\" the old woman said. She had set down the bowl and was tearing cloth with a loud ripping sound. \"We must send to Oxenford and tell them she lies safe with us.\"\n\n\"No,\" Eliwys said, and Kivrin could hear the resistance in her voice. \"Not to Oxenford.\"\n\n\"What have you heard?\"\n\n\"I have heard naught,\" Eliwys said, \"but that my lord bade us keep here. He will be here within the week if all goes well.\"\n\n\"If all had gone well he would have been here now.\"\n\n\"The trial had scarce begun. Mayhap he is on his way home even now.\"\n\n\"Or mayhap...\" another one of those untranslatable names, Torquil? \"waits to be hanged, and my son with him. He should not have meddled in such a matter.\"\n\n\"He is a friend, and guiltless of the charges.\"\n\n\"He is a fool, and my son more fool for testifying on his behalf. A friend would have bade him leave Bath.\" She ground the spoon into the side of the bowl again. \"I have need of mustard for this,\" she said and stepped to the door. \"Maisry!\" she called, and went back to tearing the cloth. \"Found Gawyn aught of the lady's attendants?\"\n\nEliwys sat down on the window seat. \"No, nor of their horses nor hers.\"\n\nA girl with a pocked face and greasy hair hanging over it came in. Surely this couldn't be Maisry, who dallied with stableboys instead of watching her charges. She bent her knee in a curtsy that was more of a stumble and said,\" Wotwardstu, Lawttymayeen?\"\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought. What's wrong with the interpreter now?\n\n\"Fetch me the pot of mustard from the kitchen and tarry not,\" the old woman said, and the girl started for the door. \"Where are Agnes and Rosemund? Why are they not with you?\"\n\n\"Shiyrouthamay,\" she said sullenly.\n\nEliwys stood up. \"Speak up,\" she said sharply.\n\n\"They hide (something) from me.\"\n\nIt wasn't the interpreter after all. It was simply the difference of the Norman English the nobles spoke and the still Saxon-sounding dialect of the peasants, neither of which sounded anything like the Middle English Mr. Latimer had blithely taught her. It was a wonder the interpreter was picking up anything at all.\n\n\"I was seeking them when Lady Imeyne called, good lady,\" Maisry said, and the interpreter got it all, though it was taking several seconds. It gave an imbecilic slowness to Maisry's speech, which might or might not be appropriate.\n\n\"Where did you look for them? In the stable?\" Eliwys said, and brought her hands together on either side of Maisry's head like a pair of cymbals. Maisry howled and clapped a dirty hand to her left ear. Kivrin shrank back against the pillows.\n\n\"Go and fetch the mustard to Lady Imeyne and find you Agnes.\"\n\nMaisry nodded, not looking particularly frightened but still holding her ear. She stumbled another curtsy and went out no more quickly than she had come in. She seemed less upset by the sudden violence than Kivrin was, and Kivrin wondered if Lady Imeyne would get her mustard anytime soon.\n\nIt was the swiftness and the calmness of the violence that had surprised her. Eliwys had not even seemed angry, and as soon as Maisry was gone she went back to the window seat, sat down, and said quietly, \"The lady could not be moved though her family did come. She can bide with us until my husband returns. He will be here by Christmas surely.\"\n\nThere was noise on the stairs. Apparently she had been wrong, Kivrin thought, and the ear boxing had done some good. Agnes rushed in, clutching something to her chest.\n\n\"Agnes!\" Eliwys said. \"What do you here?\"\n\n\"I brought my...\" the interpreter still didn't have it. Charette? \"to show the lady.\"\n\n\"You are a wicked child to hide from Maisry and come hence to disturb the lady,\" Imeyne said. \"She suffers greatly from her injuries.\"\n\n\"But she told me she wished to see it.\" She held it up. It was a toy two-wheeled cart painted red and gilt.\n\n\"God punishes those who bear false witness with everlasting torment,\" Lady Imeyne said, grabbing the little girl roughly. \"The lady cannot speak. You know full well.\"\n\n\"She spoke to me,\" Agnes said sturdily.\n\nGood for you, Kivrin thought. Everlasting torment. What horrible things to threaten a child with. But this was the Middle Ages, when priests talked constantly of the last days and the final judgment, of the pains of hell.\n\n\"She told me she wished to see my wagon,\" Agnes said. \"She said she did not have a hound.\"\n\n\"You are making up tales,\" Eliwys said. \"The lady cannot speak,\" and Kivrin thought, I have to stop this. They'll box her ears, too.\n\nShe pushed herself up on her elbows. The effort left her breathless. \"I spoke with Agnes,\" she said, praying the interpreter would do what it was supposed to. If it chose to blink out again at this moment and ended up getting Agnes a beating, that would be the last straw. \"I bade her bring her cart to me.\"\n\nBoth women turned and looked at her. Eliwys's eyes widened. The old woman looked astonished and then angry, as if she thought Kivrin had deceived them.\n\n\"I told you,\" Agnes said, and marched over to the bed with the wagon.\n\nKivrin lay back against the pillows, exhausted. \"What is this place?\" she asked.\n\nIt took Eliwys a moment to recover herself. \"You rest safely in the house of my lord and husband...\" The interpreter had trouble with the name. It sounded like Guillaume D'lverie or possibly Devereaux.\n\nEliwys was looking at her anxiously. \"My husband's priv\u00e9 found you in the woods and brought you hence. You had been set upon by robbers and grievously injured. Who attacked you?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"I am called Eliwys, and this is the mother of my husband, the Lady Imeyne. What is your name?\"\n\nAnd now was the time to tell them the whole carefully researched story. She had told the priest her name was Katherine, but Lady Imeyne had already made it clear she put no stock in anything he said. She didn't even believe he could speak Latin. Kivrin could say he had misunderstood, that her name was Isabel de Beauvrier. She could tell them she had called out her mother's, her sister's name in her delirium. She could tell them she had been praying to St. Catherine.\n\n\"Of what family are you?\" Lady Imeyne asked.\n\nIt was a very good story. It would establish her identity and position in society and would ensure that they wouldn't try to send for her family. Yorkshire was too far away, and the road north was impassable.\n\n\"Whither were you bound?\" Eliwys said.\n\nMediaeval had thoroughly researched the weather and the road conditions. It had rained every day for two weeks in December, and there had been a hard frost to freeze the mired roads till late January. But she had seen the road to Oxford. It had been dry and clear. And Mediaeval had thoroughly researched the color of her dress, and the prevalence of glass windows among the upper classes. They had thoroughly researched the language.\n\n\"I remember not,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Naught?\" Eliwys said, and turned to Lady Imeyne. \"She remembers naught.\"\n\nThey think I'm saying \"naught,\" Kivrin thought, that I don't remember anything. The inflection, the pronunciation didn't differentiate between the two words.\n\n\"It is her wound,\" Eliwys said. \"It has shaken her memory.\"\n\n\"No... nay...\" Kivrin said. She was not supposed to feign amnesia. She was supposed to be Isabel de Beauvrier, from the East Riding. Just because the roads were dry here didn't mean they weren't impassable farther north, and Eliwys would not even let Gawyn ride to Oxford to get news of her or to Bath to fetch her husband. She surely wouldn't send him to the East Riding.\n\n\"Can you not even remember your own name?\" Lady Imeyne said impatiently, leaning so close Kivrin could smell her breath. It was very foul, an odor of decay. She must have rotting teeth, too.\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\nMr. Latimer had said Isabel was the most common woman's name in the 1300s. How common was Katherine? And Mediaeval didn't know the daughters' names. What if York shire wasn't distant enough, after all, and Lady Imeyne knew the family. She would take it as further proof that she was a spy. She had better stay with the common name and tell them she was Isabel de Beauvrier.\n\nThe old woman would be only too happy to believe that the priest had gotten her name wrong. It would be further proof of his ignorance, of his incompetence, further reason to send to Bath for a new chaplain. But he had held Kivrin's hand, he had told her not to be afraid.\n\n\"My name is Katherine,\" she said.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (001300\u2013002018):\n\n\u2002I'm not the only one in trouble, Mr. Dunworthy. I think the contemps who've taken me in are, too.\n\n\u2002The lord of the manor, Lord Guillaume, isn't here. He's in Bath, testifying at the trial of a friend of his, which is apparently a dangerous thing to do. His mother, Lady Imeyne, called him a fool for getting mixed up in it, and Lady Eliwys, his wife, seems worried and nervous.\n\n\u2002They've come here in a great hurry and without servants. Fourteenth-century noblewomen had at least one lady-in-waiting apiece, but neither Eliwys nor Imeyne has any, and they left the children's\u2014Guillaume's two little girls are here\u2014nurse behind. Lady Imeyne wanted to send for a new one, and a chaplain, but Lady Eliwys won't let her.\n\n\u2002I think Lord Guillaume must be expecting trouble and has spirited his womenfolk away here to keep them safe. Or possibly the trouble's already happened\u2014Agnes, the littler of the two girls, told me about the chaplain's death and someone named Gilbert whose \"head was all red,\" so perhaps there's already been bloodshed, and the women have come here to escape it. One of Lord Guillaume's priv\u00e9s has come with them, and he's fully armed.\n\n\u2002There weren't any major uprisings against Edward II in Oxfordshire in 1320, although no one was very happy with the king and his favorite, Hugh Despenser, and there were plots and minor skirmishes everywhere else. Two of the barons, Lancaster and Mortimer, took sixty-three manors away from the Despensers that year\u2014this year. Lord Guillaume\u2014or his friend\u2014may have got involved in one of those plots.\n\n\u2002It could be something else entirely, of course, a land dispute or something. People in the 1300s spent almost as much time in court as the contemps in the last part of the twentieth century. But I don't think so. Lady Eliwys jumps at every sound, and she's forbidden Lady Imeyne to tell the neighbors they're here.\n\n\u2002I suppose in one way this is a good thing. If they aren't telling anyone they're here, they won't tell anyone about me or send messengers to try to find out who I am. On the other hand, there is the chance of armed men kicking in the door at any moment. Or of Gawyn, the only person who knows where the drop is, getting killed defending the manor."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "\u200215 December 1320 (Old Style). The interpreter is working now, more or less, and the contemps seem to understand what I'm saying. I can understand them, though their Middle English bears no resemblance to what Mr. Latimer taught me. It's full of inflections and has a much softer French sound. Mr. Latimer wouldn't even recognize his \" Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote.\"\n\n\u2002The interpreter translates what the contemps say with the syntax and some of the words intact, and at first I tried to phrase what I said the same way, saying \"Aye\" and \"Nay\" and \"I remember naught of whence I came,\" but thinking about it's deadly\u2014the interpreter takes forever to come up with a translation, and I stammer and struggle with the pronunciations. So I just speak modern English and hope what comes out of my mouth is close to being right, and that the interpreter isn't slaughtering the idioms and the inflections. Heaven only knows how I sound. Like a French spy probably.\n\n\u2002The language isn't the only thing off. My dress is all wrong, of far too fine a weave, and the blue is too bright, dyed with woad or not. I haven't seen any bright colors at all. I'm too tall, my teeth are too good, and my hands are wrong, in spite of my muddy labors at the dig. They should not only have been dirtier, but I should have chilblains. Everyone's hands, even the children's, are chapped and bleeding. It is, after all, December.\n\n\u2002December the fifteenth. I overheard part of an argument between Lady Imeyne and Lady Eliwys about getting a replacement chaplain, and Imeyne said, \"There is more than time enough to send. It is full ten days till Christ's mass.\" So tell Mr. Gilchrist I've ascertained my temporal location at least. But I don't know how far from the drop I am. I've tried to remember Gawyn bringing me here, but that whole night is hopelessly muddled, and part of what I remember didn't happen. I remember a white horse that had bells on its harness, and the bells were playing Christmas carols, like the carillon in Carfax Tower.\n\n\u2002The fifteenth of December means it's Christmas Eve there, and you'll be giving your sherry party and then walking over to St. Mary the Virgin's for the interchurch service. It is hard to comprehend that you are over seven hundred years away. I keep thinking that if I got out of bed (which I can't because I'm too dizzy\u2014I think my temp is back up) and opened the door I would find not a mediaeval hall but Brasenose's lab, and all of you waiting for me, Badri and Dr. Ahrens and you, Mr. Dunworthy, polishing your spectacles and saying I told you so. I wish you were."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Lady Imeyne did not believe Kivrin's story about having amnesia. When Agnes brought her hound, which turned out to be a tiny black puppy with huge feet, in to Kivrin, she said, \"This is my hound, Lady Kivrin.\" She held it out to Kivrin, clutching its fat middle. \"You can pet him. Do you remember how?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said, taking the puppy out of Agnes's too-tight grasp and stroking its baby-soft fur. \"Aren't you supposed to be at your sewing?\"\n\nAgnes took the puppy back from her. \"Grandmother went to chide with the steward, and Maisry went out to the stable.\" She twisted the puppy around to give it a kiss. \"So I came to speak to you. Grandmother is very angry. The steward and all his family were living in the hall when we came hence.\" She gave the puppy another kiss. \"Grandmother says it is his wife who tempts him to sin.\"\n\nGrandmother. Agnes had not said anything like \"grandmother.\" The word hadn't even existed until the eighteenth century, but the interpreter was taking huge, disconcerting leaps now, though it left Agnes's mispronunciation of Katherine intact and sometimes left blanks in places where the meaning should have been obvious from context. She hoped her subconscious knew what it was doing.\n\n\"Are you a daltriss, Lady Kivrin?\" Agnes said.\n\nHer subconscious obviously didn't know what it was doing. \"What?\" she asked.\n\n\"A daltriss \" Agnes said. The puppy was trying desperately to squirm out of Agnes's grip. \"Grandmother says you are one. She says a wife fleeing to her lover would have good cause to remember naught.\"\n\nAn adultress. Well, at least it was better than a French spy. Or perhaps Lady Imeyne thought she was both.\n\nAgnes kissed the puppy again. \"Grandmother said a lady had no good cause to travel through the woods in winter.\"\n\nLady Imeyne was right, Kivrin thought, and so was Mr. Dunworthy. She still had not found out where the drop was, although she had asked to speak with Gawyn when Lady Eliwys came in the morning to bathe her temple.\n\n\"He has ridden out to search for the wicked men who robbed you,\" Eliwys had said, putting an ointment on Kivrin's temple that smelled like garlic and stung horribly. \"Do you remember aught of them?\"\n\nKivrin had shaken her head, hoping her faked amnesia wouldn't end in some poor peasant's being hanged. She could scarcely say, \"No, that isn't the man,\" when she supposedly couldn't remember anything.\n\nPerhaps she shouldn't have told them she couldn't remember anything. The probability that they would have known the de Beauvriers was very small, and her lack of an explanation had obviously made Imeyne even more suspicious of her.\n\nAgnes was trying to put her cap on the puppy. \"There are wolves in the woods,\" she said. \"Gawyn slew one with his ax.\"\n\n\"Agnes, did Gawyn tell you of his finding me?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Aye. Blackie likes to wear my cap,\" she said, tying the strings in a choking knot.\n\n\"He doesn't act like it,\" Kivrin said. \"Where did Gawyn find me?\"\n\n\"In the woods,\" Agnes said. The puppy twisted out of the cap and nearly fell off the bed. She set it in the middle of the bed and lifted it by its front paws. \"Blackie can dance.\"\n\n\"Here. Let me hold it,\" Kivrin said, to rescue the poor thing. She cradled it in her arms. \"Where in the woods did Gawyn find me?\"\n\nAgnes stood on tiptoe, trying to see the puppy. \"Blackie sleeps,\" she whispered.\n\nThe puppy was asleep, exhausted from Agnes's attentions. Kivrin laid it beside her on the fur bed covering. \"Was the place he found me far from here?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes said, and Kivrin could tell she had no idea.\n\nThis was no use. Agnes obviously didn't know anything. She would have to talk to Gawyn. \"Has Gawyn returned?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes said, stroking the sleeping puppy. \"Would you speak with him?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Are you a daltriss?\"\n\nIt was difficult to follow Agnes's conversational jumps. \"No,\" she said, and then remembered she was not supposed to be able to remember anything. \"I don't remember anything about who I am.\"\n\nAgnes petted Blackie. \"Grandmother says only a daltriss would ask so boldly to speak with Gawyn.\"\n\nThe door opened, and Rosemund came in. \"They're looking for you everywhere, simplehead,\" she said, her hands on her hips.\n\n\"I was speaking with Lady Kivrin,\" Agnes said with an anxious glance at the coverlid where Blackie lay, nearly invisible against the sable fur. Apparently hounds were not allowed inside. Kivrin pulled the rough sheet up over it so Rosemund wouldn't see.\n\n\"Mother said the lady must rest so that her wounds will heal,\" Rosemund said sternly. \"Come. I must tell Grandmother I found you.\" She led the little girl out of the room.\n\nKivrin watched them leave, hoping fervently that Agnes wouldn't tell Lady Imeyne Kivrin had asked again to speak to Gawyn. She had thought she had a good excuse to talk to Gawyn, that they would understand that she was anxious to find out about her belongings and her attackers. But it was \"unseemly\" for unmarried noblewomen in the 1300s to \"boldly ask\" to speak to young men.\n\nEliwys could talk to him because she was the head of the house with her husband gone, and his employer, and Lady Imeyne was his lord's mother, but Kivrin should have waited until Gawyn spoke to her and then answered him \"with all modesty as fits a maid.\" But I must talk to him, she thought. He's the only one who knows where the drop is.\n\nAgnes came dashing back in and snatched up the sleeping puppy. \"Grandmother was very angry. She thought I had fallen in the well,\" Agnes said, and ran back out again.\n\nAnd no doubt \"Grandmother\" had boxed Maisry's ears because of it, Kivrin thought. Maisry had already been in trouble once today for losing Agnes, who had come to show Kivrin Lady Imeyne's silver chain, which she said was \"a rillieclary,\" a word that defeated the interpreter. Inside the little box, she told Kivrin, was a piece of the shroud of St. Stephen. Maisry had had her pocked cheek slapped by Imeyne for letting Agnes take the reliquary and for not watching her, though not for letting the little girl in the sickroom.\n\nNone of them seemed concerned at all about the little girls getting close to Kivrin or to be aware that they might catch what she had. Neither Eliwys nor Imeyne took any precautions in caring for her.\n\nThe contemps hadn't understood the mechanics of disease transmission, of course\u2014they believed it was a consequence of sin and epidemics were a punishment from God\u2014but they had known about contagion. The motto of the Black Death had been \"Depart quickly, go far, tarry long,\" and there had been quarantines before that.\n\nNot here, Kivrin thought, and what if the little girls come down with this? Or Father Roche?\n\nHe had been near her all through her fever, touching her, asking her name. She frowned, trying to remember that night. She had fallen off the horse, and then there was a fire. No, she had imagined that in her delirium. And the white horse. Gawyn's horse was black.\n\nThey had ridden through a wood and down a hill past a church, and the cutthroat had\u2014It was no use. The night was a shapeless dream of frightening faces and bells and flames. Even the drop was hazy, unclear. There had been an oak tree and willows, and she had sat down against the wagon wheel because she felt so dizzy, and the cutthroat had\u2014No, she had imagined the cutthroat. And the white horse. Perhaps she had imagined the church as well.\n\nShe would have to ask Gawyn where the drop was, but not in front of Lady Imeyne, who thought she was a daltriss. She had to get well, to get enough strength to get out of bed and go down to the hall, out to the stable, to find Gawyn to speak to him alone. She had to get better.\n\nShe was a little stronger, though she was still too weak to walk to the chamber pot unaided. The dizziness was gone, and the fever, but her shortness of breath persisted. They apparently thought she was improving, too. They had left her alone most of the morning, and Eliwys had only stayed long enough to smear on the foul-smelling ointment. And have me make improper advances toward Gawyn, Kivrin thought.\n\nKivrin tried not to worry about what Agnes had told her or why the antivirals hadn't worked or how far the drop was, and to concentrate on getting her strength back. No one came in all afternoon, and she practiced sitting up and putting her feet over the side of the bed. When Maisry came with a rushlight to help her to the chamber pot, she was able to walk back to the bed by herself.\n\nIt grew colder in the night, and when Agnes came to see her in the morning, she was wearing a red cloak and hood of very thick wool and white fur mittens. \"Do you wish to see my silver buckle? Sir Bloet gave it me. I will bring it on the morrow. I cannot come today, for we go to cut the Yule log.\"\n\n\"The Yule log?\" Kivrin said, alarmed. The ceremonial log had traditionally been cut on the twenty-fourth, and this was only supposed to be the seventeenth. Had she misunderstood Lady Imeyne?\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes said. \"At home we do not go till Christmas Eve, but it is like to storm, and Grandmother would have us ride out to fetch it while it is yet fine weather.\"\n\nLike to storm, Kivrin thought. How would she recognize the drop if it snowed? The wagon and her boxes were still there, but if it snowed more than a few inches she would never recognize the road.\n\n\"Does everyone go to fetch the Yule log?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Nay. Father Roche called Mother to tend a sick cottar.\"\n\nThat explained why Imeyne was playing the tyrant, bullying Maisry and the steward and accusing Kivrin of adultery. \"Does your grandmother go with you?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" she said. \"I will ride my pony.\"\n\n\"Does Rosemund go?\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"And the steward?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" she said impatiently. \"All the village goes.\"\n\n\"Does Gawyn?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" she said, as if that were self-evident. \"I must go out to the stable and bid Blackie farewell.\" She ran off.\n\nLady Imeyne was going, and the steward, and Lady Eliwys was somewhere nursing a peasant who was ill. And Gawyn, for some reason that was obvious to Agnes but not to her, wasn't. Perhaps he had gone with Eliwys. But if he hadn't, if he were staying here to guard the manor, she could talk to him alone.\n\nMaisry was obviously going. When she brought Kivrin's breakfast she was wearing a rough brown poncho and had ragged strips of cloth wrapped around her legs. She helped Kivrin to the chamber pot, carried it out, and brought up a brazier full of hot coals, moving with more speed and initiative than Kivrin had seen before.\n\nKivrin waited an hour after Maisry left, until she was sure they were all gone, and then got out of bed and walked to the window seat and pulled the linen back. She could not see anything except branches and dark gray sky, but the air was even colder than that in the room. She climbed up on the window seat.\n\nShe was above the courtyard. It was empty, and the large wooden gate stood open. The stones of the courtyard and of the low thatched roofs around it looked wet. She stuck her hand out, afraid it had already begun to snow, but she couldn't feel any moisture. She climbed down, holding on to the ice-cold stones, and huddled by the brazier.\n\nIt gave off almost no heat. Kivrin hugged her arms to her chest, shivering in her thin shift. She wondered what they had done with her clothes. Clothes were hung on poles beside the bed in the Middle Ages, but this room had no poles, and no hooks either.\n\nHer clothes were in the chest at the foot of the bed, neatly folded. She took them out, grateful that her boots were still there, and then sat on the closed lid of the chest for a long time, trying to catch her breath.\n\nI have to speak to Gawyn this morning, she thought, willing her body to be strong enough. It's the only time everyone will be gone. And it's going to snow.\n\nShe dressed, sitting down as much as possible and leaning against the bedposts to pull her hose and boots on, and then went back over to the bed. I'll rest a little, she thought, just till I'm warmed through, and was immediately asleep.\n\nThe bell woke her, the one from the southwest she had heard when she came through. It had rung all yesterday and then stopped, and Eliwys had gone over to the window and stood there for a while, as if trying to see what had happened. The light from the window was dimmer, but it was only that the clouds were thicker, lower. Kivrin put on her cloak and opened the door. The stairs were steep, set into the stone side of the hall, and had no railing. Agnes was lucky she had only skinned her knee. She might have pitched headlong onto the floor below. Kivrin kept her hand on the wall and rested halfway, looking at the hall.\n\nI'm really here, she thought. It really is 1320. The hearth in the middle of the room glowed a dull red with the banked coals, and there was a little light from the smoke hole above it and the high, narrow windows, but most of the hall was in shadow.\n\nShe stopped where she was, peering into the smoky gloom, trying to see if anyone was there. The high seat, with its carved back and arms, sat against the end wall with Lady Eliwys's slightly lower, slightly less ornate one next to it. There were tapestries on the wall behind them and a ladder at the far end of the wall up to what must be a loft. Heavy wooden tables hung along the other walls above the wide benches, and a narrower bench sat next to the wall just below the stairs. The beggar's bench. And the wall it sat against was the screens.\n\nKivrin came down the rest of the stairs and tiptoed across to the screens, her feet crunching loudly on the dried rushes scattered on the floor. The screens were really a partition, an inside wall that shut off the draft from the door.\n\nSometimes the screens formed a separate room, with box beds in either end, but behind these there was only a narrow passage, with the missing hooks for hanging up cloaks. There were no cloaks there now. Good, Kivrin thought, they're all gone.\n\nThe door was open. On the floor next to it was a pair of shaggy boots, a wooden bucket, and Agnes's cart. Kivrin stopped in the little anteroom to catch her already ragged breath, wishing she could sit down a moment, and then looked carefully out the door and went outside.\n\nThere was no one in the enclosed courtyard. It was cobbled with flattish yellow stones, but the center of it, where a water trough hollowed out of a tree stood, was deep in mud. There were trampled hoofprints and footprints all around it, and several puddles of brown water. A thin, mangy-looking chicken was drinking fearlessly from one of the pools. Chickens had only been raised for their eggs. Pigeons and doves had been the chief meat fowls in the 1300s.\n\nAnd there was the dovecote by the gate, and the thatch-roofed building next to it must be the kitchen, and the other, smaller buildings the storehouses. The stable, with its wide doors, stood along the other side, and then a narrow passage, and then the big stone barn.\n\nShe tried the stable first. Agnes's puppy came bounding out to meet her on its clumsy feet, yipping happily, and she had to hastily push it back inside and shut the heavy wooden door. Gawyn obviously wasn't in there. He wasn't in the barn either, or in the kitchen or in the other buildings, the largest of which turned out to be the brewhouse. Agnes had said he wasn't going with the procession to cut the Yule log as if it were something obvious, and Kivrin had assumed he had to stay here to guard the manor, but now she wondered if he had gone with Eliwys to visit the cottar.\n\nIf he has, she thought, I'll have to go find the drop myself. She started toward the stable again, but halfway there she stopped. She would never be able to get up on a horse by herself, feeling as weak as she did, and if she did somehow manage it, she was too dizzy to stay on. And too dizzy to go looking for the drop. But I have to, she thought. They're all gone, and it's going to snow.\n\nShe looked toward the gate and then the passage between the barn and the stable, wondering which way to go. They had come down a hill, past a church. She remembered hearing the bell. She didn't remember the gate or the courtyard, but that was most likely the way they had come.\n\nShe walked across the cobbles, sending the chicken clucking frantically over to the shelter of the well, and looked out the gate at the road. It crossed a narrow stream with a log bridge and wound off to the south into the trees. But there wasn't any hill, and no church, no village, no indication that that was the way to the drop.\n\nThere had to be a church. She had heard the bell, lying in bed. She walked back into the courtyard and across to the muddy path. It led past a round wattle pen with two dirty pigs in it, and the privy, unmistakable in its smell, and Kivrin was afraid that the path was only the way to the outhouse, but it wound around behind the privy and opened out onto a green.\n\nAnd there was the village. And the church, sitting at the far end of the green just the way Kivrin remembered it, and beyond it was the hill they had come down.\n\nThe green didn't look like a green. It was a ragged open space with huts on one side and the willow-edged stream on the other, but there was a cow grazing on what was left of the grass and a goat tethered to a big leafless oak. The huts straggled along the near side between piles of hay and muck heaps, getting smaller and more shapeless the farther they were from the manor house, but even the one closest to the manor house, which should be the steward's, was nothing but a hovel. It was all smaller and dirtier and more tumbledown than the illustrations in the history vids. Only the church looked the way it was supposed to.\n\nThe bell tower stood separate from it, between the churchyard and the green. It had obviously been built later than the church with its Norman round-arched windows and grayed stone. The tower was tall and round, and its stone was yellower, almost golden.\n\nA track, no wider than the road near the drop, led past the churchyard and the tower and up the hill into the woods.\n\nThat's the way we came, Kivrin thought, and started across the green, but as soon as she stepped out of the shelter of the barn, the wind hit her. It went through her cloak as if it were nothing, and seemed to stab into her chest. She pulled the cloak tight around her neck, held it with her flattened hand against her chest, and went on.\n\nThe bell in the southwest began again. She wondered what it meant. Eliwys and Imeyne had talked about it, but that was before she could understand what they were saying, and when it began again yesterday, Eliwys hadn't even acted like she heard it. Perhaps it was something to do with Advent. The bells were supposed to ring at twilight on Christmas Eve and then for an hour before midnight, Kivrin knew. Perhaps they rang at other times during Advent as well.\n\nThe track was muddy and rutted. Kivrin's chest was beginning to hurt. She pressed her hand tighter against it and went on, trying to hurry. She could see movement out beyond the fields. They would be the peasants coming back with the Yule log, or getting in the animals. She couldn't make them out. It looked as if it were already snowing out there. She must hurry.\n\nThe wind whipped her cloak around her and swirled dead leaves past her. The cow moved off the green, its head down, into the shelter of the huts. Which were no shelter at all. They seemed hardly taller than Kivrin and as if they had been bundled together out of sticks and propped in place, and they didn't stop the wind at all.\n\nThe bell continued to ring, a slow, steady tolling, and Kivrin realized she had slowed her tread to match it. She mustn't do that. She must hurry. It might start snowing any minute. But hurrying made the pain stab so sharply she began to cough. She stopped, bent double with the coughing.\n\nShe was not going to make it. Don't be foolish, she told herself, you have to find the drop. You're ill. You have to get back home. Go as far as the church and you can rest inside for a minute.\n\nShe started on again, willing herself not to cough, but it was no use. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't make it to the church, let alone the drop. You have to make it, she shouted to herself over the pain. You have to will yourself to make it.\n\nShe stopped again, bending over against the pain. She had been worried that a peasant would come out of one of the huts, but now she wished someone would so they could help her back to the manor. They wouldn't. They were all out in this freezing wind, bringing in the Yule log and gathering up the animals. She looked out toward the fields. The distant figures who had been out there were gone.\n\nShe was opposite the last hut. Beyond it was a scattering of ramshackle sheds she hoped no one lived in, and surely nobody did. They must be outbuildings\u2014cowbyres and granaries\u2014and beyond them, surely not that far away, the church. Perhaps if I take it slowly, she thought, and started toward the church again. Her whole chest jarred at every step. She stopped, swaying a little, thinking, I mustn't faint. No one knows where I am.\n\nShe turned and looked back at the manor house. She couldn't even get back to the hall. I have to sit down, she thought, but there was nowhere to sit in the muddy track. Lady Eliwys was tending the cottar, Lady Imeyne and the girls and the entire village were out cutting the Yule log. No one knows where I am.\n\nThe wind was picking up, coming now not in gusts but in a straight, determined push across the fields. I must try to get back to the house, Kivrin thought, but she couldn't do that either. Even standing was too much of an effort. If there were anywhere to sit she would sit down, but the space between the huts, right up to their fences, was all mud. She would have to go into the hut.\n\nIt had a rickety wattle fence around it, made by weaving green branches between stakes. The fence was scarcely knee-high and wouldn't have kept a cat out, let alone the sheep and cows it was intended against. Only the gate had supports even waist-high, and Kivrin leaned gratefully against one of them. \"Hello,\" she shouted into the wind, \"is anyone there?\"\n\nThe front door of the hut was only a few steps from the gate, and the hut couldn't be soundproof. It wasn't even windproof. She could see a hole in the wall where the daubed clay and chopped straw had cracked and fallen away from the matted branches underneath. They could surely hear her. She lifted the loop of leather that held the gate shut, went in, and knocked on the low, planked door.\n\nThere was no answer, and Kivrin hadn't expected any. She shouted again, \"Is anyone home?\" not even bothering to listen to how the interpreter translated it, and tried to lift the wooden bar that lay across it. It was too heavy. She tried to slide it out of the notches cut in the protruding lintels, but she couldn't. The hut looked like it could blow away at any minute, and she couldn't get the door open. She would have to tell Mr. Dunworthy mediaeval huts weren't as flimsy as they looked. She leaned against the door, holding her chest.\n\nSomething made a sound behind her, and she turned, already saying, \"I'm sorry I intruded into your garden.\" It was the cow, leaning casually over the fence and browsing among the brown leaves, hardly reaching at all.\n\nShe would have to go back to the manor. She used the gate for support, making sure she shut it behind her and looped the leather back over the stake, and then the cow's bony back. The cow followed with her a few steps, as if it thought Kivrin was leading it in to be milked, and then went back to the garden.\n\nThe door of one of the sheds that nobody could possibly live in opened, and a barefoot boy came out. He stopped, looking frightened.\n\nKivrin tried to straighten up. \"Please,\" she said, breathing hard between the words, \"may I rest awhile in your house?\"\n\nThe boy stared dumbly at her, his mouth hanging open. He was hideously thin, his arms and legs no thicker than the twigs in the hut fences.\n\n\"Please, run and tell someone to come. Tell them I'm ill.\"\n\nHe can no more run than I can, she thought as soon as she said it. The boy's feet were blue with cold. His mouth looked sore, and his cheeks and upper lip were smeared with dried blood from a nosebleed. He's got scurvy, Kivrin thought, he's worse off than I am, but she said again, \"Run to the manor and bid them come.\"\n\nThe boy crossed himself with a chapped, bony hand. \" Bighaull emeurdroud ooghattund enblastbardey,\" he said, backing into the hut.\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought despairingly. He can't understand me, and I don't have the strength to try to make him. \"Please help me,\" she said, and the boy looked almost like he understood that. He took a step toward her and then darted suddenly away in the direction of the church.\n\n\"Wait!\" Kivrin called.\n\nHe darted past the cow and around the fence and disappeared behind the hut. Kivrin looked at the shed. It could scarcely even be called that. It looked more like a haystack\u2014grass and pieces of thatch wadded into the spaces between the poles, but its door was a mat of sticks tied together with blackish rope, the kind of door you could blow down with one good breath, and the boy had left it open. She stepped over the raised doorstep and went into the hut.\n\nIt was dark inside and so smoky Kivrin couldn't see anything. It smelled terrible. Like a stable. Worse than a stable. Mingled with the barnyard smells were smoke and mildew and the nasty odor of rats. Kivrin had had to bend over almost double to get through the door. She straightened, and hit her head on the sticks that served as crossbeams.\n\nThere was nowhere to sit in the hut, if that was really what it was. The floor was as covered with sacks and tools as if it was a shed after all, and there was no furniture except an uneven table whose rough legs splayed unevenly from the center. But the table had a wooden bowl and a heel of bread on it, and in the center of the hut, in the only cleared space, a little fire was burning in a shallow, dug-out hole.\n\nIt was apparently the source of all the smoke even though there was a hole in the ceiling above it for a draft. It was a little fire, only a few sticks, but the other holes in the unevenly stuffed walls and roof drew the smoke, too, and the wind, coming in from everywhere, gusted it around the cramped hut. Kivrin started to cough, which was a terrible mistake. Her chest felt as if it would break apart with every spasm.\n\nGritting her teeth to keep from coughing, she eased herself down on a sack of onions, holding on to the spade propped against it and then the fragile-looking wall. She felt immediately better as soon as she was sitting down, even though it was so cold she could see her breath. I wonder how this place smells in the summer, she thought. She wrapped her cloak around her, folding the tails like a blanket across her knees.\n\nThere was a cold draft along the floor. She tucked the cloak around her feet and then picked up a bill hook lying next to the sack and poked at the meager fire with it. The fire blazed up halfheartedly, illuminating the hut and making it look more than ever like a shed. A low lean-to had been built on at one side, probably for a stable because it was partitioned off from the rest of the hut by an even lower fence than the cottage had had. The fire wasn't bright enough for Kivrin to see into the lean-to corner, but a scuffling sound came from it.\n\nA pig, maybe, although the peasants' pigs were supposed to have been slaughtered by now, or maybe a milk goat. She poked at the fire again, trying to get a little more light on the corner.\n\nThe scuffling sound came from in front of the pathetic fence, from a large dome-shaped cage. It was elaborately out of place in the filthy corner with its smooth curved metal band, its complicated door, its fancy handle. Inside the cage, its eyes glinting in the firelight Kivrin had stirred up, was a rat.\n\nIt sat on its haunches, its handlike paws holding the chunk of cheese that had tempted it into imprisonment, watching Kivrin. There were several other crumbled and probably moldy bits of cheese on the floor of the cage. More food than in this entire hut, Kivrin thought, sitting very still on the lumpy sack of onions. One wouldn't think they had anything worth protecting from a rat.\n\nShe had seen a rat before, of course, in History of Psych and when they tested her for phobias during her first year, but not this kind. Nobody had seen this kind, in England at least, in fifty years. It was a very pretty rat, actually, with silky black fur, not much bigger than History of Psych's white laboratory rats, not nearly as big as the brown rat she'd been tested with.\n\nIt looked much cleaner than the brown rat, too. It had looked like it belonged in the sewers and drains and tube tunnels it had no doubt come out of, with its matted dust-brown coat and long, obscenely naked tail. When she had first started studying the Middle Ages, she had been unable to understand how the contemps had tolerated the disgusting things in their barns, let alone their houses. The thought of the one in the wall by her bed had filled her with revulsion. But this rat was actually quite clean-looking, with its black eyes and shiny coat. Certainly cleaner than Maisry, and probably more intelligent. Harmless-looking.\n\nAs if to prove her point, the rat took another dainty nibble on the cheese.\n\n\"You're not harmless, though,\" Kivrin said. \"You're the scourge of the Middle Ages.\"\n\nThe rat dropped the chunk of cheese and took a step forward, its whiskers twitching. It took hold of two of the metal bars with its pinkish hands and looked appealingly through them.\n\n\"I can't let you out, you know,\" Kivrin said, and its ears pricked up as if it understood her. \"You eat precious grain and contaminate food and carry fleas and in another twenty-eight years you and your chums will wipe out half of Europe. You're what Lady Imeyne should be worrying about instead of French spies and illiterate priests.\" The rat looked at her. \"I'd like to let you out, but I can't. The Black Death was bad enough as it was. It killed half of Europe. If I let you out, your descendants might make it even worse.\"\n\nThe rat let go of the bars and began running around the cage, crashing against the bars, circling in frantic, random movements.\n\n\"I'd let you out if I could,\" Kivrin said. The fire had nearly gone out. Kivrin stirred it again, but it was all ashes. The door she had left open in the hope that the boy would bring someone back looking for her banged shut, plunging the hut in darkness.\n\nThey won't have any idea where to look for me, Kivrin thought, and knew they weren't even looking yet. They all thought she was in the upstairs room asleep. Lady Imeyne wouldn't even check on her until she brought her her supper. They wouldn't even start to look for her until after vespers, and by then it would be dark.\n\nIt was very quiet in the hut. The wind must have died down. She couldn't hear the rat. A twig on the fire snapped once, and sparks flew onto the dirt floor.\n\nNobody knows where I am, she thought, and put her hand up to her chest as if she had been stabbed. Nobody knows where I am. Not even Mr. Dunworthy.\n\nBut surely that wasn't true. Lady Eliwys might have come back and gone up to put more ointment on, or Maisry might have been sent home by Imeyne, or the boy might have darted off to fetch the men from the fields, and they would be here any minute, even though the door was shut. And even if they didn't realize she was gone until after vespers, they had torches and lanterns, and the parents of the boy with scurvy would come back to cook supper and find her and would go and fetch someone from the manor. No matter what happens, she told herself, you're not completely alone, and that comforted her.\n\nBecause she was completely alone. She had tried to convince herself she wasn't, that some reading on the net's screens had told Gilchrist and Montoya something had gone wrong, that Mr. Dunworthy had made Badri check and recheck everything, that they knew what had happened somehow and were holding the drop open. But they weren't. They no more knew where she was than Agnes and Lady Eliwys did. They thought she was safely in Skendgate, studying the Middle Ages, with the drop clearly located and the corder already half full of observations about quaint customs and rotation of crops. They wouldn't even realize she was gone until they opened the drop in two weeks.\n\n\"And by then it will be dark,\" Kivrin said.\n\nShe sat still, watching the fire. It was nearly out, and there weren't any more sticks anywhere that she could see. She wondered if the boy had been left at home to gather faggots and what they would do for a fire tonight.\n\nShe was all alone, and the fire was going out, and nobody knew where she was except the rat that was going to kill half of Europe. She stood up, cracking her head again, pushed the door of the hut open, and went outside.\n\nThere was still no one in sight in the fields. The wind had died down, and she could hear the bell from the southwest tolling clearly. A few flakes of snow drifted out of the gray sky. The little rise the church was on was completely obscurred with snow. Kivrin started toward the church.\n\nAnother bell began. It was more to the south and closer, but with the higher, more metallic sound that meant it was a smaller bell. It tolled steadily, too, but a little behind the first bell so that it sounded like an echo.\n\n\"Kivrin! Lady Kivrin!\" Agnes called. \"Where have you been?\" She ran up beside Kivrin, her round little face red with exertion or cold. Or excitement. \"We've been looking everywhere for you.\" She darted back in the direction she had come from, shouting, \"I found her! I found her!\"\n\n\"Nay, you did not!\" Rosemund said. \"We all saw her.\" She hurried forward ahead of Lady Imeyne and Maisry, who had her ragged poncho thrown over her shoulders. Her ears were bright red. She looked sullen, which probably meant she had been blamed for Kivrin's disappearance or thought she was going to be, or maybe she was just cold. Lady Imeyne looked furious.\n\n\"You did not know it was Kivrin,\" Agnes shouted, running back to Kivrin's side. \"You said you were not certain it was Kivrin. I was the one who found her.\"\n\nRosemund ignored her. She took hold of Kivrin's arm. \"What has happened? Why did you leave your bed?\" she asked anxiously. \"Gawyn came to speak with you and found that you had gone.\"\n\nGawyn came, Kivrin thought weakly. Gawyn, who could have told me exactly where the drop is, and I wasn't there.\n\n\"Aye, he came to tell you that he had found no trace of your attackers, and that\u2014\"\n\nLady Imeyne came up. \"Whither were you bound?\" she said, and it sounded like an accusation.\n\n\"I could not find my way back,\" Kivrin said, trying to think what to say to explain her wandering about the village.\n\n\"Went you to meet someone?\" Lady Imeyne demanded, and it was definitely an accusation.\n\n\"How could she go to meet someone?\" Rosemund asked. \"She knows no one here and remembers naught of before.\"\n\n\"I went to look for the place where I was found,\" Kivrin said, trying not to lean on Rosemund. \"I thought maybe the sight of my belongings might...\"\n\n\"Help you to remember,\" Rosemund said. \"But\u2014\"\n\n\"You need not have risked your health to do so,\" Lady Imeyne said. \"Gawyn has fetched them here this day.\"\n\n\"Everything?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Aye,\" Rosemund said, \"the wagon and all your boxes.\"\n\nThe second bell stopped, and the first bell kept on alone, steadily, slowly, and surely it was a funeral. It sounded like the death of hope itself. Gawyn had brought everything to the manor.\n\n\"It is not meet to hold Lady Katherine talking in this cold,\" Rosemund said, sounding like her mother. \"She has been ill. We must needs get her inside ere she catches a chill.\"\n\nI have already caught a chill, Kivrin thought. Gawyn had brought everything to the manor, all traces of where the drop had been. Even the wagon.\n\n\"You are to blame for this, Maisry,\" Lady Imeyne said, pushing Maisry forward to take Kivrin's arm. \"You should not have left her alone.\"\n\nKivrin flinched away from the filthy Maisry.\n\n\"Can you walk?\" Rosemund asked, already buckling under Kivrin's weight. \"Should we bring the mare?\"\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. She somehow couldn't bear the thought of that, brought back like a captured prisoner on the back of a jangling horse. \"No,\" she repeated. \"I can walk.\"\n\nShe had to lean heavily on Rosemund's arm and Maisry's filthy one, and it was slow going, but she made it. Past the huts and the steward's house and the interested pigs, and into the courtyard. The stump of a big ash tree lay on the cobbles in front of the barn, its twisted roots catching the flakes of snow.\n\n\"She will have caught her death with her behavior,\" Lady Imeyne said, gesturing to Maisry to open the heavy wooden door. \"She will no doubt have a relapse.\"\n\nIt began to snow in earnest. Maisry opened the door. It had a latch like the little door on the rat's cage. I should have let it go, Kivrin thought, scourge or not. I should have let it go.\n\nLady Imeyne motioned to Maisry, and she came back to take Kivrin's arm again. \"No,\" she said, and shrugged off her hand and Rosemund's and walked alone and without help through the door and into the darkness inside.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (005982\u2013013198):\n\n\u200218 December 1320 (Old Style). I think I have pneumonia. I tried to go find the drop, but I didn't make it, and I've had some sort of relapse or something. There's a stabbing pain under my ribs every time I take a breath, and when I cough, which is constantly, it feels like everything inside is breaking to pieces. I tried to sit up a while ago and was instantly bathed in sweat, and I think my temp is back up. Those are all symptoms Dr. Ahrens told me indicate pneumonia.\n\n\u2002Lady Eliwys isn't back yet. Lady Imeyne put a horrible-smelling poultice on my chest and then sent for the steward's wife. I thought she wanted to \"chide with\" her for usurping the manor, but when the steward's wife came, carrying her six-month-old baby, Imeyne told her, \"The wound has fevered her lungs,\" and the steward's wife looked at my temple and then went out and came back without the baby and with a bowl full of a bitter-tasting tea. It must have had willow bark or something in it because my temp came down, and my ribs don't hurt quite so much.\n\n\u2002The steward's wife is thin and small, with a sharp face and ash-blond hair. I think Lady Imeyne is probably right about her being the one to tempt the steward \"into sin.\" She came in wearing a fur-trimmed kirtle with sleeves so long they nearly dragged on the floor, and her baby wrapped in a finely woven wool blanket, and she talks in an odd slurred accent that I think is an attempt to mimic Lady Imeyne's speech.\n\n\u2002\"The embryonic middle class,\" as Mr. Latimer would say, nouveau riche and waiting for its chance, which it will get in thirty years when the Black Death hits and a third of the nobility is wiped out.\n\n\u2002\"Is this the lady was found in the woods?\" she asked Lady Imeyne when she came in, and there wasn't any \"seeming modesty\" in her manner. She smiled at Imeyne as if they were old chums and came over to the bed.\n\n\u2002\"Aye,\" Lady Imeyne said, managing to get impatience, disdain, and distaste all in one syllable.\n\n\u2002The steward's wife was oblivious. She came over to the bed and then stepped back, the first person to show any indication they thought I might be contagious. \"Has she the (something) fever?\" The interpreter didn't catch the word, and I couldn't get it either because of her peculiar accent. Flouronen? Florentine?\n\n\u2002\"She has a wound to the head,\" Imeyne said sharply. \"It has fevered her lungs.\"\n\n\u2002The steward's wife nodded. \"Father Roche told us how he and Gawyn found her in the woods.\"\n\n\u2002Imeyne stiffened at the familiar use of Gawyn's name, and the steward's wife did catch that and hurried out to brew up the willow bark. She even ducked a bow to Lady Imeyne when she left the second time.\n\n\u2002Rosemund came in to sit with me after Imeyne left\u2014I think they've assigned her to keep me from trying to escape again\u2014and I asked her if it was true that Father Roche had been with Gawyn when he found me.\n\n\u2002\"Nay,\" she said. \"Gawyn met Father Roche on the road as he brought you here and left you to his care that he might seek your attackers, but he found naught of them, and he and Father Roche brought you here. You need not worry over it. Gawyn has brought your things to the manor.\"\n\n\u2002I don't remember Father Roche being there, except in the sickroom, but if it's true, and Gawyn didn't meet him too far from the drop, maybe he knows where it is."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "\u2002I have been thinking about what Lady Imeyne said. \"The wound to her head has fevered her lungs,\" she said. I don't think anyone here realizes I'm ill. They let the little girls in the sickroom all the time, and none of them seem the least afraid, except the steward's wife, and as soon as Lady Imeyne told her I had \"fevered lungs,\" she came up to the bed without any hesitation.\n\n\u2002But she was obviously worried about the possibility of my illness's being contagious, and when I asked Rosemund why she hadn't gone with her mother to see the cottar, she said, as if it were self-evident, \"She forbade me to go. The cottar is ill.\"\n\n\u2002I don't think they know I have a disease. I didn't have any obvious marker symptoms, like pox or a rash, and I think they put my fever and delirium down to my injuries. Wounds often became infected, and there were frequent cases of blood poisoning. There would be no reason to keep the little girls away from an injured person.\n\n\u2002And none of them have caught it. It's been five days, and if it is a virus, the incubation period should only be twelve to forty-eight hours. Dr. Ahrens told me the most contagious period is before there are any symptoms, so maybe I wasn't contagious by the time the little girls started coming in. Or maybe this is something they've all had already, and they're immune. The steward's wife asked if I had had the Florentine? Flahntin? fever, and Mr. Gilchrist's convinced there was an influenza epidemic in 1320. Maybe that's what I caught.\n\n\u2002It's afternoon. Rosemund is sitting in the window seat, sewing a piece of linen with dark red wool, and Blackie's asleep beside me. I've been thinking about how you were right, Mr. Dunworthy. I wasn't prepared at all, and everything's completely different from the way I thought it would be. But you were wrong about it's not being like a fairy tale.\n\n\u2002Everywhere I look I see things from fairy tales: Agnes's red cape and hood, and the rat's cage, and bowls of porridge, and the village's huts of straw and sticks that a wolf could blow down without half trying.\n\n\u2002The bell tower looks like the one Rapunzel was imprisoned in, and Rosemund, bending over her embroidery, with her dark hair and white cap and red cheeks, looks for all the world like Snow White."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "\u2002I think my fever is back up. I can smell smoke in the room. Lady Imeyne is praying, kneeling beside the bed with her Book of Hours. Rosemund told me they have sent for the steward's wife again. Lady Imeyne despises her. I must be truly ill for Imeyne to have sent for her. I wonder if they will send for the priest. If they do, I must ask him if he knows where Gawyn found me. It's so hot in here. This part is not like a fairy tale at all. They only send for the priest when someone is dying, but Probability says there was a 72 percent chance of dying of pneumonia in the 1300s. I hope he comes soon, to tell me where the drop is and hold my hand.\n\nTwo more cases, both students, came in while Mary was interrogating Colin on how he had got through the perimeter.\n\n\"It was easy \" Colin had said indignantly. \"They're trying to keep people from getting out, not getting in,\" and had been about to give the particulars when the registrar came in.\n\nMary had made Dunworthy accompany her to the Casualties Ward to see if he could identify them. \"And you stay here,\" she had told Colin. \"You've caused quite enough trouble for one night.\"\n\nDunworthy didn't recognize either of the new cases, but it didn't matter. They were conscious and lucid and were already giving the house officer the names of all their contacts when he and Mary got there. He took a good look at each of them and shook his head. \"They might have been part of that crowd on the High Street, I can't tell,\" he said.\n\n\"It's all right,\" she said. \"You can go home if you like.\"\n\n\"I thought I'd wait and have my blood test,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, but that isn't till\u2014\" she said, looking at her digital. \"Good Lord, it's past six.\"\n\n\"I'll just go up and check on Badri,\" he said, \"and then I'll be in the waiting room.\"\n\nBadri was asleep, the nurse said. \"I wouldn't wake him.\"\n\n\"No, of course not,\" Dunworthy said and went back down to the waiting room.\n\nColin was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, digging in his duffel. \"Where's Great-aunt Mary?\" he asked. \"She's a bit flakked at my showing up, isn't she?\"\n\n\"She thought you were safely back in London,\" Dunworthy said. \"Your mother told her your train had been stopped at Barton.\"\n\n\"It was. They made everyone get off and get on another train going back to London.\"\n\n\"And you got lost in the changeover?\"\n\n\"No. I overheard these people talking about the quarantine, and how there was this terrible disease and everybody was going to die and everything\u2014\" He stopped to rummage further in his duffel. He took out and replaced a large number of items, vids and a pocket vidder and a pair of scuffed and dirty runners. He was obviously related to Mary. \"And I didn't want to be stuck with Eric and miss all the excitement.\"\n\n\"Eric?\"\n\n\"My mother's livein.\" He pulled out a large red gobstopper, picked off a few bits of lint, and popped it in his mouth. It made a mumplike lump in his cheek. \"He is absolutely the most necrotic person in the world,\" he said around the gobstopper. \"He has this flat down in Kent and there is absolutely nothing to do.\"\n\n\"So you got off the train at Barton. What did you do then? Walk to Oxford?\"\n\nHe took the gobstopper out of his mouth. It was no longer red. It was a mottled bluish-green color. Colin looked critically at all sides of it and put it back in his mouth. \"Of course not. Barton's a long way from Oxford. I took a taxi.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I told the driver I was reporting the quarantine for my school paper and I wanted to get vids of the blockade. I had my vidder with me, you see, so it seemed the logical thing.\" He held up the pocket vidder to illustrate, and then stuffed it back in the duffel and began digging again.\n\n\"Did he believe you?\"\n\n\"I think so. He did ask me which school I went to, but I just said, very offended, 'You should be able to tell,' and he said St. Edward's, and I said, 'Of course.' He must have believed me. He took me to the perimeter, didn't he?\"\n\nAnd I was worried about what Kivrin would do if no friendly traveler came along, Dunworthy thought. \"What did you do then, give the police the same story?\"\n\nColin pulled out a green wool jumper, folded it into a bundle, and laid it on top of the open duffel. \"No. When I thought about it, it was rather a lame story. I mean, what is there to take pictures of, after all? It's not like a fire, is it? So I just walked up to the guard as if I were going to ask him something about the quarantine, and then just at the last I dodged sideways and ducked under the barrier.\n\n\"Didn't they chase you?\"\n\n\"Of course. But not for more than a few streets. They're trying to keep people from getting out, not in. And then I walked about a while till I found a call box.\"\n\nPresumably it had been pouring rain this entire time but Colin hadn't mentioned it, and a collapsible umbrella wasn't among the items he'd rooted out of his bag.\n\n\"The hard part was finding Great-aunt Mary,\" he said. He lay down with his head on the duffel. \"I went to her flat, but she wasn't there. I thought perhaps she was still at the tube station waiting for me, but it was shut down.\" He sat up, rearranged the wool jumper, and lay back down. \"And then I thought, She's a doctor. She'll be at the Infirmary.\"\n\nHe sat up again, punched the duffel into a different shape, lay down, and closed his eyes. Dunworthy leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, envying the young. Colin was probably nearly asleep already, not at all frightened or disturbed by his adventures. He had walked all over Oxford in the middle of the night, or perhaps he had taken further taxis or pulled a collapsible bicycle out of his duffel, all by himself in a freezing winter rain, and he wasn't even fazed by the adventure.\n\nKivrin was all right. If the village wasn't where it was supposed to be she would walk until she found it, or take a taxi, or lie down somewhere with her head on her folded-up cloak, and sleep the undauntable sleep of youth.\n\nMary came in. \"Both of them went to a dance in Headington last night,\" she said, dropping her voice when she saw Colin.\n\n\"Badri was there, too,\" Dunworthy whispered back.\n\n\"I know. One of them danced with him. They were there from nine to two, which puts it at from twenty-five to thirty hours and well within a forty-eight-hour incubation period, if Badri's the one who infected them.\"\n\n\"You don't think he did?\"\n\n\"I think it's more likely all three of them were infected by the same person, probably someone Badri saw early in the evening, and the others later.\"\n\n\"A carrier?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"People don't usually carry myxoviruses without contracting the disease themselves, but he or she could have had only a mild manifestation or have been ignoring the symptoms.\"\n\nDunworthy thought of Badri collapsing against the console and wondered how it was possible to ignore one's symptoms.\n\n\"And if,\" Mary went on, \"this person was in South Carolina four days ago\u2014\"\n\n\"You'll have your link with the American virus.\"\n\n\"And you can stop worrying over Kivrin. She wasn't at the dance in Headington,\" she said. \"Of course, the connection is more likely to be several links away.\"\n\nShe frowned, and Dunworthy thought, Several links that haven't checked in to hospital or even rung up a doctor. Several links who have all ignored their symptoms.\n\nApparently Mary was thinking the same thing. \"These bell ringers of yours, when did they arrive in England?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But they only arrived in Oxford this afternoon, after Badri was at the net.\"\n\n\"Well, ask them anyway. When they landed, where they've been, whether any of them have been ill. One of them might have relations in Oxford and have come up early. You've no American undergraduates in college?\"\n\n\"No. Montoya's an American.\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought of that,\" Mary said. \"How long has she been here?\"\n\n\"All term. But she might have been in contact with someone visiting from America.\"\n\n\"I'll ask her when she comes in for her Woodwork,\" she said. \"I'd like you to question Badri about any Americans he knows, or students who've been to the States on exchange.\"\n\n\"He's asleep.\"\n\n\"And so should you be,\" she said. \"I didn't mean now.\" She patted his arm. \"There's no necessity of waiting till seven. I'll send someone in to take blood and BP so you can go home to bed.\" She took Dunworthy's wrist and looked at the temp monitor. \"Any chills?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Headache?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's because you're exhausted.\" She dropped his wrist. \"I'll send someone straightaway.\"\n\nShe looked at Colin, stretched out on the floor. \"Colin will have to be tested as well, at least till we're certain it's droplet.\"\n\nColin's mouth had fallen open, but the gobstopper was still firmly in place in his cheek. Dunworthy wondered if he were likely to choke. \"What about your nephew?\" he said. \"Would you like me to take him back to Balliol with me?\"\n\nShe looked immediately grateful. \"Would you? I hate to burden you with him, but I doubt I'll be home till we get this under control.\" She sighed. \"Poor boy. I hope his Christmas won't be too spoilt.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't worry too much about it,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Well, I'm very grateful,\" Mary said, \"and I'll see to the tests immediately.\"\n\nShe left. Colin sat up immediately.\n\n\"What sort of tests?\" Colin asked. \"Does this mean I might get the virus?\"\n\n\"I sincerely hope not,\" Dunworthy said, thinking of Badri's flushed face, his labored breathing.\n\n\"But I might,\" Colin said.\n\n\"The chances are very slim,\" Dunworthy said. \"I shouldn't worry about it.\"\n\n\"I'm not worried.\" He held out his arm. \"I think I'm getting a rash,\" he said eagerly, pointing to a freckle.\n\n\"That isn't a symptom of the virus,\" Dunworthy said. \"Collect your things. I'm taking you home with me after the tests.\" He gathered up his muffler and overcoat from the chairs he'd draped them over.\n\n\"What are the symptoms, then?\"\n\n\"Fever and difficulty breathing,\" Dunworthy said. Mary's shopping bag was on the floor by Latimer's chair. He decided they'd best take it with them.\n\nThe nurse came in, carrying her bloodwork tray.\n\n\"I feel hot,\" Colin said. He clutched his throat dramatically. \"I can't breathe.\"\n\nThe nurse took a startled step backward, clinking her tray.\n\nDunworthy grabbed Colin's arm. \"Don't be alarmed,\" he said to the nurse. \"It's only a case of gobstopper poisoning.\"\n\nColin grinned and bared his arm fearlessly for the blood test, then stuffed the jumper into the duffel and pulled on his still-damp jacket while Dunworthy had his blood drawn.\n\nThe nurse said, \"Dr. Ahrens said you needn't wait for the results,\" and left.\n\nDunworthy put on his overcoat, picked up Mary's shopping bag, and led Colin down the corridor and out through the Casualties Ward. He couldn't see Mary anywhere, but she had said they needn't wait, and he was suddenly so tired he couldn't stand.\n\nThey went outside. It was just beginning to get light out and still raining. Dunworthy hesitated under the hospital porch, wondering if he should ring for a taxi, but he had no desire to have Gilchrist show up for his tests while they were waiting and have to hear his plans for sending Kivrin to the Black Death and the battle of Agincourt. He fished Mary's collapsible umbrella out of her bag and put it up.\n\n\"Thank goodness you're still here,\" Montoya said, skidding up on a bicycle, spraying water. \"I need to find Basingame.\"\n\nSo do we all, Dunworthy thought, wondering where she had been during all those telephone conversations.\n\nShe got off the bike, pushed it up the rack, and keyed the lock. \"His secretary said no one knows where he is. Can you believe that?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"I've been trying most of today\u2014yesterday\u2014to reach him. He's on holiday somewhere in Scotland, no one knows exactly where. Fishing, according to his wife.\"\n\n\"At this time of year?\" she said. \"Who would go fishing in Scotland in December? Surely his wife knows where he is or has a number where he can be reached or something.\"\n\nDunworthy shook his head.\n\n\"This is ridiculous! I go to all the trouble to get the National Health Board to grant me access to my dig, and Basingame's on vacation!\" She reached under her slick and brought out a sheaf of colored papers. \"They agreed to give me a waiver if the Head of History would sign an affidavit saying the dig was a project necessary and essential to the welfare of the University. How could he just go off like this without telling anybody?\" She slapped the papers against her leg, and raindrops flew everywhere. \"I have to get this signed before the whole dig floats away. Where's Gilchrist?\"\n\n\"He should be here shortly for his blood tests,\" Dunworthy said. \"If you manage to find Basingame, tell him he needs to come back immediately. Tell him we've got a quarantine here, we don't know where an historian is, and the tech is too ill to tell us.\"\n\n\"Fishing,\" Montoya said disgustedly, heading for Casualties. \"If my dig is ruined, he's going to have a lot to answer for.\"\n\n\"Come along,\" Dunworthy said to Colin, anxious to be gone before anyone else showed up. He held the umbrella so it would cover Colin, too, and then gave up. Colin walked rapidly ahead, managing to hit nearly every puddle, then dawdled behind to look at shop windows.\n\nThere was no one on the streets, though whether that was from the quarantine or the early hour, Dunworthy couldn't tell. Perhaps they'll all be asleep, he thought, and we can sneak in and go straight to bed.\n\n\"I thought there'd be more going on,\" Colin said, sounding disappointed. \"Sirens and all that.\"\n\n\"And dead-carts going through the streets, calling 'Bring out your dead'?\" Dunworthy said. \"You should have gone with Kivrin. Quarantines in the Middle Ages were far more exciting than this one's likely to be, with only four cases and a vaccine on its way from the States.\"\n\n\"Who is this Kivrin person?\" Colin asked. \"Your daughter?\"\n\n\"She's my pupil. She's just gone to 1320.\"\n\n\"Time travel? Apocalyptic!\"\n\nThey turned the corner of the Broad. \"The Middle Ages,\" Colin said. \"That's Napoleon, isn't it? Trafalgar, and all that?\"\n\n\"It's the Hundred Years War,\" Dunworthy said, and Colin looked blank. What are they teaching children in the schools these days? he thought. \"Knights and ladies and castles.\"\n\n\"The Crusades?\"\n\n\"The Crusades are a bit earlier.\"\n\n\"That's where I'd want to go. The Crusades.\"\n\nThey were at Balliol's gate. \"Quiet, now,\" Dunworthy said. \"Everyone will be asleep.\"\n\nThere was no one at the porter's gate, and no one in the front quadrangle. Lights were on in the hall, the bell ringers having breakfast probably, but there were no lights in the senior common room, and none in Salvin. If they could get up the stairs without seeing anyone and without Colin's suddenly announcing he was hungry, they might make it safely to his rooms.\n\n\"Shhh,\" he said, turning back to caution Colin, who had stopped in the quad to take out his gobstopper and examine its color, which was now a purplish-black. \"We don't want to wake everyone,\" he said, his finger to his lips, turned around, and collided with a couple in the doorway.\n\nThey were wearing rain slicks and embracing energetically, and the young man seemed oblivious to the collision, but the young woman pulled free and looked frightened. She had short red hair and was wearing a student nurse's uniform under her slick. The young man was William Gaddson.\n\n\"Your behavior is inappropriate to both the time and the place,\" Dunworthy said sternly. \"Public displays of affection are strictly forbidden in college. It is also ill-advised, since your mother may arrive at any moment.\"\n\n\"My mother?\" he said, looking as dismayed as Dunworthy had when he saw her coming down the corridor with her valise. \"Here? In Oxford? What's she doing here? I thought there was a quarantine on.\"\n\n\"There is, but a mother's love knows no bounds. She is concerned about your health, as am I, considering the circumstances.\" He frowned at William and the young woman, who giggled. \"I would suggest you escort your fellow perpetrator home and then make preparations for your mother's arrival.\"\n\n\"Preparations?\" he said, looking truly stricken. \"You mean she's staying?\"\n\n\"She has no alternative, I'm afraid. There is a quarantine on.\"\n\nLights came on suddenly inside the staircase, and Finch emerged. \"Thank goodness you're here, Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said.\n\nHe had a sheaf of colored papers, too, which he waved at Dunworthy. \"National Health has just sent over another thirty detainees. I told them we hadn't any room, but they wouldn't listen, and I don't know what to do. We simply do not have the necessary supplies for all these people.\"\n\n\"Lavatory paper,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes!\" Finch said, brandishing the papers. \"And food stores. We went through half the eggs and bacon this morning alone.\"\n\n\"Eggs and bacon?\" Colin said. \"Are there any left?\"\n\nFinch looked enquiringly at Colin and then at Dunworthy.\n\n\"He's Dr. Ahrens's nephew,\" he said, and before Finch could start off again, \"he'll stay in my rooms.\"\n\n\"Well, good, because I simply cannot find space for another person.\"\n\n\"We have both been up all night, Mr. Finch, so\u2014\"\n\n\"Here's the list of supplies as of this morning.\" He handed Dunworthy a dampish blue paper. \"As you can see\u2014\"\n\n\"Mr. Finch, I appreciate your concern about the supplies, but surely this can wait until after\u2014\"\n\n\"This is a list of your telephone calls with the ones you need to return marked with asterisks. This is a list of your appointments. The vicar wishes you to be at St. Mary's at a quarter past six tomorrow to rehearse the Christmas Eve service.\"\n\n\"I will return all these calls, but after I\u2014\"\n\n\"Dr. Ahrens telephoned twice. She wanted to know what you've found out about the bell ringers.\"\n\nDunworthy gave up. \"Assign the new detainees to Warren and Basevi, three to a room. There are extra cots in the cellar of the hall.\"\n\nFinch opened his mouth to protest.\n\n\"They'll simply have to put up with the paint smell.\"\n\nHe handed Colin Mary's shopping bag and the umbrella. \"That building over there with the lights on is the hall,\" he said, pointing at the door. \"Go tell the scouts you want some breakfast and then get one of them to let you into my rooms.\"\n\nHe turned to William, who was doing something with his hands under the student nurse's rain slick. \"Mr. Gaddson, find your accomplice a taxi and then find the students who've been here during vac and ask them whether they've been to the States in the past week or had contact with anyone who has. Make a list. You haven't been to the States recently, have you?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" he said, removing his hands from the nurse. \"I've been up the whole vac, reading Petrarch.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, Petrarch,\" Dunworthy said. \"Ask the students what they know about Badri Chaudhuri's activities from Monday on and question the staff. I need to know where he was and who he was with. I want the same sort of report on Kivrin Engle. Do a thorough job, and refrain from further public displays of affection, and I'll arrange for your mother to be assigned a room as far from you as possible.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" William said. \"That would mean a great deal to me, sir.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Finch, if you'll tell me where I might find Ms. Taylor?\"\n\nFinch handed him more sheets, with the room assignments on them, but Ms. Taylor wasn't there. She was in the junior common room with her bell ringers and, apparently, the still-unassigned detainees.\n\nOne of them, an imposing woman in a fur coat, grabbed his arm as soon as he came in. \"Are you in charge of this place?\" she demanded.\n\nClearly not, Dunworthy thought. \"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, what are you going to do about getting us someplace to sleep. We've been up all night.\"\n\n\"So have I, madam,\" Dunworthy said, afraid this was Ms. Taylor. She had looked thinner and less dangerous on the telephone, but visuals could be deceiving and the accent and the attitude were unmistakable. \"You wouldn't be Ms. Taylor?\"\n\n\"I'm Ms. Taylor,\" a woman in one of the wing chairs said. She stood up. She looked even thinner than she had on the telephone and apparently less angry. \"I spoke with you on the phone earlier,\" she said, and the way she said it they might have had a pleasant chat about the intricacies of change ringing. \"This is Ms. Piantini, our tenor,\" she said, indicating the woman in the fur coat.\n\nMs. Piantini looked like she could yank Great Tom straight off its moorings. She had obviously not had any viruses lately.\n\n\"If I could speak with you privately for a moment, Ms. Taylor?\" He led her out into the corridor. \"Were you able to cancel your concert in Ely?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"And Norwich. They were very understanding.\" She leaned forward anxiously. \"Is it true it's cholera?\"\n\n\"Cholera?\" Dunworthy said blankly.\n\n\"One of the women who had been down at the station said it was cholera, that someone had brought it from India and people were dropping like flies.\"\n\nIt had apparently not been a good night's sleep but fear that had worked the change in her manner. If he told her there were only four cases she would very likely demand they be taken to Ely.\n\n\"The disease is apparently a myxovirus,\" he said carefully. \"When did your group come to England?\"\n\nHer eyes widened. \"You think we're the ones who brought it? We haven't been to India.\"\n\n\"There is a possibility it is the same myxovirus as one reported in South Carolina. Are any of your members from South Carolina?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"We're all from Colorado except Ms. Piantini. She's from Wyoming. And none of us has been sick.\"\n\n\"How long have you been in England?\"\n\n\"Three weeks. We've been visiting all the Traditional Council chapters and doing handbell concerts. We rang a Boston Treble Bob at St. Katherine's and Post Office Caters with three of the Bury St. Edmund's chapter ringers, but of course neither of those was a new peal. A Chicago Surprise Minor\u2014\"\n\n\"And you all arrived in Oxford yesterday morning?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"None of your group came early, to see the sights or visit friends?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, sounding shocked. \"We're on tour, Mr. Dunworthy, not on vacation.\"\n\n\"And you said that none of you had been ill?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"We can't afford to get sick. There are only six of us.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your help,\" Dunworthy said and sent her back down to the common room.\n\nHe rang up Mary, who couldn't be found, left a message, and started down Finch's asterisks. He rang up Andrews, Jesus College, Mr. Basingame's secretary, and St. Mary's without getting through. He rang off, waited a five-minute interval and tried again. During one of the intervals, Mary phoned.\n\n\"Why aren't you in bed yet?\" she demanded. \"You look exhausted.\"\n\n\"I've been interrogating the bell ringers,\" he said. \"They've been here in England for three weeks. None of them came to Oxford before yesterday afternoon and none of them are ill. Do you want me to come back and question Badri?\"\n\n\"It won't do any good, I'm afraid. He's not coherent.\"\n\n\"I'm trying to get through to Jesus to see what they know of his comings and goings.\"\n\n\"Good,\" she said. \"Ask his landlady, too. And get some sleep. I don't want you getting this.\" She paused. \"We've got six more cases.\"\n\n\"Any from South Carolina?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"and none who couldn't have had contact with Badri. So he's still the index case. Is Colin all right?\"\n\n\"He's having breakfast,\" he said. \"He's all right. Don't worry about him.\"\n\nHe didn't get to bed until after one-thirty in the afternoon. It took him two hours to get through to all the starred names on Finch's list, and another hour to discover where Badri lived. His landlady wasn't at home, and when Dunworthy got back, Finch insisted on going over the complete inventory of supplies.\n\nDunworthy finally got away from him by promising to telephone the NHS and demand additional lavatory paper. He let himself into his rooms.\n\nColin had curled up on the window seat, his head on his pack and a crocheted laprobe over him. It didn't reach as far as his feet. Dunworthy took a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered him up, and sat down in the Chesterfield opposite to take off his shoes.\n\nHe was almost too tired to do that, though he knew he would regret it if he went to bed in his clothes. That was the province of the young and nonarthritic. Colin would wake refreshed in spite of digging buttons and constricting sleeves. Kivrin could wrap up in her too-thin white cloak and rest her head on a tree stump none the worse for wear, but if he so much as omitted a pillow or left his shirt on, he would wake stiff and cramped. And if he sat here with his shoes in his hand, he would not get to bed at all.\n\nHe heaved himself out of the chair, still holding the shoes, switched the light off, and went into the bedroom. He put on his pajamas and turned back the bed. It looked impossibly inviting.\n\nI shall be asleep before my head hits the pillow, he thought, taking off his spectacles. He got into bed and pulled the covers up. Before I've even switched off the light, he thought, and switched off the light.\n\nThere was scarcely any light from the window, only a dull gray showing through the tangle of darker gray vines. The rain beat faintly against the leathery leaves. I should have drawn the curtains, he thought, but he was too tired to get up again.\n\nAt least Kivrin wouldn't have to contend with rain. It was the Little Ice Age. It would be snow if anything. The contemps had slept huddled together by the hearth until it had finally occurred to someone to invent the chimney and the fireplace, and that hadn't been extant in Oxfordshire villages till the mid-fifteenth century. But Kivrin wouldn't care. She would curl up like Colin and sleep the easy, the unappreciated sleep of the young.\n\nHe wondered if it had stopped raining. He couldn't hear the patter of it on the window. Perhaps it had slowed to a drizzle or was getting ready to rain again. It was so dark, and too early for the afternoon to be drawing in. He drew his hand out from under the covers and looked at the illuminated numbers on his digital. Only two o'clock. It would be six in the evening where Kivrin was. He needed to phone Andrews again when he woke up and have him read the fix so they would know exactly where and when she was.\n\nBadri had told Gilchrist there was minimal slippage, that he'd double-checked the first-year apprentice's coordinates and they were correct, but he wanted to make certain. Gilchrist had taken no precautions and even with precautions, things could go wrong. Today had proved that.\n\nBadri had had the full course of antivirale. Colin's mother had seen him safely onto the tube and given him extra money. The first time Dunworthy had gone to London he had almost not made it back, and they had taken endless precautions.\n\nIt had been a simple there-and-back-again to test the on-site net. Only thirty years. Dunworthy was to go through to Trafalgar Square, take the tube from Charing Cross to Paddington and the 10:48 train to Oxford where the main net would be open. They had allowed plenty of time, checked and rechecked the net, researched the ABC and the tube schedules, double-checked the dates on the money. And when he had got to Charing Cross the tube station was closed. The lights in the ticket kiosks had been off, and an iron gate had been pulled across the entrance, in front of the wooden turnstiles.\n\nHe pulled the blankets up over his shoulder. Any number of things could have gone wrong with the drop, things no one had even thought of. It had probably never occurred to Colin's mother that Colin's train would be stopped at Barton. It had not occurred to any of them that Badri would suddenly fall forward into the console.\n\nMary's right, he thought, you've a dreadful streak of Mrs. Gaddsonitis. Kivrin overcame any number of obstacles to get to the Middle Ages. Even if something goes wrong, she can handle it. Colin hadn't let a little thing like a quarantine stop him. And Dunworthy had made it safely back from London.\n\nHe had banged on the shut gate and then run back up the stairs to read the signs again, thinking that perhaps he had come in the wrong way. He hadn't. He had looked for a clock. Perhaps there had been more slippage than the checks indicated, he'd thought, and the underground was shut down for the night. But the clock above the entrance said nine-fifteen.\n\n\"Accident,\" a disreputable-looking man in a filthy cap said. \"They've shut down till they can get it cleaned up.\"\n\n\"B-but I must take the Bakerloo line,\" he stammered, but the man shuffled off.\n\nHe stood there staring into the darkened station, unable to think what to do. He hadn't brought enough money for a taxi, and Paddington was all the way across London. He'd never make the 10:48.\n\n\"Whah ya gan, mite?\" a young man with a black leather jacket and green hair like a cockscomb said. Dunworthy could scarcely understand him. Punker, he thought. The young man moved menacingly closer.\n\n\"Paddington,\" he said, and it came out as little more than a squeak.\n\nThe punker reached in his jacket pocket for what Dunworthy was sure was his switchblade, but he pulled out a laminated tube pass and began reading the map on the back. \"Yuh cuhn get District or Sahcle from Embankment. Gaw dahn Craven Street and tike a left.\"\n\nHe had run the whole way, certain the punker's gang would leap out at him and steal his historically accurate money at any moment, and when he got to Embankment, he had had no idea how to work the ticket machine.\n\nA woman with two toddlers had helped him, punching in the destination and amount for him and showing him how to insert his ticket in the slot. He had made it to Paddington with time to spare.\n\n\"Aren't there any nice people in the Middle Ages?\" Kivrin had asked him, and of course there were. Young men with switchblades and tube maps had existed in all ages. So had mothers and toddlers and Mrs. Gaddsons and Latimers. And Gilchrists.\n\nHe rolled over onto his other side. \"She will be perfectly all right,\" he said aloud, but softly, so as not to wake Colin. \"The Middle Ages are no match for my best pupil.\" He pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and closed his eyes, thinking of the young man with the green cockscomb poring over the map. But the image that floated before him was of the iron gate, stretched between him and the turnstiles, and the darkened station beyond.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (015104\u2013016615):\n\n\u200219 December 1320 (Old Style). I'm feeling better. I can go three or four careful breaths at a time without coughing, and I was actually hungry this morning, though not for the greasy porridge Maisry brought me. I would kill for a plate of bacon and eggs.\n\n\u2002And a bath. I am absolutely filthy. Nothing's been washed since I got here except my forehead, and the last two days Lady Imeyne has glued poultices made of strips of linen covered with a disgusting-smelling paste to my chest. Between that, the intermittent sweats that I'm still having, and the bed (which hasn't been changed since the 1200s), I positively reek, and my hair, short as it is, is crawling. I'm the cleanest person here.\n\n\u2002Dr. Ahrens was right in wanting to cauterize my nose. Everyone, even the little girls, smells terrible, and it's the dead of winter and freezing cold in here. I can't imagine what it must be like in August. They all have fleas. Lady Imeyne stops even in midprayer to scratch, and when Agnes pulled down her hose to show me her knee, there were red bites all up and down her leg.\n\n\u2002Eliwys, Imeyne, and Rosemund have comparatively clean faces, but they don't wash their hands, even after emptying the chamber pot, and the idea of washing the dishes or changing the flock in the mattresses has yet to be invented. By rights, they should all have long since died of infection, but except for scurvy and a lot of bad teeth, everyone seems to be in good health. Even Agnes's knee is healing nicely. She comes to show me the scab every day. And her silver buckle, and her wooden knight, and poor overloved Blackie.\n\n\u2002She is a treasure trove of information, most of it volunteered without my even asking. Rosemund is \"in her thirteenth year,\" which means she's twelve, and the room they've been tending me in is her bower. It's hard to imagine she'll soon be of marriageable age, and thus has a private \"maiden's bower,\" but girls were frequently married at fourteen and fifteen in the 1300s. Eliwys can scarcely have been older than that when she married. Agnes also told me she has three older brothers, all of whom stayed in Bath with their father.\n\n\u2002The bell in the southwest is Swindone. Agnes can name all the bells by the sound of their ringing. The distant one that always rings first is the Osney bell, the forerunner of Great Tom. The double bells are at Courcy, where Sir Bloet lives, and the two closest are Witenie and Esthcote. That means I'm close to Skendgate in location, and this could very well be Skendgate. It has the ash trees, it's about the right size, and the church is in the right place. Ms. Montoya may simply not have found the bell tower yet. Unfortunately, the name of the village is the one thing Agnes hasn't known.\n\n\u2002She did know where Gawyn was. She told me he was out hunting my attackers, \"And when he finds them, he will slay them with his sword. Like that,\" she said, demonstrating with Blackie. I'm not certain the things she tells me can always be depended upon. She told me King Edward is in France, and that Father Roche saw the Devil, dressed all in black and riding on a black stallion.\n\n\u2002This last is possible. (That Father Roche told her that, not that he saw the Devil.) The line between the spiritual world and the physical wasn't clearly drawn until the Renaissance, and the contemps routinely saw visions of angels, the Last Judgment, the Virgin Mary.\n\n\u2002Lady Imeyne complains constantly about how ignorant and illiterate and incompetent Father Roche is. She is still trying to convince Eliwys to send Gawyn to Osney to fetch a monk. When I asked her if she would send for him so he could pray with me (I decided that request couldn't possibly be considered \"overbold\"), she gave me a half-hour recital of how he had forgotten part of the Venite, had blown the candles out instead of pinching them so that \"much wax is wasted,\" and filled the servants' heads with superstitious prate (no doubt of the Devil and his horse).\n\n\u2002Village-level priests in the 1300s were merely peasants who'd been taught the mass by rote and a smattering of Latin. Everyone smells about the same to me, but the nobility viewed their serfs as a different species altogether, and I'm sure it offends Imeyne's aristocratic soul to have to tell her confession to this \"villein\"!\n\n\u2002He's no doubt as superstitious and illiterate as she claims. But he's not incompetent. He held my hand when I was dying. He told me not to be afraid. And I wasn't."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "I'm feeling better by leaps and bounds. This afternoon I sat up for half an hour, and tonight I went downstairs for supper. Lady Eliwys brought me a brown wadmal kirtle and mustard-colored surcote to wear, and a sort of kerchief to cover my chopped-off hair (not a wimple and coif, so Eliwys must still think I'm a maiden, in spite of all Imeyne's talk about \" daltrisses \"). I don't know if my clothes were inappropriate or simply too nice to be worn for everyday, Eliwys didn't say anything. She and Imeyne helped me dress. I wanted to ask if I could wash before I put my new clothes on, but I'm afraid of doing anything that will make Imeyne more suspicious.\n\nShe watched me fasten my points and tie my shoes as it was, and kept a sharp eye on me all through dinner. I sat between the girls and shared a trencher with them. The steward was relegated to the very end of the table, and Maisry was nowhere to be seen. According to Mr. Latimer, the parish priest ate at the lord's table, but Lady Imeyne probably doesn't like Father Roche's table manners either.\n\nWe had meat, I think venison, and bread. The venison tasted of cinnamon, salt, and the lack of refrigeration, and the bread was stone-hard, but it was better than porridge, and I don't think I made any mistakes.\n\nThough I'm certain I must be making mistakes all the time, and that's why Lady Imeyne is so suspicious of me. My clothes, my hands, probably my sentence structure, are slightly (or not so slightly) off, and it all combines to make me seem foreign, peculiar\u2014suspicious.\n\nLady Eliwys is too worried over her husband's trial to notice my mistakes, and the girls are too young. But Lady Imeyne notices everything and is probably making a list like the one she has for Father Roche. Thank goodness I didn't tell her I was Isabel de Beauvrier. She'd have ridden to Yorkshire, winter or no, to catch me out.\n\nGawyn came in after dinner. Maisry, who'd finally slunk in with a scarlet ear and a wooden bowl of ale, had dragged the benches over to the hearth and put several logs of fat pine on the fire, and the women were sewing by its yellow light.\n\nGawyn stopped in front of the screens, obviously just in from a hard ride, and for a minute no one noticed him. Rosemund was brooding over her embroidery. Agnes was pushing her cart back and forth with the wooden knight in it, and Eliwys was talking earnestly to Imeyne about the cottar, who apparently isn't doing very well. The smoke from the fire was making my chest hurt, and I turned my head away from it, trying to keep from coughing, and saw him standing there, looking at Eliwys.\n\nAfter a moment Agnes ran her cart into Imeyne's foot, and Imeyne told her she was the Devil's own child, and Gawyn came on into the hall. I lowered my eyes and prayed he would speak to me.\n\nHe did, bowing on one knee in front of where I sat on the bench. \"Good lady,\" he said. \"I am glad to see you improved.\"\n\nI had no idea what, if anything, was appropriate to say. I ducked my head lower.\n\nHe remained on one knee, like a servitor. \"I was told you remember naught of your attackers, Lady Katherine. Is it so?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I murmured.\n\n\"Nor of your servants, where they might have fled?\"\n\nI shook my head, eyes still downcast.\n\nHe turned toward Eliwys. \"I have news of the renegades, Lady Eliwys. I have found their trail. There were many of them, and they had horses.\"\n\nI'd been afraid he was going to say he'd caught some poor wood-gathering peasant and hanged him.\n\n\"I beg your leave to pursue them and avenge the lady,\" he said, looking at Eliwys.\n\nEliwys looked uneasy, wary, the way she had when he came before. \"My husband bade us keep to this place till he comes,\" she said, \"and he bade you stay with us to guard us. Nay.\"\n\n\"You have not supped,\" Lady Imeyne said in a tone that closed the matter.\n\nGawyn stood up.\n\n\"I thank you for your kindness, sir,\" I said rapidly. \"I know it was you who found me in the woods.\" I took a breath, and coughed. \"I beg you, will you tell me of the place you found me, where it is?\" I had tried to say too much too fast. I began to cough, gasped too deep a breath, and doubled over with the pain.\n\nBy the time I got the coughing under control, Imeyne had set meat and cheese on the table for Gawyn, and Eliwys had gone back to her sewing, so I still don't know anything.\n\nNo, that's not true. I know why Eliwys looked so wary when he came in and why he made up a tale about a band of renegades. And what that conversation about \" daltrisses \" was all about.\n\nI watched him standing there in the doorway looking at Eliwys, and I didn't need an interpreter to read his face. He's obviously in love with his lord's wife."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Dunworthy slept straight through till morning.\n\n\"Your secretary wanted to wake you up, but I wouldn't let him,\" Colin said. \"He said to give you these.\" He thrust a messy sheaf of papers at him.\n\n\"What time is it?\" Dunworthy said, sitting up stiffly in bed.\n\n\"Half past eight,\" Colin said. \"All the bell ringers and DT's are in hall eating breakfast. Oatmeal.\" He made a gagging sound. \"It was absolutely necrotic. Your secretary chap says we need to ration the eggs and bacon because of the quarantine.\"\n\n\"Half past eight in the morning?\" Dunworthy asked, blinking nearsightedly at the window. It was as dark and dismal as when he'd fallen asleep. \"Good Lord, I was supposed to have gone back to hospital to question Badri.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Colin said. \"Great-aunt Mary said to let you sleep, that you couldn't question him anyway because they're running tests.\"\n\n\"She rang up?\" Dunworthy asked, groping blindly for his spectacles on the bedstand.\n\n\"I went over this morning. To have my blood tested. Great-aunt Mary said to tell you we only need to come once a day for our blood tests.\"\n\nHe hooked his spectacles over his ears and looked at Colin. \"Did she say whether they'd identified the virus?\"\n\n\"Hunh-unh,\" Colin said around a lump in his cheek. Dunworthy wondered if the gobstopper had been in his mouth all night, and if so why it hadn't diminished in size. \"She sent you the contacts charts.\" He handed the papers to him. \"The lady we saw at the Infirmary rang up, too. The one on the bicycle.\"\n\n\"Montoya?\"\n\n\"Yes. She wanted to know if you knew how to get in touch with Mr. Basingame's wife. I told her you'd ring her back. When does the post come, do you know?\"\n\n\"The post?\" Dunworthy said, looking through the stack.\n\n\"My mother didn't have my presents bought in time to send them on the tube with me,\" Colin said. \"She said she'd send them by post. You don't think the quarantine will delay it, do you?\"\n\nSome of the papers Colin had handed him were stuck together, no doubt because of Colin's periodic examinations of his gobstopper, and most of them seemed to be not the contact charts, but assorted memoranda from Finch: One of the heating vents in Salvin was stuck shut. The National Health Service ordered all inhabitants of Oxford and environs to avoid contact with infected persons. Mrs. Basingame was in Torquay for Christmas. They were running very low on lavatory paper.\n\n\"You don't, do you? Think it will delay it?\" Colin asked.\n\n\"Delay what?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"The post! \" Colin said disgustedly. \"The quarantine won't delay it, will it? What time is it supposed to come?\"\n\n\"Ten,\" Dunworthy said. He sorted all the memoranda into one pile and opened a large manila envelope. \"It's usually a bit late at Christmas because of all the parcels and Christmas cards.\"\n\nThe stapled sheets in the envelope weren't the contact charts either. They were William Gaddson's report on Badri's and Kivrin's whereabouts, neatly typed and organized into the morning, afternoon, and evening of each day. It looked far neater than any essay he'd ever handed in. Amazing what a salutory influence a mother could have.\n\n\"I don't see why it should be,\" Colin said. \"I mean, it's not as if it's people, is it, so it can't be contagious? Where does it come, to the hall?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The post.\"\n\n\"Porter's lodge,\" Dunworthy said, reading the report on Badri. He had gone back to the net Tuesday afternoon after he was at Balliol. Finch had spoken to him at two o'clock, when he had asked where Mr. Dunworthy was, and again at a little before three, when Badri had given him the note. At some time between two and three, John Yi, a third-year student, had seen him cross the quad to the laboratory, apparently looking for someone.\n\nAt three the porter at Brasenose had logged Badri in. He had worked in the net until half past seven and then gone back to his flat and dressed for the dance.\n\nDunworthy phoned Latimer. \"When were you at the net Tuesday afternoon?\"\n\nHe blinked bewilderedly at Dunworthy from the screen. \"Tuesday?\" he said, looking around as if he had mislaid something. \"Was that yesterday?\"\n\n\"The day before the drop,\" Dunworthy said. \"You went to the Bodleian in the afternoon.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"She wanted to know how to say, 'Help me, for I have been set upon by thieves.'\"\n\nDunworthy assumed by \"she\" he meant Kivrin. \"Did Kivrin meet you at the Bodleian or at Brasenose?\"\n\nHe put his hand to his chin, pondering. \"We had to work until late in the evening deciding on the form of the pronouns,\" he said. \"The decay of pronomial inflections was advanced in the 1300s but not complete.\"\n\n\"Did Kivrin come to the net to meet you?\"\n\n\"The net?\" Latimer said doubtfully.\n\n\"To the laboratory at Brasenose,\" Dunworthy snapped.\n\n\"Brasenose? The Christmas Eve service isn't at Brasenose, is it?\"\n\n\"The Christmas Eve service?\"\n\n\"The vicar said he wished me to read the benediction,\" Latimer said. \"Is it being held at Brasenose?\"\n\n\"No. You met with Kivrin Tuesday afternoon to work on her speech. Where did you meet her?\"\n\n\"The word 'thieves' was very difficult to translate. It derives from the Old English theof, but the\u2014\"\n\nThis was useless. \"The Christmas Eve service is at St. Mary the Virgin's at seven,\" he said and rang off.\n\nHe phoned the porter at Brasenose, who was still decorating his tree, and made him look up Kivrin in his log book. She hadn't been there Tuesday afternoon.\n\nHe fed the contact charts into the console and entered the additions from William's report. Kivrin hadn't seen Badri Tuesday. Tuesday morning she had been in Infirmary and then with Dunworthy. Tuesday afternoon she'd been with Latimer and Badri would have been gone to the dance in Headington before they left the Bodleian. Monday from three on she was in Infirmary, but there was still a gap between twelve and half past two on Monday when she might have seen Badri.\n\nHe scanned the contact sheets they had filled out again. Montoya's was only a few lines long. She had filled in her contacts for Wednesday morning, but none for Monday and Tuesday, and she hadn't listed any information on Badri. He wondered why, and then remembered she had come in after Mary gave the instructions for filling up the forms.\n\nPerhaps Montoya had seen Badri before Wednesday morning, or knew where he'd spent the gap between noon and half past two on Monday.\n\n\"When Ms. Montoya phoned, did she tell you her telephone number?\" he asked Colin. There was no answer. He looked up. \"Colin?\"\n\nHe wasn't in the room, nor in the sitting room, though his duffel was, its contents spread all over the carpet.\n\nDunworthy looked up Montoya's number at Brasenose and rang it up, not expecting any answer. If she was still looking for Basingame, that meant she hadn't gotten permission to go out to the dig and was doubtless at the NHS or the National Trust, badgering them to have it declared \"of irreplaceable value.\"\n\nHe dressed and went across to the hall, looking for Colin. It was still raining, the sky the same sodden gray as the paving stones and the bark on the beech trees. He hoped that the bell ringers and detainees had breakfasted early and gone back to their assigned rooms, but it was a fond hope. He could hear the high hubbub of female voices before he was halfway across the quad.\n\n\"Thank goodness you're here, sir,\" Finch said, meeting him at the door. \"The NHS just phoned. They want us to take twenty more detainees.\"\n\n\"Tell them we can't,\" Dunworthy said, looking through the crowd. \"We're under orders to avoid contact with infected persons. Have you seen Dr. Ahrens's nephew?\"\n\n\"He was just here,\" Finch said, peering over the heads of the women, but Dunworthy had already spotted him. He was standing at the end of the table where the bell ringers were sitting, buttering several pieces of toast.\n\nDunworthy made his way to him. \"When Ms. Montoya telephoned, did she tell you where she might be reached?\"\n\n\"The one with the bicycle?\" Colin said, smearing marmalade on the buttered toast.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"No, she didn't.\"\n\n\"Will you have breakfast, sir?\" Finch said. \"I'm afraid there aren't any bacon and eggs, and we're getting very low on marmalade\"\u2014he glared at Colin\u2014\"but there's oatmeal and\u2014\"\n\n\"Just tea,\" Dunworthy said. \"She didn't mention where she was phoning from?\"\n\n\"Do sit down,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"I've been wanting to speak to you about our Chicago Surprise.\"\n\n\"What exactly did Ms. Montoya say?\" Dunworthy said to Colin.\n\n\"That nobody cared that her dig was being ruined and an invaluable link with the past was being lost, and what sort of person went fishing in the middle of winter anyway,\" Colin said, scraping marmalade off the sides of the bowl.\n\n\"We're nearly out of tea,\" Finch said, pouring Dunworthy a very pale cup.\n\nDunworthy sat down. \"Would you like some cocoa, Colin? Or a glass of milk?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"We're nearly out of milk,\" Finch said.\n\n\"I don't need anything, thanks,\" Colin said, slapping the slices of toast jam-sides together, \"I'm just going to take these with me out to the gate so I can wait for the post.\"\n\n\"The vicar telephoned,\" Finch said. \"He said to tell you you needn't be there to go over the order of worship until half past six.\"\n\n\"Are they still holding the Christmas Eve service?\" Dunworthy said. \"I shouldn't think anyone would come under the circumstances.\"\n\n\"He said the Interchurch Committee had voted to hold it regardless,\" Finch said, pouring a quarter teaspoon of milk in the pallid tea and handing it to him. \"He said they felt carrying on as usual will help keep up morale.\"\n\n\"We're going to perform several pieces on the handbells,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"It's hardly a substitute for a peal, of course, but it's something. The priest from Holy Re-Formed is going to read from the Mass in Time of Pestilence.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" Dunworthy said. \"That should help in keeping up morale.\"\n\n\"Do I have to go?\" Colin said.\n\n\"He has no business going out in this weather,\" Mrs. Gaddson said, appearing like a harpy with a large bowl of gray oatmeal. She set it in front of Colin. \"And no business being exposed to germs in a drafty church. He can stay here with me during the church service.\" She pushed a chair up behind him. \"Sit down and eat your oatmeal.\"\n\nColin looked beseechingly at Dunworthy.\n\n\"Colin, I left Ms. Montoya's telephone number in my rooms,\" Dunworthy said. \"Would you fetch it for me?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" Colin said, and was out of his chair like a shot.\n\n\"When that child comes down with the Indian flu,\" Mrs. Gaddson said, \"I hope you will remember that you were the one who encouraged him in his poor eating habits. It is clear to me what led to this epidemic. Poor nutrition and a complete lack of discipline. It's disgraceful, the way this college is run. I asked to be put in with my son William, but instead I've been assigned a room in another building altogether, and\u2014\"\n\n\"I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with Finch,\" Dunworthy said. He stood up and wrapped Colin's marmaladed toast in a napkin. \"I'm needed at the Infirmary,\" he said and escaped before Mrs. Gaddson could start off again.\n\nHe went back to his rooms and rang up Andrews. The line was engaged. He rang up the dig, on the off-chance that Montoya had obtained her quarantine waiver, but there was no answer. He rang up Andrews again. Amazingly enough, the line was free. It rang three times and then switched to a message service.\n\n\"This is Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said. He hesitated and then gave the number of his rooms. \"I need to speak with you immediately. It's important.\"\n\nHe rang off, pocketed the disk, picked up his umbrella and Colin's toast, and walked out through the quad.\n\nColin was huddling under the shelter of the gate, looking anxiously down the street toward Carfax.\n\n\"I'm going to the Infirmary to see my tech and your great-aunt,\" Dunworthy said, handing him the napkin-wrapped toast. \"Would you like to go with me?\"\n\n\"No, thanks,\" Colin said. \"I don't want to miss the post.\"\n\n\"Well, for goodness' sake, go and fetch your jacket so Mrs. Gaddson doesn't come out and begin haranguing you.\"\n\n\"The Gallstone's already been,\" Colin said. \"She tried to make me put on a muffler. A muffler!\" He gave another anxious look down the street. \"I ignored her.\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought of that,\" Dunworthy said. \"I should be home in time for lunch. If you need anything, ask Finch.\"\n\n\"Umm,\" Colin said, obviously not listening. Dunworthy wondered what his mother was sending that merited such devotion. Obviously not a muffler.\n\nHe pulled his own muffler up round his neck and set off for Infirmary through the rain. There were only a few people in the streets, and they kept out of each other's way, one woman stepping off the pavement altogether to avoid meeting Dunworthy.\n\nWithout the carillon banging away at \"It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,\" one would have had no idea at all that it was Christmas Eve. No one carried gifts or holly, no one carried parcels at all. It was as if the quarantine had knocked the memory of Christmas out of their heads completely.\n\nWell, and hadn't it? He hadn't given a thought to shopping for gifts or a tree. He thought of Colin huddled at Balliol's gate and hoped his mother at least hadn't forgotten to send his gifts. On the way home he'd stop and get Colin a small present, a toy or a vid or something, something besides a muffler.\n\nAt the Infirmary, he was hustled immediately into Isolation and taken off to question the new cases. \"It's essential we establish an American connection,\" Mary said. \"There's been a snag at the WIC. There's no one on duty who can run a sequencing because of the holidays. They're supposed to be at full readiness at all times, of course, but apparently it's after Christmas that they usually get problems\u2014food poisonings and overindulgence masquerading as viruses\u2014so they give time off before. At any rate, the CDC in Atlanta agreed to send the vaccine prototype to the WIC without a positive S-ident, but they can't begin manufacturing without a definite connection.\"\n\nShe led him down a cordoned-off corridor. \"The cases are all following the profile of the South Carolina virus\u2014high fever, body aches, secondary pulmonary complication, but unfortunately that's not proof.\" She stopped outside a ward. \"You didn't find any American connections for Badri, did you?\"\n\n\"No, but there are still a good many gaps. Do you want me to question him, as well?\"\n\nShe hesitated.\n\n\"He's worse,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"He's developed pneumonia. I don't know if he'll be able to tell you anything. His fever is still very high, which follows the profile. We have him on the antimicrobials and adjuvants which the South Carolina virus responded to.\" She opened the door to the ward. \"The chart lists all the cases which have come in. Ask the nurse on duty which bed they're in.\" She typed something into the console by the first bed. It lit up a chart as branching and intertwined as the big beech in the quad. \"You don't mind having Colin with you for another night, do you?\"\n\n\"I don't mind in the slightest.\"\n\n\"Oh, good. I doubt very much I'll be able to get home before tomorrow, and I do worry about him staying alone in the flat. I'm apparently the only one who does, however,\" she said angrily. \"I finally got through to Deirdre down in Kent, and she wasn't even concerned. 'Oh, is there a quarantine on?' she said. 'I've been so rushed I haven't had time to catch the news,' and then she proceeded to tell me all about her and her livein's plans, with the clear implication that she'd have had no time at all for Colin and was glad she was rid of him. There are times when I'm convinced she's not my niece.\"\n\n\"Did she send Colin's Christmas presents, do you know? He said she planned to send them by post.\"\n\n\"I'm certain she's been far too rushed to remember to buy them, let alone send them. The last time Colin was with me for Christmas, his gifts didn't arrive till Epiphany. Oh, which reminds me, do you know what's become of my shopping bag? It had my gifts for Colin in it.\"\n\n\"I've got it at Balliol,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, good. I didn't finish my shopping, but if you'd wrap up the muffler and the other things, he'll have something under the tree, won't he?\" She stood up. \"If you find any possible connection, come tell me immediately. As you can see, we've already traced several of the secondaries to Badri, but those may only be cross-connections, and the real connection could be someone else.\"\n\nShe left, and he sat down beside the bed of the woman of the lavender umbrella.\n\n\"Ms. Breen?\" he said. \"I'm afraid I must ask you some questions.\"\n\nHer face was very red, and her breathing sounded like Badri's, but she answered his questions promptly and clearly. No, she hadn't been to America in the past month. No, she didn't know any Americans or anyone who'd been to America. But she had taken the tube up from London to shop for the day. \"At Blackwell's, you know,\" and she had been all over Oxford shopping and then at the tube station, and there were at least five hundred people she had had contact with who might be the connection Mary was looking for.\n\nIt took him till past two to finish questioning the primaries and adding the contacts to the chart, none of which were the American connection, though he had found out that two more of them had been to the dance in Headington.\n\nHe went up to Isolation, though he didn't have much hope of Badri's being able to answer his questions, but Badri seemed improved. He was sleeping when Dunworthy came in, but when Dunworthy touched his hand, his eyes opened and focused on him.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said. His voice was weak and hoarse. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\nDunworthy sat down. \"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"It's odd, the things one dreams. I thought... I had such a headache....\"\n\n\"I need to ask you some questions, Badri. Do you remember who you saw at the dance you went to in Headington?\"\n\n\"There were so many people,\" he said, and swallowed as if his throat hurt. \"I didn't know most of them.\"\n\n\"Do you remember who you danced with?\"\n\n\"Elizabeth\u2014\" he said, and it came out a croak. \"Sisu somebody, I don't know her last name,\" he whispered. \"And Elizabeth Yakamoto.\"\n\nThe grim-looking ward sister came in. \"Time for your X ray,\" she said without looking at Badri. \"You'll have to leave, Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\n\"Could I have just a few more minutes? It's important,\" he asked, but she was already tapping keys on the console.\n\nHe leaned over the bed. \"Badri, when you got the fix, how much slippage was there?\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" the sister said insistently.\n\nDunworthy ignored her. \"Was there more slippage than you expected?\"\n\n\"No,\" Badri said huskily. He put his hand to his throat.\n\n\"How much slippage was there?\"\n\n\"Four hours,\" Badri whispered, and Dunworthy let himself be ushered out.\n\nFour hours. Kivrin had gone through at half past twelve. That would have put her there at half past four, nearly sunset, but still enough light left to see where she was, enough time to have walked to Skendgate if necessary.\n\nHe went to find Mary and give her the two names of the girls Badri had danced with. Mary checked them against the list of new admissions. Neither of them were on it, and Mary told him he could go home and took his temp and bloods so he wouldn't have to come back. He was about to start home when they brought Sisu Fairchild in. He didn't make it home till nearly teatime.\n\nColin wasn't at the gate nor in hall, where Finch was nearly out of sugar and butter. \"Where's Dr. Ahrens's nephew?\" Dunworthy asked him.\n\n\"He waited by the gate all morning,\" Finch said, anxiously counting over sugar cubes. \"The post didn't come till past one, and then he went over to his great-aunt's flat to see if the parcels had been sent there. I gather they hadn't. He came back looking very glum, and then about half an hour ago, he said suddenly, 'I've just thought of something,' and shot out. Perhaps he'd thought of some other place the parcels might have been sent to.\"\n\nBut weren't, Dunworthy thought. \"What time do the shops close today?\" he asked Finch.\n\n\"Christmas Eve? Oh, they're already closed, sir. They always close early on Christmas Eve, and some of them closed at noon due to the lack of trade. I've a number of messages, sir\u2014\"\n\n\"They'll have to wait,\" Dunworthy said, snatched up his umbrella, and went out again. Finch was right. The shops were all closed. He went down to Blackwell's, thinking they had surely stayed open, but they were shut up tight. They had already taken advantage of the selling points of the situation, though. In the window, arranged amid the snow-covered houses of the toy Victorian village, were self-help medical books, drug compendia, and a brightly colored paperback entitled Laughing Your Way to Perfect Health.\n\nHe finally found an open post office off the High, but it had only cigarettes, cheap sweets, and a rack of greeting cards, nothing in the way of suitable gifts for twelve-year-old boys. He went out without buying anything and then went back and purchased a pound's worth of toffee, a gobstopper the size of a small asteroid, and several packets of a sweet that looked like soap tablets. It wasn't much, but Mary had said she'd bought some other things.\n\nThe other things turned out to be a pair of gray woolen socks, even grimmer than the muffler, and a vocabulary improvement vid. There were crackers, at least, and sheets of wrapping paper, but a pair of socks and some toffee hardly made a Christmas. He looked around the study, trying to think what he had that might do.\n\nColin had said, \"Apocalyptic!\" when Dunworthy had told him Kivrin was in the Middle Ages. He pulled down The Age of Chivalry. It only had illustrations, no holos, but it was the best he could do on short notice. He wrapped it and the rest of the presents hastily, changed his clothes, and hurried over to St. Mary the Virgin's in a downpour, ducking across the deserted courtyard of the Bodleian and trying to avoid the spilling gutters.\n\nNo one in their right mind would come out in this. Last year the weather had been dry, and the church was still only half-full. Kivrin had gone with him. She had stayed up for the vac to study, and he had found her in the Bodleian and insisted on her coming to his sherry party and then to church.\n\n\"I shouldn't be doing this,\" she'd said on the way to the church. \"I should be doing research.\"\n\n\"You can do it at St. Mary the Virgin's. Built in 1139 and all just as it was in the Middle Ages, including the heating system.\"\n\n\"The interchurch service is authentic, too, I suppose,\" she'd said.\n\n\"I have no doubt that in spirit it is as well meant and as fraught with foolishness as any mediaeval mass,\" he had said.\n\nHe hurried down the narrow path next to Brasenose and opened the door of St. Mary's to a blast of hot air. His spectacles steamed up. He stopped in the narthex and wiped them on the tail of his muffler, but they clouded up again immediately.\n\n\"The vicar's looking for you,\" Colin said. He was wearing a jacket and shirt, and his hair was combed. He handed Dunworthy an order of service from a large stack he was holding.\n\n\"I thought you were going to stay at home,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"With Mrs. Gaddson? What a necrotic idea! Even church is better than that, so I told Ms. Taylor I'd help carry the bells over.\"\n\n\"And the vicar put you to work,\" Dunworthy said, still trying to get his spectacles clear. \"Have you had any business?\"\n\n\"Are you joking? The church is crammed.\"\n\nDunworthy peered into the nave. The pews were already full, and folding chairs were being set up at the back.\n\n\"Oh, good, you're here,\" the vicar said, bustling over with an armful of hymnals. \"Sorry about the heat. It's the furnace. The National Trust won't let us put in a new fused-air, but it's nearly impossible to get parts for a fossil-fuel. At the moment it's the thermostat that's gone wrong. The heat's either on or off.\" He fished two slips of paper out of his cassock pocket and looked at them. \"You haven't seen Mr. Latimer yet, have you? He's supposed to read the benediction.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"I reminded him of the time.\"\n\n\"Yes, well, last year he muddled things and arrived an hour early.\" He handed Dunworthy one of the slips of paper. \"Here's your Scripture. It's from the King James this year. The Church of the Millennium insisted on it, but at least it's not the People's Common like last year. The King James may be archaic, but at least it's not criminal.\"\n\nThe outside door opened and a knot of people, all taking down umbrellas and shaking out hats, came in, were order-of-serviced by Colin, and went into the nave.\n\n\"I knew we should have used Christ Church,\" the vicar said.\n\n\"What are they all doing here?\" Dunworthy said. \"Don't they realize we're in the midst of an epidemic?\"\n\n\"It's always this way,\" the vicar said. \"I remember the beginning of the Pandemic. Largest collections ever taken. Later on you won't be able to get them out of their houses, but just now they want to huddle together for comfort.\"\n\n\"And it's exciting,\" the priest from Holy Re-Formed said. He was wearing a black turtleneck, bags, and a red and green plaid alb. \"One sees the same sort of thing during wartime. They come for the drama of the thing.\"\n\n\"And spread the infection twice as fast, I should think,\" Dunworthy said. \"Hasn't anyone told them the virus is contagious?\"\n\n\"I intend to,\" the vicar said. \"Your Scripture comes directly after the bell ringers. It's been changed. Church of the Millennium again. Luke 2:1\u201319.\" He went off to distribute hymnals.\n\n\"Where is your pupil, Kivrin Engle?\" the priest asked. \"I missed her at the Latin mass this afternoon.\"\n\n\"She's in 1320, hopefully in the village of Skendgate, hopefully in out of the rain.\"\n\n\"Oh, good,\" the priest said. \"She so wanted to go. And how lucky she's missing all this.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"I suppose I should read through the Scripture at least once.\"\n\nHe went into the nave. It was even hotter in there, and it smelled strongly of damp wool and damp stone. Laser candles flickered wanly in the windows and on the altar. The bell ringers were setting up two large tables in front of the altar and covering them with heavy red wool covers. Dunworthy stepped up to the lectern and opened the Bible to Luke.\n\n\"And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed,\" he read.\n\nThe King James is archaic, he thought. And where Kivrin is, it hasn't been written yet.\n\nHe went back out to Colin. People continued to stream in. The priest from Holy Re-Formed and the Muslim imam went across to Oriel for more chairs, and the vicar fiddled with the thermostat on the furnace.\n\n\"I saved us two seats in the second row,\" Colin said. \"Do you know what Mrs. Gaddson did at tea? She threw my gobstopper away. She said it was covered with germs. I'm glad my mother's not like that.\" He straightened his stack of folded orders of service, which had shrunk considerably. \"I think what happened is her presents couldn't get through because of the quarantine, you know. I mean, they probably had to send provisions and things first.\" He straightened the already straight pile again.\n\n\"Very likely,\" Dunworthy said. \"When would you like to open your other gifts? Tonight or in the morning?\"\n\nColin tried to look nonchalant. \"Christmas morning, please.\" He gave an order of service and a dazzling smile to a lady in a yellow slicker.\n\n\"Well,\" she snapped, snatching it out of his hand, \"I'm glad to see someone's still got the Christmas spirit, even though there's a deadly epidemic on.\"\n\nDunworthy went in and sat down. The vicar's attentions to the furnace didn't seem to have done any good. He took off his muffler and overcoat and draped them on the chair beside him.\n\nIt had been freezing last year. \"Extremely authentic,\" Kivrin had whispered to him, \"and so was the Scripture. 'Around then the pol\u00edticos dumped a tax hike on the ratepayers,'\" she'd said, quoting from the People's Common. She'd grinned at him. \"The Bible in the Middle Ages was in a language they didn't understand either.\"\n\nColin came in and sat down on Dunworthy's coat and muffler. The priest from Holy Re-Formed stood up and wedged himself between the bell ringers' tables and the front of the altar. \"Let us pray,\" he said.\n\nThere was a plump of kneeling pads on the stone floor, and everyone knelt.\n\n\"'O God, who have sent this affliction among us, say to Thy destroying angel, hold Thy hand and let not the land be made desolate, and destroy not every living soul.'\"\n\nSo much for morale, Dunworthy thought.\n\n'\"As in those days when the Lord sent a pestilence on Israel, and there died of the people from Dan to Bersabee seventy thousand men, so now we are in the midst of affliction and we beseech Thee to take away the scourge of Thy wrath from the faithful.'\"\n\nThe pipes of the ancient furnace began clanging, but it didn't seem to deter the priest. He went on for a good five minutes, mentioning a number of instances in which God had smitten the unrighteous and \"brought plagues among them\" and then asked everyone to stand and sing, \"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen, Let Nothing You Dismay.\"\n\nMontoya ducked in and sat down next to Colin. \"I have spent all day at the NHS,\" she whispered, \"trying to get them to give me a dispensation. They seem to think I intend to run around spreading the virus. I told them I'd go straight to the dig, that there's no one out there to infect, but do you think they'd listen?\"\n\nShe turned to Colin. \"If I do get the dispensation, I'm going to need volunteers to help me. How would you like to dig up bodies?\"\n\n\"He can't,\" Dunworthy said hastily. \"His great-aunt won't let him.\" He leaned across Colin and whispered, \"We're trying to determine Badri Chaudhuri's whereabouts on Monday afternoon from noon till half past two. Did you see him?\"\n\n\"Shh,\" the woman who had snapped at Colin said.\n\nMontoya shook her head. \"I was with Kivrin, going over the map and the layout of Skendgate,\" she whispered back.\n\n\"Where? At the dig?\"\n\n\"No, at Brasenose.\"\n\n\"And Badri wasn't there?\" he asked, but there was no reason for Badri to have been at Brasenose. He hadn't asked Badri to run the drop until he met with him at half past two.\n\n\"No,\" Montoya whispered.\n\n\"Shh!\" the woman hissed.\n\n\"How long did you meet with Kivrin?\"\n\n\"From ten till she had to go check into Infirmary, three, I think,\" Montoya whispered.\n\n\"Shh!\"\n\n\"I've got to go read a 'Prayer to the Great Spirit,'\" Montoya whispered, standing up and starting along the row of chairs.\n\nShe read her American Indian chant, after which the bell ringers, wearing white gloves and determined expressions, played \"O Christ Who Interfaces with the World,\" which sounded a good deal like the banging of the pipes.\n\n\"They're absolutely necrotic, aren't they?\" Colin whispered behind his order of service.\n\n\"It's late twentieth century atonal,\" Dunworthy whispered back. \"It's supposed to sound dreadful.\"\n\nWhen the bell ringers appeared to be finished, Dunworthy mounted the lectern and read the Scripture. \"'And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed...'\"\n\nMontoya stood up and edged her way past Colin to the side aisle and ducked out the door. He had wanted to ask her if she'd seen Badri at all on Monday or Tuesday or knew of any Americans he might have had contact with.\n\nHe could ask her tomorrow when they went for their bloodwork. He had found out the most important thing\u2014that Kivrin hadn't seen Badri on Monday afternoon. Montoya had said she was with her from ten till three when she left for Infirmary. By that time Badri was already at Balliol meeting with him, and he hadn't come up from London until twelve, so Badri couldn't possibly have exposed her.\n\n\"'And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people...'\"\n\nNo one seemed to be paying any attention. The woman who had snapped at Colin was wrestling her way out of her coat, and everyone else had already shed theirs and were fanning themselves with their orders of service.\n\nHe thought of Kivrin, at the service last year, kneeling on the stone floor, gazing raptly, intently at him while he read. She had not been listening either. She had been imagining Christmas Eve in 1320, when the Scripture was in Latin and candles flickered in the windows.\n\nI wonder if it's the way she imagined it, he thought, and then remembered it wasn't Christmas Eve there. Where she was it was still two weeks away. If she was really there. If she was all right.\n\n\"'... but Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart,'\" Dunworthy finished and went back to his seat.\n\nThe imam announced the times of the Christmas Day services at all the churches, and read the NHS bulletin on avoiding contact with infected persons. The vicar began his sermon.\n\n\"There are those,\" he said, looking hard at the priest from Holy Re-Formed, \"who think that diseases are a punishment from God, and yet Christ spent his life healing the sick, and were he here, I have no doubt he would cure those afflicted with this virus, just as he cured the Samaritan leper,\" and launched into a ten-minute lecture on how to protect oneself from influenza. He listed the symptoms and explained droplet transmission.\n\n\"Drink fluids and rest,\" he said, extending his hands out over the pulpit as if it were a benediction, \"and at the first sign of any of these symptoms, telephone your doctor.\"\n\nThe bell ringers pulled on their white gloves again and accompanied the organ in \"Angels from the Realms of Glory,\" which actually sounded recognizable.\n\nThe minister from the Converted Unitarian Church mounted the pulpit. \"On this very night over two thousand years ago, God sent His Son, His precious child, into our world. Can you imagine what kind of incredible love it must have taken to do that? On that night Jesus left his heavenly home and went into a world full of dangers and diseases,\" the minister said. \"He went as an ignorant and helpless babe, knowing nothing of the evil, of the treachery he would encounter. How could God have sent His only Son, His precious child, into such danger? The answer is love. Love.\"\n\n\"Or incompetence,\" Dunworthy muttered.\n\nColin looked up from his examination of his gobstopper and stared at him.\n\nAnd after He'd let him go, He worried about Him every minute, Dunworthy thought. I wonder if He tried to stop it.\n\n\"It was love that sent Christ into the world, and love that made Christ willing, nay, eager to come.\"\n\nShe's all right, he thought. The coordinates were correct. There was only four hours slippage. She wasn't exposed to the flu. She's safely in Skendgate, with the rendezvous date determined and her corder already half-full of observations, healthy and excited and blissfully unaware of all this.\n\n\"He was sent into the world to help us in our trials and tribulations,\" the minister said.\n\nThe vicar was signaling to Dunworthy. He leaned across Colin. \"I've just gotten word that Mr. Latimer's ill,\" the vicar whispered. He handed Dunworthy a folded sheet of paper. \"Will you read the benediction?\"\n\n\"...a messenger from God, an emissary of love,\" the minister said, and sat down.\n\nDunworthy went to the lectern. \"Will you please rise for the benediction?\" he said, opening the sheet of paper and looking at it. \"Oh, Lord, stay Thy wrathful hand,\" it began.\n\nDunworthy wadded it up. \"Merciful Father,\" he said, \"protect those absent from us, and bring them safely home.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (035850\u2013037745):\n\n\u200220 December 1320. I'm nearly completely well. My enhanced T-cells or the antivirals or something must have finally kicked in. I can breathe in without its hurting, my cough's gone, and I feel as though I could walk all the way to the drop, if I knew where it was.\n\n\u2002The cut on my forehead is healed, too. Lady Eliwys looked at it this morning and then went and got Imeyne and had her examine it. \"It is a miracle,\" Eliwys said delightedly, but Imeyne only looked suspicious. Next she'll decide I'm a witch.\n\n\u2002It has become immediately apparent that now that I'm not an invalid, I'm a problem. Besides Imeyne thinking I'm spying or stealing the spoons, there's the difficulty of who I am\u2014what my status is and how I should be treated\u2014and Eliwys doesn't have the time or the energy to deal with it.\n\n\u2002She has enough problems. Lord Guillaume still isn't here, his priv\u00e9 is in love with her, and Christmas is coming. She's recruited half the village as servants and cooks, and they are out of a number of essential supplies that Imeyne insists they send to Oxford or Courcy for. Agnes adds to the problem by being underfoot and constantly running away from Maisry.\n\n\u2002\"You must send to Sir Bloet for a waiting woman,\" Imeyne said when they found her playing in the barn loft. \"And for sugar. We have none for the subtlety nor the sweetmeats.\"\n\n\u2002Eliwys looked exasperated. \"My husband bade us\u2014\"\n\n\u2002\"I will watch Agnes,\" I said, hoping the interpreter had translated \"waiting women\" properly and that the history vids had been right, and the position of children's nurse was sometimes filled by women of noble birth. Apparently it was. Eliwys looked immediately grateful, and Imeyne didn't glare anymore than usual. So I'm in charge of Agnes. And apparently Rosemund, who asked for help with her embroidery this morning.\n\n\u2002The advantages of being their nurse is that I can ask them all about their father and the village, and I can go out to the stable and the church and find the priest and Gawyn. The disadvantage is that a good deal is being kept from the girls. Once already Eliwys stopped talking to Imeyne when Agnes and I came into the hall, and when I asked Rosemund why they had come here to stay, she said, \"My father deems the air is healthier at Ashencote.\"\n\n\u2002This is the first time anyone has mentioned the name of the village. There isn't any Ashencote on the map or in the Domesday Book. I suppose there's a chance it could be another \"lost village.\" With a population of forty, it could easily have died out in the Black Death or been absorbed by one of the nearby towns, but I still think it's Skendgate.\n\n\u2002I asked the girls if they knew of a village named Skendgate, and Rosemund said she'd never heard of it, which doesn't prove anything, since they're not from around here, but Agnes apparently asked Maisry, and she'd never heard of it either. The first written reference to the \"gate\" (which was actually a weir) wasn't till 1360, and many of the Anglo-Saxon place names were replaced by Normanized ones or named for their new owners. Which bodes ill for Guillaume D'lverie, and for the trial he still has not returned from. Unless this is another village altogether. Which bodes ill for me."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "\u2002Gawyn's feelings of courtly love for Eliwys are apparently not disturbed by dalliances with the servants. I asked Agnes to take me out to the stable to see her pony on the chance that Gawyn would be there. He was, in one of the boxes with Maisry, making less-than-courtly grunting noises. Maisry looked no more terrified than usual, and her hands were holding her skirts in a wad above her waist instead of clutching her ears, so it apparently wasn't rape. It wasn't l'amour courtois either.\n\n\u2002I had to hastily distract Agnes and get her out of the stable, so I told her I wanted to go across the green to see the bell tower. We went inside and looked at the heavy rope.\n\n\u2002\"Father Roche rings the bell when someone dies,\" Agnes said. \"If he does not, the Devil will come and take their soul, and they cannot go to heaven,\" which, I suppose, is more of the superstitious prate that irritates Lady Imeyne.\n\n\u2002Agnes wanted to ring the bell, but I talked her into going into the church to find Father Roche instead.\n\n\u2002Father Roche wasn't there. Agnes told me that he was probably still with the cottar, \"who dies not though he has been shriven,\" or was somewhere praying. \"Father Roche is wont to pray in the woods,\" she said, peering through the rood screen to the altar.\n\n\u2002The church is Norman, with a central aisle and sandstone pillars, and a flagged stone floor. The stained-glass windows are very narrow and small and of dark colors. They let in almost no light. Halfway up the nave is a single tomb, which may be the one I worked on out at the dig. It has an effigy of a knight on the top, his arms in gauntlets, crossed over his breast, and his sword at his side. The carving on the side says,\" Requiescat cum Sanctis tuis in aeternum. \" May he rest with Thy saints forever. The tomb at the dig had an inscription beginning \" Requiescat,\" but that was all that had been excavated when I was there.\n\n\u2002Agnes told me the tomb is her grandfather's, who died of a fever \"a long time ago,\" but it looks nearly new, and therefore very different from the dig's tomb. It has a number of decorations the dig's tomb didn't have, but they might simply have broken or worn off.\n\n\u2002Except for the tomb and a rough statue, the nave is completely empty. The contemps stood during church so there aren't any pews, and the practice of filling the nave with monuments and memorials didn't take hold until the 1500s.\n\n\u2002A carved wooden rood screen, twelfth century, separates the nave from the shadowy recesses of the chancel and the altar. Above it, on either side of the crucifix, are two crude paintings of the Last Judgment. One is of the faithful entering heaven and the other of sinners being consigned to hell, but they seem nearly alike. Both are painted in garish reds and blues, and their expressions look equally dismayed.\n\n\u2002The altar's plain, covered with a white linen cloth, with two silver candelabra on either side of it. The badly carved statue is not, as I'd assumed, the Virgin, but St. Catherine of Alexandria. It has the foreshortened body and large head of pre-Renaissance sculpture, and an odd, squarish coif that stops just below her ears. She stands with one arm around a doll-sized child and the other holding a wheel. A short yellowish candle and two oil cressets were sitting on the floor in front of it.\n\n\u2002\"Lady Kivrin, Father Roche says you are a saint,\" Agnes said when we went back outside.\n\n\u2002It was easy to see where the confusion had come in this time, and I wondered if she'd done the same thing with the bell and the Devil on the black horse.\n\n\u2002\"I am named for St. Catherine of Alexandria,\" I said, \"as you are named for St. Agnes, but we ourselves are not saints.\"\n\n\u2002She shook her head. \"He says in the last days God will send his saints to sinful man. He says when you pray, you speak in God's own tongue.\"\n\n\u2002I've tried to be careful about talking into the corder, to record my observations only when there's no one in the room, but I don't know about when I was ill. I remember that I kept asking him to help me, and you to come and get me. And if Father Roche heard me speaking modern English, he could very well believe I was speaking in tongues. At least he thinks I'm a saint, and not a witch, but Lady Imeyne was in the sickroom, too. I will have to be more careful."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "\u2002I went out to the stable again (after making sure Maisry was in the kitchen), but Gawyn wasn't there, and neither was Gringolet. My boxes and the dismantled remains of the wagon were, though. Gawyn must have made a dozen trips to bring everything here. I looked through it all, and I can't find the casket. I'm hoping he missed it, and it's still by the road where I left it. If it is, it's probably completely buried in snow, but the sun is out today, and it's beginning to melt a little.\n\nKivrin's recovery from pneumonia came so suddenly she was convinced that something had happened to finally activate her immune system. The pain in her chest abruptly went away, and the cut on her forehead disappeared as if by magic.\n\nImeyne examined it suspiciously, as if she suspected Kivrin of faking her injury, and Kivrin was infinitely glad the wound hadn't been duped. \"You must thank God that He has healed you on this Sabbath day,\" Imeyne said disapprovingly, and knelt beside the bed.\n\nShe had been to mass and was wearing her silver reliquary. She folded it between her palms\u2014\"like the corder,\" Kivrin thought\u2014and recited the Paternoster, then pulled herself to her feet.\n\n\"I wish I could have gone with you to the mass,\" Kivrin said.\n\nImeyne sniffed. \"I deemed you were too ill,\" she said with an insinuating emphasis on the word \"ill,\" \"and it was but a poor mass.\"\n\nShe launched into a recital of Father Roche's sins: he had read the gospel before the Kyrie, his alb was stained with candlewax, he had forgotten part of the Conf\u00edteor Deo. Listing his sins seemed to put her in a better mood, and when she finished she patted Kivrin's hand and said, \"You are not yet fully healed. Stay you in bed yet another day.\"\n\nKivrin did, using the time to record her observations onto the corder, describing the manor and the village and everyone she'd met so far. The steward came with another bowl of his wife's bitter tea, a dark, burly man who looked uncomfortable in his Sunday-best jerkin and a too-elaborate silver belt, and a boy about Rosemund's age came in to tell Eliwys that her mare's forefoot was \"amiss.\" But the priest didn't come again. \"He has gone to shrive the cottar,\" Agnes told her.\n\nAgnes was continuing to be an excellent informant, answering all of Kivrin's questions readily, whether she knew the answers or not, and volunteering all sorts of information about the village and its occupants. Rosemund was quieter and very much concerned with appearing grown-up. \"Agnes, it is childish to speak so. You must learn to keep a watch on your tongue,\" she said repeatedly, a comment that happily had no effect whatsoever on Agnes. Rosemund did talk about her brothers and her father who \"has promised he will come to us for Christmas without fail.\" She obviously worshiped him and missed him. \"I wish I had been a boy,\" she said when Agnes was showing Kivrin the silver penny Sir Bloet had given her. \"Then I had stayed with Father in Bath.\"\n\nBetween the two girls, and snatches of Eliwys's and Imeyne's conversations, plus her own observations, she was able to piece together a good deal about the village. It was smaller than Probability had predicted Skendgate would be, small even for a mediaeval village. Kivrin guessed it contained no more than forty people, including Lord Guillaume's family and the steward's. He had five children in addition to the baby.\n\nThere were two shepherds and several farmers, but it was \"the poorest of all Guillaume's holdings,\" Imeyne said, complaining again about them having to spend Christmas there. The steward's wife was the resident social climber, and Maisry's family the local ne'er-do-wells. Kivrin recorded everything, statistics and gossip, folding her hands in prayer whenever she had the chance.\n\nThe snow that had started when they brought her back to the manor continued all that night and into the next afternoon, snowing nearly a foot. The first day Kivrin was up, it rained, and Kivrin hoped the rain would melt the snow, but it merely hardened the crust to ice.\n\nShe was afraid she'd have no hope at all of recognizing the drop without the wagon and boxes there. She would have to get Gawyn to show it to her, but that was easier said than done. He only came into the hall to eat or to ask Eliwys something, and Imeyne was always there, watching, when he was, so she didn't dare approach him.\n\nKivrin began taking the girls on little excursions\u2014around the courtyard, out into the village\u2014in the hope that she might run into him, but he was not in the barn or the stable. Gringolet was not there either. Kivrin wondered if he had gone after her attackers in spite of Eliwys's orders, but Rosemund said he was out hunting. \"He slays deer for the Christmas feast,\" Agnes said.\n\nNo one seemed to care where she took the little girls or how long they were gone. Lady Eliwys nodded disstractedly when Kivrin asked if she might take the little girls to the stable, and Lady Imeyne didn't even tell Agnes to fasten her cloak or wear her mittens. It was as if they had given the children over into Kivrin's care and then forgotten them.\n\nThey were very busy with preparations for Christmas. Eliwys had recruited every girl and old woman in the village and set them to baking and cooking. The two pigs were slaughtered, and over half the doves killed and plucked. The courtyard was full of feathers and the smell of baking bread.\n\nIn the 1300s Christmas had been a two-week celebration with feasting and games and dancing, but Kivrin was surprised that Eliwys was doing all this under the circumstances. She must be convinced Lord Guillaume would really come for Christmas, as he'd promised.\n\nImeyne supervised the cleaning of the hall, complaining constantly about the poor conditions and the lack of decent help. This morning she had brought in the steward and another man to take down the heavy tables from the walls and set them on two trestles. She was supervising Maisry and a woman with the patchy white scars of scrofula on her neck while they scrubbed the table with sand and heavy brushes.\n\n\"There is no lavender,\" she said to Eliwys. \"And not enough new rushes for the floor.\"\n\n\"We shall have to make do with what we have, then,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"We have no sugar for the subtlety, either, and no cinnamon. At Courcy they are amply provided. He would welcome us.\"\n\nKivrin was putting on Agnes's boots, getting ready to take her out to see her pony in the stable again. She looked up, alarmed.\n\n\"It is but a half day's journey,\" Imeyne said. \"Lady Yvolde's chaplain will likely say the mass, and\u2014\"\n\nKivrin didn't hear the rest of it because Agnes said, \"My pony is called Saracen.\"\n\n\"Um,\" Kivrin murmured, trying to hear the conversation. Christmas was a time when the nobility often went visiting. She should have thought of that before. They took their entire households and stayed for weeks, at least until Epiphany. If they went to Courcy, they might stay until long after the rendezvous.\n\n\"Father named him Saracen for that he has a heathen heart,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Sir Bloet will take it ill when he finds we have sat so near through Yule without a visit,\" Lady Imeyne said. \"He will think the betrothal has gone amiss.\"\n\n\"We cannot go to Courcy for Yule,\" Rosemund said. She had been sitting on the bench across from Kivrin and Agnes, sewing, but now she stood up. \"My father promised without fail that he would come by Christmas. He will be ill-pleased to come and find us gone.\"\n\nImeyne turned and glared at Rosemund. \"He will be ill-pleased to find his daughters grown so wild they speak when they will and meddle in matters that do not concern them.\" She turned back to Eliwys, who was looking worried. \"My son would surely have the wit to seek us at Courcy.\"\n\n\"My husband bade us stay here and wait till he comes,\" Eliwys said. \"He will be pleased that we have done his bidding.\" She went over to the hearth and picked up Rosemund's sewing, clearly putting an end to the conversation.\n\nBut not for long, Kivrin thought, watching Imeyne. The old woman pursed her lips angrily and pointed at a spot on the table. The woman with the scrofula scars immediately moved to scrub it.\n\nImeyne wouldn't let it rest. She would bring it up again, putting forth argument after argument why they should go to Sir Bloet, who had sugar and rushes and cinnamon. And an educated chaplain to say the Christmas masses. Lady Imeyne was determined not to hear mass from Father Roche. And Eliwys was more and more worried all the time. She might suddenly decide to go to Courcy for help, or even back to Bath. Kivrin had to find the drop.\n\nShe tied the dangling strings of Agnes's cap and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head.\n\n\"I rode Saracen every day in Bath,\" Agnes said. \"I would we could go riding here. I would take my hound.\"\n\n\"Dogs do not ride horses,\" Rosemund said. \"They run alongside.\"\n\nAgnes pooched her lip out stubbornly. \"Blackie is too little to run.\"\n\n\"Why can you not go riding here?\" Kivrin said to head off a fight.\n\n\"There is none to accompany us,\" Rosemund said. \"In Bath our nurse and one of Father's priv\u00e9s rode with us.\"\n\nOne of Father's priv\u00e9s. Gawyn could accompany them, and she could not only ask him where the drop was but have him show it to her. Gawyn was here. She had seen him in the courtyard this morning, which was why she had suggested the trip to the stable, but having him ride with them was better.\n\nImeyne came over to where Eliwys was sitting. \"If we are to stay here, we must have game for the Christmas pie.\"\n\nLady Eliwys set aside her sewing and stood up. \"I will bid the steward and his eldest son go hunting,\" she said quietly.\n\n\"Then will there be no one to fetch the ivy and the holly.\"\n\n\"Father Roche goes out to gather it this day,\" Lady Eliwys said.\n\n\"He gathers it for the church,\" Lady Imeyne said. \"Will you have none in the hall, then?\"\n\n\"We'll fetch it,\" Kivrin said.\n\nEliwys and Imeyne both turned to look at her. Mistake, Kivrin thought. She had been so intent on finding a way to speak to Gawyn she had forgotten everything else, and now she had spoken without being spoken to and \"meddled in matters\" that obviously didn't concern her. Lady Imeyne would be more convinced than ever that they should go to Courcy and get a proper nurse for the girls.\n\n\"I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn, good lady,\" she said, ducking her head. \"I know there is much to do and there are few to do it. Agnes and Rosemund and I might easily ride into the woods to fetch the holly.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes said eagerly. \"I could ride Saracen.\"\n\nEliwys started to speak, but Imeyne interrupted her. \"Have you no fear of the woods then, though you are only lately healed of your injuries?\"\n\nMistake upon mistake. She was supposed to have been attacked and left for dead, and here she was volunteering to take two little girls into the same woods.\n\n\"I didn't mean that we should go alone,\" Kivrin said, hoping she wasn't making it worse. \"Agnes told me that she rode out with one of your husband's men to guard her.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes piped up. \"Gawyn can ride with us, and my hound Blackie.\"\n\n\"Gawyn is not here,\" Imeyne said, and then turned quickly back to the women scrubbing the table in the silence that followed.\n\n\"Where has he gone?\" Eliwys said, quietly enough, but her cheeks had flushed bright red.\n\nImeyne took Maisry's rag away from her and began scrubbing at a spot on the table. \"He has undertaken an errand for me.\"\n\n\"You have sent him to Courcy,\" Eliwys said, and it was a statement, not a question.\n\nImeyne turned back to face her. \"It is not meet for us to be so close to Courcy, and yet send no greeting. He will say we have cast him off, and we can ill afford in these times to anger such a man as powerful as\u2014\"\n\n\"My husband bade us tell no one we were here,\" Eliwys cut in.\n\n\"My son did not bid us to slight Sir Bloet, and lose him his goodwill, now when it may be sorely needed.\"\n\n\"What did you bid him say to Sir Bloet?\"\n\n\"I bade him deliver kind greetings,\" Imeyne said, twisting the rag in her hands. \"I bade him say we would be glad to receive them for Christmas.\" She lifted her chin defiantly. \"We could do aught else, with our two families to be joined so soon in marriage. They will bring provisions for the Christmas feast, and servants\u2014\"\n\n\"And Lady Yvolde's chaplain to say the mass?\" Eliwys asked coldly.\n\n\"Do they come here?\" Rosemund asked. She had stood up again, and her sewing had slid off her knees and onto the floor.\n\nEliwys and Imeyne looked at her blankly, as if they had forgotten there was anyone else in the hall, and then Eliwys turned on Kivrin. \"Lady Katherine,\" she snapped, \"were you not taking the children to gather greens for the hall?\"\n\n\"We cannot go without Gawyn,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Father Roche can ride with you,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"Yes, good lady,\" Kivrin said. She took Agnes's hand to lead her from the room.\n\n\"Do they come here?\" Rosemund asked again, and her cheeks were nearly as red as her mother's.\n\n\"I know not,\" Eliwys said. \"Go with your sister and Lady Katherine.\"\n\n\"I am to ride Saracen,\" Agnes said, and tore free of Kivrin's hand and ran out of the hall.\n\nRosemund looked as if she were going to say something and then went to get her cloak from the passage behind the screens.\n\n\"Maisry,\" Eliwys said. \"The table looks well enough. Go and fetch the saltcellar and the silver platter from the chest in the loft.\"\n\nThe woman with the scrofula scars scurried out of the room and even Maisry didn't dawdle going up the ladder. Kivrin pulled her cloak on and tied it hastily, afraid Lady Imeyne would say something else about her being attacked, but neither of the women said anything. They stood, Imeyne still twisting the rag between her hands, obviously waiting for Kivrin and Rosemund to be gone.\n\n\"Does\u2014\" Rosemund said, and then ran off after Agnes.\n\nKivrin hurried after them. Gawyn was gone, but she had permission to go into the woods and transportation. And the priest to go with them. Rosemund had said Gawyn had met him on the road when he was bringing her to the manor. Perhaps Gawyn had taken him to the clearing.\n\nShe practically ran across the courtyard to the stable, afraid that at the last minute Eliwys would call across the courtyard to her that she had changed her mind, Kivrin was not well enough, and the woods were too dangerous.\n\nThe girls had apparently had the same idea. Agnes was already on her pony, and Rosemund was cinching the girth on her mare's saddle. The pony wasn't a pony at all; it was a sturdy sorrel scarcely smaller than Rosemund's mare and Agnes looked impossibly high up on the high-backed saddle. The boy who had told Eliwys about the mare's foot was holding the reins.\n\n\"Do not stand gawking, Cob!\" Rosemund snapped at him. \"Saddle the roan for Lady Katherine!\"\n\nHe obediently let go of the reins. Agnes leaned far forward to grab them.\n\n\"Not Mother's mare!\" Rosemund said. \"The roncin!\"\n\n\"We will ride to the church, Saracen,\" Agnes said, \"and tell Father Roche we would go with him, and then we will go riding. Saracen loves to go riding.\" She leaned much too far forward to pat the pony's cropped mane, and Kivrin had to keep herself from grabbing for her.\n\nShe was obviously perfectly able to ride\u2014neither Rosemund nor the boy saddling Kivrin's horse gave her a glance\u2014but she looked so tiny perched up there in the saddle with her soft-soled boot in the jerked-up stirrup, and she was no more capable of riding carefully than she was of walking slowly.\n\nCob saddled the roan, led it out, and then stood there, waiting.\n\n\"Cob!\" Rosemund said rudely. He bent down and made a step out of his linked hands. Rosemund stepped up on it and swung into the saddle. \"Do not stand there like a witless fool. Help Lady Katherine.\"\n\nHe hurried awkwardly over to give Kivrin a hand up. She hesitated, wondering what was wrong with Rosemund. She had obviously been upset by the news that Gawyn had gone to Sir Bloet's. Rosemund hadn't seemed to know anything about her father's trial, but perhaps she was aware of more than Kivrin, or her mother and grandmother, thought.\n\n\"A man as powerful as Sir Bloet,\" Imeyne had said, and \"his goodwill may be sorely needed.\" Perhaps Imeyne's invitation was not as self-serving as it seemed. Perhaps it meant Lord Guillaume was in even more trouble than Eliwys imagined, and Rosemund, sitting quietly at her sewing, had figured that out.\n\n\"Cob!\" Rosemund snapped, though he was clearly waiting for Kivrin to mount. \"Your dawdling will make us miss Father Roche!\"\n\nKivrin smiled reassuringly at Cob, and put her hands on the boy's shoulder. One of the first things Mr. Dunworthy had insisted on was riding lessons, and she had managed fairly well. The sidesaddle hadn't been introduced until the 1390s, which was a blessing, and mediaeval saddles had a high saddlebow and cantle. This saddle was even higher in the back than the one she'd learned on.\n\nBut I'll probably be the one to fall off, not Agnes, she thought, looking at Agnes perched confidently on her pony. She wasn't even holding on but was twisted around messing with something in the saddlebag behind her.\n\n\"Let us be gone!\" Rosemund said impatiently.\n\n\"Sir Bloet says he will bring me a silver bridle-chain for Saracen,\" she said, still fussing with the saddlebag.\n\n\"Agnes! Stop dawdling and come,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"Sir Bloet says he will bring it when he comes at Easter.\"\n\n\"Agnes!\" Rosemund said. \"Come! It is like to rain.\"\n\n\"Nay, it will not,\" Agnes said unconcernedly. \"Sir Bloet\u2014\"\n\nRosemund turned furiously on her sister. \"Oh, and can you now sooth the weather? You are naught but a babe! A mewling babe!\"\n\n\"Rosemund!\" Kivrin said. \"Don't speak that way to your sister.\" She stepped up to Rosemund's mare and took hold of the loosely looped reins. \"What's the matter, Rosemund? Is something troubling you?\"\n\nRosemund pulled the reins sharply taut. \"Only that we dawdle here while the babe prattles!\"\n\nKivrin let go of the reins, frowning, and let Cob make a step of his laced fingers for her foot so she could mount. She had never seen Rosemund act like this.\n\nThey rode out of the courtyard past the now-empty pigpens and out onto the green. It was a leaden day, with a low blanketing layer of heavy clouds and no wind at all. Rosemund was right about it being \"like to rain.\" There was a damp, misty feeling to the cold air. She kicked her horse into a faster walk.\n\nThe village was obviously getting ready for Christmas. Smoke was coming from every hut, and two men were at the far end of the green, chopping wood and throwing it onto an already huge pile. A large, blackened chunk of meat\u2014the goat?\u2014was roasting over a spit beside the steward's house. The steward's wife was in front, milking the bony cow Kivrin had leaned against the day she tried to find the drop. She and Mr. Dunworthy had had a fight over whether she needed to learn to milk. She had told him no cows were milked in winter in the 1300s, that the contemps let them go dry and used goat's milk for cheese. She had also told him goats were not meat animals.\n\n\"Agnes!\" Rosemund said furiously.\n\nKivrin looked up. Agnes had come to a stop and was twisted backward in her saddle again. She obediently moved forward again, but Rosemund said, \"I will wait for you no longer, ninney!\" and kicked her horse into a trot, scattering the chickens and practically running down a barefoot little girl with an armload of faggots.\n\n\"Rosemund!\" Kivrin called, but she was already out of earshot, and Kivrin didn't want to leave Agnes's side to go after her.\n\n\"Is your sister angry over fetching the holly?\" Kivrin asked Agnes, knowing that wasn't it, but hoping Agnes would volunteer something else.\n\n\"She is ever cross-grained,\" Agnes said. \"Grandmother will be wroth that she rides so childishly.\" She trotted her pony decorously across the green, a model of maturity, nodding her head to the villagers.\n\nThe little girl Rosemund had almost run down stopped and stared at them, her mouth open. The steward's wife looked up as they passed and smiled, and then went on milking, but the men who were cutting wood took off their caps and bowed.\n\nThey rode past the hut where Kivrin had taken shelter the day she tried to find the drop. The hut she had sat in while Gawyn was bringing her things back to the manor.\n\n\"Agnes,\" Kivrin said, \"did Father Roche go with you when you went after the Yule log?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Agnes said. \"He had to bless it.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Kivrin said, disappointed. She had hoped perhaps he had gone with Gawyn to fetch her things and knew where the drop was. \"Did anyone help Gawyn bring my things to the manor?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Agnes said, and Kivrin couldn't tell whether she really knew or not. \"Gawyn is very strong. He killed four wolves with his sword.\"\n\nThat sounded unlikely, but so did his rescuing a maiden in the woods. And it was obvious he would do anything if he thought it would win him Eliwys's love, even to dragging the wagon home single-handed.\n\n\"Father Roche is strong,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Father Roche has gone,\" Rosemund said, already off her horse. She had tied it to the lychgate, and was standing in the churchyard, her hands on her hips.\n\n\"Have you looked in the church?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Rosemund said sullenly. \"But look how cold it grows. Father Roche would have more wit than to wait here till it snows.\"\n\n\"We will look in the church,\" Kivrin said, dismounting and holding her arms to Agnes. \"Come on, Agnes.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Agnes said, sounding almost as stubborn as her sister, \"I would wait here with Saracen.\" She patted the pony's mane.\n\n\"Saracen will be all right,\" Kivrin said. She reached for the little girl and lifted her down. \"Come on, we'll look in the church first.\" She took her hand and opened the lychgate to the churchyard.\n\nAgnes didn't protest, but she kept glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the horses. \"Saracen likes not to be left alone.\"\n\nRosemund stopped in the middle of the churchyard and turned around, her hands on her hips. \"What are you hiding, you wicked girl? Did you steal apples and put them in your saddlebags?\"\n\n\"No!\" Agnes said, alarmed, but Rosemund was already striding toward the pony. \"Stay from there! It is not your pony!\" Agnes shouted. \"It is mine!\"\n\nWell, we won't have to go find the priest, Kivrin thought. If he's here, he'll come out to see what all the noise is.\n\nRosemund was unbuckling the straps to the saddlebag. \"Look!\" she said, and held up Agnes's puppy by the scruff of its neck.\n\n\"Oh, Agnes,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"You are a wicked girl,\" Rosemund said. \"I should take it to the river and drown it.\" She turned in that direction.\n\n\"Nay!\" Agnes wailed and ran to the lychgate. Rosemund immediately held the puppy up out of Agnes's reach.\n\nThis has gone absolutely far enough, Kivrin thought. She stepped forward and took the puppy away from Rosemund. \"Agnes, stop howling. Your sister won't hurt your puppy.\"\n\nThe puppy scrabbled against Kivrin's shoulder, trying to lick her cheek. \"Agnes, hounds can't ride horses. Blackie wouldn't be able to breathe in your saddlebag.\"\n\n\"I could carry him,\" Agnes said, but not very hopefully. \"He wanted to ride my pony.\"\n\n\"He had a nice ride to the church,\" Kivrin said firmly. \"And he will have a nice ride back to the stable. Rosemund, take Blackie back to the stable.\" He was trying to bite her ear. She gave him to Rosemund, who took hold of the back of his neck. \"It's just a baby, Agnes. It must go back to its mother now and sleep.\"\n\n\"You are the babe, Agnes!\" Rosemund said, so furiously Kivrin was not sure she trusted her to take the puppy back. \"To put a hound upon a horse! And now we must waste yet more time taking it back! I shall be glad when I am grown and no longer have to do with babes!\"\n\nShe mounted, still holding the puppy up by his neck, but once she was in her saddle, she wrapped him almost tenderly in the corner of her cloak and cupped him against her chest. She took the reins with her free hand and turned the horse. \"Father Roche has surely gone by now!\" she said angrily and galloped off.\n\nKivrin was afraid she was probably right. The racket they had made had almost been enough to wake the dead under the wooden tombstones, but no one had appeared from the church. He had no doubt left before they arrived and now was long gone, but Kivrin took Agnes's hand and led her into the church.\n\n\"Rosemund is a wicked girl,\" Agnes said.\n\nKivrin felt inclined to agree with her, but she could hardly say that, and she didn't feel much like defending Rosemund, so she didn't say anything.\n\n\"Nor am I a babe,\" Agnes said, looking up at Kivrin for confirmation, but there was nothing to say to that either. Kivrin pushed the heavy door open and stood looking into the church.\n\nThere was no one there. It was dim almost to blackness in the nave, the gray day outside sending no light at all through the narrow stained-glass windows, but the half-open door gave enough light to see it was empty.\n\n\"Mayhap he is in the chancel,\" Agnes said. She squeezed past Kivrin into the dark nave, knelt, crossed herself, and then looked impatiently back over her shoulder at Kivrin.\n\nThere was no one in the chancel either. She could see from there that there were no candles lit on the altar, but Agnes wasn't going to be satisfied till they had searched the whole church. Kivrin knelt and made her obeisance beside her, and they walked up to the rood screen through the near darkness. The candles in front of the statue of St. Catherine had been extinguished. She could smell the sharp scent of tallow and smoke. She wondered if Father Roche had snuffed them out before he left. Fire would have been a huge problem, even in a stone church, and there were no votive dishes for the candles to burn down safely in.\n\nAgnes went right up to the rood screen, pressed her face against the cut-out wood, and called, \"Father Roche!\" She turned around immediately and announced, \"He isn't here, Lady Kivrin. Mayhap he is in his house,\" she said, and ran out the priest's door.\n\nKivrin was sure Agnes was not supposed to do that, but there was nothing to do but follow her across the churchyard to the nearest house.\n\nIt had to belong to the priest because Agnes was already standing outside the door yelling \"Father Roche!\" and of course the priest's house was next to the church, but Kivrin was still surprised.\n\nThe house was as ramshackle as the hut she had rested in and not much larger. The priest was supposed to get a tithe of everyone's crops and livestock, but there were no animals in the narrow yard except for a few scraggly chickens, and less than an armload of wood stacked out front.\n\nAgnes had started banging on the door, which looked as insubstantial as the hut's, and Kivrin was afraid she'd knock it open and walk straight in, but before she could get to her, Agnes turned and said, \"Mayhap he is in the bell tower.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think so,\" Kivrin said, taking Agnes's hand so she didn't go tearing off through the churchyard again. They started walking back toward the lychgate. \"Father Roche does not ring the bell again till vespers.\"\n\n\"He might,\" Agnes said, cocking her head as if listening for it.\n\nKivrin listened, too, but there was no sound, and she realized suddenly that the bell in the southwest had stopped. It had rung almost nonstop while she had the pneumonia, and she had heard it when she went out to the stable the second time, looking for Gawyn, but she didn't remember whether it had rung since then or not.\n\n\"Heard you that, Lady Kivrin?\" Agnes said. She pulled her hand out of Kivrin's grasp and ran off, not toward the bell tower, but around the end of the church to the north side. \"See you?\" she crowed, pointing at what she'd found. \"He has not gone.\"\n\nIt was the priest's white donkey, placidly pulling at the weeds sticking up through the snow. It had a rope bridle on and several burlap bags over its back, obviously empty, obviously intended for the holly and ivy.\n\n\"He is in the bell tower, I trow,\" Agnes said, and darted back the way she'd come.\n\nKivrin followed her around the church and into the churchyard, watching Agnes disappear into the tower. She waited, wondering where else they should look. Perhaps he was tending someone ill in one of the huts.\n\nShe caught a flicker of movement through the church window. A light. Perhaps while they were looking at the donkey, he had come back. She pushed the priest's door open and looked inside. A candle had been lit in front of St. Catherine's statue. She could see its faint glow at the statue's feet.\n\n\"Father Roche?\" she called softly. There was no answer. She stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her, and went over to the statue.\n\nThe candle was set between the statue's blocklike feet. St. Catherine's rough face and hair were in shadow, looming protectively over the small adult figure who was supposed to be a little girl. She knelt and picked up the candle. It had just been lit. It hadn't even had time to melt the tallow in the well around the wick.\n\nKivrin looked down the nave. She couldn't see anything, holding the candle. It lit the floor and St. Catherine's boxlike wimple and put the rest of the nave in total darkness.\n\nShe took a few steps down the nave, still holding the candle. \"Father Roche?\"\n\nIt was utterly silent in the church, the way it had been in the woods that day when she came through. Too silent, as if someone was there, standing beside the tomb or behind one of the pillars, waiting.\n\n\"Father Roche?\" she called clearly. \"Are you there?\"\n\nThere was no answer, only that hushed, waiting silence. There wasn't anyone in the woods, she told herself, and took a few more steps forward into the gloom. There was no one beside the tomb. Imeyne's husband lay with his hands folded across his breast and his sword at his side, peaceful and silent. There was no one by the door either. She could see it now, in spite of the candle's blinding light. There was no one there.\n\nShe could feel her heart pounding the way it had in the forest, so loud it could be covering up the sound of footsteps, of breathing, of someone standing there waiting. She whirled around, the candle tracing a fiery trail in the air as she turned.\n\nHe was right behind her. The candle nearly went out. It bent, flickering, and then steadied, lighting his cutthroat's face from below the way it had with the lantern.\n\n\"What do you want?\" Kivrin said, so breathlessly almost no sound came out. \"How did you get in here?\"\n\nThe cutthroat didn't answer her. He simply stared at her the way he had in the clearing. I didn't dream him, she thought frightenedly. He was there. He had intended\u2014what? to rob her? to rape her?\u2014and Gawyn had frightened him off.\n\nShe took a step backward. \"I said, what do you want? Who are you?\"\n\nShe was speaking English. She could hear it echoing hollowly in the cold stone space. Oh, no, she thought, don't let the interpreter break down now.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she said, forcing herself to speak more slowly and heard her own voice saying,\" Whette wolde thou withe me?\"\n\nHe put his hand out toward her, a huge hand, dirty and reddened, a cutthroat's hand, as if he would touch her cropped hair.\n\n\"Go away,\" she said. She stepped backward again and came up against the tomb. The candle went out. \"I don't know who you are or what you want, but you'd better go away.\" It was English again, but what difference did it make, he wanted to rob her, to kill her, and where was the priest? \"Father Roche!\" she cried desperately. \"Father Roche!\"\n\nThere was a sound at the door, a bang and then the scrape of wood on stone, and Agnes pushed the door open. \"There you are,\" she said happily. \"I have looked everywhere for you.\"\n\nThe cutthroat glanced at the door.\n\n\"Agnes!\" Kivrin shouted. \"Run!\"\n\nThe little girl froze, her hand still on the heavy door.\n\n\"Get away from here!\" Kivrin shouted, and realized with horror that it was still English. What was the word for \"run\"?\n\nThe cutthroat took another step toward Kivrin. She shrank back against the tomb.\n\n\"Renne! Flee, Agnes!\" she cried, and then the door crashed shut and Kivrin was running across the stone floor and out the door after her, dropping the candle as she ran.\n\nAgnes was almost to the lychgate, but she stopped as soon as Kivrin was out the door and ran back to her.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin shouted, waving her on. \"Run!\"\n\n\"Is it a wolf?\" Agnes asked, wide-eyed.\n\nThere was no time to explain or try to coax her to run. The men who had been cutting wood had disappeared. She scooped Agnes up in her arms and ran toward the horses. \"There was a wicked man in the church!\" she said, setting Agnes on her pony.\n\n\"A wicked man?\" Agnes asked, ignoring the reins Kivrin was thrusting at her. \"Was it one of those who set upon you in the woods?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said, untying the reins. \"You must ride as fast as you can to the manor house. Don't stop for anything.\"\n\n\"I didn't see him,\" Agnes said.\n\nShe probably hadn't. Coming in from outside, she wouldn't have been able to see anything in the church's gloom.\n\n\"Was he the man who stole your goods and gear and cracked your skull?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said. She reached for the reins and started to untie them.\n\n\"Was the wicked man hiding in the tomb?\"\n\n\"What?\" Kivrin said. She couldn't get the stiff leather untied. She glanced anxiously back at the church door.\n\n\"I saw you and Father Roche by the tomb. Was the wicked man hiding in Grandfather's grave?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Father Roche.\n\nThe stiff reins came suddenly loose in Kivrin's hands. \"Father Roche?\"\n\n\"I went in the bell tower, but he was not there. He was in the church,\" Agnes said. \"Why was the wicked man hiding in Grandfather's tomb, Lady Kivrin?\"\n\nFather Roche. But it couldn't be. Father Roche had given her the last rites. He had anointed her temples and the palms of her hands.\n\n\"Will the wicked man hurt Father Roche?\" Agnes asked.\n\nHe couldn't be Father Roche. Father Roche had held her hand. He had told her not to be afraid. She tried to call up the face of the priest. He had leaned over her and asked her her name, but she hadn't been able to see his face because of all the smoke.\n\nAnd while he was giving her the last rites, she had seen the cutthroat, she had been afraid because they had let him in the room, she had tried to get away from him. But it hadn't been a cutthroat at all. It had been Father Roche.\n\n\"Is the wicked man coming?\" Agnes said, looking anxiously at the church door.\n\nIt all made sense. The cutthroat leaning over her in the clearing, putting her on the horse. She had thought it was a vision from her delirium, but it wasn't. It had been Father Roche, come to help Gawyn bring her to the manor.\n\n\"The wicked man isn't coming,\" Kivrin said. \"There isn't any wicked man.\"\n\n\"Hides he still in the church?\"\n\n\"No. I was wrong. There isn't any wicked man.\"\n\nAgnes looked unconvinced. \"You cried out,\" she said.\n\nKivrin could hear her telling her grandmother, \"Lady Katherine and Father Roche were in the church together and she cried out.\" Lady Imeyne would be delighted to have this to add to her litany of Father Roche's sins. And to Kivrin's list of suspicious behavior.\n\n\"I know I cried out,\" Kivrin said. \"It was dark in the church. Father Roche came upon me suddenly and I was frightened.\"\n\n\"But it was Father Roche,\" Agnes said as if she could not imagine anyone being frightened by him.\n\n\"When you and Rosemund play at hiding and she jumps suddenly at you from behind a tree, you cry out,\" Kivrin said desperately.\n\n\"One time Rosemund hid in the loft when I was looking at my hound, and she jumped down. I was so affrighted I cried out. Like this,\" Agnes said, and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. \"And another time it was dark in the hall and Gawyn jumped out from behind the screens and he said 'Fie!' and I cried out and\u2014\"\n\n\"That's right,\" Kivrin said, \"it was dark in the church.\"\n\n\"Did Father Roche jump out at you and say 'Fie'?\"\n\nYes, Kivrin thought. He leaned over me, and I thought he was a cutthroat. \"No,\" she said. \"He didn't do anything.\"\n\n\"Go we still with Father Roche for the holly?\"\n\nIf I haven't frightened him away, Kivrin thought. If he hasn't left while we've stood here talking.\n\nShe lifted Agnes down. \"Come on. We must go find him.\"\n\nShe didn't know what she'd do if he'd already gone. She couldn't take Agnes back to the manor to tell Lady Imeyne how she had screamed. And she couldn't go back without explaining to Father Roche. Explaining what? That she'd thought he was a robber, a rapist? That she'd thought he was a nightmare from her delirium?\n\n\"Must we go into the church again?\" Agnes asked reluctantly.\n\n\"It's all right. There's no one there except Father Roche.\"\n\nIn spite of Kivrin's assurances, Agnes was unwilling to go back in the church. She hid her head in Kivrin's skirts when Kivrin opened the door, and clung to her leg.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Kivrin said, peering into the nave. He was no longer by the tomb. The door shut behind her, and she stood there with Agnes pressed against her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. \"There's nothing to be afraid of.\"\n\nHe's not a cutthroat, she told herself. There's nothing to be afraid of. He gave you the last rites. He held your hand. But her heart was pounding.\n\n\"Is the wicked man there?\" Agnes whispered, her head jammed against Kivrin's knee.\n\n\"There isn't any wicked man,\" she said, and then saw him. He was standing in front of St. Catherine's statue. He was holding the candle Kivrin had dropped, and he bent and set it in front of the statue, and then straightened again.\n\nShe had thought perhaps it had been some trick of the darkness and the candle's flame, lighting his face from below, and he wasn't the cutthroat after all, but he was. He had worn a hood over his head that night, so she couldn't see his tonsure, but he was bending over the statue the way he had bent over her. Her heart began to pound again.\n\n\"Where is Father Roche?\" Agnes said, raising her head. \"There he is,\" she said, and ran toward him.\n\n\"No\u2014\" Kivrin said, and started after her. \"Don't\u2014\"\n\n\"Father Roche!\" Agnes shouted. \"Father Roche! We have been seeking you!\" She had obviously forgotten all about the wicked man. \"We looked in the church and we looked in the house, but you were not there!\"\n\nShe was running full tilt at him. He turned and bent down and scooped Agnes up into his arms all in one motion.\n\n\"I sought you in the bell tower, but you were not there,\" Agnes said without the slightest trace of fear. \"Rosemund said you had gone.\"\n\nKivrin stopped even with the last pillar, trying to get her heart to slow down.\n\n\"Were you hiding?\" Agnes asked. She put one arm trustingly around his neck. \"Once Rosemund hid in the barn and jumped down on me. I cried out in a loud voice.\"\n\n\"Why did you seek me, Agnes?\" he said. \"Is someone ill?\"\n\nHe pronounced Agnes,\" Agnus,\" and he had nearly the same accent as the boy with the scurvy. The interpreter took a catch step before it translated what he'd said, and Kivrin felt a fleeting surprise that she couldn't understand him. She had understood everything he said in the sickroom.\n\nHe must have been speaking Latin to me, she thought, because there was no mistaking his voice. It was the voice that had said the last rites, the voice that had told her not to be afraid. And she wasn't afraid. At the sound of his voice, her heart had stopped pounding.\n\n\"Nay, none are ill,\" Agnes said. \"We would go with you to gather ivy and holly for the hall. Lady Kivrin and Rosemund and Saracen and I.\"\n\nAt the words \"Lady Kivrin,\" Roche turned and saw her standing there by the pillar. He set Agnes down.\n\nKivrin put out her hand to the pillar for support. \"I beg your pardon, Holy Father,\" she said. \"I'm so sorry I screamed and ran from you. It was dark, and I didn't recognize you\u2014\"\n\nThe interpreter, still a half beat behind, translated that as \"I knew you not.\"\n\n\"She knows naught,\" Agnes interrupted. \"The wicked man struck her on the head, and she remembers naught save for her name.\"\n\n\"I had heard this,\" he said, still looking at Kivrin. \"Is it true you have no memory of why you have come among us?\"\n\nShe felt the same longing to tell him the truth that she had felt when he'd asked her her name. I'm an historian, she wanted to say. I came here to observe you, and I fell ill, and I don't know where the drop is.\n\n\"She remembers naught of who she is,\" Agnes said. \"She did not yet remember how to speak. I had to teach her.\"\n\n\"You remember naught of who you are?\" he asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And naught of your coming here?\" he said.\n\nShe could answer that truthfully at least. \"No,\" she said. \"Except that you and Gawyn brought me to the manor.\"\n\nAgnes was obviously tired of the conversation. \"Might we go with you now to gather holly?\"\n\nHe didn't act as if he'd heard her. He extended his hand as if he were going to bless Kivrin, but he touched her temple instead, and she realized that was what he had intended to do before, beside the tomb. \"You have no wound,\" he said.\n\n\"It's healed,\" she said.\n\n\"We wish to go now,\" Agnes said, tugging on Roche's arm.\n\nHe raised his hand, as if to touch her temple again, and then withdrew it. \"You must not fear,\" he said. \"God has sent you among us for some good purpose.\"\n\nNo, He hasn't, Kivrin thought. He hasn't sent me here at all. Mediaeval sent me. But she felt comforted.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said.\n\n\"I would go now! \" Agnes said, tugging on Kivrin's arm. \"Go fetch your donkey,\" she told Father Roche, \"and we will fetch Rosemund.\"\n\nAgnes started down the nave, and Kivrin had no choice but to go with her to keep her from running. The door banged open just before they reached it, and Rosemund looked in, blinking.\n\n\"It is raining. Found you Father Roche?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Took you Blackie to the stable?\" Agnes asked.\n\n\"Aye. You were too late, then, and Father Roche had gone?\"\n\n\"Nay. He is here, and we are to go with him. He was in the church, and Lady Kivrin\u2014\"\n\n\"He has gone to fetch his donkey,\" Kivrin said to keep Agnes from launching into the story of what had happened.\n\n\"I was affrighted that time when you jumped from the loft, Rosemund,\" Agnes said, but Rosemund had already stomped off to her horse.\n\nIt wasn't raining, but there was a fine mist in the air. Kivrin helped Agnes into her saddle and mounted the sorrel, using the lychgate as a step. Father Roche led the donkey out to them, and they started off on the track past the church and up through the little band of trees behind it, along a little space of snow-covered meadow and on into the woods.\n\n\"There are wolves in these woods,\" Agnes said. \"Gawyn killed one.\"\n\nKivrin scarcely heard her. She was watching Father Roche walking beside his donkey, trying to remember the night he had brought her to the manor. Rosemund had said Gawyn had met him on the road and he had helped Gawyn bring her the rest of the way to the manor, but that couldn't be right.\n\nHe had leaned over her as she sat against the wagon wheel. She could see his face in the flickering light from the fire. He had said something to her she didn't understand, and she had said, \"Tell Mr. Dunworthy to come and get me.\"\n\n\"Rosemund does not ride in seemly fashion for a maid,\" Agnes said primly.\n\nShe had ridden out ahead of the donkey and was nearly out of sight where the road curved, waiting impatiently for them to catch up.\n\n\"Rosemund!\" Kivrin called, and Rosemund galloped back, nearly colliding with the donkey and then pulling her mare's reins up short.\n\n\"Can we go no faster than this?\" she demanded, wheeled around, and rode ahead again. \"We will never finish ere it rains.\"\n\nThey were riding in thick woods now, the road scarcely wider than a bridle path. Kivrin looked at the trees, trying to remember having seen them. They passed a thicket of willows, but it was set too far back from the road, and a trickle of ice-bordered water ran next to it.\n\nThere was a huge sycamore on the other side of the path. It stood in a little open space, draped with mistletoe. Beyond it was a line of wild service trees, so evenly spaced they might have been planted. She didn't remember ever having seen any of this before.\n\nThey had brought her along this road, and she'd hoped that something might trigger her memory, but nothing looked familiar at all. It had been too dark and she had been too ill.\n\nAll she really remembered was the drop, though it had the same hazy, unreal quality as the trip to the manor. There had been a clearing and an oak and a thicket of willows. And Father Roche's face bending over her as she sat against the wagon wheel.\n\nHe must have been with Gawyn when he found her, or else Gawyn had brought him back to the drop. She could see his face clearly in the light from the fire. And then she'd fallen off the horse at the fork.\n\nThey hadn't come to any fork yet. She hadn't even seen any paths, though she knew they had to be there, cutting from village to village and leading to the fields and the hut of the sick cottar Eliwys had gone to see.\n\nThey climbed a low hill, and at the top of it Father Roche looked back to see if they were following. He knows where the drop is, Kivrin thought. She had hoped he had some idea where it was, that Gawyn had described it to him or told him which road it lay along, but he hadn't had to. Father Roche already knew where the drop was. He had been there.\n\nAgnes and Kivrin came to the top of the hill, but all she could see was trees, and below them more trees. They had to be in Wychwood Forest, but if they were, there were over a hundred square kilometers in which the drop could be hidden. She would never have found it on her own. She could scarcely see ten meters into the underbrush.\n\nShe was amazed at the thickness of the woods as they came down the hill into the heart of them. There were clearly no paths between the trees here. There was scarcely any space at all, and what there was, was filled with fallen branches and tangled thickets and snow.\n\nShe had been wrong about not recognizing anything\u2014she knew these woods after all. It was the forest Snow White had got lost in, and Hansel and Gretel, and all those princes. There were wolves in it, and bears, and perhaps even witch's cottages, and that was where all those stories had come from, wasn't it, the Middle Ages? And no wonder. Anyone could get lost in here.\n\nRoche stopped and stood beside his donkey while Rosemund cantered back to him and they caught up, and Kivrin wondered wryly if he had lost his way. But as soon as they came up to him, he plunged off through a thicket and onto an even narrower path that wasn't visible from the road.\n\nRosemund couldn't pass Father Roche and his donkey without shoving them aside, but she followed nearly treading on the donkey's hind hooves, and Kivrin wondered again what was bothering her. \"Sir Bloet has many powerful friends,\" Lady Imeyne had said. She had called him an ally, but Kivrin wondered if he really was, or if Rosemund's father had told her something about him that made her so distressed at the prospect of his coming to Ashencote.\n\nThey went a short way along the path, past a thicket of willows that looked like the one by the drop, and then turned off the path, squeezing through a stand of firs and emerging next to a holly tree.\n\nKivrin had been expecting holly bushes like the ones in Brasenose's quad, but this was a tree. It towered over them, spreading out above the confines of the spruces, its red berries bright among the masses of glossy leaves.\n\nFather Roche began taking the sacks from the back of the donkey, Agnes attempting to help him. Rosemund pulled a short, fat-bladed knife out of her girdle and began hacking at the sharp-leaved lower branches.\n\nKivrin waded through the snow to the other side of the tree. She had caught a glimpse of white she thought might be the stand of birches, but it was only a branch, half-fallen between two trees and covered with snow.\n\nAgnes appeared, with Roche behind her carrying a wicked-looking dagger. Kivrin had thought that knowing who he was would work some transformation, but he still looked like a cutthroat, standing there looming over Agnes.\n\nHe handed Agnes one of the coarse bags. \"You must hold the bag open like this,\" he said, bending down to show her how the top of the bag should be folded back, \"and I will put the branches into it.\" He began chopping at the branches, oblivious to the spiky leaves. Kivrin took the branches from him and put them in the bag carefully, so the stiff leaves wouldn't break.\n\n\"Father Roche,\" she said, \"I wanted to thank you for helping me when I was ill and for bringing me to the manor when I\u2014\"\n\n\"When that you were fallen,\" he said, hacking at a stubborn branch.\n\nShe had intended to say, \"when I was set upon by thieves,\" and his response surprised her. She remembered falling off the horse and wondered if that was when he had happened along. But if it was, they had already come a long way from the drop, and he wouldn't know where it was. And she remembered him there, at the drop.\n\nThere was no point in speculating. \"Do you know the place where Gawyn found me?\" she asked, and held her breath.\n\n\"Aye,\" he said, sawing at a thick branch.\n\nShe felt suddenly sick with relief. He knew where the drop was. \"Is it far from here?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he said. He wrenched the branch off.\n\n\"Would you take me there?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Why would you go there?\" Agnes asked, spreading her arms out wide to keep the bag open. \"What if the wicked men be still there?\"\n\nRoche was looking at her as if he were wondering the same thing.\n\n\"I thought that if I saw the place, I might remember who I am and where I came from,\" she said.\n\nHe handed her the branch, holding it so she could take it without being stabbed. \"I will take you there,\" he said.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Kivrin said. Thank you. She slid the branch in next to the others, and Roche tied the top shut and hoisted the bag over his shoulder.\n\nRosemund appeared, dragging her bag in the snow behind her. \"Are you not finished yet?\" she said.\n\nRoche took her bag, too, and tied them on the donkey's back. Kivrin lifted Agnes onto her pony and helped Rosemund mount, and Father Roche knelt and linked his big hands so Kivrin could step up into the stirrup.\n\nHe had helped her back on the white horse when she fell off. When that she was fallen. She remembered his big hands steadying her. But they had come a long way from the drop by then, and why would Gawyn have taken Roche all the way back to the drop? She did not remember going back, but it was all so dim and confused. In her delirium it must have seemed farther than it was.\n\nRoche led the donkey back through the firs and onto the path, going back the way they had come. Rosemund let him get ahead and then said, in a voice just like Imeyne's, \"Where goes he now? The ivy lies not this way.\"\n\n\"We go to see the place where Lady Katherine was set upon,\" Agnes said.\n\nRosemund looked at Kivrin suspiciously. \"Why would you go thence?\" she asked. \"Your goods and gear have already been fetched to the manor.\"\n\n\"She wots that if she sees the place she will remember somewhat,\" Agnes said. \"Lady Kivrin, if you remember you who you are, must you return home?\"\n\n\"Certes, she will,\" Rosemund said. \"She must needs return to her family. She cannot stay with us forever.\" She was only doing this to provoke Agnes, and it worked.\n\n\"She can!\" Agnes said. \"She will be our nurse.\"\n\n\"Why would she wish to stay with such a mewling babe?\" Rosemund said, kicking her horse into a trot.\n\n\"I am no babe!\" Agnes called after her. \"You are the babe!\" She rode back to Kivrin. \"I do not wish you to leave me!\"\n\n\"I won't leave you,\" she said. \"Come, Father Roche is waiting.\"\n\nHe was at the road, and as soon as they rode up, he started on. Rosemund was already far ahead, dashing along the snow-filled path, sending up sprays of snow.\n\nThey crossed a little stream and came to a fork, the part they were on curving away to the right, the other continuing nearly straight for a hundred meters or so and then making a sharp jog to the left. Rosemund sat at the fork, letting her horse stamp and toss its head to express her impatience.\n\nI fell off the white horse at a fork in the road, Kivrin thought, trying to remember the trees, the road, the little stream, anything. There were dozens of forks along the paths that crisscrossed Wychwood Forest and no reason to think this was the one, but it apparently was. Father Roche turned right at the fork and went a few meters and then plunged into the woods, leading the donkey.\n\nThere were no willows where he left the road, and no hill. He must be going back the way Gawyn had brought her. She remembered them going a long way through the woods before they came to the fork.\n\nThey followed him into the trees, Rosemund in the rear, and almost immediately had to dismount and lead their horses. Roche wasn't following any path that Kivrin could see. He picked his way through the snow, ducking under low branches that showered snow down on his neck, and skirting around a spiny clump of blackthorn.\n\nKivrin tried to memorize the scenery so she could find her way back here, but it all had a defeating sameness. As long as there was snow she could follow their footprints and hoof-prints. She would have to come back alone before it melted and mark the trail with notches or scraps of cloth or something. Or breadcrumbs, like Hansel and Gretel.\n\nIt was easy to see how they, and Snow White, and the princes, had got lost in the woods. They had only gone a few hundred meters and already, looking back, Kivrin wasn't sure which direction the road lay, even with the footprints. Hansel and Gretel could have wandered for months and never found their way back home, or found the witch's cottage either.\n\nFather Roche's donkey stopped.\n\n\"What is it?\" Kivrin asked.\n\nFather Roche led the donkey off to the side and tied it to an alder tree. \"This is the place.\"\n\nIt wasn't the drop. It was scarcely even a clearing, only a space where an oak tree had spread out its branches and kept the other trees from growing. It made almost a tent, and under it the ground was only powdered with snow.\n\n\"Can we build a fire?\" Agnes asked, walking under the branches to the remains of a campfire. A fallen log had been dragged over to it. Agnes sat down on it. \"I am cold,\" she said, poking at the blackened stones with her foot.\n\nIt hadn't burned very long. The sticks were barely charred. Someone had kicked dirt on it to put it out. Father Roche had squatted in front of her, the light from the fire flickering on his face.\n\n\"Well?\" Rosemund said impatiently. \"Do you remember aught?\"\n\nShe had been here. She remembered the fire. She had thought they were lighting it for the stake. But that couldn't be right. Roche had been at the drop. She remembered him leaning over her as she sat against the wagon wheel.\n\n\"Are you sure this is the place where Gawyn found me?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" he said, frowning.\n\n\"If the wicked man comes, I will fight him with my dirk,\" Agnes said, pulling one of the half-charred sticks out of the fire and brandishing it in the air. The blackened end broke off. Agnes squatted next to the fire and pulled out another stick and then sat down on the ground, her back against the log, and struck the two sticks together. Pieces of charred wood flew off them.\n\nKivrin looked at Agnes. She had sat against the log while they made the fire, and Gawyn had leaned over her, his hair red in the fire's light, and said something to her that she couldn't understand. And then he had put the fire out, kicking it apart with his boots, and the smoke had come up and blinded her.\n\n\"Have you remembered you?\" Agnes said, tossing the sticks back among the stones.\n\nRoche was still frowning at her. \"Are you ill, Lady Katherine?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" she said, trying to smile. \"It was just... I'd hoped that if I saw the place where I was attacked, I might remember.\"\n\nHe looked at her solemnly a moment, the way he had in the church, and then turned and went over to his donkey. \"Come,\" he said.\n\n\"Have you remembered?\" Agnes insisted, clapping her fur mittens together. They were covered with soot.\n\n\"Agnes!\" Rosemund said. \"Look you how you have dirtied your mittens.\" She pulled Agnes roughly to her feet. \"And you have ruined your cloak, sitting in the cold snow. You wicked girl!\"\n\nKivrin pulled the two girls apart. \"Rosemund, untie Agnes's pony,\" she said. \"It is time to go gather the ivy.\" She brushed the snow off Agnes's cloak and wiped ineffectually at the white fur.\n\nFather Roche was standing by his donkey, waiting for them, still with that odd, sober expression.\n\n\"We'll clean your mittens when we get home,\" she said hastily. \"Come, we must go with Father Roche.\"\n\nKivrin took the mare's reins and followed the girls and Father Roche back the way they had come for a few meters and then in another direction that brought them almost immediately out onto a road. She couldn't see the fork, and she wondered if they were farther along the road or on a different road altogether. It all looked the same\u2014willows and little clearings and oak trees.\n\nIt was clear what had happened. Gawyn had tried to take her to the manor, but she had been too ill. She had fallen off his horse and he had taken her into the woods and built a campfire and left her there, propped against the fallen log, while he went for help.\n\nOr he had intended to build a fire and stay there with her until morning, and Father Roche had seen the campfire and come to help, and between them they had taken her to the manor. Father Roche had no idea where the drop was. He had assumed Gawyn had found her there, under the oak tree.\n\nThe image of him leaning over her as she sat against the wagon wheel was part of her delirium. She had dreamed it as she lay in the sickroom, the way she had dreamed the bells and the stake and the white horse.\n\n\"Where does he go now?\" Rosemund asked peevishly, and Kivrin felt like slapping her. \"There is ivy nearer to home. And now it begins to rain.\"\n\nShe was right. The mist was turning into a drizzle.\n\n\"We could have been finished and home ere now if the babe Agnes had not brought her puppy!\" She galloped off ahead again, and Kivrin didn't even try to stop her.\n\n\"Rosemund is a churl,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said. \"She is. Do you know what's the matter with her?\"\n\n\"It is because of Sir Bloet,\" Agnes said. \"She is to wed him.\"\n\n\"What?\" Kivrin said. Imeyne had said something about a wedding, but she'd assumed one of Sir Bloet's daughters was to marry one of Lord Guillaume's sons. \"How can Sir Bloet marry Rosemund? Isn't he already married to Lady Yvolde?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Agnes said, looking surprised. \"Lady Yvolde is Sir Bloet's sister.\"\n\n\"But Rosemund isn't old enough,\" she said, and knew she was. Girls in the 1300s had frequently been betrothed before they were of age, sometimes even at birth. Marriage in the Middle Ages had been a business arrangement, a way to join lands and enhance social standing, and Rosemund had no doubt been groomed from Agnes's age to be married to someone like Sir Bloet. But every mediaeval story of virginal girls married to toothless, dissipated old men came to her in a rush.\n\n\"Does Rosemund like Sir Bloet?\" Kivrin asked. Of course she didn't like him. She had been hateful, ill-tempered, nearly hysterical ever since she heard he was coming.\n\n\"I like him,\" Agnes said. \"He is to give me a silver bridle-chain when they wed.\"\n\nKivrin looked ahead at Rosemund, waiting far down the road. Sir Bloet might not be old and dissipated at all. She was assuming that the way she had assumed Lady Yvolde was his wife. He might be young, and Rosemund's bad temper might only be nervousness. Or she might change her mind about him before the wedding. Girls weren't usually married till they were fourteen or fifteen, certainly not before they started exhibiting signs of maturation.\n\n\"When are they to be married?\" Kivrin asked Agnes.\n\n\"At Eastertide,\" Agnes said.\n\nThey had come to another fork. This one was much narrower, the two roads running nearly parallel for a hundred meters before the one Rosemund had taken started up a low hill.\n\nTwelve years old and to be married in three months. No wonder Lady Eliwys hadn't wanted Sir Bloet to know they were here. Perhaps she didn't approve of Rosemund marrying so young, and the betrothal had only been arranged to get her father out of the trouble he was in.\n\nRosemund rode to the top of the hill and galloped back to Father Roche. \"Where do you lead us?\" she demanded. \"We come soon to open ground.\"\n\n\"We are nearly there,\" Father Roche said mildly.\n\nShe wheeled her mare around and galloped out of sight over the hill, reappeared, galloped back nearly to Kivrin and Agnes, turned the mare sharply, and rode ahead again. Like the rat in the trap, Kivrin thought, frantically looking for a way out.\n\nThe drizzle was turning into a sleety rain. Father Roche pulled his hood up over his tonsured head and led the donkey up the low hill. It plodded steadily up the incline to the top, and then stopped. Father Roche jerked on the reins, and the donkey pulled back against them.\n\nKivrin and Agnes caught up to him. \"What's wrong?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Come, Balaam,\" Father Roche said, and took hold of the reins with both his huge hands, but the donkey didn't bulge. It strained against the priest, digging in its rear hooves and leaning back so it was nearly sitting.\n\n\"Mayhap he likes not the rain,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Can we help?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, waving them past him. \"Ride ahead. It will go better with him if the horses are not here.\"\n\nHe wrapped the reins around his hand and went around behind as if he intended to push. Kivrin rode over the crest with Agnes, looking back to make sure the donkey didn't suddenly kick him in the head. They started down the other side.\n\nThe forest below them was veiled in rain. It was already melting the snow from the road, and the bottom of the hill was a muddy bog. There were thick bushes on either side, covered with snow. Rosemund sat at the top of the next hill. It had trees only halfway up its sides, and above them there was an expanse of snow. And beyond that, Kivrin thought, is an open plain and a view of the road, and Oxford.\n\n\"Where are you going, Kivrin? Wait!\" Agnes cried, but Kivrin was already down the hill and off her sorrel, shaking the snow-covered bushes, trying to see if they were willows. They were, and beyond them she could see the crown of a big oak. She threw the sorrel's reins over the reddish willow branches, and pushed into the thicket. The snow had frozen the willow branches together. She struck at them, and snow showered down on her. A flurry of birds launched itself into the air, screeching. She fought her way through the snowy branches and pushed through to the clearing that had to be there. It was.\n\nAnd there was the oak, and beyond it, away from the road, the stand of white-trunked birches that had looked like thinner woods. It had to be the drop.\n\nBut it didn't look right. The clearing had been smaller, hadn't it? And the oak had had more leaves on it, more nests. There was a blackthorn bush to one side of the clearing, its purple-black buds poking out from the vicious thorns. She didn't remember its being there. She would surely have remembered that, wouldn't she?\n\nIt's the snow, she thought, it's making the clearing look larger. It was nearly half a meter deep here, and smooth, untouched. It didn't look as if anyone had ever been here.\n\n\"Is this the place where Father Roche would have us gather ivy?\" Rosemund said, pushing through the thicket. She looked around the clearing, her hands on her hips. \"There is no ivy here.\"\n\nThere had been ivy, hadn't there, wound around the base of the oak, and mushrooms? It's the snow, she thought. The snow has covered up all the distinguishing landmarks. And the tracks, where Gawyn had dragged away the wagon and the boxes.\n\nThe casket\u2014Gawyn had not brought the casket back to the manor. He hadn't seen it because she'd hidden it in the weeds by the road.\n\nShe pushed past Rosemund through the willows, not even trying to avoid the showering snow. The casket would be buried in snow, too, but it wasn't as deep by the road, and the casket was nearly forty centimeters tall.\n\n\"Lady Katherine!\" Rosemund shouted, right behind her. \"Where would you now!\"\n\n\"Kivrin!\" Agnes said, a pathetic echo. She had tried to climb down off her pony in the middle of the road, but she had got her foot caught in the stirrup. \"Lady Kivrin, come you here!\"\n\nKivrin looked at her blindly for a moment, and then glanced up the hill.\n\nFather Roche was still at the top, struggling with the donkey. She had to find the casket before he came. \"Stay on your pony, Agnes,\" she said and began scrabbling at the snow under the willows.\n\n\"What do you seek?\" Rosemund said. \"There is no ivy here!\"\n\n\"Lady Kivrin, you come now!\" Agnes said.\n\nPerhaps the snow had bent the willows over, and the casket was farther in underneath them. She bent over, clinging to the thin, brittle branches, and tried to sweep the snow aside. But the trunk wasn't there. She had seen that as soon as she started. The willows had protected the weeds and the ground underneath them. There were only a few centimeters of snow. But if this is the place, it must be here, Kivrin thought numbly. If this is the place.\n\n\"Lady Kivrin!\" Agnes shouted, and Kivrin glanced back at her. She had managed to get down off her pony and was running toward Kivrin.\n\n\"Don't run,\" Kivrin started to say, but she didn't get it half out before Agnes caught her foot on one of the ruts and went down.\n\nIt knocked the breath out of her, and Kivrin and Rosemund were both to her before she even started to cry. Kivrin scooped her into her arms and pushed her hand against Agnes's middle to straighten her and make her take a breath.\n\nAgnes gasped, and then drew in a long breath and began to shriek.\n\n\"Go and fetch Father Roche,\" Kivrin said to Rosemund. \"He's at the top of the hill. His donkey balked.\"\n\n\"He is already coming,\" Rosemund said. Kivrin turned her head. He was running clumsily down the hill, without the donkey, and Kivrin almost called out \"Don't run!\" to him, too, but he could not have heard her over Agnes's screaming.\n\n\"Shh,\" Kivrin said. \"You're all right. You just had the wind knocked out of you.\"\n\nFather Roche caught up to them, and Agnes immediately flung herself across into his arms. He hugged her against him. \"Hush, Agnus,\" he murmured in his wonderful comforting voice. \"Hush.\" Her screams quieted to sobs.\n\n\"Where did you hurt yourself?\" Kivrin asked, brushing the snow from Agnes's cloak. \"Did you scrape your hands?\"\n\nFather Roche turned her around in his arms so Kivrin could take her white fur mittens off her. Her hands were bright red, but they weren't scraped. \"Where did you hurt yourself?\"\n\n\"She is not hurt,\" Rosemund said. \"She cries because she is a babe!\"\n\n\"I am not a babe!\" Agnes said with such force she nearly flung herself out of Father Roche's arms. \"I struck my knee on the ground.\"\n\n\"Which one?\" Kivrin asked. \"The one you hurt before?\"\n\n\"Yes! Do not look!\" she said as Kivrin reached for her leg.\n\n\"All right, I won't,\" Kivrin said. The knee had been scabbing over. She had probably knocked the scab loose. Unless it was bleeding badly enough to soak through her leather hose, there was no point in making her colder by undressing her here in the snow. \"But you must let me look at it at home.\"\n\n\"Can we go thence now?\" Agnes asked.\n\nKivrin looked helplessly across at the thicket. This had to be the place. The willows, the clearing, the treeless crest. It had to be the place. Perhaps she had put the casket farther back in the thicket than she thought, and the snow\u2014\n\n\"I would go home now!\" Agnes said, and began to sob. \"I am cold!\"\n\n\"All right.\" Kivrin nodded. Agnes's mittens were too wet to put back on her. Kivrin took off her borrowed gloves and gave them to her. They went all the way up Agnes's arms, which delighted her, and Kivrin began to think she had forgotten about her knee, but when Father Roche tried to put her on her pony, she sobbed, \"I would ride with you.\"\n\nKivrin nodded again and got on her sorrel. Father Roche handed Agnes up to her and led Agnes's pony up the hill. The donkey was standing at the top, by the side of the road, eating the weeds that poked up through the thin snow.\n\nKivrin looked back at the thicket through the rain, trying to see the clearing. It's surely the drop, she told herself, but she wasn't sure. Even the hill looked somehow wrong from here.\n\nFather Roche took hold of the donkey's reins, and the donkey immediately stiffened and dug in its hooves, but as soon as Father Roche turned its head and started down the far side of the hill with Agnes's pony, it came willingly.\n\nThe rain was melting the snow, and Rosemund's mare slipped a little as she galloped it on the straight stretch back to the fork. She slowed it to a trot.\n\nAt the next fork, Roche took the left-hand way. There were willows all along it, and oak trees, and muddy ruts at the bottom of every hill.\n\n\"Do we go home now, Kivrin?\" Agnes said, shivering against her.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said. She pulled the tail of her cloak forward over Agnes. \"Does your knee still hurt?\"\n\n\"Nay. We did not gather any ivy.\" She sat up straight and twisted around to look at Kivrin. \"Did you remember you when you saw the place?\"\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Good,\" Agnes said, settling back against her. \"Now you must stay with us forever.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "Andrews did not telephone Dunworthy until late afternoon on Christmas Day. Colin had, of course, insisted on getting up at an ungodly hour to open his small pile of gifts.\n\n\"Are you going to stay in bed all day?\" he'd demanded while Dunworthy groped for his spectacles. \"It's nearly eight o'clock.\"\n\nIt was in fact a quarter past six, pitch-black outside, too dark even to see if it was still raining. Colin had had a good deal more sleep than he had. After the ecumenical service, Dunworthy had sent Colin back to Balliol and gone to Infirmary to find out about Latimer.\n\n\"He has a fever, but no lung involvement thus far,\" Mary had told him. \"He came in at five, said he'd started feeling headachy and confused around one. Forty-eight hours on the button. There's obviously no need to question him to find out who he contracted it from. How are you feeling?\"\n\nShe had made him stay for blood tests, and then a new case had come in, and he'd waited to see if he could identify him. It was nearly one before he'd gone to bed.\n\nColin handed Dunworthy a cracker and insisted he snap it, put on the yellow tissue paper crown, and read his motto aloud. It said, \"When are Santa's reindeer most likely to come inside? When the door is open.\"\n\nColin was already wearing his red crown. He sat on the floor and opened his gifts. The soap tablets were a huge success. \"See,\" Colin said, sticking out his tongue, \"they turn it different colors.\" They did, also his teeth and the edges of his lips.\n\nHe seemed pleased with the book, though it was obvious he wished there were holos. He flipped through the pages, looking at the illustrations.\n\n\"Look at this,\" he said, thrusting the volume at Dunworthy, who was still trying to wake up.\n\nIt was a knight's tomb, with the standard carved effigy in full armor on top, his face and posture the image of eternal rest, but on the side, in an inset frieze like a window into the tomb, the dead knight's corpse struggled up in his coffin, his tattered flesh falling away from him like grave wrappings, his skeleton's hands curved into frantic claws, his face a skull's empty-socketed horror. Worms crawled in and out between his legs, over and under his sword. \"Oxfordshire, c. 1350,\" the caption read. \"An example of the macabre tomb decoration prevalent following the bubonic plague.\"\n\n\"Isn't it apocalyptic?\" Colin said delightedly.\n\nHe was even polite about the muffler. \"I suppose it's the thought that counts, isn't it?\" he said, holding it up by one end, and then after a minute, \"Perhaps I can wear it when I visit the sick. They won't care what it looks like.\"\n\n\"Visit what sick?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\nColin got up off the floor and went over to his duffel and began rummaging through it. \"The vicar asked me last night if I'd run errands for him, check on people, and take them medicine and things.\"\n\nHe fished a paper bag out of the duffel. \"This is your present,\" he said, handing it to Dunworthy. \"It's not wrapped,\" he added unnecessarily. \"Finch said we ought to save paper for the epidemic.\"\n\nDunworthy opened the bag and pulled out a flattish red book.\n\n\"It's an appointment calendar,\" Colin said. \"It's so you can mark off the days till your girl gets back.\" He opened it to the first page. \"See, I made sure to get one that had December.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Dunworthy said, opening it. Christmas. The Slaughter of the Innocents. New Year's. Epiphany. \"That was very thoughtful.\"\n\n\"I wanted to get you this model of Carfax Tower that plays 'I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,'\" Colin said, \"but it cost twenty pounds!\"\n\nThe telephone rang, and Colin and Dunworthy both dived for it. \"I'll bet it's my mother,\" Colin said.\n\nIt was Mary, calling from the Infirmary. \"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"Half-asleep,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nColin grinned at him.\n\n\"How's Latimer?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Good,\" Mary said. She was still wearing her lab coat, but she'd combed her hair, and she looked cheerful. \"He seems to have a very mild case. We've established a connection with the South Carolina virus.\"\n\n\"Latimer was in South Carolina?\"\n\n\"No. One of the students I had you question last night... good Lord, I mean two nights ago. I'm losing all track of time. One of the ones who'd been at the dance in Headington. He lied at first because he'd skipped off from his college to see a young woman and left a friend to cover for him.\"\n\n\"Skipped off to South Carolina?\"\n\n\"No, London. But the young woman was from the States. She'd flown in from Texas and changed planes in Charleston, South Carolina. The CDC's working to find out what cases were in the airport. Let me speak to Colin. I want to wish him a happy Christmas.\"\n\nDunworthy put him on, and he launched into a recital of his gifts, down to and including the motto in his cracker. \"Mr. Dunworthy gave me a book about the Middle Ages.\" He held it up to the screen. \"Did you know they cut off people's heads for stealing and stuck them up on London Bridge?\"\n\n\"Thank her for the muffler, and don't tell her you're running errands for the vicar,\" Dunworthy whispered, but Colin was already holding the receiver out to him. \"She wants to speak to you again.\"\n\n\"It's clear you're taking good care of him,\" Mary said. \"I'm very grateful. I haven't been home yet, and I should have hated him to be alone on Christmas. I don't suppose the promised gifts from his mother have arrived?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said cautiously, looking at Colin, who was looking at the pictures in the Middle Ages book.\n\n\"Nor telephoned,\" she said disgustedly. \"The woman hasn't a drop of maternal blood in her body. For all she knows, Colin might be lying in hospital with a temp of forty degrees, mightn't he?\"\n\n\"How is Badri?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"The fever was down a bit this morning, but there's still a good deal of lung involvement. We're putting him on synthamycin. The South Carolina cases have responded very well to it.\" She promised to try to come over for Christmas dinner and then rang off.\n\nColin looked up from his book. \"Did you know in the Middle Ages they burned people at the stake?\"\n\nMary didn't come nor telephone, and neither did Andrews. Dunworthy sent Colin over to hall for breakfast and tried phoning the tech, but all the lines were engaged, \"due to the holiday crush,\" the computer voice said, obviously not reprogrammed since the beginning of the quarantine. It advised him to delay all nonessential calls until the next day. He tried twice more, with the same result.\n\nFinch came over, bearing a tray. \"Are you all right, sir?\" he said anxiously. \"You're not feeling ill?\"\n\n\"I'm not feeling ill. I'm waiting for a trunk call to come through.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank goodness, sir. When you didn't come over for breakfast I feared the worst.\" He took the rain-spotted cover off the tray. \"I'm afraid it's a poor sort of Christmas breakfast, but we're nearly out of eggs. I don't know what sort of Christmas dinner it will be. There isn't a goose left inside the perimeter.\"\n\nIt actually seemed to be quite a respectable breakfast, a boiled egg, kippers, muffins with jam.\n\n\"I tried for a Christmas pudding, sir, but we're nearly out of brandy,\" Finch said, pulling a plastic envelope out from under the tray and handing it to Dunworthy.\n\nHe opened it. On top was an NHS directive headed: \"Early Symptoms of Influenza. 1.) Disorientation. 2.) Headache. 3.) Muscle Aches. Avoid contracting it. Wear your NHS regulation face mask at all times.\"\n\n\"Face mask?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"The NHS delivered them this morning,\" Finch said. \"I don't know how we're going to manage the washing up. We're nearly out of soap.\"\n\nThere were four other directives, all similar in tone, and a note from William Gaddson with a printout of Badri's credit account for Monday, the twentieth of December, attached. Badri had apparently spent that missing time from noon to half past two Christmas shopping. He had purchased four books, paperback, at Blackwell's, a muffler, red, and a digital carillon, miniature, at Debenham's. Wonderful. That meant dozens and dozens more contacts.\n\nColin came in carrying a napkinful of muffins. He was still wearing his paper crown, which was a good deal the worse for the rain.\n\n\"It would reassure everyone, sir,\" Finch said, \"if after your call comes through, you'd come over to hall. Mrs. Gaddson particularly is convinced you've come down with the virus. She said you'd contracted it through poor ventilation in the dormitories.\"\n\n\"I'll put in an appearance,\" Dunworthy promised.\n\nFinch went to the door and then turned back. \"About Mrs. Gaddson, sir. She's behaving dreadfully, criticizing the college and demanding that she be moved in with her son. She's completely undermining morale.\"\n\n\"I'll say,\" Colin said, dumping the muffins on the table. \"The Gallstone told me hot breads were bad for my immune system.\"\n\n\"Isn't there some sort of volunteer work she could do at Infirmary or something?\" Finch asked. \"To keep her out of college?\"\n\n\"We can hardly inflict her on poor helpless flu victims. It might kill them. What about asking the vicar? He was looking for volunteers to run errands.\"\n\n\"The vicar?\" Colin said. \"Have a heart, Mr. Dunworthy. I'm working for the vicar.\"\n\n\"The priest from Holy Re-Formed then,\" Dunworthy said. \"He's fond of reciting the Mass in Time of Pestilence for morale. They should get along swimmingly.\"\n\n\"I'll phone him straightaway,\" Finch said, and left.\n\nDunworthy ate his breakfast, except for the muffin, which Colin appropriated, and then took the empty tray over to hall, leaving orders for Colin to come get him immediately if the tech rang up. It was still raining, the trees black and dripping and the Christmas tree lights spotted with rain.\n\nEveryone was still at table except for the bell ringers, who stood off to one side in their white gloves, their handbells on the table in front of them. Finch was demonstrating the wearing of the NHS regulation masks, pulling off the tapes at either side and pressing them to his cheeks.\n\n\"You don't look well at all, Mr. Dunworthy,\" Mrs. Gaddson said. \"And no wonder. The conditions in this college are appalling. It is a wonder to me that there has not been an epidemic before this. Poor ventilation and an extremely uncooperative staff. Your Mr. Finch was quite rude to me when I spoke to him about moving into my son's rooms. He told me I had chosen to be in Oxford during a quarantine, and that I had to take whatever accommodations I was given.\"\n\nColin came skidding in. \"There's someone on the telephone for you,\" he said.\n\nDunworthy started past her, but she placed herself solidly in his way. \"I told Mr. Finch that he might be content to stay at home when his son was in danger, but that I was not.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I'm wanted on the telephone,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I told him no real mother could fail to go when her child was alone and ill in a faraway place.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dun worthy,\" Colin said. \"Come along!\"\n\n\"Of course you clearly have no idea what I'm talking about. Look at this child!\" She grabbed Colin by the arm. \"Running about in the pouring rain with no coat on!\"\n\nDunworthy took advantage of her shift in position to get past her.\n\n\"You obviously care nothing about your boy's catching the Indian flu,\" she said. Colin wrenched free. \"Letting him gorge himself on muffins and go about soaked to the skin.\"\n\nDunworthy sprinted across the quad, Colin at his heels.\n\n\"I shall not be surprised if this virus turns out to have originated here in Balliol,\" Mrs. Gaddson shouted after them. \"Sheer negligence, that's what it is. Sheer negligence!\"\n\nDunworthy burst into the room and snatched up the phone. There was no picture. \"Andrews,\" he shouted. \"Are you there? I can't see you.\"\n\n\"The telephone system's overbooked,\" Montoya said. \"They've cut the visual. It's Lupe Montoya. Is Mr. Basingame salmon or trout?\"\n\n\"What?\" Dunworthy said, frowning at the blank screen.\n\n\"I've been calling fishing guides in Scotland all morning. When I could get through. They say where he's gone depends on whether he's salmon or trout. What about friends? Is there someone in the University he goes fishing with who might know?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Dunworthy said. \"Ms. Montoya, I'm afraid I'm waiting for a most important\u2014\"\n\n\"I've tried everything else\u2014hotels, inns, boat rentals, even his barber. I tracked his wife down in Torquay, and she said he didn't tell her where he was going. I hope that doesn't mean he's off somewhere with a woman and not really in Scotland at all.\"\n\n\"I hardly think Mr. Basingame\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, well, then, why doesn't anyone know where he is? And why hasn't he called in now that the epidemic's all over the papers and the vids?\"\n\n\"Ms. Montoya, I\u2014\"\n\n\"I suppose I'll have to call both the salmon and trout guides. I'll let you know if I find him.\"\n\nShe rang off finally, and Dunworthy put the receiver down and stared at it, certain Andrews had tried to ring while he was on the line with Montoya.\n\n\"Didn't you say there were a lot of epidemics in the Middle Ages?\" Colin asked. He was sitting in the window seat with the Middle Ages book on his knees, eating muffins.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, I can't find them in this book. How do you spell it?\"\n\n\"Try Black Death,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nDunworthy waited an anxious quarter of an hour and then tried to ring Andrews again. The lines were still jammed.\n\n\"Did you know the Black Death was in Oxford?\" Colin said. He had polished off the muffins and was back to the soap tablets. \"At Christmas. Just like us!\"\n\n\"Influenza scarcely compares with the plague,\" he said, watching the telephone as if he could will it to ring. \"The Black Death killed one third to one half of Europe.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Colin said. \"And the plague was a lot more interesting. It was spread by rats, and you got these enormous bobos\u2014\"\n\n\"Buboes.\"\n\n\"Buboes under your arms, and they turned black and swelled up till they were enormous and then you died! The flu doesn't have anything like that,\" he said, sounding disappointed.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And the flu's only one disease. There were three sorts of plague. Bubonic, that's the one with the buboes, pneumonic,\" he said, pronouncing the \"p.\" \"It went in your lungs and you coughed up blood, and sep-tah-keem-ic\u2014\"\n\n\"Septicemic.\"\n\n\"Septicemic, which went into your bloodstream and killed you in three hours and your body turned black all over! Isn't that apocalyptic?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nThe telephone rang just after eleven o'clock and Dunworthy snatched it up again, but it was Mary, saying she wouldn't be able to manage dinner. \"We've had five new cases this morning.\"\n\n\"We'll come to Infirmary as soon as my trunk call has come through,\" Dunworthy promised. \"I'm waiting for one of my techs to phone. I'm going to have him come and read the fix.\"\n\nMary looked wary. \"Have you cleared this with Gilchrist?\"\n\n\"Gilchrist! He's busy planning to send Kivrin to the Black Death!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I don't think you should do this without telling him. He is Acting Head, and there's no point in antagonizing him. If something has gone wrong, and Andrews needs to abort the drop, you'll need his cooperation.\" She smiled at Dunworthy. \"We'll discuss it when you come. And when you're here, I want you to have an inoculation.\"\n\n\"I thought you were waiting for the analogue.\"\n\n\"I was, but I'm not satisfied with the way the primary cases are responding to Atlanta's recommended course of treatment. A few of them are showing a slight improvement, but Badri is worse, if anything. I want all high-risk people to have T-cell enchancement.\"\n\nAndrews still hadn't phoned by noon. Dunworthy sent Colin over to Infirmary to be inoculated. He came back looking pained.\n\n\"As bad as all that?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Worse,\" Colin, said, flinging himself down on the window seat. \"Mrs. Gaddson caught me coming in. I was rubbing my arm, and she demanded to know where I'd been and why I was getting inoculated instead of William.\" He looked reproachfully at Dunworthy. \"Well, it hurts! She said if anyone was high-risk it was poor Willy and it was absolute necrophilia for me to be jabbed instead of him.\"\n\n\"Nepotism.\"\n\n\"Nepotism. I hope the priest finds her an absolutely cadaverous job.\"\n\n\"How was your great-aunt Mary?\"\n\n\"I didn't see her. They were awfully busy, beds in the corridor and everything.\"\n\nColin and Dunworthy took turns going over to hall for Christmas dinner. Colin was back in something less than fifteen minutes. \"The bell ringers started to play,\" he said. \"Mr. Finch said to tell you we're out of sugar and butter and nearly out of cream.\" He pulled a jelly tart out of his jacket pocket. \"Why is it they never run out of Brussels sprouts?\"\n\nDunworthy gave him orders to come tell him at once if Andrews phoned and to take down any other messages, and went over. The bell ringers were in full cry, jangling away at a Mozart canon.\n\nFinch handed Dunworthy a plate that seemed to be mostly Brussels sprouts. \"We're nearly out of turkey, I'm afraid, sir,\" he said. \"I'm glad you've come. It's almost time for the queen's Christmas message.\"\n\nThe bell ringers finished the Mozart to enthusiastic applause, and Ms. Taylor came over, still wearing her white gloves. \"There you are, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said. \"I missed you at breakfast, and Mr. Finch said you were the one to talk to. We need a practice room.\"\n\nHe was tempted to say, \"I'd no idea you practiced.\" He ate a Brussels sprout.\n\n\"A practice room?\"\n\n\"Yes. So we can practice our Chicago Surprise Minor. I've arranged with the dean of Christ Church to ring our peal here on New Year's Day, but we have to have somewhere to practice. I told Mr. Finch the big room in Beard would be perfect\u2014\"\n\n\"The senior common room.\"\n\n\"But Mr. Finch said it was being used as a storeroom for supplies.\"\n\nWhat supplies? he thought. According to Finch, they were either out or nearly out of everything save Brussels sprouts.\n\n\"And he said the lecture rooms were being kept to use as an infirmary. We have to have a quiet place where we can focus. The Chicago Surprise Minor is very complicated. The in- and out-of-course changes and the lead end alterations require complete concentration. And of course there's the extra dodging.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"The room doesn't have to be large, but it does need to be secluded. We've been practicing here in the dining room, but there are people in and out all the time, and the tenor keeps losing her place.\"\n\n\"I'm sure we can find something.\"\n\n\"Of course with seven bells, we should be doing Triples, but the North American Council rang Philadelphia Triples here last year, and did a very sloppy job of it, too, as I understand. The tenor a full count behind and absolutely terrible stroking. Which is another reason we've got to have a good practice room. Stroking is so important.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nMrs. Gaddson appeared in the far doorway, looking fierce and maternal. \"I'm afraid I have an important trunk call coming in,\" he said, standing up so that Ms. Taylor was between him and Mrs. Gaddson.\n\n\"Trunk call?\" Ms. Taylor said, shaking her head. \"You English! I don't understand what you're saying half the time.\"\n\nDunworthy escaped out the buttery door, promising to find a practice room so that they could perfect their snapping leads, and went back up to his rooms. Andrews hadn't phoned. There was one message, from Montoya. \"She said to tell you 'never mind,'\" Colin said.\n\n\"That's all? She didn't say anything else?\"\n\n\"No. She said, 'Tell Mr. Dunworthy never mind.'\"\n\nHe wondered if she had by some miracle located Basingame and obtained his signature or if she had merely found out whether he was \"salmon\" or \"trout.\" He debated ringing her back, but he was afraid the lines would choose that moment to unjam and Andrews would phone.\n\nHe didn't, or they didn't, until nearly four. \"I'm terribly sorry I didn't ring you sooner,\" Andrews said.\n\nThere was still no picture, but Dunworthy could hear music and talk in the background. \"I was away till last night, and I've had a good deal of trouble getting through to you,\" Andrews said. \"The lines have been engaged, the holiday crush, you know. I've been trying every\u2014\"\n\n\"I need you to come up to Oxford,\" Dunworthy cut in. \"I need you to read a fix.\"\n\n\"Of course, sir,\" Andrews said promptly. \"When?\"\n\n\"As soon as possible. This evening?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, less promptly. \"Would tomorrow do? My livein won't get in till late tonight, so we'd planned on having our Christmas tomorrow, but I could get a train up in the afternoon or evening. Will that do, or is there a limit on taking the fix?\"\n\n\"The fix is already taken, but the tech's come down with a virus, and I need someone to read it,\" Dunworthy said. There was a sudden burst of laughter from Andrews's end. Dunworthy raised his voice. \"What time do you think you can be here?\"\n\n\"I'm not certain. Can I ring you back tomorrow and tell you when I'll be coming in on the tube?\"\n\n\"Yes, but you can only take the tube as far as Barton. You'll need to take a taxi from there to the perimeter. I'll arrange for you to be let through. All right, Andrews?\"\n\nHe didn't answer, though Dunworthy could still hear the music. \"Andrews?\" Dunworthy said. \"Are you still there?\" It was maddening not to be able to see.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Andrews said, but warily. \"What was it you said you wanted me to do?\"\n\n\"Read a fix. It's already been taken, but the tech\u2014\"\n\n\"No, the other bit. About taking the train to Barton.\"\n\n\"Take the train to Barton,\" Dunworthy said loudly and carefully. \"That's as far as it goes. From there, you'll have to get a taxi to the quarantine perimeter.\"\n\n\"Quarantine?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, irritated. \"I'll arrange for you to be allowed into the quarantine area.\"\n\n\"What sort of quarantine?\"\n\n\"A virus,\" he said. \"You haven't heard about it?\"\n\n\"No, sir. I was running an on-site in Florence. I only arrived back this afternoon. Is it serious?\" He did not sound frightened, only interested.\n\n\"Eighty-one cases so far,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Eighty-two,\" Colin said from the window seat.\n\n\"But they've identified it, and the vaccine's on the way. There haven't been any fatalities.\"\n\n\"But a lot of unhappy people who wanted to be home for Christmas, I'll wager,\" he said. \"I'll call you in the morning, then, as soon as I know what time I'll arrive.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy shouted to make sure Andrews could hear over the background noise. \"I'll be here.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Andrews said. There was another burst of laughter and then silence as he rang off.\n\n\"Is he coming?\" Colin asked.\n\n\"Yes. Tomorrow.\" He punched in Gilchrist's number.\n\nGilchrist appeared, sitting at his desk and looking belligerent. \"Mr. Dunworthy, if this is about pulling Ms. Engle out\u2014\"\n\nI would if I could, Dunworthy thought, and wondered if Gilchrist truly didn't realize Kivrin had already left the drop site and wouldn't be there if they did open the net.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I've located a tech who can come read the fix.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, may I remind you\u2014\"\n\n\"I am fully aware that you are in charge of this drop,\" Dunworthy said, trying to keep his temper. \"I was merely trying to help. Knowing the difficulty of finding techs over vac, I telephoned one in Reading. He can be here tomorrow.\"\n\nGilchrist pursed his lips disapprovingly. \"None of this would be necessary if your tech hadn't fallen ill, but as he has, I suppose this will have to do. Have him report to me as soon as he arrives.\"\n\nDunworthy managed to say good-bye civilly, but as soon as the screen went blank he slammed the receiver down, yanked it up again, and began stabbing numbers. He would find Basingame if it took all afternoon.\n\nBut the computer came on and informed him all lines were engaged again. He laid the receiver down and stared at the blank screen.\n\n\"Are you waiting for another call?\" Colin asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then can we walk over to Infirmary? I've a present for great-aunt Mary.\"\n\nAnd I can see about getting Andrews into the quarantine area, he thought. \"Excellent idea. You can wear your new muffler.\"\n\nColin stuffed it in his jacket pocket. \"I'll put it on when we get there,\" he said, grinning. \"I don't want anyone to see me on the way.\"\n\nThere was no one to see them. The streets were completely deserted, not even any bicycles or taxis. Dunworthy thought of the vicar's remark that when the epidemic took hold people would hole up in their houses. Either that, or they had been driven inside by the sound of the Carfax carillon, which was not only still banging away at \"The Carol of the Bells\" but seemed louder, echoing through the empty streets. Or they were napping after too much Christmas dinner. Or they knew enough to keep in out of the rain.\n\nThey saw no one at all until they got to Infirmary. A woman in a Burberry stood in front of the Casualties Ward holding a picket sign that said \"Ban Foreign Diseases.\" A man wearing a regulation face mask opened the door for them and handed Dunworthy a very damp flyer.\n\nDunworthy asked at the admissions desk for Mary and then read the flyer. In boldface type it said \"fight influenza, vote to secede from the ec.\" Underneath was a paragraph: \"Why will you be separated from your loved ones this Christmas? Why are you forced to stay in Oxford? Why are you in danger of getting ill and dying? Because the EC allows infected foreigners to enter England, and England doesn't have a thing to say about it. An Indian immigrant carrying a deadly virus\u2014\"\n\nDunworthy didn't read the rest. He turned it over. It read, \"A Vote for Secession is a Vote for Health. Committee for an Independent Great Britain.\"\n\nMary came in, and Colin grabbed his muffler out of his pocket and wrapped it hastily around his neck. \"Happy Christmas,\" he said. \"Thank you for the muffler. Shall I open your cracker for you?\"\n\n\"Yes, please,\" Mary said. She looked tired. She was wearing the same lab coat she had had on two days ago. Someone had pinned a cluster of holly to the lapel.\n\nColin snapped the cracker.\n\n\"Put your hat on,\" he said, unfolding a blue paper crown.\n\n\"Have you managed to get any rest at all?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"A bit,\" she said, putting the crown on over her untidy gray hair. \"We've had thirty new cases since noon, and I've spent most of the day trying to get the sequencing from the WIC, but the lines are jammed.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Dunworthy said. \"Can I see Badri?\"\n\n\"Only for a minute or two.\" She frowned. \"He's not responding at all to the synthamycin, and neither are the two students from the dance in Headington. Beverly Breen is a bit improved.\" She frowned. \"It worries me. Have you had your enhancement?\"\n\n\"Not yet. Colin's had his.\"\n\n\"And it hurt like blood,\" Colin said, unfolding the slip of paper inside the cracker. \"Shall I read your motto for you?\" She nodded.\n\n\"I need to bring a tech into the quarantine area tomorrow to read Kivrin's fix,\" Dunworthy said. \"What must I do to arrange it?\"\n\n\"Nothing, so far as I know. They're trying to keep people in, not out.\"\n\nThe registrar took Mary aside, and spoke softly and urgently to her.\n\n\"I must go,\" she said. \"I don't want you to leave till you've had your enchancement. Come back down here when you've seen Badri. Colin, you wait here for Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\nDunworthy went up to Isolation. There was no one at the desk, so he wrestled his way into a set of SPG's, remembering to put the gloves on last, and went inside.\n\nThe pretty nurse who had been so interested in William was taking Badri's pulse, her eyes on the screens. Dunworthy stopped at the foot of the bed.\n\nMary had said Badri wasn't responding, but Dunworthy was still shocked by the sight of him. His face was dark with fever again, and his eyes looked bruised, as if someone had hit him. His right arm was hooked to an elaborate shunt. It was bruised a purple-blue on the inside of the elbow. The other arm was worse, black all along the forearm.\n\n\"Badri?\" he said, and the nurse shook her head.\n\n\"You can only stay a moment,\" she said.\n\nDunworthy nodded.\n\nShe laid Badri's unresisting hand down at his side, typed something on the console, and went out.\n\nDunworthy sat down beside the bed and looked up at the screens. They looked the same, still indecipherable, the graphs and jags and generating numbers telling him nothing. He looked at Badri, who lay there looking battered, beaten. He patted his hand gently and stood up to go.\n\n\"It was the rats,\" Badri murmured.\n\n\"Badri?\" Dunworthy said gently. \"It's Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy...\" Badri said, but he didn't open his eyes. \"I'm dying, aren't I?\"\n\nHe felt a twinge of fear. \"No, of course not,\" he said heartily. \"Where did you get that idea?\"\n\n\"It's always fatal,\" Badri said. \"What is?\"\n\nBadri didn't answer. Dunworthy sat with him until the nurse came in, but he didn't say anything else.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy?\" she said. \"He needs to rest.\"\n\n\"I know.\" He walked to the door and then looked back at Badri, lying in the bed. He opened the door.\n\n\"It killed them all,\" Badri said. \"Half of Europe.\"\n\nColin was standing at the registrar's desk when he came back down, telling her about his Christmas gifts. \"My mother's gifts didn't arrive because of the quarantine. The postman wouldn't let them through.\"\n\nDunworthy told the registrar about the T-cell enhancement and she nodded and said, \"It will just be a moment.\"\n\nThey sat down to wait. It killed them all, Dunworthy thought. Half of Europe.\n\n\"I didn't get to read her her motto,\" Colin said. \"Would you like to hear it?\" He didn't wait for an answer. \"Where was Father Christmas when the lights went out?\" He waited expectantly.\n\nDunworthy shook his head.\n\n\"In the dark.\"\n\nHe took his gobstopper out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. \"You're worried about your girl, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe folded up the gobstopper wrapper into a tiny packet. \"What I don't understand is, why can't you go get her?\"\n\n\"She isn't there. We must wait for the rendezvous.\"\n\n\"No, I mean why can't you go back to the same time you sent her through and get her while she was still there? Before anything happened? I mean you can go to any time you want, can't you?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"You can send an historian to any time, but once she's there, the net can only operate in real time. Did you study the paradoxes at school?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Colin said, but he sounded uncertain. \"They're like time-travel rules?\"\n\n\"The space-time continuum doesn't allow paradoxes,\" Dunworthy said. \"It would be a paradox if Kivrin made something happen that hadn't happened, or if she caused an anachronism.\"\n\nColin was still looking uncertain.\n\n\"One of the paradoxes is that no one can be in two places at the same time. She's already been in the past for four days. There's nothing we can do to change that. It's already happened.\"\n\n\"Then how does she get back?\"\n\n\"When she went through, the tech took what's called a fix. It tells the tech exactly where she is, and it acts as a... um...\" he groped for an understandable word. \"A tether. It ties the two times together so the net can be reopened at a certain time, and she can be picked up.\"\n\n\"Like, 'I'll meet you at the church at half past six'?\"\n\n\"Exactly. It's called a rendezvous. Kivrin's is in two weeks. The twenty-eighth of December. On that day the tech will open the net, and Kivrin will come back through.\"\n\n\"I thought you said it was the same time there. How can the twenty-eighth be two weeks from now?\"\n\n\"They used a different calendar in the Middle Ages. It's December the seventeenth there. Our rendezvous date is the sixth of January.\" If she's there. If I can find a tech to open the net.\n\nColin pulled out his gobstopper and looked at it thoughtfully. It was a mottled bluish-white and looked rather like a map of the moon. He stuck it back in his mouth.\n\n\"So, if I went to 1320 on the twenty-sixth of December, I could have Christmas twice.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Apocalyptic,\" he said. He unfolded the gobstopper wrapper and folded it into an even tinier packet. \"I think they've forgotten about you, don't you?\"\n\n\"It's beginning to look that way,\" Dunworthy said. The next time a house officer came through, Dunworthy stopped him and told him he was waiting for T-cell enhancement.\n\n\"Oh?\" he said, looking surprised. \"I'll try to find out about it.\" He disappeared into Casualties.\n\nThey waited some more. \"It was the rats,\" Badri had said. And that first night he had asked Dunworthy, \"What year is it?\" But he had said there was minimal slippage. He had said the apprentice's calculations were correct.\n\nColin took his gobstopper out and examined it several times for change in color. \"If something terrible happened, couldn't you break the rules?\" he said, squinting at it. \"If she got her arm cut off or she died or a bomb blew her up or something?\"\n\n\"They're not rules, Colin. They're scientific laws. We couldn't break them if we tried. If we attempted to reverse events that had already happened, the net wouldn't open.\"\n\nColin spit his gobstopper into the wrapper and folded the wrinkled paper carefully around it. \"I'm sure your girl's all right,\" he said.\n\nHe jammed the wrapped gobstopper in his jacket pocket and pulled out a lumpy parcel. \"I forgot to give great-aunt Mary her Christmas present,\" he said.\n\nHe jumped up and started into Casualties before Dunworthy could caution him to wait, got opposite the door, and came tearing back.\n\n\"Blood! The Gallstone's here!\" he said. \"She's coming this way.\"\n\nDunworthy stood up. \"That's all that's needed.\"\n\n\"This way,\" Colin said. \"I came in the back door the night I got here.\" He sprinted off in the other direction. \"Come on!\"\n\nDunworthy could not manage a sprint, but he walked quickly down the labyrinth of corridors Colin indicated and out a service entrance into a side street. A man in a sandwich board was standing outside the door in the rain. The sandwich board said, \"The doom we feared is upon us,\" which seemed oddly fitting.\n\n\"I'll make certain she didn't see us,\" Colin said, and dashed around to the front.\n\nThe man handed Dunworthy a flyer, \"the end of time is near!\" it said in fiery capital letters. \"'Fear God, for the hour of His judgment is come.' Revelations 14:7.\"\n\nColin waved to Dunworthy from the corner. \"It's all right,\" Colin said, slightly out of breath. \"She's inside shouting at the registrar.\"\n\nDunworthy handed the flyer back to the man and followed Colin. He led the way along the side street to Woodstock Road. Dunworthy looked anxiously toward the door of Casualties, but he couldn't see anyone, not even the anti-EC picketers.\n\nColin sprinted another block, and then slowed to a walk. He pulled the packet of soap tablets out of his pocket and offered Dunworthy one.\n\nHe declined.\n\nColin popped a pink one in his mouth and said, none too clearly, \"This is the best Christmas I've ever had.\"\n\nDunworthy pondered that sentiment for several blocks. The carillon was massacring \"In the Bleak Midwinter,\" which also seemed fitting, and the streets were still deserted, but as they turned down the Broad, a familiar figure hurried toward them, hunched against the rain.\n\n\"It's Mr. Finch,\" Colin said.\n\n\"Good Lord,\" Dunworthy said. \"What do you suppose we've run out of now?\"\n\n\"I hope it's Brussels sprouts.\"\n\nFinch had looked up at the sound of their voices. \"There you are, Mr. Dunworthy. Thank goodness. I've been looking for you everywhere.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Dunworthy said. \"I told Ms. Taylor I'd see about a practice room.\"\n\n\"It isn't that, sir. It's the detainees. Two of them are down with the virus.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (032631\u2013034122):\n\n\u200221 December 1320 (Old Style). Father Roche doesn't know where the drop is. I made him take me to the place where Gawyn met him, but even standing in the clearing didn't jog my memory. It's obvious Gawyn didn't happen upon him until he was a long way from the drop, and by that time I was completely delirious.\n\n\u2002And I realized today I'll never be able to find the drop on my own. The woods are too big, and they're full of clearings and oak trees and willow thickets that all look alike now that it's snowed. I should have marked the drop with something besides the casket.\n\n\u2002Gawyn will have to show me where the drop is, and he's not back yet. Rosemund told me it's only a half day's ride to Courcy, but that he will probably spend the night there because of the rain.\n\n\u2002It's been raining hard since we got back, and I suppose I should be happy since it may melt the snow, but it makes it impossible for me to go out and look for the drop, and it's freezing in the manor house. Everyone's wearing their cloaks and huddling next to the fire.\n\n\u2002What do the villagers do? Their huts can't even keep the wind out, and the one I was in had no sign of a blanket. They must be literally freezing, and Rosemund said the steward said it was going to rain till Christmas Eve.\n\n\u2002Rosemund apologized for her ill-tempered behavior in the woods and told me, \"I was wroth with my sister.\"\n\n\u2002Agnes had nothing to do with it\u2014what upset her was obviously the news that her fianc\u00e9 had been invited for Christmas, and when I had a chance with Rosemund alone, I asked her if she was worried over her marriage.\n\n\u2002\"My father has arranged it,\" she said, threading her needle. \"We were betrothed at Martinmas. We are to be wed at Easter.\"\n\n\u2002\"And it is with your consent?\" I asked.\n\n\u2002\"It is a good match,\" she said. \"Sir Bloet is highly placed, and he has holdings that adjoin my father's.\"\n\n\u2002\"Do you like him?\"\n\n\u2002She stabbed the needle into the linen in the wooden frame. \"My father would never let me come to harm,\" she said, and pulled the long thread through.\n\n\u2002She didn't volunteer anything else, and all I could get out of Agnes was that Sir Bloet was nice and had brought her a silver penny, no doubt as part of the betrothal gifts.\n\n\u2002Agnes was too concerned about her knee to tell me anything else. She stopped complaining about it halfway home, and then limped exaggeratedly when she got down off the sorrel. I thought she was just trying to get attention, but when I looked at it, the scab had come off completely. The area around it is red and swollen.\n\n\u2002I washed it off, wrapped it in as clean a cloth as I could find (I'm afraid it may have been one of Imeyne's coifs\u2014I found it in the chest at the foot of the bed), and made her sit quietly by the fire and play with her knight, but I'm worried. If it gets infected, it could be serious. There weren't any antimicrobials in the 1300s.\n\n\u2002Eliwys is worried, too. She clearly expected Gawyn back tonight, and has been going to stand by the screens all day, looking out the door. I have not been able to figure out how she feels about Gawyn. Sometimes, like today, I think she loves him, and is afraid of what that means for both of them. Adultery was a mortal sin in the eyes of the church, and often a dangerous one. But most of the time I am convinced that his amour is completely unrequited, that she is so worried about her husband that she doesn't know he exists.\n\n\u2002The pure, unattainable lady was the ideal of courtly romances, but it's clear he doesn't know whether or not she loves him either. His rescuing me in the wood and his story of the renegades was only an attempt to impress her (which would have been much more impressive if there had been twenty renegades, all armed with swords and maces and battle axes). He would obviously do anything to win her, and Lady Imeyne knows it. Which is why, I think, he's been sent off to Courcy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "By the time they got back to Balliol, two more of the detainees were down with the virus. Dunworthy sent Colin to bed and helped Finch get the detainees to bed and phone the Infirmary.\n\n\"All our ambulances are out,\" the registrar told him. \"We'll send one as soon as possible.\"\n\nAs soon as possible was midnight. He didn't get back and to bed till past one.\n\nColin was asleep on the cot Finch had set up for him, The Age of Chivalry next to his head. Dunworthy debated pulling the book away but he didn't want to risk waking him. He went in to bed.\n\nKivrin could not be in the plague. Badri had said there was four hours slippage, and the plague had not hit England until 1348. Kivrin had been sent to 1320.\n\nHe turned over and closed his eyes determindedly. She could not be in the plague. Badri was delirious. He had said all sorts of things, talked about lids and breaking china as well as rats. None of it made any sense. It was the fever speaking. He had told Dunworthy to back up. He had given him imaginary notes. None of it meant anything.\n\n\"It was the rats,\" Badri had said. The contemps hadn't known it was spread by fleas on the rats. They had had no idea what caused it. They had accused everyone\u2014Jews and witches and the insane. They had murdered halfwits and hanged old women. They had burned strangers at the stake.\n\nHe got out of bed and padded into the sitting room. He tiptoed around Colin's cot and slid The Age of Chivalry out from under Colin's head. Colin stirred but didn't wake.\n\nDunworthy sat on the window seat and looked up the Black Death. It had started in China in 1333, and moved west on trading ships to Messina in Sicily and from there to Pisa. It had spread through Italy and France\u2014eighty thousand dead in Siena, a hundred thousand in Florence, three hundred thousand in Rome\u2014before it crossed the Channel. It had reached England in 1348, \"a little before the Feast of St. John the Baptist,\" the twenty-fourth of June.\n\nThat meant a slippage of twenty-eight years. Badri had been worried about too much slippage, but he had been talking of weeks, not years.\n\nHe reached over the cot to the bookcase and took down Fitzwiller's Pandemics.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Colin asked sleepily.\n\n\"Reading about the Black Death,\" he whispered. \"Go back to sleep.\"\n\n\"They didn't call it that,\" Colin mumbled around his gobstopper. He rolled over, wrapping himself in his blankets. \"They called it the blue sickness.\"\n\nDunworthy took both books back to bed with him. Fitzwiller gave the date of the plague's arrival in England as St. Peter's Day, the twenty-ninth of June, 1348. It had reached Oxford in December, London in October of 1349, and then moved north and back across the Channel to the Low Countries and Norway. It had gone everywhere except Bohemia, and Poland, which had a quarantine, and, oddly, parts of Scotland.\n\nWhere it had gone, it had swept through the countryside like the Angel of Death, devastating entire villages, leaving no one alive to administer the last rites or bury the putrefying bodies. In one monastery, all but one of the monks had died.\n\nThe single survivor, John Clyn, had left a record: \"And lest things which should be remembered perish with time and vanish from the memory of those who are to come after us,\" he had written, \"I, seeing so many evils and the whole world, as it were, placed within the grasp of the Evil One, being myself as if among the dead, I, waiting for death, have put into writing all the things that I have witnessed.\"\n\nHe had written it all down, a true historian, and then had apparently died himself, all alone. His writing on the manuscript trailed off, and below it, in another hand, someone had written, \"Here, it seems, the author died.\"\n\nSomeone knocked on the door. It was Finch in his bathrobe, looking bleary-eyed and distraught. \"Another one of the detainees, sir,\" he said.\n\nDunworthy put his finger to his lips and stepped outside the door with him. \"Have you telephoned Infirmary?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and they said it would be several hours before they can dispatch an ambulance. They said to isolate her, and give her dimantadine and orange juice.\"\n\n\"Which I suppose we're nearly out of,\" Dunworthy said irritably.\n\n\"Yes, sir, but that's not the problem. She won't cooperate.\"\n\nDunworthy made Finch wait outside the door while he dressed and found his face mask, and they went across to Salvin. A huddle of detainees were standing by the door, dressed in an odd assortment of underthings, coats, and blankets. Only a few of them were wearing their face masks. By day after tomorrow they'll all be down with it, Dunworthy thought.\n\n\"Thank goodness you're here,\" one of the detainees said fervently. \"We can't do a thing with her.\"\n\nFinch led him over to the detainee, who was sitting upright in bed. She was an elderly woman with sparse white hair, and she had the same fever-bright eyes, the same frenetic alertness Badri had had that first night.\n\n\"Go away!\" she said when she saw Finch and made a slapping motion at him. She turned her burning eyes on Dunworthy. \"Daddy!\" she cried, and then stuck her lower lip out in a pout. \"I was very naughty,\" she said in a childish voice. \"I ate all the birthday cake, and now I have a stomachache.\"\n\n\"Do you see what I mean, sir?\" Finch put in.\n\n\"Are the Indians coming, Daddy?\" she asked. \"I don't like Indians. They have bows and arrows.\"\n\nIt took them until morning to get her onto a cot in one of the lecture rooms. Dunworthy eventually had to resort to saying, \"Your daddy wants his good girl to lie down now,\" and just after they had her quieted down, the ambulance came. \"Daddy!\" she wailed when they shut the doors. \"Don't leave me here all alone!\"\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Finch said when the ambulance drove off. \"It's past breakfast time. I do hope they haven't eaten all the bacon.\"\n\nHe went off to ration supplies, and Dunworthy went back to his rooms to wait for Andrews's call. Colin was halfway down the staircase, eating a piece of toast and pulling on his jacket. \"The vicar wants me to help collect clothes for the detainees,\" he said with his mouth full of toast. \"Great-aunt Mary telephoned. You're to ring her back.\"\n\n\"But not Andrews?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Has the visual been restored?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Wear your regulation face mask,\" Dunworthy called after him, \"and your muffler!\"\n\nHe rang up Mary and waited impatiently for nearly five minutes until she came to the telephone.\n\n\"James?\" Mary's voice said. \"It's Badri. He's asking for you.\"\n\n\"He's better, then?\"\n\n\"No. His fever's still very high, and he's become quite agitated, keeps calling your name, insists he has something to tell you. He's working himself into a very bad state. If you could come and speak with him, it might calm him down.\"\n\n\"Has he said anything about the plague?\" he asked.\n\n\"The plague? \" she said, looking annoyed. \"Don't tell me you've been infected by these ridiculous rumors that are flying about, James\u2014that it's cholera, that it's breakbone fever, that it's a recurrence of the Pandemic\u2014\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"It's Badri. Last night he said, 'It killed half of Europe,' and 'It was the rats.'\"\n\n\"He's delirious, James. It's the fever. It doesn't mean anything.\"\n\nShe's right, he told himself. The detainee ranted on about Indians with bows and arrows, and you didn't begin looking for Sioux warriors. She had conjured up too much birthday cake as an explanation for her being ill, and Badri had conjured up the plague. It didn't mean anything.\n\nNevertheless, he said he would be there immediately and went to find Finch. Andrews hadn't specified what time he would call, but Dunworthy couldn't risk leaving the phone unattended. He wished he'd made Colin stay while he spoke to Mary.\n\nFinch would very likely be in hall, guarding the bacon with his life. He took the receiver off the hook so the phone would sound engaged and went across the quad to the hall.\n\nMs. Taylor met him at the door. \"I was just coming to look for you,\" she said. \"I heard some of the detainees came down with the virus last night.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, scanning the hall for Finch.\n\n\"Oh, dear. So I suppose we've all been exposed.\"\n\nHe couldn't see Finch anywhere.\n\n\"How long is the incubation period?\" Ms. Taylor asked.\n\n\"Twelve to forty-eight hours,\" he said. He craned his neck, trying to see over the heads of the detainees.\n\n\"That's awful,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"What if one of us comes down with it in the middle of the peal? We're Traditional, you know, not Council. The rules are very explicit.\"\n\nHe wondered why Traditional, whatever that might be, had deemed it necessary to have rules concerning change ringers infected with influenza.\n\n\"Rule Three,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"'Every man must stick to his bell without interruption.' It isn't as if we can put somebody else in halfway through if one of us suddenly keels over. And it would ruin the rhythm.\"\n\nHe had a sudden image of one of the bell ringers in her white gloves collapsing and being kicked out of the way so as not to disrupt the rhythm.\n\n\"Aren't there any warning symptoms?\" Ms. Taylor asked.\n\n\"No,\" he said.\n\n\"That paper the NHS sent around said disorientation, fever, and headache, but that isn't any good. The bells always give us headaches.\"\n\nI can imagine, he thought, looking for William Gaddson or one of the other undergraduates he could get to listen for the phone.\n\n\"If we were Council, of course, it wouldn't matter. They let people substitute right and left. During a peal of Tittum Bob Maxims at York, they had nineteen ringers. Nineteen! I don't see how they can even call it a peal.\"\n\nNone of his undergraduates appeared to be in hall, Finch had no doubt barricaded himself in the buttery, and Colin was long gone. \"Are you still in need of a practice room?\" he asked Ms. Taylor.\n\n\"Yes, unless one of us comes down with this thing. Of course, we could do Stedmans, but that would hardly be the same thing, would it?\"\n\n\"I'll let you use my sitting room if you will answer the telephone and take down any messages for me. I am expecting an important trunk\u2014long-distance call\u2014so it's essential that someone be in the room at all times.\"\n\nHe led her back to his rooms.\n\n\"Oh, it's not very big, is it?\" she said. \"I'm not sure there's room to work on our raising. Can we move the furniture around?\"\n\n\"You may do anything you like, so long as you answer the telephone and take down any messages. I'm expecting a call from Mr. Andrews. Tell him he doesn't need clearance to enter the quarantine area. Tell him to go straight to Brasenose and I'll meet him there.\"\n\n\"Well, all right, I guess,\" she said as if she were doing him a favor. \"At least it's better than that drafty cafeteria.\"\n\nHe left her rearranging furniture, not at all convinced that it was a good idea to entrust her with this, and hurried off to see Badri. He had something to tell him. It killed them all. Half of Europe.\n\nThe rain had subsided to little more than a fine mist, and the anti-EC picketers were gathered in force in front of the Infirmary. They had been joined by a number of boys Colin's age wearing black face plasters and shouting, \"Let my people go!\"\n\nOne of them grabbed Dunworthy's arm. \"The government's got no right to keep you here against your will,\" he said, thrusting his striped face up to Dunworthy's face mask.\n\n\"Don't be a fool,\" Dunworthy said. \"Do you want to start another pandemic?\"\n\nThe boy let go of his arm, looking confused, and Dunworthy escaped inside.\n\nCasualties was full of patients on stretcher trolleys, and there was one standing next to the elevator. An imposing-looking nurse in voluminous SPG's was standing next to it, reading something to the patient from a polythene-wrapped book.\n\n\"'Whoever perished, being innocent?' \" she said, and he realized with dismay that it wasn't a nurse. It was Mrs. Gaddson.\n\n\"'Or where were the righteous cut off?' \" she recited.\n\nShe stopped and thumbed through the thin pages of the Bible, looking for another cheering passage, and he ducked down the side corridor and into a stairwell, eternally grateful to the NHS for issuing face masks.\n\n\"'The Lord shall smite thee with a consumption,'\" she intoned, her voice resounding through the corridor as he fled,\" 'and with a fever, and with an inflammation.'\"\n\nAnd He shall smite thee with Mrs. Gaddson, he thought, and she shall read you Scriptures to keep your morale up.\n\nHe went up the stairs to Isolation, which had now apparently taken over most of the first floor.\n\n\"Here you are,\" the nurse said. It was the pretty blond student nurse again. He wondered if he should warn her about Mrs. Gaddson.\n\n\"I'd nearly given you up,\" she said. \"He's been calling for you all morning.\" She handed him a set of SPG's, and he put them on and followed her in.\n\n\"He was frantic for you half an hour ago,\" she whispered, \"kept insisting he had something to tell you. He's a bit better now.\"\n\nHe looked, in fact, considerably better. He had lost the dark, frightening flush, and though he was still a bit pale under his brown skin, he looked almost like his old self. He was half sitting against several pillows, his knees up, and his hands lying lightly on them, the fingers curved. His eyes were closed.\n\n\"Badri,\" the nurse said, putting her imperm-gloved hand on his shoulder and bending close to him. \"Mr. Dunworthy's here.\"\n\nHe opened his eyes. \"Mr. Dunworthy?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" She nodded across the bed, indicating him. \"I told you he'd come.\"\n\nBadri sat up straighter against the pillows, but he didn't look at Dunworthy. He looked intently ahead.\n\n\"I'm here, Badri,\" Dunworthy said, moving forward so he was in his line of vision. \"What was it you wanted to tell me?\"\n\nBadri continued to look straight ahead and his hands began moving restlessly on his knees. Dunworthy glanced at the nurse.\n\n\"He's been doing that,\" she said. \"I think he's typing.\" She looked at the screens and went out.\n\nHe was typing. His wrists rested on his knees, and his fingers tapped the blanket in a complex sequence. His eyes stared at something in front of him\u2014a screen?\u2014and after a moment he frowned. \"That can't be right,\" he said and began typing rapidly.\n\n\"What is it, Badri?\" Dunworthy said. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"There must be an error,\" Badri said. He leaned slightly sideways and said, \"Give me a line-by-line on the TAA.\"\n\nHe was speaking into the console's ear, Dunworthy realized. He's reading the fix, he thought. \"What can't be right, Badri?\"\n\n\"The slippage,\" Badri said, his eyes fixed on the imaginary screen. \"Readout check,\" he said into the ear. \"That can't be right.\"\n\n\"What's wrong with the slippage?\" Dunworthy asked. \"Was there more slippage than you expected?\"\n\nBadri didn't answer. He typed for a moment, paused, watching the screen, and began typing frantically.\n\n\"How much slippage was there? Badri?\" Dunworthy said.\n\nHe typed for a full minute and then stopped and looked up at Dunworthy. \"So worried,\" he said thoughtfully.\n\n\"Worried over what, Badri?\" Dunworthy said.\n\nBadri suddenly flung the blanket back and grabbed for the bed rails. \"I have to find Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said. He yanked at his cannula, pulling at the tape.\n\nThe screens behind him went wild, spiking crazily and beeping. Somewhere outside an alarm went off.\n\n\"You mustn't do that,\" Dunworthy said, reaching across the bed to stop him.\n\n\"He's at the pub,\" Badri said, ripping at the tape.\n\nThe screens went abruptly flatline. \"Disconnect,\" a computer voice said. \"Disconnect.\"\n\nThe nurse banged in. \"Oh, dear, that's twice he's done that,\" she said. \"Mr. Chaudhuri, you mustn't do that. You'll pull your cannula out.\"\n\n\"Go and get Mr. Dunworthy. Now,\" he said. \"There's something wrong,\" but he lay back and let her cover him up. \"Why doesn't he come?\"\n\nDunworthy waited while the nurse retaped the cannula and reset the screens, watching Badri. He looked worn out and apathetic, almost bored. A new bruise was already forming above the cannula.\n\nThe nurse left with \"I think I'd best call down for a sedative.\"\n\nAs soon as she was gone, Dunworthy said, \"Badri, it's Mr. Dunworthy. You wanted to tell me something. Look at me, Badri. What is it? What's wrong?\"\n\nBadri looked at him, but without interest.\n\n\"Was there too much slippage, Badri? Is Kivrin in the plague?\"\n\n\"I don't have time,\" Badri said. \"I was out there Saturday and Sunday.\" He began typing again, his fingers moving ceaselessly on the blanket. \"That can't be right.\"\n\nThe nurse came back with a drip bottle. \"Oh, good,\" he said, and his expression relaxed and softened, as if a great weight had been lifted. \"I don't know what happened. I had such a terrific headache.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes before she had even hooked the drip to the cannula and began to snore softly.\n\nThe nurse led him out. \"If he wakes and calls for you again, where can you be reached?\" she asked.\n\nHe gave her the number. \"What exactly did he say?\" he asked, stripping off his gown. \"Before I arrived?\"\n\n\"He kept calling your name and saying he had to find you, that he had to tell you something important.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything about rats?\" he said.\n\n\"No. Once he said he had to find Karen\u2014or Katherine\u2014\"\n\n\"Kivrin.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Yes. He said, 'I must find Kivrin. Is the laboratory open?' And then he said something about a lamb, but nothing about rats, I don't think. A good deal of the time I can't make it out.\"\n\nHe threw the imperm gloves into the bag. \"I want you to write down everything he says. Not the unintelligible parts,\" he added before she could object. \"But everything else. I'll be back this afternoon.\"\n\n\"I'll try,\" she said. \"It's mostly nonsense.\"\n\nHe went downstairs. It was mostly nonsense, feverish ramblings that meant nothing, but he went outside to get a taxi. He wanted to get back to Balliol quickly, to speak to Andrews, to get him up here to read the fix.\n\n\"That can't be right,\" Badri had said, and it had to be the slippage. Could he have somehow misread the figure, thought it was only four hours and then discovered, what? That it was four years? Or twenty-eight?\n\n\"You'll get there faster walking,\" someone said. It was the boy with the black face plasters. \"If you're waiting for a taxi, you'll stand there forever. They've all been commandeered by the bloody government.\"\n\nHe gestured toward one just pulling up to the door of Casualties. It had an NHS placard in the side window.\n\nDunworthy thanked the boy and started back to Balliol. It was raining again, and he walked rapidly, hoping that Andrews had already telephoned, that he was already on his way. \"Go and get Mr. Dunworthy immediately,\" Badri had said. \"Now. There's something wrong,\" and he was obviously reliving his actions after he had got the fix, when he had run through the rain to the Lamb and Cross to fetch him. \"That can't be right,\" he had said.\n\nHe half ran across the quad and up to his rooms. He was worried Ms. Taylor wouldn't have been able to hear the telephone's bell over her bell ringers' clanging, but when he opened the door, he found them standing in a circle in the middle of his sitting room in their face masks, their arms raised and hands folded as if in supplication, bringing their hands down in front of them and bending their knees one after the other in solemn silence.\n\n\"Mr. Basingame's scout called,\" Ms. Taylor said, rising and stooping. \"He said he thought Mr. Basingame was somewhere in the Highlands. And Mr. Andrews said you were to call him back. He just called.\"\n\nDunworthy put the trunk call through, feeling immensely relieved. While he waited for Andrews to answer, he watched the curious dance and tried to determine the pattern. Ms. Taylor seemed to bob on a semiregular basis, but the others did their odd curtsies in no order he could detect. The largest one, Ms. Piantini, was counting to herself, frowning in concentration.\n\n\"I've obtained clearance for you to enter the quarantine area. When are you coming up?\" he said as soon as the tech answered.\n\n\"That's the thing, sir,\" Andrews said. There was a visual, but it was too fuzzy to read his expression. \"I don't think I'd better. I've been watching all about the quarantine on the vids, sir. They say this Indian flu is extremely dangerous.\"\n\n\"You needn't come in contact with any of the cases,\" Dunworthy said. \"I can arrange for you to go straight to Brasenose's laboratory. You'll be perfectly safe. This is extremely important.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but the vidders say it might have been caused by the University's heating system.\"\n\n\"The heating system?\" Dunworthy said. \"The University has no heating system, and the individual ones of the colleges are over a hundred years old and incapable of heating, let alone infecting.\" The bell ringers turned as one to look at him, but they did not break rhythm. \"It has absolutely nothing to do with the heating system. Or India, or the wrath of God. It began in South Carolina. The vaccine is already on the way. It's perfectly safe.\"\n\nAndrews looked stubborn. \"Nevertheless, sir, I don't think it would be wise for me to come.\"\n\nThe bell ringers abruptly stopped. \"Sorry,\" Ms. Piantini said, and they started again.\n\n\"This fix must be read. We have an historian in 1320, and we don't know how much slippage there has been. I'll see to it that you're paid for hazardous duty,\" Dunworthy said, and then realized that was exactly the wrong approach. \"I can arrange for you to be isolated or wear SPG's or\u2014\"\n\n\"I could read the fix from here,\" Andrews said. \"I've a friend who'll set up the access connections. She's a student at Shrewsbury.\" He paused. \"It's the best I can do. Sorry.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Ms. Piantini said again.\n\n\"No, no, you ring in second's place,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"You dodge two-three up and down and three-four down and then lead a whole pull. And keep your eyes on the other ringers, not on the floor. One-two-and-off!\" They started their minuet again.\n\n\"I simply can't take the risk,\" Andrews said.\n\nIt was clear he couldn't be persuaded. \"What is the name of your friend at Shrewsbury?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Polly Wilson,\" Andrews said, sounding relieved. He gave Dunworthy her number. \"Tell her you need a remote read, IA inquiry, and bridge transmit. I'll stay by this number.\" He moved to ring off.\n\n\"Wait!\" Dunworthy said. The bell ringers glanced disapprovingly at him. \"What would the maximal slippage be on a drop to 1320?\"\n\n\"I've no idea,\" Andrews said promptly. \"Slippage is difficult to predict. There are so many factors.\"\n\n\"An estimate,\" Dunworthy said. \"Could it be twenty-eight years?\"\n\n\"Twenty-eight years! \" Andrews said, and the amazed tone sent a gust of relief through Dunworthy. \"Oh, I wouldn't think so. There's a general tendency toward greater slippage the farther back you go, but the increase isn't exponential. The parameter checks will tell you.\"\n\n\"Mediaeval didn't do any.\"\n\n\"They sent an historian back without parameter checks?\" Andrews sounded shocked.\n\n\"Without parameter checks, without unmanneds, without recon tests,\" Dunworthy said. \"Which is why it's essential I get this fix read. I want you to do something for me.\"\n\nAndrews stiffened.\n\n\"You don't have to come here to do it,\" he said rapidly. \"Jesus has an on-site set up in London. I want you to go over there and run parameter checks on a drop to noon, 13 December 1320.\"\n\n\"What are the locational coordinates?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I'll get them when I go to Brasenose. I want you to telephone me here as soon as you've determined maximal slippage. Can you do that?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, but he was looking doubtful again.\n\n\"Good. I'll telephone Polly Wilson. Remote read, IA inquiry, bridge transmit. I'll ring you back as soon as she's got it set up at Brasenose,\" Dunworthy said, and rang off before Andrews could renege.\n\nHe held on to the receiver, watching the bell ringers. The order changed each time, but Ms. Piantini apparently did not lose count again.\n\nHe telephoned Polly Wilson and gave her the specifications Andrews had dictated, wondering if she had been watching the vidders, too, and would be afraid of Brasenose's heating system, but she said promptly, \"I'll need to find a gateway. I'll meet you there in three-quarters of an hour.\"\n\nHe left the bell ringers still bobbing and went over to Brasenose. The rain had slowed again, and there were more people on the streets, though many of the shops were closed. Whoever was in charge of the Carfax carillon had either come down with the flu or forgotten about it because of the quarantine. It was still playing \"Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella,\" or possibly \"O Tannenbaum.\"\n\nThere were three picketers outside an Indian grocer's and a half dozen more outside Brasenose with a large banner they were holding between them that read \"time travel is a health threat.\" He recognized the young woman on the end as one of the medics from the ambulance.\n\nHeating systems and the EC and time travel. During the Pandemic it had been the American germ warfare program and air conditioning. Back in the Middle Ages they had blamed Satan and the appearance of comets for their epidemics. Doubtless when the fact that the virus had originated in South Carolina was revealed, the Confederacy, or southern fried chicken, would be blamed.\n\nHe went in the gate to the porter's desk. The Christmas tree was sitting on one end of it, the angel perched atop it. \"I have a student from Shrewsbury meeting me to set up some communications equipment,\" he told the porter. \"We'll need to be let into the laboratory.\"\n\n\"The laboratory is restricted, sir,\" the porter said.\n\n\"Restricted?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. It's been locked and no one's allowed in.\"\n\n\"Why? What's happened?\"\n\n\"It's because of the epidemic, sir.\"\n\n\"The epidemic!?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Perhaps you'd better speak with Mr. Gilchrist, sir.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I had. Tell him I'm here, and I need to be let into the laboratory.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid he's not here just now.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"At the Infirmary, I believe. He\u2014\"\n\nDunworthy didn't wait to hear the rest. Halfway to the Infirmary it occurred to him that Polly Wilson would be left waiting with no idea where he'd gone, and as he came up to the hospital, it came to him that Gilchrist might be there because he'd come down with the virus.\n\nGood, he thought, it's what he deserves, but Gilchrist was in the little waiting room, hale and hearty, wearing an NHS face mask, rolling up his sleeve in preparation for the inoculation a nurse was holding.\n\n\"Your porter told me the laboratory's restricted,\" he said, stepping between them. \"I need to get into it. I've found a tech to do a remote fix. We need to set up transmission equipment.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that's impossible,\" Gilchrist said. \"The laboratory is under quarantine until the source of the virus is determined.\"\n\n\"The source of the virus?\" he said incredulously. \"The virus originated in South Carolina.\"\n\n\"We will not be certain of that until we've obtained positive identification. Until then, I felt it was best to minimize all possible risks to the University by restricting access to the laboratory. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm here to receive my immune system enhancement.\" He started past Dunworthy toward the nurse.\n\nDunworthy put out his arm to stop him. \" What risks?\"\n\n\"There has been considerable public concern that the virus was transmitted through the net.\"\n\n\"Public concern? Do you mean those three halfwits with the banner outside your gate?\" he shouted.\n\n\"This is a hospital, Mr. Dunworthy,\" the nurse said. \"Please keep your voice down.\"\n\nHe ignored her. \"There has been 'considerable public concern,' as you call it, that the virus was caused by liberal immigration laws,\" he said. \"Do you intend to secede from the EC as well?\"\n\nGilchrist's chin went up, and the pinched lines appeared by his nose, visible even through the mask. \"As Acting Head of the History Faculty, it is my responsibility to act in the University's interest. Our position in the community, as I'm certain you're aware, depends on maintaining the goodwill of the townspeople. I felt it important to calm the public's fears by closing the laboratory until the sequencing arrives. If it indicates that the virus is from South Carolina, then of course the laboratory will be reopened immediately.\"\n\n\"And in the meantime, what about Kivrin?\"\n\n\"If you cannot keep your voice down,\" the nurse said, \"I shall be forced to report you to Dr. Ahrens.\"\n\n\"Excellent. Go and fetch her,\" Dunworthy told her. \"I want her to tell Mr. Gilchrist how ridiculous he's being. This virus cannot possibly have come through the net.\"\n\nThe nurse stamped out.\n\n\"If your protesters are too ignorant to understand the laws of physics,\" Dunworthy said, \"surely they can understand the simple fact that this was a drop. The net was only open to 1320, not from it. Nothing came through from the past.\"\n\n\"If that is the case, then Ms. Engle is not in any danger, and it will do no harm to wait for the sequencing.\"\n\n\"Not in any danger? You don't even know where she is!\"\n\n\"Your tech obtained the fix, and indicated the drop was successful and that there was minimal slippage,\" Gilchrist said. He rolled down his sleeve and carefully buttoned the cuff. \"I'm satisfied Ms. Engle is where she's supposed to be.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm not. And I won't be until I know Kivrin made it through safely.\"\n\n\"I see I must remind you again that Ms. Engle is my responsibility, not yours, Mr. Dunworthy.\" He donned his coat. \"I must do as I think best.\"\n\n\"And you think it best to set up a quarantine around the laboratory to placate a handful of crackpots,\" he said bitterly. \"There is also 'considerable public concern' that the virus is a judgment from God. What do you intend to do to maintain the goodwill of those townspeople? Resume burning martyrs at the stake?\"\n\n\"I resent that remark. And I resent your constant interference in matters which do not concern you. You have been determined from the first to undermine Mediaeval, to keep it from gaining access to time travel, and now you are determined to undermine my authority. May I remind you that I am Acting Head of History in Mr. Basingame's absence, and as such\u2014\"\n\n\"What you are is an ignorant, self-important fool who should never have been trusted with Mediaeval, let alone Kivrin's safety!\"\n\n\"I see no reason to continue this discussion,\" Gilchrist said. \"The laboratory is under quarantine. It will remain so until we obtain the sequencing.\" He walked out.\n\nDunworthy started after him and nearly collided with Mary. She was wearing SPG's and reading a chart.\n\n\"You will not believe what Gilchrist's done now,\" he said. \"A group of picketers convinced him the virus came through the net, and he's barricaded the laboratory.\"\n\nShe didn't say anything or even look up from the chart.\n\n\"Badri said this morning that the slippage figures can't be right. He said over and over, 'There's something wrong.'\"\n\nShe looked up at him distractedly and back at the chart.\n\n\"I have a tech ready to read Kivrin's fix remotely, but Gilchrist's locked the doors,\" he said. \"You must talk to him, tell him the virus has been firmly established as originating in South Carolina.\"\n\n\"It hasn't.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, it hasn't? Did the sequencing arrive?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"The WIC located their tech, but she's still running it. But her preliminary read indicates it's not the South Carolina virus.\" She looked up at him. \"And I know it's not.\" She looked back at the chart. \"The South Carolina virus had a zero mortality rate.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Has something happened to Badri?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, shutting the chart and holding it to her chest. \"Beverly Breen.\"\n\nHe must have looked blank. He had thought she was going to say Latimer.\n\n\"The woman with the lavender umbrella,\" she said, and sounded angry. \"She died just now.\"\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (046381\u2013054957):\n\n\u200222 December 1320 (Old Style). Agnes's knee is worse. It's red and painful (an understatement\u2014she screams when I try to touch it) and she can scarcely walk. I don't know what to do\u2014if I tell Lady Imeyne, she'll put one of her poultices on it and make it worse, and Eliwys is distracted and obviously worried.\n\n\u2002Gawyn still isn't back. He should have been home by noon yesterday, and when he hadn't shown up by vespers, Eliwys accused Imeyne of sending him to Oxford.\n\n\u2002\"I have sent him to Courcy, as I told you,\" Imeyne said defensively. \"No doubt the rain keeps him.\"\n\n\u2002\"Only to Courcy?\" Eliwys said angrily. \"Or have you sent him otherwhere for a new chaplain?\"\n\n\u2002Imeyne drew herself up. \"Father Roche is not fit to say the Christmas masses if Sir Bloet and his company come,\" she said. \"Would you be shamed before Rosemund's fianc\u00e9?\"\n\n\u2002Eliwys went absolutely white. \"Where have you sent him?\"\n\n\u2002\"I have sent him with a message to the bishop, saying that we are in sore need of a chaplain,\" she said.\n\n\u2002\"To Bath?!\" Eliwys said, and raised her hand as if she would strike her.\n\n\u2002\"Nay. Only to Cirencestre. The archdeacon was to lie at the abbey for Yule. I bade Gawyn give him the message. One of his churchmen will bear it thence. Though, certes, things go not so ill in Bath that Gawyn could not go thence himself without harm, else my son would have quitted it.\"\n\n\u2002\"Your son will be ill-pleased to find we have disobeyed him. He bade us, and Gawyn, keep to the manor till he come.\"\n\n\u2002She still sounded furious, and as she lowered her hand, she clenched it into a fist, as if she would have liked to box Imeyne's ears the way she does Maisry's. But the color had come back in her cheeks as soon as Imeyne said, \"Cirencestre,\" and I think she was at least a little relieved.\n\n\u2002\"Certes, things go not so ill in Bath that Gawyn could not go thence without harm,\" Imeyne said, but it's obvious Eliwys doesn't think he can. Is she afraid he'd ride into a trap or that he might lead Lord Guillaume's enemies here? And are things going so \"ill\" that Guillaume can't quit Bath?\n\n\u2002Perhaps all three. Eliwys has been to the door to look out into the rain at least a dozen times this morning, and she's in as bad a temper as Rosemund was in the woods. Just now she asked Imeyne if she was certain the archdeacon was at Cirencestre. She's obviously worried that if he wasn't, Gawyn will have taken the message into Bath himself.\n\n\u2002Her fear has infected everyone. Lady Imeyne has slunk off into a corner with her reliquary to pray, Agnes whines, and Rosemund sits with her embroidery in her lap, staring blindly at it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "I took Agnes to Father Roche this afternoon. Her knee was much worse. She couldn't walk at all, and there was what looked like the beginning of a red streak above it. I couldn't tell for certain\u2014the entire knee is red and swollen\u2014but I was afraid to wait.\n\nThere was no cure for blood poisoning in 1320, and it's my fault her knee is infected. If I hadn't insisted on going to look for the drop, she wouldn't have fallen. I know the paradoxes aren't supposed to let my presence here have any effect on what happens to the contemps, but I couldn't take that chance. I wasn't supposed to be able to catch anything either.\n\nSo when Imeyne went up to the loft, I carried Agnes over to the church to ask him to treat her. It was pouring by the time we got there, but Agnes wasn't whining over getting wet, and that frightened me more than the red streak.\n\nThe church was dark and smelled musty. I could hear Father Roche's voice from the front of the church, and it sounded like he was talking to someone. \"Lord Guillaume has still not arrived from Bath. I fear for his safety,\" he said.\n\nI thought perhaps Gawyn had come back, and I wanted to hear what they said about the trial, so I didn't go forward. I stood there with Agnes in my arms and listened.\n\n\"It has rained these two days,\" Roche said, \"and there is a bitter wind from the west. We have had to bring the sheep in from the fields.\"\n\nAfter a minute of peering into the dark nave, straining to see, I finally made him out. He was on his knees in front of the rood screen, his big hands folded together in prayer.\n\n\"The steward's babe has a colic on the stomach and cannot keep his milk down. Tabord the cottar fares ill.\"\n\nHe wasn't praying in Latin, and there was none of the priest at Holy Re-Formed's singsong chanting or the vicar's oratory in his voice. He sounded businesslike and matter-of-fact, the way I sound now, talking to you.\n\nGod was supposed to be very real to the contemps in the 1300s, more vivid than the physical world they inhabited. \"You do but go home again,\" Father Roche told me when I was dying, and that's what the contemps are supposed to have believed\u2014that the life of the body is illusory and unimportant, and the real life is that of the eternal soul, as if they were only visiting life the way I am visiting this century, but I haven't seen much evidence of it. Eliwys dutifully murmurs her aves at vespers and matins and then rises and brushes off her kirtle as if her prayers had nothing to do with her worries over her husband or the girls or Gawyn. And Imeyne, for all her reliquary and her Book of Hours, is concerned only about her social standing. I'd seen no evidence that God was real at all to them till I stood there in the damp church, listening to Father Roche.\n\nI wonder if he sees God and heaven as clearly as I can see you and Oxford, the rain falling in the quad and your spectacles steaming up so you have to take them off and polish them on your muffler. I wonder if they seem as close as you do, and as difficult to get to.\n\n\"Preserve our souls from evil and bring us safely into heaven,\" Roche said, and as if that were a cue, Agnes sat up in my arms and said, \"I want Father Roche.\"\n\nFather Roche stood up and started toward us. \"What is it? Who is there?\"\n\n\"It is Lady Katherine,\" I said. \"I have brought Agnes. Her knee is\u2014\" What? Infected? \"I would have you look at her knee.\"\n\nHe tried to look at it, but it was too dark in the church, so he carried her over to his house. It was scarcely lighter there. His house is not much larger than the hut I took shelter in, and no higher. He had to stoop the whole time we were there to keep from bumping his head against the rafters.\n\nHe opened the shutter on the only window, which let the rain blow in, and then lit a rushlight and set Agnes on a crude wooden table. He untied the bandage, and she flinched away from him.\n\n\"Sit you still, Agnus,\" he told her, \"and I will tell you how Christ came to earth from far heaven.\"\n\n\"On Christmas Day,\" Agnes said.\n\nRoche felt around the wound, poking at the swollen parts, talking steadily. \"'And the shepherds stood afraid, for they knew not what this glittering light was. And sounds they heard, as of bells rung in heaven. But they beheld it was God's angel come down to them.'\"\n\nAgnes had screamed and pushed my hands away when I tried to touch her knee, but she let Roche prod the red area with his huge fingers. There was definitely the beginning of a red streak. Roche touched it gently and brought the rushlight closer.\n\n\"'And there came from a far land,'\" he said, squinting at it,\" 'three kings bearing gifts.' \" He touched the red streak again, gingerly, and then folded his hands together, as if he were going to pray, and I thought, Don't pray. Do something.\n\nHe lowered his hands and looked across at me. \"I fear the wound is poisoned,\" he said. \"I will make an infusion of hyssop to draw the venom out.\" He went over to the hearth, stirred up a few lukewarm-looking coals, and poured water into an iron pot from a bucket.\n\nThe bucket was dirty, the pot was dirty, the hands he'd felt Agnes's wound with were dirty, and, standing there, watching him set the pot on the fire and dig into a dirty bag, I was sorry I'd come. He wasn't any better than Imeyne. An infusion of leaves and seeds wouldn't cure blood poisoning any more than one of Imeyne's poultices, and his prayers wouldn't help either, even if he did talk to God as if He were really there.\n\nI almost said, \"Is that all you can do?\" and then realized I was expecting the impossible. The cure for infection was penicillin, T-cell enchancement, antiseptics, none of which he had in his burlap bag.\n\nI remember Mr. Gilchrist talking about mediaeval doctors in one of his lectures. He talked about what fools they were for bleeding people and treating them with arsenic and goat's urine during the Black Death. But what did he expect them to do? They didn't have analogues or antimicrobials. They didn't even know what caused it. Standing there, crumbling dried petals and leaves between his dirty fingers, Father Roche was doing the best he could.\n\n\"Do you have wine?\" I asked him. \"Old wine?\"\n\nThere's scarcely any alcohol in the small ale and not much more in their wine, but the longer it's stood, the higher the alcoholic content, and alcohol is an antiseptic.\n\n\"I have remembered me that old wine poured into a wound may sometimes stop infections,\" I said.\n\nHe didn't ask me what \"infection\" was or how I was able to remember that when I supposedly can't remember anything else. He went immediately across to the church and got an earthenware bottle full of strong-smelling wine, and I poured it onto the bandage and washed the wound with it.\n\nI brought the bottle home with me. I've hidden it under the bed in Rosemund's bower (in case it's part of the sacramental wine\u2014that would be all Imeyne would need, she'd have Roche burned for a heretic) so I can keep cleaning it. Before she went to bed, I poured some straight on."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "It rained till Christmas Eve, a hard, wintry rain that came through the smoke vent in the roof and made the fire hiss and smoke.\n\nKivrin poured wine on Agnes's knee at every chance she got, and by the afternoon of the twenty-third it looked a little better. It was still swollen but the red streak was-gone. Kivrin ran across to the church, holding her cloak over her head, to tell Father Roche, but he wasn't there.\n\nNeither Imeyne nor Eliwys had noticed Agnes's knee was hurt. They were trying frantically to get ready for Sir Bloet's family, if they were coming, cleaning the loft room so the women could sleep there, strewing rose petals over the rushes in the hall, baking an amazing assortment of manchets, puddings, and pies, including a grotesque one in the shape of the Christ child in the manger, with braided pastry for swaddling clothes.\n\nIn the afternoon Father Roche came to the manor, drenched and shivering. He had gone out in the freezing rain to fetch ivy for the hall. Imeyne wasn't there\u2014she was in the kitchen cooking the Christ child\u2014and Kivrin made Roche come in and dry his clothes by the fire.\n\nShe called for Maisry, and when she didn't come went out across the courtyard to the kitchen and fetched him a cup of hot ale. When she returned with it, Maisry was on the bench beside Roche, holding her tangled, filthy hair back with her hand, and Roche was putting goose grease on her ear. As soon as she saw Kivrin she clapped her hand to her ear, probably undoing all the good of Roche's treatment, and scuttled out.\n\n\"Agnes's knee is better,\" Kivrin told him. \"The swelling has gone down, and a new scab is forming.\"\n\nHe didn't seem surprised, and she wondered if she'd been mistaken, if it hadn't been blood poisoning at all.\n\nDuring the night the rain turned to snow. \"They will not come,\" Lady Eliwys said the next morning, sounding relieved.\n\nKivrin had to agree with her. It had snowed nearly thirty centimeters in the night, and it was still coming down steadily. Even Imeyne seemed resigned to their not coming, though she kept on with the preparations, bringing down pewter trenchers from the loft and shouting for Maisry.\n\nAround noon the snow stopped abruptly, and by two it had begun to clear, and Eliwys ordered everyone into their good clothes. Kivrin dressed the girls, surprised at the fanciness of their silk shifts. Agnes had a dark red velvet kirtle to wear over hers and her silver buckle, and Rosemund's leaf-green kirtle had long split sleeves and a low bodice that showed the embroidery on her yellow shift. Nothing had been said to Kivrin about what she should wear, but after she had taken the girls' hair out of braids and brushed it over their shoulders, Agnes said, \"You must put on your blue,\" and got her dress out of the chest at the foot of the bed. It looked less out of place among the girls' finery, but the weave was still too fine, the color too blue.\n\nShe didn't know what she should do about her hair. Unmarried girls wore their hair unbound on festive occasions, held back by a fillet or a ribbon, but her hair was too short for that, and only married women covered their hair. She couldn't just leave it uncovered\u2014the chopped-off hair looked terrible.\n\nApparently Eliwys agreed. When Kivrin brought the girls back downstairs, she bit her lip and sent Maisry up to the loft room to fetch a thin, nearly transparent veil that she fastened with Kivrin's fillet halfway back on her head so that her front hair showed, but the ragged cut ends were hidden.\n\nEliwys's nervousness seemed to have returned with the improving weather. She started when Maisry came in from outside and then cuffed her for getting mud on the floor. She suddenly thought of a dozen things that weren't ready and found fault with everyone. When Lady Imeyne said for the dozenth time, \"If we had gone to Courcy...\" Eliwys nearly snapped her head off.\n\nKivrin had thought it was a bad idea to dress Agnes before the last possible minute, and by midafternoon the little girl's, embroidered sleeves were grubby and she had spilled flour all down one side of the velvet skirt.\n\nBy late afternoon Gawyn had still not returned, everyone's nerves were at the snapping point, and Maisry's ears were bright red. When Lady Imeyne told Kivrin to take six beeswax candles to Father Roche, she was delighted with the chance to get the girls out of the house.\n\n\"Tell him they must last through both the masses,\" Imeyne said irritably, \"and poor masses will they be for our Lord's birth. We should have gone to Courcy.\"\n\nKivrin got Agnes into her cloak and called Rosemund, and they walked across to the church. Roche wasn't there. A large yellowish candle with bands marked on it sat in the middle of the altar, unlit. He would light it at sunset and use it to keep track of the hours till midnight. On his knees in the icy church.\n\nHe wasn't in his house either. Kivrin left the candles on the table. On the way back across the green, they saw Roche's donkey by the lychgate licking the snow.\n\n\"We forgot to feed the animals,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Feed the animals?\" Kivrin asked warily, thinking of their clothes.\n\n\"It is Christmas Eve,\" Agnes said. \"Fed you not the animals at home?\"\n\n\"She remembers not,\" Rosemund said. \"On Christmas Eve we feed the animals in honor of our Lord that he was born in a stable.\"\n\n\"Do you remember naught of Christmas then?\" Agnes asked.\n\n\"A little,\" Kivrin said, thinking of Oxford on Christmas Eve, of the shops in Carfax decorated with plastene evergreens and laser lights and jammed with last-minute shoppers, the High full of bicycles, and Magdalen Tower showing dimly through the snow.\n\n\"First they ring the bells and then you get to eat and then mass and then the Yule log,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"You have turned it all about,\" Rosemund said. \"First we light the Yule log and then we go to mass.\"\n\n\"First the bells,\" Agnes said, glaring at Rosemund, \"and then mass.\"\n\nThey went to the barn for a sack of oats and some hay and took them across to the stable to feed the horses. Gringolet wasn't among them, which meant Gawyn still wasn't back. She must speak with him as soon as he returned. The rendezvous was less than a week away, and she still had no idea where the drop was. And with Lord Guillaume coming, everything might change.\n\nEliwys had only put off doing anything with her till her husband came, and she had told the girls again this morning she expected him today. He might decide to take Kivrin to Oxford, or London, to look for her family, or Sir Bloet might offer to take her back with them to Courcy. She had to talk to him soon. But with guests here, it would be much easier to catch him alone, and in all the bustle and busyness of Christmas, she might even get him to show her the place.\n\nKivrin dawdled as long as she could with the horses, hoping Gawyn might come back, but Agnes got bored and wanted to go feed corn to the chickens. Kivrin suggested they go feed the steward's cow.\n\n\"It is not our cow,\" Rosemund snapped.\n\n\"She helped me on that day when I was ill,\" Kivrin said, thinking of how she had leaned against the cow's bony back the day she tried to find the drop. \"I would thank her for her kindness.\"\n\nThey went past the pen where the pigs had lately been, and Agnes said, \"Poor piglings. I would have fed them an apple.\"\n\n\"The sky to the north darkens again,\" Rosemund said. \"I think they will not come.\"\n\n\"Ay, but they will,\" Agnes said. \"Sir Bloet has promised me a trinket.\"\n\nThe steward's cow was in almost the same place Kivrin had found it, behind the second to the last hut, eating what was left of the same blackening pea vines.\n\n\"Good Christmas, Lady Cow,\" Agnes said, holding a handful of hay a good meter from the cow's mouth.\n\n\"They speak only at midnight,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"I would come see them at midnight, Lady Kivrin,\" Agnes said. The cow strained forward. Agnes edged back.\n\n\"You cannot, simplehead,\" Rosemund said. \"You will be at mass.\"\n\nThe cow extended her neck and took a large-hoofed step forward. Agnes retreated. Kivrin gave the cow a handful of hay.\n\nAgnes watched enviously. \"If all are at mass, how do they know the animals speak?\" she asked.\n\nGood point, Kivrin thought.\n\n\"Father Roche says it is so,\" Rosemund said.\n\nAgnes came out from behind Kivrin's skirts and picked up another handful of hay. \"What do they say?\" She pointed it in the cow's general direction.\n\n\"They say you know not how to feed them,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"They do not,\" Agnes said, thrusting her hand forward. The cow lunged for the hay, mouth open, teeth bared. Agnes threw the handful of hay at it and ran behind Kivrin's back. \"They praise our blessed Lord. Father Roche said it.\"\n\nThere was a sound of horses. Agnes ran between the huts. \"They are come!\" she shouted, running back. \"Sir Bloet is here. I saw them. They ride now through the gate.\"\n\nKivrin hastily scattered the rest of the hay in front of the cow. Rosemund took a handful of oats out of the bag and fed them to the cow, letting it nuzzle the grain out of her open hand.\n\n\"Come, Rosemund!\" Agnes said. \"Sir Bloet is here!\"\n\nRosemund rubbed what was left of the oats off her hand. \"I would feed Father Roche's donkey,\" she said, and started toward the church, not even glancing in the direction of the manor.\n\n\"But they've come, Rosemund,\" Agnes shouted, running after her. \"Do you not want to see what they have brought?\"\n\nObviously not. Rosemund had reached the donkey, which had found a tuft of foxtail grass sticking out of the snow next to the lychgate. She bent and stuck a handful of oats under its muzzle, to its complete disinterest, and then stood there with her hand on its back, her long dark hair hiding her face.\n\n\"Rosemund!\" Agnes said, her face red with frustration. \"Did you not hear me? They have come!\"\n\nThe donkey nudged the oats out of the way and clamped its yellow teeth around a large head of the grass. Rosemund continued to offer it the oats.\n\n\"Rosemund,\" Kivrin said, \"I will feed the donkey. You must go to greet your guests.\"\n\n\"Sir Bloet said he would bring me a trinket,\" Agnes said.\n\nRosemund opened her hands and let the oats fall. \"If you like him so well, why do you not ask Father to let you marry him?\" she said, and started for the manor.\n\n\"I am too little,\" Agnes said.\n\nSo is Rosemund, Kivrin thought, grabbing Agnes's hand and starting after her. Rosemund walked rapidly ahead, her chin in the air, not bothering to lift her dragging skirts, ignoring Agnes's repeated pleas to \"Wait, Rosemund.\"\n\nThe party had already passed into the courtyard, and Rosemund was already to the sty. Kivrin picked up the pace, pulling Agnes along at a run, and they all arrived in the courtyard at the same time. Kivrin stopped, surprised.\n\nShe had expected a formal meeting, the family at the door with stiff speeches and polite smiles, but this was like the first day of term\u2014everyone carrying in boxes and bags, greeting each other with exclamations and embraces, talking at the same time, laughing. Rosemund hadn't even been missed. A large woman wearing an enormous starched coif grabbed Agnes up and kissed her, and three young girls clustered around Rosemund, squealing.\n\nServants, obviously in their holiday best, too, carried covered baskets and an enormous goose into the kitchen, and led the horses into the stable. Gawyn, still on Gringolet, was leaning down to speak to Imeyne. Kivrin heard him say, \"Nay, the bishop is at Wiveliscombe,\" but Imeyne didn't look unhappy, so he must have got the message to the archdeacon.\n\nShe turned to help a young woman in a vivid blue cloak even brighter than Kivrin's kirtle down from her horse, and led her over to Eliwys, smiling. Eliwys was smiling, too.\n\nKivrin tried to make out which was Sir Bloet, but there were at least a half-dozen mounted men, all with silver-chased bridles and fur-trimmed cloaks. None of them looked decrepit, thank goodness, and one or two were quite presentable-looking. She turned to ask Agnes which one he was, but she was still in the grip of the starched coif, who kept patting her head and saying, \"You have grown so I scarce knew you.\" Kivrin stifled a smile. Some things truly never changed.\n\nSeveral of the newcomers had red hair, including a woman nearly as old as Imeyne, who nevertheless wore her faded pink hair down her back like a young girl. She had a pinched, unhappy-looking mouth and was obviously dissatisfied with the way the servants were unloading things. She snatched one overloaded basket out of the hands of a servant who was struggling with it and thrust it at a fat man in a green velvet kirtle.\n\nHe had red hair, too, and so did the nicest looking of the younger men. He was in his late twenties, but he had a round, open, freckled face and a pleasant expression at least.\n\n\"Sir Bloet!\" Agnes cried, and flung herself past Kivrin and against the knees of the fat man.\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought. She had assumed the fat man was married to the pink-tressed shrew or the woman in the starched coif. He was at least fifty, and nearly twenty stone, and when he smiled at Agnes his large teeth were brown with decay.\n\n\"Have you no trinket for me?\" Agnes was demanding, tugging on the hem of his kirtle.\n\n\"Ay,\" he said, looking toward where Rosemund still stood talking to the other girls, \"for you and for your sister.\"\n\n\"I will fetch her,\" Agnes said, and darted across to Rosemund before Kivrin could stop her. Bloet lumbered after her. The girls giggled and parted as he approached, and Rosemund shot a murderous look at Agnes and then smiled and extended her hand to him. \"Good day and welcome, sir,\" she said.\n\nHer chin was up about as far as it would go, and there were two spots of feverish red in her pale cheeks, but Bloet apparently took these for shyness and excitement. He took her little fingers in his own fat ones and said, \"Surely you will not greet your husband with such formality come spring.\"\n\nThe spots got redder. \"It is still winter, sir.\"\n\n\"It will be spring soon enough,\" he said and laughed, showing his brown teeth.\n\n\"Where is my trinket?\" Agnes demanded.\n\n\"Agnes, be not so greedy,\" Eliwys said, coming to stand between her daughters. \"It is a poor welcome to demand gifts of a guest.\" She smiled at him, and if she dreaded this marriage, she showed no sign of it. She looked more relaxed than Kivrin had yet seen her.\n\n\"I promised my sister-in-law a trinket,\" he said, reaching into his too-tight belt and bringing out a little cloth bag, \"and my betrothed a bride-gift.\" He fumbled in the little bag and brought out a brooch set with stones. \"A loveknot for my bride,\" he said, unfastening the clasp. \"You must think of me when you wear it.\"\n\nHe moved forward, puffing, to pin it to her cloak. I hope he has a stroke, Kivrin thought. Rosemund stood stock-still, her cheeks sharply red, while his fat hands fumbled at her neck.\n\n\"Rubies,\" Eliwys said delightedly. \"Do you not thank your betrothed for his goodly gift, Rosemund?\"\n\n\"I thank thee for the brooch,\" Rosemund said tonelessly.\n\n\"Where is my trinket?\" Agnes said, dancing on one foot, then the other while he reached in the little bag again and brought out something clenched in his fist. He stooped down to Agnes's level, breathing hard, and opened his hand.\n\n\"It is a bell!\" Agnes said delightedly, holding it up and shaking it. It was brass and round, like a horse's sleigh bell, and had a metal loop at the top.\n\nAgnes insisted on Kivrin taking her up to the bower to fetch a ribbon to thread through it so she could wear it around her wrist for a bracelet. \"My father brought me this ribbon from the fair,\" Agnes said, pulling it out of the chest Kivrin's clothes had been kept in. It was patchily dyed and so stiff Kivrin had trouble threading it through the hole. Even the cheapest ribbons at Woolworth's or the paper ribbons used for wrapping Christmas presents were better than this obviously treasured one.\n\nKivrin tied it to Agnes's wrist, and they went back downstairs. The bustle and unloading had moved inside, servants carrying chests and bedding and what looked like early versions of the carpet bag into the hall. She needn't have worried about Sir Bloet et al carrying her off. It looked like they were here for the winter at the least.\n\nShe needn't have worried about them discussing her fate either. None of them had so much as cast a glance at her, even when Agnes insisted on going over to her mother and showing off her bracelet. Eliwys was deep in conversation with Bloet, Gawyn, and the nice-looking man, who must be a son or a nephew, and Eliwys was twisting her hands again. The news from Bath must be bad.\n\nLady Imeyne was at the end of the hall, talking to the stout woman and a pale-looking man in a cleric's robe, and it was clear from the expression on her face that she was complaining about Father Roche.\n\nKivrin took advantage of the noisy confusion to pull Rosemund away from the other girls and ask her who everyone was. The pale man was Sir Bloet's chaplain, which she had more or less figured out. The lady in the bright blue cloak was his foster daughter. The stout woman with the starched coif was Sir Bloet's brother's wife, come up from Dorset to stay with him. The two redheaded young men and the giggling girls were all hers. Sir Bloet didn't have any children.\n\nWhich of course was why he was marrying one, with, apparently, everyone's approval. The carrying on of the line was the all-important concern in 1320. The younger the woman, the better her chance of producing enough heirs that one at least would survive to adulthood, even if its mother didn't.\n\nThe shrew with the faded red hair was, horror of horrors, Lady Yvolde, his unmarried sister. She lived at Courcy with him and, Kivrin saw, watching her shouting at poor Maisry for dropping a basket, had a bunch of keys at her belt. That meant she ran the household, or would until Easter. Poor Rosemund wouldn't stand a chance.\n\n\"Who are all the others?\" Kivrin asked, hoping there might be at least one ally for Rosemund among them.\n\n\"Servants,\" Rosemund said, as if it were obvious, and ran back to the girls.\n\nThere were at least twenty of them, not counting the grooms who were putting the horses up, and nobody, not even the nervous Eliwys, seemed surprised by their number. She had read that noble households had dozens of servants, but had thought those figures must be off. Eliwys and Imeyne had scarcely any servants at all, had had to put practically the whole village to work to get ready for Yule, and although she had put part of it down to their being in trouble, she had also thought the numbers of attendants for the rural manors must have been exaggerated. They obviously weren't.\n\nThe servants swarmed over the hall, serving supper. Kivrin had not known whether they would eat an evening meal at all, since Christmas Eve was a fast day, but as soon as the pale chaplain finished reading vespers, obviously on Lady Imeyne's orders, the herd of servants trooped in with a meal of bread, watered wine, and dried cod that had been soaked in lyewater and then roasted.\n\nAgnes was so excited she didn't eat a bite, and after supper had been cleared away, she refused to come and sit quietly by the hearth, but ran round the hall, ringing her bell and pestering the dogs.\n\nSir Bloet's servants and the steward brought in the Yule log and dumped it on the hearth, scattering sparks everywhere. The women stepped back, laughing, and the children screamed with delight. Rosemund, as eldest child of the house, lit the log with a faggot saved from the Yule log the year before, touching it gingerly to the tip of one of the crooked roots. There was laughter and applause when it caught, and Agnes waved her arm wildly to make her bell ring.\n\nRosemund had said earlier that the children were allowed to stay up for the mass at midnight, but Kivrin had hoped she could at least coax Agnes to lie down on the bench beside her and take a nap. Instead, as the evening progressed, Agnes got wilder and wilder, shrieking and ringing her bell till Kivrin had to take it away from her.\n\nThe women sat down by the hearth, talking quietly. The men stood in little groups, their arms folded across their chests, and several times they all went outside, except for the chaplain, and came back in stamping the snow off their feet and laughing. It was obvious from their red faces and Imeyne's look of disapproval that they had been out in the brewhouse with a keg of ale, breaking their fast.\n\nWhen they came in the third time, Bloet sat down across the hearth and stretched out his legs to the fire, watching the girls. The three gigglers and Rosemund were playing blind-man's buff. When Rosemund, blindfolded, came close to the benches, Bloet reached out and pulled her onto his lap. Everyone laughed.\n\nImeyne spent the long evening sitting by the chaplain, reciting her grievances against Father Roche to him. He was ignorant, he was clumsy, he had said the Conf\u00edteor before the Adjutorum during the mass last Sunday. And he was out there in that ice-cold church on his knees, Kivrin thought, while the chaplain warmed his hands at the fire and shook his head disapprovingly.\n\nThe fire died down to glowing embers. Rosemund slid off Bloet's lap and ran back to the game. Gawyn told the story of how he had killed six wolves, watching Eliwys the whole time. The chaplain told a story about a dying woman who had made false confession. When the chaplain had touched her forehead with the holy oil, her skin had smoked and turned black before his eyes.\n\nHalfway through the chaplain's story, Gawyn stood up, rubbed his hands over the fire, and went over to the beggar's bench. He sat down and pulled off his boot.\n\nAfter a minute Eliwys stood up and went over to him. Kivrin couldn't hear what she said to him, but he stood up, the boot still in his hand.\n\n\"The trial is once more delayed,\" Kivrin heard Gawyn say. \"The judge who was to hear it is taken ill.\"\n\nShe couldn't hear Eliwys's answer, but Gawyn nodded and said, \"It is good news. The new judge is from Swindone and less kindly disposed to King Edward,\" but neither of them looked like it was good news. Eliwys was nearly as white as she had been when Imeyne told her she'd sent Gawyn to Courcy.\n\nShe twisted her heavy ring. Gawyn sat down again, brushed the rushes from the bottom of his hose, and pulled the boot on, and then looked up again and said something. Eliwys turned her head aside and Kivrin couldn't see her expression for the shadows, but she could see Gawyn's.\n\nAnd so could anyone else in the hall, Kivrin thought, and looked hastily around to see if the couple had been observed. Imeyne was deep in complaint with the chaplain, but Sir Bloet's sister was watching, her mouth tight with disapproval, and so, on the opposite side of the fire, were Bloet and the other men.\n\nKivrin had hoped she might have a chance to speak with Gawyn tonight, but she obviously could not among all these watchful people. A bell rang, and Eliwys started and looked toward the door.\n\n\"It is the Devil's knell,\" the chaplain said quietly, and even the children stopped their games to listen.\n\nIn some villages the contemps had rung the bell once for each year since the birth of Christ. In most it had only been tolled for the hour before midnight, and Kivrin doubted whether Roche, or even the chaplain, could count high enough to toll the years, but she began keeping count anyway.\n\nThree servants came in, bearing logs and kindling, and replenished the fire. It flared up brightly, throwing huge, distorted shadows on the walls. Agnes jumped up and pointed, and one of Sir Bloet's nephews made a rabbit with his hands.\n\nMr. Latimer had told her that the contemps had read the future in the Yule log's shadows. She wondered what the future held for them, Lord Guillaume in trouble and all of them in danger.\n\nThe king had forfeited the lands and property of convicted criminals. They might be forced to live in France or to accept charity from Sir Bloet and endure snubs from the steward's wife.\n\nOr Lord Guillaume might come home tonight with good news and a falcon for Agnes, and they would all live happily ever after. Except Eliwys. And Rosemund. What would happen to her?\n\nIt's already happened, Kivrin thought wonderingly. The verdict is already in and Lord Guillaume's come home and found out about Gawyn and Eliwys. Rosemund's already been handed over to Sir Bloet. And Agnes has grown up and married and died in childbirth, or of blood poisoning, or cholera, or pneumonia.\n\nThey've all died, she thought, and couldn't make herself believe it. They've all been dead over seven hundred years.\n\n\"Look!\" Agnes shrieked. \"Rosemund has no head!\" She pointed to the distorted shadows the fire cast on the walls as it flared up. Rosemund's, oddly elongated, ended at the shoulders.\n\nOne of the redheaded boys ran over to Agnes. \"I have no head either!\" he said, jumping on tiptoe to change the shadow's shape.\n\n\"You have no head, Rosemund,\" Agnes shouted happily. \"You will die ere the year is out.\"\n\n\"Say not such things,\" Eliwys said, starting toward her. Everyone looked up.\n\n\"Kivrin has a head,\" Agnes said. \"I have a head, but poor Rosemund has none.\"\n\nEliwys caught hold of Agnes by both arms. \"Those are but foolish games,\" she said. \"Say not such things.\"\n\n\"The shadow\u2014\" Agnes said, looking like she was going to cry.\n\n\"Sit you down by Lady Katherine and be still,\" Eliwys said. She brought her over to Kivrin and almost pushed her onto the bench. \"You are grown too wild.\"\n\nAgnes huddled next to Kivrin, trying to decide whether to cry or not. Kivrin had lost count, but she picked up where she had left off. Forty-six, forty-seven.\n\n\"I want my bell,\" Agnes said, climbing off the bench.\n\n\"Nay, we must sit quietly,\" Kivrin said. She took Agnes onto her lap.\n\n\"Tell me of Christmas.\"\n\n\"I can't, Agnes. I can't remember.\"\n\n\"Do you remember naught that you can tell me?\"\n\nI remember it all, Kivrin thought. The shops are full of ribbons, satin and mylar and velvet, red and gold and blue, brighter even than my woad-dyed cloak, and there's light everywhere and music. Great Tom and Magdalen's bells and Christmas carols.\n\nShe thought of the Carfax carillon, trying to play \"It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,\" and the tired old piped-in carols in the shops along the High. Those carols haven't even been written yet, Kivrin thought, and felt a sudden wash of homesickness.\n\n\"I would ring my bell,\" Agnes said, struggling to get off Kivrin's lap. \"Give it to me.\" She held out her wrist.\n\n\"I will tie it on if you will lie down a little on the bench beside me,\" Kivrin said.\n\nShe started to pucker up into a pout again. \"Must I sleep?\"\n\n\"No. I will tell you a story,\" Kivrin said, untying the bell from her own wrist, where she had put it for safekeeping. \"Once\u2014\" she said and then stopped, wondering if \"once upon a time\" dated as far back as 1320 and what sort of stories the contemps told their children. Stories about wolves and about witches whose skin turned black when they were given extreme unction.\n\n\"There once was a maiden,\" she said, tying the bell on Agnes's chubby wrist. The red ribbon had already begun to fray at the edges. It wouldn't tolerate many more knottings and unknottings. She bent over it. \"A maiden who lived\u2014\"\n\n\"Is this the maiden?\" a woman's voice said.\n\nKivrin looked up. It was Bloet's sister Yvolde, with Imeyne behind her. She stared at Kivrin, her mouth pinched with disapproval, and then shook her head.\n\n\"Nay, this is not Uluric's daughter,\" she said. \"That maid was short and dark.\"\n\n\"Nor de Ferrers's ward?\" Imeyne said.\n\n\"She is dead,\" Yvolde said. \"Do you remember naught of who you are?\" she asked Kivrin.\n\n\"Nay, good lady,\" Kivrin said, remembering too late that she was supposed to keep her eyes modestly on the floor.\n\n\"She was struck upon the head,\" Agnes volunteered.\n\n\"Yet you remember your name and how to speak. Are you of good family?\"\n\n\"I do not remember my family, good lady,\" Kivrin said, trying to keep her voice meek.\n\nYvolde sniffed. \"She sounds of the west. Have you sent to Bath for news?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Imeyne said. \"My son's wife would wait on his arrival. You have heard naught from Oxenford?\"\n\n\"Nay, but there is much illness there,\" Yvolde said.\n\nRosemund came up. \"Know you Lady Katherine's family, Lady Yvolde?\" she asked.\n\nYvolde turned her pinched look on her. \"Nay. Where is the brooch my brother gave you?\"\n\n\"I... 'tis on my cloak,\" Rosemund stammered.\n\n\"Do you not honor his gifts enough to wear them?\"\n\n\"Go and fetch it,\" Lady Imeyne said. \"I would see this brooch.\"\n\nRosemund's chin went up, but she went over to the outer wall where the cloaks hung.\n\n\"She shows as little eagerness for my brother's gifts as for his presence,\" Yvolde said. \"She spoke not once to him at supper.\"\n\nRosemund came back, carrying her green cloak with the brooch pinned to it. She showed it wordlessly to Imeyne. \"I would see it,\" Agnes said, and Rosemund bent down to show her.\n\nThe brooch had red stones set on a round gold ring, and the pin in the center. It had no hinge, but had to be pulled up and stuck through the garment. Letters ran around the outside of the ring: \" Io suiicen lui dami amo.\"\n\n\"What does it say?\" Agnes said, pointing to the letters ringing the gold circle.\n\n\"I know not,\" Rosemund said in a tone that clearly meant \"And I don't care.\"\n\nYvolde's jaw tightened, and Kivrin said hastily, \"It says, 'You are here in place of the friend I love,' Agnes,\" and then realized sickly what she had done. She looked up at Imeyne, but Imeyne didn't seem to have noticed anything.\n\n\"Such words should be on your breast instead of hanging on a peg,\" Imeyne said. She took the brooch and pinned it to the front of Rosemund's kirtle.\n\n\"And you should be at my brother's side as befits his betrothed,\" Yvolde said, \"instead of playing childish games.\" She extended her hand in the direction of the hearth where Bloet was sitting, nearly asleep and obviously the worse for all the trips outside, and Rosemund looked beseechingly at Kivrin.\n\n\"Go and thank Sir Bloet for such a generous gift,\" Imeyne said coldly.\n\nRosemund handed Kivrin her cloak and started toward the hearth.\n\n\"Come, Agnes,\" Kivrin said. \"You must rest.\"\n\n\"I would listen to the Devil's knell,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Lady Katherine,\" Yvolde said, and there was an odd emphasis on the word \"Lady,\" \"you told us you remembered naught. Yet you read Lady Rosemund's brooch with ease. Can you read, then?\"\n\nI can read, Kivrin thought, but fewer than a third of the contemps could, and even fewer of women.\n\nShe glanced at Imeyne, who was looking at her the way she had the first morning she was here, fingering her clothes and examining her hands.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said, looking Yvolde directly in the eye, \"I fear I cannot read even the Paternoster. Your brother told us what the words meant when he gave the brooch to Rosemund.\"\n\n\"Nay, he did not,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"You were looking at your bell,\" Kivrin said, thinking, Lady Yvolde will never believe that, she'll ask him and he'll say he never spoke to me.\n\nBut Yvolde seemed satisfied. \"I did not think such a one as she would be able to read,\" she said to Imeyne. She gave her her hand, and they walked over to Sir Bloet.\n\nKivrin sank down on the bench.\n\n\"I would have my bell,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"I will not tie it on unless you lie down.\"\n\nAgnes crawled into her lap. \"You must tell me the story first. Once there was a maiden.\"\n\n\"Once there was a maiden,\" Kivrin said. She looked at Imeyne and Yvolde. They had sat down next to Sir Bloet and were talking to Rosemund. She said something, her chin up and her cheeks very red. Sir Bloet laughed, and his hand closed over the brooch and then slid down over Rosemund's breast.\n\n\"Once there was a maiden \u2014\" Agnes said insistently.\n\n\"\u2014who lived at the edge of a great forest,\" Kivrin said. \"'Do not go into the forest alone,' her father said\u2014\"\n\n\"But she would not heed him,\" Agnes said, yawning.\n\n\"No, she wouldn't heed him. Her father loved her and cared only for her safety, but she wouldn't listen to him.\"\n\n\"What was in the woods?\" Agnes asked, nestling against Kivrin.\n\nKivrin pulled Rosemund's cloak up over her. Cutthroats and thieves, she thought. And lecherous old men and their shrewish sisters. And illicit lovers. And husbands. And judges. \"All sorts of dangerous things.\"\n\n\"Wolves,\" Agnes said sleepily.\n\n\"Yes, wolves.\" She looked at Imeyne and Yvolde. They had moved away from Sir Bloet and were watching her, whispering.\n\n\"What happened to her?\" Agnes said sleepily, her eyes already closing.\n\nKivrin cradled her close. \"I don't know,\" she murmured. \"I don't know.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Agnes could not have been asleep more than five minutes before the bell stopped and then began to ring again, more quickly, calling them to mass.\n\n\"Father Roche begins too soon. It is not midnight yet,\" Lady Imeyne said, and it wasn't even out of her mouth before the other bells started: Wychlade and Bureford and, far away to the east, too far to be more than a breath of an echo, the bells of Oxford.\n\nThere are the Osney bells, and there's Carfax, Kivrin thought, and wondered if they were ringing at home tonight, too.\n\nSir Bloet heaved himself to his feet and then helped his sister up. One of their servants hurried in with their cloaks and a squirrel-fur-lined mantle. The chattering girls pulled their cloaks from the pile and fastened them, still chattering. Lady Imeyne shook Maisry, who'd fallen asleep on the beggar's bench, and told her to fetch her Book of Hours, and Maisry shuffled off to the loft ladder, yawning. Rosemund came over and reached with exaggerated carefulness for her cloak, which had slid off Agnes's shoulders.\n\nAgnes was dead to the world. Kivrin hesitated, hating to have to wake her up, but fairly sure even exhausted five-year-olds weren't excepted from this mass. \"Agnes,\" she said softly.\n\n\"You must needs carry her to the church,\" Rosemund said, struggling with Sir Bloet's gold brooch. The steward's youngest boy came and stood in front of Kivrin with her white cloak, dragging it on the rushes.\n\n\"Agnes,\" Kivrin said again, and jostled her a little, amazed that the church bell hadn't waked her. It sounded louder and closer than it ever did for matins or vespers, its overtones nearly drowning out the other bells.\n\nAgnes's eyes flew open. \"You did not wake me,\" she said sleepily to Rosemund, and then more loudly as she came awake, \"You promised to wake me.\"\n\n\"Get into your cloak,\" Kivrin said. \"We must go to church.\"\n\n\"Kivrin, I would wear my bell.\"\n\n\"You're wearing it,\" Kivrin said, trying to fasten Agnes's red cape without stabbing her in the neck with the pin of the clasp.\n\n\"Nay, I have it not,\" Agnes said, searching her arm. \"I would wear my bell!\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" Rosemund said, picking it up off the floor, \"it must have fallen from your wrist. But it is not meet to wear it now. This bell calls us to mass. The Christmas bells come after.\"\n\n\"I shall not ring it,\" Agnes said. \"I would only wear it.\"\n\nKivrin didn't believe that for a minute, but everyone else was ready. One of Sir Bloet's men was lighting the horn lanterns with a brand from the fire and handing them to the servants. She hastily tied the bell to Agnes's wrist and took the girls by the hand.\n\nLady Eliwys laid her hand on Sir Bloet's upheld one. Lady Imeyne signaled to Kivrin to follow with the little girls, and the others fell in behind them solemnly, as if it were a procession, Lady Imeyne with Sir Bloet's sister, and then the rest of Sir Bloet's entourage. Lady Eliwys and Sir Bloet led the way out into the courtyard, through the gate, and onto the green.\n\nIt had stopped snowing, and the stars had come out. The village lay silent under its covering of white. Frozen in time, Kivrin thought. The dilapidated buildings looked different, the staggering fences and filthy daubed huts softened and graced by the snow. The lanterns caught the crystalline facets of the snowflakes and made them sparkle, but it was the stars that took Kivrin's breath away, hundreds of stars, thousands of stars, and all of them sparkling like jewels in the icy air. \"It shines,\" Agnes said, and Kivrin didn't know whether she was talking about the snow or the sky.\n\nThe bell tolled evenly, calmly, its sound different again out in the frosty air\u2014not louder, but fuller and somehow clearer. Kivrin could hear all the other bells now and recognize them, Esthcote and Witenie and Chertelintone, even though they sounded different, too. She listened for the Swindone bell, which had rung all this time, but she couldn't hear it. She couldn't hear the Oxford bells either. She wondered if she had only imagined them.\n\n\"You are ringing your bell, Agnes,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"I am not,\" Agnes said. \"I am only walking.\"\n\n\"Look at the church,\" Kivrin said. \"Isn't it beautiful?\"\n\nIt flamed like a beacon at the other end of the green, lit from inside and out, the stained-glass windows throwing wavering ruby and sapphire lights on the snow. There were lights all around it, too, filling the churchyard all the way to the bell tower. Torches. She could smell their tarry smoke. More torches made their way in from the white fields, winding down from the hill behind the church.\n\nShe thought suddenly of Oxford on Christmas Eve, the shops lit for last-minute shopping and the windows of Brasenose shining yellow onto the quad. And the Christmas tree at Balliol lit with multicolored strings of laser lights.\n\n\"I would that we had come to you for Yule,\" Lady Imeyne said to Lady Yvolde. \"Then we had had a proper priest to say the masses. This place's priest can but barely say the Paternoster.\"\n\nThis place's priest just spent hours kneeling in an ice-cold church, Kivrin thought, hours kneeling in hose that have holes in the knees, and now this place's priest is ringing a heavy bell that has had to be tolled for an hour and will shortly go through an elaborate ceremony that he has had to memorize because he cannot read.\n\n\"It will be a poor sermon and a poor mass, I fear,\" Lady Imeyne said.\n\n\"Alas, there are many who do not love God in these days,\" Lady Yvolde said, \"but we must pray to God that He will set the world right and bring men again to virtue.\"\n\nKivrin doubted if that answer was what Lady Imeyne wanted to hear.\n\n\"I have sent to the Bishop of Bath to send us a chaplain,\" Imeyne said, \"but he has not yet come.\"\n\n\"My brother says there is much trouble in Bath,\" Yvolde said.\n\nThey were almost to the churchyard. Kivrin could make out faces now, lit by the smoky torches and by little oil cressets some of the women were carrying. Their faces, reddened and lit from below, looked faintly sinister. Mr. Dunworthy would think they were an angry mob, Kivrin thought, gathered to burn some poor martyr at the stake. It's the light, she thought. Everyone looks like a cutthroat by torchlight. No wonder they invented electricity.\n\nThey came into the churchyard. Kivrin recognized some of the people near the church doors: the boy with the scurvy who had run from her, two of the young girls who'd helped with the Christmas baking, Cob. The steward's wife was wearing a cloak with an ermine collar and carrying a metal lantern with four tiny panes of real glass. She was talking animatedly to the woman with the scrofula scars who had helped put up the holly. They were all talking and moving around to keep warm, and one man with a black beard was laughing so hard his torch swept dangerously close to the steward's wife's wimple.\n\nChurch officials had eventually had to do away with the midnight mass because of all the drinking and carousing, Kivrin remembered, and some of these parishioners definitely looked like they had spent the evening breaking fasts. The steward was talking animatedly to a rough-looking man Rosemund pointed out as Maisry's father. Both their faces were bright red from the cold or the torchlight or the liquor or all three, but they seemed gay rather than dangerous. The steward kept punctuating what he was saying with hard, thunking claps on Maisry's father's shoulder, and every time he did it the father laughed, a happy helpless giggle that made Kivrin think he was much brighter than she had supposed.\n\nThe steward's wife grabbed for her husband's sleeve, and he shook her off, but as soon as Lady Eliwys and Sir Bloet came through the lychgate, he and Maisry's father fell back promptly to make a clear path into the church. So did all the others, falling silent as the entourage passed through the churchyard and in the heavy doors, and then beginning to talk again, but more quietly, as they came into the church behind them.\n\nSir Bloet unbuckled his sword and handed it to a servant, and he and Lady Eliwys knelt and genuflected as soon as they were in the door. They walked almost to the rood screen together and knelt again.\n\nKivrin and the little girls followed. When Agnes crossed herself, her bell jangled hollowly in the church. I'll have to take it off of her, Kivrin thought, and wondered if she should step out of the procession now and take Agnes off to the side by Lady Imeyne's husband's tomb and undo it, but Lady Imeyne was waiting impatiently at the door with Sir Bloet's sister.\n\nShe led the girls to the front. Sir Bloet had already lumbered to his feet again. Eliwys stayed on her knees a little longer, and then stood, and Sir Bloet escorted her to the north side of the church, bowed slightly, and walked over to take his place on the men's side.\n\nKivrin knelt with the little girls, praying Agnes wouldn't make too much noise when she crossed herself again. She didn't, but when Agnes got to her feet she snagged her foot in the hem of her robe and caught herself with a clanging almost as loud as the bell still tolling outside. Lady Imeyne was, of course, right behind them. She glared at Kivrin.\n\nKivrin took the girls to stand beside Eliwys. Lady Imeyne knelt, but Lady Yvolde made only an obeisance. As soon as Imeyne rose, a servant hurried forward with a dark-velvet-covered priedieu and laid it on the floor next to Rosemund for Lady Yvolde to kneel on. Another servant had laid one in front of Sir Bloet on the men's side and was helping him get down on his knees on it. He puffed and clung to the servant's arm as he lowered his bulk, and his face got very red.\n\nKivrin looked at Lady Yvolde's prie-dieu longingly, thinking of the plastic kneeling pads that hung on the backs of the chairs in St. Mary's. She had never realized until now what a blessing they were, what a blessing the hard wooden chairs were either until they stood again and she thought about how they would have to remain standing through the whole service.\n\nThe floor was cold. The church was cold, in spite of all the lights. They were mostly cressets, set along the walls and in front of the holly-banked statue of St. Catherine, though there was a tall, thin, yellowish candle set in the greenery of each of the windows, but the effect was probably not what Father Roche had intended. The bright flames only made the colored panes of glass darker, almost black.\n\nMore of the yellowish candles were in the silver candelabra on either side of the altar, and holly was heaped in front of them and along the top of the rood screen, and Father Roche had set Lady Imeyne's beeswax candles in among the sharp, shiny leaves. He'd done a job of decorating the church that should please even Lady Imeyne, Kivrin thought, and glanced at her.\n\nShe was holding her reliquary between her folded hands, but her eyes were open, and she was staring at the top of the rood screen. Her mouth was tight with disapproval, and Kivrin supposed she hadn't wanted the candles there, but it was the perfect place for them. They illuminated the crucifix and the Last Judgment and lit nearly the whole nave.\n\nThey made the whole church seem different, homier, more familiar, like St. Mary's on Christmas Eve. Dunworthy had taken her to the ecumenical service last Christmas. She had planned to go to midnight mass at the Holy Re-Formed to hear it said in Latin, but there hadn't been a midnight mass. The priest had been asked to read the gospel for the ecumenical service, so he had moved the mass to four in the afternoon.\n\nAgnes was fiddling with her bell again. Lady Imeyne turned and glared at her across her piously folded hands, and Rosemund leaned across Kivrin and shhhed her.\n\n\"You mustn't ring your bell until the mass is over,\" Kivrin whispered, bending close to Agnes so no one else could hear her.\n\n\"I rang it not,\" Agnes whispered back in a voice that could be heard all over the church. \"The ribbon binds too tight. See you?\"\n\nKivrin couldn't see any such thing. In fact, if she had taken the time to tie it tighter, it wouldn't be ringing at every movement, but there was no way she was going to argue with an overtired child when the mass was going to begin any minute. She reached for the knot.\n\nAgnes must have been trying to pull the bell off over her wrist The already-fraying ribbon had tightened into a solid little knot. Kivrin picked at its edges with her fingernails, keeping an eye on the people behind her. The service would start with a procession, Father Roche and his acolytes, if he had any, would come down the aisle bearing the holy water and chanting the Asperges.\n\nKivrin pulled on the ribbon and both sides of the knot, tightening it beyond any hope of ever getting it off without cutting it, but getting a little more slack. It still wasn't enough to get the ribbon off. She glanced back at the church door. The bell had stopped, but there was still no sign of Father Roche and no aisle for him to come up either. The townsfolk had crowded in, filling the whole rear of the church. Someone had lifted a child up onto Imeyne's husband's tomb and was holding him there so he could see, but there wasn't anything to see yet.\n\nShe went back to working on the bell. She got two fingers under the ribbon and pulled up on it, trying to stretch it.\n\n\"Tear it not! \" Agnes said in that carrying stage whisper of hers. Kivrin took hold of the bell and hastily pulled it around so it lay in Agnes's palm.\n\n\"Hold it like this,\" she whispered, cupping Agnes's fingers over it. \"Tightly.\"\n\nAgnes obligingly clenched her little fist. Kivrin folded Agnes's other hand over the top of the fist in a so-so facsimile of a praying attitude and said softly, \"Hold tight to the bell, and it will not ring.\"\n\nAgnes promptly pressed her hands to her forehead in an attitude of angelic piety.\n\n\"Good girl,\" Kivrin said, and put her arm around her. She glanced back at the church doors. They were still closed. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to face the altar.\n\nFather Roche was standing there. He was dressed in an embroidered white stole and a yellowed white alb with a hem more frayed than Agnes's ribbon, and was holding a book. He had obviously been waiting for her, had obviously stood there watching her the whole time she tended to Agnes, but there was no reproof in his face or even impatience. His face held some other expression entirely, and she was reminded suddenly of Mr. Dunworthy, standing and watching her through the thin-glass partition.\n\nLady Imeyne cleared her throat, a sound that was almost a growl, and he seemed to come to himself. He handed the book to Cob, who was wearing a grimy cassock and a pair of too-large leather shoes, and knelt in front of the altar. Then he took the book back and began saying the lections.\n\nKivrin said them to herself along with him, thinking the Latin and hearing the echo of the interpreter's translation.\n\n\"'Whom saw ye, O Shepherds?' \" Father Roche recited in Latin, beginning the responsory. \"'Speak: tell us who hath appeared on the earth.'\"\n\nHe stopped, frowning at Kivrin.\n\nHe's forgotten it, she thought. She glanced anxiously at Imeyne, hoping she wouldn't realize there was more to come, but Imeyne had raised her head and was scowling at him, her jaw in the silk wimple clenched.\n\nRoche was still frowning at Kivrin. \"'Speak, what saw ye?' \" he said, and Kivrin gave a sigh of relief. \"'Tell us who hath appeared.'\"\n\nThat wasn't right. She mouthed the next line, willing him to understand it. \"'We saw the newborn Child.'\"\n\nHe gave no indication that he had seen what she said, though he was looking straight at her. \"I saw...\" he said, and stopped again.\n\n'\"We saw the newborn Child,'\" Kivrin whispered, and could feel Lady Imeyne turning to look at her.\n\n\"'And angels singing praise unto the Lord,'\" Roche said, and that wasn't right either, but Lady Imeyne turned back to the front to fasten her disapproving gaze on Roche.\n\nThe bishop would no doubt hear about this, and about the candles and the fraying hem, and who knew what other errors and infractions he had committed.\n\n\"'Speak, what saw ye?' \" Kivrin mouthed, and he seemed suddenly to come to himself.\n\n\"'Speak, what saw ye?' \" he said clearly. \"'And tell us of the birth of Christ. We saw the newborn Child and angels singing praise unto the Lord.'\"\n\nHe began the Conf\u00edteor Deo, and Kivrin whispered it along with him, but he got through it without any mistakes, and Kivrin began to relax a little, though she watched him closely as he moved to the altar for the Or\u00e1mus Te.\n\nHe was wearing a black cassock under the alb, and both of them looked like they had once been richly made. They were much too short for Roche. She could see a good ten centimeters of his worn brown hose below the cassock's hem when he bent over the altar. The alb and cassock had probably belonged to the priest before him, or were castoffs of Imeyne's chaplain.\n\nThe priest at Holy Re-Formed had worn a polyester alb over a brown jumper and jeans. He had assured Kivrin that the mass was completely authentic, in spite of its being held in midafternoon. The antiphon dated from the eighth century, he had told her, and the gruesomely detailed stations of the cross were exact copies of Turin's. But the church had been a converted stationer's shop, they had used a folding table for an altar, and the Carfax carillon outside had been busily destroying \"It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.\"\n\n\"Kyrie el\u00e9ison,\" Cob said, his hands folded in prayer.\n\n\"Kyrie el\u00e9ison,\" Father Roche said.\n\n\"Christe el\u00e9ison,\" Cob said.\n\n\"Christe el\u00e9ison,\" Agnes said brightly.\n\nKivrin hushed her, her finger to her lips. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.\n\nThey had used the Kyrie at the ecumenical service, probably because of some deal Holy Re-Formed's priest had struck with the vicar in return for moving the time of the mass, and the minister of the Church of the Millennium had refused to recite it and had looked coldly disapproving throughout. Like Lady Imeyne.\n\nFather Roche seemed all right now. He said the Gloria and the gradual without faltering and began the gospel. \" Inituim sancti Envangelii secundum Luke,\" he said, and began to read haltingly in Latin. \"'Now it came to pass in those days that a decree went forth from Caesar Augustus that a census of the whole world be taken.'\"\n\nThe vicar had read the same verses at St. Mary's. He had read it from the People's Common Bible, which had been insisted on by the Church of the Millennium, and it had begun, \"Around then the politicos dumped a tax hike on the ratepayers,\" but it was the same gospel Father Roche was laboriously reciting.\n\n\"'And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among men of goodwill.' \" Father Roche kissed the gospel. \" Per evang\u00e9lica dicta del\u00e9antur nostro delieta.\"\n\nThe sermon should come next, if there was one. In most village churches the priest only preached at the major masses, and even then it was usually no more than a catechism lesson, the listing of the seven deadly sins or the seven Acts of Mercy. The high mass Christmas morning was probably when the sermon would be.\n\nBut Father Roche stepped out in front of the central aisle, which had nearly closed up again as the villagers leaned against the pillars and each other, trying to find a more comfortable position, and began to speak.\n\n\"In the days when Christ came to earth from heaven, God sent signs that men might know his coming, and in the last days also will there be signs. There will be famines and pestilence, and Satan will ride abroad in the land.\"\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought, don't talk about seeing the Devil riding a black horse.\n\nShe glanced at Imeyne. The old woman looked furious, but it wouldn't matter what he'd said, Kivrin thought. She'd been determined to find mistakes and lapses she could tell the bishop about. Lady Yvolde looked mildly irritated, and everyone else had the look of tired patience people always got when listening to a sermon, no matter what the century. Kivrin had seen the same look in St. Mary's last Christmas.\n\nThe sermon at St. Mary's had been on rubbish disposal, and the dean of Christ Church had begun it by saying, \"Christianity began in a stable. Will it end in a sewer?\"\n\nBut it hadn't mattered. It had been midnight, and St. Mary's had had a stone floor and a real altar, and when she'd closed her eyes, she'd been able to shut out the carpeted nave and the umbrellas and the laser candles. She had pushed the plastic kneeling pad out of her way and knelt on the stone floor and imagined what it would be like in the Middle Ages.\n\nMr. Dunworthy had told her it wouldn't be like anything she had imagined, and he was right, of course. But not about this mass. She had imagined it just like this, the stone floor and the murmured Kyrie, the smells of incense and tallow and cold.\n\n\"The Lord will come with fire and pestilence, and all will perish,\" Roche said, \"but even in the last days, God's mercy will not forsake us. He will send us help and comfort and bring us safely unto heaven.\"\n\nSafely unto heaven. She thought of Mr. Dunworthy. \"Don't go,\" he had said. \"It won't be anything like you imagine.\" And he was right. He was always right.\n\nBut even he, with all his imagining of smallpox and cutthroats and witch burnings, would never have imagined this: that she was lost. That she didn't know where the drop was, and the rendezvous was less than a week away. She looked across the aisle at Gawyn, who was watching Eliwys. She had to talk to him after the mass.\n\nFather Roche moved to the altar to begin the mass proper. Agnes leaned against Kivrin, and Kivrin put her arm around her. Poor thing, she must be exhausted. Up since before dawn and all that wild running around. She wondered how long the mass would take.\n\nThe service at St. Mary's had taken an hour and a quarter, and halfway through the offertory Dr. Ahrens's bleeper had gone off. \"It's a baby,\" she'd whispered to Kivrin and Dunworthy as she'd hurried out, \"how appropriate.\"\n\nI wonder if they're in church now, she thought and then remembered it wasn't Christmas there. They had had Christmas three days after she arrived, while she was still ill. It would be, what? The second of January, Christmas vac nearly over and all the decorations taken down.\n\nIt was starting to get hot in the church, and the candles seemed to be taking all the air. She could hear shiftings and shufflings behind her as Father Roche went through the ritualized steps of the mass, and Agnes sank farther and farther against her. She was glad when they reached the Sanctus and she could kneel.\n\nShe tried to imagine Oxford on the second of January, the shops advertising New Year's sales and the Carfax carillon silent. Dr. Ahrens would be at the Infirmary dealing with post-holiday stomach upsets and Mr. Dunworthy would be getting ready for Hilary term. No, he's not, she thought, and saw him standing behind the thin-glass. He's worrying about me.\n\nFather Roche raised the chalice, knelt, kissed the altar. There was more shuffling, and a whispering on the men's side of the church. She looked across. Gawyn was sitting back on his heels, looking bored. Sir Bloet was asleep.\n\nSo was Agnes. She had collapsed so completely against Kivrin there would be no way she could stand for the Paternoster. She didn't even try. When everyone else stood for it, Kivrin took the opportunity to gather Agnes in more closely and shift her head to a better position. Kivrin's knee hurt. She must have knelt in the depression between two stones. She shifted it, raising it slightly and cramming a fold of her cloak under it.\n\nFather Roche put a piece of bread in the chalice and said the Haec Commixtio, and everyone knelt for the Agnus Dei. \"'Agnus dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis, ' \" he chanted. \"'Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.'\"\n\nAgnus dei. Lamb of God. Kivrin smiled down at Agnes. She was sound asleep, her body a dead weight against Kivrin's side and her mouth slackly open, but her fist was still clenched tightly over the little bell. My lamb, Kivrin thought.\n\nKneeling on St. Mary's stone floor she had envisioned the candles and the cold, but not Lady Imeyne, waiting for Roche to make a mistake in the mass, not Eliwys or Gawyn or Rosemund. Not Father Roche, with his cutthroat's face and worn-out hose.\n\nShe could never in a hundred years, in seven hundred and thirty-four years, have imagined Agnes, with her puppy and her naughty tantrums, and her infected knee. I'm glad I came, she thought. In spite of everything.\n\nFather Roche made the sign of the cross with the chalice and drank it. \" Dominus vobiscum,\" he said and there was a general commotion behind Kivrin. The main part of the show was over, and people were leaving now, to avoid the crush. Apparently there was no deference to the lord's family when it came to leaving. Or even in waiting till they were outside to begin talking. She could scarcely hear the dismissal.\n\n\"Ite, Missa est,\" Father Roche said over the din, and Lady Imeyne was in the aisle before he could even lower his raised hand, looking like she intended to leave for Bath and the bishop immediately.\n\n\"Saw you the tallow candles by the altar?\" she said to Lady Yvolde. \"I bade him use the beeswax candles that I gave him.\"\n\nLady Yvolde shook her head and looked darkly at Father Roche, and the two of them swept out with Rosemund right at their heels.\n\nRosemund obviously had no intention of walking back to the manor with Sir Bloet if she could help it, and this should do it. The villagers had closed in behind the three women, talking and laughing. By the time he huffed and puffed his way to his feet, they would be all the way to the manor.\n\nKivrin was having trouble getting up herself. Her foot had gone to sleep, and Agnes was dead to the world. \"Agnes,\" she said. \"Wake up. It's time to go home.\"\n\nSir Bloet had got to his feet, his face nearly purple with the effort, and had come across to offer Eliwys his arm. \"Your daughter has fallen asleep,\" he said.\n\n\"Aye,\" Eliwys said, glancing at Agnes.\n\nShe took his arm and they started out.\n\n\"Your husband has not come as he promised.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Kivrin heard Eliwys say. Her grip tightened on his arm.\n\nOutside, the bells began to ring all at once, and out of time, a wild, irregular chiming. It sounded wonderful. \"Agnes,\" Kivrin said, shaking her, \"it's time to ring your bell.\"\n\nShe didn't even stir. Kivrin tried to get the sleeping child onto her shoulder. Her arms flopped limply over Kivrin's shoulders, and the bell jangled.\n\n\"You waited all night to ring your bell,\" Kivrin said, getting to one knee. \"Wake up, lamb.\"\n\nShe looked around for someone to help her. There was scarcely anyone left in the church. Cob was making the rounds of the windows, pinching the candle flames out between his chapped fingers. Gawyn and Sir Bloet's nephews were at the back of the nave, buckling on their swords. Father Roche was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he was the one ringing the bell with such joyous enthusiasm.\n\nHer numb foot was beginning to tingle. She flexed it in the thin shoe and then put her weight on it. It felt terrible, but she could stand on it. She hoisted Agnes farther over her shoulder and tried to stand up. Her foot caught in the hem of her skirt, and she pitched forward.\n\nGawyn caught her. \"Good lady Katherine, my lady Eliwys bade me come to help you,\" he said, steadying her. He lifted Agnes easily out of her arms and onto his shoulder, and strode out of the church, Kivrin hobbling beside him.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Kivrin said when they were out of the jammed churchyard. \"My arms felt like they were going to fall off.\"\n\n\"She is a stout lass,\" he said.\n\nAgnes's bell slid off her wrist and fell onto the snow, clattering with the other bells as it fell. Kivrin stooped and picked it up. The knot was almost too small to be seen, and the short ends of ribbon beyond it were frayed into thin threads, but the moment she took hold of it, the knot came undone. She tied it on Agnes's dangling wrist with a little bow.\n\n\"I am glad to assist a lady in distress,\" Gawyn said, but she didn't hear him.\n\nThey were all alone on the green. The rest of the family was nearly to the manor gate. She could see the steward holding the lantern over Lady Imeyne and Lady Yvolde as they started into the passage. There were a lot of people still in the churchyard, and someone had built a bonfire next to the road, and people were standing around it, warming their hands and passing a wooden bowl of something, but here, halfway across the green, they were all alone. The opportunity she had thought would never come was here.\n\n\"I wanted to thank you for trying to find my attackers, and for rescuing me in the woods and bringing me here,\" she said. \"When you found me, how far from here was the place? Could you take me to it?\"\n\nHe stopped and looked at her. \"Did they not tell you?\" he said. \"All of your goods and gear that were found I brought to the manor. The thieves had taken your belongings, and though I rode after them, I fear I found naught.\" He started walking again.\n\n\"I know you brought my boxes here. Thank you. But that wasn't why I wanted to see the place you found me,\" Kivrin said rapidly, afraid they would catch up with the others before she finished asking him.\n\nLady Imeyne had stopped and was looking back their way. She had to get it asked before Imeyne sent the steward back to see what was keeping them.\n\n\"I lost my memory when I was injured in the attack,\" she said. \"I thought if I could see the place where you found me, I might remember something.\"\n\nHe had stopped again and was looking at the road above the church. There were lights there, bobbing unsteadily and coming rapidly nearer. Latecomers to church?\n\n\"You're the only one who knows where the place is,\" Kivrin said, \"or I wouldn't bother you, but if you could just tell me where it is, I could\u2014\"\n\n\"There is nothing there,\" he said vaguely, still looking at the lights. \"I brought your wagon and your boxes to the manor.\"\n\n\"I know \" Kivrin said, \"and I thank you, but\u2014\"\n\n\"They are in the barn,\" he said. He turned at the sound of horses. The bobbing lights were lanterns carried by men on horseback. They galloped past the church and through the village, at least a half dozen of them, and pulled up short where Lady Eliwys and the others were standing.\n\nIt's her husband, Kivrin thought, but before she could finish her thought, Gawyn had thrust Agnes into her arms and taken off toward them, pulling his sword as he ran.\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought, and began to run, too, clumsy under Agnes's weight. It wasn't her husband. It was the men who were after them, the reason they were hiding, the reason Eliwys had been so angry at Imeyne for telling Sir Bloet they were here.\n\nThe men with the torches had got down off their horses. Eliwys walked forward to one of the three men still on horseback and then fell to her knees as if she had been struck.\n\nNo, oh, no, Kivrin thought, out of breath. Agnes's bell jangled wildly as she ran.\n\nGawyn ran up to them, his sword flashing in the lantern light, and then he was on his knees, too. Eliwys stood up, and stepped forward to the men on horseback, her arm out in a gesture of welcome.\n\nKivrin stopped, out of breath. Sir Bloet came forward, knelt, stood up. The men on horseback flung back their hoods. They were wearing hats of some kind or crowns. Gawyn, still on his knees, sheathed his sword. One of the men on horseback raised his hand, and something glittered.\n\n\"What is it?\" Agnes said sleepily.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Kivrin said.\n\nAgnes twisted around in Kivrin's arms so she could see. \"It is the three kings,\" she said wonderingly.\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (064996\u2013065537):\n\n\u2002Christmas Eve 1320 (Old Style). An envoy from the bishop has arrived, along with two other churchmen. They rode in just after midnight mass. Lady Imeyne is delighted. She's convinced they've come in response to her message demanding a new chaplain, but I'm not convinced of that. They've come without any servants, and there's an air of nervousness about them, as if they were on some secret, hurried mission.\n\n\u2002It has to concern Lord Guillaume, though the Assizes are a secular court, not an ecclesiastical one. Perhaps the bishop is a friend of Lord Guillaume's or of King Edward II's, and they've come to strike some sort of deal with Eliwys for his freedom.\n\n\u2002Whatever their reason for being here, they're here in style. Agnes thought they were the three Magi when she first saw them, and they do look like royalty. The bishop's envoy has a thin, aristocratic face, and they are all dressed like kings. One of them has a purple velvet cloak with the design of a white cross sewn in silk on the back of it.\n\n\u2002Lady Imeyne immediately latched on to him with her sad story of how ignorant, clumsy, generally impossible Father Roche is. \"He deserves not a parish,\" she said. Unfortunately (and luckily for Father Roche) he was not the envoy, but only his clerk. The envoy was the one in the red, also very impressive, with gold embroidery and a sable hem.\n\n\u2002The third is a Cistercian monk\u2014at least he wears the white habit of one, though it's made of even finer wool than my cloak and has a silk cord for a sash, and he wears a ring fit for a king on each of his fat fingers, but he doesn't act like a monk. He and the envoy both demanded wine before they'd even dismounted, and it's obvious the clerk had already drunk a good deal before he got here. He slipped just now getting off his horse and had to be supported into the hall by the fat monk."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "\u2002I was apparently wrong about the reason for their coming here. Eliwys and Sir Bloet went off in a corner with the bishop's envoy as soon as they got in the house, but they only talked to him for a few minutes, and I just heard her tell Imeyne, \"They have heard naught of Guillaume.\"\n\n\u2002Imeyne didn't seem surprised or even particularly concerned at this news. It's clear she thinks they're here to bring her a new chaplain, and she is falling all over them, insisting that the Christmas feast be brought in immediately and that the bishop's envoy sit in the high seat. They seem more interested in drinking than in eating. Imeyne fetched them cups of wine herself, and they've already gone through them and called for more. The clerk caught hold of Maisry's skirt as she brought the pitcher, pulled her in hand over hand, and stuck his hand down her shift. She, of course, clapped her hands over her ears.\n\n\u2002The one good thing about them being here is that they add tremendously to the general confusion. I only had a moment to talk to Gawyn, but sometime in the next day or so I'll surely be able to speak to him without anyone noticing\u2014especially since Imeyne's attention is riveted on the envoy, who just grabbed the pitcher from Maisry and poured his wine himself\u2014and get him to show me where the drop is. There's plenty of time. I have nearly a week."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Two more people died on the twenty-eighth, both of them primaries who had been at the dance in Headington, and Latimer had a stroke.\n\n\"He developed myocarditis, which caused a thromboembolism,\" Mary had said when she phoned. \"At this point he's completely unresponsive.\"\n\nOver half of Dunworthy's detainees were down with the flu, and there was only room in Infirmary for the most severe cases. Dunworthy and Finch, and a detainee William had found who'd had a year of nurse's training, gave temps and dispensed orange juice round the clock. Dunworthy made up cots and gave medications.\n\nAnd worried. When he had told Mary about Badri's saying \"That can't be right,\" of his saying \"It was the rats,\" she had said, \"It's the fever, James. It has no connection with reality. I've one patient who keeps talking about the queen's elephants,\" but he could not get the idea of Kivrin's being in 1348 out of his mind.\n\n\"What year is it?\" Badri had said that first night, and \"That can't be right.\"\n\nDunworthy had telephoned Andrews after his argument with Gilchrist and told him he couldn't get access to Brasenose's net. \"It doesn't matter,\" Andrews had said. \"The locational coordinates aren't as critical as the temporals. I'll get an L-and-L on the dig from Jesus. I've already talked to them about doing the parameter checks, and they said it's all right.\"\n\nThe visuals had been off again, but he had sounded nervous, as if he was afraid Dunworthy would broach the subject again of his coming to Oxford. \"I've done some research on slippage,\" he said. \"There are no theoretical limits, but in practice, the minimal slippage is always greater than zero, even in uninhabited areas. Maximal slippage has never gone above five years, and those were all unmanneds. The greatest slippage on a manned drop was a seventeenth century remote\u2014two hundred and twenty-six days.\"\n\n\"Is there anything else it could be?\" Dunworthy had asked, \"Anything besides the slippage that could go wrong?\"\n\n\"If the coordinates are correct, nothing,\" Andrews had said and promised to report as soon as he'd done the parameter checks.\n\nFive years was 1325. The plague had not even begun in China then, and Badri had told Gilchrist there was minimal slippage. And it couldn't be the coordinates. Badri had checked them before he fell ill. But the fear continued to nag at him, and he spent the few free moments he could snatch telephoning techs, trying to find someone willing to come read the fix when the sequencing arrived and Gilchrist opened the laboratory again. It was supposed to have arrived yesterday, but when Mary phoned, she had still been waiting for it.\n\nShe phoned again in the late afternoon. \"Can you set up a ward?\" she asked. The visuals were back on. Her SPG's looked like she'd slept in them, and her mask dangled from her neck by one tie.\n\n\"I've already set up a ward,\" he said. \"It's full of detainees. We've got thirty-one cases as of this afternoon.\"\n\n\"Do you have space to set up another one? I don't need it yet,\" she said tiredly, \"but at this rate I will. We're nearly at capacity here, and several of the staff are either down with it or are refusing to come in.\"\n\n\"And the sequencing hasn't come yet?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. The WIC just phoned. They got a faulty result the first time through and had to run it again. It's supposed to be here tomorrow. Now they think it's a Uruguayan virus.\" She smiled wanly. \"Badri hasn't been in contact with anyone from Uruguay, has he? How soon can you have the beds ready?\"\n\n\"By this evening,\" Dunworthy said, but Finch informed him they were nearly out of folding cots, and he had to go to the NHS and argue them out of a dozen. They didn't get the ward set up, in two of the Fellows' teaching rooms, until morning.\n\nFinch, helping assemble the cots and make beds, announced that they were nearly out of clean linens, face masks, and lavatory paper. \"We haven't enough for the detainees,\" he said, tucking in a sheet, \"let alone all these patients. And we have no bandages at all.\"\n\n\"It's not a war,\" Dunworthy said. \"I doubt if there will be any wounded. Did you find out if any of the other colleges has a tech here in Oxford?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I telephoned all of them, but none of them did.\" He tucked a pillow beneath his chin. \"I've posted notices asking that everyone conserve lavatory paper, but it's done no good at all. The Americans are particularly wasteful.\" He tugged the pillow slip up over the pillow. \"I do feel rather sorry for them, though. Helen came down with it last night, you know, and they haven't any alternates.\"\n\n\"Helen?\"\n\n\"Ms. Piantini. The tenor. She has a fever of 39.7. The Americans won't be able to do their Chicago Surprise.\"\n\nWhich is probably a blessing, Dunworthy thought. \"Ask them if they'll continue to keep watch on my telephone, even though they're no longer practicing,\" he said. \"I'm expecting several important calls. Did Andrews ring back?\"\n\n\"No, sir, not yet. And the visual is off.\" He plumped the pillow. \"It is too bad about the peal. They can do Stedmans, of course, but that's old hat. It does seem a pity there's no alternative solution.\"\n\n\"Did you get the list of techs?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Finch said, struggling with a reluctant cot. He motioned with his head. \"It's there by the chalkboard.\"\n\nDunworthy picked up the sheets of paper and looked at the one on top. It was filled with columns of numbers, all of them with the digits one through six, in varying order.\n\n\"That's not it,\" Finch said, snatching the papers away. \"Those are the changes for the Chicago Surprise.\" He handed Dunworthy a single sheet. \"Here it is. I've listed the techs by college with addresses and telephone numbers.\"\n\nColin came in, wearing his wet jacket and carrying a roll of tape and a plastene-covered bundle. \"The vicar said I'm to put these up in all the wards,\" he said, taking out a placard that read \"Feeling Disoriented? Muddled? Mental Confusion Can Be a Warning Sign of the Flu.\"\n\nHe tore off a strip of tape and stuck the placard to the chalkboard. \"I was just posting these at the Infirmary, and what do you think the Gallstone was doing?\" he said, taking another placard out of the bundle. It read \"Wear Your Face Mask.\" He taped it to the wall above the cot Finch was making up. \"Reading the Bible to the patients.\" He pocketed the tape. \"I hope I don't catch it.\" He tucked the rest of the placards under his arm and started out.\n\n\"Wear your face mask,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nColin grinned. \"That's what the Gallstone said. And she said, the Lord would smite anyone who heeded not the words of the righteous.\" He pulled the gray plaid muffler out of his pocket. \"I wear this instead of a face mask,\" he said, tying it over his mouth and nose highwayman fashion.\n\n\"Cloth cannot keep out microscopic viruses,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I know. It's the color. It frightens them away.\" He darted out.\n\nDunworthy rang Mary to tell her the ward was ready but couldn't get through, so he went over to Infirmary. The rain had let up a little, and people, mostly wearing masks, were out again, coming back from the grocer's and queueing in front of the chemist's. But the streets seemed hushed, unnaturally silent.\n\nSomeone's turned the carillon off, Dunworthy thought. He almost regretted it.\n\nMary was in her office, staring at a screen. \"The sequencing's arrived,\" she said before he could tell her about the ward.\n\n\"Have you told Gilchrist?\" he said eagerly.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"It's not the Uruguay virus. Or the South Carolina.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"It's an H9N2. Both the South Carolina and the Uruguay were H3's.\"\n\n\"Then where did it come from?\"\n\n\"The WIC doesn't know. It's not a known virus. It's previously unsequenced.\" She handed him a printout. \"It has a seven point mutation, which explains why it's killing people.\"\n\nHe looked at the printout. It was covered with columns of numbers, like Finch's list of changes, and as unintelligible. \"It has to come from somewhere.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily. Approximately every ten years, there's a major antigenic shift with epidemic potential, so it may have originated with Badri.\" She took the printout back from him. \"Does he live around livestock, do you know?\"\n\n\"Livestock?\" he said. \"He lives in a flat in Headington.\"\n\n\"Mutant strains are sometimes produced by the intersection of an avian virus with a human strain. The WIC wants us to check possible avian contacts and exposure to radiation. Viral mutations have sometimes been caused by X rays.\" She studied the printout as though it made sense. \"It's an unusual mutation. There's no recombination of the hemagluttinin genes, only an extremely large point mutation.\"\n\nNo wonder she had not told Gilchrist. He had said he would open the laboratory when the sequencing arrived, but this news would only convince him he should keep it closed.\n\n\"Is there a cure?\"\n\n\"There will be as soon as an analogue can be manufactured. And a vaccine. They've already begun work on the prototype.\"\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"Three to five days to produce a prototype, then at least another five to manufacture, if they don't run into any difficulty with duplicating the proteins. We should be able to begin inoculating by the tenth.\"\n\nThe tenth. And that was when they could begin giving immunizations. How long would it take to immunize the quarantine area? A week? Two? Before Gilchrist and the idiot protesters considered it safe to open the laboratory?\n\n\"That's too long,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I know,\" Mary said, and sighed. \"God knows how many cases we'll have by then. There have been twenty new ones already this morning.\"\n\n\"Do you think it's a mutant strain?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\nShe thought about it. \"No. I think it's much more likely that Badri caught it from someone at that dance in Headington. There may have been New Hindus there, or Earthers, or someone else who doesn't believe in antivirals or modern medicine. The Canadian goose flu of 2010, if you'll remember, was traced back to a Christian Science commune. There's a source. We'll find it.\"\n\n\"And what about Kivrin in the meantime? What if you don't find the source by the rendezvous? Kivrin's supposed to come back on the sixth of January. Will you have it sourced by then?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said wearily. \"She may not want to come back to a century that's rapidly becoming a ten. She may want to stay in 1320.\"\n\nIf she's in 1320, he thought, and went up to see Badri. He had not mentioned rats since Christmas night. He was back to the afternoon at Balliol when he had come looking for Dunworthy. \"Laboratory?\" he murmured when he saw Dunworthy. He tried feebly to hand him a note, and then seemed to sink into sleep, exhausted by the effort.\n\nDunworthy stayed only a few minutes and then went to see Gilchrist.\n\nIt was raining hard again by the time he reached Brasenose. The gaggle of picketers were huddling underneath their banner, shivering.\n\nThe porter was standing at the lodge desk, taking the decorations off the little Christmas tree. He glanced up at Dunworthy and looked suddenly alarmed. Dunworthy walked past him and through the gate.\n\n\"You can't go in there, Mr. Dunworthy,\" the porter called after him. \"The college is restricted.\"\n\nDunworthy walked into the quad. Gilchrist's rooms were in the building behind the laboratory. He hurried toward them, expecting the porter to catch up to him and try to stop him.\n\nThe laboratory had a large yellow sign on it that read \"No Admittance Without Authorization,\" and an electronic alarm attached to the doorjamb.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy,\" Gilchrist said, striding toward him through the rain. The porter must have phoned him. \"The laboratory is off-limits.\"\n\n\"I came to see you,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nThe porter came up, trailing a tinsel garland. \"Shall I phone for the University police?\" he asked.\n\n\"That won't be necessary. Come up to my rooms,\" he said to Dunworthy. \"I have something I want you to see.\"\n\nHe led Dunworthy into his office, sat down at his cluttered desk, and put on an elaborate mask with some sort of filters.\n\n\"I've just spoken to the WIC,\" he said. His voice sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a great distance. \"The virus is a previously unsequenced virus whose source is unknown.\"\n\n\"It's been sequenced now,\" Dunworthy said, \"and the analogue and vaccine are due to arrive in a few days. Dr. Ahrens has arranged for Brasenose to be given immunization priority, and I'm attempting to locate a tech who can read the fix as soon as immunization has been completed.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that's impossible,\" Gilchrist said hollowly. \"I've been conducting research into the incidence of influenza in the 1300s. There are clear indications that a series of influenza epidemics in the first half of the fourteenth century severely weakened the populace, thereby lowering their resistance in the Black Death.\"\n\nHe picked up an ancient-looking book. \"I have found six separate references to outbreaks between October of 1318 and February of 1321.\" He held up a book and began to read. ' \"After the harvest there came upon all of Dorset a fever so fierce as to leave many dead. This fever began with an aching in the head and confusion in all the parts. The doctors bled them, but many died in despite.'\"\n\nA fever. In an age of fevers\u2014typhoid and cholera and measles, all of them producing \"aching of the head and confusion in all the parts.\"\n\n\"1319. The Bath Assizes for the previous year were canceled,\" Gilchrist said, holding up another book. \"'A malady of the chest that fell upon the court so that none, nor judge nor jury, were left to hear the cases,'\" Gilchrist said. He looked at Dunworthy over the mask. \"You stated that the public's fears over the net were hysterical and unfounded. It would seem, however, that they are based in solid historical fact.\"\n\nSolid historical fact. References to fevers and maladies of the chest that could be anything, blood poisoning or typhus or any of a hundred nameless infections. All of which was beside the point.\n\n\"The virus cannot have come through the net,\" he said. \"Drops have been made to the Pandemic, to World War I battles in which mustard gas was used, to Tel Aviv. Twentieth Century sent detection equipment to the site of St. Paul's two days after the pinpoint was dropped. Nothing comes through.\"\n\n\"So you say.\" He held up a printout. \"Probability indicates a .003 percent possibility of a microorganism being transmitted through the net and a 22.1 percent chance of a viable myxovirus being within the critical area when the net was opened.\"\n\n\"Where in God's name do you get these figures?\" Dunworthy said. \"Pull them out of a hat? According to Probability,\" he said, putting a nasty emphasis on the word, \"there was only a .04 percent chance of anyone's being present when Kivrin went through, a possibility you considered statistically insignificant.\"\n\n\"Viruses are exceptionally sturdy organisms,\" Gilchrist said. \"They have been known to lie dormant for long periods of time, exposed to extremes of temperature and humidity, and still be viable. Under certain conditions they form crystals which retain their structure indefinitely. When put back into solution they become infective again. Viable tobacco mosaic crystals have been found dating from the sixteenth century. There is clearly a significant risk of the virus's penetrating the net if opened, and under the circumstances I cannot possibly allow the net to be opened.\"\n\n\"The virus cannot have come through the net,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Then why are you so anxious to have the fix read?\"\n\n\"Because \u2014\" Dunworthy said, and stopped to get control of himself. \"Because reading the fix will tell us whether the drop went as planned or whether something went wrong.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll admit there's a possibility of error then?\" Gilchrist said. \"Then why not an error that would allow a virus through the net? As long as that possibility exists, the laboratory will remain locked. I'm certain Mr. Basingame will approve of the course of action I've taken.\"\n\nBasingame, Dunworthy thought, that's what this is all about. It has nothing to do with the virus or the protesters or \"maladies of the chest\" in 1318. This is all to justify himself to Basingame.\n\nGilchrist was Acting Head in Basingame's absence, and he had rushed through the reranking, rushed through a drop, intending no doubt to present Basingame with a brilliant fait accompli. But he hadn't got it. Instead, he'd got an epidemic and a lost historian and people picketing the college, and now all he cared about was vindicating his actions, saving himself even though it meant sacrificing Kivrin.\n\n\"What about Kivrin? Does Kivrin approve of your course of action?\" he said.\n\n\"Ms. Engle was fully aware of the risks when she volunteered to go to 1320,\" Gilchrist said.\n\n\"Was she aware you intended to abandon her?\"\n\n\"This conversation is over, Mr. Dunworthy.\" Gilchrist stood up. \"I will open the laboratory when the virus has been sourced, and it has been proven to my satisfaction that there is no chance it came through the net.\"\n\nHe showed Dunworthy to the door. The porter was waiting outside.\n\n\"I have no intention of allowing you to abandon Kivrin,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nGilchrist crimped his lips under the mask. \"And I have no intention of allowing you to endanger the health of this community.\" He turned to the porter. \"Escort Mr. Dunworthy to the gate. If he attempts to enter Brasenose again, telephone the police.\" He slammed the door.\n\nThe porter walked Dunworthy across the quad, watching him warily, as if he thought he might turn suddenly dangerous.\n\nI might, Dunworthy thought. \"I want to use your telephone,\" he said when they reached the gate. \"University business.\"\n\nThe porter looked nervous, but he set a telephone on the counter and watched while Dunworthy punched Balliol's number. When Finch answered, he said, \"We've got to locate Basingame. It's an emergency. Phone the Scottish Fishing License Bureau and compile a list of hotels and inns. And get me Polly Wilson's number.\"\n\nHe wrote down the number, rang off, and started to punch it in and then thought better of it and telephoned Mary.\n\n\"I want to help source the virus,\" he said.\n\n\"Gilchrist wouldn't open the net,\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"What can I do to help with the sourcing?\"\n\n\"What you were doing before with the primaries. Trace the contacts, look for the things I told you about, exposure to radiation, proximity to birds or livestock, religions that forbid antivirals. You'll need the contacts charts.\"\n\n\"I'll send Colin for them,\" he said.\n\n\"I'll have someone get them ready. You'd better check Badri's contacts back four to six days, as well, in case the virus did originate with him. The time of incubation from a reservoir can be longer than a person-to-person incubation period.\"\n\n\"I'll put William on it,\" he said. He pushed the phone back at the porter, who immediately came around the counter and walked him out to the pavement. Dunworthy was surprised he didn't follow him all the way to Balliol.\n\nAs soon as he got there, he phoned Polly Wilson. \"Is there some way you can get into the net's console without having access to the laboratory?\" he asked her. \"Can you go in directly through the University's computer?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said. \"The University's computer is moated. I might be able to rig a battering ram, or worm in from Balliol's console. I'll have to see what the safeties are. Do you have a tech to read it if I can get it set up?\"\n\n\"I'm getting one,\" he said. He rang off.\n\nColin came in, dripping wet, to get another roll of tape. \"Did you know the sequencing came, and the virus is a mutant?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"I want you to go to Infirmary and get the contacts charts from your great-aunt.\"\n\nColin set down his load of placards. The one on top read \"Do Not Have a Relapse.\"\n\n\"They're saying it's some sort of biological weapon,\" Colin said. \"They're saying it escaped from a laboratory.\"\n\nNot Gilchrist's, he thought bitterly. \"Do you know where William Gaddson is?\"\n\n\"No.\" Colin made a face. \"He's probably on the staircase kissing someone.\"\n\nHe was in the buttery, embracing one of the detainees. Dunworthy told him to find out Badri's whereabouts for Thursday through Sunday morning and to obtain a copy of Basingame's credit records for December, and went back to his rooms to telephone techs.\n\nOne of them was running a net for Nineteenth Century in Moscow, and two of them had gone skiing. The others weren't at home, or perhaps, alerted by Andrews, they weren't answering.\n\nColin brought the contacts charts. They were a disaster. No attempt had been made to correlate any of the information except possible American connections, and there were too many contacts. Half of the primaries had been at the dance in Headington, two thirds of them had gone Christmas shopping, all but two of them had ridden the tube. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.\n\nHe spent half the night checking religious affiliations and running cross-matches. Forty-two of them were Church of England, nine Holy Re-Formed, seventeen unaffiliated. Eight were students at Shrewsbury College, eleven had stood in line at Debenham's to see Father Christmas, nine had worked on Montoya's dig, thirty had shopped at Blackwell's.\n\nTwenty-one of them had cross-contacts with at least two secondaries, and Debenham's Father Christmas had had contact with thirty-two (all but eleven at a pub after his shift), but none of them could be traced to all the primaries except Badri.\n\nMary brought the overflow cases in the morning. She was wearing SPG's, but no mask. \"Are the beds ready?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes. We've got two wards of ten beds each.\"\n\n\"Good. I'll need all of them.\"\n\nThey helped the patients into the makeshift ward and into bed and left them in the care of William's nurse trainee. \"The stretcher cases will be over as soon as we have an ambulance free,\" Mary said, walking back across the quad with Dunworthy.\n\nThe rain had stopped completely, and the sky was lighter, as if it might clear.\n\n\"When will the analogue arrive?\" he asked.\n\n\"It'll be two days at the least,\" she said.\n\nThey reached the gate. She leaned against the stone passageway. \"When all this is over, I'm going to go through the net,\" she said. \"To some century where there aren't any epidemics, where there isn't any waiting or worrying or helpless standing by.\"\n\nShe pushed her hand back over her gray hair. \"Some century that isn't a ten.\" She smiled. \"Only there isn't one, is there?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"Did I ever tell you about the Valley of the Kings?\" she said.\n\n\"You said you saw it during the Pandemic.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Cairo was quarantined, so we had to fly out of Addis Ababa, and on the way down I bribed the taxi driver to take us to the Valley of the Kings so I could see Tutankhamen's tomb,\" she said. \"It was a foolhardy thing to do. The Pandemic had already reached Luxor, and we just missed being caught in the quarantine. We were shot at twice.\" She shook her head. \"We might have been killed. My sister refused to get out of the car, but I went down the stairs and up to the door of the tomb, and I thought, This is what it was like when Carter found it.\"\n\nShe looked at Dunworthy and through him, remembering it. \"When they found the door to the tomb, it was locked, and they were supposed to wait for the proper authorities to open it. Carter drilled a hole in the door, and held a candle up and looked through.\" Her voice was hushed. \"Carnarvon said, 'Can you see anything?' and Carter said, 'Yes. Wonderful things.'\"\n\nShe closed her eyes. \"I've never forgotten that, standing there at that closed door. I can see it clearly even now.\" She opened her eyes. \"Perhaps that's where I'll go when this is over. To the opening of King Tut's tomb.\"\n\nShe leaned out the gate. \"Oh, dear, it's started raining again. I must get back. I'll send the stretcher cases as soon as there's an ambulance.\" She looked sharply at him. \"Why aren't you wearing your mask?\"\n\n\"It causes my spectacles to steam up. Why aren't you wearing yours?\"\n\n\"We're running out of them. You've had your T-cell enhancement, haven't you?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I haven't had any time.\"\n\n\"Make time,\" she said. \"And wear your mask. You'll be of no help to Kivrin if you fall ill.\"\n\nI'm of no help to Kivrin now, he thought, walking back across to his rooms. I can't get into the laboratory, I can't get a tech to come to Oxford, I can't find Basingame. He tried to think who else he should contact. He'd checked every booking agent and fishing guide and boat rental in Scotland. There was no trace of the man. Perhaps Montoya was right, and he wasn't in Scotland at all, but off in the tropics somewhere with a woman.\n\nMontoya. He'd forgotten completely about her. He hadn't seen her since the Christmas Eve service. She'd been looking for Basingame then so he could sign the authorization for her to go out to the dig, and then she had rung up on Christmas Day to ask whether Basingame was trout or salmon. And rung back with the message, \"Never mind.\" Which might mean she had found out not only whether he was salmon or trout but the man himself.\n\nHe climbed the staircase to his rooms. If Montoya had located Basingame and got her authorization, she would have gone straight out to the dig. She would not have waited to tell anyone. He was not even certain she knew he was looking for Basingame, too.\n\nBasingame would surely have come back as soon as Montoya told him about the quarantine unless he had been stopped by bad weather or impassable roads. Or Montoya might not have told him about the quarantine. Obsessed as she was with the dig, she might merely have told him she needed his signature.\n\nMs. Taylor, her four healthy bell ringers, and Finch were in his rooms, standing in a circle and bending their knees. Finch was holding a paper in one hand and counting under his breath. \"I was just going over to the ward to assign nurses,\" he said sheepishly. \"Here's William's report.\" He handed it to Dunworthy and scurried out.\n\nMs. Taylor and her foursome gathered up their handbell cases. \"A Ms. Wilson called,\" Ms. Taylor said. \"She said to tell you a battering ram won't work, and you'll have to go in through Brasenose's console.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nShe went out, her four bell ringers in a line behind her.\n\nHe rang the dig. No answer. He rang Montoya's flat, her office at Brasenose, the dig again. There was no answer at any of them. He phoned her flat again and let it ring while he looked at William's report. Badri had spent all day Saturday and Sunday morning working at the dig. William must have been in contact with Montoya to find that out.\n\nHe wondered suddenly about the dig itself. It was out in the country from Witney, on a National Trust farm. Perhaps it had ducks, or chickens, or pigs, or all three. And Badri had spent an entire day and a half working there, digging in the mud, a perfect chance to come in contact with a reservoir.\n\nColin came in, soaked to the skin. \"They ran out of placards,\" he said, rummaging through his duffel. \"London's sending some more tomorrow.\" He unearthed his gobstopper and popped it, lint and all, into his mouth. \"Do you know who's standing on your staircase?\" he asked. He flung himself onto the window seat and opened his Middle Ages book. \"William and some girl. Kissing and talking all lovey-dovey. I could scarcely get past.\"\n\nDunworthy opened the door. William disengaged himself reluctantly from a small brunette in a Burberry and came in.\n\n\"Do you know where Ms. Montoya is?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"No. The NHS said she's out at the dig, but she's not answering the phone. She's probably out in the churchyard or somewhere on the farm and can't hear it. I thought of using a screamer, but then I remembered this girl who's reading archaeohistory and...\" He nodded toward the small brunette. \"She told me she saw the assignment sheets out at the dig, and Badri was signed up for Saturday and Sunday.\"\n\n\"A screamer? What's that?\"\n\n\"You hook it to the line and it magnifies the ring on the other end. If the person's out in the garden or in the shower or something.\"\n\n\"Can you put one on this phone?\"\n\n\"They're a bit too complicated for me. I know a student who might be able to rig it, though. I've got her number in my rooms.\" He left, holding hands with the brunette.\n\n\"You know, if Ms. Montoya is at the dig, I could get you through the perimeter,\" Colin said. He took his gobstopper out and examined it. \"It'd be easy. There are lots of places that aren't watched. The guards don't like to stand out in the rain.\"\n\n\"I have no intention of breaking quarantine,\" Dunworthy said. \"We are trying to stop this epidemic, not spread it.\"\n\n\"That's how the plague was spread during the Black Death,\" Colin said, taking the gobstopper out and examining it. It was a sickly yellow. \"They kept trying to run away from it, but they just took it along with them.\"\n\nWilliam stuck his head in the door. \"She says it'd take two days to set it up, but she's got one on her phone if you want to use that.\"\n\nColin grabbed for his jacket. \"Can I go?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"And get out of those wet clothes. I don't want you catching the flu.\" He went down the stairs with William.\n\n\"She's an undergratudate at Shrewsbury,\" William said, heading off through the rain.\n\nColin caught up with them halfway across the quad. \"I can't catch it. I had my enhancement,\" he said. \"They didn't have quarantines during the Black Death, so it went everywhere.\" He pulled his muffler out of his jacket pocket. \"Botley Road's a good place to sneak through the perimeter. There's a pub on the corner by the blockade, and the guard nips in now and again for something to keep warm.\"\n\n\"Fasten your jacket,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nThe girl turned out to be Polly Wilson. She told Dunworthy she had been working on an optical traitor that could break into the console, but hadn't managed it yet. Dunworthy phoned the dig, but there was no answer.\n\n\"Let it ring,\" Polly said. \"She may have a long trek to get to it. The screamer's got a range of half a kilometer.\"\n\nHe let it ring for ten minutes, put the receiver down, waited five minutes, tried again and let it ring a quarter of an hour before admitting defeat. Polly was looking longingly at William, and Colin was shivering in his wet jacket. Dunworthy took him home and put him to bed.\n\n\"Or I could sneak through the perimeter and tell her to phone you,\" Colin said, putting his gobstopper back in the duffel. \"If you're worried about being too old to go. I'm very good at getting through perimeters.\"\n\nDunworthy waited till William returned the next morning and then went back to Shrewsbury and tried again, but to no avail. \"I'll set it to ring at half-hour intervals,\" Polly said, walking him to the gate. \"You wouldn't know if William has any other girlfriends, would you?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nThe sound of bells clanged out suddenly from the direction of Christ Church, pealing loudly through the rain. \"Has someone switched that horrid carillon on again?\" Polly asked, leaning out to listen.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"It's the Americans.\" He cocked his head in the direction of the sound, trying to determine whether Ms. Taylor had settled for Stedmans, but he could hear six bells, the ancient bells of Osney: Douce and Gabriel and Marie, one after the other, Clement and Hautclerc and Taylor. \"And Finch.\"\n\nThey sounded remarkably good, not at all like the digital carillon, not at all like \"O Christ Who Interfaces with the World.\" They rang out clearly and brightly, and Dunworthy could almost see the bell ringers in their circle in the belfry, bending their knees and raising their arms, Finch referring to his list of numbers.\n\n\"Every man must stick to his bell without interruption,\" Ms. Taylor had said. He had had nothing but interruptions, but he felt oddly cheered nonetheless. Ms. Taylor had not been able to get her bell ringers to Norwich for Christmas Eve, but she had stuck to her bells, and they rang out deafeningly, deliriously overhead, like a celebration, a victory. Like Christmas morning. He would find Montoya. And Basingame. Or a tech who wasn't afraid of the quarantine. He would find Kivrin.\n\nThe telephone was ringing when he got back to Balliol. He galloped up the stairs, hoping it was Polly. It was Montoya.\n\n\"Dunworthy?\" she said. \"Hi. It's Lupe Montoya. What's going on?\"\n\n\"Where are you?\" he demanded.\n\n\"At the dig,\" she said, but that was already apparent. She was standing in front of the ruined nave of the church in the half-excavated mediaeval churchyard. He could see why she had been so anxious to get back to her dig. There was as much as a foot of water in places. She had draped a motley assortment of tarps and plastene sheets over the excavation, but rain was dripping in at a dozen places, and where the sagging coverings met, spilling down the edges in veritable waterfalls. Everything, the gravestones, the battery lights she had clipped to the tarps, the shovels stacked against the wall, was covered in mud.\n\nMontoya was covered in mud, too. She was wearing her terrorist jacket and thigh-high fisherman's waders like Basingame, wherever he was, might be wearing, and they were wet and filthy. The hand she was holding the telephone with was caked with dried mud.\n\n\"I've been ringing you for days,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I can't hear the phone over the pump.\" She gestured toward something outside the picture, presumably the pump, though he couldn't hear anything save for the thump of rain on the tarps. \"It's just broken a belt, and I don't have another one. I heard the bells. Do they mean the quarantine's over?\"\n\n\"Hardly,\" he said. \"We're in the midst of a full-scale epidemic. Seven hundred and eighty cases and sixteen deaths. Haven't you seen the papers?\"\n\n\"I haven't seen anything or anybody since I got here. I've spent the last six days trying to keep this damned dig above water, but I can't do it all by myself. And without a pump.\" She pushed her heavy black hair back from her face with a dirty hand. \"What were they ringing the bells for then, if the quarantine's not over?\"\n\n\"A peal of Chicago Surprise Minor.\"\n\nShe looked irritated. \"If the quarantine's as bad as all that, why aren't they doing something useful?\"\n\nThey are, he thought. They made you telephone.\n\n\"I could certainly put them to work out here.\" She pushed her hair back again. She looked nearly as tired as Mary. \"I was really hoping the quarantine had been lifted, so I could get some people out here to help. How long do you think it will be?\"\n\nToo long, he thought, watching the rain cascade in between the tarps. You'll never get the help you need in time.\n\n\"I need some information about Basingame and Badri Chaudhuri,\" he said. \"We're attempting to source the virus and we need to know who Badri had contact with. Badri worked at the dig on the eighteenth and the morning of the nineteenth. Who else was there when he was?\"\n\n\"I was.\"\n\n\"Who else?\"\n\n\"No one. I've had a terrible time getting help all December. Every one of my archaeohistory students took off the day vac started. I've had to scrounge volunteers wherever I could.\"\n\n\"You're certain you were the only two there?\"\n\n\"Yes. I remember because we opened the knight's tomb on Saturday and we had so much trouble lifting the lid. Gillian Ledbetter was signed up to work Saturday, but she called at the last minute and said she had a date.\"\n\nWith William, Dunworthy thought. \"Was anyone there with Badri Sunday?\"\n\n\"He was only here in the morning, and there was no one here then. He had to leave to go to London. Look, I've got to go. If I'm not going to get any help soon, I've got to get back to work.\" She started to take the receiver away from her ear.\n\n\"Wait!\" Dunworthy shouted. \"Don't hang up.\"\n\nShe put the receiver back to her ear, looking impatient.\n\n\"I need to ask you some more questions. It's very important. The sooner we source this virus, the sooner the quarantine will be lifted and you can get assistance at the dig.\"\n\nShe looked unconvinced, but she punched up a code, laid the receiver in its cradle, and said, \"You don't mind if I work while we talk?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, relieved. \"Please do.\"\n\nShe moved abruptly out-of-picture, returned, and punched up something else. \"Sorry. It won't reach,\" she said, and the screen went fuzzy while she, presumably, moved the phone to her new worksite. When the picture reappeared, Montoya was crouched in a mudhole by a stone tomb. Dunworthy supposed it was the one whose lid she and Badri had nearly dropped.\n\nThe lid, which bore the effigy of a knight in full armor, his arms crossed over his mailed chest so that his hands in their heavy cuirasses lay on his shoulders and his sword at his feet, stood propped at a precarious angle against the side, obscuring the elaborate carved letters. \"Requiesc\u2014\" was all he could see. Requiescat in pace. \"Rest in peace,\" a blessing the knight had obviously not been granted. His sleeping face under the carved helmet looked disapproving.\n\nMontoya had draped a thin sheet of plastene over the open top. It was beaded with water. Dunworthy wondered if the other side of the tomb bore a morbid carving of the horror that lay within, like the ones in Colin's illustration, and if it were as ghastly as the reality. Water spilled steadily into the head of the tomb, dragging the plastic down.\n\nMontoya straightened, bringing up with her a flat box filled with mud. \"Well?\" she said, laying it across the corner of the tomb. \"You said you had some more questions?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"You said there wasn't anyone else at the dig when Badri was there.\"\n\n\"There wasn't,\" she said, wiping sweat off her forehead. \"Whew, it's muggy in here.\" She took off her terrorist jacket and draped it over the tomb lid.\n\n\"What about locals? People not connected with the dig?\"\n\n\"If there'd been anyone here, I'd have recruited them.\" She began sorting through the mud in the box, unearthing several brown stones. \"The lid weighed a ton, and we'd no sooner gotten it off than it started raining. I would've recruited anybody who happened by, but the dig's too far out for anyone to happen by.\"\n\n\"What about the National Trust staff?\"\n\nShe held the stones under the water to clean them. \"They're only here during the summer.\"\n\nHe had hoped someone at the dig would turn out to be the source, that Badri had come in contact with a local, a National Trust staffer, or a wandering duck hunter. But myxoviruses didn't have carriers. The mysterious local would have had to have the disease himself, and Mary had been in touch with every hospital and doctor's surgery in England. There hadn't been any cases outside the perimeter.\n\nMontoya held the stones up one by one to the battery light clipped to one of the supporting posts, turning them in the light, looking at their still-muddy edges.\n\n\"What about birds?\"\n\n\"Birds?\" she said, and he realized it must sound as though he were suggesting she recruit passing sparrows to help raise the lid of the tomb.\n\n\"The virus may have been spread by birds. Ducks, geese, chickens,\" he said, even though he wasn't certain chickens were reservoirs. \"Are there any at the dig?\"\n\n\"Chickens?\" she said, holding one of the stones half-raised to the light.\n\n\"Viruses are sometimes caused by the intersection of animal and human viruses,\" he explained. \"Fowl are the most common reservoirs, but fish are sometimes responsible. Or pigs. Are there any pigs there at the dig?\"\n\nShe was still looking at him as though she thought he was daft.\n\n\"The dig's on a National Trust farm, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, but the actual farm's three kilometers away. We're in the middle of a barley field. There aren't any pigs around, or birds, or fish.\" She went back to examining the stones.\n\nNo birds. No pigs. No locals. The source of the virus wasn't here at the dig either. Possibly it wasn't anywhere, and Badri's influenza had mutated spontaneously, as Mary had said happened occasionally, appearing out of thin air and descending on Oxford the way the plague had descended on the unwitting residents of this churchyard.\n\nMontoya was holding the stones up to the light again, chipping with her fingernails at an occasional clot of mud and then rubbing at the surface, and he realized suddenly that what she was examining were bones. Vertebrae, perhaps, or the knight's toes. Recquiescat in pace.\n\nShe found the one she had apparently been looking for, an uneven bone the size of a walnut, with a curved side. She dumped the rest back into the tray, rummaged in the pocket of her shirt for a short-handled toothbrush, and began scrubbing at the concave edges, frowning.\n\nGilchrist would never accept spontaneous mutation as a source. He was too in love with the theory that some fourteenth-century virus had come through the net. And too in love with his authority as Acting Head of the History Faculty to give in, even if Dunworthy had found ducks swimming in the churchyard puddles.\n\n\"I need to get in touch with Mr. Basingame,\" he said. \"Where is he?\"\n\n\"Basingame?\" she said, still frowning at the bone. \"I don't have any idea.\"\n\n\"But\u2014I thought you'd found him. When you phoned Christmas Day you said you had to find him to authorize your NHS dispensation.\"\n\n\"I know. I spent two full days calling every trout and salmon guide in Scotland before I decided I couldn't wait any longer. If you ask me, he's nowhere near Scotland.\" She pulled a pocketknife out of her jeans and began scraping at the rough edge of the bone. \"Speaking of the NHS, would you do something for me? I keep calling their number but it's always busy. Would you run over there and tell them I've got to have some more help? Tell them the dig's of irreplaceable historical value, and it's going to be irretrievably lost if they don't send me at least five people. And a pump.\" The knife snagged. She frowned and chipped some more.\n\n\"How did you get Basingame's authorization if you didn't know where he was? I thought you'd said the form required his signature.\"\n\n\"It did,\" she said. An edge of bone flew suddenly off and landed on the plastene shroud. She examined the bone and dropped it back in the box, no longer frowning. \"I forged it.\"\n\nShe crouched by the tomb again, digging for more bones. She looked as absorbed as Colin examining his gobstopper. He wondered if she even remembered that Kivrin was in the past, or if she had forgotten her as she seemed to have forgotten the epidemic.\n\nHe rang off, wondering if Montoya would even notice, and walked back to Infirmary to tell Mary what he had found out and to begin questioning the secondaries again, looking for the source. It was raining very hard, spilling off the downspouts and washing away things of irreplaceable historical value.\n\nThe bell ringers and Finch were still at it, ringing the changes one after another in their determined order, bending their knees and looking like Montoya, sticking to their bells. The sound pealed out loudly, leadenly, through the rain, like an alarum, like a cry for help."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (066440\u2013066879)\n\n\u2002Christmas Eve 1320 (Old Style). I don't have as much time as I thought. When I came in from the kitchen just now, Rosemund told me Lady Imeyne wanted me. Imeyne was deep in earnest conversation with the bishop's envoy, and I supposed from her expression that she was cataloging Father Roche's sins, but as Rosemund and I came up, she pointed to me and said, \"This is the woman I spake of.\"\n\nWoman, not maid, and her tone was critical, almost accusing. I wondered if she'd told the bishop her theory that I was a French spy.\n\n\"She says she remembers naught,\" Lady Imeyne said, \"yet she can speak and read.\" She turned to Rosemund. \"Where is your brooch?\"\n\n\"It is on my cloak,\" Rosemund said. \"I laid it in the loft.\"\n\n\"Go and fetch it.\"\n\nRosemund went, reluctantly. As soon as she was gone Imeyne said, \"Sir Bloet brought a loveknot brooch to my granddaughter with words on it in the Roman tongue.\" She looked at me triumphantly. \"She told their meaning, and at the church this night she spoke the words of the mass ere the priest had said them.\"\n\n\"Who taught you your letters?\" the bishop's envoy asked, his voice blurred from the wine.\n\nI thought of saying Sir Bloet had told me what the words meant, but I was afraid he'd already denied it. \"I know not,\" I said. \"I have no memory of my life since I was waylaid in the woods, for I was struck upon the head.\"\n\n\"When first she woke she spoke in a tongue none could understand,\" Imeyne said, as if that were further proof, but I had no idea what she was trying to convict me of or how the bishop's envoy was involved.\n\n\"Holy Father, go you to Oxenford when you leave us?\" she asked him.\n\n\"Aye,\" he said, sounding wary. \"We can stay but a few days here.\"\n\n\"I would have you take her with you to the good sisters at Godstow.\"\n\n\"We go not to Godstow,\" he said, which was clearly an excuse. The nunnery wasn't even five miles from Oxford. \"But I will inquire of the bishop for news of the woman on my return and send word to you.\"\n\n\"I wot she is a nun for that she speaks in Latin and knows the passages of the mass,\" Imeyne said. \"I would have you take her to their convent that they may ask among the nunneries who she may be.\"\n\nThe bishop's envoy looked even more nervous, but he agreed. So I have till whenever they leave. A few days, the bishop's envoy said, and with luck that means they won't leave till after the Slaughter of the Innocents. But I plan to put Agnes to bed and talk to Gawyn as soon as possible."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Kivrin didn't get Agnes to bed till nearly dawn. The arrival of the \"three kings,\" as she continued to call them, had woken her completely, and she refused to even consider lying down for fear she might miss something, even though she was obviously exhausted.\n\nShe tagged after Kivrin as she tried to help Eliwys bring in the food for the feast, whining that she was hungry, and then, when the tables were finally set and the feast begun, refused to eat anything.\n\nKivrin had no time to argue with her. There was course after course to be brought across the courtyard from the kitchen, trenchers of venison and roast pork and an enormous pie Kivrin half expected blackbirds to fly out of when the crust was cut. According to the priest at Holy Re-Formed, fasting was observed between the midnight mass and the high mass Christmas morning, but everyone, including the bishop's envoy, ate heartily of the roast pheasant and goose and stewed rabbit in saffron gravy. And drank. The \"three kings\" called constantly for more wine.\n\nThey had already had more than enough. The monk was leering at Maisry, and the clerk, drunk when he arrived, was nearly under the table. The bishop's envoy was drinking more than either of them, beckoning constantly to Rosemund to bring him the wassail bowl, his gestures growing broader and less clear with every drink.\n\nGood, Kivrin thought. Perhaps he'll get so drunk he'll forget he promised Lady Imeyne he'd take me to the nunnery at Godstow. She took the bowl around to Gawyn, hoping to have an opportunity to ask him where the drop was, but he was laughing with some of Sir Bloet's men, and they called to her for ale and more meat. By the time she got back to Agnes, the little girl was sound asleep, her head nearly in her manchet. Kivrin picked her up carefully and carried her upstairs to Rosemund's bower.\n\nAbove them, the door opened. \"Lady Katherine,\" Eliwys said, her arms full of bedding. \"I am grateful you are here. I have need of your help.\"\n\nAgnes stirred.\n\n\"Bring the linen sheets from the loft,\" Eliwys said. \"The churchmen will sleep in this bed, and Sir Bloet's sister and her women in the loft.\"\n\n\"Where am I to sleep?\" Agnes asked, wriggling out of Kivrin's arms.\n\n\"We will sleep in the barn,\" Eliwys said. \"But you must wait till we have made up the beds, Agnes. Go and play.\"\n\nAgnes didn't have to be encouraged. She hopped off down the stairs, waving her arm to make her bell ring.\n\nEliwys handed Kivrin the bedding. \"Take these to the loft and bring the miniver coverlid from my husband's carven chest.\"\n\n\"How many days do you think the bishop's envoy and his men will stay?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"I know not,\" Eliwys said, looking worried. \"I pray not more than a fortnight or we shall not have meat enough. See you do not forget the good bolsters.\"\n\nA fortnight was more than enough, well past the rendezvous, and they certainly didn't look like they were going anywhere. When Kivrin climbed down from the loft with the sheets, the bishop's envoy was asleep in the high seat, snoring loudly, and the clerk had his feet on the table. The monk had one of Sir Bloet's waiting women backed into a corner and was playing with her kerchief. Gawyn was nowhere to be seen.\n\nKivrin took the sheets and coverlid to Eliwys, then offered to take bedding out to the barn. \"Agnes is very tired,\" she said. \"I would put her to bed soon.\"\n\nEliwys nodded absently, pounding at one of the heavy bolsters, and Kivrin ran downstairs and out into the courtyard. Gawyn was not in the stable nor the brewhouse. She lingered near the privy until two of the redheaded young men emerged, looking at her curiously, and then went on to the barn. Perhaps Gawyn had gone off with Maisry again, or joined the villagers' celebration on the green. She could hear the sound of laughter as she spread straw on the bare wooden floor of the loft.\n\nShe laid the furs and quilts on the straw and went down and out through the passageway to see if she could see him. The contemps had built a bonfire in front of the churchyard and were standing around it, warming their hands and drinking out of large horns. She could see the reddened faces of Maisry's father and the reeve in the firelight, but not Gawyn's.\n\nHe was not in the courtyard either. Rosemund was standing by the gate, wrapped in her cloak.\n\n\"What are you doing out here in the cold?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"I am awaiting my father,\" Rosemund said. \"Gawyn told me he expects him before day.\"\n\n\"Have you seen Gawyn?\"\n\n\"Aye. He is in the stable.\"\n\nKivrin looked anxiously toward the stable. \"It's too cold to wait out here. You must go in the house, and I'll tell Gawyn to tell you when your father comes.\"\n\n\"Nay, I will wait here,\" Rosemund said. \"He promised he would come to us for Christmas.\" Her voice quavered a little.\n\nKivrin held her lantern up. Rosemund wasn't crying, but her cheeks were red. Kivrin wondered what Sir Bloet had done now that had Rosemund hiding from him. Or perhaps it was the monk who had frightened her, or the drunken clerk.\n\nKivrin took her arm. \"You can wait as well in the kitchen, and it is warm there,\" she said.\n\nRosemund nodded. \"My father promised he would come without fail.\"\n\nAnd do what? Kivrin wondered. Throw out the churchmen? Call off Rosemund's engagement to Sir Bloet? \"My father would never allow me to come to harm,\" she had told Kivrin, but he was scarcely in a position to cancel the betrothal when the marriage settlement had already been signed, to alienate Sir Bloet, who had \"many powerful friends.\"\n\nKivrin took Rosemund into the kitchen and told Maisry to heat a cup of wine for her. \"I'll go tell Gawyn to come get you as soon as your father comes,\" she said, and went across to the stable, but Gawyn wasn't there, or in the brewhouse.\n\nShe went into the house, wondering if Imeyne had sent him on yet another of her errands. But Imeyne was sitting beside the obviously unwillingly wakened envoy, talking determinedly to him, and Gawyn was by the fire, surrounded by Sir Bloet's men, including the two who had come out of the privy. Sir Bloet sat on the near side of the hearth with his sister-in-law and Eliwys.\n\nKivrin sank down on the beggar's bench by the screens. There was no way to even get near him, let alone ask him about the drop.\n\n\"Give him to me!\" Agnes wailed. She and the rest of the children were over by the stairs to the bower, and the little boys were passing Blackie among them, petting him and playing with his ears. Agnes must have gone out to the stable to fetch the puppy while Kivrin was out in the barn.\n\n\"He's my hound!\" Agnes said, grabbing for Blackie. The little boy wrenched the puppy away. \"Give him to me!\"\n\nKivrin stood up.\n\n\"As I was riding through the woods, I came upon a maiden,\" Gawyn said loudly. \"She had been set upon by thieves and was sore wounded, her head cut open and bleeding grievously.\"\n\nKivrin hesitated, glancing toward Agnes, who was pounding on the little boy's arm, and then sat down again.\n\n'\"Fair maid,' I said. 'Who has done this fell thing?' \" Gawyn said, \"but she could not speak for her injuries.\"\n\nAgnes had the puppy back and was clutching it to her. Kivrin should go rescue the poor thing, but she stayed where she was, moving a little so she could see past the sister-in-law's coif. Tell them where you found me, she willed Gawyn. Tell them where in the woods.\n\n\"'I am your liegeman and will find these evil knaves,' I said, 'but I fear to leave you in such sad plight,'\" he said, looking toward Eliwys, \"but she had recovered herself and she begged me to go and find those who had harmed her.\"\n\nEliwys stood up and walked to the door. She stood there for a moment, looking anxious, and then came and sat back down.\n\n\"No!\" Agnes shrieked. One of Sir Bloet's redheaded nephews had Blackie now and was holding him above his head in one hand. If Kivrin didn't rescue it soon, they'd squeeze the poor dog to death, and there was no point in listening to any more of the Rescue of the Maiden in the Wood, which was obviously intended not to tell what had happened but to impress Eliwys. She walked over to the children.\n\n\"The robbers had not been long gone,\" Gawyn said, \"and I found their trail with ease and followed it, spurring my steed after them.\"\n\nSir Bloet's nephew was dangling Blackie by his front legs, and the puppy was whimpering pathetically.\n\n\"Kivrin!\" Agnes cried, catching sight of her, and flung herself at Kivrin's legs. Sir Bloet's nephew immediately handed Kivrin the puppy and backed away, and the rest of the children scattered.\n\n\"You rescued Blackie!\" Agnes said, reaching for him.\n\nKivrin shook her head. \"It is time to go to bed,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not tired!\" Agnes said in a whine that was scarcely convincing. She rubbed her eyes.\n\n\"Blackie is tired,\" Kivrin said, squatting down beside Agnes, \"and he won't go to bed unless you will lie down with him.\"\n\nThat argument seemed to interest her, and before she could find a flaw in it, Kivrin handed Blackie back to her, placing him in her arms like a baby, and scooped them both up. \"Blackie would have you tell him a story,\" Kivrin said, starting for the door.\n\n\"Soon I found myself in a place that I knew not,\" Gawyn said, \"a dark forest.\"\n\nKivrin carried her charges outside and across the courtyard. \"Blackie likes stories about cats,\" Agnes said, rocking the puppy gently in her arms.\n\n\"You must tell him a story about a cat then,\" Kivrin said. She took the puppy while Agnes climbed up the ladder to the loft. He was already asleep, worn out from all the handling. Kivrin laid him in the straw next to the pallet.\n\n\"A wicked cat,\" Agnes said, grabbing him up again. \"I am not going to sleep. I am only lying down with Blackie, so I need not take off my clothes.\"\n\n\"No, you need not,\" Kivrin said, covering Agnes and Blackie with a heavy fur. It was too cold in the barn for undressing.\n\n\"Blackie would fain wear my bell,\" she said, trying to put the ribbon over his head.\n\n\"No, he wouldn't,\" Kivrin said. She confiscated the bell and spread another fur over them. Kivrin crawled in next to the little girl. Agnes pushed her small body against Kivrin.\n\n\"Once there was a wicked cat,\" Agnes said, yawning. \"Her father told her not to go into the forest, but she heeded him not.\" She fought valiantly against falling asleep, rubbing her eyes and making up adventures for the wicked cat, but the darkness and the warmth of the heavy fur finally overcame her.\n\nKivrin continued to lie there, waiting till Agnes's breathing became light and steady, and then gently extricated Blackie from Agnes's grip and laid him in the straw.\n\nAgnes frowned in her sleep and reached for him, and Kivrin wrapped her arms around her. She should get up and go look for Gawyn. The rendezvous was in less than a week.\n\nAgnes stirred and snuggled closer, her hair against Kivrin's cheek.\n\nAnd how will I leave you? Kivrin thought. And Rosemund? And Father Roche? And fell asleep.\n\nWhen she woke, it was nearly light and Rosemund had crawled in beside Agnes. Kivrin left them sleeping, and crept down from the loft and across the gray courtyard, afraid she had missed the bell for mass, but Gawyn was still holding forth by the fire, and the bishop's envoy was still sitting in the high seat, listening to Lady Imeyne.\n\nThe monk was sitting in the corner with his arm around Maisry, but the clerk was nowhere to be seen. He must have passed out and been put to bed.\n\nThe children must also have been put to bed, and some of the women had apparently gone up to the loft to rest. Kivrin didn't see Sir Bloet's sister or the sister-in-law from Dorset.\n\n\"'Halt, knave!' I cried,\" Gawyn said. \"'For I would fight you in fair combat.' \" Kivrin wondered if this was still the Rescue or one of Sir Lancelot's adventures. It was impossible to tell, and if the purpose of it was to impress Eliwys, it was to no avail. She wasn't in the hall. What was left of Gawyn's audience didn't seem impressed either. Two of them were playing a desultory game of dice on the bench between them, and Sir Bloet was asleep, his chin on his massive chest.\n\nKivrin obviously hadn't missed any opportunities to speak to Gawyn by falling asleep, and from the look of things there wouldn't be any for some time. She might as well have stayed in the loft with Agnes. She was going to have to make an opportunity\u2014waylay Gawyn on his way to the privy or catch up to him on the way to mass and whisper, \"Meet me afterward in the stable.\"\n\nThe churchmen didn't look like they'd leave unless the wine gave out, but it was risky to cut it too close. The men might take a notion to go hunting tomorrow, or the weather might change, and whether the bishop's envoy and his flunkies left or not it was still only five days to the rendezvous. No, four. It was already Christmas.\n\n\"He aimed a savage blow,\" Gawyn said, standing up to illustrate, \"and had it driven down as earnestly as he feinted, my head would have been cloven in twain.\"\n\n\"Lady Katherine,\" Imeyne said. She had stood up and was beckoning to Kivrin. The bishop's envoy was looking interestedly at her, and her heart began to pound, wondering what mischief they had cooked up between them now, but before Kivrin could cross the hall, Imeyne left him and came across to her, carrying a linen-wrapped bundle.\n\n\"I would have you carry these to Father Roche for the mass,\" she said, folding the linen back so Kivrin could see the wax candles inside. \"Bid him put these on the altar and say to him to pinch not the flames from the candles, for it breaks the wick. Bid him prepare the church that the bishop's envoy may say the Christmas mass. I would have the church look like a place of the Lord, not a pig's sty. And bid him put on a clean robe.\"\n\nSo you get your proper mass after all, Kivrin thought, hurrying across the courtyard and along the passageway. And you've got rid of me. All you need now is to get rid of Roche, persuade the bishop's envoy to demote him or take him to Bicester Abbey.\n\nThere was no one on the green. The dying bonfire flickered palely in the gray light, and the snow that had melted around it was refreezing in icy puddles. The villagers must have gone to bed, and she wondered if Father Roche had, too, but there was no smoke from his house and no answer to her knock on the door. She went along the path and in the side door of the church. It was still dark inside, and colder than it had been at midnight.\n\n\"Father Roche,\" Kivrin called softly, groping her way to the statue of St. Catherine.\n\nHe didn't answer, but she could hear the murmur of his voice. He was behind the rood screen, kneeling in front of the altar.\n\n\"Guide those who have traveled far this night safely home and protect them from danger and illness along the way,\" he said, and his soft voice reminded her of the night in the sickroom when she had been so ill, steady and comforting through the flames. And of Mr. Dunworthy. She didn't call to him again, but stayed where she was, leaning against the icy statue and listening to his voice in the darkness.\n\n\"Sir Bloet and his family came from Courcy to the mass, and all their servants,\" he said, \"and Theodulf Freeman from Henefelde. The snow stopped yestereve, and the skies showed clear for the night of Christ's holy birth,\" he went on in that matter-of-fact voice that sounded just like she did, praying into the corder. The attendance tally for the mass and the weather report.\n\nLight was beginning to come in through the windows now, and she could see him through the filigreed rood screen, his robe threadbare and dirty around the hem, his face coarse and cruel-looking in comparison to the aristocratic envoy, the thin-faced clerk.\n\n\"This blessed night as the mass ended a messenger from the bishop came and with him two priests, all three of great learning and goodness,\" Roche prayed.\n\nDon't be fooled by the gold and fancy clothes, Kivrin thought. You're worth ten of them. \"The bishop's envoy will say the Christmas mass,\" Imeyne had said and didn't seem to be troubled at all by the fact that he hadn't fasted or bothered to come to the church to prepare for the mass himself. You're worth fifty of them, Kivrin thought. A hundred.\n\n\"There is word from Oxenford of illness. Tord the Cottar fares better, though I bade him not come so far to the mass. Uctreda was too weak to come to the mass. I took her soup, but she ate it not. Walthef fell vomiting after the dancing from too much ale. Gytha burned her hand upon the bonfire in plucking a brand from it. I shall not fear, though the last days come, the days of wrath and the final judgment, for You have sent much help.\"\n\nMuch help. He wouldn't have any help if she stood here listening much longer. The sun was up now and in the rose and gold light from the windows she could see the drippings down the sides of the candlesticks, the tarnish on their bases, a big blot of wax on the altar cloth. The day of wrath and the final judgment would be the right words for what would happen if the church looked like this when Imeyne marched in to mass.\n\n\"Father Roche,\" she said.\n\nRoche turned immediately and then tried to stand up, his legs obviously stiff with the cold. He looked startled, even frightened, and Kivrin said quickly, \"It's Katherine,\" and moved forward into the light of one of the windows so he could see her.\n\nHe crossed himself, still looking frightened, and she wondered if he had been half dozing at his prayers and was still not awake.\n\n\"Lady Imeyne sent me with candles,\" she said, coming around the rood screen to him. \"She bade me tell you to set them in the silver candlesticks on either side of the altar. She bade me tell you\u2014\" She stopped, ashamed to be delivering Imeyne's edicts. \"I have come to help you prepare the church for mass. What would you have me do? Shall I polish the candlesticks?\" She held out the candles to him.\n\nHe didn't take the candles or say anything, and she frowned, wondering if in her eagerness to protect him from Imeyne's wrath she had broken some rule. Women were not allowed to touch the elements or the vessels of the mass. Perhaps they weren't allowed to handle the candlesticks either.\n\n\"Am I not allowed to help?\" she asked. \"Should I not have come into the chancel?\"\n\nRoche seemed suddenly to come to himself. \"There is nowhere God's servants may not go,\" he said. He took the candles from her and laid them on the altar. \"But such a one as you should not do such humble work.\"\n\n\"It is God's work,\" she said briskly. She took the half-burned candles out of the heavy branched candlestick. Wax had dripped down the sides. \"We'll need some sand,\" she said, \"and a knife to scrape the wax off.\"\n\nHe went to get them immediately, and while he was gone, she hastily took the candles down from the rood screen and replaced them with tallow ones.\n\nHe came in with the sand, a fistful of filthy rags, and a poor excuse for a knife. But it cut through wax, and Kivrin started in on the altar cloth, scraping at the spot of wax, worried that they might not have much time. The bishop's envoy hadn't looked in any hurry to heave himself out of the high seat and prepare for the mass, but who knew how long he could hold out against Imeyne.\n\nI don't have any time either, she thought, starting on the candlesticks. She had told herself there was plenty of time, but she had spent the entire night actively pursuing Gawyn and hadn't even got close to him. And tomorrow he might decide to go hunting or Rescuing Fair Maidens, or the bishop's envoy and his flunkies might drink up all the wine and set off in search of more, dragging her with them.\n\n\"There is nowhere God's servants may not go,\" Roche had said. Except to the drop, she thought. Except home.\n\nShe scrubbed viciously with the wet sand at some wax imbedded in the rim of the candlestick, and a piece flew off and hit the candle Roche was scraping. \"I'm sorry,\" she said, \"Lady Imeyne\u2014\" and then stopped.\n\nThere was no point in telling him she was being sent away. If he tried to intercede for her with Lady Imeyne it would only make it worse, and she didn't want him shipped off to Osney for trying to help her.\n\nHe was waiting for her to finish her sentence. \"Lady Imeyne bade me tell you the bishop's envoy will say the Christmas mass,\" she said.\n\n\"It will be a blessing to hear such holiness on the birthday of Christ Jesus,\" he said, setting down the polished chalice.\n\nThe birthday of Christ Jesus. She tried to envision St. Mary the Virgin's as it would look this morning, the music and the warmth, the laser candles glittering in the stainless-steel candlesticks, but it was like something she had only imagined, dim and unreal.\n\nShe stood the candlesticks on either side of the altar. They shone dully in the multicolored light of the windows. She set three of Imeyne's candles in them and moved the left one a little closer to the altar so they were even.\n\nThere was nothing she could do about Roche's robe, which Imeyne knew full well was the only one he had. He had got wet sand on his sleeve, and she wiped it off with her hand.\n\n\"I must go wake Agnes and Rosemund for the mass,\" she said, brushing at the front of his robe, and then went on almost without meaning to, \"Lady Imeyne has asked the bishop's envoy to take me with them to the nunnery at Godstow.\"\n\n\"God has sent you to this place to help us,\" he said. \"He will not let you be taken from it.\"\n\nI wish I could believe you, Kivrin thought, going back across the green. There was still no sign of life, though smoke was coming from a couple of the roofs, and the cow had been turned out. It was nibbling the grass near the bonfire where the snow had melted. Perhaps they're all asleep, and I can wake Gawyn and ask him where the drop is, she thought, and saw Rosemund and Agnes coming toward her. They looked considerably the worse for wear. Rosemund's leaf-green velvet dress was covered with wisps of straw and hay dust, and Agnes had it in her hair. She broke free of Rosemund as soon as she saw Kivrin and ran up to her.\n\n\"You're supposed to be asleep,\" Kivrin said, brushing straw from her red kirtle.\n\n\"Some men came,\" Agnes said. \"They wakened us.\"\n\nKivrin looked inquiringly at Rosemund. \"Has your father come?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" she said. \"I know not who they are. I think they must be servants of the bishop's envoy.\"\n\nThey were. There were four of them, monks, though not of the class of the Cistercian monk, and two laden donkeys, and they had obviously only now caught up with their master. They unloaded two large chests while Kivrin and the girls watched, several wadmal bags, and an enormous wine cask.\n\n\"They must be planning to stay a long while,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said. God has sent you to this place. He will not let you be taken from it. \"Come,\" she said cheerfully. \"I will comb your hair.\"\n\nShe took Agnes inside and cleaned her up. The short nap hadn't improved Agnes's disposition, and she refused to stand still while Kivrin combed her hair. It took her till mass to get all the straw and most of the tangles out, and Agnes continued to whine the whole way to the church.\n\nThere had apparently been vestments as well as wine in the envoy's luggage. The bishop's envoy wore a black velvet chasuble over his dazzlingly white vestments, and the monk was resplendent in yards of samite and gilt embroidery. The clerk was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Father Roche, probably exiled because of his dirty robe. Kivrin looked toward the back of the church, hoping he'd been allowed to witness all this holiness, but she couldn't see him among the villagers.\n\nThey looked somewhat the worse for wear, too, and some of them were obviously badly hungover. As was the bishop's envoy. He rattled through the words of the mass tonelessly and in an accent Kivrin could scarcely understand. It bore no resemblance to Father Roche's Latin. Nor to what Latimer and the priest at Holy Re-Formed had taught her. The vowels were all wrong and the \"c\" in excelsis was almost a \"z.\" She thought of Latimer drilling her on the long vowels, of Holy Re-Formed's priest insisting on \"c as in eggshell,\" on \"the true Latin.\"\n\nAnd it was the true Latin, she thought. \"I will not leave you,\" he had said. He had said, \"Be not afraid.\" And I understood him.\n\nAs the mass progressed, the envoy chanted faster and faster, as if he were anxious to be done with it. Lady Imeyne didn't seem to notice. She looked smugly serene in the knowledge of doing good and nodded approvingly at the sermon, which seemed to be about forsaking worldly things.\n\nAs they were filing out, though, she stopped at the door of the church and looked toward the bell tower, her lips pursed in disapproval. Now what? Kivrin thought. A mote of dust on the bell?\n\n\"Saw you how the church looked, Lady Yvolde?\" Imeyne said angrily to Sir Bloet's sister over the sound of the bell. \"He had set no candles in the chancel windows, but only cressets as a peasant uses.\" She stopped. \"I must stay behind to speak to him of this. He has disgraced our house before the bishop.\"\n\nShe marched off toward the bell tower, her face set with righteous anger. And if he had set candles in the windows, Kivrin thought, they would have been the wrong kind or in the wrong place. Or he would have blown them out incorrectly. She wished there were some way to warn him, but Imeyne was already halfway to the tower, and Agnes was tugging insistently on Kivrin's hand.\n\n\"I'm tired,\" she said. \"I would go to bed.\"\n\nKivrin took Agnes to the barn, dodging among the villagers who were starting in on a second round of merrymaking. Fresh wood had been thrown on the bonfire, and several of the young women had joined hands and were dancing around it. Agnes lay down willingly in the loft, but she was up again before Kivrin made it into the house, trotting across the courtyard after her.\n\n\"Agnes,\" Kivrin said sternly, her hands on her hips. \"What are you doing up? You said you were tired.\"\n\n\"Blackie is ill.\"\n\n\"Ill?\" Kivrin said. \"What's wrong with him?\"\n\n\"He is ill,\" Agnes repeated. She took hold of Kivrin's hand and led her back to the bam and up to the loft. Blackie lay in the straw, a lifeless bundle. \"Will you make him a poultice?\"\n\nKivrin picked the puppy up and laid him back down gingerly. He was already stiff. \"Oh, Agnes, I'm afraid he's dead.\"\n\nAgnes squatted down and looked at him interestedly. \"Grandmother's chaplain died,\" she said. \"Had Blackie a fever?\"\n\nBlackie had too much handling, Kivrin thought. He had been passed from hand to hand, squeezed, trodden on, half choked. Killed with kindness. And on Christmas, though Agnes didn't seem particularly upset.\n\n\"Will there be a funeral?\" she asked, putting out a tentative finger to Blackie's ear.\n\nNo, Kivrin thought. There hadn't been any shoe-box burials in the Middle Ages. The contemps had disposed of dead animals by tossing them into the underbrush, by dumping them in a stream. \"We will bury him in the woods,\" she said, though she had no idea how they would manage that with the ground frozen. \"Under a tree.\"\n\nFor the first time, Agnes looked unhappy. \"Father Roche must bury Blackie in the churchyard,\" she said.\n\nFather Roche would do nearly anything for Agnes, but Kivrin couldn't imagine him agreeing to Christian burial for an animal. The idea of pets being creatures with souls hadn't become popular until the nineteenth century, and even the Victorians hadn't demanded Christian burial for their dogs and cats.\n\n\"I will say the prayers for the dead,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Father Roche must bury him in the churchyard,\" Agnes said, her face puckering. \"And then he must ring the bell.\"\n\n\"We cannot bury him until after Christmas,\" Kivrin said hastily. \"After Christmas I will ask Father Roche what to do.\"\n\nShe wondered what she should do with the body for now. She couldn't leave him lying there where the girls slept. \"Come, we will take Blackie below,\" she said. She picked up the puppy, trying not to grimace, and took him down the ladder.\n\nShe looked around for a box or a bag to put Blackie in, but she couldn't find anything. She finally laid him in a corner behind a scythe and had Agnes bring handfuls of straw to cover him with.\n\nAgnes flung the straw on him. \"If Father Roche does not ring the bell for Blackie, he will not go to heaven,\" she said, and burst into tears.\n\nIt took Kivrin half an hour to calm her down again. She rocked her in her arms, wiping her streaked face and saying \"Shh, shh.\"\n\nShe could hear noise from the courtyard. She wondered if the Christmas merrymaking had moved into the courtyard. Or if the men were going hunting. She could hear the whinny of horses.\n\n\"Let's go see what's happening in the courtyard,\" she said. \"Perhaps your father is here.\"\n\nAgnes sat up, wiping her nose. \"I would tell him of Blackie,\" she said, and got off Kivrin's lap.\n\nThey went outside. The courtyard was full of people and horses. \"What are they doing?\" Agnes asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Kivrin said, but it was all too clear what they were doing. Cob was leading the envoy's white stallion out of the stable, and the servants were carrying out the bags and boxes they had carried in early this morning. Lady Eliwys stood at the door, looking anxiously into the courtyard.\n\n\"Are they leaving?\" Agnes asked.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. No. They can't be leaving. I don't know where the drop is.\n\nThe monk came out, dressed in his white habit and his cloak. Cob went back into the stable and came out again, leading the mare Kivrin had ridden when they went to find the holly, and carrying a saddle.\n\n\"They are leaving,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"I know,\" Kivrin said. \"I can see that they are.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "Kivrin grabbed Agnes's hand and started back to the safety of the barn. She must hide until they were gone. \"Where are we going?\" Agnes asked.\n\nKivrin darted around two of Sir Bloet's servants carrying a chest. \"To the loft.\"\n\nAgnes stopped cold. \"I do not wish to lie down!\" she wailed. \"I am not tired!\"\n\n\"Lady Katherine!\" someone called from across the courtyard.\n\nKivrin scooped Agnes up and started rapidly for the barn. \"I am not tired!\" Agnes shrieked. \"I am nor!\"\n\nRosemund ran up beside her. \"Lady Katherine! Did you not hear me? Mother wants you. The bishop's envoy is leaving.\" She took hold of Kivrin's arm and turned her back toward the house.\n\nEliwys was still standing in the door, watching them now, and the bishop's envoy had come out and was standing beside her in his red cloak. Kivrin couldn't see Imeyne anywhere. She was probably inside, packing Kivrin's clothes.\n\n\"The bishop's envoy has urgent business at the priory at Bernecestre,\" Rosemund said, leading Kivrin to the house, \"and Sir Bloet goes with them.\" She smiled happily at Kivrin. \"Sir Bloet says he will accompany them to Courcy that they may lie there tonight and arrive in Bernescestre tomorrow.\"\n\nBernecestre. Bicester. At least it wasn't Godstow. But Godstow was along the way. \"What business?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" Rosemund said, as if it were unimportant, and Kivrin supposed for her it was. Sir Bloet was leaving, and that was all that mattered. Rosemund plunged happily through the mel\u00e9e of servants and baggage and horses toward her mother.\n\nThe bishop's envoy was speaking to one of his servants, and Eliwys was watching him, frowning. Neither of them would see her if she turned and walked rapidly back behind the open doors of the stable, but Rosemund still had hold of her sleeve and was pulling her forward.\n\n\"Rosemund, I must go back to the barn. I have left my cloak\u2014\" she began.\n\n\"Mother!\" Agnes cried and ran toward Eliwys and nearly into one of the horses. It whinnied and tossed its head, and a servant dived for its bridle.\n\n\"Agnes!\" Rosemund shouted and let go of Kivrin's sleeve, but it was too late. Eliwys and the bishop's envoy had already seen them and started over to them.\n\n\"You must not run among the horses,\" Eliwys said, catching Agnes against her.\n\n\"My hound is dead,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"That is no reason to run,\" Eliwys said, and Kivrin knew she hadn't even heard her. Eliwys turned back to the bishop's envoy.\n\n\"Tell your husband we are grateful for the loan of your horses, that ours may be rested for the journey to Bernecestre,\" he said, and he sounded distracted, too. \"I will send them from Courcy with a servant.\"\n\n\"Would you see my hound?\" Agnes said, tugging on her mother's skirt.\n\n\"Hush,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"My clerk does not ride with us this afternoon,\" he said. \"I fear he made too merry yestereve and feels now the pains of too much drink. I beg you indulgence, good lady, that he may stay and follow when he is recovered.\"\n\n\"Of course he may stay,\" Eliwys said. \"Is there aught we can do to help him? My husband's mother\u2014\"\n\n\"Nay. Leave him be. There is naught can help an aching head save sleep. He will be well by evening,\" he said, looking like he had made too merry himself. He seemed nervous, inattentive, as if he had a splitting headache, and his aristocratic face was gray in the bright morning light. He shivered and pulled his cloak around him.\n\nHe hadn't so much as glanced at Kivrin, and she wondered if he had forgotten his promise to Lady Imeyne in his haste. She looked anxiously toward the gate, hoping Imeyne was still chastising Roche and wouldn't suddenly appear to remind him of it.\n\n\"I regret that my husband is not here,\" Eliwys said, \"and that we could not give you better welcome. My husband\u2014\"\n\n\"I must see to my servants,\" he interrupted. He held out his hand and Eliwys dropped to one knee and kissed his ring. Before she could rise, he had stridden off toward the stable. Eliwys looked after him worriedly.\n\n\"Do you wish to see him?\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Not now,\" Eliwys said. \"Rosemund, you must make your farewells to Sir Bloet and Lady Yvolde.\"\n\n\"He is cold,\" Agnes said.\n\nEliwys turned to Kivrin. \"Lady Katherine, know you where Lady Imeyne is?\"\n\n\"She stayed behind in the church,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"Perhaps she is still at her prayers,\" Eliwys said. She stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowded courtyard. \" Where is Maisry?\"\n\nHiding, Kivrin thought, which is what I should be doing.\n\n\"Would you have me seek for her?\" Rosemund asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said. \"You must bid Sir Bloet farewell. Lady Katherine, go and fetch Lady Imeyne from the church that she may bid the bishop's envoy good-bye. Rosemund, why do you still stand there? You must bid your betrothed farewell.\"\n\n\"I will find Lady Imeyne,\" Kivrin said, thinking, I'll go out through the passage, and if she's still in the church, I'll duck behind the huts and go into the woods.\n\nShe turned to go. Two of Sir Bloet's servants were struggling with a heavy chest. They set it down with a thunk in front of her, and it tipped over onto its side. She backed up and started around them, trying to keep from walking behind the horses.\n\n\"Wait!\" Rosemund said, catching up with her. She caught hold of her sleeve. \"You must come with me to bid Sir Bloet farewell.\"\n\n\"Rosemund\u2014\" Kivrin said, looking toward the passage. Any second Lady Imeyne would come through there, clutching her Book of Hours.\n\n\"Please,\" Rosemund said. She looked pale and frightened.\n\n\"Rosemund\u2014\"\n\n\"It will but take a moment and then you can fetch Grandmother.\" She pulled Kivrin over to the stable. \"Come. Now, while his sister-in-law is with him.\"\n\nSir Bloet was standing watching his horse being saddled and talking to the lady with the amazing coif. It was no less enormous this morning, but had obviously been put on hastily. It listed sharply to one side.\n\n\"What is this urgent business of the bishop's envoy?\" she was saying.\n\nHe shook his head, frowning, and then smiled at Rosemund and stepped forward. She stepped back, holding tightly to Kivrin's arm.\n\nHis sister-in-law bobbed her wimple at Rosemund and went on, \"Has he had news from Bath?\"\n\n\"There has been no messenger last night or this morning,\" he said.\n\n\"If there has been no message, why spoke he not of this urgent business when first he came?\" the sister-in-law said.\n\n\"I know not,\" he said impatiently. \"Hold. I must bid my betrothed farewell.\" He reached for Rosemund's hand, and Kivrin could see the effort it took her not to pull it back.\n\n\"Farewell, Sir Bloet,\" she said stiffly.\n\n\"Is that how you would part from your husband?\" he asked. \"Will you not give him a farewell kiss?\"\n\nRosemund stepped forward and kissed him rapidly on the cheek, then stepped immediately back and out of his reach. \"I thank you for your gift of the brooch,\" she said.\n\nBloet dropped his gaze from her white face to the neck of her cloak. \"'You are here in place of the friend I love,'\" he said, fingering it.\n\nAgnes ran up, shouting, \"Sir Bloet! Sir Bloet!\" and he caught her and swung her up into his arms.\n\n\"I have come to bid you good-bye,\" she said. \"My hound died.\"\n\n\"I will bring you a hound for a wedding gift,\" he said, \"if you will give me a kiss.\"\n\nAgnes flung her arms around his neck and planted a noisy kiss on each red cheek.\n\n\"You are not so chary of your kisses as your sister,\" he said, looking at Rosemund. He set Agnes down. \"Or will you give your husband two kisses as well?\"\n\nRosemund didn't say anything.\n\nHe stepped forward and fingered the brooch. \"'Io suiicien lui dami amo,'\" he said. He put his hands on her shoulders. \"You must think of me whenever you wear my brooch.\" He leaned forward and kissed her throat.\n\nRosemund didn't flinch away from him, but the color drained out of her face.\n\nHe released her. \"I will come for you at Eastertide,\" he said, and it sounded like a threat.\n\n\"Will you bring me a black hound?\" Agnes said.\n\nLady Yvolde came up to them, demanding \"What have your servants done with my traveling cloak?\"\n\n\"I will fetch it,\" Rosemund said and darted off toward the house with Kivrin still in tow.\n\nAs soon as they were safely away from Sir Bloet, Kivrin said, \"I must find Lady Imeyne. Look, they are nearly ready to leave.\"\n\nIt was true. The jumble of servants and boxes and horses had resolved itself into a procession, and Cob had opened the gate. The horses the three kings had ridden in on the night before were loaded with their chests and bags, their reins tied together. Sir Bloet's sister-in-law and her daughters were already mounted, and the bishop's envoy was standing beside Eliwys's mare, tightening the cinch on the saddle.\n\nOnly a few more minutes, Kivrin thought, let her stay in the church a few more minutes, and they'll be gone.\n\n\"Your mother bade me find Lady Imeyne,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"You must come with me into the hall first,\" Rosemund said. Her hand on Kivrin's arm was still trembling.\n\n\"Rosemund, there isn't any time\u2014\"\n\n\"Please,\" she said. \"What if he comes into the hall and finds me?\"\n\nKivrin thought of Sir Bloet kissing her on the throat. \"I will come with you,\" she said, \"but we must hurry.\"\n\nThey ran across the courtyard, through the door, and nearly into the fat monk. He was coming down the steps from the bower, and looked angry or hungover. He went out through the screens without a glance at either of them.\n\nThere was no one else in the hall. The table was still covered with cups and platters of meat, and the fire was burning smokily, untended.\n\n\"Lady Yvolde's cloak is in the loft,\" Rosemund said. \"Wait for me.\" She scrambled up the ladder as though Sir Bloet were after her.\n\nKivrin went back to the screens and looked out. She couldn't see the passageway. The bishop's envoy was standing over by Eliwys's mare with one hand on the pommel of its saddle, listening to the monk, who was leaning close as he spoke. Kivrin glanced up the stairs at the shut door of the bower, wondering if the clerk was truly hungover or had had some sort of falling out with his superior. The monk's gestures were obviously upset.\n\n\"Here it is,\" Rosemund said, climbing down, clutching the cloak in one hand and the ladder in the other. \"I would have you take it to Lady Yvolde. It will take but a minute.\"\n\nIt was the chance she'd been waiting for. \"I will,\" she said, took the heavy cloak from Rosemund, and started out. As soon as she was outside, she would give the cloak to the nearest servant to deliver to Bloet's sister and head straight for the passageway. Let her stay in the church a few more minutes, she prayed. Let me make it to the green. She stepped out of the door, into Lady Imeyne.\n\n\"Why are you not ready to leave?\" Imeyne said, looking at the cloak in her arms. \"Where is your cloak?\"\n\nKivrin shot a glance at the bishop's envoy. He had both hands on the pommel and was stepping onto Cob's linked hands. The friar was already mounted.\n\n\"My cloak is in the church,\" Kivrin said. \"I will fetch it.\"\n\n\"There is no time. They are departing.\"\n\nKivrin looked desperately around the courtyard, but they were all out of reach: Eliwys standing with Gawyn by the stable, Agnes talking animatedly to one of Sir Bloet's nieces, Rosemund nowhere to be seen, presumably still in the house hiding.\n\n\"Lady Yvolde bade asked me to bring her her cloak,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Maisry can take it to her,\" Imeyne said. \"Maisry!\"\n\nLet her still be hiding, Kivrin prayed.\n\n\"Maisry! \" Imeyne shouted, and Maisry came slinking out from the brewhouse door, holding her ear. Lady Imeyne snatched the cloak out of Kivrin's arms and dumped it on Maisry's. \"Stop sniveling and take this to Lady Yvolde,\" she snapped.\n\nShe grabbed Kivrin by the wrist. \"Come,\" she said, and started toward the bishop's envoy. \"Holy Father, you have forgotten Lady Katherine, whom you promised to take with you to Godstow.\"\n\n\"We do not go to Godstow,\" he said and swung himself into the saddle with an effort. \"We journey to Bernescestre.\"\n\nGawyn had mounted Gringolet and was walking him toward the gate. He's going with them, she thought. Perhaps on the way to Courcy I can persuade him to take me to the drop. Perhaps I can persuade him to tell me where it is, and I can get away from them and find it myself.\n\n\"Can she not ride with you to Bernecestre then, and a monk escort her to Godstow? I would have her returned to her nunnery.\"\n\n\"There is no time,\" he said, picking up the reins.\n\nImeyne grabbed hold of his scarlet cope. \"Why do you leave so suddenly? Has aught offended you?\"\n\nHe glanced at the friar, who was holding the reins of Kivrin's mare. \"Nay.\" He made a vague sign of the cross over Imeyne. \" Dominus vobiscum, et cum spiritu tuo,\" he murmured, looking pointedly at her hand on his cope.\n\n\"What of a new chaplain?\" Imeyne insisted.\n\n\"I am leaving my clerk behind to serve you as chaplain,\" he said.\n\nHe's lying, Kivrin thought, and glanced up sharply at him. He exchanged another, secretive glance with the monk, and Kivrin wondered if their urgent business was simply getting away from this complaining old woman.\n\n\"Your clerk?\" Lady Imeyne said, pleased, and let go of the cope.\n\nThe bishop's envoy spurred his horse and galloped across the courtyard, nearly running down Agnes, who scurried out of the way and then ran to Kivrin and buried her head in her skirt. The monk mounted Kivrin's mare and rode after him.\n\n\"God go with you, Holy Father,\" Lady Imeyne called after him, but he was already out the gate.\n\nAnd then they were all gone, Gawyn riding out last at a flashy gallop to make Eliwys notice him, and they hadn't taken her off to Godstow and out of reach of the drop. Kivrin was so relieved she didn't even worry over Gawyn's having gone with them. It was less than half day's ride to Courcy. He might even be back by nightfall.\n\nEveryone seemed relieved, or perhaps it was only the letdown of Christmas afternoon and the fact that they had all been up since yesterday morning. No one made any movement to clear the tables, which were still covered with dirty trenchers and half-full serving bowls. Eliwys sank into the high seat, her arms dangling over the side, and looked at the table disinterestedly. After a few minutes she called for Maisry, but when she didn't answer, Eliwys didn't shout for her again. She leaned her head against the carved back and closed her eyes.\n\nRosemund went up to the loft to lie down, and Agnes sat down next to Kivrin by the hearth and put her head on her lap, playing absently with her bell.\n\nOnly Lady Imeyne refused to give in to the letdown and languor of the afternoon. \"I would have my new chaplain say prayers,\" she said, and went up to knock on the bower door.\n\nEliwys protested lazily, her eyes still closed, that the bishop's envoy had said the clerk should not be disturbed, but Imeyne knocked several times, loudly and without result. She waited a few minutes, knocked again, and then came down the steps and knelt at the foot of them to read her Book of Hours and keep an eye on the door so she could waylay the clerk as soon as he emerged.\n\nAgnes batted at her bell with one finger, yawning broadly.\n\n\"Why don't you go up into the loft and lie down with your sister?\" Kivrin suggested.\n\n\"I'm not tired,\" Agnes said, sitting up. \"Tell me what happened to the maiden whose father told her not to go in the forest.\"\n\n\"Only if you lie down,\" Kivrin said, and began the story. Agnes didn't last two sentences.\n\nIn the late afternoon, Kivrin remembered Agnes's puppy. Everyone was asleep by then, even Lady Imeyne, who had given up on the clerk and gone up to the loft to lie down. Maisry had come in at some point and crawled under one of the tables. She was snoring loudly.\n\nKivrin eased her knees carefully out from under Agnes's head and went out to bury the puppy. There was no one in the courtyard. The remains of a bonfire still smoldered in the center of the green, but there was no one around it. The villagers must be taking a Christmas afternoon nap, too.\n\nKivrin brought down Blackie's body and went into the stable for a wooden spade. Only Agnes's pony was there, and Kivrin frowned at it, wondering how the clerk was supposed to follow the envoy to Courcy. Perhaps he hadn't been lying, after all, and the clerk was to be the new chaplain whether he liked it or not.\n\nKivrin carried the spade and Blackie's already stiffening body across to the church and around to the north side. She laid the puppy down and began chipping through the crusted snow.\n\nThe ground was literally as hard as stone. The wooden spade didn't even make a dent, even when she stood on it with both feet. She climbed the hill to the beginnings of the wood, dug through the snow at the base of an ash tree, and buried the puppy in the loose leaf mold.\n\n\"Requeiscat in pace,\" she said so she could tell Agnes the puppy had had a Christian burial and went back down the hill.\n\nShe wished Gawyn would ride up now. She could ask him to take her to the drop while everyone was still asleep. She walked slowly across the green, listening for the horse. He would probably come by the main road. She propped the spade against the wattle fence of the pigsty and went around the outside of the manor wall to the gate, but she couldn't hear anything.\n\nThe afternoon light began to fade. If Gawyn didn't come soon, it would be too dark to ride out to the drop. Father Roche would be ringing vespers in another half hour, and that would wake everyone up. Gawyn would have to tend his horse, though, no matter what time he got back, and she could sneak out to the stable and ask him to take her to the drop in the morning.\n\nOr perhaps he could simply tell her where it was, draw her a map so she could find it herself. That way she wouldn't have to go into the woods alone with him, and if Lady Imeyne had him out on another errand the day of the rendezvous, she could take one of the horses and find it herself.\n\nShe stood in by the gate till she got cold and then went back along the wall to the pigsty and into the courtyard. There was still no one in the courtyard, but Rosemund was in the anteroom, with her cloak on.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" she said. \"I've been looking everywhere for you. The clerk\u2014\"\n\nKivrin's heart jerked. \"What is it? Is he leaving?\" He'd woken from his hangover and was ready to leave. And Lady Imeyne had persuaded him to take her to Godstow.\n\n\"Nay,\" Rosemund said, going into the hall. It was empty. Eliwys and Imeyne must both be in the bower with him. She unfastened Sir Bloet's brooch and took her cloak off. \"He is ailing. Father Roche sent me to find you.\" She started up the stairs.\n\n\"Ailing?\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Aye. Grandmother sent Maisry to the bower to take him somewhat to eat.\"\n\nAnd to put him to work, Kivrin thought, following her up the steps. \"And Maisry found him ill?\"\n\n\"Aye. He has a fever.\"\n\nHe has a hangover, Kivrin thought, frowning. But Roche would surely recognize the effects of drink, even if Lady Imeyne couldn't, or wouldn't.\n\nA terrible thought occurred to her. He's been sleeping in my bed, Kivrin thought, and he's caught my virus.\n\n\"What symptoms does he have?\" she asked.\n\nRosemund opened the door.\n\nThere was scarcely room for them all in the little room. Father Roche was by the bed, and Eliwys stood a little behind him, her hand on Agnes's head. Maisry cowered by the window. Lady Imeyne knelt at the foot of the bed next to her medicine casket, busy with one of her foul-smelling poultices, and there was another smell in the room, sickish and so strong it overpowered the mustard and leek smell of the poultice.\n\nThey all, except Agnes, looked frightened. Agnes looked interested, the way she had with Blackie, and Kivrin thought, He's dead, he's caught what I had, and he's died. But that was ridiculous. She had been here since the middle of December. That would mean an incubation period of nearly two weeks, and no one else had caught it, not even Father Roche, or Eliwys, and they had been with her constantly while she was ill.\n\nShe looked at the clerk. He lay uncovered in the bed, wearing a shift and no breeches. The rest of his clothes were draped over the foot of the bed, his purple cloak dragging on the floor. His shift was yellow silk, and the ties had come unfastened so that it was open halfway down his chest, but she wasn't noticing either his hairless skin or the ermine bands on the sleeves of his shift. He was ill. I was never that ill, Kivrin thought, not even when I was dying.\n\nShe went up to the bed. Her foot hit a half-empty earthenware wine bottle and sent it rolling under the bed. The clerk flinched. Another bottle, with the seal still on it, stood at the head of the bed.\n\n\"He has eaten too much rich food,\" Lady Imeyne said, mashing something in her stone bowl, but it was clearly not food poisoning. Nor too much alcohol, in spite of the wine bottles. He's ill, Kivrin thought. Terribly ill.\n\nHe breathed rapidly in and out through his open mouth, panting like poor Blackie, his tongue sticking out. It was bright red and looked swollen. His face was an even darker red, and his expression was distorted, as if he were terrified.\n\nShe wondered if he might have been poisoned. The bishop's envoy had been so anxious to leave he had nearly run Agnes down, and he had told Eliwys not to disturb him. The church had done things like that in the 1300s, hadn't they? Mysterious deaths in the monastery and the cathedral. Convenient deaths.\n\nBut that made no sense. The bishop's envoy and the monk would not have hurried off and given orders not to disturb the victim when the whole point of poison was to make it look like botulism or peritonitis or the dozen other unaccountable things people died of in the Middle Ages. And why would the bishop's envoy poison one of his own underlings when he could demote him, the way Lady Imeyne wanted to demote Father Roche.\n\n\"Is it the cholera?\" Lady Eliwys said.\n\nNo, Kivrin thought, trying to remember its symptoms. Acute diarrhea and vomiting with massive loss of body fluids. Pinched expression, dehydration, cyanosis, raging thirst.\n\n\"Are you thirsty?\" she asked.\n\nThe clerk gave no sign that he had heard. His eyes were half-closed, and they looked swollen, too.\n\nKivrin laid her hand on his forehead. He flinched a little, his reddened eyes flickering open and then closed.\n\n\"He's burning with fever,\" Kivrin said, thinking, Cholera doesn't produce this high a fever. \"Fetch me a cloth dipped in water.\"\n\n\"Maisry!\" Eliwys snapped, but Rosemund was already at her elbow with the same filthy rag they must have used on her.\n\nAt least it was cool. Kivrin folded it into a rectangle, watching the clerk's face. He was still panting, and his face contorted when she laid the rag across his forehead, as if he were in pain. He clutched his hand to his belly. Appendicitis? Kivrin thought. No, that usually was accompanied by a low-grade fever. Typhoid fever could produce temps as high as 40 degrees, though usually not at the onset. It produced enlargement of the spleen, as well, which frequently resulted in abdominal pain.\n\n\"Are you in pain?\" she asked. \"Where does it hurt?\"\n\nHis eyes flickered half-open again, and his hands moved restlessly on the coverlid. That was a symptom of typhoid fever, that restless plucking, but only in the last stages, eight or nine days into the progress of the disease. She wondered if the priest had already been ill when he came.\n\nHe had stumbled getting off his horse when they arrived, and the monk had had to catch him. But he had eaten and drunk more than a little at the feast, and grabbed at Maisry. He couldn't have been very ill, and typhoid came on gradually, beginning with a headache and an only slightly elevated temperature. It didn't reach 39 degrees until the third week.\n\nKivrin leaned closer, pulling his untied shift aside to look for typhoid's rose-colored rash. There wasn't any. The side of his neck seemed slightly swollen, but swollen lymph glands went with almost every infection. She pulled his sleeve up. There weren't any rose spots on his arm either, but his fingernails were a bluish-brown color, which meant not enough oxygen. And cyanosis was a symptom of cholera.\n\n\"Has he vomited or had loosening of his bowels?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Lady Imeyne said, smearing a greenish paste on a piece of stiff linen. \"He has but eaten too much of sugars and spices, and it has fevered his blood.\"\n\nIt couldn't be cholera without vomiting, and at any rate the fever was too high. Perhaps it was her virus after all, but she hadn't felt any stomach pain, and her tongue hadn't swollen like that.\n\nThe clerk raised his hand and pushed the rag off his forehead and onto the pillow, and then let his arm fall back to his side. Kivrin picked the rag up. It was completely dry. And what besides a virus could cause that high a fever? She couldn't think of anything but typhoid.\n\n\"Has he bled from the nose?\" she asked Roche.\n\n\"Nay,\" Rosemund said, stepping forward and taking the rag from Kivrin. \"I have seen no sign of bleeding.\"\n\n\"Wet it with cold water but don't wring it out,\" Kivrin said. \"Father Roche, help me to lift him.\"\n\nRoche put his hands to the priest's shoulders and raised him up. There was no blood on the linen under his head.\n\nRoche laid him gently back down. \"Think you it is the typhoid fever?\" he said, and there was something curious, almost hopeful in his tone.\n\n\"I know not,\" Kivrin said.\n\nRosemund handed Kivrin the rag. She had took Kivrin at her word. It was dripping with icy water.\n\nKivrin leaned forward and laid it across the clerk's forehead.\n\nHis arms came up suddenly, wildly, knocking the cloth backward out of Kivrin's hand, and then he was sitting up, flailing at her with both his hands, kicking out with his feet. His fist caught her on the side of her leg, buckling her knees so that she almost toppled onto the bed.\n\n\"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,\" Kivrin said, trying to get her balance, trying to clutch at his hands. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nHis bloodshot eyes were wide open now, staring straight ahead. \" Gloriarti tuam,\" he bellowed in a strange high voice that was almost a scream.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Kivrin said. She grabbed at his wrist, and his other arm shot out, striking her full in the chest.\n\n\"Requiem aeternum dona eis,\" he roared, rising up on his knees and then his feet to stand in the middle of the bed. \" Et lux perpetua luceat eis.\"\n\nKivrin realized suddenly that he was trying to chant the mass for the dead.\n\nFather Roche clutched at his shift, and the clerk lashed out, kicking himself free, and then went on kicking, spinning around as if he were dancing.\n\n\"Miserere nobis.\"\n\nHe was too near the wall for them to reach him, hitting the timbers with his feet and flailing arms at every turn without even seeming to notice. \"When he comes within reach, we must grab his ankles and knock him down,\" Kivrin said.\n\nFather Roche nodded, out of breath. The others stood transfixed, not even trying to stop him, Imeyne still on her knees. Maisry pushed herself completely into the window, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Rosemund had retrieved the sopping rag and held it in her outstretched hand as if she thought Kivrin might try to lay it on his head again. Agnes was staring openmouthed at the clerk's half-exposed body.\n\nThe clerk spun back toward them, his hands pawing at the ties on the front of his shift, trying to rip them free. \"Now,\" Kivrin said.\n\nFather Roche and she reached for his ankles. The clerk went down on one knee, and then, flinging his arms out wide, burst free and launched himself off the high bed straight at Rosemund. She put her hands up, still holding the rag, and he hit her full in the chest.\n\n\"Miserere nobis,\" he said, and they went down together.\n\n\"Grab his arms before he hurts her,\" Kivrin said, but the clerk had stopped flailing. He lay atop Rosemund, motionless, his mouth almost touching hers, his arms limply out at his sides.\n\nFather Roche took hold of the clerk's unresisting arm and rolled him off Rosemund. He flopped onto his side, breathing shallowly but no longer panting.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" Agnes asked, and, as if her voice had released the rest of them from a spell, they all moved forward, Lady Imeyne struggling to her feet, gripping the bedpost.\n\n\"Blackie died,\" Agnes said, clutching at her mother's skirts.\n\n\"He is not dead,\" Imeyne said, kneeling beside him, \"but the fever in his blood has gone to the brain. It is often thus.\"\n\nIt's never thus, Kivrin thought. This isn't a symptom of any disease I've ever heard of. What could it be? Spinal meningitis? Epilepsy?\n\nShe bent down next to Rosemund. The girl lay rigidly on the floor, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clenched into whitening fists. \"Did he hurt you?\" Kivrin asked.\n\nRosemund opened her eyes. \"He pushed me down,\" she said, her voice quivering a little.\n\n\"Can you stand?\" Kivrin asked.\n\nRosemund nodded, and Eliwys stepped forward, Agnes still clinging to her skirt. They helped Rosemund to her feet.\n\n\"My foot hurts,\" she said, leaning on her mother, but in a minute she was able to stand on it. \"He... of a sudden...\"\n\nEliwys supported her to the end of the bed and sat her down on the carved chest. Agnes clambered up next to her. \"The bishop's clerk jumped on top of you,\" she said.\n\nThe clerk murmured something, and Rosemund looked fearfully at him. \"Will he rise up again?\" she asked Eliwys.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said, but she helped Rosemund up and led her to the door. \"Take your sister down to the fire and sit with her,\" she told Agnes.\n\nAgnes took hold of Rosemund's arm and led her out. \"When the clerk dies, we will bury him in the churchyard,\" Kivrin could hear her say going down the stairs. \"Like Blackie.\"\n\nThe clerk looked already dead, his eyes half-open and unseeing. Father Roche knelt next to him and hoisted him easily over his shoulder, the clerk's head and arms hanging limply down, the way Kivrin had carried Agnes home from the midnight mass. Kivrin hastily pulled the coverlid off the featherbed, and Roche eased him down onto the bed.\n\n\"We must draw the fever from his head,\" Lady Imeyne said, returning to her poultice. \"It is the spices that have fevered his brain.\"\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin whispered, looking at the priest. He lay on his back with his arms out at his sides, the palms up. The thin shift was ripped halfway down the front and had fallen completely off his left shoulder so his outstretched arm was exposed. Under the arm was a red swelling. \"No,\" she breathed.\n\nThe swelling was bright red and nearly as large as an egg. High fever, swollen tongue, intoxication of the nervous system, buboes under the arms and in the groin.\n\nKivrin took a step back from the bed. \"It can't be,\" she said. \"It's something else.\" It had to be something else. A boil. Or an ulcer of some kind. She reached forward to pull the sleeve away from it.\n\nThe clerk's hands twitched. Roche stretched to grasp his wrists, pushing them down into the featherbed. The swelling was hard to the touch, and around it the skin was a mottled purplish-black.\n\n\"It can't be,\" she said. \"It's only 1320.\"\n\n\"This will draw the fever out,\" Imeyne said. She stood up stiffly, holding the poultice out in front of her. \"Pull his shift away from his body that I may lay on the poultice.\" She started toward the bed.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin said. She put her hands up to stop her. \"Stay away! You mustn't touch him!\"\n\n\"You speak wildly,\" Imeyne said. She looked at Roche. \"It is naught but a stomach fever.\"\n\n\"It isn't a fever!\" Kivrin said. She turned to Roche. \"Let go of his hands and get away from him. It isn't a fever. It's the plague.\"\n\nAll of them, Roche and Imeyne and Eliwys looked at her as stupidly as Maisry.\n\nThey don't even know what it is, she thought desperately, because it doesn't exist yet, there was no such thing as the Black Death yet. It didn't even begin in China until 1333. And it didn't reach England till 1348. \"But it is,\" Kivrin said. \"He's got all the symptoms. The bubo and the swollen tongue and the hemorrhaging under the skin.\"\n\n\"It is naught but a stomach fever,\" Imeyne said and pushed past Kivrin to the bed.\n\n\"No\u2014\" Kivrin said, but Imeyne had already stopped, the poultice poised above his naked chest.\n\n\"Lord have mercy on us,\" she said, and backed away, still holding the poultice.\n\n\"Is it the blue sickness?\" Eliwys said frightenedly.\n\nAnd suddenly Kivrin saw it all. They had not come here because of the trial, because Lord Guillaume was in trouble with the king. He had sent them here because the plague was in Bath.\n\n\"Our nurse died,\" Agnes had said. And Lady Imeyne's chaplain, Brother Hubard. \"Rosemund said he died of the blue sickness,\" Agnes had told her. And Sir Bloet had said that the trial had been delayed because the judge was ill. That was why Eliwys hadn't wanted to send word to Courcy and why she had been so angry when Imeyne sent Gawyn to the bishop. Because the plague was in Bath. But it couldn't be. The Black Death hadn't reached Bath until the autumn of 1348.\n\n\"What year is it?\" Kivrin said.\n\nThe women looked at her dumbly, Imeyne still holding the forgotten poultice. Kivrin turned to Roche. \"What is the year?\"\n\n\"Are you ill, Lady Katherine?\" he said anxiously, reaching for her wrists as if he were afraid she was going to have one of the clerk's seizures.\n\nShe jerked her hands away. \"Tell me the year.\"\n\n\"It is the twenty-first year of Edward the Third's reign,\" Eliwys said.\n\nEdward the Third, not the Second. In her panic she could not remember when he had reigned. \"Tell me the year \" she said.\n\n\"Anno domine,\" the clerk said from the bed. He tried to lick his lips with his swollen tongue. \"One thousand three hundred and forty-eight.\"\n\nBuried with my own hands five of my children in a single grave... No bells. No tears. This is the end of the world."
            },
            {
                "title": "AGNIOLA DI TURA",
                "text": "[ SIENA, 1347 ]\n\nDunworthy spent the next two days ringing Finch's list of techs and Scottish fishing guides and setting up another ward in Bulkeley-Johnson. Fifteen more of his detainees were down with the flu, among them Ms. Taylor, who had collapsed forty-nine strokes short of a full peal.\n\n\"Fainted dead away and let go her bell,\" Finch reported. \"It swung right over with a noise like doom and the rope thrashed about like a live thing. Wrapped itself round my neck and nearly strangled me. Ms. Taylor wanted to go on after she came to herself, but of course it was too late. I do wish you'd speak to her, Mr. Dunworthy. She's very despondent. Says she'll never forgive herself for letting the others down. I told her it wasn't her fault, that sometimes things are simply out of one's control, aren't they?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nHe had not succeeded in reaching a tech, let alone persuading him to come to Oxford, and he had not found Basingame. He and Finch had phoned every hotel in Scotland, and then every inn and rental cottage. William had got hold of Basingame's credit records, but there were no purchases of fishing lures or waders in some remote Scottish town, as he had hoped, and no entries at all after the fifteenth of December.\n\nThe telephone system was becoming progressively disabled. The visual cut out again, and the recorded voice, announcing that due to the epidemic all circuits were busy, interrupted after only two digits on nearly every call he tried to put through.\n\nHe did not so much worry about Kivrin as carry her with him, a heavy weight, as he punched and repunched the numbers, waited for ambulances, listened to Mrs. Gaddson's complaints. Andrews had not phoned back, or if he had, had not succeeded in getting through. Badri murmured endlessly of death, the nurses carefully transcribing his ramblings on slips of paper. While he waited for the techs, for the fishing guides, for someone to answer the telephone, he pored over Badri's words, searching for clues. \"Black,\" Badri had said, and \"laboratory,\" and \"Europe.\"\n\nThe phone system grew worse. The recorded voice cut in as he punched the first number, and several times he couldn't raise a dial tone. He gave up for the moment and worked on the contacts charts. William had managed to get hold of the primaries' confidential NHS medical records, and he pored over them, searching for radiation treatments and visits to the dentist. One of the primaries had had his jaw X-rayed, but on second look, he saw it had been on the twenty-fourth, after the epidemic began.\n\nHe went over to Infirmary to ask the primaries who weren't delirious whether they had any pets or had been duck hunting recently. The corridors were filled with stretcher trolleys, each one of them with a patient on it. They were jammed up against the doors of Casualties and crosswise in front of the elevator. There was no way he could get past them to it. He took the stairs.\n\nWilliam's blond student nurse met him at the door of Isolation. She was wearing a white cloth gown and mask. \"I'm afraid you can't go in,\" she said, holding up a gloved hand.\n\nBadri's dead, he thought. \"Is Mr. Chaudhuri worse?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. He seems actually to be resting a bit more quietly. But we've run out of SPG's. London's promised to send us a shipment tomorrow, and the staffs making do with cloth, but we haven't enough for visitors.\" She fished in her pocket for a scrap of paper. \"I wrote down his words,\" she said, handing it to him. \"I'm afraid most of it's unintelligible. He says your name and\u2014Kivrin's?\u2014is that right?\"\n\nHe nodded, looking at the paper.\n\n\"And sometimes isolated words, but most of it's nonsense.\"\n\nShe had tried to write it down phonetically, and when she understood a word, she underscored it. \"Can't,\" he had said, and \"rats,\" and \"so worried.\"\n\nOver half the detainees were down by Sunday morning, and everyone not ill was nursing them. Dunworthy and Finch had given up all notion of putting them in wards, and at any rate they had run out of cots. They left them in their own beds, or moved them, bed and all, into rooms in Salvin to keep their makeshift nurses from running themselves ragged.\n\nThe bell ringers fell one by one, and Dunworthy helped put them to bed in the old library. Ms. Taylor, who could still walk, insisted on going to visit them.\n\n\"It's the least I can do,\" she said, panting after the exertion of walking across the corridor, \"after I let them down like that.\"\n\nDunworthy helped her onto the air mattress William had carried over and covered her with a sheet. \"'The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,'\" he said.\n\nHe felt weak himself, bone-tired from the lack of sleep and the constant defeats. He had finally managed, between boiling water for tea and washing bedpans, to get through to one of Magdalen's techs.\n\n\"She's in hospital,\" her mother had said. She'd looked harried and tired.\n\n\"When did she fall ill?\" Dunworthy'd asked her.\n\n\"Christmas Day.\"\n\nHope had surged in him. Perhaps Magdalen's tech was the source. \"What symptoms does your daughter have?\" he'd asked eagerly. \"Headache? Fever? Disorientation?\"\n\n\"Ruptured appendix,\" she'd said.\n\nBy Monday morning three quarters of the detainees were ill. They ran out, as Finch had predicted, of clean linens and NHS masks and, more urgently, of temps, antimicrobials, and aspirin. \"I tried to ring Infirmary to ask for more,\" Finch said, handing Dunworthy a list, \"but the phones have all gone dead.\"\n\nDunworthy walked to the Infirmary to fetch the supplies. The street in front of Casualties was jammed, a jumble of ambulance vans and taxis and protesters carrying a large sign that proclaimed \"The Prime Minister Has Left Us Here to Die.\" As he squeezed past them and in the door, Colin came running out. He was wet, as usual, and red-faced and red-nosed from the cold. His jacket was unstripped.\n\n\"The telephones are out,\" he said. \"There was an overload. I'm running messages.\" He pulled an untidy clutch of folded papers from his jacket pocket. \"Is there anyone you'd like me to take a message to?\"\n\nYes, he thought. To Andrews. To Basingame. To Kivrin.\n\n\"No,\" he said.\n\nColin stuffed the already-wet messages back in his pocket. \"I'm off then. If you're looking for Great-aunt Mary, she's in Casualties. Five more cases just came in. A family. The baby was dead.\" He darted off through the traffic jam.\n\nDunworthy pushed his way into Casualties and showed his list to the house officer, who directed him to Supplies. The corridors were still full of stretcher trolleys, though now they were lined lengthwise on both sides so there was a narrow passage between. Bending over one of the stretcher trolleys was a nurse in a pink mask and gown reading something to one of the patients.\n\n\"'The Lord shall make the pestilence cleave unto thee,'\" she said, and he realized too late that it was Mrs. Gaddson, but she was so intent on her reading she did not look up. \"'Until he have consumed thee from the land.'\"\n\nThe pestilence shall cleave unto thee, he said silently, and thought of Badri. \"It was the rats,\" Badri had said. \"It killed them all. Half of Europe.\"\n\nShe can't be in the Black Death, he thought, turning down the corridor to Supplies. Andrews had said the maximal slippage was five years. In 1325 the plague hadn't even begun in China. Andrews had said the only two things that would not have automatically aborted the drop were the slippage and the coordinates, and Badri, when he could answer Dunworthy's questions, insisted he had checked Puhalski's coordinates.\n\nHe went into Supplies. There was no one at the desk. He rang the bell.\n\nEach time Dunworthy had asked him, Badri had said the apprentice's coordinates were correct, but his fingers moved nervously over the sheet, typing, typing in the fix. That can't be right. There's something wrong.\n\nHe rang the bell again, and a nurse emerged from among the shelves. She had obviously come out of retirement expressly for the epidemic. She was ninety at the least, and her white uniform was yellowed with age, but still stiff with starch. It crackled when she took his list.\n\n\"Have you a supply authorization?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said.\n\nShe handed him back his list and a three-page form. \"All orders must be authorized by the ward matron.\"\n\n\"We haven't any ward matron,\" he said, his temper flaring. \"We haven't any ward. We have fifty detainees in two dormitories and no supplies.\"\n\n\"In that case, authorization must be obtained from the doctor in charge.\"\n\n\"The doctor in charge has an infirmary full of patients to take care of. She doesn't have time to sign authorizations. There's an epidemic on!\"\n\n\"I am well aware of that,\" the nurse said frigidly. \"All orders must be signed by the doctor in charge,\" and walked creakily back among the shelves.\n\nHe went back to Casualties. Mary was no longer there. The house officer sent him up to Isolation, but she wasn't there either. He toyed with the idea of forging Mary's signature, but he wanted to see her, wanted to tell her about his failure to reach the techs, his failure to find a way to bypass Gilchrist and open the net. He could not even get a simple aspirin, and it was already the third of January.\n\nHe finally ran Mary to ground in the laboratory. She was speaking into the telephone, which was apparently working again, though the visual was nothing but snow. She wasn't watching it. She was watching the console, which had the branching contacts chart on it. \"What exactly is the difficulty?\" she was saying. \"You said it would be here two days ago.\"\n\nThere was a pause while the person lost in the snow apparently made some sort of excuse.\n\n\"What do you mean it was turned back?\" she said incredulously. \"I've got a thousand people with influenza here.\"\n\nThere was another pause. Mary typed something into the console, and a different chart appeared.\n\n\"Well, send it again,\" she shouted. \"I need it now! I've got people dying here! I want it here by\u2014hullo? Are you there?\" The screen went dead. She turned to click the receiver and caught sight of Dunworthy.\n\nShe beckoned him into the office. \"Are you there?\" she said into the telephone. \"Hullo?\" She slammed the receiver down. \"The phones don't work, half my staff is down with the virus, and the analogues aren't here because some idiot wouldn't let them into the quarantine area!\" she said angrily.\n\nShe sank down in front of the console and rubbed her fingers against her cheekbones. \"Sorry,\" she said. \"It's been rather a bad day. I've had three DOA's this afternoon. One of them was six months old.\"\n\nShe was still wearing the sprig of holly on her lab coat. Both it and the lab coat were much the worse for wear, and Mary looked impossibly tired, the lines around her mouth and eyes cutting deeply into her face. He wondered how long it had been since she had slept and whether, if he were to ask her, she would even know.\n\nShe rubbed two fingers along the lines above her eyes. \"One never gets used to the idea that there is nothing one can do,\" she said.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe looked up at him, almost as if she hadn't realized he was there. \"Was there something you needed, James?\"\n\nShe had had no sleep, and no help, and three DOA's, one of them a baby. She had enough on her mind without worrying over Kivrin.\n\n\"No,\" he said, standing up. He handed her the form. \"Nothing but your signature.\"\n\nShe signed it without looking at it. \"I went to see Gilchrist this morning,\" she said, handing it back to him.\n\nHe looked at her, too surprised and touched to speak.\n\n\"I went to see if I could convince him to open the net earlier. I explained that there's no need to wait until there's been full immunization. Immunization of a critical percentage of the virus pool effectively eliminates the contagion vectors.\"\n\n\"And none of your arguments had the slightest effect on him.\"\n\n\"No. He's utterly convinced the virus came through from the past.\" Mary sighed. \"He's drawn up charts of the cyclical mutation patterns of Type A myxoviruses. According to them, one of the Type A myxoviruses extant in 1318\u201319 was an H9N2.\" She rubbed at her forehead again. \"He won't open the laboratory until full immunization's been completed and the quarantine's lifted.\"\n\n\"And when will that be?\" he asked, though he had a good idea.\n\n\"The quarantine has to remain in effect until seven days after full immunization or fourteen days after final incidence,\" she said as if she were giving him bad news.\n\nFinal incidence. Two weeks with no new cases. \"How long will nationwide immunization take?\"\n\n\"Once we get sufficient supplies of the vaccine, not long. The Pandemic only took eighteen days.\"\n\nEighteen days. After sufficient supplies of the vaccine were manufactured. The end of January. \"That's not soon enough,\" he said.\n\n\"I know. We must positively identify the source, that's all.\" She turned to look at the console. \"The answer's in here, you know. We're simply looking in the wrong place.\" She punched in a new chart. \"I've been running correlations, looking for veterinary students, primaries who live near zoos, rural addresses. This one's of secondaries listed in DeBrett's, grouse hunting and all that. But the closest any of them's come to a waterfowl is eating goose for Christmas.\"\n\nShe punched up the contacts chart. Badri's name was still at the top of it. She sat and looked at it a long moment, as remote as Montoya staring at her bones.\n\n\"The first thing a doctor has to learn is not to be too hard on himself when he loses a patient,\" she said, and he wondered if she meant Kivrin or Badri.\n\n\"I'm going to get the net open,\" he said.\n\n\"I hope so,\" she said.\n\nThe answer did not lie in the contacts charts or the commonalities. It lay in Badri, whose name was still, in spite of all the questions they had asked the primaries, in spite of all the false leads, the source. Badri was the index case, and sometime in the four to six days before the drop he had been in contact with a reservoir.\n\nHe went up to see him. There was a different nurse at the desk outside Badri's room, a tall, nervous youth who looked no more than seventeen.\n\n\"Where's...\" Dunworthy began and realized he didn't know the blond nurse's name.\n\n\"She's down with it,\" the boy said. \"Yesterday. She's the twentieth of the nursing staff to catch it, and they're out of subs. They asked for third-year students to help. I'm actually only first-year, but I've had first-aid training.\"\n\nYesterday. A whole day had passed, then, with no one recording what Badri said. \"Do you remember anything Badri might have said while you were in with him?\" he said without hope. A first-year student. \"Any words or phrases you could understand?\"\n\n\"You're Mr. Dunworthy, aren't you?\" the boy said. He handed him a set of SPG's. \"Eloise said you wanted to know everything the patient said.\"\n\nDunworthy put on the newly arrived SPG's. They were white and marked with tiny black crosses along the back opening of the gown. He wondered where they'd resorted to borrowing them from.\n\n\"She was awfully ill and she kept saying over and over how important it was.\"\n\nThe boy led Dunworthy into Badri's room, looked at the screens above the bed, and then down at Badri. At least he looks at the patient, Dunworthy thought.\n\nBadri lay with his arms outside the sheet, plucking at it with hands that looked like those in Colin's illustration of the knight's tomb. His sunken eyes were open, but he did not look at the nurse or at Dunworthy, or at the sheet, which his ceaseless hands could not seem to grasp.\n\n\"I read about this in meds,\" the boy said, \"but I've never actually seen it. It's a common terminal symptom in respiratory cases.\" He went to the console, punched something up, and pointed at the top left screen. \"I've written it all down.\"\n\nHe had, even the gibberish. He had written that phonetically, with ellipses to represent pauses, and (sic) after questionable words. \"Half,\" he had written, and \"backer (sic)\" and \"Why doesn't he come?\"\n\n\"This is mostly from yesterday,\" he said. He moved a cursor to the lower third of the screen. \"He talked a bit this morning. Now, of course, he doesn't say anything.\"\n\nDunworthy sat down beside Badri and took his hand. It was ice-cold even through the imperm glove. He glanced at the temp screen. Badri no longer had a fever or the dark flush that had gone with it. He seemed to have lost all color. His skin was the color of wet ashes.\n\n\"Badri,\" he said. \"It's Mr. Dunworthy. I need to ask you some questions.\"\n\nThere was no response. His cold hand lay limply in Dunworthy's gloved one, and the other continued picking steadily, uselessly at the sheet.\n\n\"Dr. Ahrens thinks you might have caught your illness from an animal, a wild duck or a goose.\"\n\nThe nurse looked interestedly at Dunworthy and then back at Badri, as if he were hoping he would exhibit another yet-unobserved medical phenomenon.\n\n\"Badri, can you remember? Did you have any contact with ducks or geese the week before the drop?\"\n\nBadri's hand moved. Dunworthy frowned at it, wondering if he were trying to communicate, but when he loosened his grip a little, the thin, thin fingers were only trying to pluck at his palm, at his fingers, at his wrist.\n\nHe was suddenly ashamed that he was sitting here torturing Badri with questions, though he was past hearing, past even knowing Dunworthy was here, or caring.\n\nHe laid Badri's hand back on the sheet. \"Rest,\" he said, patting it gently, \"try to rest.\"\n\n\"I doubt if he can hear you,\" the nurse said. \"When they're this far gone they're not really conscious.\"\n\n\"No. I know,\" Dunworthy said, but he went on sitting there.\n\nThe nurse adjusted a drip, peered nervously at it, and adjusted it again. He looked anxiously at Badri, adjusted the drip a third time, and finally went out. Dunworthy sat on, watching Badri's fingers plucking blindly at the sheet, trying to grasp it but unable to. Trying to hold on. Now and then he murmured something, too soft to hear. Dunworthy rubbed his arm gently, up and down. After a while, the plucking grew slower, though Dunworthy didn't know if that was a good sign or not.\n\n\"Graveyard,\" Badri said.\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"No.\"\n\nHe sat on a bit longer, rubbing Badri's arm, but after a little it seemed to make his agitation worse. He stood up. \"Try to rest,\" he said and went out.\n\nThe nurse was sitting at the desk, reading a copy of Patient Care.\n\n\"Please notify me when...\" Dunworthy said, and realized he would not be able to finish the sentence. \"Please notify me.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" the boy said. \"Where are you?\"\n\nHe fumbled in his pocket for a scrap of paper to write on and came up with the list of supplies. He had nearly forgotten it. \"I'm at Balliol,\" he said, \"send a messenger,\" and went back down to Supplies.\n\n\"You haven't filled this out properly,\" the crone said starchily when Dunworthy gave her the form.\n\n\"I've gotten it signed,\" he said, handing her his list. \"You fill it out.\"\n\nShe looked disapprovingly at the list. \"We haven't any masks or temps.\" She reached down a small bottle of aspirin. \"We're out of synthamycin and AZL.\"\n\nThe bottle of aspirin contained perhaps twenty tablets. He put them in his pocket and walked down to the High to the chemist's. A small crowd of protesters stood outside in the rain, holding pickets that said, \"UNFAIR!\" and \"Price gouging!\" He went inside. They were out of masks, and the temps and the aspirin were outrageously priced. He bought all they had.\n\nHe spent the night dispensing them and studying Badri's chart, looking for some clue to the virus's source. Badri had run an on-site for Nineteenth Century in Hungary on the tenth of December, but the chart did not say where in Hungary, and William, who was flirting with the detainees who were still on their feet, didn't know, and the phones were out again.\n\nThey were still out in the morning when Dunworthy tried to phone to check on Badri's condition. He could not even raise a dialing tone, but as soon as he put down the receiver, the telephone rang.\n\nIt was Andrews. Dunworthy could scarcely hear his voice through the static. \"Sorry this took so long,\" he said, and then something that was lost entirely.\n\n\"I can't hear you,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I said, I've had difficulty getting through. The phones...\" More static. \"I did the parameter checks. I used three different L-and-L's and triangulated the...\" The rest was lost.\n\n\"What was the maximal slippage?\" he shouted into the phone.\n\nThe line went momentarily clear. \"Six days.\"\n\n\"That was with an L-and-L of...\" More static. \"I ran probabilities, and the possible maximal for any L-and-L's within a circumference of fifty kilometers was still five years.\" The static roared in again, and the line went dead.\n\nDunworthy put the receiver down. He should have felt reassured, but he could not seem to summon any feeling. Gilchrist had no intention of opening the net on January sixth, whether Kivrin was there or not. He reached for the phone to phone the Scottish Tourism Bureau, and as he did, it rang again.\n\n\"Dunworthy here,\" he said, squinting at the screen, but the visuals were still nothing but snow.\n\n\"Who?\" a woman's voice that sounded hoarse or groggy said. \"Sorry,\" it murmured, \"I meant to ring\u2014\" and something else too blurred to make out, and the visual went blank.\n\nHe waited to see if it would ring again, and then went back across to Salvin. Magdalen's bell was chiming the hour. It sounded like a funeral bell in the unceasing rain. Ms. Piantini had apparently heard the bell, too. She was standing in the quad in her nightgown, solemnly raising her arms in an unheard rhythm. \"Middle, wrong, and into the hunt,\" she said when Dunworthy tried to take her back inside.\n\nFinch appeared, looking distraught. \"It's the bells, sir,\" he said, taking hold of her other arm. \"They upset her. I don't think they should ring them under the circumstances.\"\n\nMs. Piantini wrenched free of Dunworthy's restraining hand. \"Every man must stick to his bell without interruption,\" she said furiously.\n\n\"I quite agree,\" Finch said, clutching her arm as firmly as if it were a bell rope, and led her back to her cot.\n\nColin came skidding in, drenched as usual and nearly blue with cold. His jacket was open, and Mary's gray muffler dangled uselessly about his neck. He handed Dunworthy a message. \"It's from Badri's nurse,\" he said, opening a packet of soap tablets and popping a light blue one into his mouth.\n\nThe note was drenched, too. It read \"Badri asking for you,\" though the word \"Badri\" was so blurred he couldn't make out more than the B.\n\n\"Did the nurse say whether Badri was worse?\"\n\n\"No, just to give you the message. And Great-aunt Mary says when you come, you're to get your enhancement. She said she doesn't know when the analogue will get here.\"\n\nDunworthy helped Finch wrestle Ms. Piantini into bed and hurried to Infirmary and up to Isolation. There was another new nurse, this one a middle-aged woman with swollen feet. She was sitting with them propped up on the screens, watching a pocket vidder, but she stood up immediately when he came in.\n\n\"Are you Mr. Dunworthy?\" she asked, blocking his way. \"Dr. Ahrens said you're to meet her downstairs immediately.\"\n\nShe said it quietly, even kindly, and he thought, She's trying to spare me. She doesn't want me to see what's in there. She wants Mary to tell me first.\n\n\"It's Badri, isn't it? He's dead.\"\n\nShe looked genuinely surprised. \"Oh, no, he's much better this morning. Didn't you get my note? He's sitting up.\"\n\n\"Sitting up?\" he said, staring at her, wondering if she were delirious with fever.\n\n\"He's still very weak of course, but his temp's normal and he's alert. You're to meet Dr. Ahrens in Casualties. She said it was urgent.\"\n\nHe looked wonderingly toward the door to Badri's room. \"Tell him I'll be in to see him as soon as I can,\" he said and hurried out the door.\n\nHe nearly collided with Colin, who was apparently coming in. \"What are you doing here?\" he demanded. \"Did one of the techs telephone?\"\n\n\"I've been assigned to you,\" Colin said. \"Great-aunt Mary says she doesn't trust you to get your T-cell enhancement. I'm supposed to take you down to get it.\"\n\n\"I can't. There's an emergency in Casualties,\" he said, walking rapidly down the corridor.\n\nColin ran to keep up with him. \"Well, then, after the emergency. She said I wasn't to let you leave Infirmary without it.\"\n\nMary was there to meet them when the lift opened. \"We have another case,\" she said grimly. \"It's Montoya.\" She started for Casualties. \"They're bringing her in from Witney.\"\n\n\"Montoya?\" Dunworthy said. \"That's impossible. She's been out at the dig alone.\"\n\nShe pushed open the double doors. \"Apparently not.\"\n\n\"But she said\u2014are you certain it's the virus? She's been working in the rain. Perhaps it's some other disease.\"\n\nMary shook her head. \"The ambulance team ran a prelim. It matches the virus.\" She stopped at the admissions desk and asked the house officer, \"Are they here yet?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"They've just come through the perimeter.\"\n\nMary walked over to the doors and looked out, as if she didn't believe him. \"We got a call from her this morning, very confused,\" she said, turning back to them. \"I telephoned to Chipping Norton, which is the nearest hospital, told them to send an ambulance, but they said the dig was officially under quarantine. And I couldn't get one of ours out to her. I finally had to persuade the NHS to grant a dispensation to send an ambulance.\" She peered out the doors again. \"When did she go out to the dig?\"\n\n\"I\u2014\" Dunworthy tried to remember. She had phoned to ask him about the Scottish fishing guides on Christmas Day and then phoned back that afternoon to say. \"Never mind,\" because she had decided to forge Basingame's signature instead. \"Christmas Day,\" he said. \"If the NHS offices were open. Or the twenty-sixth. No, that was Boxing Day. The twenty-seventh. And she hasn't seen anyone since then.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"When I spoke to her, she was complaining that she couldn't keep the dig dry single-handed. She wanted me to phone to the NHS to ask for students to help her.\"\n\n\"How long ago was that?\"\n\n\"Two\u2014no, three days ago,\" he said, frowning. The days ran together when one never got to bed.\n\n\"Could she have found someone at the farm to help after she spoke to you?\"\n\n\"There's no one there in the winter.\"\n\n\"As I remember, Montoya recruits anyone who comes within reach. Perhaps she enlisted some passerby.\"\n\n\"She said there weren't any. The dig's very isolated.\"\n\n\"Well, she must have found someone. She's been out at the dig for seven days, and the incubation period's only twelve to forty-eight hours.\"\n\n\"The ambulance is here!\" Colin said.\n\nMary pushed out the doors, Dunworthy and Colin on her heels. Two ambulance men in masks lifted a stretcher out and onto a trolley. Dunworthy recognized one of them. He had helped bring Badri in.\n\nColin was bending over the stretcher, looking interestedly at Montoya, who lay with her eyes closed. Her head was propped up with pillows, and her face was flushed the same heavy red as Ms. Breen's had been. Colin leaned farther over her, and she coughed directly in his face.\n\nDunworthy grabbed the collar of Colin's jacket and dragged him away from her. \"Come away from there. Are you trying to catch the virus? Why aren't you wearing your mask?\"\n\n\"There aren't any.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't be here at all. I want you to go straight back to Balliol and\u2014\"\n\n\"I can't. I'm assigned to make certain you get your enhancement.\"\n\n\"Then sit down over there,\" Dunworthy said, walking him over to a chair in the reception area, \"and stay away from the patients.\"\n\n\"You'd better not try to sneak out on me,\" Colin said warningly, but he sat down, pulled his gobstopper out of his pocket, and wiped it on the sleeve of his jacket.\n\nDunworthy went back over to the stretcher trolley. \"Lupe,\" Mary was saying, \"we need to ask you some questions. When did you fall ill?\"\n\n\"This morning,\" Montoya said. Her voice was hoarse, and Dunworthy realized suddenly that she must be the person who had telephoned him. \"Last night I had a terrible headache\"\u2014 she raised a muddy hand and drew it across her eyebrows\u2014\"but I thought it was because I was straining my eyes.\"\n\n\"Who was with you out at the dig?\"\n\n\"Nobody,\" Montoya said, sounding surprised.\n\n\"What about deliveries? Did someone from Witney deliver supplies to you?\"\n\nShe started to shake her head, but it apparently hurt, and she stopped. \"No. I took everything with me.\"\n\n\"And you didn't have anyone with you to help you with the excavation?\"\n\n\"No. I asked Mr. Dunworthy to tell the NHS to send some help, but he didn't.\" Mary looked across at Dunworthy, and Montoya followed her glance. \"Are they sending someone?\" she asked him. \"They'll never find it if they don't get someone out there.\"\n\n\"Find what?\" he said, wondering if Montoya's answer could be trusted or if she were half-delirious.\n\n\"The dig is half underwater right now,\" she said.\n\n\"Find what?\"\n\n\"Kivrin's corder.\"\n\nHe had a sudden image of Montoya standing by the tomb, sorting through the muddy box of stone-shaped bones. Wrist bones. They had been wrist bones, and she had been examining the uneven edges, looking for a bone spur that was actually a piece of recording equipment. Kivrin's corder.\n\n\"I haven't excavated all the graves yet,\" Montoya said, \"and it's still raining. They have to send someone out immediately.\"\n\n\"Graves?\" Mary said, looking at him uncomprehendingly. \"What is she talking about?\"\n\n\"She's been excavating a mediaeval churchyard looking for Kivrin's body,\" he said bitterly, \"looking for the corder you implanted in Kivrin's wrist.\"\n\nMary wasn't listening. \"I want the contacts charts,\" she said to the house officer. She turned back to Dunworthy. \"Badri was out at the dig, wasn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"The eighteenth and nineteenth,\" he said.\n\n\"In the churchyard?\"\n\n\"Yes. He and Montoya were opening a knight's tomb.\"\n\n\"A tomb,\" Mary said, as if it were the answer to a question. She bent over Montoya. \"How old was the tomb?\"\n\n\"1318,\" Montoya said.\n\n\"Did you work on the knight's tomb this week?\" Mary asked.\n\nMontoya tried to nod, stopped. \"I get so dizzy when I move my head,\" she said apologetically. \"I had to move the skeleton. Water'd gotten into the tomb.\"\n\n\"What day did you work on the tomb?\"\n\nMontoya frowned. \"I can't remember. The day before the bells, I think.\"\n\n\"The thirty-first,\" Dunworthy said. He leaned over her. \"Have you worked on it since?\"\n\nShe tried to shake her head again.\n\n\"The contacts charts are up,\" the house officer said.\n\nMary walked rapidly over to his desk and took the keyboard over from him. She tapped several keys, stared at the screen, tapped more keys.\n\n\"What is it?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"What are the conditions at the churchyard?\" Mary said.\n\n\"Conditions?\" he said blankly. \"It's muddy. She's covered the churchyard with a tarp, but a good deal of rain was still getting in.\"\n\n\"Warm?\"\n\n\"Yes. She mentioned it was muggy. She had several electric fires hooked up. What is it?\"\n\nShe drew her finger down the screen, looking for something. \"Viruses are exceptionally sturdy organisms,\" she said. \"They can lie dormant for long periods of time and be revived. Living viruses have been taken from Egyptian mummies.\" Her finger stopped at a date. \"I thought so. Badri was at the dig four days before he came down with the virus.\"\n\nShe turned to the house officer. \"I want a team out at the dig immediately,\" she told him. \"Get NHS clearance. Tell them we may have found the source of the virus.\" She typed in a new screen, drew her finger down the names, typed in something else, and leaned back, looking at the screen. \"We had four primaries with no positive connection to Badri. Two of them were at the dig four days before they came down with the virus. The other one was there three days before.\"\n\n\"The virus is at the dig?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Yes.\" She smiled ruefully at him. \"I'm afraid Gilchrist was right after all. The virus did come from the past. Out of the knight's tomb.\"\n\n\"Kivrin was at the dig,\" he said.\n\nNow it was Mary who looked uncomprehending. \"When?\"\n\n\"The Sunday afternoon before the drop. The nineteenth.\"\n\n\"Are you certain?\"\n\n\"She told me before she left. She wanted her hands to look authentic.\"\n\n\"Oh, my God,\" she said. \"If she was exposed four days before the drop, she hadn't had her T-cell enhancement. The virus might have had a chance to replicate and invade her system. She might have come down with it.\"\n\nDunworthy grabbed her arm. \"But that can't have happened. The net wouldn't have let her through if there was a chance she'd infect the contemps.\"\n\n\"There wouldn't have been any one for her to infect,\" Mary said, \"not if the virus came out of the knight's tomb. Not if he died of it in 1318. The contemps would already have had it. They'd be immune.\" She walked rapidly over to Montoya. \"When Kivrin was out at the dig, did she work on the tomb?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Montoya said. \"I wasn't there. I had a meeting with Gilchrist.\"\n\n\"Who would know? Who else was there that day?\"\n\n\"No one. Everyone had gone home for vac.\"\n\n\"How did she know what she was supposed to do?\"\n\n\"The volunteers left notes to each other when they left.\"\n\n\"Who was there that morning?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"Badri,\" Dunworthy said and took off for Isolation.\n\nHe walked straight into Badri's room. The nurse, caught off-guard with her swollen feet up on the displays, said, \"You can't go in without SPG's,\" and started after him, but he was already inside.\n\nBadri was lying propped against a pillow. He looked very pale, as if his illness had bleached all the color from his skin, and weak, but he looked up when Dunworthy burst in and started to speak.\n\n\"Did Kivrin work on the knight's tomb?\" Dunworthy demanded.\n\n\"Kivrin?\" His voice was almost too weak to be heard.\n\nThe nurse banged in the door. \"Mr. Dunworthy, you are not allowed in here\u2014\"\n\n\"On Sunday,\" Dunworthy said. \"You were to have left her a message telling her what to do. Did you tell her to work on the tomb?\"\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, you're exposing yourself to the virus\u2014\" the nurse said.\n\nMary came in, pulling on a pair of imperm gloves. \"You're not supposed to be in here without SPG's, James,\" she said.\n\n\"I told him, Dr. Ahrens,\" the nurse said, \"but he barged past me and\u2014\"\n\n\"Did you leave Kivrin a message at the dig that she was to work on the tomb?\" Dunworthy insisted.\n\nBadri nodded his head weakly.\n\n\"She was exposed to the virus,\" Dunworthy said to Mary. \"On Sunday. Four days before she left.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Mary breathed.\n\n\"What is it? What's happened?\" Badri said, trying to push himself up in the bed. \"Where's Kivrin?\" He looked from Dunworthy to Mary. \"You pulled her out, didn't you? As soon as you realized what had happened? Didn't you pull her out?\"\n\n\"What had happened\u2014?\" Mary echoed. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You have to have pulled her out,\" Badri said. \"She's not in 1320. She's in 1348.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "\"That's impossible,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"1348?\" Mary said bewilderedly. \"But that can't be. That's the year of the Black Death.\"\n\nShe can't be in 1348, Dunworthy thought. Andrews said the maximal slippage was only five years. Badri said Puhalski's coordinates were correct.\n\n\"1348?\" Mary said again. He saw her glance at the screens on the wall behind Badri, as if hoping he were still delirious. \"Are you certain?\"\n\nBadri nodded. \"I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the slippage\u2014\" he said, and sounded as bewildered as Mary.\n\n\"There couldn't have been enough slippage for her to be in 1348,\" Dunworthy cut in. \"I had Andrews run parameter checks. He said the maximal slippage was only five years.\"\n\nBadri shook his head. \"It wasn't the slippage. That was only four hours. It was too small. Minimal slippage on a drop that far in the past should have been at least forty-eight hours.\"\n\nThe slippage had not been too great. It had been too small. I didn't ask Andrews what the minimal slippage was, only the maximal.\n\n\"I don't know what happened,\" Badri said. \"I had such a headache. The whole time I was setting the net, I had a headache.\"\n\n\"That was the virus,\" Mary said. She looked stunned. \"Headache and disorientation are the first symptoms.\" She sank down in the chair beside the bed. \"1348.\"\n\nHe could not seem to take this in. He had been worried about Kivrin catching the virus, he had been worried about there being too much slippage, and all the time she was in 1348. The plague had hit Oxford in 1348. At Christmastime.\n\n\"As soon as I saw how small the slippage was, I knew there was something wrong,\" Badri said, \"so I called up the coordinates\u2014\"\n\n\"You said you checked Puhalski's coordinates,\" Dunworthy said accusingly.\n\n\"He was only a first-year apprentice. He'd never even done a remote. And Gilchrist didn't have the least idea what he was doing. I tried to tell you. Wasn't she at the rendezvous?\" He looked at Dunworthy. \"Why didn't you pull her out?\"\n\n\"We didn't know,\" Mary said, still sitting there stunned. \"You weren't able to tell us anything. You were delirious.\"\n\n\"The plague killed fifty million people,\" Dunworthy said. \"It killed half of Europe.\"\n\n\"James,\" Mary said.\n\n\"I tried to tell you,\" Badri said. \"That's why I came to get you. So we could pull her out before she left the rendezvous.\"\n\nHe had tried to tell him. He had run all the way to the pub. He had run out in the pouring rain without his coat to tell him, pushing his way between the Christmas shoppers and their shopping bags and umbrellas as if they weren't there, and arrived wet and half-frozen, his teeth chattering with the fever. There's something wrong.\n\nI tried to tell you. He had. \"It killed half of Europe,\" he had said, and \"it was the rats,\" and \"What year is it?\" He had tried to tell him.\n\n\"If it wasn't the slippage, it has to have been an error in the coordinates,\" Dunworthy said, gripping the end of the bed.\n\nBadri shrank back against the propped pillows like a cornered animal.\n\n\"You said Puhalski's coordinates were correct.\"\n\n\"James,\" Mary said warningly.\n\n\"The coordinates are the only other thing that could go wrong,\" he shouted. \"Anything else would have aborted the drop. You said you checked them twice. You said you couldn't find any mistakes.\"\n\n\"I couldn't,\" Badri said. \"But I didn't trust them. I was afraid he'd made a mistake in the sidereal calculations that wouldn't show up.\" His face went gray. \"I refed them myself. The morning of the drop.\"\n\nThe morning of the drop. When he had had the terrific headache. When he was already feverish and disoriented. Dunworthy remembered him typing at the console, frowning at the display screens. I watched him do it, he thought. I stood and watched him send Kivrin to the Black Death.\n\n\"I don't know what happened,\" Badri said. \"I must have\u2014\"\n\n\"The plague wiped out whole villages,\" Dunworthy said. \"So many people died, there was no one left to bury them.\"\n\n\"Leave him alone, James,\" Mary said. \"It's not his fault. He was ill.\"\n\n\"Ill,\" he said. \"Kivrin was exposed to your virus. She's in 1348.\"\n\n\"James,\" Mary said.\n\nHe didn't wait to hear it. He yanked the door open and plunged out.\n\nColin was balancing on a chair in the corridor, tipping it back so the front two legs were off the ground. \"There you are,\" he said.\n\nDunworthy walked rapidly past him.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Colin said, tipping the chair forward with a crash. \"Great-aunt Mary said not to let you leave till you'd had your enhancement.\" He lurched sideways, caught himself on his hands, and scrambled up. \"Why aren't you wearing your SPG's?\"\n\nDunworthy shoved through the ward doors.\n\nColin came skidding through the doors. \"Great-aunt Mary said I was absolutely not to let you leave.\"\n\n\"I don't have time for enhancements,\" Dunworthy said. \"She's in 1348.\"\n\n\"Great-aunt Mary?\"\n\nHe started down the corridor.\n\n\"Kivrin?\" Colin asked, running to catch up. \"She can't be. That's when the Black Death was, isn't it?\"\n\nDunworthy shoved open the door to the stairs and started down them two at a time.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Colin said. \"How did she end up in 1348?\"\n\nDunworthy pushed open the door at the foot of the stairs and started down the corridor to the call box, fishing in his overcoat for the pocket calendar Colin had given him.\n\n\"How are you going to pull her out?\" Colin asked. \"The laboratory's locked.\"\n\nDunworthy pulled out the pocket calendar and began turning pages. He'd written Andrews's number in the back.\n\n\"Mr. Gilchrist won't let you in. How are you going to get into the laboratory? He said he wouldn't let you in.\"\n\nAndrews's number was on the last page. He picked up the receiver.\n\n\"If he does let you in, who's going to run the net? Mr. Chaudhuri?\"\n\n\"Andrews,\" Dunworthy said shortly and began punching in the number.\n\n\"I thought he wouldn't come. Because of the virus.\"\n\nDunworthy put the receiver to his ear. \"I'm not leaving her there.\"\n\nA woman answered. \"24837 here,\" she said. \"H. F. Shepherds', Limited.\"\n\nDunworthy looked blankly at the pocket calendar in his hand. \"I'm trying to reach Ronald Andrews,\" he said. \"What number is this?\"\n\n\"24837,\" she said impatiently. \"There's no one here by that name.\"\n\nHe slammed the phone down. \"Idiot telephone service,\" he said. He punched in the number again.\n\n\"Even if he agrees to come, how are you going to find her?\" Colin asked, looking over his shoulder at the receiver. \"She won't be there, will she? The rendezvous isn't for three days.\"\n\nDunworthy listened to the telephone's ringing, wondering what Kivrin had done when she realized where she was. Gone back to the rendezvous and waited there, no doubt. If she was able to. If she was not ill. If she had not been accused of bringing the plague to Skendgate.\n\n\"24837 here,\" the same woman's voice said. \"H. F. Shepherds', Limited.\"\n\n\"What number is this?\" Dunworthy shouted.\n\n\"24837,\" she said, exasperated.\n\n\"24837,\" Dunworthy repeated. \"That's the number I'm trying to reach.\"\n\n\"No, it's not,\" Colin said, reaching across him to point to Andrews's number on the page. \"You've mixed the numbers.\" He took the receiver away from Dunworthy. \"Here, let me try it for you.\" He punched in the number and handed the receiver back to Dunworthy.\n\nThe ringing sounded different, farther away. Dunworthy thought about Kivrin. The plague had not hit everywhere at once. It had been in Oxford at Christmas, but there was no way of knowing when it had reached Skendgate.\n\nThere was no answer. He let the phone ring ten times, eleven. He could not remember which way the plague had come from. It had come from France. Surely that meant from the east, across the Channel. And Skendgate was west of Oxford. It might not have reached there until after Christmas.\n\n\"Where's the book?\" he asked Colin.\n\n\"What book? Your appointment calendar, you mean? It's right here.\"\n\n\"The book I gave you for Christmas. Why don't you have it?\"\n\n\"Here?\" Colin said, bewildered. \"It weighs at least five stone.\"\n\nThere was still no answer. Dunworthy hung up the receiver, snatched up the calendar, and started toward the door. \"I expect you to keep it with you at all times. Don't you know there's an epidemic on?\"\n\n\"Are you all right, Mr. Dunworthy?\"\n\n\"Go and get it,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"What, right now?\"\n\n\"Go back to Balliol and get it. I want to know when the plague reached Oxfordshire. Not the town. The villages. And which direction it came from.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Colin asked, running alongside him.\n\n\"To make Gilchrist open the laboratory.\"\n\n\"If he won't open it because of the flu, he'll never open it for the plague,\" Colin said.\n\nDunworthy opened the door and went out. It was raining hard. The EC protesters were huddled under Infirmary's overhang. One of them started toward him, proffering a flyer. Colin was right. Telling Gilchrist the source would have no effect. He would remain convinced the virus had come through the net. He would be afraid to open it for fear the plague would come through.\n\n\"Give me a sheet of paper,\" he said, fumbling for his pen.\n\n\"A sheet of paper?\" Colin said. \"What for?\"\n\nDunworthy snatched the flyer from the EC protester and began scribbling on the back. \"Mr. Basingame is authorizing the opening of the net,\" he said.\n\nColin peered at the writing. \"He'll never believe that, Mr. Dunworthy. On the back of a flyer?\"\n\n\"Then fetch me a sheet of paper!\" he shouted.\n\nColin's eyes widened. \"I will. You wait here, all right?\" he said placatingly. \"Don't leave.\"\n\nHe dashed back inside and reappeared immediately with several sheets of hardcopy paper. Dunworthy snatched it from him and scrawled the orders and Basingame's name. \"Go and fetch your book. I'll meet you at Brasenose.\"\n\n\"What about your coat?\"\n\n\"There's no time,\" he said. He folded the paper in fourths and jammed it inside his jacket.\n\n\"It's raining. Shouldn't you take a taxi?\" Colin said.\n\n\"There aren't any taxis.\" He started off down the street.\n\n\"Great-aunt Mary's going to kill me, you know,\" Colin called after him. \"She said it was my responsibility to see that you got your enhancement.\"\n\nHe should have taken a taxi. It was pouring by the time he reached Brasenose, a hard slanting rain that would be sleet in another hour. Dunworthy felt chilled to the bone.\n\nThe rain had at least driven the picketers away. There was nothing in front of Brasenose but a few wet flyers they had dropped. An expandable metal gate had been pulled across the front of the entrance to Brasenose. The porter had retreated inside his lodge, and the shutter was down.\n\n\"Open up!\" Dunworthy shouted. He rattled the gate loudly. \"Open up immediately!\"\n\nThe porter pulled the shutter up and looked out. When he saw it was Dunworthy, he looked alarmed and then belligerent. \"Brasenose is under quarantine,\" he said. \"It's restricted.\"\n\n\"Open this gate immediately,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir,\" he said. \"Mr. Gilchrist has given orders that no one be admitted to Brasenose until the source of the virus is discovered.\"\n\n\"We know the source,\" Dunworthy said. \"Open the gate.\"\n\nThe porter let the shutter down, and in a minute he came out of the lodge and over to the gate. \"Was it the Christmas decorations?\" he said. \"They said the ornaments were infected with it.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. \"Open the gate and let me in.\"\n\n\"I don't know whether I should do that, sir,\" he said, looking uncomfortable. \"Mr. Gilchrist...\"\n\n\"Mr. Gilchrist isn't in charge anymore,\" he said. He pulled the folded paper out of his jacket and poked it through the metal gate at the porter.\n\nHe unfolded it and read it, standing there in the rain.\n\n\"Mr. Gilchrist is no longer Acting Head,\" Dunworthy said. \"Mr. Basingame has authorized me to take charge of the drop. Open the gate.\"\n\n\"Mr. Basingame,\" he said, peering at the already-blotted signature. \"I'll find the keys,\" he said.\n\nHe went back in the lodge, taking the paper with him. Dunworthy huddled against the gate, trying to keep out of the freezing rain, and shivering.\n\nHe had been worried about Kivrin sleeping on the cold ground, and she was in the middle of a holocaust, where people froze to death because no one was left on their feet to chop wood, and the animals died in the fields because no one was left alive to bring them in. Eighty thousand dead in Siena, three hundred thousand in Rome, more than a hundred thousand in Florence. One half of Europe.\n\nThe porter finally emerged with a large ring of keys and came over to the gate. \"I'll have it open in a moment, sir,\" he said, sorting through the keys.\n\nKivrin would surely have gone back to the drop as soon as she realized it was 1348. She would have been there all this time, waiting for the net to open, frantic that they hadn't come to get her.\n\nIf she had realized. She would have no way of knowing she was in 1348. Badri had told her the slippage would be several days. She would have checked the date against the Advent holy days and thought she was exactly where she was supposed to be. It would never have occurred to her to ask the year. She would think she was in 1320, and all the time the plague would be sweeping toward her.\n\nThe gate's lock clicked free, and Dunworthy pushed the gate open far enough to squeeze through. \"Bring your keys,\" he said. \"I need you to unlock the laboratory.\"\n\n\"That key's not on here,\" the porter said, and disappeared into the lodge again.\n\nIt was icy in the passage, and the rain came slanting in, colder still. Dunworthy huddled next to the door of the lodge, trying to catch some of the heat from inside, and jammed his hands hard against the bottoms of his jacket pockets to stop the shivering.\n\nHe had been worried about cutthroats and thieves, and all this time she had been in 1348, where they had piled the dead in the streets, where they had burned Jews and strangers at the stake in their panic.\n\nHe had been worried about Gilchrist not doing parameter checks, so worried that he had infected Badri with his anxiety, and Badri, already feverish, had refed the coordinates. So worried.\n\nHe realized suddenly that the porter had been gone too long, that he must be warning Gilchrist.\n\nHe moved toward the door, and as he did, the porter emerged, carrying an umbrella and exclaiming over the cold. He offered half the umbrella to Dunworthy.\n\n\"I'm already wet through,\" Dunworthy said and strode off ahead of him through the quad.\n\nThe door of the laboratory had a yellow plastic banner stretched across it. Dunworthy tore it off while the porter searched through his pockets for the key to the alarm, switching the umbrella from hand to hand.\n\nDunworthy glanced up behind him at Gilchrist's rooms. They overlooked the laboratory, and there was a light on in the sitting room, but Dunworthy couldn't detect any movement.\n\nThe porter found the flat cardkey that switched off the alarm. He switched it off and began looking for the key to the door. \"I'm still not certain I should unlock the laboratory without Mr. Gilchrist's authorization,\" he said.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy!\" Colin shouted from halfway across the quad. They both looked up. Colin came racing up, drenched to the skin with the book under his arm, wrapped in the muffler. \"It\u2014didn't\u2014hit\u2014parts of Oxfordshire\u2014till\u2014March,\" he said, stopping between words to catch his breath. \"Sorry. I\u2014ran\u2014all the way.\"\n\n\"What parts?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\nColin handed the book to him and bent over, his hands on his knees, taking deep noisy breaths. \"It\u2014doesn't\u2014say.\"\n\nDunworthy unwound the muffler and opened the book to the page Colin had turned down, but his spectacles were too spattered with rain to read it, and the open pages were promptly soaked.\n\n\"It says it started in Melcombe and moved north to Bath and east,\" Colin said. \"It says it was in Oxford at Christmas and London the next October, but that parts of Oxfordshire didn't get it till late spring, and that a few individual villages were missed until July.\"\n\nDunworthy stared blindly at the unreadable pages. \"That doesn't tell us anything,\" he said.\n\n\"I know,\" Colin said. He straightened up, still breathing hard, \"but at least it doesn't say the plague was all through Oxfordshire by Christmas. Perhaps she's in one of those villages it didn't come to till July.\"\n\nDunworthy wiped the wet pages with the dangling muffler and shut the book. \"It moved east from Bath,\" he said softly. \"Skendgate's just south of the Oxford-Bath road.\"\n\nThe porter had finally decided on a key. He pushed it into the lock.\n\n\"I rang up Andrews again, but there was still no answer.\"\n\nThe porter opened the door.\n\n\"How are you going to run the net without a tech?\" Colin said.\n\n\"Run the net?\" the porter said, the key still in his hand. \"I understood that you wished to obtain data from the computer. Mr. Gilchrist won't allow you to run the net without authorization.\" He took out Basingame's authorization and looked at it.\n\n\"I'm authorizing it,\" Dunworthy said and swept past him into the laboratory.\n\nThe porter started in, caught his open umbrella on the door frame, and fumbled on the handle for the catch.\n\nColin ducked under the umbrella and in after Dunworthy.\n\nGilchrist must have turned the heat off. The laboratory was scarcely warmer than the outside, but Dunworthy's spectacles, wet as they were, steamed up. He took them off and tried to wipe them dry on his wet suit jacket.\n\n\"Here,\" Colin said and handed him a wadded length of paper tissue. \"It's lavatory paper. I've been collecting it for Mr. Finch. The thing is, it's going to be difficult enough to find her if we land in the proper place, and you said yourself that getting the exact time and place are awfully complicated.\"\n\n\"We already have the exact time and place,\" Dunworthy said, wiping his spectacles on the lavatory paper. He put them on again. They were still blurred.\n\n\"I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to leave,\" the porter said. \"I cannot allow you in here without Mr. Gilchrist's\u2014\" He stopped.\n\n\"Oh, blood,\" Colin muttered. \"It's Mr. Gilchrist.\"\n\n\"What's the meaning of this?\" Gilchrist said. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I'm going to bring Kivrin through,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"On whose authority?\" Gilchrist said. \"This is Brasenose's net, and you are guilty of unlawful entry.\" He turned on the porter. \"I gave you orders that Mr. Dunworthy was not to be allowed on the premises.\"\n\n\"Mr. Basingame authorized it,\" the porter said. He held the damp paper out.\n\nGilchrist snatched it from him. \"Basingame!\" He stared down at it. \"This isn't Basingame's signature,\" he said furiously. \"Unlawful entry and now forgery. Mr. Dunworthy, I intend to file charges. And when Mr. Basingame returns, I intend to inform him of your\u2014\"\n\nDunworthy took a step toward him. \"And I intend to inform Mr. Basingame how his Acting Head of Faculty refused to abort a drop, how he intentionally endangered an historian, how he refused to allow access to this laboratory, and how as a result the historian's temporal location could not be determined.\" He waved his arm at the console. \"Do you know what this fix says? This fix that you wouldn't let my tech read for ten days because of a lot of imbeciles who don't understand time travel, including you? Do you know what it says? Kivrin's not in 1320. She's in 1348, in the middle of the Black Death.\" He turned and gestured toward the screens. \"And she's been there two weeks. Because of your stupidity. Because of\u2014\" He stopped.\n\n\"You have no right to speak to me that way,\" Gilchrist said. \"And no right to be in this laboratory. I demand that you leave immediately.\"\n\nDunworthy didn't answer. He took a step toward the console.\n\n\"Call the proctor,\" Gilchrist said to the porter. \"I want them thrown out.\"\n\nThe screen was not only blank but dark, and so were the function lights above it on the console. The power switch was turned to off. \"You've switched off the power,\" Dunworthy said, and his voice sounded as old as Badri's had. \"You've shut down the net.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Gilchrist said, \"and a good thing, too, since you feel you have the right to barge in without authorization.\"\n\nHe put a hand out blindly toward the \"blank screen, staggering a little. \"You've shut down the net,\" he repeated.\n\n\"Are you all right, Mr. Dunworthy?\" Colin said, taking a step forward.\n\n\"I thought you might attempt to break in and open the net,\" Gilchrist said, \"since you seem to have no respect for Mediaeval's authority. I cut off the power to prevent that happening, and it appears I did the right thing.\"\n\nDunworthy had heard of people being struck down by bad news. When Badri had told him Kivrin was in 1348, he had not been able to absorb what it meant, but this news seemed to strike him with a physical force. He couldn't catch his breath. \"You shut the net down,\" he said. \"You've lost the fix.\"\n\n\"Lost the fix?\" Gilchrist said. \"Nonsense. There are backups and things surely. When the power's switched on again\u2014\"\n\n\"Does that mean we don't know where Kivrin is?\" Colin asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, and thought as he fell, I am going to hit the console like Badri did, but he didn't. He fell almost gently, like a man with the wind knocked out of him, and collapsed like a lover into Gilchrist's outstretched arms.\n\n\"I knew it,\" he heard Colin say. \"This is because you didn't get your enhancement. Great-aunt Mary's going to kill me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "\"That's impossible,\" Kivrin said. \"It can't be 1348,\" but it all made sense, Imeyne's chaplain dying, and their not having any servants, Eliwys's not wanting to send Gawyn to Oxford to find out who Kivrin was. \"There is much illness there,\" Lady Yvolde had said, and the Black Death had hit Oxford at Christmas in 1348. \"What happened?\" she said, and her voice rose out of control. \"What happened! I was supposed to go to 1320. 1320! Mr. Dunworthy told me I shouldn't come, he said Mediaeval didn't know what they were doing, but they couldn't have sent me to the wrong year! \" She stopped. \"You must get out of here! It's the Black Death!\"\n\nThey all looked at her so uncomprehendingly that she thought the interpreter must have lapsed into English again. \"It's the Black Death,\" she said again. \"The blue sickness!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said softly, and Kivrin said, \"Lady Eliwys, you must take Lady Imeyne and Father Roche down to the hall.\"\n\n\"It cannot be,\" she said, but she took Lady Imeyne's arm and led her out, Imeyne clutching the poultice as if it were her reliquary. Maisry darted after them, her hands clutched to her ears.\n\n\"You must go, too,\" Kivrin said to Roche. \"I will stay with the clerk.\"\n\n\"Thruuuu...\" the clerk murmured from the bed, and Roche turned to look at him. The clerk struggled to rise, and Roche started toward him.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin said, and grabbed his sleeve. \"You mustn't go near him.\" She interposed herself between him and the bed. \"The clerk's illness is contagious,\" she said, willing the interpreter to translate. \"Infectious. It is spread by fleas and by...\" she hesitated, trying to think how to describe droplet infection, \"by the humours and exhalations of the ill. It is a deadly disease, which kills nearly all who come near it.\"\n\nShe watched him anxiously, wondering if he had understood anything she'd said, if he could understand it. There had been no knowledge of germs in the 1300s, no knowledge of how diseases spread. The contemps had believed the Black Death was a judgment from God. They had thought it was spread by poisonous mists that floated across the countryside, by a dead person's glance, by magic.\n\n\"Father,\" the clerk said, and Roche tried to step past Kivrin, but she barred his way.\n\n\"We cannot leave them to die,\" he said.\n\nThey did, though, she thought. They ran away and left them. People abandoned their own children, and doctors refused to come, and all the priests fled.\n\nShe stooped and picked up one of the strips of cloth Lady Imeyne had torn for her poultice. \"You must cover your mouth and nose with this,\" she said.\n\nShe handed it to him and he looked at it, frowning, and then folded it into a flat packet and held it to his face.\n\n\"Tie it,\" Kivrin said, picking up another one. She folded it diagonally and put it over her nose and mouth like a bandit's mask and tied it in a knot in the back. \"Like this.\"\n\nRoche obeyed, fumbling with the knot, and looked at Kivrin. She moved aside, and he bent over the clerk and put his hand on his chest.\n\n\"Don't\u2014\" she said, and he looked up at her. \"Don't touch him any more than you have to.\"\n\nShe held her breath as Roche examined him, afraid that he would start up suddenly again and grab at Roche, but he didn't move at all. The bubo under his arm had begun to ooze blood and a slow greenish pus.\n\nKivrin put a restraining hand on Roche's arm. \"Don't touch it,\" she said. \"He must have broken it when we were struggling with him.\" She wiped the blood and pus away with one of Imeyne's cloth strips and bound up the wound with another, tying it tightly at the shoulder. The clerk did not wince or cry out, and when she looked at him she saw he was staring straight ahead, unmoving.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Roche said, his hand on his chest again, and she could see the faint rise and fall. \"I must bring the sacraments,\" he said through the mask, and his words were almost as blurred as the clerk's.\n\nNo, Kivrin thought, the panic rising again. Don't go. What if he dies? What if he rises up again?\n\nRoche straightened. \"Do not fear,\" he said. \"I will come again.\"\n\nHe went out rapidly, without shutting the door, and Kivrin went over to close it. She could hear sounds from below\u2014Eliwys's and Roche's voices. She should have told him not to speak to anyone. Agnes said, \"I wish to stay with Kivrin,\" and began to howl and Rosemund answered her angrily, shouting over the crying.\n\n\"I will tell Kivrin,\" Agnes said, outraged, and Kivrin shoved the door to and barred it.\n\nAgnes must not come in here, nor Rosemund, nor anyone. They must not be exposed. There was no cure for the Black Death. The only way to protect them was to keep them from catching it. She tried frantically to remember what she knew about the plague. She had studied it in Fourteenth Century, and Dr. Ahrens had talked about it when she'd given Kivrin her inoculations.\n\nThere were two distinct types, no, three\u2014one went directly into the bloodstream and killed the victim within hours. Bubonic plague was spread by rat fleas, and that was the kind that produced the buboes. The other kind was pneumonic, and it didn't have buboes. The victim coughed and vomited up blood, and that was spread by droplet infection and was horribly contagious. But the clerk had the bubonic, and that wasn't as contagious. Simply being near the patient wouldn't do it\u2014the flea had to jump from one person to another.\n\nShe had a sudden vivid image of the clerk falling on Rosemund, bearing her down to the floor. What if she gets it? she thought. She can't, she can't get it. There isn't any cure.\n\nThe clerk stirred in the bed, and Kivrin went over to him.\n\n\"Thirsty,\" he said, licking his lips with his swollen tongue. She brought him a cup of water, and he drank a few gulps greedily and then choked and spewed it over her.\n\nShe backed away, yanking off the drenched mask. It's the bubonic, she told herself, wiping frantically at her chest. This kind isn't spread by droplet. And you can't get the plague, you've had your inoculation. But she had had her antivirals and her T-cell enhancement, too. She should not have been able to get the virus either. She should not have landed in 1348.\n\n\"What happened? \" she whispered.\n\nIt couldn't be the slippage. Mr. Dunworthy had been upset that they hadn't run slippage checks, but even at its worst, the drop would only have been off by weeks, not years. Something must have gone wrong with the net.\n\nMr. Dunworthy had said Mr. Gilchrist didn't know what he was doing, and something had gone wrong, and she had come through in 1348, but why hadn't they aborted the drop as soon as they knew it was the wrong date? Mr. Gilchrist might not have had the sense to pull her out, but Mr. Dunworthy would have. He hadn't wanted her to come in the first place. Why hadn't he opened the net again?\n\nBecause I wasn't there, she thought. It would have taken at least two hours to get the fix. By then she had wandered off into the woods. But he would have held the net open. He wouldn't have closed it again and waited for the rendezvous. He'd hold it open for her.\n\nShe half ran to the door and pushed up on the bar. She must find Gawyn. She must make him tell her where the drop was.\n\nThe clerk sat up and flung his bare leg over the bed as if he would go with her. \"Help me,\" he said, and tried to move his other leg.\n\n\"I can't help you,\" she said angrily. \"I don't belong here.\" She shoved the bar up out of its sockets. \"I must find Gawyn.\" But as soon as she said it, she remembered that he wasn't there, that he had gone with the bishop's envoy and Sir Bloet to Courcy. With the bishop's envoy, who had been in such a hurry to leave he had nearly run down Agnes.\n\nShe dropped the bar and turned on him. \"Did the others have the plague?\" she demanded. \"Did the bishop's envoy have it?\" She remembered his gray face and the way he had shivered and pulled his cloak around him. He would infect all of them: Bloet and his haughty sister and the chattering girls. And Gawyn. \"You knew you had it when you came here, didn't you? Didn't you?\"\n\nThe clerk held his arms out stiffly to her, like a child. \"Help me,\" he said, and fell back, his head and shoulder nearly off the bed.\n\n\"You don't deserve to be helped. You brought the plague here.\"\n\nThere was a knock.\n\n\"Who is it?\" she said angrily.\n\n\"Roche,\" he called through the door, and she felt a wave of relief, of joy that he had come, but she didn't move. She looked down at the clerk, still lying half off the bed. His mouth was open, and his swollen tongue filled his entire mouth.\n\n\"Let me in,\" Roche said. \"I must hear his confession.\"\n\nHis confession. \"No,\" Kivrin said.\n\nHe knocked again, louder.\n\n\"I can't let you in,\" Kivrin said. \"It's contagious. You might catch it.\"\n\n\"He is in peril of death,\" Roche said. \"He must be shriven that he may enter into heaven.\"\n\nHe's not going to heaven, Kivrin thought. He brought the plague here.\n\nThe clerk opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and swollen, and there was a faint hum to his breathing. He's dying, she thought.\n\n\"Katherine,\" Roche said.\n\nDying, and far from home. Like I was. She had brought a disease with her, too, and if no one had succumbed to it, it was not because of anything she had done. They had all helped her, Eliwys and Imeyne and Roche. She might have infected all of them. Roche had given her the last rites, he had held her hand.\n\nKivrin lifted the clerk's head gently and laid him straight in the bed. Then she went to the door.\n\n\"I'll let you give him the last rites,\" she said, opening it a crack, \"but I must speak to you first.\"\n\nRoche had put on his vestments and taken off his mask. He carried the holy oil and the viaticum in a basket He set them on the chest at the foot of the bed, looking at the clerk, whose breathing was becoming more labored. \"I must hear his confession,\" he said.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin said. \"Not until I've told you what I have to.\" She took a deep breath. \"The clerk has the bubonic plague,\" she said, listening carefully for the translation. \"It is a terrible disease. Nearly all who catch it die. It is spread by rats and their fleas and by the breath of those who are ill, and their clothes and belongings.\" She looked anxiously at him, willing him to understand. He looked anxious, too, and bewildered.\n\n\"It's a terrible disease,\" she said. \"It's not like typhoid or cholera. It's already killed hundreds of thousands of people in Italy and France, so many in some places there's no one left to bury the dead.\"\n\nHis expression was unreadable. \"You have remembered who you are and whence you came,\" he said, and it wasn't a question.\n\nHe thinks I was fleeing the plague when Gawyn found me in the woods, she thought. If I say yes, he'll think I'm the one who brought it here. But there was nothing accusing in his look, and she had to make him understand.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and waited.\n\n\"What must we do?\" he said.\n\n\"You must keep the others from this room, and you must tell them they must stay in the house and let no one in. You must tell the villagers to stay in their houses, too, and if they see a dead rat not to go near it. There must be no more feasting or dancing on the green. The villagers mustn't come into the manor house or the courtyard or the church. They mustn't gather together anywhere.\"\n\n\"I will bid Lady Eliwys keep Agnes and Rosemund inside,\" he said, \"and tell the villagers to keep to their houses.\"\n\nThe clerk made a strangled sound from the bed, and they both turned and looked at him.\n\n\"Is there naught we can do to help those who have caught this plague?\" he said, pronouncing the word awkwardly.\n\nShe had tried to remember what remedies the contemps had tried while he was gone. They had carried nosegays of flowers and drunk powdered emeralds and applied leeches to the buboes, but all of those were worse than useless, and Dr. Ahrens had said it wouldn't have mattered what they had tried, that nothing except antimicrobials like tetracycline and streptomycin would have worked, and those had not been discovered until the twentieth century.\n\n\"We must give him liquids and keep him warm,\" she said.\n\nRoche looked at the clerk. \"Surely God will help him,\" he said.\n\nHe won't, she thought. He didn't. Half of Europe. \"God cannot help us against the Black Death,\" she said.\n\nRoche nodded and picked up the holy oil.\n\n\"You must put your mask on,\" Kivrin said, kneeling to pick up the last cloth strip. She tied it over his mouth and nose. \"You must always wear it when you tend him,\" she said, hoping he wouldn't notice she wasn't wearing hers.\n\n\"Is it God who has sent this upon us?\" Roche said.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. \"No.\"\n\n\"Has the Devil sent it then?\"\n\nIt was tempting to say yes. Most of Europe had believed it was Satan who was responsible for the Black Death. And they had searched for the Devil's agents, tortured Jews and lepers, stoned old women, burned young girls at the stake.\n\n\"No one sent it,\" Kivrin said. \"It's a disease. It's no one's fault. God would help us if He could, but He...\" He what? Can't hear us? Has gone away? Doesn't exist?\n\n\"He cannot come,\" she finished lamely.\n\n\"And we must act in His stead?\" Roche said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nRoche knelt beside the bed. He bent his head over his hands, and then raised it again. \"I knew that God had sent you among us for some good cause,\" he said.\n\nShe knelt, too, and folded her hands.\n\n\"Mittere digneris sanctum Angelum,\" Roche prayed. \"Send us Thy holy angel from heaven to guard and protect all those that are assembled together in this house.\"\n\n\"Don't let Roche catch it,\" Kivrin said into the corder. \"Don't let Rosemund catch it. Let the clerk die before it reaches his lungs.\"\n\nRoche's voice chanting the rites was the same as it had been when she was ill, and she hoped it comforted the clerk as it had comforted her. She couldn't tell. He was unable to make his confession, and the anointing seemed to hurt him. He winced when the oil touched the palms of his hands, and his breathing seemed to grow louder as Roche prayed. Roche raised his head and looked at him. His arms were breaking out in the tiny purplish-blue bruises that meant the blood vessels under the skin were breaking, one by one.\n\nRoche turned and looked at Kivrin. \"Are these the last days,\" he asked, \"the end of the world that God's apostles have foretold?\"\n\nYes, Kivrin thought. \"No,\" she said. \"No. It's only a bad time. A terrible time, but not everyone will die. And there will be wonderful times after this. The Renaissance and class reforms and music. Wonderful times. There will be new medicines, and people won't have to die from this or smallpox or pneumonia. And everyone will have enough to eat, and their houses will be warm even in the winter.\" She thought of Oxford, decorated for Christmas, the streets and shops lit. \"There will be lights everywhere, and bells that you don't have to ring.\"\n\nHer words had calmed the clerk. His breathing eased, and he fell into a doze.\n\n\"You must come away from him now,\" Kivrin said and led Roche over to the window. She brought the bowl to him. \"You must wash your hands after you have touched him,\" she said.\n\nThere was scarcely any water in the bowl. \"We must wash the bowls and spoons we use to feed him,\" she said, watching him wash his huge hands, \"and we must burn the cloths and bandages. The plague is in them.\"\n\nHe wiped his hands on the tail of his robe and went down to tell Eliwys what she was to do. He brought back a length of linen and a bowl of fresh water. Kivrin tore the linen into wide strips and tied one over her mouth and nose.\n\nThe bowl of water did not last long. The clerk had come out of his doze and asked repeatedly for a drink. Kivrin held the cup for him, trying to keep Roche away from him as much as possible.\n\nRoche went to say vespers and ring the bell. Kivrin closed the door after him, listening for sounds from below, but she couldn't hear anything. Perhaps they are asleep, she thought, or ill. She thought of Imeyne bending over the clerk with her poultice, of Agnes standing at the end of the bed, of Rosemund underneath him.\n\nIt's too late, she thought, pacing beside the bed, they've all been exposed. How long was the incubation period? Two weeks? No, that was how long the vaccine took to take effect. Three days? Two? She could not remember. And how long had the clerk been contagious? She tried to remember who he had sat next to at the Christmas feast, who he had talked to, but she hadn't been watching him. She'd been watching Gawyn. The only clear memory she had was of the clerk grabbing Maisry's skirt.\n\nShe went to the door again and opened it. \"Maisry!\" she called.\n\nThere was no answer, and that didn't mean anything, Maisry was probably asleep or hiding, and the clerk had bubonic, not pneumonic, and it was spread by fleas. The chances were that he had not infected anyone, but as soon as Roche came back, she left him with the clerk and took the brazier downstairs to fetch hot coals. And to reassure herself that they were all right.\n\nRosemund and Eliwys were sitting by the fire, with sewing on their laps, with Lady Imeyne next to them, reading from her Book of Hours. Agnes was playing with her cart, pushing it back and forth over the stone flags and talking to it. Maisry was asleep on one of the benches near the high table, her face sulky even in sleep.\n\nAgnes ran into Imeyne's foot with the cart, and the old woman looked down at her and said, \"I will take your toy from you if you cannot play meetly, Agnes,\" and the sharpness of her reprimand, Rosemund's hastily suppressed smile, the healthy pinkness of their faces in the fire's light, were all inexpressibly reassuring to Kivrin. It could have been any night in the manor.\n\nEliwys was not sewing. She was cutting linen into long strips with her scissors, and she looked up constantly at the door. Imeyne's voice, reading from her Book of Hours, had an edge of worry, and Rosemund, tearing the linen, looked anxiously at her mother. Eliwys stood up and went out through the screens. Kivrin wondered if she had heard someone coming, but after a minute, she came back to her seat and took up the linen again.\n\nKivrin came on down the stairs quietly, but not quietly enough. Agnes abandoned her cart and scrambled up. \"Kivrin!\" she shouted, and launched herself at her.\n\n\"Careful!\" Kivrin said, warding her off with her free hand. \"These are hot coals.\"\n\nThey weren't hot, of course. If they were, she wouldn't have come down to replace them, but Agnes backed away a few steps.\n\n\"Why do you wear a mask?\" she asked. \"Will you tell me a story?\"\n\nEliwys had stood up, too, and Imeyne had turned to look at her. \"How does the bishop's clerk?\" Eliwys asked.\n\nHe is in torment, she wanted to say. She settled for, \"His fever is down a little. You must keep well away from me. The infection may be in my clothes.\"\n\nThey all got up, even Imeyne, closing her Book of Hours on her reliquary, and stepped back from the hearth, watching her.\n\nThe stump of the Yule log was still on the fire. Kivrin used her skirt to take the lid from the brazier and dumped the gray coals on the edge of the hearth. Ash roiled up, and one of the coals hit the stump and bounced and skittered along the floor.\n\nAgnes laughed, and they all watched its progress across the floor and under a bench except Eliwys, who had turned back to watch the screens.\n\n\"Has Gawyn returned with the horses?\" Kivrin asked, and then was sorry. She already knew the answer from Eliwys's strained face, and it made Imeyne turn and stare coldly at her.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said without turning her head. \"Think you the others of the bishop's party were ill, too?\"\n\nKivrin thought of the bishop's gray face, of the friar's haggard expression. \"I don't know,\" she said.\n\n\"The weather grows cold,\" Rosemund said. \"Mayhap Gawyn thought to stay the night.\"\n\nEliwys didn't answer. Kivrin knelt by the fire and stirred the coals with the heavy poker, bringing the red coals to the top. She tried to maneuver them into the brazier, using the poker, and then gave up and scooped them up with the brazier lid.\n\n\"You have brought this upon us,\" Imeyne said.\n\nKivrin looked up, her heart suddenly thumping, but Imeyne was not looking at her. She was looking at Eliwys. \"It is your sins have brought this punishment to bear.\"\n\nEliwys turned to look at Imeyne, and Kivrin expected shock or anger in her face, but there was neither. She looked at her mother-in-law disinterestedly, as if her mind were somewhere else.\n\n\"The Lord punishes adulterers and all their house,\" Imeyne said, \"as now he punishes you.\" She brandished the Book of Hours in her face. \"It is your sin that has brought the plague here.\"\n\n\"It was you who sent for the bishop,\" Eliwys said coldly. \"You were not satisfied with Father Roche. It was you who brought them here, and the plague with them.\"\n\nShe turned on her heel, and went out through the screens.\n\nImeyne stood stiffly, as though she had been struck, and went back to the bench where she had been sitting. She eased herself to her knees and took the reliquary from her book and ran the chain absently through her fingers.\n\n\"Would you tell me a story now?\" Agnes asked Kivrin.\n\nImeyne propped her elbows on the bench and pressed her hands against her forehead.\n\n\"Tell me the tale of the willful maiden,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" Kivrin said, \"I will tell you a story tomorrow,\" and took the brazier back upstairs.\n\nThe clerk's fever was back up. He raved, shouting the lines from the mass for the dead as if they were obscenities. He asked for water repeatedly, and Roche, and then Kivrin, went out to the courtyard for it.\n\nKivrin tiptoed down the stairs, carrying the bucket and a candle, hoping Agnes wouldn't see her, but they were all asleep except Lady Imeyne. She was on her knees praying, her back stiff and unforgiving. You have brought this upon us.\n\nKivrin went out into the dark courtyard. Two bells were ringing, slightly out of rhythm with each other, and she wondered if they were vespers bells or tolling a funeral. There was a half-filled bucket of water by the well, but she dumped it onto the cobbles and drew a fresh one. She set it by the kitchen door and went in to get something for them to eat. The heavy cloths used to cover the food when it was brought into the manor were lying on the end of the table. She piled bread and a chunk of cold meat onto one and tied it at the corners, and then grabbed up the rest of them and carried all of it upstairs. They ate sitting on the floor in front of the brazier and Kivrin felt better almost with the first bite.\n\nThe clerk seemed better, too. He dozed again, and then broke out in a hot sweat. Kivrin sponged him off with one of the coarse kitchen cloths, and he sighed as if it felt good, and slept. When he woke again, his fever was down. They pushed the chest over next to the bed and set a tallow lamp on it, and she and Roche took turns sitting beside him, and resting on the window seat. It was too cold to truly sleep, but Kivrin curled up against the stone sill and napped, and every time she woke he seemed to be improved.\n\nShe had read in History of Meds that lancing the buboes sometimes saved a patient. His had stopped draining, and the hum had gone from his chest. Perhaps he wouldn't die after all.\n\nThere were some historians who thought the Black Death had not killed as many people as the records indicated. Mr. Gilchrist thought the statistics were grossly exaggerated by fear and lack of education, and even if the statistics were correct, the plague hadn't killed one half of every village. Some places had only had one or two cases. In some villages, no one had died at all.\n\nThey had isolated the clerk as soon as they'd realized what it was, and she had managed to keep Roche from getting close most of the time. They had taken every possible precaution. And it hadn't turned into pneumonic. Perhaps that was enough, and they had caught it in time. She must tell Roche they must close the village, keep anyone else from coming in, and perhaps the plague would just pass over them. It had done that. Whole villages had been left untouched, and there were parts of Scotland where the plague had never reached at all.\n\nShe must have dozed, off. When she woke, it was growing light and Roche was gone. She looked over at the bed. The clerk lay perfectly still, his eyes wide and staring, and she thought, He's died and Roche has gone to dig his grave, but even as the thought formed, she could see the coverings over his chest rise and fall. She felt for his pulse. It was fast and so faint she could scarcely feel it.\n\nThe bell began to ring, and she realized Roche must have gone to say matins. She pulled her mask up over her nose and leaned over the bed. \"Father,\" she said softly, but he gave no indication at all that he heard her. She put her hand on his forehead. His fever was down again, but his skin didn't feel normal. It was dry, papery, and the hemorrhages on his arms and legs had darkened and spread. His engorged tongue stuck out between his teeth, hideously purple.\n\nHe smelled terrible, a sickening odor she could smell through her mask. She climbed up on the window seat and untied the waxed linen. The fresh air smelled wonderful, cold and sharp, and she leaned out over the ledge and breathed deeply.\n\nThere was no one in the courtyard, but as she drank in the clean, cold air, Roche appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, carrying a bowl of something that steamed. He started across the cobbles to the door of the manor house, and as he did, Lady Eliwys appeared. She spoke to Roche, and he started toward her and then stopped short and pulled up his mask before he answered her. He's trying to keep clear of people at any rate, Kivrin thought. He passed on into the manor house, and Eliwys went out to the well.\n\nKivrin tied the linen to the side of the window and looked around for something to fan the air with. She jumped down, got one of the cloths she had taken from the kitchen, and clambered back up again.\n\nEliwys was still by the well, drawing up the bucket. She stopped, holding to the rope, and turned to look toward the gate. Gawyn came through it, leading his horse by the bridle.\n\nHe stopped when he saw her, and Gringolet stumbled into him and flung his head up, annoyed. The expression on Gawyn's face was the same as it had always been, full of hope and longing, and Kivrin felt a surge of anger that it hadn't changed, even now. He doesn't know, she thought. He's just returned from Courcy. She felt a pang of pity for him, that he had to find out, that Eliwys would have to tell him.\n\nEliwys hauled the bucket up even with the edge of the well, and Gawyn took one more step toward her, holding on to Gringolet's bridle, and then stopped.\n\nHe knows, Kivrin thought. He knows after all. The bishop's envoy has come down with it, she thought, and he's ridden home to warn them. She realized suddenly he hadn't brought the horses back with him. The friar has it, she thought, and the rest of them have fled.\n\nHe watched Eliwys heave the heavy bucket up on to the stone edge of the well, not moving. He would do anything for her, Kivrin thought, anything at all, he would rescue her from a hundred cutthroats in the woods, but he can't rescue her from this.\n\nGringolet, impatient to be in the stable, shook his head. Gawyn put his hand up to his muzzle to steady him, but it was too late. Eliwys had already seen him.\n\nShe let go of the bucket. It landed with a splash Kivrin could hear, far above them, and then Eliwys was in his arms. Kivrin put her hand to her mouth.\n\nThere was a light knock on the door. Kivrin jumped down to open it. It was Agnes.\n\n\"Would you not tell me a story now?\" she said. She was very bedraggled. No one had braided her hair since yesterday. It stuck out under her linen cap at all angles, and she had obviously slept by the hearth. One sleeve was filthy with ashes.\n\nKivrin resisted the urge to brush them off. \"You cannot come in,\" she said, holding the door nearly shut. \"You will catch the sickness.\"\n\n\"There is none to play with me,\" Agnes said. \"Mother has gone and Rosemund still sleeps.\"\n\n\"Your mother has only gone out for water,\" she said firmly. \"Where is your grandmother?\"\n\n\"Praying.\" She reached for Kivrin's skirt, and Kivrin jerked back.\n\n\"You must not touch me,\" she said sharply.\n\nAgnes's face puckered into a pout. \"Why are you wroth with me?\"\n\n\"I'm not angry with you,\" Kivrin said more gently. \"But you can't come in. The clerk is very ill, and all who come close to him may\"\u2014there was no hope of explaining contagion to Agnes\u2014\"may fall ill, too.\"\n\n\"Will he die?\" Agnes said, trying to see around the door.\n\n\"I fear so.\"\n\n\"Will you?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, and realized she was no longer frightened. \"Rosemund will waken soon. Ask her to tell you a story.\"\n\n\"Will Father Roche die?\"\n\n\"No. Go and play with your cart till Rosemund wakes.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me a story after the clerk is dead?\"\n\n\"Yes. Go downstairs.\"\n\nAgnes went reluctantly down three steps, holding on to the wall. \"Will we all die?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. Not if I can help it. She shut the door and leaned against it.\n\nThe clerk still lay unseeing and unaware, his whole being turned inward to the battle with an enemy his immune system had never seen before, and had no defenses against.\n\nThe knocking came again. \"Go downstairs, Agnes,\" Kivrin said, but it was Roche, carrying the bowl of broth he had brought from the kitchen and a hod of red coals. He dumped them into the brazier and knelt beside it, blowing on them.\n\nHe had handed the bowl to Kivrin. It was lukewarm and smelled terrible. She wondered what it had in it that had brought the fever down.\n\nRoche stood up and took the bowl, and they tried to spoon the broth into the clerk, but it dribbled off his huge tongue and down the sides of his mouth.\n\nSomeone knocked.\n\n\"Agnes, I told you, you can't come in here,\" Kivrin said impatiently, trying to mop up the bedclothes.\n\n\"Grandmother sent me to bid you come.\"\n\n\"Is Lady Imeyne ill?\" Roche said. He started for the door.\n\n\"Nay. It is Rosemund.\"\n\nKivrin's heart began to pound.\n\nRoche opened the door, but Agnes did not come in. She stood on the landing, staring at his mask.\n\n\"Is Rosemund ill?\" Roche asked anxiously.\n\n\"She fell down.\"\n\nKivrin darted past them and down the steps.\n\nRosemund was sitting on one of the benches by the hearth, and Lady Imeyne was standing over her.\n\n\"What's happened?\" Kivrin demanded.\n\n\"I fell,\" Rosemund said, sounding bewildered. \"I hit my arm.\" She held it out to Kivrin, the elbow crooked.\n\nLady Imeyne murmured something.\n\n\"What?\" Kivrin said, and realized the old lady was praying. She looked around the hall for Eliwys. She wasn't there. Only Maisry huddled frightenedly by the table, and the thought flickered through Kivrin's mind that Rosemund must have tripped over her.\n\n\"Did you fall over something?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Rosemund said, still sounding dazed. \"My head hurts.\"\n\n\"Did you hit your head?\"\n\n\"Nay.\" She pulled her sleeve back. \"I hit my elbow on the stones.\"\n\nKivrin pushed the loose sleeve up past her elbow. It was scraped, but there was no blood. Kivrin wondered if she could have broken it. She was holding it at such an odd angle. \"Does this hurt?\" she asked, moving it gently.\n\n\"Nay.\"\n\nShe twisted the forearm gently. \"Does this?\"\n\n\"Nay.\"\n\n\"Can you move your fingers?\" Kivrin said.\n\nRosemund waggled them each in turn, her arm still crooked. Kivrin frowned at it, puzzled. It might be sprained, but she didn't think she'd be able to move it so easily. \"Lady Imeyne,\" she said, \"would you fetch Father Roche?\"\n\n\"He cannot help us,\" Imeyne said contemptuously, but she started for the stairs.\n\n\"I don't think it's broken,\" Kivrin said to Rosemund.\n\nRosemund lowered her arm, gasped, and jerked it up again. The color drained from her face, and beads of sweat broke out on her upper lip.\n\nIt must be broken, Kivrin thought, and reached for the arm again. Rosemund pulled away and, before Kivrin even realized what was happening, toppled off the bench and onto the floor.\n\nShe had hit her head this time. Kivrin heard it thunk against the stone. Kivrin scrambled over the bench and knelt beside her. \"Rosemund, Rosemund,\" she said. \"Can you hear me?\"\n\nShe didn't move. She had flung her injured arm out when she fell, as if to catch herself, and when Kivrin touched it, she flinched, but she didn't open her eyes. Kivrin looked round wildly for Imeyne, but the old woman was not on the stairs. She got to her knees.\n\nRosemund opened her eyes. \"Do not leave me,\" she said.\n\n\"I must fetch help,\" she said.\n\nRosemund shook her head.\n\n\"Father Roche!\" Kivrin called, though she knew he could not hear her through the heavy door, and Lady Eliwys came through the screens and ran across the flagged floor.\n\n\"Has she the blue sickness?\" she said.\n\nNo. \"She fell,\" Kivrin said. She laid her hand on Rosemund's bare, outflung arm. It felt hot. Rosemund had closed her eyes again and was breathing slowly, evenly, as if she had fallen asleep.\n\nKivrin pushed the heavy sleeve up and over Rosemund's shoulder. She turned her arm up so she could see the armpit, and Rosemund tried to jerk away, but Kivrin held her tightly.\n\nIt was not as large as the clerk's had been, but it was bright red and already hard to the touch. No, Kivrin thought. No. Rosemund moaned and tried to pull her arm away, and Kivrin laid it gently down, arranging the sleeve under it.\n\n\"What's happened?\" Agnes said from halfway down the stairs. \"Is Rosemund ill?\"\n\nI can't let this happen, Kivrin thought. I must get help. They've all been exposed, even Agnes, and there's nothing here to help them. Antimicrobials won't be discovered for six hundred years.\n\n\"Your sins have brought this,\" Imeyne said.\n\nKivrin looked up. Eliwys was looking at Imeyne, but absently, as if she hadn't heard her.\n\n\"Your sins and Gawyn's,\" Imeyne said.\n\n\"Gawyn,\" Kivrin said. He could show her where the drop was, and she could go get help. Dr. Ahrens would know what to do. And Mr. Dunworthy. Dr. Ahrens would give her vaccine and streptomycin to bring back.\n\n\"Where is Gawyn?\" Kivrin said.\n\nEliwys was looking at her now, and her face was full of longing, full of hope. He has finally got her attention, Kivrin thought. \"Gawyn,\" Kivrin said. \"Where is he?\"\n\n\"Gone,\" Eliwys said.\n\n\"Gone where?\" she said. \"I must speak with him. We must go fetch help.\"\n\n\"There is no help,\" Lady Imeyne said. She knelt beside Rosemund and folded her hands. \"It is God's punishment.\"\n\nKivrin stood up. \"Gone where?\"\n\n\"To Bath,\" Eliwys said. \"To bring my husband.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (070114\u2013070526):\n\n\u2002I decided I'd better try to get this all down. Mr. Gilchrist said he hoped with the opening of Mediaeval we'd be able to obtain a firsthand account of the Black Death, and I guess this is it.\n\n\u2002The first case of plague here was the clerk who came with the bishop's envoy. I don't know if he was ill when they arrived or not. He could have been and that was why they came here instead of going on to Oxford, to get rid of him before he infected them. He was definitely ill on Christmas morning when they left, which means he was probably contagious the night before, when he had contact with at least half the village.\n\n\u2002He has transmitted the disease to Lord Guillaume's daughter, Rosemund, who fell ill on... the twenty-sixth? I've lost all track of time. Both of them have the classic buboes. The clerk's bubo has broken and is draining. Rosemund's is hard and growing larger. It's nearly the size of a walnut. The area around it is inflamed. Both of them have high fevers and are intermittently delirious.\n\n\u2002Father Roche and I have isolated them in the bower and have told everyone to stay in their houses and avoid all contact with each other, but I'm afraid it's too late. Nearly everyone in the village was at the Christmas feast, and the whole family was in here with the clerk.\n\n\u2002I wish I knew whether the disease is contagious before the symptoms appear and how long the incubation period is. I know that the plague takes three forms: bubonic, pneumonic, and septicemic, and I know the pneumonic form is the most contagious since it can be spread by coughing or breathing on people and by touch. The clerk and Rosemund both seem to have the bubonic.\n\n\u2002I am so frightened I can't even think. It washes over me in waves. I'll be doing all right, and then suddenly the fear swamps me, and I have to take hold of the bed frame to keep from running out of the room, out of the house, out of the village, away from it!\n\n\u2002I know I've had my plague inoculations, but I'd had my T-cells enhanced and my antivirals, and I still got whatever it was I got, and every time the clerk touches me, I cringe. Father Roche keeps forgetting to wear his mask, and I'm so afraid he's going to catch it, or Agnes. And I'm afraid the clerk is going to die. And Rosemund. And I'm afraid somebody in the village is going to get pneumonic, and Gawyn won't come back, and I won't find the drop before the rendezvous."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "I feel a bit calmer. It seems to help, talking to you, whether you can hear me or not.\n\nRosemund's young and strong. And the plague didn't kill everyone. In some villages no one at all died."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "They took Rosemund up to the bower, making a pallet on the floor for her in the narrow space beside the bed. Roche covered it with a linen sheet and went out to the barn's loft to fetch bed coverings.\n\nKivrin had been afraid Rosemund would balk at the sight of the clerk, with his grotesque tongue and blackening skin, but she scarcely glanced at him. She took her surcote and shoes off and lay down gratefully on the narrow pallet. Kivrin took the rabbit-skin coverlid from the bed and put it over her.\n\n\"Will I scream and run at people like the clerk?\" Rosemund asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" Kivrin said, and tried to smile. \"Try to rest. Does it hurt anywhere?\"\n\n\"My stomach,\" she said, putting her hand to her middle. \"And my head. Sir Bloet told me the fever makes men dance. I thought it was a tale to frighten me. He said they danced till blood came out of their mouths and they died. Where is Agnes?\"\n\n\"In the loft with your mother,\" Kivrin said. She had told Eliwys to take Agnes and Imeyne up to the loft and shut themselves in, and Eliwys had done it without even a backward glance at Rosemund.\n\n\"My father comes soon,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"You must be quiet now and rest.\"\n\n\"Grandmother says it is a mortal sin to fear your husband, but I cannot help it. He touches me in ways that are not seemly and tells me tales of things that cannot be true.\"\n\nI hope he dies in agony, Kivrin thought. I hope he is infected already.\n\n\"My father is even now on his way,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"You must try to sleep.\"\n\n\"If Sir Bloet were here now, he would not dare to touch me,\" she said and closed her eyes. \"It would be he who was afraid.\"\n\nRoche came in, bearing an armload of bedclothes, and went out again. Kivrin piled them on top of Rosemund, tucked them in around her, and laid the fur she had taken from the clerk's bed back over him.\n\nThe clerk still lay quietly, but the hum in his breathing had begun again, and now and then he coughed. His mouth hung open, and the back of his tongue was coated with a white fur.\n\nI can't let this happen to Rosemund, Kivrin thought, she's only twelve years old. There must be something she could do. Something. The plague bacillus was a bacteria. Streptomycin and the sulfa drugs could kill it, but she couldn't manufacture them herself, and she didn't know where the drop was.\n\nAnd Gawyn had ridden off to Bath. Of course he had. Eliwys had run to him, she had thrown her arms around him, and he would have gone anywhere, done anything for her, even if it meant bringing home her husband.\n\nShe tried to think how long it would take Gawyn to ride to Bath and back. It was seventy kilometers. Riding hard he could make it there in a day and a half. Three days, there and back. If he were not delayed, if he could find Lord Guillaume, if he did not fall ill. Dr. Ahrens had said untreated plague victims died within four or five days, but she did not see how the clerk could possibly last that long. His temp was up again.\n\nShe had pushed Lady Imeyne's casket under the bed when they brought Rosemund up. She pulled it out and looked through it at the dried herbs and powders. The contemps had used homegrown remedies like St. John's wort and bittersweet during the plague, but they had been as useless as the powdered emeralds.\n\nFleabane might help, but she couldn't find any of the pink or purple flowers in the little linen bags.\n\nWhen Roche came back, she sent him for willow branches from the stream, and steeped them into a bitter tea. \"What is this brew?\" Roche asked, tasting it and making a face.\n\n\"Aspirin,\" Kivrin said. \"I hope.\"\n\nRoche gave a cup to the clerk, who was past caring what it tasted like, and it seemed to bring his temp down a little, but Rosemund's rose steadily all afternoon, till she was shivering with chills. By the time Roche left to say vespers, she was almost too hot to touch.\n\nKivrin uncovered her and tried to bathe her arms and legs in cool water to bring the fever down, but Rosemund wrenched angrily away from her. \"It is not seemly you should touch me thus, sir,\" she said through chattering teeth. \"Be sure I shall tell my father when he returns.\"\n\nRoche did not come back. Kivrin lit the tallow lamps and tucked the bed coverings around Rosemund, wondering what had become of him.\n\nShe looked worse in the smoky light, her face wan and pinched. She murmured to herself, repeating Agnes's name over and over, and once she asked fretfully, \"Where is he? He should have been here ere now.\"\n\nHe should have been, Kivrin thought. The bell had tolled vespers half an hour ago. Roche is in the kitchen, she told herself, making us soup. Or he has gone to tell Eliwys how Rosemund is. He isn't ill. But she stood up and climbed on the window seat and looked out into the courtyard. It was getting colder, and the dark sky was overcast. There was no one in the courtyard, no light or sound anywhere.\n\nRoche opened the door, and she jumped down, smiling. \"Where have you been? I was\u2014\" she said and stopped.\n\nRoche was wearing his vestments and carrying the oil and viaticum. No, she thought, glancing at Rosemund. No.\n\n\"I have been with Ulf the Reeve,\" he said. \"I heard his confession.\" Thank God it's not Rosemund, she thought, and then realized what he was saying. The plague was in the village.\n\n\"Are you certain?\" she asked. \"Does he have the plague boils?\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"How many others are in the household?\"\n\n\"His wife and two sons,\" he said tiredly. \"I bade her wear a mask and sent her sons to cut willows.\"\n\n\"Good,\" she said. There was nothing good about it. No, that wasn't true. At least it was bubonic plague and not pneumonic, so there was still a chance the wife and two sons wouldn't get it. But how many other people had Ulf infected, and who had infected him? Ulf would not have had any contact with the clerk. He must have caught it from one of the servants. \"Are any others ill?\"\n\n\"Nay.\"\n\nIt didn't mean anything. They only sent for Roche when they were very ill, when they were frightened. There might be three or four other cases already in the village. Or a dozen.\n\nShe sat down on the window seat, trying to think what to do. Nothing, she thought. There's nothing you can do. It swept through village after village, killing whole families, whole towns. One third to one half of Europe.\n\n\"No!\" Rosemund screamed, and struggled to rise.\n\nKivrin and Roche both dived for her, but she had already lain back down. They covered her up, and she kicked the bedclothes off again. \"I will tell Mother, Agnes, you wicked child,\" she murmured. \"Let me out.\"\n\nIt grew colder in the night. Roche brought up more coals for the brazier, and Kivrin climbed up in the window again to fasten the waxed linen over the window, but it was still freezing. Kivrin and Roche huddled by the brazier in turn, trying to catch a little sleep, and woke shivering like Rosemund.\n\nThe clerk did not shiver, but he complained of the cold, his words slurred and drunken-sounding. His feet and hands were cold and without feeling.\n\n\"They must have a fire,\" Roche said. \"We must take them down to the hall.\"\n\nYou don't understand, she thought. Their only hope lay in keeping the patients isolated, in not letting the infection spread. But it has already spread, she thought, and wondered if Ulfs extremities were growing cold and what he would do for a fire? She had sat in one of their huts by one of their fires. It would not warm a cat.\n\nThe cats died, too, she thought and looked at Rosemund. The shivering racked her poor body, and she seemed already thinner, more wasted.\n\n\"The life is going out of them,\" Roche said.\n\n\"I know,\" she said, and began picking up the bedclothes. \"Tell Maisry to spread straw on the hall floor.\"\n\nThe clerk was able to walk down the steps, Kivrin and Roche both supporting him, but Roche had to carry Rosemund in his arms. Eliwys and Maisry were spreading straw on the far side of the hall. Agnes was still asleep, and Imeyne knelt where she had the night before, her hands folded stiffly before her face.\n\nRoche lay Rosemund down, and Eliwys began to cover her. \"Where is my father?\" Rosemund demanded hoarsely. \"Why is he not here?\"\n\nAgnes stirred. She would be awake in a minute and clambering on Rosemund's pallet, gawking at the clerk. She must find some way to keep Agnes safely away from them. Kivrin looked up at the beams, but they were too high, even under the loft, to hang curtains from, and every available coverlid and fur were already being used. She began turning the benches on their sides and pulling them into a barricade. Roche and Eliwys came to help, and they tipped the trestle table over and propped it against the benches.\n\nEliwys went back over to Rosemund and sat down beside her. Rosemund was asleep, her face flushed with the reddish light from the fire.\n\n\"You must wear a mask,\" Kivrin said.\n\nEliwys nodded, but she didn't move. She smoothed Rosemund's tumbled hair back from her face. \"She was my husband's favorite,\" she said.\n\nRosemund slept nearly half the morning. Kivrin pulled the Yule log off to the side of the hearth and piled cut logs on the fire. She uncovered the clerk's feet so they could feel the heat.\n\nDuring the Black Death, the Pope's doctor had made him sit in a room between two huge bonfires, and he had not caught the plague. Some historians thought the heat had killed the plague bacillus. More likely his keeping away from his highly contagious flock was what had saved him, but it was worth trying. Anything was worth trying, she thought, watching Rosemund. She piled more wood on.\n\nFather Roche went to say matins, though it was past midmorning. The bell woke Agnes up. \"Who tumbled the benches down?\" she asked, running over to the barricade.\n\n\"You must not come past this fence,\" Kivrin said, Standing well back from it. \"You must stay by your grandmother.\"\n\nAgnes clambered onto a bench and peered over the top of the trestle table. \"I see Rosemund,\" she said. \"Is she dead?\"\n\n\"She is very ill,\" Kivrin said sternly. \"You must not come near us. Go and play with your cart.\"\n\n\"I would see Rosemund,\" she said, putting one leg over the table.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin shouted. \"Go and sit with your grandmother!\"\n\nAgnes looked astonished, and then burst into tears. \"I would see Rosemund!\" she wailed, but she went over and sat down sulkily beside Imeyne.\n\nRoche came in. \"Ulfs elder son is ill,\" he said. \"He has the swellings.\"\n\nThere were two more cases during the morning and one in the afternoon, including the steward's wife. All of them had buboes or small seedlike growths on the lymph glands except the steward's wife.\n\nKivrin went with Roche to see her. She was nursing the baby, her thin, sharp face even sharper. She was not coughing or vomiting, and Kivrin hoped the buboes had simply not developed yet. \"Wear masks,\" she told the steward. \"Give the baby milk from the cow. Keep the children from her,\" she said hopelessly. Six children in two rooms. Don't let it be pneumonic plague, she prayed. Don't let them all get it.\n\nAt least Agnes was safe. She had not come near the barricade since Kivrin shouted at her. She had sat for a bit, glaring at Kivrin with an expression that was so fierce it would have been comical under other circumstances, and then gone up to the loft to fetch her cart. She had set a place for it at the high table, and they were having a feast.\n\nRosemund was awake. She asked Kivrin for a drink in a hoarse voice, and as soon as Kivrin had given it to her, she fell quietly asleep. Even the clerk dozed, the hum of his breathing less loud, and Kivrin sat down gratefully beside Rosemund.\n\nShe should go out and help Roche with the steward's children, at least make sure he was wearing his mask and washing his hands, but she felt suddenly too tired to move. If I could just lie down for a minute, she thought, I might be able to think of something.\n\n\"I would go see Blackie,\" Agnes said.\n\nKivrin jerked her head around, startled out of what had almost been sleep.\n\nAgnes had put on her red cape and hood and was standing as close to the barricade as she dared. \"You vowed you would take me to see my hound's grave.\"\n\n\"Hush, you will wake your sister,\" Kivrin said.\n\nAgnes started to cry, not the loud wail she used when she wanted her own way, but quiet sobs. She's reached her limit, too, Kivrin thought. Left alone all day, Rosemund and Roche and I all off-limits, everyone busy and distracted and frightened. Poor thing.\n\n\"You vowed,\" Agnes said, her lip quivering.\n\n\"I cannot take you to see your puppy now,\" Kivrin said gently, \"but I will tell you a story. We must be very quiet, though.\" She put her finger to her lips. \"We must not wake Rosemund or the clerk.\"\n\nAgnes wiped her runny nose with her hand. \"Will you tell me the story of the maiden in the woods?\" she said in a stage whisper.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Can Cart listen?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin whispered, and Agnes tore across the hall to fetch the little wagon, ran back with it, and climbed up on the bench, ready to mount the barricade.\n\n\"You must sit down on the floor against the table,\" Kivrin said, \"and I will sit here on the other side.\"\n\n\"I will not be able to hear you,\" Agnes said, her face clouding up again.\n\n\"Of course you will, if you are very quiet.\"\n\nAgnes got down off the bench and sat down, scooting into position against the table. She set Cart on the floor beside her. \"You must be very quiet,\" she said to it.\n\nKivrin went over and looked quickly at her patients and then sat down against the table and leaned back, feeling exhausted all over again.\n\n\"Once in a far land,\" Agnes prompted.\n\n\"Once in a far land, there was a maiden. She lived by a great forest\u2014\"\n\n\"Her father said, 'Go not into the woods,' but she was wicked and did not listen,\" Agnes said.\n\n\"She was wicked and did not listen,\" Kivrin said. \"She put on her cloak\u2014\"\n\n\"Her red cloak with a hood,\" Agnes said. \"And she went into the wood, even though her father told her not to.\"\n\nEven though her father told her not to. \"I'll be perfectly all right,\" she had told Mr. Dunworthy. \"I can take care of myself.\"\n\n\"She should not have gone into the woods, should she?\" Agnes said.\n\n\"She wanted to see what was there. She thought she would go just a little way,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"She should not have,\" Agnes said, passing judgment. \" I would not. The woods are dark.\"\n\n\"The woods are very dark, and full of frightening noises.\"\n\n\"Wolves,\" Agnes said, and Kivrin could hear her scooting closer to the table, trying to get as close to Kivrin as she could. Kivrin could imagine her huddled against the wood, her knees up, hugging the little wagon.\n\n\"The maiden said to herself, 'I don't like it here,' and she tried to go back, but she could not see the path, it was so dark, and suddenly, something jumped out at her!\"\n\n\"A wolf,\" Agnes breathed.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. \"It was a bear. And the bear said, 'What are you doing in my forest?'\"\n\n\"The maiden was frightened,\" Agnes said in a small, frightened voice.\n\n\"Yes. 'Oh, please don't eat me, Bear,' the maiden said. 'I am lost and cannot find my way home.' Now the bear was a kindly bear, though he looked cruel, and he said, 'I will help you find your way out of the woods,' and the maiden said, 'How? It is so dark.' 'We will ask the owl,' the bear said. 'He can see in the dark.'\"\n\nShe talked on, making up the tale as she went, oddly comforted by it. Agnes stopped interrupting, and after a while Kivrin raised herself up, still talking, and looked over the barricade. \"'Do you know the way out of the wood?' the bear asked the crow. 'Yes,' the crow said.\"\n\nAgnes was asleep against the table, the cape spilled out around her and the cart hugged to her chest.\n\nShe should be covered up, but Kivrin didn't dare. All the bedclothes were full of plague germs. She looked over at Lady Imeyne, praying in the corner, her face to the wall. \"Lady Imeyne,\" she called softly, but the old lady gave no sign she had heard.\n\nKivrin put more wood on the fire and sat back down against the table, leaning her head back. \"'I know the way out of the woods,' the crow said, 'I will show you,'\" Kivrin said softly, \"but he flew away over the treetops, so fast they could not follow.\"\n\nShe must have slept, because the fire was down when she opened her eyes and her neck hurt. Rosemund and Agnes still slept, but the clerk was awake. He called to Kivrin, his words unrecognizable. The white fur covered his whole tongue, and his breath was so foul Kivrin had to turn her head away to take a breath. His bubo had begun to drain again, a thick, dark liquid that smelled like rotting meat. Kivrin put a new bandage on, clenching her teeth to keep from gagging, and carried the old one to the far corner of the hall, and then went out and washed her hands at the well, pouring the icy water from the bucket over one hand and then the other, taking in gulps of the cold air.\n\nRoche came into the courtyard. \"Ulric, Hal's son,\" he said, walking with her into the house, \"and one of the steward's sons, the eldest, Walthef.\" He stumbled into the bench nearest the door.\n\n\"You're exhausted,\" Kivrin said. \"You should lie down and rest.\"\n\nOn the other side of the hall, Imeyne stood up, getting awkwardly to her feet, as though her legs had fallen asleep, and started across the hall toward them.\n\n\"I cannot stay. I came to fetch a knife to cut willows,\" Roche said, but he sat down by the fire and stared blankly into it.\n\n\"Rest a minute at least,\" Kivrin said. \"I will fetch you some ale.\" She pushed the bench to the side and started out.\n\n\"You have brought this sickness,\" Lady Imeyne said.\n\nKivrin turned. The old lady was standing in the middle of the hall, glaring at Roche. She held her book to her chest with both hands. Her reliquary dangled from them. \"It is your sins have brought the sickness here.\"\n\nShe turned to Kivrin. \"He said the litany for Martinmas on St. Eusebius's Day. His alb is dirty.\" She sounded as she had when she was complaining to Sir Bloet's sister, and her hands fumbled with the reliquary, counting off his sins on the links of the chain. \"He put the candles out by pinching them and broke the wicks.\"\n\nKivrin watched her, thinking, She's trying to justify her own guilt. She wrote the bishop asking for a new chaplain, she told him where they were. She can't bear the knowledge that she helped bring the plague here, Kivrin thought, but she couldn't summon up any pity. You have no right to blame Roche, she thought, he has done everything he can. And you've knelt in a corner and prayed.\n\n\"God has not sent this plague as a punishment,\" she told Imeyne coldly. \"It's a disease.\"\n\n\"He forgot the Confiteor Deo,\" Imeyne said, but she hobbled back to her corner and lowered herself to her knees. \"He put the altar candles on the rood screen.\"\n\nKivrin went over to Roche. \"No one is to blame,\" she said.\n\nHe was staring into the fire. \"If God does punish us,\" he said, \"it must be for some terrible sin.\"\n\n\"No sin,\" she said. \"It is not a punishment.\"\n\n\"Dominus! \" the clerk cried, trying to sit up. He coughed again, a racking, terrible cough that sounded like it would tear his chest apart, though nothing came up. The sound woke Rosemund and she began to whimper, and if it isn't a punishment, Kivrin thought, it certainly looks like one.\n\nRosemund's sleep had not helped her at all. Her temp was back up again, and her eyes had begun to look sunken. She jerked as if flogged at the slightest movement.\n\nIt's killing her, Kivrin thought. I have to do something.\n\nWhen Roche came in again, she went up to the bower and brought down Imeyne's casket of medicines. Imeyne watched, her lips moving soundlessly, but when Kivrin set it in front of her and asked her what was in the linen bags, she put her folded hands up to her face and closed her eyes.\n\nKivrin recognized some of them. Dr. Ahrens had made her study medicinal herbs, and she recognized comfrey and lungwort and the crushed leaves of tansy. There was a little pouch of powdered mercury sulfide, which no one in their right mind would give anyone, and a packet of foxglove, which was almost as bad.\n\nShe boiled water and poured in every herb she recognized and steeped it. The fragrance was wonderful, like a breath of summer, and it tasted no worse than the willow-bark tea, but it didn't help either. By nightfall, the clerk was coughing continuously, and red blotches had begun to appear on Rosemund's stomach and arms. Her bubo was the size of an egg and as hard. When Kivrin touched it, she screamed with pain.\n\nDuring the Black Death the doctors had put poultices on the buboes or lanced them. They had also bled people and dosed them with arsenic, she thought, though the clerk had seemed better after his buboes broke, and he was still alive. But lancing it might spread the infection or, worse, take it into the bloodstream.\n\nShe heated water and wet rags to lay on the bubo, but even though the water was lukewarm, Rosemund screamed at the first touch. Kivrin had to go back to cold water, which did no good. None of it's doing any good, she thought, holding the wet cold cloth against Rosemund's armpit. None of it.\n\nI must find the drop, she thought. But the woods stretched on for miles, with hundreds of oak trees, dozens of clearings. She would never find it. And she couldn't leave Rosemund.\n\nPerhaps Gawyn would turn back. They had closed the gates of some cities\u2014perhaps he would not be able to get in, or perhaps he would talk to people on the roads and realize Lord Guillaume must be dead. Come back, she willed him, hurry. Come back.\n\nKivrin went through Imeyne's bag again, tasting the contents of the pouches. The yellow powder was sulfur. Doctors had used that during epidemics, too, burning it to fumigate the air, and she remembered learning in History of Meds that sulfur killed certain bacteria, though whether that was only in the sulfa compounds she couldn't remember. It was safer than cutting the bubo open, though.\n\nShe sprinkled a little on the fire to test it, and it billowed into a yellow cloud that burned Kivrin's throat even through her mask. The clerk gasped for breath, and Imeyne, over in her corner, set up a continuous hacking.\n\nKivrin had expected the smell of bad eggs to disperse in a few minutes, but the yellow smoke hung in the air like a pall, burning their eyes. Maisry ran outside, coughing into her apron, and Eliwys took Imeyne and Agnes up to the loft to escape it.\n\nKivrin propped the manor door open and fanned the air with one of the kitchen cloths, and after a while the air cleared a little, though her throat still felt parched. The clerk continued to cough, but Rosemund stopped, and her pulse slowed till Kivrin could scarcely feel it.\n\n\"I don't know what to do,\" Kivrin said, holding her hot, dry wrist. \"I've tried everything.\"\n\nRoche came in, coughing.\n\n\"It is the sulfur,\" she said. \"Rosemund is worse.\"\n\nHe looked at her and felt her pulse and then went out again, and Kivrin took that as a good sign. He would not have left if Rosemund were truly bad.\n\nHe came back in a few minutes, wearing his vestments and carrying the oil and viaticum of the last rites.\n\n\"What is it?\" Kivrin said. \"Has the steward's wife died then?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, and looked past her at Rosemund.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. She scrambled to her feet to stand between him and Rosemund. \"I won't let you.\"\n\n\"She must not die unshriven,\" he said, still looking at Rosemund.\n\n\"Rosemund isn't dying,\" Kivrin said, and followed his gaze.\n\nShe looked already dead, her chapped lips half-open and her eyes blind and unblinking. Her skin had taken on a yellowish cast and was stretched tautly over her narrow face. No, Kivrin thought desperately. I must do something to stop this. She's twelve years old.\n\nRoche moved forward with the chalice, and Rosemund raised her arm, as if in supplication, and then let it fall.\n\n\"We must open the plague boil,\" Kivrin said. \"We must let the poison out.\"\n\nShe thought he was going to refuse, to insist on hearing Rosemund's confession first, but he did not. He set the chrism and chalice down on the stone floor and went to fetch a knife.\n\n\"A sharp one,\" Kivrin called after him, \"and bring wine.\" She set the pot of water on the fire again. When he came back with the knife, she washed it off with water from the bucket, scrubbing the encrusted dirt near the hilt with her fingernails. She held it in the fire, the hilt wrapped in the tail of her surcote, and then poured boiling water over it and then wine and then the water again.\n\nThey moved Rosemund closer to the fire, the side with the bubo facing it so they could have as much light as possible, and Roche knelt at Rosemund's head. Kivrin slipped her arm gently out of her shift and bunched the fabric under her for a pillow. Roche took hold of her arm, turning it so the swelling was exposed.\n\nIt was almost the size of an apple, and her whole shoulder joint was inflamed and swollen. The edges of the bubo were soft and almost gelatinous, but the center was still hard.\n\nKivrin opened the bottle of wine Roche had brought, poured some on a cloth, and swabbed the bubo gently with it. It felt like a rock embedded in the skin. She was not sure the knife would even cut into it.\n\nShe picked up the knife and poised it above the swelling, afraid of cutting into an artery, of spreading the infection, of making it worse.\n\n\"She is past pain,\" Roche said.\n\nKivrin looked down at her. She hadn't moved, even when Kivrin pressed on the swelling. She stared past them both at something terrible. I can't make it worse, Kivrin thought. Even if I kill her, I can't make it worse.\n\n\"Hold her arm,\" she said, and Roche pinned her wrist and halfway up the forearm, pressing her arm flat to the floor. Rosemund still didn't move.\n\nTwo quick, clean slices, Kivrin thought. She took a deep breath and touched the knife to the swelling.\n\nRosemund's arm spasmed, her shoulder twisting protectively away from the knife, her thin hand clenching into a claw. \"What do you do?\" she said hoarsely. \"I will tell my father!\"\n\nKivrin jerked the knife back. Roche caught at Rosemund's arm and pushed it back against the floor, and she hit weakly at him with her other hand.\n\n\"I am the daughter of Lord Guillaume D'Iverie,\" she said. \"You cannot treat me thus.\"\n\nKivrin scooted out of her reach and scrambled to her feet, trying to keep the knife from touching anything. Roche reached forward and caught both her wrists easily in one hand. Rosemund kicked out weakly at Kivrin. The chalice fell over and wine spilled out in a dark puddle.\n\n\"We must tie her,\" Kivrin said, and realized she was holding the knife aloft, like a murderer. She wrapped it in one of the cloths Eliwys had torn, and ripped another into strips.\n\nRoche bound Rosemund's wrists above her head while Kivrin tied her ankles to the leg of one of the upturned benches. Rosemund didn't struggle, but when Roche pulled her shift up over her exposed chest, she said, \"I know you. You are the cutthroat who waylaid the Lady Katherine.\"\n\nRoche leaned forward, pressing his full weight down on her forearm, and Kivrin cut across the swelling.\n\nBlood oozed and then gushed, and Kivrin thought, I've hit an artery. She and Roche both lunged for the pile of cloths, and she grabbed a thick wad of them and pressed them against the wound. They soaked through immediately, and when she released her hand to take the one Roche handed her, blood spurted out of the tiny cut. She jammed the tail of her surcote against it, and Rosemund whimpered, a small, helpless sound like Agnes's puppy, and seemed to collapse, though there was nowhere for her to fall.\n\nI've killed her, Kivrin thought.\n\n\"I can't stop the bleeding,\" she said, but it had already stopped. She held the skirt of her surcote against it, counting to a hundred and then two hundred, and carefully lifted a corner of it away from the wound.\n\nBlood still welled from the cut, but it was mixed with a thick yellow-gray pus. Roche leaned forward to dab at it, but Kivrin stopped him. \"No, it's full of plague germs,\" she said, taking the cloth away from him. \"Don't touch it.\"\n\nShe wiped the sickening-looking pus away. It oozed up again, followed by a watery serum. \"That's all of it, I think,\" she said to Roche. \"Hand me the wine.\" She looked round for a clean cloth to pour it on.\n\nThere weren't any. They had used them all, trying to stop the bleeding. She tipped the wine bottle carefully and let the dark liquid dribble into the cut. Rosemund didn't move. Her face was gray, as if all the blood had been drained out of her. As it had been. And I don't have a transfusion to give her. I don't even have a clean rag.\n\nRoche was untying Rosemund's hands. He took her limp hand in his huge one. \"Her heart beats strongly now,\" he said.\n\n\"We must have more linen,\" Kivrin said, and burst into tears.\n\n\"My father will see you hanged for this,\" Rosemund said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (071145\u2013071862):\n\n\u2002Rosemund is unconscious. I tried to lance her bubo last night to drain out the infection, and I'm afraid I only made things worse. She lost a great deal of blood. She's very pale and her pulse is so faint I can't find it in her wrist at all.\n\n\u2002The clerk is worse, too. His skin continues to hemorrhage, and it's clear he's near the end. I remember Dr. Ahrens saying untreated bubonic plague kills people in four or five days, but he can't possibly last that long.\n\n\u2002Lady Eliwys, Lady Imeyne, and Agnes are still well, though Lady Imeyne seems to have gone almost insane in her search for someone to blame. She boxed Maisry's ears this morning and told her God was punishing us all for her laziness and stupidity.\n\n\u2002Maisry is lazy and stupid. She cannot be trusted to watch Agnes for five minutes at a time, and when I sent her for water to wash Rosemund's wound this morning, she was gone over half an hour and came back without it.\n\n\u2002I didn't say anything. I didn't want Lady Imeyne hitting her again, and it is only a matter of time before Lady Imeyne gets around to blaming me. I saw her watching me over her Book of Hours when I went out for the water Maisry forgot, and I can well imagine what she's thinking\u2014that I know too much about the plague not to have been fleeing it, that I am supposed to have lost my memory, that I was not injured but ill.\n\n\u2002If she makes those accusations, I'm afraid she'll convince Lady Eliwys that I'm the cause of the plague and that she shouldn't listen to me, that they should take the barricade down and pray together for God to deliver them.\n\n\u2002And how will I defend myself? By saying, I'm from the future, where we know everything about the Black Death except how to cure it without streptomycin and how to get back there?\n\n\u2002Gawyn still isn't back. Eliwys is frantic with worry. When Roche went to say vespers she was standing at the gate, no cloak, no coif, watching the road. I wonder if it has occurred to her that he might already have been infected when he left for Bath. He rode to Courcy with the bishop's envoy, and when he came back he already knew about the plague."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "Ulf the Reeve is near death, and his wife and one of his sons have it. No buboes, but the woman has several small lumps like seeds inside her thigh. Roche constantly has to be reminded to wear his mask and to not touch the patients more than he has to.\n\nThe history vids say the contemps were panic-stricken and cowardly during the Black Death, that they ran away and wouldn't tend the sick, and that the priests were the worst of all, but it isn't like that at all.\n\nEveryone's frightened, but they're all doing the best they can, and Roche is wonderful. He sat and held the reeve's wife's hand the whole time I examined her, and he doesn't flinch at the most disgusting jobs\u2014bathing Rosemund's wound, emptying chamber pots, cleaning up after the clerk. He never seems afraid. I don't know where he gets his courage.\n\nHe continues to say matins and vespers and to pray, telling God about Rosemund and who has it now, reporting their symptoms and telling what we're doing for them, as if He could actually hear him. The way I talk to you.\n\nIs God there, too, I wonder, but shut off from us by something worse than time, unable to get through, unable to find us?"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "We can hear the plague. The villages toll the death knell after a burial, nine strokes for a man, three for a woman, one for a baby, and then an hour of steady tolling. Esthcote had two this morning, and Osney has tolled continuously since yesterday. The bell in the southwest that I told you I could hear when I first came through has stopped. I don't know whether that means the plague is finished there or whether there's no one left alive to ring the bell.\n\nPlease don't let Rosemund die. Please don't let Agnes get it. Send Gawyn back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "The boy who had run from Kivrin the day she tried to find the drop came down with the plague in the night. His mother was standing waiting for Father Roche when he went to matins. The boy had a bubo on his back, and Kivrin lanced it while Roche and the mother held him.\n\nShe didn't want to do it. The scurvy had left him already weak, and Kivrin had no idea whether there were any arteries below the shoulder blades. Rosemund did not seem at all improved, though Roche claimed her pulse was stronger. She was so white, as if she had been utterly drained of blood, and so still. And the boy didn't look as if he could stand to lose any blood.\n\nBut he bled hardly at all, and the color was already coming back in his cheeks before Kivrin finished washing the knife.\n\n\"Give him tea made from rose hips,\" Kivrin said, thinking that at least that would help the scurvy. \"And willow bark.\" She held the blade of the knife over the fire. The fire was no bigger than the day she had sat by it, too weak to find the drop. It would never keep the boy warm, and if she told the woman to go gather firewood, she might expose someone else. \"We will bring you some wood,\" she said, and then wondered how.\n\nThere was still food left over from the Christmas feast, but they were fast running out of everything else. They had used most of the wood that was already cut trying to keep Rosemund and the clerk warm, and there was no one to ask to chop the logs that lay piled against the kitchen. The reeve was ill, the steward was tending his wife and son.\n\nKivrin gathered up an armful of the already-split wood and some pieces of loose bark for kindling and took it back to the hut, wishing she could move the boy into the manor house, but Eliwys had the clerk and Rosemund to tend, and she looked ready to collapse herself.\n\nEliwys had sat with Rosemund all night, giving her sips of willow tea and rebandaging the wound. They had run out of cloths, and she had taken off her coif and torn it into strips. She sat where she could see the screens, and every few minutes she had stood up and gone over to the door, as if she heard someone coming. With her dark hair down over her shoulders, she looked no older than Rosemund.\n\nKivrin took the firewood to the woman, dumping it on the dirt floor next to the rat cage. The rat was gone, killed, no doubt, and not even guilty. \"The Lord blesses us,\" the woman said to her. She knelt by the fire and began carefully adding the wood to it.\n\nKivrin checked the boy again. His bubo was still draining a clear watery fluid, which was good. Rosemund's had bled half the night and then begun to swell and grow hard again. And I can't lance it again, Kivrin thought. She can't lose any more blood.\n\nShe started back to the hall, wondering if she should relieve Eliwys or try to chop some wood. Roche, coming out of the steward's house, met her with the news that two more of the steward's children were ill.\n\nIt was the two youngest boys, and it was clearly the pneumonic. Both were coughing, and the mother intermittently retched a watery sputum. The Lord blesses us.\n\nKivrin went back to the hall. It was still hazy from the sulfur, and the clerk's arms looked almost black in the yellowish light. The fire was no better than the one in the woman's hut. Kivrin brought in the last of the cut wood and then told Eliwys to lie down, that she would tend Rosemund.\n\n\"Nay,\" Eliwys said, glancing toward the door. She added, almost to herself, \"He has been three days on the road.\"\n\nIt was seventy kilometers to Bath, a day and a half at least on horseback and the same amount of time back, if he had been able to get a fresh horse in Bath. He might be back today, if he had found Lord Guillaume immediately. If he comes back, Kivrin thought.\n\nEliwys glanced at the door again, as if she heard something, but the only sound was Agnes, crooning softly to her cart. She had put a kerchief over it like a blanket and was spooning make-believe food into it. \"He has the blue sickness,\" she told Kivrin.\n\nKivrin spent the rest of the day doing household chores\u2014bringing in water, making broth from the roast joint, emptying the chamber pots. The steward's cow, its udders swollen in spite of Kivrin's orders, came lowing into the courtyard and followed her, nudging her with its horns till Kivrin gave up and milked it. Roche chopped wood in between visits to the steward and the boy, and Kivrin, wishing she had learned how to split wood, hacked clumsily at the big logs.\n\nThe steward came to fetch them again just before dark to his younger daughter. That's eight cases so far, Kivrin thought. There were only forty people in the village. One third to one half of Europe was supposed to have caught the plague and died and Mr. Gilchrist thought that was exaggerated. One third would be thirteen cases, only five more. Even at fifty percent, only twelve more would get it, and the steward's children had all already been exposed.\n\nShe looked at them, the older daughter stocky and dark like her father, the youngest boy sharp-faced like his mother, the scrawny baby. You'll all get it, she thought, and that will leave eight.\n\nShe couldn't seem to feel anything, even when the baby began to cry and the girl took it on her knee and stuck her filthy finger in its mouth. Thirteen, she prayed. Twenty at the most.\n\nShe couldn't feel anything for the clerk either, even though it was clear he could not last the night. His lips and tongue were covered with a brown slime, and he was coughing up a watery spittle that was streaked with blood. She tended him automatically, without feeling.\n\nIt's the lack of sleep, she thought, it's making us all numb. She lay down by the fire and tried to sleep, but she seemed beyond sleep, beyond tiredness. Eight more people, she thought, adding them up in her mind. The mother will catch it, and the reeve's wife and children. That leaves four. Don't let one of them be Agnes or Eliwys. Or Roche.\n\nIn the morning Roche found the cook lying in the snow in front of her hut, half-frozen and coughing blood. Nine, Kivrin thought.\n\nThe cook was a widow, with no one to take care of her, so they brought her into the hall and laid her next to the clerk, who was, amazingly, horribly, still alive. The hemorrhaging had spread all over his body now, his chest crisscrossed with bluish-purple marks, his arms and legs nearly solid black. His cheeks were covered with a black stubble that seemed somehow a symptom, too, and under it his face was darkening.\n\nRosemund still lay white and silent, balanced between life and death, and Eliwys tended her quietly, carefully, as if the slightest movement, the slightest sound, might tip her into death. Kivrin tiptoed among the pallets, and Agnes, sensing the need for silence, fell completely apart.\n\nShe whined, she hung on the barricade, she asked Kivrin half a dozen times to take her to see her hound, her pony, to get her something to eat, to finish telling her the story of the naughty girl in the woods.\n\n\"How does it end?\" she whined in a tone that set Kivrin's teeth on edge. \"Do the wolves eat the girl?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Kivrin snapped after the fourth time. \"Go and sit by your grandmother.\"\n\nAgnes looked contemptuously at Lady Imeyne, who still knelt in the corner, her back to all of them. She had been there all night. \"Grandmother will not play with me.\"\n\n\"Well, then, play with Maisry.\"\n\nShe did, for five minutes, pestering her so mercilessly she retaliated and Agnes came screaming back, shrieking that Maisry had pinched her.\n\n\"I don't blame her,\" Kivrin said, and sent both of them to the loft.\n\nShe went to check on the boy, who was so improved he was sitting up, and when she came back, Maisry was hunched in the high seat, sound asleep.\n\n\"Where's Agnes?\" Kivrin said.\n\nEliwys looked around blankly. \"I know not. They were in the loft.\"\n\n\"Maisry,\" Kivrin said, crossing to the dais. \"Wake up. Where is Agnes?\"\n\nMaisry blinked stupidly at her.\n\n\"You should not have left her alone,\" Kivrin said. She climbed up into the loft, but Agnes wasn't there, so she checked the bower. She wasn't there either.\n\nMaisry had got out of the high seat and was huddled against the wall, looking terrified. \"Where is she?\" Kivrin demanded.\n\nMaisry put a hand up defensively to her ear and gaped at her.\n\n\"That's right,\" Kivrin said. \"I will box your ears unless you tell me where she is.\"\n\nMaisry buried her face in her skirts.\n\n\"Where is she?\" Kivrin said, and jerked her up by her arm. \"You were supposed to watch her. She was your responsibility!\"\n\nMaisry began to howl, a high-pitched sound like an animal.\n\n\"Stop that!\" Kivrin said. \"Show me where she went!\" She pushed her toward the screens.\n\n\"What is it?\" Roche said, coming in.\n\n\"It's Agnes,\" Kivrin said. \"We must find her. She may have gone out into the village.\"\n\nRoche shook his head. \"I did not see her. She is likely in one of the outbuildings.\"\n\n\"The stables,\" Kivrin said, relieved. \"She said she wanted to go see her pony.\"\n\nShe was not in the stables. \"Agnes!\" she called into the manure-smelling darkness, \"Agnes!\" Agnes's pony whinnied and tried to push its way out of its stall, and Kivrin wondered when it had last been fed, and where the hounds were. \"Agnes.\" She looked in each of the boxes and behind the manger, anywhere a little girl might hide. Or fall asleep.\n\nShe might be in the barn, Kivrin thought, and came out of the stable, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness. Roche was just emerging from the kitchen. \"Did you find her?\" Kivrin asked, but he didn't hear her. He was looking toward the gate, his head cocked as if he were listening.\n\nKivrin listened, but she couldn't hear anything. \"What is it?\" she asked. \"Can you hear her crying?\"\n\n\"It is the Lord,\" he said and ran toward the gate.\n\nOh, no, not Roche, Kivrin thought, and ran after him. He had stopped and was opening the gate. \"Father Roche,\" Kivrin said, and heard the horse.\n\nIt was galloping toward them, the sound of the hoofs loud on the frozen ground. Kivrin thought, Roche meant the lord of the manor. He thinks Eliwys's husband has finally come, and then, with a shock of hope, it's Mr. Dunworthy.\n\nRoche lifted the heavy bar and slid it to the side.\n\nWe need streptomycin and disinfectant, and he's got to take Rosemund back to hospital with him. She'll have to have a transfusion.\n\nRoche had the bar off. He pushed on the gate.\n\nAnd vaccine, she thought wildly. He'd better bring back the oral. Where's Agnes? He must get Agnes safely away from here.\n\nThe horse was nearly at the gate before she came to her senses. \"No!\" she said, but it was too late. Roche already had the gate open.\n\n\"He can't come here,\" Kivrin shouted, looking about wildly for something to warn him off with. \"He'll catch the plague.\"\n\nShe'd left the spade by the empty pigsty after she buried Blackie. She ran to get it. \"Don't let him through the gate,\" she called, and Roche flung his arms up in warning, but he had already ridden into the courtyard.\n\nRoche dropped his arms. \"Gawyn!\" he said, and the black stallion looked like Gawyn's, but a boy was riding it. He could not have been older than Rosemund, and his face and clothes were streaked with mud. The stallion was muddy, too, breathing hard and spattering foam, and the boy looked as winded. His nose and ears were brightened with the cold. He started to dismount, staring at them.\n\n\"You must not come here,\" Kivrin said, speaking carefully so she wouldn't lapse into English. \"There is plague in this village.\" She raised her spade, pointing it like a gun at him.\n\nThe boy stopped, halfway off the horse, and sat down in the saddle again.\n\n\"The blue sickness,\" she added, in case he didn't understand, but he was already nodding.\n\n\"It is everywhere,\" he said, turning to take something from the pouch behind his saddle. \"I bear a message.\" He held out a leather wallet toward Roche, and Roche stepped forward for it.\n\n\"No!\" Kivrin said and took a step forward, jabbing the spade at the air in front of him. \"Drop it on the ground!\" she said. \"You must not touch us.\"\n\nThe boy took a lied roll of vellum from the wallet and threw it at Roche's feet.\n\nRoche picked it up off the flagstones and unrolled it. \"What says the message?\" he asked the boy, and Kivrin thought, Of course, he can't read.\n\n\"I know not,\" the boy said. \"It is from the Bishop of Bath. I am to take it to all the parishes.\"\n\n\"Would you have me read it?\" Kivrin asked.\n\n\"Mayhap it is from the lord,\" Roche said. \"Mayhap he sends word that he has been delayed.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said, taking it from him, but she knew it wasn't.\n\nIt was in Latin, printed in letters so elaborate they were hard to read, but it didn't matter. She had read it before. In the Bodleian.\n\nShe leaned the spade against her shoulder and read the message, translating the Latin:\n\n\"The contagious pestilence of the present day, which is spreading far and wide, has left many parish churches and other livings in our diocese without parson or priest to care for their parishioners.\"\n\nShe looked at Roche. No, she thought. Not here. I won't let that happen here.\n\n\"Since no priests can be found who are willing\u2014\" The priests were dead or had run away, and no one could be persuaded to take their place, and the people were dying \"without the Sacrament of Penance.\"\n\nShe read on, seeing not the black letters but the faded brown ones she had deciphered in the Bodleian. She had thought the letter was pompous and ridiculous. \"People were dying right and left,\" she had told Mr. Dunworthy indignantly, \"and all the bishop was concerned about was church protocol!\" But now, reading it to the exhausted boy and Father Roche, it sounded exhausted, too. And desperate.\n\n\"If they are on the point of death and cannot secure the services of a priest,\" she read, \"then they should make confession to each other. We urge you, by these present letters, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, to do this.\"\n\nNeither the boy nor Roche said anything when she had finished reading. She wondered if the boy had known what he was carrying. She rolled the vellum up and handed it back to him.\n\n\"I have been riding three days,\" the boy said, slumping forward tiredly in the saddle. \"Can I not rest here awhile?\"\n\n\"It is not safe,\" Kivrin said, feeling sorry for him. \"We will give you and your horse food to take with you.\"\n\nRoche turned to go into the kitchen, and Kivrin suddenly remembered Agnes. \"Did you see a little girl on the road?\" she asked. \"A five-year-old child, with a red cloak and hood?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" the boy said, \"but there are many on the roads. They flee the pestilence.\"\n\nRoche was bringing out a wadmal sack. Kivrin turned to fetch some oats for the stallion, and Eliwys shot past them both, her skirts tangling between her legs, her loose hair flying out behind her.\n\n\"Don't\u2014\" Kivrin shouted, but Eliwys had already caught hold of the stallion's bridle.\n\n\"Where do you come from?\" she asked, grabbing at the boy's sleeve. \"Have you seen aught of my husband's priv\u00e9 Gawyn?\"\n\nThe boy looked frightened. \"I come from Bath, with a message from the bishop,\" he said, pulling back on the reins. The horse whinnied, and tossed its head.\n\n\"What message?\" Eliwys said hysterically. \"Is it from Gawyn?\"\n\n\"I do not know the man of whom you speak,\" the boy said.\n\n\"Lady Eliwys\u2014\" Kivrin said, stepping forward.\n\n\"Gawyn rides a black steed with a saddle chased in silver,\" Eliwys persisted, pulling on the stallion's bridle. \"He has gone to Bath to fetch my husband, who witnesses at the Assizes.\"\n\n\"None go to Bath,\" the boy said. \"All who can flee it.\"\n\nEliwys stumbled, as though the stallion had reared, and seemed to fall against its side.\n\n\"There is no court, nor any law,\" the boy said. \"The dead lie in the streets, and all who but look on them die, too. Some say it is the end of the world.\"\n\nEliwys let go of the bridle and took a step back. She turned and looked hopefully at Kivrin and Roche. \"They will surely be home soon, then. Is it certain you did not see them on the road? He rides a black steed.\"\n\n\"There were many steeds.\" He kicked the horse forward toward Roche, but Eliwys didn't move.\n\nRoche stepped forward with the sack of food. The boy leaned down, grabbed it, and wheeled the stallion around, nearly running Eliwys down. She didn't try to get out of the way.\n\nKivrin stepped forward and caught hold of one of the reins. \"Don't go back to the bishop,\" she said.\n\nHe jerked up on the reins, looking more frightened of her than of Eliwys.\n\nShe didn't let go. \"Go north,\" she said. \"The plague isn't there yet.\"\n\nHe wrenched the reins free, kicked the stallion forward, and galloped out of the courtyard.\n\n\"Stay off the main roads,\" Kivrin called after him. \"Speak to no one.\"\n\nEliwys still stood where she was.\n\n\"Come,\" Kivrin said to her. \"We must find Agnes.\"\n\n\"My husband and Gawyn will have ridden first to Courcy to warn Sir Bloet,\" she said, and let Kivrin lead her back to the house.\n\nKivrin left her by the fire and went to look in the barn. Agnes wasn't there, but she found her own cloak, left there Christmas Eve. She flung it around her and went up into the loft. She looked in the brewhouse and Roche searched the other buildings, but they didn't find her. A cold wind had sprung up while they stood talking to the messenger, and it smelled like snow.\n\n\"Perhaps she is in the house,\" Roche said. \"Looked you behind the high seat?\"\n\nShe searched the house again, looking behind the high seat and under the bed in the bower. Maisry still lay whimpering where Kivrin had left her, and she had to resist the temptation to kick her. She asked Lady Imeyne, kneeling to the wall, if she had seen Agnes or not.\n\nThe old woman ignored her, moving her links of chain and her lips silently.\n\nKivrin shook her shoulder. \"Did you see her go out?\"\n\nLady Imeyne turned and looked at her, her eyes glittering. \"She is to blame,\" she said.\n\n\"Agnes?\" Kivrin said, outraged. \"How could it be her fault?\"\n\nImeyne shook her head and looked past Kivrin at Maisry. \"God punishes us for Maisry's wickedness.\"\n\n\"Agnes is missing and it grows dark,\" Kivrin said. \"We must find her. Did you not see where she went?\"\n\n\"To blame,\" she whispered and turned back to the wall.\n\nIt was getting late now, and the wind was whistling around the screens. Kivrin ran out to the passage and onto the green.\n\nIt was like the day she had tried to find the drop on her own. There was no one on the snow-covered green, and the wind whipped and tore at her clothes as she ran. A bell was ringing somewhere far off to the northeast, slowly, a funeral toll.\n\nAgnes had loved the bell tower, Kivrin went in and shouted Agnes's name even though she could see up to the bellrope. She went out and stood looking at the huts, trying to think where Agnes would have gone.\n\nNot the huts, unless she had got cold. Her puppy. She had wanted to go see her puppy's grave. Kivrin hadn't told her she'd buried it in the woods. Agnes had told her it had to be buried in the churchyard. Kivrin could see she wasn't there, but she went through the lychgate.\n\nAgnes had been there. The prints of her little boots led from grave to grave and then off to the north side of the church. Kivrin looked up the hill at the beginning of the woods, thinking, What if she went into the woods? We'll never find her.\n\nShe ran around the side of the church. The prints stopped and circled back to the church. Kivrin opened the door. It was nearly dark inside and colder than the wind-whipped churchyard. \"Agnes!\" she called.\n\nThere was no answer, but there was a faint sound up by the altar, like a rat scurrying out of sight. \"Agnes?\" Kivrin said, peering into the gloom behind the tomb, in the side aisles. \"Are you here?\" she said.\n\n\"Kivrin?\" a quavering little voice said.\n\n\"Agnes?\" she said, and ran in its direction. \"Where are you?\"\n\nShe was by the statue of St. Catherine, huddled among the candles at its base in her red cape and hood. She had pressed herself against the rough stone skirts of the statue, eyes wide and frightened. Her face was red and damp with tears. \"Kivrin?\" she cried, and flung herself into her arms.\n\n\"What are you doing here, Agnes?\" Kivrin said, angry with relief. She hugged her tightly. \"We've been looking everywhere for you.\"\n\nShe buried her wet face against Kivrin's neck. \"Hiding,\" she said. \"I took Cart to see my hound, and I fell down.\" She wiped at her nose with her hand. \"I called and called for you, but you didn't come.\"\n\n\"I didn't know where you were, honey,\" Kivrin said, stroking her hair. \"Why did you come in the church?\"\n\n\"I was hiding from the wicked man.\"\n\n\"What wicked man?\" Kivrin said, frowning.\n\nThe heavy church door opened, and Agnes clasped her little arms in a stranglehold around Kivrin's neck. \"It is the wicked man,\" she whispered hysterically.\n\n\"Father Roche!\" Kivrin called. \"I've found her. She's here.\" The door shut, and she could hear his footsteps. \"It's Father Roche,\" she said to Agnes. \"He's been looking for you, too. We didn't know where you'd gone.\"\n\nShe loosened her grip a little. \"Maisry said the wicked man would come and get me.\"\n\nRoche came up panting, and Agnes buried her head against Kivrin again. \"Is she ill?\" he asked anxiously.\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Kivrin said. \"She's half-frozen. Put my cloak over her.\"\n\nRoche clumsily unfastened Kivrin's cloak and wrapped it around Agnes.\n\n\"I hid from the wicked man,\" Agnes said to him, turning in Kivrin's arms.\n\n\"What wicked man?\" Roche said.\n\n\"The wicked man who chased you in the church,\" she said. \"Maisry said he comes and gets you and gives you the blue sickness.\"\n\n\"There isn't any wicked man,\" Kivrin said, thinking, I'll shake Maisry till her teeth rattle when I get home. She stood up. Agnes's grip tightened.\n\nRoche groped along the wall to the priest's door, and opened it. Bluish light flooded in.\n\n\"Maisry said he got my hound,\" Agnes said, shivering. \"But he didn't get me. I hid.\"\n\nKivrin thought of the black puppy, limp in her hands, blood around its mouth. No, she thought, and started rapidly across the snow. She was shivering because she'd been in the icy church so long. Her face felt hot against Kivrin's neck. It's only from crying, Kivrin told herself, and asked her if her head ached.\n\nAgnes shook or nodded her head against Kivrin and wouldn't answer. No, Kivrin thought, and walked faster, Roche close behind her, past the steward's house and into the courtyard.\n\n\"I did not go in the woods,\" Agnes said when they got to the house. \"The naughty girl did, didn't she?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said, carrying her over to the fire. \"But it was all right. The father found her and took her home. And they lived happily ever after.\" She sat Agnes down on the bench and untied her cape.\n\n\"And she never went in the woods again,\" she said.\n\n\"She never did.\" Kivrin pulled her wet shoes and hose off. \"You must lie down,\" she said, spreading her cloak next to the fire. \"I will bring you some hot soup.\" Agnes lay down obediently, and Kivrin pulled the sides of the cloak up over her.\n\nShe brought her soup, but Agnes didn't want any, and she fell asleep almost immediately.\n\n\"She's caught a chill,\" she told Eliwys and Roche almost fiercely. \"She was outside all afternoon. She's caught cold,\" but after Roche left to say vespers, she uncovered Agnes and felt under her arms, in her groin. She even turned her over, looking for a lump between the shoulder blades like the boy's.\n\nRoche didn't ring the bell. He came back with a ragged quilt that was obviously from his own bed, made it into a pallet, and moved Agnes onto it.\n\nThe other vespers bells were ringing. Oxford and Godstow and the bell from the southwest. Kivrin couldn't hear Courcy's double bell. She looked at Eliwys anxiously, but she didn't seem to be listening. She was looking across Rosemund at the screens.\n\nThe bells stopped, and Courcy's started up. They sounded odd, muffled and slow. Kivrin looked at Roche. \"Is it a funeral bell?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, looking at Agnes. \"It is a holy day.\"\n\nShe had lost track of the days. The bishop's envoy had left Christmas morning and in the afternoon she had found out it was the plague, and after that it seemed like one endless day. Four days, she thought, it's been four days.\n\nShe had wanted to come at Christmas because there were so many holy days even the peasants would know what day it was, and she couldn't possibly miss the rendezvous. Gawyn went to Bath for help, Mr. Dunworthy, she thought, and the bishop took all the horses, and I didn't know where it was.\n\nEliwys had stood up and was listening to the bells. \"Are those Courcy's bells?\" she asked Roche.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"Fear not. It is the Slaughter of the Innocents.\"\n\nThe slaughter of the innocents, Kivrin thought, looking at Agnes. She was asleep, and she had stopped shivering, though she still felt hot.\n\nThe cook cried out something, and Kivrin went around the barricade to her. She was crouched on her pallet, struggling to get up. \"Must go home,\" she said.\n\nKivrin coaxed her down again and fetched her a drink of water. The bucket was nearly empty, and she picked it up and started out with it.\n\n\"Tell Kivrin I would have her come to me,\" Agnes said. She was sitting up.\n\nKivrin put the bucket down. \"I'm here,\" Kivrin said, kneeling down beside her. \"I'm right here.\"\n\nAgnes looked at her, her face red and distorted with rage. \"The wicked man will get me if Kivrin does not come,\" she said. \"Bid her come now.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (073453\u2013074912):\n\n\u2002I've missed the rendezvous. I lost count of the days, taking care of Rosemund, and I couldn't find Agnes, and I didn't know where the drop was.\n\n\u2002You must be worried sick, Mr. Dunworthy. You probably think I've fallen among cutthroats and murderers. Well, I have. And now they've got Agnes.\n\n\u2002She has a fever, but no buboes, and she isn't coughing or vomiting. Just the fever. It's very high\u2014she doesn't know me and keeps calling me to come. Roche and I tried to bring it down by sponging her with cold compresses, but it keeps going back up."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Lady Imeyne has it. Father Roche found her this morning on the floor in the corner. She may have been there all night. The last two nights she has refused to go to bed and has stayed on her knees, praying to God to protect her and the rest of the godly from the plague.\n\nHe hasn't. She has the pneumonic. She's coughing and vomiting mucus streaked with blood.\n\nShe won't let Roche or me tend her. \"She is to blame for this,\" she told Roche, pointing at me. \"Look at her hair. She is no maid. Look at her clothes.\"\n\nMy clothes are a boy's jerkin and leather hose I found in one of the chests in the loft. My kirtle got ruined when Lady Imeyne vomited on me, and I had to tear my shift up for cloths and bandages.\n\nRoche tried to give Imeyne some of the willow-bark tea, but she spat it out. She said, \"She lied when she said she was waylaid in the woods. She was sent here to kill us.\"\n\nBloody spittle dribbled down her chin as she spoke and Roche wiped it off. \"It is the disease that makes you believe these things,\" he said gently.\n\n\"She was sent here to poison us,\" Imeyne said. \"See how she has poisoned my son's children. And now she would poison me, but I will not let her give me aught to eat or drink.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" Roche said sternly. \"You must not speak ill of one who seeks to help you.\"\n\nShe shook her head, turning it wildly from side to side. \"She seeks to kill us all. You must burn her. She is the Devil's servant.\"\n\nI've never seen him angry before. He looked almost like a cutthroat again. \"You know not whereof you speak,\" he said. \"It is God who has sent her to help us.\"\n\nI wish it were true, that I were of any help at all, but I'm not. Agnes screams for me to come and Rosemund lies there as if she were under a spell and the clerk is turning black, and there's nothing I can do to help any of them. Nothing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "All the steward's family have it. The youngest boy, Lefric, was the only one with a bubo, and I've brought him in here and lanced it. There's nothing I can do for the others. They all have pneumonic.\n\nThe steward's baby is dead."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "The Courcy bells are tolling. Nine strokes. Which one of them is it? The bishop's envoy? The fat monk who helped steal our horses? Or Sir Bloet? I hope so.\n\nTerrible day. The steward's wife and the boy who ran from me when I went to find the drop both died this afternoon. The steward is digging both their graves, though the ground is so frozen I don't see how he can even make a dent in it. Rosemund and Lefric are both worse. Rosemund can scarcely swallow and her pulse is thready and irregular. Agnes is not as bad, but I can't get her fever down. Roche said vespers in here tonight.\n\nAfter the set prayers, he said, \"Good Jesus, I know you have sent what help you can, but I fear it cannot prevail against this dark plague. Thy holy servant Katherine says this terror is a disease, but how can it be? For it does not move from man to man, but is everywhere at once.\"\n\nIt is."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "Ulf the Reeve is dead.\n\nAlso Sibbe, daughter of the steward.\n\nJoan, daughter of the steward.\n\nThe cook (I don't know her name).\n\nWalthef, oldest son of the steward."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "Over fifty percent of the village has it. Please don't let Eliwys get it. Or Roche.\n\nHe called for help, but no one came, and he thought that everyone else had died and he was the only one left, like the monk, John Clyn, in the monastery of the Friars Minor. \"I, waiting for death till it come...\"\n\nHe tried to press the button to call the nurse, but he couldn't find it. There was a handbell on the bedstand next to the bed, and he reached for it, but there was no strength in his fingers, and it clattered to the floor. It made a horrible, endless sound, like some nightmarish Great Tom, but nobody came.\n\nThe next time he woke, though, the bell was on the bedstand again, so they must have come while he was asleep. He squinted blurrily at the bell and wondered how long he had been asleep. A long time.\n\nThere was no way to tell from the room. It was light, but there was no angle to the light, no shadows. It might be afternoon or midmorning. There was no digital on the bedstand or the wall, and he didn't have the strength to turn and look at the screens on the wall behind him. There was a window, though he could not raise himself up enough to see properly out of it, but he could see it was raining. It had been raining when he went to Brasenose\u2014it could be the same afternoon. Perhaps he had only fainted, and they had brought him here for observation.\n\n\"'I also will do this unto you,'\" someone said.\n\nDunworthy opened his eyes and reached for his spectacles, but they weren't there. \"'I will even appoint over you terror, consumption, and burning ague.'\"\n\nIt was Mrs. Gaddson. She was sitting in the chair beside his bed, reading from the Bible. She was not wearing her mask and gown, though the Bible still seemed to be swathed in polythene. Dunworthy squinted at it.\n\n\"'And when ye are gathered together within your cities, I will send the pestilence among you.'\"\n\n\"What day is it?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\nShe paused, looked curiously at him, and then went on placidly. \"'And ye shall be delivered into the hand of the enemy.'\"\n\nHe could not have been here very long. Mrs. Gaddson had been reading to the patients when he went to see Badri. Perhaps it was still the same afternoon, and Mary had not come in to throw Mrs. Gaddson out yet.\n\n\"Can you swallow?\" the nurse said. It was the ancient sister from Supplies.\n\n\"I need to give you a temp,\" she croaked. \"Can you swallow?\"\n\nHe opened his mouth, and she put the temp capsule on his tongue. She tipped his head forward so he could drink, her apron crackling.\n\n\"Did you get it down?\" she asked, letting him lean back a bit.\n\nThe capsule was lodged halfway down his throat, but he nodded. The effort made his head ache.\n\n\"Good. Then I can remove this.\" She stripped something from his upper arm.\n\n\"What time is it?\" he asked, trying not to cough up the capsule.\n\n\"Time for you to rest,\" she said, peering farsightedly at the screens behind his head.\n\n\"What day is it?\" he said, but she had already hobbled out. \"What day is it?\" he asked Mrs. Gaddson, but she was gone, too.\n\nHe could not have been here long. He still had a headache and a fever, which were Early Symptoms of Influenza. Perhaps he had only been ill a few hours. Perhaps it was still the same afternoon, and he had awakened when they moved him into the room, before they had had time to connect a call button or give him a temp.\n\n\"Time for your temp,\" the nurse said. It was a different one, the pretty blond nurse who had asked him all the questions about William Gaddson.\n\n\"I've already had one.\"\n\n\"That was yesterday,\" she said. \"Come now, let's have it down.\"\n\nThe first-year student in Badri's room had told him she was down with the virus. \"I thought you had the virus,\" he said.\n\n\"I did, but I'm well again, and so shall you be.\" She put her hand behind his head and raised him up so he could take a sip of water.\n\n\"What day is it?\" he asked.\n\n\"The eleventh,\" she said. \"I had to think a bit. There at the end things got a bit hectic. Nearly all the staff were down with it, and everyone working double shifts. I quite lost track of the days.\" She typed something into the console and looked up at the screens, frowning.\n\nHe had already known it before she told him, before he tried to reach the bell to call for help. The fever had made one endless rainy afternoon out of all the delirious nights and drugged mornings he could not remember, but his body had kept clear track of the time, tolling off the hours, the days, so that he had known even before she'd told him. He had missed the rendezvous.\n\nThere was no rendezvous, he told himself bitterly. Gilchrist shut down the net. It would not have mattered if he had been there, if he had not been ill. The net was closed and there was nothing he could have done.\n\nJanuary eleventh. How long had Kivrin waited at the drop? A day? Two days? Three before she began to think she had the date wrong, or the place? Had she waited all night by the Oxford-Bath road, huddled in her useless white cloak, afraid to build a fire for fear the light would attract wolves or thieves? Or peasants fleeing from the plague. And when had it come to her finally that no one was coming to get her?\n\n\"Is there anything I can fetch for you?\" the nurse asked. She pushed a syringe into the cannula.\n\n\"Is that something to make me sleep?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Good,\" he said and closed his eyes gratefully.\n\nHe slept either a few minutes or a day or a month. The light, the rain, the lack of shadows, were the same when he woke. Colin was sitting in the chair beside the bed, reading the book Dunworthy had given him for Christmas and sucking on something. It can't have been that long, Dunworthy thought, squinting at him, the gobstopper is still with us.\n\n\"Oh, good,\" Colin said, shutting the book with a clap. \"That horrid sister said I could only stay if I promised not to wake you up, and I didn't, did I? You'll tell her you woke all on your own, won't you?\"\n\nHe took the gobstopper out, examined it, and stuck it in his pocket. \"Have you seen her? She must have been alive during the Middle Ages. She's nearly as necrotic as Mrs. Gaddson.\"\n\nDunworthy squinted at him. The jacket whose pocket he had stuck the gobstopper in was a new one, green, the gray plaid muffler around his neck even grimmer against the verdure, and Colin looked older in it, as if he had grown while Dunworthy was asleep.\n\nColin frowned. \"It's me, Colin. Do you know me?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course I know you. Why aren't you wearing your mask?\"\n\nColin grinned. \"I don't have to. And at any rate you're not contagious anymore. Do you want your spectacles?\"\n\nDunworthy nodded, carefully, so the aching wouldn't begin again.\n\n\"When you woke up the other times, you didn't know me at all.\" He rummaged in the drawer of the bedstand and handed Dunworthy his spectacles. \"You were awfully bad. I thought you were going to pack it in. You kept calling me Kivrin.\"\n\n\"What day is it?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"The twelfth,\" Colin said impatiently. \"You asked me that this morning. Don't you remember?\"\n\nDunworthy put on his spectacles. \"No.\"\n\n\"Don't you remember anything that's happened?\"\n\nI remember how I failed Kivrin, he thought. I remember leaving her in 1348.\n\nColin scooted the chair closer and laid the book on the bed. \"The sister told me you wouldn't because of the fever,\" Colin said, but he sounded faintly angry at Dunworthy, as if it were his fault. \"She wouldn't let me in to see you and she wouldn't tell me anything. I think that's completely unfair. They make you sit in a waiting room, and they keep telling you to go home, there's nothing you can do here, and when you ask questions, they say, 'The doctor will be with you in a moment,' and won't tell you anything. They treat you like a child. I mean, you have to find out sometime, don't you? Do you know what Sister did this morning? She chucked me out. She said, 'Mr. Dunworthy's been very ill. I don't want you to upset him.' As if I would.\"\n\nHe looked indignant, but at the same time tired, worried. Dunworthy thought of him haunting the corridors and sitting in the waiting room, waiting for news. No wonder he looked older.\n\n\"And just now Mrs. Gaddson said I was only to tell you good news because bad news would very likely make you have a relapse and die and it would be my fault.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Gaddson's still keeping up morale, I see,\" Dunworthy said. He smiled at Colin. \"I don't suppose there's any chance of her coming down with the virus?\"\n\nColin looked astonished. \"The epidemic's stopped,\" he said. \"They're lifting the quarantine next week.\"\n\nThe analogue had arrived, then, after all Mary's pleading. He wondered if it had come in time to help Badri, and then wondered if that was the bad news Mrs. Gaddson didn't want told. I have already been told the bad news, he thought. The fix is lost, and Kivrin is in 1348.\n\n\"Tell me some good news,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, nobody's fallen ill for two days,\" Colin said, \"and the supplies finally came through, so we've something decent to eat.\"\n\n\"You've got some new clothes as well, I see.\"\n\nColin glanced down at the green jacket. \"This is one of the Christmas presents from my mother. She sent them after\u2014\" He stopped and frowned. \"She sent me some vids, and a set of face plasters as well.\"\n\nDunworthy wondered if she had waited till after the epidemic was effectively over before bothering to ship Colin's gifts, and what Mary had had to say about it.\n\n\"See,\" Colin said, standing up. \"The jacket strips up automatically. You just touch the button, like this. You won't have to tell me to strip it up anymore.\"\n\nThe sister came rustling in. \"Did he wake you up?\" she demanded.\n\n\"I told you so,\" Colin muttered. \"I didn't, Sister. I was so quiet you couldn't even hear me turn the pages.\"\n\n\"He didn't wake me up, and he's not bothering me,\" Dunworthy said before she could ask her next question. \"He's telling me only good news.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't be telling Mr. Dunworthy anything. He must rest,\" she said and hung a bag of clear liquid on the drip. \"Mr. Dunworthy is still too ill to be bothered with visitors.\" She hustled Colin out of the room.\n\n\"If you're so worried over visitors, why don't you stop Mrs. Gaddson reading Scripture to him?\" Colin protested. \"She'd make anybody ill.\" He stopped short at the door, glaring at the sister. \"I'll be back tomorrow. Is there anything you'd like?\"\n\n\"How is Badri?\" Dunworthy asked and braced himself for the answer.\n\n\"Better,\" Colin said. \"He was almost well, but he had a relapse. He's a good deal better now, though. He wants to see you.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, but the sister had already shut the door.\n\n\"It's not Badri's fault,\" Mary had said, and of course it wasn't. Disorientation was one of the Early Symptoms. He thought of himself, unable to punch in Andrews's number, of Ms. Piantini making mistake after mistake on the handbells, murmuring \"Sorry,\" over and over.\n\n\"Sorry,\" he murmured. It had not been Badri's fault. It was his. He had been so worried about the apprentice's calculations that he had infected Badri with his fears, so worried that Badri had decided to refeed the coordinates.\n\nColin had left his book lying on the bed. Dunworthy pulled it toward him. It seemed impossibly heavy, so heavy his arm shook with the effort of holding it open, but he propped that side against the rail and turned the pages, almost unreadable from the angle he was lying at, till he found what he was looking for.\n\nThe Black Death had hit Oxford at Christmas, shutting down the universities and causing those who were able to to flee to the surrounding villages, carrying the plague with them. Those who couldn't died in the thousands, so many there were \"none left to keep possession or make up a competent number to bury the dead.\" And the few who were left barricaded themselves inside the colleges, hiding and looking for someone to blame.\n\nHe fell asleep with his spectacles on, but when the nurse removed them, he woke. It was William's nurse, and she smiled at him.\n\n\"Sorry,\" she said, putting them in the drawer. \"I didn't mean to wake you.\"\n\nDunworthy squinted at her. \"Colin says the epidemic's over.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, looking at the screens behind him. \"They found the source of the virus and got the analogue all at the same time, and only just in time. Probability was projecting an 85 percent morbidity rate with 32 percent mortality even with antimicrobials and T-cell enhancement, and that was without adding in the supply shortages and so many of the staff being down. As it was, we had nearly nineteen percent mortality and a good number of the cases are still critical.\"\n\nShe picked up his wrist and looked at the screen behind his head. \"Your fever's down a bit,\" she said. \"You're very lucky, you know. The analogue didn't work on anyone already infected. Dr. Ahrens\u2014\" she said, and then stopped. He wondered what Mary had said. That he would pack it in. \"You're very lucky,\" she said again. \"Now try to sleep.\"\n\nHe slept, and when he woke again, Mrs. Gaddson was standing over him, poised for attack with her Bible.\n\n\"'He will bring upon thee all the diseases of Egypt,'\" she said as soon as he had opened his eyes. \"'Also every sickness and every plague, until thou be destroyed.'\"\n\n\"'And ye shall be delivered into the hand of the enemy,'\" Dunworthy murmured.\n\n\"What?\" Mrs. Gaddson demanded.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\nShe had lost her place. She flipped back and forth through the pages, searching for pestilences, and began reading. \"'... Because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world.'\"\n\nGod would never have sent him if He'd known what would happen, Dunworthy thought. Herod and the slaughter of the innocents and Gethsemane.\n\n\"Read to me from St. Matthew,\" he said. \"Chapter 26, verse 39.\"\n\nMrs. Gaddson stopped, looking irritated, and then leafed through the pages to Matthew. \"'And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.'\"\n\nGod didn't know where His Son was, Dunworthy thought. He had sent His only begotten Son into the world, and something had gone wrong with the fix, someone had turned off the net, so that He couldn't get to him, and they had arrested him and put a crown of thorns on his head and nailed him to a cross.\n\n\"Chapter 27,\" he said. \"Verse 46.\"\n\nShe pursed her lips and turned the page. \"I really do not feel these are appropriate Scriptures for\u2014\"\n\n\"Read it,\" he said.\n\n\"'And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Ehi, Eloi, lama sabacthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'\"\n\nKivrin would have no idea what had happened. She would think she had the wrong place or the wrong time, that she had lost count of the days somehow during the plague, that something had gone wrong with the drop. She would think they had forsaken her.\n\n\"Well?\" Mrs. Gaddson said. \"Any other requests?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nMrs. Gaddson flipped back to the Old Testament. \"'For they shall fall by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence,'\" she read. \"'He that is far off shall die of the pestilence.'\"\n\nIn spite of everything, he slept, waking finally to something that was not endless afternoon. It was still raining, but now there were shadows in the room and the bells were chiming four o'clock. William's nurse helped him to the lavatory. The book had gone, and he wondered if Colin had come back without his remembering, but when the nurse opened the door of the bedstand for his slippers, he saw it lying there. He asked the nurse to crank his bed to sitting, and when she had gone he put on his spectacles and took the book out again.\n\nThe plague had spread so randomly, so viciously, the contemps had been unable to believe it was a natural disease. They had accused lepers and old women and the mentally impaired of poisoning wells and putting curses on them. Anyone strange, anyone foreign was immediately suspected. In Sussex they had stoned two travelers to death. In Yorkshire they had burnt a young woman at the stake.\n\n\"So that's where it got to,\" Colin said, coming into the room. \"I thought I'd lost it.\"\n\nHe was wearing his green jacket and was very wet. \"I had to carry the handbell cases over to Holy Re-Formed for Ms. Taylor, and it's absolutely pouring.\"\n\nRelief washed over him at the mention of Ms. Taylor's name, and he realized he had not asked after any of the detainees for fear it would be bad news.\n\n\"Is Ms. Taylor all right then?\"\n\nColin touched the bottom of his jacket, and it sprang open, spraying water everywhere. \"Yes. They're doing some bell thing at Holy Re-Formed on the fifteenth.\" He leaned around so he could see what Dunworthy was reading.\n\nDunworthy shut the book and handed it to him. \"And the rest of the bell ringers? Ms. Piantini?\"\n\nColin nodded. \"She's still in hospital. She's so thin you wouldn't know her.\" He opened the book. \"You were reading about the Black Death, weren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"Mr. Finch didn't come down with the virus, did he?\"\n\n\"No. He's been filling in as tenor for Ms. Piantini. He's very upset. We didn't get any lavatory paper in the shipment from London, and he says we're nearly out. He had a fight with the Gallstone over it.\" He laid the book back on the bed. \"What's going to happen to your girl?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Isn't there anything you can do to get her out?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"The Black Death was terrible,\" Colin said. \"So many people died they didn't even bury them. They just left them lying in big heaps.\"\n\n\"I can't get to her, Colin. We lost the fix when Gilchrist shut the net down.\"\n\n\"I know, but isn't there something we can do?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But\u2014\"\n\n\"I intend to speak to your doctor about restricting your visitors,\" the sister said sternly, removing Colin by the collar of his jacket.\n\n\"Then begin by restricting Mrs. Gaddson,\" Dunworthy said, \"and tell Mary I want to see her.\"\n\nMary did not come, but Montoya did, obviously fresh from the dig. She was mud to the knees, and her dark curly hair was gray with it. Colin came with her, and his green jacket was thoroughly bespattered.\n\n\"We had to sneak in when she wasn't looking,\" Colin said.\n\nMontoya had lost a good deal of weight. Her hands on the bed rail were very thin, and the digital on her wrist was loose.\n\n\"How are you feeling?\" she asked.\n\n\"Better,\" he lied, looking at her hands. There was mud under her fingernails. \"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"Better,\" she said.\n\nShe must have gone directly to the dig to look for the corder as soon as they released her from hospital. And now she had come directly here.\n\n\"She's dead, isn't she?\" he said.\n\nHer hands took hold of the rail, let go of it. \"Yes.\"\n\nKivrin had been in the right place, after all. The locationals had been shifted by only a few kilometers, a few meters, and she had managed to find the Oxford-Bath road, she had found Skendgate. And died in it, a victim of the influenza she had caught before she went. Or of starvation after the plague, or of despair. She had been dead seven hundred years.\n\n\"You found it then,\" he said, and it was not a question.\n\n\"Found what?\" Colin said.\n\n\"Kivrin's corder.\"\n\n\"No,\" Montoya said.\n\nHe felt no relief. \"But you will,\" he said.\n\nHer hands shook a little, holding the rail. \"Kivrin asked me to,\" she said. \"The day of the drop. She was the one who suggested the corder look like a bone spur, so the record would survive even if she didn't. 'Mr. Dunworthy's worried over nothing,' she said, 'but if something should go wrong, I'll try to be buried in the churchyard so you,'\" her voice faltered, \"'so you won't have to dig up half of England.'\"\n\nDunworthy closed his eyes.\n\n\"But you don't know that she's dead, if you haven't found the corder,\" Colin burst out. \"You said you didn't even know where she was. How can you be sure she's dead?\"\n\n\"We've been conducting experiments with laboratory rats at the dig. Only a quarter of an hour's exposure to the virus is required for infection. Kivrin was directly exposed to the tomb for over three hours. There's a 75 percent chance she contracted the virus, and with the limited med support available in the fourteenth century, she's almost certain to have developed complications.\"\n\nLimited med support It was a century that had dosed people with leeches and strychnine, that had never heard of sterilization or germs or T-cells. They would have stuck filthy poultices on her and muttered prayers and opened her veins. \"And the doctors bled them,\" Gilchrist's book had said, \"but many died in despite.\"\n\n\"Without antimicrobials and T-cell enhancement,\" Montoya said, the virus's mortality rate is forty-nine percent. Probability\u2014\"\n\n\"Probability,\" Dunworthy said bitterly. \"Are these Gilchrist's figures?\"\n\nMontoya glanced at Colin and frowned. \"There is a 75 percent chance Kivrin contracted the virus, and a 68 percent chance she was exposed to the plague. Morbidity for bubonic plague is 91 percent, and the mortality rate is\u2014\"\n\n\"She didn't get the plague,\" Dunworthy said. \"She'd had her plague immunization. Didn't Dr. Ahrens or Gilchrist tell you that?\"\n\nMontoya glanced at Colin again.\n\n\"They said I wasn't allowed to tell him,\" Colin said, looking defiantly at her.\n\n\"Tell me what? Is Gilchrist ill?\" He remembered looking at the screens and then collapsing forward into Gilchrist's arms. He wondered if he had infected him when he fell.\n\nMontoya said, \"Mr. Gilchrist died of the flu three days ago.\"\n\nDunworthy looked at Colin. \"What else did they instruct you to keep from me?\" Dunworthy demanded. \"Who else died while I was ill?\"\n\nMontoya put up her thin hand as if to stop Colin, but it was too late.\n\n\"Great-aunt Mary,\" Colin said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (077076\u2013078924):\n\n\u2002Maisry's run away. Roche and I looked everywhere for her, afraid she'd fallen ill and crawled into some corner, but the steward said he saw her starting into the woods while he was digging Walthef's grave. She was riding Agnes's pony.\n\n\u2002She will only spread it, or make it as far as some village that already has it. It's all around us now. The bells sound like vespers, only out of rhythm, as if the ringers had gone mad. It's impossible to make out whether it is nine strokes or three. Courcy's double bells tolled a single stroke this morning. I wonder if it is the baby. Or one of the chattering girls.\n\n\u2002She is still unconscious, and her pulse is very weak. Agnes screams and struggles in her delirium. She keeps shrieking for me to come, but she won't let me near her. When I try to talk to her, she kicks and screams as if she were having a tantrum.\n\n\u2002Eliwys is wearing herself out trying to tend Agnes and Lady Imeyne, who screams \"Devil!\" at me when I tend her and nearly gave me a black eye this morning. The only one who lets me near him is the clerk, who is beyond caring. He cannot possibly last the day. He smells so bad we've had to move him to the far end of the room. His bubo has started to suppurate again."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Gunni, second son of the steward.\n\nThe woman with the scrofula scars on her neck.\n\nMaisry's father.\n\nRoche's altar boy, Cob."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "Lady Imeyne is very bad. Roche tried to give her the last rites, but she refused to make her confession.\n\n\"You must make your peace with God ere you die,\" Roche said, but she turned her face to the wall and said, \"He is to blame for this.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Thirty-one cases. Over seventy-five percent. Roche consecrated part of the green this morning because the churchyard is nearly full.\n\nMaisry hasn't come back. She's probably sleeping in the high seat of some manor house the inhabitants have fled, and when this is all over she'll become the ancestor of some noble old family.\n\nPerhaps that's what's wrong with our time, Mr. Dunworthy, it was founded by Maisry and the bishop's envoy and Sir Bloet. And all the people who stayed and tried to help, like Roche, caught the plague and died."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "Lady Imeyne is unconscious and Roche is giving her the last rites. I told him to.\n\n\"It is the disease that speaks. Her soul has not turned against God,\" I said, which isn't true, and perhaps she does not deserve forgiveness, but she does not deserve this either, her body poisoned, rotting, and I can scarcely condemn her for blaming God when I blame her. And neither is responsible. It's a disease.\n\nThe consecrated wine has run out, and there is no more olive oil. Roche is using cooking oil from the kitchen. It smells rancid. Where he touches her temples and the palms of her hands, the skin turns black.\n\nIt's a disease."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "Agnes is worse. It's terrible to watch her, lying there panting like her poor puppy and screaming, \"Tell Kivrin to come and get me. I do not like it here!\"\n\nEven Roche can't stand it. \"Why does God punish us thus?\" he asked me.\n\n\"He doesn't. It's a disease,\" I said, which is no answer, and he knows it.\n\nAll of Europe knows it, and the Church knows it, too. It will hang on for a few more centuries, making excuses, but it can't overcome the essential fact\u2014that He let this happen. That He comes to no one's rescue."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "The bells have stopped. Roche asked me if I thought it was a sign the plague had stopped. \"Perhaps God has been able to come to help us after all,\" he said.\n\nI don't think so. In Tournai church officials sent out an order stopping the bells because the sound frightened the people. Perhaps the Bishop of Bath has sent one out as well.\n\nThe sound was frightening, but the silence is worse. It's like the end of the world."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "Mary had been dead almost the entire time he had been ill. She had come down with it the day the analogue arrived. She had developed pneumonia almost immediately, and on the second day her heart had stopped. The sixth of January. Epiphany.\n\n\"You should have told me,\" Dunworthy had said.\n\n\"I did tell you,\" Colin had protested. \"Don't you remember?\"\n\nHe had no memory of it at all, had had no warning even when Mrs. Gaddson was allowed free access to his room, when Colin had said, \"They won't tell you anything.\" It had not even struck him as odd that she hadn't come to see him.\n\n\"I told you when she got ill,\" Colin had said, \"and I told you when she died, but you were too ill to care.\"\n\nHe thought of Colin waiting outside her room for news and then coming and standing by his bedside, trying to tell him. \"I'm sorry, Colin.\"\n\n\"You couldn't help it that you were ill,\" Colin said. \"It wasn't your fault.\"\n\nDunworthy had told Ms. Taylor that, and she had not believed him any more than he believed Colin now. He did not think that Colin believed it either.\n\n\"It was all right,\" Colin said. \"Everyone was very nice except Sister. She wouldn't let me tell you even after you started getting better, but everyone else was nice except the Gallstone. She kept reading me Scriptures about how God strikes down the unrighteous. Mr. Finch rang my mother, but she couldn't come, and so he made all the funeral arrangements. He was very nice. The Americans were nice, too. They kept giving me sweets.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Dunworthy had said then, and after Colin had gone, expelled by the ancient sister. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nColin had not been back, and Dunworthy didn't know whether the nurse had barred him from the Infirmary or whether, in spite of what he said, Colin would not forgive him.\n\nHe had abandoned Colin, gone off and left him at the mercy of Mrs. Gaddson and the sister and doctors who would not tell him anything. He had gone where he could not be reached, as incommunicado as Basingame, salmon fishing on some river in Scotland. And no matter what Colin said, he believed that if Dunworthy had truly wanted to, illness or no, he could have been there to help him.\n\n\"You think Kivrin's dead, too, don't you?\" Colin had asked him after Montoya left. \"Like Ms. Montoya does?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so.\"\n\n\"But you said she couldn't get the plague. What if she's not dead? What if she's at the rendezvous right now, waiting for you?\"\n\n\"She'd been infected with influenza, Colin.\"\n\n\"But so were you, and you didn't die. Maybe she didn't die either. I think you should go see Badri and see if he has any ideas. Maybe he could turn the machine on again or something.\"\n\n\"You don't understand,\" he'd said. \"It's not like a pocket torch. The fix can't be switched on again.\"\n\n\"Well, but maybe he could do another one. A new fix. To the same time.\"\n\nTo the same time. A drop, even with the coordinates already known, took days to set up. And Badri didn't have the coordinates. He only had the date. He could \"make\" a new set of coordinates based on the date, if the locationals had stayed the same, if Badri in his fever hadn't scrambled them as well and if the paradoxes would allow a second drop at all.\n\nThere was no way to explain it all to Colin, no way to tell him Kivrin could not possibly have survived influenza in a century where the standard treatment was bloodletting. \"It won't work, Colin,\" he'd said, suddenly too tired to explain anything. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"So you're just going to leave her there? Whether she's dead or not? You're not even going to ask Badri?\"\n\n\"Colin\u2014\"\n\n\"Aunt Mary did everything for you. She didn't give up!\"\n\n\"What is going on in here?\" the sister had demanded, creaking in. \"I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you persist in upsetting the patient.\"\n\n\"I was leaving anyway,\" Colin had said and flung himself out.\n\nHe hadn't come back that afternoon or all evening or the next morning.\n\n\"Am I being allowed visitors?\" Dunworthy asked William's nurse when she came on duty.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, looking at the screens. \"There's someone waiting to see you now.\"\n\nIt was Mrs. Gaddson. She already had her Bible open.\n\n\"Luke Chapter 23, verse 33,\" she said, glaring pestilentially at him. \"Since you're so interested in the Crucifixion. 'And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him.'\"\n\nIf God had known where His Son was, He would never have let them do that to him, Dunworthy thought. He would have pulled him out, He would have come and rescued him.\n\nDuring the Black Death, the contemps believed God had abandoned them. \"Why do you turn your face from us?\" they had written. \"Why do you ignore our cries?\" But perhaps He hadn't heard them. Perhaps He had been unconscious, lying ill in heaven, helpless Himself and unable to come.\n\n\"'And there was a darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour,'\" Mrs. Gaddson read,\" 'and the sun was darkened...'\"\n\nThe contemps had believed it was the end of the world, that Armageddon had come, that Satan had triumphed at last. He had, Dunworthy thought. He had closed the net. He had lost the fix.\n\nHe thought about Gilchrist. He wondered if he had realized what he had done before he died or if he had lain unconscious and oblivious, unaware that he had murdered Kivrin.\n\n\"'And Jesus led them out as far as to Bethany,'\" Mrs. Gaddson read,\" 'and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them. And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven.'\"\n\nHe was parted from them, and was carried up into heaven. God did come to get him, Dunworthy thought. But too late. Too late.\n\nShe went on reading until William's nurse came on duty. \"Naptime,\" she said briskly, shoving Mrs. Gaddson out. She came over to the bed, snatched his pillow from under his head, and gave it several sharp whacks.\n\n\"Has Colin come?\" he asked.\n\n\"I haven't seen him since yesterday,\" she said, pushing the pillow back under his head. \"I want you to try to go to sleep now.\"\n\n\"Ms. Montoya hasn't been here?\"\n\n\"Not since yesterday.\" She handed him a capsule and a paper cup.\n\n\"Have there been any messages?\"\n\n\"No messages,\" she said. She took the empty cup from him. \"Try to sleep.\"\n\nNo messages. \"I'll try to be buried in the churchyard,\" Kivrin had told Montoya, but they'd run out of room in the churchyards. They had buried the plague victims in trenches, in ditches. They had thrown them in the river. Toward the end they hadn't buried them at all. They had piled them in heaps and set fire to them.\n\nMontoya would never find the corder. And if she did, what would the message be? \"I went to the drop, but it didn't open. What happened?\" Kivrin's voice rising in panic, in reproach, crying,\" Eloi, eloi, why hast thou forsaken me?\"\n\nWilliam's nurse made him sit up in a chair to eat his lunch. While he was finishing his stewed prunes, Finch came in.\n\n\"We're nearly out of tinned fruit,\" he said, pointing at Dunworthy's tray. \" And lavatory paper. I have no idea how they expect us to start term.\" He sat down on the end of the bed. \"The University's set the start of term for the twenty-fifth, but we simply can't be ready by then. We still have fifteen patients in Salvin, the mass immunizations have scarcely started, and I'm not at all convinced we've seen the last of the flu cases.\"\n\n\"What about Colin?\" Dunworthy said. \"Is he all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. He was a bit melancholy after Dr. Ahrens passed away, but he's cheered up a good deal since you've been on the mend.\"\n\n\"I want to thank you for helping him,\" Dunworthy said. \"Colin told me you'd arranged for the funeral.\"\n\n\"Oh, I was glad to help, sir. He'd no one else, you know. I was certain his mother would come now that the danger's past, but she said it was too difficult to make arrangements on such short notice. She did send lovely flowers. Lilies and laser blossoms. We held the service in Balliol's chapel.\" He shifted on the bed. \"Oh, and speaking of the chapel, I do hope you don't mind, but I've given permission to Holy Re-Formed to use it for a handbell concert on the fifteenth. The American bell ringers are going to perform Rimbaud's 'When at Last My Savior Cometh,' and Holy Re-Formed's been requisitioned by the NHS as an immunization center. I do hope that's all right.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, thinking about Mary. He wondered when they had had the funeral, and if they had rung the bell afterward.\n\n\"I can tell them you'd rather they used St. Mary's,\" Finch said anxiously.\n\n\"No, of course not,\" Dunworthy said. \"The chapel's perfectly all right. You've obviously been doing a fine job in my absence.\"\n\n\"Well, I try, sir. It's difficult, with Mrs. Gaddson.\" He stood up. \"I don't want to keep you from your rest. If there's anything I can bring you, anything I can do?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, \"there's nothing you can do.\"\n\nHe started for the door and then stopped. \"I hope you'll accept my condolences, Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said, looking uncomfortable. \"I know how close you and Dr. Ahrens were.\"\n\nClose, he thought after Finch was gone. I wasn't close at all. He tried to remember Mary leaning over him, giving him his temp, looking up anxiously at the screens, to remember Colin standing by his bed in his new jacket and his muffler, saying, \"Great-aunt Mary's dead. Dead. Can't you hear me?\" but there was no memory there at all. Nothing.\n\nThe sister came in and hooked up another drip that put him out, and when he woke he felt abruptly better.\n\n\"It's your T-cell enhancement taking hold,\" William's nurse told him. \"We've been seeing it in a good number of cases. Some of them make miraculous recoveries.\"\n\nShe made him walk to the toilet, and, after lunch, down the corridor. \"The farther you can go, the better,\" she said, kneeling to put his slippers on.\n\nI'm not going anywhere, he thought. Gilchrist shut down the net.\n\nShe strapped his drip bag to his shoulder, hooked the portable motor to it, and helped him on with his robe. \"You mustn't worry about the depression,\" she said, helping him out of bed. \"It's a common symptom after influenza. It will fade as soon as your chemical balance is restored.\"\n\nShe walked him out into the corridor. \"You might want to visit some of your friends,\" she said. \"There are two patients from Balliol in the ward at the end of the corridor. Ms. Piantini's the fourth bed. She could do with a bit of cheering.\"\n\n\"Did Mr. Latimer\u2014\" he said, and stopped. \"Is Mr. Latimer still a patient?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and he could tell from her voice that Latimer hadn't recovered from his stroke. \"He's two doors down.\"\n\nHe shuffled down the corridor to Latimer's room. He hadn't gone to see Latimer after he fell ill, first because of having to wait for Andrews's call and then because the Infirmary had run out of SPG's. Mary had said he had suffered complete paralysis and loss of function.\n\nHe pushed open the door to Latimer's room. Latimer lay with his arms at his sides, the left one crooked slightly to accommodate the hookups and the drip. There were tubes in his nose and down his throat, and op-fibers leading from his head and chest to the screens above the bed. His face was half-obscured by them, but he gave no sign that they bothered him.\n\n\"Latimer?\" he said, going to stand beside the bed.\n\nThere was no indication he'd heard. His eyes were open, but they didn't shift at the sound, and his face under the tangle of tubes didn't change. He looked vague, distant, as if he were trying to remember a line from Chaucer.\n\n\"Mr. Latimer,\" he said more loudly, and looked up at the screens. They didn't change either.\n\nHe's not aware of anything, Dunworthy thought. He put his hand on the back of the chair. \"You don't know anything that's happened, do you?\" he said. \"Mary's dead. Kivrin's in 1348,\" he said, watching the screens, \"and you don't even know. Gilchrist shut down the net.\"\n\nThe screens didn't change. The lines continued to move steadily, unconcernedly across the displays.\n\n\"You and Gilchrist sent her into the Black Death,\" he shouted, \"and you lie there\u2014\" He stopped and sank down in the chair.\n\n\"I tried to tell you Great-aunt Mary was dead,\" Colin had said, \"but you were too ill.\" Colin had tried to tell him, but he had lain there, like Latimer, unconcerned, oblivious.\n\nColin will never forgive me, he thought. Any more than he'll forgive his mother for not coming to the funeral. What had Finch said, that it was too difficult to make arrangements on such short notice? He thought of Colin alone at the funeral, looking at the lilies and laser blossoms his mother had sent, at the mercy of Mrs. Gaddson and the bell ringers.\n\n\"My mother couldn't come,\" Colin had said, but he didn't believe that. Of course she could have come, if she had truly wanted to.\n\nHe will never forgive me, he thought. And neither will Kivrin. She's older than Colin, she'll imagine all sorts of extenuating circumstances, perhaps even the true one. But in her heart, left to the mercy of who knows what cutthroats and thieves and pestilences, she will not believe I could not have come to get her. If I had truly wanted to.\n\nDunworthy stood up with difficulty, holding on to the seat and the back of the chair and not looking at Latimer or the displays, and went back out into the corridor. There was an empty stretcher trolley against the wall, and he leaned against it for a moment.\n\nMrs. Gaddson came out of the ward. \"There you are, Mr. Dunworthy,\" she said. \"I was just coming to read to you.\" She opened her Bible. \"Should you be up?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, I must say, I'm glad you're recovering at last. Things have simply fallen apart while you've been ill.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"You really must do something about Mr. Finch, you know. He allows the Americans to practice their bells at all hours of the day and night, and when I complained to him about it he was quite rude. And he assigned my Willy nursing duties. Nursing duties! When Willy's always been susceptible to illness. It's been a miracle that he didn't come down with the virus before this.\"\n\nIt very definitely has been, thought Dunworthy, considering the number of very probably infectious young women he had had contact with during the epidemic. He wondered what odds Probability would give on his having remained unscathed.\n\n\"And then for Mr. Finch to assign him nursing duties!\" Mrs. Gaddson was saying. \"I didn't allow it, of course. 'I refuse to let you endanger Willy's health in this irresponsible manner,' I told him. 'I cannot stand idly by when my child is in mortal danger,' I said.\"\n\nMortal danger. \"I must go see Ms. Piantini,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"You should go back to bed. You look quite dreadful.\" She shook the Bible at him. \"It's scandalous the way they run this Infirmary. Allowing their patients to go gadding about. You'll have a relapse and die, and you'll have no one but yourself to blame.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, pushed open the door into the ward, and went inside.\n\nHe had expected the ward to be nearly empty, the patients all sent home, but every bed was full. Most of the patients were sitting up, reading or watching portable vidders, and one was sitting in a wheelchair beside his bed, looking out at the rain.\n\nIt took Dunworthy a moment to recognize him. Colin had said he'd had a relapse, but he had not expected this. He looked like an old man, his dark face pinched to whiteness under the eyes and in long lines down the sides of the mouth. His hair had gone completely white. \"Badri,\" he said.\n\nBadri turned around. \"Mr. Dunworthy.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that you were in this ward,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"They moved me here after\u2014\" he stopped. \"I heard that you were better.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nI can't bear this, Dunworthy thought. How are you feeling? Better, thank you. And you? Much improved. Of course there is the depression, but that is a normal post-viral symptom.\n\nBadri wheeled his chair round to face the window, and Dunworthy wondered if he could not bear it either.\n\n\"I made an error in the coordinates when I refed them,\" Badri said, looking out at the rain. \"I fed in the wrong data.\"\n\nHe should say, \"You were ill, you had a fever.\" He should tell him mental confusion was an Early Symptom. He should say, \"It was not your fault.\"\n\n\"I didn't realize I was ill,\" Badri said, picking at his robe as he had plucked at the sheet in his delirium. \"I'd had a headache all morning, but I put it down to working the net. I should have realized something was wrong and aborted the drop.\"\n\nAnd I should have refused to tutor her, I should have insisted Gilchrist run parameter checks, I should have made him open the net as soon as you said there was something wrong.\n\n\"I should have opened the net the day you fell ill and not waited for the rendezvous,\" Badri said, twisting the sash between his fingers. \"I should have opened it immediately.\"\n\nDunworthy glanced automatically at the wall above Badri's head, but there were no screens above the bed. Badri was not even wearing a temp patch. He wondered if it was possible that Badri didn't know Gilchrist had shut down the net, if in their concern for his recovery they had kept it from Badri as they had kept the news of Mary's death from him.\n\n\"They refused to discharge me from hospital,\" Badri said. \"I should have forced them to let me go.\"\n\nI will have to tell him, Dunworthy thought, but he didn't. He stood there silently, watching Badri torture the sash into wrinkles, and feeling infinitely sorry for him.\n\n\"Ms. Montoya showed me the Probability statistics,\" Badri said. \"Do you think Kivrin's dead?\"\n\nI hope so, he thought. I hope she died of the virus before she realized where she was. Before she realized we had left her there. \"It was not your fault,\" he said.\n\n\"I was only two days late opening the net. I was certain she'd be there waiting. I was only two days late.\"\n\n\"What?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I tried to get permission to leave hospital on the sixth, but they refused to discharge me until the eighth. I got the net open as soon as I could, but she wasn't there.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\" Dunworthy said. \"How could you open the net? Gilchrist shut it down.\"\n\nBadri looked up at him. \"We used the backup.\"\n\n\"What backup?\"\n\n\"The fix I did on our net,\" Badri said, sounding bewildered. \"You were so worried about the way Mediaeval was running the drop, I decided I'd better put on a backup, in case something went wrong. I came to Balliol to ask you about it Tuesday afternoon, but you weren't there. I left you a note saying I needed to talk to you.\"\n\n\"A note,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"The laboratory was open. I ran a redundant fix through Balliol's net,\" Badri said. \"You were so worried.\"\n\nThe strength seemed suddenly to go out of Dunworthy's legs. He sat down on the bed.\n\n\"I tried to tell you,\" Badri said, \"but I was too ill to make myself understood.\"\n\nThere had been a backup all along. He had wasted days and days trying to force Gilchrist to unlock the laboratory, searching for Basingame, waiting for Polly Wilson to contrive a way into the University's computer, and all the while the fix had been in the net at Balliol. \"So worried,\" Badri had said through his delirium. \"Is the laboratory open?\" \"Back up,\" he had said. Backup.\n\n\"Can you open the net again?\"\n\n\"Of course, but even if she hasn't contracted the plague\u2014\"\n\n\"She hasn't,\" Dunworthy cut in. \"She was immunized.\"\n\n\"\u2014she wouldn't still be there. It's been eight days since the rendezvous. She couldn't have waited there all this time.\"\n\n\"Can someone else go through?\"\n\n\"Someone else?\" Badri said blankly.\n\n\"To look for her. Could someone else use the same drop to go through?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"How long would it take you to set it up so we could try it?\"\n\n\"Two hours at the most. The temporals and locationals are already set, but I don't know how much slippage there'd be.\"\n\nThe door to the ward burst open and Colin came in. \"There you are,\" he said. \"The nurse said you'd taken a walk, but I couldn't find you anywhere. I thought you'd got lost.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, looking at Badri.\n\n\"She said I'm to bring you back,\" Colin said, taking hold of Dunworthy's arm and helping him up, \"that you're not to overdo.\" He herded him toward the door.\n\nDunworthy stopped at the door. \"Which net did you use when you opened the net on the eighth?\" he said to Badri.\n\n\"Balliol's,\" he said. \"I was afraid part of the permanent memory had been erased when Brasenose's was shut down, and there was no time to run a damage assessment routine.\"\n\nColin backed the door open. \"The sister comes on duty in half an hour. You don't want her to find you up.\" He let the door swing shut. \"I'm sorry I wasn't back sooner, but I had to take immunization schedules out to Godstow.\"\n\nDunworthy leaned against the door. There might be too much slippage, and the tech was in a wheelchair, and he was not sure he could walk as far as the end of the corridor, let alone back to his room. So worried. He had thought Badri meant \"You were so worried I decided to refeed the coordinates,\" but he had meant \"I put on a backup.\" A backup.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Colin asked. \"You're not having a relapse or anything, are you?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said.\n\n\"Did you ask Mr. Chaudhuri if he could redo the fix?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"There was a backup.\"\n\n\"A backup?\" he said excitedly. \"You mean, another fix?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Does that mean you can rescue her?\"\n\nHe stopped and leaned against the stretcher trolley. \"I don't know.\"\n\n\"I'll help you,\" Colin said. \"What do you want me to do? I'll do anything you say. I can run errands, and fetch things for you. You won't have to do a thing.\"\n\n\"It might not work,\" Dunworthy said. \"The slippage...\"\n\n\"But you're going to try, aren't you? Aren't you?\"\n\nA band tightened round his chest with every step, and Badri had already had one relapse, and even if they managed it, the net might not send him through.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"I'm going to try.\"\n\n\"Apocalyptic!\" Colin said.\n\n**\n\n\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (078926\u2013079064):\n\n\u2002Lady Imeyne, mother of Guillaume D'Ivene.\n\n\u2002Rosemund is sinking. I can't feel the pulse in her wrist at all, and her skin looks yellow and waxen, which I know is a bad sign. Agnes is fighting hard. She still doesn't have any buboes or vomiting, which is a good sign, I think. Eliwys had to cut off her hair. She kept pulling at it, screaming for me to come and braid it.\n\n\u2002Roche has anointed Rosemund. She couldn't make a confession, of course. Agnes seems better, though she had a nosebleed a little while ago. She asked for her bell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "You bastard! I will not let you take her. She's only a child. But that's your specialty, isn't it? Slaughtering the innocents? You've already killed the steward's baby and Agnes's puppy and the boy who went for help when I was in the hut, and that's enough. I won't let you kill her, too, you son of a bitch! I won't let you!\n\nAgnes died the day after New Year's, still screaming for Kivrin to come.\n\n\"She is here,\" Eliwys said, squeezing her hand. \"Lady Katherine is here.\"\n\n\"She is not \" Agnes wailed, her voice hoarse but still strong. \"Tell her to come!\"\n\n\"I will,\" Eliwys promised, and then looked up at Kivrin, her expression faintly puzzled. \"Go and fetch Father Roche,\" she said.\n\n\"What is it?\" Kivrin asked. He had administered the last rites that first night, Agnes flailing and kicking at him as if she were having a tantrum, and since then she had refused to let him near her. \"Are you ill, lady?\"\n\nEliwys shook her head, still looking at Kivrin. \"What will I tell my husband when he comes?\" she said, and laid Agnes's hand along her side, and it was only then that Kivrin realized she was dead.\n\nKivrin washed her little body, which was nearly covered with purplish-blue bruises. Where Eliwys had held her hand, the skin was completely black. She looked like she had been beaten. As she has been, Kivrin thought, beaten and tortured. And murdered. The slaughter of the innocents.\n\nAgnes's surcote and shift were ruined, a stiffened mass of blood and vomit, and her everyday linen shift had long since been torn into strips. Kivrin wrapped her body in her own white cloak, and Roche and the steward buried her.\n\nEliwys did not come. \"I must stay with Rosemund,\" she said when Kivrin told her it was time. There was nothing Eliwys could do for Rosemund\u2014the girl still lay as still as if she were under a spell, and Kivrin thought the fever must have caused some brain damage. \"And Gawyn may come,\" Eliwys said.\n\nIt was very cold. Roche and the steward puffed out great clouds of condensation as they lowered Agnes into the grave, and the sight of their white breath infuriated Kivrin. She doesn't weigh anything, she thought bitterly, you could carry her in one hand.\n\nThe sight of all the graves angered her, too. The churchyard was filled, and nearly all the rest of the green that Roche had consecrated. Lady Imeyne's grave was almost in the path to the lychgate, and the steward's baby did not have one\u2014Father Roche had let it be buried at its mother's feet though it had not been baptized\u2014and the churchyard was still full.\n\nWhat about the steward's youngest son, Kivrin thought angrily, and the clerk? Where do you plan to put them? The Black Death was only supposed to have killed one third to one half of Europe. Not all of it.\n\n\"Requiescat in pace. Amen,\" Roche said, and the steward began shoveling the frozen dirt onto the little bundle.\n\nYou were right, Mr. Dunworthy, she thought bitterly. White only gets dirty. You're right about everything, aren't you? You told me not to come, that terrible things would happen. Well, they have. And you can't wait to tell me I told you so. But you won't have that satisfaction because I don't know where the drop is, and the only person who does is probably dead.\n\nShe didn't wait for the steward to finish shoveling dirt down on Agnes or for Father Roche to complete his chummy little chat with God. She started across the green, furious with all of them: with the steward for standing there with his spade, eager to dig more graves, with Eliwys for not coming, with Gawyn for not coming. No one's coming, she thought. No one.\n\n\"Katherine,\" Roche called.\n\nShe turned, and he half ran up to her, his breath like a cloud around him.\n\n\"What is it?\" she demanded.\n\nHe looked at her solemnly. \"We must not give up hope,\" he said.\n\n\"Why not?\" she burst out. \"We're up to eighty-five percent, and we haven't even got started. The clerk is dying, Rosemund's dying, you've all been exposed. Why shouldn't I give up hope?\"\n\n\"God has not abandoned us utterly,\" he said. \"Agnes is safe in His arms.\"\n\nSafe, she thought bitterly. In the ground. In the cold. In the dark. She put her hands up to her face.\n\n\"She is in heaven, where the plague cannot reach her. And God's love is ever with us,\" he said, \"and naught can separate us from it, neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor things present\u2014\"\n\n\"Nor things to come,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,\" he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, gently, as if he were anointing her. \"It was His love that sent you to help us.\"\n\nShe put her hand up to his where it rested on her shoulder and held it tightly. \"We must help each other,\" she said.\n\nThey stood there like that for a long minute, and then Roche said, \"I must go and ring the bell that Agnes's soul may have safe passage.\"\n\nShe nodded and took her hand away. \"I'll go check on Rosemund and the others,\" she said and went into the courtyard.\n\nEliwys had said she needed to stay with Rosemund, but when Kivrin got back to the manor house, she was nowhere near her. She lay curled up on Agnes's pallet, wrapped in her cloak, watching the door. \"Perhaps his horse was stolen by those that would flee the pestilence,\" she said, \"and that is why he is so long in coming.\"\n\n\"Agnes is buried,\" Kivrin said coldly, and went to check on Rosemund.\n\nShe was awake. She looked up solemnly at Kivrin when she knelt by her and reached for Kivrin's hand.\n\n\"Oh, Rosemund,\" Kivrin said, tears stinging her nose and eyes. \"Sweetheart, how do you feel?\"\n\n\"Hungry,\" Rosemund said. \"Has my father come?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" Kivrin said, and it even seemed possible that he might. \"I will fetch you some broth. You must rest until I come back. You have been very ill.\"\n\nRosemund obediently closed her eyes. They looked less sunken, though they still had dark bruises under them. \"Where is Agnes?\" she asked.\n\nKivrin smoothed her dark, tangled hair back from her face. \"She is sleeping.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Rosemund said. \"I would not have her shouting and playing. She is too noisy.\"\n\n\"I will fetch you the broth,\" Kivrin said. She went over to Eliwys. \"Lady Eliwys, I have good news,\" she said eagerly. \"Rosemund is awake.\"\n\nEliwys raised herself up on one elbow and looked at Rosemund, but apathetically, as if she were thinking of something else, and presently she lay down again.\n\nKivrin, alarmed, put her hand to Eliwys's forehead. It seemed warm, but Kivrin's hands were still cold from outside, and she couldn't tell for certain. \"Are you ill?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" Eliwys said, but still as if her mind were on something else. \"What shall I tell him?\"\n\n\"You can tell him that Rosemund is better,\" she said, and this time it seemed to get through to her. Eliwys got up and went over to Rosemund and sat down beside her. But by the time Kivrin came back from the kitchen with the broth, she had gone back to Agnes's pallet and lay curled up under her fur-trimmed cloak.\n\nRosemund was asleep, but it was not the frightening deathlike sleep of before. Her color was better, though her skin was still drawn tightly over her cheekbones.\n\nEliwys was asleep, too, or feigning sleep, and it was just as well. While she had been in the kitchen, the clerk had crawled off his pallet and halfway over the barricade, and when Kivrin tried to haul him back, he struck out at her wildly. She had to go fetch Father Roche to help subdue him.\n\nHis right eye had ulcerated, the plague eating its way out from inside, and the clerk clawed at it viciously with his hands. \" Domine Jesu Christe,\" he swore,\" fidelium defunctorium de poenis infermis. \" Save the souls of the faithful departed from the pains of hell.\n\nYes, Kivrin prayed, wrestling with his clawed hands, save him now.\n\nShe rummaged through Imeyne's medical kit again, searching for something to kill the pain. There was no opium powder, and was the opium poppy even in England yet in 1348? She found a few papery orange scraps that looked a little like poppy petals and steeped them in hot water, but the clerk couldn't drink it. His mouth was a horror of open sores, his teeth and tongue caked with dried blood.\n\nHe doesn't deserve this, Kivrin thought. Even if he did bring the plague here. Nobody deserves this. \"Please,\" she prayed, and wasn't sure what she asked.\n\nWhatever it was, it was not granted. The clerk began to vomit a dark bile, streaked with blood, and it snowed for two days, and Eliwys grew steadily worse. It did not seem to be the plague. She had no buboes and she didn't cough or vomit, and Kivrin wondered if it were illness or simply grief or guilt. \"What shall I tell him?\" Eliwys said over and over again. \"He sent us here to keep us safe.\"\n\nKivrin felt her forehead. It was warm. They're all going to get it, she thought. Lord Guillaume sent them here to keep them safe, but they're all going to get it, one by one. I have to do something. But she couldn't think of anything. The only protection from the plague was flight, but they had already fled here, and it had not protected them, and they couldn't flee with Rosemund and Eliwys ill.\n\nBut Rosemund's getting stronger every day, Kivrin thought, and Eliwys doesn't have the plague. It's only a fever. Perhaps they have another estate where we could go. In the north.\n\nThe plague was not in Yorkshire yet. She could see to it that they kept away from the other people on the roads, that they weren't exposed.\n\nShe asked Rosemund if they had a manor in Yorkshire. \"Nay,\" Rosemund said, sitting up against one of the benches. \"In Dorset,\" but that was of no use. The plague was already there. And Rosemund, though she was better, was still too weak to sit up for more than a few minutes. She could never ride a horse. If we had horses, Kivrin thought.\n\n\"My father had a living in Surrey, also,\" Rosemund said. \"We stayed there when Agnes was born.\" She looked at Kivrin. \"Did Agnes die?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said.\n\nShe nodded as if she were not surprised. \"I heard her screaming.\"\n\nKivrin couldn't think of anything to say to that.\n\n\"My father is dead, isn't he?\"\n\nThere was nothing to say to that either. He was almost certainly dead, and Gawyn, too. It had been eight days since he had left for Bath. Eliwys, still feverish, had said this morning, \"He will come now that the storm is over,\" but even she had not seemed to believe it.\n\n\"He may yet come,\" Kivrin said. \"The snow may have delayed him.\"\n\nThe steward came in, carrying his spade, and stopped at the barricade in front of them. He had been coming in every day to look at his son, staring at him dumbly over the upturned table, but now he only glanced at him and then turned to stare at Kivrin and Rosemund, leaning on his spade.\n\nHis cap and shoulders were covered with snow, and the blade of the spade was wet with it. He has been digging another grave, Kivrin thought. Whose?\n\n\"Has someone died?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, and went on looking almost speculatively at Rosemund.\n\nKivrin stood up. \"Did you want something?\"\n\nHe looked at her blankly, as if he could not comprehend the question, and then back at Rosemund. \"No,\" he said, and picked up the spade and went out.\n\n\"Goes he to dig Agnes's grave?\" Rosemund asked, looking after him.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said gently. \"She is already buried in the churchyard\"\n\n\"Goes he then to dig mine?\"\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said, appalled. \"No! You're not going to die. You're getting better. You were very ill, but the worst is over. Now you must rest and try to sleep so you can get well.\"\n\nRosemund lay down obediently and closed her eyes, but after a minute she opened them again. \"My father being dead, the crown will dispose of my dowry,\" she said. \"Think you Sir Bloet still lives?\"\n\nI hope not, Kivrin thought, and then, poor child, has she been worrying about her marriage all this time? Poor little thing. His being dead is the only good to come out of the plague. If he is dead. \"You mustn't worry about him now. You must rest and get your strength back.\"\n\n\"The king will sometimes honor a previous betrothal,\" Rosemund said, her thin hands plucking at the blanket, \"if both parties be agreed.\"\n\nYou don't have to agree to anything, Kivrin thought. He's dead. The bishop killed them.\n\n\"If they are not agreed, the king will bid me marry who he will,\" Rosemund said, \"and Sir Bloet at least is known to me.\"\n\nNo, Kivrin thought, and knew it was probably the best thing. Rosemund had been conjuring worse horrors than Sir Bloet, monsters and cutthroats, and Kivrin knew they existed.\n\nRosemund would be sold off to some nobleman the king owed a debt to or whose allegiance he was trying to buy, one of the troublesome supporters of the Black Prince, perhaps, and taken God knew where to God knew what situation.\n\nThere were worse things than a leering old man and a shrewish sister-in-law. Baron Gamier had kept his wife in chains for twenty years. The Count of Anjou had burned his alive. And Rosemund would have no family, no friends, to protect her, to tend her when she was ill.\n\nI'll take her away, Kivrin thought suddenly, to somewhere where Bloet can't find her and we'll be safe from the plague.\n\nThere was no, such place. It was already in Bath and Oxford, and moving south and east to London, and then Kent, north through the Midlands to Yorkshire and back across the Channel to Germany and the Low Countries. It had even gone to Norway, floating in on a ship of dead men. There was nowhere that was safe.\n\n\"Is Gawyn here?\" Rosemund asked, and she sounded like her mother, her grandmother. \"I would have him ride to Courcy and tell Sir Bloet that I would come to him.\"\n\n\"Gawyn?\" Eliwys said from her pallet. \"Is he coming?\"\n\nNo, Kivrin thought. No one's coming. Not even Mr. Dunworthy.\n\nIt didn't matter that she had missed the rendezvous. There would have been no one there. Because they didn't know she was in 1348. If they knew, they would never have left her here.\n\nSomething must have gone wrong with the net. Mr. Dunworthy had been worried about sending her so far back without parameter checks. \"There could be unforeseen complications at that distance,\" he'd said. Perhaps an unforeseen complication had garbled the fix or made them lose it, and they were looking for her in 1320. I've missed the rendezvous by nearly thirty years, she thought.\n\n\"Gawyn?\" Eliwys said again and tried to rise from her pallet.\n\nShe could not. She was growing steadily worse, though she still had none of the marks of the plague. When it began to snow, she had said, relieved, \"He will not come now until the storm is over,\" and gotten up and gone to sit with Rosemund, but by the afternoon she had to lie down again, and her fever went steadily higher.\n\nRoche heard her confession, looking worn out. They were all worn out. If they sat down to rest, they were asleep in seconds. The steward, coming in to look at his son Lefric, had stood at the barricade, snoring, and Kivrin had dozed off while tending the fire and burned her hand badly.\n\nWe can't go on like this, she thought, watching Father Roche making the sign of the cross over Eliwys. He'll die of exhaustion. He'll come down with the plague.\n\nI have to get them away, she thought again. The plague didn't reach everywhere. There were villages that were completely untouched. It had skipped over Poland and Bohemia, and there were parts of northern Scotland it had never reached.\n\n\"Agnus dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis,\" Father Roche said, his voice as comforting as it had been when she was dying, and she knew it was hopeless.\n\nHe would never leave his parishioners. The history of the Black Death was full of stories of priests who had abandoned their people, who had refused to perform burials, who had locked themselves in their churches and monasteries or run away. She wondered now if those statistics were inaccurate, too.\n\nAnd even if she found some way to take them all, Eliwys, turning even now as she made her confession to look at the door, would insist on waiting for Gawyn, for her husband, to come, as she was convinced they would now that the snow had stopped.\n\n\"Has Father Roche gone to meet him?\" she asked Kivrin when Roche left to take the sacraments back to the church. \"He will be here soon. He has no doubt gone first to Courcy to warn them of the plague, and it is only half a day's journey from there.\" She insisted that Kivrin move her pallet in front of the door.\n\nWhile Kivrin was rearranging the barricade to keep the draft from the door off her, the clerk cried out suddenly and went into convulsions. His whole body spasmed, as if he were being shocked, and his face become a terrible rictus, his ulcerated eye staring upward.\n\n\"Don't do this to him,\" Kivrin shouted, trying to wedge the spoon from Rosemund's broth between his teeth. \"Hasn't he been through enough?\"\n\nHis body jerked. \"Stop it!\" Kivrin sobbed. \"Stop it!\"\n\nHis body abruptly slackened. She jammed the spoon between his teeth, and a little trickle of black slime came out of the side of his mouth.\n\nHe's dead, she thought, and could not believe it. She looked at him, his ulcerated eye half-open, his face swollen and blackened under the stubble of his beard. His fists were clenched at his sides. He did not look human, lying there, and Kivrin covered his face with a rough blanket, afraid that Rosemund might see him.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" Rosemund asked, sitting up curiously.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said. \"Thank God.\" She stood up. \"I must go tell Father Roche.\"\n\n\"I would not have you leave me here alone,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"Your mother is here,\" Kivrin said, \"and the steward's son, and I will only be a few minutes.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" Rosemund said.\n\nSo am I, Kivrin thought, looking down at the coarse blanket. He was dead, but even that had not relieved his suffering. He looked still in anguish, still in terror, though his face no longer looked even human. The pains of hell.\n\n\"Please do not leave me,\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"I must tell Father Roche,\" Kivrin said, but she sat down between the clerk and Rosemund and waited until she was asleep before she went to find him.\n\nHe wasn't in the courtyard or the kitchen. The steward's cow was in the passage, eating the hay from the bottom of the pigsty, and it ambled after her out onto the green.\n\nThe steward was in the churchyard, digging a grave, his chest level with the snowy ground. He already knows, she thought, but that was impossible. Her heart began to pound.\n\n\"Where is Father Roche?\" she called, but the steward didn't answer or look up. The cow came up beside her and lowed at her.\n\n\"Go away,\" she said, and ran across to the steward.\n\nThe grave was not in the churchyard. It lay on the green, past the lychgate, and there were two other graves in a line next to it, the iron-hard dirt piled on the snow beside each one.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she demanded. \"Whose graves are these?\"\n\nThe steward flung a spadeful of dirt onto the mound. The frozen clods made a clattering sound like stones.\n\n\"Why do you dig three graves?\" she said. \"Who has died?\" The cow nudged her shoulder with its horn. She twisted away from it. \"Who has died?\"\n\nThe steward jabbed the spade into the iron-hard ground. \"It is the last days, boy,\" he said, stepping down hard on the blade, and Kivrin felt a jerk of fear, and then realized he hadn't recognized her in her boy's clothes.\n\n\"It's me, Katherine,\" she said.\n\nHe looked up and nodded. \"It is the end of time,\" he said. \"Those who have not died, will.\" He leaned forward, putting his whole weight on the spade.\n\nThe cow tried to dig its head in under her arm.\n\n\"Go away! \" she said, and hit it on the nose. It backed away gingerly, skirting the graves, and Kivrin noticed they were not all the same size.\n\nThe first was large, but the one next to it was no bigger than Agnes's had been, and the one he stood in did not look much longer. I told Rosemund he wasn't digging her grave, she thought, but he was.\n\n\"You have no right to do this!\" she said. \"Your son and Rosemund are getting better. And Lady Eliwys is only tired and ill with grief. They aren't going to die.\"\n\nThe steward looked up at her, his face as expressionless as when he had stood at the barricade, measuring Rosemund for her grave. \"Father Roche says you were sent to help us, but how can you avail against the end of the world?\" He stood down on the spade again. \"You will have need of these graves. All, all will die.\"\n\nThe cow trotted over to the opposite side of the grave, its face on a level with the steward's, and lowed in his face, but he did not seem to notice it.\n\n\"You must not dig any more graves,\" she said. \"I forbid it.\"\n\nHe went on digging, as if he had not noticed her either.\n\n\"They're not going to die,\" she said. \"The Black Death only killed one third to one half of the contemps. We've already had our quota.\"\n\nHe went on digging.\n\nEliwys died in the night. The steward had to lengthen Rosemund's grave for Eliwys, and when they buried her, Kivrin saw he had started another for Rosemund.\n\nI must get them away from here, she thought, looking at the steward. He stood with the spade cradled against his shoulder, and as soon as he had filled in Eliwys's grave, he started in on Rosemund's grave again. I must get them away before they catch it.\n\nBecause they were going to catch it. It lay in wait for them, in the bacilli on their clothes, on the bedding, in the very air they breathed. And if by some miracle they didn't catch it from that, the plague would sweep through all of Oxfordshire in the spring, messengers and villagers and bishop's envoys. They could not stay here.\n\nScotland, she thought, and started for the manor. I could take them to northern Scotland. The plague didn't reach that far. The steward's son could ride the donkey, and they could make a litter for Rosemund.\n\nRosemund was sitting up on her pallet. \"The steward's son has been crying out for you,\" she said as soon as Kivrin came in.\n\nHe had vomited a bloody mucus. His pallet was filthy with it, and when Kivrin cleaned him up, he was too weak to raise his head. Even if Rosemund can ride, he can't, she thought despairingly. We're not going anywhere.\n\nIn the night, she thought of the wagon that had been at the rendezvous. Perhaps the steward could help her repair it, and Rosemund could ride in that. She lit a rushlight from the coals of the fire and crept out to the stable to look at it. Roche's donkey brayed at her when she opened the door, and there was a rustling sound of sudden scattering as she held the smoky light up.\n\nThe smashed boxes lay piled against the wagon like a barricade, and she knew as soon as she pulled them away that it wouldn't work. It was too big. The donkey could not pull it, and the wooden axle was missing, carried off by some enterprising contemp to mend a hedge with or burn for firewood. Or to stave off the plague with, Kivrin thought.\n\nIt was pitch-black in the courtyard when she came out, and the stars were sharp and bright, as they had been Christmas Eve. She thought of Agnes asleep against her shoulder, the bell on her little wrist, and the sound of the bells, tolling the Devil's knell. Prematurely, Kivrin thought. The Devil isn't dead yet. He's loose on the world.\n\nShe lay awake a long time, trying to think of another plan. Perhaps they could make some sort of litter the donkey could drag if the snow wasn't too deep. Or perhaps they could put both children on the donkey and carry the baggage in packs on their backs.\n\nShe fell asleep finally and was awakened again almost immediately, or so it seemed to her. It was still dark, and Roche was bending over her. The dying fire lit his face from below so that he looked as he had in the clearing when she had thought he was a cutthroat, and still partly asleep, she reached out and put her hand gently to his cheek.\n\n\"Lady Katherine,\" he said, and she came awake.\n\nIt's Rosemund, she thought, and twisted round to look at her, but she was sleeping easily, her thin hand under her cheek.\n\n\"What is it?\" she said. \"Are you ill?\"\n\nHe shook his head. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.\n\n\"Has someone come?\" she said, scrambling to her feet.\n\nHe shook his head again.\n\nIt can't be someone ill, she thought. There's no one left. She looked at the pile of blankets by the door where the steward slept, but he wasn't there. \"Is the steward ill?\"\n\n\"The steward's son is dead,\" he said in an odd, stunned voice, and she saw that Lefric was gone, too. \"I went to the church to say matins\u2014\" Roche said, and his voice faltered. \"You must come with me,\" he said and strode out.\n\nKivrin snatched up her ragged blanket and hurried out into the courtyard after him.\n\nIt could not be later than six. The sun was only just above the horizon, staining the overcast sky and the snow with pink. Roche was already disappearing through the narrow passage to the green. Kivrin flung the blanket over her shoulders and ran after him.\n\nThe steward's cow was standing in the passage, its head through a break in the fence of the pigsty, pulling at the straw. It raised its head and mooed at Kivrin.\n\n\"Shoo!\" she said, flapping her hands at it, but it only pulled its head out of the wattle fence and started toward her, lowing.\n\n\"I don't have time to milk you,\" she said, and shoved its hindquarters out of the way and squeezed past.\n\nFather Roche was halfway across the green before she caught up with him. \"What is it? Can't you tell me?\" she asked, but he didn't stop or even look at her. He turned toward the line of graves on the green, and she thought, feeling suddenly relieved, The steward's tried to bury his son himself, without a priest.\n\nThe small grave was filled in, the snowy dirt mounded over it, and he had finished Rosemund's grave and dug another, larger one. The spade was sticking out of it, its handle leaning against the end.\n\nRoche didn't go to Lefric's grave. He stopped at the newest one, and said, in that same stunned voice, \"I went to the church to say matins\u2014\" and Kivrin looked into the grave.\n\nThe steward had apparently tried to bury himself with the shovel, but it had proved unwieldy in the narrow space, and he had propped it against the end of the grave and begun pulling the dirt down with his hands. He held a large clod in his frozen hand.\n\nHis legs were nearly covered, and it gave him an indecent look, as if he were lying in his bath. \"We must bury him properly,\" she said, and reached for the shovel.\n\nRoche shook his head. \"It is holy ground,\" he said numbly, and she realized that he thought the steward had killed himself.\n\nIt doesn't matter, she thought, and realized in spite of everything, horror after horror, Roche still believed in God. He had been going to the church to say matins when he found the steward, and if they all died, he would go on saying them and not find anything incongruous in his prayers.\n\n\"It's the disease,\" Kivrin said, though she had no idea whether it was or not. \"The septicemic plague. It infects the blood.\"\n\nRoche looked at her uncomprehendingly.\n\n\"He must have fallen ill while he was digging,\" she said. \"Septicemic plague poisons the brain. He was not in his right mind.\"\n\n\"Like Lady Imeyne,\" he said, sounding almost glad.\n\nHe didn't want to have to bury him outside the pale, Kivrin thought, in spite of what he believes.\n\nShe helped Roche straighten the steward's body a little, though he was already stiff. They did not attempt to move him or wrap him in a shroud. Roche laid a black cloth over his face, and they took turns shoveling the dirt in on him. The frozen earth clattered like stones.\n\nRoche did not go to the church for his vestments or the missal. He stood first beside Lefric's grave and then the steward's and said the prayers for the dead. Kivrin, standing beside him, her hands folded, thought, He wasn't in his right mind. He had buried his wife and six children, he had buried almost everyone he knew, and even if he hadn't been feverish, if he had crawled into the grave and waited to freeze to death, the plague had still killed him.\n\nHe did not deserve a suicide's grave. He doesn't deserve any grave, Kivrin thought. He was supposed to go to Scotland with us, and was horrified at the sudden shock of delight she felt.\n\nWe can go to Scotland now, she thought, looking at the grave he had dug for Rosemund. Rosemund can ride the donkey, and Roche and I can carry the food and blankets. She opened her eyes and looked at the sky, but now that the sun was up, the clouds looked lighter, as if they might break up by midmorning. If they left this morning, they could be out of the forest by noon and onto the Oxford-Bath road. By night they could be on the highway to York.\n\n\"Agnus dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,\" Roche said,\" dona eis requiem.\"\n\nWe must take oats for the donkey, she thought, and the ax for cutting firewood. And blankets.\n\nRoche finished the prayers. \" Dominus vobiscum et cum spiritu tuo,\" he said. \"Requiescat in pace. Amen.\" He started off to ring the bell.\n\nThere isn't time for that, Kivrin thought, and then took off toward the manor. She could be half packed by the time Roche had tolled the death knell, and she could tell him her plan, and he could load the donkey, and they could go. She ran across the courtyard and into the manor. They would have to take coals to start the fire with. They could use Imeyne's medicine casket.\n\nShe went into the hall. Rosemund was still asleep. That was good. There was no point in waking her until they were ready to leave. She tiptoed past her and got the casket and emptied it out. She laid it next to the fire and started out to the kitchen.\n\n\"I woke and you were not here,\" Rosemund said. She sat up on her pallet. \"I was afraid you had gone.\"\n\n\"We're all going,\" Kivrin said. \"We're going to go to Scotland.\" She went over to her. \"You must rest for the journey. I will be back in a bit.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Rosemund said.\n\n\"Only to the kitchen. Are you hungry? I will bring you some porridge. Now lie down and rest.\"\n\n\"I do not like to be alone,\" Rosemund said. \"Can you not stay with me a little?\"\n\nI don't have time for this, Kivrin thought. \"I'm only going to the kitchen. And Father Roche is here. Can't you hear him? He's ringing the bell. I'll only be a few minutes. All right?\" She smiled cheerfully at Rosemund, and she nodded reluctantly. \"I'll be back soon.\"\n\nShe nearly ran outside. Roche was still ringing the death knell, slowly, steadily. Hurry, she thought, we don't have much time. She searched the kitchen, setting the food on the table. There was a round of cheese and plenty of manchets left\u2014she stacked them like plates in a wadmal sack, put in the cheese, and carried it out to the well.\n\nRosemund was standing in the door of the manor, holding on to the jamb. \"Can I not sit in the kitchen with you?\" she asked. She had put on her kirtle and her shoes, but she was already shivering in the cold air.\n\n\"It is too cold,\" Kivrin said, hurrying over to her. \"And you must rest.\"\n\n\"When you are gone, I fear you will not come back,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm right here,\" Kivrin said, but she went inside and fetched Rosemund's cloak and an armload of furs.\n\n\"You can sit here on the doorstep,\" she said, \"and watch me pack.\" She put the cloak over Rosemund's shoulders and sat her down, piling the furs about her like a nest. \"All right?\"\n\nThe brooch that Sir Bloet had given Rosemund was still at the neck of the cloak. She fumbled with the fastening, her thin hands trembling a little. \"Do we go to Courcy?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said, and pinned the brooch for her. Io suiicien lui dami amo. You are here in place of the friend I love. \"We're going to Scotland. We will be safe from the plague there.\"\n\n\"Think you my father died from the plague?\"\n\nKivrin hesitated.\n\n\"My mother said he was only delayed or unable to come. She said perhaps my brothers were ill, and he would come when they were recovered.\"\n\n\"And so he may,\" Kivrin said, tucking a fur around Rosemund's feet. \"We'll leave a letter for him so he'll know where we went.\"\n\nRosemund shook her head. \"If he lived, he would have come for me.\"\n\nKivrin wrapped a coverlid around Rosemund's thin shoulders. \"I must fetch food for us to take,\" Kivrin said gently.\n\nRosemund nodded, and Kivrin went across to the kitchen. There was a sack of onions against the wall and another of apples. They were wizened, and most of them had brown spots, but Kivrin lugged the sack outside. They would not need to be cooked and they would all be in need of vitamins before spring.\n\n\"Would you like an apple?\" she asked Rosemund.\n\n\"Yes,\" Rosemund said, and Kivrin searched through the sack, trying to find one that was still firm and unwrinkled. She unearthed a reddish-green one, polished it on her leather hose, and took it to her, smiling at the memory of how good an apple would have tasted when she was ill.\n\nBut after the first bite, Rosemund seemed to lose interest. She leaned back against the doorjamb and looked quietly up at the sky, listening to the steady toll of Roche's bell.\n\nKivrin went back to sorting the apples, picking out the ones worth taking, and wondering how much the donkey could carry. They would need to take oats for the donkey. There would be no grass, though when they reached Scotland there might be heather that it could eat. They shouldn't have to take water. There were plenty of streams. But they would need to take a pot to boil it in.\n\n\"Your people never came for you,\" Rosemund said.\n\nKivrin looked up. She was still sitting against the door with the apple.\n\nThey did come, Kivrin thought, but I wasn't there. \"No,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Think you the plague has killed them?\"\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said, and thought, At least I don't have to think of them dead or helpless somewhere. At least I know they're all right.\n\n\"When I go to Sir Bloet, I will tell him how you helped us,\" Rosemund said. \"I will ask that I might keep you and Father Roche by me.\" Her head went up proudly. \"I am allowed my own attendants and chaplain.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Kivrin said solemnly.\n\nShe set the sack of good apples next to the one of cheese and bread. The bell stopped, its overtones still echoing in the cold air. She picked up the bucket and lowered it into the well. She would cook some porridge and chop the bruised apples into it. It would make a filling meal for the trip.\n\nRosemund's apple rolled past her feet to the base of the well and stopped. Kivrin stooped to pick it up. It had only a little bite out of it, white against the shriveled red. Kivrin wiped it against her jerkin. \"You dropped your apple,\" she said, and turned to give it back to her.\n\nHer hand was still open, as if she had leaned forward to catch it when it fell. \"Oh, Rosemund,\" Kivrin said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (079110\u2013079239):\n\n\u2002Father Roche and I are going to Scotland. There really isn't any point in telling you that, I suppose, since you'll never hear what's on this corder, but perhaps someone will stumble across it on a moor someday or Ms. Montoya will do a dig in northern Scotland when she's finished with Skendgate, and if that happens, I wanted you to know what happened to us.\n\n\u2002I know flight is probably the worst thing to do, but I have to get Father Roche away from here. The whole manor is contaminated with the plague\u2014bedding, clothes, the air\u2014and the rats are everywhere. I saw one in the church when I went to get Roche's alb and stole for Rosemund's funeral. And even if he doesn't catch it from them, the plague is all around us, and I will never be able to convince him to stay here. He will want to go and help.\n\n\u2002We'll keep off the roads and away from the villages. We've got food enough for a week, and then we'll be far enough north that I should be able to buy food in a town. The clerk had a sack of silver with him. And don't worry. We'll be all right. As Mr. Gilchrist would say, \"I've taken every possible precaution.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "Apocalyptic was very likely the correct term for his even thinking he could rescue Kivrin, Dunworthy thought. He was worn out by the time Colin got him back to his room, and his temp was back up. \"You rest,\" Colin said, helping him into bed. \"You can't have a relapse if you're going to rescue Kivrin.\"\n\n\"I need to see Badri,\" he said, \"and Finch.\"\n\n\"I'll take care of everything,\" Colin said, and darted out.\n\nHe would need to arrange his and Badri's discharge and med support for the pickup, in case Kivrin was ill. He would need a plague inoculation. He wondered how long would be required for it to take effect. Mary had said she'd immunized Kivrin while she was in hospital for her corder implant. That had been two weeks before the drop but perhaps it didn't take that long to confer immunity.\n\nThe nurse came in to check his temp. \"I'm just going off-duty,\" she said, reading his patch.\n\n\"How soon can I be discharged?\" he asked.\n\n\"Discharged?\" she said, sounding surprised. \"My, you must be feeling better.\"\n\n\"I am,\" he said. \"How long?\"\n\nShe frowned. \"There's a good deal of difference between being ready for a bit of a walk and being ready to go home.\" She adjusted the drip. \"You don't want to overdo.\"\n\nShe went out, and after a few minutes Colin came in with Finch and the Middle Ages book. \"I thought perhaps you'd need this for costumes and things.\" He dumped it on Dunworthy's legs. \"I'll just go fetch Badri.\" He dashed out.\n\n\"You're looking a good deal better, sir,\" Finch said. \"I'm so glad. I'm afraid you're badly needed at Balliol. It's Mrs. Gaddson. She's accused Balliol of undermining William's health. She says the combined strain of the epidemic and reading Petrarch has broken his health. She's threatening to go to the Head of the History Faculty with it.\"\n\n\"Tell her she's more than welcome to try. Basingame's in Scotland somewhere,\" Dunworthy said. \"I need you to find how long in advance of exposure an inoculation against bubonic plague needs to be given, and I need the laboratory readied for a drop.\"\n\n\"We're using it for storage just now,\" Finch said. \"We've had several shipments of supplies from London, though none of lavatory paper, even though I specifically requested\u2014\"\n\n\"Move them into the hall,\" Dunworthy said. \"I want the net ready as soon as possible.\"\n\nColin opened the door with his elbow and wheeled Badri in, using his other arm and a knee to hold it open. \"I had to sneak him past the ward sister,\" he said breathlessly. He pushed the wheelchair up to the bed.\n\n\"I want\u2014\" Dunworthy said, and stopped, looking at Badri. The thing was impossible. Badri was in no condition to run the net. He looked exhausted by the mere effort of having been brought from the ward, and he was fumbling at the pocket of his robe as he had at his sash.\n\n\"We'll need two RTN's, a light measure, and a gateway,\" Badri said, and his voice sounded exhausted, too, but the despair had gone out of it. \"And we'll need authorizations for both drop and pickup.\"\n\n\"What about the protesters who were at Brasenose?\" Dunworthy asked. \"Will they try to prevent the drop?\"\n\n\"No,\" Colin said. \"They're over at the National Trust Headquarters. They're trying to shut down the dig.\"\n\nGood, Dunworthy thought. Montoya will be too occupied with trying to defend her churchyard against picketers to interfere. Too occupied to look for Kivrin's corder.\n\n\"What else will you need?\" he asked Badri.\n\n\"An insular memory and redundant for the backup.\" He pulled a sheet of paper from the pocket and looked at it. \"And a remote hookup so I can run parameter checks.\"\n\nHe handed the list to Dunworthy, who handed it to Finch. \"We'll also need med support for Kivrin,\" Dunworthy said, \"and I want a telephone installed in this room.\"\n\nFinch was frowning at the list.\n\n\"And don't tell me we're out of any of these,\" Dunworthy said before he could protest. \"Beg, borrow, or steal them.\" He turned back to Badri. \"Will you need anything else?\"\n\n\"To be discharged,\" Badri said, \"which, I'm afraid, will be the greatest obstacle.\"\n\n\"He's right,\" Colin said. \"Sister will never let him out. I had to sneak him in here.\"\n\n\"Who's your doctor?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Dr. Gates,\" Badri said, \"but\u2014\"\n\n\"Surely we can explain the situation,\" Dunworthy interrupted, \"explain that it's an emergency.\"\n\nBadri shook his head. \"The last thing we can do is tell him the circumstances. I persuaded him to discharge me to open the net while you were ill. He didn't think I was well enough, but he allowed it, and then when I had the relapse...\"\n\nDunworthy looked anxiously at him. \"Are you certain you're capable of running the net? Perhaps I can get Andrews now that the epidemic's under control.\"\n\n\"There isn't time,\" Badri said. \"And it was my fault. I want to run the net. Perhaps Mr. Finch can find another doctor.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"And tell mine I need to speak with him.\" He reached for Colin's book.\n\n\"I'll need a costume.\" He flipped through the pages, looking for an illustration of mediaeval clothing. \"No strips, no zippers, no buttons.\" He found a picture of Boccaccio and showed it to Finch. \"I doubt if Twentieth Century has anything. Telephone the Dramatic Society and see if they've got something.\"\n\n\"I'll do my best, sir,\" Finch said, frowning doubtfully at the illustration.\n\nThe door crashed open, and the sister rattled in, enraged. \"Mr. Dunworthy, this is utterly irresponsible,\" she said in a tone that had no doubt caused casualties from the Second Falklands War terrors. \"If you will not take care of your own health, you might at the least not endanger that of the other patients.\" She fixed her gaze on Finch. \"Mr. Dunworthy is to have no more visitors.\"\n\nShe glared at Colin and then snatched the wheelchair handles from him. \"What can you have been thinking of, Mr. Chaudhuri?\" she said, whipping the wheelchair around so smartly Badri's head snapped back. \"You have already had one relapse. I have no intention of allowing you to have another.\" She pushed him out.\n\n\"I told you we'd never get him out,\" Colin said.\n\nShe flung the door open again. \" No visitors,\" she said to Colin.\n\n\"I'll be back,\" Colin whispered and ducked past her.\n\nShe fixed him with her ancient eye. \"Not if I have anything to say about it.\"\n\nShe apparently had something to say about it. Colin didn't return till after she'd gone off-duty, and then only to bring the remote hookup to Badri and report to Dunworthy on plague inoculations. Finch had telephoned the NHS. It took two weeks for the inoculation to confer full immunity, and seven days before partial. \"And Mr. Finch wants to know if you shouldn't also be inoculated against cholera and typhoid.\"\n\n\"There isn't time,\" he said. There wasn't time for a plague inoculation either. Kivrin had already been there over three weeks, and every day lowered her chances of survival. And he was no closer to being discharged.\n\nAs soon as Colin left, he rang William's nurse and told her he wanted to see his doctor. \"I'm ready to be discharged,\" he said.\n\nShe laughed.\n\n\"I'm completely recovered,\" he said. \"I did ten laps in the corridor this morning.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"The incidence of relapse in this virus has been extremely high. I simply can't take the risk.\" She smiled at him. \"Where is it you're so determined to go? Surely whatever it is can survive another week without you.\"\n\n\"It's the start of term,\" he said, and realized that was true. \"Please tell my doctor I wish to see him.\"\n\n\"Dr. Warden will only tell you what I've told you,\" she said, but she apparently relayed the message because he tottered in after tea.\n\nHe had obviously been hauled out of a senile retirement to help with the epidemic. He told a long and pointless story about medical conditions during the Pandemic and then pronounced creakily, \"In my day we kept people in hospital till they were fully recovered.\"\n\nDunworthy didn't try to argue with him. He waited until he and the sister had hobbled down the corridor, sharing reminiscences from the Hundred Years War, and then strapped on his portable drip and walked to the public phone near Casualties to get a progress report from Finch.\n\n\"The sister won't allow a phone in your room,\" Finch said, \"but I've good news about the plague. A course of streptomycin injections along with gamma globulin and T-cell enhancement will confer temporary immunity and can be started as little as twelve hours before exposure.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Dunworthy said, \"find me a doctor who'll give them and authorize my discharge. A young doctor. And send Colin over. Is the net ready?\"\n\n\"Very nearly, sir. I've obtained the necessary drop and pickup authorizations and I've located a remote hookup. I was just going to fetch it now.\"\n\nHe rang off, and Dunworthy walked back to the room. He hadn't lied to the nurse. He was feeling stronger with each passing moment, though there was a tightness around his lower ribs by the time he made it back to his room. Mrs. Gaddson was there, searching eagerly through her Bible for murrains and agues and emerods.\n\n\"Read me Luke 11, verse 9,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nShe looked it up. \"'And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you,'\" she read, glaring at him suspiciously. \"'Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.'\"\n\nMs. Taylor came at the very end of visiting hours, carrying a measuring tape. \"Colin sent me to get your measurements,\" she said. \"The old crone out there won't let him on the floor.\" She draped the tape around his waist. \"I had to tell her I was visiting Ms. Piantini. Hold your arm out straight.\" She stretched the tape along his arm. \"She's feeling a lot better. She may even get to ring Rimbaud's 'When at Last My Savior Cometh' with us on the fifteenth. We're doing it for Holy Re-Formed, you know, but the NHS has taken over their church so Mr. Finch has very kindly let us use Balliol's chapel. What size shoe do you wear?\"\n\nShe jotted down his various measurements, told him Colin would be in the next day and not to worry, the net was nearly ready. She went out, presumably to visit Ms. Piantini, and came back a few minutes later with a message from Badri.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, I've run twenty-four parameter checks,\" it read. \"All twenty-four show minimal slippage, eleven show slippage of less than an hour, five, slippage of less than five minutes. I'm running divergence checks and DAR's to try to find out what it is.\"\n\nI know what it is, Dunworthy thought. It's the Black Death. The function of the slippage was to prevent interactions that might affect history. Five minutes slippage meant there were no anachronisms, no critical meetings the continuum must keep from happening. It meant the drop was to an uninhabited area. It meant the plague had been there. And all the contemps were dead.\n\nColin didn't come in the morning, and after lunch Dunworthy walked to the public phone again and rang Finch. \"I haven't been able to find a doctor willing to take on new cases,\" Finch said. \"I've telephoned every doctor and medic within the perimeter. A good many of them are still down with flu,\" he apologized, \"and several of them\u2014\"\n\nHe stopped, but Dunworthy knew what he had intended to say. Several of them had died, including the one who would certainly have helped, who would have given him the inoculations and discharged Badri.\n\n\"Great-aunt Mary wouldn't have given up,\" Colin had said. She wouldn't have, he thought, in spite of the sister and Mrs. Gaddson and a band of pain below the ribs. If she were here, she would have helped him however she could.\n\nHe walked back to his room. The sister had posted a large placard reading \"Absolutely No Visitors Allowed\" on his door, but she was not at her desk or in his room. Colin was, carrying a large damp parcel.\n\n\"The sister's in the ward,\" Colin said, grinning. \"Ms. Piantini very conveniently fainted. You should have seen her. She's very good at it.\" He fumbled with the string. \"The nurse just came on duty, but you needn't worry about her either. She's in the linen room with William Gaddson.\" He opened the parcel. It was full of clothing: a long black doublet and black breeches, neither of them remotely mediaeval, and a pair of women's black tights.\n\n\"Where did you get this?\" Dunworthy said. \"A production of Hamlet?\"\n\n\"Richard III,\" Colin said. \"Keble did it last term. I took the hump out.\"\n\n\"Is there a cloak?\" Dunworthy said, sorting through the clothing. \"Tell Finch to find me a cloak. A long cloak that will cover everything.\"\n\n\"I will,\" Colin said absently. He was fumbling intently with the band on his green jacket. It sprang open, and Colin threw it off his shoulders. \"Well? What do you think?\"\n\nHe had done considerably better than Finch. The boots were wrong\u2014they looked like a pair of gardener's Wellingtons\u2014but the brown burlap smock and shapeless gray-brown trousers looked like the illustration of a serf in Colin's book.\n\n\"The trousers have a strip,\" Colin said, \"but you can't see it under the shirt. I copied it out of the book. I'm supposed to be your squire.\"\n\nHe should have anticipated this. \"Colin,\" he said, \"you can't go with me.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Colin said. \"I can help you find her. I'm good at finding things.\"\n\n\"It's impossible. The\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, now you're going to tell me how dangerous it is in the Middle Ages, aren't you? Well, it's rather dangerous here, isn't it? What about Aunt Mary? She'd have been safer in the Middle Ages, wouldn't she? I've been doing lots of dangerous things. Taking medicine to people and putting up placards in the wards. While you were ill, I did all sorts of dangerous things you don't even know about\u2014\"\n\n\"Colin\u2014\"\n\n\"You're too old to go alone. And Great-aunt Mary told me to take care of you. What if you have a relapse?\"\n\n\"Colin\u2014\"\n\n\"My mother doesn't care if I go.\"\n\n\"But I do. I can't take you with me.\"\n\n\"So I'm to sit here and wait,\" he said bitterly, \"and nobody will tell me anything, and I won't know whether you're alive or dead.\" He picked up his jacket. \"It's not fair.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"Can I come to the laboratory at least?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I still think you should let me go,\" he said. He began folding the tights. \"Shall I leave your costume here?\"\n\n\"Better not. The sister might confiscate it.\"\n\n\"What's all this, Mr. Dunworthy?\" Mrs. Gaddson said.\n\nThey both jumped. She came into the room, bearing her Bible.\n\n\"Colin's been collecting for the clothing drive,\" Dunworthy said, helping him wad the clothing into a bundle. \"For the detainees.\"\n\n\"Passing clothes from one person to another is an excellent way of spreading infection,\" she said to Dunworthy.\n\nColin scooped up the bundle and ducked out.\n\n\"And allowing a child to come here and risk catching something! He offered to come and walk me home from the Infirmary last night, and I said, 'I won't have you risking your health for me!'\"\n\nShe sat down next to the bed and opened her Bible. \"It's pure negligence, allowing that boy to visit you. But I suppose it's no more than what I should have expected from the way you run your college. Mr. Finch has become a complete tyrant in your absence. He simply flew at me in a rage yesterday when I requested an extra roll of lavatory paper\u2014\"\n\n\"I want to see William,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Here!\" she sputtered. \"In hospital?!\" She shut her Bible with a snap. \"I simply won't allow it. There are still a great many infectious cases and poor Willy\u2014\"\n\nIs in the linen room with my nurse, he thought. \"Tell him I wish to see him as soon as possible,\" he said.\n\nShe brandished the Bible at him like Moses bringing down the plagues on Egypt. \"I intend to report your callous indifference to your students' well-being to the Head of the History Faculty,\" she said and stormed out.\n\nHe could hear her complaining loudly in the corridor to someone, presumably the nurse, because William appeared almost immediately, smoothing down his hair.\n\n\"I need injections of streptomycin and gamma globulin,\" Dunworthy said. \"I also need to be discharged from hospital, as does Badri Chaudhuri.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I know. Colin told me you're going to try to retrieve your historian.\" He looked thoughtful. \"I know this nurse...\"\n\n\"A nurse can't give an injection without authorization by a doctor, and the discharges will require authorization as well.\"\n\n\"I know a girl up in Records. When do you want this by?\"\n\n\"As soon as possible.\"\n\n\"I'll get right on it. It might take two or three days,\" he said, and started out. \"I met Kivrin once. She was at Balliol to see you. She's very pretty, isn't she?\"\n\nI must remember to warn her about him, Dunworthy thought, and realized he had actually begun to believe he might be able to rescue her in spite of everything. Hold on, he thought, I'm coming. Two or three days.\n\nHe spent the afternoon walking up and down the corridor, trying to build his strength up. Badri's ward had an \"Absolutely No Visitors Allowed\" placard on each of the doors, and the sister fixed him with a watery blue eye each time he approached them.\n\nColin came in, wet and breathless, with a pair of boots for Dunworthy. \"She has guards everywhere,\" he said. \"Mr. Finch says to tell you the net's ready except he can't find anyone to do med support.\"\n\n\"Tell William to arrange it,\" he said. \"He's taking care of the discharges and the streptomycin injection.\"\n\n\"I know. I've got to deliver a message to Badri from him. I'll be back.\"\n\nHe did not come back, and neither did William. When Dunworthy walked to the phone to ring Balliol, the sister caught him halfway and escorted him back to his room. Either her tightened defenses included Mrs. Gaddson as well, or Mrs. Gaddson was still angry over William. She did not come all afternoon.\n\nJust after tea a pretty nurse he hadn't seen before came in with a syringe. \"Sister's been called away on an emergency,\" she said.\n\n\"What's that?\" he asked, pointing to the syringe.\n\nShe tapped the console keyboard with one finger of her free hand. She looked at the screen, tapped in a few more characters, and came around to inject him. \"Streptomycin,\" she said.\n\nShe did not seem nervous or furtive, which meant William must have managed the authorization somehow. She injected the largish syringe into the cannula, smiled at him, and went out. She had left the console on. He got out of bed and went round to read what was on the screen.\n\nIt was his chart. He recognized it because it looked like Badri's and was as unreadable. The last entry read \"ICU 15802691 14-1-55 1805 150/RPT 1800CRS IMSTMC 4ML/q6h NHS40-211-7 M AHRENS.\"\n\nHe sat down on the bed. Oh, Mary.\n\nWilliam must have obtained her access code, perhaps from his friend in Records, and fed it into the computer. Records was no doubt far behind, swamped by the paperwork of the epidemic, and had not yet got to Mary's death. They would catch the error someday, though the resourceful William had no doubt already arranged for its erasure.\n\nHe scrolled the screen back through his chart. There were m. ahrens entries up through 8-1-55, the day she had died. She must have nursed him until she could no longer stand. No wonder her heart had stopped.\n\nHe switched the console off so that the sister wouldn't spot the entry and got into bed. He wondered if William planned to sign her name to the discharges as well. He hoped so. She would have wanted to help.\n\nNo one came in all evening. The sister hobbled in to check his tach bracelet and give him his temp at eight o'clock, and she entered them in the console but didn't appear to notice anything. At ten a second nurse, also pretty, came in, repeated the streptomycin injection, and gave him one of gamma globulin.\n\nShe left the screen on, and Dunworthy lay down so he could see Mary's name. He didn't think he would be able to sleep, but he did. He dreamed of Egypt and the Valley of the Kings.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy, wake up,\" Colin whispered. He was shining a pocket torch in his face.\n\n\"What is it?\" Dunworthy said, blinking against the light. He groped for his spectacles. \"What's happened?\"\n\n\"It's me, Colin,\" he whispered. He turned the torch on himself. He was wearing, for some unknown reason, a large white lab coat, and his face looked strained, sinister in the upturned light of the torch.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Colin whispered. \"You're being discharged.\"\n\nDunworthy hooked his spectacles over his ears. He still couldn't see anything. \"What time is it?\" he whispered.\n\n\"Four o'clock.\" He thrust his slippers at him and turned the torch on the closet. \"Do hurry.\" He took Dunworthy's robe off the hook and handed it to him. \"She's likely to come back any moment.\"\n\nDunworthy fumbled with the robe and slippers, trying to wake up, wondering why they were being discharged at this odd hour and where the sister was.\n\nColin went to the door and peeked out. He switched the torch off, stuck it in the pocket of the too-large lab coat, and eased the door shut. After a long, breath-holding moment, he opened it a crack and looked out. \"All clear,\" he said, motioning to Dunworthy. \"William's taken her into the linen room.\"\n\n\"Who, the nurse?\" Dunworthy asked, still groggy. \"Why is she on duty?\"\n\n\"Not the nurse. The sister. William's keeping her in there till we're gone.\"\n\n\"What about Mrs. Gaddson?\"\n\nColin looked sheepish. \"She's reading to Mr. Latimer,\" he said defensively. \"I had to do something with her, and Mr. Latimer can't hear her.\" He opened the door all the way. There was a wheelchair just outside. He took hold of the handles.\n\n\"I can walk,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"There isn't time,\" Colin whispered. \"And if anyone sees us I can tell them I'm taking you up to Scanning.\"\n\nDunworthy sat down and let Colin push him down the corridor and past the linen room and Latimer's room. He could hear Mrs. Gaddson's voice dimly through the door, reading from Exodus.\n\nColin continued on tiptoe to the end of the corridor and then took off at a rate that could not possibly be mistaken for taking a patient to Scanning, down another corridor, around a corner, and out the side door where they had been accosted by the \"The End of Time Is Near\" sandwich board.\n\nIt was pitch-black in the alley and raining hard. He could only dimly make out the ambulance parked at the street end. Colin knocked on the back of it with his fist, and an ambulance attendant jumped down. It was the medic who had helped bring Badri in. And had picketed Brasenose. \"Can you climb up?\" she asked, blushing.\n\nDunworthy nodded and stood up.\n\n\"Pull the doors to,\" she told Colin and went round to get in the front.\n\n\"Don't tell me, she's a friend of William's,\" Dunworthy said, looking after her.\n\n\"Of course,\" Colin said. \"She asked me what sort of mother-in-law I thought Mrs. Gaddson would be.\" He helped him up the step and into the ambulance.\n\n\"Where's Badri?\" Dunworthy asked, wiping the rain off his spectacles.\n\nColin pulled the doors to. \"At Balliol. We took him first, so he could set up the net.\" He looked anxiously out the back window. \"I do hope Sister doesn't sound the alarm before we're gone.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't worry about it,\" Dunworthy said. He had clearly underestimated William's powers. The ancient sister was probably on William's lap in the linen room, embroidering their intertwined initials on the towels.\n\nColin switched on the torch and shone it on the stretcher. \"I brought your costume,\" he said, handing Dunworthy the black doublet.\n\nDunworthy took off his robe and put it on. The ambulance started up, nearly knocking him over. He sat down on the side bench, bracing himself against the swaying side, and pulled on the black tights.\n\nWilliam's medic had not switched on the siren, but she was going at such a rate she should have. Dunworthy clung to the strap with one hand and pulled on the breeches with the other, and Colin, reaching for the boots, nearly went over on his head.\n\n\"We found you a cloak,\" Colin said. \"Mr. Finch borrowed it of the Classical Theatre Society.\" He shook it out. It was Victorian, black and lined in red silk. He draped it over Dunworthy's shoulders.\n\n\"What production did they put on? Dracula?\"\n\nThe ambulance lurched to a stop, and the medic yanked open the doors. Colin helped Dunworthy down, holding up the train of the voluminous cloak like a page boy. They ducked in under the gate. The rain pattered loudly on the stones overhead and under the sound of the rain was a clanging sound.\n\n\"What's that?\" Dunworthy asked, peering out into the dark quad.\n\n\"'When at Last My Savior Cometh,'\" Colin said. \"The Americans are practicing it for some church thing. Necrotic, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Gaddson said they were practicing at all hours, but I'd no idea she meant five in the morning.\"\n\n\"The concert's tonight,\" Colin said.\n\n\"Tonight?\" Dunworthy said, and realized it was the fifteenth. The sixth on the Julian calendar. Epiphany. The Arrival of the Wise Men.\n\nFinch hurried toward them with an umbrella. \"Sorry I'm late,\" he said, holding it over Dunworthy, \"but I couldn't find an umbrella. You've no idea how many of the detainees go off and forget them. Especially the Americans\u2014\"\n\nDunworthy started across the quad. \"Is everything ready?\"\n\n\"The med support's not here yet,\" Finch said, attempting to keep the umbrella over Dunworthy's head, \"but William Gaddson just telephoned to say it was all arranged and she'd be here shortly.\"\n\nDunworthy would not have been surprised if he had said the sister had volunteered for the job. \"I do hope William never decides to take to a life of crime,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, I don't think he would, sir. His mother would never allow it.\" He ran a few steps, trying to keep up. \"Mr. Chaudhuri's running the preliminary coordinates. And Ms. Montoya's here.\"\n\nHe stopped. \"Montoya? What is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir. She said she had information for you.\"\n\nNot now, he thought. Not when we're this close.\n\nHe went in the laboratory. Badri was at the console, and Montoya, wearing her terrorist jacket and muddy jeans, was leaning over him, watching the screen. Badri said something to her, and she shook her head and looked at her digital. She glanced up and saw Dunworthy, and an expression of compassion came into her face. She stood up and reached in the pocket of her shirt.\n\nNo, Dunworthy thought.\n\nShe walked over to him. \"I didn't know you were planning this,\" she said, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. \"I want to help.\" She handed him the paper. \"This is what information Kivrin had to work with when she went through.\"\n\nHe looked at the paper in his hand. It was a map.\n\n\"This is the drop.\" She pointed to a cross on a black line. \"And this is Skendgate. You'll recognize it by the church. It's Norman, with murals above the rood screen and a statue of St. Anthony.\" She smiled at him. \"The patron saint of lost objects. I found the statue yesterday.\"\n\nShe pointed to several other crosses. \"If by some chance she didn't go to Skendgate, the most likely villages are Esthcote, Henefelde, and Shrivendun. I've listed their distinguishing landmarks on the back.\"\n\nBadri stood up and came over. He looked even frailer than he had in the ward, if that were possible, and he moved slowly, like the old man he had become. \"I'm still getting minimal slippage, no matter what variables I feed in,\" he said. He put his hand under his ribs. \"I'm running an intermittent, opening for five minutes at two-hour intervals. That way we can hold the net open for up to twenty-four hours, thirty-six if we're lucky.\"\n\nDunworthy wondered how many of those two-hour intervals Badri would hold up for. He looked done in already.\n\n\"When you see the shimmer or the beginnings of moisture condensation, move into the rendezvous area,\" Badri said.\n\n\"What if it's dark?\" Colin asked. He had taken off the lab coat, and Dunworthy saw that he was in his squire's costume.\n\n\"You should still be able to see the shimmer, and we'll call out to you,\" Badri said. He grunted softly and put his hand to his side again. \"You've been immunized?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Good. All we're waiting for then is the med support.\" He looked hard at Dunworthy. \"Are you sure you're well enough to do this?\"\n\n\"Are you?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\nThe door opened and William's nurse came in wearing a slick. She blushed when she saw Dunworthy. \"William said you needed med support. Where would you like me to set up?\"\n\nI must remember to warn Kivrin about him, Dunworthy thought. Badri showed her where he wanted her, and Colin ran out after her equipment.\n\nMontoya led Dunworthy over to a chalked circle under the shields. \"Are you going to wear your spectacles?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"You can dig them up in your churchyard.\"\n\n\"I'm certain they won't be there,\" she said solemnly. \"Do you want to sit or lie down?\"\n\nHe thought of Kivrin, lying with her arm across her face, helpless and blind. \"I'll stand,\" he said.\n\nColin came back in with a steamer trunk. He set it down by the console and came over to the net. \"You've no business going by yourself,\" he said.\n\n\"I must go by myself, Colin.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"It's too dangerous. You can't imagine what it was like during the Black Death.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can. I read the book through twice, and I've had my\u2014\" He stopped. \"I know all about the Black Death. Besides, if it's as bad as all that, you shouldn't go by yourself. I wouldn't get in the way, I promise.\"\n\n\"Colin,\" he said helplessly, \"you're my responsibility. I can't take the risk.\"\n\nBadri came over to the net, carrying a light measure. \"The nurse needs help with the rest of her equipment,\" he said.\n\n\"If you don't come back, I'll never know what happened to you,\" Colin said. He turned and ran out.\n\nBadri made a slow circuit of Dunworthy, taking measurements. He frowned, took hold of his elbow, took more measurements. The nurse came over with a syringe. Dunworthy rolled up the sleeve of his doublet.\n\n\"I want you to know I don't approve of this at all,\" she said, swabbing Dunworthy's arm. \"Both of you properly belong in hospital.\" She plunged the syringe in and walked back to her steamer trunk.\n\nBadri waited while Dunworthy rolled down his sleeve and then moved his arm, took more measurements, moved it again. Colin carried a scan unit in and went back out without looking at Dunworthy.\n\nDunworthy watched the display screens change and change again. He could hear the bell ringers, an almost-musical sound with the door shut. Colin opened the door, and they clanged wildly for a moment while he maneuvered a second steamer trunk through the door.\n\nColin dragged it over to where the nurse was setting up, and then went over to the console and stood beside Montoya, watching the screens generate numbers. He wished he had told them he would go through sitting down. The stiff boots pinched his feet, and he felt tired from the effort of standing still.\n\nBadri spoke into the ear again, and the shields came down, touched the floor, draped a bit. Colin said something to Montoya, and she glanced up, frowned and then nodded, and turned back to the screen. Colin walked over to the net.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"One of the curtain things is caught,\" Colin said. He walked to the far side and tugged on the fold.\n\n\"Ready?\" Badri said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Colin said and backed away toward the prep door. \"No, wait.\" He came back up to the shields. \"Shouldn't you take your spectacles off? In case somebody sees you come through?\"\n\nDunworthy removed his spectacles and tucked them inside his doublet.\n\n\"If you don't come back, I'm coming after you,\" Colin said, and backed away. \"Ready,\" he called.\n\nDunworthy looked at the screens. They were nothing but a blur. So was Montoya, who had leaned forward over Badri's shoulder. She glanced at her digital. Badri spoke into the ear.\n\nDunworthy closed his eyes. He could hear the bell ringers banging away at \"When at Last My Savior Cometh.\" He opened them again.\n\n\"Now,\" Badri said. He pushed a button, and Colin darted toward the shields and under, straight into Dunworthy's arms."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "They buried Rosemund in the grave the steward had dug for her. \"You will have need of these graves,\" the steward had said, and he was right. They would never have managed to dig it themselves. It was all they could do to carry her out to the green.\n\nThey laid her on the ground beside the grave. She looked impossibly thin lying there in her cloak, wasted almost to nothing. The fingers of her right hand, still half-curved around the apple she had let drop, were nothing but bones.\n\n\"Heard you her confession?\" Roche asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said, and it seemed to her that she had. Rosemund had confessed to being afraid of the dark and the plague and being alone, to loving her father and to knowing she would never see him again. All the things that she herself could not bring herself to confess.\n\nKivrin unfastened the loveknot pin Sir Bloet had given Rosemund and wrapped the cloak around her, covering her head, and Roche picked her up in his arms like a sleeping child and stepped down into the grave.\n\nHe had trouble climbing out, and Kivrin had to take hold of his huge hands and pull him out. And when he began the prayers for the dead, he said,\" Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina.\"\n\nKivrin looked anxiously at him. We must get away from here before he catches it, too, she thought, and didn't correct him. We don't have a moment to lose.\n\n\"Dormiunt in somno pacis,\" Roche said, and picked up the shovel and began filling in the grave.\n\nIt seemed to take forever. Kivrin spelled him, chipping at the mound that had frozen into a solid mass and trying to think how far they could get before nightfall. It wasn't noon yet. If they left soon, they could get through the Wychwood and across the Oxford-Bath road onto the Midland Plain. They could be in Scotland within the week, near Invercassley or Dornoch, where the plague never came.\n\n\"Father Roche,\" she said as soon as he began tamping down the dirt with the flat of the shovel. \"We must go to Scotland.\"\n\n\"Scotland?\" he said, as if he had never heard of it.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"We must go away from here. We must take the donkey and go to Scotland.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"We must carry the sacraments with us. And ere we go I must ring the bell for Rosemund, that her soul may pass safely unto heaven.\"\n\nShe wanted to tell him no, that there wasn't time, they must leave now, immediately, but she nodded. \"I will fetch Balaam,\" she said.\n\nRoche started for the bell tower, and she took off running for the barn before he had even reached it. She wanted them to be gone now, now, before anything else happened, as if the plague were waiting to leap out at them like the bogeyman from the church or the brewhouse or the barn.\n\nShe ran across the courtyard and into the stable and led the donkey out. She began to strap his panniers on.\n\nThe bell tolled once, and then was silent, and Kivrin stopped, the girth strap in her hand, and listened, waiting for it to ring again. Three strokes for a woman, she thought, and knew why he had stopped. One for a child. Oh, Rosemund.\n\nShe tied the girth strap and began to fill the panniers. They were too small to hold everything. She would have to tie the sacks on. She filled a coarse bag with oats for the donkey, scooping it out of the grain bin with both hands and spilling whole handfuls on the filthy floor, and knotted it with a rough rope that hung on Agnes's pony's stall. The rope was tied to the stall with a heavy knot she couldn't untie. She ended by having to run to the kitchen for a knife and back again, bringing the sacks of food she had gathered up earlier.\n\nShe cut the rope free and sliced it into shorter sections, threw down the knife, and went out to the donkey. He was trying to gnaw a hole in the sack of oats. She tied it and the other bags to his back with the pieces of rope and led him out of the courtyard and across the green to the church.\n\nRoche was nowhere in sight. Kivrin still needed to fetch the blankets and the candles, but she wanted to put the sacraments in the panniers first. Food, oats, blankets, candles. What else had she forgotten?\n\nRoche appeared at the door. He was not carrying anything.\n\n\"Where are the sacraments?\" she called to him.\n\nHe didn't answer. He leaned for a moment against the church door, staring at her, and the look on his face was the same as when he had come to tell her about the miller. But they've all died, she thought, there's nobody left to die.\n\n\"I must ring the bell,\" he said and started across the churchyard toward the bell tower.\n\n\"You've already rung it,\" she said. \"There's no time for the funeral knell. We must start for Scotland.\" She tied the donkey to the gate, her cold fingers fumbling with the rough rope, and hurried after him, catching him by the sleeve. \"What is it?\"\n\nHe turned, almost violently, toward her, and the expression on his face frightened her. He looked like a cutthroat, a murderer. \"I must ring the bell for vespers,\" he said and shook himself violently free of her hand.\n\nOh, no, Kivrin thought.\n\n\"It is only midday,\" she said. \"It isn't time for vespers yet.\" He's just tired, she thought. We're both so tired we can't think straight. She took hold of his sleeve again. \"Come, Father. We must go if we're to get through the woods by nightfall.\"\n\n\"It is past time,\" he said, \"and I have not yet rung them. Lady Imeyne will be angry.\"\n\nOh, no, she thought, oh no oh no.\n\n\"I will ring it,\" she said, stepping in front of him to stop him. \"You must go into the house and rest.\"\n\n\"It grows dark,\" he said angrily. He opened his mouth as if to shout at her, and a great gout of vomit and blood heaved up out of him and onto Kivrin's jerkin.\n\nOh no oh no oh no.\n\nHe looked bewilderedly at her drenched jerkin, the violence gone out of his face.\n\n\"Come, you must lie down,\" she said, thinking, We will never make it to the manor house.\n\n\"Am I ill?\" he said, still staring at her blood-covered jerkin.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"You are but tired and must rest.\"\n\nShe led him toward the church. He stumbled, and she thought, If he falls, I will never get him up. She helped him inside, bracing the heavy door open with her back, and sat him down against the wall.\n\n\"I fear the work has tired me,\" he said, leaning his head against the stones. \"I would sleep a little.\"\n\n\"Yes, sleep,\" Kivrin said. As soon as he had closed his eyes she ran back to the manor house for blankets and a bolster to make him a pallet. When she skidded in with them, he was no longer there.\n\n\"Roche!\" she cried, trying to see up the dark nave. \"Where are you?\"\n\nThere was no answer. She darted out again, still clutching the bedding to her chest, but he wasn't in the bell tower or the churchyard, and he could not possibly have made it to the house. She ran back in the church and up the nave and he was there, on his knees in front of the statue of St. Catherine.\n\n\"You must lie down,\" she said, spreading the blankets on the floor.\n\nHe lay down obediently, and she put the bolster behind his head. \"It is the plague, is it not?\" he asked, looking up at her.\n\n\"No,\" she said, pulling the coverlid up over him. \"You're tired, that's all. Try to sleep.\"\n\nHe turned on his side, away from her, but in a few minutes he sat up, the murderous expression back, and threw the covers off. \"I must ring the vespers bell,\" he said accusingly, and it was all Kivrin could do to keep him from standing up. When he dozed again, she tore strips from the frayed bottom of her jerkin and tied his hands to the rood screen.\n\n\"Don't do this to him,\" Kivrin murmured over and over without knowing it. \"Please! Please! Don't do this to him.\"\n\nHe opened his eyes. \"Surely God must hear such fervent prayers,\" he said, and sank into a deeper, quieter sleep.\n\nKivrin ran out and unloaded the donkey and untied him, gathered up the sacks of food and the lantern and brought them inside the church. He was still sleeping. She crept out again and ran across to the courtyard and drew a bucket of water from the well.\n\nHe still did not appear to have wakened, but when Kivrin wrung out a strip torn from the altar cloth and bathed his forehead with it, he said, without opening his eyes, \"I feared that you had gone.\"\n\nShe wiped the crusted blood by his mouth. \"I would not go to Scotland without you.\"\n\n\"Not Scotland,\" he said. \"To heaven.\"\n\nShe ate a little of the stale manchet and cheese from the food sack and tried to sleep a little, but it was too cold. When Roche turned and sighed in his sleep, she could see his breath.\n\nShe built a fire, pulling up the stick fence around one of the huts and piling the sticks in front of the rood screen, but it filled the church with smoke, even with the doors propped open. Roche coughed and vomited again. This time it was nearly all blood. She put the fire out and made two more hurried trips for as many furs and blankets as she could find and made a sort of nest of them.\n\nRoche's fever went up in the night. He kicked at the covers and raged at Kivrin, mostly in words she couldn't understand, though once he said clearly, \"Go, curse you!\" and over and over, furiously, \"It grows dark!\"\n\nKivrin brought the candles from the altar and the top of the rood screen and set them in front of St. Catherine's statue. When his ravings about the dark got bad, she lit them all and covered him up again, and it seemed to help a little.\n\nHis fever rose higher, and his teeth chattered in spite of the rugs heaped over him. It seemed to Kivrin that his skin was already darkening, the blood vessels hemorrhaging under the skin. Don't do this. Please.\n\nIn the morning he was better. His skin had not blackened after all; it was only the uncertain light of the candles that had made it seem mottled. His fever had come down a little and he slept soundly through the morning and most of the afternoon, not vomiting at all. She went out for more water before it got dark.\n\nSome people recovered spontaneously and some were saved by prayers. Not everyone died who was infected. The death rate for pneumonic plague was only ninety percent.\n\nHe was awake when she went in, lying in a shaft of smoky light. She knelt and held a cup of water under his mouth, tilting his head up so he could drink.\n\n\"It is the blue sickness,\" he said when she let his head back down.\n\n\"You're not going to die,\" she said. Ninety percent. Ninety percent.\n\n\"You must hear my confession.\"\n\nNo. He could not die. She would be left here all alone. She shook her head, unable to speak.\n\n\"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,\" he began in Latin.\n\nHe hadn't sinned. He had tended the sick, shriven the dying, buried the dead. It was God who should have to beg forgiveness.\n\n\"\u2014in thought, word, deed, and omission. I was angry with Lady Imeyne. I shouted at Maisry.\" He swallowed. \"I had carnal thoughts of a saint of the Lord.\"\n\nCarnal thoughts.\n\n\"I humbly ask pardon of God, and absolution of you, Father, if you think me worthy.\"\n\nThere is nothing to forgive, she wanted to say. Your sins are no sins. Carnal thoughts. We held down Rosemund and barricaded the village against a harmless boy and buried a six-month-old baby. It is the end of the world. Surely you are to be allowed a few carnal thoughts.\n\nShe raised her hand helplessly, unable to speak the words of absolution, but he did not seem to notice. \"Oh, my God,\" he said, \"I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee.\"\n\nOffended Thee. You're the saint of the Lord, she wanted to tell him, and where the hell is He? Why doesn't He come and save you?\n\nThere was no oil. She dipped her fingers in the bucket and made the sign of the cross over his eyes and ears, his nose and mouth, his hands that had held her hand when she was dying.\n\n\"Quid quid deliquiste,\" he said, and she dipped her hand in the water again and marked the cross on the soles of his feet.\n\n\"Libera nos, quaesumus, Domine,\" he prompted.\n\n\"Ab omnibus malis,\" Kivrin said,\" praeteritis, praesenti-bus, et futuris. \" Deliver us, we beseech Thee, O Lord, from all evils, past, present, and to come.\n\n\"Perducat te ad vitam aeternam,\" he murmured.\n\nAnd bring thee unto life everlasting. \"Amen,\" Kivrin said, and leaned forward to catch the blood that came pouring out of him.\n\nHe vomited the rest of the night and most of the next day, and then sank into unconsciousness in the afternoon, his breathing shallow and unsteady. Kivrin sat beside him, bathing his hot forehead. \"Don't die,\" she said when his breathing caught and struggled on, more labored. \"Don't die,\" she said softly. \"What will I do without you? I will be all alone.\"\n\n\"You must not stay here,\" he said. He opened his eyes a little. They were red and swollen.\n\n\"I thought you were asleep,\" she said regretfully. \"I didn't mean to wake you.\"\n\n\"You must go again to heaven,\" he said, \"and pray for my soul in purgatory, that my time there may be short.\"\n\nPurgatory. As if God would make him suffer any longer than he was already.\n\n\"You will not need my prayers,\" she said.\n\n\"You must return to that place whence you came,\" he said, and his hand came up in a vague drifting motion in front of his face, as if he were trying to ward off a blow.\n\nKivrin caught his hand and held it, but gently, so as not to bruise the skin, and laid it against her cheek.\n\nYou must return to that place whence you came. Would that I could, she thought. She wondered how long they had held the drop open before they gave up. Four days? A week? Perhaps it was still open. Mr. Dunworthy wouldn't have let them close it while there was any hope at all. But there isn't, she thought. I'm not in 1320. I'm here, at the end of the world.\n\n\"I can't,\" she said. \"I don't know the way.\"\n\n\"You must try to remember,\" Roche said, freeing his hand and waving it. \"Agnes, pass the fork.\"\n\nHe was delirious. Kivrin got up on her knees, afraid he might try to rise again.\n\n\"Where you fell,\" he said, putting his hand under the elbow of the waving arm to brace it, and Kivrin realized he was trying to point. \"Pass the fork.\"\n\nPast the fork.\n\n\"What is past the fork?\" she asked.\n\n\"The place where first I found you when you fell from heaven,\" he said and let his arms fall.\n\n\"I thought that Gawyn had found me.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" he said as if he saw no contradiction in what she said. \"I met him on the road while I was bringing you to the manor.\"\n\nHe had met Gawyn on the road.\n\n\"The place where Agnes fell,\" he said, trying to help her remember. \"The day we went for the holly.\"\n\nWhy didn't you tell me when we were there? Kivrin thought, but she knew that, too. He had had his hands full with the donkey, which had balked at the top of the hill and refused to go any farther.\n\nBecause it saw me come through, she thought, and knew that he had stood over her, in the glade, looking down at her as she lay there with her arm over her face. I heard him, she thought. I saw his footprint.\n\n\"You must return to that place, and thence again to heaven,\" he said and closed his eyes.\n\nHe had seen her come through, had come and stood over her as she lay there with her eyes closed, had put her on his donkey when she was ill. And she had never guessed, not even when she saw him in the church, not even when Agnes told her he thought she was a saint.\n\nBecause Gawyn had told her he had found her. Gawyn, who was \"like to boast,\" and who had wanted more than anything to impress Lady Eliwys. \"I found you and brought you hence,\" he had told her, and perhaps he didn't even consider it to be a lie. The village priest was no one, after all. And all the time, when Rosemund was ill and Gawyn had ridden off to Bath and the drop opened and then closed again forever, Roche had known where it was.\n\n\"There is no need to wait for me,\" he said. \"No doubt they long for your return.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" she said gently. \"Try to sleep.\"\n\nHe sank into a troubled doze again, his hands still moving restlessly, trying to point and plucking at the coverings. He pushed the covers off and reached for his groin again. Poor man, Kivrin thought, he was not to be spared any indignities.\n\nShe placed his hands back on his chest and covered him, but he pushed the covering down again and pulled the tail of his tunic up over his breeches. He grabbed for his groin and then shuddered and let go, and something in the movement made Kivrin think of Rosemund.\n\nShe frowned. He had vomited blood. That and the stage the epidemic had reached had made her think he had the pneumonic plague, and she hadn't seen any buboes under his arms when she took his coat off. She pulled the tail of his robe aside, exposing his coarsely woven woolen hose. They were tight around his middle and entangled with the tail of his alb. She would never be able to pull them off without lifting him, and there was so much wadded cloth she couldn't see anything.\n\nShe laid her hand gently on his thigh, remembering how sensitive Rosemund's arm had been. He flinched but did not waken, and she slid her hand to the inside and up, only just touching the cloth. It was hot. \"Forgive me,\" she said and slid her hand between his legs.\n\nHe screamed and made a convulsive movement, his knees coming up sharply, but Kivrin had already jerked back out of the way, her hand over her mouth. The bubo was gigantic and red hot to the touch. She should have lanced it hours ago.\n\nRoche had not awakened, even when he screamed. His face was mottled, and his breath came steadily, noisily. His spasmodic movement had sent his coverings flying again. She stopped and covered him. His knees came up, but less violently, and she pulled the coverings up around him and then took the last candle from the top of the rood screen, put it in the lantern, and lit it from one of St. Catherine's.\n\n\"I'll be back in just a moment,\" she said, and went down the nave and out.\n\nThe light outside made her blink, though it was nearly evening. The sky was overcast, but there was little wind, and it seemed warmer outside than in the church. She ran across the green, shielding the open part of the lantern with her hand.\n\nThere was a sharp knife in the barn. She had used it to cut the rope when she was packing the wagon. She would have to sterilize it before she lanced the bubo. She had to open the swollen lymph node before it ruptured. When the buboes were in the groin, they were perilously close to the femoral artery. Even if Roche didn't bleed to death immediately when it ruptured, all that poison would go straight into his bloodstream. It should have been lanced hours ago.\n\nShe ran between the barn and the empty pigsty and into the courtyard. The stable door stood open, and she could hear someone inside. Her heart jerked. \"Who is there?\" she said, holding the lantern up.\n\nThe steward's cow was standing in one of the stalls, eating the spilled oats. It raised its head and lowed at Kivrin, and started toward her at a stumbling run.\n\n\"I don't have time,\" Kivrin said. She snatched up the knife from where it lay on the tangle of ropes and ran out. The cow followed, lumbering awkwardly because of its overfull udder and mooing piteously.\n\n\"Go away,\" Kivrin said, near tears. \"I have to help him or he'll die.\" She looked at the knife. It was filthy. When she had found it in the kitchen, it had been dirty, and she had laid it down in the manure and dirt of the barn floor betweentimes while she was cutting the ropes.\n\nShe went over to the well and picked up the bucket. There was no more than an inch of water in the bottom, and it had a skim of ice on it. There was not enough to even cover the knife, and it would take forever to start a fire and bring it to a boil. There was no time for that. The bubo might already have ruptured. What she needed was alcohol, but they had used all the wine lancing the buboes and giving sacraments to all the dying. She thought of the bottle the clerk had had in Rosemund's bower.\n\nThe cow shoved against her. \"No,\" she said firmly, and pushed open the door of the manor house, carrying the lantern.\n\nIt was dark in the anteroom, but the sunlight streamed into the hall through narrow windows, making long, smoky, golden shafts that lit the cold hearth and the high table and the wadmal sack of apples Kivrin had spilled out across it.\n\nThe rats didn't run. They looked up at her when she came in, their small black ears twitching, and then went back to the apples. There were nearly a dozen of them on the table, and one sat on Agnes's three-legged stool, its delicate paws up to its face as if it were praying.\n\nShe set down the lantern on the floor. \"Get out,\" she said.\n\nThe rats on the table didn't even look up. The one who was praying did, across its folded paws, a cold, appraising look, as if she were an intruder.\n\n\"Get out of here!\" she shouted and ran toward them.\n\nThey still didn't run. Two of them moved behind the saltcellar, and one of them dropped the apple it was holding with a thunk onto the table. It rolled off the edge and onto the rush-strewn floor.\n\nKivrin raised her knife. \"Get.\" She brought it down on the table, and the rats scattered. \"Out.\" She raised it again. She swept the apples off the table and onto the floor. They bounced and rolled onto the rushes. In its surprise or fright, the rat that had been on Agnes's stool ran straight toward Kivrin. \"Of. Here.\" She threw the knife at it, and it sprinted back under the stool and disappeared in the rushes.\n\n\"Get out of here,\" Kivrin said and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"Mwaa,\" the cow said from the anteroom.\n\n\"It's a disease,\" Kivrin whispered shakily, her hands still over her mouth. \"It's nobody's fault.\"\n\nShe went and retrieved the knife and the lantern. The cow had wedged itself halfway through the manor door and got stuck. It lowed at her piteously.\n\nShe left it there and went up to the bower, ignoring the sounds of skittering above her. The room was icy cold. The linen that Eliwys had fastened over the window had torn loose and was hanging by one corner. The bed hangings were down at one side, too, where the clerk had tried to pull himself up on them, and the flock mattress lay half off the bed. There were small sounds from under the bed, but she didn't try to see where they were coming from. The chest was still open, its carved lid propped against the foot of the bed, and the clerk's heavy purple cloak lay folded in it.\n\nThe bottle of wine had rolled under the bed. Kivrin flung herself down on the floor and reached under the bed for it. It rolled away from her touch, and she had to crawl halfway under the bed before she could get hold of it.\n\nThe stopper had come out, probably when she had kicked it under the bed. A little wine clung stickily to the mouth.\n\n\"No,\" she said hopelessly, and sat there for a long minute, holding the empty bottle.\n\nThere wasn't any wine in the church. Roche had used it all for the last rites.\n\nShe suddenly remembered the bottle he had given her to use on Agnes's knee. She wriggled under the bed and swept her arm carefully along the bedboard, afraid of knocking it over. She couldn't remember how much had been in it, but she didn't think she'd used it all.\n\nShe nearly knocked it over, in spite of her carefulness, and grabbed for the wide neck as it tilted. She backed out from under the bed and shook it gently. It was nearly half full. She stuck her knife in the waistband of her jerkin, tucked the bottle under her arm, grabbed up the clerk's cloak, and went downstairs. The rats were back, working on the apples, but this time they ran when she started down the stone steps, and she did not try to see where they'd gone.\n\nThe cow had worked over half of its body through the anteroom door and was now hopelessly blocking the way. Kivrin set everything down inside the screens, sweeping a space clear of rushes so she could stand the bottle upright on the stone floor, and pushed the cow back out, the cow lowing unhappily the whole time.\n\nOnce out, it promptly tried to come back in to Kivrin. \"No,\" she said. \"There's no time,\" but she went back into the barn and up into the loft and threw down a forkful of hay. Then she scooped up everything and ran back to the church.\n\nRoche had lapsed into unconsciousness. His body had relaxed. His big legs sprawled out in front of him, wide apart, and his hands lay out at his sides, palms up. He looked like a man knocked out by a blow. His breathing was heavy and tremulous, as if he were shivering.\n\nKivrin covered him with the heavy purple cloak. \"I'm back, Roche,\" she said, and patted his outflung arm, but he didn't give any indication that he had heard.\n\nShe took the guard off the lantern and used the flame to light all the candles. There were only three of Lady Imeyne's candles left, all of them over half-burned. She lit the rushlights, too, and the fat tallow candle in the niche of the statue of St. Catherine, and moved them closer to Roche's legs, so she would be able to see.\n\n\"I'm going to have to take your hose off,\" she said, folding back the coverlid. \"I have to lance the bubo.\" She untied the ragged points on the hose and he didn't flinch at her touch, but he moaned a little, and it sounded liquid.\n\nShe pulled at the hose, trying to get them down over his hips, and then yanked at the legs, but they were too tight. She would have to cut them off.\n\n\"I'm going to cut your hose off,\" she said, crawling back to where she'd left the knife and the bottle of wine. \"I'll try not to cut you.\" She sniffed at the bottle and then took a little swig and choked. Good. It was old and full of alcohol. She poured it over the blade of the knife, wiped the edge on her leg, poured some more, careful to leave enough to pour over the wound when she had it opened.\n\n\"Beata,\" Roche murmured. His hand groped for his groin.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Kivrin said. She took hold of one of the legs of his hose and slit the wool. \"I know it hurts now, but I'm going to lance the bubo.\" She pulled the rough fabric apart in both hands and blessedly it tore, making a loud ripping sound. Roche's knees contracted. \"No, no, leave your legs down,\" Kivrin said, trying to push on his knees. \"I have to lance the bubo.\"\n\nShe couldn't get them down. She left them for the moment and finished tearing the leg of his hose, reaching under his leg to split the rough cloth the rest of the way up, so she could see the bubo. It was twice as big as Rosemund's and completely black. It should have been lanced hours ago, days ago.\n\n\"Roche, please put your legs down,\" she said, leaning on them with all her weight. \"I have to open the plague boil.\"\n\nThere was no response. She was not sure he could respond, that his muscles were not somehow contracting on their own, the way the clerk's had, but she couldn't wait until the spasm, if that was what it was, had passed. It might rupture at any minute.\n\nShe stepped away a minute and then knelt down by his feet, and reached up under his folded legs, gripping the knife. Roche moaned, and she pulled the knife down a little and then moved it forward slowly, carefully, till it touched the bubo.\n\nHis kick caught her full in the ribs, sending her sprawling. She let go of the knife, and it skittered loudly across the stone floor. The kick had knocked the wind out of Kivrin, and she lay there, gasping for air, taking long, wheezing breaths. She tried to sit up. Pain stabbed at her right side, and she fell back, clutching at her ribs.\n\nRoche was still screaming, a long, impossible sound like a tortured animal. Kivrin rolled slowly onto her left side, holding her hand tightly against her ribs, so she could see him. He rocked back and forth like a child, screaming all the while, his legs drawn up protectively to his chest. She could not see the bubo.\n\nKivrin tried to raise herself, bracing her hand against the stone floor until she was half sitting, and then edging her hand toward her till she could put both hands down and get onto her knees. She cried out, little whimpering screams that were lost in Roche's. He must have broken some ribs. She spat on her hand, afraid of seeing blood.\n\nWhen she was finally on her knees, she sat back on her feet a minute, huddling against the pain. \"I'm sorry,\" she whispered, \"I didn't mean to hurt you.\" She half crawled toward him on her knees, using her right hand as a crutch. The effort made her breathe more deeply, and every breath stabbed into her side. \"It's all right, Roche,\" she whispered. \"I'm coming. I'm coming.\"\n\nHe pulled his legs up spasmodically at the sound of her voice, and she moved around to his side, between him and the side wall, well out of his reach. When he kicked her, he had knocked over one of St. Catherine's candles, and it lay in a yellow puddle beside him, still burning. Kivrin set it upright and laid her hand on his shoulder. \"Shh, Roche,\" she said. \"It's all right. I'm here now.\"\n\nHe stopped screaming. \"I'm sorry,\" she said, leaning over him. \"I didn't mean to hurt you. I was only trying to lance the bubo.\"\n\nHis knees pulled up even tighter than before. Kivrin picked up the red candle and held it above his naked backside. She could see the bubo, black and hard in the candle's light. She had not even pierced it. She raised the candle higher, trying to see where the knife had gone. It had clattered away in the direction of the tomb. She held the candle out in that direction, hoping to catch a glint of metal. She couldn't see anything.\n\nShe started to stand up, moving carefully to guard against the pain, but halfway to her feet it caught at her, and she cried out and bent forward.\n\n\"What is it?\" Roche said. His eyes were open, and there was a little blood at the corner of his mouth. She wondered if he had bitten through his tongue when he was screaming. \"Have I done hurt to you?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, kneeling back down beside him. \"No. You have done no hurt.\" She blotted at his mouth with the sleeve of her jerkin.\n\n\"You must,\" he said, and when he opened his mouth, more blood leaked out. He swallowed. \"You must say the prayers for the dying.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"You will not die.\" She wiped at his mouth again. \"But I must lance your bubo before it ruptures.\"\n\n\"Do not,\" he said, and she did not know whether he meant don't lance the bubo or don't leave. His teeth were gritted, and blood was leaking between them. She sank into a sitting position, careful not to cry out, and took his head onto her lap.\n\n\"Requiem aeternam dona eis,\" he said and made a gurgling sound,\" et lux perpetua.\"\n\nThe blood was seeping from the roof of his mouth. She propped his head up higher, wadding the purple coverlid under it, wiping his mouth and chin with her jerkin. It was sodden with blood. She reached off to the side for his alb. \"Do not,\" he said.\n\n\"I won't,\" she said. \"I'm right here.\"\n\n\"Pray for me,\" he said and tried to bring his hands together on his chest. \"Wreck\u2014\" He choked on the word he was trying to say, and it ended in a gurgling sound.\n\n\"Requiem aeternam,\" Kivrin said. She folded her own hands. \" Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,\" she said.\n\n\"Et lux \u2014\" he said.\n\nThe red candle beside Kivrin flickered out, and the church was filled with the sharp smell of smoke. She glanced round at the other candles. There was only one left, the last of Lady Imeyne's wax candles, and it was burnt nearly down to the lip of its holder.\n\n\"Et lux perpetua,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Luceat eis,\" Roche said. He stopped and tried to lick his bloody lips. His tongue was swollen and stiff. \" Dies irae, dies ilia. \" He swallowed again and tried to close his eyes.\n\n\"Don't put him through any more of this,\" she whispered in English. \"Please. It's not fair.\"\n\n\"Beata,\" she thought he said and tried to think of the next line, but it didn't begin with \"blessed.\"\n\n\"What?\" she said, leaning over him.\n\n\"In the last days,\" he said, his voice blurred by his swollen tongue.\n\nShe leaned closer.\n\n\"I feared that God would forsake us utterly,\" he said.\n\nAnd He has, she thought. She wiped at his mouth and chin with the tail of her jerkin. He has.\n\n\"But in His great mercy He did not,\" he swallowed again, \"but sent His saint unto us.\"\n\nHe raised his head and coughed, and blood rushed out over both of them, saturating his chest and her knees. She wiped at it frantically, trying to stop it, trying to keep his head up, and she couldn't see through her tears to wipe the blood away.\n\n\"And I'm no use,\" she said, wiping at her tears.\n\n\"Why do you weep?\" he said.\n\n\"You saved my life,\" she said, and her voice caught in a sob, \"and I can't save yours.\"\n\n\"All men must die,\" Roche said, \"and none, nor even Christ, can save them.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said. She cupped her hand under her face, trying to catch her tears. They collected on her hand and fell dripping onto Roche's neck.\n\n\"Yet have you saved me,\" he said, and his voice sounded clearer. \"From fear.\" He took a gurgling breath. \"And unbelief.\"\n\nShe wiped at her tears with the back of her hand and took hold of Roche's hand. It felt cold and already stiff.\n\n\"I am most blessed of all men to have you here with me,\" he said and closed his eyes.\n\nKivrin shifted a little so her back was against the wall. It was dark outside, no light at all coming in through the narrow windows. Lady Imeyne's candle sputtered and then flamed again. She moved Roche's head so it didn't push against her ribs. He groaned, and his hand jerked as if to free itself of hers, but she held on. The candle flickered into sudden brightness and left them in darkness."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "\u2002TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK (082808\u2013083108):\n\n\u2002I don't think I'm going to make it back, Mr. Dunworthy. Roche told me where the drop is, but I've broken some ribs, I think, and all the horses are gone. I don't think I can get up on Roche's donkey without a saddle.\n\n\u2002I'm going to try to see to it that Ms. Montoya finds this. Tell Mr. Latimer adjectival inflection was still prominent in 1348. And tell Mr. Gilchrist he was wrong. The statistics weren't exaggerated.\n\n\u2002I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened. I know you would have come to get me if you could, but I couldn't have gone anyway, not with Agnes ill.\n\n\u2002I wanted to come, and if I hadn't, they would have been all alone, and nobody would have ever known how frightened and brave and irreplaceable they were."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "It's strange. When I couldn't find the drop and the plague came, you seemed so far away I would not ever be able to find you again. But I know now that you were here all along, and that nothing, not the Black Death nor seven hundred years, nor death nor things to come nor any other creature could ever separate me from your caring and concern. It was with me every minute.\n\n\"Colin!\" Dunworthy shouted, grabbing Colin's arm as he dived under the drape and into the net, head down. \"What in God's name do you think you're doing?\"\n\nColin twisted free of his grasp. \"I don't think you should go alone!\"\n\n\"You can't just break through the net! This isn't a quarantine perimeter. What if the net had opened? You could have been killed!\" He took hold of Colin's arm again and started toward the console. \"Badri! Hold the drop!\"\n\nBadri was not there. Dunworthy squinted nearsightedly at where the console had been. They were in a forest, surrounded by trees. There was snow on the ground, and the air sparkled with crystals.\n\n\"If you go alone, who'll take care of you?\" Colin said. \"What if you have a relapse?\" He looked past Dunworthy, and his mouth fell open. \"Are we there?\"\n\nDunworthy let go of Colin's arm and grabbed in his jerkin for his spectacles.\n\n\"Badri!\" he shouted. \"Open the drop!\" He put on his spectacles. They were covered with frost. He yanked them off again and scraped at the lenses. \"Badri!\"\n\n\"Where are we?\" Colin asked.\n\nDunworthy hooked his spectacles over his ears and looked around at the trees. They were ancient, the ivy twining their trunks silver with frost. There was no sign of Kivrin.\n\nHe had expected her to be here, which was ridiculous. They had already opened the drop and not found her, but he had hoped that when she realized where she was, she would come back to the drop and wait. But she wasn't here, and there was no sign she had ever been.\n\nThe snow they were standing in was smooth and free of footprints. It was deep enough to hide any she might have left before it fell, but it wasn't deep enough to have hidden the smashed cart and the scattered boxes. And there was no sign of the Oxford-Bath road.\n\n\"I don't know where we are,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, I know it's not Oxford,\" Colin said, stamping through the snow. \"Because it's not raining.\"\n\nDunworthy looked up through the trees at the pale, clear sky. If there had been the same amount of slippage as in Kivrin's drop, it would be midmorning.\n\nColin darted off through the snow toward a thicket of reddish willows.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"To find a road. The drop's supposed to be near a road, isn't it?\" He plunged into the thicket and disappeared.\n\n\"Colin!\" he shouted, starting after him. \"Come back here.\"\n\n\"Here it is!\" Colin called from somewhere beyond the willows. \"The road's here!\"\n\n\"Come back here!\" Dunworthy shouted.\n\nColin reappeared, holding the willows apart.\n\n\"Come here,\" he said more calmly.\n\n\"It goes up a hill,\" he said, squeezing through the willows into the clearing. \"We can climb it and see where we are.\"\n\nHe was already wet, his brown coat covered with snow from the willows, and he looked wary, braced for bad news.\n\n\"You're sending me back, aren't you?\"\n\n\"I must,\" Dunworthy said, but his heart sank at the prospect. Badri would not have the drop open for at least two hours, and he was not certain how long it would stay open. He didn't have two hours to spare, waiting here to send Colin through, and he couldn't leave him behind. \"You're my responsibility.\"\n\n\"And you're mine,\" Colin said stubbornly. \"Great-aunt Mary told me to take care of you. What if you have a relapse?\"\n\n\"You don't understand. The Black Death\u2014\"\n\n\"It's all right. Really. I've had the streptomycin and all that. I made William have his nurse give them to me. You can't send me back now, the drop isn't open, and it's too cold to just stay here and wait for an hour. If we go look for Kivrin now, we might have found her by then.\"\n\nHe was right about their not being able to remain here. The cold was already seeping through the outlandish Victorian cape, and Colin's burlap coat was even less protection than his old jacket and as wet.\n\n\"We'll go to the top of the hill,\" he said, \"but first we must mark the clearing so we can find it again. And you can't go running off like that. I want you in sight at all times. I don't have time to go looking for you as well.\"\n\n\"I won't get lost,\" Colin said, rummaging in his pack. He held up a flat rectangle. \"I brought a locator. It's already set to home in on the clearing.\"\n\nHe held the willows apart for Dunworthy, and they went out to the road. It was scarcely a cow path and was covered with snow unmarked except by the tracks of squirrels and a dog or possibly a wolf. Colin walked obediently at Dunworthy's side till they were halfway up the hill and then couldn't restrain himself and took off running.\n\nDunworthy trudged after him, fighting the tightness already in his chest. The trees stopped halfway up the hill, and the wind began where they left off. It was bitingly cold.\n\n\"I can see the village,\" Colin shouted down to him.\n\nHe came up beside Colin. The wind was worse here, cutting straight through the cape, lining or no lining, and pushing long streamers of cloud across the pale sky. Far off to the south a plume of smoke climbed straight into the sky, and then, caught by the wind, veered off sharply to the east.\n\n\"See?\" Colin said, pointing.\n\nA rolling plain lay below them, covered in snow almost too bright to look at. The bare trees and the roads stood out darkly against it, like markings on a map. The Oxford-Bath road was a straight black line, bisecting the snowy plain, and Oxford a pencil drawing. He could see the snowy roofs and the square tower of St. Michael's above the dark walls.\n\n\"It doesn't look like the Black Death is here yet, does it?\" Colin said.\n\nColin was right. It looked serene, untouched, the ancient Oxford of legend. It was impossible to imagine it overrun with the plague, the dead carts full of bodies being pulled through the narrow streets, the colleges boarded up and abandoned, and everywhere the dying and the already dead. Impossible to imagine Kivrin out there somewhere, in one of those villages he could not see.\n\n\"Can't you see it?\" Colin said, pointing south. \"Behind those trees.\"\n\nHe squinted, trying to make out buildings among the cluster of trees. He could see a darker shape among the gray branches, the tower of a church, perhaps, or the angle of a manor house.\n\n\"There's the road that leads to it,\" Colin said, pointing to a narrow gray line that began somewhere below them.\n\nDunworthy examined the map Montoya had given him. There was no way to tell which village it was even with her notes without knowing how far they were from the intended drop site. If they were directly south of it, the village was too far east to be Skendgate, but where he thought it should be there were no trees, nothing, only a flat field of snow.\n\n\"Well?\" Colin said. \"Are we going to it?\"\n\nIt was the only village visible, if it was a village, and it looked to be no more than a kilometer away. If it was not Skendgate, it was at least in the proper direction, and if it had one of Montoya's \"distinguishing characteristics,\" they could use it to get their bearings.\n\n\"You must keep with me at all times and speak to no one, do you understand?\"\n\nColin nodded, clearly not listening. \"I think the road is this way,\" he said and ran down the far side of the hill.\n\nDunworthy followed, trying not to think how many villages there were, how little time there was, how tired he was after only one hill.\n\n\"How did you talk William into the streptomycin inoculations?\" he asked when he caught up to Colin.\n\n\"He wanted Great-aunt Mary's med number so he could forge the authorizations. It was in the kit in her shopping bag.\"\n\n\"And you refused to give it to him unless he agreed?\"\n\n\"Yes, and I told him I'd tell his mother about all his girls,\" he said and ran off ahead again.\n\nThe road he'd seen was a hedge. Dunworthy refused to set off through the field it bordered. \"We must keep to the roads,\" he said.\n\n\"This is quicker,\" Colin protested. \"It isn't as if we can get lost. We've got the locator.\"\n\nDunworthy refused to argue. He continued on, looking for a turning. The narrow fields gave way to woods and the road turned back to the north.\n\n\"What if there isn't a road to the village?\" Colin said after half a kilometer, but at the next turning there was one.\n\nIt was narrower than the one past the drop, and no one had traveled along it since the snow. They waded into it, their feet breaking through the frozen crust at every step. Dunworthy looked anxiously ahead for a glimpse of the village, but the woods were too thick to see through.\n\nThe snow made it slow going, and he was already out of breath, the tightness in his chest like an iron band.\n\n\"What do we do when we get there?\" Colin asked, striding effortlessly through the snow.\n\n\"You stay out of sight and wait for me,\" Dunworthy said. \"Is that perfectly clear?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Colin said. \"Are you certain this is the right road?\"\n\nDunworthy was not certain at all. It had been curving west, away from the direction he thought the village lay in, and just ahead it bent north again. He peered anxiously through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of stone or thatch.\n\n\"The village wasn't this far, I'm sure of it,\" Colin said, rubbing his arms. \"We've been walking for hours.\"\n\nIt had not been hours, but it had been at least an hour, and they had not come to so much as a cottar's hut, let alone a village. There were a score of villages here, but where?\n\nColin took out his locator. \"See,\" he said, showing Dunworthy the readout. \"We've come too far south. I think we should go back to the other road.\"\n\nDunworthy looked at the readout and then at the map. They were nearly straight south of the drop and over three kilometers from it. They would have to retrace their steps nearly all the way, with no hope of finding Kivrin in that time, and at the end of it, he was not certain he would be able to go any farther. He already felt done in, the band tightening round his chest with every step, and he had a sharp pain midway up his ribs. He turned and looked at the curve ahead, trying to think what to do.\n\n\"My feet are freezing,\" Colin said. He stamped his feet in the snow, and a bird flew up, startled, and flapped away. Dunworthy looked up, frowning. The sky was becoming overcast.\n\n\"We should have followed the hedge,\" Colin said. \"It would have been much\u2014\"\n\n\"Hush,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"What is it?\" Colin whispered. \"Is someone coming?\"\n\n\"Shh,\" Dunworthy whispered. He backed Colin to the edge of the road and listened again. He'd thought he'd heard a horse, but now he couldn't hear anything. It might only have been the bird.\n\nHe motioned Colin behind a tree. \"Stay here,\" he whispered and crept forward till he could see around the curve.\n\nThe black stallion was tied to a thorn bush. Dunworthy backed hastily behind a spruce tree and stood still, trying to see the rider. There was no one in the road. He waited, trying to quiet his own breathing so he could hear; but no one came, and he could hear nothing but the stallion's pacing.\n\nIt was saddled, and its bridle was chased with silver, but it looked thin, its ribs standing out sharply against the girth. The girth itself was loose, and the saddle slipped a little to the side as it stepped backward. The stallion tossed its head, pulling hard against the reins. It was obviously trying to free itself, and as Dunworthy moved closer he could see it was not tied but tangled in the brambles.\n\nHe stepped into the road. The stallion turned its head toward him and began to whinny wildly.\n\n\"There, there, it's all right,\" he said, coming up carefully on its left side. He put his hand on its neck, and it stopped whinnying and began nosing at Dunworthy, looking for food.\n\nHe looked for some grass sticking up through the snow to feed it, but the area around the thornbush was nearly bare of vegetation.\n\n\"How long have you been trapped here, old boy?\" he asked. Had the stallion's owner been stricken with the plague as he rode, or had he died, and the panicked horse bolted, running until its flying reins got tangled in the bush?\n\nHe walked a little way into the woods, looking for footprints, but there weren't any. The stallion began to whinny again, and he went back to free it, snatching up stalks of grass that stuck up through the snow as he went.\n\n\"A horse! Apocalyptic!\" Colin said, racing up. \"Where did you find it?\"\n\n\"I told you to stay where you were.\"\n\n\"I know, but I heard the horse whinnying, and I thought you'd run into trouble.\"\n\n\"All the more reason for you to have obeyed me.\" He handed the grass to Colin. \"Feed him these.\"\n\nHe bent over the bush and pulled out the reins. The stallion, in its efforts to extricate itself, had twisted the rein hopelessly round the spiked brambles. Dunworthy had to hold the branches back with one hand and reach in with the other to unwind it. He was covered with scratches within seconds.\n\n\"Whose horse is it?\" Colin asked, offering the horse a piece of grass from a distance of several feet. The starving animal lunged at it and Colin jumped back, dropping it. \"Are you sure it's tame?\"\n\nDunworthy had incurred a near-fatal injury when the stallion jerked its head down for the grass, but he had the rein free. He wrapped it around his bleeding hand and took up the other one.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Whose horse is it?\" Colin said, stroking its nose timidly.\n\n\"Ours.\" He tightened the girth and helped Colin, protesting, up behind the saddle, and mounted.\n\nThe stallion, not yet realizing it was free, turned its head accusingly when he kicked it gently in the sides but then cantered off back down the snow-packed road, delighted at its freedom.\n\nColin clutched frantically at Dunworthy's middle, just at the spot where the pain was, but by the time they had gone a hundred meters, he was sitting up straight and asking \"How do you steer it?\" and \"What if you want it to go faster?\"\n\nIt took them no time at all to return to the main road. Colin wanted to go back to the hedge and strike out across country, but Dunworthy turned the stallion the other way. The road forked in half a mile, and he took the left-hand road.\n\nIt was a good deal more traveled than the first one, though the woods it led through were even thicker. The sky was completely overcast now, and the wind was picking up.\n\n\"I see it!\" Colin said, and let go with one hand to point past a stand of ash trees to a glimpse of dark gray stone roof against the gray sky. A church, perhaps, or a byre house. It lay off to the east, and almost immediately a narrow track branched from the road, over a rickety wooden plank bridging a stream, and across a narrow meadow.\n\nThe stallion did not prick up its ears or attempt to speed its pace, and Dunworthy concluded it must not be from this village. And a good thing, too, or we'd be hanged for horse stealing before we could ask where Kivrin is, he thought, and saw the sheep.\n\nThey lay on their sides, mounds of dirty gray wool, though some of them had huddled near the trees, trying to keep out of the wind and the snow.\n\nColin hadn't seen. \"What do we do when we get there?\" he asked Dunworthy's back. \"Do we sneak in or just ride up and ask somebody if they've seen her?\"\n\nThere will be no one to ask, Dunworthy thought. He kicked the stallion into a canter and they rode through the ash trees and into the village.\n\nIt was not at all like the illustrations in Colin's book, buildings around a central clearing. They were scattered in among the trees, almost out of sight of one another. He glimpsed thatched roofs, and farther off, in a grove of ash trees, the church, but here, in a clearing as small as that of the drop, was only a timbered house and a low shed.\n\nIt was too small to be a manor house\u2014the steward's perhaps, or the reeve's. The wooden door of the shed stood open, and snow had drifted in. There was no smoke from the roof, and no sound.\n\n\"Perhaps they've fled,\" Colin said. \"Lots of people fled when they heard the plague was coming. That's how it spread.\"\n\nPerhaps they had fled. The snow in front of the house was packed flat and hard, as if many people and horses had been in the yard.\n\n\"Stay here with the horse,\" he said, and went up to the house. The door here was not shut either, though it had been pulled nearly to. He ducked in the little door.\n\nIt was icy inside and so dark after the bright snow that he could see nothing except the red afterimage. He pushed the door open all the way, but there was still scarcely any light, and everything seemed tinged with red.\n\nIt must be the steward's house. There were two rooms, separated by a timbered partition, and matting on the floor. The table was bare, and the fire on the hearth had been out for days. The little room was filled with the smell of cold ashes. The steward and his family had fled, and perhaps the rest of the villagers, too, no doubt taking the plague with them. And Kivrin.\n\nHe leaned against the doorjamb, the tightness in his chest suddenly a pain again. Of all his worries over Kivrin, this one had never occurred to him, that she would have gone.\n\nHe looked into the other room. Colin ducked his head in the door. \"The horse keeps trying to drink out of a bucket that's out here. Should I let it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, standing so Colin couldn't see round the partition. \"But don't let him drink too much. He hasn't had any water for days.\"\n\n\"There isn't all that much in the bucket.\" He looked round the room interestedly. \"This is one of the serf's huts, right? They really were poor, weren't they? Did you find anything?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"Go and watch the horse. And don't let him wander off.\"\n\nColin went out, brushing his head against the top of the door.\n\nThe baby lay on a bag of flocking in the corner. It had apparently still been alive when the mother died; she lay on the mud floor, her hands stretched out toward it. Both were dark, almost black, and the baby's swaddling clothes were stiff with dried blood.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy!\" Colin called, sounding alarmed, and Dunworthy jerked around, afraid he had come in again, but he was still out with the stallion, whose nose was deep in the bucket.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked.\n\n\"There's something over there on the ground.\" Colin pointed toward the huts. \"I think it's a body.\" He yanked on the stallion's reins, so hard the bucket fell over and a thin puddle of water spilled out on the snow.\n\n\"Wait,\" Dunworthy said, but Colin was already running forward into the trees, the stallion following.\n\n\"It is a b\u2014\" Colin said, and his voice cut off sharply. Dunworthy ran up, holding his side.\n\nIt was a body, a young man's. He lay sprawled face up in the snow in a frozen puddle of black liquid. There was a dusting of snow on his face. His buboes must have burst, Dunworthy thought, and looked at Colin, but he was not looking at the body, but at the clearing beyond.\n\nIt was larger than the one in front of the steward's house. At its edges lay half a dozen huts, at the far end the Norman church. And in the center, on the trampled snow, lay the bodies.\n\nThey had made no attempt at burying them, though by the church there was a shallow trench, a mound of snow-covered dirt piled beside it. Some of them seemed to have been dragged to the churchyard\u2014there were long, sledlike marks in the snow\u2014and one at least had crawled to the door of his hut. He lay half in, half out.\n\n\"'Fear God,'\" Dunworthy murmured,\" 'for the hour of His judgment is come.'\"\n\n\"It looks like there was a battle here,\" Colin said.\n\n\"There was,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nColin stepped forward, peering down at the body. \"Do you think they're all dead?\"\n\n\"Don't touch them,\" Dunworthy said. \"Don't even go near them.\"\n\n\"I've had the gamma globulin,\" he said, but he stepped back from the body, swallowing.\n\n\"Take deep breaths,\" Dunworthy said, putting his hand on Colin's shoulder. \"And look at something else.\"\n\n\"They said in the book it was like this,\" he said, staring determinedly at an oak tree. \"Actually, I was afraid it might be a good deal worse. I mean, it doesn't smell or anything.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe swallowed again. \"I'm all right now.\" He looked round the clearing. \"Where do you think Kivrin's likely to be?\"\n\nNot here, Dunworthy prayed.\n\n\"She might be in the church,\" he said, starting forward with the stallion again, \"and we need to see if the tomb's there. This might not be the village.\" The stallion took two steps forward and reared its head, its ears back. It whinnied frightenedly.\n\n\"Go and put him in the shed,\" Dunworthy said, taking hold of the reins. \"He can smell the blood, and he's frightened. Tie him up.\"\n\nHe led the stallion back out of sight of the body and handed the reins to Colin, who took them, looking worried. \"It's all right,\" Colin said, leading it toward the steward's house. \"I know just how you feel.\"\n\nDunworthy walked rapidly across the clearing to the churchyard. There were four bodies in the shallow pit and two graves next to it, covered with snow, the first to die perhaps, when there were still such things as funerals. He went round to the front of the church.\n\nThere were two more bodies in front of the door. They lay face down, on top of one another, the one on top an old man. The body underneath was a woman's. He could see the skirts of her rough cloak and one of her hands. The man's arms were flung across the woman's head and shoulders.\n\nDunworthy lifted the man's arm gingerly, and his body shifted slightly sideways, pulling the cloak with it. The kirtle underneath was dirty and smeared with blood, but he could see that it had been bright blue. He pulled the hood back. There was a rope around the woman's neck. Her long blond hair was tangled in the rough fibers.\n\nThey hanged her, he thought with no surprise at all.\n\nColin ran up. \"I figured out what these marks on the ground are,\" he said. \"They're where they dragged the bodies. There's a little kid behind the barn with a rope around his neck.\"\n\nDunworthy looked at the rope, at the tangle of hair. It was so dirty it was scarcely blond.\n\n\"They dragged them to the churchyard because they couldn't carry them, I bet,\" Colin said.\n\n\"Did you put the stallion in the shed?\"\n\n\"Yes. I tied it to a beam thing,\" he said. \"It wanted to come with me.\"\n\n\"He's hungry,\" Dunworthy said. \"Go back to the shed and give him some hay.\"\n\n\"Did something happen?\" Colin asked. \"You're not having a relapse, are you?\"\n\nDunworthy didn't think Colin could see her dress from where he stood. \"No,\" he said. \"There should be some hay in the shed. Or some oats. Go and feed the stallion.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Colin said defensively, and ran toward the shed. He stopped halfway across the green. \"I don't have to give it the hay, do I?\" he shouted. \"Can I just lay it down in front of it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, looking at her hand. There was blood on her hand, too, and down the inside of her wrist. Her arm was bent, as though she had tried to break her fall. He could take hold of her elbow and turn her onto her back quite easily. All it required was to take hold of her elbow.\n\nHe picked up her hand. It was stiff and cold. Under the dirt it was red and chapped, the skin split in a dozen places. It could not possibly be Kivrin's, and if it were, what had she gone through these past two weeks to bring her to this state?\n\nIt would all be on the corder. He turned her hand gently over, looking for the implant scar, but her wrist was too caked with dirt for him to be able to see it, if it was there.\n\nAnd if it was, what then? Call Colin back and send him for an axe in the steward's kitchen and chop it out of her dead hand so they could listen to her voice telling the horrors that had happened to her? He could not do it, of course, any more than he could turn her body over and know once and for all that it was Kivrin.\n\nHe laid the hand gently back next to the body and took hold of her elbow and turned her over.\n\nShe had died of the bubonic variety. There was a foul yellow stain down the side of her blue kirtle where the bubo under her arm had split and run. Her tongue was black and so swollen it filled her entire mouth, like some ghastly, obscene object thrust between her teeth to choke her, and her pale face was swollen and distorted.\n\nIt was not Kivrin. He tried to stand, staggering a little, and then thought, too late, that he should have covered the woman's face.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy!\" Colin shouted, coming at a dead run, and he looked up blindly, helplessly at him.\n\n\"What's happened! \" Colin said accusingly. \"Did you find her?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, blocking Colin's way. We're not going to find her.\n\nColin was looking past him at the woman. Her face was bluish-white against the white snow, the bright blue dress. \"You found her, didn't you? Is that her?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said. But it could be. It could be. And I cannot turn over any more bodies, thinking it might be. His knees felt watery, as though they would not support him. \"Help me back to the shed,\" he said.\n\nColin stood stubbornly where he was. \"If it's her, you can tell me. I can bear it.\"\n\nBut I can't, Dunworthy thought. I can't bear it if she's dead.\n\nHe started back toward the steward's house, keeping one hand on the cold stone wall of the church and wondering what he would do when he came to open space.\n\nColin leaped beside him, taking his arm, looking anxiously at him. \"What's the matter? Are you having a relapse?\"\n\n\"I just need to rest a bit,\" he said and went on, almost without meaning to, \"Kivrin wore a blue dress when she went.\" When she went, when she lay down on the ground and closed her eyes, helpless and trusting, and disappeared forever into this chamber of horrors.\n\nColin pushed the door of the shed open and helped Dunworthy inside, holding him up with both hands on his arm. The stallion looked up from a sack of oats.\n\n\"I couldn't find any hay,\" Colin said, \"so I gave it some grain. Horses eat grain, don't they?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, leaning into the sacks. \"Don't let him eat them all. He'll gorge himself and burst.\"\n\nColin went over to the sack and began dragging it out of the stallion's reach. \"Why did you think it was Kivrin?\" he said.\n\n\"I saw the blue dress,\" Dunworthy said. \"Kivrin's dress was that color.\"\n\nThe bag was too heavy for Colin. He yanked on it with both hands, and the side split, spilling oats on the straw. The stallion nibbled eagerly at them. \"No, I mean all those people died of the plague, didn't they? And she's been immunized. So she couldn't get the plague. And what else would she die of?\"\n\nOf this, Dunworthy thought. No one could have lived through this, watching children and infants die like animals, piling them in pits and shoveling dirt over them, dragging them along with a rope around their dead necks. How could she have survived this?\n\nColin had maneuvered the sack out of reach. He let it fall next to a small chest and came over and stood in front of Dunworthy, a little breathless. \"Are you sure you're not having a relapse?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, but he was already beginning to shiver.\n\n\"Perhaps you're just tired,\" Colin said. \"You rest, and I'll be back in a moment.\"\n\nHe went out, pushing the shed's door shut behind him. The stallion was nibbling the oats Colin had spilled, taking noisy, chomping bites. Dunworthy stood up, holding to the rough beam, and went over to the little chest. The casket's brass bindings had tarnished and the leather on the lid had a small gouge in it, but otherwise it looked brand-new.\n\nHe sat down beside it and opened the lid. The steward had used it for his tools. There was a coil of leather rope in it and a rusty mattock head. The blue cloth lining Gilchrist had talked about in the pub was torn where the mattock had lain against it.\n\nColin came back in, carrying the bucket. \"I brought you some water,\" he said. \"I got it out of the stream.\" He set the bucket down and fumbled in his pockets for a bottle. \"I've only got ten aspirin, so you can't have much of a relapse. I stole them from Mr. Finch.\"\n\nHe shook two into his hands. \"I stole some synthamycin, too, but I was afraid it hadn't been invented yet. I figured they had to have had aspirin.\" He handed the aspirin tablets to Dunworthy and brought the bucket over. \"You'll have to use your hand. I thought the contemps' bowls and things were probably full of plague germs.\"\n\nDunworthy swallowed the aspirin and scooped a handful of water out of the bucket to wash it down. \"Colin,\" he said.\n\nColin took the bucket over to the stallion. \"I don't think this is the right village. I went in the church and the only tomb in there was of some lady.\" He pulled the map and the locator out of another pocket. \"We're still too far east. I think we're here\"\u2014he pointed at one of Montoya's notes\u2014\"so if we go back to that other road and then cut straight east\u2014\"\n\n\"We're going back to the drop,\" Dunworthy said. He stood up carefully, not touching the wall or the trunk.\n\n\"Why? Badri said we had a day at least, and we've only checked one village. There are lots of villages. She could be in any of them.\"\n\nDunworthy untied the stallion.\n\n\"I could take the horse and go look for her,\" Colin said. \"I could ride really fast and look in all these villages and then come back and tell you as soon as I find her. Or we could split up the villages and each take half, and whoever finds her first could send some kind of signal. We could light a fire or something and then the other one would see it and come.\"\n\n\"She's dead, Colin. We're not going to find her.\"\n\n\"Don't say that!\" Colin said, and his voice sounded high and childish. \"She isn't dead! She had her inoculations!\"\n\nDunworthy pointed at the leather chest. \"This is the casket she brought through.\"\n\n\"Well, what if it is?\" Colin said. \"There could be lots of chests like it. Or she could have run away, when the plague came. We can't go back and just leave her here! What if it was me that was lost and I waited and waited for somebody to come and nobody did?\" His nose had begun to run.\n\n\"Colin,\" Dunworthy said helplessly, \"sometimes you do everything you can, and you still can't save them.\"\n\n\"Like Great-aunt Mary,\" Colin said. He swiped at his tears with the back of his hand. \"But not always.\"\n\nAlways, Dunworthy thought. \"No,\" he said. \"Not always.\"\n\n\"Sometimes you can save them,\" Colin said stubbornly.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"All right.\" He tied the stallion up again. \"We'll go and look for her. Give me two more aspirin, and let me rest a bit till they take effect, and we'll go and look for her.\"\n\n\"Apocalyptic,\" Colin said. He grabbed the bucket away from the stallion, who had gone back to slurping it. \"I'll fetch some more water.\"\n\nHe went running out, and Dunworthy eased himself to sitting against the wall. \"Please,\" he said. \"Please let us find her.\"\n\nThe door opened slowly. Colin, standing in the light, was outlined in radiance. \"Did you hear it?\" he demanded. \"Listen.\"\n\nIt was a faint sound, muffled by the walls of the shed. And there was a long pause between peals, but he could hear it. He stood up and went outside.\n\n\"It's coming from over there,\" Colin said, pointing toward the southwest.\n\n\"Get the stallion,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Are you certain it's Kivrin?\" Colin said. \"It's the wrong direction.\"\n\n\"It's Kivrin,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "The bell stopped before they even got the stallion saddled. \"Hurry!\" Dunworthy said, cinching the girth strap.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Colin said, looking at the map. \"It rang three times. I've got a fix on it. It's due southwest, right? And this is Henefelde, right?\" He held the map in front of Dunworthy, pointing to each place in turn. \"Then it's got to be this village here.\"\n\nDunworthy glanced at it and then toward the southwest again, trying to keep the direction of the bell clear in his mind. He was already unsure of it, though he could still feel the throbbing of its tolling. He wished the aspirin would take effect soon.\n\n\"Come on, then,\" Colin said, pulling the stallion over to the door of the shed. \"Get on, and let's go.\"\n\nDunworthy put his foot in the stirrup and swung the other leg over. He was instantly dizzy. Colin looked speculatively at him, and then said, \"I think I'd better drive,\" and swung himself up in front of Dunworthy.\n\nColin's kick on the stallion's flanks was too gentle and his yanking on the reins too violent but the stallion, amazingly, moved off docilely across the green and onto the lane.\n\n\"We know where the village is,\" Colin said confidently. \"All we need to find is a road that goes in that direction,\" and almost immediately declared that they had found it. It was a fairly wide path, and it led down a slope and into a stand of pines, but only a few yards into the trees it split in two, and Colin looked questioningly back at Dunworthy.\n\nThe stallion didn't hesitate. It started off down the right-hand path. \"Look, it knows where it's going,\" Colin said delightedly.\n\nI'm glad one of us does, Dunworthy thought, pressing his eyes shut against the jouncing landscape and the throbbing. The stallion, given its head, was obviously going home, and he knew he should tell Colin that, but the illness was closing in on him again, and he was afraid to let go of Colin's waist for even a moment, for fear the fever would get away from him. He was so cold. That was the fever, of course, the throbbing, the dizziness, they were all the fever, and a fever was a good sign, the body marshaling its forces to fight off the virus, assembling the troops. The chill was only a side effect of the fever.\n\n\"Blood, it's getting colder,\" Colin said, pulling his coat closed with one hand. \"I hope it doesn't snow.\" He let go of the reins altogether and pulled his muffler up around his mouth and nose. The stallion didn't even notice. It plodded steadily ahead through deeper and deeper woods. They came to another fork and then another, and each time Colin consulted the map and the locator, but Dunworthy couldn't tell which fork he chose or whether the horse had simply kept on in the direction it had set.\n\nIt began to snow, or they rode into it. All at once it was snowing, small steady flakes that obscured the path and melted on Dunworthy's spectacles.\n\nThe aspirin began to take effect. Dunworthy sat up straighter and pulled his own cloak about him. He wiped his spectacles on the tail of it. His fingers were numb and bright red. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. They were still in the woods, and the path was narrower than when they started.\n\n\"The map says Skendgate is five kilometers from Henefelde,\" Colin said, wiping snow off the locator, \"and we've come at least four, so we're nearly there.\"\n\nThey were not nearly anywhere. They were in the middle of the Wychwood, on a cow path or a deer trail. It would end at a cottar's hut or a salt lick, or a berry bush the horse had fond memories of.\n\n\"See, I told you,\" Colin said, and there, past the trees, was the top of a bell tower. The stallion broke into a canter. \"Stop,\" Colin said to the stallion, pulling on the reins. \"Wait a minute.\"\n\nDunworthy took the reins and slowed the horse to a reluctant walk as they came out of the woods, past a snow-covered meadow, and to the top of the hill.\n\nThe village lay below them, past a stand of ash trees, obscured by the snow so that they could only make out gray outlines: manor house, huts, church, bell tower. It wasn't the right village\u2014Skendgate didn't have a bell tower\u2014but if Colin had noticed, he didn't say anything. He kicked the stallion ineffectually a few times, and they rode slowly down the hill, Dunworthy still holding on to the reins.\n\nThere were no bodies Dunworthy could see, but there were no people either, and no smoke from the huts. The bell tower looked silent and deserted, and there were no footprints around it.\n\nHalfway down the hill, Colin said, \"I saw something.\" Dunworthy had seen it, too. A flicker of movement that could have been a bird or a moving branch. \"Just over there,\" Colin said, pointing toward the second hut. A cow wandered out from between the huts, untied, its teats bulging, and Dunworthy was certain of what he'd feared, that the plague had been here, too.\n\n\"It's a cow,\" Colin said disgustedly. The cow looked up at the sound of Colin's voice and began to walk toward them, lowing.\n\n\"Where is everybody?\" Colin said. \"Somebody had to ring the bell.\"\n\nThey're all dead, Dunworthy thought, looking toward the churchyard. There were new graves there, the earth mounded up over them, and the snow still not completely covering them. Hopefully, they're all buried in that churchyard, he thought, and saw the first body. It was a young boy. He was sitting with his back to a tombstone, as if he were resting.\n\n\"Look, there's somebody,\" Colin said, yanking back on the reins and pointing at the body. \"Hullo there!\"\n\nHe twisted around to look at Dunworthy. \"Will they understand what we say, do you think?\"\n\n\"He's\u2014\" Dunworthy said.\n\nThe boy stood up, hauling himself painfully to his feet, one hand on the tombstone for support, looking around as if for a weapon.\n\n\"We won't hurt you,\" Dunworthy called, trying to think what the Middle English would be. He slid down from the stallion, clinging to the back of the saddle at the abrupt dizziness. He straightened and extended his hand, palm outward, toward the boy.\n\nThe boy's face was filthy, streaked and smeared with dirt and blood, and the front of his smock and rolled-up trousers were soaked and stiff with it. He bent down, holding his side as if the movement hurt him, picked up a stick that had been lying covered with snow, and stepped forward, barring his way. \" Kepe from haire. Der fevreblau hast bifalien us\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" Dunworthy said, and started toward her.\n\n\"Don't come any closer,\" she said in English, holding the stick out in front of her like a gun. Its end was broken off jaggedly.\n\n\"It's me, Kivrin, Mr. Dunworthy,\" he said, still walking toward her.\n\n\"No!\" she said and backed away, jabbing the broken spade at him. \"You don't understand. It's the plague.\"\n\n\"It's all right, Kivrin. We've been inoculated.\"\n\n\"Inoculated,\" she said as if she didn't know what the word meant. \"It was the bishop's clerk. He had it when they came.\"\n\nColin ran up, and she raised the stick again.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Dunworthy said again. \"This is Colin. He's been inoculated as well. We've come to take you home.\"\n\nShe looked at him steadily for a long minute, the snow falling around them. \"To take me home,\" she said, no expression in her voice, and looked down at the grave at her feet. It was shorter than the others, and narrower, as if it held a child.\n\nAfter a minute she looked up at Dunworthy, and there was no expression in her face either. I am too late, he thought despairingly, looking at her standing there in her bloody smock, surrounded by graves. They have already crucified her. \"Kivrin,\" he said.\n\nShe let the spade fall. \"You must help me,\" she said, and turned and walked away from them toward the church.\n\n\"Are you sure it's her?\" Colin whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"What's the matter with her?\"\n\nI'm too late, he thought, and put his hand on Colin's shoulder for support. She will never forgive me.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Colin asked. \"Are you feeling ill again?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, but he waited a moment before he took his hand away.\n\nKivrin had stopped at the church door and was holding her side again. A chill went through him. She has it, he thought. She has the plague. \"Are you ill?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" she said. She took her hand away and looked at it as if she expected it to be covered in blood. \"He kicked me.\" She tried to push the church door open, winced, and let Colin. \"I think he broke some ribs.\"\n\nColin got the heavy wooden door open, and they went inside. Dunworthy blinked against the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust to it. There was no light at all from the narrow windows, though he could tell where they were. He could make out a low, heavy shape ahead on the left\u2014a body?\u2014and the darker masses of the first pillars, but beyond them it was completely dark. Beside him, Colin was fumbling in his baggy pockets.\n\nFar ahead, a flame flickered, illuminating nothing but itself. It went out. Dunworthy started toward it.\n\n\"Hold on a minute,\" Colin said, and flashed on a pocket torch. It blinded Dunworthy, making everything outside its diffused beam as black as when they first came in. Colin shone it around the church, on the painted walls, the heavy pillars, the uneven floor. The light caught on the shape Dunworthy had thought was a body. It was a stone tomb.\n\n\"She's up there,\" Dunworthy said, pointing toward the altar, and Colin obligingly aimed the torch in that direction.\n\nKivrin was kneeling by someone who lay on the floor in front of the rood screen. It was a man, Dunworthy saw as they came closer. His legs and lower body were covered with a purple blanket, and his large hands were crossed on his chest. Kivrin was trying to light a candle with a coal, but the candle had burned down into a misshapen stub of wax and would not stay lit. She seemed grateful when Colin came up with his torch. He shone it full on them.\n\n\"You must help me with Roche,\" she said, squinting into the light. She leaned toward the man and reached for his hand.\n\nShe thinks he's still alive, Dunworthy thought, but she said, in that flat, matter-of-fact voice, \"He died this morning.\"\n\nColin shone the pocket torch on the body. The crossed hands were nearly as purple as the blanket in the harsh light of the torch, but the man's face was pale and utterly at peace.\n\n\"What was he, a knight?\" Colin said wonderingly.\n\n\"No,\" Kivrin said. \"A saint.\"\n\nShe laid her hand on his stiff one. Her hand was callused and bloody, the fingernails black with dirt. \"You must help me,\" she said.\n\n\"Help you what?\" Colin asked.\n\nShe wants us to help her bury him, Dunworthy thought, and we can't. The man she had called Roche was huge. He must have towered over Kivrin when he was alive. Even if they could dig a grave, the three of them together could not carry him, and Kivrin would never let them put a rope around his neck and drag him out to the churchyard.\n\n\"Help you what?\" Colin said. \"We don't have much time.\"\n\nThey hadn't any time. It was already late afternoon, and they would never find their way through the forest after dark, and there was no telling how long Badri could keep the intermittent going. He had said twenty-four hours, but he had not looked strong enough to last two, and it had already been nearly eight. And the ground was frozen, and Kivrin's ribs were broken, and the effects of the aspirin were wearing off. He was beginning to shiver again here in the cold church.\n\nWe can't bury him, he thought, looking at her kneeling there, and how can I tell her that when I have arrived too late for anything else?\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said.\n\nShe patted the stiff hand gently. \"We won't be able to bury him,\" she said in that calm, expressionless voice. \"We had to put Rosemund in his grave, after the steward\u2014\" She looked up at Dunworthy. \"I tried to dig another one this morning, but the ground's too hard. I broke the spade.\" She looked up at Dunworthy. \"I said the mass for the dead for him. And I tried to ring the bell.\"\n\n\"We heard you,\" Colin said. \"That's how we found you.\"\n\n\"It should have been nine strokes,\" she said, \"but I had to stop.\" She put her hand to her side, as if remembering pain. \"You must help me ring the rest.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Colin said. \"I don't think there's anybody left alive to hear it.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Kivrin said, looking at Dunworthy.\n\n\"We haven't time,\" Colin said. \"It'll be dark soon, and the drop is\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll ring it,\" Dunworthy said. He stood up. \"You stay there,\" he said, though she had made no move to get up. \"I'll ring the bell.\" He started back down the nave.\n\n\"It's getting dark,\" Colin said, trotting to catch up with him, the light from his torch dancing crazily over the pillars and the floor as he ran, \"and you said you didn't know how long they could hold the net open. Wait a minute.\"\n\nDunworthy pushed open the door, squinting against the expected glare of the snow, but it had grown darker while they were in the church, the sky heavy and smelling of snow. He walked rapidly across the churchyard to the bell tower. The cow that Colin had seen when they rode in the village ducked through the lychgate and ambled across the graves toward them, its hooves sinking in the snow.\n\n\"What's the use of ringing it when there's no one to hear it?\" Colin said, stopping to switch off his torch and then running to catch up again.\n\nDunworthy went in the tower. It was as dark and cold as the church and smelled of rats. The cow poked its head in, and Colin squeezed past it and stood against the curving wall.\n\n\"You're the one who keeps saying we have to get back to the drop, that it's going to close and leave us here,\" Colin said. \"You're the one who said we didn't have time even to find Kivrin.\"\n\nDunworthy stood there a moment, letting his eyes adjust and trying to catch his breath. He had walked too fast, and the tightness in his chest was back. He looked up at the rope. It hung above their heads in the darkness, a greasy-looking knot a foot from the frayed end.\n\n\"Can I ring it?\" Colin said, staring up at it.\n\n\"You're too small,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"I'm not,\" he said and jumped up at the rope. He caught the end, below the knot, and hung on for several moments before dropping, but the rope scarcely moved, and the bell only clanged faintly and out of tune, as if someone had hit the side of it with a rock. \"It's heavy,\" he said.\n\nDunworthy raised his arms and took hold of the rough rope. It was cold and bristly. He yanked sharply down, not sure he could do any better than Colin, and the rope cut into his hands. Bong.\n\n\"It's loud!\" Colin said, clapping his hands over his ears and gazing delightedly up at it.\n\n\"One,\" Dunworthy said. One and up. Remembering the Americans, he bent his knees and pulled straight down on the rope. Two. And up. And three.\n\nHe wondered how Kivrin had been able to ring any strokes at all with her hurt ribs. The bell was far heavier, far louder than he had imagined, and it seemed to reverberate in his head, his tightening chest. Bong.\n\nHe thought of Ms. Piantini, bending her chubby knees and counting to herself. Five. He had not appreciated what difficult work it was. Each pull seemed to yank the breath out of his lungs. Six.\n\nHe wanted to stop and rest, but he didn't want Kivrin, listening inside the church, to think he had quit, that he had only intended to finish the strokes she had begun. He tightened his grip above the knot and leaned against the stone wall for a moment, trying to ease the tightness in his chest.\n\n\"Are you all right, Mr. Dunworthy?\" Colin said.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, and pulled down so hard it seemed to tear his lungs open. Seven.\n\nHe should not have leaned against the wall. The stones were cold as ice. They had set him shivering again. He thought of Ms. Taylor, trying to finish the Chicago Surprise Minor, counting how many strokes were left, trying not to give in to the pounding in her head.\n\n\"I can finish it,\" Colin said, and Dunworthy could scarcely hear him. \"I can go get Kivrin, and we can do the last two strokes. We can both pull on it.\"\n\nDunworthy shook his head. \"Every man must stick to his bell,\" he said breathlessly and yanked down on the rope. Eight. He must not let go of the rope. Ms. Taylor had fainted and let it go, and the bell had swung right over, the rope whipping like a live thing. It had wrapped itself around Finch's neck and nearly strangled him. He must hold to it, in spite of everything.\n\nHe pulled down on the rope and hung on to it till he was certain he could stand and then let it rise. \"Nine,\" he said.\n\nColin was frowning at him. \"You're having a relapse, aren't you?\" he said suspiciously.\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, and let go of the rope.\n\nThe cow had its head in the door. He pushed it roughly aside and walked back to the church and went inside.\n\nKivrin was still kneeling beside Roche, her hand still holding his stiff one.\n\nHe stopped in front of her. \"I rang the bell,\" he said.\n\nShe looked up without nodding.\n\n\"Don't you think we'd better go now?\" Colin said. \"It's getting dark.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. \"I think we'd best\u2014\" The dizziness caught him completely unawares, and he staggered and nearly fell into Roche's body.\n\nKivrin put out her hand, and Colin dived for him, the torch flashing erratically across the ceiling as he grabbed Dunworthy's arm. He caught himself on one knee and the flat of his hand and reached out with the other for Kivrin, but she was on her feet and backing away.\n\n\"You're ill!\" It was an accusation, an indictment. \"You've caught the plague, haven't you?\" she said, her voice showing emotion for the first time. \" Haven't you?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said, \"it's\u2014\"\n\n\"He's having a relapse,\" Colin said, sticking the torch in the crook of the statue's arm so he could help Dunworthy to a sitting position. \"He didn't pay any attention to my placards.\"\n\n\"It's a virus,\" Dunworthy said, sitting down with his back to the statue. \"It's not the plague. Both of us have had streptomycin and gamma globulin. We can't get the plague.\"\n\nHe leaned his head back against the statue. \"It's a virus. I'll be all right. I only need to rest a moment.\"\n\n\"I told him he shouldn't have rung the bell,\" Colin said, emptying the burlap sack onto the stone floor. He wrapped the empty sack around Dunworthy's shoulders.\n\n\"Are there any aspirin left?\" Dunworthy asked.\n\n\"You're only supposed to take them every three hours,\" Colin said, \"and you're not supposed to take them without water.\"\n\n\"Then fetch me some water,\" he snapped.\n\nColin looked to Kivrin for support, but she was still standing on the other side of Roche's body, watching Dunworthy warily.\n\n\"Now,\" Dunworthy said, and Colin ran out, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Dunworthy looked across at Kivrin, and she took a step back.\n\n\"It isn't the plague,\" he said. \"It's a virus. We were afraid you had been exposed to it before you came through and had come down with it. Did you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and knelt beside Roche. \"He saved my life.\"\n\nShe smoothed the purple blanket, and Dunworthy realized it was a velvet cloak. It had a large silk cross sewn in the center of it.\n\n\"He told me not to be afraid,\" she said. She pulled the cloak up over his chest, under his crossed hands, but the action left his feet, in thick, incongruous sandals, uncovered. Dunworthy took the burlap bag from around his shoulders and spread it gently over the feet, and then stood up, carefully, holding on to the statue so he wouldn't fall again.\n\nKivrin patted Roche's hands. \"He didn't mean to hurt me,\" she said.\n\nColin came back in with a bucket half-full of water he must have found in a puddle. He was breathing hard. \"The cow attacked me!\" he said, scooping a filthy dipper out of the bucket. He emptied the aspirin into Dunworthy's hand. There were five tablets.\n\nDunworthy took two of them, swallowing as little of the water as he could, and handed the others to Kivrin. She took them from him solemnly, still kneeling on the floor.\n\n\"I couldn't find any horses,\" Colin said, handing Kivrin the dipper. \"Just a mule.\"\n\n\"Donkey,\" Kivrin said. \"Maisry stole Agnes's pony.\" She gave Colin the dipper and took hold of Roche's hand again. \"He rang the bell for everyone, so their souls could go safely to heaven.\"\n\n\"Don't you think we'd better be going?\" Colin whispered. \"It's almost dark out.\"\n\n\"Even Rosemund,\" Kivrin said as if she hadn't heard. \"He was already ill. I told him there wasn't time, that we had to leave for Scotland.\"\n\n\"We must go now,\" Dunworthy said, \"before the light fails.\"\n\nShe didn't move or let go of Roche's hand. \"He held my hand when I was dying.\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said gently.\n\nShe laid her hand on Roche's cheek, looked at him a long moment, and then got to her knees. Dunworthy offered her his hand, but she stood up by herself, her hand pressed to her side, and walked down the nave.\n\nAt the door she turned and looked back into the darkness. \"He told me where the drop was when he was dying, so I could go back to heaven. He told me he wanted me to leave him there and go, so that when he came I would already be there,\" she said, and went out into the snow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "The snow fell silently, peacefully on the stallion and the donkey waiting by the lychgate. Dunworthy helped Kivrin onto the stallion, and she did not flinch away from his touch as he had been afraid she would, but as soon as she was up, she leaned away from his grasp and took hold of the reins. As soon as he removed his hands, she slumped back against the saddle, her hand against her side.\n\nDunworthy was shivering now, clenching his teeth against it so Colin wouldn't see. It took three tries to get him onto the donkey, and he thought he might slip off at any minute.\n\n\"I think I'd better lead your mule,\" Colin said, looking disapprovingly at him.\n\n\"There isn't time,\" Dunworthy said. \"It's getting dark. You ride behind Kivrin.\"\n\nColin led the stallion over to the lychgate, climbed up on the lintel, and scrambled up behind Kivrin.\n\n\"Do you have the locator?\" Dunworthy said, trying to kick the donkey without falling off.\n\n\"I know the way,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Colin said. He held it up. \"And the pocket torch.\" He flicked it on, and then shone it all around the churchyard, as if looking for something they might have left behind. He seemed to notice the graves for the first time.\n\n\"Is that where you buried everybody?\" he said, holding the light steady on the smooth white mounds.\n\n\"Yes,\" Kivrin said.\n\n\"Did they die a long time ago?\"\n\nShe turned the stallion and started it up the hill. \"No,\" she said.\n\nThe cow followed them partway up the hill, its swollen udders swinging, and then stopped and began lowing pitifully. Dunworthy looked back at it. It mooed uncertainly at him, and then ambled back down the road toward the village. They were nearly to the top of the hill, and the snow was letting up, but below, in the village, it was still snowing hard. The graves were covered completely, and the church was obscured, the bell tower scarcely visible at all.\n\nKivrin did not so much as glance back. She rode steadily forward, sitting very straight, with Colin on behind her, holding not to Kivrin's waist but to the high back of the saddle. The snow came down fitfully, and then in single flakes, and by the time they were in thick woods again, it had nearly stopped.\n\nDunworthy followed the horse, trying to keep up with its steady gait, trying not to give way to the fever. The aspirin was not working\u2014he had taken it with too little water\u2014and he could feel the fever beginning to overtake him, beginning to shut out the woods and the donkey's bony back and Colin's voice.\n\nHe was talking cheerfully to Kivrin, telling her about the epidemic, and the way he told it, it sounded like an adventure. \"They said there was a quarantine and we'd have to go back to London, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted to see Great-aunt Mary. So I sneaked through the barrier, and the guard saw me and said, 'You there! Stop!' and started to chase me, and I ran down the street and into this alley.\"\n\nThey stopped, and Colin and Kivrin dismounted. Colin took off his muffler, and she pulled up her blood-stiff smock and tied it around her ribs. Dunworthy knew the pain must be even worse than he'd thought, that he should try at least to help her, but he was afraid that if he got down off the donkey, he would not be able to get back on.\n\nKivrin and Colin mounted again, she helping him up, and they set off again, slowing at every turning and side path to check their direction, Colin hunching over the locator's screen and pointing, Kivrin nodding in confirmation.\n\n\"This was where I fell off the donkey,\" Kivrin said when they stopped at a fork. \" That first night. I was so sick. I thought he was a cutthroat.\"\n\nThey came to another fork. It had stopped snowing, but the clouds above the trees were dark and heavy. Colin had to shine his torch on the locator to read it. He pointed down the right-hand path, and got on behind Kivrin again, telling her his adventures.\n\n\"Mr. Dunworthy said, 'You've lost the fix,' and then he went straight over into Mr. Gilchrist and they both fell down,\" Colin said. \"Mr. Gilchrist was acting like he'd done it on purpose, he wouldn't even help me cover him up. He was shivering like blood, and he had a fever, and I kept shouting, 'Mr. Dunworthy! Mr. Dunworthy!' but he couldn't hear me. And Mr. Gilchrist kept saying, 'I'm holding you personally responsible.'\"\n\nIt began to spit snow again, and the wind picked up. Dunworthy clung to the donkey's stiff mane, shivering.\n\n\"They wouldn't tell me anything \" Colin was saying, \"and when I tried to get in to see Great-aunt Mary, they said, 'We don't allow children.'\"\n\nThey were riding into the wind, the snow blowing against Dunworthy's cloak in freezing gusts. He leaned forward till he was nearly lying on the donkey's neck.\n\n\"The doctor came out,\" Colin said, \"and he started whispering to this nurse, and I knew she was dead,\" and Dunworthy felt a sudden stab of grief, as if he were hearing it for the first time. Oh, Mary, he thought.\n\n\"I didn't know what to do,\" Colin said, \"so I just sat there, and Mrs. Gaddson, she's this necrotic person, came up and started reading to me out of the Bible how it was God's will. I hate Mrs. Gaddson!\" he said violently. \"She's the one who deserved to get the flu!\"\n\nTheir voices began to ring, the overtones echoing against and around the woods so that he shouldn't have been able to understand them, but oddly they rang clearer and clearer in the cold air, and he thought they must be able to hear them all the way to Oxford, seven hundred years away.\n\nIt came to Dunworthy suddenly that Mary wasn't dead, that here in this terrible year, in this century that was worse than a ten, she had not yet died, and it seemed to him a blessing beyond any he had any right to expect.\n\n\"And that was when we heard the bell,\" Colin said. \"Mr. Dunworthy said it was you calling for help.\"\n\n\"It was,\" Kivrin said. \"This won't work. He'll fall off.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Colin said, and Dunworthy realized that they had dismounted again and were standing next to the donkey, Kivrin holding the rope bridle.\n\n\"We have to put you on the horse,\" Kivrin said, taking hold of Dunworthy's waist. \"You're going to fall off the donkey. Come on. Get down. I'll help you.\"\n\nThey both had to help him down, Kivrin reaching around him in a way he knew had to hurt her ribs, Colin almost holding him up.\n\n\"If I could just sit down for a moment,\" Dunworthy said through chattering teeth.\n\n\"There isn't time,\" Colin said, but they helped him to the side of the path and eased him down against a rock.\n\nKivrin reached up under her smock and brought out three aspirin. \"Here. Take these,\" she said, holding them out to him on her open palm.\n\n\"Those were for you,\" he said. \"Your ribs\u2014\"\n\nShe looked at him steadily, unsmilingly. \"I'll be all right,\" she said, and went to tie the stallion to a bush.\n\n\"Do you want some water?\" Colin said. \"I could build a fire and melt some snow.\"\n\n\"I'll be all right,\" Dunworthy said. He put the aspirin in his mouth and swallowed them.\n\nKivrin was adjusting the stirrups, untying the leather straps with practiced skill. She knotted them and came back over to Dunworthy to help him up. \"Ready?\" she said, putting her hand under his arm.\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said, and tried to stand up.\n\n\"This was a mistake,\" Colin said. \"We'll never get him on,\" but they did, putting his foot in the stirrups and his hands around the pommel and hoisting him up, and at the end he was even able to help them a little, offering a hand so Colin could clamber up the side of the stallion in front of him.\n\nHe had stopped shivering, but he was not sure whether that was a good sign or not, and when they started off again, Kivrin ahead on the jolting donkey, Colin already talking, he leaned into Colin's back and closed his eyes.\n\n\"So I decided that when I get out of school, I'm going to come to Oxford and be an historian like you,\" Colin was saying. \"I don't want to come to the Black Death. I want to go to the Crusades.\"\n\nHe listened to them, leaning against Colin. It was getting dark, and they were in the Middle Ages in the woods, two cripples and a child, and Badri, another cripple, trying to hold the net open and susceptible to relapse himself. But he could not seem to summon any panic or even any worry. Colin had the locator and Kivrin knew where the drop was. They would be all right.\n\nEven if they could not find the drop and they were trapped here forever, even if Kivrin could not forgive him, she would be all right. She would take them to Scotland, where the plague never went, and Colin would pull fishhooks and a frying pan out of his bag of tricks and they would catch trout and salmon to eat. They might even find Basingame.\n\n\"I've watched sword fighting on the vids, and I know how to drive a horse,\" Colin said, and then,\" Stop!\"\n\nColin jerked the reins back and up, and the stallion stopped, its nose against the donkey's tail. The donkey had stopped short. They were at the top of a little hill. At its bottom was a frozen puddle and a line of willows.\n\n\"Kick it,\" Colin said, but Kivrin was already dismounting.\n\n\"He won't go any farther,\" she said. \"He did this before. He saw me come through. I thought it was Gawyn, but it was Roche all along.\" She pulled the rope bridle off over the donkey's head, and it immediately bolted back along the narrow path.\n\n\"Do you want to ride?\" Colin asked her, already scrambling down.\n\nShe shook her head. \"It hurts more mounting and dismounting than walking.\" She was looking across at the farther hill. The trees went only halfway up, and above them the hill was white with snow. It must have stopped snowing, though Dunworthy hadn't been aware of it. The clouds were breaking up, and between them the sky was a pale, clear lavender.\n\n\"He thought I was St. Catherine,\" she said. \"He saw me come through, like you were afraid would happen. He thought I had been sent from God to help them in their hour of need.\"\n\n\"Well, and you did, didn't you?\" Colin said. He jerked the reins awkwardly, and the stallion started down the hill, Kivrin walking beside it. \"You should have seen the mess in the other place we were. Bodies everywhere, and I don't think anybody helped them.\"\n\nHe handed the reins to Kivrin. \"I'll go see if the net's open,\" he said and ran ahead. \"Badri was going to open it every two hours.\" He crashed into the thicket and disappeared.\n\nKivrin brought the stallion to a stop at the bottom of the hill and helped Dunworthy down.\n\n\"We'd best take his saddle and bridle off,\" Dunworthy said. \"When we found him, he was tangled in a bush.\"\n\nTogether they got the girth uncinched and the saddle off. Kivrin unhooked the bridle and reached up to stroke the stallion's head.\n\n\"He'll be all right,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Maybe,\" she said.\n\nColin burst through the willows, scattering snow everywhere. \"It's not open.\"\n\n\"It'll open soon,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Are we taking the horse with us?\" Colin asked. \"I thought historians weren't allowed to take anything into the future. But it'd be great if we could take him. I could ride him when I go to the Crusades.\"\n\nHe exploded back through the thicket, spraying snow. \"Come on, you guys, it could open anytime.\"\n\nKivrin nodded. She smacked the stallion on its flank. It walked a few paces and then stopped and looked back at them questioningly.\n\n\"Come on \" Colin said from somewhere inside the thicket, but Kivrin didn't move.\n\nShe put her hand against her side.\n\n\"Kivrin,\" he said, moving to help her.\n\n\"I'll be all right,\" she said and turned away from him to push aside the tangled branches of the thicket.\n\nIt was already twilight under the trees. The sky between the black branches of the oak was lavender-blue. Colin was dragging a fallen log into the middle of the clearing. \"In case we just missed it and have to wait a whole two hours,\" he said. Dunworthy sat down gratefully.\n\n\"How do we know where to stand when the net opens?\" Colin asked Kivrin.\n\n\"We'll be able to see the condensation,\" she said. She went over to the oak tree and bent down to brush the snow away from its base.\n\n\"What if it gets dark?\" Colin asked.\n\nShe sat down against the tree, biting her lips as she eased herself onto the roots.\n\nColin squatted down between them. \"I didn't bring any matches or I'd start a fire,\" he said.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Dunworthy said.\n\nColin switched on his pocket torch and then switched it off again. \"I think I'd better save this in case something goes wrong.\"\n\nThere was a movement in the willows. Colin leaped up. \"I think it's starting,\" he said.\n\n\"It's the stallion,\" Dunworthy said. \"He's eating.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Colin sat back down. \"You don't think the net already opened and we didn't see it because it was dark?\"\n\n\"No,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Perhaps Badri had another relapse and couldn't keep the net open,\" he said, sounding more excited than scared.\n\nThey waited. The sky darkened to purple-blue, and stars began to come out in the branches of the oak. Colin sat on the log beside Dunworthy and talked about the Crusades.\n\n\"You know all about the Middle Ages,\" he said to Kivrin, \"so I thought perhaps you'd help me get ready, you know, teach me things.\"\n\n\"You're not old enough,\" she said. \"It's very dangerous.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Colin said. \"But I really want to go. You have to help me. Please?\"\n\n\"It won't be anything like you expect,\" she said.\n\n\"Is the food necrotic? I read in this book Mr. Dunworthy gave me how they ate spoiled meat and swans and things.\"\n\nKivrin looked down at her hands for a long minute. \"Most of it was terrible,\" she said softly, \"but there were some wonderful things.\"\n\nWonderful things. He thought of Mary, leaning against Balliol's gate, talking about the Valley of the Kings, saying, \"I'll never forget it.\" Wonderful things.\n\n\"What about Brussels sprouts?\" Colin asked. \"Did they eat Brussels sprouts in the Middle Ages?\"\n\nKivrin almost smiled. \"I don't think they were invented yet.\"\n\n\"Good!\" He jumped up. \"Did you hear that? I think it's starting. It sounds like a bell.\"\n\nKivrin raised her head, listening. \"A bell was ringing when I came through,\" she said.\n\n\"Come on,\" Colin said, and yanked Dunworthy to his feet. \"Can't you hear it?\"\n\nIt was a bell, faint and far away.\n\n\"It's coming from over here,\" Colin said. He darted to the edge of the clearing. \"Come on!\"\n\nKivrin put her hand on the ground for support and got to her knees. Her free hand went involuntarily to her side.\n\nDunworthy reached his hand out to her, but she didn't take it. \"I'll be all right,\" she said quietly.\n\n\"I know,\" he said, and let his hand drop.\n\nShe stood up carefully, holding on to the rough trunk of the oak, and then straightened and stood free of it.\n\n\"I got it all on the corder,\" she said. \"Everything that happened.\"\n\nLike John Clyn, he thought, looking at her ragged hair, her dirty face. A true historian, writing in the empty church, surrounded by graves. I, seeing so many evils, have put into writing all the things that I have witnessed. Lest things which should be remembered perish with time.\n\nKivrin turned her palms up and looked at her wrists in the twilight. \"Father Roche and Agnes and Rosemund and all of them,\" she said. \"I got it all down.\"\n\nShe traced a line down the side of her wrist with her finger. \" Io suuicien lui damo amo,\" she said softly. \"You are here in place of the friends I love.\"\n\n\"Kivrin,\" Dunworthy said.\n\n\"Come on!\" Colin said. \"It's starting. Can't you hear the bell?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunworthy said. It was Ms. Piantini on the tenor, ringing the lead-in to \"When at Last My Savior Cometh.\"\n\nKivrin came and stood next to Dunworthy. She placed her hands together, as if she were praying.\n\n\"I can see Badri!\" Colin said. He cupped his hands around his mouth. \"She's all right!\" he shouted. \"We saved her!\"\n\nMs. Piantini's tenor clanged, and the other bells chimed in joyously. The air began to glitter, like snowflakes.\n\n\"Apocalyptic!\" Colin said, his face alight.\n\nKivrin reached out for Dunworthy's hand and clasped it tightly in her own.\n\n\"I knew you'd come,\" she said, and the net opened."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Brother Cadfael 4) Saint Peter's Fair",
        "author": "Ellis Peters",
        "genres": [
            "medieval",
            "mystery",
            "monastery"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Chapter 1",
                "text": "It began at the normal daily chapter in the Benedictine monastery of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, of Shrewsbury, on the thirtieth day of July, in the year of Our Lord 1139. That day being the eve of Saint Peter ad Vincula, a festival of solemn and profitable importance to the house that bore his name, the routine business of the morning meeting had been devoted wholly to the measures necessary to its proper celebration, and lesser matters had to wait.\n\nThe house, given its full dedication, had two saints, but Saint Paul tended to be neglected, sometimes even omitted from official documents, or so abbreviated that he almost vanished. Time is money, and clerks find it tedious to inscribe the entire title, perhaps as many as twenty times in one charter. They had had to amend their ways, however, since Abbot Radulfus had taken over the rudder of this cloistral vessel, for he was a man who brooked no slipshod dealings, and would have all his crew as meticulous as himself.\n\nBrother Cadfael had been out before Prime in his enclosed herb-garden, observing with approval the blooming of his oriental poppies, and assessing the time when the seed would be due for gathering. The summer season was at its height, and promising rich harvest, for the spring had been mild and moist after plenteous early snows, and June and July hot and sunny, with a few compensatory showers to keep the leafage fresh and the buds fruitful. The hay harvest was in, and lavish, the corn looked ripe for the sickle. As soon as the annual fair was over, the reaping would begin. Cadfael's fragrant domain, dewy from the dawn and already warming into drunken sweetness in the rising sun, filled his senses with the kind of pleasure on which an ascetic church sometimes frowns, finding something uneasily sinful in pure delight. There were times when young Brother Mark, who worked with him this delectable field, felt that he ought to confess his joy among his sins, and meekly accept some appropriate penance. He was still very young, there were excuses to be found for him. Brother Cadfael had more sense, and no such scruples. The manifold gifts of God are there to be delighted in, to fall short of joy would be ingratitude.\n\nHaving put in two hours of work before Prime, and having no office in connection with the abbey fair, which was engaging all attention, Cadfael was nodding, as was his habit, behind his protective pillar in the dimmest corner of the chapter-house, perfectly ready to snap into wakefulness if some unexpected query should be aimed in his direction, and perfectly capable of answering coherently what he had only partially heard. He had been sixteen years a monk, by his own considered choice, which he had never regretted, after a very adventurous life which he had never regretted, either, and he was virtually out of reach of surprise. He was fifty-nine years old, with a world of experience stored away within him, and still as tough as a badger\u2014according to Brother Mark almost as bandy-legged, into the bargain, but Brother Mark was a privileged being. Cadfael dozed as silently as a closed flower at night, and hardly ever snored; within the Benedictine rule, and in genial companionship with it, he had perfected a daily discipline of his own that suited his needs admirably.\n\nIt is probable that he was fast asleep when the steward of the grange court, with an appropriate apology, ventured into the chapter-house and stood waiting the abbot's permission to speak. He was certainly awake when the steward reported: \"My lord, here in the great court is the provost of the town, with a delegation from the Guild Merchant, asking leave to speak with you. They say the matter is important.\"\n\nAbbot Radulfus allowed his steely, level brows to rise a little, and indicated graciously that the fathers of the borough should be admitted at once. Relations between the town of Shrewsbury on one side of the river and the abbey on the other, if never exactly cordial\u2014that was too much to expect, where their interests so often collided\u2014were always correct, and their skirmishes conducted with wary courtesy. If the abbot scented battle, he gave no sign. But for all that, thought Cadfael, watching the shrewd, lean hatchet-face, he has a pretty accurate idea of what they're here for.\n\nThe worthies of the guild entered the chapter-house in a solid phalanx, no less than ten of them, from half the crafts in the town, and led by the provost. Master Geoffrey Corviser, named for his trade, was a big, portly, vigorous man not yet fifty, clean-shaven, brisk and dignified. He made some of the finest shoes and riding-boots in England, and was well aware of their excellence and his own worth. For this occasion he had put on his best, and even without the long gown that would have been purgatory in this summer weather, he made an impressive figure, as clearly he meant to do. Several of those grouped at his back were well known to Cadfael: Edric Flesher, chief of the butchers of Shrewsbury, Martin Bellecote, master-carpenter, Reginald of Aston, the silversmith\u2014men of substance every one. Abbot Radulfus did not know them, not yet. He had been only half a year in office, sent from London to trim an easy-going provincial house into more zealous shape, and he had much to learn about the men of the borders, as he himself, being no man's fool, was well aware.\n\n\"You are welcome, gentlemen,\" said the abbot mildly. \"Speak freely, you shall have attentive hearing.\"\n\nThe ten made their reverences gravely, spread sturdy feet, and stood planted like a battle-square, all eyes alert, all judgments held in reserve. The abbot was concentrating courteous attention upon them with much the same effect. In his interludes of duty as shepherd, Cadfael had once watched two rams level just such looks before they clashed foreheads.\n\n\"My lord abbot,\" said the provost, \"as you know, Saint Peter's Fair opens on the day after tomorrow, and lasts for three days. It's of the fair we come to speak. You know the conditions. For all that time all shops in the town must be shut, and nothing sold but ale and wine. And ale and wine are sold freely here at the fairground and the Foregate, too, so that no man can make his living in the town from that merchandise. For three days, the three busiest of the year, when we might do well out of tolls on carts and pack-horses and man-loads passing through the town to reach the fair, we must levy no charges, neither murage nor pavage. All tolls belong only to the abbey. Goods coming up the Severn by boat tie up at your jetty, and pay their dues to you. We get nothing. And for this privilege you pay no more than thirty-eight shillings, and even that we must go to the trouble to distrain from the rents of your tenants in the town.\"\n\n\"No more than thirty-eight shillings!\" repeated Abbot Radulfus, and elevated the iron-grey brows a shade higher, but still with an urbane countenance and a gentle voice. \"The sum was appointed as fair. And not by us. The terms of the charter have been known to you many years, I believe.\"\n\n\"They have, and often before now have been found burdensome enough, but bargains must be kept, and we have never complained. But bad years or good, the sum has never been raised. And it falls very hard on a town so pressed as we are now, to lose three days of trade, and the best tolls of the year. Last summer, as you must know, though you were not then among us, Shrewsbury was under siege above a month, and stormed at last with great damage to the town walls, and great neglect of the streets, and for all our efforts there's still great need of work on them, and it's costly labour, after all last summer's losses. Not the half of the dilapidations are yet put right, and in these troublous times, who knows when we may again be under attack? The very traffic of your fair will be passing through our streets and adding to the wear, while we get nothing to help make good the damage.\"\n\n\"Come to the point, Master Provost,\" said the abbot in the same tranquil tone. \"You are come to make some demand of us. Speak it out plainly.\"\n\n\"Father Abbot, so I will! We think\u2014and I speak for the whole guild merchant and borough gathering of Shrewsbury\u2014that in such a year we have the best possible case for asking that the abbey should either pay a higher fee for the fair, or, better by far, set aside a proportion of the fair tolls on goods, whether by horse-load or cart or boat, to be handed over to the town, and spent on restoring the walls. You benefit by the protection the town affords you; you ought, we think, to bear a part with us in maintaining its defences. A tenth share of the profits would be welcomed, and we should thank you heartily for it. It is not a demand, with respect, it is an appeal. But we believe the grant of a tenth would be nothing more than justice.\"\n\nAbbot Radulfus sat, very erect and lean and lofty, gravely considering the phalanx of stout burgesses before him. \"That is the view of you all?\"\n\nEdric Flesher spoke up bluntly: \"It is. And of all our townsmen, too. There are many who would voice the matter more forcibly than Master Corviser has done. But we trust in your fellow-feeling, and wait your answer.\"\n\nThe faint stir that went round the chapter-house was like a great, cautious sigh. Most of the brothers looked on wide-eyed and anxious; the younger ones shifted and whispered, but very warily. Prior Robert Pennant, who had looked to be abbot by this time, and been sorely disappointed at having a stranger promoted over his head, maintained a silvery, ascetic calm, appeared to move his lips in prayer, and shot sidelong looks at his superior between narrowed ivory lids, wishing him irredeemable error while appearing to compassionate and bless. Old Brother Heribert, recently abbot of this house and now degraded to its ranks, dozed in a quiet corner, smiling gently, thankful to be at rest.\n\n\"We are considering, are we not,\" said Radulfus at length, gently and without haste, \"what you pose as a dispute between the rights of the town and the rights of this house. In such a balance, should the judgment rest with you, or with me? Surely not! Some disinterested judge is needed. But, gentlemen, I would remind you, there has been such a decision, now, within the past half-year, since the siege of which you complain. At the beginning of this year his Grace King Stephen confirmed to us our ancient charter, with all its grants in lands, rights and privileges, just as we held them aforetime. He confirmed also our right to this three-day fair on the feast of our patron Saint Peter, at the same fee we have paid before, and on the same conditions. Do you suppose he would have countenanced such a grant, if he had not held it to be just?\"\n\n\"To say outright what I suppose,\" said the provost warmly, \"I never supposed for a moment that the thought of justice entered into it. I make no murmur against what his Grace chose to do, but it's plain he held Shrewsbury to be a hostile town, and most like still does hold it so, because Fitz Alan, who is fled to France now, garrisoned the castle and kept it over a month against him. But small say we of the town ever had in the matter, and little we could have done about it! The castle declared for the Empress Maud, and we must put up with the consequences, while Fitz Alan's away, safe out of reach. My lord abbot, is that justice?\"\n\n\"Are you making the claim that his Grace, by confirming the abbey in its rights, is taking revenge on the town?\" asked the abbot with soft and perilous gentleness.\n\n\"I am saying that he never so much as gave the town a thought, or its injuries a look, or he might have made some concession.\"\n\n\"Ah! Then should not this appeal of yours be addressed rather to the Lord Gilbert Prestcote, who is the king's sheriff, and no doubt has his ear, rather than to us?\"\n\n\"It has been so addressed, though not with regard to the fair. It is not for the sheriff to give away any part of what has been bestowed on the abbey. Only you, Father, can do that,\" said Geoffrey Corviser briskly. It began to be apparent that the provost knew his way about among the pitfalls of words every bit as well as did the abbot.\n\n\"And what answer did you get from the sheriff?\"\n\n\"He will do nothing for us until his own walls at the castle are made good. He promises us the loan of labour when work there is finished, but labour we could supply, it's money and materials we need, and it will be a year or more before he's ready to turn over even a handful of his men to our needs. In such a case, Father, do you wonder that we find the fair a burden?\"\n\n\"Yet we have our needs, too, as urgent to us as yours to you,\" said the abbot after a thoughtful moment of silence. \"And I would remind you, our lands and possessions here lie outside the town walls, even outside the loop of the river, two protections you enjoy that we do not share. Should we, men, be asked to pay tolls for what cannot apply to us?\"\n\n\"Not all your possessions,\" said the provost promptly. \"There are within the town some thirty or more messuages in your hold, and your tenants within them, and their children have to wade in the kennels of broken streets as ours do, and their horses break legs where the paving is shattered, as ours do.\"\n\n\"Our tenants enjoy fair treatment from us, and considerate rents, and for such matters we are responsible. But we cannot be held responsible for the town's dilapidations, as we can for those here on our own lands. No,\" said the abbot, raising his voice peremptorily when the provost would have resumed his arguments, \"say no more! We have heard and understood your case, and we are not without sympathy. But Saint Peter's Fair is a sacred right granted to this house, on terms we did not draw up; it is a right that inheres not to me as a man, but to this house, and I in my passing tenure have no authority to change or mitigate those terms in the smallest degree. It would be an offence against the king's Grace, who has confirmed the charter, and an offence against those my successors, for it could be taken and cited as a precedent for future years. No, I will not set aside any part of the profits of the fair to your use, I will not increase the fee we pay you for it, I will not share in any proportion the tolls on goods and stalls. All belong here, and all must be gathered here, according to the charter.\" He saw half a dozen mouths open to protest against so summary a dismissal, and rose in his place, very tall and straight, and chill of voice and eye. \"This chapter is concluded,\" he said.\n\nThere were one or two among the delegation who would still have tried to insist, but Geoffrey Corviser had a better notion of his own and the town's dignity, and a shrewder idea of what might or might not impress that self-assured and austere man. He made the abbot a deep, abrupt reverence, turned on his heel, and strode out of the chapter-house, and his defeated company recovered their wits and marched as haughtily after him.\n\nThere were booths already going up in the great triangle of the horse-fair, and all along the Foregate from the bridge to the corner of the enclosure, where the road veered right towards Saint Giles, and the king's highway to London . There was a newly-erected wooden jetty downstream from the bridge, where the long riverside stretch of the main abbey gardens and orchards began, the rich lowland known as the Gaye. By river, by road, afoot through the forests and over the border from Wales, traders of all kinds began to make their way to Shrewsbury . And into the great court of the abbey flocked all the gentry of the shire, and of neighbouring shires, too, lordlings, knights, yeomen, with their wives and daughters, to take up residence in the overflowing guest-halls for the three days of the annual fair. Subsistence goods they grew, or bred, or brewed, or wove, or span for themselves, the year round, but once a year they came to buy the luxury cloths, the fine wines, the rare preserved fruits, the gold and silver work, all the treasures that appeared on the feast of Saint Peter ad Vincula, and vanished three days later. To these great fairs came merchants even from Flanders and Germany, shippers with French wines, shearers with the wool-clip from Wales, and clothiers with the finished goods, gowns, jerkins, hose, town fashions come to the country. Not many of the vendors had yet arrived, most would appear next day, on the eve of the feast, and set up their booths during the long summer evening, ready to begin selling early on the morrow. But the buyers were arriving in purposeful numbers already, bent on securing good beds for their stay.\n\nWhen Brother Cadfael came up from the Meole brook and his vegetable-fields for Vespers, after a hard and happy afternoon's work, the great court was seething with visitors, servants and grooms, and the traffic in and out of the stables flowed without cease. He stood for a few minutes to watch the pageant, and Brother Mark at his elbow glowed as he gazed, dazzled by the play of colours and shimmer of movement in the sunlight.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cadfael, viewing with philosophical detachment what Brother Mark contemplated with excitement and wonder, \"the world and his wife will be here, either to buy or sell.\" And he eyed his young friend attentively, for the boy had seen little enough of the world before entering the order, being thrust through the gates willy-nilly at sixteen by a stingy uncle who grudged him his keep even in exchange for hard work, and he had only recently taken his final vows. \"Do you see anything there to tempt you back into the secular world?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Brother Mark, promptly and serenely. \"But I may look and enjoy, just as I do in the garden when the poppies are in flower. It's no blame to men if they try to put into their own artifacts all the colours and shapes God put into his.\"\n\nThere were certainly a few of God's more charming artifacts among the throng of visitors moving about the great court and the stable-yard, young women as bright and blooming as the poppies, and all the prettier for being in a high state of expectation, looking forward eagerly to their one great outing of the year. Some came riding their own ponies, some pillion behind husbands or grooms, there was even one horse-litter bringing an important dowager from the south of the shire.\n\n\"I never saw it so lively before,\" said Mark, gazing with pleasure.\n\n\"You've not lived through a fair as yet. Last year the town was under siege all through July and into August, small hope of getting either buyers or sellers into Shrewsbury for any such business. I had my doubts even about this year, but it seems trade's well on the move again, and our gentlefolk are hungrier than ever for what they missed a year ago. It will be a profitable fair, I fancy!\"\n\n\"Then could we not have spared a tithe to help put the town in order?\" demanded Mark.\n\n\"You have a way, child, of asking the most awkward questions. I can read very well what was in the provost's mind, since he spoke it out in full. But I'm by no means so sure I know what was in the abbot's, nor that he uttered the half of it. A hard man to read!\"\n\nMark had stopped listening. His eyes were on a rider who had just entered at the gatehouse, and was walking his horse delicately through the moving throng towards the stables. Three retainers on rough-coated ponies followed at his heels, one of them with a cross-bow slung at his saddle. In these perilous times, even here in regions summarily pacified so short a time ago, no gentleman would undertake a longer journey without provision for his own defence, and an arbalest reaches further than a sword. This young man both wore a sword and looked as if he could use it, but he had also brought an archer with him for security.\n\nIt was the master who held Mark's eyes. He was perhaps a year or two short of thirty, past the uncertainties of first youth\u2014if, indeed, he had ever suffered them\u2014and at his resplendent best. Handsomely appointed, elegantly mounted on a glistening dark bay, he rode with the negligent ease of one accustomed to horses almost from birth. In the summer heat he had shed his short riding-cotte, and had it slung over his lap, and rode with his shirt open over a spare, muscular chest, hung with a cross on a golden chain. The body thus displayed to view in simple linen shirt and dark hose was long and lissome and proud of its comeliness, and the head that crowned it was bared to the light, a smiling, animated face nicely fashioned about large, commanding dark eyes, and haloed in a cropped cap of dark gold hair, that would have curled had it been allowed to grow a little longer. He came and passed, and Mark's eyes followed him, at once tranquil and wistful, quite without any shade of envy.\n\n\"It must be a pleasant thing,\" he said thoughtfully, \"to be so made as to give pleasure to those who behold you. Do you suppose he realises his blessings?\"\n\nMark was rather small himself, from undernourishment from childhood, and plain of face, with spiky, straw-coloured hair round his tonsure. Not that he ever viewed himself much in the glass, or realised that he had a pair of great grey eyes of such immaculate clarity that common beauty faltered before them. Nor was Cadfael going to remind him of any such assets.\n\n\"As the world usually goes,\" he said cheerfully, \"he probably has a mind that looks no further ahead or behind than the length of his own fine eyelashes. But I grant you he's a pleasure to look at. Yet the mind lasts longer. Be glad you have one that will wear well. Come on, now, all this will keep till after supper.\"\n\nThe word diverted Brother Mark's thoughts very agreeably. He had been hungry all his life until he entered this house, and still he preserved the habit of hunger, so that food, no less than beauty, was unflawed pleasure. He went willingly at Cadfael's side towards Vespers, and the supper that would follow. It was Cadfael who suddenly halted, hailed by name in a high, delighted voice that plucked his head about towards the summons gladly.\n\nA lady, a slender, young, graceful lady with a heavy sheaf of gold hair and a bright oval face, and eyes like irises in twilight, purple and clear. Her body, as Brother Mark saw in his first startled glance, though scarcely swollen as yet, and proudly carried, was girdled high, and rounded below the girdle. There was a life there within. He was not so innocent that he did not know the signs. He should have lowered his eyes, and willed to do so, and could not; she shone so that it was like all the pictures of the Visiting Virgin that he had ever seen. And this vision held out both hands to Brother Cadfael, and called him by his name. Brother Mark, though unwillingly, bent his head and went on his way alone.\n\n\"Girl,\" said Brother Cadfael heartily, clasping the proffered hands with delight, \"you bloom like a rose! And he never told me!\"\n\n\"He has not seen you since the winter,\" she said, dimpling and flushing, \"and we did not know then. It was no more than a dream, then. And I have not seen you since we were wed.\"\n\n\"And you are happy? And he?\"\n\n\"Oh, Cadfael, can you ask it!\" There had been no need, the radiance Brother Mark had recognised was dazzling Cadfael no less. \"Hugh is here, but he must go to the sheriff first. He'll certainly be asking for you before Compline. I have come to buy a cradle, a beautiful carved cradle for our son. And a Welsh coverlet, in beautiful warm wool, or perhaps a sheepskin. And fine spun wools, to weave his gowns.\"\n\n\"And you keep well? The child gives you no distress?\"\n\n\"Distress?\" she said, wide-eyed and smiling. \"I have not had a moment's sickness, only joy. Oh, Brother Cadfael,\" she said, breaking into laughter, \"how does it come that a brother of this house can ask such wise questions? Have you not somewhere a son of your own? I could believe it! You know far too much about us women!\"\n\n\"As I suppose,\" said Cadfael cautiously, \"I was born of one, like the rest of us. Even abbots and archbishops come into the world the same way.\"\n\n\"But I'm keeping you,\" she said, remorseful. \"It's time for Vespers, and I'm coming, too. I have so many thanks to pour out, there's never enough time. Say a prayer for our child!\" She pressed him by both hands, and floated away through the press towards the guest-hall. Born Aline Siward, now Aline Beringar, wife to the deputy sheriff of Shropshire, Hugh Beringar of Maesbury, near Oswestry. A year married, and Cadfael had been close friend to that marriage, and felt himself enlarged and fulfilled by its happiness. He went on towards the church in high content with the evening, his own mood, and the prospects for the coming days.\n\nWhen he emerged from the refectory after supper, into an evening still all rose and amber light, the court was as animated as at noon, and new arrivals still entering at the gatehouse. In the cloister Hugh Beringar sat sprawled at ease, waiting for him; a lightweight, limber, dark young man, lean of feature and quizzical of eyebrow. A formidable face, impossible to read unless a man knew the language. Happily, Cadfael did, and read with confidence.\n\n\"If you have not lost your cunning,\" said the young man, lazily rising, \"or met your overmatch in this new abbot of yours, you can surely find a sound excuse for missing Collations\u2014and a drop of good wine to share with a friend.\"\n\n\"Better than an excuse,\" said Cadfael readily, \"I have an acknowledged reason. They're having trouble in the grange court with scour among the calves, and want a brewing of my cure in a hurry. And I daresay I can find you a draught of something better than small ale. We can sit outside the workshop, such a warm evening. But are you not a neglectful husband,\" he reproved, as they fell companionably into step on their way into the gardens, \"to abandon your lady for an old drinking crony?\"\n\n\"My lady,\" said Hugh ruefully, \"has altogether abandoned me! A breeding girl has only to show her nose in the guest-hall, and she's instantly swept away by a swarm of older dames, all cooing like doves, and loading her with advice on everything from diet to midwives' magic. Aline is holding conference with all of them, hearing details of all their confinements, and taking note of all their recommendations. And since I can neither spin, nor weave, nor sew, I'm banished.\" He sounded remarkably complacent about it, and being well aware of it himself, laughed aloud. \"But she told me she had seen you, and you needed no telling. How do you think she is looking?\"\n\n\"Radiant!\" said Cadfael. \"In full bloom, and prettier than ever.\"\n\nIn the herb-garden, shaded along one side by its high hedge from the declining sun, the heavy fragrances of the day hung like a spell. They settled on a bench under the eaves of Cadfael's workshop, with a jug of wine between them.\n\n\"But I must start my draught brewing,\" said Cadfael. \"You may talk to me while I do it. I shall hear you within, and I'll be with you as soon as I have it stirring. What's the news from the great world? Is King Stephen secure on his throne now, do you think?\"\n\nBeringar considered that in silence for a few moments, listening contentedly to the soft sounds of Cadfael's movements within the hut. \"With all the west still holding out for the empress, however warily, I doubt it. Nothing is moving now, but it's an ominous stillness. You know that Earl Robert of Gloucester is in Normandy with the empress?\"\n\n\"So we'd heard. It's not to be wondered at, he is her half-brother, and fond of her, so they say, and not an envious man.\"\n\n\"A good man,\" agreed Hugh, doing an opponent generous justice, \"one of the few on either side not grasping for what he himself can get. The west, however quiet now, will do what Robert says. I can't believe he'll hold off for ever. And even out of the west, he has kinsmen and influence. The word runs that he and Maud, from their refuge in France, are working away quietly to enlist powerful allies, wherever they see a hope. If that's true, this civil war is by no means over. Promised enough support, there'll be a bid for the lady's cause, soon or late.\"\n\n\"Robert has daughters married about the land,\" said Cadfael thoughtfully, \"and all of them to men of might. One of them to the earl of Chester, I recall. If a few of that measure declared for the empress, you might well have a war on your hands to some purpose.\"\n\nBeringar drew a long face, and then shrugged off the thought. Earl Ranulf of Chester was certainly one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, virtually king himself of an immense palatine where his writ ran, and no other. But for that very reason he was less likely to feel the need to declare for either side in the contention for the throne. Himself supreme, and unlikely ever to be threatened in his own possessions by either Maud or Stephen, he could afford to sit back and watch his own borders, not merely with a view to preserving them intact, rather to extending them. A land at odds with itself offers opportunities, as well as threats.\n\n\"Ranulf will need a lot of persuading, kinsman or no. He's very well as he is, and if he does move it will be because he sees profit and power in it for himself, and the empress will come a poor second. He's not the man to risk anything for any cause but his own.\"\n\nCadfael came out from the hut to sit beside him, drawing grateful breath in the evening coolness, for he had his small brazier burning within, beneath his simmering brew. \"That's better! Now fill me a cup, Hugh, I'm more than ready for it.\" And after a long and satisfying draught he said thoughtfully: \"There were some fears this disturbed state of things could ruin the fair even this year, but it seems trade keeps on the move while barons skulk in their castles. The prospects are excellent, after all.\"\n\n\"For the abbey, perhaps,\" agreed Hugh. \"The town is less happy about the outlook, from all we heard as we passed through. This new abbot of yours has set the burgesses properly by the ears.\"\n\n\"Ah, you've heard about that?\" Cadfael recounted the course of the argument, in case his friend had caught but one side of it. \"They have a case for seeking relief, no question. But so has he for refusing it, and he's standing firm on his rights. No way round it in law, he's taking no more than is granted to him. And no less!\" he added, and sighed.\n\n\"Feelings are running high in the town,\" warned Beringar seriously. \"I would not be sure you may not have trouble yet. I doubt if the provost made any too much of their needs. The word in the town is that this may be law, but it is not justice. But what's the word with you? How are you faring in the new dispensation?\"\n\n\"You'll hear murmurs even within our walls,\" admitted Cadfael, \"if you keep your ears open. But for my part, I have no complaint. He's a hard man, but fair, and at least as hard on himself as on others. We've been spoiled and easy with Heribert, and the new curb pulled us up pretty sharply, but that's the sum of it. I have much confidence in the man. He'll chasten where he sees fault, but he'll stand by his own against any power where they are threatened blameless. He's a man I'd be glad to have beside me in any battle.\"\n\n\"But his loyalty's limited to his own?\" said Beringar slyly, and cocked a slender black brow.\n\n\"We live in a contentious world,\" said Brother Cadfael, who had lived more than half his life in the thick of the battles. \"Who says peace would be good for us? I don't know the man well enough yet to know what's in his mind. I have not found him limited, but his vows are to his vocation and this house. Give him room and time, Hugh, and we shall see what follows. Time was when I was in two minds, or more, about you!\" His voice marvelled and smiled at the thought. \"Not very long, however! I shall soon get the measure of Radulfus, too. Hand me the jug, lad, and then I must go and stir this brew for the calves. How long have we yet to Compline?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "On the thirty-first of July the vendors came flooding in, by road and by river. From noon onward the horse-fair was marked out in lots for stalls and booths, and the abbey stewards were standing by to guide pedlars and merchants to their places, and levy the tolls due on the amount of merchandise they brought. A halfpenny for a modest man-load, a penny for a horse-load, from twopence to fourpence for a cart-load, depending on the size and capacity, and higher fees in proportion for the goods unloaded from the river barges that tied up at the temporary landing-stage along the Gaye. The entire length of the Foregate hummed and sparkled with movement and colour and chatter, the abbey barn and stable outside the wall was full, children and dogs ran among the booths and between the wheels of the carts, excited and shrill.\n\nThe discipline of the day's devotions within the walls was not relaxed, but between offices a certain air of holiday gaiety had entered with the guests, and novices and pupils were allowed to wander and gaze without penalty. Abbot Radulfus held himself aloof, as was due to his dignity, and left the superintendence of the occasion and the collection of tolls to his lay stewards, but for all that he knew everything that was going on, and had measures in mind to deal with any emergency. As soon as the arrival of the first Flemish merchant was reported to him, together with the news that the man had little French, he dispatched Brother Matthew, who had lived for some years in Flanders in his earlier days, and could speak fluent Flemish, to deal with any problems that might arise. If the fine-cloth merchants were coming, there was good reason to afford them every facility, for they were profitable visitors. It was a mark of the significance of the Shrewsbury fair that they should undertake so long a journey from the East Anglian ports where they put in, and find it worth their while to hire carts or horses for the overland pilgrimage.\n\nThe Welsh, of course, would certainly be present in some numbers, but for the most part they would be the local people who had a foot on either side the border, and knew enough English to need no interpreters. It came as a surprise to Brother Cadfael to be intercepted once again as he left the refectory after supper, this time by the steward of the grange court, preoccupied and breathless with business, and told that he was needed at the jetty, to take care of one who spoke nothing but Welsh, and a man of consequence, indeed of self-importance, who would not be fobbed off with the suspect aid of a local Welshman who might well be in competition with him on the morrow.\n\n\"Prior Robert gives you leave, for as long as you're needed. It's a fellow by the name of Rhodri ap Huw, from Mold. He's brought a great load up the Dee, and ported it over to Vrnwy and Severn, which must have cost him plenty.\"\n\n\"What manner of goods?\" asked Cadfael, as they made for the gatehouse together. His interest was immediate and hearty. Nothing could have suited him better than a sound excuse to be out among the noise and bustle along the Foregate.\n\n\"What looks like a very fine wool-clip, mainly. And also honey and mead. And I thought I saw some bundles of hides\u2014maybe from Ireland, if he trades out of the Dee . And there's the man himself.\"\n\nRhodri ap Huw stood solid as a rock on the wooden planking of the jetty beside his moored barge, and let the tides of human activity flow round him. The river ran green and still, at a good level for high summer; even boats of deeper draught than usual had made the passage without mishap, and were unloading and unbaling on all sides. The Welshman watched, measuring other men's bales with shrewd, narrowed dark eyes, and pricing what he saw. He looked about fifty years old, and so assured and experienced that it seemed strange he had never picked up English. Not a tall man, but square-built and powerful, fierce Welsh bones islanded in a thick growth of thorny black hair and beard. His dress, though plain and workmanlike, was of excellent material and well-fitted. He saw the steward hurrying towards him, evidently having carried out his wishes to the letter, and large, white teeth gleamed contentedly from the thicket of the black beard.\n\n\"Here am I, Master Rhodri,\" said Cadfael cheerfully, \"to keep you company in your own tongue. And my name is Cadfael, at your service for all your present needs.\"\n\n\"And very welcome, Brother Cadfael,\" said Rhodri ap Huw heartily. \"I hope you'll pardon my fetching you away from your devotions\u2026\"\n\n\"I'll do better. I'll thank you! A pity to have to miss all this bustle, I can do with a glimpse of the world now and again.\"\n\nSharp, twinkling eyes surveyed him from head to toe in one swift glance. \"You'll be from the north yourself, I fancy. Mold is where I come from.\"\n\n\"Close by Trefriw I was born.\"\n\n\"A Gwynedd man. But one who's been a sight further through the world than Trefriw, by the look of you, brother. As I have. Well, here are my two fellows, ready to unload and porter for me before I send on part of my cargo downriver to Bridgnorth, where I have a sale for mead. Shall we have the goods ashore first?\"\n\nThe steward bade them choose a stand at whatever point Master Rhodri thought fit when he had viewed the ground, and left them to supervise the unloading. Rhodri's two nimble little Welsh boatmen went to work briskly, hefting the heavy bales of hides and the wool-sacks with expert ease, and piling them on the jetty, and Rhodri and Cadfael addressed themselves pleasurably to watching the lively scene around them; Its many of the townsfolk and the abbey guests were also doing. On a fine summer evening it was the best of entertainments to lean over the parapet of the bridge, or stroll along the green path to the Gaye, and stare at an annual commotion which was one of the year's highlights. If some of the townspeople looked on with dour faces, and muttered to one another in sullen undertones, that was no great wonder, either. Yesterday's confrontation had been reported throughout the town, they knew they had been turned away empty-handed.\n\n\"A thing worth noting,\" said Rhodri, spreading his thick legs on the springy boards, \"how both halves of England can meet in commerce, while they fall out in every other field. Show a man where there's money to be made, and he'll be there. If barons and kings had the same good sense, a country could be at peace, and handsomely the gainer by it.\"\n\n\"Yet I fancy,\" said Cadfael dryly, \"that there'll be some hot contention here even between traders, before the three days are up. More ways than one of cutting throats.\"\n\n\"Well, every wise man keeps a weapon about him, whatever suits his skill, that's only good sense, too. But we live together, we live together, better than princes manage it. Though I grant you,\" he said weightily, \"princes make good use of these occasions, for that matter. No place like one of your greater fairs for exchanging news and views without being noticed, or laying plots and stratagems, or meeting someone you'd liefer not be seen meeting. Nowhere so solitary as in the middle of a market-place!\"\n\n\"In a divided land,\" said Cadfael thoughtfully, \"you may very well be right.\"\n\n\"For instance\u2014look to your left a ways, but don't turn. You see the meagre fellow in the fine clothes, the smooth-shaven one with the mincing walk? Come to watch who's arriving by water! You may be sure if he's here at all, he's come early, and has his stall already up and stocked, to be free to view the rest of us. That's Euan of Shotwick, the glover, and an important man about Earl Ranulfs court at Chester, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"For his skill at his trade?\" asked Cadfael dryly, observing the lean, fastidious, high-nosed figure with interest.\n\n\"That and other fields, brother. Euan of Shotwick is one of the sharpest of all of Earl Ranulfs intelligencers, and much relied on, and if he's setting up a booth here as far as Shrewsbury, it may well be for more purposes than trade. And then on the other side, look, that great barge standing off ready to come alongside\u2014downstream of us. See the cut of her? Bristol-built, for a thousand marks! Straight out of the west country, and the city the king failed to take last year, and has let well alone ever since.\"\n\nAbove the softly-flowing surface of Severn, its green silvered now with slanting evening sunlight, the barge sidled along the grassy shore towards the end of the jetty. She loomed impressively opulent and graceful, cunningly built to draw hardly more water than boats half her capacity, and yet steer well and ride steadily. She had a single mast, and what seemed to be a neat, closed cabin aft, and three crewmen were poling her inshore with easy, light touches, and waiting to moor her alongside as soon as there was room. Twenty pence, as like as not, thought Cadfael, before she gets her load ashore and cleared!\n\n\"Made to carry wine, and carry it steady,\" said Rhodri ap Huw, narrowing his sharply-calculating eyes on the boat. \"Some of the best wines of France come into Bristol, they should have a ready sale as far north as this. I should know that rig!\"\n\nA considerable number of onlookers, whether they recognised her port and rig or not, were curious enough to come down from the bridge and the highroad to see the Bristol boat come in. She was remarkable enough among her fellow craft to draw all eyes. Cadfael caught sight of a number of known faces craning among the crowd: Edric Flesher's wife Petronilla, Aline Beringar's maid Constance leaning over the bridge, one of the abbey stewards forgetting his duties to stare; and suddenly sunlight on a head of dark gold hair, cropped short, and a young man came running lightly down from the highway, to halt on the grass slope above the jetty, and watched admiringly as the Bristol boat slid alongside, ready to be made fast. The lordling whose assured beauty had aroused Mark's wistful admiration was evidently just as inquisitive as the raggedest barefoot urchin from the Foregate.\n\nThe two Welshmen had completed their unloading by this time, and were waiting for orders, and Rhodri ap Huw was not the man to let his interest in other men's business interfere with his own.\n\n\"They'll be a fair while unloading,\" he said briskly. \"Shall we go and choose a good place for my stall, while the field's open?\"\n\nCadfael led the way along the Foregate, where several booths had already been set up. \"You'll prefer a site on the horse-fair itself, I fancy, where all the roads meet.\"\n\n\"Ah, my customers will find me, wherever I am,\" said Rhodri smugly; but for all that, he kept a shrewd eye on all the possibilities, and took his time about selecting his place, even when they had walked the length of the Foregate and come to the great open triangle of the horse-fair. The abbey servants had set up a number of more elaborate booths, that could be closed and locked, and supply living shelter for their holders, and these were let out for rents. Other traders brought their own serviceable trestles and light roofs, while the small country vendors would come in early each morning and display their wares on the dry ground, or on a woven brychan, filling all the spaces between. For Rhodri nothing was good enough but the best. He fixed upon a stout booth near the abbey barn and stable, where all customers coming in for the day could stable their beasts, and in the act could not fail to notice the goods on the neighbouring stalls.\n\n\"This will serve very well. One of my lads will sleep the nights here.\" The elder of the two had followed them, balancing the first load easily in a sling over his shoulders, while the other remained to guard the merchandise stacked on the jetty. Now he began to stow what he had brought, while Rhodri and Cadfael set off back to the river to dispatch his fellow after him. On the way they intercepted one of the stewards, notified him of the site chosen, and came to terms for the rental. Brother Cadfael's immediate duty was done, but he was as interested in the growing bustle along the road and by the Severn as any other man who saw the like but once a year, and there was time to spare yet before Compline. It was good, too, to be speaking Welsh, there was seldom need within the walls.\n\nThey reached the point where the track turned aside from the highway to go down to the waterside, and looked down upon a lively scene. The Bristol boat was moored, and her three crewmen beginning to hoist casks of wine on to the jetty, while a big, portly, red-faced elderly gentleman in a long gown of fashionable cut, his capuchon twisted up into an elaborate hat, swung wide sleeves as he pointed and beckoned, giving orders at large. A fleshy but powerful face, round and choleric, with bristly brows like furze, and bluish jowls. He moved with surprising agility and speed, and plainly he considered himself a man of importance, and expected others to recognise him as such on sight.\n\n\"I thought it might well be!\" said Rhodri ap Huw, pleased with his own acuteness and knowledge of widespread affairs. \"Thomas of Bristol, they call him, one of the biggest importers of wine into the port there, and deals in a small way in fancy wares from the east, sweetmeats and spices and candies. The Venetians bring them in from Cyprus and Syria . Costly and profitable! The ladies will pay high for something their neighbours have not! What did I say? Money will bring men together. Whether they hold for Stephen or the empress, they'll come and rub shoulders at your fair, brother.\"\n\n\"By the look of him,\" said Cadfael, \"a man of consequence in the city of Bristol.\"\n\n\"So he is, and I'd have said in very good odour with Robert of Gloucester, but business is business, and it would take more than the simple fear of venturing into enemy territory to keep him at home, when there's good money to be made.\"\n\nThey had turned to begin the descent to the riverside when they were aware of a growing murmur of excitement among the people watching from the bridge, and of heads turning to look towards the town gates on the other side of the river. The evening light, slanting from the west, cast deep shadows under one parapet and half across the bridge, but above floated a faint, moving cloud of fine dust, glittering in the sunset rays, and advancing towards the abbey shore. A tight knot of young men came into sight, shearing through the strolling onlookers at a smart pace, like a determined little army on the march. All the rest were idling the tune pleasurably away on a fine evening, these were bound somewhere, in resolution and haste, the haste, perhaps, all the more aggressive lest the resolution be lost. There might have been as many as five and twenty of them, all male and all young. Some of them Cadfael knew. Martin Bellecote's boy Edwy was there, and Edric Flesher's journeyman, and scions of half a dozen respected trades within the town; and at their head strode the provost's own son, young Philip Corviser, jutting a belligerent chin and swinging clenched hands to the rhythm of his long-striding walk. They looked very grave and very dour, and people gazed at them in wonder and speculation, and drew in at a more cautious pace after their passing, to watch what would happen.\n\n\"If this is not the face of battle,\" said Rhodri ap Huw alertly, viewing the grim young faces while they were still safely distant, \"I have never seen it. I did hear that your house has a difference of opinion with the town. I'll away and see all those goods of mine safely stacked away under lock and key, before the trumpets blow.\" And he tucked up his sleeves and was off down the path to the jetty as nimbly as a squirrel, and hoisting his precious jars of honey out of harm's way, leaving Cadfael still thoughtfully gazing by the roadside. The merchant's instincts, he thought, were sound enough. The elders of the town had made their plea and been sent away empty-handed. To judge by their faces, the younger and hotter-headed worthies of the town of Shrewsbury had resolved upon stronger measures. A rapid survey reassured him that they were unarmed, as far as he could see not even a staff among them. But the face, no question, was the face of battle, and the trumpets were about to blow."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "The advancing phalanx reached the end of the bridge, and checked for no more than a moment, while their leader cast calculating glances forward along the Foregate, now populous with smaller stalls, and down at the jetty, and gave some brisk order. Then he, with perhaps ten of his stalwarts on his heels, turned and plunged down the path to the river, while the rest marched vehemently ahead. The interested townspeople, equally mutely and promptly, split into partisan groups, and pursued both contingents. Not one of them would willingly miss what was to come. Cadfael, more soberly, eyed the passing ranks, and was confirmed in believing that they came with the most austere intentions; there was not a bludgeon among them, and he doubted if any of them ever carried knives. Nothing about them was warlike, except their faces. Besides, he knew most of them, there was no wilful harm in any. All the same, he turned down the path after them, not quite easy in his mind. The Corviser sprig was known for a wild one, clever, bursting with hot and suspect ideas, locked in combat with his elders half his time, and occasionally liable to drink rather more than at this stage he could carry. Though this evening he had certainly not been drinking; he had far more urgent matters on his mind.\n\nBrother Cadfael sighed, descending the path to the waterside half-reluctantly. The earnest young are so dangerously given to venturing beyond the point where experience turns back. And the sharper they are, the more likely to come by wounds.\n\nHe was not at all surprised to find that Rhodri ap Huw, that most experienced of travellers, had vanished from the jetty, together with his second porter and all his goods. Rhodri himself would not be far, once he had seen all his merchandise well on its way to being locked in the booth on the horse-fair. He would want to watch all that passed, and make his own dispositions accordingly, but he would be out of sight, and somewhere where he could make his departure freely whenever he deemed it wise. But there were half a dozen boats of various sizes busy unloading, dominated by Thomas of Bristol's noble barge. Its owner heard the sudden surge of urgent feet on the downhill track, and turned to level an imperious glance that way, before returning to his business of supervising the landing of his goods. The array of casks and bales on the boards was impressive. The young men surging down to the river could not fail to make an accurate estimate of the powers they faced.\n\n\"Gentlemen\u2026!\" Philip Corviser hailed them all loudly, coming to a halt with feet spread, confronting Thomas of Bristol. He had a good, ringing voice; it carried, and lesser dealers dropped what they were doing to listen. \"Gentlemen, I beg a hearing, as you are citizens all, of whatever town, as I am of Shrewsbury, and as you care for your own town as I do for mine! You are here paying rents and tolls to the abbey, while the abbey denies any aid to the town. And we have greater need than ever the abbey has, of some part of what you bring.\"\n\nHe drew breath hard, having spent his first wind. He was a gangling lad, not yet quite in command of his long limbs, being barely twenty and only just at the end of his growing. Spruce in his dress, but down at the heel, Cadfael noticed\u2014 proof of the old saying that the shoemaker's son is always the one who goes barefoot! He had a thick thatch of reddish dark hair, and a decent, homely face now pale with passion under his summer tan. A good, deft workman, they said, when he could be stopped from flying off after some angry cause or other. Certainly he had a cause now, bless the lad, he was pouring out to these hard-headed business men all the arguments his father had used to the abbot at chapter, in dead earnest, and\u2014heaven teach him better sense!\u2014even with hopes of convincing them!\n\n\"If the abbey turns a cold eye on the town's troubles, should you side with them? We are here to tell you our side of the story, and appeal to you as men who also have to bear the burdens of your own boroughs, and may well have seen at home what war and siege can do to your own walls and pavings. Is it unreasonable that we should ask for a share in the profits of the fair? The abbey came by no damage last year, as the town did. If they will not bear their part for the common good, we address ourselves to you, who have no such protection from the hardships of the world, and will have fellow-feeling with those who share the like burdens.\"\n\nThey were beginning to lose interest in him, to shrug, and turn back to their unloading. He raised his voice sharply in appeal.\n\n\"All we ask is that you will hold back a tithe of the dues you pay to the abbey, and pay them instead to the town for murage and pavage. If all hold together, what can the abbey stewards do against you? There need be no cost to you above what you would be paying in any event, and we should have something nearer to justice. What do you say? Will you help us?\"\n\nThey would not! The growl of indifference and derision hardly needed words. What, set up a challenge to what was laid down by charter, when they had nothing to gain by it? Why should they take the risk? They turned to their work, shrugging him off. The young men grouped at his back set up among themselves a counter murmur, still controlled but growing angry. And Thomas of Bristol, massive and contemptuous, waved a fist in their spokesman's face, and said impatiently: \"Stand out of the way, boy, you are hindering your betters! Pay a tithe to the town indeed! Are not the abbey rights set down according to law? And can you, dare you tell me they do not pay the fee demanded of them by charter? If you have a complaint that they are failing to keep the law, take it to the sheriff, where it belongs, but don't come here with your nonsense. Now be off, and let honest men get on with their work.\"\n\nThe young man took fire. \"The men of Shrewsbury are as honest as you, sir, though something less boastful about it. We take honesty for granted here! And it is not nonsense that our town goes with broken walls and broken streets, while abbey and Foregate have escaped all such damage. No, but listen\u2026\"\n\nThe merchant turned a broad, hunched back, with disdainful effect, and stalked away to pick up the staff he had laid against his piled barrels, and motion his men to continue their labours. Philip started indignantly after him, for the act was stingingly deliberate, as though a gnat, a mere persistent nuisance, had been brushed aside.\n\n\"Master merchant,\" he called hotly, \"one word more!\" And he laid an arresting hand to Thomas's fine, draped sleeve.\n\nThey were two choleric people, and it might have come to it even at the best, sooner or later, but Cadfael's impression was that Thomas had been genuinely startled by the grasp at his arm, and believed he was about to be attacked. Whatever the cause, he swung round and struck out blindly with the staff he held. The boy flung up his arm, but too late thoroughly to protect his head. The blow fell heavily on his forearms and temple, and laid him flat on the planking of the jetty, with blood oozing from a cut above his ear.\n\nThat was the end of all peaceful and dignified protest, and the declaration of war. Many things happened on the instant. Philip had fallen without a cry, and lay half-stunned; but someone had certainly cried out, a small, protesting shriek, instantly swallowed up in the roar of anger from the young men of the town. Two of them rushed to their fallen leader, but the rest, bellowing for vengeance, lunged to confront the equally roused traders, and closed with them merrily. In a moment the goods newly disembarked were being hoisted and flung into the river, and one of the raiders soon followed them, with a bigger splash. Fortunately those who lived all their lives by Severn usually learned to swim even before they learned to walk, and the youngster was in no danger of drowning. By the time he had hauled himself out and returned to the fray, there was a fully-fledged riot in progress all along the riverside.\n\nSeveral of the cooler-headed citizens had moved in, though cautiously, to try to separate the combatants, and talk a little sense into the furious young; and one or two, not cautious enough, had come in for blows meant for the foe, the common fate of those who try to make peace where no one is inclined for it.\n\nCadfael among the rest had rushed down to the jetty, intent on preventing what might well be a second and fatal blow, to judge by the merchant's congested countenance and brandished staff. But someone else was before him. A girl had clambered frantically up out of the tiny cabin of the barge, kilted her skirts and leaped ashore, in time to cling with all her weight to the quivering arm, and plead in agitated tones:\n\n\"Uncle, don't please don't! He did no violence! You've hurt him badly!\"\n\nPhilip Corviser's brown eyes, all this time open but unseeing, blinked furiously at the sound of so unexpected a voice. He heaved himself shakily to his knees, remembered his injury and his grievance, and gathered sprawled limbs and faculties to surge to his feet and do battle. Not that his efforts would have been very effective; his legs gave under him as he tried to rise, and he gripped his head between steadying hands as though it might fall off if he shook it. But it was the sight of the girl that stopped him short. There she stood, clinging, to the merchant's arm and pleading angelically into his ear, in tones that could have cooled a dragon, her eyes all the time dilated and anxious and pitying on Philip. And calling the old demon \"uncle\"! Philip's revenge was put clean out of his reach in an instant, but he scarcely felt a pang at the deprivation, to judge by the transformation that came over his bruised and furious face. Swaying on one knee, still dazed, he stared at the girl as pilgrims might stare at miraculous visions, or lost wanderers at the Pole star.\n\nShe was well worth looking at, a young thing of about eighteen or nineteen years, bare-armed and bare-headed, with two great braids of blue-black hair swinging to her waist, and framed between them a round, childish face all roses and snow, lit by two long-lashed dark blue eyes, at this moment huge with alarm and concern. No wonder the mere sound of her voice could tame her formidable uncle, as surely as the sight of her had checked and held at gaze the two young men who had rushed to salvage and avenge their leader, and who now stood abashed, gaping and harmless.\n\nIt was at that moment that the fight on the jetty, which had become a melee hopelessly tangled, reeled their way, thudding along the planks, knocked over the stack of small barrels, and sent them rolling thunderously in all directions. Cadfael grasped young Corviser under the arms, hoisted him to his feet and hauled him out of harm's way, thrusting him bodily into the arms of his friends for safe-keeping, since he was still in a daze. A rolling cask swept Thomas's feet from under him, and the girl, flung aside in his fall, swayed perilously on the edge of the jetty.\n\nAn agile figure darted past Cadfael with a flash of gold hair, leaped another rolling cask as nimbly as a deer, and plucked her back to safety in a long arm. The almost insolent grace and assurance was as familiar as the yellow hair. Cadfael contented himself with helping Thomas to his feet, and drawing him aside out of danger, and was not particularly surprised, when that was done, to see that the long arm was still gallantly clasped round the girl's waist. Nor was she in any hurry to extricate herself. Indeed, she was gazing at the smiling, comely, reassuring face of her rescuer wide-eyed, much as Philip Corviser had gazed at her.\n\n\"There, you're quite safe! But let me help you back aboard, you'd do best to stay there a while, your uncle, too. I advise it, sir,\" he said earnestly. \"No one will offer you further offence. With this lady beside you, no one could be so ungallant,\" he said, his eyes wide in candid admiration. The cream of the girl's fair skin turned all to rose.\n\nThomas of Bristol dusted himself down with slightly shaky hands, for he was a big man, and had fallen heavily. \"I thank you, sir, warmly, for your help. You, too, brother. But my wines\u2014my goods\u2014\"\n\n\"Leave them to us, sir. What can be salvaged, shall be. You stay safe aboard, and wait. This cannot continue, the law will be out after these turbulent young fools any moment. Half of them are off along the Foregate, overturning stalls and hounding the abbey stewards. Before long they'll be in the town gaol with sore heads, wishing they'd had better sense than pick a fight with the abbot of a Benedictine house.\"\n\nHis eye was on Cadfael, who was busy righting and retrieving the fugitive casks, and still within earshot. He felt himself being drawn companionably into this masterful young man's planning, perhaps as reassurance and guarantee of respectability. The eyes were slightly mischievous, though the face retained its decent gravity. The nearest Benedictine was being gently teased as representative of his order.\n\n\"My name,\" said the rescuer blithely, \"is Ivo Corbi\u00e8re, of the manor of Stanton Cobbold in this shire, though the main part of my honour lies in Cheshire . If you'll allow me, I'm happy to offer my help\u2026\" He had taken his arm from about the girl's waist by then, decorously if reluctantly, but his gaze continued to embrace and flatter her; she was well aware of it, and it did not displease her. \"There!\" cried Corbi\u00e8re triumphantly, as a shrill whistle resounded from a youth hanging over the parapet of the bridge above them. \"Now watch them dive to cover! Their look-out sees the sheriff's men turning out to quell the riot.\"\n\nHis judgment was accurate enough. Half a dozen heads snapped up sharply at the sound, noted the urgently waving arm, and half a dozen dishevelled youths extricated themselves hastily from the fight, dropped whatever they were holding, and made off at speed in several directions, some along the Gaye, towards the coverts by the riverside, some up the slope into the tangle of narrow lanes behind the Foregate, one under the arch of the bridge, to emerge on the upstream side with no worse harm than wet feet. In a few moments the sharp clatter of hooves drummed over the bridge, and half a dozen of the sheriff's men came trotting down to the jetty, while the rest of the company swept on towards the horse-fair.\n\n\"As good as over!\" said Ivo Corbi\u00e8re gaily. \"Brother, will you lend an oar? I fancy you know this river better than I, and there's many a man's hard-won living afloat out there, and much of it may yet be saved.\"\n\nHe asked no leave; he had selected already the smallest and most manageable boat that swung beside the jetty, and he was across the boards and down into it almost before the sheriff's men had driven their mounts in among the still-locked combatants, and begun to pluck the known natives out by the hair. Brother Cadfael followed. With Compline but ten minutes away, by his mental clock, he should have made his escape and left the salvage to this confident and commanding young man, but he had been sent out here to aid a client of the abbey fair, and could he not argue that he was still about the very same business? He was in the borrowed boat, an oar in his hand and his eye upon the nearest cask bobbing on the bright sunset waters, before he had found an answer; which was answer enough.\n\nThe noise receded soon. Everyone left here was busily hooking bales and bundles out of the river, pursuing some downstream to coves where they had lodged, abandoning one or two small items too sodden and too vulnerable to be saved, writing off minor losses, thankfully calculating profits still to be made after fees and rentals and tolls were paid. The damage was not so great, after all, it could be carried. Along the Foregate stalls were being righted, goods laid out afresh. Doubtful if the pandemonium had ever reached the horse-fair, where the great merchants unrolled their bales. In the stony confines of the castle and the town gaol, no doubt, some dozen or so youngsters of the town were nursing their bruises and grudges, and wondering how their noble and dignified protest had disintegrated into such a shambles. As for Philip Corviser, nobody knew where he had fetched up, once he shook off the devotees who had helped him away from the jetty in a daze. The brief venture was over, the cost not too great. Not even the sheriff, Gilbert Prestcote, was going to bear down too hard on those well-meaning but ill-advised young men of Shrewsbury.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Thomas of Bristol, eased and expansive, \"I cannot thank you enough for such generous help. No, the casks will have taken no hurt. Those who buy my wines should and do store them properly a good while before tapping, their condition will not be impaired. The sugar confections, thanks be, were not yet unloaded. No, I have suffered no real hurt. And my child here is much in your debt. Come, my dear, don't hide there within, make your respects to such good friends! Let me present my niece Emma, my sister's daughter, Emma Vernold, heiress to her father, who was a master-mason in our city, and also to me, for I have no other kin. Emma, my dear, you may pour the wine!\"\n\nThe girl had made good use of the interval. She came forth now with her braids of hair coiled in a gilded net on her neck, and a fine tunic of embroidered linen over her plain gown. Not, thought Cadfael, for my benefit! It was high time for him to take his leave and return to his proper duties. He had missed Compline in favour of retrieving goods from the waters, and he would have to put in an hour or so in his workshop yet before he could seek his bed. No one would be early to bed on this night, however. Thomas of Bristol was not the man to leave the supervision of his booth and the disposition of his goods to others, however trustworthy his three servants might be; he would soon be off to the horse-fair to see everything safely stowed to his own satisfaction, ready for the morrow. And if he thought fit to leave those two handsome young people together here until his return, that was his affair. Mention of the manor of Stanton Cobbold, and as the least part of Corbi\u00e8re's honour, at that, had made its impression. There had been no real need for that careful mention of Mistress Emma's prospective wealth; but dutiful uncles and guardians must be ever on the alert for good matches for their girls, and this young man was already taken with her face before ever he heard of her fortune. Small wonder, she was a beautiful child by any standards.\n\nBrother Cadfael excused himself from lingering, wished the company goodnight, and walked back at leisure to the gatehouse. The Foregate stretched busy and populous, but at peace. Order had been restored, and Saint Peter's Fair could open on the morrow without further disruption."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "Hugh Beringar came back from a final patrol along the Foregate well past ten o'clock, an hour when all dutiful brothers should have been fast asleep in the dortoir. He was by no means surprised to find that Cadfael was not. They met in the great court, as Cadfael came back from closing his workshop in the herb-garden. It was still a clear twilight, and the west had a brilliant afterglow.\n\n\"I hear you've been in the thick of it,\" said Hugh, stretching and yawning. \"Did ever I know you when you were not? Mad young fools, what did they hope to do, that their elders could not! And then to run wild as they did, and ruin their case even with those who had sympathy for them! Now their sires will have fines to pay, and the town lose more for the night's work than ever it stood to gain. Cadfael, I take no joy in heaving decent, silly lads into prison, I have a foul taste in my mouth from it. Come into the gatehouse for a while, and share a cup with me. You may as well stay awake until Matins now.\"\n\n\"Aline will be waiting for you,\" objected Cadfael.\n\n\"Aline, bless her good sense, will be fast asleep, for I'm bound to the castle yet to report on this disturbance. I doubt I shall be there over the night. Come and tell me how all this went wrong, for they tell me it began down at the jetty, where you were.\"\n\nCadfael went with him willingly. They sat together in the anteroom of the gatehouse, and the porter, used to such nocturnal activities when the deputy sheriff of the shire was lodged within, brought them wine, made tolerant enquiry of progress, and left them to their colloquy.\n\n\"How many have you taken up?\" asked Cadfael, when he had given an account of what had happened by the river.\n\n\"Seventeen. And it should have been eighteen,\" owned Hugh grimly, \"if I had not hauled Bellecote's boy Edwy aside without witnesses, put the fear of God into him, and sent him home with a flea in his ear. Not sixteen yet! But sharp enough to know very well what he was about, the imp! I should not have done it.\"\n\n\"His father was one of yesterday's delegates,\" said Cadfael, \"and he's a loyal child, as well as a bold one. I'm glad you let him away home. And young Corviser?\"\n\n\"No, we've not laid hand on him, though a dozen witnesses say he was the ringleader, and captained the whole enterprise. But he has to go home some time, and he'll not get in at the gate a free man. Not a hope of it!\"\n\n\"He came lecturing like a doctor,\" said Cadfael seriously, \"and never a threatening move. It was when he was struck down that the wild lads took the bit between their teeth and laid about them. I saw it! The man who struck him lashed out in alarm, I grant you, but without cause.\"\n\n\"I take your word for that, and I'll stand by it. But he led the attack, and he'll end with the rest, as he should, seeing he loosed this on us all. They'll be bailed by their fathers, the lot of them,\" said Hugh wearily, and passed long fingers over tired eyelids. \"Do I seem to you, Cadfael, to be turning horribly into a crown official? That I should not like!\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cadfael judicially, \"you're not too far gone. Still a glint in the eye and a quirk in the mind. You'll do yet!\"\n\n\"Gracious in you! And you say this Bristol merchant struck the silly wretch down without provocation?\"\n\n\"He imagined provocation. The boy laid a detaining hand on his arm from behind, meaning no ill, but the man took fright. He had a staff in his hand, he turned on him and hit out. Felled him like an ox! I doubt if he had the strength to knock the trestle from under a stall, after that. For all I know, he may be fallen out of his senses, somewhere, unless his friends have kept their hands on him.\"\n\nHugh looked at him across the trestle on which their own elbows were spread, and smiled. \"If ever I want for an advocate, I'll come running to you. Well, I do know the lad, he has a well-hung tongue, and lets it wag far too freely, and he has a hot temper and a warm heart, and lets the pair of them run away with his own sense\u2014if you claim he has any!\"\n\nThe lay porter put his bald brown crown and round red face into the room. \"My lord, there's a lady here at the gate has a trouble on her mind, and asks a word. One Mistress Emma Vernold, niece to the merchant Thomas of Bristol. Will you have her come in?\"\n\nThey looked at each other across the board with raised brows and startled eyes. \"The same man?\" said Beringar, marvelling.\n\n\"The same man, surely! And the same girl! But the uproar was all over. What can she be wanting here at this hour, and what's her uncle about, letting her venture loose into the night?\"\n\n\"We'd best be finding out,\" said Hugh, resigned. \"Let the lady come in, if I'm the man she wants.\"\n\n\"She asked first for a guest here, Ivo Corbi\u00e8re, but I know he's still out viewing the preparations along the Foregate. And when I mentioned that you were here, she begged a word with you. Glad to find the law here and awake, seemingly.\"\n\n\"Ask her to step in, then. And Cadfael, stay, if you'll be so good, she's had speech with you already, she may be glad of a known face.\"\n\nEmma Vernold came in hurriedly yet hesitantly, unsure of herself in this unfamiliar place, and made a hasty reverence. \"My lord, I pray your pardon for troubling you so late\u2026\" She saw Brother Cadfael, and half-smiled, relieved but distracted. \"I am Emma Vernold, I came with my uncle, Thomas of Bristol, we have our own living-space on his barge by the bridge. And this is my uncle's man Gregory.\" It was the youngest of the three who attended her, a gawky, lean but powerful fellow of about twenty.\n\nBeringar took her by the hand and put her into a seat by the table. \"I'm here to serve you, as best I can. What's your trouble?\"\n\n\"Sir, my uncle went to see to the stocking of his booth at the horse-fair, it was not long after the good brother here left us. You'll have heard all that happened, below there? My uncle went to join his other two men, who were busy there before him, and left only Gregory with me. But that's nearly two hours ago, and he has not come back.\"\n\n\"He will have brought a great deal of merchandise with him,\" suggested Hugh reasonably. \"It takes time to arrange things to the best vantage, and I imagine your uncle will have things done well.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, indeed he will. But it isn't just that he is so long. The two men with him were his journeyman, Roger Dod, and the porter Warin, and Warin sleeps in the booth to mind the goods. Roger came back to the barge an hour ago, and was surprised not to find my uncle back, for he said he left the booth well before him. We thought perhaps he had met some acquaintance on the way, and stopped to exchange the news with him, so we waited some while, but still he did not come. And now I have been back to the booth with Gregory, to see if by some chance he had turned back there for something, something forgotten, perhaps. But he has not, and Warin says, as Roger does, that my uncle left first, intending to come straight home to me, it being so late. He never liked\u2014he does not like,\" she amended, paling, \"for me to be alone with the men, without his company.\" Her eyes were steady and clear, but her lip quivered, and there was the faint suggestion of disquiet even in the unflinching firmness of her regard.\n\nShe knows she is fair, Cadfael thought, and she's right to take account of it. It may even be that one of them\u2014Roger Dod, the most privileged of the three, perhaps?\u2014has a fancy for her, and she knows that, too, and has no fancy for him, and whether justly or not, is uneasy about being close to him without her guardian by.\n\n\"And you are sure he has not made his way home by some other way,\" asked Hugh, \"while you've been seeking him at his booth?\"\n\n\"We went back. Roger waited there, for that very case, but no, he has not come. I asked those still working in the Foregate if they had seen such a man, but I could get no news. And then I thought that perhaps\u2014\" She turned in appeal to Cadfael. \"The young gentleman who was so kind, this evening\u2014he is staying here in the guest-hall, so he told us. I wondered if perhaps my uncle had met him again on his way home, and lingered\u2026 And he, at least, knows his looks, and could tell me if he has seen him. But he is not yet back, they tell me.\"\n\n\"He left the jetty earlier than your uncle, then?\" asked Cadfael. The young man had looked very well settled to spend a pleasant hour or two in the lady's company, but perhaps her formidable uncle had ways of conveying, even to lords of respectable honours, that his niece was to be approached only when he was present to watch over her.\n\nEmma flushed, but without averting her eyes; eyes which were seen to be thoughtful, resolute and intelligent, for all her milk-and-roses baby-face. \"Very soon after you, brother. He was at all points correct and kind. I thought to come and ask for him, as someone on whom I could rely.\"\n\n\"I'll ask the porter to keep a watch for him,\" offered Cadfael, \"and have him step in here when he returns. Even the horse-fair should be on its way to bed by now, and he'll be needing his own sleep if he's to hunt the best bargains tomorrow, which is what I take it he's here for. What do you say, Hugh?\"\n\n\"A good thought,\" said Hugh. \"Do it, and we'll make provision to look for Master Thomas, though I trust all's well with him, for all this delay. The eve of a fair,\" he said, smiling reassurance at the girl, \"and there are contacts to be made, customers already looking over the ground\u2026 A man can forget about his sleep with his mind on business.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael heard her sigh: \"Oh, yes!\" with genuine hope and gratitude, as he went to bid the porter intercept Ivo Corbi\u00e8re when he came in. His errand could hardly have been better timed, for the man himself appeared in the gateway. The main gate was already closed, only the wicket stood open, and the dip of the gold head stepping through caught the light from the torch overhead, and burned like a minor sun. Bare-headed, with his cotte slung on one shoulder in the warm last night of July, Ivo Corbi\u00e8re strolled towards his bed almost rebelliously, with a reserve of energy still unspent. The snowy linen shirt glowed in the lambent dark with a ghostly whiteness. He was whistling a street tune, more likely Parisian than out of London, by the cadence of it. He had certainly drunk reasonably deep, but not beyond his measure, nor even up to it. He was alert at a word.\n\n\"What, you, brother? Out of bed before Matins?\" Amiable though his soft laughter was, he checked it quickly, sensing something demanding gravity of him. \"You were looking for me? Something worse fell out? Good God, the old man never killed the fool boy, did he?\"\n\n\"Nothing so dire,\" said Cadfael. \"But there's one within here at the gatehouse came looking for you, with a question. You've been about the Foregate and the fairground all this time?\"\n\n\"The whole round,\" said Ivo, his attention sharpening. \"I have a new and draughty manor to furnish in Cheshire. I'm looking for woollens and Flemish tapestries. Why?\"\n\n\"Have you seen, in your wanderings, Master Thomas of Bristol? At any time since you left his barge earlier this evening?\"\n\n\"I have not,\" said Ivo, wondering, and peered closely \"in the strange, soft light of midsummer, an hour short of midnight.\n\n\"What is this? The man made it clear\u2014he has practice, which is no marvel!\u2014that his girl is to be seen only in his presence and with his sanction, and small blame to him, for she's gold, with or without his gold. I respected him for it, and I left. Why? What follows?\"\n\n\"Come and see,\" said Cadfael simply, and led the way within.\n\nThe young man blinked in the sudden light, and opened his eyes wide upon Emma. It was a question which of them showed the more distracted. The girl rose, reaching eager hands and then half-withdrawing them. The man sprang forward solicitously to welcome the clasp.\n\n\"Mistress Vernold! At this hour? Should you\u2026\" He had a grasp of the company and the urgency by then. \"What has happened?\" he asked, and looked at Beringar.\n\nBriskly, Beringar told him. Cadfael was not greatly surprised to see that Corbi\u00e8re was relieved rather than dismayed. Here was a young, inexperienced girl, growing nervous all too easily when she was left alone an hour or so too long, while no doubt her uncle, very travelled and experienced indeed, and well able to take care of himself, was in no sort of trouble at all, but merely engaged in a little social indulgence with a colleague, or busy assessing the goods and worldly state of some of his rivals.\n\n\"Nothing ill will have happened to him,\" said Corbi\u00e8re cheerfully, smiling reassurance at Emma, who remained, for all that, grave and anxious of eye. And she was no fool, Cadfael reflected, watching, and knew her uncle better than anyone else here could claim to know him. \"You'll see, he'll come home in his own good time, and be astonished to find you so troubled for him.\"\n\nShe wanted to believe it, but her eyes said she could not be sure. \"I hoped he might have met you again,\" she said, \"or that at least you might have seen him.\"\n\n\"I wish it were so,\" he said. \"It would have been my pleasure to set your mind at rest. But I have not seen him.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Beringar, \"this lies now with me. I have still half a dozen men here within the walls, we'll make a search for Master Thomas. In the meantime, the hour is late, and you should not be wandering in the night. It will be best if your man here returns to the barge, while you, madam, if you consent, can very well join my wife, here in the guest-hall. Her maid Constance will make room for you, and find you whatever you need over the night.\" There was no knowing whether he had noted her uneasiness about returning to the barge, just as acutely as Cadfael had, or was simply placing her in the nearest safe charge, and the best; but she brightened so eagerly, and thanked him so fervently, that there was no mistaking the relief she felt.\n\n\"Come, then,\" he said gently, \"I'll see you safely into Constance's care, and then you may leave the searching to us.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Corbi\u00e8re, shrugging enthusiastically into the sleeves of his cotte, \"will bear a hand with you in the hunt, if you'll have me.\"\n\nThey combed the whole length of the Foregate, Beringar, with his six men-at-arms, Ivo Corbi\u00e8re, as energetic and wide-awake as at noon, and Brother Cadfael, who had no legitimate reason to go with them at all, beyond the pricking of his thumbs, and the manifest absurdity of going to his bed at such an hour, when he would in any case have to rise again at midnight for Matins. If that was excuse enough for sharing a drink with Beringar, it was excuse enough for taking part in the hunt for Thomas of Bristol. For truly, thought Cadfael, shaking his head over the drastic events of the evening, I shall not be easy until I see that meaty blue-jowled face again, and hear that loud, self-confident voice. Corbi\u00e8re might shrug off the merchant's non-return as a mere trivial departure from custom, such as every man makes now and again, and on any other day Cadfael would have agreed with him; but too much had happened since noon today, too many people had been trapped into outrageous and uncharacteristic actions, too many passions had been let loose, for this to be an ordinary day. It was even possible that someone had stepped so far aside from his usual self as to commit deliberate violence by stealth in the night, to avenge what had been done openly and impulsively in the day. Though God forbid!\n\nThey had begun by making certain that there was still no word or sign at the jetty. No, Thomas had neither appeared nor sent word, and Roger Dod's forays among the other traders along the riverside, as far as he dared go from the property he guarded, had elicited no news of his master.\n\nHe was a burly, well-set-up young man of about thirty, this Roger Dod, and very personable, if he had not been so curt and withdrawn in manner. No doubt he was anxious, too. He answered Hugh's questions in the fewest possible words, and gnawed an uncertain lip at hearing that his master's niece was now lodged in the abbey guest-hall. He would have come with them to help in their search, but he was responsible for his master's belongings, and would have to be answerable for their safety when his master returned. He stayed with the barge, and sent the mute and sleepily resentful Gregory to lead them straight to the booth Master Thomas had rented. Beringar's sergeant, with three men, was left behind to work his way gradually along the Foregate after them, questioning every waking stallholder as he went, while the rest followed the porter to the fairground. The great open space was by this time half-asleep, but still winking with occasional torches and braziers, and murmuring with subdued voices. For these three days in the year it was transformed into a tight little town, busy and populous, to vanish again on the fourth day.\n\nThomas had chosen a large booth almost in the centre of the triangular ground. His goods were neatly stacked within, and his watchman was awake and prowling the ground uneasily, to welcome the arrival of authority with relief. Warm was a leathery, middle-aged man, who had clearly been in his present service many years, and was probably completely trusted within his limits, but had not the ability ever to rise to the position Roger Dod now held.\n\n\"No, my lord,\" he said anxiously, \"never a word since, and I've been on watch every moment. He set off for his barge a good quarter of an hour before Roger left. We had everything stowed to his liking, he was well content. And he'd had a fall not so long before\u2014you'd know of that?\u2014 and was glad enough, I'd say, to be off home to his bed. For after all, he's none so young, no more than I am, and he carried more weight.\"\n\n\"And he set off from here, which way?\"\n\n\"Why, straight to the highroad, close by here. I suppose he'd keep along the Foregate.\"\n\nBehind Cadfael's shoulder a familiar voice, rich and full and merrily knowing, said in Welsh: \"Well, well, brother, out so late? And keeping the law company! What would the deputy sheriff of the shire want with Thomas of Bristol's watchman at this hour? Are they on the scent of all Gloucester's familiars, after all? And I claimed commerce was above the anarchy!\" Narrowed eyes twinkled at Cadfael in the light of the dispersed torches and the far-distant stars in a perfect midsummer sky. Rhodri ap Huw was chuckling softly and fatly at his own teasing wit and menacing sharpness of apprehension.\n\n\"You keep a friendly eye out for your neighbours?\" said Cadfael, innocently approving. \"I see you brought off all your own goods without scathe.\"\n\n\"I have a nose for trouble, and the good sense to step out of its way,\" said Rhodri ap Huw smugly. \"What's come to Thomas of Bristol? He was not so quick on the scent, it seems. He could have loosed his mooring and poled out into the river till the flurry was over, and been as safe as in the west country.\"\n\n\"Did you see him struck down?\" asked Cadfael deceitfully; but Rhodri was not to be caught.\n\n\"I saw him strike down the other young fool,\" he said, and grinned. \"Why, did he come to grief after I left? And which of them is it you're looking for, Thomas or the lad?\" And he stared with marked interest to see the sheriff's men probing at the backs of stalls, and under the trestles, and followed inquisitively on their heels as they worked their way back along the highroad. Evidently nothing of moment was to be allowed to happen at this fair without Rhodri ap Huw being present at it, or very quickly and minutely informed of it. And why not make use of, his perspicacity?\n\n\"Thomas's niece is in a taking because he has not come back to his barge. That might mean anything or nothing, but now it's gone on so long, his men are getting uneasy, too. Did you see him leave his booth?\"\n\n\"I did. It might be as much as two hours ago. And his journeyman some little while after him. A fair size of a man, to be lost between here and the river. And no word of him anywhere since then?\"\n\n\"Not that we've found, or likely to find, without questioning every trader and every idler in all this array. And the wiser half of them getting their sleep in ready for the morning.\"\n\nThey had reached the Foregate and turned towards the town, and still Rhodri strode companionably beside Cadfael, and had taken to peering into the dark spaces between stalls just as the sheriff's men were doing. Lights and braziers were fewer here, and the stalls more modest, and the quiet of the night closed in drowsily. On their left, under the abbey wall, a few compact but secure booths were arrayed. The first of them, though completely closed in and barred for the night, showed through a chink the light of a candle within. Rhodri dug a weighty elbow into Cadfael's ribs.\n\n\"Euan of Shotwick! No one is ever going to get at him from the rear, he likes a corner backed into two walls if he can get it. Travels alone with a pack-pony, and wears a weapon, and can use it, too. A solitary soul because he trusts nobody. His own porter\u2014luckily his wares weigh light for their value\u2014and his own watchman.\"\n\nIvo Corbi\u00e8re had loitered to go aside between the stalls, some of which in this stretch were still unoccupied, waiting for the local traders who would come with the dawn. The consequent darkness slowed their search, and the young man, not at all averse to spending the night without sleep, and probably encouraged by the memory of Emma's bright eyes, was tireless and thorough. Even Cadfael and Rhodri ap Huw were some yards ahead of him when they heard him cry after them, high and urgently:\n\n\"Good God, what's here? Beringar, come back here!\"\n\nThe tone was enough to bring them running. Corbi\u00e8re had left the highway, probing between stacked trestles and leaning canvas awnings into darkness, but when they peered close there was lambent light enough from the stars for accustomed eyes to see what he had seen. From beneath a light wooden frame and stretched canvas jutted two booted feet, motionless, toes pointed skywards. For a moment they all stared in silence, dumbstruck, for truth to tell, not one of them had believed that the merchant could have come to any harm, as they all agreed afterwards. Then Beringar took hold of the frame and hoisted it away from the trestles against which it leaned, and dim and large in the darkness they saw a man's long shape, from the knees up rolled in a cloak that hid the face. There was no movement, and no noticeable sound.\n\nThe sergeant leaned in with the one torch they had brought with them, and Beringar reached a hand to the folds of the cloak, and began to draw them back from the shrouded head and shoulders. The movement of the cloth released a powerful wave of an odour that made him halt and draw suspicious breath. It also disturbed the body, which emitted an enormous snore, and a further gust of spirituous breath.\n\n\"Dead drunk and helpless,\" said Beringar, relieved. \"And not, I fancy, the man we're looking for. The state he's in, this fellow must have been here some hours already, and if he comes round in time to crawl away before dawn it will be a miracle. Let's have a look at him.\" He was less gingerly now in dragging the cloak away, but the drunken man let himself be hauled about and dragged forth by the feet with only a few disturbed grunts, and subsided into stertorous sleep again as soon as he was released. The torch shone its yellow, resinous light upon a shock-head of coarse auburn hair, a pair of wide shoulders in a leather jerkin, and a face that might have been sharp, lively and even comely when he was awake and sober, but now looked bloated and idiotic, with open, slobbering mouth and reddened eyes.\n\nCorbi\u00e8re took one close look at him, and let out a gasp and an oath. \"Fowler! Devil take the sot! Is this how he obeys me? By God, I'll make him sweat for it!\" And he filled a fist with the thick brown hair and shook the fellow furiously, but got no more out of him than a louder snort, the partial opening of one glazed eye, and a wordless mumble that subsided again as soon as he was dropped, disgustedly and ungently, back into the turf.\n\n\"This drunken rogue is mine\u2026 my falconer and archer, Turstan Fowler,\" said Ivo bitterly, and kicked the sleeper in the ribs but not savagely. What was the use? The man would not be conscious for hours yet, and what he suffered afterwards would pay him all his dues. \"I've a mind to put him to cool in the river! I never gave him leave to quit the abbey precinct, and by the look of him he's been out and drinking\u2014 Good God, the reek of it, what raw spirit can it be?\u2014since ever I turned my back.\"\n\n\"One thing's certain,\" said Hugh, amused, \"he's in no case to walk back to his bed. Since he's yours, what will you have done with him? I would not advise leaving him here. If he has anything of value on him, even his hose, he might be without it by morning. There'll be scavengers abroad in the dark hours\u2014no fair escapes them.\"\n\nIvo stood back and stared down disgustedly at the oblivious culprit. \"If you'll lend me two of your men, and let us borrow a board here, we'll haul him back and toss him into one of the abbey's punishment cells, to sleep off his swinishness on the stones, and serve him right. If we leave him there unfed all the morrow, it may frighten him into better sense. Next time, I'll have his hide!\"\n\nThey hoisted the sleeper on to a board, where he sprawled aggravatingly into ease again, and snored his way along the Foregate so blissfully that his bearers were tempted to tip him off at intervals, by way of recompensing themselves for their own labour. Cadfael, Beringar and the remainder of the party were left looking after them somewhat ruefully, their own errand still unfulfilled.\n\n\"Well, well!\" said Rhodri ap Huw softly into Cadfael's ear, \"Euan of Shotwick is taking a modest interest in the evening's happenings, after all!\"\n\nCadfael turned to look, and in the shuttered booth tucked under the wall a hatch had certainly opened, and against the pale light of a candle a head leaned out in sharp outline, staring towards where they stood. He recognised the high-bridged, haughty nose, the deceptively meagre slant of the lean shoulders, before the hatch was drawn silently to again, and the glover vanished.\n\nThey worked their way doggedly, yard by yard, all the way back to the riverside, where Roger Dod was waiting in a fume of anxiety, but they found no trace of Thomas of Bristol.\n\nA late boat coming up the Severn from Buildwas next day, and tying up at the bridge about nine in the morning, delayed its unloading of a cargo of pottery to ask first that a message be sent to the sheriff, for they had other cargo aboard, taken up out of a cove near Atcham, which would be very much the sheriff's business. Gilbert Prestcote, busy with other matters, sent from the castle his own sergeant, with orders to report first to Hugh Beringar at the abbey.\n\nThe particular cargo the potter had to deliver lay rolled in a length of coarse sail-cloth in the bottom of the boat, and oozed water in a dark stain over the boards. The boatman unfolded the covering, and displayed to Beringar's view the body of a heavily-built man of some fifty to fifty-five years, fleshy, with thinning, grizzled hair and bristly, bluish jowls, his pouchy features sagging doughily in death. Master Thomas of Bristol, stripped of his elaborate capuchon, his handsome gown, his rings and his dignity, as naked as the day he was born.\n\n\"We saw his whiteness bobbing under the bank,\" said the potter, looking down upon his salvaged man, \"and poled in to pick him up, the poor soul. I can show you the place, this side of the shallows and the island at Atcham. We thought best to bring him here, as we would a drowned man. But this one,\" he said very soberly, \"did not drown.\"\n\nNo, Thomas of Bristol had not drowned. That was already evident from the very fact that he had been stripped of everything he had on, and hardly by his own hands or will. But also, even more certainly, from the incredibly narrow wound under his left shoulder-blade, washed white and closed by the river, where a very fine, slender dagger had transfixed him and penetrated to his heart."
            },
            {
                "title": "The First Day of the Fair",
                "text": "The first day of saint peter's fair was in full swing, and the merry, purposeful hum of voices bargaining, gossiping and crying wares came over the wall into the great court, and in at the gatehouse, like the summer music of a huge hive of bees on a sunny day. The sound pursued Hugh Beringar back to the apartment in the guest-hall, where his wife and Emma Vernold were very pleasurably comparing the virtues of various wools, and the maid Constance, who was an expert spinstress, was fingering the samples critically and giving her advice.\n\nOn this domestic scene, which had brought back the fresh colour to Emma's cheeks and the animation to her voice, Hugh's sombre face cast an instant cloud. There was no time for breaking news circuitously, nor did he think that this girl would thank him for going roundabout.\n\n\"Mistress Vernold, my news is ill, and I grieve for it. God knows I had not expected this. Your uncle is found. A boat coming up early this morning from Buildwas picked up his body from the river.\"\n\nThe colour ebbed from her face. She stood with frightened, helpless eyes gazing blindly before her. The prop of her life had suddenly been plucked away, and for a moment it seemed that all balance was lost to her, and she might indeed fall for want of him. But by the time she had drawn breath deep, and shaped soundlessly: \"Dead!\" it was clear that she was firm on her own feet again, and in no danger of falling. Her eyes, once the momentary panic and dizziness passed, looked straight at Hugh and made no appeal.\n\n\"Drowned?\" she said. \"But he swam well, he was raised by the river. And if he drank at all, it was sparingly. I do not believe he could fall into Severn and drown. Not of himself!\" she said, and her large eyes dilated.\n\n\"Sit down,\" said Hugh gently, \"for we must talk a little, and then I shall leave you with Aline, for of course you must remain here in our care for this while. No, he did not drown. Nor did he come by his death of himself. Master Thomas was stabbed from behind, stripped, and put into the river after death.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" she said, in a voice low and laboured, but quite steady, \"he was waylaid and killed by mere sneak-thieves, for what he had on him? For his rings and his gown and his shoes?\"\n\n\"It is what leaps to the mind. There are no roads in England now that can be called safe, and no great fair that has not its probable underworld of hangers-on, who will kill for a few pence.\"\n\n\"My uncle was not a timid man. He has fought off more than one attack in his time, and he never avoided a journey for fear in his life. After all these years,\" she said, her voice aching with protest, \"why should he fall victim now to such scum? And yet what else can it be?\"\n\n\"There are some people recalling,\" said Hugh, \"that there was an ugly incident on the jetty last evening, and violence was done to a number of the merchants who were unloading goods and setting up stalls for the fair. It's common knowledge there was bad blood between town and traders, of whom Master Thomas was perhaps the most influential. He was involved bitterly with the young man who led the raid. An attack made in revenge, by night, perhaps in a drunken rage, might end mortally, whether it was meant or no.\"\n\n\"Then he would have been left where he lay,\" said Emma sharply. \"His attacker would think only of getting clean away unseen. Those angry people were not thieves, only townsmen with a grievance. A grievance might turn them into murderers, but I do not think it would turn them into thieves.\"\n\nHugh was beginning to feel considerable respect for this girl, as Aline, by her detached silence and her attentive face, had already learned to do. \"I won't say but I agree with you there,\" he admitted. \"But it might well occur to a young man turned murderer almost by mishap, to dress his crime as the common sneak killing for robbery. It opens so wide a field. Twenty young men bitterly aggrieved and hot against your uncle for his scorn of them could be lost among a thousand unknown, and the most unlikely suspects among them, at that, if this passes as chance murder for gain.\"\n\nEven in the bleak newness of her bereavement, this thought troubled her. She bit a hesitant lip. \"You think it may have been one of those young men? Or more of them together? That they burned with their grudge until they followed him in the dark, and took this way?\"\n\n\"It's being both thought and said,\" owned Hugh, \"by many people who witnessed what happened by the river.\"\n\n\"But the sheriff's men,\" she pointed out, frowning, \"surely took up many of those young men long before my uncle went to the fairground. If they were already in prison, they could not have harmed him.\"\n\n\"True of most of them. But the one who led them was not taken until the small hours of the morning, when he came reeling back to the town gate, where he was awaited. He is in a cell in the castle now, like his fellows, but he was still at liberty long after Master Thomas failed to come back to you, and he is under strong suspicion of this death. The whole pack of them will come before the sheriff this afternoon. The rest, I fancy, will be let out on their fathers' bail, to answer the charges later. But for Philip Corviser, I greatly doubt it. He will need to have better answers than he was able to give when they took him.\"\n\n\"This afternoon!\" echoed Emma. \"Then I should also attend. I was a witness when this turmoil began. The sheriff should hear my testimony, too, especially if my uncle's death is in question. There were others\u2014Master Corbi\u00e8re, and the brother of the abbey, the one you know well\u2026\"\n\n\"They will be attending, and others besides. Certainly your witness would be valuable, but to ask it of you at such a time\u2026\"\n\n\"I would rather!\" she said firmly. \"I want my uncle's murderer caught, if indeed he was murdered, but I pray no innocent man may be too hurriedly blamed. I don't know\u2014I would not have thought he looked like a murderer\u2026 I should like to tell what I do know, it is my duty.\"\n\nBeringar cast a brief glance at his wife for enlightenment, and Aline gave him a smile and the faintest of nods.\n\n\"If you are resolved on that,\" he said, reassured, \"I will ask Brother Cadfael to escort you. And for the rest, you need have no anxieties about your own situation. It will be necessary for you to stay here until this matter is looked into, but naturally you will remain here in Aline's company, and you shall have every possible help in whatever dispositions you need to make.\"\n\n\"I should like,\" said Emma, \"to take my uncle's body back by the barge to Bristol for burial.\" She had not considered, until then, that there would be no protector for her on the boat this time, only Roger Dod, whose mute but watchful and jealous devotion was more than she could bear, Warin who would take care to notice nothing that might cause him trouble, and poor Gregory, who was strong and able of body but very dull of wit. She drew in breath sharply, and bit an uncertain lip, and the shadow came back to her eyes. \"At least, to send him back\u2026 His man of law there will take care of his affairs and mine.\"\n\n\"I have spoken to the prior. Abbot Radulfus sanctions the use of an abbey chapel, your uncle's body can lie there when he is brought from the castle, and all due preparations will be made for his decent coffining. Ask for anything you want, it shall be at your disposal. I must summon your journeyman to attend at the castle this afternoon, too. How would you wish him to deal, concerning the fair? I will give him whatever instructions you care to send.\"\n\nShe nodded understanding, visibly bracing herself again towards a world of shrewd daily business which had not ceased with the ending of a life. \"Be so kind as to tell him,\" she said, \"to continue trading for the three days of the fair, as though his master still presided. My uncle would scorn to go aside from his regular ways for any danger or loss, and so will I in his name.\" And suddenly, as freely and as simply as a small child, she burst into tears at last.\n\nWhen Hugh was gone about his business, and Constance had withdrawn at Aline's nod, the two women sat quietly until Emma had ceased to weep, which she did as suddenly as she had begun. She wept, as some women have the gift of doing, without in the least defacing her own prettiness and without caring whether she did or no. Most lose the faculty, after the end of childhood. She dried her eyes, and looked up straightly at Aline, who was looking back at her just as steadily, with a serenity which offered comfort without pressing it.\n\n\"You must think,\" said Emma, \"that I had no deep affection for my uncle. And indeed I don't know myself that you would be wrong. And yet I did love him, it has not been only loyalty and gratitude, though those came easier. He was a hard man, people said, hard to satisfy, and hard in his business dealings. But he was not hard to me. Only hard to come near. It was not his fault, or mine.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Aline mildly, since she was being invited closer, \"you loved him as much as he would let you. As he could let you. Some men have not the gift.\"\n\n\"Yes. But I would have liked to love him more. I would have done anything to please him. Even now I want to do everything as he would have wished. We shall keep the booth open as long as the fair lasts, and try to do it as well as he would have done. All that he had in hand, I want to see done thoroughly.\" Her voice was resolute, almost eager. Master Thomas would certainly have approved the set of her chin and the spark in her eye. \"Aline, shall I not be a trouble to you by staying here? I\u2014my uncle's men\u2014there's one who likes me too well\u2026\"\n\n\"So I had thought,\" said Aline. \"You're most welcome here, and we'll not part with you until you can be sent back safely to Bristol, and your home. Not that I can find it altogether blameworthy in the young man to like you, for that matter,\" she added, smiling.\n\n\"No, but I cannot like him well enough. Besides, my uncle would never have allowed me to be there on the barge without him. And now I have duties,\" said Emma, rearing her head determinedly and staring the uncertain future defiantly in the face. \"I must see to the ordering of a fine coffin for him, for the journey home. There will be a master-carpenter, somewhere in the town?\"\n\n\"There is. To the right, halfway up the Wyle, Master Martin Bellecote. A good man, and a good craftsman. His lad was among these terrible rioters, as I hear,\" said Aline, and dimpled indulgently at the thought, \"but so were half the promising youth of the town. I'll come in with you to Martin's shop.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Emma firmly. \"It will all be tedious and long at the sheriff's court, and you should not tire yourself. And besides, you have to buy your fine wools, before the best are taken. And Brother Cadfael\u2014was that the name?\u2014will show me where to find the shop. He will surely know.\"\n\n\"There's very little to be known about this precinct and the town of Shrewsbury,\" agreed Aline with conviction, \"that Brother Cadfael does not know.\"\n\nCadfael received the abbot's dispensation to attend the hearing at the castle, and to escort the abbey's bereaved guest, without question. A civic duty could not be evaded, whether by secular or monastic. Radulfus had already shown himself both an austere but just disciplinarian and a shrewd and strong-minded business man. He owed his preferment to the abbacy as much to the king as to the papal legate, and valued and feared for the order of the realm at least as keenly as for the state of his own cure. Consequently, he had a use for those few among the brothers who shared his wide experience of matters outside the cloister.\n\n\"This death,\" he said, closeted with Cadfael alone after Beringar's departure, \"casts a shadow upon our house and our fair. Such a burden cannot be shifted to other shoulders. I require of you a full account of what passes at this hearing. It was of me that the elders of the town asked a relief I could not grant. On me rests the load of resentment that drove those younger men to foolish measures. They lacked patience and thought, and they were to blame, but that does not absolve me. If the man's death has arisen out of my act, even though I could not act otherwise, I must know it, for I have to answer for it, as surely as the man who struck him down.\"\n\n\"I shall bring you all that I myself see and hear, Father Abbot,\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"I require also all that you think, brother. You saw part of what happened yesterday between the dead man and the living youth. Is it possible that it could have brought about such a death as this? Stabbed in the back? It is not commonly the method of anger.\"\n\n\"Not commonly.\" Cadfael had seen many deaths in the open anger of battle, but he knew also of rages that had bred and festered into killings by stealth, with the anger as hot as ever, but turned sour by brooding. \"Yet it is possible. But there are other possibilities. It may indeed be what it first seems, a mere crude slaughter for the clothes on the body and the rings on the fingers, opportune plunder in the night, when no one chanced to be by. Such things happen, where men are gathered together and there is money changing hands.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Radulfus, coldly and sadly. \"The ancient evil is always with us.\"\n\n\"Also, the man is of great importance in his trade and his region, and he may have enemies. Hate, envy, rivalry, are as powerful motives even as gain. And at a great fair such as ours, enemies may be brought together, far from the towns where their quarrels are known, and their acts might be guessed at too accurately. Murder is easier and more tempting, away from home.\"\n\n\"Again, true,\" said the abbot. \"Is there more?\"\n\n\"There is. There is the matter of the girl, niece and heiress to the dead man. She is of great beauty,\" said Cadfael plainly, asserting his right to recognise and celebrate even the beauty of women, though their enjoyment he had now voluntarily forsworn, \"and there are three men in her uncle's service, shut on board a river barge with her. Only one of them old enough, it may be, to value his peace more. One, I think, God's simpleton, but not therefore blind, or delivered from the flesh. And one whole, able, every way a man, and enslaved to her. And this one it was who followed his master from the booth on the fairground, some say a quarter of an hour after him, some say a little more. God forbid I should therefore point a finger at an honest man. But we speak of possibilities. And will speak of them no more until, or unless, they become more than possibilities.\"\n\n\"That is my mind, also,\" said Abbot Radulfus, stirring and almost smiling. He looked at Cadfael steadily and long. \"Go and bear witness, brother, as you are charged, and bring me word again. In your report I shall set my trust.\"\n\nEmma had on, perforce, the same gown and bliaut she had worn the evening before, the gown dark blue like her eyes, but the tunic embroidered in many colours upon bleached linen. The only concession she could make to mourning was to bind up her great wealth of hair, and cover it from sight within a borrowed wimple. Nevertheless, she made a noble mourning figure. In the severe white frame her rounded, youthful face gained in concentrated force and meaning what it lost in pure grace. She had a look of single-minded gravity, like a lance in rest. Brother Cadfael could not yet see clearly where the lance was aimed.\n\nWhen she caught sight of him approaching, she looked at him with pleased recognition, as the man behind the lance might have looked round at the fixed, partisan faces of his friends before the bout, but never shifted the focus of her soul's intent, which reached out where he could not follow.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael\u2014have I your name right? It's Welsh, is it not? You were kind, yesterday. Lady Beringar says you will show me where to find the master-carpenter. I have to order my uncle's coffin, to take him back to Bristol.\" She was quite composed, yet still as simple and direct as a child. \"Have we time, before we must go to the castle?\"\n\n\"It's on the way,\" said Cadfael comfortably. \"You need only tell Martin Bellecote, whatever you ask of him he'll see done properly.\"\n\n\"Everyone is being very kind,\" she said punctiliously, like a well brought-up little girl giving due thanks. \"Where is my uncle's body now? I should care for it myself, it is my duty.\"\n\n\"That you cannot yet,\" said Cadfael. \"The sheriff has him at the castle, he must needs see the body for himself, and have the physician also view it. You need be put to no distress on that account, the abbot has given orders. Your uncle will be brought with all reverence to lie in the church here, and the brothers will make him decent for burial. I think he might well wish, could he tell you so now, that you should leave all to us. His care for you would reach so far, and your obedience could not well deny him.\"\n\nCadfael had seen the dead man, and felt strongly that she should not have the same experience. Nor was it for her sake entirely that he willed so. The man she had respected and admired in his monumental dignity, living, had the right to be preserved for her no less decorously in death.\n\nHe had found the one argument that could deflect her absolute determination to take charge of all, and escape nothing. She thought about it seriously as they passed out at the gatehouse side by side, and he knew by her face the moment when she accepted it.\n\n\"But he did believe that I ought to take my full part, even in his business. He wished me to travel with him, and learn the trade as he knew it. This is the third such journey I have made with him.\" That reminded her that it must also be the last. \"At least,\" she said hesitantly, \"I may give money to have Masses said for him, here where he died? He was a very devout man, I think he would like that.\"\n\nWell, her reserves of money might now be far longer than her reserves of peace of mind were likely to be; she could afford to buy herself a little consolation, and prayers are never wasted.\n\n\"That you may surely do.\"\n\n\"He died unshriven,\" she said, with sudden angry grief against the murderer who had deprived him of confession and absolution.\n\n\"Through no fault of his own. So do many. So have saints, martyred without warning. God knows the record without needing word or gesture. It's for the soul facing death that the want of shriving is pain. The soul gone beyond knows that pain for needless vanity. Penitence is in the heart, not in the words spoken.\"\n\nThey were out on the highroad then, turning left towards the reflected sparkle that was the river between its green, lush banks, and the stone bridge over it, that led through the drawbridge turret to the town gate. Emma had raised her head, and was looking at Brother Cadfael along her shoulder, with faint colour tinting her creamy cheeks, and a sparkle like a shimmer of light from the river in her eyes. He had not seen her smile until this moment, and even now it was a very wan smile, but none the less beautiful.\n\n\"He was a good man, you know, Brother Cadfael,\" she said earnestly. \"He was not easy upon fools, or bad workmen, or people who cheated, but he was a good man, good to me! And he kept his bargains, and he was loyal to his lord\u2026\" She had taken fire, for all the softness of her voice and the simplicity of her plea for him; it was almost as though she had been about to say \"loyal to his lord to the death!\" She had that high, heroic look about her, to be taken very seriously, even on that child's face.\n\n\"All which,\" said Cadfael cheerfully, \"God knows, and needs not to be told. And never forget you've a life to live, and he'd want you to do him justice by doing yourself justice.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" said Emma, glowing, and for the first time laid her hand confidingly on his sleeve. \"That's what I want! That's what I have most in mind!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "At Martin Bellecote's shop, off the curve of the rising street called the Wyle, which led to the centre of the town, she knew exactly what she wanted for her dead, and ordered it clearly; more, she knew how to value a matching clarity and forthrightness in the master-carpenter, and yet had time to be pleasantly distracted by the invasion of his younger children, who liked the look of her and came boldly to chatter and stare. As for the delinquent Edwy, sent home overnight after his tongue-lashing from Hugh Beringar, the youngster worked demurely with a plane in a corner of the shop, and was not too subdued to cast inquisitive glances of bright hazel eyes at the lady, and one impudent wink at Brother Cadfael when Emma was not noticing.\n\nOn the way through the town, up the steep street to the High Cross, and down the gentler slope beyond to the ramp which led up to the castle gateway, she fell into a thoughtful silence, putting in order her recollections. The shadow of the gate falling upon her serious face and cutting off the sunlight caused her eyes to dilate in awe; but the casual traffic of the watch here was no longer reminiscent of siege and battle, but easy and brisk, and the townspeople went in and out freely with their requests and complaints. The sheriff was a strong-minded, taciturn, able knight past fifty, and old in experience of both war and office, and while he could be heavy-handed in crushing disorder, he was trusted to be fair in day to day matters. If he had not given the goodmen of the town much help in making good the dilapidations due to the siege, neither had he permitted them to be misused or heavily taxed to restore the damage to the castle. In the great court one tower was still caged in timber scaffolding, one wall shored up with wooden buttresses. Emma gazed, great-eyed.\n\nThere were others going the same way with them, anxious fathers here to bail their sons, two of the abbey stewards who had been assaulted in the affray, witnesses from the bridge and the jetty, all being ushered through to the inner ward, and a chill, stony hall hung with smoky tapestries. Cadfael found Emma a seat on a bench against the wall, where she sat looking about her with anxious eyes but lively interest.\n\n\"Look, there's Master Corbi\u00e8re!\"\n\nHe was just entering the hall, and for the moment had no attention to spare for anyone but the hunched figure that slouched before him; blear-eyed but in his full wits today, going softly in awe of his irate lord, Turstan Fowler made his powerful form as small and unobtrusive as possible, and mustered patience until the storm should blow over. And what had he to do here, Cadfael wondered. He had not been on the jetty, and by the state in which he had been found near midnight, his memories of yesterday should in any case be vague indeed. Yet he must have something to say to the purpose, or Corbi\u00e8re would not have brought him here. By his mood last night, he had meant to leave him locked up all day, to teach him better sense.\n\n\"Is this the sheriff?\" whispered Emma.\n\nGilbert Prestcote had entered, with a couple of lawmen at his elbows to advise him on the legalities. This was no trial but it rested with him whether the rioters would go home on their own and their sires' bond to appear at the assize, or be held in prison in the meantime. The sheriff was a tall, spare man, erect and vigorous, with a short black beard trimmed to a point, and a sharp and daunting eye. He took his seat without ceremony, and a sergeant handed him the list of names of those in custody. He raised his eyebrows ominously at the number of them.\n\n\"All these were taken in riot?\" He spread the roll on his table and frowned down at it. \"Very well! There is also the graver matter of the death of Master Thomas of Bristol. At what hour was the last word we have of Master Thomas alive and well?\"\n\n\"According to his journeyman and his watchman, he left his booth on the horse-fair, intending to return to his barge, more than an hour past the Compline bell. That is the last word we have. His man Roger Dod is here to testify that the hour was rather more than a quarter past nine of the evening and the watchman bears that out.\"\n\n\"Late enough,\" said the sheriff, pondering. \"The fighting was over by then, and Foregate and fairground quiet. Hugh, prick me off here all those who were then already in custody. Whatever their guilt for damages to goods and gear, they cannot have had any hand in this murder.\"\n\nHugh leaned to his shoulder, and ran a rapid hand down the roster. \"It was a sharp encounter, but short. We had it in hand very quickly, they never reached the end of the Foregate. This man was picked up last, it might be as late as ten, but in an ale-house and very drunk, and the ale-wife vouches for his having been there above an hour. A respectable witness, she was glad to get rid of him. But he's clear of the killing. This one crept back to the bridge a little later, and owned to having been one among the rabble, but we let him home, for he's very lame, and there are witnesses to all his moves since before nine. He's here to answer for his part in the muster, as he promised. I think you may safely write him clear of any other blame.\"\n\n\"It leaves but one,\" said Prestcote, and looked up sharply into Beringar's face.\n\n\"It does,\" said Hugh, and committed himself to nothing further.\n\n\"Very well! Have in all the rest, but keep him aside. Let us hold these two matters apart, and deal with the lesser first.\"\n\nInto the space roped off along one side the hall, the sheriff's officers herded their prisoners, a long file of sullenly sheepish young men, bruised, dishevelled and sorry for themselves now, but still nursing the embers of a genuine resentment. There were some torn coats among them, and a purple eye or two, and the lingering signs of bloody noses and battered crowns, and a night on the stones of indifferently swept cells had done their best clothes, donned for dignified battle as knights case themselves in ceremonial armour, no good at all. There would be indignant mothers scolding bitterly as they scrubbed and mended, or here and there a young wife doing the nagging on behalf of all women. The offenders stood in line doggedly, set their jaws, and braced themselves to endure whatever might follow.\n\nPrestcote was thorough. Plainly he was preoccupied with the more serious evil, and little disposed to fulminate overmuch about this civic discord, which in the end had done comparatively little harm. So though he called every culprit separately, and had him answer for his own part in the affray, he got through them rapidly and reasonably. Most of them freely owned that they had taken part, maintained that the intention had been entirely lawful and peaceable, and the disintegration later had been unintentional and none of their making. Several bore witness that they had been with Philip Corviser on the jetty, and told how he had been assaulted, thus letting loose the riot that followed. Only one here and there sought to prove that he had never so much as overset one trestle under a stall, nor even been on the abbey side of Severn that evening. And those few were already committed deep on the evidence of law-abiding citizens.\n\nAgitated fathers, vengeful rather than doting, came forward to claim each dejected hero, pledged attendance at the assize, and offered surety for the pledge. The lame lad was lectured perfunctorily, and dismissed without penalty. Two who had been particularly voluble in asserting that they were elsewhere at the time, and unjustly accused, were returned to their prison for a day or two, to reconsider the nature of truth.\n\n\"Very well!\" said Prestcote, dusting his hands irritably. \"Clear the hall, but for those who have evidence to give concerning Master Thomas of Bristol. And bring in Philip Corviser.\"\n\nThe line of young men had vanished, hustled out and shepherded away by loyal but exasperated families. At home they would have to sit and nurse sore heads and sore hearts while fathers hectored and dames wept, pouring out on them all the fear and worry they had suffered on their behalf. Emma looked after the last of them with round, sympathetic eyes, as he was haled away by the ear by a diminutive mother half his size, and shrill as a jay. Poor lad, he needed no other punishment, he was drowning in mortification already.\n\nShe turned about, and there where his fellows had been, but monstrously alone in the middle of that stony wall, was Philip Corviser.\n\nHe gripped the rope with both hands, and stood rigidly erect, neck as stiff as a lance, though for the rest he looked as if his flesh might melt and drop off the bone, he was so haggard. His extreme pallor, which Cadfael knew for what raw wine can do to the beginner, the day after his indulgence, Emma almost certainly took for the fruit of dire injury and great anguish of mind. She paled in reflection, staring piteously, though he was nothing to her, except that she had seen him struck down, and been afraid he might not rise again.\n\nFor all his efforts, he was a sorry figure. His best cotte was torn and soiled, and worse, speckled with drops of blood under his left ear, and vomit about the skirts. He mustered his gangling limbs gallantly but somewhat uncertainly, and his harmless, sunburned face, unshaven now and ashen under its tan, blushed to an unbecoming and unexpected purple when he caught sight of his father, waiting with laboured patience among the onlookers. He did not look that way again, but kept his bruised brown eyes fixed upon the sheriff.\n\nHe answered to his name in a voice too loud, from nervous defiance, and agreed to the time and place of his arrest. Yes, he had been very drunk, and hazy about his movements, and even about the circumstances of his arrest, but yes, he would try to answer truthfully to what was charged against him.\n\nThere were several witnesses to testify that Philip had been the originator and leader of the whole enterprise which had ended so ignominiously. He had been in the forefront when the angry young men crossed the bridge, he had given the signal that sent some of the party ahead along the Foregate, while he led a handful down to the riverside, and entered into loud argument with the merchants unloading goods there. Thus far all accounts tallied, but from then on they varied widely. Some had the youths beginning at once to toss merchandise into the river, and were certain that Philip had been in the thick of the battle. One or two of the aggrieved merchants alleged with righteous indignation that he had assaulted Master Thomas, and so began the whole turmoil. Since they would all have their say, Hugh Beringar had held back his preferred witnesses until last.\n\n\"My lord, as to the scene by the river, we have here the niece of Master Thomas, and two men who intervened, and afterwards helped to rescue much of what had been cast into the river: Ivo Corbi\u00e8re of Stanton Cobbold, and Brother Cadfael of the abbey, who was assisting a Welsh-speaking trader. There were no others so close to the affair. Will you hear Mistress Vernold?\"\n\nPhilip had not realised until that moment that she was present. The mention of her caused him to look round wildly, and the sight of her stepping shyly forward to stand before the sheriff's table brought out a deep and painful blush, that welled out of the young man's torn collar and mounted in a great wave to his red-brown hair. He averted his eyes from her, wishing, thought Cadfael, for the floor to open and swallow him up. It would not have mattered so much looking a piteous object to others, but before her he was furious and ashamed. Not even the thought of his father's mortification could have sunk his spirits so low. Emma, after one rapid glance, sympathetic enough, had also turned her eyes away. She looked only at the sheriff, who returned her straight gaze with concern and compunction.\n\n\"Was it needful to put Mistress Vernold to this distress, at such a time? Madam, you could well have been spared an appearance here, the lord Corbi\u00e8re and the good brother would have been witness enough.\"\n\n\"I wished to come,\" said Emma, her voice small but steady. \"Indeed I was not pressed, it was my own decision.\"\n\n\"Very well, if that is your wish. You have heard these varying versions of what happened. There seems little dispute until these disturbers of the peace came down to the jetty. Let me hear from you what followed.\"\n\n\"It is true that young man was the leader. I think he addressed himself to my uncle because he seemed the most important merchant then present, but he spoke high to be heard by all the rest. I cannot say that he uttered any threats, he only stated that the town had a grievance, and the abbey was not paying enough for the privilege of the fair, and asked that we, who come to do business here, should acknowledge the rights of the town, and pay a tithe of our rents and tolls to the town instead of all to the abbey. Naturally my uncle would not listen, but stood firm on the letter of the charter, and ordered the young men out of his way. And when he\u2014the prisoner here\u2014would still be arguing, my uncle turned his back and shrugged him off. Then the young man laid a hand on his arm, wanting to detain him still, and my uncle, who had his staff in his hand, turned and struck out at him. Thinking, I suppose, that he intended him offence or injury.\"\n\n\"And did he not?\" The sheriff's voice indicated mild surprise.\n\nShe cast one brief glance at the prisoner, and one in quest of reassurance at Brother Cadfael, and thought for a moment. \"No, I think not. He was beginning to be angry, but he had not said any ill word, or made any threatening movement. And my uncle, of course in alarm, hit hard. It felled him, and he lay in a daze.\" This time she did turn and look earnestly at Philip, and found him staring at her wide-eyed. \"You see he is marked. His left temple.\" Dried blood had matted the thick brown hair.\n\n\"And did he then attempt retaliation?\" asked Prestcote.\n\n\"How could he?\" she said simply. \"He was more than half stunned, he could not rise without help. And then all the others began to fight, and to throw things into the river. And Brother Cadfael came and helped him to his feet and delivered him to his friends, and they took him away. I am sure he could not have walked unaided. I think he did not know what he was doing, or how he came to such a state.\"\n\n\"Not then, perhaps,\" said Prescote reasonably. \"But later in the evening, somewhat recovered, and as he has himself admitted, very drunk, he may well have brooded on a revenge.\"\n\n\"I can say nothing as to that. My uncle would have struck him again, and might have done him desperate hurt if I had not stopped him. That is not his nature,\" she said firmly, \"it was most unlike him, but he was in a rage, and confused. Brother Cadfael will confirm what I say.\"\n\n\"At all points,\" said Brother Cadfael. \"It is a perfectly balanced and just account.\"\n\n\"My lord Corbi\u00e8re?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to add,\" said Ivo, \"to what Mistress Vernold has so admirably told you. I saw the prisoner helped away by his fellows, and what became of him after that I have no knowledge. But here is a man of mine, Turstan Fowler, who says he did see him later in the evening, drinking in an ale-house at the corner of the horse-fair. I must say,\" added Ivo with resigned disgust, \"that his own recollection of the night's events ought to be as hazy as the prisoner's, for we took him up dead drunk past eleven, and by the look of him he had been in the same state some time then. I had him put into a cell in the abbey overnight. But he claims his head is clear now, and he knows what he saw and heard. I thought it best he should speak here for himself.\"\n\nThe archer edged forward sullenly, peering up under thick frowning brows, as though his head still rang.\n\n\"Well, what is it you claim to know, fellow?\" asked Prestcote, eyeing him narrowly.\n\n\"My lord, I had no call to be out of the precinct at all, last night, my lord Corbi\u00e8re had given me orders to stay within. But I knew he would spend the evening looking the ground over, so I ventured. I got my skinful at Wat's tavern, by the north corner of the horse-fair. And this fellow was there, drinking fit to beat me, and I'm an old toper, and can carry it most times. The place was full, there must be others can tell you the same. He was nursing his sore head, and breathing fire against the man that gave it him. He swore he'd be up with him before the night was out. And that's all the meat of it, my lord.\"\n\n\"At what hour was this?\" asked Prestcote.\n\n\"Well, my lord, I was still firm on my feet then, and clear in my mind, and that I certainly was not later in the evening. It must have been somewhere halfway between eight and nine. I should have borne my drink well enough if I had not gone from ale to wine, and then to a fierce spirit, and that last was what laid me low, or I'd have been back within the wall before my lord came home, and escaped a night on the stones.\"\n\n\"It was well earned,\" said Prestcote dryly. \"So you took yourself off to sleep off your load\u2014when?\"\n\n\"Why, about nine, I suppose, my lord, and was fathoms deep soon after. Troth, I can't recall where, though I remember the inn. They can tell you where I was found who found me.\"\n\nAt this point it dawned abruptly upon Brother Cadfael that by pure chance this whole interrogation, since Philip had been brought in, had been conducted without once mentioning the fact that Master Thomas at this moment lay dead in the castle chapel. Certainly the sheriff had addressed Emma in tones of sympathy and consideration appropriate to her newly-orphaned state, and her uncle's absence might in itself be suggestive, though in view of the importance of his business at the fair, and the fact that Emma had once, at least, referred to him in the present tense, a person completely ignorant of his death would hardly have drawn any conclusion from these hints, unless he had all his wits about him. And Philip had been all night in a prison cell, and haled out only to face this hearing, and moreover, was still sick and dulled with his drinking, his broken head and his sore heart, and in no case to pick up every inference of what he heard. No one had deliberately laid a trap for him, but for all that, the trap was there, and it might be illuminating to spring it.\n\n\"So these threats you heard against Master Thomas,\" said Prescote, \"can have been uttered only within an hour, probably less, of the time when the merchant left his booth to return alone to his barge. The last report we have of him.\"\n\nThat was drawing nearer to the spring, but not near enough. Philip's face was still drawn, resigned and bewildered, as though they had been talking Welsh over his head. Brother Cadfael struck the prop clean away; it was high time.\n\n\"The last report we have of him alive,\" he said clearly.\n\nThe word might have been a knife going in, the slender kind that is hardly felt for a moment, and then hales after it the pain and the injury. Philip's head came up with a jerk, his mouth fell open, his bruised eyes rounded in horrified comprehension.\n\n\"But it must be remembered,\" continued Cadfael quickly, \"that we do not know the hour at which he died. A body taken from the water may have entered it at any time during the night, after all the prisoners were in hold, and all honest men in bed.\"\n\nIt was done. He had hoped it would settle the issue of guilt and innocence, at least to his satisfaction, but now he still could not be quite sure the boy had not known the truth already. How if he had only held his peace and listened to the ambiguous voices, and been in doubt whether Master Thomas's corpse had yet been found? On the face of it, if he had had any hand in that death, he was a better player than any of the travelling entertainers who would be plying their trade among the crowds this evening. His pallor, from underdone dough, had frozen into marble, he tried to speak and swallowed half-formed words, he drew huge breaths into him, and straightened his back, and turned great, shocked eyes upon the sheriff. On the face of it\u2014but every face can dissemble if the need is great enough.\n\n\"My lord,\" pleaded Philip urgently, when he had his voice again, \"is this truth? Master Thomas of Bristol is dead?\"\n\n\"Known or unknown to you,\" said Prestcote dryly, \"\u2014and I hazard no judgment\u2014it is truth. The merchant is dead. Our main purpose here now is to examine how he died.\"\n\n\"Taken from the water, the monk said. Did he drown?\"\n\n\"That, if you know, you may tell us.\"\n\nAbruptly the prisoner turned his back upon the sheriff, took another deep breath into him, and looked directly at Emma, and from then on barely took his eyes from her, even when Prestcote addressed him. The only judgment he cared about was hers.\n\n\"Lady, I swear to you I never did your uncle harm, never saw him again after they hauled me away from the jetty. What befell him I do not know, and God knows I'm sorry for your loss. I would not for the world have touched him, even if we had met and quarrelled afresh, knowing he was your kinsman.\"\n\n\"Yet you were heard threatening harm to him,\" said the sheriff.\n\n\"It may be so. I cannot drink, I was a fool ever to try that cure. I recall nothing of what I said, I make no doubt it was folly, and unworthy. I was sore and bitter. What I set out to do was honest enough, and yet it fell apart. All went to waste. But if I talked violence, I did none. I never saw the man again. When I turned sick from the wine I left the tavern and went down to the riverside, away from the boats, and lay down there until I made shift to drag myself back to the town. I admit to the trouble that arose out of my acts, and all that has been said against me, all but this. As God sees me, I never did your uncle any injury. Speak, and say you believe me!\"\n\nEmma gazed at him with parted lips and dismayed eyes, unable to say yes or no to him. How could she know what was true and what was lies?\n\n\"Let her be,\" said the sheriff sharply. \"It is with us you have to deal. This matter must be probed deeper than has been possible yet. Nothing is proven, but you stand in very grave suspicion, and it is for me to determine what is to be done with you.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" ventured the provost, who had kept his mouth tightly shut until now, against great temptation, \"I am prepared to stand surety for my son to whatever price you may set, and I guarantee he shall be at your disposal at the assize, and at whatever time between when you may need to question him. My honour has never been in doubt, and my son, whatever else, has been known as a man of his word, and if he gives his bond here he will keep it, even without my enforcement. I beg your lordship will release him home to my bail.\"\n\n\"On no terms,\" said Prestcote decidedly. \"The matter is too grave. He stays under lock and key.\"\n\n\"My lord, if you so order, under lock and key he shall be, but let it be in my house. His mother\u2014\"\n\n\"No! Say no more, you must know it is impossible. He stays here in custody.\"\n\n\"There is nothing against him in the matter of this death,\" offered Corbi\u00e8re generously, \"as yet, that is, except my rogue's witness of his threats. And thieves do haunt such gatherings as the great fairs, and if they can cut a man out from his fellows, will kill him for the clothes on his back. And surely the fact that the body was stripped accords better with just such a foul chance crime for gain? Vengeance has nothing to feed on in a bundle of clothing. The act is all.\"\n\n\"True,\" agreed Prestcote. \"But supposing a man had killed in anger, perhaps simply gone too far in an assault meant only to injure, he might be wise enough to strip his victim, to make it appear the work of common robbers, and turn attention away from himself. There is much work to be done yet in this case, but meantime Corviser must remain in hold. I should be failing in my duty if I turned him loose, even to your care, master provost.\" And the sheriff ordered, with a motion of his hand: \"Take him away!\"\n\nPhilip was slow to move, until the butt of a lance prodded him none too gently in the side. Even then he kept his chin on his shoulder for some paces, and his eyes desperately fixed upon Emma's distressed and doubting face. \"I did not touch him,\" he said, plucked forcibly away towards the door through which his guards had brought him. \"I pray you, believe me!\" Then he was gone, and the hearing was over.\n\nOut in the great court they paused to draw grateful breath, released from the shadowy oppression of the hall. Roger Dod hovered, with hungry eyes upon Emma.\n\n\"Mistress, shall I attend you back to the barge? Or will you have me go straight back to the booth? I had Gregory go there to help Warin, while I had to be absent, but trade was brisking up nicely, they'll be hard pushed by now. If that's what you want? To work the fair as he'd have worked it?\"\n\n\"That is what I want,\" she said firmly. \"To do all as he would have done. You go straight back to the horse-fair, Roger. I shall be staying with Lady Beringar at the abbey for this while, and Brother Cadfael will escort me.\"\n\nThe journeyman louted, and left them, without a backward glance. But the very rear view of him, sturdy, stiff and aware, brought back to mind the intensity of his dark face and burning, embittered eyes. Emma watched him go, and heaved a helpless sigh.\n\n\"I am sure he is a good man, I know he is a good servant, and has stood loyally by my uncle many years. So he would by me, after his fashion. And I do respect him, I must! I think I could like him, if only he would not want me to love him!\"\n\n\"It's no new problem,\" said Cadfael sympathetically. \"The lightning strikes where it will. One flames, and the other remains cold. Distance is the only cure.\"\n\n\"So I think,\" said Emma fervently. \"Brother Cadfael, I must go to the barge, to bring away some more clothes and things I need. Will you go with me?\"\n\nHe understood at once that this was an opportune time. Both Warin and Gregory were coping with customers at the booth, and Roger was on his way to join them. The barge would be riding innocently beside the jetty, and no man aboard to trouble her peace. Only a monk of the abbey, who did not trouble it at all. \"Whatever you wish,\" he said. \"I have leave to assist you in all your needs.\"\n\nHe had rather expected that Ivo Corbi\u00e8re would come to join her once they were out of the hall, but he did not. It was in Cadfael's mind that she had expected it, too. But perhaps the young man had decided that it was hardly worthwhile making a threesome with the desired lady and a monastic attendant, who clearly had his mandate, and would not consent to be dislodged. Cadfael could sympathise with that view, and admire his discretion and patience. There were two days of the fair left yet, and the great court of the abbey was not so great but guests could meet a dozen times a day. By chance or by rendezvous!\n\nEmma was very silent on the way back through the town. She had nothing to say until they emerged from the shadow of the gate into full sunlight again, above the glittering bow of the river. Then she said suddenly: \"It was good of Ivo to speak so reasonably for the young man.\" And on the instant, as Cadfael flashed a glance to glimpse whatever lay behind the words, she flushed almost as deeply as the unlucky lad Philip had blushed on beholding her a witness to his shame.\n\n\"It was very sound sense,\" said Cadfael, amiably blind. \"Suspicion there may be, but proof there's none, not yet. And you set him a pace in generosity he could not but admire.\"\n\nThe flush did not deepen, but it was already bright as a rose. On her ivory, silken face, so young and unused, it was touching and becoming.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she said, \"I only told simple truth. I could do no other.\" Which again was simple truth, for nothing in her life thus far had corrupted her valiant purity. Cadfael had begun to feel a strong fondness for this orphan girl who shouldered her load without timidity or complaint, and still had an open heart for the burdens of others. \"I was sorry for his father,\" she said. \"So decent and respected a man, to be denied so. And he spoke of his wife\u2026 she will be out of her wits with worry.\"\n\nThey were over the bridge, they turned down the green path, trodden almost bare at this busy, hot time, that led to the riverside and the long gardens and orchards of the Gaye. Master Thomas's deserted barge nestled into the green bank at the far end of the jetty, close-moored. One or two porters laboured along the boards with fresh stocks from the boats, shouldered them, and tramped away up the path to replenish busy stalls. The riverside lay sunlit, radiantly green and blue, and almost silent, but for the summer sounds of bees drunkenly busy among the late summer flowers in the grass. Almost deserted, but for a solitary fisherman in a small boat close under the shadow of the bridge; a comfortable, squarely-built fisherman stripped to shirt and hose, and bristling thornily with black curls and black bush of beard. Rhodri ap Huw clearly trusted his servant to deal profitably with his English customers, or else he had already sold out all the stock he had brought with him. He looked somnolent, happy, almost eternal, trailing his bait along the current under the archway, with an occasional flick of a wrist to correct the drift. Though most likely the sharp eyes under the sleepy eyelids were missing nothing that went on about him. He had the gift, it seemed, of being everywhere, but everywhere disinterested and benevolent.\n\n\"I will be quick,\" said Emma, with a foot on the side of the barge. \"Last night Constance lent me all that I needed, but I must not continue a beggar. Will you step aboard, brother? You are welcome! I'm sorry to be so poor a hostess.\" Her lips quivered. He knew the instant when her mind returned to her uncle, lying naked and dead in the castle, a man she had revered and relied on, and perhaps felt to be eternal in his solidity and self-confidence. \"He would have wished me to offer you wine, the wine you refused last night.\"\n\n\"For want of time only,\" said Cadfael placidly, and hopped nimbly over on to the barge's low deck. \"You go get what you need, child, I'll wait for you.\"\n\nThe space aboard was well organised, the cabin aft rode low, but the full width of the hull, and though Emma had to stoop her neat head to enter, stepping down to the lower level within, she and her uncle would have had room within for sleeping. Little to spare, yet enough, where no alien or suspect thing might come. But taut, indeed, when she was short of her natural protector, with three other men closely present on deck outside. And one of them deeply, hopelessly, in love. Uncles may not notice such glances as his, where their own underlings are concerned.\n\nShe was back, springing suddenly to view in the low doorway. Her eyes had again that look of shock and alarm, but now contained and schooled. Her voice was level and low as she said: \"Someone has been here! Someone strange! Someone has handled everything we left here on board, pawed through my linen and my uncle's, too, turned every board or cover. I do not dream, Brother Cadfael! It is title! Our boat has been ransacked while it was left empty. Come and see!\"\n\nIt was without guile that he asked her instantly: \"Has anything been taken?\"\n\nStill possessed by her discovery, and unguardedly honest, Emma said: \"No!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Everything in the boat, and certainly in the small cabin, seemed to Cadfael to be in immaculate order, but he did not therefore doubt her judgment. A girl making her third journey in this fashion, and growing accustomed to making the best use of the cramped space, would know exactly how she had everything folded and stowed, and the mere disturbance of a fold, the crumpling of a corner in the neat low chest under her bench-bed would be enough to alert her, and betray the intervention of another hand. But the very attempt at perfect restoration was surprising. It argued that the interloper had had ample time at his disposal, while all the crew were absent. Yet she had said confidently that nothing had been stolen.\n\n\"You are sure? You've had little time to examine everything here. Best look round thoroughly and make sure, before we report this to Hugh Beringar.\"\n\n\"Must I do that?\" she asked, a little startled, even, he thought, a little dismayed. \"If there's no harm? They are burdened enough with other matters.\"\n\n\"But do you not see, child, that this comes too aptly on the other? Your uncle killed, and now his barge ransacked\u2026\"\n\n\"Why, there can surely be no connection,\" she said quickly. \"This is the work of some common thief.\"\n\n\"A common thief who took nothing?\" said Cadfael. \"Where there are any number of things worth the taking!\"\n\n\"Perhaps he was interrupted\u2026\" But her voice wavered into silence, she could not even convince herself.\n\n\"Does it look so to you? I think he must have been through all your belongings at leisure, to leave them so neat for you. And removed himself only when he was satisfied.\" But of what? That what he wanted was not there?\n\nEmma gnawed a dubious lip, and looked about her thoughtfully. \"Well, if we must report it\u2026 You're right, I spoke too soon, perhaps I should go through everything. No use telling him but half a tale.\"\n\nShe settled down methodically to take out every item of clothing and equipment from both chests, laying them out on the beds, even unfolding those which showed, to her eyes at least, the most obvious signs of handling, and refolding them to her own satisfaction. At the end of it she sat back on her heels and looked up at Cadfael, thoughtfully frowning.\n\n\"Yes, there have been some things taken, but so cunningly. Small things that would never have been missed until we got home. There's a girdle of mine missing, one with a gold clasp. And a silver chain. And a pair of gloves with gold embroidery. If my thumbs had not pricked when I came in here, I should not have missed them, for I shouldn't have wanted to wear any of them. What could I want with gloves in August? I bought them all in Gloucester, on the way up the river.\"\n\n\"And of your uncle's belongings?\"\n\n\"I think there is nothing missing. If some moneys were left here, certainly none are here now, but his strong-box is at the booth. He never carried valuables on such journeys as this, except the rings he always wore. I should not have had such rich trifles here myself, if I had not but newly bought them.\"\n\n\"So it seems,\" said Cadfael, \"whoever took the opportunity of stepping aboard boldly, to see what he could pick up, had the wit to take only trifles he could slip in his sleeve or his pouch. That makes good sense. However naturally it was done, he'd be likely to cause some curiosity if he stepped ashore with his arms full of your uncle's gowns and shirts.\"\n\n\"And we must trouble Hugh Beringar and the sheriff over so trivial a loss?\" wondered Emma, jutting a doubtful lip. \"It seems a pity, when he has so many graver matters on his mind. And you see this is only an ordinary, vulgar filching, because the boat was left empty a while. Small creatures of prey have an eye to such chances.\"\n\n\"Yes, we must,\" said Cadfael firmly. \"Let the law be the judge whether this has anything to do with your uncle's death or no. That's not for us to say. You find what you need to take with you, and we'll go together and see him, if he's to be found at this hour.\"\n\nEmma put together a fresh gown and tunic, stockings and shift and other such mysteries as girls need, with a composure which Cadfael found at once admirable and baffling. The immediate discovery of the invasion of her possessions had startled and disturbed her, but she had come to terms with it very quickly and calmly, and appeared perfectly indifferent to the loss of her finery. He was just considering how odd it was that she should be so anxious to disconnect this incident from her uncle's death, when she herself, in perverse and unthinking innocence, restored the link.\n\n\"Well, at any rate,\" said Emma, gathering her bundle together neatly in the skirt of the gown, and rising nimbly from her knees, \"no one can dare say that the provost's son was to blame for this. He's safe in a cell in the castle, and the sheriff himself can be his witness this time.\"\n\nHugh Beringar had shrugged off his duties to enjoy at least the evening meal with his wife. Mercifully the first day of the fair had passed so far without further incident, no disorders, no quarrels, no accusations of cheating or overcharging, no throat-cutting or price-cutting, as though the uproar of the previous evening, and its deadly result, had chastened and subdued even the regular offenders. Trade was thriving, rents and tolls bringing in a high revenue for the abbey, and sales seemed set to continue peacefully well into the night.\n\n\"And I have bought some spun wool,\" said Aline, delighted with her day's shopping, \"and some very fine woollen cloth, so soft\u2014feel it! And Constance chose two beautiful fleeces from Cadfael's Welsh merchant, she wants to card and spin them herself for the baby. And I changed my mind about a cradle, for I saw nothing in the fair to match what Martin Bellecote can do. I shall go to him.\"\n\n\"The girl is not back yet?\" said Hugh, mildly surprised. \"She left the castle well before me.\"\n\n\"She'll have gone to bring some things from the barge. She had nothing with her last night, you know. And she was going to Bellecote's shop, too, to bespeak the coffin for her uncle.\"\n\n\"That she'd done on the way,\" said Hugh, \"for Martin came to the castle about the business before I left. They'll be bringing the body down to the chapel here before dark.\" He added appreciatively: \"A fair-minded lass, our Emma, as well as a stout-hearted one. She would not have that fool boy of Corviser's turned into the attacker, even for her uncle's sake. A straight tale as ever was. He opened civilly, was brusquely received, made the mistake of laying hand on the old man, and was felled like a poled ox.\"\n\n\"And what does he himself say?\" Aline looked up intently from the bolt of soft stuff she was lovingly stroking.\n\n\"That he never laid eyes on Master Thomas again, and knows no more about his death than you or I. But there's that falconer of Corbi\u00e8re's says he was breathing fire and smoke against the old man in Wat's tavern well into the evening. Who knows! The mildest lamb of the flock\u2014but that's not his reputation!\u2014may be driven to clash foreheads when roused, but the knife in the back, somehow\u2014that I doubt. He had no knife on him when he was taken up at the gate. We shall have to ask all his companions if they saw such a thing about him.\"\n\n\"Here is Emma,\" said Aline, looking beyond him to the doorway.\n\nThe girl came in briskly with her bundle, Brother Cadfael at her shoulder. \"I'm sorry to have been so long,\" said Emma, \"but we had reason. Something untoward has happened\u2014oh, it is not so grave, no great harm, but Brother Cadfael says we must tell you.\"\n\nCadfael forbore from urging, stood back in silence, and let her tell it in her own way, and a very flat way it was, as though she had no great interest in her reported loss. But for all that, she described the bits of finery word for word as she had described them to him, and went into greater detail of their ornaments. \"I did not wish to bother you with such trumpery thefts. How can I care about a lost girdle and gloves, when I have lost so much more? But Brother Cadfael insisted, so I have told you.\"\n\n\"Brother Cadfael was right,\" said Hugh sharply. \"Would it surprise you, child, to know that we have had not one complaint of mispractice or stealing or any evil all this day, touching any other tradesman at the fair? Yet one threat follows another where your uncle's business is concerned. Can that truly be by chance? Is there not someone here who has no interest in any other, but all too much in him?\"\n\n\"I knew you would think so,\" she said, sighing helplessly. \"But it was only by chance that our barge was left quite unmanned all this afternoon, by reason of Roger being needed with the rest of us at the castle. I doubt if there was another boat there unwatched. And common thieves have a sharp eye out for such details. They take what they can get.\"\n\nIt was a shrewd point, and clearly she was not the girl to lose sight of any argument that could serve her turn. Cadfael held his peace. There would be a time to discuss the matter with Hugh Beringar, but it was not now. The questions that needed answers would not be asked of Emma; where would be the use? She had been born with all her wits about her, and through force of circumstances she was learning with every moment. But why was she so anxious to have this search of her possessions shrugged aside as trivial, and having no bearing on Master Thomas's murder? And why had she stated boldly, in the first shook of discovery, indeed without time to view the field in any detail, that nothing had been taken? As though, disdaining the invasion, she had good reason to know that it had been ineffective?\n\nAnd yet, thought Cadfael, studying the rounded resolute face, and the clear eyes she raised to Hugh's searching stare, I would swear this is a good, honest girl, no way cheat or liar.\n\n\"You'll not be needing me,\" he said, \"Emma can tell you all. It's almost time for Vespers, and I have still to go and speak with the abbot. There'll be time later, Hugh, after supper.\" Abbot Radulfus was a good listener. Not once did he interrupt with comment or question, as Brother Cadfael recounted for him all that had passed at the sheriff's hearing and the unexpected discovery at the barge afterwards. At the end of it he sat for a brief while in silence still, pondering what he had heard.\n\n\"So we now have one unlawful act of which the man charged cannot possibly be guilty, whatever may be the truth concerning the other. What do you think, does this tend to weaken the suspicion against him, even on the charge of murder?\"\n\n\"It weakens it,\" said Cadfael, \"but it cannot clear him. It may well be true, as Mistress Vernold believes, that the two things are no way linked, the filching from the barge a mere snatch at what was available, for want of a watchman to guard it. Yet two such assaults upon the same man's life and goods looks like methodical purpose, and not mere chance.\"\n\n\"And the girl is now a guest within our halls,\" said Radulfus, \"and her safety our responsibility. Two attacks upon one man's life and goods, you said. How if there should be more? If a subtle enemy is pursuing some private purpose, it may not end with this afternoon's violation, as we have seen it did not end with the merchant's death. The girl is in the care of the deputy sheriff, and could not be in better hands. But like them, she is a guest under our roof. I do not want the brothers of our community distracted from their devotions and duties, or the harmony of our services shaken, I would not have these matters spoken of but between you and me, and of course as is needful to aid the law. But you, Brother Cadfael, have already been drawn in, you know the whole state of the case. Will you have an eye to what follows, and keep watch on our guests? I place the interests of the abbey in your hands. Do not neglect your devotional duties, unless you must, but I give you leave to go in and out freely, and absent yourself from offices if there is need. When the fair ends, our halls will empty, our tenant merchants depart. It will be out of our hands then to protect the just or prevent the harm that threatens from the unjust. But while they are here, let us do what we can.\"\n\n\"I will undertake what you wish, Father Abbot,\" said Cadfael, \"to the best I may.\"\n\nHe went to Vespers with a burdened heart and a vexed mind, but for all that, he was glad of the Abbot's charge. It was, in any case, impossible to give up worrying at so tangled a knot, once it had presented itself to his notice, even apart from the natural concern he felt for the girl, and there was no denying that the Benedictine round, dutifully observed, did limit a man's mobility for a large part of the day.\n\nMeantime, he drove the affairs of Emma Vernold from his thoughts with a struggle that should have earned him credit in heaven, and surrendered himself as best he could to the proper observance of Vespers. And after supper he repaired to the cloister, and was not surprised to find Hugh Beringar there waiting for him. They sat down together in a comer where the evening breeze coiled about them very softly and gratefully, and the view into the garth was all emerald turf and pale grey stone, and azure sky melting into green, through a fretwork of briars blowsy with late, drunken-sweet roses.\n\n\"There's news in your face,\" said Cadfael, eyeing his friend warily. \"As though we have not had enough for one day!\"\n\n\"And what will you make of it?\" wondered Hugh. \"Not an hour ago a lad fishing in Severn hooked a weight of sodden cloth out of the water. All but broke his line, so he let it back in, but was curious enough to play it to shore until he could take it up safely. A fine, full woollen gown, made for a big man, and one with money to spend, too.\" He met Cadfael's bright, alerted eyes, rather matching certainties than questioning. \"Yes, what else? We did not trouble Emma with it\u2014who would have the heart! She's drawing Aline a pattern for an embroidered hem for an infant's robe, one she got from France. They have their heads together like sisters. No, we fetched Roger Dod to swear to it. It's Master Thomas's gown, no question. We're poling down the banks now after hose and shirt. To any wandering thief that gown was worth a month's hunting.\"\n\n\"So no such leech would have thrown it away,\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"Never!\"\n\n\"There were also rings taken from his fingers. But rings, I suppose, might be too good to discard, even to prove that this was a murder for hate, not for gain. Rings would sink even if hurled into the Severn. So why hurl them?\"\n\n\"As usual,\" said Hugh, elevating thin black brows, \"you're ahead of me rather than abreast. On the face of it, this was a killing for private malice. So while we examine it, Ivo Corbi\u00e8re very sensibly points out that a murderer so minded would not have stayed to strip the body and put it into the river, but left it lying, and made off as fast as he could. Vengeance, he says rightly, has nothing to feed on in a bundle of clothing. The act is all! And that moved my sheriff to remark that the same thought might well have occurred to the murderer, and caused him to strip his victim naked for that very reason, a hoodwink for the law. Now we drag out of the river the dead man's gown. And where does that leave you and me, my friend?\"\n\n\"In two minds, or more,\" said Cadfael ruefully. \"If the gown never had been found, the notion of common robbery would have held its ground and told in young Corviser's favour. Is it possible that what was said in the sheriff's court put that thought into someone's mind for the first time, and drove him to discard the gown where it was likely to be found? There's one person it would suit very well to have the case against your prisoner strengthened, and that's the murderer himself. Supposing yon fool boy is not the murderer, naturally.\"\n\n\"True, half a case can come to look almost whole by the addition of one more witness. But what a fool your man would be, to toss the gown away for proof the killing was not for robbery, thus turning suspicion back upon Philip Corviser, and then creep aboard the barge and steal, when Philip Corviser is in a cell in the castle, and manifestly out of the reckoning.\"\n\n\"Ah, but he never supposed the theft would be discovered until the barge was back in Bristol, or well on the way. I tell you, Hugh, I could see no trace of an alien hand anywhere among those stores on deck or the chattels in the cabin, and Emma herself said she would not have missed the lost things until reaching home again. They were bought on this journey, she had no intention of wearing them. Nothing obvious was stolen, she had almost reached the bottom of her chest before she found out these few bits of finery were gone. But for her sharp eye for her own neat housekeeping, she would not have known the boat had been visited.\"\n\n\"Yet robbery points to two separate villains and two separate crimes,\" pointed out Hugh with a wry smile, \"as Emma insists on believing. If hate was the force behind the man's death, why stoop to pilfer from him afterwards? But do you believe the two things are utterly separate? I think not!\"\n\n\"Strange chances do jostle one another sometimes in this world. Don't put it clean out of mind, it may still be true. But I cannot choose but believe that it's the same hand behind both happenings, and the same purpose, and it was neither theft nor hatred, or the death would have ended it.\"\n\n\"But Cadfael, in heaven's name, what purpose that demanded a man's death could get satisfaction afterwards from stealing a pair of gloves, a girdle and a chain?\"\n\nBrother Cadfael shook his head helplessly, and had no answer to that, or none that he was yet prepared to give.\n\n\"My head spins, Hugh. But I have a black suspicion it may not be over yet. Abbot Radulfus has given me his commission to have an eye to the matter, for the abbey's sake, and permission to go in and out as I see fit for the purpose. It's at the back of his mind that if there's some malignant plot in hand against the Bristol merchant, his niece may not be altogether safe, either. If Aline can keep her at her side, so much the better. But I'll be keeping a watchful eye on her, too.\" He rose, yawning. \"Now I must be off to Compline. If I'm to scamp my duties tomorrow, let me at least end today well.\"\n\n\"Pray for a quiet night,\" said Hugh, rising with him, \"for we've not the men to mount patrols through the dark hours. I'll take one more turn along the Foregate with my sergeant, as far as the horse-fair, and then I'm for my bed. I saw little enough of it last night!\"\n\nThe night of the first of August, the opening day of Saint Peter's Fair, was warm, clear, and quiet enough. Traders along the Foregate kept their stalls open well into the dark hours, the weather being so inviting that plenty of customers were still abroad to chaffer and bargain. The sheriff's officers withdrew into the town, and even the abbey servants, left to keep the peace if it were threatened, had little work to do. It was past midnight when the last lamps and torches were quenched, and the night's silence descended upon the horse-fair.\n\nMaster Thomas's barge rocked very softly to the motion of the river. Master Thomas himself lay in a chapel of the abbey, decently shrouded, and in his workshop in the town Martin Bellecote the master-carpenter worked late upon the fine, lead-lined coffin Emma had ordered from him. And in a narrow and dusty cell in the castle, Philip Corviser tossed and turned and nursed his bruises on a thin mattress of straw, and could not sleep for fretting over the memory of Emma's doubting, pitying face."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Second Day of the Fair",
                "text": "The second day of the fair dawned brilliantly, a golden sun climbing, faint mist hanging like a floating veil over the river. Roger Dod rose with the dawn, shook Gregory awake, rolled up his brychan, washed in the river, and made a quick meal of bread and small ale before setting off along the Foregate to his master's booth. All along the highroad traders were clambering out of their cloaks, yawning and stretching, and setting out their goods ready for the day's business. Roger exchanged greetings with several of them as he passed. Where so many were gathered at close quarters, even a dour and silent man could not help picking up acquaintance with a few of his fellows.\n\nThe first glimpse of Master Thomas's booth, between the busy stirrings of its neighbours, brought a scowl to Roger's brow and a muttered oath to his tongue, for the wooden walls were still fast closed. Every hatch still sealed, and the sun already climbing! Warin must be fast asleep, inside there. Roger hammered on the front boards, which should by this hour have been lowered trimly on to their trestles, and set out with goods for sale. He got no response from within.\n\n\"Warin!\" he bellowed. \"Devil take you, get up and let me in!\"\n\nNo reply, except that several of the neighbours had turned curiously to listen and watch, abandoning their own activities to attend to this unexpected clamour.\n\n\"Warin!\" bawled Roger, and thumped again vigorously. \"You idle swine, what's come to you?\"\n\n\"I did wonder,\" said the cloth-merchant next door, pausing with a bolt of flannel in his arms. \"There's been no sign of him. A sound sleeper, your watchman!\"\n\n\"Hold hard!\" The armourer from the other side leaned excitedly over Roger's shoulder, and fingered the edge of the wooden door. \"Splinters, see?\" Beside the latch the boards showed a few pale threads, hardly enough to be seen, and at the thrust of his hand the door gave upon a sliver of darkness. \"No need to hammer, the way in is open. A knife has been used on this!\" said the armourer, and there fell a momentary silence.\n\n\"Pray God that's all it's been used on!\" said Roger in an appalled whisper, and thrust the door wide. He had a dozen of them at his back by then; even the Welshman Rhodri ap Huw had come rolling massively between the stalls to join them, sharp black eyes twinkling out of the thicket of his hair and beard, though what he made of the affair, seeing he spoke no English, no one stopped to consider.\n\nFrom the darkness within welled the warm scent of timber, wine and sweetmeats, and a faint, strange sound like the breathy grunting of a dumb man. Roger was propelled forward into the dimness by the eager helpers crowding at his back, all agape with curiosity. The stacked bales and small casks of wine took shape gradually, after the brief blindness of entering this dark place from sunlight. Everything stood orderly and handy, just as it had been left overnight, and of Warin there was no sign, until Rhodri ap Huw, ever practical, unbolted the front hatch and let it down, and the brightness of the morning came flooding in.\n\nStretched along the foot of the same front wall, where Rhodri must almost have set foot on him, Warin lay rolled in his own cloak and tied at elbows, knees and ankles with cords, so tightly that he could barely wriggle enough to make the folds of cloth rustle. There was a sack drawn over his head, and a length of linen dragged the coarse fibres into his mouth and was secured behind his neck. He was doing his best to answer to his name, and at least his limited jerkings and muted grunts made it plain that he was alive.\n\nRoger uttered a wordless yell of alarm and indignation, and fell on his knees, plucking first at the linen band that held the sack fast. The coarse cloth was wet before with spittle, and the mouth within must be clogged and stung with ropey fibres, but at least the poor wretch could breathe, his strangled grunts were trying to form words long before the linen parted, and let him spit out his gag. Still beneath his sack, his hoarse croak demanded aggrievedly: \"Where were you so long, and me half-killed?\"\n\nA couple of pairs of willing hands were at work on the other bonds by that time, all the more zealously now they had heard him speak, and indeed complain, in such reassuringly robust tones. Warin emerged gradually from his swaddlings, unrolled unceremoniously out of the cloak so that he ended face-down on the ground, and still incoherently voluble. He righted himself indignantly, but so spryly that it was plain he had no broken bones, no painful injuries, and had not even suffered overmuch from the cramps of his bonds. He looked up from under his wild grey thatch of hair, half defensive and half accusing, glaring round the circle of his rescuers as though they had been responsible for his hours of discomfort.\n\n\"Late's better than never!\" he said sourly, and hawked, and spat out fibres of sacking. \"What took you so long? Is everybody deaf? I've been kicking here half the night!\"\n\nHalf a dozen hands reached pleasurably to hoist him to his feet and sit him down gently on a cask of wine. Roger stood off and let them indulge their curiosity, scowling blackly at his colleague meantime. There was no damage done, not a scratch on the old fool! The first threat, and he had crumpled into a pliable rag.\n\n\"For God's sake, what happened to you? You had the booth sealed. How could any man break in here, and you not know? There are other merchants sleep here with their wares, you had only to call.\"\n\n\"Not all,\" said the cloth-merchant fairly. \"I myself lie at a tavern, so do many. If your man was sound asleep, as he well might be with all closed for the night\u2026\"\n\n\"It was long past midnight,\" said Warin, scrubbing aggrievedly at his chafed ankles. \"I know because I heard the little bell for Matins, over the wall, before I slept. Not a sound after, until I awoke as that hood came over my head. They rammed the stuff into my mouth. I never saw face or form, they rolled me up like a bale of wool, and left me tied.\"\n\n\"And you never raised a cry!\" said Roger bitterly. \"How many were they? One or more?\"\n\nWarin was disconcerted, and wavered, swaying either way. \"I think two. I'm not sure\u2026\"\n\n\"You were hooded, but you could hear. Did they talk together?\"\n\n\"Yes, now I recall there was some whispering. Not that I could catch any words. Yes, they were two. There was moving about of casks and bales here, that I know\u2026\"\n\n\"For how long? They durst not hurry, and have things fall and rouse the fairground,\" said the armourer reasonably. \"How long did they stay?\"\n\nWarin was vague, and indeed to a man blindfolded and tied by night, time might stretch out like unravelled thread. \"An hour, it might be.\"\n\n\"Time enough to find whatever was of most value here,\" said the armourer, and looked at Roger Dod, with a shrug of broad shoulders. \"You'd better look about you, lad, and see what's missing. No need to trouble for anything so weighty as casks of wine, they'd have needed a cart for those, and a cart in the small hours would surely have roused someone. The small and precious is what they came for.\"\n\nBut Roger had already turned his back on his rescued fellow, and was burrowing frantically among the bales and boxes stacked along the wall. \"My master's strong-box! I built it in behind here, out of sight\u2026 Thank God I took the most of yesterday's gains back to the barge with me last night, and have them safe under lock and key, but for all that, there was a good sum left in it. And all his accounts, and parchments\u2026\"\n\nHe was thrusting boxes and bags of spices aside in his haste, scenting the air, pushing out of his way wooden caskets of sugar confections from the east, come by way of Venice and Gascony, and worth high prices in any market. \"Here, against the wall\u2026\"\n\nHis hands sank helplessly, he stood staring in dismay. He had bared the boards of the booth; goods stood piled on either side, and between them, nothing. Master Thomas's strongbox was gone.\n\nBrother Cadfael had taken advantage of the early hours to put in an hour or two of work with Brother Mark in the herb-gardens, while he had no reason to anticipate any threat to Emma, for she was surely still asleep in the guest-hall with Constance, and out of reach of harm. The morning was clear and sunny, the mist just lifting from the river, shot through with oblique gold, and Mark sang cheerfully about his weeding, and listened attentively and serenely as Cadfael instructed him in all particulars of the day's work.\n\n\"For I may have to leave all things in your hands. And so I can, safely enough, I know, if I should chance to be called away.\"\n\n\"I'm well taught,\" said Brother Mark, with his grave smile, behind which the small spark of mischief was visible only to Cadfael, who had first discovered and nurtured it. \"I know what to stir and what to let well alone in the workshop.\"\n\n\"I wish I could be as sure of my part outside it,\" said Cadfael ruefully. \"There are brews among us that need just as sure a touch, boy, and where to stir and where to let be is puzzling me more than a little. I'm walking a knife-edge, with disastrous falls on either side. I know my herbs. They have fixed properties, and follow sacred rules. Human creatures do not so. And I cannot even wish they did. I would not have one scruple of their complexity done away, it would be lamentable loss.\"\n\nIt was time to go to Prime. Brother Mark stooped to rinse his hands in the butt of water they kept warming through the day, to be tempered for the herbs at the evening watering. \"It was being with you made me know that I want to be a priest,\" he said, speaking his mind as openly as always in Cadfael's company.\n\n\"I had never the urge for it,\" said Cadfael absently, his mind on other matters.\n\n\"I know. That was the one thing wanting. Shall we go?\"\n\nThey were coming out from Prime, and the lay servants already mustering for their early Mass, when Roger Dod came trudging in at the gatehouse, out of breath, and with trouble plain to be read in his face.\n\n\"What, again something new?\" sighed Cadfael, and set off to intercept him before he reached the guest-hall. Suddenly aware of this square, sturdy figure bearing down on him with obvious purpose, Roger checked, and turned an anxious face. His frown cleared a little when he recognised the same monk who had accompanied the deputy sheriff in the vain search for Master Thomas, on the eve of Saint Peter. \"Oh, it's you, brother, that's well! Is Hugh Beringar within? I must speak to him. We're beset! Yesterday the barge, and now the booth, and God knows what's yet to come, and what will become of us before ever we get away from this deadly place. My master's books gone\u2014money and box and all! What will Mistress Emma think? I'd rather have had my own head broke, if need be, than fail her so!\"\n\n\"What's this talk of broken heads?\" asked Cadfael, alarmed. \"Whose? Are you telling me there've been thieves ransacking your booth now?\"\n\n\"In the night! And the strong-box gone, and Warin tied up hand and foot with a throatful of sacking, and nobody heard sound while they did it. We found him not half an hour ago\u2026\"\n\n\"Come!\" said Cadfael, grasping him by the sleeve and setting off for the guest-hall at a furious pace. \"We'll find Hugh Beringar. Tell your tale once, and save breath!\"\n\nIn Aline's apartments the women were only just out of bed, and Hugh was sitting over an early meal in shirt and hose, shoeless, when Cadfael rapped at the door, and cautiously put his head in.\n\n\"Your pardon, Hugh, but there's news. May we come in?\"\n\nHugh took one look at him, recognised the end of his ease, and bade them in resignedly.\n\n\"Here's one has a tale to tell,\" said Cadfael. \"He's new come from the horse-fair.\"\n\nAt sight of Roger, Emma came to her feet in astonishment and alarm, the soft, bemused bloom of sleep gone from her eyes, and the morning flush from her cheeks. Her black hair, not yet braided, swung in a glossy curtain about her shoulders, and her loose undergown was ungirdled, her feet bare. \"Roger, what is it? What has happened now?\"\n\n\"More theft and roguery, mistress, and God knows I can see no reason why all the rascals in the shire should pick on us for prey.\" Roger heaved in deep breath, and launched headlong into his complaint. \"This morning I go to the stall as usual, and find it all closed, and not a sound or a word from within for all my shouting and knocking, and then come some of the neighbours, wondering, and one sees that the inside bar has been hoisted with a knife\u2014and a marvellous thin knife it must have been. And we go in and find Warin rolled up like baggage in his own cloak, and fast tied, and his mouth stuffed with sacking\u2014a bag over his head, fit to choke him\u2026\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" breathed Emma in a horrified whisper, and pressed a fist hard against trembling lips. \"Oh, poor Warin! He's not\u2026 oh, not dead\u2026?\"\n\nRoger gave vent to a snort of contempt. \"Not he! alive and fit as a flea, barring being stiff from the cords. How he could sleep so sound as not to hear the fumbling with the latch, nor even notice when the door was opened, there's no guessing. But if he did hear, he took good care not to give the robbers any trouble. You know Warin's no hero. He says he was only shook awake when the sack went over his head, and never saw face nor form, though he thinks there were two of them, for there was some whispering. But as like as not he heard them come, but chose not to, for fear they'd slip the knife in his ribs.\"\n\nEmma's colour had warmed into rose again. She drew a deep breath of thankfulness. \"But he's safe? He's taken no harm at all?\" She caught Aline's sympathetic eye, and laughed shakily with relief. \"I know he is not brave. I'm glad he is not! Nor very clever nor very industrious, either, but I've known him since I was a little girl, he used to make toys for me, and willow whistles. Thank God he is not harmed!\"\n\n\"Not a graze! I wish,\" said Roger, his eyes burning jealously upon her childish morning beauty, not yet adorned and needing no adornment, \"I wish to God I'd stayed there to be watchman myself, they'd not have broken in there unscathed, and found everything handed over on a platter.\"\n\n\"But then you might have been killed, Roger. I'm glad you were not there, you'd surely have put up a fight and come to harm. What, against two, and you unarmed? Oh, no, I want no man hurt to protect my possessions.\"\n\n\"What followed?\" asked Hugh shortly, stamping his feet into his shoes and reaching for his coat. \"You've left him there to mind the stall? Is he fit?\"\n\n\"As you or me, my lord. I'll send him to you to tell his own tale when I get back.\"\n\n\"No need, I'm coming with you to view the place and the damage. Finish your tale. They'll scarcely have left empty-handed. What's gone with them?\"\n\nRoger turned devoted, humble, apologetic eyes upon Emma. \"Sorrow the day, mistress, my master's strong-box is gone with them!\"\n\nBrother Cadfael was watching Emma's face just as intently as was her hopeless admirer, and it seemed to him that in the pleasure of knowing that her old servant had survived unharmed, she was proof against all other blows. The loss of the strong-box she received with unshaken serenity. In these surroundings, safe from any too pressing manifestation of his passion, she was even moved to comfort Roger. A kind-hearted girl, who did not like to see any of her own people out of sorts with his competence and his self-respect.\n\n\"You must not feel it so sharply,\" she said warmly. \"How could you have prevented? There is no fault attaches to you.\"\n\n\"I took most of the money back to the barge with me last night,\" pleaded Roger earnestly. \"It's safe locked away, there's been no more tampering there. But Master Thomas's account books, and some parchments of value, and charters\u2026\"\n\n\"Then there will be copies,\" said Emma firmly. \"And what is more, if they took the box, supposing it to be full of money, they'll keep what money was left there, and most likely discard the box and the parchments, for what use can they make of those? We may get most of it back, you will see.\"\n\nNot merely a kind girl, but a girl of sense and fortitude, who bore up nobly under her losses. Cadfael looked at Hugh, and found Hugh looking at him, just as woodenly, but with one lively eyebrow signalling slightly sceptical admiration.\n\n\"Nothing is lost,\" said Emma firmly, \"of any value to compare with a life. Since Warin is safe, I cannot be sad.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said Hugh with deliberation, \"it might be well if one abbey sergeant stood guard on your booth until the fair is over. For it does seem that all the misfortunes that should be rights be shared among all the abbey's clients are falling solely upon you. Shall I ask Prior Robert to see to it?\"\n\nShe looked down, wary and thoughtful, for a moment, and then lifted deep blue eyes wide and clear as the sky, and a degree more innocent than if they had but newly opened on the world. \"It's kind of you,\" she said, \"but surely everything has now been done to us. I don't think it will be necessary to set a guard upon us now.\"\n\nHugh came to Cadfael's workshop after the midday meal, leaving Emma in Aline's charge, helped himself to a horn of wine from Cadfael's private store, and settled down on the bench under the eaves, on the shady side. The fragrance of the herbs lay like a sleepy load on the air within the pleached hedges, and set him yawning against his will and his mood, which was for serious discussion. They were well away from the outer world here, the busy hum of the marketplace drifted to them only distantly and pleasantly, like the working music of Brother Bernard's bees. And Brother Mark, weeding the herb-beds with delicate, loving hands, habit kilted to his knees, was no hindrance at all to their solitude.\n\n\"A separate creature,\" said Brother Cadfael, eyeing him with detached affection \"My priest, my proxy. I had to find some way of evading the fate that closed on me. There goes my sacrificial lamb, the best of the flock.\"\n\n\"Some day he will take your confession,\" said Hugh, watching Mark pluck out weeds as gently as though he pitied them, \"and you'll be a lost man, for he'll know every evasion.\" He sipped wine, drew it about his mouth thoughtfully, swallowed it and sat savouring the after-taste for a moment. \"This fellow Warin had little to add,\" he said then. \"What do you say now? This cannot be chance.\"\n\n\"No,\" agreed Cadfael, propping the door of his workshop wide to let in the air, and coming to sit beside his friend, \"it cannot be chance. The man is killed, stripped, his barge searched, his booth searched. Not a soul besides, at this fair where there are several as wealthy, has suffered any attack or any loss. No, there is nothing done at hazard here.\"\n\n\"What, then? Expound! The girl claimed there were things stolen from the barge. Now something positive, a strong-box, the single portable thing in the booth that might confidently be supposed to hold valuables, is demonstrably stolen from this last assault. If these are not simple thefts, what are they? Tell me!\"\n\n\"Stages in a quest,\" said Cadfael. \"It seems to me there's a hunt afoot for something. I do not know what, but some quite single, small thing, and precious, which was, or was thought to be, in the possession of Master Thomas. On the night he came here he was murdered, and his body stripped. The first search. And it was fruitless, for the next day his barge was visited and ransacked. The second search.\"\n\n\"Not altogether fruitless this time,\" said Beringar dryly, \"for we know on the best authority, do we not, that whoever paid that visit left the richer by three things, a silver chain, a girdle with a gold clasp, and a pair of embroidered gloves.\"\n\n\"Hmmm!\" Cadfael twitched his brown nose doubtfully between finger and thumb, and eyed the young man sidewise.\n\n\"Oh, come!\" said Hugh indulgently, and flashed his sudden smile. \"I may not stumble on these subtleties as quickly as you, but since knowing you I've had to keep my wits about me. The lady has a bold mind and an excellent memory, and I have no hope in the world of getting her to make a mistake in one detail of the embroidery on those lost gloves, but for all that, I doubt if they ever existed.\"\n\n\"You might,\" Cadfael suggested, though without much hope, \"try asking her outright what it is she's hiding.\"\n\n\"I did!\" owned Hugh, ruefully grinning. \"She opened great, hurt eyes at me, and could not understand me! She knows nothing, she's hiding nothing, she has nothing to tell more than she's already told, and every word of that is truth. But for all that, and however angelically, the girl's lying. What was it stuck in your craw, and brought you up against the same shock before ever it dawned upon me?\"\n\n\"I should be sorry,\" said Cadfael slowly, \"if anything I have done or said made you think any evil of the girl, for I think none.\"\n\n\"Neither do I, you need not fear it. But I do think she may be meddling in something she would do better to let well alone, and I would rather, as you would, as Abbot Radulfus would, that no harm should come to her under our care. Or ever, for that matter. I like her well.\"\n\n\"When we went together to the barge,\" said Cadfael, \"and she took no more than a minute within to cry out that someone had been there, pawing through all their belongings, I never doubted she was telling truth. Women know how they leave things, it needs only a wrong fold to betray an alien hand, and certainly it shocked and startled her, that was no feigning. Nor was it the next moment, when I asked if anything had been taken, and without pause for thought, she said: 'No!' An absolute no, I would say even triumphant. I thought little of it, then, but urged her to look thoroughly and make sure. When I said she must report the matter, she thought again, and took pains to discover that indeed a few things had been stolen. I think she regretted that ever she had cried out in the first place, but if the law must know of it, she would ensure that it was accepted as a trivial theft by some common pick-purse. Truth is what she told unguardedly, with that scornful 'no' of hers. Afterwards she made to undo the effect by lying, and for one not by nature a liar she did it well. But for all that, I think, like you, those pretty things of hers never existed, or never were aboard the barge.\"\n\n\"Still remains the question,\" said Hugh, considering, \"of why she was so sure in the first place that nothing had been taken.\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Cadfael simply, \"she knew what the thief must have come looking for, and she knew he had not found it, because she knew it was not there to be found. The second search was also vain. Whatever it may be, it was not on Master Thomas's person, which was clearly the most likely place, nor was it on his barge.\"\n\n\"Hence this third search! So now divine for me, Cadfael, whether this third attempt has succeeded or no. The merchant's strong-box is vanished\u2014again a logical place to keep something so precious. Will this be the end of it?\" Cadfael shook his head emphatically. \"This attempt has fared no better than the others,\" he said positively. \"You may take that as certain.\"\n\n\"How can you be so sure of it?\" demanded Hugh curiously.\n\n\"You saw all that I saw. She does not care a farthing for the loss of the strong-box! As soon as she knew that the man Warm was unhurt, she took everything else calmly enough. Whatever it is the unknown is seeking, she knew it was not in the barge, and she knew it was not in the booth. And I can think of only one reason why she should know so well where it is not, and that is that she knows equally well where it is.\"\n\n\"Then the next possibility the enemy will be considering,\" said Hugh with conviction, \"is where she is\u2014on her person or in some hiding-place only she knows of. Well, we'll keep a vigilant eye on Emma, between us. No,\" said Hugh reflectively, \"I cannot imagine any evil of her, but neither can I imagine how she can be tangled in something grim enough to bring about murder, violence and theft, nor why, if she knows herself to be in danger and in need of help, she won't speak out and ask for it. Aline has tried her best to get her to confide, and the girl remains all sweetness and gratitude, but lets no word drop of any burden she may be carrying. And you know Aline, she draws out confidences without ever asking a probing question, and whoever can resist her is beyond the reach of the rest of us\u2026\"\n\n\"I'm glad to see you so fond a husband,\" said Cadfael approvingly.\n\n\"So you should be, it was you tossed the girl into my arms in the first place. You'd best be worrying now about what manner of father I shall make! And you might put in a prayer for me on the issue, some time when you're on your knees. No, truly, Cadfael\u2026 I wonder about this girl. Aline likes her, and that's recommendation enough. And she seems to like Aline\u2014no, more than like! Yet she never lets down her veils. When she seems most to cherish my most cherishable lady, she is also more careful not to let slip one unguarded word about her own situation.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael saw no paradox there. \"So she would be, Hugh,\" he said gravely. \"If she feels herself to be in danger, the last thing she will do is to draw in beside her someone she values and likes. By every means in her power\u2014and I think she is a clever and resourceful girl\u2014she will stand off her friends from any share in what she is about.\"\n\nBeringar considered that long and sombrely, nursing his empty horn. \"Well, all we can do is hedge her about thick enough to stand off, likewise, whatever move may be made against her.\"\n\nIt had not occurred to him, it was only now insinuating itself into Cadfael's thoughts, that the next decisive move might come from Emma herself, rather than being made against her. A piece of this mystery, apparently the vital piece, she had in her hands; if any use was to be made of it, it might well be at her decree.\n\nHugh set aside his drinking-horn and rose, brushing the summer dust from his cotte. \"Meantime, the sheriff is left with a murder on his hands, and I tell you, Cadfael, that affair now looks less than ever like a drunken revenge by an aggrieved youth of the town\u2014though to tell truth, it never did look too convincing, even if we could not discard it out of hand.\"\n\n\"Surely there's good ground now for letting the provost bail his lad out and take him home?\" said Cadfael, encouraged. \"Of all the young men around this town, Philip must be the clearest from any suspicion of this last outrage, or the raid on the barge, either. The gaoler who turns the key on him can witness where he's been all this while, and swear he never left it.\"\n\n\"I'm off to the castle now,\" said Hugh. \"I can't vouch for the sheriff, but I'll certainly speak a word in his ear, and in the provost's, too. It's well worth making the approach.\"\n\nHe looked down, flashing out of his preoccupation with a sudden mischievous smile, combed the fingers of one hand through the hedge of bushy greying hair that rimmed Cadfael's sunburned tonsure, leaving it bristling like thorn-bushes, snapped a finger painfully against the nut-brown dome between, and took his departure with his usual light stride and insouciant bearing, which the unwary mistook for the mark of a frivolous man. Such small indulgences he was more likely to permit himself, strictly with friends, when he was engaged on something more than usually grave.\n\nCadfael watched him go, absently smoothing down the warlike crest Hugh had erected. He supposed he had better be stirring, too, and hand over charge here to Brother Mark until evening. It would not do to take his eyes off Emma for any length of time, and Aline, to please a solicitous husband, consented to doze for an hour or two in the afternoon, for the sake of the child. Grandchildren by proxy, Cadfael reflected, might be a rare and pleasurable recompense for a celibate prime. As for old age, he had not yet begun to think about it; no doubt it had its own alleviations."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "\"For all I said,\" Emma mused aloud, putting fine stitches into a linen band for an infant's cap, in the lofty midday light in the window of Aline's bedchamber, \"I do grieve for those gloves of mine. Such fine leather, supple and black, and a wealth of gold in the embroidery. I never bought such expensive ones before.\" She reached the end of her seam, and snipped off the thread neatly. \"They say there's a very good glover has a stall in the fair,\" she said, smoothing her work. \"I thought I might take a look at his wares, and see if he has anything as fine as those I've lost. They tell me he's well known in Chester, and the countess buys from him. I think perhaps I'll walk along the Foregate this afternoon, and see what he has. What with all these upsets, I've hardly seen anything of the fair.\"\n\n\"A good idea,\" said Aline. \"Such a fine day, we should not be spending it here within doors. I'll come with you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, you should not,\" protested Emma solicitously. \"You nave not had your sleep this afternoon. No need to keep me company that short way. I should be distressed if you tired yourself on my account.\"\n\n\"Oh, folly!\" said Aline cheerfully. \"I am so healthy I shall burst if I have too little to do. It's Constance and Hugh who want to make an invalid of me, just because I'm in a woman's best and happiest estate. And Hugh is gone to the sheriff, and Constance is visiting with a cousin of hers in the Wyle, so who's to fret? I'll slip on my shoes, and we'll go. I should like to buy a box of those sugared fruits your uncle brought from the east. We'll do that, too.\"\n\nIt seemed that Emma had, after all, lost her taste for the expedition. She sat stroking the embroidered band she had just finished, and eyed the shape of linen cut for the crown. \"I don't know\u2014I should finish this, perhaps. After tomorrow there may be no choice, and I should be sorry to leave it for someone else to finish. As for the candied fruits, I'll ask Roger to bring you a box, when he comes again this evening to tell me how the day has gone. Tomorrow it will be here.\"\n\n\"That's kind,\" said Aline, slipping on her shoes none the less, \"but he could hardly try on a pair of gloves for you, or choose with your eye. So let's go and see for ourselves. It won't take long.\"\n\nEmma sat hesitating, but whether in a genuine endeavour to make up her mind, or in search of a way of extricating herself from an unsatisfactory situation, Aline could not be sure. \"Oh, no, I should not! How can I give my mind to such vanity, at a time like this! I'm ashamed that I ever thought of it. My uncle dead, and here am I yearning after trumpery bits of finery. No, I won't be so shallow. Let me at least go on with my work for the child, instead of thinking only of my own adornment.\" And she picked up the cut linen. Aline noted that the hand holding it trembled a little, and wondered whether to persist. Plainly the girl wanted to go forth for some purpose of her own, but would not go unless it could be alone. And alone, said Aline firmly to herself, she certainly shall not go, if I can prevent.\n\n\"Well,\" she said doubtfully, \"if you're determined to be so penitential, I won't play the devil and tempt you. And I'm the gainer, your sewing is so fine, I could never match it. Who taught you so well?\" She slipped off her soft leather shoes, and sat down again. Something, at least, she had learned, better to let well alone now. Emma welcomed the change of subject eagerly. Of her childhood she would talk freely.\n\n\"My mother was a famous embroidress. She began to teach me as soon as I could manage a needle, but she died when I was only eight, and Uncle Thomas took me in. We had a housekeeper, a Flemish lady who had married a Bristol seaman, and been widowed when his ship was lost, and she taught me everything she knew, though I could never equal her work. She used to make altar cloths and vestments for the church, such beautiful things\u2026\"\n\nSo a plain pair of good black gloves, thought Aline, would have done well enough for you at any time, since you could have adorned them to your own fancy. And those who can do such things exquisitely, seldom prefer the work of others.\n\nIt was not difficult to keep Emma talking, but for all that, Aline could not help wondering what was going through the girl's mind, and how soon, and how cunningly, she would make the next bid to slip away solitary about her mysterious business. But as it fell out, she need not have troubled, for late in the afternoon came a lay brother from the gatehouse, to announce that Martin Bellecote had brought down Master Thomas's coffin, and desired permission to proceed with his business. Emma rose instantly, laying down her sewing, her face pale and intent. If there was one thing certain, it was that no other matter, however urgent, would take her away from the church until her uncle was decently coffined and sealed down for his journey home, and prayers said for his repose, as later she would attend the first Mass for him. Whatever he had been to others, he had been uncle and father and friend to his orphaned kinswoman, and no reverence, no tribute, would be omitted from his obsequies.\n\n\"I will come myself,\" said Emma. \"I must say farewell to him.\" She had not yet seen him, dead, but the brothers, long expert in the gentle arts that reconcile life to death, would have made sure that she would be able to remember him without distress.\n\n\"Shall I come with you?\" offered Aline.\n\n\"You are very good, but I would rather go alone.\"\n\nAline followed as far as the great court, and watched the little procession cross to the cloister, Emma walking beside the handcart on which Martin and his son wheeled the coffin. When they had lifted the heavy box and carried it in by the south door of the church, with Emma following, Aline stood for some minutes looking about her. At this hour most of the guests and many of the lay servants were out at the fair, only the brothers went about their business as usual. Through the wide gate of the distant stable-yard she could see Ivo Corbi\u00e8re's young groom rubbing down a pony, and the archer Turstan Fowler sitting on a mountingblock, whistling as he burnished a saddle. Sober and recovered from his debauch, he was a well-set-up and comely fellow, with the open face of one who has not a care in the world. Evidently he was long since forgiven, and back in favour.\n\nBrother Cadfael, coming from the gardens, saw her still gazing pensively towards the church. She smiled at sight of him.\n\n\"Martin has brought the coffin. They are within there, she'll think of nothing else now. But, Cadfael, she intends to give us all the slip when she can. She has tried. She would see, she said, if the glover at the fair has something to take the place of the ones she lost. But when I said I would go with her, no, that would not do, she gave up the idea.\"\n\n\"Gloves!\" murmured Brother Cadfael, scrubbing thoughtfully at his chin. \"Strange, when you think of it, that it should be gloves she has on her mind, in the middle of summer.\"\n\nAline was in no position to follow that thought, she took it at its surface meaning. \"Why strange? We know there were some stolen from her, and here we are at one of the few fairs where rare goods are to be bought, it follows naturally enough. But of course the glover is only a handy excuse.\"\n\nCadfael said no more then, but he went away very thoughtfully towards the cloister. The strange thing was not that a girl should want to replace, while chance offered, a lost piece of finery. It was rather that when she was suddenly confronted by the need to pass off as simple robbery a raid she knew to be something very different, one of the articles she claimed to have lost should be a thing so inappropriate to the season that she felt obliged to account for it by saying she had newly bought it in Gloucester on the journey. Why gloves, unless she had gloves running in her mind already for another reason? Gloves? Or glovers?\n\nIn the transept chapel Martin Bellecote and his young son set up the heavy coffin on a draped trestle, and reverently laid the body of Master Thomas of Bristol within it. Emma stood looking down at her uncle's dead face for a long time, without tears or words. It would not be painful, she found, to remember him thus, dignified and remote in death, the bones of his cheeks and brow and jaw more strongly outlined than in life, his florid flesh contracted and paled into waxen austerity. Now at the last moment she wanted to give him something to take with him into his grave, and realised that in the buffeting of these two days she had not been able to think clearly enough to be ready for the parting. Not the fact of death, but the absolute need of some ceremonial tenderness, separate from the public rites, suddenly seemed to her overwhelmingly important.\n\n\"Shall I cover him?\" asked Martin Bellecote gently.\n\nEven so soft a sound startled her. She looked round almost wonderingly. The man, large, comely and calm, waited her orders without impatience. The boy, grave and silent, watched her with huge hazel eyes. From her four years' superiority over him she pondered whether so young a creature should be doing this office, and then she understood that those eyes were preoccupied rather with her living self than with the dead, and the vigorous, flowing sap in him reached up towards light and life as to the sun, and recognised shadow only by virtue of its neighbouring brightness. That was right and good.\n\n\"No, wait just a moment,\" she said. \"I'll come back!\"\n\nShe went quickly out into the sunlight, and looked about her for the path that led into the gardens. The green lines of a hedge and the crowns of trees within drew her, she came into a walk where flowers had been planted. The brothers were great gardeners, and valued food crops for good reason, but they had time also for roses. She chose the one bush that bore a bloom like no other, pale yellow petals shading into rose at the tips, and plucked one flower only. Not the buds, not even the one perfect globe, but a wide-open bloom just beyond its prime but still unflawed. She took it back, hurrying, into the church with her. He was not young, not even at his zenith, but settling into his autumn, and this was the rose for him.\n\nBrother Cadfael had watched her go, he watched her come again, and followed her into the chapel, but held aloof in the shadows. She brought her single flower and laid it in the coffin, beside the dead man's heart.\n\n\"Cover him now,\" she said, and stood well back to let them work in peace. When it was done, she thanked them, and they withdrew and left her there, as clearly was her wish. So, just as silently, did Brother Cadfael.\n\nEmma remained kneeling on the stones of the transept, unaware of discomfort, a great while, her eyes wide open all that time upon the closed coffin, on its draped stand before the altar. To lie thus in the church of a great abbey, to have a special Mass sung for him, and then to be taken home in a grand coffin for burial with still further rites, surely that was glory, and he would have liked it. All was to be done as he would have liked. All! He would be pleased with her.\n\nShe knew her duty; she said prayers for him, a great many prayers, because the form was blessedly laid down, and her mind could range while her lips formed the proper words. She would do what he had wanted done, what he had half-confided to her, as he had to no other. She would see his task completed, and he would rest, pleased with her. And then\u2026 she had hardly looked beyond, but there was a great, summer-scented breeze blowing through her spirit, telling her she was young and fair, and wealthy into the bargain, and that boys like the coffin-maker's young son looked upon her with interest and pleasure. Other young men, too, of less green years\u2026\n\nShe rose from her knees at last, shook out her crumpled skirts, and walked briskly out of the chapel into the nave of the church, and founding the clustered stone pillars at the corner of the crossing, came face to face with Ivo Corbi\u00e8re.\n\nHe had been waiting, silent and motionless, in his shadowy corner, refraining even from setting foot in the chapel until her vigil was over, and the resolution with which she had suddenly ended it flung her almost into his arms. She uttered a startled gasp, and he put out reassuring hands to steady her, and was in no haste to let go. In this dim place his gold head showed darkened to bronze, and his face, stooped over her solicitously, was so gilded by the summer that it had almost the same fine-metal burnishing.\n\n\"Did I alarm you? I'm sorry! I didn't want to disturb you. They told me at the gatehouse that the master-carpenter had come and gone, and you were here. I hoped if I waited patiently I might be able to talk with you. If I have not pressed my attentions on you until now,\" he said earnestly, \"it is not because I haven't thought of you. Constantly!\"\n\nHer eyes were raised to his face with a fascinated admiration she would never have indulged in full light, and she quite forgot to make any move to withdraw herself from his hold. His hands slid down her forearms, but halted at her hands, and the touch, by mutual consent, became a clasp.\n\n\"Almost two days since I've spoken with you!\" he said. \"It's an age, and I've grudged it, but you were well-friended, and I had no right\u2026 But now that I have you, let me keep you for an hour! Come out and walk in the gardens. I doubt if you've even seen them yet.\"\n\nThey went out together into the sunlight, through the cloister garth and out into the bustle and traffic of the great court. It was almost time for Vespers, the quietest hours of the afternoon now spent, the brothers gathering gradually from their dispersed labours, guests returning from the fairground and the riverside. It was a gratifying thing to walk through this populous place on the arm of a nobleman, lord of a modest honour scattered through Cheshire and Shropshire. For the daughter of craftsmen and merchants, a very gratifying thing! They sat down on a stone bench in the flower-garden, on the sunny side of the pleached hedge, with the heady fragrance of Brother Cadfael's herbarium wafted to them in drunken eddies on a soft breeze.\n\n\"You will have troublesome dispositions to make,\" said Corbi\u00e8re seriously. \"If there is anything I can arrange for you, let me know of it. It will be my pleasure to serve you. You are taking him back to Bristol for burial?\"\n\n\"It's what he would have wished. There will be a Mass for him in the morning, and then we shall carry him back to his barge for the journey home. The brothers have been kindness itself to me.\"\n\n\"And you? Will you also return with the barge?\"\n\nShe hesitated, but why not confide in him? He was considerate and kind, and quick to understand. \"No, it would be\u2014 unwise. While my uncle lived it was very well, but without him it would not do. There is one of our men\u2014I must say no evil of him, for he has done none, but\u2026 He is too fond. Better we should not travel together. But neither do I want to offer him insult, by letting him know he is not quite trusted. I've told him that I must remain here a few days, that I may be needed if the sheriff has more questions to ask, or more is found out about my uncle's death.\"\n\n\"But then,\" said Ivo with warm concern, \"what of your own journey home? How will you manage?\"\n\n\"I shall stay with Lady Beringar until we can find some safe party riding south, with women among them. Hugh Beringar will advise me. I have money, and I can pay my way. I shall manage.\"\n\nHe looked at her long and earnestly, until his gravity melted into a smile. \"Between all your well-wishers, you will certainly reach your home without mishap. I'll be giving my mind to it, among the rest. But now let's forget, for my sake, that there must be a departure, and make the most of the hours while you are still here.\" He rose, and took her by the hand to draw her up with him. \"Forget Vespers, forget we're guests of an abbey, forget the fair and the business of the fair, and all that such things may demand of you in future. Think only that it's summer, and a glorious evening, and you're young, and have friends\u2026 Come down with me past the fish-ponds, as far as the brook. That is all abbey land, I wouldn't take you beyond.\"\n\nShe went with him gratefully, his hand cool and vital in hers. By the brook below the abbey fields it was cool and fresh and bright, full of scintillating light along the water, and birds dabbling and singing, and in the pleasure of the moment she almost forgot all that lay upon her, so sacred and so burdensome. Ivo was reverent and gentle, and did not press her too close, but when she said regretfully that it was time for her to go back, for fear Aline might be anxious about her, he went with her all the way, her hand still firmly retained in his, and presented himself punctiliously before Aline, so that Emma's present guardian might study, accept and approve him. As indeed she did.\n\nIt was charmingly and delicately done. He made himself excellent company for as long as was becoming on a first visit, invited and deferred to all Aline's graceful questions, and withdrew well before he had even drawn near the end of his welcome.\n\n\"So that's the young man who was so helpful and gallant when the riot began,\" said Aline, when he was gone. \"Do you know, Emma, I do believe you have a serious admirer there.\" A wooer gained, she thought, might come as a blessed counter-interest to a guardian lost. \"He comes of good blood and family,\" said the Aline Siward who had brought two manors to her husband in her own right, but saw no difference between her guest and herself, and innocently ignored the equally proud and honourable standards of those born to craft and commerce instead of land. \"The Corbi\u00e8res are distant kin of Earl Ranulf of Chester himself. And he does seem a most estimable young man.\"\n\n\"But not of my kind,\" said Emma, as shrewd and wary as she sounded regretful. \"I am a stone-mason's daughter, and niece to a merchant. No landed lord is likely to become a suitor for someone like me.\"\n\n\"But it's not someone like you in question,\" said Aline reasonably. \"It is you!\"\n\nBrother Cadfael looked about him, late in the evening after Compline, saw all things in cautious balance, Emma securely settled in the guest-hall, Beringar already home. He went thankfully to bed with his brothers, for once at the proper time, and slept blissfully until the bell rang to wake him for Matins. Down the night stairs and into the church the brothers filed in the midnight silence, to begin the new day's worship. In the faint light of the altar candles they took their places, and the third day of Saint Peter's Fair had begun. The third and last.\n\nCadfael always rose for Matins and Lauds not sleepy and unwilling, but a degree more awake than at any other time, as though his senses quickened to the sense of separateness of the community gathered here, to a degree impossible by daylight. The dimness of the light, the solidity of the enclosing shadows, the muted voices, the absence of lay worshippers, all contributed to his sense of being enfolded in a sealed haven, where all those who shared in it were his own flesh and blood and spirit, responsible for him as he for them, even some for whom, in the active and arduous day, he could feel no love, and pretended none. The burden of his vows became also his privilege, and the night's first worship was the fuel of the next day's energy.\n\nSo the shadows had sharp edges for him, the shapes of pillar and capital and arch clamoured like vibrant notes of music, both vision and hearing observed with heightened sensitivity, details had a quivering insistence. Brother Mark's profile against the candle-light was piercingly clear. A note sung off-key by a sleepy elder stung like a bee. And the single pale speck lying under the trestle that supported Master Thomas's coffin was like a hole in reality, something that could not be there. Yet it persisted. It was at the beginning of Lauds that it first caught his eye, and after that he could not get free of it. Wherever he looked, however he fastened upon the altar, he could still see it out of the corner of his eye.\n\nWhen Lauds ended, and the silent procession began to file back towards the night stairs and the dortoir, Cadfael stepped aside, stooped, and picked up the mote that had been troubling him. It was a single petal from a rose, its colour indistinguishable by this light, but pale, deepening round the tip. He knew at once what it was, and with this midnight clarity in him he knew how it had come there.\n\nFortunate, indeed, that he had seen Emma bring her chosen rose and lay it in the coffin. If he had not, this petal would have told him nothing. Since he had, it told him all. With hieratic care and ceremony, after the manner of the young when moved, she had brought her offering cupped in both hands, and not one leaf, not one grain of yellow pollen from its open heart, had fallen to the floor.\n\nWhoever was hunting so persistently for something believed to be in Master Thomas's possession, after searching his person, his barge and his booth, had not stopped short of the sacrilege of searching his coffin. Between Compline and Matins it had been opened and closed again; and a single petal from the wilting rose within had shaken loose and been wafted unnoticed over the side, to bear witness to the blasphemy."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Third Day of the Fair",
                "text": "Emma arose with the dawn, stole out of the wide bed she shared with Constance, and dressed herself very quietly and cautiously, but even so the sense of movement, rather than any sound, disturbed the maid's sleep, and caused her to open eyes at once alert and intelligent.\n\nEmma laid a finger to her lips, and cast a meaning glance towards the door beyond which Hugh and Aline were still sleeping. \"Hush!\" she whispered. \"I'm only going to church for Prime. I don't want to wake anyone else.\"\n\nConstance shrugged against her pillow, raised her brows a little, and nodded. Today there would be the Mass for the dead uncle, and then the transference of his coffin to the barge that would take him home. Not surprising if the girl was disposed to turn this day into a penitential exercise, for the repose of her uncle's soul and the merit of her own. \"You won't go out alone, will you?\"\n\n\"I'm going straight to the church,\" promised Emma earnestly.\n\nConstance nodded again, and her eyelids began to close. She was asleep before Emma had drawn the door to very softly, and slipped away towards the great court.\n\nBrother Cadfael rose for Prime like the rest, but left his cell before his companions, and went to take counsel with the only authority in whom he could repose his latest discovery. Such a violation was the province of the abbot, and only he had the right to hear of it first.\n\nWith the door of the abbot's austere cell closed upon them, they were notably at ease together, two men who knew their own minds and spoke clearly what they had to say. The rose petal, a little shrunken and weary, but with its yellow and pink still silken-bright, lay in the abbot's palm like a golden tear.\n\n\"You are sure this cannot have fallen when our daughter brought it as an offering? It was a gentle gift,\" said Radulfus.\n\n\"Not one grain of dust fell. She carried it like a vessel of wine, in both hands. I saw every move. I have not yet seen the coffin by daylight, but I doubt not it has been dealt with competently, and looks as it looked when the master-carpenter firmed it down. Nevertheless, it has been opened and closed again.\"\n\n\"I take your word,\" said the abbot simply. \"This is vile.\"\n\n\"It is,\" said Cadfael and waited.\n\n\"And you cannot put name to the man who would do this thing?\"\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"Nor say if he has gained by it? As God forbid!\"\n\n\"No, Father! But God will forbid.\"\n\n\"Give your might to it,\" said Radulfus, and brooded for a while in silence. Then he said: \"We have a duty to the law. Do what is best there, for I hear you have the deputy sheriff's ear. As for the affont to the church, to our house, to our dead son and his heiress, I am left to read between rubrics. There will be a Mass this morning for the dead man. The holy rite will cleanse all foulness from his passing and his coffin. As for the child, let her be at peace, for so she may, her dead is in the hand of God, there has no violence been done to his soul.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael said, with hearty gratitude: \"She will rest the better if she knows nothing. She is a good girl, her grief should have every consolation.\"\n\n\"See to it, brother, as you may. It is almost time for Prime.\"\n\nCadfael was hurrying from the abbot's lodging towards the cloister when he saw Emma turn in there ahead of him, and slowed his steps to be unnoticed himself while he watched what she would do. On this of all days Emma was entitled to every opportunity of prayer and meditation, but she also had a very private secular preoccupation of her own, and which of these needs she was serving by this early-rising zeal there was no telling.\n\nIn at the south door went Emma, and in after her, just as discreetly, went Brother Cadfael. The monks were already in their stalls, and concentrating all upon the altar. The girl slipped silently round into the nave, as though she would find herself a retired spot there in privacy; but instead of turning aside, she continued her rapid, silent passage towards the west door, the parish door that opened on to the Foregate, outside the convent walls. Except during times of stress, such as the siege of Shrewsbury the previous year, it was never closed.\n\nIn at one door and out at another, and she was free, for a little while, to go where she would, and could return by the same way, an innocent coming back from church.\n\nBrother Cadfael's sandals padded soundlessly over the tiled floor after her, keeping well back in case she should look round, though here within he was reasonably sure she would not. The great parish door was unlatched, she had only to draw it open a little way, her slenderness slipped through easily, and since this was facing due west, no betraying radiance flooded in. Cadfael gave her a moment to turn right or left outside the door, though surely it would be to the right, towards the fairground. What should she have to do in the direction of the river and the town?\n\nShe was well in sight when he slid through the doorway and round the corner of the west front, and looked along the Foregate. She did not hurry now, but curbed her pace to that of the early buyers who were sauntering along the highroad, halting at stalls already busy, handling goods, arguing over prices. The last day of the fair was commonly the busiest. There were bargains to be snapped up at the close, and lowered prices. There was bustle everywhere, even at this hour, but the pace of the ambulant shoppers was leisurely. Emma matched hers to it, as though she belonged among them, but for all that, she was making her way somewhere with a purpose. Cadfael followed at a respectful distance.\n\nOnly once did she speak to anyone, and then she chose the holder of one of the larger stalls, and it seemed that she was asking him for directions, for he turned and pointed ahead along the street, and towards the abbey wall. She thanked him, and went on in the direction he had indicated, and now she quickened her pace. Small doubt that she had known all along to whom she was bound; apparently she had not known precisely where to find him. Now she knew. By this time all the chief merchants gathered here knew where to find one another.\n\nEmma had come to a halt, almost at the end of the Foregate, where a half-dozen booths were backed into the abbey wall. It seemed that she had arrived at her destination, yet now stood hesitant, gazing a little helplessly, as if what she confronted surprised and baffled her. Cadfael drew nearer. She was frowning doubtfully at the last of the booths, backed into a corner between buttress and wall. Cadfael recognised it; a lean, suspicious face had peered out from that hatch as the sheriff's officers had hoisted Turstan Fowler on to a board and borne him away to an abbey cell on the eve of the fair. The booth of Euan of Shotwick. Here they came again, those imagined gloves, so feelingly described, so soon stolen!\n\nAnd Emma was at a loss, for the booth was fast-closed, every panel sealed, and business all around in full swing. She turned to the nearest neighbour, clearly questioning, and the man looked, and shrugged, and shook his head. What did he know? There had been no sign of life there since last night, perhaps the glover had sold out and departed.\n\nCadfael drew nearer. Beneath the austere white wimple, so sharp a change from the frame of blue-black hair, Emma's young profile looked even more tender and vulnerable. She did not know what to do. She advanced a few steps and raised a hand, as though she would knock at the closed shutter, but then she wavered and drew back. From across the street a brawny butcher left his stall, patted her amiably on the shoulder, and did the knocking for her lustily, then stood to listen. But there was no move from within.\n\nA large hand clapped Cadfael weightily on the back, and the cavernous voice of Rhodri ap Huw boomed in his ear in Welsh: \"What's this, then? Master Euan not open for trade? That I should see the day! I never knew him to miss a sale before, or any other thing to his advantage.\"\n\n\"The stall's deserted,\" said Cadfael. \"The man may have left for home.\"\n\n\"Not he! He was there past midnight, for I took a turn along here to breathe the cool before going to my inn, and there was a light burning inside there then.\" No gleam from within now, though the slanting sunlight might well pale it into invisibility. But no, that was not so, either. The chinks between shutter and frame were utterly dark.\n\nIt was all too like what Roger Dod had found at another booth, only one day past. But there the booth had been barred from within, and the bar hoisted clear with a dagger. Here there was a lock, to be mastered from within or without, and certainly no visible key.\n\n\"This I do not like,\" said Rhodri ap Huw, and strode forward to try the door, and finding it, as was expected, locked, to peer squint-eyed through the large keyhole. \"No key within,\" he said shortly over his shoulder, and peered still. \"Not a movement in there.\" He had Cadfael hard on his heels by then, and three or four others closing in. \"Give me room!\"\n\nRhodri clenched the fingers of both hands in the edge of the door, set a broad foot against the timber wall, and hauled mightily, square shoulders gathered in one great heave. Wood splintered about the lock, small flinders flying like motes of dust, and the door burst open. Rhodri swayed and recovered in recoil, and was first through the opening, but Cadfael was after him fast enough to ensure that the Welshman touched nothing within. They craned into the gloom together, cheek by jowl.\n\nThe glover's stall was in chaos, shelves swept clear, goods scattered like grain over the floor. On a straw palliasse along the rear wall his cloak lay sprawled, and on an iron stand beside, a quenched candle sagged in folds of tallow. It took them a few seconds to accustom their eyes to the dimness and see clearly. Tangled in his spilled stock of belts, baldricks, gloves, purses and saddle-bags, Euan of Shotwick lay on his back, knees drawn up, a coarse sacking bag drawn half-over his lean face and greying head. Beneath the hem of the hood his thin-lipped mouth grinned open in a painful rictus, large white teeth staring, and the angle at which his head lay had the horrible suggestion of a broken wooden puppet.\n\nCadfael turned and flung up the shutter of the booth, letting in the morning light. He stooped to touch the contorted neck and hollow cheek. \"Cold,\" said Rhodri, behind him, not attempting to verify his judgment, which for all that was accurate enough. Euan's flesh was chilling. \"He's dead,\" said Rhodri flatly.\n\n\"Some hours,\" said Cadfael.\n\nIn the stress of the moment he had forgotten Emma, but the shriek she gave caused him to swing round in haste and dismay. She had crept in fearfully to peer over the shoulders of the neighbours, and stood staring with eyes wide with horror, both small fists crushed against her mouth. \"Oh, no!\" she said in a whisper. \"Not dead! Not he, too\u2026\"\n\nCadfael took her in his arms, and thrust her bodily before him out of the booth, elbowing the gaping onlookers out of his way. \"Go back! You mustn't stay here. Go back before you're missed, and leave this to me.\" He wondered if she even heard his rapid murmur into her ear; she was shaking and white as milk, her blue eyes fixed and huge with shock. He looked about him urgently for someone to whom he could safely confide her, for he doubted if she should be left to return alone, and yet he did not care to leave this scene until Beringar should be here to take charge, or one of the sheriff's sergeants at least. The sudden alarmed shout of recognition that came from the rear of the gathering crowd was a most welcome sound.\n\n\"Emma! Emma!\" Ivo Corbi\u00e8re came cleaving an unceremonious way through the press, like a sudden vehement wind in a cornfield, bludgeoning the standing stems out of its path. She turned at the call, and a spark of returning life sprang up in her eyes. Thankfully Cadfael thrust her into the young man's arms, which reached eagerly and anxiously to receive her.\n\n\"For God's sake, what has happened to her? What\u2026\" His glance flashed from her stunned visage to Cadfael's, and beyond, to the open door with its splintered panel. Over her head his lips framed silently for Cadfael: \"Not again? Another?\"\n\n\"Take her back,\" said Cadfael shortly. \"Take care of her. And tell Hugh Beringar to come. We have sheriff's business here within.\"\n\nAll the way back along the Foregate, Corbi\u00e8re kept a supporting arm about her, and curbed his long stride to hers, and all the way he poured soothing, caressing words into her ear, while she, until they had almost reached the west door of the church, said nothing at all, simply walked docilely beside him, distantly aware of the lulling sound and the comforting touch. Then suddenly she said: \"He's dead. I saw him, I know.\"\n\n\"A bare glimpse you had,\" said Ivo consolingly. \"It may not be so.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Emma, \"I know the man is dead. How could it happen? Why?\"\n\n\"There are always such acts, somewhere, robberies, violence and evil. It is sad, but it is not new.\" His fingers pressed her hand warmly. \"It is no fault of yours, and alas, there is nothing you or I can do about it. I wish I could make you forget it. In time you will forget.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"I shall never forget this.\"\n\nShe had meant to return by the church, as she had left, but now it no longer mattered. As far as he or any other was concerned, she had simply set out early to buy some gloves, or at least to view what the glover had to offer. She went in with Ivo by the gatehouse. By the time he had brought her tenderly on his arm to the guest-hall she had regained her composure. There was a little colour in her face again, and her voice was alive, even if its tone indicated that life was painful.\n\n\"I'm recovered now, Ivo,\" she said. \"You need not trouble for me further. I will tell Hugh Beringar that he is needed.\"\n\n\"Brother Cadfael entrusted you to me,\" said Ivo with gentle and confident authority, \"and you did not reject me. I shall fulfil my errand exactly. As I hope,\" he said smiling, \"I may perform any other missions you may care to entrust to me hereafter.\"\n\nHugh Beringar came with four of the sheriff's men, dispersed the crowd that hung expectantly round the booth of Euan of Shotwick, and listened to the accounts rendered by the neighbouring stall-holders, by the butcher from over the road, and by Rhodri ap Huw, for whom Cadfael interpreted sentence by sentence. In no haste to go, for as he said, his best lad was back with the boat from Bridgnorth and competent to take charge of what stock he still had to sell, the Welshman nonetheless showed no unbecoming desire to linger, once his witness was taken. Imperturbable and all-beholding, he ambled away at the first indication that the law had done with him. Others, more persistent, hung about the booth in a silent, watchful circle, but were kept well away from earshot. Beringar drew the door to. The opened hatches gave light enough.\n\n\"Can I take the man's account for fair and true?\" asked Hugh, casting a glance after Rhodri's retreating back. There was no backward glance from the Welshman, his assurance was absolute.\n\n\"To the letter, for all that happened here from the time I came on the scene. He's an excellent observer, there's little he misses of what concerns him, or may concern him, and what does not. He does business, too, his trade here is no pretext. But it may be only half his business that we see.\"\n\nThere were only the two of them within there now, two living and the dead man. They stood one either side of him, drawn back to avoid disturbing either his body or the litter of leatherwork scattered about and over him.\n\n\"He says there was a light showing through the chinks here past midnight,\" said Beringar. \"The light is quenched now, not burned out. And if he locked his door after closing the booth for the night\u2026\"\n\n\"As he would,\" said Cadfael. \"Rhodri's account of him rings true. A man complete in himself, trusting no one, able to take care of himself, until now. He would have locked his door.\"\n\n\"Then he also unlocked it, to let in his murderer. The lock never was forced until now, as you saw. Why should a wary man unlock his door to anyone in the small hours?\"\n\n\"Because he was expecting someone,\" said Cadfael, \"though not the someone who came. Because, it may be, he had been expecting someone all these three days, and was relieved when the expected message came at last.\"\n\n\"So relieved that he ceased to be cautious? Given your Welshman's estimate of him, I should doubt it.\"\n\n\"So should I,\" agreed Cadfael, \"unless there was a private word he was waiting for, and it was known and given. A name, perhaps. For you see, Hugh, I think he was already well aware that the one he had expected to deliver the message was never going to tap at his door by night, or stop in the Foregate to pass the time with him.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" said Hugh, \"Thomas of Bristol, who is dead.\"\n\n\"Who else? How many strange chances can come together, all against what is likely, or even possible? A merchant is killed, his barge searched, his booth searched, then, dear God, his coffin! I have not yet had time, Hugh, to tell you of that.\" He told it now. He had the rose-petal in the breast of his habit, wrapped in a scrap of linen; it still spoke as eloquently as before. \"You may trust my eyes, I know it did not fall earlier, I know it has been in the coffin with him. Now that same man's niece makes occasion to come by stealth to this glover's stall, only to find the glover dead like her uncle. It is a long list of assaults upon all things connected with Thomas of Bristol. Now, since this unknown treasure was not found even in his coffin, for safe-conduct back to Bristol in default of delivery, the next point of search has been here\u2014where Master Thomas should have delivered it.\"\n\n\"They would need to have foreknowledge of that.\"\n\n\"Or good reason to guess aright.\"\n\n\"By your witness,\" said Hugh, pondering, \"the coffin was opened and closed between Compline and Matins. Before midnight. When would you say, Cadfael\u2014your experience is longer than mine\u2014when would you say this man died?\"\n\n\"In the small hours. By the second hour after midnight, I judge, he was dead. After the coffin, it seems, they were forced to the conclusion that somehow, for all they had a watch on Master Thomas from his arrival, and disposed of him before ever the fair started, yet somehow he, or someone else on his behalf, must have slipped through their net, and delivered the precious charge. This poor soul certainly opened his door last night to someone he believed had business with him. The mention of a privileged name\u2026 a password\u2026 He let in his murderer, but what he had expected was the thing promised.\"\n\n\"Then even now,\" said Hugh sharply, \"with two murders on their souls, they have not what they wanted. He thought they were bringing it. They trusted to find it here. And neither of them had it. Both were deceived.\" He brooded with a brown fist clamping his jaw, and his black brows down-drawn in unaccustomed solemnity. \"And Emma came here\u2026 by stealth.\"\n\n\"She did. Not every man,\" said Cadfael, \"has your view of women, or mine. Most of your kind, most of mine, would never dream of looking in a woman's direction to find anything of importance in hand. Especially a mere child, barely grown. Not until every other road was closed, and they were forced to notice a woman there in the thick of the matter. Who just might be what they sought.\"\n\n\"And who has now betrayed herself,\" said Hugh grimly. \"Well, at least she reached the guest-hall safely, thanks to Corbi\u00e8re. I have left her with Aline, very shaken, for all her strength of will, and she will not stir a step this day unguarded. That I can promise. Between us I think we can take care of Emma. Now let's see if this poor wretch has anything to tell us that we don't yet know.\"\n\nHe stooped and drew back the coarse sack that covered half the glover's narrow face, from eyebrow on one side to jaw on the other. A broken bruise in the greying hair above the left temple indicated a right-handed blow as soon as the door was opened to his visitor, meant to stun him, probably, until he could be muffled in the sack and gagged like Warin. Here it was a case of gaining entry and confronting a wide-awake man, not a timid sleeper.\n\n\"Much the same manner as the other one,\" said Cadfael, \"and I doubt if they ever meant to kill. But he was not so easily put out of the reckoning. He put up a fight. And his neck is broken. By the look of it, one made round behind him to secure this blindfold, and in the struggle he gave them, tried all too hard to haul him backwards by it. He was wiry and agile, but his bones were aging, and too brittle to sustain it. I don't think it was intended. We should have found him neatly bound and still alive, like Warin, if he had not fought them. Once they knew he was dead, they made their search in haste, and left all as it fell.\"\n\nBeringar brushed aside the light tangle of girdles and straps and gloves that littered the floor and lay over the body. Euan's right arm was covered from the elbow down by the skirts of his own gown, kicked out of the way of the searchers in their hunt. When the folds were drawn down Hugh let out a sharp whistle of surprise, for in the dead man's hand was a long poniard, the naked blade grooved, and ornamented with gilding near the hilt. At his belt, half-hidden now under his right hip, the scabbard lay empty.\n\n\"A man of his hands! And see, he's marked one of them for us!\" There was blood on the point of the blade, and drawn up by the grooving for some three fingers' breadth in two thin crimson lines, now drying to black.\n\n\"Rhodri ap Huw said of him,\" Cadfael remembered, \"that he was a solitary soul who trusted nobody\u2014his own porter and his own watchman. He said he wore a weapon, and knew how to use it.\" He went on his knees beside the body, and cleared away the debris that still lay about it, eying and handling from head to foot. \"You'll have him away to the castle, I suppose, or the abbey, and look him over more carefully, but I do believe the only blood he's lost is this smear on his brow. This on the dagger is not his.\"\n\n\"If only we could as easily say whose it is!\" said Hugh dryly, sitting on his heels with the nimbleness of the young on the other side of the body. Brother Cadfael eased creaky elderly knees on the hard boards, and briefly envied him. The young man lifted the stiffening arm, and tested the grip of the clenched fingers. \"He holds fast!\" It took him some effort to loosen the convulsive grasp enough to slip the hilt of the dagger free. In the slanting light from the open hatch something gleamed briefly, waving at the tip of the blade, and again vanished, as motes of dust come and go in gold in bright sunlight. There was also what seemed at first to be a thin encrustation of blood fringing the steel on one edge. Cadfael exclaimed, leaning to point. \"A yellow hair\u2014There it shows again!\" The flashing gleam curled and twisted as Hugh turned the dagger in his hand.\n\n\"Not a hair, a fine, yellowish thread. Thread of flax, not bleached. This grooving has ripped out a shred of cloth, and the blood has stuck it fast. See!\"\n\nA mere wisp of brown material it was, a fringe along the groove that had held it. Narrow as a blade of grass, but when Cadfael carefully took hold of a thread at the end and drew it out straight, it stretched to the length of his hand. The colour, though fouled by dried blood, showed plain at one edge, a light russet-brown; and at the end of the sliver floated gaily the long, fine flax thread, scalloped like a curly hair.\n\n\"A sliced tear a hand long,\" said Cadfael, \"and ending at a hem, for surely this thread sewed the edging, and the dagger ripped out a length of the stitching.\" He narrowed his eyes, and considered, imagining Euan facing the door as he opened it, the instant blow that failed to tame him, and then his rapid drawing of his poniard and striking with it. Almost brow to brow and breast to breast, a man good with his right hand, and his attacker's heart an open target.\n\n\"He struck for the heart,\" said Cadfael with conviction. \"So would I, or so would I have done once. The other man, surely, slipped behind him and spoiled the stroke, but that is where he aimed. Someone, somewhere, has a torn cotte. It might be in the left breast, or it might be in the sleeve. The man's arms would be raised, reaching to grapple him. I should say the left sleeve, ripping from the hem halfway to the elbow. The sewing thread was caught first, and pulled out a length of stitches.\"\n\nHugh considered that respectfully, and found no fault with it. \"Much of a scratch, would you guess? He did not drip blood to the doorway. It could not have been enough to need much stanching.\"\n\n\"The sleeve would hold it. Likely only a graze, but a long graze. It will be there to be seen.\"\n\n\"If we knew where to look!\" Hugh gave a short bark of laughter at the thought of sending sergeants about this teeming marketplace to ask every man to roll up his left sleeve and show his arm. \"A simple matter! Still, no reason why you and I, and all the men I can spare and trust, should not be keeping our eyes open all the rest of this day for a torn sleeve\u2014or a newly cobbled one.\"\n\nHe rose, and turned to beckon his nearest man from the open hatch. \"Well, we'll have him away from here, and do what we can. A word with your Rhodri ap Huw wouldn't come amiss, and I fancy you might get more out of him in his own tongue than ever I should at second hand. If he knows this man so well, prick him on to talk, and bring me what you learn.\"\n\n\"That I'll do,\" said Cadfael, clambering stiffly from his knees.\n\n\"I must go first to the castle, and report what we've found. One thing I'll make certain of this time,\" said Hugh. \"The sheriff was in no mood to listen too carefully last night, but after this he'll have to turn young Corviser loose on his father's warranty, like the rest of them. It would take a more pig-headed man than Prestcote to believe the lad had any part in the first death, seeing the trail of offences that have followed while he was in prison. He shall eat his dinner at home today.\"\n\nRhodri was not merely willing to spend an hour pouring the fruits of his wisdom and experience into Brother Cadfael's ear, he was hovering with that very thing in mind as soon as the corpse of Euan of Shotwick had been carried away, and the booth closed, with one of the sheriff's men on guard. Though ever-present, he had the gift of being unobtrusive until he chose to obtrude, and then could appear from an unexpected direction, and as casually as if only chance had brought him there.\n\n\"No doubt you'll have sold all you brought with you,\" said Cadfael, encountering him thus between the stalls, clearly untroubled by business.\n\n\"Goods of quality are recognized everywhere,\" said Rhodri, sharp eyes twinkling merrily. \"My lads are clearing the last few jars of honey, and the wool's long gone. But I've a half-full bottle there, if you care to share a cup at this hour? Mead, not wine, but you'll be happy with that, being a Welshman yourself.\"\n\nThey sat on heaped trestles already freed from their annual use by the removal of small tradesmen who had sold out their stock, and set the bottle between them.\n\n\"And what,\" asked Cadfael, with a jerk of his head towards the guarded booth, \"do you make of that affair this morning? After all that's gone before? Have we more birds of prey this way than usual, do you think? It may be they've taken fright and left the shires where there's still fighting, and we get the burden of it.\"\n\nRhodri shook his shaggy head, and flashed his large white teeth out of the thicket in a grin. \"I would say you've had a more than commonly peaceful and well-mannered fair, myself\u2014apart from the misfortunes of two merchants only. Oh, tonight's the last night, and there'll be a few drunken squabbles and a brawl or two, I daresay, but what is there in that? But chance has played no part in what has happened to Thomas of Bristol. Chance never goes hounding one man for three days through hundreds of his fellows, yet never grazes one of the others.\"\n\n\"It has more than grazed Euan of Shotwick,\" remarked Cadfael dryly.\n\n\"Not chance! Consider, brother! Earl Ranulf of Chester's eyes and ears comes to a Shropshire fair and is killed. Thomas of Bristol, from a city that holds by Earl Robert of Gloucester, comes to the same fair, and is killed the very night of his coming. And after his death, everything he brought with him is turned hither and yon, but precious little stolen, from all I hear.\" And certainly he had a way of hearing most of what was said within a mile of him, but at least he had made no mention of the violation of Master Thomas's coffin. Either that had not reached his ears, and never would, or else he had been the first to know of it, and would be the last ever to admit it. The parish door was always open, no need to set foot in the great court or pass the gatehouse. \"Something Thomas brought to Shrewsbury is of burning interest to somebody, it seems to me, and the somebody failed to get hold of it from man, barge or stall. And the next thing that happens is that Euan of Shotwick is also killed in the night, and all his belongings ransacked. I would not say but things were stolen there. They may have learned enough for that, and his goods are small and portable, and why despise a little gain on the side? But for all that\u2014 No, two men from opposite ends of a divided country, meeting midway, on important private business? It could be so! Gloucester's man and Chester's man.\"\n\n\"And whose,\" wondered Cadfael aloud, \"was the third man?\"\n\n\"The third?\"\n\n\"Who took such an interest in the other two that they died of it. Whose man would he be?\"\n\n\"Why, there are other factions, and every one of them needs its intelligencers. There's the king's party\u2014they might well feel a strong interest if they noted Gloucester's man and Chester's man attending the same fair midway between. And not only the king\u2014there are others who count themselves kings on their own ground, besides Chester, and they also need to know what such a one as Chester is up to, and will go far to block it if it threatens their own profit. And then there's the church, brother, if you'll take it no offence is meant to the Benedictines. For you'll have heard by now that the king has dealt very hardly with some of his bishops this last few weeks, put up all manner of clerical backs, and turned his own brother and best ally, Bishop Henry of Winchester, who's papal legate into the bargain, into a bitter enemy. Bishop Henry himself might well have a finger in this pie, though I doubt if he can have had word of things afoot here in time, being never out of the south. But Lincoln, or Worcester\u2014all such lords need to know what's going on, and for men of influence there are always plenty of bully-boys for hire, who'll do the labouring work while their masters sit inviolable at home.\"\n\nAnd so, thought Cadfael, could wealthy men sit inviolable here in their stalls, in full view of hundreds, while their hired bully-boys do the dirty work. And this black Welshman is laying it all out for me plain to be seen, and taking delight in it, too! Cadfael knew when he was being deliberately teased! What he could not be quite sure of was whether this was the caprice of a blameless but mischievous man, or the sport of a guilty one taking pleasure in his own immunity and cleverness. The black eyes sparkled and the white teeth shone. And why grudge him his enjoyment, if something useful could yet be gleaned from it? Besides, his mead was excellent.\n\n\"There must,\" said Cadfael thoughtfully, \"be others here from Cheshire, even some from close to Ranulfs court. You yourself, for instance, come from not so far away, and are knowledgeable about those parts, and the men and the mood there. If you are right, whoever has committed these acts knew where to look for the thing they wanted, once they gave up believing that it was still among the effects of Thomas of Bristol. Now how would they be able to choose, say, between Euan of Shotwick and you? As an instance, of course! No offence!\"\n\n\"None in the world!\" said Rhodri heartily. \"Why, bless you! The only reason I know myself is because I am myself, and know I'm not in Ranulf of Chester's employ. But you can't know that, not certainly, and neither can any other. There's a small point, of course\u2014Thomas of Bristol, I doubt, spoke no Welsh.\"\n\n\"And you no English,\" sighed Cadfael. \"I had forgotten!\"\n\n\"There was a traveller from down towards Gloucester stayed overnight at Ranulf's court not a month ago,\" mused Rhodri, twinkling happily at his own omniscience, \"a jongleur who got unusual favour, for he was called in to play a stave or two to Ranulf and his lady in private, after they left the hall at night. If Earl Ranulf has an ear for music, it's the first I've heard of it. It would certainly need more than a French virelai to fetch him in for his father-in-law's cause. He would want to know what were the prospects of success, and what his reward might be.\" He slanted a radiant smile along his shoulder at Cadfael, and poured out the last of the mead. \"Your health, brother! You, at least, are delivered from the greed for gain. I have often wondered, is there a passion large enough to take its place? I am still in the world myself, you understand.\"\n\n\"I think there might be,\" said Cadfael mildly. \"For truth, perhaps? Or justice?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "The gaoler unlocked the door of Philip's cell somewhat before noon, and stood back to let the provost enter. Father and son eyed each other hard, and though Geoffrey Corviser continued to look grimly severe, and Philip obdurate and defiant, nevertheless the father was mollified and the son reassured. By and large, they understood each other pretty well.\n\n\"You are released to my warranty,\" said the provost shortly. \"The charge is not withdrawn, not yet, but you're trusted to appear when called, and until then, let's hope I may get some sensible work out of you.\"\n\n\"I may come home with you?\" Philip sounded dazed; he knew nothing of what had been going on outside, and was unprepared for this abrupt release. Hurriedly he brushed himself down, all too aware that he presented no very savoury spectacle to walk through the town at the provost's side. \"What made them change their mind? There's no one been taken for the murder?\" That would clear him utterly in Emma's eyes, no doubts left.\n\n\"Which murder?\" said his father grimly. \"Never mind now, you shall hear, once we have you out of here.\"\n\n\"Ay, stir yourself, lad,\" advised the goodhumoured warder, jingling his keys, \"before they change their minds again. The rate things are happening at this year's fair, you might find the door slammed again before you can get through it.\"\n\nPhilip followed his father wonderingly out of the castle. The noon light in the outer ward fell warm and dazzling upon him, the sky was a brilliant, deep blue, like Emma's eyes when she widened them in anxiety or alarm. It was impossible not to feel elated, whatever reproaches might still await him at home; and hope and the resilience of youth blossomed in him as his father recounted brusquely all that had happened while his son fretted in prison without news.\n\n\"Then there have been two attacks upon Mistress Vernold's boat and booth, her goods taken, her men assaulted?\" He had quite forgotten his own bedraggled appearance, he was striding towards home with his head up and his visage roused and belligerent, looking, indeed, very much as he had looked when he led his ill-fated expedition across the bridge on the eve of the fair. \"And no one seized for it? Nothing done? Why, she herself may be in danger!\" Indignation quickened his steps. \"For God's sake, what's the sheriff about?\"\n\n\"He has enough to do breaking up unseemly riots by you and your like,\" said his father smartly, but could not raise so much as a blush from his incensed offspring. \"But since you want to know, Mistress Vernold is in the guest-hall of the abbey, safe enough, in the care of Hugh Beringar and his lady. You'd do better to be thinking about your own troubles, my lad, and mind your own step, for you're not out of the wood yet.\"\n\n\"What did I do that was so wrong? I went only one pace beyond what you did yourself the day before.\" He did not even sound aggrieved about being judged hard, he made that brief defence only absently, his mind all on the girl. \"Even in the guest-hall she may not be out of reach, if this is all some determined plot against her uncle and all his family.\" In the death of one more tradesman at the fair he showed less interest, shocking though it was, since it seemed to have little or nothing to do with the vindictive catalogue of offences against Master Thomas and all his possessions. \"She spoke so fairly,\" he said. \"She would not have me accused of worse than I did.\"\n\n\"True enough! She was a fine, honest witness, no denying it. But no business of yours now, she's well cared for. It's your mother you need to be thinking of, she's been in a fine taking over you all this while, and now they're looking in other directions for the one who did the killing\u2014with one eye still on you, though, mind!\u2014she'll likely take some sweetening. One way or another, you'll get a warm welcome.\"\n\nPhilip was far beyond minding that, though as soon as he entered the house behind the shoemaker's shop he did indeed get a warm welcome, not one way or another, but both ways at once. Mistress Corviser, who was large, handsome and voluble, looked round from her fireside hob, uttered a muted shriek, dropped her ladle, and came billowing like a ship in full sail to embrace him, shake him, wrinkle her nose at the prison smell of him, abuse him for the damage to his best cotte and hose, box his ears for laughing at her tirade, exclaim lamentably over the dried scar at his temple, and demand that he sit down at once and let her crop the hair that adhered to the matted blood, and clean up the wound. By far the easiest thing to do was to submit to all, and let her talk herself out.\n\n\"The trouble and shame you've put us to, the heartaches you've cost me, wretch, you don't deserve that I should feed you, or wash and mend for you. The provost's son in prison, think of our mortification! Are you not ashamed of yourself?\" She was sponging away the encrusted blood, and relieved to find so insignificant a scar remaining; but when he said blithely: \"No, mother!\" she pulled his hair smartly.\n\n\"Then you should be, you good-for-nothing! There, that's not so bad. Now I hope you're going to settle down to work, and make up for all the trouble you've made for us, instead of traipsing about the town egging on other people's sons to mischief with your wild ideas\u2026\"\n\n\"They were the same ideas father and all the guild merchant had, mother, you should have scolded them. And you ask those who're wearing my shoes whether there's much amiss with my work.\" He was a very good workman, in fact, as she would have asserted valiantly if anyone else had cast aspersions on his diligence and ability. He hugged her impulsively, and kissed her cheek, and she put him off impatiently, with what was more a slap than a caress. \"Get along with you, and don't come moguing me until you're cleared of the worse charge, and have paid your fine for the riot. Now come and eat your dinner!\"\n\nIt was an excellent dinner, such as she produced on festivals and saints' days. After it, instead of shedding the clothes he had worn day and night in his cell, he shaved carefully, made a bundle of his second-best suit, and left the house with it under his arm.\n\n\"Now where are you going?\" she demanded inevitably.\n\n\"To the river, to swim and get clean again.\" They had a garden upstream, below the town hall, as many of the burgesses had, for growing their own fruit and vegetables, and there was a small hut there, and a sward where he could dry in the sun. He had learned to swim there, shortly after he learned to walk. He did not tell her where he was going afterwards. It was a pity he would have to present himself in his second-best coat, but in this hot summer weather perhaps he need not put it on at all; in shirt and hose most men look the same, provided the shirt is good linen and well laundered.\n\nThe water was not even cold in the sandy shallow by the garden, but after his meal he did not stay in long, or swim out into deep water. But it was good to feel like himself again, cleansed even of the memory of his failure and downfall. There was a still place under the bank where the water hung almost motionless, and showed him a fair image of his face, and the thick bush of red-brown hair which he combed and straightened with his fingers. He dressed as carefully as he had shaved, and set off back to the bridge, and over it to the abbey. The town's grievance, which he had had on his mind the last time he came this way, was quite forgotten; he had other important business now on the abbey side of Severn.\n\n\"There's one here,\" said Constance, coming in from the great court with a small, private smile on her lips, \"who asks to speak with Mistress Vernold. And not a bad figure of a young fellow, either, though still a thought coltish about the legs. He asked very civilly.\"\n\nEmma had looked up quickly at the mention of a young man; now that she had gone some way towards accepting what had happened, and coming to terms with a disaster which, after all, she had not caused, she had been remembering words Ivo had used, almost disregarded then in her shocked daze, but significant and warming now.\n\n\"Messire Corbi\u00e8re?\"\n\n\"No, not this time. This one I don't know, but he says his name is Philip Corviser.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Aline, and smiled over her sewing. \"The provost's son, Emma, the boy you spoke for in the sheriff's court. Hugh said he would see him set free today. If there's one soul can say he has done no evil to you or any these last two days, he's the man. Will you see him? It would be a kindness.\"\n\nEmma had almost forgotten him, even his name, but she recalled the plea he had made for her belief in him. So much had happened between. She remembered him now, unkempt, bruised and soiled, pallid-sick after his drunkenness, but still with a despairing dignity. \"Yes, I remember him. Of course I'll see him.\"\n\nPhilip followed Constance into the room. Fresh from the river, with damp hair curling thickly about his head, shaven and glowing and in fierce earnest, but without the aggression of the manner she had first seen in him, this was a very different person from the humiliated prisoner of the court. The last look he had given her, chin on shoulder, as he was dragged out\u2026 yes, she saw the resemblance there. He made his reverence to Aline, and then to Emma.\n\n\"Madam, I am released on my father's bail. I came to say my thanks to Mistress Emma for speaking so fairly for me, when I had no right to expect goodwill from her.\"\n\n\"I'm glad to see you free, Philip,\" said Aline serenely, \"and looking none the worse. You will like to speak with Emma alone, I daresay, and company other than mine may be good for her, for here we talk nothing but babies.\" She rose, folding her sewing carefully to keep the needle in view as she carried it. \"Constance and I will sit on the bench by the hall door, in the sun. The light is better there, and I am no such expert needlewoman as Emma. You can be undisturbed here.\"\n\nOut she went, and they saw a ray of sun from the open outer door sparkle in her piled gold hair, before Constance followed, and closed the door between. The two of them were left, gazing gravely at each other.\n\n\"The first thing I wanted to do with freedom,\" said Philip, \"was to see you again, and thank you for what you did for me. As I do, with all my heart. There were some who bore witness there who had known me most of my life, and surely had no grudge against me, and yet testified that I had been the first to strike, and done all manner of things I knew I had not done. But you, who had suffered through my act, though God knows I never willed it, you spoke absolute truth for me. It took a generous heart and a fair mind to do so much for an unknown whom you had no cause to love.\" He had not chosen that word, it had come naturally in the commonplace phrase, but when he heard it, it raised a blush like fire in his own face, faintly reflected the next moment in hers.\n\n\"All I did was to tell the truth of what I had seen,\" she said. \"So should we all have done, it's no virtue, but an obligation. It was shame that they did not. People do not think what it is they are saying, or trouble to be clear about what they have seen. But that's all by now. I'm very glad they've let you go. I was glad when Hugh Beringar said they must, taking into account what has been happening, for which you certainly can bear no blame. But perhaps you have not heard\u2026\"\n\n\"Yes, I have heard. My father has told me.\" Philip sat down beside her in the place Aline had vacated, and leaned towards her earnestly. \"There is some very evil purpose against you and yours, surely, how else to account for so many outrages? Emma, I am afraid for you\u2026 I fear danger threatening even you. I'm grieved for your loss, and all the distress you've suffered. I wish there might be some way in which I could serve you.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you need not be troubled for me,\" she said. \"You see I am in the best and kindest hands possible, and tomorrow the fair will all be over, and Hugh Beringar and Aline will help me to find a safe way to go home.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow?\" he said, dismayed.\n\n\"It may not be tomorrow. Roger Dod will take the barge down-river tomorrow, but it may be that I must stay a day or two more. We have to find a party going south by Gloucester, for safe-conduct, and with some other women for company. It may take a day or two.\"\n\nEven a day or two would be gold; but after that she would be gone, and he might never see her again. And still, confronted by this cause for unhappiness on his own part, he could only think of her. He could not rid himself of the feeling that she was threatened.\n\n\"In only two days, see how many ill things have happened, and always close to you, and what may not still happen in a day or two more? I wish you were safe home this moment,\" he said passionately, \"though God knows I'd rather lose my right hand than the sight of you.\" He was not even aware that that same right hand had taken possession of her left one, and was clasping it hard. \"At least find me some way of serving you before you go. If nothing more, tell me you know that I never did harm to your uncle\u2026\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" she said warmly, \"that I can, most willingly. I never did truly believe it. You are no such person, to strike a man dead by stealth. I never thought it. But still we don't know who did it! Oh, don't doubt me, I'm sure of you. But I wish it could be shown clear to the world, for your sake.\"\n\nIt was said very prettily and sincerely, and he took it to his heart gratefully, but it was said out of generous fellow-feeling, and nothing deeper, and he was gallingly sure of it while he hugged at least the kindness to him.\n\n\"For mine, too,\" she said honestly, \"and for the sake of justice. It is not right that a mean murderer should escape his due, and it does aggrieve me that my uncle's death should go unpaid for.\"\n\nFind me some way of serving you, he had said; and perhaps she had. There was nothing he would not have undertaken for her; he would have lain over the threshold of any room in which she was, like a dog on guard, if she had needed it, but she did not, she was cared for by the sheriff's own deputy and his lady, and they would watch over her until they saw her safely on her way home. But when she spoke of the unknown who had slipped a dagger in her uncle's back, her great eyes flared with the angry blue of sapphires, and her face grew marble-clear and taut. Her complaint was his commission. He would achieve something for her yet.\n\n\"Emma,\" he began in a whisper, and drew breath to commit himself deep as the sea.\n\nThe door opened, though neither of them had heard the knock; Constance put her head into the room.\n\n\"Messire Corbi\u00e8re waits to see you, when you are free,\" she said, and withdrew, but left the door ajar. Evidently Messire Corbi\u00e8re ought not to be kept waiting long.\n\nPhilip was on his feet. Emma's eyes had kindled at the name like distant stars, forgetting him. \"You may remember him,\" she said, still sparing a morsel of her attention for Philip, \"the young gentleman who came to help us on the jetty, along with Brother Cadfael. He has been very kind to me.\"\n\nPhilip did remember, though his bludgeoned senses at the time had seen everything distorted; a slender, elegant, assured lordling who leaped a rolling cask to catch her in his arm at the water's edge, and further, to be just to him, had appeared in the sheriff's court and borne out Emma's honest story\u2014 even if he had also produced his falconer to testify to the silly threats Philip had been indulging in, drunk as he was, later that evening. Testimony Philip did not dispute, since he knew he had been incapable of clear thought or positive recollection. He recalled his disgusting self, and smarted at the thought. And the young lord with the bright gold crest and athlete's prowess had showed so admirable by contrast.\n\n\"I'll take my leave,\" said Philip, and allowed her hand to slip out of his, though with reluctance and pain. \"For the journey, and always, I wish you well.\"\n\n\"So do I you,\" she said, and with unconscious cruelty added: \"Will you ask Messire Corbi\u00e8re to come in?\"\n\nNever in his life until then had Philip been required to draw himself to his full stature, body and mind. His departure was made with a dignity he had not dreamed he could achieve, and meeting Corbi\u00e8re face to face in the hall, he did indeed bid him within, at Mistress Emma's invitation, very civilly and amiably, while he burned with jealousy inwardly. Ivo thanked him pleasantly, and if he looked him over, did so with interest and respect, and with no apparent recollection of ever having seen him in less acceptable circumstances.\n\nNo one would have guessed, thought Philip, marching out into the sunshine of the great court, that a working shoemaker and a landed lord rubbed shoulders there. Well, he may have several manors in Cheshire and one in Shropshire, and be distant kin of Earl Ranulf, and welcome at his court; but I have something I can try to do for her, and I have a craft as honourable as his noble blood, and if I succeed, whether she comes my way or no, she'll never forget me.\n\nBrother Cadfael came in at the gatehouse after some hours of fruitless prowling about the fair and the riverside. Among hundreds of men busy about their own concerns, the quest of a gashed sleeve, or one recently and hastily mended, is much the same as hunting one straw in a completed stack. His trouble was that he knew no other way to set about it. Moreover, the hot and settled weather continued unbroken, and most of those about the streets and the stalls were in their shirt-sleeves. There was a point there, he reflected. The glover's dagger had drawn blood, therefore it had reached the skin, but never a thread of white or unbleached linen had it brought away with the sliver of brown cloth. If the intruder had worn a shirt, he had worn it with sleeves rolled up, and it had emerged unscathed, and could now cover his graze, and if the wound had needed one, his bandage. Cadfael returned to tend the few matters needing him in his workshop, and be ready for Vespers in good time, more because he was at a loss how to proceed than for any other reason. An interlude of quiet and thought might set his wits working again.\n\nIn the great court his path towards the garden happened to cross Philip's from the guest-hall to the gatehouse. Deep in his own purposes, the young man almost passed by unnoticing, but then he checked sharply, and turned to look back.\n\n\"Brother Cadfael!\" Cadfael swung to face him, startled out of just as deep a preoccupation. \"It is you!\" said Philip. \"It was you who spoke for me, after Emma, in the sheriff's court. And I knew you then for the one who came to help me to my feet and out of trouble, when the sergeants broke up the fight on the jetty. I never had the chance to thank you, brother, but I do thank you now.\"\n\n\"I fear the getting you out of trouble didn't last the night,\" said Cadfael ruefully, looking this lanky youngster over with a sharp eye, and approving what he saw. Whether it was time spent in self-examination in the gaol, or time spent more salutarily still in thinking of Emma, Philip had done a great deal of growing up in a very short time. \"I'm glad to see you about again among us, and none the worse.\"\n\n\"I'm not clear of the load yet,\" said Philip. \"The charge still stands, even the charge of murder has not been withdrawn.\"\n\n\"Then it stands upon one leg only,\" said Cadfael heartily, \"and may fall at any moment. Have you not heard there's been another death?\"\n\n\"So they told me, and other violence, also. But surely this last bears no connection with the rest? Until this, all was malice against Master Thomas. This man was a stranger, and from Chester.\" He laid a hand eagerly on Cadfael's sleeve. \"Brother, spare me some minutes. I was not very clear in my wits that night, now I need to know\u2014all that I did, all that was done to me. I want to trace every minute of an evening I can barely piece together for myself.\"\n\n\"And no wonder, after that knock on the head. Come and sit in the garden, it's quiet there.\" He took the young man by the arm, and turned him towards the archway through the pleached hedge, and sat him down on the very seat, had Philip known it, where Emma and Ivo had sat together the previous day. \"Now, what is it you have in mind? I don't wonder your memory's hazy. That's a good solid skull you have on you, and a blessedly thick thatch of hair, or you'd have been carried away on a board.\"\n\nPhilip scowled doubtfully into distance between the roses, hesitated how much to say, how much to keep painfully to himself, caught Brother Cadfael's comfortably patient eye, and blurted: \"I was coming now from Emma. I know she is in better care than I could provide her, but I have found one thing, at least, that might still be done for her. She wants and needs to see the man who killed her uncle brought to justice. And I mean to find him.\"\n\n\"So does the sheriff, so do all his men,\" said Cadfael, \"but they've had little success as yet.\" But he did not say it in reproof or discouragement, but very thoughtfully. \"So, for that matter, do I, but I've done no better. One more mind probing the matter could just as well be the mind that uncovers the truth. Why not? But how will you set about it?\"\n\n\"Why, if I can prove\u2014prove!\u2014that I did not do it, I may also rub up against something that will lead me to the man who did. At least I can make a start by trying to follow what happened to me that night. Not only for my own defence,\" he said earnestly, \"but because it seems to me that I gave cover to the deed by what I had begun, and whoever did it may have had me and my quarrel in mind, and been glad of the opening I made for him, knowing that when murder came of the night, the first name that would spring to mind would be mine. So whoever he may be, he must have marked my comings and goings, or I could be no use to him. If I had been with ten friends throughout, I should have been out of the reckoning, and the sheriff would have begun at once to look elsewhere. But I was drunk, and sick, and took myself off alone to the river for a long time, so much I do know. Long enough for it to have been true. And the murderer knew it.\"\n\n\"That is sound thinking,\" agreed Cadfael approvingly. \"What, then, do you mean to do?\"\n\n\"Begin from the riverside, where I got my clout on the head, and follow my own scent until I get clear what's very unclear now. I do remember what happened there, as far as you hauling me out of the way of the sheriff's men, and then being hustled away between two others, but my legs were grass and my wits were muddied, and I can't for my life recall who they were. It's a place to start, if you knew them.\"\n\n\"One of them was Edric Flesher's journeyman,\" said Cadfael. \"The other I've seen, though I don't know his name, a big, sturdy young fellow twice your width, with tow-coloured hair\u2026\"\n\n\"John Norreys!\" Philip snapped his fingers. \"I seem to recall him later in the night. It's enough, I'll begin with them, and find out where they left me, and how\u2014or where I shook them off, for so I might have done, I was no fit company for Christians.\" He rose, draping his coat over one shoulder. \"That whole evening I'll unravel, if I can.\"\n\n\"Good lad!\" said Cadfael heartily. \"I wish you success with all my heart. And if you're going to be threading your way through a few of the ale-houses of the Foregate, as you seem to have done that night, keep your eyes open on my behalf, will you? If you can find your murderer, you may very well also be finding mine.\" Carefully and emphatically he told him what to look for. \"An arm raising a flagon, or spread over a table, may show you what I'm seeking. The left sleeve sliced open for a hand's-length from the cuff of a russet-brown coat, that was sewn with a lighter linen thread. It would be on the underside of the arm. Or where arms are bared, look for the long scratch the knife made when it slit the sleeve, or for the binding that might cover it if it still bleeds. But if you find him, don't challenge him or say word to him, only bring me, if you can, his name and where to find him again.\"\n\n\"This was the glover's slayer?\" asked Philip, marking the details with grave nods of his brown head. \"You think they may be one and the same?\"\n\n\"If not the same, well known to each other, and both in the same conspiracy. Find one, and we shall be very close to the other.\"\n\n\"I'll keep a good watch, at any rate,\" said Philip, and strode away purposefully towards the gatehouse to begin his quest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Afterwards Brother Cadfael pondered many times over what followed, and wondered if prayer can even have a retrospective effect upon events, as well as influencing the future. What had happened had already happened, yet would he have found the same situation if he had not gone straight into the church, when Philip left him, with the passionate urge to commit to prayer the direction of his own efforts, which seemed to him so barren? It was a most delicate and complex theological problem, never as far as he knew, raised before, or if raised, no theologian had ventured to write on the subject, probably for fear of being accused of heresy.\n\nHowbeit, the urgent need came over him, since he had lost some offices during the day, to recommit his own baffled endeavours to eyes that saw everything, and a power that could open all doors. He chose the transept chapel from which Master Thomas's coffin had been carried that morning, resealed into sanctity by the Mass sung for him. He had time, now, to kneel and wait, having busied himself thus far in anxious efforts like a man struggling up a mountain, when he knew there was a force that could make the mountain bow. He said a prayer for patience and humility, and then laid that by, and prayed for Emma, for the soul of Master Thomas, for the child that should be born to Aline and Hugh, for young Philip and the parents who had recovered him, for all who suffered injustice and wrong, and sometimes forgot they had a resource beyond the sheriff.\n\nThen it was high time for him to rise from his knees, and go and see to his primary duty here, whatever more violent matters clamoured for his attention. He had supervised the herbarium and the manufactory derived from it, for sixteen years, and his remedies were relied upon far beyond the abbey walls; and though Brother Mark was the most devoted and uncomplaining of helpers, it was unkind to leave him too long alone with such a responsibility. Cadfael hastened towards his workshop with a lightened heart, having shifted his worries to broader shoulders, just as Brother Mark would be happy to do on his patron's arrival.\n\nThe heavy fragrance of the herb-garden lay over all the surrounding land, after so many hours of sunshine and heat, like a particular benediction meant for the senses, not the soul. Under the eaves of the workshop the dangling bunches of dried leafage rustled and chirped like nests of singing birds in waves of warmed air, where there was hardly any wind. The very timbers of the hut, dressed with oil against cracking, breathed out scented warmth.\n\n\"I finished making the balm for ulcers,\" said Brother Mark, making dutiful report, and happily aware of work well done. \"And I have harvested all the poppy-heads that were ripe, but I have not yet broken out the seed, I thought they should dry in the sun a day or two yet.\"\n\nCadfael pressed one of the great heads between his fingers, and praised the judgment. \"And the angelica water for the infirmary?\"\n\n\"Brother Edmund sent for it half an hour ago. I had it ready. And I had a patient,\" said Brother Mark, busy stacking away on a shelf the small clay dishes he used for sorting seeds, \"earlier on, soon after dinner. A groom with a gashed arm. He said he did it on a nail in the stables, reaching down harness, though it looked like a knife-slash to me. It was none too clean, I cleansed it for him, and dressed it with some of your goose-grass unguent. They were gambling with dice up there in the loft last night, I daresay it came to a fight, and somebody drew on him. He'd hardly admit to that.\" Brother Mark dusted his hands, and turned with a smile to report for the sum of his stewardship. \"And that's all. A quiet afternoon, you need not have worried.\" At sight of Cadfael's face his brows went up comically, and he asked in surprise: \"Why are you staring like that? Nothing there, surely, to open your eyes so wide.\"\n\nMy mouth, too, thought Cadfael, and shut it while he reflected on the strangeness of human effort, and the sudden rewards that fell undeserved. Not undeserved, perhaps, in this case, since this had fallen to Brother Mark, who modestly made no demands at all.\n\n\"Which arm was gashed?\" he asked, further baffling Brother Mark, who naturally could not imagine why that should matter.\n\n\"The left. From here, the outer edge of the wrist, down the underside of the forearm. Almost to the elbow. Why?\"\n\n\"Had he his coat on?\"\n\n\"Not when I saw him,\" said Mark, smiling at the absurdity of this catechism. \"But he had it over his sound arm. Is that important?\"\n\n\"More than you know! But you shall know, later, I am not playing with you. Of what colour was it? And did you see the sleeve that should cover that arm?\"\n\n\"I did. I offered to stitch it for him\u2014I had little to do just then. But he said he'd already cobbled it up, and so he had, very roughly, and with black thread. I could have done better for him, the original was unbleached linen thread. The colour? Reddish dun, much like most of the grooms and men-at-arms wear, but a good cloth.\"\n\n\"Did you know the man? Not one of our own abbey servants?\"\n\n\"No, a guest's man,\" said Brother Mark, patient in his bewilderment. \"Not a word to his lord he said! It was one of Ivo Corbi\u00e8re's grooms, the older one, the surly fellow with the beard.\"\n\nGilbert Prestcote himself, unescorted and on foot, had taken an afternoon turn about the fairground to view the public peace with his own eyes, and was in the great court on his way back to the town, conferring with Hugh Beringar, when Cadfael came in haste from the garden with his news. When the blunt recital was ended, they looked at him and at each other with blank and wary faces.\n\n\"Corbi\u00e8re's within at this moment,\" said Hugh, \"and I gather from Aline has been, more than an hour. Emma has him dazed, I doubt if he's had any other thought, these last two days. His men have been running loose much as they pleased, provided the work was done. It could be the man.\"\n\n\"His lord has the right to be told,\" said Prestcote. \"Households grow lax when they see the country torn, and their betters flouting law. There's nothing been said or done to alarm this fellow, I take it? He has no reason to make any move? And surely he values the shelter of a name like Corbi\u00e8re.\"\n\n\"No word has been said to any but you,\" said Cadfael. \"And the man may be telling the truth.\"\n\n\"The tatter of cloth,\" said Hugh, \"I have here on me. It should be possible to match or discard.\"\n\n\"Ask Corbi\u00e8re to come,\" said the sheriff.\n\nHugh took the errand to himself, since Ivo was a guest in his rooms. While they waited in braced silence, two of the abbey's men-at-arms came in at the gatehouse with unstrung longbows, and Turstan Fowler between them with his arbalest, the three of them hot, happy and on excellent terms. On the last day of the fair there were normally matches of many kinds, wrestling, shooting at the butts along the river meadows, long-bow against cross-bow, though the long-bow here was usually the short bow of Wales, drawn to the breast, not the ear. The six-foot weapon was known, but a rarity. There were races, too, and riding at the quintain on the castle tiltyard. Trade and play made good companions, and especially good profits for the ale-houses, where the winners very soon parted with all they had won, and the losers made up their losses.\n\nThese three were wreathed together in argumentative amity, passing jokes along the line; each seemed to be vaunting his own weapon. They had strolled no more than halfway across the court when Hugh emerged from the guest-hall with Ivo beside him. Ivo saw his archer crossing towards the stable-yard, and made him an imperious signal to stay.\n\nThere was no fault to be found with Turstan's service since his disastrous fall from grace on the first evening; motioned to hold aloof but remain at call, he obeyed without question, and went on amusing himself with his rivals. He must have done well at the butts for they seemed to be discussing his arbalest, and he braced a foot in the metal stirrup and drew the string to the alert for them, demonstrating that he lost little in speed against their instant arms. No doubt the dispute between speed and range would go on as long as both arms survived. Cadfael had handled both in his time, as well as the eastern bow, the sword, and the lance of the mounted man. Even at this grave moment he spared a long glance for the amicable wrangle going on a score of paces away.\n\nThen Ivo was there among them, and shaken out of his easy confidence and grace. His face was tense, his dark eyes large and wondering under the proudly raised auburn brows and golden cap of curls. \"You wanted me, sir? Hugh has not been specific, but I took it this was urgent matter.\"\n\n\"It is a matter of a man of yours,\" said the sheriff.\n\n\"My men?\" He shook a doubtful head, and gnawed his lip. \"I know of nothing\u2026 Not since Turstan drank himself stiff and stupid, and he's been a penitent and close to home ever since, and he did no harm then to any but himself, the dolt. But they all have leave to go forth, once their work's done. The fair is every man's treat. What's amiss concerning my men?\"\n\nIt was left to the sheriff to tell him. Ivo paled visibly as he listened, his ruddy sunburn sallowing. \"Then my man is suspect of the killing I brushed arms with\u2014Good God, this very morning! That you may know, his name is Ewald, he comes from a Cheshire manor, and his ancestry is northern, but he never showed ill traits before, though he is a morose man, and makes few friends. I take this hard. I brought him here.\"\n\n\"You may resolve it,\" said Prestcote.\n\n\"So I may.\" His mouth tightened. \"And will! About this hour I appointed to ride, my horse has had little exercise here, and he'll be bearing me hence tomorrow. Ewald is the groom who takes care of him. He should be saddling him up in the stables about this time. Shall I send for him? He'll be expecting my summons. No!\" he interrupted his own offer, his brows contracting. \"Not send for him, go for him myself. If I sent Turstan, there, you might suspect that a servant would stand by a servant, and give him due warning. Do you think he has not been watching us, this short while? And do you think this colloquy has the look of simple talk among us?\"\n\nAssuredly it had not. Turstan, dangling his braced bow, had lost interest in enlightening his rivals, and they, sensing that there was something afoot that did not concern them, were drawing off and moving away, though with discreet backward glances until they vanished into the grange court.\n\n\"I'll go myself,\" said Ivo, and strode away towards the stable-yard at a great pace. Turstan, hesitant, let him pass, since he got no word out of him in passing, but then turned and hurried on his heels, anxiously questioning. For a little way he followed, and they saw Ivo turn his head and snap some hasty orders at his man. Chastened, Turstan drew back and returned towards the gatehouse, and stood at a loss.\n\nSome minutes passed before they heard the sharp sound of hooves on the cobbles of the stable-yard, brittle and lively. Then the tall, dusky bay, glowing like the darkest of copper and restive for want of work, danced out of the yard with the stocky, bearded groom holding his bridle, and Ivo stalking a yard or so ahead.\n\n\"Here is my man Ewald,\" he said shortly, and stood back, as Cadfael noted, between them and the open gateway. Turstan Fowler drew nearer by discreet inches, and silently, sharp eyes flicking from one face to another in quest of understanding. Ewald stood holding the bridle, uneasy eyes narrowed upon Prestcote's unrevealing countenance. When the horse, eager for action, stirred and tossed his head, the groom reached his left hand across to take the bridle, and slid the right one up to the glossy neck, caressing by rote, but without for an instant shifting his gaze.\n\n\"My lord says your honour has something to ask me,\" he said in a slow and grudging voice.\n\nUnder his left forearm the cobbled mend in his sleeve showed plainly, the cloth puckered between large stitches, and the end of linen thread shivered in sun and breeze like a gnat dancing.\n\n\"Take off your coat,\" ordered the sheriff. And as the man gaped in real or pretended bewilderment: \"No words! Do it!\"\n\nSlowly Ewald slipped out of his coat, somewhat awkwardly because he was at pains to retain his hold on the bridle. The horse had been promised air and exercise, and was straining towards the gate, the way to what he desired. He had already shifted the whole group, except Cadfael, who stood mute and apart, a little nearer the gate.\n\n\"Turn back your sleeve. The left.\"\n\nHe gave one wild glance round, then lowered his head like a bull, set his jaw, and did it, his right arm through the bridle as he turned up the coarse homespun to the elbow. Brother Mark had bound up the gash in a strip of clean linen over his dressing. The very cleanness of it glared.\n\n\"You have hurt yourself, Ewald?\" said Prestcote, quietly grim.\n\nHe has his chance now, thought Cadfael, if he has quick enough wit, to change his story and say outright that he took a knife-wound in a common brawl, and told Brother Mark the lie about a nail simply to cover up the folly. But no, the man did not stop to think; he had his story, and trusted it might still cover him. Yet if Mark, on handling the wound, could tell a cut from a tear, so at the merest glance could Gilbert Prescote.\n\n\"I did it on a nail in the stables, my lord, reaching down harness.\"\n\n\"And tore your sleeve through at the same time? It was a jagged nail, Ewald. That's stout cloth you wear.\" He turned abruptly to Hugh Beringar. \"You have the slip of cloth?\"\n\nHugh drew out from his pouch a folded piece of vellum, and opened it upon the insignificant strip of fabric, that looked like nothing so much as a blade of dried grass fretted into fibres and rotting at the edge. Only the wavy tendril of linen thread showed what it really was, but that was enough. Ewald drew away a pace, so sharply that the horse backed off some yards towards the gateway, and the groom turned and took both hands to hold and soothe the beast. Ivo had to spring hurriedly backwards to avoid the dancing hooves.\n\n\"Hand here your coat,\" ordered Prestcote, when the bay was appeased again, and willing to stand, though reluctantly.\n\nThe groom looked from the tiny thing he had recognised to the sheriff's composed but unrelenting face, hesitated only a moment, and then did as he was bid, to violent effect. He swung back his arm and flung the heavy cotte into their faces, and with a leap was over the bay's back and into the saddle. Both heels drove into the glossy sides, and a great shout above the pricked ears sent the horse surging like a flung lance for the gateway.\n\nThere was no one between but Ivo. The groom drove the bay straight at him, headlong. The young man leaped aside, but made a tigerish spring to grasp at the bridle as the horse hurtled by, and actually got a hold on it and was dragged for a moment, until the groom kicked out at him viciously, breaking the tenuous hold and hurling Ivo out of the way, to fall heavily and roll under the feet of the sheriff and Hugh as they launched themselves after the fugitive. Out at the gateway and round to the right into the Foregate went Ewald, at a frantic gallop, and there was no one mounted and ready to pursue, and for once the sheriff was without escort or archers.\n\nBut Ivo Corbi\u00e8re was not. Turstan Fowler had rushed to help him to his feet, but Ivo waved him past, out into the Foregate, and heaving himself breathlessly from the ground, with grazed and furious face ran limping after. The little group of them stood in the middle of the highroad, helplessly watching the bay and his rider recede into distance, and unable to follow. He had killed, and he would get clear away, and once some miles from Shrewsbury, he could disappear into forest and lie safe as a fox in its lair.\n\nIn a voice half-choked with rage, Ivo cried: \"Fetch him down!\"\n\nTurstan's arbalest was still braced and ready, and Turstan was used to jumping to his command. The quarrel was out of his belt, fitted and loosed, in an instant, the thrum and vibration of its flight made heads turn and duck and women shriek along the Foregate.\n\nEwald, stooped low over the horse's neck, suddenly jerked violently and reared up with head flung high. His hands slackened from the reins and his arms swung lax on either side. He seemed to hang for a moment suspended in air, and then swung heavily sidewise, and heeled slowly out of the saddle. The bay, startled and shocked, ran on wildly, scattering the frightened vendors and buyers on both sides, but his flight was uncertain now, and confused by this sudden lightness. He would not go far. Someone would halt and soothe him, and lead him back.\n\nAs for the groom Ewald, he was dead before ever the first of the appalled stallholders reached him, dead, probably, before ever he struck the ground."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "\"He was my villein,\" asserted Ivo strenuously, in the room in the gatehouse where they had brought and laid the body, \"and I enjoy the power of the high justice over my own, and this one had forfeited life. I need make no defence, for myself or my archer, who did nothing more than obey my order. We have all seen, now, that this fellow's wound is no tear from a nail, but the stroke of a dagger, and the fret you took from the glover's blade matches this sleeve past question. Is there doubt in any mind that this was a murderer?\"\n\nThere was none. Cadfael was there with them in the room, at Hugh's instance, and he had no doubts at all. This was the man Euan of Shotwick had marked, before he himself died. Moreover, some of Euan of Shotwick's goods and money had been found among the sparse belongings Ewald had left behind him; his saddle-roll held a pouch of fine leather full of coins, and two pairs of gloves made for the hands of girls, presents, perhaps, for wife or sister. This was certainly a murderer. Turstan, who had shot him down, obviously did not consider himself anything of the kind, any more than one of Prestcote's archers would have done, had he been given the order to shoot. Turstan had taken the whole affair stolidly, as none of his business apart from his duty to his lord, and gone away to his evening meal with an equable appetite.\n\n\"I brought him here,\" said Ivo bitterly, wiping smears of blood from his grazed cheek. \"It is my honour he has offended, as well as the law of the land. I had a right to avenge myself.\"\n\n\"No need to labour it,\" said Prestcote shortly. \"The shire has been saved a trial and a hanging, which is to the good, and I don't know but the wretch himself might prefer this way out. It was a doughty shot, and that's a valuable man of yours. I never thought it could be done so accurately at that distance.\"\n\nIvo shrugged. \"I knew Turstan's quality, or I would not have said what I did, to risk either my horse or any of the hundreds about their harmless business in the Foregate. I don't know that I expected a death\u2026\"\n\n\"There's only one cause for regret,\" said the sheriff. \"If he had accomplices, he can never now be made to name them. And you say, Beringar, that there were probably two?\"\n\n\"You're satisfied, I hope,\" said Ivo, \"that neither Turstan nor my young groom Arald had any part with him in these thefts?\"\n\nBoth had been questioned, he had insisted on that. Turstan had been a model of virtue since his one lapse, and the youngster was a fresh-faced country youth, and both had made friends among the other servants and were well liked. Ewald had been morose and taciturn, and kept himself apart, and the revelation of his villainy did not greatly surprise his fellows.\n\n\"There's still the matter of the other offences. What do you think? Was it this man in all of them?\"\n\n\"I cannot get it out of my mind,\" said Hugh slowly, \"that Master Thomas's death was the work of one man only. And without reason or proof, by mere pricking of thumbs, I do not believe it was this man. For the rest\u2014I don't know! Two, the merchant's watchman said, but I am not sure he may not be increasing the odds to excuse his own want of valour\u2014or his very good sense, however you look at it. Only one, surely, would enter the barge in full daylight, no doubt briskly, as if he had an errand there, something to fetch or something to bestow. Where there were two, this must surely be one of them. Who the other was, we are still in the dark.\"\n\nAfter Compline Cadfael went to report to Abbot Radulfus all that had happened. The sheriff had already paid the necessary courtesy visit to inform the abbot, but for all that Radulfus would expect his own accredited observer to bring another viewpoint, one more concerned with the repute and the standards of a Benedictine house. In an order which held moderation in all things to be the ground of blessing, immoderate things were happening.\n\nRadulfus listened in disciplined silence to all, and there was no telling from his face whether he deplored or approved such summary justice.\n\n\"Violence can never be anything but ugly,\" he said thoughtfully, \"but we live in a world as ugly and violent as it is beautiful and good. Two things above all concern me, and one of them may seem to you, brother, a trivial matter. This death, the shedding of this blood, took place outside our walls. For that I am grateful. You have lived both within and without, what must be accepted and borne is the same to you, within or without. But many here lack your knowledge, and for them, and for the peace we strive to preserve here as refuge for others beside ourselves, the sanctity of this place is better unspotted. And the second thing will matter as deeply to you as to me: Was this man guilty? Is it certain he himself had killed?\"\n\n\"It is certain,\" said Brother Cadfael, choosing his words with care, \"that he had been concerned in murder, most likely with at least one other man.\"\n\n\"Then harsh though it may be, this was justice.\" He caught the heaviness of Cadfael's silence, and looked up sharply. \"You are not satisfied?\"\n\n\"That the man took part in murder, yes, I am satisfied. The proofs are clear. But what is justice? If there were two, and one bears all, and the other goes free, is that justice? I am certain in my soul that there is more, not yet known.\"\n\n\"And tomorrow all these people will depart about their own affairs, to their own homes and shops, wherever they may be. The guilty and the innocent alike. That cannot be the will of God,\" said the abbot, and brooded a while in silence. \"Nevertheless, it may be God's will that it should be taken out of our hands. Continue your vigil, brother, through the morrow. After that others, elsewhere, must take up the burden.\"\n\nBrother Mark sat on the edge of his cot, in his cell in the dortoire, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and grieved. From a child he had lived a hard life, privation, brutality and pain were all known to him as close companions until he came into this retreat, at first unwilling. But death was too monstrous and too dark for him, coming thus instant in terror, and without the possibility of grace. To live misused, ill-fed, without respite from labour, was still life, with a sky above it, and trees and flowers and birds around it, colour and season and beauty. Life, even so lived, was a friend. Death was a stranger.\n\n\"Child, it is with us always,\" said Cadfael, patient beside him. \"Last summer ninety-five men died here in the town, none of whom had done murder. For choosing the wrong side, they died. It falls upon blameless women in war, even in peace at the hands of evil men. It falls upon children who never did harm to any, upon old men, who in their lives have done good to many, and yet are brutally and senselessly slain. Never let it shake your faith that there is a balance hereafter. What you see is only a broken piece from a perfect whole.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Brother Mark between his fingers, loyal but uncomforted. \"But to be cut off without trial\u2026\"\n\n\"So were the ninety-four last year,\" said Cadfael gently, \"and the ninety-fifth was murdered. Such justice as we see is also but a broken shred. But it is our duty to preserve what we may, and fit together such fragments as we find, and take the rest on trust.\"\n\n\"And unshriven!\" cried Brother Mark.\n\n\"So went his victim also. And he had neither robbed nor killed, or if he had, only God knows of it. There has many a man gone through that gate without a safe-conduct, who will reach heaven ahead of some who were escorted through with absolution and ceremony, and had their affairs in order. Kings and princes of the church may find shepherds and serfs preferred before them, and some who claim they have done great good may have to give place to poor wretches who have done wrong and acknowledge it, and have tried to make amends.\"\n\nBrother Mark sat listening, and at least began to hear. Humbly he recognised and admitted the real heart of his grievance. \"I had his arm between my hands, I saw him wince when I cleansed his wound, and I felt his pain. It was only a small pain, but I felt it. I was glad to help him, it was pleasure to anoint the cut with balm, and wrap it clean, and know he was eased. And now he's dead, with a cross-bow bolt through him\u2026\" Briefly and angrily, Brother Mark brushed away tears, and uncovered his accusing face. \"What is the use of mending a man, if he's to be broken within a few hours, past mending?\"\n\n\"We were speaking of souls,\" said Cadfael mildly, \"not mere bodies, and who knows but your touch with ointment and linen may have mended to better effect the one that lasts the longer? There's no arrow cleaves the soul but there may be balm for it.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Head-down on his own traces, Philip had run his friend John Norreys to earth at last at the butts by the riverside, where the budding archers of the town practised, and together they hunted out Edric Flesher's young journeyman from the yard behind his master's shop. Philip's odyssey on the eve of the fair had begun with these two, who had had him bundled into their arms by Brother Cadfael when the sheriff's men descended on the Gaye.\n\nBy their own account, they had hauled him away through the orchards and the narrow lanes behind the Foregate, avoiding the highroads, and sat him down in the first booth that sold drink, to recover his addled wits. And very ungrateful they had found him, as soon as the shock of his blow on the head began to pass, and his legs were less shaky under him.\n\nFurious with himself, he had turned his ill-temper on them, snarled at them, said John tolerantly, that he was capable of looking after himself, and they had better go and warn some of the other stalwarts who had rushed on along the Foregate overturning stalls and scattering goods, before the officers reached them. Which they had taken good-humouredly enough, knowing his head was aching villainously by that time, and had followed him for a while at a discreet distance as he blundered away through the fair-ground, until he turned on them again and ordered them away. They had stood to watch him, and then shrugged and left him to his own devices, since he would have none of them.\n\n\"You had your legs again,\" said John reasonably, \"and since you wouldn't let us do anything for you, we thought best to let you go your own way. Let alone, you wouldn't go far, but if we followed, you might do who knows what, out of contrariness.\"\n\n\"There was another fellow who looked after you a thought anxiously,\" said the butcher's man, thinking back, \"when we left that booth with you. Came out after us, and set off the same way you took. He thought you were already helpless drunk, I fancy, and might need helping home.\"\n\n\"That was kind in him,\" said Philip, stiffening indignantly, and meaning that it was damned officious of whoever it was. \"That would be what hour? Not yet eight?\"\n\n\"Barely. I did hear the bell for Compline shortly after, over the wall. Curious how it carries over all the bustle between.\" In the upper air, so it would; people in the Foregate regulated their day by the office bells.\n\n\"Who was this who followed me? Did you know him?\"\n\nThey looked at each other and hoisted indifferent shoulders; among the thousands at a great fair the local people are lost. \"Never seen him before. Not a Shrewsbury man. He may not have been following, to call it that, at all, just heading the same way.\"\n\nThey told him exactly where he had left them, and the direction he had taken. Philip made his way purposefully to the spot indicated, but in that busy concourse, spreading along the Foregate and filling every open space beyond, he was still without a map. All he knew was that before nine, according to the witness in the sheriff's court, he had been very drunk and still drinking in Wat's tavern, and blurting out hatred and grievance and the intent of vengeance against Master Thomas of Bristol. The interval it was hard to fill. Perhaps he had made his way there at once, and been well advanced in drink before the stranger noted his threats.\n\nPhilip gritted his teeth and set off along the Foregate, so intent on his own quest that he had no ears for anything else, and missed the news that was being busily conveyed back and forth through the fair, with imaginative variations and considerable embellishments before it reached the far corner of the horse-fair. It was news more than two hours old by then, but Philip had heard no word of it, his mind was on his own problem. All round him stalls were being stripped down to trestle and board, and rented booths being locked up, and the keys delivered to abbey stewards. Business was almost put away, but the evening was not yet outworn, there would be pleasure after business.\n\nWalter Renold's inn lay at the far corner of the horse-fair, not on the London highroad, but on the quieter road that bore away north-eastwards. It was handy for the country people who brought goods to market, and at this hour it was full. It went against the grain with Philip even to order a pot of ale for himself while he was on this desperate quest, but alehouses live by sales, and at least he was so formidably sober now that he could afford the indulgence. The potboy who brought him his drink was hardly more than a child, and he did not remember the tow hair and pock-marked face. He waited to speak with Wat himself, when there was a brief interlude of calm.\n\n\"I heard they'd let you go free,\" said Wat, spreading brawny arms along the table opposite him. \"I'm glad of it. I never thought you'd do harm, and so I told them where they asked. When was it they loosed you?\"\n\n\"A while before noon.\" Hugh Beringar had said he should eat his dinner at home, and so he had, though at a later hour than usual.\n\n\"So nobody could point a finger at you over the latest ill-doings. Such a fair as we've had! Good weather and good sales, and good attendance all round, even good behaviour,\" said Wat weightily, considering the whole range of his experience of fairs. \"And yet two merchants murdered, the second of them a northern man found only this morning broken-necked in his stall. You'll have heard about that? When did we ever have such happenings! It's not the lads of Shrewsbury, I said when they asked me, that get up to such villainies, you look among the incomers from other parts. We're decent folk herebouts!\"\n\n\"Yes, I know of that,\" said Philip. \"But it's not that death they pointed at me, it's the first, the Bristol merchant\u2026\" North and south had met here, he reflected, fatally for both. Now why should that be? Both the victims strangers from far distances, where some born locally were as well worth plundering.\n\n\"This one they could hardly charge to your account,\" said Wat, grinning broadly, \"even if you'd been at large so early. It's all past and gone. You hadn't heard? There was a grand to-do along the Foregate, a few hours ago. The murderer's found out red-handed, and made a break for his freedom on his lord's horse, and kicked his lord into the dust on the way. And he's shot down dead as a storm-struck tree, at his lord's orders. A master's shot, they say. The glover's soon avenged. And you'd not heard of it?\"\n\n\"Not a word! The last I heard they were looking for a man who might have a slit sleeve to show, and a gash in his arm. When was this, then?\" It seemed that Brother Cadfael must have found his man, unaided, after all.\n\n\"Not an hour before Vespers it must have been. All I heard was the shouting at the abbey end of the Foregate. But they tell me the sheriff himself was there.\"\n\nAbout five in the afternoon, perhaps less than an hour after Philip had left Brother Cadfael and gone back into the town to look for John Norreys. A short hunt that had been, no need any longer for him to cast a narrowed eye at men's sleeves wherever he went. \"And it's certain they got the right man?\"\n\n\"Certain! The merchant had marked him, and they say there were goods and money from the glover's stall found in his pack. Some groom called Ewald, I heard\u2026\"\n\nA mere sneak-thief, then, who had gone too far. Nothing there to bear on Philip's own quest. He was free to concentrate his mind once again, and even more intently, upon his own pilgrimage. It had begun as a penitential exercise, but was gradually abandoning that aspect. Certainly he had made a fool of himself, but the original impulse on which he had acted, and roused others to act, had not been so foolish, after all, and was nothing to be ashamed of. Only when it collapsed about him in ruins had he thrown good sense to the winds, and indulged his misery like a sulking child.\n\n\"Now if only I could find out as certainly who it was did for Master Thomas! It was that night there was grave matter urged against me, and I will own I laid myself open. It's all very well being let out on my father's bail, but no one has yet said I'm clear of the charge. The rest I'll pay my score for, but I want to prove I never did the merchant any violence. I know I was here that night\u2014the eve of the fair, you'll remember? From what hour? I've no recollection of times, myself. According to his men, Master Thomas was alive until a third of the hour past nine.\"\n\n\"Oh, you were here, no question!\" Wat could not help grinning at the memory. \"There was noise enough, we were busy, but you made yourself heard! No offence, lad, who hasn't made a fool of himself in his cups from time to time? It can't have been more than a quarter after eight when you came in, and I doubt you'd had much, up to then.\"\n\nOnly a quarter after the hour of Compline\u2014then he must have come straight here after shaking off his friends. Not straight, perhaps that was an inappropriate word, but weavingly and unsteadily, though at that rate not calling anywhere else on the way. It was a natural thing to do, to hurry clean through the thick of the fair, and put as much ground as possible between himself and his solicitous companions before calling a halt.\n\n\"I tell you what, boy,\" said the expert kindly, \"if you'd taken it slowly you'd have been sober enough. But you had to rush the matter. I doubt I've ever seen a fellow put so much down in the time, no wonder your belly turned against it.\"\n\nIt was not cheering listening, but Philip swallowed it doggedly. Evidently he had been as foolish as he had been dreading, and the archer's account of his behaviour had not been at all exaggerated.\n\n\"And was I yelling vengeance against the man who struck me? That's what they said of me.\"\n\n\"Well, now, I wouldn't go so far as that, and yet it's not too far off the mark, either. Let's say you were not greatly loving him, and no wonder, we could all see the dunt he'd given you. Arrogant and greedy you called him, and a few other things I don't recall, and mark your words, you kept telling us, pride like his was due for a disastrous fall, and soon. That must be what they had in mind who witnessed against you. I never heard word of any going to this hearing from my tavern, not until afterwards. Who were they that testified, then?\"\n\n\"It was one man,\" said Philip. \"Not that I can blame him, it seems he told no lies\u2014indeed, I never thought he had, I know I was the world's fool that night.\"\n\n\"Why, bless you, lad, with a cracked head a man's liable to act like one cracked, he has the right. But who's this one man? What with all the incomers at the fair, I had more strangers than known customers of these evenings.\"\n\n\"It was a man attending one of the abbey guests,\" said Philip. \"Turstan Fowler, they said his name was. He said he was here drinking, and went from ale to wine, and then to strong liquor\u2014it seems he ended up as drunk as I was myself, they took him up helpless later, and slung him into a cell at the abbey overnight. A well-set-up fellow, but slouching and unkempt when I saw him in the court. About thirty-five years old, at a guess, sunburned, a bush of brown hair\u2026\"\n\nWat shook his head, pondering the description. \"I don't know him, not by that, though I've got a rare memory for faces. An ale-house keeper has to have. Ah, well, if he's a stranger he'd no call to give false witness, I suppose he was but honest, and put the worst meaning on your bletherings for want of knowing you.\"\n\n\"What time was it when I left here?\" Philip winced ever at the recollection of the departure, sudden and desperate, with churning stomach and swimming head, and both hands clamped hard over his grimly locked jaw. Barely time to weave a frantic way across the road and into the edge of the copse beyond, where he had heaved his heart out, and then blundered some distance further in cover towards the orchards of the Gaye, and collapsed shivering and retching into the grass, to pass into a sodden sleep. He had not dragged himself out of it until the small hours.\n\n\"Why, reckoning from Compline, I'd say an hour had passed, it would be about nine of the clock.\"\n\nThomas of Bristol had set out from his booth to return to his barge only a quarter of an hour or so later. And someone, someone unknown, had intercepted him on the way, dagger in hand. No wonder the law had looked so narrowly at Philip Corviser, who had reason to resent and hate, and had blundered out of sight and sound of other men around that time, after venting his grievance aloud for all to hear.\n\nWat rose to go and cope with the custom that was overwhelming his two potboys, and Philip sat brooding with his chin on his fist. Most of the flares must be out by now along the Foregate, most of the stalls packed up and ready for departure. Another balmy summer night, heaven dropping fat blessings on the abbey receipts and the profits of trade, after a lost summer of warfare and a winter of uncertainty. And the town walls still unrepaired, and the streets still broken!\n\nThe door stood propped wide on the warm, luminous twilight, and the traffic in and out was brisk. Youngsters came with jugs and pitchers to fetch for their elders, maids tripped in for a measure of wine for their masters, labourers and abbey servants wandered in to slake their thirst between spells of work. Saint Peter's Fair was drawing to its contented and successful close.\n\nThrough the open door came a fresh-faced youngster in a fine leather jerkin, and on his heels a sturdy, brown-faced man at least fifteen years older, in the same good livery. It took Philip a long moment of staring to recognise Turstan Fowler, sober, well-behaved, in good odour with his lord and all the world. Still longer to cause him to reflect afresh how he himself must have looked, drunk, if the difference could stretch so far. He watched the little potboy serve them. Wat was busy with others, and the room was full. The end of the fair was always a busy time. Another day, and these same hours would hang heavy and dark.\n\nPhilip never quite knew why he turned his head away, and hoisted a wide shoulder between himself and Ivo Corbi\u00e8re's men. He had nothing against either of them, but he did not want to be recognised and condoled with, or congratulated on his release, or in any way, sympathetic or not, have public attention called to him. He kept his shoulder hunched between, and was glad to have the room so full of people, and most of them strangers.\n\n\"Fairs are good business,\" remarked Wat, returning to his place and plumping down on the bench with a sigh of pleasure, \"but I wish we could spread them round the rest of the year. My feet are growing no younger, and I've hardly been off them an hour in all, the last three days. What was it we were saying?\"\n\n\"I was trying to describe for you the fellow who reported me as threatening revenge,\" said Philip. \"Cast a look over yonder now, and you'll see the very man. The two in leather who came in together\u2014the elder of the two.\"\n\nWat let his sharp eyes rove, and surveyed Turstan Fowler with apparent disinterest, but very shrewdly. \"Slouching and hangdog, was he? Smart as a new coat now.\" His gaze returned to Philip's face. \"That's the man? I remember him well enough. I seldom forget a man's face, but his name and condition I've no way of knowing.\"\n\n\"He can't have looked quite so trim that evening,\" said Philip, \"seeing he owned to being well soused. He was lost to the world two hours later, by his own tale.\"\n\n\"And he said he got it all here?\" Wat's eyes had narrowed thoughtfully.\n\n\"So he said. 'Where I got my skinful' is what he said.\"\n\n\"Well, let me tell you something interesting, friend\u2026\" Wat leaned confidentially across the table. \"Now I see him, I know how I saw him the last time, for if you'll credit me, he looked much as he looks now. And what's more, now I know of the connection he had with you and your affairs, I can recall small things that happened that night, things I never gave a thought to before, and neither would you have done. He was in here twice that evening, or rather, he was in the doorway once, before he came over the threshold later. In that doorway he stood, and looked round him, a matter of ten minutes or so after you came in. I made nothing of it that he gave you a measuring sort of look, for well he might, you were in full cry then. But look at you he did, and weighed you up, and went away again. And the next we saw of him, it might be half an hour later, he came in and bought a measure of ale, and a big flask of strong geneva liquor, and sat supping his ale quietly, and eyeing you from time to time\u2014as again well he might, it was about then you were greenish and going suspicious quiet. But do you know when he drank up and left, Philip, lad? The minute after you made for the door in a hurry. And his flask under his arm, unopened. Drunk? Him? He was stone cold sober when he went out of here.\"\n\n\"But he took the juniper liquor with him,\" pointed out Philip, reasonably. \"He was drunk enough two hours later, there were several of them to swear to that. They had to carry him back to the abbey on a trestle-board.\"\n\n\"And how much of the juniper spirit did they find remaining? Did they ever mention that? Did they find the flask at all?\"\n\n\"I never heard mention of it,\" owned Philip, startled and doubtful. \"Brother Cadfael was there, I could ask him. But why?\"\n\nWat laid a kindly if patronising hand on his shoulder. \"Lad, it's easy to see you never went beyond wine or ale, and if you'll heed me you'll leave the strong stuff to strong stomachs. I said a large flask, and large I meant. There was a quart of geneva spirits in that bottle! If any man drank that dry in two hours, it wouldn't be dead drunk they'd be carrying him away, it would be plain dead. Or if he did live to tell of it, it wouldn't be the next day, nor for several after. Sober as the sheriff himself was that fellow when he went out of here on your heels, and why he should want to lie about it is more than I can say, but lie about it he did, it seems. Now you tell me why a man should go to some pains to convict himself of a debauch he never even had, and get himself slung into a cell for recompense. Unless,\" added Wat, considering the problem with lively interest, \"it was to get himself out of something worse.\"\n\nThe elder potboy, a freckled lad born and bred in the Foregate, came by with a cluster of empties in either hand, and paused to nudge Wat in the ribs with an elbow, and lean to his ear.\n\n\"Do you know who you have there, master?\" A jerk of his head indicated the two in leather jerkins. \"The young one's fellow-groom to the one that got a bolt through him along the Foregate a while ago. And the other\u2014Will Wharton just told me, and he was close by and saw it all!\u2014that's the fellow who loosed the bolt! His comrade in the same price, mark! Should he be here and in such spirits the same night? That's a stronger stomach than mine. 'Fetch him down!' says the master, and down the fellow fetches him, sharp and cool. You'd have thought his hand would have shook too much to get near the target, but no!\u2014thump between the shoulders and through to the breast, so Will says. And that's the very man that did it, supping ale like any Christian.\"\n\nThey were both of them staring at him open-mouthed, and turned away only to stare again, briefly and intently, at Turstan Fowler sitting at ease with his tankard, sturdy legs splayed under the table. It had never even occurred to Philip to ask in whose service the dead malefactor was employed, and perhaps Wat would not have known the name if he had asked. He would have mentioned it else.\n\n\"That's the man? You're sure?\" pressed Philip.\n\n\"Will Wharton is sure, and he helped to pick up the poor devil who was killed.\"\n\n\"Turstan Fowler? The falconer to Ivo Corbi\u00e8re? And Corbi\u00e8re ordered him to shoot?\"\n\n\"The name I don't know, for neither did Will. Some young lord at the abbey guest-hall. Very handsome sprig, yellow-haired, Will says. Though it's no great blame to him for wanting a murderer and thief stopped in his tracks, granted, and any road, the man had just stolen his horse, and kicked him off into the dust when he tried to halt him. And I suppose when a lord orders, his man had better jump to obey. Still, it's a grim thing to work side by side with a man maybe months and years, and then to be told, strike him dead! And to do it!\" And the potboy rolled up his eyes and loosed a long, soft whistle, and passed on with his handful of tankards, leaving them so sunk in reconsideration that neither of them had anything to say.\n\nBut there could not be anything in it of significance for him, surely? Philip looked back briefly as he left the inn, and Turstan Fowler and the young groom were sitting tranquilly with their ale, talking cheerfully with half a dozen other sober drinkers around them. They had not noticed him, or if they had, had not recognised him, and neither of them seemed to have anything of grave moment on his mind. Strange, though, how this same man seemed to be entangled in every untoward episode, never at the centre of things yet always somewhere in view.\n\nAs for the matter of the flask of juniper spirits, what did it really signify? The man had been picked up too drunk to talk, no one had looked round for his bottle, it might well have been left lying, still more than half-full, if the stuff was as potent as Wat said, and some scavenger by night might have picked it up and rejoiced in his luck. There were a dozen ways of accounting for the circumstances. And yet it was strange. Why should he have said he was drunk before he left Wat's inn, if he had really left it cold sober? More to the point, why should he have left so promptly on Philip's heels? Yet Wat was a good observer.\n\nThe tiny discrepancies stuck like barbs in Philip's mind. It was far too late to trouble anyone else tonight, Compline was long over, the monks of Shrewsbury, their guests, their servants, would all be in their beds or preparing to go there, except for the few lay stewards who had almost completed their labours, and would be glad enough to make a modestly festive night of it. Moreover, his parents would be vexed that he had abandoned them all the day and he could expect irate demands for explanations at home. He had better make his way back.\n\nAll the same, he crossed the road and made for the copse, as on the night he was repeating, and found some faint signs of his wallow still visible, dried into the trampled grass. Then back towards the river, avoiding the streets, keeping to the cover of woodland, and there was the sheltered hollow where he had slept off the worst of his orgy, before gathering himself up stiffly and hobbling back to the town. There was enough lambent starlight to see his way, and show him the scuffled and flattened grasses.\n\nBut no, this was not the place! Here there was a faint, trodden path, and he had certainly moved much deeper into the bushes and trees, down-river, hiding even from the night. This glade looked very like the other, but it was not the same. Yet someone or something, large as a man, had lain here, and not peacefully. Surely more than one pair of feet had ploughed the turf. A pair of opportunist lovers, enjoying one of the traditional pleasures of the fair? Or another kind of struggle? No, hardly a struggle, though something had been dragged downhill towards the river, which was just perceptible as a gleam between the trees. There was a patch of bare soil, dry and pale as clay, between the spreading roots of the birch tree against which he leaned, and ribbons of dropped bark littered it. The largest of them showed curiously dark instead of silvery, like the rest. He stooped and picked it up, and his fingertips recoiled from the black, encrusted stain. In the grass, if he searched by daylight, there might well be other such blots.\n\nIn looking for the place of his own humiliation, he had found something very different, the place where Master Thomas had been killed. And below, from that spur of grass standing well above the undermined bank, his body had been thrown into the river."
            },
            {
                "title": "After the Fair",
                "text": "Brother Cadfael came out from prime, next morning, to find Philip hovering anxiously in the great court, fidgeting from one foot to the other as if the ground under him burned, and so intent and grim of face that there was no doubting the urgency of what he had to impart. At sight of Cadfael he came bounding alongside to lay a hand on his sleeve.\n\n\"Will you come with me to Hugh Beringar? You know him, he'll listen if you vouch for me. I didn't know if he'd be stirring this early, so I waited for you. I think I've found the place where Master Thomas was killed.\"\n\nIt was certainly not what he had been looking for, and came as a total irrelevance for a moment to Brother Cadfael, who checked and blinked at an announcement so unexpected. \"You've done what!\"\n\n\"It's true, I swear it! It was so late last night, I couldn't pester anyone with it then, and I've not been there by daylight\u2014but someone bled there\u2014someone was dragged down to the water\u2014\"\n\n\"Come!\" said Cadfael, recovering. \"We'll go together.\" And he set out at a brisk trot for the guest-hall, Philip's long strides keeping easy pace with him. \"If you're right\u2026 He'll want you to show the place. Can you find it again with certainty?\"\n\n\"I can, you'll see why.\"\n\nHugh came out to them yawning, in shirt and hose, but wide awake and shaven all the same. \"Speak low!\" he said, finger on lip, and softly closed the door of his rooms behind him. \"The women are still asleep. Now, what is it? I know better than to turn away anyone who comes with Brother Cadfael's warranty.\"\n\nPhilip told only what was needful. For his own personal need there would be time later. What mattered now was the glade in the edge of the woods, beyond the orchards of the Gaye.\n\n\"I was following my own scent, last night, and I made too short a cast at the way I took down to the river. I came on a place in the trees there\u2014I can find it again\u2014where some heavy thing had lain, and been dragged down to the water. The grass is flattened where he lay, and combed downhill, where he was dragged, and for all the three days between, it still shows the traces. I think there are also spots of blood.\"\n\n\"The merchant of Bristol?\" asked Hugh, after an instant of startled silence.\n\n\"I think so. Daylight may show for certain.\"\n\nHugh turned to drain his morning ale in purposeful haste, and demolish the end of oatcake he had been eating. \"You slept at home? In the town?\" He was brushing his black crest hastily as he talked, tying the laces of his shirt and reaching for his cotte. \"And came to me rather than to the sheriff! Well, no harm, we're nearer than he, it will save time.\" Sword and sword-belt he left lying, and thrust his feet into his shoes. \"Cadfael, you'll be missing breakfast, take these cakes with you, and drink something now, while you may. And you, friend, have you eaten?\"\n\n\"No escort?\" said Cadfael.\n\n\"To what end? Your eyes and mine are all we require here, and the fewer great boots stamping about the sward, the better. Come, before Aline wakes, she has a bird's hearing, and I'd rather have her rest. Now, Philip, lead! You're on your home turf, take us the quickest way.\"\n\nAline and Emma were at breakfast, resigned to Hugh's sudden and silent departures, when Ivo came asking admittance. Punctilious as always, he asked for Hugh.\n\n\"But as that husband of mine has already gone forth somewhere on official business,\" said Aline, amused, \"and as it's certainly you he really wants to see, shall we let him in? I felt sure he would not go away without paying his respects to you yet again. He has probably been exercising his wits to find a way of ensuring it shan't be the last time, either. He was hardly at his best last night, and no wonder, after so many shocks, and grazed and bruised from his fall.\"\n\nEmma said nothing, but her colour rose agreeably. She had risen from her bed with a sense of entering a life entirely new, and more her own to determine than ever it had been before. By this hour Master Thomas's barge must be well down the Severn on its way home. She was relieved of the necessity of avoiding Roger Dod's grievous attentions, and eased of the sense of guilt she felt in doing him what was probably the great wrong of fearing and distrusting his intentions towards her. Her belongings were neatly packed for travelling, in a pair of saddle-bags bought at the fair, for whatever was to become of her now, she would be leaving the abbey today. If no immediate escort offered for the south, she would go home with Aline, to await whatever arrangements Hugh could make for her, and in default of any other trustworthy provision, he himself had promised her his safe-conduct home to Bristol.\n\nThe bustle of departure filled the stable-yard and the great court, and half the rooms in the guest-hall had already been vacated. No doubt Turstan Fowler and the young groom were also assembling their lord's purchases and effects, and saddling up the bay horse, returned to the abbey by an enterprising errand-boy who had been lavishly rewarded, and their own shaggy ponies. Two of them! The third would be on a leading rein.\n\nEmma felt cold when she remembered what had befallen the rider of the third pony, and the things he had done. So sudden a death filled her with horror. But the man had done murder, and had not scrupled to ride down his own lord when he was unmasked. It was unreasonable to blame Ivo for what had happened, even if his order had not been given in an understandable rage at the misuse of his patronage and the assault upon his own person. Indeed, Emma had been touched, the previous evening, when the very vehemence with which Ivo had defended his action had so clearly betrayed his own doubts and regrets. It had ended in her offering reassurance and comfort. It was a terrible thing in itself, she thought, to have the power of life and death over your fellowmen, whatever crimes they might have committed.\n\nIf Ivo had lacked something of his normal balance and confidence last night, he had certainly regained them this morning. His grooming was always immaculate, and his dress, however simple, sat upon his admirable body with a borrowed elegance. It had been hateful to him to be spilled into the dust, and rise limping and defaced before a dozen or more witnesses. This morning he had made sure of his appearance, and wore even the healing grazes on his left cheek like ornaments; but as soon as he entered, Emma saw that he was still limping after his fall.\n\n\"I'm sorry to have missed your husband,\" he said as he came into the room where they were sitting, \"but they tell me he's already gone forth. I had a scheme to put to him for approval. Dare I put it to you, instead?\"\n\n\"I'm already curious,\" said Aline, smiling.\n\n\"Emma has a problem, and I have a solution. I've been thinking about it ever since you told me, Emma, two days ago, that you would not be returning to Bristol with the barge, but must find a safe escort south by road. I have no right at all to advance any claim, but if Beringar will consent to trust you to me\u2026 You need to get home, I'm sure, as quickly as you can.\"\n\n\"I must,\" said Emma, eyeing him with wondering expectation. \"There are so many things I must see to there.\"\n\nIvo addressed himself very earnestly to Aline. \"I have a sister at Stanton Cobbold who is determined to take the veil, and the convent of her choice has consented to take her. And by luck it happens that she wished to join a Benedictine house, and the place is the priory at Minchinbarrow, which is some few miles beyond Bristol. She is waiting for me to take her there, and to tell the truth, I've been delaying to give her time to change her mind, but the girl's set on her own way. I'm satisfied she means it. Now if you'll confide Emma to my care, as I swear you may with every confidence, for it will be my pleasure to serve her, then why should not she and Isabel travel down very comfortably together? I have men enough to provide a safe guard, and naturally I should myself be their escort. That's the plan I wanted to put to your husband, and I hope he would have felt able to fall in with it and give his approval. It's great pity he is not here\u2014\"\n\n\"It sounds admirable,\" said Aline, wide-eyed with pleasure, \"and I'm sure Hugh would feel completely happy in trusting Emma to your care. Had we not better ask Emma herself what she has to say?\"\n\nEmma's flushed face and dazzled smile were speaking for her. \"I think it would be the best possible answer, for me,\" she said slowly, \"and I'm most grateful for so kind a thought. But I must really go as soon as possible, and your sister\u2014 you said, you wanted her to have time to be sure\u2026\"\n\nIvo laughed, a little ruefully. \"I've already reached the point of giving up the hope of persuading her to stay in the world. Never fear that you may be forcing Isabel's hand, ever since she was accepted she has been trying to force mine. And if it's what she wants, who am I to prevent? She has everything ready, it will give her only pleasure if I come home to say that we can start tomorrow. If you're willing to trust yourself to me alone for the few miles to Stanton Cobbold, and sleep under our roof tonight, we can be on our way in the morning. We can provide you horse and saddle, if you care to ride, or a litter for the pair of you, as you please.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can ride,\" she said, glowing. \"It would be a delight.\"\n\n\"We would try and make it so. If,\" said Ivo, turning his grazed smile almost diffidently upon Aline, \"if I may have your approval, and my lord Beringar's. I would not presume without that. But since this is a journey I must make, sooner or later, and Isabel insists the sooner the better, why not take advantage of it to serve Emma's need, too?\"\n\n\"It would certainly solve everything very happily,\" agreed Aline. And there could be no doubt, thought Emma, bolstering her own dear wish with the persuasion of virtue, that Aline would be relieved and happy if Hugh could be spared a journey, and she several days deprived of his company. \"Emma knows,\" said Aline, \"that she may choose as she thinks best, for both you and we, it seems, are equally at her service. As for approval, why, of course I approve, and so, I'm sure, would Hugh.\"\n\n\"I wish he would put in an appearance,\" said Ivo, \"I should be the happier with his blessing. But if we are to go, I think we should set out at once. I know I said all's ready with Isabel, but for all that we may need to make the most of this day.\"\n\nEmma wavered between her desire and her regret at leaving without making her due and grateful farewell to Hugh. But it was gain for him, great gain, to be rid of the responsibility he had assumed, and so securely as this promised. \"Aline, you have been the soul of kindness to me, and I leave you with regret, but it is better to spare an extra journey, in such times, and then, Hugh has been kept so busy on my account already, and you've seen so little of him these days\u2026 I should like to go with Ivo, if you'll give me your blessing. Yet I hate to go without thanking him properly\u2026\"\n\n\"Don't fret about Hugh, he will surely think you wise to take advantage of so kind and fortunate an offer. I will give him all the pretty messages you're thinking of. Once I lose sight of him, now, I never know when he'll return, and I'm afraid Ivo is right, you may yet need every moment of the day, or certainly Isabel may. It's a great step she's taking.\"\n\n\"So I've told her,\" he said, \"but my sister has the boldness of mind to take great steps. You won't mind, Emma, riding pillion behind me, the few miles we have to go today? At home we'll find you saddle and horse and all.\"\n\n\"Really,\" said Aline, eyeing the pair of them with a small and private smile, \"I begin to be envious!\"\n\nHe sent the young groom to fetch out her saddle-bags. Their light weight was added to the bales of Corbi\u00e8re's purchases on the spare pony, her cloak, which she certainly would not need on so fine a day, folded and stowed away with the bags. It was like setting out into a new world, sunlit and inviting, but frighteningly wide. True, she had solemn duties waiting for her in Bristol, not least the confession of a failure, but for all that, she felt as if she had almost shed the past, and could be glad of the riddance, and was stepping into this unknown world unburdened and unguarded, truly her own mistress.\n\nAline kissed her affectionately, and wished them both a happy journey. Emma cast frequent glances towards the gatehouse until the last moment, in case Hugh should appear, but he did not; she had still to leave her messages to Aline for delivery. Ivo mounted first, since the bay, as he said, was in a skittish mood and inclined to play tricks, and then turned to give her a steady, sustaining hand as Turstan Fowler hoisted her easily to the pillion.\n\n\"Even with two of us up,\" said Ivo over his shoulder, smiling, \"this creature can be mettlesome when he's fresh out. For safety hold me fast about the waist, and close your hands on my belt\u2014so, that's well!\" He saluted Aline very gracefully and courteously. \"I'll see she reaches Bristol safely, I promise!\"\n\nHe rode out at the gatehouse in shirt-sleeves, just as he had ridden in, his men, now two only, at his heels, and the pack-pony trotting contentedly under his light load. Emma's arms easily spanned Ivo's slenderness, and the feel of his spare, strong body was warm and muscular and vital through the fine linen. As they threaded the Foregate, now emptying fast, he laid his own left hand over her clasped ones, pressing them firmly against his flat middle, and though she knew he was simply assuring himself that her hold was secure, she could not help feeling that it was also a caress.\n\nShe had laughed and shaken her head over Aline's romantic fantasies, refusing to believe in any union between landed nobility and trade, except for mutual profit. Now she was not so sure that wisdom was all with the sceptics.\n\nThe hollow where the big, heavy body had lain still showed at least the approximate bulk of Master Thomas's person, and round about it the grass was trodden, as though someone, or perhaps more than one, had circled all round him as he lay dead. And so they surely had, for here he must have been stripped and searched, the first of those fruitless searches Brother Cadfael had deduced from the events following. Out of the hollow, down to the raised bank of the river, went the track by which he had been dragged, the grass, growing longer as it emerged from shade, all brushed in one direction. Nor was there any doubt about the traces of blood, meagre though they were. The sliver of birch bark under the tree showed a thin crust, dried black. Careful search found one or two more spots, and a thin smear drawn downhill, where it seemed the dead man had been turned on his back to be hauled the more easily down to the water.\n\n\"It's deep here,\" said Hugh, standing on the green hillock above the river, \"and undercuts the bank, it would take him well out into the current. I fancy the clothes went after him at once, we may find the rest yet. One man could have done it. Had they been two, they would have carried him.\"\n\n\"Would you say,\" wondered Cadfael, \"that this is a reasonable way he might take to get back to his barge? He'd know his boat lay somewhat down-river from the bridge, I suppose he might try a chance cut through from the Foregate, and overcast by a little way. You see the end of the jetty, where the barge tied up, is only a small way upstream from us. Would you say he was alone, and unsuspecting, when he was struck down?\"\n\nHugh surveyed the ground narrowly. It was not the scene of a struggle, there was the flattened area of the body's fall, and the trampling of feet all round its stillness. The brushings of the grass this way and that were ordered, not the marks of a fight.\n\n\"Yes. There was no resistance. Someone crept behind, and pierced him without word or scruple. He went down and lay. He was on his way back, preferring the byways, and came out a little downstream of where he aimed. Someone had been watching and following him.\"\n\n\"The same night,\" said Philip flatly, \"someone had been watching and following me.\"\n\nHe had their attention at once, both of them eyeing him with sharp interest. \"The same someone?\" suggested Cadfael mildly.\n\n\"I haven't told you my own part,\" said Philip. \"It went out of my head when I stumbled on this place, and guessed at what it meant. What I set out to do was to find out just what I did that night, and prove I never did murder. For I'd come to think that whoever intended this killing had his eye on me from the start. I came from that riot on the jetty, with my head bleeding and my mood for murder, I was a gift, if I could but be out of sight and mind when murder was done.\" He told them everything he had discovered, word for word. By the end of it they were both regarding him with intent and frowning concentration.\n\n\"The man Fowler?\" said Hugh. \"You're sure of this?\"\n\n\"Walter Renold is sure, and I think him a good witness. The man was there to be seen, I pointed him out, and Wat told me what he'd seen of him that night. Fowler looked in, saw and heard the condition I was in, and went away again for it might be as much as half an hour, says Wat. Then he came back, took one measure of ale to drink, and bought a big flask of geneva spirit.\"\n\n\"And left with it unopened,\" Brother Cadfael recalled, \"as soon as you took yourself off with your misery into the bushes. No need to blush for it now, we've all done as foolishly once or twice in our lives, many of us have bettered it. And the next that's known of him,\" he said, meeting Hugh's eyes across the glade, \"is two hours later, when we discover him lying sodden-drunk under a store of trestles by the Foregate.\"\n\n\"And Wat of the tavern swears he was sober as a bishop when he quit the inn.\"\n\n\"And I would swear by Wat's judgment,\" said Philip stoutly. \"If any man drank that flagon dry in two hours, he says, it would be the death of him, or go very near. And Fowler was testifying in court next day, and little the worse for wear.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" said Hugh, shaking his head. \"I stooped over him, I pulled back the cloak from his shoulders. The fellow reeked. His breath would have felled an ox. Am I losing my wits?\"\n\n\"Or was it rather the reek you loosed by moving the cloak? I begin to have curious thoughts,\" said Cadfael, \"for I fancy that juniper liquor was bought for his outside, not his inside.\"\n\n\"A costly freak,\" mused Hugh, \"the price such liquors are. Cheap enough, though, if it bought him immunity from all suspicion of a thing that could have cost him a deal higher. What was the first thing I said?\u2014more fool I! By the look of him, I said, he must have been here some hours already. And where did he go from there? Safely into an abbey punishment cell, and lay there overnight. How could he be guilty of anything but being a drunken sot? Children and drunken men are the world's only innocents! If murder was done that night, who was to look at a man who had put himself out of the reckoning from the time Master Thomas was last seen alive to the time when his body was brought back to Shrewsbury?\"\n\nCadfael's mind had probed even beyond that point, though nothing beyond was yet clear. \"I have a fancy, Hugh, to look again at the place where we picked up that sodden carcase, if it can be found. Surely an honest drunk should have had his bottle lying beside him for all to see. But I remember none. If we missed it, and some stray scavenger found it by night, still half-full or more, well and good. But if by any chance it was hidden\u2014so that no questions need ever be asked about how much had been drunk, and what manner of head could have borne it\u2014would that be the act of a simple sot? He could not walk through the fairground stinking as he did, whether from outside or in. His baptism was there, where we found him tucked away. So should his bottle have been.\"\n\n\"And if he was neither simple nor a sot that night, Cadfael, how do you read his comings and goings? He looked in at the tavern, took note of this lad's state, listened to his complaints, and went away\u2014where?\"\n\n\"As far as Master Thomas's booth, perhaps, to make sure the merchant was there, busy about his wares, and likely to be busy for a while longer? And so back to the tavern to keep watch on Philip, so handy a scapegoat, and so clearly on the way to ending the evening blind and deaf. And afterwards, when he had followed him far enough into the copse to know he was lost to the world, back to dog Master Thomas's footsteps as he made his way back to the barge. Made his way, that is, as far as this place.\"\n\n\"It is all conjecture,\" said Hugh reasonably.\n\n\"It is. But read it so, and it makes sense.\"\n\n\"Then back with his flask of spirits ready, to slip unseen into a place withdrawn and private, and become the wretched object we found. How long would it take, would you say, to kill his man, search and strip him down to the river?\"\n\n\"Counting the time spent following him unseen, and returning unnoticed to the fairground after all was done, more than an hour of those two hours lost between drunk and sober. No,\" said Cadfael sombrely, \"I do not think he spent any of that time drinking.\"\n\n\"Was it he, also, who boarded the barge? But no, that he could not, he was at the sheriff's court. Concerning the merchant of Shotwick, we already know his slayer.\"\n\n\"We know one of them,\" said Cadfael. \"Can any of these matters be separated from the rest? I think not. This pursuit is all one.\"\n\n\"You do grasp,\" said Hugh, after a long moment of furious thought, \"what it is we are saying? Here are these two men, one proven a murderer, the other suspect. And yesterday the one of them fetched down the other to his death. Coldly, expertly\u2026 Before we say more,\" said Hugh abruptly, casting a final glance about the glade, \"let's do as you suggested, look again at the place where we found him lying.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Philip, who was learning how to listen and be silent, followed at their heels all the way back through the orchards and gardens of the Gaye. Neither of them found fault with his persistence. He had earned his place, and had no intention of being put off. All the larger boats were already gone from the jetty. Soon the labourers would begin dismantling the boards and piers until the following year, and stowing them away in the abbey storehouses. Along the Foregate stalls were being taken down and stacked for removal, while two of the abbey carts worked their way along from the horse-fair towards the gatehouse.\n\n\"More than halfway along, I remember,\" said Hugh, \"and well back from the roadway. There were few lights, most of the stalls here were for the country people who come in by the day. Somewhere in this stretch.\"\n\nThere had been trestles stacked that night, and canvas awnings leaning against them ready for use. This morning there were also piles of trestles and boards, ready now to be put away for the next fair. They surveyed all the likely area, but to lay a finger on the exact place was impossible. One of the collecting carts had reached this stretch, and two lay servants were hoisting the heaped planks aboard, and stacking the trestles one within another in high piles. Cadfael watched as the ground was gradually cleared.\n\n\"You've found some unexpected discards,\" he commented, for a corner of the cart carried a small pile of odd objects, a large shoe, a short cotte, bedraggled but by no means old or ragged, a child's wooden doll with one arm missing, a green capuchon, a drinking-horn.\n\n\"There'll be many more such, brother,\" said the carter, grinning, \"before the whole ground's cleared. Some will be claimed. I fancy some child will want to know where she lost her doll. And the cotte is good stuff, some young gentleman took a drop too much, and forgot to collect that when he moved. The shoe's as good as new, too, and a giant's size, somebody may sneak in, shamefaced, to ask after that. I hope he had not far to go home with only one. But it wasn't a rowdy night\u2014not like many a night I've seen.\" He slid powerful arms under a stack of trestles, and hoisted them bodily. \"You'd hardly credit where we found that flagon mere.\"\n\nHis nod indicated the front of the car, to which Cadfael had hitherto devoted no attention. Slung by a thin leather thong from the shaft hung a flattened glass bottle large enough to hold a quart. \"Stuck on top of the canvas over one of the country stalls. An old woman who sells cheeses had the stall, I know her, she comes every year, and seeing she's not so nimble nowadays, we put up the stall for her the night before the fair opened. The bottle all but brained Daniel here, when we took it down, this morning! Fancy tossing a bottle like that away as if it had no value! He could have got a free drink at Wat's if he'd taken it back, whoever he was.\"\n\nHis armful of trestles thumped into the cart, and he turned to heave a stack of boards after it.\n\n\"It came from Wat's tavern then, did it?\" asked Cadfael, very thoughtfully gazing.\n\n\"It has his mark on the thong. We all know where they belong, these better vessels. But they're not often left for us.\"\n\n\"And where was the stall where this one was left?\" asked Hugh over Cadfael's shoulder.\n\n\"Not ten yards back from where you're standing.\" They could not resist looking back to measure, and it would do. It would do very well. \"The odd thing is, the old woman swore, when she came to put out her wares, that there was a stink of spirits about the place. Said she could smell it in her skirts at night, as if she'd been wading in it. But after the first day she forgot about it. She's half-Welsh, and has a touch of the strange about her, I daresay she imagined it.\"\n\nCadfael would have said, rather, that she had a keen nose, and some knowledge of the distilling of spirits, and had accurately assessed the cause of her uneasiness. Somewhere in the grass close to her stall, he was now certain, a good part of that quart of liquor had been poured out generously over clothing and ground, no wonder the turf retained it. A taste of it, perhaps, to scent the breath and steady the mind, might have gone down a throat; but no more, for the mind had been steady indeed, when stranger stooped over its fleshly habitation, and sniffed at its flagrant drunkenness. Strangers, all but one! Cadfael began to see what could hardly be called light, for he was looking into a profound darkness.\n\n\"It so happens,\" he said, \"that we have some business with Walter Renold. Will you let us take your bottle back to him? You shall have the credit for it with him.\"\n\n\"Take it, brother,\" agreed the carter cheerfully, unleashing the bottle from the shaft. \"Tell him Rychart Nyall sent it. Wat knows me.\"\n\n\"Nothing in it, I suppose, when you found it?\" hazarded Cadfael, hefting the fated thing in one hand.\n\n\"Never a drop, brother! Fair-goers may abandon the bottle, but they make sure of what's inside before they fall senseless!\"\n\nThe boards were stowed, the stripped ground lay trampled and naked, the cart moved on. It would take no more than a handful of days and the next summer showers, and all the green, fine hair would grow again, and the bald clay coil into ringlets.\n\n\"It's mine, surely,\" said Wat, receiving the bottle into a large hand. \"The only one of its kind I'm short. Who buys this measure of spirits, even at a fair? Who has the money to afford it? And who chooses it afore decent ale and wine? Not many! I've known men desperate to sink their souls fast, at whatever cost, but seldom at a fair. They turn genial at fairs, even the sad fellows get the wind of it, and mellow. I marvelled at that one, even when he asked for it and paid the price, but he was plainly some lord's servant, he had his orders. He had money, and I sell liquor. But yes, if it's of worth to you, that same fellow Philip here knows of, that's the measure he bought.\"\n\nA retired corner of Wat's large taproom was as good a place as any to sit down and think before action, and try to make sense of what they had gathered.\n\n\"Wat has just put words to it,\" said Cadfael. \"We should have been quicker to see. He was plainly some lord's servant, he had his orders, he had money. One man from a lord's household suborned to murder by an unknown, one such setting out on his own account to enrich himself by murder and theft, that I could believe in. But two? From the same household? No, I think not! They never strayed from their own manor. They served but one lord.\"\n\n\"Their own? Corbi\u00e8re?\" whispered Philip, the breath knocked out of him by the enormity of the implications. \"But he\u2026 The way I heard it, the groom tried to ride him down. Struck him into the dust when he tried to stop him. How can you account for that? There's no sense in it.\"\n\n\"Wait! Take it from the beginning. Say that on the night Master Thomas died, Fowler was sent out to deal with him, to get possession of whatever it is someone so much desires. His lord has spied out the land, told him of a handy scapegoat who may yet be useful, given him money for the drink that will put him out of the reckoning when the deed is done. The man would demand immunity, he must be seen to be out of the reckoning. His lord keeps in close touch, joins us when we go forth to look for the missing merchant. Recollect, Hugh, it was Corbi\u00e8re, not we, who discovered his truant man. We had passed him by, and that would not have done. He must be found, must be seen to be so drunk as to have been helpless and harmless some hours, and must then be manifestly under lock and key many hours more. Ten murders could have been committed that night, and no one would ever have looked at Turstan Fowler.\"\n\n\"All for nothing,\" pointed out Hugh. \"Sooner or later he had to tell his master that murder had been done in vain. Master Thomas did not carry his treasure on him.\"\n\n\"I doubt if he found that out until morning, when he had his man let out of prison. Therefore he brought Fowler to lay evidence that made sure the finger was pointed at Philip here, and while we were all blamelessly busy at the sheriff's hearing, sent his second man to search the barge. And again, vainly. Am I making sense of it thus far?\"\n\n\"Sound enough,\" said Hugh sombrely. \"The worst is yet to come. Which man, do you suppose, did the work that day?\"\n\n\"I doubt if they ever involved the young one. Two were enough to do the business. The groom Ewald, I think. Those two were the hands that did all. But they were not the mind.\"\n\n\"That same night, then, they broke into the booth, and made their search there, and still without success. The next night came the attack that killed Euan of Shotwick.\" Hugh said no word of the violation of Master Thomas's coffin. \"And, as I remember you argued, once more in vain. So far, possible enough. But come to yesterday's thorny business. For God's sake, how can sense be made of that affair? I was there watching the man, I saw him change colour, I swear it! Shock and anger and affronted honour, he showed them all. He would not send for the groom, for fear a fellow-servant might warn him, he would fetch him himself. He placed himself between his man and the gate, he risked maiming or worse, trying to halt his flight\u2026\"\n\n\"All that,\" agreed Cadfael heavily, \"and yet there is sense in it all, though a more abominable sense even than you or I dreamed of. Ewald was in the stables, there was no escape for him unless he could break out of our walls. Corbi\u00e8re came at the sheriff's bidding, and was told all. His man was detected past denying, and driven into a corner, he would pour out everything he knew, lay the load on his lord. Consider the order in which everything happened from that moment. Fowler had been at the butts, and had his arbalest with him. Corbi\u00e8re set off to summon Ewald from the stables, Turstan made to follow him, yes, and some words were exchanged that sent him back. But what words? They were too distant to be heard. Nor could we guess what was said in the stable-yard. We waited\u2014you'll agree?\u2014several minutes before they came. Long enough for Corbi\u00e8re to tell the groom how things stood, bid him keep his head, promise him escape. Bring the horse, I will ensure that only I stand between you and the gate, pick your moment, mount and away. Lie up in hiding\u2014doubtless at his manor\u2014and you shan't be the loser. But make it clear that I have no part in this\u2014attack me, make it good for your part, I will make it good for mine. And so he did\u2014the finest player of a part that ever I saw. He set himself between Ewald and the gate, and between them they used the lively horse to edge us all that way. He made a gallant grab at the rein, and took a heavy fall, and the groom was clear.\"\n\nThey were both gazing at him in mute fascination, wide-eyed.\n\n\"Except that his lord had one more trick to play,\" said Cadfael. \"He had never intended to let him go. Escape was too great a risk, he might yet be taken, and open his mouth. 'Fetch him down!' said Corbi\u00e8re, and Turstan Fowler did it. Without compunction, like master, like man. A dangerous mouth\u2014dangerous to both of them\u2014closed at no cost.\"\n\nThere was a long moment of appalled silence. Even Beringar, whose breadth of mind could conceive, though with detestation, prodigies of evil and treachery, was shocked out of words. Philip stared aghast, huge of eye, and came slowly to his feet. His experience was narrow, local and decent, it was hard to grasp that men could be monsters.\n\n\"You mean it! You believe it! But this man\u2014he visits her, he pays court to her! And you say there was something he wanted from her uncle, and has missed getting\u2014not on his body, not in his barge, not in his booth\u2014where is there left, but with Emma? And we delay here!\"\n\n\"Emma is with my wife,\" said Hugh reasonably, \"in the abbey guest-hall, what harm can come to her there?\"\n\n\"What harm?\" cried Philip passionately. \"When you tell me we are dealing not with men, but with devils?\" And he whirled on the heel of a trodden shoe and ran, out of the tavern and arrow-straight along the road towards the Foregate, long legs flashing.\n\nCadfael and Hugh were left regarding each other mutely across the table, but for no more than a moment. \"By God,\" said Hugh then, \"we learn of the innocents! Come on, we'd best make haste after. The lad's shaken me!\"\n\nPhilip came to the guest-hall out of breath. With chest heaving from his running he asked for Aline, and she came out, smiling but alone.\n\n\"Why, Philip, what's the matter?\" Then she thought she knew, and was sorry for a lovesick boy who came too late even to take a dignified farewell, and receive what comfort a few kind words, costing nothing, could provide him. \"Oh, Philip, I am sorry you've missed her, but they could not linger, it was necessary to leave in good time. She would have wished me to say her goodbye to you, and wish you\u2026\" The words faded on her lips. \"Philip, what is it? What ails you?\"\n\n\"Gone?\" he said, hard and shrill. \"She's gone? They, you said! Who? Who is gone with her?\"\n\n\"Why, she left with Messire Corbi\u00e8re, he has offered to escort her to Bristol with his sister, who goes to a convent there. It seemed a lucky chance\u2026 Philip! What have I said? What is wrong?\" He had let out a great groan of fury and anguish, and even reached a hand to grip her wrist.\n\n\"Where? Where is he taking her? Now, today!\"\n\n\"To his manor of Stanton Cobbold for tonight\u2014his sister is there\u2026\"\n\nBut he was gone, the instant she had named the place, running like a purposeful demon, and not towards the gatehouse, but across the court to the stable-yard. There was no time to ask leave of any man, or respect any man's property, whatever the consequences. Philip took the best-looking horse he saw ready to hand, which by luck\u2014Philip's luck, not the owner's!\u2014stood saddled and waiting for departure, on a tether in the yard. Before Aline, bewildered and frightened, reached the doorway of the hall, Philip was already out of the gate, and a furious groom was haring across the court in voluble and hopeless pursuit.\n\nSince the nearest way to the road leading south towards Stretton and Stanton Cobbold was to turn left at the gate, and left again by the narrow track on the near side of the bridge, Brother Cadfael and Hugh Beringar, hastening along the Foregate, saw nothing of the turmoil that attended Philip's departure. They came to the gatehouse and the great court without any intimation that things could have gone amiss. There were still guests departing, the normal bustle of the day after the fair, but nothing to give them pause. Hugh made straight for the guest-hall, and Cadfael, following hard on his heels, was suddenly arrested by a large hand on his shoulder, and a familiar, hearty voice hailing him in amiable Welsh.\n\n\"The very man I was looking for! I come to make my farewells, brother, and thank you for your companionship. A good fair! I'm off to my boat now, and away home with a handsome profit.\"\n\nRhodri ap Huw beamed merrily from within the covert of his black beard and thorn-bush of black hair.\n\n\"Far from a good fair to two, at least, who came looking for a profit,\" said Cadfael ruefully.\n\n\"Ah, but in cash, or some other currency? Though it all comes down to cash in the end, cash or power. What else do men labour for?\"\n\n\"For a cause, perhaps, now and then one. You said yourself, I remember, no place like one of the great fairs for meeting someone you'd liefer not be seen meeting. Nowhere so solitary as the middle of a market place!\" And he added mildly: \"I daresay Owain Gwynedd himself may have had his intelligencers here. Though they'd need to have good English,\" he said guilelessly, \"to gather much profit from it.\"\n\n\"They would so. No use employing me. I daresay you're right, though. Owain needs to have forward information, as much as any man, if he's to keep his princedom safe, and add a few more miles to it here and there. Now I wonder which of all these traders I've rubbed shoulders with will be making his report in Owain's ear!\"\n\n\"And what advice he'll be giving him,\" said Cadfael.\n\nRhodri stroked his splendid beard, and his dark eyes twinkled. \"I think he might take him word that the message Earl Ranulf expected from the south\u2014who knows, maybe even from overseas\u2014will never be delivered, and if he wants to get the best out of the hour, he should be aiming to enlarge his rule away from Chester's borders, for the earl will be taking no risks, but looking well to his own. Owain would do better to make his bid in Maelienydd and Elfael, and let Ranulf alone.\"\n\n\"Now I come to think,\" mused Cadfael, \"it would be excellent cover for Owain's intelligencers to ask the help of an interpreter in these parts, and be seen to need him. Tongues wag more freely before the deaf man.\"\n\n\"A good thought,\" approved Rhodri. \"Someone should suggest it to Owain.\" Though there was every indication that the prince of Gwynedd needed no other man's wits to fortify his own, but had been lavishly endowed by God in the first place. Cadfael wondered how many other tongues this simple merchant knew. French, almost certainly enough for his purposes. Flemish, possibly a little, he had undoubtedly travelled in Flanders. It would be no surprise if he knew some Latin, too.\n\n\"You'll be coming to Saint Peter's Fair next year?\"\n\n\"I may, brother, I may, who knows! Will you come forth again and speak for me, if I do?\"\n\n\"Gladly. I'm a Gwynedd man myself. Take my greetings back with you to the mountains. And good speed on the way!\"\n\n\"God keep you!\" said Rhodri, still beaming, and clapped him buoyantly on the shoulder, and set off towards the riverside.\n\nHugh had no sooner set foot in the hall when Aline flew into his arms, with a cry of relief and desperation mingled, and began to pour into his ears all her bewilderment and anxiety.\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, I think I must have done something terrible! Either that, or Philip Corviser has gone mad. He was here asking after Emma, and when I told him she was gone he rushed away like a madman, and there's a merchant from Worcester in the stables accusing him of stealing his horse and making off with it, and what it all means I daren't guess, but I'm afraid\u2026\"\n\nHugh held her tenderly, dismayed and solicitous. \"Emma's gone? But she was coming home with us. What happened to change it?\"\n\n\"You know he's been paying attentions to her\u2026 He came this morning asking for you\u2014he said he has a sister who is entering the nunnery at Minchinbarrow, and since he must escort her there, and it's barely five miles from Bristol, he could as well take Emma home in his sister's company. He said they'd sleep overnight at his manor, and set off tomorrow. Emma said yes, and I thought no wrong, why should I? But the very name has sent Philip off like a man demented\u2026\"\n\n\"Corbi\u00e8re?\" demanded Hugh, holding her off by the shoulders to peer anxiously into her face.\n\n\"Yes! Yes, Ivo, of course\u2014but what's so wrong in that? He takes her to his sister at Stanton Cobbold\u2014I thought it ideal, so did she, and you were not here to say yes or no. Besides, she is her own mistress\u2026\"\n\nTrue, the girl had a will of her own, and liked the man who had made the offer, and was flattered at being singled out for his favours. Even for the sake of her own independence she would have chosen to go, and Hugh, had he been present, would not then have known or suspected enough to prevent. He tightened his arms comfortingly round his trembling wife, his cheek pressed against her hair. \"My love, my heart, you could not have done anything but what you did, and I should have done the same. But I must go after. No questions now, you shall know everything later. We'll bring her back\u2014 there'll be no harm done\u2026\"\n\n\"It's true, then!\" whispered Aline, her breath fluttering against his throat. \"There's reason to fear harm? I've let her go into danger?\"\n\n\"You could not stop her. She chose to go. Think no more of your part, you played none\u2014how could you know? Where's Constance? Love, I hate to leave you like this\u2026\"\n\nHe was thinking, of course, like all men, she thought, that any grievous upset to his wife in this condition was a potential upset to his son. That roused her. She was not the girl to keep a man dancing anxious attention on her, even if she had a wife's claim on him, when he was needed more urgently elsewhere. She drew herself resolutely out of his arms.\n\n\"Of course you must leave me. I've taken no harm, and shall take none. Go, quickly! They have a good three hours start of you, and besides, if you delay, Philip may run his head into trouble alone. Send quickly for what men you can muster, and I'll go see what I can do to placate the merchant whose horse has been borrowed\u2026\" He was loath, all the same, to let go of her. She took his head between her hands, kissed him hard, and turned him about just as Cadfael came in at the hall door.\n\n\"She's gone with Corbi\u00e8re,\" said Hugh, conveying news in the fewest words possible. \"Bound for his one Shropshire manor. The boy's off after them, and so must I. I'll send word to Prestcote to have a guard follow as fast as may be. You'll be here to take care of Aline\u2026\"\n\nAline doubted that, seeing the spark flare up in Brother Cadfael's bright and militant eye. Hastily she said: \"I need no one to nurse me. Only go\u2014both of you!\"\n\n\"I have licence,\" said Cadfael, clutching at virtue to cover his ardour. \"Abbot Radulfus gave me the charge of seeing that his guest came to no harm under his roof, and I'll stretch that to extend beyond his roof, and make it good, too. You have a horse to spare, Hugh, besides that raw-boned dapple of yours. Come on! It's a year since you and I rode together.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "The manor of Stanton Cobbold lay a good seventeen miles from Shrewsbury, in the south of the shire, and cheek by jowl with the large property of the bishops of Hereford in those parts, which covered some nine or ten manors. The road lay through the more open and sunlit stretches of the Long Forest, and at its southernmost fringe plunged in among the hump-backed hills at the western side of a long, bare ridge that ran for some miles. Here and there a wooded valley backed into its bare flank, and into one of these Corbi\u00e8re turned, along a firm cart-track. It was the height of the early afternoon then, the sun at its highest, but even so the crowding trees cast sudden chill and shadow. The bay horse had worked off his high spirits, and went placidly under his double burden. Once in the forest they had halted briefly, and Ivo had produced wine and oat-cakes as refreshment on the journey, and paid Emma every possible delicate attention. The day was fair, the countryside strange to her and beautiful, and she was embarked on an agreeable adventure. She approached Stanton Cobbold with only the happiest anticipation, flattered by Ivo's deference, and eager to meet his sister.\n\nA rivulet ran alongside the track, coming down from the ridge. The path narrowed, and the trees closed in.\n\n\"We are all but home,\" said Ivo over his shoulder; and in a few minutes more the rising ground opened before them into a narrow, level plot enclosed before with a wooden stockade. Within, the manor house backed solidly into the hillside, trees at the back, trees shutting it in darkly at either end. A boy came running to open the gate for them, and they rode into the enclosure. Barns and byres lined the stockade within. The manor itself showed a long undercroft of stone, buttressed, and pierced with two doors wide enough for carts, and a living floor above, also of stone for most of its length, where the great hall and the kitchens and pantries lay, but at the right, stone gave place to timber, and stone mullions to wooden window-frames and stout shutters; and this wooden living apartment was taller than the stone portion, and seemed to have an additional floor above the solar. A tall stone stair led up to the hall door.\n\n\"Modest enough,\" said Ivo, turning his head to smile at her, \"but it has room and a welcome for you.\"\n\nHe was well served. Grooms came running before the horse had halted, a maid appeared in the hall doorway, and began to flutter down to meet them.\n\nIvo kicked his feet free of the stirrups, swung a leg nimbly over the horse's bowing head, and leaped down, waving Turstan Fowler aside, to stretch up his arms to Emma and lift her down herself. Her slight weight gave him no trouble, he held her aloft for a long moment to prove it, laughing, before he set her down.\n\n\"Come, I'll take you up to the solar.\" He put off the maid with a flick of his hand, and she stood aside and followed them demurely up the steps, but let them go on without her when they reached the hall. The thick stone walls struck inward with a palpable chill. The hall was large and lofty, the high ceiling smoke-stained, but now, in the summer, the huge fireplace was empty and cold. The mullioned windows let in air far more genial than that within, and a comforting light, but they were narrow, and could do little to temper the oppression of the room. \"Not my most amiable home,\" said Ivo with a grimace, \"but in these Welsh borders we built for defence, not for comfort. Come up to the solar. The timber end was built on later, but even there this is a chill, dark house. Even on summer evenings we need some firing.\"\n\nA short staircase at the end of the hall led up to a broad gallery and a pair of doors. \"The chapel,\" he said, indicating that on the left. \"There are two small bedchambers above, dark, since they look into the hillside and the trees at close quarters. And in here, if you'll forgive me while I attend to your baggage and mine, and see the horses stabled, I'll rejoin you shortly.\"\n\nThe solar into which he led her contained a massive table, a carved bench, cushioned chairs, tapestries draping the walls, and rugs on the floor, and was a place of some comfort and elegance, if also somewhat dim and cold, chiefly by reason of the looming hillside and the shrouding trees, and the narrow windows that let in so little of the day, and so filtered through heavy branches. Here there was no fireplace, the only chimney serving the hall and the kitchens; but the centre of the floor was set with large paving stones to make a hearth proof against cinders, and on this square a brazier burned, even on this summer day. Charcoal and wood glowed, discreetly massed, to give a central spark of comfort without smoke. Summer sunlight failed to warm through the arm's-length thickness of the stone walls below, and here the sun, though confronted only with friendly timber, hardly ever reached.\n\nEmma went forward into the room and stood looking about her curiously. She heard Ivo close the door between them, but it was only a very small sound in a large silence.\n\nShe had expected his sister to appear immediately on his return, and felt a pang of disappointment, though she knew it was unreasonable. He had sent no word ahead, how could the girl have known? She might, with good reason, be out walking on the open hill in the full summer warmth, or she might have duties elsewhere. When she did come, it would be to the pleasure of having her brother home, and with a visitor of her own sex and approximate age, into the bargain, and to hear that she was to have her will without further delay. Yet her absence was a disappointment, and his failure to remark on it or apologise for it was a check to her eagerness.\n\nShe began to explore the room, interested in everything. Her own city home was cushioned and comfortable by comparison, though no less dark and shut in, if not among trees, among the buildings the trees provided. She was aware that she had been born to comparative wealth, but wealth concentrated into one commodious and well-furbished dwelling, whereas this border manor represented only perhaps a tenth of what Ivo possessed, without regard to the land attached to all those manors. He had said himself that this was not the most genial of his homes, yet it held sway over she could not guess how many miles of land, and how many free tenants and unfree villeins. It was another world. She had looked at it from a distance, and been dazzled, but never to blindness.\n\nShe felt a conviction suddenly that it was not for her, though whether she was glad or sorry remained a mystery.\n\nAll the same, there was knowledge and taste here beyond her experience. The brazier was a beautiful thing, a credit to the smith who made it; on three braced legs like saplings, the fire-basket a trellis of vine-leaves. If it had a fault, it was that it was raised rather too high, she thought, to be completely stable. The cushions of the chairs were of fine embroidery of hunting scenes, though dulled by use and friction and the touch of slightly greasy fingers. On a shelf built under the table there were books, a psalter, a vellum folder of music, and a faded treatise with strange diagrams. The carving of chairs and table and bench-ends was like live plants growing. The tapestries that covered all the walls between windows and door were surely old, rich, wonderfully worked, and once had had glorious colours that showed still, here and there, in the protected folds; but they were smoke-blackened almost beyond recognition, rotted here and there into tinder. She parted a fold, and the hound, plunging with snarling jaws and stretched paws between her fingers, disintegrated into powdery dust, and floated on the air in slow dissolution. She let fall the threads she held, and retreated in dismay. The very dust on her palms felt like ash.\n\nShe waited, but nobody came. Probably the time she waited was not as long as she supposed, by no means as long as it felt to her, but it seemed an age, a year of her life.\n\nIn the end, she thought she might not be offending by wandering along the gallery into the chapel. She might at least hear if there was any activity below. Ivo had bought Flemish tapestries for his new Cheshire manor, he might well be unbaling them and delighting in their fresh colours. She could forgive a degree of neglect in such circumstances.\n\nShe set her hand to the latch of the door, and trustingly lifted it. The door did not give. She tried it again, more strongly, but the barrier remained immovable. No doubt of it, the door was locked.\n\nWhat she felt first was sheer incredulity, even amusement, as if some foolish accident had dropped a latch and shut her in by mistake. Then came the instinctive wish of every creature locked in, to get out; and only after that the flare of alarm and the startled and furious reappraisal, in search of understanding. No mistake, no! Ivo's own hand had turned the key on her.\n\nShe was not the girl to fall into a frenzy and batter on the door. What good would that do? She stood quite still with the latch in her hand, while her wits ran after truth as fiercely as the hound in the tapestry after the hart. She was here in an upstairs room, with no other door, and windows not only narrow for even her slender body to pass through, but high above ground, by reason of the slope. There was no way out until someone unlocked the door.\n\nShe had come with him guilelessly, in good faith, and he turned into her gaoler. What did he want of her? She knew she had beauty, but suddenly was certain he would not go to such trouble on that account. Not her person, then, and there was only one thing in her possession for which someone had been willing to go to extremes. Deaths had followed it wherever it passed. One of those deaths a servant of his had helped to bring about, and he had dealt out summary justice. A sordid attack for gain, a theft that accidentally ended in murder, and the stolen property found to prove it! She had accepted that as everyone had accepted it. To doubt it was to see beyond into a pit too black to be credited, but she was peering into that darkness now. It was Ivo, and no other, who had caged her.\n\nIf she could not pass through the windows, the letter she carried could, though that would be to risk others finding it. Its weight was light, it would not carry far. All the same, she crossed to the windows and peered out through the slits at the slope of grass and the fringe of trees below; and there, sprawled at ease against the bole of a beech with his arbalest beside him, was Turstan Fowler, looking up idly at these very windows. When he caught sight of her face between the timbers of the frame, he grinned broadly. No help there.\n\nShe withdrew from the window, trembling. Quickly she drew up, from its resting-place between her breasts, the small, tightly-rolled vellum bag she had carried ever since Master Thomas had hung it about her neck, before they reached Shrewsbury. It measured almost the length of her hand, but was thin as two fingers of that same hand, and the thread on which it hung was of silk, cobweb-fine. It did not need a very large hiding-place. She coiled the silk thread about it, and rolled it carefully into the great swathe of blue-black tresses coiled within her coif of silken net, until its shape was utterly shrouded and lost. When she had adjusted the net to hold it secure, and every strand of hair lay to all appearances undisturbed, she stood with hands clasped tightly to steady them, and drew in long breaths until the racing of her heart was calmed. Then she put the brazier between herself and the door, and looking up across the room, felt the heart she had just steeled to composure leap frantically in her breast.\n\nOnce again she had failed to hear the key turn in the lock. He kept his defences well oiled and silent. He was there in the doorway, smiling with easy confidence, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes from her. She knew by the motion of his arm and shoulder that he had transferred the key to the inner side, and again turned it. Even in his own manor, with his household about him, he took no risks. Even with no more formidable opponent than Emma Vernold! It was, in its way, a compliment, but one she could have done without.\n\nSince he could not know whether she had or had not tried the door, she chose to behave as if nothing had happened to disturb her. She acknowledged his entrance with an expectant smile, and opened her lips to force out some harmless enquiry, but he was before her.\n\n\"Where is it? Give it to me freely, and come to no harm. I would advise it.\"\n\nHe was in no hurry, and he was still smiling. She saw now that his smile was a deliberate gloss, as cold, smooth and decorative as a coat of gilt. She gazed at him wide-eyed, the blank, bewildered stare of one suddenly addressed in an unknown tongue. \"I don't understand you! What is it I'm to give you?\"\n\n\"Dear girl, you know only too well. I want the letter your uncle was carrying to Earl Ranulf of Chester, the same he should have delivered at the fair, by prior agreement, to Euan of Shotwick, my noble kinsman's eyes and ears.\" He was willing to go softly with her, since time was now no object, he even found the prospect amusing, and was prepared to admire her playing of the game, provided he got his own way in the end. \"Never tell me, sweet, that you have not even heard of any such letter. I doubt if you make as good a liar as I do.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" she said, shaking her head helplessly, \"I understand you not at all. There is nothing else I could say to you, for I know nothing of a letter. If my uncle carried one, as you claim, he never confided in me. Do you suppose a man of business takes his womenfolk into his confidence over important matters? You're mistaken in him if you believe that.\"\n\nCorbi\u00e8re came forward an idle pace or two into the room, and she saw that no trace of his limp remained. The brazier had burned into a steady, scarlet glow, the light from it reflected like the burnish of sunset along the waving gold of his hair. \"So I thought,\" he agreed, and laughed at the memory. \"It took me a long time, too long, to arrive at you, my lady. I would not have trusted a woman, no\u2026 But Master Thomas, it seems, had other ideas. And I grant you, he had an unusual young woman to deal with. For what it's worth, I admire you. But I shall not let that stand in my way, believe me. What you hold is too precious to leave me any scruples, even if I were given to such weaknesses.\"\n\n\"But I don't hold it! I can't give you what I have not in my possession. How can I convince you?\" she demanded, with the first spurt of impatience and indignation, though she knew in advance that she was wasting all pretences. He knew.\n\nHe shook his head at her, smiling. \"It is not in your baggage. We've taken apart even the seams of your saddlebags. Therefore it is here, on your person. There is no other possibility. It was not on your uncle, it was neither in his barge nor in his booth. Who was left but you? You, and Euan of Shotwick, if I had somehow let a messenger slip through my guard. You, I knew, would keep, and come tamed to my hand\u2014but for a sudden qualm I had, that you might have sent it back in Thomas's coffin for safe-keeping, but that was to overrate you, my dear, clever as you are. And Euan never received it. Who was then left, but you? Not his crew\u2014all of them far too simple, even if he had not had orders to keep strict secrecy, as I know he had. I doubt if he told even you what was in the letter.\"\n\nIt was true, she had no idea of its contents. She had simply been given it to wear and guard, as the obvious innocent who would never come under suspicion of being anyone's courier, but its importance had been impressed upon her most powerfully. Lives, her uncle had said, hung upon its safe delivery, or, failing that, its safe return to the sender. Or, in the last resort, its total destruction.\n\n\"I am tired of telling you,\" she said forcefully, \"that you are wrong in supposing that I know anything about it, or believe it ever existed but in your imagination. You brought me here, my lord, on the pretext of providing me the companionship of your sister, and conducting us both to Bristol. Do you intend to do as you promised?\"\n\nHe threw his head back and laughed aloud, the red glow dancing on his fine cheekbones. \"You would not have come with me if there had not been a woman in the story. If you behave sensibly now you may yet meet, some day, the only sister I have. She's married to one of Ranulf's knights, and keeps me informed of what goes on in Ranulf's court. But devil a nun she'd ever have made, even if she were not already a wife. But send you safe home to Bristol\u2014yes, that I'll do, when you've given me what I want from you. And what I will have!\" he added with a snap, and his shapely, smiling lips thinned and tightened into a sword-blade.\n\nThere was a moment, then, when she almost considered obeying him, and giving up what she had kept so obstinately through so many shocks. Fear was a reality by this time, but so was anger, all the more fierce because she was so resolutely suppressing it. He came a step towards her, his smile as narrow as a cat's bearing down on a bird, and she moved just as steadily to keep the brazier between them; that also amused him, but he had ample patience.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" she said, frowning as if she had begun to feel genuine curiosity, \"why you should set such store on a letter. If I had it, do you think I should refuse it to you, when I'm in your power? But why does it matter to you so much? What can there be in a mere letter?\"\n\n\"Fool girl, there can be life and death in a letter,\" he said condescending to her simplicity, \"wealth, power, even land to be won or lost. Do you know what that single packet could be worth? To King Stephen, his kingdom entire! To me, maybe an earldom. And to a number of others, their necks! For I think you must know, for all your innocence, that Robert of Gloucester has his plans made to bring the Empress Maud to England, and make a fight of it for her claim to the throne, and has been touting through his agents here to get Earl Ranulf's support for her cause when they do land. My noble kinsman has a hard heart, and has demanded proof of the strength of that cause before he lifts a hand or stirs a foot to commit himself. Names, numbers, every detail, if I know my Ranulf, they've been forced to set down in writing for him. All the tale of the king's enemies, the names of all those who pay him lip service now but are preparing to betray him. There could be as many as fifty names on the list, and it will serve, believe me, for Ranulf's ruin no less, since if his name is not there, he had reached the point of considering adding it. What will not King Stephen give, to have that delivered into his hand? All committed to writing, it may be even the date they plan to sail, and the port where they hope to land. All his enemies cut off before they can forgather, a prison prepared for Maud before ever she gets foot ashore. That, my child, is what I propose to offer to the king, and never doubt but I shall get my price for it.\"\n\nShe stood staring at him with drawn brows and shocked eyes across the brazier, and felt her blood chill in her veins and all her body grow cold. And he was not even a partisan! He had killed, or procured others to kill for him, three times already, not for a cause, but coldly and methodically for his own gain and advancement. He cared nothing at all for which of them wore the crown, Stephen or Maud. If he could have got his hands rather on information of value to Maud, and felt that she was likely to prevail and reward him well, he would have betrayed Stephen and all his supporters just as blithely.\n\nFor the first time she was terrified, the weight of all those imperilled lives lay upon her heart like a great stone. She had no doubt that this estimate of what would be in the letter must be very close to the truth, close enough to destroy a great many men who adhered to the same side her uncle had served with devotion. He had been a passionate partisan, and it had cost him his life. Now, unless she could bring about a miracle, the message he had carried would cost many more lives, bloodshed, bereavement, ruin. And all for the enrichment and advancement of Ivo Corbi\u00e8re! She had followed and supported Master Thomas as a matter of family loyalty. Now that meant nothing any longer, and all she felt was a desperate desire to avoid more killing, not to betray any man on either side of the quarrel to his enemies on the other. To help every fugitive, to hide every hunted man, to keep the wives unwidowed and the children still fathered, was better by far than to fight and kill either for Stephen or for Maud.\n\nAnd she would not let him have them! Whatever the cost, he should not tread his way unscathed to his earldom over other men's faces.\n\n\"I have nothing against you,\" Corbi\u00e8re was saying, confident and at ease. \"Give me the letter, and you shall reach Bristol in safety, and not be the loser. But don't think I'll scruple to pay you in full, either, if you thwart me.\"\n\nShe stood fixed and still, her hands cupping her face, as though pressing hard to contain fear. The tips of her fingers worked unseen under the edge of her tissue net into the coils of her hair, feeling for the little cylinder of vellum, but face to face with her he saw no movement at all.\n\n\"Come, you are not so attractive to me that you need fear rape,\" he said, disdainfully smiling, \"provided you are sensible, but for all that, it would be no hardship to me to strip you with my own hands, if you are obstinate. It might even give me pleasure, if the act proves stimulating. Give, or have it taken from you by force. You should know by now that I let no man stand in my way, much less a little shopkeeper's girl of no account.\"\n\nOf no account! No, she had never been of any account to him, never for a moment, only of use in his ruthless pursuit of his own ambitious interests. Still she stood as if frozen, except that when he advanced upon her at leisure, his smile now wolfish and hungry, she circled inch by inch to keep the brazier between them. Its heart was a red glow. She stood close, as if only that core of warmth gave her some comfort and protection; and suddenly she tore down the coil of her hair and clawed out the letter, tearing off her silken net with it in her haste. She dared not simply cast it into the fire, it might roll clear or be too easily retrieved. She made a desperate lunge, and thrusting it deep into the heart of the glow, held it there for an agonised moment, snatching back burned fingers with a faint cry that sounded half of pain and half of triumph.\n\nHe uttered a bellow of rage, and lunged as quickly to snatch it out again, but the net had flared at a touch, tiny worms of fire climbed to lick his hand, and all he touched of the precious letter, before he recoiled, was the wax of the seal, which had melted at once, and clung searingly to his fingers as he wrung them and whined with pain. She heard herself laughing, and could not believe she was the source of the sound. She heard him frantically cursing her, but he was too intent on recovering his prize to turn upon her then. He tore off his cotte, wrapped a corner of the skirt about his hand, and leaned to grasp again at the glowing cylinder thrust upright in the fire-basket. And he would get it, defaced and incomplete, perhaps, but enough for his purpose. The outer covering was not yet burned through everywhere. He should not have it, she would not bear it! She stooped as he snatched at it, clutched with her good hand at the leg of the brazier, and overturned it over his ankles and feet.\n\nHe screamed aloud and leaped back. Glowing coals flew, cascading over the floor, starting a brown furrow, a flurry of smoke and a stink of burning wood across the nearest rug, and reached the tinder-dry skirts of the tapestries on the wall between the two windows. There was a strange sound like a great indrawn breath, and an instant serpent of flame climbed the wall, and after it a tree of fire grew, thickened, put out lightning branches on all sides, enveloped all the space between the windows, and coursed both ways like hounds at fault, to reach the dusty hangings on the neighbouring walls. A brittle shell of fire encased the room before Emma could even stir from her horrified stillness. She saw the huntsmen and huntresses in the tapestries blaze for an instant into quivering life, the hounds leap, the forest trees shimmer in fierce light, before they disintegrated into glittering dust. Smoke rose from a dozen burning fragments over half the floor, and vision dimmed rapidly.\n\nSomewhere in that abrupt hell beyond the hearth, Ivo Corbi\u00e8re, shirt and hair aflame, a length of blazing tapestry fallen upon him, rolled and shrieked in agony, the sounds he made tearing her senses. Behind her one wall of the room was still clean, but the circling flames were licking round both ways towards it.\n\nThere was a rug untouched at her back, she dragged it up and tried to reach the burning man with it, but smoke thickened quickly, stinging and blinding her eyes, and flashing tongues of fire jetted out of the smoke and drove her back. She flung the rug, in case he could still clutch at it and roll himself in its smothering folds, but she knew then that it was too late for anyone to help him. The room was already thick with smoke, she clutched her wide sleeve over mouth and nostrils, and drew back from the awful screaming that shrilled in her ears. And he had the key of the room on him! No hope of reaching him now, no hope of recovering the key. The room was ablaze, timber at window and wall and floor began to cry out in loud cracks and splitting groans, spurting strange jets of flame.\n\nEmma drew back, shielding her face, and hammered at the door, shrieking for help against the furious sounds of the fire. She thought she heard cries somewhere below, but distantly. She knotted her hands in the tapestries on either side the door, where the flames had not yet reached, tore the rotting fabric down, rolled it up tightly to resist sparks, and hurled it into the furnace on the other side of the room. Let the door at least remain passable. All the hangings that were not yet burning she dragged down. Her seared hand she had forgotten, she used it as freely as the other. All those other lives, surely, were safe enough, no one was ever going to read the letter that had failed to reach Ranulf of Chester. Even that fearful life shut in this room with her must be all but over, the sounds were almost lost in the voice of the fire. A busy, preoccupied voice, not unlike the obsessed hum of the fairground. She had a life to lose, too. She was young, angry, resolute, she would not lose it tamely. She hammered at the door, and called again. No one came. She heard no voices, no hasty footsteps on the stairs to the gallery, nothing but the singing of the fire, mounting steadily from a hum to a roar, like a rioting crowd, but better harmonised, the triumphant utterance of a single will.\n\nEmma stooped to the keyhole, and called through it as long as breath and strength lasted. She could neither see nor think by then, all about her was gathering blackness, and a throttling hand upon her throat. From stooping she sank to her knees, and from her knees sagged forward along the base of the door, and lay there with mouth and nose pressed against the gap that let in a thread of clean air. After a while she was not aware of anything, even of breathing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "Philip lost himself briefly in the tangle of small valley tacks that threaded the hills, after leaving the Long Forest, and was forced to hunt out a local man from the first assart he came to, to put him on the road for Stanton Cobbold. The region he knew vaguely, but not the manor. The cottar gave him precise instructions, and turning to follow his own pointing, saw the first thin column of smoke going up into a still sky, and rapidly thickening and darkening as he stared at it.\n\n\"That could be the very place, or near it. The woods are dry enough for trouble. God send they can keep it from the house, if some fool's set a spark going\u2026\"\n\n\"How far is it?\" demanded Philip, wildly staring.\n\n\"A mile and over. You'd best\u2026\" But Philip was gone, heels driving into his stolen horse's sides, off at a headlong gallop. He kept his eyes upon that growing, billowing column of smoke more often than upon the road, and took risks on those little-used and eccentric paths that might have fetched him down a dozen times if luck had not favoured him. With every minute, the spectacle grew more alarming, the red of flames belching upward spasmodically against the black of smoke. Long before he reached the manor, and came bursting out of the trees towards the stockade, he could hear the bursting of beams, splitting apart in the heat with louder reports than any axe-blow. It was the house, not the forest.\n\nThe gate stood open, and within, frantic servants ran confusedly, dragging out from hall and kitchen whatever belongings they could, salvaging from the stables and byres, dangerously near to the wooden part of the house, terrified and shrieking horses, and bellowing cattle. Philip stared aghast at the tower of smoke and flames that engulfed one end of the house. The long stone building of hall and undercroft would stand, though as a gutted shell, but the timbered part was already a furnace. Confused men and screaming maids ran about distractedly and paid him no heed. The disaster had overtaken them so suddenly that they were half out of their wits.\n\nPhilip kicked his feet out of the stirrups which were short for him, but which he had never paused to lengthen, and vaulted from the horse, leaving it to wander at will. One of the cowmen blundered across his path, and Philip seized him by the arm and wrenched him round to face him.\n\n\"Where's your lord? Where's the girl he brought here today?\" The man was dazed and slow to answer; he shook him furiously. \"The girl\u2014what has he done with her?\"\n\nGaping helplessly, the man pointed into the pillar of smoke. \"They're in the solar\u2014my lord as well\u2026 It's there the fire began.\"\n\nPhilip dropped him without a word, and began to run towards the stair to the hall door. The man howled after him: \"Fool, it's the hob of hell in there, nothing could live in it! And the door's locked\u2014he had the key with him\u2026 You'll go to your death!\"\n\nNothing of this made any impression upon Philip, until mention of the locked door checked him sharply. If there was no other way in, by a locked door he would have to enter. He cast about him at all the piles of hangings and furnishings and utensils they had dragged out into the courtyard, for something he could use to break through such a barrier. The kitchen had been emptied, there were meat-choppers and knives, but, better still, there was a pile of arms from the hall. One of Corbi\u00e8re's ancestors, it seemed, had favoured the battle-axe. And these craven creatures of the household had made no attempt to use so handy a weapon! Their lord could roast before they would risk a burned hand for him.\n\nPhilip went up the stone steps three at a time, and into the black and stifling cavern of the hall. The heat, after all, was not so intense here, the stone walls were thick, and the floor, too, was laid with stones over the great beams of the undercroft. The worst enemy was the smoke that bit acrid and poisonous into his throat at the first breath. He spared the few moments it took to tear off his shirt and bind it round his face to cover nose and mouth, and then began to grope his way at reckless speed along the wall towards the other end of the hall, whence the heat and the fumes came. He did not think at all, he did what he had to do. Emma was somewhere in that inferno, and nothing mattered but to get her out of it.\n\nHe found the foot of the staircase to the gallery by stumbling blindly over the first step, and went up the flight stooped low, because it seemed that the bulk of the smoke was rolling along the roof. The shape of the solar door he found by the framework of smoke pouring in a thin, steady stream all round it. The wood itself was not yet burning. He hammered and strained at the door, and called, but there was no sound from within but the crackling of the fire. No way but to go through.\n\nHe swung the axe like a berserker Norseman, aiming at the lock. The door was stout, the wood old and seasoned, but less formidable axes had felled the trees that made it. His eyes smarted, streaming tears that helped by damping the cloth that covered his mouth. The blows started the beams of the door, but the lock held. Philip went on swinging. He had started a deep crack just above the lock, so deep that he had trouble withdrawing the axe. Time after time he struck at the same place, aware of splinters flying, and suddenly the lock burst clear with a harsh, metallic cry, and the edge of the door gave, only to stick again when he had thrust it open no more than a hand's breadth. The upper part, when he groped round it, offered no resistance. He felt along the floor within, and closed his hand upon a coil of silky hair. She was there, lying along the doorway, and though the heat that gushed out at him was terrifying, yet only the smoke, not the flames, had reached her.\n\nThe opening of the door had provided a way through for the wind that fed the flames, such a brightness burned up beyond the black that he knew he had only minutes before the blaze swept over them both. Frantically he leaned to get a grasp of her arm and drag her aside, so that he could open the door for the briefest possible moment, just wide enough to lift her through, and again draw it to against the demon within.\n\nThere was a great explosion of scarlet and flame, that sent a tongue out through the opening to singe his hair, and then he had her, the soft, limp weight hoisted on his shoulder, the door dragged to again behind them, and he was half-falling, half-running down the staircase with her in his arms, and the devil of fire had done no worse than snap at their heels. He did not even realise, until he took off his shoes much later, that the very treads of the stairs had been burning under his feet.\n\nHe reached the hall doorway with head lolling and chest labouring for breath, and had to sit down with his burden on the stone steps, for fear of falling with her. Greedily he dragged the clean outside air into him, and pulled down the smoke-fouled shirt from about his face. Vision and hearing were blurred and distant, he did not even know that Hugh Beringar and his guard had come galloping into the courtyard, until Brother Cadfael scurried up the steps to take Emma gently from him.\n\n\"Good lad! I have her. Come away down after us\u2014lean on me as we go, so! Let's find you a safe corner, and we'll see what we can do for you both.\"\n\nPhilip, suddenly shivering, and so feeble he dared not trust his legs to stand, asked in urgent, aching terror \"Is she\u2026?\"\n\n\"She's breathing,\" said Brother Cadfael reassuringly. \"Come and help me care for her, and with God's blessing, she'll do.\"\n\nEmma opened her eyes upon a clean, pale sky and two absorbed and anxious faces. Brother Cadfael's she knew at once, for it bore its usual shrewdly amiable aspect, though how he had come to be there, or where, indeed, she was, she could not yet divine. The other face was so close to her own that she saw it out of focus, and it was wild and strange enough, grimed from brow to chin, the blackness seamed with dried rivulets of sweat, the brown hair along one temple curled and brown from burning! but it had two fine, clear brown eyes as honest as the daylight above, and fixed upon her with such devotion that the face, marred as it was, and never remarkable for beauty, seemed to her the most pleasing and comforting she had ever seen. The face on which her eyes had last looked, before it became a frightful lantern of flame, had been the face of ambition, greed and murder, in a plausible shell of beauty. This face was the other side of the human coin.\n\nOnly when she stirred slightly, and he moved his position to accommodate her more comfortably, did she realise that she was lying in his arms. Feeling and awareness came back gradually, even pain took its time. Her head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, her cheek rested against the breast of his cotte. A craftsman's working clothes, homespun. Of course, he was a shoemaker. A shopkeeper's boy, of no account! There was much to be said for it. The stink of smoke and burning still hung about them both, in spite of Cadfael's attentions with a pannikin of water from the well. The shopkeeper's boy of no account had come into the manor after her, and brought her out alive. She had mattered as much as that to him. A little shopkeeper's girl\u2026\n\n\"Her eyes are open,\" said Philip in an eager whisper. \"She's smiling.\"\n\nCadfael stooped to her. \"How is it with you now, daughter?\"\n\n\"I am alive,\" she said, almost inaudibly, but with great joy.\n\n\"So you are, God be thanked, and Philip here next after God. But lie still, we'll find you a cloak to wrap you in, for you'll be feeling the cold that comes after danger. There'll be pain, too, my poor child.\" She already knew about the pain. \"You've a badly burned hand, and I've no salves here, I can do no more than cover it from the air, until we get back to town. Leave your hand lie quiet, if you can, the stiller the better. How did it come that you escaped clean, but for the one hand so badly burned?\"\n\n\"I put it into the brazier,\" said Emma, remembering. She saw with what startled eyes Philip received this, and realised what she had said; and suddenly the most important thing of all seemed to her that Philip should not know everything, that his candid clarity should not be made to explore the use of lies, deceptions and subterfuges, no matter how right the cause they served. Some day she might tell someone, but it would not be Philip. \"I was afraid of him,\" she said, carefully amending, \"and I tipped over the brazier. I never meant to start such a fire\u2026\"\n\nSomewhere curiously distant from the corner of peace where she lay, Hugh Beringar and the sergeant and officers who had followed him from Shrewsbury were mustering the distracted servants in salvage, and damping down all the outhouses that were still in danger from flying sparks and debris, so that the beasts could be housed, and a roof, at least, provided for the men and maids. The fire had burned so fiercely that it was already dying down, but not for some days would the heat have subsided enough for them to sift through the embers for Ivo Corbi\u00e8re's body.\n\n\"Lift me,\" entreated Emma. \"Let me see!\"\n\nPhilip raised her to sit beside him in the clean, green grass. They were in a corner of the court, their backs against the stockade. Round the perimeter the barns and byres steamed in the early evening sun from the buckets of water which had been thrown over them. Close to the solar end, men were still at work carrying buckets in a chain from the well. There would be roofs enough left to shelter horses, cattle and people, until better could be done for them. They had the equipment of the kitchen, the stores in the undercroft might be damaged, but would not all be spoiled. In this summer weather they would do well enough, and someone must make shift to have the manor restored before the winter. All that terror, in the end, had taken but one life.\n\n\"He is dead,\" she said, staring at the ruin from which she, though not he, had emerged alive.\n\n\"No other possibility,\" said Cadfael simply.\n\nHe surmised, but she knew. \"And the other one?\"\n\n\"Turstan Fowler? He's prisoner. The sergeant has him in charge. It was he, I believe,\" said Cadfael gently, \"who killed your uncle.\"\n\nShe had expected that at the approach of Beringar and the law he would have helped himself to a horse and taken to his heels, but after all, he had known of no reason why he should. No one had been accusing him when he left Shrewsbury. Everyone at the abbey ought to have taken it for granted that Emma had been duly conducted home to Bristol. Why should they question it? Why had they questioned it? She had much to learn, as well as much to tell. There would be time, later. Now there was no time for anything but living, and exulting in living, and being glad and grateful, and perhaps, gradually and with unpractised pleasure, loving.\n\n\"What will become of him?\" she asked.\n\n\"He'll surely tell all he knows, and lay the worst blame where it belongs, on his lord.\" Cadfael doubted, all the same, whether Turstan could hope to evade the gallows, and doubted whether he should, but he did not say so to her. She was deeply preoccupied at this moment with life and death, and willed mercy even to the lowest and worst in the largeness of the mercy shown to her. And that was good, God forbid he should say any word to deface it.\n\n\"Are you cold?\" asked Philip tenderly, feeling her shiver in his arm.\n\n\"No,\" she said at once, and turned her head a little in the hollow of his shoulder, resting her forehead against his grimy cheek. He felt the soft curving of her lips in the hollow of his throat as she smiled, and was filled with so secure a sense of possession that no one would ever be able to take her away from him.\n\nHugh Beringar came to them across the trampled grass of the court, even his neatness smoked and odorous.\n\n\"What can be done's done,\" he said, wiping his face. \"We had better get her back to Shrewsbury, there's no provision here. I'm leaving my sergeant and most of the men here for the time being, but the place for you,\" he said, smiling somewhat wearily at Emma, \"is in a comfortable bed, with your hurt properly dressed, and no need for you to think or stir until you're restored. Bristol will have to wait for you. We'll take you to Aline at the abbey, you'll be easy there.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Philip, with large assurance. \"I am taking Emma to my mother in Shrewsbury.\"\n\n\"Very well, so you shall,\" agreed Hugh, \"it's hardly a step further. But give Cadfael time at the abbey to hunt out the salves and potions he wants from his workshop, and let Aline see for herself that we've not let Emma come to any great harm. And don't forget, friend, you owe Aline something for entertaining the fellow you robbed of his horse, and guarding your back for you until you can restore him.\"\n\nBeneath his coating of soot Philip could still blush. \"True enough, I'm likely to end in gaol again for theft, but not until I've seen Emma safe lodged in my mother's care.\"\n\nHugh laughed, and clapped him amiably on the shoulder. \"Nor then nor ever, while I'm in office\u2014not unless you choose to kick the law in the teeth on some other occasion. We'll satisfy the merchant, Aline will have sweetened him into complacency, you'll find. And his horse has been rubbed down and watered and rested, while you've been otherwise occupied, and we'll take him back with us unloaded, none the worse for his adventures. There are horses enough here, I'll find you the pick of them, a steady ride fit to bear two.\" He had had one eye on Emma while he had been mustering water-carriers and husbanding household effects, he knew better than to try to wrest her out of Philip's arms, or send for a horse-litter to carry her back. There were two here so joined together that only a fool would attempt to part them even for a few hours; and Hugh was no fool.\n\nThey wrapped her gently in a brychan borrowed from the salvaged bedding, rather for comfortable padding than for warmth, for the evening was still serene and mild, though she might yet suffer the cold that comes after effort is all over. She accepted everything with serenity, like one in a dream, though the pain of her hand must, they reasoned, be acute. She seemed to feel nothing but a supreme inner peace that made everything else of no account. They mounted Philip on a great, broad-backed, steady-paced gelding, and then lifted Emma up to him in her swathing blanket, and she settled into the cradle of his lap and arms and braced shoulder as though God had made her to fit there.\n\n\"And perhaps so he did,\" said Brother Cadfael, riding behind with Hugh Beringar close beside him.\n\n\"So he did what?\" wondered Hugh, starting out of very different considerations, for two officers brought a bound Turstan Fowler behind them.\n\n\"Direct all,\" said Cadfael. \"It is, after all, a way he has.\"\n\nHalfway back towards Shrewsbury she fell asleep in his arms, nestled on his breast. For the fall of her black, smoke-scented hair he could see only the lower part of her face, but the mouth was soft and moist and smiling, and all her weight melted and moulded into the cradle of his loving body as into a marriage-bed. In her dream she had gone somewhere beyond the pain of her burned hand. It was as if she had thrust her hand into the future, and found it worth the price. The left hand, the unmarked one, lay clasped warmly round him, inside his coat, holding him close to her in her dream."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "The summer darkness of fine nights, which is never quite dark, showed a horse-fair deserted, no trace of the past three days but the trampled patches and the marks of trestles in the grass. All over for another year. The abbey stewards had gathered in the profits of rent and toll and tax, delivered their accounts, and gone to their beds. So had the monks of the abbey, the lay servants, the novices and the pupils. A sleepy porter opened the gate for them; and mysteriously, at the sounds of their arrival, though circumspect and subdued, the great court awoke to life. Aline came running from the guest-hall with the aggrieved merchant, now remarkably complacent, at her back, Brother Mark from the dortoir, and Abbot Radulfus's own clerk from the abbot's lodging, with a bidding to Brother Cadfael to attend there as soon as he arrived, however late the hour.\n\n\"I sent him word what was toward,\" said Hugh, \"as we left. It was right he should know. He'll be anxious to hear how it ended.\"\n\nWhile Aline took Emma and Philip, half awake and dazedly docile, to rest and refresh themselves in the guest-hall, and Brother Mark ran to the herbarium to collect the paste of mulberry leaves and the unguent of Our Lady's mantle, known specifics for burns, and the men-at-arms went on to the castle with their prisoner, Brother Cadfael duly attended Radulfus in his study. Whether at midday or midnight, the abbot was equally wide-awake. By the single candle burning he surveyed Cadfael and asked simply: \"Well?\"\n\n\"It is well, Father. We are returned with Mistress Vernold safe and little the worse, and the murderer of her uncle is in the sheriff's hands. One murderer\u2014the man Turstan Fowler.\"\n\n\"There is another?\" asked Radulfus.\n\n\"There was another. He is dead. Not by any man's hand, Father, none of us has killed or done violence. He is dead by fire.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" said the abbot.\n\nCadfael told him the whole story, so far as he knew it, and briefly. How much more Emma knew was a matter for conjecture.\n\n\"And what,\" the abbot wished to know, \"can this communication have been, to cause any man to commit such crimes in pursuit of it?\"\n\n\"That we do not know, and no man now will know, for it is burned with him. But where there are two warring factions in a land,\" said Cadfael, \"men without scruples can turn controversy to gain, sell men for profit, take revenge on their rivals, hope to be awarded the lands of those they betray. Whatever evil was intended, now will never come to fruit.\"\n\n\"A better ending than I began to fear,\" said Radulfus, and drew a thankful sigh. \"Then all danger is now over, and the guests of our house are come to no harm.\" He pondered for a moment. \"This young man who did so well for us and for the girl\u2014you say he is son to the provost?\"\n\n\"He is, Father. I am going with them now, with your permission, to see them safely home and dress their burns. They are not too grave, but they should be cleansed and tended at once.\"\n\n\"Go with God's blessing!\" said the abbot. \"It is convenient, for I have a message to the provost, which you may deliver for me, if you will. Ask Master Corviser, with my compliments, if he will be kind enough to attend here tomorrow morning, about the end of chapter. I have some business to transact with him.\"\n\nMistress Corviser had undoubtedly been fulminating for hours about her errant son, a good-for-nothing who was no sooner bailed out of prison than he was off in mischief somewhere else until midnight and past. Probably she had said at least a dozen times that she washed her hands of him, that he was past praying for, and she no longer cared, let him go to the devil his own way. But for all that, her husband could not get her to go to bed, and at every least sound that might be a footstep at the door or in the street, steady or staggering, she flew to look out, with her mouth full of abuse but her heart full of hope.\n\nAnd then, when he did come, it was with a great-eyed girl in his arm, a thick handful of his curls singed off at one temple, the smell of smoke in his coat, his shirt in tatters, a monk of Saint Peter's at his heels, and a look of roused authority and maturity about him that quite overcame his draggled and soiled state. And instead of either scolding or embracing him, she took both him and the girl by the hand and drew them inside together, and went about seating, feeding, tending them, with only few words, and those practical and concerned. Tomorrow Philip might be brought to tell the whole story. Tonight it was Cadfael who told the merest skeleton of it, as he cleansed and dressed Emma's hand, and the superficial burns on Philip's brow and arm. Better not make too much of what the boy had done. Emma would take care of that, later; his mother would value it most of all from her.\n\nEmma herself said almost nothing, islanded in her exhaustion and bliss, but her eyes seldom left Philip, and when they did, it was to take in with deep content the solid, dark furnishings and warm panelling of this burgess house, so familiar to her that being accepted here was like coming home. Her rapt, secret smile was eloquent; mothers are quick to notice such looks. Emma had already conquered, even before she was led gently away to the bed prepared for her, and settled there by Mistress Corviser with all the clucking solicitude of a hen with one chick, with a posset laced with Brother Cadfael's poppy syrup to make sure that she slept, and forgot her pain.\n\n\"As pretty a thing as ever I saw,\" said Mistress Corviser, coming back softly into the room, and closing the door between. She cast a fond look at her son, and found him asleep in his chair. \"And to think that's what he was about, while I was thinking all manner of bad things about him, who should have known him better!\"\n\n\"He knows himself a deal better than he did a few days ago,\" said Cadfael, repacking his scrip. \"I'll leave you these pastes and ointments, you know how to use them. But I'll come and take a look at her later tomorrow. Now I'll take my leave, I confess I'm more than ready for my own bed. I doubt if I shall hear the bell for Prime tomorrow.\"\n\nIn the yard Geoffrey Corviser was himself stabling the horse from Stanton Cobbold with his own. Cadfael gave him the abbot's message. The provost raised sceptical eyebrows. \"Now what can the lord abbot want with me? The last time I came cap in hand to chapter, I got a dusty answer.\"\n\n\"All the same,\" advised Cadfael, scrubbing thoughtfully at his blunt brown nose, \"in your shoes I think I'd be curious enough to come and see. Who knows but the dust may have settled elsewhere by this time!\"\n\nIt was no wonder if Brother Cadfael, though he did manage to rise for Prime, took advantage of his carefully chosen place behind a pillar to doze his way through chapter. He was so sound asleep, indeed, that for once he was in danger of snoring, and at the first melodious horn-call Brother Mark took fright, and nudged him awake.\n\nThe provost had obeyed the abbot's invitation to the latter, and arrived only at the very end of chapter. The steward of the grange court had just announced that he was in attendance when Cadfael opened his eyes.\n\n\"What can the provost be here for?\" whispered Mark.\n\n\"He was asked to come. Do I know why? Hush!\"\n\nGeoffrey Corviser came in in his best, and made his reverence respectfully but coolly. He had no solid cohort at his back this time, and to tell the truth, though he may have felt some curiosity, he was attaching very little importance to this encounter. His mind was on other things. True, the problems of the town remained, and at any other time would have taken foremost place in his concern, but today he was proof against public cares by reason of private elation in a son vindicated and praised, a son to be proud of.\n\n\"You sent for me, Father Abbot. I am here.\"\n\n\"I thank you for your courtesy in attending,\" said the abbot mildly. \"Some days ago, Master Provost, before the fair, you came with a request to me which I could not meet.\"\n\nThe provost said not a word; there was none due, and he felt no need to speak at a loss.\n\n\"The fair is now over,\" said the abbot equably. \"All the rents, tolls and taxes have been collected, and all have been delivered into the abbey treasury, as is due by charter. Do you endorse that?\"\n\n\"It is the law,\" said Corviser, \"to the letter.\"\n\n\"Good! We are agreed. Right has therefore been done, and the privilege of this house is maintained. That I could not infringe by any prior concession. Abbots who follow me would have blamed me, and with good reason. Their rights are sacrosanct. But now they have been met in full. And as abbot of this house, it is for me to determine what use shall be made of the monies in our hold. What I could not grant away in imperilment of charter,\" said Radulfus with deliberation, \"I can give freely as a gift from this house. Of the fruits of this year's fair, I give a tenth to the town of Shrewsbury, for the repair of me walls and repaving of the streets.\"\n\nThe provost, enlarged in his family content, flushed into startled and delighted acknowledgement, a generous man accepting generosity. \"My lord, I take your tenth with pleasure and gratitude, and I will see that it is used worthily. And I make public here and now that no part of the abbey's right is thereby changed. Saint Peter's Fair is your fair. Whether and when your neighbour town should also benefit, when it is in dire need, that rests with your judgment.\"\n\n\"Our steward will convey you the money,\" said Radulfus, and rose to conclude a satisfactory encounter. \"This chapter is concluded,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "August continued blessedly fine, and all hands turned gladly to making sure of the harvest. Hugh Beringar and Aline set off with their hopes and purchases for Maesbury, as did the merchant of Worcester for his home town, a day late, but well compensated with a fee for the hire of his horse in an emergency, on the sheriff's business, and a fine story which he would retail on suitable occasions for the rest of his life. The provost and council of Shrewsbury drafted a dignified acknowledgement to the abbey for its gift, warm enough to give proper expression to their appreciation of the gesture, canny enough not to compromise any of their own just claims for the future. The sheriff put on record the closure of a criminal affair, as related to him by the young woman who had been lured away on false pretences, with the apparent design of stealing from her a letter left in her possession, but of the contents of which she was ignorant. There was some suspicion of a conspiracy involved, but as Mistress Vernold had never seen nor been told the significance of what she held, and as in any case it was now irrevocably lost by fire, no further action was necessary or possible. The malefactor was dead, his servant, self-confessed a murderer at his master's orders, awaited trial, and would plead that he had been forced to obey, being villein-born and at his lord's mercy. The dead man's overlord had been informed. Someone else, at the discretion of the earl of Chester, would take seisin of the manor of Stanton Cobbold.\n\nEveryone drew breath, dusted his hands, and went back to work.\n\nBrother Cadfael went up into the town on the second day, to tend Emma's hand. The provost and his son were at work together, in strong content with each other and the world. Mistress Corviser returned to her kitchen, and left leech and patient together.\n\n\"I have wanted to talk to you,\" said Emma, looking up earnestly into his face as he renewed the dressing. \"There must be one person who hears the truth from me, and I would rather it should be you.\"\n\n\"I don't believe,\" said Cadfael equably, \"that you told the sheriff a single thing that was false.\"\n\n\"No, but I did not tell him all the truth. I said that I had no knowledge of what was in the letter, or even for whom it was intended, or by whom it was sent. That was true, I had no such knowledge of my own, though I did know who brought it to my uncle, and that it was to be handed to the glover for delivery. But when Ivo demanded the letter of me, and I span out the time asking what could be so important about a letter, he told me what he believed to be in it. King Stephen's kingdom stood at stake, he said, and the gain to the man who provided him the means to wipe out his enemies would stretch as wide as an earldom. He said the empress's friends were pressing the earl of Chester to join them, and he would not move unless he had word of all the other powers her cause could muster, and this was the promised despatch, to convince him his interest lay with them. As many as fifty names there might be, he said, of those secretly bound to the empress, perhaps even the date when Robert of Gloucester hopes to bring her to England, even the port where they plan to land. All these sold in advance to the king's vengeance, life and limb and lands, he said, and the earl of Chester with them, who had gone so far as to permit this approach! All these offered up bound and condemned, and he would get his own price for them. This is what he told me. This is what I do not know of my own knowledge, and yet in my heart and soul I do know it, for I am sure what he said was true.\" She moistened her lips, and said carefully: \"I do not know King Stephen well enough to know what he would do, but I remember what he did here, last summer. I saw all those men, as honest in their allegiance as those who hold with the king, thrown into prison, their lives forfeit, their families stripped of land and living, some forced into exile\u2026 I saw deaths and revenges and still more bitterness if the tide should turn again. So I did what I did.\"\n\n\"I know what you did,\" said Brother Cadfael gently. He was bandaging the healing proof of it.\n\n\"But still, you see,\" she persisted gravely, \"I am not sure if I did right, and for right reasons. King Stephen at least keeps a kind of peace where his writ runs. My uncle was absolute for the empress, but if she comes, if all these who hold with her rise and join her, there will be no peace anywhere. Whichever way I look I see deaths. But all I could think of, then, was preventing him from gaining by his treachery and murders. And there was only one way, by destroying the letter. Since then I have wondered\u2026 But I think now that I must stand by what I did. If there must be fighting, if there must be deaths, let it happen as God wills, not as ambitious and evil men contrive. Those lives we cannot save, at least let us not help to destroy. Do you think I was right? I have wanted someone's word, I should like it to be yours.\"\n\n\"Since you ask what I think,\" said Cadfael, \"I think my child, that if you carry scars on the fingers of this hand lifelong, you should wear them like jewels.\"\n\nHer lips parted in a startled smile. She shook her head over the persistent tremor of doubt. \"But you must never tell Philip,\" she said with sudden urgency, holding him by the sleeve with her good hand. \"As I never shall. Let him believe me as innocent as he is himself\u2026\" She frowned over the word, which did not seem to her quite what she had wanted, but she could not find one fitter for her purpose. If it was not innocence she meant\u2014for of what was she guilty?\u2014was it simplicity, clarity, purity? None of them would do. Perhaps Brother Cadfael would understand, none the less. \"I felt somehow mired,\" she said. \"He should never set foot in intrigue, it is not for him.\"\n\nBrother Cadfael gave her his promise, and walked back through the town in a muse, reflecting on the complexity of women. She was perfectly right. Philip, for all his two years advantage, his intelligence, and his new and masterful maturity, would always be the younger, and the simpler, and\u2014yes, she had the just word, after all!\u2014the more innocent. In Cadfael's experience, it made for very good marriage prospects, where the woman was fully aware of her responsibilities.\n\nOn the thirtieth of September, just two months after Saint Peter's Fair, the Empress Maud and her half-brother Robert of Gloucester landed near Arundel and entered into the castle there. But Earl Ranulf of Chester sat cannily in his own palatine, minded his own business, and stirred neither hand nor foot in her cause."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(Master of War 4) Viper's Blood",
        "author": "David Gilman",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "medieval",
            "England"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "TO SEIZE A CROWN",
                "text": "[ France 1360 ]\n\nThomas Blackstone spat blood.\n\nThe axe-wielding Frenchman's blow missed his open helm but the fist clutching the axe slammed into his face. Blackstone's height and strength carried him past the assault into the hacking m\u00eal\u00e9e as John Jacob, a pace behind, rammed his blade beneath the man's armpit. The snarling roar of close-quarter battle mingled with the screams of mutilated men. Blood and entrails squelched underfoot as the city's defenders fell beneath English violence. Step by step Blackstone and his men fought their way through the defensive ditches that had been dug around the city of Rheims. The walls were higher than heaven. Men died in their shadow, cast down into bloodstained mud. Some who fought cursed the cold and the rain, and some the King of England, who had brought his host of ten thousand men to this place of death. Sweat stung Blackstone's eyes as he carved a path towards the Prince of Wales, the man he was sworn to protect and who was in the vanguard of the battle. Two of Blackstone's captains, Gaillard and Meulon, huge bears of men who matched Blackstone's size and strength, flanked the Englishman they had served these past fourteen years. Their spears thrust into the terrified French, some of whom were city militia who had never experienced the surging terror that now befell them.\n\nBlackstone saw the Prince wheel, his shield slamming down a French knight. The man raised his visor and cried out, but his voice was swept away in the bellowing cacophony. His gesture was one of surrender. The Prince hesitated, but the weight of men around him forced him across the fallen man as Meulon leaned forward and pushed his spear into the man's face. The Frenchman's hands desperately snatched at the steel; his body bucked. Meulon wrenched the blade free; the man was already dead. Blackstone trod on his chest, unconcerned at the spume of blood that splattered his legs. He reached the Prince who, despite being flanked by his retinue, cleaved a path towards the city gates. For the past thirty-three days of the siege no one had expected such resistance from the walled city's defenders; no one had believed that the winter rain could be so persistent; and only Blackstone believed that King Edward III in his pursuit of the French crown had made a foolish mistake in trying to take the city whose guardian, the nobleman Gaucher de Ch\u00e2tillon, had fortified the walls, blocked the drawbridges and dug defensive ditches. Ditches that Blackstone and his men had fought through for the past two days, and whose quagmire sucked men's legs and sapped strength. Two days of half-starved fighting so that the English King could seize the city that traditionally crowned every King of France. New Year had passed but Edward wanted that crown.\n\n'My Prince!' Blackstone yelled as the King's son slipped. He leapt forward, slamming his shield into mail-clad footsoldiers, forcing himself between fighters who had poured from the city gates wild with fear and determination to stop the vile English horde from advancing and thinking that they might seize Edward's son. The sight of the Prince falling to his knees gave them renewed courage but then they saw the shield bearing Blackstone's blazon: the mailed fist clasping the sword blade. Its cruciform and declaration, D\u00e9fiant \u00e0 la mort, heralded death and made them falter. To stand against the renowned Englishman whose very name was enough to make men surrender before his violence was unleashed was an invitation few would accept. But the weight of those behind pushed them forward. Frenzy ruled the day; blood-lust defeated fear. They fell on Blackstone. His shield took the blows of mace and sword as he half bent his body, turning their blows away and thrusting with killing jabs of Wolf Sword's hardened steel. As he spun around he caught sight of the Prince of Wales vomiting. He spewed across his own men and those who lay dead and dying at his feet. A banner dipped as willing hands reached for him. Rich food and plenty of it! Blackstone thought derisively. A king's table groaning with succulent cuts and rich sauces. A sight he and his men would never see, let alone share. Most of the troops were starving. Man and horse had been deprived of supplies as the French burned food stores ahead of the English advance and the flooded rivers ran with waste, poisoned by slaughtered carcasses. Deny the English invaders supplies and they will be defeated had been the Dauphin's command. A worthless son of a worthless French King in a worthless land in a worthless war. For Christ's sake! What were they dying for in this country? In this ditch?\n\nBlackstone backhanded Wolf Sword's pommel into a Frenchman's face contorted with hatred and purpose; then he rammed the rim of his shield beneath the chin of another. He shifted his weight, allowed a strike against him, saw the man stumble past, left him to die beneath John Jacob's sword and then surrendered to the blood haze that filled his mind and softened the roar of the battle. He was cocooned in the place he knew well. Now the killing rage was with him again; his instinct to kill and maim enveloped him like a rising tide and swept him along, a warring demon blessed by the angels. Beneath the rolling clouds that brought the swirling curtains of rain, a darker storm swept across the battlements. English archers laid a deluge of arrows onto the city walls. Blackstone saw the bowmen in his mind's eye, felt their effort in his heart. Nock, draw, loose! Sheaves of arrows carried by pages and anyone else ordered to feed the greatest weapon in the King's army would be borne relentlessly to the thousands of archers. Will Longdon would be in the sawtooth line with his men, Jack Halfpenny, Robert Thurgood: men who had fought and suffered with Thomas Blackstone. All of them had swept across France during the years of war, back and forth to Italy where Blackstone and his men defended the road to Florence until finally returning to France a year before last. It was there an Italian assassin had ripped away Blackstone's heart by slaying his wife and child.\n\nBlackstone led the assault as the English swarmed forward under cover of the arrows that kept the wall's defenders' heads down. Two wooden assault towers were pushed and pulled towards the battlements as carpenters and engineers dragged cut trees and building timber forward across the defences, using them to breach the earthworks and get closer to the five city gates that had not yet been boarded up. Three divisions had assaulted the city, swarming around its walls like wolves bearing down on a beast of prey. The Duke of Lancaster had attacked from the north, the Earl of March from the east, Richmond and Northampton from the north-west, but it was Blackstone's men fighting with the Prince of Wales's division from the south-west who had made the most progress. The defenders, however, had taken their toll. Frenchmen had made sorties to block the ditches and fight viciously while others on the walls defied the arrows and used machines behind the city walls to rain down rocks on the attackers. Apart from the Prince's division, the English were being held, dying where they stood: only Edward's men were making ground, forcing a wedge through the enemy ground troops in a thirty-foot causeway across the ditch on the western side of the city. They fought shoulder to shoulder, spit and blood and men's waste staining the ground and the stench of death and shit fouling the cold air.\n\nDespite the rain, choking smoke swirled down the narrow confines of the ditches as the French fighters set the timber fillings alight. Men struggled from one smothering cloud to another, eyes stinging from the smoke as sudden death loomed unexpectedly from the miasma. Blackstone and his men slithered down into another ditch; he glanced up and saw the man who had first taken him to war, who had rallied the English at Cr\u00e9cy against overwhelming odds and who, with Blackstone at his side, had held the gap in the hedgerow at Poitiers years later when the French cavalry tried to crush them. Sir Gilbert Killbere liked nothing better than killing Frenchmen. He yearned for it. Grieved for its loss when fighting in Italy and relished the skill it took to defeat a blood enemy. Now he led a determined group of men against those who had set fire to the timbers, raising his shield above his head as another shower of rocks fell from the sky. Blackstone, Meulon and Gaillard brought their shields together and rammed back half a dozen militia, behind whom were the noblemen who urged their men on, but the city soldiers were no match for the savagery that was being inflicted on them. The Prince's men, now led by Blackstone, edged forward yard by yard, sword and spear length at a time. If those burning timbers could be dragged to the closed gate Blackstone knew they would have a fighting chance of entering the city.\n\nHe turned away from the raised swords and axes of those who opposed him and changed direction, taking them by surprise. Forty men or more turned with him; there were still enough behind them to hold the ditch.\n\n'Gilbert! The fire! We use it!'\n\nKillbere looked as fatigued as every other man. His raised visor exposed a soot-streaked face. Sweat, rain and blood trickled down his forehead from an earlier wound. He turned his back, shouted a command and the soldiers with him formed a phalanx ready to cut a wound into the Frenchmen. Blackstone, Meulon and Gaillard took the weight of one of the long timbers onto their shoulders. It was burning at one end from pitch that billowed black smoke. With the fire behind them they dragged the wooden beam forward. Blackstone would burn the bastards out, provided he and the others survived long enough to stack burning timbers and beams at those gates. The wind changed; flames threatened to lick their backs. Meulon cursed and Blackstone shifted his shield further onto his back. He altered course and tried to get the wind at an angle. For a moment it worked. The flames were subdued into acrid smoke that screened them from the Frenchmen who were now swarming forward from the ditches into the dense smoke to assault Killbere and his men.\n\nKillbere strode forward. Two, three long strides, shield up, the blood knot from his sword biting beneath his gauntlet. An indistinct bellowing roar rose above the clash of steel and flesh as his men vented their determination to kill. They would protect Thomas Blackstone \u2013 or die rather than face the shame of life should they fail.\n\nThe gods of war favour the bold, but the King of England favoured their lives even more. As Blackstone got within 150 paces of the gate trumpets heralded the retreat. Their bright notes soared across the battlefield, their command distinct and unquestionable.\n\nBlackstone half turned and saw the look of disbelief and disgust on Killbere's face as the repeated demands made him falter. It gave the French the chance to retreat.\n\n'A pig's arse!' shouted Killbere and waved his sword, urging Blackstone on. The three men hauled the timber up the slope; Blackstone fell to his knees in the mud, cursed and let his anger give strength to his muscles. He was defying his King. Again. The last time \u2013 when he tried to kill the French King at Poitiers \u2013 he had suffered exile, but on this occasion he would claim that the noise of battle had deafened him to King Edward's command. Others broke rank and tried to help Blackstone heave the rain-sodden timber forward. The pitch would flare again with a good strike of a flint and something dry to kindle the flames. But there was nothing dry. Man and ground were soaked, their breath billowing, steam rising from their bodies as the heat of sweat met the cold air. The men's extra strength gave Blackstone and the others the power to move forward as Killbere fought on one flank and John Jacob rallied men on the other. Blackstone watched his hardened captain methodically strike down those who stood in his path, cutting a way open for Blackstone to get the timber in place. Blackstone glanced back. Others had followed their example, dragging and heaving burning tree trunks and dismantled bridge supports towards the one gate that might yield them the city. Then Edward could have his crown and they could all go home.\n\nCloser now. Eighty paces. Eighty strides of muscle-tearing effort. The trumpets blared again. Signal flags punctuated the King's demand. Retreat! The French would not yield a damned yard and the mud slowed the attackers. More Englishmen fell. Crossbow bolts and stones continued to rain down. The English bowmen had stopped releasing their yard-long shafts: the bodkin points no longer tore through French flesh. The King had commanded it and now Blackstone's men were exposed and abandoned. They were too few. Blackstone saw at once that even if they reached the high gate they would die beneath the walls. He swung his shield around and let the timber go. Killbere knew it as well. They had tried and failed. Had more men stayed at their back they might have had a chance. Killbere spat and let his sword dangle from its blood knot around his wrist as he put a finger to each nostril and blew clear the snot. And then in an act of sheer disdain he turned his back on his enemy and trudged back towards the English lines.\n\nBlackstone laughed. The battle-hardened Killbere was the same age as the King. His forty-seven years had made him despise death more than he hated the French.\n\n'All right,' Blackstone said. 'We've done enough here.'\n\nThe men hesitated, and then they too dropped their burdens. The French had not come forward, perhaps grateful that they did not have to face the ferocious assault any longer. Blackstone gazed up at the high walls shrouded in mist and smoke. King Edward might pursue the siege again but not today. He looked at his exhausted and wounded men. Some leaned on their weapons, others spat out the foul taste of death, most grinned. There was no shame. No one else had got as close."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "Blackstone's meagre shelter offered little comfort from the cold and wet. The canvas dripped and the fire smouldered. There was no dry kindling. Blackstone watched men going among the badly wounded and killing them. Bodies were being dragged into a ditch so that their stench would soon be covered in a mass grave. The French did the same with their fallen. The King's retreat had become a truce to despatch the maimed and dying. It would not be long before peasants, wraiths from the forests, crept from cover and went among the dead to strip what they could from the corpses. English archers might kill them if they had enough arrows, but on a great expedition such as this would not waste missiles on grave robbers. The killing ground became a dream-like scene. The breeze swirled the grey drizzle around the peasants who bent like crows pecking at the dead; archers went forward to pluck arrows from the slain; and screams and moans rose and fell as knives were used to end men's agony.\n\nKillbere stripped off his mail and undershirt and, ignoring the chilling drizzle, bathed a wound on his ribs. It was barely a hand's width in length and his sodden shirt had clung to it and stopped it from bleeding further, but once the fighting started again his efforts would open it. He smeared a thick pungent wax-like cream across his flank and allowed a grimace as the astringent ointment stung the raw flesh.\n\n'I swear by a whore's tits that the monks are poisoning me. I gave them good coin for this after we were ambushed at Laon, and it stings like a flail. They said it was good for horses' wounds.'\n\nBlackstone had pulled his mail free and let the sweat-soaked undershirt cling to him in the rain. The cold prickled his skin but his mind dismissed it. Best to embrace the weather rather than fight it. He reached into his saddle pannier and took out a roll of torn linen. 'You should have confessed your sins first and asked for absolution,' he said. 'Then they would have given you honey and herbs to dress your wounds and a cask of their best brandy to ease your pain.'\n\nKillbere gave a nod towards the silver goddess that dangled from a cord around Blackstone's neck. Arianrhod. The Celtic goddess of the silver wheel was a pagan symbol pressed into Blackstone's hand by a dying Welsh archer when the young Englishman first went to war and fought at Caen. She protected a fighting man in this life and then carried him across to the next. 'Sweet Jesus, Thomas, when have you ever loved scab-arsed monks or priests? And when have I ever had the time to confess my sins? There's a war to be fought. You'll bind the damned thing for me?'\n\n'If you sit still long enough.'\n\nKillbere grunted with impatience and raised his arm so that Blackstone could wrap the linen around his ribs. 'Cold, wet and not a decent meal in days. The supply wagons stretch back God knows how many leagues, the horses are dying, the men are starving while the King is warm and fed, and all because the\u2026' He winced. 'Jesus, Thomas, you're not swaddling a child, not so tight\u2026 all because King John has not paid his ransom. Why did we shed our blood at Poitiers for a captured King not to pay his debts? Am I a money-lender to royalty now? If he paid up we wouldn't be in this godforsaken mess. What good is it for Edward to take the French crown? Eh? Answer me that. A country laid bare, a bankrupt nation, as useful as a eunuch in a whorehouse.' He waved Blackstone away. 'All right, all right. That will do well enough.' He straightened his back and drew in breath. 'You crush my lungs. I'll cut it free when we go back to the walls.'\n\n'I doubt the King will send us back soon. We lost too many men. Gilbert, you should take yourself off to the nearest nunnery and have them attend you. Only they would have the forbearance to put up with you.'\n\nKillbere tugged his wet shirt back on and then a leather jerkin. 'Did I ever tell you about the nun I fell in love with?'\n\n'Often,' said Blackstone and draped his own shirt over three sticks that had held the cooking pot above the flames when there had been fire. It would help ease the stench of sweat from the cloth but he would stink of woodsmoke like a cured ham.\n\nKillbere found a piece of dried meat in a sack and squatted beneath the dripping canvas to eat it. 'Where's the boy?'\n\n'He'll be here,' said Blackstone and let his eyes scan the hundreds of men huddled around their makeshift shelters, sitting in the smudge smoke of meagre fires. Further still, along the treeline and beyond, were thousands more. The King and his three sons had brought the might of England to teach the Dauphin a lesson in war and politics. An agreement had been made between Edward and King John, who had been captured at Poitiers just over three years before, who still sat in London as his prisoner. Lands were to be ceded; a massive ransom was to be paid. Neither had been forthcoming and the Dauphin and the Estates General had refused to acknowledge the treaty the two Kings had made. The world would have been a better place had Blackstone managed to kill the French King at Poitiers as he had sworn to do. The world, he thought, would have been better had death not then wielded its scythe against his family.\n\n'He'll be here,' he said again, dismissing the horror that had befallen his wife and child from his mind.\n\nKillbere grunted as he chewed the meat, and probed a maggot free with a fingernail. 'I have not mentioned it often. Of that I am certain.'\n\n'What?'\n\n'The nun!'\n\n'You told me more than a year ago as we made our way down to Meaux.'\n\n'Ah. As recently as that. Well, I apologize. I'm starting to chatter like a damned washerwoman.'\n\n'There he is,' said Blackstone as he caught sight of his son, making his way through the encampment, a small sack slung over his shoulder that was seeping blood. Henry Blackstone served as John Jacob's page, the intention being that he would one day rise to squire under the man-at-arms's tutelage and the watchful eye of his father. Had Blackstone's wife lived she would have argued the case for the boy to continue his studies, not learn the art of war. But she had not lived and Blackstone now had his son at his side, but he honoured her memory and ensured the boy continued with his schooling too.\n\n'Henry. Where's John Jacob?' said Blackstone. His son and his squire had been sent to check on Blackstone's men as had Meulon and Gaillard to check on theirs.\n\n'My lord, he was summoned to the Prince,' the boy answered.\n\nKillbere looked at Blackstone and pulled a face. No words were needed. Blackstone would hear bad news soon enough. Killbere stretched around. 'Boy, I hope you're not carrying French heads in that sack. I've sliced enough of those today.'\n\nHenry dropped the sack and knelt down, reaching inside it. 'No, Sir Gilbert, they don't cook so well.' He lifted a piece of venison and smiled in triumph. 'Will Longdon shot a deer.'\n\n'They'll flog him for poaching the King's game,' said Killbere. 'This is Edward's realm now.'\n\n'No, Sir Gilbert. The sergeant-at-arms said that to Master Longdon but I told him he was wrong,' said Henry.\n\n'By the dog's bollocks, you did not,' said Killbere.\n\n'Son, what happened?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Father, I hope I did not shame you but the sergeant was going to arrest Master Longdon until I told him that our sovereign lord had yet to be crowned. It's only the French King's deer,' said Henry.\n\nBlackstone and Killbere were dumbfounded and then Killbere guffawed and laughed until a coughing fit and the pain in his side stopped him. 'Sweet Merciful God, Thomas, you've a wolf pup here who knows the law of the forest.' He grinned with pleasure. 'Henry, you are a credit to your father.'\n\nThe boy beamed but soon lowered his eyes at the stern glance from Blackstone. 'You challenged a sergeant-at-arms, Henry. You're a page not a squire. And you should bear your learning lightly. You risked shaming the man in front of the archers.'\n\n'Yes, Father.'\n\n'Will Longdon spoke up for you?'\n\n'He did. He knew the man so they parted on good terms.' He raised his eyes and dared a grin. 'And I parted with this.' Henry wiped the blood from his hands on the sacking. 'Will said it ran in fear from the forest when the King's bombard went off. Said it ran right across the line of archers. Said it was a French deer showing disrespect for English archers.'\n\n'And the rest of its carcass?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Will's sharing it with as many of his archers as he can.'\n\n'My mouth waters, boy,' said Killbere, 'but raw venison is hard to chew with my old teeth.'\n\nHenry smiled and pulled out a wad of wood shavings. 'The carpenters were cutting timber.'\n\n'Good lad!' said Killbere. He reached for his aketon and picked away a couple of stitches of the padded jacket with his knife. He tugged free some of the wool and gave it to the boy. 'Fire and food.'\n\n'You checked my horse? He's fed?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Yes, Father. They have him roped in a glade. They did as you instructed and kept him well away from the other horses.'\n\n'No injuries?'\n\n'Not to your horse, Father. One of the boys in the baggage train got too close and he kicked his leg. They say he won't walk again without a staff.'\n\n'Serve him right. Everyone knows to keep clear of him.' Blackstone looked up at the clouds. 'It will blow clear for a while. Make haste, Henry. We'll save some for John for when he comes back.'\n\n'You spoil your men, Thomas, I've always said it. Though I grant you John Jacob deserves to be treated well.'\n\n'And Will Longdon, and Meulon and Gaillard and Jack Halfpenny, and Robert Thurgood and \u2013'\n\n'God's tears, Thomas. You cannot feed the five thousand\u2026 Yes, yes\u2026 them as well. Come on, Henry, do as your lord and father commands. All that killing has worked up my appetite.'\n\nAs the boy set about his task Blackstone's gaze ranged beyond the temptation of the venison and the promise of warmth that even a meagre fire would offer. John Jacob was making his way towards them through the scattered men and with him was one of the Prince's messengers.\n\nMore censure from the man he had sworn to protect? Blackstone wondered. Perhaps the sergeant-at-arms had not been so accommodating after all. The fire crackled into life; Henry laid the skillet on top. Whatever the messenger wanted, Blackstone could see by the scowling frown on John Jacob's face that it was not good news. Blackstone doubted he would get to enjoy the only fresh meat they had seen in days."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "The Prince's encampment lay in Villedommange, a few miles from the city walls. From its rising ground the hamlet afforded the Prince a view of the plain before him. Blackstone strode ahead of the Prince's messenger; the only words he had uttered were that Sir Thomas Blackstone had been summoned. John Jacob had turned to accompany Blackstone as he picked his way through the resting troops, but his sworn lord insisted he stay with Killbere and Henry and eat the fresh meat that Will Longdon had supplied. Through the grey drizzle and mist Blackstone saw the pavilions of the Prince's retinue. A forest of pennons declared there were several bannerets and more than a hundred knights who fought close to the King's son. Their squires would number in the hundreds, and the fighting men would be reinforced by nearly a thousand mounted archers. The Prince's pavilion sat beneath his barely fluttering banner of Drago, the Welsh dragon that had rallied men at Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers. The soaked material proclaimed the presence of one of the greatest fighting princes that England had produced. King Edward's three other younger sons, Lionel, John and Edmund, had embarked with him to earn their spurs as their father came to seize the French crown. Blackstone doubted whether any of them could ever match the fighting skills and bravery of their older brother. Edward of Woodstock was a great knight who relished the rigour of battle as much as his warrior father. Blackstone and Prince Edward had been both blessed and cursed at the battle of Cr\u00e9cy when, as a sixteen-year-old archer, Blackstone had thrown himself into the fray in a vain attempt to rescue his own brother from a German knight who had struck the mute boy down. Blackstone's action had failed to save his brother but stopped the young Prince being slain. Since then an uneasy and often embittered relationship had formed between the two men. The Prince's sharp-edged anger at Blackstone's defiance was tempered only by respect and a grudging gratitude.\n\nMen-at-arms barred Blackstone's way. He stood without protest as a steward went ahead of him into the pavilion. The rain became heavier, tapping out a staccato rhythm on the taut wet canvas. Rain dribbled down Blackstone's neck but he stood unwavering as the men-at-arms hunched their shoulders. The tent flap was raised and the steward beckoned him forward. Blackstone entered into the half-light of the sumptuous lodgings of a prince at war. The flap was tied back and the burning candles made the damp air heavy with their sweet smell of beeswax. To one side a trestle table draped in a white linen cloth was covered with an assortment of silver and gold plate that bore the evidence of what must have been a feast. Some cold meats and a hank of bone, bowls half filled with bread. Fresh bread, his nose told him. The Prince sat on a bow-armed backless stool, a fresh shirt visible beneath his half-buttoned doublet embroidered with a curving vine and a bird about to take flight. He looked as though he had spent the day hunting, not fighting for his life.\n\n'Thomas,' said the Prince.\n\n'Sire.' Blackstone went down on one knee.\n\nThe Prince beckoned him forward. 'A good day's sport, Thomas.'\n\n'Aye, your grace,' said Blackstone, remembering the slaughter and the stench of it, all less than three hours before. The fair-haired Prince made light of the battle, thriving as he did on the desire to fight, knowing perhaps, Blackstone thought ungraciously, that there were men around him who would throw themselves against the enemy so that no harm would befall him. Good sport providing you weren't killed or maimed.\n\nEdward waggled a finger and from the near-darkness at the back of the tent a servant stepped forward with a silver tray and a goblet of wine and offered it to Blackstone. He accepted it with a curt nod of his head and the servant faded away as quickly as he had appeared. Blackstone hoped the Prince did not want a drinking companion for the night; without food in his belly his head would soon be reeling \u2013 and then his tongue would loosen and he would be on more dangerous ground than facing a French cavalry charge.\n\nThe Prince nodded again, meaning Blackstone to sit on a nearby stool \u2013 one without the comfort of cushions or embroidered arms.\n\n'You stink, Thomas. Have you no water to bathe?'\n\n'No water and no fire even if we had, my lord. Nor is there food for my men or sufficient fodder for the horses,' he went on, unable to stop himself. He quickly tried to cover his accusation by bringing the goblet to his mouth.\n\n'We are aware of their discomfort,' said the Prince, 'and our gratitude to our men will not be forgotten when we take the city.'\n\nBlackstone lowered his eyes to avoid confrontation.\n\n'You may speak freely, Thomas. We are not always in agreement, but over the years we have learnt to tolerate some of your more outspoken thoughts. We see no purpose in denying you the right to speak freely here.'\n\n'I did not come here to offer my thoughts. I came at your command.'\n\nThe Prince nodded. He would draw out Blackstone one way or another either by threat or promise. The scarred Englishman was too valuable to his father's cause. 'We have food here for you,' he said and once again beckoned the servant forward. 'Fill a plate for Sir Thomas,' he commanded.\n\nBlackstone's mouth filled with spittle at the thought of the tender cuts of meat. He raised a hand. 'My lord, with respect I would rather not. I eat when my men eat,' he said, wondering if behind the offer of food a stern rebuke for Henry's impertinence with the sergeant-at-arms lay in ambush.\n\nThe Prince of Wales gazed at him for a moment, tugging his fingers through his beard. It was not matted with filth and blood like most of his men, and harboured no lice. Since retiring from the field he had bathed and washed with honey and rosemary soap. Blackstone's gesture was in its own small way an act of defiance. A gesture to tell a royal prince that Thomas Blackstone could not be bribed or bought. He would rather suffer the pangs of hunger than yield to enticement.\n\n'And if we command you to eat?'\n\n'Then I would obey,' answered Blackstone.\n\nFor a moment it looked as though the Prince would do just that but he waved aside the servant. 'So be it. We can hear your stomach rumble from here.'\n\n'It rumbles louder than the bombards that fail to break the walls or smash the city gates,' he answered, again unable to contain the criticism that he had promised himself to keep locked firmly behind clenched teeth. 'We had a chance to reach that gate. Enough men were with me: we could have burned it down.'\n\nThe Prince bristled. It usually took longer for Blackstone to irritate him. But today he was tired from the fighting and its lack of success. 'You were recalled because we were losing too many men. You defied that command.'\n\n'I did not hear the trumpets, my lord,' Blackstone lied, 'and I was concerned that\u2026 that you were given sufficient time to leave the field when I saw you were stricken.' He gave his response simply without any hint of derision that the Prince had eaten too well too soon before undertaking the rigours of combat.\n\n'And that you shielded us is why we summoned you. To give our thanks,' said the Prince.\n\n'No thanks are ever needed, my prince. I am honouring a pledge.'\n\nThe Prince's temper almost bubbled over the rim of his patience. 'We are not to be wet-nursed, Thomas. We are not obliged to have you at our shoulder at every waking moment.'\n\n'That would make the royal bedchamber too crowded, my lord,' Blackstone said and smiled.\n\nThe Prince was gracious enough to allow his knight's boldness. 'And the royal bed, Thomas. We would not share our women with you so it would be a long and lonely night that you would endure.' He sighed. 'Thomas, you vex us,' he said finally.\n\nBlackstone remained silent.\n\n'You were lured to England by our grandmother, Thomas, and then ensnared. Our father knew her political skills and the influence she had before her death.' The ghost of Isabella the Fair, once Queen of England, still haunted those who knew her and had fallen under her influence.\n\n'I was at the command of a woman who could scare a French cavalry charge better than English archers, even when she was ill and dying. She took my arm for support once and I could not deny her anything. I doubt any man could. She told me where my wife and children were in exchange for my promise to protect you. Would you dishonour me by insisting I abandon that promise?'\n\nEdward lowered his chin to his chest. He gazed at the brazier's flames. No one could demand Blackstone's pledge be relinquished. The Prince's life was entwined with Thomas Blackstone's as surely as a woodbine wraps itself around a tree trunk. It was a cause of frustration engineered by his grandmother, the woman who had embroiled the English Crown in intrigue and political manipulation until the day she died. She was still honoured by his father despite rumours spread by those who believed he had banished her from court. Her cleverness had been such that the boy archer, Blackstone, knighted by the young Prince those years before, was now obliged to ensure that he, Edward of Woodstock, heir to the throne of England, would survive as long as Blackstone drew breath. The mother of the greatest of English kings had even made Blackstone fight him in the St George's Day tournament the year before last. Blackstone had fought without colours as an unknown knight and would have beaten him, had he not allowed his Prince to win. It had not been obvious to the onlookers but Edward had known. He let the memory fade.\n\n'We were grieved when your wife and child were slain, Thomas. We offered our prayers.'\n\nBlackstone bowed his head. The Prince would not have demanded his presence simply to thank him for his guardianship in the ditch, nor to express sympathy, nor to offer chastisement for refusing to answer the trumpets' call. There was yet more to come but only when the Prince was good and ready.\n\n'Can you see a way into the city, Thomas? Is there a weakness in its structure? Does your stonemason's eye tell you how the walls can be breached?'\n\n'The bombards are useless. They are not powerful enough. Our chance was to get fire beneath the gates. That chance has gone now, my lord, and the French will expect it. They will stop us even getting close. We cannot mine beneath the walls: the rock is granite that would take years to tunnel through. And even if we did breach the outer walls Gaucher de Ch\u00e2tillon will have chains across the streets to slow us down, burning pitch and oil on the rooftops and men at every alleyway to harass and kill us. Have you forgotten Caen? The bloodiest street fighting I have ever seen \u2013 but Rheims will be worse.' He paused his litany of bad news and gave his final verdict. 'We have the greatest army: one that can defeat anyone brought against us in the field. But we do not have the means to defeat this city. The King should abandon the siege.'\n\n'He will not,' the Prince said.\n\nBlackstone got to his feet as the Prince, distracted by his thoughts, tore at a piece of bread and then changed his mind before it reached his lips. 'My lord, I beg you. Talk to him. Get Lords Lancaster and Northampton with you. They'll see the truth. There's no crown to be had in Rheims. To lay siege here will take a year to starve them out and in that time the French will raise an army greater than anything we saw at Cr\u00e9cy or Poitiers. We are ninety miles from Paris and we will have to fight for every walled town. Our supply wagons are leagues to the rear. Blacksmiths and forges, carpenters, building supplies, ovens, corn mills, boats: they cannot move quickly enough. You have ten thousand troops to feed but you have almost no food left. Half of them are mounted archers who will soon have no arrows. No matter how many sheaves the King has brought, they will be wasted here. You cannot lose your archers to starvation and lack of arrow shafts. Not so soon after we have invaded.'\n\nHis comments agitated the Prince, who began to pace back and forth in the tent. He tossed the crust aside. He knew Blackstone was telling the truth. He also knew that Blackstone wanted to convince him because he was the only person likely to sway the King's mind.\n\n'We left England too late. October committed us to a winter campaign and now we are paying for it,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Our King is paying for it!' the Prince bellowed, his patience exhausted. 'The cost of this war is not coming from the Treasury, it is borne by our father. He is paying for this war and he decided when he should invade. It is not for you to criticize your King! You were lying a sodden drunk in a rat-infested cellar when we called for you. Were it not for the loyalty of your men who found you, and the desire of our father to bring you to war, you would be lying dead, choked on your own vomit.'\n\nBlackstone lowered his head: to remain facing the enraged Prince would have been foolish. Let his blood settle and allow him to wipe the spittle from his face. Blackstone waited until the Prince calmed.\n\n'It was no cellar, my lord. I was lying senseless with grief and drink in the back room of a rat-infested inn.'\n\nThe Prince gazed at him. Blackstone stood slightly taller. His scar had faded but it still cut a path through his weather-beaten face. The scar had been etched in battle, on the day they were both plunged into the violent hell of Cr\u00e9cy, but the deeper scars that Blackstone bore now were from a more savage beast than war. They were wounds that had brought a great fighter to his knees. That he was here now, before him, and had thrown his life once again into the fray to act as the Prince's shield, was most likely the act of a benevolent God.\n\n'Very well. We will tell our father that his son's wet-nurse believes this great quest should be abandoned. We will not face his anger. We shall use you as the whipping boy.'\n\nBlackstone lowered his eyes. Once again his name would be brought to the King's attention, embroiling him in court politics.\n\nThe Prince continued: 'When you fought as an independent captain you seized towns by escalade. Your men have the skill to go over a town's walls and seize it.'\n\n'That can't be done here. The walls are too high, the ditches too deep. Escalade can come at a high cost in lives. Even your assault towers cannot breach those walls. Ladders would not do it.'\n\nWaving aside the servant the Prince poured himself a drink. He hesitated for a moment and then poured another, which he handed to Blackstone, who knew the real reason for being summoned was about to be revealed.\n\nHe took the drink from the Prince's hand.\n\n'Not here, Thomas. There's another prize to be had.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "'God's tears, Thomas, I'm in no mood to be dragged on a wild goose chase. I am happy here,' said Killbere. 'There's a chance the King will assault the city again.'\n\nBlackstone led the way through the soldiers huddling beneath soaking wet blankets, red-eyed from their smudge fires. He could see Meulon and Gaillard in the distance gathering his men. Some needed a kick to roll them from their blankets, but not the archers: he glimpsed Will Longdon quietly leading them from the field. Their paths would cross at the treeline. John Jacob and Henry trudged behind Killbere, a couple of levies carrying the men's armour and weapons. It was another half-mile to where their horses were tethered behind the lines.\n\n'Gilbert, the King has released me for now from my duties with the Prince. We have work to do for him.'\n\n'Ah,' Killbere grunted, and then spat out the acrid taste of smoke, 'but I am already doing my work for him. I kill dog-breath Frenchmen who shit their braies when they see our blazon. I take no surrender. I leave the bodies of our King's enemies as a bridge of tears for their wailing widows and orphans. I cannot do any more than I do already. I am happy here.'\n\n'In the cold and wet without food in your belly and rough wine on your tongue,' said Blackstone. 'And no plunder on our pack horses, or women straddling your thighs. Christ, man, you can't sit in this mud and yearn for it.'\n\n'Women, you say?' said Killbere, opening his stride to catch up with Blackstone. 'There are women where we're going? Don't tell Will Longdon, he'll run to this place of mystery you're taking us. The last time I saw him he was starting to look at the baggage boys. Lads younger than Henry here. He's an irritating turd when he's not dipped his shaft for a while.' Having made his plea he waited for an answer but Blackstone was giving nothing away. 'Where are these women, did you say?'\n\n'All in good time, Gilbert. Henry, run ahead and warn them to have our horses saddled. The archers need good mounts. I don't want any horses with saddle sores. Tell them I have the Prince's command. Run, boy.'\n\nHenry loped forward.\n\n'He obeys without question, Sir Thomas,' said John Jacob.\n\n'So does a beast of burden if you thrash it hard enough,' said Blackstone. If John Jacob had any problems with Henry Blackstone then it would be he who would cuff the boy.\n\n'He's no dull-witted page, he's got learning and he knows what's what,' said John Jacob, and then, in answer to the unspoken question. 'I've never had to raise a hand to him.'\n\n'He's twelve years old. He needs discipline. All boys do,' said Killbere. 'A good thrashing once a week is to be expected. A boy needs to feel the switch on his back. Never did me any harm.'\n\n'Aye, Sir Gilbert, but he's got something of Sir Thomas in him. He's stubborn and he'll make your balls ache with some of his questions. He craves knowledge and he wants to please his father.'\n\nKillbere's grunt passed for a laugh. 'Thomas makes your balls ache because he doesn't answer any questions. And he's been stubborn since I hauled his arse ashore at Normandy back in '46. Christ, Thomas, where are we going?'\n\nBlackstone smiled and nodded ahead to where Meulon and Gaillard waited at the forest's edge. 'I'll tell you when the captains are gathered, Gilbert.'\n\nMeulon the throat-cutter grinned. 'The men are ready, Sir Thomas. They're happy to be rid of this siege.'\n\n'Sitting on our arse with only two days of killing gives a man no hope of plunder,' said Gaillard.\n\n'We could have breached that gate, Sir Thomas,' said Meulon. 'Damned if we couldn't. It was wrong to blow the recall. Another hour and the bastards would've been under our swords.'\n\nBlackstone placed a hand on Meulon's shoulder in commiseration. 'At least now we won't be sitting on our arses in the rain.'\n\nThe small troop of men followed Blackstone through the trees into the clearing where the rear echelon was encamped. Will Longdon waited for his sworn lord. He should be in command of a hundred archers, but Blackstone's centenar had only half that number standing behind him. Cock-sure, arrogant, tough bastards, thought Blackstone as his gaze fell on them. There was no one like them in the army. Christ, he thought, if they were let loose in the streets of Rheims they would run faster than their arrows and be twice as lethal. A part of him was thankful that the city walls would not be breached because he knew some of the men would disobey his order not to rape. Enough wine and blood-lust would countermand any commander's order. And then he would have to hang the rapists.\n\nA few of the archers wore the half-green and -white coats of Cheshire and Flint bowmen. The others wore jupons bearing the cross of St George and Blackstone's blazon. Jack Halfpenny and Robert Thurgood stood at Will Longdon's side. Under the guise of tugging free his steel skullcap Halfpenny gently nudged Longdon, who reluctantly took a step forward. The clumsy gesture did not go unnoticed.\n\n'Sweet Jesus,' muttered Killbere, 'here we go. There'll be a complaint about something I'll wager.'\n\n'Will?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' Longdon said loudly enough for all to hear the mark of respect despite his being one of the knight's long-serving friends. His head twitched slightly, as if not wanting the men behind him to hear what he had to say. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. 'It's these Cheshire and Welsh archers,' he said, and by way of emphasizing his predicament shrugged his shoulders. 'What am I to do with them? They've been sent by their captains. I can't understand a damned word the Flint men say and the Cheshire men think they are the Virgin Mary's gift to fighting men. Can I send them back?'\n\n'We need them, Will,' said Blackstone. 'We've twenty-six men-at-arms and only thirty-four of our own bowmen. The Prince boosted our ranks with the additional men.'\n\nLongdon winced. 'These Cheshire men hate the Welsh because they refused to embark on the invasion unless they were paid up front. It's a matter of aggravation. They'll be at each other's throats.'\n\nHe glanced hopefully at Blackstone, who looked past him to the scowling green-and-white-clad archers. 'It's good to hear that your centenar speaks so highly of you!' he proclaimed to the new men as Will Longdon groaned quietly. 'Your King and Prince have placed you under my command and Will Longdon speaks for me when the time comes to fight.'\n\nKillbere meanwhile lowered his head and voice and glared at the centenar. 'Do your damned job. You're not a mewling infant at the tit. There's killing to be done. Our sweet merciful Christ suffering on the cross died for your sins, you heathen bastard, so get to your duties before the damned resurrection.'\n\nWill Longdon gritted his teeth and turned back to his men. 'Find your mounts!' he ordered.\n\nBlackstone turned to Killbere. 'You'd make a fine priest, Gilbert. Perhaps that nun of yours has affected your soul.'\n\n'She infected my cock is what she did. Every damned monk in the convent had had her, not that I knew it at the time. Don't mock. I might have left a broken heart behind but I left a damned sight more broken heads.'\n\n'You told us before that you had not bedded her because she was too good for you,' said Blackstone. 'Or that you were not good enough for her.'\n\n'Ah\u2026' said Killbere. 'That was a different nun.' He grinned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "Blackstone gathered his captains around him. Meulon and Gaillard stood like granite gateposts each side of the half-circle of squatting men. Jack Halfpenny had been made ventenar of twenty archers and was included in the group along with Robert Thurgood, who, like Halfpenny, had joined Blackstone's men in Italy and had proved loyal when the men fought their way back to England the year before last. A year that was a lost lifetime for Blackstone, when desolation had wreaked havoc with his heart and mind more viciously than any army that swept across the landscape bringing it to its knees. Perinne squatted with the captains. He was one of the few who had survived the years fighting at Blackstone's side. John Jacob and Killbere sat on half-barrels gazing down at the sticks and stones that Blackstone had laid out on the ground as a map. There were a half-dozen Germans who now rode with Blackstone's men and he had made one of them, Renfred, a captain. They had proved to be good fighters and loyal to Blackstone.\n\n'Until the King defeats the Dauphin and wins France he is hard pressed on this war. He needs money,' said Blackstone.\n\n'May God grace our sovereign lord,' said Longdon, 'but he should try and live on sixpence a day like any mounted archer.'\n\nKillbere gave the veteran a gentle kick. 'Be grateful he does not take payment for every arrow you let loose.'\n\n'There would be no victory then,' said Meulon, 'not one shaft would fly with Will's tight grip on his purse strings. It would be left to us fighting men to win the King's wars.'\n\nThe men jeered at Will Longdon, but Thurgood and Halfpenny were careful not to be too vocal. Longdon was their captain.\n\n'Routiers have seized on our King's invasion and follow behind us,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Skinners?' said Jack Halfpenny. 'Are we to fight them as well as the French? With these few men, Sir Thomas?'\n\n'We travel light and with the numbers we have,' said Blackstone. 'Too large a force would be quickly noticed on the route we must take. The routiers strip what little remains of food and money from village and town, supplies that we need. One of the Dauphin's noblemen has taken over the regional mint at a town called Cormiers. He sends the money to the Dauphin but he has enough silver and gold coin to buy off some of the routier captains and pay them to attack us. The Prince gave me these.' He spilled out a few gold coins from his purse. Willing hands snatched at them.\n\nWill Longdon turned a coin in his fingers. 'Mouton d'or. The Lamb of God,' he grinned. Halfpenny looked nonplussed. 'I'll wager even silver pennies are strangers to your purse, Jack.' Will held the coin between thumb and forefinger. 'See? The etching on the coin. A sheep with a halo and a banner? Eh? That's supposed to be Our Lord Jesus.'\n\n'How can a sheep be Our Lord?' said Halfpenny, squinting at the markings.\n\n'Because\u2026 because it is\u2026' said Longdon, lost for explanation.\n\n'The sheep is the lamb,' said Gaillard. 'It is Old Testament. The lamb was sacrificed as was Our Lord. That is its meaning.'\n\nLongdon nodded in agreement. 'There, y'see. Gaillard only looks like a wild man. He might be as big and stupid as a tree but he knows his scripture, does Gaillard. Probably buggered by a priest when he was a lad to drive the lessons home.'\n\n'My spear will drive its lesson home through your arse,' the Norman answered, used to their ongoing taunts.\n\nRobert Thurgood licked his coin. 'Gold, Sir Thomas. Nothing tastes as good.'\n\nKillbere had not demeaned himself by reaching for the tumbled coins. He took Thurgood's. 'How much are they paying the skinners?'\n\n'One was given twenty thousand,' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere was as impressed as the others. 'The Lamb of God has fallen into wolves' jaws,' he said. 'Independent captains can retire in comfort and buy themselves a walled town for protection. Better that we have it.'\n\n'The King,' Blackstone corrected.\n\n'So that we may give it to the King,' Killbere recanted but with a glance to Blackstone that intimated there might be enough to share with the royal purse.\n\nBlackstone ignored him. 'The more we take from the French the quicker they weaken and the sooner Edward seizes his crown. To win we must draw the Dauphin from behind the walls of Paris. Scour his land, raid his towns and villages and seize whatever money he has to buy troops and bribe routiers.' He opened his palm for the return of the coins and, once they were secure in his purse, pointed with a stick to the landscape on the ground. 'We travel south-east. There are towns and villages scattered across the whole area but across the river are two walled towns, one of which has the money.'\n\n'How do we know this? Deserters?' said Meulon. 'They could be sent by the French to draw us into a trap \u2013 these rivers can be deep with swamps and ponds beyond them.'\n\nWill Longdon said, 'Meulon's right. Think back how often we failed to find river crossings when we fought before Cr\u00e9cy. We'll need luck to find a ford.'\n\n'I have one in mind. This information came from prisoners not deserters,' Blackstone said. 'This town is called Cormiers. Do any of us know it?'\n\nThe men shook their heads. No one had passed through that part of France before.\n\n'There are two hundred or more men inside the walls, according to the prisoners that were taken,' Blackstone said.\n\n'Halfpenny is right,' said Killbere. 'We are too few to seize walled towns, especially when outnumbered.'\n\n'Chandos has been sent by the King. He has near enough three hundred men. He will attack once we've scaled the walls at night.'\n\nEvery man in the English army was aware of Sir John Chandos. The veteran fighter was known for his courage and his ability to plan and execute strategy but it would be Blackstone and his men who would go and penetrate into the heart of the enemy.\n\n'Then we take the greater risk,' said Perrine.\n\n'When have we not?' said Killbere. 'How do we know where this town is?' he asked Blackstone.\n\n'Information from the prisoners.' He pointed with a stick the route they would take, where he thought a ford might exist across the River Aisne and where there was danger from the French and routiers. The mercenaries roamed freely and most of the bands were several hundred strong, some as great as two thousand. With luck they would sight them before the skinners became aware of the small band of Englishmen.\n\n'Perinne, you and Jack find the way forward along this route I've shown you. Take a dozen archers in case you need to fall back and defend yourselves. We will be an hour behind you.' Blackstone looked at each man, giving them the opportunity to raise any questions. All stared at the ground plan, seeing the reality in their mind's eye. No one spoke.\n\n'All right,' said Blackstone. 'We do not ride hard. We edge our way through the French. We meet Chandos in four days' time.'\n\nBlackstone went beyond the trees where the horses were tethered. His horse was further back in the forest, its huge bulk an almost invisible shadow in the woodland. It was tethered and hobbled. Its head drooped, its eyes were closed but its ears swivelled at the sound of his approach even though Blackstone trod quietly across the wet grass. It feigned sleep.\n\nBlackstone stepped closer. And waited. Experience had taught him not to get too near the bastard horse without care. It might have been hobbled, but its yellow grindstone teeth would snap and bite. He took another step. It was an ugly beast. Sired, said the stable-hands, repeating the legend, by the devil, unyielding in its belligerence. Its black hide was dappled as if singed by the cinders of hell. Its neck, as thick as a man's waist, supported an oversized and misshapen head. A battering ram in battle. Its hooves the breadth of a man's hand bore iron shoes that tore the ground and smashed limbs. Bulging shoulder muscles encased a tireless heart. Battle-scarred, it was a horse that Blackstone loved more than any other. It had the fiery soul of a fighting warrior.\n\nBlackstone made a small sound with his lips. It shook its head, its eyes still closed.\n\n'Damn you,' he said quietly. 'I'll not be ignored by a dumb beast.' He reached out, palm forward towards its muzzle, letting it get his scent, even though it knew his voice. It suddenly lunged, eyes wide, lips curled, teeth snapping; then it snorted, held by the restraining ropes. He slapped its muzzle. It was less than a fly swat to the war horse. Its ears and eyes were on him. 'Bastard,' he muttered and carefully eased the saddle blanket across its back. A shudder went down its spine as he settled the curved saddle. Its head lifted; he knew that, like him, it was eager to be free of its constraints. He pulled the opposite rein tight to stop the beast from swivelling its head and biting him as he eased up into the saddle. Its ears pricked; its head rose. It trotted without command to where the other riders waited. The bastard horse whinnied and took its rightful place at the front of the column.\n\nA fickle breeze shifted the mist from the skeletal leaf-bare trees clearing a path across the undulating landscape. Blackstone urged the horse forward. Like the dark spirits of the forest, demons lurked within him. The sooner he could pursue and confront them the sooner they could be vanquished."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Blackstone and his men rode east through the English lines following the shallow contour of land between Rheims and the rising ground to their right where King Edward was encamped at Verzy ten miles from the city walls. Soldiers raised their eyes from their preparations to continue the siege as the renowned knight passed among them. They raised an arm and cheered. Cries of Cr\u00e9cy. Poiters. Blanchetaque. Men who had been in the ranks fighting the same vicious battles and who knew of the scarred knight's prowess. None of Blackstone's men acknowledged the greetings, riding as they did hunched from the wet and cold. Once they left the lines fifty miles of uncertainty lay ahead at the end of which would be a fight to secure a worthless town where men would die and others would share their plunder. Blackstone heeled the bastard horse into a trot. Better to ride with hope than sit and waste away in a futile siege.\n\nThe following day's meagre sun gave barely any warmth in the early morning hours but it served to lift the men's spirits as they rolled free from their damp blankets. Men cleared their throats and spat out the stale taste of night. By the time they ate their pottage from the small iron pots nestled into their fire's embers the sky became sullen again, smothered by the creeping low cloud.\n\nBlackstone and his men gave the pockets of woodland a wide berth in case of sudden attack. They had passed three abandoned villages and seen no sign of the people who lived there and by midday rested on the outskirts of another. The wattle-and-stone hovels were in ruins, a few dead dogs lay bludgeoned or slashed from spear or sword, but once again there were no villagers. The charred thatch was already cold and crisp; the black timbers of a ruined barn bore witness to the fact that the attackers had not passed recently. A dozen men dismounted to search the tumbledown buildings as Will Longdon set his archers in a protective shield in case those responsible for the destruction were hiding in the woodland two hundred paces away.\n\nMeulon squelched his way back down the track that served as the highway through the hovels. 'Nothing, Sir Thomas,' he said and gestured with his spear in an arc. 'There's no sign of anyone. They must have run before the attack. Fences are broken, livestock taken. These dogs stayed too long.'\n\n'The people have run for the nearest walled town,' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere eased his horse alongside Blackstone's. 'I rode down to that stream; there's a bloated cow's carcass poisoning the water. There's nothing here for us, Thomas, but I'll wager we are following in the skinners' path. There'll be more of this and sooner or later we'll catch up with them.'\n\nBlackstone looked across the horizon. 'It might not be routiers. Edward had his scavenging parties out far and wide. Whoever took this village did it days or even weeks ago.' He looked at Killbere, who guzzled from his wineskin. There was a sheen of sweat on the veteran knight's face. 'You're sweating even though the air is cold.'\n\nKillbere belched. 'It's a chill, nothing more. A lifetime of soldiering and lying on wet ground does a man no good. You wait till you're my age. Your knees hurt, your back aches, your teeth come loose and your piss takes longer to come. It's reward for serving the King.'\n\nBlackstone eased his knee into the horse. No need to tug the rein: it knew it was meant to turn. 'I'll find a convent for you and have them take you into the infirmary. They'll clothe you in a habit and feed you gruel so you don't have to chew. A pisspot by your side and a hot stone on your mattress for your aching bones. I'll sell your armour and weapons to pay for it.'\n\nKillbere followed him. 'A true friend, Thomas. I'm grateful. And when you try and take me from my horse you'd best have Wolf Sword honed because I will gut you and any man who thinks I am unable to fight another day.' He spat red wine spittle. 'I'll die with a damned sword in my hand like God intended or I'll not die at all!'\n\nThe two men laughed. 'Then I'd best find you a decent fight, Gilbert. We cannot have you inflicted on the world for eternity.'\n\n'Sir Thomas!' Perinne called. Blackstone and the others looked to where he pointed. The low cloud hovered over the land and seemed to rest above the heads of the dozen horsemen who watched them from the gentle rising land a mile away.\n\n'Chandos's scouting party from the north?' said Killbere.\n\nBlackstone squinted in the flat light. 'Perhaps. It's the direction he'd travel. I don't know\u2026 Will? Jack?'\n\nThe archers tented hands around their faces, their keen eyesight searching for any telltale clue.\n\n'No pennons or banner, no colour on their clothing, Sir Thomas,' said Longdon.\n\n'And no helms. There's not a knight among them,' added Jack Halfpenny.\n\n'Chandos would have his men-at-arms scouting,' said Blackstone without taking his eyes off the distant men. They had not moved. 'Besides, if it were Chandos's men they would have seen who we are and come down.'\n\n'Routiers, then,' said Killbere. 'As I said.'\n\nThe horsemen on the skyline disappeared down the reverse slope of the hill.\n\n'Shadowing us, do you think?' said John Jacob as he climbed back onto his horse after searching the village.\n\n'Perhaps. Brigands, outlaws and the dispossessed. France is in tatters and our King wishes to seize it and hoist it like a battle flag,' said Blackstone. 'It seems a worthless place to me \u2013 and there's no honour in slaughtering unarmed villagers. Whoever's up there will kill for what they need.'\n\n'The countryside is crawling with vermin,' said Killbere.\n\n'It might be the French,' said John Jacob. 'There are still castles and strongholds with their troops.'\n\n'Vermin are vermin, John,' said Killbere. 'Best we kill them all.' He glanced at Blackstone. 'But not today, eh, Thomas? Bastards are probably trying to draw us in. We outnumber them until we get over that hill and there's a goddamned army waiting.'\n\n'As you say, Gilbert, not today. It's good to see that your ailments have not affected your brain.'\n\n'You should only concern yourself when I cannot raise my sword arm, Thomas, because who will look after you then?'\n\nBlackstone smiled and lifted the silver goddess to his lips."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "The daylight grew short. As they edged southwards, Blackstone kept his men in the open ground. He also placed a rider between them and Perinne and his scouting party so that those acting as Blackstone's eyes remained in sight, and would not fall foul of any ambush from the dense forests that pockmarked the landscape and could hide an army. The wet ground gave no indication of horsemen travelling in the same direction, but the preceding days' rain could have hidden any tracks. His own men's horses made distinct indentations in the soft winter grass. If an enemy were in front of them then they would not have travelled recently. Blackstone turned his face to the breeze that came from woodland three hundred paces away. There was no odour of fire or men. Soldiers, be they brigands or otherwise, relieved themselves in a communal area. The stench of excrement would drift on the wind but there was no such smell, only the scent of wet ground and pine resin mingling with the clean taste of rain. Half the forest had its branches covered in needles; they would make a soft bed on the ground beneath them, drier than the exposed ground. The other trees were bare on the men's opposite flank, so no one would be hidden there.\n\n'We need to camp,' said Blackstone. 'But there's no cover out here and if we are being followed we need to get into those trees. John, ride forward and have Perinne look at that forest over there.' He pointed to the small woodland. 'It's big enough for cover and small enough not to hide any large body of men.'\n\nJohn Jacob spurred his horse, followed without hesitation by his page Henry Blackstone. Blackstone watched his son lean into the horse's rhythm. He quietly acknowledged the satisfaction it gave him. The boy's upbringing in Normandy and the fight to the death at his mother and sister's side had matured him. The years since the boy's birth were as clear as a bright spring morning in Blackstone's memory.\n\nKillbere noticed Blackstone's intent stare at the distant horsemen. 'He's a natural horseman, Thomas. Better than you at his age, eh?'\n\n'I didn't have a horse at his age, Gilbert. I had been cutting and carrying stone in a quarry since I was a child.' Blackstone quickly dismissed any sentimentality. 'I'd whip him if he didn't ride that well. He had the best of horses when we lived in Normandy and Christiana had him serve with a God-fearing knight. A good man savagely slaughtered by peasants but who taught the boy well. Henry must prove himself. I'll not tolerate any favour shown to him. He'll have no special privileges because of who he is.'\n\n'Sweet Jesus, Thomas, your heart has become even harder since Christiana died. The boy worships you. He's a reason to live.'\n\n'The reason I had to live was taken from me. I serve my King now, that's enough.'\n\nThe two men watched as Henry and John Jacob reached the outrider. Killbere sighed. 'Ah, Thomas, you're an honest man who lies badly. You've always served the King even when his son treated you badly and banished you.'\n\n'I deserved it,' admitted Blackstone. 'I tried to kill the King of France.'\n\n'A pity you failed. We would be lying with our favourite whores these days instead of sitting with our arses in mud.' Killbere settled his arms across his pommel and nodded towards the boy. 'Another three or four years and that lad will grow into a fighting man who'll bring tears to your eyes at the sight of his courage.' He fixed Blackstone with a querulous look that asked his friend to prove him wrong.\n\nBlackstone remained silent. Watching his son already brought the taste of salt to his lips and those feelings were best kept to himself. He did not want the man who had first taken him to war to think less of him because he was now weakened with sentiment and love for the boy. And fear. To lose Henry would be to suffer a wound so grievous it might finally kill him.\n\n'Light a dozen fires. They'll smoke. If they come we'll be ready.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "The killers came at first light. They rode slowly, their horses at the walk, bridles bound with leather and cloth to stop them jangling. The muted creak of their saddles could have been mistaken for the easing of tree trunks against the morning breeze that had freshened enough to blow clear the rolling low cloud. They rode four abreast, 128 men, bunched knee to knee as if they were preparing a cavalry charge. But they carried no lances, only sword, axe and mace. Their plan was to swoop down on the Englishmen, trample them underfoot and slaughter the dazed survivors before they could shake themselves free of the half-sleep that plagued men sleeping rough.\n\nThey followed the tracks made by Blackstone's horsemen that skirted the woodland to their left and led on towards the hollow ground that would afford the men some cover from a biting wind. The smell of woodsmoke lingered and here and there a wisp of it hovered in the still air. Their leader raised a hand. His eyes scanned the bare landscape. There was no smell of food being cooked and no sign of the men camping where the scouts had reported. He turned in the saddle and snarled at the men behind him: 'Where are they? You said you saw them settle before dark. Out there. In the open.'\n\n'Aye. We did. They hobbled their horses and lay down their blankets and lit their fires,' answered one of the men, knowing that the brigands' leader would as soon cut his throat as tolerate failure.\n\n'Then where the fuck are they?' he snarled.\n\nThe routiers on the left of the column raised their eyes. The wind carried a different sound, like a flock of birds rising from the forest. As they squinted into the half-light the source of the fluttering sound became obvious. The riders cried out a warning as their horses panicked. Too late. The dark storm of arrows falling from the sky already had a second wave of shadows following behind. Those routiers who wore breastplates escaped the glancing strike of the bodkin-tipped arrows on their chests, but the hurtling missiles pierced thigh, neck and arm. Steel tips caught those who gazed up stupidly at the sky in the face, punctured horses' necks and haunches. The whinnying beasts and screaming men formed an uncontrolled mass of fear. Men fell; horses landed on top of them. Their leader was already dead, pinned through the throat.\n\nAmid the panic the routiers saw the surge of mounted men-at-arms swarm from the treeline behind the hailstorm of arrows. The skinners cursed, screaming at each other to face the attack, realizing that the English had fooled them by laying down tracks into the open meadow and then moving into the forest at night. And now those who had fallen into the trap were being slain. Most of the routiers tried to flee \u2013 they were now too few to fight a pitched battle \u2013 but the confusion prevented any easy escape. Fallen horses kicked and screamed and suddenly the three hundred paces from the forest were not enough and the Englishmen were on them. Some, moments before they died, saw the Englishman's blazon and knew who it was that had tricked them and who would show no mercy.\n\nBlackstone's horse barged into the routiers' flank, Meulon, Gaillard and Killbere led their own charge either side, and John Jacob had already ridden past Blackstone. Steel struck bone and shields thudded on impact. A hacking, desperate defence was no use against the impetus of the charging horses whose hooves smashed men on the ground and reared over dead horses. The English slashed their way through; unhorsed routiers tried to turn and run but were clubbed or speared to the ground. Within minutes, fewer than twenty men were left amid the carnage. Back to back they stood their ground, shields raised, swords ready; those who wore stolen armour lowered their visors. The English horsemen barely took breath as they carried their killing forward. The bare-faced knight who spurred his great beast of a horse towards them showed no hesitation, no glimmer of mercy. If nothing else, the routiers knew they were going to die. They had been soldiers, Hainaulters and Germans, Englishmen and French, deserters and pillagers who had formed bands of thirty men or more and then joined others until they numbered in their hundreds and were strong enough to take towns and seize plunder after slaughter. The mercenaries, screaming curses, broke ranks, hurling themselves at the English horsemen. Killbere was tumbled from his horse. They fell on him, raining blows, but he smothered himself with his shield. A cry was heard: 'Sir Gilbert!' and others came to his defence; men who were clothed no differently than the attackers cut the routiers down. They were bludgeoned to death and one huge man dismounted and quickly cut their throats.\n\nOne routier fought better than the rest and, as the companion at his shoulder went down wounded onto one knee, he stepped in front of him to protect him. The scarred-face Englishman shouted a command and those who were about to attack him stayed their hand and turned their horses. The lone man stood amid the fallen, lungs heaving.\n\n'Are these all the men in your band?' Blackstone demanded.\n\n'There are more, Sir Thomas. They roam the hills and plains. They are everywhere. You English will meet more of them,' the man answered, raising his visor. His sweat-streaked face was that of an older man. Older than Sir Gilbert Killbere, it seemed to Blackstone.\n\n'You know me?'\n\n'Aye. Your blazon and your reputation. I was at Poitiers when you tried to kill the French King.'\n\n'Which side?'\n\n'The French. I'm Philippe Bonnet. I'm no knight, Sir Thomas, but my family were not low-born. They held land but lost everything to the English.'\n\n'And you ride with brigands.'\n\n'I do. My King's army had no need for many of us after Poitiers. And I hate you English for the plague of violence you brought on us.'\n\n'You're a routier. Don't preach to me of violence.'\n\n'Hate can carry a man on a long and desolate road and I have travelled it willingly. But I have need of plunder. How else are we to live?'\n\n'By not killing your own.'\n\n'Peasants have no souls to return to God. They're like beasts of the field. I'm tired. Let's be done with it.'\n\n'Where else are the skinners?'\n\n'Everywhere. They'll catch you soon enough.'\n\n'Me?'\n\n'You're worth money, Sir Thomas. Dead or alive.'\n\nIt was not unusual for those with a thirst for glory and reward to try and kill Thomas Blackstone. The Savage Priest had tried years before and now his body hung on a mountain pass, his skin shrivelled to his bones, blackened by the bitter winds.\n\n'Your wounded friend?' Blackstone said, nodding towards the man Bonnet protected.\n\n'Just that. A friend.'\n\nIt seemed to Bonnet that the Englishman understood sacrifice for friendship.\n\n'It is as it is,' said the Frenchman.\n\n'It is as it is,' said Blackstone.\n\nBlackstone heeled the bastard horse around and the horsemen next to him spurred theirs forward. It took only seconds for Bonnet to be slain and his friend dispatched.\n\nKillbere was carried back to the forest. It took an hour for him to recover his senses after the blow to his helm, whereupon he cursed and slaked his dry throat from a wineskin. Blackstone had never seen him so unsteady on his feet, but Killbere demanded that he be left alone, and the others finally succumbed to his threats and backed away. Henry Blackstone returned with John Jacob and Jack Halfpenny. A dozen men-at-arms and half a dozen archers had backtracked the mercenaries' route. They returned with a small hay cart pulled by a pair of donkeys and laden with food and wine. There had been a small rearguard with the victuals but John Jacob and his men had not even had to draw their weapons. Halfpenny and his archers killed them from a hundred paces. It had been a successful morning's killing and the men now needed food \u2013 and sleep too, for Blackstone had kept them alert throughout the night in case the routiers had dared to strike in darkness. It would have been uncommon for such men to do so but in the past Blackstone himself had used skittering clouds and temperamental moonlight to assault sleeping troops. Vigilance and the loss of a night's sleep was a small price to pay to avoid a surprise attack.\n\nThe dead were left in the open; what horses survived were hobbled and taken as spare mounts. Anything of value was taken from the dead mercenaries. A good knife, a purse of coins, a fine leather jerkin that would fit well once the blood was wiped from it: all manner of plunder was chosen or discarded as befitted its use or value. Will Longdon took the contingent of Welsh and Cheshire archers among the dead to salvage what arrows they could. Blackstone would let his men rest for the day and night and then take up the ride to meet Sir John Chandos.\n\nBlackstone posted sentries and had fires lit and food cooked. His men ignored the contorted bodies nearby as they ate hungrily.\n\n'Ah, Sir Thomas,' said Jack Halfpenny, his mouth gorged with meat, 'we should declare this a feast day, the Feast of the Dead!'\n\n'Aye, Jack, perhaps we should. Let's not forget there are more of them out there and their swords might well feast on us if we don't keep one eye on the horizon.'\n\n'Only need one eye, my lord.' Halfpenny grinned. 'An archer's eye!' Those around him cheered as Blackstone smiled too, and shared their laughter.\n\nThere was a town to be attacked and it was Blackstone's men who would take the brunt of its assault, and that meant some of those he walked among and who nodded their respect at his presence would soon be carrion for the rooks and crows who now descended on the slain mercenaries. He spoke to those he had seen fight well that day, praised the archers for their skill, shared with the Welshmen the story of how he came by Arianrhod, and then made his way through the slender saplings into the deeper forest seeking a place of quiet and solitude and the stream he knew meandered at the far edge of the forest. He needed to wash the bloodstains from him and try to rid himself of the stench of death.\n\nIntuition guided him through the rising shrouds of morning mist that burned free from the forest floor. A small pond shimmered, its surface disturbed by the air from the fluttering wings of small woodland birds, scared into flight by his approach. A crow crawked its rasping annoyance as the tall creature ventured into its domain. Avoiding brambles, Blackstone stepped carefully over tufted grass as the breeze rattled the bare claws of the high canopy. Forests were where spirits dwelt that could draw a man into their dark embrace. Where once he might have been fearful of legends and folklore, he now ignored his own instinctive warning. He had vowed nothing would ever make him fearful again. Not after seeing the mutilation and murder of his wife and daughter. That fear could never be surpassed.\n\nChain mail of light freckled through the branches and as he walked deeper sunlight speared the trees until he stepped onto the edge of a small glade. A movement, barely noticeable, caught his eye. He stopped and used a tree trunk to help obscure his position. A fawn raised its head and snuffled the air and then a gentle whimper reached its ears. Its wide-eyed mother edged carefully into the sunlight, alert to danger but not yet aware of the man's scent. The fawn delicately stepped up to its mother and then the two were gone. There was a brief haunting of colour as the mottled and dead foliage still clinging to the bushes shimmered. Dry amber leaves took the form of a woman's hair and a splash of sunlight created a face in the hollows. For a brief, stomach-churning moment Blackstone saw Christiana as he had first seen her when he was a young archer. Her copper hair the colour of autumnal leaves and the light on her face. A sixteen-year-old boy falling in love with the woodland image of the girl he would rescue and marry. The breeze turned, the sunbeam shifted and she was gone, vanished like the deer. In the instant he saw her his hand had been outstretched towards her. The illusion had snared him. He rested his face against the weathered tree trunk; it was covered in florets of moss and the lichen clinging to the bark was rough against his cheek. He cursed the grief that still held him, but the memory was quickly put aside as a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to danger.\n\nA sparrowhawk swooped at waist height. Despite its eye-blinking speed Blackstone's gaze followed it. Suddenly its wings rose, stalling its arrow-fast flight, its talons unfurled and it struck down into the grass. There was a writhing struggle as the hawk gripped a viper. The hawk's beak opened as it tried to tear at the snake, but the viper curled itself so quickly the sparrowhawk suddenly became the victim. Despite the talons piercing its flesh, the snake's coils wrapped themselves beneath the bird's wings and around its chest. No matter how it tried to free itself the snake had a firm grip. Blackstone moved quickly but the struggle had ceased: the hawk was motionless, its yellow-ringed eyes staring at him, its tongue moving in silent alarm in its gaping beak. The raptor's beauty would soon be crushed and without another thought Blackstone put his hands beneath the snake's coils in an attempt to deliver the hawk. The snake's head struck at his hand; he pulled back quickly, just in time: a viper's poison could kill a man or at the very least incapacitate him for days. He tried again; found the place behind the snake's head, used his free hand to unwind the coils and release the bird. The serpent fought his grip and tried to wrap its yard-long body around his arm. He flicked his wrist, pulled it free and then threw it into the grass. Defeated, it slithered away beneath the brambles.\n\nThe sparrowhawk's wings were still unfurled, its beak, like its eyes, open, but then they closed in an almost silent whisper of breath. It appeared dead. Blackstone turned the hawk curled-talons down, spread the wings in his hand and placed a palm beneath its softly feathered chest. It lay unmoving. Blackstone realized he was holding his breath. He'd now seen that no matter how swift a killer might be, its victim could turn and strike back with equal speed.\n\nThe wings suddenly beat as quickly as had his heart in the glade. The sparrowhawk took rapid flight and the woodland hunter was gone. The glade's light shifted; the pond's surface remained unblemished. Blackstone waited a moment longer, letting the silence settle over him. Then he turned his back on the forest's heartbeat, suddenly craving the open landscape and the chance to see the distant horizon."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "The following day, after four hours' ride, Perinne led a dozen men across a shallow ford on the River Aisne. He had chosen the crossing well for the shallows and sparse grasses on either bank offered no cover for an enemy ambush and the way ahead was open countryside. The advance party spread out, searched the ground for half a mile in a great semi-circle and then signalled it was safe for Blackstone and the others to cross. Another hour saw Blackstone's force riding across undulating plains where pockets of forests blotted the landscape but where there was still no sign of Sir John Chandos. Perinne, riding ahead of the others, raised his arm, beckoning Blackstone to him.\n\n'Hear that?' said Perinne.\n\nAs they drew closer they heard the steady thud of axe against wood and the murmur of men cursing from the forest that lay four hundred paces ahead.\n\n'Sounds as though they couldn't wait to start,' said Killbere. 'The more work they do the less there is for us.' His body trembled. Blackstone looked at him with concern.\n\n'You're sick,' he said.\n\n'I'm not,' he insisted irritably. 'I'm cold. I'm wet and cold. This damned weather is worse than home. Christmas has come and gone and all we've had is rain and cold. Cold and rain. Whichever way you say it it's misery. A man fights no matter what the weather but this time of year there should be snow underfoot. Snow softens the world, brings with it its own warmth, settles like an angel's wing feathers and cloaks a man in its mantle. My undershirt is soaked in sweat and the wind bites like fleas on an inn's mattress.' He drank thirstily from his wineskin. 'And we should talk less and get on with the King's business.'\n\n'I'm pleased to hear you're in a good mood,' said Blackstone. There was little point in arguing with Killbere. He had the strength of a bull and despite chills seemed as willing to fight as ever. Men died on campaign from the sweating sickness, others coughed blood from ruined lungs, but Killbere would not be one of them.\n\nAs they approached the forest they saw a knight sitting on a tree trunk. His head was bare, his squire standing ten feet away holding his horse and helm. The shield that was hooked across the saddle bore a weathered blazon with a stark red inverted triangle against a dull yellow background. There appeared to be no other soldiers but those who laboured in the forest and the exalted knight Sir John Chandos who casually watched over them.\n\nHis teeth tugged at a piece of smoked meat. His beard, cut square a hand's breadth beneath his chin, broadened his face; a white line was etched across his forehead from where his helm usually sat above his weather-beaten features. Chandos was not born of the nobility but this had not hampered his success as a knight. He was continually rewarded for not only his skill as a fighter but also as a negotiator, a man who could parlay a peace treaty on behalf of the Prince or act as envoy for the King.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' he said without standing. 'I thought I would let my men make a start on your scaling ladders. You'll not object, I hope?'\n\nBlackstone dismounted and, without looking at the working men, strode towards the seated knight. 'You can make them and use them if you so choose, Sir John,' he answered.\n\nChandos grinned. 'Ah, no. That's the risk you must take.' He stood and gripped Blackstone's hand. 'Good to see you again, Thomas.'\n\nBlackstone tried to remember whether he had ever shared the knight's company. He looked to be at least ten years older than Blackstone, a sturdy man, muscles bunched on his shoulders from the years of fighting, his grey-blue eyes unflinching in their gaze. Chandos saw the crease in Blackstone's forehead.\n\n'We nudged each other at Poitiers. You were busy killing. I was at the Prince's side.'\n\n'Then forgive me. I had other things on my mind. Am I late?'\n\n'No. I am early. My men are half a mile back. We raided for four days up country and all we came away with was food. No plunder to be had, but that will soon change when we breach the town walls. If we don't the day will soon come when I'll have to pay the men myself and that's something I would prefer to avoid.'\n\nThe knights who recruited troops were paid a regard of a hundred marks a quarter for every thirty men-at-arms they raised. Chandos was held in such esteem by the Crown that he earned twice that. He gave Blackstone an enquiring look; it would always be good to know what others might be paid in the service of their King. Chandos's face broke into a grin, teeth uneven through the unruly beard. 'I heard the King paid for your men at Calais when you were pissed and disappeared for all those months. You were honoured.' Chandos's blunt approach was both a query and a challenge. Was Thomas Blackstone still such a common man that he would be subservient to the renowned Knight of the Garter or would he take umbrage at being taunted as a drunk? If his pride was offended then Thomas Blackstone's reputation was ill founded. Chandos needed the legend to be intact if they were to prevail against a well-defended town. Anything less meant that Chandos had a weakened man as part of the assault.\n\n'A drunk does not know honour. He knows self-indulgent misery and violence. I have benefited from the King and the Prince; both have honoured me in their own way. Both have chosen to ignore my time in purgatory,' said Blackstone.\n\nChandos grunted. It was a good answer. 'I can see why you have such a loyal following from your men and the favour of our sovereign lords. None of us know when we might slip into the darkness of the abyss and fewer still know whether we have the strength to admit the affliction and haul ourselves back into the light.'\n\nThey had reached the group of men who bent over the felled trees and were tapping wedges into their length to split them. An adze was skilfully employed to fashion the logs into long planks for side rails, and then holes were drilled ready for the hewn rungs to be hammered into place. The men had cut a mortise into each end of the two rails and then tapped in the holding bars for rigidity. The scaling ladders were built for strength, able to bear the weight of fighting men as they clambered up onto the walls. Iron spikes were driven into the feet to stop the ladders slipping. Chandos's men knew what they were doing.\n\n'You've how many fighting men? Twenty or so?' said Chandos. 'You'll not take your archers over?'\n\nBlackstone shook his head. 'Men-at-arms first. My centenar will bring some of his men up onto the wall once it's breached; they can help cover us so we can reach the gate.' Blackstone looked at the length of the three ladders nearing completion and guessed they were going to be thirty feet long. That was a high climb and gave the defenders plenty of time to inflict injury and death on his men.\n\n'Show me the walls,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "Sir John Chandos picked a piece of meat from his teeth and gazed out across the terrain that lay between his troops' position in the forest and the well-defended town a few hundred yards away. A ringlet of shallow ditches had been dug in front of and behind the remains of ancient walls that lay crumbling, barely chest high in some places. An orchard had survived the town commander's cutting down of the forest that once grew closer to the town's walls.\n\n'There's one gate in across that row of ditches,' said Chandos, pointing towards the heavily built gate at the far side of a fixed wooden bridge that straddled the nearest ditch to the wall. 'I cannot assault Cormiers in daylight because the crossbowmen would slaughter us. By the time we try and clamber up and down those ditches we would have no cover. And those tree stumps will slow us down even more.'\n\nBlackstone studied the walls. They had been well built and there was no sign of weakness, no postern gate to assault and none that had been walled up. No battering ram would get close enough to take down that gate. 'Those walls are higher than thirty feet,' he said, turning to face the man who lay next to him, each of them shielded from the watchful eyes of the sentries on the walls by low branches.\n\nChandos shrugged. 'Not by much. A couple of feet perhaps. You will breach the walls with a bit of effort,' he said, smiling, and continued to peel an apple until the skin formed an unbroken ribbon. He cut a slice and handed it to Blackstone, who accepted. There was little point in chastising Sir John for his miscalculation. It would not have been his mistake; it was likely one of his captains.\n\n'I was told there were two hundred troops inside,' said Blackstone.\n\n'I had scouts here watching for three days. We cannot be sure how many there are but the knight who holds the town had at least a hundred men under his command and the Dauphin sent another hundred more to secure the mint. The commander's name is Louis de Joigny. He is by all accounts a harsh man, like so many of these French noblemen. I find them more amenable when they lie dead on a battlefield.'\n\nBlackstone shrugged. The regional lord's name meant nothing. It was unimportant, though what he protected was. 'Only soldiers? How loyal are the people?'\n\n'We've seen townsmen on the walls and villagers have taken refuge inside the town, so there might be militia as well. The villagers took in food. We think the town has grain and wine and we saw enough hay carts carrying fodder.'\n\n'They've cavalry?' Blackstone asked. 'If they ride through the streets we won't have much chance of living through it.'\n\n'No, the fodder was for cattle and sheep the peasants herded inside. But we could use it for our horses once we've taken the place. The Dauphin has played a good hand. The villagers desert their homes and go into the towns taking what they can, burning everything left behind. They leave us nothing.' He teased fingers through his beard. 'But if we seize the gold and silver in there at least the Dauphin can't buy routiers to attack us. They swarm everywhere and in strength. If they sniff there's gold here they won't wait for the Dauphin to offer it. They'll come to take it for themselves and we don't have the strength to fight both.' He nodded, pointing with the chewed twig he had used to pick his teeth. 'The keep. That's where the money will be.'\n\nBlackstone could just make out the squat roof of the town's keep rising above the walls. The French commander's banner showed three broad black stripes and a ram's head.\n\n'It's an ancient town. That's more like an old three-storey hall,' said Blackstone. 'I can see they had good stonemasons for rebuilding the town's walls but that's older; I'll wager we could tear that down with our hands if we had to. What we don't want is for them to barricade themselves inside because then\u2026' He let the words hang. To fight inside an enclosed space meant too many men would die.\n\nBlackstone and Chandos fell silent. Both were at a disadvantage in trying to take the town.\n\n'The orchard,' said Blackstone. 'I'll use it as far as those ditches and low walls. You'll have to keep your men back in the trees until you see we're inside.'\n\n'I agree. I'll hold them in the forest but the moment I see you go over the walls we will make for the gate. I doubt we will get closer than a hundred\u2026 perhaps a hundred and fifty yards\u2026 There\u2026 that second row of ditches in front of the gate. We're exposed until you raise it. I cannot risk getting any closer in case you fail.'\n\nBlackstone had seen enough. 'Be ready, Sir John. We won't fail.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "Darkness and rain smothered any movement or sound as Blackstone's men inched their way forward. Daylight had imprinted the town's fortifications in Blackstone's mind and by nightfall he had advanced with his men from the woodland five hundred yards from the town's eastern wall. The men-at-arms sweated and cursed as they carried the cumbersome ladders, the weight slowing their advance, splinters snagging their callused hands, although the men ignored the stings. The fighters slithered their way forward, bent double and then crawling, using the orchard for cover.\n\nWill Longdon hunched down with twenty archers behind him, the remainder of the bowmen kept as a rearguard with the horses. Jack Halfpenny was at the end of the line of men lying flat on the wet ground. Blackstone, Killbere, Meulon and Gaillard sat with the twenty-six men-at-arms below the broken walls that had been built by Roman legionaries but had crumbled centuries before. Beyond the shallow ditch and ruined fortifications the town's walls rose up forty feet, rebuilt by a royal captain a dozen years earlier. They were a further one hundred yard-long strides across two four-foot-deep ditches.\n\n'Bollocks,' said Will Longdon quietly, having crawled forward to peer through the darkness at the looming shadow of the walls. 'The damned ladders are too short.'\n\n'Did you expect Chandos's men to ease your journey?' said Meulon. 'Your arse is even shorter. We'll have to throw you over.'\n\nThere was a glint of teeth in the darkness. Someone blew snot from his nose. Another broke wind.\n\n'Merciful God,' whispered Killbere, 'that stench could alert the night watch on the walls.'\n\n'It will slay the night watch,' said Gaillard and those close to him felt him half turn in the darkness as he hissed an order to the waiting men. 'Tighten your arses. No man under my command will shit himself. You've enough brandy in you for warmth and courage.'\n\nBlackstone had made sure that every man had been given enough of the brandy seized from the routiers to deaden the fear that faced them all. The town was well defended by men who outnumbered them. If Chandos's captain couldn't get the length of the ladders right then his estimate of the garrison's strength might well be inaccurate too.\n\nA figure moved in the darkness in front of them and the men's breathing quietened in anticipation. A voice whispered warning: 'Sir Thomas.' It was John Jacob and Perinne returning from their reconnaissance of the walls. They clambered over the low parapet and slumped into the ditch. Perinne pulled off his steel skullcap helmet and sucked in his breath. A reluctant moon gave brief illumination as the rainclouds scuttled away and exposed a patch of sky. Both men were soaking wet and John Jacob's legs and chest showed that he had slithered through mud.\n\n'I think I found where to go over,' said John Jacob quietly, gratefully accepting the flask of brandy from Killbere's outstretched hand. He took a mouthful and let the sharp liquid catch his breath. He handed the flask to Perinne without any complaint from Killbere. 'Thirty yards down on the right. Perinne saw that the ditch's bank rises beneath the walls. When they dug the defences they piled the dirt too high. The ladders will reach.' He grinned.\n\nBlackstone grunted in satisfaction. He turned to Will Longdon. The archers' bow cords were not yet fastened, protected from the rain beneath the men's helmets and caps. So too the arrows' goose-feather fletchings in their waxed linen bags. The sheaf of arrows each man carried was not enough for a sustained fight but once they were over the walls and Chandos's men were through the gates there would be little need for the archers in the confines of the narrow streets. They would fight with knife and sword. By the time the invaders reached the keep and the town's final defence the archers would be resupplied.\n\n'Will,' said Blackstone. 'Keep half a dozen men fifty paces from the walls. Use the ditches for cover. As soon as we are on the wall, kill the night watch, especially anyone in that watchtower.'\n\nWill Longdon screwed up his eyes at the walls. The darkness gave them little chance of seeing the night watch let alone anyone in the dim watchtower. 'We'll need some light, Thomas. Pray the moon breaks through.'\n\n'The night watch will silhouette against this sky. You'll see them move even in darkness \u2013 there's enough light behind the clouds', said Blackstone. 'Once you've killed them bring the others inside and flank us on the walls. Cover the yard below until we get across the town square to the gates. Then be at our backs.'\n\nLongdon nodded. 'God be with you, Thomas,' he whispered.\n\n'And with your aim, Will,' he answered.\n\nLongdon grinned and crawled back to his men.\n\n'Gaillard, you take the middle ladder. Meulon the right. I'll go left with John and Sir Gilbert.' The two Normans grunted their understanding and crouched through the orchard to where their men waited. Each man leading the assault would have only his share of the twenty-six men-at-arms. It was Blackstone's job to open the town's gate and bring in Chandos's men for the assault through the town.\n\n'I'll take a dozen men for the gates,' said Killbere.\n\n'No, I want you at my back, Gilbert.'\n\n'Standing in the dark with my cock in my hand? Thomas, I'll fight for the gate.'\n\nBlackstone edged closer to the veteran knight. He whispered, 'You've the chills and you tremble. Were you any other man I would have kept you back with the horses. You're my rearguard once I'm in that yard. They'll come from the streets and alleys, Gilbert. You can stand firm with half a dozen men and Will's archers.'\n\n'Thomas, I \u2013'\n\n'No argument, Gilbert. Cover my back or join Henry with the horses.'\n\nHe heard Killbere suck his teeth in subdued protest. 'Then let's get on with it,' he complained and grabbed one of the ladder's rails. It would take three men to manoeuvre the heavy ladders across the undulating ground and then heave them up the bank of the ditch. His anger gave him the strength to show the men he was no weakling despite the aching that had begun to seize his muscles.\n\nJohn Jacob grabbed the middle of the ladder as Perinne took the end. Blackstone ran forward crouching. Men slipped and cursed, recovered and then managed to follow the towering shadow towards the wall. Within minutes the half-light showed them the rising bank identified by John Jacob. They slithered up, kept their curses to themselves and once there hugged the walls. Much depended on Will Longdon's skill and timing in killing the night watch on the wall. At each end of the wall a man stood guard with two more in the watchtower. There was little doubt that even when the sentries were slain the action would alert those in the guardhouse, who could quickly break the winding devices for the gate, and then a defence would be rallied and Blackstone's men caught like rats in the town square. Chandos's men would be forced to make their way around the walls under fire. Casualties would be high and the survivors would then have to clamber up the ladders. Everything depended on those arrows finding their marks.\n\n'All right,' said Blackstone. Men eased the ladders up, ramming the spiked ends into the ground. No sooner were they planted than Blackstone was already climbing hand over hand, shield across his back, Wolf Sword held in the ring at his belt, its naked blade free of its scabbard, unhindered when drawn. A lesson learnt more than a dozen lifetimes ago at the battle for the great city of Caen. A lesson given by the man who grunted his way behind him. Sir Gilbert Killbere.\n\nThe gods of war laughed at the Englishman and sent a gust of wind to push the clouds from the moon. Rain swept across the rooftops and with snare-drum urgency on slate roofs declared its retreat into the forest beyond. Caught in the glare of the moon Blackstone reached the top of the wall and clambered over. Neither sentry left or right had looked around, but as Blackstone drew Wolf Sword the scrape of hardened steel against the holding ring made one man turn. Blackstone was upwind. In an instant the man had twisted around, face contorted, his mouth widening into a call to arms. Blackstone knew he would never reach him in time, but strode towards him as his men breached the parapet behind him. Before the man's scream echoed across the cobbled square an ash shaft whispered through the air and took him through the jaw. Barely a breath later two more arrows thudded into him. The man crumpled, his spear clattering. The sound would have been heard by the other sentry behind Blackstone on the far end of the wall, but he was already dead, struck down by the deadly skill of the archers. There were distinct sounds of steel-tipped arrows tearing bone and flesh as the night-watch sentries went down at their posts. Had they survived moments longer those on the far walls would have seen Blackstone's men. Somewhere in the darkness a dog barked. And then another. The barking increased as if each dog were calling its warning to its neighbour.\n\nThe watchtower sentry was the more difficult target, but Blackstone knew he had to ignore him; he was Will Longdon's mark. Blackstone raced along the walkway towards the gate and those he hoped still slept in the guardhouse. The sentry cried out when he saw the invading shadows. His shout of alarm was dulled by the wind but it would have been heard. Blackstone saw the man's hand reaching for the bell rope. Arrows thudded into the wooden structure, the archers' aim thrown off by the shadows in the watchtower. Another cry of alarm, its urgency stifled by the wooden roof and the wind. Blackstone's eyes locked on the man. There were seventy paces to the steps that led down into the square, another 140 or more to the gates. Kill him! his mind yelled. Goddammit, Will. Kill him! The shadow that was the watchtower sentry suddenly bucked, head whipping back, arms splayed. An arrow had taken him through the eye and pierced his skull. The shaft pinned the man's head to one of the wooden posts and for a few seconds made his arms flap in a macabre simulacrum of flight. The man's death throes tore his body free and one flailing arm caught the bell's rope.\n\nBlackstone went down the steps into the square two at a time. The cobbles glistened from the night's rain, moonlight glinting, its sheen soon to be tainted with blood. Across the open space another set of steps rose up to the opposite parapet where a windlass was positioned above the gate entrance. A chain descended to the base of the heavy, iron-studded top-hung gate so that it could be raised horizontally.\n\nNo commands were given and none were needed. Footfalls chased after him. He turned and saw his men streaming down the steps and as Perinne and John Jacob followed him Killbere and the others ran into the square.\n\n'Thomas,' yelled Killbere. 'Be quick!'\n\nHundreds of fireflies shimmered from the dark alleys. Burning torches. And what had been silence a few heartbeats before was now overtaken by a rising roar of men's voices as from the streets and alleys men and women advanced in a surging line, torches held high. Fear and anger mingled in their throats. They carried pitchforks and scythes, falchions and iron bars. Women held kitchen knives ready to stab, their voices an eerie pitch that could raise the dead. Anger and fear drove them against the English invaders. And the French troops who pushed their swords into their backs. The garrison were using them as shields against the Englishmen.\n\nBlackstone saw the threat. They would be overwhelmed. A greater fear needed to be inflicted. He raised his sword arm towards Longdon and his archers on the walls. 'Kill them!'\n\nWithout hesitation Will Longdon's archers turned their bows towards the snarling faces in the shimmering torchlight and as Blackstone raced for the steps screams echoed against the walls. The bowmen were slaughtering the townspeople, but, shields held high against the arrows, the French soldiers came on, trampling their bodies underfoot. To French eyes, this was to be an easy victory. Fewer than fifty men appeared to have breached the walls. They looked to be routiers and they were now trapped in the confines of the square. Crossbowmen sheltered behind the advancing soldiers and four of Longdon's archers died on the walls.\n\nBlackstone reached the windlass. He jammed in the turning pole. Normally it took two men to turn the drum but, letting Wolf Sword dangle from its blood knot, he grasped the handle and heaved his weight against it. The chain bit and the great door creaked. Meulon was suddenly at his side and lent his weight. The door was barely halfway up. 'Enough!' Blackstone said and Meulon jammed the holding rod into position.\n\nThey turned for the square. A hay cart blazed; shadows loomed high on the walls. They hurled themselves into the fray. Renfred, Perinne and John Jacob were shoulder to shoulder holding ground; Killbere was to one side and it looked as though he had been separated by a mixed group of troops and townsmen. The townsmen's fury and terror made a heady mix as the torches illuminated a scene from the underworld. Dogs howled and barked; some driven mad by the smell of blood panicked, snapping and snarling at both attackers and defenders. Both sides slew them. Will Longdon ordered some of his men to keep shooting at the surging crowd as Jack Halfpenny and Thurgood ran further along the wall with three other bowmen and loosed arrows into the Frenchmen's flanks.\n\nBlackstone glanced over his shoulder. Where was Chandos? He turned around and saw the flames illuminating the throng of men and women who were still surging forward. Their weight of numbers might push Blackstone's few men back through the very gate they had raised. Killbere had cut down four of the attackers but he was overwhelmed and fell beneath repeated blows. Blackstone turned again, Meulon at his shoulder.\n\n'John! Perinne!' Blackstone yelled. They saw him move towards Killbere and within a few strides joined him. Thirty paces away Gaillard and his men had raised a shield wall and that had slowed the French advance; his men were thrusting beneath the wall into those who pressed against them, making no distinction between those they struck, turning the square into a charnel house more terrifying than any priest's threat of purgatory. Women writhed, screaming from their wounds; soldiers fell to their knees, hands grasping at entrails spilling from pierced bellies.\n\n'Get him back,' Blackstone shouted to the men-at-arms who had manoeuvred themselves to join him. Two men grabbed Killbere and dragged him into an abandoned building. 'Stay with him!'\n\nSeveral men were now at Blackstone's shoulder and with a skill born from years of efficient killing they moved forward in a wedge like a broadhead arrow, forcing the French back yard by yard in a grunting, sweating trial of arms that few could match. Blackstone reached Gaillard, saw the arrows still cutting into the French. Panic was claiming the enemy.\n\nAs John Chandos and his men stormed through the half-raised gate the looming shadows of Blackstone's men methodically killing anyone who challenged them almost made the veteran knight falter. He had never seen so many being slaughtered by so few.\n\nAnd then he brought his men to bear and the surge forced the French to turn and run."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 12",
                "text": "Blackstone and his men drew breath and allowed Chandos's men to relieve them. They had done what had been asked of them. They gathered in the corner of the town square and let the sounds of the killing recede down the alleyways. Will Longdon accepted the resupply of arrows from Sir John's levies and distributed two sheaves to each man. They had lost four archers; one of the Cheshire men and three of the Welsh had been brought down by crossbow bolts and their bodies now lay against the wall alongside the four men-at-arms killed in the fighting. Meulon and Gaillard set a defensive screen around the men who rested and guzzled water, sluicing the smeared blood from their faces. Blackstone was inside the room where John Jacob and Perinne attended Killbere. The space looked to have been used by guards. A couple of old stained straw mattresses lay abandoned, one of which now gave some comfort to Killbere, who was still unconscious.\n\n'I see no sign of injury, Sir Thomas,' said Perinne as he unbuckled Killbere's breastplate while Jacob eased off the veteran knight's helm.\n\n'I saw him go down under the blows,' said Jacob. 'There's no blood on his scalp but he took some hard strikes.'\n\nBlackstone knelt and raised Killbere's head, and using a wet cloth wiped away the splattered evidence of the close-quarter fighting. Killbere, as always, had stood firm in the attack; he could sustain wounds better than other men. His lips moved as the cool water soothed him. Blackstone dribbled brandy onto them from the flask. Killbere spluttered, his eyes half opened, and he gazed at the man leaning over him. Shadows cast from the burning torches shimmering across his face. A scarred face, hair matted with sweat, features caked with dirt and blood.\n\n'Mother of God, Thomas, you look like a devil's imp. Don't grin so. You would scare a child from the womb,' he said weakly. 'I was clubbed is all, leave me be,' he protested, trying to rise and push Perinne away, his fist curling in the stocky man's leather jerkin, but he had no strength and lay back, sighing with the effort. 'A few moments' rest and I shall be ready,' he said. He grunted, allowing Blackstone to half raise him and put a ragged blanket behind his head as a pillow. His eyes closed again. Blackstone took a swig of the brandy and passed it to the others. The three knelt for a few moments, unwilling to leave Killbere's side. Blackstone looked over his shoulder into the night.\n\n'They'll take the keep without us,' he said, 'and that means they'll seize the gold. Chandos will take the glory for it and the King will reward him.'\n\nKillbere's eyes opened. 'Gold\u2026?' he muttered. 'Thomas\u2026 do we not have it? The fight goes on\u2026?' He tried to raise himself but Blackstone placed a hand on his chest, gently restraining him. 'Keep your hands\u2026 to yourself\u2026' Killbere complained, resisting the pressure. Then: 'Do your work, man!' he hissed, his fierce countenance startling all those around him. 'Get off your arse and find the damned gold,' he demanded. The effort proved too much and he slipped back onto the pillow, but his eyes glared at Blackstone and the others as if asking what it was they were waiting for.\n\nWithout another word Blackstone obeyed the man who had first taken him to war and who in Blackstone's eyes was the bravest of men on the battlefield. Pulling on his helm he stepped back out into the night. His men raised their eyes.\n\n'We go back to the fight,' he said. 'We'll not let Sir John's fingers alone caress the Lamb of God.'\n\nThe men grinned and got to their feet.\n\nBlackstone turned to Will Longdon. 'Choose six archers to stay. Jack will be in command, Robert with him.'\n\nHalfpenny and Thurgood stood eagerly awaiting Blackstone's orders. 'You'll take position and shield Perinne and six men-at-arms,' said Blackstone. 'You are to defend Sir Gilbert who is in Perinne's care until we return.'\n\n'Aye, lord,' said Halfpenny as Perinne and Longdon quickly chose the men to stay. There was no need for Blackstone to linger; each man knew his duty, and all would die before anyone breached their defence of the veteran knight now lying unconscious."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "Blackstone led his men across the square, stepping across the torn bodies, which lay three deep from the earlier assault. They moved cautiously into the darkened alleys narrow enough to allow only four men abreast through them. It was unlikely any of the townsmen would strike out at them now that the initial defence of the town had failed and Chandos's men had forced their way towards the keep. Here and there bodies lay in doorways, blood smears showing they had been caught outside and had tried to beat down the doors that those inside would not open. Some of the wounded moaned and squirmed but Blackstone's men ignored them; there was no need to give them a quick death, they had tried to kill the English and now they had to suffer. Suffering was good for the soul.\n\nVillagers' livestock wandered through the town, some panicked by the scent of blood and the cries of fighting. Backlit by the flames from a burning stall a cow stood in the street gazing forlornly at Blackstone's men; sheep the size of dogs flocked in groups of ten or more, running and stopping and running again, unsure where to seek safety. The fighting must have broken down or burnt their pens. Blackstone's men ignored the bizarre sight. If they survived the night they would feast on mutton. Somewhere a pig squealed. It had fallen under a blade.\n\nOther than the animal pens the town had not been torched; it was to be kept intact because Chandos wanted to claim it in the name of King Edward and leave sufficient troops to hold it. It could serve as a defence in the east once Edward had seized Paris. A chain of encircling towns clawed back from the French would form a belt of steel to help protect the city. The men trudged through the streets, senses alert, eyes straining in case anyone threw missiles from the upper floors. Rain came and went, flurries dashing against man and beast as the cold, hard drops danced on the cobbles yet Blackstone's men still sweated from their previous efforts, their undershirts stiff with it, and breath and perspiration steamed from their bodies in the biting cold.\n\nThe clamour of the fighting ahead \u2013 together with screams of agony from man, woman and beast, and the plaintive howling of an infant \u2013 guided Blackstone to where the streets grew wider until they flared into another broad open square in the middle of which stood the squat three-storey keep. There were enough bodies lying at its gates to show that the French troops had retreated inside and Chandos and his men had pursued them. The stench from the killing would soon be foul and Blackstone was in no doubt that the devil would be dancing with joy.\n\nBlackstone halted the men. Some of Chandos's soldiers were killing the wounded in the square and from the darkness of the streets howls from women told their own story. The French knight's banner still flew from the top of the keep \u2013 he had not yielded the last of his defences but was fighting to the bitter end. Such fierce resistance meant the defenders retained their honour in their attempt to protect the Dauphin's gold. Blackstone knew he would have to get inside and force his way to the strong rooms or cellars, wherever the defence was the heaviest, because that was where the prize would be held. Narrow corridors and tight stairwells were hard places to fight in. A man could barely wield a sword and the ground favoured the defenders. His archers would be useless. He spat. There was no other way. Get inside and rout the bastards out and pray to God there would be no conflict between his men and Chandos's over the plunder.\n\nHe was about to stride across the square when he saw movement in the shadows beyond the keep. Had it not been for the shifting clouds and the moonglow, which momentarily made the shadow become a man, he would not have seen the priest who scurried with half a dozen soldiers at his back. They carried no torches and their stooped figures moved furtively but rapidly into the church door that was only just visible down the length of the dark street. The soldiers' shields did not bear the three black stripes and ram's head that was the town commander's blazon. The glint of light showed a silver lion on a black background, claws unfurled, its hungry red tongue protruding from the gaping jaws: a savage beast whose silent roar was known to the fighting men in Normandy and Picardy \u2013 and Englishmen had faced it at the battle of Poitiers. The blazon belonged to an old warrior, Robert de Fiennes, now Constable of France. As the first officer of the Crown he commanded the army, and his authority was second only to the King. But now he served the Dauphin.\n\nDarkness swallowed the men. The noise of fighting increased from the keep; those of Chandos's men who had been killing in the square ran into the building. Blackstone turned for the dark passageway leading to the church. Let the devil have his fun: an angel had just touched Blackstone's shoulder. Sir John Chandos was fighting in the wrong place. The French commander's defence was a ruse. If the Constable's men were in the town they were there for only one reason. The gold."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "They reached the church door and squatted by the walls, letting their breathing settle as they listened for any movement that might warn of approaching danger. Longdon's archers would struggle using the long bows in the narrow street but he positioned them so that they could cover the square surrounding the keep. Should any French defenders try to escape they would run into English arrows.\n\nBlackstone laid the palm of his hand against the iron-studded church door and pressed it gently with his shoulder as John Jacob took hold of the iron ring to raise the latch. Together they eased open the door. The smell of damp from the cold church wafted across their faces and somewhere beyond the vast stone floors echoed the scrape of metal on metal. Blackstone crouched and ran quietly towards one of the great stone pillars that supported the vaulted roof. A few windows offered scant moonlight and as his men filtered in and waited, bent at the knee, swords in hand, they listened, heads turning slightly trying to locate where the soldiers had gone with the priest. They heard another door close somewhere near the altar, and after a quick look to see that there were no men waiting in ambush, Blackstone strode towards the sound. Their boots creaked and the jangle of belt and mail seemed deafening in the stillness. Blackstone raised a hand to slow those following. There was barely enough light for the dark forms behind him to see his command, but their senses were sharpened and they obeyed.\n\nMuffled voices murmured somewhere close by.\n\nJohn Jacob, at his shoulder, whispered, 'The crypt.'\n\nBlackstone nodded and went forward, feeling his way past the altar towards a gaping black hole whose steps led downward. The palm of his hand against the rough stone wall guided him for he was soon in pitch darkness and fearful of stumbling and alerting those who were somewhere ahead. He widened his eyes, desperate for any mote of light to reach them, and then he saw a flicker some indeterminate distance ahead. Torchlight glimmered behind the door frame. He told John Jacob what he had seen and each man in turn passed back the information. Blackstone edged forward along the passage \u2013 like the street, too narrow to swing a sword. As they got closer to the light the voices became more distinct and they heard what sounded like a metal rod or blade sliding against a metal ring with a high-pitched screech. Blackstone blindly felt around the door frame until his fingers touched an iron sliding bolt, its worn handle big enough for a man's fist to curl around. He reached back to touch John Jacob and moved his face close to his ear.\n\n'There's no room to fight here,' he whispered. 'The crypt must be behind this door. Ease past me; there's a bolt halfway down the right-hand side. The hinges are inside so it will open inwards. Heave it open, John, and we'll go in. Wait for my command.'\n\nHe felt rather than saw John Jacob nod his understanding as his squire eased past him. The next man in line was Meulon and Blackstone pressed his hands against the big man's chest. 'Step back. Be ready. We go through the door,' he whispered, needing to give themselves room to rush the crypt once the door was opened.\n\nBlackstone's right hand curled around Wolf Sword's grip, his gloved left hand held its blade halfway down. He would thrust and stab the moment he was inside.\n\n'Now,' he hissed.\n\nThe door slammed open into a broad, low-ceilinged room. Stacked four-high on each side were stone coffins that bore the chiselled blazon of the ram's head. The final resting place of the lord's ancestors. In the middle of the room a priest bent over two chests. One was closed with an iron bar fitted through steel rings at each end that would enable men to bear its weight. The half-dozen soldiers were bending to the task of lifting one chest and readying the other. None held a weapon in their hands and their sudden cries of alarm were deadened by the crypt's confines and the coffins. Blackstone's men attacked silently. The priest cried out and was pushed to the ground as the soldiers dropped the chest and attempted to draw their swords. Blackstone went for the farthest men, barging aside the two nearest. The force of his charge allowed Meulon time to kill one and for John Jacob, who was a pace behind him, to thrust his knife into the other's neck. Blackstone rammed Wolf Sword's tip into the open-face helmet of one of the men on the far side of the chest and slammed his elbow into the other, who collapsed. Blackstone leaned against Wolf Sword's hilt as the blade pierced the fallen soldier's chest. He writhed but Blackstone's boot pressed hard into his stomach as Blackstone withdrew the blade and pushed it into the man's throat.\n\nThe other two soldiers of the half-dozen men had been behind the open door, which caught one in the face when it was slammed open. Gaillard struck him with his fighting axe, which gave the other Frenchman time to draw his dagger and lift his shield. He was ready to fight but John Jacob's momentum carried him forward and he wrapped his arms around the shield, smothering the Frenchman's efforts.\n\n'Kill him!' Jacob yelled as the knife's blade skidded off his shoulder guards. He might not be as lucky with the next strike. There was no room for spear or sword in the corner where Jacob grappled with the man. Meulon half turned and lunged bare-handed past Jacob's face at the soldier's throat. Bones cracked. The man gasped and then Jacob's thumbs were in his eyes as the man tumbled with Jacob on top. His knife hand wavered but the Englishman tore the dagger away and pushed its blade hard and fast beneath the rim of the man's helmet.\n\nMeulon grabbed Jacob's belt and, despite his weight, hauled him free from the sprawled man and then, in case the twitching body was not dead enough, snapped the man's neck with the heel of his boot.\n\nThe priest cowered as Blackstone stood over him. The crypt was suddenly crowded with men who barely had room to move.\n\n'Outside!' Blackstone ordered. 'Tell Will to keep his men in the street. Everyone else in the church. Stay silent. Wait for me.'\n\nThe men turned and shuffled their way out. 'Captains stay here,' he said. 'Gaillard, there's air enough down here for these torches to burn. Go forward and see where this crow was sending the soldiers with these chests. Take one of the men with you.'\n\nGaillard ordered Renfred to join him from the other side of the door and picked up one of the fallen torches, then went on down the narrow, dark passage with the man-at-arms at his heels. The priest pushed himself back against the wall, knees drawn up, a hand clutching the silver crucifix at his chest, lips silently moving in prayer. Blackstone nodded to Meulon, who threw open the chests. The church's silver plate was in one, gold and silver coin in the other.\n\nJohn Jacob sighed. 'This would buy a town, Sir Thomas. We could all retire with this.'\n\n'Priest,' Blackstone snarled, 'how much is here?'\n\nThe priest's desperation to find the right answer was obvious. He stuttered. 'I don't know, thousands\u2026 Spare me\u2026 Twenty, thirty thousand\u2026'\n\nMeulon's eyebrows rose. It was a fortune.\n\nThe priest barely drew breath. 'We had yet to finish counting\u2026 I beg you, do not kill me\u2026'\n\n'Do you not have enough faith in your saviour to meet him in the afterlife?' said Blackstone. The tip of his blade hovered beneath the man's chin. 'What good are you to the people that were forced at sword point to fight us?'\n\n'I could not stop Sir Louis\u2026 He\u2026 he is fiercely loyal to the King and to the Dauphin\u2026 We were ordered on pain of death to secure the coin.'\n\n'How long have the Constable's men been here?'\n\n'Yesterday. They came yesterday for the coin.'\n\n'But English troops have been watching the town. They saw no sign of them.'\n\n'The passage\u2026 it runs two hundred yards; there's a barred entrance behind bushes and trees and then open ground to the forest,' said the priest.\n\n'Their horses must be back in the trees,' Meulon said, poking one of the bodies with his boot.\n\nThe priest nodded. 'Yes, yes. That's true.'\n\nGaillard and Renfred returned from the passageway.\n\n'Does it go beneath the walls?' said Blackstone.\n\nThe Norman nodded. 'And then there's open ground to the woodland beyond.'\n\nBlackstone looked down at the priest and pressed the sword point into flesh. A trickle of blood ran from the slight cut. It was enough to frighten him more. 'Lucky you told the truth. Why shouldn't I kill you? You serve no purpose.'\n\n'There's more,' the priest gasped. 'Another five thousand\u2026 please\u2026 I'll show you where.'\n\nThey dragged the priest to his feet and he winced as his sandalled foot stepped in blood. He was bundled back into the stairwell and up to the nave where Blackstone's men waited.\n\n'Across the street,' the priest whispered.\n\nOnce outside they could hear that the fighting continued in the keep. Blackstone called in the darkness to Will Longdon, who quickly shuffled past his archers.\n\n'Have the French broken out of the keep?'\n\n'No. They're being butchered where they stand. I reckon they must be holding every room and passage. Sir John's men have a fight on their hands.'\n\n'Will, stay here. We're going across the street. No one must get into the church.'\n\nBlackstone quickly followed the priest and as they went into the building opposite they could taste the sharpness of a furnace that was long since cold.\n\n'Light them, my lord,' said the priest, gesturing to the cresset lamps on the walls. Meulon and Jacob touched flames to the oil lamps and the glow filled the room, revealing the blackened coals of the furnace and four stout wooden workbenches where roughly hewn stools showed that five or six men would have worked at each bench. Leather buckets sat at the foot of each stool. Blackstone ran his hand across the work surfaces, scarred with the signs of men striking iron-tipped dies to mint coins. He picked up the broken pieces of a die and rubbed his thumb across the iron cast on the end of the stub of wood. It was not difficult to picture the gold and silver being smelted and, when cold, hammered into coins. Each die would have a life of a few thousand strikes before becoming unusable. These dies were not that old: the ends of the punches not sufficiently flattened by repeated blows from a mallet.\n\n'The soldiers made sure the dies were destroyed so my lord Sir Louis could not mint more coin.'\n\n'And the gold and silver?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Stolen plate. I salvaged what I could for the church but the Constable's men insisted they take that as well. We are all helpless when men desire gold and silver.'\n\nBlackstone tossed the broken pieces aside. 'And the five thousand?'\n\nThe priest went to a corner of the room and took a metal spike from a workbench. He levered up a floor plank, went down on his knees, reached inside and strained to lift a sack out of the hole. Gaillard quickly smashed his heel down and broke another plank and then bent to lift the weight clear. He dumped the sack on a bench and untied the cord that held the opening. He dipped a hand inside and came out with a fistful of minted gold and silver coins. He grinned in the flickering light. 'The Lamb of God has been saved.'\n\n'So you too were helpless when it came to gold and silver,' said Blackstone to the priest.\n\n'It can buy food for the people.'\n\n'It can buy escape and a life of comfort in a convent,' Blackstone said.\n\n'Sir Thomas, we could rest through the winter without more effort,' said Gaillard.\n\n'We'll all benefit from it,' said Blackstone, 'but we stay silent about this until I say otherwise,' he told the men. He pulled the priest to him. 'What's your name, priest?'\n\n'I am Robinet Corneille.'\n\nThe men laughed. The priest shrugged. There were times he wished his name did not mean what it did. There was always fun to be had with the sobriquet. Especially with the English.\n\n'So\u2026 Corneille the \"crow\" priest, what is this?' Blackstone asked, touching the small pewter emblem of a flask stitched to the priest's cloak. 'This is from Canterbury. You've travelled in England as a pilgrim?' The flask was supposed to contain drops of water from a miraculous well.\n\n'Years ago, my lord.'\n\nBlackstone grunted. Perhaps this crow priest knew the ways of the English, which might make him less troublesome than another rural French cleric. 'Do you have medicine here? Can you administer to the wounded?' he said.\n\n'I have little skill, lord, but I have stitched and treated wounds and I have some knowledge of how to bleed veins and administer potions.'\n\n'Then you have some use after all,' said Blackstone. 'Your miserable life might still be spared.' He pushed him into Meulon's arms. 'Bring this thieving crow and see where else he's feathered his nest.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "As Blackstone withdrew his men from the church and the area around the keep, the bodies of the citadel's defenders were being tossed from the windows into the street below. The search was going on inside for the money but Blackstone had already ordered the chests removed from the crypt. He and his men made their way back to the town square where Jack Halfpenny still held a defensive cordon around Killbere. Blackstone hauled the priest into the building where his friend lay unconscious.\n\nPerinne looked worried. 'He's taken a turn for the worse.'\n\n'Use your skills on this man,' said Blackstone to the priest. 'If he dies you die with him.'\n\nThe priest sank to his knees and pulled open the bag of medicines that had been retrieved from the church. 'If he dies it is God's will.'\n\n'Then pray it is not His will that you die with him,' said Blackstone. 'Perinne, stay with him and watch the priest. If he does anything that you think causes Sir Gilbert harm, kill him.'\n\nHe went outside to where the men were gathered and saw his son lead two donkeys into the square through the gate.\n\n'That's the third time your boy has come inside the walls,' said Jack Halfpenny. 'Once Sir John's men had stormed through the gate and we held this position he came looking for you. And then he saw the hay carts and brought in the donkeys, said our horses could do with the fodder before Sir John's men took it.' Halfpenny grinned. 'Did it all on his own, Sir Thomas. I offered him no help because we were protecting Sir Gilbert.'\n\nBlackstone watched a moment longer as Henry whipped the donkeys and guided the remaining hay cart towards the gate. The boy was soaked from the night's rain and his efforts must have made him sweat as much as any of the fighting men, but he looked neither left nor right as he went about his task. He gave no glance towards the men-at-arms or archers who now gathered around his father as Sir Gilbert was being attended to. The boy sought no acknowledgement or sign of approval.\n\n'He left his post and the horses,' said Blackstone and Halfpenny's smile faltered.\n\n'But, Sir Thomas, the lad \u2013'\n\n'Left his post. I'll deal with him later.' He pointed to the chests that had been brought from the church. 'Secure them in one of the rooms. Post a guard.'\n\nHalfpenny pointed to several men and did as he was ordered. Will Longdon waited for his orders but stood close enough to Blackstone so that only he could hear what he had to say.\n\n'Henry used his noggin, Thomas. Thought it through, saw the opportunity to help us all. A punishment would be unkind.' He pulled his helmet from his head and rubbed his sweat-soaked hair. 'And, dare I say, unjust,' he added.\n\n'You sound like Sir Gilbert. Why does everyone think I am an ogre to my son?'\n\nWill Longdon shrugged. 'He's a boy who yearns for your approval. It doesn't matter that he's your son; he knows he won't get special treatment. Thomas, I remember waiting with the Shropshire men at Portsmouth before the invasion in '46 and Sir Gilbert arrived with a sixteen-year-old archer in tow. Him and his brother were wet behind the ears. Neither had known the fear of battle but Sir Gilbert spoke up for you. I remember him telling us veterans your name, said none of us could pull the draw weight of your father's war bow that you carried, and said that you protected your brother and that you were both his sworn men. I remember them words from all them years back because he said any act against you and your brother was an act against him. You was given protection and if that's not special treatment then I don't know what is.' Longdon pulled his helmet back on. 'Begging your pardon, Thomas.' He turned back to his men.\n\n'Will,' Blackstone said, halting Longdon. 'Well said. Have one of the men fetch my saddlebags.' Longdon nodded and walked away.\n\nBlackstone remembered the trepidation he had felt when first taken to war and the uncertainty at being placed with the veteran archers. Will Longdon was right. Blackstone and his brother had been given a chance to prove themselves under Killbere's protection. And there was no harm in one of those archers who had shared his journey through the war years reminding him.\n\n'Sir Thomas!' a voice called from across the square. Blackstone turned to see Sir John Chandos leading his bloodied men. Behind him twenty or so Frenchmen, some wounded, were being herded forward. One of them had the bearing of a nobleman. Chandos grabbed the proffered flask from Blackstone and guzzled water. He slurped, spat water into his hand and sluiced the sweat and blood from his face. His men settled in the town square and availed themselves of the water troughs. 'God was merciful, Thomas. We killed more of them than they us. We will have a mass said for our fallen and get about burying our dead.'\n\n'There must be close to a hundred townspeople slain, Sir John.'\n\n'Aye, I know.' He took another drink and looked back to where the bodies still lay three deep across the cobbles. 'We'll drag them into one of the houses and burn them.' He cleared his throat and spat phlegm. 'We were hard pressed. The bastards had courage. And him,' he said, nodding towards the knight who stood, unbowed by the possibility of imminent death or the wound that trickled blood on his bare head. 'De Joigny fought well but refuses to tell us where the gold is. There was nothing in the keep.'\n\nBlackstone was no stranger to fighting in the narrow streets of city and town and knew that those citizens who had been slain would be fewer than those who remained hidden. 'You still want to hold this town for the King?'\n\n'I do. I'll leave two-thirds of my men here; that's a strong enough garrison. I brought only a small contingent with me. I'll not be short-handed for the war. We found food and wine stored in the cellars. It will be enough until spring.'\n\n'Then bury their dead,' Blackstone said. 'Give them a Christian funeral. Ease their resentment at us killing them and at them losing the town. Share the food; leave them with a fair-minded captain. There's less chance of them coming out their hovels and alleyways to cut your men's throats at night.'\n\n'Good reasoning, but it was de Joigny and his men who pushed these people at sword point onto our blades. And I have promised to ransom him.'\n\n'You give your word of honour to men of honour, Sir John, not a man who uses the people he is sworn to protect as shields for his men. Spare the Frenchman and you'll lose the town in weeks. Hang his men and behead de Joigny as his rank demands and hold the town for Edward.'\n\n'Christ, Thomas, you've a ruthless heart.' Chandos sighed. 'Aye. I understand what you're saying. But although they've stripped the dead there's little plunder to be had for my men; I can at least ransom him.'\n\n'Your men will be honoured and rewarded by the King. The mint here is no more. The dies are broken. The silver and gold was hidden in the church's crypt. The Constable's men were already here to take the coin back to Paris or to pay routiers to attack us day and night.'\n\nSir John's jaw hung open. He blinked. 'What?'\n\n'I have the gold. Probably thirty thousand moutons and a chest of silver plate that I want as reward for my men. We scaled the walls and found the gold for the King. It's a small enough payment.'\n\n'It's yours!' said Chandos, slapping Blackstone on the shoulder. 'The coin. It's safe?'\n\n'Over there. Guarded by my archers.'\n\n'I'll be damned. Any other surprises you have for me?'\n\n'There are probably a handful of the Constable's men beyond the south wall in the woods. Nothing more than a rearguard with their horses.' He glanced up at the clearing sky. 'It'll be light soon. Can your men flush them out and kill them?'\n\nChandos nodded. 'We didn't see them when we kept watch on the town so, yes, we'll sweep the shit from our own stable.' He glanced back at Sir Louis de Joigny. 'But\u2026 I gave him my word that he would be ransomed.'\n\n'He has lost everything. The town, the gold, the trust of the Dauphin. He'll pay the ransom and then he will come back and take the town to regain his honour. You need the people here to declare for Edward. Peasants need to be shown that those sworn to protect them will do so. No matter how poor they are and how desperate their lives, they need to see justice done. Kill him.'\n\nChandos hesitated and then shook his head. 'I cannot.'\n\nBlackstone's voice took on an edge. 'You are not seeing this clearly, Sir John. Your honour is not in question but your King has asked you to secure this town. When this Frenchman comes back with five times as many men he will slaughter Englishmen, hard fighting men who were prepared to follow you in battle. You risk their lives over your word to a vicious lord and, worse, they will have died for nothing when the town is retaken. The King must need this town and others like it to protect his flank. We serve the King, Sir John; we should do what is in our power to give him what he needs from us.'\n\nChandos studied the man who stood head and shoulders above him. The eyes bore down on him and were he a lesser man he would have buckled to the demand \u2013 because that's what it was, a demand to execute the town's commander.\n\n'You confuse me, Thomas. Your own honour forbids rape and the murder of women and children, and yet you expect me to break my word no matter what the cost.'\n\n'Hang his men and take the gold,' Blackstone advised and turned away. There was no point pursuing an argument that could not be won. He left Sir John striding across to where the gold and plate was being guarded. Blackstone had secured enough treasure without betraying his King. Let Chandos think he had his due by allowing Blackstone to keep the plate. The King was expecting twenty thousand moutons; he was going to receive more. The sack containing five thousand would reward Blackstone's men and be enough money to keep them for a year if needed.\n\n'How is he?' he asked the priest. A fire had been lit in the hearth, Killbere had been undressed down to his undershirt and the priest looked more concerned than before.\n\n'My skills are limited, Sir Thomas,' he said, having learnt Blackstone's name from the men who served him. 'His fever comes and goes. I have given him drops of hemlock in wine to ease the pain and I have cleaned his wound.'\n\n'Wound?' said Blackstone. 'I saw no wound. He took a blow to the head.'\n\n'Not that,' said the priest and gestured for Perinne to help him turn Killbere. Perinne eased Killbere over onto his side and the priest lifted his shirt to expose the hand-sized wound Blackstone had seen at the siege at Rheims days before. The ointment Killbere had smeared on after the fight had been cleaned away but the puckered and raw skin was inflamed and full of pus; the stench of rotting flesh could not be ignored.\n\n'There is poison inside him. A barber surgeon would cut away the rotten flesh but I do not think it will save him. How long has he been sick?'\n\n'Days,' said Blackstone. 'We thought he was weakened by the chills.'\n\nThe priest helped ease Killbere onto his back and covered him with a blanket. 'I suspect the wound has festered on its own or what was put on the wound was\u2026 poisoned.'\n\nFrench monks had sold Killbere the balm. Perhaps they wrought their own vengeance on the English invaders.\n\n'You must save him,' said Blackstone.\n\n'I cannot,' said the priest."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "Despite the priest's insistence that he did not have the skills to save the veteran knight, Blackstone demanded that he try. The priest crossed himself for the twentieth time; perhaps God might bless him with a miracle. He watched as Blackstone bent his height below the door frame and went out to attend to his duties. Any moment alone with the dying man was miracle enough.\n\nBlackstone ordered his men to find bloated carcasses of any beast slain before their attack. They were to search kitchens and butchers for hung game or meat or for any dead dog in the street, and for the maggots to be scraped from the rotting flesh.\n\n'Henry,' Blackstone called. 'Not you. Come here.'\n\n'My lord?'\n\nJohn Jacob and Will Longdon watched the boy being summoned to accompany his father out onto the battlements.\n\n'The lad does not deserve chastisement,' said John Jacob. 'He might have left his post but he got fodder for the horses. You'll keep my thoughts to yourself, Will.'\n\n'They're no longer thoughts when you open your mouth, John. Who knows what Thomas will do to the lad? He's changed.'\n\n'Henry?'\n\n'Aye, him as well. He's not a child any longer. Not after what he went through with his mother. But I was thinking of Thomas,' he said.\n\n'Christ, can we wonder at it? What he witnessed when his wife and child were slain? He's always been a hard man when need be, but I wager he's harder still now. We've both seen him fight but there's a fury to him now greater than I've witnessed before.' John Jacob paused and chewed his lip, keeping his eyes on father and son as they walked along the walls.\n\nLongdon looked at Blackstone's squire. Clearly there was more to be said once the words were considered.\n\n'Almost', said Jacob reluctantly, 'as if he had a death wish.'\n\nLongdon unsheathed his archer's knife ready to scoop the maggots from a dead cow that lay belly up. He turned his face from the smell, hawked and spat. 'I've seen him spit in the devil's face many a time. But I think you're right. We'd best make sure we're shriven. It will be the end for us all one day because where Thomas goes we follow.' His face crumpled in disgust. 'John, your cap is bigger than mine. Pass it to me \u2013 there are handfuls of these wrigglers.'\n\nBlackstone and Henry looked down at the town square as the men went about their duties. Then Blackstone turned to gaze out across the battlements. The wind bit his face. 'Do you think the rain will spare us for a few more days?' he said.\n\nHenry looked at the horizon across the forest and then around the surrounding countryside. 'I don't think so, my lord. In a day or two perhaps it might break. You can see the weather veers from the east. You can smell it, can't you?'\n\nBlackstone grinned. 'You remember your childhood lessons well,' he said.\n\n'Thank you, my lord.'\n\n'When we are together you must call me Father.'\n\nThe boy beamed. 'I will, gladly.'\n\n'You were instructed to stay with the horses in the forest and yet you left your post and came into the town when we were fighting.'\n\nThe seriousness of his father's question snatched away the smile. 'I did. The archers in the rearguard were complaining about not being in the fight. I said I would go forward and see if Will or Jack needed them. When I came into the square there had already been much killing and then I saw the hay carts. I knew we needed fodder\u2026 so I\u2026 took them. Were they not mine to take?'\n\n'They were there to be seized. You did well. It was a good decision and a brave one.'\n\n'There was no fighting in the square, Father, and Jack and Robert were there. I was in no danger.'\n\n'I meant it was a brave decision disobeying my orders.'\n\nHenry realized he had not understood quickly enough that there was an element of censure in his father's praise. 'Yes, sir, I disobeyed you because \u2013'\n\n'Don't explain again, Henry. You made your claim for your actions: stand by them. There is no need to defend yourself. We let our actions speak for themselves.'\n\nThey watched as the trees rustled from the veering wind.\n\n'Will Sir Gilbert die?' said Henry.\n\n'He might.'\n\n'He is a great man. He and John Jacob cared for me when you\u2026 when you went away. They all did. All the men.'\n\nBlackstone's disappearance for the better part of a year after the death of Christiana and Agnes at the hands of an assassin had never been broached. 'Henry, I was taken from you by grief. It was something I did not understand and an enemy I did not know how to fight. It will not happen again, I promise you.'\n\nThe boy nodded and smiled bravely. 'I hope not. I miss them too. But I\u2026 I remember when you killed the man who did it. I\u2026 I did not take pleasure in it\u2026 like you and the men. I could not. And I don't know why.'\n\n'Don't question it. Killing comes differently to us all. Live with who you are. We are blessed with the men at our side. And you have known them all for some years now. You're satisfied serving as page to John?'\n\n'I hope I serve him well and that he is satisfied with my duties.'\n\nIt was a good answer from a boy who might see his service as demeaning given his father's status.\n\n'John Jacob thinks highly of you and is well pleased with your work. He tells me your swordsmanship is coming on, but what of your studies?'\n\nHenry fell silent for a moment as he considered his answer. 'May I speak freely?' He looked up at his father. 'I remember telling you when we buried Mother and Agnes that I could not be a fighter like you even though I had killed to save them from the Jacques. I had promised Mother that I would study and when you were gone Sir Gilbert made me attend to my studies. He instructed my tutors to beat me if I did not apply myself. I was not punished very often. I learnt quickly and it came as easily, as when you taught me to read the wind and understand the animals in the forest. But Sir Gilbert said that I was to understand what was not written in books.'\n\n'And what was that?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Loyalty, Father. He said that was the greatest treasure a man could possess. And that is why he brought me to you that day when grief claimed you at that London inn. And that is why I will serve you as the others do. But I have no books with me so I cannot read when my duties allow me. I have tried to fulfil my promise to both you and Mother.'\n\nBlackstone felt the wind sting his eyes. He almost reached for the boy to hold him close, but then the tears could not be blamed on the cold.\n\n'I am proud of you, as was your mother. I am blessed that you are my son.' He felt the stricture in his throat and feared the love for his son and the talk of Christiana would defeat him. He pushed the emotion away and took a small leather-bound book from beneath his jupon. 'I know you have no books with you.' He handed the volume to his son, who held it as if it were a block of gold. 'It was your mother's. It stays safe in my saddlebags and I kept it by my side all the years we were apart. It is all I have of her joy, so cherish it. Now, go and attend to your duties. See that my horse is groomed and fed, and be careful of him. It seems you're the only one he doesn't try to kick and bite.'\n\n'Oh, he does! But I give him apples and make sure he has the sweetest hay. He's getting to know me.' Henry grinned and went down the steps. Blackstone watched him. The boy turned back and lifted the book. 'Thank you, Father. Thank you.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "Blackstone administered the squirming larvae himself into Killbere's suppurating wound. He had given orders that fresh linen be boiled and dried over the fires, no matter if smoke clung to the bandages: it might help heal the wound.\n\n'I have not seen this done,' said the crow priest. 'To take maggots feeding on death is to put death into the wound.'\n\n'I've had it done to my own wounds,' Blackstone told him. 'They eat the rotting flesh better than any barber surgeon can cut. It cleans the wound. We use your potions once they have done their work and you bleed him.'\n\n'Bloodletting is better served when done on a saint's day.'\n\n'Then find a damned saint and draw his blood.'\n\nRobinet scratched his head. 'What day is it today?'\n\nBlackstone looked blankly at him. Then called to the men outside. 'Perinne? Will? What day is it?'\n\nThere was a murmur from the men and Perinne stepped into the doorway. 'We don't know, Sir Thomas. We left Rheims what\u2026 six days ago? Eight? Why would we need to know?'\n\n'The priest needs it.'\n\n'My lord,' said Henry, who appeared at Perinne's side. 'I believe it is the seventeenth day of January. I might be wrong by a day or two but\u2026 I believe that is close.'\n\nBlackstone smiled at his son, thankful that he had taken Will Longdon's advice. 'Well remembered, son.'\n\nWhen Henry turned away Blackstone looked at the priest. 'Well?'\n\n'A day or so here or there should not make much difference\u2026 Saint Andrew the Confessor of Peschiera is remembered\u2026 on the nineteenth. We will invoke his goodness to help your friend.'\n\n'Do everything in your power to save him. Your life has not yet been spared.'\n\nRobinet the Crow, as the men now called him, shook his head. 'I have told you, Sir Thomas, nothing I have can heal him. We can only pray.'\n\n'You think Our Lord will listen to words spilling from your lying mouth?'\n\n'I think it is the only chance your friend has.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "As the night closed in and his men slept he allowed the priest to question why the veteran knight was so important to him. Blackstone's disdain for the thieving cleric was tempered when he shared his own story of serving the French royal captain, Sir Louis de Joigny. There had been a time when the local villagers, as ignorant and superstitious as any peasant, attended Robinet's services in the town's church. But de Joigny had demanded payment to be made: a tribute, no matter how modest, be it a handful of goose eggs, or a clutch of fish from the river. The villeins were poor enough and they soon preferred to be without God's grace than the food in their bellies. And the royal captain's demands were not restricted to the villagers. Even though the townspeople were dependent on the villagers to grow crops and slaughter beasts in winter to help feed them, they too were squeezed by the nobleman's demands. Louis de Joigny saw to it that food was always rationed and that the city cellars were well stocked in case of siege but those were supplies held to feed the soldiers not the people. Being the Champagne region's mint was the town's staple means of income from the French Crown. Payment was made for casting the coin and then distributing it to the French troops in the area. The town's craftsmen, skilled in leather and carpentry, earned money from selling their wares in larger towns but Sir Louis exacted his own tax on everything they sold. When the English invaded, Cormiers was the only place of safety for those within and without the town walls. The priest had challenged Sir Louis on a number of occasions on the people's behalf but the tyrant had ignored him, secure in his position as a favourite of the Dauphin who could do no wrong in the eyes of his court. When the priest complained too often Sir Louis threatened to tear down the ancient church and use the stone for outer defences. Robinet Corneille decided to hoard what he could and when the Constable's men had arrived that night to seize the last of the minted coin he quickly hid the sack of contraband. If the English or routiers came he would pay for the lives of those unable to pay ransom.\n\n'And for yourself,' said Blackstone. He eased another handful of twigs into the fire's embers to build up the warmth in the room whose stone walls were only now beginning to hold the heat against the cold outside.\n\n'Of course. I would speak up for others but if it was them or me I would choose the person I know and love the best.' He grinned. 'I have no wish to die because a routier or an English soldier sees no worth in my life. I will pay to live. What man would not? You spared me once you knew about the gold.'\n\n'I spared you to heal my friend.'\n\n'And you still intend to kill me? What good would that serve?'\n\n'None,' Blackstone admitted. 'I can see that he is beyond help. You can keep your church and pray for those who survived the fight, but if your people rise up against the soldiers who stay here, then I promise the English King will not be as merciful as me. It's up to you to convince them to obey.'\n\nThe priest wrung out a cloth in a bowl of water and laid it across Killbere's forehead. 'The truth is I was going to run, Sir Thomas. Oh, I would have left some of the money for the poor, but I was going to take to the road and make my way to Avignon. It's warmer there and the Pope has his own wealth; it's a city of \u2013'\n\n'Greed,' Blackstone interrupted. 'I've been there.'\n\nRobinet shrugged. 'I think I would like Avignon,' he said. 'And now that you're not going to kill me perhaps my\u2026 let's call it desire\u2026 my desire might serve us both.'\n\n'How does your\u2026 let's call it greed serve?'\n\n'The fact that Sir Louis de Joigny is a prisoner will not hinder his authority among the French once his ransom is paid. He will find power elsewhere. He will cast the same shadow of fear on us all. I may be a contradictory priest but I could take my tale of misery to the Pope and with sufficient embellishment I could have de Joigny excommunicated. I could cause his family shame. It could serve as a fitting revenge on behalf of us all.'\n\n'Then you should start walking. Avignon is a long way.'\n\n'He would hear of it and have me hunted down and flogged, or more likely stripped and mutilated; a victim of brigands is the story that would be told.'\n\nBlackstone waited. There was more to come.\n\n'If Sir Louis de Joigny were to be killed then much could be achieved,' he said. 'I would be safe to do as I wish and the people of Cormiers would be free of a tyrant and the English could stay here until hell freezes over.'\n\n'And who would do the killing?'\n\n'I would expect it to be you.'\n\n'And why would I kill him?'\n\n'Because if you agreed then I believe your friend here might have a chance to live. A slim one, but a chance.'\n\nBlackstone grabbed the priest's cloak and yanked his face close to his own. 'Bastard priests don't bargain with my friend's life.'\n\n'It's all I have,' said Robinet confidently without any hint of begging.\n\nBlackstone thrust him away. 'How do I save him?'\n\n'Two days' ride away is a man who conjures healing magic. He uses herbs and incantations.'\n\n'Sorcery is condemned by the Church and herbalists by the French King's decree,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Ah yes, condemnation and a King's ignorance. Medicine and healing, prayer and incantation. Are the latter so different?'\n\n'You're a corrupt priest.'\n\n'I do my best,' he said, grinning through blackened teeth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "Sir John Chandos did as Blackstone suggested. He allowed the townspeople to dig a communal grave and the priest to pray for the souls of the dead, and then he had the surviving French soldiers hanged from the elm trees beyond the walls. Chandos and his men were ready to return to Rheims. Blackstone would stay to keep a watchful eye on Killbere. The veteran slipped in and out of consciousness but when he was awake he ate well enough of the mutton broth and drank enough wine to kill the pain without needing the careful administration of hemlock. He snarled when the fever clouded his mind and cursed those caring for him, insisting he was not injured sufficiently to need fussing over. The tirades came and went and Blackstone and the men were grateful whenever Killbere fell into peaceful sleep. It was a mystery to them why such an ill man should eat and drink so well. It was because his dying body demanded it, the priest told them. It was a bad sign, not a good one. There were probably only days left before Killbere died.\n\nChandos commiserated with Blackstone. Killbere's death would be a loss. He promised that a mass would be said for such a loyal servant of the King once the news was taken back to Rheims. 'And we shall tell the Prince of what you did,' he said as he prepared to leave. 'And your good advice. A Christian burial offered them solace.'\n\n'Some. But not enough,' said Blackstone.\n\nChandos grimaced. The noise from the streets beyond the square was proof enough that the town would never declare itself for the English King. Soldiers blocked the streets as townsmen and -women hurled abuse at Sir Louis de Joigny who rode between two men-at-arms at the front of the column behind Sir John.\n\n'They would tear him apart like a pack of dogs now that his soldiers are dead,' said Blackstone. 'Give him to them.'\n\nDe Joigny stared down his beaked nose at the scar-faced knight who had placed a hand on his horse's bridle. He wrenched the reins free and addressed Chandos. 'Sir John, I am not to be insulted by a common mercenary.'\n\n'He is more than that, my lord, he serves my King and my Prince,' said Chandos. 'He is held in high regard.'\n\n'Not by me,' said de Joigny. 'I know of his reputation. A paid killer without honour. A man who once tried to slay my King. You heard what he said: he would throw me to those vermin. I am a royal captain. Respect is my right.'\n\nBlackstone smiled. 'Your shit does not smell sweeter than any other man's. I have slain better and braver men than you and were it in my hands you would be hanged, drawn and quartered and your guts fed to the dogs while you were still alive.'\n\nDe Joigny leaned forward in the saddle, his sneering face closer to Blackstone's. 'I am under the protection of a gentleman and a Knight of the Garter. You are a barbarian. A peasant who should have been kept in the fields.' He hawked and spat at Blackstone.\n\nBlackstone did not flinch but his hand snatched de Joigny's belt and hauled him to the ground. The horses spooked and Chandos cursed as his own horse veered away. The Frenchman gasped with shock but his hand went to his belt to draw a dagger. Before it could be eased from the sheath Blackstone slapped him hard with his open hand. The man's knees went from beneath him but Blackstone's strength hauled him free of the nervous horses and then flung him down onto the cobbles for all the town to see. The crowd fell silent, their gasp of disbelief heard at the gates.\n\nChandos was no fool. 'Thomas! No!'\n\nBlackstone ignored him and as Chandos's men's hands went for their swords Will Longdon's men already gripped their bows with arrows nocked. Chandos yelled orders for his men to sheathe swords. What was about to happen could not be stopped.\n\n'I killed French peasants when they rose up because they slaughtered the innocent, and you are no better than those Jacques. It is you who are the scum. You whip men's bodies and murder their souls,' Blackstone said.\n\nHis taunt wounded French pride. De Joigny scrambled to his feet, sword drawn, and attacked. Blackstone sidestepped. The Frenchman slashed left and right but Blackstone parried the blows and forced him further back to where the townspeople gathered. Their moment of silent awe at what was happening was soon replaced by baying for Sir Louis's blood. The Frenchman did not lack courage; his heritage and years of fighting were as much a part of him as the air he breathed. He would not be defeated by a man of low birth no matter how formidable his reputation. Legends were just that. Myths. Embellished stories to create fear. Louis de Joigny was not afraid. He did not have time. Wolf Sword's blade severed his head in a single blow.\n\nThe corpse shuddered. Blackstone bent and picked up the head by the hair. He stepped to the cart that Chandos had loaded with the French soldiers' weapons. He pulled a spear free and jammed its point into the soft torn flesh and then hoisted Louis de Joigny's arrogant head for the townspeople to see. They cheered.\n\nChandos wheeled his horse, anger clouding his face. 'Damn you, Thomas. The King will hear of this.'\n\n'Tell him the town and the gold moutons are his. Tell him I am riding north to seek help for my wounded friend. Tell him what you like, Sir John. This needed to be done.'\n\nBlackstone rammed the spear shaft into the dirt. De Joigny's sightless eyes gazed on the town and the people who raised their fists and their voices. The town had been bought for the English crown; Blackstone had secured, too, a slim chance of survival for Sir Gilbert Killbere."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE WITCH OF BALON",
                "text": "Mist and rain crept along the Seine, smothering Paris, but the grey blanket of weather failed to deaden the noise of the largest and most populated city in northern Europe. Street traders shouted and cajoled; carts rumbled; cattle were driven through the streets, their bells clanging, to be slaughtered in the butchers' and tanners' quarter near the Ch\u00e2telet by the river. The beasts' pitiful bleating at the scent of blood was lost in the clamour of a city alive with commerce; the stench of the killing mingled with that of human waste that ran down open sewers. Depending where you were in the city, relief from this noxious odour could be found in the sweet aroma of baked wheat sprinkled with sugar and angelica and freshly baked, stacked tiers of loaves. A miasma of laundry women's steaming cauldrons failed to rise above the damp air.\n\nCounsellor to the Prince Regent Simon Bucy looked out from the \u00cele de la Cit\u00e9 across the river to the bustling streets. Who would be foolish enough to lay siege to and attack Paris? Only the English and their ravening King, who had slain the greatest army in Christendom years before and captured King Jean le Bon at Poitiers. Part of him wished they would try. Let them come, he thought, let them storm the gates and fall into the maze of narrow traffic-clogged streets and alleyways below the tall wooden buildings. It was his city, a place that had given him wealth and status, a walled fortress that protected thousands. His indignation at the thought of the English threatened to overtake his rational mind. There was news from Rheims and business to attend with the Dauphin. At times he wished he did not carry the burden of office, but he always dismissed that thought quickly. Not for him the slabs of cooked meat on open fires in the streets, the sizzling fat scraped onto slices of rye bread to be gorged without manners, the squatting in doorways playing dice as mendicant monks rattled their begging bowls and chanted prayers. Better to be cocooned by the finery of wealth and privilege.\n\nThe city's noise abated only after curfew, but during daylight hours Bucy had always welcomed its cacophony. Paris was the heart of the nation; it pumped life into France. At times its bedlam and smell seemed tame compared to the stench of cheap perfume and bustling insincerity of courtiers who jammed the inner chambers seeking favour with the court. He had lived long enough to recognize the smell of fear and treachery that being a close adviser to King Jean le Bon had brought. And he knew the threat that was England would never leave France; it would forever recur, as did the plague. The English \u2013 he sighed with distaste at their very name \u2013 had captured his King four years before and his absence was an additional problem for the adviser. How to fulfil the absent monarch's wishes and talk sense into his son, the Dauphin Charles?\n\nAs he climbed the steps towards the royal chambers he felt old and tired. Every damned joint seemed to ache from the perpetual damp that the Seine inflicted on him. Yet endurance was an essential attribute for those who desired to wield power, and Bucy knew in his heart that he of all people would endure. He had been the First President of the Parlement; he had witnessed and survived the plague; he had withstood the Paris uprising, which almost cost him his life when he had been deposed by the peasants' revolt a year and a half before. He grunted at the memory. That time had almost finished him. Those ignorant scum had not only deprived him of a great swathe of his wealth but also his role in government when the leader of the Paris merchants had briefly taken control, depriving him and the other advisers of their influence over the young Dauphin. The marauding Jacquerie had looted and burned his three suburban mansions at Vaugirard, Issy and Viroflay, but by the grace of God his magnificent urban estate close to the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pr\u00e9s had been spared. Bucy sighed with satisfaction. The scum had been slain and Etienne Marcel, the leader of the merchants, executed. Now Bucy was back in power at the side of the Dauphin. Sooner or later the French would have to sue for peace and Bucy would do all he could to achieve the settlement.\n\nHe was ushered into the Dauphin's presence. Hardly the kingly type, Bucy thought as he bowed to the sickly, pale boy. The Dauphin had no reputation as a warrior; in fact years before he had been ushered from the field at Poitiers, his father's last great battle, by the mercenary creature the Savage Priest. Despite that humiliation, he now ruled as regent, to the anger and despair of many Frenchmen. He lacked any prestige in the eyes of either the citizens of Paris or the fawning noblemen. But, Bucy admitted to himself, the boy did have backbone. Indeed, his father might have been proud of that fact, had the Dauphin not rejected the peace treaty his father had signed with Edward. Stubbornness was one thing \u2013 was it born from a feeling of inferiority? \u2013 but taunting the English lion was sheer stupidity. And now the English had stormed ashore with the greatest army they had ever mustered.\n\nThe Dauphin raised a lace handkerchief to his nose. He seemed to have a perpetually runny nose and watery eyes, thought Bucy, watching the contradictory twenty-two-year-old who appeared more determined to keep as much of France out of the English lion's claws than his father the King. The treaty had ceded half the country, which was why Charles refused to honour it and the French monarch's ransom had yet to be raised and paid.\n\n'It still rains,' said the Dauphin.\n\n'Incessantly,' replied Bucy.\n\n'Four months! Nearly five. It has not stopped! We tire of it. It has caused havoc with the crops, the wine harvest has failed, everything is becoming expensive. There will soon be shortages, refugees flood into the city, our coin is devalued and the price of grain has more than doubled.'\n\nBucy swallowed his despair. It was going to be one of those meetings fraught with misery. How he dreaded them. 'It might be wet,' he said, his voice rising with attempted enthusiasm and assurance, 'but we are safe behind the walls. The English are in the open. Their supplies dwindle; their army is bogged down in mud.'\n\n'But for how much longer can we endure? We do not desire another revolt from the people,' sniffed the Dauphin.\n\n'Should such a time come they would rather starve than bend their knee to an English king,' said Bucy.\n\n'Don't pander. You and the King were close for many years, you are still his trusted friend, but when you come into our presence it must be with the truth not fantasy.'\n\n'It is the truth, your grace. Can you imagine that mob out there being told what to do by the English?' The very thought made Bucy laugh. 'The butchers and tanners would have blood running down the streets and it wouldn't be from cattle.'\n\nThe thought of English blood being spilled in his city lightened the Dauphin's mood. He smiled. 'Yes. So they would. They are rough and uncouth, but they are Parisians and they would draw blood before yielding. They are a troublesome people but they are our troublesome people.' He gazed out across the city he was sworn to hold. His eyes sought out the landmarks that proclaimed the city's greatness. The twin towers of that magnificent homage to God, Notre-Dame, which would soon break through the shroud that had covered them these past several days. The university of Paris on the left bank that was, despite its often violent students, acknowledged as the intellectual seat of theological learning. The Grand'Rue, the paved thoroughfare that was the great artery running through the heart of the city, a city whose mighty gates and miles of extra walls built by his father kept enemies at bay. All of these must be denied the English. Perhaps the English King's avarice for the French crown would rouse God's displeasure \u2013 this interminable mist and rain might be cloaking a mighty storm waiting to hurl him back across la Manche, the sea that had borne him to these shores.\n\nHe turned back to Bucy, who was waiting patiently. 'Now, Simon, what news?'\n\nBucy straightened his shoulders and raised his head. It was good to look as confident as possible given the nation's dire situation. 'Rheims has not yielded. The English cannot break them. Gaucher de Ch\u00e2tillon stands firm as a symbol of the honour of France.'\n\n'Edward has not broken through?' said the Dauphin, hope rising in his voice.\n\n'And de Ch\u00e2tillon sends out raiding sorties. He is a hard taskmaster, sire, he even has the Archbishop in mail and on the walls.'\n\n'The good Archbishop will make sure we never hear the end of it. How do we know this?' The Dauphin gestured for the ageing man to sit on one of the plumped silk cushions that adorned an ornate chair near to him. Bucy nodded gratefully.\n\n'He sent a messenger through the English ranks. The man is English himself, married to a local woman. He talked his way through the lines. De Ch\u00e2tillon desires that you be told that Rheims will never fall. Rheims is well stocked with food. They could withhold another year, and Edward does not have the resources to lay siege for that long.'\n\nThe Dauphin smiled. The English could still be defeated without him ever going into the field to do battle. Not that that could ever be a possibility. Other than the Constable with his cavalry, who were riding from town to town trying to bolster defences and raise what money they could, the Dauphin had no army. Had no money to raise one. A eunuch prince regent. Well, the lack of finances may have castrated him but he could outwait the enemy; if he could hold on long enough the day would come when Edward would relinquish his claims to the French crown.\n\n'Providing we pay the ransom,' he said aloud, letting his thoughts take voice.\n\n'Your grace?' said Bucy.\n\n'We have still not raised the ransom for our father and the English will not go home until they have the crown or the ransom. Or both.'\n\n'The Pope has sent his legates to parlay for peace. Your father is prepared \u2013'\n\n'To sell France!' the Dauphin interrupted. 'To give Edward vast swathes of territory. Which we will not do!'\n\n'No, highness,' said Bucy with sufficient humility in his voice. 'But, highness, the English King had agreed the treaty with King John. That treaty has not been\u2026 fulfilled. Edward's honour demanded he invade.'\n\n'His greed demanded it.'\n\n'As you say. Greed is certainly a compelling reason, sire, as is having the biggest army the English have ever mustered.'\n\nThe Dauphin glared at his most senior adviser. With ten thousand Englishmen on the rampage and the bands of routiers who raped and pillaged unhindered, France might buckle.\n\n'France will not die,' said the Dauphin quietly. 'We saved Paris from the mob and we will stand firm against Edward. God will grant us the strength and He will sustain our people.' He blew his nose into the handkerchief and for a moment Bucy thought there were tears in his eyes from the emotions that drove the boy. He quickly dismissed the thought. The Dauphin fought for France but also had a shrewd eye on the future. When his father eventually died Charles would inherit the crown and the kingdom, and the more Edward gained now the more the Dauphin would become a pauper in his own land.\n\n'Our plans are being implemented?' said the Dauphin.\n\nBucy managed to conceal his discomfort with a brief smile. 'As we speak, highness.'\n\nThe Dauphin nodded. He might be trapped behind the city walls but there were men enough outside to cause some havoc to the English. Especially the most daring. 'When they land they must strike quickly. They understand that?'\n\nBucy's mind raced. The Dauphin had sent two thousand men to England to seize his father from the English and restore him to the throne. It was a bold, daring plan under the command of the nobleman Jean de Neuville. It had not been the Dauphin's idea but he had claimed it as his own. De Neuville had seized upon the opportunity and the Dauphin had seen the glory of it. The attack would strike fear into the English. It might even make Edward deplete his army and send them home. It was, Bucy knew, madness.\n\nThe fleet had been hemmed in by onshore winds against the Normandy coast and had been delayed by a week. 'They will cause great havoc. And their courage will see them victorious, of that we must remain confident,' said Bucy. It served no purpose to tell the Dauphin otherwise. And as the Prince Regent wallowed in the prospect of a victory that would never happen Bucy was trying to find a way to bring about a peace treaty. If, though, the raid was successful, then he would claim his part in its planning.\n\n'And the other matter?' said the Dauphin.\n\nSimon Bucy had sent raiding parties out into the countryside to kill the English wherever they could be found. The English scavenged and patrolled far and wide in small groups and a hundred Frenchmen eager to kill their enemy could prove a valuable way of striking fear into Edward's men. The cold and wet reduced soldiers' alertness. They could be ambushed where they slept. And if nothing else the French raiders were a welcome boost to the Dauphin's morale.\n\n'Who knows, highness, they might even penetrate the English lines and reach Edward himself.' The words had tumbled too quickly off his tongue. His mind had formed a picture of French troops wearing English uniforms taken from the dead and getting close enough to the English King to kill him. But the Dauphin's sudden glare showed his displeasure.\n\n'We do not slay kings!' said the Dauphin.\n\n'Of course,' Bucy said, quickly backtracking. 'I meant only that they could seize him and then it is we who would control events.' A knife to the rapacious English King's throat would have been preferable. 'But, highness, that is not what they have been ordered to do.'\n\nThat seemed to mollify the impatient Prince. 'Very well,' said the Dauphin. 'Now, what news from Milan?'\n\n'Your delegation has not yet returned with terms from the Visconti,' said Bucy.\n\nThe Dauphin nodded. This was a strategy he had quietly put into operation, first spoken of by his father more than a year earlier. It was a plan to sell the Dauphin's eleven-year-old sister to the ruler of Milan to be betrothed to Galeazzo Visconti's eight-year-old son. If the raid into England did not secure King John's release there was still the matter of the outrageous ransom demanded by Edward.\n\n'The Visconti are awash with money. More than enough for a king's ransom,' said the Dauphin.\n\nBucy could not disguise his distaste. 'They're a brash, violent family. Over the years they have murdered their way to power. They're debauched.'\n\nThe Dauphin shrugged. Everyone knew the one brother, Bernab\u00f2, was as mad as a caged beast tormented with hot irons, but Galeazzo was the more intelligent and had visions of grandeur. 'Galeazzo spends money on art and music; he creates places of learning,' said the Dauphin.\n\n'That does not excuse them.'\n\n'Excuses are not needed, Simon, money is. At least this betrothal keeps our sister on the right side of that family and out of the mad bastard's reach. It's a straightforward business arrangement. The King of France needs to pay the English King's extortionate ransom; the ruler of Milan craves respectability among Europe's houses of nobility.' The Dauphin sniffed and hawked into his handkerchief and then threw the fouled lace aside to be quickly picked up by a servant. 'He'll pay,' said the Dauphin. 'He's no fool. But we must hold out until a new treaty is discussed and we can send Edward home with his coffers groaning under the weight of Italian gold.' He smiled grimly. 'We'll buy off Edward.'\n\nSimon Bucy grimaced. They were bartering the glory that was France for a child's life as if they were common street traders.\n\n'You disapprove?' snapped the Dauphin. 'Your counsel is valued, not your disgust!'\n\nBucy quickly recovered his composure. The King had always been intemperate but the trust and friendship between them had allowed his senior counsellor some flexibility to express opposing opinions. The Dauphin's nature was more of a spoiled child who did not wish to be admonished. Too much criticism and Bucy might find himself cast out from the inner sanctum. He bowed his head. He had saved the bad news until last.\n\n'I apologize, sire. My expression was not one of disapproval,' he lied, 'but was, as you so rightly observed, one of disgust. Disgust and dismay at another matter that has been reported to me. Something that I can scarcely believe.'\n\nBucy paused and drew breath. The old trick. Show deep concern and imply careful thought by waiting a few heartbeats; thus convincing the listener that his wisdom and considered opinion as a long-serving lawyer were invaluable \u2013 and, more than that, giving the impression that imparting such bad news caused him personal grievous pain.\n\nThe Dauphin's eyebrows raised. Bucy's timing was perfect. Before the young man's impatience overflowed the veteran politician's words struck him as hard as a steel gauntlet.\n\n'Thomas Blackstone is at Rheims.'\n\nThe Dauphin's jaw dropped as he sagged into his chair.\n\n'The Englishman who came through the lines saw his blazon and then the man himself,' said Bucy.\n\n'No. He's dead,' said the Dauphin. 'He drowned more than a year ago.'\n\n'Then perhaps it is his ghost.'\n\nThe Dauphin unconsciously crossed himself. Perhaps the scarred knight had returned from the dead.\n\n'Before Poitiers I tried to kill him with your father's blessing. We unleashed the Savage Priest on him, but de Marcy paid with his life and his skeleton serves as a warning on an alpine pass.'\n\n'Blackstone,' said the Dauphin in barely a whisper.\n\n'The enemy of France sworn to kill your father.' Bucy let the reminder settle a moment. 'Now is not the time to discuss it, my lord, but I believe I have information that may give us the means to finally rid ourselves of him.' He smiled. Information was a tool that could be used like an iron rod to stoke a fire. Ram it hard and watch the sparks fly. He gazed out of the window. 'Ah, look, highness, the clouds part. A sunbeam breaks through.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 21",
                "text": "They rode slowly with Killbere tied onto a canvas litter between two horses. For three days and nights they made their way north towards the town where the crow priest had told them was a man with healing powers. The priest was allowed to ride without his ankles tied to the stirrups but a rope was around his waist at the other end of which was Meulon. There would be no escape for Robinet Corneille who had neither the physical strength to pull the huge Norman from his horse nor the courage to even try.\n\nWill Longdon was, as he told everyone, well versed in folk medicine. 'If he coughs blood then we must find a wet-nurse,' he informed those who would listen.\n\n'He's no babe in arms, you short-arsed fool,' said Gaillard.\n\n'You're a Norman oaf who has no knowledge of the English peasant,' Longdon said. 'We have cures for such ills. A man coughs blood: he needs the milk tit. Suckle the milk tit and the lungs clear.'\n\nJohn Jacob gave a despairing glance to Blackstone and then turned in the saddle. 'Will, you'd take the cure yourself then?'\n\n'Only for the healing it offered,' he said and grinned.\n\n'Then you would know', Jacob continued, 'that the cure is not only the milk from the breast but also the teat of a goat. If there was no wet-nurse to aid your cure then you would suckle a goat, would you?'\n\n'He belongs in a goat pen,' said Meulon. 'It was where he was born!'\n\nLongdon had no time to reply. The men's laughter drowned out any chance of complaint."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "On the afternoon of the fourth day the men awoke to a clear sky and the sight of thin trails of smoke on the horizon several miles away.\n\n'Food and warmth,' said Perinne. 'That smoke's from a town's hearths.'\n\n'Aye and the chance for some ale and a hot bath,' said Will Longdon.\n\nMeulon spat. The Norman seemed impervious to the weather but not the men's stench. 'The bath before the ale, Will. You stink like a wet dog that's rolled in shit.'\n\n'Were it warm enough the flies would be around you like a heaped dollop of cow dung,' he answered.\n\n'Me, stink? No, you bow-legged fool, I smell as sweet as a whore's fart. Your nose is too close to your arse.'\n\nThe banter lightened the men's mood.\n\nJohn Jacob rode at Blackstone's side. 'Is that Balon?'\n\n'So the crow priest says,' Blackstone answered. He was worried. The ride to the town, which was still out of sight, would be across a vast undulating plain. The pockets of forests that lay behind them had so far afforded them cover and shelter, once Perinne and the scouts had established they were free of the enemy. The woodlands ahead were far to their left and right. To use the forests again meant losing more time. A two-day journey had already taken four because of the need to keep Killbere from being jolted but now the veteran knight's condition had grown worse. They had to risk riding out across the open ground, but if any French troops or marauding mercenaries were close by they could be overwhelmed.\n\nBlackstone turned in the saddle and beckoned Meulon, who spurred his horse and dragged the priest with him.\n\n'You're certain that's Balon?' Blackstone asked.\n\n'I believe it is, lord,' said the priest.\n\n'Believe or know?'\n\n'There are a dozen small towns within twenty miles of Balon,' he said. 'Some are held by English routiers who raid and take what they can but Balon proclaimed for your King weeks ago.'\n\n'So what?' said John Jacob. 'If the skinners are after plunder then Balon might have fallen to them.'\n\n'No,' said Blackstone. 'If they're English routiers they won't attack a town held for Edward. We'll risk riding straight across. I want Sir Gilbert to have a chance.' He nodded to Perinne, who needed no further command. He and Robert Thurgood with a dozen others urged their horses forward. Perinne and Thurgood rode straight ahead; the rest separated and took up position half a mile or more on each flank as outriders to protect the others.\n\nUp until now Blackstone and the men had barely made ten miles a day and it took another three hours before they reached the rising ground that allowed them to gaze down on the walled town. The breeze had freshened and a thick pall of smoke billowed, its dark, thick plume rising until the wind tore it apart.\n\n'Smell that! Pork!' said Will Longdon. 'They've a pig or a boar on a spit roast. Hot food, warm ale and then the bath!'\n\nBlackstone rose up in his stirrups so he could see above the town's walls below. 'Meulon! Gaillard! You and your men with me. Everyone else stay here with Sir Gilbert until you're called. That's no pig on a stick, Will. They're burning someone at the stake.'\n\nHe spurred the bastard horse forward."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "The sentries refused to bow to John Jacob's demand that the gates be opened to his sworn lord who rode for King Edward and the host that now besieged Rheims. After a few minutes a burgher peered over the low wall and shouted down to the men on horseback outside his town's gate.\n\n'What dialect is that?' Blackstone asked those around him.\n\n'Champenois,' said the crow priest. 'He's the mayor.'\n\n'Tell him to speak French before my patience gives way,' Blackstone demanded.\n\nThe crow did as he was told and the burgher repeated the question.\n\n'You mean us harm?' said the town's mayor.\n\n'If I wanted your town I would jump my horse over these broken walls,' said Blackstone. 'Open the damned gate before I do just that!' he demanded.\n\nThe mayor was cowed but his courage was bolstered by his authority. 'There is nothing here for you. We have declared for Edward. His name protects us. There is no place here for acts of violence, rape or looting.'\n\n'Open the fucking gate!' yelled Meulon.\n\nThe mayor's eyes widened at the bear of a man whose bellowing voice threatened to shake the walls.\n\n'Do as they ask,' said the crow priest in the man's own dialect in an effort to reassure him and his sentries. 'I have brought these men here because they are in need of the old hermit's administrations.'\n\nThe mayor looked as though he had been slapped with a wet fish. Hands flew to his face.\n\n'What is going on?' said Blackstone to the crow priest. 'Speak to him again. Make sure he understands what it is we want.'\n\n'I have already done that. And that is when he\u2026 did what he did.'\n\nThe mayor opened the palms of his hands. 'You will not punish us?' he asked in French.\n\n'Not if you open the gate,' Blackstone demanded again.\n\nThe mayor's head bobbed as he looked down to those on the ground behind the gates, which began to open.\n\nBlackstone urged his horse forward, flanked by the others, each man scanning the walls for any sign of ambush. Townspeople gathered in the muddy square backed away from the advancing horsemen and as they did they exposed the funeral pyre. The charred body was bent double in the chains that held it around the waist; fat dripped sizzling into the heat of the embers from the raw, red flesh still clinging to the bones. It was impossible to tell whether the victim was man or woman.\n\n'Leave the gates open!' Blackstone commanded the sentries, his nose wrinkling as a waft of the burning flesh reached his nostrils. The mayor scuttled down the steps from the walls. 'Signal the others to come in,' Blackstone ordered Gaillard. The mayor stood close to Blackstone's horse, hands open in supplication. The bastard horse took advantage of the loose rein and snapped at him. The man leapt away, his heel catching his cloak, and fell on his back. He quickly got to his feet again.\n\n'Who is that?' said Blackstone, pointing to the remains on the stake.\n\n'Sorcery was performed here. Ill fortune was brought down on us because the devil was enticed here. Witnesses saw the demon being fed at night; there are those who watched as incantations were delivered to the dark lord.'\n\nThere was palpable unease among the men. The line between heaven and hell was a narrow one.\n\nJohn Jacob crossed himself and glanced nervously at Blackstone. 'We can kill flesh and blood, Sir Thomas,' he said quietly so no one else could hear, 'but demons? We should leave this place. Sir Gilbert lies unconscious; his soul is vulnerable. They could possess him.'\n\nDemons were the offspring of men and fallen angels, creatures of a middle nature who inhabited the place between earth and sky. If they had been conjured in this place through necromancy then they were all in danger.\n\n'Keep those thoughts to yourself,' Blackstone said, handing him his reins. 'Watch the others get inside safely then close the gates and put men on the walls.'\n\n'Do we disarm their militia?' said John Jacob.\n\n'Yes. It would only take a single idiot to strike at one of us and we'd have another massacre on our hands. Quietly but firmly, John,' said Blackstone as he dismounted. The mayor took another few steps back. Blackstone grabbed him. 'Answer my question,' he demanded, although in his heart he already knew the answer. 'Who was burnt?'\n\n'It is the man you seek. The hermit. The soothsayer,' said the mayor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his fear. 'The sorcerer!' he added finally in an attempt to justify the man's death.\n\nBlackstone pushed him away and gazed at the smouldering, blackened mass of the hermit's carcass and his bubbling innards.\n\n'Open your town to us. Make no attempt to hinder my men. We have a wounded knight with us. We need food, beds and shelter, and fodder for our horses. And I need your house for my dying friend.'\n\n'My\u2026' The mayor quickly decided not to argue and clasped his hands together, his head bowing obediently.\n\nBlackstone looked at the skeleton with its peeling flesh. 'Do you still have his potions and herbs? The priest with us might be able to use them.'\n\nThe mayor's eyes suddenly gleamed with hope. 'Your priest is proficient?'\n\n'No, he's as useful as a tit on a monk's arse,' said Will Longdon, who had dismounted and moved closer to examine the funeral pyre.\n\n'He is not proficient in the healing arts but he's all we have,' confirmed Blackstone.\n\nThe mayor looked undecided and then, tapping grubby fingernails against his teeth, made up his mind. 'There is someone who might help, my lord. But it is a great risk. She was going to be burned tomorrow.'\n\n'Who?\n\nThe mayor glanced at the dead man. 'The sorcerer's daughter.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 24",
                "text": "Blackstone followed the cowed mayor through the town's streets. Despite the closeness of the hulking Englishman the mayor squared his shoulders and raised his chin, displaying an air of authority that shooed away the crowds, who needed little encouragement to go back to their homes and trades. Men and women quickly dispersed, dragging their dirty-faced children with them, crossing themselves at the sight of the tall, scar-face knight.\n\nMud squelched beneath their feet and rain dripped from the soaked roofs. Thomas followed Balon's mayor until they turned a corner and faced a large stone-built structure. It was obviously a more important building than the timber and clay-plastered houses everywhere else. It had once been fortified, but like the town its walls had fallen into disrepair and as Blackstone was led through the heavy oak door he saw that the roof had burned down.\n\n'Our church,' said the mayor. 'A lightning strike, weeks ago. It was conjured by the sorcerer.' The mayor beckoned him to follow as he turned a key, which was the length of a man's hand and as thick as a thumb, into the lock of a side door. It opened onto a stair leading down. Cresset lamps flickered and burned dully, just enough to show the stone steps curving away into darkness. Blackstone turned sideways to accommodate his feet on the narrow treads. As they reached the bottom the confines of the stairwell opened out to a broad square room. It looked to be at least thirty paces wide and long. A brazier smouldered; the acrid smell of the coals tainted his tongue.\n\nA latticed pattern of shadows stretched across the floor from the light behind an iron cage. It stretched ten paces by six and had a bucket in one corner and a half-naked woman manacled to the wall. The mayor held back, his wavering hand pointing to the caged girl.\n\n'I warn you not to go too close to her. They say she has the gift of second sight. She will look into your future and see your very soul.'\n\nBlackstone brushed past him and went to the cage. The woman's dress was torn to her waist and her breasts hung freely. He reckoned she was about twenty, or perhaps a couple of years older. She was strong, her hips wide and her breasts full. Her hair had been hacked short; its matted strands had pieces of straw in it from where she had slept on the cold stone floor and its miserly covering. A horse would have had more straw in its stall than this girl had in her cage. The chain that held her was long enough for her to move about the cell and enable her to lie down. The bucket in the corner was her latrine. Her dark eyes followed him like a frightened beast as he paced the length of her cage, trying to see her more clearly.\n\n'Lord, she spits, and if the chains give way from their fastenings her nails can still claw a man's face,' said the mayor.\n\nBlackstone turned and faced the timorous man. 'My face has already been clawed by hardened steel. I don't fear a chained and beaten girl. Those marks on her tits and belly. You tortured her?'\n\n'We used hot irons on her to make her talk.'\n\n'Did she confess?'\n\n'Of course.'\n\n'Of course,' said Blackstone. 'Who would not? You did this to her?'\n\n'Me? No, no. Our priest ordered men to bind her and apply the irons.'\n\n'Where is this priest?'\n\n'Dead, lord. Died in a convulsion. She cursed him and he died. Witches can summon fire from the sky and spirits from the night to seize a man's soul.'\n\nBlackstone looked at the frightened girl. Her skin was covered in gooseflesh from the cold in the cellar; her shivering made her breasts quiver.\n\n'You think her a witch?'\n\n'As I said, lord, she confessed.'\n\n'Did you find any sign on her? A third teat for her to suckle the demon?'\n\n'There was none, but that does not mean that her powers are diminished. We all heard the incantations she used when she healed by magic; what we did not realize was that they were words that summoned forces from beyond this world.'\n\n'And why cut her hair?'\n\n'It was raven black, lord. Long and sensuous. It enticed men.'\n\nBlackstone looked at the bedraggled girl. 'You've fed her?' he said.\n\n'Why would we do such a thing? She's to be burnt.'\n\n'Not yet she's not.'\n\nThe mayor gasped, his tongue licking dry lips, fingers laid nervously to his face. 'My lord, we must rid ourselves of this witch. We have paid a heavy price having her and her father here. Our pardoner has claimed that penance must be done and \u2013'\n\n'There's a pardoner here?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Yes. Once our priest was dead he heard of it and came to help us. We must unburden our sins and cast out devils. Don't you see we must cleanse ourselves?'\n\nBlackstone looked at the girl, who now crouched in the corner, arms across herself in an attempt to keep warm. Pardoners were the scourge of common men: they took money and goods in exchange for absolution of sin in the name of the Church. It was not difficult for such men to instil fear of witchcraft. Fear increased their payment.\n\n'The pardoner is still in town?'\n\n'Yes, lord.'\n\n'What's your name?'\n\n'I am Malatrait.'\n\n'All right, Mayor Malatrait, go and fetch the big man who has a rope around my priest and bring him here. Do it yourself. And give me your cloak.'\n\n'It's my best cloak,' complained the mayor.\n\n'Then go and get your second-best cloak to wear.'\n\n'Lord, this is too small for you,' he argued plaintively.\n\nBlackstone's look needed no words. Malatrait loosened his cloak and gave it to him and then quickly moved to the stairs, pleased to be away from the witch and the man who seemed not to fear her.\n\nBlackstone went to the bars and reached his arm through, tossing the cloak to the girl. She looked surprised but grabbed it and wrapped herself in its warmth. Blackstone remained silent. The girl's eyes widened. Perhaps she was possessed, he thought, and brought Arianrhod to his lips. Suddenly the girl chuckled.\n\n'You are frightened of me?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'She's a goddess?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'You are a pagan?'\n\n'I am careful. I'll seek protection where I can find it.'\n\nThe girl was emboldened by his fearlessness and moved closer to the bars. Blackstone stayed where he was and allowed her to study him. The chains restricted her but she reached out a hand as if she could touch the Celtic goddess on the silver wheel at Blackstone's neck.\n\n'If you want me you'd better take me now because they are going to burn me tomorrow.'\n\n'The men who tortured you, did they rape you?'\n\nShe smiled and then frowned. 'Are you stupid? Of course they did.'\n\n'Even though they thought you a witch?'\n\n'Even though. Perhaps they thought I would empower their cocks.'\n\nHe smiled. 'Did you?'\n\n'Even a witch cannot perform miracles. Acorns are not oaks.' She retreated back to the corner and squatted down against the wall. 'If you want me then you will have to step inside my cage.'\n\nThe way she said it made Blackstone's skin crawl. The enticement tested his courage, for it was a threat too.\n\n'I'm not here to rape you,' said Blackstone and was grateful to hear the scrape of boots on the stone steps. He heard the priest mutter and Meulon swear beneath his breath. 'Bring him closer,' said Blackstone.\n\nMeulon pushed the nervous crow priest forward as the mayor stayed behind the men, putting as much distance between himself and the caged girl as possible. With a priest in the room there was hope that she could not inflict her spells on them.\n\nBlackstone glanced at Meulon. The throat-cutter's eyes were nervously watching the girl.\n\n'Priest,' said Blackstone. 'This girl is accused of necromancy. She's been tortured and raped. Doesn't a witch bear a mark that shows she's a witch?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'They found none on her.'\n\n'Then she must have used magic to perform her rituals.'\n\n'Fairground fools use magic. Priests use magic when they use a relic to cure the sick. Incantations are what physicians use when they implore God to aid their healing.' Blackstone beckoned the girl to the bars. 'Come here, girl.'\n\nThe priest backed away but Blackstone held him. 'What else makes this girl a witch?'\n\n'Heretical magic\u2026 I\u2026 I cannot say\u2026 without questioning her.'\n\n'Then ask. She has nowhere to go except into the square and the stake.'\n\nThe priest stammered but then found his authority. 'Child, have you conjured demons?'\n\n'They say I have,' the girl answered. 'They made me confess through torture to such things.'\n\n'The demon was witnessed!' blurted the mayor.\n\n'It was a stray cat that escaped from the market-day games. The boys kick them to death for sport, but I stopped them and rescued it. The creature never left my side after that.'\n\n'And you have made charms?' said the priest.\n\n'I have. I soaked a piece of wool in bat's blood and gave it to a man who wished his wife fucked him more. He put it under her pillow.'\n\n'And\u2026 and the charm worked?' stuttered the priest.\n\n'It stained her linen. She beat him with a stave.'\n\nBlackstone grinned, the priest looked uncertainly at him. 'Keep going,' Blackstone insisted.\n\n'Do you heal with magic?'\n\n'With potions and herbs and prayer. But that is not witchcraft. I was taught by my father.'\n\n'Then you perform religious magic?'\n\n'Miracles are not my doing; they are God's. It is He who changes the natural order of life and death.'\n\n'And what of prophecy and divination? Do you have that gift?'\n\n'Sometimes.'\n\nThe Mayor hid behind Meulon but pointed an accusing finger. 'You sacrificed chickens and boiled their guts for the devil to slurp! You infused herbs to attract the devil's snout!'\n\nMeulon pushed the mayor back with his elbow.\n\n'I killed chickens for their broth. And I use herbs for healing. As did my father. An innocent man who healed your sick! And you burned him alive for such kindness!'\n\n'Well?' said Blackstone to the priest.\n\nThe crow priest chewed his lip. 'Mother Church's view is that religious magic is God's gift but all else is perversion. How are we to know what else she has done?'\n\n'We don't.' He turned to the mayor. 'Malatrait. Release her.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "Flanked by Meulon and the priest Blackstone took the girl to her father's house. At the sight of the girl those few still on the streets crossed themselves and slammed closed their doors. The living quarters were up a set of turned stairs over a workshop. As Blackstone pushed open the door a rat scurried across the reed floor. It was obvious that her father had been taken from this room. The single chair and trestle table were overturned; there was a spray of blood staining the wooden boarded wall. Quills, ink and sheets of parchment had been scattered. The small window gave barely any light but there were no signs of candles or oil lamps; they had probably been stolen, thought Blackstone. There was little else in the room worth taking. A half-dozen bound manuscripts had been flung onto the floor and the shelf they had once been on lay broken and hanging from its bracket. The bed's mattress, if there had ever been one, was missing.\n\n'Priest, you look in this room and determine whether anything indicates the girl's father was enticing the devil.'\n\nThe priest nodded obediently and began to gather the fallen papers.\n\nThe girl showed no sign of shock at the room's destruction or the blood splatters evident on wall and scattered parchments. After a moment's hesitation she stepped forward and picked up the broken-legged chair. The cloak came apart, exposing her breasts, and as she turned with the spindle chair in hand and balanced it carefully against the wall she glanced at Blackstone and made no effort to fasten the garment. It was not a brazen attempt to attract him, he reasoned; her nakedness merely bore testimony that she had had everything taken from her. A low, narrow door of solid oak on iron hinges was set into the stone wall to one side. There was a keyhole in the plate below the latch. She bent down, brushed aside the reeds on the floor, eased up a floorboard and took out an iron key. The small oak door opened and she bent to enter the room beyond. Blackstone followed her and saw that her father's attackers had not been inside. There was a workbench of chestnut, its rich dark hue smooth from many years of the man's hands travelling across its surface. Along one wall there were shelves of glass bottles containing tinctures and liquids of various colours and behind the door was a single bedstead. Next to it was a nail in the wall that held a threadbare cloak, a dress and an apron. The girl unhooked the cloak and draped it across the bed, and then spilled water from a jug into a bowl and wrung out a piece of linen that she used to dab on her breasts and stomach. She dried herself carefully with a bolt of cloth and then reached up for one of the coloured glass bottles. She pulled free the stopper and he saw her pour a thick, clear, slow-running liquid onto the cloth, which she then dabbed onto the tortured skin. As she applied the healing ointment she told Blackstone who had come for her father and then taken her to the cellars and raped and tortured her. How one of her persecutor's wives had stolen her clothes, charms and potions, taunting her that she would now be the one who could charge money for their healing properties.\n\nBlackstone had not taken his eyes from her. She turned. 'Who is it that has saved me?'\n\n'I am Thomas Blackstone.'\n\n'A knight or a brigand?'\n\n'Some say both. Who are you?'\n\n'I am Aelis de Travaux. Now that we have been introduced, will you put this on where they burned my back?'\n\nShe held out the cloth, he took it and she turned around. He dabbed her inflamed skin, which quivered as he touched each wound, but she made no sound.\n\n'It's done,' he said.\n\n'Thank you. Now, look in the other room and see if they have left one of my father's undershirts. I need to cover my wounds.'\n\nBlackstone did as she asked and rummaged through the upturned room. He found a shirt beneath the spindle bed. He turned back. She had already pulled the dress from the hook and was pulling it up to her waist.\n\n'They've taken anything of value. There's this, though it's covered in dust from the floor and no doubt fleas,' he said, shaking the material. 'I have a clean shirt in my saddlebags.'\n\n'This is enough,' she said, and eased the shirt across her wounds and then tied up her dress. She pulled a wooden-toothed comb through what was left of her hair and plucked out the detritus that had lodged there from her cell.\n\nShe pointed to a satchel. 'Will you carry that for me? My burns are too raw for its weight.'\n\nBlackstone peered around the door and saw a leather satchel, bigger than his saddlebag. He lifted it and heard the clink of bottles.\n\n'We will start with what we have there. Where is your friend who needs me?'\n\nBlackstone almost replied but the shock of realization stopped him. He had not mentioned the wounded Killbere.\n\nShe smiled at his uncertainty. 'It is not magic, Sir Thomas. It is reason. Why would a man who does not wish to rape me have me released? Why would you and your priest question me about healing? Someone is injured. Now, take me to him.'\n\nHenry Blackstone had swept away the soiled reeds on the mayor's floor. They contained a winter's worth of fleas and lice, dog shit trodden underfoot and spilled food and wine.\n\n'We lay new reeds in spring,' moaned the mayor's wife, hands clutching the crucifix that dangled from her neck.\n\n'Get fresh covering now,' John Jacob had ordered the frightened woman. 'Light fires. Get warmth in here.'\n\n'Lord, there is little dry wood. We eke it out as best we can.'\n\n'You had enough to burn a man to death. Light the fires,' Jacob snarled. The mayor's wife scuttled from the room, bleating for a housemaid's help.\n\nWill Longdon had pulled the rope-corded bed frame over to the window. 'Bring that mattress, Jack,' he called as Halfpenny manhandled a straw mattress taken from one of the other rooms. 'On here. Sir Gilbert will need warmth and air.'\n\nBy the time Blackstone and the rescued woman arrived, Killbere was lying on the mattress covered with blankets near a fire that burned in the hearth. Those men who lingered in the passageway stepped back and made the sign of the cross as Aelis swept past them. The fresh reeds underfoot crackled as she approached the wounded knight. Men crowded in the doorway watching the sorceress as she quickly peeled back the blankets.\n\n'The wound?' she asked.\n\n'On his side,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Turn him,' she commanded.\n\nBlackstone knelt and eased his friend over. She lifted off the dressing put there by the crow priest and the smell of rotting flesh was unmistakable.\n\n'Who put the maggots in the wound?'\n\n'I did,' said Blackstone.\n\n'It is likely your action has so far saved his life.' She turned her face to Blackstone. 'If he lives until dawn tomorrow then he will likely survive. What will you pay me?'\n\n'You bargain for a man's life?'\n\n'Why should I not? I don't know what it is you plan for me. A woman must use whatever bargaining skills she has. Every healer must be paid.'\n\n'If he lives I will grant what you ask for,' said Blackstone.\n\nShe smiled and delved into the satchel and began taking out pouches and small bottles. Then she turned to the men, held out a pouch to no one in particular, and said, 'Boil water, soak these herbs and then bring the water to me.'\n\nThe men gaped, their nervousness plain to see. None would accept her instruction. A moment before Blackstone was about to order Will Longdon to obey, Henry stepped forward and took the pouch.\n\n'Bring it in an earthenware jug, boy,' she instructed. She stood and took a step towards the men in the doorway, who all shuffled back. She smiled at their fear of her and tossed a handful of powder into the flames: a mixture of sulphur, arsenic and antimony, used for its aroma and effectiveness against rat fleas. The sudden burst of sparks made the men even more nervous.\n\n'The air is foul and a wounded man will suffer more from it. As foul almost as your stench,' she said to the men.\n\n'We've fought and ridden for days,' said Will Longdon defensively. 'I'll wager that close up you smell as ripe as a cowpat.'\n\nShe took another step and once again the men stepped back, pressing against those behind them. 'You would like to get closer?' she taunted.\n\n'Sweet Jesus on the Cross, you're Satan's gate if ever there was one,' said Gaillard, pointing an accusing finger.\n\nAelis made a swift feint forward and this time the men nearly fell over themselves as they shuffled backwards. She laughed. 'Stay away from me and let me get on with what I have to do. Go!'\n\n'My lord?' John Jacob said. 'We cannot leave this woman alone with Sir Gilbert.'\n\n'I'll stay,' Blackstone told him. 'See to the men and horses and have the women heat water for us all so we may bathe. Gaillard, search out their provisions. We need food cooked for us. No man walks alone out there, always two at a time. They may have declared for Edward but they have not for us.'\n\nThe men nodded, accepting their orders. The passageway was soon empty.\n\n'You do not trust me to be alone with him?' Aelis asked.\n\n'I trust only those who have stood at my side over the years. You do not frighten me, no matter what incantation you chant or spell you cast.' As he spoke he knew the words to be a lie. Serpent-like fear crawled inside him. Perhaps the townspeople were right. Aelis de Travaux and her father may have been dabbling in the dark arts. It would take little imagination to see her as a witch. 'And if I see any action that I believe will cause my friend further harm I'll cut your throat.'\n\nShe studied him for a moment. 'Then before you put a blade to my neck make yourself useful. Order a chicken broth to be made for him and tell the mayor I need a candle, one that adorned the altar from the church.'\n\n'A church candle has power to heal?' he asked, uncertain of what ritual might follow.\n\n'It has the quality and thickness to burn slowly. It holds no other significance than that,' she answered. 'Then get more firewood. Put a blanket on the floor so I can lay out what I need. You're ignorant of what I do so do not attempt to interfere. I will attend your friend but I do not have the power of life and death. Get us food and drink and be prepared to stay through the hours of darkness because that is when he will either be taken by the angels or cast back into this world.'\n\nBlackstone looked down at her and she met his gaze fearlessly. 'Bring the devil into this room and I'll make you scream loud enough for him to turn tail and run back to hell,' he threatened.\n\n'Perhaps the devil's agent is already here and standing in front of me,' she said and bent to the task of preparing the herbs and potions she needed for the dying man. She placed a smooth-edged crystal, the size of a small rock, about the size that could fit comfortably into the palm of her hand, on the blanket. Once again he saw the swell of her breasts and felt the urge for her settle on his tongue. He had not been with a woman since Christiana's murder.\n\nHe turned on his heel and dismissed the thought. Lying with a woman like Aelis could do more than bewitch a man: it might snare his soul. He felt the cool touch of silver at his throat. Perhaps it needed a Celtic goddess to ward off such charms."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "Meulon had brought cheese, bread, smoked fish and a jug of wine for Aelis and Blackstone. The woman ate hungrily and when she was satisfied pushed aside the plate and wiped her hands on the mayor's cloak. She knelt next to Killbere and raised his head, ready to trickle the herbal liquid that Henry brought between the wounded knight's lips.\n\nBlackstone gripped her wrist. 'What is it you give him?' he said, and took the jug, sniffing its contents.\n\n'It is rye steeped in hot water. It breaks down the humours,' she said.\n\nBlackstone held her a moment longer and then released her.\n\n'Have the bowl ready,' Aelis ordered Henry.\n\nThe boy did as instructed without seeking permission from his father. Blackstone saw that the boy's courage had not deserted him. The young page seemed not to care that some thought the woman employed black arts. After a few moments Killbere convulsed and spewed black bile.\n\n'You purge him?' said Blackstone as he bent to restrain the shuddering knight.\n\n'I prepare him,' she answered. She nodded for Henry to remove the bowl and its foul contents. 'I have a preparation of sage that will soothe his nerves and help put strength into his paralysis.' She spoke without looking at Blackstone, taking oil from one of the bottles in the satchel and trickling it into the palms of her hands. Her voice lowered as she rubbed the oil onto Killbere's chest, murmuring as if treating a sick infant. 'Almond oil is good for his chest and will ease any cough.' She turned her face to Blackstone. 'He must be able to breathe freely.'\n\n'When will you bleed him?' Blackstone asked. 'The priest said it was best done on a saint's day.'\n\n'What happens when a man is wounded in battle? Is he not weakened by loss of blood? I can see he has already been bled. He needs no more.' She looked at Henry, who stood in the doorway. 'Boy, you know what plantain is?'\n\n'I do,' said Henry. It was a common enough weed Old Hugh, his father's overseer, had ordered cleared from his mother's potager when they lived in Normandy.\n\n'Go and collect two handfuls and then bring it to me.' Henry nodded and turned. 'Wait,' she ordered. 'I also need a cooking pot and water for this fire. Bring it all before nightfall.'\n\nAelis wiped Killbere's face. 'Now, we must treat the wound. First one thing and then tomorrow at first light another. Turn him,' she ordered.\n\nBlackstone eased Killbere onto his uninjured side as she opened a clay jar of astringent-smelling ointment. 'Comfrey and thyme,' she told Blackstone. 'This will stay on his wound tonight, and then tomorrow if he is still alive we will use the plantain. Each has its own healing qualities.'\n\nBlackstone nodded. He had seen such balms and poultices used before.\n\nAelis smeared balm on the wound and laid a clean piece of cut linen across it. 'You will stay awake tonight, Sir Thomas, and give him six spoons of this throughout the night,' she said, reaching for the clay pot of broth that nestled in the embers of the fire. She lifted its lid. Wisps of steam escaped. 'Do not scald him; warm broth is what he needs. I have put herbs in it.' She gave Blackstone the church candle. 'Make equal marks down its length. Feed him whenever the flame reaches the mark.'\n\nBlackstone scored the candle equally down its length with his knife and replaced it on the three-legged stool near Killbere's mattress.\n\n'And what will you do?' Blackstone asked. 'Do you pray or cast spells? What powers do you invoke to save my friend?'\n\nShe moved away from Killbere into the corner. 'I invoke sleep,' she said and pulled the cloak over her. 'I hurt and I must rest.' She curled up. 'If he dies then I can do no more for him so kill me or let me sleep.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "As the night wore on there was little sound to be heard over the roofs of Balon. The breeze had shifted, but the rain held off. It would benefit the night watch on the walls. Blackstone knew there was no need for any high degree of vigilance: unlike his own men night attack was a skill few had. The town's granges were well stocked with food and wine and by the time the town fell into darkness every man had bathed and fed. Blackstone's captains organized their men into pickets that alternated throughout the night.\n\nAs the long hours dragged by attending to feeding Killbere, Blackstone kept himself awake remembering the dozen years and more that had brought him to this place. Each memory was etched on his heart like a nick on a sword's blade. And the man who lay close to death on the mattress in front of him featured strongly, at first a guardian and then a friend. The candle flickered as the flame touched the last mark. As Blackstone's mind ranged across landscapes and places yearning for his loved ones overtook him. He turned his face away from the spectres that filtered through the shrouds of darkness. His mind told him that he must be asleep but he could not force open his eyes. His mind's eye saw the walls cast looming shadows and, like a ghost hovering in the room, a black-cloaked hooded figure leaning across Killbere. A stab of fear pierced him. Was this the angel of death come to take the knight? A slow, hypnotic chant emanated from the figure. A chant that seemed to be Latin but was not; it sounded like an old language that might summon ancient spirits. The cloaked figure took the form of a woman rocking slowly back and forth across the wounded man. Blackstone could not see the dark angel's face but saw that her breasts moved rhythmically. He willed himself to break free from the dream but could not. He heard Killbere grunt. The woman turned her head; the cloak fell back exposing her thighs that straddled his friend. And then as Blackstone fought like a drowning man for the surface the woman was gone.\n\nBlackstone dragged himself awake. He lurched forward, cursing himself for succumbing to sleep, and saw and heard the candle wax spluttering. He raised his friend's head ready to spoon the broth between his lips. Killbere's eyes fluttered and his lips parted, uttering a whisper. Blackstone lowered his face to hear what his friend said.\n\n'She was here,' Killbere murmured.\n\n'Who?' said Blackstone, relieved that his friend had finally regained consciousness.\n\nKillbere smiled. 'My nun. She came and lay with me.' He coughed from the effort of talking. His lips relaxed into a smile and his eyes closed as he slipped into a fever-free slumber.\n\nBlackstone eased Killbere's head down onto the pillow. The room suddenly turned cold. It had been no dream. He could not have shared his friend's illusion. It was not possible. His spine tingled. He turned and looked to where Aelis lay in the corner of the room. She was gone. Her dress lay crumpled. He got to his feet and, holding the candle before him, stepped into the darkened passage. Aelis was facing him, eyes bright in the dull candlelight, her nakedness obvious beneath the cloak. Blackstone pressed his back to the wall. It was as if an apparition had appeared.\n\n'Sir Thomas?' she said quietly, her eyes questioning.\n\n'Where have you been?' he said, forcing the uncertainty from his voice.\n\n'I needed to relieve myself,' she said.\n\n'You've discarded your dress.'\n\n'I was hot. The fire gave enough warmth.'\n\n'How long have you been out of the room?'\n\nShe reached out and took the candle from his hand. The hot wax dripped onto his skin but he ignored it.\n\n'Not long,' she answered. And then brushed past him.\n\nThere could be no explanation other than Aelis had been the woman he had seen with Killbere. He turned after her, an inexplicable desire to take her surging through him. He snatched at her arm, forcing the candle to fall and extinguish. The glow from the firelight caught her face. She showed no sign of fear. His mouth went to hers and his hand cupped her breast. And then he hesitated.\n\n'You are no different than the others,' she said, as if his attempt had been no surprise.\n\nHe pushed her away, his fist gripping her cloak. 'You lay with him.'\n\n'I drew the poison from inside him. He has already been bled. His vomit, his seed. All must be taken. And to do that I use whatever skills I have been given. Condemn me or pay me. There is a price for what I do.'\n\n'You're a common whore,' he said, unable to disguise the lust for her in his voice. 'Get dressed.'\n\n'I am Aelis de Travaux. The daughter of a man who healed the sick and never caused harm. My mother nurtured my skills and my father gave me his knowledge. Your friend has benefited from this. You promised payment if he lived through the night. See for yourself,' she said without turning to face the small window.\n\nBlackstone looked past her and saw the light seeping into the grey sky. The town's night watchman's cries declared the town to be safe and that the good citizens of Balon should be out of their beds.\n\n'How much to save a good man?' Blackstone said derisively.\n\n'I give you his life freely. The price I want is for those who injured me and my father to pay for the hurt.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "The town went about its business, avoiding the macabre twisted figure of the man they had burnt to death. Blackstone ordered the mayor to bring before him the four men who had raped and tortured Aelis.\n\n'My lord\u2026' the mayor began. He was barely able to keep the stammer from his voice, yet was trying to assert his authority in front of the scarred Englishman. 'These men have families and are tradesmen and as such are vital to our town's welfare. I beg you not to cause them harm.'\n\nBlackstone looked up to where Aelis stood at a window. 'I made a bargain with the dead man's daughter.'\n\nThe mayor shuffled nervously, wringing his hands. 'Then you made a bargain with the devil's daughter,' he said vehemently. 'I will not deliver these men to you.'\n\nBlackstone considered the man's defiance. 'You have no manorial lord. The French knights who once lived here have deserted their land or been killed by the English or routiers. You have declared for King Edward of England as protection, and I serve the King. Are the men who raped and tortured her in the same tithing?' He saw the look of concern on the mayor's face. Each town's population was divided into tithings and each of those units swore to uphold the law. If one of its members committed a crime the others were obliged to bring him to justice. If they did not then they suffered a collective punishment.\n\n'Lord,' said the mayor, swallowing two or three times in panic. 'The tithing seized the old man at the behest of our priest.'\n\n'Who has already gone to hell most likely,' Blackstone answered. 'Bring all those men to me.'\n\n'We were forgiven our actions because they were done in the name of our Lord Christ.'\n\n'And de Travaux's goods? Who took them? Who stole a dead man's few possessions and a condemned girl's clothing and potions? Was that done in His name?'\n\n'We were pardoned!' insisted the mayor, jaw set firm. Blackstone sensed the man felt himself to be on firmer ground. His chin tilted. 'We would have done penance before God; we would have fasted and prayed for doing what was necessary to rid ourselves of evil.'\n\n'And I want him as well,' said Blackstone. And then to dismiss any doubt in the man's mind: 'The pardoner.'\n\nThe mayor realized he had no more bargaining power, no further means of protecting the town's citizens. He seemed dazed, as if struck.\n\nBlackstone nodded to Meulon and the big man stepped up to the mayor and handed him a piece of parchment. 'Don't try and bring us villeins who have come here for safety from their villages,' Meulon growled. 'We know peasants can be bought to take another man's punishment. Not this time.' He shoved the scrap into the mayor's tunic. 'We know who they are. Jean Agillot, Etienne Chardon, Petrus Gavray and Charles Pyvain.'\n\nMeulon's big hands turned the nervous mayor around and pushed him with enough force for him to take a few stumbling steps.\n\n'Bring them now,' said Blackstone, 'or lose our protection and have your gates burnt and your walls pulled down and then see how quickly the mercenary wolves find you.'\n\nThe mayor nodded and walked away. Across the square some of the townspeople had started to cluster, unsure of why their mayor had been summoned by the English knight. Their worst fears were confirmed when they saw the bowed head of the usually arrogant Malatrait, a man used to enforcing his authority over others, and his voice calling for the town's constable. Heads turned, mouths uttered rumour and whispers spread like smoke through the alleyways.\n\n'We might be poking a stick into a wasps' 'nest,' said John Jacob.\n\n'They won't resist,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Still,' said Will Longdon, 'we should have the men on the walls, don't you think?'\n\nBlackstone nodded. 'Nothing too aggressive, Will. No arrows nocked and ready. Have the bows strung and the men warned. What we're going to do to these four men will put the fear of Christ into these people. John, Meulon, have half the men-at-arms around the square. Renfred and the others at the stables. If the town rises up I don't want the horses hamstrung.'\n\nBlackstone stepped back and sat on a water trough. His captains waited with him.\n\nJack Halfpenny took Robert Thurgood onto the walls.\n\n'Christ, Jack, what do you think Sir Thomas has planned?'\n\nHalfpenny directed his archers to where he wanted them. 'You can be sure it's going to cause pain,' he said, nodding towards the two Norman captains, Meulon and Gaillard, who were sharpening their knives."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "The four men appeared one by one over the next hour. Blackstone made them stand in the square. Drizzling rain began to fall and a chill wind blew flurries across the open space, but as each man was brought the crowd increased. Yet they kept their distance. Three of the men looked to be in their later years, men of forty; the fourth was younger, probably early thirties. The biggest of the men, Etienne Chardon, wore a black-streaked leather apron, his face behind the thick beard smudged with smoke, his hands blackened by coal. The town's blacksmith stood fearlessly before Blackstone, his muscled arms at his side. Each man looked like the tradesman he was: the barber slightly built; stooped shoulders for the cobbler; and barrel chest for the furrier. Behind them stood the constable, the mayor and several other men bonded by the same tithing as those who had been brought before Blackstone.\n\nBlackstone walked along the line of men, gauging their level of fear. He stopped in front of the blacksmith. 'You heated the irons to burn the woman,' he said. He looked at the furrier. 'You burned her,' he said, and then stood in front of the cobbler. 'You waited your turn while our blacksmith friend clubbed her down and raped her and you,' he said to the barber, 'what did you do?'\n\n'I\u2026 I\u2026 lord? I did nothing.'\n\n'Nothing to save her. You raped her,' said Blackstone, 'after you hacked off her hair.'\n\n'She enticed us, my lord. She flaunted herself. She taunted us. She cursed us all and we did what any man would do. We were afraid of her.'\n\n'She was the devil's whore,' said Petrus Gavray, the furrier.\n\n'And so you dipped your cocks into the well of darkness. If you were that afraid how did you know she didn't have teeth in her cunny that would tear your cocks to shreds? If she was the devil's whore weren't you afraid of that? Or did you feel inflamed by torturing her? Was it her tits that made you lust after her?'\n\nThey were interrupted by John Jacob and two other men-at-arms. Jacob had with him a man dressed in a cloak of fine cloth and a beaver-skin hat on his greying head. His boots looked new. The two men-at-arms led a mule with a small chest and two large bags tied across its saddle.\n\n'He was at the inn,' said John Jacob. 'But his mule was packed and ready to leave.' He released his grip and pushed the pardoner closer towards the accused men and Blackstone.\n\n'When your mayor sends word for you to attend you should obey,' said Blackstone.\n\n'I am not of this town. I obey only Mother Church. I carry the safe conduct of the Lord of Avignon, His Holiness Pope Innocent.'\n\nBlackstone raised his face to the drizzle, content for its coolness to keep him refreshed after the disturbed night's lack of sleep. 'I know the old Pope. I was at Avignon in '56. He's a lawyer who sides with whatever will profit him the most. Back then he yielded to the mercenary forces of Gilles de Marcy. Heard of him?'\n\n'The Savage Priest?' said the pardoner. 'Yes. Who has not?'\n\n'Then you know who slew that vile corruption of the Church,' said Blackstone, giving the pardoner a questioning glance.\n\nThe pardoner looked at the scarred-faced Englishman and crossed himself, realizing that of all men who could instil fear in a Frenchman's heart it was the Savage Priest's killer who stood before him.\n\n'You're no messenger of the Pope,' said Blackstone. 'You trade indulgences. Are those boots payment for releasing this man from the crime of rape and torture?' He pointed to the cobbler.\n\n'The merits of Christ are infinite!' the pardoner insisted. 'I offer a particle of the heavenly wealth bequeathed to us by St Peter. In my reliquary I carry a feather fallen from the wing of Archangel Michael.' He stood his ground and faced Blackstone. 'The Church cares for those sick in body and spirit! Those who give alms are assured a foothold in heaven. You claim to know the Holy Father \u2013 if you spoke with him then you would know Latin. Do you? Does any man here among you?' he said, raising his voice and gazing at the gathered soldiers.\n\n'No,' said Blackstone. 'Latin is for educated men.'\n\n'No! Of course you do not because your trade is killing.' He turned to the gathered crowd, who had edged closer. He began spouting Latin, making the sign of the cross in a gesture of forgiveness and benevolence. Some of the women knelt; men crossed themselves.\n\nMeulon spoke quietly. 'Shall I fetch our crow priest, Sir Thomas? I still have him locked in a room.'\n\n'We don't need him,' said Blackstone. He turned and sought out Henry, who stood back with the men. He caught the boy's eye. Henry moved quickly to his father's side. 'What's he saying?' he asked his son.\n\nHenry listened to what sounded like a tirade against the soldiers. 'It's not Latin, Father. I think he is making up a language of his own. It sounds like Latin. But\u2026 no, it is not.'\n\n'What's your name?' Blackstone bellowed, forcing the pardoner to halt mid sentence.\n\nThe pardoner turned back to face him. 'Stephanus Louchart.'\n\n'Well, Stephanus Louchart, we welcome a man of learning in our midst.' He touched Henry's shoulder. 'Speak to him in Latin, boy. Make certain you say the words correctly.'\n\nBlackstone and the men stood quietly as Henry spoke quickly and clearly. None had any idea what the boy said and it was soon obvious that neither did the pardoner. His face fell.\n\n'You snare the fearful with lies and benefit from them,' said Blackstone. 'I should throw you from the walls and let your bones break on the rocks below.'\n\n'Harm me and you will hang by your tongue over the fires of hell when death comes for you, as surely it will.'\n\n'As surely it will,' said Blackstone and signalled John Jacob.\n\nJohn Jacob and the men tipped out the contents of the small chest and saddle panniers. Clothing, jewellery, the tinkling of coins in leather pouches and the smashing of clay wine flasks quickly took everyone's attention.\n\nBlackstone stepped forward, grabbed him and threw him to the ground. The expensive beaver hat fell off his head and the rain began to drape strands of hair across his terrified features.\n\n'This man, Stephanus Louchart, will reclaim the charred body of the man you burned. He will dig his grave and the priest I brought will pray for the dead man's soul. By way of penance for his sins this pardoner will relinquish what he's taken from you in payment. He will forsake his fine clothing, which will be distributed to the poor, and he will be flogged in his undershirt and driven from this town riding backwards on a donkey. There are wolves in the forest. If he is an emissary of the Pope then God's grace might protect him.'\n\nBlackstone turned to face the six men of the tithing who stood behind the four accused. 'You'll be hanged.' The men's shock allowed Blackstone's men to quickly bind them. He faced the accused. 'You'll also die at the end of the rope but before the rope tightens you'll be gelded.'\n\nThe blacksmith darted forward, bellowing defiance, but Blackstone sidestepped him and brought his fist down behind his ear. The dull thud of the man's body sprawling face down sounded as if an ox had been felled.\n\nThe accused men cried out for their wives and children. They begged Blackstone for their lives. Blackstone ignored them as his men-at-arms held them.\n\n'And where is the woman known as Madeleine Agillot? The barber's wife. Where is she?' Blackstone's voice carried across the square.\n\nThe barber turned, wide-eyed, and then fell to his knees. 'Lord! No! I beg you!'\n\nThe crowd parted revealing a tearful woman dressed in the clothes that Aelis had described to Blackstone, taken by this woman, who had also seized charms and potions when accompanying the men who assaulted the healer's daughter. She looked terrified.\n\n'You stole from a woman your husband mutilated and raped. Women thieves are punished by drowning.'\n\nThe woman screamed. Her legs gave way and she fell to the ground. 'Lord! We have children! They will be orphaned! Mercy, my lord. Mercy!'\n\nBlackstone faced the townspeople. 'I am Sir Thomas Blackstone and I have no mercy to give.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "The ten men of the tithing were hanged on the elm trees beyond the town's walls. Their bodies were spaced along the track that led from the open countryside as a stark warning to anyone who considered Balon undefended. Blackstone had denied Aelis the right to castrate her attackers. Allowing her to wield the knife would have been a punishment too far in the eyes of the townspeople. A devil's whore being given such a right would have inflamed the town and risked insurrection and greater slaughter. The four men who raped and tortured Aelis screamed as Meulon emasculated them, then they quickly fell silent as the noose tightened around their necks. The barber's wife was bound and carried, shrieking the names of her children, to the river where a basket of stones was tied around her waist and she was pushed into the deep water.\n\nThomas Blackstone had widowed nine women and made orphans of twenty-eight children. And he had instilled fear and respect into the town's population. No sooner had he inflicted punishment on the town than he made a proclamation. The town's men would cut timber from the nearby woodland and reinforce the town's walls under the guidance of Blackstone's men. And Blackstone would pay the mayor and the burghers of Balon in gold moutons to have the church roof restored and a new altar built. The gesture softened the town's anger. Some began to say that justice had been served and that the Englishman had inflicted God's punishment on those who deserved it, ignoring their own culpability and enjoyment in watching the old man burn at the stake. Eighty-seven people had paid the pardoner for indulgences. Ten of them had been hanged so Blackstone gave each of the seventy-seven men and women the opportunity to lay one strike of the whip against the pardoner's back. Blackstone gave the crow priest the responsibility of overseeing the beating, a task he relished. False pardoners stripped the Church of penance, payment and prayer.\n\n'It serves a purpose,' said Will Longdon in answer to Henry's question as to why his father had allowed such punishments. 'We hang rapists and make a town afraid. Now they see that we don't tolerate any wrongdoing. Makes 'em good Christians. Forces them onto their knees at night begging the Lord to keep them safe from indiscretions and an Englishman's retributions. Your father allows some of them to vent their anger on a man who lied to them. It's like clearing the bowels when you've been blocked. Makes you feel better.'\n\nThe bloodied pardoner was untied from the stake and carried away. The crow priest stood hunched in the early morning chill next to Blackstone as the town buzzed with the excitement of being allowed to inflict their own punishment. 'You'll conduct Mass for these people,' Blackstone ordered him. 'I gift you to the town of Balon.'\n\n'Stay here?' the priest said as if being handed a punishment.\n\n'Aye. A new church and altar to give them hope and a stipend to keep your greed under control. You'll no doubt find a way to grease your palm further. I won't be here to see it, but if you corrupt your congregation I will give the mayor and his burghers the right to have you stripped and flogged and sent out to the forest and the wolves like the pardoner. Know a generous offer when you see it, priest. It won't be given again.'\n\nBlackstone could almost hear the thoughts that scuttled through the crow priest's mind. Blackstone had given him the opportunity of status and authority in a town badly in need of a priest. Market days would bring in villagers with their wares and an even bigger congregation. And, if he employed patience, he would soon become known as a good priest who offered salvation to those in need. Then he could send a letter to the Pope begging the right to legally sell indulgences on behalf of Mother Church and that would put a few extra sous in his pocket.\n\n'I accept wholeheartedly,' said the crow priest.\n\n'I thought you might,' said Blackstone."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 31",
                "text": "Aelis de Travaux had stayed out of sight on Blackstone's orders while the town was gripped by his punishment and then soothed with his generosity. By the end of the week, when Blackstone's judgments had been carried out, Killbere was conscious.\n\n'I am as weak as a damned kitten,' he complained as Blackstone spooned broth between his frail lips.\n\n'Then you'll do as you're told,' Blackstone said.\n\n'I have a choice? My guts churn and I can barely make the pisspot.'\n\n'We thought you dead on more than one occasion and your stench nearly finished us all. At times I didn't know who would be better served by your death: you or me.'\n\n'Ah, selfish bastard that you are.'\n\n'I've a gift for you when you're up and on your feet. A beaver-pelt hat. It's from a pardoner who doesn't need it any more.'\n\n'Ah. Good. Those bastards wear quality.' He glanced at the foot of his bed and the empty bench where a wounded man's armour might lie. 'You haven't sold my sword and armour, I suppose?'\n\n'No. Henry cleans it and keeps the blade sharp.'\n\n'Good. I can't remember much of the fight but I remember the gold. You got it?'\n\n'We did. But we are no longer at Cormiers.' Blackstone related their journey and what had happened at Balon. 'The woman who saved you tells me it'll be another two months before you'll be fit to ride.'\n\n'Bollocks. A month. No more. We must get back to Edward, we've already been away too long.' He lapsed into silence for a moment. 'How long have we been gone?'\n\nBlackstone shook his head. 'I don't know. It must be February.'\n\nKillbere grunted. 'I must have slept the sleep of the dead. Tomorrow, you get me on my feet. I want to be on a horse in a week and then\u2026 well\u2026 then\u2026' Killbere drifted away.\n\nBlackstone turned to where Aelis sat on a chair in the corner of the room.\n\n'The draught I give him makes him sleep. He needs it to heal and recover,' she said.\n\n'Can he be left alone?'\n\n'Yes. I will still need to attend the wound but the danger has passed.'\n\n'Then it's time you went into the town.'\n\n'I cannot,' she said. 'They will blame me for the revenge I took on them.'\n\n'The town's fear and anger has been thrown into the task of cutting trees and dragging them across the fields to be laid against the walls. I gave these people comfort with a new church and a priest who will bear testimony that you are no witch. He will say what I tell him to say. You do not use heretic magic, you heal with God's grace and the skill your mother and father passed to you. You won't be harmed.'\n\n'Can you be sure?'\n\n'If you are at my side no one will \u2013'\n\n'No,' she interrupted. 'Can you be sure I do not use magical powers?'\n\nHe remembered the false dream he had had of her. He had been trapped, unable to move, knowing now that he had witnessed her lying with Killbere. She must have drugged him.\n\n'Was it a potion I drank, or a narcotic powder thrown onto the flames? What did you do to me? I know it was no dream and I know what I saw that night.'\n\nThe vision of her nakedness had remained in his memory but now she sat before him fully clothed. She had been found suitable garments the morning after Killbere had survived the night. She was dressed simply with no adornments and wore a working woman's linen cap that covered her tufts of hair. Her dress, tucked at the ankle, was overlaid with an apron.\n\n'I am an enchantress,' she said. She smiled when she spoke, but Blackstone was still unable to settle the unease he felt when she said it. For all he knew she had brought spirits of the night into the room to heal Killbere. She had thrown a veil over his own mind as surely as a fish was caught in a net, yet she had allowed him to witness her lying with the veteran knight.\n\nBlackstone stood up, anger flashing across his face. 'Don't play foolish games with me. I have had men mutilated and slain as payment for my friend's life. I could throw you to the crowd now and let them tear you apart. I will not be enchanted, I will not be drugged and I will not remain ignorant of what happened.'\n\nShe appeared to be unafraid of his anger. 'You were vigilant and protective. But you were tired and needed sleep. I burned herbs in the fire and you breathed their fragrance. Herbs that I am immune to because I have used them for many years. I put a few drops of a potion in your drink. Had I not held you in a stupor I could not have done what I did and your friend could have died. And so would I because you had threatened to kill me. You would not leave me alone with him so I did what I was forced to do.' She paused and then said, 'What you forced me to do.' Her eyes widened, questioning whether he believed her.\n\n'All right,' he said. 'You walk with me through the town so everyone knows you are protected.'\n\n'Even you cannot protect me, Sir Thomas. If a townswoman sought revenge for the death of her husband she would find the opportunity to slip a knife in my ribs. You would never find my murderer. She would become a shadow and no one would expose her.'\n\n'Shadows cannot hide if the town is in flames,' he said. 'You're safe with me.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "The dead men's carcasses rotted slowly, the crows pecked away their soft flesh but the north wind that chilled ordinary men's bones caused no such hardship to the corpses. It swayed them gently on the gibbets beyond the walls. They also served as a warning to brigands: on more than one occasion those on watch sighted groups of riders on the low hills, but the brigands came within a half-mile of Balon and then turned their horses. At night the sentries heard creatures snuffling at the bodies. They were strung too high for wolves to reach them but that did not stop the smell of decay enticing them out of the forests. Sooner or later the ropes would fray and the men's carcasses would be dragged away and devoured.\n\nIt was the wrong season to replace the church roof with thatch but the people of Balon had been inspired by the promise of a new priest and a place of worship, and that Thomas Blackstone would pay them in gold moutons for their labour and materials. Despite the persistent rain and sleet the townspeople busied themselves both inside and outside the walls.\n\nPerinne was given the responsibility of using the cut timber to reinforce the town's crumbling walls and over the days that passed it was not uncommon for Blackstone to be seen cutting and laying stone. Aelis had awakened desire in him that he wished to be rid of and the physical effort demanded by the rebuilding of the walls helped him push that lust away.\n\n'Have you bedded her yet?' said Killbere one day as Blackstone helped him down the steps into the courtyard below the mayor's house.\n\n'I have not and I will not,' he answered.\n\n'Sweet Jesus, Thomas, she is ripe for it and you will forgive me for saying that you need to shed whatever burden you still carry for Christiana.'\n\nBlackstone had not yet told the veteran knight that it was he who had already enjoyed the mysterious woman's carnal attentions. He was not sure why, but he sensed the time was not yet right and that it was best to let Killbere think that he had enjoyed his long-lost nun in his dream.\n\n'That's not easy for me, Gilbert. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her. She's still with me.'\n\n'Bid her farewell, my friend. Carry her in your heart if you must, I can understand that, but your life is in front of you now. You and the boy. You need a woman and this Aelis girl owes you her life. Nothing like gratitude for a good hump. Blow the cobwebs away, man. Bed her.'\n\n'I cannot,' said Blackstone, the tone of his voice telling his friend that the matter would not be discussed further.\n\nKillbere had remained silent. It was unnatural for a man not to lust after a woman and this witch they had saved from the stake put the spittle of desire on a man's tongue. He allowed his friend's strength to help him down the steps and sit him on a stool as the sun broke through the low clouds. Its warmth for a few hours would do more good than days in bed.\n\n'Go and lift those damned rocks for the walls. I'm glad I'm wounded otherwise you'd have me laden like a donkey.'\n\n'The men need work and they need to keep up their strength.'\n\n'And I need to get off my arse and back on a horse. Leave me my sword so I can feel its comfort, Thomas. But at least think on what I've said.'\n\n'I have already. She's not the kind of woman a man should cleave to, Gilbert. She has a mystery about her that troubles me.'\n\n'Be troubled between the blankets. You don't have to marry her! God's blood, if I were more agile I'd have her myself.'\n\nBlackstone grinned and said no more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Each day carts went out under escort to the abandoned manorial lord's house a few miles away. It had already been stripped by brigands and English scavengers months before Blackstone had arrived at Balon, but none had needed the slates on its roof. The tiles were hoisted up scaffolding to repair the town's church. Will Longdon, Jack Halfpenny and Thurgood hunted for fresh meat while Killbere went from being nursed at the fireside to walking unaided. Within days he was seen taking further steps to recovery as he swung his sword in the courtyard, practising the skills that had kept him alive through countless battles.\n\n'See here,' said Will Longdon to Henry, 'this is what's needed to bring a man back to full strength when he's been wounded and lies helpless.' He took the boy into a cow byre and tied a rope around one of the beasts' neck. 'Winter's a hard time for everyone. You might not remember that growing up because your mother and father kept you fed and nourished. Hobble her,' he said, handing the length of rope to Henry, who took it and clambered below the stall and secured the cow's front hooves.\n\n'I do remember,' he said. 'Father always made sure that his villagers had enough firewood and food.'\n\n'But did he show you how to bleed a cow?'\n\nHenry shook his head.\n\n'Well, no man in his right mind will slaughter all his beasts in winter. All right to wring a chicken's neck for the pot when it's stopped laying, but eggs will keep a family alive for weeks on end. If he's any sense he gathers in his fodder and keeps the beasts alive. There's wool to be had for warmth from goats and ewes, as well as their milk, just like Madam Cow here. That gives a man cheese. No need for a man to starve if he has his noggin working proper. Put that pail just there,' he said.\n\n'Are we to kill her?' said Henry.\n\n'Didn't I just tell you that a man does not kill that which he needs?'\n\n'You have the knife ready.'\n\n'Watch what I do,' he said. 'Hold her leg, to help keep her steady.'\n\nHenry reached forward and gripped the cow's leg above the hobbling rope.\n\n'Find the vein\u2026 here\u2026 see it?' said Will. Henry nodded. 'Then\u2026 you slip the point of your blade in and release the blood. She don't feel nothing. She quivers is all. There\u2026 now we catch the blood in the pail.'\n\nHenry's father had always said that his friend and archer could provide the men with food wherever they fought. He could hunt and cook and now Henry watched as Will Longdon's skill bled the cow.\n\n'Right,' he said. 'That's enough. Pack a bit of mud and straw on the cut and then release her.'\n\nLongdon took the boy back to where the men cooked and slept. The fire was always lit and the smell of pottage steamed in the room.\n\n'Fetch that pot, Henry, and a few handfuls of oats from that sack. Good lad. Now we mix the blood and the oats and\u2026' He rummaged for a smaller sack, tied off at its neck. '\u2026herbs. Always need some herbs if you can get them.' He offered the open neck to Henry. 'Fingers in, take a healthy pinch.'\n\nHenry did as he was told. 'That enough, Will?'\n\n'Perfect. In the pot with them. And then\u2026' He copied Henry's actions and dipped his fingers into an earthen jar. 'Salt,' he said. 'We stir and then we set the pot in the embers. Needs a slow cook and needs watching. When it gets thick we scoop it out and let it cool. Blood cake. Gives a sick man strength. You remember that because one day when I'm not around you can help save a man's life with it.'\n\n'I will,' said Henry, gazing at the oats absorbing the blood.\n\n'Good lad,' said Longdon and ruffled the boy's hair. He had a great deal of affection for the boy. It was not that many years ago that the archer had scaled a castle's wall with John Jacob and helped release Henry, his sister and mother. He had seen Henry's courage when he and his sister had been held captive by the Savage Priest. The lad had offered himself up for death, prepared to sacrifice himself to save his sister. That kind of courage earned respect. Will Longdon had never had any bond of fondness for woman or child, but the loyalty he felt towards Blackstone and the warmth towards Henry told him that such feelings were somehow precious.\n\nHe mumbled quietly to himself. He must be getting old to let such feelings stir inside him.\n\n'Don't let it burn,' he said. 'It's for Sir Gilbert. We need him at your father's side. The fighting's not over yet.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "The month soon passed without incident or recrimination and the town began to breathe more easily. Under Blackstone's protection it settled into a sense of security and wellbeing. The tavern welcomed the archers and men-at-arms, none were short-changed for their drink, and some of the women became even more inviting.\n\nAelis did not venture far from the mayor's house, where she kept a vigilant eye on Killbere and administered to his wound, but neither did she fear being seen in the square once Blackstone had accompanied her. The distrust and resentment would never be fully cleansed from the town. The women averted their eyes from her; the men did not. Lust was not easily concealed.\n\nBlackstone heaved a piece of cut stone into place on the parapet and turned to see the flutter of a banner rise over the crest of the hill.\n\n'Riders!' the sentries on the walls called.\n\n'I see them,' said Blackstone and calculated the number of distant figures. Forty men. Armed and heading straight for the town gates. 'Bring everyone inside,' Blackstone shouted down to Perinne. 'John! Get Will and Jack on the walls with the archers. I can't make out their banners.'\n\nBlackstone pulled on his jupon and fastened Wolf Sword. The approaching horsemen were coming at the canter, ignoring the dead men's warning. Blackstone ran to the parapet above the town gates. The dull, grey light finally allowed him to recognize the gold lions on the bright red banner.\n\n'It's Lancaster's men!' he called to those around him.\n\n'Shall we open the gates?' John Jacob asked.\n\nBlackstone shook his head. 'No. Just because they're the King's men doesn't mean they're friendly.' He grinned at John Jacob. 'Maybe they've heard we took some of that gold for ourselves.'\n\nThe men pulled up their horses three hundred yard-long paces from the walls. The horses were flecked with sweat, their snorting breath billowing in the cold air.\n\n'Well, they know we have archers,' said John Jacob. 'They're wary and keeping on the edge of our range.'\n\n'They haven't seen how Will and the lads can get another fifty yards,' said Blackstone. 'My lord!' he called to the knight who was at the head of his troops. 'You serve Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster. How may we serve you?'\n\nThe knight took off his helm and pulled back his mail coif. 'I am Walter Pegyn. I am charged with securing supplies for my lord's division. We protect the army's flanks.'\n\n'Ah, we can't help you with that, Sir Walter. We barely have enough ourselves. Is there anything else?'\n\nThe knight looked dumbfounded for a moment. 'Sir John Chandos said Blackstone had ridden here. Fetch him now! This town has declared for Edward and it must levy supplies on demand.'\n\n'I have already confirmed privilege on this town, my lord. I have assured them they will not be stripped of what little they have.'\n\n'You're Sir Thomas?'\n\n'I am.'\n\nThe knight said something to his men, who waited as he spurred his horse forward at the trot. When he was fifty paces from the gates he drew the horse to a halt.\n\n'Did Chandos return with the gold for the King?' said Blackstone. He could see the man's face clearly now, and knew that he had offered his welfare into Blackstone's care.\n\n'He did.'\n\n'Then we have served loyally and may God grant our liege lord pleasure in spending it. Where is Chandos now?'\n\n'South. With the King. The Duke of Burgundy has paid him to cause no harm in return for supplies. Then we will strike west and attack Paris.'\n\n'Did we take Rheims?' Blackstone asked.\n\n'You've not heard? The siege was lifted in January.'\n\n'Ah,' said Blackstone. 'The Prince listened to my advice then.'\n\n'Your\u2026?' Sir Walter was momentarily lost for words but quickly recovered his authority. 'I need supplies for the division's raiding parties. I've two hundred men a few miles behind me. Open the gates so we might take what is required.'\n\n'You would assault our walls?' said Blackstone.\n\n'You defy your King?'\n\n'I defy you. Go elsewhere for your supplies, Sir Walter.'\n\n'I am commanded to \u2013'\n\n'And I command,' said Blackstone quickly. 'This is my town and I protect these people from assault and hunger.'\n\nBlackstone was suddenly aware of Killbere at his side. The veteran knight had pulled on a boiled leather jerkin over his undershirt. 'Walter!' he shouted to the horseman. 'It's Gilbert!'\n\n'Killbere?' Sir Walter called back. 'We were told you were dead.'\n\n'Aye, and how many times have you heard that? I'd have Sir Thomas here invite you in for a drink but you're making us all nervous. The town's declared like he said and it's under our protection.'\n\n'Merciful Christ, Gilbert. Aye, all right. I can see by this crow bait hanging here that you've inflicted punishment already. I've no taste for forcing my hand. I'll leave my men outside the walls.'\n\nKillbere nudged Blackstone and lowered his voice. 'He's a belligerent old bastard but he'll cause us no harm and we need to know what's going on.' Then he coughed and wheezed from the effort of clambering onto the town walls.\n\n'Get yourself back to the warmth, I'll bring him to you,' Blackstone said.\n\n'And brandy. And some cuts of meat. If we're to soften his misery we must coddle him.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Sir Walter Pegyn looked to be as old as Killbere, Blackstone thought when he accompanied the knight into Killbere's room. An unruly beard and hair badly cut gave him the air of a vagabond, but his scarred knuckles and evidence of old wounds stitched on his scalp told a different story. The chair that Killbere sat on was draped with a fur-trimmed cloak and blanket that offered some comfort as he sat in front of the fire. The mayor's servants laid food and drink on side stools.\n\n'You look as though you have not yet cheated death,' said Sir Walter as he washed his hands in the bowl provided by one of the women.\n\n'It's a wound I got before Rheims that went bad. I've had a woman nurse me these past weeks. I linger so I might enjoy the sight of her tits a while longer.'\n\nSir Walter had not yet availed himself of the fire's warmth or the food and drink offered. He loosened his cape and draped it over the bench, casting a sour glance towards Blackstone. 'Your reputation for impertinence does not disappoint, Sir Thomas.'\n\n'Now, now, Walter,' said Killbere, 'let's not squeeze a man's balls till his eyes water. Thomas is who he is, no more, no less than the rest of us.' He grinned and pointed a finger at the aggrieved knight. 'Once I'd recovered from going down beneath that horse at Cr\u00e9cy, Walter and I fought together. We made some money, spent it on women and drink, and came close to organizing our own band of routiers. Not so, Walter? Good days. He's prized by Lancaster and the King.'\n\n'No more than you and Sir Thomas here,' Pegyn said, lifting the beaker of brandy to his lips. 'Aye, truth is, the Prince values Blackstone more than he lets on, so don't spin your flattery on me, Gilbert, I'm not one of your whores.'\n\nBlackstone sat slightly behind them, wanting the two friends to ease into their conversation, knowing it was better for Killbere to find out what was happening in the war.\n\n'Have we drawn out the Dauphin yet?' Killbere said.\n\n'No. He hides behind the walls of Paris. I and other knights skirmish and claim what small victory we can against the few troops he has, but it's mostly routiers we chase and kill. The King sits in warmer climes now and Burgundy has fallen from grace with the French King for making the arrangement with Edward.'\n\nKillbere grunted in sympathy. 'We left Rheims on the King's business. Chandos helped but Thomas here was obliged to kill the French royal captain. Chandos was pissed off. He saw a ransom slip away. But it got me here and saved me.'\n\nBlackstone knew Killbere was wasting time, drawing in his old fighting friend, wanting to get to the nub of what action had taken place in their absence.\n\n'We control this area,' said Killbere. 'What few villagers there were around here are now within these walls. It's a stronghold for Edward. We've given him two towns now. It covers his flank when he attacks Paris.'\n\n'And the militia here?'\n\n'Trained by our lads. I keep a watery eye on them from up here. You saw our defences.'\n\nPegyn nodded. There could be no denying that for attacking men to try and clamber across the wooden palisades and the cut timber and brush that lay before them would cause many casualties.\n\n'And Burgundy?' Blackstone asked, eager to know how far south the English had rampaged.\n\n'As far as Guillon. The Burgundians could not take the onslaught, not after they had been fighting the routiers these past years. Edward agreed a three-year truce for two hundred thousand moutons paid over a year and a half.'\n\n'Then he's content to sit a while,' said Blackstone, realizing that Edward would replenish his food stocks for his men and fodder for the horses. Two hundred thousand was not a great deal of money for the Queen of Burgundy and the duchy council to pay. It was a rich land worth protecting.\n\n'How long before he strikes out for Paris?'\n\nPegyn shrugged and chewed the cut of meat from his eating knife.\n\nBlackstone sensed the time was getting close. Once Edward's troops had been fattened they would scorch their way to the Paris gates and assault the city, and that, Blackstone thought, might spell disaster for the English. He guessed it would be three weeks, perhaps another week more before the King attacked. By the end of March the army would be on the move. The weather should be clearing by then. He glanced at Killbere. The veteran chewed meat and grinned. Both knew there was little time left to have the men fighting fit again. The banners of war would soon be unfurled once more as the English lions clawed the French crown from its master."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "Killbere grunted with effort, sword raised, eyes focused as he attacked Blackstone.\n\nHe struck hard and fast. The sword's blood knot tightened on his wrist as he parried a blow with the mace he wielded in his left hand. His body half turned, shifting his weight, and as Blackstone retaliated he twisted Blackstone's Wolf Sword blade away and struck him across the side of his helmet. Blackstone whipped back his head. The hefty blow had been well aimed: had it not, it would have torn away Blackstone's face. Without hesitation Blackstone struck the flat of his blade against the coat of mail beneath Killbere's leather jerkin directly against his friend's wound. Killbere snarled but ignored the pain from the blow and pressed his attack once again. The fervour with which Killbere advanced against the bigger man was the same kind of assault Blackstone had witnessed across the battlefields of France. Blackstone closed quickly and threw his weight against the smaller man, pushing him off balance. Killbere fell heavily into the mud and gazed at Wolf Sword's blade that hovered at his throat. They had fought for an hour.\n\n'All right, Thomas. Enough is enough.'\n\nBlackstone offered his hand and heaved up his friend.\n\nKillbere grinned. 'That felt good.' He spat phlegm from the exertion. 'You made a few mistakes, Thomas. I could have had you,' he said, shaking free the mud from his hands.\n\n'I let you think that. I was drawing you in.'\n\n'You're a terrible liar. Just as well you're a better swordsman. You believe me now when I say I'm ready?'\n\nBlackstone grinned and nodded. He was finally satisfied that Killbere had regained his strength and was fit enough to return to the war. They had sparred every day with and without shield, using sword and mace, until the weakened man regained his strength and proved it by at times almost beating Blackstone. He was barely tall enough to meet Blackstone's shoulder but had the sinew and muscle of a man who had spent a lifetime fighting, which made him a dangerous opponent. On more than one occasion he had closed on Blackstone and with guile and unexpected strength tripped or unbalanced the bigger man. Only when Blackstone bore down on him and struck him time and again with the flat of his blade and saw no weakness despite the pain that Killbere must have been feeling did he finally relent and agree that his friend could sustain himself in battle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "In the fourth week after Sir Walter Pegyn had eaten his fill and taken his leave, Blackstone and his men prepared to leave the town under the command of its mayor and his constable. The time spent at Balon had healed their saddle sores and brought Killbere back to health as he had proved sparring with Blackstone the day before. Now Blackstone bristled with impatience, keen to get back to the fighting. The two men approached the square where Mayor Malatrait and the town's burghers waited.\n\n'It's bad luck to take her with us, Thomas.'\n\nBlackstone glanced to where Aelis stood. He had deliberately placed her between Meulon and Gaillard for protection in case of any final foolish act of retribution against her. 'She has her uses, Gilbert, you're testament to that.'\n\n'I grant you she's healed me, and I swear I feel stronger than I did at Rheims. She's rid me of the poison and has given me back my strength, and for that I thank her. But we're talking about a woman who would have held men's vitals in her hand and sliced them off. That's no ordinary woman. Did you ask yourself how many women you've known would do that? And I wager she would have cut them slowly like carving a leg of goose. Think on it. She could hold your cock and balls and then start cutting. Mother of God, does that thought not make your blood run cold?'\n\n'She had been raped and tortured. She had just cause.'\n\n'Of course and you gave her justice. But a woman who's handy with a knife has a dark past, Thomas. What if she uses the dark arts and uses men's parts to conjure forces from beyond the grave?'\n\n'I saw no sign of that.'\n\n'Of course not. Witches and sorcerers hide in plain sight. They charm and entice. Listen, who would want to wake up in the morning and find their private parts frying in the fire as she chanted a heretical spell?'\n\n'There's no choice, Gilbert. And I saw her with you and\u2026' Blackstone hesitated, still thinking it was better that Killbere was not told of the sex he had unknowingly enjoyed that night. Again he questioned his reasoning and once more concluded it to be the correct decision. Lust could turn a man's mind and his friend was no stranger to it. If Killbere enjoyed the memory of the girl straddling him he might be drawn to her now. Blackstone's mind ran on to the consequences of the veteran knight desiring the girl, of her perhaps rejecting him, of Killbere's anger. Of the violence that might follow.\n\n'And what?' said Killbere.\n\n'She cared for you like a sister to a brother.'\n\n'I squeezed her tits and she did not behave like a sister.'\n\n'She allowed it?' said Blackstone. A woman behaving like a common whore among his men could soon wreak havoc.\n\n'No,' confessed Killbere. He winced at his failure. 'She kept well clear of me after that and I had to content myself with a serving girl, but she has the look of a temptress and what good will that do to these horny men? Christ, given the chance every one of them would bed her.'\n\n'You know as well as I do no man will go near her.'\n\n'Aye, but only because they think you have claimed her yourself. Time will soon show that you have not.'\n\nBlackstone stopped walking and turned his back so that the gathered townspeople would not hear what he said. 'Gilbert, I cannot leave her here. They still think she is a witch. She would be dead the moment the gates close behind us.'\n\nKillbere subdued his irritation. His voice lowered. 'Thomas, what if she is a witch and we bring her into our midst? There, with us, day in day out, would any of us sleep easy in our blankets at night? I'm telling you it's bad luck to have a woman riding with us, let alone someone like her.'\n\nThe previous weeks had seen Aelis keep her distance from Blackstone day to day once she had walked with him through the town. His protection for her had been established and everyone knew that if one person attacked her then the town would be sacrificed. It kept their primal fear and hatred in check. She had slipped into near silence when attending Killbere, even when his hand strayed to her breast as she checked his wound. She had glanced at him with a reproachful look that made little impression on the veteran fighter, but thereafter she simply dispensed the ointments and herbs and insisted that one of the servants dress his wound. It mattered not to Killbere. The girl servant was willing enough to attend to more than his injury.\n\nBlackstone said nothing in reply to Killbere's request, but his gaze was enough of an answer. Killbere shrugged and sighed. 'All right, all right. I tried. Don't say I didn't warn you. God's blood, I swear you become more pig-headed every passing day.' He spat and looked past Blackstone at the expectant crowd. 'Now, Thomas, don't go making long speeches. We've a few days' ride to catch up with the King,' he urged quietly. 'The weather has turned for the better; we can make good time.'\n\nBlackstone glanced at him. 'They expect a speech. So I'm obliged to give them one. It'll be as long as it takes.'\n\nKillbere sighed and nodded in resignation; then he followed Blackstone as he strode towards the crowd. Blackstone stopped ten paces from the mayor and the crow priest, both of whom bowed their heads respectfully, as did the townspeople. Killbere stood a pace behind his friend's shoulder, hands resting on his sword's pommel. Like Blackstone, he was uncertain whether someone might still harbour enough resentment to strike at them, especially now that they had trained the town's militia. He glanced towards Aelis. It would be suicide for anyone to try and harm her, flanked by those two mountain bears, but what about here, closer to the crowd? A sudden lunge by a few determined men? It was a fanciful thought and he knew it. Blackstone had given the town back its life. Still, he reasoned, it paid to be suspicious.\n\nMalatrait stepped forward. 'You have taken grain from our stores. We have little enough for ourselves.'\n\n'Fighting men need barley. That's all we have taken.'\n\n'And now you leave us, Sir Thomas,' the mayor said, hands outstretched imploringly.\n\n'The militia have been sufficiently trained to withstand an assault on the town's walls,' Blackstone said, addressing the crowd. 'If routiers come in numbers you know what your fate will be. If you don't fight they will kill you, if you show resistance you have a chance. Take consolation in the knowledge that King Edward's raiding parties have swept many of the mercenaries away.'\n\n'Can we bury the men you hanged?' asked Malatrait.\n\n'What remains of them will be left as the warning that I intended.'\n\nThere was a murmur of disapproval from the dead men's family members in the crowd.\n\n'A Christian burial!' an anonymous voice cried out.\n\nKillbere's eyes scanned the crowd but there were too many to identify who had called out.\n\nBefore Blackstone could answer the crow priest stepped forward and then turned to face the townspeople. 'Lord Blackstone is right! Their bodies remain where they are. They serve as a warning. I will pray for them and ask God to forgive their acts of rape and brutality. Their bodies will rot, but Our Saviour the Lord will receive their souls unblemished by the corruption of their flesh. Only He will judge them.'\n\nKillbere glanced at Blackstone. Corneille, the crow priest, was playing his part. Mayor Malatrait raised his hand to quieten the murmurs of uncertainty. 'Our new priest speaks honestly. Their deaths might save our lives should routiers approach Balon. Let God embrace their souls as he said. These men acted in lust and their actions took them beyond that which they were ordered to do.' He looked over his shoulder at Aelis and then his eyes settled on Blackstone. 'It is just,' he murmured reluctantly. The purse of silver moutons Blackstone had pressed into his hand the day before had been an added guarantee of his loyalty. He faced the crowd again and raised his voice so those at the back could hear. 'It is just!'\n\nMalatrait's words calmed the crowd. Blackstone nodded his approval to the crow priest and the mayor \u2013 both men bought off in their own way; both sufficiently venal not to want to risk losing what they had gained.\n\nJohn Jacob and Henry brought Blackstone's war horse forward as one of the men-at-arms handed Killbere the reins to his mount. Blackstone climbed onto the bastard horse, the opposite rein gathered tight as always, stopping its cumbersome head from swinging around and biting.\n\n'You feared us coming to Balon,' he said, 'but despite the punishment inflicted you have benefited. No woman was raped or harmed; no man suffered loss of trade. Your church is restored, your altar rebuilt. You have a new priest to care for your spiritual welfare and a wise mayor to guide you in the years to come.' He looked down at the two men. 'If they do not execute their duties wisely then I will hear of it.'\n\nHe eased the brute horse forward. 'My banner flies over your walls. My name will protect you.'\n\nThe crow priest suddenly reached up to Blackstone's pommel. 'Sir Thomas,' he whispered. 'Be careful. She is the devil's whore. I know it!' He quickly made the sign of the cross and stepped back.\n\nBlackstone made no reply but the look in the priest's eyes reflected the genuine fear he felt. For a moment the priest's outburst caused a shudder down his spine. He shrugged it off and led his men towards the gates. The crowd parted.\n\n'What was that about?' said Killbere as he rode alongside.\n\n'He was begging me,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Ah. He knows when he's well off. I'll wager he was pleading with us to stay?'\n\n'No. He was begging me to look after the old man who rides at my side,' said Blackstone and before Killbere's curses reached his ears he spurred his horse forward.\n\nAs the gates closed behind the last horseman a great sigh could almost be heard from the citizens of Balon."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "'The weather won't hold,' said John Jacob some days after Blackstone and his men rode out of Balon. 'Look at that horizon, Sir Thomas, we'll be drenched again sooner rather than later.'\n\nThey had already crossed the River Aisne at the same place they used months before. The bend in the river and the narrow banks had been difficult but caused no hardship. Now they were camped in the lee of a forest, the land sloping away from them, a place where if attacked their enemies would have to labour uphill before being able to strike. On the reverse slope another river, wide and treacherous, offered protection to their rear. The view was clear and the distant sky forewarned them that the weather would be an ally to the French. They could hear the rushing sound of water tumbling across the ford they had found on the river they believed to be the Yonne.\n\n'We're still too far north,' said Blackstone. 'Perinne! Do you know this place?'\n\nThe barrel-chested fighter scratched his close-cropped head. 'We're nowhere near Auxerre and the King,' said Perinne. 'I'm sure of that. There's a Benedictine abbey on the river and we've seen no sign of it.'\n\n'Then we're lost,' said Killbere as he gazed across the unfamiliar landscape. 'God forbid there would be a battle raging somewhere so we might hear drum and trumpet to guide us.'\n\n'We need to get across onto the other bank,' said John Jacob. 'The King is to the west. Somewhere.'\n\nWill Longdon trudged around the forest's edge. He was sweating despite the cold air brought by the easterly breeze. 'Our arses will be soaked if we do, no matter how high you sit in the saddle. Me and the lads have been trying to find a better way across. There isn't one. I'm fearful the horses won't keep their footing, Thomas. The rains have swollen what shallows there are here.' He removed his cloth coif and wiped the sweat from his face. 'I reckon we'll lose men and horses.'\n\n'And there's no other crossing place?' said Blackstone.\n\n'We've gone downriver near enough another two miles. There are no villages in sight. So no one's built a ford to get cattle or wagons across and if the King crossed anywhere around here we'd see the signs. Ten thousand men leave a trail of shit that you'd smell before you step in it.'\n\nKillbere chewed a piece of grass and pointed with it in the direction Will Longdon had come from. 'Walter Pegyn said the King would make for Paris. He'd have a hundred miles to get to the outskirts; odds are he's already there by now. We're better off being this far north. Save ourselves a long ride. Let's get ourselves across the damned ditch and if we're still in Burgundy hope it proves as friendly to us as it was to Edward. I don't want to be caught midstream by any French raiding parties.'\n\nBlackstone considered the risk. He nodded at Killbere. 'See to it, Gilbert. I'll join you at the river.'\n\nAs the men stripped off their mail and armour and made their way down to the river Blackstone went to where he had made a place for Aelis. When they camped at night he had kept her on the edge of the men and placed a guard over her. As he approached he saw that she was standing gazing in the direction of their travel. Her eyes looked past him into the distance.\n\n'Aelis,' he said softly.\n\nShe showed no sign of recognition or of hearing him and, uncertain, he faltered to a halt a few paces from her.\n\nAfter a few moments she looked at him. 'Sir Thomas?' she said, as if seeing him for the first time.\n\n'We need to cross the river here,' he said, ignoring her dream-like expression. She appeared to be still deep in thought.\n\n'I see,' she said. 'And it's more dangerous than the other crossing we made.' She had not asked a question but had stated a fact.\n\n'Yes,' he answered, wondering if she had foreseen the difficulty or whether she had heard the men who had returned from their reconnaissance speak of it. 'Get rid of your cloak. Wear the jerkin and breeches I gave you. Bundle your clothing and tie them on the saddle. The current is strong. Can you swim?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'We'll have a rope across to help horse and rider.'\n\n'And if I fall into the arms of the river goddess then you will see whether I sink or swim. Perhaps then you will have the answer to the question that has been troubling you.'\n\nBlackstone was in no mood to discuss the doubts he held about her. 'Get ready,' he told her and turned back to where the men had started to make their way down to the riverbank.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' she called after him. 'You don't know what lies across the river.'\n\nHe turned. 'My King and his enemies are there. And once we are with him then you will be found a place to stay.'\n\n'There's more,' she said. 'Your past is there.'\n\n'I lived in Normandy for many years. That's no secret.'\n\n'More than that. You'll see,' she said and then ignored him as she unhooked her cloak and began to undo the ties on her dress. He felt tempted to watch her strip off her clothing but, as a pious priest would whip his own flesh to rid himself of impure thoughts, Blackstone punished himself with self-denial and turned away. He was uncertain whether it was through fear of this mysterious woman or the clinging memory of his dead wife. Whatever the reason, he craved the distraction and sanctuary of battle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 39",
                "text": "Perinne struggled against the fast-flowing river. Occasionally his feet stumbled across the boulders below the surface, which afforded him a brief moment of purchase. If the current took him there were roots and half-submerged tree trunks to snare him. He gasped and floundered as his arms beat steadily against cold gushing water. Few of Blackstone's men could swim but Perinne had proved himself on other campaigns. Now he had offered to take the slender line across the other side of the river that would allow a rope to be hauled across and secured. He swallowed water, lost his footing, but then forced his head above the surface, gulping air, trying to control his choking. He saw through blurred vision the men and horses on the bank. They were shouting encouragement to him but the roar of water and its chill in his ears deafened him. He had plunged in a hundred yards upstream, fought the churning current and was now almost at the far bank directly across from the men. He had used the swirling water to bring him down to where the shallowest part of the river appeared to be. The leather sack strapped to his back contained shirt and breeches, which would be the only warmth available to him once he made the riverbank. For now he was naked, pinched and stiff with cold, and battling aching muscles. His feet found purchase in mud and gravel and he was suddenly only waist-deep. Throwing himself forward he grasped handfuls of grass on the bank and hauled his shivering body ashore. He ran to the treeline and began hauling the heavy rope across. It took only minutes and then he hoisted the rope around a stout tree trunk and tied it off so that its height would be that of a man's waist in the saddle.\n\nJack Halfpenny and Robert Thurgood stood shivering on the near bank with the other archers. Everyone had stripped down to jupon, undershirt and breeches. No man was to risk drowning because he was laden with weapons, mail and armour. Shields and swords were fastened securely to saddle straps and pommels. The war bows were nestled in waterproof linen bags. The water would cause less harm to their arrows, which nestled in their waxed arrow bags.\n\n'I stay till the end and see if we can get the wagon across,' said Blackstone, nodding towards the hay cart that carried supplies. 'The mules are strong enough but if a wheel goes then we'll abandon it. I'll not have any men drowning to salvage smoked meat and wine.'\n\n'We should feast on it first,' said Killbere. 'If a man's to drown better to have a full stomach and a confused mind from an over-indulgence in wine.'\n\n'And if we cross without incident? You'll thirst and starve for the next week.'\n\n'You give a man hard choices, Thomas. I'll stay back with you and help with the supplies. Let's get to it then.'\n\n'Across you go,' Blackstone said to John Jacob. 'And then you, Henry.' His own squire and son would brave the water first.\n\nJohn Jacob made no complaint and eased his horse into the water. For a moment it seemed the horse would panic before it found its footing, but the taut rope did its job as it pressed against the horse's flank and Jacob's leg, and bolstered man and horse's confidence.\n\n'You'll pull me out,' said Halfpenny to Thurgood. 'I'll not drown like a gasping fish.'\n\n'Fish don't gasp, you fool,' said Thurgood. The two men had grown up together in the same village and it had always been Thurgood who waded into lake and river to bring in their fish snares.\n\n'If they're on land they do,' said Halfpenny. 'And so will I if I go under.'\n\n'Hold your breath and you'll bob to the surface.'\n\n'Aye, but what do I do then?' said Halfpenny. 'I'll be going downstream like a bobbing apple.'\n\n'No you won't,' said Thurgood as he tied off his pannier and tested its security. 'The horse will probably kick you to death before that happens, or those half-submerged tree trunks will gut you like a Frenchman's halberd. It'll be slow and cruel but the cold will kill you soon enough.'\n\nHalfpenny hunched against the cold. 'Bastard,' he said to his friend.\n\nWill Longdon's firm grip held Thurgood's shoulder. 'Jack's a ventenar. There are twenty archers who need him. He's important. He goes in, you go in after him.'\n\n'Aye, of course, Will. I was joking is all.'\n\n'This is no joke. I hate rivers. When we waded across Blanchetaque I was up to my chest while bastard Genoese crossbowmen were loosing their bolts but at least I had Sir Thomas at my side and he swims like a bloody pike. I've damned near another fifteen years on my aching bones since then, so you'll ride between Jack and me,' said Will Longdon, poking a finger into the archer's chest. 'I'm a centenar. So if Jack and me go in you remember I'm more important than him. I'm the one you rescue first.'\n\nBlackstone watched as his son followed John Jacob into the water. The boy balanced his weight as his horse found its footing. Its gait rolled and swayed but the young page instinctively allowed his body to anticipate its uncertainty. John Jacob rode ahead of him and when necessary raised his right hand to indicate where the best path would be across the uneven riverbed for the horses. Once half the men had followed, Blackstone nudged the bastard horse next to Aelis.\n\n'Go next. The horses ahead are easing the current so your horse can follow in their wake. Grip his mane if you feel unsteady.'\n\nThe sorcerer's daughter barely acknowledged him. 'I know how to ride. I've as much skill as any man here.'\n\nBlackstone refrained from challenging her. There were enough horses crossing to give her own mount a sense of certainty, but he knew that if she did not control the animal it could shy and she would be swept away.\n\n'Who will carry my satchels of medicine?'\n\n'They'll come across with the supplies.'\n\n'And if the cart cannot get across?'\n\n'Then they'll be strapped to the mule. And if the mule can't get across I will bring them. Get ready and do as you are instructed. Your river goddess seems to be a mean-spirited bitch.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "Halfpenny waited as she urged her horse down the shallow bank. He half turned to Thurgood and, keeping his voice low, said to him, 'I will let her swaying arse blank out my fear of drowning.'\n\n'If the horses splash enough water I'll wager the ties on that jupon won't hold. I want to see her tits burst free from it. I swear, Jack, they could push their way through the gates at Rheims.'\n\n'Hey!' Will Longdon urged. 'Enough chatter. You're as bad as washerwomen. Go.'\n\nHalfpenny and Thurgood eased their horses into the river after Aelis. The cold water crept up their legs and thighs and the skittish horses needed a firm rein. Further ahead amidst the groups of riders some mounts threw their heads back as the water bubbled noisily beneath them. In midstream one of the men nearly fell when his horse lunged, trying to pass another. He cursed and brought it back under control but the beast's actions caused a ripple effect down the line. Men sawed their reins in an attempt to stop their horses from clamping their teeth onto the bit and forcing their heads forward. Riders' seats were precarious no matter how skilful they were.\n\nAs the horse in front of Aelis shied, its back legs slipped, then righted. The stumble alarmed Aelis's horse and its iron-shod hooves slid over the rocks. It fell. She threw herself clear of the stirrups and as she pitched into the water she tried to grab the safety rope. She plunged below the surface into a deeper pool, and then surfaced, choking, the current snatching her quickly away. She floundered, her feet trying to find purchase as she went over shallower ground, but the eddies below the surface clutched at her legs. Through the gushing water in her ears and mouth she heard vague, distorted cries from the men. Her blurred vision saw men trying to control their horses as her own clambered to its feet. One of the men on the bank spurred his horse downriver. A mottled beast, cinder-burnt, the men had told her. Scorched by the devil. The man who leaned forward in the saddle had raised an arm and shouted something. Then she was under again. Darkness engulfed her mind. She was dying. She knew there was little she could do. No matter what goddess she implored for mercy, the one who lay waiting on the riverbed was about to claim her. She burst through the surface. Someone was close to her. She couldn't make him out. His face snarled with effort and spat water, but a callused fist reached for her. Beyond him the scorched beast was forcing its way into the current, its strength overcoming the torrent. The man's fist clutched at her. She felt its strength grab the front of her jupon, the ties tore but like a dog with a rat he shook her free of the drowning and shoved her face clear of the water. He was shouting at her. 'Don't fight! Don't fight!' She tried to make sense of what he was saying. She had to fight. The river goddess was enfolding her into her arms. And then she understood. She tried to tell him but her breath was trapped in her lungs. Her eyes stung in a confused vision of rolling clouds and tumbling water. The man in the water had wrapped an arm around her. She felt her breast squeezed under his strength but the power in the man's embrace made her cough and splutter. 'You're all right! Stay calm! You're safe!' The voices shouted in her ear. Pain pressed into her back. The man who had rescued her pushed his body against her. She realized he had pinned her against one of the half-submerged tree trunks. She could barely make out his features. One of the younger men. An archer, she thought. The man's grip loosened as the current nearly pulled him away. She slipped below the surface again and felt the water consume her. Once again he struggled with her and wrenched her upright. She forced her eyes open wider. A horse's black sinewed leg was close to her and then Blackstone leaned down, arm outstretched. The man in the water grunted with effort and hauled her into the horseman's waiting grasp. Then she smelled leather and sweat and felt the rough cloth of Blackstone's jupon on her face.\n\n'The stirrup! Robert, seize the stirrup!' A voice, she thought it Blackstone's, called out. 'Robert! Strike out, man!'\n\nThen the horse lunged, its strength powering it back towards the riverbank."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Will Longdon and Halfpenny nearly went into the water when Aelis's horse lost its footing. As they steadied their mounts they saw her tugged rapidly away by the current. The water was not deep but the pools were and river goblins could snatch ankles as well as submerged branches. A foot caught between two river stones would quickly drown anyone caught below the water. They were traps set by the river spirits. As Halfpenny yanked his horse's reins he saw Robert Thurgood throw himself from the saddle. For a moment he thought that he too had fallen but seconds later saw his lifelong friend was striking out towards the flailing woman. Halfpenny urged his horse forward; no one could stay midstream without causing problems for those who followed.\n\nThe momentum of the other horses carried the men across the river. Jack Halfpenny could only watch Thurgood splashing towards the helpless woman. Every once in a while his friend disappeared from view and visions of boyhood jabbed away at his memory like an archer's knife. They had fought at Poitiers together and been in Blackstone's ranks since soon after. Killing an enemy and whoring with friends was a life well lived, but to die in a river was to fall victim to fate's foul claw. Unjust and cruel, it threatened to take his friend. For a brief moment he almost jumped into the water to help but knew that would have caused his own death. As water sluiced from his horse's shoulders and its hooves dug into the opposite shore's muddy bank, he was raised high enough to see Thurgood pressing the girl's body against a tree stump midstream. Its slimy trunk offered no purchase but somehow his friend pinned her above the water. 'Hold on!' he shouted as he urged the horse forward along the riverbank in a futile gesture of help. If he could find some shallows he could ride the horse into the river in the hope of his friend reaching him. Let her go! his thoughts urged. No woman's worth dying for! His progress was stopped by the trees further downstream. He could go no further. He saw Blackstone had already spurred his horse along the far shore and then fearlessly ridden it into the river. If any horse could withstand the current it would be that beast of battle. And then Blackstone had hauled her onto his saddle leaving Thurgood clinging to the half-submerged tree. Halfpenny laughed. Cursed fool did it! He saved her.\n\n'Come on! Robert! Swim, man. Here! Come on!'\n\nBlackstone had kicked free his foot from the stirrup and Thurgood stretched for it. But the current took him. Halfpenny saw the gaunt look of exhaustion on his friend's face. Perhaps he had heard his shouts of encouragement because he turned towards Halfpenny. It looked as though he raised an arm. Yes, yes, Robert. I see you. 'Strike out!' he yelled, cupping his hand to carry his voice.\n\nThurgood threw his arms into the water, thrashing, head down, turning for the bank. But he made no progress. For every stroke forward he went back five. He was caught in an eddy. He seemed to kick and half raise himself. Then the dark brown water swept him away. Halfpenny saw the agony of defeat on his face and then suddenly he was gone.\n\nAll that remained was the bend in the river, echoing with the gurgling laughter of the river spirits."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 42",
                "text": "Aelis had no sense of how long it took Blackstone to reach the shore. She slipped in and out of consciousness and then felt the soggy ground beneath her back. A man's hands pressed below her breasts; she tried to fight him off, but then she vomited and spewed water and bile, her body curling like a child into a protective fold.\n\n'Bad luck. I told you, Thomas. She brings bad luck with her,' a voice said from somewhere behind her head. 'She lives?'\n\nShe opened her eyes as Blackstone covered her with a blanket.\n\n'She lives,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "Blackstone and his men pushed through the forest in an attempt to follow the river and find Robert Thurgood. The archer was a strong swimmer but Halfpenny had seen him swept away. His friend forged ahead of the others but after an hour it was obvious the river, and Thurgood, were lost to them. They were being slowly defeated by the tangled growth of the ancient forest and impenetrable thorn and bramble. They could smell wild boar and knew it was unsafe for a man to be more than a few yards from his companions. The deeper they went, the darker the forest became, even though the leaves had not yet fully formed on the branches. But the heavy sky and the interlacing canopy began to make the search dangerous. Beasts of the night would soon come out to follow the hunting paths.\n\nBlackstone pulled the men out of the forest and returned to the camp where he had left Aelis, wrapped in blankets next to a roaring fire, one of a dozen Blackstone ordered lit: dry tinder and wood were plentiful in the forest. He knew that warmth and food were now more important than a fruitless and dangerous search in the approaching night.\n\nJack Halfpenny was riven with despair and no words of comfort from Blackstone would have eased his pain \u2013 so none was offered.\n\n'Jack, you will stand first watch. Keep the fires burning,' Will Longdon told him. It was best to keep a man occupied when a grievous loss was his night's companion. 'I don't want to wake and see you or your men slumped. Pick three others from your twenty and make sure they patrol back and forth. Push two out on each flank within sight of the fires. Rotate the watch every three hours.'\n\nHalfpenny obeyed, determined not to show his grief. Men died at your shoulder in battle; there was no good or bad way to die. Lance, fire, sword, mace, beneath the iron-shod hooves of a war horse: no difference at all. Dead was dead. Carrion for the crows. Better to die with friends, though, he reasoned to himself. The last cry for help given to the man you had lived and fought with over the years. Not like this! Not swept away like a helpless beast caught in a torrent. Yet a beast had no thought. Knew nothing about death. Robert Thurgood would have known every second of his final, desperate gasp for life."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "Thurgood had felt as if he had wrestled with Meulon or Gaillard. These men, as tall and strong as Blackstone, could crush men with their bare hands. The weight and strength of the fast-flowing river twisted and bent his body and slammed it hard against some unseen obstruction in the river. The sight of Jack Halfpenny racing down the riverbank in a vain attempt to reach him roused a strange sensation within him. He knew he was moments from being pulled under but he tried to raise his arm in farewell to his lifelong friend. He saw that Blackstone had forged his way clear of the water on his war horse and that the woman had been saved. Bewilderment ran through him: why had he plunged in to save her? He had no feelings for the woman; she meant nothing to him. He had lusted after her as much as any other man, but knew she was untouchable. His thoughts mocked him. Perhaps she had been a lure dragged through the water and he, like a fish, had been entranced by her. Then he had choked and managed to push himself momentarily above the surface. The roar of water in his ears conjured images of battles he had fought in which men's voices rose up and became part of the very air they breathed. He remembered himself and Halfpenny bending into their war bows as one, loosing the arrows and knowing they were slaying a common enemy. They had challenged each other all their lives. Halfpenny was the better bowman, Thurgood had always known it, but never resented it \u2013 though regret scorched him now in these last moments of his life. He wished he had pillaged more, wished he had taken more women against their will when he had had the chance. Blackstone's threat of punishment for such crimes seemed of little importance now.\n\nThurgood felt the change in the current as he was swept around the bend and lost sight of his friend and companions. It carried him out into the middle of the stream where some power below twisted his legs as the current above fought it in the opposite direction. The shoreline forest deepened, casting its gloom onto the water. Perhaps this was the portal into death that was about to snatch his soul from his body. He fought against the contradictory forces but his strength was failing. He could see in that brief moment that the river calmed as it flowed away from the bend and then settled into deeper water. If he could reach it, then he might have a chance of survival. He filled his lungs with air, stretched every sinew and struck out for the middle. He cursed his waterlogged jupon that was as heavy as steel. There was no way to count the heartbeats that it took to reach the calm stretch but there was a sudden, soothing cradle that rocked and bore him along. His final effort had taken what little strength he had left. He raised his face to the sky and spread his arms. The evening mist rose, seeping through the trees: wisps of water spirits beckoning his soul. Robert Thurgood closed his eyes and surrendered to the river gods."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "Killbere watched as the men settled around their fires. The captains went among them organizing the night watch. A man had died, but nothing changed in how seasoned fighters went about the ritual of creating warmth and food. Cooking pots nestled into embers and the smell of pottage steamed into the night. They had been lucky. The rain held off and only one man had drowned. It was a small price to pay. The fighting force that Blackstone led was still intact.\n\nKillbere peeled off his mail and lifted his shirt. The wound was now only a blemish on his skin. The girl's skills had rid his body of poison, but he suspected she had infected the men with something more lethal. Fear.\n\n'Your wound has opened again?' said Blackstone as he approached and settled his blanket next to the fire.\n\n'No, it's like an infant's arse. Smooth and unblemished.'\n\n'A pity she couldn't have treated your face then,' said Blackstone and accepted the dark piece of food offered by Killbere.\n\n'Blood cake,' said Killbere. 'I kept some. It's good. I would not welcome a face without blemish. A man's face tells the world what he is about. Ask anyone who gazes on your features. The German knight did you a favour that day at Cr\u00e9cy. Had he not scored your face with his blade you would have grown into a pretty man. The women would have swooned and men would have spat at you in the street. There's nothing more troubling than seeing a man who looks like a woman.'\n\n'You forget Guillaume,' said Blackstone, remembering his young squire who had died a vile death at the hands of the Savage Priest.\n\n'You're right,' admitted Killbere. Guillaume Bourdin had often been teased for his boyish looks but his courage was without question. 'My God, that boy had a lion's heart,' he said and bit into the blood cake. 'We lose good men, Thomas. It's to be expected, but some of them deserved life into old age so they could tell the tales.'\n\n'We leave that to the scribes and their exaggerations,' Blackstone said, falling into silence. Each of them gazed into the fire.\n\n'And drunken old veterans who can lie better than most,' Killbere said after a few moments. 'Thomas.' He looked at his friend, knowing what had not been said needed to be spoken. 'She brings bad luck with her. She's cursed. Perhaps those people at Balon were right about her and her father. They scorched the evil from him but perhaps his malevolence passed to her.'\n\nBlackstone raised the wineskin to his lips and then passed it to his friend. 'You've become as superstitious as an old crone, Gilbert. The man healed others, just as she healed you.'\n\n'But I was lying between earth and heaven. I knew nothing of what she did to me. Magic is a powerful tool that conjures forces we cannot understand.'\n\n'She healed you with herbs and potions. I stayed with you throughout and when I left the room another man took my place. She knew she could have died had she not saved you.'\n\n'You know she has other powers though. You can see it. She draws men's desires to her like a beggar to a money-lender.'\n\n'She stays under my protection, Gilbert. Thurgood died because he tried to save a woman from drowning, nothing more.'\n\nKillbere shrugged. 'Perhaps. But she spins a web, Thomas. Who's to say she did not draw him to her? Eh? Witches do that, you know. When their own souls are being pulled from them they suck a man's spirit from him like a spider sucks an insect's juices.'\n\nBlackstone stood and retrieved the wineskin. 'Do you feel less of a man since she healed you?'\n\n'Me? No. Never better. All I'm saying is \u2013'\n\n'Listen to me,' Blackstone insisted. 'I watched her force the bile and poison from you. I saw what she did. If she was a sorceress she could have drawn the life force from you too, Gilbert. She touched your cock, not your soul.'\n\nKillbere's jaw dropped, the food on his tongue falling to his chest.\n\n'That's right, Gilbert. It was no dream of your nun. She straddled you that night.'\n\nBlackstone strode away. No matter how much he wished otherwise he knew Killbere was right. Thurgood's death caused ill feeling towards Aelis. He needed to be rid of her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "The man-at-arms who guarded Aelis sat on a fallen tree a dozen paces behind where the girl's fire burned and the canvas shelter that had been put up for her. She sat wrapped in a cloak, knees drawn up, holding the warmth within the weave, the tin plate of food untouched at her side. The sentry got to his feet as soon as Blackstone approached.\n\n'You've eaten, Collard?' he asked. He knew the name of every man who served him. Collard was under Meulon's command and had been with Blackstone since Italy. He was a veteran like every other who had sworn allegiance to the scarred knight. The man's pockmarked face with its uneven beard was as patchy as a moth-eaten cloth. The swordsman scowled.\n\n'Later, my lord. There's time yet when my watch is over.'\n\n'Very well,' said Blackstone. 'Has anyone approached?'\n\n'None, lord. And they would not get past me if they did.'\n\n'You fear her?' said Blackstone.\n\n'I fear no one, Sir Thomas.' He grinned, exposing broken teeth through the patchwork. 'Except you, lord. You would loosen any man's bowels if you faced them with Wolf Sword in your grip.'\n\nBlackstone spoke lightly. 'There are many who have tried to separate me from it and they showed no sign of fear. I ask you again, do you fear her?'\n\nBlackstone's quiet insistence unsettled Collard. He nodded reluctantly. 'She says nothing to provoke a man to be fearful, but there's\u2026 something not right. I don't know what.'\n\n'This woman has done nothing to harm any of us. If anything she is a force for good with her healing skills. She saved Sir Gilbert. Remember that,' Blackstone said, despite his own uncertainty.\n\nHe moved next to the fire. Aelis raised her eyes. Her toes peeked beneath the cloth that she had wrapped around her and he wondered whether she was naked beneath the cloak, but there was no sign of her clothing drying next to the fire.\n\n'You are dry and warm?' Blackstone asked.\n\nShe nodded.\n\n'You haven't eaten,' he said. 'The cold will bite and we all need food when we can get it.'\n\n'I have no hunger,' she answered. 'Not after a man died trying to save me. What was his name?'\n\n'Robert Thurgood. He was an archer. He was young and he was strong and one of the few men who could swim. It makes no sense to let his death starve you of good food. Eat.'\n\nShe shook her head and hugged her knees closer, her toes now covered. Blackstone picked up the plate. 'Collard, take this food for yourself.'\n\nThe man-at-arms strode forward and took the plate. 'Thank you, Sir Thomas.' He turned back to the fallen tree. He would eat, but keep watch on his sworn lord and his charge. If the woman was a sorceress she could strike Blackstone down with a spell. It was well known that a woman like her could do such a thing. If Blackstone fell he would slay her without another thought.\n\n'The men fear me even more now,' she said. 'You have lost a good man. A valuable man.'\n\n'Every man who serves me is valuable. We mourn every man we lose because part of us dies, because we share much together. We turn our backs on death until it has to be faced. It awaits us all. You bear no blame for what happened. The horses faltered. It was expected.'\n\n'What of tomorrow? Do you search for his body?'\n\n'No. He will have been swept downstream. I need to catch up with my King.'\n\nThe gloom had settled across the forests that stood behind and to the sides of the open land where they camped. The horizon was barely a smudge as the damp air settled. She shivered.\n\n'Get under cover \u2013 the dew will be heavy tonight. There might be rain by daybreak.'\n\nShe turned her face to him. 'Robert Thurgood did not seem like a man who would die easily, Sir Thomas. When he was close to me in the water with his body pressed against mine and his breath was on my cheek I looked into his eyes through the fear in my own. We cleaved together like lovers caught in a maelstrom. There was a strength in him that would be hard to kill.'\n\n'All my men are hard to kill. Don't dwell on him. Even you cannot resurrect the dead.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "After two hours' slow travel the following day they were still uncertain of their location, dependent as they were on the dull glow of the rising sun behind the clouds to guide them westward. They skirted the vast swathes of forest that lay to their left and which curved a mile ahead, riding far enough from the treeline to avoid any ambush from routiers' archers, but close enough to escape into the trees should horsemen attack across the open plain. There had been no sign of the enemy or of marauding bands of brigands, but Blackstone knew that they roamed far and wide and he wished that he could find signs of the English army. There was no scent of man or horse on the breeze, and no smoke from any fires carried and lingered in the forest. They would soon lose the protection of the trees as they eased their horses across the open ground.\n\nKillbere rode at his side with John Jacob and Henry following. Aelis rode alone with Meulon and Gaillard behind her. There was no idle talk among the captains but further back in the column archers and men-at-arms bantered as always. Banter that soon stopped.\n\nBlackstone saw the figure far ahead. Eight hundred paces to his archer's eye. The man burst from the gloom of the trees and with a staggering gait ran hard towards them.\n\nBlackstone halted.\n\n'Perhaps it's a villager from somewhere around here,' said Killbere, peering across the dully lit landscape.\n\nBlackstone kept his eyes on the man who stumbled and fell, then raised himself up and continued running. 'We've seen no village for days,' he said. 'That's no peasant,' he added. At six hundred paces the man took some form and at five Blackstone knew who it was. 'That's Robert.'\n\n'A turd always floats!' shouted Killbere to the men. 'It's Thurgood!'\n\nMen cheered and their horses jostled as they began to move forward to greet him.\n\n'Hold fast!' shouted Meulon. 'You have had no command!'\n\n'It's Robert!' Halfpenny said. 'He's exhausted. I'll take his horse for him.'\n\n'No!' said Will Longdon. 'Stay here. Meulon's right. Why's he running? An exhausted man stays where he is and waits for rescue.'\n\nAt four hundred paces Thurgood fell and did not rise. Halfpenny yanked his horse out of the column but Gaillard reached out and snatched his rein. 'Jack! Listen to Will. Your friend runs from something.'\n\nHalfpenny cursed but contained his impatience. The likely truth of what Gaillard said cut through the men's relief at seeing one of their own back from what had seemed certain death.\n\nA slash of red like a bird taking flight fluttered through the distant treeline beyond the fallen archer.\n\n'A pennon,' said Blackstone.\n\nAnd then there was another as the dark treeline's shape shifted. A line of horsemen emerged. A rider came forward at the trot bearing a flag and then halted a hundred yards from his own men.\n\n'I'll be damned,' said Killbere. 'Those are Lancaster's colours. It's Pegyn. He's been raiding and doesn't know it's us.'\n\nKillbere raised himself in the saddle. 'You blind old bastard! It's me!' He turned to one of the men behind him. 'Raise our pennon. Let him see who we are.' He pointed to the lone horseman. 'Thomas, Pegyn is as wary as a fox. It will be good to have his men ride with us.'\n\nBlackstone had not taken his eyes from the gathering horsemen. They waited on the edge of the forest. Why? They outnumbered Blackstone's men; that was plain to see. Pegyn's caution was understandable but why did he hold back once Blackstone's pennon was raised? And why was Robert Thurgood lying face down in the grass having run himself into exhaustion like a wounded deer from a ravening wolf?\n\n'It's a trap, Gilbert. They're waiting for us to ride out further. It's not Pegyn. Get the men in the trees,' commanded Blackstone. 'Will! Wait until you're in cover and only then unsheathe your bows. Whoever they are they don't know there are archers among us.'\n\nKillbere needed no further command. He wheeled his horse, as did those behind him. Blackstone spurred the bastard horse forward. 'Thomas!' Killbere shouted.\n\n'They'll kill him!' said Blackstone. His shout made it clear he intended to rescue Thurgood.\n\nJohn Jacob pointed at Henry. 'Go with the men!' He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and followed Blackstone's great war horse whose galloping hooves tore up clods of earth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 48",
                "text": "Thurgood lay face down. He felt the earth tremor and somewhere in the darkness of his wearied mind knew that it was not the roar of water that had swept him downstream until his body scraped against the shallow gravel bank that formed a small promontory jutting out from the shoreline. He had no sense of how long he had lain on that shore but as the first chill of dawn summoned the river's mist he had awoken. The gnarled and twisted tree roots that still clung to the muddy bank were rotten but afforded enough grip to pull himself up the bank. He had stumbled into the forest and felt despair defeat the joy of having cheated death in the water. It was dense, bramble-choked woodland with no sign of path or animal track. He had felt no pain or hunger and any thirst had long been satisfied by the copious amount of river water he had swallowed. It was the cold that would slow him down and although he had cursed the weight of his jupon in the water he now knew the padded jacket would keep him sufficiently warm. He stripped naked and wrung out his breeches, shirt and jupon with as much strength as he could muster; and then he put the wet clothing back on his shivering frame. There had to be a way through. The sun was still behind the clouds, and obscured further by the forest canopy, so he could not determine which direction he faced.\n\nGathering his thoughts he placed himself back at the crossing where he had plunged into the river. He remembered the dawn, pictured the bend in the river and then whatever images he could recall that gave him clues to the river's direction. He had to move west to try and find Blackstone and his companions. He forced his mind to ignore the uncertainty about where the river had taken him. There were ferns growing close to the water's edge; they were unfurling after retreating during winter. It was still early in the year so that meant it was likely that they had warmth early in the day. Morning sun. East. That way. Back across the river. Boyhood hunting lessons were never forgotten. The trees' branches soared upwards but others reached horizontally towards any warmth the sun might offer. He sought out trees with lichen growing on one side of their bark. It was not always the case that this meant they faced north. He had been fooled by nature's trick too many times as a boy when he poached the hunting grounds of his manorial lord along with Jack Halfpenny. Heading in the wrong direction then would have put him squarely into the arms of his lord's reeve and certain hanging. The skill he had been taught was to find where moss grew. Moss needed water to thrive. He forced himself through the undergrowth, following what few spears of light he could discern in the forest. Tumbled boulders rose above him, and good fortune proffered him the sheer face of rock he had hoped for. Pushing through the undergrowth, he ignored the brambles scratching at his legs. Edging around the rock's sheer surface he ran his hands across its flanks like a man assessing a horse. He found the covering of green that crept up one surface. This surface would never have the comfort of the sun's warmth: it was always in the shade. The sun spent most of its time in the southern sky. Therefore the rock's moss-covered surface faced north. The trees and moss had given him a bearing. He broke off a slender branch the right length for a staff. Now he had something to help push through the undergrowth and, he comforted himself, a means of defence against creatures that lurked there, and in his mind.\n\nAs he pushed through the bracken his eyes scanned the trees for any sign of movement. Because he was looking ahead not down, he caught his foot in a root and went tumbling headlong. He plunged into a ditch; black slime smothered him. He choked and cursed and spat the foul-smelling mud from his mouth, and with a desperate lunge clawed himself free from the boar wallow. Scraping the mud from his eyes he cursed his bad fortune. There was no point in stripping again. No stream offered itself, just the underground spring that had formed the perfect pit for wild boar to roll in. He blew what he could from his nostrils and pushed deeper into the forest.\n\nHe had no means of gauging how long it had taken him to penetrate the depths of the woodland. He found a path that cut through the thickets. The musky smell of deer and the animal's droppings told him the beasts had moved through hours before, probably going to ground just after first light, seeking shelter and safety from predators. And then another smell caught his nostrils. The woodland had thinned out and there was more light: his hunter's gaze flitted from one tree to the next until he found he could see more than a hundred yards ahead. There was movement in the half-light. And then the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. The distant movement slowed and became what looked like a single mass of men. The breeze barely penetrated the forest but the sickly smell of death needed no help to assail his senses. He had instinctively half crouched when he saw the men and in so doing his focus changed and fell on the disturbed ground to one side. He scurried quickly towards it and then stopped suddenly; unbalanced, he tumbled forward into the bracken. He was lying among dead men. A vast swathe of death where bodies had been piled up. The men bore no insignia to identify them. Heart thudding, he clambered over their bloodied corpses until one man's death stare halted him. His mind raced. He had seen that face before. But where? The man's mottled beard exposed a rictus grin. It was Sir Walter Pegyn. He and his men had been slaughtered and stripped of their blazon.\n\nThe jangling of horse bridles and rustle of men preparing for battle startled him back to the immediate danger. Horses had been brought forward from further back in the forest. It was impossible to see how many men were readying themselves, but he knew that if they had slaughtered Sir Walter and his eighty men then they must number at least a hundred or more, and if they were scouring the countryside as a raiding party then they posed great danger to any smaller group. A half-dozen men eased their horses near the grave, their voices low, barely murmuring. They were almost on him. He lay without flinching. The horses were so close he could smell them. The men stopped, and through half-opened eyes he saw them staring down at him. He prayed his thumping heart would not give him away. The men said something to each other and then smiled as they gazed down on their victims. Thurgood realized that the dried mud obscured his jupon's blazon and disguised him. The men heeled their horses. He waited until the silence of the forest settled again.\n\nHe pushed through the undergrowth directly away from the gathering men. If Blackstone and the others had followed the line of the forest then they would ride into an ambush. He tripped and fell a dozen times, his face and hands were scratched, but he forged through the undergrowth towards the light that brightened the edge of the forest. He dared not go further. To try and escape into the open would invite death. A lone horseman could quickly ride him down or a crossbowman fell him.\n\nHis body trembled from exhaustion. Fear dried his mouth and throat. He waited ten feet from the forest's edge. The open ground beyond it showed no sign of movement. Crows cawed and bickered in the treetops. Nothing else stirred. The killers made no sound other than their movement: no voice was raised, no commands uttered and that told him that they were seasoned men who knew the value of silence. If the horsemen were readying themselves then it meant that they must have scouts beyond the forest who had warned them of others approaching.\n\nHis eyes blurred. He rubbed the tiredness from them and swept his gaze across the horizon. A smudge on the skyline became a knot of riders who were moving at walking pace. They had to be unaware of the men in the forest and if they stayed on course they would soon be too far in the open to escape back into the trees that lay on their flank for cover. He stared hard, using his archer's skill to focus on the approaching men. They were too distant for him to identify the blazon on their shields. Then the dark shape of the horse in front, its bulk and size and the misshapen head, told him who led the men. He cursed his exhaustion, knowing he did not have the strength to run all the way to warn Blackstone and the others. But there was no choice. He had to time his run carefully so that he could make enough ground before those who lay in ambush were forced to reveal themselves. Slowly but surely Blackstone's men approached and his mind's eye measured the distance. At what looked to be eight hundred paces he sucked air into his lungs and burst from the trees' protection."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "Blackstone saw the shimmering treeline burst into life as the horsemen spurred their horses towards him. He had the advantage of being at full gallop, whereas they needed to gain momentum from a standing start. As he threw back his weight to pull the war horse to a halt John Jacob surged past him. Blackstone dismounted and went down on one knee to turn Thurgood's body face up. The leading horseman from the ambush had a fifty-yard advantage over his companions and he was the immediate threat. Blackstone gripped the front of the fallen man's jupon and shouted his name. The archer's eyes fluttered and Blackstone slapped him across the face. The shock made Thurgood half raise himself, a fist swinging unconsciously against his unknown assailant. And then realization dawned on him.\n\n'On your feet!' Blackstone yelled, dragging the sturdy archer upright. He mounted and hauled Thurgood behind him, but not before the bastard horse had swung its head and tried to snap at the clambering man. As Blackstone turned away he saw John Jacob attack the fast-approaching horseman. The man barged his horse into Jacob's and swung a chained mace. Blackstone's squire took the blow on his raised shield and as his opponent regained his balance Jacob wheeled his horse tightly, yanking rein and kicking with his opposite leg into the horse's side. He had little time to kill the man-at-arms. More than a hundred riders had spurred their horses from the thickets. John Jacob came up slightly behind the man, denying him the chance to swing the mace again, but offering himself with a lowered shield to make him think he could swing the spiked ball behind him into Jacob's face. As he raised his arm to strike, John Jacob ducked and rammed his sword beneath the man's armpit.\n\nAs Blackstone urged his horse on he looked back and saw Jacob a hundred yards behind. The horde of men would catch him if they did not come within range of Will Longdon's archers soon. He could feel Thurgood's arms wrapped around him but knew the archer would not be able to hold on much longer, especially with the horse's awkward gait. As he came within 150 paces of the forest he felt Thurgood fall. He turned the horse. John Jacob was racing towards him. Blackstone felt a sudden rising fear. Had they chosen the wrong place? Where were Killbere and the other men-at-arms? There was no sign of them in the trees. And if Will Longdon did not have his archers on the edge of the forest where they could loose their arrows without the branches impeding them then he and John Jacob would have no chance against so many.\n\nBlackstone halted the bastard horse in front of the fallen Thurgood and drew Wolf Sword. There was no time to fasten a blood knot to his wrist. He held up his shield and readied himself for the bone-crushing force of the charge that was now less than two hundred yards away. John Jacob swerved; sweat lathered his horse's neck and flanks. Its nostrils flared and for a moment it seemed he would not be able to control the stallion. Then Jacob turned the horse and, twenty paces to one side of Blackstone, prepared to meet the horsemen head on. The charging men seemed intent on galloping through him and Blackstone and then riding down the few men they thought to be retreating into the thickets behind.\n\nBlackstone focused on the man he would kill first. The bastard horse strained, ever eager to attack, but as Blackstone was about to ease the reins and spur forward he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. The attacking horsemen suddenly leaned back in their saddles, hauling on their horses' reins, the shock of what they had seen causing instant panic. These men wore only jupon and mail and had no plate armour. The ranks of archers who strode ten paces from the forest on either flank of Blackstone and John Jacob were already drawing their war bows. Will Longdon had divided his archers ready to catch the horsemen in an enfilade. The bows creaked: yew staves bending under the enormous pressure from the archers' strength and skill born from years of training.\n\nThe ash-hewn arrows tore through the sky. The horsemen were already barging into each other as they tried to escape. No sooner had the archers loosed than their second arrows were flying and moments later a third. Three waves of yard-long, bodkin-tipped arrows fell into horse and man. It was carnage. Horses whinnied and screamed as the shafts pierced deep into muscles and flesh. They tumbled, legs breaking as they went down, eyes wide in terror and pain. Where moments before the horsemen had been sweeping down confidently on those weaker in number, they now were felled, cursing and shrieking in agony, some pierced by more than one arrow. Flailing hooves smashed bones and skulls. Men writhed; some tried to turn and run. Most could not.\n\nBlackstone tasted the lust of killing on his tongue. As the fourth volley of arrows was let fly he felt the sinews in his back and arm relive the moment when he too had been a master archer. Before that German knight had sliced through his face and broken his bow arm at Cr\u00e9cy. But here and now, like that slaughter at Cr\u00e9cy fourteen years before, the chaos was almost complete. From certain victory to certain death in less than a minute.\n\nBlackstone heeled the bastard horse and a heartbeat later John Jacob followed. Behind them Killbere and the mounted men-at-arms burst from the forest with blood-curdling yells. Within seconds Blackstone and John Jacob were among the foundering men; still dazed from the archers' unexpected assault they offered Blackstone's men little resistance. Killbere raised himself in the saddle, giving himself extra height to bring his sword down onto the collarbone of one of the horsemen. The man's mail did not save him. The blade angled and caught him beneath the ear. Half his jaw was sliced away and the edge of Killbere's blade almost severed his head. Blood gushed across Killbere's arm, but he was already spurring his horse forward. It needed little encouragement. The scent of blood was turning it wild. Like many war horses in battle it would run uncontrolled through the enemy lines, but once a blood-crazed horse did that the enemy could surround the isolated rider and bring him down with spear and axe.\n\nSir Gilbert wheeled and kicked the horse into submission and tried to reach Blackstone, who had already cut his way through the horsemen twenty yards ahead. Iron and steel wrought a deafening clatter but men's cries soared above the clamour.\n\n'Thomas!' Killbere yelled. Blackstone had burst through the enemy lines and was pursuing three men who had broken free and were galloping across the open plain. He saw that John Jacob was fighting a determined opponent but would soon better him. Grinning, Killbere turned his horse to follow Blackstone, exulting once again in the joy of battle.\n\nThe pursued men looked back over their shoulders and saw only one man chasing them, with another rider two hundred yards or so behind. One shouted something to the others and they wheeled their horses to attack. Blackstone saw that they were riding too hard to make a neat turn, and as the men peeled away left and right they were too far apart to make their intended assault effective. The predator, Blackstone, locked his gaze onto his intended victim. The man in the middle had been obliged to slow his horse from a gallop to a canter. Under different circumstances that could have given him more control to fight. But with the weight of the bastard horse charging at him his own horse fought the bit, wrenching his head from side to side in a desperate attempt to escape. The horseman cursed and struck its flank with the edge of his sword blade and the pain made the horse whinny. It ducked its head unexpectedly and pulled the rider off balance.\n\nBlackstone was on him. He parried a blow with his shield and as the man raised himself in the saddle to strike again Blackstone rammed Wolf Sword into the soft muscle of the man's buttocks. His scream was muted by the vomit that spilled from his mouth. His head dropped, body curled in pain, and Blackstone cleaved his shoulder from his body. Released from the tension of the reins the horse panicked and ran; the swaying man still saddled until moments later the corpse tumbled to the ground.\n\nThe two survivors drew closer together but now they had Killbere attacking from their left and Blackstone from their right. The sight of the raised shields bearing Blackstone's coat of arms caused them to hesitate. One of the men-at-arms was more courageous: he kissed the crossguard of his sword and urged his horse towards Killbere. The other panicked and tried to turn away but as his horse swerved he fell sideways out of the saddle. His foot caught in the stirrup for a few seconds but the horse's momentum soon released it. He clambered to his feet to find the charging war horse that was bearing down on him moments before now stood thirty paces away, flanks heaving, nostrils billowing cold air, the sheen of white sweat flecking the saddle and its rider, who stepped down, sword in hand.\n\nThe man fell to his knees, threw aside his sword and raised his eyes to the scarred face that now stood over him. 'Lord Blackstone, I crave mercy.'\n\n'You know me,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Your blazon,' the man answered as behind them the clash of steel told Blackstone that Killbere had engaged the second man. The fight soon ended and the kneeling man's reaction told Blackstone who had lived and who had died.\n\n'You're routiers,' said Blackstone. 'You slaughter Englishmen and steal their colours. You lure others to their deaths under falsehood.'\n\nThe man shook his head. 'No, lord. We are French. We serve the King and his son the Dauphin. We fight as Frenchmen against you.'\n\nKillbere's horse approached at a steady trot and stood off from Blackstone.\n\n'No French knight would steal an enemy's colours and hide behind them. It goes against every code of chivalry. Even your Dauphin would not allow such dishonour.'\n\nThe man sighed. 'Sir Thomas, it was his command for us to ambush and kill them. Our captain was instructed by a man who counsels the Dauphin. His name is Simon Bucy, a man of great authority. Our captain died in the first assault. He was a squire, no more, but he led us well. We were to kill any English patrols and take their clothing. None among us took pleasure in such deception but we followed our orders.'\n\n'Your name?'\n\n'Paul de Venette.'\n\n'You have a family?'\n\n'In the suburbs of Paris, lord. Two sons and a daughter. And a good wife who fears the approach of the English King.'\n\nBlackstone glared at the man, who had begun to shiver. 'Get to your feet,' he said.\n\nThe man attempted to stand but he trembled too much. 'I fear death,' he said. 'Here, like this, in an open field without a weapon in my hand. I do not wish to die like a butchered beast.'\n\n'You will not die,' said Blackstone. 'At least not at my hand.'\n\nThe man tried to express his gratitude but Blackstone's sword point rested beneath his chin and raised his head. 'You will identify your captain among the fallen and you will take a message back to the man who ordered this deception. If you do not, I will hunt you down across the whole of France. I will find your family and I will slaughter your children in front of their mother and then I will give her to my men. Edward will soon be your King and so I will know if you break your pledge.'\n\n'I swear I will do as you command. On my family's lives I swear it.' Still shaking, de Venette got to his feet.\n\n'Walk to where we killed your captain,' said Blackstone.\n\nBlackstone watched the man shambling back towards the killing ground. Blackstone tugged the bastard horse's reins and settled into the saddle.\n\nKillbere spat. 'Slaughtering children and raping women now, are we?' He grinned.\n\n'You know that I had to make sure he would do as I said,' Blackstone answered. 'Just because a snake hisses doesn't mean it's going to strike.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Meulon and Gaillard had pulled Aelis into the forest and told her to stay as far back in the trees as she could in case the attacking men penetrated the woodland. And then Killbere had shouted a command for Henry to stay with her as the two Normans joined the others readying themselves for the attack. The young page obeyed and remained mounted with sword drawn. He watched as Will Longdon quickly dispersed his men and Killbere gathered the horsemen ready to attack. His heart beat quicker and his palms sweated. Aelis looked at the boy who might soon be her only defence. He set his jaw firmly and concentrated on the men's rapid movement in front of them.\n\n'Give me one of your knives,' she said.\n\nHenry glanced quickly at her and shook his head. 'If they break through and kill me you have a better chance of staying alive if you don't try and fight them.'\n\n'I'll die anyway,' she answered. 'Do you know what was done to me at Balon?'\n\nHenry nodded.\n\n'I will not endure that again,' she said.\n\nThe charging horses shook the ground and Henry looked through the trees to where his father protected the fallen archer. Nothing, it seemed, could halt such a charge. Even Will Longdon's archers, he thought, could not save his father or John Jacob out there in the open. Once again in his young life the boy thought he faced death. He tugged free the knife from his boot and handed it to her. She nodded her gratitude and together they waited for the assault.\n\nWhat Henry Blackstone and the woman had never witnessed before was the efficient killing of man and horse by English and Welsh bowmen. Henry's shock at the terrifying slaughter was mixed with excitement. And when Sir Gilbert Killbere charged from the forest beneath the rainstorm of arrows the boy's stomach tightened and the gorge threatened to momentarily choke him. And then his father was lost from view as he plunged into the enemy ranks.\n\nOnce the French attack had failed, the men-at-arms dispatched the dying. He watched as his father followed a lone survivor towards the fallen. The man went among the dead and then pointed to someone lying half beneath his fallen horse. It was one of the men who had led the charge. His father quickly decapitated the corpse and beckoned one of the men to put the head in a sack, which was then given to the survivor. Henry could not hear what was being said, but the man grasped the bloodied hessian and then went on one knee before Henry's father. Blackstone took his knife and cut a blazon that was stitched to one of his dead men's jupons. He thrust it into the survivor's fist. Then a horse was brought forward and the man allowed to ride free.\n\n'Your father sends a message to his enemy,' said Aelis, and without waiting for the boy's response went forward to help with the wounded."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "'Four of ours dead,' Meulon reported to Blackstone. 'A small price, Sir Thomas. There must be a hundred or more of theirs. Our numbers become fewer in every fight,' he added. 'I hope we find a weaker enemy next time.'\n\nKillbere was busy wiping the gore from his blade. 'It is not in Sir Thomas's nature to prey upon the weak,' he said and grinned at the big Norman warrior. 'You're injured,' he said quickly, noticing the blood that seeped beneath his coat of mail.\n\n'A sword thrust. It's nothing.'\n\n'Aye, and nothing becomes something. Get fires lit and water boiled. Clean and bind the wounded now, Meulon,' said Blackstone. 'Have the woman use her balm and dress it. We need to take a few hours and let Thurgood regain some strength. Move the men upwind from the stench of the dead. We camp until tomorrow.'\n\n'And keep an eye on the girl,' said Killbere. 'She might do more than heal you.'\n\nMeulon's bushy eyebrows creased in uncertainty.\n\n'Never mind,' said Killbere and waved him away.\n\nWhen Meulon was out of earshot Killbere said, 'Perhaps I was wrong about her. It might be that she brings us good fortune.' He looked across the killing field. What horses had escaped the carnage had run free but grazed contentedly within sight. 'Horses and supplies for plunder. Not much silver to be had other than Walter's belt, which I found on the man whose head you took. I'll keep the belt as a memento of our friendship.' He scrubbed a hand across his sweaty scalp. 'Until I need money for whores and drink,' he went on, grinning. 'I'll go down into the forest and see where he and his men lie. Perhaps there's more to be taken from them.'\n\n'No, Gilbert. Whatever they had these men will have taken when they killed them. Leave them. We can't bury them. The creatures will feast on them soon enough. Same with these Frenchmen.' He spat the cloying taste of death from his throat. 'The French must be desperate if they're hiding behind English colours.'\n\nThe two men watched as Jack Halfpenny and Will Longdon helped an unsteady Thurgood to his feet and then sat him down at the edge of the forest. Halfpenny gave his friend a wineskin and Thurgood drank thirstily. Aelis walked towards the archers.\n\n'You warm to her, then, Gilbert?' said Blackstone.\n\n'I have a fevered memory of that night. That doesn't mean I intend to wed the girl.'\n\nBlackstone gave him a warning look. 'Don't be like Will Longdon and let your cock rule your brains.'\n\nKillbere sighed. 'Have no fear of that, Thomas. My cock is like a diviner's stick. It seeks out that which is hidden, not which is offered freely. A man needs a contest even with women.' He took the reins of his horse and walked to where the men had begun moving upwind of the dead.\n\nBlackstone watched Aelis reach Thurgood and the archers. Her rescuer rose quickly to his feet and Blackstone saw her reach out and take his hand, then raise it to her lips. She was thanking him for saving her life. She then turned away and began helping one of the wounded. Blackstone saw the look of lust on Thurgood and Halfpenny's faces. Uncertainty lingered in his mind. The girl was among them like a fox in the hen house, and she already cast her influence \u2013 good or bad \u2013 over his men. Her spell would strengthen the longer she stayed. He regretted bringing her with them and the reason for doing so was beginning to seem less certain. He had wanted to save her life from the retribution that would surely have been inflicted on her once he and the men had left Balon.\n\nMore than that, he told himself. She had already started spinning her web. He promised himself that she would not entrap him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "They buried their four men-at-arms who had fallen in the attack. They were a Hainaulter and three Englishmen who had served in Blackstone's company for two years. Collard had been friendly with the Hainaulter but knew nothing of the man's family. These men lived and died anonymously, but Blackstone allowed their bodies to be buried and marked their graves by scratching a stone with each of their names. Before they had left Balon all his men had been shriven by the crow priest so their souls were ready to meet their maker in the hereafter. Only Blackstone had remained unshriven. He would not confess sins to a God who already knew them, and who had allowed his wife and child to be murdered. Defiance ran ever deeper within him. Arianrhod, the goddess of the silver wheel, hung at his neck next to the small crucifix Christiana had given him. Both symbols offered comfort in their own way. The pagan moon goddess was created by the Almighty as surely as any man, woman or beast. He felt her presence in every tree and river. But God hid in the shadows.\n\nAfter two more days they had left what they believed to be Burgundy. It was soon apparent that they had left the land where the peace treaty had been signed with the Burgundian Queen. Devastation was widespread. They came across three burnt and plundered villages within the space of a day. The ashes were cold, the blackened timbers cool to the touch. Here and there bodies lay scattered across fields: victims of Edward's soldiers' raids who had tried to escape. If Blackstone and his men followed the trail of destruction they would soon find their way back to the King. Instinct and the occasional pall of smoke on the horizon led them towards the great army that by now must be ready to attack Paris.\n\n'My lord?' Henry said late in the third day, as Blackstone was about to lay down his blankets by the fire. Killbere looked up from where he sampled pottage from the blackened pot.\n\n'Henry, you've food enough?' he asked.\n\n'Aye, Sir Gilbert, with John Jacob. I've skinned a coney that Will Longdon trapped. He caught a half-dozen and gave me one.'\n\n'Then he favours you, damn him. He never gives us rabbit, does he, Thomas?'\n\n'What is it, Henry?' Blackstone asked.\n\n'May I speak with you?' his son said.\n\n'All right.'\n\nThe boy looked uncomfortable in Killbere's presence and Blackstone caught the boy's look of anguish. 'Walk with me. I want to check the captains have placed the pickets.'\n\nKillbere barely stopped his snort of derision. Blackstone trusted the captains with his life; there was never any need to check the sentries. He bit his tongue. It was obvious the boy needed to speak privately with his father.\n\nBlackstone and Henry walked across the gently sloping ground. Rain had fallen the day before and the evening clouds threatened more to come in the following days. 'Rain will be on us again, Father,' he said, allowing himself to address Blackstone as a parent rather than his sworn lord, now the two of them were alone.\n\n'You didn't want to talk about the weather, I hope. My supper grows cold.'\n\nThe boy shook his head. 'No. More than that. I wondered why you have brought us to this place?'\n\n'Here? We camp in safety. We are on high ground. There are no forests close enough to draw out night creatures. There's water in the stream and our backs are to the east wind.'\n\n'Father, do you not recognize where we are?'\n\nBlackstone gazed across the hillside. The copse of aspen in the valley at the stream's edge meant nothing; neither did the shadows cast from the weak sun. 'I do not,' he said.\n\n'Then it is fate which brings us here,' said the boy in a defeated tone.\n\nBlackstone felt a bristle of irritation. 'You've been listening to the ramblings of that woman?'\n\n'Mistress Aelis? About what?'\n\n'That my past lay somewhere in this land once we cross that river.'\n\n'She said that?' Henry whispered, clearly shocked by Blackstone's answer.\n\n'Henry, enough of this now. What is it you want?'\n\n'When Mother and Agnes were killed at Meaux we travelled south.' He pointed to the opposite direction from where they stood. A slim scar of a track meandered past crippled trees, bent from age and wind. 'We came from the direction of those trees.' He pointed to their intended direction of travel the following day. 'If we travel across the crest of that hill we will be at the Abbaye de l'Evry.'\n\nBlackstone felt a cold grip seize his heart.\n\nMemories haunted him. Before the battle of Poitiers he had sent his wife and children to safety at Avignon under the Pope's protection. Christiana had been raped on their journey there. Henry Blackstone had been in his ninth year and had tried to save his mother from the attack but it had been John Jacob who had cut the rapist's throat and thrown his body overboard from the barge that carried them. After Poitiers Blackstone had been exiled for trying to kill the French King but when they were about to cross the Alps Christiana had told him she carried the rapist's child and that she would not abort it. It was not the unborn child's fault, she had declared. The rift tore them apart but eighteen months later, when Blackstone returned, days before her murder, they had reconciled. Days when they cleaved to each other like the long-lost lovers they were. And he had promised to claim the child as his own and to go to the convent where it had been placed for safety. After her death he kept his promise. The Abbaye de l'Evry was found, the child named and claimed as his own, but he paid for the nuns to raise him.\n\n'Then\u2026 then we shall present ourselves tomorrow and see how\u2026 the child fares,' he said reluctantly. He was still bound by the promise to Christiana.\n\nNow, he thought, the wound was reopened.\n\nAnd not only his.\n\nHe saw the look of alarm flash across Henry's face. He had stabbed the boy's heart.\n\n'Merciful God, Henry. You know, boy, don't you?' He realized that the lie he had told about the rapist's child being his own when they had previously visited the convent might have been believed then, but the boy had grown in knowledge.\n\nHenry's face tightened as he held back the tears. 'I know whose child it is,' he said.\n\nFather and son stood alone on the darkening hillside, the cold bite of wind ignored. It could cause no deeper chill than what they already felt.\n\n'I promised your mother,' Blackstone said, his voice little more than a whisper. 'I honour her, still.'\n\nHenry's chin sunk to his chest. Silent tears fell.\n\nBlackstone took his son into his arms and they both wept for the woman they had loved."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "The Abbaye de l'Evry rose sheer from the ground, windows set high in its walls. The abbey had been fortified a hundred years before and blessed with stipends from the nobility and knights who sent wayward daughters and unwanted offspring behind its walls to be forgotten. Their fate was left in the hands of the nuns who inhabited the sprawling convent.\n\nThe edifice stood rock-like in the barren landscape. What had been a village of a few hundred souls who had grown food and helped sustain the convent now lay in ruins. King Edward's orders that no church or convent be desecrated had been adhered to. The command had not included those who lived beneath its walls.\n\nKillbere and John Jacob waited half a mile back from the convent gates as Blackstone and Henry were granted entry. Their weapons had been surrendered to Killbere who rubbed a thumb across the silver penny embedded in Wolf Sword's pommel. The sword carried Blackstone's history better than any scribe's manuscript.\n\n'Just as well the King had no desire to scale these walls,' said Killbere. 'Not just for Thomas's sake but ours. It would take a siege engine to reach over them.'\n\n'The men ask why we came here,' said John Jacob.\n\n'There's no need for them to know, John,' said Killbere. Only he and John Jacob were aware of the reason.\n\n'I've told them Sir Thomas owes a debt to these nuns. That they offered prayers for his wife.'\n\n'A good enough explanation,' said Killbere. He spat and then blew snot from his nose. 'Were the bastard child mine I would leave it to its fate.'\n\n'The boy is well?' asked Blackstone as he followed the abbess through the colonnade. 'There is nothing wrong with him?'\n\n'We neither accept nor keep any child of deformity or idiocy. We allow only those whom we believe to have the potential to be a vassal of God,' she said as she briskly led Blackstone and his son along the stone-floored passageway of the open cloister. The convent was built so that the open ground faced south and gathered as much sun as possible and its walls ensured protection from the northerly and easterly winds. There were gardens and a well within the walls and nuns went about their duties hoeing and working in the potagers, but there were other women dressed in more fashionable clothing than a nun's habit who sat on benches enjoying shelter from chilling wind. They wore furs and fine cloaks and it was doubtful their hands had ever scrubbed a cooking pot.\n\n'And women of entitlement bereft of their husbands,' said Blackstone, as one of the better-dressed women stared at him with open hostility.\n\n'Widows and those who choose to live here in safety,' the abbess answered. And then without any sense of embarrassment: 'They pay well. They lie on feather mattresses and have clean white sheets. They have carpets on the floor and freshly cut rushes beneath them that are changed each season so that their dress hems do not trail in the dirt. Their food is as rich as they desire. Since I took the veil forty years ago I have seen many such women come and go. It is not for me to judge,' she said. 'Your King protects us behind these walls as much as our lamented King Jean, but your barbarian soldiers would be happy to storm the walls if they could and dishonour us all. It is well known to God and all his angels that our innocence is like that of the sacrificial lamb.'\n\nHow innocent? he wondered. Fornication with monks or priests was not uncommon and the abbess wore two or three jewelled rings on her fingers. Protection came from many places: a pious king who would see no harm come to nuns and an abbot who would ignore misdemeanours and irregular bookkeeping in return for sexual favours. It was not only money that rich women used to pay for indulgences.\n\n'This is a religious house for women,' said the abbess. 'We are secluded from men other than the abbot and the priests of the Church. We do not usually permit men to enter into our sanctuary but we know your intentions are honourable.'\n\n'The boy\u2026 my son\u2026 what of him?'\n\n'When you were last here after your wife's death, may God rest her soul, we had a wet-nurse from the village attend him. Now we let him stay with the older children placed in our care so that he might learn from them. He is a willing child and even tries to copy them in their chores.' He was a pace behind her as she turned a corner. A door was slightly ajar and Blackstone saw it was the refectory. It was plain and unadorned, a place where food would be eaten in silence, perhaps with a reading being given. A far cry from the raucous scene when his own band of men ate. The abbess led him to where a narrow passage went past the chapter house. The slype led in turn to a heavy oak carved door where she stopped. 'Your wife wished us to keep him only until she was out of danger from the Jacquerie. That she died would have caused you pain and loss. She was a good Frenchwoman who saw fit to marry\u2026 you. But you paid us to keep the child and we have honoured the bargain. Please restrain yourself from calling out your son's name. He must not be upset by a wayward father's desire to know his offspring,' she said and pushed the door open.\n\nThe room was large and illuminated by cresset lamps which were barely sufficient to cast their light around the vastness of the space. The vaulted ceiling's beams flickered with shadows and added to the eerie silence surrounding what seemed at first glance to be twenty-odd children of different ages sitting on wooden benches at long tables where they stitched cloth. They worked in silence. Boys were dressed in loose-fitting shirts and girls in shifts; all wore a knitted woollen vest for warmth. The youngest seemed to be about three years old, the oldest eight or nine. The great slabs of cut stone on the floor had no covering of reeds for warmth underfoot.\n\n'They sew clothes that we sell,' said the abbess. 'We teach practical skills as well as scripture.'\n\n'It's cold in here,' said Henry. 'There's a brazier \u2013 could it not be lit?'\n\n'We must all learn to endure,' she answered, giving Henry and his father a disapproving look.\n\nThe children had glanced up at their arrival in the hall but a nun quickly laid a strop onto the tabletop to bring back their attention. Henry flinched at the abbess's sharp retort. It was not difficult to imagine punishment being meted out for any slight infraction of good behaviour or convent rules. Henry knew the children's life within these walls would be strictly controlled. Which was the better existence? This life or the harshness that beckoned outside: sent into the fields by the age of three or apprenticed into a knight's care to be trained as a page? Harshness of one kind or another came as surely as night followed day. Every child endured whatever it must.\n\nLike his father he searched out the child who might be his half-brother. 'I don't see him,' said Henry. 'Father?'\n\nBlackstone shook his head and wished he had not honoured his wife's memory. It served no purpose to be in this place, looking to identify a bastard he could never love. But he knew why he had come. He desperately wanted to see Christiana's face in the child. That hope tempered the pain of going once again into the convent.\n\n'There,' said the abbess, pointing to the middle of a bench and a dark-haired boy, his body hunched over the bench, his nimble fingers gathering pieces of cloth that he passed from one older child to another as if it were a game. His face was bright and round, cheeks flushed with the cold or good health \u2013 it was impossible for Blackstone to determine which. The boy was working quickly but then he raised his face to another child and his face broke into a grin. Dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he pricked the other boy quickly with his needle. The older child winced but did not cry out, and with a quick glance to see that the nun was not watching pricked him back. A child's spitefulness expressed as play. Nothing about the boy reflected Christiana's warmth. Her autumn-coloured hair and green eyes were absent.\n\nBlackstone turned on his heel. 'I've seen enough,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "The abbess escorted him to her office where a novice sat with quill and parchment. A leather-bound ledger, as tall as the table was deep, lay open. Blackstone instructed Henry to wait outside.\n\nThe abbess faced Blackstone as the door closed heavily behind him. 'Our King forces our people to burn their own villages. Those that do not are destroyed by your soldiers. I lose rents. It might soon be impossible to keep\u2026 all the children. Their care is expensive,' she said, trying to hide her slyness by glancing down at the neatly written columns in the ledger.\n\nBlackstone spilled out a purse of gold moutons. A small fortune to the likes of the abbess. Enough money to cover ten years' rents.\n\n'Betray me and the child and I will return and scale these walls that you think cannot be breached. And I will slaughter every living soul within them,' said Blackstone and watched the colour drain from the abbess's face.\n\nShe quickly regained her composure. 'There is no need to threaten us, Sir Thomas. The boy's welfare will be to the forefront of our minds and hearts.'\n\nThe novice counted the gold's value and was about to enter the amount in the ledger when the abbess fingered a dozen coins from the pile.\n\n'The abbot would not look so kindly on such a generous donation, Sir Thomas. He would take more than usual for his priests'\u2026 wellbeing. We must have a contingency for unforeseen events. After all, there is a war being fought.' She tapped the table with her finger, instructing the novice to enter the amount that remained.\n\n'How long will you keep him?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Another five years \u2013 no longer; then he will be too old to live with women.'\n\n'And then?' asked Blackstone.\n\n'A monastery, I would think.'\n\nThat would shut away the child for ever. He would be lost to the world, no doubt to become a tonsured and pious begging wretch in rough-sewn habit. Blackstone felt torn. He was about to abandon the child. It would take nothing more than those few gold coins to ensure that he never heard of the bastard again.\n\n'You would keep records of where he is sent?' Blackstone asked, glancing at the novice nun.\n\n'Of course. We are held to account by the bishop.'\n\nLet him go, the voice in his mind urged him. But Christiana refused to abandon her hold on him. He relented.\n\n'I've decided that for the boy's own good he should not bear my name. I have too many enemies,' said Blackstone. 'He should be known by his mother's family name. De Sainteny. Let it be recorded that he is William de Sainteny. My wife had no other living relative. No claim will be made against him and he in turn will have no cause to seek out the family.'\n\nSuch a request was not unusual. Children were disinherited; shamed girls were abandoned and bastard children forgotten. The abbess glanced at Blackstone. The scarred face was stern. It told her that her suspicions had been right all along. When Christiana had brought the baby to the convent gates seeking protection she had suspected then that the child was illegitimate. The mother was no harlot; that had been obvious. So the child was either the result of rape or an illicit affair. It mattered not.\n\n'It shall be as you wish,' the abbess answered. The Englishman had paid enough to have her forget original sin, let alone that of a dishonoured woman.\n\nHe watched as the novice erased his name from the ledger and replaced it with Christiana's family name.\n\nThe ink dried; the ledger thudded closed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "Blackstone made no mention of what had happened at the convent as he led the men towards Paris where he expected the King's army to be. The weather changed seemingly by the hour as the wind drove the rain into their faces and then veered so that the dry cold air chilled them further. Killbere and John Jacob kept their silence, but Killbere had Aelis on his mind. It would just take him some time to broach the subject of the woman with Blackstone.\n\n'When the King is crowned and holds France, will you return to Normandy?'\n\n'Why would I?' said Blackstone.\n\n'It was your home with Christiana and the children.'\n\n'It was my home when she was alive. No longer.'\n\n'Where then?'\n\n'If we survive the war\u2026 Tuscany, I suppose. I will have Father Torellini find a tutor for Henry in Florence. It will be a good time for him to return to his education. Another year of serving as my page at John Jacob's side will have toughened him and given him the skills he will need to become a squire one day.'\n\n'You trust a Florentine priest in the pay of the bankers of Florence too much. One day his grace and favour towards you will run out and on that day he'll sell your soul to the highest bidder. Florence is a city-state that cares only about itself. Like any king or ruler. We count for nothing when deals are made, Thomas.'\n\n'He has been a true and trusted friend. I'll count on that for as long as it lasts. Besides, Tuscany will suit us all. Elfred is still there with several hundred of my men. Our contract still holds with Florence.'\n\n'If Elfred is still alive. He was old when we invaded in France in '46: Italian women and wine might well have planted him in the ground already.' Killbere grimaced. What lay ahead offered little compensation once Edward became King of France. 'Well, I suppose Tuscany is as good a place as any unless a crusade comes up, though I cannot bear the cries of the righteous when it comes to slaughtering heretics and non-believers. Best let a man face God on his own terms is what I say. Italy will at least be warmer, which is in its favour. And there'll still be some fighting to be had. Here, it will soon be over and if I'm to die in a good fight then I would rather choose the company I die in.'\n\n'You complained when we were in Italy. You had had enough of the winters. They were colder than here.'\n\n'I changed my mind.'\n\n'Like an old woman.'\n\n'When you were a boy and I took you to war I swore to Lord Marldon that I would offer you my protection. Now that I'm an \"old woman\" it will soon be time I am looked after. You owe me that.'\n\n'I'll find you a fat peasant woman to feed you gruel and keep you warm in your bed.'\n\nKillbere said nothing for a moment. It seemed unlikely a better time to discuss Aelis's fate would present itself. 'Talking of women, Thomas, we must discuss the witch girl, and what is to be done with her. Perhaps we should have committed her to the convent,' he said.\n\n'She's no witch, Gilbert, nor was her father.'\n\n'She predicted you would come here. She survived the water. If she's a witch she has the power to cheat death.'\n\n'She did not name this place,' Blackstone answered.\n\n'And yet we ended up here. Which is where your past lies.'\n\n'A turn of phrase. She doesn't know anything about me. Every man's past lies down the road. It's where we meet our maker when we die. I thought you would be the one who would want to keep her. Are you not grateful to her for your life? And that she bedded you?'\n\n'My life is in God's hands, not those of some herbalist who is banned from practising her skills and obliged to mix herbs and potions in a cellar out of sight of the King's officers. That she straddled me \u2013 if you are to be believed \u2013 I will consider to be moments of fevered pleasure. I did not know it was her. I will not allow myself to be beholden to a woman who finds me irresistible.'\n\n'You have the good grace to smile. A ravening wolf might find you irresistible. I doubt many women would unless enough silver was pressed into their hand,' said Blackstone.\n\n'All right, all right, I might jest but what do you intend with her? We ride into the King's camp with a woman who could snare an army with her bewitching eyes.'\n\n'I don't know what to do with her, Gilbert. I'm at a loss. If I abandon her to her fate I sense I'll be cursed.'\n\n'You fear her?' said Killbere.\n\n'Not fear. A voice inside urges me to keep her with us. It tells me she is important to us, but I don't know why.'\n\n'God's tears, Thomas. Has the visit to the convent and the boy addled your brain? Voices? I hear voices when I am lying drunk on rough wine and you have not been drunk since we dragged you from that piss-reeking room at the inn in London. The voices are your own. No pagan goddess, no angel on your shoulder \u2013 you!'\n\nBlackstone tugged his cloak closer around him. It was already soaked, but it provided some warmth as he sat unmoving on horseback. 'She can treat our wounded. I'll keep her for a while longer.'\n\nKillbere relented and fell silent. He turned in the saddle and looked back to where Aelis rode alone, boxed front and back by men-at-arms in the middle of the column. He shuddered. It was not from the cold rain that dribbled down his neck. Her eyes were on him and a smile played on her lips.\n\nAs if she knew he had been talking about her."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "They were within a day's ride of the King on the outskirts of Paris. Their misery from the rain was compounded by the food running low. The forest's branches dripped incessantly and an acrid veil of smoke from the damp kindling stung eyes and caught men's throats. Blackstone rode the bastard horse at walking pace beyond the forest the length of the men's camp. The figures moving about looked like phantoms, ghost soldiers that hovered between two worlds. We are already dead. This life is the journey towards death. Strange words that came from somewhere in his thoughts. He could not remember anyone speaking them, or hearing them in any sermon spewed forth from a priest. A cloaked figure stepped out of the trees and stood waiting. Another followed her but stayed in the treeline.\n\n'Aelis,' he said as he pulled up his horse.\n\nShe pulled the cloak's hood back from her head, ignoring the fine soaking drizzle. 'We're close to your army,' she said.\n\nAfter they had crossed the river she had changed back into her skirt and bodice and once again the soft folds of her dress allowed men's eyes to settle on the fullness of her body.\n\n'Tomorrow we will rejoin the Prince's division.'\n\n'Am I a prisoner?' she asked. 'There is always a guard placed on me.'\n\nBlackstone looked beyond her to where the shadowed figure stood. 'For your protection,' he told her.\n\n'You cannot protect me all the time, Sir Thomas. I said that to you before at Balon.'\n\n'But I did and I will. Men lust after you. Enough wine and my orders can be forgotten.'\n\n'I am unafraid,' she told him. 'I would prefer to be left alone. I can defend myself should I have to.'\n\nHe remembered her desire to castrate the men who had raped her. There was little doubt she would not hesitate to use a knife if she had one. 'No,' he said and pressed his heels into the horse. It took a few strides, but she stepped in its path. He pulled the horse up.\n\n'Sir Thomas, I will be at greater risk once we reach the army. If you let me go my own way I will find refuge somewhere. What difference between now and then when you will be obliged to abandon me?'\n\n'Now, I am here. Then, remains to be seen. I might place you with the barber surgeons.'\n\n'Those butchers?'\n\n'They help the wounded.'\n\n'I would rather take to the road and become a wayfarer,' she said.\n\n'Then accept my protection and stay with my men under guard,' he said.\n\n'If I agree will you let me practise my skills? If I cannot save a wounded man I can ease him out of his pain and give him a clean death. I use the treasure given to me by my father and the blessing of a merciful God.'\n\nDespite the darkness there was sufficient light for her to see his scarred face scowl with contempt. 'No one goes into the darkness silently. We die screaming in pain. We cry tears of agony from shattered bones. There's no final breath eased from our lungs \u2013 we gurgle and choke on our own blood. There is no merciful God, only a vengeful one.'\n\nHe eased the belligerent horse around her. He and his men were close to Paris and the French should by now be drawing up their army to protect that great city, the heart of their nation. The war banners would be unfurled and the last great battle would be fought. He would be glad to quit France and its misery.\n\nHer voice carried behind him. 'Vengeful only for those who deserve it.'\n\nHe turned and faced her. 'My wife and child carried no sin,' he said, his voice cold, the words spoken deliberately. 'You think you are blessed with the power of healing and the sight to see the future? I am blessed with a greater vengefulness than even God. Take some care what you ask of me. If I abandon you demons hidden in the hearts of men will hurtle from your merciful God's underworld. They will savage you.'\n\n'I bear the scars already,' she said.\n\n'You're alive,' he said. 'Scars and pain are proof of it. You will stay under guard until I decide what to do with you.'\n\nHe heeled the horse and sought the company of his men, silently cursing the memory of her nakedness and the desire it brought."
            },
            {
                "title": "DEATH OF THE INNOCENTS",
                "text": "Failure bludgeoned the Dauphin Charles. The shock was as potent as if armed men had breached his chamber and attacked him. In reality only one man stood before him: Simon Bucy.\n\n'The attack on England has ended in a rout,' said Bucy. 'And because of it our noble lord and King has been removed to another place of safety, far from the coast. The English will unleash their fury now.'\n\nThe Dauphin glared at his most senior aide, whose experience and presence he had inherited following his father's capture. In truth Bucy held more power than the Dauphin. It was Bucy who always searched for a way forward to secure a peace with the English. It was he who had liaised with the papal legates seeking an accommodation between the two warring kingdoms. And now the tone of the man's voice was accusatory.\n\nThe Dauphin sniffed. 'We cannot be held responsible for this failure,' he snapped. 'If thousands of men lacked sufficient courage to strike into England's heart then it cannot be laid at our door.'\n\nBucy was in no mood to coddle the boy. Decisions had been made against Bucy's advice. Hard-won years of experience serving the King of France and overseeing Parlement had been ignored. Whether it was the father or the son who went against his counsel their behaviour often stretched his lawyer's training and skills. And now the walled island that was Paris was soon to be completely surrounded and was being ruled by a boy who was at times as intemperate as his father. Well, if they were to have any chance at all of overcoming the great army that was trudging its way towards their beloved city then the Dauphin would have to be told the facts.\n\n'The raid was bravely led, sire. They did not lack courage. But the English will come at us now and if their rage is greater than their caution they will lay their siege engines and towers against our walls and throw fire and missiles until we burn.'\n\n'Let them come! Let them be provoked! The English army would never rise again: they would die in their thousands if they breached us.'\n\nBucy acknowledged to himself that the Dauphin, despite his immaturity, made a sensible point: his defensive position was strong. But\u2026 always a but, always a doubt\u2026 what if they were all wrong and the English threw caution to the wind?\n\nThe Dauphin paced nervously. Bucy remained unmoving. Best to let the boy spill out his thoughts and if pacing like a caged beast helped, then so be it. The Dauphin blew his nose and glared watery-eyed at Bucy. 'We are being assailed from within as well as from beyond these walls. Every day you bring me petitions from knights who wish to ride out and confront the English. How long before they raise their voices so loud that they cannot be ignored?'\n\n'They're fighting men who do not wish to be held captive behind the walls, highness. Their honour demands confrontation.'\n\n'We cannot afford to lose them but their ill will grows daily.'\n\n'Then let them go out and fight. Let them issue a challenge \u2013 if that's what it takes to appease their blood-lust and misguided sense of honour.'\n\n'Let our knights leave the city? Are you mad?'\n\n'Highness, give them something\u2026 a gesture\u2026 succour for their wounded pride. A hundred knights can be spared.'\n\nThe Dauphin shook his head. 'We cannot afford to lose them,' he repeated.\n\n'They might beat the English in a challenge. That would be good for morale in the city,' said Bucy.\n\n'And if they do not?'\n\n'Then it will convince the other knights to stay and ready our defences.'\n\nThe Dauphin could see that it made some kind of sense. The lawyer's mind had weighed the odds and offered a solution.\n\n'Very well,' said the Dauphin, and Bucy could have sworn that the Regent had squared his shoulders as if pride had suddenly straightened his spine. 'They can issue the challenge but only when the time is right, when the English reach the walls. But not a hundred, that's too many. Fifty or sixty. No more.'\n\n'A very wise decision, highness,' said Bucy with a nod of feigned respect. If the Dauphin now felt more confident it was a good time to deliver a more worrying message. 'There's more news, highness. Oil has been poured on the fire.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "An hour before, after he had read the document that related the disaster of the invasion of England, the royal captain of the guard had summoned Bucy to the courtyard. A dishevelled soldier stood clasping a sack darkened with dried blood. The man had refused to relinquish either the sack or the message he carried to anyone but the man who had given the orders to the raiding party in the Dauphin's name. Paul de Venette had travelled cautiously back to the city and had decided to delay his report and seek out his family in the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, one of the great suburbs that stretched from the countryside to the city walls. He had collected what possessions they could carry and brought his wife and children into the city where she would stay in the safety of her cousin's home as he did his duty and joined others on the walls to face the onslaught that would surely come.\n\nBucy had tugged the ermine collar of his cloak around his neck and shivered when he realized what was in the sack. Violence and the men who perpetrated it always stirred revulsion within him. He had commanded de Venette to relinquish the sack to a guard as he listened to the message from the man whose blazon he now clutched in his hand. The stitching on the badge showed the cruciform design of a sword and the words D\u00e9fiant \u00e0 la mort.\n\nBucy's stomach squirmed. He remembered a time past when he had commissioned the Savage Priest to slay Thomas Blackstone and his family, and now the Englishman's revenge reached again for those responsible.\n\n'I am to tell you, my lord,' said de Venette, 'that Sir Thomas Blackstone has slain our men and spared only me so that I may deliver his words exactly as they were spoken and which are meant for his highness, the Dauphin. I am to say this \u2013 and I recite it with disgust in my heart and the wish that I had not been so commanded. Forgive me, lord. These are his words: \"There is no honour in the vile King's son, the Dauphin Charles of the house of Valois. He sends dishonourable men to do his bidding, who are prepared to slaughter in ambush disguised as their enemy; it is he who deserves to die after being dragged naked through the streets of Paris and then to face execution in the Place de Gr\u00e8ve, and then for his severed head to be kicked into the Seine and his body cast before swine so they might feast on his foul flesh. I, Sir Thomas Blackstone, am the sworn enemy of the house of Valois. I am the sword of vengeance for all the wrongs done by that ignoble house. I come for you.\"'\n\nPaul de Venette's head had remained bowed as he recited the message. He raised his face to that of the inscrutable Bucy. He could not know the fear that had gripped the older man's heart when he held the blazon and heard the words of the Englishman they had tried to kill.\n\n'Forgive me, lord,' said de Venette.\n\nBucy looked at the forlorn man. 'You bring me the head of your captain and the words of the man who slew him. You say you regret being obliged to speak such foul words.'\n\n'I do, my lord.'\n\n'Then why was it not enough for you to bring your captain's head and remain silent?'\n\nDe Venette looked nonplussed for a moment. And then confessed: 'Lord, the Englishman's reputation is fearful. He swore that if I did not deliver the message he would hear of it and he would hunt me and my family down and slaughter us all.'\n\nBucy sneered at him. 'So you would malign your King and his son at an Englishman's command in order to save your family? Traitors have no place within these walls.'\n\nHe nodded quickly to the captain of the guard and before de Venette could protest his innocence the captain's knife blade cut his throat.\n\n'There is to be no mention of this man or the message he brought. Understand?' he said to the captain."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 59",
                "text": "In the sumptuous king's chambers, warmed by braziers and carpets laid across the stone floor, a far cry from the dank and bloodied courtyard, the Dauphin waited for Bucy to relate the further bad news.\n\n'Sire, the men you sent out to raid against the English and disguise themselves in Englishmen's colours: they have all been slaughtered.'\n\n'How many?'\n\n'One raiding party is all we know about, highness. They were formidable men anxious to execute your orders. They slew enough Englishmen to cover themselves in honour,' Bucy lied. Killing eighty Englishmen was hardly a major success but embellishment was always a good way to help smother bad news. 'They had the misfortune to come up against\u2026' Was there any point, he wondered in his hesitation, in telling the Dauphin any more lies about the glorious dead who had died at the Dauphin's ill-conceived orders? Bucy handed the blazon to the Dauphin, who quickly cast it aside.\n\n'He says he is coming for you,' said Bucy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "Simon Bucy clattered down the palace steps towards the royal captain, who waited with an escort of fifty men.\n\n'Your name?' he demanded of the captain.\n\n'De Chauliac, my lord.'\n\n'You will escort me to the gates. To each gate and every defence. There is little time. Have some of your men ride ahead and clear the way.'\n\nThe royal captain turned on his heel and gave his men their orders. The closest city wall lay less than seven hundred yards from the palace to the west. The Faubourg Saint-Germain was already burning, but Bucy wanted to see for himself how close the English were behind the smoke and flames. Knights and their commanders were born liars. Soldiers never conceded that they could be beaten: there was no glory in that. They would insist they could hold the walls no matter what the English threw at them. Bucy had reports on his desk of the supplies held in the city grain stores. There was enough to sustain them; livestock could be slaughtered and the city's wells could not be poisoned by an enemy outside. If the English laid siege Paris would survive, but if they attacked then panic had to be avoided at all costs and the people's fear harnessed to fight their aggressor.\n\nHe made his way across the broad wooden bridge where silver-and goldsmiths and money changers plied their trade. The Grand-Pont spanned the River Seine from the \u00cele de la Cit\u00e9 into the streets. It was unthinkable how much plunder the English would seize if they breached the walls. His beloved Paris was renowned throughout Europe for its luxury trades: her painters, jewellers, goldsmiths and furriers. There were Italian bankers on the right bank of the Seine, merchants' houses and churches stretched all the way north up the paved Grand'Rue. He could see the smoke and flames in his mind's eye, worse than any conflagration he would soon observe in the suburbs. The English King and his sons, banners unfurled, would ride down the city's great thoroughfare with renowned knights following. Merciful God, he thought, it would be the end of civilization if the English unleashed their war dogs into the streets.\n\nThe horses clattered onto the Grand'Rue, past the Ch\u00e2telet and the church of Saint-Leuffroy. The butcher's foul-smelling quarter lay down the narrow alleyways to the right, where heavy-set men went about their bloody business. Crude, foul-mouthed men, members of the oldest of the city guilds. For once he was thankful for them. Knives and meat cleavers with belligerent hearts behind them would punish the English.\n\nThe captain wheeled the horses left towards Porte Saint-Honor\u00e9, the first great entrance into the city closest to the palace. As they approached a sergeant at the gates barked orders, an officer appeared and sentries poured out of their guardhouse. Bucy had no time for formalities: he raced up the steps to the ramparts behind the royal captain. No suburb touched the walls on the other side, it was still open countryside, but it gave an advancing army a clear line of attack. The gate was fortified and would hold, he told himself, and the English would be exposed. He looked over his left shoulder along the line of the city ramparts. A thousand yards distant, or more, the Faubourg Saint-Germain pressed itself against the south-east wall like a needy child against its mother's skirts. Refugees were still trying to gain sanctuary as they fled from the surrounding countryside beyond the city walls. Smoke billowed, buildings already falling to the Dauphin's command that nothing must be left to Edward and his marauding men. Bucy gripped the rough stone wall. He took a deep breath, thankful that he had decided to inspect the defences himself. His own eyes did not lie.\n\nTwo years before, the marshals of the army had ordered troops into the city to help protect the Dauphin against the usurper to the throne, Charles of Navarre, and the surge of the Jacquerie uprising. Now those troops would be needed should the English storm the city. It was unimaginable. But the royal captains had reported that King Edward was now closing in on all the suburbs that lay outside the walls. The huge city gates would soon be closed to any who sought refuge. Although, unlike smaller towns, Paris could not enhance its defence with ditches, this great city had its walls as well as its size and population to deter any attacker. But if Edward was so enraged by the failed assault on England then who could say what action he would take in revenge? One thing was certain, the villages and towns beyond the walls were already being burnt. If the English had brought sufficient supplies across la Manche then they could lay siege to Paris for years. But what King would want to exhaust his treasury thus? Everything favoured the city: no matter the size of the English army it was still not large enough to besiege Paris. However, every precaution had to be taken. Nothing could be left to chance. The city's commanders had already placed bowls of water on top of the towers to watch for vibrations on the surface in case the English tried mining beneath the walls. If they did mine a concerted assault was also likely. They would hurl themselves from the forests and burning suburbs and push hundreds of scaling ladders around the city walls and main gates. One huge attack all at once. But then if the pestilent English poured into the city it would take them weeks to fight through the streets and reach the \u00cele de la Cit\u00e9. The Dauphin would remain safe on the island and the English would still be denied the French crown. There was a permanent body of two hundred professional crossbowmen employed within these walls as well as full-time knights and sergeants. Each municipality had their own archers. Yet they were too few to man the walls so in the final fight for life it would come down to the citizens themselves to defend every alleyway and thoroughfare. Every adult male living within the walls and the suburbs was liable for military service. Those with wealth would have armour and weaponry that suited their status; others would carry bucklers, padded jackets, sword and spear; any fighting weapon to hand would be raised against the English horde. Bucy momentarily relished the thought, seeing in his mind's eye the fifty-strong groups of men assigned to each of their city areas ready to ambush and cut down English soldiers in the narrow streets. The citizenry was charged with the defence of a particular sector of the walls. He regretted not being able to convince the Dauphin that each of the suburbs beyond the walls should stand firm and fight until the bitter end. Anything to slow the English advance would have been welcome.\n\nThe suburbs would be a great loss for it was where some of the richest sites awaited the English. Churches and abbeys of the Dominicans and Franciscans, forbidden by the Pope to establish themselves within the walls of the city, would lose their silver plate and religious relics. And what if by some great misfortune the English did breach the city walls? Damn them, they would perish in the streets, of that he was certain. But could enough of those barbarians reach into the very heart of power and cut it out? It occurred to Bucy that one of the safest places to be was the leper colony that lay beyond the north wall.\n\nHe turned to the captain. 'Now, the next gate, and the next. And then I report back to the Dauphin.' Let King Edward try to take my beloved city, he thought. His assault would be as worthless as the scarred-faced Englishman's threat. Blackstone would not enter the city sword in hand; he would come because Simon Bucy would entice him with an offer that could not be refused."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "The cold wind banished the rolling clouds and the sun's warmth began to dry the men's sodden clothing. Knights' squires, mounted archers and hobelars eased the saddles from their horses' blistered backs and hoped the warmth would heal man and beast as the King prepared to descend on Paris. Blackstone's men were quartered within sight of the Prince's pavilions on the rising ground of the vine-clad hills above the left bank of the Seine. Will Longdon and his archers, stripped to the waist, dried their clothes over their fires. The archers had waxed their bow cords against the constant rain even though they had been kept dry beneath their caps, for the ongoing fighting caused wear and tear and a taut bow cord ensured their arrows flew the greatest distance. The English King was using ineffective bombards to try and break down town walls but it was his archers who still caused the most death and fear in their enemy. Jack Halfpenny and Robert Thurgood shared their cooking pot like the thousands of men encamped around them. The smoke from distant burning villages smeared the perfect blue sky.\n\n'Salted fish. I'm sick of it,' said Thurgood. 'I've a mind to sneak into the Prince's food tent and see what's to be had.'\n\n'Your balls on a plate is what'll be had,' said Halfpenny, his skin prickling from the cold air. 'Those shirts dry yet?'\n\nThurgood reached out and squeezed the cloth. He shook his head. 'At least we haven't had the shits,' he said, and then tasted the pottage. He grimaced and pulled something stringy out of his mouth. 'God's tears, this tastes like fletching glue,' he said. Goose-feather shafts were bound with adhesive that was water soluble \u2013 boiled wild plant bulbs or fish glue \u2013 and whipped with silk or twine.\n\n'It's what we have,' said Will Longdon. 'We'll get meat and bread, that's been promised by the King himself. The ships from England will soon be in Honfleur; then we'll have our bellies full and you'll spend half the day squatting in the bushes 'cause you've gorged. A man has to learn how to look after his guts.'\n\nJack Halfpenny sampled the pottage, letting his tongue roll around his mouth. 'Not enough wild garlic but it will bind your belly to your ribs. Besides, we'll soon be in Paris, I reckon.'\n\nThurgood swallowed the gruel-like pottage. 'I won't know what to go for first: the whores or the wine. And I'll wager they have cellars filled with smoked hams.' He sifted the food through his teeth and lowered his voice. 'The witch has tits that could make a man sell his soul and I'll wager her cunny is as slippery as eel skin.'\n\nHalfpenny shared his friend's desire. 'And I would lie with her like a dog with a bitch.' He grinned eagerly. 'As if men like us had any chance. Besides\u2026 how do you know what her tits are like?'\n\n'In the river I was pressed against her. Hard. Hard as a man could get against a woman. My arm gripped her, squeezed her tits; she made no objection.'\n\n'She was drowning, you fool,' said Will Longdon.\n\n'She pressed her face against mine is what she did. I swear I heard her moan.'\n\n'Merciful Christ, spare this deluded fool.' Longdon sighed. 'Robert, the woman was near death and you weren't that far from it yourself. Best get any thoughts of her out of your head.'\n\nHalfpenny grinned again. 'And cock.'\n\nThurgood looked stung. 'It's the truth!' he hissed. 'I swear it. And look what she did after I came through the forest. She took my hand and pressed it to her lips. You were there. You saw it. She desires me, I tell you.'\n\nHalfpenny nearly choked. 'Robert, I fear your brain is still awash from all that water that ran through your ears.' He and Will Longdon were unable to withhold their friendly derision.\n\n'She offered her thanks, you turd,' said Will Longdon.\n\n'You saved her life and your courage was seen by us all,' said Halfpenny, 'but if you think she's taken a fancy to you then you're no better than a blind man in a brothel. Squeeze a tit here and there and you think you have found paradise.'\n\n'I know what I know,' Thurgood complained, retreating from his friends' teasing.\n\nHalfpenny and Longdon could barely keep a straight face.\n\n'Aye, well, if you say so, Robert,' said Halfpenny. 'The truth is that you saved all our lives when you warned us about the attack. That's worth a drink when we breach the walls. And I'll wager every man will buy you one. I'll even pay for your whores myself.'\n\nWill Longdon gazed across the vineyards. 'I wish to Christ they'd come out and fight, then we'd finish this war once and for all.'\n\n'They won't,' said Blackstone, who had come up behind them carrying a sack. The men turned, clambering to their feet.\n\n'Stay where you are.' Blackstone squatted with the men. 'The Dauphin knows he can't beat us. There's no glory in hiding behind his walls but he's doing it out of necessity. Unless he sends his army soon we'll have to starve and burn them out.' He dipped a spoon into the broth, tasted it and swallowed. 'Jack, it serves no purpose to wash your stinking shirt in the cooking pot. It will be a close-run thing as to who starves first. Them or us. It needs more garlic.'\n\n'Aye, Sir Thomas, and a lump of meat,' said Halfpenny.\n\n'There's no game for us to poach around here either,' said Will Longdon.\n\nBlackstone pushed the sack forward. 'The bread's stale but will soak up the pottage and there's a smoked boar haunch. Cut the meat fine and share what you can. John Jacob and I went foraging. Each of the captains has a sack.'\n\nHalfpenny and Thurgood tore into the sack and lifted out the contraband. 'Bless you, Sir Thomas,' said Thurgood.\n\n'We owe you, Robert. Our lives were near enough forfeit,' said Blackstone.\n\n'That's what we've been telling him,' said Halfpenny.\n\nBlackstone got to his feet. Longdon grinned at him. 'I'll wager there's a knight's table less laden tonight, then.'\n\n'More than one, Will. Better I run the risk of being caught than have any of you thieving bastards arrested. Eat and get ready. I'm summoned by the Prince and that means more fighting. Perhaps the French army has arrived.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "The captain of the guard escorted Blackstone into the Prince's pavilion. The stout canvas walls offered some protection from the cold as did three braziers burning charcoal. The air felt damp as the warmth penetrated the wet canvas. It was heavy with scent and the smell of cooked food. For once it seemed the King's son was not displeased with him. He waved the guard commander away and beckoned Blackstone forward and thrust a goblet of wine into his hand. 'Thomas, your men have fought harder than most. And we and our father are pleased with you.'\n\n'Your grace, we do what you ask of us.'\n\n'But you defied Chandos and killed the lord of the town,' said the Prince, though there seemed to be little chastisement in his voice.\n\n'It was necessary to secure the town for the King,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Chandos was aggrieved,' the Prince said. 'He felt you had defied us\u2026 yet again.'\n\n'Sir John is a knight of the realm who holds you and the King close to his heart. He was aggrieved because he thought I had denied him a ransom. I secured the gold and the town, and then I went in search of help for my wounded friend, Sir Gilbert Killbere. And then I secured that town in the King's name also. It seemed a fair bargain to deny Sir John Chandos extra revenue from a ransom. Two towns, gold and a loyal knight in Sir Gilbert to continue fighting.'\n\n'There's nothing to forgive, Thomas. You did more than was asked. We are grateful. So, too, is our Lord Lancaster. You revenged Sir Walter Pegyn's death. Lancaster himself will thank you personally in good time. Pegyn rode under his colours and was held in high regard. Rumour has it that the French were trying to infiltrate our lines. They would have killed more of us had you not stopped them.'\n\n'I doubt any Frenchman has hidden beneath his enemy's colours before.'\n\n'The French have become more sly by the day. The Dauphin is desperate; his father is furious that his son has rejected our father's treaty with him. But\u2026 they will give in.'\n\n'Has the French army appeared?'\n\n'No. And we cannot understand why it has not. The Dauphin needs to fight us to hold on to the crown. If he does not, he loses all honour.' He sipped the wine and said carefully, 'We understand you have returned with a woman.'\n\n'She's a healer. She's the one who saved Sir Gilbert's life.'\n\n'A woman shamed, from what we have been told,' said the Prince.\n\n'Shamed by cruelty and men's lust. She was chained, beaten and raped. She is no lascivious woman, your grace. Her father was burnt at the stake. I avenged them both. I would ask a favour from you if you would permit it.'\n\nThe Prince nodded his assent.\n\n'When we move against the French I would welcome a place of safety for her. She has skills an apothecary might use.'\n\n'Very well, we will see that is done. And in return your King has more to ask of you.'\n\nBlackstone's stomach tightened. The Prince had made the bargain knowing he would be giving Blackstone another mission that few would relish. The strategy of a war-loving King and his son could at times be badly executed, especially if those lords who advised them were ignored.\n\n'The King will advance north on the Orl\u00e9ans road,' said Prince Edward. 'We will destroy everything that has not yet been destroyed by the French themselves up to the walls of Paris. The city will be encircled. You will lead the vanguard into the suburbs that lie outside the walls. Clear out any resistance. Burn everything. We kill whoever we find.'\n\n'You will be with us?'\n\n'We will strike on your flank. No one will escape the blade. Our father has ordered that terror is to be inflicted on man, woman and child.'\n\nThe Prince's enthusiasm was obvious but Blackstone sensed the danger at being hurled into enemy positions without further explanation. The suburban gardens were hedged and walled and made ideal ambush sites, and the streets were narrow. And he had heard worrying news of the King's activities. 'My lord, yesterday was Good Friday. Why did his grace the King strike when a treaty is being negotiated by the Pope's legates with our ambassadors at Longjumeau? The King is camped close to the delegates. It's barely a few miles away. Does his attack not signal a betrayal of his own goodwill?'\n\n'The Pope's peacocks will have had their preened feathers ruffled. Our attack on the suburbs will sharpen their desire for peace on our terms.' His eyes studied Blackstone over the rim of the goblet. The defiant knight appeared uncertain, and he knew that Blackstone would have a valid reason if he raised any objection, even though it would irritate him like a scab being picked. Blackstone was a fighting man who used his intelligence. God forbid he, the Prince, should have to admit that the King had listened to Blackstone's opinion among others such as Lancaster, and realized that the siege of Rheims was unsustainable. 'Killbere's strength has not deserted him?' he asked, probing as to whether Blackstone's caution was simply that he did not have the men he needed at his side.\n\n'No, sire. He's a bull-baiting dog on the end of a chain. But to attack these suburbs \u2013'\n\n'Thomas, do not question what we do,' interrupted the Prince, his tone of voice a check on Blackstone's impertinence.\n\nBlackstone bowed his head and bit his tongue. There was going to be mass slaughter and he was being commanded to slay women and children. He resisted the urge to question the Prince for less than a couple of heartbeats.\n\n'Killing women and children brings us no honour. No glory.'\n\n'It inflicts terror and forges a path to peace.'\n\n'It lets loose rape and murder. Acts I expressly forbid my men on pain of punishment,' said Blackstone, unable to keep the edge from his voice.\n\nThe Prince held himself in check, refusing to show Blackstone his sudden anger. 'You vex us, Thomas. You question us time and time again. You do not know the facts.'\n\n'Even so, my Prince. What facts would allow us to slaughter townspeople who would run before our advance, who would flee inside the city walls and become a greater burden on the Dauphin who would have to feed and water them. Is it because of what happened to Sir Walter and his men?'\n\nThe Prince tapped a finger on the goblet's rim, and swallowed what was left of his wine. Blackstone had not yet raised his to his lips. 'We told you the French have become more devious in their desperation. Reports have reached us from England. Two thousand or more French troops launched a savage attack. They went ashore at Winchelsea. They desired to rescue their King. They failed. They wished to force us to withdraw to defend ourselves at home. They have failed. They wished to deny our father King John's ransom. They committed murder, rape and massacre of our people before they were thrown back into the sea. They are godless men who we are told ate meat during Lent. We will inflict our reprisals.'\n\nThe Prince placed the goblet down on the trestle table that bore the remains of his meal. Blackstone remained silent. 'I was told you had no mercy for those at Balon.'\n\n'They deserved none. I only punished those who deserved it.'\n\nThe Prince sat down on his padded stool next to the brazier and pulled his cloak around him. 'And that is what we will do. The French must be punished.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 63",
                "text": "Killbere spat with disgust when Blackstone informed his captains of the King's intentions.\n\n'I came here to seize the crown not slay babes. No man here relishes that. I'd rather feign illness and take myself off to a monastery and offer my arse to a monk.'\n\n'We cannot defy our King's commands,' said Will Longdon. 'Our archers can kill from a distance, but I'm with Sir Gilbert. Killing crow priests or townsmen who stand against us is one thing but women and children can make a man's guts squirm. These people aren't Jacques like we had back at Meaux. They're not doing their own slaughter.'\n\nBlackstone looked at the disgruntled faces around him. Meulon and Gaillard said nothing but they lowered their eyes when he sought their opinion. It was plain enough. 'I could not convince the Prince otherwise,' said Blackstone. 'The King wants revenge. There is a fortified priory at Arpajon, garrisoned by French troops, so I have told the Prince that we will take it and leave the rest to his men.'\n\nThe captains murmured their approval.\n\n'It's a stronghold?' said Killbere.\n\n'It's the suburbs' outer defences. Once we breach it the people are without protection.'\n\n'Then their lives are already forfeit because we will kill the troops who hold it,' said Killbere. 'That is a fact, but I will lose no sleep over it.' He stood and looked at the gathered men. 'We serve as we must, but Sir Thomas is our sworn lord. We forge a legend of war with him and we die as men of honour at his side. Kill the bastard French because they are unworthy of anything more. Leave the slaughter of innocents to others.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "Flames soared into the sky chased by billowing clouds of black smoke as the French burned houses and barns. Their granges had been emptied and the livestock that remained were herded through the narrow streets in an attempt to slow the attacking Englishmen. The suburbs of Faubourg Saint-Jacques and Faubourg Saint-Marcel burned with furious heat that delayed the English as they sought a way through the narrow streets and gardens. No French civilian remained to fight as the fires gave them the chance to escape into Paris, but those who were too slow or tried to salvage anything that might be used to barter for food were put to death. Beyond the suburbs the stronghold at Arpajon held out against the English assault. The Benedictine priory had been turned into a fortress garrisoned by French soldiers. Those townspeople and villagers who fled the suburbs and could not reach the city gates took sanctuary in its church, dragging what few possessions they could salvage. They were trapped. The English Prince stormed the surrounding villages and the King's bombards hurled their missiles without success against the walls. Blackstone and his men fought on foot, forcing back the defenders from their ditches and fences. The place of honour in the centre of the attack was given to the scar-face knight and his men. They fought across two ditches and then clambered forward towards the pikes bristling behind the burning defences, their spikes lowered ready to impale Englishmen.\n\nBlackstone was three paces to Meulon's side as the Norman rammed his shield against the burning palisades. The flames scorched his beard. He cursed and brought his shield arm up to wipe his whiskers. A French pikeman loomed over the palisade to one side and rammed his halberd down towards Meulon's hunched shoulders. The fifteen-foot shaft \u2013 a lethal weapon in the open fields of battle \u2013 was too unwieldy to be effective at close quarters. The eighteen-inch blade scraped across Meulon's helm, but the spike's tip caught the mail coif that protected his neck, which gave Blackstone the chance to strike first the pole and then the man. As Wolf Sword severed the haft, Blackstone's shield smashed into the helpless pikeman, who fell forward. He floundered, trying to draw his sword, but Blackstone was already thrusting Wolf Sword's point into his chest. Blackstone stepped on the corpse and fought his way across the palisades into the troops who had hoped the pikemen would have bought them time and taken more English lives. Choking smoke caught men's throats and eyes but those that saw the surge of Blackstone's men turned and ran for the protection that the next ditch offered.\n\nFrench crossbowmen brought down half a dozen men. One of the men-at-arms who had forced himself between Meulon and Blackstone went down with a crossbow bolt through his helm. It struck with a dull thud as it pierced steel and bone. At close range the crossbows were lethal whether a man wore armour or not. Blackstone felt a quarrel thump into his shield, its lethal tip protruding close to his arm. John Jacob was at his side, unscathed as he slashed away at the defenders. Though determined, they were no match in the open for Blackstone's men. The ditch held men in a tight slit of earth that hampered blows, so men had to grapple with bare fists. Kicking and screaming they wrestled each other. French and English curses were spat with blood. Helmets cleaved beneath axe and sword; legs fell severed, leaving ragged stumps and bewildered men in shock soon to yield to death from blood loss or an enemy's blade. Men's faces rose, gasping for breath, exposing parched throats; Englishmen with knives slit cartilage and bone and turned their own faces away from spurting blood.\n\nThe Prince of Wales had led his assault against the village three hundred yards to Blackstone's flank. Those who had left their retreat too late ran before his men's swords. The English hacked into anyone who was not fast enough to clear the narrow streets or who turned begging for mercy.\n\nThe smoke blew clear for a few seconds and Blackstone saw the defensive trenches ahead had been reinforced with fresh troops determined to stop the English advance before they reached the monastery. Blackstone knew he and the men would be hard pressed to clamber up and over more ditches without suffering greater losses than they had already endured.\n\n'The flag!' Blackstone yelled. 'Now!'\n\nThe enemy crossbowmen were fifty yards away, their positions briefly exposed by the shifting smoke. Now that Blackstone could see them he ordered his bannermen to raise his pennons and mark their location.\n\n'Thirty yards, Will,' he had instructed his centenar before the attack. 'When you see my flag you rain death down on these bastards thirty yards ahead of my flag. Anything less and you slaughter us. Mark the distance well. And if you see me bring two pennons to the centre then you will need to have your archers mark their flight only paces ahead. Our lives are in your hands, Will, should that happen.'\n\nNo sooner had the pennons been raised along the line of advancing men than a rustling quivered overhead like wind through leaves. The hail of arrows fell between Blackstone's men and the strongly defended trenches fifty yards ahead.\n\n'Shit!' said Gaillard as they peered over the ditch. The harvest of arrows prickled the ground. 'Sir Thomas, he needs to shoot closer.'\n\n'Aye,' said Meulon. 'Let's take him nearer.'\n\nBlackstone nodded. 'Pennons! To me! Meulon, Gaillard, come on!'\n\nThe three men, bigger than any other among them, raised their shields and clambered up the face of the ditch. They ran shoulder to shoulder, their shields side by side, raised and extended to their front to protect against quarrels. One of the flag bearers ran with them but not close enough to the men in front. He fell, hit by three quarrels. John Jacob crawled across the top of the trench. He rolled and crawled five yards, and then stood and jigged left and right as he lofted the pennon and caught up with Blackstone and the other flag bearer.\n\n'Raise both pennons!' Blackstone ordered.\n\n'Merciful Christ, I hope Longdon has marked his distances well,' said Killbere as he caught up, and hunched down as John Jacob waved the pennon across his body, then followed Blackstone and the others' example as they crouched behind their shields. They were too close to the enemy lines. One quarrel punched through and struck Meulon on the shoulder, but his armour deflected its tip. The force of the strike twisted his body, creating a gap that exposed the three men who led the advance. They were barely twenty paces from the French lines and had seconds to live before the crossbowmen reloaded and fired again. They were saved by a swarm of arrow shafts that thudded down almost upon them. The closest fell a body length in front of their faces. The sudden shock of the bodkin-tipped shafts struck the dirt with such force the goose feathers quivered. Meulon cursed. That self-same arrow could have slammed between his own shoulder blades. He glanced at Blackstone, expecting a similar expletive to escape his lips, but instead Blackstone was smiling. He was enjoying the archers' skill, remembering when he too could place a yard-long shaft into such a small killing area. Such feelings never left a man weaned on an archer's war bow. Meulon began to rise but Blackstone snatched at his arm and held him back.\n\n'One more, Meulon! Don't move!'\n\nThe ground to their front thudded again. The second volley loosed from near enough two hundred paces to their rear was the enemy's death knell. The French fell screaming, the last chance their crossbowmen had to stop the advance suddenly thwarted. No sooner had the lethal storm fallen than Blackstone and the two Normans got to their feet and ran into the stragglers. They jumped down into the ditch and began the killing. The men followed, bellowing to bolster their own courage and to put the fear of the Almighty into their enemy. The French braced themselves for the onslaught but were already dying underfoot as the two Norman captains struck down the smaller men. Blackstone had given chase to the retreating troops, forcing the French from their defensive positions around the front of the church, and those that retreated now made a final stand between church and town walls. That narrow gap would let them hold out longer. These French had reached the priory gates, which Blackstone knew would open long enough to let the soldiers in. John Jacob yelled for men to follow as he raced after Blackstone. The gates barely allowed fifty French troops in before being almost closed leaving thirty or more men abandoned. By the time John Jacob and the men caught up with Blackstone he had already barged into a half-dozen men with a fury that strangled the screams in their throats. Their bodies fell between gate and frame, stopping those inside from fully closing the portal. Those who were left outside, weary with fatigue and fear, could not muster the strength to fight on and their resistance quickly crumbled beneath Blackstone's men's assault.\n\nA dozen men put their shoulders to the gate and Blackstone squeezed through the gap. He pulled back moments before two crossbowmen loosed their bolts, which slammed into the wood next to his chest. And then he was inside. It was very much like the convent he had visited. The French had no ramparts, so they had barricaded rooms with benches and stools and formed a shield wall, with spears poking through to keep swordsmen at bay. The two crossbowmen had run for the cover of the cloisters. More men pushed through the gates behind Blackstone, saw the shield wall and ran at it. They half jumped, half rammed it. Boots and shields hammered at it until it cracked like an egg on one side and Blackstone's men stormed through.\n\nHe stood to one side allowing their blood-lust to carry them onward without him.\n\nAs the close-quarter fighting continued against pockets of resistance he gazed across the courtyard gardens. The monks had planted a small orchard, not unlike the one he once had at home. There were no more than a dozen trees, perhaps to give them a few sweet apples in the spring. The blossoms had emerged, white against the grey sky and dark stone walls. Beneath the trees small thumb-sized flowers with colourful wax-like petals had forced themselves free of the earth, resurrected after winter. As the clash of fighting and screams of dying men echoed down the colonnades Blackstone sat on a low stone wall and pulled free his helmet.\n\nThe orchard would soon be destroyed, the flowers trampled.\n\nHe wanted the pleasure of it for a few moments longer."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "The killing did not abate for hours as King Edward's troops scorched through village and town in a merciless rampage. Blackstone pulled back his men once the religious house used as a garrison had been secured. His men drank what wine they could and scavenged food not taken by the French from the priory's kitchens. Bloodied and exhausted they sat or lay at the priory walls sluicing sweat and blood from their faces and hands and aiding each other to dress their wounds. A few had died but the cost had been slight thanks to Will Longdon and his archers. Blackstone sent word for his archers to join them and to leave Henry with the other pages at the baggage train. He and his men-at-arms cleaned their weapons. They had done as expected and claimed the garrison; now it was up to the Prince and his men to sweep through his flank and push aside the few stubborn defenders at the suburb's walls.\n\nBlackstone waited with his men at the gates as the English swarmed forward in another attack. Those villagers who had fled into the nearby church for protection no longer had the garrison troops to defend them, and although Frenchmen still held their ground around the church and suburban walls it was obvious the English would soon be among them. Cries of surrender from those in the church could be heard across the killing field. For a moment Blackstone thought the villagers had a chance. As the first few ventured out, stepping fearfully in front of the Prince of Wales's men, women and children shuffling behind their menfolk kept up a constant plea for mercy. The Prince's commanders halted their men a few hundred paces from the church.\n\nThe attack came from behind, from the very men who were supposed to protect the villagers. French troops, crying 'Traitors!' suddenly launched themselves at those surrendering. Stricken, the villagers panicked and ran back into the church. The English held back as the French did their work for them by setting fire to the sanctuary. Smoke suddenly appeared; it took only a short time for flames to take hold. The shrieks of the dying soared above the noise of fighting beyond the church. Blackstone and the men watched as villagers jumped from the windows, bones shattering when they hit the stony ground. Some lowered ropes and began climbing out. By the time the roof was ablaze Blackstone thought there were three hundred or more people below the walls, huddling uncertain which way to turn, although hundreds more must have still been trapped inside the burning building. Children cried for their mothers and women screamed for mercy. The men called out, arms raised; some fell to their knees in front of the English host before them as their countrymen, who had tried to kill them, retreated slowly back into the suburbs they were sworn to defend.\n\nThe English waited until those beneath the church walls began to shuffle away. And then they attacked and slaughtered them all.\n\nKillbere eased his aching body up from where he sat in the dirt and gave a final wipe of his sword's bloodied blade before sliding it back into the scabbard.\n\n'Come, Thomas. Let's be away from here. The Prince will want to celebrate his glorious victory. We'll all get pissed elsewhere. Let's find a tavern that has enough wine left to swill that shame from our throats.'\n\nBlackstone and Killbere led the men into the burning suburbs. The walls of Paris were less than a mile ahead. Merchants' and peasants' houses alike were gutted and ransacked by those soldiers who had gone ahead of them but somewhere there would be an alehouse left standing. Which he and his men would not be by the time darkness fell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "The stench of burnt thatch and the dead wafted with the smoke from the burning suburbs. Bodies lay in the streets alongside slaughtered animals. The tavern Blackstone's men found had been a roadside inn before the killing started; now it was half destroyed, the doors ripped from their hinges and the windows smashed. The ceiling had been pulled down by soldiers most likely searching for hidden loot. Broken tables and benches lay strewn across the floor along with smashed glass, clay pots and empty half-barrels.\n\nMeulon pulled aside the butchered bodies of the innkeeper and his wife who lay in front of the empty casks.\n\n'Perhaps he served bad ale or gave short measures,' said Renfred.\n\nAnother woman lay spreadeagled in the corner, her clothing pulled above her bloodied waist, her head lying crooked to one side, her glassy eyes still open. She had been dead for hours.\n\n'Most likely their daughter,' said Killbere, glancing back to the middle-aged innkeeper and his wife. Gaillard crossed himself and lowered the girl's dress and then carried her body outside where he laid her next to three slaughtered dogs and a horse. Nothing had been spared. There would be no burials that day, and by the time any survivors dared creep back there would be little left of her.\n\nWill Longdon and Jack Halfpenny dragged aside a man's corpse and beneath it found the trapdoor to the cellar. Expecting people to be hiding there he went down into the darkness bearing a knife in one hand and a flickering candle in another. He emerged with Halfpenny and two wooden boxes of dark glass bottles swaddled in straw.\n\n'Stupid bastards just killed the innkeeper and pissed away the wine in them barrels. This is where they should have looked.'\n\nThe bottles were shared among the men as Thurgood and a few others came back from foraging. Victoriously they carried a large round cheese and a smoked ham.\n\n'All we need now are some women and we can celebrate,' said Thurgood.\n\n'Aye. I'm not sure what, though,' said Killbere.\n\n'Being alive is enough,' said Blackstone, and raised the bottle to his lips. The sharp brandy cut across his throat.\n\nThey stayed at the inn and spread out into the stables and barns. There was enough straw left to use for bedding and what remained of the roof gave some shelter from the drizzling rain. As the men ate and drank and then found a place to lie, a contingent of eighty or so English troops made their way towards them. Led by a banner knight, their clothing and faces were streaked with blood and smudged with soot. When the knight saw Blackstone's men he demanded: 'Get off your arses. There's more killing to be done.'\n\nWill Longdon was sitting with his archers stuffing a piece of ham into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows at Halfpenny and washed down the meat with a slug from the brandy bottle. The knight scowled and looked about him, unused to being ignored. Meulon and Gaillard lay propped against a wall; the other men-at-arms sprawled here and there. Some raised their heads but then immediately went back to dozing.\n\n'You men will come with me! On your feet!' demanded the knight.\n\n'Fuck off!' a voice called from inside the inn.\n\nThe knight sidestepped his way past the indifferent men into the tavern. Blackstone and Killbere sat on a bench, helmets at their side, scraps of the cheese and ham on the rough-hewn table in front of them. They each nursed a bottle. In a corner John Jacob sat sharpening a knife blade. To the knight they looked no different than the men-at-arms who lounged outside. They wore no armour and were dressed piecemeal. Brigands perhaps, he thought, paid by the King.\n\n'You scum will do as you're ordered,' he said. Half a dozen of his men had crowded behind him in support.\n\n'And I said you can fuck off,' said Killbere. 'Now get back to your slaughter of the innocents before I ram my sword up your arse.'\n\nBlackstone spat phlegm at the feet of the knight. 'My friend is more drunk than sober and that makes him doubly dangerous. I would obey him if I were you.'\n\nThe knight had not recognized Blackstone's smudged blazon and he took a step forward, grasping his sword hilt, half drawing the blade in threat. Killbere lunged, grabbing his helm from the bench at his side and smashing it into the man's face. He fell back into the men behind him, teeth shattered, jaw broken. The shocked men immediately drew their weapons but Blackstone already had Wolf Sword in his hand and John Jacob was at his side, knife at the ready.\n\n'This could be your day of glory. Who among you would challenge Sir Gilbert Killbere?' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere had already flopped back onto the bench and raised the bottle again but the men's uncertainty was plain to see. Killbere's reputation in the army, especially among the veterans, might well have been chiselled in stone. The men pushed their blades back into their scabbards. One of them, older and more grizzled-looking than the others, gestured for those next to him to drag the unconscious knight away.\n\n'My lord, I serve this knight, Sir Oswald de Chambres. We beg your forgiveness.'\n\nBlackstone lowered his sword. The knight's name meant nothing to him and he had not recognized his colours. He was just one of hundreds of knights in the army. 'Take him and find a surgeon to bind his jaw.'\n\n'Aye, and tell him to learn some goddamned manners,' Killbere added.\n\nThe grizzled man-at-arms bowed his head in acknowledgement. 'I would not dare, Sir Gilbert. My lord is a favourite of the Prince.'\n\n'Well, he's no favourite of mine,' said Killbere and waved the men away. The sound of Blackstone's men jeering de Chambres's retreating soldiers reached into the inn.\n\nBlackstone sighed. 'God's blood, Gilbert, did you have to go so hard at him?'\n\n'He was an arrogant little shit. He needed to be taught a lesson. I swear, Thomas, some of the so-called knights that ride with the Prince must lick his arse every morning. Who wants men like that around them?' He tossed aside the bottle. 'Let's get back to the lines before more of his kind come looking to murder babes in arms. I pray this devastation spurs the Dauphin to let loose his army. Let's get at them. What kind of man is he to let his people die unprotected? A hundred troops or more in a garrison, a handful in the suburbs who turn on their own kind. The Holy Virgin's tears wouldn't be enough to wash away such a sin of neglect.' He stretched his aching body and steadied himself on the edge of the table. 'I'm pissed. Let's get back. This place reeks of shame from both sides of the damned walls.' Blackstone reached out to steady him but Killbere snatched his arm free. 'I stand on my own two feet, Thomas. For a while longer at least.'\n\nThey 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.'\n\nThe men clambered to their feet.\n\nWill 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.\n\nKillbere took a few uneasy steps towards the archers and lifted Thurgood's face. His bleary eyes tried to focus.\n\n'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.'\n\n'He never could hold his drink, but he has a weakness for it,' said Halfpenny.\n\nKillbere 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.\n\n'Weak I am, Sir Gilbert\u2026 but\u2026 what the river could not drown\u2026 the drink\u2026 will.' He grinned foolishly. 'But\u2026 you cannot\u2026 drown a man's love\u2026 not that\u2026 not ever.' His head flopped.\n\nKillbere 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?'\n\nThe 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."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "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.\n\nAs 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.\n\nThurgood'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.\n\nHe 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.\n\n'Aelis, it's me, Robert. It's all right. Be quiet. It's me,' he whispered urgently.\n\nShe 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.\n\n'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.\n\nShe 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."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "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.\n\n'Get up,' said Jack Halfpenny.\n\nThurgood 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.\n\n'Christ, Jack, I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean no harm. You know that. Don't you?'\n\nHalfpenny made no reply at first. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. 'Robert. You fool,' he said.\n\nWill 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.\n\n'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.'\n\nSilence 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.\n\nThurgood's mouth opened and closed. His mind screamed denial.\n\n'You killed a comrade-in-arms,' said Killbere, his voice subdued with tightly controlled anger.\n\nThurgood 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.\n\n'Stupid bastard. You don't know your own strength,' said Killbere.\n\nThurgood got to his feet, a hand outstretched towards Blackstone, begging. 'Sir Thomas\u2026 I would never\u2026 I could not\u2026' he mumbled.\n\nBlackstone remained silent, but Thurgood saw there was pain in his eyes.\n\n'You were drunk, Robert, and your cock ruled your brain,' said Killbere.\n\nBlackstone 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.\n\n'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.'\n\nThurgood 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.'\n\nBlackstone'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.\n\n'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.\n\n'Will, a moment with him,' said Halfpenny.\n\nLongdon 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.\n\nHalfpenny shoved a wineskin into his friend's hands. 'Drink,' he insisted. 'You'll need it.'\n\nThurgood 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.'\n\n'I didn't mean to kill him, I swear.'\n\n'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.'\n\nTears welled in Thurgood's eyes. 'Will Longdon never misses,' he whispered.\n\n'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?'\n\nThurgood was trembling and nodded vigorously. 'We'll get back home, Jack. You and me both. London. The Dog and Moon tavern. Like old days.'\n\n'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.'\n\nThurgood pulled his face away, questioning what he had just heard. 'Jack, don't cause yourself trouble. I'll take my chances.'\n\nHalfpenny nodded to reassure him. 'I swear it,' he repeated. 'Run hard, Robert. Think of home.'\n\nBlackstone's voice carried across the gathered men. 'It's time.'\n\nWith 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.\n\nThurgood ran.\n\nHis 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\u2026 straight\u2026 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.\n\nWill 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.\n\nThe sudden release of a bow cord a few paces behind him startled him into lowering his bow and like every man there he turned to see Jack Halfpenny watch the flight of the arrow he had loosed. Moments later it struck with deadly accuracy into Thurgood's back.\n\nThe young archer faced Will Longdon and Blackstone. 'I made my friend a promise,' he said quietly, and began the long walk to where Thurgood's body lay."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "They buried the young archer who had yet to see his twenty-first year next to the man he had killed. He and Collard were carried to the priory and monks were summoned and paid to bury the two men side by side and pray for their souls. Jack Halfpenny stayed a while longer than the archers who had knelt in prayer at Thurgood's grave and then turned his back on the chanting monks. Will Longdon gave no orders for Halfpenny and allowed his ventenar to attend his usual duties. The archers kept their distance as Halfpenny took an axe to Thurgood's war bow and burned the yew on his campfire. It was better that no other should feel its power.\n\nAelis de Travaux stood in the open clearing, her bedding rolled and tied, her cloak fastened around her against the cold north wind as Blackstone's men prepared to move with the Prince's division towards the walls of Paris. Edward's vast army was about to assault the city.\n\n'Where did she get the knife?' Killbere asked the captains who gathered around Blackstone. The men looked blankly at him.\n\n'Does it make any difference?' asked Blackstone.\n\n'If Thurgood knew she wasn't willing to have his cock in her then he might have abandoned the attempt. It's only because she stabbed him that we discovered him. We'd still have a good man fighting for us.' Killbere spat. 'Get rid of her, Thomas. She's a curse.'\n\n'And we would still have a murderer in our midst. Collard died under his hand.'\n\nBefore Killbere could answer Henry called out from where he stood with the horses. 'My lord. I gave the woman the knife.'\n\nThe group of men turned and stared at the boy. Henry stood unflinching.\n\n'Why?' demanded Blackstone.\n\n'You ordered me to stay with her when the attack came after we crossed the river. When Robert warned us. We thought the French would break through and she begged me not to let her face them undefended. She said she did not wish to endure the same fate as had happened to her at Balon. So I gave her my spare knife. The one from my boot. And then\u2026 then I forgot about it.'\n\nKillbere turned his face away from the boy. 'You can't blame him for that, Thomas,' he said quietly.\n\nBlackstone knew that Killbere was correct. 'Attend your duties,' he ordered his son. 'There's no guilt in what you did.'\n\n'And the woman?' Killbere said.\n\n'The Prince says he'll place her with the apothecaries. She's no longer my concern.'\n\nKillbere pulled on his helm. 'I'll believe that when Edward's trumpets blow loud enough to bring down the walls of Paris.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 70",
                "text": "King Edward's progress up the Orl\u00e9ans road cut off the city from the south as his other commanders pressed their advance in the north until Paris was surrounded. The steady rhythm of the army's drums told the French that the English were coming. The pounding reverberated around the advancing men as the footsoldiers trudged behind the mounted archers and men-at-arms. Blackstone rode ahead of his men watching the bulk of the army move forward. The Prince of Wales rode leisurely forward too, surrounded by his knights and their retainers. Despite the cold and intermittent gusts of wind that swept rain across their lines, the great war banners of the English army unfurled in all their glory.\n\n'If flags could win a war we would be masters of the world,' said Killbere. 'The damned French are nowhere in sight. It will be a sad day if they surrender and throw open their gates.'\n\n'And you think they'll do that?' said Blackstone.\n\n'It would save us having our shirttails lifted and being abused by the Pope's legates. I'll wager there's a deal being done. Have we had any orders? I don't see siege engines or scaling ladders.'\n\n'They'll be brought up from the rear in good time if it comes to that,' said Blackstone. 'We're riding east. There's open ground between the walls and the Faubourg Saint-Marcel. If those suburbs are already destroyed the King'll make his assault against the southern gates first. Then we'll know what street fighting is about. This is a damned foolish plan, Gilbert. We'll lose thousands of men in those warrens.'\n\n'Tell the King, Thomas. I'm certain he'll be pleased to hear your opinion,' said Killbere sarcastically.\n\nThey broke clear of the forests and saw the great walls loom up six hundred yards ahead. As the army advanced bugles and trumpets blared the English King's arrival. The rolling thunder of drumbeats thumped through the air and the splendour of banners and pennons of the English nobility paraded a history of conquest before the walls of Paris. The cacophony went on as heralds approached the great city's southern portal. Smoke from the burning suburbs still drifted on a veering breeze and Blackstone could only imagine the thoughts of those who gazed down from the city walls on the destruction around them and the host that lay ready to besiege them.\n\n'You think they could be hiding ten thousand men or more in there ready to fight?' asked Killbere.\n\nThere had been a time when another great city had held such an army in its streets. Blackstone had been in Rouen more than a dozen years before and seen that the hundreds of streets could be crammed with an army waiting to go to war.\n\n'They could be in there,' he said. 'And now would be the time for the French to show their hand and put their army into the field. And then this matter will be over.'\n\nThe stationary horses shifted their weight as they watched the challenge being delivered at the gate. Killbere grinned at Blackstone. 'Bastards might just do it. It would be like Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers all over again. Do you not relish the thought, Thomas? Face-to-face with them again? Eh? My God, let the trumpets blow. We'll cut them down as we did back then.' He sniffed and spat and chuckled to himself. 'I can feel it in my bowels, Thomas. What king's son would turn his back on honour and the chance of glory if he's to rule one day?'\n\nBlackstone watched the heralds turn back from the gate and ride back to where the King's standard fluttered.\n\n'This one,' he said. 'He's no backbone for a fight. And who can blame him? I've been in Paris, Gilbert: the city's too difficult to take so why should he risk a fight? Besides, he may not have an army camped in there.'\n\nThey watched as the heralds delivered the French response to the King. There appeared to be a ripple of excitement among the King's retinue. The Prince of Wales turned in the saddle and said something to his father.\n\n'Y'see,' said Killbere. 'You were wrong. Look at the King, bless him, he'll have the Prince and us in the vanguard. That pledge you made to protect young Edward will have us in the thick of it. By God, Thomas, I believe we're about to confront the French.' He grinned. 'Perhaps I was wrong about the girl. Perhaps she brought us good fortune after all.'\n\nBlackstone did not share Killbere's joy. The Prince had turned away from his father and pointed in Blackstone's direction. A herald spurred his horse towards them.\n\n'The girl has nothing to do with it, Gilbert. It is what it is, and if that herald is coming for us then I doubt he's bearing glad tidings.'\n\nKillbere turned his gaze to the fast-approaching rider. He grunted. 'You are a miserable wretch at times. Find joy in anticipation. I say my prayers as much as any other. I'm confessed, my clothes and saddle are dry now that the damned rain has stopped, and we stand before the walls of Paris waiting to fight. Cheer up.'\n\nThe herald reined in his mount. 'Sir Thomas, I am obliged to have you and Sir Gilbert accompany me to our lord, the King.'\n\nKillbere looked with glee at Blackstone. 'Ha! We're at your command. Ride on!' The herald wheeled his horse and Killbere slapped Blackstone on the shoulder. 'We will write history again, Thomas, and your name will be writ large. I know that to be a fact because I will pay the scribes myself to make certain of it. You and me!'\n\nBy the time they reached the King's retinue, more knights had gathered in the background, brought forward on instruction of King Edward. They were mostly young, newly knighted men, and their eagerness to prove themselves was apparent.\n\nThe King had more than forty retainers behind him. The great knights were at his side. Cobham, Lancaster, Chandos: men of proven courage and intelligence in the field. Warwick, Stafford and the King's sons. The banners and pennons that fluttered in the ranks bore the blazons of every fighting knight known to Blackstone. Before this moment he and his men had seen only segments of the army, those close to the Prince as they shared the battlefield, but now the ten thousand stood on the open plain, their ranks curving away around the wall, encircling Paris.\n\n'My lord,' said Blackstone, lowering his eyes respectfully as the King settled his gaze on him.\n\n'Sir Thomas, we are told you have engaged with our enemy on numerous occasions and we are comforted by the sight of our trusted servant Sir Gilbert at your side.'\n\n'Thank you, sire. We have been fortunate,' said Blackstone. He was wary of being in the royal company. Each time it had happened in the past he had been drawn too close to the heart of power.\n\n'And God was with you,' said King Edward. He touched his neck and then indicated Blackstone. 'God and your pagan goddess. Many of our Welsh archers are comforted by her.' There was no hint of criticism in his remarks.\n\n'She is a spirit of nature created by the Almighty, sire, and every fighting man who is prepared to die for you must take comfort wherever he finds it.'\n\n'A good answer, Thomas,' said the Prince. 'My lord, our father, has a question for you.'\n\nThe breeze curled the royal banner. The dragon standard fluttered like a living beast moving through the air. It was a silent moment when the world held its breath. The flags were the only moving things. That and the snuffling horses chomping their bits, shaking their heads, shifting weight. Saddles creaked. The stillness, Blackstone realized, was anything but. His thoughts had been arrested for a few moments because when the Prince had spoken to him he had a look on his face that glowered a warning. He was expected to give the King the answer he wanted.\n\n'You have been inside the city walls, Thomas. You know the streets and the danger that lurks within them,' said the King. 'If we assault how do we secure it?'\n\nBlackstone hesitated. The army was drawn up. If the time had come then the attack had to be driven forward without delay.\n\n'Sire, this weather will not hold. You can smell the change in the air. We'll be bogged down soon enough. We should strike now and make what gains we can because the next few days will have us back wheel-deep in mud.'\n\nThe King studied him a moment longer. 'Thomas, let us not consider when we attack, we wish to know what awaits us behind those walls.'\n\nThe memory of searching the streets of Paris when Christiana had been used as bait by the Savage Priest was as clear in his mind as the time he had rescued her and escaped through the warren of alleyways and across broad boulevards.\n\nBlackstone surrendered to his own honesty, knowing full well it was not a truth the King wanted to hear. 'Sire, in truth I cannot imagine such an assault. To have thousands of men gathered in their mail and armour at the bottom of scaling ladders being punished with missiles and oil would slaughter far too many before you even breached the walls. If you succeeded and our men have had sufficient food and rest before such an undertaking, then they would have to survive savage resistance. Paris has sixteen quarters and each of those is divided into tithing groups. The city's militia are rotated every three weeks as night watch on the city walls, and they cannot shirk their duties because each militia is commanded by a royal captain and the guild contingents are supported by mounted troops. Every corner of every alleyway will be defended. It will be a charnel house for the army.'\n\nKillbere failed to hide his look of despair as Blackstone delivered his verdict.\n\n'But we would seize the damned place no matter the cost,' Killbere blurted.\n\nKing Edward's expression betrayed no sign of anger or disappointment at Blackstone's answer. He glanced kindly at Killbere. 'Sir Gilbert, we know we could cast you into hell itself and you would wrestle the devil and his imps into submission. Like you, those who fight under our command, with love and loyalty, are the finest England has ever witnessed. Their courage is never doubted.'\n\nHe turned his attention back to Blackstone. 'We are content with your answer, Thomas. Our dear friend and adviser Lancaster has already assured me of the bloodbath that awaits us should we scale those walls.'\n\n'The Dauphin will not come out and fight, sire?' said Blackstone.\n\n'He will not,' said the Prince.\n\n'Then do we go in?' said Blackstone. Perhaps, he suddenly realized, it was his men's expertise at escalade that had prompted his summons. His heart squeezed tightly. To bring up tall ladders against those walls was, as he had just told the King, little more than a death sentence.\n\n'We do not,' said King Edward. 'Not yet, at least. It is in our favour to find victory by another means. They must be taunted to come out and face us. The French have offered sixty knights to fight \u00e0 l'outrance. They seek glory in a fight to the death. We will agree and have chosen young men newly honoured with knighthood to contest them. Their sixty against our thirty. That way when they are defeated they will know that every Englishman is worth two Frenchmen. Then perhaps the Dauphin will be unable to resist bringing out his army to reclaim French honour. It is the least any king, or any king's son, would desire.'\n\n'Sire!' Killbere begged. 'Young knights need a veteran to lead them in a contest to the death.'\n\nKing Edward put a finger to each nostril and blew snot free. 'Gilbert, how could we deny you the pleasure? Though it is unfair on the French. You and Thomas are each worth ten of them.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 71",
                "text": "Simon Bucy stood with the Dauphin, who tugged his robes tighter around his neck against the chilled air.\n\n'Sire, these men fight for the glory of France in your name. If you and members of the court were to accompany me to the walls they would be cheered by your presence. And it would be a grand gesture of defiance.'\n\nThe Dauphin shuddered. 'They fight for their own glory, Simon. We gave our permission; let that be enough. The people do not need to see us; they know we are here. If Paris falls we all fall. Let them take heart from the knights who ride out.'\n\nBucy knew it was hopeless trying to budge the Prince Regent from the comfort of the room that looked out beyond the Grand-Pont into the city. The coolness of the day and the clear sky would make the blazons and colours of those who fought beyond the walls more vivid. The pageantry would stir men's hearts, but the Dauphin's refusal was to be expected. The Pope's prelates were still trying to negotiate a peace settlement and if the city could hold out long enough then the English would be forced to make concessions and scale back their claim to vast territories. The Pope's prelates were scuttling back and forth between Paris and King Edward. France, the Dauphin knew, could not endure the great tribulation and poverty that would follow should Edward's demands be met. Clerks had committed his thoughts to parchment and sent them to the prelates. A final appeal for a treaty had been sent. It acknowledged the older treaty, made before Edward had increased his demands. The King of France, desperate to return from captivity, had signed France away, but his son had resisted. And the English army baying at the gates was the result.\n\n'Then I shall bear witness to their bravery,' said Bucy.\n\nThe Dauphin was deep in thought, gazing across the city, and made no reply.\n\n'Highness?' said Bucy. 'With your permission?'\n\n'What? Yes. Yes, do as you please.'\n\nBucy bowed and left the chamber, walking quickly to where the captain of the guard, de Chauliac, and his escort waited. 'Where are they?' he demanded.\n\n'The English have surrounded the city and have thirty knights waiting beyond the gates at Porte Saint-Victor,' said the captain.\n\nA thousand yards from the palace, less in some places to the walls, where the English host were gathered. Bucy felt a tinge of anxiety mingled with anticipation. If the French knights did not succumb it would be a futile victory but might prove an important morale boost to the people of the city. Bucy and his escort's horses clattered across the Petit-Pont that connected the \u00cele de la Cit\u00e9 with the south bank. By the time they dismounted and went up onto the walls the bugles and trumpets from the English were reverberating again. It was an act of intimidation. Bucy looked to where the French armoured knights waited impatiently behind the gates. Their visors were still raised, but their swords were held ready and shields tucked close. The war horses sensed their riders' anticipation and some of them jostled, cursed by the squires and stable-hands who kept a firm grip on their bridles. As soon as the gates were opened the horses would surge and it was likely that some of those doing their best to hold their masters' beasts in check would fall beneath their hooves. The horses were large and strong enough to knock aside the strongest of men, let alone these boys.\n\nBucy reached the top of the walls and gasped when he saw that the English army stood like another great encircling wall. In the near distance the renowned place of learning the Abbaye de Saint-Victor had remained undamaged. Its great library and scriptorium were still intact. Perhaps it had been spared because the English King's savagery had been sated by the slaughter in the suburbs. The noise and the spectacle caused Bucy's heart to tremor. He was aware of Edward and his standard in the distance but his eyes sought out the English knights who waited less than five hundred yards from the gates. They sat on their war horses in the shape of a broad arrowhead. The knight at the formation's tip waited with an open-faced helm gazing up at the walls. Bucy could not see his face, but he saw that this man and the knight a few paces behind on his left bore the same blazon on their shields. Bucy gripped the wall.\n\nThomas Blackstone.\n\n'Open the gates!' a voice commanded."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "'Let them come,' Killbere said, turning in his saddle to the eager young knights who waited behind him. 'Watch how they attack. They'll form up across us and then hope to ride into us and flank us. The French want personal glory. That splits them up.'\n\nThe nearest man was struggling to control his horse. Richard Baskerville was the son of one of the Prince's companions who had fought with him at Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers. 'Hold him, boy,' said Killbere. 'When they charge, spur him on. Tight rein. Saw the bit. Otherwise his blood will be up and he'll run you into the damned walls.'\n\nThe young knight nodded nervously. Killbere pulled down his visor. Blackstone's horse raised its head, ears pricked forward. Its muscles quivered. Blackstone felt the tug on the reins. The horse was as keen as its master to strike the enemy, who now fanned out in extended line two hundred yards from the English.\n\nBlackstone turned. 'Gilbert. Let's end this.'\n\nWithout waiting for an answer Blackstone spurred the bastard horse forward, its boiled leather breast armour creaking under the strain of its power. He heard Killbere curse at being caught off guard: he had been waiting for the French to get closer. Now Blackstone had gained forty or more strides on them all and would plunge into the fray unprotected."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "The captain of the guard standing next to Bucy swore beneath his breath. 'Bastards are outnumbered,' he whispered to no one in particular. The French soldiers and militia manning this section of the wall cheered loudly. Bucy ignored the chilled air seeping beneath his cloak's collar and stared transfixed as the sixty French knights rode en masse towards the English. Two to one. They would inflict misery on them. He saw Blackstone spur his horse forward. Did the man have a death wish? He would be overwhelmed. Bucy's throat tightened in panic. He did not wish Blackstone to fall beneath French swords here, outside the city walls. Bucy had already planned a more fitting end for the scourge of the house of Valois.\n\nThe remaining English knights quickly put spurs to their horses. The trumpets and bugles suddenly fell silent. The deafening roar of the English army rose up. The horses thundered across the open plain, kicking up great clods of dirt. The French rode with swords at the high guard, ready to slash down, as did the English, who now urged their horses at the canter. Except for Blackstone. He rode as if out for a day's hawking. Bucy could not take his eyes from him. The unusual rhythm of Blackstone's horse rolled like a wallowing boat, but Blackstone was upright, sword arm low. What in God's name was he doing?\n\nA handful of the French had forged ahead of the others and the attacking knights behind them became more scattered. They had lost their formation, whether deliberately or not Bucy couldn't tell. What held his gaze was the sight of the two knights who now vied to kill the scarred-face Blackstone. They had dug their heels into their horses' flanks and were now at full gallop but Blackstone's beast still lumbered at a canter. And then Bucy understood why. The slower-moving horse changed course. It angled away from the two knights bearing down on it, forcing the Frenchmen to jostle each other as they attempted to steer their horses at speed. The outer rider was being pushed by his companion by which time Blackstone had crossed their line of travel and raised his sword arm. The Frenchman had no protection. His shield arm was on the opposite side, almost being barged by his companion. He kicked his horse to try and turn it but Blackstone was too fast: he had half twisted in the saddle, bringing a sweeping cut upwards. As the French knight slashed downward Blackstone's blade caught him beneath his raised arm, which suddenly flopped uncontrollably. Blood gushed from the near-severed arm and the knight tumbled from his saddle. By the time the dead man's horse had galloped past, the knight's companion had been forced to veer to one side and was suddenly under the swords of two Englishmen.\n\nBucy's mouth dried with the horror of the efficient killing. His stomach lurched but his grip on the rough stone wall kept him focused, now more against his will, but also with macabre fascination. Blackstone's horse barged a French knight. The man struck down repeatedly and Blackstone made little effort to halt the strikes: he simply parried with his shield, turning away the attacker's blade. It seemed impossible to Bucy's untrained eye that so many strikes could yield no result. Instead, as Blackstone's shield forced the knight to half raise himself in the saddle to deliver a killing blow, Blackstone leaned forward and thrust his blade into the man's exposed groin. His scream soared above the English cheers, and as he slumped, mortally wounded, Blackstone had already urged his horse into the other Frenchmen, leaving his victim to fall, head severed, beneath the blade of the knight who followed Blackstone.\n\nBucy nearly gagged. He clamped a hand against his mouth. His mind flashed with the imagined picture of the Savage Priest fighting Thomas Blackstone years before. He too had failed and his skeleton still hung as a warning to anyone who dared take up the challenge against the Englishman. And then a more sickening realization swept over him. If the English did breach the walls Blackstone would scorch the streets like uncontrolled fire. He would come for the Dauphin and, more importantly, for Bucy himself.\n\nHe abandoned his plan to lure Blackstone into Paris. Better to rid himself of the threat now.\n\n'Kill him!' he heard a voice bellow. 'Kill him!' And felt no sense of shame as he realized the voice was his own."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 74",
                "text": "Blackstone's attack had slowed his progress, allowing the other English knights to catch up with him. Two Frenchmen attacked Blackstone, kicking their horses into position left and right, shields raised, mace and sword hammering down on him. Blackstone wore light armour: shoulder and arm pieces and thigh guards. His open helm sat on a gorget to protect his throat and left exposed his face and eyes, which terrified the Frenchmen more than the violence that swept over them. Blackstone's gaze was unflinching. It was focused solely on killing.\n\nBlackstone caught one strike on his crossguard and twisted the French blade away. The man's gauntlet could not hold the wrench against his wrist and unlike Blackstone he wore no blood knot tying the sword's grip to his wrist. The sword fell; his head half turned; Wolf Sword swept through the air with enough force for the hardened steel to cut into his helm and skull. The Frenchman reeled, his horse skewed away out of control as the blinded knight fought the pain and blood in his eyes and fell onto the swords of the Englishmen behind Blackstone, who now struck the French with concentrated violence.\n\nNo matter what the second French knight tried he could not deflect Blackstone's rapid blows. They came too quickly and there was a power behind them that tore at his back and shoulder muscles. The Frenchman was no stranger to trial by combat. He had fought valiantly at Poitiers and defended garrisons and towns for the French Crown against marauding routiers in the years since. But then one of Blackstone's blows forced aside his shield and the Englishman reached forward and backhanded his sword's pommel against the French knight's helm. The force made his head recoil and although he righted himself in the space of a heartbeat Wolf Sword's blade pierced his visor.\n\nBucy watched as the m\u00eal\u00e9e became a slaughter. Other than Blackstone the English seemed to fight in pairs, hemming in the French knights who fought alone, eager to claim personal glory. Even Bucy could see that. He cursed their arrogance. No wonder the English army was unstoppable \u2013 they were disciplined. If French courage had been matched with the same strategy they would have prevailed. Riderless horses galloped here and there across the plain. French colours lay bloodied in the dirt. Knights hacked to death lay like butchered beasts.\n\nA French knight rammed his horse against Blackstone's. It made little impression. The bastard horse wheeled. Blackstone swore at the belligerent animal and gripped tightly as it bucked, its iron-shod hooves smashing into the other horse's legs. Blackstone heard the bones crack and the horse whinny. Its body folded; the French knight pitched forward, screaming curses at his mount. As he struggled to stay in the saddle Blackstone seemed to wait a few leisurely moments before plunging Wolf Sword's point into the gap in armour between chest and shoulder. The knight fell writhing but as he tumbled to the ground he bravely tried to regain his balance, staggering to his knees despite his pain. Blackstone halted the bastard horse and waited for the dying man as he pushed back his visor, gulping air. Blackstone saw that he was a young man, barely any whiskers on his face, perhaps newly knighted like the English squires who were slaying his comrades. The young knight grimaced. The agony was getting the better of him. He cried out, forcing his body to keep attacking. He was within half a dozen paces of the scar-faced Englishman who gazed down at him. He raised his sword but the effort defeated him. He fell to his knees and succumbed to death.\n\nKillbere swung his mace, knocking a knight senseless despite the padding within his helm, and then struck again. The Frenchman's head whipped back and forth from the blows. His arms slackened as his head was pounded. His ears leaked blood and his brain, battered by the ferocious attack, plunged the man into darkness. He was as good as dead, and soon would be. He tumbled from the saddle and as Killbere wheeled his mount its hooves smashed into the man's back. Killbere saw the young English knight Baskerville lose control of his horse and fall. The last surviving French knight had gained the advantage and as he turned his mount, preparing to go in for the kill, Killbere kicked his horse forward between him and the fallen man. Another knight dismounted to help Baskerville onto his feet while the Frenchman faced Killbere, who blocked the first two blows against him and then swung his chained mace around the man's neck, hauling him from the saddle. Baskerville and his helper fell on him.\n\nThe killing ended."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 75",
                "text": "Simon Bucy stood transfixed at the sight of the defeat. The cold blue sky highlighted the carnage. The blazons and surcoats were scattered like a trampled field of wildflowers. Blood seeped into the churned grass. English knights raised their visors and their sword arms, turning to the English host who roared in triumph.\n\nAll except one man.\n\nBlackstone sat astride his war horse and faced the walls of Paris. He stared up at those who had witnessed the defeat. Bucy stepped back involuntarily. He knew it was an impossibility but it seemed as if Blackstone's eyes had sought him out. And marked him for death.\n\nIt would not be so, he assured himself, gathering his confidence as he made his way down the steps to the waiting escort. As pages and stable-hands ran out from the courtyard to retrieve the fallen knights and recover their horses, Bucy comforted himself with the knowledge that he had the information and the means to cast Thomas Blackstone into the arms of a monster in a place far from the French court where he could never again pose any threat. French swords had failed to slay Blackstone but he, Simon Bucy, would ensure the troublesome knight's death with the stroke of a pen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 76",
                "text": "Blackstone always rose before dawn even though after the previous day's contest against the French knights he and Killbere had roundly celebrated their victory. The Prince of Wales had sent barrels of wine for Blackstone and his men and he and Killbere had drunk them dry with their captains. It served to ease the regret of the killing of Robert Thurgood and Collard. Now, as he walked among his men who stirred from their blankets and poked kindling into their campfire embers, he believed that this would be the day when the King of England would assault the walls of Paris. Here and there men stretched out the stiffness from their bodies and went into the trees to relieve themselves before warming the cooking pots and supping what remained of their contents.\n\nThe sky was still clear but the cold air pressed a veil of snaking mist across the treetops. It would need the weak sun's warmth to lift it, but if it did not then it might help obscure their attack. It was madness, but they were all caught up in it and the future of England lay within such madness. They were all lunatics of war. He had wandered through his own men's encampment and now realized he had been drawn towards the rear where the wagons were stationed and the barber surgeons would ready themselves to receive the wounded once the battle began. The apothecaries were back here and so too, somewhere close by, was Aelis, now that she had the Prince's protection. He questioned why he had come this far with the unformed thought of seeing her again. Her image tugged at him, because he knew that if they got beyond the walls then the thousands who waited in the streets held the advantage no matter how strong the English. And death was more likely than not, even with the protection of Arianrhod. The silver goddess would ease his journey from this life into the next but before she did he wanted to see the witch-woman again. The previous night's drinking had brought him dreams that scattered to and fro, will-o'-the-wisps, taunting and defying him to hold on to the visions that hovered before him. He had seen Christiana again but she was beyond his reach, held by unseen hands. She had smiled and the joy from it had flooded him with warmth until she faded into an amber-leaf forest, the wood spirits drawing her away. And as the shadows took her a cold hand clutched his heart. Wind swept the leaves from the trees and another woman stepped out and stared at him. It was Aelis, standing in the half-light as if she had been responsible for drawing away Christiana, denying him his love. As the witch-woman's cloak fell open he saw that she was naked and the fullness of her breasts and the tilt of her chin challenged him. He had awoken in panic, the dream already escaping. The reality of where he was and the barren existence without Christiana was quickly brought home as he rolled free of the blanket, nearly kicking a snoring Killbere.\n\nThe wagons were gone. He stood for a moment searching the clearing for anything that might tell him why so many supply wagons had been moved during the night. The King, he reasoned, must be repositioning them in case of counter-attack.\n\nTrumpets roused the men and by the time he had made his way back to his own lines priests were standing before men-at-arms and hobelars alike as they said mass. It was Sunday and if a man had to die perhaps it was better on the holiest day of the week. Killbere emerged from the trees tying the cord on the front of his breeches. 'I'll say this for the Prince, he has good wine. Not that gut-rotting stuff. Thought he might have sent some brandy though. Perhaps he has a celebration planned once we clamber over the walls.' He shook a couple of wineskins, found one that still held some wine and then drank thirstily.\n\n'You suck like a cow at the teat,' said Blackstone, buckling on his sword.\n\n'A man has little else to suck these days. I shall be glad to find a brothel before Edward's men flay the city. We must ask the Prince's indulgence and get ourselves in the vanguard. His blood will be up, you'll see.'\n\n'You're anxious to have us killed. Your tongue wagged like a washerwoman's yesterday and had us in enough trouble. Learn to let the Fates decide.'\n\nKillbere swilled his mouth and spat. 'Thomas, you and me, we should take what we can when we can because we're in need of some comfort in this damned campaign.' He tossed aside the empty wineskin. 'Are you going to mass?' he said, tugging on his jupon and shrugging off the chills. Blackstone made no answer as Killbere reached for his sword belt. 'No. I thought not. The devil will catch you unaware one day, Thomas. He'll snatch your soul when you least expect it and you won't be confessed. A man should not die unshriven.' He stamped his feet to get the circulation going.\n\nBlackstone raised his face to the breeze. 'Wind's shifting. If he's going to attack we shouldn't wait. The good weather will be gone by tomorrow. Can't you taste it?'\n\n'My mouth is like the floor of your horse's stall,' Killbere said.\n\nHenry arrived with a leather pail of water. 'My lord, Sir Gilbert. I've brought water from the stream.'\n\n'Ah, good lad,' said Killbere and cupped his hands into the cold water and splashed his face. He snorted and spat again. 'Now I can try and stay awake while the black-hooded crows mutter their incantations.' He strode away towards the gathering men and a priest who was already blessing them.\n\n'You've eaten?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Later, Father. John Jacob had me bring this water first.'\n\n'All right. Be off with you. Eat when you can, boy, you don't know when the next mouthful is coming your way.'\n\n'Yes, Father.' He left the bucket. 'Father, I watched you fight yesterday and\u2026 I was frightened.'\n\n'We all know fear, son,' said Blackstone gently, 'some more than others, but we hide it so that the man next to us does not get infected. Fear can destroy an army quicker than the plague.'\n\n'I meant that I was frightened that you would be wounded or killed. I was fearful of that. I would not wish to be alone, Father.'\n\nBlackstone studied his son. He showed no sign of trepidation; there were no tears in his eyes. 'Henry, I will always be with you, no matter what happens. Just as your good mother's love protects you.'\n\nHenry nodded. And then he shrugged. 'It's not the same as having her here, though, is it?'\n\n'No it's not. We find our courage in her memory though, don't you think?'\n\nThe boy nodded. 'She was brave. I will try and remember what you have said, when I'm afraid.'\n\nBlackstone reached out and gripped his son's shoulder. 'Listen to me, Henry. I have seen you look death in the eye and I have been filled with pride at the way you faced it. Every man here who serves with me has seen it as well. These men are warriors who respect you. Carry that knowledge with humility and use it as your shield against fear when you must. This is the truth of it, and you would not be here with us if it were not.'\n\nThe boy looked uncertain for a moment. To hear such praise from his father and to be told that the hard-bitten men who served him regarded him with esteem was an honour he could not have imagined.\n\n'I had better get back to my duties. But I still hope that you do not die.'\n\nBlackstone gave him a reassuring smile. 'I'll do my best,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 77",
                "text": "Within the hour trumpet calls and the shouts of the army commanders had men strike camp. All along the line banners were raised. The archers were placed ready to shower the walls with their lethal missiles. Blackstone's captains quickly had their men in position as Will Longdon ran with his archers and placed them in a sawtoothed formation between them. It was a tried and tested disposition that had defeated the French in two major battles.\n\n'Why are we doing this?' said Killbere as he fussed at the strapping on his saddle. 'This is a defensive formation.'\n\nBlackstone was already mounted. He looked down the line of the army's ranks. It swelled and shuffled as sergeants and captains barked their commands. Flags signalled the King's orders. The drums began a steady beat, building in volume until the ground began to tremble. Men would soon march across the open plain to their rhythm.\n\n'I don't know,' said Blackstone. 'If the French are going to attack then we're in a good position, but if we're to make a run for those walls, then I'd rather be closer. And there's still no sign of scaling ladders.'\n\n'Well, the whoresons are waiting for us,' said Killbere and pulled himself into the saddle.\n\nThe walls were thick with defenders.\n\nFurther down the line the Duke of Lancaster eased his horse forward, leading his men.\n\n'Lancaster's taking the vanguard,' said Killbere. 'Merciful Christ, are we to sit on our arses and let the King's favourites have the glory?'\n\n'Don't be so impatient to get us all killed. He's not attacking.'\n\nThey watched as Lancaster's division rode out into the open and then turned.\n\n'Where do they think they are? It's like they're parading at a tournament,' said Killbere.\n\nTrumpets and bugles blared, the cacophony rising up to those on the walls.\n\n'It's a show of strength, Gilbert.'\n\n'What?'\n\nBlackstone gestured down the lines where ranks of soldiers had followed their commanders and began to troop across the open ground. 'Battalions are marching beneath the walls.'\n\nKillbere looked perplexed. 'Showing our peacock feathers is one thing. Where will we strike?'\n\nBlackstone eased back into the saddle and pulled off his gauntlets. The truth had slowly dawned on him. 'There'll be no attack. The supply wagons left in the night. The King is covering their withdrawal. This is all for show while they make some distance.'\n\n'Bollocks,' said Killbere. 'He's here for the crown.'\n\n'No, Gilbert, I'll wager we'll soon be following them. He needs more time to negotiate but he had to show his strength to help him get what he wants.'\n\nKillbere scowled and watched the pageantry parade before him. 'This is your damned fault, Thomas. You told him it was impossible to fight through the city and he's listened to you. It's you who should bite your tongue.'\n\nBlackstone slapped his friend on the shoulder. 'I can be blamed for many things, Gilbert, but stopping this attack cannot be laid at my door. The King knows when common sense prevails and when God is on his side.' He turned his face to the freshening north wind. 'The moment has gone, and so has this good weather.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 78",
                "text": "The vast column of men trudged and rode south-west across the vast plain on the Chartres road. By the following day they were within sight of the towers of Chartres cathedral. The army had made impressive time in covering the seventy miles to where the King would encamp and continue negotiations with the Pope's envoys. Blackstone and his men rode halfway back on the army's flank. For the first time he could see why the King might have decided not to assault Paris. Food had been in short supply and fodder was still desperately needed for the horses. As the army passed by him he realized Edward could not fight a major battle unless supply lines were established more effectively from England. Blackstone's instincts had proved correct: the weather had shifted and great rumbling thunderstorms pursued them. Had they launched an attack the army would soon have been brought to its knees when the threatening storm struck them.\n\nBlackstone turned and looked at his men. They were spread out using the open ground to ease their horses' passage, not following in the churned ground of the mount in front of them. Veils of steam rose from the animals as they laboured through the heavy mud, turning the riders into ghosts. A small town lay a few miles to their right.\n\n'John,' Blackstone called. 'How far to Chartres, do you think?'\n\nJohn Jacob rode close by, Henry behind him. 'Twenty miles, perhaps a bit less?' Jacob answered.\n\n'There'll be little for our comfort there,' Killbere complained, 'except more damned priests.'\n\nBlackstone asked the same question of Will Longdon. 'A dozen miles,' the centenar answered once he had gazed at the distant towers.\n\n'It's between the two,' said Blackstone, 'but it makes little difference. We'll not get there before this storm breaks.'\n\n'It would be better if the French army had numbers twice those of us and were in pursuit rather than that storm chasing us across the sky,' said Perinne.\n\nThe heavens were now as black as death.\n\nBlackstone turned away from the column. 'We need shelter,' he said, his breath already steaming against the sudden drop in temperature. Urging the bastard horse into a fast canter, his men wheeled and followed without question. Spikes of cold rain were already being hurled from the strengthening wind. As Blackstone raced for the shelter of the town the army trudged on, heads lowered, shoulders hunched against the impending storm. The vast plain offered no shelter but if the advance guard of the King and the Prince were already in Chartres then they were safe from the threat.\n\nBy the time Blackstone's men had reached the town the rain had turned to sleet that flayed their skin and obscured some of the buildings on the far side of the small town. Fearful faces appeared at doors and windows that were quickly slammed closed as the horses surged between the buildings. Blackstone rode straight for a large barn in the centre of the town and quickly dismounted. 'Find shelter for horse and man! Anyone resists, kill only in self-defence!' he commanded. Some of the men followed him while others led their horses into nearby cow byres and stables and whatever cover they could find as the wind whipped the smoke from roof vents. Men stayed with their horses trying to calm them as the thunder rolled and lightning cracked with terrifying force, tearing aside the black clouds. No one dared venture out as the sleet turned to salt-like hail that stung and blinded anyone caught outside and death-rattled against doors and stone walls."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 79",
                "text": "Steam rose from beast and rider as a cold surge of air swept over them. The temperature plunged and the hail became stones the size of a man's fist that punched through thatch and slate, thankfully slowing their impact before striking man and horse. The ice hammered louder than the rolling thunder, a drumbeat heralding heaven's destructive power. As it tore through the roofs some men were struck and went down beneath the impact. The violent wind tore the barn doors open. Half a dozen horses broke free and ran into the storm only to be felled by the icy missiles. Blackstone saw Meulon use his great strength to stop two horses bolting and Gaillard and Perinne laboured to pull the barn doors closed again.\n\nMen crossed themselves and prayed while others cursed. The wind gusted, its eerie malevolent howl making the bravest men tremble as it tore away more of the damaged roof. Three women and two men ran desperately from their house only yards from the barn. Their abandoned children ran after them screaming for their parents. Hailstones had destroyed the family's roof but before they had taken a dozen strides towards shelter the hurtling ice felled them. Their skulls broke from blows heavier than a mace and their scalps were torn into a bloodied mess. One of the children, a small girl, stopped in her tracks at the horror of her parents being bludgeoned. She survived for a few moments longer; then the storm's dark angels, showing no mercy, battered her head and face into the ground."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 80",
                "text": "The great storm took thirty long minutes to sweep across the plain. As the clouds and thunder eased the sound of dripping wet thatch and the gurgling of flooded streams through the town's streets enticed the men outside. The saturated bodies of the fallen family lay bedraggled on a bed of hailstones. One by one the men led their horses into the open and called out to those who had sought shelter in other buildings. Three of the men in Blackstone's barn had been knocked unconscious but they were alive, unlike four others who had been sheltering in a flimsy lean-to on one of the houses. Not one roof remained undamaged in the small town. Blackstone had his dead men tied across their horses and then led them away, ice crunching underfoot, to the edge of town. The gentle slope leading down to the English army's route glistened with packed hail and soon showed the devastation wrought by the freak storm. Some of the men in the column had dashed for shelter in nearby woods and had survived, while others lay scattered across the plain like fallen leaves. Wagons had sunk up to their axles in mud; mules lay dead in their traces. As far as the eye could see men lay slain; and horses: the mud on the great plain they crossed had sucked away the last breaths from their flaring nostrils. Survivors staggered from one body to the next, searching for anyone who might still be alive; it was obvious to Blackstone's eye that, amidst the vast army, some thousand men or more had perished. Perhaps as many horses, weak from lack of forage, had gone down beneath the heavens' onslaught. Soaking-wet survivors gathered their weapons but abandoned their plunder and supplies. Already weak before the storm, now the freezing air and battering had nearly brought Edward's great army to its knees. Leaving behind their dead comrades they made their way towards Chartres.\n\nBlackstone followed the survivors as they poured into the city, his horse's hooves clattering onto the cobbled street, leaving the muddied dirt highway outside the gates. Men jostled through the arch of the Porte Guillaume, whose tollhouse leaned as if pushed by the wind. The whole world seemed askew after that storm. The army had divided and entered Chartres through each of the twelve gates around the city. Gabled houses leaned drunkenly over the river, the upper floors clear of those below. Women gaped as the battered soldiers shuffled their way into the city walls and then, after long moments of hostile stares, threw their slops into the river in a gesture that told the English what they thought of them. Windows slammed closed. Chartres would not be assaulted or burnt; its occupants were safe from violation. The ancient city of pilgrimage had been spared by the English King, but that did not lessen its citizens' hatred for the invaders.\n\nAs Blackstone rode beyond the gate into the city the outline of the ancient cathedral on the rising ground in the distance became clearer in the late afternoon light. The air sparkled after the storm and etched its towers on a tauntingly blue sky. The streets between the half-timbered houses were already overcrowded. Soldiers squatted and lay in doorways despite loud protests from French householders, but the exhausted Englishmen's crude responses and threatening tones quickly made those who hurled the insults slam closed their doors. Who among the citizens would risk aggravating such stinking, mud-stained men? Their fearful appearance would have the burghers on their knees praying even harder in the town's churches.\n\nA sergeant-at-arms, bearing a blazon of three golden lions on a red background topped by a bar sporting the fleur-de-lys, clattered his horse over a small humpback bridge that spanned the narrow river. He drew up a dozen paces from Blackstone's advance and said, 'Sir Thomas. My Lord Lancaster's compliments. You and your men are to camp close to the Prince with the other lords.'\n\n'The King and the Prince, they survived the storm unharmed?'\n\n'By God's grace, yes,' said the sergeant. 'As did my Lord Lancaster, who has secured some of what little food there is for you and your men.'\n\n'I have four dead of my own,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Then they will be accorded the dignity of a burial. There are a number of churches here and priests who serve them.'\n\nBlackstone and Killbere glanced at each other.\n\n'Food? Is this favour for our work at Paris?' Killbere muttered with quiet disbelief, unheard by the waiting sergeant-at-arms. 'Lancaster's the King's right-hand man, but every time our arses are warmed by fires close to the Prince's pavilion we end up in a shit pit of trouble.'\n\n'Gilbert, you're becoming an old crone,' sighed Blackstone with good humour. 'Unhappy if we are watered and fed and not fighting or miserable when we are tasked to do our King's bidding.'\n\n'I'm suspicious of grace and favour is all I'm saying,' said Killbere. He faced the sergeant, who was waiting patiently. 'We thank the Duke of Lancaster for his generosity. We will follow your lead.'\n\nBlackstone and Killbere urged their horses after the sergeant-at-arms as footsoldiers leaned precariously against the bridge's low parapet to avoid Blackstone's horsemen.\n\n'You aren't that concerned about shit pits then?' said Blackstone.\n\n'I'm thinking that if it's an act of gratitude there will be the best of wine and fine cuts of meat. Where my stomach leads, I follow.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 81",
                "text": "They followed the sergeant through the lower part of the town along the street named after the city tanners; then, skirting the river that ran between the narrow buildings, they edged their way through the areas where artisan guilds practised. The streets the horsemen rode along were named after the city's tradesmen, felt makers and cordwainers, which merged into narrow passageways where cobblers, saddlers and harness makers plied their skills; here the alleyways also bore the name of their trades. Then they left the artisan area behind and dismounted two streets from the great cathedral where the merchant classes and those who governed the town lived. The open ground around the cathedral was already a field of colour from knights and noblemen's blazons. The royal standard rose above them all from the King's pavilion.\n\nBlackstone had not taken his eyes from the towers, each different in design, one slightly lower than the other in its reach for heaven. Gaillard and Meulon barked their orders as the horses were led away to be hobbled on a picket line.\n\n'There's fodder for the horses?' said Blackstone to the sergeant.\n\n'There's little to be had, Sir Thomas. The beasts suffer more than us. We at least have victuals here. I'll see to it that your men get supplies.'\n\n'We carry enough to feed ourselves, sergeant,' said Blackstone, never wanting to depend on others.\n\n'I carry out my orders as they are given,' he answered and with a nod of respect left the men to camp.\n\nKillbere surveyed the area. 'It's good, Thomas. The buildings offer protection from the wind; the open ground allows pickets to stop anyone with a grudge from approaching. And' \u2013 he rubbed a hand across his itchy beard \u2013 'where's there's royalty and nobility there's usually hot water. A decent soak to rid myself of crotch lice and whatever creatures nest in my beard would be welcome.'\n\n'I'll ask the Prince if we can have his bathwater after he and his retinue have used it,' Blackstone said with a grin.\n\n'I'll take the King's bathwater and be honoured even if his hunting dogs have been through it. A man feels better if he's scrubbed the dirt from his skin before battle.'\n\nBlackstone pointed to a house that stood beyond the open ground. One side of its walled garden abutted a lane. 'We'll get ourselves and the horses in there,' he said and raised an arm to John Jacob, who in turn alerted the captains.\n\nKillbere and Blackstone began to lead their horses away from the vast square that pressed against the front line of merchants' houses. There were already more than two hundred horses hobbled there; stable-hands and pages ran back and forth securing their masters' mounts. Some had feedbags; many did not.\n\n'The stench of horse shit will soon bring delegates from the better-off citizens to the King's officers,' said Killbere.\n\n'Much good it will do them,' said Blackstone, tugging at the bastard horse's leading rein. 'What battle are you planning to fight that you need to be scrubbed and dressed in clean braies and undershirt?'\n\n'It's obvious why we've come south twenty-odd leagues. The King threw down the gauntlet at the walls of Paris and then made it look as though we were withdrawing. The French will think we are weakened. The Dauphin will give chase, especially after that damned murderous storm. He'll be dribbling spittle down his chin at the thought of butchering us. Now we're here we'll form up and meet them on that damned great plain we've trudged across. They'll come for us, you see if they don't. We can rest for a day or two, and then be ready for them. There's space to swing a sword out there.'\n\nBlackstone put his shoulder against the garden wall's double gates and heaved them open. A chicken shed and an open barn stood at the end of the long garden. As they trampled the garden's potager a woman screamed at them from an upper window and a portly man suddenly appeared from the downstairs kitchen area. The irate Frenchman cursed the Englishmen, his face flushed, his fist wielding a carving knife. He did not stray beyond the threshold once Killbere turned his eyes on him. He faltered even more when he saw that another half-dozen vandals were also leading in their horses. His wife berated him but he threatened her with the knife, spluttering with anger, and she pulled her head back inside. With a final, useless curse, the householder slammed closed the door.\n\n'John,' Blackstone called to John Jacob. 'Perinne and Halfpenny are to join the captains in here. This is where we'll camp. Henry, you help Will Longdon cook us a meal. Half a dozen of those chickens and some eggs will make a start.'\n\nBlackstone led the bastard horse to a stall at the end of the barn and unsaddled it. The others knew to keep their distance.\n\n'Lancaster will take this as an affront,' said Killbere.\n\n'I'll take his gratitude and food, but we look after ourselves. You're right, being so close to nobility is never a good thing. Have the woman in the house boil water. I could do with a bath as well.'\n\n'And me,' said Meulon.\n\n'Aye, be good to scrape the last week's filth away,' said Gaillard.\n\nKillbere glared. Sharing his King's dirty water would never have happened, but allowing the men he fought with to share his bath was another.\n\n'You'll wait your damned turn,' he growled. 'I'll test the water first and then Sir Thomas can follow.'\n\n'Be careful of the woman of the house, Sir Gilbert,' said Will Longdon as he dumped his blanket and saddle panniers. 'If she puts mustard seed in the water your cock will boil and your arse will squeal.'\n\n'And if we used the bathwater as broth it would taste better than anything you're likely to sacrifice in the cooking pot,' said Killbere. 'Get about your damned business and wring some chicken necks and try not to think of your own puny cock when you're doing it.'\n\nThe men turned away, smiling; even Will Longdon knew there was no venom in the veteran knight's words.\n\n'And you?' said Killbere to Blackstone.\n\n'I'll go and check on the men outside,' he answered.\n\nKillbere grunted. 'The men. Ah. If you lied as well as you fought we'd be better for it. The woman will be with the baggage train if she survived the storm, and I wouldn't be too sure she didn't cause it.'\n\nWas it so obvious? thought Blackstone as he turned for the gate, feeling Killbere's stare boring into his back as sharp as a bodkin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 82",
                "text": "Blackstone picked his way through the tents and pavilions and the scurrying servants who ran back and forth to attend to their lords' requirements and comforts. The common soldiers and men-at-arms looked worn and exhausted. Many sported injuries from the storm but armour and mail was being cleaned, weapons sharpened and fires blazed with dry kindling that had probably been requisitioned from city merchants' houses. The smell of herbs wafted from the steam on cooking pots but it was poor fare. The kitchens had been destroyed in the onslaught of the storm, cooking utensils devoured by the mud; there was no tentage for the common soldier \u2013 along with saddles and arms they had also been lost. The men stank of rancid sweat. Unwashed clothing clung to bodies pockmarked with sores and chafed skin. Horses were lame, weak from lack of fodder, broken down from the weight of armoured men and their weapons. The army stank: it reeked of death and another stench that was more powerful than that of the latrine pets. Defeat.\n\nPerhaps Killbere was right, Blackstone thought as he watched squires honing their knights' swords on grinding stones and blacksmiths who had already fired up the coals on the mobile forges that had survived the journey. The rhythmic beating of hammer against anvil meant that iron horseshoes were being replaced. It seemed to Blackstone's eye that despite the army being flayed by the storm that Edward was preparing for battle. One last time.\n\nIt took Blackstone fifteen minutes to find the baggage train and the pitifully few wagons that had got this far and which bore the barber surgeons and apothecaries. There were at least eighty wounded men, victims of the great storm, lying in rows on the ground ready to be treated by the surgeons. Blackstone noticed that most of them were archers who wore the green and white colours of Cheshire men. They had formed the main body in the centre of the column and had obviously been caught in the open without any chance of running for cover in the forests or clambering beneath the heavy timbers of the supply wagons as many others had done. They had broken arms and legs; bones protruded but the men's muted agony was testimony to their grim determination not to cry out. Many had suffered head wounds and were unconscious. If they survived the barber surgeons' treatment they would be counted as lucky, given the swathes of bodies that still lay out on the open plain. Unless the sergeants-at-arms could find churches and monasteries in the area and pay the priests and monks enough to cart away the bodies and bury them in their own churchyards, King Edward's men would be left to village dogs, crows and wolves. The horse carcasses would already be bloating and the stench would soon follow the King's retreat from Paris.\n\nBlackstone walked along the rows of wagons searching for Aelis, and then quickly stopped when he saw her less than fifty paces away bending down to tend an injured man. Her cloak's hood was pulled back, revealing her dark hair, which had already grown to smooth the hacking it had suffered at Balon. Blackstone took a step backwards and used the tattered flap of one of the few pavilions to shield him as he saw her stand when beckoned by one of the surgeons. He stayed a while longer watching as she obeyed the surgeon's instructions. Her face glowed from the cold air and Blackstone could see that she was being put to good use despite the obvious lack of supplies. She seemed tireless, going from man to man helping wherever she could. After a few minutes she directed the servants to carry some of the injured closer to the blazing fires for warmth. Perhaps they were soon to die and she was offering them moments of comfort, Blackstone thought, or they were the ones who might have a chance of survival. Either way it was Aelis de Travaux who had issued the orders. Perhaps she had already proved her worth to the surgeons and apothecaries and they had begun to trust her judgement.\n\nBlackstone felt a sense of satisfaction that he had spared the woman's life. She had already repaid the gift by saving Killbere and now she was giving relief to men-at-arms and archers who otherwise would have received nothing more than rough-and-ready treatment from the surgeons. He also felt, he acknowledged to himself, a sense of relief that she had survived the storm, though he did not know why that mattered to him as much as it did. He suddenly felt conspicuous standing among the pavilions; those going about their business had already given him the occasional questioning glance. It was time to leave. He hesitated a moment longer and observed as she ducked into a tent and then emerged a moment later without her cloak but wearing a jerkin that gave her more freedom of movement. So that was where she slept, he noted, and for a brief moment thought of Robert Thurgood making his way through the night to try and lie with her. A young archer not understanding his own heart or the strength in his arm when he struck Collard. The warning was plain. The woman could entice a man by her presence alone.\n\nBlackstone meandered back through the encampment, moving closer to the great flying buttresses on the side walls of the cathedral that sheltered sentries patrolling their stations. Blackstone skirted the soldiers and reached the cathedral's front doors. An escort waited in the broad open square in front of the sacred building: squires held a half-dozen saddled horses, draped in trappings and obviously meant for men of rank and importance. Something was happening inside. He gazed up at the great rose window in wonderment, awed by the skill of those masons centuries before who had created such a magnificent tribute to God. Below the carved lintels three portals remained closed; of these three heavy wooden doors it was the larger centre one that began to creak open. Men stood up to get a better view from where they tended their fires; knights of the King's retinue stepped out of their pavilions to see who would leave the church. A procession of heralds and squires led out three papal legates; they were accompanied by the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster, who escorted them towards the waiting horses. The first of the Pope's envoys wore a black cloak over his white habit. He was gaunt-looking; his demeanour befitted the Dominicans' reputation. One of the men next to Blackstone spat in disgust.\n\n'Black Friar. One of the Hounds of God, Sir Thomas,' he said quietly. The Dominicans insisted the sobriquet denoted their obedient service to the faith, yet it suited, too, their dedication to the pursuit of heresy. It meant the same thing to common men.\n\n'Aye, and they'll sniff out sinners like us,' said Blackstone to reassure those around him that he was no different than them. 'Who else is here, do we know?' he asked as the two other envoys stepped towards the horses.\n\n'No idea,' said one of the men. 'But they're dressed fit to be kings. Sumptuary laws don't mean much to these holy men. Reckon they're from Avignon and the Pope is trying to convince our good King to stop killing the French.'\n\n'Well, he would, wouldn't he?' said his companion, and turned to Blackstone. 'Don't you reckon, Sir Thomas? A French Pope will side with those who bred him.'\n\n'A whelp knows its bitch,' said another.\n\nBlackstone moved away as the Prince and Lancaster bade farewell to the envoys. The great doors closed with an echoing thud. A treaty was still being discussed although the last time the envoys met, the English took up the sword to convince the Pope's legates and the Dauphin that Edward would settle for nothing less than the treaty that had already been settled and had since been reneged on.\n\nIf the look on the delegates' faces was anything to go by, Blackstone thought as he skirted the cathedral walls, Edward would need to loose his men on every town between here and Paris and scorch his royal seal on French souls.\n\nAs Blackstone strode on a sentry turned to relieve himself in the corner of a buttress and Blackstone saw that another twenty paces beyond him a small side door was left unguarded. Drawn to see for himself the glory that had been hewn by stonemasons, and with a quick glance to make certain he was not observed, Blackstone reached the door and tested the heavy iron latch. It turned. Stepping into the near darkness of a small entranceway he quietly closed the oak door behind him.\n\nIt smelt like a crypt. The dank, heavy air clung like a damp shirt but within two strides he was free of the entrance porch and thoughts of the dead lying beneath his feet were forgotten. He stared up at the vibrant colours of the immense stained-glass windows. Like a child at a country fairground mesmerized by an unfamiliar spectacle he walked into the vastness of the interior. There was a blue within the glass that made these gifts to God unlike anything he had ever seen before. They pulsed with light and for a moment he stood beneath their glow as if being caressed by an unnatural power.\n\nVast circular pillars soared a hundred and more feet into the curved ceiling; coloured light flooded the transept and the choir. Wings fluttered somewhere high up: a bird trapped in this sacred place. Silence bore heavily down on him as he stepped through the shadows, but somewhere ahead he heard a softly muffled rustling that sounded like cloth against stone. A murmur hung in the air, barely a whisper, softer than the darkness beyond the broad pillars that guarded the expanse of the nave. Blackstone stepped around one of the pillars and saw a man dressed only in shirt and breeches, barefoot, arms outstretched, lying prostrate on the cold stone floor. Blackstone blinked. The figure of a humble monk stood half-in half-out of the shadows cast by the pillars. His hands were clasped in prayer, his head bowed, what light there was barely illuminating his tonsure.\n\nThe prone man on the ground was still sixty-odd paces from where Blackstone stood transfixed. Suddenly the figure rose to his knees and began to shuffle in a circular direction. It made no sense for a few moments until Blackstone realized that there were markings on the floor. He looked hard, blinking in the poor light. It was a great circular labyrinth laid into the stone that covered the floor of the nave and the shuffling man appeared to be doing penance.\n\nBlackstone was drawn to the shuffling figure whose soft murmurings resolved into the familiar sound of prayer. It was Latin and though Blackstone did not understand the words the man's humility and devotion were obvious. And then, once he was within twenty paces, the man turned within the labyrinth's curve. Blackstone saw the weather-beaten features draped with long fair hair and beard and realized with a cold stab of fear why sentries had been posted around the cathedral to stop any intruders. They had not only been for the meeting that had taken place.\n\nThe man on his knees who now stared at Blackstone was the King of England."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 83",
                "text": "Blackstone dropped to his knee and kept his head bowed, silently cursing himself for encroaching where he was clearly not meant to be. He heard the sound of the King getting to his feet and a moment later his unmistakable voice.\n\n'On your feet, Thomas,' he commanded, his words unhurried and without rancour. His voice was gentle, perhaps because he had spent time in prayer.\n\nBlackstone obeyed. A hand clapped in the shadows, resulting in a scuffle of feet. Blackstone's hand was on Wolf Sword. He relaxed his guard when three of the King's servants arrived bearing his clothes. With practised ease the men quickly dressed their master, buttoning his embroidered jerkin and fastening a silver-buckled belt around it. A dagger's handle was visible from its black leather sheath.\n\n'Sire, I apologize. I meant no disrespect or intrusion.'\n\nThe King's servants finished their duties, finally reaching for his cloak, which lay across a bench, and securing the gold clasp that held the ermine-collared garment. Edward raised a hand and the servants melted away. He signalled the monk to leave also. As Blackstone watched the monk disappear from view, his shuffling footsteps fading into the darkness, he thought he could see another figure in the deep shadows, but the light played tricks and made him uncertain.\n\n'You always appear where least expected, Thomas,' said the King. 'Even here in this venerated church of pilgrimage.'\n\n'I was drawn to this place, highness. I have never seen anything like it.'\n\nThe King adjusted the clasp on his cloak. 'Built to the glory of God. A reflection of God's creation. Do you know your scripture, Thomas?'\n\n'A little, sire.'\n\n'I doubt there's great need for such studies when you fight as well as you do,' said Edward. 'But a king is divine and must be versed in all that is holy, even though we defer to Mother Church and God himself for guidance. Did you know that God is considered a geometer and that creation is a mathematical act?'\n\n'No, my lord. My master mason was learned enough in Latin but it was practical geometry that guided us in our skills.'\n\n'Then, as a stonemason, you would have seen plans drawn and buildings raised so you will understand the words of St Augustine when he wrote: \"Thou hast made all things in measure, number and weight.\"'\n\n'The creation is beyond my understanding, sire. I live day to day as best I can in service to you and the Prince.'\n\n'And we are glad of it. But all are joined to the Almighty, Thomas, even you with your pagan goddess at your throat whose outstretched arms within her silver wheel embrace the small crucifix that you also wear. You confound us as well as God,' said the King, stepping towards one of the vast pillars. 'Masons and builders who labour over a place such as this to mirror God's mathematical creation of the universe are co-creators with Him. Sacred geometry was understood by the Greeks and God is worshipped through man's labours.' The King smiled. 'Thomas, every time you chiselled a block of stone for chapel or church you were honouring Our Lord.'\n\nBlackstone bit his tongue. Every time he had chiselled stone as a young man it had been to earn a few pennies to keep starvation from the door and the master mason's switch off his back.\n\nThe King gazed up at the stained-glass windows and pointed them out to Blackstone. 'They dispel the myth that we are victim to the wheel of fortune. Every window shows us the glory of the creation and the story of Christianity. No words are needed: these windows are for the common man to understand. Pilgrims come here to sleep beneath their glow. It is said they heal a man whether he is sick in body or spirit.'\n\nEdward studied Blackstone for a moment, then appeared to think of something and gestured him to come closer. He laid a palm against the hewn stone. 'Feel that,' he said.\n\nBlackstone let his palm slide across the surface. He felt something etched under his fingertips.\n\n'Look closely,' said the King, 'and you will see a stonemason's mark. Every man who followed those before him left his mark. This place took centuries to build. First it was a druid place of worship, and then Roman and then Christian. It is a kingdom built upon a thousand years of faith.'\n\nBlackstone had little idea why the King was sharing this knowledge, but he had not been scolded for his intrusion and the King seemed calm and his mood indulgent.\n\nEdward stared across the voluminous cathedral's nave. The labyrinth on the floor encircled them like an arena. 'We built a kingdom, Thomas. England. It was laid over the foundations of our father and his father before him and they in turn imposed the power of their rule over those who had gone before them. We abase ourselves before God and we pray that when we fight it is a just war. Our bishops and archbishops declared this war to be just. That we had God's blessing to bring our army here and to take what was rightfully ours.'\n\n'And you will succeed, sire.'\n\nThe King sighed. 'Those envoys who were here were from the Pope. One of them was the Abbot of Cluny. He uses many fancy words but he is unworldly and lacks negotiating skills. The other two men, did you see them?'\n\n'I did, sire,' said Blackstone. 'They looked to be venerable men. One was aged \u2013 was he not full of wisdom?'\n\n'Yes. And they propose peace. The Dominican was Simon of Langres, a Frenchman favoured by the Pope. He is harsh in his demands but we will not yield to him. He's too blunt and has not the finesse needed to bring a king to the negotiating table. The old man was Hugh of Geneva; he has spent more than sixty years talking to kings and listening to God. He fought at my side back in '39 in the Low Countries. I made him our Lieutenant in Gascony. He is forthright and honest in his opinions. Like you. You told our son that we should abandon Rheims and that Paris could not be taken.'\n\n'It was an impertinence, my lord.'\n\n'No, it was practical advice echoed by Lancaster. Plain talk and understanding cut through the shroud of doubt. You were right to say it. And Lancaster and Hugh have both advised that we now throw ourself into peace as we did into war. It is our final chance to agree a treaty. The storm was a sign of the Almighty's displeasure. More than a thousand dead men; three, four times as many horses. We take heed of God's voice. He punished our pride and the slaughter of the innocents. We acknowledge divine providence.'\n\n'Then\u2026 then we will no longer fight?' said Blackstone.\n\nThe King looked benignly at his troublesome but favoured knight. 'No longer. The reality does not suit us, Thomas. We do not govern for our own selfish needs: we do so for the people. Our belligerence demands we continue to inflict violence on those who oppose us, but we are father to our people and must now bring stability and prosperity to our nation. We crave the cessation of a war that began more than twenty years ago.'\n\nBlackstone felt the weight of the cathedral's arched ceiling fall on him. He had known nothing but war since a boy, had been baptized at its high altar. In that moment it seemed little consolation that there would always be a place for him to fight \u2013 Florence still held his contract to defend it against its enemies. But the great battles were over.\n\nThe hand of God had done what no French army could have achieved \u2013 it had swept aside the pious King's ambitions.\n\nSilence laid itself over both men until the King spoke gently. 'Thomas, you saved our son's life at Cr\u00e9cy and that makes you dear to us. Our mother entrusted the Prince's safety to you before she died. You are held in great esteem but this peace comes at a price to us both.'\n\n'How so, my lord?'\n\n'There was another priest who journeyed with the Pope's envoys.' He turned and raised a hand.\n\nBlackstone's instincts had not failed him. There had been another man in the gloom. As the figure emerged from beneath one of the great windows, sunlight speckled its colours across the floor and the older man who trod across it.\n\n'Father Torellini,' Blackstone whispered disbelievingly as the Florentine priest emerged from the sparkling light. The man who had cradled his savaged body at Cr\u00e9cy and since shadowed his life embraced him.\n\n'Thomas, my heart glows at seeing you again.'\n\nBlackstone almost laughed aloud. It was a joy to meet his friend again. The last time he had seen the trusted priest had been in Italy when he'd brought news that had taken Blackstone back to England.\n\n'Thomas,' said Torellini, his hands still gripping the knight's arms, his eyes intent upon impressing the importance of his words on Blackstone. 'Once again you are in danger.'\n\nBlackstone grinned. 'Father, I'm always in danger.'\n\nTorellini looked to King Edward, who nodded his assent.\n\n'You are about to be delivered to your enemy,' said Torellini.\n\n'How so?' said Blackstone, looking at the stern faces of the two men.\n\n'As part of the peace negotiations the Dauphin demands that you are delivered to him in Paris,' said the King. 'You and your son.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 84",
                "text": "'He throws you to the dogs!' hissed Killbere. 'You can see what this is, Thomas. In God's name, tell me you can see it? The French will kill you and Henry and make sure the Blackstone name dies with you.'\n\nThe two men squatted in the shelter of the barn; the fire's smoke smudged the air. Killbere pushed aside the chicken that Will Longdon had cooked when Blackstone had returned from the cathedral.\n\n'Perhaps not,' said Blackstone, taking a mouthful of the chicken leg. 'The King said he would insist on my safety.'\n\nKillbere growled in disbelief, keeping his voice low because Blackstone had not yet told his men what had happened. 'And the bastard Dauphin agreed of course. He'll not let a soldier kill you \u2013 it will be an assassin in the crowd. A crossbow bolt in the back. A dozen butchers rushing you with meat cleavers.'\n\n'I don't think he would risk the peace negotiations by killing us. Not yet at least.'\n\n'Not yet at least,' Killbere repeated. 'Do you think it makes a difference as to when he kills you? You ride into Paris, he creates a situation, you lose your temper. The next thing you know you're at the Place de Gr\u00e8ve with your head on the block because it will be made to look as if you've brought about your own downfall. It won't be worth a nun's tits to the peace negotiations. You are not that important.'\n\nBlackstone sat quietly chewing the chicken, gazing across the garden to where Henry sat and ate with John Jacob. 'They wouldn't kill Henry,' he said after some thought. 'That would be a step too far.'\n\nKillbere scrubbed a hand across his beard and slapped the dirt. 'You are blind, Thomas Blackstone. I did not give you my protection all those years ago for you to turn out to be a king's fool. They could behead you and then poison him, or make his death appear to be an accident. You swore to kill the King of France and threatened his son. The Dauphin's balls will be tighter than horse chestnuts at the thought of luring you into Paris.'\n\nBlackstone smiled. 'Perhaps I'll get the chance to kill him first.' The look of despair on Killbere's face made him relent. 'Gilbert, I won't even try. Not when Henry is with me. Father Torellini \u2013'\n\n'The Italian priest always brings trouble to your door,' Killbere interrupted.\n\n'He's the King's confidant and my friend.'\n\n'I'm your friend, Thomas, but I don't send you into the jaws of hell.'\n\n'You're right, I usually follow you there.'\n\nKillbere shrugged. 'I like to fight the French and if I get ahead of you in the battle I apologize.' He made a final solemn plea. 'Thomas, say no. If you go in there alone with the boy we can't help you.'\n\n'The King desires peace, Gilbert. I'll play my part.' He reached for Killbere's half-eaten food. 'Do you want this?'\n\n'My appetite has deserted me. Take it.' Killbere sucked on a piece of chicken bone. 'Peace is no good to the likes of us, Thomas. If they let you live what then?'\n\n'We still have our men outside Florence. We can go back there.'\n\n'The winters are cold. We could go to the King of Naples \u2013 I hear the weather is better down there.'\n\nBlackstone tossed what was left of the chicken leg to an emaciated cur that had been lying hopefully a dozen paces away. It snatched the offering and scurried away. 'We take what scraps are offered, Gilbert. Florence still holds our contract. After that\u2026 we'll see.'\n\n'I should ride with you into Paris. Me and John Jacob. Squire and companion knight,' Killbere said hopefully.\n\n'The way you antagonize the French?'\n\n'I will stay silent,' he said, raising a hand in oath.\n\n'You would test God's patience once too often,' said Blackstone. 'If I end up with my head on the block it will be because of what I do, not you. Once we reach Paris you stay outside with the men. They need you, as they always have. You taught me that our word was our honour, Gilbert. And I swore to protect the Prince and serve the King. I have no choice in doing as he asks. You know that.'\n\nKillbere nodded reluctantly. 'I taught you well. I pray I don't live to regret it.' He gathered straw under his blanket and reached for a leather flask of wine. 'God's tears, Thomas, no more war. I think I'll drown my misery.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 85",
                "text": "Blackstone said nothing to Henry; it would serve no purpose. Let the boy get a night's sleep and then next morning he would ride back to Paris and they would enter the city together. The King and Torellini would begin negotiations with the French ambassadors and Pope's envoys. It would be heralded with all the pomp that the English could muster, with renowned noblemen in attendance. The Duke of Lancaster would be at one of the King's shoulders, the Prince at the other. It would be a show of force and pageantry. Hundreds of servants and bodyguards would be present, flags and pennons would be raised and the royal standard unfurled. The English might agree to the peace treaty but they would let it be known that they were the overwhelming force and that they could still wage war. The great English King would bring the long-running war to a close and return home in triumph, but would secure the right to inflict his wrath on the French should they dare renege again. Edward would renounce his claim to the French crown and the vast territories that he had demanded previously but he would hold Aquitaine as a sovereign independent state. History, Blackstone realized, was being made and he still had a part to play.\n\nBy the time all these thoughts had passed through his mind he had reached the barber surgeons' wagons. There was no sign of Aelis. The night's chill would soon be upon the wounded; the clear sky already held the promise of a bright moon and crystal-clear stars. Everyone relished the dry cold; anything was better than the saturating rain which they knew would soon return.\n\nA surgeon told him that the wounded had been taken inside the cathedral on the King's orders. Aelis was with them, administering her potions and balm. Blackstone made his way to the great door on the west portal and eased through its half-open gap. The chill still seeped from the stone floor but he could make out the injured men lying on blankets with coverings over them beneath one of the rose windows. For a moment he was once again held by the rich hues despite the failing light outside. Candles had been lit and their warmth softened the depth of the church's shadows.\n\nAelis had her back to him, grinding something in a pestle and mortar. Her hand stopped; her head raised, sensing a presence. She turned. He was barely a dozen paces behind her.\n\n'I have been waiting for you,' she said.\n\nBlackstone went to her. 'I had no reason to come here,' he lied, knowing full well the attraction she held for him.\n\nShe showed no regret, and she spoke matter-of-factly. 'Then why are you here now?'\n\nBlackstone couldn't find a satisfactory answer: he would not openly admit his desire for her.\n\n'It is because I called to you,' she said. 'I could not leave my place here and find you, so I put you in my thoughts and beckoned you to me.'\n\n'I came here of my own accord,' he insisted. 'I do not hear your voice in my head; I do not see images of you in the shadows luring me like a siren. I came to see that you were not being mistreated. Nothing more.' Another lie, yet close enough to the truth to satisfy his own uncertainty. He realized he was standing too close to her. Her back was pressed against one of the pillars. He felt foolish and half turned, determined not to give in to whatever pull she exerted on him. 'But I see you don't need my concern.'\n\nShe quickly reached out and gripped his arm and this time her voice was urgent, barely above a whisper. 'You must take me with you.'\n\nIt took him by surprise but she did not let go of him. 'Am I going somewhere?' he said.\n\n'Yes. Across the mountains.'\n\nBlackstone knew she could not have spoken to Killbere, and none of his men would have gossiped about the future, idly wondering what was to become of them after the war which had to end sooner or later.\n\n'Who told you this?' he said.\n\nShe shook her head. 'It comes to me. These feelings. They are not conjured with magic. They are given to me. And all I know is that I must come with you. You\u2026 and the boy,' she said finally as if surprised to realize the full extent of what lay ahead. Her hand dropped from his arm and she touched his face. Fear made him step back. A witch's touch could poison a man's heart and seize his soul. He brushed her hand aside.\n\n'Leave me be,' he said.\n\n'I cannot,' she answered. 'You saved my life and I am indebted to you. We are bound together until that debt is repaid. I do not ask for what I am given or what must be done.'\n\nHe glanced away. Darkness had settled. The night had drawn in quicker than he had realized \u2013 unless, he reasoned, she had held him in a spell and the night's mantle that now cloaked the church's chambers was part of it. Neither spoke but he still could not step away from her.\n\n'There is no debt between us. You saved Sir Gilbert; that was enough. Who has told you about Paris?' he finally said.\n\n'Paris? No one. There are no mountains to cross going back there.'\n\nHe could not shake the uncertainty from him. Finally, reason returned. 'You hear gossip and rumour around the camp. You imagine mountains where there are none. I am going to Paris with my son and after that I do not know where.'\n\nShe accepted his rejection without apparent rancour and turned back to her pestle and mortar. 'After that you will face betrayal and death.' She gave a backward glance: there was pity in her face. But he was already making his way through the moonlit veil of colour shimmering from the north rose window that glorified the Virgin Mary with the child Jesus on her knee. Perhaps, Aelis thought, the surrounding pear-shaped droplets of multi-coloured glass represented the twelve apostles? Their glow might protect Blackstone, but she felt certain that the dove of peace that appeared to flutter within the glass would never bless the Englishman."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 86",
                "text": "The rolling clouds felt as though they touched the top of the city's walls. Men swore the darkness they brought was a portent of ill tidings and when they smothered Notre-Dame some said that God had abandoned them. The English horde had melted away days before but they lurked somewhere like the plague. Now a handful of Englishmen, no more than a hundred, waited beyond the north gate and at their head was the man who had sworn to slay their king. Rumour spread that he was there to challenge the Dauphin to mortal combat and it was only when town criers had gone from square to square declaring a truce had been agreed with the English King that the mood of despair changed to one of hope and joy. No longer would the city dwellers have to eke out their food; no longer would wine be so expensive that a man could not share it with a friend. Fear had held them in its grip for too long despite their certainty that they would resist \u2013 and prevail \u2013 if the English stormed the city. The scar-faced Englishman who waited at the Porte Saint-Denis for escort through the city was an envoy of the English King. He had been summoned by the Dauphin. And the Dauphin had been obeyed. Power was back in the hands of the French. Or so they were told.\n\nBlackstone and his men had travelled back across the plain still scattered with the dead. The fallen men's clothing had been stripped by scavenging villagers and their flesh by crows and beasts. The charnel house was no different from any battlefield except this time the violence had been inflicted by the Almighty.\n\n'The King has sent us into the heart of our enemy,' Blackstone had told Henry. 'We do not know why. Perhaps it is to inflict humiliation onto us.'\n\n'Or kill us,' said Henry.\n\n'Have you been speaking to Sir Gilbert?'\n\n'No, Father. But they are your sworn enemy and you theirs. It would make sense for them to claim you as a prize of war. But I know you will not let that happen.'\n\nBlackstone didn't know whether to be impressed by the boy's logic or fearful that he did not comprehend how dangerous it would be inside the city walls.\n\n'Mother told me how you once rescued her in Paris, and that you fooled the sentries at the gates by telling them that you were a mason working on the walls,' said Henry.\n\n'That's right. We were running for our lives.'\n\n'She said that you cut your initials into one of the blocks that went into the new ramparts they were building.'\n\n'I did.'\n\n'Do you think we will be able to see it?' said Henry, his air of excitement plain to see.\n\n'Son, I will be happy if we ride in and out of Paris without catching a chill in our bones let alone an arrow in our backs. Stay alert at all times. Our lives may depend on it.'\n\nThey waited in front of the great gates. Somewhere beyond the walls they heard the sound of clattering horse hooves.\n\n'You think they'll attack us?' said John Jacob. 'If them gates open and French men-at-arms come at us we don't have much defence out here.' He turned in the saddle to look back to where Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny stood with their archers a hundred paces to the rear. 'Even with Jack and Will at the ready.'\n\n'There'll be no killing today, John. This is the King's business we're on.' Blackstone smiled. 'Still, no harm in having archers at the ready. Just in case.'\n\nThe gates opened and the royal captain of the guard, de Chauliac, rode out ahead of his men. Forty of them flanked the Grand'Rue behind him that reached down through the throat of Paris.\n\n'Sir Thomas Blackstone?' said the captain.\n\nKillbere muttered his remarks aside. 'Well, they look very pretty, Thomas. I'll wager the only conflict those clean surcoats have seen is at the hands of a laundrywoman.'\n\nBlackstone's men had ridden hard through the muddy fields the past three days and their splattered horses and clothing made them resemble vagabond brigands. Unshaven and dirty, hair matted with sweat, mail coifs pulled back from bare heads, they looked like the bunch of fearsome men they were. Which was what Blackstone had intended.\n\n'I am,' Blackstone answered the captain.\n\nDe Chauliac's eyes gleamed for a moment. He had witnessed the fight against the sixty French knights from the walls. He'd felt a sense of relief he had not been chosen to go out against this murderous-looking knight. Respect, though, was due.\n\n'Sir Thomas, I am Bernard de Chauliac, captain of the royal guard.' He bowed his head. 'We are sent to escort you and your son.' He hesitated and glanced at Killbere and John Jacob and the two huge bearded men who loomed behind them on horseback. 'You and the boy alone. As agreed.'\n\nBlackstone nodded at the captain and spoke quietly to Killbere. 'Camp well away from these gates. Find a place in the forest so you can watch the road. There's a leper colony behind us. Choose your ground well in case the Dauphin betrays us and sends men for you. They won't venture into the place of lepers so you can trap them on the road.'\n\n'If they cross us, Thomas, we will wage war on them with or without our King. I hope that pagan goddess of yours is wide awake.'\n\nBlackstone eased the bastard horse forward with Henry a couple of strides behind so that the belligerent beast would not turn its head and snap at the lesser horse next to it. Bareheaded, Blackstone entered the city and saw the gathered crowds who thronged the great boulevard. For once he was glad of having French troops near to him, for without the royal guard he and Henry would have been torn from the saddle and beaten to death. As it was the crowd vented their hatred for him by yelling abuse and shaking fists. None dared hurl missiles or weapons when the guard rode escort but it was plain to see that the Dauphin had ordered them to ride along the length of the Grand'Rue, through the heart of Paris, so that Blackstone would have to endure the population's abuse.\n\n'Do not meet their eyes, Henry,' said Blackstone. A mob could form quickly and if anyone did not fear the royal captain's sword then there was always the chance of the Dauphin's command of safe passage being ignored. Blackstone kept his own eyes straight ahead. A sudden surge would swamp them but the swaying crowds did not encroach onto the wide boulevard. What was it that held them back, other than the passing escorts? He turned and looked at the faces nearest him. Eyes flared back, mouths baring blackened teeth as they shouted. And then he saw the reason why. As his gaze fell on them their courage failed. Their eyes lowered. Fear of Blackstone controlled the mob.\n\n'There,' said Blackstone. 'That's Les Halles. It's the city graveyard. I found your mother there when we were being hunted. After I chiselled my initials in their new wall we escaped past soldiers through a breach.' He glanced at the boy who kept his back straight and shoulders square. 'This place must hold no fear for you, Henry. Your mother ran at my side. She was a woman of great courage.'\n\nHenry Blackstone glanced at his father. The baying crowd frightened him, but he nodded.\n\n'Let them howl,' said Blackstone. 'They cannot harm us. They have every right to hate me. I killed many of their countrymen.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 87",
                "text": "Simon Bucy stood with the Dauphin watching from one of the high windows that showed the Grand'Rue's straight line from the palace's bridge across the river to the north wall. It was thronged with bystanders whose roar could be heard even from that distance. Bucy's mouth salivated. The Englishman was getting closer. Part of Bucy wished the crowd would disobey and tear him apart but his cold-hearted and rational side relished the fact that it was he who would soon send Blackstone to certain death. He felt aggrieved that he could not decide which option was the most satisfying. He closed his eyes. The Dauphin's ceaseless pacing had begun to wear on his nerves. If Bucy felt conflicted about Blackstone's fate then the Dauphin was positively racked with nerves at the prospect of meeting Blackstone face-to-face. Peace was at hand but that did not mean that retribution could not be meted out to a blood enemy.\n\n'Sire,' said Bucy. 'Would you prefer that I deal with this matter alone?' He spoke with considered calmness, although he did not relish facing the Englishman either. Did Blackstone know that it was he who had unleashed the Savage Priest on him and his family years before? He must know. He must, he told himself.\n\nThe Dauphin stopped and thought about the offer and then shook his head. He had to face Blackstone. It was a matter of honour \u2013 before he sent the Englishman to his death.\n\n'We are not afraid of one man, no matter how violent his anger towards us and our father. And Edward has our word that he will not be harmed.' He paused. 'Here, that is. We must extend sanctuary to him and then we can use his violence to our benefit. It is you who have planned his death, Simon. We have agreed to arrange the means of it, so as to leave ourself as the innocent party. Let him come.'\n\nBucy kept his eyes on the approaching escort. They clattered across the bridge and between the guards flanking the palace entrance. Blackstone dismounted and a stable-hand from the royal stables ran forward to take his horse's rein but the mottled beast yanked back and kicked out. Two of the escort's horses reared in defence. The stable-hand fell, but Blackstone quickly brought the horse under control and then helped the stunned boy to his feet. Bucy saw the Englishman tip a coin from his purse and hand it to the shaken lad. The captain of the guard said something and pointed towards the royal stables and Blackstone led the big horse forward followed by a boy of about eleven or twelve years of age.\n\nEvery step closer dried the spittle in Bucy's mouth.\n\n'He's here,' he told the Dauphin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 88",
                "text": "There were only about two hundred officials serving the royal household, a corps of royal administrators often there through marriage or patronage, men who could be trusted and controlled. All strove constantly for higher office but the hierarchy in which they served meant that they were dependent on each other for their success. And that gave Bucy almost complete authority over them. He had the ear of the King and, being the dominant member of the Prince Regent's council, influence over the Dauphin. The one thing Bucy was certain of was that there would be no dissent from those officials when he brought their King's enemy into the beating heart of France. A heart that now pounded with anticipation. Simon Bucy had made his plans, but still he felt the fear of impending violence.\n\nHe had been raised in lowly circumstances, so far removed from the wealth and influence he now held that it was almost impossible to recall his family's penury. His father had been a humble legal clerk, obliged to work by the half-light of a candle, his eyesight fading, his body hunched in an unheated, windowless room. One day a rat had found its way under the floorboards and its scurrying became so intrusive that Bucy's father laid a trail of breadcrumbs into a box whose lid was propped with a stick. He held his young son behind his desk and, with a finger to his lips, pointed. The rat took the bait and the trap was sprung. Bucy's father leapt forward in victory and battered the helpless rodent to death with a brass candlestick. Bucy remembered that moment only too well. He had vomited from the sight of it and his distaste for physical violence had never left him. The vision of his mild-mannered father relishing the kill reminded him of his own loss of control on the city walls when he saw Blackstone fight. Now he had carefully laid an enticing trap of his own for the Englishman and he prayed his own intemperate desire to see the man dead did not betray him.\n\nThe Dauphin sat and waited, his embroidered silk-cushioned chair raised on a dais. Beyond the chamber's ornately carved oak doors lay a long passage of pillared arches, an entrance grand enough to subdue any man's hubris. Footsteps echoed closer and then halted. Bucy glanced back at the Dauphin. He seemed unconcerned about who was about to step into the room. A sword's pommel was struck against the wood. Bucy stood between the Dauphin and the doors as they swung open. The royal captain of the guard and his men flanked a man who stood head and shoulders above them and who stared at Bucy, and then at the Dauphin. The Englishman's presence seemed to fill the room. And what was it in Blackstone's gaze, Bucy tried to determine in those seconds, that created such a tremor of fear in him?\n\nThe captain of the guard requested Blackstone relinquish his weapons and the Englishman unbuckled his belt and wrapped it around Wolf Sword's scabbard, which he then handed to the captain. The boy at Blackstone's side followed the knight's example and handed his belt and sword to one of the guards.\n\nBucy squared his shoulders and set his face. An air of authority was essential. He dragged his eyes away from the hulking, weather-beaten Blackstone and spoke to the captain of the guard. 'The boy stays outside for now. He will be summoned in due course. See that he is seated by a fire for warmth and given whatever food and drink he desires,' he said and, with a glance at Blackstone, added, 'Father and son are our gracious Dauphin's guests.'\n\nBlackstone did not look at Henry and neither did the boy seek any assurance from his father. Blackstone stepped into the chamber accompanied by the captain and half a dozen of his men, who flanked the walls, far enough away not to impinge on the Dauphin's presence but near enough to rush Blackstone if he made any attack against him. The doors closed heavily behind them. Bucy moved to one side, which suggested to Blackstone that he was required to move further towards the Dauphin Charles. He stopped twelve paces from the raised dais. The French Prince and the English knight stared at each other for a moment and then Blackstone dipped his head. Bucy noticed the Dauphin's eyebrows rise. Surprise that Blackstone had not knelt before him or, Bucy wondered, because the Englishman had at least dipped his head in respect? After a few moments during which the Dauphin and Blackstone studied each other, Blackstone broke the silence and the protocol of waiting for the royal prince to speak first.\n\n'You have changed, my lord, since I last saw you at Rouen. Then you were a boy.'\n\nThe Dauphin's mouth opened and closed with uncertainty, a frown furrowing his brow. 'Rouen?'\n\n'Back in '56. You sat with Jean de Harcourt and the Norman lords before your father burst into the room and accused de Harcourt, my sworn and loyal friend, of treason and then had him butchered.'\n\nThe memory of the event caused the Dauphin to lurch in his seat. His body bent forward, arm outstretched. 'You were there?'\n\n'In the gallery. I had gone to try and warn him, but a traitor got there before me and betrayed them all. I heard you, my lord, plead with your father not to harm your guests.'\n\n'And when de Harcourt was beheaded \u2013'\n\n'Butchered,' Blackstone repeated.\n\nThe Dauphin allowed the impertinence. '\u2013 that was when you swore vengeance and tried to kill our father at Poitiers.'\n\n'I was within five strides and a sword stroke.'\n\nThese recollections of the past upset the Dauphin. He stood but kept distance between himself and Blackstone. 'And I was in the wave that attacked you before I was withdrawn from the field. We saw you defending that gap in the hedgerow. That was a day that changed our world.'\n\n'And mine,' Blackstone acknowledged.\n\nThe Dauphin returned to his chair. 'There will always be bad blood between us, Sir Thomas.'\n\nBlackstone glanced at Bucy, who held his robes close to his chest, gripping the material for comfort. An obvious sign of anxiety and most probably guilt. 'Especially because your father set the Savage Priest on me and my family,' he replied.\n\nThe Dauphin nodded. 'He was a vile creature who was at my shoulder at Poitiers, charged with protecting me\u2026 and killing you.'\n\nBlackstone smiled. 'His remains hang in a mountain pass. And the corpses of those sent recently to kill my Prince disguised as Englishmen lie in an open field as carrion. Another vile act of dishonour.'\n\nThe Dauphin lowered his head. Blackstone's taunt had struck home.\n\n'Why am I here?' Blackstone demanded.\n\nSimon Bucy took an involuntary step forward to chastise Blackstone. 'You will be told in good time,' he said.\n\n'Who are you?' said Blackstone, setting Bucy back on his heels. 'Was it you who advised your King to set the Savage Priest on me? And you who advised your Prince to send men dressed as Englishmen into our ranks?'\n\nBucy's face drained of colour, but he kept his air of authority intact. 'I am your enemy as you are an enemy to France. I would do anything to protect my King, my Prince and my country.'\n\n'And your fine clothes and status, I'll wager,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Enough,' said the Dauphin. 'It was never our intention to cause your Prince harm by sending those men.' He glanced at Bucy. 'No matter how ill advised the act might have been.'\n\n'My lord,' said Blackstone. 'You have me and my son at your mercy just as my King has the crown of France at his.'\n\n'We are not defeated,' snapped the Dauphin. 'It is your King who has agreed to the truce and a treaty.'\n\n'He could still destroy Paris and take what he wants,' Blackstone said, knowing this action would never be taken, but happy to antagonize French royalty and pride. 'He is a great and pious king, my lord, but if you harm my son, no matter what happens to me, he will bring his wrath down upon you.'\n\nThe Dauphin blew his nose and dabbed his eyes. Was it from anger or the chill that crept up from the Seine? Blackstone wondered.\n\n'We have brought you here\u2026' The Dauphin's voice trailed away, and it was only after he glanced at Bucy that he managed to finish the sentence. '\u2026to thank you.'\n\nIt was Blackstone's turn to feel the blow of incomprehension. And the Dauphin saw it.\n\n'Yes, your enemy thanks you. When France endured the Jacquerie uprising you fought to save the women and children at Meaux. Our father's family and our own wife and infant were there and your actions saved them. You have our thanks.'\n\nBlackstone sensed the Dauphin's gratitude was genuine. 'My lord, it was not only my actions.'\n\n'We know,' said the Dauphin, 'but there is more than our gratitude that needs to be offered.' The Dauphin nodded at Bucy, who in turn gestured to a servant who stood next to a side door of the chamber. The servant opened it and another entered carrying a small ornate cushioned chair. He placed it close to the Dauphin and then went out of the same door. No sooner had he left the chamber than a girl that Blackstone took to be about ten or eleven years old came in, followed by two ladies-in-waiting. The quality of her clothing and the fact that she sat on the chair provided meant she was of the royal household.\n\n'Our sister, Princess Isabelle. You escorted her to safety from Meaux after the fighting.'\n\n'I did,' said Blackstone, remembering the brief glimpse he had had of her after the siege, the memory also serving to remind him of the circumstances of his wife and daughter's death. The child stared at him without any sign of fear and then turned to the Dauphin. Her voice was gentle and barely raised above a whisper, so Blackstone could not hear what she said. The Dauphin smiled and nodded and addressed Blackstone.\n\n'She asks where her petit chevalier is.' Without waiting for Blackstone to comprehend the Dauphin raised a hand and the chamber's doors opened again. After a moment Henry Blackstone was brought into their presence. Blackstone caught his son's glance as he quickly bowed before the Dauphin and then, deliberately, to the Princess, who smiled in recognition.\n\n'My little knight,' she said.\n\n'Highness,' said Henry. 'I am pleased to see that you look well.'\n\nBlackstone struggled to keep the look of a fool from his face.\n\n'And I have not forgotten your kindness,' said the Princess. 'You served me well.'\n\nThe Dauphin raised a finger to his lips to silence her. His kindly smile soothed the girl's urge to say more.\n\n'Boy,' said the Dauphin and gestured Henry to him. He stepped forward as the Dauphin raised a hand to a servant who stood against the wall. 'Our sister tells me that when you were at Meaux you expressed a love of reading.'\n\n'Yes, sire,' said Henry.\n\n'Good. To read creates a greater understanding of the world. I have a library containing many books and manuscripts here.'\n\nThe servant approached carrying something wrapped in a purple velvet cloth. He unwrapped a book which he presented to Henry.\n\n'It is a book of chivalry,' said the Dauphin with a glance across to Blackstone. 'And honour.'\n\n'Thank you, highness,' said Henry and stepped back to stand at his father's side.\n\n'Sir Thomas, you serve your King loyally,' said the Dauphin.\n\n'My sword is his,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Then now is the time for you\u2026 and your sword\u2026 to serve him still. Your King continues to demand a great deal from us to release our father from captivity in England. We are soon to sign a treaty but the amount required is\u2026 exorbitant. To secure the three million gold \u00e9cus for his release a marriage has been arranged between Isabelle and the Visconti of Milan's son, Gian Galeazzo. This marriage confers great prestige on the Visconti and serves to secure the payment for your King.'\n\n'I don't see how this involves me, or my son,' said Blackstone.\n\n'It is our wish that you and your men escort our beloved sister to Milan.'\n\n'Milan?' Blackstone said. 'My enemy? I defended Florence against them. I have killed their captains. They would like nothing better than to have me fall into their hands.' He looked at Bucy, who remained inscrutable. 'A plan to rid yourself of your sworn enemy without dirtying your hands and keeping the peace treaty intact with my King.'\n\nBucy stepped closer. 'Sir Thomas, the Prince Regent's gratitude to you is an honest expression made in good faith. His sister, when she was told of the arranged marriage, asked if her petit chevalier might accompany her. It seems that your son served her well at Meaux.'\n\n'I will not take either of us into that vipers' nest,' said Blackstone.\n\nBucy played his part well. He glanced with regret at the Dauphin, who nodded his understanding. Would the nose-dripping youth play his role with equal skill? he wondered. The Dauphin raised a hand, as if to stop Bucy from saying anything further.\n\n'We understand, Sir Thomas. But your reputation is such that if you agreed we feel that our sister's safety would be guaranteed. And that in turn would secure your King's ransom.' He dabbed his nose with the lace handkerchief, then chose his words carefully. This, Bucy knew, was the bait that had to be dangled perfectly.\n\n'We are aware,' said the Dauphin with what seemed to be genuine regret, 'that when you escorted our sister into safekeeping from Meaux your absence was used by an assassin to murder your wife and child.'\n\nNo matter how often Blackstone had tried to banish the image of his butchered daughter and wife, it lurked in his tortured memory. Any word spoken of Christiana and Agnes scraped the wound like a blunt knife blade and made the picture rear again like a harpy.\n\n'And I put an arrow through him, and our horses trampled him into the dirt. He screamed as every bone broke,' said Blackstone.\n\nThe Dauphin nodded. 'We understand such grief and desire for vengeance. And in gratitude for your service to our family and your saving the life of this child, and many others, we wish you to have the information that has come into our possession. Those who sent the assassin are in the court of the Visconti.'\n\nBucy was barely able to suppress a smile of success.\n\nThe rat trap was sprung."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE SCENT OF BLOOD",
                "text": "Blackstone told Killbere and the others little of the mission he had been charged with \u2013 to Killbere's frustration \u2013 so the journey back to Chartres was full of speculation and anticipation among the men. Blackstone's own thoughts had grappled with everything the Dauphin and Bucy had told him. The insistence that he take Henry to Milan to accompany the Princess flagged up a warning. They could both be killed once they were in the grip of the Visconti. To slay the father and not the son would risk leaving a desire for revenge when Henry became old enough to inflict it. Blackstone had Henry brought forward to the front of the column as they neared the English camp.\n\n'When we were at Meaux you told me that you had nothing to do with the royal family and now, years later, you and the Princess are friends and you're her petit chevalier. How much time did you spend with her?'\n\n'I worked with the other pages and took water to the women and children but one day I was sent to the royal chambers and she spoke to me.'\n\n'Why? You were little more than a servant to her.'\n\n'You suspect something, Father?'\n\n'I suspect everything that the French do and say. They lay a trap for us, boy. I need to see why they are using you as part of it.'\n\nHenry shook his head. 'I don't know. She spent a lot of time on her own and one day she asked me if I could speak and read Latin because she was at her studies and I helped her.'\n\n'Then why didn't you tell me that?'\n\n'It was only on two occasions that she asked me. Maybe three. I think.'\n\n'You think?'\n\n'I don't remember, Father.'\n\n'Then why does she call you her little knight?'\n\n'She was frightened, and one day when I took the water to their rooms I could see she had been crying because she was so scared of the Jacques. I told her that I wouldn't let anything happen to her.'\n\n'And you didn't think this was important enough to tell me when I asked you at the time?'\n\n'No, Father.'\n\nBlackstone thought on it for a while. The reason behind the French demand that Henry go with them was probably that innocent and nothing more should be read into it. Perhaps a young princess simply needed reassurance. However, it did land them both in the Visconti's grasp. 'All right, go back to John Jacob.'\n\n'Is it true that the Visconti sent the killer?' said Henry.\n\n'I don't know. But we will find out,' Blackstone told him, his tone gentle, because the boy had shown no sign of anger at the thought of those responsible for murdering his mother and sister. 'We'll find out,' he said again by way of reassurance."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 90",
                "text": "The mud slurped beneath Blackstone's boots as he made his way through the camp towards the cathedral at Chartres. When he had returned from Paris he had reported to the King and the Prince of Wales what was expected of him and why he had been summoned by the Dauphin. King Edward had said little and asked that he meet with Father Torellini the next morning. But first he sought out Aelis.\n\nShe was putting the small glass bottles into her satchel and as she raised one to eye level to check the contents she saw Blackstone approaching.\n\n'Sir Thomas, you have returned safely, I see,' she said.\n\n'As you knew I would,' he answered.\n\n'Nothing is certain,' said Aelis. She settled the bottles carefully and then fastened the satchel's straps.\n\n'Magic potions?' said Blackstone. 'More alchemy to distort a man's mind?'\n\n'Think of it what you will. Some of them ease pain, others heal and still others help a man slip away into the darkness when the angels abandon him.'\n\n'Are you abandoned?' he said. 'You have the sight and I wonder if it's a curse? Perhaps from the dark angels.'\n\n'Or a blessing from God,' she said calmly.\n\n'How did you know? About Henry and me?'\n\n'It is not something I understand. It is given to me.'\n\n'Do you see anything else? Now? The future? What will happen to you?'\n\n'I am in the Prince's hands now. His protection will end when the treaty is signed. He will go back to England and I will go from town to town and offer my skills to those who want them.'\n\n'Or get burned as a witch,' he said.\n\n'That's not how I will die,' she answered, and the way she said it made Blackstone sense she knew the truth of how her own life would end.\n\n'Then you are abandoned,' he said.\n\n'I am.'\n\n'And I see the future more clearly than you,' said Blackstone. 'You were right: there are mountains to be crossed and danger to be faced. You are going to come with me.'\n\nShe slung the heavy satchel over her shoulder and smiled at him. 'I know,' she said.\n\nHer words lingered in his mind as he stepped into the cathedral. The rainbow light streamed from the windows and he saw stretcher-bearers carry the wounded to lie in their glow. Speckled colours flickered across the men as a dozen monks went among them and ensured each man was made comfortable. Father Torellini stood to one side observing the monks' activity. He saw Blackstone emerge from the shadowed pillars across the nave.\n\n'Thomas, walk with me. We have much to discuss,' said the Italian priest when Blackstone reached him.\n\n'What's this?' Blackstone asked, looking at the wounded men.\n\n'Healing light,' said Torellini. 'This is a sacred place of pilgrimage and it is believed that the light from the stained glass holds magical properties. The blue glass is rare, Thomas, it is the Lord's colour. Artisans grind lapis lazuli, which only comes from Afghanistan, and use it in the glass. It is more valuable than gold.' He glanced up at Blackstone. 'Perhaps you should bathe in the light and let it heal the pain that you carry in your heart.'\n\n'We all bear scars, Father. Mine are no deeper than those of other men.'\n\nTorellini smiled and shrugged. 'So you say. I think not. I wonder why we have been brought to this place, and why the King was led here. Look at the colours that decorate these walls. These pigments are there for a reason; those who built this place were trying to bring a vision of heaven to this squalid world. The windows unfold stories for the illiterate so that they understand more of the richness of the angels and Our Lord.'\n\n'I didn't come here for a lesson in architecture or the working of the scriptures,' said Blackstone, barely able to keep the irritation from his voice.\n\n'You would deny even the beauty of God's comfort to those desperate for it?'\n\n'A stonemason's chisel and men's sweat built this place. Nothing more. There's no religious magic to be had from men's back-breaking labour. How am I to get to the Visconti and do what I must?'\n\n'Which of the Visconti will you kill?' Torellini answered. 'Galeazzo or Bernab\u00f2? They are the Lords of Milan. Which of them sent the assassin to inflict the horror on you? There is no knowing.'\n\n'I will kill both of them if I have to.'\n\n'And die trying.'\n\n'The French have given me the information about them so they may rid themselves of me. Do you expect me not to go?'\n\n'It is a condition of the peace talks. The King knows what's being asked of you.'\n\n'Then is it true? Did the Visconti send the assassin?'\n\nThey reached a side chapel and Torellini sat on a bench gazing at the gold cross on the altar before them.\n\n'It is so rumoured,' he admitted, persuaded by the holy icon to admit what he knew.\n\n'Father, I'm about to take my men into the den of the beast. Rumour?'\n\n'Listen to me, Thomas. I have spies and informants in the court at Milan. It is hearsay, no more than that. Yes, the order came from Milan, but from whom we cannot say. You were an enemy and you were brought down, which is exactly what they wanted. They killed Christiana and Agnes and you were cast into the pit of drunkenness and despair.'\n\n'But I am back.'\n\nTorellini nodded. 'And they know it. So what do we make of it all?'\n\n'I don't know. That's why I need you to tell me, and if you can't then I need you to find out.'\n\nThe Italian priest opened the palms of his hands in a gesture of acceptance. 'And so we must discover the truth. The English King desires peace and a ransom. The first cannot be achieved without the second. Galeazzo, the Lord of Milan, pays the ransom and buys the Princess to marry his son. The Visconti gain immediate prestige and an alignment with France that will protect disputed territories. And a bonus. The opportunity to have the man who killed their assassin in their hands. Moreover, now the treaty with France is to be signed, you are still a danger. You still hold a contract with Florence against them. Another reason for them to try to kill you. But who? Galeazzo or his brother Bernab\u00f2? Both? Or someone who serves them? Someone who was rewarded by them for sending a killer after you who murdered your family? Whom did he serve, this man who controlled the assassin? The clever Visconti or the mad one?'\n\nBlackstone looked away. The puzzle could not be answered. After a few moments he turned to the older man who had shadowed his life since the day he lay a whisper away from death at Cr\u00e9cy. 'By the time I get to Milan, I have to know who it was, Father.'\n\nTorellini sighed and his chin settled on his chest for a moment. 'Both brothers are formidable. They are men of strong passions and violent character. Galeazzo is the greater statesman. He extends his power and influence by negotiation and diplomacy, although you should have no doubt of his ability to inflict violence; however, he favours the English. One day he will reach out to our own King for alliances. Bernab\u00f2 is less predictable. He is physically strong, as tall and broad as you. He leads his men in battle. He's fearful of neither man nor God. He rejects the Pope where his brother courts him. You can see how, between them, they rule. Bernab\u00f2's ruthlessness is feared but respected. He is not simply a violent thug, Thomas. He is educated and that, combined with ruthlessness and a volatile temper, makes him the more dangerous. His punishments are savage, but the citizens of Milan are grateful. Their streets are free from crime; officials do not take bribes. You will find no one there who would cross the Visconti to offer you refuge or help should the need arise. As to who paid the killer of your wife and daughter: I will send word to those who spy for me in Milan to find the answer, but if I cannot discover it in time then it is more than likely that you and your son will die there.'\n\n'No, I won't take Henry into Milan. Once we have escorted the Princess across the Alps I will send him to Florence and place him in your care. I killed the assassin who murdered Christiana and Agnes, and now I will kill the one who sent him.'\n\n'If he can be found, Thomas,' said the priest. 'And if he is found then you must declare vendetta. It might give you a chance. No city-state in Italy will deny the legitimacy of it: their law recognizes and sanctions private justice.'\n\n'I'll burn Milan to the ground if I have to. Not even God will save the man I aim to kill,' said Blackstone.\n\nHe took his leave of the priest and walked through the cathedral, stepping across the glittering veil of light cast down from one of the windows. He stood for a moment and raised his face to the healing beams, letting himself bathe in the brightness. Nothing happened. The pain he bore would be eased only by vengeance."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 91",
                "text": "Simon Bucy gathered the ermine-collared cloak around his neck. Blackstone had agreed to go to Milan and the Visconti were not even aware of the prize being laid at their city gates. He and the Dauphin had not dared to let the information reach the Visconti: to have told them could have jeopardized Isabelle's safe arrival. What if the mad bastard Bernab\u00f2 threw caution to the wind and ambushed the Princess's retinue in order to kill Blackstone? What chance then of the French King returning home? No, better to deny themselves the satisfaction of telling the Lords of Milan in order to secure the child's safe passage and the ransom. He allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. In no small way, he believed, he had been the saviour of France. Within days the arrangements for the signing of the treaty had been decided and he was to attend as representative of the Dauphin and Jean le Bon, King of France. It was momentous. Of course there were others who would preen themselves in the same mirror of success: the Count of Tancarville had been released as a hostage from England and he would think himself more important because he was a soldier who had accompanied the King into imprisonment. But he could be managed with judicious flattery. The irritating and at times insufferable French Chancellor, Jean de Dormans, would no doubt soon whisper in Bucy's ear that it was he who had finally secured the terms of agreement. Bucy mentally chastised himself for the foul language that crept from his thoughts onto his tongue. When the King came home he would know whom to reward. Bucy had held the Dauphin in check, had arranged the meeting between the Prince Regent and his blood enemy; had prepared him, tutoring him how to behave and respond when facing the scar-faced Englishman. And he had banished Blackstone from the kingdom by throwing him poisoned bait. Sending him right into the jaws of that madman Bernab\u00f2 Visconti.\n\n'My lord?' said a servant as Bucy cast a final eye over his attire and adjusted his mink hat. 'It is time.'\n\nBucy nodded and waved the servant away. He had eaten a good breakfast, his clothing was appropriate for the occasion and his mood could not be better. The great noblemen and knights who were close to the King of England would represent the English monarch: the Duke of Lancaster; the Earls of Northampton, Warwick and Suffolk; Cobham, Burghesh, Walter Mauny. Legends on the field of battle. They would see themselves as the victors. Let them delude themselves. The ransom would soon be paid and France would have her King returned. And Blackstone would soon be dead.\n\nIt was, at last, a day to bask in the warmth of his triumph."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 92",
                "text": "The preparations for the royal journey south took many weeks, a period that gave Blackstone and his men time to rest and recruit. King Edward had given him and his captains the pick of men to replace those who had died on the campaign. It had been a hard-fought selection for those who desired to ride with him. Hard fought because he and his captains had made them face each other in hand-to-hand contest and chose only those who withstood the ordeal, but now Blackstone had a hundred men at his back.\n\nThe royal litter swayed gently between the two big pack horses, chosen for their strength and endurance. At least, Blackstone thought, the litter was not as cumbersome or as slow as a carriage. The Princess's servants rode behind the litter, ready to administer to the child's needs. The disparity between them was an act of God. When Henry was her age he had been fighting for his life at his mother's side. And yet there the boy was, at the Princess's request, riding alongside the litter. If a King and his offspring were divine, chosen by the will of God, then what use did God have for the rest of them? To serve, was the answer his thoughts gave him. To serve and die if necessary. They had a hundred leagues to travel and every step along the way could pose danger, Torellini had warned him. But from whom? The Visconti wanted the child-bride; the routiers who roamed the hills would not dare snatch the King of France's daughter. It made no sense to Blackstone. The Visconti wanted their revenge on him for killing their assassin as much as he did on them for sending the killer.\n\n'What?' said Killbere at his side.\n\nBlackstone looked quizzically at him.\n\n'You were muttering and sighing like a drunkard,' said Killbere. 'Is the boredom driving you to holding private conversations with yourself? Merciful God, this is a journey we should have refused. We've been riding for ten days. Damned near three hundred miles of arse-aching monotony. We should have taken ourselves off on a crusade or gone back to Florence to fight the Visconti. They won't be going anywhere. Why do we wet-nurse this child?'\n\n'It gets us into Milan under Edward and John's protection.'\n\n'Aye, and much good that will do us,' answered Killbere. 'If your Italian priest doesn't get the information to us in time we will be drawn and quartered and parts of us seeing Milan the other bits won't.'\n\nBlackstone grinned. 'They would need more than hardened steel to separate your stubborn head from your body.'\n\n'Thomas, don't jest with me. I'm serious. We have no say in any of this. The route is not ours. We play into others' hands. They can do with us what they will. This handful of French troops who ride with us wouldn't put fear into a gang of street urchins. And Amadeus? Merciful Mother of God, he's no friend of yours. He's got noblemen with knights and men-at-arms at his beck and call. Who's to say he won't surround us once we get down to Chamb\u00e9ry? He's the Visconti's brother-in-law by marriage,' said Killbere, pointing towards the litter, 'and uncle to the Visconti's brat that she's going to marry. He's got hundreds of cavalry under his command and do you see one of them here? No. Not one. It's a pig's arse, Thomas. And it smells like one.'\n\nBlackstone knew that Killbere had every right to be wary. Amadeus, the Count of Savoy, was one of the transalpine princes. The twenty-six-year-old was the sworn enemy of the Marquis de Montferrat whose territory lay across the Alps and who was allied to Florence; and Montferrat and Florence were bitter enemies of the Visconti of Milan. Montferrat was also Blackstone's ally and held the mountain pass where Blackstone had slain the Savage Priest years before. But the route through the mountains that Blackstone and his men knew well and which took them into the safety of Montferrat's territory was denied them. Instead the Princess and her escort of French troops and Blackstone's men would travel south to the city of Chamb\u00e9ry, held by Amadeus, and then through the pass at Mont Cenis before the winter snows.\n\n'He formed an alliance with the Visconti,' said Blackstone. 'The Pope wanted him to side with him. But the treaty between the Lords of Milan and the Count strengthens the territories they each hold. And it keeps Montferrat in check.'\n\n'And leaves us sticking out like a whore's nipple on a winter's day,' said Killbere. 'Vengeance is one thing, Thomas, but suicide is another. These men follow you in good faith and affection. You're their sworn lord. They won't desert you because you've a mind to inflict misery and death on those who sent an assassin to tear your heart apart.' Killbere drew breath and spat. 'They'll die for you. But it needs to be a fight worth fighting. That's all I'm saying.'\n\n'Much more and we'll have you giving morning prayers. You've become a preacher in your old age, Gilbert.'\n\n'Dammit, Thomas. I'll not be mocked. When men die their blood is on your hands.'\n\nBlackstone knew Killbere was right and he decided that when the time came he would give all his men the option of going into Milan or staying outside the walls. Before he could answer Killbere a shout went up.\n\n'Riders!' yelled a voice from the front. Blackstone drew the column to a halt and watched as a troop of horsemen, a hundred or more, pennons fluttering, emerged from the forests that smothered the rolling foothills in the near distance. Killbere signalled Perinne and the outriders to rejoin Blackstone. By the time they had reached Blackstone the approaching knights and men-at-arms had divided and formed two columns. The knight who led them wore a green silk tabard over his breastplate and two ostrich feathers dyed the same colour were attached to his helm. His horse's caparison was embroidered with green patterns.\n\n'They flank us, Sir Thomas,' said John Jacob. 'Though the way they're dressed they look as though they're going to a tournament.'\n\nWill Longdon had already ordered the archers into extended line and Gaillard and Meulon had gone left and right with their men behind Blackstone. What had appeared to be a lethargic moving column only minutes before was now a spearhead of fighting men. Only the French troops remained static and readied themselves for a charge. No wonder they kept losing battles, Blackstone thought fleetingly.\n\n'Come on, John, let's see what this popinjay wants,' said Blackstone and spurred the bastard horse forward.\n\nKillbere stayed at the head of Blackstone's men, sword drawn and ready.\n\nBlackstone reined in a dozen paces from the extravagantly dressed knight. His visor was open and Blackstone saw that the man was somewhere in his twenties.\n\n'You are Sir Thomas Blackstone,' said the knight cheerfully. 'Wonderful! I am honoured to meet you. I recognize your coat of arms and its challenge: D\u00e9fiant \u00e0 la mort. And from what I have heard you have defied death on many occasions.'\n\nBlackstone remained stony silent, giving the ebullient man no cause to think him friendly or agreeable. Then: 'You have a hundred men at your back. If you've a mind to fight my archers will have you dead where you stand and my men-at-arms will finish the job. You're blocking the road.'\n\nBlackstone's curt response punctured the flamboyant knight's enthusiasm and his demeanour became more solemn.\n\n'Ah, yes, I can see how so many heavily armed men would cause you to be wary, especially with such a precious cargo,' he said.\n\n'Your time runs short,' said Blackstone. 'My archers use me as their mark and you and your men as targets. State your intent.'\n\n'Everything I have heard about you is true. You are rude, ill mannered and spoiling for a fight.' He laughed. 'All the qualities one needs to escort my sister-in-law. I am Count Amadeus of Savoy and I thought the child should be greeted with the honour she deserved.'\n\nBlackstone thought he heard John Jacob curse under his breath at their bad luck \u2013 they had threatened a nobleman \u2013 but he chose to ignore it. 'My lord,' said Blackstone and bowed his head. 'You'll forgive my ignorance and ill manners but I am sworn to protect Princess Isabelle and anyone who approaches poses a threat.'\n\n'And it would be a foolish man who sought to cause her harm while she is under your protection. I am here to personally escort you into Chamb\u00e9ry where you are to be made welcome and to dine at my table and share with me stories of your exploits. I am keen to be entertained, Sir Thomas.'\n\n'I would be honoured, my lord,' said Blackstone with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, hoping that his despair at the thought of being in the Count's company would not be noticed. He turned his horse. He winced when he caught John Jacob's gaze. Insulting and challenging a transalpine prince was a poor start."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 93",
                "text": "They were within half a day's ride of Chamb\u00e9ry when they saw black smoke mushrooming in the distance.\n\n'Is there fighting here?' said Blackstone.\n\nThe plumed Count shook his head sombrely. 'No, Sir Thomas, we have had an outbreak of the pestilence. It is another reason why I chose to ride out and meet you: to ensure you did not stumble into the diseased villages. The plague is one enemy that could strike you silently. We burn every place that has been stricken.'\n\nThought of the death sweeping through the countryside made Blackstone fearful. 'And in the city?'\n\n'So far it has not reached us. And I have banned from entering anyone who shows signs of fever. The sentries at the city gates check everyone. The markets are closed until the pestilence moves on.' He glanced at Blackstone. 'The danger will not end here, Sir Thomas. It is across the Alps in Lombardy as well. We will offer our prayers for you and the Princess.'\n\nBad enough, Blackstone thought, that there were those who wished to see him butchered, now the great pestilence had cast its barbed net across the land waiting to snare unsuspecting travellers. No matter how forewarned they were, even a chance encounter with anyone infected would inflict an excruciating death. He instinctively turned in the saddle and looked back to where Aelis rode with the captains. She returned his gaze without expression. Just how much did she see of the future? he wondered.\n\nHe watched the smoke struggling to rise in the cold mountain air and sensed the stench of burning flesh it would carry. He pressed Arianrhod to his lips and, as the silver goddess caught the light, he saw Count Amadeus glance his way.\n\n'Perhaps, Sir Thomas, you will need more prayers than most.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 94",
                "text": "The pale stone castle loomed over the roofs of the town that spread out from beneath its walls. Killbere pushed open the shuttered window and looked down the sheer walls of cut stone. There were no places for a grappling iron to find purchase and no hand-or foothold. He had a sheet wrapped around him that absorbed the water from his body. A brazier burned in one corner adding its heat to the room, already heavy with steam from the two large wooden bathtubs.\n\n'This place is impossible to escape from, Thomas. Look how high we are. Almost as high as the damned mountains.'\n\nBlackstone luxuriated in the hot water. Count Amadeus had been extravagant in his hospitality. And that raised immediate suspicion. 'He won't cause us harm but his welcome is more generous than expected. He wants something, but I don't know what.'\n\n'Listen, he's a strange one, and riding around like a parrot on a horse, all feathered and draped in silk over armour. Makes me think he's a bit touched.'\n\n'He told me it's what he wears for tournaments and he wanted to greet the Princess in all his finery.'\n\nKillbere unwrapped the sheet and stood naked in front of the brazier. His body was as scarred as Blackstone's; some of the wounds were deep and the skin puckered. He scratched his balls as he warmed them. 'One thing it tells us is that a man who dresses like that is a good enough fighter to put an end to anyone who mocks him for it. We must be careful when we go to this dinner tonight. It isolates us. I wish we could have stayed with the men.'\n\nBlackstone's captains and John Jacob had been billeted next to the stables, the French troops separated from them by inner curtain walls, effectively reducing his fighting force. Meulon and Gaillard would have already seen where they could make a stand if cornered by a duplicitous Amadeus, and Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny would, by now, have decided how best to defend the men-at-arms if an assault came. Fighting at Blackstone's side over the years gave every man the knowledge and instinct to survive. They would be ready.\n\n'He's aligned with the Visconti: he won't deny them the pleasure of having me in their clutches. We're safe enough. For now.'\n\nKillbere grunted. His nose wrinkled; he raised an armpit and sniffed. 'There's perfume in the water, Thomas. I swear we have fallen into the hands of a brothel keeper.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 95",
                "text": "The great hall was decorated with colour-washed walls and tapestries; the fireplace had bundles of stacked kindling the size of a man's body on one side and wood on the other that would be laid across the iron grate. Oil lamps and candles threw their warmth and light into the room as big as any Blackstone remembered from the time he lived at Jean de Harcourt's Norman castle, except this nobleman had richness and comfort rather than unyielding austerity surrounding him. The Count approached them from the far side of the table, which was adorned with silver plate overburdened with meat, bread and fruit tantalizingly within reach of the hungry men.\n\n'No sign of dried fish, thank God,' whispered Killbere.\n\n'Your stomach growls. We are at a nobleman's table,' Blackstone said quietly in admonishment.\n\n'I greet you with an unreserved welcome, my honoured guests. Sit, here and here. Close to me so we may speak without raising our voices across the length of the table,' said Amadeus effusively.\n\nBlackstone and Killbere sat either side of the Count. Servants poured wine and then discreetly stepped away.\n\n'I am in a joyous mood. Not only do I play a part in bringing the Princess into a marriage with the Visconti, an act that has far-reaching consequences for all concerned \u2013 a cessation of war, a ransom paid and an alliance between the Lords of Milan and the French \u2013 but our beloved lady wife gave birth a few months ago to a son. Our first. After five years of waiting the good Lord finally blessed us.'\n\n'Sir Gilbert and I offer our congratulations, my lord.'\n\nKillbere nodded in agreement.\n\n'My thanks. Now, your men are quartered under cover because even at this time of the year our summer can carry a chill wind from the Alps, and they and your horses are fed. Your son and squire are quartered above the stables with my master of horse, and your woman has been sent to your quarters and bathed with one of my wife's ladies-in-waiting in attendance.'\n\nBlackstone was about to protest that Aelis was not his companion, but the look Killbere shot across the table quietened him. It served no purpose to offer lengthy explanations. The Count raised a hand and the servants stepped forward and laid meat and bread on each of the men's plates. Blackstone remained silent, agreeing that the Count's presumption was best left uncontested. At least he knew where she was and that she had been kept away from the French troops. It took little imagination to see how an incident could escalate. Perhaps this resplendent Lord of Savoy should be credited with anticipating trouble before it began.\n\n'All of which we are grateful for, my lord. We are undeserving of such hospitality.'\n\nThe younger man pulled his fingers back through his hair, and as if his hand had swiped away his pleasant expression he suddenly became sombre.\n\n'I have the blood enemy of the French royal house at my table, a man who tried to kill their King. You have been helped in the past by my own enemy the Marquis of Montferrat who controls the pass you used when you fought your way in and out of Italy. I should find it repugnant but we are all cursed at some stage of our lives with an overwhelming desire for justice. I know your story, Sir Thomas. I know what you were and what you have become through your own honour. Alliances are made and lost. Times change. Enemies become friends and brothers become enemies.' He smiled and shrugged as he brought the silver wine goblet to his lips. 'It is what our good Lord determines. Now, enough of my pretence of knowing how God's world works. Let us eat and talk about the great battles seen across this ravaged land.'\n\nFor the next few hours they ate and drank but it was Killbere who spoke about how they fought at Cr\u00e9cy and Poitiers with exaggerated gestures that became more animated as more wine was consumed. The young Count was a receptive audience and laughed with gusto as Killbere used the room as his stage. The veteran knight finally finished his performance to applause from Amadeus. Blackstone had made little mention of the times he had faced danger alone, and as the storytelling faded to a satisfied ending it was obvious to him that the Count had not drunk as much as it appeared. Killbere's head settled on his chest as he gave in to fatigue from the day's travel and excess of wine. There was no shame in it and Blackstone reached across and eased the goblet from his hand and then placed his arms on the table and his head to rest on them.\n\n'I have never heard him talk as much,' he said kindly. 'He's a fighting man, my lord, and one of the best I have ever seen. No one I know has as much courage. He has been guardian and friend since I was a boy.'\n\n'Then you are more fortunate than most,' the Count said.\n\n'I am, lord. I have the best men at my back. I could wish for nothing more. Loyalty is everything.'\n\nA servant quickly charged their goblets and was then dismissed from the room. The Count and Blackstone were alone, and Killbere slept. The Count eased his drink aside and leaned forward to Blackstone. 'You and your men are riding to certain death in Milan. And I\u2026' He hesitated. '\u2026do not wish to see it.'\n\n'We fight on opposing sides, my lord,' said Blackstone. 'If I die then it would spare us having to face each other across a muddy field one day. And that is something I would not wish. You've been a gracious host to a common man.'\n\n'I have my own selfish motives. You serve Florence and they fight for the Pope. The Visconti are of the anti-papal league. Two years ago the Pope asked me to align myself with him. I did not. It did not suit me at the time. There are matters of self-interest and territories to be secured and of course I have family connections with the Visconti. It's politics. Agreements that can undermine a man's true self. One day, in a few years, when I have what I want from these alliances, I will take the cross and serve the Pope on a crusade against the Turks and Saracens. That is a worthwhile fight. And if you live then perhaps you and your men might join me.'\n\n'Perhaps, my lord.'\n\n'Very well. This is what I know. Routiers pour down the Rh\u00f4ne valley. Their strength is increased by men released from the English army now that a treaty is signed. There is a possibility they may descend on the Pope at Avignon. I do not send troops to accompany you into Lombardy for good reason. Firstly, the Pope may call for the lords of the region to help him against these mercenaries, and secondly if the Visconti know you are accompanying the Princess then perhaps they will use mercenaries to attack and kill you and I cannot have my men slain trying to protect you.'\n\n'That's if the Visconti know I am part of the escort. The Dauphin gave me information so that I might strike at those who caused my family harm. I seek revenge.'\n\n'Then does it not follow that the Visconti know of it and would wish to strike before you reach Milan?'\n\n'I don't know, lord. It's possible. But they would not risk causing harm to the Princess just to get to me.'\n\n'Let us suppose they lie in wait: I suspect they would use routiers to attack you. No blame can then be laid at the Visconti's door. Your men and some of the royal escort would be killed, the routiers would make a pretence of ransoming the Princess and you would be delivered with your son to the Lords of Milan. Helpless, without any of your men at your back. And as much as I warm to your company, Sir Thomas, I would be unable to help you.' The young Count smiled without malice.\n\n'Where would they attack if such a plan existed?' asked Blackstone.\n\n'They could not do it on the pass, and they would not risk doing it on the other side and have Montferrat come to your aid. So it will be this side of the mountains. I will find out what I can.' He smiled. 'And if either of the Visconti brothers are responsible for your family's deaths and you kill him, then so be it.' He raised the drink to his lips. 'Who knows, it might even be beneficial to my own future.'\n\nThe carefree attitude had been brushed aside and a calculating provincial lord exposed. It made no difference to Blackstone. Whatever help he could get to reach the Vipers of Milan he would welcome it.\n\nAmadeus pushed back his chair. 'It will take a few days but I will do what I can to find out more. Until then you stay as my guest. Goodnight, Sir Thomas.'\n\n'Goodnight, my lord.' Blackstone watched the Count of Savoy leave the room; then he reached forward and plucked at the cluster of grapes. He sucked their sweetness to ease the sour taste of the wine left on his tongue. Or was it, he thought, to ease his distaste for the connivance of noblemen?\n\nKillbere lifted his head. 'I thought he'd never leave,' he said, none the worse for the drink. 'I suspected he might blab about something of use to us and would only want you to hear it. Now we know. He's as big a bastard as the next lord only he enjoys himself and laughs a lot more.' He reached for the green glass wine decanter, half covered in leather embossed with the Count's blazon. 'And he is no beggar when it comes to his wine. It's from the best grape.' He grinned at Blackstone. 'I heard what you said about me, Thomas. My heart was warmed by your generous words.'\n\nBlackstone turned for the door. 'If I'd thought you were really asleep I'd have told him the truth,' he lied."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 96",
                "text": "Blackstone's quarters were welcoming and warm, a far cry from muddy fields and a wet blanket for cover. It could make a man soft having this much comfort, he thought, a faint memory stirring of a home he had once had and the way his wife had been careful to cosset her family. Candlelight flickered and the embers from the fireplace cast their crimson glow. Sheepskins were laid across freshly cut rushes and he could smell their sweetness. He glanced to where Aelis lay asleep on the feather mattress. He had rested on it when the servants had first taken him to the room and decided it was too soft for him and that he would sleep on the floor with his cloak over him and his back to the fire's warmth. Her head rested to one side on the bolster and the bed covering lay across her just above her breasts. The linen sheet crumpled against the rise and fall of her breathing. She obviously slept naked and the image in his mind of her body below the covering stirred desire in him again.\n\nIt would serve no purpose to bind himself to the woman; it might make him care for her and feel the need to protect her more than he was already doing. By holding a mirror to his life and seeing a truth he could not explain she had already enticed him closer. A voice inside him warned against staying in the same room. When darkness came witches turned to shadows and slipped into men's souls. He lit another candle, tall enough to last through the night. Witch or seer, healer or poisoner, was there any difference? he asked himself. He stripped off his clothing and placed firewood into the embers. They smouldered and flamed and he settled himself onto the sheepskin rug, the soft wool itching at first against his skin. The wine and a sense of safety lulled him into idle thought. The comfort of the wool made him think of the simplicity of being a shepherd. No battles to be fought other than those against wolves and bear. A hut and dogs for company and once in a while payment to a whore. And when a shepherd died a clutch of sheep's wool was put into his palm so that when he reached heaven the angels would know he was a good and simple man who tended his flock and that was why he could not attend church on a Sunday.\n\nBlackstone let the image fade. What of when he died? Would Wolf Sword be in his palm still held by its blood knot on his wrist so the angels would know the kind of man he was? What excuse would he offer for not attending mass? Would he proffer the memory of childhood and the village priest's switch across his back? Or his father's skill in teaching him how every leaf took life from its tree and each animal they hunted was a gift from nature? Earth and sky, wind and rain. The silver goddess nestled at his throat. He raised her to his lips. She would take him across the dark abyss as surely as she had eased the soul of the dying Welsh archer who had pressed her into his hand all those years ago.\n\nAs his eyes closed he heard a soft rustle of the floor reeds, swift and almost silent; then the figure was suddenly upon him. In that instant he reined in his instinct to roll clear and reach for his archer's knife, for he wanted her. She slid next to him and he felt her arm around him and her needle-sharp fingernails on his chest muscles as the fullness of her breasts pressed into him. He turned and pulled her into the crook of his arm and let his free hand explore her. She urged him on as her hands sought him out and then tried to turn him away so she could straddle him. She bit his lips and clawed his skin but he easily overwhelmed her as she bucked beneath him. And as he pushed into her it felt as though his mind was held as it had been when he saw her with Killbere at Balon. Nothing was clear, the sensations overwhelmed him, and for a moment he thought he had been drugged again.\n\nAs he hungrily pressed his mouth against her raised nipples the spell was broken. She pulled his face to hers. She whispered something that he could not hear; her breathing was laboured, and sweat glided between their bodies. He took hold of her arms and the candlelight shimmered across her as he raised himself to gaze down on her. The burn marks on her breasts and belly from her torture had faded. Her eyes widened like a trapped beast, crimson from the fire glow, showing him the witch in her. He didn't care. If she was the devil's servant he would subdue her. She embraced him with her legs and pulled him deeper into her. And then once the fury eased and her body arched they settled into a slow rhythmic embrace. There was no telling how long the night lasted. The last thing he remembered was rolling off her as the candle flame flickered and died. Aelis lay in the crook of his arm, her breathing slow, her breasts soft against his chest. He breathed the fragrance of their sex and its potion eased him into sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 97",
                "text": "She was gone when he awoke. For a few moments he wondered whether the night with Aelis had been a drunken dream, but he knew it was not. He could smell her fragrance on him. He went down to the courtyard where his men were billeted and sluiced his body with the cold water from the well. Some of the men smiled knowingly.\n\n'Sleep well, Thomas?' said Will Longdon as he cranked the well handle and poured water for his cooking pot.\n\n'Well enough,' said Blackstone, wary of the archer's grin.\n\n'Aye. I see you've been off in the Count's orchard early this morning. Have to be careful of those peach trees when you reach up: they snare a man's skin.' He gestured over his shoulder. 'Scratch your back and neck. Best to wear a shirt when you're foraging.' He turned away, carrying the pail towards the men who were tending their cooking fires.\n\n'I could save you the long horse ride to Milan by kicking your arse over those mountains,' called Blackstone.\n\nThe men jeered as Will Longdon played the fool and hurried his pace.\n\n'Thomas!' Killbere called from one of the palace doors and beckoned him.\n\nPulling on his shirt and jupon Blackstone strode across the yard. Killbere led the way inside. 'The Count's chamberlain sent me to find you. There's a problem. The child is sick.'\n\n'The Princess?'\n\nKillbere nodded. They climbed the stairs within the turret until they reached a broad landing. The Princess's companion ladies waited outside one of the doors. Their fearful looks said more than words. Pestilence.\n\n'She has the fever?' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere nodded. 'In the night, or early this morning. The town's physician has not yet arrived.'\n\n'He's been sent for though?' said Blackstone, keeping back from the door like Killbere. The very thought of the plague being in the room was enough to make fighting men fearful.\n\n'He serves those who cannot pay in the town. It's his contract with the city council and the Count. The noblemen pay for their treatment and he tends the poor.'\n\n'Has it struck the town yet?'\n\n'Who knows?' said Killbere.\n\nBlackstone gripped Killbere's arm and lowered his voice so the Princess's ladies could not hear. 'Gilbert, this child means nothing to me, but if she dies I can't seek my revenge. I cannot get into Milan. Find the damned doctor.'\n\nKillbere turned his back on the women, who were now looking towards the two Englishmen. 'Thomas, if that child dies we all may die. Who knows how long she has borne the pestilence? They say it strikes quickly but who knows? She was coughing on the journey here and Henry said she has been shivering these past two days.'\n\nBlackstone knew the situation could worsen. 'Henry was close to her. We need that doctor. Where's the Count?'\n\n'With his family. They're staying in their private quarters until the physician examines her and the priest attends her.'\n\n'Then why has he sent for me?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Because Aelis is in there and he is fearful of what she might do. He wants you to get her out.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 98",
                "text": "Entering the room felt more dangerous than defying night creatures in a forest. He eased open the door and saw Aelis bending over the Princess. The room was warm from the fire burning in the grate but the canopy that hung across the bed moved gently from the breeze that came through the open window. The child was either asleep or close to death, he decided as he heard the soft rasping of her breath.\n\n'Don't be afraid,' said Aelis as she looked at him.\n\n'If it's the pestilence I'll seal you in this room with her,' he said dispassionately.\n\nShe smiled. 'You're cold-hearted, Thomas. After last night I wouldn't have thought that of you.'\n\n'Don't confuse lust with anything other than what it is. I've seen the plague before and I'll not expose myself or my men to it. Why did you come in here?'\n\n'I heard the child's cries.'\n\n'You should have waited for the physician.'\n\n'I didn't know how ill she was. There are times you have to step into danger. Haven't you ever done that?' she said with a hint of teasing in her voice.\n\nWhy was she being so unconcerned? he asked himself. If she had the powers of a witch, did that protect her from the pestilence?\n\nAelis rinsed out a cloth and placed it on the Princess's forehead. 'Thomas, it's not the plague. The child has a fever. That's all.'\n\n'You can't be sure of that,' he said. 'Look at those red blotches on her arms. I've seen the pestilence before.'\n\nShe sat on the edge of the bed and held the child's hand. 'Don't bring the physician here. Tell the Count she will recover.'\n\nHe had closed the door behind him but stepped no further into the room. 'If she dies because of what you have done to her I won't be able to save you.'\n\n'Think clearly about this. I give her herbs to reduce the fever and I will feed her broth when she is able. The physician would bleed her and that will weaken her further. If the pestilence has reached the town then the last person you want in here is the man who has been treating those who have it. Her skin is blemished by the fever; that's all it is.'\n\nThere was a tap on the door. Blackstone opened it. Killbere stood close to the opening; behind him in the background, hovering with an impatient and worried look, stood the Count's chamberlain, and with him a valet, the Princess's chambermaids and ladies-in-waiting. A crowd of those who attended the royal child was gathering.\n\n'They're talking about sending in some of the Count's men. She's a princess, for God's sake. They can't have a\u2026 a\u2026' He looked at Blackstone, trying to find a description of the woman that would not cause offence to his friend. 'You know what I mean,' he said.\n\nBlackstone glanced at the chamberlain, whose face clouded with concern. 'Tell them\u2026 tell them that the Princess was tired from the journey, that she has only a chill, not the pestilence, that she is recovering and that she has asked to be left in peace for a few hours more before her ladies attend her. She is content with the administrations of the\u2026 er\u2026' Blackstone faltered.\n\n'Apothecary?' Killbere suggested.\n\n'Apothecary,' he agreed. 'And that if the pestilence is in the city then the physician should stay away. For everyone's sake.'\n\nKillbere sighed. 'I'll stand at the door until you get her out. And that will give me enough time to pray that your lying tongue does not send us all to the devil's graveyard. If the child has it, Thomas, then you might as well stay in there with her.' He pulled closed the door.\n\nAelis looked at him. 'Not so afraid, then? Or cold-hearted.'\n\n'I need that child alive. She serves a purpose.'\n\n'Like me?'\n\nHe ignored her. She had predicted this journey. Whatever advantage he could gain from her would help him reach those who had sent the assassin that murdered his wife and child. 'Do not let her die,' was all he said. Because of their passion the previous night he knew he had been drawn closer to her than he had wished. Part of him felt guilty for having succumbed to his desire for her, haunted as he was by his dead wife's memory. Whatever magic Aelis had cast he had been willing.\n\n'Help me,' said Aelis as she eased back the Princess's bed coverings.\n\nHe stepped around a chair and bench towards the bolstered bed. Isabelle lay unmoving and for a moment he thought again that her flushed face and hands were the warning signs of the plague.\n\n'Lift her,' said Aelis.\n\nHe hesitated.\n\n'She needs dry bedding and a fresh nightdress.'\n\n'I'm not undressing a girl child,' said Blackstone.\n\n'No one is asking you to. Lift her.'\n\nHe did as she instructed. The eleven-year-old girl was as light as a feather but her clothing was soaked with sweat. As he lifted her free of the bed Aelis stripped back the linen undersheet from the padded cover that lay on the feather mattress. Blackstone looked down at the helpless girl. Agnes, his own daughter, would have been her age had she lived. For a moment the unconscious girl in his arms was more than a means to an end and the tenderness he suddenly felt towards her caught him by surprise. Aelis quickly remade the bed and then eased aside the green coverlet stitched on one side with sable. 'Put her down,' she said.\n\nBlackstone bent forward and placed her gently onto the mattress. His face hovered close to hers and he resisted the urge to kiss her forehead. His calloused hand eased away a lock of hair that had escaped from below her nightcap. Aelis nodded him away as she began to lift the child's nightdress.\n\n'Close the window,' she said. 'There's been enough air to ease away the stale smells.'\n\nHe did as he was told and as he pulled the latch closed he saw the Count's captain of the guard talking to a horseman who had obviously been let through the palace gates. Will Longdon and the archers had gathered to one side and Meulon and Gaillard watched with the men-at-arms. The captain of the guard ushered the horseman across the courtyard towards one of the palace doors.\n\n'All right,' said Aelis, making him turn his attention back to her. Isabelle had been changed into a fresh nightdress.\n\n'What now?'\n\n'We wait.'\n\n'What for?'\n\nAelis's resigned smile triggered an alarm in him. 'To see whether she has the pestilence or not.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 99",
                "text": "By the time the palace chapel's bells rang for vespers, Isabelle's fever had subsided enough for her to sip water, and as the candles burned lower and the cresset lamps were lit she took a little broth. Blackstone fed the fire small pieces of wood so no great heat would build in the room; it was enough that any evening chill was kept at bay. The chamberlain had been told how Aelis had saved Killbere's life and of the child's progress. The Count sanctioned Aelis and Blackstone to stay with their charge until morning. Blackstone slept fitfully on the narrow bench, his back against the wall; he awoke when the chapel bell rang for the night's vigil prayers and he saw that Aelis had stayed awake at the child's side. She sat, head unbowed, her back straight, eyes slightly open, staring into the flickering shadows as if she was watching something unfold ahead of her. The muted sound of prayers whispered across the palace's walls, but Aelis made no sign of hearing them. Isabelle slept soundly. Settled on the child's chest was the crystal rock he had seen when she had healed Killbere. It had some significance but as it roused only mild curiosity in him rather than posing any threat, he let it be. When the dawn's rose light eased across the snow-capped mountains Aelis pressed her hand against the child's heart and lowered her ear to the sleeping Princess's lips.\n\n'She's weak from the journey and the fever but if they let her rest she will recover,' she told Blackstone, who had slept a couple of hours since vigils and, as he had always done, awoken before the dawn.\n\n'The Count will be grateful,' said Blackstone.\n\n'I doubt it. I am already condemned as a roadside herbalist, banned by royal decree. I'll have my hand out for payment \u2013 that'll make sure I am appreciated. If you're not paid the service rendered is thought worthless, by the rich at least. They only permitted me to attend her because they were afraid it was the pestilence. It was your presence and your lies that kept me here to see it through. Now, she can sleep and I'm hungry.'\n\nThey had not eaten since breakfast the day before because Aelis had forbidden any food to be brought into the room except the broth she had ordered for Isabelle. Her fast had something to do with her powers of healing and Blackstone had borne the hunger well but now his stomach growled. When they opened the door a dozing Killbere fell off the stool that he had propped against it. The ladies-in-waiting, the valet and chambermaid slept on the stairs and in doorways. Startled, they quickly got to their feet as Aelis went ahead of Blackstone, her satchel of medicines on her shoulder, walking nose in the air as if she were royalty.\n\nShe addressed the gathered servants. 'These are my orders. See they are carried out or Count Amadeus will hear of your neglect. Broth only for the Princess when she asks for it. She must be allowed fresh air for one hour, the room must be kept warm \u2013 warm, not hot \u2013 and she must be given the liquid I have prepared in the carafe on the table in the room. I will visit her highness later to see that she is kept quiet. No chatter. No fuss. Understood?'\n\nThe cowed servants kept their heads bowed and quickly stepped aside as Aelis strode down the stairs without a backward glance.\n\nKillbere rubbed a hand across his short hair. 'Witches can do that, you know,' he said.\n\n'Heal the sick?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Scare people shitless,' he answered and led the way from the chamber's door."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 100",
                "text": "Amadeus, the sixth Count of Savoy, was grateful that ten years earlier his sister, Bianca, had married Galeazzo II Visconti, Lord of Milan. Peace with Milan was secured and the marriage helped him protect his southern borders across the Alps in Piedmont. Good fortune had blessed her when she gave birth to Gian Galeazzo, now almost nine years old, who would marry the French Princess who lay prostrate in her bedchamber. This marriage between the house of Valois and the Visconti was too important to be lost. But something was wrong. That the girl had fallen sick had caused him enormous concern. Not only could she have died under his roof, thus jeopardizing his alliance with the Visconti, but if she had had the pestilence it might have spread and he could have lost the beloved infant son he and his wife had awaited for so long. And now trouble was lurking in the foothills of the mountains, but he could make no sense of it. Who would benefit from ambushing the royal Princess? His thoughts danced back and forth as Blackstone and Killbere stood before him. It had been only minutes since they had responded to his summons.\n\n'How long before she can travel?' he asked.\n\n'I don't know, my lord. The woman, I mean the apothecary, says she must remain undisturbed and cared for a while yet,' said Blackstone.\n\nAmadeus pulled a hand through his generous mop of hair and looked out of the window towards the mountain peaks. 'You must get across the pass before the September snow falls. It can be early some years but you must be gone within ten days at the latest. And we are in danger of an early winter. It's in the air, Sir Thomas. You can smell snow before it falls and those of us who live in the shadow of the mountains know the signs. Even the wild rabbits' coats have started to turn from brown to white. We all ready ourselves. The child must recover and it must be soon. The ceremony is planned for October. There is much to be done. This marriage is a momentous occasion.'\n\n'We can only travel when her highness is well enough,' said Killbere.\n\n'Of course, of course, there is no question of doing otherwise.' Amadeus hesitated. Was now the time to try and uncover who wanted to harm the girl? 'I have had men scouring the countryside to see that the route we planned for her is safe. They are thorough, and they have the ear of my subjects. But there is one I value more than most. He was a feral child I came across in the forest years ago \u2013 the circumstances are unimportant \u2013 but he has the sense of an animal and he knows these forests as well as any hunting creature. He has seen hundreds of men lying in wait \u2013 two hundred, possibly more \u2013 in a forest close to the road you will take. They are routiers who obviously mean to cause harm, yet they have made no attack on any traveller so far, although there are merchants who travel that route from Milan to Lyon and then north to Paris. They have not been assaulted.'\n\n'But you control the pass,' said Killbere.\n\n'I have sufficient men to protect my territory but they are scattered and, as I told you, I hold them in reserve to respond to a call for help from the Pope. And here I have only enough men to defend the palace. By the time I send orders to gather my vassals these routiers may have gone elsewhere. Why are these men there, I ask myself, and if it is not to seize you then the only answer I can find is the Princess.'\n\n'To ransom her,' suggested Killbere.\n\n'But how would common brigands know of her journey? Was it common knowledge among the English? Are these men released from service after the treaty who wish to seize wealth by taking the child?' said Amadeus.\n\n'There is no knowing, my lord,' said Blackstone. 'Skinners will take their chances to seize a great prize and if your man saw two hundred then there will be more he did not see.' Blackstone couldn't discount the fact that these men might be waiting to ambush him. He had made enough enemies over the years: it might not be the Visconti's mercenaries who were waiting. 'Who would benefit from the Princess's death?'\n\nThe Count recoiled at the thought of someone wishing to kill the child.\n\nBlackstone pressed his question. 'If the Princess dies. Who would benefit?'\n\n'No one. Surely,' Amadeus said uncertainly, for a part of him knew that Thomas Blackstone might suggest the name of the one man who would gain from the death of the Princess. Galeazzo Visconti was politically astute and the marriage of his son into the house of Valois would give him the support of the French and the blessing of the Pope. There was only one man who would one day lose power because of the arranged marriage: Galeazzo's brother, the second Lord of Milan, Bernab\u00f2 Visconti. The crazed, lustful one who relished torture.\n\nBlackstone held the Count's gaze. Had they both thought the same name? 'Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's future would remain secure if the girl dies,' said Blackstone, and saw that he and the Count had indeed reached the same conclusion.\n\n'Christ,' said Killbere. 'He would murder a child to stop his own brother becoming more powerful?'\n\n'Both have murdered members of their family in the past to increase their power. One pays the King's ransom for the privilege; the other will kill for it.' Blackstone looked back at the Count. 'We should find out whatever we can before we take her across into Italy and determine whether this fever was brought on by poison,' he said. 'I suggest you keep your quarantine in force. The gates should stay closed and no one be allowed to leave the palace until this matter is settled. If she is the victim of a poisoner then those outside may be waiting for news of her death. Will you give me the time and authority to investigate?'\n\n'You have it, Sir Thomas,' said Amadeus, but the look of concern still wrinkled his young face.\n\nKillbere kept pace with Blackstone as he strode from the Count's quarters.\n\n'We have a hundred Frenchmen with us. It might not be enough if there are more of those whoresons in hiding,' said Killbere. 'Who knows how accurate the Count's reports are?'\n\n'Have the men ready. If we go outside these walls we'll do it without the French escort,' Blackstone told him.\n\nKillbere spat. 'Send the French. Rather them die than us.'\n\nBlackstone grinned. 'But we kill better than them.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 101",
                "text": "Aelis was asleep, exhausted after the long vigil with the stricken child. Her arm was thrown across the side of her face. Blackstone gave her nakedness barely a thought. He shook her awake. She started but then calmed. He told her of his doubts about the child's fever.\n\n'It could be poison,' she admitted as she dressed quickly. 'She vomited when I first went to her. If you are fearful then I must go back and stay with her. Keep everyone else away from her until she recovers.' She had made no sign or gesture of affection towards him, but he followed her to the Princess's chamber where the servants were waiting for Isabelle to regain consciousness. They looked alarmed as Blackstone and Aelis came into the room. Aelis went straight to the child, felt her heart and pressed a hand against her skin.\n\n'Did you do as I instructed?' she asked the servants.\n\nOne took a step forward, an older woman who served with the ladies-in-waiting. 'She awoke for a few moments and I gave her the juice you left,' she said, pointing to the carafe. 'Then she slept again.'\n\nAelis looked at Blackstone. 'She sweats again and her breathing is shallow.' She faced the women, some of whom cowed before her. 'When I left her the Princess slept soundly. I had reduced the fever. What else has gone on here?' Her voice was laden with threat and the younger women shuffled back against the wall. 'Who prepared her food?' she demanded.\n\nThe older woman beckoned another of the women who were waiting obediently. 'This one, Angeline.'\n\nAelis made no move towards the girl. 'Come here,' she said.\n\nBlackstone watched the other women. They shot glances at each other; their hands twisted anxiously. They were all frightened.\n\nAelis continued: 'Did you prepare any food different than usual?'\n\nThe girl shook her head, her expression anxious.\n\n'No spices in her food?'\n\nAgain the girl's head went from side to side.\n\n'She speaks the truth,' said the older woman. 'We have attended her highness for two years. We all know what she likes. She would not eat such food.' And then she understood what the suspicion might be. 'You think the child poisoned?'\n\nThe women gasped at the prospect. One, a middle-aged matron, crossed herself and kissed the crucifix at her neck.\n\n'Spicy food would disguise the bitter taste of any poison. Of course,' the older woman said. 'But it is not possible. No one here, not one of us would cause harm to the child.' She looked at the chambermaid, who was little older than the Princess. 'And she has only been in attendance when her duties required her to be here. She is one of the Count's servants. Look at her. She has neither the wit nor the brain to even know about poison.'\n\n'Then why is the Princess worse than when I left her?' said Aelis.\n\n'She sickens, is all,' the woman answered.\n\n'You,' said Blackstone to the lady-in-waiting who had kissed her crucifix. The other women looked alarmed as they stared at her. Why was she being singled out?\n\n'My lord?' she said.\n\nHe beckoned her forward. The others stepped aside as she nervously approached Blackstone, her head craned upwards to meet his eyes.\n\n'When you raised the cross to your lips the back of your hand came free from your sleeve. It's covered with red blemishes.'\n\nBefore the startled woman could answer, he heard Aelis speak.\n\n'Wolfsbane. You've got it on your hands.'\n\nThe woman quickly stepped back, terror-stricken, but Blackstone grabbed her and Aelis pulled back the woman's sleeve. All saw the red blotches inflaming her skin.\n\n'Clarimonde! You did this? To our child? To this innocent?' the older woman cried. 'Did you put it in the wine? Bitch! You always serve her the wine!'\n\nThe culprit snatched free her arm, but Aelis took everyone by surprise and slapped her hard. She sprawled. The sudden violence shocked the ladies-in-waiting into silence. Clarimonde looked at the stunned companions she had lived and served with over the years; then she scuttled backwards, snarling her own venom at them all.\n\n'I owe the child nothing. When the Dauphin ran back to Paris after Poitiers he had my son executed. He accused my son of cowardice on the battlefield.' She spat at them, no longer a sedate matron but a vengeful creature who had harboured the venom of hatred within her every day since they had hanged her son. 'All these years I have waited to inflict pain. Four long years!'\n\nAelis turned on the other women. 'Find mulberry leaves, boil them in vinegar. Be quick.'\n\nThe women almost ran from the room. Blackstone looked at Aelis.\n\n'It will help to stop the poison. I have my own potions but I need to slow the wolfsbane's effect first.'\n\nBlackstone reached down and hauled the squirming poisoner to her feet. Her lip was already cut. 'You did this on your own?'\n\nShe twisted her head away, refusing to look at Blackstone. He grabbed her face and forced her to confront him. 'Why wait until now? You've served the child for years \u2013 why now?' He loosened his grip so that she could answer him. There was fear in her face now, and uncertainty, and he could see that she would not answer.\n\n'Were you paid? Were promises made if you killed the Princess?'\n\nThe fight and bitterness deserted her. Tears welled in her eyes. 'He said I should wait\u2026 that I must hide my desire for revenge because it could be better served when the time was right. And then\u2026 when the child was betrothed\u2026 then he sent me word\u2026 Before we crossed the mountains, that is when I should make her ill so that she died.'\n\n'Who?' Blackstone demanded. 'Is it the Visconti who sent you?'\n\nShe shook her head. 'He does not bear that name. Cataline, my daughter, serves in his house\u2026 that is how he used me, used my desire for revenge. She will die if the Princess survives and reaches Milan.' She slumped, as if her tortured soul was ready to flee from her, and wailed, 'I have no other child!'\n\nBlackstone slapped her, forcing her back to reality. 'Who?' he demanded.\n\nBut the fear of losing her child kept her silent.\n\nBlackstone eased her to the far side of the room. The cool air from the window seemed to revive her for a moment and as she glanced at Aelis tending the Princess the years of hatred and anger surged up once more; she found enough strength to spit on the floor at her feet. Blackstone pushed her down onto the bench.\n\n'What do you know of others who wish to harm the girl? Are there men waiting before we cross the mountains?'\n\nThe look of puzzlement on Clarimonde's face told Blackstone she knew nothing of the routiers in the forest. She shook her head. Blackstone lowered his voice. 'You will be sent back to Paris and the Dauphin. There you'll be taken through the streets to the Place de Gr\u00e8ve for public execution. You know they won't just hang or behead you. You'll die a thousand deaths first. They will rip the flesh from your breasts, arms and thighs with red-hot pincers, and the hand that fed the Princess poison will be burnt with sulphur. And where they have flayed your body they will scald the raw flesh with hot irons to sear the wounds, and then they will tie you to horses and have your limbs wrenched from your torso, and what is left of your body will be thrown into a fire and your ashes scattered.'\n\nHis quiet words held the woman as if in a trance. Her face was wet with silent tears.\n\n'I can help you,' he said gently. 'I'll find your daughter and I will try to save her. What is the name of this man who used your hatred for his own purpose?'\n\nThe palm of her hand wiped away tears and snot. 'Antonio Lorenz,' she said quietly. 'He is one of the bastard sons of Lord Visconti.'\n\n'Which lord? Galeazzo or Bernab\u00f2?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Bernab\u00f2,' she said. She raised her head. 'How can you help me?'\n\nBlackstone stepped back a couple of paces and looked at the open window.\n\nIt only took a moment for her to realize what he offered.\n\n'Bless you, Sir Thomas,' she said and, clambering quickly onto the bench, pitched herself through the open space onto the courtyard far below."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 102",
                "text": "When Blackstone and Killbere sought permission to speak to Amadeus the Count's chamberlain demanded to know on what grounds they wanted an audience, insisting that anything that could be said to the Count should be relayed first to him. Blackstone extended a restraining arm to stop Killbere grabbing the old man's beard and tugging him to his knees.\n\n'When Sir Thomas Blackstone requests an audience he does so with information fit only for your master's ears, you decrepit beggar.'\n\nThe insult made matters worse and the chamberlain turned his back until Blackstone threatened that unless the old man did as they asked the French royal Princess might not survive the day. The blustering fool ran as quickly as his spindly legs could carry him into the great hall where Count Amadeus berated him for standing between the child's bodyguard and his lord under whose roof she sheltered. Bowing with abject apology the chamberlain ushered Blackstone and Killbere into the Count's presence. Blackstone recounted the dead woman's attempt on the Princess's life.\n\n'Did you throw her from the window?' asked the Count.\n\n'I gave her the choice of that or the Dauphin's punishment.'\n\n'She made the right decision.'\n\nThe young Count sank into silence. The complexity of the situation did not escape him. The child was in his care until she passed across the Alps.\n\n'Do you know of Antonio Lorenz?' said Blackstone.\n\n'One of Bernab\u00f2's bastards,' the Count replied.\n\n'He is the one responsible,' said Killbere.\n\nAmadeus gazed at the burning logs in the grate. His alliances could just as easily go up in smoke. After a few moments he became aware of Blackstone and Killbere staring at him. Each had moved slightly, as if ready to block any attempt he might have made to escape. It dawned on him that they might think him complicit. The realization spawned other fears. Blackstone and the French escort numbered nigh on two hundred men inside his walls. His own men were too few to ride out against a determined enemy but strong enough to hold out against an assault. But not from within. Not from men such as Blackstone led. They could kill him and seize the palace. Perhaps Blackstone had already alerted his men.\n\n'You consider me a part of this?' said the Count.\n\n'Your sister is married to Bernab\u00f2's brother. We reach your palace and an attempt is made to kill the child.'\n\n'You dare to accuse me?' Amadeus said sharply.\n\nHis indignation had no effect on either of the men before him. The danger these men presented was immediate and he knew no matter how strongly he might protest their suspicions had to be allayed.\n\n'Very well, I understand. But we spoke earlier of who would benefit from the child's death. We have no evidence to link Bernab\u00f2 Visconti to this assassination attempt. And it was I who warned you about the men waiting on your route. I gain nothing from this,' he insisted. 'If anything I lose greatly. Think on it, Sir Thomas. My sister Bianca married to Galeazzo; their son betrothed to Isabelle. An alliance that strengthens my hand against those who try and attack my borders. My territory straddles the Alps. I need alliances but Bernab\u00f2 Visconti is a man berserk with lust and an unquenchable desire for power. He cannot offer me anything except loss of influence and disgrace brought down on my name. If he is involved through his bastard son then he is our common enemy.'\n\nHis explanation was convincing enough to make sense to the two armed men.\n\nBlackstone's hand eased away from Wolf Sword's grip, a move noticed by the young Count. Perhaps he had been closer to death than he had realized.\n\n'It's obvious that if this woman failed to kill Isabelle then the men waiting are there to see it done,' said Blackstone. 'I cannot risk her again, so I ask you to allow us to travel south to the pass I have used before to cross the mountains.'\n\n'Through the Gate of the Dead?' Amadeus said. 'Into Montferrat territory? No. Sir Thomas, he may be your friend but he is my enemy, and if he had the chance to seize the girl and hold her to ransom he would, and then whatever friendship there is between you could soon disappear.' Count Amadeus had regained his composure. 'No, I will help you snare these routiers. You must travel the way we have determined.' He walked to the far side of the room where a long table held writing materials, books and rolled parchments which he fingered until he found the one he wanted.\n\n'Come here,' he said, unrolling the parchment. It was a crudely drawn map but easy enough to understand. 'I have been told there are already early falls of snow. It will soon become difficult for the child to travel if we wait too long. These men are here,' he said, pointing to a place on the map that showed forests and foothills. 'When you leave this is the route you will take. The valley of Maurienne turns sharply south at Saint-Pierre d'Albigny; you then follow the arc eastwards to the pass at Mont Cenis; once in the pass you will have left any chance of attack from routiers far behind. They will not venture further than the mountains to pursue you. On the other side you will be in the Val di Susa and soon after you will reach Ivrea. I have mountain guides waiting at the pass who are my vassals and in my debt. And I will send messengers to my sister so that she can tell Galeazzo of your departure from here. Once he sends his men out to escort you from Milan, Bernab\u00f2, if it is indeed he who wishes to harm the Princess, will not be able to reach her.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 103",
                "text": "Blackstone and Killbere left the grand hall and made their way to where Gaillard and Meulon had gathered the men.\n\n'A galloping bull's bollocks would be less noticeable than us riding at a snail's pace,' said Killbere. 'We have to hit these skinners hard and fast before we take up the journey again. Several days to the pass and then if we're lucky another ten over the top until we reach Milan.'\n\n'If we're lucky,' agreed Blackstone, 'and for once I'd be happy to see Visconti troops riding out to escort us.'\n\nAs they walked across the yard de Chauliac, the French captain of the Princess's guard, and two of his sergeants cut across their path.\n\n'Sir Thomas, one of the ladies-in-waiting fell from the window. Is the Princess all right?'\n\n'She's recovering from a fever. She's doing well.'\n\n'This woman who fell: she had served her highness. Such an accident will be upsetting for her, but Count Amadeus has his men posted and I cannot even approach the room.'\n\n'Those who nurse her haven't told her about the accident. The child needs rest. She's in good hands and she will soon be well enough to travel. You have your orders from the Dauphin, captain. You will follow them.'\n\n'Of course, but when do we leave?'\n\n'Soon, but you will escort her without me and my men until you reach the pass.'\n\nThe soldier reacted with despair. 'I have a hundred men and she has twenty servants with her who slow us more than a baggage train. If there is trouble I doubt I can protect her without your men, Sir Thomas.'\n\nBlackstone eased the man aside from his sergeants. 'Captain, your discretion is important if we are to safeguard the Princess.'\n\n'I understand,' de Chauliac said.\n\n'There are men waiting in ambush. We cannot delay our journey much longer and the Count has barely sufficient men to protect the palace so he can offer no further help.'\n\n'Better we ride together, then,' said the captain.\n\n'No, better that you stay back and we will root them out and kill them. You are needed here for the Princess, that's what you are charged with,' said Killbere, barely concealing his obvious disdain for the French.\n\n'Sir Gilbert, I have fought the English on the field of battle and served my King on crusade. We know how to fight,' said the man, insulted. 'We were defeated but we fought hard.'\n\nThe last thing Blackstone needed was dissent among the men who rode to protect Princess Isabelle. 'All right, de Chauliac, you shall help us. Keep half your men here and the rest of your men will ride out bearing the Princess's litter, and I and my men will snap shut the trap.'\n\nThe man looked confused. 'Use the Princess as bait? I cannot.'\n\nKillbere sighed. 'Holy Mother of God you dimwitted oaf, not the Princess, just the damned litter! Can't you grasp even the simplest deception?'\n\nAbashed, the captain bore the slur and bowed his head to Blackstone. 'I await your orders, Sir Thomas.'\n\n'Stay silent on this matter, captain. Say nothing to your men or anyone else. Not yet. Understand?' said Blackstone.\n\n'Even I am not that stupid,' he said with an ill-concealed venomous look at the veteran knight.\n\n'I wouldn't wager on that,' said Killbere as they watched him stride back across the courtyard to where the French troops were quartered. 'Thomas, these men's thinking is more rigid than the planks on my bed. They'll cause us trouble in the fight.'\n\n'No, they'll serve a purpose, Gilbert: they'll take the skinners' eyes off us. I should have thought of it before.'\n\n'Then you're becoming as dull-witted as the French. I despair for you. No wonder you've needed me at your side all these years. This whoreson Bernab\u00f2 and his bastard might not be able to harm the Princess once we kill these skinners,' said Killbere, 'but after you're inside the walls of Milan you're at the mercy of a man who would strip the skin from your bones before he kills you.'\n\n'Then I'd better find him before he finds me,' said Blackstone. 'Now, let's think on how we kill the routiers. They aren't blind or stupid; they'll see how horses walk carrying an empty litter. She has to be in it and they need to see her before they attack. Let's get the bait dressed.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 104",
                "text": "Two days later Meulon and Gaillard led thirty of Blackstone's men-at-arms along the route towards the mountains. They were five hours ahead of the royal escort, but a full day behind Blackstone, Killbere and Will Longdon's archers. They too had been split into two groups, with a rearguard held by Jack Halfpenny and his twenty bowmen, but there was no sign of Blackstone on the road. Meulon and Gaillard's men had taken unmarked shields from the Count's armoury and their rough, makeshift clothing made them appear just like any other band of roving brigands seeking opportunity now that the war was over. They rode under a clear blue sky, the chill wind from the snow-capped mountains funnelling down into the foothills. They travelled at a steady, unhurried pace across the valley that bellied out from the forests before the road narrowed a mile further on into a highway wide enough for a wagon and two outriders on each side. Halfway across the valley was a small stone-built shrine, big enough for one person to kneel before the makeshift altar and the modest crucifix fashioned from wood. It guaranteed the icon's safety from theft. Were it made of silver or gold it would have been stolen by heretic mercenaries. The faded fresco painted into the plaster inside was of the Madonna and Child and might have been there a hundred years.\n\n'It would be here,' said Gaillard as they moved across the open meadow. 'This makes a good killing ground. They'd attack from over there.'\n\nMeulon studied the ground. The forest, 350 paces to the left, was the obvious choice for anyone lying in ambush. To their right, the rising ground was embedded with boulders and twisted tree roots clinging to the uneven terrain. There could be no retreat up there.\n\n'Ahead,' said Gaillard as he saw horsemen filter out from the treeline half a mile in front of them. A group of riders sixty or more strong eased their mounts across the narrowing meadow to block their way.\n\nMeulon turned to the men riding behind him. 'Be ready, but remember what Sir Thomas told us. We're not looking for a fight.' He turned to Gaillard. 'Let us hope that if there are Englishmen among them they don't recognize any of us.'\n\nThey slowed their horses as they approached the waiting men who, like themselves, wore a mixture of armour and mail and whose shields, slung on their saddles, displayed the scarred blazons of various French and German lords. These were fighting men who had abandoned those who had once rallied them to war. Those blocking Meulon and Gaillard's route posed an initial threat that Meulon and Gaillard could deal with despite being outnumbered two to one. The greater threat lay with the rest of the brigand's force hidden in the forest. The leader of the men who blocked their route raised a hand to stop Blackstone's men.\n\nMeulon and Gaillard waited as the mercenaries eased their horses forward. 'This road is guarded,' said their leader.\n\n'It's a road into Lombardy. We don't pay tolls; if we were prepared to do that we would go south into Montferrat territory. We need to pass,' said Meulon.\n\n'In good time,' said the mercenary. 'We need to know your business.'\n\n'It's ours to know,' answered Gaillard. 'If it's trouble you want, we'll oblige.'\n\n'Steady, stranger. We make no threats. Tell us who you are and where you're going and there'll be no trouble.' He had eased his horse closer to observe the men and cast an eye on the shields slung on their saddles. 'You wear no blazon. You serve a lord? Amadeus, perhaps?' The man eased his horse around them. 'No blazon, no lord. Are you routiers? You've booty perhaps?'\n\n'We serve no one except ourselves, and if you don't clear the road we'll shed blood and be gone before the men you've got hiding in that forest can put their arses into their saddles. Then you'll see who has the right of way,' Meulon growled at him. He studied the man's pockmarked, broken face: bones badly set from past fights. The hands holding the reins were similarly scarred. He would be unafraid of grappling and fighting a man close in, Meulon thought as the routier's eyes glared at him.\n\n'You think we've men in the forest?' said the mercenary.\n\n'You'd be a damned fool to ride out to challenge us if you didn't,' said Gaillard.\n\nThe man grunted. The men he faced were obviously experienced fighters.\n\n'We're skinners,' said Meulon, 'and if we've taken from the lord you serve then bad luck to him. Whatever we took we've spent in taverns and whorehouses and now there's nothing left in this godforsaken country so we're riding to the Visconti. They need fighting men and they pay well.'\n\nThe man grinned. 'Brother, we ride the same road. I am Grimo. You have heard of me? Grimo the Breton.'\n\nMeulon looked at Gaillard. 'Have you heard of a foul-breathed shortarse who goes by the name of Grimo?'\n\nThe mercenary scowled as Gaillard shook his head. 'I heard of a butcher's dog called Grimo when we rode with the Savage Priest years ago.'\n\n'Hey, that's me! The butcher. You rode with de Marcy? Merciful God.' The mercenary leader crossed himself. 'That priest could put the fear of Christ into the devil himself.'\n\n'The Savage Priest was the devil.' Meulon grinned, drawing the man in, gaining his confidence, having insulted him as any routier with self-respect would have done, damning the consequences.\n\n'Butcher's dog, eh? Well, maybe he honoured me,' said Grimo. 'I had a reputation back then for fighting like a bear-pit dog.'\n\n'And what's your reputation now? A toll collector?' said Meulon.\n\nGrimo laughed. 'Yes! Why not? I serve Visconti. I collect heads as a toll for the Viper.'\n\nThe man's bragging confirmed what Blackstone had told his men about Visconti's plans to lay an ambush for the Princess.\n\nGrimo considered the two men. He too was playing the game that dangerous men played. 'Are you all Frenchmen?'\n\n'No, there are English and Germans among us.'\n\nThe mercenary turned and called to one of his men who then came forward.\n\n'Bring one of your Germans up,' said Grimo.\n\nMeulon called to the men behind him. 'Renfred! Come here!'\n\nThe man-at-arms spurred his horse forward to where Grimo waited with his chosen man. Grimo hid his face with the back of his hand and whispered something. The routier nodded and called out in German to Renfred. Neither Meulon or Gaillard understood what was said.\n\nRenfred glanced at Meulon and Gaillard, and then nodded, and answered back.\n\nGrimo's man seemed satisfied. 'He says these two are men who should not be challenged. They are killers. They rode with the Savage Priest right enough and they fight for whoever pays the most. Now they ride to Milan to offer their services to the Visconti. One is known as the throat-cutter and has a bounty on him.'\n\nGrimo was satisfied. Men at the back of the column that faced him would not have heard him questioning their leaders at the front. The men's story needed to reflect each other's.\n\n'You could do worse than stay here, with us,' said Grimo to the two big men.\n\n'We don't know you,' said Gaillard. 'What can you offer us that the Visconti cannot?'\n\n'We're waiting for a prize to come our way. She will be under escort. I'm going to take her head and when I drop it at the feet of the man who's paying we'll have enough gold florins to keep us through the winter and beyond.'\n\n'She's special, this woman?'\n\n'No woman, a girl. She's royal blood.'\n\n'Then she'll have an escort,' said Gaillard. 'You'll need more than the men you've got here. And I don't like being on the losing side. I've had enough of that thanks to the whoreson English.'\n\n'Every sword helps,' said the mercenary, 'but I've got damned near three hundred men back there in the forest. And every traveller who makes their way across the mountains stops and prays at the shrine. It will be an easy kill. Stay. We'll ride on to Milan together when it's done.'\n\nMeulon made as if to consider it, and then shook his head. 'Count Amadeus already has men looking for us. He has a treaty with King John and the Dauphin. We're safer in Milan. Perhaps we'll see you there.'\n\n'As you wish. We'll be the ones camped outside the walls with all the whores and with food and wine in our belly,' he said. 'Mention my name to the Visconti. He'll welcome you.'\n\n'Which one? There are two of them. We know neither Lord of Milan,' said Meulon.\n\nGrimo's lips parted like a wolf already tasting its prey. 'Tread carefully and show respect otherwise he'll break you on the wheel or throw you to his hunting dogs. You seek out the one known as Bernab\u00f2; he's possessed, but he has power and gold and he will kill for pleasure.'\n\n'Then we are right to enter Milan without you because if you don't kill this girl we could all be thrown into the pit. Good luck to you,' said Meulon and edged his horse forward.\n\nGrimo pulled back his horse and his men parted allowing free passage for Blackstone's men. 'Which one of you is known as the throat-cutter?'\n\n'There's only one way to find out,' said Gaillard.\n\nGrimo chuckled. 'Good answer, my friend. Who's to say I would not have turned him in for the bounty?'\n\nAs Meulon's horse eased past he looked into the man's broken face. Blackstone had briefed the men well: the lies told had carried them through the routiers' ranks. When the time came he would seek out Grimo the butcher and acquaint him with his knife blade."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 105",
                "text": "Girard Goncenin could neither read nor write. From the moment he could walk his life had been spent in the forest, scavenging for plants and snaring rabbits to help feed the family. When he was six his father, a belligerent drunk who had been mutilated for poaching on Count Amadeus's father's domain, almost killed him. Later, when his mother and father died of pestilence, he ran away from home, preferring to let his two sisters and younger brother fend for themselves and to die if they could not. Over the years villagers told the story of a wolf boy, who ran with the pack and brought down deer, who snarled when cornered and lived as a beast. None of it was true. Girard could smell a wolf from half a mile away, that was the truth, and he could trap any living thing. But like the mountain bears that came down into the forests when the snow smothered their food, he favoured wild mushrooms and berries. He no longer spoke, and had almost forgotten how, but his mind recorded every leaf on every tree and he knew where the creatures of the forest lived. His small cave was set deep into a hillside and he had known nothing but self-reliance until he was caught by the Count's men.\n\nIt had been his own fault. The Count, who had by now inherited his father's title and lands, had been hunting and foolishly rode ahead of his party in pursuit of a wounded deer. The animal had collapsed deep in the forest, its last heartbeats pumping blood from the arrow wound, blood whose scent was easily caught on the air by not only Girard, but also by a hungry brown bear. The Count's horse had reared and thrown him and Girard, who had been keeping well away from the boisterous hunting party, saw the massive bear rise up to its full height, its muzzle already bloodied from the dead deer, and turn angrily on the human intruder who threatened its spoil.\n\nThe bear charged at the young Count, throwing down his mount, its great claws disembowelling the horse. The Count was momentarily helpless but Girard sprang forward and struck the eight-foot-tall beast with a fallen sapling, stinging its snout, forcing it to turn on him. But then his foot became entwined in the undergrowth and he fell, trapped, as the enraged bear came down on all fours and charged. Girard closed his eyes and pictured his cave and the safety and warmth it offered. He could not imagine death: he had not been told of salvation or damnation by any priest, he just knew that when animals died their eyes closed and their hearts stopped beating. And he would be no different. It was the way of the forest. Girard heard the bear bellow in pain and opened his eyes to see the young Count on his feet thrusting his spear into the animal. He jabbed and jabbed again, and then others were there cornering the bear that had only wanted to escape hunger and was now being stabbed by a dozen men. Girard's eyes filled with tears and he wept for the great beast's death.\n\nSaving the Count's life changed Girard's. He was taken in, cleaned and fed, clothed and given a bed by the master of horse. He was visited daily by the Count, who spoke kindly to the boy, and after several weeks Girard began to talk again, but only to the man who had saved him. His room in the stable was little different from his cave and many a day he could not be found. He came and went, returning whenever he wished to the forest, but when the Count hunted, the boy, as if by some animal sense, was always ready to lead him to wolf lair and boar bramble.\n\nAnd now he led another hunt, charged by the Count to take the tall, scar-faced Englishman and his men through the deep forest on foot so that those who waited to kill could, in turn, be slain. Since dawn Blackstone and fifty of his men had followed Girard through what seemed to be an impenetrable forest as he led them this way and that along animal tracks, across deep streams and up boulder-strewn embankments. The men were scratched and bruised from their efforts as Girard weaved left and right, and on more than one occasion went down on one knee and signalled the men to follow his example. Like the boy, Blackstone was at ease in the dense woodland, but even he could not see what the boy saw, and only on one occasion did he catch a fleeting glimpse of shadows moving and his instincts told him that they were wolves seeking out prey. As they made their way patiently through the trees Blackstone was reminded how Robert Thurgood must have struggled alone through the forest before he warned them of the impending attack. He felt as though the dead archer's ghost were flitting between the saplings and great trees, a haunting reminder of the lad's courage, of his death, taunting Blackstone. He pushed Thurgood's image from his thoughts and concentrated on following Girard, who at every twist and turn kept those who followed him downwind. If the breeze shifted, so did his route; there was to be no risk of the horses waiting in the distant treeline catching their scent. It was several hours before Blackstone caught the unmistakable smell of men who had spent days in the forest. Their latrine pits stank and the stale odour of sweat and food clung to the foliage. Blackstone and his men were two hundred paces from the blurred figures who milled at the fringe of the trees. Blackstone moved his eye from tree to tree until he focused clearly on the men who were preparing their horses; some of the mercenaries were already in the saddle. Girard had brought them through the forest in good time. He glanced at the boy who crouched, shivering. Perhaps, Blackstone thought, he was as feral as the Count had described. His quivering body was like a beast's, sensing danger. He reached out and laid a hand on Girard's shoulder. The boy flinched and then, with a glance at the fifty men who crouched, weapons in hand, eyes fixed ahead on the shimmering treeline, he turned and moved silently back into the forest. Within moments he was gone from sight.\n\nBlackstone crept forward."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 106",
                "text": "De Chauliac led the Princess's escort into the valley's broad expanse. His back muscles ached from the tension of the expected attack. His men were the best the Dauphin's royal guard could offer and none were strangers to battle. What he feared was the Englishman's tactics. If Sir Thomas Blackstone was making his way through the forest in the hope of reaching the expected ambush site by the time he and the slow-moving litter got there, it wouldn't take much of a delay to find de Chauliac and his fifty men dead on the valley floor. If Count Amadeus's man had reported the numbers of the routiers accurately then they were outnumbered at least five to one. Perhaps more. Even if Blackstone did hack his way through that forest, they were still going to face greater odds than de Chauliac wished. When Blackstone had briefed his captains on what was expected and de Chauliac had raised the matter, the Englishman and his captains had laughed. He had been insulted. They seemed to have no care for their own lives and being outnumbered evoked no fear in them. It had required Blackstone himself to soothe his hurt pride, pointing out that de Chauliac had been granted the honour of drawing the first blood. Very well, he had decided, no matter what happened he and his men would acquit themselves with courage and\u2026\n\nThe sight of the shrine interrupted his thoughts. The sons of iniquity would attack here when they stopped, and he had to pretend that it was not expected. He could not form up his men in battle order to meet any charge against them; they had to wait, as if unsuspecting. He raised a hand and brought the column to a halt. The litter stopped in front of the shrine and, as Blackstone had instructed, the Princess climbed down to pray, aided by her two ladies-in-waiting. De Chauliac licked his dry lips and kept his eyes on the forest. There was movement in the shadows, he was certain of it.\n\nNo sooner did the Princess alight and kneel in prayer at the shrine than the treeline shuddered as an extended line of horsemen surged forward.\n\n'Make ready!' de Chauliac called as his escort turned to face the attack. He hoped the mercenaries did not have good enough eyesight from that distance to see the men's boots beneath the ladies-in-waiting's robes. Their wimples covered the men's beards and the litter concealed their weapons."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 107",
                "text": "Henry Blackstone had laughed along with the others when Blackstone presented John Jacob and Perinne with the women's clothing.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' Perinne pleaded. 'I have fought with you since you were a boy and we built that wall together at Chaulion to fend off the bastard killer Saquet. If I am to die at the hands of routiers I beg you not to let it be dressed as a woman.'\n\n'Get the clothes on, Perinne, no one's asking you to become a whore and sell your arse to monks,' said Killbere. Perinne's face fell and the shame of it nearly defeated the fighting man.\n\n'Sir Thomas?' he pleaded again.\n\n'Perinne, I ask this of you so that you and John Jacob can protect the Princess. She must be seen by the skinners.'\n\n'The French would be better suited to this task,' said John Jacob in almost a whisper. 'I have heard stories from Paris about brothels that keep boys dressed as women.'\n\n'Idle gossip,' answered Blackstone. 'And can you imagine the insult rendered to the French if I asked de Chauliac to dress his royal escort in women's clothing?'\n\n'They could charge more than you, John,' said Meulon and laughed along with the others.\n\n'Aye, but if Perinne shaved that boar's stubble from his chin I could get him married off to a tavern owner,' said Will Longdon. 'And then everyone would be happy.'\n\n'You'll have a yard-long arrow shaft up your arse before this day is out, Will Longdon,' snarled Perinne.\n\n'Which is less painful than what you'll be getting!' he answered.\n\nThe men's laughter echoed around the courtyard.\n\n'Enough of this,' said Blackstone. 'I can't afford to insult the French. Get the clothes on so we can all admire you.'\n\n'And a cap and veil will be enough to hide a face even a wild pig would spurn,' said Killbere.\n\n'I hope you pray for forgiveness, Sir Thomas,' said John Jacob as he was helped into the flowing clothes by Henry Blackstone.\n\n'Master Jacob, I think you serve my lord well, though I would suggest a tightening of the belt to lessen the girth,' said Henry, smiling, 'lest anyone think you are bearing a child.' Which earned more laughter as well as a cuff around the head from John Jacob.\n\n'A page would do well to remember respect for the squire he serves. There are a hundred creaking saddles that can be oiled,' he retorted, but with good humour.\n\n'And Henry, this is for you,' said Blackstone as he tossed him a dress. 'You are to be our Princess.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 108",
                "text": "The earth rumbled from the attacking horseman.\n\n'Not yet, not yet,' Perinne said from beneath the face veil. 'Let the bastards think they have us.'\n\n'Stay behind us, Henry,' said John Jacob. 'We take horse and man. Be ready to finish the beasts before they kick us to death when they're down.'\n\nGrimo the butcher and his attacking routiers spurred their horses on. The French and the women who served the Princess seemed rooted to the spot with fear as he sprang his ambush. It would be an easy kill. They were 130 long paces from the line of French cavalry when the first shadows fell from the sky. Horses whinnied and veered as arrows struck, throwing their riders; men gaped wide-eyed as the sudden shock of bodkin-tipped arrow shafts pierced neck and back. Screams and shouts of panic rose up from the valley and funnelled into the mountainsides, startling rooks and crows from the trees. Those same birds would soon be pecking the eyes and flesh of his fallen men. Grimo turned in the saddle and saw a line of men at the trees behind them half bent into their war bows as others raced towards them on foot with swords and shields raised. His ambush had turned on him like a wounded wolf. The sky darkened again and his eyes lied \u2013 the Princess pulled free her veil and dress and grabbed a sword from the litter, as did her ladies-in-waiting, women transformed into fighting men like a magician's demons. Demons who now ran at him only to be overtaken by the charging French escort.\n\n'Away!' Grimo screamed, waving his sword, ordering his men to split and run. Those that could peeled away from the French assault, but most were caught between the men attacking from the rear and the horsemen to their front. His horse barged another; he swung widely, skill and desperation forged into a bid for survival. The Frenchman went down. Those men who had worn dresses ripped them free and were fighting together, spear and sword, shield and mace, as they thrust into a horse's chest and then hacked the rider to death. Two men and a boy. Efficient and deadly, they stood their ground, chose their victim and attacked again. He had seen fighting like this before on the field at Poitiers and knew without doubt that they were Englishmen. The m\u00eal\u00e9e engulfed them all. The royal guard tore into his men but were initially outnumbered as his routiers divided their ranks, forcing them to fight in twos and threes. But that momentum was soon lost as more of his men fell writhing on the ground pierced with arrow shafts.\n\n'Break left and right!' he screamed. If they made good their escape these attackers would be forced to separate and he and his men would have the chance to ride to safety. The silence of the men attacking on foot with their bared teeth and snarling faces was more frightening than if a banshee had howled its spectral scream and descended on them. Those who had swarmed from the forest behind them started to kill with practised efficiency. The big man leading the attack raised his shield to ward off a blow from one of Grimo's men on the ground. There were too many unseated horsemen, he realized as the attacker's shield smashed into the man, followed by a swift strike that cleaved the man from shoulder to chest.\n\nIron-shod hooves churned mud. Henry jumped lithely aside and killed a flailing horse as Perinne and John Jacob ran forward to pull a routier down from his saddle. And then Henry was separated as horses milled between them. A rider leaned down and swung a spiked mace at him; he ducked but slipped in the mud. The horseman quickly heeled his horse around in an attempt to trample him. The man bent low in the saddle, his arm brought back in a high, sweeping curve that would deliver a crushing blow. Henry's fear and desperation gave him strength. He lunged, forcing his sword point into the man's exposed thigh. The snarling face bellowed, spraying spittle. Wide-eyed with pain he swept the mace down. Henry felt the air whisper past his ear. Pain cut through his metal skullcap. He could smell the horse's sweat and saw the beast's terrified eyes rolling back at him as its shoulder struck him. Hooves clawed the dirt next to his face. As he rolled clear he saw the distant snow-capped mountains tinged with the sun's blood hue beneath the horse's belly. It was a glimpse of God's beauty and a moment's foolishness that took his eye from his attacker. Helplessly he tried to scramble clear, but the wounded man \u2013 who in his fury had dismounted, abandoning the advantage of his horse \u2013 rammed his boot heel into Henry's chest, pinning him down. Then he swung the spiked club towards the boy's face.\n\nIn an instant the man was pulled backwards by a blood-streaked Perinne and as the routier lost balance John Jacob fell on him, hacking him to death.\n\n'On your feet, boy!' Perinne shouted.\n\nStunned and winded, Henry clambered to his feet. The screaming cacophony swirling around him made him dizzy. Colours blurred. John Jacob grabbed him by his jupon and was yelling at him. But he couldn't hear. And then as blood ran across his eyes his legs gave way and he slipped into blessed silence."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 109",
                "text": "Blackstone ran twenty paces behind the arrow strikes. They ceased to fall the moment he reached the rear ranks of the horsemen. The heaving mass of riders barged and struck at each other. The French fought well, although Blackstone and de Chauliac were outnumbered. Blackstone realized there must have been three hundred routiers who had attacked, but the English archers had claimed a third of these and fear of the archers' skill caused panic among the rest. No sooner had Will Longdon's archers stopped shooting than they abandoned their war bows and, with buckler, knife and sword, ran to support Blackstone's men-at-arms.\n\nBlackstone cursed as a rider heeled his mount around against him, wishing he was on his bastard horse, wanting its strength and belligerence. Killbere swept his blade across the mercenary's horse's leg, severing it completely. It screamed and went down, body rolling in agony, throwing the routier. Blackstone jumped clear of the thrashing hooves and Killbere plunged his sword into the man's neck as Blackstone put the fallen beast out of its agony. Blackstone's men swarmed past, shields high, ramming them against riders' legs, working in pairs; cutting and slashing the routiers down onto the ground where they attempted to defend themselves \u2013 without success. Blackstone had been right. His men knew how to kill better than most. The m\u00eal\u00e9e was bedlam. Madness gripped the fighting men as those who grappled on the ground beat each other with fists and rocks. In the eye of the fighting storm a dozen of the royal guard encircled some routiers, hacking them down. Two of the brigands half wheeled their horses and boxed in de Chauliac. He was at their mercy, unable to counter their wild blows. He took a strike on his sword arm; his mail stopped the sword point from cutting into bone but the blow was powerful enough to spill blood. His arm went limp and he was unable to parry the next blow. Blackstone had seen the attack, wove between horses and yanked the routier's reins, pulling him from the saddle. The man rolled clear, but Blackstone was on him and threw his weight onto Wolf Sword's crossguard; the blade pierced the man's throat.\n\nDe Chauliac's strength returned. He feinted and then plunged his sword point beneath the man's raised arm. He kicked the horse around and saw Blackstone was already attempting to outflank survivors who were desperately attempting to break free. Fallen bodies and thrashing horses slowed his pace and at least twenty men escaped. Others fled in the opposite direction. Suddenly the fight's energy waned and some of the routiers tried to surrender \u2013 without success.\n\nBlackstone saw de Chauliac urge his men to pursue the escaping mercenaries.\n\n'Captain! No! Let them go! Leave them!' he yelled, running to the horseman and snatching at his bridle. The Frenchman's blood was up and he tried to yank free but Blackstone held firm. 'My men will deal with them. You give chase, you might die with those bastards!' For a moment it seemed de Chauliac would wrench his horse free but the lust to kill calmed and he nodded.\n\n'I owe you, Sir Thomas. It will not be forgotten.'\n\nBlackstone barely acknowledged the Frenchman's thanks and rejoined his men.\n\nThe fight in the valley was over. Blackstone's men were already stripping the bodies of whatever plunder they could find. The dead routiers had gold and silver in their purses and some wore silver belts with expensive knives and swords, plunder taken from their victims. Blackstone saw the look of disgust cross de Chauliac's face.\n\n'You and your men fight like demons, Sir Thomas, and I more than any other am glad of it, but it's common men who scavenge from the dead.'\n\n'It's their reward, de Chauliac. Unlike you, they're not in the service of any nobleman or king. They must take their profit where they find it. See to your wounded.'\n\nThe Frenchman had watched Blackstone carve his way through the mercenary ranks, and the force of his attack had stunned the enemy. He and the veteran knight Killbere were formidable and de Chauliac knew that had they met face-to-face on the battlefield he would have been the one to die. He had no sense of false pride when witnessing the prowess of such fighting men.\n\n'See to your own men, Sir Thomas. And your boy. I saw him fall.'\n\nHe steered his horse away as Blackstone's eyes scoured the killing field. He saw John Jacob and Perinne next to the small shrine of the Holy Mother. At their feet lay his son."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 110",
                "text": "Grimo the butcher spurred his horse away from the killing. Twenty men had turned with him and a similar number had escaped on the road back towards Chamb\u00e9ry. The attack from the forest had taken him utterly by surprise. English whoreson archers. They had slain his men with a terrifying ease and then the swordsmen had swept into them with a fury that staggered even his men, every one of whom had fought in the great battles. How many men lay back there in the valley? More than two hundred was certain. He would have to build his force again. How had they known, those English? His paymaster didn't know where the attack was to take place; there could have been no idle gossip, no words loosened by drink. How had they known?\n\nIt made no difference now. He and a handful of his men had survived but there would be no payment from Milan and, worse, he would not be able to return in failure. Not to the monster who would tear the flesh from his bones with his bare teeth. He looked back. No pursuit. The road ahead narrowed and beyond its bend he knew there was a crossroads. He would decide where to go when he got there. He slowed their retreat and cantered down the curved track, but then quickly reined in.\n\n'Sweet Jesus,' said the man at his side. 'It's a trap.'\n\nTwo huge men straddled the road with their men. The same damned men he had let through before. Men he could have slaughtered back then but who would now inflict losses on him. Desperation clawed at Grimo and his routiers. They couldn't go back: certain death lay there; they had to throw themselves forward and seize the road. Horses jostled. The odds were about equal. The butcher bellowed defiance, kicked his horse forward and brought up his shield, his raised sword ready to strike.\n\nThe road served Meulon and Gaillard better than it did those who attacked. Blackstone's men bestrode the broadest part of the track where the road bellied out, which gave them the opportunity to strike Grimo's men from the sides as they were forced to ride into the fray barely three abreast along the narrow road. Horses and shields clashed but the routiers had no power to drive through. Riders from the edge of the broad part of the road curled in on them in death's embrace.\n\nMeulon parried Grimo's strike with his shield, waiting for the desperate man attacking him to deliver the blow that would expose an unguarded part of his body. Gaillard had already driven forward into the m\u00eal\u00e9e. Grimo's men were jammed together, yanking their terror-stricken horses' reins this way and that and spurring the beasts' flanks, cursing as their lumbering mounts could do nothing more than heave and push against the ones next to them, desperately fighting their riders. Snared like fish in a net, Grimo's men fell beneath a savage onslaught. Horses trampled those who went under their hooves and then broke free, tearing open the cluster of routiers, giving Blackstone's men the advantage as they forced their mounts into the gaps left by the panicked beasts.\n\nGrimo grunted with effort, yet could make no impression against Meulon. He tried desperately to force his way past the big man, to where freedom lay, down the road towards the mountains. Sweat stung his eyes. He swung his sword wide with as much force as he could, but the shock of the strike against Meulon's blade shuddered up his arm. And then the big man moved so quickly Grimo failed to raise his guard in time and the massive blow from Meulon's shield knocked him backwards in the saddle. His feet slipped from the stirrups and his balance was gone. He tumbled to the ground. Avoiding flailing hooves he saw that there were fewer than half a dozen of his men still alive and they were being hacked to the ground. He staggered to his feet again, knowing there might be a chance to escape if he could run free into the forest where horses were unlikely to follow.\n\nHe shouldered past a riderless horse and for a moment thought fate had favoured him. And then a dismounted Meulon stood in his way. Grimo lunged; Meulon easily sidestepped. He swept his knife beneath Grimo's raised face. The pain came a breath later. A gurgling, choking, desperate inhalation of blood into his lungs. He fell to his knees, hands to his severed throat, eyes locked on the big bearded man who gazed down at him, bloodied knife in hand.\n\n'Now you know,' said Meulon."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 111",
                "text": "Henry Blackstone had not regained consciousness and the blood-soaked bandage, torn from the dress he had been obliged to wear before the fight, bore witness to his wound. Blackstone and the men gathered around the fallen boy. John Jacob held Henry's shoulders in his lap as Will Longdon unwrapped the cloth and inspected the wound.\n\n'It's a gash is all,' he said, puckering the split scalp with his bloody fingers. 'Perinne, spill some wine on it.'\n\n'Vinegar's better,' said one of the archers who had crowded around to see how badly hurt the boy was.\n\nKillbere kicked him. 'This wine's vinegar at the best of times. Get yourself back with the others. You keep an eye out in case there's any more of those skinners lurking.'\n\nThe man scurried away as Will Longdon poked a finger in the wound. 'Can't see bone, and can't feel nothin'. No bits of cracked skull sticking out. Ah, the lad'll be fine. Here, pour it here,' he instructed Perinne, who poured red wine over the wound. 'Who's got the needle and thread?' One of the archers leaned into the throng of men proffering a curved needle like a fisherman's awl, its eye threaded with silk. Longdon took it and studied the length of silk whipping unwound from an arrow shaft. 'Perinne,' he said, holding out the thread. Perinne duly dribbled wine over it. 'Right, now let's give the lad a decent scar,' said Longdon, holding the flaps of scalp ready for the needle. When the stitching was done and the boy's face bathed clean of blood another bandage was tied round. The men had bickered among themselves whether the slash should be packed with manure as were most battlefield wounds, but Blackstone remembered how he had been cared for by the royal physician when critically wounded as a boy after Cr\u00e9cy, and of how Aelis had cleaned and treated Killbere's wound. His decision to leave the wound dressed only with the torn cloth had been grudgingly obeyed. Blackstone watched as the unconscious boy was eased onto the litter. A stab of fear and guilt made him place a hand on Henry's chest. The slow but steady beat of his son's heart assured him that the lad's courage lay deep within him despite his youth.\n\nSome of de Chauliac's men had succumbed to their wounds and his losses now totalled eleven men. A small price, given they had been so outnumbered. Blackstone had lost four men and two others would not reach Chamb\u00e9ry alive. The dead would be buried by the Count's priest in the city's churchyard. Blackstone and the men rode back towards Chamb\u00e9ry, past the dead routiers brought down by Jack Halfpenny and his twenty archers who had waited to cut off any escaping survivors. They recovered what arrows they could from the scattered bodies and dragged the corpses to one side of the road; then they did as Blackstone had done at the ambush site and strung up the bodies from trees along the road. Eighteen bodies swung in the breeze, as did another thirty by way of example along the valley fringe. Meulon had rammed Grimo's severed head on a shaft and left it at the bend of the road along with his mercenaries' corpses strung from the trees. De Chauliac had protested. Merchants would travel this route between Lombardy and Paris and such barbaric gestures of victory would simply tell them they were entering a lawless land.\n\n'Not so,' Blackstone insisted as he watched the last of Halfpenny's kills being hoisted. 'They show the merchants they are safe. At least when my men are around. Any routier will think again before he lies in wait on Count Amadeus's territory.' He studied de Chauliac for a moment. He and his men had accounted themselves well. They were a long way from the comfort and privilege of the royal palace. 'I send a message the only way I know how to these killers. You forget, de Chauliac, they came here to murder the Dauphin's sister, your King's daughter. We should have kept the wounded alive and had them drawn and quartered, but time is not on our side. Besides, by the time you return home from Milan this encounter will be known at court and your part in it declared a victory for the Dauphin. They'll honour you. Might even give you a reward. And you can tell them that you and your men did most of the fighting. I don't care.'\n\nDe Chauliac bristled. 'I would claim nothing that was not true.'\n\n'Aye, I didn't think you would. You're a loyal and honourable man,' said Blackstone. He turned his horse for Chamb\u00e9ry and the hope that the Princess had not died of the poison that had been administered. Otherwise his men would have died for nothing.\n\n'The boy was at our side, Sir Thomas,' said John Jacob. 'It's my fault he was injured. I should have kept him out of it.'\n\nPerinne shook his head. 'John's right about the lad's courage, but he wasn't to blame. We were both fighting when it happened. Young Henry ducked and weaved after stabbing the bastard and the skinner was determined to have him.'\n\nBlackstone turned to the two men who had fought alongside him over so many years. 'I hold no one responsible. You both know how a man needs luck to get through a fight. He's been blooded before; he's no stranger to the killing. You've both held my life and his in your hands before now. If you had not been there in good time he would have died. I owe you thanks. There's nothing more to be said on the matter.'\n\nThe men nodded and fell back to ride with the litter.\n\n'If the lad's as thick-skulled as his father he'll be all right,' said Killbere. 'I've seen you take bareheaded blows that would kill men wearing iron helms. Though I suspect so many lumps might explain why you're such a mad bastard in a fight.'\n\n'Only in a fight?' said Blackstone.\n\n'I was being generous,' answered Killbere, and then drank thirstily from his wineskin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 112",
                "text": "By the time Blackstone and his men were within a day's ride of Chamb\u00e9ry, Henry Blackstone was awake and complaining bitterly to John Jacob.\n\n'He says he won't ride in the litter like a girl. A knight doesn't ride in a wagon or on a mare, he tells me,' said Jacob, reporting to Blackstone.\n\nBlackstone smiled. The lessons from the boy's childhood had stayed with him. 'Get him a horse, John. Tell him if he falls off because of his wound we leave him behind.'\n\n'The lad will tie himself to the reins,' said Will Longdon. 'But I'm ready to surrender my aching arse to a hot bath and a serving girl to wash my back and vitals.'\n\nKillbere squirmed in the saddle to look back at the grinning archer. 'Your damned vitals are barely enough to serve as bait for a river eel, let alone a serving girl.'\n\nLongdon grinned. 'No serving girl will want to let my river eel slip from her grasp when it squirms, Sir Gilbert.'\n\n'Archers,' said Killbere, and then spat. 'They think they're God's gift to kings and whores.'\n\n'That's because we are,' said Blackstone, siding with his bowmen.\n\n'Here's my arrow shaft!' called Jack Halfpenny. 'Stand ready, girls!'\n\n'Nock, mark and loose!' Will Longdon and others chimed in, bursting into laughter.\n\nKillbere glanced at Blackstone riding at his side. 'And you grinning like a priest in a brothel only encourages these cocksure peasants,' he said.\n\n'And I know you would have it no other way,' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere shrugged. 'As long as I get to the serving girl first.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 113",
                "text": "News of the killing had already reached Count Amadeus by the time Blackstone and de Chauliac led their men through the city gates. The wild boy Girard had witnessed everything and ran tirelessly back to his master like the half-creature he was. After the Count had questioned Blackstone he acknowledged that everything pointed to Bernab\u00f2 Visconti being behind the attack but, he argued, there was no proof. The Vipers of Milan writhed with deceit and intrigue and using a man's name to blacken his reputation was common currency. The child Princess must be delivered to them and now that one attack had failed it was unlikely whoever was behind the assault would risk another, especially after the royal party crossed the mountains and entered Visconti territory. Blackstone and de Chauliac would ride into Milan but they would be shadowed every step of the way by the bridegroom's father's troops.\n\nBack in the yard Blackstone sluiced water across his torso, scrubbing the blood from his stubbled face.\n\n'Will he now give us men to strengthen our escort?' said Killbere.\n\n'No. He's not even convinced it was Galeazzo's brother who arranged the ambush.'\n\n'Damned idiot. Meulon had it straight from the horse's mouth. That skinner whoreson told him to serve Bernab\u00f2 Visconti.'\n\n'And that might have been a name to hide behind.' He tipped the bucket of cold water away and rubbed himself down.\n\n'You'll not wait for the water to be heated?' said Killbere as Blackstone dressed.\n\n'I don't want to see the Princess with blood on me.'\n\nKillbere's eyebrows rose. 'The Princess,' he said flatly. 'Uh-huh. You stink of sweat no matter how hard you scrub with cold water and soap. Now, a hot bath, a fresh shirt and a comb through that rat's nest of hair, that would be fitting for a princess. But' \u2013 he grinned \u2013 'the woman Aelis, she will no doubt embrace your stink.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 114",
                "text": "Blackstone climbed the stairs past Amadeus's guards to the Princess's chamber. There were voices inside. He stepped in and saw Henry on the stool at the child's bedside while Aelis stood watching. The Princess was propped up on pillows and seemed none the worse for the poisoning. The ladies-in-waiting stood diligently in the background.\n\nHe glanced from his son to Aelis. She smiled.\n\n'Your grace,' Blackstone said, bowing his head to the child Princess. 'I see you are recovered.'\n\n'I am, Sir Thomas. And it is thanks to your lady here. And mon petit chevalier has been telling me of a great fight. Have you seen his wound? It is terrible.'\n\n'It is nothing, highness,' said Henry with a guilty glance towards his father.\n\n'Nonsense,' said the Princess. 'I would have felt a great responsibility had you been mortally injured. And my good lady Aelis has examined the wound and tells me it was stitched by a good hand.'\n\n'Did my son explain why we fought?'\n\n'To ensure our path across the mountains was clear,' said the girl.\n\nBlackstone breathed a sigh of relief. It would have served no purpose had Henry blabbed about any suspected attack commissioned by one of the Visconti. But the boy had kept his mouth shut and the information to himself.\n\n'Exactly right,' said Blackstone. 'Henry, time to leave the Princess to rest now. No more stories of violence to disturb her sleep.'\n\n'No, no. I asked for him to be here,' said Isabelle. 'He will tell me about the battle and how you killed your enemies and then he will read to me.' She laid a hand on Henry's shoulder. 'I am grateful for such courage.' She glanced at Aelis, the ladies-in-waiting and Blackstone. 'Leave us.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 115",
                "text": "'For once a royal command served me well,' said Blackstone as he and Aelis lay entwined in the sweat-creased linen sheets. They had returned to his quarters and no sooner had the door closed behind them than Blackstone pulled her to him, his hand cupping her breast, his mouth smothering hers. The aftermath of the fight still seared his blood, and tenderness was abandoned as she met his demands with equal desire. By the time darkness fell their passion had finally been quenched. He no longer felt any sense of betrayal or guilt as his wife's ghost passed through the shadows of his mind. Sinking into the deep river of darkness that drowned a man in passion, he almost called Christiana's name, but another face emerged, that of the woman who had bewitched him. He had dragged himself back from those depths and shaken himself loose from the abandonment of his climax. She felt it immediately but said nothing. Aelis's body was scarred from the torture she had endured, as was his from battle. Each had touched and kissed the other's wounds, but when she caressed his face and the scar that was now little more than a thin line her heart caught a beat. She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at him.\n\n'That is where your life started,' she whispered. 'The life you live now. I can feel the terror of that moment. So many of those you knew died that day but there was one who was special. Someone you guarded. Someone of your own blood.'\n\nThe image of his brother being slaughtered at Cr\u00e9cy formed in his mind's eye. He shuddered, not only from the memory but also from the unease that squirmed within him. Superstition was a constant companion for any man who faced the ebb and flow of battle. Wariness about luck and the fates that determined it crept inside every fighter's heart. A prayer, a false promise to the Almighty, or a blatant disregard for danger was every man's shield. Blackstone saw nothing but his enemy in front of him when he fought. His animal-like instinct and the Celtic goddess at his neck were what kept him alive. She could nudge a man this way or that, place him where an arrow fell or a blade sneaked under his guard. It was fate when she decided the time for him to fall; until then she protected him. But those like Aelis who professed to see behind the veil of a man's life \u2013 they could frighten the bravest of men and he was no exception. Did she talk to the dead or did God in heaven whisper in her ear?\n\nShe saw the shadow of doubt pass across his eyes. 'Do not fear me, Thomas.'\n\n'Why shouldn't I? You recount my past as if it were written by a scribe on parchment. You speak as if you were at my shoulder over the years. No wonder they wanted to burn you.'\n\n'There are no words I can ever say to convince men that I would not do them harm. I am no witch.'\n\n'You put the fear of Christ into men because you can poison as well as heal and you were prepared to castrate those who violated you. You are capable of causing harm, Aelis. You look beyond the grave to see the ghosts of men who are not yet dead and predict what you see.'\n\n'There are times I am taken by surprise, especially when my heart is touched. Perhaps that's what brings on the second sight,' she said as he gathered his clothes. 'You're leaving me? Because of what I said?'\n\nHe quickly dressed. 'I heard a rider in the courtyard. I should see if there's more news of our journey.'\n\nShe extended her arm to him, beckoning him back. 'You have captains to do that.'\n\nHe hesitated. 'You're beginning to know too much about me, Aelis. You could use it against me.'\n\nShe was shocked at the accusation and threw aside the sheet, kneeling forward so that her breasts swayed. Her nipples hardened in the cold air. His eyes fell on them and he tasted the spittle of desire again, despite her making no effort to seduce him. Not that much effort was needed.\n\n'I am drawn to you, Thomas Blackstone. I cannot say why. You saved me and for that I am grateful, but I do not share a bed with you out of gratitude. If I see that you suffer or know that you are facing a danger that you are unaware of I cannot stop myself from sharing what I see.'\n\nHe had taken a step back into the shadow that lay on the edge of the candlelight. The further away from the tantalizing sight of her nakedness the better. There was another temptation that beckoned him now. Milan and the Visconti tyrants.\n\n'You once said I would be betrayed. How do I know it won't be you?'\n\nDespite the soft light he saw her expression change. She dropped her head. He felt the shock. She knew! In a couple of strides he was in front of her and tugged her short hair, raising her face to the light. A single tear from each eye trickled down her cheeks. 'Who?' he asked again, his voice barely a whisper.\n\n'Someone who is at your shoulder,' she said quietly. 'Someone who owes you his life.'\n\nHe waited. The look of regret on her face spurred panic inside him. He and his men had fought shoulder to shoulder over the years. Could she mean one of them? Killbere? Meulon? Gaillard? Will Longdon? All of whom were like the brother he had lost at Cr\u00e9cy. All of whom had shed their blood for him.\n\n'Who?' he asked. The need to know was painful.\n\nThrough her sadness a rueful smile creased her tears. 'The hand of friendship betrays you. I cannot see him, Thomas. I cannot save you. All I see is your blood.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "THE DEVIL'S SON",
                "text": "Five houndsmen each held a half-dozen mastiffs on long leashes, the muscled dogs pulling them along Via Manzoni; each man needed all his strength to keep them under control. The dogs' powerful gait meant their handlers were obliged to run in order to keep up with their pace. A houndsman's life was short if unforeseen injuries befell any of his charges due to neglect or an accident that could have been averted. And now it was becoming more difficult to restrain the slavering beasts. Bernab\u00f2 Visconti had more than five thousand such dogs billeted in the city. Hunting was one of his greatest passions and it was said his love for his hounds surpassed even his love for his wife, Regina. Bernab\u00f2's life was one of orgy and self-indulgence; his many mistresses and numerous bastard children were spread across the territory he had taken by force. Yet his beloved wife was his lodestone and she could restrain his wild fits of temper and rage; and despite his cruelty, murder and avarice being known far and wide, so too was his diplomacy with foreign rulers. Everything this contradictory man did was aimed at one day achieving complete power. Milan was mostly left for him to govern while his brother, Galeazzo II, spent more time in his castello in Pavia to the south of the city where he indulged himself planning great places of learning and building a bridge across the Ticino. It was a good arrangement. The brothers tolerated each other but Galeazzo found living in the same city as Bernab\u00f2 exasperating. So while they shared control of Milan, it was Bernab\u00f2 who saw himself as its true lord. He and Galeazzo had agreed long ago who would control which parts of the city. The city was divided. Of the eight gates into Milan Galeazzo held the western portion: Comasina, Vercellina, Giovia and Ticinese. Bernab\u00f2 held the eastern side of the city-state and the Porte Nuova, Romana, Tosa and Orientale, all of which gave him access to the eastern territories and their cities he had conquered. But no matter which gate Bernab\u00f2 chose to use when hunting, when the baying hounds ran through the streets Milan's inhabitants pressed back to give them right of way. And when their self-declared God on earth, Pope and Emperor rode through the streets everyone was obliged to bend the knee.\n\nWith so many of Bernab\u00f2's hounds to house some of Milan's citizens were given one or two of his dogs to care for and feed, and the strict enforcement concerning the animals' welfare applied as much to the householder as to the houndsmen. Sometimes the dogs were taken to the hunt in cages that held twenty at a time, but today they were running ahead of their master, whose horse cantered behind the baying packs as they caught the scent of the countryside beyond the city walls where they would soon be unleashed to drag down deer or boar, whichever creature the beaters flushed out first.\n\nA handcart lurched out of a side alley. The iron-rimmed wheels could cause injury to even the strongest of hounds. Citizens scattered from the paved streets as one of the houndsmen bellowed a warning. The cart was quickly turned and the dogs ran past without harm. The Lord of Milan reined in his horse. Those who pushed the cart knelt. Bernab\u00f2 was a striking figure: his height and strength were impressive, even when he wasn't on horseback \u2013 enough to make any man cower, even if he had not been their ruler. Behind him ran a retinue of courtiers and footsoldiers and now they too stopped, lungs heaving as their lord gazed down at the handcart and the dead man it bore.\n\n'What killed this man?' Bernab\u00f2 demanded when he saw the broken body. His rule of fear meant that Milan was probably the safest of cities. No thief or murderer would risk the terrifying punishment Bernab\u00f2 would inflict on any convicted criminal yet the man's bloodied corpse looked as though he might have been the victim of an assault.\n\n'He fell from a scaffold, my lord,' said one of the men without raising his eyes.\n\n'Then where are you taking him? He's beyond help from any physician. Why isn't he buried?'\n\n'My lord, we were going to dump him in the river. His family do not have enough money so our priest refuses to bury him.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 inclined his head to one of the courtiers who waited behind his horse. It was sufficient as a gesture to have one of them step to his side. 'Give this man coin for the burial,' he said, and then to the cart handler, 'Look up, man. Who is your priest?'\n\n'Father Stefano,' said the man.\n\n'Fetch him and have him wait here,' he commanded. 'I will see this man buried before nightfall.' He spurred the horse forward. His hounds were already baying in the distance for their quarry. Bernab\u00f2 grunted with anticipation. The day was set to be one of gratuitous pleasure. There would be blood on the ground soon enough, and it would not be long before news reached his brother that the French Princess had died on her journey from Paris. Poison or waylaid by brigands? he wondered. Which had snatched her away from the promise of marriage and a French alliance with Milan? Which of the two plans had been successful? Nothing had been left to chance. Soon he would feign regret at the child's death while concealing his satisfaction that the arrangement to share the rule of Milan with his brother would remain intact a while longer. He acknowledged the satisfaction he felt at his own cunning in stifling any future power and influence the proposed marriage between his nephew and the French King's daughter would have brought. Thinking ahead to the day when he held absolute power meant long-term planning.\n\nSparks flew from his horse's iron-shod hooves as he drove the beast towards the Porta Nuova and the hunting forests beyond. Impatience was his greatest enemy. News of the child's death should have reached him by now. Urging his horse into a gallop he saw his mastiffs loosed. The quarry's scent was in the air and the half-starved dogs wanted the taste of flesh and blood. And Bernab\u00f2 was no different. Why hadn't he heard? Why? What could have gone wrong? His blood was up and he wanted to feed his passion for the hunt. And more than anything he wanted to be victorious."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 117",
                "text": "Count Amadeus had sent his wedding gifts of silver plate and armour to add to the burden of Isabelle's slow-moving column. The first early snows had fallen on Mont Cenis's high pass but the Savoyard mountain villagers, exempted from paying taxes for their service, had been waiting to guide the party across the Alps. They were dressed in woollen caps and mittens and wore spiked boots to give them purchase as they pushed and hauled the Princess and her ladies-in-waiting safely along the slippery route on ramasses, large wicker sledges. Their passengers were covered for warmth with animal furs and the French commander and a half-dozen of his men gripped the side of each sled and did their best to keep up, much to the amusement of the Princess, who found the sight of her escort slithering at her side a distraction from the great height. Blackstone had let de Chauliac have the honour. If the damn sledge went over the edge taking him and his royal cargo with it, then no blame would fall on Blackstone or his men. As they approached the highest point the going became ever more uncertain and he instructed the French to do as his own men had done and bind their horses' hooves with sackcloth for grip and pull hoods over the animals' heads to stop any panic as they edged along the precipices. It was a blessing they had not been obliged to pass in winter. A year before northern Italy had been smothered in deep snowfalls. Further east, Bologna had been covered in thirty feet of snow, and although these trade routes across the Alps were kept open by villagers and monks, merchants and soldiers who travelled between France and Italy had suffered more fatalities than usual and the frozen bodies of those who died were often only recovered in the thaw.\n\nHenry Blackstone gaped in amazement at the majestic scenery. Where the child Princess giggled with excitement and joy, Blackstone's son felt the power of the place awe him into silence. Great waterfalls plummeted thousands of feet down through pine-clad mountainsides. Rocks, hewn as if by a giant stonemason, were etched against the blue sky. And when the wind gathered and swirled, dust clouds of snow from the mountaintops danced through the air stinging their faces. Nothing could be more beautiful or humbling than these mountains, he determined.\n\n'Close your mouth, Henry, or you'll have icicles hanging from your teeth,' said Will Longdon as he guided his hooded horse in line with the others. They were all walking by their mounts, no one daring to risk a horse losing its footing and plunging to the valley below.\n\n'I didn't know it could be so beautiful,' said Henry.\n\n'Aye, well, you watch where you're going. If the man in front stops your head'll be up his horse's arse, and then you'll see how beautiful it looks when you go over the edge,' said John Jacob.\n\n'Tell him about when we came over last time. Merciful God, Henry, Sir Thomas brought us across a pass ten times worse than this,' called Perinne from two horses to the rear. 'Blizzards, ice, couldn't see a hand in front of your face, which was just as well being as high as we were.'\n\n'And we didn't have no sledge to ride on. Look at them things. Bigger than a lord's bed,' said Will Longdon. He hawked and spat from the exertion of keeping a tight rein while powering himself up the incline. 'Worse going down. Hit ice beneath the snow and you'll go arse over tit and be the first at the bottom.'\n\nThose who could hear the banter added their voices. Renfred, the German man-at-arms, called out, 'Notice how much space we give Sir Thomas and that beast of his? It loses its head and we could all go over the edge.'\n\n'And if the damn thing farts we'd have an avalanche,' added Gaillard, half turning to look back at them from where he led Will Longdon's group.\n\n'As long as you don't break wind,' said Longdon. 'I've heard they have earthquakes in these mountains.'\n\nThe men's chatter went on a while longer, but Henry closed out their crude jesting and let his eyes drink in the sights that rose around him. Books he had read told him that armies had crossed these mountains; the great Carthaginian general Hannibal had taken elephants over these passes. He looked beyond the horses' rumps in front of him and saw his father leading the men. His height and breadth set him apart from the French escort, and for a moment the boy felt a renewed admiration. Perhaps, he reasoned, his father could also be a great general one day, given an army by the English King and told to go out and conquer lands, to make England an even greater nation than it was already. And then, as a brusque wind swept up the path and found its way through his clothing, he shivered. Ever since he was a child his father had taught him to ignore the privations of the weather but this chill was different. It was fear. His father's shield, like his men's, was tied across his back so that no breeze could lift it from its usual place strapped to the saddle. The defiant blazon heralded his father's intention never to yield and now they were travelling into the Visconti stronghold, to the men whom his father believed had sent the assassin who had slain his mother and sister. How could his father avenge them? The men who rode at his back were too few to assault the great city-state of Milan. He felt panic rise in his gorge. His father was sending him to Florence when they reached the great plains of Lombardy. Sending him away so that the Visconti could not use his presence at his father's side against him. He would sit in a classroom while his father and his men fought what might be their last battle. A fight they could not win despite their defiance. In that moment Henry Blackstone vowed that he would give his escort to Florence the slip and find a way into Milan."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 118",
                "text": "Men cried out in fear and warning as the hulking beast of a boar ran directly at its tormentors. It stood as high as a man's chest and weighed as much as a small horse. Four of Bernab\u00f2's beloved dogs lay eviscerated on the forest floor along with two of his beaters. One of the dog handlers bravely tried to spear the beast in an effort to save his dogs. The boar turned surprisingly quickly. Its tusks caught the handler inside his thigh and tore upwards, ripping the man's taut stomach muscles and spilling his innards to mingle with the gore from his dogs. His scream was brief and death took him quickly and then the charging boar scattered the hunters. Those on foot plunged into thick brambles while others tried to scramble up trees. Half a dozen horsemen shared the hunt with Bernab\u00f2: three of their mounts reared and plunged out of control with their riders clinging desperately as they bolted through the forest. Two of Bernab\u00f2's crossbowmen shot the boar. It barely registered the impact of the steel-tipped bolts.\n\nOne of the remaining hunters launched his spear into the charging animal, which brought it down onto its snout, its razor tusks tearing into the dirt. But such was its power and perhaps its hatred for man and dog who had invaded its domain that it quickly found its footing and ran forward again, but its strength had been diminished. Another half-dozen dogs leapt at its throat and hocks. Their teeth clamped into sinew and artery; the boar's blood spilled over its flanks and the dogs who hung from it. The great beast swung its head and dislodged one dog, trampling it beneath its cloven hoof, but the hounds had done their job and slowed it so that another two men could leap forward and plunge their spears into its flanks, narrowly missing the blood-crazed hounds.\n\nBernab\u00f2 heeled his horse clear of the carnage and tightened the reins in his left hand with such force that his horse's head was pulled up high, eyes rolling in terror as the boar swept past it. Bernab\u00f2 stood in the stirrups and with all his strength plunged his spear beneath the boar's shoulder. It was a fatal blow and the crippled animal staggered to a halt. Two huntsmen dared to run forward and plunge their knives into the beast's spine, and then it went down. Houndsmen whipped the frenzied dogs away from the kill and secured them onto their leashes. The blood spoor through the forest told the story of the long chase. Bernab\u00f2 bellowed out a roar of satisfaction at the kill. Men and dogs had hunted bravely and they would be rewarded: the men with good food and extra wine and the dogs with a haunch of the dead animal. Once the head had been taken as a trophy the boar would be spit-roasted.\n\nSweat stung Bernab\u00f2's eyes and he drank thirstily from a wineskin as the yelping dogs, denied their victim, lunged on their leashes, held tight by exhausted handlers. Those of the retinue who had scurried away returned, scratched and bruised from their desperate efforts to avoid the enraged boar. Bernab\u00f2 dismounted \u2013 his reins were quickly taken by a servant \u2013 and stepped towards the dying animal. As he ran a hand over the prickly head its eyes rolled and it tried to slash sideways, but its energy was gone and its life was slipping away. The last thing the lord of the forest beasts saw was the Lord of Milan sliding his knife across its throat."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 119",
                "text": "The hunting party journeyed back, blood-streaked and weary, through the north gate, but the city's lord showed no sign of fatigue. He sat upright in the saddle, smiling at those citizens who stepped aside and cheered his name. Not even seeing how the city was being inundated with Galeazzo's guests for the wedding dented his good humour.\n\nA thousand or more thronged the city, renting houses, filling inns and taverns and keeping the brothels busy day and night. Three days of festivities to celebrate the marriage had been planned, great pavilions had been set up outside the walls, food and drink on a huge scale had been arranged and tournaments would be held to entertain the guests. It was to be an ostentatious display, a vibrant tableau to show every noble house just how wealthy the Visconti were. Jewels, silk and the most expensive raiments had been sent from throughout Italy. They had bought a French princess: a humiliation for France, a victory for Milan. But when the Princess failed to arrive because of her untimely death the celebrations would turn into a great mourning. Galeazzo would be reduced in his ambitions and then only his brat of a son would stand between Bernab\u00f2 and his gaining full control of the city-state and the income it generated.\n\nBy the time he was halfway down Via Manzoni he saw the figures of the men with the handcart, and now there was a priest standing with them. The joy of the hunt had caused him to forget his earlier command that they await his return.\n\n'Success, my lord?' asked one of the men gathered around the handcart as Bernab\u00f2 reined in his horse.\n\n'Yes, he gave a good account of himself,' said Bernab\u00f2 as the boar was carried past and he waved the courtiers to continue on to his palace. 'You're Father Stefano?' he asked as the priest bowed his head.\n\n'I am, my lord,' he answered.\n\n'Uh-huh,' grunted Bernab\u00f2. 'And the grave is now dug?'\n\n'It is,' said the priest.\n\n'Then I will accompany you and these good citizens and see that all is as it should be.' He gestured for the men to turn the cart and the priest led the way down the cobbled street. The slow jolting twitched the dead man's body in a final jig before the confines of the earth embraced him.\n\nLess than three hundred yards down the narrow street the cort\u00e8ge turned into the suburban graveyard where the men lifted the corpse from the back of the cart and carried it towards the freshly dug grave. Bernab\u00f2 stayed mounted and watched the proceedings. Finally, when the benediction had been muttered, he addressed the priest.\n\n'Who was it that built this church?' he said.\n\n'It was your grandfather's father, my lord,' the priest answered.\n\n'And who furnished it with gold crucifix and silk altar dressing?' said Bernab\u00f2.\n\n'You did, my lord. And your brother Lord Galeazzo furnished the new bell for the belfry.'\n\n'Are we not generous to you?'\n\n'More than generous, my lord,' said the priest.\n\n'And yet the Pope calls me Son of Belial. If I am the devil's son then why am I so generous?'\n\n'I cannot answer, my lord.'\n\n'Is it because I fought his troops and won? Is it because I do not bow my knee as my brother does?'\n\n'Again, my Lord Bernab\u00f2, it is not for me to speak for the Pope. But your generosity cannot be denied.'\n\n'And yet you refuse to bury one of my subjects?' Bernab\u00f2 asked, and for the first time the hint of approaching danger in his voice made the priest falter.\n\n'I had other duties, my lord. I was obliged to attend those who needed my ministrations,' the priest answered.\n\n'Not the whorehouse on Via San Damiano?'\n\nThe man's jaw gaped and it took a few seconds before he could find an answer. 'I do not attend such places, my lord.'\n\n'You should. I recommend it.' He grinned but the priest remained solemn. 'Ah, but I'll wager you have obliged some of the nuns at Santa Maria d'Aurona convent to spread their legs. They've a reputation, those nuns. No, Father Stefano, you had no other urgent business. You denied a working man a Christian burial. These people are mine to protect and yours to pray over and to help pass into the next world. Their poverty should not deny them your blessing. You must embrace the common man,' said Bernab\u00f2 and turned to his escort of footsoldiers. 'Help Father Stefano achieve more humility.'\n\nSoldiers quickly stepped forward. They grabbed the frightened priest and threw him into the grave. His body slammed into the corpse and he cried out in fear and disgust, trying to get to his feet. His habit entangled him but then, using the walls of the grave, he found his footing. He gazed up at the men as Bernab\u00f2 gestured to his soldiers.\n\n'Bury him.'\n\n'No, lord, no! I beg you!' Father Stefano cried, but the soldiers were already shovelling the loose dirt into the pit. Soil clogged the priest's eyes and mouth. He spat and floundered and raised a hand to try and protect his face from the dirt that poured down on him. He choked, fell to his knees, clambered back to his feet, but soon he was waist-deep in dirt. His spluttering cries for mercy faded.\n\nBernab\u00f2 Visconti watched dispassionately as the man's face finally disappeared; an outstretched disembodied hand clawed at the air, but then that too vanished beneath the mound. Bernab\u00f2 eased the horse aside. 'Make a marker,' he told the cowed men. 'Name the man who died and say that he lies embraced by a man of God.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 heeled his horse away. No one would dare try and rescue the priest by digging him out. The Lord of Milan had delivered justice."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 120",
                "text": "The nearer Princess Isabella's retinue got to Milan the more the numbers of the escort swelled as they were joined by the local lords who were tasked to accompany her in a manner fit for a king's daughter. Every nobleman bore his banners and pennons proclaiming his status, not only to impress the French Princess but also to show Galeazzo Visconti that they had obeyed his command. Outriders from the city had been sent to report on the bride-to-be's progress and the day before the entourage rode triumphantly into the city Thomas Blackstone and his men had fallen to the rear of the column. The Italian noblemen would form the escort ahead of de Chauliac and his royal guard.\n\nOne of Galeazzo Visconti's heralds sent from the city held back as he watched the slow-moving procession make its way across the flat landscape. He made note of the Dauphin's royal guard, but it was the men who followed that held his interest. In previous years Visconti troops had been outfought and killed by English condottieri and now, as the light faded on the day before the convoy entered the city, the herald realized who it was that would soon ride into his master's domain. He turned his horse and spurred it for home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 121",
                "text": "The night's crisp, cold air settled on the encampment. Sparks from the fires flew upwards, quickly extinguishing themselves in the night chill. Blackstone's men had camped a quarter of a mile beyond the pavilions and tents erected by the Italian noblemen. De Chauliac was still close escort to the Princess and shielded the child from the constant flow of regional lords who wished to impress on her their joy at her marriage. Court jesters tied on a rope, Killbere had said when he saw the puffed-up, brightly dressed aristocrats standing impatiently in line during the preceding days, each vassal keen to ensure his name would be remembered and perhaps, if the Princess were generous enough, to mention their good wishes to the Lord of Milan. Blackstone's men had eaten and then set about sharpening their weapons. Blackstone huddled with his captains around the fire. Perinne pushed wood into the flames and its shadows caught the men's gaunt features. Like many times before when going into battle they each pondered what might befall them. But now no great conflict awaited: any fighting to be done would be at close quarters as in all likelihood they would be forced to fight their way through narrow streets, a battlefield that had them at a disadvantage. An unknown city favoured their enemy.\n\n'We enter the city tomorrow. We are protected by the Prince of Wales's command and his flag but once we are behind the walls his letter of safe passage may be worthless,' said Blackstone. He turned to his centenar, Will Longdon. 'You'll keep the archers on the road to Florence; only the captains and a dozen men-at-arms will enter the city with me. The smaller the force inside the walls the quicker we can move.'\n\n'Thomas, you ride into a vipers' nest. They can strike you at any time. The more of us the better your chances,' said the veteran archer.\n\n'Your bows are of little use in the city streets,' said Killbere. 'Thomas is right. He needs you outside because if we have to escape we will be pursued and you and Halfpenny will need your hands off your cocks and your wits about you to cover us.'\n\nWill Longdon looked at the other captains. The English bowman was always treasured by the fighting men. There was no point arguing. 'We'll be ready, Thomas, you can count on us.'\n\n'Stay alert, Will. The Visconti would like nothing better than to kill English archers. The men-at-arms who remain with you will serve to cover your flanks should any attack be made against you,' said Blackstone. 'If the Visconti strike at us before we find the man we seek, they will come for you soon after.'\n\n'At least there'll be no threat for the three days of celebrations,' said Gaillard.\n\n'You're wrong, my friend,' said Meulon. 'If I wanted to kill my enemy what better time than when others are distracted? Am I right, Sir Thomas?'\n\n'Yes,' said Blackstone. 'Whatever happens it will be in the next few days.'\n\n'And we don't start any trouble,' added Killbere. 'No whores, no fighting in taverns, no matter if we are provoked. They will look for any excuse to imprison us and rid themselves of the protection we have from our Prince.'\n\nBlackstone gave a final glance at the men around him. Who among these friends would survive the next few days? All of them were prepared to follow him without question even though the desire to avenge the death of his wife and child was his alone. Fourteen years of comradeship had brought them to this place together. He prayed he could get them out of the city alive.\n\nPerinne rubbed a hand across his close-cropped head. The crow's-feet scars on his scalp were white against his weather-beaten skin. 'I say we get as drunk as monks when this is over,' he said.\n\nThe men murmured their agreement.\n\n'Aye, but only if Sir Gilbert pays for it,' said Will Longdon.\n\nThe archer waited for the usual rebuff from the man he had known even longer than Thomas Blackstone. But none came.\n\n'If any of us get out of this alive I'll buy the drink and the whores but I suspect I'll need few coins in my purse,' said a pessimistic Killbere."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 122",
                "text": "Blackstone walked back to his tent. A few hundred yards away a glittering swarm of fireflies twinkled in the darkness. These were no night insects, but the torchlight from the Princess's encampment. His own camp's burning torches afforded enough light for his men to find their beds and stand their sentry duties. Being within a day's ride of Milan put Blackstone on guard in case of a surprise attack. Cooking fires flickered here and there as braziers gave warmth to small groups of men. As he made his way through the encampment conversations paused for the men to acknowledge their sworn lord. In the distance he saw Aelis open the flap of his tent and pull it closed behind her. Since they had left Chamb\u00e9ry their lovemaking had been no less passionate, but had been restrained because of the closeness of the men around them. Such constraint had made it more intense. Aelis had made no further mention of what might lie ahead but he sensed a slow withdrawal of her feelings for him. As though she was already preparing to mourn his death.\n\nTwo shadows emerged from between the tents; Henry led a man towards him. 'My lord,' said Henry, 'this man has been sent by Father Torellini.' The boy's anguish was plain to see even in the half-light. Father and son would soon be parted. And Blackstone had not yet embraced the boy or explained in more detail his wishes should he not return from his vendetta.\n\nThe man was dressed in a cloak that Blackstone recognized. He knew that if the man turned his back there would be a symbol that looked like an axe but in reality was the sign of the Tau. The man who stood before him bowed his head. 'Sir Thomas, I am Pietro Foresti. I have information for you.'\n\nBlackstone placed a hand on his son's shoulder. 'Henry, attend to your duties with John Jacob. My jupon and shield need to be cleaned. See to it.'\n\n'Yes, my lord,' said the boy, obeying without question. He would plead to stay with his father after his intended escort to Florence had delivered Father Torellini's message.\n\nBlackstone guided the Tau knight to the edge of the camp. The man's clothing was mud-splattered and his hair was matted from dry sweat. He had obviously been riding long and hard to reach him.\n\n'What news do you have for me from Father Torellini?'\n\n'Sir Thomas, there have been whispers within Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's court that he knew of a plan to harm the Princess Isabelle.'\n\n'Your news comes too late. We already discovered such a plan when we were at Chamb\u00e9ry. They tried to poison her but they had also set an ambush. Both attempts failed, as you can see. Is there proof that Lord Bernab\u00f2 ordered her death?'\n\nThe man shook his head. 'No, only that he knew of it. Lord Galeazzo would have had no role to play. But in the matter of the death of your wife and child Father Torellini believes that it could have been either of the brothers who sent the assassin. Perhaps both were in agreement to try and kill you. But there is a third man involved. It is thought the Visconti shield themselves behind him. It is one of their household or family. Nothing is certain.'\n\n'No name given to you?' said Blackstone.\n\n'A name, Sir Thomas, but no evidence of his guilt. He is a man who stands back in the shadows and does the Visconti's bidding.'\n\n'Is it Bernab\u00f2's bastard son, Antonio Lorenz?' said Blackstone, hoping that the man who had planned the Princess's death might be one and the same as he who had sent the assassin.\n\nHe saw Foresti's look of surprise. Blackstone smiled. 'He commissions assassins on behalf of the Visconti but this time he is involved in trying to kill King John's daughter. That knowledge is valuable.'\n\n'Father Torellini instructs me to tell you that if you get close to Lord Bernab\u00f2 there is a servant who spies for Florence and who will know your name and will do what he can to help you. His risk is great because should he be discovered a terrifying death awaits him, so he will be cautious in his approach.'\n\n'What's his name?'\n\n'Only Father Torellini has that knowledge.'\n\n'Then whom do I trust?'\n\n'No one. If he has information or wishes to identify himself he will approach you and use these words: Worldly fame is nothing but a breath of wind which blows now from one side and now from another, and changes its name because it changes direction\u2026'\n\n'That's all?'\n\n'It's from a poem, Sir Thomas, but they are words that can be spoken in conversation without suspicion when the time presents itself.'\n\n'Very well. I know nothing of poetry but if that is how I recognize him, then so be it. Now, you must rest and I'll arrange food for you, and then we can discuss you taking my son to Florence.'\n\n'I have already been instructed by Father Torellini in that duty. Sir Thomas, we have met briefly once before. You would not remember but two years ago in Lucca when we took the English messenger's body from the merchant's house, I was one of those who carried him. I served Fra Stefano Caprini then. He accompanied you when you returned to England.'\n\nBlackstone remembered the night when the English courier had brought the command for him to return and serve the Crown. But he had no recollection of the man's face. 'Fra Caprini gave his life trying to save my family, but he was killed by the same assassin who was sent by the Visconti. I will avenge my family and your master.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 123",
                "text": "Blackstone held close the feeling of anticipation. The Visconti were his enemy and he sensed their nearness. They were protected by walls, moats and canals, and Milan's labyrinthine streets twisted and turned like the snakes' nest the city was, but the urge to finally kill the man responsible for his family's death surged through him. It would take more than desire, though; he would need clear thinking and luck. He raised the crucifix that nestled next to Arianrhod. The small gold cross had once sat in that small dip at the base of his wife's throat. He kissed the slender symbol, and then did the same with the silver wheel of the Celtic goddess. Thoughts of how to kill and escape with his life, and the lives of the men who would accompany him, refused to leave him. It served no purpose to die in Milan. His son needed him and there was still his pledge to protect the King of England's son, even though the Prince of Wales rebelled at the duty inherited by Blackstone. But for now all pledges made would stand behind this one act of vengeance. Like a wolf relentlessly chasing down its prey, he had finally caught the scent and his senses were alert and his blood was up.\n\nThe moment Blackstone stepped inside the tent he smelled the musky odour of the woman who was unlacing her dress. She turned to face him as she held the loose garment at her shoulder. A candle burned, its warm glow making her all the more enticing. He glanced down at a silk dress and chemise that had been laid neatly across a small chest. A cloak with a fur-trimmed hood hung from a corner of the tent pole and shoes, fit for a lady, were tucked neatly below.\n\n'It looks as though you've been courted by one of the Italian noblemen,' said Blackstone, his throat already thick with desire for her. He loosened his belt and dropped his jerkin onto the floor.\n\n'Are you concerned?'\n\nHe feigned indifference. 'It's your life, Aelis.'\n\n'No, Thomas, it's yours. The life you saved is yours to own.'\n\nHe stripped free of his shirt. The cool, bracing air added to his desire to feel her warm flesh against his. He pulled off his breeches and tossed aside his braies. 'I told you, I don't own you. You do what you wish.' He waited for her to drop her dress but she kept herself covered.\n\n'Aelis, it's cold. I shrink by the minute.'\n\nShe glanced down at his manhood. 'So you do. Soon there will be nothing left of any use.'\n\nHe took a step towards her, eager to release her dress. She stepped back and gave him a warning look. 'No, my lord, I am not yours for the taking. Or so you have just said.'\n\nExasperated and impatient, he cursed. 'Christ's blood on the cross, Aelis, do you want me or not? I've a fight on my hands tomorrow. I don't have all night.'\n\n'Sleep then. You'll need your rest.'\n\n'Should I go out and sleep on the ground with my men?'\n\n'If they can offer you the same comfort as I can.'\n\nHe grinned. 'All right. You win. I'll be patient.' He settled down onto the blankets and pulled the fur covering across him. 'But not for long.' She turned her back on him and dropped the dress, which settled in a pool around her ankles. A shadow drew a curve from the fullness of her buttocks that swept down to her thighs. Most of the scars and blemishes from her mistreatment at the hands of the witch hunters had faded, but some still showed the puckered welts. 'The clothes?' he said, watching as she stepped free of the fallen material, each movement gently shifting her contours.\n\nPicking up the silk dress she turned, holding it to her, ignoring the chemise. 'They are a gift from the Princess for my service. Her ladies-in-waiting were made to show me their best wardrobe and I was given freedom to choose.' She bent forward to step into the dress. Her eyes staying on him. Her breasts falling forward. Blackstone was held. She pulled up the dress, which settled below her breasts, its low cut almost forcing them free of the fabric. It was a tightly fitted gown with a low waist and a wide, scooped neckline. 'It is silk woven on the finest loom,' she said and sat down with her back to him, exposing her shoulder. 'And silk, Thomas,' she said, turning to face him as he pressed his lips against the warm fragrance of her skin, 'could arouse a monk sitting in prayer on a cold mountain pass.'\n\nShe eased back into his embrace and kissed him; then she pushed him back onto the blankets and pulled back the fur covering.\n\n'I'm no monk,' said Blackstone.\n\n'And I see you are no longer cold,' she answered, straddling him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 124",
                "text": "The most powerful city in northern Italy had dominated Lombardy for a thousand years. It boasted paved streets and more fountains than the renowned city of Paris \u2013 six thousand of them supplied drinking water for more than a hundred thousand citizens. The population had long spilled over Milan's ancient Roman limits and the outer walls, built centuries before to defend against invaders, cocooned suburbs and their churches and hospitals. Ten thousand monks from all denominations offered religious comfort while fifteen hundred lawyers applied the rule of law. Workshops housed artisans who helped create the city's great wealth. A hundred armourers manufactured the legendary Milanese armour: swords, helmets and mail for knights of Italy, Provence, Germany and more distant lands. The Milanese mint struck over twenty thousand silver pennies a year. More than three hundred public ovens gave each district fresh bread daily, milled from wheat grown on the vast plains around the city irrigated by numerous rivers and canals.\n\nAll the city-state's wealth and the surrounding towns and cities were controlled by two brothers. And now Galeazzo, the older of the two, sensing not only the danger that was about to befall the intended marriage but also the future of treaties with the English, rode urgently with his escort through the streets, which were almost unnaturally quiet. No man dared stagger from a tavern for fear of being maimed by the night watch, who enforced the strict rules of the city ordinance. To stumble drunk and beg for wine or money to procure it was to risk being arrested and then enduring the punishment of having a foot hacked off. Under the clear sky the walls of Milan looked as though they shuddered from the shadows cast by the hundreds of burning torches and braziers that illuminated the great city as Galeazzo and his men urged their horses to his brother's palace nestled beside his palatine Church of San Giovanni in Conca. The irony of the debauchery in Bernab\u00f2's palace almost touching the walls of the ancient place of worship was not lost on him.\n\nNeither brother would dare enter the other's palace with armed guards for fear of being misconstrued, so once his presence had been announced by Bernab\u00f2's chamberlain Galeazzo ordered his men to wait outside. Despite his gout Galeazzo was spry enough to push past the old retainer. Bernab\u00f2, dishevelled and wearing a long nightshirt, nursed a gold goblet of wine as he leaned over the balustrade from the palace's upper chambers.\n\n'You'd wake the dead!' he called down, his voice booming across the marble floors.\n\nGaleazzo reached him, grimacing from pain, then grabbed his brother's arm.\n\n'My lord?' the chamberlain called up the stairs.\n\n'Go back to bed,' Bernab\u00f2 told him, and then muttered to his brother. 'I should rid myself of the old fart but I raped his daughter a few years ago. I felt I owed him. What do you want at this time of the night?'\n\n'Inside,' said Galeazzo.\n\n'No, not there,' said Bernab\u00f2, turning his brother away from one of the tall carved doors. His wolf grin told Galeazzo all he needed to know. There would be the remnants of an orgy in the room. He could smell the sickly smell of sweat, wine and sex. How Bernab\u00f2's wife tolerated his behaviour he never understood. Regina was a chaste and faithful woman who bore Bernab\u00f2 child after child. Perhaps it was only bearable because she lived in her own palace at Porta Romana.\n\nGaleazzo was ushered into another ornate room that offered a terrace overlooking the city. On a clear day the Alps were visible and had the dawn suddenly risen Galeazzo knew they would probably see the retinue of lords and soldiers accompanying the French Princess. He didn't need to see them; he could picture them in his mind's eye. He accepted a goblet of wine. Bernab\u00f2 stood at the open door of the terrace, impervious to the cold. He lifted his nightgown and let the air reach his private parts. Galeazzo, long used to his brashness, ignored him. 'Isabelle is close.'\n\n'I'm happy for you,' said Bernab\u00f2, his sarcasm hiding his sudden shock at learning she was still alive. When Galeazzo's horses had clattered into the courtyard he had felt certain his brother was coming to tell him that the child had died on the journey. As he had anticipated. Now the terrace and the distant flickering of torches and braziers shielded his face. He drank and then turned to face Galeazzo.\n\n'Then what's so damned urgent?' he said, unable to keep the annoyance of his disappointment from his voice.\n\n'Not only does she have the Dauphin's royal guard accompanying her, but there are a hundred men riding under Thomas Blackstone's banner.'\n\nEven Bernab\u00f2's demeanour could not disguise his surprise. 'Impossible,' he said, quickly gathering his thoughts. 'The Dauphin would have warned us. God's tears, it makes no sense. Blackstone is their bitter enemy as well as ours.'\n\n'That may be, but he is hours away.'\n\nBernab\u00f2's agitation stopped him thinking clearly. 'Blackstone would not ride into our territory. He knows we would kill him.'\n\nIt was Galeazzo who applied reason. 'The French are not stupid. They have contrived this and they could not warn us because they knew that we might strike at him on the journey here. And that would have endangered Isabelle.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 glanced quickly at his brother. Had he known of the attack in Savoy? No. He could not. The last they had heard was that she had left Amadeus's care, which was when the ambush had been planned. Beyond that, nothing. No word had reached Milan, either of the attack's success or failure. It was obvious to Bernab\u00f2 now why the attempt had failed. Blackstone had defeated the routiers.\n\n'So what? We kill him anyway.'\n\n'It cannot be that simple,' said Galeazzo. 'There's another reason behind it all.'\n\n'Then you figure it out. You're the clever one. I'll have his heart roasting on a grill and his head on a pole.'\n\nGaleazzo shook his head. 'Why would he offer himself to us? Why was he escort to the Princess?'\n\nBernab\u00f2 remained silent. He knew his intemperate manner might inadvertently trip him up. His brother would be sharp enough to seize on anything untoward he might say. Better to wait until the wine wore off and the cold light of day helped him decide what to do.\n\n'The Dauphin offered him something that he could not refuse,' said Galeazzo, still thinking through the mystery of Blackstone's impending presence in Milan.\n\n'Perhaps he thought he could ride back to Florence and rejoin his men. There are still several hundred of them down there guarding the roads.'\n\nGaleazzo suddenly felt alarmed. 'Could they be moving north to attack us? For all we know Blackstone has sent word to Montferrat and the Pope. What better time to attack us than when our guard is down amidst the wedding celebrations?'\n\nBernab\u00f2 hawked and spat onto the terrace. 'There's nothing. We would have heard. Montferrat is your enemy; the Pope is mine. I'm a boil on the Pope's arse and if he was going to try and lance it I would know. Blackstone is not gathering a force against us.'\n\nGaleazzo calmed. 'Yes, you're right, we would have heard,' he said. He paused, letting his thoughts travel to the French court. Realization dawned. 'He saved the French King's family at Meaux,' he said simply. 'The Dauphin has told him we sent the assassin. It can be nothing else. The Dauphin repays a debt and Blackstone has the best reason there is to risk everything.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 grunted. That made sense. Nothing but revenge would drive a man into the arms of his enemy. 'Neither the Dauphin nor he can know who sent our killer. We are in the shadows. Besides' \u2013 he grinned \u2013 'he was my assassin.'\n\n'They know!' Galeazzo insisted. 'Even if we did not pay him, we arranged it. Where is Antonio?'\n\nBernab\u00f2 feigned ignorance but the sudden glance towards the orgy room betrayed him.\n\n'Here?' whispered Galeazzo. 'You invite your son to your orgies?'\n\nBernab\u00f2 tossed the goblet aside. His irritation had got the better of him. 'Attend to your wedding. I'll deal with Blackstone.'\n\n'No!' Galeazzo got to his feet, ignoring the pain from his swollen foot. 'We cannot kill him. You fool, he's bound to have Edward's promise of safe conduct. He would not allow Blackstone to come here if he did not. I cannot risk upsetting the English King by killing him.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 made his conquests through brute force and threat, but Galeazzo spent years forming alliances and agreeing treaties. The English court was no enemy of the Visconti. They traded with Milan; they sent ambassadors. Galeazzo was more wary in his dealings with the Pope, because the pontiff was French: he and the English Crown shared a mutual sense of distrust of the Holy See at Avignon. One day Galeazzo would propose even closer links with King Edward. He had secured one King's daughter \u2013 why not a son from Edward to marry into his family?\n\nBernab\u00f2 was aware of his brother's ambitions. 'I'm not kissing any king's arse. Whether Blackstone comes into the city or not I'll kill him.' He knew there was no choice because if Blackstone reached Antonio and forced a confession even more truths might be exposed and his involvement in the attempt on the Princess's life would be hard to disprove. He stalked out of the room, leaving his brother standing alone in the chill night air.\n\nGaleazzo watch the light flicker as his thoughts settled. The gold-encrusted statues, fine silks and frescoes that adorned the walls might be ostentatious but they trumpeted the Visconti's wealth. And the greater the wealth the more power could be bought. There was no doubt that Blackstone had King Edward's favour and Galeazzo was suddenly torn between wanting to protect the Englishman and seizing the moment with his brother to kill the knight whose men still stood between the Visconti family and Florence. Which temptation would he yield to? Reason once again came to his rescue. Neither he nor Galeazzo would raise a hand against Blackstone. Bernab\u00f2's bastard son had paid the assassin who murdered Blackstone's wife and child. The Vipers of Milan were complicit in their deaths and a snake can strike more than once. The Visconti serpent had many heads. Antonio Lorenz was more than capable of killing Thomas Blackstone \u2013 but would Bernab\u00f2 allow his son to challenge the Englishman? Whether he would or not they had only days to kill Thomas Blackstone and the Lords of Milan must not be seen to wield the knife.\n\nBernab\u00f2 slammed closed the heavy ornate door into the orgy chamber. The light cast by the dying candles and oil lamps was so dim that the figures who sprawled in varying degrees of undress seemed entwined in death rather than drunkenness. Figures loomed large and wide-eyed from the painted frescoes on the walls, glaring down on distorted shapes that writhed and grunted in the shadows, contorted creatures undulating in passion, copulating with heaving effort. The stench of sweat mingled with perfume and wine in a pungency nausea-inducing to anyone sober \u2013 a problem not experienced by those whose bodies littered the chamber. Bernab\u00f2 kicked away two women who blocked his way, their sweaty embrace broken by his hard curse and the hurt he inflicted. The room's miasma clouded his vision.\n\n'Antonio!' he bellowed, his voice startling the aftermath of the orgy into a degree of wakefulness. A naked man quickly pushed away the two women who squirmed over him.\n\n'Lord, he's in the next chamber,' he said, pointing across the room to another set of doors.\n\nBernab\u00f2 strode across the chamber and pushed open the doors. In each corner of the room a candelabrum illuminated more clearly the effects of the night's bacchanalia. Bodies sprawled in drunken stupor on the ornate marble floor, red wine spilled around them. The silk curtains around the great four-poster bed were open, exposing the entwined limbs of men and women. A young woman's body was tied to one of the bedposts; it sagged, held only by cords around her wrists. Blood from her torn flesh streaked her back, trickling down her legs to mingle with the spilled wine. A young man in his early twenties leaned back against a gold-encrusted cabinet. He was lathered in sweat with blood flecks across his face, chest and arms. In one hand he held a near-empty bottle of wine, in the other a short metal-tipped riding whip that he had clearly used on the woman's back. His glazed eyes turned away from the woman and settled on his father, who stood looking from him to the woman.\n\n'Father,' said Antonio Lorenz.\n\nBernab\u00f2 gazed around the room. 'Get them out,' he snarled.\n\nFor a moment it seemed Antonio would protest, but no one dared argue with the Lord of Milan. He nodded obediently and was still sober enough to walk among those on the bed and sprawled drunk on the floor, raising and lowering his whip against their flesh.\n\n'Get out! Get out!' he bellowed, throwing the bottle at one woman. He snatched at another's hair, hauled her from the bed and then kicked her across the room. 'Leave! Now!'\n\nThe sudden violence galvanized the revellers: they ran for the door, tripping and falling, shoving each other aside to avoid falling victim to the blows. Finally when the room was clear Antonio slammed shut the door.\n\nBernab\u00f2 had settled onto a silk-cushioned chair and watched as his bastard son lashed those privileged to partake in one of Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's orgies \u2013 all members of the nobility. Antonio grinned and tossed aside the whip. He was lean and muscled, and his love of hunting and skill as a swordsman were well known. A cruel man, he had never shown pity towards any living creature. He nurtured violence and employed silent killers known only to him. He was, Bernab\u00f2 knew, utterly malevolent. And he loved him for it.\n\nAntonio found another bottle, tipped wine into a gold goblet and handed it to his father. Then he swigged from the neck of the bottle and sighed. 'Father, it has been a long night but I had arranged to bring more women as you requested.'\n\n'Send them away when they get here,' Bernab\u00f2 said. He gestured towards the girl tied to the bed. 'She's dead. Make sure you get rid of her before daylight.'\n\n'I will,' Antonio answered. The death of a common serving woman carried no penalty. If she had family they would be paid and their lives would see some benefit from her death. 'What is it?' he asked, seeing the look of concern on his father's face.\n\n'Princess Isabelle lives,' he said.\n\nAntonio faltered as the bottle almost reached his lips. 'How can that be? We arranged poison and brigands.'\n\n'You paid the woman to poison her; I arranged the routiers. Both attempts have failed.'\n\n'God's blood! How hard can it be to kill an eleven-year-old child?' Antonio said disbelievingly.\n\nBernab\u00f2 tugged his fingers through his beard. His brother's words still unsettled him. 'Galeazzo was here. And he brought more news. Thomas Blackstone rides with the Princess. The Dauphin sent him to us as a gift. Drove him like a beast from the forest onto hunters' spears and arrows.'\n\nAntonio's face grimaced as if the wine had soured. 'He comes to kill me.'\n\n'No, he has no knowledge of you or the part you played in trying to kill Isabelle. He comes for Galeazzo and me. The French have told him where the assassin came from who killed his wife and child. He comes for us,' he repeated.\n\n'I can kill him,' said Antonio.\n\nBernab\u00f2 nodded. Perhaps he could. No one had yet bettered Antonio at sword fighting, not even his own swordmaster, and he had gained a fearsome reputation in the lists. It would be a spectacle worthy of a king's ransom.\n\n'Even at the wedding celebrations,' said Antonio enthusiastically. 'Imagine Blackstone being humiliated and slain in front of the thousands who have flocked here for the wedding.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 moved to his son and placed a hand on his face. 'No. He knows nothing of you and it must remain that way. You are too valuable to me. You have an assassin's skill of staying in the shadows. That is your world and I will not\u2026' He hesitated and patted the man's face before turning away. '\u2026lose another son to Thomas Blackstone.'\n\nAntonio bridled; his body stiffened. 'Father,' he said, 'I know my enemy.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 poured a drink. There was no doubting Antonio's ability but the risk was too great. Two years before, when they had sent the assassin who went by the name of Bertrand to kill Blackstone and his family, the lithe young killer had been like a ghost. No one was better placed to kill Blackstone. Had he not been abandoned by the English that day when he had claimed sanctuary of the Church he would have returned and been useful again. The murder of Blackstone and his family had been carefully planned but had been only partially successful. That the assassin had been another of Bernab\u00f2's bastard sons was known only to the Visconti brothers and Antonio who controlled him. Bertrand had been a strange boy who could hide behind the mask of different characters. He had been so different from them all: a man who neither drank nor whored but studied the art of killing as a priest studied scripture. Bernab\u00f2 shrugged at the memory. The rage and grief he'd experienced at his son's death had been short-lived. The love he felt for his illegitimate children almost matched the emotions he felt for his hunting dogs. Almost. And Bertrand had failed to assassinate Blackstone.\n\nBernab\u00f2 looked at his son. 'Antonio, you will stay well away from Blackstone. He does not know you exist. I will deal with this. What's important is that Galeazzo must never know of what we planned. Understood?'\n\nBernab\u00f2 stared into his son's eyes. There could be no misunderstanding. If Antonio's tongue was ever loosened by an excess of wine or any suspicion ever fell on him for his role in the attempt on the Princess's life, then his body would be found floating in the river with his throat cut \u2013 his murder most likely committed by his own father. No one was allowed to stand between Bernab\u00f2 Visconti and his desire for greater power.\n\n'I understand,' said Antonio.\n\n'Good. Now dump that girl's body and pay her family well.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 125",
                "text": "They had had an early start. Mist rising from the far-reaching plains clung stubbornly to the forest treetops. Men hunched in the chill as they relieved themselves, small whispers of steam flagging their efforts. Soldiers crawled out of their blankets, coughed and spat, and rubbed cold hands over stubbled faces. Blackstone's men were already awake and ready. It was the French and Italian escorts who were stumbling around the camp.\n\n'Small thanks that our enemies didn't strike while we have that lot for company,' said Killbere.\n\n'We're safe enough now the sun's up,' said Blackstone. 'But I saw no sense in offering the Visconti an easy target. We're in spitting distance of them and the Princess has enough troops around her for protection.' He glanced behind him at his captains and the men they commanded. They waited patiently, letting the morning unfold. 'They know we're coming and I thought they might have struck at first light.'\n\n'Seems they'd rather stay in their warm beds and give us enough rope to hang ourselves,' said Killbere. 'What about your woman?' he said, nodding towards Aelis, who stood in the distance tying her medicine satchel onto her horse.\n\nBlackstone watched her. He had eased from her embrace before dawn to be with his men. He had felt her stir and then as he dressed saw a movement in the darkness as she sat up. 'So soon?' she had said.\n\n'My men must be ready,' he had answered. 'Once we get to Milan you'll stay with Will Longdon and the archers. It's the safest place.'\n\nShe had remained silent for a moment and then whispered, 'I won't be staying, Thomas. I'm riding with the Princess.'\n\nHe tugged on his jupon, her sudden proclamation catching him unawares. He had assumed she would be staying with him. Hadn't she told him how she was attracted to him? At times he had used harsh words towards her and the memory of them suddenly taunted him. He didn't love her. She did not hold his heart as had Christiana. So why did he feel the tinge of regret?\n\n'As you wish,' he said, refusing to tell her that he would prefer her to stay under his protection. And, he admitted, close to him.\n\nThe darkness hid their feelings.\n\n'Remember when we spoke at Chartres? In the cathedral? You thought me to be abandoned,' she said.\n\n'I have not abandoned you,' he answered into the gloom.\n\n'I told you we would travel across the mountains and that I saw the future more clearly than you.'\n\n'Then you've decided?'\n\n'It is decided for me,' she said.\n\nHe noticed the catch in her throat. 'It is as it is then,' he said, and stepped out into the early dawn."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 126",
                "text": "Blackstone tugged the bastard horse's reins. 'She goes her own way,' he said to Killbere.\n\n'Not before time. We lost a good man because of her, and I'm thankful we didn't lose another,' said the veteran knight with a knowing look at Blackstone, his meaning clear.\n\n'Ready the men, Gilbert. We'll ride on the flank and see what the Visconti have in store for us.'\n\nKillbere watched as Blackstone turned his horse away from Aelis in the distance. She turned her face towards them. But Blackstone did not look back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 127",
                "text": "For over a hundred years there had been a hundred towers in Milan. There were more now \u2013 should a man take the time to set his back against a tree and begin counting when the sun rose he would barely be finished by the time it set \u2013 symbols of power thrust towards the sky. The city's encircling walls behind rivers and canals made it unlikely an enemy would attempt to lay siege. The great banners fluttered in the day's breeze, the languid caress creating the illusion of a living serpent on the blazon swallowing the child. The Milanese were soft in their comfort, their fighting done by paid troops: German and Hungarian, English and French; all had fought for the great city-state and over the years Thomas Blackstone had faced them and killed them. The scourge of Milan led his men aside as the royal column was brought to a halt by the Italian noblemen. Musicians dressed in colourful clothing oozed from a city gate like a shuffling caterpillar, the soaring cacophony of their trumpets and drums shattering the day's stillness and drowning out birdsong.\n\n'Noisy bastards,' said John Jacob as he and the others sat waiting. The half-day's ride from the previous night's camp had been without incident but the men's growing sense of anticipation kept their senses and their eyes sharp. Despite the expanse of the flat plain ambush was not out of the question, even at this late stage of the journey. They watched as Visconti heralds rode out of the city gates escorting someone who looked to be important.\n\n'Perhaps he's the head tavern keeper,' called Will Longdon from behind Blackstone and his squire. 'Probably about to offer the Princess a barrel of wine as a wedding gift. John, ride over and tell him she's too young, but we can oblige.'\n\nKillbere looked behind him at the column of men. Blackstone had ordered that his pennons and banner be shown and that their shields be on their arms. The important-looking messenger had approached the Princess and then de Chauliac. After a brief conversation the Frenchman turned his horse and spurred it towards Blackstone. The music still bellowed across the plain.\n\n'They play much louder and they'll bring down the walls for us,' said Gaillard.\n\n'Let's see what de Chauliac has to say,' said Blackstone as the royal captain approached. He reined in his horse.\n\n'Sir Thomas. We are to ride to the southern gate. The Porta Ticinese is the Lord Galeazzo's entrance into the city; you are to ride under escort to the Lord Bernab\u00f2's entrance, Porta Tosa.'\n\n'What escort, captain?'\n\n'I am relieved of my attendant duties when we reach the Porta Ticinese, and then it is I who will escort you.' The Frenchman paused. 'Is it meant as an insult, Sir Thomas?'\n\nBlackstone shook his head. 'They mean to give me a sense of security. They will raise no hand against us while a royal guard is with us.'\n\nDe Chauliac looked at Blackstone and his men. With their shields raised they were not preparing for an attack at this late stage of the journey, they were proclaiming themselves to the Visconti. Look who comes into your city, they were saying. Feast your eyes on the men who have bested your troops. Gaze upon your enemy. Be fearful.\n\n'You taunt the Visconti, Sir Thomas,' said de Chauliac. He couldn't help the grin that creased his face. He had learnt to respect the Englishman's courage. 'You defy them.'\n\n'You don't tread lightly into a nest of vipers, you carry a big stick. Scare them away before they can sink their fangs into you,' said Blackstone.\n\nKillbere spat. 'Except these serpents squirm from every shadow and alleyway so we might not see them coming. We're just letting them know we're ready for them.'\n\nDe Chauliac looked back to where the Princess's retinue had begun moving towards the city gate. 'Sir Thomas, I'm under the Dauphin's command. I am only relieved of my duties once the marriage ceremony is over. That's three days away. You saved her life and I will do what I can to serve you should you think you and your men are in danger.'\n\n'I'm grateful, but this isn't your fight. However, you can hold this for me,' said Blackstone, reaching forward with a folded document. De Chauliac looked at the sweat-grimed parchment. 'You recognize the seal?'\n\nThe Frenchman nodded. 'Yes. The Prince of Wales.'\n\n'Our safe conduct. If anything should befall us they would seize that and deny its existence and then we are abandoned. When the time comes I would ask you to relinquish it only to Lord Galeazzo. He's my enemy as much as his brother but with you as witness he might see the value in honouring the English Crown's demand for our safe passage.'\n\nDe Chauliac tucked the document into his glove. 'Very well, Sir Thomas. Let us hope that moment does not arrive and we can all return safely to our families.' The Frenchman must have realized that his words had a hollow ring to them for Blackstone. The scar-faced knight showed no sign of displeasure or regret. The royal captain searched for more appropriate words but few came. 'Back to our\u2026 duties,' he said falteringly. He dipped his head in salute and turned his horse.\n\n'You put our safety into the hands of a man who, when his horse kicks him in the head, will realize that the Dauphin would reward him handsomely for not doing as you ask,' Killbere said.\n\n'It's worth the gamble, Gilbert. Who knows, we might have French swords to help protect us when the time comes.'\n\nKillbere snorted. John Jacob, Meulon and Gaillard couldn't keep from smiling. Blackstone grinned. 'God moves in strange ways. Will Longdon might even snap his bow and become a monk.'\n\nThey laughed.\n\n'I'm doing what?' said Will Longdon from behind.\n\n'Sir Thomas thinks there's a chance that one day you'll become a monk!' Gaillard shouted.\n\n'Aye, well, unless these Italian women spread their legs I might as well,' Longdon grumbled.\n\n'At least you'd be pleasured by the other monks,' Gaillard taunted.\n\n'At least I'd have the pleasure of gelding you first,' Longdon answered.\n\nBlackstone's raised hand halted their banter. The column was passing a hundred yards in front of them, the musicians leading the way, the Princess's litter swaying gently. Her hand appeared, lifting the gossamer screen covering, and then the girl's face, her gaze directed towards Blackstone. The child bride smiled and for a moment Blackstone thought it was meant for him, but as he lowered his head in acknowledgement he realized the gesture was directed towards the boy who rode beside John Jacob. Henry's face beamed with pleasure at being honoured.\n\n'Dip your head, son,' Blackstone commanded. 'Only village idiots grin like that.'\n\nAs Henry obeyed the veil lowered and the procession continued towards the southern gate.\n\n'At least we've bought ourselves good favour with one of the brothers,' said Killbere. 'Galeazzo should be rewarding us with some of his gold and silver for saving his son's bride.'\n\n'He won't even hear of it,' said Blackstone, turning his horse to lead the column of men behind the entourage. 'All he might be told is that some routiers were stopped from stealing from merchants. The Princess knows nothing of the truth and de Chauliac won't even be questioned. He'll be billeted like us. No one will get close to the Visconti to say anything.'\n\n'Then how do we get to the bastard we're looking for?' said Killbere.\n\n'They'll come for us,' Blackstone answered."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 128",
                "text": "Henry Blackstone sat astride his horse with the Tau knight Foresti at his side. They watched as Henry's father led his men around the southern walls of Milan. The exuberant colours of the musicians was surpassed by the clothing worn by the Italian noblemen and he knew it was unlikely that he would ever see such a spectacle again. And he realized that in a small way he had been a part of it. A princess of France was going to be married to a lord of Milan's son, and that was history.\n\nWhen he had parted from the column those men who knew him, the men close to his father, had embraced him and wished him well. He had smelled the pungent sweat on Will Longdon's greasy leather jerkin when the archer had put his strong arms around him and told him slyly to watch out for the beautiful daughters of Florence. He had been nearly smothered by the two bears, Gaillard and Meulon, their garlic breath wafting over his face as they kissed each cheek. Perinne had simply grasped his arm, unconsciously almost crushing the bones. The fighting man seemed as strong as his stonemason father. John Jacob had quietly lectured him on his behaviour. Their long-standing bond stretched back years to when the tough Englishman had taken the boy into his care and protection after the night Henry's mother had been raped. John Jacob had cut the man's throat and Henry had helped tip his body into the river. John Jacob cleared his throat, his eyes welled with tears and he had quickly turned away. It was obvious to Henry that these men were saying their farewells in case they did not return from what might be their last fight at his father's side.\n\nWhen the men's embraces were done Blackstone drew his son aside. He resisted the impulse to bend down on one knee so that he might embrace his son as if he were a child. The truth was Henry was growing quicker than he had realized and had he knelt the boy would have been taller than him.\n\n'Henry, you know I am going into Milan to avenge your mother and sister.'\n\n'Yes, Father. To kill the man who sent the assassin.'\n\n'Your mother's strength was forged from love and I would not wish your inheritance to be anything less. Vengeance is not hatred; it is honouring that love. If I don't return you will complete your studies in Florence. Father Torellini will protect you but the day will come when you must honour your mother and sister.'\n\n'And you, Father.'\n\n'Yes, if that's what needs to be done, me as well. Bear your name with honour and pride, Henry, and remember that injuries to one member of a family are considered injuries to all. It is written in law that the family should take up weapons because vendetta is an obligation on kinsmen. It doesn't die with those who have been killed.'\n\nHe handed Henry a folded piece of parchment. It bore a blood-red seal.\n\n'You carry this with you. That is the King's personal seal and it guarantees our safety. When the King knew what we were to undertake he gave us his safe conduct. As did the Prince. If one safe conduct was lost or destroyed the other would serve in its place. We live in treacherous times and we must think ahead for what might befall us. Fra Foresti will guide you to Florence but if anyone challenges you that safe conduct will save your life or ensure they know you are important enough to be ransomed. Guard it well and show it to no one unless you have no choice. Understood?'\n\n'Yes, Father.'\n\n'Good. Now let us embrace and go our separate ways. You carry my strength with you and the shield of your mother's love.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 129",
                "text": "'It is fifty leagues to Florence,' said Foresti. 'We will not punish the horses but I expect you to ride at least five or six leagues a day.'\n\n'I understand,' said Henry. 'You don't have to worry about me. I have ridden at my father's side across France and I have a good horse.' He looked at the column of men who snaked their way past the Princess's entourage. His father, along with the French escort, would enter the city by another route, and the trouble was Henry had no idea how he could follow once he escaped the man tasked to lead him to the city of learning and art that was Florence.\n\nFra Foresti nudged his horse away from the city walls. Henry turned with him, gauging the man. He was much younger than the Tau knight who had once served Henry's father. Henry knew that like his predecessor this man would be an expert swordsman who would lay down his life for the boy at his side. 'Do you know the route well, Fra Foresti?'\n\n'Of course. We are hospitallers who guide pilgrims on the Via Francigena. It is what our order does.'\n\nHenry knew this, but wanted to engage the Tau knight in genial conversation so that he might gain his trust. If he could weaken the man's resolve and diligence by appearing to be less knowledgeable than he was, then the older man might lower his guard and not sense any threat of escape. 'So, do you prefer to be in the countryside or in the city?'\n\n'Both,' Foresti answered. 'Each has its qualities.'\n\n'But you prefer Florence to Milan?'\n\n'Florence, yes. It is a great city and the Tuscan language is one that is more pleasurable to the ear.'\n\n'So does Milan have more gates into the city than Florence has?' Henry asked, searching for the answers he needed.\n\n'There are sixteen gates into Florence and each is opened at dawn and closed at sunset. Milan has six or seven gates but it also has other posterns so that local people can come and go more easily. Milan has more towers. They denote its power but Florence is the more beautiful. Towers are ugly.'\n\nIt seemed an impossible task to discover a route into the city that he might use. Henry could not think of a way to get the information he needed from his guardian without raising suspicion. He lapsed into silence. And then Foresti, keen to impress his young charge, began to talk.\n\n'I spent some years studying in Milan before I took my vows with the Knights of Altopascio. Students can get into a lot of trouble so we always had to find a way into the city after being outside the walls in the village taverns. It is forbidden for a man to be caught on the streets leaving a tavern after dark and in those days we spent a lot of time in taverns, I can tell you.' He grinned and shook his head. 'I should be ashamed, but when you are so young\u2026 well\u2026 your time will come and you will understand. I remember there was a postern, Pusterla di Sant'Ambrogio, that we used all the time. We had to lie to the sentry \u2013 God forgive me but I did; we used to swear we were on a pilgrimage of confession to the basilica to pray for forgiveness. No one can deny entry to a pilgrim. We were so young, barely a few years older than you, but that's what we did. And then, well, then I did pray in the basilica and the saint spoke to me and I gave up my sinful ways. And, as you can see, my honour has been restored and I serve God and man.'\n\n'Is that where my father will enter the city?' Henry asked, suppressing his relief at finding a way into the city.\n\n'No, no. Porta Tosa is round to the east, Sant'Ambrogio is to the west. Different parts of the city.'\n\nHenry looked over his shoulder. The sun would go down across the plain, somewhere beyond a small village church tower that he could see in the distance. If he used that as a landmark he would make good his escape but it would be made more difficult by Fra Foresti wishing to make good progress.\n\n'Could we wait a while? I would like to watch the last of my father's men make their way beyond the walls.'\n\nThe music from the procession was fading but Blackstone's men could still be seen in the far distance. Foresti glanced at the boy. It was possible the lad would never see his father again. He looked around him and saw that a few miles ahead smoke curled from village fires. They could camp there for the first night, he decided, and make up lost time the following day.\n\n'All right, Master Henry. We will watch until they disappear from view. And we shall pray for them. Would you like that?'\n\n'Very much,' said Henry, already hoping his father, as well as God, would forgive his sly and wilful disobedience."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 130",
                "text": "De Chauliac's royal escort rode into Milan beneath the Porta Tosa archway into the eastern side of the city. The horse's iron-shod hooves clattered on the paved street, their echoes drowning out some of the men's ribald cries and laughter. Blackstone and his twelve men-at-arms followed.\n\n'What are they shouting?' Killbere asked.\n\n'I can't hear,' said Blackstone.\n\n'If they're laughing at us because we bring up the rear I'll kick de Chauliac's arse in front of his men.'\n\nAs Blackstone entered the archway he pointed and laughed. 'No need, Gilbert.'\n\nEmbedded in the gate's walls was a statue of a woman raising her skirts and exposing herself, a pair of shears in one hand as if about to cut her pubic hair.\n\n'Clean whores!' shouted Killbere.\n\n'Milan welcomes us with shaven cunnies!' cried Perinne.\n\nThe men laughed as had the French.\n\n'It's meant as an insult,' called Renfred the German man-at-arms, who was riding behind Gaillard and Meulon. 'I've heard of it. Something to do with a war long ago. They call this the \"door of the shaving lady\". They say she exposed herself on the city walls when they were under siege.'\n\n'Let's hope there are others who feel like insulting foreigners,' Meulon said.\n\nThe men's laughter reverberated along the curved walls and then died away as they entered the city. Faces peered from upstairs windows; the broad street ahead coiled like a sleeping serpent. Colourful signboards hung over shops identifying the wares they sold; shopkeepers stepped back into their doorways, some crossing themselves when they saw the scar-faced Englishman. They might not have known who he was, but he and the fighting men he led looked formidable and frightening. Shields on their arms, these unsmiling men gazed down on them from their large horses, forcing those less brave citizens to avert their faces. Blackstone's stonemason's eye swept across the tall buildings, their rich hue warm from the sun's rays. Master builders had built a fine city, declaring its wealth as brazenly and gloriously as a silk-threaded banner. Doves fluttered high across the walls. There were no swallow-tailed crenellations here like the battlements in Florence or Verona; Milan's history had dictated square, no-nonsense merlons. It was a formidable city and Blackstone knew that to escape from it when the killing was done might be an ambition too far.\n\nAlleyways and side streets snaked away from the main street. Sulphur fumes from blacksmiths working at their forges hovered, trapped in the narrow passageways. De Chauliac had been met by the city watch commander and led off down one of the lanes. Blackstone followed until streets later they came to an enclosed cobbled yard. It was broad enough to accommodate three times the number of his horsemen, who now came to a halt. To one side were stables built into the walls and it was obvious from the cart laden with straw and hay there would be no problem feeding and bedding down the men-at-arms' horses. Stable-boys ran out, fifty or more of them ready to aid the riders. The stabling and the ostlers alone were enough to express a show of wealth. Curtain walls blocked any view beyond the courtyard, but beyond them Blackstone and the men could hear the baying of hunting hounds. He realized they must be on the lower fringes of one of the palaces. Tiered terraces rose up on the opposite side from the stabling and trees and bushes were visible in roof gardens. Several levels up faces peered down at them and he guessed they were members of the nobility because the speckled colours of their clothing denoted wealth. Blackstone eased the bastard horse around and saw that it would take very little to entrap them in the arena that this courtyard seemed to be. He assumed that beyond the curtain walls where he could hear the dogs barking there would be similar courtyards with kennels and exercise yards.\n\n'Walls are low enough to breach, Sir Thomas,' said John Jacob, gesturing towards the curtain walls, and then, glancing up at the terraces, 'but we'd have eyes on us if it came to that.'\n\nWhile the French had dismounted and handed their reins to the stable-hands, Blackstone's men had done as he had done and looked around them. They were few and they had all fought in city streets before now. They spoke quietly among themselves. A doorway here, an alley there. Low walls and doors that could be kicked down. They would need a way out when the time came.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' de Chauliac called as he approached. 'We are to be billeted down there at the far side of the square. There is food and drink waiting for us. Give your horses over to the ostlers.' He pointed to a half-dozen Visconti footsoldiers and their commander, who waited to escort them. 'The city watch have handed us over to them.'\n\n'Are there others?' asked Blackstone. 'Hidden perhaps in any of these yards or alleys?'\n\n'I doubt it.' De Chauliac smiled. 'Don't look so worried, Sir Thomas, the Visconti will not harm us \u2013 at least not when we are together. They would not dare risk causing harm to the Dauphin's guard.'\n\nThe bastard horse snatched its head, trying to bite the Frenchman, who stood too close. De Chauliac stepped back quickly even though Blackstone held a tight rein.\n\n'It's nothing personal,' said Blackstone. 'Where's the Princess and all those peacock noblemen?'\n\nDe Chauliac sighed. 'I don't know. Over there somewhere,' he said, looking beyond the rooftops. 'I will be summoned later so that she can instruct me on what to tell the Dauphin.'\n\nBlackstone dismounted. 'Wait for us. We stable our own horses and then we'll join you.'\n\nThe royal captain turned back to his waiting troops.\n\nBlackstone's men had followed his example and led their horses towards the stables. Killbere eased alongside. 'I smell dog shit from the kennels but there's bread and meat in the air as well.'\n\n'Aye, we'll be fed and no doubt given dry straw for a bed under a roof. They'll suckle us like babes in arms and hope to lower our guard.'\n\n'I wouldn't mind a bit of suckling myself,' said Killbere as they took the horses into the gloomy half-light of the stalls. 'Food and wine will do for now but a fat kitchen girl to serve it would at least give a man pleasure.' He glanced at Blackstone. 'Missing the witch?'\n\n'She's no witch and you know it.'\n\n'All women cast their spells,' Killbere said. 'Though I thought she might have lingered a while longer at your side. Women never know when they're lucky enough to have the favour of a good man.'\n\n'She owed me nothing,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Well, you could have passed her along, Thomas. I would have liked to see if the reality matched the dream when I thought I was humping my nun.'\n\n'Gilbert, it's possible neither of us will ever lie with a woman again.'\n\n'Aye, you're right. But she was good, was she?'\n\n'Keep your memory,' Blackstone said and tugged the bastard horse into a stall.\n\nThe inner stables ran the full length of the courtyard. Every stall was boxed with chestnut planks, gated and secured. Deep straw covered the floor and troughs of water were placed every twenty paces so that the stable-hands had an easily available supply of water for their mounts. Sacks of oats sat off the ground on sturdy shelving, free from mould and rat infestation. Killbere had shouldered his mount into the neighbouring stall and tied off its trailing rein.\n\n'I doubt even our King has such grand stabling,' he said, allowing a stable-lad to enter and begin unsaddling his horse.\n\nAnother boy, younger than Henry, waited as Blackstone lifted free his own saddle.\n\n'It is my duty to care for your horse, my lord,' the boy said.\n\n'Not this one,' said Blackstone. 'You keep the halter on him and the rein secure. He'll bite off your hand if you don't. Be wary of him: he'll try and kick you through the wall. Understand?'\n\nThe boy's eyes widened but he nodded and, grabbing a feed bag, bravely entered the stall.\n\nUp and down the stable's aisle the men closed the gates on their horses.\n\n'All right,' said Blackstone, 'let's share a table with the French and watch our backs with the Italians.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 131",
                "text": "Bernab\u00f2 Visconti stood alongside his brother gazing down on the courtyard. The Princess had been received by the city fathers and Galeazzo's chancellor had shown her to her quarters. It was inappropriate to meet a royal princess the moment she had entered the city and so soon after such an arduous journey. By now she would have been f\u00eated by noblemen and ambassadors and would have been dressed by her ladies. She would expect her future father-in-law to welcome her to his palace, which was why Galeazzo was dressed in his finery. A pearl-and jewel-encrusted tunic and an ermine-lined cloak, dyed in the richest blue, set off his features, more refined than those of the man next to him. Galeazzo usually wore his red-gold hair long in braids but today it rested on his shoulders in a silken net.\n\n'It's time we left to greet Isabelle,' said Galeazzo.\n\n'Not yet. I want to see the Englishman,' Bernab\u00f2 answered, watching the group of men far below being led through lanes that meandered through the courtyards.\n\n'Have you thought of what to do?' said Galeazzo.\n\n'I told you before: I'm going to kill him. I haven't decided how yet. Perhaps I'll put him in an iron cage and roast him alive.'\n\nIt was no idle threat. Bernab\u00f2 had inflicted such torture on the Pope's delegates in the past. The stench of roasting flesh and the sizzle of the victims' fat dripping into the flames had left a stench that lasted for a week.\n\n'And what of Antonio?' said Galeazzo.\n\n'No. He stays out of it.'\n\n'You should use him.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 shook his head, keeping his eyes on the men far below as they were taken through another alley towards their quarters.\n\n'Don't do anything without discussing it with me first, Bernab\u00f2.'\n\n'I don't need your permission, brother. I rule half this city.'\n\nGaleazzo exercised patience. A misunderstood word could send Bernab\u00f2 off into a rage whose consequences could prove disastrous. 'Of course you do not need my permission. But we rule together for the benefit of our name. There's much at stake. The French King holds out his palm for us to fill with gold. He's ours but we cannot risk harming either his men or antagonizing Edward by cutting down Blackstone in the street. Lure him into a false sense of security.'\n\n'Hot food and a warm bed won't do that. He's a fighter.'\n\n'Think, Bernab\u00f2. Let the desire for his death within you quieten. Lure him is what I said. Offer him bait. Bring him into the palace.'\n\n'What?'\n\n'Bring him to court.'\n\n'A condottiere like him? In our court?'\n\n'Your court, brother. I have a royal princess to entertain.'\n\n'Why would I bring him inside my walls?'\n\n'Because then you get the measure of the man and you offer him the chance to serve us. To command an army.'\n\n'He would never accept \u2013 don't be stupid.'\n\n'And if his anger is as volatile as his passion for revenge then he will try and strike. And then you can kill him in good conscience.' He readied to leave. 'In the right place at the right time with justification.' He eased a fallen hair from his cloak. 'Think, Bernab\u00f2. Use your brain instead of your balls.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 grabbed his brother's arm as he turned away. Galeazzo knew immediately that he had provoked him.\n\n'Curse you,' said Bernab\u00f2 between gritted teeth. 'You bought yourself a virgin princess for your boy so go and welcome her. I have my own welcome for Blackstone down there.'\n\nGaleazzo snatched free his arm. He did not fear his brother. Both could inflict violence without a second thought but it was he, Galeazzo, who stopped to think things through. He placated his brother. 'All right. Let's not argue. It's an historic day for our family and we are expected at my palace.'\n\n'Wait,' insisted Bernab\u00f2 and gestured to the yards below. A man had been dragged out of a building by guards. His voice was raised begging for mercy. He was less than twenty paces from the French and English men-at-arms who were being escorted to their quarters past the pens for the hunting dogs. Each of the yards held thirty to fifty animals, lean, sturdy, muscled mastiffs with crushing jaws that could bring down a boar and teeth that could tear into its hide. The dogs were fed sparingly; carcasses of freshly killed deer were usually tossed into their yard every few days. The dogs' taut skin bore witness to their hunger and their slavering jaws left little doubt as to the hounds' power. There was no need for Galeazzo to make any enquiry as to the man's crime or punishment. The first question would not have mattered; the answer to the second obvious."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 132",
                "text": "Blackstone and de Chauliac were halted by their escort as they reached the struggling man. The half-walled dog pen was topped with iron railings, high enough to stop the dogs from jumping over but low enough for them to be seen and fed. As the guards had approached the latched cage door the dogs had erupted into a snarling pack. Two of the condemned man's guards lowered their pikes to stop Blackstone and Killbere from moving forward.\n\n'Mother of Christ,' said Killbere. 'They mean to feed him to the dogs.'\n\nHe took a half-step forward, hand on his sword hilt, but Blackstone's arm stopped him. 'Wait. They mean to provoke us. It's for our benefit. He's condemned whatever we do.'\n\nAs he spoke his warning one of the dog handlers appeared on the far side of the pen to draw the dogs away from the gate and allow the guards to throw the man inside. As the handler whistled the confused dogs turned and in that moment one of the guards opened the iron gate. The man fought without success, his screams rising above the dogs' baying. In that instant of struggle and watching for the precise moment to fling the man inside, the guards' attention was distracted. Blackstone sidestepped one of the lowered pikes as Killbere grabbed the other, forcing its blade down. In a couple of strides Blackstone was an arm's length from the desperate man. A sudden gush of blood splattered the guards as his archer's knife slashed the man's throat. Blackstone quickly stepped back so the guards understood he was not attacking them. The dead man slumped, shuddering in his death throes. The Visconti men cursed and threatened to advance on Blackstone but their commander shouted an order and they slung the body into the pen. The dogs turned from their handler's distraction and fell on the corpse. For a moment there was a stand-off between Blackstone and Killbere and the disconcerted guards who thrust their spiked shafts towards them. Their commander demanded his men raise their weapons and they backed off. As they retreated he glanced over his shoulder towards the high terraces. Blackstone followed his gaze and saw two indistinct figures step out of sight as the dogs' noses buried themselves into the torn carcass, their macabre snuffling savagery holding everyone's attention \u2013 except Blackstone's. That fleeting glance was enough to tell him that he had finally laid eyes on his enemy."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 133",
                "text": "A thousand candles, each the thickness of a man's arm, burned brightly from a hundred gold candlesticks and chandeliers that lit the great hall as Princess Isabelle de Valois was escorted by her ladies-in-waiting towards the raised dais where Galeazzo and his wife Bianca stood with their young son waiting to greet the royal bride-to-be. Bernab\u00f2, already bored with the fanfares and baubles, stood to one side with his wife and a chosen few of the many children he had sired. Antonio Lorenz was not on the dais but stood behind his father against a wall. As he looked out at the gathered nobility he realized that when Thomas Blackstone had cut the condemned man's throat before he was thrown to the dogs the Englishman had betrayed his own weakness. He would not allow a man to suffer unnecessarily. Such compassion could be exploited. He stifled a yawn as the trumpets heralded Isabelle's advance towards the dais. On both sides of the aisle diplomats and ambassadors, noblemen and rich merchants jostled shoulder to shoulder to catch a glimpse of the child-bride. The hall's blue and gold ceiling had been painted by Giotto, one of the greatest Italian artists, and the pictures on the walls represented a mixed collection of historical and mythical heroes. Over the years the Visconti had employed many accomplished artisans and renowned sculptors and created vast gardens with fishponds and fountains of animal heads gushing water. Surrounding the palace were courtyards of menageries full of animals foreign to Italy that included lions and monkeys and a vast aviary filled with chattering songbirds. The extravagance reflected the grandeur of the Lords of Milan.\n\nThe Archbishop's mitre bobbed as he chanted a prayer, and all present lowered their heads, except Bernab\u00f2. And the woman who stood behind the ladies-in-waiting, their features pinched in earnest worship. Of all the hundreds in the hall only she and the Lord of Milan had their faces raised. He gazed down at her and she stared back defiantly. He was suddenly pleased that he had been obliged to attend the ceremony. The woman's black hair peaked below her headdress and the tightly clinging dress pushed up her breasts. The moment passed when the woman averted her eyes and looked straight ahead towards Galeazzo and his family, who made the sign of the cross as the Archbishop ended the prayer. Bernab\u00f2 convinced himself that he saw a smile tweak the corners of the woman's lips. As the droning voice of Galeazzo's chancellor delivered the formal welcoming speech he willed the woman to look his way again. But she did not. Bernab\u00f2's wife, Regina, heavily pregnant with their seventh child, glanced up at him, aware that he was studying the young woman in the Princess's entourage. No words were needed between man and wife; she knew that by that night the woman would be in his bed, willingly or not."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 134",
                "text": "Despite being in the warmth and safety of the stables, Blackstone had ordered his men to stand watch. The nearby kennels had quietened as night had fallen and although the hunting dogs would have picked up movement and warned the sleeping men of approaching soldiers he relied on his own men to ensure their own safety. Other than the usual sounds of the city at night and the screeching of a catfight in an alley the hours of darkness passed without incident.\n\nIt was pre-dawn when Blackstone stood alone in the courtyard. His men were not yet free of their blankets but he saw that the sentries he had posted at the far corners of the yard were awake and alert. As he walked along the length of the men's quarters an iron-studded door in the wall he had thought to be bolted creaked slowly open. Thoughts of an attack raced through his mind and his hand reached for Wolf Sword but the figure revealed in the near-darkness of the tunnel made a small gesture at him to remain calm and then brought a finger to his lips. It was an old man with a white beard, dressed in a quality cloak, who beckoned him. Blackstone glanced at his distant sentries: they had not seen or heard the intruder. He stepped closer and the man took a pace backwards to accommodate his presence in the tunnel. Wary that this might be a ploy to entrap him Blackstone palmed his archer's knife. There would be no space within the narrow confines of the tunnel to wield a sword but the knife would give him a chance in a close-quarter fight.\n\nThe tunnel's fetid air washed over him as the man smiled in friendly invitation beneath the cloak's hood; but his expression became a grimace as Blackstone held the blade beneath his throat.\n\n'Sir Thomas, your legend precedes you and yet\u2026 Worldly fame is nothing but a breath of wind which blows now from one side and now from another, and changes its name because it changes direction\u2026' He waited a moment for his words to convince Blackstone that he neither offered nor brought any threat. 'I am not here to cause you harm.'\n\n'You're Father Torellini's informant,' said Blackstone, easing the blade away.\n\nThe old man nodded. 'Indeed my tired old eyes are those of Father Torellini in this city.'\n\n'Who are you?'\n\n'I am Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's chamberlain. That knowledge places my life in your hands.'\n\n'It will never be revealed,' said Blackstone.\n\nThe old spy sighed. 'Let us hope not, but under torture\u2026 well, we must offer prayers that such a day never comes. My time is short: my lord's household is not yet awake, and I fear this may be the only opportunity we have to speak. How may I help you?'\n\n'Father Torellini said he would try and find out who controlled the assassin who slew my wife and child.'\n\nThe man's face wrinkled. 'Impossible to know. This family's power is smothered in secrecy.'\n\n'I believe it to be Antonio Lorenz.'\n\nThe old chamberlain's eyebrows furrowed. 'Why so?'\n\n'A woman poisoner gave me his name in exchange for my promise to rescue her daughter from his household.'\n\n'Her name?'\n\n'Cataline.'\n\n'Ah.' The chamberlain sighed, his head bowed. After a moment he whispered: 'She is dead, Sir Thomas. She was a victim in one of my lord's orgies. Indeed it was Antonio Lorenz who killed her for his sexual gratification.'\n\n'Then I am even more convinced that he is the man I seek.'\n\n'Yes. More than likely. Lorenz slips between the shadows.'\n\n'Where do I find him?'\n\nThe old man shook his head. 'Impossible to say. One of several houses, rooms within palaces \u2013 he never stays long in one place. No one can be sure, not even his father \u2013 you know that he is Lord Bernab\u00f2's illegitimate son?'\n\n'Yes. I must find where he is and then kill him.'\n\n'Be warned if you do find him that he is a renowned swordsman. He will not be an easy man to overcome.'\n\n'I'll find a way,' said Blackstone.\n\nThe old man ruminated a moment longer. 'I will try to throw light on this shadow for you but\u2026 in a city such as this\u2026 I don't know. He was at my lord's palace but now\u2026 Sir Thomas, I will do what I can but until such time as I have any information you are on your own and if we are unfortunate enough to meet under more\u2026 difficult circumstances I implore you not to show me any recognition.'\n\n'You have my word.'\n\n'Then God be with you. Now, go back to your men.'\n\nBlackstone stepped back into the brightening dawn and the door closed behind him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 135",
                "text": "The first of the three days' festivities had already started as Blackstone ate with his men in the courtyard. In the west of the city trumpets and drums heralded the tournament where the Milanese would be treated to jousting, horse races and a fair with jugglers, acrobats, musicians and bear baiting.\n\n'I would welcome some entertainment,' said Killbere as he cut a slice from the round of hard cheese onto a piece of bread. He filled his cheeks, the bread's burnt underside crumbling onto his beard as he spoke. 'Some bear baiting and dog fights enliven a man's day. We have already sat around here too long.'\n\nBlackstone related what had happened earlier but made no mention of the informant's status within the Visconti palace.\n\n'Then we are none the wiser as to which hole this rat crawls into.' Killbere glanced across the yard. 'Let's hope these two have some news.' Blackstone had sent half his men out onto the streets to gauge the layout of the city and to try and find where Antonio Lorenz lived.\n\nBlackstone spooned pottage as John Jacob and Perinne joined him and Killbere. 'Anything?' he asked.\n\n'There are two passageways that lead to the palace's lower entrances. They're guarded but there are other houses for members of the family. We won't get into the palace. But there's no word that he's even in there.' Perinne accepted the plate of food offered by Killbere and took a mouthful. 'I spoke to a saddler. Lord Bernab\u00f2 has few court officers, unlike his brother, so he attends to the administration of his part of Milan with only a handful of courtiers. If we could find where Lorenz is he might be vulnerable enough for us to reach him but John's right about trying to get into the palace: we'd never make it. But Lord Bernab\u00f2 rides out and hunts most days.'\n\nBlackstone glanced at Killbere, who shrugged.\n\n'We'll not stand a chance accosting him in the streets, Thomas.'\n\nBlackstone wiped a sleeve across his mouth. The yard and outside kitchen did not demand the etiquette of a dining hall. 'It might be our only opportunity. John, did you find out where Antonio Lorenz lives?'\n\n'Perhaps a grand house somewhere near the palace but no one seems to know which one or when he is there. He's going to be difficult to find.'\n\n'The saddler was making a silver bridle for him in his workshop,' said Perinne, 'but Lorenz never comes down into the streets. I spoke to half a dozen people in a tavern and they couldn't even describe him. He's a shadow.'\n\n'Then we keep looking until we find where he steps into the light,' said Blackstone.\n\nOne by one the men drifted back from the streets to share what they had learnt, each describing the layout of the area of the city they had reconnoitred. Postern gates might be used for escape, but the broad streets that led to the main gates carried a lot of day-to-day traffic. Whether they attempted to evade capture using side streets or main thoroughfares the city's vibrant commerce would slow them and militia could halt their progress long enough for Visconti troops to attack.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' said Gaillard, tearing a chunk of bread and dipping it into the pottage. 'To get away from this place we would need a hostage. Someone important enough to stop them attacking us.'\n\nThere was a murmur of agreement among the men.\n\n'There's no one important enough to stop the Visconti from killing us all, including any hostage,' said Blackstone. 'If we are to get out alive then we must do it by stealth. Let us all think on it because time is against us. Be alert because it's my belief they will strike at us soon. From what I have heard Bernab\u00f2 Visconti is an impatient man.'\n\nKillbere looked across to the far side of the courtyard where de Chauliac and his sergeants were striding towards them.\n\n'There's my food spoiled,' said Killbere. 'Today might have been bearable without having them scurrying around like damned alley rats.'\n\nDe Chauliac bowed his head in greeting. 'Sir Thomas, I was summoned by the Princess so that I might give her report to the Dauphin when I return to Paris, but I have information which might be of value to you.'\n\nBlackstone and the men stared and waited. If the captain of the royal guard expected any gesture of enthusiasm from the hardened fighters he was disappointed. Blackstone's men were thankful that the French had fought well in the valley and aware that if the Visconti thought them to be allies then the Dauphin's men aided their safety \u2013 at least until they left the city to ride back to Paris. It was then that the Visconti might make their move, once there was no chance of the Frenchmen being caught up in the killing.\n\n'Well done, captain,' said Blackstone. 'I'm grateful. Tell us.'\n\nDe Chauliac allowed himself a brief smile of success. 'I discovered where Antonio Lorenz lives and how to get inside his house.'\n\nHe was gratified to see that this information caused some interest among the gathered men.\n\n'How?' asked Killbere.\n\n'A narrow set of steps between buildings. They lead to a walled garden and from there the house can be entered.'\n\n'Guards?' said John Jacob.\n\n'I am uncertain but from what I have been told there are very few men at the house. A handful patrol in the grounds but he does not feel under threat; he's just another of Bernab\u00f2's bastards. He has no official rank or status within the family.'\n\nKillbere picked the food from his teeth and studied the captain. 'And how did a captain of the royal guard in an unfamiliar city come by this information?' he said.\n\n'I gave my word that I would not divulge the man's name but he is a Frenchman who serves in the palace.'\n\n'And what have you promised him in return for this information?' Blackstone asked.\n\n'To take him back to Paris.'\n\nKillbere leaned into Blackstone's shoulder. 'A good story, Thomas. But that is all it might be,' he whispered.\n\nBoth men remained expressionless.\n\n'When are you leaving Milan?' asked Blackstone.\n\n'In a few hours,' de Chauliac answered. 'I am preparing my men now. But I will lead you to the steps and have twenty men cover your back.'\n\n'Why would you do that?' asked Killbere.\n\n'Because I owe Sir Thomas my life,' said de Chauliac.\n\n'Wait for us while I discuss this with my men,' Blackstone told him.\n\nDe Chauliac and his sergeants stepped away. Blackstone waited until the Frenchmen were far enough away across the yard.\n\n'Sir Thomas,' said Meulon, 'he stinks of lies, this Frenchman. He serves the Dauphin. Let us not trust him.'\n\n'That was never my intention, Meulon.' He looked to each man. 'If he's lying we will soon know. If it's a trap then we expect it. But if he is speaking the truth then it might be the chance we need to strike quickly. This is my vendetta, not yours. No man need follow me, you know that.'\n\nPerinne threw the contents of his bowl into the gutter. 'Sir Thomas, we have followed you since you were a boy. If we turn our backs now we would be men without cause or honour. Let us kill these bastards who inflicted pain on you and young Henry.'\n\n'Aye,' said John Jacob. 'Take their heads and toss them to those hounds.'\n\nThe men grinned in anticipation and picked up their weapons, tucking mace and fighting axe into their belts. With sword in hand they would be as well armed as they could be.\n\n'All right,' said Blackstone, looking from man to man. 'We'll follow them. Sir Gilbert and I lead, then Perinne, John, Renfred, you and the others at our back, Meulon and Gaillard protect our rear.'\n\nThe men stood readying themselves. Meulon and Gaillard hefted their pikes. The ten-foot-long shafts would be too unwieldy to use in the narrow streets but would be effective enough as a rearguard weapon to hold an enemy at bay for a time.\n\nKillbere raised a hand. 'If it goes badly we fight and hold the ground and let Thomas find his way to the murdering scum.'\n\nThere was a murmur of agreement, and then they were ready. Blackstone lifted his shield onto his arm and strode across the yard to where de Chauliac and his guard waited."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 136",
                "text": "The royal captain led the way through the narrow passageways running alongside the caged courtyards that held the hunting dogs. As the men moved slowly in the narrow confines, barely wide enough for three men abreast, slavering dogs howled and snarled and leapt against the cage's bars. Blackstone saw that a hundred paces ahead the narrow alleyway widened into a passage. From where they stood terraces loomed out from the upper storeys of the building where he had seen the two men gazing down, suggesting that if Antonio Lorenz lived in one of the grand houses nearby then the steps that led up to the house might be close. As they passed the gate where Blackstone had cut the man's throat de Chauliac halted and turned to face Blackstone.\n\n'A few minutes ahead are the steps that lead up to the gardens. There are narrow streets that intersect and once we are there I will keep my men at the crossroads until you have taken your men up.'\n\nBlackstone looked ahead and saw that there was an increase in pedestrian traffic with handcarts being hauled along and shopfronts being set out to display their wares. The marriage celebrations were going on outside the walls but this vast city still throbbed with the noise of those going about their business. People would choke those narrow streets and if the city watch or the Visconti guards confronted Blackstone's men then the congestion might work in their favour. Or, he realized, stifle any attempt to move back the way they had come.\n\nBlackstone looked back. His men were bunched but alert and ten paces behind followed twenty of the French guard. Blackstone's men bore their shields but their swords were still in their scabbards, which, Blackstone hoped, would avoid creating alarm among those on the streets when he and his men passed through them. If they held weapons that would have caused panic and brought Visconti guards down on them. Why then were the French armed? Were they nervous?\n\nDe Chauliac extended his hand to Blackstone. Both men clasped the other's. 'Sir Thomas, I offer my hand in gratitude and friendship and wish you success.'\n\nIn that instant Aelis's words struck him. A life owed. The hand of friendship ready to betray him. And in that same moment de Chauliac realized that the Englishman saw the betrayal. He tried to yank free but Blackstone's grip tightened.\n\nDe Chauliac cried out: 'Now!'\n\nBlackstone rammed his shoulder into the captain's face and he fell, mouth bloodied, as behind them the French guard attacked. Meulon and Gaillard locked shields and thrust their pikes forward. Perinne and Renfred turned to lend their weight to the two big Normans. Dogs howled and barked. The first of the advancing guard went down, spear points in their throats. The odour of blood sent the hounds into even greater frenzy. Perinne and Renfred protected the spearmen as French attackers tripped and stumbled over the bodies. The two men-at-arms slashed and stabbed as Meulon and Gaillard thrust their pikes into the attackers again.\n\nBlackstone stepped forward as de Chauliac writhed on the ground, eyes wide with fear, spitting blood and teeth. Blackstone pushed Wolf Sword into his chest. De Chauliac bucked, his hands grasping the hardened steel. Agony from the embedded blade. Blood. The life you saved is yours to own, Aelis's voice whispered as Blackstone pushed his boot into the man's neck to thwart de Chauliac's last desperate attempt to rise. He was already dead by the time Blackstone withdrew the blade.\n\nThe weight of the attacking Frenchmen began to bear down on Blackstone's men.\n\n'Go on,' shouted Killbere. 'We'll hold them.'\n\nBefore Blackstone could answer or take another stride the ambush tightened. Thirty men bearing the Visconti blazon spilled from the narrow alleys. They had sprung their trap at exactly the right place. De Chauliac's betrayal had halted Blackstone's advance and given Visconti's men the chance to cut off any escape.\n\n'Hold!' Blackstone yelled.\n\nTwelve against fifty. Assaulted from both sides. Killbere and Blackstone took the Visconti attack head on. John Jacob was a pace behind and with him the others. Meulon, Gaillard, Renfred and Perinne battled the French guard. Blackstone's men were boxed in. They had no choice but to fight their way clear.\n\nMeulon turned and saw the ambush close in on them. He desperately sought a way to fight back the way they had come but the French were scrambling over their dead and would soon overwhelm them.\n\n'The gate!' Gaillard yelled over the shouts of men and howling dogs. 'The gate!'\n\nMeulon looked over his shield rim. Help was at hand if they could reach the gate in the dog cage.\n\n'Push them back!' Meulon shouted. 'Five paces! Five paces! Back to the gate!'\n\nHe and Gaillard leaned into their shields as Perinne and Renfred heaved their body weight into the big men's backs. Sheer brute force, stabbing spears and slashing blades bought the five long strides Gaillard needed. As they reached the iron gate into the dog pen he held the weight of the French attackers with his shield and slammed at the locked bolt with his mace. It snapped free. Yanking the iron bars he pulled the gate's hinges open towards him. It blocked the Frenchmen's attack in the narrow passageway as the dogs were set loose.\n\nThe French faltered as the savage beasts leapt at them. They slashed at the animals, severing limbs as the dogs snarled and bit. Blood from man and dog sluiced the path, making it difficult for the French to hold their ground. They slithered in gore and fell, and the half-starved hunting dogs tore into them. Jaws ripped flesh and muscle, crunching limbs.\n\n'I'll hold the gate,' Renfred shouted. 'Help Sir Thomas!'\n\nThe German's strength held the iron gate fast, safe from the snapping jaws on the other side as the French retreated behind it from the dogs' attack. Meulon, Gaillard and Perinne turned and brought their weight to bear behind their comrades. Blackstone had brought down the first four Visconti men and Killbere another two. John Jacob hacked his way forward at their side. They fought in a seemingly unhurried manner. Brace, turn, stride forward. Strike, parry, thrust and kill. It was a deadly momentum of slaughter. Sweat stung their eyes, but now, with Perinne and the two big Normans, they formed a fighting wedge and slowly but surely pushed back the attacking Milanese. Howls from the rear told them that men were still dying viciously under the weight of the pack of dogs.\n\n'The street and then left!' Blackstone called. If they could reach the crossroads they might have a chance to sweep in a great circle back to the stables and try to escape. Vengeance would wait another day.\n\nThey had carved their way through the Visconti men with such ferocity that Blackstone's men were less than fifty paces from where the streets met. Then thirty paces. And then the crossroads became a death trap. More Visconti men came from left and right. Like a sudden, gasping breath for life the fighting stopped. The surviving Visconti fell back to join the fresh troops. Blackstone and the others stood their ground, sucking air into their lungs, wiping sweat from their eyes. The groups faced each other, neither moving.\n\n'Let them come to us,' said Killbere. 'I'm too old to attack them.'\n\nBlackstone glanced at the blood-splattered veteran. 'You could always stay here.'\n\n'You taunt a man to his own death, Thomas. Damn you,' he said.\n\n'Stay or not, they'll kill us,' said Blackstone. 'This day had to come.'\n\nHe turned and looked at his men, who glared past him at their enemy.\n\n'Better to die on our own terms. Better to let them remember it,' said John Jacob.\n\n'It is what it is,' said Blackstone and smiled at his friends.\n\nKillbere hefted his shield closer to his body and fell in step, and then, like the others, broke into a run as Thomas Blackstone roared in defiance and threw himself into the enemy ranks."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 137",
                "text": "Henry Blackstone had slipped away from Fra Foresti in the night. It had been easier than he had imagined to enter through the western gate into the city. He had stabled his horse outside the walls along with many others belonging to those who had come for the wedding celebrations and joined the local traffic travelling in and out of the city through the postern gate. No one paid any attention to a boy carrying a bedroll across his back. His cloak concealed his sword and the hood his face.\n\nHe was jostled as he made his way through the busy streets. His stomach growled with hunger but he ignored the food sellers and bakers who touted their wares. The few coins he had would be needed the longer he stayed in the city. Ignore the stomach pangs, ignore the fear of uncertainty was what the voice in his head told him, but his stomach yearned for nourishment and his heart for courage. Handcarts trundled past him laden with firewood, others with bolts of cloth. Some carried heaped food, crops brought in from the surrounding countryside. Along each side street he turned into the beckoning call of stallholders and shopkeepers selling their wares rose above the jumbled voices of passers-by. Other than the tradesmen and labourers those who milled in the street were dressed differently than he had seen in France. The women seemed more beautiful and carefree, their heads without veils or hoods, hair tied and plaited; their gowns were as colourful as the hose and short jerkins of the men, who wore caps that seemed to balance precariously on their heads. Henry felt like a survivor washed up on a foreign shore. He was shouldered and barged, and some muttered insults and curses as he wandered lost among the crowds. How would he find his father and the men? His plan to enter the city had been accomplished but Milan was more vast than he could have imagined. With an increasingly sinking feeling he knew he should have thought through what he would do once he was here. He knew his father had travelled to the far side of the city and that meant going east, but it suddenly seemed a stupid idea to try and find him. What could he achieve? Love for his father and the friendship of the men who rode with him had spurred him to make a rash decision. It had not felt rash at the time but now the city overwhelmed him. He needed sanctuary and a place to escape the hubbub of the busy streets so he could think through his foolishness. He scoured the rooftops searching for the basilica's dome but the curved tiles of buildings' roofs around him simply rippled light and gave strutting pigeons the vantage point he needed. In desperation he approached a mendicant monk and asked directions. The old man's tonsure had not been shaved in days and his face was pockmarked with grime like the hands that grasped his begging bowl. The monk gazed at him longer than was comfortable. Perhaps Henry's Tuscan dialect identified him as an enemy of the Visconti; perhaps he had not been as diligent in his studies as he thought. The monk thrust forward his begging bowl.\n\n'A coin and I will take you.'\n\nThe thought of sacrificing one of the few coins in his purse made Henry falter. He would not be able to deny himself food for much longer. He shook his head. The mendicant turned away. In panic Henry grabbed his arm and nodded his assent. He opened the purse stitched and embroidered years ago for his birthday by Countess de Harcourt in Normandy. It still bore her fine needlework and as his fingers touched the coin he remembered her giving him the gift. The memory tinged his thoughts with sadness but he quickly banished the past and dropped the offering into the bowl.\n\nThe mendicant turned on his heel and padded his way down a cobbled alley. Henry kept pace with the old man who moved quickly through the crowds. Perhaps, Henry thought, he was trying to lose him. He followed doggedly, ignoring the complaints of those that he now shouldered aside. And then as the passageway ended he stepped into the broad square and faced the basilica. The monk neither turned nor gestured and was quickly swallowed by another darkened alley."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 138",
                "text": "Henry moved through the whisper-quiet nave of Sant'Ambrogio basilica towards the side cloisters. It was bitterly cold inside despite the many candles that threw shadows into the high wishbone ceiling whose ribs curved down onto ornately sculpted pillars. It felt as though he had been swallowed by Jonah's whale. He searched out a place in the shadows where he could think more clearly about what to do next. He kept a watchful eye on who was moving through the aisles as he skirted the walls. There had been no sign of anyone bearing the Visconti blazon when he had slipped into the basilica but his momentary sense of awe at the scale of the building had been quickly dissipated by the echo of a slamming door somewhere in the church. There were a few worshippers crossing the vast nave but only one or two glanced at the solitary boy who did not seem to belong among the well-dressed Milanese.\n\nHenry found a corner in the cloisters and hunkered down for warmth. Lions, rams and horses \u2013 sculptured creatures on the pillars' capitals \u2013 glared down at him as if challenging an intruder's presence. Tortured with doubt, he felt the determination to fight at his father's side ebb away. It was not courage that he lacked but the means of achieving his goal. For a brief moment self-pity engulfed him. He was abandoned in a place of God, bereft of a murdered mother and sister and soon perhaps to be orphaned by his father's intent to avenge their deaths. It was as if fate had cast them all into this vipers' pit. Shadows squirmed as if confirming that even this holy place writhed with serpents.\n\nHe wiped the silent tears from his face and the self-pity from his thoughts. He got to his feet. He had already been banished to the classrooms of Florence, and there was no doubt his father would banish him again, but if he could at least find a way to save his father's life, years of study would be a small price to pay. He stepped around a pillar and did not see or sense the sudden movement of the shadow that struck him. The blow across the back of his head sent him sprawling, stunned, onto the stone floor. His head whirled; his ears rang. He tried to get onto his hands and knees but his strength seeped into the floor like spilled water. His final thought before darkness claimed him was that his mission to find his father was over. He had failed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 139",
                "text": "The cold stone floor pressed against his cheek and as he opened his eyes he saw the boots beneath the black cloak of the blurred figure who sat on a stone sill a few feet away. Henry groggily pulled himself up and sat with his back against the wall. The man opposite him was in almost complete shadow. The small knife in his hand sliced an apple and fed the pieces into his mouth. Henry's vision cleared and he gazed at Fra Foresti, who casually spat out the pips.\n\n'You disobeyed me, boy, and your father. I am responsible for your safety. You deserve a thrashing and I've a mind to give it to you. Are you hurt?'\n\nHenry's head throbbed, and the stone floor had grazed his forehead. He felt as though he had been kicked by his father's bastard horse. He shook his head.\n\n'Liar,' said Foresti.\n\n'I'm sorry, but I could not abandon my father.'\n\nThe Tau knight grunted. 'Well, you are under my care and I will not have you running off again. So, you give me your word or I will tie you like a dog and drag you to Florence.'\n\nForesti got to his feet, towering over the boy, who shakily stood, bracing himself against the wall until the strength returned to his legs. Henry lifted his chin defiantly. 'I cannot give you my word because I intend to find my father. So you will have to tie me like a dog.'\n\nFra Foresti sighed. 'You are your father's son and I half expected such wilful disobedience.' He gazed into the cavernous basilica. 'For a while we will be safe. The city is full of travellers, and my order of hospitallers is respected, so it would not be unusual for one such as myself to have escorted a pilgrim here, but it would only take one suspicious city watch commander to ask an awkward question and that might lead to difficulties. So, what are we to do, Master Henry?'\n\n'Help me find my father.'\n\n'For what reason?'\n\n'So that I can be with him.'\n\n'And why do you think your father wanted you to be taken to safety in Florence? Do you not see how foolish your action and desire is? If for any reason you are seized by the Visconti's men you will be used against your father. Your very presence jeopardizes his life.'\n\nHenry's bravado faltered yet again. 'I had not intended to be captured and I didn't know how big the city was or how many people were on the streets, but there must be a way for me to find him,' he said hopefully, 'and with your help that's what I want to do, Fra Foresti.' He stared at the young Tau knight and then added: 'Even if you and my father give me a good beating.'\n\nFor a moment Foresti said nothing, as if mulling over the options that lay before him. 'We need a place of safety, and then we must find someone with influence who can discover where he is, or what has happened to him.' He deliberately left the statement unanswered and looked at Henry, whose mind raced quickly to the answer.\n\n'The Princess,' he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 140",
                "text": "A thousand pincers stung Blackstone's body. He opened his eyes not knowing whether he was in heaven or hell. If what seared his flesh was from Satan's imps, then he had descended into the underworld. His eyes adjusted to the near darkness and the shadows that flickered. Above him angels swirled, flying through clouds to heaven where a benevolent God waited with extended arms. He was lying flat on his back: he tried to move but couldn't. The last thing he remembered was hurling himself into the fray and being overwhelmed by a dozen blows as he cut down the Visconti's men. The screams of the dying and the bellowing rage that spurred on his men were now a memory. Except for his own breathing the eerie silence lay heavily. And then as he became more aware of his surroundings the soft spluttering of candles intruded into the near silence. He half raised his head. He was in a bow-roofed cellar or crypt whose brick ceiling's ribs curved this way and that. The plastered roof above him bore a painting of God and his angels and, like the Divine's crucified son, Blackstone's arms were outstretched and bound, as were his ankles. He was naked except for his braies and he could see that trickles of blood from a dozen wounds or more had dried on his torso. It was, he realized, the multiple cuts and cold air that stung his skin. He licked his dry lips, and felt the desperate need for water. There was no give in the bonds that held him and all he could see as he turned his head left and right were the walls of the cellar. There was no window to let in daylight or any sign of implements of torture. An iron-caged door was the only way in or out. Blackstone coughed congealed blood from his mouth and a moment later a light appeared on the other side of the door. A jailer raised a lantern and peered towards him. Then the man turned on his heel and took the light with him.\n\nHe had no memory of being brought to the ground during the fight. Killbere had been at his shoulder, so too John Jacob. It had been an act of defiance to attack such overwhelming odds, and he thought it likely that most of his men must have died in the street. There seemed to be no chance of escape from where he was being held so his only chance would be to try when they took him out for execution. Would they do that soon? he wondered. More likely, he reasoned, that they would not kill him publicly while the marriage was being celebrated. What he didn't know was how long he had been held captive. Judging by the wounds on his body it could only be a few hours. The thought comforted him. If that was the case it was likely he had a couple more days to live and in that time he would will the strength back into his body.\n\nTime was swallowed by the candlelight and the nagging pain from his wounds but then as the flames began to falter and die he heard voices in the distance and the scuff of boots on stone followed by the jangle of keys. Two men emerged from the shadows. He twisted his head. Their dress identified them as noblemen. They stood over him: one a big man with a beard and the other a younger man with neatly trimmed facial hair and a slight but muscular body, who grinned. More of a wolf's snarl, thought Blackstone as the bigger of the two men held a burning torch over his body.\n\n'Thomas Blackstone, you are mine now to cause hurt. I am Bernab\u00f2 Visconti and the pain you have caused me in the past will be as nothing to what will be inflicted on you over many days until you beg for mercy and death.'\n\nBlackstone said nothing. He wanted to sear the two men's features into his memory for when he escaped. The belief shone in his eyes. Bernab\u00f2 laughed. 'Antonio, look at the beast. He's trapped and faces death and he still thinks he can reach our throats.'\n\nBlackstone stared at the younger man. So this was the man behind the assassin and the killing.\n\n'Turn your eyes away, Englishman. Or I will dig them out with my knife.' Antonio Lorenz prodded a bejewelled finger into a wound. Blackstone's body flinched involuntarily but he made no sound or complaint. Antonio's eyebrows rose. 'No?' he asked and then jabbed his finger deeper into the gash, turning it so the encrusted ring tore more flesh. Blood seeped. Antonio raised his hand and looked at the blood dribbling down his hand. 'The warrior's blood looks no different from any other man's. We thought you immortal. You're no god or demon, Blackstone, you bleed and hurt. That's good. We will have pleasure hurting you even more.'\n\nBlackstone remained silent but he defiantly held the man's gaze.\n\n'Look away!' Lorenz demanded and slapped Blackstone hard across his face. A ring caught his cheekbone and blood trickled. Bernab\u00f2 placed a restraining hand on his son's impetus to strike again.\n\n'You are alive because we ordered our men not to kill you, no matter what cost to them,' said Bernab\u00f2. 'The same with your men. Wounded and beaten, but alive. Torture offers more satisfaction than seeing bodies in the street. Anyone can die in the gutter but to be served up on the breaking wheel with hot irons and burning pitch is the measure of a man. We offer great sport for our people: they will be able to watch you die slowly. You do not come into the serpents' nest without being entwined, crushed and devoured, Blackstone.'\n\n'I have a bill of safe passage from the Prince of Wales. Harm me further and you will answer to him,' said Blackstone. He knew his words, as an attempt to stave off more punishment, were futile, but they might buy him some time.\n\nBernab\u00f2 leered and tugged out the parchment bearing the blood-red wax seal from his tunic. It was the pass Blackstone had given de Chauliac in a gamble that had failed. The seal had already been broken. Bernab\u00f2 raised the pass towards the light and read the script."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 141",
                "text": "'Know all that we, the Prince of Wales, have given leave and command safe passage, on the day of the date of this instrument, to Sir Thomas Blackstone, one of our trusted knights, to go to Milan as escort for the Princess Isabelle de Valois. In witness of this we have caused our seal to be placed on this bill. Given at Louviers 15th of May in the year of grace 1360.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 raised his eyes above the document and looked at Blackstone. 'Such protection is worthless.'\n\nHe held the document in the flame and then waved it over Blackstone's body so the seal wax melted into his wounds. Blackstone flinched. 'The Frenchman betrayed you because he wished to gain favour with the Dauphin. The King's snivelling son is no warrior but he had enough cunning to bait a trap for you. And you could not resist the opportunity. When de Chauliac offered me this safe conduct he was sacrificing you for the cause of France. I ordered him to lead you to my men. I believe he knew I was sending him to his death.'\n\nBlackstone spoke in barely a whisper, wanting them to lower their heads in order to hear him. 'Your vile corruption will stain the earth when I kill you. And when you die you will have my face close to yours.'\n\nWithin a heartbeat Bernab\u00f2's rage erupted. He grabbed Blackstone by the throat and throttled him. 'Whoreson! I'll break every bone in your body as you did with my son after he killed your bitch wife and daughter.'\n\nThe words penetrated Blackstone's mind as he gagged for breath. The assassin had been another of Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's bastard sons. At least he had already inflicted some misery on the Lord of Milan.\n\nBlackstone's body bucked as his windpipe was squeezed and his lungs denied air. Lorenz tried to pull his father off but he was violently cast aside. Bernab\u00f2's face was as purple with rage as was Blackstone's with lack of oxygen.\n\n'My lord!' Lorenz cried. 'You'll kill him! And then there's no sport!'\n\nBlack spots exploded in front of Blackstone's eyes; his swollen tongue was forced between his parched lips. As Blackstone began to fall into unconsciousness Bernab\u00f2 finally released his grip. He was sweating with rage and spittle flecked his beard but he deliberately stepped back a pace as if to stop himself inflicting more pain. He glared at the anxious-looking Antonio standing a few feet away. When Bernab\u00f2 Visconti went into one of his rages no one dared confront him and that Antonio had done so meant it was possible his father would plunge a dagger into his own son's heart. However, Bernab\u00f2 grunted acceptance of Antonio's admonishment. The Viper of Milan turned for the door, quickly followed by Antonio.\n\nBlackstone lay in the dying light, forcing his mind to calm his rasping demand for air. He slowed his breathing and let the pain from his wounds envelop him, embracing it to spur his desire to survive and to find a way to strike back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 142",
                "text": "Galeazzo Visconti sat staring blankly at his advisers. His was a more formal court than his brother's, and matters of state and the running of his part of Milan were usually handled in the first instance by council officers among this retinue, but now his chancellor had delivered news that threatened the stability of his family's future. He had dismissed all those present except the chancellor. Galeazzo showed no sign of anger, nor muttered the vile curses that coursed through his mind. The celebrations were going well. The ambassadors and the noble families and wealthy merchants who had poured into the city were being entertained in the most lavish manner and they had no idea of the threat that had now crept into the heart of the Visconti family. What was important was that this threat be countered quickly and with the minimum of fuss, but with an end result that enhanced Galeazzo's side of the family in their pursuit of ultimate power. His heart beat quickly as he fingered the document that his chancellor had delivered.\n\n'Can there be any doubt?' said Galeazzo.\n\n'My lord,' his chancellor said with sufficient remorse in his voice, 'I fear not. The boy has a favoured relationship with the Princess and he was accompanied by a Knight of the Altopascio. The Princess confirms the story that she fell ill in Chamb\u00e9ry and that the woman who saved her has now been taken into your brother's palace. It appears that the woman who administered the poison has a daughter who serves in Antonio Lorenz's household.'\n\nLorenz. Merciful God. He was the one who had instructed the assassin to go against Blackstone and his family. That killer had been their most efficient but still not good enough to escape Blackstone's wrath. Bernab\u00f2 had chosen that lithe murderer because he was another of his illegitimate offspring. Another. The word stung because Bernab\u00f2's bastards were scattered across the whole of Lombardy. Damn! Lorenz and Bernab\u00f2, hand and glove. How would Bernab\u00f2 not be implicated?\n\n'The poisoner?'\n\n'Dead. But the boy's story that an ambush was laid to kill Isabelle has been corroborated by the men we questioned who entered the city with Thomas Blackstone. My lord Bernab\u00f2 is holding them in the cells beneath the city. They are all wounded, my lord, but Sir Thomas is not among them. One of them is an English knight, Sir Gilbert Killbere, and he gave a full account of what happened. The other men gave the name of the brigand who laid the ambush. He is known to Lord Bernab\u00f2, and the conclusion will be drawn that it was he who also made an attempt on her life.'\n\n'Conclusions are not proof,' Galeazzo said, knowing there was a hollow ring to his words. It was likely that his brother had tried to halt the marriage by killing the child and in so doing preventing Galeazzo's closer links to European royalty. Galeazzo fingered the royal warrant from the English King that declared Sir Thomas Blackstone be granted safe conduct. The boy had approached the Princess and she had summoned Galeazzo's closest adviser to inform his master of what had happened. Bernab\u00f2 had not only defied the English Crown but could be implicated in the attempt on Princess Isabelle's life. The indictment was the most damning since he and Bernab\u00f2 had murdered their brother Matteo years before. And now the mad bastard Bernab\u00f2 had thrown all caution to the wind and had moved against the family. But could Galeazzo prove it?\n\n'My lord?' said the chancellor. 'What will you have me do?'\n\nGaleazzo needed time to think. How to act against such a provocation? How to challenge the mad bastard? A direct confrontation with Bernab\u00f2 could escalate into internecine war. His chancellor waited.\n\n'Do nothing,' said Galeazzo. 'Yet,' he added."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 143",
                "text": "Guards dragged Blackstone from where he was held. His hands were bound behind his back and they showed no concern as they shoved a shaft of wood behind his arms, forcing him to walk bent over and giving the dozen men who had been sent to escort a chance to subdue him should he try and escape despite his wounds and lack of clothes. They led him through a long underground passage lit by burning torches and then forced him painfully up stone steps into Bernab\u00f2's upper rooms. Bright daylight shone through the windows reflecting across the marble floors, causing Blackstone to squint. The guards kicked his legs away, forcing him down onto his knees, one of them keeping his hand firmly pressed against Blackstone's neck, so that all he saw was the veined marble. Blackstone heard a door open and the soft padding of bare feet approaching. A signal must have been given because the guard grabbed a handful of Blackstone's hair and yanked his head upwards so that he stared into the face of his captor, Bernab\u00f2 Visconti. The big man was dressed in a loose silk gown and looked as though he had just crawled out of bed. He looked down at Blackstone and grinned.\n\n'And so the sport begins,' he said and turned towards the broad terrace outside the room. The guards needed no orders to drag Blackstone to his feet and follow the Lord of Milan. Blackstone was held against the low parapet and for a moment he thought he might be flung to the yards below: the dog pens which he and his men had skirted before the fighting in the street. As one of the houndsmen made his way down the side of the yard the dogs sensed his presence and began to howl.\n\nA servant offered a gold tray and goblet to his master and Bernab\u00f2 took a mouthful of wine before turning to face his prisoner.\n\n'When you fought de Chauliac, some of my dogs were released. Eleven were slaughtered; another eight needed to be killed because of their wounds. My men identified the one who smashed free the lock.' Bernab\u00f2's voice became more subdued, the pain of losing some of his beloved hunting dogs apparent. 'You will pay for my loss, Blackstone.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 raised a hand to signal someone below that Blackstone couldn't see and then six of Visconti's soldiers dragged a bound Gaillard out. Even that great bear of a man could not fight those who held him. He was dressed in boots, hose and shirt, and his wrists and ankles were bound. He was forced to lie face down in the compound; guards held him at spear point while one of them cut his bonds. The guards quickly retreated out of the cage yard and slammed the gate closed behind them as Gaillard got to his feet.\n\nBlackstone's stomach lurched. 'You vile bastard. Harm that man and I swear I'll slaughter your vermin offspring. I'll send you the head of your son Antonio Lorenz. I crushed to death your assassin who killed my family. He screamed and begged but I killed him slowly.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 slapped him across the face, Blackstone spat blood back at him. 'Lorenz will know my blade across his throat. The whole of this city will hear your screams when I and my men destroy what you cherish.'\n\nThe threat made no impression on Bernab\u00f2. They were useless words from a condemned man. Bernab\u00f2 nodded to the houndsman who made his way to the bolted kennel door.\n\n'Gaillard!' Blackstone yelled. The man turned and looked up. There was no mistaking the look of fear on his face. Gaillard had been at Blackstone's side since the English archer was sixteen years old. Blackstone felt the tears sting his eyes and the words choking in his throat. 'I will avenge you, my friend. I swear it!'\n\n'Vengeance has not served you well, Blackstone,' said Bernab\u00f2. 'Vengeance has brought you here, and look at you, hours away from your own death, and moments away from his. No, Blackstone, you will avenge no one for anything.'\n\nBlackstone struggled against the guards in a vain attempt to lunge at the sneering Bernab\u00f2, but there were too many and they held him pressed against the parapet. His tears came and he summoned the strength to call down to the condemned man.\n\n'Kill! Gaillard, use your strength and kill what this Visconti loves the most!'\n\nHis friend and companion raised his face to Blackstone again. 'Our time together is ended, Sir Thomas. I serve you still!' Gaillard reached down and tugged an undiscovered knife from his boot and brandished it up towards Blackstone and the man who stood at his side. It was too late for Bernab\u00f2 to stop the gate being opened.\n\nBernab\u00f2 cursed and flung aside the goblet. 'No!' he bellowed.\n\nBut the dogs were released and swarmed at Gaillard, who slashed left and right and then embraced one of them that leapt onto his chest. The animal squealed with pain as it died. The knife cut into others but the dogs clamped their bone-breaking jaws onto his legs. Gaillard went down. The pain-and rage-filled cries of a fighting man meeting his death echoed upwards. Suddenly it was over and his body disappeared from view as the snarling beasts tore into him. He had slain four of the hounds and mortally wounded three more before they ripped him apart.\n\nAny look of pleasure had been wiped from Bernab\u00f2's face as he stared disbelievingly at the loss of more of his beloved dogs.\n\nThe crushing grip on Blackstone's heart lodged in his chest. 'Kill me now because as long as I am breathing I will find a way to come for you and the corrupted spawn that is your son.'\n\nBernab\u00f2's bulky frame moved quickly and Blackstone was unable to avoid the swinging clout across his head. He went down from the force of the blow to avoid further assault, and knew he was lucky that the barefooted tyrant could not kick him to death. Bernab\u00f2 turned back inside the palace, leaving Blackstone face down. He pressed his face into the spilled wine and sucked its moisture before the guards hauled him to his feet. The pain in his body receded. His mind cleared. The memory of his wife and child and the cruel sacrifice of his friend forced strength into him. Death beckoned, but for now would be denied."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 144",
                "text": "The guards brought him food and water after they returned him to the vaulted cellar. They said it was to help him endure the punishing quaresima, the forty days' torture that awaited him. His wounds were festering and he could feel their poison beginning to claw at his strength. They no longer bound him and he paced the dank cellar using the weak light from the burning torch to search out any loose brick that might allow him to break through one of the walls. His grudging respect for the skill of the masons' work offered no comfort. A voice carried down the passageway and then a muffled argument, and after a few moments the sturdy gate was opened. Guards levelled their pikes to keep Blackstone at bay as two others came in and placed lanterns on the floor. The light reached up to the arched ceiling and the beckoning hand of God to his angels. As the men backed away Blackstone stared in disbelief at Aelis, who stepped into the warm glow.\n\n'Are you sure, my lady?' asked one of the nervous guards.\n\nAelis turned. 'I told you, Lord Bernab\u00f2 has sent me. Defy him at your peril. Now leave us.'\n\nThe guards looked uncertainly at each other and then obeyed her. Who were they to argue with their lord's woman?\n\nBlackstone made no attempt to go to her. They stood facing each other. She was carrying her satchel and her concern for Blackstone was obvious. 'Thomas, you've more scars to bear.' She kept her distance, sensing his suspicion.\n\n'Are you with the Princess?'\n\n'No. I am with the Lord of Milan.'\n\n'You whored yourself to him?'\n\n'I did what was necessary. I am who I am.'\n\n'And are you here to poison me?'\n\n'I am here to treat your wounds,' she said and opened her satchel.\n\n'He sent you?'\n\n'He doesn't know I am here.' She sat on one of the two benches that had been laid out in the form of a cross and which had held Blackstone. 'There's not much time. Let me help you.'\n\nThe wrench of seeing Gaillard killed and now the shock of Aelis being in the same room and mistress to his enemy made him falter. The memory of her touch was too recent and he yearned for such tenderness again. Yearned for it but rejected it.\n\n'I don't need your help, Aelis.'\n\n'Our lives are still entwined, Thomas. You will need strength and those wounds weaken you. And your pride will stop you from fulfilling your destiny. Yield, Thomas, for once in your life.' She lowered her eyes. 'I beg you.'\n\nHe could not resist the gossamer spell she still cast over him. He sat next to her. She dabbed lotion on his wounds and he immediately felt the sting leave them as the cooling liquid soothed his torn flesh.\n\n'These balms and lotions here,' she said, her fingers touching the bottles in the satchel, 'these are what will close the skin and heal.' After a few moments she began wiping the dried blood from his face. He saw her dark eyes were filled with tears. Her voice softened, as if with regret. 'I saw it all, Thomas, did I not?'\n\nHe nodded. 'The hand of friendship. Yes. De Chauliac betrayed me.' He studied her for a moment. 'As have you.'\n\nShe made no effort to deny his accusation. 'I knew where I would be at the end, Thomas. All of this is out of our hands,' she said as she cleaned and bound a deep wound on his arm whose split flesh was grimy with dirt and yellow pus already congealing. A knife wound had slashed the muscles in his thigh. She soaked and bound a strip of cloth around it. There were so many nicks and cuts on his body that she could not treat them all. But the most threatening had been attended to. She closed her satchel.\n\n'It is not yet over.' She put her lips against his and he tasted her tears. 'You wear your wife's crucifix and the goddess of the silver wheel at your throat. Women protect you. Goodbye, Thomas, and thank you for my life.'\n\nBefore he could answer she got up and called for the guard. The gate opened and clanged closed behind her. Alone in the silence he suddenly felt bereft of all that he had held dear: wife, daughter, lover and friends. He gazed up at the beckoning Almighty. Blackstone almost went down on his knees to pray, but did not. He would live or die on his own terms. God would not help him now."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 145",
                "text": "Galeazzo rode under escort to the cells beneath Bernab\u00f2's palace. He had sent no word of his impending visit to his brother, wanting instead to see Blackstone's captured men for himself and to hear from their mouths the bitter truth of what had been relayed to him. Fifty armed men flanked him as he demanded entrance and before any of Bernab\u00f2's guards could escape to warn their lord, Galeazzo's men blocked their way. Torches were lit and lanterns raised as he was taken along the pitch-black tunnel to their cell, which had been built more than a hundred years before. Water ran down the walls and rats scurried across the dirt floor at their approach. The stench of confined men told him that they were close. A jailer put an ancient key into a door lock and two of Galeazzo's men stepped inside holding aloft their burning torches. Galeazzo covered his nose with a perfumed handkerchief. Straw had been scattered across the floor; a bucket served as a latrine. He glanced at the bedraggled-looking men who shielded their eyes from the light. All seemed to be wounded. Some had torn their shirts for bandaging and bound their wounds. Four of Galeazzo's men crowded in behind him, swords in hand.\n\n'Which of you is Sir Gilbert Killbere?' said Galeazzo. His eyes scanned the men and then one of them, using the wall for support, stood. His beard was matted with dried blood, and he nursed one arm. A torn strip of cloth was bound around his thigh.\n\n'My lord?' said Killbere, respectfully acknowledging the finely clothed man. 'Have you come to throw me to the dogs?'\n\n'What?' said Galeazzo.\n\n'Your guards took one of us and threw him to the hounds.'\n\nGaleazzo looked at these men as one by one they got to their feet. Despite their wounds they looked ready to fight. One of the guards behind Galeazzo took a pace forward but Galeazzo raised a hand and stopped him.\n\n'I know nothing of your comrade. I am Galeazzo, Lord of Milan. You witnessed an attack on the Princess Isabelle. I want to hear about it from you.'\n\nAnother man, so tall he was obliged to stoop beneath the low ceiling, spoke up. His untidy black beard was matted and his thick hair tied back with a leather cord. 'Led by a man called Grimo. Before I cut his throat he offered me work with Lord Bernab\u00f2 Visconti.'\n\n'Three hundred men lay in wait for the French royal guard and the Princess. They would have slaughtered them all were it not for Sir Thomas Blackstone. Where is he? Have you killed him?' said Killbere.\n\n'I have not,' said Galeazzo dismissively. 'Prove to me that these men were not waiting to ambush your sworn lord. He is our blood enemy.'\n\nKillbere stepped closer so that the light fell clearly on his face. 'We dressed a boy as the Princess as bait and came up behind the routiers. They wanted her dead and we stopped them.'\n\n'Three hundred men? You slew them all?'\n\n'And hanged their bodies as warning,' said another of the prisoners, a stocky man with crow's feet scars on his head.\n\n'Your son would be without a bride were it not for Sir Thomas,' said Killbere.\n\nGaleazzo glanced at the men once more and then turned on his heel. Darkness fell as the door slammed closed with a final jangle of keys and the sound of the lock being turned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 146",
                "text": "Aelis lay across the silk sheets as Bernab\u00f2 raised himself from her. He was sweating from his exertions as she reached for the carafe of wine. She poured two goblets and handed one to him. He looked at her warily.\n\n'Only a trusted servant pours my wine,' he said.\n\n'I am here to serve you, my lord.'\n\n'You are here to obey me,' said Bernab\u00f2 and pushed his goblet into her hand, taking hers in its place. 'Drink.'\n\nWithout hesitation Aelis drank a mouthful of wine.\n\n'All of it,' said Bernab\u00f2.\n\nShe did as he demanded.\n\n'All right,' he said and quaffed the wine back, spilling it down the side of his mouth into his beard. 'More. Pour more,' he commanded. She stepped closer and took his goblet, but he snatched her wrist. 'I will be done with you and then you can go back to the Princess, but while you are in my bed you are here for my pleasure, you do not defy me by visiting the Englishman. Did you think I wouldn't hear of it?'\n\nAelis winced with pain as his grip tightened. 'Forgive me, my lord, I went to put balm on his wounds because you said he would be tortured. If he was weak from them he would die quickly. I thought only to please you.'\n\n'Liar. Did you open your legs for him on the way here?'\n\n'I did not. I served only the Princess,' Aelis lied.\n\nBernab\u00f2 grunted. 'Get the wine.'\n\nShe poured a full goblet and he swallowed half of what she offered. There was a knock on the bedchamber door. 'What?' Bernab\u00f2 shouted.\n\nThe door opened and the chamberlain stood aside to reveal Galeazzo standing in the vast room that lay beyond. Bernab\u00f2's face creased.\n\n'What drags you from the celebrations?' he said, wiping an arm across his mouth as he joined his brother. 'You'll drink?'\n\nGaleazzo shook his head and kept his voice calm. 'I need to speak to you about the Englishman.'\n\n'Now? I'm humping,' said Bernab\u00f2.\n\nGaleazzo glanced at the woman who stood near the bed, her open gown revealing her breasts and her old scars. 'She's marked,' he said.\n\nBernab\u00f2 shrugged. 'I don't care. She has good hips and tits and she enjoys me.' He grinned. 'You want her?'\n\n'The Englishman,' said Galeazzo, ignoring the invitation. 'You took him.'\n\n'He bleeds like the rest of us.'\n\n'Let him go.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 snorted. 'He's for the quaresima. I want to see how long he lasts when we break his bones. I want to hear him beg for mercy.'\n\nGaleazzo pulled the King's safe conduct from his glove. 'He's protected.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 ignored the proffered document and slumped into a chair. 'So what?' he said, choosing not to mention that he had already burnt Blackstone's other safe-conduct pass. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. The wine and the sex must be tiring him, he thought, as he looked blearily at his brother.\n\n'The King of England gave him safe conduct. The Princess knows about this, and if she knows, others know. The King of England is important to me. To us. I do not wish to antagonize him. This pass must be honoured,' insisted Galeazzo.\n\n'No. He's mine. I want the flesh taken from his bones. He came to kill Antonio.'\n\n'Because Antonio sent the assassin to kill his family \u2013 which we were party to. Blackstone would kill us all given half the chance, but now that you have him you must appease the English King and give Blackstone the chance for revenge. Let Antonio face him. He's skilled enough to kill a wounded Blackstone.'\n\n'No,' said Bernab\u00f2.\n\n'Listen to me. To make certain our hands remain clean we must ambush and kill him only once he's outside the walls,' Galeazzo said, carefully withholding the fact that he knew Antonio had plotted to have the Princess murdered. There was no evidence that Bernab\u00f2 was involved, but the thought nagged: how could he not be? 'Let him go and we can deal with Blackstone in our own way,' he said in a final appeal.\n\n'He's beaten. He failed!' said Bernab\u00f2. His voice slurred. He shook his head to clear it and drained the wine. 'No. I won't send Antonio beyond these walls. Go back to your wedding celebrations, Galeazzo. There's nothing for you here.'\n\n'Listen to me, Bernab\u00f2,' Galeazzo said evenly, restraining his impatience. His brother looked the worse for drink and danger would be lurking beneath the surface. The desire to tell Bernab\u00f2 that he had witnesses who could testify that Bernab\u00f2's bastard son had tried to have the Princess murdered and that Bernab\u00f2's name was linked to mercenaries who had tried to ambush her was almost overwhelming, but he resisted it. Galeazzo's fifty men scattered between the room and the downstairs entrance would hold for a while but if Bernab\u00f2 called for his soldiers then it would be a bloodbath. This moment when Galeazzo's family were strengthening their position by marriage could prove an ideal time for an enraged Bernab\u00f2 to assassinate them all. He could wipe them out in one fell swoop. 'Release Blackstone,' Galeazzo repeated. 'Send him and his men beyond the walls. You have brigands enough in your pay. Then we rid ourselves of our enemy but cannot be accused of violating the English King's bill of safe conduct for him.'\n\nBernab\u00f2 got to his feet. He staggered, and then steadied himself. 'I kill him here! And then I feed his remains to my dogs.'\n\nGaleazzo knew he could not convince Antonio to venture beyond the safety of Milan without Bernab\u00f2's agreement. He would have to find another way. He was about to leave when Bernab\u00f2 slumped to the floor. It looked as though he was in a drunken stupor. Galeazzo was about to beckon servants to take their master back to his bedchamber when he saw the woman, who had stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, slip onto the floor too. Uncertainty gripped him. Drunkenness was no stranger to this palace, which was infamous as a place of debauchery, but the explanation here might not be so simple. The woman was still conscious. Galeazzo went to her and bent down on one knee, ignoring her exposed breasts.\n\n'Do you wish him dead?' she asked as if nothing were affecting her.\n\n'What?' he asked foolishly as though he did not understand the question. Bernab\u00f2 dead? He stepped away from her and looked at his brother's body. Bernab\u00f2 dead gave him complete control over Milan. It removed a constant thorn in the Pope's side. It allowed Galeazzo to build his libraries, create places of learning. Bernab\u00f2 dead gave Galeazzo everything. What it did not give him was a brother who led troops into battle, who fought and took cities, who ran Milan successfully, was feared by the Milanese but kept the city prosperous and the streets safe. Bernab\u00f2's death would point the finger of murder at Galeazzo. Unrest and uncertainty would sweep through the city like the plague.\n\n'No,' he answered. 'I do not wish him dead.'\n\n'Then release Thomas Blackstone and his men,' said Aelis, 'and do it quickly before I die or your brother will not receive the antidote.'\n\nGaleazzo crossed himself. 'Merciful Christ in heaven, you have poisoned yourself as well.'\n\n'If I hadn't he would not have drunk the wine. He'll soon be dead. Act quickly, my lord.'\n\nGaleazzo half stumbled away. His brother lay unmoving but Galeazzo could see that he still breathed. Here was the opportunity to seize complete control but Galeazzo's wisdom denied him the temptation. Galeazzo was many things that others found to be cruel and calculating but one thing he was not was stupid.\n\nThe Viper of Milan regained his composure and like the lord he was barked out commands to soldier and servant alike. 'Fetch the Englishman. Clothe him and bring me his weapons. Release his men. Have their horses saddled and escort them to the Porta Tosa.'\n\nGaleazzo looked back at the dying woman. She seemed to be in no pain. He turned and beckoned anxious-looking servants.\n\n'Pick him up,' he said, pointing to Bernab\u00f2 and then indicating an ornate, upholstered bench broad enough for a man to lie on. The servants struggled to lift the big unconscious figure onto the bench but once they had done so he gestured towards Aelis. 'Put her on the bed and cover her.'\n\nThe servants lifted Aelis onto the bed and draped the sheets over her. 'Raise me up,' she said, her voice weakening. 'So that I can see him when he comes.'\n\nThey half propped her on the pillows as Galeazzo strode back and forth in the larger room. His mind was working quickly. Bernab\u00f2 needed to be saved and the Englishman released but there was still a benefit to be had from the situation. He beckoned the old chamberlain to him.\n\n'Fetch Antonio Lorenz.'\n\n'I don't know where he is, my lord.'\n\n'If he is not in any of the palace rooms then he will be with his swordmaster. I want him here. Fetch him quickly or you will be beaten.'\n\nFather Torellini's informant needed no further threat. He turned and scurried away.\n\nGaleazzo stared at his dying brother and went to Aelis. 'How long before he dies?'\n\n'Within the hour.'\n\n'Where is the antidote?'\n\n'In my satchel,' she said and looked to where the bag lay next to her discarded clothes. Galeazzo quickly took up the bag and opened it. An array of small bottles and containers nestled next to each other. 'Which one?' he said, unable to keep the urgency from his voice.\n\nAelis smiled. 'Only when Blackstone is freed.'\n\nGaleazzo was about to threaten her with retribution for what she had done but knew it served no purpose. To do so might mean she refused to reveal which bottle contained the cure. He left her and called the captain of his guard. His mind raced. He had to plan ahead. Who knew the routes in and around Milan and could find them in darkness if necessary? 'Find the Tau knight who is with the Princess Isabelle. Have him wait at my palace. Treat him with respect. Tell him I have information that will benefit Sir Thomas Blackstone.' He waved the captain away.\n\nHe unconsciously reached for the carafe of wine to pour a drink, and then caught himself. A careless slip in the next few hours was all it would take for his plan to fail."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 147",
                "text": "Blackstone was brought into the marbled room. He was dressed as he had first arrived in the city but his jupon was blood-splattered. Guards flanked him and his weapons were put on a table. Galeazzo stared at the tall, scar-faced knight. The Englishman looked bedraggled and the worse for wear. He limped from a bandaged wound on his leg, and dirt ingrained his skin. Galeazzo stared at the Visconti's enemy for a moment and then spoke brusquely. There was business to be done.\n\n'A bargain has been struck. Your life for that of my brother.'\n\n'How so?' asked Blackstone, glancing at Bernab\u00f2's outstretched body.\n\n'Does a drowning man ask who throws him a rope?'\n\n'I make no bargains with the Vipers of Milan.'\n\nGaleazzo had kept his distance from Blackstone but his presence still sent a chill of fear into him. Face-to-face this man had the air of a relentless killer and it was not hard to imagine him leaping forward and striking him dead before the dozen guards could stop him. Galeazzo banished the fright from his mind. He took out the King's safe conduct. Blackstone suddenly realized that if the Visconti had that then they must also hold his son.\n\nHe kept the panic from his voice. 'Where did you get that?'\n\n'It was given to the Princess Isabelle by a Knight of the Tau.'\n\nBlackstone knew if Fra Foresti was in Milan then it meant that, for whatever reason, Henry might be with him. Yet Galeazzo had made no mention of him so perhaps the boy was not in the city or his presence was unknown to the Visconti. 'And what has happened to him?'\n\n'Nothing. He is safe and will remain so.' Galeazzo handed the document to the captain of his guard and gestured that it be given to Blackstone. 'I honour your King's desire to see that no harm befall you. And I wish him to know it. What has happened here was not of my doing. You came here to seek vengeance. I offer you your freedom and I will give you the man you seek. It was Antonio Lorenz who sent the assassin to the heart of your home.'\n\n'With your blessing,' said Blackstone.\n\nGaleazzo hesitated. To deny it completely would be too obvious an untruth. 'No,' he lied. He glanced at the prostrate Bernab\u00f2. 'I did not consent. It was my brother and his bastard son. I will give you Antonio but you cannot have him,' he said, meaning Bernab\u00f2. 'You have already inflicted pain on the Lord of Milan by killing the assassin who was also his son. Now I give you the opportunity to settle your desire for revenge and cause him yet more grief. I will give you Antonio. It serves me as well as you. It weakens my brother if the bastard is killed. I cannot do it myself without causing a blood feud that would destroy us both. Milan is too important to be squandered in such a way. Strike the bargain, Sir Thomas, before it is too late, because if my brother dies then so do you. And then the matter is ended.'\n\n'Lorenz tried to kill Isabelle.'\n\n'So I have been told. Which is why I offer him up to you. He means nothing to me.'\n\n'Your brother was involved.'\n\n'There is no proof,' said Galeazzo.\n\n'But you know it to be true,' said Blackstone.\n\nGaleazzo ignored him. 'Make your decision and make it now.'\n\n'My men?'\n\n'Already at the entrance to the city.'\n\n'Then give me Antonio Lorenz.'\n\nGaleazzo turned and pointed to the bedchamber. 'Once you get me the antidote for the poison inflicted on my brother.'\n\nServants opened the great doors and Blackstone stepped uncertainly into the room. Then he saw Aelis lying propped on the bed. She seemed barely conscious but her eyes were half-open. He instantly realized that she had poisoned Bernab\u00f2 to trade his life. He went quickly to her and eased his arms around her, holding her close. 'Aelis, it's Thomas.'\n\nShe nodded and raised her hand to touch his scarred face. 'This was the only way. I told you I knew how this would end. This is what I saw, Thomas. This.'\n\n'Tell me where the antidote is and I'll give it to you.'\n\nShe shook her head. 'There is not enough. I took some before I drank the wine to make sure I would live long enough\u2026 but\u2026 but now\u2026 you must give it to him. You must,' she whispered. 'Otherwise my death means nothing.'\n\n'I'll fight my way clear of this city. Take the antidote. I'll get us both out.'\n\n'You cannot change what's meant to be, Thomas,' she said, her voice weakening.\n\n'Mother of Christ, Aelis, you can live. Together we can free ourselves of this place.'\n\n'No. Only you can do that. Thomas\u2026 I beg you \u2026 there's little time\u2026'\n\nHe fought for words that wouldn't come. Nothing could be said to draw her back from the tide that would soon sweep her away from him.\n\nThey both knew there was nothing he could do to help her.\n\nShe smiled. 'Take the satchel and use what I showed you to heal your wounds\u2026 give the Visconti the dark blue bottle.' Her breath faltered. 'Hurry,' she said. 'Thomas\u2026 my debt is almost repaid.'\n\nBlackstone held her hand to his lips and then leaned forward and kissed her.\n\nHer eyes closed, her breath sighed and her features softened as death claimed her.\n\nBlackstone held her a moment longer and then turned away.\n\nHe never looked back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 148",
                "text": "The bastard horse had been too dangerous for the stable-boys to saddle and when Blackstone entered the stall it snorted and reared its head, baring its yellow teeth. Yet for some reason it did not attempt to bite or kick the injured Blackstone, as if sensing that its rider would be unable to tolerate its belligerence. Blackstone rode slowly through the city as shopkeepers closed their shutters and others ushered away chickens and pigs into safekeeping for the night. The evening streets were slowly clearing. The low sun cast deep shadows from the high walls that slithered with movement as men scurried to reach home before curfew. Galeazzo had sent six men as escort and they guided him towards the eastern gate of the city, the same he had entered through. As lamps were lit the city's eyes watched him leave. The soldiers remained silent and when they passed across the portal they returned Wolf Sword, his archer's knife and fighting axe. The massive gates closed behind him and as he urged his horse forward he saw in the distance a group of men waiting in the fading light. It was Killbere and those who had entered the city with him. As he got nearer he could see that they were all wounded and some were slumped in the saddle.\n\n'They said you would be released,' said Killbere. 'If they hadn't done so we were going to ride to Will Longdon and bring the men and archers here to spoil their damned wedding tomorrow.'\n\n'Is Henry or Foresti with you?'\n\n'No. We've not seen them.'\n\n'Then they're still in the city,' said Blackstone.\n\n'Not Florence?' said John Jacob.\n\n'No, for some reason they followed us. There's no knowing where they are now, but once this matter is settled we'll find them. I was told no harm would come to Foresti, so if Henry is with him then we can only pray they remain unscathed.'\n\n'They threw Gaillard to the dogs,' said Perinne and spat in disgust. 'We were chained but we fought the guards. We had no chance against so many and we bear more wounds to prove it.'\n\n'I saw him die,' Blackstone told them. The hurt of the brave man's death still burned. 'He had a knife hidden in his boot. He killed a few dogs before they took him.'\n\n'He died unshriven,' said John Jacob. 'That's hard for men such as us.'\n\n'The Almighty will forgive Gaillard's sins,' said Blackstone. 'The manner of his death will stand him in good stead with God and his angels.' He looked around at his determined men who made no complaint despite their wounds. He saw that one horse was being led without its rider. 'Where's Meulon?'\n\n'He's stayed behind to avenge Gaillard. He said he'll escape on foot at dawn,' said Killbere.\n\nMeulon's plan was only to be expected. The two stalwart Normans had served together before they accompanied Blackstone on his first fight against brigands in Normandy a lifetime ago. Those two bears of men had been at his side ever since. 'Aelis is also dead,' he told his injured followers. 'She gave her life so we could be given our freedom. We have safe passage and the man we want will be outside the walls tomorrow. We are to ride south where he'll be delivered to us and then we will finish this.'\n\n'The bastards will ambush us, Thomas,' said Killbere. 'We won't have time to get help from Will and the others.'\n\n'Galeazzo Visconti made a bargain,' Blackstone told them. 'He's more cunning than his brother and he wants Antonio Lorenz dead. But for all I know he could be offering us to him. If we die outside the walls then no blame can be laid at the Visconti's door.' Blackstone looked around him at the flat landscape. It offered little in the way of ambush sites but men riding hard could sweep down on their small band, and wounded men would not be able to ride hard for long in any effort to escape. There were no defensive positions to be seen. What Blackstone wanted was some rising ground, a vineyard perhaps, anything that would make a cavalry charge disadvantageous to the horsemen. They had seen woodlands on their flank when they rode into Milan, and if they were forced to defend themselves such a place would be preferable to being out in the open. He gazed at the sky. It would be a cold night and mist would rise from the rivers and blanket the land. 'We'll ride until we can no longer see the road. Another hour, perhaps, and then we camp. I have balm to help our wounds. A night's sleep and we'll be ready for whatever awaits us.'\n\n'These are strange times we live in, Thomas,' said Killbere as the men urged on their horses. 'A man as rich as Croesus buys a child-bride from a French king for his son and strikes a bargain with his enemy to kill his brother's bastard. And our lives are saved by a woman we thought to be a witch.' He rode on a moment longer and glanced at Blackstone. 'I'll pay for a mass to be said for her. Providing we live long enough.'"
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 149",
                "text": "Bernab\u00f2 Visconti still lay unconscious despite the antidote being administered. The court physicians confirmed their belief that he would live and that by the following day they expected him to be conscious. He was a bull of a man. Perhaps, they thought, even to be well enough to attend the wedding ceremony.\n\nAntonio Lorenz stood in the bedchamber and looked at his father, who was breathing slowly and deeply. He had not been told of the court physician's prognosis; instead Galeazzo stood in the dimly lit bedchamber with him, as if they were attending a dying man.\n\n'It is not known whether he will survive the night,' Galeazzo lied. 'So you must ride out and kill Blackstone for the sake of our future. I was obliged to release him in an attempt to save your father.'\n\n'Blackstone has a hundred men and archers south of the city,' said Antonio.\n\n'No, they are out on the road to Florence. Blackstone cannot reach them in time. He is vulnerable now and you need to strike him.' Galeazzo put an arm around his shoulder and lowered his voice. 'Antonio, we must face the prospect that your father, my beloved brother, this great Lord of Milan, may be dead by morning. And if that is the case, then you must take his place.'\n\nAntonio stepped back in shock at the suggestion that he would be granted such power in the city. 'You would give that to me?' he asked.\n\n'I have already drawn up the document and the moment Bernab\u00f2 dies then you will be honoured with his title and will control half the city as did he. His wealth must be divided between his wife and his legitimate children, but once you are in power then you will receive the taxes and the income. I am not being over-generous, Antonio; I need someone I can trust to govern. But we must rid ourselves of Blackstone once and for all. He will not rest until the day he sends an assassin in the night to kill you in your bed. Seize the moment, and ambush him. I know what road he takes. He has a dozen wounded men with him.'\n\n'Then I shall do as you ask. I'll take my father's cavalry.'\n\nGaleazzo hesitated. It was not part of his plan to have Antonio use the professional troops drawn from noble families who were loyal only to Bernab\u00f2. 'My brother has brigands outside the walls. Use them. We'll pay them well. Take two hundred with you, Antonio: you must be protected at all costs. The English are not the only scourge who ride beyond our walls. And when the English King hears that one of his favourite knights has fallen then the brigands will be blamed, not us. It is time for you to step forward from the shadows, Antonio.'\n\n'Yes,' the young man said, his ambition expressed with little more than a sigh. 'And if my father lives?'\n\n'Then you will be honoured by both of us for having killed Thomas Blackstone and ridding us of his threat.'\n\n'I know where my father's men are. I'll leave tonight,' said Antonio. 'I'll bring Blackstone's head back on a pole.'\n\nGaleazzo watched the young man's eyes peer into the half-light of the flickering candles at his father lying motionless. He licked his lips in anticipation. Galeazzo knew he would have to seal the room and post a strong guard to protect his brother because he sensed that Antonio Lorenz had already crowned himself Lord of Milan and his father's death was almost a formality."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 150",
                "text": "As the night wore on servants came and went past the armed guards at Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's bedchamber. As each approached to bathe their master's brow with wet cloths, a guard would stand next to him. Nothing was to pass the Lord of Milan's lips, not even the droplets from a wrung cloth. If any such attempt was made the soldiers had orders from Galeazzo to immediately kill the servant. And when the servant's duties were done, the doors were closed and Bernab\u00f2 Visconti was left alone, caged in in his own private hell.\n\nHe was being dragged through the fires of the underworld. His body burned and his throat felt as though he had swallowed hot cinders. The stench of sulphur stung his nostrils and tears welled from his eyes. He choked and tried to turn his back to the screams of those consumed by the flames. An insistent voice beckoned him, shouting his name, demanding he awake. Breaking through the dream he opened his eyes. His head was thick as if from drink, his chest tight like a man drowning. He gulped air. Sometime in the night the screams became howls. Shadows soared like demons. Bernab\u00f2 Visconti lunged from the bed, fell, gained his feet and stumbled for the terrace where a wall of cold air brought him half to his senses. Men were shouting and those howls of terror became louder. The clear night sky was a cauldron of flames. Bernab\u00f2 pressed himself against the parapet, gulping the air, unable to grasp why smoke scratched the back of his throat. He shook his head and thought himself still in a dream as he gazed at the yard below where Blackstone's man had been thrown to the dogs. The kennels were ablaze. The pitiful sound of fifty or more of his beloved hunting dogs being burnt alive pushed a serrated blade into his chest.\n\nHe bellowed to the men below who were fighting a losing battle against the fire. They were pushed back as the flames seared across the yard. The wooden gates that secured the dogs were burning and some of the injured animals ran terrified through the flames, their coats ablaze, to die a terrible death as they tried to breach the iron gates. They writhed and howled as the fire consumed them. Bernab\u00f2 Visconti clung to the parapet and vomited. His life's pleasures \u2013 violence, deception, stealing, intoxication and sex \u2013 were as nothing in that barren moment of witnessing their agonizing deaths.\n\nFrom the high terrace he would not have seen the big man with his hair tied back moving quickly through the street's deep shadows. Beneath his cloak the jupon's blazon declared that those who bore it would remain D\u00e9fiant \u00e0 la mort."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 151",
                "text": "Blackstone and his men had watched the distant fire glow in the night sky. The muted cries from behind the city walls soon fell silent and as the fire diminished the night's fog drew its veil over the city. They attended to each other's wounds and took satisfaction in believing that Meulon had inflicted misery on Bernab\u00f2 Visconti. If luck was on their side they would add more grief to him the following day.\n\nThey broke camp as the grey dawn light touched the clinging mist that blanketed the flat plain. Like ghost riders they rode at walking pace through the damp air that speckled their cloaks and beards. As the sun rose higher in the sky and burned away the eerie covering a distant village church bell told them it was the third hour in the day. Now that they could see the road ahead they spurred their horses on. Antonio Lorenz had not laid an ambush as they thought he might. For someone who knew the lie of the land the misty dawn would have been the ideal time to attack. Perhaps, Blackstone thought, Antonio Lorenz was a lazy fighter, confident that he could destroy these few who had dared to challenge the Visconti, or it was as Galeazzo had promised and the assassin's master would be delivered to them.\n\nIt was early autumn and the small copse of trees they passed had already started to turn. In a few weeks winter would strike hard and the killing season would end. In the past it had made no difference to the English condottieri. Blackstone and his men had fought year round: it was what gave them the advantage over their enemies. But there was no denying that winter fighting and burying men in the frozen earth was a thankless task. Better to die and be put in the ground when summer blessed the land. But autumn's gentle escape to the year's end would still allow them to inter their dead because a part of Blackstone knew the day would not end without a fight.\n\nHe reined in the bastard horse. For a moment it fought the bit, but Blackstone tightened the reins and steadied it. 'Over there,' he said, pointing to a treeline that scuffed the horizon. Smoke curled from the houses of a nearby village.\n\n'Two miles, then,' said John Jacob.\n\n'Three more like,' said Blackstone, gauging the distance. 'And we can't see what's in those trees until we get there.'\n\n'And that's where we are to wait?' said Killbere.\n\n'That's where I'm going to kill him,' said Blackstone, and gave the impatient horse its head."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 152",
                "text": "Men ploughed the fields planting winter wheat. The farmers were five hundred yards distant and barely raised their heads from their labours as they whipped their yoked oxen. Nothing seemed untoward. Blackstone realized that if he and his men were obliged to retreat across the open fields the torn ground would make heavy going. Their horses would be slowed and anyone in pursuit or loosing crossbow bolts would have them at their mercy. Did Galeazzo know that such a race for safety would be across ploughed fields? Had the cunning Lord of Milan placed Blackstone in the perfect place to be ambushed?\n\nBlackstone drew the men to a halt a hundred paces from the treeline. All his instincts told him that men waited in the darkness of the forest. The horses' ears pricked and their muscles quivered as they too sensed other horses and riders. Blackstone and his men drew their swords and turned their backs to the stubbled cornfields that lay between them and the distant city. Their ragged line would be little defence should the woodland explode with a cavalry charge. If that happened it meant that Antonio Lorenz wanted the personal satisfaction of slaying Blackstone. He prayed that if this was an ambush then they would not bring him down with crossbow bolts before he killed the assassin's master. If his life was to have one final act it was to be the death of Antonio Lorenz.\n\nThe bastard horse whinnied, wanting its rider to ease the reins so that it could surge forward. Blackstone's skin crawled and he gripped Wolf Sword tightly. 'Be ready,' he told the men.\n\nThere was a rustling of undergrowth as the woodland darkness shimmered.\n\n'We'll ride at them, Thomas. Take the fight into the trees. We'll stand a better chance,' said Killbere.\n\nBlackstone was about to heel the horse when a black-cloaked figure stepped into the open, and a moment later Henry stood next to the Tau knight."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 153",
                "text": "Milan's church bells peeled, as trumpets' and drums' cacophony reverberated around the city walls. Peacock-rich banners and flags curled in the morning breeze as the aroma of cooked meats and sweetbreads wafted through the air. Every edible fowl and beast had been prepared for the wedding feast. Swan, heron, goose, duck and songbirds, salted tongues, beef and eel pasties, lampreys, suckling pig, pullets, vegetables and beans. Spit-roasted oxen, boar and fat trout would soon grace the two long linen-covered tables, one for men, the other for women. The high table would seat the family and honoured guests. Course after course would satiate the guests until they were served cheeses and fruit.\n\nGaleazzo Visconti gazed with affection across his city's skyline from his palace in the west of the city. The joyous pealing and fanfares of exultation proclaimed the Visconti's wealth and success. This day of October would be an historic one marking a new chapter in the fortunes of the Visconti family. They would be the talk of Europe. Milan was already renowned for its wealth and prosperity but this new era, beginning this very day, meant the house of Visconti would rise to the level of royalty. His diplomacy had paid off and the recent unpleasant situation with his brother and Blackstone would soon be resolved. Bernab\u00f2 had survived the night, and the fire in the east of the city that had consumed part of the kennels and killed his brother's hunting dogs had been extinguished without loss of human life or damage to surrounding buildings. Bernab\u00f2 had taken to his bed to drink himself back into a stupor until the agony of the night was subdued. But today was not about Bernab\u00f2; it was about Galeazzo's son and the future of the family. It would be the day when the Visconti flaunted their wealth so that ambassadors and guests would return to their countries and speak of the incredible fortune and power of the Visconti.\n\nHe patiently allowed his servant to fuss his lord's velvet and brocade tunic, richly studded with pearls and precious stones. Galeazzo would outshine the bride herself with his lace ruffs, gold and silver fringes and bejewelled belt. His hairdresser eased the weight of his hair into its net and settled it neatly onto his ermine-trimmed robe's collar, the brocaded viper's crest prominent on the scarlet and gold robe. His thoughts led his fingers to touch its depiction of the viper swallowing a child.\n\nAnd so it was, he told himself. The house of Visconti had consumed friend and foe alike.\n\nIt was a good day for men to die."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 154",
                "text": "By contrast to the finery being displayed in the city, Blackstone's men faced the open plain looking ragged and unkempt. They too could hear the distant sound of celebration. It mocked their pain and meagre food supply. Their bodies still ached from their wounds but they waited, mounted and ready, as the line of horsemen appeared from the wall of ground fog that extended across the plain a mile away. Antonio Lorenz had brought enough men to be certain that nothing went wrong.\n\nThe farmers felt the earth rumble as the approaching horsemen spurred on their horses. It gave them time to whip their oxen from the fields.\n\n'Wait until they reach the ploughed ground,' Blackstone said, taking an extra turn of the reins in his left hand. He would not carry his shield: the wound in his arm was already weeping. He gripped the bastard horse with his legs, readying it to use its massive strength to surge forward. His leg wound protested but he ignored it. His horse snorted and ducked its head, yanking him forward in the saddle, but his own strength kept the beast in check.\n\nThe steady drumbeat thud of the attacking horses shuddered through the ground. At five hundred paces they saw that one man sat astride his horse in the middle of the line. Even from that distance they could see he wore the finest armour. Its shaped angles glinted in the sunlight; the war horse's chest muscles glistened. The men who rode with Antonio Lorenz were dressed no differently from Blackstone's. They wore jupons over mail, pieces of armour in strategic places on arm, shoulder and thigh. Open-faced bascinets exposed snarling faces.\n\nAt three hundred paces they began to shout \u2013 their blood was up and in their minds they had already spent the generous bounty promised by Lorenz \u2013 but then their horses' iron-shod hooves dug into the turned earth and the heavy soil slowed their charge. It made little difference to the brigands, who simply spurred the horses' flanks and raised their threatening voices further.\n\nBlackstone lifted Wolf Sword and at his signal Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny, with their archers, stepped clear of the forest and rammed their sheaves of arrows into the dirt in front of them. Those brigands who had seen how lethal English bowmen were yanked their reins, kicking their horses away. It made little difference. Killbere grinned as he heard Will Longdon call out his command: 'NOCK! DRAW! LOOSE!' followed by the whispering flight of the yard-long arrows.\n\n'You're dead men, you whoresons!' Killbere laughed and spurred his horse.\n\nThe arrow storm fell in a perfect arc and the thud of bodkin heads punching bone and flesh turned the brigands' elation at imminent success into screams of terror. Horses foundered. Men fell into the ploughed dirt, some trapped beneath their mounts, others already struck through from the bone-shattering power of the arrows. Those who managed to clamber to their feet turned and ran. It was too late to halt the headlong advance of the surviving horses and Blackstone saw the look of horror on Lorenz's face. Despite their wounds Blackstone's front line urged on their own horses and, as the archers loosed a second flight, his men-at-arms who had been held in the forest steered their horses though the archers' ranks. Fra Foresti and Henry stood back in silent awe as the surprise attack struck the horsemen. Galeazzo Visconti had played the double cross with the ease of a magician casting a spell. Ride to Blackstone's men on the road to Florence, ready them, and I will deliver Antonio Lorenz into Blackstone's hands, he had instructed the Tau knight when he had been summoned to his palace. In one fell swoop the Lord of Milan had weakened his brother's influence and sacrificed his bastard son. No blame would fall on Galeazzo. The Tau knight could imagine the cunning man's explanation to Bernab\u00f2. How could he have stopped the headstrong and violent Antonio from going after the Englishman, determined to avenge what he thought to be his father's death?\n\nThe archers ran after the men-at-arms, ready to use their knives to despatch the fallen brigands. Foresti glanced down at Henry. Was the boy horrified by the slaughter? Henry Blackstone, mouth open, stared, mesmerized by the clash of horsemen as his father sought out Antonio Lorenz in the m\u00eal\u00e9e.\n\nBlackstone swung Wolf Sword in great sweeping arcs, the power of his blows breaking a routier's arm. He gave the bastard horse its head which it used like a swinging war hammer. It bit and snorted and like the great stallion it was used its strength to barge into the opposing horses. Skinners were falling beneath his men's sword and axe blows. Perinne smashed down with his mace onto a brigand's helm. It caved in and then blood spurted down the dying man's face from a crushed skull. Killbere had forged through the attackers' ranks and leaned this way and that, cutting down the retreating men on foot.\n\nBlackstone saw Renfred strike out at Lorenz but the Italian swordsman's skills were superior to that of the German. Renfred's helm took a huge blow and that saved his life as he fell unconscious into the mud. When Renfred tumbled from his horse a gap opened around Lorenz. Blackstone snatched the bastard horse's reins and, pressing his injured leg into its flank, kicked it around with the other.\n\nLorenz saw Blackstone strike out towards him. In that moment he realized that to have a chance of survival against the scar-faced knight he had to get clear of the swirling blades. His men were dying around him and Blackstone's fighters could soon overwhelm them. And then he would most likely be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb.\n\nBlackstone saw Lorenz wheel his horse as he shouted to the men closest to him. They looked at Blackstone and two of them spurred their horses towards the Englishman. They barged the bastard horse but its strength made them falter and they panicked, swerving away as Blackstone struck down the closest rider. The second man was fighting his horse and although he tried to bring the beast back on course to protect his paymaster's escape, its terror made it sway wide. Its rider gave a desperate sweep of his arm as it went past Blackstone and managed a glancing blow with his flanged mace. It struck Blackstone on the side of his head, rocking him back in the saddle. His vision blurred, almost causing him to fall, but he held on as the bastard horse's power carried him through the brigands' ranks. He spat blood as Lorenz spurred his horse in the direction of Milan. Was he running for home?\n\nThey were already half a mile from the fight and Blackstone knew that the Italian's horse could outrun his own. Like the armour on the man's back the horse beneath him was of the finest quality. Desperation began to claw at Blackstone as he saw his quarry slip away. The bastard horse lumbered on in pursuit and he knew that if nothing else the belligerent animal would never stop until its heart failed and it fell dead. He looked behind him and saw he was alone. The fight had snared his men in a killing spree. Blackstone's wounds had torn open and blood trickled down his arm. His lathered horse rumbled on and as its uneven stride settled into its own peculiar rhythm he felt the dizziness blur his vision once again. He knew in his heart he could never catch the man he sought so desperately to kill. Wolf Sword's blood knot bit into his wrist, its burn adding to the cuts that seared his body beneath his mail, rubbed raw by his sweat-soaked undershirt. He offered a prayer to the Celtic goddess at his neck and begged Christiana's spirit to help him. Anger at losing the chance to kill Antonio Lorenz spurred a fresh determination in him.\n\n'Come on! Come on!' He urged the tireless horse because suddenly his prayer was answered and the assassin master's horse slowed. The Italian had looked over his shoulder and seen that Blackstone had momentarily slumped over the horse's withers.\n\nBlackstone's vision blurred again; he shook it free. The man had turned! Lorenz was galloping towards him. The Italian raised the shield that bore the writhing viper, his sword arm ready to strike. His visor was down and the sunlight glinted off his burnished armour.\n\nBlackstone put the reins into his sword hand and reached down for his shield strapped to the pommel. He ignored the animal-like bite that seared his muscles as he lifted its weight into place. Now the two men were less than two hundred strides from each other and Blackstone could see that Lorenz was an experienced tournament fighter because he had angled his body low in the saddle, leaving a smaller target for Blackstone to strike.\n\nThere was no time to think. It was all down to instinct now whether he would live or die. Blackstone had one advantage over Lorenz. He released the reins and felt the horse respond given its freedom. It nearly threw him from the saddle as it swerved and then straightened and within moments barged heavily into the other horse. There was a tremendous slap of muscle and the impact threw both men to the ground. Blackstone fell heavily on his back and felt the sharp pain thrust into his lungs. For a moment everything went dark and then instinct took over and he rolled clear, shield raised, Wolf Sword held low ready to strike upwards. But Lorenz was nowhere near him: he too was only just getting to his feet. His horse had been knocked down by Blackstone's but it raised itself and cantered away. The bastard horse stood still, head lowered, flanks heaving from the impact.\n\nBoth men staggered momentarily but then ran at each other. Antonio Lorenz was the lighter of the two and more agile. He clipped Blackstone's shield with his own, sidestepped and aimed a hefty blow towards Blackstone's neck. Blackstone raised the shield and the blade bit into its rim. He yanked hard before Lorenz could release his sword and the action threw the younger man off balance. As Lorenz stumbled his sword came free. He braced his legs and immediately attacked with a flurry of blows. He was muscular and had a tireless strength that Blackstone recognized in himself. Lorenz's determination and agility were in his favour, but his desperation to strike a crippling blow on the bigger and heavier man meant he concentrated on using the skills and technique taught him by the great swordmasters of Italy. He had never fought in a major battle where blood and spittle showered everything and where men killed with any weapon they had including their bare hands. Antonio Lorenz was a master swordsman and he would soon find a way through Blackstone's defence. But he did not know how to kill in a dirty fight.\n\nBoth men grunted, lungs heaving with exertion and muscles burning. Blackstone forced his shield into Lorenz's body, let Wolf Sword drop and dangle from its blood knot and with his sword hand now free gripped Lorenz's belt. Blackstone's momentum, size and weight did the rest and Bernab\u00f2 Visconti's bastard son fell backwards, his sword arm smothered. His weapon had no blood knot and he was suddenly defenceless. Blackstone gripped his sword hilt again for the killing blow but Lorenz yanked his knife free and slashed. The blade caught Blackstone across his thigh where he had strapped a piece of armour to protect his old wound; as the blade caught the metal its momentum was halted and it slashed across the inside leg muscle. Blackstone fell. Inflicting the wound gave Lorenz a surge of strength. He rolled, pushed back his visor to suck in air and then threw his weight down on Blackstone, whose injured leg hampered his movement. All Blackstone could do was raise his shield. It was the most natural reflex, but he knew that if he did Lorenz would simply smother it with his weight and strike low and fast with the knife.\n\nInstead of doing what was expected he threw his shield arm wide and, as Lorenz dropped onto him, rammed his sword arm upwards, the heel of his gloved fist smashing into the rim of the man's helm. Lorenz's head snapped back with such force that he fell away, losing his grip on his knife.\n\nThis time he had no chance to roll clear because it was Blackstone who laid his weight across him. Lorenz bucked but could not shift him. Blackstone's arm was now free of its shield and his forearm pressed against the younger man's throat. Lorenz struggled for breath from the weight on his chest. He was being choked to death. His strength deserted him. Blackstone watched as the light faded from his eyes. He pulled off his gauntlets and freed Wolf Sword from the knot. 'Not yet,' he spat at the groggy man. 'You don't die this easily.'\n\nLorenz recovered and began to fight again. Blackstone almost lost his grip now his hands were bare on the blood-slicked armour. 'You sent the assassin who killed my wife and daughter and you thought I would never find you because you lived in the shadows. But I am here and I told you that when you die you would have my face close to yours,' Blackstone said, holding the wide-eyed man under him, pinning his struggling arms beneath his knees. His leg wound felt as though muscle was being torn from bone, but Blackstone welcomed the pain. It poured strength into his hands as he reached inside the man's helm and gripped his face and squeezed. Lorenz's heels kicked and he tried to buck. But Blackstone's hands were those of a stonemason and of a fighting man. He felt Lorenz's jaw break. The man screamed.\n\nAntonio Lorenz half raised himself in agony, and gazed up in horror. The last thing the Lord of Milan's son saw in his life was the scar-faced Englishman sweeping Wolf Sword down onto his neck.\n\nLike forsaken souls reluctant to leave their earth-bound world the shrouds of mist clung to the vast plain where Thomas Blackstone stood over his vanquished enemy. Bernab\u00f2 Visconti would soon have his son's head in a bloodied sack.\n\nBlackstone let the tension drain from him. He offered a prayer that his murdered wife and child would now find peace. As he limped towards his waiting horse he thought he heard the laughter of angels, but it was only the lilting sound of music from a city in the far distance heralding a new beginning."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "(The Lymond Chronicles 1) The Game of Kings",
        "author": "Dorothy Dunnett",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction",
            "16th century",
            "Scotland"
        ],
        "tags": [],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Opening Gambit: Threat to a Castle",
                "text": "\u2003First of ye chekker sall be m\u0113cioune maid\n\n\u2003And syne efter of ye proper moving\n\n\u2003Of every man in ordour to his king\n\n\u2003And as the chekker schawis us yis forne\n\n\u2003Richt so it maye the kinrik and the crowne,\n\n\u2003The warld and all that is therein suthlye,\n\n\u2003The chekker may in figour signifye.\n\n\"Lymond is back.\"\n\nIt was known soon after the Sea-Catte reached Scotland from Campvere with an illicit cargo and a man she should not have carried.\n\n\"Lymond is in Scotland.\"\n\nIt was said by busy men preparing for war against England, with contempt, with disgust; with a side-slipping look at one of their number. \"I hear the Lord Culter's young brother is back.\" Only sometimes a woman's voice would say it with a different note, and then laugh a little.\n\nLymond's own men had known he was coming. Waiting for him in Edinburgh they wondered briefly, without concern, how he proposed to penetrate a walled city to reach them.\n\nWhen the Sea-Catte came in, Mungo Tennant, citizen and smuggler of Edinburgh, knew nothing of these things or of its passenger. He made his regular private adjustment from douce gentility to illegal trading; and soon a boatload of taxless weapons, bales of velvet and Bordeaux wine was being rowed on a warm August night over the Nor' Loch which guarded the north flank of Edinburgh, and toward the double cellar beneath Mungo's house.\n\nAmong the reeds of the Nor' Loch, where the snipe and the woodcock lay close and the baillies' swans raised their grey necks, a man quietly stripped to silk shirt and hose and stood listening, before sliding softly into the water.\n\nAcross four hundred feet of black lake, friezelike on their ridge, towered the houses of Edinburgh. Tonight the Castle on its pinnacle was fully lit, laying constellations on the water; for within, the Governor of Scotland the Earl of Arran was listening to report after report of the gathering English army about to invade him.\n\nBelow the Castle, the house of the Queen Mother also showed lights. The late King's French widow, Mary of Guise, was sleepless too over the feared attack, for the redheaded baby Queen for whom Arran governed was her daughter. And England's purpose was to force a betrothal between the child Queen Mary and the boy King Edward, aged nine, and to abduct the four-year-old fianc\u00e9e if chance offered. The burned thatch, the ruined stonework, the blackened face of Holyrood Palace showed where already, in other years, invading armies from England had made their point, but not their capture.\n\nFew civic cares troubled Mungo Tennant, awaiting his cargo, except that the ceaseless renewal of war against England made a watch at the gates much too stringent; and the total defeat by England thirty-four years since at Flodden had caused high walls to be flung around Edinburgh which were damnably inopportune for a smuggler. And for Crawford of Lymond, now parting the flat waters of the Nor' Loch like an oriflamme in the wake of the boat. For where a smuggler's load could pierce a city's defences, so could an outlawed rebel, whose life would be forfeit if caught.\n\nAhead, the boat scraped on mud and was lifted silently shoreward. The rowers unloaded. Burdened feet trod on grass, crossed a garden, encompassed an obstacle, and were silent within the underground shaft leading to the cellar below the cellar in Mungo's house. The swimmer, collared with duckweed, grounded, shook himself, and unseen followed gently into, and out of the same house. Crawford of Lymond was in Edinburgh.\n\nOnce there, it was simple. In a small room in the High Street he changed fast into sober, smothering clothes and was fed two months' news, in voracious detail, by those serving him. \"\u2026 And so the Governor's expecting the English in three weeks and is fair flittering about like a hen with its throat cut.\u2026 You're gey wet,\" said the spokesman.\n\n\"I,\" said Lymond, in the voice unmistakably his which honeyed his most lethal thoughts, \"I am a narwhal looking for my virgin. I have sucked up the sea like Charybdis and failing other entertainment will spew it three times daily, for a fee. Tell me again, precisely, what you have just said about Mungo Tennant.\"\n\nThey told him, and received their orders, and then he left, pausing on the threshold to pin the dark cloak about his chin. \"Shy,\" said Lymond with simplicity, \"as a dogtooth violet.\" And he was gone.\n\nIn his tall house in Gosford Close with the boar's head in chief over the lintel, Mungo Tennant, wealthy and respectable burgher, had invited a neighbour and his friend to call. They sat on carved chairs, with their feet on a Kurdistan carpet, ate their way through capon and quails, chickens, pigeons and strawberries, cherries, apples and warden pears, and noticed none of these things, nor even the hour, being at grips with a noble and irresistible argument.\n\nAt ten o'clock, the rest of the household went to bed.\n\nAt ten-thirty, Mungo's steward answered a rasp at the door and found Hob Hewat, the water carrier.\n\nThe steward asked Hob, in the vernacular, digressing every second or third word, what he wanted.\n\nHob said he had been told to bring water for the sow.\n\nThe steward denied it. Hob insisted. The steward described what instead he might do with the water and Hob described in detail how he had ruined his spine raising the steward's undistinguished water from the well. Mungo, above, thumped on the floor to stop the racket and the steward, cursing, gave in. He led the way to the apartment beneath the stairs where lived Mungo's great sow, the badge of his house, the pet and idiotic pig's apple of his eye, and waited while Hob Hewat filled its water trough. He then sat down suddenly under an annihilating tap on the head.\n\nHob, who had done all he had been paid to do, disappeared.\n\nThe steward slipped to the floor, and stayed there.\n\nThe sow approached her water dish, sniffed it with increasing favour, and inserted both her nose and her front trotters therein.\n\nCrawford of Lymond tied up the steward, left the stye, and climbed the stairs to Mungo Tennant's apartments.\n\nIn the gratified presence of their host, Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch and Tom Erskine were still hard at it. Buccleuch, beaked like a macaw, was a baroque and mighty Scots Lowlander with a tough mind, a voice like Saint Columba's, and one of the biggest estates on the Scottish Border. Erskine, much the younger, pink, stocky and vehement, was a son of Lord Erskine, who was head of one of the families nearest the throne, and captain of the Queen's fortress of Stirling.\n\n\"Just wait,\" Buccleuch was roaring. \"Just wait, man. Protector Somerset will get his damned English rabble together and march into Scotland up the east coast. And he'll tell off his commander, Lord Wharton, to get his Cumberland English together and invade us at the same time up the west coast. And half the west coast landowners are pensioners of the English already and won't resist 'em. And all the rest of us'll be over here at Edinburgh fighting Ned Somerset\u2014\"\n\n\"Not all of us,\" said Erskine neatly.\n\nBuccleuch's whiskers promenaded. \"Who'll stay in the west that's worth a docken?\"\n\n\"Andrew Hunter of Ballaggan?\"\n\n\"Christ. Andrew's a nice, gentlemanly lad, but his estate's been bled dry; and as for the ill-armed crew he calls followers\u2014Man, they'd lay on a battlefield like dandruff.\"\n\n\"The third Baron Culter?\" suggested Tom Erskine, and Buccleuch got the derisive note and turned red at the wattle.\n\n\"I know fine the cheeky clack of the court,\" shouted Buccleuch. \"They say Culter's not to be trusted.\"\n\nTom Erskine lifted the broad, brocade shoulders. \"They say his younger brother's not to be trusted.\"\n\n\"Lymond! We know all about Lymond. Rieving and ruttery and all manner of vice\u2014\"\n\n\"And treason.\"\n\n\"And treason. But treason's not Lord Culter's dish. There are those that want to take time and men to hunt down Lymond and his band of murderers; and those that demand that Culter should lead them as proof of his loyalty. But if Richard Crawford of Culter won't interfere; says he has better business to attend to and refuses flatly to hound down his brother baying like the Wild Jagd, that still doesn't make him a traitor.\" And inflating the great chasms of his cheeks, Buccleuch added, \"Anyway, Culter's just got married. D'ye blame him for keeping his shield on the hook and his family blunders all tied up at the back of the armory?\"\n\n\"Damn it,\" said Tom Erskine, annoyed, \"I don't blame him for anything. It isn't my fault. And if it's that black Irish beauty he married, I don't expect he'd notice if the Protector knocked on the front gate at Midculter and asked for a drink of water. But\u2014\"\n\nThe large red face had calmed down. \"You're dead right, of course,\" said Buccleuch cordially. \"In fact you've given me a wee notion or two I can use to the fellow himself. If Culter's going to be in credit at court at all, he'll need to bring himself to capture that honey-faced de'il.\"\n\nMungo Tennant, the silent and flattered host, was able to make respectful comment at last. \"Crawford of Lymond, Sir Wat?\" he said. \"Now, he's not in this country, as I heard. He's in the Low Countries, I believe. And when he'll be back, if ever, God knows.\u2026 Bless us, what's that?\"\n\nIt was only a sneeze; but a sneeze outside the door of their chamber, which dislimned every shade of their privacy. Tom Erskine got there first, the other two at his heels. The room beyond was empty, but the door of Mungo's bedroom was ajar. Taking a candle like a banner in his fist, Erskine rushed in.\n\nHis hair soft as a nestling's, his eyes graceless with malice, Lymond was watching him in a silver mirror. Before Erskine could call, Buccleuch and Mungo Tennant had piled in beside him and Lymond had taken two steps to the far door, there to linger, hand on latch and the blade of his sword held twinkling at breast level as they jumped, weaponless, to face him, and then fell back.\n\n\"As my lady of Suffolk saith,\" said Lymond gently, \"God is a marvellous man.\" Eyes of cornflower blue rested thoughtfully on Sir Wat. \"I had fallen behind with the gossip.\u2026 Nouvelle amour, nouvelle affection; nouvelles fleurs parmi l'herbe nouvelle. Tell Richard his bride has yet to meet her brother-in-law, her Sea-Catte, her Sea-Scorpion, beautiful in the breeding season. What a pity you didn't wear your swords.\"\n\nRage mottled Buccleuch's face. \"Ye murdering cur.\u2026 You'll end this night\u2014\"\n\n\"I know. Flensed, basted and flayed, and off to hang on a six-shilling gibbet\u2014keep your distance\u2014but not tonight The city is not full great, but it hath good baths within him. And tonight the frogs and mice fight, eh, Mungo?\"\n\n\"Man's mad,\" said Buccleuch positively. He had managed to pick up a firedog.\n\n\"Mungo doesn't think so,\" said Lymond. \"His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure.\" And certainly, the jennet fur at his neck warped with sweat, Mungo Tennant was gaping at the intruder.\n\nLymond smiled back. \"Be careful,\" he said. \"Pits are yawning publicly at your feet. O mea celia, vale, you know\u2026\" And suddenly, it came to Mungo what he was threatening.\n\n\"Don't linger, I pray you, cuckoo, while you run away,\" said the sage. Mungo Tennant said nothing. He rushed toward Lymond, collided with Tom Erskine on the way, and falling, sat on the candle. There was a moment's indescribable hubbub while the three men and the firedog blundered cursing into each other in the dark; then they got to the far door and wrenched it open. The corridor as far as the stairhead was quite empty, and the light feet running downward were already some distance away. They hurled themselves after him.\n\nThey were three floors above the ground, and the staircase was spiral. The spilth of Buccleuch's bellow rattled the pewter in the kitchens; Tom Erskine shouted and Mungo piped like a hen-whistle. The servants on their pallets heard and started up; tallows flared and a patter of bare feet began on the rushes below.\n\nMungo's sow heard it too. Drunk as a bishop, she hurtled stairward as the first of the servants arrived. Great blanket ears flapping and rump arched like a Druid at sunrise, she hurled herself at them as Lymond and his pursuers fled down. She bounced once off the newel post, scrabbled once on the flags, trotters smoking, then shot Mungo Tennant backward, squealing thickly in a liberated passion of ham-handed adoration. Mungo sat down, Buccleuch fell on top of him and Tom Erskine swooped headfirst over them both, landing on the pack of unkempt heads jamming the stair foot like stooks at a threshing. Winnowing through them, utterly unremarked in the uproar, was Lymond.\n\nScreaming, squealing and grunting, the impacted cluster swayed on the stairs, torn and surging like rack where the pig unseen hooked the bare feet from under them. Buccleuch was the first to get free, grey whiskers overhanging the swarm like a Chinese kite at a carnival. \"Lymond!\" he shrieked. \"Where's he got to?\"\n\nThey scoured the house in the end without a trace of him, although they found Mungo's steward mute and bound in the pighouse. \"Damn it!\" said Buccleuch furiously. \"The windows were barred and the door lockit\u2014he must be here. Where's your cellar?\"\n\nMungo's face was spotty under the pig-spit. \"I've looked there. It's empty.\"\n\n\"Well, let's look again,\" snapped Buccleuch, and was there before Tennant could stop him. \"What's that?\"\n\nIt was, undoubtedly, a trap door. In bitterest necessity, Mungo Tennant held them up for ten minutes protesting: he claimed it was sealed; it was ornamental; it was locked and unused. In the end Buccleuch stopped listening and went for a crowbar.\n\nIt opened with a hissing, fairly oiled ease.\n\nMungo need not have worried. The lower cellar, the cavern and the long underground tunnel to the Nor' Loch contained no contraband at all. But, because tuns of Bordeaux wine make hard rowing, all the wells of Edinburgh ran with claret next day; and on this, the eve of the English invasion, the commonality of the High Street were for an hour or two as blithe as the Gosford Close sow.\n\nLate, the laminated sheet of the Nor' Loch held a faint chord of laughter.\n\n\u2003\"There was a lady lov'd a hogge\n\n\u2003Honey, quoth she\n\n\u2003Won't thou lie with me tonight?\n\n\u2003Hoogh, quoth he.\"\n\nAnd, long since ashore with his men and his booty, Crawford of Lymond, man of wit and crooked felicities, bred to luxury and heir to a fortune, rode off serenely to Midculter to break into his new sister-in-law's castle.\n\n\u2003\"Won't thou lie with me tonight?\n\n\u2003Hoogh, quoth he.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 2",
                "text": "In the Castle of Midculter, close to the River Clyde in the southwest lowlands of Scotland, the Dowager Lady Culter had reared three children of whom the youngest, Eloise, died at school in her teens. The two boys remaining were brought up variously in France and in Scotland: she had them taught Latin, French, philosophy and rhetoric, hunting, hawking, riding and archery, and the art of killing neatly with the sword. When her husband died, violently, in the field the elder boy Richard became third Baron Culter, and Francis his brother received the heir's title of Master of Culter as well as taking name from his own lands of Lymond.\n\nUntil Richard's marriage, Sybilla Lady Culter had lived alone at Midculter with her older son. What she thought of Lymond's activities she did not say. She welcomed Mariotta, Richard's new bride, with warm arms and dancing blue eyes, and today, in the late summer of 1547, had dismissed her son to his eternal local meetings and had invited the women of the neighbourhood to meet her daughter-in-law. And thus, in Richard's absence, forty women clacked each to each on plush chairs encased by the barrel vaulting, the tapestries and the carving which made the Great Hall of Midculter famous.\n\nMariotta, black-haired and beautiful, walked on air decorated with compliment and envy. Richard's mother Sybilla, small and splendid, with cornflower eyes and fair skin, effaced herself as well as she could, controlled the household machinery with half her mind and kept her own counsel about the other half.\n\n\"And how's Will?\" she said rashly to Janet, third and most formidable wife of Wat Scott of Buccleuch, and Janet, big-boned and handsome and heartily florid, thirty years younger than Buccleuch and the cleverest of a diabolically clever family, fixed an unwinking eye on the ceiling and groaned.\n\nIn Sybilla's mind, Buccleuch's heir by his first wife was a pleasing, red-haired child who, losing his mother at five, had been gently reared by Sir Wat's then chaplain. Then Buccleuch had sent him to France, where he had attended Grand Coll\u00e8ge until this year. Nevertheless, Sybilla was able to put her own accurate interpretation on Janet's groan. \"Religion or women?\" asked Lady Culter expertly.\n\n\"Women!\" It was a cry of despair. \"Can you see Buccleuch turning a whisker about women! Not a bit of it. Moral Philosophy, that's the trouble,\" said Janet with gloomy relish. \"They've taught poor Will moral philosophy and his father's fit to boil.\"\n\n\"It is theology then,\" said Sybilla uneasily. \"I suppose he might manage if he sticks like Lindsay to the vulgarities in iambics; but if he's developing into a Calvinist or a Lutheran or an Erasmian or an Anabaptist it isn't very healthy: look at George Wishart and the Castillians.\"\n\n\"He isn't quoting Luther. He's quoting Aristotle and Boethius and the laws of chivalry and the dreicher speils of the Chevalier de Bayard on loyalty and the ethics of warfare. He's so damned moral that he ought to be standing rear up under a Bo Tree. And he won't keep his mouth shut. I grant,\" said Lady Buccleuch with a certain grim amusement, \"that the pure springs of chivalry may be a little muddy in the Hawick area, but that's no proper excuse for calling his father an unprincipled old rogue, and every other peer in Scotland a traitorous scoundrel.\"\n\nSybilla pulled herself together. \"Wat knows how to argue, heaven knows. Why not explain?\"\n\n\"Because Buccleuch isn't a plaster saint and Will would drive the Archangel Gabriel to lunacy and drink,\" said Lady Buccleuch with candour. \"Wait till you hear him on the subject of perjury, patriotism and divided loyalties. The last time he trailed his coat Wat and he were shrieking at one another in five minutes like the Ghibellines and the Guelphs. Damn them both,\" she said thoughtfully, \"for a couple of sumphs,\" and paused, her gaze suddenly sharpening.\n\nSybilla, her smile unimpaired, caught her daughter-in-law's eye smartly as Lady Buccleuch spoke again. \"You've heard Lymond's back.\"\n\nFor an instant the clever blue eyes focused. Then Lymond's mother, turning, said, \"Oh, Mariotta, my dear. The gypsies. I expect they've finished supper below, and it might be safer to send them away before Richard and the horses come back. Although they looked very honest. Could you\u2026?\"\n\nBetween Mariotta and the Dowager Lady Culter there was perfect rapport. Mariotta laughed and instantly took herself off to see the gypsies dismissed.\n\n\"So fortunate that they came,\" said Sybilla, \"\u2014with the extra musicians being held up; although acrobatics are not my favourite entertainment. And what do you intend to do about Will?\"\n\n\"We weren't discussing Will,\" said Lady Buccleuch with brief exactitude. \"As you perfectly well know, I was talking about Lymond.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Dowager. \"Yes, I remember; and yes, I know he's been seen about. So they say.\"\n\nWith difficulty, Janet transfixed the wandering blue eye. \"Sybilla. What about this marriage of Richard's and Lymond?\"\n\n\"It makes no difference. None at all. Lymond never could be Lord Culter as things are. Even his own estate of Lymond was forfeited when he was outlawed. There isn't another heir. If Richard and Mariotta both died, the whole fortune would go to the Crown.\"\n\n\"He couldn't succeed Richard now, certainly,\" said Janet. \"But if the English took over? Criminals at the horn with the right kind of politics have died in silk sheets before now.\"\n\n\"So they say. Perhaps it's lucky then,\" said Sybilla, \"that this criminal has cheated his way out of favour with every party in Europe. Did you try some brazil on your curtains?\"\n\nAnd this time, Lady Buccleuch took the hint.\n\nMariotta was returning from her errand by the wheel stair when she heard the horses in the courtyard and guessed that Richard and his train were coming in. The requirements of dignity fought with a wifely desire to scamper below. She was hesitating still when footsteps turned the stair corner below and an alien and unknown yellow head rose from the serpentine depths, a nautilus from the shell.\n\nYoung and exhibitionist by temperament, Lady Culter gathered her skirts, darkly glowing, and just missed a simper. \"Can I help you, sir?\"\n\nNorman fairness recognizing Celtic darkness howled like a cluricane. \"I've got the servants' stair again. This place was built by mouldiewarps for mouldiewarps, and to the devil with lords and gentlemen. Jennie, m'joy, where is thy master? The traces d'amour? The path to a Culter? Any Culter: old Lady Culter, young Lady Culter, or his middle-aged lordship\u2026?\"\n\nIf she thought the mistake genuine, it was only for a moment. Then: \"A rather primitive sense of humour, surely?\" she said pleasantly. \"My husband has not yet arrived, but his mother the Dowager is upstairs. I shall take you to her, if you like.\"\n\nA crow of delighted laughter answered her. \"A Culter, and bad-tempered, and black. Come dance with me in Ireland.\"\n\n\"I,\" said Mariotta firmly, \"am Lady Culter. I take you to be a friend of my husband's.\"\n\nHe came to rest two steps below her. \"Take what you like. Yellow doesn't suit you, and neither does angling for compliments.\"\n\n\"I\u2014really!\" said Mariotta, roused. \"There is no excuse for rank bad manners.\"\n\n\"Richard doesn't like me either,\" said the fair one sorrowfully. \"But that's unmannerly rank for you. Do you like Richard?\"\n\n\"I'm married to him!\"\n\n\"That's why I asked. You don't believe in polyandry by any chance?\" He rested a shoulder and elbow against the newel post, staring at her cheerfully. \"It's difficult, isn't it? I might be a distant cousin with a quaint sense of humour, in which case you'll look silly if you scream. I might be a well-known cretin to be kept from your guests at all costs. Or I might be\u2014oh no, my angel!\"\n\nQuick fingers, closing on her wrist, wrenched her up from a headlong plunge to the lower floor, to the servants and her husband.\n\n\"\u2014Or I might be annoyed. Don't be a fool, my dear,\" he said. \"These were my men you heard entering below. You are not being badgered; you are being invaded.\"\n\nHeld close to him as she was, she found his eyes unavoidable. They were blue, of the deep and identical cornflower of the Dowager's. And at that, the impact of knowledge stiffened her face and seized her pulses. \"I know who you are! You are Lymond!\"\n\nApplauding, he released her. \"I take back the more personal insults if you will take back your arm without putting it to impious uses. There. Now, sister-in-law mine, let us mount like Jacob to the matriarchal cherubim above. Personally,\" he said critically, \"I should dress you in red.\"\n\nSo this was Richard's brother. Every line of him spoke, palimpsest-wise, with two voices. The clothes, black and rich, were vaguely slovenly; the skin sun-glazed and cracked; the fine eyes slackly lidded; the mouth insolent and self-indulgent. He returned the scrutiny without rancour.\n\n\"What had you expected? A viper, or a devil, or a ravening idiot; Milo with the ox on his shoulders, Angra-Mainyo prepared to do battle with Zoroaster, or the Golden Ass? Or didn't you know the family colouring? Richard hasn't got it. Poor Richard is merely Brown and fit to break bread with\u2026\"\n\n\"The poem I know at least,\" exclaimed Mariotta, chafing her wrist. \"Red wise; Brown trusty; Pale envious\u2014\"\n\n\"And Black lusty. What a quantity of traps you've dropped into today.\u2026 If you wish, you may run ahead screaming. It makes no difference now, although five minutes ago we were in something of a hurry\u2026 the servants to be tied up\u2026 the silver to collect\u2026 Richard's personal hoard to recover from its usual cache. A man of iron habit, Richard.\"\n\nHe had wandered absently past her and ahead up the stair when Mariotta, fully alert and aghast, started after him. \"What do you want?\"\n\nHe considered. \"Amusement, principally. Don't you think it's time my family shared in my misfortunes, as Christians should? Then, vice is so costly: May dew or none, my brown and tender diamonds don't engender, they dissolve. Immoderation, Mariotta, is a thief of money and intestinal joy, but who'd check it? Not I. Here I am, weeping soft tears of myrrh, to prove it.\"\n\nThey had reached the door to the Hall. One hand on the standpost, he turned, and the kitten's eyes were bright blue. \"Watch carefully. In forty formidable bosoms we are about to create a climacteric of emotion. In one short speech\u2014or maybe two\u2014I propose to steer your women through excitement, superiority, contempt and anger: we shall have a little drama; just, awful and poetic, spread with uncials and full, as the poet said, of fruit and seriosity. Will they thank me, I wonder?\"\n\nMariotta, collecting her wits, produced the only deterrent she could think of. \"Your mother is in there.\"\n\nHe received this with tranquil pleasure. \"Then one person at least should recognize me,\" Crawford of Lymond said, and pushed the door gently open for her to walk through."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 3",
                "text": "Meanwhile Sir Wat Scott of Buccleuch was riding westward from Edinburgh, free at last of the Governor's councils, and leaving behind him his good friend Tom Erskine, a distraught smuggler, and a depressed pig.\n\nBuccleuch was accustomed to war. Since the golden age before Flodden of a dynamic kingship and culture, it seemed that he had been governed by children, or by their elders and so-called protectors locked in civil struggle for power. And always the nobles who fell out of power were able to look for help to England's Henry VIII, who as a matter of personal pride and pressing European politics meant to conquer Scotland for himself, and to take the child Queen Mary to England, there to rear her in English ways and marry her in due course to his son.\n\nHenry had sent force after force over the Border into Scotland to harry them into submission. He had taken hostages; offered inducements; granted pensions; offered high positions to the discontented, impoverished great and, in the very month of Mary's birth and her father King James's death, had snatched as captives to London half the Lowland Scottish peerage at the disastrous battle of Solway Moss, and had there extorted from them as the price of their freedom a written promise to help him achieve the marriage between his son Edward and Mary.\n\nNow Henry was dead, and a child sat on the English throne too: Edward VI, for whom ruled his uncle, Edward Somerset, Protector of England and avid adherent to Henry's policy for the marriage, who also burned and pillaged and put to the sword, and seduced the Scottish nobility with other weapons; for King Henry in marital and concupiscent frenzy had severed his country's church from the Pope; and there were many in Scotland who looked away from the French Queen Mother and their old ally, Catholic France, and toward the Reformed Religion instead.\n\nNone of that, however, concerned Buccleuch who was little troubled, if ever, with matters of right and wrong. He thought occasionally about religion when it appeared to be taking too close a grip on politics and therefore on the future of the Scott family, but this latest upheaval was nothing to him. The Bishop of Rome was no paragon, but old Harry of England had damned nearly overrun Buccleuch's home of Branxholm, and that put him anyway in the bottommost pit with the heretics. When your nation has no standing army, there is nothing for it but to defend it yourself, with your tenants at your back, and hired swords and foreign mercenaries to eke out, depending on what the privy purse can afford. Buccleuch liked fighting. Having received his orders, he turned westward ready to explode into militant activity, and digressed on his way home to call at Boghall, a castle placed on its malodorous peats in the centre of Scotland and owned by the Flemings, a family uniquely loyal to the Queen, whose head Lord Fleming had himself married a lively and illegitimate daughter of the royal house.\n\nLady Fleming, who was governess as well as aunt to the baby Queen, was away, but the honours of Boghall were done by her goddaughter Christian Stewart.\n\nShe was a favourite of Buccleuch's. Comely and tall, with hair of fine dark red and a decisive air to her, she was pleasant and positive to talk to, and it was impossible to tell that she was blind from birth. Familiar with every inch of Boghall, she stood chatting to Sir Wat after his necessary talk with Fleming, and it was she who told him Lord Culter was upstairs.\n\n\"Culter?\" said Fleming, overhearing. \"I thought he had left?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said Christian unemotionally, and followed slowly as Buccleuch, losing no time, took the stairs for all his fifty-odd years like a sheared ram.\n\nRichard, third Baron Culter and Sybilla's older son, was not only upstairs; he was on the roof. On the main parapet the sun slapped at the face off turrets and battlements, and far below, the castle rose from the bog like a lighthouse on its circling strands of barmkin, park and moat. The great dusty apron of the courtyard, the outbuildings and stables, the bakehouse, the brewery, the barns, byres and domestic offices seethed with foreshortened life. Buccleuch walked forward and the girl followed, sure-footed, the red hair lifted about her shoulders with the wind.\n\nLord Culter watched them come. There was about him none of the mad abandon of the bridegroom. A sober, thickset figure with brown hair and reliable grey eyes, Richard Crawford in his thirties was a man of wealth and tried power. He waited, his face stony, and before Buccleuch opened his mouth, he spoke. \"If it's about Lymond, don't trouble, Buccleuch.\"\n\n\"It's about Lymond,\" said Sir Wat grimly, and let fly.\n\nAs Mungo Tennant had listened, so Christian Stewart heard the argument in silence, but with a concern and understanding which Mungo Tennant applied to nothing.\n\nBuccleuch ended roaring. \"Man, you might as well be in league with Lymond as let others think you are, and the army that fights on suspicion is a whacked army. Look at what's happening! Five years ago your brother Lymond was found to have been selling his own country for years: he's been kicked from land to land committing every crime on the calendar and now he's back here, God forgive him, with filthier habits and a nastier mind than he set out with.\n\n\"All right. Meanwhile, what's left of a national entity struggles on. Half a million folk. And three million English are trying their damndest for the overlordship of Scotland with the hairy natives like you and me kicked out, and the land parcelled out to the Dacres and the Howards and the Seymours and the Musgraves. And in between the raids every landowner between Berwick and Fife is courting England like a pregnant scullery-maid. God knows, I don't blame them. I've taken English money myself to protect my house and my tenants. You promise food and horses and nonresistance and when they invade, you do or don't lick their boots according to the thickness of your walls and the kind of conscience you have.\"\n\nHe got up suddenly from his seat on the parapet, and began to pace. \"Then we've got the Douglases, the beauties, and others like them. They're the folk who're accepted as go-betweens with the English in London; who've got a kistful of gold, a family tree back to an acorn, and too many men-at-arms to need to tolerate a rough word.\n\n\"They get respect from both sides, and money comes pouring into the purse because each faction thinks it's bought the man's ultimate loyalty. But Sir George Douglas's loyalty is to his own house and the devil, and if the devil doesn't see the Douglases up there at the top of the dynastic dungheap, then to the Pope with the devil. Are ye with me?\" asked Buccleuch.\n\n\"Yes, I'm with you,\" said Lord Culter. \"Go on.\"\n\n\"Right. We've all those, and we've the rest, like yourself, who carry the throne on their backs from generation to generation\u2014maybe just because you've so much at stake in Scotland that there's no other game worth the risk; still you do it.\u2026 We think the Protector's going to invade. We hope to put an army in the field to stop him at Edinburgh. It won't be a very good army because it'll have one eye on the Lothian lairds and one eye on the Douglases. And by God, Richard Crawford,\" ended Buccleuch with a growl that lifted the pigeons off the turrets, \"if they've got to watch you too, there'll be a wheen of skelly-eyed Scotsmen at the Golden Gates in the next few weeks.\"\n\nThere was silence, as wily choleric eye stared into bright grey. Then Christian said sharply, \"Richard! I smell smoke!\"\n\nHe had gone in a moment, running across the slats and up, higher, to the battlements. Buccleuch, caught mopping his face, gaped at the girl and at Richard's vanishing figure. Christian spoke fast. \"He came up here because he thought he saw smoke coming from Culter direction.\" In a moment, Buccleuch was with Richard on the highest rampart.\n\nThe August sun mobilized against them the last furious heat of midafternoon, beating from the crowded roofs and turrets, the grained corbelling and cherry-caulked flanks. To the east lay the roofs of the barony town of Biggar, smoking in the socket of Bizzyberry Hill, and the Edinburgh road. On the south, the horizon was jumbled with hills; footstools before the greater furniture of the English Border. To the north and northwest the roads for Ayrshire and for Stirling girdled the crag of Tinto.\n\nTo the west, springing from the base of the castle, the bog rolled, jellied green and shimmering between an avenue of hills, to dip three miles distantly into the bed of the Culter burn, where stood the village and the castle of Midculter.\n\nFor a moment, nothing was to be seen, and Buccleuch became jocular. \"Smoke! Never worry, man. My chimneys were in mourning for a month before my first wife and the cook got the hang of the ovens\u2026\"\n\nThe wind patted their faces, and turned. A great column, black as the onset of night, rose from the west and hung wavering on the horizon.\n\nWith an undreamed-of turn of speed Lord Culter reached the stairs with Buccleuch after him, yelling bills and bows for the castle to hear. Left alone, Christian Stewart herself found the stairs and descended, with debate in the unseeing eyes."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 4",
                "text": "When the door opened, the women in the Hall at Midculter were not surprised. They expected to be fed; and Lady Buccleuch, for whom pregnancy spelled food, had already taken strategic foothold by the windows, where the cold dishes were ready laid. Sybilla, standing by the hearth, was in the middle of a long, grave story provoking much mirth. As the door opened she said happily, \"Now we can eat. Janet will be so pleased.\" The blue eyes smiled at her daughter-in-law, ceased to smile, and then simply rested, thought suspended, on the still-open door.\n\nLucent and delicate, Drama entered, mincing like a cat. Leaning on the door, Lymond shut it and without looking turned and took out the key with one hand. In the other a naked sword point, descending, was poised among the slit lavender stems. At his side, Mariotta stood perfectly still.\n\nAfter the first moment, every trace of expression left the Dowager's face; her white hair shone like salt. Moved by her stillness, the sound of the key, the blaze of the sword, the first heads turned. A murmur grew and expired. Dumbness, flowing among them uncovered like a crocus in the snow the lost reprise of a hornpipe, pursuing its scratchy but dogged course in the musicians' gallery. Then that also died.\n\nBack to the door, the newcomer spoke indolently, slurring his words. \"Good evening, ladies. The gentlemen now entering behind you are all fully armed. I am Francis Crawford of Lymond and I want your lives or your jewels\u2014the latter for preference; both if necessary.\"\n\nThrough the rustle of shock came the first cries of horror: from these rose a storm of exclamatory fright and abuse, and from that an orchestration of outraged feminine frenzy that tortured the very harp strings in the gallery. Someone, losing her head, plucked at the small, stately figure. \"Sybilla! It's Lymond!\" And fell back, frozen, before the Dowager's stony face.\n\nThe room was lined with armed men. Some, working efficiently, stripped each woman of money and jewellery; others searched and denuded the room, and with cocked weapons encouraged resistance with a leer. There was none.\n\nOn them all rested Lymond's peaceful blue gaze, quite at random. But long ago instinct told Mariotta he was fully aware of one thing. Bent urgently on exposing some frail nerve, she spoke. \"Why not look at her? Your drama wants dialogue.\"\n\nHe turned on her the vague survey. \"Oak of linen and pole of jewels, I've decided on pantomime.\"\n\n\"What a shame, now. I was all ready for buskins, and it's nothing but socks.\"\n\n\"Mime doesn't always mean comedy, my dear; far from it.\"\n\nAn approaching voice, of the self-same timbre, answered him. \"Farce, then,\" said the Dowager composedly. \"My son is not very complicated, Mariotta, although the artifice glitters. He's afraid\u2014\"\n\n\"Afraid!\" Blue eyes, dead of feeling, looked into blue. \"Afraid of what? Damned by the church and condemned by the law: what possible capacity for fear can heart and head still find? Oim\u00e8 el cor, oim\u00e8 la testa\u2026 After five years of villainy, I promise you, I have the refinement of a cow-cabbage.\"\n\n\"\u2014Afraid I might puncture the cocoon of Attic detachment. What we see is acting, isn't it, Francis?\"\n\n\"Is it?\" he said derisively. \"You won't get your diamonds back, I fear, when the curtain comes down. And the name, please, is Lymond: a new medal: choose the trussell or the pile. My present face is the provident, forbearing one.\" The smiling eyes turned on her were empty. \"De los \u00e1lamos vengo, madre. From the stews and alleyways of Europe with a taste for play acting\u2014yes\u2014and killing and treason and crimes, they say, nameless and enticingly erotic. Haven't I been worth five years' excellent gossip to you? Are you not all waiting agog to see me seize my sister-in-law by the hair? When I think of it, damn it, I'm a public benefactor.\"\n\n\"Chattering ape!\" Lady Buccleuch took a hand in the game, full of rage and pity for Sybilla and hatred for the black-bearded ruffian who had just seized her emeralds. \"What's poor Richard ever done to you except get himself born first?\"\n\nThe blue eyes were speculative. \"Ill-calculated,\" he agreed. \"But not necessarily final.\"\n\nStrophe and counterstrophe reached their epode. The Master was out of her reach, but not the grinning thief at her side. \"Final as far as I'm concerned, ye petty-souled slug, ye!\" shrieked Dame Janet with ear-cracking clarity, and seized and hurled a cold pudding into Blackbeard's face. As the big man, cursing, scraped at blancmange with both hands, Janet filched his own dagger and made for him.\n\nBut not fast enough. Lymond, watching from the door, had no mind to lose one of his men. Good humour and indolence tittered into the shadows, and as Dame Janet began her lunge, Lymond drew back his own arm and threw.\n\nIn the silence of the room Janet screamed, once; and her right arm dropped to her side, the knife slipping from big, relaxed fingers. Then slowly and disjointedly, Buccleuch's wife fell, and Lymond's dagger, thrown with accuracy across the width of the room, glittered in her gown, stained and sticky with blood.\n\n\"Afraid?\" said the yellow-haired man and laughed. \"Forgive me, I should have warned you: I have a tendency to be bloody-minded. Bruslez, noyez, pendez, ompallez, descouppez, fricassez, crucifiez, bouillez, carbonnadez ces m\u00e9chantes femmes. Matthew! When you have digested your windfall will you kindly report progress below? Now\"\u2014as Blackbeard, red with shame, disappeared through the screen door\u2014\"come along, ladies. Leave your female Telemachus alone for a moment; she's not dead.\"\n\nHe surveyed them pleasantly. \"Epilogue,\" he said. \"We have heard sweet-voiced Calliope busily shrinking me like a sea worm and calling me play actor. And the lady of Buccleuch taking heart there-from to give us a roaring, a howling, a whistling, a mummying and a juggling, with sorry results. And Mariotta, trying to wring shame from the unshamable.\"\n\nHe turned his head, and the girl's heart jumped. \"Qu'es casado, el Rey Ricardo. Weel, weel, sister, what shall we do with you, Mariotta?\" He watched her thoughtfully, and then looked beyond her and smiled. \"Observe,\" he said. \"Their eyes lit like corpse candles. I beg, under the circumstances, to be original.\u2026 Yes?\"\n\nBlackbeard had reappeared. \"All finished, sir; and the horses are ready.\"\n\n\"All right. Get them out.\" The men began to leave, and the reports came in: \"All doors barred, sir. Valuables loaded, sir.\"\n\nWith careful and porcelain tread, Crawford of Lymond walked to the screen, and the women fell back before him. At the door he turned. \"We've had a deal of bad poetry, haven't we? Suggesting the climax to this thrilling and literary spectacle. The Olla Podrida, my sweet-hearts, will now be set on the fire. I regret Richard isn't with you. No matter. God hath a thousand hand\u0113s to chastise and I have two\u2014how can Richard escape us both?\"\n\nHe scanned them all, and they gave him back contempt for reflective stare. \"I don't suppose,\" he said regretfully, \"we shall meet again. Goodbye.\"\n\nThe door shut behind them all, and locked. The women stared at it, mesmerized, and observed across it the wavering shadow of an uncanny cloud. Behind the chamfered windows the sun was obscured by drifting wreaths of grey smoke, and the silence filled with the crackling of flames. The youngest surviving Crawford, in leaving, had deftly set fire to the castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "The bonfires stacked against its walls were blazing merrily when the party from Boghall shot down the incline toward the castle. Behind Richard came every able-bodied man from Lord Fleming's garrison. They tore away the faggots and, using hatchets, broke through the main door and again through the door of the Hall.\n\nRichard, gripping his wife, looked over her head at his mother. \"Who did it? What happened?\"\n\nBut Mariotta answered. She shut her eyes; the darkness showed her a cool blue gaze, and she opened them again. \"It was your brother. He must be insane.\"\n\n\"Not insane, dear.\" Sybilla, speaking gently, contradicted. \"Not insane. But magnificently drunk, I fear.\"\n\nHe listened to what they had to tell him; he dropped beside Janet as she lay nursing her shoulder wound and spoke to her, and came back with an unseeing face to his mother's side through the babble of relief and hysteria. Through white lips he said, \"I appear to have made a fool of myself. But not again, in that way, I promise you.\"\n\nBuccleuch's hand was on his arm. \"By God, when we come back\u2026\"\n\n\"Back?\" said the Dowager.\n\nSir Wat's beard folded; a sign of concern. He said flatly, \"You've not heard the news?\"\n\n\"What news?\"\n\nWithout looking at Mariotta, Richard answered for him. \"We heard at Boghall. It's open war, and sooner than we thought. The English have collected an army and are on their way north. We are all summoned instantly to the Governor to fight\u2026\n\n\"\u2026 So Lymond\u2014dear God, Lymond must wait.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 6",
                "text": "Only eight months had gone since Henry VIII of England had been suspended in death, there to lie like Mohammed's coffin, hardly in the Church nor out of it, attended by his martyrs and the acidulous fivefold ghosts of his wives. King Francis of France, stranded by his neighbour's death in the midst of a policy so advanced, so brilliant and so intricate that it should at last batter England to the ground, and be damned to the best legs in Europe\u2014Francis, bereft of these sweet pleasures, dwindled and died likewise.\n\nFrom Venice to Rome, Paris to Brussels, London to Edinburgh, the Ambassadors watched, long-eared and bright-eyed.\n\nCharles of Spain, Holy Roman Emperor, fending off Islam at Prague and Lutherism in Germany and forcing recoil from the long, sticky fingers at the Vatican, cast a considering glance at heretic England.\n\nHenry, new King of France, tenderly conscious of the Emperor's power and hostility, felt his way thoughtfully toward a small cabal between himself, the Venetians and the Pope, and wondered how to induce Charles to give up Savoy, how to evict England from Boulogne, and how best to serve his close friend and dear relative Scotland without throwing England into the arms or the lap of the Empire.\n\nHe observed Scotland, her baby Queen, her French and widowed Queen Mother, and her Governor Arran.\n\nHe observed England, ruled by the royal uncle Somerset for the boy King Edward, aged nine.\n\nHe watched with interest as the English dotingly pursued their most cherished policy: the marriage which should painlessly annex Scotland to England and end forever the long, dangerous romance between Scotland and France.\n\nPensively, France marshalled its fleet and set about cultivating the Netherlands, whose harbours might be kind to storm-driven galleys. The Emperor, fretted by Scottish piracy and less busy than he had been, watched the northern skies narrowly. Europe, poised delicately over a brand-new board, waited for the opening gambit."
            },
            {
                "title": "The PLAY FOR JONATHAN CROUCH",
                "text": "[ Taking en Passant ]\n\n\u2002The gardes and kepars of cytees ben signefied By the vii Pawn.\u2026 They ought\u2026 to enquyre of all thynges and ought to rapporte to the gouernours of the cyte such thynge as apperteyneth\u2026 and yf hit be in tyme of warre, they ought not to open the yates by nyght to no man.\n\n[ The English Opening ]\n\nOn Saturday, September 10th, the English Protector Somerset and his army met the combined Scottish forces on the field of Pinkie, outside Edinburgh, and smashed them to pieces in a defeat as dire as any the Scots had suffered since Flodden. They did not, however, capture the baby Queen or take the fortress of Edinburgh, but remained outside its gates burning and wrecking while, as Buccleuch had predicted, a second English army invaded Scotland on the southwest, and ensconced itself in the near-Border town of Annan on its triumphant way north.\n\nOn the same day, quite near Annan, a man rode a broad-faced pony into a farmyard and stopped, a pike at his chest. Sitting still, he hissed through his teeth, brown eyes judicial over inquisitive nose. \"Colin, Colin! You're not doing yourself justice! It's as smart, ye ken, to let Lymond's friends in as his unfriends out.\" And as the pikeman answered him with a bleat\u2014\"Johnnie Bullo! I didna ken ye, man!\"\u2014the rider clicked his teeth and the pony moved on.\n\nIt carried him gently through a rubble arch and up a long alley to a yard crowded with men. Saddlebags, rugs, weapons, tenting and food sacks lay piled against the house wall; and the reek of a boiling pot over an open fire fought weakly with the odours of sweat, leather and horse dung. Johnnie Bullo entered the yard through a gate, and dismounting, addressed the air.\n\n\"Turkey in?\"\n\nA man passing with a bonnetful of eggs jerked his head across the open yard and grinned, showing two sets of bereaved gums. \"Over yonder, Johnnie.\"\n\nTurkey Mat, professional soldier and veteran of Mohacs, Rhodes and Belgrade, sat against an upturned barrel, hauling off his boots and bellowing orders. Forty and liverish, he had done nothing for his looks by growing a curled black beard in the Assyrian style. The men in the yard admired Turkey.\n\nJohnnie Bullo approached gently. \"Man, you've a fire there you could lead the Children of Israel with.\"\n\nTurkey Mat was emptying river sand from one boot. \"Hey, Johnnie! No harm in a lowe with the farm bodies at home.\" And as Bullo wordlessly turned to survey the planks nailed over doors and windows: \"That's the farmer, not us. He's got six lassies and says he pays us for protection, no' for stud fees.\u2026 We're moving on tomorrow anyway; and I hope to God it's to the Tower: my stomach's declared war on my elbow. Have you brought the dose?\"\n\nThe gypsy brooded. \"What d'you suppose? I've had it a fortnight. It's begun to grow whiskers like your own. What you want is a cross between an apothecary and a bloodhound.\"\n\nFlinging down the other boot, Turkey swore. \"There's been a war! Do they no' tell you anything in these parts?\"\n\nJohnnie grinned, dropping to the ground beside him. \"I thought you went east?\"\n\n\"So we did. I never saw so many weel-kent faces all in the one place; the most of them chowed off and in no state to give the sort of snash you get from half of them when they're upright. It was better,\" said Matthew, \"than a front seat at the Widdy-Hill the day after the Assizes.\"\n\n\"And profitable?\"\n\n\"Oh, aye.\" A smile winked in Turkey Mat's beard. \"There was Arran, biting his nails to the elbows at Musselburgh, wanting men and food and powder and intelligence (and wanting the last more than most); and Protector Somerset coming north hung over with booty and Wee gifts from the Lothian lairds, with a trail of tumble-down castles behind him\u2026 man, the moneybags were fleeing here and yon like cockroaches on a biscuit. Mind, that was last week,\" he added with belated caution, watching Bullo bounce a small leather bag in one hand.\n\n\"Twelve crowns,\" said Johnnie agreeably.\n\n\"Twelve crowns! Twelve crowns for a teazle o' Tay sand and chopped henbane and a week's rakings from the doocote! It's robbery!\"\n\nNevertheless the transaction was completed, the gypsy derisive. \"What's money to Lymond's men? I hear Governor Arran's thinking of calling him in to finance the next expedition.\" He waited a moment, then added lightly, \"And I hear you got yourselves a new prize up-by into the bargain?\"\n\nTurkey registered surprise. \"Not us. We fell in with an English messenger with a dispatch from the Protector to his commander at Annan; but Lymond wouldn't touch him.\"\n\nBullo raised an eyebrow. \"So the Master's money is on England, is it? Now that, Matthew, is interesting.\"\n\nThe other shrugged and bawled an order across the yard. \"God knows; but he sent Jess's Joe after to make sure the message reached Annan safely. Did you want him? He'll be back directly. He turned off with Dandy-puff for a minute just before we came in.\"\n\nBullo showed his teeth. \"And in drink, maybe? It would be nice to have him civil, for once.\"\n\nThere was no chance to comment. As he spoke, three riders passed through the gate and drew rein: two were the Master of Culter and the man Dandy-puff, while the third was a stranger, a young man, tied to his horse and wild about it. Johnnie Bullo's smile widened. \"Hell's hell again: the de'il's back.\"\n\nFrancis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter, was neat as a pin and stone sober. He dismounted, emitting a feu de joie of explicit orders: the prisoner was unhorsed and unbound, the animals led away, and the muddle in the yard cut up to shape instantly. \"God!\" said Matthew in simple admiration. \"He's got a tongue on him like a thorn tree.\" And they watched him approach, the stranger trailing sulkily behind.\n\nAs at the sack of his mother's home, Lymond was lavishly dressed. The knowledgeable gypsy eyes scanned the dairy-maid skin, the gilded hair, the long hands, jewelled to display their beauty while the Master, serenely smiling, returned the compliment under relaxed lids.\n\n\"Johnnie, my night-black familiar. Civility's nearly as dull as sobriety and I cannot\u2014will not\u2014be labelled dull. I have peper and piones, and a pound of garlik; a ferthing-worth of fenel-seed for fasting dayes, but dullness have I none: nor am I overfond of being discussed, my Johnnie.\"\n\n\"You've quick ears, Lymond.\"\n\n\"But yours, like Midas whispering in the hole, are closer to the ground.\u2026 What do you think of our new recruit?\"\n\nIf the gypsy found the question surprising, or the reference offensive which it undoubtedly was, he showed nothing of it, but simply turned and bent an admiring glance on the tall young figure behind Lymond.\n\n\"My, my. He's a bonny blossom to be let away from his nurse.\"\n\nThe stranger flushed. He was a graceful creature, with fair skin and a thatch of carroty curls. His clothes, of a thoroughly expensive and unostentatious kind, were a credit to tailor and souter: his scabbard and accoutrements were inlaid and ornamented with a little more brio than the rule.\n\n\"\u2014And his fancy hat!\" breathed Matthew in awe.\n\nThe newcomer addressed Lymond with dignity. \"I must confess to disappointment. Do you mete out this kind of treatment to every gentleman who offers you his sword?\"\n\n\"Big words, too!\"\n\nTurkey Mat was silenced by the Master's hand. Lymond, his back to the stone dike at one end of the yard, crossed his legs gently before him and instantly the yard, led by curiosity and its hope of a rough-house, deployed itself. Turkey and Bullo, grinning, ranged themselves on either side of the Master. The young man, stranded perforce in an open circle, stood his ground.\n\n\"Oh, Marigold!\" Lymond spoke plaintively. \"A silken tongue, a heart of cruelty. Don't berate us. We're only poor scoundrels\u2014vagabonds\u2014scraps of society; unlettered and untaught. Besides, we didn't believe you.\"\n\n\"Well, you can believe me now,\" said the young man belligerently. \"I didn't ride all the way from\u2014all this way to find you just to pass a dull Tuesday. I'm taken to be a fair fighting man. I'm prepared to join you; and I'd guess you need all the swords you can get. Unless you're overnervous, of course.\"\n\n\"Terror,\" said Lymond, \"is our daily bread in the Wuthenheer. We eat it, we live by it and we disseminate it; and not only between Christmas and Epiphany: there is no close season for fright. So you want to join us. Shall I take you? Mat, my friend, awful and stern, strong and corpulent\u2014what do you say?\"\n\nTurkey was in no doubt. \"I'd want to know a good bit more about the laddie, sir, before I had him next me with a knife.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Lymond, \"would you? And what about you, Johnnie?\"\n\nJohnnie Bullo regarded his fingers. \"If I were yourself, I would perhaps give him his head. He looks a meek enough child.\"\n\n\"So did Heliogabalus at an early age,\" said Lymond. \"And Attila and Torquemada and Nero and the man who invented the boot. The only thing they had in common was a cherubic adolescence. And red hair, of course, makes it worse.\"\n\nHe considered, while the boy watched him steadily; then said, \"Infant, I can't resist it. I'm going to put you to the proof; and if you impress us with your worth, then quicquid libet, licet; as was remarked on another, unsavoury occasion. Are you willing to be wooed, sweet Marigold?\"\n\nRedhead was not charmed. \"I'm willing to give you reasonable proof of my talents, of course.\"\n\n\"Proof of your talents!\u2026 Oh, little Peg-a-Ramsey, we are going to do well together. Come along then. Gif thou should sing well ever in thy life, here is in fay the time, and eke the space. Your name?\"\n\n\"You can call me Will.\"\n\n\"\u2014Sir,\" said Lymond affectionately. \"Surname and parentage?\"\n\n\"My own affair.\" A rustle among the onlookers gave credit to this piece of bravura; Lymond was undisturbed. \"Never fear. We're all runts and bastards of one sort or another. Do you swim? Hunt? Wrestle? I see. Can you use a crossbow? Your longest shot? Can you count? Read and write? Ah, the sting of sarcasm\u2014Have we a scholar here? Then produce us a specimen,\" said Lymond. \"What about some modest quatrains? Frae vulgar prose to flowand Latin. Deafen us, enchant us, educate us, boy.\"\n\nThere was a pause. The examinee, dazed by mental gymnastics at top speed, at first boggled. Then he had a pleasing idea. Lowering his lashes over a malicious sparkle he recited obligingly.\n\n\u2003\"Volavit volucer sine plumis\n\n\u2003Sedit in arbore sine foliis\n\n\u2003Venit homo absque manibus\u2026\"\n\nFlat incomprehension informed every face. He halted.\n\nThere was an uneasy and deferential pause. Then Lymond gave a short laugh and capped him in German:\n\n\u2003\"\u2026 un freet den Vogel fedderlos\n\n\u2003Van den Boem blattlos\u2026\n\n\"You appear,\" said the Master, \"to have left your studies at a very tender age? Don't trouble to explain: tell me this instead. What about Pharaoh's chickens appealed to you? Why did you decide to join me?\"\n\n\"Why\u2026?\" repeated Redhead, needing time to think.\n\n\"Word of three letters,\" said Lymond. \"Come along, for God's sake: no need to let me have it all my own way. What was it? Rape, incest, theft, treason, arson, wetting the bed at night\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026 Or burning my mother alive,\" said the other sarcastically.\n\n\"Oh, be original at least.\" The Master was undisturbed. \"Why are you here?\"\n\nSilence. Then the boy said slowly, \"Because I admire you.\"\n\nAn appreciative titter ran round the audience. \"You shock me,\" said Lymond. \"Explain, please.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said the boy. \"You've chosen a life of vice, and have been consistent and reliable and thorough and successful in carrying it out.\"\n\nLymond considered this with every appearance of seriousness. \"I see. Thus the baseness of my morals is redeemed by the stature of my manners? You admire consistency?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\n\"But prefer consistency in evil to consistency in good?\"\n\n\"The choice is hypothetical.\"\n\n\"Lord; is it? What an exciting past you must have.\"\n\n\"I despise mediocrity,\" stated the young man firmly.\n\n\"And you would also despise me if I practised evil but professed purity?\"\n\n\"Yes. I should.\"\n\n\"I see. What you are really saying, of course, is that you dislike hypocrisy, and people who can't stand by their principles. I find it so helpful,\" continued Lymond, \"when some of my gentlemen have well-defined codes of conduct. It makes them more predictable. What security have I got for your loyalty?\"\n\nRedhead chanced his arm, solemnly. \"Your appraisal of me, sir.\"\n\n\"Touching; but I'd prefer your appraisal of yourself. Do your principles admit an oath of fealty?\"\n\n\"If you want it. I won't betray you, any of you; you can have my word on that. And I'll do anything you want, within reason. I don't mind,\" said Redhead recklessly, \"what crimes I commit, as long as they've got a sensible purpose. Wanton injury and destruction, of course, are just juvenile.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Master, digesting this remarkable statement. \"Then let us be adult at all costs. Do you have a mistress? A wife? No? All, all in vain, this flors de biaut\u00e9? A little quietness, if you please. We are all ready to help, you see. What else\u2026 Do you use broadsword or rapier? A hackbut?\"\n\nSmoothly spinning, the inexorable questions resumed, faster and faster. \"What do you know about gunpowder? Not very much, is it? How old are you? Year of birth? If you must invent, stay awake afterwards.\u2026 What are you like with the longbow? There's Mat's quiver: hit that tree. Passable. Now the thorn. Good. Now,\" said Lymond, \"kill the man by the cooking-pot.\"\n\nExhausted, deflated and angry, the boy directed one haughty grimace at the Master, hauled on the bowstring and sent the shot of a lifetime buzzing for the mark.\n\nA great cheer, part shocked, part sardonic, arose. There was a blur of movement. Mat disappeared, and a swarm of curious bodies shut off the view of the target. Redhead knew, if he had never shot straight before, that he had put an arrow through blood and bone this time. He stood still.\n\nA gentle voice rebuked him.\n\n\"Careful, careful! my slave of sin. These are Sordidi Dei. How nice,\" said Lymond, \"to have simple emotions. No trouble with principles; no independence of thought; no resistance to suggestion; no nonsense about adult behaviour when it comes to one's own amour propre.\"\n\nThe skin around the boy's mouth was taut. \"I'm not immune to trickery. And the Sordid Gods in this case are yours, I think; not mine.\"\n\n\"Ah, no: not mine; I am godless,\" said Lymond. \"Not for me to solve the enigma.\n\n\u2003\"When a hatter\n\n\u2003Will go smatter\n\n\u2003In philosophy\n\n\u2003Or a pedlar\n\n\u2003Wax a medlar\n\n\u2003In theology\u2026\n\n\"There is the waste of purpose. Whereas I always have a purpose\u2014you were wiser than you knew, and less successful than you feared. Oyster Charlie has been giving me a little trouble. But if his wits are moribund, his hearing is sensational\u2014a matter of compensation, I suppose. Well, Mat?\"\n\nTurkey Mat shook himself free of the crowd, grinning. \"Just a shower of blisters,\" he said. \"He dodged behind the pot and got a spray of chicken bree for his pains. He's laying low now, is Oyster. He kens as well as you what that was for.\"\n\n\"Excellent. The warning cock and the Devil's bath,\" said Lymond, amused. \"Symbolism is coming cheap today.\"\n\n\"You mean I didn't kill him?\"\n\n\"No. Thus even your remorse of conscience is rooted in hallucination. Oyster is not dead; merely lightly boiled in the shell. I hope you will both perceive the point of the experiment.\"\n\nLymond surveyed the grinning audience with an air of gentle discovery. \"Is there no work to be done? Or perhaps it's a holiday?\"\n\nIn a moment, the spectators had vanished. Left facing the three men, the boy stood straight and with some natural dignity, although silent. Indeed, there seemed little to say. The Master evidently thought the same. He smiled warmly. \"A pleasant entertainment. Thank you. Have you thought of doing it for money? No? You should. It would go down very well on fair days in Hawick.\u2026 Take the young gentleman's boots off, Mat, and loose him on the hills somewhere. Preferably not within ten miles of me.\"\n\nThe young gentleman turned scarlet. Of course. Having made the bear dance, turn it to the dogs. And to that, youth and hurt pride had only one answer. \"You're welcome to try,\" said Redhead, and lunged.\n\nLymond got hold of the upraised arm halfway to his face. He shifted his grip, twisted, and holding the limb on the edge of agony, smiled.\n\n\"Softly, softly! Remember your superior upbringing, and your Caxton. How gentlemen shall be known from Churls. Don't be a Churl, Marigold. Full of sloth in his wars, full of boast in his manhood, full of cowardice to his enemy, full of lechery to his body, full of drinking and drunkenness. Revoking his own challenge; slaying his prisoner with his own hands; riding from his sovereign's banner in the field; telling his sovereign false tales\u2026\"\n\n\"You have it pat.\" The boy, suddenly released, rubbed his arm.\n\n\"Naturally. My rule of thumb. We all have our religion. With Johnnie, it's Paracelsus. Mat here follows Lydgate; and your father and Ascham fit very well together. If he thunder, they quake; if he chide they fear; if he complain\u2014\"\n\nShocked into interrupting, Mat spoke, a broad finger directed at the redheaded boy. \"His father? He was nameless.\"\n\n\"Allow me to introduce you.\" Lymond, speaking mildly, was watching Bullo. \"Will Scott of Kincurd, Buccleuch's oldest son.\"\n\nThe gypsy smiled back boldly. \"A prize indeed.\"\n\nUnderstanding and contempt filled the boy's face. \"Of course. Your diffidence is explained. But I assure you, you needn't be afraid of Buccleuch. He'll neither hound you for taking me nor pay you for ransoming me. In fact, he knows I've left to join some such as you.\"\n\n\"Some such,\" repeated Lymond idly. \"And didn't try to stop you?\"\n\nThe young man laughed. \"He didn't much fancy seeing his son and heir exposed in the gutter. He tried. But there are two other boys in the family. He'll get used to it.\"\n\nLymond shook his head sadly. \"There goes your day's work, Johnnie.\"\n\nJohnnie Bullo slid noiselessly to his feet, an ecstasy of white teeth. He stretched lazily, sketched an elaborate bow to Lymond, nodded to Mat, and made for his pony. On the way, he stopped and prodded the boy with a long, dirty finger. \"Home for you, laddie: home!\" said he. \"You need a longer spoon than the cutlers make to sup with this one.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Lymond. And Will Scott, to his secret astonishment, read an invitation in the tone.\n\n\"I haven't a spoon,\" he said. \"But I had a knife I could trust.\"\n\n\"This?\" The Master slipped from his belt the dirk he had removed when Will, the solemn tracker, had been ambushed by his quarry. He tossed it thoughtfully once, twice, and then pitched it to its owner. Will caught it, his expression an odd compound of surprise and mistrust.\n\nWith acute misgiving, Turkey Mat watched him. \"You're not taking him on, sir?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said the Master, his eyes on Scott \"It's the other way round.\"\n\nMatthew persevered. \"He'll wait till we're settled, oath or no oath, and then bring Buccleuch and the rest down on top of us.\"\n\n\"Will he?\" said Lymond. \"Will you, Marigold?\"\n\nBrilliant, youthful face confronted restless one.\n\nA little, malicious smile crossed the Master's face.\n\n\"Oh, no, he won't,\" said Lymond confidently. \"He's going to be a naughty, naughty rogue like you and me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 8",
                "text": "Much later, Lymond appeared again, still in riding dress, with a steel helmet fitted closely over his hair. A heavy white cloak marked with some kind of embroidery in red hung over one arm.\n\n\"Mat, I'm off to Annan. I leave you in charge. If that English messenger gets into trouble, Jess's Joe will report to you. Take all the men you need to free him and get him to Annan. I shall be back before dawn. Then we move to the Peel Tower.\"\n\nTurkey's hand automatically massaged his stomach. \"Fair enough.\" He added bluntly, \"You'll not expect us to get you out of Annan if you fall into trouble?\"\n\n\"My dear Mat, I can't possibly fall into trouble,\" said Lymond. \"I shall be under the best protection. I'm taking Will Scott with me.\"\n\n[ Pins and Counterpins ]\n\nThat evening at sunset the whaup and peewit lay quiet in Annandale and the black shadows of the Torthorwald and Mousewald hills marched east over moors prickling with movement and furtive noise.\n\nDarkness fell, and two horsemen slipped silently around the hills and made directly for the gates of Annan, capital town of the district and newly possessed and occupied by the English army of Lord Wharton. On the last rise the riders paused to look down at the red eye in the plain, the bloody glitter of the river and the drifting thickets of white smoke. The wooden houses of Annan were on fire.\n\n\u2003A peal of laughter shivered the silence.\n\n\u2003\"O wow! quo' he, were I as free\n\n\u2003As first when I saw this countrie\u2026\"\n\nThe sound died away in the cold air, and there was silence again.\n\nWill Scott, in no mood for verse, shot a look at the silver-tongued, malignant animal beside him and blurted a question. \"Why did you let me join you?\"\n\nLymond's eyes were fixed on the burning town; his voice was entirely prosaic. \"I need someone who can read and write.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"Further. I'm anxious to meet and talk with an Englishman of the name of Crouch. Jonathan Crouch. He may be in Annan. If he isn't you shall help me find him and then, Aenobarbus, you shall have a diamond, a maiden and a couch reserved in the Turkish paradise. Meanwhile\u2014\"\n\n\"Are they expecting you,\" asked Scott, \"at Annan?\"\n\nThe half-seen mouth curled. \"If they are, I advise you to fly like a woodpecker, crying pleu, pleu, pleu. Lord Wharton has threatened to gut me publicly and the Earl of Lennox has a personal price of a thousand crowns on my head. No. I propose to appear in one of my twenty-two incarnations, as a messenger from the Protector, with yourself as my aid. My name is Sheriff: yours shall be\u2014what?\"\n\nScott had also read his poets. He quoted dryly. \"This officer but doubt is callit Deid.\"\n\n\"Apt, if pessimistic. You have nothing to do,\" said Lymond, \"but look beautiful, honest and English and pray that one Charlie Bannister has arrived before us to smooth our way. Our John the Baptist. A poor soul, but even if he has barely one head, much less eighteen, he will do to vouch for us. We shall converse briefly with the gullible ones at the gate, encounter Crouch\u2014I trust\u2014and return. An innocent and worthy programme. Si mundus vult decipi, decipiatur. Come along then, Marigold. It's warmer down there!\"\n\nAnd the two figures swept downhill, neck and neck, the red crosses on their cloaks bellying in their passing."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 9",
                "text": "\"Halt and\u2026\" began the Cumberland voice, and trailed off for the second time; whereat Scott found in himself an unexpected impulse to hysteria.\n\nAbove the two horses rose the gates of Annan; around them pressed an escort of the outlying guard; before them stood the gatehouse where the guard on duty was trying to extract their names and business under harassing conditions.\n\n\"Look,\" Lymond was saying bitterly, \"at the dirt on your pauldrons. And your doublet.\"\n\n\"\u2026 declare\u2026\"\n\n\"Your sword's filthy. And your dagger: how d'you expect a rusty blade to bite?\"\n\n\"\u2026 declare\u2014I can't help that!\" said the guard excitedly, abandoning formalities. \"Robin! Davie! Move a step and I'll spit you!\"\n\n\"Well, if you do,\" said Lymond resignedly, \"for God's sake use someone else's sword.\"\n\nBut when the captain came, a swarthy, middle-aged Bewcastle man, Lymond dismounted at once and introduced himself. \"You won't remember me; Sheriff's my name. One of the Bishop's men from Durham. Sorry to make a mystery of myself, but I'm supposed to tell you to your face: it's business of the red tod's cub.\"\n\nThe password worked its miracle. As Lymond spoke, the captain's face changed; the guards were dismissed, and in privacy he turned to the two newcomers. \"You've a message for their lordships from the Protector?\"\n\n\"On the heels of one only,\" said Lymond. \"You've spoken with Charlie Bannister?\"\n\n\"The Protector's man? No.\"\n\n\"Damnation!\" Scott shortsightedly found some amusement in Lymond's anger. After a moment he went on. \"The fool must still be on the road here\u2014I hope nothing's come to him. I started from Leith yesterday with a message-round like the Odyssey. He was due to leave just after and come straight here.\u2026 It doesn't matter. I'm behind time,\" said Lymond busily, \"and I've got a message for one of of your men: Jonathan Crouch. That's all.\"\n\nDrinks had been brought; the captain's eyebrows rose above the rim of his cup. \"Crouch of Keswick? Then you can forget it. He was lifted in a skirmish two days ago.\"\n\nThe wine went down Lymond's throat like a drain. \"One message less, thank God. Who got him?\"\n\n\"Whose prisoner is he? I dunno. They're welcome,\" said the captain with relish. \"Drive you funny in the head, Crouch would. Tongue like the clatterbone of a goose's arse. Are you going?\"\n\nLymond was certainly going, and so, he hoped, was Will Scott. The captain was quite ready to speed them off\u2026 provided they spent ten minutes first with the joint commanders.\n\n\"A few minutes either way won't hurt you; and Wharton'll have my skin if this man Bannister doesn't arrive and I let you go too.\"\n\nCheerfully, Lymond continued to make for the gates. \"What Wharton will do to you will be nothing to the Protector's delight if I spend half the night here. I've told you already. I left long before Bannister. We won the battle on Saturday: that's all I know.\"\n\nThe captain, unmoving, blocked his way. \"Come along, man. Don't let me down. If you've nothing to say you'll be out in a trice.\" There was a half-formed suspicion in his mind, and to object again was clearly unsafe. Without further demur, Lymond remounted and, with Scott, followed his guide through the main streets of Annan.\n\nIt was difficult riding. The young horses trembled in the passing glare from burnt thatch and timber. Acrid smoke rolled and hung about the narrow road and caught their throats; the streets, deserted of people, were littered with charred wood and rags and smashed pottery. Scott wondered, with an interest nearly academic, how Lymond was going to extract them from this.\n\nFarther on, when the fires were more infrequent and stone-built houses loomed ahead, a man accosted them. The captain was wanted at the gate.\n\nCaptain Drummond was a careful man. He was about to ignore the summons when Lymond spoke, solving his problem. \"I don't suppose Lord Wharton's son Harry is anywhere about? I once knew his sister, and I'd like to meet him. He could perhaps direct us to his lordship as well.\"\n\nIt was a happy suggestion. The captain, clearly relieved, spoke to the man who had waylaid them, and in a few minutes they were joined by Henry, younger son of Lord Wharton, commander of the English army on the west. Drummond explained and left with his man, and young Wharton turned to Lymond and Scott. \"Of course, I'll take you both there. It's the middle house in the square through there.\" Restless, energetic, at twenty-five already a leader of horse, Henry Wharton led the way, beginning a long, newsy conversation about his family, which Lymond appeared to be sustaining surprisingly well. But Scott, some of the detachment worn off, thought: By God, hell never make it.\u2026\n\nThe pend leading to the square was dim. On it lay the shifting black shadows of the tall buildings fringing the fires; the darkness was full of movement and the three horses, scared, huddled close.\n\nAs the shadows closed about them, Lymond launched himself on Wharton. There was the beginning of a cry, and then nothing but the cracking of hoofs as the other horse shied at the struggling shapes. It was then that Captain Drummond, released from his errand, cantered cheerfully up at the rear and made to join them. Then he said sharply, \"What's happening there?\" and peered into the alley.\n\nScott saw the whistle in his hand just in time. Instinctively, the boy's hand went to his belt. He found his dagger, stood in his stirrups, and threw. The captain gave a brief cry, and fell to his horse's mane, and from there to the street.\n\nIt was suddenly very quiet. Wharton's horse stood nose to nose with Lymond's bay, snuffling gently, and there was an extra dark shadow on the road. The Master's voice said tartly, \"Dropped off to sleep?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Scott dismounted in a hurry. Young Wharton was, he found, lying face down in the road, a cloth stuffed in his mouth and bent arms savagely clinched by Lymond.\n\n\"Where's Drummond?\"\n\n\"I knifed him. He's lying in the road.\"\n\n\"Then get him out of it, for God's sake. We don't want a public wake for him. Take two of the horses and tie them up here. Drag the captain to the wall. Is he dead?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Scott self-consciously.\n\nLymond wasted no time on comment. \"Gag and bind him if he isn't, and put him on your own horse with a saddlecloth over his head.\"\n\nHe was unhitching rope from his own saddle as he spoke, and expertly binding Wharton, leaving only his knees and ankles free. He then pulled the man to his feet and, wrapping the folds of his cloak about him, took the cloth from his mouth.\n\nWharton said, in a kind of parched croak, \"Set me free, or my men'll burn you alive!\"\n\n\"If wishes were buttercakes,\" said Lymond, and tossed something shining into the air, \"beggars might bite. I have a little knife which says you will take us quietly to your father.\"\n\nScott, distrusting his ears, stared.\n\nWharton said dramatically, \"Never!\" Lymond's elbow moved and the young man gave a convulsive jerk. \"First scene, second act,\" said the Master. \"Stop play-acting, you fool, and take us in. Nobody I ever met could argue with a knife at his ribs.\"\n\nProbably, more than anything else, the supreme confidence in his voice convinced the young man. Holding his arm tight against the short incision Lymond had cut, he bit his lip, and began to move reluctantly onward. Scott, leading Lymond's horse and his own, walked after.\n\nThe events which followed were always to have for Will Scott of Kincurd the curious, narcotic quality of a bout of fever. In the course of it, he became dimly aware that they had arrived at a house; that Lymond had again produced the allusive password and, with sullen acquiescence from Wharton, demanded private audience with their lordships for himself, his colleague and a Scottish prisoner with valuable information.\n\nIt passed off without a hitch. One of the guard inquired of their lordships above; and then, clattering down, jerked a thumb. \"That's all right: up ye go!\" he said. And they went."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 10",
                "text": "The Provost of Annan had built according to his station; and the parlour adopted by the joint leaders of the invading English army was decently panelled in linenfold, with a particularly fine Italian desk pulled near the scarlet peat fire.\n\nAt the desk sat my Lord Wharton, knight and member for Parliament, Captain of Carlisle, Sheriff of Cumberland, Warden of the West Marches and loyal and perspicacious servant of the English crown in the north. He was reading aloud passages from a paper covered with his secretary's writing, pausing for comment as he went. The Earl of Lennox, nose to nose with his own fair reflection in the dark window, was drumming his fingers on the sill and indulging in witty interjections.\n\nThomas, first Baron Wharton, was a tough little self-made Englishman with a whittled brown face and cold disenchanted eye. But Lord Lennox was a different matter. The Earls of Lennox reached back into the history of Scotland; this one had been reared in France and had lived blithely on his wide lands in Scotland until deciding that wealth and power lay closer to hand in the south. The title Matthew Lennox coveted was King Consort of Scotland. When Mary of Guise, the widowed Queen Dowager of Scotland, would have no truck with him, he merely turned coat, joined the forces of England and married Margaret Douglas, King Henry VIII's niece who herself had a strong claim to a crown or two.\n\nHe was, incidentally, worried about his wife Margaret. The next day's march lay through her father's lands. The Earl of Angus, head of the noble Douglas family once castigated by Buccleuch, had written to him anxiously pointing this out and hoping that his son-in-law and Lord Wharton would, if invading, remember the ties of kinship. Lord Lennox remembered them, but he doubted whether Wharton would; especially if this time Margaret's turbulent father should plump for the Scottish side and join the Queen's army against him.\n\nJubilation over the news from Pinkie had meantime however swept gloom from the air. Wharton was planning his exodus from Annan to the north, and Lennox was dreaming of throne rooms when the door opened.\n\nBeing well oiled, it opened quite gently, and Henry Wharton, followed closely by Lymond, was within the room before either commander looked around. By then Scott too was inside, unloading the wounded Drummond in a corner. He retired to the door and stood with his back to it just as the man at the desk turned and half rose. \"Harry! You blundering fool! What've you done?\"\n\nUnequivocably, the firelight showed the bound hands, the glitter of Lymond's knife.\n\nHis son was mute; and the hard eyes of Lord Wharton shifted to the figure behind. \"You, sir! Who are you, and what d'you want?\"\n\nLymond laughed. He laughed again as Lennox, who had spun around, took a step forward. With his free hand, the Master pulled off his steel bonnet and tossed it neatly into the hearth. The peats clouded with smoke, then blazed around it, lighting the pallid face and the colourless hair, stained with sweat. \"Money,\" he said.\n\nLord Lennox stared. A tide of scarlet, patched and mottled, washed up to the roots of his hair and disappeared, taking horror and disbelief with it, and leaving the face swollen with rage. \"It's Crawford of Lymond!\" said the Earl of Lennox, and the pale eyes, china-hard, shot to his lordly colleague. \"Here, in Annan. In the middle of your precious guard!\" He exploded into ugly language. \"Your chicken-livered rabbit of a son\u2026!\"\n\nLord Wharton spoke sharply. \"Control yourself, sir!\" and his eyes, on Harry, promised payment by someone, in time, for Lord Lennox's bad temper. He addressed Lymond. \"How did you get past the gate?\"\n\nScott had finished lashing young Wharton to a bench, and was regagging him methodically. Watching him, his knife lingering at Harry's back, Lymond replied. \"My dear sir, how to avoid it? Their hospitality was most pressing. Besides, I got the password from Bannister.\"\n\n\"Bannister?\"\n\n\"The Protector's messenger. He fell in with us.\"\n\nWharton said sharply, \"You have his dispatch then?\"\n\nThe fair brows were raised. \"Dear me, no! I've finished with huckstering these days. Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness. I hope to be appreciated for my beaux yeux alone\u2014and those of Harry, of course. Manhood but prudence is a fury blind.\"\n\nToo wise a fox to be baited, Wharton kept to the point. \"Then I take it this man Bannister is dead?\"\n\n\"He was in the best of health when I left him,\" said Lymond, surprised. \"In fact, I had him escorted part of the way. The roads to the north are rather busy with Scottish gentlemen.\"\n\n\"In fact, you sold him to the other side, this time!\" said Lennox, making his first contribution to the conversation.\n\nLymond looked mildly chagrined. \"Not at all. What a reputation to have! Not all of us have your lordship's gift for trusteeship.\"\n\nThis was a very shrewd hit. Everyone present knew that Lennox, ostensibly acting for the Scottish Queen Dowager, had once taken delivery of a shipload of French gold and arms on her behalf; and had then shipped himself and the gold south to England.\n\nFor a moment the earl was speechless with anger. \"You have the damnable effrontery\u2014My God, if I'd only left you lashed to your stinking oars! You were grateful enough when I clothed you and fed you and gave you money\u2026 more fool I. I was repaid all right! Bring a cow to the hall,\" Lennox snarled, \"and she will to the byre again.\"\n\n\"And foul water slockens fire,\" added Lymond. His voice became noticeably mellow. \"But then I was brought up in bad company. From oar to oar, you might say.\"\n\nIf his previous remark had caused an explosion, this one was greeted with a silence which could be felt. Scott, his heart thudding inexplicably, looked from Lymond's imperturbable face to Lennox, who had gone bone-white.\n\n\"And how,\" pursued the Master suavely, \"is the Pearl of Pearls?\"\n\nHe was talking about the Countess of Lennox, and this time the allusion was unmistakable. Scott saw in Lord Wharton's face, for an instant, the same kind of shocked surprise that he felt himself; then Lennox's sword came hissing from its scabbard and Wharton, with a curse, sprang to put a hand on his arm. \"Put up, my lord!\"\n\nThe Earl of Lennox didn't even look at him. He said through his teeth, \"I'll suffer insult and insolence for no man's brat!\"\n\n\"Then you have me to reckon with as well, my Lord Lennox,\" said Wharton furiously. \"Put up!\"\n\nThere was a long pause. The knife glittered in Lymond's hand, over young Harry's spine; Wharton's fingers dug into the earl's arm. Lennox swore, and rammed home the blade with fingers that shook.\n\nWharton removed his hand. He said quietly, \"I remember this scum. There is no need to play his game for him.\" To Lymond he continued, \"I understand you are bargaining with my son's life. Naturally, it is worth a price to me, but don't expect me to pay too much. What do you want?\" Then, natural feeling breaking through for a moment, he said bluntly, \"State your business, and get you gone. The very air you breathe makes me retch.\"\n\n\"Courtesy,\" said Lymond, \"will get you nowhere.\" He fitted his shoulders comfortably into the panelled wall. \"I must say you appear to be taking your martial duties very lightly. Don't you want to know what the Protector's dispatch said? I read it, you know, before sending it on. There's been another stupendous victory at Linlithgow, and the Protector thinks you should meet him in Stirling right away to talk it over. Doesn't that excite you? Scotland conquered at last! Duke Wharton on the Privy Council; King Matthew on the throne!\"\n\nLennox had to know. His eyes searched Lymond's face; he said, almost against his own will, \"A victory on the Stirling road\u2026 is that true?\"\n\nLymond stared back. \"Why not, your Majesty? The Scottish Queen's sickly; the English King's a bastard\u2014or so the Catholics say, don't they, Matthew?\u2014Arran's an idiot and his son a fool\u2026 lo! my lords, a crown!\"\n\nHalf mesmerized, four pairs of eyes watched as swiftly he leaned to the fire, seized the hearth tongs and stepped back. High above his head, gripped in the metal, flamed his own helmet, red-hot from the blazing peats, bits of burning stuff falling smoking to the floor.\n\n\"A crown!\" said Lymond exaltedly. \"Who will wear it? Harry, perhaps?\"\n\nThis was leading the field with a vengeance. The rigor which seized them lasted less than thirty seconds. Then Lennox said, loudly and rather wildly, \"The man's mad!\" and Wharton, his face rigid, reseated himself at the desk. \"Money?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"In the chest.\" Wharton indicated a small coffer against one wall. \"Get it.\"\n\nAll the men in the small room, wounded, bound and free, waited, in a tension which knit them together, as five leather bags were placed on the desk, and taken away by Scott.\n\nThe Master opened one of them. \"O beautiful bagchecks. Bonnets bellissimi; ecus; ryals\u2014Dear me, the assured ones of Dumfriesshire are going to be much the poorer for this. Wrap 'em up, my Pyrrha!\"\n\nHe ripped off Harry's cloak and flung it to Scott, who made a rough bundle of the gold, and laid his hand on the door.\n\n\"And so,\" said Lymond gravely, \"we see the final end of our travail. Farewell, my masters!\"\n\nBut the final paraph, the flourish which in time Scott was to recognize as habitual, was still to come. As he moved from Harry, and both Wharton and Lennox started forward, Lymond let drop his arm. The helmet, dull now with black heat, fell accurately on young Wharton's brow, and the boy, his eyes staring, gave, behind the gag, an unpleasant choked scream.\n\n\"That will perhaps remind you,\" said Lymond, \"not to speak to strange gentlemen in dark streets\"\u2014and in the ensuing confusion, transported himself and Scott outside the door and locked it.\n\nScott stumbled down the dark stairs with his bundle. He was aware of a noisy conversation going on at the bottom between Lymond and the guards, of riding gently back down the pend, fighting to keep his spurs still, and recalling with a short prayer of gratitude the thickness of that parlour door. The gate. A sharp passage, with the edge on Lymond's voice, and the sullen and abashed look on the faces of the gatemen. The creak as the timbers were drawn, miraculously, to let them through.\n\nOutside, in the cool, flickering darkness, the free night lay waiting, and swallowed them."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 11",
                "text": "It seemed to Scott, riotously crossing the moors with Lymond, that he had done pretty well. He had prevented the fellow Drummond from giving the alarm. He had successfully comported himself in the presence of English military dignitaries of the most imposing sort. If the thought of the flaming helmet stuck unpleasantly on his mind, he dismissed it. What did it matter about cross-examinations! This was man's work.\n\nIt was then that two horses appeared wraithlike in the gloom ahead, and Lymond said sharply, \"Joe! What are you doing here?\" and rode forward.\n\nWords drifted to Scott. \"Bannister, sir\u2026 taken by a strong party of Scots\u2026 yes, sir, I did.\u2026 Turkey took all the men and went after him\u2026 to look out for you and tell you\u2026 yes\u2026\"\n\nBy the long-distance cramps across his shoulder blades and the worn patches inside his thighs Scott was reminded that he had been in the saddle all day; and with no great joy he felt Lymond return to his side suffused with fresh, delicate energy. \"Now, don't lose interest, my Pyrrha,\" said the light voice. \"I bring, lover, I bring the newis glad. Friend Bannister has got himself ambushed and now, my frivol Fortune, the ambushers are walking into the net. I'll trip upon trenchers; I'll dance upon dishes\u2014it is now perfect day.\"\n\nAnd led by Jess's Joe, Lymond rode quickly onward over the dark Annandale moor, Will Scott following.\n\n[ Capture of a King's Pawn ]\n\n\"Lymond must wait,\" said Lord Culter; and he and Buccleuch, and the Erskines, and Andrew Hunter and Lord Fleming and every man with a horse under him and a sword in his hand had ridden to Pinkie.\n\nAmong the ten thousand dead of that day were Lord Fleming of Boghall and Tom Erskine's older brother.\n\nAmong the living, the hungry and battle-weary, with lined faces caulked with dust, were Lymond's brother Lord Culter and Tom Erskine himself, far from slight, irritating adventures with a drunken sow. With the rags of their following the two men left the battlefield together and, knowing their families to be safe with Queen Mother, baby Queen and Court in the fortress town of Stirling, they crossed Scotland from the River Forth to the River Annan in an attempt to put a block\u2014not enough men; not enough ordnance; not enough food\u2014between the advancing army under Lord Wharton and the treasure at Stirling.\n\nSo while the spirits of my lords Wharton and Lennox were being mortified in Annan, two parties of Scottish troops lay still in the darkness to the north: so still that Charlie Bannister, the Protector's ill-fated messenger to Wharton, walked straight into one of them. He had the presence of mind to destroy his dispatches before they caught him; but catch him they did, and took him to Lord Culter.\n\nThe man Bannister might have been weak in geography, and uncertain in his grasp of minor essentials such as avoiding the attention of large bodies of cavalry. But in one thing he excelled: he could keep his mouth shut.\n\nAgonizingly aware of the danger to Stirling, excoriated by the need to know the Protector's and Wharton's plans, they tried every method of persuasion; for the messenger knew the gist of his message: incautious to the end, he had let that out himself.\n\nWith failure confronting them, Culter took his captain aside. The dilemma was plain. If the English Protector, now at Edinburgh, was ready to move on to attack the Queen and the Governor, he would order Wharton north to support him. Were these the orders Charlie Bannister carried? And when they didn't come, would Wharton stay a while in Annan? Long enough, for example, to let Lord Culter and Tom Erskine with their men, however few, ride back to the defence of Stirling, their two Queens, their womenfolk?\n\n\"But if you're wrong, sir,\" said Lord Culter's captain, \"you unstop this hole by moving away.\"\n\nThere was a short silence; then Culter took his decision. \"Get your horse and bring Erskine and the other party to me. If it is as I think, we abandon Annan and march north.\"\n\nThe captain left, and still Bannister held out. Lord Culter, watching the assault, lips compressed, saw the decision he did not want to make striding toward him.\n\nHe waited unmoving as time passed. Erskine had not yet had time to join him; dawn was still a long way off. To the south, a dull red haze challenged. He watched it mechanically, then chopped a hand on the torchbearer's shoulder. \"Lights out!\"\n\nIn the sudden darkness, a lookout confirmed what he had seen. \"Body of troops coming up from the south, sir!\" It was Erskine, of course. He gave orders quickly. Going through the motions for defence, the same certainty lay reassuringly on the men. It was Erskine, of course.\n\nIt was not Erskine. The horses were at the edge of the wood, and the leaves shivering before they knew it; and then a growing, sphincteral circle of sound told them they were surrounded by a force much bigger. In ten minutes it was over. Pulsing inward, the incomers squeezed the Scots in a knot below the scarred trees, and held them there.\n\nBy the relit torches, the vanquished, on foot, stared at the mounted ring of their victors. The horsemen wore no emblems, and no banners were shown: the conspicuous red cross of England on the white background was nowhere to be seen. Lord Culter, weaponless and fine-drawn, stepped forward and addressed them. \"Who is your leader?\"\n\nNo one offered the civility of a reply. Instead, a bald, black-bearded giant who had been fidgeting about the radius of the circle, suddenly bent from his horse. \"So there ye are, ye hell-tarnished gomerel!\"\n\nForgotten in the bracken, the bound figure of Bannister stirred hopefully.\n\n\"It's a wae job keeping some folk out of trouble,\" remarked the big man with some sourness. \"We told ye the right road, didn't we?\"\n\nCharlie Bannister, tried nearly beyond mortal man's endurance, released a heartbreaking groan. Bending over his mare's neck, the big man flicked off the ropes with his sword edge.\n\n\"On your plat feet, ye glaikit Mercury. There's a horse here ye can have, and a guide to take ye as far as Annan. I suppose you handed your papers to the bold laddies here?\"\n\nBannister got shakily to his feet. \"I tore them up. How was I to know you directed me right?\"\n\nThe big man invoked his Maker, spoiling the effect with an alarming hiccough. \"What else would we need to do to prove it: wrap you and your dispatch in a clean sark and lay you on his lordship's bed?\"\u2014with heavy sarcasm. \"Get off with you, man, before we get glutted with the fair sight o' you.\"\n\n\"Wait!\" said Lord Culter. He defeated his own purpose. Bannister instantly discovered the use of his legs and, helped impolitely with the flat of the big man's sword, went stumbling through the bushes. Culter's instinctive move to follow was checked by the same sword.\n\nBlackbeard grinned and swept him a bow. \"My lord Culter. Good e'en to you,\" he said ceremonially. \"Now, gif you'll excuse us\u2026\"\n\n\"I doubt there's a decent man in Scotland will do that,\" said Culter. Was it possible that they were to escape with their lives? \"Scots in English pay, I take it?\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" The big man was not forthcoming. More, he seemed miraculously to regard his business as complete. Having collected their weapons and cut loose Culter's horses, he bowed again and took rein.\n\nAt that precise moment, the dark rustling spaces behind him expelled more horsemen.\n\n\"But how magnificent!\" said Lord Culter's younger brother, and rode forward with unrestrained cordiality. \"Look, children: it's Richard!\"\n\nWatching curiously, Scott and all the others saw Lord Culter's face alter. Then he took a step backward, to narrow the angle between himself and the horseman, and spoke with deliberate and soul-hacking contempt. \"This rabble is yours?\"\n\n\"Not rabble, Richard.\" The blue gaze sorrowed. \"There's no merit in being outwitted by a rabble. Don't let your sense of superiority get the better of you. After all, I'm on the horse, like the frog in the story, and while I can stare you down, it's a little difficult for you to stare me up. You've put on weight, haven't you? And cautious! Even Nero watched, Richard, while the family became encaramelled. I hardly thought you would resist the desire to be present as well.\"\n\nAmong Culter's men there was a rustle of anger, but Richard himself said nothing at all. For an infinitesimal space, the blue eyes were forced down by the grey. Then the slack lids were drawn back farther than Scott had ever seen them, and the full malice of Lymond's cornflower eyes bent on his brother.\n\n\"Talk to me, Richard. It isn't difficult. Move the teeth and agitate the tongue. Tell me news of the family. Am I superseded yet? Oh, Richard, a blush!\"\n\n\"No.\" Culter's voice was perfectly level. \"No. You are not superseded. You are quite safe to kill me.\" And added stiffly, forcing the time to pass: \"Your services are at present with Wharton, I take it?\"\n\nLymond's voice was absent. \"Well, he's certainly paying me. Once our friend Bannister reaches Annan, the road north is going to be a little crowded, what's more.\"\n\nCulter moved involuntarily. \"Is the Protector then in Stirling?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" said Lymond readily. \"Take care: you asked me a question; it's the thin edge of the wedge. What's so interesting about the Protector being in Stirling?\u2026 Oh, Richard!\" he said with an air of sudden discovery. \"You haven't packed the ladies off to Stirling for safety, have you?\"\n\nLord Culter, guarding his eyes, was speaking mechanically. \"You should be delighted.\"\n\n\"Well, it opens up a number of interesting possibilities, doesn't it?\" said Lymond. \"I wonder if the Protector insists on merchetis, and his princely free access to the bedchamber, or anything novel like that. I used to know a number of women who would be all the better for a fate plus mal que morte. Which brings me rather to the point: Changeons propos, c'est trop chant\u00e9 d'amours.\u2026\" And he laid a gentle hand on his sword.\n\nWith an uneasy twist of relief, Scott recognized the climax, and drew a fortifying breath. At the same instant, Lymond said suddenly, \"Richard, my child, have you by any chance more brains than I gave you credit for?\"\n\nThe words were hardly out when the rumour of noise, the furtive boot on the heather and the laboured breath resolved themselves into a torrent of crumbling sound as Erskine's incoming Scottish force flooded the wood.\n\nIn the last flare of the torches, Scott saw Lord Culter, his face alight, snatch a bow and raise it. Passion lent to the silent tongue the drama once derided by his brother. \"Your turn now, Lymond! And by God, before I let you take over my shield and my bed, I'll give you one night to remember the head of your family by!\"\n\nAnd as he swung his horse frantically and went crashing and bumping outward through the confusion, Scott also heard Lymond's reply.\n\n\"All right: a challenge, Richard! I'll meet you at the Popinjay in the next Stirling Wapenshaw, and we'll try then who's Master!\"\n\nHe laughed, and the excitement in the laugh was the last thing Scott remembered."
            },
            {
                "title": "Blindfold Play",
                "text": "\u2003And hit is not fittynge ne convenable thynge\n\n\u2003for a woman to goo to bataylle for the\n\n\u2003fragilitie and feblenes of her. And therefore\n\n\u2003holdeth she not the waye in her draught as the\n\n\u2003Knyghtes doon.\n\nIn the long grass by the water's edge a man lay half buried, with small life moving past his head and a tarnishing damp spread into his clothing. Behind him, four miles of bog rolled and steamed in the morning sun. Ahead, the turgid waters of the moat sucked and plopped in a leisurely way against the grazing meadows and scrub which lay behind Boghall Castle. The sun moved.\n\nAt the castle, from which Richard, Lord Culter, had once watched the smoke of his mother's burning house, the watch changed with weary abuse on both sides. \"If one more old body,\" said Hugh the Warden to his junior, \"asks me to send a horseman to Pinkie to inquire after her great-nephew Jacob, I'll skin her alive. Old quarry-faced Wharton on the road north, and ten men and twenty-two women to hold this castle and look after all of Biggar\u2026\"\n\nBut breakfast and a pint of beer must have modified his temper, because he was patient with the next anxious inquirer. \"Don't fret. The boys'll be back all right.\"\n\nHe was reminded as he spoke that some were already back: the barber-surgeon with his knives and ointments had already made the double journey twice between the castle and the thatched houses of Biggar. Hugh thought of that: he thought of his master, the dead Lord Fleming; he swore loudly and shot up to the watchtower, there to gaze earnestly and hopefully at the unstirring south.\n\n\"Oh, God! Let them come!\" said he, addressing the hills. \"Oh, God! Let them come, and me and Dod Young'll make collops of them!\"\n\nThe morning dragged on. At noon Simon Bogle, bodyguard, got his lady's permission to fish for one hour, and left by the back postern. A dark, angular child, Sym was Stirling bred, and had for three years served the household with fierce attachment. At present, however, his mind was on fish. He passed through the bushes, untied the skiff, and shipped himself and his rod to the other side of the water. He thereupon walked twenty yards, stumbled, walked another yard, and went back to look.\n\nA man's foot, lying in his path, proved to be attached to a body, and the body to an English cloak. He bent, gripped and rolled it over. Among a wealth of impressive detail there appeared a young man's profile, splendidly unconscious. \"Whoops, cock and the devil!\" said Simon Bogle breathlessly and pounced, like divine Calypso, on his prey.\n\nHe reached the postern with his burden, dispensing pulses of excitement and bog smells as his mistress opened it from the inside; and as he explained, Christian Stewart knelt beside their captive in her garden, her dark red hair fallen forward, her blind eyes resigned.\n\nWhat to Sym was an English magnifico, ripe for ransom, took, bearlike, a different shape under the hypertactile fingers\u2014the shape of an unconscious boy, with a dirty wound, raised and sticky, in the short hair over the nape. She drew together the shirt cords thoughtfully and rose.\n\n\"Um. Well, you've hooked a twenty-pounder this time, my lad, by the feel of his clothes.\u2026 If I were married or promised to that young gentleman I'd sell the lead off the roof to ransom him back. Unless he's a Spaniard, do you think?\"\n\n\"Not with that hair, m'lady. Maybe,\" said Sym with a sort of agonized calm, \"maybe it's the Protector Somerset? Or Lord Grey?\"\n\n\"Och, Sym, he's too young,\" said Christian. \"Although in a way it's a pity he's not, because, Sym my lad: what are you going to do about Hugh?\"\n\n\"Oh, cock!\" said Sym, his excitement checked. \"Right enough. Hugh's in an awful bad temper about the English.\"\n\n\"Hugh's bad temper takes practical forms,\" said Christian thoughtfully. \"Ransom or no ransom, your gentleman will find himself in multiple array on the wall spikes if Hugh sets eyes on him.\"\n\nSym devoted some thought to this. \"Of course, we can't write for ransom anyway until he wakes up and says who he is.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And by that time, Hugh might be feeling more like himself.\"\n\n\"I find the resemblance to himself at the present moment quite startling,\" said Christian. \"But never mind. Go on.\"\n\n\"So,\" said Sym hurriedly, \"if we got him up the privy stairs and put him into Jamie's room, no one need know. All that wing's empty except for me, and I could look after him. Until he says who he is\u2026 and the window's too high to let him escape and the door could be lockit.\"\n\nChristian said slowly, \"We could, I suppose, certainly\u2026\"\n\n\"And if he's nobody,\" said Sym fairly, \"we can just hand him over to Hugh.\"\n\n\"In which event,\" said Christian, \"he will certainly become nobody in record time. All right. I agree.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 13",
                "text": "To carry the prisoner within, to strip, wash and bed him, to surround him with hot bricks in socks and light a fire to heat cock-a-leeky and milk and honey sneaked from the buttery took Sym, borne on the wings of simple cupidity, less time than bedding a child.\n\nChristian, pulled by outside necessity, set aside ten minutes to examine his handiwork and used the time to relax, hands clasped, on a chair by the bedside while Sym, a cudgel beside him, bestowed himself hopefully on the window seat.\n\nBlessed silence, and the slow dissolving of the nagging images of the day into something near dreams. Flurried movements of the big fire, to her left. Silk, pricking her right hand as the bed curtains stirred in an eddy. A rustle from Sym's feet in the rushes. A voice far below in the courtyard, crying something she could not quite catch. A creak from the bed.\n\nAnother.\n\nA languid stir of the bedclothes.\n\nIt was, thought Christian, fully awake and gripped with laughter, like attending a birth. Were they wrong and he was Scottish, a purebred orthodox achievement with full honours: all well?\n\nThere was a thin crackle of pillow-feather; a stifled expletive; then a voice said resignedly, \"God: my skull's split.\"\n\nIt was a cultured voice, with no inflection which would have seemed out of place at any point north of the Tyne. Like the jewelled aiglettes it announced consequence, character and money. Considering it, she spoke reassuringly. \"Better not move. There's a bump on your head like the Old Man of Storr.\" And to save him time and breath she added, \"I'm Christian Stewart of Boghall. My lad over there picked you up off the moor.\"\n\nThere was a long pause; then he spoke, clearly with his head turned toward her. \"Bog\u2014Bog\u2026?\"\n\n\"Boghall. Yes. You were thoroughly cold and damp, and here's Sym with some broth for you.\"\n\nUnexpectedly, underneath shock and weakness there was the accent of laughter. \"Think of the Cauldron of Hell,\" remarked their prisoner, \"and you have my inside arrangements. But I'll try. Like the spider, I'll try. That lightlie comes will lightlie ga\u2026 steady\u2026 That's it. I can feed myself\u2014or can I? I'm so sorry. The counterpane is not improved by spilt broth.\"\n\nHe ate, and much intrigued, Christian waited. At the end, he spoke again. \"I was not, I hope, wearing a nightshirt when discovered?\"\n\nAn artless gentleman. Christian followed the lead. \"Your clothes are drying, sir. Your weapons were impounded when we found you were English.\"\n\n\"English! Lucifer, Lord of Hell!\" (Here was passion.) \"Do I look like an Englishman?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Christian with wicked simplicity, \"am blind. How should I know?\"\n\nUsed rarely and with reluctance this was, she had found, the infallible test. Braced, she waited: for remorse, embarrassment, dismay, pity, forced sympathy, naked fear.\n\n\"Oh, are you? I'm sorry. You hide it extremely well. Then what,\" he asked anxiously, \"made your friends think I was English?\"\n\nExquisitely done, my young man, thought Christian. She said aloud, \"Well, to begin with, you were wearing an English cloak. We've disposed of that for your own sake. Feeling in Boghall about the English has been running gallows high since Lord Fleming was killed. You're safe in this room with Sym and myself, but I shouldn't advise you to attract the attention of anyone else in the castle.\"\n\n\"I see. Or I shall meet my fate. Without pitie, hanged to be, and waver with the wind. My beard, if I had one\u2014Lord, I nearly have\u2014is full young yet to make a purfle of it, even to replace the one I've stained. And why, Mistress Stewart, should you and your henchman trouble to defend me from death and horrible maims?\"\n\n\"What a suspicious mind you have.\" Blandly, Christian matched metre with metre. \"Why do you think? For gold, for gude; for wage or yet for wed?\"\n\n\"I think no such thing: you malign me, I assure you. Every coherent sentiment escaped from the louvre at the back of my head long ago, and I am swimming in a sea of foolishness. I've already forgotten what we're discussing.\"\n\nSimon Bogle, a single-minded person, had not. \"Lady Christian and I,\" he said dourly, \"were wondering what your name and style might be?\"\n\nIn a feverish silence, the young man stirred restlessly. \"Lady Christian. Damnation. She has a title and I don't know it. She lives in a bog; and of this also I am ignorant. Q.E.D. I cannot be Scots. Therefore why your excessive kindness\u2026 Oh God! Of course. Ransom.\"\n\n\"And natural virtue. For gold and for gude, in fact.\" Christian, visited by an unworthy satisfaction, was magnanimous. \"But as part owner of the property, I think we should defer speech until you're more rested. You've had a sore knock there.\"\n\n\"Several sore knocks,\" he said, and fell silent, rousing himself only as she felt for and took away pillows. \"Don't you want my name?\" And dreamily, \"This officer, but doubt, is callit Deid.\u2026\"\n\n\"No.\" Aware of Sym's silent resistance, she spoke firmly. \"No, never mind. Not just now,\" feeling exhaustion and faintness overwhelm him. Even so, he managed a gruesome chuckle.\n\n\"O lady: nor later. Deceit deceiveth and shall be deceived. It's no good and I can't prove it's no good: I shall be as much use to you as the Nibelunglied. For I can recall nothing\u2026 nothing\u2026 not the remotest damned shred of my identity.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 14",
                "text": "Christian left the situation in Sym's hands that night. Next morning, however, she woke thinking of her prisoner, and obtaining food and wine by a shameless lie in the kitchen, made her way with it up the private stair.\n\nInside the sickroom, she was aware of a strange step even before she shut the door; and indeed as she turned to do so, a voice said readily, \"You may want to come back later, Lady Christian. Sym is out, and I'm up and standing by the window.\"\n\nShe shut the door. \"Ah, you're feeling better. My dear man, not even an attack on my virtue would drive me downstairs till I've done. I've already climbed more steps this morning than a bell ringer.\"\n\nHe laughed, but did not come to help her, she noticed; and, respecting his tact, she took the tray herself to the window seat and laid it on a kist. Then, sitting by the bed, she ascertained that the fever was gone, the headache was less; that he was profoundly grateful, and remarkably well up in current events.\n\n\"So Simon has been talking to you.\"\n\n\"He has seldom stopped. He tells me Lord Fleming's widow and family are all at Stirling, and thinks it uncommonly rash of you to stay behind. With which, as a special hazard myself, I must agree.\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"I can do more good here at the moment than in Stirling.\" And felt impelled to add, \"Naturally, I can't risk being an encumbrance, or a hostage either. If things get much worse\u2014or much better for that matter\u2014a friend of the family will take me to Stirling.\"\n\n\"And I shall stay with captors somewhat less benign. Ah me,\" he said rather ruefully. \"It may sound selfish but, as the poet said, words is but wind, but dunts is the devil.\"\n\n\"Doesn't that depend who you are?\" she remarked. \"If you bear a Scots name, you've nothing to fear. Or is this officer, but doubt, still callit Deid?\"\n\nThere was a pause. Then he said, \"Are you quoting from me?\"\n\n\"Your very words last night.\"\n\n\"Oh. I must have been in dire spirits. Have you ever lost your memory? I suppose not. It's an experience. Pleasant but precarious, like the gentleman who sat under palm trees feeding fruit to a lion\u2026\" Pausing for breath, he added, \"I rely on you to put down any lacunae to the effects of a blow on the head. I am but ane mad man that thou hast here met\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014I do you pray,\" she said gravely, \"cast that name from you away.\"\n\nDelighted, he took her up at once. \"Yes, of course. Call you Hector, or Oliver\u2026 What else? Sir Porteous\u2014Amadas\u2014Perdiccas\u2014Florent\u2026 How common the predicament seems to be. Most of the heroes and all the poets appear to have been there before me. I am as I am, and so will I be; but how that I am, none knoweth truly\u2026 Disdain me not without desert! Forsake me not till I deserve, nor hate me not till I offend.\" And he abandoned English plaintively.\n\n\"Li rosignox est mon p\u00e8re, qui chante sur le ram\u00e9e el plus haut boscage\n\nLa seraine, ele est ma m\u00e8re, qui chante en la mer sal\u00e9e, el plus haut rivage\u2026\"\n\n\"Your French is excellent, of course,\" said Christian. \"And you disliked being called English.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\n\"Implying Scottish rather than English affinities\u2014\"\n\n\"I hoped you'd notice that.\"\n\n\"\u2014In which case,\" said Christian reasonably, \"do you not owe it to yourself to appear in public? Someone here might even recognize you.\"\n\n\"A shrewd move, decidedly,\" said the prisoner with interest. \"If I disagree, I am undoubtedly lying about my loss of memory. On the other hand, it might be genuine, and my belief that I am Scots might be unfounded; in which case your friend Hugh, according to Sym, will be apt to give free play to his prejudices, and your hopes of a ransom will vanish.\"\n\n\"You must think us very mistrustful,\" said Christian equably. \"Why should you be lying? If you are English, you would have no motive for hiding your name. The sooner we know, the sooner we should arrange your freedom.\"\n\n\"I find the Socratean method even more uncomfortable than plain sarcasm. I propose to say what you wish me to say, viz.: there are two exceptions in your category. If I were English but destitute, and if I were English and politically important, I should avoid identification like the plague.\"\n\n\"\u2014Therefore?\"\n\n\"Therefore when I say, as I do, that I have no wish to appear to your friends before my memory comes back, you have no means whatever of proving the honesty of my reasons\u2014\"\n\n\"Which in fact are\u2026?\"\n\n\"Funk,\" he said promptly. \"Sheer terror of the dark. I don't like standing outside the door of a crowded room any more than you do, waiting to be pounced on from inside.\"\n\nChristian said, \"A priest would tell you this was pride and self-conceit.\"\n\n\"If anyone so described it to you, I hope you impeached him for a pompous liar.\"\n\n\"My dear man, would you have me excommunicate? It's a process of hardening one goes through. You would find me hard to shock.\"\n\n\"And to deceive?\"\n\nShe smiled, and threw his own quotation back at him. \"Deceit deceiveth and shall be deceived. You have an incorruptible voice and a lawyer's tongue. One thing I commend in you: you refused to add to the sins of the poets. A false pedigree is always worse than none at all.\"\n\n\"Avoiding your traps, O virtuous lady, O mixt and subtle Christian. But, as you see, I am honest and good, and not ane word could lie.\"\n\nShe laughed. \"I deduce that you've lived on Hymettus on honey and larks' tongues.\"\n\n\"And can, I suppose, die in a bog as well as anywhere,\" he said dryly.\n\nNo one likes to appear cheap. Betrayed into archness, Christian caught her temper and said evenly, \"I can't, of course, answer for what will happen to you if I leave before your memory comes back. But meanwhile, until it does, you may have grace to stay anonymous, if you wish.\"\n\nShe rose, adding briskly, \"And meantime, there are many would envy you. Make the most of your freedom, my friend\u2014you've more of it than any of us.\"\n\n\"True. Only lunatics have more. I'm ungrateful to find it intolerable; and more than intolerable, of course, not to know the extent of the burden I'm putting on you.\"\n\nChristian had reached the door. She turned, and said ironically, \"No burden at all. You haven't forgotten?\n\n\"Ho, ho: say you so;\n\nMoney shall make my mare to go.\"\n\nShe shut the door, smiling, and left him to think it over.\n\nThis was Thursday, the 15th of September. Tom Erskine had gone south on Monday: he might very well be back for her any day now.\n\nIn the meantime, the demands on her time and her resources were continuous. All the lands of Biggar and Kilbucho, Hartree and Thankerton were in the care of the castle. In the absence of all the able men who had followed Lord Fleming to Pinkie and who had not yet returned\u2014who might never return\u2014the families on these lands must be succoured: given advice, news and medical help as they needed it; and plans made for their reception if the invaders broke through.\n\nFor the news from the east was pitiful. The army, ill-assorted and suspicious of itself, had crowned tactical blunder with panic: breaking up on the field, it had given way and had been hunted into extinction. While, forty miles to the north, the Court had found temporary refuge at Stirling, the English Protector, moving victorious toward Edinburgh, had put his horse into empty Leith, camped outside, and embarked on leisurely discussions about its fortification while English ships, sailing unchecked up the east coast, took and garrisoned the island of St. Colme's Inch, strategic gem in the midst of the Forth estuary north of Edinburgh.\n\nAnd at any moment, they might hear of the approach from the southwest of Lord Wharton and the Earl of Lennox, and their English soldiers.\n\nThe day at Boghall wore on. The strain was bearing on them all: Christian began to feel herself drained of comfort and vitality. In midafternoon, she made time to visit the deserted wing, aware of increasing irritation with the situation. Baulked meantime of his hopes of ransom, Sym might well have tired, she thought, of acting nurse-maid-cum-jailer, and think there would be less danger and more fun if he brought Hugh into the affair. In accepting four years of Sym's unshakable loyalty, she had discovered his weaknesses. Thinking thus, she made for the private stair.\n\nA clash of swords above her drove the blood from her heart. She stopped, and was rewarded with a crack of gasping laughter. \"Man, it's not shinty! Use yourself neatly: see, to the left; forward; then up and through.\"\n\nThere was a further clatter as pupil evidently followed suit. She swept to the stairhead.\n\n\"You pair of fools: they can hear your swords in Biggar. Sym. Is this the way you look after a sick man? And you, whoever-you-are! You're taking our care of you very lightly.\" Ignoring excuse and apology, she dispatched Sym to keep guard at the top of the stair, and seized the other man by the arm. \"You deserve to hop like St. Vitus: turning fencing master with the fever hardly off you. Sit down at the stair bottom. Your head\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014Would serve a cat in a bowl eight days,\" he said, with another gasping laugh, and set about controlling his breath.\n\nThe doorway in the turret looked onto her private garden. Overlooked by the deserted wing and surrounded by an eight-foot wall it was silent and secret. The sun was warm; the peace absolute.\n\nBeguiled from her duty she rested too, shoulders held by the wall, face upturned to the sun. Nothing moved but great rumours of perfume swelling and fading, sforzando and diminuendo; an orchestration of woodwind in the warm air.\n\nSilence, broken by three golden notes of a lute: her own, she remembered, left on the bottom step. She said, \"If you play, please go on. Music's my joy and my obsession.\"\n\n\"What shall it be?\" He ruffled the strings, and made a false start. Then a spray of notes flew into the air, modulating in descending arpeggios. He suddenly sang, neatly and gaily,\n\n\u2003\"En mai au douz tens nouvel\n\n\u2003Que raverdissent prael,\n\n\u2003Oi soz un arbroisel\n\n\u2003Chanter le rosignolet.\n\n\u2003Saderala don!\n\n\u2003Tant fet bon\n\n\u2003Dormir lez le buissonet.\"\n\nHe paused, and evidently accepting her smile, continued. Tentatively, Christian joined him next time:\n\n\u2003\"Saderala don!\n\n\u2003Tant fet bon\n\n\u2003Dormir lez le buissonet.\"\n\nThey sang the last chorus together, melody and descant, and when he stopped she said trumphantly, \"Sang School! I knew it!\"\n\nPlucking crotchets like raindrops, he responded. \"Am I a schoolmaster, think you?\"\n\n\"Or a monk?\"\u2014innocently.\n\nLaughter intensified in the voice. \"When clerics sing like little birds?\u2014No, surely not\u2026\" and he swept tempestuously into a song made immortal by its far from clerical sentiments; and from there to an estampie she did not recognize.\n\nHis playing was restrained and skilled. Drifting from this to that composer, he discoursed gently about musical theory and philosophy; and she found herself stating her own views, asking questions, listening intently. With humble and rather touching delight, she entered into her own world; the world of sound, and was happy until Conscience put a hand on her shoulder. She said suddenly, \"Who is Jonathan Crouch?\"\n\n\"Who?\" he said lazily. \"Oh, Jonathan Crouch. He's an Englishman, at present pris\u2014\"\n\nThe hiatus, the inhalation, the shaken voice, were plain for her to hear. \"You use drastic methods, don't you?\" he said.\n\nChristian replied quickly. \"Memory's a strange thing, taken unawares. Sym told me you spoke the name in your sleep.\"\n\n\"Did I? Then it must have some personal importance, I suppose\u2026 but what? I'm sorry. It's vanished. Try again.\"\n\n\"Then it probably isn't your own name?\"\n\nHis laugh sounded genuine enough. \"God forbid! Surely I'd know it if I heard it?\"\n\n\"It might strike you suddenly. Or maybe you'd rather select one? O Dermyne, O Donnall, O Dochardy droch\u2026\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"Look, we could go on forever. I think I prefer being an old, nameless article to a new-minted one with a false label around my neck. Or, indeed, anything of a ropelike character. Leave me to spend my remaining wit on Jonathan Crouch, and in the meantime let there be dancing and singing and all manner of joy\u2026\"\n\nThe lute sang, irresistibly, and so did he.\n\n\u2003\"The Frogge would a wooing ride\n\n\u2003Humble-dum, humble-dum\n\n\u2003Sword and buckler by his side\n\n\u2003Tweedle, tweedle twino.\n\n\u2003\"When he was upon his high horse set\n\n\u2003Humble-dum, humble-dum\n\n\u2003His boots they shone as black as jet\u2014\"\n\nThe break was as violent as if death itself had struck. The four strings gasped, once, under clenched fingers, and there was silence.\n\nAlone with the hammering of her heart, with infinite patience, Christian waited.\n\n\"Memory's a strange thing.\" What aspect of the bold, ill-fated frog had opened the gates? Frogs\u2014and wells. What lay at the bottom of a well? Cats; and kelpies; and curses; and cures for warts\u2026 and Truth, of course.\n\nAs if the thought had reached him, there was a movement beside her. The light insouciant voice showed no inclination to dive into wells.\n\n\"\u2014Tweedle, tweedle, twino. I have a confession to make. The first rule of prison life is to curry favour with your jailer. This I have done with some success: Sym tells me he has no desire either to hang or to impoverish me. On the contrary: this afternoon he showed me how to escape with the key of the postern and over a secret path in the bog. I promised not to use it without your permission.\"\n\nChristian said, \"I see. You seem to have been working very hard. And what is the rule when there are two jailers?\"\n\nHe was silent for a moment; then said, \"Look: swear me God from top to toe in one breath if you will; but remember, I exposed myself voluntarily.\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said. \"Provided you have a clear idea of the situation. I take it you've recovered your senses, and your identity is not one that would be pleasing to Hugh. You are likewise unwilling to be a source of profit or revenge to Simon or myself. You are therefore asking us both, in view of past favours, to connive at your escape.\"\n\nIf she had expected him to betray any further emotion, she was disappointed. \"Admirably just, and justly damning,\" said the voice equably. \"Well, the remedy is in your own hands.\" And he quoted mockingly:\n\n\u2003\"Se'l ser un si, scrivero'n rima\n\n\u2003Se'l ser un no, amici come prima.\"\n\nThere followed a pause, during which Christian came to the annoyed conclusion that she had once more been outmanoeuvred. Possessing the key, he had flung himself on her mercy. Why? It occurred to her that when referring to the enslavement of Sym, he had refrained with the utmost tact from drawing a parallel. He had left her to do that. To betray him now would suggest the vindictiveness of a disappointed woman, and she might well, in his opinion, shrink from that.\n\n\"Amid come prima, indeed!\" repeated Christian viciously to herself, and added aloud, \"I assure you that if you've persuaded Sym out of his dream of wealth through sheer weight of personality, I'm unlikely to insist on furca and fossa out of spite or low curiosity. But what I must and will have clear is that once free, you'll do us no harm.\"\n\n\"I could give you my word on that, except that, like the wonders of Mandeville, my probity is problematical.\"\n\n\"The thought had occurred to me,\" admitted Christian. \"Therefore while accepting your promise\u2014of course\u2014I must make one other condition. Tell me your interest in Jonathan Crouch.\"\n\n\"God!\" he said; and this time she heard genuine amusement. \"Next time I'll make straight for Hugh. Rather the thumbscrews than the confessional. But I warn you, it's a poor bargain. You won't trace me through Crouch.\"\n\n\"I'll risk that,\" she said, and then had further words struck from her by a sudden, vast commotion, echoing among the towers. At the same moment, a familiar voice rolled down the stair. \"Good news, Christian! Are you there? Can I come down? Christian!\"\n\nShe said, \"It's Tom Erskine\u2014Outside the postern, quick. Where's Sym\u2026 oh, there you are. Yes, I know: he's told me. Look: go with him, take him to the cave and come back\u2026 it's a small cavern halfway along the path; well hidden. You can stay there till dark. I'll get a cloak and some food over to you later.\"\n\n\"My sword\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll send it. Here's the postern key. Quick!\"\n\nShe turned, as their running footsteps receded. \"Tom, my dear! Wait and I'll come up!\"\n\nChristian Stewart lifted her skirts and began climbing the stairs thoughtfully. \"Damm the man!\" said she, as she went; and it was not at all clear which man she meant."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 15",
                "text": "With Erskine were all his troops; tired, filthy and in the wildest of spirits. Biggar opened its doors to them: Bizzyberry echoed with laughter and music and at the castle, officers and garrison, suitably freshened up, shared a happy excess of food and drink in the banqueting hall.\n\nSitting beside Tom, smelling the white soap he used and picturing him, clean, rosy and normal, Christian was moved to say, \"Tom, I'm so glad you're here!\"\n\nHe said apologetically, \"I'd have been here long before if I could. You look tired to death. Idiotic of Jenny Fleming to leave you.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"It's only my capacity for intelligent sympathy that's exhausted\u2014I'm longing for simple, positive, cheerful conversation. Tell me more of your news.\"\n\nFor it was not only good, but miraculous. Lords Wharton and Lennox, dug deep into Annandale, had turned tail; and pursued by himself and Lord Culter had scampered back to England. There was a garrison still at Castlemilk\u2014no very great danger\u2014but the deadly thrust north had been stopped: the western arm of the nutcracker had broken.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Overconfidence, we think. They spread a rumour they meant to march north, and got a shock when Culter assumed the opposite and charged in. Made a mess of poor old Annan, but nothing to what Clydesdale missed, thank God. Although I don't mind saying,\" he added frankly, \"that Culter took a chance I wouldn't have touched with a billhook.\"\n\n\"But it worked,\" said Christian. \"And now?\"\n\n\"Report to the Queen Mother. Dispatch rider ahead, of course, with details but I follow tomorrow. You'll come, won't you?\"\n\n\"I think I shall, yes,\" said Christian. \"If there's no threat to the castle they can dispense with me here. And I ought to take those children off Lady Fleming's hands. Is there a moon tonight?\"\n\n\"No: It's got overcast,\" said Tom, surprised. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, it doesn't matter. Sym wanted some night fishing. And I must finish packing as well,\" said Christian, with the appearance of absolute truth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 16",
                "text": "The path through the bog was not easy to find. Even steered firmly by Sym, her booted feet kept gouging into wet sponges and clucking, half-dug hags. Her gown was soaked and her spirits still damper when she heard a murmur ahead.\n\nSym, a joyful conspirator, whispered. \"There's someone else with him in the cave, my lady.\"\n\nChristian said, \"Be quiet!\" but the low voices stopped, and there was a stealthy sound to their right. She pushed Sym a little, and he stepped forward, rising surprisingly to the occasion with a bold voice. \"Stay where you are! We bring food from Boghall, but we're armed, too.\"\n\n\"Doubly armed, I trust,\" said the voice of their former prisoner. \"My faith, yes. Food, my sword and dagger\u2014Sym, you're a hero.\u2026 Good God!\" it said plaintively. \"Good God! Lady Christian. The most determined creature since Bruce. I owe you some information, don't I?\"\n\n\"You do. How do you feel after your walk?\"\n\n\"In good heart and excellent health. Happier than Augustus, better than Trajan. And one of my own senators, to boot, has already traced me and is about to restore me to my empire. It's the new moon. Like the elephants of Mauretania, my friends are foregathering to perform mysterious rites\u2026 Jonathan Crouch is an Englishman I want to speak to, that's all. I know nothing about him, except that he's a prisoner in Scotland, but I mean to trace him, if it takes me to Hell and back.\"\n\n\"It needn't do that,\" said Christian. \"Because I can do it for you, through Tom. He has access to all the lists at Stirling, and he'll be discreet, if I ask him. Come to this cave on Tuesday, and I'll leave word for you.\"\n\nThe voice this time was brief. \"Thank you, Shahrazad, but I think not.\"\n\nShe spoke bluntly. \"Crouch will be ransomed back to England long before you can find him yourself.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, no.\"\n\nMeeting the rock of his will, she had no mind to plead. \"Well, whether you want it or not, the information will be there,\" said Christian. \"Ignore it if you want to. Good night.\" And pulling Sym's coat, she moved.\n\nShe was stopped at three paces by long, wiry fingers and a gust of garlic. Then: \"God damn you, Johnnie, let her go!\" said the expressive, flexible voice, and the hands dropped. She moved on quickly, without waiting for more.\n\nHalfway back to Boghall, Simon spoke. \"Who's Shahrazad?\"\n\n\"A farsighted lady who kept the Shah on a leading rein by telling him stories.\"\n\nPause. \"I don't see the connection,\" said Sym.\n\n\"Oh, don't be a fool!\" said Christian irritably. \"There isn't any.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "More Blindfold Play: The Queen Moves Too Far",
                "text": "\u2002In figour suld be maid in chess a quene\n\n\u2002A fair ladye yat galye cled suld bene\n\n\u2002And in a chyar scho suld be set on hight,\n\n\u2002A crowne of gold apone hir hed weile dicht.\u2026\n\n\u2002Richt sad in moving suld yir wom\u0113 be\n\n\u2002And of short space, and to no fer c\u016btre.\n\n\"Firearms!\" said Wat Scott of Buccleuch with a powerful disgust. \"Firearms! I could do more harm with a good spit through a peashooter\u2026\"\n\nTom Erskine located the voice without enthusiasm.\n\nHe had had a frustrating week. Stirling was his home: his father was Keeper of the castle, and in the romantic and ingenuous soul which lurked behind his round exterior, the Master of Erskine loved above all things to see between his horse's ears the Rock of Stirling, a homely Lorelei in the green meadow of the Forth.\n\nIt had taken all Friday to bring Christian Stewart and her women to Stirling. He had left them at Bogle House, which the Culter family and the Flemings shared, and had found his town like one with the plague at the door. Court, government, the tougher shreds of army command, had all recoiled on the place, and the streets were a nightmare of horsemen and wagons. More than that: inside the packed lands lived an invisible disease of fright and nerves ten times worse than the newsless, suffering strain of the country because, like proud flesh, it increased on itself. Arran the Governor, awaiting the final, destined disaster of Somerset's attack, saw Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin in lapidary capitals before him and was sick with nerves. The town followed his lead.\n\nAt least, Tom found, they had taken thought for the Queen. For a week, the baby had been in hiding with her mother, and Mariotta and Lady Culter, now taking the place of the new-widowed Jenny Fleming, had gone to be at their side. Later, he heard that Christian had been commanded to join them.\n\nHe could not even be her escort. He was held fast in Stirling by affairs, and by the necessities of war. On Monday night they heard that Leith was on fire and Holyrood Abbey overthrown; later, that the English Protector had struck camp and was on the move, while an English fleet was sailing farther north. No question now, of being sent to join the Queen, and Christian. Erskine stayed, and lightheaded with the despair of high crisis, the town awaited fresh news.\n\nIn the evening, it came. The English army was marching\u2014not west, toward them, but south.\n\nIt was news that would be repeated, word for word, as long as they lived. On Monday, it was confirmed. The Protector, at Lauder, was still moving toward England. On Tuesday and Wednesday, fresh reports: the English fleet had simply fortified Broughty Castle on Tayside, and appeared to be waiting only for a wind to leave again. Thursday and today, Hume Castle had fallen to the enemy and had been garrisoned; the English army were now at Roxburgh, and apart from these outposts and the cut and dead wrack left by the storm, the pounding seas had withdrawn and the tide had flowed south.\n\nImpossible to understand why Somerset had failed to press his brilliant advantage. The tired captains in Stirling could only surmise. The cautious pointed to the four English garrisons: two seabound on the open east coast, two within reach of the Border; but jubilation, like a truant, crept up on the town and its army.\n\nTom Erskine, at last free to escape, was impatient alike of wild opinions and delay, and irritated beyond reason to find Buccleuch in the company on his first visit to Stirling since Pinkie. Particularly when the company, sleek and splendid, was George Douglas, whose elder brother, the Earl of Angus, was head of the House of Douglas in Scotland and father to Lord Lennox's wife.\n\nHe walked forward nevertheless and was seized. \"Here, Erskine: you've used 'em. Hackbuts, boy! Damned dangerous things!\" Fighting had left Wat Scott of Buccleuch unaltered: bonnet crammed with Buccleuch bees, he looked as he had done when, standing with Lord Culter on the Boghall battlements, he had watched smoke rise from the castle where his wife Janet lay with a knife in her shoulder.\n\nAnd that was a theme painfully close to Erskine's mind\u2014and Sir George's too, it appeared, for interrupting Buccleuch blandly he observed, \"Hullo, Erskine. Come to tell us about poor Will?\" And so Tom had to embark, perforce, on his errand.\n\n\"I've seen your boy, Buccleuch. He's in good health.\" That, at least, was true.\n\nCircumscribed by lowered eyebrows and raised beard, Buccleuch's face did not change. \"Poor Will?\"\n\nSighing, Erskine discarded finesse. \"He's with Crawford of Lymond.\"\n\nThe thickets of grey curls tightened. \"Lymond!\" bawled Buccleuch. \"As a prisoner? A hostage?\"\n\nTom shook his head. He told the tale quickly: of the English messenger, of Lymond's attack on his brother; of his own arrival which saved Lord Culter. At the end there was a short silence; and though Buccleuch's eyebrows were lowered, there was a pleased spark in his glare. He cleared his throat.\n\n\"The fact is, the boy came back from France with a skinful of damned, moony ideas, and I could make nothing of him\u2014nothing at all. So he stamped out, consigning us all to the nethermost hole and the wee deils with the pitchforks. In fact\"\u2014he paused, as memory struck him\u2014\"he said he'd probably be there before us. Which explains\u2026 God, Will!\" growled Buccleuch, with a kind of numbed exasperation. \"You'd have a damned nerve to choose Lymond to go to hell with.\"\n\n\"Oh, come.\" Sir George's eyes hadn't left Buccleuch's face. \"I think we're all underestimating him. Be patient, and your Will might surprise you one day.\"\n\nBuccleuch returned the stare. \"If you're a decent body by nature, you don't sell your captain, even if he's captain of nothing but carrion.\"\n\n\"But surely Will knows what Lymond is?\" Tom's voice told of anxiety as well as puzzlement.\n\n\"Will is no innocent,\" said Buccleuch flatly. \"He's a cocky young fool with a head too big for his bonnet, but he's not daft, and he's not twisted. If Lymond took him on, he knew what he was doing. Will won't betray him. He'll rub his own nose in the midden, to make a point of principle to his soft-heided relations, but his great new code of honour'll keep the stink from his nose while he does it. That boy,\" snarled Sir Wat, \"thinks with his nether tripes\u2014Let's have some claret, for God's sake.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "It was evening before Erskine had leave to go.\n\nHe took no escort because he knew none was permitted; but turned alone out of the gates of Stirling and rode into the sunset, which flared and died as he went.\n\nIt grew dark. Around him, the trees closed in and then fell behind: beyond them were the moors, with the hills of Menteith on his right. In a light wind, grasses hissed like spray. The path became better: he saw cottage lights and smelled wood smoke. Then he was stopped.\n\nThat was the first guard. There were two more, past the hamlet of Port, the chapel, the barns, the Law Tree. The last of the beeches moved past him: he gave his name and password and was recognized yet again; and then drew rein.\n\nBlack and unrippled at his feet spread the Lake of Menteith, one and a half miles across, island home of his brother's priory; island seat of the Earls of Menteith. Barring its texture lay like ribbons the thousand lights from the two islands in its centre, and music fled across the water: organ notes from the Priory of Inchmahome, where monks sang at Compline and children slept; a consort playing a galliard from Inchtalla, where the Scottish court took its leisure in hiding.\n\nA ferry, already signalled by its prow lantern, arrived, chuckling; and he got in."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 19",
                "text": "\"My dear man,\" said Sybilla next day, placidly stitching before Earl John's big fire. \"Admit you've never had to live with eight children on an island, and every one with the instincts of a full-grown lemming.\"\n\nThe Dowager, who had her own way of reducing tension, sat next to Tom Erskine, her aristocratic nose decorated by a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles hung around her neck on a thin gold chain, the inevitable embroidery on her lap. Christian Stewart was out, and Sybilla was free, which meant that she commandeered both Erskine and Sir Andrew Hunter, newly in with dispatches, to help her entertain Mariotta.\n\nFor the attack on Midculter had tumbled Richard's wife into a cold bath of nerves which the upheaval of the last three weeks had not helped at all. The theft of their silver had hardly touched the ledger pages of Richard's wealth: what made her flesh shiver was the thought of Lymond, and the cool, impertinent grip of the mind he had used; in five indifferent minutes pioneering where Richard's diffident courtesy had never taken him. On her husband, too, the incident had borne grossly. She realized as much during the two sleepless, congested days before he left to join the army in the east. Since then, the only news of or from Richard had been that brought by Erskine\u2014news received without comment by the Dowager, who continued to arrange her affairs without further reference to the uncomfortable and icy springs of satire and denunciation. Mariotta turned to Sir Andrew Hunter.\n\nHe had been watching her. A distant neighbour, a near-contemporary, a gentle and distinguished landowner and courtier, Andrew Hunter was well known to the Culters, and Mariotta had learned to like him, and to enjoy his kindness, his willing attentions, and an articulate turn of speech which made her now and then sick for home. Now, on a sudden impulse, she addressed him. \"Tell me, Dandy, what do men talk about? Richard, for example?\"\n\nHe was taken aback, but he answered her. \"What does Richard discuss with other men? Horses, of course. And pigs. And the state of the barley, and the new cocks, and the hawking, and what the Estates are up to, and the wrestlers, and any new shiploads he's expecting, and the rates of exchange, and taxes, and poaching, and pistols, and the price of roofing, and his deerhound litter, and Milanese armour, and the lambing.\u2026 Richard's interests,\" said Sir Andrew, with a hint of defensiveness in the soft voice, \"are pretty wide.\"\n\n\"But never dull. I wonder,\" said Mariotta, her eyes expressionless, \"what Lymond makes of light conversation?\"\n\nHunter sat up. \"Lymond's conversation doesn't give me a moment's alarm. It's his actions that hurt. Richard's bent on this challenge at the Wapenshaw and, my God! if he goes, it'll be suicide.\"\n\nMariotta's eyes opened. \"But the challenge wasn't serious! Lymond at Stirling'd be under instant arrest. And besides, Richard's the finest shot in\u2014\"\n\nShe broke off. Hunter was right. What use was all that with an arrow in the back? \"God has a thousand handes to chastise,\" had said Lymond, and at Annan he had nearly succeeded. Mariotta opened her mouth, but Sybilla, stabbing industriously with her needle, spoke first. \"Did you hear any word of Will Scott in town, Tom?\" And added, composedly, \"We know he's with my son. Sir Andrew brought back news from Annan of his meeting with Richard.\"\n\nSaved from plunging a second time into the same diplomatic whirlpool, Erskine sat back, relieved. \"There's nothing new. Saw Buccleuch, as a matter of fact, yesterday and broke the news to him. And that fool George Douglas hovering by while I told him.\"\n\n\"Where? At Stirling?\" Hunter was interested. \"I thought Sir George was with his brother.\"\n\nErskine shrugged. \"He's off to Drumlanrig by now, anyway, thank God: can't thole the man.\" His mind was not on George Douglas, but on Christian, and her odd behavior last night. He had gone to the Priory first, with his report, and had been worried because the Queen Dowager kept him late, and Christian might have gone to bed. But when the ferry took him over to Inchtalla, she was waiting in the hall, pulling him by the arm before the usher led him away. \"Tom\u2014in case we have no other chance\u2014the name I asked about? Jonathan Crouch?\"\n\nHe had told her what she wanted to know, breaking off because the Dowager materialized, carrying her embroidery and standing on his toe because she had forgotten to take off her spectacles. After that, Christian had done no more than thank him firmly for his help and indicate the matter was closed. He was slightly nettled. Despite the noble disclaimers he remembered making she might, he thought, have let him into the secret.\u2026\n\nThe next day, the autumn trumpets gave tongue, the sun shone like copper, and a flaming row was taking place in the Priory cloisters. To the north the hills of Ben Dearg reared empurpled, and soft airs shuddered on the blue water. On Inchmahome, Discord beat against the ancient pillars, where five adults and a child sat or stood about the green cloisters.\n\nThe Queen Dowager of Scotland was in a state of Gallic rage. \"Will someone kindly inform me how this escapade has arrived?\" Thus Mary of Guise, seated bolt upright in a carved chair.\n\nCroaking reply from a middle-aged nurse, white as her tortured apron. \"Oh, Madame; that I dinna ken, the puir wee lassie\u2026\" and she broke off, shooting a basilisk glance at a younger maid, completely overcome, who was being patted by Mariotta.\n\nThe Dowager Lady Culter, who was also seated, wisely said nothing, partly out of diplomacy and partly from sheer respect for her vocal chords: a very small child with tousled red hair standing before her continued to hammer on her knee in a detached sort of way, screaming gibberish at the top of her voice.\n\n\"Hurble-purple, hurble-purple, hurble-purple!\" chanted the child.\n\n\"On the rivage, in broad daylight! Murder! Kidnap!\"\n\n\"She'd cuddle a milk jug, the jaud!\"\n\n\"Boo-hoo\u2014hic\u2014hoo!\"\n\n\"Elspet! You'll be ill! Be quiet, now!\"\n\n\"Hurble-purple, hurble-purple, hurble-purple!\" said the child with ascending power.\n\nLady Culter winced slightly, and drawing her knee away, put out a kindly but restraining arm. She spoke briskly. \"I doubt there's no need to hunt for villains, Ma'am; the lass was scatterbrained, and Mistress Kemp as bad, to let her go off alone with the child. But there was no worse intention that I can see. Just an escapade.\"\n\n\"Escapade!\"\n\nSybilla, after a daunting glance at the hysterical Elspet, returned to her task.\n\n\"Yes. The foolish girl had a tryst with one Perkin at Portend Farm, and the child wanted to visit the pleasance. There was a skiff unattended, and off they went to the shore, where Elspet apparently left Mary playing while she went up to the farm\u2014\"\n\n\"Alone and unattended,\" said outraged motherhood grimly. \"And then of course my daughter is accosted, attacked! One hears her screams, the girl returns, thrusts her back into the boat and attempts to return unobserved. Oh, I grant you the girl Elspet is innocent: by returning she doubtless foiled the attempt. But how could such a thing be? Is there not a bodyguard, here at Inchmahome\u2026 attendants\u2026 the good fathers? Are there not armed men surrounding the lake, blocking the roads? Dame Sybilla, but for my daughter's screams, where would she be now?\"\n\n\"Sitting in the Pleasure Gardens, I imagine,\" said Lady Culter dryly, \"although I must admit that the attractions of Perkin seem to have played ducks and drakes with our safety precautions. Suppose we ask the Queen's Grace?\"\n\nMary of Guise, Queen Dowager, stretched an arm and called her daughter. \"Marie! Come and tell Maman what the ill-doing man did?\"\n\n\"What ill-doing man?\" asked the red-haired child, trailing over the grass without lifting her dress, and proffering a sticky mouth. \"Can I say my rhyme?\"\n\nHer Royal mother, ignoring this, wiped the mouth thoroughly with a clean handkerchief and said, \"The man in the Pleasure Gardens, ma p'tite. What did he say?\"\n\nHer Most Noble Majesty Mary, crowned Queen of all Scotland, found her pomander and began to play with it, with unsavory results.\n\n\"He wasn't a malfaisant. I liked him. Can I\u2014\"\n\n\"Mary, was he a monk?\" said Sybilla gently, mindful of one of the unlikelier aspects of Elspet's story (\"But all the monks are at Sext\").\n\n\"He was a nice monk,\" said the child, with a single inflection neatly robbing the statement of all value. She bit the pomander, spat, and relented. \"He said the rhyme, and he knew my name.\"\n\n\"But\u2026\" said the Dowager Queen.\n\n\"But\u2026\" said Mariotta.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Lady Culter, recognizing defeat, \"if it could be Dean Adam back from Cambuskenneth? He went last Monday, and I suppose\u2014Or a wandering Observant? Oh well, he did her no harm\u2014I think her screams were annoyance when Elspet lost her head and tried to get her into the boat and back.\"\n\n\"They found no one?\"\n\n\"No one. Lady Christian herself had been walking there, and heard no one at all in the gardens.\"\n\n\"Can I,\" said the Queen's Most Noble Majesty, with urgency, \"say it now?\"\n\n\"What\u2026 I suppose so,\" said Maman, her brow still furrowed.\n\n\"Eh bien,\" said Mary smoothly. She recited.\n\n\u2003\"Hurble purple hath a red girdle\n\n\u2003A stone in his belly\n\n\u2003A stake through his arse\n\n\u2003And yet hurble purple is never the worse.\n\n\"What is it, what is it, what is it?\" roared the Queen.\n\nThere was a shaken silence.\n\nThen Lady Culter, in a voice preternaturally grave, said (rather unkindly), \"I think\u2014it's a hawthornberry, is it not, ch\u00e9rie?\"\n\nHer Majesty's face fell."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 20",
                "text": "Christian laughed outright. \"How absurd\u2026 'Comment le saluroye, quant point ne le congnois?' Of course I recognized who it was. Credit me with ears, at least.\"\n\nThere was a moment more of the kind of constraint she remembered from their last interview in the cave, then the man beside her gave a mock sigh. \"Forgive my obtruseness. My voice again? Crying the coronoch on high. I'm sorry about the uproar. I didn't expect company, but even so, all would have gone well if that blasted girl hadn't snatched the child so suddenly. Magnificent lungs for her age.\"\n\nThey sat in the short grass in the middle of the maze a previous Earl of Menteith had designed on the north shore of the lake. Dusty box hedges with an unused air shut off any view of the water: from the rear a folly in marble overhung them.\n\nIt was warm and still, as it had been at Boghall, where, as her prisoner and her patient, he had played the lute and sung to her of frogs. Christian hugged her knees. \"But how did the child find you?\"\n\nHe answered ruefully, \"I fell asleep. Considerably more than doth the nightingale. And the next thing I knew she was sitting on my chest.\"\n\n\"What did you say?\" said Christian, fascinated.\n\n\"She said, 'M. l'abb\u00e9' (you'll have gathered I'm dressed like a magpie)\u2014'M. l'abb\u00e9, you 'ave greatly insufficient of tonsure.' And I said, 'Madame la reine d'Ecosse, you are greatly in excess of tonnage.' After which exchange of pleasantries\u2026\"\n\n\"She got off?\"\n\n\"Not at all. She bounced like a cannon ball and said that D\u00e9d\u00e9\u2014\"\n\n\"Her pony.\"\n\n\"\u2014That D\u00e9d\u00e9 had long yellow teeth; and did I know\u2014\"\n\n\"That,\" said Christian in chorus, \"you can tell a person's age from their teeth. That's a favourite one.\"\n\n\"Oh. Well, as you say. So she opened her mouth, and I pronounced her seven years of age, and she admitted to five. (What is she\u2014four?) Then I opened my mouth\u2014\"\n\n\"What was it, a pebble?\"\n\n\"\u2014I opened my mouth and received inside it a small fish, still resisting delivery to its Maker. After that\u2014\"\n\n\"But what did you do? With the fish?\"\n\n\"I pretended to eat it,\" he said simply. \"Then we played a game or two, and sang a bit, and discussed a number of subjects. Then the nursemaid, or whoever she was, arrived, and whipped off the child, crowing like the cocks of Cramond. And you know the echo, to boot.\"\n\n\"I wish I'd been there,\" said Christian. \"Had you been waiting long? I'd walked to the far end of the garden.\"\n\n\"Not very long. But I have been, and am, all a-quiver like goose grass. My dear lady, you mustn't toss the secret of the Queen's hiding place at the feet of a complete stranger. It's not in the rules. Quite apart from perjuring yourself on my behalf just now.\"\n\nShe said regretfully, \"I make some terrible mistakes. But then I'm a very hasty person. You see, they wouldn't let me bring Sym, and I'd no one to send, even if Tom Erskine had found out by Tuesday\u2014which he hadn't. Then old Adam Peebles had to go to Inchkenneth, and I asked him to give a message to Sym so that he could go to the cave and tell you to come today. I had to make the message so garbled\u2026 and it was a gamble whether Tom would even have reached us by now\u2026 but he has, so everything has turned out well. Did you have much trouble coming? And getting the robes?\"\n\nHe brushed the questions aside. \"It wasn't difficult\u2014it should have been more so: the guard is wretched. I came by the hill path, and I had your password. There again\u2026 I don't mind being a lame duck, but the pond you've put me into has a kingdom in it, my dear. By all means let's play guessing games. 'Will you hide me, Yes, par foi! Shall I be found out? Not through me!'\u2014and all the rest of it; but not with your life, or the child's: and think what happened to Eve, at that\u2026\n\n\"Good God,\" he said, coming to a stop. \"I appear to be giving you a miserable nagging for risking your life and reputation for me. Look to me as Wat did to the worm, and relieve my conscience.\"\n\nShe made no attempt either to answer or to argue with him. \"Is your head quite better?\"\n\nTo her relief, he accepted the change of subject. \"Quite healed, thanks to you. I fall asleep sometimes rather a lot\u2014as demonstrated\u2014that's all.\" He hesitated; then said, \"How do you get back?\"\n\nShe showed him a whistle at her girdle. \"I blow from the shore, and a boat comes. Then Lady Culter or Mariotta will meet me.\" She smiled. \"We're a crowded household.\"\n\nHe said, \"The Culters. Of course. Who else\u2014Buccleuch?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"In Stirling. Tom Erskine had to tell him that\u2014\" She stopped.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nShe said, \"Oh, well. It's common gossip now. His oldest boy Will has joined forces with\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014The God of the Flies, the Lord of the Dunghill\u2014I know,\" he said. \"How did he take it?\"\n\n\"Buccleuch? Terribly shocked, and grieved, and remorseful, I think. He felt he's driven him off in a fit of temper.\"\n\n\"I expect he should have thought of that in the first place,\" he said with unexpected asperity, and she heard him get to his feet. \"My dear lady, they'll wonder what's become of you. Did Erskine really tell you about Crouch?\"\n\nShe told him, rising with the help of his arm in its coarse monk's robe. \"Crouch is Sir George Douglas's prisoner.\"\n\n\"Douglas has him!\" There was a thoughtful silence.\n\n\"Does that help?\" she said tentatively.\n\n\"Yes, of course it helps. Very much.\" He appeared to be in a difficulty. \"Yes\u2026 I have been postponing\u2026 Lady Christian, when we last met you were unthinkably kind and generous\u2014for no kind of thanks that I remember making. I swore to myself not to involve you further. Then when I got your message I was irresponsible enough to come here after all. But at least you shan't be in the dark. You shall hear\u2014now\u2014who I am, and if you want to call the guard, I shan't try to escape this time.\"\n\n\"No!\" she exclaimed. \"I don't want to know!\"\n\nThere was, for the first time, a weary distaste in his voice. \"But you require to know\u2014you must see that. This secret\u2014the Queen's hiding place\u2014\"\n\n\"Have you betrayed it? Will you betray it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then leave me ignorant,\" said Christian. \"What would make matters easier for your conscience might make them insupportable for mine. I prefer to be selfish. God knows I've been wrong\u2014politically, legally, conventionally and every other way\u2014in judgments before. But these always seemed to me the more irrelevant aspects of human decency.\u2026 You are at least Scottish, I think?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"\u2014And in trouble. Well, I'm human,\" said Christian. \"I don't want conscience money in the form of secrets: not just now, thank you. But the day you genuinely want help, I'll be proud to have your confidence. Till then, show your thanks, if you wish to, by letting me have news of you sometimes.\"\n\nThe man was silent. Then he said lightly, \"I can say naught but Hoy gee ho!\u2014words that belong to the cart and the plough. Your confidence is fully misplaced this time, but I imagine you suspected that all along.\u2026 Tell me: would you know again the other voice you heard in the cave?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Good,\" he said. \"Yes, I shall keep in touch. Not as often as I should like, but certainly more than I ought by all the tenets you quoted.\" They were almost out of the shelter of the box hedges, and he stopped and took her hand, as if examining it. \"What in God's name are you going by?\" he said. \"Instinct? Intuition?\"\n\n\"Common sense. Which describes your case as fortunae telum, non culpae.\"\n\nHe answered, bleakly, in the same language. \"Heu! The darts which make me suffer are my own. Common sense can be a poor guide and an uncertain surgeon. Better\u2014much better\u2014be foolish, like me. God clip you close,\" he said, and was gone.\n\nChristian walked to the shore and there blew a nerve-racking blast on the whistle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Several Moves by a Knight",
                "text": "A Knyght ought to be wise, liberall, trewe, stronge and full of mercy and pite and kepar of the peple and of the lawe.\u2026 And therefore behoveth hym to be wyse and well advised, for some tyme arte, craft and engyne is more worth than strengthe or hardynes\u2026 for otherwhyte hit happeth that whan the prynce of the batayll affieth and trusteth in his hardynes and strength, And wole not use wysedom and engyne for to renne upon his enemyes, he is vaynquyshid and his peple slayn.\n\n[ Mishap to a Queening Pawn ]\n\nOn Sunday, the day after the affair at Lake of Menteith, Lord Culter was also taking aquatic exercise of a kind which all but turned his epithalamics into elegies.\n\nMariotta, it is certain, was not alone in finding her husband baffling. Whatever his thoughts about being separated from his wife after three weeks of marriage, Richard kept them to himself and applied his undeniable ability to work.\n\nUnder his remote, laconic leadership, the Culter men spent an enlivening week, racing through the night after Wharton, harrying his outposts and nibbling his tail as he recoiled on Carlisle. Then, changing with equal aplomb to the politician's bonnet, Lord Culter set about taping and testing the mood of the southwestern districts which had been the theatre of Wharton's operations, and still lay open to foray and seduction from the south.\n\nThe English had left garrisons at Castlemilk and Langholm. These, with his small force, he could not touch; neither could he do a great deal at Dumfries or Lochmaben, or with those unlucky citizens\u2014\"assured Scots\"\u2014who lived nearest the shadow of Carlisle and had in sheer self-preservation to buy immunity with promises, and even carry them out sometimes.\n\nBut with those nineteen hundred who had promised help for England in August he had surprising success, and when he turned back north for Midculter on Friday, September 23rd, his train was slightly out of hand with high spirits and very little damaged; and he left behind him a number of impressed Johnstones, Armstrongs, Elliots and Carruthers.\n\nHalfway home, he remembered a promise, and sending on most of his men to disperse to their homes, turned aside at Mollinburn with six horsemen to ride through the Lowthers to Morton.\n\nOn Sunday afternoon, the party he was expecting came in from Blairquhan, and he left Morton on the Sanquhar road to take the Mennock Pass north. With him rode the Baroness Herries, his six men and two women servants.\n\nAgnes Herries was thirteen years old, inexpressibly rich, and not very pretty. In spite of two years in the Culter household acquiring, supposedly, polish and panache, she still had a loud and energetic voice, poor skin and a passion for romans idylliques. Even Sybilla, soul of charity and tolerance, had mentioned to the girl's grandfather that the child had regrettable taste; adding inaccurately that it came no doubt from the late Lord Herries her father, and not from her mother who had thrown over the joys of widowhood for a well-endowed marriage.\n\nGrandfather Kennedy of Blairquhan, who was waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Agnes's two younger sisters to qualify also for Lady Culter's hospitality, had said rapidly that nevertheless she was a dear child and a pleasure about the house. He had then, mindful of his responsibilities, suggested that Lady Culter should take the girl to Court for the autumn. It wasn't to be hoped that she would ever look much better than she did then, and if the Governor expected his son to marry her (they had been affianced since infancy) the sooner they got on with it the better.\u2026\n\nThus Richard, escorting Lady Herries north to stay with his mother at Stirling.\n\nIt was a miserable day. Saturday's golden autumn had given way to a wet and sullen Sabbath; the rain dripped from the small feathers in Culter's cap, and showers of drops from Agnes's hood shook onto her nose.\n\nLest this should be misconstrued, she blew into a sodden handkerchief for the twentieth time and rode stiffly on.\n\nLady Herries had her own resources. Bodily, she might be damp, cold and in Lanarkshire: in spirit she was with troubadour and minnesinger in the fields of romance. There, in passages of chivalry and courtship, the heroine\u2014thirteen, lovely and highborn\u2014was immutable. The hero, true to legend, was apt to reassemble under pressure into different shapes. The Baroness's eyes at present were fixed on Lord Culter's prosaic back: her lips moved slightly as she rode.\n\n\"Daphne! Vision! Shining she-lamb!\" Bowing, the prince removed his cap, the little feathers wet with rain. Crying, he said\u2014\n\n\"Devil take the rain; there's someone coming. Anyone recognize the standard?\" said Richard sharply. His lordship, looking slit-eyed through the downpour, was insensitive to ruined fantasy at his heels. \"Frank! Job!\" The two riders in front increased speed for a bit, then wheeled. \"It's Sir Andrew Hunter, sir, and some of the Ballaggan boys.\"\n\nIn a moment the two parties met. \"Dandy! Echoes from civilization at last. What's happening up north?\"\n\nSir Andrew greeted him smiling, shoulders hunched. \"Worse than the time old Scott's patent water system broke down. I've just left your wife and mother\u2014flourishing both\u2014everyone's safe so far.\u2026 Look,\" said Hunter. \"We'll drown if we exchange news here. Come with me to Ballaggan\u2014you could do with something hot inside you anyway. Who's the lassie?\"\n\nLord Culter explained and introduced, and the two parties struck off in company for Hunter's house. The rain ran interminably down Agnes's nose. Covertly, she studied Sir Andrew.\n\nSlimmer, and with better hands than Lord Culter. Lord Culter never joked. She liked dark men with a twinkle in the eye.\n\nThe prince, a slender dark man\u2026\n\nBut again, they had halted. The Nith, which lay between themselves and Ballaggan, ran unusually fast and high at their feet, and an outrider who drove his horse in at the ford thudded out again, wet to the stirrups.\n\nCulter was studying the river with some misgiving. \"I doubt the women oughtn't to try.\"\n\nFor answer, Hunter dropped down the bank and himself rode into midstream. The horse staggered a little with the force, foam gathering at its hocks, but after a moment mastered its footing and stood firm. He called, \"They can't get wetter than they are already. Put a line of horse upstream to break the current. I'll come back and lead you over.\"\n\nHe splashed back, and giving decorous permission, Agnes was lifted up into Lord Culter's saddle where he held her firmly, left-handed, the reins in his right. The prince, repigmented instantly from black to brown, pressed his horse into motion while the she-lamb, cheek to chest, approved the even beats of his heart. The impartial grip redoubled; the horse entered the water, and the heiress closed her eyes.\n\nDiscomfort claimed her. The saddle poked and prodded; the powerful feet threw up snatches of spray, and she was rubbed, pricked and jagged by Culter's unaccommodating attire. He began moreover to talk to the horse. Mild resentment overtook her.\n\nWhen they were halfway over, there was a sickening lurch. Culter exclaimed sharply; the pommel drove sharply into the girl's side and briefly the sky was made, blackly, of a shaking, arched mane. Then horse, rider and heiress fell, stirrups free, and in a bruising splash of colliding bodies, Agnes Herries hit the water. Wrenched from periastral dreams she became Lady Herries, just thirteen years old, and screamed and screamed with choking, soundless hysteria as the current spun her in rough fingers and shot her, buoyed up by petticoats, straight down the Nith.\n\nIntense cold, and a weight pulling her down. Waterlogged hair, like a curtain of weed on her face, filtering air bubbles through a throat choked with water. A seething clamour in the head and a bubbling voice\u2014her own.\n\nA gasping voice\u2014someone else's. Then a hand, shuddering with effort, in her armpit, and another hand ripping the cloak from her throat, wringing her hair off, exposing her face. An agony of air; an interval of bumping and pressure that hurt, and then of retching that hurt worse, her cheek pressing on mud. And then, at last, she heard a voice clearly. \"My God, we need practice at that. Shall we do it again?\" said Lord Culter.\n\n[ A Knight Wins an Exchange ]\n\nThey put her to bed, wrapped in woollens, and she slept, weak and full of hot milk, until the daylight had gone.\n\nBelow, in the overornate hall, Lord Culter lay in a lugged chair, displaying collected impassivity once more, bathed and with his cuts dressed, and wearing a loose gown borrowed from Sir James Douglas, their host.\n\nFor they were in a Douglas household, instead of Hunter's elegant, exhausted estate of Ballaggan. Alone and without help, Richard had brought Agnes Herries ashore: his own men were upstream and Andrew Hunter, far ahead, had been deaf to his shouts. But afterward, warned by the commotion, he had raced to their aid, wrapped the girl in his own cloak and carried both swimmers to Drumlanrig, the cavalcade following. Ballaggan was nearly an hour's journey away and could wait. These two could not.\n\nThe house of Drumlanrig was full of Douglases, and whether sincere or not, their welcome was a suitable blend of shock and cordiality. From Lord Culter they heard simply that his horse had put his near hind in a pothole; but listening to Hunter they were left in no doubt that Richard had saved the girl's life.\n\nDownstairs the owner of Drumlanrig had demanded the whole tale yet again for his wife's two brothers, the Earl of Angus and Sir George Douglas. Sly and splendid as a half-tamed leopard, Sir George had smiled; and the Earl, lissom Royal lover of thirty years ago lost in alcoholic fat and sparse beard, had been free if trite with his compliments.\n\nThe evening passed. Most of the household went early to bed. Sir James and Angus had gone and silence lay on the three still sitting before the big fire. In his deep chair, Culter was motionless, his face lost in shadow. Andrew Hunter glanced at him, and Sir George Douglas, alert on the second, said, \"He's asleep, I think. Did you wish to say something private?\"\n\nSir Andrew smiled gratefully. \"Not at all. But I did want to open up a small matter of business.\" He went on, with some hesitation.\n\n\"You may not know, but a cousin of mine, a great favourite of Mother's, was taken in '44, and has been in Carlisle ever since.\" He paused awkwardly. \"I have a good little estate, you see, but not a very profitable one, and Jeff has no other relatives\u2014\"\n\n\"But of course,\" said Sir George with fine courtesy. \"Not a word more. I shall be delighted. How much\u2026?\"\n\nHunter flushed a deep red. \"No. I\u2014It's true we can't pay what they ask. But if, for example, I could repay in kind\u2026\"\n\n\"An exchange of prisoners? Yes, I suppose that would be one way out.\"\n\n\"So I went to Annan. But I was unlucky,\" Hunter said, flushing again. \"And then I heard\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014That I have a prisoner,\" said Sir George. \"Yes, I have. With a fearful stock of conversation\u2014I've forgotten his name\u2014Couch, or Crouch.\" He thought for a bit while Sir Andrew watched, his face a little anxious.\n\nThen Douglas said pleasantly, \"All right. I'll sell him to you for a hundred crowns. You needn't feel it's charity; and I expect it's a good deal less than they were asking for your cousin.\"\n\n\"Yes\u2026 I'm afraid it is charity,\" said Hunter rather ruefully. \"You could probably sell him yourself for\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014Very little,\" said Sir George dryly, crossing a superb leg in blue silk. \"Don't worry: he's yours. Will you send for him?\"\n\n\"Right away!\" Sir Andrew got up with rather touching enthusiasm. \"I'll give you a bill for the money now, if I can find paper and ink. Excuse me, sir: and believe me, I'm most grateful.\" He betook himself off, shuffling over the rushes a little in his borrowed shoes.\n\nThe silence lengthened. Then Sir George Douglas said, \"Why so silent, Lord Culter? Don't you approve of such transactions?\"\n\nCulter opened his eyes, and the faintest smile crossed his lips. \"Sir, when two friends discuss money, the third friend should invariably be asleep.\"\n\nSir George laughed, and rising, clapped him on a brocade shoulder. \"Poppyhead! Get to bed, man!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 22",
                "text": "Lady Herries, arranged in antique pose at the breakfast table, laid a large and languid hand on her chest. \"Do you think,\" said Agnes, gazing hopefully at her troubadour, \"do you think I ought to ride your horse today again?\"\n\nLord Culter, who had just finished stuffing himself with baked crane and sack, said robustly, \"Not if you want to get to Stirling this week. You'll be perfectly all right in your own saddle. Anyway, don't you want to be in time to see the papingo?\"\n\nLady Herries dropped a slice of bread, instantly lost to the dogs, and in ringing tones unsoftened by immersion, demanded data. \"Is it a real parrot?\"\n\n\"Quite real,\" said Sir Andrew solemnly. He put down his tankard. \"Bright blue and yellow, with a beak like Buccleuch's.\"\n\nShe said with vigour, \"My faith, I should like a papingo. I wonder how you feed them. What a waste to kill it! I suppose they'll hang it on a high pole?\"\n\n\"They will. And my Lord Culter and a number of other gentlemen will shoot at it. And there'll be wrestling, and throwing, and tilting at the ring, and running, and prizes given; and then a fair all afternoon and half the night\u2026\"\n\nAgnes snapped him up. \"A fair!\"\n\nRemembering something, Hunter looked across her head. \"By the way, Richard: I hope you won't be fool enough to\u2026 that is, your womenfolk are pretty anxious about Lymond.\" He broke off, daunted by Culter's continued silence. \"Oh, well. None of my business. She'll tell you herself.\"\n\nCulter stirred and raised his eyes. They fell on Agnes, looking at him with rather a silly expression. He smiled at her. \"Child, relations are the devil. Think yourself lucky yours don't bother you. Will you come and see me shoot at this wretched bird?\"\n\nThis was self-sacrifice with a vengeance. Sir Andrew threw his lordship a commiserating grin, and felt it stiffen on his lips at the look in the other man's eyes. Hot water under cold ice, then, he thought. He wasn't surprised."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 23",
                "text": "\"And there they go, poor dears,\" said Sir George. He watched the two parties ride down the long, wet avenue and then leave the Drumlanrig policies\u2014Hunter to the northwest; Culter and the girl for the Dalveen road.\n\nThe Earl of Angus, who hadn't bothered to get up, grunted from the fire. \"Pity the river wasn't a lot higher. That whelp Culter's done a lot of harm in the south.\"\n\n\"Don't be crude.\" Sir George admonished his brother, moving away from the window. \"All the same, I wish that damn fellow Lymond would get on with it. Can't we induce him to be a little more persevering?\"\n\nSir James said, \"We can't contact him: you know that. No one can.\n\n\"Well, one man could,\" pointed out Angus. \"That brat Will Scott apparently met him in broad daylight, as plain as a fishwife on Friday.\"\n\n\"Proving only that Lymond wanted to be met,\" said Sir George. \"I wish to God the man would stick to one side. What I couldn't do with his intelligence system! The Protector told me\u2014he lifted all of Wharton's campaign gold at Annan, and left your precious son-in-law Lennox black in the face.\"\n\nHe looked curiously at his brother. \"What went on between Lymond and Lennox anyway? If Margaret was involved, you'd do well to hush it up.\"\n\nThe Earl of Angus brushed this aside. \"No one's going to clap Margaret Douglas in the Tower these days\u2014cousin of Edward of England; a daughter of an ex-Queen of Scotland; the wife of the Earl of Lennox, with a claim to the throne every bit as good as Arran?\"\n\n\"But not as good as young Queen Mary's.\"\n\nAngus was contemptuous. \"God's Mass, George: there's bigger game than governerships and pensions. Edward's sickly. Look at him. And our Queen's four years old: well, they die like flies at that age. Arran's a fool. So's Lennox; but he's married to Margaret. And Margaret's heir to\u2014\"\n\n\"Heir to nothing,\" said Sir George wearily. \"You know perfectly well Henry of England disinherited her from the succession in the midst of his uxorial fluctuations. And on top of that, she had a cracking row with him the week before he died, and he cut her out of his will. Edward, Mary Tudor, Elizabeth and then the Suffolk infants. Not a word of his own niece.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well. She's highly strung.\"\n\n\"Highly strung! God, Archie, that wasn't what you called her mother.\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet, George,\" said the head of the Douglases. \"What do you want, anyway? The trouble with you is, you keep letting the Protector push you too far. One of these days, the Scottish Queen Dowager will see what you're up to, and then bang goes Douglas and Drumlanrig, Dalkeith, Coldingham, Tantallon and your fine neck into the bargain.\"\n\n\"On the other hand,\" said Sir George painstakingly, \"if the Protector feels we are insufficiently helpful, he sends in a raiding party, and bang they all go just the same.\" He studied his brother's heavy, once-handsome face. He had never in his life had to worry about searching questions from Archie, and he was thankful now that it was the same old ground.\n\nHis sister's husband, Sir James, said a little petulantly, \"You're talking as if the invasion was over for good. Is the Protector really going south?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\" Sir George smiled. \"He'd only food for a month, and he didn't get the local support he'd expected\u2014notably from the Douglases, Archie: now d'you wonder that I've been so forthcoming with him? Then a really nasty political mess flared up in London: be thankful, dear, that you have a prudent brother. The Protector's young twig of fraternity is graithing himself a nice sharp axe for Tower Green.\"\n\nHe tilted the ruby on his finger, and a beam of sunlight ran over a sardonic cheekbone.\n\n\"Andrew Dudley's stuck with an English garrison at Broughty; Luttrell at St. Colme's Inch; and that senile idiot Lady Hume persuaded to give up Hume Castle. He'll fortify Roxburgh, most likely, on his way south, and supply 'em all through the winter from Berwick and Wark.\" He grinned. \"An entertaining prospect, isn't it?\"\n\nAngus and Sir James looked gloomy. \"And what then?\" asked his brother.\n\n\"Oh, well.\" Sir George kicked a log into place in the fire. \"The Queen Dowager here, of course, will try to get some money and troops out of France. Meantime, the Protector can't do much: bad roads, difficult supply lines, winter weather and all that. He'll probably hang out until spring, and then fling in his full strength before the French come, using all these garrisons as jumping-off points.\"\n\nHe looked consideringly at the Earl. \"If I were you, Archie, I should wait until the really bad weather, and then suggest that your precious Lennox comes north with a raiding party. They'll never do it, but it'll assure the English of your good will. And then come the spring, why not ask them to send Margaret too? A joint command\u2026 that would stiffen Lennox's back for him!\"\n\nSir James, in painful doubt as to whether this was meant to be humorous or not, said feebly, \"And who'll command from Berwick, I wonder?\"\n\n\"Who d'you think?\" said Sir George. He laughed. \"Old Grey of Wilton, recovered from swallowing a billhook, and talking, I'm told, like a featherbed with a leak in it. Do you know Lord Grey, Archie?\"\n\nAngus shook his head.\n\n\"He's been in France for years: a clammy, stiff-backed old pike. The billhook, I'll bargain, came out lichened over.\" He laughed again. \"The first encounter between the old lad and Lord Wharton I shall see or die. They'll be heaving each other's guts out of the window.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Earl of Angus crossly, \"what's so funny about that?\u2026 You're a weird sort of devil, George,\" said his brother with the flatness of long usage."
            },
            {
                "title": "Castling",
                "text": "The rybauldes, players of dyce And the messangers and corrours ought to be sette tofore the rook. For hit apperteyneth to the rook\u2026 to have men convenable for to renne here and there for tenquyre and espie the place and cyties that myght be contrarye to the kynge.\n\n[ Capture of Some Advancing Pieces ]\n\nWill scott of Kincurd was stringing his bow and singing.\n\n\u2003Le douxiem' mois de l'an\n\n\u2003Que donner \u00e0 ma mie?\n\nLife at the moment was not unbearable. He was well-fed and warm. He had that morning shot a buck at a hundred and seventy yards and been congratulated by Matthew. He had a new ambition: in this penumbral region to cast a shadow bigger, grander and more devastating than Lymond's.\n\n\u2003Douz' bons larrons\n\n\u2003Onze bons jambons\n\n\u2003Dix bons dindons\n\nIt had not, he conceded, been easy to progress greatly toward this goal in a month, allowing as well for the hiatus which followed the Annan affair. His own state of superficial injury he shared, he had discovered, with half the troop. Dead men there were none; a telling enough point in a retreat which had been hard-fought and narrowly won.\n\nFor Lymond had genius. When building his force, he had taken sixty heterogeneous ruffians and cut and buffed them like diamonds, each rootless creature made an artist in his own small field. Some of their stories he had already from Matthew.\n\nDandy-puff, of the bog-cotton hair, was their farrier, and at the horn over a small matter of a cousin's sudden death which had unluckily brought to light a series of other unexplained mishaps.\n\nOyster Charlie, the cook, who bore young Scott no ill will (\"It's not your fault, lad: the Master's an unchancy bastard to cross.\") had been dentally denuded by an infuriated husband who was also a barber and now, untimely, with Abraham.\n\nJess's Joe (scout) was the ex-leader of a profitable band of dock thieves; the Lang Cleg (armourer) had been racked twice, but remained an unrepentant and unskilful pickpocket. Skinner, an ex-priest, was their barber-surgeon and, at need, their confessor; Cuckoo-spit, a magician with horses, had forgotten polite usage for rheum, if he ever knew it, in five draughty years in the Tolbooth\u2026\n\n\u2003Neuf boefs cornus\n\n\u2003Huit moutons tondus\n\n\u2003Sept chiens courants\n\n\u2003Six li\u00e8vres aux champs\n\nThese figures, he knew, were the grotesques in the bestiary. There were also unmarked, homeless men who for some reason had lost their farms and families, or had left them; individualists and misfits; and mercenaries like Turkey Mat, who had sold their swords over half Europe before one day falling in with Lymond and being brought here by him.\n\n\"Why is he back?\" he had once asked Mat.\n\nMatthew had grinned. \"Just to be neighbourly. Besides, there're two or three folk he wanted to see.\"\n\n\"Jonathan Crouch?\"\n\nTurkey's gaze was direct. \"That's one. How did you know?\"\n\n\"He told me.\u2026 Mat, you've had three years of it. How d'ye thole him?\"\n\nMat had chuckled gently. \"Over there in Appin, a place you've never heard of, there's a bien stone house with an honest pinch of soil to it, and a doocot and an orchard and some fine dry byres. It's mine for the taking, that house, and, man, when I've cooked my own fatted calf at the Master's fire, it's me for the white beach, groaning belly and all. I'll lie on it from morning to nightfall throwing dice against myself, and whiles winning.\u2026 I can thole him; I can thole him.\"\n\n[ Cinq lapins trottant par terre ]\n\n[ Quatre canards volant en l'air ]\n\nHe had asked Mat about Bullo.\n\n\"Johnnie? Johnnie's King of Little Egypt, and a law to his sweet sleekit self. He rules his wee pack of gypsy stoats like the Grand Turk, and keeps them happy with silk shirts and buckles forbye. You should see him at work in a fair: it's a scholastic education. Johnnie,\" said Mat, not without rancour, \"has all the old crafts.\"\n\nScott said, \"I thought he worked for Lymond?\" and Mat had shaken his head, rubbing rhythmically, whether of necessity or through association of ideas it was hard to tell.\n\n\"I suppose you would cry it a business partnership,\" said he solemnly. \"But when their interests collide, I'm feart it's every man to his own dirk. Watch 'em together next time. Our John's sly as a snake, but he can't resist playing with Lymond, wit against wit. Man, he's welcome,\" had said Mat with emphasis.\n\n[ Trois ramiers des boi ]\n\n[ Deux tourterelles ]\n\nUne pertriolle\u2026\n\nWill was ready for lapping. He picked up the waxed thread and glanced at the ruined Peel Tower, their present headquarters, which he controlled during Lymond's current absence. They moved about throughout the year, he knew: sometimes to farms; sometimes in the open or under canvas; sometimes to deserted buildings like this one.\n\nThey were extravagantly paid, all of them. In return, they suffered a grinding and despotic discipline. In Lymond's hands they were fashioned into a shining and precise instrument for advanced theft, blackmail and espionage; and faults in the instrument were dealt with instantly and with a horrid inventiveness.\n\nFor the thick-skinned, there was physical punishment. There was also a less respectable kind. Scott had seen, and would not forget, a courageous and rational man on his knees, weeping tears through his fingers as skin after skin of self-respect and human dignity peeled off him under Lymond's verbal lash.\n\nHe learned to recognize from the slurred walk and the gentle dishevelment when Lymond was no longer quite sober; and with the rest to walk softly at such times. He didn't mind. He had reached the point where he would notice nothing beyond the beauty and efficiency of superbly planned crime. One should always flee the impure. He was out of the muddle of truths and half-truths, and into the daylight. Only when\u2014if\u2014he were in Lymond's shoes, there were a few things he would change.\n\nScott finished the knots, smiling.\n\n[ Une pertriolle ]\n\n[ Qui vole et vole et vole ]\n\n[ Une pertriolle ]\n\nQui vole du bois au champ.\n\nThe Master's party returned to the tower just before dawn, rampaging hungry and saddle-sore. They fell over and quarrelled with the litter of sleeping bodies, kicked up the cooks and battered one of the boys until he had got the tallow dips and fires going again.\n\nScott and Matthew, cursing, got them settled down after a bit, and when the horses had been seen to and food was on the board, Will climbed the stairs to Lymond's room.\n\nThe yellow-headed man had lit a candle, showing his hair and clothes full of dust, and was reading what seemed to be a letter. Scott said, \"Nothing to report, sir. Did you have a good night?\" with a professional woodenness, a little overdone.\n\nLymond hardly looked up. He finished reading, unbuckling his belt with one hand; then laid down the paper and threw scabbard and belt on the bed. \"Excellent, Marigold. One generally does, at the Ostrich.\"\n\nThis was true. The Ostrich was an inn within first-posting stage on the Cumberland side of the London road, whose comforts were peculiarly comforting and whose clientele was select.\n\nScott said nothing. The Master, who seemed unusually happy, pulled off his boots, slung them across the room and slopped some ale from jug to cup.\n\n\"A splendid night,\" said Lymond, running on. \"Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and gle. And profitable. Indeed, it's an instruction to see how human messengers-at-arms can be, when they set their minds to it, if it's minds I mean. Sic peril lies in paramours. Oh, well. And that, my Wally Gowdy, was only half the night's work.\"\n\nScott said obediently, \"And the other half?\"\n\n\"Concerned a distinguished nobleman set upon by marauders on the high road to Scotland, until bravely rescued by myself\u2026\"\n\nScott gave up. \"I didn't know you'd turned philanthropist.\"\n\nLymond produced the sweet-rancid smile. \"I refer you to John Maxwell. He gave me to understand he was my eternal debtor for saving his life. And at that,\" he said, laying down the empty cup, \"your colleagues fought each other like shrews. I thought at one time the Cleg was going to forget himself and spit me.\"\n\nScott understood. \"This was Maxwell of Threave and Caerlaverock? You want him in your debt?\"\n\n\"The Master of Maxwell,\" said Lymond, \"is an important personage entirely surrounded by English. D'you play chess?\"\n\nScott, knowing him less than sober, was unstartled. He nodded.\n\n\"Then you should recognize an opening for smothered mate. Which reminds me: copy that, will you? Unless you still despise my cunning clerking?\"\n\nThis had once been a sore point with Scott: now he had other things on his mind. Taking Lymond's letter, he remarked, \"I suppose you know the men are getting restless, sir?\" and was lucky to get instant backing.\n\n\"God, you've hit it.\" Mat, entering, yawned and eased his shoulders. \"Too much intrigue, sir, and too little rape: the boys are as unnatural nervy as water fleas.\u2026 And besides,\" he added practically, \"we're nigh out of beer.\"\n\nThe Master, leaning back, crossed his legs. \"Good God. I knew we were spendthrifts, lechers and soaks: can we possibly be bored as well?\"\n\nThis was taken at its face value by Mat. \"Well, it's three weeks since they last had a chance to spend anything, and a month since they had anything to spend.\" He added reasonably, \"Anything with women and money in it.\"\n\nLymond closed his eyes. \"Fie on their labour! Fie on their delight! Must I supply the cattle with toys? No, by God: I've affairs of my own to look after.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Scott stayed dumb, but Turkey's disapproval could be seen, and even heard. The Master, less characteristically, gave a hiccough of laughter. \"Poor Mat. Sic strange, intestine, cruel strife. Alas, father, my mirth is gone. I see you think we must pander to this levity. What do you suggest?\"\n\nTurkey Mat's face broke into a relieved grin. \"Well, now; there's maybe one of the Douglas houses would repay a visit. Or Cothally Castle\u2014Seton's away? Or a nice puckle sows from the Malinshaw\u2014\"\n\n\"Grey of Wilton's in Hume Castle,\" said Scott.\n\n\"Or there's old Gledstanes, who broke his bond to us last month\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014If you took Grey\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014And Jardine of Applegarth must have got a consideration from Wharton\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014If you took Grey, you could set Arran and the Protector bidding against each other for him. Damn it, am I invisible?\" said Scott, irritated, as Lymond's eyes remained speculatively on Mat.\n\nAbsently, Lymond shook his head. \"Fond Folie, sall I be thy Clark? And answer thee ay, with Amen?\" He bent a cornflower-blue gaze on Scott. \"One: have you seen Hume since it was fortified? I thought not. Two: we should be outnumbered roughly four to one. Three: this is a diversion, not an act of war; and four: you have a hole in one elbow, and I wish to God you'd keep your boots clean.\"\n\nScott did not bother to look down. He persevered. \"If the men will follow me, will you give me leave to try it on my own?\"\n\n\u2003The Master was flippant.\n\n\u2003\"And he took out his little knife\n\n\u2003Loot a' his duddies fa'\n\n\u2003And he was the brawest gentleman\n\n\u2003That was amang them a'.\u2026\"\n\nHe grinned and got up. \"Not yet, my Hinnysopps. My gentlemen are quaint cattle. You must teach them to trust you before you set up as their Rex Nemorensis.\u2026 Well, Mat!\" He clapped Turkey on the shoulder. \"Go summon the sheep before the wolf, and we'll see.\"\n\nBy the time the Master walked onto the broken dais and hitched himself on the edge of a board, the men were alerted and waiting, chewing, hugging their knees in the straw, and reasonably quiet.\n\nLymond collected eyes; began: \"A number of curious blunders have come to light, gentlemen, which seem to be of a piece with your general behaviour over the last week\u2026\" And finished ten retching minutes later with: \"I would remind you that you're here to carry out orders, not to discuss them. That's the only reason you are here, and not in quicklime at the crossroads. Disobey me in action or in spirit, gentlemen, and you'll stay alive for much longer than you want to.\u2026\" Absolute silence.\n\n\"That being so,\" continued the Master gently, \"I want volunteers for work tomorrow night. No one who isn't ready to exert his talents to the fullest need trouble. The rest can put up a hand. Now!\"\n\nThe hands rose, slowly at first, then multiplying. Behind their chief's back, Scott and Turkey scanned the hall. Every arm was up.\n\nThe shadow of a smile crossed Lymond's face. He waited as the arms dropped, and spoke into sullen silence.\n\n\"At dusk tomorrow night a supply train of wagons is due to leave Roxburgh Castle for Hume. Among other things, it will contain the month's supply of beer for Lord Grey and the Hume garrison\u2014\"\n\nThe bang of relief and approval hit the ruined roof and brought mouldering plaster down on their regardless heads. An anonymous voice skirling through the din gave it its leitmotif. \"Now you're talking!\" it shrieked. \"Now you're bloody well talking!\"\n\nScott thought, \"Don't they realize they're sixty to one?\" And answered himself wryly. \"He's the Golden Goose. They'll never touch him.\"\n\nHe said to Mat, \"Your credit.\"\n\nTurkey shook his head. \"Listen. He's had it planned for days.\" He sighed. \"Man, man: he can play them like a chanter.\"\n\nBut Scott was listening to the Master's voice explaining the forthcoming raid; giving times, places and numbers, and making it crystal clear that anyone attempting to force Hume Castle itself had no future whatever.\n\nRightly or wrongly, Will Scott called that an overstatement.\n\n[ Sudden Danger for a Passed Pawn ]\n\nTo ride cross-country from Eskdale to Teviotdale is good for the liver; to do it without being seen healthier still.\n\nThe forty-five men who passed over the hills next day with Lymond and Will Scott were fortified, within and without, and sang impolite songs in discreet harmony, syncopated by beer and rough ground.\n\nThey reached the Tweed at dusk, crossed between Dryburgh and Roxburgh, and had the last of the beer and some ham and biscuits apiece, after leaving a couple of men to the north of Roxburgh. Then they lit a very small fire and settled down to a ferocious night at the dice.\n\nThe outposts came up just after midnight.\n\nLymond received them from a comfortable hollow in a stone outcrop, where he played a solitary game of his own with a worn pack of cards.\n\n\"They're coming, Master!\" Excited in spite of himself, the Lang Cleg was peching. \"They left Roxburgh an hour back, coming the way you said. Thirty horse and five drivers; three carts and two heavy wains with oxen pulling.\"\n\n\"Oxen!\" Lymond looked up for the first time from his game.\n\nThe Cleg nodded. \"They took them on at Roxburgh and left some of their horses. It'll be the ordnance carts. They're ower heavy, and the castle's hard up for horses.\"\n\nLymond said, dealing again, \"Thirty horses. How many mares?\"\n\n\"Ten geldings and twenty mares, fairly fresh. They must have come up from Berwick yesterday and rested all evening.\"\n\n\"All right.\" Lymond gathered up the cards and stood up.\n\n\"Scott! Matthew! They're taking the route we thought and should be among the thorn scrub before the moon rises.\"\n\nHe recapitulated briefly. Scott watched sardonically. (\"The great leader in action.\")\n\n\"We aim to disable, not to kill. We take important hostages, if any, and you, Matthew, select the beer and any other goods we need. Then we split: Scott takes as many men as he needs, parcels the rest of the prisoners, loads them into a cart with any goods we don't want, and drives them as near Melrose as he can get, joining us thereafter. Understood?\"\n\nMat, who hadn't heard of the latest refinement, grinned. \"Melrose! Daddy Buccleuch'll be pleased!\"\n\nScott waited for the sour smile. It duly appeared. \"Payment for goods received, let's say. Scott concurs, don't you? All right. Cry boot and saddle, my dears, and we're off.\"\n\nHe turned the impervious gaze on the company. \"To horse, you drouthy maggots. Are you deaf?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 25",
                "text": "By the time the maggots were duly embedded, one mile south of Hume Castle, the English supply train was still toiling north and everybody in it was sick to death of the oxen.\n\nThe beasts straddled the causeway, two to a wainload, surging unprogressively through the night with poached and indolent eye. Behind them groaned the carts, tamped with humped canvas, and behind that, more carts, horse-drawn. The mounted escort, fidgetting on all sides, was in a foul temper and raw-alert.\n\nThe night, moonless and unsympathetic, stretched around them, and visibility at thirty yards granted them a view of a quantity of stunted thorns.\n\nThe bullocks puffed gently, and a mare snickered. She was answered by one of the other horses.\n\nAbove the wheel-rumbling, someone cursed. \"Hold her nose! We don't want the whole God-damn percussion band.\" But as he said it, one of the cart horses threw back its head and presented the night with a splitting neigh.\n\n\"Wait a minute!\" They listened; while the speaker laid hands on the ox harness and the procession rolled to a halt.\n\nThere was silence\u2014broken by a dim beat far out in the night. Then the first tap was begetting others and the pattern was recognizable. Horses, in a solid body, were sweeping in on them from the moor.\n\nA crackle of orders arose; hurried movements and sudden, heavy breathing: bows, pikes and lances readied, they made for the shelter of the carts. They barely got there before, out of the night, dim forms came flying, heaving, nudging, bouncing and kicking in a cacophony of horse language. Lost in the flailing morass, with their own mounts rearing and threshing, the supply men had a confused impression of barrel ribs, rolling eyes and merciful, saddleless backs.\n\n\"Blood an' bones!\" They were hoarse with anger and relief. \"It's a damned great herd of wild ponies. Get away with you! Off! Off!\" And they rose out of shelter, cursing and whipcracking at the steaming bare backs and flying manes. Hoofs sparked on the stones; horses neighed, nosed, bumped and reared.\n\nThe hill pony is a stout and independent citizen: bold, uncatchable, inquisitive and gregarious. The herd went seriously to work, exploring all these and fresh talents. The mares were going silly and even the oxen were beginning to plunge.\n\n\"Hell an' thunder!\" said someone, taking a moment's breathing space to have a good look. \"That's funny!\"\n\n\"What the hell's funny about it?\" snapped someone else, bucketting past with heels flapping like windmills.\n\n\"Well, for instance,\" said the first speaker, gasping, \"every one of these brutes is a stallion.\"\n\nBut nobody heeded him, for just then the leading wain rolled in bovine panic off the road and sank two wheels up to the axle in mud.\n\nThey were attempting to drag it out, to calm the bullocks, to chase off the ponies and to control their mounts when Lymond's men descended like moths; and even then they lost seconds in realizing that these horses had riders. The infiltration was neat and unspectacular, involving close-quarter cudgel work and little injury: there were simply fewer and fewer vertical English and finally none at all. It took them longer to round up the ponies again than it had taken to capture the train.\n\nIt was a first-class haul. Matthew supervising, flour, biscuits, oats, meat, and leather powder bags with serpentine and corn powder were unloaded and put up in creels ready strapped to their own horses. One cart with hackbuts, bills, bows and arrow sheaves was unstrapped from the oxen and harnessed to a team of ponies. The rest of the ponies, without exception, carried beer.\n\nA wooden box, heavily padlocked, yielded to maltreatment and proved, satisfyingly, to hold the end of the month's wages. It was tied to Matthew's saddlebow.\n\nLymond watched, moving everywhere. To Scott, roping prostrate bodies together, he intoned: \"Sawest not you my oxen, you little, pretty boy? With hemp, with howe, with hemp.\u2026 Any familiar faces?\u2014No, of course: you wouldn't know.\"\n\nHe looked over the silent row of gagged figures. \"Unfortunate. A Spanish captain, and not worth his own weight in olive stones. Take 'em all to Melrose, and the rest of the wagons too. How many do you want for escort?\"\n\nScott said quickly, \"I have ten men: that'll do.\"\n\n\"All right, Barbarossa. Allez-vous-en, allez, allez. You've a job to do before dawn.\"\n\nScott nodded earnestly, and rode back to load up the leading cart with his prisoners."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 26",
                "text": "The English lookout at Hume Castle, slumped in the empty fire pan on the roof, was doing sums gloomily in his head. Below, night hid the great sweep of the Tweed valley and the Merse. Slabbed with fortifications, packed with soldiers, and stuck on a precipice with a six-foot curtain, the place was as safe as Durham Cathedral\u2026 and he was bored.\n\nIf the old man sent up the pay from Berwick, he was due two pounds for the month. Then he owed twelve shillings for food. That left\u2026\n\nHe groaned, working it out. It was a relief when he heard the wagons approaching, and caught glimpses of activity at the gatehouse, and familiar riding dress. He made for the bell rope. \"Supply train from Berwick, ho! There's the beer, Davie-boy!\" sang the lookout.\n\nLong before the portcullis was down, word had gone from the fire pan to the allure, and the allure to the keep, where sat Sir William Grey, thirteenth Baron Grey of Wilton, Field-marshal and Captain-general of the horse, Governor of Berwick, Warden of the East Marches and General of Northern Parts on behalf of His Majesty King Edward VI of England.\n\nFew commanders enjoy visiting outposts in enemy country: the risks of making a fool of oneself are relative to the distance from base.\n\nThrough an unlucky incident at Pinkie, Lord Grey was, as it happened, in a fair way toward doing this in any case for a little, whether he liked it or not. Sitting at his temporary desk, sleek, pink and picturesque, hair and beard a silver perfection above splendid riding clothes, he was in as petulant a mood as a gentleman of quality can be.\n\n\"I with to God,\" said his lordship bitterly to his secretary, \"I with to God I wath thtuck with the Crewth again. Even Boulogne and that damn rhymthter Thurrey wath plain thailing to thith.\"\n\nMr. Myles rigidly agreed.\n\nLord Grey gave him a sharp look; then ruffled impatiently through the papers before him. He picked one out, and slapped it down again with the same gesture.\n\n\"Fifteen labourerth dithappeared during the work at Roxthburgh: four Thpanith bombardierth and twelve pikemen climbed the wallth and gone home. If I could, I'd do it mythelf. No beer: not enough food. How can I thtaff garrithonth without gold and thupplieth? And how do they think they can get thupplieth to uth when winter thetth in? Hell and perdithion!\" said Lord Grey, goaded to fury by the unfair stings of Fortune. \"Ith there no word in the Englith language wanting an Eth?\"\n\nMr. Myles was saved by the entrance of Dudley, regular captain of the garrison, bringing the leader of the Berwick supply train to report.\n\n\"Mr. Taylor, my lord,\" said Dudley; and stood back.\n\nMr. Taylor, a personable young man with red hair, was coolly received. \"Taylor? I was ekthpecting one of my men from Berwick.\"\n\nTaylor, in the more normal person of Will Scott, had anticipated this question. He said smartly, \"I've just arrived at Berwick, sir. I had some of your men with me, but was asked to leave the more experienced ones at Roxburgh.\"\n\n\"I thee,\" said Grey noncommittally. \"Well, what have you brought with you?\"\n\nHe read the lists proffered without comment; handed them to Dudley with an air of private martyrdom, and turned again to Scott. \"Your men being looked after?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord.\" He wasn't afraid of that. They all wore clothes stripped off the real English, and the lists were authentic. \"Ten men below, sir: I put two or three to guard the wagons until ordered to unload. Beer, my lord,\" he added in explanation.\n\n\"Good. Any meth\u2014word from London?\"\n\nScott, standing at the door, said still briskly, \"One verbal message for yourself, sir, from his Grace. I was to deliver it for your ear only.\"\n\nSurprise registered briefly on all three faces, then the secretary, laying his papers deferentially on the edge of the desk, caught Grey's eye and left the room. Dudley raised an eyebrow and stayed.\n\nScott said, \"I'm sorry, sir: my orders are\u2026\"\n\nGrey said, \"Thir Edward remainth,\" because to his mind a general should appear to keep no secrets from a cousin of the Earl of Warwick. He hoped the boy had some discretion.\n\nScott, fulminating, wished his lordship had less.\n\nAt this moment of impasse the window fell in.\n\nA second later, a crack like the Eildons parting fell on their ears, and a bouquet of flame bellied up from the courtyard.\n\nGrey strode to the window and Dudley had begun to follow when, under cover of chain detonation and shouting outside, Will Scott leaped. Dudley, overcome before he realized it, gave a muffled groan and rolled over, stunned by an efficient blow on the prominent jaw.\n\nThe explosion had taken place in the middle of the newly arrived wagon train. The carts had already disappeared in smoke, and the nearest thatches were blazing merrily. Grey, staring out, saw the yard striped with shadows running haphazard about the well and courtyard. Then Woodward, Dudley's lieutenant, appeared below, and some sort of order began to materialize.\n\nGrey opened his mouth and turned, missing in that instant a descending stick, and found himself promptly pinned from behind, with an arm across his mouth.\n\nHe bit, fruitlessly and painfully. He kicked, with better results; then, summoning his considerable reserves, embarked on a wrestling trick which most mercenaries would have recognized, but Scott did not. The boy held the older man as long as he was physically able, and then fell back for the fatal instant that was necessary for his lordship to shout, \"Help! Guard! Athathinth!\" having little time to choose his words; and that was long enough for the guard outside to burst in, and for Dudley to erupt onto his feet.\n\nIn the brief and damaging interval which followed, the fighting was less preventative than justly punitive. By the time the interloper had been knocked to, on, and across the floor, the room was packed with avidly assisting soldiery, and the affair had taken on the look of a riot.\n\nDudley, at a sign from Grey, cleared them all out and gave orders to lock up all the men who were with Taylor. Two pikemen were set against the door, and then Dudley, after a brief inquiry below, joined his lordship in studying his bedraggled captive.\n\nThe ex-Mr. Taylor lay on a small carpet, bleeding copiously from the nose and with the beginnings of a glorious black eye. His shirt showed white through the tears in his jerkin, and his skin showed pink through the tears in his shirt; his red hair stood on end.\n\nSurprisingly, he was not an object of pity. His one good eye regarded the two men with a fair assumption of calm, and he even grinned a little, ruefully, at Grey.\n\n\"The devil!\" he said impertinently. \"Now we've hardly one whole set of features between us.\"\n\nLord Grey seated himself fastidiously at his desk, first clearing a litter of papers which had whirled from desk to chair. He passed a hand over his thick, fine hair, pulled down his sleeves, and gave a jerk to the short skirt of his doublet.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, putting thirteen generations of ice into his voice, \"let uth thee what we have here.\" And he fixed Scott with the kind of look linked with Assizes.\n\n\"You have not, of courthe, come from Roxthburgh?\"\n\n\"Find out!\"\n\n\"I propothe to thend to Roxthburgh to do jutht that.\" He paused.\n\n\"Do you know the penalty for arthon and attempted murder?\u2026 or wath it a kidnapping? In any cathe, you won't dithpothe me to lenienthy thith way.\"\n\nNo reply.\n\nGrey tried again. \"I prethume you are a Thcotthman?\"\n\nHis Lordship's misfortune was Scott's downfall as well. He couldn't resist it.\n\n\"Yeth!\" said Scott, and got his mouth shut for him by the buckle of his own belt. He tasted blood.\n\nDudley swung it again, warningly. \"Keep a civil tongue, sir. What is your real name?\"\n\n\"Find out.\"\n\nAgain the belt. He supposed they questioned him for ten minutes, and still pumped full of excitement, he not only kept them guessing, but in a masochistic way, even enjoyed himself.\n\nFinally Grey swung around to the desk again. \"We need to uthe thtronger perthuathion. The men below are obviouthly in colluthion too.\"\n\nDudley said, \"They've lost their tongues as well,\" and went on hurriedly. \"Woodward tells me it looks as if most of the stores are missing, even allowing for what was burnt. The boneheaded fool at the gate let them in on the strength of their dress and the seals\u2014they were authentic enough\u2014and\u2014of all things\u2014because he recognized two of the horses. Of course, the train was dead on time, and he was desperate to get the beer in, into the bargain. Which reminds me\u2014\"\n\nLord Grey for the first time looked really disturbed. \"Not the beer?\"\n\nDudley said, \"There's not a barrel left. Nor any ordnance to speak of, apart from what blew up. And what's more, no money.\"\n\n\"What!\" The two men stared at one another. This affair was serious. Water was scarce and unsafe: men had to have ale; and the horses needed hard feed to enable them to foray and keep open their communications. The need for arms and food was equally pressing.\n\nGrey was silent for a long time, and then he got up and, walking over to the prone man, stirred him with one foot. This time, the voice was a general's voice, and the lisp was not even remotely funny. \"Where ith the retht of the train, and where are the men who thet out with it?\"\n\nThe exhilaration had worn off; extreme mortification was biting at the edges of his courage. But he fought hard to keep his eyes calmly on Grey, and if the effort was visible to the soldier's practised eye, Scott didn't know it. He said dreamily, \"Far, far away! And farther every hour!\"\n\nDudley said sharply, \"Ah, then you had others with you who didn't come to Hume?\"\n\nThey would be halfway home by now, and surprised that he hadn't joined them. Then they would find the carts had never been driven to Melrose. And tomorrow, wait in vain for himself and his party. And then, somehow, Lymond would find out: against orders, he had got into Hume\u2026 but hadn't the brains or the guts to get out. Scott braced himself.\n\n\"Naturally,\" he said. \"I hope they keep some beer for me.\"\n\nThis time he had no trouble in meeting their eyes. After a moment Grey swung to the desk and began writing. \"Two men to Berwick for replathementth, two to Roxthburgh, to look out for thignth of ambuth, and dithcover the latht point the train got to.\" He finished writing and handed both papers to Dudley. \"Right away.\"\n\nThen he stood up and came over again to Scott.\n\n\"I am thorry you've thet thuch a thmall prithe on your life. I cannot afford to feed you and your men with what food we have left. Tomorrow you can ekthpect to meet a thpy'th death. We have a prietht. If you Want your relativeth to know, you had better give him your true name.\"\n\nScott said, \"My men are mercenaries. If you pay them, they will fight for you as well as your Germans and Spanish do.\"\n\n\"Pay them?\" said Grey. \"With what, prithee?\"\n\nScott was silent, in the bitter awareness that his exercise in self-expression had murdered ten men. Grey addressed the pikemen.\n\n\"Lock him up. But away from hith men\u2026 they might take advantage of him.\"\n\nIn the revolting hole they took him to, he had only one comfort. He hadn't said who he was. If they knew he was heir to Buccleuch, he thought cynically, they wouldn't let him so much as catch cold. They'd take him to Berwick and use him as a tool to make his father do as they wanted.\n\nFor all his airy words to Lymond, he didn't think for a moment his father would stand by in public and watch him murdered. No. He'd do what the English asked him to do\u2014again. And this time, ironically, he would be the cause of it. If he told them who he was.\n\nHe thought, lying bruised on the cold flags: This time tomorrow I shall be out of the whole damned mess. It didn't help very much."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 27",
                "text": "Nor did the news that Grey's small search party had found and brought back the two remaining carts and the original English members of the supply train, found tied up and frozen where he had left them, just off the causeway.\n\nThey arrived, packed shivering among the crates, and jumped down from the wagons, shirt-tails flying, to cheer after cheer. There wasn't a man among them with a pair of hose, breeches or a jerkin on him: their teeth chattered and their feet were blue. Even the masons repairing the explosion breech dropped tools and poured over to watch as the unlucky travellers hopped into the castle. Comment was rife and on well-marked lines.\n\nWhen the last of the men had gone indoors, Dudley examined the two carts and set a strong guard on them before reporting in high spirits to Grey.\n\n\"We've got some of the beer after all; and most of the heavy ordnance\u2026 culverin and stoneshot\u2014\"\n\nWhat else he was going to say was never known.\n\nThe door burst open, the tapestries flapped, and a human tornado, enveloped in a whorl of depot-stamped canvas and trailed by protesting soldiers, erupted into the room.\n\nThe visitor brushed off his escorts, slamming the door in their faces, and strode headlong to Grey's desk.\n\n\"Madre Dios! Caballeros, su ayuda\u2026 su venganza! Ladr\u00f3nes!\" Hissing, the newcomer fixed his lordship with a burning eye, and even Lord Grey had to admit the magnificence of his rage.\n\n\"He sido mortificado, insultado\u2014hombre\u2014me hecho hazmerre\u00edr!\u2014Mirame!\" screamed the insulted one, and peeled off the canvas.\n\nMr. Secretary Myles, tried beyond endurance, gave a soul-destroying quack. Dudley and Grey, pinned to the petrified edge of diplomacy, gazed at the sorry remains of a ruffled shirt, pleated and trimmed with shredded bullion; hair, once black, oiled and curled, swooning from a coarse woollen cap, askew; and below, bare thighs, blue with cold, and tarred and feathered from toe to knee as a duck goes to market. A single destitute earring winked next to the highbred nose and smooth olive skin.\n\nLord Grey, recovering an aplomb he had hardly known for a month, rendered sympathy, concern and indignation in a mollifying buzz. By a combined effort he and Dudley got the still-detonating visitor into a chair, rewrapped in Dudley's cloak, and his feet in a pewter basin of hot water to melt off the tar. He was brought a pot of mulled wine and invited, at last, to address himself to Mr. Myles, who spoke Spanish.\n\nThe caballero was displeased. \"But,\" he said with some hauteur, \"I speak the Scottish perfecto.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Dudley, taken aback. He, Grey and Myles waited.\n\nThe Spanish gentleman inspected his feet, sat back and proceeded to prove his point. He introduced himself: Don Luis Fernando de Cordoba y Avila, leader of the captured supply train, and said much about his relatives on both sides. He referred in passing without deference to His Majesty the Emperor; to the noble and adventurous life of himself and a few compatriots as masters of their own swords in London and Flanders, and drew their attention to the proverb \"Un hidalgo no debe a otro que a Dios, y al Rei nada.\"\n\nMr. Myles was anxious to translate. Grey restrained him. \"I can gueth.\"\n\n\"De veras,\" said Don Luis politely. \"My Lordship has the true Spanish lisp of Castile. His Spanish sin dude is as much good as the mine.\"\n\nAt this point, discretion came to Mr. Myles, and he studied the floor.\n\n\"And now,\" said Don Luis. He rose splashily to his feet. \"To action, se\u00f1ores. Mas veen quatro ojos que no dos. If the se\u00f1ores will lend clothing to myself and my men, with your aid we shall follow and kill the animals who put the hand on us. By el enga\u00f1o, the trick.\"\n\nThe dark face flamed with renewed vitality. \"The leader, I wish to meet. The confusion with the horses, the skilful overcoming of such a man as me: there is no man mediocre. Ay, ay, dios. Y cuando\u2026 When I meet him\u2026\"\n\n\"You may meet him now, if you with,\" said Grey calmly. \"We have him and motht of hith men locked up here.\"\n\n\"Que pasa? How is this?\" Lord Grey saw with satisfaction that the caballero was impressed at last.\n\n\"Pero\u2014como asi?\"\n\nThey explained. Don Luis, the ends of his cloak slopping in the bath, stood in astonishment. Then he swept out of the tub, imprinting the carpet with black sticky footmarks.\n\n\"This terrible Se\u00f1or Huile! Lead me to him!\"\n\n\"Se\u00f1or\u2026 Wait a moment,\" said Grey sharply.\n\nDon Luis paused in the midst of a characteristic rush to the door.\n\nGrey said, \"You don't by any chanth know how the leader wath called?\"\n\n\"But of course!\" said Don Luis simply. \"Do you not? It is Don Huile del Escocia.\"\n\n\"Don\u2026\" Dudley suddenly experienced a terrible nostalgia for the King's English, unadorned. \"He can't be called that. He's a Scotsman.\"\n\n\"No, no.\" Don Luis was annoyed at his own stupidity. \"This I translate to remember. El nombre de pila\u2026\"\n\n(\"Christian name,\" said Mr. Myles surreptitiously.)\n\n\"\u2026 It is Huile, that is in Scottish, Oil. An unusual name, is it not?\" said Don Luis, amused.\n\n\"Oil!\" said Grey rather hollowly.\n\n\"And the patronimico,\" continued Don Luis with undiminished helpfulness. \"It is del Escocia, of Scot.\"\n\n\"Thcot!\" said Grey. His face suddenly lightened. \"Wait a moment. Thcott! That'th Buccleuch'th name. Huile\u2014It'th the Thpanith pronunthiathion, idiot, not the Englith. What thoundth like Huile\u2026 Will! Will Thcott! Buccleuch'th oldetht son!\"\n\n\"Idiota?\" said Don Luis stiffly, picking out the insult unerringly from the maze of multisyllables. His feet, a tarry mound, were ringed with pools of water from the cloak, and his eyes were narrowed at Grey. \"Idiota?\"\n\nThe secretary saved the day. He took the se\u00f1or's arm and murmured in his ear. Phrases floated to his lordship: \"defecto de boca\u2026 quiere decir 'ideal'\u2026\" Mr. Myles did his best, and only ceased when entangled with the unforunate word \"embarazar.\" He flushed bright pink and released Don Luis, now regarding Lord Grey with unconcealed curiosity.\n\n\"Perhapth,\" said Grey icily, \"Don Luith might be given thome help to clean hith feet and a chanth to dreth, and then we will have Mr. Thcott brought up.\"\n\nDudley opened the door. \"Woodward! Get those men below into decent clothes, and fetch a suit for the se\u00f1or.\"\n\nWoodward looked doubtful. \"We've already fixed up the men below, sir, and it's taken nearly all the spare clothing we've got. What's left wouldn't be\"\u2014he hesitated\u2014\"entirely suitable for the gentleman.\"\n\n\"Then strip it off one of the prisoners,\" said Dudley impatiently. \"The fellow who led them\u2014Scott's his name\u2014he's probably wearing the se\u00f1or's own suit.\"\n\nWoodward said, \"Well, even if he is, sir, it's no good. It's in ribbons.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Then the Spanish gentleman said, very distinctly, \"I do not hear aright. I trust one does not ask me to wear clothes of the common soldier with, no doubt, the louse?\"\n\nThey saw with apprehension that his brow had blackened again.\n\nGrey said, \"Dudley\u2026\"\n\n\"Too small, sir,\" said Dudley. \"Same applies to Woodward and Myles.\"\n\nIt was true enough. They were all big men, far taller than Don Luis.\n\nAnother short, pregnant silence. Dudley and the lieutenant stared into middle space. Mr. Myles thought of something.\n\n\"He's just about your own height, your lordship, if I may say so,\" he said co-operatively.\n\nMr. Woodward murmured \"Well played, sir!\" under his breath and continued to look woodenly at the wall. Mr. Myles looked surprised.\n\nLord Grey allowed to lapse the longest possible interval consistent with civility. He then said without any sign of gratification, \"Of courth. I am afraid I require my riding clotheth, but I would be happy, naturally, to therve the the\u00f1or with my thpare dreth.\"\n\nThe se\u00f1or, it was apparent, was also happy. So, too, were Dudley and Woodward, but circumspectly so."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 28",
                "text": "Scott was pitchforked into Grey's room an hour later.\n\nHis lordship, courtesy worn a little thin, sat again at his desk; Dudley, Woodward, Myles and some others at his side and by the window. Beside the desk lounged an elegant gentleman in tawny velvet, with combed black curls and a diamond in one ear.\n\n\"Thith,\" said Lord Grey, \"ith Don Luith Fernando de Cordoba y Avila, of the forthe of Don Pedro de Gamboa, therving under the King'th Majethty in the North. I believe you had the impertinenthe to capture and unbreech him earlier tonight.\" That took the smile off his majesty's face, he noted sardonically. Scott stared.\n\nDon Luis de Cordoba uncrossed long, exquisite legs, rose languidly from his chair, and strolled toward the prisoner. He contemplated him, face to face in silence, through half-closed eyes, blue as cornflowers. Then, before Scott had time to dodge, he brought the percussion of his right hand with the savagery of a machine across the boy's swollen lips.\n\nBlood from the smashed mouth welled and poured.\n\n\"We have a proverb, Se\u00f1or Huile,\" said Don Luis sweetly. \"Aunque manso tu sabuesso, no le muerdas en el beco.\"\n\nScott moved bleeding lips. \"Hay un otro, Se\u00f1or Luis. Ruin se\u00f1or cria ruin servidor.\"\n\nThe malicious glitter increased. \"The se\u00f1or speaks Spanish? That should be cured. It is a tongue for gentlemen.\"\n\nDudley, already on his feet, reached the Spaniard. \"Remember, Mr. Scott's a valuable hostage, Don Luis. Seat yourself, and we'll thrash the matter out.\"\n\nMr. Scott! A sensation like the pounding of a die stamp was beginning to operate behind the boy's eyes. He parried their questions: Had his father, they asked, sent him to capture Don Luis and the supply train? How had he known the train would be there? What would his father pay to recover him?\n\nHe was jolted by a Spanish exclamation. \"Dios!\" said Don Luis in vexation. \"I believe the young man faints. He is a person debil, the Scot, in spite of many words. Ay! he goes!\"\n\nFor Scott, after a moment's helpless indecision, took the path thus offered. He swayed; he fell.\n\nWoodward stooped over him. \"He's off all right. Better take him back to his cell.\"\n\nDon Luis rose. He smoothed a curl, reassured himself of his diamond, and took control of the situation. \"But no. It does not value the trouble. You have done all you wish with him now?\"\n\nDudley shrugged and looked at Grey. \"More or less.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Don Luis, \"I would prefer much to return the night to Berwick. I shall take him and his friends, and thus there is no need to waste the food. The hostage affair can also begin en seguida, and the questioning gooder organized, no?\" He regarded them vivaciously.\n\nLord Grey became aware that he was dead tired and another hour of the brilliant se\u00f1or would undoubtedly drive him crazy. He said with a sort of upheaval of a sigh, \"Well, the\u00f1or; if you and your men feel fit to go back, then it would be a great benefit to be rid of the men right away.\"\n\nDon Luis bowed. \"Bueno. If you will then write me an order for Berwick\u2026\"\n\n\"Of courthe.\" Grey turned to the desk.\n\nDon Luis watched him for a moment, and then murmured delicately to Dudley, \"I fear to beg also the horses from you. The ours were taken and loosed by Se\u00f1or Scott, and the his will be needed for him and his men.\"\n\nDudley looked doubtful. \"Oh. Can't you manage without? We're short of hacks just now.\"\n\nDon Luis spread his hands. \"How manage without? We shall send more from Berwick, and meantime there are lesser mouths to feed.\"\n\nThat at least was true. Dudley gave in, and had a word with the Master of Horse, who left the room.\n\nDon Luis bowed.\n\nWoodward bowed.\n\nMyles bowed.\n\nGrey bowed.\n\nDudley spoke to someone at the door, and two of Don Luis' men, in brave new jerkins, came in smiling and hauled off the inert figure of Scott.\n\nClamour from the courtyard told of Scott's men being tied to their own horses; of new horses being brought for the Spaniard's troop.\n\n\"I depart,\" said Don Luis magnificently. \"For the hospitality, for the food, for the beer, for the horses, for the clothing, a million embracings. My dear lord; my dear sir; my dear gentlemen.\"\n\nEverybody bowed again.\n\n\"Adi\u00f3s!\" said Don Luis, and left the room."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 29",
                "text": "Long after the last rider had passed the portcullis, when all at last was still and Lord Grey was preparing for bed, Dudley came, yawning, to share a last cup of wine with him.\n\n\"That damned Don!\" They laughed a little, thinking of the tar and feathers. Dudley stretched.\n\nAt that moment, the wagon with the culverins blew up.\n\nIt was much later when they thought of checking the second wagon. The beer barrels were intact, but contained only brackish water, and one of them a slip of paper, which read pontifically, No es todo oro lo que reluce.\n\n\"All is not gold that glisters,\" translated Mr. Myles, coming into his own at last.\n\nFor a long time they digested the implications in silence. Then Dudley said, rather dazedly, \"They were all impostors.\u2026 Don Luis. Who was he?\"\n\nGrey stared thoughtfully at the smoking wreck of the opposite wall. \"I don't know. But I propothe to dithcuth thith night'th work thoon with William Thcott of Kincurd.\"\n\nThey retired, but not, it is certain, to sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 30",
                "text": "The long string of horsemen was far away from Hume, driving westward, when the moon came up. The need for hard riding made talking impossible for the first ten miles, though a knife, tossed silver from horse to horse, let Scott and his ten men cut their lashings. Far ahead of the others, Lymond rode in tawny velvet. He had taken off the black wig, but Scott glimpsed his hair, paler than ever above the dyed skin: the nearest view he had had of him since accepting that vicious blow on the face.\n\nHe was beaten to the knees, and knew it.\n\nRiding knee to knee with the Cleg, one of the ten whom his own recklessness had nearly killed, he had muttered some sort of apology.\n\nThe Cleg had received it with no more than his usual vacant good humour.\n\n\"Marry, man, that's just the way it goes,\" he'd said. \"The Maister gave us our choice\u2014twa-three hours in jail with you, he said, or ride bare-arsed with him an' get a new set o' clothes for it; and mindin' I catch cold easy, I chose to come wi' you. Not but what,\" he said warmly, \"I never saw a loon put up wi' all what you put up wi', for a scatterbrain scheme like yon. They must have fair bashed the brains out o' ye.\"\n\nScott covered a burning eye with one hand. \"You mean Lymond told you I'd be asking for volunteers to go to Hume with me?\" It was, of course, impossible. He had only decided yesterday to contradict Lymond's own express orders not to go to the castle.\n\nThe Cleg said, \"Ay, like I told you. He gave us all our choice, an' told us forbye you'd maybe not let on the plan to us, as you'd likely take a fair bashing.\" He smiled cheerfully. \"I ken you dinna think we'd keep our mouths shut, but ye'll admit we did ye proud the day.\"\n\n\"You did indeed,\" said Scott, and turned his head away from the ungrudging admiration in the Cleg's eyes.\n\nAt ten miles, they overtook Mat with the pack horses, Lymond's own bunch of riding hacks, their clothes, and the remaining cart: the genuine English prisoners were already, Scott gathered, on their way, bound, to Melrose\u2014the job ostensibly given to himself.\n\nIn the short breathing space before they set off again, Scott dismounted and, moving stiffly, walked forward to where Turkey and the Master were having a brief conversation.\n\n\"S'wounds,\" said Mat. He eyed Scott's face. \"It looks to me as if someone has sat on our William.\"\n\nThe Master turned, passementerie glittering. He might have changed sex, so complete was the change from the haughty, choleric Don.\n\n\"Barbarossa! We are covered with admiration. An actor manqu\u00e9, my dear, to convince them so thoroughly that you expected to perish directly. You have had,\" he said inquiringly, \"a little accident to the mouth?\"\n\nBusy as they were, the men around them were not deaf: the nearest, taking the remark at its face value, grinned sympathetically at Scott. It was obvious they had all known of the double plan\u2014except him. Obvious, too, that they assumed to a man that he knew as well.\n\nSo there it was. First, corporal punishment, carefully applied. Next, spiritual chastisement\u2014and not the obvious, open ridicule. Not with Lymond. Instead, the dreadful humiliation of accepting his own reputation, intact, from the chastising hand. That, and the corollary that Lymond found him so inconsiderable that he could cheerfully add to his stature.\n\nWhat now? Reject the heroic role Lymond had prepared for him? He could explain that the Master had goaded him into a private attempt to take Grey: had made an opportunity for him to do it; had foreseen that he would bungle it; and had in fact based his entire plan on that certainty\u2026 and on the genuineness of the apprehension that he, Scott, would betray inside Hume. He could easily say all that, and earn himself the biggest guffaw since Cuckoo-spit hooked his own ears at the salmon.\n\nYoung Scott heaved a long sigh, and meeting the sardonic blue eye, said flatly, \"Not an actor, an apprentice\u2026 but I hope to learn. And one day to be able to play without the gift of a pawn.\"\n\nThe glittering eyes appraised him. \"Certainly. But next time take care, or you may be receiving the Bishop, with appropriate rites. Any questions?\"\n\nOne puzzle still nagged. \"How,\" asked Scott, \"did you know that the leader of the supplies would be Spanish?\"\n\nThe Master raised weary eyebrows. \"He wasn't.\"\n\nThat was all the conversation he ever had on the subject; and soon they were safely back at their tower. Drinking went on for two days after the barrels were broached; and Will Scott made a point of surfacing into sobriety as little as possible.\n\nAmid the brawling, dancing, chorusing and squabbling, he was aware of Lymond, totally and grossly drunk, with the tawny velvet creased and stained with beer and food. He appeared to be in amatory mood, and was singing long Spanish love songs to his own accompaniment on the guitar."
            },
            {
                "title": "Forced Move for a Minor Piece",
                "text": "\u2002Efter also yis pownis first moving\n\n\u2002Frome poynt to poynt ye course furth sall bring,\n\n\u2002And never pass to poynts angular\n\n\u2002But sa it be to sla his adversar\n\n\u2002The quhilk is lyk, be his passing yan,\n\n\u2002In anguler wyss, to spulze sum pur man.\n\nAs news will, news of the hoax at Hume got out. By breakfast time on the second day, a kind of collective snigger, moving downwind from the castle to Edinburgh and points west, betrayed the progress of the story: the discovery of the entire English troop bound and frozen outside Melrose Abbey swelled the snigger to a belly laugh.\n\nSir George Douglas, breakfasting in his castle of Dalkeith seven miles south of Edinburgh, got word of it with his quails and became unusually thoughtful.\n\nThoughtfully, he allowed himself to be dressed and barbered, his beard trimmed, his lounging robe slipped over discreet Swiss shirt. Thoughtfully, he opened the tower door which led out of his bedchamber and climbed twenty steps to his private study, where a dishevelled-looking person was waiting. He shut the door. \"Forgive the delay. I cannot always receive the Lord Protector's messages as freely as I should wish.\"\n\nThe rain was driving against the exposed tower window: the man's outer clothes were sodden. He pushed back his hood, revealing a close cap fitting from eyebrows to ears, and said courteously, \"I am sure his Grace would be unhappy to think otherwise, Sir George.\"\n\nThis was a trifle near the mark for a messenger, but Douglas had his mind on other things. He said briefly, \"I must confess, as matters now stand between myself, Lord Grey and the Protector, I had not expected to hear from London yet.\"\n\n\"How providential,\" said the hatted one comfortably, \"that you didn't on that account have me stopped at the gate. So fickle are statesmen. Today the palace, tomorrow the oubliette and the elegiac distich.\"\n\nThis time, Sir George turned his full attention on the stranger. \"If you have a dispatch, sir, I should be glad to see it.\"\n\n\"In a way I have,\" said the other cheerfully. \"Je suis oiseau: voyez mes ailes. And then again, in a way I haven't. Je suis souris; vivent les rats. Wnat I have is worth hearing, though. Shall I read it to you?\" And he pulled from his coat a creased bundle of papers. \"Here we are. Rather long, but I'll spare you the clay and disinter the lotus. For example\u2014\" And picking out a page, he read quickly aloud.\n\n\"'Sir George Douglas, the laird of Ormiston, and two of the Humes have been here, Douglas coming as a Borderer to serve the King.\u2026 I reminded him of his benefits from the late King, and threatened him if he revolted again, I should pursue him and his friends to the death. He answered he would advance the marriage, and promised to draw his brother and the rest clean from the Governor\u2026 and to do his utmost to put the Queen in our hands, if requited in England for his lands\u2014which I have guaranteed with my own lands. I have resolved to prove him, and if he does not keep his promise, the very next day Coldingham shall down, and himself smart for it.\u2026'\n\n\"Postscript\u2014Oh,\" said the stranger disingenuously, turning over the last page. \"I remember. I left the postscript with my friends, although that was rather interesting too. What do you make of it all?\"\n\nWhat Sir George thought was soon forthcoming. With undisturbed calm, he drew his gown about him, and seating himself negligently near the door, remarked, \"I should guess this to be a somewhat na\u00efve effort at blackmail. I assume that unless I pay you a large sum of money, and release you unharmed, your friends will send the original to the Scottish court.\"\n\n\"Well, at least you seem to know what it's all about,\" said the reader, refolding the papers. \"The extract is, of course, copied from a dispatch from Lord Grey to the Protector, and I am sure you are about to take the wind from my sails by telling me that the Queen Dowager knows all about it.\"\n\nIf alarmed by this perspicacity, Sir George gave no sign. \"She does, of course.\"\n\n\"Quite. But even if I believed that\u2014which I don't\u2014I still think you might be interested in seeing that postscript. It does exist, you know. So does the copy. I'm King of the Fidlers and swear 'tis a truth. You can have them all for a nominal price.\"\n\n\"And the nominal price?\"\n\n\"You have an English prisoner called Jonathan Crouch,\" remarked the blackmailer, affably, and was interrupted by Sir George himself, showing the first signs of animation.\n\n\"Dear me!\" he said. \"You seem to be a remarkably subterranean young man. I took such a prisoner, yes; although it is not generally known.\"\n\n\"Let me see him and you may have the report.\"\n\nThere was a short pause. The offer was nicely put. No one, however reinforced by his sovereign's complicity, could be expected to resist the lure of a postscript devoted to his own affairs in an English dispatch. That the postscript existed he felt sure: the fellow was too damnably pat with the rest. Ergo, by falling in with the suggestion, he was admitting to no more than natural curiosity: a subtle and far from fortuitous point.\n\nThere was a further consideration. He did not particularly care that this dispatch should reach the Queen. And there might be others which he would care about even less. At this point in his meditations Sir George cleared his throat. \"You appear to take monumental measures for a very simple end. A man of your resource would prefer, I should have thought, to use his powers of\u2026 interception for a more rewarding cause.\" He slipped the cabuchon ruby off his thumb and tossed it on the table between them.\n\n\"Fools make news, and wise men carry it. You could become a rich man.\"\n\n\"I am a rich man,\" said his visitor. He fixed a cool eye on the Douglas, disregarding the ring. \"As you, I am sure, are a busy one. If therefore our bargain is concluded, perhaps Mr. Crouch might be brought here.\"\n\nThere was nothing else for it. Sir George said regretfully, \"I am afraid I cannot keep my side of the bargain. A matter of some disappointment to me. The gentleman you mention was sold to a friend of mine some time ago.\" He added kindly, \"If it will serve, I can direct you to him and even enable you to enter the house, if you wish.\"\n\nA pause developed, and prolonged itself to uncomfortable lengths. Then, unexpectedly, the other laughed. \"Oh Douglas, oh Douglas, Tender and true\u2026 I am moved to respect. Very well. The bargain stands. Tell me the name of your friend, and you shall have your documents.\"\n\nSir George rose, crossed to his desk, and tossed a paper from it into the other's hands. On the one side was a signed note from Sir Andrew Hunter, promising payment of one hundred crowns for the person of Mr. Jonathan Crouch; on the other was a scrawled note in Hunter's handwriting. It said, For our friendship, send me word if there is an attempt to trace Crouch. I would not lose him to enemies before I can exchange him for my cousin.\n\nHis visitor read both sides and smiled. \"You weigh your scales generously. Thank you.\"\n\nSir George said, retrieving the paper, \"Of course, I cannot as a gentleman ignore the note. I propose to send one of my secretaries to Ballaggan, with a fairly large escort, to warn Sir Andrew that a stranger has indeed inquired about Crouch. Hunter keeps a well-guarded house, but it is not always possible to make sure that, in the confusion of entering, a party such as mine might not become larger than it should be\u2026 a common risk, I fear, in these times.\"\n\n\"Yes. Oh, indeed, I am quite aware of the risk,\" said the other, and a long, slow smile pleated the skin around his mouth.\n\nSir George found himself for some reason smiling back. For an instant he was overcome with an extraordinary feeling of kinship for this odd sharp-witted person. Borne on the tide of this sensation, he said, \"Then to seal our bargain, will you drink with me? I have a very fine claret to hand\u2026\"\n\nHis visitor assented politely, adding, as Sir George crossed to the armory, \"Although I trust you have nothing against beer?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Sir George, pouring with an anticipatory hand.\n\n\"Because\u2014your health\u2014\" said the other, \"I took the liberty of leaving a hogshead for you with your Chamberlain below. A little stirred up, I'm afraid; but it should settle.\" And, understanding each other very well, the eyes of the two men met; Sir George's alight with evocative delight.\n\nLeft alone after bidding his anonymous friend goodbye, Douglas returned to the study and stood for a moment, playing absently with the ruby where it lay on the table. \"Well, I shan't make that mistake again.\"\n\nHe slipped it back on his finger and gazed at it for a moment. \"But if he doesn't fancy bullion, what sort of bait is he going to take, this wild cormorant, this acidulous osprey of ours? Something. There must be something he wants. And whatever it is, by God, I'll find it and make a collar and chain of it with 'Douglas' in fine Gothic letters on the neck.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 32",
                "text": "The spirit of Ballaggan Keep, imperious, impervious, implacable, brooding over its fastness like a tribal mascot, was Dame Catherine, Sir Andrew's mother.\n\nCatherine Hunter was rising seventy, and crippled in her lower limbs to a degree which condemned her to bed or chair for life. This, together with the loss of her husband at Flodden and the death shortly afterward of a brilliant older son, had turned the wines of her palmy days\u2014already rather a variable commodity\u2014into a corked and vinegary brew.\n\nThe keep, tall, gauche and of no particular charm for the passer-by, was stuffed inside with the prizes of Lady Hunter's epicurean eye. No rushes covered the floors: these were set with Spanish azulejos and covered with rugs from Turkey and the Levant. The beds were wrought and gilded, and hung with heavy taffetas; the chests and tables in marble and scented woods wore tapestry cloths and carried a pellicle of Aldine folios. Other specimens of her library shared bedside honours with her Maltese terrier Cavall.\n\nThe accretion of all these aids to graceful living would have taxed a larger estate than Ballaggan. Lamentably aware that\u2014even if gold mines sprang beneath his feet, like Olwen's trefoils\u2014his mother's fancy would still outpace him, Sir Andrew was sometimes reduced to a state of nervous irritation very close to rebellion. That he invariably spared her either complaint or reproach labelled him a soft mark among his fellow knights and earned him a solid revenue of womanly sympathy.\n\nIt also brought him the admiration of Mr. Jonathan Crouch, whose temporary career as a prisoner of war, or a sort of promissary note on two legs, had brought him finally to lodge with Sir Andrew.\n\nWith Mr. Crouch came his tongue, his teeth, his lips, his hard and soft palate, his maxillary muscles, larynx, epiglottis and lungs: all the apparatus which enabled him, ne plus ultra, to talk. Like the enchanted garden of Jannes, tenanted by daemons, the keep of Ballaggan encased the ceaseless drone of Mr. Crouch's voice. He droned through September until it and his captors were exhausted; then pounced on October with undimmed vigour and worried the blameless days for a fortnight.\n\nBy the middle Saturday of the month, atrophy had set in, reaching its nadir in the dead time between two and four, when Sir Andrew, whatever business was pressing, visited his mother's room to sit with her. Lady Hunter, strutted upright with pillows, was brushing the terrier rhythmically as it lay cushioned across her knees. Her face, bewigged and topped by a hooped pearl cap, had the skin of an invalid and her mouth, lightly whiskered, was hatched, above and below, with the spidery wrinkles forced by powerful lips. Her black eyes were fixed unwinkingly on her son, who in turn was directing his aquiline profile, with an air of polite attention, toward Mr. Crouch.\n\nMr. Crouch, wittily obese like a middle-aged titmouse, sat enthroned on his stomach, giving tongue. Incidents of his boyhood surged to cataclysmic peaks of pointlessness. Episodes from his career in the Princess Mary's household explored tedium to its petrified core.\n\n\"Never,\" said Mr. Crouch, pulling himself out of a frenzy of adjectives, \"never shall I weary of describing it, if I live to be a hundred. That I won't.\"\n\nSomething like a strong shudder passed over his host. Almost involuntarily Sir Andrew said, \"By the way, are you married, Crouch?\"\n\nIf the titmouse was surprised, it was also pleased. It beamed. \"Why, yes sir, I am; and what's more, God and my Ellen have blessed me with six lovely children; every one a girl, but the Lord will provide. I've had my share of adversity, sir; but as I always say, the way I met my Ellen goes to show that Providence is on our side; as you'll agree when you hear the full story which, since you so kindly ask, I shall have great pleasure in relating to you in due course.\" There was a brief pause, during which Sir Andrew shut his eyes; then Mr. Crouch\u2014his intention duly filed and registered\u2014picked up the limp threads of his monologue. \"And then\u2014\"\n\n\"Andrew!\"\n\n\"Yes, Mother?\" said Sir Andrew. He shot an apologetic look at the soloist, who broke off politely but providently took a fresh breath.\n\n\"The people with whom you have contracted to buy fish have been cheating you for five weeks,\" said Lady Hunter, brushing steadily at the terrier's coat. \"The fish served to me while you were away on whatever business you discovered was not only bad, but often putrid. Putrid!\" she repeated, with horrid inflection. \"Yet it seems a relatively simple matter to arrange.\"\n\nMr. Crouch, a kindhearted person, shut his mouth and fiddled with his points. Sir Andrew said, \"Mother, you should have mentioned it before. I'd no idea, of course. I'll have it put right.\"\n\n\"You were hardly visible long enough to listen,\" remarked Lady Hunter, brushing. \"You must forgive me for imagining you were much too busy. The wool coming in for spinning, incidentally, has not improved in quality. Whatever steps you took about that seem to have been baulked by another agency. You must tell me if you are finding things a little difficult, Andrew,\" pursued the lady. \"After all, no mother expects both her sons to be alike. Dear Andrew,\" she said, fixing her black stare on Crouch and brushing still, \"is going to be a great help to me in my old age.\"\n\n\"I'm sure, Mistress,\" said the titmouse, glancing uncomfortably at his host's submissive head. And from his good-natured soul he added, \"And he did you honour in the fighting last month, I'll be bound.\"\n\nThe black eyes travelled slowly over Sir Andrew's body, and rose to his face. \"My son is always remarkably fortunate in battle,\" she said. \"He has never yet received a mark of any kind.\"\n\n\"And damn it,\" Mr. Crouch was to say much later to his wife, his face reddening again at the thought, \"the old sow said it as if she'd have liked him better mincemeat.\"\n\nAs it was, the occasion was awkward enough to make Hunter flush and force a change of subject. Shortly afterward he set Biblical phrases buzzing in Mr. Crouch's head, by producing from his purse a small wrapped bundle which he laid on his mother's bed. \"I thought this might interest you: I came across it the other day.\"\n\nThe paralyzed woman looked neither at him nor at the packet; she allowed it to lie until she finished grooming the lapdog, replaced the brushes, and with a sudden ill-tempered smack sent the stertorous creature bundling to the floor. Then she smoothed the counterpane, pulled away a long, tawny hair caught in one of her rings, and opened the parcel.\n\nA vast, hexagonal brooch set in ebony and diamonds shouted into the sunshine in a cacophony of light.\n\nThe thing was enormous. Crouch, sitting within yards of the bed, could see the centrepiece was a heart set with pointed diamonds: around the heart and attached to it by foliated gilt wire were crystal plaques, each bearing an angel's head, bewinged and carved in onyx: the plaque below the point of the heart was joined to it by a scroll, and on the scroll in diamonds were the initial letters H and D, entwined.\n\nIt was the most expensive-looking jewel Mr. Crouch had ever seen in his life. He looked, suffused with pleasurable excitement, at Sir Andrew. Hunter, his expression at once eager, deprecating and defensive, watched his mother.\n\n\"H for Henri, D for Diane de Poitiers!\" cried Mr. Crouch. \"My dear sir, seldom if ever have I seen such an exquisite piece. A tour de force. A veritable masterpiece. I am surprised,\" said Mr. Crouch, taking thought, \"I must own, that the French King's\u2014er\u2014lady should have allowed it out of her hands. A piece of\u2014\"\n\nFor the second time he was interrupted by his hostess. She raised her black eyes from the gift to her son, and the expression in them deepened at the expectancy in his face. She threw the covering back across the jewel.\n\n\"A remarkable piece of vulgarity,\" she said. \"I fear, Andrew, that a stronger woman might have been able to do more than I to educate your taste a little. It is a great grief to me that I cannot help you more. However, there is no need for you to waste your purchase. I am sure there is some good burgess's daughter whom you have a kindness for, who would be perfectly satisfied with it. I believe,\" she continued without a pause, \"that I saw some new arrivals cross the courtyard a few moments ago. I don't wish to appear to remind you continually, Andrew; but as master here you really must not appear discourteous. I am sure Mr. Crouch will excuse you.\"\n\nMr. Crouch hastily did. Sir Andrew, with an apology, left the room, and Lady Hunter tossed the rejected gift on to her bedside table. Mr. Crouch ventured a remark.\n\n\"That'll likely have cost Sir Andrew a small fortune, now,\" he said. \"Nor it won't be easy to resell, I wager.\"\n\nThe crippled woman directed her unwinking stare at him. He wriggled. \"The price of aesthetic education, Mr. Crouch,\" she said, \"is never small.\"\n\nMr. Crouch (for once) did not feel competent to answer.\n\nBelowstairs, even among the crowded majolica ware, the air was freer, and the need to welcome visitors a blessed distraction. Sir Andrew knew and liked Sym Penango, Sir George Douglas's secretary: he made him welcome and received his message over a cup of wine, while his men were accommodated in the buttery.\n\nAn inquiry about Mr. Crouch? Oh. Did Sir George say from whom?\n\nBut Penango had no further information, and supposed Sir George had none either. Presently he excused himself: he and his men were expected at Douglas. In due course the stragglers were collected, wiping mouths on padded sleeves, and the troop rode off into the dusk.\n\nSir Andrew went thoughtfully upstairs, stopping to relight a torch which had gone out on the landing. Inside his mother's room it was becoming dark. In the failing light from the windows he could see her, upright in bed, her head turned toward him.\n\nSomething struck him vaguely as odd, then he placed it: the miraculous silence. Crouch wasn't talking.\n\nA closer look showed the prohibition to be quite involuntary. Mr. Crouch was sitting on the floor beside his chair, tied and gagged.\n\nAs Sir Andrew took this in, the door behind him banged, locked, and a knee like the hammer of God took him, hard, in the kidneys and hurled him to the floor. His chin hit the blue tiles like a pharmacist's pestle; he tried, swimmily, to roll over and found himself pinned by a relentless matrix of bones. He heaved, unsuccessfully, felt his assailant groping for purchase to wrench back his arms, resisted, and finally did manage to roll over.\n\nFor a moment, the two men breathed the same sweating air. Hunter saw a pitiless mouth, two intent eyes behind a black mask, and a head covered with some sort of woollen cap. The mouth twisted; so did the deadly trained body, and pain leapt from a lock on his knee. Black-mask gave a sudden, triumphant laugh. \"The Common Thick-knee,\" he said breathlessly, \"is a bird\u2026 capable of running at great speed.\" He increased his leverage, grinning. \"Now here, Dandy mine, we have a specimen of the Uncommon\u2014\"\n\nHow he broke the lock, Hunter never knew, but he afterward wondered if the strength which surged up in him would have done so but for anger at the stupid jibe. He jerked, broke the hold on his legs and threw the other man half on his side, driving off at the same time the predatory fingers feeling for his throat. Then he flung himself on his opponent. The clenched figures rolled over completely, then again; a fine stool splintered, its prowling leopards bifurcated, and a row of medicine bottles fell from the bedside table with a tympanitic crash. Catherine Hunter, her eyes like charcoal above her bound mouth, stared without expression at her son. Crouch, pink with emotion, watched, squirming in his bonds.\n\nHunter was on top. He wanted to shout, but all the power of his lungs was occupied in driving his body: the sound of both men's breathing was like tearing cloth. Feeling the black eyes on him, Hunter set his teeth and grinned; then, listening to his muscles speaking, exerted all his force to flatten the other's body and approach the twisting throat with his thumbs. The masked figure writhed desperately; its arms threshed; it began to go limp. Sir Andrew, his fingers finding and burying themselves at last in the flesh over the great vessels, threw caution to the winds and, raising himself, exerted all his power in pressing on the neck below him. He had an instant's vision of eyes screwed, not in pain, but a kind of barbarous hilarity, and then booted feet curled themselves neatly and smashed into his unguarded and exposed groin; one of the searching hands, now armed with iron from the hearth, cracked open his face and beat him back as he knelt, retching; then Black-mask, rising, threw away his andiron and bent over him.\n\nHunter, racked with the torments of the damned, heard him say through the throbbing in his brain, \"Come along, Dandy\u2026 observe the modus operandi\u2026 How can thou float\u2026 without feather or fin.\" He was gripped by wanton arms, balanced a moment, helplessly convulsed, and then with a sickening wrench sent hurtling across the room. Chairs, candlesticks, books, fell. The world vanished in a bloody mist, reappeared inspissate with pain, disappeared. Playful, inhuman fingers rested on his collar, hooked below it, and methodically began to flay his head against the high gloss of the tiles.\n\nThe voice said, erratically, \"Who\u2026 falls upon rushes, falls soft; beware of\u2026 vain pride in terrestrial treasure, Sir Andrew. And\u2026 doused lights\u2026 and fireirons\u2026 and wrestling in slippers.\" He was released, and lay, three parts unconscious, looking up at his tormentor.\n\n\"And of tempting me further,\" said Black-mask, smiling. \"I have come to see your little English friend, Sir Andrew; but I'll break you a limb in the Turkish style as often as you like.\u2026\"\n\nHunter, drowning in tides of nausea, closed his eyes, and shut out the mask, and the black, unwinking eyes in the bed."
            },
            {
                "title": "A Variety of Mating Replies",
                "text": "\u2002For suth ye Rok in to his first moving\u2026\n\n\u2002He may nocht pass, nor of his steid to steire,\n\n\u2002Quhill knycht or powne is standand h\u012b so nere,\n\n\u2002And in mydfield, gif he be stedit still,\n\n\u2002To four poyntis he passis at his will\u2026\n\n\u2002Two rokis may a king alione put downe,\n\n\u2002And him depryve of his lyf and his crowne.\n\n[ Play with a Rook Proves Dangerous ]\n\nThe shop of Patey Liddell, goldsmith, was on the south side of the Middle Raw in Stirling, handy for the Burgh Yett, and only a short walk from St. John Street. It was a tall thin building, with a coloured timber arcade, and outside steps to the first floor where Patey stored his stock, and Lady Culter was sitting having her miniature painted.\n\nFrom time to time Patey peered down, Cyclops-fashion, to the shop proper through a neat hole in the floor boards, partly to watch for customers, and partly to howl threats at his apprentices, known caustically as the Seven Little Masters, who dwelt among mystic coloured fires at the back of the shop.\n\nMr. Liddell was lively as a frog, his small face niellated with gold dust, and his white hair trained over his ears, which were missing. Patey readily explained how this happened, and the numerous versions, in toto, lent substance to Sybilla's private belief that the man was a rogue. He was also a brilliant goldsmith; and the source to Lady Culter of much simple entertainment.\n\nWhy she had made this appointment for today, the morning of the Wapenshaw, was beyond her to recall. Why indeed the plans for the Wapenshaw had been allowed to stand so soon after Pinkie was another matter, but the Dowager could guess. She thought, with unusual depression, that it was probably just as well, under the circumstances, to have a count of arms: that had begun in the morning and would be over by now. And if the Queen thought that outdoor exercise would keep the lieges from one another's throats until the meeting was safely convened, she was probably, in a French way, right. This brought her mind on to her son.\n\n\"Patey!\" said the Dowager at the top of her voice. \"It isn't a tapestry! Haven't you done yet?\"\n\nPatey Liddell raised a denunciatory finger. \"You moved!\"\n\n\"I can't help moving,\" said Sybilla, in a nicely controlled shriek. \"Your wretched cushion's come adrift from the stool: it's like trying to steer hurley-hackit. Are you going to be long?\"\n\nThe old man beamed, nodding vaguely. \"A wee thing to the right.\"\n\nLady Culter turned obediently. \"Are-you-going-to-be-much-longer?\"\n\nPatey worked away, his tongue silently tracking the strokes of his brush. \"As to that,\" he said piously, \"the gude Lord alone kens. You've changed your hair, tae.\"\n\n\"I've washed it,\" said Lady Culter tartly. \"If you think I'm going to remain unchanged and unwashed for sixteen months while you immortalize me, you're wrong. If you could pin up the sun permanently in the top left corner of your ceiling, you would.\"\n\n\"Ah, the bonny lad,\" said Patey, working phonetically through the last sentence. \"Only the other day I said to him, says I: wi' the separations o' war, says I, whitna better than a bonny picter o' the wee lassie tae carry neist the heart.\"\n\n\"What did he say?\" shouted Sybilla with interest.\n\n\"He said,\" said Patey, a shade reluctantly, \"that he'd think about it when he kent whit I was charging for this yin. Acourse, I told him, it's all in the frame. Says I, gin ye choose gold now, that'd be a wee thing costlier than your dear mother's: on the other hand, tin's dirt cheap, and if the lassie puts up wi' the insult, who'm I tae\u2014\" He raised an astonished eye from the floor. \"'S breid! There's a customer!\" And before Sybilla could murmur, he skipped to the stairs and vanished.\n\nThe Dowager instantly got off her seat and picked up the miniature. The likeness was, she thought, fairly good. Appraising her face at one remove, she was glad to find that sixty harassing years had left it, on the whole, quite presentable. The eyes and bones, of course, had always been good.\n\n\"But I must have it today!\" A familiar voice, laboriously distinct, rose through the peephole, and the Dowager, entranced, prepared to listen.\n\nPatey's voice said, \"Well, it's no done yet, Sir Andra.\"\n\n\"Then when will it be ready?\" Hunter sounded impatient, and Sybilla sympathized. There was another exchange, then silence as Patey disappeared to the back of the shop. Then a new voice:\n\n\"Hullo, Sir Andrew! Man, what's happened to your face?\"\n\nThe Dowager had no special interest in Sir George Douglas, but her wandering attention was jerked by Sir Andrew's reply.\n\n\"My face?\" said Sir Andrew, and laughed ruefully. \"God; like the beggar, I'm all face. It was that damned Crouch man, the prisoner of war.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" Sir George sounded startled. \"I must say, he'd none of the air of a man-eater.\"\n\n\"Dammit, it wasn't Crouch that did the damage,\" said Hunter. \"It was some murderous brute with a black mask who smashed the house open, tied up Mother like a boiling fowl and thumped me\u2014I must confess\u2014to a pulp. It wasn't too funny at the time.\"\n\n\"No, of course not.\u2026 What about Crouch?\"\n\n\"Departed, protesting, with the rescuer. God knows what the man wanted; my impression is he hardly knew himself. All I got out of it were a couple of English names they bandied about; if I had any contacts over the Border I'd follow them up for the devil of it, to see if I couldn't track down my agile friend. I don't suppose they mean anything at all to you? Gideon Somerville and Samuel Harvey?\"\n\nSir George admitted they didn't, and his commiserations were halted by the arrival of Patey, grousing, with Sir Andrew's finished brooch. Sybilla had seen it being altered. She admired it again, listening still; but the conversation had drifted to less interesting channels.\n\n\"\u2026 And what duplicity!\" said the Dowager much later, describing all this over pheasant at Bogle House to Christian Stewart and her son Richard. \"After telling the rest of us the bruises came from a fall from his horse. But of course Dandy is shrinkingly sensitive about money; heaven knows how he manages to shower his mother with diamonds. It must have been someone he was hoping to ransom, poor man.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Richard. \"He was going to exchange him for a cousin of his own held prisoner in England.\"\n\nThe Dowager eyed her son with such gentle surprise that he explained. \"Overheard him discuss it at Drumlanrig. He bought the fellow from George Douglas there.\"\n\n\"Well, I never heard that he had a cousin in England,\" said Sybilla; \"and even if he has, I don't see why poor Dandy should have to redeem him. What that man wants is to marry an heiress, although heaven knows I shouldn't ask Medusa to share her castle with Catherine.\"\n\nRichard, she thought, was looking tired. The weeks she and Mariotta had passed at Menteith had been spent by him in harassing activity. He had visited them once at Inchtalla: that apart, it occurred to the Dowager, he had hardly spent a complete day in his wife's company since the battle.\n\nShe had been extremely cross to find him at Bogle House when she arrived there, late, from Patey's; to learn that he had been released from those activities she had circuitously arranged for him at the castle, and that Tom Erskine, arriving in his absence, had taken Mariotta and Agnes to the games, leaving (perforce) Christian, who insisted on waiting for herself.\n\nShe was considering the next move when fate forestalled her: a roaring separated itself from the excitements of the street, wound up the stairs in increasing volume, and debouched into the room at the tail of a disorganized servant.\n\n\"Hey!\" said Buccleuch, hauling off his hat and nodding perfunctorily at the ladies. \"I've been looking everywhere for you! You've missed the best of the wrestling!\"\n\n\"Sir Wat!\" said Lady Culter.\n\n\"And the jumping's over!\" said Buccleuch, unheeding. \"And the running! Where've you been? There's only tilting at the glove, and the ring, and then the Papingo. The butt shooting's nearly finished, too, and these damned Kerrs are having it too much their own way.\" He made for the door. \"Come on. Where's your bonnet?\"\n\n\"In his room,\" said Sybilla, outstaring her son's sharp glance. \"And there it stays. Wat Scott, I knew you had no manners out of your first two wives, but I thought Janet Beaton had taught you how to address a lady.\"\n\n\"But I'm not here to address a lady,\" Buccleuch pointed out unwisely. \"I want Richard to\u2014\"\n\n\"But since you've called, and I'm hostess, I'm afraid you can't avoid it,\" explained Sybilla. She agitated her hand bell. \"Malmsey or Canary?\"\n\nBuccleuch cast an agonized glance at Richard, got no help and tried Sybilla again. \"We're going to miss the Popinjay,\" he pleaded.\n\n\"I'm not!\" remarked the Dowager. \"I never liked birds, and still less when they talk\u2014Canary, please, John.\"\n\nIt all but succeeded; by the third cup Sir Wat was well launched on a detailed theory about hard snaffles and would have been there yet had not Hunter's face appeared around the door, anxiously addressing Buccleuch and Lord Culter, after a quick bow to the ladies.\n\n\"I've to bring you both quickly. They're getting to the Popinjay.\"\n\nThe look which passed between Sir Andrew and Buccleuch was the briefest possible, but Sir Wat jumped guiltily to his feet, his eye wandering agitatedly toward Lady Culter.\n\nSybilla sighed. \"Don't say a word. I can guess. The news of Lymond's challenge is being shrieked from the chimney tops.\"\n\nSir Andrew had the grace to look uncomfortable. \"I'm sorry, Lady Culter. But the crowd have got to know that your sons are to compete\u2014\"\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense,\" said the Dowager irritably. \"How can they, with one of them at the horn?\"\n\n\"They know that,\" said Christian from the fireplace. \"It's not a shooting match they're expecting. It's an assassination.\"\n\n\"It's no use, my dear,\" said Sybilla. \"We are face to face, like poor Janet Beaton, with a severe case of Moral Philosophy, and there is nothing we can do about it.\"\n\nLord Culter crossed to the settle and bending down, kissed his mother on the hand and on the cheek. \"It'll be over in an hour,\" he said. \"Don't be afraid. I'll come back, if only to teach you the proper meaning of Moral Philosophy.\"\n\nThe door closed behind them all."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 34",
                "text": "\"Well, I must say,\" said Lady Herries definitely, and loudly enough to turn several interested heads, \"if I were married to Lady Culter, I shouldn't let her spend the whole afternoon at the games alone.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much,\" said Tom Erskine, grinning at Mariotta, who sat on his other side.\n\nShe smiled politely back, and Mr. Erskine's soul moaned within him. Reduced, singlehanded, to coping with so much potential gunpowder, he felt himself, like the bird which cleans crocodiles' teeth, assailed by hideous doubts.\n\nPrivately, he agreed with the brat. He couldn't blame the Dowager for taking her own measures to keep Richard away, but then, she didn't know how public the thing had become. Neither did the two girls beside him; and the Herries child, ignorant of the challenge as well, insisted on fretting at the subject like a bitch at the spit. Exiled from his own group of friends by his female company and unwilling, in any case, to listen to his neighbours sharpening their wits at Richard's expense, he wished heartily he were elsewhere. A Lindsay won the butt shooting and his annoyance increased.\n\nHad he but known it, Mariotta too was battling with an acid frustration. The girl was pretty, rich and wearing new clothes. Today, sitting under streaming banners, with peers and pageantry around her, the green grass in front and the castle soaring above, was her first public appearance in Stirling since her wedding. And it was Tom Erskine, not Richard, who sat beside her and supplied the endless introductions. It was all exactly as she had insisted and devastatingly flat.\n\nIt was flat when the procession of contestants wound down the hill, flags and livery mincing in the sun, musicians playing apoplectically against the wind. When the Queen and the Governor had made a brief appearance among the royal benches. When the tilting was at its best, with deal splinters flying among the spectators; when one of the wrestlers broke an arm.\n\nThen they were pulling arrows out of straw and targets, and clearing the way for a vociferous, red and white centipede, which turned out to be the 120-foot pole and its rigging for the last of the contests: the Papingo Shoot.\n\n\"Come along,\" said Tom, getting to his feet. \"This is where we move back.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Agnes. \"Oh no, Mr. Erskine: we must see the Papingo first.\"\n\n\"Back,\" said Tom firmly. \"Unless you want a hatful of arrows. Sixty yards' clearance for spectators: that's the rule. Look! There's the parrot in a wicker cage: see it? They'll take it out and tie it to a crossbar on top of the pole before they hoist it.\"\n\nAt this precise moment, to Tom Erskine's heartfelt delight, reinforcing troops arrived in the person of Sir Andrew Hunter, looking not unlike an uncommonly ruffled parrot himself after a stormy passage through the crowd.\n\nHe exchanged greetings. \"Papingo shoots! If you haven't the slashed style to begin with, you're certainly wearing it by the end, and be damned to the Continental rules\u2014I thought you might want to compete,\" he explained to Erskine. \"I don't\u2014no bow with me, anyway. Oh\"\u2014in good-humoured answer to Lady Herries\u2014\"I can manage all right at the butts, but I'm a fool at perch shooting. Tom knows.\"\n\n\"Tom certainly does,\" said Erskine, grinning. \"The Kilwinning baillies used to hand down their suits of armour like chains of office for when Dandy was perch shooting at the steeple.\"\n\nSir Andrew aimed a friendly cuff at him. \"Watch your own step. The old man won't be pleased if you break one of his windows.\"\n\nSince the Keeper's quarters were not only several hundred feet up the castle rock but invisible, this seemed unlikely. However, Tom replied, \"You're safe, as it happens\u2014I'm not competing either. But if you'd do squire for me, Dandy, I'd be grateful. There's something I must do in town.\"\n\nHe received Hunter's cheerful acquiescence, took leave of the ladies, and burrowed away, to a chorus of exasperated groans.\n\nThe field, having encouraged the perilous rearing of the perch, settled down into its new stance. Well back from the danger area there was an air of comfortable expectancy.\n\nLooking around, in the bright, sparkling air, Mariotta found that, like tesserae in a mosaic, her warring emotions had merged, peaceably, into untrammelled pleasure. She was sorry for the papingo, winking blue and yellow in the sun on his high pole; but admired the sunlit castle rock behind him, the wide grass arena, with its elderly, occupied officials which spread on its three exposed sides; and even found something to please her in the crowd, of which she was one, which impinged on three sides of the grass behind the barriers, filling all the space between the arena and the bright rows of pavilions behind.\n\nProtocol, having much the same separatist requirements as a good, fancy jelly, produced much the same results. The layer of peers, in wind-blown furs and large flat hats, was naturally in the best position, next the barrier; then came the clergy, almost indistinguishable except for their plainer headgear; then the merchants and their wives, obviously full of good dinners and dressed at cost, in much better cloth on the whole than the nobles; then the less prominent burgesses and the more reserved professionals, nonclerical lawyers and teachers and Household and other people with minor positions at Court; then all the people one saw in the street, whom one's steward dealt with, and, occasionally, one visited. The fleshers and brewers and smiths and weavers and skinners and saddlers and salters and cappers and masons and cutlers and fletchers and plasterers and armourers and porters and water carriers, and the one-eyed man who had called at Bogle House selling fumigating pans. And country people on holiday, and beggars, and pickpockets (no doubt) and sorners and the wandering unemployed.\n\nThe sun shone. Trumpets blared; and drew every nose to the field as one of the heralds, his tabard looking a trifle end-of-season and tarnished, made an announcement, inaudible. More trumpets. Then a temporary barrier was removed and the competitors, fifty noblemen and fifty commoners, filed self-consciously onto the field and around its margin.\n\nOne recognized one's friends at once from the banners. The pages were obviously enjoying the parade much more than their masters, who were smiling in a resolute sort of way at their friends in the crowd, indicating that they only did this kind of thing to entertain the tenants. One looked for the warmth and hilarity which halfway through, by unexplained custom, would suddenly enliven and vulgarize the proceedings.\n\nNevertheless, and not to be carping, the long file of athletic and purposeful bowmen looked very splendid, though not as splendid as if one's own husband were there. The wind blew the standards straight toward the castle rock.\n\nBlue and silver. She liked her own standard. The St. Andrew's Cross; the crest (argent, a phoenix azure), and the highly ambiguous motto, chosen (of course) by the First Baron, which always eluded her, Contra Vita\u2014whatever it was.\n\nAs the thought crossed her mind, the motto itself appeared, almost within touching distance: CONTRA VITAM RECTI MORIEMUR. The Culter slughorn, carried by Richard's servant. And walking behind it, looking neither to left nor to right, but perfectly self-possessed, unaffected and blas\u00e9, Lord Culter himself. Mariotta was aware of a dismayed flutter in the stomach.\n\n\"My God!\" said a voice behind her. \"There's old man Culter decided to make a pincushion of himself after all: now we should see some fun. All the same\"\u2014generously\u2014\"rather him than me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Fighting his way uphill to the top of St. John Street, past the corner of St. Michael's, the almshouse, and then the uneven row of buildings of which Bogle House was one, Tom Erskine found no difficulty at all in stifling his better feelings, which told him he had bequeathed to Sir Andrew a thoroughly unnerving afternoon.\n\nThe death of Lord Fleming had naturally made a good deal of difference to his household. Having buried her husband at Biggar, Lady Jenny had rejoined the court with her children, and the half-life she had always had, as the little Queen's governess, was now her whole career. Of the older children, Margaret had moved like an uncertain ghost between her late husband's home at Mugdock, her married sisters', and Lady Culter's friendly, undemanding hearth; and the duties Lady Fleming had discarded at Boghall had fallen on her blind goddaughter's shoulders. And Christian, though now staying with the Dowager at Bogle House, would very shortly be leaving for Boghall to take them up. Which argued a need for haste.\n\nTom Erskine therefore hopped in and out of the crowds down St. John Street, got himself admitted to Bogle House and bolted up the stairs fired with missionary zeal, to find himself nose to nose with his loved one on the middle landing.\n\n\"Who is it? What's happened? Have you news?\" said Christian.\n\nHe was startled. \"What about? It's me. Not particularly.\"\n\nRelief showed on her face. \"Oh, Tom. That's all right. Come along in, then.\" And she added in sufficient explanation as they walked toward the parlour door, \"Richard's gone to the Papingo Shoot, you see.\"\n\nErskine was not, at bottom, a selfish man. He said, \"Oh, damn,\" and paused irresolutely. \"I didn't know. I'd better get back. Left Dandy with the ladies\u2014he didn't say; must have thought we knew\u2014and there'll be the devil to pay if\u2026\"\n\nChristian took his arm. \"Believe me, if anything's going to happen, nothing you can do will stop it. Anyway, I want you here.\"\n\n\"You do?\" He was delighted.\n\n\"Yes. How long will the shoot last? An hour? Two hours?\"\n\n\"A hundred men\u2014two shots each: Oh, over two hours, if they all shoot, but of course it will end if someone hits the papingo.\"\n\nChristian said, \"Then will you take Lady Culter and myself around the Fair, Tom? Until the shoot is over?\"\n\nThis was hardly the programme he would have chosen, but it was understandable enough. He said, \"She's worried, is she?\"\n\n\"Well, she's not exactly tolling the passing bell yet, but she oughtn't to go out alone, and you won't get her to go out with you and leave me. I know it's early and there won't be much happening yet, but at least we can try and forget that God-bereft bird.\"\n\nTom looked at her in some astonishment. \"I believe you're as much on edge as Sybilla.\"\n\nThis time she snapped. \"If you would tear your mind sometimes from backgammon and horses, you'd see something in the Crawfords that'd make your rattlepated friends look pretty thin. If I remembered my own mother, I don't suppose I'd value her half as much as I do the Dowager. And Mariotta may not be what you fancy, but there's breeding and spirit there too, if you're minded to look for it\u2014\" She broke off, her brow cleared; and with one of those competent mood changes that was one of her chief characteristics, gave him a friendly push. \"Go on. Tell Sybilla we're all off for a jolly day a-fairing. And don't let her sidetrack you either.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "\"I don't suppose\u2014\" said Sybilla.\n\n\"No!\" rejoined Tom Erskine and Christian Stewart in unison.\n\n\"No. I see not. Our hands are rather full, I'm afraid. But Agnes adores gingerbread\u2014I wonder,\" said the Dowager doubtfully, \"if it would sit in my hood.\"\n\nThe progress of Sybilla though a market was the progress of worker bee through a bower of intently propagating blossoms.\n\nEverything stuck.\n\nFrom the toy stall she bought two ivory dolls, a hen whistle, a rattle and a charming set of miniature bells for a child's skirts: all were heroically received and borne by Tom, henceforth marked by a faint, distracted jingling.\n\nFrom the spice booth, set with delicious traps for the fat purse, she took cinnamon, figs, cumin seed and saffron, ginger, flower of gillyflower and crocus and\u2014an afterthought\u2014some brazil for dyeing her new wool. These were distributed between Christian and Tom.\n\nThey listened to a balladmonger, paid him for all the verses of \"When Tay's Bank,\" and bought a lengthy scroll containing a brand-new ballad which Tom Erskine read briefly and then discreetly lost. \"No matter,\" said the Dowager cheerfully, when told. \"Dangerous quantity, music. Because it spouts sweet venom in their ears and makes their minds all effeminate, you know. We can't have that.\" He was never very sure whether she was laughing at him, but rather thought not. They pursued their course purposefully, and the Dowager bought a new set of playing cards, some thread, a boxful of ox feet, a quantity of silver lace and a pair of scissors. She was dissuaded from buying a channel stone, which Tom, no curling enthusiast, refused utterly to carry, and got a toothpick in its case instead. They watched acrobats, invested sixpence for an unconvincing mermaid and finally stumbled, flattened and hot, into a tavern, where Tom forcibly commandeered a private space for the two women and brought them refreshments.\n\n\"Dear, dear,\" said Lady Culter, seating herself among the mute sea of her parcels, like Arion among his fishes. \"I'm afraid I've forgotten which are the squashy ones. Never mind. If we spread them out, they can't take much hurt, I should think. Unless the ox feet\u2026 Oh. What a pity, Tom. But I'm sure it will clean off.\"\n\nThey sipped their wine and chatted. The sun, doing its best for an October day, threw the crow-stepped shadow of the Town House on the quantities of gay little booths, the bunting and the coloured wares; and the drone of professional singers made comic counterpoint with the chorus of street cries and exhortations, the gypsies' pipes and tambours. It was bright, airy, innocent and gay.\n\n\"Ribs o' beef!\"\n\n\"Fine, skinned hides!\"\n\n\"Crusty pies, hot as hell!\"\n\n\"Rushes green!\"\n\n\"Fine broken geldings, stark and stout!\"\n\n\"Hoods for my lady!\"\n\n\"Guts for your playing, six shillings the dozen!\"\n\n\"A rare pretty parrot in a cage\u2026\"\n\n\"Well. Ce n'est pas tout de boire; it faut sortir d'ici,\" said the Dowager. \"There's a cloud over the sun, and if the saffron gets wet, Tom, you'll be or as well as gules, and very likely rampant as well. Come along.\"\n\nThey left the tavern.\n\nAlmost immediately, Christian, pulled along by Erskine's hand-clasp, felt a tug at her gown. A voice, very close to her, said in a sort of whine, \"Tell your fortune, my bonny mistress!\"\n\n\"Wait!\" she screamed above the din to Tom, and felt the strain on her arm slacken as he stopped.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked the Dowager over his shoulder. \"Oh, a fortuneteller, how delightful. Of course. Wait a moment,\" she said, cocking her head in its blue velvet hood to one side. \"I've seen you before, haven't I? Of course! It's the gypsies who were in Culter last August. Aren't you?\" she ended in triumph.\n\nThe would-be fortune teller flashed beautiful teeth at her. \"Of course, my lady; and had the pleasure of performing for you as well.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Sybilla. \"And what are you doing? Fortunetelling\u2014\"\n\n\"Tumbling, dancing, singing\u2026\" The gypsy waved an airy hand. From a scatter of bright mats behind him, a group of black-eyed young people were watching their leader. \"Every kind of entertainment.\"\n\nThe inevitable thought struck the Dowager. \"Tom! Christian! Why shouldn't they come to Bogle House tonight? Buccleuch's never seen them, nor Richard, nor Agnes. We'll get Dandy Hunter in, and the older Fleming children\u2026\"\n\nPolite argument was futile, and any other kind unthinkable. For an enormous fee, to cover their temporary absence from pitch, the troop undertook to perform that night at Bogle House.\n\nThe Dowager was enchanted. \"So good of them. Have you any money, Tom dear? I seem to have spent all I had with me.\"\n\nIt took their concerted efforts, hindered considerably by the leaking ox feet, to get at Tom's pouch and extract from it the necessary number of angels. \"Now, straight home,\" said the Dowager, a suspicion of tiredness making itself heard in her voice at last; and they made for the end of the Square, arm in arm, and started down Bow Street.\n\nDandy Hunter met them at the bottom. They saw him from some distance away, boring weevil-like through the thickening crowd, and waving.\n\n\"Just as well he's as flat as a turbot,\" said Tom Erskine judicially, watching him. \"That's twice he's breenged through his betters today.\"\n\nBut by that time they were close enough to see his face.\n\n\"Something's happened,\" said the Dowager in a voice notable for its unsurprised grimness, and led the way quickly toward him, clutching all her parcels as if these, at all costs, she would preserve."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 37",
                "text": "Owing simply to Lord Culter's presence, the October Papingo Shoot moved through its stately preliminaries to the beating of a fierce expectancy. Mortal challenge was not only piquant but eerie when the challenger was also wanted for treason.\n\nTension brought the automatic reaction. Ten thousand heads, capped, hooded, bonneted and bare, bobbed and jerked as the betting surged from point to point, fed by rumour: he isn't among the competitors; they've got guards all around the field; Culter's shooting twentieth.\n\nThe odds rose.\n\n\"The brother's game-shy, man: a shirker. Never finished a contest in his life.\" The odds rose higher.\n\nAndrew Hunter, standing between Richard's wife and Lady Herries, cursed Tom Erskine continuously under his breath. Mariotta would not go home. Staring in a hypnotized way at the side view which was all she could see of her husband, she seemed unaware, he was thankful to note, of what else was going on around her.\n\nAgnes Herries, however, was both aware and equipped with opinions on the subject, which palled only as the drawing of lots came to an end. Listening with half an ear, Hunter noticed she was now complaining of the viewpoint she had been given. This, since he could do nothing to improve it, he ignored.\n\n\"It strikes me,\" said Lady Herries, reminded suddenly of a sore subject, \"that a Ward of the Crown might as well be a by-blow for all the difference it makes. A girl Ward, that is. Who wants to marry John Hamilton? Not me. I've never seen the man, even.\"\n\nA more unsuitable place in which to air her opinions about her contracted fianc\u00e9 could hardly be found. With the speed of a watchful mother, Sir Andrew said, \"Look: there's Buccleuch.\"\n\nHe failed, as better men had done before him. \"Yes. But if I'd been a boy,\" pursued Lady Herries, intent on her theme, \"I'd never have been contracted to John Hamilton.\"\n\nThis penetrated even Mariotta's preoccupation. She turned, diverted against her will. \"Well, that's true enough.\"\n\n\"What I mean is,\" said the Ward of the Crown, frowning, \"that people have no business to settle other people's future for them when they're five years old. It's a typical man's scheme,\" said Agnes ruthlessly. \"It's not for our own good; it's no use saying it is. It's to add to their rotten lands, or because they need to carry on the family name, or because it'll bring them enough money or tenants or rights of lineage to stop a war, or start a war, or carry out their own uninteresting masculine affairs.\"\n\nThere was a short, respectful silence. \"Well,\" said Mariotta soothingly, \"I wasn't contracted when I was five.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lady Herries with devastating frankness. \"That's just what I mean. Trust a man to take advantage. Brood mares and\u2014\"\n\nWhether her own undeniably single-track brain or Sir Andrew called a halt first, it would be hard to say; but in the net result the Baroness shut her mouth rather suddenly and Hunter said, \"Look: the shooting has started.\"\n\nOn the field, an orderly pattern, pleasing in itself to the eye, had fallen into place. Far out to one side stood the Master and officials of the games, dressed in Arran's red and white livery; and beside them a group of arrow boys, minute fungi under cartwheel rush hats. Beside that again, in a long line against the painted barriers, the competitors waited; a trifle uneasy; a trifle tense now the moment had come.\n\nThe first bowman, flexing his shoulders, took his place in the centre of the field below the high, painted pole, and footed the mark. The parrot, brilliant in the eye of the sun, struggled and screamed against the backdrop of the castle rock, scarlet with bracken and the autumn glory of beech and sycamore; above the rock, the Palace windows gave back the sun in stabs of flame behind their cage grilles. A voice shouted \"Fast!;\" the archer raised his longbow smoothly to the sky, nocked his arrow, drew, held and released; replaced his second shaft, aimed, held and released again.\n\nThe papingo squawked bad-temperedly and swore with an Aberdeen accent; the arrows arched and fell harmlessly, six yards to the left. To a roar of sardonic cheering the tension broke, and Sir Andrew suddenly moved.\n\n\"There's only one place Lymond can shoot from,\" he said, almost to himself. \"And that's from the shelter of the rock.\"\n\nMariotta heard him. She raised her eyes as he had done and studied the broken face of the crag. \"Shooting against both the sun and the wind?\"\n\n\"That's the difficulty, of course,\" he acknowledged. \"But look. The rest of the field is hedged in by the crowd: a man couldn't raise his arms in it, never mind aim six feet of a longbow.\" He hesitated, and then said, \"Lady Culter, if you'd give me leave, I'll climb up and look through some of that scrub there.\"\n\nBut Mariotta, unimpressed by the suggestion that he should safeguard Richard's life at the risk of his own, refused and would not be persuaded. He argued uneasily, found her adamant, and dropped the proposal. In silence they watched.\n\nThe wind, violent and skittish, was making better sport of it than the competitors were. Buccleuch, shooting third, nicked the post with his first shaft and overshot with his second, retiring bellowing amid a chorus of witticisms. The next two were wide; the fifth caused a mild sensation by breaking his bow and nearly amputating himself with the shards; the sixth lost his thread and bungled both draws; and the seventh squirted off like a firecracker.\n\nThe eighth nearly got it.\n\n\"Oh!\" said Agnes, sparkling. \"It's very exciting, isn't it?\" And she added, a little wistfully, \"A woman would enjoy being married to a wonderful archer.\"\n\nIn the midst of their anxiety, the eyes of the other two met, and laughter sprang into Hunter's. \"My dear girl,\" he said, \"your mind's running a great deal on marriage today, surely?\"\n\nLady Herries looked surprised. \"Not specially. But I'll have to get married this year, I expect; and if I've got to be sold like a packet of wool\u2014\"\n\n\"Agnes!\"\n\n\"Well. I mean, having children and doing embroidery may not be fun, but it'd be more so if at least they fought battles for you and pretended they liked it. Courts of Love, and sonnets, and scarves in their helmets. That's what I think. Otherwise,\" pursued Agnes, \"there's not much point in it all, is there?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm afraid Johnnie Hamilton won't write any odes to your eyelashes,\" said Sir Andrew cheerfully. \"Besides, that's a limiting form of courtship, isn't it? You'd be much more comfortable with a husband who worked up a connection at Court, or developed his lands, or exercised his money in trade so that you had diamond bracelets by the gross and a house in each county.\"\n\n\"But I've got all the diamonds I want,\" said Agnes succinctly. \"Like Mariotta. And the little Queen. So I don't see there's any point in marrying, unless it's to get something you haven't got already. And nine times out of ten, you needn't marry for that, either,\" she added as an afterthought.\n\nWatching the twelfth bowman loose off, Sir Andrew said unhappily, \"How much land have you got, Lady Herries? And how many able-bodied tenants?\"\n\nShe looked at him with vague distaste. \"You sound like Grandfather Blairquhan.\"\n\n\"Never mind. How many, and where are they all?\"\n\nShe said rather sulkily, \"You know. I share them with Cathie and Jean. Terregles, Kirkgunzeon, Moffatdale, Lockerbie, Ecclefechan\u2026 next to the Maxwell lands on the Border.\"\n\n\"H'm,\" said Hunter. \"On the Border. You don't say how many tenants, but I imagine it'll run to a few thousand. And who do you imagine is going to look after all that for you and protect it from the English? And, if you'll forgive me for being practical, who's going to lead them into the field in wartime? You can't dodge your national obligations, even if you think you can dodge your moral ones.\"\n\n\"I knew you were going to sound like Grandfather Blairquhan,\" said Agnes pettishly. \"Anyway, we've all got men kinsfolk who'd do that for us, surely, without having to marry them first. The point is, whether it's kinsfolk or husbands, they'd do it just because it suits them, no matter whether we were fifty and fat and had bowlegs, and that,\" she ended with dignity, \"simply isn't romance as I see it.\"\n\nMariotta suddenly intervened. \"Don't be silly: what do you want? An altruistic uncle for security and a boudoir full of lovers for pleasure?\"\n\n\"I should like,\" pronounced Lady Herries with a stately air, \"a husband who put me before business or politics.\"\n\n\"They don't exist.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, they do,\" said Hunter unexpectedly. (Fifteen.) He glanced down, his lips twitching. \"You're being a bit hard, you know; both of you. It's pretty well a full-time job, these days, keeping a family housed and clothed and warm and protected. Doesn't leave much time for poetry under the apple trees. But chivalry hasn't gone: don't think it. You'll even find it paramount still with some people, but a trifle the worse for wear, because it's not the best protection against an aggressive and materialistic world.\u2026\" He smiled again, rather ruefully. \"And don't forget: a man has other claims and duties too\u2014to relatives; and old folk; and his friends. He's not always free, as you seem to think, to slap down the money and carry off the bride of his choice.\"\n\nMariotta said, instantly repentant, \"We know that, of course. Agnes only means, I think, that often in arranged marriages there's a good deal of unhappiness on both sides.\"\n\n\"\u2014And it's a pity to go through with it for the sake of posterity if posterity is simply going to repeat the process. Yes. I see that,\" said Sir Andrew. \"But look around you. I think you'll find that marital bliss sometimes fights its way to the surface in the end. And then, you see, there are so many other things involved as well\u2014the continuance of a great house, for example\u2014family loyalty's a powerful thing, and that's as it should be. Even sometimes the continued existence of a nation\u2014that's the price royalty pays. And that's got a romance of its own, of course; not quite the kind you mean, but one that lies perhaps a little deeper.\"\n\n\"As far as I'm concerned,\" retorted her ladyship, \"it can bury itself. They won't get me to marry anyone I don't want to, contract or no contract. Oh, look: there's Menteith shooting.\"\n\nThey were already looking, for young Menteith, Mariotta's host from Inchmahome, was the nineteenth archer, and the crowd was now perfectly quiet.\n\nHe took position, aimed and loosed. His first arrow struck the crossbar on which the parrot was bound. The bar jerked, and held; the arrow twisted and plummeted as the second flew, ruffling the bird's plumage. Two good shots. A subdued shout went up, followed by a crawling hum of anticipation. The arrow boys, one of them with a goose feather waving in his hatbrim, ran forward briefly into the field; the perch, chipped and scratched, threw a thin wavering shadow toward the castle rock; the autumn leaves, lit by the dipping sun, turned from tawny to crimson.\n\nRichard Crawford, holding himself uncommonly straight, walked steadily across the field and paused at the foot of the perch, looking down momentarily at the big yew in his tabbed hand, then up at the crossbar. He took his stand, and Mariotta, reaching out panic-stricken, found Sir Andrew had gone.\n\nThe silence was absolute; the stillness profound. But for the ruffling of the trees and the gentle singing of the perch stays, a man might have thought himself deaf. He nocked, raising his arm with the poetic, compact motion of the master bowman; the thin, echoing official voice called \"Fast!;\" he drew, held lovingly, and loosed.\n\nHis arrow leapt; but another was already airborne. Slender, deadly, red as hot steel in the sun, a shaft came hissing from the farthest suburbs of the crowd. There was never an instant's doubt of its destination. It drove into the crossbar, slicing off the crude ties with a razor barb, freeing the papingo in the instant that Culter's arrow flew toward it.\n\nFrom the audience, a sea of upturned faces, rose a breathy gasp. Weak and stiff from its bonds, the bird jerked grotesquely, fell, wavered, flapped; and with a sudden strong upbeat, recovered itself.\n\nAs if over its corporate soul the crowd, mesmerized, yearned over the bright wings. At its back Andrew Hunter, his face set in anger, had already reached the higher ground, racing; thrusting; running free like a madman.\n\nThey hardly noticed him. For as the parrot, gaining height, swooped wildly away from the field, a second arrow breathed by and feathered into its mark. The papingo, transfixed in its blundering flight, stopped, tilted, and dropped like a stricken star to the ground. A yellow feather, wanton and unseemly, danced its way after.\n\nThen, on the wave of a roaring uprush, the crowd was moved to action: too late, for the third arrow was already launched.\n\nIt arched in the air, a gleaming parabola, the feathers susurrant with curses, and found this time its designed, human mark.\n\nCulter, standing white, taut and watchful at the base of the perch, flung out an arm blindly, held himself a moment upright against the pole, then slowly folded against it and thence to the ground.\n\n[ Check and Cross Check ]\n\nThat evening, bright in the dusk, a great fire glowed in the parlour at Bogle House, bestowing light, warmth and comfort on its occupants. It flickered on the faces about it: the Dowager, Mariotta, Buccleuch, Hunter, Agnes Herries, Christian and Tom Erskine. It glittered on the table beside it, on which lay three arrows, two of them dark with blood, a longbow and a leather embroidered shooting glove. It flared, lastly, on the calm face of Lord Culter, lying stiffly bandaged on a long settle before it.\n\nFor the arrow which struck Richard came from a great distance and had to fly over many heads to an almost invisible mark. Unlike the first two, it was not faultless. It had dropped, losing power, and had torn its way across cheek and ear to bury itself beside the collarbone. And so, again charmed, again flouted by tragedy, Lord Culter was able, studying the exhibits on the table, to hold a post-mortem on a parrot.\n\n\"An English bow: that'll be part of the booty from Annan, I expect. And three arrows from the same source, fully barbed\u2026 very naughty, in a perch contest. And a glove.\"\n\nHe picked it up and sniffed at it. It was a right-hand glove in white buckskin, its newness betrayed by the absence of rubbing on the first three fingers.\n\n\"Discreetly perfumed,\" observed Lord Culter, turning it over. \"Beautifully stitched, and some jewellers' work on the back, to boot. A nice toy, if you can afford it\u2014and since friend Lymond presumably paid for it with my money, he can. God!\" he said. \"I'd give my chance of heaven, nearly, to match against him, perch or clout.\"\n\nTom Erskine observed critically, \"Wind behind him, of course; and he had a bit of elevation too, hadn't he, Dandy?\"\n\nSir Andrew nodded. \"He shot from behind one of the dressing tents, just where the ground rose to the wood. I was just too late getting there. Found the stuff where he dropped it.\u2026\" He groaned. \"We all underrated him. I worked out that he couldn't possibly shoot from among the crowd. It didn't cross my mind that a first-class marksman might just do it from the ground behind.\"\n\n\"Well, you gave us a shaking-up all right, Culter,\" said Buccleuch. \"Thought you were away with the papingo, my lad!\"\n\nThe Dowager, who had been, for her, unusually silent, remarked at once, \"Well, it wasn't very reassuring, I admit, coming back fo find Richard laid out all bloody in one bed and Mariotta fainting in the next, but then Wapenshaws are notorious, aren't they? Did anyone remember to ask who got the prize?\"\n\nTom said, \"Well I suppose, strictly speaking, they ought to give it to Lymond, but I should put it past even his impudence to claim it.\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Mariotta's voice was detached. \"He seems able to do almost anything he wants.\"\n\nAgnes, her eyes fixed on Culter, heaved a sigh. \"I thought I was going to die.\"\n\n\"Well, you behaved very sensibly, darling,\" said the Dowager. \"And now we shall enjoy the gypsies all the more.\"\n\n\"Gypsies!\"\n\n\"Yes, of course. From the fair: had you forgotten? And here they are,\" said Sybilla.\n\nIt was a triumphant example, in the outcome, of her own brand of humane genius. Under the spell of the entertainment, even Mariotta's taut nerves slackened, and colour came back into her face. Christian Stewart, listening gravely to Erskine's commentary, sat with her hand on Agnes's shoulder, thus regulating (but not eliminating) her interruptions, aided by a tactful Sir Andrew. Culter himself lay quietly, his eyes heavy, under the watchful gaze of the Dowager, who was having a long and intermittent discussion at the same time with the leading gypsy.\n\nToward the end of the performance, and during a phase which involved something noisy with a tambourine and much stamping, she caught Buccleuch's rather distracted eye, and slipped out of the room, followed by Sir Wat.\n\nSybilla shut the door on the noise.\n\n\"Dod!\" Sir Wat, breathing the cold air on the deserted landing, wiped his forehead. \"Clever rascals, Sybilla, but not just my meat, y'know.\"\n\n\"I thought you stood it very well,\" commented the Dowager. \"And really it's a great comfort to have you, for I mustn't bother Richard, and Sir Andrew and Tom are dear boys but a little occupied; and they have their own troubles anyway.\"\n\nSir Wat looked apprehensive, not without reason.\n\n\"About the bloodhounds,\" said Sybilla.\n\n\"Bloodhound yourself,\" said Buccleuch, jerked, in his alarm, out of even the nominal form of courtesy he usually practised. \"How did you know\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, I know Richard,\" said Sybilla. \"I always could interpret these silences, you know, more easily than half an hour of his brother's chatter. He was performing very prettily in there, and I'm sure all the girls felt better for it, but I didn't. What did he ask you to do?\"\n\nBuccleuch shrugged, and gave up. \"Track down Lymond, of course. There's the glove, and\u2014you're right\u2014I still have the dogs at Branxholm.\" He looked down at her, an unaccustomed diffidence struggling among the appalling burst-whinbush whiskers.\n\n\"He's been made a fool of\u2014twice, you know,\" he said. \"Feels like a sulky fat goose in a barrel, being shot at by gutter boys. Can't stomach it\u2014won't stand for it. Wouldn't try to stop him, either.\"\n\n\"I shall,\" said Sybilla.\n\n\"Why? Discredits you all\u2014sorry, m'dear\u2014as it is. The boy's no good to himself or anyone else till it's settled.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Dowager. \"But I shall settle it, not Richard. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be ill? You are a fool, Wat,\" she added, with a kind of affectionate resignation. \"You know perfectly well word'll reach England inside forty-eight hours that you're playing games at Stirling when you're supposed to be too ill to go and speak nicely to old Grey at Norham.\"\n\nSir Wat accepted the stricture with surprising meekness. \"Well, as to that\u2014\" He scowled at the landing arras. \"That's what makes it unco knotty, if you want the truth, to do what Richard asked.\"\n\n\"Which was?\"\n\n\"Well, to let go everything else and hoe up the country till we find Lymond. We could do it\u2014but\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014But in Richard's present mood, in bringing Lymond to face his deserts, he's also liable to bring Will Scott to face his,\" said the Dowager concisely.\n\nBuccleuch wriggled. His face got red, then the spaces under his hair; finally he burst into speech which lost no violence through being compressed into undertones.\n\n\"Dod, Sybilla: if you want to know, I'm in the hell of a jawboxy mess. Seymour's Lord High Suleyman the Magnificent Grey at Norham's been sending me polite notes ever since Will snipped his nose for him at Hume, asking when I'm coming to parley and assure them of help. It's damned awkward. They know it was Will\u2014how, I can't understand, for at my last taste of him he was too blasted whaup-nosed to claim his own mother. But there it is, and if I refuse to help, they'll burn me to the ground on the next raid. I've put it around that I'm ill, but short of following it up that I'm dead, I don't know what to do next.\"\n\nThe broad, capable Scott hands, with their spatulate fingers and white scar seams, gripped the balustrade and blanched, as he leaned his uneasy weight on them. \"I'll have to disown Will publicly, and hope they'll believe I had nothing to do with Hume. I doubt they won't, though; it looks too damned neat, right to the cartload of cutty sarks on my land at Melrose.\"\n\nHe stared disconsolately at Lady Culter. \"And here's the joke. I'm not a praying man, Sybilla, but I've had these baw-heids at the chapel on their knees ever since he went, hoping that Will'd see he'd been a damned stupid fool, and come back. Now, if he does, I'm made to look an accomplice to the fiasco at Hume, and Grey'll see I suffer accordingly. Whereas if he doesn't, and I'm forced to disown him to Grey\u2014and if word of it gets to the Queen\u2014and if he's captured with Lymond\u2014\"\n\n\"He'll get the same treatment as Lymond. But not if I catch him,\" said Sybilla.\n\nBuccleuch eyed her. \"Then, by God, I wouldn't care to be in Lymond's shoes.\"\n\n\"How my sons turn out is rather my affair,\" said the Dowager coolly. \"And involves rather less risk, on the whole, to Richard. If you'll co-operate.\"\n\n\"By not co-operating?\" Sir Wat gave a relieved bark. \"It'll give Culter a poor opinion of me, but I don't mind. No. My dogs'll be sick; and I'll be sicker than the lot put together. Listen\u2014someone's coming.\" He broke off hurriedly as light and warmth streamed in on them.\n\n\"And so,\" said Sybilla placidly, \"I had a long talk with him\u2014Johnnie Bullo, his name is; a real gypsy king\u2014and he tells me he knows how to make it.\"\n\n\"Make what, Lady Culter?\" It was Christian who had opened the parlour door on sounds of imminent departure from within. \"The gypsies are just going.\"\n\n\"Make the Philosopher's Stone, dear,\" said the Dowager, driving haphazard but triumphant into her subject. \"You know, the thing that turns tin into gold, and makes frisky old gentlemen senex bis puer, and mends broken legs and all sorts of practical things.\"\n\n\"It's what we need at Branxholm,\" said Sir Wat gloomily. \"Janet broke another vase last week.\"\n\nFor some reason this tickled both Sybilla and Christian. The Dowager was the first to recover.\n\n\"Just you wait,\" she said. \"I have it all from Bullo, and it all sounds remarkably well authenticated, considering. Anyway, he's coming again to Midculter to explain it to me.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" said Buccleuch, to whom the Dowager was the source and fount of all astonishments. \"You don't mean you believe all that rubbish! I've enough of it at home with Janet; and the Lee penny never out the house.\"\n\n\"All what rubbish?\" said Sybilla. \"You see, you don't know yourself what you're talking about, and neither shall I,\" she added as an afterthought, \"until Master Bullo has been and explained it again.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know what you want the Philosopher's Stone for,\" said Christian. \"It seems to me that as a family you're quite indecently rich already.\"\n\n\"Oh, you never know,\" said the Dowager mysteriously. \"Healing charms\u2014elixirs of life\u2014love potions\u2014\"\n\n\"What I came to ask,\" said Christian, her face rather red, \"was whether we might all go to the Fair\u2014Agnes, Mariotta and myself, I mean. The trouble is\u2014\"\n\n\"The trouble is, Master Bullo won't read our fortunes here: he hasn't got his crystal, he says, and he won't go and bring it back.\" Agnes, squeezing through the door, provided the explanations, fortissimo. \"But he says we can call at his tent, and Tom'll go with us\u2014\"\n\nThe Dowager spoke quietly. \"What about Richard?\"\n\n\"It's all right.\" Christian was quick in defence of the absent Mariotta. \"As a matter of fact, he's asleep, and\u2026\" And it won't do him any harm to be spared a performance of wifely reproach, her hesitation added.\n\nThe Dowager made no objection. So the gypsies left, and a little later, wrapped in heavy cloaks and hoods, the three girls walked out with Tom Erskine, and an unobtrusive following of Erskine's men. Sir Andrew and Buccleuch left. In the snug parlour the big fire hissed and murmured in the silence, glimmering on mother and son. Sitting beside Richard's quiet couch, Sybilla put on her spectacles and threaded a needle. Then she put it down and sat quite still for a long time, staring owlishly into space.\n\nAnd it was into space that at last she spoke. \"Oh, my darling!\" said Sybilla. \"I do hope I've done the best thing.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "\"Are you all right?\" asked Tom Erskine. And again, later on, \"What's wrong? Are you feeling all right?\"\n\n\"Of course. It's the cold,\" said Christian rather snappishly, and relaxing her grip on his arm, tried furiously to still the uncalled-for and humiliating frisson set up by her nerves.\n\nIt was not the cold, as she well knew. It was the crowded strain of the day; the blaring darkness; the devils' orchestra of uncouth music; the coarse chatter, the catcalls and the mindless, ganting laughter. The Fair had become by night a bloated Saturnalia, sodden, sottish and leering of voice. She was buffeted by blundering bodies and twitched by grasping hands. Smells assailed her: beer smells, food smells and leather smells; the stink of human bodies and once, as two struggling shapes crashed into her, the reek of blood, forcing on the mind the warm fire and the reeking arrows of an hour before\u2014Culter's voice: \"If that's what a life of depravity does for your archery\"; Mariotta's: \"He seems able to do almost anything he wants\"; the Dowager, bandaging with cool hands, refusing to panic.\u2026\n\n\"Buy a rare pippin!\" said a voice in her ear. \"A fine rosy pippin for a fine rosy lass\u2014\"\n\n\"A chain of gold for that bonny dress, now! Five crowns and a kiss for yourself, my bonny may!\"\n\n\"Hatpins, sweeting: a thousand and a half for sixteen pence\u2014\"\n\n\"A puppet for your sister!\"\n\n\"Mackerel!\"\n\n\"Hot pies!\"\u2014And grease brushing her cheek as the pastry was thrust upward. The shaking became uncontrollable.\n\n\"Tell your fortune, lassies!\" in the sly, garlic-laden voice.\n\nIt was some kind of a booth. First Agnes went in; then Mariotta; and they were both quite remarkably reticent when they came out. Tom, waiting with Christian, was bored. \"It sounds poor stuff to me. Let's go home.\"\n\nAgnes objected. \"Christian hasn't been yet.\"\n\n\"Fortune, lady?\" said Bullo's voice again, at Christian's elbow. \"One other lady?\"\n\n\"I'll come with you\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, no you won't.\" Christian eluded Tom deftly. \"If I'm going to have the secrets of my boudoir revealed, you're staying outside. Master Bullo will take me.\"\n\nSilently, the gypsy caught her sleeve, and they moved forward. Something brushed her hood, and from the deadening of noise, she guessed the tent flap had closed behind her. Underfoot, the street cobbles were spread with fabric; the darkness was stuffy and cold, smelling vaguely of cheap incense. She walked a few paces, and then was aware of a new aperture. The grip on her elbow disappeared; Bullo's soft steps could be heard receding; then these in turn were cut off. This time, there was absolute silence.\n\nHer face forced into lines of composure, her betraying hands tight-held behind her back, Christian stood quite still and waited in the cold and the dark.\n\nMothlike in its lightness and rapid insistency, the so-familiar voice spoke. \"This, of course, is the chamber of devils, who sit in hexagon babbling like herring gulls about the ruin of charity and the disorderly rupture of souls.\u2026 The aforesaid malignants have provided a chair, a little to your left: that's it. Before you lie four feet of carpet; then a box upon which I am rudely\u2014but I hope reassuringly\u2014seated. Nothing else is worth noting except a bundle of effects belonging to Johnnie Bullo\u2014you'll have discovered his name. He was, of course, my friend of the cave. A long time ago. Is that better?\" he asked. \"I wonder what frightened you?\"\n\nAstonishing that a voice should carry such power to soothe and disarm. She said, seated, clasping her hands, \"It's been a bad sort of day\u2014I'm sorry\u2014and the Fair on top was a little too much.\"\n\n\"A day remarkable, certainly, for a wholesale slaughter of the innocents,\" he said. \"I wonder how the parrot enjoyed its brief second of freedom. And the victim of the less schismatic shaft, how's he?\"\n\nShe told him, and he received it with a hint of mockery, adding: \"Don't, for your own sake, begin weaving fantasies of evil around me as well. I haven't tried to kill anybody today, I give you my word.\"\n\n\"Well, if you had, I think you probably would have succeeded,\" said Christian. \"Do you shoot?\"\n\n\"Yes. Very well, as it happens: one of my vanities, you see. It's handsome to watch, and satisfying to perform; it's convivial and competitive and artistic and absorbing. Poets love it: they rush home to unpick all their quills and write odes with them.\"\n\n\"Others don't,\" she said quickly. \"Others kill.\"\n\nThere was a little silence. Then he said, \"And that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Violence?\"\n\nIt was true, and she acknowledged it. \"Except that it isn't trained and purposeful violence that terrifies me: it's the negligent, casual kind. All these people today\u2026 They were taking wagers, you know, on Culter's chances of life. And violence of a nasty, inconsequent kind, tonight at the Fair. Or the kind that amuses itself by stuffing women and children into a cave and smoking them to death. In slaughtering livestock and burning a harvest for fun. Or after Pinkie, when the army broke; and the Durham and York and Newcastle boys, and the landknechts and Italians and Spaniards sat on their beautiful horses and flew along the Leith sands, and the Holyrood road, and the Dalkeith road, hawking men with their swords like butterflies\u2026\n\n\"Violence in nature is one thing,\" said Christian, \"but among civilized mankind, what excuse is there?\"\n\nHis voice was cheerful. \"Nothing more civilizing than a good crack of thunder. One hot unsettled summer and whole countrysides end up like St. James with their knees hard as camels.\u2026 No. I take your point. But what in God's name had that poor, enthusiastic, politically imbecile troop of Englishmen last month got to do with civilization? And what's going to stop them? Religion? With their music, their churches, their prayers, in a rag bag at home; His Most Christian Majesty of France egging on the Turks to scimitar the head off His Most Catholic Majesty King Charles; the Bishop of Rome seducing the Lutherans in Germany to secure his posterity\u2026\"\n\nChristian said, \"What kind of excuse would you make then for a private assassin?\"\n\nHe was silent for a moment, then said, \"Let's get one thing clear. I'm not excusing anything. I'm no theologian, only a pedagogue in rhetoric, with whatever shreds of humanity the universities have left me with.\"\n\n\"Well, as an apologist for human nature, then. What of private murder?\"\n\n\"What of it? This afternoon's, if you mean to particularize, was neither very private nor very successful, by all accounts. It shouldn't be difficult to classify. Not high-spirited; not casual; an act of instructed force, like Somerset's: a matter of policy, in fact.\n\n\"And brilliantly carried off\u2014by the Old Man of the Mountains himself, obviously, the Sheikh-al-jebal, twanging his hemp instead of eating it. Motives: greed, hate, envy\u2014I don't know. Excuses: there don't seem to be many. He might, of course, be a saintly old sheikh, whose doctrines Culter was denying; or a lascivious old sheikh, whose mistress Culter had alienated\u2026 except that Culter, Jerome bless his childlike head, is such a remarkably dull and blameless creature himself.\"\n\n\"For a humanist,\" she said, \"you're very scathing on the subject of virtue. For one thing, you shouldn't confuse stolidity and self-control.\"\n\n\"You admire self-control?\" he asked, and she took her chance. \"I admire candour.\"\n\nHe retorted instantly. \"Oh, nothing better\u2014in the right place. 'It's only right you should know'\u2014I wonder how many that classic b\u00eatise has driven to the river and the dagger and the pillow in a quiet corner. Truth's nothing but falsehood with the edges sharpened up, and ill-tempered at that: no repair, no retraction, no possible going back once it's out. If I told you I'd murdered my own sister you'd register appropriate feelings of hate and revulsion; and if you found later I hadn't, I'd be sure of your interest and sympathy in twice the depth of your hate. Whereas, if you simply found proof positive that I had killed her\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026 I might loathe you, but I'd respect your courage,\" she said candidly. \"Besides, that sort of truth wouldn't hurt me, would it? It might affect you, but then you'd deserve it.\"\n\nShe had surprised him into laughter. \"Oh, God! Generously abstaining from the sword in order to macerate with a cudgel. Pax! Leave me some pride. Pretend at least that you wouldn't collapse in a delirium of joy as I dance a vuelta on the widdy. In any case, I stick to my point. Not ninety-nine women out of a hundred really prefer that kind of honesty; and even if you are the hundredth, I'm the last to help you prove it to yourself. No. Si vis pingere, pinge sonum, as Echo rudely remarked. If you want a full study of me, then paint my voice. It's all there is on display at present.\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" said Christian serenely. \"And painting with breath is my stock-in-trade\u2014you'd forgotten that, hadn't you? I'm an architect in lexicography; I can build you a palace of adverbs and a hermitage of personal pronouns\u2026 and I can give you information about Crouch.\"\n\nFor the first time, she felt him at a loss. She went on serenely. \"Jonathan Crouch. The man you asked about. George Douglas sold him to Sir Andrew Hunter, who wanted to exchange him for a cousin, or something. Then Crouch escaped with someone\u2014Hunter doesn't know who, but he's violently angry about it all, and swearing death to whoever released him.\"\n\n\"I see\u2014wait,\" he said. \"How do you know all this?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Christian, rising, \"he was overheard giving George Douglas two English names mentioned by Crouch, and he more or less asked Douglas to help track them down in the hope they'd lead to the man who freed his prisoner. I thought you'd be interested\u2026 and now I must go. Oh!\" She sat down again, smiling. \"Hadn't you better tell my fortune first?\"\n\nTo her glee, he sounded taken aback. \"Oh, Johnnie looks after all that, although under certain circumstances I tell him what to say. Do you really want it done?\"\n\nShe laughed. \"Not really. It'd be more to the point, I think, if I could read yours.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, you'd qualify for M. Rabelais's next Almanac if you could do that,\" he said dryly. \"But if you're anxious, I'll tell you something that'll satisfy our misdoubting Tom. Your loof, lady. I'm sorry, a bit closer. The only candle is guttering like a drunk man's fancy. Now.\"\n\nFirmly, her wrist was taken, and the fingers spread out. \"A fine, capable hand. Line of life\u2014hullo! You appear to have died at the age of seven.\"\n\n\"The embalmers are exceedingly skilful nowadays,\" she said gravely.\n\n\"But I will say this.\u2026 You'll get the most out of life, never fear; and meet the sort of man you want, that too; and get your heart's desire, I think, in the end\u2014if you believe the results of Johnnie's teaching. But what are we, after all? Charlatans, faiseurs d'horoscope\u2026\"\n\nShe did not know quite what to say. \"It sounds like an exemplary future?\"\n\n\"If you bring your own candle next time, I might do better. Equipment rather limited, imagination in free supply. Are you leaving Stirling soon?\"\n\n\"On Tuesday. If Lord Culter can travel. All the Crawfords and Agnes are going back to Midculter: I shall go with them, and then on to Boghall until Christmas.\" She hesitated. \"There's still nothing I can do? We seem to waste all our meetings talking nonsense, and all the time I feel\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2026 The sands are running out? Well, if they are, it's only from one end of a great silly pot to the other. Someone'll come and stand us on our heads, and the sand'll run back again\u2014same sand\u2014same span of time, all the grains saying excitedly to one another: Hullo! It's you again! Met you in '47 in a fortuneteller's booth in Stirling!\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" said Christian carefully, \"but I think that's cheap theology.\"\n\n\"Well it's a poor apologue, I agree,\" he said, \"and a sorry kind of note to leave on. All right. Cancel the sand.\n\n\u2003\"Li jalou\n\n\u2003Enviou\n\n\u2003de cor rous\n\n\u2003morra\n\n\u2003et li dous\n\n\u2003savourous\n\n\u2003amourous\n\n\u2003m'aura\u2026\n\n\"No, dammit,\" he said, dissatisfied. \"Too fleshly a note altogether.\"\n\n\"Goodbye!\" she said, feeling behind her for the curtain.\n\n\"My measures are all mad. They prick, they prance, as princes that were woud\u2026 Goodbye,\" he said, part-returning from sunny contemplation among the iambics. \"There's Johnnie coming now: he'll see you out.\" He clasped her hand briefly. \"I may not see you for a while, but perhaps I shall write.\"\n\n\"Write!\"\n\n\"Yes. It's all right. I mean that\u2014I haven't forgotten: wait and see,\" he said rapidly. \"Till then!\"\n\nThere came a firm grasp on her elbow from behind, and Bullo led her to the outer tent. For half a dozen paces she could still hear his voice, soulfully declaiming, half to himself, she thought:\n\n\u2003\"And evermore the Cukkow, as he fley\n\n\u2003He seyde Farewell, Farewell, papinjay!\"\n\nJohnnie Bullo, his eyes speculative, watched the party go from the doorway of the tent. Then he returned inside, lit another candle, and opened the inner flap.\n\nThe man inside, deftly booting one supple limb, looked up.\n\n\"Have they gone?\" said Lymond. \"Thank you, Johnnie. Your performance with the first two filled me with respect. For chastely phrased double-entendres you have no master.\" He adjusted his straps. \"Three well-endowed kitties.\"\n\n\"Well, two of them were well enough,\" admitted the gypsy. \"The wee one had a face like a pound of candles on a hot day.\"\n\n\"The devil she has.\" Lymond put one spurred foot on the floor and reached for the second boot. \"The wee one, as you call her, has a face informed with beauty, wisdom and wit. In other words, my Johnnie, she's thirteen, free and stinking rich.\"\n\n\"Oh. Then you've had a good day of it, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Then you suppose wrong,\" said Lymond shortly. \"I've had a damned carking afternoon. A Moslem would blame my Ifrit, a Buddhist explain the papingo was really my own great-grandmother, and a Christian, no doubt, call it the vengeance of the Lord. As a plain, inoffensive heathen, I call it bloody annoying.\"\n\nHe stood up. \"Where's my cloak? Oh, there. I'm off, Johnnie. A small memento on the table.\"\n\nBullo saw him to the doorway. \"You're off south tonight?\"\n\n\"I am. There's a gentleman I have to meet on the Carlisle road on Friday.\" The Master glanced once, with calculation, around the tent; and then brushed past the gypsy. Without further leave-taking, he had gone.\n\n\"And not to the gentleman's profit, either,\" said Johnnie to himself with a grin, watching the nondescript figure merge into the dark crowd. The grin became wider, became a laugh, became a convulsion of secret mirth.\n\nJohnnie Bullo, hugging himself, went back into the tent."
            },
            {
                "title": "The PLAY FOR GIDEON SOMERVILLE",
                "text": "[ Smothered Mate ]\n\n\u2002The sixthe pawne\u2026 resembleth the Taverners, hostelers and sellars of vitaylle\u2026 Many paryls and adventures may happen on the wayes and passages to hem that ben herberowed within their Innes.\n\n[ Removal of a Blocking Knight ]\n\nLord culter, gently examining the tapestries in the big hall at Branxholm, was talking in a soft and savourless voice which his host found peculiarly uncomfortable.\n\nBranxholm, great throne of the Buccleuchs, lay twelve miles from the English border. The present house, less than twenty years old, was built from the crusts of the Branxholms which had already been fired, and fired again, by the enthusiasms of its neighbours. Branxholm was a bald edifice of vile architecture and no blandishments of moss or ivy. Inside, it was the tilting ground and battlefield of the Buccleuch young.\n\nBabies bounced and abounded in the Scott household: babies with mouths round and adhesive as lampreys; babies like Pandean pipes, of diminishing size and resonant voice; babies rendering torture and catalysis among the animate, the inanimate and the comatose. The Buccleuchs themselves were totally immune. While their younglings fought, and nurses and tutors swooped and called like starlings, Sir Wat and Dame Janet pursued their own highly individual courses, and talked to each other about whatever came into their heads.\n\nToday, a morose and pallid Friday in November, the subject was Lymond. In a childless oasis at one end of the big hall Sir Wat glowered uneasily in his big chair, feet in furred boots stuck out before him in the rushes, a woollen nightshirt peeping through the folds of his ample damask nightgown, and a variety of dogs heaped panting about his legs. Dame Janet, her gown napped with tufts and trails of wool, was spinning and swearing indiscriminately when the thread broke and when her husband roused her temper.\n\nFrom the wall behind them both, his eyes still on the battered hangings, Lord Culter said, \"I've already gathered you have no intention of helping me. I wondered if, perhaps, you meant actively to hinder me instead?\"\n\nSir Wat irritably shoved from one knee a heavy jowl which confidingly and automatically replaced itself, chumbling. \"Man, have I to go yap, yap all day with the same tale? I've told you. I'm sick.\"\n\nDame Janet gave a bark of laughter. \"Sick to the tune of two flounders, a pike, a cod, a quart of claret and a quince pie. Hah! You'll do yourself a hurt, Wat; forcing the nourishment down at all costs, and you a sick man.\"\n\nBuccleuch snapped, justifiably riled, \"It's the English I'm supposed to be ailing for\u2014or am I to live on sops in wine in case Grey of Wilton's sitting up the kitchen lum? I've told you all till I'm tired. Grey wants me. I'll have to promise something. I've asked the Queen and Arran to let me give the Protector some sort of lip service: until I have proper permission I'm ill, and I stay ill. Dod, Culter: have you seen what Seymour and his wee friends from the Lothians did to Cranston Riddell in September? And the Wharton brats and the Langholm garrison popping in and out like hen harriers\u2014three weeks ago they were raiding Kirkcudbright and Lamington. It'll be Branxholm next, and you'll wish you'd listened to me when you're frying like eggs on the saddle roof.\"\n\nLord Culter left the tapestry. He strolled to the fire, turned, and looked down on Buccleuch. \"Then stay at home and give me your men and your dogs.\"\n\nThere was a harried silence. Then Buccleuch said bitterly, \"The implication being that I enjoy sitting here on my behind while there's danger in the wind. Were you at the last Council meeting? Arran's off to lay siege to the English garrison on the Tay, the Ambassadors are off to ask men and money from Denmark and France. And meantime it's all the clack that a sort of unofficial hint has gone from Paris to London promising neutrality if the English'll get out of Boulogne. A fine lookout, isn't it? And winter here, and no excess of food, and precious few ships getting through the blockade, and half the able men shot to the devil at Pinkie. Be damned to your brother!\" said Buccleuch heatedly. \"I've got my own worries.\"\n\nCulter watched him quietly, one hand pattering on the chimney piece. \"I'm sure you have. I thought perhaps you might consider me less dangerous to Will than Lymond will be. Or to be less parochial\u2014that you might agree that obstruction of royal messengers and leakage of state information ought to be stopped by responsible people.\"\n\n\"Responsible! That's nearly a bad word to a Buccleuch,\" said Dame Janet, pouncing as she spoke on a snatch of down. She missed it: it became incandescent and whisked up the chimney. \"And there's Will's immortal soul for you,\" said Lady Buccleuch, seizing her moral with evangelical skill from her own hearthstone. \"And here's his father, worried yellow in case the poor creature scandalizes the nation and promotes an international incident anent the Buccleuch family.\"\n\n\"International incident my\u2014!\" said her husband rudely, going red in the face. \"Let the Council put the chains on Will, and he'll be lucky to escape with his silly neck. You wouldn't be so rarin' keen to haul him into the light of grace if he were a son of your own, Janet Beaton. And why the sour mouth, pray?\" pursued Buccleuch, who on a celebrated occasion had pulled an even sourer. \"What unnatural sort of corruption is Will to meet at Lymond's that's new in the French court? Credit the boy with more strength of mind than a new-gutted lamp-wick. Or are you maybe not so much worried about Will as anxious to put a bit rope round that yellow-headed cacodemon's neck? I told you at the time, if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't have got a hole in your shoulder.\u2026 Dod!\"\u2014as a storm of juvenile complaint exploded in the rafters\u2014\"Woman, can you not keep those brats quiet! Some folk,\" said Buccleuch to Lord Culter with heavy sarcasm, \"have woodworm and weevils. Branxholm has weans.\"\n\nLady Buccleuch was tart. \"And whose fault is that?\"\n\n\"Oh, mine; mine; mine, I suppose,\" bawled Sir Wat. \"I'm a fair oddity: I can raise my weans in an annual crop like barley all on my own, and I'd think a wife just a plain interference in the business.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't just say you were wrong,\" said Dame Janet cruelly. \"At least you were getting some fine yields, by all accounts, before ever a priest said a marriage service over you.\"\n\n\"Oh, is it sermons now? You'll make a bonny figure in a surplice, my lady: Sister Berchta with the long, iron nose and the ae big foot; and it forever slap in someone else's business.\u2026\"\n\nThe Buccleuchs, foaming pleasurably, pranced into battle. Richard stood still, his eyes on Sir Wat's profile: a cheek more than usually red proved that Buccleuch was aware of it. The exchange continued. The argument became corybantic and public; it blared; it stopped. A commotion at the door, a magnetic tumescence of children, a bright voice and a beaming servant announced the unlooked-for arrival of Lord Culter's mother.\n\n\"Sybilla!\" Buccleuch, in a spray of cushions and offended dogs, got up and went forward. Janet, her tongue arrested in blistering flight, rose likewise from her coiling threads and hugged the small, self-contained figure. \"Come and sit down.\"\n\n\"Well, Richard!\" The Dowager, relinquishing her furs, approached the fire and offered a cheek to her son. He was courteous, but with a wariness in his manner which did not escape Lady Buccleuch. They all sat, Sybilla capturing the nearest child, drying its thumb and setting it firmly on her lap. \"I want sanctuary from the Herries child. You're looking very well, Wat. Being in a decline suits you.\"\n\nJanet said quickly, \"What's wrong with young Agnes?\"\n\n\"We have had a visit,\" said the Dowager gloomily, \"from the prospective bridegroom. Arran's son. He was not well received.\"\n\n\"What about it?\" said Buccleuch. \"She's a ward of the Crown. Arran can dispose of her as he wants, and if he wants the Herries lands for his son, who's to stop him?\"\n\n\"His son,\" said the Dowager prosaically.\n\n\"Good lord.\" Buccleuch stared. \"There's nothing wrong with that lassie's face her dowry won't correct.\"\n\n\"I don't think even her dowry can drown her voice,\" said the Dowager. \"When exercised with intent. Besides, she's waiting for a thin man with a romantic smile named Jack: palmistry can be so embarrassing. Which reminds me. Janet, you're bid to Midculter tomorrow week. We are to have a dissertation on the Philosopher's Stone.\"\n\n\"The Phil\u2026?\"\n\n\"I knew Wat would forget to tell you.\" In greatest detail, Sybilla explained. She outlined the properties of the talisman and the subtleties of its manufacture. From there she launched into a technical description of the cure for a tertiary.\n\nThus drummed out of the conversational stakes, her son rose. The Dowager declined his escort home, gracefully accepted an invitation to stay the night, and watched as, impeded by remarkably little pressure on all sides, Richard prepared to go home.\n\nLady Buccleuch, walking with her guest to the yard, was in no carefree mood either. \"Wat has a tongue on him like an anteater, and he doesn't much care what he does with it. Damn it, I like Will. He's as much to me as any child of my own.\"\n\n\"Buccleuch understands that, of course,\" said Richard. \"All he's concerned with is protecting the boy, after his fashion. But the brutal fact is that there is no protection. I tell you, Lymond has taken three months to kill all the years of my childhood. He'll destroy Will Scott in a week.\"\n\nNot the statement but the expression of it moved her. She valued him sufficiently not to show it, but said flatly instead, \"You don't need to convince me. I'll go further and say I'd stop at nothing\u2014nothing at all\u2014to part Will from the Master.\"\n\nRichard was silent. Lady Buccleuch waited, then trapped an arm, and with it, his eyes. \"God\u2014if your conscience is as tender as that, I'll say it. I know what's good for Buccleuch. One of these days he's going to catch up with Will, and when he does, he'll take good care that you don't get to hear of it. But there's nothing to stop me from telling you\u2014Wait, now! Wait and hear me. Lymond dead means Will captured and facing his deserts. Buccleuch's afraid of just that thing; but surely nothing could make it clearer to England that Will has been acting without sanction? And no one, surely, on the Scottish side is going to hurt Buccleuch's oldest son\u2014the more so since his venture at Hume. That's common sense; and being so, I haven't the slightest compunction in going behind Wat's silly back. Do you agree with me?\"\n\nThere was another pause. Finally Richard said, \"I do, of course. But\u2014I'm sorry\u2014I can't see myself entering into a kind of conspiracy against Wat. Not when his own views are quite clear. Persuade Buccleuch of all you've just said, Janet, and then I'll be glad to get all the help I can from both of you.\" He mounted, and eyed her from the saddle. \"Janet Beaton: go in and manage your man. Then I'll discuss it with you.\"\n\nLady Buccleuch's face split into its disarming grin. \"Och, I've finished discussing it,\" she said. And smacking the rump of his horse, she waved him goodbye.\n\n[ Irregular Partie Between Two Masters ]\n\nThree days later, the land was choked with fog, consuming the sight from the eye and the air from the nostrils of Scot and Englishman alike. In the two estuary forts the militia were hagridden in the white gloom by the creak of marauding rowlocks; Hume and Roxburgh went red-eyed to bed, and the Borderers lay sleepless at night with their swords and dirks warm about them. The Peel used by Lymond's men was likewise lost and cradled in fog. In the ruinous hall of it, the heir to Branxholm was playing cards with every mark of professional ease and skill.\n\n\"Play the eight,\" advised Mr. Crouch intelligently. \"Then Matthew can put down his ten.\"\n\nTurkey Mat, flinging down his cards, dragged a horny palm over his bald head and breathed like a sailing skiff, lee rail under. \"Fancy, now: I had the queerest notion there that you were out of this game.\"\n\nMr. Crouch was unperturbed. \"I am. You told me yourself to keep off, or you'd play the next with my chitterlings.\"\n\nTurkey, grunting, unbuckled a leather purse at his belt, reversed it, then let it fall with an eloquent flop on the table. \"And you needna skin your nose looking for the reason,\" said he. \"It's the ones with the smooth pansy faces that turn out to be the know-alls at cards. Three months' wages off me in as many minutes, and my very breath pledged before it comes out between my teeth. Englishmen? Sharks! And the cooing voice on them like a bishop piping for his red bunnet.\"\n\n\"Your mistake.\" Will Scott, sprawled elegantly over a chair, had in two months found a certain style, and was enlarging on it. \"Next time look at its teeth before you fleece it.\"\n\n\"You can talk.\" Turkey eyed the pile of money in front of the boy. \"I'll swear Crouch has been giving you lessons. You were safe for twenty crowns any day when you first came, and now you've a nose for pips like a peccary hog.\"\n\n\"Mr. Scott has a quick mind.\" Since his enforced residence at, and his lightning departure from, Ballaggan, Mr. Crouch had been short of an audience, and he was not the man to lose a chance. He said, a trifle wistfully, \"The best man I ever saw at the tables was Buskin Palmer\u2014\"\n\n\"Him King Harry hanged for taking too much off him at cards?\"\n\n\"Him. He,\" said Mr. Crouch, a stickler for accuracy. \"The great master, that was. I owe any little touch I might have at cards to that man and his brother. When I was in the Princess Mary's household\u2014\"\n\n\"And when would that be, now?\" inquired a new voice.\n\nThe trio turned. With some forethought, table and stakes had been set up at a distance from the other activity in the crowded room, and the authority of Mat had so far kept their bailiwick exclusive. When Turkey turned, it was with a snarl which changed to a mild roar. \"Johnnie Bullo! Man, I wish you'd take to wearing clappers on your breeches; you're desperate sore on the arteries. And that last damned powder you gave me would have done Jimmie of Fynnart a twelve-month and pointed up the whole of Linlithgow if you laid it on with a trowel. Will ye bring to mind it's my inner workings you're repairing, not the Toll Brig o' Dumfries.\"\n\nJohnnie Bullo, gently oblivious, drew up a barrel, sat on it, and again addressed the Englishman. \"So you were in the Princess Mary's household, were you? When? Was it the year of Solway Moss?\"\n\nJonathan Crouch looked blank.\n\nJohnnie expounded. \"The year the Scots King James died, and the small Queen was born. The year Wharton broke up the Scottish army on the Solway and took half of it prisoner to London, including Lymond. The year Lymond's pastime was first discovered in Scotland, and the English gave him a fine manor for his pains. Fifteen forty-two.\"\n\nMr. Crouch said, \"Well now\u2026 Yes. I'd be with the Princess about that time. Five years ago, near enough.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" said Johnnie. Mr. Crouch looked confused, Matthew seemed vaguely annoyed and Will Scott, removing Turkey's purse from the board and laying down a fresh card, said, \"Well, go on. We can't bear the suspense.\"\n\nThe gypsy settled on his barrel and flashed the white teeth. \"Why,\" he asked Mr. Crouch, \"did Lymond release you from Ballaggan?\"\n\n\"You may well ask,\" said Jonathan strongly. \"To send me home: that's what he said. And what does he do? Lock me up to catch my death in an upended quarry I wouldn't dignify by the name of a house, with robbers and cutthroats for companions\u2014present company excepted; no intellectual resources\u2014present company excepted; and no clothes but the one clean shirt on my back.\"\n\n\"You're away ahead of present company there,\" said Johnnie.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why? How should I know?\" exclaimed Mr. Crouch with exasperation. \"The man hasn't spoken two words to me since I came here.\"\n\n\"Matthew knows why,\" said Johnnie, and smiled to himself.\n\nThe Englishman presented Turkey with a face of indignant inquiry, and Matthew sighed. \"The Master has notions about being discussed behind his back. But it's not all that private. The fact is that since the money began coming in fairly easy we've been filling in our time looking for a gentleman, and Lymond thought you were maybe him.\"\n\n\"And it's a fine thing for you that you're not.\" Bullo's white teeth shone. \"For\u2014at a guess\u2014the man the Master is looking for is the man who betrayed all those treasonable games of his to the Scottish Government five years ago. Am I right, Mat?\"\n\nMr. Crouch got up so quickly he upset the cards. \"Is that true? Because\u2014\"\n\n\"It's right enough. What of it?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Mr. Crouch with agitation, \"I gave him the names of the two other officers of the household of my own rank in those days. Somerville and Harvey. I told him the names in all good faith. And now, from what you say\u2014\"\n\n\"You've dispatched at least one of them to a very fancy death,\" said Johnnie Bullo cheerfully; and watched Mr. Crouch, making little ejaculations to himself, shoot in the direction of the door.\n\nWill Scott reached it just before him. \"Where are you off to?\"\n\n\"I demand,\" said Mr. Crouch, \"to see the Master of Culter, or whatever he calls himself. I find his whole treatment of me intolerable, and I intend to tell him so.\"\n\n\"Lymond isn't here,\" said Will. With dreamlike punctiliousness the door beside them opened and white fog swam and curdled about them. A shadow, beaded and plateresque, spoke. \"Ring the bells backwards: on his cue, he is here. Who wants me?\"\n\nMr. Crouch peered and was rewarded with a study, sfumato, of unmistakable hands ungloving themselves deftly. Then the door closed and Lymond became wholly visible, embracing Scott and Crouch in the heavy, unpleasant regard. \"Well?\"\n\nFor a moment the Englishman's heart failed him. Then he said stoutly, \"I demand some satisfaction from you, sir. Four weeks have passed since I left Ballaggan in your company, and no effort has been made to restore me to my home. Had I stayed with Sir Andrew I could expect to be ransomed and back with my Ellen a month before this.\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" said the Master. He threw the gloves on a chair and took an alepot from a tray hurriedly brought him. \"I am disappointed in you, Mr. Crouch. Here you are in our Paestum, warm, fed and rent free, and with a face like cheese rennet. Are your companions dull? Surely you can educate them? Are they poor conversationalists? Then edify them: they should make princely listeners. Do they have little skill at cards? Then ruin them: you have my permission. It is really time,\" said Lymond, \"that you were developing some sense of social responsibility.\" And he walked to the fire and seated himself, his eyes sliding over Matthew and Johnnie and the scattered cards. Will Scott sat down near him. Mr. Crouch, affronted and unhappy, stood stiff-legged before the fire. He began: \"If I had stayed at Ballaggan\u2014\"\n\nThe Master, stretching in a leisurely way, looked up at his prisoner. \"The ass with the voice of Stentor,\" he remarked. \"That was all you were to Sir Andrew, I regret to tell you. The cheese in the mousetrap, Mr. Crouch.\"\n\nWill Scott suddenly found his tongue. \"A trap to catch you, sir?\"\n\nLymond clicked down his tankard on the table beside him as a fresh one approached. \"Who at Annan knew we were asking about our friend here?\"\n\n\"The captain at the gate, I suppose, who let us in?\" said Scott, remembering.\n\n\"Who let us in and suffered accordingly. When the English got out of Annan and my dear brother got in, the captain was left to breathe his last. He did so, I fancy, into Sir Andrew Hunter's ear.\"\n\n\"\u2014And guessing you had an interest in Crouch, Sir Andrew set about getting hold of him in order to take you\u2026 but,\" said Scott, working out the problem with some care, \"why keep it to himself in that case?\"\n\n\"It's not difficult to imagine,\" said Lymond dryly. \"First, Sir Andrew is a young man living considerably above his means; second, I have a price of a thousand crowns on my head; and third\u2014\" He paused, and Scott saw his eyes were cold. \"The third reason,\" said Lymond slowly, \"is still open to conjecture. In any case: the ensuing flight of fancy has cost friend Hunter a broken head and Mr. Crouch\u2014I see\u2014a cold in the head and an unhappy lapse in good manners.\"\n\n\"Now look here,\" said Mr. Crouch, too riled to be afraid. \"I've had about enough of this. I was taken a prisoner of war, all right and proper, and I've got the right to be exchanged or ransomed back, as soon as may be, according to the law on both sides. You talk,\" said Jonathan heatedly, \"as if it was a privilege to be shut in a damned, filthy\u2014\"\n\n\"But it is.\" Lymond uncurled and rose; with a long index finger he pressed the titmouse into his own seat and closed his protesting fingers around the second mug of beer. \"But it is. Such a study you will never meet again. Here we are, our beards smugly shaven, prolixt, corrupt and perpetuall. You have come until the grisly land of mirknes, and with reasonable luck you may leave it yet. And that, Mr. Crouch, is the greatest privilege of all.\"\n\nMr. Crouch, pot in hand, made to speak. Lymond forestalled him. \"No. You spend your speech and waste your brain. Accept our gifts and be grateful. Either Gideon Somerville or Samuel Harvey is a douce and God-fearing man and has nothing but legitimate shock to expect from me. Whatever happens to the other he will probably deserve and would have happened most likely whether you helped or not. But I don't want my birds flushed, Mr. Crouch. When I've spoken to both, you can go home.\"\n\nThe prisoner was not reassured. \"I want to go now,\" he said starkly.\n\n\"You can,\" said Lymond gently. \"Oh, you can. Whenever you wish. Fragment by fragment. Drink your wine and learn gratitude. Quoi! Ce n'est pas encore beaucoup d'avoir de mon gosier retir\u00e9 votre cou?\"\n\nMr. Crouch, succumbing to force majeure, drank his wine: the Master, turning his back on him, rambled to the card table and idly fingered the scattered suits. \"Blind Fortune, stumbling chance, spittle luck, false dealing\u2014take to cards if you will, Marigold, but must you stare at me like a kitten with its dam?\u2026 Johnnie, are your gypsies all here?\"\n\n\"A mile away. I smell wind later on.\"\n\n\"Good. Away thou dully night. Scott, into what impurities has Turkey led you, other than the giddy vaults of gambling?\"\n\n\"Impurities!\" exclaimed Mat, indignant on principle.\n\n\"Moral irregularities,\" said Lymond. \"Diversions.\"\n\n\"Oh, diversions,\" said Mat, with the air of a man who understood all. \"God: we've been that damned hard at it, we havena had a diversion since the last night at the Ostrich.\"\n\nScott, his face still crimson, said belligerently, \"I've never been to the Ostrich.\"\n\nThe familiar, chatoyant glint was in Lymond's eyes. \"The Ostrich is in the hands of a common woman, that dwells there to receive men to folly. The question is, do we seek such madness? The answer is, we do.\"\n\nHe looked from one to other of the three men, his eyes flickering. \"Let us go to Paradise, where every man shall have fourscore wives, all maidens. Let us go tonight, and speir at the Monks of Bamirrinoch gif lecherie be sin.\u2026 Scott?\"\n\nWill's eyes were bright. He nodded.\n\n\"Matthew? Yes, I'm sure. And Johnnie, who is going in any case.\"\n\nJohnnie Bullo smiled, and hissed between his teeth. \"Just so.\"\n\nScott, caught watching Lymond again, blushed scarlet. The Master addressed him thoughtfully. \"Are you anxious to go? These serpents slay men, and they eat them weeping.\"\n\nSophisticated at all costs, Scott quoted Rabelais. \"But the ravens, the popinjays, the starlings, they make into poets.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Lymond. \"The popinjays they kill.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 40",
                "text": "The four men and the gypsies reached the Ostrich Inn at nightfall in thick fog.\n\nDuring the long ride, Will Scott stayed with Bullo. In the first moments, the Master's sorrel disappeared among the hoary beasts of the gypsy troop and stayed there: bursts of muffled laughter and occasional snatches of song excoriated the ears of the other three. Turkey Mat, flesh with the flesh of his horse, rode solitary: long tail, fluid back and supine, sentient wrist. Bullo, at Scott's side, sat as an owl might sit, listening for the folding of long grasses. Once, with the uncanny thought-sense Scott had noticed before, he said, \"He's wild tonight,\" and the boy hardly realized another had spoken.\n\nTo the new Scott, the core and engrossment of his days was their central figure. Nothing of the warm vulgarities of Branxholm or the artifice of the Louvre or the ambitious, emotional expediencies of Holyrood had prepared him for the inhumanities of Lymond. To the men exposed to his rule Lymond never appeared ill: he was never tired; he was never worried, or pained, or disappointed, or passionately angry. If he rested, he did so alone; if he slept, he took good care to sleep apart. \"\u2014I sometimes doubt if he's human,\" said Will, speaking his thought aloud. \"It's probably all done with wheels.\"\n\nA scintilla in the fog was the gypsy's smile. \"He proved very human in September. I seem to recall you had a sore head as well, after the skirmish with Culter and Erskine?\"\n\nScott's horse halted. He swore, kicked it on again, and said, \"I was on my back for four days: d'you mean Lymond was hit?\"\n\n\"Very humanly. By a stone. And led us the devil's own dance bringing him back, Mat and I. We had to leave him under cover\u2014Culter and the rest came about us like bedbugs in an almshouse dorter\u2014and when it was safe to go back, the infallible Lymond had found himself a horse and vanished. We found him, of course.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"It would be a shade indiscreet to say. Particularly with the two most interested parties at our elbow. You perhaps noticed that when we came back there was no mention of our passing faiblesse. Lymond, you see, is omnipotent, as you were saying.\"\n\nThe white teeth flashed again. \"Ask me again. I'm going to Edinburgh this Saturday, but when I come back, we might meet over it. The story'll charm you. You'll maybe want to write a poem about it, if you're that way inclined: how Lymond passed the days after Annan. It's a bonny tale.\"\n\nScott listened, and hearing in Bullo's voice an acid counterpoint to the high, sudden cackle of gypsy laughter behind, grinned sedately to himself and rode on.\n\nThey had kept to the high ground, where the fog was thinner and the ground less rotten. At some point the heather roots and tarnished bracken of Scotland became the heather roots and bracken of England. They crossed the Border like a fixed and hidden constellation and passed silently over lost grass behind the dim, leading form of Johnnie. The whiteness turned to black; the day withdrew, and they breasted the last incline.\n\nBefore them, vast golden parhelions blistered the fog. They approached. The colour changed and sharpened, became windows lit by lanterns and candles; and an open door, and faint music and voices, and a warm, stinging fragrance of roast meat curiously laced with musk. Became a courtyard with running ostler-wraiths, appearing and evaporating with the horses and, finally, an enormous shadow in the wide doorway: a monstrous, eighteen-stone shadow of a woman with a fresh, childlike face, who stretched powdered arms, calling, to Lymond. \"It's yourself\u2026 and Johnnie! Back at last\u2026 Lord! We thought we were abandoned.\"\n\n\"Why else,\" said Lymond, \"are we here?\" The eyes were sea-blue and the expression one of celestial affability. \"This, Marigold, is the Ostrich Inn. So hop Willieken, hop Willieken: England is thine and mine\u2026\" and moving swiftly to the threshhold, he scooped up the tremendous form of his hostess, accepted a hearty kiss and a dimpled arm along his shoulders, and disappeared indoors.\n\nScott found Johnnie Bullo looking at him with an ironic glint in the brown eyes. \"Come along,\" said Johnnie. \"We're allowed in as well.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 41",
                "text": "Men keeping vigil at the dawn of battle spoke of the square common room of the Ostrich. It rose two silken stories high, and whole oxen confessed to the fires at each end and reached sizzling Judgment on the crowded tables, alongside pies and puddings and heaped fragrant trenchers and jars of bland, too-warm wines.\n\nAll the pleasures of unfilled time belonged to the Ostrich. For those who were shy about sleeping in public, a wooden arcade around three sides of the room supported a gallery at first-story level, off which opened the private rooms. Wax lights blazed. The gypsies, flooding the centre floor with music and violent colour, danced in the footsteps of tumblers and harpists and magicians and monkeys; of bears and minstrels and dogs and play actors and mimics; and the painted walls and brilliant hangings kept a sense of them. Combers of talk and laughter rolled aggrandizing from pillar to pillar with the beat of drum and guitar; the air bounced with fat enjoyment and gourmandise, and bright ministering women like chaffinches flew and darted between the dark arcades.\n\nWill Scott, at one of the fires, found his fogged eyes swimming with the blaze of marching lights and his senses drugged with fleshly smells and mulled wine and the heat of the fat-spitting fire. Lymond had vanished; Johnnie Bullo was plying his trade with his gypsies, and Mat, after an encounter half glimpsed in the pillars, had disappeared too. A gigantic and violent nostalgia for venison seized Scott: in its very midst he saw on the table before him a perfumed and steaming haunch, laid by the white, ringed hands of the she-monster.\n\nShe smiled at him. She was beautiful. The round, rose-petal face was clear and young and yet maternal in its look; her hair was shining and clean, her great bulging torso massy with velvets and ermines cut to show the great snowy shelf of her breast, on which rubies lay, calm, beaming testimony to her serenity.\n\nHe rose uncertainly. She put down wine and two tankards, bread, sweetmeats, cheese and knives and salt; then swung off her tray with one hand and pressed him back into his seat with the other. \"You don't get Molly serving you every day\u2026 but then, you travel in very special company.\" Her fine eyes with their dyed lashes appraised him. \"Nice manners! You're strong, but you're kind: that means gentle birth and a pitying heart\u2026 What's your name, my dear?\"\n\nHer sweetness was irresistible, and her bulk meant nothing. He smiled back. \"I'm called Will.\"\n\n\"Will! That's better!\" The lovely eyes and mouth melted; she ruffled his hair gently, as his mother might have done. \"Make a good meal, my dear, and your golden-haired friend will be with you shortly. Oh, God!\" said Molly, and raised heavenly blue eyes to the rafters. \"That hair! He was born to wreck us, body and soul, that one. Look at this!\"\n\nShe lifted a white arm and fished below the rubies. A thin chain came into view, and at its end a ring with a single, magnificent square diamond. \"I suppose I've had more jewels in my life than most, but this is the one I wear; the one I got from him.\" She laughed, and let it slip back. \"Don't look scared! Diamond rings are proper currency for such as him, but you won't need to pay for your dinner at the silversmiths. Never mind my babbling. Go on, eat up, and drink, and forget your troubles, whatever they are. That's what the Ostrich is for.\"\n\nShe went quickly, gentle-footed, and he saw her go with a pang, and with a sudden, pleased resolve to do with diamonds. Then he turned to the table and forgot her. The venison was rich and savoury and cooked to tender perfection. The wine was warmly fumed and superb. The candies were strange and sweet; the cheeses firm and flavoured.\n\nLife was glorious.\n\nWith a soft elegance Lymond slid into the seat opposite, and drew wine and plate toward him. He had changed into fine, fresh clothes: studying him, Scott was made conscious of his own splashed jacket and breeches. Slicing the venison, the Master remarked, apropos, \"Molly doesn't clothe giants, unhappily, my Pyrrha. You've met her?\" Will nodded.\n\n\"Molly married an innkeeper,\" said Lymond. He poured wine and drank it, his eyes studying the other tables. \"And the innkeeper was never seen again. He married Molly, and brought her to the Ostrich\u2014and next month, there was just Molly. Molly and her girls.\"\n\nWill said, \"She's a great admirer of yours.\"\n\n\"She likes my money,\" said Lymond, and catching the look in Scott's eye, grinned nastily. \"Which ring did she show you? The diamond or the seed pearl?\"\n\nResentment on Molly's behalf faltered. \"She showed me a diamond ring,\" said Scott defensively.\n\nLymond grinned again. \"If you're fool enough to wear a valuable stone in your bonnet, you must expect to be sized up accordingly.\" He laughed outright. \"Never mind, my innocence: everyone falls in love with Molly. But not, of course, uniquely with Molly.\" The pensive blue gaze continued to travel. \"The dark wench by the other fire is Sal; the redhead by the kitchen door is Elizabeth, and the one at the next table Joan.\"\n\nWill looked at Joan. She was pink and brown; her eyes sparkled like tourmalines and she had sharp ankles and red-heeled shoes. \"I've seen worse,\" he remarked, and raised his tankard with an air. Lymond refilled it, and his own; and when Scott had finished his, filled it again. \"Multa bibens\u2026\" Then he looked around, signalled, and returned the gentle, appraising stare to Will's face. \"And now,\" said the Master, \"suppose we fulfill our glad destiny?\"\n\nA cloud of musk approached and Molly in it, a cherub in its nest. \"You're ready, dear?\"\n\n\"We are. And the room?\" asked Lymond.\n\n\"Waiting for you. Number four, dear.\" A key changed hands. \"You remember the stairs?\"\n\nShe laughed, and Lymond said, \"They haven't left any great impression, but I recall they exist. We'll find them. Come, Marigold.\"\n\nWhere there is no custom of reticence in childhood, there is no vice of which a well-brought-up young man need be ignorant\u2014even a young man who three months before has cherished the purest ideals. When Will Scott got to his feet, his heartbeats were behaving oddly, but he was not slow in following the Master across the jammed, leg-strewn room, up a dark stairway leading from arcade to gallery, and along a long, stifling passage railed off on one side from the room they had just left. Wooden doors on the other side of the corridor were numbered. Lymond unlocked the fourth and went in, with Scott at his heels. The Master turned, and kicked the door shut.\n\nThe room held an uncurtained bed, a mirror, an armory, a table, two candlesticks and a youngish man, sitting on a low, cushioned bench. As Scott approached, the man jumped to his feet, frowning. He was tall, with long, fine hair and pale, opalesque eyes set shallowly in a triangular face. He said, \"I am expecting a gentleman. Are you\u2026?\"\n\n\"I am Lymond.\" The Master moved into the candlelight, and recognition and relief showed in the other's eyes. \"And this is my lieutenant, Mr. Scott. Will\u2014the Master of Maxwell.\"\n\nThree months of Lymond's company had taught Will Scott presence of mind. He bowed, and out of the wreckage of his emotions salvaged the necessary recollection: of the Master staging a rescue on the Carlisle road on a dark, October night, and of his voice saying afterward, \"The Master of Maxwell is an important personage almost entirely surrounded by English.\u2026 Consider this an opening for smothered mate.\" Scott, directing a private grimace at Lymond's unresponsive back, seated himself fatalistically on the edge of the bed; the Master of Maxwell was also reseated. Lymond, bringing a jug and cups from the armory, said, \"You're making for Carlisle, Mr. Maxwell?\"\n\n\"If it's any affair of yours, I am, sir.\" Yellow tiercel eyes notched with black stared at the Master; Lymond, impervious, poured wine. Scott, his interest suddenly commanded, thought, A show of muscle, by God! Have we found one gentleman who hasn't yet succumbed to the legend?\n\nIn silence, Lymond offered Maxwell wine; in silence, he took it. Then the Master hitched himself smoothly on the edge of the table, glanced at Scott, who had buried his nose in a cup, and said, \"I chose the Ostrich as our rendezvous, Mr. Maxwell, because of its uncommon properties. This is the sounding board of the North. No whisper is too low for the Ostrich. No movement too faint for its eyes. Consider, for example, who passed north recently. Ireland, for one\u2014your brother's priest from London. He'll be waiting for you at Threave, anxious to have your views on Lord Maxwell's offer to surrender Lochmaben to the English. Who else? A surveyor from Calais, on his way to Wharton. The Scots garrisons at Crawford and Langholm are worrying his lordship: Mr. Petit is to advise on the best ways of fortifying Dumfries, and Kirkcudbright, and Lochwood, and Milk, and Cockpool Tower, and Lochmaben\u2014when they have it.\n\n\"Then Mr. Thomson, Lord Wharton's deputy, came north. That was in order to meet your uncle, Drumlanrig. Sir James failed, I'm afraid, to persuade him that between men of integrity hostages are irrelevant. And, of course, a number of gentlemen from the West Marches passed through to Carlisle to sign the celebrated oath. To serve the King of England, renounce the Bishop of Rome, do all in their power to advance the King's marriage with the Queen of Scotland; take part with all who serve him against their enemies, and obey the commands of the Lord Protector, lords lieutenant and wardens.\u2026 And most recently, one of Wharton's men came south with an indiscreet letter from your brother-in-law the Earl of Angus to someone else, which is going to interest the English considerably.\"\n\nEven to Scott, most of this was news. If it were true\u2014and Maxwell would certainly know\u2014it was a show of strength that even he could not afford to ignore. John Maxwell stretched his long legs, put down his cup, and lay back, the yellow eyes fixed on Lymond. \"Do you own the Ostrich? Or only a capacity for pleasing Molly?\"\n\nThe blue eyes smiled. \"A distinction without a difference.\"\n\nMaxwell said, \"Mr. Crawford, there is no need to show me the hood. I respond quite well to the lure. Our last talk intrigued me a good deal.\"\n\n\"Sufficiently?\"\n\n\"Sufficiently for your purpose.\" The luminous eyes, apparently satisfied with their diet, released their grip. Maxwell rose, refilled his cup and sat down, continuing in his dry, brisk voice. \"I have the information you wanted. Samuel Harvey, who is a bachelor, lives in London and is there at present on duty and unlikely to come north. Gideon Somerville is a wealthy man, now retired from court, with a manor called Flaw Valleys on Tyneside near Hexham. He is married and has a ten-year-old daughter. I made these inquiries privately when last in Carlisle: there is nothing to connect them with your name.\"\n\n\"I'm obliged for your care. As it turns out, it hardly matters.\"\n\n\"You've no interest in these men?\"\n\n\"I intend to meet them both. But one of your brothers-in-law is aware of it, and either he or Grey will almost certainly prepare the ground for me. No matter. Of Cat, nor Fall, nor Trap, I haif nae Dreid.\"\n\n\"Your self-confidence is incredible, sir,\" said Maxwell dryly.\n\n\"Subject to intelligence,\" said Lymond, \"nothing is incalculable. Your marriage, for instance.\"\n\nScott, fascinated, thought he saw John Maxwell's eyes narrow. There was the briefest pause, then the tall man said, \"I have considered your suggestion. On my present standing with the Queen Dowager, neither she nor the Governor would conceivably agree, even if the plan worked.\"\n\n\"Your standing might be improved.\"\n\n\"My brother, Lord Maxwell, is still a prisoner in London. And there are hostages at Carlisle for my good behaviour.\"\n\n\"It might be improved without overt harm to your reputation in England. It's now mid-November. In two or three weeks' time, the Earl of Lennox is due at Carlisle, and if affairs are favourable, he'll try another experimental march into southern Scotland.\"\n\n\"And so\u2026?\"\n\n\"And so, by pure chance and natural greed, Lennox's men might bungle the raid. The real nature of the chance being known only to the Scottish Government, acting on your advice. Lennox blames his men for the failure: the Queen knows it is due to the Master of Maxwell.\"\n\nSilence. Maxwell moved. \"Is this possible?\"\n\n\"You shall hear. I'll describe it to you now; and in greater detail later when we know Lennox's exact movements. And the credit shall be yours.\"\n\nThe Master of Maxwell said, \"I am trying to persuade myself that all this is not a matter of great disadvantage to yourself?\"\n\nLymond smiled gently. \"The road Lennox will take passes the road to Hexham,\" he said. \"I told you there would be a trap. And the English will spring it for me.\"\n\nThey rose at midnight, Maxwell lifting his cloak and hat, gloves and whip. He nodded to Scott and stooping, turned in the doorway to Lymond. \"And curb your mad, antic mind, I beg you. I've no heart to spend myself sustaining what you are creating for me.\"\n\n\"Have no qualms,\" said Lymond gravely. \"We are well matched.\"\n\nMaxwell, astonishingly, laughed and went out.\n\nLymond shut the door. \"And that,\" he said to Scott, \"is how mulberry trees grow into silk shirts.\"\n\n\"Yesh,\" replied Will Scott.\n\nLymond tilted the wine jar toward him. Then, with a sardonic flash toward the faintly squinting Scott, he opened the door, crossed the passage and shouted over the gallery rail. \"You keep a damned dry house, Molly.\"\n\nShe was sitting under the blazing lights at a crooning, besotted table of guests: she raised two jewelled arms to Lymond. \"Come down, my duck. We're a poor, sleepy company down here.\"\n\nThe Master grinned, surveying the spent and torpid room. Men snored; drinkers drooped and murmured about the slow fires; and snatches of wavering harmony smothered themselves in the reeking, smoke-hazed air. In a corner, the gypsies slept in a limp heap like gillyflowers. Mat had reappeared and lay stomach down on a bench, his bald head rosy in the firelight.\n\n\"Have I to teach you your business?\" asked Lymond.\n\n\"Give us excitement!\" demanded Molly. \"Come down! Have you lost your storms? Come and enliven us, Lucifer!\"\n\nLymond withdrew an arm, found his tankard, and spun it accurately at Matthew, who awoke and fell off his bench with a crash.\n\n\"It's a terrible thing,\" said the Master, \"to lose consciousness at the very start of a party. Molly has a hogshead of claret in her wine store, Matthew. Bring it out for her, and we shall part the Red Sea again. Then, Molly, my sweet honey-mountain, my day's darling, we shall want both fires made up, and fresh candles and more of them, and music.\"\n\n\"And you, my love,\" said Molly. \"But there's devil a note of music in it. The players are as drunk as sows.\"\n\nThe yellow-haired man straightened, and his laughter brought Scott wavering into the passage. \"There are nine devilish notes not two yards away. Have you forgotten, my sweeting, who is in room number one?\"\n\n\"Hell!\" said Molly, and added a word which even the wives of innkeepers seldom pronounce. \"Did I not shut the door?\"\n\nLymond shook his head.\n\n\"No!\" screamed Molly. She clapped her white hands over her ears and the rubies flared. \"No!\" A sleepy voice from a private room raised itself in complaint, and one or two somnolent drinkers, roused by the shout, made querulous inquiry. \"But yes!\" said the Master, and disappeared.\n\nThe vast room, swimming in heat and hazy light, and heavy with dreaming murmurs and drunken croonings, sank into torpor. Will, propping his elbows on the rail, stared below and saw that Molly, her fists still over her ears, had doubled over the table in mild hysteria. Her eyes were tight shut.\n\nThen several things happened at once.\n\nA dim thunder outside the arcades heralded Matthew with the hogshead; the fires flared with fresh coal and peats, and a white dazzle searched the floor as candles were renewed.\n\nA little silence fell; the silence, fateful and perspiring, of the imminent storm.\n\nThen a desolate, mammoth, mourning Troll inflated its lungs and uttered. Through the shocked air tore a stern, snoring shriek followed by another. It became a united bray; the bray a wobble; the wobble a tune. High above the gallery balustrade swam a human head, inhumanly antennaed; the cheeks plimmed, the eyes closed, the fingers leaped, and all audible hell released itself. Tammas Ban Campbell, piper to Argyll, ransomed prisoner of Pinkie now travelling north and home, stalked around the three-sided gallery of the Ostrich and gave them Baile loneraora so that beam roared at beam and door at door; so that glasses smashed and windows rattled and hams vibrated and fell; so that sleepers snorted and leaped awake with their dirks in their fists, sots opened bloodshot, maddened eyes, and the sober dissolved according to temperament into shocked laughter or oaths.\n\nThere was a man in the corner who went down on his knees and prayed, but the rest of the Ostrich rose and roared, like a summer herd of caaing whales, to the foot of the stairs to the gallery.\n\nLymond met them at the top, sword in hand and his eyes like jewels. He had peeled off his doublet and had locked every door in the passage, as thunderous hammerings testified. Will, dazed but willing, hesitated behind him and Mat, summoned not an instant too soon, was at his side.\n\nFaced with three sword blades in the narrow stair, the tidal wave stopped. Lymond looked down on the carpet of crimson, jostling faces and pitched his voice against the bellow of the pipes, which had switched to Gillie Calum. \"What about it, my dormice! D'you mislike my lullaby?\"\n\nA tall well-built man in a green fustian coat screamed, \"Listen, my friend: put your walking mandrake on Ben Nevis and myself on the Cheviot, and it's still too close for my liking. Do you stop him, or do we make the two of you digest the drones for your supper? There's honest folk trying to sleep down here.\"\n\nA chorus of assent bore them two steps up; a flash of the sword drove them three down again. \"Such nice, fine, miniken fingering,\" said Lymond. \"You should skip like Alexander. Where are your ears? The best piper in Scotland: eight warblers between the bars, and eleven if you give him whisky between the second and third variation. Sleep! Whoever slept at the Ostrich between midnight and five in the morning? You're a trashy, glum company for men of music. Are you awake yet? Then bring the blood out of your feet and up to your fingers. My companion and I will give you a match.\"\n\n\"Oh, God!\" said Molly. \"I knew it! I knew it! Stop it, you mad poet, will you?\"\n\n\"A match?\" repeated Green-fustian, out of continuing cries of rage and distress. \"Give us the piper, that's all we ask. Or the pipes. But unhabble the one from the other, for God's sake. Blood! There's not a drop of mine moved from one vein to the next since that belly-prophet of a Scotchman corked his mouth with the chanter.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Lymond. \"We have the piper, and you have the women; and here's the proposal. If you've a wrestler among you able to throw Matthew here or myself, he gets free access to Tammas and the pipes. If we throw one of you, we earn the kitty that's with you. Shoulders once to the floor mean a throw, and no bodily harm to come to the piper. How's that for a wager?\"\n\nThe man in green fustian, who appeared to be spokesman for the crowd, grinned and looked around. \"I'm for it: fair enough. What about it, dormice? Are you ready to fight for your rights, or d'you like being miscalled by a towheaded daisy with a private banshee?\"\n\nThere was a roar of response. Scott, watching through the vague fumes of alcohol, saw that the faces were mostly good-humoured: the fancy had fired loose imaginations and the guests, now fully awake, appeared ready for anything. The man in green turned back; above the variations to Spaidsearachd Cloinn Mhic Rath he shouted, \"It's a match. You and your friend to wrestle any of us, turn about for a single fall. If either of you is thrown, the winner gets to silence the piper. If any of us is thrown, we give up any lass we have with us. We'll play it on the floor, and I'll stand guarantee for all of us down here.\"\n\nLymond waved assent. The party flowed back down and into the common room in tumult and laughter and a filling of tankards, while a centre space was cleared for the fighters. Lymond held the hilt of his sword to Scott. \"Your job is to guard the stairs for the winner.\"\n\nScott eyed the blade. \"Up here?\"\n\n\"Up here. God, I thought you were musical?\" Scott closed his eyes and took the sword. Tammas, reaching the third wall, turned and paced steadily back, and Will shuddered and leaned to look over the balustrade.\n\nThe transformation was memorable. Lit like a stage, with a tester of candlelight, the improvised wrestling ground was ringed by the audience, hotly vociferous, the girls squealing in flattered excitement. In the centre, white shirts rebuffing the light, Lymond and the tall spokesman stalked each other, arms hanging, on soft stockinged feet. Green-fustian leapt; the two figures hurtled, rolled, separated, joined and clasped. There was a gasping cry, a crash, and Lymond, laughing, stood over a prone figure.\n\nThe throw was agreed a fair one. Sally, giggling, wiped her leman's scratched face, saw him escorted off, shaking his head, and ran upstairs to hang over the gallery with Will. Beside them Tammas, turning smartly, took a deep breath and started, with a nice appreciation, on Cath fuathasach, Pheairt.\n\nMat took on a stout blacksmith with thews like tubers and threw him in five minutes. Joan came upstairs.\n\nLymond threw for the fun of it a young clerk and a Dutch pioneer, neither of which had a girl to give up, and retired for Mat who, in conquering a shoemaker from Chester with an agile wrist, inadvertently broke his arm and, all solicitude, splinted and bound it and shared a pot of ale with the victim before the play was resumed.\n\nHe found it a little difficult after that to find a challenger, the more so as the audience by now was making more noise than the piper; but he heaved a lawyer through a window, and the Master followed up by winning Elizabeth from a lithe packman, who put up a cracking fight for twelve minutes. This he topped by two easy successes, each of which was greeted by storms of applause.\n\nThere was a brief caesura.\n\nMolly herself brought fresh wine to Lymond and he took it, grinning, in one hand while blotting the sweat from his eyes with the other. \"Drink, you wildcat: did I ask for this? I must have been mad. Give over, now, before the whole house is in shivers and shards. Stop that damned piper and let's have some music.\"\n\nLymond raised his eyebrows. \"You'll have to throw me first.\"\n\n\"That I will!\" said Molly purposefully.\n\nScott, deaf and enchanted in the gallery, and the whole row of pretty heads at his side saw the concerted rush on Lymond: his assailants downed him without malice and eighteen stones of Molly planted themselves on his chest. \"A throw!\" said Molly, and Lymond, half buried, gave a choked whoop of laughter and raised a defeated hand in signal to Tammas.\n\nSilence, like a supernatural thunderbolt, burst upon the Ostrich.\n\nIt lasted perhaps two seconds. Then a shout of responsive laughter hit the roof, the guitars and fiddles of the gypsies started up, and life flowed across the common room. Lymond, released, flung his head back and, viewing his winnings, gave them solemn dispensation to descend for the space of the dance. He asked for and obtained some chalk, and set to marking his and Mat's property where the cross was most obvious and the whim most appreciated. Then he swept Molly off her feet and into the dance, and the room rocked with beating feet and whirling bodies, while the candle flames bent like comets in the wind of passing skirts.\n\nScott, laying down his sword and with Joan's hand in his, ran downstairs and into the rollicking hall and danced blisters into his shoes; he drank; he danced; he had something else to eat, and he danced again. Then, as muscles and musicians tired, the trestles and benches were drawn to the fires and song after song went around until the choruses became rounds, and the rounds trios, and the trios duets, and finally one solitary, happy, wavering voice made itself heard.\n\nScott's eyes closed. Joan and the other woman had disappeared, and Lymond was missing. Thick murmurs vying with the snores finally ceded to them. His head, brighter than the fire, jerked, drooped, and laid itself at last on the table. The Ostrich slept.\n\nAt five o'clock Lymond, dressed again in his riding clothes, came to Scott and took the alepot out of his lax hand. \"Dronken, dronken, y-dronken. A wilted and forfoughten Marigold,\" he said caustically. \"Upright, sluggard. The fog's lifted, and I propose to be gone before daylight.\"\n\nWill didn't remember getting up. From nowhere, it seemed, a sweet, blowing air touched the sweat on his face, and he saw that he was in the courtyard of the Ostrich, in the flinching light from the broken window; that his horse was beside him, ready saddled; and that Matthew, mounted, was waiting at the gate. Lymond threw him up, then mounted himself and raised his head.\n\nUnder a pale, fresh moon, trees and bracken sighed and gentle cloud washed over the sky.\n\n\"Th'erratic starres heark'ning harmony. Look up,\" said the Master. \"And see them. The teaching stars, beyond worship and commonplace tongues. The infinite eyes of innocence.\"\n\nBut Scott was too drunk to look up.\n\n[ Cross Moves by a King's Knight ]\n\nLord Grey of Wilton, general of the northern parts for His Majesty King Edward of England, had swallowed a sour autumn and was encompassing an acid winter since the unlucky affair at Hume Castle.\n\nOn the Eastern Marches the River Tweed, with Berwick at its mouth, divided England and Scotland. Like the ancient pike Sir George Douglas had once called him, Lord Grey bitterly patrolled his forces on this boundary throughout October and November. On a slipstream of orders, reports, demands, inquiries, case papers, he stalked from fortress to fortress on its brawling banks and now, on the last Tuesday in November, swam back to Norham with the complaints and entreaties of Luttrell, Dudley and Bullmer pursuing him like hagfish. To the keep of Norham Castle, he summoned Gideon Somerville.\n\nThe court office which had crowned the painstaking career of Jonathan Crouch had led Gideon Somerville to the inner chambers of the Palace, the favour of King Henry, and the friendship of any with that commodity still to spare. On Henry's death, Gideon had brought his wealth and his young family north to Hexham, had settled there, and was little seen unless for summons of war.\n\nOr but for the importunities of Lord Grey. Gideon was sufficiently well-born to please the Lord Lieutenant, and good-humoured enough to suffer him. So he waited now in a room at Norham, listening to his lordship\u2014not a young man, except in resilience and a certain honest hardihood of mind: a man with clear eyes and a pink skin, and hair thickly grey like a badger's.\n\n\"I suppose,\" said Lord Grey, coming at last to the point, \"I suppose you've heard of the occurrence at Hume?\"\n\nGideon, a compassionate man, shook his head.\n\n\"Oh. Well. That fellow Sir George Douglas has offered to give me access to one of the Scotts\u2014Buccleuch's heir, in fact. He's roving the Borders in bad company, and one of his associates has a vendetta with someone in London. Douglas suggests we trap young Scott through this man.\"\n\n\"Someone in London\u2026?\" sought Gideon.\n\n\"Samuel Harvey's the man this bandit\u2014whoever he is\u2014wants, but the bandit himself doesn't know it yet,\" said Grey. \"He thinks it might be you.\"\n\n\"I assure you, I haven't a vendetta with anyone,\" said Somerville. \"Particularly a Scottish desperado. I didn't know Sam Harvey had, either.\"\n\n\"Well, I haven't communicated with Harvey, so I don't know what it's about,\" said Grey impatiently. \"But that doesn't matter. The point is, this associate of Scott's is going to try and get in touch with one of you, and as Flaw Valleys' near the Border, it's likely to be you first.\"\n\n\"How pleasant,\" said Somerville. He looked a little taken aback. \"And who is this spadassin who is about to visit me, and what do I do with him when he comes?\"\n\n\"He's got to trace you, so it may be some time before you meet him. Who he is doesn't matter\u2014Douglas was vague about his identity and I haven't inquired. All you have to do is act as messenger for us, Gideon. When the man comes, give him this letter from Douglas. It's all in order\u2014I saw it before it was sealed. Here's a copy for you to see.\"\n\nSomerville read the letter in silence. At the end he said, \"And the only way of reaching him is through me?\"\n\n\"The only way we know.\"\n\nGideon pushed back the paper and getting up, walked about the room. \"You're thinking of Kate,\" said Grey. \"But you needn't worry. I'll give you as many men as you want for extra guard. All I ask is that you let the man in when he comes, and hand him that letter.\"\n\nSomerville said, \"Forgive the egotism, but I'm thinking of myself as well as of Kate. I can't quite see myself convincing an irate mercenary that I am actually his best friend. In any case, may he not even bring the man you want\u2014Scott, is it?\u2014with him?\"\n\n\"All the men I shall give you will be capable of recognizing Scott, if he comes,\" said Lord Grey; and for some reason his skin darkened. \"Scott and another man, a Spaniard I'm anxious to catch. Yes. If Scott comes, they'll take him. And you can tear up the letter.\"\n\n\"Hum. And what if I'm away from home? If I'm called to Carlisle for Wharton's next sally\u2014\"\n\n\"You have leave to refuse in my name,\" said Lord Grey, with a certain satisfaction. \"This time you can serve the King better by staying at home.\"\n\n\"I can see,\" said Gideon, \"I'm going to be popular everywhere. Willie, I'm a peaceable man with a happy family life trying to mind my own business. What on earth am I involving myself in this for?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Lord Grey, \"you're a fair and loyal friend to your country.\"\n\nThe clear eyes viewed him. \"Have it your own way,\" said Gideon Somerville resignedly. \"As usual.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Discovered Check",
                "text": "\u2002The third pawne\u2026 ought to be figured as a clerk\u2026\n\n\u2002yf they wryte otherwyse than they ought to doe\n\n\u2002may ensewe moche harme and damage to the comyn.\n\n\u2002Therfore ought they to take good heede that they cha\u016bge not ne corrumpe in no wyse the content of the sentence. For than ben they first\n\n\u2002forsworn. And ben bounden to make amendes to\n\n\u2002them that by theyr tricherye they have endomaged.\n\n[ Diagonal Mating Begins ]\n\nIf the Richard Crawford who went to Branxholm was a troubled and reticent man, the Richard Crawford who returned was, as his wife ruefully put it, as sociable as a Trappist monk.\n\nFrom this aspect, it was a pity his wounds were no worse. The tender bonds of love and service which Mariotta would cheerfully have wrapped about a helpless and stationary invalid were stretched instead, frayed and snapping, to the heels of an absent, overactive, uncompromising gentleman, up before he should have been out of bed and out before he should have been up.\n\nLady Buccleuch, approached by Mariotta, had proved an unhelpful confidante. \"That's his job,\" she pointed out. \"You don't, I suppose, want to flit here and yon tied to the man's collar like Agrippa's dog with the devil.\"\n\n\"But are you telling me the two circles never meet?\" cried Mariotta in exasperation. \"Are we to spend the young days of our lives with never a shared doubt, or pleasure, or worry but what falls crash at our feet the one rare Sunday in five we're together?\"\n\n\"God,\" had said Janet. \"I'm not likely to buy doubts off Buccleuch. I've enough myself for the two of us, and I'll fight to the death to keep Wat's great blundering thumbs out of them.\u2026\"\n\nThat was at the start of November. Very soon afterward, the first parcel of jewellery arrived.\n\nMariotta found it, wrapped and anonymous, in her solar: discreet inquiry could not discover how it came there. Inside was a handsome ring-brooch, disingenuously inscribed Nostre et toutdits a vostre desir. There was nothing else to betray its origin, and from that fact, and the arrogance of the message, she thought she guessed the sender.\n\nLady Culter passed an uneasy afternoon, considering what to do. Tell Richard? She might be wrong. There might be a letter on its way with a perfectly innocent explanation. Or another less innocent. But Richard in his anger had already exposed himself too rashly to his brother: to repress further injury was something the Dowager, at least, would approve. She decided to wait.\n\nNo letter came, but a week later, a second packet. This was a bracelet, demanding boldly, Is thy heart as my heart? with an insolence which was almost its undoing. Mariotta roamed her room, arguing and counterarguing, dogged by a recollection of blue eyes and a blurred, inebriated voice.\n\nIt was monstrous, of course, even to compare the two men. A well-balanced, mature woman of nineteen would unpin the ring-brooch from inside her bodice and put it and the bracelet in Richard's hands saying meekly, \"Your brother is paying court to me. What do I do?\"\n\nMariotta didn't ask what to do. She wore the bracelet and waited for Richard to comment first, and Richard failed to notice it. She wore the diamond brooch when it came as well; with the same results. The Dowager, on her return from Branxholm several days later, admired it, taking it for an Irish piece of Mariotta's own. Committed, the girl did not contradict her. Then Lady Buccleuch had arrived, as invited, on the nineteenth, had remarked cheerfully on the pale, glittering gold, and had added: \"Sybilla, that reminds me. Did Richard ever do anything about that glove of Lymond's that he dropped at the Papingo?\"\n\nThe Dowager shook her white head. All three women were in Sybilla's own room, and the firelight, rosy in the November mirk, fluttered over bed and desk and gave odd, frenetic life to the wall hangings.\n\n\"The glove's still in that French cabinet of mine in the Stirling house. Of course, we came south as soon as Richard was up, and he's been so busy since.\u2026 Oh, here we are,\" said the Dowager placidly as the door opened. \"Come along in, Master Bullo. We are all agog to hear about the Philosopher's Stone.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "When Lymond left the Ostrich, Johnnie Bullo had stayed on, moving only to go to Midculter the following Saturday. His troop, as Guilelessly advertised to both Lymond and Scott, had gone\u2014without him\u2014to Edinburgh.\n\nShown now into the small, warm room, his bright eyes flickered over the Dowager and Mariotta, and rested a little longer on Lady Buccleuch. Janet dabbled in alchemy and medicine herself, and he was not altogether pleased to see her.\n\nBut he took, without diffidence, the stool offered him at a proper distance; and plunged, as arranged at Stirling with the Dowager, into the strange and fabulous history of the Philosopher's Stone.\n\nTime passed. The small panes of the Dowager's window became grey, and then ultramarine, and the hot, scented air fondled and set about itself strange words. Sulphur, mercury and salt. The essential unity of matter. Meteors, perfect and imperfect compounds and the flesh of the Universe: Saturn and lead, Jupiter and tin, iron and Mars. The twelve processes of multiplication and projection. Cauda Pavonis. Ferrum Philosophorus. Dragon's Blood.\n\nJohnnie Bullo, judging his moment, stopped when the room was quite dark. There was a heavy silence. Then Janet Beaton said reflectively, \"Lapis philosophorum. The basic idea is simple enough. In man, perfect proportion of the elements means health; in metals, it means gold. Equate the two produce a system capable of creating such an elemental fusion and you have a means on the one hand of creating health\u2014long life, power, vigour\u2014and on the other, of creating\u2014\"\n\n\"Gold,\" said the gypsy softly. He watched their faces: Mariotta's afraid and fascinated, Lady Buccleuch's intent and practical, the Dowager's vividly interested. \"I have the secret. But I need the means of practising it.\"\n\n\"And having made the Stone?\" said Sybilla.\n\n\"I can transmute plain ore into gold, in any quantity you may want.\"\n\nLady Buccleuch said practically, \"We should, of course, have to reach a proper commercial agreement about that,\" and Mariotta exclaimed, a shade wildly, \"Dragon's Blood!\"\n\n\"It's just a name for the residue, dear,\" said Sybilla thoughtfully. She looked up with decision. \"Glassware\u2014I can get that: Janet, you'll advise me. Ore\u2026 What sort? Lead? I can send to Edinburgh. Furnace\u2026 We'd have to rebuild one of the disused bakehouse ovens at the back of the courtyard.\u2026 Yes. Master Bullo,\" said the Dowager, \"I understand if we supply all this equipment, you're willing to work here on creating the Stone, and to give us the benefit of it when it's done?\"\n\n\"If you do that,\" said Johnnie sincerely, \"you'll be making an unique contribution to the great science of alchemy and the sum total of human wisdom.\u2026\"\n\nMuch later, when he had gone, Christian and Agnes Herries joined them and heard the tale.\n\nThe Baroness's eyes were wide as platters. \"The Philosopher's Stone! We'll all live to be ninety, and have everything gold!\"\n\n\"Remember Midas, dear,\" said Sybilla mildly. \"Did you enjoy visiting Boghall?\" And while the unsparing account unfolded itself, found and absently flourished a letter. \"It came for you while you were away.\"\n\nAgnes stopped dead. Letters in this expensive and empty young life were rare birds: her mother never wrote; her grandfather seldom. She seized and bore it away without a word.\n\nA moment later, she was back. \"Can anyone,\" asked Agnes in a voice oddly muted, \"can anyone besides Christian translate Spanish?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe Dowager glanced over. \"You seem to have a remarkably erudite correspondent, surely? But tell Christian if you want to. We shan't listen.\"\n\nAgnes said, after a moment, \"It doesn't matter. It's a poem.\"\n\n\"A poem!\" exclaimed Lady Buccleuch. \"That girl's got a love letter, or you can call me Ananias.\"\n\nThe Dowager's voice was gently amused. \"I think you'd better put us out of our misery, Agnes. Who is it from?\" And the Baroness, in a voice in which surprise, pride and a kind of simple gratitude could be heard, answered, \"The Master of Maxwell.\"\n\nShe read the letter aloud, in the end, with no persuasion at all.\n\nI fear to write. The great Pan is dead: there is no magic to bring you the likeness of my heart. My physical likeness you can have; but that will show you only a camelopard\u2014no hero of romance; no prince of myths and sagas. My face will never do duty for my heart: my voice can never scale the barriers of your youth, your wealth, your hand promised\u2014they say\u2014to another.\n\nBut birds of paradise feed on dew and rare vapours and men on Pytan live by the smell of wild apples: so perhaps may the sound of words nourish us both. From here where all is night, I see a foolish-fire, and stretch my hands toward it and hope for miracles.\n\nI cannot come to your nectary. I can only boom like a bittern on my marshes and say, Have pity now, O bright, blissful goddess. Once, I wished to marry you. Now you are betrothed and I must not wish it\u2026 but in writing these words I have attained all my object; I have achieved what, with your help, has been all I desired.\n\nRead and remember sometimes the writer. You may see here no more than Mercury's finger, but its office is no less sincere\u2026\n\nAnd it ended in Spanish:\n\n[ Rosa das rosas, et fror das frores ]\n\nDona das donas, sennor das sennores\u2026\n\nA whole verse of it followed; then the signature: JOHN MAXWELL.\n\nThere was a stunned silence. Christian, staring where she knew Mariotta to be, scowled like a heathen, daring her to laugh. Lady Buccleuch, greatly taken, said, \"Well, for thirteen years old I call that a prodigious compliment: hardly a word under four syllables.\"\n\nThe Dowager was reflective. \"Mercury's finger. How odd. The Spanish, Christian\u2014is it difficult to translate?\" She had to repeat herself.\n\n\"The Spanish?\" said the blind girl. \"Oh, I know it. In fact I recently\u2014It's very well known,\" she ended rather lamely.\n\n\"You recently translated it? Did you?\" asked the Dowager.\n\n\"I was going to say, I recently heard someone sing it,\" said Christian truthfully. She gave them the gist, her mind elsewhere. I cannot come\u2026 In writing these words I have attained all my object\u2026 I have achieved what, with your help, has been all I desired. The mischievous, overdecorated tongue was the tongue\u2014surely\u2014of her nameless prisoner of Boghall and Inchmahome and Stirling. The song was his. The artifice was his. But the letter was from the Master of Maxwell: the seal was authentic and the messenger had been from Threave. Finally, it was addressed to Agnes, and not to her.\n\nBut he had promised, odd as it had seemed, to write; and he knew that of the household, only she could speak Spanish, and would be shown such a letter. And in it, embedded in sly absurdities, was the news she wanted. Christian became aware that Agnes, in the same tentative voice, was saying, \"Then you think I should answer?\" and Sybilla was replying, \"I think you certainly should. Of course, it's ridiculously sudden, and you can never tell a man from his letters, and I certainly shouldn't mention it in the hearing of a Hamilton; but a flirtation by correspondence never did anyone any harm.\"\n\nPause. Then said Agnes, \"I can't write Spanish and I've forgotten all my Latin.\"\n\nSybilla answered the panic too, in her calm way. \"Then perhaps Christian would help you, dear. Write it together, and see how you get on.\"\n\nThis was dangerously apt, and Christian felt herself go scarlet. Yet she could certainly help Agnes. And it might be possible\u2014and could do no harm\u2014to slip in some sort of ambiguity of her own. She got up. \"Come on,\" she said. \"We'll go to your room and compose an answer straight away.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 44",
                "text": "The letter had been finished, a meal had been served, and Richard had joined them when Wat Scott of Buccleuch arrived to collect his wife.\n\nThe Dowager, who had excellent control of her facial muscles, dispatched servants for food and wine, and drew Buccleuch in a cloud of disarming inquiry to the fire.\n\nSir Wat sat, throwing an uneasy glance at his host, who said politely, \"Your illness taken a turn for the better, I see, Wat?\"\n\nBuccleuch shifted in his chair, casting an inimical look at his wife. \"No, no. I'm not out of the wood yet, but Dod, I can hardly hold house all winter like a moulting hen. I'm taking a wee trip here and there betimes but incognito, you understand; without my pennants.\"\n\nRichard, continuing with unruffled persistence, said, \"What a pity. Then you won't be with us at the cattle raid?\"\n\n\"This suggestion of Maxwell's? Now, there's a queer thing if you like,\" said Buccleuch. \"Here's a man who's been at Carlisle so often\u2026\"\n\n\"\u2014Or will you?\" said Richard like the crack of a whip.\n\nSir Wat halted. He said, \"Well, as to that\u2026\" and stopped again.\n\n\"Will you listen to this?\" demanded Dame Janet of the ceiling. \"The man's lost his tongue and found a cricket's hind legs. Wat Scott, will you say plain out what you mean?\"\n\nShe turned to Lord Culter. \"The Queen's agreed to Wat parleying with the English, provided he gives enough anonymous proof of his good intentions in other directions. So he'll have to go to the raid, willy-nilly, if we have to put his head in a box to keep it quiet from those sharp-eyed ferrets at Carlisle.\"\n\nAn echo from Buccleuch's own words arrested the conversation.\n\n\"A suggestion,\" demanded Agnes Herries, \"of the Master of Maxwell?\"\n\n\"That's right.\" Buccleuch, offered an escape route, was concerned only with disappearing along it. \"The idea was John Maxwell's, though whether we can trust it is another story. But the man's offered to send us time and place for Wharton's next invasion across the Border, and at the very least to hold his own men from interfering. It sounds fair enough when you think of it: he's dead anxious to keep in with the Queen.\"\n\n\"The fellow's fairly running himself to a shadow,\" said his wife. \"We've been busy at it all afternoon reading correspondence from the same Master of Maxwell. Tell Buccleuch your news, Agnes.\"\n\nAgnes conveyed, with a certain nonchalance, the gist of Maxwell's letter. The eyes of the two men met, this time in irresistible speculation. Buccleuch said thoughtfully, \"I see. Well, it'll do no harm. She's to reply, Sybilla?\"\n\n\"She has already,\" said the Dowager placidly. \"I thought it might be best.\"\n\nLady Buccleuch said, \"What about it, Wat? Is he safe to deal with?\"\n\nBuccleuch took a deep breath. \"He might be. The Protector's got him by the short hairs, of course; his brother's in London, and Maxwell himself was due to report to Wharton just about now. Add to that the fact that all his lands are two hours out of Carlisle and the Earl of Angus is married to his only sister, and you've got the pattern of a harassed man. Harassed, but not stupid,\" added Buccleuch. \"It's just possible he may be capable of juggling them all: we'll have to wait and see.\"\n\nWhen, finally, the Branxholm party rose to go, Dame Janet dropped behind with Lord Culter. \"I'm remembering what we spoke of at Branxholm, Richard. Wat's heard nothing from the boy up to now.\"\n\nCulter said briefly, \"You know what I think about that.\"\n\n\"Well, you heard him,\" said Janet. \"He's not likely to change. It's for you to decide how badly you want Lymond.\"\n\nHe offered no reply and, looking at him, she spoke under her breath. \"And if you'd a different look on your face, my dear, I'd give you some damned good advice about your wife as well.\"\n\n[ An Exchange of Pawns Is Suggested ]\n\nFor the gentlemen, officers and heads on the west parts of Scotland entered to the King's service said the notice. Read aloud by a staid, cultivated voice, it proceeded to expect the English gentlemen thus addressed to muster their horsemen at Dumfries on the following Sunday night, when the Earl of Lennox and Lord Wharton's son Henry would command them in an attack on the Scots.\n\n\"Goodness me,\" said Kate Somerville, peering at and then watering a rather dilapidated flower in a pot. \"What it is to be on holiday when the rest of the school's at work. How would you spend your vacation, Philippa, if you were Father?\"\n\nPhilippa, a serious ten-year-old with long straight hair, thought. \"Go hunting?\"\n\n\"In this weather? No, darling. Father doesn't like wearing his tarry shirt unless he has to.\"\n\n\"Play backgammon?\"\n\n\"Father disapproves of gambling with people who play better than he does.\"\n\n\"Make us a new song?\"\n\n\"Now that,\" said Kate, \"is a harmless, genteel and civilized occupation for an unemployed gentleman. Certainly, he might make us a song.\"\n\nGideon Somerville laid down Wharton's notice and gazed at his wife and daughter. \"I may be old and unemployed, but I am not yet reduced to being administered totally from above, like a worthy but derelict sundial. Not yet. I am not going to compose a song for you. Or if I am, the idea will strike me of its own accord.\"\n\n\"Today,\" said his wife, \"Father is in a tetchy mood. Give him food, listen to what he has to say, but ask no questions, even intelligent ones.\" And she grinned at her husband.\n\nKate Somerville in her twenties was a neat brown creature with melting brown eyes and the temperament of a mature and witty old lady. All her life, and not least by Gideon, Kate had heard herself summed up as \"sensible;\" and no one, not even Gideon, guessed how she disliked it. An unusual blind spot, for Somerville was of all things perceptive: in his wife's present smile he saw at once the reflection of his own uneasiness, and got tragically to his feet.\n\n\"All right. I know my place. To the music room!\" he observed, and had the satisfaction of seeing his wife and daughter laugh and make with one accord for the door. Soon Lord Wharton's summons and the importunities of the Lord Lieutenant alike had vanished from his head, and as the winter rain fell on Flaw Valleys and its gardens and yards, on the stout, skeletal barrier trees and the Tyne, distantly hissing, and on the brown, patched hills and moors beyond, the Somervilles wrote and read and made music like bells in a campanile, and ignored the summons to Lord Wharton's attack.\n\nBut no English family within striking distance of the Scots Border ever sold its ears completely to pleasure. Kate, listening to the concert from her adjoining bedroom, heard voices outside, and against the sound of Gideon's voice warbling happily (\"Sir, what say ye? Sing on, let us see\") she distinguished one of his men below, calling. (\"Now will it be, This or another day?\") She nodded encouragingly, shut the window, and returning to the next room, interrupted Gideon ruthlessly.\n\n\"Come on, Chanticleer. There's a crisis in the farmyard.\"\n\nHe followed her down.\n\nAn agitated crowd of men broke the news. \"It's the horses, sir! Someone's got into the stables and taken the lot. There's not a beast in sight, sir!\"\n\nGideon questioned them sharply. They had seen no one. The groom in charge had been felled from behind and could tell nothing. They had heard the drumming of hoofs and had run after, to see a pack of scared horses sweeping down on the gatehouse. There, the guards had rashly run out and had been engulfed; in spite of them the gates were opened and the herd disappeared down the road.\n\n\"And what about\u2014\" began Gideon, and stopped. \"You\u2014and you\u2014and you!\" he said sharply. \"Shouldn't you be elsewhere?\"\n\nAs he spoke, a tumbling figure appeared, calling. Kate, standing quietly in the background, clicked her tongue. \"I thought so. Your sly old nags have been decoys for your cattle, Gideon. Someone's emptied the byres while all our sleuthhounds were sniffing after hoofprints.\"\n\nShe was right. Someone had not only emptied the byres, but stripped the farm of its livestock. Every sheep, every cow, every heifer on Flaw Valleys had gone.\n\nThe men of the household were seldom berated, but not because Gideon Somerville was incapable of straight talking when he felt like it. They listened, and then ran like hares under his voice to beg and borrow every horse his neighbours could muster and to collect food and weapons for the long chase that might be ahead.\n\nGideon turned to his wife. \"I'm sorry, lass. Employment for the unemployed gentleman after all.\"\n\n\"Oh, well. Everyone else has suave, cosmopolitan sheep: why not us? The Millers at Hepple have a ewe that's been to Kelso three times, and they've never been farther than Ford in their lives.\" Kate peered absently into the farm pond, and clucked again. \"Thoughtless creatures. They've forgotten the fish.\"\n\n\"I'll come back as soon as I can,\" said Gideon, undeceived. \"Those damned guards at least will be on their toes now.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said his wife philosophically. \"Double the guard; put the fowling pieces under the bed and call in the chickens. If this is a trick, it'll have to be a good one to catch a Somerville sleeping, again.\"\n\nGideon bent and kissed her, and shortly afterward, armed and mounted on borrowed horseflesh, led his men out of the yard and north after the raiders."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 45",
                "text": "The raid on Flaw Valleys was the most easterly of a series of robberies which swept the south side of the Border that day and were guided and controlled by Crawford of Lymond.\n\nWhile, like some fissured lodestone, Lord Wharton presided at Carlisle and drew toward him the reluctant hearties of Cumberland and Westmorland, the unmanned farms of both counties were neatly stripped also of their tenants on the hoof, and a stream of hide and wool toiled docilely to the Border, bleat and bellow mingling with soprano from the outraged hearths.\n\nWill Scott, working fast from herd to herd, showed the marks of his three months' apprenticeship. Meeting him in the press, Johnnie Bullo grinned. \"Man, for a minute I thought it was your chief, except it's a different sort of sneer.\"\n\nAt Carlisle the Lord Warden, totally unaware, marshalled his force, conferred with his colleague the Earl of Lennox and consulted the sky, which told him that something unpleasant was probably on the way and made him very glad indeed, in the small and unkempt civilian corner of his soul, that the Earl of Lennox and not himself was going on this expedition.\n\nIn Scotland at the same time, the Queen's forces made somewhat confused rendezvous at Lamington, as directed by John Maxwell, and prepared to march south, Lord Culter and Wat Scott of Buccleuch among them.\n\nBy nightfall, the hail was already whipping down in gusts and the raids on livestock in Northern England were coming to a systematic close. Trickles of animals met and joined, tributary met tributary and river engulfed river. By the time the Earl of Lennox left Carlisle the united four-footed Sabaoth was already ahead of him and steering at a tangent for his line of march. Beyond them to the north the Scottish army was bedded down on their line of march, the ice making faint and Aeolian music about their steel helmets.\n\nBetween England and Scotland here lay river and marsh: on the west the smooth, treacherous skins of the Sol way estuary; on the east the high, wild Roman hills. As the English army under Lennox marched through that night the lightly covered ground opened polyp mouths to their hoofs and made thick mud-slides of every bank. They foundered and staggered and trotted and cursed, and Lennox the commander spat with fury when his scouts reported out of the dark that there was a cattle blockage in the narrow road ahead.\n\nThere was nothing unusual in the wilder Border clans taking a dark night to steal some cattle on the Scottish side and drive them south. The Elliots in charge of the herd were apologetic about it and no doubt did their best to clear the road. But when Lennox and his men arrived they met nose to nose with what seemed like every beast in Scotland with four feet to it.\n\nLennox looked about. Deep, quaking marsh lay on his left and right; the road ahead of him was banked above it and exceedingly narrow. Fifty yards off on his right a small hill thrust up from the bog and overhung the road on its eastern edge. Between this escarpment and the western marsh the dim white of the causeway was hidden by packed and ponderous bodies. \"What's the road like beyond that hill?\" snapped the Earl of Lennox.\n\n\"Wide and flat, sir,\" said the Elliot. \"You'll have no trouble there.\"\n\n\"You mean you'll have no trouble,\" said Lennox viciously. \"We're going to turn your herd and drive it back through the defile, my man; and then I shall ride through them. If you think I'm staying here to be nudged into the marsh by a baron of beef, you're mistaken.\" And, rising in the saddle, Lennox's men with whoops and cracking of whips cantered down the road toward the hill; and the herd, after much eye-rolling and heavy breathing and ponderous caracole, heaved itself around and trotted back the way it had\u2014supposedly\u2014come. The citizens of Cumberland gambolled after it.\n\nWho can tell by what signs, on a dark, stormy night far from home, a farmer can recognize his own? Lennox's army was just moving under the lee of the hill when the first shout rent the night. \"Hey! Wait a bit! I could swear\u2026 God damn it, there's three of my cattle over there!\" It was joined by another. \"Here\u2014those are Gilsland sheep!\" And an anguished recital began. \"Hey! Wait! Stop! Turn them!\"\n\nLennox, riding irritably in front, had his bridle seized by a sweaty hand. \"There's been a mistake, sir. These aren't Scottish cattle, they're our own; and sheep and hacks too. We'll have to turn them.\" And the speaker, releasing himself, shot past him and was followed by half the army.\n\nLennox stood in his stirrups and shouted himself hoarse, but no one replied. He was alone with a handful of men on the southern fringe of an inextricable mess of animals and men, and the latter were exclusively engaged in finding and rounding up their possessions. The Earl of Lennox sank back in the saddle, and at that moment, there was a hissing of wet, grey feathers and the arrows began.\n\nThey fell from the heights of the small hill to the east, and from the Scottish end of the road to the north, and as the English, abandoning their livestock, faced about\u2014from the south as well, from over a small group of cattle which, appearing from nowhere, blocked the only way out.\n\nLennox's men, pulling out bow and quiver with numbed fingers among the nudging rumps and dripping muzzles, found themselves handicapped players in an unpleasant and one-sided game. They dismounted very quickly indeed, and dodging bent among the heaving flanks, began to make hopeless dashes like mice in a cornfield. The arrows fell faster.\n\nOn the slope overlooking the trap, Scott of Buccleuch was enjoying himself hugely. \"One for Tam Scott, and one for Bob Scott, and one for Jocky Scott, and one for\u2026 Christ, they'll make off down that Carlisle road if we're not careful.\"\n\n\"It's all right.\" One of his own officers reassured him, peering through the dark. \"Someone's driven a small herd across the south end of the road as well, and they're fighting across it.\"\n\n\"Dod, are they? Someone's got brains,\" said Sir Wat admiringly. \"Well, come on then. Let's help him.\" And he swept over the hill, passing the men fighting at the top\u2014strangers and Maxwells, he supposed. At this point he also saw something else. A shadow. An easy, competent-looking shadow, with wide shoulders and an adroit way with a horse.\n\nBuccleuch waved on the rest of his men and let them pass him, his eyes glued to the solitary horseman. Then the figure opened its mouth to give some advice to a heifer and Sir Wat roared \"Will!\" in a voice unmistakable over six counties. His son wheeled.\n\nAgainst an infernal fresco of heaving cattle Scott saw his father's Red Jimmy beak and two sparks for his eyes; Buccleuch saw a hard elegance of outline and suspected an unaccustomed set to the mouth. He said, and had to clear his throat first, \"Boy\u2014will ye come back with me? Now? They won't miss you in the dark\"\u2014speaking fast because men were coming toward them.\n\nHe thought the boy jerked, but Will only said in a low voice, \"No. It's too late\u2026 I must go,\" and gathered his reins. The others were nearly on them.\n\n\"Will\u2026 meet me then. Just to talk. I won't keep you, I swear, unless you want it. Send me word, and I'll come anywhere. Will you do it?\"\n\nThey were Lamington men coming toward him; Buccleuch watched them in a ferment of fury. Then his son nodded. \"Very well. I'll send word when I can come.\" The boy lingered a moment with a look odd, and almost avid; then he wheeled and drove his horse down the road.\n\nAfter that, the rout was complete. Broken between panicking animals and remorseless archery, provisions lost, weapons lost, nerve shattered, Lennox's troops escaped into the moss and out of it as best they could, and a good many did not escape at all. The Scots had begun to withdraw when Lord Culter noticed that the group of cattle blocking the Carlisle end of the trap had disappeared. It was trotting instead across the faint, crooked path which led to the hills in the east with men all around it, driving it on. And at the head of the circle, knotting it tight and glittering in the sudden, faint moonlight, was a bright yellow head.\n\nLord Culter dismounted, running, and pulled the bow from his saddle as his horse passed. He fitted an arrow and flung up his arm.\n\nAll his vision was filled by a broad, carapace back, leading a troop of men unerringly along the path of his bowshot. It was Buccleuch, bellowing as he went. \"A Scott! A Scott!\"\n\nWarned, the golden head turned. Culter saw a white blur; then a curtain of arrows fell between Buccleuch's men and Lymond. The men hesitated, drew up and turned back as the raiders, in that moment's grace, vanished.\n\nStanding where he had dismounted, Lord Culter, the enigmatical, the impersonal, the impervious, raised a stiff right arm and smashed an expensive yew bow like a whip on the rocks. Sir Wat, slightly discomposed, was trotting back.\n\n\"Dod, did you see who that was?\"\n\nLord Culter said dispassionately, \"How your son debases himself is no concern of mine. You might however recall that to protect a murderer and a traitor is a capital offence.\"\n\nBuccleuch, braced for rebuke, had not quite expected this. He took a whistling lungful of Border air, swallowed it down with offence and resentment, and said simply, \"Man, you're obsessed. Come on. Everyone's waiting.\"\n\n\"Just a moment. Understand me,\" said Lord Culter, and his eyes for a moment were as foreign as Lymond's. \"Next time, regardless of what is in the way, I shoot.\"\n\nBut Buccleuch's patience, a slim and frangible thing, could carry no more pressure that night. With a brief, unforgivable click, it snapped. \"I had rather,\" said Sir Wat through his beard, \"have a son tried and hanged for being driven into bad company, Richard Crawford, than be known in company, honourable or otherwise, by a name fit to spit on.\" And wheeling, he drove his horse into the night, leaving Culter motionless, unseeing, at his back.\n\nIn the small hours of Sunday morning the sky cleared, the temperature dropped, and the stars described a country silted and sparkling with white. Trampled mud grew a coating of thin, icy paint and the marshes spawned their own sluggish and gelid roe. The earth became very still. In all Cumberland nothing stirred but a round, black herd of beasts, running swiftly east within a circle of horsemen."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 46",
                "text": "In the valley of the Tyne, the manor of Flaw Valleys waited with vacant stable and empty byre for Gideon's return; and in the yard and in the garden Grey's men crammed themselves into impossible corners out of the wind and rasped together glazed palms.\n\nThe sound of hoofbeats alerted them. Kate heard it too, and opened a window, her shadow languishing, dimly sparkling, on the grass. She called, \"Are they coming?\" and someone above her replied, \"Yes, ma'am, I see them\u2014Allan! Get the gate open!\u2014And good work too, ma'am. Looks to me as if he's got the whole herd back.\"\n\nKate's face sparkled like a new penny. She ran for Philippa. Together they hung, fascinated, out of the window and watched the seething backs filling the yard below. Above the din they could hear men on horseback shouting, and the crack of whips combing the excited beasts back to their quarters. \"Don't they look tired?\" said Kate sympathetically, of a huddle of sodden and glass-eyed ewes. \"I don't see Father, Philippa, do you?\"\n\nBut Pippa's brown eyes shone, and she turned away from the window, plaits swinging. \"I know where he is! Listen!\" said the child, and opened the door.\n\nAlong the corridors of Flaw Valleys poured the notes of a harpsichord, played triumphantly and fast. Kate seized her daughter's hand, and pranced along the passage. \"Do you suppose sheep can play Morales? No? Then it's Father with four hands,\" she said, and flung open the music room door.\n\nIt was not Gideon. \"Lord: the tame assassin!\" said Kate, and popped Philippa outside the door.\n\n\"There are some rough men of mine in every passage out there,\" said a cool voice from the harpsichord. \"You will both be safer with me. Shut the door.\"\n\nKate brought Philippa in and closed it.\n\n\"And sit down.\"\n\nFirmly tightening the belt of her oldest wrap, Kate took her daughter and sat. In her orderly brain, the situation was clear. This was the man of whom Lord Grey had warned Gideon. It was her task to convince him that Gideon was not the man he was after, and without frightening Philippa. She longed to know if her husband was in the house.\n\nMrs. Somerville ran her tongue round her lips and spoke weakly.\n\n\"I hope you won't find us tiresome, sitting here looking at you.\"\n\nHe could certainly play. He continued to do so, paying not the slightest attention.\n\n\"I don't suppose,\" said Kate sociably, \"you get much time for practice. Are you here for a long stay?\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said the cool voice, \"you must have patience until your husband comes back. He's been following me carefully: he won't be long.\"\n\n\"Following you\u2026 Did you steal the animals?\" exclaimed Kate, surprised into an unpremeditated question.\n\n\"And brought them back.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" She hid her face. \"These mighty marksmen of Lord Grey's\u2026 Of course. And they opened the gates for you, thinking it was Gideon. Oh, shame on you. Is there no God who looks after little brains?\"\n\nSilence. So she was on her own, Kate thought, and instilled all the friendly helpfulness she could into her next question. \"Excuse me, but are you the bad company young Mr. Scott has got into?\"\n\nIn one gentle movement, the yellow-haired man lifted both hands from the keyboard, rested one on the instrument, and swivelled to face mother and daughter. Kate, her arm around Philippa, met wide eyes like a kitten's; then he said without stress, \"A humourist, I see. Why did you mention Scott's name?\"\n\n\"If you're the person who's in company with Buccleuch's son, we have a letter for you,\" said Kate. \"But you'll have to get it yourself, if you've got feet under there. I'm all against heroism in women.\"\n\nHe found it without trouble as she directed, and then crossing to the door with the same, noiseless, lingering tread, held it open. \"Your company enthralls me,\" he said. \"But I believe I can dispense with it. Get out, please.\"\n\nIt meant he wanted to read the letter by himself, and probably see Gideon alone, which wasn't at all what Kate intended. She got up slowly, taking Philippa's hand. \"We are adjudged suitable company for the rough men outside\u2014\" and broke off. \"Oh, Gideon!\"\n\nGideon Somerville, marched along his own passage by strangers and deposited outside the door of his own music room, gazed in a perplexed way at his wife and child, and then at the silent man who held the door open. His fresh skin lost colour, and a very real consternation came into his eyes. Then Kate propelled Philippa firmly back into the room, reseated herself, and addressed her husband as he walked slowly past the other and into the room.\n\n\"That's right,\" said Kate. \"Behold the fruits of Willie Grey's little scheme. He came in with the cattle, that also be fair beasts and well smelling. He's got the letter.\"\n\nBack to the shut door, the intruder watched them, the unopened letter tapping against his leg. With characteristic hesitation, Gideon said, \"You have put\u2014put us all to a great deal of trouble for nothing, my friend. I was told to expect you, and to help you when you came. If you'll read the letter, it will tell you I am not the man you want.\"\n\nThe other man continued to study him. Then he walked slowly to the far end of the room and, turning by the desk where he could keep them all under view, he broke Sir George Douglas's seal and read. When he had finished he smiled, the long lashes fluttering. \"That proves nothing,\" he said.\n\nKate could feel the weariness and anger in Gideon, but he kept his voice level. \"Then ask me anything you want. I can assure you that till the ridiculous performance tonight I've had no enmity for you, and have never, to my knowledge, done you an injury. I don't even know your name.\"\n\n\"My name is Lymond.\"\n\nIt was unknown to them. \"Well, Mr. Lymond\u2014\"\n\n\"Lymond is a territorial name. My family name is Crawford.\"\n\n\"Then, Mr. Crawford\u2014\" said Gideon patiently, and broke off, for the yellow-haired man was looking beyond him.\n\n\"Philippa!\" said Lymond.\n\nCrouched at Kate's knee, the girl made no movement. Kate said, \"This child needs her beauty sleep. Off you go, pet. If the gentleman wants to speak to you, he can catch you tomorrow with your eyes open.\"\n\nLymond opened his hand, on which lay the key of the door. He said, \"What the letter says and what you say are unsupported evidence. You claim you are not the man I want. All right. Let the girl prove it.\"\n\nKate's brown eyes were blazing. \"My dear Mr. Crawford, you're not thinking. This child's been a Messalina from birth.\"\n\nThe blue, feminine gaze moved to Gideon. \"Send her here.\"\n\n\"Not unless she wants to.\" Gideon was quite unarmed.\n\nPhilippa got up, the plaits swaying and her short dressing gown dragged away from the white nightdress. She said, her lips trembling, \"Don't worry, Father: I won't tell him anything.\"\n\nHer parents' eyes met. Then Gideon said, with an effort, \"It's all right, chick. You can tell him anything he wants to know. He can't hurt us.\"\n\nThe child said again, \"Don't worry. He shan't make me speak. Don't worry.\"\n\nWith one raging glance ahead, Kate slid to her knees, pulling the child's head to her breast, her mouth in its hair. \"Pippa. Pippa, we're awful fools. What Father means is that truly nothing we have ever done can harm us, and Mr. Crawford has mixed us up with someone else. But you know what unstable-looking parents you have. He doesn't believe us, but he says he'll believe you. It's not very flattering,\" said Kate, looking at her daughter with bright eyes, \"but you seem to be the one in the family with an honest sort of face, and your father and I must just be thankful for it. Go over to him, darling. I'll be behind you. And just speak,\" she said with an edge like a razor. \"Just speak as you would to the dog.\"\n\nThere were tears on the child's cheeks, but she was not crying. She got up and walked down the room, stopping just out of Lymond's reach. \"I'm not a liar,\" she said. \"Ask anything you want to.\"\n\nGideon jerked. \"I can't stand this\u2014\" and was gripped by Kate's fingers. \"No. Let her be. It's the only safe way. Damn and blast Willie Grey,\" said his wife passionately under her breath.\n\nThe ugly business began. The man Lymond, his back half turned, bent stiffly over the desk, his weight on both hands, seeking inspiration perhaps from the polished wood between them. He asked, \"How old were you when you left London, Philippa?\"\n\nShe thought, and replied steadily.\n\n\"Do you remember the oldest English princess? The Princess Mary? Did your father work for her? Do you remember when you lived at Hatfield? What time of year was that? Were you playing in the garden? Then when did you leave?\"\n\nShe did not always remember: sometimes he led her to answer by deduction; sometimes Kate helped her a little, without actually prompting. At length, the questions seemed exhausted. There fell an odd little silence during which Kate thought, He has exquisite wrists and hands. What an unspeakably foul thing to do to a child. Out of the mouths\u2026 What had she really told him? Enough to clear Gideon? Or worse, something damning\u2026 some childish error; a confusion of dates\u2026\n\nRage boiling inside her, she said, \"Well, Mr. Crawford. Are you satisfied, or would you like to try all over again with a divining rod?\"\n\nThe fellow raised his head and turned to Gideon. \"I am satisfied that you were not present at the time my unknown friend became adventurous with my reputation. Therefore the unknown friend must be Samuel Harvey. You might think there are easier ways of discovering that simple fact, but I assure you that if there were, I should have spared myself a long and unexciting evening.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Gideon shortly, \"by that definition never to experience an eventful one. May we hope to be rid of you now?\"\n\n\"Probably.\" The roving gaze fell on Philippa's white face: her brown eyes fixed on his looked out of bruised circles, as if the orbits had been minutely pummelled.\n\nLymond dropped to one knee. With the musician's hands he transferred from his doublet to her night robe a pin with, in its centre, a spreading, flowerlike sapphire the colour of his eyes. The girl shuddered as he touched her, but bore it passively: when he drew away she looked down and touched the brooch, fumbling with the unfamiliar catch. Then, before anyone could stop her, the brooch was out, and on the floor, and being smashed, and smashed again by Philippa's stout wooden heel. Then she ran.\n\nHolding the child sobbing in her arms, Kate looked at Lymond with calm eyes. \"And that,\" she said, \"settles, I think, any matter of insult by apology.\"\n\nFor a moment he stood, the fair face quite still; then he walked softly to the door and opened it. \"If it seems any recompense, your animals have performed in the night a feat of multiplication which I believe, genetically speaking, to be quite fabulous,\" said Lymond. Good night.\" And the door closed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 47",
                "text": "Collecting his men unmolested, the Master left Flaw Valleys, picked up Scott and the rest of his force and camped at daybreak in a sheltered and uninhabited valley where fires would be unnoticed, and where a stunted belt of firs gave dry fuel and protection.\n\nDuring the ride there, Lymond made no secret of his mood. His eyes were savage and his voice, freezingly hostile, rang out again and again as the men riding silently with him came under the lash. The Lang Creg had suffered a passing fancy to go into the cattle business for himself. Pitilessly exposed, the whole tale was soon complete, and Lymond did what he rarely troubled to do: personally flayed the man, tied wrist and ankle to a tree, with his great riding whip.\n\nScott watched until the Cleg slumped bloody from his ropes, and turned away sick.\n\nThen it was over, and they lay close-wrapped about the big open fires as a frosty dawn bleached the hilltops and the watch, turn and turn about, paced on the heights.\n\nAnd now, when the longed-for sleep was on him, Scott could not rest. In a dark corner of the trees, remote from interfering light he lay and listened to the incessant whisper of Lymond's footsteps. Then the familiar voice, directly above him, said, \"Sit up. I want to speak to you.\"\n\nHis face in shadow, Lymond leaned against the next tree and looked down on him. \"You had a long talk with Johnnie Bullo today, didn't you?\" he said. \"You adhere for three months, and now we are sundered. We are no longer articulated. We are no longer articulate. What did Bullo tell you?\"\n\nScott had seen a man flogged that night, but he was in no mood for finesse. He said uncompromisingly, \"We were discussing your aberration after your visit to Annan in August.\"\n\n\"I see. And Johnnie told you\u2014\"\n\n\"How you arranged for a blind girl to save your life without giving away to her who you are. How you induced her to spy for you. How you arranged to meet her, secretly, after you shot your brother in Stirling.\"\n\nThere was a pregnant pause. \"I thought it was that,\" observed the Master. \"You object, do you?\"\n\nBut Will was no longer an easy subject: a reflection of Lymond's own irony gleamed in his eyes. \"Why should I? You've made no secret of your habits.\"\n\n\"And those very habits are feeding and clothing you, so why indeed?\" The Master dropped neatly to the ground, and resting his back against the tree, looked up into the dark branches. \"And yet you do object, my sullen one. In that fine, unreasoning, Pharos-like brain which works so hard at reflecting other people's emotions, some minor luminary is sitting intoning disticha: it's damned unchivalrous to employ women agents; and infamous to employ them without their knowledge; and indecent to employ them when they are physically defective. And such an offender will never enter the Kingdom of Hawick. So here you are, complaining thus in black and white and grey, and armed with a moral code like an ogee.\"\n\nIt was clear that Lymond was out for trouble. Scott said, \"Does it matter?\"\n\n\"That's what Buridan's Ass kept saying. It matters to this extent. If you are going to develop a pure and unspotted psyche you'll need a freer air than this to develop it in. Did Bullo tell you the name of the girl?\"\n\n\"Yes. Christian Stewart. I played with her when we were children,\" replied Scott quietly. \"I swore to do all you asked of me and I have. I haven't changed. But I can't match your tone over this episode, that's all.\"\n\n\"You'll allow me pogrom and heresy, but not Christian Stewart. Why?\"\n\nScott said crisply, \"I don't mind hitting anyone who has a reasonable chance of hitting back. The girl thought she was helping someone in need. Instead, she's spying for a condemned man, which means that if she's found out, she'll hang.\"\n\nThe Master's manner continued to suggest that he thought he was having a companionable chat. Will said with sudden violence, \"I'd cut off my right hand rather than do that to a girl.\"\n\n\"No doubt you would,\" said Lymond, twirling a dry sprig. \"And sacrifice everyone else for your principles as usual. But bend that stern eye on the other side of the picture. We know the disadvantages to the lady: what price the advantages? Is she happier for my coming? Modesty is clearly out of place. She is, in the purest sense, ravished. Is her life more exciting, more filled with achievement, pride and natural enjoyment in a charming and docile member of the opposite sex? Yes. Finally\u2014if she is found out, will she suffer shame and discomfort? She will not. She will be revered as the delicate subject of outrage, and the odium will fall on my always inaccessible head. Three formidable weights on my side of the scales. And I haven't troubled to list the advantages to myself, which are enormous.\"\n\nTo separate truth from sophistry was almost beyond Scott's tired brain. He flung off the wraps and got to his feet. With his back to Lymond, fidgetting among the leaves, he said, \"I can't understand how you could do it,\" and the voice was the voice of an upset boy.\n\nLymond also rose, suddenly. \"You can't understand how I could do it? By God, what pit of feminine logic have we tumbled across now? What are we discussing, a test case in casuistry or my personal complexity of habits? If you have a saint in your soul, I'm willing to bait him for you, but I'm damned if I'm going to meet you stumbling about with a candle inside my pia mater. For one thing, you would find it harsh on the nerves.\" Lymond stretched out an arm, and digging in long fingers, twirled Will painfully to face him. \"Don't you believe me? I can prove it. If you were truly conducting an analysis, my dear one, you would want to have this as evidence.\"\n\nWill Scott took the paper Lymond held out to him, noting the broken seal. The familiar knot twisted his stomach again. The letter was headed simply, To the Master, and went on:\n\nI am leaving this in the hope that one day you will call at Flaw Valleys. You will already have discovered that in other respects your visit is in vain. The gentleman you wish to interview is Mr. Samuel Harvey, and he is not only in England but quite inaccessible to you.\n\nHe is not inaccessible to Lord Grey. The proposal he has made to me is that Samuel Harvey will be brought north, and an interview arranged between you and him, if in exchange you provide Lord Grey with the person of Will Scott of Kincurd, Buccleuch's heir, who is at present under your disposal. The arrangements have been left for me to conclude; and for this purpose I am prepared to make myself available to you at any time on any day at one of my castles. My movements are doubtless well known to you.\n\nTo obtain access, you need only mention that you bear a message about Mr. Harvey.\n\nThe letter was signed, GEORGE DOUGLAS.\n\nScott felt as if he were being suffocated. He knew his face was white, and his eyes were almost too heavy to keep open. He pulled himself together and said, with a trace of his original irony, \"I see. Have I been sitting another test? It hasn't escaped me, of course, that Grey wants me because of Hume. And that it was you who arranged for me to be prominent at Hume.\"\n\n\"Partly,\" said the Master. \"You did some of it yourself\u2026\" And struck, perhaps, by the confusion in Scott's face, Lymond suddenly began to laugh. For a moment, so amused and so tired was he, the laughter was less than controlled and Scott, shocked, recognized in the other for the first time since he had known him, the outward signs of extreme fatigue.\n\nThen Lymond said, \"And now where are we? It's difficult, isn't it, to know whom to trust? Fide et diffide, in fact: and that is the moral of this little story. Be mistrustful, and you will live happy and die hated and be much more useful to me in between.\n\n\"Sit down,\" said Lymond, and waited while Scott dropped again to his blankets. He took the letter from the boy's hand and straightened. \"I showed you this, my would-be catharist, because I don't need you as a barter. I've got something George Douglas wants much more\u2014information. And if that fails, I have a feeling I can acquire a hostage of my own worth two\u2014forgive me\u2014of Buccleuch's expanding nursery. In that, indeed as in all else,\" he added with exaggerated courtesy, \"I shall want your help.\"\n\nScott lay back on his rugs. He said cravenly, \"I understand. If that's so\u2026 I'll help all I can.\" Sleep swam in his head, his lids closing with it.\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Master politely, and tossed a blanket over the boy. \"For my boy Willie.\u2026\n\n\"My bird Willie, my boy Willie, my dear Willie, he said;\n\nHow can ye strive against the stream? For I shall be obeyed.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "French Defence",
                "text": "\u2002The seconde pawne that standeth tofore the Knyght hath the forme and figure of a man.\u2026 By this is signefied all maner of werkman, as goldsmithes.\n\n[ Touching and Moving ]\n\nIn the two weeks after the cattle raid, several moves followed each other in apparently random sequence. Christian Stewart, adroitly missing an encounter with Tom Erskine, left Lanarkshire and went north to Stirling to await the coming of the Culters and Lady Herries to spend Christmas at Bogle House. Shortly after, Buccleuch and Janet left also for the Scott house in Stirling, moving slowly to accommodate Walter, David, Grisel, Janet and seven ninths (as Buccleuch crudely put it) of Margaret.\n\nThe Culters stayed at home until the third Sunday in December; then, leaving Richard to his inevitable business, the Dowager seized a break in the weather to transport herself, Mariotta and Agnes to visit Sir Andrew Hunter's mother.\n\nBefore the gates of Ballaggan, and after they had crossed the Nith safely and dry-shod on its upper reaches, the Dowager rallied her party. \"Hear me, children,\" said Sybilla. \"This is a naughty old woman, but she's too old to change, and too feeble to be lectured. So speak up, keep your tempers, and remember you'll be naughty old women yourselves, one of these days.\" So they went in and, Sir Andrew being temporarily absent, were taken straight upstairs.\n\nLady Hunter's room was as warm as a byre and as forbidding as a lying-in-state. Cocked on her pillows, the paraplegic greeted and seated the three visitors. Then the puckered mouth, fiercely active, said: \"Mariotta. Come and let me see you.\"\n\nShe studied the girl. Mariotta, hanging grimly to her temper, gazed back. \"I have good news of you,\" remarked Lady Hunter. \"You haven't the bones for it, but that can't be helped. None of the Crawfords would make more than a hen-sparrow. When will it be?\"\n\nMariotta's face was pink with controlled emotion. She said politely, \"In the spring.\"\n\n\"Hum. Richard pleased?\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course.\"\n\n\"He will be. Hah! Sybilla. That's two lives between Lymond and the money. You'll be happy now, I dare say.\"\n\nMariotta, supposing herself dismissed, returned to her seat with an expressive glance at the Dowager who said mildly, \"We were all perfectly merry before, so far as I know. I can't say I ever considered the matter in a racial light, but it will be nice to have babies about again. You ought to prod Dandy a little: it's high time he got married. It would do you good to nurse something other than that smelly terrier of yours.\"\n\nLady Hunter's brittle fingers played with her rings. \"In these days of opportunism, Andrew has little to commend him to an heiress, either in fortune or appearance. Unlike his brother.\"\n\nForgetful, Mariotta contradicted. \"Oh, surely not? He has everything to recommend him.\u2026 There must be pretty girls by the score who'd give the nails off their fingers for him.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Plenty of those. Ballaggan can't afford that kind, however,\" said Lady Hunter. \"Pretty girls with no dowry are for the hedgerow, not the altar. We are not all as fortunate as Richard.\"\n\n\"Dear Catherine: yes,\" said the Dowager. \"How lucky that we are all rich and beautiful. Otherwise we should be so affronted. Do you drink everything in those bottles?\" And the conversation was safely transferred to physics, and from there to herbs, on which the old lady was expert and, in her own acid way, entertaining.\n\nMariotta listened, more interested than she had hoped to be; Agnes, within reach of a lethargic Cavall, amused herself by parting its fur idly with her slippers; and neither did more than give fair ballast to the conversation until the Dowager, gauging swiftly the amount of time to be filled before Sir Andrew might come, got to her feet saying something bantering about vaults.\n\nThe bite returned to Lady Hunter's voice. \"If you were bedridden as I am, Sybilla, you wouldn't care for all the affairs of the household to lie about for servants to read. As I've told you before, these recipes are worth money: there is no call to be careless with them. The keys are behind you.\"\n\nThe Dowager disappeared, and after a sizable interval returned in time to disentangle Mariotta from an appalling inquisition into the state of the linen at Midculter. With her she brought the promised book of recipes, which lasted safely until Sir Andrew came in.\n\nMariotta, watching him, found her defences rising on his behalf. She knew him already as a kind and ready confidant. No one, looking at the fine hands and good carriage, could say he was uncomely; no one listening to the warmth of his voice could find him displeasing.\u2026 Poor Dandy.\n\nThe evening passed and then, as the invalid slept early, they went their separate ways. But not before Mariotta contrived to have a word with Dandy alone.\n\nIn his private study, he installed her gently in front of the fire. \"Two minutes; and then I'm going to pack you off to bed. So you finally broke the news to Richard?\"\n\n\"About the baby? Yes, Dandy. With magnificent results. For a week now, no air is pure enough and no whim too foolish for the mother of a Culter.\"\n\n\"And the presents are still coming?\"\n\nMariotta nodded, and touched a small and very fine string of pearls around her neck. \"They just appear in my room.\" A nervous giggle overtook her. \"Lymond can't know yet about the baby. What am I supposed to do? I've no way of returning them.\"\n\nSir Andrew got up and, crossing to the fire, kicked the logs with his boot. \"Mariotta, my heartfelt advice is to tell Richard about it. I'm willing to help all I can, but you must know how he'd feel if he thought you felt driven to confide in someone outside the family, no matter how well-intentioned we both are. And this business of Lymond is serious.\" He turned and said soberly, \"Tell him, my dear. It need cost you nothing: you have, surely, all the jewels that you want and you, of all people, have had a chance of judging exactly what the Master is.\"\n\nWaiting, Sir Andrew of a sudden looked sharply at the girl's face. Then she said, playing with the pearls, \"He isn't unattractive, Dandy. If he hadn't been forced into outlawry by a single mistake, all those years ago\u2026\"\n\n\"A single mistake! Do you know how many died and how many were taken prisoner at the battle of Solway Moss?\" exclaimed Hunter with sudden savagery. \"Do you know how many years he had been spying for England before that? That when the secret leaked out they got him safely to London and Calais to save him from hanging? That when the French caught him and he was freed by Lennox he served Wharton and Lennox for years until they found he was cheating them too, and he had to turn mercenary abroad? Tell Richard, tell him quickly, and let him look after Lymond. All we both want is to see you safe and happy.\"\n\nFor a moment Mariotta continued to twist the necklace. Then she got up, with a sudden impatience that made Hunter step back. \"Surely there's some way out of it other than setting them at each other's throats?\u2026 Oh, never mind! But I doubt very much who's going to be safer and happier if Richard finds out about all this\u2026\" said Mariotta.\n\n[ A Queen's Knight Fails Signally to Adjust ]\n\nA letter lay on the round, cypress table in the parlour at Bogle House.\n\nChristian knew it was there. Passing and repassing, she was aware of it; it sat among her innocent and mundane thoughts like a tiger among peahens. In all Stirling, none was gladder or more relieved than Christian when at nightfall on the 23rd the yard exploded into life and Lord and Lady Culter, the Dowager, Agnes Herries and all their formidable train arrived.\n\nAgnes pounced. \"Another letter! From Jack?\"\n\n\"Jack?\" said the Dowager, turning.\n\n\"Jack Maxwell. I wrote him we'd be in Stirling for Christmas.\" And she broke the seal and read it, standing. \"Christian! he says will I answer him as usual, but he may be with me before I get a reply\u2026 he means to come to Stirling!\"\n\n\"Does he say so in English?\" inquired Christian warily.\n\n\"Yes, as plain as can be. Listen!\" said Agnes.\n\nChristian heard her read, thanking heaven for the child's verse-infested mind which saw nothing strange in the outrageous metaphor in which her messages were wrapped. He had managed, she gathered, to eliminate one of the two men he must see, and was in train of seeing the other. A suitable moment, obviously, to break off the correspondence; to snap the whole tenuous link; for Johnnie Bullo, former ally and messenger, seemed now to avoid her.\n\nSo a curious, painful episode in one's life bid fair to end. But she had to admit that, whatever it purpose, the dignities of happiness had transformed Lady Herries."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 49",
                "text": "That night, snow fell on the Lowlands, and Stirling woke to its Christmas Eve bowered in white above grey river and eye-aching plain. Against tender blue the distant hills gave eye for candid eye with the sun, and above castle and Palace the griffins sat, capped and chaliced in snow.\n\nWarmed by the snow and melted by the season, Mariotta sought early for her husband and found he had left the house, no one knew why. While sharing her bafflement with the Dowager, the thought struck Mariotta. She marched to Sybilla's inlaid French cabinet and flung it open.\n\nThe top drawer was empty.\n\n\"It's gone!\" said Richard's wife, spinning around, her violet eyes black. \"The glove we found at the Papingo has gone. Richard's taken it\u2014on Christmas Eve, on his own, without a word to any of us\u2014our fine, cold, brass-blooded hero has taken it to try and trace Lymond.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 50",
                "text": "Culter had indeed taken the glove, but had not carried it far.\n\nThe bullion with which it was decorated must have been supplied by a goldsmith; and since some time today he must call at Patey Liddell's for the completed miniature of his mother, he took the glove with him to Patey's, and left very early so as to be back before Mariotta missed him.\n\nPatey was not yet up. After an interminable amount of banging, a moplike head thrust itself from a top-storey lattice and Patey's voice yapped, \"Chap away: I'm as deif as a board\u2014oh! It's yourself, my lord. Wait you, and I'll be down.\"\n\nBelow in the shop, a purple robe over his nightgown, Patey handed over the miniature, not without an involved search, and after pocketing the outrageous cost of it, bent over the glove Richard produced. He held it at arm's length and smirked at it.\n\n\"The bonny piece! The bonny, bonny stonewark!\" He tapped the twinkling cuff with a threadlike finger. \"You wouldna get finer gin you took an elephant down Spittall Street and got off at Colombo. Man! They went at a bargain, too: I could have got twicet for them.\"\n\nThe glove, flicked from his surprised grasp, arrested his attention. \"Have you seen this before?\" demanded Culter in a controlled shout.\n\nPatey was astonished, but ready to oblige. \"No, no. I havena seen the work before, of course not; it isn't mine. But I supplied the bullion and the gems. I'm maybe not an Admiral on the side like Chandler of London, or so handy with a knife as yon Italian fellow, but I've got jewels like peevers and I ken them like weans.\u2026\"\n\nHis client was talking again. Patey listened hard. \"Who ordered it? Now, hold you there and I'll tell you.\" The great ledger came out, and Patey after a methodical search for his spectacles, pored over it. The index finger trailed down page after page and then stopped. \"There you are!\" He reversed the book for Lord Culter to see. \"Ordered by Waugh, the St. Johnstone glover, on October the second.\"\n\n\"Where do I find this Waugh?\"\n\nPatey's crusty eyes opened. \"Are ye for going there? Well\u2026\" He tipped a packet of sand on the counter, drew a map with a sable and furnished its landmarks with jewels. \"There.\"\n\nRichard thanked him and left. As he remounted, Patey climbed the stairs back to bed, tittering under his breath. \"And a right merry Christmas to ye,\" said Patey to the air."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 51",
                "text": "The city of Perth, or St. Johnstone's, is only thirty-three miles to the northeast of Stirling; but not a pleasant ride when the moors are humped with new snow and your adored and incalculable wife is looking to you to attend her at her first Christmas at Court.\n\nLord Culter, riding alone and fast, reached Perth before midday. Once through the heavily guarded main gate, he dropped his pace to a walk, and steered the mare through a bustling and nervously armed High Street, past Cross and pillory, chapels and churches, Kirkgate and tenements and expensive houses with neglected gardens dating from the years when capital and Parliament were both in the city. But when he reached Glovers' Yard, the booth was quite obviously closed and the windows shuttered above it.\n\nRichard Crawford had not stopped for a meal on his way north; he was disturbed, cold and hungry. He hitched his mare to an iron hook and, taking his riding whip, began on the left side of the yard and beat methodically on every door until he finished on the right.\n\nAt the end of this operation, several bonneted, capped, tufted and indignant heads stuck in echelon, like heads from a dovecote from the three sides, and voided venomous complaints on his head. He stepped back and addressed the most responsible-looking, a blotched and stubbled gnome who listened, spat accurately on the cobbles and grinned, displaying horrid yellow teeth. \"Jamie Waugh's no in. You'll not catch Jamie Waugh wasting his time inside on a holiday.\"\n\n\"Where is he then?\" asked Richard, to the interest of a swelling audience.\n\nThe yellow teeth displayed their stalwart abundance again. \"I wouldna just trust myself to say,\" said the aged one eggily. \"Forbye, it wouldna be the least bit use to ye. Jamie Waugh never works on a holiday.\"\n\n\"I don't want him to work!\" shouted Richard, trying to throw his voice two storeys up and no farther. \"I only want to talk to the man.\"\n\n\"D'you tell me? Well, I'm glad for ye that you've saved your time,\" said Yellow-teeth serenely. \"For you'd have just wasted your temper looking for him. Ye canna expect to speak to Jamie Waugh on a feast-day: he's aye deid drunk on a feast-day, is Jamie.\"\n\n\"I can sober him,\" said Richard grimly. \"Just tell me where I can reach him.\"\n\n\"Sober him!\" As if the words had touched off a hydraulic, Alexandrine weight the projecting heads gave a unified jerk and set themselves nodding. The ancient one looked sadly at his lordship. \"Sober! You'll not see him sober till Twelfth Night, nearabouts. Jamie's the sturdy boy for the drink.\"\n\nThere was a short silence. Richard was thinking, and the aged one was weighing him up with a rheumatic eye, setting the obvious urgency of his quest against the cut of his lordship's clothes. When he spoke again, his voice had a croon in it.\n\n\"Mind you, I'm not saying he couldna be sobered. I'm just saying it's never been tried. And while I doot there's a soul in the Yard could tell you rightly where to find Jamie\u2014Jamie being incapacitated to clients at Christmas, ye understand\u2014I would be willing to stretch a point for a gentleman. You look,\" said Yellow-teeth, with a certain facility, \"like a sporting gentleman to me, and that's a grand wee dirk at your belt. Forbye you claim you can sober Jamie. Aweel, I'll gie you his location at the price of a wager. I'll lay you a pair of gloves against your dirk that you canna bring him back to this Yard by St. Stephen's Day normal\u2014or as near normal as God made him. Now. There's a fair proposition before witnesses, and a wee frolic to tell the wife about, and anyway,\" he ended practically, \"there isn't a soul else can direct you to Jamie.\"\n\nRichard folded his arms and stared at the artless one. A glance at the Yard had shown him he could expect little help from there. The proposition was ludicrous: at any other time he would have dealt with it promptly and sharply. But time was against him. He swore under his breath, and then said curtly, \"All right. I accept your wager. Where is he?\"\n\nHe had to wait until the aged one, disappearing and re-emerging at a lower door, took fond and personal custody of his knife (\"just a formality\") before he received his answer. Horny hands picking and stroking at the jewelled hilt, the old man said, \"Aye, aye. I kent ye were a gentleman. You bring Jamie Waugh back sober, and I'll have dirk and gloves set out for you. He's at his sister's house in the Skinnergate,\" said Yellow-teeth, retreating strategically within his doorway. \"The fifth on the right going down. Merton's the name. Merton.\"\n\nRichard, unwilling amusement in the grey eyes, put a foot in the stirrup and swung himself on the mare again. \"Merton of the Skinnergate. Thank you. And your own name, sir?\"\n\n\"Me?\" The teeth yawed. \"You're easy named a stranger: every St. Johnstone's man kens Malcolm\u2014Chuckie-moued Malcolm, that's what they cry me. Malcolm Waugh at your service, sir; farther o' Jamie of that ilk, and an honest, sober man to be cursed with yon loose black glover. Good luck to ye, sir! I'll keep the dirk safe! Trust me, sir!\"\n\nRichard turned his horse out and suddenly laughed aloud, as windows popped shut and the peace of Christmas Eve descended again on Glovers' Yard.\n\nSnow had fresh-laundered the Skinnergate; had put new bonnets on its thatched roofs and dressed the stakes in the yards. But the hands and feet of the Skinnergate children had returned the narrow lane to its pristine state of mud and offal, and cold weather or no, the ripe animal smell of the trade hung resonantly about the doors.\n\nThe fifth house was easy to find: the Mertons were holding festival, and the rest of adult Skinnergate and most of its children were choked into the single room above the yard, with the overflow jamming the stairs. Jamie Waugh was easy to find also: he was sitting in the fireplace with smoke slowly rising from his skin breeches, singing acceptably through a large earthenware jug upside down on his shoulders. The corners of the room were piled with undressed sheep and calfskins of bold personality, and a young heifer couched in the middle was giving warm seating to four or five men. Beer was in free circulation, and a fat cheerful woman in an apron, whom Richard took to be Mistress Merton, was dispensing winkles from a pot of boiling water and pins from a wooden box.\n\nShe had offered Lord Culter a spoonful before the implications of his dress struck her: she blushed, put down the ladle and wiped her hands. \"Were you wanting Jock, sir? He's not in the Yard today, but if you'd call tomorrow or the next day\u2026\"\n\nShe seemed a bright, honest person. He told her what he wanted, but not of the bargain perpetrated by Waugh, senior. Her reaction was much the same as that of Glovers' Yard. \"Jamie! Oh, Jamie'll not be sober till Candlemas, nearly.\"\n\n\"With your permission,\" said Richard, \"I was proposing to sober him now.\"\n\nShe gave him a doubtful smile. \"Well, sir, you're welcome to try,\" and bending over the happy Mr. Waugh, she pulled the jug off his shoulders. A plump, almond face revealed itself, remarkably like the old man's, with a retrouss\u00e9 and rosy nose and ruffled black hair.\n\n\"Jamie, there's a gentleman come to see you,\" said Mrs. Merton. The suffused eye wandered distractedly from Lord Culter to his sister and back again; with a lurch and a jerk, Jamie Waugh got to his feet. \"T'horse!\" he exclaimed and bending dangerously from the waist, gave Richard a view of the lower hemispheres of two mottled corneas. Then he folded backward in a quick graceful arch, straightened a little, and declaimed:\n\n\"Tohorsh, tohorsh, maroyaleesh;\n\n[ Your faesh shtand on the Shtrand ]\n\n[ Full Twenny-thoushand glitt'ring Shpearsh ]\n\nThe King of Norshcommandsh.\"\n\nSeeing that her brother had reached, if not the end of his repertoire, at least the end of his breath, Mrs. Merton laid a hand on his shoulder, at which he gently folded up and sat on the hearth again. \"Jamie. It's someone wants to see you.\"\n\nJamie's eyes were fixed on the ashes.\n\n\"Here maun I lie, here maun I die,\" said Mr. Waugh, who seemed to favour verse in heroic form. \"By Treachery's falsh guilesh,\" and laid his cheek morosely on one knee. A tall, thin man pushed through the crowd, and Mrs. Merton went to him. \"Oh, Jock! Here's a gentleman wanting to speak urgently with Jamie, and he's just at his very last wink.\"\n\nMr. Merton eyed Richard, who told an edited version of the story yet again. \"Oh, if ye want to trace a sale, Jamie's the only one that can do it. Think ye can sober him?\" said the skinner doubtfully. \"I've been merrit twenty year and I've never known him able to speak this side o' Twelfth Night, but maybe coming to it from a fresh airt, as it were, might make all the difference. What were you thinking of?\"\n\n\"A swim,\" said Richard. \"And I'll need some rope.\"\n\nThe skinner's face webbed itself with leathery wrinkles. \"Man, I never knew Jamie in water for twenty year either,\" he said with callous delight. \"God: it's a great day for the Waughs.\"\n\nThey took the drunk man downstairs between them, and the inhabitants of Skinnergate, winkles and alepot in hand, poured down after. They rollicked down the stair; they lurched singing into the lane in black and merry procession, and they stood on the brink of the swift and icy River Tay as Richard solemnly addressed his victim.\n\n\"Mr. Waugh, what I'm about to do is as much for your own good as mine. I hope, when sober, you'll appreciate it.\" Then, receiving from the ready Mr. Merton a coil of light hemp, he noosed it, slipped and tightened the loop around the glover's waist and to ringing cheers picked Jamie Waugh up in his arms and threw him plump in the middle of the river.\n\nThere was a splash, a yell, and a crunching of gravel; then two knees and a head appeared: Mr. Waugh was reclining on the river bed. Richard pulled gently on the rope. Mr. Waugh rolled over, leaned on his hands, and could be heard swearing vigorously into the waves. Richard pulled again.\n\nMr. Waugh stood up. \"What the fuck are you fuckers doing?\" he bawled.\n\nHis brother-in-law called in reply, \"Come on, Jamie. We've got you roped. You can walk to us, nearly.\"\n\nMr. Waugh's reply to this cast even his previous remark in the shade; indeed, he seemed ready to stand practising vowel sounds in the middle of the Tay till night fell. Mr. Merton, with less patience than Richard, leaned over. He gave a mighty tug at the rope, and the vociferating figure at the end disappeared in a flurry of spume and vituperation. His sister, tears of merriment streaming down her comfortable cheeks, said brokenly, \"He'll catch his daith! Better pull him in now, sir. Oh, Jamie!\"\n\nThey pulled him in. He arrived not only sober but fighting mad, and Mr. Merton, who seemed to be an expert, took him over. The flailing arms were imprisoned in someone else's coat; he was swept back to the house, towelled, reclothed and plied with hot milk. Then Mr. Merton came to the door and nodded to Richard, who came in and sat on a stool before the limp, riled and distrait swimmer. \"If you want to blame anyone, blame me,\" he said pleasantly. \"I'm the one who threw you in.\"\n\nMr. Waugh rose, bent-kneed, to his feet and was sternly pressed down again by well-wishers. Richard continued. \"I'm sorry about it, but I need some information from you, in a hurry, and you won't be out of pocket over it.\" He threw a small bag, chinking, on the glover's lap. \"You can pay the damage to your sobriety pretty quickly with that, and have some left to spend at Pasche, perhaps.\"\n\nJamie Waugh opened the bag, and the whole almond face altered. \"Man, if it comes up your back again just send word to Jamie, and I'll spend Lent in a stickleback's front parlour. What did you want to know?\"\n\n\"Something very simple.\" He threw Lymond's glove on top of the money. \"Can you tell me who ordered that?\"\n\nThe glover's broad, brown fingers fondled the work. \"I'll have to look up the books in my shop, sir. But it's my work, right enough. I remember it fine. I got the gold for it off Patey Liddell in Stirling.\"\n\nRichard got up. \"Can we go to your shop now?\"\n\n\"Surely, surely.\" The other laid down his mug, picked up money and glove and made for the door, slapping his sister in passing. \"I'm off to the Yard for a minute, Jess: be a fine lass and put on the ham for when I'm back; my insides are clapping together and my mou tastes like a haddock's spit-oot.\" He eyed Richard diffidently. \"You'd no care to come back and have a bite with us, sir? It's ham, just; but, man, I tickled her backside day in, day out when she was fattening, and there's not a wrong bit in her.\"\n\nLord Culter put a hand on the wiry shoulder. \"Jamie Waugh, you can count that ham half gone already.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "The early dark began to fall as Richard, with Waugh, returned to Glovers' Yard, and candles in the thick, misted windows patterned the dirty snow below.\n\nJamie was not one to stand on ceremony. He no sooner set foot on the cobbles, walking smartly by Richard's stirrups, than he flung back his wet head and roared, \"Faither!\"\n\nPropelled by curiosity, the windows of the court shot up. After a pause, Malcolm Waugh's front window glimmered with an approaching taper; the casement opened, and the erratic parent looked out. \"Jamie!\"\n\n\"Aye: Jamie. I want in to the shop, Faither.\"\n\nThe bristled jowl quivered. Mr. Waugh, senior, leaned farther out of the window. \"Jamie! Are ye sober, lad?\"\n\nThe glover, who was getting a little tired of the continuing stress on his condition, frowned. He said tartly, \"A damned sight too sober to stomach the sicht o' the wagglin' chops on ye muckle longer. Will ye come down?\"\n\nBut Faither only hung farther out. \"Jamie! Tell me! Ye havena had an encoonter with a sleekit-spoken chiel\u2026\"\n\nRichard, leaning on his pommel, looked up.\n\n\"Oh, it's yourself!\" said the old man hurriedly. A yellow grin, hastily summoned, jerked into place. \"Man, you're a great case. From the Mull tae Dunnet Heid there isna another body could have brought Jamie Waugh to his faither as stone-sober and ill-tempered as the day he was weaned.\" He ducked smartly as a stone, flung by his impatient son, cracked on the woodwork. \"Just wait; wait now. I'll be down.\"\n\nHe let them in and watched as Jamie, having lit a candle, opened his ledger and conned it. Richard, looking around the perfumed and flickering gloom, saw something wink on a table, and strolling across, picked up his dagger. Slipping it back in his belt, he grinned into a lugubrious bloodshot eye. \"I'll excuse you the gloves I've won, Mr. Waugh. It's been worth the experience to know you.\"\n\nThe loose mouth wobbled. \"Man, I can just say the same: there's many an alehouse would keep you in drink for life for a loan o' your talents.\" He melted unobtrusively into the gloom as his son came forward slowly, the big book spread in his hands. There was a pause, then the man Jamie gave an exclamation, laid down the book and held the glove over to the light. \"The deil!\" he said. \"He's used it as a shooting glove!\"\n\nWith some grimness Richard replied. \"He certainly has.\"\n\n\"Well, it's no meant for a shooting glove!\" said Jamie Waugh in righteous indignation. \"It's a fancy glove that\u2014one of a pair, and far too much decoration on it for shooting with. I mind it fine, and the chap that bought it.\"\n\nRichard found a seat and dropped very gently into it. \"Do you? Tell me what happened.\"\n\n\"Well; in comes this fellow ordering gloves, and as fussy as a flea in a bathtub over the pattern, and that Patey has to do the gold, and\u2014\"\n\n\"What did he look like?\"\n\nThe glover thought. \"Kind of fancy-looking\u2014no offence, sir, if he's any relation. Yellow hair, and an awful tongue in his head.\"\n\n\"In aurum coruscante et crispante capillo,\" said Richard unexpectedly, and gave a kind of a smile as Waugh stared at him. \"Have you ever seen him before, Mr. Waugh?\"\n\n\"Never. Nor since. He's not a native of these parts.\"\n\n\"No. Go on.\"\n\n\"Well, when it comes to the bit, he hasn't the price of a full pair on him, and we had a bit of an argument. However\u2014as you'll understand, sir\u2014he's not the sort of person it's just easy to cross. He paid a bit\u2014just some silver, and left his address, and said he'd accommodate me by taking one glove and collecting the other when he sent the money. I knew it was a tale,\" said Mr. Waugh with some reminiscent anger, \"but he had such a manner on him\u2014\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Richard. \"And has he ever sent the money?\"\n\nJamie Waugh went and rummaged in a cupboard, returning with the twin of the embroidered glove. \"No. There it is. No one's come for it.\"\n\n\"Would you permit a man of mine to watch at the back of your shop till this man arrives? I'll pay you, of course.\"\n\nSurprise showed on Jamie's face. He hesitated, then shrugged. \"Just as you like, sir,\" and was about to shut the book when Richard stopped him. \"Just a moment. What address did your yellow-haired man give?\"\n\nWaugh peered along the crabbed entry. \"It'll be a false one, belike\u2026 Address\u2026 Address\u2014oh. Here we are. Aye, it's false, I'm afraid. 'Castle of Midculter, County of Lanark,' it says.\"\n\nRichard got up suddenly. \"And the name?\"\n\n\"Well, now. He didn't give his own name, just the name of the man he was to send to pay for the gloves. Devil, where is it? Oh, here. 'Richard Crawford, third Baron Culter.' How's that for impudence? A lord, no less. Man, you can't trust a soul nowadays. When did you say your man would be here?\"\n\nWhatever bitter self-mockery lay behind the impassive face, Lord Culter showed none of it. He said coolly, \"I shan't require now to send anyone\u2026 I have made the mistake of underrating my friend,\" and, laying a gold piece on the table, added, \"No one will come for the gloves now. Keep them both, and look on the sale as discharged. Now: there was some talk of ham\u2026?\"\n\nBut with all that, the man was only human. He didn't return to Stirling that night, but buried anger and disappointment in the Skinnergate, under rashers and eggs and ale and good company; and Jock Merton said, sotto voce, that gentleman or no, he was damned if the fellow wasn't good value at a party and could hold his liquor like a fisherman: a statement that Mariotta, and perhaps even the Dowager, would have been astonished to hear.\n\nIt was late when he left. They were loth to let him go, and he might have been overpersuaded to stay but for Jamie, who had spent the evening making up for lost ground and achieved the full cycle, as Culter mounted his horse, by descending the stairs in one airborne step. Richard waited only to make sure the glover was unhurt, then waved and set off.\n\nHe had no notion of arriving at any of the houses known to him at Perth with a thick head in the middle of Christmas. After a little thought, he directed the mare to the Castle, where he could command a bed for a few hours and set out for Stirling at the crack of dawn next day.\n\nIt was no fault of his that the English army at Broughty Fort also set out that night, with malicious intent, on a punishing raid of the neighbourhood. He was wakened at five in the morning by the crash of emergency and, driven by duty, set out to pass the day not at Stirling but by the side of the Provost and Constable of Perth at Balmerino.\n\nHe rode to the fighting in no cheerful mood. \"I thought,\" said Richard wearily, \"there was only one man playing hell with my life. But by God! Ruthven, it's become a national pastime.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 53",
                "text": "At midday\u2014and with still no sign of Richard\u2014Sybilla exercised her native wit and, putting on furs and boots and refusing escort, plodded down the street to Patey Liddell's.\n\n\"Well, now\u2014your ladyship's all wet\u2014This is a pleasure, but\u2014Come away over to the furnace\u2014You know Lord Culter went off with the picture\u2014That's a comfortable chair, now: sit you down\u2026 He's not here,\" said Patey, who under the forcible blue eye seemed a little upset.\n\n\"I guessed that,\" said Sybilla. \"Where did he take the glove, Patey?\"\n\nThe goldsmith eyed her and decided evidently that only truth would serve. \"To Perth,\" he said simply.\n\n\"Oh, Richard!\" exclaimed Sybilla in extreme exasperation. She turned the blue eyes on Patey again. \"Is that where the glove was made?\"\n\nHe nodded, hesitated, then volunteered, \"No one'll lay a finger on him, your ladyship: I warrant you that. Jamie Waugh's a terrible man, but there's not a drop of harm in him, and he'll treat his lordship as kind as a maid with her rich new joe.\u2026 You'll take some spirits?\" added Patey, at a speed suggesting a desire to efface his own conjecture.\n\n\"No, I must go back.\" Rising, Lady Culter bent to look at a small nugget lying on the smith's bench in a drift of sparkling dust. She lifted it to examine it more closely. \"It was a pretty glove. That pale yellow gold is from Crawfordmuir, isn't it? You use a lot of it, Patey.\"\n\n\"What?\" said Liddell. He grinned vaguely. \"It's a bonny wee nugget, that. Gold.\"\n\n\"I wasn't talking about the nugget,\" said Sybilla, \"particularly. What's the tax on Scottish-mined gold these days, Patey? Fairly high? And isn't it all supposed to go straight to the Mint?\"\n\n\"Scottish gold?\" said the smith, and shook his white head. \"It's well enough; well enough; but a wee thing soft, and there's them that prefers a good brosy yellow to yon pale stuff. No: Whatever it is you're wanting, you come to me and I'll show you gold that'd make crowns for angels.\"\n\n\"Well, that'd be a change,\" said the Dowager sourly, \"from making crowns for Patey Liddell. You're a perverse, deaf old man, and I don't know why I come to you.\"\n\n\"Do you not?\" said Patey, exerting to the full his highly selective aural powers. \"Then I'll tell you: it's to get a good bargain; and you can be sure of this: whatever Patey Liddell's got a hand in'll never hurt a Crawford.\"\n\n\"Then I suggest,\" said Sybilla, making for the door, \"you steer clear of my daughter-in-law; or something Patey Liddell had a hand in this day is going to be a sore affliction to Patey Liddell.\" And she went home."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 54",
                "text": "So Christmas, unappalled at Lord Culter's absence, came cantily to Stirling.\n\nIt was a French Christmas; a debonair Christmas full of frolic and folly; a spry, Gallic unctuous Christmas. Henry of France, at last roused to boldness and the cunning exercise of spite, had sent a small fleet to Scotland, and in it money for the Queen Dowager, and French military experts for her guidance and the better security of her fortresses. The military experts, tricked out in scent and white satin, danced like well-mannered clouds and talked in the Council Chamber of chests of money and major landings of troops waiting to come with better weather. The Government blew a sigh of relief, eyed the cut of the white satin and, flinging its armour out of the window, bawled for its valet.\n\nThe Court danced. The Court played rough games and watched masques. Cardboard cumuli, joggling cautiously from ceiling to floor, emitted Spirits of Love, giggling, with siren voices half a tone sharp with nerves. Forty-two different kinds of main dishes were offered at one sitting, and even the puddings burst asunder and became sweating cherubs released from cardboard confinement and prone to emergency and fits of tears.\n\nSybilla, animatedly and comfortably at home, found time to watch her small flock. She observed Agnes Herries, graced with a new diffidence and dancing, under the Governor's orders, with the Governor's son. Christian, who did not care to dance in public, had been strategically waylaid by Tom Erskine. Mariotta, who should not have been dancing, was doing so, incessantly. The Dowager breathed a faint prayer for the well-being of the future heir of the Culters and returned her gaze to Lady Herries.\n\nSo she saw a tall, stooping figure appear in the distance; saw Agnes Herries hesitate, and then saw her disappear up the turnpike stair which gave access to the wall-walk on the roof. The tall figure followed her.\n\nThe Dowager walked over to Christian and sat down. \"Hold my hand and talk to me,\" she demanded. \"Something interesting is happening on the tower stairs and I feel nervous and grandmotherly.\"\n\nChristian turned on the older woman her affectionate grin. \"Nothing like practice,\" said she."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "The tall man was dressed in blue silk. Agnes, watching him emerge from the tower, noted the deliberate, light walk and the brome-grass hair ruffling in the night wind. He came nearer, and she saw yellow peregrine eyes with black, buried pupils.\n\n\"Lady Herries?\" he asked; and when she nodded, he smiled suddenly.\n\n\"You're so small. I have something for you, my lady\u2014but it's like Abbey Craig speaking to Dumyat. Perhaps, if you'll allow me, we should settle our differences first.\" And before she could object, he put both hands around her waist and swung her easily to the broad parapet. She arrived with a bump, had a fleeting thought about the state of the ledge, then arranged her skirts and turned again to the gentleman's eyes. They were still very yellow, but kind. He took her hand and put something into it. \"From Threave,\" he said.\n\nAgnes looked down. Between her fingers, dark with melted snow but warm and perfect, was a sturdy red rose. She said \"Oh!\" in a surprised delight, and repeated it as his words penetrated. \"From Threave?\"\n\n\"From Jack Maxwell. With his respectful love. Well, Lady Herries: are you disappointed?\" asked the Master of Maxwell.\n\nShe shook her head. \"I think,\" said Agnes, with a young and tender na\u00efvet\u00e9, \"you are as handsome as your letters, sir.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 56",
                "text": "Long after the parapet was empty, a clatter of hoofs foretold a latecomer approaching the Castle Wynd, riding alone on a stumbling horse. The captain of the guard admitted him instantly and, soaked and battered with mud, Lord Culter dismounted and walked into the yard.\n\nRichard had come straight from Perth, and brought with him from the Provost of Perth an account of the raid on Balmerino Abbey in which he was notably concerned. This he gave to one of the Queen's officers, being hardly presentable enough to ask for audience himself. On the same grounds, he asked that his wife should be brought to the Palace to speak to him.\n\nCrossing the flying bridge from Hall to Palace, Mariotta was aware of a very creditable sense of relief. At least the bloodhound had taken no actual harm this time; although his behaviour remained erratic, antisocial and evasive. Mariotta marched into the Palace with reconciliation to sell, at a price; Richard rose to welcome her with an expression which the Dowager would have recognized as discomfort and guilt. In the net result, Mariotta looked angry and Richard looked wooden, and the opening round was not one to inspire confidence.\n\nThis was because Richard made the mistake of blaming his absence on the fighting outside Perth. Mariotta heard him in silence, and then inquired stonily about the tracing of the glove. Richard's account of this was lamentable. Told in the cold light of reason, the sobering of Jamie Waugh sounded remarkably like a drunken brawl: the exact points of difference were hard to define. He was brought to admitting, austerely, that the entire trip had been a wild-goose chase expressly fabricated by Lymond; he then apologized again for his absence and indicated that, if she would allow him, he would leave for Bogle House and change his clothes.\n\nMariotta listened to it all, sitting judicially in a whirl of velvet with all the Culter jewels and the emerald necklace for moral support. She said thoughtfully, \"I wonder you didn't tell us where you were going? Were you afraid we should refuse to let you leave?\"\n\nRichard looked at her quickly, then studied the floor. \"I knew you might be worried. As I said, I expected to be back quite soon.\"\n\n\"We were very worried. You don't think,\" said Mariotta carefully, \"that it might even have been helpful to talk it over beforehand?\"\n\n\"Oh?\" said Richard. \"Who with?\"\n\nLady Culter got up and stalked to the door. \"The Great Chan of China,\" said she with awful and unaccustomed sarcasm, and swept out.\n\nAt that precise moment, the Dowager Queen sent for him. So he had after all to cross to the Hall in his travel-stained dress, and had a brief interview with Mary of Guise, magnificent on her dais with laughter and French wit for canopy. She had some shrewd questions to ask; then she abandoned business and introduced him to her compatriots and chaffed him on his pretty wife. Richard who, when clean, was a presentable as well as a solid person, responded adequately and at length was allowed to go. He got as far as the first door, and was arrested by a vigilant figure which whisked him out of sight around the standpost.\n\n\"Stay there while I speak to you. If Wat sees you, he'll burst,\" said Lady Buccleuch. \"What's come over you? You'll be a fat old bigot like Buccleuch if you keep on at this rate. Never mind. Here's the point\u2014Wat's made a rendezvous with the boy.\"\n\nFor a moment, she thought the man looked at her as if she was talking Hebrew; then his face changed and he sat down, a trifle heavily. \"By God, has he? How did he get in touch? Will Lymond be there?\"\n\n\"Will sent a message\u2014they met at that cattle raid affair, I think. I don't know if Lymond is involved\u2014officially, I don't know anything: Sybilla is the one in Wat's confidence at the moment. But I got a wee glisk a the note when it came, and it said\u2014\"\n\n\"Wait a bit.\" Richard rubbed two fingers and a thumb over his brow, transferring to it a long smear of harness dye. \"Before you say any more. Buccleuch and I had words recently. We're not on good terms, and we've got different opinions about how this business of Lymond should be treated. You know all that. The last thing Buccleuch wants is to have this piece of information in my hands.\"\n\n\"What Buccleuch wants and what he gets,\" said Dame Janet serenely, \"don't always coincide in my experience. Don't be a fool, man. You may whinny at the method, but you can't deny we've got motive and provocation enough to defend it to the Pope, if need be. With or without Lymond, Will's engaged to meet Buccleuch in the beech wood at the foot of the Crumhaugh\u2014the hill between Branxholm and Slitrig Water\u2014at dusk on the first Sunday in February.\" She rose laboriously. \"There you are. Do what you like about it.\"\n\nRichard looked past her into the Hall. A new dance had begun and the Queen\u2014the youngest Queen, aged five\u2014was leading it, cheeks like fruit below a fiercely combed and shining head, one arm erect as a flag in her partner's grasp. The lines of long, slow sleeves marched and swayed with the music; coloured limbs were pleached and latticed in pattern. The music, piping, thudding, nasal, escorted the murmur of voices. Somewhere in one of the ranks Mariotta was dancing, and behind her, Agnes Herries with the Master of Maxwell.\n\nRichard looked down at his own muddy clothes and rubbed his face again. \"Yes.\" He added abruptly, \"You understand, I'm not interested in Will. I want to take my brother.\"\n\n\"Do that, and the boy will come back of his own accord,\" said Janet. \"Look, there's Wat hunting for me. Goodbye. If you've a grain of sense you'll go straight home to bed.\"\n\n\"Good night\u2014and thank you. I'll take care Buccleuch doesn't hear where my information came from,\" said Culter.\n\n\"Och, I'll tell him myself,\" said Dame Janet. \"Just so soon as it's all over. He'll be all the better of a good row after mincing away with Kincurd and his morals. Wicked Wat of Buccleuch! Saints preserve us.\" She turned back into the Hall, and Richard went home.\n\n[ Another Royal Lady Enters the Game ]\n\nTo Lord Grey of Wilton, the Protector's Lord Lieutenant of the North, Gideon Somerville reported in full the incident of the cattle raid and of the assault on his home and the taking of Sir George Douglas's letter. He was frank and even pointedly detailed with one exception: he held back the name of the interloper. Gideon had no intention of being asked to reopen negotiations with him, should he be known to Lord Grey.\n\nThe interview took place in the Castle of Warkworth on the bright, bracing coast of Northumberland.\n\nFor domestic reasons, the English Protector urgently needed a splendid success at something, and his first instinct was to put a stop to the squabbling inaction in the north. This he did, characteristically, by ordering his Lords Warden to meet and devise an instant plan for, first, devastating the House of Buccleuch; second, pulverizing the House of Douglas; and third, joining the power of the three Border Marches and burning Scotland up to the eyebrows. The object of this last, as ever, was to wrest the child Queen from these antique and wiry arms and rear her, unequivocably, as the bride of the King of England. The Lords Warden, answering faintly, undertook to excel themselves and arranged to meet on this last Friday in January at the Castle of Warkworth. The Lords Warden detested each other, but they distrusted the Protector more.\n\nGideon was present at the historic meeting, and with him was Lord Wharton, who had spent a night at Flaw Valleys on his way. The fourth member was Sir Thomas Bowes, a large and silent man who was Warden of the Middle Marches.\n\nAs senior commander, Lord Grey chose to open the meeting with a striking list of his activities on the east of Scotland. In the front of his mind was a courteous desire to complete the military picture for his fellow officers. In the back of it marched a procession of letters from the Lord Protector, making concise reference to some aspect of Lord Wharton's energy and initiative on the west. He went on.\n\n\"Now, what we have to do most urgently is to break this mood of optimism. This French arrival has done a lot of damage: men and money pouring into Scotland from the French king, and the promise of more\u2014we can't ignore that. And your friend Lennox crawling into Dumfries and home again like a half-drowned kitten, Wharton, hardly had the appearance of a military tour de force.\"\n\n\"The Earl of Lennox, like the baker of Ferrara, thinks he is made of butter,\" said Wharton dryly. \"I am in no position to disabuse him of the idea.\"\n\n\"Well, he's no tactician: that's obvious,\" said Grey. \"Figureheads are dangerous. Would never touch 'em. And if I had to, I should go with them and make damn sure they didn't get into mischief.\"\n\n\"I bow to expert opinion, of course. But the gentleman is married to the King's cousin. The effect is to make him touchy about bear-leading.\"\n\n\"Tact!\" said Lord Grey.\n\n\"It is a little difficult,\" said Lord Wharton, \"to convey acceptably to a noble gentleman that he is an interfering fool.\" And he let a pause develop just sufficiently before going on. \"If I might suggest it, we should be better employed in considering just how Lord Lennox might be used\u2014since inescapably he must be used\u2014in the next combined raid. And how he can help us against the Douglases.\u2026\"\n\nThey had got exactly so far when Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, was announced."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 57",
                "text": "Meg Douglas in girlhood had possessed the gorgeous, leonine sort of beauty that her uncle Henry VIII had frittered away, and of which her father, the Earl of Angus, was the vestigial affidavit. In sixteen years' residence in England, careening at Henry's whim from near-throne to near-block, Margaret had kept her splendour.\n\nHer mother, Margaret Tudor of England, had been married to King James of Scotland nearly fifty years before; and had stayed in Scotland to become Angus's wife when her first husband lost his life at Flodden.\n\nNow Henry was dead; his sister was dead; Angus had married again and Margaret Douglas had become the good-conduct prize which persuaded the Earl of Lennox to abandon his singlehanded bid for the Scottish throne, and throw in his lot with England. She was not an unwilling bride. Once, when Henry was in the throes of illegitimizing his children, the Lady Margaret had been heiress to the throne of England. The royal blood which she and Lennox shared and which ran in their children was a powerful claim to both the English and Scottish thrones. Lennox might be a bad tactician, but his wife was not.\n\nHer entry into the solar at Warkworth was consciously magnificent. Gideon, effacing himself, studied her. Her hair was a dark, lichen-blond and the features strongly marked in a pale skin, the mouth warm and decided, the chin cleft, the eyes observant. His impression was one of natural graces overlaid by years of merciless experience.\n\nShe was speaking with perfect composure. \"I'm afraid my family have been troubling you greatly. It's never easy for an Englishman to understand all the pressures Scots are subject to.\"\n\nNo one had any illusions that this was a social call. Lord Wharton was blunt. \"Saving your presence, Lady Lennox, I have made no secret of my views about the Douglases. I know the difficulties they are under. But until they show themselves friends, we must treat them as enemies. I have raided Angus's land and Drumlanrig's land on instructions from the Lord Protector, and I regret if Lord Grey feels that his friendship with Sir George and his private promises of immunity are endangered, but further than that I cannot go.\"\n\nThe Lord Lieutenant was taut with temper and the need to preserve the social decencies. \"I dislike, as any gentleman would, the appearance of breaking my pledged word,\" he said. \"The damage done, however, I agree that the Douglases have taken unwarrantable revenge and, as you know perfectly, I have pledged my word to punish them.\"\n\n\"We'll be lucky if we get the chance,\" said Wharton bluntly. \"But in case we do, I've asked everyone who is able, to report to me for service as soon as they can. If you will carry out your second raid on Buccleuch, Lord Lieutenant, I shall put all the force I can to shake the Douglases out of their bushes.\"\n\n\"Wait a moment.\" Lady Lennox spoke, and both Grey and Wharton, intent as circling dogs in their antagonism, showed their surprise. \"The Protector told me his intention was that you should enter Scotland again, Lord Grey, and form a new centre of operations at Haddington, just south of Edinburgh. Is that right?\"\n\n\"The Protector wanted all three armies to invade at once, but that is impossible because of the weather and the ground, Lady Lennox. Quite impossible. In a month's time, I might be in a position to march to Haddington. In the meantime, we are to attack Buccleuch.\"\n\n\"I understand.\" She looked at her wine. \"In that case, it seems a pity for Lord Wharton to draw on himself the undivided attention of the west. Would it not be better to wait a week or two for better weather, and then to synchronize your raids?\"\n\nBowes ventured. \"But time is against us, Lady Lennox. The French\u2014\"\n\n\"The same wind blows in the Channel as on the Solway,\" she said. \"No fleet will put out in this weather.\"\n\nGideon interposed briefly. \"The Protector is asking for action quickly against the Douglases, Lady Lennox.\"\n\n\"And that he shall have,\" said the woman serenely. \"If you will allow me to make a suggestion.\" She looked up at four, noncommittal faces and smiled. \"There was a time when I was a Douglas, and then I became more Tudor than Douglas. Now I am more Stewart than either. Listen.\"\n\nAnd she outlined a plan which was bold, practical and, unintentionally, quite formidable in its ultimate effect. In which she showed herself to be, after all, more Tudor and Douglas than Stewart."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "With Will Scott at his side, Lymond met John Maxwell briefly by appointment in a bothy of mud and thatch in the hills near Thornhill.\n\nSitting watching by the bright, whining fire, Scott saw that Maxwell was now handling the other man carefully. He made one flattering reference to the conduct of December's cattle raid, but did not repeat the mistake. He referred also to his meeting with Agnes Herries.\u2026 \"That goes very well. You were right about the letters. She had already created the mould, and I stepped into it. Not a bad thing. I shall try not to disappoint her.\"\n\n\"What did you make of her?\" Lymond asked.\n\n\"Your reading was perfectly accurate. She will make an excellent wife\u2014if that were the main issue. And if her marriage were a matter of free choice, I should be Lord Herries tomorrow. But of course, it's not. I'm afraid it will take more than one cattle raid to shake off Arran. He's determined to have her for his son, and he has a promise on paper.\"\n\n\"The Queen Dowager is not unsympathetic,\" remarked Lymond.\n\n\"But Arran is Governor.\"\n\n\"And as such is accountable to the French for the fervent persecution of the enemy.\"\n\n\"Arran won't attack: he has neither the stomach nor the power.\"\n\n\"He won't attack; but he'll have to defend, shortly. There's another combined attack from Carlisle and Berwick coming next month.\"\n\nThe pupils in the golden eyes narrowed and expanded. \"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Spies. I have no direct contact with Carlisle,\" said Lymond laconically. \"If you want my opinion to reinforce your own, then that's your bargain. Throw the Maxwells openly this time against Wharton, and you have the Dowager on your side. She likes the girl, and she's being pushed for results by her relatives in France as well as by the French Ambassador. Let her persuade Arran for you.\"\n\nThere was a long silence. Then the Master of Maxwell said, \"The real deterrent lies with my hostages at Carlisle. If I turn, they may hang. But, as you no doubt will tell me, life is cheap.\"\n\nLymond raised fair brows. \"It is another disease that grieveth me. What I will say is that sentimentality is expensive. Let them hang: it is still a good bargain.\"\n\nMaxwell said, \"I am not so ruthless.\"\n\n\"We might differ about that.\u2026 But save the Carlisle chickens, and you let the Stirling stables burn.\"\n\n\"Some might feel one hen of a sort was worth twenty horses,\" said Maxwell.\n\n\"And yet you won't get far without horses, be your poultry never so prolific.\"\n\nLymond was clearly mocking, and the other switched subjects curtly. \"Do you wish to continue the letters to Agnes Herries? We agreed that you should have this channel for messages.\"\n\nLymond said, \"Let it lapse. I can find other means now, if need be.\" He rose. \"I am grateful for your co-operation. We may still meet, of course. Next month, for example. In spite of your fondness for the chicken run.\"\n\nMaxwell also got up. He hesitated, stooping a little under the low roof, his half-armour fogged with condensation. \"There is one piece of news you might find of interest,\" he said. \"It's not the kind I should pass on to Edinburgh, as the woman is, I suppose, a niece by marriage.\u2026\"\n\nLymond's face and voice were his first weapons, and he used them consciously with the same control that in his brother kept expression away.\n\nBut this time, something new filled the blue eyes; and Scott, sitting forgotten, saw it, and his breathing stopped. Then it was over, and Maxwell, unobserving, was still talking.\n\n\"Lennox and Wharton are trying a new gambit this time. The Countess of Lennox is being sent north to Drumlanrig to try and splint together all these burst Douglas loyalties before the army invades.\"\n\nLymond said in his accustomed voice, \"The Lady Margaret Douglas? Angus's daughter? When is she coming?\"\n\nMaxwell shook his head and took up his hat. \"I have no other details. But I expect she'll arrive shortly before they march, and wait for her husband. I thought you might be interested.\"\n\nHe turned in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. \"Good day to you both. I fancy these meetings will not be to our loss.\"\n\n\"I fancy not,\" said Lymond dryly; and Maxwell, mounted, leaned down. \"You have a nice touch with the Latin tag, but I found the French a little indelicate, here and there.\" And, one of his infrequent smiles lighting the solemn face, the Master of Maxwell rode off.\n\nScott, straightening from dousing the fire, found Lymond waiting with both horses at the door, his expression angelical. \"O rubicund blossom and star of humility! O famous bud, full of benignity! O beautiful Master of Maxwell!\"\n\nScott came out and took his horse. \"What's happened, sir?\"\n\n\"Ce n'est rien: c'est une femme qui se noie,\" said Lymond, and laughed. \"Love Mr. Maxwell, my cherub: he has brought your old age with him today. We require a hostage to exchange for Samuel Harvey. And behold, we have a hostage. My brilliant devil, my imitation queen; my past, my future, my hope of heaven and my knowledge of hell\u2026 Margaret, Countess of Lennox.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "The PLAY FOR SAMUEL HARVEY",
                "text": "[ Bitter Exchange ]\n\n\u2002This knycht he aw his folk for to defend\u2026\n\n\u2002Off gret corage he is that has no dreid\n\n\u2002And dowtis nocht his fais multitude\n\n\u2002Bot starkly fechtis for his querell gud.\n\n[ Offer of a Pawn Is Discussed ]\n\nMeg Douglas, the boy Scott was thinking, his hands slack on the reins. Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox. What could have forged a link between the refulgent, self-contained Lymond and this woman?\n\nThe meeting with Maxwell lay behind them. Riding north with the Master, Scott had time to dwell on these and other matters, other women. He remembered the cold dawn camp after the cattle raid. Lymond was unique: perhaps he was entitled to a unique relationship with the Stewart girl. Perhaps. It was none of his business.\n\nBut because of it\u2014every man has his private affairs\u2014he had said nothing to the Master of his promise to meet Buccleuch.\n\nHis motives were wholly chaste: he meant to toy a little with the old man, giving his father the chance of a good look at him. He wanted to inspect the banners of the angels so near to the merry ranks of Mahoun, and make self-satisfied comparisons.\n\nBut he said nothing of that to Lymond. The devyll, they say, is dede; the devyll is dede. But Kincurd, renegade, would revive him fast enough, thought Will Scott, and kept quiet as they moved toward their new winter quarters.\n\nAffairs around the Peel Tower were becoming a little too busy; and Lymond had decided to move. Tomorrow, Scott was to leave for the old Tower to supervise its final dismantling. Tonight he would spend at the new Tower, at Crawfordmuir.\n\nThe gold mines at Crawfordmuir were not very old. For thirty years, Dutch and Germans and Scots had been mining there, and the Queen Dowager Mary of Guise had also brought French miners from Lorraine. Since James V died, the Dowager Queen had not renewed the contract.\n\nSo the mines lay derelict, the ruins of workmen's huts and storehouses littering the broken moorland, with rotting spades and wheelbarrows and crumbling dams and shallow, timbered pits.\n\nThe rock yielded no fabulous artery of yellow ore, but pebbles and scourings grained and gritted with gold dust and, rarely, an attenuated nugget. Mining was furtive and unlicensed. Week in, week out, the earth brought down by the spring rains was cherished and riddled, and the sparkling fragments folded in twists and rags and taken to a friendly goldsmith who might choose to forget that a tenth of all lawful takings on Crawfordmuir belonged to the Crown.\n\nThis was the land to which the Master brought Scott: up through bog and heather and packed moss and harsh root to two thousand feet above sea level where they stopped, and the boy looked about him. Here were four rivers, Lymond had told him, and Eldorado between them as the ancients thought it lay between the four rivers of Paradise. There were other graces. In this harness of high, safe hills they were surrounded by escape routes.\n\nLymond pointed. Below and to the left, a burn wandered into the hills with heaps like molehills about it and the figures of men moving. \"\u2014Your colleagues looking diligently for alluvial gold. It amuses them and helps fill the treasury. It also explains our presence and gives us warning of anyone using the valley\u2026\" And led the way to their destination, an excellent stone tower, thick-walled and small-windowed, built in a grassy socket of the hill.\n\nThere, in Lymond's new winter quarters, Scott passed the night and next morning, pleased at the prospect of a little autonomy, left for the Peel Tower. A little later the Master also rode out and, turning sharp east, began the journey to Tantallon Castle."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 60",
                "text": "\"It grieves me deeply to break up your man\u00e8ge,\" said Sir George, \"but I can't accept the alternative. If you want me to trace Harvey for you, you must sell me Will Scott.\"\n\nLymond spoke idly. \"It sounds as if you have been endearing yourself to the opposition. Can't you repair your relations in some other way? I have several keen bargains in political information: or is Grey no longer interested in our life, our lust, our Governor, our Queen?\" His face expressed only mild inquiry.\n\nBoth men were in a stoutly furnished room in the East Tower of Tantallon. Beyond the window the North Sea crawled and roared at the bottom of hundred-foot cliffs; far out, the Bass Rock stood in a nest of white floss, with gannets plummetting like so many celestial lead lines into the jumping sea. Douglas turned impatiently from the sight.\n\n\"If I could conduct this transaction simply by buying information from you, I would. As it is, I am ready to take on my own account anything you may have to sell. For that reason, as you probably noticed, I avoided addressing my letter to you by name. Nor have I given your name to Lord Grey although\u2014let us be as open as we can, Mr. Crawford\u2014I had very little trouble guessing your identity.\u2026 I hope you were less severe on Mr. Somerville than you were with Sir Andrew.\" He paused. \"You're swimming in very deep waters, aren't you, Crawford?\"\n\n\"But life in an aquatic kettle can be quite entertaining,\" suggested Lymond. \"And what keeps out water will also keep out steel between the shoulder blades. Gideon Somerville, if you are interested, is in pristine health, and Jonathan Crouch is at home. That leaves Samuel Harvey and his purchase.\"\n\nSir George was broadly reasonable. \"Why hesitate? Get yourself another disciple, man, and be done with it.\" Sir George badly needed Scott to bolster his tattered prestige with Lord Grey.\n\n\"But Scott is extremely useful to me,\" said Lymond. \"Besides, he gives me excellent cover from Buccleuch.\"\n\n\"Once we have him, Buccleuch won't trouble anyone any more.\"\n\n\"He won't trouble you: he'll use up all his surplus energy looking for me. And another thing. If I gave you Scott I should want absolute possession of the man Harvey. Would Grey agree to that? I imagine Harvey, for one thing, would object quite violently.\"\n\n\"There's no reason why Harvey should know,\" said Douglas after a moment's quick thought. \"I tell you, Grey wants Scott badly enough for anything. If this unfortunate man is your price, I think I can promise he will pay it.\"\n\n\"In the si\u00e8cles de foi you would be irresistible,\" said Lymond generously. \"But I have arrived in the age of reason. You'll need to provide some pretty imaginative security before I believe that.\"\n\n\"And if I do so?\"\n\nLymond smiled again, and Douglas's hands, in spite of himself, opened and closed. \"If you do so,\" said the Master, \"of course I shall give you the person of Will Scott.\"\n\nBefore Lymond left, Sir George repeated his own private bid for his services. It met with bland refusal. \"My offer was to exchange information for Harvey; not to plunge into general commerce.\"\n\n\"If you can afford to say that, you're a fortunate man. I wish I knew your source of revenue. I notice incidentally,\" said Sir George, understandably irritated, \"that in your somewhat frenzied quest for Mr. Harvey your other project has fallen from sight.\"\n\n\"Everyone credits me with projects. I sometimes feel like a latter-day Hercules. Which one?\"\n\n\"The one concerned with preserving your brother from the ills of old age. I imagine Lady Culter's pregnancy has complicated your problem?\"\n\nIt was news to Lymond. The fractional pause told Sir George that, and he was irritably thankful, in passing, that he could still read a man to some degree at least. Then the Master said with amusement, \"Are you suggesting that I should add to my tally?\"\n\nSir George's answer was ready. \"If Lord Grey and I are happily reconciled, and if his lordship's plans for this country are successful, we shall remember our friends. As to the granting\u2014or reinstating\u2014of baronies, for example.\"\n\nThere was a respectful pause, broken mildly by Lymond. \"Setting aside anarchy and murder and returning to simple conveyancing\u2014how soon could Samuel Harvey be brought north?\"\n\nThe essential bargain, after all, had been made; so Douglas's exasperation was well-hidden. A common posting station, a hovel they both knew, was agreed as a means of communication, and the pact was sealed. At the door, Sir George turned and smiled. \"I can't imagine a Scott resigned to authority and bars. What will your callow colt make of the snare?\"\n\n\"Scott is trained to authority already,\" said Lymond. \"The bars are a trite enough sequel.\"\n\nHe reached the Peel Tower on Sunday the fifth of February, finding it already unrecognizable in the torments of chaotic removal. He walked from room to room, dispensing criticism and looking for Will Scott.\n\nIn this he was unsuccessful. Will had left the Peel early that afternoon for an unknown destination, and had not come back.\n\n[ Brief Return to Home Squares ]\n\nThe meeting between Will Scott and his father was due to take place at dusk. After banging violently about the castle all day Buccleuch left, rather too early, for his supposedly secret encounter, and his family was overjoyed to see the last of him.\n\nWat Scott of Buccleuch was a man crammed with sentiment, which accounted for the peculiar harmlessness of half his explosions. The sight of his heir at the cattle raid had produced an unwonted tremor among his principles, and he was shy of repeating the experience.\n\nOf all his brood, Will was least like himself. His oldest and illegitimate son, Walter, was a stuffy and powerful lad, and he was setting him up as befitted his first-born; but Will had a head on his shoulders, if a fat one, and Buccleuch was not the man to underrate that. The boy's scruples he put down, with some justice, to the company of flute-mouths and dishwashing writers in books; and he rode out therefore alone to meet him at Crumhaugh with a fine determination this time to stand for no stupidity.\n\nIt was still light when he reached the hill and pressed into the copse on its side. At first, peering through the trees, he thought the little clearing was empty. It was a place in the wood, known to Will and himself, where larch and oak and juniper gave way to a quincunx of soaring beeches so old that the aisles between were cushioned with a permanent autumn of red leaves. Then he heard a hoof strike, and the clunk of bit on teeth, and the next moment saw his son's horse with its reins loosely tied to a bush, and Will himself standing just beyond.\n\nThe boy was quite different. His thick neck was strapped with muscle; he had eyes like sea pebbles, and his red hair roared like a lion. Buccleuch got rid of his surprise and dismounted. \"So you came!\"\n\nHis son regarded him austerely. \"I said I would.\"\n\nThere was a slight pause, a bellow as Buccleuch cleared his throat, then Sir Wat waded in. \"Ye might like to know that your Englishy friends have burned me out of Newark. Missed Janet and myself and the weans by half a day, just.\"\n\nWill was distressingly calm. \"Well, you seem to have survived.\"\n\n\"No thanks to you!\"\n\n\"Why blame me? If you chose to move all the cannon to Branxholm, it was no fault of mine.\"\n\nThis error of judgment was no sweeter for being Buccleuch's own. He remembered just in time what he was supposed to be doing, and wiped his mouth with a large hand.\n\n\"Will. We've had words in the past, and I don't mind saying you were damned disrespectful. And wrong, forbye. But you won't get any righter by burying your carcass to the neb and over in Lymond's muck heap. As far as I'm concerned you can stop making an exhibition of yourself and come on back home. Unless you're so damned keen you've begun to reform the bastard yourself.\"\n\nHis son's mouth twitched. \"I haven't, cross my heart. But don't flatter yourself that I'm suffering so that I can read you a homily on crime. I'm with Lymond because I like it.\"\n\nBuccleuch's face expressed disbelief and disapproval. \"Dammit, I believe George Douglas was right. You're planning a coup. Don't deny it! You're going to embroil Lymond as deep as he can get, and then lead the Queen's men to him. Is that it?\"\n\nScott didn't trouble to deny it. He said, \"That, I am quite sure, is what George Douglas would do,\" in a voice of energetic scorn, and added after a contemptuous interval, \"I'm staying with the Master. Why not? We're a well-regulated, efficient society. We've got health and companionship and excitement and money, a common aim and a common justice. We are our own masters, afraid of nobody but the one man, and he's worth fearing. Show me its like, and I'll join you.\"\n\n\"I can show you its like,\" said Buccleuch. \"In the jungle. What you're living by is four-footed law, and what you're living off is the blood and marrow of the rest of us. You've money, you say. Money from where? From spying and stealing and so-called protection\u2014the money of folk who're poor because they've had the stupidity to fight two wars for their country. That's where your ideal community comes from\u2014from corruption and treachery. And by God, it takes a thick hide to snuffle and drool after your own dirty pleasures while bairns starve in Teviotdale for want of meal. Dod, you'll fairly have a stitch in your side watching Branxholm burn the same way Midculter did.\"\n\n\"I'd nothing to do with that.\" The words were nearly cold enough to belie the passionate resentment in Scott's eyes.\n\nBuccleuch was shouting. \"You're doing a hell of a lot to stop it. Dod, I'd better warn the wife. We're to live alfresco this winter, if I don't get my throat slit the way Culter got his shoulder and Janet her arm.\"\n\nThe same frigid voice said, \"If the English intend to burn you, how do you possibly imagine I can stop it?\"\n\n\"You can stop bleating your name to Grey of Wilton for a start!\" bawled Buccleuch. \"So that every rotten device you practise on him doesn't get traced home to me! If you'd done that a bit earlier, there'd be some folk at Newark who'd be much obliged to you.\"\n\n\"Oh, God!\" said Scott, and let go. \"A minute ago I was being overfriendly with the English: you're not very consistent, are you? And if you're supposed to be luring me back to the herd, I must say you're making a damned bad job of it. If you really want to convince, you should at least get your facts straight. And argue them with some sort of logic. And keep your head while you're doing it. In the first place, I wasn't responsible for Grey discovering my identity. In the second place, Lymond is doing no more, openly, than half Scotland is doing underhand. In the third place, he is considerably less popular with the English than you are yourself. In the fourth place, you would fare a damned sight worse under the attention of my colleagues if a person like Lymond weren't there to control them; and lastly, I prefer company where inflated prejudice and intellectual tedium get the place they deserve\u2014among the granddads and dummies and the drink-fuddled half-wits in a fifth-rate common alehouse.\"\n\nA diatribe worthy, Scott felt, of its inspiring genius. The response was the kind he often felt like making to Lymond, and had once made. Buccleuch's knotted fist came out like a joiner's mallet and drove at his son's head.\n\nWith a beautiful, cool-breathing ease, Scott slipped under it, closed his own fist, and released a blow which sent Buccleuch travelling like a cannon ball across the clearing and down with a skid into the beech leaves.\n\nThere was a moment's stupefied silence. Buccleuch lay, temporarily winded and making repulsive noises, and his son stood looking at him, with the excitement shrinking out of his face.\n\nIt was a standing joke that Sir Wat was incapable of reasoned argument. There was no victory and less virtue in first provoking him to violence and then hitting a man twice his own age. He could imagine what Lymond would say. Scott stood for perhaps two seconds, then took the clearing in two strides and dropping on one knee, heaved his father to a sitting position, one arm around his great shoulder. \"Father\u2014\"\n\nWat's scarred, knotted hand shuffled tenderly over his jaw, and his small bright eyes turned to his son. \"By God!\" He sat up fully, and resting an elbow on his knee, moved his lower mandible gently from side to side. \"Where the hell did you learn that?\" demanded Buccleuch.\n\nScott gave a half-laugh and releasing him, sat back on his heels.\n\n\"Lymond.\"\n\n\"Well, he's taught you one thing worth knowing. But there was no need to practise it on me.\" He got to his feet with the help of one hand on Will's shoulder and stood for a moment, holding the boy in front of him. \"He's taught you quite a few things, hasn't he? A fairly cavalier way with opposition, for one thing.\"\n\n\"I notice,\" said his son, and grinned, \"that you weren't exactly relying on rhetoric yourself. But I didn't mean to hurt you.\"\n\n\"Just to knock the head off me,\" said Sir Wat, raising his hand to feel his jaw again. Scott, disappearing for a moment, returned with his handkerchief folded into a soaking pad, which he proffered Buccleuch. \"Was it true about Newark?\" he said.\n\nApplying his back to a root, Sir Wat nodded. \"They didn't get into the house, but they burned the village and nearly stripped me of beasts, Will. Grey's doing.\" He shot a keen glance at his son's face. The boy had seated himself on a broken trunk and was studying his hands.\n\n\"So they have the better of you both ways,\" said Scott thoughtfully. \"Grey for my misdeeds, and the Dowager if you dissociate yourself with them.\"\n\n\"That's how it fell out.\" Buccleuch, watching him quietly, held the pad to his bleeding face. \"It's been fairly damnable all round\u2014no less for you, of course. You're no match for a clever sycophant like yon. Whatever his purpose, he's managed to stick my neck in a cang; and he looks like making a fine scapegoat out of you, if you let him.\"\n\nThe boy was silent. Then he said, \"I'm supposed to be beyond redemption, am I?\"\n\nLike a sea urchin calling in its needles, Buccleuch's whiskers withdrew. \"There would be some explaining to do. But damn it, I count for something yet in this country. If we went back quietly now, just the two of us, I'd see no one harms you. And you can have the satisfaction of fighting in the open, by the side of your family. You can surely see the way it is. In my position some kind of double-dealing can't be avoided, and I won't pretend my hands are clear of it yet. But no one can tell me I'm not a Scotsman as well as a Scott, and the one as much as the other. So what d'you say?\"\n\nSitting against a tree, one hand clapped to his face and an expression of limpid encouragement on the rosso-antico face, Buccleuch was more persuasive even than he knew. His son got to his feet without grace. \"I've sworn to follow Lymond.\"\n\n\"He's excommunicated. You know that?\"\n\n\"Yes. But\u2014\"\n\n\"You have not only the power but the duty to break any pledge to him. D'you know why the Church expelled him?\"\n\nScott had heard so many possible reasons that he kept quiet.\n\n\"Five years ago, when you were in France, his spying came suddenly to light. Before that, he was taken on trust, the same as Culter, and nobody thought of suspecting where the leakage was coming from. It came to light because a dispatch of his was found\u2014a dispatch referring to other reports he had already made, and enclosing information that led Wharton to find and put an end to us at Solway Moss. But by the time it was found Lymond had already got himself to London, and was sitting safe with King Harry heaping land and money on him.\"\n\n\"I know that.\" Scott shifted uncomfortably.\n\n\"Yes. But did you also know this? In its last page that report described the locality of a damned great gunpowder dump of ours; a store that had been left in or near a convent. Described it fine: Dod, it was graphic enough to put a chorus to. It was so bloody ingenious that a raiding party was sent from Carlisle which blew up the nunnery, killing every last woman in it.\"\n\n\"But Lymond\u2014\" began Scott.\n\n\"Lymond planned it. God, I saw the letter and the signature, and every stroke of the pen was as much his as that damned doll's hair. Ask Sybilla. Ask Culter. Ask anyone. Even his own mother didn't pretend it was a forgery\u2014it wasn't.\"\n\nThe colour had run out beneath Scott's fair, unpigmented skin. His father said aggressively, \"You didn't know that? Or the other thing about it?\"\n\n\"What?\" said Scott. \"What other thing?\"\n\nBut Buccleuch had scrambled to his feet, the pad dropped from his grip, his face changed. Scott turned.\n\nWith a rustle and a squirm, Johnnie Bullo emerged from the juniper and trotted across the clearing, an agile silhouette which made Sir Wat, unrecognizing, put a quick hand on his sword.\n\nBut Will spoke first, all his anxieties turned to acid on his tongue. \"What are you doing here! Spying for Lymond?\"\n\n\"No.\" Johnnie Bullo, keeping a tree between himself and Buccleuch, was unperturbed, though breathing faster than usual. \"Just a call from a friend. I thought you'd like to know you're in a small trap. The wood's encircled by armed men.\"\n\nBuccleuch overheard, as he was meant to, and the hand on his sword moved with a rattle and a hiss. Scott said instantly, \"Lymond!\"\n\n\"No, no. Lymond's busy. It's Scottish troops: fine fellows on big horses with dirks all over them like hobnails. Friends of your pa, here, no doubt.\"\n\nScott's breath whistled between his teeth. \"Hardly friends of my father. After all, we undertook to keep this meeting secret, didn't we? And as good, honest churchmen our word is inviolate.\"\n\n\"I did keep it quiet.\" Suddenly alive to his danger, Buccleuch rushed to reassure. \"There wasn't a soul\u2026 Who are they? Hey, you!\" roared Wat to the shadowy figure of Johnnie. \"Who are these men?\"\n\n\"Don't you know?\" asked Scott. \"What a pity you couldn't tell them things were going surprisingly well and their services wouldn't be needed. They could have disappeared quietly and I should never have known.\"\n\nBuccleuch was choking with frustration. \"Don't be a fool, man. They're there by no wish of mine. I didn't\u2014I haven't\u2014Listen, will you?\" as the young man turned away.\n\n\"I rather think I've listened enough, don't you?\" said Scott over his shoulder. \"'Come back quietly, just the two of us'! By God, I admire that for a piece of chicanery!\"\n\n\"Will!\" Buccleuch, regardless of a possible audience, fairly roared in his anguish. \"What's happened I don't know, but believe me, I'd cheerfully flay them alive, whoever they are. You must believe me! They're not mine\u2026 I don't know how they got there. Dammit!\" he bellowed. \"They must be Lymond's.\"\n\n\"They're not.\" The gypsy's brown eyes, dancing with enjoyment, rested on Scott. \"Well. They're waiting for you. Are you going with them or with me?\"\n\n\"Is there a choice?\" snarled the boy. \"We're both trapped, aren't we?\"\n\nBullo snickered. \"You are. I'm not. I have a pony just outside. If I mount and draw them off to the left, can you ride for the gap?\"\n\n\"I can,\" said Scott grimly. He strode to Buccleuch's horse and threw the reins to Bullo. \"There's another decoy for you. Send the brute ahead. He'll split them still more.\"\n\nThe gypsy caught the bridle and began to move, his smile flashing. \"So you're for Lymond after all.\"\n\nScott's grim face as he flung himself on his horse was reply enough. Buccleuch caught the bridle. \"Will! Man, you're that bedazzled your thick head's nothing but heliotrope. Listen. These are not my men! I'll swear to it on anything you like! Wait for just a moment\u2014give me a chance to identify them\u2014if they're Queen's troops I'll send them about their business!\"\n\n\"No doubt. And their business will be Will Scott.\" The boy whipped the reins free. \"No thank you. I've had enough of decency. I'm too weak in the stomach for it.\"\n\n\"Will\u2014\" It was too late. A distant thudding and a burst of noise told that the gypsy had drawn the pursuit after him; with a rustle and a whirl of cold air Scott cantered across the clearing without looking round and put his horse fast through the thickest part of the wood.\n\nSir Wat, horseless and breathing heavily, stood still. He heard the uproar a moment later when his son was spotted; he heard the shouting as the riders following the two decoys were recalled. He heard the chase recede around the base of the hill and falter, and finally, the sounds of riders returning, disconcerted. He drew his sword and walked steadily to the nearest group. The trees thinned, the voices became louder and he saw the colour of the livery: blue and silver.\n\nWat Scott of Buccleuch shot his sword home in the scabbard with a noise like a pistol and stalked forward. The horsemen wheeling at the sound faltered. \"Buccleuch!\"\n\n\"Aye, Buccleuch,\" said that person. \"Did ye find what ye were looking for?\"\n\nThey fidgetted. \"No, Sir Wat.\"\n\n\"Have you a horse you can give me, then?\" They had. It was brought forward eagerly and Buccleuch mounted, his eyes sweeping the wood. \"Where's your master?\"\n\nThe nearest man stammered. \"He'll be back, sir. We was to meet here if\u2026\"\n\n\"I am here,\" said an unemotional voice; and Buccleuch turned. Lord Culter, armed, with a long scratch across one cheek from his scrambling chase after Scott, was sitting still on his horse at the edge of the trees.\n\nAmid deathly silence, Buccleuch rode over to him. Within touching distance he halted and, leaning across, gripped Culter's reins close to the bit, so that the other could not move. \"So I see. You're having a bonny revenge for the cattle raid?\"\n\nCulter shook his head. \"I only want Lymond.\"\n\n\"You only want Lymond,\" repeated Buccleuch, and flung the reins from him so that Culter's horse jumped and reared, neighing. \"You only want Lymond, and you're ready to sacrifice everyone and everything for it. Your mother\u2014your wife\u2014the folk who used to be friends. How many friends have you got now? Tell me that.\"\n\n\"Enough.\"\n\n\"Enough to yap at your heels while you trample busily back and forth over the rest of us in this panic-stricken, muddleheaded harrying you're launched on! The Queen wanted you at Stirling, and where are you? Riding down my son in the name of your mim-faced honour! And why? Sybilla doesn't want it, and she's twice the cause you have. You'll achieve nothing, as we all know, unless it's to make the fellow kill himself laughing. Why go on with it? No one cares. And there's some saying freely that it's not a matter of justice at that, but plain, green, roaring jealousy that's got into you.\"\n\nRichard said violently, \"Hold your tongue, Scott!\" and then restrained himself, the plates of his jack flashing with his breathing. \"I won't debate it with you.\"\n\nBuccleuch muted his voice. \"Oh, I've nearly done. I've just got to say this: as well as Lymond, you've got me against you now. I loathe the man as you do, but I'm going to get Will safely away from him. And until I do, there's no plan you can make against Lymond that won't find me there before you. I wish no ill to you, or to your wife, or to your mother, but you can hinder me at the risk of death or maiming: I'll have no care for you.\" And turning, he galloped his borrowed horse out of Crumhaugh wood."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 61",
                "text": "Johnnie Bullo got back to the Peel ahead of Scott.\n\nWhen the boy arrived, he found most of the men gone, and all the animals except a few horses. The building, always derelict, had a sullen air, as if in the emptying the last, lingering kindness had been wrung from the stones.\n\nLymond sat in the broken hall, and by him stood Johnnie Bullo. From the brilliance of the gypsy's smile it was palpable that the story of Crumhaugh had been told to the Master. Will Scott stalked forward prepared to get full value from the wrath boiling in his veins, and met the wall of Lymond at his worst.\n\n\"My dear! I hear the bosom of your father produced a clatter like the Archbishop's conscience, and you have returned to cast yourself on mine.\"\n\n\"I was a fool to expect anything else.\" Scott glared at Johnnie Bullo and shifted his eyes back to the Master. \"You were perfectly right. I'm damned if I trust anyone, from now on.\"\n\n\"The encounter seems to have had its share of bathos,\" rejoined Lymond blandly. \"How were you able to warn him, Johnnie?\"\n\n\"Oh, I picked up a hint in one of the houses I was playing at. It made me think there might be a trap afoot.\"\n\n\"So you sprang it.\" The Master, rising, strolled to the door. \"On the whole, this business of manumission is a little trying. I doubt if I have the nervous stamina to sustain it much longer.\" Johnnie, having withstood the blue eye for as long as self-respect demanded, shrugged, rose and sauntered outside. Lymond shut the door and came back.\n\n\"Johnnie\u2014\" began Scott furiously.\n\n\"Johnnie makes mischief as cows make milk. You know that as well as I do. But at least he does it with his brain, and not his stomach, or wherever you keep your unique emotions.\" He had deployed himself against the mantelpiece, tapping the stone softly with one hand, and Scott realized suddenly he had better collect his wits.\n\n\"You kept your appointment secret,\" said Lymond. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because it was none of your business.\" Scott was still angry.\n\nLymond said gently, \"Let us bathe in moral philosophy, as in a living river. Double-dealing is my business.\"\n\n\"I know. But it isn't mine,\" said Scott rudely; and Lymond smiled. \"I don't believe you.\"\n\nThere was an unsettled silence. The boy, still aggressive, broke it. \"I simply wanted to talk to my father. There's nothing to get alarmed about in that.\"\n\n\"Nothing. Except that you kept it secret.\"\n\n\"You don't catechize Cuckoo-spit every time he disappears with his women!\"\n\n\"Cuckoo's women don't have a pack of bloodhounds and two thousand men-at-arms behind them\u2014not the most willing of them. You are the only person here who might discover he has something to gain by selling out. You are the only person who, whatever he does, is sure of a warm, moneyed niche waiting for him on the right side of the law. You are the only person with a shaky interest in ethics and the emotional stability of a quince seed in a cup of lukewarm water. Either you keep the oath you so dashingly pronounced last year, or I deal with you accordingly. I don't propose to sit here like a pelican in her piety, wondering what you're doing next.\"\n\nScott, shaking with temper, replied. \"Oh, I'll tell you, if you want to know. I'll tell you if I sneeze. I'll tell you if I part my hair. But I still don't see that it was any of your damned\u2014\"\n\n\"Lord Culter was there,\" said Lymond softly. \"Wasn't he? And I might have relished meeting Buccleuch.\"\n\n\"I daresay. But I didn't know Culter would be there. And oath or no oath, you can hardly expect me to sell my father quite yet.\"\n\n\"A nicety he hardly seems to appreciate.\"\n\n\"I've already said I made a mistake.\"\n\n\"So, obviously, have we.\"\n\n\"Why? I'm here, am I not?\" blared Scott. \"I didn't break my word. It was Buccleuch who\u2014\"\n\n\"After he allowed you to knock him down. I heard about it.\"\n\n\"Allowed!\"\n\n\"Buccleuch doesn't think with his stomach either. Didn't it occur to you that I could damage your precious family rather more thoroughly than Lord Grey?\"\n\n\"And if you leave us, I certainly shall.\"\n\n\"But\u2014\"\n\n\"So that, Marigold, if you are going to be forsworn, you must be thoroughly forsworn. You must give us all up as well. That's what your father was counting on.\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Well?\" asked Lymond.\n\n\"You needn't be afraid,\" said Scott frigidly. \"It won't happen again.\"\n\nThe Master stared at him. \"There are times when your utterances are refreshing, and times when they are flowerlike beyond belief. I am not afraid. I can tell you now that it will not happen again. I am waiting for an apology.\"\n\nScott's reply was inaudible, and Lymond walked straight up to the boy. His riding clothes, swiftly tended since he had come from Tantallon, were sartorial perfection, his hair shone like glass and his voice glittered to match. He was impeccably, unpleasantly sober.\n\n\"You have my warmest good wishes for any urgent need you may discover to injure me, personally. Just try it. But I will not have you endanger sixty men through maudlin sentiment and a watery schoolboy defiance. Whatever you meant to do, you drew about yourself and nearly about us a major armed ambush\u2014whether it was of your father's devising or not is of no importance. Intentions, yours or anyone else's, don't matter; they never matter and never excuse: get that into your head. If I allowed any one of your dear old friends now on Crawfordmuir to hear this they would decorticate you like an onion, and you'd deserve it. Next time I shall inform them myself. Is that clear?\"\n\nIt was damned unfair. Seizing the first weapon to hand, Scott said furiously, \"It sounds well, coming from you. Why should I trouble about them? It wouldn't hinder you from selling any one of us if it paid you. Unless you restrict yourself to wiping out women in holy orders.\"\n\nThere was an appalling silence. Then Lymond said carefully, \"Ill-advised, Scott. Don't bluster. And particularly don't bluster in that direction. You may now get out of my sight.\"\n\nThere was nothing to add. Scott left the room, mounted and rode off to Crawfordmuir hardly realizing that of all the checkered exchanges between them this was the first in which he had, after a fashion, held his own.\n\nAs Scott rode west, his father travelled north.\n\nIt was some time before Buccleuch, jogging bitterly home from Crumhaugh, thought to wonder how Culter had heard of his appointment with Will. He had told Sybilla, but she was as anxious to keep Culter away from Will and Lymond as he was. Who else?\n\nHe thought. Only one person could have seen the note and was likely to act on it in just that way: Janet. Sir Wat's hands cramped on the reins. Janet! By God, thought Buccleuch, I'll teach that longnebbit braying bitch of a woman to keep her nose from now on out of my business.\u2026 And he put his horse into a canter for Branxholm and lifted his head to scan the night sky.\n\nThere was something wrong with the light in the southeast\u2014an underglow of crimson flushing the low cloud. He stared at it for a long moment doubting his eyes; then wheeled and galloped toward the fire with curses fothering the cleft air at his back.\n\nLord Grey had been as good as his word. Setting out with foot and mounted hackbutters from Jedworth and Roxburgh, Sir Oswald Wylstropp and Sir Ralph Bullmer marched west with orderly authority, reducing everything in their way to ashes. They took thirty prisoners, all the sheep and goats they could manage, and reduced Hawick to a series of ovens in which the resisters were cooked in their skins like new lobsters.\n\nBuccleuch, flying to the scene through paths choked with women and children and the pitiful domestic debris of flight, found his Branxholm men ahead of him under his own captain, and deploying them, took what vengeance he could, since it was too late to save. In the exploding, light-torn darkness, with all the power still left in the district they snapped and tore at Wylstropp's heels as he left, and killed some of his men and saved some of the animals. It was a poor enough salvage, and a poor enough revenge. After it, turning back with the west wind sick in their lungs, they scattered through the stricken, smoking district, and gave what help they could.\n\nAt dawn, Buccleuch rode back to Branxholm with an ache in his back and red eyes and a great fury inside him. In the hall, he remembered something else and strode to his wife's room with a streaming candle. \"Janet Beaton!\"\n\nThe woman in the bed stirred and opened her eyes; and the big-nosed, generous face split into a sleepy grin. \"Well, stick me if it isn't Wat,\" remarked Lady Buccleuch. \"Late as usual.\"\n\n\"I want to have words with you, my lady.\"\n\n\"Oh, you do? What about?\"\n\n\"About the heir to this castle, madam. My oldest son Will.\"\n\n\"Oldest legitimate son,\" corrected Janet. \"Did ye miss him?\"\n\n\"I missed him all right,\" said her husband grimly.\n\nJanet appeared remarkably spry with it. \"Och well, never mind,\" said she. \"You know what they say. Ye havena lost a son but ye get a daughter.\"\n\nBuccleuch stared from under the eagle-owl eyebrows and Janet stared back. From beyond the bed a wavering and disenchanted wail rose, intensified and died. Janet's beam developed overtones of beatitude. \"The newest Buccleuch,\" said his wife. \"Unpick that damned basilisk stare and go and glower at your new lassie for a change.\"\n\nSir Wat slowly went red in the face. A raffish smile struggled up from the depths of his beard and he covered it with one hand, but the eyes bent on his wife were as soft as a spaniel's.\n\n\"Oh, well enough,\" he said. \"Well enough. We'll say no more. It's over and done with. But\u2014ye needna expect to put me off this way every time, woman!\"\n\n\"Och, Dod! Don't worry!\" said Janet, from the muddy embrace. \"I'd sooner the scolding!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "In such a way ended Sunday, the fifth of February.\n\nShortly afterward, Sir George Douglas wrote Lord Grey that he hoped before long to appear before the Lord Protector in London, the accredited Ambassador of Her Majesty of Scotland, to arrange the royal marriage.\n\nThe Lord Protector wrote to Grey. \"You have spent,\" he pointed out, \"sixteen thousand pounds in nine months, and have only the Buccleuch raid to show for it.\u2026\"\n\nLord Grey sent a laconic message to Lord Wharton. \"I set out on Monday week to invade Scotland almost to Edinburgh's gates. I expect you and the Earl of Lennox to time your entry with mine.\"\n\nAnd then, above the complicated board, freezing the pieces in their busy tracks, hovered a speculative finger which no one could outplay.\n\nThe child Queen Mary, the very knot and core of all their plans, fell mortally ill."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Queen's Progress Becomes Critical",
                "text": "The paw\u00f6n that is sette tofore the quene signefyeth the phisicyen, spicer and Apotyquaire\u2026 The cyrurgyens ought also to be debonayr, amyable and to have pytye of their pacyents.\n\n[ A New Pawn Is Taken ]\n\nThey feared the English more than her disease. The sick baby Queen was taken to Dumbarton, rocky fortress on the Clyde, and Lady Culter and Christian Stewart were among those summoned to care for her.\n\nThe message was brought to Boghall by Tom Erskine. He found the girl standing at the window of Jamie's empty room, her hands laid loosely on the sill. Simon announced her visitor, allowed Erskine in, and banged the door as adequate comment as she turned.\n\nLeft alone with his destiny, Tom Erskine embarked headlong on his message: he had come to take her as far as Midculter before going off himself to the fighting. The conclusion of the gabble may have sounded more petulant than heroic, but Christian didn't notice. She said sharply, \"What fighting?\"\n\n\"There's another armed push on the way. From Berwick on the east and Carlisle on the west. The Carlisle inroad is my affair.\"\n\n\"Who else is going? Lord Culter? John Maxwell?\"\n\n\"Culter's going, yes. What Maxwell will do is anybody's guess.\"\n\nIt was their chief anxiety. Rowelled by French heels, Governor Arran had at last been brought to an ultimatum. Agnes Herries was destined for his son. But the Master of Maxwell had made it delicately clear that the Herries bride and the Herries estates were the price of his continuing interest in things Scottish; and Maxwell's interest in the coming invasion was likely to be vital. So with affronted howls on one side from Lord John, and mute reproof from his treasury on the other, Arran let it be known at Threave that appropriate help would receive appropriate reward, and hardly knew what to wish as a result.\n\nChristian was not impressed by these half measures. \"Good God: Maxwell either for us or against us will be the turning point of the whole thing. Fortunately she likes him, poor lassie; but whether she did or not I should take her to Threave by the scruff of her neck and beg John Maxwell on my knees, if I were Arran, to come to our side.\"\n\nTom said philosophically, \"Well, if you don't know what he'll do, then neither does Wharton.\u2026\" Memory of his real errand had come to him. He coughed disastrously.\n\n\"Christian, listen. We've seen a lot of each other in the last six months\u2026\"\n\nHis voice died away, but Christian's face betrayed only sympathetic amusement. \"Dear Tom, there isn't a verb in the dictionary that wouldn't float like a benison on your innocent breath; but I've a devil of a lot to pack. If you're intent on launching a review of your winter relationships\u2026\"\n\nHe was not put off, but simply accelerated. Without finesse, Tom Erskine shot forward and seized one idle hand. \"Christian! Do you like me? Could you put up with me?\u2026 Will you marry me, Chris?\"\n\nTo keep the normal, comforting directness in her voice, she squandered all her training. \"To have your love is a wonderful thing, Tom, but you're wasting it on an obstinate woman.\"\n\nIn his eagerness he mistook her meaning. \"There's no one to cross you in Stirling, my dear; and by God, I'd like to see anyone try elsewhere.\"\n\nIn spite of herself she smiled. \"Build a hedge around the cuckoo? I don't think perpetual summer would be very good for me, somehow. In the same way\u2014in the same way that I don't think marriage would be good.\"\n\nHis bewilderment reached her, even though she couldn't see. Releasing her hand he said slowly, \"You're afraid of marriage? Or is it of me?\"\n\nChristian said quickly, \"Not afraid: no. My reservations are of another kind. And not any dislike of you: of course not.\"\n\n\"Then there's someone else?\" he said.\n\nIt had not occurred to her that he might think that. With an effort, she applied her mind. \"Under the circumstances, that's rather flattering of you. But no\u2014there's no one else. It's simply that\u2014\"\n\nThat what? It was not simple at all. Love was no prerequisite, whatever Agnes Herries might think. He must indeed be wondering why she hesitated; wondering perhaps if she was after bigger game than himself. She had money and her birth was higher than his own. She had no need to be diffident about her handicap, but it was the only excuse she had. So she went on. \"It's just that, my dear, a blind wife is no asset to a future Lord Erskine.\"\n\n\"Rubbish!\" It was a mistake: the boisterous relief in his voice told her that. \"My dear lass, I'm the best judge of that. D'you imagine I'd give two thoughts to it? Are you afraid of leaving the places you know? We'll build us a house in Stirling, and I'll teach you every timber and brick of it as it rises so that each one is a friend to you. I'll give you a family of eyes: more eyes than Argus; in all Stirling there'll be no woman with younger or purer sight than you shall have. I shall\u2014\"\n\n\"Tom!\" She cried out, desperate to stop him. \"Tom, if it were that alone, I shouldn't hesitate. Or if there were any single good reason, I'd tell you at once. The trouble is I have a hundred reasons, none of them good. The war; Lord Fleming's death; the need to set Boghall in order; my own liking for freedom and my friends and the old days\u2014a mixen of wretched, feminine evasions.\"\n\nHis silence lasted so long that she bit her lip, raging at her lack of sight; but he was only thinking over, very seriously, what she had said. At length he spoke. \"Yes, I see, Christian. I think I understand. You mightn't want to marry me now. But later, perhaps? When the invasion is over, and the Queen is better, and Lady Jenny is free\u2026?\"\n\nHe didn't say, as he might have done, \"And if I come back.\" She had to be merciful, but how?\n\nIn the end, she took the easier way. \"I can offer nothing, Tom; and it would be unfair to let you think I might. But if you still feel as you do, sometime in the future\u2014\"\n\n\"When? Next month?\"\n\nChristian, who had been thinking weakly in terms of six months or a year, suddenly decided. She said, \"Next month if you like, Tom: a month from today, on one condition, if you'll allow me the presumption of making it. That you abide by my answer then, whatever it is.\"\n\nHe said rather pathetically, \"Do you think by then\u2026?\" but she groped for his hand, found and tucked her own firmly into it and walked him to the door. \"I haven't the faintest idea, but I can say this, my dear. If I were going to marry anyone\u2014anyone at all\u2014it would be Tom Erskine.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "Three miles away at Midculter, Sybilla was also preparing to leave for Dumbarton. Richard, looking for her before setting off south with his troops, found her coming out of the courtyard, her manner a little distrait and an unaccountable smell of sulphur lingering in her hair.\n\nThey conferred briefly, discussing the guarding of the castle and the safety of Mariotta, who was to stay; and had almost parted when Sybilla remembered something. \"Oh, Richard. Dandy Hunter brought one of his mother's appalling herbal concoctions under oath to make you take it on your next campaign, but I haven't the heart to inflict it on you. I gather it would save you from Podagra and the Protector and every evil in Grimoire. You don't want it, do you?\"\n\nRichard smiled faintly. \"Not really. But I'll take it if it'll please her.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear, Catherine has made enough martyrs without adding more. I shall tell Dandy you drained every drop and left in a condition of enteric rapture: only remember to fib when you see him.\" And she smiled and nodded, and disappeared again.\n\nHe had now only to take leave of Mariotta. He went to her room quickly, kissed her, and gave her a brief recital of his plans. Sitting before her mirror, she listened with perfect composure, arranging a lace scarf carefully about her shoulders. Still listening, she picked up and clasped the scarf with a magnificent brooch: a diamond-set heart surrounded by angels' heads.\n\nRecently Mariotta had been very quiet. Richard had said nothing to her of his encounter with Buccleuch at Crumhaugh, and was not to know that she had heard it in detail from Sir Wat and Sybilla. Now she waited until he had finished, and then said soberly, \"Richard\u2026 The country districts are in a fairly bad way. How many of these raids can they stand? Assuming you repel this one, that is?\"\n\nThere was a little pause: he was evidently surprised and rather relieved. He said, readily enough, \"It's all a matter of who tires first. We may damage the English so much this time they can't afford to try again.\"\n\n\"With all their resources? With all their mercenaries from Spain and Germany?\"\n\n\"They cost money, you know.\" He smoothed a corner of crumpled lace on her shoulder, the fine threads catching on the roughness of his fingers. \"And meantime we shall be getting troops of our own from France.\"\n\n\"For nothing?\" said Mariotta. She was watching him in the mirror. \"But isn't it sometimes more expensive to accept favours than it is to buy them?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"You're in a very inquiring frame of mind today, surely?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" said Mariotta briefly. \"Don't people who dispense favours quite often expect a return for their trouble? Such as an alliance, or a marriage? Or special favours in trading? And if so, might there not be very little difference between an alliance with England and an alliance with France? And wouldn't a truce with England now have the advantage of saving thousands of lives before spring?\"\n\nShe was ready for the first sign of ridicule: all the more ready because the ideas were less her own than the Dowager's.\n\nBut he was still patient. \"France, of course, is the ancient ally, tied to us by history and temperament and blood and religion. But there's sense as well as sentiment in it. By supporting us with troops, France forces England to divert men and money from Europe. Besides, France has never tried to conquer us by force as England has. Three English kings have claimed to own Scotland, and have done their best to hack their names on the door.\u2026 What sort of a people would we be if we tolerated that?\"\n\n\"You would rather have France as your master?\"\n\n\"There is no question of either,\" said Richard quietly. \"Whatever price we have to pay to France, you may be sure we shall keep our sovereignty.\"\n\n\"Which is more,\" said Mariotta, \"than one can count on at home.\" And her eyes met his in the mirror.\n\nShe might have meant anything; but his face emptied of expression. After a moment, she went on.\n\n\"You talked of disliking overlordship, and I suppose all it implies\u2014an indifferent superior, a denial of free choice and policy and the rest.\" She had rested her elbows on the table, covering her face with her fingers so that nothing but her tired voice could betray her. \"I hate it, too. I don't know if I can go on with it, Richard.\"\n\nSo there it was. He found a chair and sat heavily. \"Mariotta\u2026 I'm no good at this sort of thing. You know you can spend what you want\u2014order what you want\u2014go where you please\u2014\"\n\nShe was determined not to be childish. She was determined not to refer to the child, to his pride in his livestock, to any of the hurtful things that ran daily through her mind. She said instead, \"I can go where I please. To the Three Estates?\"\n\n\"No, of course. Women aren't\u2014\"\n\n\"To state conferences at Boghall?\"\n\n\"You can't expect\u2014\"\n\n\"To any gathering, meeting or convention that is going to shape the whole course and fabric of my life, and even possibly the manner of my death? No. Yet Arran, whom I've heard called a weakling and an idiot, not only goes but directs our policy. Lennox went, and proved a self-seeker and a traitor.\u2026\"\n\nRichard said gently, \"Men have no absolute monopoly of foolishness, Mariotta. The burdens of land, home, children and service to one's country are heavy enough for two people without asking both to do the same job.\"\n\nMariotta dropped her hands. \"I'm not, heaven forbid, suggesting I should take my sewing to Parliament any more than I'm belittling the importance of your children. But I could fill a fifteen-year-old as full of moral precepts as a sponge, and I doubt if he'd keep them long in the sort of world you've made for him. Shouldn't I have some say in that, through you? Shouldn't you have something to tell your children, through me? Our work mayn't overlap; but shouldn't your job and mine at least touch?\"\n\nHer voice died away. Richard, bringing his clasped hands up to his face, tried to think clearly through the millrace of pressing business in his brain. \"I don't know how to satisfy you\u2014I'm going to be at home of course so little. But if it would help, I could ask Gilbert to let you know each week what happens in Council. Would that do?\"\n\nThree unfortunate words. That his wife was begging him to think differently about his whole relationship with her; that she might wish to share his personal life and his personal decisions\u2014to shoot at the Wapenshaw\u2014to ride alone to Perth\u2014to interfere at Crumhaugh\u2014to deal with his brother\u2014never entered his head.\n\nMariotta said in quite a different voice, \"It might, except that I don't recollect marrying Gilbert. And while securing your fabulous, much-hacked front door you might have remembered, my dear, the wicket gate at the back.\" She got up suddenly and faced him, gripping the edge of the table. \"The unlatched postern, Richard. You've convinced yourself that the killing of one man is more important than your marriage, and it's taken you into strange country. Which has its own irony. You should have looked nearer home.\"\n\nShe had never before watched the blood drain from a man's face. The flat planes of Culter's skin became glistening pale and his eyes, shrewd and grey, turned disconcertingly blank. He rose to his feet and she was frightened: nervous enough to back to the window and stand there, watching him move uncertainly toward her. He stopped and said, \"Say it again. What are you saying? Tell me.\"\n\nHer anger, and her courage, came back. \"There's nothing to tell,\" she said. \"Only that I like to be entertained. And Lymond is more perceptive than you are.\"\n\nThe effort of self-control was so great that he was literally shaking on his feet: one hand shot up and gripped the wall to one side of her; the other, following more slowly, held the other side, locking her in the deep embrasure. \"Lymond has been here?\" He didn't touch her.\n\nWith the remembered warmth of his nearness, her temper flared again. \"The man has been paying court to me for months. You might admire his enterprise, at least.\" Beneath her anger was a rising excitement. Where was the stolid face now? At last\u2014at last she was laying him bare; he was speaking to her direct, without a hedge of competitive thoughts, and listening to her\u2014straining to hear her words.\n\nHe said blindly, \"Paying court to you? My brother? While I was away\u2026 for months?\" The blank eyes rested on Mariotta, not seeing her, but seeing, she thought, a gallery of grotesque pictures filled with laughter and a dallying, gilded head. His voice, when he spoke, was extremely queer. \"Lymond is your lover?\"\n\nHis right arm shook suddenly as his wife brushed under it and into the room. He did not follow her but waited, looking at the dark glass of the window where her figure was reflected, pulling things out of a drawer. He saw an emerald necklace; then pearls, some rings, brooches and collars, buttons and combs followed until the table shivered and sparkled in front of her. Lastly, she pulled off the splendid brooch at her breast and flung it on the heap. The violet eyes, turned full on him, were as bright as the jewels. \"No!\" said Mariotta with contempt. \"But he might have been.\"\n\nShe had meant to hurt him, and she had meant to force him outside his defences. Even yet, she did not recognize what she had actually done. In the long silence that followed, he put on a stiffer armour than she had ever been allowed to see.\n\nWithout looking at her, he picked up a piece, read the inscription on it, and flung it back on the heap. \"How long has this been going on?\"\n\n\"For three months. They come anonymously to the house.\"\n\n\"Bidding appears to have been commendably brisk. It's friendly of you,\" said Richard, \"to allow me to compete. What would you like next?\"\n\nIf she had never been able to shake him when he chose to be wooden, she was paralyzed by this behaviour. She said, shocked into stammering, \"I've t-told you the truth because he was making such a f\u2014because people are drawing comparisons. I've never made any move to meet him\u2014\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" said Richard. \"But on the whole I'd rather appear a fool than a cuckold. As a result of your efforts I now seem to be both. I should have looked less ridiculous, perhaps, if you had chosen to tell me about this when it first began?\"\n\nCornered, she snapped. \"I might have done, if you hadn't been missing three weeks out of four. I was miserable, and idle, and not very well, and it happened. I might have agreed to tell you earlier\u2014but as it is, I've told you now. Does it matter? Is it so hard to believe?\"\n\nThe slip escaped her notice, but not Richard's. He said, \"Agreed to tell me? Agreed with whom, for God's sake! Lymond?\"\n\n\"No! No.\"\n\n\"Then who? One of the girls? Buccleuch? Tom Erskine? Rothesay Herald? You didn't manage to tell me, but I'm sure you made certain we should both be the clack of the shopkeepers. Who was it?\"\n\nMariotta said furiously, \"I needed advice, and he noticed.\u2026 Anyway, he's been a good friend to me. To you as well. It was Dandy Hunter.\"\n\n\"So he advised you how to conduct this very comic marriage of ours. How friendly. And was it only advice he gave you? Or has Dandy, like Lymond, been showering you with expensive and unsolicited gifts? It was your maxim, I remember: it's often more expensive to accept favours than to buy them. What did Dandy exact for his services?\"\n\n\"Nothing! Stop it, Richard!\" said Mariotta. \"I'm sorry. I was a fool not to tell you; I was mad to tell Dandy first; I shouldn't have told you now in the way I did. But I have told you\u2026 I didn't need to. You would never have found out.\"\n\nRichard said, staring at her, \"No, I don't suppose I should. I should have been one of those odd stock characters, the ludicrous deceived husband, which would have afforded Lymond endless innocent pleasure\u2026\"\n\n\"No!\" She tried to catch hold of him, but he moved away, pacing the room.\n\n\"Lymond\u2026 Dandy\u2026 Who else? Who else, now?\" He stopped dead, a square, monumental, derisive figure. \"You must think. After all, we've got to give this damned child an identity.\"\n\nMariotta sat down. \"It isn't true.\"\n\n\"Can you prove it?\"\n\nThis time, steel met steel. \"No!\" said Mariotta, and dropping her arms, she turned to her table. Watched by this venomous new foe she lifted her jewellery piece by piece and put it on: the emeralds around her pretty neck; the bracelets and rings, the long earrings and the combs, drifting sparkling in her dark hair. She turned to him covered in light, in a blaze of many-eyed, expensive vulgarity, with her voice doubly, diamond hard.\n\n\"No!\" she repeated. \"No, I can't prove it. Why should I? What do I care for you or your brother? You're both Crawfords and you're both Scots, the one alien to me as the other, except that one of you has a way with women and the other has not. Believe what you like.\"\n\nShe saw him, with a belated fragment of clear vision, standing against the door, his clothes engrailed with the flash of her jewels; and his eyes were not blank. He spoke slowly.\n\n\"I will bring him to you,\" said Richard. \"I will bring him to you on his knees, and weeping, and begging aloud to be killed.\" And he went.\n\nIt was over.\n\nMariotta waited until the Dowager, with Christian beside her, had left for Dumbarton, and until Tom Erskine, joining arms with her husband, had ridden out of the gateway and turned south. Then she locked the door and began to pack all she owned."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "The Queen was feverish, the fat wrists pounding and the red, sore limbs thrashing restlessly; the tangled red hair gummed to the pillow, to her brow and eyes.\n\nThe doctors had chosen a high, deep-walled room in Dumbarton Castle for her sickroom, with its roots in the rock and the stormy grey tides of the Clyde Estuary slapping at its base. There the child lay in a formidable four-poster nursed by her ladies, by Lady Culter and by Christian. The bedclothes were tumbled night and day, and the satin pillowcase patched and stained from the crusted lips and swollen, broken face.\n\nOn the invisible filament of this one life, the two English armies moved in to attack, one on the east coast of Scotland and one on the west. First, Lord Wharton and the Earl of Lennox left Carlisle on Sunday, the nineteenth of February, and in two days had reached Dumfries.\n\nOn that same Tuesday, Lord Grey of Wilton led an English army into Scotland from Berwick and camped for the night at Cockburnspath. By nightfall next day he had established himself and his army in the town of Haddington, less than twenty miles from Edinburgh, and was proceeding to dig himself in.\n\nAt the same time, Lord Culter's Scottish force, driving south, discovered the route taken by Wharton and Lennox and veered to come at their flank, thus missing a spearhead of horse sent ahead by Lord Wharton under his son Harry.\n\nHarry was tough and confident. His orders were to bypass the house of Drumlanrig, to destroy the town of Durisdeer, and to give fight only if the Douglases did.\n\nHe expected little trouble from the Douglases. Report said most of them had already fled from his way: their head, the Earl of Angus himself, was at Drumlanrig and with him, whispering in his ear and stiffening his gouty resolution, was his daughter, Margaret Lennox.\n\nThe disaster exploded in Lord Wharton's face: Wharton, the most experienced of them all, plodding north with his foot soldiers in his son's wake.\n\nHe was eight miles north of Dumfries when one survivor brought the news. The Douglases had not fled. They had joined up with John Maxwell in orderly ambush, and falling on Harry's advancing horse, had smashed them to pieces. In this they were helped by the Earl of Angus and Drumlanrig himself, whose house Wharton had spared and where Margaret, ignorant of her appalling failure, must be waiting.\n\nAnd further aided by one half of young Wharton's own force of Border English and forsworn Scots who, peeling off the red cross of England, had abandoned him with a ferocious joy at the first onslaught and had joined the Douglases.\n\nThere was no time for mourning: in an hour the Scottish army might be upon him. Wharton turned from the messenger and found Lennox beside him, the fair, unreliable face whiter than his own. \"Margaret!\"\n\nHe had his horse gathered to go when Wharton took rough hold of his bridle. \"No! I'm sorry, sir, I can't risk your being taken hostage. The whole Scottish army lies between here and Drumlanrig. Even if you got there, your wife'd be worse off in your company than she is now in Angus's. For God's sake\u2014\"\n\nHe waited only to see the resolution fade from the earl's face, and began to issue orders. It was then that he heard, unbelieving, that fighting had already taken place on his right wing. Culter, always gifted with a special intelligence in the field, had found Wharton's outposts and advanced to strike his flank.\n\nMaxwell's men, pouring over the hills half an hour later, found the English troops streaming south with Culter at their heels; in minutes they had closed the gap and themselves caught the skirts of Wharton's army. It staggered in its tracks, turned uncertainly, and willy-nilly, came to grips with the combined Scottish troops, renegades and all.\n\nThis time they fought side by side, the Maxwells and Douglases, Buccleuch and Culter, and if they were irresistible, it was partly because they despised each other and partly because they dared not lose. Wharton, even in his despairing rage, could make nothing of them. He recoiled, and recoiled again, leaving his dead and wounded where they lay, and within an hour it was nearly over, and a rider was off, wearing his exhausted horse to the hocks, to tell Carlisle of the annihilation of the whole of Lord Wharton's army.\n\nTom Wharton, the Warden's older son at Carlisle, sent the news to Lord Grey at Haddington. It told of the total overthrow of the entire company led by Lord Wharton and the Earl of Lennox, including the loss of his father and his brother Harry, and it was the death knell of the combined plan. Lord Grey dared not hesitate. Leaving a garrison to fortify the town of Haddington, he marched straight home to Berwick.\n\nThere he learned with a shrill and incredulous fury that Harry Wharton was alive; that escaping with some men from Durisdeer he had been able to rescue his father from his later sad straits and that, although much diminished both in numbers and in confidence, Lord Wharton, the Earl of Lennox, Harry and a large proportion of their troops were all happily safe at Carlisle.\n\nWhat he did not learn, and what the Earl of Angus, much mystified, could have told him, was that when the Douglas returned to Drumlanrig after the fighting, his daughter Margaret Lennox had totally disappeared.\n\nSybilla took the news to the Queen, hesitating outside the sickroom where Mary of Guise had remained now all day. Then she gently opened the door.\n\nThe priests and the doctors had gone. Alone in the room, the Queen Mother knelt by the bedside, her cheek on the smooth coverlet. For a moment Sybilla paused; then she walked steadily to the bedside and looked.\n\nThe child had turned, and was sleeping quietly under the fresh sheets, one hand under her cheek, her breath stirring peacefully in a deep and feverless sleep.\n\nSybilla blew her nose with muffled energy, and touched the Queen Dowager on the shoulder.\n\n[ But Proves to Be Covered ]\n\nBy sheer chance, Lord Culter's irreverent cadet was less than fifty yards away from him when he swept down the Durisdeer road in murderous pursuit of Wharton. Lymond let him go. Except for an episode which he made memorable both for John Maxwell and Lord Wharton's son, he took no part in the fighting, his concern at the time being solely to supervise an extramural activity on the part of Turkey Mat.\n\nWill Scott, sitting under orders in his room, the Buke of the Howlat open on his knee, heard the party leave Crawfordmuir for Durisdeer. They came back much later, and Turkey's voice was audible, first on the floor below him; then travelling up the stairs which passed Lymond's room, off which his own opened. The jostling of several feet came next; they passed Lymond's door and ascended to the third and top story, where they halted. The lock of a door clicked, and a woman's voice said icily, \"Assuming that you now feel safe, will you be good enough to unbind my eyes?\" Then a door banged, the lock turned again, and the tramp of feet repassed the door and disappeared below.\n\nIn the racket from the first floor he nearly missed the soft opening and closing of the stairway door into Lymond's room. Then the firelit walls in the adjoining room bloomed yellow in new-lit candlelight and his own door swung open. \"Bored?\" asked Lymond.\n\nScott dropped the book he had not been reading. \"I heard Mat and a woman. Was that the Countess?\"\n\n\"That was Margaret Douglas.\" The mobile face was virginal. Lymond said, \"The sweet woman doesn't know yet who has her: I thought it would be nice to let her speculate for an hour or so. When she's brought to me you will stay here and listen. In the dark with the door two-thirds shut. God knows why it should be left to me to educate you, but I feel in all fairness you ought to be equipped for life.\" At the door he added mildly, \"Enjoy yourself,\" and went out.\n\nScott tried to read. Except for the muffled voices from the lower stair, the tower was silent; the hills and half-mined valleys outside lay quiet in the dripping darkness. Next door, there was no movement either, although he could hear the fire crack and see the resulting flare through his own near-shut door. He had no idea what Lymond was doing. He remembered suddenly a revealing expression used at Annan, and wondered if it had been reported to Lady Lennox; and what a well-born majestically reared young woman would make of this wildcat eccentric.\n\nWhen he thought the time was nearly up, he snuffed his own candles and found a place from which he could comfortably see without being seen. As an afterthought, he took off his boots. Then he settled to watch.\n\nMatthew's knock on the staircase door, when it came, was thunderous and his voice when it opened rolled like Pluto welcoming one of the damned. \"The Countess of Lennox,\" he said, and retreated, closing the door behind him.\n\nMargaret Douglas, standing just inside the room, was cloaked to the chin and very frightened indeed. The quality of her startled Scott: the near-leonine vigour, the firm chin and big, shapely hands. Then the unexpected black eyes took on fire from the reflected light, her lips parted and she unclenched and dropped her hands. \"Francis!\" Few people, except perhaps those with Scott's opportunities, could have told that the recognition had preceded the fright. \"Francis!\"\n\n\"Yes. Come in,\" said Lymond pleasantly, coming into view. He was dressed, as Scott had hardly ever seen him, in white shirt and hose, sleek white and gold in the firelight: the effect was damascened and deliberate.\n\nMomentarily bemused, the Countess of Lennox moved forward, her blue robe brushing the new wood of the floor, until she shared the firelight. Her hair was wet with rain; its fairness darkened. \"Was I brought here by your orders? I wish you had told me. I was very frightened.\"\n\nLymond drew out a chair for her, and waited while she sat. \"You should perhaps allow yourself to be frightened now. It would be very suitable and maidenly.\"\n\nThe intelligent black eyes were without guile. \"It probably would. But I have a husband.\"\n\n\"A rather indifferent one.\" The silverpoint voice was equally bland.\n\n\"A very partial one.\u2026 At least I trust him to protect my good name,\" said Margaret. So she was not ignorant of what happened at Annan. She added reflectively, \"And he saved your life, once.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Lymond. \"But then, I spared his at Annan. I've regretted it since. I think that, like the dolphin, he would be prettier dying.\"\n\nMargaret exclaimed gently. \"Dear me: now, what have we here? Revenge or jealousy? You want me as a weapon against my husband?\"\n\n\"What else should I want you for?\"\n\nHer eyes sparkled, but her voice was calm. \"To insult me, perhaps?\"\n\n\"No. What a low opinion of me you have,\" said Lymond tenderly. \"I haven't captured you to exchange for Lennox. Not at all. I was proposing to offer you to your husband in return for your small son.\"\n\nAt last, the Attic tableau exploded. \"Harry!\" She was on her feet. \"Not my baby: no! Francis, please! That's being vindictive beyond all sense and sanity. Even you can't be callous enough to ask a small child to suffer for\u2026 Matthew won't send him!\"\n\n\"Of course he will. He can always have more.\"\n\n\"Unless you fail to send me back.\"\n\n\"Unless I keep you both.\" He was irradiated with a soft cheerfulness. \"But I hardly ever indulge in acts of retribution: they're usually bad for trade. I propose to offer the child for sale to the Scottish Government, whether alive (which they might find awkward) or dead, which might be more convenient, diplomatically speaking. As a Catholic, you see, his existence threatens the Scottish throne rather more than the English one. I do hope you are not putting all your simple faith in the Protector, because I think that would be most unwise.\"\n\nThe dulcet voice floated out to Scott, sitting wrathfully in hiding. So that was the scheme. And if Margaret Douglas was sent back to England, who was Lymond proposing to offer to Grey in exchange for Harvey? He felt a surge of sympathy for the Countess of Lennox.\n\nShe was saying in a numb kind of voice, \"I'll pay as much as\u2026 I'll pay more than the Scottish Government to save the boy,\" and the Master promptly agreed.\n\n\"I could get the money that way, of course; but without quite the same moral effect. It would be rather refreshing to upset the Earl of Lennox and enter the good offices of the Earl of Arran at the same stroke. Frankly, I doubt if I could resist it.\"\n\nThere was a short, tortured silence.\n\nLady Lennox made a limp gesture with her hands, and suddenly the tears were there, blurring her picture of him before the fire, his hands loose at his sides, his head a little bent. \"These things we've heard about you\u2014how can this have happened in five years?\"\n\n\"Cinders dressed up are still cinders. Like Petroneus, perhaps, I take pleasure in committing suicide at leisure.\"\n\nShe shook her head, the tears streaking her cheek. \"When you know the art of living, you don't look for death, or half-death; you don't hide in a hole like a chub. One accident; one reverse! You had only to force your way through it, and what mightn't you have been?\"\n\nHe shrugged, one arm along the mantelpiece. \"Who can tell? One enjoys being the most debauched chub in the kingdom.\"\n\nLoosened by the headshake, her thick woven hair was falling loose across her shoulders; she had forgotten both it and her shift, glancing white through the blue cloak. Stung by his tone she said, \"You blame me. You blame me for what happened.\"\n\n\"Why should I? I've escaped the grand mal and the petit mal and even the Duke of Exeter's daughter\u2026\"\n\nHer hands were gripping each other hard. \"We had to send you to France for your own security. You must remember. Your friends would have killed you. We had to get you away from London. I didn't even know you were being taken\u2014it was the King who\u2014\"\n\n\"Who arranged my convalescence in the English fortress at Calais whence, by stupefying bad luck, I fell into French hands. And none of it would have happened but for that very ill-timed dispatch.\"\n\nMargaret bit her lip. \"I heard about it. The one the Scots found, that our man left by mistake. After the convent was destroyed.\"\n\nThe blue eyes, unveiled, were directly on hers. \"By mistake?\"\n\n\"But\u2014yes! The destroying party took your letter to follow your instructions, and when the leader was killed it was found by his body.\u2026 What else could have happened? What else did you think? There was no double-dealing on our part, I would swear to it.\"\n\n\"Could you swear to your uncle's share?\"\n\n\"The King?\" She looked startled. \"Surely not. He could be violent, but not\u2014\"\n\n\"But not what? Was there anything he was not?\" said Lymond. \"Henry of England had all the virtues and all the faults, and solved the contradiction by making scapegoats and sin-eaters of half his entourage. If it suited him to discredit me between breakfast and dinner he would, like a shot from Buxted.\"\n\nHe stopped as she laid impulsive hands on his arms, crushing the thick silk. \"How can we know what happened, so long afterward? We can't drag young tragedies forever through our Uves, or carry our years like enemies, as you are doing.\"\n\nExtravagantly, the fair brows lifted. \"Alas, my sweet nonage. But five years of these vigorous times would remove the bloom from Lord Lennox himself.\"\n\n\"And bitterness is a new thing.\"\n\n\"Not at all. My natural habit, like the squirting cucumber. Any further traces of rot?\"\n\nHer gaze holding his, she let her fingers slip down his arms until, touching his hands, she felt and turned them palm upward. They lay lax in her own. Then Margaret Lennox looked down.\n\nScott did not hear the sound she made as, clenching her fists over the two curled hands, she carried them to her breast. \"The galleys? The galleys, Francis? Your beautiful hands!\"\n\n\"And my beautiful back!\" he said caustically, and she released him instantly and turned away.\n\n\"You're right, of course. Whatever you're going to do, you have every right. We let you fall into the hands of the French\u2014we betrayed your loyalty even if we did it by accident\u2014\"\n\n\"And if it wasn't an accident?\" said Lymond mildly.\n\nShe turned and faced him. \"Then if the King was responsible, I am his niece. Take what revenge you want.\"\n\nMoving with exquisite care Lymond came close to Margaret Douglas for the first time of his own accord. With two pensive fingers, he released the clasp of her cloak, and it dropped, a slither of blue, to the ground. The white of her dress, lit by the fire, flowed like summer snow into the eyes. \"And what about Matthew?\" he said. \"The very partial husband?\"\n\nHer eyes were wide. \"What's Matthew? One step to a double\u2014perhaps a triple throne.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Yes. All.\"\n\nShe was as pale as the silk. Scott saw Lymond's gaze rest on her, delicately practised, just before he moved. Then he touched her, and the woman's eyes closed. Folded with infinite care on the sweet edge between agony and delight she suffered a kiss of an expert passion which made itself lord of all the senses, of thought, and the dead fields of time. The fire blazed on Lymond's shoulder and arm and his bent head, and Scott saw something regal in the still, white and gold figures melted into one, pliant as a painting in honey and wax.\n\nThen Lymond raised his head, releasing her mouth, and taking the woman's hand, drew her to the long settle by the fire. Margaret slipped to his feet.\n\n\"Come away.\" Words were choking her. \"Come away with me. Work for us again. The Protector will give you all you lost\u2014your manor\u2014your money\u2014more than you can ever have here. This wandering exile is slow death for a man of your sort.\u2026 Come back with me!\"\n\nHe drew a slow finger across her cheek. \"With the game so nearly won? I'm heir to Midculter, Margaret. If things go well, my rooftree will be more impressive than any the Protector is likely to offer.\"\n\n\"More impressive than Temple Newsam?\" said Margaret; and the two pairs of eyes locked.\n\nThe fine, scarred fingers which had killed the papingo and set fire to his mother's house played gently with the thick, beautiful hair. \"You would take me to your home?\" said Lymond softly. \"But even Lennox\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014daren't gainsay the Protector. And if you proved yourself valuable to Somerset, as you could\u2014Francis, with your mind, your imagination, your leadership\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014And my savoury reputation. It's hopeless, Margaret. If my character in Scotland were intact, I could make Somerset uncle to an emperor; as an outlaw, my practical value is nil. Unless a good name can be created for me. Or restored.\"\n\nHe didn't go on, and there was a silence. The woman had laid her cheek on his knee, her long hair fallen on the shining firelit swaths of her robe, spread about the hearth. A log dropped, turning the man's hair a brighter gold. Without moving, Margaret repeated, \"Restored?\"\n\nLymond's soft voice was reflective. \"Mightn't some story be concocted that the authorities would believe? Of forgery\u2014strategic betrayal\u2014something with witnesses, convincing enough to clear me?\"\n\nAt bay before every weapon of his mind and body, Margaret answered him unwillingly. \"It's no use, Francis. It does no good to pretend. Nothing can restore the past: how could it? The man who left the dispatch is dead. I could teach speeches and confessions to any number in his place, but do you think they would withstand the boot or the rack? Arran would make very sure this time he was not being deceived again. You can't remake a reputation out of nothing.\"\n\n\"I can't, perhaps; but you generally manage to get what you want. Even me, for a consideration. I've told you my price.\"\n\nThis time, the pause was a long one. The woman gasped suddenly. \"I make no conditions.\"\n\n\"And I make only one,\" said Lymond, and with smooth strength pulled her up momentarily, his mouth on hers. \"Do you want me, Margaret\u2026 at Temple Newsam?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then will you pay my fee?\"\n\n\"I'll pay you\u2026 I'll pay you anything,\" she said, \"if you'll come away with me tonight.\"\n\n\"Tonight?\" asked Lymond, and thoughtfully lifted the hair from her neck. \"What will you pay me?\"\n\nShe kissed his roving hands. \"I'll find a man\u2014someone to swear your dispatch was a forgery.\"\n\n\"What man?\"\n\n\"Anyone. A prisoner, perhaps. Or a condemned man. I could get him to do it for the price of his life, couldn't I? I promise. I'll make it convincing. Will you come? Oh! my love, will you come?\"\n\nScott had the second's warning Margaret lacked; saw the face above the felicitous hands; glimpsed the relentless eyes. Margaret Lennox said, \"Oh! my love, will you come?\" and Lymond slipped from her like a fish, leaving her kneeling, empty-handed, addressing half-mouthed endearments to an empty settle.\n\n\"Shall I come? God; no, darling. I like my sluts honest.\"\n\nThere was a single sound, dragged on the intaken breath; then the woman sank on her heels and Scott saw the blood on her lip where her teeth had snapped shut on it. \"Well?\" said Lymond, grinning, from across the room, and she flung to her feet, spitting Tudor venom and Tudor fluency into the fair, insolent face.\n\n\"Conceited peasant! Gross, degenerate weakling, reeking of ditch philosophy and decay\u2014Do you imagine I'd let you touch me if there was an alternative? I offered you freedom and security\u2014\"\n\n\"You put me in purgatory, and you are offering me hell,\" exclaimed Lymond. \"Poor Thomas Howard. Did you offer him life and liberty too?\"\n\n\"Have you the effrontery to reproach me with lovers? What of your own?\"\n\n\"Mine all have whole necks and go to bed with me for joy, not for lions on their quarterings and galloon on their underwear.\"\n\n\"I would have you roasted alive.\"\n\n\"You would repent it. Who else can give you this brand of excitement? Not our marrowless Matthew, anyway.\"\n\n\"He doesn't suffer from\u2014from satyriasis, if that's what you mean.\"\n\n\"I can't help that,\" said Lymond brutally. \"Take your petty claws out of the prey, my sweet. I want your infant, not you.\"\n\nThere was silence. Tiger being revealed to tiger, the roaring died and was replaced by a brooding watchfulness. Then Margaret Douglas said, \"You will never get my son.\"\n\n\"I shall, you know.\" Lymond was the image of despotic calm. \"Unless you get the proofs I ask for. I admire ingenuity, but not quite so much of it. My capture by the French was no accident. King Henry's decision to make a scapegoat of me was no accident.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Margaret. \"It was no accident. And because of it, your beggarly deceits were made public property. What can I do about it? What false proofs and pseudo-confessions would convince when the world knows them to be extorted by threat? No, my dear Francis, you've closed that door yourself. Your life as a man ended five years ago: your life as a cur depends on how long you please your numerous masters\u2014\"\n\n\"Or mistresses.\"\n\nThere were tears of rage in the black eyes. \"Can I never forget?\"\n\n\"No. Why should you? I think of it often, with a certain aged melancholy. Charg\u00e9 d'ans et pleurant son antique prouesse\u2026 Must I send for the boy?\"\n\nMargaret Lennox stirred. Walking away from the fire, she lifted her cloak and threw it over her arm with a certain detached grace. \"Your antique prouesse was a little better than this. Preserve me from na\u00efvet\u00e9.\"\n\nHis eyes were guarded but his voice was blithe. \"It's the simple life. An atavistic return to primitive barter. An instinct to buy things and people with shells, like the French.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"I have no intention of giving you what you want. My son is quite safe.\"\n\nLymond's expression conveyed qualified warmth. \"You want to stay here and mend my shirts. But as I've already said, the positions are all filled.\"\n\n\"On the contrary. You will send me away yourself. Because,\" said Lady Lennox, \"we have your brother's wife.\"\n\nFor a long time, no one spoke. The silence stretched on until Scott's whole listening body tingled with it; then at length Lymond's eyes dropped. The cord of his shirt had loosened, and with one hand, still looking down, he drew it together. \"How do you know of this?\"\n\n\"By letter.\" Smiling, she produced from her cloak and held out a longish letter which Lymond read, one hand still arranging his shirt. She watched him. \"Can you make out the writing? She was captured by young Wharton during the march north on Wednesday, and should be with my husband now at Annan. He wanted me to join him quickly and chaperone her. Then he was going to hold her to ransom.\"\n\nShe relinquished the letter, still watching him cynically. \"And that, my dear Francis, makes me an awkward possession. When Lennox hears I am missing, he has one simple remedy\u2014to offer the life of the young Lady Culter in exchange for mine. And that means that the whole weight and power of your brother and his friends will be bent toward finding me.\"\n\n\"I am distraught at the prospect.\" Lymond spoke readily enough, though his hands were white at the knuckles. \"He's exceedingly unlikely to do so. And what makes you think that Mariotta's future\u2014or lack of it\u2014has any interest for me?\"\n\n\"My dear Francis,\" said Margaret blandly. \"Of course it interests you. Her death brings you one step nearer Midculter, doesn't it?\"\n\nHis unemotional face seemed to stir a curious animation in her. She went on swiftly. \"Send me back to England and the Scots have lost their counterhostage. Send me back, and I promise to see that your sister-in-law lives for thirty years apart from her husband\u2014and that her child fails to survive.\"\n\n\"I have a better idea,\" said Lymond, and finished lacing his shirt with both hands, his eyes resting on her. \"Suppose we have an accident with you. Her death will naturally follow.\"\n\n\"But then your brother would be free to remarry.\"\n\n\"True.\" He had crossed the room to a writing table, and was inscribing a long message on the back of the letter she had given him. Her voice sharpened a little, and she moved toward him. \"What are you doing?\"\n\nHe didn't look up, but continued to write quickly and fluently. \"I prefer to be my own butcher.\"\n\nHe finished, opened the door, and called Turkey Mat. When the big man appeared, red with the climb and with open curiosity in his eyes, Lymond gave him the letter. \"This is a message to the Earl of Lennox offering to exchange his wife for the young Lady Culter, whom he holds prisoner. He was known to have her at Annan, but he may be in Carlisle by now. This gives a time and place for the exchange, and also asks for a safe-conduct for our escort. I want someone to deliver it now, and a reply brought back as soon as possible. Can you arrange that?\"\n\n\"Easily enough.\" Mat opened his mouth to say something else, caught the Master's eye and thought better of it. He clattered down the stairs while Lymond stayed by the door, holding it open for Lady Lennox to pass through. \"Let me speed you to your slumbers,\" he said sardonically. \"It has been a fascinating evening.\"\n\nTriumph glowed in her face. \"You concede me my victory?\"\n\n\"Out, alas! Now goeth away my prisoners and all my prey. If you mean do I agree that you've saved your offspring at the expense of Lady Culter's, the answer is yes.\"\n\nFor a moment the black eyes lingered. \"You would have been wiser to come with me.\"\n\n\"I prefer to be unwise and safe.\"\n\nMargaret moved slowly to the door. \"And Lady Culter? Are you reserving for her one of those filled positions you were speaking of?\"\n\n\"What\u2014Mariotta too, do you think?\" asked Lymond. \"Good God, is there no peace? Is there no privacy, even in my present squalid estate? Shall I send you each an eye on a thorny stick like St. Triduana to preserve my chastity?\"\n\nStanding close beside him, her face was as hard as his. \"How you hate women! They succumb too easily. They give you no contest for power. They don't understand the ironies and the obscure literary jokes. You make love with your nerve ends and all the time the brain under that yellow hair is scheming, planning, preparing, analyzing.\u2026 Worn machinery may rattle on for a time, my dear; but there comes a day when the axle chafes and grinds, the rod breaks and the engine is nothing but scobs and lumber fit for the madhouse.\u2026 Go on driving yourself. Drive your men. Conceive more and subtler ways of getting the better of a sniggering world. Take out the spigot of your spleen and let it choke your masters. But when you're brought to infest my door with your begging, expect nothing; for I should sooner pity Apollyon himself.\"\n\n\"For our next meeting I must put my own phrases to fatten,\" said Lymond. \"In the meantime\u2014good night.\"\n\nThere was a flame in the black eyes. \"That hurt, did it? Is it possible? Krishna among the milkmaids gored by a cow?\"\n\nHe warned, impassively. \"Make an end, Margaret. My patience can outlast your dignity.\"\n\nThe reminder brought her to herself. The wildness faded from her eyes; the full lips twisted in a grimacing smile. \"By all means, let us remember our manners. It would be rude not to take leave of our audience as well.\"\n\nThe smile broadened, and before Lymond could move, she turned on her heel and crossed the room. Scott, caught half rising from the floor, blinked in the rush of light as the intervening door was flung open and the Countess of Lennox confronted him, bright contempt on her face.\n\n\"What! Only one!\" she said. \"How rash of you, Francis!\" And, to the boy: \"I hope your cramps won't trouble you. Your master is too verbose.\"\n\nWretchedly angry and embarrassed, Scott could find nothing to say, and saw that she knew it and was laughing at him. She held out the cloak on her arm\u2014\"The stairs are so draughty\"\u2014and waited while he clumsily put it around her. Then without thanking him she turned and swept back to the staircase where impassively Lymond waited. He, too, let her pass; and spoke when she was already on the steps. \"Go up and lock her in.\"\n\nScott carried out the order soberly and quickly. He would not have crossed the Master then for all the breeding gold in the nurseries of these dark hills."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 66",
                "text": "Later, it was different. Later, his sensibilities muffled with beer, Will Scott wandered upstairs and tried to get into his room. The outer door to Lymond's through which he had to pass was locked. He tried the handle twice before he realized this; and ran downstairs. Matthew grinned when he saw him, and hiccoughed lightly. \"No entry?\"\n\nScott shook his head. \"God: he's been in there for hours.\u2026 He hasn't come down?\"\n\n\"Always excepting he's raxed himself scaling the window, no.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm damned if I'm going to sleep on the floor because his lordship has gone to bed with the door locked. I'm going up to wake him.\"\n\nMatthew continued placidly to hammer nails into his boots, a process that seemed to disturb his neighbours' sleep not at all.\n\n\"I shouldna bother, if I were you. You can have my bed down here.\"\n\nScott stared. \"Dammit, why should I take your bed? I've got one of my own. What's up with him now?\"\n\nBang. Mat took another nail from his strong teeth and set it in the big sole. \"Nothing that three days of concentration won't cure. He likely couldna come down if he wanted to.\"\n\nScott, leaning over, whipped the remaining nails from between the broken teeth. \"Why can't he come down?\"\n\nA hairy elbow was wagged.\n\n\"For three days?\"\n\n\"It's the usual.\"\n\n\"And what,\" said Scott, outraged, \"if the Queen's troops come looking for the Countess of Lennox? Good God, we're sitting on explosive, and he knows it better than anyone. Doesn't anyone stop him when this happens?\"\n\n\"There's no right reason,\" said Turkey, investing in another crop of nails, \"why no one should. We just prefer not to, that's all. There's nothing to stop you, if you're keen.\"\n\n\"I'm not keen. But I don't see why he should be allowed to drown his inadequacies at the cost of our safety. Why,\" said Scott, who had drunk quite a bit himself, \"are you scared to go up?\"\n\nMatthew looked at him indulgently. \"Scared? Not the least bit of it. We just like to give a man leave to enjoy himself\u2026 God: are ye going?\" For Scott had risen and was making for the stair.\n\nMatthew's beard split and all the nails fell out of his mouth.\n\n\"Jesus, you're the brave fellow,\" he said. \"Here, laddie: take a lend o' my hammer.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "Through the door, Lymond's voice was perfectly clear and composed. \"Who is it?\"\n\n\"Will Scott.\" He stopped banging. \"I want to come in!\"\n\n\"Well, you can't come in,\" said the voice pleasantly. \"The door's locked.\"\n\n\"I know that.\" Scott, already irritated, began to get angry. \"Let me in!\"\n\nThere was a silence. \"Why?\" said the Master.\n\n\"I want to speak to you.\"\n\n\"You are speaking to me.\"\n\n\"I want to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Go to bed downstairs.\"\n\n\"I want to go to bed in my own\u2014\" Scott, finding the ring of this a little undignified, revised it. \"Open the door. Or\"\u2014with a rush of spirits to the head\u2014\"or I'll open it for you with a hatchet.\"\n\nThis worked. There were no footsteps, but the key suddenly turned and the door opened on a drawn sword. Lymond, slender and gently dishevelled, regarded his lieutenant with a reflective blue stare.\n\nScott was suddenly very prudent indeed. Lymond sober was someone distinctly to be reckoned with: Lymond sodden was a child of danger. \"I wanted to speak to you,\" said the boy. \"But not over a sword.\"\n\n\"Through it, then.\" The silk shirt was crumpled and sweat-stained, the hair tawdry, but the point of the sword was unwavering.\n\nMore than a little hampered by his public downstairs, Scott prevaricated. \"I came to suggest that you had some food. There's a lot to plan for. Your brother might already have traced the Countess\u2026 and there's Lady Culter to be looked after when she comes.\"\n\nThe sword gave a small, evil flash. \"Don't fuss, my sackless father-lasher: everything is being taken care of. I don't want a meal. I prefer you to sleep below tonight. I don't wish to continue this conversation. Good night.\"\n\nUnfortunately, a Buccleuch was incapable of leaving well alone. Scott said truculently, \"You can drink yourself into a jelly any other time. This is an emergency.\"\n\nAbove the blade were merciless eyes. \"Emergency? But what emergency could be outwith your ineffable talents? Or Matthew's?\"\n\nThis exposed the root of the trouble. Scott said sharply, \"You know they'll obey no one but you when there are women about. You can't mean to expose Lady Culter to that rabble downstairs!\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked the obliging, slurred voice. \"I've every confidence in the rabble downstairs. None of them, for example, has so far tried to teach me my job.\"\n\nRestraint was impossible. \"It might be a good thing if they had,\" said Scott, and flung himself to one side as the steel drove at his throat. He hit the doorpost, ducked, and with a speed and accuracy that Lymond himself had taught him, pulled the Master's doublet from a doorside chair and with muffled hand snatched and twisted the attacking blade.\n\nThe sword fell instantly to the floor. Scott slammed the door and picked it up, but slowly; for it came to him that the Master was a good deal less drunk and a good deal more dangerous than he had thought. Lymond, watching him, said, \"Look after it. If you let me touch it a second time, I shall kill.\u2026 You're admirably pretty emerging from your pupa robe a chevalier des dames; but I've a dislike of interference amounting to morbidity.\u2026 And I fight only with women.\"\n\nScott, with his next remark cut from under his feet, floundered. Then he said baldly, \"What are you going to do with your sister-in-law?\"\n\n\"Sit on my sacrum and sneer at her,\" said Lymond. He walked to the window and turned, supporting himself on the sill. \"All right. Strangle your inchoate chivalry and take yourself off. I'm being indecently reasonable, but my control doesn't last long in this state.\"\n\nIt was too much.\n\nAlready weakened, the seel over Scott's eyes jerked and broke through, and he stared at the other man with the eyes of an enemy. The blue eyes narrowed in response: Lymond was no fool. \"Well?\" he said, and this time his voice had no slur.\n\nFor answer, Will Scott raised one arm and sent the Master's sword spinning from him across the floor. \"Take it,\" he said. \"And befuddle yourself under the table if you want to. It's no affair of mine.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Lymond. \"You're going downstairs to assume command?\"\n\n\"If they'd accept me, I'd do it.\" Scott's hair flamed above his excited, light eyes; he stood by the door, tall, wide-shouldered and pale. \"As it is, I'd be glad if you'd treat me from now on as one of the rest. I'll keep faith with you as far as I'm able. But I want no part in your mudraking personal habits and your dealings with women.\" And, maddened by the sheer, lax boredom in Lymond's face, Scott burst out. \"What wanton notoriety is left for you to dabble in? What devilry inspires you to gut the nerves of every man and woman trying to befriend you\u2026?\"\n\n\"For God's sake!\" The exclamation was so quick and so savage that Scott froze. \"For God's sake!\" said Lymond. \"Isn't one bitch with a rage for dramatics enough for one day? Spare me your mimicking morals and spring-tailed sensibilities for tonight, at least! What do you know of any of the women you presume to defend? You look, and puke, and scuttle away like a duck that's laid an egg in a geyser.\u2026 Do you consider yourself better equipped in all your purity to lead this troop than I am?\"\n\nAll fear had left Scott. \"Yes, I do,\" he said quietly. \"But as I have said, they would follow no one but you.\"\n\n\"Unless, perhaps, I instructed them to look to you as their leader?\"\n\nScott's face was set. \"I'm no hanger-on waiting for a madman's shoes.\"\n\n\"I am as sane now as I shall ever be,\" said Lymond grimly. \"I'm offering you a chance to take command now, if you want it. Complete control. Of the men, and all the destinies of my female friends. Will you take it?\"\n\nThis was\u2014wasn't it\u2014what he had prayed for; what he had dreamed about and, more recently, what he had longed for to sting Lymond into shame. But\u2014\n\n\"What,\" he asked hoarsely, \"do I have to do? Fight you for it?\"\n\n\"'I am thi master: willt thou fight?' No. I am too much your master there, my sweet one. There's another way.\" He held out his mug.\n\n\"Drink with me. I have some hours' start of you which is, shall we say, a just handicap. Match me cup by cup for as long as the beer lasts; and it'll last longer, I promise you, than either of us. The man insensible first is the loser: the man with the staying power to open that door thereafter, walk down the stairs and show himself to Matthew has control of us all in future.\"\n\nScott, making no move to take the beer, eyed the other with something like fright in his eyes. \"God, but\u2026 to wager so much on a drinking bout!\"\n\n\"Don't you want the chance?\"\n\n\"Why, yes\u2014but\u2014At least make the contest a real one!\"\n\n\"Don't you want the chance?\" said Lymond again.\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Then take it. It's the only one you'll get. The first qualification for leading a band of hard-drinking cutthroats is the faculty of drinking harder and cutting deeper than any of them. You needn't be squeamish,\" he added contemptuously. \"I'm not too drunk to know what I'm doing, and I shall abide by the result. I have an excellent reason as a rule for everything I do, except perhaps recruiting redheaded predicants from the more notoriously pigheaded of our families.\"\n\n\"And if I win,\" said Scott, \"\u2014if I win, can I do what I wish about Lady Lennox and Lady Culter?\"\n\n\"You can set up a seraglio with them if you want to,\" said Lymond. \"Agreed?\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" said Will Scott, and raised the first cup to his mouth."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 68",
                "text": "High on the hilltops, among the wet scrub by the burn, a blackbird was singing. The notes, round as syrup, melted into the raw air of dawn and coaxed the cold, reddened sun to its day.\n\nIn the new tower, thick walls enclosed a warm, snoring darkness: men and dogs rustling together like the carved and stubby images of Asiatic deities in the straw of the common room. Then, far up the twisting staircase, a door opened above.\n\nMatthew, supine on a straw paliasse, hands folded on his belly, snorted, belched and turned laboriously on one side, where he continued to snore. But now he faced the dark square at the foot of the stairs.\n\nSilence. Then, distantly, the same door shut; there was a pause; then footsteps fell, descending with infinite care.\n\nThey came nearer. Matthew lay still: lay and snored while a dark figure appeared in the low entrance, took two unsteady steps and halted, outflung against a wall, snatching security in a grave and preposterous game with imbalance. Throbbing with birdsong, the grey light of morning searched and pricked along the plaster, illumining a flattened hand, a silk sleeve and a wry, colourless profile.\n\nBehind the Assyrian beard and half-shut eyes, Matthew was grinning. \"Well, well. And fu' as a puggie\u2026\" He got up quickly and followed as Crawford of Lymond, pushing himself at last from the doorway, propelled his way from wall to wall and out of the door.\n\nMat reached the Master as he was taking his head out of the water barrel, his hair dark and streaming and his skin involuntarily trembling in the sharp air. Lymond expressed no surprise, but buried his head in the towel Mat held out, saying after a moment in a voice still stifled by the cloth, \"The message from Lennox. Has it come back yet?\"\n\n\"Half an hour ago,\" said Mat, and met the other man's eyes emerging from the towel. \"They agree to exchange the Countess of Lennox for Lady Culter and have appointed a time and a place for tomorrow. And a safe-conduct.\"\n\n\"Good.\" Lymond dropped the towel, supporting himself on the edge of the water butt. \"You know what to do.\"\n\nAlthough he had not thought it necessary to tell Scott, Matthew had received the fullest instructions about Mariotta. So, though his eyes on the Master were thoughtful, he simply said, \"Yes, I know,\" and picking up the cloth, waited patiently.\n\nLymond moved to the staircase and dropping on the bottom step, head in hands, said nothing for a while. Presently, he looked up. \"I'm going away. I don't want to disturb the others. Get my horse, Mat, will you? And my bow and a blanket and some clothes.\"\n\nIt didn't take long. Once in the saddle, Lymond looked rather better. \"There's some food in the bag,\" said Turkey aggressively. \"And a cloak.\"\n\n\"Thanks\u2026 I don't expect to be off long.\"\n\n\"And\u2014\" Mat was not prone to ask questions, but the event was too much for him. \"And young Will?\"\n\n\"Upstairs. A jewel in its setting,\" said the blurred voice, with a trace of its normal caustic assurance. Then Lymond turned the horse out of the yard and a moment later put it to the trot down the hill.\n\nMatthew went in. No one had moved, although as the light grew, strange and welcome noises could be heard in the kitchens. Turning into the narrow staircase he walked up to the first floor and opened the door of Lymond's room.\n\nOne solitary candle was burning still. The room reeked of tallow and spilled drink, and last night's fire was a mess of charred wood and ash in the grate. Across the hearth, his head in the cold rubbish and his hand still clutching a pewter tankard which had emptied itself about him as he fell, lay Will Scott, snoring ferociously in an alcoholic stupor. Someone had loosened his clothing at the neck, put a cushion under his head, and laid a towel and a basin neatly and squarely on his stomach.\n\nMatthew absorbed the spectacle; grinned; and still grinning, walked to the door and shut it gently behind him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 69",
                "text": "From Crawfordmuir, the Master made his way slowly across country to Corstorphine.\n\nIt took five days to arrange a rendezvous with Sir George Douglas, for Lord Grey, learning wisdom at last, was keeping Sir George fast by the shirt-tails at Berwick while awaiting the arrival of Douglas's elder son, the expected pledge of the Douglas good will. But by the beginning of March, Sir George was back at Dalkeith and free to arrange with Mr. Crawford of Lymond the more precise details of the exchange of Samuel Harvey for the life and person of Will Scott.\n\nIt was shortly after this that one of the Queen's surgeons arrived late at the baby's bedside at Dumbarton. He had more than elixirs to offer; he had astonishing news: of a tale of blindfold seduction. Of how he had been forced to care for a young woman in premature childbirth, in a tower solely frequented by men. Of how the child was stillborn, and he had stayed, perforce, a day or two after, until a woman arrived to relieve him of his task. Released, he had no idea of the tower's location; but he had thought to ask the sick girl her name. She had told him: Mariotta, Lady Culter.\n\nHe had asked who brought her there, and she replied, her husband's brother, Crawford of Lymond. He said, very conscious of the sensation he was causing, that the girl would recover."
            },
            {
                "title": "Mate for the Master",
                "text": "\u2002A Quheyne movand scho shuld kepe colour aye,\n\n\u2002In hir first moving may scho diverse waye,\n\n\u2002First to ye poynt befor ye mediciner,\n\n\u2002Syne to two poynts verraye anguler,\n\n\u2002To ye poynt void befor ye notair.\n\n[ A Bereft Knight Is Checked by His Own Side ]\n\nAfter seventeen days in the field, Richard rode back to Midculter, intending to apologize to his wife. She was not there. She had left some time ago, with a small escort, and it was assumed that she had joined Sybilla at Dumbarton. So he turned his weary horse and rode there too.\n\nThey came to the small Queen's bedroom to tell Sybilla he had arrived. She glanced up, seeing the change in her own heart reflected in Christian's blind face; then looked down and tucked the two flaying hands under the sheets for a second time. \"Tomorrow,\" she said. The Queen made a hideous face. \"Now.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow you shall get up,\" said the Dowager firmly. \"And put on the yellow dress. And go and see Sym's cuddies in a jug. If you are a reasonable child today.\"\n\nMelting eye and embouchure veered from Sybilla to Lady Fleming, just beyond. \"When I am ill you must do as I want.\"\n\nThe Dowager saw the trap before Aunt Jenny did. Aunt Jenny, despite a dig in the arm, said brightly, \"But you're not ill any longer,\" and Mary pounced. \"Then in that case\u2014\"\n\n\"You're convalescent,\" finished Sybilla swiftly.\n\n\"What's\u2014\"\n\n\"It means going to be well provided you do what you're told.\" A thwarted silence. \"Then I had rather,\" said the Queen sulkily, \"be ill.\"\n\n\"In many ways, things were easier,\" agreed Sybilla. She bent over the little girl, curled tight as a leaf bud in the bedclothes, kissed her and handed over her vigil thankfully to Jenny Fleming.\n\nOutside, she took Christian by the arm. \"Richard has come\u2014you heard. Will you go with me to see him?\"\n\nThe blind girl hesitated, but only for a moment. If Sybilla was willing to sacrifice Richard's pride, it was for a very good reason. And in the coming encounter she had a queer feeling that the Dowager would be more vulnerable than her son.\n\nIn Sybilla's parlour, Richard began as they came in, with no preamble at all. \"They tell me Mariotta isn't here. She isn't at Midculter either. Where has she gone?\" And\u2014\"Is she dead?\" added Richard, in the same incisive voice, looking straight at his mother.\n\nSybilla sat down suddenly. Hearing the little scrape of the chair, Christian found one for herself and dropped quietly into it. Then the Dowager said, \"No, she isn't dead. I know where she is. But I wish to say something to you first. If you're alarmed, it's because you deserve to be, you know.\"\n\nHe walked impatiently to the fireplace and back to the window. \"She has been comparing my romantic attentions unfavourably with\u2014with others?\" He shied at the name only at the last moment.\n\n\"With Lymond,\" said Sybilla composedly. \"No. She might have done, but I haven't heard her. It was about Lymond that I wanted to talk.\" Her eyes, blue and compassionate, achieved a critical stare. \"You've had a free hand so far, Richard. We haven't discussed the raid on the castle, or the attack at Stirling, or the presents Mariotta has been receiving\u2014oh, yes!\" as he made a startled movement. \"In some things I'm less blind than you are.\"\n\nRichard said nothing; after a moment the Dowager continued quietly. \"But we are going to discuss them now. For I think you have come to the point where you must choose. Which do you want most, Richard\u2014Mariotta or Lymond?\"\n\nHe stared back at her. \"You can hardly expect me to answer that kind of question. Or to chatter about my wife's\u2026 affairs. There has been a misunderstanding. It can be repaired easily when I meet her. It will vanish altogether when my brother comes to heel.\"\n\n\"What I am telling you,\" said Sybilla evenly, \"is that if you insist on destroying Lymond personally, you may lose Mariotta altogether.\"\n\nHis voice sharpened. \"Lymond will take her life? Or she will take her own?\"\n\n\"I mean that unreasonable hatred of Lymond now will convict Mariotta publicly of deceit. I mean that if he has become important in her eyes, you'll win her back by being magnanimous, and not by destroying the monster and fighting the myth to your dying day. I mean that Lymond is with Mariotta now; that he has not touched her; but that she should be taken out of his influence as soon as possible. And if you will abandon this madness, I shall find her and bring her back to Midculter.\"\n\nHe was on his feet before Sybilla had half finished. Christian heard him, her own hands crushing the arms of her chair, her mind invisibly protesting. No!\u2026 Dear God! thought Christian drearily. How could Sybilla, so clever, so acute with others, read her own son so badly?\n\nIn a queer, weightless voice, Richard was speaking. \"Where are they? How long have they been together?\"\n\nSybilla answered quickly. \"I don't know. It doesn't matter. She was very ill when she came to him, Richard\u2014she has been dangerously, terribly ill.\"\n\nUtter silence. Then Lord Culter said, \"The child?\" And there was a long interval while he read his answer in his mother's face.\n\nAt length he spoke quite steadily. \"So the child is dead. What would it have been? A girl?\"\n\n\"A boy.\" And Christian, with compassion, told him the surgeon's story.\n\nWhen she had finished, he laughed. At the tone of it, Sybilla cried out, and he rounded on her. \"But this is genius! My irrepressible little brother\u2026 the infallible Lymond, with success at the end of each of his pretty fingers\u2026 You say you know where to reach them?\"\n\nBy now Sybilla must have known what was coming, but she spoke steadily. \"I said that if you would give up your hunt for him, I should probably manage to trace Mariotta for you.\"\n\n\"And what possible use,\" said Lord Culter, \"would Mariotta be to me?\"\n\n\"For God's sake, you foolish man!\" said Christian, and jumped to her feet. \"Give the situation at least the amount of unprejudiced thought you'd give to one of your damned pigs in farrow. What possible misdemeanour can be expected from a woman at death's door through childbirth? And why blame your brother? You ought to be damned glad that surgeon was called. If Lymond's all you say he is, he'd have gone about it like Hephaestus with a hatchet.\"\n\n\"Mariotta is Lymond's mistress,\" said Richard shortly. \"She as good as told me so before she left. Where are they?\"\n\n\"She was lying to spite you,\" said Christian.\n\n\"Or telling the truth to spite me. Where are they?\"\n\nThere was nothing more Christian could do. As the question was flung at the Dowager for the third time she heard Sybilla say, \"I've told you. I don't know the exact location. I won't tell you what I do know unless you promise\u2014\"\n\nRichard laughed again. \"With this story around the whole of Scotland? I admit very few things would make me look sillier than I do now, but the idea of making Lymond a gift of my complaisance is one of them. Why shouldn't she prefer him? All my women did. Nothing was ever mine that didn't instantly become his\u2014even your dearest hopes and first-born love\u2014\"\n\nSybilla's hands suddenly clasped themselves. \"Richard!\"\n\n\"It's true, isn't it? Isn't that why you are trying to save him now? Because you love this one son: not my father; not me; not even your own daughter\u2014my sister\u2014his sister\u2014the girl he murdered?\"\n\n\"Richard!\" This time Christian was on her feet, stumbling across to the Dowager's chair. She knelt, her arms tight about the older woman's shoulders, as a voice bawled Culter's name in the corridor outside.\n\nThe Dowager sat like a little ivorine, her blue eyes wide and dark. Richard himself stood by the fireplace, drawn to his greatest height and tension, as if his body were a metal mesh without bone or tissue. The door banged. \"Lord Culter!\"\n\nThe Dowager stirred, and Christian rose slowly, staying by her chair. A scared face appeared in the room. \"Lord Culter? The Queen Dowager's been waiting for you this last half hour, my lord. We couldna find\u2014\"\n\n\"Then she can continue to wait,\" said Richard.\n\n\"My lord!\" This time it was a new voice, a second page. \"You're wanted to come right away\u2014\"\n\nUnstirring, Richard flung words at his mother. \"I may be mistaken. It is for you to prove it. I ask you to tell me how to reach him.\" The two pages shuffled.\n\nFor a long moment Sybilla looked Richard straight in the eyes, and neither pair flinched. Then, still mute, she shook her head.\n\n\"Very well,\" he said. \"I shall not ask you to outrage your feelings.\" And, spinning on his heel, he was out of the room before they knew it. The two pages started, looked at each other, and made for the door. \"Lord Culter! You're wanted.\u2026\"\n\nInside the room, Christian slipped to the floor and laid her cheek on the Dowager's warm, velvet lap. After a moment she felt Sybilla move, and the thin, pretty fingers began gently to caress her hair."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 71",
                "text": "Much later, Sybilla left the room quietly. She was on her way downstairs when Buccleuch rounded a corner and pulled up tiptoe on the landing, nose to nose. \"Sybilla, dammit!\" He gave a kind of choking whoop, then stopped and eyed her closely. \"Have ye been ailing?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Sybilla, and returned the compliment. \"And what's happened to you? You look as if you'd been boiled in a pot with a Pasque flower.\"\n\nSir Wat's beard lurched sideways, a sure sign of embarrassment, and he crowed again. A glimmer of amusement shone in the Dowager's wan face. \"Come on, Wat. Something to do with my family?\"\n\nGuilt and a sort of nervous self-satisfaction struggled on Buccleuch's face. \"You'll want to kick my bottom through my merrythought,\" he warned. \"And Dod, I'm telling you: you'll have an a priori case for it.\"\n\n\"What have you done?\"\n\n\"I've had that lunatic Culter stotted into a punishment cell under close arrest!\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"It's a fact,\" said Buccleuch with undisguised pleasure. \"You've no idea, Sybilla! He's been flouting orders right and left\u2014he shouldn't have left the Queen to go to Crumhaugh in the first place; and since he came in today\u2014\"\n\n\"He kept the Queen waiting: I know.\"\n\n\"Dod, yes: pages running about on their shinbones and he ups and flits; but that was the least of it. When he did come in he began by snapping the faces off the lot of us, and then stalked through and told her Majesty that he wasn't just ready to do what she wanted.\"\n\n\"Which was?\"\n\n\"Oh, to ride through to Edinburgh and help the Governor who's in a stoory panic because he's expecting Lord Grey and the English to march in again on the hour like the bell for Prime. You know Arran. So does everyone else, but no one's going to tell the Queen that he's a jelly-footed puddock with his wits in his wame.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" said Sybilla. \"Did Richard?\"\n\n\"Not just in so many words,\" allowed Sir Wat. \"But he was damned rude. He couldna see the need to go; he didn't have the time for it; he wouldna go; he wouldna say why: Peely-whatsit on Ossy-whatsit until the de Guise, who has a strippit tongue in her head herself, snapped that she supposed the affairs of his womenfolk were claiming all his attention.\"\n\n\"Oh, good Lord!\" said Sybilla weakly. \"Did he knock her down and jump on her?\"\n\n\"Well, hardly,\" said Buccleuch, eying the Dowager with a touch of curiosity. \"But he sucked in his cheeks, looked her up and down, and said that she could think what she pleased, but he had done his share of work for the King of France and wasn't doing any more. And then\u2014well, Dod,\" said Sir Wat defiantly, \"someone had to take a hand\u2014\"\n\n\"So you exercised your usual tact.\"\n\n\"Well. I said that likely enough Lord Culter was anxious to lay hands on that brother of his, which would be doing a public service\u2014\"\n\n\"Quite. You're an unprincipled ruffian, Wat,\" said Sybilla. \"And of course, seeing that Richard had already disobeyed her because of a private family feud\u2014\"\n\n\"She told him what she thought of him and his loyalty, and he answered back. Man, I havena heard him speak so many words at the ae time since I taught him all the verses of Sir Guy\u2014and the upshot was, he was clappit below.\"\n\n\"At Buccleuch's suggestion.\"\n\n\"I wasna exactly holding them off,\" admitted Sir Wat. \"Are ye mad at me?\"\n\nSybilla looked at him a little sadly. \"On the contrary,\" she said. \"I wish I had thought of it first.\"\n\nFrom Sir Wat, she went straight to her own room. Before nightfall, with the Queen's permission, and Sym, borrowed from Christian, riding at her back, the Dowager had left Dumbarton and was travelling quickly south.\n\nDeep in the rock of the castle, the room Richard now occupied was not unpleasant. It was barred, and there was not overmuch furniture; but it was possible to sit and read in relative comfort, and his jailers served him respectfully and well.\n\nLater, they left him alone. Sounds of the world faded early outside, and the cool night air, flowing through the clenched bars, whispered peacefully.\n\n[ O row my lady in satin and silk ]\n\nAnd wash my son in the morning milk.\n\n\"Slippers?\" asked Kate Somerville.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Razor?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The blue doublet?\"\n\n\"I knew it!\" said Kate triumphantly, and whipped open the case. Artfully concealed beneath the top layer of clothing was an antique and greasy garment which, shaken out, assumed the shape of a shambling and corpulent Gideon, unlike and yet hideously familiar. \"This year,\" said Kate, \"the maids will have blue dusters. It's snowing again. Don't you wish you were staying at home?\"\n\nGideon, introduced to fresh misery, groaned. He glanced at the shopping list his wife had tossed to him, and groaned again. \"Why you should believe that the shops in London will be any better than the shops in Newcastle\u2026\"\n\n\"I don't suppose they are,\" said Kate frankly. \"But if I go to Newcastle I pay for it; whereas if you buy it in London, you do.\u2026\"\n\nGideon Somerville had no desire to go to London with Lord Grey. Since the curious December episode of the cattle raid, the winter at Flaw Valleys had passed in snow and relative peace. He set out now because he would not ignore a summons from the Lord Lieutenant, who was uneasy about his command, and who would not rest until he had laid his troubles before the Protector himself.\n\nWhile he and Lord Grey were on their way south, the Protector issued a proclamation in the boy King's name to the gentlemen in his main recruiting shires.\n\nOur rebels the Scots, relying on foreign succours, prepare to attempt the recovery of the forts which we have won and built in that Kingdom, and to annoy those who have submitted to us and our subjects on the frontiers. We have already gained such advantages over them as may make them remember our tender years, and wishing still to defend our country, we require matters to be taken to this end in your shire\u2026\n\nThe Protector also sent for the Earl and Countess of Lennox."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 72",
                "text": "As all Scotland now knew, Mariotta was brought to Lymond's headquarters, and laid in the Tower. The surgeon came; her son was lost; the surgeon left. Alone of all the people involved, Lymond himself knew nothing of these things. A week before Richard's arrival at Dumbarton, Lymond left Dalkeith at last and rode through the snowy goldfields to the Tower.\n\nHe heard the news from Turkey, almost in silence; then climbed the stairs slowly to his room.\n\nSitting before the fire, a sweet and ample vision of pink and gold, was Molly. Divorced from the glittering background of the Ostrich, the shining hair and limpid eyes were emblems of innocence: she looked as if she had been attending decumbitures all her life.\n\nAs Lymond came in she pulled herself out of her chair and, holding him in her warm embrace, kissed him lightly and drew him to the fire. Then, signing for silence, she moved quietly to the intervening door into Will's room, and shut it. \"The girl is in there,\" she said, and came back and seated herself beside him.\n\n\"How is she?\"\n\n\"Fair enough. You heard we got a doctor?\"\n\n\"So I heard.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, it was that boy of yours, Scott, who insisted. Incidentally\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"It was the same boy who came to fetch me from the Ostrich. Did you know he also had business with Dandy Hunter?\"\n\nThe preoccupied blue eyes came up, fast. \"Tell me.\"\n\nMolly shrugged. \"Nothing much to tell. Hunter spent nearly a week with us, for no very good reason, and seemed to have a lot of questions to ask on some curious subjects. Joan saw Scott speaking to him the night he came for me.\"\n\n\"Did she hear?\"\n\nMolly smiled. The Ostrich's entrails were drumskins and sounding boards, as they both knew. She gave him a verbatim account of the talk between Scott and Hunter, and he listened without comment. At the end she said, \"Take care. Hunter is a lot wiser than the child. It could mean trouble.\"\n\nThe fair face did not change. \"It means trouble, of course: what else? Without trouble, how could we live? There the thorne is thikkest to buylden and brede.\"\n\n\"Yes; well\u2026 Watch that the thorns don't get too thick.\u2026 This is damned awkward for you, isn't it?\" she asked, suddenly. \"The brat's dead, and there's an inheritance in the wind, and the girl talks of nothing but Crawford of Lymond.\"\n\nThere was a brief silence, then he said, \"Does she? I hope you preserved the myth: I shall enjoy being worshipped. In any case, it was good of you to come, my orchard of jewels. Can you stay for a little yet?\"\n\n\"For you, I will,\" said Molly comfortably. \"I never bring you trouble, do I?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said thoughtfully. \"No. And by God, I think you're the only living person who doesn't. Come along, my hinny, and I'll take you below to a worthy supper.\"\n\nHe held open the door and Molly, her eyes as bright as her diamonds, sailed downstairs like a whole cloudy sunset stooping to the sea."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "Mariotta had heard his voice. But it was nearly a week before, sitting wrapped in a chair by the window, she heard his footsteps cross the inner room and knew that at last he was coming to seek her.\n\nFor some days now, the pain had gone; and the feverish dreams. Coming out of the racking darkness she had no idea at first where she was; then the fat, soft-voiced woman with the jewels had told her, and her empty body and numbed mind became inhabited with only one idea: to bathe her hurt pride and rejected love in the warm tides of Lymond's admiration.\n\nThe child was dead. It had never been anything to her but the final proof of Richard's marital philosophy, and she found a bitter pleasure in thinking that in this, at least, she had thwarted him. When she needed help, it was Lymond who had come, and not Richard. Lymond\u2026\n\nAnd on the thought, he knocked, and opened her door. \"I've been waiting for you,\" she said.\n\nHe was meticulously dressed: not at all as she had first seen him; his hair crisp and neat, his linen immaculate. But the half-hidden eyes and flying mouth were the same.\n\n\"I am generally tidy when sober,\" he said, answering her eyes instead of her voice. He walked over and leaned on the wall beside her. \"I'm not a very good doctor, I'm afraid. I'm sorry about the child. But I hear you are better.\"\n\nShe was perplexed, then her brow cleared. \"But didn't you know I had left Richard?\"\n\nFor an instant his surprise showed. \"Left Richard? Why?\"\n\n\"We quarrelled,\" she said. \"He's obsessed with the idea of hunting\u2026 of\u2026 \"Her fumbling fingers touched the brooch of her night robe, and she ended incoherently. \"And I told him about the jewels. They took them at Annan. I'm sorry. This is all I have left.\"\n\nLymond's eyes were on the diamonds. He said slowly, \"I see. When you were captured, were you trying to find me?\"\n\n\"Not quite\u2014but\u2014but I thought Dandy Hunter might look after me until you\u2014if you found out where I was, or sent me any more\u2014\" She stopped, exhausted by the difficulty of gracefully shaping a surprisingly awkward situation. Then she added more firmly, \"I don't at all want any more jewels. You must understand that. I would have made you take them all back in any case. But I thought\u2014\" Again she stopped.\n\n\"What did you think?\"\n\n\"That you are so much cleverer than Richard, and I could talk to you. I used to talk to Dandy,\" she went on, her eyes overbright, \"but he wasn't at Ballaggan, and I was wondering what to do when the English came, and then your men came for me, and the pain came on\u2014I'm sorry,\" said Mariotta painfully, bright colour in either cheek. \"Perhaps you didn't know about the baby.\"\n\nThe younger Crawford turned his head away. Without answering, he walked to the mantelpiece, planted his elbows on it and sealed his eyes slantwise with his hands. Then he said, \"Let's clear away the ground rubble first. What exactly did you and Richard quarrel about?\"\n\nHer face drooped. \"It's too complicated,\" she said peevishly.\n\n\"Never mind. Tell me exactly what it was.\" He released his hands and, turning, sat down not far from her chair. \"Now. You said you wanted to talk.\"\n\nSo she told him. As she related the desertions and the disappointments, the disagreements and the follies which had stripped her of contentment and driven her to revolt, Lymond studied the floor. She told of her first emotions about his presents; of her decision not to tell about them; of the ultimate quarrel where Richard had instantly believed the worst of her. She ended with the same superb na\u00efvet\u00e9. \"So you see, I could hardly stay, after that.\"\n\nHe was on his feet, in a silent, characteristic movement, pacing to the other end of the room and back; looking down on her black hair and upraised lashes. Her eyes were full of tears.\n\n\"Don't you think,\" said Lymond, \"that I seem to be the disruptive serpent of the Ophites and not Richard? The exciting prospect of punishing me seems to have been the mainspring of all the poor man's peccadilloes.\"\n\nThe violet eyes were solemn. \"He'd give you no chance,\" said Mariotta. \"He hates you because you're different.\u2026 That's unjust; and I despise him for that the worst of all.\"\n\nThe blue eyes, supremely adult, were seraphic. \"What, for lack of family feeling? If you'll forgive my reminding you, the boy is only a beginner.\"\n\nIt was true: she had forgotten the burning of Midculter. But she retorted, \"You didn't know what you were doing.\"\n\n\"All I ask in this world,\" said Lymond a shade grimly, \"is half an hour when I don't know what I'm doing; but no one has granted me the privilege yet.\"\n\n\"I could help you.\" She leaned over suddenly and caught one of his hands; he surrendered it with perfect indifference, saying, \"You have an entrancing and hagioscopic view of my character that is entirely your own. Do I understand that you are proposing to join the Portugese Men of War? Because if so, I shall have to tell Molly.\"\n\n\"Molly?\"\n\n\"The woman who is looking after you. She keeps a bawdyhouse in England, and while I'm extremely flattered, I can't have my dearest friendships upset just to irk Richard.\"\n\nShe smiled shakily. \"You're trying to frighten me for my own good.\"\n\nLymond spoke happily. \"On the contrary. It's most important that you should stay here until you're quite well. After all, I've gone to a good deal of trouble to get you\u2014unlike Richard, I hold my women in fondest esteem.\"\n\nHe withdrew the hand she was holding and stretched it thoughtfully before him, its beauty of shape, the long fingers and fine bones totally cancelled by the weals on the palm. \"It's a pity, isn't it? I was a galley-slave for two years after they found out about Solway Moss, and we had two very calm summers. I used to think a good deal then about our modest yeoman enjoying his lordship at Midculter.\"\n\nMariotta recoiled in her chair. \"You're still trying to frighten me. I don't believe you; but please will you stop?\"\n\n\"It's the air of nasty reality that frightens you,\" explained her brother-in-law with abandon. \"Corrupt, ill-smelling and five days old. I don't give a damn whether you're frightened or not, because in a month's time you won't be here anyway. If you had a brain rather larger than a chick-pea, sweetheart, that would have occurred to you. I should hardly trouble to rid Culter of his heir without making sure he had grounds for divorce also. The peripetia will be so tidy. If he were a little more sprightly by nature he might even oblige by removing himself; but I doubt he'll have to be encouraged. Prior exiit, prior intravit, as the good old saying goes.\"\n\n\"My jewellery,\" said Mariotta in a whisper.\n\n\"My angel, I had to prise you away somehow, although I had no idea Richard would throw you out so fast. I wish I'd been present. Richard displaying emotion! It must have been magnificent: Atlas in labour, no less.\"\n\nShe said dully, \"Why do you hate each other? What does it matter\u2014a paltry title\u2014can't you forget?\"\n\n\"Forget! With Richard tapping on my funny bone like a yaffle on a pear tree?\"\n\n\"You're brothers!\"\n\n\"Well: I am his brother as much as he is mine,\" said Lymond with perfect clarity. \"One gets a little tired of too much Suivez Fran\u00e7ois and Fan Fan feyne. It's Richard's turn, dammit, to call off the hounds.\"\n\nIn her weakness and misery Mariotta was crying, the tears washing unchecked over her thin face. \"Why shouldn't he hurt you? You tried to kill him at Stirling!\"\n\nLymond looked shocked. \"Mariotta, my Sarmatian poppy! Such a violent volte-face! I thought you loved me as the marabou loves its one-legged mother. I thought we should be shikk to shikk, indivisible, like Richard and his piglets. And now!\"\n\nBut drowned in dreary, heartbroken tears, Mariotta was beyond retort, or argument or complaint; beyond speech and beyond the lash of his mockery. She did not even hear the door slam as he left.\n\nLymond received Molly's scolding that night without comment, only remarking that if the girl needed company she had better tell her sorrows to Will Scott for a change, and they could moan together.\n\nThe fine, sharp eyes had already noted the redheaded boy, so high in favour at the Ostrich. Because he was like the son of one of her girls and she was sorry for him, and because in the long run she usually did as Lymond asked, Molly did send Will upstairs to sit with the invalid. It was the last time anyone did so.\n\nNext morning Mariotta had vanished. Lashed by the Master's furious tongue they hunted for her all that day, but of his sick and errant sister-in-law there was no trace."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 74",
                "text": "It was a chance meeting with a drunken piper of Argyll's which led Sir Andrew Hunter to haunt the Ostrich Inn where, eventually, he met and spoke to Will Scott. From there, he went straight to Branxholm.\n\nBuccleuch listened to Hunter's account of the meeting in relative silence. At the end, he spoke sharply. \"Lymond's selling my son, you say?\"\n\n\"Will isn't sure. But I've told him what I know. Lord Grey is being pushed by the Protector, and he's even more anxious to lay hands on Will than before. And Lymond's been seen twice in the neighborhood of George Douglas's house. The boy won't leave Lymond. He won't say anything about his life, or the Master's plans\u2014\"\n\n\"Or about young Lady Culter?\"\n\nJanet, listening, interjected. \"Dandy didn't know that Lymond had Mariotta, and Will never mentioned her although\u2014\"\n\n\"Although he looked ill, Wat,\" said Hunter soberly. \"I made him promise to tell me if ever he thinks the Master is about to get rid of him. It was all I could do. And if that happens, of course I shall send you word instantly.\n\n\"Instantly,\" he repeated; and the slightest rough edge was audible in the kindly, courteous voice."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 75",
                "text": "Prinked and painted and stencilled with spring sunlight, the city of Edinburgh celebrated the wedding of the Lady Herries and John, Master of Maxwell, and the sound of its bells ploughed the fields of Linlithgow nearly deep enough for the barley, and made the coals quake underground at Tranent.\n\nInside the palace of Holyrood, the scene seized the eye with light and flowers, cloth of gold and bunting, and a sparkling multitude, their rents and pensions glittering on their sturdy backs. Agnes Herries had a smile\u2014a blinding smile full of teeth\u2014for everybody; and an unaccustomed vivacity in John Maxwell was also noted. \"And wha wouldna leer like a sprung joist,\" said the cynics, \"that's just merrit the hale chump-end of Scotland?\"\n\nOnce, during the evening, bride and groom slipped away to keep a private appointment. In a remote room of the Palace, John Maxwell introduced his wife to a stranger: a cool, fair-haired figure with an easy, disturbing voice.\n\n\"Agnes, this is someone without whom we might never have been able to marry. He\u2014made it possible in many ways; and not least in helping me escape young Wharton's sword last month at Durisdeer.\"\n\nShe was instantly thrilled. \"You didn't tell me. He saved your life? But how can we thank him?\"\n\n\"No need for thanks. I have all the reward I need.\" Both Jack and the stranger seemed to be affected with an uncommon sonority. \"I was merely the Baptist, the Bean King: the helical star before the sun. My anonymity you must forgive\u2014I am no longer master of my own identity. Nevertheless\"\u2014as sympathy and delight shot into her eyes\u2014\"nevertheless, if nameless, I am not empty-handed. In remembrance of an experience\u2014a rewarding, if tantalizing experience\u2014will you accept this?\"\n\nIt was a crystal and onyx brooch, set with diamonds and angels' heads, and worth more than her total parure put together.\n\nMaxwell's eyes met the other's, their curiosity undisguised. \"There was absolutely no need\u2026\" he said.\n\n\"Not at all. My pleasure. Although I must, as you'll understand, ask your forbearance in not revealing where it came from.\"\n\nThey promised, and took a warm and even tender farewell of him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 76",
                "text": "Christian also received a summons on this, the day on which she had promised her answer to Tom Erskine. It took her along the same corridor and into the same empty room, where she waited, steeling herself for Tom's cheerful presence.\n\nShe filled in the time by pacing out the room. It seemed small, with a side table, three chairs, and a fireplace giving off a good deal of smoke. Not the ideal place for a proposal, she thought drearily; but what on earth do you expect, woman? Some seedy cavalier to sing beneath your window?\n\nShe sat down determinedly in the nearest chair and turned her mind to counting up sheets and bedcovers. Acute though her ears were, she missed the footsteps in the passage and heard nothing until the door opened and closed with the softest of clicks.\n\n\"Good God!\" said someone gently. \"The Pythia in a lemon fog. Do you like smoke? Cheer up: it's spring outside.\"\n\nA window opened, and fresh, grass-scented air flowed into the room, and the song of thrushes. Christian felt the blood spinning to the ends of her fingers. \"It's not\u2014I was expecting\u2014Is it you?\" she asked, out of bodily and spiritual chaos.\n\n\"Unless like the elephant I have two hearts, or like Janus two heads, or the boa two skins, it is I, indeed. I have stopped writing double letters under a pen name, and am re-registering my interest with you in person. You've lost weight.\"\n\nShe was, by now, herself again. She said tartly, \"It doesn't help to find oneself bedevilled with persons making Eulenspiegel-like appearances and disappearances. I live for the day when we can be formally introduced. Don't you think it would be better than coming to me like\u2014\"\n\n\"A thief in the night is the phrase. Have I upset you? But I did offer once to tell you my name, and you refused. I'm sorry. I should infinitely prefer to call on you with sixteen pearly elephants and a litter of jade, with silver trumpets and sarcanet and schorl and satin-wood, spring water and roses from Shiraz\u2026 would you receive me?\"\n\n\"Provided you gave me time to array my dusky charms. 'And who is this? Great Alexander? Charle le Maigne?'\"\n\n\"Royster-Doister, visiting the Castle of Perseverence. Have good day: I goo to helle.\"\n\n\"I think you manage to carry it about with you,\" said Christian.\n\n\"Perhaps. I have been gifted with a surfeit of Satanity and the need to live up to it. Fr\u00e8re Estienne, do we not make excellent fiends?\"\n\n\"Far too well. It seems devilish, for example, for anyone with such a passion for secrecy to contrive not only to enter a royal palace, but to deal in appointments and summons therein.\"\n\n\"I have friends at Court.\"\n\n\"Oh. At which Court?\" she quoted, and he broke in on her words. \"I won't put up with Skelton as well as Stewart. At this Court, lady.\"\n\n\"I had no idea you were so powerful. Do they know who you are?\"\n\n\"Whose temper are you trying to lose?\" the pleasant voice said. \"Your own, or mine? I have behaved atrociously, I freely admit, but my object is exemplary: to convey gratitude and keep you at all costs out of my ruinous affairs.\"\n\n\"Don't you think that if you didn't clutch them to your evil chest like Epaminondas and his javelin, your affairs might be less ruinous?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Christian. \"Then either you don't think much of my discretion, or you think I couldn't stomach your conduct. Either way, it casts a certain shade over your continued visits, doesn't it?\" This was risky. Once, to accept his confidence was to lose him. She was secure now from that; but he might still rebuff her for asking.\n\nWhen he did speak, however, it was with a shade of resignation in his voice. \"So I've got to spin you some sort of tale, have I?\"\n\n\"I should prefer you to measure me the truth.\"\n\n\"\u2014But it all depends on what kind of worm I am. I see. I'm not sure, you know. My kind of story would go down better with Agnes Herries.\"\n\n\"Then pretend I'm Lady Herries,\" said Christian.\n\n\"God forbid. The fact is, that like many another gentleman in trouble, I was misunderstood in my youth. A situation which I thought could be retrieved by one person. Unfortunately I didn't know this fellow's name; only his station, and this left the field open for three people\u2014\"\n\n\"Jonathan Crouch, Gideon Somerville and Samuel Harvey.\"\n\n\"Yes. You see, it all fits in rather cunningly with what you know already. Crouch was ruled out; Somerville was ruled out; and that leaves Mr. Harvey.\"\n\n\"And how,\" she asked, \"are you going to find Mr. Harvey?\"\n\n\"I have found him. At least, through a distressingly commercial transaction which would only bore you, I hope to have him soon.\"\n\nShe pursued: \"This transaction: do you act directly with England? Or do you need an intermediary?\"\n\n\"I have an intermediary ready-made. An embarrassingly eager one.\"\n\n\"Of course. George Douglas,\" said Christian lightheartedly. \"You needn't tell me. But it seems fairly inevitable, after your transaction with Crouch\u2026 Do you think Harvey can help you?\"\n\n\"I have no idea,\" he said. \"He might. On the other hand, it's always easy to undermine a statement\u2014even a true statement\u2014made under duress, and he mightn't be believed. And even if he is believed\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes?\" she demanded as he came to a stop. He laughed. \"I don't know. I have money. I may find I have the habit of lying on my face even when turned, like George Faustus.\"\n\n\"I don't think, if I were Agnes Herries, I should believe that,\" said Christian.\n\n\"No. That was an off-stage observation. We end, in fact, with a long piece about the evils of absolute monarchy and unreliable women, with a graceful aside exculpating the fair audience. I should make a wonderful epopee, don't you think?\"\n\n\"You could make anything,\" said Christian, \"including a perfect farce of your epics; but I shan't worry you. It was a magnificently economical performance.\"\n\n\"I dislike being candid in public. Christian\u2014this may or may not succeed. If it doesn't, this will be our last meeting.\"\n\n\"And if it does?\"\n\n\"Then it would be rather pleasant. I should be all on the right side like a halibut, and someone may formally introduce us. But whatever happens, you have from these fossorial depths my unstinted gratitude and fondest applause. Whatever you touch will return warmth to you and whoever you share it with will be twelve feet tall like St. Christopher.\" He hesitated. \"You know that if you hadn't been blind, these meetings would never have been possible?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"I'm not being thick-skinned. But I want you to remember that\u2014if you've been entertained, or diverted, or found some enjoyment in this adventure\u2014it was one small thing brought you by your lack of sight.\"\n\nA bitter pill, that: for the long tolerance was over, and she had begun to live with her blindness in rage. But she managed a smile, and heard him approach and take her hand.\n\nHe kissed it, and then, unexpectedly, her cheek. \"A woman,\" he said, \"with a familiar spirit. I won't promise any grand transformations for your lame duck, but at least it will bear your crutches proudly. Goodbye, my dear girl.\"\n\n\"Goodbye,\" said Christian, and sat still as the door closed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 77",
                "text": "While she was away, Tom Erskine had been looking for her. Sybilla told her as much, and added, her manner a little odd, \"Also\u2026 You know Richard is here?\"\n\n\"Richard!\" Christian, her mind recalled from miles away, cried out. \"But isn't he still\u2026?\"\n\n\"In prison? No. I've just been told the Queen has pardoned and released him so that he can attend the celebrations. He should be here soon.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sybilla!\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said the Dowager. \"I think I must be getting old. Do you know, I'm rather frightened. My sons sometimes seem so much stronger than I am.\"\n\nVery soon afterward, Tom Erskine found her, and in five minutes, during which her heart in its cold cage took wearily to itself a new, lifelong burden of protective and fond understanding, Christian Stewart became his affianced wife."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 78",
                "text": "The third Baron Culter had the sort of pride that makes a man walk straight back to the place where he has been publicly undressed and dare the universe to look down on him. He entered the crowded ballroom at Holyrood with the flourish of an emperor, and reaped the reward of it in the first minutes of an encounter with Sir Andrew Hunter.\n\nDandy of all people knew how to handle such a situation. Ignoring the interested, the friendly, the speculative glances thrown at them; ignoring Culter's own impassive, bleak face he spoke naturally of the wedding, and of the news that Lord Grey had gone to London and was expected to stay until the end of March\u2014\"a respite till Easter, at least.\" Then he said, \"Richard: tell me. Are you sick of Buccleuch and his outrages? Or could you stomach a rapprochement if I arranged it?\"\n\nCulter stared at him with acid humour. \"The millennium has come. Is this a Scott wanting to apologize?\"\n\nHunter answered bluntly. \"I've had a message from Will Scott. Lymond's selling him to the English through George Douglas. The boy has discovered how it's to be done, and wants our help. Will you join us?\"\n\nThe look on Lord Culter's face was answer enough.\n\nIn a private room, Scott of Buccleuch was waiting for them. Richard moved forward.\n\n\"You're getting to be a damned slippery acquaintance, Wat. Are you on the doormat this time because you need me or because you want to be?\"\n\nBuccleuch hesitated; then chin and cheeks parted and he produced a rumbling chuckle. \"Things have changed. If you're for taking Lymond, so am I.\"\n\n\"So I hear.\" A shadow of a smile crossed Richard's face. \"I suppose if Will hadn't written to Andrew, I'd still be in jail.\"\n\nSir Wat blew out his cheeks. \"Some of you laddies talk as if I were Michael Scott the wizard and not just an old, done man. Sit down, sit down!\" he added irritably. \"You'll solve nothing planted there like a couple of bauchly tenors at a glee.\"\n\nHunter laughed and sat down, and after a moment Richard did likewise. It was an odd sort of olive branch, but all he was likely to get. Then Sir Andrew pushed over to him the letter from Will.\n\nThe difficulties were clear enough. Scott had not given away Lymond's headquarters, presumably not to implicate the rest of the band. What was known was that Lymond proposed to ride east to secure from Sir George Douglas and Lord Grey the price of his bargain\u2014a man called Harvey; and that having got Harvey, Lymond intended to send for Scott on some pretext and deliver him on the spot to Lord Grey.\n\nWhat the boy proposed was that on receiving this summons from Lymond he should send word of it instantly to Buccleuch, who could then ride with all his men to the appointed rendezvous with the fair certainty of taking not only Lymond but Douglas and Lord Grey as well.\n\nThe three men sat for a long time drawing up plans. \"And afterward, I suppose,\" said Culter finally, leaning back, \"the boy will find his own way home to you?\"\n\n\"Aye. That's the idea,\" said Buccleuch. He fumbled for a moment in his purse. \"You heard what happened to the poor devils that Maxwell and the rest left as hostages in Carlisle? Wharton came straight back from Durisdeer and executed half of them. Here!\"\n\nHe produced a paper and flung it on the table in front of Culter. \"That's what the black-gutted murderer had put out on the day they all died.\"\n\n\u2026 Professing [it ran] that they and their friends should set forth the godly marriage and peace between His Majesty our Sovereign Lord of England and the Queen's Grace of Scotland, and for their untruth and perjury against such most godly marriage and peace, and not regarding their faith, being therefore themselves and their blood the occasioners, this their death is thus appointed.\u2026\n\nBuccleuch's sharp eyes surveyed them. \"There in front of you is the price of the marriage we witnessed today. And no less the price of the marriage we avoided when we turned back after Durisdeer. We're all paying for the same thing\u2014these men here, and the fellows who fell at Pinkie and Ancrum and Annan and Hawick; and you with your brother and me with my son as well. We're seeing times,\" said Buccleuch, \"that crack the very marrowbone of tragedy, and compared with it, neither your trouble nor mine counts as much as two tallow dips in the circles of Hell.\"\n\nRichard's eyes were on the table, and he said nothing. Buccleuch waited; then with a scream of wood scraped his chair back and shoved himself to his feet.\n\n\"All right. If that's all, let's get back,\" he grunted, and led the way from the room.\n\nComing back, the first person Richard saw was his mother.\n\nAlone, waiting for him outside the ballroom, she met the visible hardening of his face with a frontal attack of her own.\n\n\"I know: I'm M\u00e8re-Sotte, and you'll use all I say to make outrageous theories with. Fortunately it doesn't matter. Mariotta isn't with your brother any more. She escaped\u2014Will Scott helped her\u2014she's now in the convent at Culter, very frightened and rather ill. Lymond has not been kind. He got her by sheer chance\u2014she was caught by the English running away from you and they offered her to him. He hasn't been kind, as I say, but he did no harm to her or the child. You ought to know that, I think.\"\n\nRichard heard her, leaning against the door: an uncomfortable shadow of Lymond at Midculter. \"A noteworthy salvage effort. I applaud your resolution in sacrificing Lymond in order to patch up my marriage. But it's a little too late for repentance\u2014anybody's repentance. When we catch Lymond, we'll perhaps get at the truth.\"\n\nBlue eyes met grey. \"When\u2026? Will it be soon?\"\n\n\"Very soon. And this time, there's no fear of escape.\"\n\n\"And what,\" said the Dowager flatly, \"shall I tell Mariotta?\"\n\n\"There's no message,\" said Richard. \"I don't want her back. You could, of course, congratulate her on the birth of her son.\"\n\n\"You don't want her back,\" repeated the Dowager, a rare anger lighting her face. \"Did you think she would come? Your wife, my dear, has no wish to set eyes on you again.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Concerted Attack",
                "text": "\u2002There is no thynge so stronge and ferme\n\n\u2002but that somtyme a feble thinge\n\n\u2002casteth down and overthrowe hit. How\n\n\u2002well that the lyon be the strongest\n\n\u2002beste\u2026 Yet somtyme a lityll birde\n\n\u2002eteth hym.\n\n[ The Four Knights' Game ]\n\nThe duet between Lord Grey and the Privy Council in London went on intermittently for a fortnight, during which Gideon Somerville had himself rowed up and down the river, landing at familiar green steps and unearthing old friends. Playing cards with Palmer, Grey's new engineering adviser and an erstwhile ally, Gideon sat cheerfully blinded by gold-wire dentistry and absorbed the latest rumours.\n\nLondon had French fever again. After the sad fiasco of February, nobody was looking forward to reopening the Scottish campaign. It was known that the child Queen was recovering from an illness: it was said that there was no public move yet to marry her into France, and that the Scots Governor was fighting overt tooth and subterranean nail to keep her for his own son.\n\nPalmer, with a glitter of ox bone, thought it unlikely that Denmark would risk offending Spain by sending ships to help Scotland, and that France's promise of further aid was a myth to distract attention from Boulogne.\n\nGideon listened to it all, and passed on to Lord Grey as much as he thought fit. Two days before their final orders came through, Gideon went with Palmer to the Tower to complain about a bad consignment of arms and, returning, met the Countess of Lennox who knew Palmer well, and remembered Gideon from Warkworth and remoter days when they were both in the suite of the Princess Mary.\n\nKnowing of her shattering failure to persuade her father to support the English at Durisdeer, and of the curious episode which had lost them a hostage when she found herself trapped by unnamed Scottish outlaws, Gideon was surprised when she mentioned George Douglas herself.\n\nHe observed with some restraint that he and Grey were to meet Sir George when they got back north. Douglas had promised them a hostage, a boy Lord Grey had wanted for a long time. Buccleuch's heir, in fact.\n\nMargaret Lennox said, \"My father told me that Buccleuch's son was working with\u2026 a band of broken men on the Borders.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Gideon. \"It's not a very savoury story. Apparently it's his own leader who's selling him out. Not but what, having met the gentleman, I should be surprised at his selling his mother for cat's meat.\"\n\nShe was avid for a description of the man; for more details. \"And what is he selling the boy for? Money?\"\n\nThere was a pause made hideous for Somerville by a sudden recollection. Tom Palmer, listening with mild interest at the lady's other side, was a cousin of Samuel Harvey, whose life was to be exchanged for Scott's. He cleared his throat. \"As a matter of fact, the thing is a little delicate at the moment. Not quite settled.\"\n\nShe smiled understanding. \"I suppose your Lord Grey wants the boy Scott because of what happened at Hume? I'd have thought to see him much more anxious to find the Spaniard who double-tricked him.\"\n\n\"I expect he was anxious enough,\" said Gideon, sorry for Grey's sake that the story seemed to have reached the metropolis. \"Only he never found out who the man was. And of course his value as a hostage wasn't as great as Will Scott's.\"\n\n\"Fair hair,\" she said aloud to herself. \"And blue eyes, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Who?\" said Gideon. \"Not the Spaniard. The man Scott eventually joined had.\"\n\n\"Of course he had. I know him. Or I knew him once, in Scotland. Blond, blue-eyed, rapacious and polyglot.\"\n\nThere was a startled pause. \"He might speak Spanish?\"\n\n\"He does speak Spanish.\"\n\nAnd there were always black wigs.\u2026 \"That means,\" said Gideon thoughtfully, \"that our Spaniard and Scott's leader may be one and the\u2014Perhaps,\" he said, \"you should mention this to Lord Grey or the Protector.\"\n\n\"Oh, I shall,\" said Margaret Lennox. \"Tonight.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 80",
                "text": "Two days later, the Protector made his mind known.\n\nLord Grey was to return to Scotland, and not merely to enthuse from the poop. He was to march into Scotland on the 21st of April to meet his loyal Scots at Cockburnspath, and go from there to Haddington, tidemark of his former advance. There, he was to fortify and garrison the town to make of it a fortress, a warehouse, a steppingstone and a threat to the whole of Scotland.\n\nGideon with him, the Lord Lieutenant left London. With him also went the memory of certain acid quips of the Protector's, and a vindictive wrath against a glib and Spanish outlaw who was huckstering with the might of the English crown."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 81",
                "text": "When the convent on the estate of Lymond was blown up by the English on information received from its former landlord, the remaining nuns found shelter in a larger nunnery near Midculter. In this convent Mariotta had now been resting in collected misery for six weeks, visited regularly by Sybilla.\n\nThe Dowager, taking Lady Buccleuch with her for the first time, was subjected to some pointed questioning en route.\n\n\"What I can't understand,\" said Janet, \"is how Will suddenly discovered his finer instincts and whisked her away from friend Lymond. I thought he was dedicated with the rest to murder and nasty-minded rituals at the full moon.\"\n\n\"He was sorry for himself, I think,\" said Sybilla wisely. \"And that breeds so much fellow feeling. Anyway, he talked with her just after Lymond had been abominable, and they wept metaphorically all down their shirts and shifts, and he promised to get her away secretly next day, and did.\"\n\n\"And how extraordinary,\" said Janet for the sixth time, \"that they should meet you like that.\"\n\n\"Yes, wasn't it?\" said Sybilla.\n\n\"And be able to hand Mariotta over to your care.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And go back without being suspected so that he could help his father to trap Lymond.\"\n\n\"Yes. Here we are,\" said Sybilla cheerfully, and entered the convent. Where the first person they saw was Will Scott, talking to Mariotta.\n\nIt was hard to know who was most taken aback: Will himself, his stepmother or Sybilla. Janet, the first to find her tongue, said, \"God Almighty!\" and showed all her teeth in an enormous grin. \"Look what we've got! Orpheus wriggling rump first out of Hades with his chivalry ashine like a ten-thread twill.\"\n\nWhat Scott mumbled was hardly heard, because Sybilla said quickly, \"I think perhaps he's waiting to see me: he knows I come on Mondays. Will you excuse us a moment?\"\n\nUnhappily, Will was flustered, as well as being unaccustomed to the Dowager's little ways. He said, \"It isn't private, Lady Culter\u2014just a letter I wanted you to pass to Andrew Hunter for me.\" And he thrust a paper into Sybilla's unresisting hand.\n\n\"Andrew?\" said Janet, gazing fondly at her stepson. \"What's the point, Will? He's already left with the rest.\" He looked puzzled, and she repeated. \"You know. Left with Wat and Culter when they got your message.\"\n\n\"My message?\"\n\n\"Your second message telling them where Lymond and Lord Grey were going to be.\" She gave an apologetic glance at the Dowager. \"I didn't tell you, Sybilla. But Will's message came through just before we left. Wat and the others should be well on their way to the east coast by now.\"\n\nSybilla sat down abruptly beside Mariotta. Scott said, \"But I haven't sent any messages!\"\n\n\"Eh!\"\n\n\"No! This is the first I've ever sent anyone since I joined Lymond except\u2014except about Crumhaugh, of course. This is just to ask Sir Andrew to keep his promise to stand by me if\u2014in case\u2014when I leave the Master.\"\n\nThis time it was Janet who sat down. \"You haven't sent Dandy any messages before?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nor any more to Buccleuch?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then who,\" said Janet, with a tremor in her strong voice, \"wrote in your name to all of us today telling us to go immediately to the old manor garden at Heriot where Lymond, Sir George Douglas and Lord Grey of Wilton could be had for the taking?\"\n\nThere was an appalled silence.\n\n\"Lymond,\" said Mariotta, and laughed hysterically."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 82",
                "text": "Mariotta was quite right. Having galvanized both his brother and Buccleuch into five weeks of expectant planning, Lymond arrived at Cockburnspath with Johnnie Bullo in attendance two days before Lord Grey was due to make his next march into Scotland. Under cover of his safe conduct, he and Johnnie were taken direct to Sir George Douglas.\n\nThe advance army waiting at the ravine for Lord Grey was under canvas, and Sir George shared a tent with the commander, Sir Robert Bowes, Warden of the East and Middle Marches. He was however alone when Lymond was ushered in, the gypsy waiting outside.\n\nSir George greeted him, his face a dim, shadowless beige under the sunlit canvas. He was about to lose the most promising ally of years, and he hated the prospect. He said without preamble, \"I've just come from Lord Grey. You ought to understand that I've kept my part of the bargain: I obtained his lordship's promise to produce this man Harvey for you. But\u2014\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Lymond, airy and stylish in dark blue. \"There's a but. Like Glaucus, we have a but, but no honey in it. Lord Grey has changed his mind?\"\n\n\"The Protector changed it for him. Harvey is still in London; he isn't coming north.\"\n\n\"\u2014And?\"\n\nDouglas said curtly, \"And Sir Robert Bowes has orders to see that you send for the boy Scott regardless. You'll be paid in money, not in kind.\"\n\n\"And if I don't?\" asked Lymond.\n\n\"Your life is not in danger. Only your good health.\"\n\nSir George's angry glance met Lymond's sardonic one, and there was an uncomfortable silence. At length the Master stirred. \"So. Not the honey barrel, but the tilly-seeds of torture, so that I disgorge the secrets of my bed and board.\"\n\nDouglas was flushed. \"All that is wanted is a message in your writing which will bring the boy here. Your gypsy friend can take it\u2026 but you will not, of course, be allowed to tell him the conditions under which it is being sent.\"\n\n\"I see. You expect this to give you, personally, some security?\" said Lymond suddenly.\n\nDouglas's voice was sharp. \"If there were any alternative, be sure I should take it\u2014\" And broke off as the Commander came in.\n\nSir Robert Bowes straightened, nodded, and surveyed the Master at leisure from fustic head to silver spurs. He smiled. \"Is this the fellow?\"\n\n\"\u2014But even a gib-cat has claws,\" said Lymond, returning the smile and answering the thought. \"Where is Samuel Harvey?\"\n\n\"In London,\" said Bowes comfortably. \"Are you going to send this message to Scott for us?\"\n\nLymond surveyed him with mild distaste. \"Why should I?\"\n\n\"Thumbscrews,\" said Bowes picturesquely. \"The iron glove\u2014hot lead\u2014pincers\u2014knives. And the whip.\"\n\nThe Master's eyes were hilarious. \"What, all in your baggage? There's the English army for you. My God, do you have to whip them from behind as well?\"\n\nBut it was bravado. He told them almost immediately all they wanted to know, and inscribed a letter to Will Scott with which Bullo uncomplainingly set off.\n\nArriving with the rest of the army on Monday, Lord Grey was charmed with the news. \"This afternoon, at the pond belonging to that old house at Heriot,\" said Bowes. \"He'd already made a verbal arrangement with the boy, to be confirmed with his letter, and we thought it best not to change it.\"\n\n\"Splendid. Good work. Thought all he had to do was collect Harvey, send the message and leave, hey? That'll show him!\" said the Lord Lieutenant. And on learning that a party, including Lymond and Sir George Douglas, had already left for the fateful appointment with Will Scott, Lord Grey collected Gideon and trotted off on the same path to enjoy the denouement.\n\nSir George Douglas was extremely uncomfortable.\n\nTo begin with, his elegant length was curled frondwise round the base of a holly tree whose bulk was a perfect screen, and whose eavesdrip was agony. And secondly, thus fixed and transfixed, he was being pricked, railed at, attacked and generally sacrificed to the playful god Momus.\n\nThe patch of ground at Heriot chosen by Lymond for the vigil for Will Scott had once been the kitchen garden of a large, fortified house, long since burned and bombarded and reduced to a masons' boutique.\n\nAmong the twisted remains of medlar and apple trees, kale and gooseberries, thyme, catmint and pennyroyal, bramble, blaeberry and camomile and a bower of nettles, a select squad of Bowes' own men lay in approximate concealment, watching the moors to the west. In the open, beside the green mud of an ancient fishpond, sat Lymond, on a block of hewn stone, with his ankles and wrists inconspicuously lashed to each other and to the block.\n\nAlthough tethered like a billy goat, he had no impediment to speech. Thus suited Lymond, happily aware that for an hour or two he had never been safer. Despite almost tearful threats from Bowes, he sat amber-headed in the April sunlight, melting as the tears of the Heliades, and tore them to shreds. After a while he got quite carried away himself.\n\n\"\u2026 He and the King of Naverne\n\n[ Were fair feared in the fern ]\n\nTheir head\u0113s for to hide\u2014\n\n\"\u2014The other extremity, I see, is harder to conceal, the merry merry holly. It might, of course, help to stand up: why not stand up? No? Well, yours are the marybones: I am perfectly comfortable and capable of reciting verse until the thyme withers and the pennyroyal is debased. Give me death, but not dumbness. Let Parrot, I pray you, have lyberte to prate. And a captive audience; an attentive audience\u2014an increasing audience. Your noble commander, no less, and\u2014who else? Art thou Heywood, with the mad, merry wit? Good lord, no. It's Flaw Valleys, in person.\"\n\nLord Grey of Wilton, stalking into the clearing with a fine scorn of concealment and Gideon at his heels, had his eyes fixed on its soliloquizing centre.\n\nThe hair was different, the skin was different, the clothes were different, but the voice with its rapidity, with its lowering excess of mental agility, were the same. \"The Spaniard; we were right; it's the same man. You've got him!\" pealed Lord Grey, and came to a halt.\n\nLymond looked over his shoulder and back. \"Spaniard? Behold,\" he quoted sadly, \"my countenance and my colour. It's only Sweet Cicely awaiting the bees, and blushing in young modesty like a seraphim; two wings over the eyes and the other four pinned with some damnably hard knots: God save Flamens and keep all the knotless from high winds and short memories.\"\n\nPaying not the slightest heed, Lord Grey pursued his idea. \"The Spaniard who stole my horses and supplies at Hume Castle. Deny if you can that you're the fellow.\"\n\nA delighted smile spread over Lymond's attentive face, and then faded in consternation. \"You want your tawny velvet, and I gave it away.\"\n\n\"You insolent blackguard!\"\n\n\"Muy illustrissimo y excellentissimo se\u00f1or,\" responded Lymond politely. \"How did you find out, I wonder?\"\n\nLord Grey said frigidly, \"You made two obvious mistakes. One was to show yourself to Somerville here, and the other was parading your miserable polyglot talents before the Countess of Lennox.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Lymond; and a moment later continued. \"Manerly Margery, Mylk, and Ale. Por vos suis en prison mis; Por vos, amie! I wondered at the Protector's sudden tenderness for poor Mr. Harvey.\"\n\n\"And you may as well know,\" said Lord Grey, high colour in his cheeks, \"that you'll have plenty of time to reflect on the folly of your tricks. Plenty of time. I mean to have you hanged\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014Higher than Haman and the ramparts of Hume\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014And burned\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014More successfully than Polycarp. And ripped, salted and stuffed with myrrh and cassia and set up painted to remind all low people, all boasters and braggers and bargainers, that villainy is mortal. And what about Douglas? Does he suffer the same if Will Scott doesn't appear? He's present, as a matter of fact, though you might not think it\u2014somewhere.\" He looked wildly around. \"But where? My joy, cry peip! where ever thou be!\"\n\nLord Grey also looked around. Part at least of Sir George must have been visible because the Lord Lieutenant said irritably, \"Get up, man: are you broody? No need for that yet. The boy will be hours yet by all accounts.\"\n\nA derisive groan broke from the bound man. \"Nay, not so. I am too brittle; I may not endure.\u2026\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\"\n\nThe prisoner smiled and settled himself as luxuriously as he could against the cold stone while Lord Grey and Douglas conferred.\n\nGideon, watching the relaxed profile with its veiled eyes and lightly contemptuous mouth, was gifted by remembered anger with an extra insight.\n\nThe man was coiled like a spring, waiting. Waiting for what? With the whole might of the English army lying behind them at Cockburnspath, Gideon couldn't imagine. But this was no broken Colossus, waiting to be whisked off for old metal: it was a clever man, and an expert actor.\n\nGideon left Grey's side and strolled unobtrusively over to the pond, where Lymond greeted him without expression. \"Any friend of Meg Douglas has my respect.\"\n\nGideon looked down, hands clasped loosely behind his back. \"As it ha-happens, I don't greatly care for her. What are you waiting for?\"\n\nThe impudent mouth widened. \"Rescue,\" said Lymond. \"Why not?\"\n\nSomerville gave him back the same smile. \"Not while I'm here.\"\n\n\"You probably won't be. Lord Grey is leaving.\"\n\nLooking round, Gideon saw that this was true. Satisfied at having identified Lymond and unready to abase himself behind prickly evergreens, the Lord Lieutenant was preparing to go back to camp.\n\nGideon crossed to him quickly, and in a brief exchange, got permission to stay behind, having pleaded in vain for more men to stay with him. On a billow of diminishing comments, Lord Grey disappeared. Gideon manfully selected a gorse bush which happened to be the nearest cover to Lymond, and the little clearing settled down to comparative silence."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 83",
                "text": "Since Johnnie Bullo took the summons to Branxholm instead of to Will Scott; since he delivered it verbally through a dear friend who was unknown to Buccleuch; and since he represented it as coming from Scott and not from Lymond, Sir Wat and Lord Culter set out forthwith with all their men to Heriot under the natural impression that they were about to lay Lymond and his allies by the heels in the act of bargaining over Buccleuch's son.\n\nJohnnie had been generous with his information, both about the site and its hazards. As they rode, Sir Wat and Richard laid their plans, which were simple: by riding north around the bluff on which the house ruins stood, Lord Culter would silently infiltrate behind the Englishmen; Buccleuch with his men would appear in full panoply along the wide, exposed moors to the west and south, and dash the would-be ambush back into Richard's arms.\n\nThe prospect was intoxicating. In a state of near euphoria the Scotts and the Crawfords drove at the hills lying between Branxholm and Heriot and the hills vanished, as small fish into the gape of a whale. Then the blue and silver wheeled and passed to the northeast, while Buccleuch slackened his pace, and prepared to time his attack.\n\nThey appeared to Gideon, to Bowes and to Douglas as a sparkling comber on the horizon, which unrolled as they watched, and crystallized into helmet, steel plate, spearhead and sword. Scots, and in superior numbers, armed, on horseback, and making straight for them with instructed assurance.\n\nThe kitchen garden disintegrated. The holly and laurels ran for their horses, but the gorse bush alone lingered. As Bowes' men pushed past him and curses flew and horses stamped and shuffled, Gideon ducked and ran across to Lymond. He had an impression of a bright eye and some breathless laughter; then he slashed the cord at the Master's feet and flung him up at sword point before him in the saddle of his own horse. With the ground vibrating under his feet with oncoming hoofs, he set the gelding, doubly laden, galloping after Bowes and the other men.\n\nRichard saw them coming from beyond the small hill, and sent his men streeling like floats on a salmon net over the coastal road. The approaching horses veered, racing parallel with the Scottish horse in a rhythm of flashing forearms and outflung, muscular necks, and the heather clods thudded like meteorites.\n\nThey engaged as they galloped. Richard, his grey eyes half-closed, his riding faultless and his right arm invincible, defended himself and scanned every face. He saw the Douglas colours and ignored them; he saw a heavily built rider, presumably Bowes, try to rally the men, lost him, and was involved in a thumping clash of steel and horseflesh and labouring bodies, through which he got a glimpse of a yellow head.\n\nHe was going through the battling parties indiscriminately, like a flame through wax, when the thunder of horses about him checked as if the gates of the atmosphere had shut in their faces.\n\nLord Grey had thought twice about Gideon's warning, and had detailed a company of horse to watch the situation at Heriot. Straight from Cockburnspath, red crosses glittering, fresh and rosy as apples, the new horsemen fell joyfully on Culter's men and on the Scotts sweeping up to their rear; surprised them, engaged them and devastated them until, broken and bitterly enraged they turned, outnumbered, and fled back over the moors.\n\nGideon Somerville, caught in the middle of the early fighting, hacked grimly with one hand and controlled his horse and his prisoner with the other. He had almost cleared a road for himself when he was taken by surprise in the rear. He experienced a shattering blow on the back of his head; realized with surprise and fury that he was falling, and knew nothing more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 84",
                "text": "Mr. Somerville opened his eyes to a circle of queasily ambulating trees, shut them again, and tried to move. He found this impossible because his hands and ankles were tied. He opened his eyes again quickly and looked.\n\nIt was a small wood. Two battered horses were grazing quietly under the trees, and Crawford of Lymond was sitting placidly quite near, with his hands clasped about his knees.\n\n\"Oh!\" said Gideon.\n\n\"Quite,\" said Lymond cheerfully. \"Your horse was killed, so I rolled you like Sisyphus's stone to the nearest shelter. Everyone was much too busy high up to notice what was happening in the long grass. You had it wrong, you know. It was to be an evisceration party, not a rescue.\"\n\nHis cords? wondered Gideon vaguely. Cut them on his, Gideon's, sword, probably: it was missing. Damn. Aloud, he said, \"I suppose we have young Scott to thank for all this. I might have done more to warn Lord Grey, except that I found it hard to believe you would put yourself within reach of your own countrymen.\"\n\n\"Don't blame Scott. I sent for Buccleuch and Lord Culter,\" said Lymond. \"Which is only just, since Lord Grey didn't bring my Mr. Harvey. In other words, we have all been energetically cheating. Although I should have sent the message in any case.\"\n\n\"Inviting the evisceration party? That seems a bit odd,\" said Gideon dryly.\n\n\"It nearly turned out to be very odd indeed. But then, I didn't expect to be among the welcoming party\u2014or if I had been, I expected to be enjoying the society of Mr. Harvey, which would have altered things a trifle. However, as it happened\u2014\"\n\n\"As it happened, it seems to me you were abnormally lucky to escape from your own cross fire.\"\n\nLymond agreed dreamily. \"Nemesis nodded. I know.\"\n\n\"And now?\"\n\n\"And now you shall come with me to my home for a change\u2026\n\n\u2003\"Now in dry, now in wete,\n\n\u2003Now in snow, now in slete\n\n\u2003When my shone freys to my fete\u2014\n\n\u2003It is not, Mr. Somerville, all easy.\"\n\nThe horses Lymond had captured were tired, and the journey to Crawfordmuir took the two men rather longer than it need have done.\n\nAbout halfway there, they came across the redheaded boy.\n\nHe was a formidable and well-grown young man, on a horse almost as weary as their own, and beside him a small swarthy gentleman on a long-faced brown pony. Lymond reined instantly before the boy's drawn sword, and effervesced into gnatlike mockery.\n\n\"Will Scott! With chin driven into his chest as if he's been thumped on the head with a fact. Facts and Mr. Scott never meet: they collide. What's wrong now?\"\n\nScott! Gideon's eyebrows shot up; the black-haired man grinned; and the young man exclaimed with an unhappy, controlled violence, \"What have you done with my father?\"\n\n\"Exercised him and sent him home. Johnnie, you shouldn't frighten the child.\"\n\nThe dark person smiled, showing beautiful, sharp teeth. \"I didn't. He got the story elsewhere and was wearing himself out trying to track you all down. I thought it would be handier to help him find you.\"\n\nScott ignored it, his whole mind set on Lymond. \"I thought I was the person wrapped ready for sale; but no. I was nothing\u2014the grease around the candle, the keyhole for the key. You sold my father and your own brother to the English, but by God, you've still got a reckoning to face for it! Get down.\"\n\n\"Make me?\" invited Lymond, and unfurled himself with terrifying suddenness. There was an explosion of movement. Scott, swordless, was ripped from his horse and stood gaping, while Lymond addressed Gideon.\n\n\"We're not always so uncouth. I'm sorry. You were at Heriot. Would you say that the Scots who surprised you were falling into a trap?\"\n\nGideon, fascinated, spoke the truth. \"Oh the contrary. Scott of Buccleuch and his friends had prepared a very efficient trap of their own.\"\n\n\"I told him,\" said Johnnie virtuously. \"I gave all the help I could to Buccleuch.\"\n\nScott's hands were doubled. \"But you completed the bargain somehow. You've got Harvey.\"\n\nPrompted by the eye of his impresario Gideon responded, amused, to the cue. \"My name is Somerville,\" he said quietly. \"I'm afraid Lord Grey steered rather an erratic course as well. He didn't keep his promise to bring Harvey north.\" And out of charity, he added, \"Your father took no harm in the fighting. They didn't get any prisoners through a chance intervention of mine, but both Buccleuch and Lord Culter got away quite safely.\"\n\nScott's eyes never shifted from Lymond. \"I seem to have made a fool of myself again?\"\n\n\"You put yourself in a damned silly position to begin with. But you can put half the blame, if you like, on the universal habit of pattering off to Dandy Hunter with one's troubles. Is that a fair comment?\"\n\nThe red-haired boy flushed, and then went pale. \"I suppose so, yes. All right. I suppose I should apologize again. Or would one omnibus grovel cover all past and future failings?\"\n\n\"Anything,\" said Lymond, \"that will prevent you from leaping like a chamois to unutterable conclusions. Seen all you want to, Johnnie?\"\n\nThe white teeth flashed. \"I like watching acrobatics. If you want me again\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014I shall consult the viscera of a fish louse. Goodbye!\"\n\nGideon found himself looking into a pair of snapping brown eyes. \"He pays well,\" murmured Johnnie; and nipping his pony between his knees, darted off. The Master's gaze, unusually wide, followed him.\n\nIt had been folly to lose his temper, however briefly, and both he and Gideon knew it."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 85",
                "text": "Unlike his predecessor Mr. Crouch, Gideon Somerville had within him considerable resources of scholarship and wit. Life at Shortcleugh he found full of a freakish interest; and after two days he had a thoroughgoing admiration for the assurance with which the dominus quod-libetarius did his job.\n\nOn the second day he was brought down from the top floor to Lymond's room, and began himself, briskly, on entering. \"Your plan now, I take it, is to exchange me for Samuel Harvey.\"\n\nLymond considered this, tapping his teeth. \"Do you think the Protector would give Harvey up?\"\n\n\"I like to think he won't,\" said Gideon.\n\nThe Master threw the pen he was holding on the desk and got up. \"I doubt if Lady Lennox can persuade him a second time. But in any case, you're a friend of Lord Grey's. He'll bring Harvey north if the Protector doesn't.\"\n\n\"He may,\" said Gideon. \"But it won't make any difference. I've no intention of buying my freedom at the price of someone else's life. Money, yes: you have a right to ransom me if you wish. But you'll neither find me nor make me a party to any other arrangements, alive or\u2014or dead.\"\n\nLymond moved restlessly. \"Honest men are notoriously hard to do business with.\u2026 Harvey's life will be quite safe with me.\"\n\nGideon said, \"I'm afraid I cannot take the risk.\"\n\n\"Your wife wouldn't see it as a risk.\"\n\n\"My wife would agree with me,\" said Gideon in a final tone, and waited again.\n\nLymond prowled across and reseated himself. \"You can't stop me, of course,\" he said flatly. \"I've only to send your signet ring and a message to Grey, and keep you stuffed full of drugs till the exchange is effected.\"\n\n\"I recognize that, of course,\" said Gideon. \"But I'll make it as diff-difficult as I can.\"\n\n\"Then I'll offer you another bargain,\" said Lymond, and looked up suddenly. \"Since honesty is your surest asset, let us gamble with that. There is your sword, your knife and the key of your room. There is a horse waiting for you downstairs. You are perfectly free to go home provided you will take it on your conscience to arrange for me to meet Harvey without any danger to my life, and with any measures you like to safeguard his.\"\n\nThe word \"free\" startled Gideon into movement; then he put the tips of his clean fingers together and surveyed them calmly.\n\nWhat was the flaw? Not a threat to his health: he had to be kept alive for the purpose of the exchange. But as soon as he left his prison, he was out of Lymond's control. He could go home and do nothing further: this time he would set a guard, he promised himself grimly, that wouldn't admit a one-legged mouse. Or he could go home and make the desired arrangements, and then capture Lymond in turn when he came. Either way, the Master was putting himself entirely at his, Gideon's, mercy.\n\nAs if answering his thoughts, Lymond's voice said, \"There isn't any trick, though you can take time to hunt for one if you like. Whatever you do, the power and the initiative are with you, and not with me.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Gideon bluntly.\n\n\"An Easter present.\" And as Gideon continued to frown at him, Lymond said coolly, \"I owe your family an act of sensibility. Remember?\"\n\nSomerville stirred. \"If you don't want Harvey's life, what do you want him for?\"\n\n\"For his ethological small talk,\" said Lymond. \"You must decide on the data you have.\"\n\n\"I have decided,\" said Gideon unexpectedly. \"I'm not going to do what you want, I tell you frankly, for no better reason than that you want it.\"\n\n\"I was afraid of that.\" Lymond's voice was surprisingly mild. \"You may set fire to churches and cribble empires through your bloody fingers, but the one irretrievable mistake is to misjudge a fellow being.\"\n\n\"Or force a child to judge its parents.\"\n\n\"Oh, quite. Nemesis has wakened up again. My hoofs, it appears, weigh more than your halo. It's a most damnably one-sided balance, but that's not your fault. Put on your sword and go and get your gear; Matthew'll put you on the Redesdale road.\"\n\nThe sword drooped in Gideon's amazed hand. \"I haven't given you any undertakings.\"\n\n\"I know. You haven't given me anything except rather incoherent arguments, and I already have a fruitful source of those under my roof.\"\n\nGideon was still at a loss. \"I warn you, Flaw Valleys will be totally impregnable from the time I get back.\"\n\n\"You can have ten bowmen to a brick for all I care,\" said Lymond with sudden exasperation. He strode to the door and shouted. \"Matthew!\"\n\nGideon moved as quickly. Standing at the other man's shoulder, he said, \"Why do you want Samuel Harvey? Is the reason so squalid?\"\n\nMatthew came. \"The horse for Mr. Somerville,\" Lymond said, and turned back into the room, leaving Gideon by the door. \"Not squalid, my friend: ludicrous.\"\n\n\"In my scale of values,\" said Gideon, \"a matter of dignity is always on the trivial side of the reckoning.\"\n\n\"I can't help that,\" said Lymond. \"Pride is a congenital disease in my family, and I'm damned if I'll put five years' hard labour into the trivial side of anything. This is on the other scale, along with the hoofs and the haloes.\"\n\nMadness took possession of Somerville. He said brusquely, \"If I arrange a meeting, it will be in my own time, at a spot chosen by me and surrounded by my men. The interview will take place in my presence, and you will arrive unarmed. If you attempt to injure Mr. Harvey, or threaten him, or in any way molest him, I shall reserve the right to hand you immediately to Lord Grey. Do you agree to these conditions?\"\n\nA trace of colour had risen under the thin skin. \"Of course,\" said Lymond evenly. \"Without reserve. But there is one risk you ought to consider: that Lord Grey might discover I had visited you. I don't think Harvey will want to tell him; but if need be you may hold me until you know that you can safely let me go. I'm going to disband my men first, in any case.\"\n\nGideon said curiously, \"You set great store by this meeting, surely, if you're going to abandon your livelihood for it. I doubt if I could face the situation so calmly.\"\n\n\"I pay my price,\" said Lymond, and smiled suddenly. \"But if I'm going to hear from you, I shall stay sober.\"\n\nIn less than an hour, Gideon was on his way home, wondering if, like Evagrius, he would receive the receipt for these pious outgoings in his coffin."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 86",
                "text": "It was a soft spring that year, with spotted eggs where the winter cattle walked, spindle-legged; with fawn in wood and cub in hole and white lambs under the whin. With the sun came green shoots and flat water and a fresh courage erumpent which depressed Lord Grey into a welter of gloom at Haddington.\n\nHe had marched there from Cockburnspath and found a wind egg which had to become a monolithic fortress. In the shallow bowl of the Tyne, overlooked on both sides, he was threatened hourly by the nearness of Edinburgh, of Arran's three thousand five hundred, and by five thousand Frenchmen, delicately scenting the infested terrain.\n\nOn the other hand, once done, he had a classic tourniquet on the Lothians, on the routes north and south and on the crop-growing farmlands. He took all the rest of April and May to it, and had his men boring like gimlets and building like corals to render him his defensible fortress.\n\nBy the last week in May, Lord Grey had over five thousand horse and foot in and around Haddington, and stores for them all. By then also, Sir George Douglas's honeymoon with England, already badly damaged by the muddle at Heriot, began to slither to an end.\n\n\"The captain of Haddington,\" wrote the Protector, \"is to train as many hackbutters as he can, to do all he can to get Sir George in his hands, and having him, keep him. And notwithstanding any treaty, to destroy the country as he may.\"\n\nLord Grey took the necessary steps. He did more. Without consulting Somerset or Palmer or his own staff, he sent for Samuel Harvey.\n\n[ The Pinning Move ]\n\nIt was Sybilla who, mistrusting the apathetic security of the convent, installed her daughter-in-law, in Richard's permanent absence, at Midculter.\n\nThere, she found herself in the embarrassing position of the social suicide who wakes up after the laudanum: the skies had fallen and had done nothing but add to the general obscurity. The Dowager, wishing strongly that Christian Stewart was with her instead of staying with the Maxwells, did her best to amuse; but all that could stir Mariotta to the mildest interest was the alchemy experiment.\n\nIn recent months, the laboratory which Sybilla had equipped for Johnnie Bullo had glowed with strange lights of an evening, and bad smells infiltrated lovingly into the fabric of the house. Johnnie explained, frequently, what he was doing, but so far little was visible save a sticky and unsavoury residue in blackened retorts.\n\nOn a mild, sunny afternoon at the end of May, however, encouraged perhaps by the presence of Janet Buccleuch as well as the two Lady Culters, he had gone further. Standing by the odorous furnace and tapping a dirty copper he intoned.\n\n\"Calcination, dissolution, separation, conjunction, putrefaction, congelation, cibation, sublimation, fermentation, exaltation, multiplication and projection,\" chanted Johnnie, his dark face ferociously solemn. \"These and none others are the twelve processes.\"\n\nThere was a respectful silence. \"Twelve processes of what?\" demanded Janet, who liked to have things straight.\n\nThe bright, mystagogue's eyes appealed for sympathy to the intellectual Culters. He explained. At the end\u2014\n\n\"Yes. I see all that,\" said Janet. \"Go on to the bit about the Paradisiacal fruit.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well,\" said Johnnie, who was not overfond of being quoted. \"The fruit has ripened. If it's dry, you add mercury until silver Luna rises. In time, that yields to the Sun. Then the phial is sealed and put in the furnace: mine went in a month ago as I showed you\u2014white fumes with a black residue as I showed you also\u2014perfect putrefaction of the seed.\" His eyes shone.\n\n\"Now I shall increase the heat, and you shall see the glorious colour changes\u2014green to whiter\u2014the White Tincture. If we troubled with it, we should find it transmutes metal to silver.\"\n\n\"Aren't we going to trouble with it?\" asked Mariotta.\n\nHe shook his black head. \"We wait until the furnace becomes hotter still\u2014yellow, orange\u2014citron\u2014and finally, blood red.\" He paused weightily. \"And that day, Lady Culter, will be very soon now.\"\n\n\"And what,\" asked Sybilla, the blue eyes shining, \"happens then, Mr. Bullo?\"\n\nHis expression altered from the grave to the bonzelike. \"Cooled and powdered, what is left has become heavier than gold, dissolvable in any liquid, a panacea for all diseases, and a transmuter of lead into gold.\"\n\nA breathless silence, fraught with fat visions, stretched on and was broken by Janet. \"There is someone,\" said Lady Buccleuch in annoyance, \"at the door.\"\n\nIt was a travel-stained man from Ballaggan with a letter for the Dowager.\n\nThe reek of the furnace and the dirty crucibles rolled out into the courtyard as she read it; Johnnie's words vanished; the litter and alembics became commonplace. \"What is it?\" exclaimed Janet.\n\nSybilla spoke to the messenger, her voice flat. \"Tell Sir Andrew that Lord Culter is not here; but Sir Wat will come as soon as we can reach him. And tell him we suggest he takes his prisoner to Threave. That will save troubling Lady Hunter while they wait for Buccleuch.\"\n\n\"Prisoner?\" said Mariotta. \"What prisoner?\"\n\nThe wide, cornflower eyes were brilliant. \"Oh, Lymond; Lymond!\" said Sybilla. \"Who else? What else? He's driven that ridiculous boy half out of his mind, and this is the result.\"\n\nMariotta's face, too, was white. \"They have him?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" said Sybilla. \"Lymond goes to England tomorrow, alone, Dandy says. They know where; they know how\u2014the Scott boy has told them. Before Lymond crosses the Border, Hunter will have him.\"\n\nJanet spoke uneasily. \"They want Buccleuch's help?\"\n\n\"They wanted Richard,\" said the Dowager with a great weariness. \"But failing him, Buccleuch, to take over Lymond from Sir Andrew and bring him north. But Richard's away, thank God. Thank God,\" she repeated, her voice brittle. \"Because the young fool plans to trap Lymond at the convent. The ruined convent where five years ago his sister was killed.\"\n\nThey did not see Johnnie Bullo slip out. To do him justice, he set out south at full gallop.\n\nIt was not his fault that he was too late."
            },
            {
                "title": "The END GAME",
                "text": "[ Twice-Taken ]\n\n\u2002And what is a Knyght worth, wyth oute\n\n\u2002horse and armes?\n\n\u2002Certaynly nothynge more than on\n\n\u2002of the peple,\n\n\u2002Or lasse, p\u0101venture.\n\n[ Forced Play Against Time ]\n\nSince its untimely dissolution, the convent at Lymond had invented new graces. Its tongueless bell slept unharried among the cuckoo flowers and behind painted robe and beaded halo its broken beams, leafed like an artichoke, fed a thousand mouths. Of human life there was none nearer than the adjacent hilltops, where armed men waited and watched.\n\nLymond, with Scott and Turkey Mat, left Crawfordmuir before dawn, in a mild, vaporous rain that soaked them all. Scott rode mute, his breath unsteady in his lungs.\n\nIt was Oyster Charlie who had first hinted that the band was to be broken up. Will had howled at the idea. \"The Master abdicate? Not while he can act like Cyrus King of the World and be paid for it.\"\n\nBut the rumour got stronger. He had tackled Turkey Mat and Turkey had pulled a yellow face, his hand on his stomach. \"It's maybe likely. He's off to England soon to meet this fellow Harvey and be made a lord, like enough. There's no cause to keep the force on.\"\n\nWhy had he imagined the company to be perpetual? It had been created at Lymond's whim, and was being disbanded by the same lordly hand.\u2026 Scott took to watching for the return of the weekly messenger to the Ostrich, and he knew before anyone when the word finally came summoning Lymond to the Castle of Wark on the second of June for his portentous meeting with Samuel Harvey.\n\nThe Master announced the disbandment the same day in the hall, over the uproar of sixty furious employees. The Long Cleg had the loudest voice. \"We dinna want to go. There's no need. We're doing fine. We want to go on.\"\n\n\"By all means. But without me.\"\n\n\"No! You're to stay!\"\n\n\"And who will make me?\"\n\nThe thunder increased. \"We're sixty to one!\" And Turkey had turned from his comfortable seat in the front. \"Two, man: two. And I'm the only other one that kens where your pay is.\"\n\nLymond snatched the ensuing decrescendo in which to be heard. \"If you want to be paid, I'm afraid you must accept it. And even if you don't, you really can't make me stay, can you?\"\n\nAnd, of course, they couldn't. Sardonic to the last, he had surveyed them. \"All right. Get out. Think for yourselves for a change. You've been pedlars: go and be merchants. You've been mercenaries: go and find something of your own to defend. You've finished teething and there's the world: crack it open if you can. It's a damned sight pricklier than I am. In any case, whatever you do, keep well clear of me.\u2026\"\n\nThey were paid, and took their leave, clattering out in twos and threes: Oyster Charlie, the Long Cleg, Dandy-puff, Jess's Joe. Turkey and he were last, as Scott knew they would be, because they had special claims. The money for them was in French gold and was in Scott's own custody. But not in the tower.\n\nDreading a homily, Scott was relieved to find that Lymond himself, travelling light, was packing quickly for his journey to Wark and made no effort to see him alone. When the matter of the gold cropped up, the boy said nothing about a convent. He said casually, \"The store's on your road, as a matter of fact. If you like, I'll take a pack horse and ride with you so far.\"\n\nLymond had been indifferent, but Turkey was not. He thought bluntly that a fellow fetching a double salary of gold ought to have company on the way back as well. He attached himself firmly to Scott, who attempted to argue and only succeeded in making him obstinate.\n\nThus in the long run, Turkey Mat as well as Scott took the Wark road along with the Master. The golden dales of Crawfordmuir fell behind them, broken, gouged and abandoned, and whether the four rivers they left were of Hell, or the Pischon, Dichon, Chiddikel and Perath of Paradise might have been hard for any one of them to say.\n\nThat was this morning. The question now was how far the tiger would enter the cage.\n\nLymond was riding very fast, taking no risks, although he had plenty of time to reach the north of England by next day, when Harvey's convoy would pass through Wark. Turkey Mat, knee to knee with him, was talking more than usual, and it was a little time before either realized that Scott had halted.\n\nWaiting, the boy saw the Master turn, and then bring his chestnut in a fine arc back to him; saw Lymond's eyes flicker to the splintered, obelisk elms on his left and then alter. When he came abreast, however, he merely inspected Scott's green face and groaned. \"Oh God: sermons and symbolism; I can't stand it. Don't bother to tell me. You've put the gold in the convent.\"\n\nScott said heavily, \"It seemed a good place to me. The basement is quite intact, you know.\"\n\nUnexpectedly, Lymond failed to rage. \"Then go and get your money. Half for you; half for Mat, and for God's sake jump off the pendulum next time before it gets my length.\u2026 Mat! This is where I leave you both.\"\n\nMat had heard, cantering up. \"Already? What about your share of the gold?\"\n\nScott let him talk. He had thought of this possibility too: he had thought of everything. He moved restively behind the two men and made his unobtrusive signal and then rejoined them, a little sulky and very young, his brow round and flecked with the sun. Mat was still arguing, but only seconds elapsed before they all heard the drumming of hoofs from behind the hill they had just passed.\n\nLymond's head came up instantly, listening; weighing up the quality of the sound. It was a large body of cavalry not yet in sight: Scots or otherwise hardly mattered; both were a danger to him, and a danger at this special and delicate crisis in his affairs.\n\nHe turned quickly. There was only one source of cover, and it had to be reached before the first riders came into sight. After the merest hint of a pause he collected the chestnut, jerked his head, and followed by Turkey and Scott, raced for the convent.\n\nThey got there, as he intended, before the first horses came into sight. They jumped the broken wall, dismounting, tying their horses out of sight in the roofless, rubble-filled building and flinging themselves among the toadflax as the grey light flickered like St. Elmo's fire on the pikes and drawn swords of galloping horsemen rounding the hill.\n\nTurkey, his beard full of burs, his clothing soaked with the light rain, spared breath for an ironic cheer as the troop streamed friezelike along the road: they galloped to the exact point the three men had just left, and then forsaking the road entirely, bore like a grey and shining harrow through the wet grass, making straight for the convent.\n\nMat's mouth fell slightly open. \"It's the second sight. It must be: I'm damned if they saw us.\"\n\nBrittle as exploding glass, Lymond said, \"They didn't see us. They expected to find us here. They're Ballaggan men.\"\n\n\"The horses\u2014\"\n\n\"Too late. You heard Scott: there's a basement,\" said Lymond, and twisting like a dorcus led them full tilt through the shattered rooms, Scott beside him and Mat at his heels. The stairs plunged downward, broken and shallow. At the head of them the Master took a quick step, wrenched Scott's sword screaming from its sheath and flung the boy weaponless down the stairs with such force that he landed knee and shoulder at the first bend. The look in the blue eyes chilled even Turkey. \"You lead. Another trick and I'll kill you.\"\n\nThen they were running downstairs, Lymond with a sword in each hand. Mat said, \"The boy\u2026?\"\n\n\"Of course: who else? But he may not know there's a passage out of that cellar. Unless it's full of Hunter and his friends, waiting for us.\"\n\nIt wasn't. At the next bend there was light: a sickly glint from a wall taper exposing the sunk treads and checkered green walls. Then they were in the basement.\n\nThe floor was littered with rubbish from the groined roof, and dust covered everything. In a corner stood a heavy leather chest, securely locked: their useless gold. They sought instead what their lives depended on: the low and obscure door to the nuns' underground passage. It was there. They saw the lintel. The rest was blocked, triumphantly and symbolically indeed, with stacked cases of gunpowder.\n\nIt was suddenly very quiet.\n\nOverhead, they could hear the jangle of harness and men's voices but no steps descending, although Mat moved instinctively to the narrow stair and put his sword across it. Scott was standing motionless between the gold and the gunpowder, the tallow dip in his hand, light and shadow racing in freshets over the stone between leader and accolyte.\n\nSoftly Lymond said, \"You put the cost of your pride at three lives?\"\n\n\"Three!\"\n\nLymond answered Mat without turning his head. \"Why do you fancy he's holding the torch?\"\n\nIt was quick, of course, admirable; but quick thinking would hardly rescue him now. Scott raised the flare, beside red ear and thick jaw and tousled, marigold hair. He said, \"Just a precaution. You have ten minutes to walk upstairs and give yourselves up; otherwise they fire stoneshot, and then Greek fire, and there'll be an explosion like Muspelheim. By waiting, of course, you'll take me with you; but that's a dull prospect compared with setting a score of young lassies to fry\u2026\"\n\n\"You bloody little traitor, shut your mouth!\" It was Matthew, not Lymond.\n\nThe direct assault on the memory was intentional: a revenge indeed for every doubt and indignity and misery that Scott had suffered. He had perhaps reckoned without Lymond's peculiar strength.\n\nNo trace of the ordeal was visible to Scott. The raw light shuddered on the Master's face but Lymond himself was quite still. He said, \"You evidently want to be taken seriously. I am now doing so. You are prepared to take responsibility for Matthew's death?\"\n\nBuccleuch had hinted, and Sir Andrew had confirmed. You don't make concessions to a man who has killed his own sister. \"Matthew's safe,\" said Scott. \"We're all safe, for ten minutes. She was called Eloise, wasn't she? Why did she die?\"\n\n\"Because in this age only the intolerable have survived. Matthew, quickly.\"\n\nScott reached the gunpowder before them, the tallow spluttering in his hand, smiling. \"Touch one box and I'll explode it.\"\n\nThe dreadful, fragile little situation was too much for Mat. He raised his heavy sword, inhaling stale air with a roar. \"Explode it then, you bloody little rat: you don't have the guts!\" and stumbled, arrested by Lymond, iron-armed.\n\n\"You're dealing with hysteria, not guts or lack of them. Scott: if I were alone I'd say throw and be damned. Burn us into red and white rose trees. Make sweet cinders of our bloody gold. Exercise this pitiful, feckless piety you've discovered and reap your own trashy reward. Why the melodrama, I don't know. If you were determined to trap me, it seems a fairly simple thing to do without the busking. If you want the satisfaction of a discussion, you won't get it. Make your decisions, such as they are: you're in command. I have nothing to say to you.\"\n\n\"Hell, but I have!\" said Mat. \"Jump him! Start on the boxes. He won't throw.\"\n\n\"He will,\" said Lymond calmly. \"Big bangs and primary colours appeal to the young.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"Up to the realms of this universal patron.\"\n\n\"Dandy Hunter? Give ourselves up?\"\n\n\"Unless like Hanno you wish to sail by streams of fire. Unbuckle your sword. The suicide impulse is very strong in the air.\"\n\nLymond was already, left-handed, unfastening his own sword belt. He pulled it off complete with scabbard and dropped it on the rubble behind him. Mat's followed. In his right hand Lymond continued to hold Scott's sword. \"The ten minutes are nearly up. You were saying?\" he said to the boy.\n\nIt was the steadiness of the voice that shook Scott. He exclaimed, \"For God's sake: this is where she died. Doesn't that mean anything?\"\n\n\"If I killed her, why should it? If I didn't, I'm not likely to be goaded into triple suttee, even to enable you to expire in a spray of madder-fed milk.\"\n\n\"You are willing,\" said Scott harshly, \"to give yourselves up?\"\n\n\"We are waiting with, I hope, well concealed impatience to do so.\"\n\n\"In that case, I'll take back my sword.\"\n\nKnowing Lymond, Scott was well prepared. He expected a thrust or a cut, or even the heavy blade hurled in his face. Instead Lymond said briefly, \"I'm damned if I'll give it to you. This one wrote a betrayal. It can stay and sign it.\" And he hurled it away from himself, far across the dark cellar where it spun with a little tongue from the torch flame, carrying the boy's gaze instinctively with it.\n\nIn that one small blind instant, like the tiger of Scott's own fantasy, Lymond jumped.\n\nToo late to avoid him, Scott had all the time in the world to do what he wanted. The heavy torch, flung with all the boy's strength, left his hand and soared high over the gunpowder boxes, jettisoning sparks. The shadows pounced after it; the new, rough wood of the boxes bloomed under its high star; then it fell.\n\nHalfway to the powder it collided with the clogged, sodden wool of Lymond's cloak, simultaneously thrown. Torch and cloak fell together; the wrap, batlike and sluggish, rolled over the lower boxes like a carpet and the tallow dip, upright, hit the topmost box, hesitated, bowed, and then halting in the surge of its own fire, toppled slowly forward and into the cloak. There was a flare of light, writhing over ceiling and uneven, web-clotted walls. Then Matthew leaped forward and Scott, borne to the floor by Lymond's hard strength, twisted vainly to stop him. There was a shrinking of light; a stink of tallow; a hiss; and the shock of utter darkness seized them all.\n\nThere was no light; there was no air. Scott heard Matthew blundering about, seeking them. He could hear Lymond's quick breathing, close to his face and his own raucous panting. He could feel cool fingers bending and turning, the weight of the lean, clever body and the steady leverage on his own limbs.\u2026 Kill girls! He could kill girls; but he wasn't going to stop Will Scott.\n\nHe broke that hold, and the next. He knew some of Lymond's tricks, but not all. The pressure on his ribs had gone. Now he needed only to get his right hand free. He twisted.\n\nMatthew stumbled on them and laid hands on something. Lymond's voice, breathless, told him curtly to keep away. There were men's voices in the convent above, and someone shouted something, but the blood roaring in his ears deafened Scott. He crashed again on his side, bruising his hip agonizingly against fallen stone, gritted his teeth, and shifted his own grip again.\n\nIt was bitter delight: to feel Lymond, the cool, unassailable Lymond, wince beneath his grip. He pressed with all his weight, and felt the other man jerk. Then, brutally as Dandy Hunter had done, Scott felt a surge through their locked limbs; cramp gripped his legs, and he was raised in the air and smashed on the rubble.\n\nHis own grip weakened. \"God\u2026!\"\n\nThe powerful muscles opened again; again he fell, and this time struck his head, his senses spinning with the pain. He had rolled halfway across the Master's legs; he had no sort of hold at all; Lymond could do as he pleased\u2026 but he wasn't going to. Scott's right hand was free. Thank God, to be reminded in time. His right hand was free; his jerkin was torn apart; and beneath it, strapped to his body, was the small, sharp knife he had put there long before.\n\nIt came to his hand like a child. He balanced it a moment in the dark, cherishing it; and then with a grim and godly triumph, drove it up to the hilt into Lymond's hard body.\n\nThe blow delivered, energy, initiative and even normal sensation left Scott. Lying flaccid on the dark stones he was aware of noise and vibration; aware dimly that the roof was shaking and men's voices, shouting, were calling his name. There was a crash, and plaster and stone rattled about him, sifting lax into eyes and hair. He laid a hand over his face.\n\nMatthew was shouting, and now he knew. Of course. Stoneshot first, then Greek fire. He ought to get up and stop them; after a moment he did get up. In the dark, there was no movement beside him.\n\nPainfully blundering, he found the stairway and began climbing just as Matthew, working obstinately in the darkness from wall to wall, found and fell on his knees beside Lymond.\n\nCovered with dust and mould, with blood on his hands from the sharp stones, Scott waited in the open air with the rest while Sir Andrew Hunter and a few others went down with lights. He had resented the sardonic cheer they gave when he appeared.\n\nPresently, Sir Andrew also returned to the daylight. Collected as always, he walked over to Scott and took from the boy's hand the bridle of Lymond's riderless horse. \"Wake up! It's a fine June day now.\"\n\nScott changed colour. \"Can we go?\"\n\n\"When your friend has mounted,\" said Sir Andrew calmly. \"What did you think you had done to him? He has a bad shoulder, that's all.\" And Scott, the colour driven out of his face, looked where he nodded.\n\nIn the centre of Hunter's men, Lymond was waiting equably, handkerchief to shoulder, while they prepared to truss and mount first Turkey, then himself. He was as dirty as Scott, the stained white shirt gaping between broken points and his face white with shock and masked with stone dust. But there had been, clearly, no lethal, no maiming wound.\n\nSir Andrew Hunter's gaze was critical. \"The fabulous Lymond, trapped like a rat in a cellar.\"\n\n\"Like cats to catmint. Everyone finds you so irresistible, Dandy: are you surprised?\" Lymond had heard him.\n\nHe was unhelpful, but they put him firmly on horseback, and in a moment they were moving, with the Master riding between Hunter and Scott, and Turkey well back in the cavalcade.\n\nThe rain had gone, leaving a haze of sunshine. Heartsease quailed under their hoofs and honeysuckle dispensed bees and a yearning of scent; the elms passed like weeping seneschals. Behind them, dwindling into a green silence, lay the convent, denying its fractured bones to a tranquil grave; ravished and inviolate; wearing the nimbus of its injuries like a coronal.\n\nBut neither Francis Crawford nor the boy Will Scott looked back."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 88",
                "text": "Twenty miles from Threave, Lymond's silence became intolerable to Hunter as well as to Scott, already pierced between the shoulder blades by Matthew's gaze. Then Sir Andrew said something at last which aroused the man between them. Lymond looked at him suddenly, and the flexible mouth curled. \"Other than apologizing for not being Asmodeus, what can I do?\"\n\nScott's classical knowledge fell short of the reference, but he saw Hunter change from red to white. Lymond went on. \"Do you usually bolt your rats with other people's terriers?\"\n\n\"Your young friend came to me of his own free will.\"\n\n\"Initium sapientiae,\" said Lymond absently, \"est timor Domini. You may look in vain for the sapientia, but the timor, I promise you, will be very much in evidence.\"\n\n\"I don't think he'll have much to fear. There's another saying. Wha sits maist high shall find the seat maist slidder.\"\n\nThere was a spark in Lymond's eyes. \"Or\u2014Like to die mends not the kirk yard: how does that one suit you? And how is Mariotta?\"\n\nSir Andrew answered repressively. \"Lady Culter is alive. No thanks to your monstrous efforts.\"\n\n\"Sadder, but also subtler. The intellect and its cultivation, as someone once said, bring a higher form of fertility and a nobler pregnancy into human life.\" Having delivered this sentence with perfect aplomb, Lymond addressed Scott. \"Cheer up. Better luck next time.\"\n\nScott snapped without dignity, \"You would have done the same to me!\" and Lymond was about to answer when his gaze went beyond Scott. Stark-free of frivolity, his voice rang out. \"My God,\" said Lymond furiously. \"No! You fool.\"\n\nFor behind them, the column had burst asunder.\n\nScott, holding the Master's reins fast with his own, saw that Matthew, the wily campaigner, had seized his moment. While the men around him, grinning, listened to the entertainment ahead, Mat had kicked his horse out from the others and riding at full gallop, disappeared through the trees.\n\nIt was easy to follow, and they did, strung out through the wood while Turkey crashed with unnecessary violence through scrub and undergrowth, his hands freed with the practice of a dozen similar embarrassments. Unluckily the wood wasn't big. As the trunks thinned out, they caught sight of him, and Sir Andrew gave an order. A shower of goose feathers hissed through the air.\n\nTurkey continued riding for perhaps a minute after; then he lurched forward, his bald pink head bewigged among the tangled grey mane of his horse.\n\nScott, his sword out and his hand tight on Lymond's reins, worked both horses around and cantered through to the others. There he dismounted, and after a moment's hesitation, untied the Master and let him get down.\n\nTurkey Mat, pulled from his horse, was lying flat on his back under the trees, with Sir Andrew bent over him. As Scott and Lymond came up, Dandy straightened. He was rubbing a handful of grass between his palms, and they saw the skin stained green and red. \"I'm sorry, Scott,\" he said. \"Whatever possessed the fool to do that?\"\n\nScott, knowing very well, said nothing, but Lymond dropped like a shadow beside the heavy, scuffed body. \"Mat,\" he said quickly.\n\nThe tough, scarred face was twitching with pain, but Turkey opened his eyes and grinned into Lymond's blue ones. The grin disappeared. \"Did yon greetin' wean stop ye?\"\n\n\"No. I didn't go. Mat, you damned senseless fool!\"\n\nThe prone man opened blue lips. \"It's nae loss: I'd have been sweir tae see ye leave, and me with nothing but my big wame on my mind from morning to night. Tell Johnnie I got there one step ahead of his mixtures.\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"And tell the boy he's a\u2014\"\n\n\"No,\" said Lymond. \"It was my bloody fault.\"\n\n\"Aweel. I'm not for arguing,\" said Turkey, and his voice suddenly was hardly audible. \"If you get a chance at the gold, my bit's yours. And the croft. Appin's a nice place,\" he said with a faint wistfulness. \"But it's damned cold in winter.\"\n\nAnd his eyes, moving aimlessly among the trees behind Lymond's head, suddenly halted there with a pleased look, as if a sunny beach and a flat board and a pair of celestial dice had manifested themselves among the leaves."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 89",
                "text": "Violence was the odour of Threave. As the rose and the rat and the whale and the beaver yield their essence, so the glands of Threave answered love, warmth and terror with dispassionate violence.\n\nIt was two hundred years old. Under the Black Douglases, the River Dee which islanded it had cherished blood as its native weed. Under the Maxwells it gathered to itself a robust bride; it cast its suggestive shadow on John Maxwell's exchanges with England, and it let fall its mailed fist at random to flex its power the while.\n\nWhen Hunter's long train, with his disreputable prisoner, swept through Causewayend, forded the Dee and clattered into the courtyard at Threave, the reception, fremescent to a degree, gave fierce delight to Scott and allowed him temporarily to forget the raw episode of Turkey Mat's end.\n\nAbout Lymond's sinful head, publicly exposed for the first time, blew the rages, the jeers, the curses and the gibes which had five years' ripening to them. He sailed through them as white and insouciant as swansdown but, thought Scott, his emotions for once must be a little irregular\u2014have I touched some pulse? Or will this sudden exposure do it for me?\n\nJohn Maxwell was away, to Scott's overwhelming relief. Until Buccleuch came for Lymond, Dandy and he would be passionate jailers. Not that Maxwell, whatever his past relations with the Master, would have risked an inch of his new security to help him; but one would savour the situation more expansively away from that remembering yellow eye.\n\nThreave, pockmarked and exigent, hung above them. While a temporary prison was being made, Lymond, fingered impiously off his horse, was lashed to one of the four drum towers of the wall. He was now very white; his fingers unobtrusively linked in the tethering ring behind held him firmly erect. Scott, talking to a fleshy man with a thick yellow eye and a jovial smile, the captain of Threave, looked away as the crowd surged around the drum tower; and then was driven to look back as, mysteriously, the quality of noise changed.\n\nThey reached the wall none too soon. Lymond, out of what looked like sheer boredom, had begun answering back. Scott could hear the sound of his voice, followed by a roar; then someone else speaking, then Lymond and another roar. The response was not threatening, it was appreciative. In a minute, Scott recognized with fury, it would become laughter, and laughter like Cupid is a notorious locksmith.\n\nFor their essay in comedy the crowd had launched a mock trial. Pressing thickly about the prisoner's negligent person they clamoured accusations and he replied instantly with the kind of double and even triple entendre commonly fished for at the bottom of an alepot and commonly never caught. The captain roared with laughter; he was wildly amused and even joined in; he saw, to Scott's annoyance, no possible harm in it. The castle had emptied itself; so had the kitchens and the buttery and the brewery and the bakehouse and the stables and the byres.\n\nThe little performance lasted ten minutes, and then Lymond suddenly stopped. They slung their ripostes at him and this time he shrugged his shoulders impatiently. They shrieked and he was silent; they went on shouting and he ignored them. Perhaps he had tired of the game; perhaps under its besetting pressures, invention had failed. At any rate, there was no mistaking the hubbub now. These were threats, and these, clattering off the tower wall, were stones.\n\nThe captain forced his way through. \"None of that, now: we want the fellow alive. What's happened to you? Answer them, can't you, when you're civilly spoken to?\"\n\nLymond said nothing, but his stare was an insult.\n\nOr so the captain thought. \"Ho!\" he said. \"Jesus, you're particular, aren't you? Canna trouble to reply to the likes of me. Man: you're going to stand there and sing like a linnet before we shift you a step. So cheep, my laddie, give us your tongue.\u2026\"\n\nNothing.\n\nThe captain raised his voice. Scott could see he was a popular man. \"Oh, fine then. We know how to sort this kind. There's a legal punishment for refusing to plead. Alec: have we got any weights? Well, chains, then. Plenty of chains. Davie: there's two high rings. Cut him off and stick his hands on these. Now. That's a fine bit of chain, man. A shade rusty but no harm to it: we wouldna want to dirty a nice clean one. We'll put the first one around his neck.\"\n\nThe Peine Forte et Dure was a perfectly valid punishment for silence: it used weights to achieve a gradual pressing to death. Scott said, \"Wait a moment. We're supposed to deliver the man alive. The courts won't exactly thank you for doing their job for them.\"\n\nThe captain was engineering the laying of the first chain like a Roman with his first viaduct; he didn't even bother to look around. \"Never heed. We'll have him talking that fast he'll wear his tongue thin.\"\n\nAnd they would, of course. Lymond might be capriciously vain, but he wasn't foolish. Like some mountainous and ironic chain of office the cable bedecked him; he had braced himself against its weight so that there was no needless drag on his arms, spread-eagled above. His face was set like iron. Never before had Scott seen so clearly the force of his will.\n\nThe captain was bringing forward another chain, ostentatiously, to cheers. Lymond took the strain in silence, with an odd mixture of impatience and resignation, and Scott, bemused by the sickly luxury of the event, almost missed the flickering lashes as Lymond looked fleetingly up and beyond the crowd. Scott turned unobtrusively.\n\nAt an open window on the first floor of the castle stood Christian Stewart. He saw her, saw the blowing red hair and listening face and then no more, for with an uproar greater than all Threave could offer, his father and his father's train appeared. The sharp Buccleuch eyes swept over the throng; over the grotesque, taut figure by the tower over the captain, whom he jerked to his side, and over his son's red face.\n\n\"Chains. That's a new idea. Thank God ye didna have them at Crumhaugh.\u2026 Are you the captain? Just so. The Master of Culter may be anathema to you, as he is to the rest of us, but that doesna alter the fact that\u2026\"\n\nThe window was empty. Christian had gone, thought Scott, mercifully missing the name. Then he saw a billow in the crowd: a red head and two stout elbows made remorseless passage and Christian Stewart, agonized and dishevelled, arrived among them like an arrow, Sym flying at her side.\n\n\"Buccleuch? They're killing a man here. Your snivelling whelp and that ape\u2014\"\n\n\"Hey!\" said the captain resentfully.\n\nBuccleuch, with plenty on his mind, looked both annoyed and alarmed. \"Are you staying here? Well away back in: Hunter's there; I've seen him. Nobody's being killed, and this is no place for lassies.\" But she was off, Sym pulling her, and paid not the slightest attention.\n\nCleated with iron, his wrist tendons stark and his yellow head poised like a tassel, Lymond watched her like a cat, chilling even Sym's red-faced grin into blankness. Within a yard of him, the blind girl said, \"Mr. Crawford?\"\n\nThe way it was said caught Scott by the throat. His father's breath hissed through his teeth; there was a surge of intrigued whispering and Lymond turned his full regard for the first time, wide-eyed, on Scott. The boy jumped forward, and put a hand on her arm.\n\nHe raised his voice. \"It's Lymond, Culter's young brother, they've got,\" he said. \"Let me take you indoors. Well look after him: don't worry.\"\n\n\"I know who it is, you fool: I heard your father,\" said Christian. \"Are those improbable, schoolboy chains still on him? Sym, take them off. Francis Crawford: you're another fool, playing Macarius with the lockjaw. I told you sound was my stock-in-trade. I've known your voice since I was twelve. You intended, I suppose, to sink like a pressed duck into a vertical grave.\" There were tears of fright in her eyes.\n\nSym's sturdy arms raised the last garland of cable, its manifold prints embedded below in pulped cloth. Lymond, obsessed and unheeding, opened tight lips at last and hurled words at her. \"There are two hundred people listening to you. Buccleuch, damn you: get her out of here.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" snapped Christian, \"if there are two thousand. I'm not accustomed to denying my friends in public.\"\n\n\"Lady Christian knows the prisoner?\" The captain, no less than his audience, was fascinated by this glimpse of frailty in high places. Scott rushed to her aid. \"The Master imposed on the lady's kindness without telling her who he was.\"\n\nThat touched off the explosion. Ignoring Buccleuch's hand on her elbow, Christian rounded on his son. \"I knew who he was. To know isn't necessarily to inform, as with some people.\"\n\n\"But he believed you didn't know, didn't he? Hence the pantomime.\"\n\nThe captain was impressed. \"Jesus, that's crafty. He wouldna pipe up in case the lassie linked his name with his voice, and let on that the two of them\u2026\"\n\n\"I told you!\" said Scott angrily. \"He got her to shield him. You've no right to assume\u2026\" But his voice was lost in the deluge of ribald laughter and comment.\n\nThe row lessened as Buccleuch let out a roar, but it didn't stop. He gripped Christian's arm afresh and she shook him off. \"I don't move until he's safely out of this yard.\" Her face creamy white within the masking red hair, she was quite unflinching. \"It's more than time some things were said and done in the open, instead of underground like a nation of moles. This time, I'm going to stop a man from knitting his own noose. Mr. Crawford\u2014\"\n\nLymond's voice, carrying its full power, cut across her words. For his own sake, clearly he must silence her. He did it in his own way, raising his voice in a mockery which insolently denied pain, or strain, or any experience of ignominy.\n\n\"There goes my epic moment again!\" he said. \"Pantomime! I'd have held the Rose of Hamborough in twenty fathoms on a gravel bottom in a southeast gale, and all for nothing and less than nothing: my illusions destroyed, my deceptions dragged into the light of day and my speech miscarried and scattered to the hyenas. I do not complain. You may have your frolic. But on one thing I insist. I will not have my name coupled with a redheaded woman. Red-ribboned mares kick. Red-horned cattle gore. Rowans poison, and so do redheads, given the chance.\u2026 Is that clear?\"\n\nSym had drawn back. The blue eyes pursued him coldly. \"Well? What more? You heard her. She won't move until I'm freed.\"\n\nHe had lost any good will left to him. Sym, at a nod from the captain, moved forward doubtfully to unlock Lymond's wrists. The captain cleared his throat uneasily. Inside the castle his temporary prison was ready, and there was an escort of soldiers waiting; the sooner the fellow was locked up now the better.\n\nHe glanced sideways. In spite of what they'd just heard the girl showed no signs of anger with the jackanapes. And she had high-up friends, he knew. As the shackles were unfastened, he addressed her. \"It's a fine, dry cellar, my lady, and he'll come to no harm. Forbye, we hardly laid a finger on him.\"\n\n\"Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,\" said the prisoner pleasantly. \"One hand free. God. Manus loquacissimae\u2014it's pantomime all right. And the second free. Competently done. Restored without loss to the parent trunk: ulna, radius, humerus\u2026\"\n\nThere was a long pause. \"Not very,\" said Lymond rapidly. \"Not at all, in fact.\"\n\nHe had lowered his arms very slowly. Ceasing to speak, he cupped his face momentarily, grimacing; then with a gesture of half-comic resignation slid like a trout through Sym's grasp to the ground.\n\nAnd the odd thing was, as Scott bending sardonically over him discovered, that he really had fainted."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 90",
                "text": "They had Maxwell's permission to use the castle for one night, leaving for the capital next morning.\n\nIn the privacy of Threave, once the prisoner had been battened down under triple guard, the chief actors expended their nervous excitement on each other. Christian, frustrated in her efforts to visit Lymond and irritated by Buccleuch's wholesale damning of that gentleman's anonymous ways, finally lost her temper completely and went off to bed. Scott fared little better.\n\nThe question was one of naming his former colleagues. Accused of standing with one foot in each camp; of leaving the countryside at the mercy of leaderless cutthroats, of lack of responsibility and of owning a head full of pulp and pips like a Spanish orange, Scott replied in kind without a trace of exhaustion, and he and his father were still going at the subject hammer and tongs long after Hunter had collected his men and departed. Finally Buccleuch roared. \"It's a pity, since you're so keen on them, ye didn't stay with your precious friends!\"\n\nWill, already on his feet, snatched up his cloak. \"All right; I will!\"\n\n\"Ye kale-heided coddroch! They'll cut ye in triangles if ye show your neb there after what you've done!\"\n\n\"Then I'll go somewhere else!\"\n\n\"You'll go somewhere else all right,\" snarled Buccleuch, and rang the handbell as though he were twisting a cockerel's neck. \"You'll spend the night where you can't do any harm and where you'll have every chance of comparing your dear old friends with your new ones\u2014Fetch the captain.\"\n\nScott jumped to his feet, but Buccleuch's heavy hand was on his sword arm. When the captain came, Wat alarmed him by continuing to shout. \"Here's another prisoner for you. I want him under lock and key for a night to clear the mud off his brain.\"\n\nThe captain was anxious to please, but unprepared. \"I havena a fast room, Sir Wat. The dungeon's blocked, and there's only the cellar\u2026\"\n\n\"That's what I mean,\" said Buccleuch vindictively. \"Put him in the cellar.\"\n\nThe captain hesitated. \"But the Master of Culter's in the cellar.\"\n\n\"I know that, you fool!\" said Buccleuch. \"Put him with Lymond for a night, and let's see if he's hare, hound or rabbit, the fool.\"\n\nWill Scott fought every plank of the way to the kitchen; he fought while they unbolted the heavy trap door in the floor, and he bit and kicked while they shoved him through it and halfway down the wooden steps which led to the cellar. Then the trap thudded shut above his head, the bolts clattered, and he was left alone with initium sapientiae and the Master of Culter."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 91",
                "text": "There is nothing very jolly about being locked in a cellar with a man whom, in every possible sense, you have just stabbed in the back. As Will Scott crashed into the stair rail and heard the trap thud above him, his very thews melted with apprehension.\n\nThe cellar had been used as a storeroom. Opposite, two barred windows near the ceiling imprisoned the night sky. There was a well in the shadows on his right, and a quantity of sacks, barrels and boxes. On two of these Lymond lay stretched at ease, a solitary candle at his side.\n\nWithin the light, shapes and colours were sudden and strong: the butter-yellow head, impeccably neat, with a bag of meal under it; the fresh Hessian bandaging; the silver spark of burst points and the blue of the light cloth at shoulder and raised knee; at neck and cuff, the half inch of cambric glinting white. All that was unsightly had been removed from Lymond's appearance.\n\nLooking for traces of the day's humiliations or the languor of bodily weakness, Scott found neither. With the face of a Delia Robbia angel, Lymond spoke. \"In a day of gimcrack cannibalism and snivelling atrocities, we have now touched rock bottom. God send,\" pursued the voice as Scott, descending, made his way to a trestle by the well, \"God send that somebody else is about to flay the gristle from your inestimable backbone.\"\n\nScott sat down. He had already had enough of physical violence. The other kind hung in the air, a raw miasma, sapping his robust and righteous anger. He said curtly, \"You challenged me yourself.\"\n\n\"To attack me. Not to engineer a cheap death for Turkey Mat.\"\n\n\"It was his own fault. Father would have looked after him.\"\n\n\"Father would have had his work cut out, after your Jove-like pyrotechnics at the convent. Don't fancy yourself the neo-Christ of Branxholm, by the way. You weren't saving anybody. I'm used to being taken for a cross between Gilles de Rais and a sort of international exchange in young mammals, but I draw the line somewhere.\"\n\nAll the tormented emotion, the anger and fear and vexed and mauled spirit of the unfortunate Scott sprang affronted from his lips.\n\n\"I can guess the kind of names you'd like to call me,\" he said with cold fury. \"I betrayed you to Andrew Hunter; I tricked you into hiding in the convent; I used a knife on you\u2014badly; my God, how ineptly\u2014but at least I made you wince in some sort, once, however briefly. When my father delivers you to the law, I'll have paid the debts of the cheated dead and the warped living and the wrecked lives of four women.\u2026 Can you deny it? Am I not right?\"\n\n\"Right?\" said Lymond. \"You pathetic, maladroit nincompoop, you're never right; but this time you can squat in your misconceptions like duck's meat in a ditch, and let them choke you.\"\n\nScott, viciously, was on his feet. \"Go on. Explain my own motives to me. Or if you won't explain yourself, shall I try? Someone once said you hated women, and you do, don't you? You despise everyone\u2014even yourself\u2014but above all you hold women cheap\u2026\"\n\nHe got no further. \"You bloody, insalubrious little fool,\" said Lymond, and uncoiled like a whip, forcing Scott to retreat. \"I'm not calling you names, my dear: I'm telling you facts. Today you murdered a friend of mine. You treat that very lightly. I hope his tolerance and his honesty and his infirmities break their way into your imagination and sphacelate in your insufferable vanity. That and another thing. To hell with your piddling vendetta: the bits you were bragging about never mattered, and the things that do matter you know nothing about. But what the hell,\" said Lymond with fury, \"what the hell do you mean by subjecting that girl to a public ordeal?\"\n\nScott was stunned. \"It was you who\u2014\" but Lymond swept on. \"If I could keep my mouth shut, surely you could take the trifling trouble to keep her out of the courtyard? You don't care whom you sacrifice, do you, as long as you imagine it will damage me?\"\n\n\"I didn't deceive her!\"\n\n\"Do you think I did her any harm!\" exclaimed the Master. \"But for your meddling she was perfectly secure!\"\n\n\"I remember,\" said Scott. \"You don't like red hair.\"\n\nThe untamed face stared into his. \"She was one of your four women, was she? Then it certainly seems that she lost security, reputation and peace of mind through one of us today. Who else?\"\n\n\"The Countess of Lennox.\"\n\n\"Lady Margaret was responsible for the fiasco at Heriot which nearly cost your father his life. Who else?\"\n\n\"Your brother's wife.\"\n\n\"You know the truth of that as well as I do.\"\n\n\"Do I?\" said Scott. \"I was stinking drunk on the floor of your room at the time, as I remember.\"\n\n\"All right. I leave you to work out why, having seduced my sister-in-law and slaughtered my nephew, I should keep coy silence while you shuffle downstairs at three in the morning with that bantling-brained romantic done up in an oatsack?\"\n\nFor one dumb moment, Scott sympathized with the man who disgorged a sponge into water and found his throat cut. He recovered. \"Because you wanted rid of her, I expect. As with your young sister.\"\n\n\"As with my young sister,\" agreed Lymond. Like the sun in eclipse, the candle at his back rimmed his unregenerate head; he held himself lightly and easily, the poised Roc pitying the elephant. \"I should have warned you. I can wrestle with one arm as well as with two.\"\n\nThe light in Scott's pale eyes was contemptuous. \"It won't be necessary. I know enough about you. I don't want to know any more.\"\n\nLymond said delicately, \"What are you afraid of?\"\n\n\"Me? Nothing!\" exclaimed Scott. \"If you want to fight, I'll fight.\"\n\n\"But not with ideas? You're beating drums and brass kettles, Scott. Thick skin and prejudice won't keep the dragons away.\"\n\n\"I'm tired of a landscape with dragons,\" said Scott violently.\n\n\"What, then? Retreat underground into hebetude: retreat under water like a swallow: retreat into a shell like a mollusc: retreat into the firmament like some erroneous dew.\u2026\"\n\n\"I don't retreat.\"\n\n\"You don't progress much, either.\"\n\n\"I scotch the dragons.\"\n\n\"And how,\" said Lymond precisely, \"do you know a dragon when you see it?\"\n\nDespite every endeavour, Scott was trembling. He said, \"Because I'm a human being, not a toy, a familiar, a piece of unconsecrated wax to malign your enemies with. I know you. I didn't mean Turkey to die. I wouldn't intentionally have hurt the girl, but it's done, and if it had to be done again it would be worth it. You know all about the law of talion: you've hunted Harvey, poor devil, like a thing from beyond the grave. You're a master\u2014my God, don't I know it\u2014of the art of apposite punishment. I made damned sure you'd get a taste of both before you got out of my reach. You won't get over the Border to kill Harvey now.\"\n\n\"Teaching you to speechify is another thing I should have my throat cut for,\" said Lymond. \"My appointment is broken; I may be said vaguely to be aware of that. Your intentions were majestic. To teach me to sing re, my fa, sol, and when I fail, to bob me on the noll. Only the field is now littered with other bobbed and blameless nolls and I am left, as it happens, singing ut to Johannes, which should delight you indeed. Why are you here?\"\n\nThere was a pause. Scott said nothing, and the blue eyes suddenly narrowed. \"Is this, by any chance, a modest silence? Good God!\" Lymond sat down. \"Have you been protecting your former colleagues?\"\n\n\"I had no quarrel with them.\"\n\nContinuing to stare at him, the Master gave a hoot of derisive laughter and sat back, nursing his injured arm. \"My only success, and I was too damned preoccupied to watch it coming to the boil. Who locked you up here? Oh, your father, of course.\"\n\nAnd, stretching like a cat, Lymond lay down. Mysteriously, the chill of animal danger had gone; mysteriously, there was an unwilling amusement about his mouth. \"I have licked you like the cow Audhumbla from the salt of your atrocious upbringing, and am watching the outcome with a fearful joy.\u2026 Your father, as you no doubt realize, will have to argue himself into fits to get you accepted at Court again: you should tell him that the dispatches which you copied for me so resentfully in your own inimitable hand will do precisely that for you, mentioned in the right quarters. They are all in Arran's possession. They got there, by the way, through a very wily gentleman called Patey Liddell, who should not be involved. He would in any case be deaf to questions\u2014you've no idea how deaf.\"\n\nThere was a startled silence. Scott said, \"Is that true?\" And, quickly: \"It's a trick of some sort.\"\n\n\"It's blackmail. I want something in return.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Undo some of the feckless damage you did today,\" said Lymond, and held his eyes. \"Pull the girl clear. Drive it home to every gossiping fool that whatever Christian says, she didn't know what she was doing when she gave me refuge. Conjure up Shamanism and the Black Mass if you like. Anything. But get it about that she was not responsible for her actions. Understand?\"\n\n\"I should do it in any case. It won't help you,\" said Scott.\n\n\"Nothing ever does. That's why I help myself so frequently.\"\n\nThere was another pause. \"Those letters,\" said the boy. \"Much good they'll do me when they find out we've been selling copies to England as well. In my writing.\"\n\n\"In that case it's lucky for you that we haven't.\"\n\n\"Haven't traded with England? For God's sake, I copied them myself!\"\n\n\"And for God's sake, I tore them up.\"\n\n\"What!\" Scott was halfway across to the other trestle when Lymond snapped at him. \"Go back and lie down. I don't want your coddled features singing Kassidas over me. What the hell does it matter? You've done your job.\"\n\nScott walked back. He sat on the edge of the boards and repeated: \"You tore them up. If you tore them up, why did we trouble to capture them?\"\n\n\"For sixty avid reasons. Mercenaries are exceedingly mercenary, you know. And suspicious. Also, curiosity on my part.\"\n\n\"But you tore them up. Why?\"\n\n\"Because I'm on your side, you damned fool,\" said Lymond.\n\nThe cellar was very quiet. The Master's face, closed, offered nothing to Scott's strained scrutiny. After a moment the boy collected his own limbs and stretched back slowly on the bed. \"That would be your story in Edinburgh, of course,\" he said eventually. \"Can you prove it?\"\n\nThere was a brief pause. \"From here?\" asked Lymond sardonically. \"No, Mr. Scott. I have no proof now, nor am I likely to have.\"\n\nOut of the dark and disastrous muddle, a fragment of pattern asserted itself. Scott swallowed. \"Harvey? Harvey had something to do with it?\"\n\n\"I rather think so. Perhaps not. In any case, it's too late now, isn't it? Look at the stars.\" Lymond's eyes were on the high windows. \"I offered them to you once before, on a celebrated occasion. Forth quenching go the starris, one by one; and now is left but Lucifer alone\u2026 And what can Lucifer do, with a bolt and a bar and over a hundred horseless miles between him and his illusions?\u2014It's a sad world, and the candle is going; so unless like Al-Mokanna you can cause moons to issue from our well, we are destined to sorry together in the dark. Good night. You're a damned nuisance and a public danger, but so is your father. It's a thrawnness in the vitals of the body politic which will either kill it or save it yet.\"\n\nThe voice was resigned, but not unfriendly. The light from the candle, a weak conspirator, searched the face of Scott's celebrated prisoner, touching for a moment on its secretive ironies; and then went out."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 92",
                "text": "Will Scott had been right in thinking that the Master of Maxwell would move not an inch to help a man of the notoriety of Lymond. Maxwell and his wife were at one of their lodges, hunting, when Hunter's message arrived. Maxwell sent a congratulatory reply making Sir Andrew and Buccleuch free of his castle and its prisons until the following morning, and continued to hunt. He did, however, dispatch his wife home, as was fitting, to see that his guests, voluntary and involuntary, were comfortably housed.\n\nAt eleven o'clock that night, Agnes Herries stalked into the hall at Threave, making a dozing Buccleuch jump like a rabbit over a somnolent game of prime; and demanded to know whether he was out of his senses, locking up his son with a desperate man like the Master.\n\nAs was due to his hostess, he explained his reasons, succinctly. She questioned them. He explained, more fully. She contradicted him. At midnight Buccleuch, grousing, unbolted the trap door in the light of the torch held by Agnes Herries and called down. \"Will! Are ye all right?\"\n\n\"Of course!\" replied his son's voice, rudely.\n\n\"Then ye might as well come up,\" said Sir Wat ungraciously, and abandoning the trap to Lady Herries, stumped off without waiting for the sight of his heir.\n\nWill Scott crossed the cellar stiffly. Lymond's buried head did not stir. For a moment the boy stopped, looking down at him; then he turned and ran quickly up the wooden staircase.\n\nAt the top, the trap door was held open by Agnes Herries. Beyond her, he saw that three men still stood guard in the kitchen and passage, but that the guard had changed, and none of them was a Scott. He hesitated.\n\n\"Gracious!\" said Lady Herries. \"After all the trouble I've taken to get you out, can you not walk a little quicker than that? I want to go to bed.\" Her eyes under the heavy brows met his with a vigorous impatience, and as the young man set foot on the kitchen floor she dropped the trap with a thud that shook the pans on their shelves, and the bolts rattled. She straightened. \"Well?\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Scott, making up his mind, rather to his own surprise. \"I'm half asleep, that's all. I'm sorry. Lead on. It was very good of you to\u2026\"\n\nAnd in ten minutes he was in bed, although it was a long time before he fell asleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 93",
                "text": "Long before he woke, Christian Stewart left the castle with her retinue, riding as fast as Sym would allow her. It had taken her a good part of the night to accept the fact that she must leave; and Buccleuch, who had no liking for playing the jailer or the spy, was relieved to see her go.\n\nAt six o'clock, a fist crashed on Scott's door, and a roar summoned him to fling on a robe and meet his father in the hall. He did so, and found a room full of cowed servitors, his hostess in a state of fluent resignation, and his father in a temper.\n\n\"Ho!\" said Buccleuch, when his son appeared. \"Ho! So it's come to it that ye canny even snib a bolt behind ye, now. Or didn't ye mean to snib it?\"\n\nWith his new arts, Will Scott kept surmise and recollection out of his face. \"What bolt?\"\n\n\"What bolt!\" snarled Sir Wat. \"The wee snib on the back yett to the kennels. The trap door in the kitchen, ye gomerel. They found it this morning, as free as Hosea's wife, and yon three stookies littered in the passages with their heads dunted.\"\n\nScott's mouth opened. \"Then Lymond's gone?\"\n\nHis sire was sarcastic. \"Well, he didna pop out of the hole, bash three fellows on the head and pop back in again, just for the devil of it. Of course he's gone! There's half Threave out hunting him, but deil knows the start he's got. And it's your fault, ye damned fool!\"\n\nThis was a surprise. Scott said indignantly, \"How?\"\n\nAgnes Herries said severely, \"I told you to bolt that trap properly. How you could be so careless!\"\n\nScott stared at her. \"You told me\u2026?\"\n\nShe stared back. \"Sleepy you may have been, but not too sleepy to forget that, I hope. Even my three men remember it quite distinctly. So if the trap wasn't properly fastened, you have only yourself to blame.\"\n\nIt was no use protesting. Having turned the other cheek, Will Scott submitted, with as much tranquillity as he could muster, to having it slapped. He mounted with his father and spent the rest of the daylight hours scouring the countryside for the escaped man, without any success whatsoever."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 94",
                "text": "At Midculter, Sybilla occupied herself that Friday and Saturday in turning out cupboards and making long and superfluous lists of her gold plate. Mariotta, who had been straying restlessly from room to room ever since Janet Buccleuch left, burst into ill-considered speech. \"How can you sit there and do that?\"\n\nThey had heard nothing since the news that Lymond was to be trapped: nothing of Will; nothing of Hunter; nothing of Sir Wat. Listening to Mariotta's hand-wringing tirade Sybilla, who was rather pale, sat back on her heels and reached a decision. \"Look,\" she said incisively. \"I try not to interfere, but we may as well be honest with one another. Whom are you afraid for? You've cast off Richard, and you find my other son detestable.\"\n\nMariotta said indistinguishably, \"I don't want any harm to come to him.\"\n\n\"Who?\" said the Dowager sharply. \"Incidentally, if it interests you, my guess is that Lymond hardly knows you exist.\"\n\n\"I meant Richard,\" said the girl.\n\n\"I see. Well, Richard for all his flummery, worships his wife. Unhappily, neither of you knows what the other is dreaming about half the time.\"\n\nShe said defensively, \"He's not easy to understand.\"\n\n\"And yet you rather expected Richard to read your mind, didn't you? You thought he pictured you encysted forever with pots and pans\u2014A woman is a worthy thing; they do the wash and do the wring. And so on. Whereas\u2014\"\n\n\"Of course I did. No other thought crossed his mind.\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid,\" said the Dowager crossly, \"that I should tattle over other folks' errors like an unemployed midwife; but look. Wat Scott is like that. With Wat it's sew Tibet, knit Annot and spin Margerie and no nonsense. He'd think it a downright insult to his manhood to clatter of his affairs in the house.\"\n\nMariotta sat down, prepared to argue in spite of herself. \"But Janet seems to me to know everything that's going on.\"\n\n\"Exactly. What's more, in her wrangling way, she makes sure that Wat knows her opinion on everything that matters. In other words, she uses her own methods of informing herself on everything Wat's interested in, and half the time he's acting exactly as Janet is making him act.\n\n\"You want Richard to be interested in the minutiae of your day: it works both ways. Do you ever wonder what Richard is doing with these building experiments of his? Did you ever get him to tell you of the time he carried off all the prizes at Kilwinning? Did you know, for example, that he's probably the best swordsman in the country, and that he sometimes teaches, for Arran, when some of the nobler scions turn out to need a little polish?\"\n\n\"If you mean,\" said Mariotta, red-faced, \"that I should copy Janet, I hardly think\u2014\"\n\n\"I don't mean anything of the sort. I'm only doing a little dissecting work on adjacent marriages; you can draw your own conclusions. Look at the Maxwells, for instance.\"\n\n\"Agnes?\"\n\n\"If you like. While thinking she was choosing, she was being chosen. While electing this man as hero of one of her appalling romances, she was marrying a hardheaded intelligent person who will be clever enough\u2014and kind enough\u2014to preserve the fantasy, or at least let her down pretty lightly.\"\n\n\"And Richard?\"\n\nThe Dowager put a wandering hand to her white hair. \"Richard. I can't tell you the path to take there. You'll have to find it for yourself. But I can tell you two things about him. One is that the most serious thing in his life is his country. The other is this. The only thing that could kill Richard is a lack of stability.\"\n\nMariotta's face darkened. \"You mean inconstancy.\"\n\n\"I mean,\" said Sybilla gently, \"the folly of allowing oneself to be attracted always by superficial glitter. I mean a craving for change and excitement\u2014even the nasty excitement of waiting to be found out about those jewels.\"\n\nMariotta was silent. Then, unexpectedly, a tear appeared and made its way down one cheek. \"But,\" said Mariotta miserably, \"how can I change now?\"\n\nSybilla rose and with an odd compound of a sigh and a smile, sat down in her own carved chair. \"Time will do it for you, my infant, and much too quickly. Your tragedy was that the man you became involved with was the very person who created the flaw in Richard's maturing. And if that was anyone's fault, it was probably mine.\u2026 How prosy we are; drunk with the dear indulgences of synthesis and self-pity and criticizing other people's love affairs. Do you feel better or worse?\"\n\n\"Better,\" said Mariotta; and crossing to sit on the arm of the Dowager's chair, bent to kiss one flawless cheek.\n\nTom Erskine was with them when, much later, Christian arrived from Threave. She was aching and dirty, with more than weariness in her eyes. Sybilla, watching the blind face, seated her quickly, and the girl wasted no time. Turning the fine eyes on the Dowager, she said simply, \"They have Francis.\"\n\nThe reaction was curious. \"Who?\" demanded Erskine. And \"Who?\" said Sybilla in a tone so different that the blind girl gave a quick, rueful smile. Sybilla possessed herself of one of Christian's hands. \"So,\" she said. \"We are coming into the open. Tell us.\" And she did so.\n\nAt the end, the Dowager spoke. \"Richard knows nothing of this? Good. Tom\u2014you're not to tell him, either. The longer we can keep them apart\u2026 I wonder\u2026\"\n\n\"Stop wondering,\" said the girl. \"It's my turn now.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Sybilla gently.\n\n\"I made a mess of things at Threave,\" said Christian bluntly. \"There was some pretty dangerous horseplay going on, and by the time it was stopped they knew I wasn't quite\u2014disinterested. After that I was guarded; Sym as well. But the point is this. He had great hopes, apparently, of an encounter with a man called Samuel Harvey: he was on his way to meet him at Wark when he was taken\u2014I got that much out of Buccleuch's idiot son. Well, he's missed that meeting now. But maybe another could be arranged\u2014for us. At any rate, George Douglas is mixed up in the business somehow, and I'm going to see him. If persuasion or threats can do anything, I'm going to make him help.\"\n\n\"Help? Help who?\" demanded Tom Erskine, bemused.\n\nThere was a moment's silence. \"My younger son,\" said Sybilla quietly. \"We are a tenacious family, and you have a very kindhearted fianc\u00e9e. Helping Lymond has been rather a concern of ours\u2014am I right, Christian?\u2014for some months now.\"\n\nChristian opened her hands in mock despair. \"How did you guess?\"\n\n\"Nobody ever,\" said the Dowager sorrowfully, \"credits me with normal thought processes. When a mysterious man creates a royal scandal on the banks of the Lake of Menteith with the keenest ears in Scotland strolling utterly oblivious\u2014by her own account\u2014in the locality, I begin to wonder. I also wonder when a delicately reared child sends a court into fits with a riddle which I invented myself. And when Andrew Hunter and Richard both mention a name I have heard you repeat, and the name is connected with Lymond\u2026\"\n\n\"And then you probably noticed the gypsy.\"\n\n\"I noticed, certainly, that the gypsies who put in such a timely appearance before I lost all my silver were the same ones you were so anxious to speak to in Stirling\u2014yes.\"\n\n\"Was that why you kept Johnnie Bullo beside you?\"\n\n\"To begin with. I'm disappointed in Johnnie,\" said the Dowager with some severity. She opened a workbag, took out her embroidery, and put the horn-rimmed spectacles on her nose. \"Johnnie turned out to be rather much of an individualist. It would serve him right if someone taught him a lesson.\"\n\n\"Bullo\u2026?\" said Mariotta. \"But that's the man who\u2026 I don't understand,\" she said despairingly.\n\n\"We're congratulating each other on how clever we've been,\" said Sybilla. \"Quite without reason. For there is the dear man in prison at Threave, and here we are, doing very little about it.\"\n\n\"You've been helping Lymond?\" said Mariotta, and stood up.\n\nSybilla looked up. She put down her needle, drew off her spectacles and gave Mariotta all her attention. \"I'm sorry, my dear,\" she said. \"Sit down. We're rushing a little ahead of you in our worries, that's all. You see, my son Lymond is not quite the drunken renegade of the legend.\"\n\n\"He didn't entice me to Crawfordmuir?\" said Mariotta. \"He didn't kill my baby? Insult me? Try to burn you out? Corrupt Will\u2014kill Richard\u2014take advantage of Christian? A moment ago you yourself called him superficial and glittering.\"\n\nGently, the Dowager replied. \"I told you what attracted you to him. I didn't say there was no more to discover. He's caused no intentional harm to me or to you: you can't, I think, seriously accuse him of destroying your child; and I think he had his reasons for what happened afterward. He has a great deal, naturally, still to account for, but\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't let's be misled,\" said Tom Erskine suddenly. \"You want to think the best of him, of course. But his aim all along has been to obliterate Richard. I can't presume to tell anyone to choose between their own children, but it seems to me that the danger to other people is something to take into account. Christian, I didn't know you even met this fellow.\"\n\nFor a moment, the girl was silent. Then she said, \"I met him in September, but it would hardly have been fair to ask you, or anyone else, Tom, to share that particular secret.\"\n\nErskine said with a sudden anger, \"But you might have been killed!\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she said. \"But I don't think so. In any case, I'm safe now, amn't I? And the truth can do none of us any harm. Sybilla, I'm calling at Boghall, and then going straight on to Dalkeith. I'll let you know what happens. Tom\u2026\"\n\nHe said heavily, \"You're determined to go on with your championship of this\u2014this\u2014\"\n\n\"Outlaw? I want to finish what I've started, Tom. Is that a bad thing? If I'm right, then I'll have prevented an injustice. If I'm wrong, then the popular point of view\u2014and yours\u2014is vindicated. In any case, you are the man I am contracted to marry. You don't suppose I have forgotten that?\"\n\nHe had no words to meet that kind of attack.\n\nAfterward, when Christian had gone, he came back and sat for a long time, sunk in thought, before the Dowager's parlour fire. Eventually he looked up, drawing Sybilla's kindly eye. \"She isn't the sort of person to be easily deluded.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Or stupidly bedazzled.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And yet, beyond rhyme and reason\u2026 why?\" demanded Tom of the air.\n\n\"Because she thinks one of her lame ducks is about to turn into a swan,\" said Sybilla. Her lenses flashed in the glare like scarlet lamps.\n\nSearching, questioning, his eyes moved from Sybilla to her daughter-in-law. \"The man's a saint?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Sybilla. \"Not a saint. An artist in the vivesection of the soul. But only because he has known the knife now for five years.\"\n\n\"It's damned nice of him,\" said Erskine, \"to make sure we all suffer too.\"\n\n\"I told you he wasn't a saint,\" said the Dowager. \"And there's a limit to everyone's endurance. I only hope\u2014\" Unexpectedly, she halted.\n\n\"What?\" said Mariotta.\n\n\"That if he's going to break under it, he doesn't break too soon. He's probably the only person in the world now who can restore Richard to any sort of terms with his own future. If not indeed,\" said Sybilla, taking off her spectacles, \"the only person who can send him back to you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 95",
                "text": "On Sunday, the third of June, the day after this discussion, Francis Crawford of Lymond was sitting on the crumbling wall of a sheep fank on the Scottish side of the River Tweed, throwing pebbles idly into the reaming waters.\n\nIt was a restful, a delicious scene. Plump clouds like amoretti hung in a blue sky; shining rooks cawed from among shining leaves and an otter with a half-eaten fish shivered the bog orchis with his shoulder as he passed. Lymond watched him go, and tossed another pebble into the water.\n\nAcross the river, the green edge of England lurched upward into an uneven ridge and plunged behind into the hollow where lay the village of Wark. On top of the ridge, toe to toe with its own deliquescent outline, reared the English Border fortress of Wark, on whose tower walk stood Gideon Somerville, both hands shading his eyes.\n\n\"There, sir,\" said the soldier beside him.\n\n\"I see.\" Gideon scrutinized the seated figure, far across the water. The bent head was unmistakable. \"He hasn't tried to cross the river?\" There was a ford of sorts at that point.\n\n\"No, sir. But the river's a bit high.\"\n\n\"I see that. All right. Send a boat across for him and bring him to my room.\"\n\nDownstairs, waiting at his desk, it seemed to Gideon a long time before the door opened. Someone said, \"The Master of Culter, sir,\" and shut it again, and Gideon looked up.\n\nIt was the familiar, elegant presence, but quieter, less dynamic than he remembered. Lymond came only a few paces into the room; not far enough to catch the dying light from the windows, and Gideon saw only the pale gleam of his head, with indistinguishable, two-dimensional features, as if face and hands had blown like flock to their appointed places in the shadows. Lymond's voice was pleasant, unchanged. \"Armageddon,\" he said.\n\n\"Hardly,\" answered Gideon dryly. \"You got my message?\"\n\n\"Admirably delivered. Yes. Mr. Harvey came?\"\n\n\"And went. We waited for you all day yesterday.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Lymond dispassionately, \"I'm too late.\"\n\nGideon was annoyed. He said brusquely, \"Mr. Harvey was in charge of a convoy urgently wanted at Haddington. I could hardly keep him indefinitely to suit your convenience. Our arrangement was quite clear.\"\n\n\"I know. My fault. I was detained,\" said Lymond. \"The little squirrel, full of business. It was good of you to make the appointment at all.\"\n\n\"I set some store by keeping my word. The matter was not, it seems, of very great moment to you after all.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Then Lymond, rather helplessly, began to laugh. \"Strike on, strike on, Glasg\u00e8rion. Proph\u00e8te de malheur, babillarde\u2026\" And as once before, was betrayed by the uncertain, wanton luxuriance of voice. \"You're drunk,\" said Gideon, disgusted to the soul, and slammed back his chair.\n\n\"Drunk?\" The voice was alight with self-mockery. \"O my God\u2026 Of Paradise ne can I not speak properly, for I am not there.\u2026 Damnably, damnably sober, Mr. Somerville,\" said the Master unsteadily.\n\nGideon crossed the room in three steps. Faultlessly erect, his clothing a bloody pulp, his eyes brilliant, Lymond spoke quietly. \"\u2014But sicker than Rudel. Don't be alarmed. It's merely the effects of insufficient transport over damnable country in inclement weather. I was locked up in Threave until yesterday morning.\"\n\nGideon said incredulously, \"You came here on foot?\"\n\n\"Most of the way. Running like a dog. And aquatics, too: hence the mess. I was sorry to give your boatman the trouble of fetching me, but nothing short of Buccleuch's bloodhounds would make me swim any more.\"\n\n\"I'm damned sorry.\" Gideon was uncomfortably shocked.\n\n\"It might have been worse. But it would be a courtesy,\" said Lymond with care, \"if I could make myself presentable before we talk.\"\n\nIn ten minutes of Gideon at his most practical, the prisoner of Threave found himself, unresisting, in bed at Wark."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 96",
                "text": "At his own request, Lymond came back to the study at nightfall, clean, bandaged, freshly dressed and anointed, as he pointed out, with delicate things of sweet smell. He seemed, if not exactly full of energy, at least perfectly composed.\n\n\"I warned you about Scott,\" said Gideon, who had opened by demanding an explanation of the Master's delay.\n\n\"It was my own fault for being so intent on the unfortunate Harvey. As to that\u2014\"\n\n\"You say,\" said Gideon, interrupting calmly, \"that you have disbanded your men?\"\n\n\"Cryand with many a piteous peep\u2014by God, they hated it. Yes.\"\n\n\"And are now therefore entirely at my disposal?\"\n\n\"The Scot, the Frencheman, the Pope and heresie, overcommed by Trothe have had a fall. Again yes.\"\n\n\"I wish to God,\" said Gideon with mild exasperation, \"that you'd talk\u2014just once\u2014in prose like other people.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Lymond, and quoted with malice. \"And as for Scottishe men and Englishe men be not enemyes by nature but by custome; not by our good wyll, but by theyre own follye: whiche shoulde take more honour in being coupled to Englande than we shulde take profite in being joyned to Scotlande\u2026 One God, one faythe, one compasse of the see, one lande and countrie, one tungue in speakynge, one maner and trade in lyvynge, lyke courage and stomake in war, lyke quicknesse of witte to learning, hath made Englande and Scotlande bothe one.\"\n\n\"Do you believe that?\" asked Gideon.\n\nThe blue eyes were level. \"What do you want to find out? Whether I profess the 'damnable opinions of the great heretic Luther'?\"\n\n\"You quoted Ascham. I wondered why.\"\n\n\"I also quoted the late King James the Fifth. I echo like a mynah, that's why. Sticking to birds: if I were a wren, I shouldn't want a crocodile's egg in my nest.\"\n\n\"Even to protect you from other crocodiles?\"\n\n\"On the contrary. We are remarkably pest-free in our part of the world. It's England, I think, that needs this alliance.\"\n\n\"Well, of course,\" said Gideon impatiently. \"Look at the mess at Boulogne. Between the Protector and the Emperor and the King of France, Europe's become a crocodiles' convention. I don't want to become part of the Holy Roman Empire, and it wouldn't do Scotland any good either. You're a threat to three million people out of all proportion to your size. You can't expect us to leave you alone, to watch you siphon up the dregs of Europe and inject them into our backside. Your Government agreed to this miserable marriage, and then broke its word. It announces that it can't abide anti-Papists and it can't let down its dear old ally France. But your man Panter has been in Paris all the same, soliciting for a separate peace on behalf of Scotland with the Emperor.\"\n\n\"Chess,\" remarked Lymond. He spoke on equal terms, concisely, with little trace of the dilettante manner. \"And France has been to London soliciting for a separate peace with England. All moves in the game. And sometimes the feint turns into genuine play; sometimes not. France may sell us for Boulogne: I don't think so, but she may. Or she might simply use us as a temporary blind for her real attack. The Lutherans among us think so, and so does the noble faction in need of English money. Religion and cupidity are on your side.\n\n\"Against that, you haven't seen what your late king managed in the way of practical persuasion, with Somerset following. You haven't seen abbeys brought to the ground, villages annihilated by the hundred, a nobility decimated, a country brought to poverty which thirty years ago was graced above any other in Europe with the arts of living. That has bred hate, and hate is a factor like any other.\"\n\n\"If hate can be learned, it can be forgotten,\" Gideon said. \"I know all about chess: I would rather have an honest emotion\u2014even hatred. The Emperor presses us to help his Flemish subjects recover the money you owe them, since the poorer you are, the more easily you will fall to us, and the worse off the French will be. Nothing emotional about that. Or about the Scots Commissioners trying to reopen negotiations for the royal marriage at every threat of danger, while the Queen Dowager perfects her plans to bring the French in and keeps Arran quiet with a promise to marry the Queen to his son.\"\n\nHe sat forward in his chair.\n\n\"What if she succeeds? Where's your inde\u2014independence then? You'll be a province of France, under an implacably Catholic King, with French in your key positions and your fortresses. I know all about Henry's claim to be King of Scotland. I know all about the broken promises on both sides\u2014the reprisals, the sinkings, the Border raids and the rest of it. But will you be any better off under the French? Because you will be under the French. Mary of Guise will marry that child to the King of France if she possibly can. What has France ever done for Scotland? Look at Flodden.\"\n\n\"Look at Haddington,\" said Lymond. \"Now you are conjuring up crocodiles. France has too many commitments to spare enough troops to rule Scotland. Good lord, if England can't do it, then France isn't likely to. That leaves Scotland under a regent in the Queen's absence\u2014and if I were the Scottish Government, the Queen would become absent, damned quickly, from now on.\n\n\"Where are they worse off than they are now? And in the future, they can expect the Queen's children to rule France and Scotland between them. Another royal line will put in an appearance and the two countries will probably fall apart again with little harm done. That's French diplomacy.\n\n\"The alternative is English force: reprisals and raids and counter-raids and broken promises, as you say. Of course you must try to secure this alliance. You might have achieved it in the last reign but for Henry. It was he who fostered the cult of the honest emotion, and you're still paying for the mistake.\"\n\nHe paused, his hand straying unconsciously to his bandaged shoulder. \"Chess can be just about as brutalizing; I grant you that. You know about the Border raids last year, back and forth: you burn me and I'll dismember you. The one the Scots made in March, for instance\u2014Lord Wharton made two reports on it; one for the Protector, and one with all the damage exaggerated to be passed to the King of France. The purpose was to justify your invasion in September. Were you at the battle of Pinkie?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I was. It was as precise an exhibition of honest emotion as you're likely to see. It won't be the last. I told you religion was on your side, and that's the bloodiest emotion I know. If this develops into a religious war, then God help us.\"\n\nGideon, intensely interested, noticed that his own affairs had no place in Lymond's mind, and that he had dropped entirely most of his irritating mannerisms. The Englishman scratched his chin with his clasped thumbs. \"What's your solution? Why not let the children marry?\"\n\nLymond said slowly, \"I haven't got a solution. But I'll give you a few objections, if you like. The Queen's five and the King's nine. If Mary's brought up in London, as Somerset is stipulating, she'll either lose or be accused of losing interest in Scotland long before she gets to marrying age. And that small excuse is enough to touch off a religious and baronial war up here that might make the Protector's efforts look silly. It only needs some fool to crown himself, and the whole process of expostulation and invasion begins again.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Gideon, \"if she goes to France, won't the same thing happen?\"\n\n\"Not quite. There'd be less religious friction. And Mary of Guise would have the power and the standing to keep the throne warm for a little time, at least.\"\n\nGideon said thoughtfully, \"The alternative, I suppose, is to let you keep the Queen peacefully until she's of marriageable age. And then\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014To arrange a marriage with Edward as a good conduct prize on both sides. That's the unemotional solution. France would hate it; so would the Douglases. Would Somerset agree to such a wait?\"\n\nTheir eyes met.\n\nGideon shook his head slowly and wryly. \"It isn't any use getting intelligent about it. His Grace's own position is damned shaky. He needs action, and success, right away. There's always the Princess Mary, you see. He's bound to try and get hold of your Queen.\"\n\n\"In fact, stalemate.\"\n\nGideon studied him, over the rim of his hands. \"Why aren't you at Edinburgh with your people?\"\n\n\"They threw me out,\" said Lymond calmly.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Youth, women and bad company. Nothing sentimental about that either. Or rather, not women. One woman.\"\n\nGideon said suddenly, \"Could I make a guess? Someone connected with Samuel Harvey and Princess Mary's household? Someone like Margaret Lennox?\"\n\nLymond replied, \"Very like,\" and didn't add to it.\n\nAfter a moment, Gideon probed. \"You wouldn't care to\u2026?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nSomerville got up. Looking at his feet, he walked to the door and back again, aware that the barrier of nationality had fallen between them, and the shutters closed again. He resumed his seat behind the desk. \"About Harvey.\"\n\nLymond crossed his legs. \"You're under no obligation in that respect. Similarly, I am in your power of disposal, even though the meeting was never held. That was the arrangement.\"\n\n\"I have given this some thought,\" said Gideon, rolling his pen between pink, clean fingers. \"The convoy which passed through here to Haddington will be returning in a week or two's time. It might be possible for a second interview with Mr. Harvey to be arranged. Unfortunately\u2014\"\n\n\"I knew it,\" said Lymond with equanimity. \"The sliding joy, the gladness short; the feigned love, the false comfort. Unfortunately\u2014\"\n\n\"Unfortunately,\" pursued Somerville, laying the pen down, \"I've got to go and meet Lord Grey on his return at Berwick. I could guarantee you a certain degree of safety here under my presence, but without me I'm afraid you would end fairly quickly at Carlisle.\"\n\n\"And so it might be quicker to take me to Carlisle in the first place.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Gideon dryly. \"Put such a singer in the soup? No. I hope to be back before Harvey returns. Until then, I am taking you to Flaw Valleys.\"\n\nThere was a pause. \"To your house? I see. But will your wife, almighty Mohammet, whose laws tenderly I have to fulfil?\"\n\nGideon rose. \"You'll find nothing particularly pleasant about your stay. You will be under lock and key, and a regime as strict as my wife cares to make it. I shall return for you when I can.\"\n\nHand on door, Lymond had stopped, his face expressive of conflicting emotions. \"I should dearly like to know why,\" he said.\n\nBut that was something Gideon did not even know clearly himself.\n\n[ Shah Mat ]\n\nSybilla heard nothing of her son's escape from Threave until the Wednesday of that week.\n\nArriving at the castle in a flurry of women, armed men and boxes, she heard the story piecemeal from Will Scott, who was monosyllabic, and Agnes, who was jubilant, and drew her own conclusions.\n\nShe was not, indeed, as impressed by the feat as Agnes expected, but asked sharply, \"Have you looked for him?\" Scott replied repressively that his father's men had scoured the countryside with dogs since Saturday without finding a trace. He filled an awkward pause by adding, \"How is Mariotta?\"\n\nSybilla, though dressed with her usual \u00e9clat, was less fantastic in her manner than usual, and a good deal more pointed. \"Very well. Christian told us of Francis's capture, but she didn't know, naturally, of his escape. Did you hear,\" added the Dowager abruptly, \"about the raid on Dalkeith?\"\n\nWill Scott, not at all sure what the Dowager thought of all this, followed her with some bewilderment. \"Dalkeith? No!\"\n\n\"It only happened on Sunday night,\" said Sybilla, seating herself. \"Lord Grey sent out troops from Haddington. Some of them burned up the country all round Edinburgh, and the rest attacked Dalkeith. George Douglas escaped, I hear, but his wife and all the rest of the household had to give themselves up.\"\n\n\"I thought Sir George and Grey were on good terms,\" said Scott.\n\n\"Did you? Agnes, my dear,\" said the Dowager. \"Bonnie has some new satin for you, if you can find the right box. Just the shade for your turquoises. Will and I shall be quite all right here.\"\n\nScott watched the girl go with a sinking feeling. He said, \"I suppose you know my father isn't altogether pleased with me. I don't know what he expected. After what happened to Mariotta, no man could stand by and\u2014\"\n\n\"Rubbish,\" said Sybilla. \"Mariotta is a silly child, who deserved a lesson, though not quite the one she got. At least you haven't told your father about Wark.\"\n\nScott flushed. \"I don't believe Lymond went there. He was too late.\"\n\nSybilla smoothed her dress. \"Did you know why he had to get there?\"\n\n\"No.\" Scott hesitated under the blue gaze. \"Not really.\"\n\n\"He didn't tell you\u2014even when you were locked in together afterward?\"\n\n\"It was some information he wanted,\" said Scott sulkily. \"Something he expected to put him in a good light with the authorities. I didn't know. But I don't see that it could have done him any good now. Not after all he's done.\"\n\nThe Dowager made no reply, and the boy found himself overcome with exasperation. \"Are you sorry I captured him? I can tell you his brother won't be.\"\n\n\"Sorry? Yes. Aren't you?\" said the Dowager mildly.\n\nScott met her eyes squarely. \"I don't know. I don't know what to believe. In any case, what could I do about it?\"\n\n\"You could try and find him,\" said Sybilla. \"You know where he might be. And you could try and trace Harvey. Then at least\u2014don't you think?\u2014we might get the truth.\"\n\n\"The truth?\" said Scott harshly. \"What good will the truth do to anybody? What good has it done Christian Stewart? The only thing that will help her now is a piece of good, solid lying.\" The memory of a promise came back to him. \"And I've got the job of doing it\u2026 I suppose she's back at Boghall?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Sybilla. \"She takes her friendships a little more seriously than that. The last time I saw her, she was on her way to visit Sir George Douglas at Dalkeith in an effort to neutralize the effects of your little plot here.\"\n\nScott shot to his feet. \"Dalkeith!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sybilla pleasantly. \"The place the English raided on Sunday. Not a very clever thing to do under the circumstances, was it?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 97",
                "text": "In delivering Lymond at Flaw Valleys and then returning himself to Berwick, Gideon faced a round trip of something like a hundred and forty miles. It was a measure of his interest that he took it without hesitation, and a measure of his speed that he and his retinue arrived, with the outlaw, in the early afternoon of Monday.\n\nThe inevitable skirmish took place as he was changing into fresh clothes, under the amazed brown eyes of his wife. \"And where,\" said Kate Somerville expansively, \"did you say you had put him?\"\n\nHer husband's expression, already wary, became turgid. \"In the bedroom at the end of the top passage. Under lock and\u2014\"\n\n\"Tut!\" said Kate. \"What are you thinking of! No silk sheets! No goose-feather mattress! And two stairs and a nasty muddy yard to cross before he can even round up the livestock, unless he starts with the mice.\"\n\n\"Kate\u2014\"\n\n\"And then food. Is he choosy? We could manage stavesacre and dwale, with a little fool's parsley and half a thorn apple, stewed, with toadstools.\"\n\n\"Kate!\"\n\n\"I think you're suffering from necrosis of the brain,\" said Kate, a little less passionately. \"Have you told Philippa?\"\n\nGideon nodded. \"I told her he was here to be punished.\"\n\n\"Oh. In that case she's probably in the room at the end of the passage with a chabouk. Or is it locked?\"\n\nGideon held out a key. \"I must eat and go, sweet. Some of my men will take in his food and look after the room\u2014\"\n\n\"And here was I, preparing to recede into a gentle old age like Philemon and Baucis. Don't you think you should retire again? The first retiral seems to have got mislaid. No? Well, I shall have to look after your nasty friend, but don't blame me if he isn't quite the same person when you get back,\" said Kate Somerville."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 98",
                "text": "She put off no time. With Philippa out of the way and Gideon eating, Kate set off along the top passage and, leaving her bodyguard militantly outside, unlocked the end bedroom and went in.\n\nThe room seemed empty. Nobody at the window, or on the window seat: no one in the bed; nobody before the empty grate. That left the Legacy, a chair inherited from Gideon's family and carved by a failed student in zoomorphics. Snarling with oaken tooth and paw, the Legacy was drawn before the window, its back to the door. Kate walked firmly round it and found him.\n\nSlack by the palsied Behemoths, hands open, head thrown back, Lymond slept. It was an uncommonly sound sleep. Stretching one finger, Kate drew aside the stained jerkin without rousing him. It was enough to tell her what she wanted to know.\n\nBelow, she confronted her husband. \"Why, Gideon?\"\n\nHe was obtuse. \"Why what?\"\n\n\"Invoke the maternal instinct precisely now. I should rather be rancorous too.\"\n\nSomerville wiped his mouth. \"Scourge away. That's what he's here for.\"\n\n\"Whatever he's here for, he's bleeding over Grandpa Gideon's oak chair like a Martinmas pig,\" said Kate bluntly.\n\nThere was a faint smile in Gideon's eyes. \"Not my doing. But I admit to setting a fast pace this morning. He didn't complain.\"\n\n\"Then allow me to make up for it,\" said Kate. \"The air is filling in a familiar way with hideous subtleties. All right. Instinct it shall be. After all, everybody always brings the old broken-down things for me to patch up: there's nothing actually new about it. When will you be back?\"\n\n\"Soon, I hope.\" Gideon rose, and presently took leave of his wife, running lightly downstairs to the courtyard. Kate watched him go, observing with misgiving the bland assurance on the kind face.\n\nThe procession next time along the top corridor was formidable: a kind of barmecide feast of invalid diet as well as jugs, bowls, bandages and clothes, towels, ointment and a small wooden bathtub bound in brass. Walking through the assembled equipment, Kate unlocked the end door this time without ceremony, and went in.\n\nHe was not to be caught a second time unawares. Lounging in the window, Lymond viewed her acolytes with a faintly etched interest. \"Coals of fire. No. I observe that's the only thing lacking: such a warm day. Was it you who came in just now?\"\n\n\"It was,\" said Kate grimly. \"And I had a good look at you, so you might as well sit down.\"\n\nThe blue eyes were cool. \"Why? Are you going to bathe me?\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue,\" said Kate. \"Charles will do that. And then, for no gratification that it will afford me, I'll dress your shoulder. Who performed the public service of perforating it?\"\n\n\"Oh\u2026 a worm that turned,\" said Crawford of Lymond. \"A bait which refused to be hooked. A brandling which snatched itself from the burning. I am quite capable of washing and repairing myself, if your people will leave the wherewithal.\"\n\nKate paid no attention, but mustered her materials and ushered in Gideon's servant. \"Charles. I'll be back in half an hour,\" she said, and shut the door.\n\nThe noise of hammering brought her back before then. She found the man Charles, streaming with soapy water and pounding on the outside of the captive's room, which was ludicrously locked from inside. Kate pushed him aside and vibrated the handle. \"What do you think you're doing? Let me in!\"\n\nThrough the thickness of the door, his voice came, slow and flippant. \"Mistress Somerville! The proprieties!\" said Lymond; and though they banged and rattled and threatened, nothing more could they get out of him that day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 99",
                "text": "A week after this event, Lord Grey of Wilton crossed the Border back into England and put up at Berwick Castle, leaving behind his newly fortified Haddington under a captain. On arrival Lord Grey, who had had a very hard month, was told that the Countess of Lennox was waiting to see him.\n\nHe exploded to Gideon, there to smooth his lordship's first hours. \"Margaret Lennox: what next? She got herself into a fine mess in February; and all her father did was laugh in her face and march over to the Scots. Well! I've taught that family a lesson!\"\n\n\"I heard about the Dalkeith raid,\" said Gideon. \"How did it go?\"\n\nGrey looked pleased. \"Splendidly, splendidly. I hope everyone heard about it. I hope all friend Douglas's allies and sycophants noticed it and took a lesson from it. Sent Bowes and Gamboa out on Sunday night, and they burned around Edinburgh while Wilford and Wyndham went for Dalkeith. We undermined from the base-court and the white sheets were hanging out of the windows before we'd blunted a pick. Got the whole garrison\u2014Douglas's wife, second son, lairds and Douglases in dozens, and cartloads of furnishings\u2014I tell you, Gideon,\" said Lord Grey, flushed with recollection, \"we came back from that day's work richer by three thousand pounds and two thousand head of cattle, and three thousand sheep, not to mention as notable a bunch of prisoners as you'd wish to get compensation for.\"\n\n\"But Sir George himself got away?\"\n\nPleased reminiscence faded. \"Damned coward,\" said Lord Grey. \"Slipped out of a postern and fled to Edinburgh, leaving his own wife to be taken. Well, he's got little enough reward for it. I shouldn't be surprised if he's back on his knees by the end of the week. His wife thinks so. I sent her back to him.\"\n\n\"Sent Lady Douglas back?\"\n\n\"Yes. She thought she could persuade him to be honest with us at last. But it doesn't matter,\" said Grey expansively. \"We've got half his relations in custody here, including his two sons. And an odd creature\u2014nice-looking, too\u2014a blind girl called Stewart. Ward of the Fleming family and well thought of at Court. She'll be worth quite a bit. You'll see her in a moment\u2014I've sent for her.\"\n\nHe bent down heavily for his shoes. \"I could do with six months out to grass. I've got all this damned coming and going to Haddington\u2014convoys three times weekly; serpentine pouches, hackbuts, iron, matches, sickles, scythes, pickaxes, what have you. And the horses are being used too much. And the French fleet is here.\"\n\nGideon, whose attention had slackened, sat up sharply. \"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Saw them myself,\" said his commander gloomily. \"They're lying off Dunbar. A hundred and twenty sail, I should judge. A damned great navy.\"\n\nGideon said, \"What about our fleet?\" and saw Grey's lip curl. \"What about it? Fitting out in the south. It's been fitting out since it was launched, and it'll be fitting out at Christmas, I shouldn't wonder.\u2026\"\n\nHe was still talking when Christian Stewart was ushered in. After her came Grey's secretary Myles.\n\nDuring the introductions, Gideon observed the blind girl curiously. She was sturdily built, by his standards, with good features and shining, dark red hair framing a surprisingly calm face. While Myles kept Grey's attention, Gideon spoke.\n\n\"Have we met before, I wonder? You seemed to recognize my name.\"\n\nShe had a splendid smile. \"I've heard of you. Through a friend.\"\n\nGideon made the commonplace answer. \"Nothing too bad, I hope;\" and the girl smiled again.\n\n\"Quite the reverse. He\u2014we thought at one time you had had an injudicious past, but now we know better.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Gideon, but the reply was mechanical. \"But now we know better.\" Was it possible she was referring to\u2026?\n\nHe looked up, saw that Grey was still engaged, and took a chance. \"Or perhaps\u2026 not so good for Mr. Harvey?\" he said.\n\nThere was a little silence. Then the colour came back into the girl's fair skin. \"Do you know him?\" she said quietly.\n\n\"Who? Harvey?\" He was disingenuous.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nA friend of Lymond's. Well, well, thought Gideon. \"I've met him,\" he said circumspectly, aloud.\n\nShe was uncertain, obviously, of his standing; and doubtful also of being overheard. She made a small pause and then said, \"As an antagonist?\" Which made Gideon himself stop to think.\n\n\"At first; yes,\" he said. \"Things are a little different now. Do you know him well?\"\n\n\"Know who?\" said Lord Grey, piling the last paper on Myles' outstretched arms. \"Harvey? She probably met him at Haddington.\" He looked up accusingly. \"You asked me about that man before. I told you. He's got this wound in the leg and he can't get back to Berwick yet\u2014maybe not for weeks. It's damned awkward. I only put him into that convoy as an excuse for bringing him here, and now he isn't here, and that Lymond fellow has disappeared into smoke.\"\n\nNeither Gideon nor the girl said anything.\n\n\"Anyway,\" said Lord Grey, calming down. \"I've got a job for you, Gideon. Have to tear you away from our fair company here. Which reminds me.\" He pinched a lip, staring with vague approval at the blind face. \"I must get a proper chaperone for you. Wish my wife were here. Or\u2014by God, that's it!\" he exclaimed, struck by a brilliant idea. \"The Countess of Lennox! Get the damned woman away from under our feet!\"\n\nThere was no change in the girl's serene face. Gideon said without thinking too much, \"But\u2014Willie, I don't think that very suitable.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nGideon couldn't think why not. He repeated, emphatically, \"I don't think Lady Christian and Meg Douglas would have anything in common. Lady Lennox's dealings with her countrymen\u2014some of them\u2014haven't been particularly savoury,\" he said distinctly, and saw the girl's intelligent face turn questioningly toward him.\n\nShe said tentatively, \"You mean the Countess might try to harm my friends through me?\" and Gideon knew that although Grey might and did think it nonsense, the girl understood.\n\nHe gave her a friendly farewell a little later, and went off, in high good humour for no evident reason."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 100",
                "text": "The interview between Lord Grey and Margaret, Countess of Lennox, was everything he was afraid it might be. It began with the lady's cool voice saying, \"I'm afraid I have to convey to you the Lord Protector's displeasure, Lord Grey,\" and included some plain questions.\n\n\"And am I supposed to believe that of all the officers in London this person Harvey was the only one capable of leading a convoy to Haddington?\"\n\n\"Harvey,\" said Lord Grey with an effort, \"is a very able man. I'm sorry, since you take such an interest in him, that you can't meet him. A slight wound made it necessary for him to stay at Haddington.\"\n\nThe black eyes were sparkling. \"I do take an interest in him, as it happens. I came here expressly to make sure that he returned to London directly. I believe Mr. Palmer leaves you today?\"\n\nLord Grey agreed that Harvey's cousin was due to leave Berwick for London.\n\n\"Then I hope he can take to His Grace the assurance that Mr. Harvey will follow directly he can travel?\"\n\nLord Grey, with private reservations, agreed again.\n\n\"I am glad to hear it. I shall remain and see that he does,\" said the Countess and ruthlessly delivered the coup de grace. \"You will have heard that your friend Lymond has been caught.\"\n\n\"Caught! By Wharton?\"\n\n\"No. By the Scots. When,\" said Margaret, having applied the black draught, \"do you think Harvey will be able to travel?\"\n\nThe Lord Lieutenant rested vague eyes on her. \"What? Oh. I've no idea. I'll ask the girl.\"\n\nMargaret stopped arranging her dress. \"What girl?\"\n\n\"There was a girl among the prisoners from George Douglas's who took an interest in him at Haddington. They were all kept there for a spell before coming here.\"\n\n\"Took an interest in Harvey!\" exclaimed the Countess. \"Who is she?\"\n\nGrey told her what he knew, and felt much better. \"Lymond and she seem quite friendly,\" he concluded, and raking in his desk, found a letter. \"We took that from Lady Douglas just before we released her. It's a letter to Sir George from the Stewart girl, written for her by her servant lad. She's blind, you see. See what it says.\"\n\n\"Blind!\" Her face fixed in astonishment, Margaret Lennox read the paper once, then a second time. \"Signed, Christian Stewart.\"\n\nShe looked up. \"This assumes that the Master of Culter will be in touch with Sir George\u2026 'or someone on his behalf.' He is to be told that all is well, and he need pursue his objective no longer, because she has done all that is necessary. What does that mean?\"\n\nLord Grey shook his head. \"I had the girl in today asking her about it, but she'd say nothing.\"\n\n\"Did Lady Douglas know what was in the letter? No? I should like to see this girl,\" said Lady Lennox with a ringing and unanswerable finality."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 101",
                "text": "Since the shock and physical buffeting of her capture at Dalkeith, Christian Stewart had stumbled unwillingly to Haddington, and then in a kind of stupor of relief and anxiety here to Berwick.\n\nMiraculously, the key to the whole strange problem lay now in her hands. But to use it, she must be free. And whether Francis Crawford had been helped to escape, or whether he was still in prison, she must prevent him from appearing on trial, or from risking his liberty again before she could find him.\n\nHer letter to Sir George\u2014a hopeless attempt to do just that\u2014had failed. She had no other means of sending a message. She had tried to persuade them to release Sym, without success. She had even contemplated approaching the man Somerville, who had seemed friendly, and might perhaps be trusted. But he had left the castle, she had been told.\n\nWhat next? All day she walked up and down, thinking: of Boghall; of Inchmahome; of Stirling; of Edinburgh. \"If I told you I'd murdered my sister you'd feel hate and revulsion.\" \"I haven't tried to kill anyone today, I give you my word.\" \"A thief in the night is the phrase.\" And the bleak \"The darts which make me suffer are my own.\"\n\nShe smashed her fists in sudden anger on the sill of her window. Oh, to get out! To get out of here!\n\nTo the Countess of Lennox, paying a regal prison visit, Christian was an astonishing, a calm, an impenetrable steel wall.\n\nThe name was soon spoken: Francis Crawford of Lymond. \"I don't suppose you know him. It isn't thought patriotic to know him these days,\" said Margaret ruefully. \"But we were once very good friends.\"\n\nThe blind girl answered serenely. \"As a matter of fact, I do know him,\" and Margaret was softly eager. \"You do? Is he the same? Where is he, these days?\"\n\n\"In prison,\" said Christian prosaically. \"I suppose he's the same. He talks a great deal.\"\n\n\"In prison!\" echoed Margaret, her voice sharpening just too much.\n\n\"In Scotland? But that means he'll hang! Is that true?\"\n\n\"I believe so.\"\n\nLady Lennox said agitatedly, \"But can't something be done? Is anyone helping him?\"\n\n\"Who could help him?\"\n\nMargaret said, \"You're his friend. I'm sure you are. If you were free, couldn't you do something?\"\n\nIf she were free.\u2026\n\nA crease appeared between the large, direct eyes. \"I don't see what. I've done him a small service\u2014I got him the home address of a man he wanted to see for some reason. But that won't be any good to him now, naturally.\"\n\nSo simple an explanation. Margaret, comforted, gave a sigh. \"So sad. All that talent\u2014but people, I suppose, make their own ruin, however much their friends try to help. Now,\" said the Countess cheerfully, \"Is there anything I can bring that you would like?\"\n\nAfter she had gone, Christian sat alone for a long time in her own black world, conquering a rage which would have alarmed her visitor. Then, dismissing the incident with an effort, she spared a moment to thank the well-intentioned spirit of Gideon Somerville before resuming the furious pacing of her prison.\n\nGideon's errand for Grey took him to Norham, and he was forced to stay overnight. Making casual inquiries on his return, he found that the prisoners taken at Dalkeith had been dispatched that day to the Archbishop of York; and that, before she left, the blind girl had asked once or twice after himself.\n\nHe might, left to himself, have pursued the party; but Lord Grey had other ideas. With his best men scattered like caraway seed over the countryside from Roxburgh to Broughty, he needed an able officer at his side.\n\nGideon tolerated it, his desire to return home tempered by the discovery that Margaret Lennox was still at Berwick, and meant to stay there until the man Harvey was well enough to return. If the Countess could play a waiting game, then so could he, thought Gideon, and caught himself with a surprised grimace. One would think it was his affair.\n\nThe following Monday, he was ordered to Newcastle to discuss finance with the Treasurer. \"By the time that's over, I shall probably be in Newcastle myself,\" said Lord Grey. \"Probably see you there. You ought to be off, anyway, by the morning. Oh\u2014you were interested in Sam Harvey?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" said Gideon, suddenly alert.\n\n\"That Stewart girl said he was slightly injured. Well, he isn't. He's got a ball in the thigh and it's damned dangerous. They're not sure if he'll live.\"\n\nGideon said quickly, \"When did you hear?\"\n\n\"Just now. Bad luck on the fellow. I feel a shade guilty,\" said Lord Grey peevishly. \"I shouldn't have brought him up at all if I'd known that Lymond fellow was out of action.\"\n\n\"Yes. Bad luck,\" said Gideon. \"Willie\u2014d'you mind if I leave now instead of tomorrow? I could call in on Kate on my way.\"\n\n\"On your way?\" said Grey indulgently. \"Twenty miles out of it, I should have thought. But never mind. That's husbands for you: I've done the same myself. All right. Give her my love.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" said Gideon, and slipped out, calling for his man. He was on the road in less than an hour; and by next day, Tuesday, the nineteenth of June, he was home at Flaw Valleys."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Ultimate Check",
                "text": "\u2002The corrouers and berars of lettres ought\n\n\u2002hastily and spedily do her viage that\n\n\u2002comanded hem with oute taryenge. For\n\n\u2002their taryenge might noye and greve them\n\n\u2002that sende hem forth, or ellis them to\n\n\u2002whom they ben sent too. And torne hem\n\n\u2002to ryght grete domage or villonye.\n\n[ The Fast Moves ]\n\nLymond recovered from his wound with characteristic rapidity; from the beginning, in fact, he acted as if it did not exist, and Kate was perfectly willing to do the same.\n\nA frangible and archaic courtesy reigned at Flaw Valleys. Katherine forbade none of its offices to her guest: he was under permanent escort, but free to wander where he chose. At her request, he shared her table and occasionally her parlour. His unspoken resistance to the situation delighted her, as did the way he dealt with it.\n\nHe set the tenor for their encounters the first morning after the incident with Charles. He unlocked his door, made some necessary apologies and conformed to the reigning atmosphere of frigid politeness.\n\nKate, however, was only choosing her weapons. By suppertime on Friday, and after four days of shrewd observation, she opened fire. \"I notice,\" she said, passing the salt, \"that you were outside today. Did you meet Philippa?\"\n\nLymond accepted the condiment, but not the challenge. \"We had a few words,\" he said. \"She is a\u2014striking young person already.\"\n\nKate helped herself. \"We think so. What did she say to you?\"\n\n\"Her remarks were few and deflatory,\" he said. This was an understatement, as Kate knew very well. She observed, \"I'm afraid she's being rather unresponsive. We've been trying to teach her to feel sorry for you. I do dislike personal hatreds in a child.\"\n\nThis time, after a moment, he called her bluff. \"Perhaps Philippa and I should be thrown together a little more. She might become attached to me if she knew me better.\"\n\nKate, brightening visibly, ignored the gleam in his eye. \"That would make her sorry for you?\"\n\n\"It might. The object of any sort of clinical study deserves compassion, don't you think?\"\n\n\"Snakes don't,\" said Katherine inconsequently. \"I hate snakes.\"\n\n\"And yet you feed them on honey cakes and forbid them to defend themselves.\"\n\n\"Defencelessness is not a noted characteristic of serpents. Anyhow, I can't have them lying rattling about the house. It gets on the nerves.\"\n\n\"It does if you handle it by rattling back. I've no objection, you know to practising the social arts.\"\n\nKate viewed him suspiciously. \"I don't see why I should abandon my entertainment because of your conscience.\"\n\n\"It isn't quite conscience so much as horrified admiration,\" said Lymond. \"From cuticle to corium in four days.\"\n\n\"You have to be quick with them. They grow another skin. I thought it mightn't be conscience,\" said Kate, collecting platters.\n\nHe was gazing down at the table. \"I really can't go on apologizing. It would be too monotonous.\"\n\nKate, taking a dish from the cupboard, halted beside him. \"You don't owe me anything, except a little amusement. Why not bite back?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Lymond, lifting his eyes suddenly, \"I'm a constant practitioner of the art and you are not.\"\n\n\"I don't mind,\" said Kate wistfully. \"Won't you bite?\"\n\n\"Like a shark. It's a habit. And habits are hell's own substitute for good intentions. Habits are the ruin of ambition, of initiative, of imagination. They're the curse of marriage and the after-bane of death.\"\n\nKatherine surveyed the indifferent face critically. \"For an advocate of chaos, you're quite convincing. There is such a thing, you know, as habitual disorder\u2014as of course you know: few have had such a permanently unsettled regime as you have. Suppose you had a chance to lead a normal life?\"\n\n\"Let's leave my sordid affairs out of this, shall we?\" he said. \"You've missed a point. There's a nice difference between rootless excitement and careful variety.\"\n\n\"If I can't be personal, I don't want to argue,\" said his hostess categorically. \"I may be missing your points, but you're much too busy dodging mine.\"\n\n\"Yours aren't points, they're probangs. I don't see why I should help.\"\n\n\"I do. Because Gideon would help cook his father if the cannibal quoted poetry at him,\" said Kate.\n\n\"And I have drunk of Castalia as well as bathed in it.\"\n\n\"It was Charles who bathed in it, as I recall. I forgot,\" said Kate sardonically. \"You like your privacy. My apologies for scrabbling round the edges in an undignified way. Pay no attention. Grimalkin goes quavering back to the chimney piece.\"\n\nThe long, slender fingers tightened about the salt cellar. \"Leave it, can't you?\" said Lymond softly.\n\nThere was fiat challenge in Kate's rigid spine. \"Is there any reason why I should? I want\u2014\"\n\nHe interrupted her, pushing away the heavy silver vessel so that it slid precisely, like a curling stone, into the centre of the board between them.\n\n\"What you want is very clear. You want my confidence. If you can't have that, you want to goad me into making admissions about myself. If you can't have that, you use moral pressure. I'm quite conscious of my obligations and misdemeanours toward the members of your family. I disagree about the mode of compensation, that's all.\"\n\nHer cheeks were scarlet. \"Mr. Crawford, I really doubt if you're in a position to agree or disagree about anything.\"\n\nThe impatient, ruthless gaze lifted to hers. \"Nor do I need to be reminded. You may expose me; you may baulk me. I've no remedy.\"\n\n\"If you prize reticence more than your life,\" said Kate dryly, \"then you're certainly beyond remedy.\"\n\n\"Reticence? No,\" he said. \"But I prize freedom of the mind above freedom of the body. I claim the right to make my own mistakes and keep quiet about them. You have all the licence in the world to protect your husband. My life is at your disposal, but not my thoughts.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" said Kate, rising. \"I doubt if I could stomach your thoughts. It was just a few basic facts I was thinking of, such as whether you were one of these people who can eat goose eggs. The creatures keep laying them: an appalling habit, but we can't break it.\"\n\nUntenable positions were not for Kate. His mouth relaxed, and he rose smoothly and opened the door for her, laughter lines gathering at the corners of the veiled eyes. \"I thought the conversation was cutting an ovoid track. I wouldn't for the world deprive you of the last bite.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Kate. \"If we're referring to snakes. Not if you're talking about fish.\"\n\n\"Pythonissa,\" retorted Lymond, and unexpectedly smiled."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 103",
                "text": "She conceded him his victory.\n\nIn the days that followed, she did no more probing; partly because she now saw that these ferretings had no relation to the level on which his mind worked; and partly because his wits were too sharp. She could tire him; she could anger him. Four days had taught her that she could nearly shake his self-control and that he was himself shaken and dismayed by his weakening grip of himself. But she could never override him, and she stopped attempting it.\n\nHe had tried, she knew, to come to terms with Philippa, but without success. On the last occasion he had entered the music room, roving as he often did to the window; and after a moment, idly picked up Philippa's lute which lay there.\n\nHe had forgotten, obviously, that Kate's room opened from this one. She had been resting; and although during these last ten days she had found him civilized and undemanding company, she stayed where she was to avoid embarrassing them both. Thus she was able to hear the sweet, preoccupied roulades of the lute, and the crash of Philippa's eruption into the room. The child stopped just inside the door, as her mother, opening her own door a judicious half inch, was able to see.\n\n\"That's mine!\" said Philippa. \"That's my lute you're playing!\"\n\nLymond laid the instrument gently down, and sat himself before Gideon's harpsichord. \"Lute and harpsichord?\" he said. \"That's pretty erudite of you.\"\n\nThe child pushed back her long hair. It was uncombed, and the hem of her gown, Kate was sorry to see, was grey with dust. Philippa said belligerently, \"I can play the rebec as well.\"\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"And the recorder.\"\n\nPhilippa! Philippa! said Kate to herself, grinning. Lymond turned to the harpsichord. \"Then you're the person I want to see. Which d'you like playing best?\"\n\n\"The lute.\" The voice of ownership.\n\n\"Then,\" said Lymond, rousing the keyboard to delicate life, \"tell me how this finishes. I never could find out.\"\n\nIt was only L'homme arm\u00e9; a tune Philippa had certainly heard in her cradle and was bound to know every note of. She sauntered across the room.\n\n\"It's L'homme arm\u00e9.\"\n\n\"I know. But how does it go on?\"\n\nShe sidled past. \"I don't know.\"\n\nThe harpsichord rang with jubilation. \"Try.\"\n\nKate could see the pull of the music in her daughter's eyes; she could imagine the fascination of those magic fingers. Philippa's arm shot out. She trapped the lute like an insect-eater trapping a fly, and flew to the door, panting.\n\n\"That's my father's instrument,\" she shouted. \"You're not to touch it! Leave my father and my mother alone. Nobody wants you here!\"\n\nKate was afraid for her. Her hand tightened on the door, but the music didn't stop, although it fell to a murmur. Lymond's voice said quietly, \"Don't you want me to play?\" There sall be mirth, said the harpsichord. There sall be mirth at our meeting.\n\nPhilippa looked at him with her mother's eyes. \"No!\" she cried. \"I hate you!\" And clutching her lute, she did indeed run from the room.\n\nThe music stopped, and there was a long silence. After a time, Kate slipped through the door.\n\nHe was still there, looking unseeing downward, his head on one hand. Then, politely rueful, he saw her. \"You see! I'm out of practice, I know; but the effect must be worse than I thought.\"\n\nShe sat down, her eyes on him. \"Who taught you?\"\n\n\"My mother, first. My father thought that not only did music make men mad, but that only madmen indulged in it in the first place.\"\n\n\"Then you inherit your military talents from him, perhaps?\" said Kate idly. \"Not many musicians contrive to be the toast of the Wapenshaws as well.\"\n\n\"Some do: witness Jamie's drummer who whipped the English off the butts. I never achieved anything spectacular of that sort; I never cared for it.\" He ran one hand down the keyboard. \"My brother is the athlete.\"\n\n\"He's an archer?\"\n\n\"Sword or bow. He excels at both.\"\n\nSo there was a brother. \"There is such a thing as a born eye for athletics,\" observed Kate. \"Two of a kind in one family would be a bit trying. It's probably just as well for the sake of peace that you were differently gifted.\"\n\nHe agreed with her amiably, returning to his playing. Watching him, Kate found herself thinking of something Gideon had said after his short stay at Crawfordmuir. \"It isn't all done with words either; he makes damned sure of that. He can outshoot them and outfight them and outplay them: he's got a co-ordination that a hunting tiger would give its hind legs for.\"\n\nShe drew a little breath and Lymond looked up. After a moment he observed, still playing, \"Versatility is one of the few human traits which are universally intolerable. You may be good at Greek and good at painting and be popular. You may be good at Greek and good at sport, and be wildly popular. But try all three and you're a mountebank. Nothing arouses suspicion quicker than genuine, all-round proficiency.\"\n\nKate thought. \"It needs an extra gift for human relationships, of course; but that can be developed. It's got to be, because stultified talent is surely the ultimate crime against mankind. Tell your paragons to develop it: with all those gifts it's only right they should have one hurdle to cross.\"\n\n\"But that kind of thing needs co-operation from the other side,\" said Lymond pleasantly. \"No. Like Paris, they have three choices.\" And he struck a gently derisive chord between each. \"To be accomplished but ingratiating. To be accomplished but resented. Or to hide behind the more outr\u00e9 of their pursuits and be considered erratic but harmless.\"\n\n\"As you did,\" said Kate shrewdly. \"Committing the ultimate crime.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Francis Crawford, watching his own fingers slipping down the keys. \"Man's ultimate crimes are always against his brother. Mine, in my competence, my versatility and my self-important, self-imposed embargoes, was against my sister.\u2026 For God's sake,\" said Lymond, \"don't speak.\"\n\nIn the sudden silence she did as he wished, sitting still in her low chair. Then he swore aloud and she looked up, heartened by these expressions of honest rage.\n\nStanding by the window, Lymond regarded her crookedly. \"Your fault,\" he said. \"These were some of the things you wanted to know, weren't they? And as soon as the pressure was lifted, I started talking about them.\u2026 I don't as a rule inflict my more tawdry reminiscences on people, you must believe me. I'm sorry. It's one of the penalties of being incommunicado for five years, but I can usually control it better than that.\"\n\nShe stood up also. \"You think a lot of your self-possession, don't you?\"\n\n\"I did, when I had any. One can't, obviously, control other people unless\u2014\"\n\n\"And you want to control other people?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"I take your point. I have none now to control. But all the same\u2014\"\n\n\"You would want it in normal life. Are you ever,\" said Kate, driven by her own feelings into asking one of the dangerous questions, \"are you ever likely to have a normal life?\"\n\nLymond grinned again, slightly, walking to the door. \"That depends on Samuel Harvey. There is, of course, another thing. I might be able to gull the law. But as soon as I appear in public, my brother is likely to get himself hanged for killing me.\u2026 We're devils for complications on our side of the Border.\"\n\nKate accompanied him to the door. She said bluntly, \"How much more of it can you stand?\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" he said, answering what he took to be her anxiety. \"If it's going to happen, it won't happen here.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 104",
                "text": "Gideon arrived next day, and had Crawford brought to the parlour, where he was standing with Kate. After greeting his prisoner he said without preamble, \"The man Harvey is in Haddington; he's seriously wounded and it's possible he won't survive. I came here to tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Lymond. After a moment he added, \"Then that appears to dispose of my problem.\"\n\nGideon had had a talk with his wife. He said abruptly, \"I can't help you to get into Haddington.\"\n\n\"I know that, of course.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Gideon, \"if you think there is any possibility of doing so yourself and coming out alive, I'm willing to lend you a horse to try.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Lymond drew a steady breath. \"I see you mean it,\" he said. \"I shan't sicken you with protestations of gratitude. But it means a great deal.\"\n\n\"I know. What will you do?\" asked Gideon.\n\n\"Go to George Douglas,\" said Lymond slowly. \"I can influence him a little, I think\u2026 And try and get Harvey out. Or if that fails, to get in myself.\"\n\n\"But\u2014\" said Kate involuntarily, and Lymond's eyes moved quickly to hers.\n\n\"There really is no other choice,\" he said, and she was silent.\n\nGideon had opened the door. \"Come then,\" he said. \"I came as fast as I could, but there's no saying how long he'll live. You'll need all the speed you can make. Quickly. Kate\u2014\"\n\nShe was already through the door. \"I'll collect what he needs.\"\n\nIn a very short time he was mounted, and they watched him canter down the avenue, turning with raised hand at the gates. \"The fools!\" Gideon said. \"Those damned fools at Edinburgh! What a waste of a man.\"\n\nAnd they turned and went about their business while Gideon's stallion, stretched flat with extended rein and curbless mouth, printed with sharp cloisonn\u00e9 the baked green sides of the hills and glens leading to Scotland."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 105",
                "text": "While Lymond was in Northumberland, Will Scott was scouring the Lowlands for him. He stayed in the vicinity of Wark Castle until he was sure the Master was no longer near the original rendezvous. He visited the farmyard where he had first joined the troop, and the lairs he had learned to know since.\n\nOnly twice did he come across any of the men he had fought with for nine months. The Long Cleg, horse-coping placidly with a string of broken-winded hacks, waved a friendly arm and asked mildly if it was right that he and the Master had had a fight over the money and he'd broken Lymond's head for him. Scott muttered something and got away as soon as possible. The other encounter took the form of a narrowly averted arrow which met him at one of the biggins where they used to keep fodder. He never found out who it was: he didn't want to know.\n\nFourteen days after his uncomfortable meeting with Sybilla at Threave, Scott returned to Branxholm empty-handed and full of misgivings, and Lord Culter, calling that day on Buccleuch, found him there, alone in the hall.\n\n\"Will Scott!\"\n\nThe boy looked up. The square, powerful figure, the direct grey eyes, the flat hair, were like phantasmagoria from the bolting, glittering winter: a wood on the way to Annan, and Lymond's voice saying, \"Richard! A challenge!\"\n\nHe got up slowly, and was unprepared for Richard's hand chopping masterfully and painfully on his shoulder. \"You damned puppy: where is he?\"\n\nHe reacted as he had been taught: with one smooth violent movement he was out of the other's grasp and viewing him from a useful distance. \"I didn't come home to be handled,\" said Will Scott pleasantly. \"My father is outside, I believe.\"\n\n\"You've learned manners to fit your morals, I see. Have you brought your master with you or not?\"\n\n\"What, again?\" said Scott insolently. \"I've already brought him to Threave at the beginning of the month\u2014did nobody tell you? How often am I supposed to repeat the service?\"\n\nLord Culter wouldn't show excitement again. \"I've already asked you. Where is he?\"\n\nScott shrugged. \"Who knows? Linlithgow? London? Midculter? He escaped.\"\n\n\"From Threave!\" said Richard.\n\n\"Aye, from Threave,\" blared a new voice. Buccleuch, sweating, came into the room in his shirt sleeves, sneezed in the cooler air, and bawled for something to drink. \"Lifted the latch and walked out. You'd think the damned place was a sieve. Ye see Will's back?\" said Sir Wat unnecessarily. \"It was Will got your lassie away from Lymond, you know.\"\n\n\"A Herculean task, I feel sure,\" said Lord Culter. It struck Sir Wat too late that it was no use trying to ingratiate with his lordship any man who had witnessed his wife and his brother together. He dropped the attempt and said, \"You've come for me? Sit down; sit down. I'm ready packit. I've got to take this damned fool anyway to Edinburgh to get a formal pardon for him. What's happening?\"\n\nThe answer was brief. \"We're to muster on Monday to attack the English garrison at Haddington.\"\n\nSir Wat put down his beer, and the seamed skin about his eyes puckered alarmingly. \"Wait a minute. Have the French promised to attack?\"\n\n\"On the obvious conditions. You'll hear them tomorrow. They want the main forts, of course\u2014Dunbar, Edinburgh, Stirling. They have Dumbarton already.\"\n\n\"By kind permission of her French Majesty. Uh-huh. Well, they might get Dunbar, but I'm damned if I'd let them sniff the threshold of the other two. What else do they want?\"\n\n\"What they've always wanted,\" said Lord Culter. \"But I think that's a matter for discussion elsewhere.\"\n\nSo absorbed was Buccleuch in his calculations that he missed the implication. His son didn't. Rising, Will said flatly, \"Naturally. Any associate of Lymond's is suspect. I'll go.\"\n\nThe door banged, as Buccleuch rounded on his neighbour with a bellow. \"There was no need for that! Dod, are ye wandered! It was the laddie who led us to capture Lymond in the first place!\"\n\nRichard's expression did not vary. \"I'm not trying to offend you, Wat. But this is one secret nobody dare take risks with. There's a good chance the country is going to agree to France's main stipulation, which is\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014To send the young Queen to France.\"\n\n\"Yes. To be brought up at the French court, and to be married in due course as her mother and the French King decide. If we and Parliament agree. Otherwise the French fleet lifts anchor and sails back home without a fight.\"\n\nHe studied the wayward eyebrows, the falcate nose and the stubborn chin. \"Would you agree, Wat? Which side are you for?\"\n\nBuccleuch, slapping a hand on the table, heaved himself up. \"The same as yourself: what's the alternative? The Protector's black face bobbing up the Canongate and France in a huff and making dainty wee steps in the direction of the Emperor? No. We're stuck like a toggle in a bite, and we've got to put up with it.\u2026 Are ye in lodgings in town?\"\n\n\"I've taken a house,\" said Richard. \"In the High Street.\"\n\n\"And Sybilla?\" demanded Sir Wat, with a brilliant lack of tact.\n\n\"I've no idea what my mother's movements are,\" said Richard. \"I haven't seen her for some time.\"\n\n\"She's got your wife back at Midculter,\" offered Buccleuch, and pursed his cracked lips so that the whiskers leaped. He said, \"Have ye ever thought that your brother might be driving a wedge deliberately between you and your family? Because if so, he's finding you easy meat.\"\n\n\"I must ask him when I find him,\" said Lord Culter.\n\n\"Dod,\" said Buccleuch caustically, \"I'm glad to hear he'll survive long enough to listen to ye.\"\n\n\"Oh\u2026 he'll survive,\" said Richard. \"For a long time, after he's caught. I'm in no hurry. None at all.\"\n\n\"Poor devil,\" said Buccleuch perfunctorily, and finished his beer."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 106",
                "text": "Next day, behind closed doors in Edinburgh, it was agreed that the young Queen Mary should be sent to France as soon and as secretly as possible.\n\nThe plan was both simple and brilliant. In eight days' time, four galleys would lift anchor in the Forth and sail not south, but around the north coast of Scotland, stopping at Dumbarton on the west, where the Queen would embark. So, while Lord Grey and the English fleet rubbed and fretted at an empty mousehole, the galleys of France would be sailing safely home.\n\nThe meeting broke up quietly. Lord Culter, leaving Holyrood with Buccleuch, crossed first to Tom Erskine and, making a rare gesture, put a hand on his shoulder. \"Any news yet about Christian?\"\n\nTom's eyes flickered from Culter to Buccleuch and back. \"She's at Berwick,\" he said slowly.\n\n\"Safe? Dod, you're a lucky man,\" said Sir Wat bracingly. \"It'll drain your purse to buy her, maybe, but at least ye'll have her back before ye get that meagre that ye slip down the town stank.\"\n\nThere was no answering smile. Erskine said wearily, \"We've just had a message from Lord Grey. They won't ransom her. They want an exchange.\"\n\n\"What?\" barked Buccleuch. \"An exchange? Who? Who? We haven't taken any captives that matter since they came north.\"\n\n\"They think we have,\" said Erskine dryly. \"They want Lymond.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 107",
                "text": "Sir George Douglas's lodging was in the Lawnmarket. He walked back there from Holyrood in a pleased frame of mind. In his treasury was a large sum of French money which was the price D'Ess\u00e9 had paid for his and Angus's continuing interest. In his purse was a safe-conduct allowing a messenger to pass freely to England, in order to convey to the Earl of Lennox and to his niece, the Countess, his anguished request for the kindly treatment and quick return of his younger son. He swung into his house, and found there waiting the Master of Culter.\n\nLymond was very tired. It was clear in his face, and in the steel undisguised through the velvet of his voice. He wanted Samuel Harvey. He made it perfectly understood that it was a matter of blackmail, and that he had no services but only silence to sell in return.\n\nThe Douglas brain moved smoothly behind the statesman's brow. Sir George walked to a cupboard, and as he had done once before, poured two glasses of wine and moved one across. \"You look as if you've ridden a long way, and to no purpose. I'm afraid neither you nor I nor anyone else will have the privilege of speaking to Samuel Harvey in this world, Mr. Crawford. Harvey is dead.\"\n\nThe other man did not touch his drink; but neither did his precious control fail him. After a pause, Lymond raised his glass in a steady hand. \"Can you prove it?\" he asked.\n\nIt so happened that Douglas could, and the proof was convincing because, rare among Sir George's fantasies, the story was true. At the end, when the last servant had left and the man had come to light the tapers, Sir George addressed the Master's cogitating back. \"What will you do?\"\n\nLymond replied without emotion. \"Eat, sleep and spend money, I expect. What else does anyone do?\"\n\nThere was a little silence. Then Douglas, tilting his glass so that the wine caught the light, said gently, \"You know Grey is bartering the Stewart girl's life for yours?\"\n\nThe reaction this time was instant. Lymond spun around, stopped himself, and put his empty glass on the table. \"No. I hadn't heard.\" He stood waiting, his eyes open and unwavering on Sir George while the Douglas, gazing back, extended to these fresh fields his style of gentle apology.\n\n\"\u2026 Ironic, in a way, Mr. Crawford. If you hadn't been quite so clever at Heriot, Dalkeith would never have been attacked.\"\n\nLymond heard him without interruption. Sir George, who was enjoying a malicious sense of power, ended. \"Perhaps a life imprisonment in England is the best thing that could happen to her.\u2026 I assume you have no romantic urge to offer yourself at Holyrood so that they can send you in her place.\"\n\nLymond's face was quite blank. \"If it suits me, I shall approach the Court, however uneasy it makes you.\"\n\n\"And make a killer of your brother and a life prisoner of your benefactress? Not a very economical programme,\" said Douglas blandly. \"Suppose we are practical. Are you going to surrender to Lord Grey?\"\n\n\"Why? Do you want the privilege of sending me?\"\n\nFor once in his life, Sir George was completely frank. \"Yes. I do. I need Grey's favour, and I have the perfect arrangement ready. A messenger of mine leaves at dawn for Berwick with letters from me to my niece and nephew. I can arrange it so that his safe-conduct allows for one accompanying soldier-at-arms.\" He knew the type, knew the gesture would be irresistible; and was disconcerted to find in Lymond's gaze the mocking reflection of his thought.\n\n\"The war horse's answer to death by old age and pink-eye. How can I refuse?\" said Lymond.\n\nSir George got up with some deliberation. \"You'll go? You'll go to Berwick tomorrow with my man and exchange yourself for this girl?\"\n\n\"Do-to the book; quench the candle; ring the bell. Of course I shall go. Why else was I born?\" said Lymond with bitter finality.\n\n[ The Tragic Moves ]\n\nNext morning Lymond, swordless, left Edinburgh's Bristo Port with a courier carrying Sir George's letters and Sir George's safe-conduct.\n\nThe day was breathless with promise; the cobbles shining like milk glass in the quiet; the gables asleep in blanket rolls of mist. In the streets there was no sign of the grumbling, scraped-up army of men who were preparing to face battle in the warm summer weather.\n\nAs the first sun fed on the early haze there was a stirring in the houses. Smoke rose from new fires, and a man with water plodded along the High Street alongside a creaking cart, leaving a trail of splashes like silver shillings on the cobbles. Then he leaped to his horse as a small company in Erskine colours plunged past him and drew rein outside Lord Culter's door. Tom Erskine, in its lead, dismounted and hammered on the knocker until it opened.\n\nHe was inside for less than ten minutes. Richard, half out of his tumbled bed, listened to the beginning of the story, and jumped for his clothes.\n\nThe Palace had found a spy, cleverly concealed: a man who had heard not only the Council in session but all the subsequent orders for the Queen's escape to France. They had uncovered him, and chased him, and lost him; then captured him finally after rousing half the town in the middle of the night.\n\nErskine rattled on, pacing the room. \"The hell of it is, he'd already passed on what he heard. They know that. They're still trying to get him to say whom he told.\"\n\n\"And if the information has left Edinburgh?\" Standing up, Richard stamped himself into his boots, fastening the buckle of his sword belt.\n\n\"It's our job to trace it. Quickly\u2026\" And followed by Lord Culter, Erskine made for the door.\n\nAt the Castle, their methods of persuasion were not subtle. By the time Tom Erskine and Culter got there, the spy had confessed. All the plans discussed the previous night had been committed to paper and had been sent to Lord Grey that morning by a special messenger\u2014by a messenger who happened to be going to England under safe-conduct with letters from Sir George Douglas.\n\n\"Douglas!\" said Culter at this point, and got a nervously irritable glance from the Governor, grey and sleepless in wrinkled day clothes.\n\n\"Purely fortuitous, so I'm told. Well see. Meantime, Erskine\u2014Culter\u2014it's your job to catch that man. He's an hour at least ahead of you. By the Bristo Port. You know what it means if these papers get to Grey.\"\n\n\"They won't,\" said Tom Erskine briefly."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 108",
                "text": "Adam Acheson, driving his neat, fast mare as quickly as he dared along the Berwick road with Sir George's letters in his pocket, was a man with no ties and no home. But he had drinking cronies in every inn between Aberdeen and Hull, and he kept them and himself in luxuries by ceaseless industry, a willingness to ride twelve hours at a stretch if need be, and a reticence like a warden oyster.\n\nIf he had been surprised to be saddled at the last moment with a companion, he had no special objection. He pronounced at the outset: \"I've orders to deliver as fast as possible, and to Lord Grey personally. If he's not at Berwick, we ride on until we get him. I hope you're ready for a hard trip.\"\n\nThe fellow made no difficulty. \"Ride as fast or as far as you like. I'll stay with you.\" And side by side Adam Acheson and Lymond cantered in silence under the hot sun."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 109",
                "text": "The same sun, grilling the steel jackets of Erskine's troop, added sting and exasperation to the anxious morning as, without pennants or insignia, Culter and Erskine with a dozen men at their heels galloped south.\n\nThe porters at Bristo had given them their first inkling that they were chasing two men: \"a black, brosy yin on a nice bay, and a swack, smert yin on a chestnut.\" The first answered the colouring of the man they knew to carry the papers.\n\nAt Linton Brig they stopped again and were lucky enough to find someone who had been up early with a calving. \"Aye, sir: a good while ago, and riding like the hammers.\u2026\"\n\nAt Dunbar they ate on horseback and refilled their flasks, and from a packman, got one more detail. \"It stuck in my heid; they were that different: corbie and doo on the ane twig.\"\n\nRichard remounted rather quickly and started off; Erskine looked at him sharply but followed, saying nothing.\n\nAt Innerwick the description was confirmed; at Cockburnspath the description was specific. Tom Erskine, listening, watched his companion's face for a moment and then glanced away. Beneath the cold sweat Lord Culter was white, and in his eyes and the set of his mouth lay an exultant and frightened savagery. Smiling, he raised his right arm, and smiling, brought the whip precisely across the heaving rump of his horse.\n\n\"I thought so,\" he said. \"The man on the chestnut is my brother.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 110",
                "text": "As the two hunted men raced south, followed by their pursuers, a third retinue set out, this time from Berwick: a leisurely caravan, jewelled with flags and fringes. Margaret Lennox was travelling south, and taking the Stewart girl with her.\n\nSince yesterday, and a stormy interview with Lord Grey, Lady Lennox had known that Harvey was dead. And further, that Lady Christian Stewart, now back in Berick awaiting her ransom, had spent much more time with Samuel Harvey than she had allowed to appear. It was then that, with Grey's reluctant permission, Margaret decided to take Christian Stewart to her own home of Temple Newsam.\n\nSo it happened that while Lymond and his brother neared the Border, Christian, moving away from them, arrived at Warkworth Castle on the first stage of her weary journey south. There, high above the looped and shining Croquet she lay safely behind dusty curtains, listening to the dandling of moored boats and breathing the savour of the sea\u2014and wondering if she had given anything away under the ceaseless questioning of the day.\n\nShe had told of her encounter with Lymond at Boghall, accounting thus for her interest in securing Harvey's address for him. She had shown mild alarm when told of the dissipations of her prot\u00e9g\u00e9. She had even, with a bitter effort, hidden her rage and fear when Margaret told her that Francis Crawford was being demanded as the price of her own freedom.\n\nHad he escaped from Threave? If he had, these people knew nothing of it. If he hadn't, then the Queen Dowager, spurred by Erskine and Lady Fleming, would certainly agree to the exchange and Lymond, for nothing, would throw away his life.\n\nOr worse, if he escaped and heard of her plight, he would come of his own accord. She was realist enough to recognize that his code of conduct would demand it, and that he would do no less for Will Scott, or for Johnnie Bullo, or for any dependent of his in the same position.\n\nNext day they reached Newcastle in the late afternoon, and the first voice she heard in her new quarters was that of Gideon Somerville.\n\nIn Berwickshire by the same evening the hounds were very nearly up with the hares when the scent ran suddenly cold, and, casting about, Tom Erskine and Culter found traces of a considerable company of horse recently passed through to the north.\n\nIt was Richard who turned about in the tracks of the convoy and, cutting off the first straggler he could find, made him talk. At dusk he rejoined Tom Erskine, his face ridged with weariness. \"It was a convoy for Haddington. Their scouts took in the two men we're after\u2014Wylstropp honoured the safe-conduct and let them go\u2014but they haven't gone to Berwick.\"\n\n\"They haven't!\"\n\n\"No. Grey is at Newcastle, and he's leaving there for Hexham to pick up reinforcements from Lord Wharton. Our men are making cross-country for Hexham. One other thing.\"\n\n\"What?\" said Tom Erskine with the flatness of apprehension. They should have caught these men before they reached Berwickshire. Now they were adrift on the Lammermoors, with the reel of their journey suddenly doubled in length.\n\n\"They know we're behind them. Wylstropp's forward scouts had already spotted us and decided not to interfere.\"\n\nErskine said sharply, \"Well, what of it? They'll expect us to make for Berwick, not for Hexham.\"\n\nLord Culter spoke savagely. \"You don't know my brother. He's no fool. In all Britain, Grey couldn't have picked a better man to help him.\" And whipped up his tired horse."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 111",
                "text": "Arriving at Newcastle that same Friday, Gideon Somerville discovered that Lord Grey had gone to Hexham and was expecting him there. At the same time he found that the Countess of Lennox was in town with the girl Stewart in her train. Gideon, who had mentally made every plan to avoid her ladyship, changed his mind.\n\nHe had five minutes alone with Christian Stewart: no more, but enough to learn of the bargain made for her life.\n\nShe had trusted him; he could do no less in his turn. \"Lymond is free,\" said Gideon briefly. \"He went to George Douglas to try and get access to Harvey.\"\n\nShe arrested a sudden movement. \"But Harvey is dead. He's been dead since Tuesday.\"\n\nHe understood her dismay. \"Crawford left to go to Douglas on Tuesday. I suppose there's no doubt Sir George will know of Lord Grey's demand and will tell him. It's damnable\u2026 but it seems to be your life or his, you know.\"\n\n\"Do you think they'd dare touch me?\" said Christian with contemptuous rage. \"And even if they did, that it would matter? He must be stopped,\" she said. \"He must be stopped. But how?\"\n\n\"But how?\" was still unanswered next morning, when he found with mixed feelings that he was to have company to Hexham. Grey's meeting with Wharton was to be graced with the presence of the Earl of Lennox, and the Countess, on hearing that only twenty miles separated her from her husband, decided to join him instead of going direct to her home. Lady Christian, her women, her men-at-arms\u2014and Gideon\u2014went with her.\n\nWithout any very high hopes Somerville had spent part of the night making his own limited dispositions. He had posted a man north of Newcastle in case Lymond tried to trace the girl so far, and sent a small party of his own household in a belated effort to watch the other hill routes which a man crossing from Scotland to Hexham might take.\n\nIt was more of a gesture than a plan. It seemed likelier that Lymond would make straight for Berwick and there be captured, voluntarily or involuntarily. As his party rode out west through the green water meadows of the Tyne that morning Gideon, sunk in thought, rode in the rear and left Margaret Lennox and Christian to their own devices in front: a small lapse, but one that afterward he found hard to forgive himself.\n\nOn the night before Lady Lennox and her party left Newcastle, two parties of men slept in exhaustion on the Redesdale hills, closer than they knew, until, sensing the coming dawn, the most hardened of them all raised himself on his elbow.\n\nAcheson was furiously regretting his errand. He had bargained neither for pursuit nor for a difficult cross-country ride. Not only that, but he had been forced to put off hours, so close was the pursuit, in covering his tracks and dodging about these damned, dry hills, so that the message he expected to deliver on Thursday night was still in his pocket.\n\nThat brought him to something he had been considering all the previous day. Making sure that the man at his side was sleeping, he drew out a third letter\u2014the letter he had to deliver personally to Lord Grey\u2014and broke the seal.\n\nShortly afterward he roused his companion and, collecting their tired horses, the two men resumed the last lap of their journey. It was Saturday, the twenty-third of June, and a glorious day.\n\nIn less than an hour, Mr. Acheson's odyssey of frustration had come to a surprising end. They were waylaid.\n\nAcheson had his sword half drawn to deal with the strangers when his silent colleague stopped him, his eyes on their badge. \"Wait!\" said Lymond. \"Were you looking for me?\" They were Somerville men.\n\nAcheson let them talk. The man Lymond might look inconsiderable, but he had proved a master of ingenuity in a tight corner. Besides, they had made ground that morning, and he was thirsty. He dismounted, fanning himself with a dock leaf, and was unprepared for the sheer cutting quality of the man who turned back to him.\n\n\"What a pity. It seems I'm not coming with you after all,\" said Lymond.\n\nAcheson put a hand on his sword, then took it off quickly. It was none of his affair, but he liked to keep on the right side of his employers. \"What about this exchange business?\"\n\n\"Later,\" said Lymond airily. \"First of all, we are making a small detour by the house of a friend.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Acheson sensibly, \"I'll go on alone.\"\n\n\"And tell the others I'm in the neighbourhood? I'm afraid we can't have that either,\" said Lymond pleasantly, and closed in. The black-haired one snarled and lunged, but a crack on the knuckles and another on the head cooled his ardour, if not his rage.\n\nHe was blindfolded, disarmed, mounted, and led at a smart trot over the remaining moors to Flaw Valleys."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 112",
                "text": "Christian had noticed a moroseness about Simon Bogle very soon after her retinue set out for Hexham. He rode in silence, her long reins in his hands, and didn't even bid her good morning until she had addressed him twice. The deficiency was made up by the Countess of Lennox, who unrolled mellow conversation through the small dales like a Turkey carpet.\n\nBy the afternoon, some little sharpnesses and corners began to show through. The conversation took an unexpected turn toward Christian's fianc\u00e9.\n\n\"So different in appearance, of course: poor Tom; I shan't disillusion you. After all, you are affianced to him,\" said Lady Lennox. \"Although you must have a soft spot for our naughty friend to do what you did for him at Haddington.\"\n\n\"I like to think,\" said Christian steadily, \"that I'd do as much for anyone in trouble.\"\n\nMargaret laughed. \"What an extraordinary person you are! To spend days by the bedside of a dying man, just to ask his address!\"\n\nChristian was silent.\n\n\"Or was it just his address?\" asked Lady Lennox, and the black eyes were sparkling. \"Sym didn't think so, last night. I like your young bodyguard, my dear; but he hasn't a strong head, has he?\"\n\n\"Sym!\" said Christian sharply. \"Damn it\u2026!\"\n\nThe boy's voice wailed in her ear. \"I was drunk. I didna know what I was saying!\"\n\n\"He was certainly drunk,\" said Margaret's cool voice.\n\nChristian said again, \"Sym\u2014\" and checked herself. He was gabbling. \"I couldna help it. Ye ken I canna hud up under beer.\u2026\"\n\nShe made an effort. \"It doesn't matter. Lady Lennox: I depend on Sym for a great many things. There's nothing to stop you from associating with my servants if you want to, but I'd prefer not to have the younger ones reduced to a state of crapulence for your purposes.\"\n\nIrresistible but impolitic. Margaret said blandly, \"Am I worrying you? I'm sorry. But there's nothing wrong in listening to a dying man's confession; or even in getting it recorded and signed by a priest and thereafter hiding it\u2014where have you hidden it, I wonder? Never mind. There'll be plenty of time to look, at Hexham.\"\n\nThere was a little silence. Then the blind girl said slowly, \"You're quite safe, you know. Harvey confessed to a lot of things, but they had nothing to do with me. If he signed anything, it's probably on its way to his relatives in the south. Why on earth should I want it? If you don't believe me, I'm quite willing to be searched.\"\n\n\"That's very sensible of you,\" said Margaret Douglas cheerfully. \"Because I don't believe you, and although I'm sure you've been most ingenious, I was proposing to search you very thoroughly indeed.\"\n\nSym, coming out of a cloud of misery, suddenly took her up. \"Search her! Just try and touch her, ye bitch! Try and touch either of us!\"\n\n\"You misunderstand me,\" said Lady Lennox. \"I wouldn't soil my fingers. On you or your complaisant little mistress.\"\n\nSym cried out. \"What have I done? She means ye harm: what have I done? I didna mean\u2014it was just the drink\u2014and she asked me\u2014\"\n\n\"Never mind, Sym,\" said Christian. \"I'm afraid it was a mistake. She's no friend of ours\u2014or of our friends.\"\n\nShe could hear him swallow. He said in a low voice, \"The Master of Culter? She wants to hurt you and the Master of Culter?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then she willna!\" said Sym, and hurled himself at Christian's horse.\n\nThe impact of his body jarred her forward, breathless. She felt him settle behind her, the brush of the reins as he gathered them tight; the firm clasp of his arm around her waist. The horse drew himself in, quivered, and answering Sym's heels swerved, spun, and drove like an arrow through the cavalcade.\n\nBurst asunder, rearing, scattered, speechless, they looked after the flying horse; then, streaming up from the green Tyneside meadows, scrambling and pecking and hullooing over the little hills, they followed in full cry.\n\nChristian had no breath. Crushed in the boy's grip, thought was driven from her by the speed of the animal; her hair buffeted and flew about her face, and her skirts tugged and twisted. The clasp at her waist shifted, and she managed a gasp. \"Sym, you fool, go back! We'll be overtaken and it'll be\u2014all the worse for us both.\"\n\nFor answer Sym drove his spurs again. \"I started the trouble, and I'll get you out of it, if it's only to find a place for those papers\u2026 could ye get them ready, now?\"\n\nShe couldn't. Samuel Harvey's statement\u2014the paper she had denied to Margaret Douglas\u2014was sewn very thoroughly in her saddlecloth. Nor were they likely, doubly burdened, to make enough ground to retrieve and hide it unseen. She said forcibly, \"Simon: stop this horse and turn around. It's no good!\"\n\nHe didn't answer her. Instead, above the thud and jangle and creak of the galloping horse there came an odd, rustling noise. It stopped suddenly with a bump, and Sym gave a little grunt. The arms about her slackened and the pressure at her back shifted. Christian cried once, \"Simon!\" and then with a clatter the whole body behind her shook itself loose and, rolling over the gelding's haunches, thudded on the heather.\n\nThe horse, already overexcited, entered a glory of self-induced fright and, the reins swaying against its knees, took the bit between its teeth.\n\nThe lifeless weight had nearly pulled the girl off too. But, barely realizing what had happened, Christian closed her knees instinctively and gripped the uncut mane with one hand, groping for the fallen reins. They eluded her: the horse was galloping wildly, shoulders and haunches lurching on the uneven ground; scrambling up slopes and down them, reaching higher and higher ground. Bushes clawed at her and once, a whipping branch stung her cheek.\n\nShe was holding now with both hands deep in the coarse hair. What kind of country? Not the homely paths between Boghall and Culter, or Stirling, or Dumbarton, or the High Street in Edinburgh with Simon, or Tom, or Jenny Fleming chatting placidly, describing the way to her.\n\nA foreign land. Enemy country, where the earth existed to foster her ill-wishers, and trees to shelter them, and bushes to hide them. She who already carried in her eyes her own enemy.\n\nPursuit sounded now far distant. Ahead, the soft air of her passing pressed freely against her and the sound of birdsong came from great distances, as if spread sparkling through the warm air: a singing dust. Singing sand.\u2026 Would she ever visit the islands again? Or be with the children? Or Sybilla. Or Wicked Wat. Or the man for whom she was now flying blind, on an uncontrolled horse through the small hills of Redesdale?\n\nBehind, swooning on the air, rose a great shout. It rolled, remote and hollow, over the moor, and sank whispering among the flags.\n\nHer pursuers saw, as she did not, the stalking, gem-cut line of the Wall ahead; the clustering gorse bushes and the debris of fifteen centuries which hid the brink of its twenty-foot ditch. Long before that warning cry faded, Christian's horse had taken those deceptive bushes in its stride; had hurtled into the fossa beyond, trundling, rolling and threshing its broken limbs in agony as the girl, a flash of white arms and dusty skirts and dark red hair, tumbled with him.\n\nMargaret Douglas stood and watched Gideon's gentle, bloody hands lift Christian Stewart, the red hair drifting in his face. Then Lady Lennox stooped in turn by the dead horse and with nimble fingers and a sharp knife ripped open first the girl's pack, and then the trappings.\n\nThe cloth gave up its secret immediately. She pulled out a small bundle of papers, separated them, glanced on both sides, and made a curious sound, so close to a laugh that Gideon turned sharply on her. She was refolding the same papers and stuffing them back into the lining where they had been hidden. She did it quite carefully and then stood up, dusting her hands.\n\nOne of Gideon's own men had already helped him lift the quiet figure into the saddle in front of him: there was hardly any pulse. Margaret looked curiously at the unconscious face. \"Is there a house nearby where you can take her?\"\n\nKate wouldn't have recognized the look in Gideon's eyes. He said levelly, \"My home isn't far away. She may as well die among friends.\"\n\nThe black eyes raged at him: Margaret also had had a shock. \"It's hardly my fault if my bowman tries to stop a prisoner from escaping. That's what he's paid for.\" She kicked the saddle and its furniture. \"You'd better take that, too. Her family might want it.\"\n\n\"Is that all you have to say?\" said Gideon.\n\n\"She was blind. It's too great a handicap. She's better out of it,\" said Margaret in a staccato voice, and mounted her horse.\n\n\"Was that her sin?\" said Gideon, watching the cavalcade move off. \"I had come to fancy it might be something quite different.\"\n\n[ The Last Move ]\n\nWhen Lymond set foot for the third time in Flaw Valleys, Gideon went downstairs to greet him slowly, and found his upturned face abounding with an electric vigour which quite overlaid the marks of his journey.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" he remarked ebulliently when his host was halfway down. \"Adhesive as St. Anthony's pig. Qu'on lui ferme la porte au nez, il reviendra par les fen\u00eatres. Thank you for your messages: your name will fly tetragrammaton round the world, and this fair blind Fortune will be made immortal. I've asked your henchmen to lock up an indignant gentleman who was leading me to Lord Grey and here I am. Where is she? How can we free her?\u2014and what, my God what, did she learn from Samuel Harvey?\"\n\nIt was worse than Somerville expected: it was frankly damnable. After just too long a space, as Lymond's face already began to alter, Gideon said bluntly, \"She's freed herself. There's nothing to do. I wish to God you'd never got my message.\" And added, regaining proper hold of his tongue, \"There's been an accident.\"\n\nAs he expected, Lymond took the news undemonstratively, in answer to his training; however much the flesh might shrink and melt, the sarcophagus was decently void of temperament. \"Where is she?\"\n\n\"Kate is with her upstairs. She hasn't much time. I'll take you to her.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" An automatic reply, and an automatic climbing of the stairs. As they went, Gideon told his story, shooting curious side glances at the younger man. The blond face was lightly sheened with perspiration, but it was a warm day; there was no tremor of sentiment in it.\n\nThe music room was filled with sunlight and the smells of warmed wood and fruity earth from Kate's pot plants. They passed the lute and rebec and the fiddle and harpsichord sealed in silent jubilee, and crossed to the inner room.\n\nKate had also heard the story, attacking the situation with her mind and squashing emotion and surmise with a prompt if temporary thumb.\n\nShe did what was necessary out of the bounty which suffering naturally commanded, and out of a sharp reaction to the courage of the injured girl. Conjecture firmly dismissed, she sat down beside her own bed, when every service of comfort had been performed, and took quiet and efficient note of the quiet and efficient messages enumerated from the pillows.\n\nChristian's mind was perfectly clear. Her chief anguish, clearly, was the death of the boy Simon. Beyond that she wasted no time on regrets or self-pity, except perhaps when she had said all that was vital to say, and after lying silent for a moment observed: \"You know, life has so many ridiculous hazards when one is blind\u2014and yet I never expected somehow to die so far from home, without anyone of my own.\" She smiled quite successfully and added, \"I don't suppose it matters. We're all pretty solitary anyhow, aren't we? Is someone else coming in?\"\n\nKate hadn't heard Lymond enter. Across the bed she saw him tweak a strand of dark red hair gently between finger and thumb, and then slip into a chair beside the pillow. \"Don't be so superior. Someone of your own is here,\" he said.\n\nThe girl's control was weaker than his. Her brow creased and tears sprang into her opened eyes. She shut them and said shakily, \"It's witchcraft. You are about to babble like magpies and herring gulls.\"\n\n\"But not about the ruin of charity: in Flaw Valleys it multiplies like rhubarb.\u2026 What in God's name must you think of me after all the drivel I had to talk at Threave?\"\n\nThere was an undeniable smile on the white face. \"That you expected to be hanged. And didn't want me to be pointed out solely as the girl with a strong attachment for her dependents. It was all right. I understood.\"\n\n\"It wasn't all right,\" said Lymond flatly. \"It's been all of a piece. I've been a joyless jeweller up to the last, exquisite drop from the crucible.\"\n\n\"There aren't any dregs in my cup,\" said Christian. \"You're the only person who could make me swallow them. I'd do what I did over again. I never cared for old age, or the idea of outliving my friends and being a chattel to my relatives. I mourned a little because nobody would ever point to a page of history and say, 'The stream turned there to the right, or to the left, because of Christian Stewart.' You could make that come true for me, if you think you owe me anything. And you could promise me not to retreat to a wine barrel and reduce what we've both done to a few artificial bubbles of regrets and self-blame. You prophesied yourself that I should have all I wanted from life, did you not? And I think I have,\" she said.\n\nHe answered her like the lash of a whip. \"There seems no doubt I've been reserved for great things\u2014\n\n\"Io son fatta da Dio, sua merce, tale\u2026\n\n[ I am the chosen of God. He will see ]\n\n[ That your suffering does me no harm ]\n\nThat the flames of this fire never touch me.\"\n\nThe impact of the words was almost physical. Kate flinched and the girl in the bed cried out, \"No!\"\n\nHe broke off of his own accord. \"No,\" he agreed after a moment. \"God knows why you think it's worth it, but I wouldn't have the puny effrontery to waste what you've done. When I think of my brilliant pose of anonymity\u2026\"\n\nA smile twitched her lips again. \"I knew you'd be much too high-minded to come back if you suspected I knew. That's why I stopped you at Inchmahome.\"\n\nLymond's face was as white as the girl he was talking to, but his voice hardly varied.\n\n\"I am grovelling. I also owe you one or two stinging innuendoes for those letters. If Agnes Herries ever stumbles on a glossa interlinearis there will be civil war.\"\n\n\"Erskine made her burn them.\u2026 Is that your hand? It's colder than mine. I told you not to worry.\"\n\nChristian blinked suddenly and roused herself. \"My mind's wandering. Listen: I have something for you. It's sewn in my saddlecloth. Mr. Somerville will show you. Hurry!\" Her face, framed in the strewn hair, was as matronly as a nurse commanding a treat for a child.\n\nFor the first time, Lymond's eyes met Kate's. He rose slowly and walked to the door. Kate heard her husband speak in the corridor, and then both men's footsteps receding. After no more than a few minutes, Lymond returned.\n\nThis time, his eyes never left the girl in the bed. Sitting beside her, he raised her hand and put under it a crumpled fold of small papers bloodstained\u2014as Kate saw\u2014in one corner.\n\nChristian's face was alight. \"You've read them? They're all there?\"\n\n\"I've read them. But how\u2026?\" Lymond was saying in a kind of lunatic daze. \"How the devil\u2014how the devil could you do it? To have it in black and white at the eleventh hour\u2026 Did you threaten him? Cut off his ears and souse them in vinegar? Propose to confine him in a locked room with Lord Grey for six months?\"\n\nThe girl gave the ghost of a laugh. \"It was on his conscience. He dictated the whole story and signed it. The priest was there too\u2014that's the second signature. Is it what you'd hoped?\"\n\nThere was the fraction of a pause. Then Lymond picked up Christian's hand and carried it to his lips, holding it afterward folded in both his own. \"More than I ever dreamed of,\" he said\u2014and like the serpent she had once called him, snarled voicelessly into Kate's eyes as she looked up, horror-struck, from what the girl's lifted hand had left revealed.\n\nFor the sheets of creased paper which Christian had brought with such pains from Haddington, which Margaret had found not worth her attention, and which Lymond had at last received, were quite blank.\n\nKate gave nothing away. Christian, it appeared, wanted her company. Since she couldn't go, she was forced to sit and watch, listening to the murmur of their voices. They were talking of things and people Kate knew nothing about, but she knew contentment when she saw it, and didn't interrupt even when the girl's voice began to lapse and the air to falter at last in her lungs.\n\nChristian did what was necessary herself, turning her head painfully toward Kate. \"I was never much good at waiting,\" she said. \"It's a sign of immaturity, or something. I wonder if maybe music would be soothing? If someone would play\u2026 Not you,\" she added quickly, as Kate rose. \"If you don't mind. It's comforting to have you sitting so close.\"\n\n\"Of course I'll stay,\" said Kate, her mind racing. \"Would you like Mr. Crawford to play for you? The music room is only through a door by your bed.\"\n\nShe had, obviously, guessed right. The smile this time was one of relief. \"He still has to finish a song he played for me once. Do you remember?\"\n\n\"The unfortunate frog. Of course,\" said Lymond, straightening. Kate met his eyes and nodded: she thought he looked almost at the end of his endurance, but he could be relied on to make no mistakes. He bent quickly and taking both Christian's hands, kissed her on the brow. \"The frog was a pretty poor creature. This time you shall have music to sound in a high tower\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014So merrily that it was a joy for to hear, and no man should see the craft thereof.\u2026 You give me such pleasure,\" said Christian.\n\nA moment later the music began, and Kate shrank beneath the onslaught of its message: the fury of hope and joy that towered in the notes, outburning the sunlight and outpouring the volumes of the sea. All that was bold and noble and happy in created sound burst from the metempirical quills, and it was a blasphemy not to rejoice.\n\nChristian died in its midst, purposeful and successful; the last struggle unseen by anyone but Kate, and laying no bridle on the living. Kate drew the bright curtains around the bed.\n\n[ Jouissance vous donneray ]\n\n[ Mon amy, et vous m\u00e9neray ]\n\n[ L\u00e0 o\u00f9 pr\u00e9tend Votre esp\u00e9rance ]\n\n[ Vivante ne vous laisseray ]\n\n[ Encores quand morte seray ]\n\nL'esprit en aura souvenance.\n\nHer eyes were closed with tears: strangers\u2014foreigners\u2014what were they to her? The man was playing still, his eyes resting on the windows as they had done all along. Through the glass she saw that a column of mounted men had come over the moor and up to her lodge gates: like squirrels their faces were pricked at her windows; like Ulysses perhaps their ears were tingling with the music of the sirens. She dried her cheeks and walked forward a little, and Lymond, seeing her reflection in the panes, raised his hands.\n\nThe horseman in the lead was bending down, addressing someone very young or very small. Kate saw the white flash of a face, and one bare arm waving toward the house. She was infinitely more afraid of the immobile man at the keyboard. She rested her hands, as in prayer, on the instrument. \"It happened peacefully.\"\n\n\"Did it?\" said Lymond.\n\nThe entire file had moved forward to the gatehouse. There seemed to be a moment of confusion, then the doors opened and the horsemen came through, rather fast.\n\n\"I believe she meant what she said,\" said Kate. \"About being contented.\"\n\nShe wasn't sure if he heard her. After a moment he stirred, and lifting a hand to the keys again, picked out some slow chords. \"It was the Frogge on the wall, Humble-dum; humble-dum.\"\n\n\"You didn't finish it for her, after all,\" said Kate.\n\nThe house was alive with noise. He said nothing and did nothing; and at length even Kate's resolution gave way. \"Who are they? What do they want? Who is it?\"\n\nHe had watched the long file of horsemen sweep over the moor: while he loosed his fierce elegies he had watched them sense the music on the wind and point to him like hounds. He had promised Christian music for her minion and outrider, and he kept his promise.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Kate, and Lymond turned with grim finality from the keys. \"What is it? The end of the song. Where Dickie our Drake, Mrs. Somerville, takes the Frog.\"\n\nAnd on the last word, the stark and pitiful peace of his anthems had gone. With a crash of bruised post and split panels and an assault which sent gut and sounding board screaming, the door of the music room opened.\n\n\"\u2014Richard, my brother,\" ended Lymond.\n\nIt was Culter, his search over.\n\nBroad, powerful, shivering within the frame of smashed wood, he was a primitive figure, of pantheistic and dreadful force. Standing still, all his mind and his passions embraced the two silent people by the window, allowing the texture, the luxury, the exquisite savour of the prize to drive him to ecstasy. A little sound, involuntary and wordless, broke from him.\n\nFor a moment, she thought it was going to strike an answer from Lymond. Another person might have screamed at him, or at the intruders; but Kate did neither: she literally held her breath, watching pressures she could only guess at being licked by this vengeful fire. She obeyed an instinct to keep quiet, and by lending Lymond the support of her calmness, to avert the thing that would destroy them all.\n\nHe succeeded. In the teeth of unleashed hatred and on the heels of tragedy he shackled human reaction and, rising smoothly and quickly, addressed his brother as men poured into the room.\n\n\"I know. Aha, Oho, and every other bloody ejaculation. Let's take it as read. You're delirious at the idea of manhandling me and can't wait to start. I in turn may say I find your arrival offensive and your presence blasphemous, thus concluding the exchange of civilities and letting us get out of here. If there's anything novel or extra you want to add, you can think of it on the way home.\"\n\nThe words struck and fell dead to the ground. Richard made not the slightest movement, his grey eyes wetly shining; the fat veins visible on his temple and neck. \"He's in a hurry, isn't he? It's a love nest, as I live. Who's the wench?\"\n\n\"The wench is a lady, and mistress of this house,\" said Lymond in the same controlled and insulting voice. \"Erskine: take him downstairs. Something's happened.\"\n\nLord Culter grinned lecherously. \"I'm sure it has.\"\n\n\"Later, Richard. You can have all the sport you want. Erskine\u2014\"\n\nTom Erskine said, \"Come on, Richard. We've got him: there's no point in wasting time.\"\n\nLord Culter ignored him. He was wandering around the room, touching things and still smiling. Kate moving quickly before him shut the door to her bedroom and returned to Lymond's side. \"There has been\u2014\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" said Richard pleasantly. \"And you, little brother. How would five years of this sort of thing appeal to you, Tom? Where's the bed, I wonder? Behind the door they're not looking at? With another wench in it, maybe?\"\n\nHe had an unlooked-for agility. He reached the bedroom door a second before Lymond and got it open. The Master's hard shoulder crashed into him and he hurtled back with the shuddering wood, but already half-braced and with a purchase on his brother's arm which brought Lymond stumbling with him. Then there was a rush to help, and the Master went down under six others.\n\nThey pulled him to his feet as Richard, rising, was confronted by the young woman who had first shut the door. \"Get out of this room and listen to me, you uncivilized lout!\" said Kate.\n\nRichard struck her to her knees with the hardened flat of his hand, the first blow he had ever aimed at a woman, and wrenched back the yellow silk curtains.\n\nOver their tawdrinesses grieved the benign detachment of death.\n\nAt Richard's blanched rigidity, Lymond fell silent, unstruggling, by the door; Kate rose and found her way obstinately to a chair, one hand to her face; and Tom Erskine, struck by the silence, moved from the doorway. Lymond's long fingers shot out and halted him.\n\n\"There's bad news. We tried to tell you. It's Christian.\" Erskine broke from his grasp without a sound.\n\nPresently, Lord Culter moved from the bedside, leaving Tom where he knelt. Back in the music room where his men waited, silent and uneasy, he picked out one with a glance. \"Send for the man\u2014Somerville, is it? I want him here.\" Then he turned to his brother, his face as hard as the bones of the earth. \"I'd neither foul a cage by capturing you nor offend justice by taking you to Court. Covet the sunshine: you are dying.\"\n\n\"No!\" exclaimed Kate Somerville from the doorway. She had dropped her hand from her bruised face. \"No, you're wrong. The girl met with her accident while travelling in English company to Hexham. When Mr. Crawford arrived she was already dying. He did all he could for her.\"\n\n\"Concluding with jigs and hornpipes over her deathbed. I know. My God, we heard him!\"\n\n\"What my wife says is true.\" Gideon had arrived in the doorway.\n\nRichard didn't turn his head. \"Exposing her to public obloquy at Threave\u2014that's another fact. Cheating her about his identity. Making this blind girl an accomplice traitor, an accomplice murderer, adulterer\u2026\"\n\nLymond's voice cut sharply across. \"We've all had as much as we can stand, Culter. You know perfectly well you can't kill me here unless I resist capture: it needs one busybody to pipe up in Parliament and you'll be arrested yourself. Let the fools argue it out in Edinburgh: I'll go quietly. Come along. Half the English army's at Hexham. I don't want to meet Grey, even if you do. And for God's sake get Erskine out of that room for a start.\"\n\nLord Culter paid not the slightest attention. He was issuing quiet, concise orders to his men, and to Somerville, who listened tight-lipped. When he had quite finished, he turned back to Lymond.\n\n\"I don't murder anybody. I'm offering you a proper trial\u2014trial by combat. Observing all the rules. You may even think you have a chance of killing me. If you do, you are free, of course.\"\n\nGideon's eyes met his wife's. He said quietly, \"Take him to Edinburgh as he asks. He's quite right\u2014Grey and Wharton are at Hexham. If anyone calls, you haven't a chance. And,\" added Gideon with some bluntness, \"you haven't seen his swordplay.\"\n\nA heretical insolence had found its way back to Lymond. \"Why worry, children? I'm not going to fight.\"\n\n\"I thought we'd have that,\" said Richard calmly. Somerville, after hesitating, left, pushed by two soldiers. \"You'd prefer to be skewered like a sheep?\"\n\n\"I'd prefer to take a nice, quiet journey to Edinburgh and stand my trial. Think how deliciously prolonged it would all be.\"\n\nThe flat grey eyes were unmoved. \"You'll fight,\" said Richard without emotion, and jerked his head. Preceded by Lymond and the rest of his men, he left the room.\n\nKate saw them go, her brown face stiff with trouble, and then turned back into her bedroom. For a moment she watched the kneeling man, and then bending over him, touched his shoulder. \"Mr. Erskine. Please come away.\"\n\nFor a moment nothing happened. Then he raised a face curiously blurred, as if the subcutaneous fat had melted and recongealed in his grief. He said thickly, \"It's all right.\u2026 How did it happen?\"\n\nShe pulled a chair toward him and he sat, while she told her story. At the end there was a pause, and then he said with difficulty, \"I wondered\u2026 I couldn't quite understand why she did it.\"\n\nKate said with care, \"She would help anybody, I think: wasn't that so? And then\u2014you've all condemned him pretty thoroughly as a blackguard, haven't you?\"\n\n\"What else is he?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Kate. \"I'm not one of the simple kind who spend a jolly time romping on Olympus with the object of becoming a little, leering star at the end. I never met the girl before today: I don't know what their past relations have been. But I can say that he spoke of your Lady Christian with nothing but respect. By her desire I was with them both till she died, and I should be ashamed to think of guilt or offence in anything they said. And more than that. It was you I was to tell of her regrets, and to you I was to give her love.\"\n\nHe got up slowly, a man not incapable of a moment of insight. But he said only, \"Thank you. I'm glad you were with her,\" and walked out, without looking back.\n\nKate smoothed the crumpled sheets with gentle fingers, and spoke aloud. \"He was very nearly good enough for you, that one,\" she said; and drawing the yellow curtains, shut out the sun."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 113",
                "text": "Since he was quite a young man, Gideon Somerville had grown used to the role of bystander. Other men\u2014less intelligent, shallower men\u2014plunged into a tidal race of action, conflict, argument and sinewy bravado. But within Gideon something shrank from pressing his intangible opinions, his doubt-ridden intellect and humane heart on the destinies of others as helpless as himself. He knew the ache of indecision too well.\n\nToday, brought to disturbing acquaintance with new minds, he weighed them up, watching with his clear eyes, and tacitly stepped aside. There was no tangle here that he or any stranger could undo. Flaw Valleys was no prison. His staff could break out if he incited them: he could send a man to Hexham for help if he tried; but he had no wish to try. He asked quietly that his wife shouldn't be asked to be present; he made sure that Philippa wasn't left unwatched or frightened; and he brought to Lord Culter a pair of matched rapiers and two daggers.\n\nAs the weapons arrived, Tom Erskine came into the hall and took charge.\n\nThe fact that he did so sobered them all. In a year he had become used to command: his father, after all, was within the most intimate circle of the Court; his grandfather was Archibald, second Duke of Argyll; his grandmother and his sister had borne sons to two kings. He came now into the room, collected everyone's attention and said quietly, \"Richard: this is a warning. This man is a prisoner of the Crown and has to answer to the Crown for his crimes. To do what you mean to do demands strong cause. Do you have it?\"\n\n\"You ask me that? Yes. Of course I have.\"\n\n\"To kill this man in a private house for a private quarrel in foreign territory may lead you to be charged with his murder. Could you refute that?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Richard. \"As you very well know. At this moment he's carrying papers that'd mean the end of us as a nation and very likely the death of the Queen if they reached Hexham.\"\n\nLymond, who had been staring out of one of the tall windows and drumming with his finger tips on the shutter, came to life and spun around. \"That isn't true!\"\n\nErskine kicked something at his feet. \"Is that your baggage roll?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And this, which was in it, is your letter?\"\n\nWithout speaking, Lymond accepted the papers Erskine held out\u2014papers which, as Erskine and Culter both knew, gave in detail the plans for the Queen's escape to France.\n\nHe took a long time over the pages, his eyes staying a moment, unseeing at the foot; then he returned them. \"Well?\" said Erskine.\n\n\"The man with me: Acheson. Have you questioned him about these?\" asked Lymond. \"He's locked up belowstairs.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Erskine. \"We've seen him. He was carrying two letters from George Douglas about the safety of his sons. That's all he's got, and that's all he knows about.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Lymond slowly. \"The obvious answer, of course. The classic escape from this kind of situation, as you know, is for each party to blame the other. In which case, I assume for safety's sake that you'll take him back home with you? I should strongly advise you not to let him out of your sight.\"\n\n\"He put the papers in your baggage?\" said Richard helpfully.\n\n\"Something like that. But let's put it at its lowest. He knows the contents of the papers. So for God's sake don't admit him to your social circle just because you're happy he's given you a hold over me.\"\n\n\"And has he?\" asked Erskine\u2014and misinterpreting the ensuing pause added, \"Well?\"\n\n\"Well enough for everybody's purpose,\" said Lymond without passion. \"One crime more or less isn't going to deter Richard now.\"\n\nIt was treated as an admission; there was a murmur of abuse and contempt, irresistibly, and someone spat. Erskine turned his back on the younger man and addressed Richard again. \"That being so, you have a public reason for bringing this man to trial here and now. You also have private reasons?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\nRichard was silent, his jaw doggedly set.\n\n\"State them,\" said Erskine sharply. \"If this is to be trial by combat, the defendant has a right to hear your complaint.\"\n\nLord Culter said, speaking very fast in a low voice, \"He has degraded our family name\u2026 committed theft and arson and attacked a guest beneath my roof. He has tried to take my life repeatedly.\"\n\nLymond made a sudden movement, apparently involuntarily, and the gesture restored Richard's voice. He said quite clearly, \"He has dishonoured my wife and killed my only son.\"\n\nNobody spoke. Between man and man the sunlight hesitated, sparkling, and sank to the floor with the languishing dust. Gideon bit his lip. \"What have you to reply?\" asked Erskine.\n\nLymond's voice was undramatic and his face unreadable. \"Your choice is between executing me here or in Edinburgh. I will not fight.\"\n\nErskine had begun to say, \"Do you admit, then\u2026\" when Richard interrupted. \"Wait a moment. Let us all have it clear. If one of us fails to fight, it means he admits he has no honour to defend?\"\n\n\"That is the usual interpretation.\"\n\n\"In other words, that he admits the truth of the charges against him. Do you freely admit to treason, brother? To murder and rape? Fratricide as near as may be?\"\n\n\"I admit none of it.\"\n\n\"Yet you won't fight. You admit your\u2014connection with my wife?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"And yet you won't fight. You admit that you deceived that girl upstairs into becoming your blind and complaisant mistress, and then killed her when you tired of it?\"\n\nErskine's voice clashed harshly with Lymond's. The Master's prevailed through sheer bite. \"You uncivilized maniac: that's a damnable lever to use.\"\n\n\"If you won't defend your story, we must assume it's true.\"\n\n\"You can assume,\" said Lymond, stirred at last into straight speaking, \"that I'm trying to prevent you from getting your bloody throat cut; that's all.\"\n\n\"You imagine,\" said Richard, his voice rocketing between prayerful hope and excitement, \"that you could fight me and survive?\"\n\n\"I could see you drop dead this minute from paralysis of the brain cells and burst into uninhibited applause. I had nothing to do with Christian Stewart's death, nor did I touch her when she was alive. I'll defend that, damn you, against anybody. Set up your tin-foil trial and try and prove otherwise if you can.\"\n\nRichard, flexing the fingers of his right hand, raised his eyebrows at Tom Erskine. \"You heard? He's going to fight,\" he said gently.\n\nSet below the music room, the hall at Flaw Valleys was lit by the same pattern of tall windows along one of its long sides; on the other, double doors at its centre made the only entrance. The shining wood floor had been cleared of furniture and the spectators stood behind rope at either end: Gideon to the right, with six of his own men, and Erskine and Culter's men to the left. Within the arena, Lymond had resumed his stance by one of the window seats. Both Culter and Tom Erskine were missing.\n\nConversation was low. Gideon wondered what his wife was doing. He thought of the music he had heard that afternoon, and of his conversations with Lymond, and of something Lymond had said to Kate. \"If it's going to happen, it won't happen here.\" But how much, indeed, could flesh and blood stand?\n\nA table was put in the centre of the room. On it, Gideon could see the four weapons, four slots of blue; and beside them a heavy book: a volume of the Four Gospels impressed with tarnished gold leaf, which had belonged to Kate's mother. Culter came in and stood by it; then Erskine, and the doors were shut.\n\nErskine stood just in front of the carved oak. He was still without colour, but composed and firmly in authority. He looked at his audience to the right and left extremities of the room, to Lymond by the window and to Richard in front of him and said quietly, \"You know the purpose of this gathering. We are about to hold trial by combat between these two men here before you, and I take to myself the authority to regulate and to take oath as if this were done in Scotland, in champ clos. Will you both abide by that?\" He waited for their assent, and then in a grave, clear voice began to administer the oath.\n\n\"You, Richard, third Baron Crawford of Culter, laying your right hand upon this Book, must swear the truth of your complaint in all its points, from the first to the last charge in it, and that it is your intent to prove the contents to be true, so aid you God.\"\n\n\"So aid me God.\"\n\nCulter's voice was steady. Erskine proffered the book again. \"Richard Crawford, third Baron Culter, laying your hand on the Book this second time, you must swear that you stand no otherwise appointed than by me, with a rapier and a dagger; that you have not any other pointed instrument or engine, small or great; no stone or herb of virtue, no charm, experiment or other enchantment by whose power you believe you may the easier overcome your adversary who here shall oppose you in his defence; and that you trust not in anything more than in God, your body, and the merits of your quarrel; so God you help.\"\n\nRichard's voice, quietly taking the oath, and the pad of his stockinged feet as he stepped back broke the silence. There was a tightening of the figure by the window and Erskine's even voice, slightly raised.\n\n\"Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter,\" After the briefest hesitation, the man came to him. \"Laying your right hand on this Book\u2026\"\n\nErskine's eyes this time were intent. He read the oath still with his voice a little raised, like a challenge. At the words, \"So aid me God,\" repeated without emphasis, a ripple of comment made itself heard in the quiet room. Erskine ignored it. \"Lord Culter. Please come forward.\"\n\nRichard moved this time after a distinct pause and took his place before Erskine at his brother's side. Erskine captured his eyes and held them. \"Take ye each other by the right hand, laying the left on the Book.\"\n\n\"He won't. Damned if I blame him,\" said the man next to Gideon. Richard was grinning. \"I have no right hand, Mr. Erskine.\"\n\nHis temporary Constable neither argued nor pleaded. He simply observed, \"I have the power to make that true, as you should know. Face your opponent and take him by the right hand.\"\n\nIt was Lymond who made the move. Richard touched the proffered hand with the tips of his fingers, his left hand on the book between them so that their joined arms made the required cross, and his eyes were anarchists in the community of his hands. \"I charge you,\" began Erskine solemnly:\n\n\"I charge you by your faith and your right hand, which is enclosed in the hand of your adversary, that you use your power and make use of all advantages to make good your appeal, to force him to a rendering of himself unto your hands, or with your own hand to kill him before you part from this room, and so God you help.\"\n\nThey swore, and the blades were lifted from the table: the thin tempered rapiers with steel quillons and counterguard; the daggers with their thick, double-edged blades, twelve inches long. Richard received his weapons: sword for the right hand and dagger for the left; and then Lymond. The Gospel was removed; the table taken away. Erskine, his eyes travelling over every face, Scots and English, gave the familiar address.\n\n\"We charge and command every man that he approach not nor that he speak, make any noise, give any sign nor by his countenance or otherwise direct either of these parties to take any advantages the one upon the other, upon pain of life and member.\"\n\nHe paused, looking up at the brilliant windows and Kate's bright chestnuts beyond. A goose, frowning, marched across the grass. Inside, the sun prinked and patterned the floor, aureoled the two white-shirted men, standing widely separated, and fell upon itself, reflected in the steel, with redoubled kisses.\n\n\"The day is far passed,\" said Erskine, making the herald's formal pronouncement. \"Let them go, let them go, to do their endeavour.\"\n\nTo do his endeavour, Lymond waited in the hall of Flaw Valleys, a slender, feral figure, limbs relaxed, eyes wide awake and steel in either scarred hand; and watched his brother advance. \"Quicker, Richard. We're meant to explode into action.\" The voice was ribald.\n\nFace to face with him, Lord Culter answered softly. \"There's no hurry.\" And there was a flicker of movement and a click, as Lymond parried, sliding sideways to miss the twinkle of the short blade. Richard waited. He was indeed in no hurry.\n\n\"Since we are here,\" said Lymond conversationally, \"why not pronounce something appropriate? 'Eh bien, dansez maintenant'? Or, 'We came both out of one womb: so shall we lie both in one pit'? And there's 'Brother, whi art thou so to me in ire?'\u2014the killing of Abel, my dear: a mine of suitable commentary.\u2026 Come along,\" said the playful, savage voice. \"Let us fight with sugar in our mouths like the litigating tailors of V\u2014\" And he ducked.\n\n\"Oh, no. No, no, no,\" said Lymond. \"Nature works in the\u2026 shortest way possible. If you really want to reach my guts\u2026\"\n\nThe sun was on his face. \"I do,\" said Richard. \"But not immediately.\" And this time he thrust, traversed and lunged again, the dagger poised and intent, waiting for Lymond to duck out of the sunlight.\n\nHe did exactly that. Richard, smiling faintly, whipped up his left arm and halted, blinded in the act by the light from his brother's blade. \"\u2026 try lunging in a straight line,\" ended Lymond, serene and safe. \"Useful thing, sunlight. Play up, master swordman. You're rolling about like a pear in a pottle.\" They drifted apart again.\n\nHis intention was obvious. Gideon was not inspired to laugh, but some of his men were, and he saw that Culter was aware of it. Lymond was of course behaving atrociously: he seemed prepared to make any sort of fool of himself rather than allow his brother near. Culter, by no means playing seriously himself as yet, was testing the other man's strength, or trying to. The Master eddied around the floor, talking.\n\nIf Richard had meant to make his power felt gradually, he was forced to drop the idea. Unless he was to be a laughingstock, he must force Lymond to fight; and his brother, as well as Erskine and Gideon and the waiting men, read the sudden purpose in his face. But Lymond got in first.\n\n\"Bloodthirsty, Richard?\" he asked. \"Husband your humours. Think of the fair ones at home. His heart was light as leaf on tree, when that he thought on his\u2014\"\n\nIt was one quotation he never did finish. There was a growl from Richard, an unconscious yelp from the spectators, and the fighting had begun in earnest.\n\nIn all the length of the bare room, no one spoke. The long blades exploded together, cracked, chimed and clattered; the stockinged feet slid and shuffled and the two men breathed in gasps, quickly, traversing and gyrating, slipping in and out of sword-length, each in a cocoon of whirring light. A blizzard of suns on walls and ceiling enclosed them.\n\nCulter was a master, worth seeing on any terms: worth seeing even when wrought up with anger. His brain directed; his eyes and feet, shoulders and wrists answered, and the result was sure and powerful swordplay. Lymond said once, in a breathless voice curiously close to laughter, \"He's twice the size of common men, wi' thewes and sinewes strong,\" and then retired into silence. The daggers, sparkling over and under the swords, darted like serpents.\n\nWithin the first three minutes Richard's sword touched his brother's shoulder. Gideon, with the rest, said \"Oh!\" and then smiled. There was no harm done: the shoulder was already protected by the old bandage of Scott's thrust. The lids veiled Lymond's eyes as they disengaged. \"Reaping the eddish. Try the other side next time.\"\n\nThere was no next time. They fought themselves across, to and against the ropes on the Master's side, the watching men pressing back against the wall; and then slowly moved back to the centre. Culter was attacking fast and brutally and his brother was displaying, one after the other, every trick at his command in a prodigious effort to defend himself.\n\nHe succeeded at the cost of being whipped forward and then back again across the floor, his parrying arm taking again and again the jar of the meeting blades. He showed surprising mastery with the dagger hand, and his excellence with that was something Richard clearly had to allow for consistently: again and again it baulked his follow-through and his feint.\n\nThe cost to both men was a growing tiredness, magnified by the long chase and by the emotional battle upstairs. After his first violence Richard's speed dropped, but he fought like a textbook, missing nothing and giving nothing away. Lymond, his shirt soaked with perspiration, recoiled incessantly.\n\nTen minutes later, they were still fighting, and the watching room was quite silent. At Gideon's elbow, Tom Erskine said suddenly, \"I tell you: no man has ever stood against Culter's sword for so long.\"\n\nThere was trouble in Somerville's eyes. \"I could have warned him,\" he said.\n\nErskine's breath hissed. \"If one of them isn't fighting, I shall stop it.\"\n\n\"It won't be necessary,\" said Gideon quietly. \"I think Lord Culter has realized.\"\n\nIt was true. Fighting against a sword so weak as to be incapable of riposte or counterthrust or attack of any sort, he had still failed to penetrate Lymond's guard. With grim fortitude, Richard put a monstrous theory to the test. In the middle of an imbroccata he dropped his left hand, exposing his whole flank momentarily to Lymond's right blade.\n\nLymond parried and withdrew, the blue eyes quite impersonal.\n\nLord Culter disengaged. He did more: he drew back his arm and hurled his sword quivering on the floor, his eyes bitter as squill. \"Damn you to hell. You're not fighting?\"\n\nA man's voice called through the silence of the room. \"He's escaped!\" Lymond, breathing quickly, stood without speaking.\n\n\"I'm to be your buffoon here, as everywhere else.\u2026\"\n\nThe shouting voice was nearer. It said, \"Mr. Erskine, sir! The black fellow: he's got a horse and escaped!\"\n\nRichard didn't even pause. \"You bloody-minded little vampire\u2014how in God's name can I hurt you enough?\"\n\nLymond said briefly, \"Don't underrate yourself.\u2026 Erskine: if Acheson has got loose, he'll go to Hexham. Do you know it?\"\n\n\"No, but don't worry,\" said Erskine grimly. \"We'll get him before he arrives there. Richard\u2014\"\n\n\"Do what you like. I've business to finish here,\" said Culter.\n\n\"Oh, for God's sake, Richard,\" said Lymond harshly. \"Erskine: I can take you straight to where that man is going. How the hell do you expect to stop him otherwise, if you don't know the road? Give me a horse and all the escort you like but be quick about it. I don't give a damn who you think carried the dispatch, but Acheson knows its contents.\"\n\nCalmly Richard, picking up his sword, moved between his brother and the door. \"You won't wriggle out of it that way.\"\n\n\"Richard\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool. He'll lead you straight to Lord Grey.\"\n\n\"Then it's a risk we must take,\" said Erskine steadily. \"He's right, Culter. Let him go.\"\n\n\"Not until we have finished this.\"\n\nErskine was trying desperately hard to keep his temper. \"Listen. If that message gets through\u2026\"\n\nRichard rounded on him. \"Are you relying on Lymond to stop it? Then you're a simpleton. Go if you want to. I'm not holding you back. But you're not taking him: I'll kill the first man who comes near him.\" And he turned, his eyes sparkling in his white face, to his brother.\n\n\"You were too superior to attack? Then you can damned well attack now.\" His sword was in his hand, a fine instrument of latent death, sparkling largo to larghetto with his dagger. \"The way to that door is through me. Take it, brother, if you can.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Erskine said sharply, \"Hob, Jamie: take your horses and try and pick up the tracks. We'll follow as soon as we can.\"\n\nLymond stirred. Sleek, cold, finely polished as his own steel, there was an air about him now that none of them had ever seen. \"Very well,\" said the voice that sixty outlaws had known. \"Since you offer, I'll take it.\"\n\nAnd he moved in straight to the attack.\n\nIt was as if some flawed and clouded screen had slid from the air, leaving it thin and bright; informing the white figures and pale heads, fair and brown, with an engraver's beauty of exact and flexible outline, and lending a weightlessness and authority to their art.\n\nFor the brothers were natural swordsmen. The slipping and tapping of the fine blades, the unfurling movements growing smokelike one within the other, showed no trace of the grim and gritty striving of a moment before. It was classic swordplay, precious as a jewel, beyond any sort of price to the men watching, and concealing in its graces an exquisite and esoteric death.\n\nThey had always known Richard for a master. They now saw Crawford of Lymond grow before their eyes, the tutored power entering behind the elegance, the shoulders straight, the wrists of the temper which had withstood all the force of Richard's long aggression and which now adventured, strong and pliant, with every trained sinew in his body.\n\nTo the two men, existence was in the end the flicker of the other man's steel; his brown arms and wrists; a blur of white shirt and white face and the live, directing brain betraying itself through grey eyes or blue. The men watching, unable to breathe, heard the click and clash and slither of contes, froiss\u00e9es, beating and binding: saw first one man and then the other bring his art to the pitch of freeing his blade for the ultimate perfection, only to bow before the other's defence.\n\nLymond fought consistently within measure, intensely fast, with an attacking dagger: Erskine, his heart frozen by his eyes, saw him beating constantly on Richard's blade, moving it out of his way; out of fine; pressing it down and opening the way for a lunge.\n\nTap, tap went the compound riposte, the soft feet slithered\u2014and then Richard's blade moved, Lymond's right arm whipped stiff, and the flat of his blade adhered to the flat of his opponent's. There was a glottal whine. The point, glittering, slithered down and down to Culter's counterguard until Richard, with all his compact strength, wrenched it free, slipping and flicking aside the automatic flight of his brother's dagger. He moved forward himself, and attacked.\n\nHe was possessed by one instinct: to wipe out the insult of the last twenty minutes. In this soil there flowered a strength which lapsed sometimes, but never seriously, and which gained leisure, more and more often, to answer the astonishments of Lymond's attack. For here, perhaps for the first time in his life, Lymond also was stretched to the limit, his breathing raucous, his concentration a tangible and frightening thing.\n\nVery soon after Richard, he made his error. He was at the end of a thrust, his right arm rigid and his bright point nearly level, when Culter caught the blade flat with his own, pressing on the steel and then dropping his own point.\n\nCircling his brother's blade, Richard's sword adhered to it gratingly, the forte of his foil acting on the foible of Lymond's; and the intent blue eyes narrowed. This was the first step toward disarming and the Master knew it. His attention was for a second wholly concentrated on disengaging from the danger point and Richard with a single movement, took his slender chance.\n\nHe gave way suddenly with his right hand, moved quickly with his left and then with his supporting rapier; and trapping Lymond's dagger, whipped it from his hand to the floor.\n\nWith an answering, animal-like twist the Master leaped back out of close range, the sweat running down his face and into the hollow above the collarbone, and covered himself with his single blade against the unleashed power of Richard's following attack.\n\nThe force of it drove Lymond the full length of the room; that, and the need to keep out of measure, out of the range of Richard's left hand. Corps \u00e0 corps fighting was death to the Master now. Richard knew it and rose to his full, triumphant stature as a swordsman, the blades in his hands swooping like the many scythes of Chronos, driving the other diagonally back, into the rope and into the corner of the rectangle.\n\nThere was, throughout the room, the soft hiss of an intaken breath. Somerville, unconsciously looking away, found the palms of his hands were wet. Lymond, his back to the rope, allowed himself one fleeting glance to his side. As the skilled, tempted blade rushed toward him he dropped like a stone, left palm to the ground in a perfect stop thrust. Richard overshot, stumbled and whipped around: Lymond was already rising, his recovered dagger in his hand.\n\nLord Culter was shaken. Like his brother, he was breathing in retching gasps, his hair soaked, his wrists numb with the vibration of the blows. There was, for the first time, a moment of loose play. The men about them sighed, as if in an hour's suffocation they had purchased a little precious air, and Richard's eyes kept for a moment their look of bewilderment and appraisal. Then his head came up; beneath the thin shirt his muscles spoke a fresh conviction, and he turned on the fair, fastidious presence of his brother with a mighty and flagellant hand.\n\nLymond had recovered no such resurgence of energy. He was tired, the shadow of it dragging at his brilliance; but he fought like a fiend when Culter sought to drive him again across the length of the room. Somerville, watching, saw that he was fully aware of the ropes behind; of the small traps devised for him. But what he should fear and did not was the long wall of windows with their hard girdle of seats, and below them, the rough opened pack from which Erskine had taken the damning letter betraying the Queen.\n\nRichard was aware of it; had had it burning behind the grey eyes for five long minutes; was beyond now considering the laws of the sword and the shallow lessons of courtesy and fair play. He drove Lymond like wind whipped by rain back from the ropes, back across the room, back to the windows, and finally back across the soft, shadowed litter of the pack.\n\nLymond stepped back into the trap. The cloth caught him; he stumbled, and Richard, with all the power of his shoulder, brought three feet of accurate death to cleave the fair, unsettled head.\n\nIt fell on a crucifix of steel.\n\nFully aware, stumbling with precision to the exact place he must occupy, Lymond had already launched his two blades on high. Fiery with light, they caught Lord Culter's sword between their crossed hilts and wrenched it from his grasp. There was one, sweet, invisible turn, an impact on the fine bones of Richard's dagger wrist, and the short blade in its turn jerked free, dropped, and followed the longer to the ground.\n\nIn a matter of seconds, astonishing to him as anything that had ever happened in his life, Lord Culter was disarmed.\n\nTo stop was almost to faint, such was the strain. They stood very close, face to face, the breath shaking their ribs; and the rapier flared in one of Lymond's hands, the dagger in the other.\n\nHe raised them slightly, the blue eyes haggard and wanton.\n\n\"My victory, brother Richard. My chance. My choice, to sheath either or both in fat, brotherly flesh.\" The long fingers whitened on the two hilts as he held them out. \"Handy Dandy prickly prandy, Richard\u2026 Which hand will you have?\"\n\nNo one spoke. Culter's gaze, at this ultimate moment, was steady and unafraid.\n\nLymond laughed. And laughing, hurled the rapier to the floor and leaped to the window seat, the baggage roll scooped in his arms. For a moment he was poised there, collected, elegant and fleetingly analytical. Then\u2014\"If you won't lead, try following!\" said the Master; and in a storm of contemptuous glass swept the pack through the window and followed it himself. They heard, as they ran forward, the thud, the pause, and the quick recovery as he rolled on the soft grass below. From there, as they knew, it was a step to the horses.\n\nAnd so they had to follow.\n\nGideon found Kate in the music room, her eyes on the road south. He put two hands on her shoulders. \"How good an Englishwoman are you?\"\n\nHe felt her shiver. \"I don't know. Not very good, I'm afraid. It was Philippa who told them.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nThere was a long silence. \"Did they fight?\" asked Kate at length.\n\n\"Quite brilliantly,\" said Gideon. And he took her below where the air blew soft through the tall panes, and where the fallen rapier, like the Master's discarded victory, lay unmarred among the glass on the floor.\n\nThey were riding into the yellow, grit-blasted socket of the sun, following the wisp of dust which was Lymond.\n\nSomewhere ahead, presumably, was the man Acheson. Somewhere ahead, certainly, was the English army. A little down the road the two men Erskine had sent ahead joined them at a tangent from the moors, with no news except of a baked and unprinted crust of hills, and it became certain that their only hope, as well as their greatest danger, lay in following the incalculable figure ahead.\n\nLymond flew before them like a honey guide seducing a vespiary, sparing them nothing: they jumped ditches and peat pits, scrambled up banks and old diggings and crossed streams where the shallow mud embraced pastern and coffin bone and left some horse shoeless. The dust of whin and seeding grass, of baked earth and broken pollen attacked and burned them until the freshest of their horses stumbled. The gilded head in front never dropped from their sight.\n\nRichard was sitting heavily in the saddle. Erskine, watching him drop back from the lead, recognized that Culter was worn out, riding on will power alone, much as the man in front must be. It struck him that today's disastrous encounter between the two had done nothing so much as reveal how brilliantly alike the brothers were. It further struck him that if they did approach any closer to Lymond, his job was to prevent Osiris from being destroyed by brother Set. Until, at least, he had shown them the way to Acheson. He singled out Stokes, his best man, and edged him out of Culter's hearing as they galloped.\n\n\"If Lymond gets to Hexham first, I'm going alone after him: one man might just bluff his way through. The rest of you will have to wait for me. Give me an hour or two, and then make your own way home.\u2026 And Stokes.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir?\"\n\n\"Stop Lord Culter from following me.\"\n\nThe other man met his eye. \"Yes, sir.\"\n\nThey were riding uphill, over high ground: a cavalcade of asses after a bizarre and amorphous carrot. Then the rider ahead slipped out of sight down the other side of the hill. Erskine swept up after him and drew rein.\n\nThey were on the verge of a long and stony escarpment which ran as far west as he could see. Below the cliff, a track led through flat meadows to the broad and tranquil banks of the Tyne, crossed it by a humped bridge and after traversing a narrower strip, shot precipitously into the Alpine bosom of Hexham.\n\nThe town smoked morosely on its hill. Tom could see the Abbey tower, the prison, the tall houses of the church offices and the solid town gates, halfway up the hill. The streets seemed to be crammed with people. He dropped his eyes, and witnessed a small drama nearer at hand: a man, spurring his horse without mercy, was approaching the bridge from this, the north side. As he reached it, another rider galloped toward him across the turf, calling something: the sun glinted on fair hair, and Erskine held his breath.\n\nHe saw the man at the bridge look around for a second and even hesitate; then he raised his arm and with a slap of his hand, sent the rowelled horse bounding over the river. Erskine saw Lymond's horse leap forward also, and then race flat out for the bridge; but there were two hundred yards between the two men, and Lymond was not closing it. Erskine swore under his breath.\n\nBehind him, his men were arriving on the crest and halting, arrested by his arm. Culter was nearly last. He rode to Erskine's side, his eyes, reddened and painful with dust, searching the new landscape; and suddenly pointed. \"There they are!\"\n\n\"Yes. I'm going after them,\" said Erskine. \"Stokes!\"\n\n\"Then I'm coming.\u2026\"\n\n\"You're staying here,\" said Erskine sharply. \"So are the men. Stokes: there was a building of some kind back there; a burned-out one. See what shelter you can get there for yourselves and the horses. Not more than two hours.\" And he put his horse down the cliff.\n\nThe last thing he saw, as he held the mare's neck high and felt her haunches slither among the scree of rough sandstone, was Stokes' hand on Richard's rein, and Richard trying to fight off three of his men. It came to Tom, wryly, that the round, blackened building he had seen was a dovecote."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 114",
                "text": "Adam Acheson, arriving at last at his destination, found the whole of Hexham in the street and in the market at the top of it, bent on commercial prey, and squeezing a quick fortune from Wharton's men-at-arms.\n\nWhile taking no risks in open country, Acheson had no political reason for distrusting Lymond. On the contrary, his relationships vis \u00e1 vis his own countrymen and the English were from Acheson's point of view perfectly satisfactory. The attempt to delay him was Acheson's main grievance, and he was willing to overlook it if the fellow, abandoning this irrelevance, had arrived at Hexham after all.\n\nSo, when the porter at the gate looked at his safe-conduct and read laboriously, \"And bodyguard?\" Acheson jerked his bead down the road, and waited while the porter, after argument, found an escort for him to the Abbey. Acheson was ready to grant that Lymond's presence was conclusive guarantee of his good faith. Still, there was the matter of the opened dispatch he had slipped into the other man's baggage. He wanted the credit of delivering the fellow, but without undue personal risk.\n\nBut the Master, it seemed, bore him no ill-will. He rode up as Acheson, dismounted, was chatting with the three men of his guard. He looked a little wild-eyed, perhaps, but with nothing threatening in his face.\n\nAdmitted through the gate, he guided his horse toward Acheson, smiling, and drawing abreast, bent down to address him.\n\nOnly one of the four men standing around them saw the twelve inches of steel in Lymond's hand, and he shouted too late. Acheson took the stab full in the chest, propelled backward with the force of the blow; then the blank amazement in his face gave place to vindictive fury. He straightened. The dagger, falling from the rent cloth over his breast, betrayed the sparkle of chain mail beneath. Acheson was unhurt, and five men leaped at Lymond.\n\nThere was one weapon left to him. Driving his feet hard into the mare's flanks, Lymond dragged her soft mouth back and guided her plunging hoofs. Acheson, isolated under the iron soffit of the rearing horse, screamed once, the blood leaping from a great cut on the temple, before he was kicked to the ground.\n\nThere was just time for Lymond to see as much before he, too, was overpowered.\n\nErskine heard the story five minutes later when he in turn arrived at the gate. Affairs at the wicket were in some disorder, but he made hectoring play with the vacant cover of Acheson's dispatch, and was admitted immediately and directed to Lord Grey.\n\nHaving asked as many questions as he dared, Erskine hesitated. Both Acheson and his assailant, he now knew, had been taken to the Abbey, where the commanders were in conference. No one knew how seriously the messenger was hurt. But if the two men possessing this secret were in the Abbey, then there, clearly, he must go.\n\nHe pressed his horse slowly through the crowds and up the steep hill. His chances of coming down it again were something, he thought fleetingly, he wouldn't care to wager money on. And the decisive factor was whether he had to assassinate one man, or two.\n\nThrough several centuries, predecessors of Tom Erskine had found a morbid attraction in the fat cows and silver plate of Hexham, with damaging results to the fabric. It cost Erskine some bluffing, some skin off his knuckles and a bruised shin, but he got inside, unseen and unmolested, and was violently relieved to find his end of the church plunged in gloom.\n\nHe was in the west nave; and while cleaving to the White Canons, he gave a passing nod to the Augustinian sense of proportion, material and intangible. About thirty yards ahead there were lights, of a sort, and the murmur of voices: the meeting, or gathering, or conference seemed to be taking place in one of the transepts. As his eyes grew used to the dark, he looked about him.\n\nOn his right, a flight of steps rose into the wall, presumably leading to the west offices of the cloister and therefore of no immediate use. But above his head, a row of lancets ran along the south wall of the nave, supporting the upper part of the wall, and with their feet firmly planted on a ledge a full yard wide.\n\nWhere staging went, a man could go. Erskine made a silent dash for the stairs, and after two twists debouched through an open door onto a dark and dizzy ledge high above the nave. Moving silently from group to group of its pillars he slipped toward the heart of the church, flattening himself against the wall as the candlelight grew stronger.\n\nAnother doorway appeared ahead. Through it, he found the wall turned at right angles. The ledge continued, and the supporting pillars, but instead of looking down into the church, the open side was sealed. Before him instead was a long, narrow tunnel, completely dark, with a glimmering of light at the end. Then he realized what was happening: the wall here turned to run along the west wall of the south transept, and the space between the columns had been hung with tapestries.\n\nHe edged his way a little along, feeling the cold stone on his right and touching the hangings on his other side with the tips of his left hand. The dim light at the end came from a stairway which spiralled both up and down. Investigating, he found that a short descent led to the corner of a broad gallery filling the end of the transept. A flight of wide, shallow steps led from the gallery to the floor of the church. He retreated up the staircase and halfway back along his ledge.\n\nHis best hiding place was here, and here probably his best view of the transept. Judging his distance, he halted and with careful fingers made a gap in the tapestried wall of his tunnel. Candlelight fell on his fingers, and animated conversation sprang to his ears with a paralyzing vigour.\n\nThen a known voice, Lymond's voice, beating home some fragment of rhetoric, said startlingly, \"I can give you one name that you can't give me: cuckold, Lord Lennox!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 115",
                "text": "Within the Abbey, this singular and unlooked-for capture slipped like a midsummer halcyon upon the sour and surly waters of incompatability.\n\nLord Wharton, exhausted with the effort of being civil to Grey, irritated by Lennox and stricken at the prospect of parting with a company of excellent horsemen whom he would probably never see again, was sunk in highly secular gloom at one end of the long, polished table.\n\nThe Earl of Lennox, bored and more than a little put out by a cool reception from his wife, fiddled with the inventories and bills lying in front of him, and crossed his long legs under the table in such a way that neither Grey nor Margaret could sit in comfort.\n\nLord Grey, missing Gideon and worried as well as annoyed by this tale of Margaret Douglas's, was unfolding a long and complicated saga of his Treasurer's shortcomings and Lady Lennox, who was pale, was sitting upright in an uncomfortable chair and frowning abstractedly at the floor.\n\nThen Mr. Myles came in and whispered; an officer from the gate came in and made a statement; and the guard helped to carry in and deposit the recumbent and unconscious form of Mr. Acheson on a convenient tomb, while two other pleased-looking stalwarts filed in and closed the door. Between them was Lymond. At the unlikeliest moment, the fish had swallowed the hook.\n\nHe wore no jacket and no boots; he was dishevelled, as might be expected, and looked tired and disreputable. He also looked, thought Lord Grey with a pang of fury, roughly as humble as Shishman, Emperor of the Slavs: Brahma finding pest in the henhouse might have worn such a look. \"Did you do that?\" snapped the Lord Lieutenant, and jerked a finger toward Acheson's prostrate body.\n\nLymond turned his head. \"Gushing Hippocrenes at every joint. No. Strictly speaking, the blame belongs to a strawberry roan. The gentleman carries two letters for the Lennoxes, and I have come with him in answer to your ultimatum. If you are wondering, Margaret, whether I know that the ultimatum is void and why; I do. Mr. Acheson was rash enough to tell me just inside the gates.\"\n\nA severe and brilliant triumph illuminated Meg Douglas's face. She didn't ask how Acheson knew. \"Your little redheaded friend was unintelligent but persevering. She forgot there are rules in war as well as in love.\u2026 Kill him, Matthew.\"\n\n\"In your experience they are the same rules, aren't they? Slay those who are great in heart, for they are blind. Matthew can't in decency kill me, Margaret, until Lord Grey has spoken, and by then I shall have said a great deal myself.\"\n\n\"Will you? I doubt it. By God,\" said Lord Grey, \"there isn't a man here, I should think, who wouldn't be happy to slit\u2014\"\n\n\"I should certainly like\u2014as a major sufferer\u2014to lay claim to the body,\" said Lord Wharton. \"What happened at Annan is very freshly in my mind, and so is the disruption of my courier service and your several and inventive actions when under my command.\"\n\n\"As I observed,\" said Lord Grey impatiently, \"this miserable man is evilly disposed to us all. I have not forgotten Hume and Heriot nor has Lennox, I imagine, dismissed the events at Dumbarton. We are not, I suppose, going to terminate this remarkable history by squabbling over the manner of his death. No. We are pressed for time. This is war, and this man is of the rubbish thrust to the surface by war. Let the guards take him to the market place and hang him for a treacherous Scot.\"\n\nFour voices broke upon his ears with exclamatory advice; and were in turn defeated by the single, carrying voice of the prisoner.\n\n\"One at a time,\" said Lymond. \"Remember your English unity, for God's sake, or we are all lost. Think hard; don't let the principle escape you. What are you? A great and godly nation speaking with the voices of corporate right: one brain, one heart; a thousand members drawing life from each. A nation of loving lambs dutiful to the bellwether: chickens of the world-egg following the hen-figure gladly into the eye of the cannon. Unity, solidarity and brotherhood. Brotherhood! My God.\"\n\nGrey shut the ledger before him with a snap. \"At least this is a nation, with a religion, a head, a status, a policy. Not a damned Noah's Ark: a chicken here, a lamb there, a family of wolves in the next field. I suppose you are proud of your French Queen, playing dice with Scots knucklebones for the greater glory of her native land? Of Arran, the fool, bending like a springal toward the weightiest pocket? Of your Douglases and your\u2014\"\n\n\"Lennoxes?\" Smoothly, unhurriedly, the Master was playing for time. \"They serve their turn: why not? A Lennox pressed is a Dead Sea apple, held by London instead of by Paris; and for the richest, not the fairest. Fairness has nothing whatever to do with the Douglases.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the Earl of Lennox, white with emotion, \"that my wife and I have heard enough insults. And I can dispense with a dissertation about our national characteristics. Knock him down! Hang him!\"\n\nLymond turned suddenly. \"'Our' characteristics? Whose? Whose are yours? Brought up in France; feted in Scotland; would-be bridegroom of Mary of Guise; would-be ruler; would-be conspirator; full of terrestrial appetites and an eagerness to feed your kindred flesh to all the feared and threatening raptors at your heels\u2026\n\n\"What are you? A citizen of Europe or of the life of the shore: a thief, a renegade, a liar and a coward, as you have named me? But I can give you one name you can't give me: cuckold, Lord Lennox!\"\n\nThe Earl had risen slowly to his feet. As Lymond flung the word at him Lennox's voice rang out, high-pitched as a bird's. \"My God, you stopped me once, Wharton, but not this time Not again! Clear the way\u2014move aside\u2014\"\n\nHis path to Lymond was unexpectedly blocked. \"Who the devil are you?\" said Lennox hysterically. \"Get out of my way!\"\n\nHenry, Lord Wharton's son, shut the door behind him and blinked at the white and angry face. His gaze, mildly surprised, sought his father at the table and then, roving, fell on the Master of Culter. \"Him!\"\n\nIgnoring Lennox totally, Henry Wharton flung his arms in a wide gesture of exultation, divesting himself with a twist of bow, quiver, helmet and pack. They fell on the table with a crash. \"Lymond! You've got him?\"\n\nRepressively, Lymond himself answered. \"I dislike being discussed as if I were a disease. Nobody 'got' me,\" he said. \"And where have you been, my billy: to the devil and back to have your beard combed?\"\n\nBefore Grey's astonished gaze, the scene of a moment before began to repeat itself. They had to hold the young man, struggling, away from the Master. Grey shoved him into his father's grasp and said sharply, \"You control him. What's so inflammatory about\u2026?\"\n\nWharton answered curtly. \"Made a fool of himself at Durisdeer in February. Milked like a cow tree.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\nLymond, irrepressible, answered. \"It was a wonderful beard he had, a magnificent pelt. He was bearded like a Dammar pine, of the fashion of prophets and pards, one hair sitting here, another there.\u2026 But was it fitting? Was it well-considered? I asked myself: peach or nectarine, clingstone or freestone, bald or\u2014forgive me\u2014downy\u2026 which?\"\n\n\"What,\" said Lord Grey impatiently, \"did he do to Henry?\"\n\n\"Shaved and cropped him with his own knife,\" replied Lord Wharton shortly, and the angry faces around the table, with the furious exception of Harry's, broke into ill-repressed smiles.\n\n\"A picture,\" observed Lymond. \"It isn't considered proper to shout in church. Besides, Lord Lennox is talking.\"\n\nHe had courage, or a singular rashness. Tom Erskine, his hands gripping the tapestry, wondered also, jaw set, if Lymond had observed what he himself had just seen: the smallest stirring in the inert body of the messenger Acheson, lying stunned on the marble face of a tomb.\n\nIt forced Erskine himself to a decision. With infinite care he edged along the narrow passage behind the tapestry, reached the spiral stair, and slipping down it, stepped out on the wide, stone-flagged balcony which overhung the south transept where Lymond stood. Bending low, Erskine crossed the flags and lying still beneath the stone balustrade, raised his head cautiously and peered below.\n\nFrom his low and castellated rampart he caught a glimpse of a yellow head. He raised himself higher. At the same moment Lymond stepped back two paces before Lennox, who was shouting abuse: this brought him halfway along the table with his right side to the balcony and the catafalque with Acheson on his left.\n\nHe was, then, keeping the messenger under his eye. A moment later the Master turned his head to speak to the Countess of Lennox and raised his eyes a fraction, searching the stilted lancets and then, briefly, the wide Midnight Stairs and the gallery at their head. Erskine was by then almost certain the quick blue glance had identified him.\n\nSomeone was saying vehemently, \"That's a lie!\"\n\nLymond seemed undisturbed. \"Don't be simple. Didn't you know that Margaret spent her sojourn in Scotland with me?\"\n\nThe woman raised her brows. \"Haven't we had enough of this? When I was captured, I was taken to Lanark. Matthew knows that. The offer of exchange came from Lanark, not from you.\"\n\nLymond replied gently. \"I naturally covered my mediator by giving him good credentials, but he did not, I'm afraid, come from Lanark. How deceitful of you not to have told your spouse. I wrote my offer of exchange, I remember, on the back of a letter from Lord Lennox to his wife which in itself was a thing of joy. I recall, for example\u2026\"\n\nLord Lennox shot a pale glance at his wife. \"There is no need to go on with this nonsense.\"\n\n\"\u2026 I recall, for example, a good many things, but don't excite yourselves. I shan't embarrass the dynasty. Didn't you know she was using the war as a fulcrum for her fishing line with myself as the prey? I was to be driven into the nets since, unlike the beaver, my self-defence stops short of unserviceable gestures. Do you find that objectionable? Pitiful? Even a little ludicrous, perhaps? A self-interest so insanely exclusive that it includes even murder?\"\n\nNow Margaret as well was on her feet, her eyes burning. Lennox was pale; around the table the others looked angry and uncomfortable, as if mesmerized into allowing the intolerable scene to go on.\n\nThe man Acheson stirred again.\n\n\"Murder?\" repeated Lord Grey. \"Oh: the Stewart girl? She was killed riding.\"\n\n\"She was killed riding, by an arrow. She was threatened, pursued, her young guide killed, and done to death herself as surely as if the arrow had been directed at her.\n\n\"If your eyes burned from their sockets now you would be lost and terrified and appalled as she was\u2014and you are men. You're not in enemy country, in the hands of a cruel and bitter woman; or galloping blind on a frightened horse over unknown fields with a dead body behind you and a pack of the hounds who killed him baying at your heels. That isn't only murder: it's murder of a very special and damning kind, and there is a name for those who engage in it\u2026\"\n\nThe admirable voice was stripped, as was Lymond's whole bearing, of his normal pleasant negligence. He went on.\n\n\"I have no very gratifying memories of Crawfordmuir. I offered myself for sale, as I remember, in exchange for the truth. Your wife was eager to buy, Lord Lennox; but she also deals in adulterated coinage. She told me something was unprovable which I knew could be proved, and she told me a man had been killed whom I knew to be alive\u2014so I withdrew my offer. But to save Christian Stewart from these attentions, believe me, I should have honoured it at any cost.\"\n\nThere was a grandeur in Margaret Douglas's fury. \"Stop your foul tongue! You paltry, conceited liar!\"\n\n\"Did Christian Stewart die? How did she die?\"\n\nLady Lennox stepped before him, shaken with rage. \"She died of a fall from her horse. It was no fault of mine. She's better off than she ever was as a mistress of yours! Only you won't blacken my name from revenge in front of these people!\"\n\nThe answer was implacably hard. \"Look at your husband's face. Look at Lord Grey. Blacken your name! Are you known, do you imagine, as Zenobia?\"\n\nShe whirled on Grey. \"Take him away! Can't you stop this?\"\n\n\"And al was conscience and tendre herte,\" said the clear, forbidding voice. Grey cleared his throat. Wharton's eyes were fixed on the roof corbels and their coats of arms; his son, standing sulkily by Grey, was biting his lip. The Earl of Lennox looked hard at his wife, his eyes glancing white like pale, sea-washed pebbles. Lymond addressed him, not looking anywhere near Acheson; not allowing anyone's attention to stray to the white marble and the uneasily stirring body.\n\n\"Oh, you haven't been cheated. You are one with Black Douglas and Royal Tudor, and through her with any man from the highest to the most humble whom she wants to dominate. Any man. The rotten apple, Lennox, hangs lowest. There's more ambition in one of those tears of fury than in the whole of your Godforsaken career. You must let her push you; you can't rest any more; you can't fail her or she'll destroy you. Won't you, Margaret?\"\n\nAcheson groaned.\n\nWith sharp distaste Lord Grey said to Lymond's guards, \"Take him away!\" but Margaret was already advancing on her tormentor. With all her considerable strength she struck at his mouth with the back-driving flat of her hand and Erskine, his heart in his teeth, saw the Master call smoothly on his reserves.\n\nThe woman's wrist was caught and pulled to him. Then, behind the shield of her body, he side-stepped and snatched. With young Wharton's bow and quiver in his free hand he backed to the stairs, dragging Margaret, wildly struggling, with him.\n\nHe held her, one-handed, until he reached the foot of the steps; then hurling her from him an instant before she fought quite free he turned and raced up the wide, shallow treads.\n\nErskine was ready. As Lymond crashed breathless beside him in the shelter of the balustrade his sword was out, ready to cut back the expected rush; but the other man was already on his feet again with the bow strung. There was only one arrow. He said under his breath, \"Keep down, damn you!\" and as Erskine knelt, Lymond took aim below.\n\nWharton and his son, halfway up the stairs, halted. \"Get back!\" said the Master.\n\nThere was a long pause. Lennox, at the foot of the steps, was bent over his wife. Grey, still at the head of the table, hadn't moved; the two guards stood helplessly beside him.\n\nAgainst a bow and a fine marksman, their swords might be unbarrelled shooks. The Whartons recoiled down the stairs and the tilt of the bow followed them. Behind, the gallery was empty, a half-open door leading to the deserted monks' dormitory, the day stairs, the cloisters, the refectory, the storehouses: a thousand hiding places and a thousand exits.\n\nThey held the hour in their fingers, like a day lily. They had merely to destroy Acheson and go.\n\nThe bow in his hands, Lymond stood motionless. Erskine was turning on him, riven with urgency, when he saw the movement above his head. On the narrow ledge, to the right, the twin of his own former stance, a man stood with a hackbut.\n\nFrom that ledge there was no turnpike down to the gallery, but the arquebusier had no need to come closer to Lymond to have him fully in range. Erskine turned, frantic exhortations in his mouth, and saw, at last, why Lymond had made no effort to shoot.\n\nFor Acheson had moved. Sitting up, hands on marble, he was attempting weakly to stand. Until he did so, he was totally screened by the parapet. And there was only one arrow.\n\nThe loading of an arquebus is a protracted affair. Hidden under the low wall, Erskine had a terrible leisure to watch this man's quick fingers. He saw the glimmer of the manipulated barrel and knew from the tightening of Lymond's fingers on the bow that he also had seen.\n\nThe Master gave it no other attention. He was talking, the limpid, carrying voice penetrating the transept below as Acheson, disgruntled and bloody, rubbed his black head and muttered.\n\n\"Keep your voices down,\" said Lymond. \"Don't move. Don't shout for help. I can kill any one of you from here.\" His eyes were tranquil, of a clearheaded strength: there was no hint in them of the day's exhaustions and disasters. Talking, he moved slowly along the wall, trying to uncover Acheson. The hackbutter, in his haste, dropped something with a small bump and picked it up again.\n\n\"\u2026 teach you a lesson with some ex cathedra observations,\" Lymond was continuing. \"You may feel a little foolish; you don't appear so to me. Wharton is a master of his profession: it's a profession where one cannot stay detached, and he has paid that penalty. But he knows very well that corrective pressure and armed coercion are two of the longest, least successful and most offensive ways of waging a war.\"\n\nHe paused, his eyes flickering to the obscured figure of Acheson and back to the upraised, angry faces. \"Every war has the man on the balcony, the man in the tree, the man in the doorway. He stings; he frightens; he causes loss of face; but he is always caught in the end. Turn aside to hunt for him if you must, Lord Grey; but don't ever unleash your vanity on his track. Today\u2026\"\n\nIn the heavy eyes, new life suddenly blazed. \"Today,\" said Lymond, \"such an error has cost you a war.\"\n\n\"Lord Grey?\" said an uncertain voice: Acheson's voice. \"Take me to Lord Grey? I've a dispatch\u2026 about the Scottish Queen.\"\n\nGrey said \"What?\" as the glimmer of a slow match swept through the dark transept like a firefly. The black mouth of the hackbut, steady as a wand, inexorable as Melpomene, turned like a dark flower to its killing, and Erskine cried softly, \"Oh, God!\"\n\nAdam Acheson repeated, dizzily, \"It's about the Queen;\" and walked out into the centre of the floor.\n\nThe fine bow drifted in Lymond's hands like the frail, side-slipping glide of a heron; the steel tip steadied, sparkling, and his knuckles whitened. In the darkness opposite, the hackbutter's arm jerked. Lymond smiled once, with a kind of surprised pleasure, and releasing the deadly, unerring arrow, shot Acheson through the heart.\n\nThe explosion of the hackbut drowned Margaret's scream. Aiming for Lymond's body, given the brilliant, unmoving target of his white shirt, the marksman made no mistake. He was defter, indeed, than he meant to be; because the shot, raking the stone coping of the balcony, acquired missiles and satellites of its own and struck home not once but several times.\n\nLymond flung up his head, turned half around with the force of the explosion. The bow fell. For one second\u2014two\u2014he held fast to the broken coping, defying the heralds of agony and an easy darkness. Below, Erskine caught a glimpse of the circle of white, upturned faces about the fallen body of Acheson.\n\nThen the riven flesh and burst vessels made their protest, the freed blood springing liberal and scarlet through the fragments of Lymond's shirt. Erskine saw the long hands loosen, the sudden, uncontrolled sway; but was not prepared for the drowned, revealing blue gaze meeting his like a blow.\n\n\"And died stinkingly martyred,\" said Lymond, with painful derision; and losing hold bit by bit, slipped into Erskine's gentle grasp."
            },
            {
                "title": "Knight Adversary",
                "text": "\u2002And also hit behoveth\u2026 that they first have the cure\n\n\u2002of themself, and they ought to purge themself fro\n\n\u2002alle apostumes and alle vices\u2026 and that they\n\n\u2002shewe hem hole and pure and redy for to hele other.\n\n[ Strange Refuge ]\n\nThe bell of Hexham Abbey opening its lips to the pagan moon, sent its voice across the river: Voce mea viva depello cuncta novica; and the men waiting across the water in a blackened and doorless dovecote heard it; and heard also the rattle of approaching hoofs.\n\nSomebody\u2014a hospital, a manor, a priory\u2014had once owned five hundred fat pigeons here, and had housed them fittingly with fourteen tiers of holes and ledges, a bathing tub filled by a spring, a stone table and a tall and creaking potence, its revolving arms scanning the circles of tiered nests so that two men on its wheeling perches could pocket the warm squabs.\n\nNow the broken doorway admitted rats. But rock doves had found a way through the glover to the safest, topmost nests; and when Erskine's men went in, birds arose with the sudden rattle of an emptied topsail. Waiting for Tom to return, they could see shocked golden eyes darting from the lantern edge high above.\n\nThe sudden inaction, agitating to Erskine's men, was dreadful for Richard, bereft of his prey and of any part in the climax of this hideous marathon. He would have been at the gates of Hexham fifty times if Stokes had let him. If Erskine could get in, then why not himself? If Erskine failed, wasn't it his duty to replace him? And who gave Erskine the right to annex another man's quarrel?\n\nStokes, luckily, was gifted with patience. As the light faded he returned his decent, sensible answers, without pointing out that but for Lord Culter himself, they would all have been safely on the Edinburgh road hours since. Eventually, even Richard relapsed into silence, and occupied himself with an explosive pacing of the dusty floor.\n\nThe hoofbeats, like harried spirits, followed the tolling of the bell. Stokes, signalling silence, went himself to the miniature door and then fell back, the grin on his face red-lit by the low fire. It was Tom Erskine.\n\nHe was barely inside when Richard's hands seized his shoulders. \"Well, damn you: well?\"\n\nErskine, looking queerly, jerked free. \"We've stopped the message being delivered. Acheson was carrying it in his head.\"\n\n\"And Lymond?\"\n\nNothing else and no one else mattered. Erskine's own gaze, newly fierce, newly level, beat down Richard's to the floor before he answered curtly. \"They loathed and feared Lymond. If you believed he was England's secret insurrectionist, you're wrong. He killed Acheson himself.\"\n\nThere was no real change in the fanatical grey eyes. Richard said, \"Where is he?\"\n\nSomeone had already unloaded Erskine's horse. The heavy roll lay near the fire: bending, Erskine turned back the blankets.\n\nDevoid of mischief or anger; silent; defenceless; Richard's brother lay at his feet. Erskine knelt by the plastic body, clothed and clotted with blood, and touched Lymond's hand.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" They stared, like men mesmerized. Erskine said abruptly, \"Stokes: collect the horses and get the men out. The job's done. We can't risk staying any longer. Quickly.\"\n\nThe exodus began against Lord Culter's unmoving figure. He repeated himself, without raising his voice. \"Is he dead?\"\n\nErskine's face was as hard as his own. \"He won't survive an hour on horseback. We must leave him.\"\n\nRichard swore coldly. \"Damn it, how can we? He knows all Acheson knew.\"\n\n\"Then he can tell it to the pigeons,\" said Erskine harshly, and flung wide the rugs. \"How long d'you think he'll live like that?\"\n\n\"Someone might find him.\"\n\n\"All right. Someone might find him. That's your concern: he's your brother. That's why I brought him back. This is one decision I'm not making. I saw him risk his life to kill that fellow today.\"\n\nThere was no softening in Richard's face. \"He had to choose between Grey and you, and he plumped for the likelier prospect, that's all.\u2026 Justifiably: you rescued him, didn't you?\" His fingers slid up and down the quillons of his sword. There was a pause; then he pulled them away. \"No. I'm damned if I do. I want him killed publicly and lawfully and painfully and fully conscious, at least. Take your men and get on the road. I'll stay and get him home later.\"\n\nThey were alone; they could hear the trampling as the horses were brought up outside. Erskine said, \"You've fought him once already: isn't that enough?\"\n\nThe firelight glinted in Richard's eyes. \"Do you think he's innocent? I'm willing to save his life: what's wrong about that? And if he's guiltless he'll have a chance to prove it: what's fairer?\"\n\nSomeone called to them through the doorway. Erskine stepped outside and returning, threw at Richard's feet his baggage roll and cloak. \"You'll need these.\"\n\nHe added abruptly, \"Come with us, Richard. Let him alone. You can't seal him alive in the larder like a bloody wasp with a fly.\"\n\nThere was no answer.\n\nErskine had to go. But in the dovecote doorway he glanced back, once. Richard had stooped over his brother and, with excited face, was scanning the engrossing tally of his wounds."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 117",
                "text": "Long after, Richard himself stood in the doorway, gazing out at the quiet night. Then, moving noiselessly, he collected the wood he needed and stacked it inside.\n\nIt was late. The fire, rebuilt under the overhung ledges, glimmered on his brother's face: the artless, sleeping face of his childhood.\n\nBut Lymond was now in the cold sleep close to death. Experienced soldier and countryman, Lord Culter had faced the spilled blood, the spoiled muscle, the split bone with no qualms; and had washed, cleaned and bandaged with steady hands, missing nothing: the scarred hands, the old whippings; the last degradation of the brand.\n\nThere was no more he could do now. The door cloth secure, he stretched at length by the fire, his saddle for pillow, and waited side by side with the silenced tongue which had mocked him so long. The cushats had long since returned sidling to their roosts. As stillness fell, they settled too, with frilled feathers and the rasp of dry feet. Then it was quiet, and the only sound in all the warm June night was Lymond's faint, gasping breath.\n\nThrough the darkest hours of the short night Richard slept, wrenched by sheer exhaustion from his vigil; and woke stupid, forgetting.\n\nThen his bemused eyes picked out the pale, dawn-lit arches of the lantern above him and the wintry skeleton of the potence, and the dark, enclosing walls with their hundred upon hundred of empty sockets, black and salaciously flickering with the dying glimmer of the fire. And the wide, fathomless eyes of his brother, resting on him.\n\nIn that crude second, neither spoke. Culter rose, and stooping to the fire, rebuilt it with unhurried care. In its spreading light, pale hair gleamed beside him, and whitened cheekbones and white lips, all tinged to health by the flames. Roseate and sardonic in extremis, Lymond spoke with the least possible expense of sound.\n\n\"You still snore like a frog. Did Tom Erskine get me out?\"\n\nRichard was building a cathedral of boughs. \"Who else? He brought you here and then took his men home. We're just outside Hexham.\"\n\nThere was a difficult pause. Then Lymond said clearly, \"If you're waiting to preach in articulo mortis, don't put it off for my sake.\"\n\nThe oblique inquiry gave Richard the metal he needed. He said with a grim pleasure, \"I don't mind waiting.\"\n\nSomething\u2014hardly laughter\u2015glimmered in the heavy eyes. \"Neither do I. But the fenestration seems fairly extensive.\"\n\nRichard had hung a can of water over the new fire, and his fresh bandages were waiting. \"Not if you have a good surgeon.\"\n\nThe careful voice was resigned. \"Two chapters of Anatom\u00eda Porci and they think they're Avicenna. Don't trouble. No wriggling and no recantations from this quarter.\"\n\n\"You're surprised?\" Richard tested the water with a broad finger.\n\n\"What did you expect? That I'd curse you, kill you and drop you in the Billy Mire?\"\n\n\"Yes. You tell me why not: I can't help you. Overtures of friendship from me would sound damned silly at this point\u2026 I can't drink any more.\"\n\nRichard took away the flask. \"You said no recantations.\"\n\n\"That doesn't rule out the plain, freestanding explanation.\"\n\n\"Make it later,\" said Richard equably, unwinding bits of torn sheet. \"You'll have plenty of time.\" He knelt, and the incalculable eyes dropped.\n\nIt was not a pretty business: a grim, forbidding task even had there been proper gear and the skilled treatment of the doctor he was not. The bowls of water became scarlet and the makeshift wads reeked.\u2026\n\nExplanations. What explained the killing of one's son? The seduction of one's wife? And these were the hands that Mariotta knew better than he did: this the mouth; this the marked body.\u2026\n\nLymond took too long to recover when the dressing was done. But in the end his eyes opened, and after a time he spoke. \"All right. I love sadism too,\" he said. \"But try that too often, Master Haly Abbas Cat, and you won't have a mouse left to play with.\u2026 Your move.\"\n\nRichard was careful. \"Not yet,\" he said. \"When I make it, I want your undivided attention. All you have to do is get well.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 118",
                "text": "That day Lord Culter spent some time looking for a fresh harbour for his patient: one that would give some shelter, and be sufficiently remote from both houses and paths.\n\nLate in the afternoon, on his last sally, his arms full of moss for dressings, he found the ideal spot. A small stream running through sandstone had created a toy gorge within which for perhaps twenty yards the bottom widened on each side of the water into a secluded and grassy meadow. There was room there, and in other and more distant bays, to graze his horse, and better still, a place where the rocky sides of the banks steeply overhung and enclosed the grass, forming a shallow cave within. There he could safely light fires, and there too they would be dry in bad weather.\n\nHe explored it thoroughly, and it was later than it should have been when he returned.\n\nLymond watched him pack with bright eyes. \"Hullo! Are we setting up house elsewhere? Far away?\"\n\n\"A short ride. I'll strap you to Bryony.\"\n\nThere was a pause. Then, detached, the Master observed, \"Richard. You can't seriously picture me pursuing a healthy career as a sieve. Time isn't on your side either. Stop toying with the prey and let's get this thing over with. Say what you have to say to me.\"\n\n\"We didn't,\" observed Richard, \"take long to get to the wriggling.\"\n\n\"No. I'm only trying to find a knee-high viewpoint that'll interest you. Before one of us bores the other to death I have to talk to you about Mariotta.\"\n\nLord Culter straightened, the two packs under his arms. \"Not to me.\n\n\"To you, here and now. After which you can make your own conversation in whatever damned draughty hole you've picked for yourself, and put your own bloody feet over your bottom like the Romans when it rains. Mariotta\u2014\"\n\n\"You're not dying,\" said Richard. \"Keep your pitiful confessions for someone else.\"\n\n\"Whose guts are they?\" demanded Lymond, offended. His hair was dark with sweat and his fingers cramped, resisting the oncoming tides. \"I'm going to tell you what happened, brother mine. You'll have to execute me, leave me, or listen to me.\"\n\n\"Or remove your tongue.\"\n\n\"Happy are the cicadas' fives. Go ahead. But then you'll never know the truth.\"\n\n\"I know all I need to know.\"\n\n\"What do you know? How to match, but not how to marry. How to choose, but not how to husband. Grand Amour should be received royally, Richard, as a harsh and noble art. You idiot.\u2026 You nearly lost her. But not to me.\"\n\nThe sword was in Culter's hand. The thoughtful eyes of his brother and even the shadowed walls of the dovecote disappeared. With the last rags of self-possession, Richard drove himself out of the door.\n\nAnd bathe my son in morning milk, said the doves. And other voices, too, hammered in his ears. Here, reeking and blubbering over the green fields, were the resurrected deaths he had died because of Lymond. \"You haven't packed the ladies off to Stirling, have you?\"\u2014An arrow, tearing ignominiously into one's shoulder, before a shouting crowd\u2014a drunken glover and a frozen ride\u2014the prison at Dumbarton and the walk across the ballroom floor\u2014the failure at Heriot; the trickery with Scott; and monstrously, Mariotta, Mariotta, Mariotta, blazing with jewels.\n\n\"Believe, if you like, that the child is Lymond's.\"\u2026 \"He is with Mariotta now.\"\u2026 \"It would have been a boy.\"\n\nThe grass at his feet, the blue sky, the short purple shadows of the trees, came into focus again. He unbuckled his dagger, and laying it together with his sword within the doorway, walked back and seated himself on the edge of the stone table. \"Go on. We have five minutes to spare. Discourse on the seductive arts. I want to quote you to Mariotta.\"\n\n\"I,\" said Lymond plaintively, \"am the octogenarian who planted. In my marrows are my monument; and your wife, thank God, is no marrow of mine. I was gallant at Midculter, God save me, through being most damnably drunk: but never again.\"\n\n\"You didn't approach her, or she you?\"\n\n\"My dear ass, I ran like a corncrake. You can ask leading questions till you're cross-eyed as Strabo: that's what happened. Unfortunately, becoming tired of home life, she ran too; and got herself taken by the Englisn. I had her redeemed, like a fool, and my poor morons brought her to me when she fell ill on the road instead of running like hell when at least she'd have arrived at Midculter unsullied, if dead.\"\n\nRichard said quietly, \"I hope she thanked you for the trinkets, since she had the chance.\"\n\n\"She did. It was a little embarrassing,\" said Lymond. \"Because I didn't send them.\"\n\n\"Oh. You haven't any idea who did, I suppose? Buccleuch, for example?\"\n\nHe bent suddenly to enclose Lymond's wrist, his eyes intent, as the Master's weakened voice said, \"I don't see why I should spoil another man's fun.\u2026 Although he must have been damned annoyed to find me getting the credit for it all.\u2026 If you're curious, you could try asking Mother.\"\n\nRichard laid down the scarred hand. \"I don't mean to exact retribution from all my wife's lovers. Just those actually related to me. Although you'll be glad to hear that Sybilla is still your infatuated devotee.\"\n\nHis brother's gaze was unexpectedly severe, with a marked line between the brows. He said, \"But Mariotta is not. She made it quite clear before she left that she thought my existence unnecessary, and that the third baron was her only patron. What you did when she got back God knows, but it didn't sound very intelligent in the fourth-hand version I got, and if she agrees in the end to come back to you it'll be a miracle of constant vapidity over assiduous obstinacy.\u2026\" Prone on the spread rug, he studied Richard's expression of harsh amusement. \"Not very convincing?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No, I suppose not. I could enact you Phoenissae-like tragedies and you'd believe them, but the truth, as I once said to someone\u2014\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Is a queer thing to meddle with,\" said Lymond rapidly. \"Must we go? Accord me a niche. I don't mind being calx in a columbarium: the doves will feed me and I shall rise and found Nineveh.\u2026 Hic turtur gemit, drowning the groans of the Britons.\u2026 Must we go? An elephant's head riding on a rat\u2014the symbol of prudence, Richard. Are you listening?\"\n\nRichard was already kneeling, hands gripped as if physical force could hammer back the shutters closing on life and consciousness. \"You aren't going to die. Not until I'm ready for you.\"\n\n\"Don't be silly, Richard,\" said Lymond, coming from a great distance. For a moment his quick mind cleared; he squinted at the darkening cupola with clouded eyes, and then closed them with a wisp of a grin. \"God, I forgot. You don't like glovers.\"\n\nHe fought for Lymond's life for two days: thorough, methodical, intelligent; mending with dedicated skill like a man cleaning and mending an engine of war. He longed for his brother, desperately ill as he was, to know what was being done for him, and to savour this devoted nursing at his hands.\n\nOn the second night in their new home, sitting in the mellow darkness with the stream bubbling companionably beside him and the odours of warm, fresh turf and flowers and quenched mosses breathing into the withered air, he thought of that coming moment with pleasure.\n\nLymond was steadier; the pulse a fraction stronger; the sound of his breathing more settled. Assume he survived. Assume a convalescence of weeks\u2014two or three, perhaps, before they could move north\u2026\n\nThis was a man who prized his self-control. This was the contaminating mind whose presence in daily life was insupportable. Three weeks\u2014or even two\u2014should be enough."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 119",
                "text": "\"Is this fraternall charity\n\nOr furious folie, what say\"\n\nSince Lymond was alone, the question was pointlessly rhetorical. After a moment he removed a grave blue stare from the clouds and closed his eyes again.\n\nTwo days of fever: two of infantile helplessness. The stream, a strip of grass, the rug, the makeshift pillow, and immobility under the hot sun. He stirred in a difficult, indistinct way, the light beating on his closed lids, and then lay painfully silent.\n\nA pebble dropped.\n\nRichard, approaching downstream with a bouquet of fish, watched the effect of it, smiling. Lymond, instantly awake, gave no answering smile as his brother strolled up to him.\n\nRichard's skin, amenable to the sun, was smooth and brown, and his hair bleached from umber to something near straw colour where it stood ruffled around his head. After five days of foraging, neither his shirt nor his hose were particularly respectable: he wore light shoes from his baggage which were already much the worse for wear, and his brother was wearing his only spare shirt.\n\nThese sartorial deficiencies were clearly not weighing on him. He cast down the fish, bestowed an effervescent twinkle on the Master and said, \"Comfortable?\"\n\n\"Acutely so.\"\n\n\"You don't look very comfortable,\" said Richard, arrested. \"How odd of me. More delightful little fish. Where are you hatching them?\"\n\nThere was an uncomfortable pause. \"I'm doing my best,\" said Richard gently. \"I haven't your touch for killing birds.\" He walked around, and grasping the edges of his brother's makeshift pallet, pulled it two or three yards into the shade. \"Has Patey Liddell ever been publicly whipped before?\"\n\nThe change brought such physical relief that Lymond closed his eyes. He opened them again and said, \"He only does what he's told. I thought you'd enjoy a trip to Perth. Good for the olefactory senses.\"\n\nCulter shook his head over the fish. \"Crawfordmuir gold and Liddell: how dull of us not to connect the two.\"\n\n\"How dull of some of you. What a delicious smell. You nurse; you cook. Do you sew?\"\n\n\"I reap. Who was the exception? Mother?\"\n\n\"And getting quicker, too,\" said Lymond's light voice admiringly. \"The country must miss you on the frequent occasions when you are absent. How long were you in prison for?\"\n\nRichard rubbed the palm of his hand on his seat, and then held it up, square, clean and unmarked, for Lymond to see. \"I was lucky. No one could tell, could they?\"\n\n\"The point is registered. Pannage, my dear brother. You're a butterfly as much as I am. You failed Arran, you defaulted at Dumbarton, you walked out on your wife and mother, you engaged Janet Beaton in a charming little conspiracy behind her husband's back and displayed a remarkable incapacity on the rare occasions when you did set foot on a battlefield. If you contrived to nip the enthusiasms of young Harry a bit quicker at Durisdeer, to mention only one, you might have had Lords Wharton and Lennox behind bars for the asking.\"\n\n\"And stopped your income?\" asked Richard, laying the cleaned fish neatly on his baking stone. \"Not when you must have needed every penny to cajole your rabble of thieves into obedience. Or does one simply glut them with women and drugs?\"\n\n\"One uses force of character. Wo worth your tedyus synne of lechery. That's a damned silly way to bake fish.\"\n\n\"It works. You know,\" said Richard, rubbing his fingers on a handful of grass, \"considering who you are, you choose intriguing subjects for invective. Are you still quite comfortable?\"\n\n\"In this line of country,\" said Lymond, \"I have a phenomenal staying power. Probe on, if you want to.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I thought an exchange of civilized opinion might help pass the time. Until you can travel.\"\n\nThere was a pause. \"All right,\" said the Master at length. \"That was quite artistically done. Behold me in a state of suitably agitated inquiry. What then?\"\n\n\"Guess,\" said Richard amicably.\n\n\"Oh, try somebody else's sudorific. This really is too damned childish.\" Lymond's eyes were black with fatigue. Richard observed it, as he observed everything about him, eagerly and with a clinical thoroughness.\n\n\"Nothing childish about having a respect for the law,\" said Culter cheerfully. \"Once up on your feet; once up on your horse; and it's Edinburgh for you. Prison and chains and a series of unpleasant questions. You're going to stand trial before Parliament as indicted, brother mine.\"\n\nNo recoil, but a temper as taut as a fishing line. \"There's nothing juvenile either about having a care for one's family. You know what kind of sensation this will make.\"\n\n\"Beautiful,\" said Richard. \"You'll enjoy it. You know how you like extravagant gestures. Have some fish.\"\n\nHis brother ignored the outstretched hand. \"Look: suspend the godlike poking for a moment. I thought you'd make a clean end of it, at least, even if it was pretty dirty going in the middle\u2014You wouldn't come to any harm: no one expected me to live.\n\n\"The scandal of five years ago will be nothing compared to what they'll raise in open court. You know damned well I'll be found guilty: nobody has any illusions about that. But you've got the rest of your life to live, and what's more important, so has Mother and so has your wife. Do you want your sons to have that sort of nauseating exhibition cast up to them?\"\n\n\"Don't get excited,\" said Richard. \"Knowing Mariotta, I should never be perfectly sure that they were my sons anyway.\"\n\n\"That's what I mean,\" said the Master slowly. \"Your sense of values has broken down, and you won't face it. I had some sympathy\u2014some\u2014for this idiotic pursuit of yours: I was labelled cur, and in the end I had to bark. Not entirely your fault.\n\n\"But what the hell are you doing out of Edinburgh now? What reason had you to deprive Erskine of the support he had a right to expect at Flaw Valleys? What sort of a lead have you given anybody in the last six months? And now more intelligent, reasonable people are to be thrown into the circus so that you can continue to view your prejudices through a thick, green eyeglass. A long, fancy humiliation is to flatten your circle into conformity and your soul into grace. Well, it won't do, Richard.\"\n\nLord Culter wore an expression of astonishment. \"I suppose that's the most eloquent protest I shall ever hear against professional justice. I've just told you. I'm not going to touch you.\"\n\nA smile touching his mouth, he saw Lymond's will defeated yet again by his weakness. His eyes closed, peremptory in exhaustion; and Richard flicked a pebble into the stream.\n\nThe heavy lids lifted.\n\nHospitably, Richard closed in. \"Have some fish?\"\n\nLymond would not break. As one day and then another went by, Richard, insistently present and persistently gibing, began to find his own nerves betraying him, and sentence by sentence, Lymond fought back.\n\nIt was a tragic and annihilating war, in which intellect fought naked with intellect, and the blows fell not upon the mind but upon the soul.\n\nAt times, the longing to kill became so overpowering that Richard had to blunder off, to get away from the sound of his brother's voice, his hands murderers at his sides. He knew, none better, what Lymond was driving him to do; and he guessed why. Indeed, the desperate savagery of these attacks gave him his only encouragement.\n\nOn the sixth day he became careless.\n\nAll week the weather had held. Dry stones were born in the stream and wagtails trembled on them; the grass was full of fledglings and flowers of disparate build.\n\nOn Saturday the dawn sky was poppied with high cloud and there was a welcome freshness in the air. Late in the afternoon, Richard found a rabbit in his traps and was cleaning it when he heard, very distantly, the sound of cantering hoofs. It was not coming near, and it seemed innocuous, but all the same he slipped through the stream to the next bay and laid a precautionary hand over Bryony's nose. She jerked disgustedly, her ears pricked, but stayed quiet until the sound died away. He gave her a clap on the back, checked her rope, and splashed around the grassy arm of the cliff.\n\nLymond was no longer propped up on rugs, where he had left him, but sat on a convenient boulder halfway between his bed and Richard's improvised kitchen. The bold light defined the untidy fair hair, the bruises and hollows of illness and the brilliant, heavy eyes: he looked high-strung to a shocking degree.\n\nCurious and eager, Richard studied him; then his eyes travelled to the cooking stone and the rabbit. His knife had gone.\n\nLord Culter made no attempt to cross the clearing. Instead, hitching himself on the nearest ledge, he spoke mildly. \"Fine weather for travelling. The prickmadam chasing you?\"\n\nThere was a little pause. \"No,\" said Lymond. \"I was getting tired of the John-go-to-bed-at-noon era.\"\n\n\"I find it quite pleasant,\" said Richard. \"This peculiar mental agility of yours has been no friend to you, has it? Without it, you might have survived, harmless, in a lukewarm limbo of drink and drugs and insipid women\u2014\"\n\n\"Do you want me to pursue the subject?\" said Lymond. \"I don't think I can bring myself to pant all over your morals, or lack of them.\"\n\n\"I wondered,\" said Richard idly, \"now that you have leisure to think again, what you are missing most. You've no money, of course; and that has been very important to you. And you must, of course, miss the illusion of command. The ant milking the aphid. How pathetic: those simple men and broken criminals hailing you as their mighty Lar: how easy and exciting to gain ascendancy over them, to play at inverted Robin Hood, and become besotted with the vicarious thrill of defying nations.\u2026 You got a lot of attention that way\u2026\"\n\nImpaled shrikewise on his boulder, Lymond had no reserves of strength to make the half-crippled journey back to couch and clear thought. Knowing, surely, that the last, bowelless assault was upon him, he spoke under his breath. \"Nay, brother,\" said Lymond, \"I wyll not daunce.\"\n\nRichard's voice, too, was soft. \"And the love of young boys, of course: you must miss that. Someone to relax with, in a gracious way, to twist and indoctrinate and shatter with the wild, delightful mutability of your moods. You must miss Will Scott. And your women.\"\n\nLymond spoke without dropping his eyes. \"Suppose we leave out the women.\"\n\n\"Christian Stewart, for example?\"\n\n\"Suppose we leave out Christian Stewart and everything to do with her?\" It was so quiet that his breathing was quite audible.\n\n\"Wouldn't you like it,\" said Richard, \"if she were here with us now? A kindhearted girl, Christian: she wouldn't mind. She would help, without asking questions. She was used to that\u2014a little too trusting, one would say, but after all, in God's world, we must trust somebody?\" His gaze never left Lymond: inexorable, ruthless, dissecting, hygienic as burin or scalpel. And there was a change in his brother's face: the fissure; the first break.\n\nA great pain of joy seized Richard's heart. My God: my God, was it coming\u2026? \"Yes,\" he said calmly, and got up. \"A little adulatory company would be pleasant. That fellow who promised you all his gold, Turkey something: he tried to help you as well, and died, poor fellow. Blaming Will Scott for it, I'm told. Would you like his support now? I'm afraid you'll never enjoy his cottage in Appin\u2026\"\n\nThe level denunciation gave the words a power that rolled like the thunder of G\u00f6tterd\u00e4mmerung through the meadow. And Lymond cried out, \"Stop it, Richard!\" and at last, violently swaying, forced himself to his feet.\n\nCulter watched him; watched the hands groping at the cliff face behind for support; watched the death of all the characteristic, cultivated graces and spoke again, quite close now, a stony and judging shadow.\n\n\"Or if you hadn't killed her, would you be comforted by Eloise?\" Lymond made no sound.\n\n\"The only daughter, and the finest child. The most vivid, the most eager, the most intelligent. By now, cherished by her own lover, with her own children in her arms. Once, late at night when you were away, she told me\u2026\"\n\nNo!\" said Lymond. \"Oh, damn you, no.\"\n\n\"No? You wanted her burned alive, and she was,\" said Richard with a terrible impartiality. \"Why should you cringe over it now?\"\n\nThe guard was down. There was the face he yearned to see: never again inscrutable; never again would he need to wonder what lay behind the smiling mouth and the delicate, malicious wit. Skull, flesh and muscle, every fluent line and practised shade of Lymond's face betrayed him explicitly, and Richard, swept into a major, a foreign dimension, was suddenly dumb.\n\nBehind clenched hands, face to the rock, Lymond spoke at last.\n\n\"Why? I made one mistake. Who doesn't? But I despised men who accepted their fate. I shaped mine twenty times and had it broken twenty times in my hands. Of course it left me deformed and unserviceable, defective and dangerous to associate with.\u2026 But what in God's name has happened to charity?\u2026 Self-interest guides me like the next man but not invariably; not all the time. I use compassion more than you do; I have loyalties and I keep by them; I serve honesty in a crooked way, but as best I can; and I don't plague my debtors or even make them aware of their debt.\u2026 Why is it so impossible to trust me?\"\n\n\"You shut the door yourself.\" Richard spoke harshly. Now that it had come he recoiled from it: recoiled as Lymond turned and baring his face to the light went on, his voice exhausted, dogged, unsteady.\n\n\"Why should you think so? Why assume me to be of such different stuff? We have the same blood, the same upbringing. What else is there, at the end of the day, that we can call our own? We're our father's prejudices and our swordmaster's dead men; our mother's palate and our nurse's habit of speech. We're the books unwritten by our tutor, and our groom's convictions and the courage of our first horse. I share all that. Five years\u2014even five such as these\u2014can't tear me drop by drop from your blood.\"\n\nNumb, appalled, Richard flung back, reflecting horror with horror: \"And who made you a murderer?\"\n\nWith the last offering of his strength, Lymond answered. \"Pull your hands away, Richard. Get out: get free. I have enough to answer for. If I've shut one door, you have barred and locked all the others against yourself.\"\n\n\"Do you think my life,\" said Richard violently, \"is a matter for your tarnished and paltry conscience?\"\n\nThere was a silence. Then the Master said at last, \"Why else should I say what I have done?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Richard cruelly, \"you're afraid of the rope. Because I'm the first victim you've failed to enchant. Because you're wriggling as you made others wriggle, and broken piecemeal as you've dissected others. Because you're crumbling and disintegrating and whimpering beneath the gut-sucking evil on your back; and since there was no one else to whine to; no one alive to listen; no one to help, you dropped on your belly and crawled and writhed and crept whining to me!\"\n\nBecause his eyes had never left Lymond's hands he saw the flash of steel, and was launched already as the Master snatched out the bright stolen blade. He grasped the driving elbow and wrist\u2014\"No: not that way, you poor, canting bastard!\"\u2014and was pulled up short by the strength of the thrust.\n\nLymond didn't drop the knife. Instead he bore downward, drawing strength from the hysteria of necessity: with his body braced against rock he withstood Richard's tug, made a leverage with the locked arms and, without a word, silently and inhumanly forced the point down.\n\nIt was uncanny. Richard found it terrible: it froze his blood, the slow descent of his brother's arm, prevailing heavily and inexorably against Richard's whole weight; forcing the bright, two-edged blade inward, between the locked bodies.\n\nHe damned the passion which had made him wait, instead of seizing the weapon at once; he damned the possessed body and the bent head and the transcendent will guiding the knife. He exerted all the strength he had. Lymond said something, on a gasp, and then bent forward, using his dead weight to help him, and the knife moved again, duly, along the path he designed for it; and an astonishing light broke on Richard.\n\nIn that second, Lymond looked up. Blue eyes met grey, and Richard read in them a power and a determination that he suddenly knew were unassailable. Anger left him. He framed the word \"No\" with his lips; read his rejection in the dedicated eyes, and with all his strength drove first his knee and then his foot through the stained bandaging and deep into the other's hurt body. The knife dropped like a discarded straw. Lymond screamed once with agony, and then screamed and screamed again.\n\nWithin a dumb and breathless nature the sound exploded, addressing the arbour from its banks and gradients; bouncing; sticky-fingered; callowly mocking. Culter, white as paper, picked up the knife and backed.\n\nLymond had stopped the noise with his hands. The long, cramped fingers hid his face as he crouched, the breath sobbing in his lungs and the blood flamboyant through the crushed bandages, welling between his rigid elbows, soaking into the trampled grass.\n\n\"Francis!\" Excoriated by the shuddering, raucous sound, Richard spoke harshly. \"I can't let you take your own life.\"\n\nLymond took his hands from his face. The blood was everywhere now; his torment of grief public, uncaring. \"Must I plead?\" He stopped in extremity, beaten, shaken by pulses, and then struggled on. \"You claim your right of execution.\u2026 May I not exercise mine? Could all the chains of Threave outweigh what I already bear, do you think? Or all the Tolbooth's pains be worse than this?\u2026 You can't relieve me of your weight, or help me, or free me\u2026 except in one way.\"\n\nRichard, his memory taken by the throat, was mute. With a bitter courage, Lymond raised his head.\n\n\"I beg you.\"\n\nI will bring him to you on his knees, and weeping, and begging aloud to be killed.\n\nRichard, rising, turned on his heel and walked over the meadow without looking back. Around the next spur of cliff was Bryony. She blew softly at him, pleased to have company, and while he waited, he smoothed down her lustrous neck.\n\nWhen he went back, the clearing was empty. It was no longer a sanctuary, he knew, but the antechamber to a solitary, a desperately wanted death."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 120",
                "text": "Beneath the cocked blue sky of summer, in the jostling towns and highways, in the forts hissing with tar and hot iron, the friaries and keeps, the foreshores where salt timber rolled ashore and oxen sprayed sand into wainloads of coal and cables and cannon shot and powder; in granaries rustling with early threshing and the unlacing of tents and the graithing of blades and the polishing of gorgets; and the intent of three European nations fastened to these small acres between Berwick and the Forth\u2014with all that, it occurred to nobody in all this busy month that history was being made.\n\nIt didn't enter the head of Sir James Wilford, captain of English-held Haddington, that in twenty-five years someone would call his defence the most brilliant of the century. He was aware only that he was just seventeen miles from Edinburgh, and had forty-odd more and only two lines of communication between himself and the Borders; and that he had to keep in heart and health and, if possible, a state of truce\u2014not only English but Spaniards, Germans and Italians against the malefic glitter of French arms and the shiftless shuffle of the neighbourly Scot on his patellas.\n\nIt was not in the mind of Lord Grey, riding his bones loose between town and town, insifflating the precious troops and horses, the pikes and powder and footmen, the rolls and matches and demilances and oil and flour and money, the working tools and men, men, and more men into the feverish maw of the fort. Or to Wharton, angrily denuded of the men sent to Grey, guarding a weak city and studying, whally-eyed, the ambiguous movements of the western Scots.\n\nTo the French, dropping like canescent frost on the discreet slopes about Haddington it was a small, acute campaign ordered by His Most Christian Majesty out of a fine warm regard for Scotland and a need to spit in the Protector's other eye.\n\nTo the Germans, the Swiss, the Italians and the Spaniards who were paid in \u00e9cus and knifed each other when drunk and fished in the thin streams and picked lice out of their pallets, it was money to take home or to gamble away, some easy love and some more difficult; and leisure for boasting. To the Scots it was pride and fright, a wish to break the will of England and a need to smoke the vermin from one's little shoots and to pay the price with a hauteur that might make surrender a virtue.\n\nThe price was plain, and the Crown was ready to pay it. The Crown made its move on the day that Tom Erskine, altered and withdrawn, came back to Edinburgh from Hexham. Messengers slipped unobtrusively back and forth; Villegagne quietly left Court, and one evening four galleys of the French fleet slipped anchor at dusk and moved with ductile grace out of the Firth of Forth. The alert flickered, as it was conditioned to do, from point to point down the east coast of England; the skiffs fled about the English great ships of war and the stiff sails lay heavy on the decks, and men in the rigging strained at the recalcitrant block and the sullen, bearded ropes.\n\nIn vain. The four ships never came. They lifted their airy linen before a southwest wind and sailed out across the dark North Sea; then with four peacocks' tails at their keels they lay over, gathering the wind from port, the boom hammering to starboard, and hissed on their way north. Then having sailed over the roof of Scotland, turned south again, on her western shore, making with mischievous triumph for Dumbarton, where the Queen of Scotland, if she so wished, could safely step aboard.\n\nThe Crown had given evidence of its good faith. The last word lay with the people; and on a brilliant, wind-filled Saturday in July, the Scottish Parliament met in the Abbey outside English-occupied Haddington and gave their consent to the marriage of the Queen's Grace their Sovereign Lady and the Dauphin of France\u2014\"provided always that the King of France keep and defend this realm and the laws and liberties thereof as his own realm, lieges and laws of the same; and as has been kept in all kings' times of Scotland bypast.\"\n\nWill Scott was there. As soon as the processions had left and the aisles were clearing, he slipped out to the churchyard where Tom Erskine stood talking, the short fur blowing on his hat. The moment he was free, Scott caught his arm. \"Any news?\"\n\nErskine, nervously rubbing his face, gave him a nonplussed stare. \"What?\u2026 Oh. No\u2014there's no news of either of them.\"\n\nScott said suddenly, \"I met Lady Douglas yesterday: George Douglas's wife. She said\u2014\"\n\nHe broke off as a peer, his black hat at a rakish angle, jabbed Erskine in the back. \"My God, old Slovenly Thomas interpreting: who'd have thought it? I said, if his French hasn't improved since the Rome embassy, I said, we're just as likely voting on a proposal to crown Archie Douglas. Eh?\u2026 See your friend Culter didn't turn up to this one either. What's the holdup, eh? Buried himself instead of his brother?\"\n\nErskine said, \"Looking after his own affairs, I expect,\" and detached himself. To Scott he said, \"What about Lady Douglas?\"\n\nThe boy was watching their hilarious neighbour take himself off. \"It doesn't matter. But I thought you should know my father is going to try and trace them.\"\n\n\"Buccleuch? Why not you?\"\n\nScott flushed. \"I'm supposed to stay with the army. Probation, of a sort. It would only make trouble.\" He lifted his eyes to Erskine's noncommittal face. \"Damn it: why did you leave them together?\"\n\nSomeone brought Erskine's horse. He pinned the flapping foot mantle with his glove, put his foot in the stirrup and mounted. Gathering the reins, he looked down for a moment at Scott's upturned face. \"Because my name isn't Crawford.\" he said sharply. \"Any more than yours is.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 121",
                "text": "It was the cavorting and immalleable wind, boiling through the rowans and sifting the junipers and baying eagerly through lutelike caves and chasms, that chivvied Lord Culter into proper thought again that night.\n\nA snatch of spray touched his hand, and he lifted his head from his arms and was vaguely surprised by the darkness and the noise. He rolled to his knees and stood up, automatically anchoring rugs and collecting his scattered belongings. Moving stiffly he crossed to the neighbouring arbour and found and checked Bryony's tethering and pulled her reproachful forelock. It occurred to him, the first positive thought in a wilderness of dead emotions, that there was nothing to stop him from going home.\n\nThe thought, staring at him, divided and became twenty. He hooked one arm over the mare's neck and defied them for thirty seconds before recognizing the childishness of the impulse. Facts. He was bred to respect them: what were they?\n\nThe graceless, the dissolute, the debauched, the insolent, the exquisite Lymond was obliterated. As he intended, he had broken his brother. He had, indeed, been more merciful than he had intended.\n\nThe wind buffeted his shirt. Home. A hundred and twenty miles with the double packs behind him; a cold house in Edinburgh; his mother's face. Midculter, and an estranged wife. Erskine, with a sharp and speculative gaze; Buccleuch's uninhibited stare. The Court, where he would already be under censure.\n\nThe mare's skin was warm; his fingers tightened on her rough mane. God, Francis had screamed.\n\nSomething unused and ritual at the back of Richard's conscious mind stirred, and he stared into the buffeting darkness, quickly denying it. He assembled a chain of thought about provisions, about his route home, and about an imminent issue of jacks for his men. He thought seriously about the water problem at Midculter and began to plan, in elaborate detail, a discussion with Gilbert about new spearheads. And all the time the stiff-jointed thing at the back of his mind was flexing its subconscious limbs and shaking its aged neck and rearing nearer and nearer his waking mind.\n\nThe wind sprang among the young trees: persecuted beyond reason an ash high above them lurched heaving to its feet and crashed beside Bryony and the mare leaped, whinnying and shaking under Richard's idle hand.\n\nThe block of sensation, held so insecurely in check, broke its bar and blundered into the forefront of his mind. It gripped him as he pulled down and soothed the mare, beyond proper analysis: man's infant fear of the irretrievable; a starved yearning for warmth; a childish speck of uncluttered vision; a tight and tangled warp of reason and emotion become suddenly an obsessive compulsion.\n\nAbandoning sense, revenge, and the role of complacent dempster and letting reason fly like a hag through the night wind, Richard Crawford struck off through the darkness, plunging over myrtle and bracken and torn boughs and boulders, between thorn and furze and blurred trees and low thickets, in the direction last taken by his brother."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 122",
                "text": "Instinct, in belated command on this ultimate journey, had led Lymond into the shelter of the thickest undergrowth and the wildest bushes and the closest trees.\n\nUsing them as crutches he had gone farther than seemed humanly possible for a man in his state. Richard, after two fruitless attempts, set out a third time with a flaring brand from his fire, regardless of who might see it, and in the end found him, in a deep and unlikely forme at the foot of a meagre willow.\n\nIt was not a heroic picture. Bracken obscured it, with botched and scrabbling hands; the wind whined and ran blenching through the long grass, split by dim breakwaters of burdock and furze. Lymond himself lay in a tangled abandonment of blood and bruised greenery and torn cloth: unruly; filthy; and emphatically severed from society.\n\nCulter rose, extinguished the light, and gathering the derelict hands, lifted his brother and carried him back to the camp.\n\nHe had worked once before, impatiently, to succour the Master. This time he brought his will to bear as well as his strength. By daylight a thin and stammering pulse was his reward. By afternoon he was able, temporarily, to let go and rest, his tired shoulders propped against the overhang and his legs splayed before him in a yellow carpet of silverweed. He watched his brother.\n\nA remarkable face. Like the sea, it promised monts et merveilles: you might resent its graces and yet long to unclose its secrets. He began to look forward to the moment\u2014the graphic, revealing moment, when a man opening his eyes on the lentils and salt, found himself greeting the living.\n\nHe was there when Lymond woke, and saw neither surprise nor relief, but a dissolving horror, altering the other's already altered face and fading in ineffectual recoil. Richard exclaimed then, and put out a hand; and Lymond flinched as if he had been struck.\n\nThroughout the day, it continued. Throughout the day, Lymond lay motionless, the eyes opaque and open, the mind incurious, inanimate, unaware; except for the terror which sprang into being when Richard appeared.\n\nBy nightfall Richard knew that the only thing living within the other man was the memory of a fear. You choose to play God, and the Deity points out that the post is already adequately filled. During an outburst of besotted philanthropy he had redeemed Lymond, but Lymond quite simply was not prepared to be rescued; and least of all by his brother.\n\nLord Culter was a strong, an honest and a stubborn man. He made his decision, and laying a finger on the one thread anchoring Lymond to reality, proceeded to twist it into a rope.\n\nHe talked. As his brother lay, reflecting the vacant sun in his eyes, Richard moved about him, chopping wood, cooking, cleaning, tending with steady hands. Moving and working he talked about the Midculter of his childhood; about school lessons and games and books and sporting excitements; about visits to Edinburgh and Linlithgow and Stirling and his own days in Paris; about the land and their tenants; about nurses and tutors and servants and relatives they had both known.\n\nThe empty calyx he was attacking made infinitesimal efforts to avoid him; to refuse his services; to deny his proximity; but he persevered. Hatred was life; shame was life; humiliation was life; the trivial movements Lymond was making in his extremity were life.\n\nRichard Crawford was a very stubborn man.\n\nHe went to bed that night hoarse but refusing to be depressed, although the next day, confronted by the same eyes and the same rejection, he was sometimes very near to giving it up.\n\nHe was unused to sustained talking: his mind balked; topics forsook him. Recent events he had forbidden himself: everything to do with the Master's own adult life; all political and national affairs. That left only the half-forgotten, virgin tracts of their common childhood. He dug, obstinately, into those sealed mines and shuttered bondhouses and in doing so dragged out days and weeks of his life hitherto quite forgotten.\n\nThat he should mention his father at all was accidental: it was years since the second baron had died, and he had hardly thought of him since. And that was surprising too, considering the part he had played in his boyhood.\n\n\"I don't fancy,\" said Richard, thinking aloud, \"that he was fond of children, or even of marriage, much. But he wanted us to reflect his own physical superiority\u2014in hunting, riding, shooting, swordplay, swimming and all the rest of it. My God, I used to lie like a Gothamite fisherman sometimes about my scores. And yet\"\u2014he paused, hands locked around knees, eyes unseeing as he groped after a new idea\u2014\"and yet it wasn't altogether a good thing. He hadn't any other interests, and couldn't tolerate anyone who had. I remember Mother once got a case of new books from the stationer's, and he burned\u2026\"\n\nNo. That was one incident better forgotten. At the back of his mind he could hear the two voices, his brother and his father, shouting at one another: or rather, his father shouting and Francis retorting, using the very twin of the voice, he suddenly realized, that Lymond had used to himself in an obscure wood near Annan.\n\nMemory, once jogged, showed him other pictures. A born athlete, at ease with every kind of sport, Richard had been human enough to enjoy his father's delight in him. He was adolescent before he suspected that his younger brother was less of an effete brat than his father made out; that although he was aggressively scholarly he also moved like an acrobat. He had eloquence. He had charm. He submerged himself and his filthy tongue in music and books, and Sybilla abetted him. Why?\n\nThe answer to that had been easy, too. Apple of the baron's alcoholic eye, Richard was cut out for a mockery, a figurehead, a substitute leaking straw inconspicuously at the joints and accepting the respectful plaudits of the tenants. The steeples were being cut down so that the chimney could aspire. And Francis, of the sardonic blue eye, was without doubt a party to it.\n\nIt was a bitter discovery, and one that he had never questioned till now. It had never struck him that his brother, seeing their father with a clearer eye than his, might purposefully have turned aside from all that he stood for; might have taken a satirical pleasure in avoiding their father's approval. With Sybilla and the brilliant, worldly shadow of their grandfather behind him, he could afford to go his own way uncaring, and allow Richard his arena. Was that what had happened?\n\nWas it? He looked with sudden, searching eyes at Lymond. The hypersensitive face gave him no answer, but there was a change of some sort: the eyes no longer reflected the sky but were half hidden by his lashes, as though there existed a thought to conceal. Richard lifted the fresh bandages he had prepared and kneeling, unfastened the old ones. The Master's mouth tightened, but he didn't recoil.\n\nSlowly, it came. As well as instinct, there was somewhere a fragment of conscious will: Lymond's eyes recorded what they saw; and he was listening. Richard, talking like a mechanical corncrake, knew that he was listening, and yet he refused to come openly into the living world. He was refusing to fight; refusing the goad even when now at the eleventh hour admitting its pricks. Having come so far, Culter took a risk. He leaned over, closed both hands on the light tissue and bone of the Master's shoulders, and shook him like a puppy.\n\n\"All right: listen!\" said Richard. \"I'm scunnered at washing bandages. I'm sick of cooking; I'm tired of hunting; I'm fed up washing your ears and combing your hair like a bloody nursery maid. Suppose you make the effort now.\"\n\nIt brought him his answer. A frail and passionate anger flickered through the other man's eyes; and weakly but distinctly Lymond spoke. \"You can't force me to live.\"\n\n\"No. But I can force you to think.\"\n\n\"\u2014No.\"\n\n\"You fought for Christian Stewart's good name. Why won't you fight for your own?\"\n\nHis brother's voice made a mockery of the words. \"My good name?\"\n\n\"Or Mariotta's, then?\"\n\nThe flicker of animation died. Lymond said helplessly, \"No! You won't get me to Edinburgh\u2026 even for that. I won't go; I can't\u2026 Oh, God! I can't, now.\"\n\nTo his surprise, Richard found himself shouting. \"Edinburgh! Who mentioned Edinburgh? If I object to playing apothecary in private, I'm damned sure I'm not going to trip about with hot towels in public.\"\n\nLymond said something, from which only the word \"trial\" emerged clearly. Lord Culter used three adjectives to qualify the same word, and pronounced flatly: \"You're not going for trial. You'll travel to Leith, and from there get out of the country. All you have to do is to work at your renovation until you can trust your feet on either side of a horse.\"\n\nIt was much too sudden, he saw, for a tired mind to grasp. Richard leaned forward, one hand on either side of his brother's young, irresolute face, and said slowly and clearly, \"Listen. You're not going to Edinburgh. You're not going to prison, or the gallows. I'm here to help you. You're going to be free.\"\n\nFor the second time in a few days, Richard Crawford had made a momentous decision purely on impulse. It made him feel uneasy, the prey of dark and atavistic caprice. But on thinking it over, more or less all night, he found that he regretted nothing.\n\nThe odd thing was that Lymond believed him without question. The next day, although catastrophically weak, he replied slowly and sensibly to Richard's necessary questions. Moved for the first time to imagine how it felt to exchange an oblivion so passionately wanted for such an extremity of defencelessness, Culter dealt with him wisely.\n\nAs the days passed, his sense of time perished. Lymond, however spent, was never less than scrupulous, unaffected, undemanding. Avoiding only the recent past, they ranged in their talk over the widest fields. Richard was impressed by his brother's grasp of affairs. He was well-informed, not at the level of ambassadorial junketings and court lev\u00e9es, but as the product of shrewd observation over the battlefields and spyholds of half Europe.\n\nHe spoke without embarrassment of such episodes in his life, but with discretion. Once, when Richard, seizing on a point, began to develop it with uncharacteristic excitement, Lymond himself interrupted with an anecdote so helplessly funny as well as so ribald that Culter was surprised into a shout of laughter and forgot, until afterward, the original issue.\n\nLater, staring up into the night sky, Culter said, \"If only you'd come to us after you left Lennox, instead of\u2026\" Instead of foundering in self-pity. He could hardly say that.\n\nLymond flushed. \"Instead of surviving to bellow like a barghest?\" It was his only reference to the other night, and Richard was caught without a rejoinder, but after the briefest pause, Lymond himself went on. \"But I did come back. To my kinsmen I will truly, praying them to help me in my necessity.\u2026 I thought you knew. I came to Midculter from Dumbarton in '44\u2014fully au prodigal son, puffing excuses like smoke from a chimney head\u2014\" A trace of the old mockery sharpened the light voice.\n\n\"What happened?\" asked Richard quickly.\n\n\"I was shown the door. By our honoured father. He tried to enforce the suggestion with a whip.\"\n\nThere was a short silence. Then Culter said, \"He must have told nobody. I wouldn't touch you: you know that. Until the\u2014the Midculter affair.\"\n\n\"I know, you damned fool,\" said Lymond mildly. \"That's why I had to attack Midculter.\"\n\nLord Culter sat up. After a moment he pushed a hand through his fiat brown hair and said bluntly, \"What about the setting fire to the castle\u2026?\"\n\n\"Green boughs. Good God, Richard: I've mastered the art of making timber burn better than that by this time.\"\n\n\"And the silver?\"\n\nThis time there was a little pause. Then Lymond said, \"You're going to be annoyed about that. She didn't tell you, I expect, because she knows what a filthy bad actor you are. Mother got it all back the next day.\"\n\nRichard's stare was embarrassingly concentrated. \"And Janet Beaton?\"\n\n\"Oh. That,\" said Lymond bitterly. \"That was because I had to drink the whole bloody night through to get enough courage to visit the castle at all. One more skirl and one of my pets was going to slit the lady's larynx for her. So I did something first. Unfortunately, I was too damned drunk to do it properly. That and the passage with Mariotta: the kind of lunatic blunders that always blemish the high romantic in grim reality.\u2026 Come, my friend, my brother most enteere; for thee I offered my blood in sacrifice; and all that. Except that it was Janet Beaton's blood.\"\n\nRichard said mildly, \"It wasn't anyone else's blood at Hexham,\" and saw his brother redden again. \"The climax to a series of sordid private fights. Don't get excited. Erskine got the idea he was carrying out the Third Crusade, but all he carried out was me, the lord be thankit. God, I've whined for ten minutes. Bury me at Leibethra, where the nightingale sings.\"\n\nAs Lymond grew stronger, his brother forced the pace of their discussions and once, out of an obscure train of thought, said, \"Francis. Did you ever tell Will Scott how old you actually are?\"\n\nLymond looked blank. \"No. Should I?\" and Richard grinned.\n\n\"Probably not. You appear to be immeasurable in his view, like God and the Devil.\"\n\n\"A year with Will Scott would make a dayfly feel like Enoch,\" said the Master. \"Whose side is he on now?\"\n\n\"Yours, by all accounts,\" said Richard dryly. \"Buccleuch got him accepted back at Court and Will has taken to advertising your peculiar talents from the four walls in a voice like a Gadwall duck.\"\n\n\"Don't be deceived,\" said Lymond with equal dryness. \"That's only remorse because he bit me and I didn't bite back. He'll settle in time into a decent, douce Buccleuch.\"\n\nIf Richard thought it unlikely, after a year of Lymond's company, he said nothing; and was not to know that his brother was watching him. A moment later the Master said equably, \"Nobody's going to hold you to a promise that needs this amount of nursing, Richard. I don't want my life at the price of anyone's outraged instincts. It has a rudimentary value in that you were moved to preserve it, but don't let's labour the point.\"\n\nHe was not, clearly, interested in a superficial reassurance; also, his reading was correct. If he produced facts a yard a day like a guinea-worm, Richard didn't want them. He had promised to free Lymond, and he had no desire to regret it. He said at length, \"My instincts are very accommodating.\"\n\n\"All right, but remember, although you've bought the rights of fuel, feal and divot, I shan't be lying here like an upset sheep forever.\"\n\nRichard said, \"You think I'll discard in the perpendicular what I favour in the prone?\"\n\n\"Not if you talk like that: you'll want an audience at any price.\"\n\nCulter laughed, and it was the end of that particular discussion.\n\nBut although Richard forgot it, Lymond apparently did not. Next day he put his theory to the test, dispassionately and with the kind of calculated resolution that still startled his brother. Richard knew nothing until he came back from his traps to find the clearing empty and his horse gone, and one of the saddlepacks with it.\n\nOne by one, his first conjectures were discarded. No one had captured Lymond: there was no trace of struggle, and only their own footprints and the tracks of one horse in the soft grass. Nor could it be some flamboyant gesture to relieve him of his decision: horseless, Richard had little chance of reaching Scotland alive.\n\nHe looked again at the tracks. They were very recent, and not hurried. Lymond was unable, of course, to ride fast. With sudden decision Culter stooped again, and snatching bow and quiver followed the mare's hoofmarks out of the clearing. They led him along the banks of the stream, then up a shallow cliff to open grass. He picked them up, running lightly, as they swung out in a wide circle, and alternately studied the ground and the gentle, tree-scattered slopes in front of him. There was no trace of Bryony there. Driving back every apoplectic emotion which might distract him, he concentrated on the ground.\n\nThe hoofprints brought him, in a gentle arc, back to his own clearing. He stopped when he realized it, breathing tightly and fast, and waited, resting, his free hand smoothing back his hair. When he had control both of his breathing and of the curious conflict within himself, he went on.\n\nLymond, lying face down beside the gently cropping Bryony, turned his head and produced a sick, placating grin. Richard exploded.\n\n\"This bloody mania for juggling with other people's guts. You lunatic, if I'd overtaken you back there, I'd have killed you.\"\n\n\"I thought,\" said the Master pacifically, \"that it was time to get used to the saddle again. We ought to start north.\"\n\n\"Quite. And that was only part of what you thought,\" said Lord Culter. He tied up the mare and stalked back again with a cup of water, which he dumped at his brother's elbow. \"You like to be sure of your relationships\u2014who doesn't? But no one else does it by making themselves into a clearing nut for other people's emotions. If my sentiments are in a muddle,\" said Richard angrily, \"I damned well prefer them to stay in a muddle, without any interference from you.\"\n\nPropping himself on one elbow, Lymond lifted the cup, spilled it badly and set it down again without drinking. He said, \"It seems I can now stick on a horse. Therefore we can get back north, beginning tonight if possible. And since, as soon as we move into Scotland, my company will compromise you, we ought to have some issues clear.\"\n\nHe stopped. Richard said nothing; and his brother went on grimly. \"You offered me a reprieve knowing only half the story. You mentioned Mariotta, and what I told you about her was true. You haven't mentioned Eloise.\"\n\nRichard sat down, removed the fallen cup, and set it straight. Then he said, \"Look. I don't share your passion for self-immolation. I don't want to hear about Eloise, and I don't want issues made any clearer than they now are. Whatever your conscience has on it, I intend to take you back to Scotland and see you aboard ship. If you can ride, we leave tonight.\"\n\n\"God,\" said Francis with amiable rudeness, between his hands. \"What price now the mighty Lar?\"\n\nA day later, with Lymond mounted and Richard walking at his side, the two men began the slow journey north."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 123",
                "text": "Dinner in Lord Grey's house was served at two o'clock, and he had invited company: Sir Thomas Palmer, his fortifications expert from London, and Gideon Somerville and his young wife Kate.\n\nKatherine, neat as a peach and spruce in grey satin, was not impressed by Berwick, by the meal, or by Willie Grey. With a thoughtful brown eye she watched the salt cellar whisking past her nose\u2014\"There you are: Bowes, Brende and Palmer with the horse, leaving tonight and lying at Coldingham\"\u2014the ale jug: \"Holcroft with the foot, leaving tomorrow and joining the two of you with the horse at Pease Burn\"\u2014and the salt cellar again: \"Monday, early, Palmer makes contact with Haddington and they give cover while all of you put fresh men into the fort and come back.\"\n\nSome of the salt had spilt. Kate threw it over her left shoulder and remarked, \"How simple it sounds in English! Just imagine Sir James drawing diagrams on the walls to convey his orders in Haddington. A quick course of Udall would work wonders with this army.\"\n\nGold wire twinkled. \"Why Udall?\" asked Palmer.\n\n\"Or any other nimble Latinist you can think of. Don't you think they need a lingua franca, poor things?\" said Kate. \"And if your two thousand Germans are coming by sea, and Lord Shrewsbury with eleven thousand Englishmen from all the shires are exchanging dialects at York, and the Swiss and the Spanish and the Germans want to communicate from Haddington, throwing in a few Italian engineers for luck, you'll have a dear little Babel all of your own.\"\n\nLord Grey's face was gloomy. \"So will the Scots,\" he said. \"By all accounts. If Henry sends forty thousand more Frenchmen and the King of Denmark throws in\u2014\"\n\n\"All the more reason for linguistic action. Buchanan against Eton. You've been to Haddington, Sir Thomas?\" asked Kate.\n\nPalmer grinned. \"We all went the day they held Parliament, and popped a good few bags of powder in while they were busy. Bowes took young Wharton under his wing: he did rather well. Between Lord Grey here and his father he was a bit low to begin with.\"\n\n\"Incompetent young fellow,\" said Grey vaguely; and remembered something. \"By the way, sincere apologies: Gideon having to bring you that girl who escaped. Nasty business, but unavoidable. Lady Lennox could do nothing with her, I believe.\"\n\nKatherine said, \"You never caught up with the other, did you?\n\nThe man who killed the messenger at Hexham?\" and Grey stared moodily at Palmer. \"That damned fool Wharton. The father's worse than the son. Five minutes after the shot he sends a man to collect the body\u2014No body. The fellow had an accomplice. One? The kind of guard my Lord Wharton had on that church, he might have had ten.\"\n\nPalmer said cheerfully, \"Enterprising fellow. Was that the one who tweaked Ned Dudley's nose at Hume?\" Warned by the silence that he had only half the story he added quickly, \"Look out for him if you like, my lord. Never know what you'll come across, jogging post back and forth through the country like this.\"\n\n\"I should be obliged if you would,\" said Lord Grey. \"But the task on hand is to get all these men safely into the fort at Haddington tomorrow. Monday the what?\u2014the sixteenth. That's our job.\"\n\nThe point was made. Sir Thomas, butter-tooth veiled, seized a pigeon and said no more until the end of the meal.\n\nAfterward, Gideon took Kate up to the castle ramparts, and with the Tweed running tousled and low beneath them, they studied the green fields to the north, where Palmer's men would travel that night.\n\nGideon said, \"It's a dangerous subject, Kate. Better forget it. Whatever happened, we'll never know now.\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter what happened,\" said Kate. She turned and looked across the river where the grass, identical, flower-ridden and boisterous, was English grass.\n\nShe said angrily, \"I don't like this war. I don't like the cold-blooded scheming at the beginning and the carnage at the end and the grumbling and the jealousies and the pettishness in the middle. I hate the lack of gallantry and grace; the self-seeking; the destruction of valuable people and things. I believe in danger and endeavour as a form of tempering but I reject it if this is the only shape it can take.\"\n\nThere was a brightness in the flat, clean plane between her short nose and the cornea and brown cheek. Gideon, who had hardly ever seen his wife in tears, was moved and disturbed, his intuitive mind groping for the reason and the right reply. He said, gripping her shoulders, \"Philippa will be all right. She'll learn. We can explain to her.\"\n\nKatherine turned instantly and impulsively and put her own warm hands on Gideon's. \"Don't mind me. I want to put right the world's sorrows in a night, and it might take a night and a day. But three stout people like us can afford to bide our time.\"\n\n\"If need be,\" said Gideon. He looked tired, she thought; but he smiled at her. \"Trust me.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 124",
                "text": "That night, the fine mid-July weather broke at last; clouds piling spinel-red in the west surged over all the sky by morning and brought small showers, with a minor, tugging wind.\n\nPalmer, cheerful red face under a perfectly polished helmet and enormous shoulders tucked into steel mesh, was not the man to bother if the skies spouted venom like Loki's serpent. He and Bowes made their scheduled rendezvous with the foot soldiers on Monday morning and marched north to Haddington. At Linton Bridge, five miles away, he sent word to Sir James Wilford, captain of Haddington, that a fresh army was waiting to relieve the English garrison.\n\nForty Spanish horsemen from the fort came back with Wilford's answer. It was too dangerous. Although he needed the men, he distrusted the present quiet, and advised Sir Thomas to postpone his plan.\n\nPalmer read it, swore lightheartedly, and took the Spaniards with him to have a closer look at the French and Scottish camps. It continued to be quiet until they reached the slopes north of Haddington. Then, against the bald, uncompromising sky, Bowes spotted movement. The lilies of France, whipping in the wind, were pouring downhill toward them in the van of a hundred and fifty armed horsemen.\n\nPeace and sylvan propriety exploded. Gamboa wheeled and shot off with the hackbutters to hold the French; Palmer and Bowes interweaving behind him got the horse and foot into position and stopped, halted by trumpets. Long-sighted, Palmer saw new colours flying toward him, this time from Haddington. His face crimsoned with delight.\n\n\"Ellerkar, by God! Ellerkar and damned nearly half a thousand light horse from the fort.\u2026 Now let's pick off the smirks with your goose feathers, boys!\"\n\nEllerkar was not called on to charge. The French had no wish to argue with four hundred fresh horsemen. Disentangling at speed, they shot up the hill and out of sight, leaving the English and Spanish to greet each other, reform, and set off in jubilation for Haddington, led by Palmer and Bowes.\n\nNone of them reached it. The French simply waited behind the nearest hill until the tail of the force was riding past them, and then slid down and cut them off. Then, having taken some smart bites at Ellerkar, they retreated hastily but in order around the hill, with the whole combined English force at their heels. Sir Thomas, furious at the destruction in his rear, had almost closed with them when the cutting edge of the little manoeuvre became horribly clear.\n\nRound the shoulder of the hill on which the French were retreating was a solid quadrant of French foot soldiers and hackbutters, patiently waiting; patently armoured in a ready-made aura of rude success.\n\nDriven headlong by their own impetus, Palmer and Bowes skidded and smashed into this impenetrable front. The Spanish leader Gamboa, coming up behind, was drowned in the recoil. Holcroft's footmen, faced with nose-to-nose fighting against an opponent of the first quality, wavered, crumbled and fled. For half an hour the fighting continued, and then Palmer's men broke too.\n\nThere was nothing to be done. Pursued by Gallic language and Gallic joy, English and Spanish streamed from the valley of the Tyne, and the French horsemen hunted them all afternoon like a coursing. Behind them, the Protector's army left eight hundred English and Spanish dead or captured, the major part of their horse, and a Haddington not only lacking the new forces intended for it, but disastrously bled of Ellerkar, Gamboa and the horsemen who had issued to help.\n\nThus, read the subsequent dispatch to the Protector: Thus with victory in our hand, this mischance has altered things. Our principal horsemen and chief footmen are consumed; our powder wasted. Wherefore it is not good to venture anything by land, except by a royal force.\n\nEventually, the royal force did come. Like Palmer's, it was tough and enthusiastic. Unlike Palmer's, although it made mistakes, it was not routed. But neither did it prevail."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 125",
                "text": "Sir Thomas Palmer, riding hard, nearly reached the bridge at East Linton. With three of his own men and a Spaniard at his heels, he had broken loose from two skirmishes, and it was just beginning to seem possible that he had shaken off pursuit, when out of the ground before him rose a small, wicked, steel-bound phalanx of horsemen.\n\nThey were Scots. He didn't know the emblem, but he could recognize defeat: he let them encircle the five of them and waited in silence as the leader trotted forward. Grey, healthy whiskers sprouted from a pugnacious, sweaty face. \"Dod,\" said the victor, peering at Sir Thomas. \"Don't tell me: it's on the nether side of my back teeth. Palmer! Am I right?\"\n\n\"You are, sir, dammit,\" said Sir Thomas with a polite snarl.\n\nThe whiskers twitched. \"Just so. Man, you're a devil for getting yourself hud by the neb. Ye were nippit in France as well, were ye not?\"\n\nSir Thomas got redder.\n\n\"And had to pay your own way out?\"\n\nSir Thomas swore, politely.\n\n\"I'm Wat Scott of Buccleuch,\" said his captor courteously. \"Just so's your friends'll know where to send the siller to. Man: you'll like Edinburgh. It's a fine town to be in jail in.\"\n\nBuccleuch detached half of his men to march Palmer and his companions to Edinburgh, and continued his ride with the rest, whistling.\n\nSir Wat was pleased with life; so pleased that he ignored the signs of flight all about him, and wished luck to the horse bands, both French and Scottish, who appeared and vanished like flying ants all through the blustering afternoon. After a while, disturbances became less frequent, and he was alone with his own dozen men, crossing rough moorland with no cover and chastened by a small, chilly wind.\n\nAhead on his right, a bird rose suddenly, vivid black and white, piping above the rustle of foxtail and club rush, and a moment later he saw two horsemen treading slowly where it had been, their faces to the north. He stopped and watched.\n\nOne of the figures, cloaked and hooded, he could make nothing of. The other, coatless, solid, unmistakable, was Richard Crawford of Culter.\n\nBuccleuch rode over circumspectly, leaving his men behind without explanation, and brushing a thoughtful hand through his whiskers as he went. Culter turned, and deserting the other rider, trotted gently to meet him, his face brown and watchful above a dirty and ruinous white shirt. He spoke immediately they were within hearing. \"Well, Wat. Still intent on appearing at the wrong time in the right place.\"\n\nHe sounded temperately amused, but Wat's experienced eye read the tilt of his right arm with accuracy. He cleared his throat. \"Glad to see you, my boy. Damned good job you all did at Hexham. Arran likes you again: that ought to make you cheery. They're going to make the fool a Duke: did ye hear?\"\n\n\"No. Erskine got back, then?\"\n\n\"Dod, aye. He said you were taking your own time at his back, but we were beginning to think they'd jumped on you. The plan went off fine: just fine.\" He paused again. The second horse was cropping grass, hocks nearest, and the rider, head bent, was sitting badly.\n\nCulter didn't move, so Wat said bluntly, \"Are ye for Edinburgh?\"\n\nRichard shook his head.\n\n\"Oh.\" A curious look came over Buccleuch's face. He rubbed his nose, spat inelegantly and said, \"It's a sharp wind for July. I won't say you're wrong, either. That brat of mine's a fool, but he's not bad company now, at that.\" He caught the guarded grey eye and cleared his throat again. \"Well. I'm for the south. I hope you have a quiet trip. There's a damned wheen of horsemen clipping about today. Some stramash up the way, I believe.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Lord Culter, and hesitated. \"Your men\u2026?\"\n\n\"None of their business. Dod, Sybilla will be desperate glad to see you.\"\n\nRichard said suddenly, \"Tell her\u2026\" and broke off and swore, angry alarm displacing the subdued and wary mask. Buccleuch, wheeling, had his own hand on his sword an instant later and then pushed it back, gesturing ferociously at Culter. \"Ride, man, ride!\"\n\nOn the hill behind, a party of Scots came whooping toward them. A second later, and they called Culter's name. Richard, his horse already moving, twisted, saw the cock pennants and cursed again. \"The Cockburns of Skirling. Devil take it. Wat: can you hold them while we run?\"\n\nThey were too close. Buccleuch saw Culter's choice only too clearly: either to hand over his companion, or to label himself accomplice by trying an ineffectual escape.\n\nAs once before, Buccleuch filled the notorious lungs, and bellowed.\n\nLong before Richard reached him, Lymond turned and saw what was happening. He straightened and shook the hood from his face, exposing ruffled fair hair and Culter's stained jacket below. Then he gathered his horse and stampeded artlessly across the moor, regardless of the slick, united hoofbeats of Sir William Cockburn's troop overtaking, surrounding and closing in on him. He made no resistance.\n\nBuccleuch, riding after with Culter, arrived to find himself the butt of a number of bad jokes and some friendly wrangling over whether he had forfeited his prisoner by allowing him to escape. Since Richard had relapsed into utter silence, Sir Wat dealt with it brusquely, neither admitting nor denying the credit Lymond seemed to have given him; and after a bit they stopped pestering him with questions and offered pleasantly enough to travel back to Edinburgh together.\n\nAfter his own men had joined him, Buccleuch asked to look at the prisoner and was directed to the rear, where Lymond was lashed flat to a horse-stretcher. He was not conscious.\n\nSir Wat studied him in silence before making his way back to the Cockburn brothers. He jerked his head. \"What'll happen now?\"\n\n\"Oh. Well, he's at the horn, isn't he? It'll be the Castle then, I dare say, for a week or two; and then a sweet short trial and a swing in New Bigging Street. Nothing surer than that.\"\n\nAnd so Richard, after all, escorted his young brother to Edinburgh.\n\n[ One Loss Is Made Good ]\n\n\"Quant compaignons s'en vont juer\n\n[ Ils n'ont pointe tou dis essouper ]\n\n[ Cras connins ne capons rostis ]\n\nFors le terme qu'ils ont argent\u2026\"\n\nIt was so long since the Dowager had broken into song that Mariotta and her two guests were surprised. Janet grinned, and Agnes Herries, who was half asleep, blinked and said, \"Is it time yet?\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" said Sybilla. The smallest flush under the white skin was the only sign that she was excited: she was beautifully dressed and not at all frayed in manner as was Mariotta, who showed the effects of the three newsless weeks since Tom Erskine's return from Hexham.\n\nAt midnight, in their presence, Johnnie Bullo was to turn a pound of lead into gold. Of the four women, Janet Buccleuch was deeply interested in Sybilla's experiment. Propping her large green velvet slippers on a footstool, she said, \"Did the gypsy want a lot of gold off you for this? I hope you were careful.\"\n\nThe Dowager raised candid eyes over the rims of her glasses. \"Of course, dear. But the gold will have reached him only ten minutes before we do, which is just\"\u2014glancing at her enormous German clock\u2014\"about now. Shall we go?\"\n\nMariotta, leaning over, touched Agnes Herries awake. She opened her eyes with a jerk, followed the others vaguely to the door, and then seized Mariotta in a vicelike grip. \"What if he raises the devil?\"\n\nMariotta laughed, and withdrawing her arm, put it reassuringly around the bride's shoulders. \"What if he does? Sybilla would simply exchange recipes for sulphur ointment and give him a bone for the dog. Come along\u2026\"\n\nOutside it was cool and very dark. A wisp of straw, rolling over the cobbles in the light wind, caught the beam from the doorway and scuttled, spider-fashion, into the night; nothing else moved. Sybilla shut the big doors and in the darkness they walked over to where the small window of Johnnie Bullo's laboratory glowed like a malign and bloodshot eye. The Dowager rapped on the pane; there was a pause; a stealthy rattle of heavy bolts, and the door to the laboratory swung open.\n\nThe heat buffeted their faces. The low, square building was lined with scarlet from the glow of the furnace, snoring hoarsely as the wind sucked at its funnel.\n\nFrom floor to ceiling rose vessels and retorts and bottles, jars, pots and crucibles, matrasses and pelicans, balloons, serpents and mortars, aludels, funnels and beakers. The walls bobbed and winked and glimmered with vermilion eyes as if wattled with bloated and striking serpents, swaying with the flames.\n\nThere was a wooden bench, littered with tongs and iron filings and dirty dishes and knives and heaps of flour and sand for the lutes; an old athanors, unused; sundry pots, chipped and blackened, on the floor; and two different sizes of bellows hanging on nails beside an outburst of chalked inscriptions in some sign language firmly based on triangles. There was an old carpet on the stone floor and two wooden stools, beside which stood Johnnie.\n\nJohnnie's eyeballs shone like red glass. His face, swarthy and flushed, was running with perspiration and his short, wiry frame writhed darkly over the bottles and knives, coiling and disappearing in the leaping red light. He bowed without speaking and indicated the stools. The Dowager sat quickly on one and Janet on the other, with the two girls standing behind. Johnnie waited until they were settled and then following his shadow to the door, shot the bolt. The furnace flared up.\n\n\"Let us begin,\" said Johnnie and stood, in an odd, prayerful attitude by his bench, his brown, long-lashed eyes fiery and grave.\n\n\"Tonight we follow where only the greatest have led. Tonight we invoke the aid of those who have allowed us to penetrate to the Chamaman, the Tan, the great mystery. We honour Yeber-Abou-Moussah-Djafar-al-Sofi, the Master of Masters; Zosimus and Synesius; Trismegistus the Thrice Great; Olympiodorus, Philosopher to Petasius, King of Armenia; Nagarjuna who discovered distillation; and the blind Abu-Bakr-Muhammad-Ibn-Zakariyya-al-Razi himself.\n\n\"We ask them to lend power to our Stone, that the imperfect metal, the crude substance of Saturn, shall fall into corruption and in the flames of its passing generate the moisture of mercury and the smoke of sulphur until, refined, purified, perfected, the substance in our crucible will no longer have the attributes, the vices, the weakness of lead, but instead will be transmuted to perfect gold.\"\n\nHe touched gently one of the bellied pots at his feet, swathed in cloths and with an iron clamp about its neck. \"The gold is here; the chains and coins given me by Lady Culter, already melted down and ready to begin the reaction which compels the transformation to begin. Here\"\u2014he lifted a grey brick from the table\u2014\"is a pound of lead. Will you test it for me?\"\n\nJanet took it from him and examined it closely. It passed from hand to hand and returned to Bullo, who held it so that they could all see quite clearly, and placed it in the retort. \"So. And now the Stone.\"\n\nHe bent over his bench for a moment, and turned. In his tough brown palm lay a box, beautifully made in silver, with Arabic characters on the lid and a small mirror inset in the bottom. He opened it, holding it for them to see.\n\nInside, on a bed of white velvet, lay a dirty grey stone, flaked and powdery in texture and uneven in shape. Johnnie spoke gently. \"The Stone of the Wise. The Magisterium. The Universal Essence.\" He lifted it delicately and, opening another, clean box on his desk, he scraped gently at the soft skin of the stone. A little white dust, flushed in the rosy light, slipped into the box, and Bullo replaced the stone, keeping the box of dust in his hand.\n\n\"My lady. What we are doing is not without danger\u2014to me. You are quite safe. But I must ask you not to speak, and not to move, until the mystery is over.\n\n\"For myself, I confide my safety to the alchemists and the philosophers who watch us, and speak the words of the Emerald Table: True it is, without falsehood: certain most true. That which is above is like to that which is below; and that which is below is like to that which is above, to accomplish the miracles of one thing. And as in all things whereby contemplation of one, so in all things arose from this one thing by a single act of adoption. The father thereof is the Sun; the mother, the Moon. The wind carries it in its womb: the earth is the source thereof. It is the father of all works of wonder throughout the world. The power thereof is perfect. Thus thou wilt possess the brightness of the world, and all obscurity will fly far from thee\u2026\"\n\nWith steady hands, he lifted the great jar and set it to its resting place over the fire. Next, withdrawing the clamp, he tilted the little box of powder so that its contents drifted within the neck of the crucible to join the metal inside.\n\nFor the space of a heartbeat there was silence.\n\nThen with a waft and a roar, blue smoke lipped like cream from the mouth of the retort, folded, arched and rolled servilely through the hut. It thickened, dropping languid fingers to the floor and flattening itself against the wooden roof; it became dense, black and choking with the stink of sulphur; it yawned blindly in the senses and the fire, leaping as if freed of some monstrous birth, rent its thinnest layers with tongues of yellow and crimson.\n\nAgnes screamed. Mariotta, after a single alarmed cry, held the girl tightly and stood still. Janet, gripping her stool, watched the Dowager until she could barely see her, close as she was, for the swirling fumes. They were enclosed, hot and foul and black as charcoal, they were defying panic when, sweet as a summer dawn, the smoke bloomed, and bright gold rising living from its roots flooded the dark curtain and turned it into the pure yellow of Easter sunshine.\n\nThe veil hung, fresh and precious for the space of ten seconds, and then, breaking like floss, melting, separating, sifting and dwindling through the air, it slowly vanished. Behind it, Johnnie Bullo appeared, a shadow, a monochrome, a flat and coloured impasto, and finally the vivid man, standing beside the furnace. In one hand was the clamp, and he was raising from the fire the heavy, blackened jar.\n\nThere was an iron plate on the floor in front of the Dowager. Bullo set the crucible there, and the heat from it made them draw back. They watched in silence as Johnnie stepped up, an iron bar in his hands. He swung it, and the neck of the jar broke at its base.\n\nIn silence he proffered the Dowager his tongs. She bent, groping within the crucible. The instrument gripped; she raised it and lowered what it held to the floor. It was a small block of dull metal, unmistakably gold. There was nothing else in the jar at all.\n\nWords could not contain their triumph and amazement. The bottles and jars chattered and clinked and the walls wept tears of strange emotion. Where there had been a block of lead, there was a block of gold. The Stone of the Wise was powerful indeed.\n\nWhen she could hear herself speak, the Dowager, scarlet with pleasure, was also urgently pressing. \"May we see it again? May we see the Stone again? Now we know it is the true Stone.\"\n\nShe had been less than tactful, and he demurred at first; but both Mariotta and Agnes added their voices, and finally he brought out the silver box. Sybilla opened it lovingly.\n\n\"Lift it,\" said Janet. \"Is it heavy?\"\n\nThe Dowager inserted a delicate finger and thumb. \"Not very. So small, and so powerful. If one scraping does all this, what mightn't the whole Stone do?\"\n\nThe white teeth flashed. Johnnie, royally confident, was in carefree mood. \"It would burn as the sun in your hand would burn, my lady. But you will wish to use it sparingly and make it last long.\"\n\n\"Not particularly,\" said Sybilla. She weighed the precious thing a moment in her hand, a calculating look in the blue eye, and then pitched it wholesale into the heart of the furnace.\n\nEverybody screamed at once, and Johnnie's shout was the loudest of all.\n\nThe roar and belch of black smoke this time pounced on them like the black underbelly of the ancient Chaos himself, snarling and surging about them with inhuman venom. It grew dark: far darker than before. Their eyes became blind as the eyes of the dead and the unborn; their senses thickened and stifled beneath the blanket of sulphur and their skins grew heavy and clogged with the rushing filth. The furnace roared. The last thing Janet saw was Sybilla's head, like eidelweiss on some black, mirrored tarn. She took two strides and, embedding her powerful grasp in Sybilla's long sleeves, hung on. Then they were all lost to each other.\n\nThere was no yellow flare. The sightless nightmare engulfed them and the seconds passed, and then minutes, of black choler, livid and briefly guttering with the surge of the furnace. Light came reluctantly, clearing the blackness in misty circles, like clean water running white and graining over the blackened face of a drawing.\n\nThe floor became visible to them; then the stools; the lower part of the bench, and the five persons in the laboratory, three of them in much altered positions. Instead of commanding the furnace, Johnnie Bullo was standing hard by the door, looking out of the corners of his eyes at Sybilla. The Dowager had reseated herself and with Janet peering beside her, was poking energetically inside a large crucible, the twin of the one which stood shattered on the iron plate still in front of her.\n\n\"Such a useful thing, smoke,\" said Sybilla. \"Now what have we here? Yes. I thought so.\"\n\nShe plunged her arm inside the jar and lifted something out, displaying it to them all. \"One pound of lead, untouched. From the first crucible, stealthily hidden beneath the bench. Leading us to the second crucible, now broken, and containing one block of lead (at a guess) thinly coated with gold. Leading us to the further matter of my chains and coins which were supposed to be in the first jar but are (at a guess) inside the bench drawer instead. Yes, here they are.\n\n\"Dear me. Having supplied me with my coated brick and my Stone, Mr. Bullo meant I suppose to pocket the gold intended for the experiment and to stimulate a small regular income of gold with which to repeat his initial success. I do call that a little grasping, when I seemed to have housed and fed and paid him practically all winter.\u2026 I shouldn't try it, my dear man. The door wouldn't open for a very good reason: half my servants are outside with pikestaffs. Didn't you know that Dame Janet dabbled in alchemy too? She has been a most valued adviser.\"\n\nStanding against the door, Johnnie Bullo showed his teeth; and there was something of the occult still about his smile, although he was unarmed and rather dirty, as they all were, and his hair was curling over his eyes. \"At least, as you say, I had a winter's lodging for it,\" he said impudently. The brown eyes were limpid. \"Have I made an error? I was under the impression you were buying my services.\"\n\nThe blue eyes were equally seraphic. \"Your services proved a little expensive.\"\n\nHe shrugged a little. \"I did all I could be expected to do, barring manufacture fresh time. You feel,\" and he jerked his head toward the door, \"you have no further need of me?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Sybilla, and gathering her stained clothes carefully, she sat down again on her blackened stool. \"On the contrary: I wished it to be very clear to you that you need my good offices much more than I need yours. If these men outside take you to a sheriff with this tale, you'll hang.\"\n\nRomanies, having no use for confessions and excuses, likewise prefer to reach a crooked point quickly. Johnnie Bullo moved away from the door, strolled to the bench, turned, and regarded the Dowager with resignation and some misgiving.\n\n\"All right. What must I do?\" he inquired."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 126",
                "text": "On that same evening, as the small, gusty wind blew heather off the fuel stacks and straw from the roofs and goffered the gutter mud in the High Street, Lord Culter left Edinburgh for home.\n\nIt was five months since he had seen Midculter; five months since he had ridden around the estate, or seen to his fishings and his warrens and his peats. He had watched his stock coming to market outside the city walls; had met and corresponded with Gilbert over the shipments of wool and hides and the ordering of the farms and the affairs of his dependents; his wright and his mason, his tailor and amourer and falconer and carpenter and smith and gardeners; the men who supplied his oats, meal and barley, herded his pigs and sheep and cattle, grew his peas and beans, brewed his beer and bred his horses and cared for his wealth, infield and outfield.\n\nHe had missed the lambing and the finishing of his new barns and outbuildings; the shearing; the new plantings he had decided on for the spring. For five months he had carried a sleepless sword and husbanded other, corrupt intentions.\n\nNow he was going home. Against the red western sky the outline of the Pentland hills, each shape familiar to him, moved and fell behind him on his right. The road, climbing up into Lanarkshire, reached the high moors as the wind freshened. The sky above him, changing from turquoise to Chinese blue, drew over him the inconspicuous film of night. The horizon, lingering apple green before him, breathed out its colour scrupulously after the prostrate sun.\n\nHe had said to Buccleuch, and Dandy Hunter, seeing him off, \"I'll be at Midculter before morning\"; and Buccleuch had pummelled him briskly on the shoulder and said, \"Good lad. I hope it comes right for you. Kittle cattle, women, kittle cattle: but it's wersh and wae without them.\"\n\nBryony's hoofs drummed in sympathy. Kittle cattle: kittle cattle. Would it come right? God knew, thought Richard\u2014and closed his thighs like iron on the mare.\n\nLike a wet and turgid emergence from a pool, the night became peopled with figures. Someone spoke harshly; there was a rush of soft feet and a chinking of metal against buckles. Bryony plunged, and trickling, wirelike fingers over nose and bridle secured her and then tugged and twisted at Richard himself.\n\nCulter, kicking with his spurred boot still in the stirrup, freed his right hand and laid it on his sword, cursing himself under his breath. It was always a bad road to travel alone: it meant riding fast and staying alert, and he had been doing neither. Hell. They still had Bryony fast. There were two of them\u2014no, three. He saw the shadow of a cudgel just in time, ducked, cut and heard a scream as he dodged and cut again.\n\nThe hands began again, twisted in his belt and pulling his leathers. The saddle became loose and he knew the girth had been slit. He slashed at the dim faces, feeling the numbness of a blow on his arm; fighting to free his sword arm from the clinging hands. The saddle was swinging, bringing him down with it. Below him, the unseen men grunted and swore; then the blade was suddenly wrenched from his grip and they leaped at him, bringing him successfully down, driving with his fists, knees and elbows into the tangle of hard bodies and then on to the road.\n\nThere was a gleam of steel: a solitary, agonized, breathless moment in which the irony of the thing struck him like a cannon ball, and then the circle of dark heads above him opened out like girasol to the sun. A brown pony, dark with perspiration, shot into the circle and decanted a thunderbolt: a dark figure which skirled and spat like a being demented.\n\nThe men about Lord Culter froze. The newcomer raged, in a language which was not English. The leader of the assassins answered, sullenly, in the same tongue and was treated to another shrivelling outburst. The other two, making an attempt to speak, were cut off by a storm of abuse. Under it, the three moved off sulkily, mounted and, without a word, disappeared as they had come into the darkness.\n\nThe owner of the brown pony remounted. Richard, shaking his head, rolled over, groped for and found his sword, and got to his feet. \"I trust,\" said the rider in clear but sibilant English, \"that you are not hurt?\" His expression, so far as it could be seen, was one of resignation rather than triumph.\n\nRichard got back his breath. \"Not at all. I would be suitably grateful if I didn't know they were your men.\"\n\n\"You have the Romany?\" asked his rescuer, and there was a dim flash of white teeth. \"Or only a little? Then I must explain that they attacked you through no orders of mine. We are a wayward people, my lord.\"\n\nRichard flexed his arm thoughtfully, studying the immobile, spare figure. Vivid in his mind was the firelit room at Stirling, and the stained arrows on the table. He had unfastened his jacket and, pulling out one of the points, laced his broken girth with it. \"I believe I could put a name to you,\" he said.\n\nThe white teeth flashed again. \"I hope you won't. My people tell me, when I come home, of the little commissions they are offered. I seldom interfere. If it were not that I am at the mercy of the shrewdest of your relatives\u2026\"\n\nRichard straightened suddenly. \"My brother?\"\n\nThe other was already wheeling his pony to the Edinburgh road; he laughed as he went and shook his head. \"No, no. Not at all. Devil take it, not at all.\" The pony's hoofs, gently pattering, dropped into rhythm and faded, leaving the echo of wry laughter on the air.\n\nRichard slowly gathered Bryony's reins and put his left hand on her neck. A half-smile lifted his mouth, so that for a moment he looked astonishingly like the Master.\n\n\"Mother! What now?\" he said, and lifting himself into the saddle put the mare, fast, along the Midculter road."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 127",
                "text": "Patrick opened the gates to Lord Culter long past midnight, with incoherent words of welcome. He sent his chamberlain back to bed without rousing the household, and taking a candle, went alone up the main staircase and along the dimly lit corridor to his wife's room.\n\nThere he hesitated. He had removed all traces of his adventure: he had no idea of posing as a brave but battered warrior. Was it equally unfair to take her unaware like this? He wished he had kept Patrick. He could have roused Mariotta's maid; have sent her in to ask if she would receive him.\u2026 And if she refused? What a scene for the women, that.\n\nHe pulled himself together. If she didn't want him she should say so, directly, to him. He hesitated only a moment longer, and then put out his hand and knocked.\n\nThrough a welter of necromantic, smoke-ridden dreams Mariotta became aware of the light tap. When after a moment it was repeated, she sat up, fencing with the supernatural, and called, \"Yes? Who is it?\" The answer took her by the throat.\n\nSilence had fallen again. Her breathing had become erratic. Unable to talk with this chaos in her lungs she was quiet, trying to control the disorder.\n\n\"Mariotta?\" He was speaking again, very low. \"May I come in?\"\n\nIt didn't occur to her to refuse. She pulled a bedgown over her ruffled linen, gave a despairing thought to her hair, and called to him levelly. \"Come in if you wish.\"\n\nShe was paralysed by the change in him; because she had expected time to have stood still for him, as it had done for her. He was brown-skinned and light-haired with the sun, the corner of his eyes seamed with white. He was thinner and harder, and his quietness had a quality of power and repose in it which was new to him.\n\nComing no nearer than the foot of the bed he said, \"I wakened you. I'm sorry. I couldn't leave until sunset, and I thought it might be better to speak now, in private.\"\n\nMariotta's eyes were unchanging violet in the glimmer of the candle. \"What is there to say?\"\n\nYou may know the devil by the inverted image in his eyes. The candle flame in her husband's showed her, sanely, herself twice over. He dropped abruptly on the low chest below her bed and taking the fringe of her coverlet in his fingers, twisted and plied it with his eyes on his hands.\n\nHe said, \"I was brought up to distrust talkers. A foolish thing which recoiled, naturally, on my own head. I was taught to judge people by their actions, and I do\u2014and it works\u2014except sometimes, when it matters most. I probably haven't learned much, but I've learned that people don't always say what they mean, for good reasons as well as bad.\"\n\n\"People don't always say what they mean for no reason at all,\" said Mariotta lightly. \"Especially feminine people.\" She saw he was troubled by this vein and watched him, her chin cushioned on her updrawn knees. She went on in the same deceptive voice. \"But you accused me of being Lymond's lover before I claimed I was.\"\n\nThe trouble in his eyes deepened as she brought out, irresponsibly, the difficult thing he had to discuss. He rolled the tortured fringe in his hands and she went on, before he could speak. \"You're trying to tell me you know there was nothing between us. But I think you must tell me how you know. You didn't believe me. Whom did you find to believe?\"\n\nIt was hard, but she meant to be hard. She watched him as he groped painfully for an honest and lucid answer; trying with all his strength to satisfy her and win through to her without invoking the shadows of the last five months, and of the last three weeks. It couldn't be done, and she made it clear to him that he mustn't try. \"Richard? What have you done?\"\n\nHe didn't look up, or call his brother by name. \"Nothing. He's alive. This isn't an act of expiation.\"\n\n\"Did he tell you what passed between us?\"\n\nRichard's face was buried in his hands. \"Some of it.\"\n\n\"He told you he had never laid hands on me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you believed him?\"\n\n\"Yes. I don't know. Not when he told me. But later on\u2014I've had a long time to think.\"\n\n\"And when he took me to Crawfordmuir?\"\n\n\"It was an accident: he intended you to be taken straight home. He did what he could for you. I know about that.\"\n\n\"Then either Will Scott or myself is a liar,\" said Mariotta gently. \"Because Lymond told me face to face that he meant all the time to bring me to Crawfordmuir; that he took me there to dishonour you and disrupt the inheritance. It was to save myself and you that I escaped.\"\n\nRichard's hands dropped from his face, and his wife said, \"So which story will you favour this time? His or mine?\"\n\nThere was a long silence. Then slowly Richard got up from the chest. He looked very tired. \"Are you sure\u2026?\"\n\n\"He spoke very plainly indeed. Will Scott can tell you.\"\n\nHer husband walked to the window. Faintly, in the courtyard, the dying glow of Johnnie Bullo's embers searched through the open door, were cut off, gleamed and disappeared as it swung in the wind. Mariotta said, \"Well?\" and he turned, making a gesture of despair. \"I have lived with him for three weeks. He's tormented, perverted, dangerous, ruthless, but\u2014\"\n\nThe candlelight lit her soot-black hair and the soft wool on her shoulders, as if a silver quill had embellished the air about her. Her face, resting on her knees, was shadowed and unreadable. \"But you believe him. It's another impasse then, isn't it, Richard?\"\n\n\"I'm damned if it is,\" said Lord Culter suddenly, and swung around. \"My dear: listen. We've been married less than a year. Because of circumstances and foolishnesses and my mistakes and shortcomings we've been parted for nearly half that time. We've each in our own way been through a number of minor hells; and we've had a great loss.\u2026\n\n\"A mistake is something you build on: it's the irritant that makes the pearl; the flaw that creates the geyser\u2014but a mistake made twice is a folly. It's cost something in terms of thought and sacrifice and even suffering to bring us tonight to speak with each other. We have a moral duty at least not to toss it away.\"\n\n\"And Lymond?\"\n\nRichard said steadily, \"You had no right to ask me that question, and no right to expect me to make that choice.\"\n\n\"I knew you wouldn't make it,\" she said. \"I knew if you had made it, even in your own mind, that Lymond would be dead. I was only\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014Frightening me for the good of my soul,\" said Richard, and suddenly smiled. \"As Francis rejoices in doing. I've spoken to Will Scott too, you know. But won't you believe me? I've been frightened enough already.\"\n\nHe was standing looking down at her. \"Perhaps you've married the wrong brother. And that would be a pity. Because Francis lives in a passionless vacuum and keeps his love for abstract things. And in the second place, I should never let you go.\"\n\nShe had longed so much to hear it that she was beyond speech; but there was a quality in her face that drove him suddenly toward violence.\n\n\"I love you,\" said Richard to his wife. \"You have dominion of life and death over me. I am asking nothing except to prove it without being turned away. Or\"\u2014his eyes on her lifted arms\u2014\"being taken out of pity.\"\n\nHer outstretched hands did not waver, and the candlelight on her face found an expression unsought even in his dreams. He came carefully to her side, and knelt under her light touch.\n\n\"Out of pity?\" said Mariotta. \"My dear fool, why am I fighting you and denying you and hurting you except that I am so afraid of you, and of myself; because I love you far too well for peace and gentle harmonies.\u2026\n\n\"It's all right. My dear, it's all right. I am here: I love you: I will not leave you. None shall take it from us now.\"\n\nHe had dropped head and shoulders to the bed, one hand gripping the silk and the other holding her outstretched hand as if it were his hope of eternity. Mariotta brought her other arm to encircle his shoulders and comforted him."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 128",
                "text": "Roused very early next morning by Tibet, in tears, Sybilla received her son in her room.\n\nShe had risen and put on a vast brocade bedgown. With its stiff silk puckered about her, she sat in her high chair like Demeter about to breakfast on Pelops, her face in shadow from the paling windows. Richard bent over and kissed her.\n\nShe surveyed him, silently absorbing the pleasing, tranquil assurance of him and the woollen robe he wore. Her own mouth relaxed, and she touched his cheek as he dropped to a stool at her feet and hugged his knees. \"You've made your peace. What odd children I have! I'm so glad,\" she said.\n\n\"Could I have leave to stay, do you think?\" asked Richard. \"What you've done about the steadings I hate to think. Salted all the sheep and given away the pigs and allowed the salmon to be poached\u2026 I didn't kill him.\"\n\n\"I know. You wouldn't have kissed me, would you?\" said Sybilla coolly.\n\nRichard flushed. \"He's\u2014Francis is in Edinburgh. Tom would tell you, he was badly hurt in England. Then he was taken\u2014gave himself up\u2014as we were coming north. I'd planned to get a ship for him and help him to leave.\"\n\nSome of the natural colour had returned to Sybilla's fine skin. She drew a finger down his cheek and said, \"That was remarkably well done, no matter what came of it. You won't regret it, either. What will they do?\"\n\n\"The warrant is out for letters relaxing him from the horn. That lets them bring him to trial before Parliament. In two weeks' time, probably.\" His eyes searched her face. \"There isn't much hope, you know. But to be honest, I don't think he greatly cares.\"\n\nFor the the first time, he saw a spark of fear in her eyes. \"Why? Because of Christian?\"\n\n\"A number of things, I think\u2026\" He waited, and then said, \"Will you go and see him? Soon?\"\n\n\"No. I should only weaken him now,\" said Sybilla curtly. \"And in any case, I have a little travelling to do, and I must be back in good time.\"\n\n\"Travelling?\" Never in this world would he understand her.\n\n\"Yes, my darling,\" said Sybilla. \"And someone, as Buccleuch would say, is going to loathe my guts before I've finished with them.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Baring",
                "text": "\u2002Wherefore the nobles and the peples ben sette in their proper places.\u2026\n\n\u2002They that ben sette on the other syde kepe the Quene.\n\n\u2002And thus kepe they alle the strength and fermete\n\n\u2002of the royaume.\n\n[ Remiss ]\n\nThat year, as in other years, death was not man's ultimate terror and chief source of his disquiet. Death was cheap and quick, indiscriminating and often friendly. You could die in a day, from the pest. You could die in a second in the innocent hub of a brawl. Children in thousands never came to life, or lived only hours. You could die in battle, and you could die at the minor instance of the law, for cheating and stealing and concealing disease. Death was better, often, than pain, mutilation and deformity; than starvation in banishment; than the intangible evils of sorcery and enchantment. People died suddenly, from week to week and month to month, and their disappearance had to be accepted. Death was cheap and quick.\n\nIn time of siege and foreign occupation, the doom and death of a traitor might go unnoticed. But many in Edinburgh lost fathers or brothers at Solway Moss, and had heard Carrick Pursuivant at the Cross six years before charging and warning the traitor to appear.\n\nTwice they had summoned the absent Lymond to the diet of his libel, and twice the record book had noted, The aforesaid being summoned did not appear. For this contemptuous failure in his duty to his Sovereign and this rebellion against the law of his country, sentence of fugitation was passed, making him rebel and outlaw.\n\nNow, six years later, triumphant officialdom spoke. Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter, being in ward in Her Majesty's Castle of Edinburgh, was summoned to appear on the eighth day of the month of August in the year of Our Lord 1548, to answer charges of treason, of revealing and showing to our ancient enemies of England the secrets of the Queen; of treasonable intercommuning and rendering of aid and comfort to our said enemies; of murder, assault, abduction and robbery, and crimes against the Estate and Church as set forth in the indictment.\n\nThe news reached Will Scott where he hung about in a frenzy of inactivity in Edinburgh. He tried and failed to get access to the Castle. Buccleuch, already aware of the event, left his son alone and got back to the siege of Haddington. Richard, with a lot to do at Midculter and a strong unwillingness to leave it, stayed with his wife and made quiet preparations to return before the eighth. Sybilla, having got rid of all her encumbrances, collected a small, well-armed retinue and left for parts unknown."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 130",
                "text": "The Dowager reached Ballaggan on the first of August, carrying the date in her breast like an aposteme.\n\nShe was brought into the hall and made welcome, under the vacant survey of alabaster and murrhine. Crossing the little Turkey carpets which cost so much, Dandy Hunter took her to his study as she asked, and poured her wine and made her comfortable, without pressing her for news of either of her sons. She smiled at him very gently and took from her purse a little box, which she laid on the table between them. \"I came to return this,\" she said.\n\nSmiling, a little puzzled, he took it. His sleeves were caught with embroidered bands and the stuff of his jerkin, as fine as her own, was lined with tissue. Smiling at her again, he unwrapped, fastidiously, what lay inside the box; and then, with the smile lingering forgotten on his lips, drew out and laid before him the contents.\n\nIt was a hexagonal brooch, set in ebony and diamonds and shaped like a heart set about with crystal plaques, each bearing an angel's head in onyx.\n\nThe silence stretched out. Then Sir Andrew stirred and lifted his eyes. \"But this isn't mine.\"\n\n\"No?\" said Sybilla. \"But Patey Liddell altered it for you: I saw it in his shop. Your mother might remember.\"\n\nRemembrance brightened his face. \"Ah!\" he said. \"Now I have it. Yes, indeed\u2014I bought it for Mother, and lost it again the same day.\" He gave her a rueful smile. \"I'm sorry, but your son was the culprit. The brooch lay by the bed when he broke into the house, and when he had gone, it had vanished too. I'm afraid I was so angry and concerned about Mother that I dismissed it\u2026 I'd forgotten it altogether. Wherever did you find it?\"\n\n\"But,\" said Sybilla, \"you handed it to Patey after Francis's visit.\"\n\n\"Patey must be mistaken.\"\n\n\"I'm not mistaken,\" retorted Sybilla serenely. \"I overheard you.\" She paused, and then went on. \"I got it from Agnes Herries: did it puzzle you to find her wearing it? Before that, it belonged to Mariotta. They took the rest of the rubbish from her at Annan. It very nearly did what you meant it to do.\"\n\nHe touched his head with his hand and sat back, smiling again. \"Wait a moment\u2014what I wanted it to do? I'm sorry, but hasn't Mariotta explained? It was Lymond who sent her all the jewellery. Blame me if you like for not telling Richard, but your poor daughter-in-law put me in an appalling position. But I swear I did my best to persuade her to confide in Culter.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you did,\" said Sybilla placidly. \"With results we all know. Of course Mariotta thought they were from Francis: she was infatuated with the idea of him. That must have been a little disconcerting for you. But when she didn't automatically attribute them to you, you must have realized she wasn't, after all, going to fall into your arms as you planned she should. So you adapted your scheme accordingly and it worked quite well. Mariotta thought they came from Lymond, and that was enough to break her marriage and nearly to kill her.\"\n\nThe thin-boned, high-nosed face was flushed with emotion. Dandy said quickly in a troubled voice, \"Lady Culter. You can't know what you're saying. Mariotta was young enough and troubled enough to turn to me. I couldn't deny her help.\" He stood up suddenly, anxiety in his face. \"Is this how she is explaining it to Richard? To whitewash Lymond and put the blame on me?\"\n\nSybilla, neatly swathed in gauze and laces, was the calm within the hurricane. She stretched out a slender hand and retrieving brooch and box, returned them to her purse. \"Mariotta still thinks the jewels came from Lymond,\" she observed, fixing the distrait man with candid, cornflower eyes. \"But I think she ought to know that you have now tried to kill her husband four times.\"\n\nThere was a little, breathless hush; and then Sir Andrew said, \"Good God, Lady Culter,\" and sat down unbecomingly. \"But this is nonsense. Do you mean to accuse me of\u2026?\"\n\nKe stared at her, breathing quickly, and then slapped one hand on his desk. \"No! No. I'm damned if I'm going to be scapegoat. I've a very soft spot for you all, Lady Culter, and for Mariotta especially, but I can't let you twist and pervert facts to get your beloved son off the gallows. Give some thought to my mother, at least.\u2026 The only person who has tried to kill Richard is his own brother.\"\n\n\"Facts?\" said Sybilla. \"At the Papingo Shoot Francis aimed twice: once to cut the cord and the second time to kill the bird. Then he dropped the bow and quiver and left the glove. You were the person first on the spot: you had already tried and failed to free yourself of Mariotta and Agnes.\"\n\nSir Andrew's flush had paled. \"It's still nonsense,\" he said steadily. \"You know I can't shoot. Everyone knows that.\"\n\n\"You can't shoot at a Papingo target,\" said Sybilla, \"but you are an excellent marksman on the flat. Everyone knows that, too.\"\n\n\"It's Lymond's word, in that case, against mine. Do you suppose for a moment\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, of course. You've no evidence against you,\" she said, \"any more than you had when you led Richard and Agnes Herries over a part of the Nith notorious for its potholes. Happily, Richard is a very strong swimmer. And there were, I suppose, too many witnesses.\"\n\n\"I pulled him out myself,\" exclaimed Hunter. \"Lady Culter\u2014\"\n\n\"But the third and fourth times,\" said the Dowager, \"there was evidence.\"\n\nShe had effectively stopped his protest. He made a little gesture of resignation. \"You'd better tell me.\"\n\n\"Do you need to be told? I had some simple tests made with the herbal drink you brought from your mother for Richard's use. They tell me Mariotta would have been a wealthy and marriageable widow very quickly if he had drunk it.\"\n\nHe said quietly, \"Go on. And the fourth occasion?\"\n\nFor the first time, Sybilla lost a little of her self-command. She said, \"Do you know, if you had succeeded then, I think you would have had to answer for it yourself to those same gypsy gentlemen and not to me today. He was on his way to Mariotta when they attacked him\u2026 but you knew that, of course. It must have seemed quite fool-proof at last: Romanies can only be controlled by their King. Unluckily for you, their King at the moment is controlled by me. He learned of your commission and stopped it just in time. Richard isn't dead, Sir Andrew; and I have three men who will swear to having been paid by you to assassinate him.\"\n\nHunter's manner didn't alter: only his eyes, meeting hers, were curiously bright and impersonal. He said carefully, \"You are evidently bribing whoever you can to save your son. Forgive me, but if you take this any further I shall have to take steps legally to protect myself.\"\n\nThis time Sybilla herself got up, moving away from the table with a rustle of petticoats. She said over her shoulder, \"I haven't taken it any further\u2014yet. But don't be misled. The fact that I am here doesn't mean there is the least uncertainty; the least hope for you. There isn't any. The only doubt is in my own mind and is because of your mother.\"\n\n\"Mother!\" said Hunter's voice, half aloud behind her.\n\nThere was the briefest pause, and then her quick brain, suddenly showing her his mind, made her twist around. His sword was already half lifted, light stuttering from the blade.\n\nShe said rapidly, \"I may look simple, but I'm not precisely moonstruck yet. If I don't come back, you won't even have a chance to hang, my friend.\"\n\nHe continued to come. The sword, still half raised, was aimed almost casually at her heart, and his face was quite detached, like a dreamer's. She drew one quick breath and stood still, her hands open at her sides, her head a little tilted and her lips parted. He walked until he was so close to her that he had to meet her eyes; had to make the small decision that would force the point onward.\n\nSomething of the message of the steady blue eyes must have penetrated; something of her unexpected stillness surprised him into a moment's pause; and Sybilla said quietly in that instant, \"I have your charter chest at Midculter.\"\n\nShe thought she had misjudged it. The sword point wavered and approached and his eyes remained flatly purposeful. Then they came alive again, startled and disbelieving; the sword dropped and he said \u2014and had difficulty in saying\u2014\"That isn't true. I keep my chest in the strongroom of this house. No one\u2014\"\n\n\"Your mother keeps her recipes there: remember? And I have a very talented Romany on my side, Sir Andrew.\u2026 You've had dealings with the English, haven't you, for a very long time? Your visits to the Ostrich put you in no danger\u2014you were already well known in Carlisle. How else did you know Jonathan Crouch was George Douglas's prisoner? Why did Sir George trouble with you unless he had a fairly good idea you were in the same sweet trade as himself?\"\n\nShe turned, and walking past where he stood frozen in mid-room, she paused by the window, looking out on the ochre and viridian and sage green of the dusty summer treetops.\n\n\"Such a mean, thieving little trade: a dealing in secrets; in hissings and winkings and the selling of men's bodies, back and forth. And even then, they didn't pay you well enough. Maybe they realized that you weren't greatly intimate at Court; that you only touched the edge of what they could already get from Glencairn and Douglas and Brunton and Ormiston and Cockburn and the rest.\u2026 So you turned your eyes on my family. Wealth; a pretty heiress; a family feud\u2014who'd be surprised if it had fatal results? And the widow, in due time, would naturally turn to the gentle family friend. Or at the very worst, Francis was worth a thousand crowns to Wharton.\u2026\"\n\nHe said, \"You needn't elaborate. I know what I've done. You've told, then. The papers in that chest\u2014\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said Sybilla, and turned to meet his white face. \"The chest will be opened if I don't come back.\"\n\nTremors were beginning to shake him. He sat again, abruptly, at the table, his eyes fixed on her like stones. \"What are you going to do?\" Seeing the expression on her face he gave a sort of laugh and bit his lip, stilling the shaking. \"What do you suppose my wonderful brother would have done now?\"\n\nHe was too helplessly self-centred, too rotten, for her to pity him now. She said sharply, \"Your mother has a lot to answer for, but if you had the heart of a rabbit, you would have made a man's life for yourself and let her make the best of it.\"\n\nHe had some pride left. He said, making no excuses, \"Mother knows nothing of this. It will kill her. What\u2014what are you going to do?\"\n\nThe cool blue eyes rested on his trembling hands. The Dowager said slowly, \"Your mother is a sick old woman, and an unhappy one. I don't envy you the life you've led with her, but she need never have become the sort of person she is now.\n\n\"Never mind that. She's going to suffer, but not as much as she might have done. I should like to see you hanged. Because of you, I nearly lost every child I have left: I did lose my grandchild. But that would be an insult to all the magnificent, vicious criminals we already have living freely among us.\n\n\"You are not of that kind. You did what you did at second and third hand, as you could, and sweetened over with a glaze of hysterical necessity. Once the need is removed, you won't kill again. A reason for living may be hard to find, too: but that is your problem.\"\n\nShe walked to the desk and drawing a paper in front of him, laid a pen beside it. \"I want one thing,\" she said. \"And that is a statement exonerating Francis from the things you have done.\" And as he hesitated, she said sharply, \"Come along! Beside the other things you have done, what do these matter?\"\n\nHe looked at her with dull eyes, and then, bending, took up the pen and wrote. She read it, sealed it, and put it away. \"Yes. It won't save him, as you may guess\u2026 but it will perhaps undo a little of the damage. And now you'd better leave. I'm going to talk to your mother, and then leave for my home. The chest will be opened and its contents published within two days. By then,\" said Sybilla, \"you should be out of this land.\"\n\nHe raised his head vaguely, only half understanding. \"I may go?\"\n\n\"Yes. And I wish you well of it,\" she said, her eyes hard as sapphires.\n\nShe waited until she heard the sound of his horse on the cobbles, and then rising quietly, climbed the stair to his mother's room.\n\nThe terrier had died in the spring, overcome with fat and lack of air.\n\nSince then, Dame Catherine had had no distractions: her son had hardly been at home, and even her books and her paintings and precious pieces of ivory and jade had begun to pall. Longing for company, she welcomed it by releasing the barbs of months of lonely self-torture. Sybilla, sitting quietly by the taffeta-spread bedside, near the heaped-up delicate pillows, listened to Catherine Hunter's spiced invective against her son, her servants, her surroundings, her illness and finally, as the icy flood reached its spring heights, against her Maker.\n\nThe Dowager's voice cut lightly through the flow. \"Why don't you get them to carry you downstairs?\"\n\nThe black eyes sneered. \"That would be delightful,\" said the old woman. \"Unfortunately, I am part paralysed, you know.\"\n\n\"I don't wonder,\" said Sybilla pleasantly. \"And if you never try to help yourself you'll be wholly paralysed soon, and you will enjoy that. I've brought you a litter. Two of my men are coming up in half an hour to lift you down.\"\n\nA tiny spark of alarm showed in the black eyes, but the grey, crumpled face remained contemptuous. \"Money has given you a fine, arrogant manner, Sybilla, but I should prefer you to keep it for Midculter. I hear your son has left his wife.\"\n\n\"He hasn't, but you won't change the subject by being rude,\" said the Dowager. \"There's warm fire and a comfortable couch in the hall. You'll like it very much.\"\n\n\"Sybilla. I am neither a child nor an imbecile. I dislike being humoured and I particularly dislike being managed. Because of my disability I am unable to leave this room. You can hardly expect me to undermine for your benefit the little health I have left me.\"\n\nThe Dowager said coolly, \"There's no need to be frightened. Your surgeon has given me full permission.\"\n\nThe black eyes snapped. \"The child is dead, I hear.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did your younger boy kill it, or did she get rid of it herself?\"\n\n\"Neither. Don't be silly, Catherine. You don't really want me to go.\"\n\n\"I didn't say I did. Don't be too clever, Sybilla.\"\n\nThe Dowager said, \"The child was nobody's fault, if you really want to know. Mariotta and Richard are together and very happy. Francis is in ward in Edinburgh. He is to appear before Parliament in a week, and we hope very much he will be acquitted.\"\n\nThe little figure on the pillows looked pityingly at Sybilla. \"Acquitted! My dear woman, even the Culters haven't quite enough money for that.\"\n\n\"Then we shall have to use our beaux yeux,\" said Sybilla placidly. \"Perhaps if I made appropriate advances to all Her Majesty's lords of the Session\u2026 Or do you think I should hardly get through them all in a week?\"\n\nThe quality of the black stare was changing. There was a tiny silence, and then Lady Hunter said in her cutting voice, \"This is a little overdetermined, even for you, Sybilla. Something is wrong, I take it. Nobody visits me unless something is wrong.\"\n\nThe Dowager didn't prevaricate. \"A little. It concerns Dandy.\"\n\nThe thin lips compressed themselves. \"Of course. What stupidity has he committed now?\"\n\nSybilla said, \"Any\u2014stupidity he has committed, he did for your sake. You've been a very hard mistress to serve, Catherine.\"\n\n\"The boy needs hardness,\" said the old woman. Her breathing had quickened. \"Toughness. Other people run estates and make a success of them\u2014get on at Court\u2014become popular\u2014bring home heiresses. My other son\u2014\"\n\n\"Dandy did his best for you,\" said the Dowager. \"That's what I have to tell you. He felt he could never succeed in\u2014orthodox\u2014ways, so he tried some which were outside the law. Too far outside.\"\n\n\"He's in trouble?\"\n\n\"Serious trouble. If he's caught.\"\n\n\"You came to warn him. Is that it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sybilla. \"That's it.\"\n\nThere was a long pause. Then, with an effort, the invalid pulled herself up in bed and spoke in her normal voice. \"Well!\" she snapped. \"I suppose he'd better get out of the country. Tell him to come here and I'll give him money. And he'd better not show his face here again until it's safe.\" She did not ask what he had done.\n\nSybilla stretched out her two fine hands and took the small, limp, puffed one in them. \"He has money. He has gone,\" she said. \"There was no time to see you. He sent you his love.\"\n\nThe small hand lay inert in hers; the black eyes were without visible emotion. \"Inept!\" said Dame Catherine. \"Disorganized, as usual. Good riddance. Now perhaps I can get a good paid factor to make the place profitable.\"\n\nSybilla released her hand and rose. \"I'm sure you will. You'll enjoy arranging it. Now, here's the litter and your maid to help them move you. Slowly and carefully\u2026 and you'll do very well.\"\n\nLady Hunter made no protest at all as, wrapping her in her own soft blankets, they transferred her gently from bed to litter, and laid pillows beneath her head. With a manservant carrying each end the invalid moved for the first time in years across the blue tiles of her bedroom and toward the open door. As they carried her, the sun caught the shimmering cap, the jewels and the bright black eyes and flashed for a moment, before the door closed behind her, on the tears lying silently in the bitter troughs and seams of her face."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 131",
                "text": "At Midculter, Mariotta and Richard heard the story in silence. As Sybilla ended, her son drew a long breath and said, \"The charter chest. Is it really here?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Dowager. There were circles under her eyes and her back, although she held it straight, was tired and aching. \"Johnnie Bullo got it for me. It has all the papers on Sir Andrew's transactions with Carlisle.\"\n\nRichard's eyes met hers. \"What are you going to do with them?\"\n\n\"That is for you and Mariotta to decide. You are the person most injured by him. It's only fair you should take what redress you can.\"\n\n\"I don't want revenge,\" said Richard shortly. \"I only want to forget about it.\"\n\n\"You don't want to publish them?\"\n\n\"No. Only the paper that affects Francis.\"\n\n\"Mariotta?\"\n\nThe girl's eyes were fixed on Richard. \"Oh, no. No. It's as much my fault as his.\"\n\n\"Rubbish, child,\" said Sybilla. \"But I'm glad, all the same. He's not worth it. Well keep them as surety for his good conduct abroad, and I hope we never hear of him again.\"\n\nRichard suddenly dropped beside his mother and tilted her chin. \"I don't think you've told us everything. You had no right to attempt a thing like that on your own.\"\n\n\"Attempt!\" said Sybilla indignantly. \"It was a tour de force!\"\n\nThey smiled at one another, and then the Dowager's expression changed. \"Only five days!\" exclaimed his mother. \"How could I be hard on her?\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 132",
                "text": "Only five days. Will Scott, sitting bleakly in his father's empty lodging, could think of nothing more to do. How could he rescue Lymond, even if he were well? Even if he were rescued, how could he force him again into this death within life?\n\nFour days. Sybilla, Mariotta and Richard moved their household to Edinburgh, and a surprising number of their friends came visiting, with an echo of Lady Hunter's tart \"good riddance\" on their lips.\n\nThree days, and the Lord Justice General issued an order and let loose a thunderbolt. On the instructions of the Crown, he desired the prisoner, if his state permitted, to appear for questioning before a Judicial Committee of Parliament on the day before his trial.\n\nRegardless of the tenor of their previous meeting, the boy Scott burst in on Lord Culter with the news. The brisk red hair was wild.\n\n\"It isn't legal!\" said Scott. \"They can't have an Assize without a jury, and it isn't a meeting of the Estates. They can't condemn him without a technical court: they can't!\"\n\n\"They won't,\" said Richard briefly. \"They won't pass sentence, but they'll examine, and make up their minds, and force the result through Parliament the day after. You ought to be able to guess why. Lymond knows too much. He could shatter half the Government at a public hearing.\"\n\nScott brightened. \"He should insist on it. Either they let him off, or else\u2014\" At the expression on Culter's face he broke off. \"No.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Richard. \"I really can't think of any surer way of signing his own death warrant.\u2026 And does it matter, anyway? They'll be out of their minds if they don't condemn him.\"\n\n[ The Queen Moves to Her Beginning ]\n\nRumour of the hurried Assize had reached the streets by midday, and by two o'clock the Lawnmarket from the Butter Tron to St. Giles was thick with people.\n\nBy midafternoon, a further rumour spread that the prisoner, taken out through the Castle postern, was already in the Tolbooth. As this became known there was a good deal of shouting, and someone with no religious intent started up the 109th Psalm: the grave words, used ceremonially at a degradation for treason, yammered on the wind up to St. Giles' sunny crown:\n\n\"Deus laudem meam ne tacueris.\u2026\"\n\nSybilla at her window in the High Street heard it and rattled on, without pausing, with what she was saying to Janet Buccleuch.\n\nInside the Tolbooth, the sun piped in through the coloured glass of the windows. The Assize was preparing, in a narrow room above the hall where Parliament would sit tomorrow. Twelve Assessors, drawn from each of the Three Estates and embracing the President and half the Court of Sessions, sat on three sides of a long board at one end. In the centre presided the noble and potent lord Archibald, Earl of Argyll, Lord Justice-General; the Campbell arms on his chair and the Royal arms above it.\n\nOn either side of the room, the sun striped red and blue and green the papers littering the desks of the Clerks: short Crawford and big Foulis and Lauder of St. Germains, Lord Advocate to the Queen's Grace and member of the Governor's Council, with his long blue chin and shrewd eyes and interminable black-hosed legs folded beneath his chair with the blunt-knuckled inconsequence of a roe deer.\n\nThe Lord Advocate had made a wager before starting with Jamie Foulis on whether Argyll was still on speaking terms with the President. He had won, and was watching the golden louis Jamie had thrown him spinning like a sequin against the black rafters when the Justiciar cleared his throat, making him take his eye off the coin so that it dropped unseen into the straw on the floor.\n\nLauder, catching the Clerk-Register's ecstatic grin across the room, snorted aloud and assumed his legal face. He was, although he gave little sign of it, one of the astutest lawyers in Scotland.\n\n\"\u2026 Gathering,\" Argyll was saying, skipping briefly and almost unintelligibly through the routine, \"at the instance of Parliament\u2026 delated and defamed for\u2026 imprison his body and try and seek out the verity of the matter by examinations and inquisitions before the Justice\u2026 report to the Lords Commissioners of Parliament on this and on the indictment for subsequent crimes as follows\u2026\"\n\nHenry Lauder scratched his head, running his eye over the gaily dressed twelve. Argyll. Glencairn and George Douglas, both notorious for their dealings with the English. Buccleuch. Herries, or John Maxwell as he used to be. Gladstanes the judge and Keith, the Earl Marischal, of the same faction as Douglas and Glencairn. A couple of Abbots; Methven, Queen Margaret's withered widower; Marjori-banks; Hugo Rig and the President of the Court of Session, Bishop Reid of Orkney with his deaf ear.\n\nLauder wondered if anyone had hinted tc the prisoner about that deaf ear. It was responsible for more executions, whippings and tongue borings than even its owner realized. The junior clerks, usher, macers and witnesses filled the rest of the room: they were going to need some air soon. He had taken the precaution of wearing his thinnest jerkin under his robes.\n\nLord Culter\u2026 the Scott boy\u2026 the Master of Erskine, without his father. That should be interesting: it was already interesting. One or two unknown faces, and some at the back he couldn't see. He ran a bony finger over his chin and felt his usual rueful irritation that the hair which surged so cheerfully on his face should colonize his crown so feebly.\n\nThere was a hum of voices and a shuffle of feet: the initial procedure was over. They had put a chair in the centre of the floor for the panel: he remembered hearing that the fellow had been shot. Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter. They had called him. The name reverberated through the rafters: Lymond\u2026 Lymond\u2026 Master\u2026 Master. The boy Scott jumped and the brother, Culter, moved also. The rest simply looked stoic.\n\nEverybody stared at the door. Two guards came in, and someone fair, of a vague distinction who walked steadily through the benches to the clear space in the middle, declined the chair and turned to face the Tribunal.\n\nAnd this was a surprise. Unobtrusive, beautiful clothes; fine hands; a burnished head with a long, firm mouth and heavy blue eyes, spaciously set. He had been ill all right: the signs were all there. But his face was beautifully controlled, giving nothing away.\n\nThe guards withdrew. Orkney cupped his left ear in his hand and then took it away again. The answers to Argyll's questions were professionally pitched; clear, pleasant and effortlessly audible.\n\nHenry Lauder, Prosecutor for the Crown, guardian and administrator for all its people of the laws which secure their tranquillity and welfare, sat back in his seat and gave an unlegal twitch of sheer pleasure. He was, he felt, going to enjoy his day."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 133",
                "text": "\"This is not a trial,\" Argyll had announced. \"This is a preliminary examination conducted by us through Mr. Lauder, to lessen the burden on tomorrow's meeting of the Estates. A number of questions will be put to you, and your replies will be noted. You will be given every chance to put your point of view, and a report based on these proceedings will be drawn up and placed before Parliament.\u2026\"\n\nIn other words, Parliament is busy with weightier matters than treason. Beware, for you are being judged.\n\n\"\u2026 And so, as a result of these productions,\" the Lord Advocate was saying, swaying gently to and fro on his heels, \"the above charges are dismissed. The Crown does not accuse you of the attempted murder of your brother, Richard Lord Culter, or of wilful and malicious fire-raising, robbery and attempted murder at your own home of Midculter, or\"\u2014he put out a bony finger and moved a paper in front of him\u2014\"or of the abduction of your brother's wife and the slaughter of her child. These charges, as I have said, are not being pursued.\"\n\nHenry Lauder broke off, took away the spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose and said, \"You don't look very pleased about it. Do you understand what I am saying?\"\n\n\"I was considering its legal implications,\" said Crawford of Lymond, without raising his eyes.\n\nThe Lord Advocate sensed the grin on Foulis's face while schooling his own. Of course, he had no right to recapitulate, but he didn't expect to be told so.\n\nHe said, watching the prisoner under his lids, \"I am glad you are following us. I am aware that you have not been in good health since a misunderstanding with your\u2026 force in June. We have no wish to unman you. It is, I think, unique in our time to encounter a plea of innocence against such a formidable list of charges.\" He glanced up, getting no response.\n\nArgyll said, \"It's after two, Lauder. Let's get rid of the new charges first. Dealings with Wharton.\" He addressed the prisoner direct. \"You're accused of consistently giving help and selling information to Lord Wharton, the English Warden. Notably\u2026 When, Lauder?\"\n\nLauder said agreeably, \"We are informed that you were a member of Lord Wharton's force for a period in 1545, and that while there you acted under his orders in a number of raids and other activities directly detrimental to Scotland. Have you any answer?\"\n\nThe sure voice said laconically, \"Yes: but no proof. I offered my services to Lord Wharton over a period of four months and won his confidence by taking part in three small raids. On the fourth, major raid I misled him so that the English force was seriously damaged. I left him the same night.\"\n\n\"I am sure you were wise. As an experienced soldier and tactician the throwing away of a troop\u2014even a deliberate throwing away\u2014must have been an ordeal for you.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said the prisoner briefly. \"I had never commanded a force before.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Harry Lauder, who was perfectly aware of that fact.\n\n\"\u2014But I've studied geography and I know my chess.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\" There was a rustle of amusement. \"Excellent qualifications in themselves, but\u2026\"\n\nLymond said mildly, \"The one shows you where to go, and the other what to do when you get there. A man so fortified would be unique in Scottish arms, don't you think?\"\n\n\"Since, as you say, you have no proof,\" said Lauder, \"we must leave it to Parliament to decide how far your overthrow was deliberate and how much of your motive was selfless, against the tenor of your general character and behaviour. You are further charged,\" said Lauder mildly, \"with conspiring to lay misleading information about the intentions of the English army during the western invasion of September last year; of attacking a Scottish force under Lord Culter and the Master of Erskine, and of taking from their possession an English messenger bearing a valuable dispatch.\"\n\nHe smiled up at the beams. \"Doubtless the\u2014misunderstanding\u2014of 1545 between yourself and Lord Wharton had by that time cleared up, that you took such pains to help his invasion, Mr. Crawford?\"\n\n\"Until the present moment, my lord, there was no misunderstanding over what happened in 1545. Lord Wharton had placed the sum of a thousand crowns on my head.\"\n\n\"And yet you passed freely enough in and out of England, we hear. You offered to spy for him if he appeared to reject you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What fee did you receive from him for the services you did render?\"\n\n\"After 1545 I received no voluntary payment from Lord Wharton.\"\n\nThe Bishop, leaning forward, missed the significant word. He tapped the copy of the indictment before him. \"That, Mr. Crawford, is untrue. According to several witnesses, you agreed to a suggestion by your brother that Lord Wharton was paying you.\"\n\n\"I beg Your Grace's pardon. What I said, more precisely, is that my money came from Lord Wharton,\" said the Master coolly. \"It did. I had just extracted it by force. Mr. Scott will perhaps confirm it if you wish.\"\n\nScott was already on his feet, but Lauder conceded the point without calling on him. \"Very well. I am prepared to accept the fact that a personal enmity had been established between yourself and Lord Wharton for reasons we shall not specify. You were not however freeing his messenger from purely humanitarian reasons?\"\n\n\"Not precisely. He was a very silly man,\" said the Master reminiscently. \"I thought perhaps he would irritate the English less than he irritated me.\"\n\n\"And for that profound reason you engineered a vicious attack on your brother's force, from which he was only saved by Mr. Erskine?\"\n\nFor the first time Lymond was momentarily silent. Then he said, \"I was not on good terms with my brother. To such an extent that he would disbelieve automatically any statement which came from me.\"\n\n\"We are all familiar with the sensation,\" said Lauder blandly. \"Go on.\"\n\nLymond said evenly, \"I had earlier encountered the messenger and after reading his dispatch put him on the right road to reach Lord Wharton. When my men found him in Lord Culter's grasp he had destroyed his message and my brother was naturally bent on preventing him from delivering it verbally.\"\n\n\"But you thought he should be permitted to do so?\"\n\n\"Yes. Isn't it obvious? The message was from Lord Grey ordering Lennox and Wharton to retreat immediately.\"\n\nThe whirl of ensuing comment gave Lauder time to savour annoyance. Gladstanes said, \"And did they? Does anyone know?\" and someone called, \"Aye, Jock: my boy was in it. He told me the English pulled out of Annan that night, though the previous evening they'd every look of long roots.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the Lord Advocate, caressing his blue chin lovingly, \"why, I wonder, did Mr. Crawford tell his brother the English were coming north?\"\n\n\"Because I knew he would assume the opposite and take his men south to attack,\" said the Master promptly. \"Which he did. I believe they were chasing Wharton south of Annan all night.\"\n\nThe Lord Justice-General cut across the hubbub. \"If we grant your enmity toward Wharton\u2014and I see you are prepared to cite witnesses for this\u2014I still think you have to answer the charge of serving the English on the West March\u2014whether Wharton, Lennox or another\u2014for your own ends,\" he said. \"There are witnesses, it says here, to your activities during the invasion of six months ago, when you opened the way of escape for Lord Lennox while appropriating for yourself some of the cattle used as decoys.\"\n\nThe face turned toward him was quite composed. \"Most of the English who could still move had escaped by that time. The cattle were not for my own use: I returned them to their original owners, an English family to whom a number of Scots besides myself owe a great deal. For my part in the raid, Baron Herries can speak better than I can.\"\n\nThis time the noise took much longer to die down. When it did, John Maxwell leaned back in his carved chair and astonishingly raised his deep voice, the impersonal yellow eyes fixed on the panel.\n\n\"The plan for the cattle raid was Mr. Crawford's, made in a chance encounter when I was ignorant of his identity. I could take little active part. But he and his band drove all the livestock from the south side of the Border and succeeded in taking them to the right place at the appointed time in spite of very bad conditions: a quite remarkable feat of leadership. The Whartons detest him. The young one did his best to slit his throat a month or two later at Durisdeer.\"\n\nHe stopped speaking as suddenly as he had begun and restored the front legs of his chair to the ground, ignoring the commotion on either side. First blood, miraculously, to the panel.\n\nLicensed by the moment's suspended excitement, Lymond stirred, and moving back a little, sat down in the chair provided for him. Lord Culter, watching, leaned back suddenly in his own seat and the Lord Advocate, who missed nothing, ran his eye quickly over the remaining charges and caught Argyll's attention.\n\nThe Chief Justice thumped on the table. \"Quiet, gentlemen! We have a great deal to get through.\u2026 Mr. Crawford, your explanations so far have been plausible if not entirely, as you will admit, supported by tangible proof. We now wish to examine your relationship with Lord Grey de Wilton, the Lord Lieutenant of the English army in the north. On the occasion of Lord Grey's invasion of Scotland on the twenty-first of April last, you were the author of a message, purporting to come from a member of your band, which had the result of bringing the Laird of Buccleuch and Lord Culter, with their respective forces, in dangerous proximity to the English army?\"\n\n\"It brought them, as I thought, within easy reach of Lord Grey himself,\" said Lymond briefly. \"The approach of Lord Grey's troops at the same time was unfortunate and unforeseen.\"\n\n\"You claim,\" said the Lord Advocate, \"that this was done purely to enable your brother, with whom you were not on good terms, and Sir Walter Scott, whose son you had corrupted\u2014\"\n\n\"Hud your tongue, ye sacco, socco, ferrum, dwellum, legalizing cricket\u2014\"\n\n\"\u2014whose son you had enticed from the family hearth, purely to enable these two men to make an advantageous capture?\"\n\n\"Not at all. I had a transaction of my own to complete. I was hoping to do so under cover of the ensuing melee.\"\n\n\"A transaction with Lord Grey?\"\n\n\"So far as his abhorrence of me would admit. I wished to meet a member of the English force, for private reasons. I had induced Lord Grey to arrange the meeting by promising him Will Scott.\"\n\n\"Thus Sir Walter, Lord Culter and Mr. Scott were all invited into this commodious trap by you at the instance of Lord Grey?\" asked Lauder. \"In that case you certainly hoped to bring them within easy reach of the Lord Lieutenant.\" Out of the corner of his eye he saw their lordships shuffling. He paid no attention, but kept his voice as unvarying as the panel's. The man was an actor all right. But so was Henry Lauder.\n\nCrawford of Lymond said, \"Mr. Scott was invited in such a fashion that he could not possibly arrive in time to be in danger. The message to Sir Walter and my brother was sent without Lord Grey's knowledge.\" Someone at the table shifted, and Lauder turned instantly. \"Yes, Sir Wat?\"\n\nBuccleuch hesitated, looking across the hall at his son. \"That's likely to be right,\" he said at length. \"At least, they ran like the hammers when they saw us coming.\"\n\n\"And you followed, I gather, into the jaws of half the English army?\"\n\nBuccleuch said shrewdly, \"What's your argument? D'you think that after the showing-up he got at Hume Castle, Grey would stand by and allow the man to invite half the Scottish army to Heriot? I'm damned sure Grey didn't know Culter and I were coming.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate stretched his legs. \"Are you, Sir Wat? To my mind, all the signs point to an astonishing trust by Lord Grey in the Master of Culter. He made an appointment with him, we are told, without the support of more than a few armed men in a particularly deserted spot in the middle of enemy country. I fail to understand your reference to Hume Castle.\"\n\nThe Earl Marischal stirred. \"Wat means the attack on Hume led by a Spaniard last October,\" he said. \"They captured most of a supply train and wrecked half the fortifications. Mr. Crawford claims to have organized it.\"\n\n\"Oh? Dear me, I see this is another point on which Mr. Scott is anxious to speak,\" said Lauder. The redheaded boy, angrily on his feet, began, \"I can vouch\u2026\" and was smiled down by the Queen's Advocate.\n\n\"Later, Mr. Scott. It makes very little difference to the argument, you know. Lord Grey's animosity, on Mr. Crawford's own showing, was mainly directed against yourself and not against the Master of Culter. We have already proved that the Lord Lieutenant trusted him sufficiently\u2014or was certain enough of his loyalty\u2014to allow him prior information of Lord Grey's own movements.\"\n\nScott was still on his feet. He said angrily, drowning Tom Erskine's voice, \"Grey didn't even keep his part of the bargain. He didn't even bring up the man the Master expected to meet.\"\n\n\"Then there was a bargain,\" said Lauder placidly. \"Mr. Erskine?\"\n\nTom said quietly, \"I can vouch for Lord Grey's feelings toward the Master of Culter as demonstrated at Hexham. There was no question of his being on any but the worst terms with both Wharton and Grey.\"\n\nLauder looked unimpressed. \"We have already proved, surely, that this is a man who sells himself to the highest bidder. If Lord Grey indeed failed to pay him in whatever coin had been agreed for his betrayal at Heriot, it was inevitable, surely, that such a man should bite the hand which failed to feed him. It does not alter the fact that the message inviting Sir Wat and Lord Culter to Heriot was sent off before his encounter with Lord Grey, and therefore before he could have known that Lord Grey was not keeping his side of the bargain.\n\n\"And remember,\" the Lord Advocate added agreeably, \"that at that time both Lord Culter and Sir Walter were publicly committed to seize Mr. Crawford. You are being asked to believe that Crawford would first antagonize Lord Grey by failing to produce the person of Will Scott, and then risk immediate capture by his brother and Buccleuch. It does not seem very reasonable to me; and I note that Mr. Crawford himself has very little to say.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" said Lymond. Passionless devil, thought Lauder. He isn't sorry. But then, neither am I. I'm trying to hang him, and he's trying to save his strength so that there won't have to be an adjournment before he's ready for it.\u2026\n\nLymond said, \"I was carried away by the strange charm of your reasoning. The unhappy Lord Lieutenant seems to be credited with a fearful grudge against the Buccleuch family. I thought perhaps you had found a dark plot to seize his wife and junior attachments as well.\"\n\nThe Queen's Advocate replied without looking up. \"But we have been assured that Mr. Scott could not possibly have arrived in time to come to any harm. If he will forgive me, he was presumably merely the bait for his father.\"\n\n\"Non minime ex parte, Mr. Lauder. The boy would have been ten times simpler and ten times safer to capture as well as being a much more telling weapon. If we may separate the facts from the faculae we seem to have this.\n\n\"One, both before (at Hume) as I think I can prove, and after (at Hexham) as Mr. Erskine has proved, Lord Grey and I were enemies. Two, by failing to keep his part of the bargain at Heriot, Lord Grey had clearly no plans for collaborating with me in the future. Three, some of your prisoners, whose names I shall give you, will tell you that the English army had no orders to support Lord Grey in his supposed ambush, and that the dispatch of a troop was an afterthought due to their suspicions of me.\n\n\"Four, as Sir Wat has already stated, the men left by Lord Grey made no effort to capture him or my brother, but fled before them. Five, far from being caught between two fires, I had hoped my promised interview would enable me to reinstate myself with my brother and his friends, in which case I had nothing to fear from them. And lastly, Sir George Douglas, who was detained by Lord Grey during one of his embassies to England at that time, was present at Heriot, and if he will do so, can vouch for the fact that the only bait in the trap was myself.\"\n\nHenry Lauder pushed a hand through his sparse hair. Open your mouth too far and someone will fill it with rubbish. He wondered briefly what hold the man had on Sir George to risk citing him as a witness, and cynically applauded the tactics. Everyone knew Douglas played on both sides. By preserving his fictitious character Lymond had made it easy for him to co-operate.\n\nHe did. After the briefest silence Sir George leaned back in his chair, ruby flashing, and said, \"That is quite true. Mr. Crawford was actually tied up as a prisoner all the time he was with Lord Grey. Bowes, who led the ambush, appeared to be genuinely startled by Buccleuch's appearance and might well have been captured but for the arrival of other troops.\" He paused and added mildly, \"I can also confirm the attack on Hume. Mr. Crawford is a fluent Spanish speaker and was identified by Lord Grey in my presence as the leader of the raid.\"\n\nIt was too risky to take him up on it. The Advocate to the Crown swallowed defeat gracefully. He bore no grudges: the exercise of his wits against a quick and able man was the finest excitement he knew. He said, \"Well, Mr. Crawford: we must concede that you seem to have an answer for everything. It will be a pleasure to see what you make of the more serious charges on the list which of course we have still to deal with. In the meantime, I should like to hear about the matter of the Earl of Lennox.\"\n\nThis time the accusation was simple. In 1544, prior to the Earl's defection to England, the Master of Culter had been on the friendliest terms with him, had stayed with him at Dumbarton and thus shared, it was alleged, in his treason. What had Mr. Crawford to say?\n\nTime, precious and profligate, was wasting before their eyes.\n\nThe heat, girdered with tension, crept like wadding into the interstices of the brain and muffled the starving air. Lymond was sitting up and forward a little, elbows on the arms of his chair, with his hands clasped and his head bent. Richard, familiar with the small signs of fatigue, wondered how he managed to keep it out of his voice. He saw that Lauder was watching his brother narrowly.\n\nIn the clear, unemphatic voice he had used throughout, the Master said, \"In 1542 I became a prisoner in France, and from then until 1544 was employed on travaux forc\u00e9s in the French galleys. In March, 1543, I rowed in the ship which took the Earl of Lennox from France to Scotland, and was seen there by him. In September of that year I was also on the galley which conveyed gold and arms from France for the Queen Dowager. I escaped and applied for protection to Lennox, who I had reason to believe was preparing to defect from his Scottish friends and would therefore receive me. As you know, he sold his loyalty to Henry of England in return for marriage with Margaret Douglas, and left Scotland for England in May of the following year, having appropriated for himself the gold delivered to his keeping from France.\n\n\"Between those dates I stayed with him as secretary and general amanuensis, leaving rather suddenly with a good deal of information and a good part of the gold. I returned some of it by devious ways to Edinburgh; the rest I used as best I could in the Queen's interests. I also established and armed my own force until by our services elsewhere in Europe we became more than self-supporting.\u2026 I am conscious, of course, that there is no proof of these events, except that I can in some cases give you the dates on which part of the French money was returned.\"\n\nIt was audacious, all right. The eyes of the room, like sucking fish, were flatly attached to him, building up eager pressures which slopped over as soon as he halted.\n\nBuccleuch gave a yelp. \"Lennox's money! Dod, he's never been known by man to pook a penny before now. I'd like to have seen the colour of him when he found out.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate said, projecting his voice, \"This troop you mention is of course the subject of a civil crime action also raised against you on the grounds of robbery and extortion\u2014\"\n\n\"Protection,\" corrected the Master. \"In these lawless times we private forces must help the State to ward its citizens where we can.\"\n\nLauder said dryly, \"The forces in question seem to have mixed opinions on the subject; but that is by the way. Your motives throughout in your dealings with Lord Lennox were again, we are to take it, completely altruistic throughout?\"\n\nThere was a faint smile in the experienced eyes. \"Only to a human and limited extent. If I hadn't cultivated Lord Lennox's company I should be rowing up and down the Irish Sea yet, instead of being presently charmed by your society.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Henry Lauder. \"And by the same token: when you presented Lord Grey with a secret of some national importance about our shipping, you were merely ingratiating yourself with his lordship?\"\n\nBecause all his attention was on Lymond, he missed George Douglas's faint movement. He had brought out, underhand, one of the vital issues, and his opponent was fully aware of it. Come along, my boy! said Mr. Lauder happily to himself. Fight me!\n\nHe did. This was not a matter of doubtful history, four years old; but a question of treason freshly committed and subject to minute examination. The Hexham episode was eviscerated.\n\n\"\u2026 The dispatch was being taken to Lord Grey by a courier called Acheson. I knew nothing of it until it was shown me on the way to Hexham.\"\n\n\"Mr. Erskine? You can corroborate that?\u2014Come along. Did Mr. Crawford know nothing of the dispatch?\"\n\n\"He\u2026\"\n\n\"Will you speak up?\"\n\n\"He denied it at first, but when we showed it to him\u2014\"\n\n\"Showed it to him? Where had you found it?\"\n\n\"In his packroll.\"\n\n\"And did he continue to protest his ignorance even then?\u2026 Well?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"He admitted it?\"\n\n\"I think it's unlikely he knew about it. He prevented the message from being delivered at great personal risk.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Henry Lauder. \"Ah, yes,\" and stretched himself like a long, disjointed cat. \"We've all heard a great deal about the dramatic scenes at Hexham. How our friend escaped from his brother's thrashing; how he rejoined his ally Mr. Acheson and had the misfortune to be spurned by the English friends he was trying hard to conciliate. So, using a woman as his shield\u2014it has a familiar ring, hasn't it?\u2014he chose the discreeter part; a positive act which would bring him at last under the cloak of the Scottish side at least. He shot the courier in full view of Mr. Erskine and relied on Mr. Erskine's notoriously kind heart to extract him from the muddle. Unfortunately, he himself was attacked in the process\u2014undoubtedly not part of the plan.\"\n\nErskine said forcibly, \"He knew when he made the shot that he hadn't a chance.\"\n\n\"He knew that if he didn't shoot, he hadn't got a chance either,\" said the Queen's Advocate placidly.\n\nThere was a brief silence. Bishop Reid said, \"Well, Mr. Crawford?\"\n\nGood. He was going to attempt it. Lymond said briefly, \"If I hadn't used the protection of an English lady, as Mr. Lauder so kindly mentions, the secret of the ships' departure would be a secret no longer. I haven't any evidence that Acheson's message was unknown to me. I can only refer you to some probabilities.\"\n\nArgyll said sharply, \"Go on!\"\n\nLymond raised his eyes.\n\n\"Am I not an unlikely messenger? To anyone in English pay in Scotland I should be known as an enemy of Lord Grey and Lord Wharton and of the Earl of Lennox; and also the object of a\u2026 well-publicized pursuit by my brother. And even if I were approached, would I risk it for a moment, my relationship with these three men being what it was?\n\n\"But the man Acheson was a carrier of dispatches by trade, and an unscrupulous one. We know from what Mr. Erskine has said that Mr. Acheson knew the contents of this message; knew that it was a matter of delivering more than two perfectly legitimate messages from Sir George.\n\n\"How did he know? There was no provision originally for Acheson to have a companion. The safe-conduct was widened by Sir George himself to admit me, in order to promote an exchange of prisoners. There is no question, naturally, of accusing Sir George of complicity in treason, therefore you have to believe either that, being provided with this innocent means of getting myself safely to England, I confided my dreadful secret to this perfect stranger; or that when I joined him Acheson was already carrying the dispatch, in which case he was unlikely, surely, to talk about it to me.\"\n\nPlausible again. The Lord Advocate saw the eyebrows raised around the table and heard the muttered exchanges.\n\nReid leaned forward. \"What then was the object of going to England? Oh: I recall. The Stewart girl.\"\n\nIt was what Lauder was waiting for. He hurled his pen from him so far that it cracked on the oak, and flung up an arm like a semaphore to flatten his hair.\n\n\"So-o, Mr. Crawford. Your sole reason for going to England, your lonely and chivalrous reason for giving yourself up, for flinging yourself on the mercy of these gentlemen who, as you have so laboriously proved, wished nothing better than to see you dead, was to arrange that the Lady Christian Stewart might go free?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAt last. Now, by God, you're hating it, thought Lauder. And I'm going to thrash you until you hate me as well. And then, my lad, you're going to lose that cool temper and the Bishop had better look out. \"Yes,\" he repeated aloud. \"This is the girl, young, blind, wealthy, in close touch with the Court, whom you encouraged to obtain secret information for you\u2014\"\n\n\"That is untrue.\"\n\n\"\u2014while posing as a mysterious and illicit lover?\"\n\n\"Both these accusations are untrue. Confine your attacks to me, Mr. Lauder.\" The controlled voice clashed with Buccleuch's: \"Dammit, we can't have that, Lauder. The girl was no light o' love.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate said sombrely, \"If you will listen, Sir Wat, you will hear that I am implying the reverse. I am saying that this was an honest, gentle and virtuous girl, a young girl of open and innocent years, betrothed to a fine man, who fell into the power of a practiced and powerful seducer, appearing to her in a guise both insinuating and irresistibly romantic.\"\n\nBuccleuch growled. \"She knew who he was. I don't see what bearing this has on the thing.\"\n\n\"She claimed to know, finally, when she thought it would save him. Did you reveal your identity to her when you met, Mr. Crawford?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Lymond, and his hands closed.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nThere was a pause. \"It relieved her of what I felt to be\u2026 too cruel a quandary. I didn't expect to see her again.\"\n\n\"No quandary for a girl as upright as we know this one was, surely. Or do you mean she was already in love with you?\"\n\n\"I mean nothing of the sort. We had been childhood neighbours, and she was a\u2014kindly person.\"\n\n\"I see. And having all these scruples, no doubt you went out of your way to avoid further meetings. Or did you see her again?\" added Lauder suddenly.\n\nThere was another pause. Then the Master said evenly, \"Several times. Shall we save some tedious questions and answers?\u2014After the first and second, the meetings were not unavoidable. I allowed her to help me with my private affairs although I knew that by doing so I should make her virtue suspect, at least, if it became known. It was through pursuing my affairs that she was captured at Dalkeith. It was directly because of that that she came into the power of the Countess of Lennox. These were unprincipled and unpardonable acts, and you can't possibly blame me as much as I blame myself.\n\n\"But in all of them, Lady Christian was the innocent and deceived party. She did nothing dishonest, even in her efforts to help me; and, unpleasing as it may seem to Mr. Lauder's active imagination, there was nothing but friendship between us. Under the circumstances no doubt you will find it ludicrous that I should cast myself into Lord Grey's lap simply to free her; but that was what I did.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate might have been annoyed at having his effects spoiled, but he gave not the slightest sign. \"It certainly has its suspicious side. Particularly when linked with the fact that Lady Christian died suddenly and violently immediately after you traced her to England.\"\n\nErskine's voice said harshly, \"Wait a moment. Lady Christian died from a fall from her horse.\"\n\nLauder said simply, \"How do you know?\"\n\nThere was real anger in Erskine's brusque voice. \"I knew Chris better than any of you\u2014I was to have married her\u2014and if we weren't in a court of law I would shove down your damned throat the implication you've just been making. I saw Crawford of Lymond immediately after her death and heard what he said and saw how he acted. If I'd thought for a moment that he'd killed her, I wouldn't have let Culter have the pleasure of fighting him.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate let this poignantly confident rebuttal wreak its own doom; and then said gently, \"What then are you suggesting? That Mr. Crawford went to her rescue after all in a fit of erratic gallantry?\" and was much surprised to hear Sir George Douglas's smooth voice.\n\n\"Suppose, since they worry you, we dismiss the romantic gestures in favour of another fact? Mr. Crawford had been disappointed in his efforts to exculpate himself, as he thought, from the older crimes we have not yet discussed: he had just heard from me that the man who might do so was dead. He had already disbanded his force in expectation of a satisfactory meeting with this man and had suffered the considerable shock of being handed over to us by his own prot\u00e9g\u00e9. He might well, under the circumstances, have decided on a course of despair such as this.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate bowed without the least shade of irony. \"A point well made. Particularly as it puts before us another fact. Mr. Crawford, it appears, had just been cheated of his hopes of reinstating himself in our midst\u2014by whatever means\u2014as an honest, loyal and worthy servant of the Crown.\n\n\"What then remained, one might ask, but to fly to England; to get rid of this awkward girl, who was in England and who knew so much of his activities, and at the same time to present information which he might hope at least would buy him a little leniency from Lord Grey? If not, how was he worse off?\" Lauder let his gaze rove over the twelve diverse faces, shining with warmth and concentration; shrewd; passive; perceptive; wary.\n\n\"You are not dealing with a simple man. The accusations against him are astonishing in their variety. We have dealt with all but the most serious, and it would take a bold man to say 'This is true' and 'This is untrue.' His past connections with Lord Wharton were deliberate and innocent, he claims. There is no proof either way. His actions at Annan may have sprung from well-intentioned, if obscure motives. That again we shall never know.\n\n\"Whether for his own benefit or not, he appears to have given a certain amount of aid to the Crown during the famous cattle raid on the western march. In the same way he rendered us all a service at Hume\u2014this time entirely for his own benefit. At Heriot he played a dangerous game\u2014again for his own ends\u2014in which his own brother and the Buccleuch family were pawns though it appears, generous ones, in the way they have spoken for him. His connection with the Earl of Lennox again is a matter unproven either way\u2014guilty or innocent\u2014but again material reward enters the picture, and it seems likely that what was done was done for this reason.\n\n\"We are left with Hexham, and what happened immediately before. So complex is the picture this time, so various the possibilities, that we can isolate the truth, it seems to me, in one way only.\n\n\"To know what was in his brain as he drew back that bow at Hexham we must look at the record of his actions in the past for his real ambitions, his real mind on issues moral and ethical and all those intangible things which dictate whether a man conducts his body for the profit of his body, or for the greater renown and comfort of his country, or in the service of his God.\n\n\"We have not found out these things this afternoon; and we shall not find them in those things I have mentioned. For this we must go further back, to the dreadful and deadly crimes of which Francis Crawford was accused six years ago, and for which he has still to answer. These are the matters I am proposing to bring before you now.\"\n\nA macer, hurrying from Lord Culter's side, bent and said something to Argyll. The Justiciar's voice said, \"What? Oh.\u2026 Certainly. No purpose in endangering\u2014\" And wriggling back his sleeves, the Earl whacked the table. \"Adjournment for an hour. Break off meantime, Mr. Lauder.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate followed his eyes, then turned back, bowed and sat down as Sir James Foulis appeared at his elbow. \"The old fool: it's been coming for half an hour. Hasn't he got eyes?\" said Lauder comfortably. Through the curtain of officials and guards he could see that Lymond had lowered his head on crossed arms, exposing nothing but the nape of his neck and the admirable lace of his shirt.\n\nThe room was clangorous with conversation. Most of them, Committee and witnesses, were on their feet with a flopping and unpuckering of robes, a stretching and a crackling of paper. They gathered in half-prepared knots, mesmerized still by the rigours and tensions of the day, and unwilling to leave while the play was not yet done.\n\nAfter less than two minutes Lymond gripped the arms of his chair, and then rose. The moment's collapse, Lauder guessed, had been a bitter humiliation: he had not yet regained any colour. Nevertheless he made a deep and impeccable bow to Argyll and walked out through the door without pausing.\n\n\"That,\" said Henry Lauder, closing his spectacles and throwing his pen in the wastepaper basket, \"is a brain. If I were ten years younger and a lassie, I'd woo him myself.\"\n\nFoulis of Colinton caught Oxengang's eye and grinned; to Lauder he said, \"Well, he timed that little episode neatly enough.\"\n\n\"He timed it?\" The Lord Advocate, peeling off his soaking robe, was making for the cool air outside. \"He timed it? Don't be a bloody fool, Jamie.\"\n\nWill Scott was among the last to move. As he made to get up, a heavy hand cuffed his head and he looked around and up to see his father.\n\n\"Are your teeth sewn up?\" demanded Buccleuch. \"You've been busy enough chattering all around Edinburgh up till now.\"\n\nWill said resentfully, \"Lauder stopped me twice, but he won't again. I'll damn well\u2026\"\n\n\"Dod, d'ye need a dub and whistle? Bawl it out, man, and he canna stop ye.\" He grinned reminiscently. \"Your man has George Douglas's measure, anyway. There's no proof one way, but thanks to Douglas there's no proof the other, either.\"\n\nScott said grimly, \"Does it matter? They'll have him nailed down with the original indictment. All the evidence is on their side this time.\"\n\nBuccleuch grunted, observing his son's expression. \"I've seen Henry Lauder up to the oxters in evidence and still lose a case,\" he said mendaciously. \"I'm off to the house for a dish of eggs. If you're staying with Culter, find out about that little mare of his. If I get some siller for this fellow Palmer I'll think about buying her after all.\"\n\nScott had already nodded and moved away when the sense of this penetrated. \"Palmer?\"\n\nBuccleuch grinned. \"High and mighty Sir Thomas Palmer, the engineer. Did ye not know? I took him after the raid last month.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"In the Castle with the rest of them. A wild lot, I'm told. Why?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Scott, and made for the street so fast that he jammed himself in the doorway with his sword."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 134",
                "text": "Big Tommy Palmer, former captain of the Old Man at Boulogne, former knight-porter of Calais, former overseer of petty customs, former gentleman-usher and popular companion of King Henry VIII, had been a prisoner of war once before, in France, and although financially unembarrassed by this second mishap was spiritually much discomfited and in need of cheering up.\n\nAt his request, he and a dozen of his own men had been put together in one medium-sized room in the Castle. They were all men of good standing and of reasonable value in cash, so the room was pleasant, with carved oak panelling, slightly chipped; a small-paned window looking sheer down the Castle rock into the loch, and a low, thick door with an adequate guard outside it.\n\nWill Scott found it less easy than he had expected to get in. He finally managed it only with the help of Tom Erskine, and then on the pretext of discussing with Palmer his father's plans for his ransom.\n\nSince in fact he had nothing to discuss, the business aspect of his talk with Sir Thomas came to an early end, and Tom Erskine moved to go. But captivity by this time was boring Palmer; he was willing to go on talking, and Scott was in no hurry to leave.\n\nThey exchanged politely some of the current gossip of both courts and touched chastely and with mutual interest on the characters of some of the less powerful but more public figures in each. One or two of Palmer's companions joined in.\n\nErskine, aware that it was nearly time to make for the Tolbooth and taking only a detached interest in the talk, found the engineer rather likable: a man in his late fifties with grey beard and bright curling hair. Between hair and moustache the skin was red-brown with the sun; his much-wired front tooth sparkled like a trout rising in still water when he laughed, which was often.\n\nTom was so busy watching Palmer that he missed Scott's move to open his purse. When they brought a small table and put it between the two men, Erskine was surprised. He was more surprised to see Palmer gaze on it as a mother elephant on the prize of some interminable gestation.\n\nOn the table lay a small pack of playing cards. \"Hold me hand,\" said Tommy Palmer. \"If you'd offered me the throne of China and Helen of Troy thrown in, I'd still choose the tarots. You'll not miss them?\"\n\n\"Not at all. Glad to leave them,\" said Scott politely. And to Erskine's astonishment he added, \"I'll start you off with a game, if you like,\" and sat down to hearty expressions of Palmer's glee. Erskine tapped the boy on the arm. \"The time, Scott. We ought to be going.\"\n\nThe carroty head turned vaguely. \"There's time for one game, surely. You go on if you want to. I'll follow.\" He was already shuffling the cards. Tom eyed him sharply; and then, twitching up a chair, sat astride it, watching the play.\n\nHe had seen these tarots several times in Scott's possession since he had come to Edinburgh. They were gruesome, Gothic, and graced with a kind of lithless malevolence all their own. The four suits were commonplace enough: the artist had reserved his fantastic brushes for the figured cards. The Bateleur, the Empress, the Pope, l'Amoureux and le Pendu, Death and Fortitude, the Traitor, the Last Judgment itself, all shared a grotesque camaraderie of the paintpot.\n\nHe admired the set. He enjoyed tarocco himself, but he was uneasily aware that there was not, in fact, time for a game. He said again, \"Listen, Scott;\" but the cards were already dealt and Will was hesitating over his discard. Erskine gave up, and resigned himself to waiting.\n\nScott played not one, but two games. He lost them both, but so narrowly that it was not until the last trick of the outplay that Palmer's evident brain and experience gave him the day. Both games were played in an atmosphere of jocular excitement, and Erskine gathered that to have opposed Palmer at all was something unusual; and to have run him so close something unique.\n\nAt the end of the second game, Palmer leaned back with a kind of anguished roar. \"Damn it, I don't know when I've had two better games. Why the pest must you go? I can't settle: you can't settle: it isn't fair to the game.\"\n\nScott got up and stretched himself, grinning. \"You've got troubles enough. You don't want to risk being beaten by me.\"\n\n\"Beaten!\" It was a chorus. Someone said, \"Hey, my boy. You're speaking of the best card player in England.\"\n\n\"I still say beaten,\" said Scott.\n\nThere was an unholy light in Thomas Palmer's eye. \"Is that a challenge?\"\n\n\"Not particularly,\" said Scott. \"Sine lucro friget ludus is a family motto. Not much point in playing for love.\"\n\n\"Hell, we can do better than that,\" said Palmer. Their packs were stuffed into an armory let into the panelling: he tossed out parcels until he came to the one he wanted. Then he had another look and, bringing out a second roll, flung them both at Scott's feet.\n\n\"A change of good clothes there, and some money and a silver cup and a good pair of boots. And there's more still in the other: it's another man's stuff that belongs to me now. Will that do for a start?\"\n\nScott drew out his own heavy purse and tossed it once in the air. \"I'm sure it will; but we're a gey practical nation. Will you open them both so that we can see?\"\n\nPalmer, unoffended, glinted the butter-tooth in his direction, and slit open the packs with Will's knife. In his own the contents were exactly as he had said. The other roll was less well-kept: the clothes were soiled and there was no money at all. Scott bent and turned over a long, narrow rectangle of folded papers, sealed with red wax. \"What's this? Deeds of ownership?\"\n\nPalmer, shuffling the tarots, glanced at it and shrugged. \"Sam didn't own a rabbit, poor devil. Perhaps a letter to his lady friend.\"\n\nScott turned it over. There was an inscription on the other side, and he held it so that Erskine also could read. The neat writing said, Haddington, June, 1548. Statement. And underneath in a different writing, presumably Wilford's: Samuel Harvey. Put with things for P.\n\nThat was as far as they got before it was whipped from Scott's fingers.\n\n\"Interested?\" asked Palmer in the same good-tempered voice. \"I thought there was something fishy in the air. Perhaps I'd better keep this.\"\n\nFor a moment, Erskine thought that Scott would attack the big man. Instead he turned and, opening his purse, upended it on the table by the cards. The crowns rolled and clanked among the little nightmarish drawings and rose in a winking, lunar pile. \"I could easily get it by calling the guard,\" said Will. \"But I'll buy it from you instead.\"\n\nPalmer grinned. \"I don't want to sell.\"\n\nThe freckles marched cinnamonlike over Scott's pale face. \"Name your price.\"\n\nSir Thomas Palmer got up, the folded papers still in his hands. At the fireplace he turned, and still surveying them both quite pleasantly, broke the seal. \"Perhaps I should see first what all the fuss is about. After all, he was my cousin, you know.\"\n\nThey waited as the pages flicked over. He went through them all, folded the papers and handed them with an inaudible remark to the Englishman, Frank, who was nearest. Then he returned to the table. \"You want these papers?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Scott shortly. \"It's a matter of life and death.\"\n\n\"Jesus. Whose life? A Scotsman's?\"\n\n\"\u2026 Yes.\"\n\nPalmer grinned more widely. \"That's all right: I'm not the vindictive sort. Sine lucro friget ludus, eh? You want this, you say. Then play me for it.\"\n\n\"I'm offering you any price you ask,\" said Scott.\n\n\"I don't want money.\"\n\n\"Then I'll give you what you do want. Your freedom. Your immediate release, Sir Thomas, in exchange for these papers.\"\n\nPalmer sat down with a thump, still grinning. \"I like Edinburgh. I like the Castle. I like the company. I can get my freedom any time, for a little cash, and a damned bore it is, with Willie Grey in both ears and the Protector under my hat. Give me the man who can stretch me at tarocco and you can keep Berwick and every bumbling Northerner in it.\"\n\nScott sat down himself rather suddenly. \"For God's sake, I'll play cards with you all night, if that's all you want. I'll play every day for a month without the sniff of a win. But not to gamble on this kind of stake. What do you take me for?\"\n\nThe big man was shuffling the cards. \"A member of a practical nation. I don't want bad play and a sure win: I get enough of it. I don't want a game that's a duty or an imposition or a debt or any other damned, dreary penance. I don't like it and the tarots don't like it. Look at them!\" With a flip of his thick fingers he sent the cards reeling across the polished wood, convulsed, mouthing and snarling. \"Nobody's going to fob them off with paltry wagers of three louis a game. They want flesh, do the tarots.\"\n\nScott and Erskine were standing shoulder to shoulder. \"Get the guard,\" said the boy without turning his head. \"Quickly. Christian Stewart was killed for these papers.\"\n\nErskine didn't go for the guard: he took action. The dive he made for the fireplace was nearly quick enough, but not quite. By the time his outstretched hand had reached the man Frank, the papers were already curling in the smoke a foot above the little fire.\n\n\"Call the guard\u2014or try that again\u2014and Frank'll throw the whole thing in the fire,\" said Palmer agreeably. He settled comfortably in his chair. \"God! I was bored. Come along, laddie. I've plenty of time. I'll play you tarocco, my boy, for all the money and every stitch each of us possesses in this room, and these papers go into the rest on my side last of all.\"\n\nThere was a short silence. Then Scott said, \"Let me see the papers.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe boy bit his lip, staring at Palmer's cheerful face. \"It might take all night.\"\n\nThe tooth winked and wagged. \"It might take a good deal longer. Are you in a hurry?\"\u2014and continued to wink as Scott argued. At the end of it he picked up the cards and started to ruffle them through his big hands. \"It's no concern of mine what you want them for. I've told you the conditions.\" He looked up. \"Why're you worrying? You might win the lot in an hour.\"\n\nScott sat down. In silence he untied and pulled off his jerkin and in silence he pushed up his shirt sleeves and laid his hands flat on the table. \"Very well,\" he said flatly. \"For God's sake let's start.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 135",
                "text": "The hour of recess had, inevitably, nearly doubled before the Committee was harried together again; and even so, the interrogation had been under way for some time when Tom Erskine finally slid into his seat, passing on the way a face he knew: Mylne, the Queen's surgeon. But Lymond seemed perfectly composed in his chair: the abuses to his body were perhaps visible, but not those to his intellect, which showed fresh and sinewy still under the sharp and thickening barbs from Lauder. The Lord Advocate was beginning to concentrate his attack: the darts glanced in the silence and were returned, with unfailing felicity.\n\nErskine said in Lord Culter's ear, \"What's happening?\" and Richard replied without taking his eyes from the high table. \"He's got Orkney on the raw, the fool. The nearer the Committee gets to Eloise, the harder he's hitting them. They don't like it, and it isn't doing him any good.\u2026 Where've you been?\"\n\nErskine said uninformatively, \"At the Castle,\" and glanced at the top table. Buccleuch's face was turned toward him and the black circle of the mouth shaped the words \"Where's Will?\"\n\nHaving no desire to answer that either, Tom stabbed a finger several times in the air due west, and as Sir Wat continued to look expressively at him, mouthed the word \"Later\" and turned overtly to the centre of the floor.\n\n\"You arrived in London,\" the Queen's Counsel was saying, \"along with a thousand others taken prisoner in 1542 after the battle of Solway Moss. At that time, as we all know, the late Henry VIII of England had declared war on our King his nephew and was attempting to prove his title to Scotland by force. Unlike others of your own rank you were immediately given preferential treatment in being lodged in a private English house.\"\n\n\"After three days in the Tower. Not very preferential.\"\n\nLauder looked at his notes. \"We have that point quite clear. All but yourself were noblemen of the first rank, and all those with whom you say you had contact are now unfortunately bearing witness in higher courts than these. The Earl of Glencairn died last year; Lord Maxwell two years ago; Lord Fleming and Mr. Robert Erskine at Pinkiecleugh.\"\n\n\"The nation's subsequent failures in the field,\" said Lymond gently, \"are my misfortune, not my fault. Sir George has already told you that I stayed at his brother's London house under no special concession.\"\n\nThe Bishop of Orkney cleared his throat. \"And why, Mr. Crawford, did you not then return to Scotland ten days later as did the great majority of such boarded prisoners? Were your scruples such that even tongue in cheek you could not bring yourself to sign the necessary oath of allegiance to King Henry, as your compatriots did? Men of honour, it seems to me, must be prepared like them to sell that honour for their country's good. Why did you not sign?\"\n\n\"I wasn't asked,\" said Lymond, and a fleeting regret slipped through the pleasant voice. \"Only prelates and barons were thought to have sufficient tongue and sufficient cheek.\"\n\nRichard swore. It was Lord Herries who saved the situation with a brusque and bass inquiry. \"Since he's a younger son, there would be little point, surely, in asking Mr. Crawford to sign a bond to serve the King in Scotland?\"\n\nThe Bishop said, breathing heavily, \"I disagree. He was, in sort, his brother's heir. If he were innocent he would have contrived, surely, to return on some pretext.\"\n\n\"The thing reeks of ineptitude, doesn't it?\" said Lymond. \"If I were a spy, it was shockingly careless of the English to capture me in the first place. And if I were a spy, my first thought would have been to return to Scotland as fast as I could. According to the Bishop, my treason lay in not promising to work secretly in Scotland against the Queen. If that's treason then let's make an end. I admit it.\"\n\nLauder was undisturbed. \"You made King Henry no promise to serve him?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You had in the past performed no service for him?\"\n\n\"I had not.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate looked mildly regretful. \"And the presentation to Francis Crawford, Scottish gentleman, of the manor of Gardington, Bucks, was an elaborate ruse to make us believe you had done these things? King Henry must have thought you very important to us, Mr. Crawford. You did, I suppose, receive the deeds of this lordship and manor?\"\n\n\"Yes. I did.\"\n\n\"And can you suggest why, if it was not in gratitude for favours received?\"\n\n\"Europe's most Christian Bachelor and I had nothing in common,\" said Lymond. \"He had a fancy to control my tongue. And also to restrain his niece.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes. The Lady Margaret Douglas, now the Countess of Lennox. Are we to take it that, seduced by your charms, the lady asked for Gardington as her dot?\" George Douglas, he saw, was watching the prisoner like a predator.\n\n\"Not precisely. She is, shall we say, a person of violent but practical enthusiasms. She has already been imprisoned twice for endangering the succession, and one of her lovers, as you may recall, died in the Tower from a surfeit of Scottish heart and English briar. No. At a guess, she wanted\u2026 a new stimulus and a new experiment. And encouraged her uncle to leash me permanently by telling him what I had found out; and even perhaps some things I hadn't.\"\n\nMethven's silly voice cut through the tactful silence. \"And what had you found out?\"\n\nThe Master's gaze neither looked at nor avoided Sir George. \"Something of his immediate plans, which later became common knowledge. I had access to rooms which should normally have been closed to me, and found them out by chance.\"\n\n\"Bedrooms?\" inquired the Queen's Counsel.\n\nThe veiled eyes lifted. \"Not every legal document is framed in a bedroom, my lord.\" The Justice-Clerk laughed aloud.\n\n\"Well,\" said Henry Lauder. \"You have an estate and a beautiful lady in prospect, and her wicked uncle allows you to enjoy neither. The gift of the estate has already made your fellow Scots suspicious; your return to Scotland is finally made impossible by spreading the news among your countrymen that you were responsible not only for the disaster of Solway Moss, but for a long career of previous spying and intrigue.\u2026 Why trouble with all this fearsome plotting, Mr. Crawford? If King Henry didn't like you, weren't there simpler and more obvious means of getting rid of you?\"\n\nArgyll, surprisingly, said, \"I can see the point of some of it. His Majesty learned just after our prisoners reached London that our King had died and Scotland was accordingly under a regency, and he was immediately bent on winning over as many leading Scots families as possible to his interests. Hence all the prisoners being taken from the Tower to better lodgings, and the offer to let the most important go free if they signed an oath of allegiance to England. It wasn't the time for the sudden murder of a prisoner of war in his hands\u2014even a less important one.\"\n\n\"Also,\" said Lymond, continuing the argument with an unbounded scholarly detachment, \"he probably wanted to protect the real purveyor of secrets. If Edinburgh was becoming suspicious, he was calling off the hunt by making me scapegoat. Then, having discredited me at home and with the prisoners still remaining in London, he could dispose of me in safety.\"\n\n\"And yet you survived?\"\n\n\"I was taken to Calais and allowed to fall into the hands of the French. Perfectly simple.\"\n\n\"And after that, the galleys?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lymond with no trace of expression in his voice.\n\n\"Now we're coming to it,\" said Buccleuch, and shifted his bulk in his seat. \"Lawyers! Dod, look at him: his een glinting like a coo with the yellows.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate's tone was mild and of a grave delicacy.\n\n\"How can we stay indifferent to such misfortune? We have before us a man unhappy and deceived; duped by the best brains of the kingdom; enticed by an immoral woman of royal birth; kidnapped; maltreated; shackled to the starving heathen at the galley oar and beaten through the seas for two undeserving summers.\n\n\"Look at him! Weak\u2014from the knife of his own underling; but that has no bearing. Innocent\u2014his admitted betrayal and corruption of this young, blind woman has clearly left no stain. Dismiss from your minds the robbing and thieving and murdering of those whom until recently he led\u2014he is virtuous. Dismiss the ruthless plotting, the devious schemes for battle and gain which we have heard about this afternoon\u2014he is simple and vulnerable. Think, last of all, of how he has conducted himself today; of the fluent and malicious tongue from which you, as lords of the highest court in the land, have not been exempt. Does it seem to you that this drunkard, this outlaw, this wastrel son of an ill-starred family, is the man of this pitiful history? Or do you think, as I do, that it is all a pack of lies?\"\n\nThe echoes died. The Lord Advocate removed his spectacles, and spoke gently. \"But we are asked for proof. What proof have we? Nearly all the people concerned are dead. It is not the sort of transaction likely to leave a record; and those persons who still remember the event are in enemy country.\n\n\"But\u2014we have one piece of evidence in writing. The notes which were picked up in Scotland and attributed to Mr. Crawford; the document he says was the work of an unknown English spy; and which was attributed to him, he says, to ensure his disgrace with us. If that is a forgery; if Mr. Crawford can prove that this paper is none of his; that it was compiled without his knowledge; then the case against him immediately loses its mainstay. Mr. Crawford!\"\n\nLike the face of many-eyed Indra, the corporate head of the Committee turned on the exposed chair. Douglas's lips were tight, his stare thoughtful; Herries wore a look of fastidious concern; Buccleuch was craning forward. Among the benches Lord Culter had made a tent of his hands, and his face was invisible.\n\nThe strain on the Master was sufficiently clear now. He sat still, a thin, deep line between his eyes, watching and anticipating Lauder as light might thrust and linger on a falling blade. Their eyes locked. \"Mr. Crawford,\" said the advocate softly. \"This document before me was taken from the pocket of an English soldier after the raid which destroyed the convent of Lymond. It includes these words:\n\n\"'The convent is on my land six miles east of that, and we hid the gunpowder there just before being taken at Solway. If you go immediately, you should be able to reach it before it is discovered: no one else knows of its presence. There is an underground passage to the cellar where the powder is stored, reached in the following way. If it is difficult to move, I suggest you blow up the convent.'\"\n\nThere was a long silence. Culter did not look up and Erskine, beside him, folded his arms suddenly and gazed at the floor. The Lord Advocate said flatly, \"Mr. Crawford. Do you admit that these words are in your handwriting, and were written by you?\"\n\nThe tyranny of pride and the tyranny of intelligence, however pitilessly forced, could not protect Lymond from this. His eyes, terribly, answered before his voice. \"Yes. They were.\"\n\n\"Do you admit,\" asked the lawyer, \"that the signature on the last page of this document is yours?\"\n\n\"It is mine.\"\n\nA contraction passed over the Lord Advocate's face and was gone.\n\n\"I see. And,\" said Henry Lauder with no levity at all in his voice, \"since the English did follow these directions, did find the passage and, when attacked, exploded the convent as you suggested\u2014since these things happened, the deaths of four nuns and ten girls within the convent, including the death of Eloise Crawford, your sister, are your responsibility?\"\n\nFlagging and infinite silence.\n\n\"Yes. I am responsible,\" said Lymond, ashen to the roots of his sun-bleached hair."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 136",
                "text": "The room in David's Tower was suffocatingly crowded; chiefly because not only prisoners but all the guards off duty had managed to squeeze in as well. The hottest man there was Frank, sitting by the fire with Samuel Harvey's statement hovering near the blaze.\n\nIf he had expired in a paste of perspiration, nobody would have noticed. The colletic stare of guards and Englishmen alike was on the sweating, subsaltive hands and on the grinning tarots: the impious Papess, the lascivious Lover, the jeering Fool. The two baggage rolls still lay on the floor, but their contents had changed: beside Palmer's chair lay some of Scott's money, and some of Palmer's minor possessions lay at Scott's hand. Both men were in shirt sleeves.\n\nIn the evening light, Will's face was the paler of the two. The older man was playing with a careless, sure hand: leading, luring, discarding with persistent ingenuity, and had caught Scott out badly several times. None the less Scott won, not once but reasonably often; and when he lost, it was not by an irretrievable margin.\n\nHe had a healthy respect by that time for Palmer's card playing. Watching him seated opposite, massive and smooth as a tree, Scott recognized also his toughness, and grew more and more afraid that through sheer fatigue he himself would stop thinking clearly. As if to drive home the point, Palmer tapped an elemental finger on the table between them. \"And the Fool, Mr. Scott. Fool and three Kings: fifteen points\u2014that right? Yes. And my game, I think.\"\n\nHe was right, and the grin he exchanged with his audience did nothing to help. \"Mine, boys! Any more beer, while I choose me prize? That's a good belt, Mr. Scott?\"\n\nScott's chest tightened. Until one or other of them had nothing more to barter\u2026 that was the length of the game; and they were so evenly matched that their damned belongings might be passing to and fro for weeks\u2014unless he succumbed and lost all. And the stipulation was that Samuel Harvey's papers were to be Palmer's final stake.\n\nThe thought of it sickened him with wrath and frustration. After all they'd gone through\u2014after what the Dowager had suffered\u2014after Christian's death\u2014after the fool he had made of himself twenty times over\u2014no one should present this prize under his nose and snatch it back like a toy from a kitten. He stopped shuffling and flung down the cards with a crack. \"My deal.\"\n\nPalmer winked. \"He thinks he's going to win this one.\"\n\n\"I'm going to win them all,\" said Will Scott. \"I'm going to have the nails out of your boots before I've done with you, and if you've any pins holding up your breeks you'd best watch them, because I'll have them skint off the superior Sassenach dowp o' ye before another day dawns.\"\n\nAnd he began to deal."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 137",
                "text": "\"So here,\" said the Lord Advocate, \"is the truth at last. I cannot say I expected it. Your confession does you credit, Mr. Crawford. Quum infirmi sumus, optimi sumus, I see.\" Lauder was aware, blissfully, beyond doubt, of the success of his onslaught. He was within Lymond's guard, and the passport was the name of Lymond's sister.\n\nSo he quoted Latin and Lymond, breaking painfully from his numb cataphract, retaliated. \"The credit is entirely yours. Quod purpura non potest, saccus potest, Mr. Lauder. But I prefer my truth flat and not concamerate, even with the most dulcet spring of famous rhetoric in spate beneath. The notes were mine. But they were written for Scots, not Englishmen to read. Not for a manor or a woman or the combined keys of Tucker and Schertz's treasure houses, in spite of your character reading, would I\u2014\"\n\n\"Harm a woman?\" suggested the lawyer gently.\n\nBuccleuch's grunt reached them all. \"You can be a damned fool over women without wanting to blow up fourteen lassies.\"\n\nLauder said, \"Mr. Crawford's tamperings with Christian Stewart were more than those of a damned fool, I should have thought. She also died, remember.\"\n\nArgyll contributed. \"In any case, Sir Walter, the information about the convent in this document was prefaced by three pages of detailed news about Scottish plans and some explicit references to previous reports to the English Privy Council. It is clearly absurd to imply that any of this was intended for Scotland and not for England.\"\n\n\"I have been trying,\" said Lymond with a deep breath, \"to explain. The first three pages of that letter are a forgery, based no doubt on the genuine spy's report sent to Henry. The letter about the gunpowder is real enough. I hid the powder in my sister's convent when it was partly wrecked and abandoned after an earlier raid. The man who helped me was killed at Solway: no one else knew of it, and it looked as if I might be kept in London for some time.\n\n\"I knew the Government needed the powder, and I was nervous in case the nuns might come to harm if they returned. So I wrote a letter in London and had it taken to the Master of Erskine who was being released to go back to Scotland. I was allowed no personal contact with other prisoners.\"\n\nAt the high table, Buccleuch's eyes met those of Tom Erskine. He said, \"Robert died at Pinkie.\"\n\n\"In any case, he never received it,\" said Lymond quietly. \"I discovered that later. It was intercepted, the superscription cut off and the whole made a tailpiece of the other report, which was rewritten in my kind of hand. The next raiding party to cross the Border located the convent, was surprised into igniting the powder, and took care to leave behind the paper incriminating me.\"\n\nSir Wat said, \"Ye gomerel: if that's right, why the devil didn't you watch that first letter? You could guess what'd happen to it in the wrong hands, even if you didn't know the lassies had gone back?\"\n\n\"The thought isn't new to me,\" said Lymond, his voice empty of expression. \"I took all the precautions I could at the time.\"\n\n\"But not enough.\"\n\n\"Obviously. If you're anxious to analyse my feelings on that occasion,\" said Lymond with sudden savagery, \"you can measure them against my lapses from temperance according to the gospel of Mr. Lauder.\"\n\n\"Bloody fool,\" said Buccleuch briefly. \"Wait a bit, Henry. If the report was in two hands there should be some difference in the writing, eh?\"\n\nBut the advocate shook his head and, getting up, stretched across to the Committee's table. \"Look for yourselves.\"\n\nThe paper crackled as it passed from hand to hand: the sun, much lower, was climbing up one wall, forcing Erskine to shield his eyes against the heraldic dazzle of it. Culter sat without moving, his eyes on his hands.\n\nFrom the benches opposite, Mylne suddenly got up, and crossing to the prisoner's side, bent and spoke. The Master shook his head just as Lauder sat down, the restored paper in his hands, and observed them. \"Well, doctor?\"\n\nThe elderly figure straightened. \"If ye want to hang him, ye'd best watch your step.\"\n\n\"Would you like a rest, Mr. Crawford? You mustn't swoon.\"\n\nBuccleuch growled. \"I wouldna say yes to a drink of water on the lip of Gehenna, put like that. Lauder's on top and he knows it. Look at him! He's a mouth like the smirk on a pig.\"\n\nThe smile was certainly there, widening at Lymond's sardonic reply. \"So near the climax? I can surely hold together for the peroration, Mr. Lauder.\" And the surgeon, shrugged away, disappeared.\n\nThe Lord Advocate waited for the rustle of adjustment to die down, and then stood up.\n\n\"There is no need, I think, to prolong this inquiry much further. We have heard Mr. Crawford's explanation of what happened in London, and in Lymond, in 1542: we have seen that there is no obvious difference in the handwriting in any part of the document which he claims is only partly his: we have heard him acknowledge responsibility for the appalling and cold-blooded crime whose results we know.\n\n\"On the one side, we have an explanation of these events which, if dreadful in its violence and its story of degeneration, is both straightforward and likely, and is supported both by documentary evidence and by part of the proofs supplied by Mr. Crawford himself. On the other, there is the history of what must appear an incredible twist of fate, which placed the defendant helpless at the mercy of powerful forces in London.\n\n\"We are asked to believe that he incurred the sympathetic interest of one of the highest ladies of the land, but that she could do nothing to help him: that while fervently supporting the Scottish cause he was feckless enough to allow a dangerous secret to fall into enemy hands: that there existed, as there exists in romances, some terrible English plot of which he happened to gain knowledge. Do all these things seem likely?\"\n\nThe pause was for effect, but Gledstanes, meticulous and canny, broke in. \"It doesn't seem to me to be incontrovertible that the two halves of this letter are in the same hand. Also the suggestion about blowing up the convent seems gratuitous, if intended for English readers. Seems unnecessary and argues a callousness I find hard to believe. Particularly since\u2014assuming he was a spy\u2014the man surely expected when he wrote it to be sent back to Scotland in due course.\"\n\nBishop Reid barely waited for him to end. \"The answer to that surely lies as Lauder has already said in proof of character. The man's led a life of abandon and profligacy\u2014he hasn't denied it. There's the blind girl. The sister-in-law. The Scott boy\u2014\" He paused as Sir Walter shot up and was pressed down again by a neighbour. \"A young boy who, we know, vacillated wildly in his attitude to his new protector. Disgust\u2014or self-disgust\u2014at one point, as we know, forced him to take the honourable course. His affections, it seems, have since altered again. We do not know what happened in the year he was with the panel, but one can hardly wonder at these signs of an extreme and unhealthy emotional instability. I for one would have found it hard to place any reliance on his support of Mr. Crawford, and I am glad to see he is not here this afternoon to perjure himself.\"\n\nIt was beyond human strength to restrain Buccleuch any longer. \"Perjure himself!\" roared Sir Wat. \"Unhealthy emotions! Self-disgust! Are you calling my son a debauchee?\"\n\n\"I merely pointed out\u2014\"\n\n\"That boy,\" bellowed Sir Wat, \"was a shilpit, shiftless, shilly-shallying gomerel before he met up with Francis Crawford. And now, by God\u2014he still maybe makes up his mind three times in the time a normal man would do it once, but I'd sooner have him back of me in an argument or a fight than any finnicking ninny that stayed at home and got wed at St. Cuthbert's before he stopped talking like the squeak off a tumbler!\"\n\n\"I don't deny,\" said the Bishop loudly, \"that your son is now an exceedingly efficient fighting man: witness his unprecedented attack on yourself. I am only seeking to prove\u2014\"\n\n\"It seems to me you were only seeking to prove six other things as well,\" said Sir Wat threateningly. \"And all of them damned insulting.\"\n\n\"\u2014In any case,\" said Henry Lauder quickly, \"the point is made. We may be forgiven for believing that associations natural and unnatural come easily to Mr. Crawford. And that brings us, distasteful as it may be, to a popular report very widely current in the months after the disaster at Lymond. I must remind you, Sir Wat, that Mr. Crawford may have had reasons\u2014very cogent reasons of his own\u2014for encouraging and even inciting the attack at the convent.\"\n\nThe violence with which Lymond propelled himself to his feet was such that his monumental chair rocked behind him. In the flicker of an eye he must have seen his brother half-rise in the same moment, and must have guessed what lay behind the furious anxiety in the grey eyes, and behind the avid expectancy of the Tribunal.\n\nLauder, waiting, breathed thanks for the instant's pause before the attack. A storm of emotion might have coalesced all the liking and sympathy which existed already for Lord Culter, and the less than neutral curiosity of people like Herries and Buccleuch. But this fellow fought with his head, not his heart, and the Tribunal would never warm to him. Henry Lauder was not a cynic: he was simply very good indeed at his job.\n\nBut Lymond addressed the Committee and not the Queen's Advocate when he began to speak. The carrying, escharotic voice was thick with sheer cold fury for half a dozen words, and then he had it controlled.\n\n\"I see this idea is not new to you. Some lawyers believe that dirt will do as well as evidence any day; but Mr. Lauder, all heat and no light, like hell-fire, is not like that. He is simply being provocative; without of course making concessions to the feelings of either the laird of Buccleuch or of other members of my family.\"\n\nLymond paused, and his voice, rock-steady, dropped a little. \"Like Mr. Lauder, I have played on this stage before. I know the value of the stagger, the swoon, the vein swollen with ire and outrage. Mr. Lauder was a little afraid of all these; but instead he counted on me to wreck your amour propre as you had wrecked mine, with sad results for my case.\n\n\"That is why you heard the accusation you heard just now, grafted skilfully to the Bishop's preceding statements about Will Scott of Buccleuch.\" He paused.\n\n\"There is no foundation whatever for either suggestion. Will Scott is a normal, lively youngster: he left me when he did because he thought I was planning to give him up to the English, among other misconceptions. If you discount his father's denial, you might also remember his moderation in the Tribunal today. Sir Walter is not a man to hide his feelings. My sister\u2026\"\n\nHis voice roughened suddenly. \"Who will speak for her? The rest of my family, perhaps: will you believe them? Who makes it necessary to speak for her; for either of these young people? Are you so short of rods that you must despoil young trees: so short of stones that you need to walk the very graveyards for them\u2026?\n\n\"My lords, my Lord Advocate: I suggest that you have surely material enough before you now to suggest a verdict to you; that nothing more of value can come from this inquiry; and particularly nothing of value from the path Mr. Lauder would have you tread. I do beg you to remember that I, and I alone, am the person whose acts you are judging today.\"\n\nHe sat down, leaving behind him the uneasy silence of those who have watched a keg of gunpowder explode without a sound. Tom Erskine said in a whisper, \"God Almighty!\" glanced once at Culter's face, and wiped his own brow. Lauder rose.\n\n\"Are you withdrawing from further questioning, Mr. Crawford?\"\n\n\"I am not. But\u2014\"\n\n\"But you would like us to close this inquiry for the sake of your health,\" said the advocate comfortably, and watched out of the corner of his eye a note passing hurriedly to the top table. Buccleuch, crumpling it in his hand, said, \"I don't much fancy the line the questioning has been taking either, Lauder; but\u2014by his Grace's leave\u2014I don't think we should close the business without hearing Will again. I understand the damned limmer's got stuck somewhere, but he ought to be here at any moment.\"\n\nArgyll consulted his immediate neighbours and leaned forward. \"We are satisfied to leave our preliminary investigation at this point, Mr. Lauder. I cannot imagine, Sir Walter, that your son will have anything of great moment to add to what we know, but if he appears before these proceedings are finished we shall of course admit his evidence, although we cannot, I think, prolong this diet to wait for him. First, we should like you, my Lord Advocate, to gather together the facts which have been revealed so far and correlate them for us. Then, if he so wishes the prisoner may speak.\"\n\nErskine sprang to his feet. \"My lords, I beg you not to close without hearing Mr. Scott. There is evidence of the first importance involved.\"\n\n\"What?\" said Reid. His ear was cupped in his hand and his face hot and irritable. \"It is irregular to speak now, Mr. Erskine. Sit down.\"\n\nArgyll was more patient. \"You have knowledge of this evidence?\"\n\n\"Only that it may be vital.\"\n\n\"You have no idea what it is?\" Erskine flushed. \"No. But\u2014\"\n\nThe Justiciar's voice was final. \"In that case, I am afraid you must abide by my decision. If it arrives before this Assize ends, we shall admit it. Mr. Lauder\u2014\" He paused. \"Mr. Erskine, you may sit down.\"\n\nTom said briefly, \"I was to give evidence in support of the prisoner's actions at Hexham. May I do so now?\"\n\nArgyll's tolerance this time was not so evident. He leaned forward. \"We know what happened there, Mr. Erskine, and accept that you can confirm it. We don't need to know any more at present, I believe. Now, Mr. Lauder?\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate was amused and intrigued\u2014intrigued to such an extent that he took a hand in the game. He said, \"There is one further thing, my lord, which we might have clear. We have heard no comment from Lord Culter for or against his brother. Although we all realize the matter is painful to him, he might be able to throw some light on the unhappy affair at the convent.\"\n\nArgyll began, \"I think we have heard enough\u2014\" and paused as the lawyer's face became concerned.\n\nLauder said, \"It was Lord Culter who spared himself least in the past year in running his brother to earth, and who in fact brought him back in the end. Should we not ask him to give us his reasons?\"\n\nIt was a justifiable slip; and it happened so late that the Crown suffered less than it might have done. The Justiciar waved a cursory hand, and Lord Culter rose, purposeful and solid as Ebenezer. \"It is true that I spent many weeks pursuing my brother,\" he began, and Lauder, already warned by his voice, swore quietly under his breath. \"I did so under a complete misapprehension,\" said Richard calmly. \"I believe him innocent of the charges against him; and I want to say that when intercepted\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't labour the point, Richard.\" It was the defendant's voice, quick and caustic.\n\n\"\u2014When intercepted, I was about to help my brother leave the country.\"\n\nSensation. Lymond gave a curious grimace and stayed quiet; the Lord Justice-General sat up. \"You realize, Lord Culter, that if this man is found guilty you have made yourself an accomplice to his crimes?\"\n\nRichard said briefly, \"He is not guilty.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate was looking at him very hard. \"Your lordship has thoroughly surprised us. I do not propose to question you about your sister, but I must ask this: as to the other accusations on this sheet\u2014do you have any proof that they are false?\"\n\nCulter stirred uneasily. Lymond's malicious voice spoke before he could open his mouth. \"No, he hasn't. I'm sorry to disperse the gentle and evangelical light, but even Richard can't achieve a complete volte-face as quickly as that. All this whitewashing is intended, I gather, to protect my sister's reputation: that's all.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate said nothing; he simply lay back in his chair, the blue chin dropped on his chest, and stared thoughtfully at Lymond, who stared thoughtfully back. It was Argyll who said, \"We really must have this clear. Do I understand Lord Culter is romancing? That he didn't help you to escape?\"\n\n\"Imagination reels,\" said Lymond, \"before the improbable delights of such an event. No. He was bringing me here to have me hanged, having just failed to kill me in formal combat in England. Mr. Erskine will confirm.\"\n\nMr. Erskine, in a dour voice, confirmed, without looking at Culter, who was on his feet and choked with protests. \"I think,\" said the panel kindly, \"that you should sit down. It makes no odds now, you know.\" And after a moment, Richard did so.\n\nAn odd silence had fallen. It was late: long past time for the evening meal. They were exhausted with argument and heat and concentration and the concealed ravages of fear.\n\nNo darts had been thrown; no mines exploded; no reputations peeled of their tactful patches and splints. All was righteousness and decorum; and the rich, pliant voice of the Lord Advocate, beginning in the stillness and unreeling delicately the case against Francis Crawford.\n\nHe was clever enough not to brush again through the harsh Orcadian pastures of Bishop Reid's imagining. He kept to his indictment\u2014kept concisely and damningly to its severities, and made no appeal to the heart: the time for that was past. Instead, he bent his mind to weaving a fabric of steel: a case so massive, so intellectually secure, so lockfast that no man, however fluent and however gifted, should break it. Of these bright phrases, forged and concatenated, would emerge the gyves which tomorrow would snap into place. He ended very calmly.\n\n\"And so I present to you a trespasser of a kind which the law in its grace and impartiality has scarcely knowledge to deal with: a man who has plunged his kindred men into untimely death; has rent blood and limb from them; has forced apart mother and son and scythed sheer to the stubble a meadow of children, for a handful of tainted and murderous coins. A man who, nourished in this generous womb, can turn upon his mother land and hack her, deface her and betray her, deny her and spit upon her as an empty waste, a name upon a map, a race of strangers and a source of wanton exercise and plunder.\n\n\"Such a man is Crawford of Lymond: such a man this land may pray never to see again in the difficult ways of her history. I say: busy yourself no longer about him, for he is better condemned, and most harshly dead.\"\n\nThe silence of his careful making followed him and lay upon the Tribunal for a stricken and pulsing space. Then at the long table Argyll moved, and the twelve Assessors stirred and sighed.\n\nErskine, lifting his stunned head, saw that Richard's eyes were wide and full on his brother; but Lymond looked at nobody, the queer cornflower gaze concentrated in space. The Lord Justice-General began to speak, and had to clear his throat.\n\n\"We have heard and understood you, Mr. Lauder, and have been well served by your skill and your clarity in this most distressing task today. The panel has also heard you. We now invite him to address us in his own defence on the charges so preferred against him. Mr. Crawford.\"\n\nFrom Lymond's pale hair to his finger tips no uncomprehending muscle moved. \"I have nothing to add,\" he said.\n\nIn the crowded room the atmosphere tightened as if he had shouted. \"Nothing?\" exclaimed Argyll. \"You are accused of treason, sir: you have heard the gravest accusations and the gravest doubts expressed about your evidence. Have you no excuse?\"\n\nBare of irony, Lymond's eyes left the Justiciar and rested on his own immobile and flatly crossed hands. \"The margin is so small,\" he said, \"between life and no life, fact and lie, treason and patriotism, civilization and savagery\u2026 If Mr. Lauder can see it, he is lucky; if you can comprehend it you have a better right to judge than I have to plead. I have nothing to add.\"\n\n\"If you can't tell the difference between loyalty and treason, Mr. Crawford,\" said the Bishop, \"then you are certainly safer hanged.\"\n\nThe Master's eyes studied him. \"Why, can you?\"\n\n\"As long,\" said Orkney broadly, \"as I know the difference between right and wrong.\"\n\n\"Yes. The position is very similar. Patriotism,\" said Lymond, \"like honesty is a luxury with a very high face value which is quickly pricing itself out of the spiritual market altogether.\"\n\n\"Feeling for one's country,\" said the Lord Advocate softly, \"is not usually considered as a freestanding riddle in ethics.\u2026\"\n\nThe easy voice lifted the comment and the topic, and carried them to deeper waters. \"No. It is an emotion as well, and of course the emotion comes first. A child's home and the ways of its life are sacrosanct, perfect, inviolate to the child. Add age; add security; add experience. In time we all admit our relatives and our neighbours, our fellow townsmen and even, perhaps, at last our fellow nationals to the threshold of tolerance. But the man living one inch beyond the boundary is an inveterate foe.\"\n\nHe laced his long fingers and raised them, his gaze resting on the exposed palms. \"Patriotism is a fine hothouse for maggots. It breeds intolerance; it forces a spindle-legged, spurious riot of colour.\u2026 A man of only moderate powers enjoys the special sanction of purpose, the sense of ceremony; the echo of mysterious, lost and royal things; a trace of the broad, plain childish virtues of myth and legend and ballad. He wants advancement\u2014what simpler way is there? He's tired of the little seasons and looks for movement and change and an edge of peril and excitement; he enjoys the flowering of small talents lost in the dry courses of daily life. For all these reasons, men at least once in their lives move the finger which will take them to battle for their country.\u2026\n\n\"Patriotism,\" said Lymond again. \"It's an opulent word, a mighty key to a royal Cloud-Cuckoo-Land. Patriotism; loyalty; a true conviction that of all the troubled and striving world, the soil of one's fathers is noblest and best. A celestial competition for the best breed of man; a vehicle for shedding boredom and exercising surplus power or surplus talents or surplus money; an immature and bigoted intolerance which becomes the coin of barter in the markets of power\u2014\"\n\nInto the silence, the Master spoke gently. \"These are not patriots but martyrs, dying in cheerful self-interest as the Christians died in the pleasant conviction of grace, leaving their example by chance to brood beneath the water and rise, miraculously, to refresh the centuries. The cry is raised: Our land is glorious under the sun. I have a need to believe it, they say. It is a virtue to believe it; and therefore I shall wring from this unassuming clod a passion and a power and a selflessness that otherwise would be laid unquickened in the grave.\"\n\nWith the unfettered freedom of his voice, with the disciplined and friendly ardours of his mind, he made it plain where he was leading them.\n\n\"And who shall say they are wrong?\" said Lymond. \"There are those who will always cleave to the living country, and who with their uprooted imaginations might well make of it an instrument for good. Is it quite beyond us in this land? Is there no one will take up this priceless thing and say, Here is a nation, with such a soul; with such talents; with these failings and this native worth? In what fashion can this one people be brought to live in full vigour and serenity, and who, in their compassion and wisdom, will take it and lead it into the path?\"\n\nFor two, for three, for four seconds, the silence continued. Then Lauder, an expression of pure joy on his face, let out a long sigh; Argyll himself drew a deep breath, and Erskine, dragging his eyes from the quiet chair, found Richard staring at his brother with the privacies of his stubborn spirit exposed, unheeding, on his face.\n\nFor a mighty moment Argyll faced Lymond, conjecture and curiosity and a certain sharp respect informing the pallid Campbell features. Then he said, \"I understand that you have said something you felt required saying at this time, and that you are not moved to argue and dispute over the complexities of the personal charges which have been put before us today. I am not sure that you are wrong; but this is not the place nor the time to reply to you, nor am I sure that I or any man present could do so\u2014\" He paused.\n\n\"We have been shown the public interpretation of a remarkable case: a series of events borne forcibly to their close by a strong and unusual personality. Mr. Lauder has given us one reading of its character. He would, I think, be the first to admit that he has not, patently, shown us the whole man and that, whatever the true reading may be, Mr. Crawford, we may know that it is not simple, or obvious, or in any way commonplace.\n\n\"We have listened to the evidence most carefully. Most of the charges referring to crimes since 1542 are to my mind much weakened by what we have heard, and would be difficult to sustain. The original accusation however still stands, and the evidence has in no way been shaken by any argument or proof offered by the panel.\n\n\"We shall consider these things, however, and tomorrow this court will make its recommendation to the Three Estates, before whom you shall appear. It is this decision you must fear and face, and I warn you now to prepare yourself for it.\"\n\nIt was as near a warning of doom as the Assize could achieve. Lymond was already standing to receive it, and there was no doubt that he understood what he was being told: the stamp of the day's assault lay in the very bones of his face. He bowed once, to the Assessors, and again, surprisingly, to the benches which held Erskine and his brother; then, flanked by his guards, he moved quietly to the door.\n\nNeither Lauder nor the judges, nor the silent ranks of the witnesses remembered Will Scott."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 138",
                "text": "A pretence of quiet had fallen on the night.\n\nAbout the basin of the Tyne, small fires ringed Haddington: the boots of men clicked on the walls of the besieged town and padded in the trenches outside; and the unobtrusive gnawing of pick and mattock betrayed the pioneers still at work.\n\nThe river wound its way dimly to the coast; and the estuary, flat and moon-bright, with small ships black as buttons on its surface, lay at the bottom of the sky and rolled in the east-by-east wind which with spare and racking fingers was withdrawing the coasts from the English fleet.\n\nEdinburgh, grimly warded, lay inside her walls, bedevilled by the shadows of her hills, her crag and tail a black and fishy emblem above the apologetic stench of the Nor' Loch. The moon copied on the cobbles the profile of all the new, high houses: the thatched gables and uncertain slates and the dancett\u00e9 roofs; and the gutters ran in and out of the shadows like pied and silvery eels.\n\nAs always, there were lights at the ports; and tonight there were lights as well at Holyrood, and at Mary of Guise's palace on Castle Hill. Farther down the slope another candle shone in an upper window at the Tolbooth: behind it Lymond lay, drugged into sleep, with a guard outside his locked door until the night should pass and Parliament meet to pronounce his doom. In the Culters' house in the High Street his family also waited, and the tapers burned all night.\n\nThey burned also at the Castle, where light and heat reeled in mortal embrace in the prisoners' room. The ceiling, low and plastered, pressed down the strata of exhausted air, stale with old beer and sweating bodies. There was no room left to stand and no air to inhale, but the light beat down on a swaying corymb of heads, and shone on necks craning with a nervous, avid tension like beasts at a water hole.\n\nAt the centre sat Will Scott and Sir Thomas Palmer, half-naked: sunburnt thews glistening under multiple lights and sweat slithering down the tough cord of their spines.\n\nFor maybe an hour now, Palmer's string of jocularities and pithy memoirs had stopped, and he was breathing hoarsely into the cards, eyes intent and chin set in three trim folds against his chest. Beside his chair, topped by a bundle of clothes, lay a good half of Scott's belongings. Beside Scott, kicked into a disorderly tangle by the eager feet of the onlookers, was every article presently owned by Tommy Palmer except one: his cousin's statement.\n\nScott was too tired to think. Often before he had played the night through, ending wild-eyed and unshaven and ravenously hungry and going on to perform prodigies of nuisance-making in his father's wake. But against Palmer he needed more than a flair: he needed nerve and watchfulness and weblike concentration, with an instinct for bluff, and an inspiration to know when to call it.\n\nHe ignored the chaffing of his enthusiastic audience; he refused to be upset by the games he lost and by Palmer's unworried bonhomie. He played on doggedly with his red hair sticking in cowlicks to his brow and stared at the tarots until they glimmered in his eyeballs like invitation cards to hell. He knew that it was dark, that the inquiry was over and, from Erskine standing now at his side, that it had gone against Lymond. He had no idea of the time.\n\nPalmer was preparing his sequences. He did it slowly, as if the feel of the cards gave him pleasure. \"My pretty atous,\" he said, and admired them, his broad fingers sprawled across the painted backs.\n\nScott looked at his own hand, and the tarots' sleek, Egyptian heads with ancient divination in their eyes stared back, warming their painted hands at a world of flesh. His feet were on le chemin royal de la vie and the thin travesties in his hands this time were real: the traitor and the hanged man, death and the fool. Their avid fingers were real, and the scent of an evil nostalgia. He closed the cards abruptly and held them closed until his brain cleared.\n\nHe had a good hand, but not a first-class one; and he suspected Palmer's was better. There was one way he might improve on it: by calling on luck. He had the World and the Bateleur in his hand. He could challenge Palmer for the Fool; if he didn't have it, his two tarrochi nobili would bring him five points extra and almost certainly the game. It had to. Each article redeemed by Palmer cost him another game to win it back. If he lost this game he had to play a minimum of two more and win both. And he doubted if he had a reserve of mental energy for even one.\n\nIt was very quiet. Scott looked at the cards again. Palmer, breathing heavily, had the beginning of a smile compressing his stubbled chins.\n\n\"Qui ne l'a,\" said Scott, and Palmer's gaze, arrested, narrowed and shot to meet his. \"Qui ne l'a? Well? Have you got one?\"\n\nPalmer scratched his nose. He grunted, and the silence moved down on the bruised and foundered men like a wine press.\n\nFor as long as he dared, Palmer tested Scott's nerve. Then slowly he shook his big head. \"No. Damn it to hell: I have not.\"\n\nWill moved his hands very slowly: red hands like Buccleuch's. The tarots, throttled and limp, dropped to their places on the table: sullen; maudlin; sulkily protesting the laughterless starvation of a paper world. There was a moment's pause, then Palmer moved, and his tarots ran like butter from corner to corner of the table.\n\nIt was a losing hand. \"My game, I think,\" said Will Scott.\n\nThe welter of congratulations, of back-slapping and draughts of flat beer and mounting noise hardly penetrated his brain; even when Palmer himself, after upending a pint of ale over his own head and shoulders with thunderous curses, broke into an equal percussion of laughter and embraced him like a son. Scott sat like a marmorean and gently smiling Buddha, the disputed paper safely clutched in his hand, and when he could be heard, spoke mildly. \"You can have back all your other stuff if you like. This is all I wanted.\"\n\nSurging up, Palmer elbowed his way forcefully to the window and stood with his back to it, flexing his beefy shoulders till the muscles flowed. \"What a game. God! What a game. I've played in every county in England and up and down France and in and out of Clinton's boats, but I've never met the man who could read my mind like you did. Never. I sat like a bloody plant and you read me as if my brains were thumbing signals from my ears. Where'd you pick it up?\"\n\nScott was hauling on his shirt. \"I was taught,\" he said invisibly, \"by\u2026\"\n\nPalmer swept up a fistful of linen and jerked. \"What?\"\n\nLike the rising sun, Scott's head reappeared, still talking. \"I was taught by a fellow called Jonathan Crouch.\"\n\nSir Thomas's arms dropped like felled boughs. \"An Englishman?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"With a wife called Ellen and a tongue with the perishing shakes?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I taught that man to play tarocco!\" yelled Sir Thomas.\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Will Scott."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 139",
                "text": "An hour later he was in Lymond's room.\n\nThe Master was difficult to waken. Under the boy's insistent fingers he stirred at length, and his weighted lids lifted a little. After a moment he recognized him and said \"Scott!\" in a voice thickened with opiates. Then his eye caught a movement behind the boy and he turned his head. \"\u2026 And Mr. Lauder too, I see.\"\n\nThe lawyer, his clothes rumpled and his hair on end, bowed and shut the door on inquisitive guards. Scott didn't look around. Instead, he held out the paper with Samuel Harvey's statement, the superscription lit by the bedside tallow. \"It's Samuel Harvey's confession,\" the boy said. \"He made it to Christian at Haddington when he was dying, and it was taken down by their priest. It frees you from every taint of treason.\"\n\nThe Master's fingers touched the folded papers, lingering on the broken seal, and delicately flattened them. Scott, watching his downcast eyes, visualized the pages as he had seen them an hour ago, when before his witnesses he had studied his prize.\n\n\u2026 summoned from the Princess Mary's household and taken before the King. Essential to mislead the enemy as to the identity of the spy\u2026 Convenient presence of the Scotchman Crawford\u2026 Letter to his friends in Scotland already purloined\u2026 Forgery affixed and taken north with me\u2026\n\nAnd the last sentences.\n\nI learned afterwards that, ironically enough, the spy for whom all this trouble was taken died on his next visit to London. Of the others implicated, I have given my word not to mention them, and I do not see that I need do so, since it does not affect the substance of what happened. I am not ashamed of what I did: I obeyed orders in a justifiable act against the enemy.\n\nAlthough he had reached the last page, the Master did not immediately look up. Scott was glad when at length he spoke. \"So she did get her proofs.\"\n\n\"No one knows what went wrong,\" said the boy. \"Either she was given the unwritten sheets franked and folded by mistake, or it was a deliberate deception: perhaps Harvey came to regret what he had done. The priest doesn't know.\"\n\nLymond turned his head, searching the bright, sea-blue eyes under the gaudy thatch. \"And you: where did you get it?\"\n\n\"Sir Thomas Palmer is Harvey's cousin. I found that out from Lady Douglas after she was released from Haddington. She told me as well that they were keeping Harvey's belongings for Palmer when he next came north.\"\n\n\"\u2026 And?\"\n\n\"And when he did come north, Father captured him,\" said Scott, assailed with unforeseen embarrassments. \"Palmer's at the Castle now, and they also have the friar who wrote it out\u2014I found that out later. I made them all witness the contents too, so that they could\u2026\"\n\n\"Your young catachumen played tarocco all night with Palmer to get possession of it,\" said the Lord Advocate's most sumptuous voice. He had found a chair and was lying back in it, grinning benevolently at the ceiling. \"By God, I wish you'd take me in hand for six months in that troop of yours. Anyone who can beat Buskin's brother\u2014\"\n\n\"Not my doing: we imported a trainer for that,\" said Lymond gravely, his skin faltering between red and white, his eyes brilliant. \"I don't think we could teach you much, Mr. Lauder.\"\n\nThe legal gaze, leaving the rafters, swooped down to the pillows. \"Who stole your letter, Mr. Crawford? That damned Douglas woman, I take it.\" He paused. \"You were very gentle with our friends today.\"\n\nLymond's thoughts were clearly a thousand\u2014a hundred\u2014miles away. \"Our friends\u2026?\"\n\nWiser than Scott, Henry Lauder ignored the boy's scowl and talked on. \"The Douglases. The Earl of Angus undertook, I believe, to set the crown of Scotland on Henry VIII's head by midsummer of that year. There was also talk of a secret bond signed by both Sir George and his brother in London, promising all their help to make Scotland Henry's. The King wouldn't want that noised abroad at the time.\"\n\n\"No.\" Lymond's hands still lay on the folded pages of the confession. He lifted the packet, a speculative, balancing finger at each end, and said, \"Nothing about the Douglases is news any more. The unpleasant truth is that, being a long-sighted family, they will attach themselves to the winning side, and not necessarily to the side that pays them most.\n\n\"When Douglas goes to Berwick as spokesman for the Scottish court, when he comes to Edinburgh sworn to promote the English marriage, both the Protector and Arran know very well he is putting his own words to the song he was taught. Perhaps even words which appear to be his own are sometimes not. These are stormy petrels: they show where the heavy seas are coming from and are to that extent useful. Their transactions shelter under sham diplomacy and they can truly be influenced in one way only, by personal shame. The side which succumbs to the temptation to strip the Douglases naked will lose them, and the considerable power of their men with them. Grey knew that: that is why he handled Sir George so tenderly in spite of the Protector and Wharton.\"\n\nScott said defensively, \"My father also got permission to negotiate with the English. To protect his own interests.\"\n\nThe Lord Advocate smiled involuntarily. \"Buccleuch has been driven to doing a lot of queer things to protect his own interests, but no one would ever confuse him with the Douglases. Mr. Crawford is right. The undiscriminating vulture is not our real danger: open scandal would simply drive him into profitless exile again, and would be of no possible advantage to us. Neither should we fear our sturdy patriots who, like your father, are busy with their loyalties in queer and crooked ways. Our danger lies with the men who want to take this country by trunk and limb and wreak it into such a shape that it will fit them and their children for hose and jerkin in their old age.\"\n\n\"Some of them are sincere,\" said Lymond.\n\n\"I know: and such men will wreck us yet. Preserve us above all from the honest clod and the ambitious fanatic.\"\n\n\"There doesn't seem to be a bewilderment of types left to choose from.\"\n\n\"The Culters, for example?\"\n\nScott caught up Lauder with angry eyes. \"This ill-starred family with a wastrel son?\"\n\nThe lawyer smiled. \"My business is with words, my boy; and the best ones grow like mushrooms on a good bedding-down of law. Your friend used some fairly choice expressions himself.\u2026 I admire your gift for commanding loyalty in spite of your tongue, Mr. Crawford. What will you do now?\"\n\n\"I was going to ask you the same thing,\" said Lymond; and it was clear that he had used the breathing space Lauder had given him to good effect.\n\nThe Lord Advocate rose. \"I think there are some people who should be shown this statement, and without much more delay,\" he said. \"If you'll trust me with it.\"\n\nLymond's voice saying \"Of course\" clashed with Scott's \"No!\" His hands lingered a moment longer on the papers, then he ran finger and thumb along the fold and held the document out. Lauder took it.\n\n\"I should advise you to dress, if you can. Mr. Scott will help, perhaps. It may be necessary to send for you.\"\n\nThe door shut behind him. Lymond said, his long mouth twitching at the sight of Scott's face, \"You must trust somebody, Will\u2026 in spite of any repeated advice to the contrary you may hear.\"\n\nScott muttered, avoiding his eyes, \"You must have thought me the qualified king of the simple-minded.\"\n\n\"If I did, I should never have allowed you to join me. Your father said as much to the Tribunal today\u2014God, yesterday; and I can endorse it.\"\n\n\"In spite of my hellish mistakes?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of tonight. You made no mistake with that.\"\n\nWith an enslaved eagerness, Scott asked the question Lauder had put in vain. \"What will you do now?\" But Lymond, stretching, caught him by the arm and forced him into a chair beside him.\n\n\"Wait a moment. It is gradually forcing itself on my consciousness that I am not to be divided into four pieces tomorrow. No appointment with Apollyon. You appear to have made a decision about my life far more arbitrary than any I made about yours.\"\n\nScott's voice was uncertain. \"I owed you that much, at least.\"\n\n\"You didn't owe me anything,\" said the Master. \"There's an unnatural conspiracy to keep me alive, that's all. I hope to God you don't regret it. I hope to God I don't regret it. How the hell did you manage to thrash Palmer at cards?\"\n\nDelight rose within Scott's soul. Not expecting Lymond to say more, and not knowing that he dared not say more, the young Buccleuch explained, while the Master dressed."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 140",
                "text": "The Culters' house in Bruce's Close had a red roof and a motto over every window; but inside it was comfortable and convenient, with two separate bedrooms and a parlour with a wide, light window above the garden for Sybilla's sewing.\n\nAt midnight the Dowager ordered her son and daughter-in-law to bed, promising firmly to retire. But she sat on at her window, a still shadow on the bright square of rosebushes outside, and every separate nerve in her body trembled and ached.\n\nFor five days Sybilla had launched herself and all her bountiful possessions\u2014her brains, her charm and her money\u2014in a single-minded bombardment of authority. Her friends and contemporaries of church and nobility, the suitors of the Court of Session, the powerful of both sexes at Court, had all felt the impact of the Dowager's fear, and many of them tried to help because she was Sybilla, and people would lend her a needle to cobble the moon to her gates if she asked for it.\n\nTo no avail. From the start she had known that nothing could save this son's life for her: the law recognized proof, and there was no proof. On his return from the Committee Richard had been made to repeat again and again the pattern of question and answer. They had thrashed the case out, the three of them, until they were exhausted; and she had sent her son and Mariotta to bed.\n\nShe moved, and the dark roses shivered. There was an Ewe had three lambs, and one of them was black. What of it? Sheep are commonly white: does that make white unassailable, any more than the pure light of the sun before the prism? How may a breed freshen except under mutation? How improve its whiteness except by admitting a rogue cobalt to its candid meadows?\u2026 Not that the misery had been lived through quite in vain. In all her life she had never heard Richard speak as, distressed and vehement, he had spoken to them that evening.\n\nSybilla looked out of the dark window. To the east, Moultrie's Hill and the Dow Craig, with Greenside on its farther slopes; where for nine hours she had once sat and watched Davie Lindsay mock the Three Estates before the Three Estates, and the Crown before the Crown. That was a tolerance fast slipping from them.\n\nThe Lang Gait and Gabriel's road, unlit; and few and distant lights from Broughton and Silver Mills and Kirkbraehead and Canon Mills. Below, her garden plunged and rolled to the turgid waters of the loch, and the tall lands on either side shifted their shadows with the shifting moon.\n\nThere was an Ewe had three lambs; and one of them was black. The one was hanged, the other drowned; the third was lost, and never found.\u2026 Sybilla's hands closed hard on each other.\n\nIt was then that Tom Erskine, riding lightly and alone, came sweeping to the door.\n\nHalf an hour went by. In Mary de Guise's palace the tapers took fire from room to room, as the Queen Dowager moved with her maids to the audience chamber, turning her head as she walked to speak to Richard, on her right, and Henry Lauder, behind her.\n\nThey stood beside her as she settled on the dais. The Lord Chancellor was already there, his clothes wrinkled and dusty as the Queen's; and Argyll came in quickly, bowed, and sat with Huntly and Erskine and the secretaries along the wall of the short, elaborate room.\n\nIt was very hot, and the lights rebuffed their tired eyes. Because of the hour and the perpetual, malignant circumstance of crisis, the Queen demanded no ceremony. She spoke a little longer to the Lord Advocate, and next to Argyll; and then one of the secretaries answered her nod by opening the door. The Queen Dowager sat and watched Lord Culter, and Henry Lauder watched the Queen.\n\nRichard smiled. Crawford of Lymond, standing just inside the doorway, smiled back, bowed, and remained where he was, in himself a novelty and a force to the considering gaze lifted to him. Chin sunk on her chains, starched gauze thinly shadowing the bridge of her nose, the Queen moved a hand and watched the man advance to her chair. She said, in her heavily accented English, \"I was curious.\"\n\nThe Master replied in his own rapid French. \"It is I, Madame, who am curious, or I should not have manufactured myself a silly predicament.\"\n\n\"The Justiciar cannot follow you,\" observed Mary de Guise. \"We shall speak in English, in which he cannot follow me. There is no precedent, Mr. Crawford, for addressing a man who has been done an injustice by the State. We had, I thought, reached the safe haven of corruption where we need never fear to misjudge anybody. I am astounded to find myself wrong.\"\n\nA nasty one. Too shrewd by far to answer, Lymond only inclined his fair head: he had the knack of seeming to have been delivered in his garments, observed Lauder, irritably aware of sitting on rucked linen and surrounded by half-awake and unvaleted statesmen.\n\nThe matronly, autocratic voice continued. \"Through Will Scott of Kincurd, we have had constant information of your providing about enemy movements and enemy affairs. We know now that we owe to you other gifts of money and of secrets over the years, and that we have had ignorantly the use of your talents and your abilities at Hume and at Heriot, at Carlisle and Dumbarton. All these services performed beneath the edge of our sword and below the heel of our boot: performed with vigour and wit and independence.\n\n\"You have amazed me, Mr. Crawford. You see in me a misery of rage which should compensate you a little for your suffering. Bequeathed a shabby and ransacked armoury, I have thrown away tempered steel. My God, M. le ma\u00eetre, you have done us an injury: you should have held us by the neck and shouted your wrongs into our lungs. What redress can language give you? A polite apology, and Mr. Lauder's regrets?\"\n\n\"Modified regrets,\" said the Lord Advocate. \"I love Mr. Crawford like a son, but I wouldn't have missed that examination.\"\n\n\"If you mislay your notes,\" said Lymond, \"you will find them engraved on my liver. La reine douairi\u00e8re is generous. My impression is that I made several mistakes for every one of the State's. The thing is best forgotten.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Crawford,\" said the Queen Dowager. \"How can I forget, when my daughter recites scurrilous poetry, and holds you still dear to her heart\u2026?\"\n\nHuntly moved. Mary of Guise folded her hands without looking at him, but a fibre entered her voice which was not there before, and her gaze hardened over them all.\n\n\"I am aware,\" she said, \"that to most of you\u2014to most of the people who fight for me and against me, and for and against the Protector\u2014the royal line is a certificate of birth, and a circlet of metal; a pawn astray on her own board and more used to domination and a ruthless handling than the weakest of her subjects.\n\n\"To me, it is a little girl, fresh and warm, holding surprises and knowledge and happy years in her palms. When armed invaders come and men die and are captured and plot and betray, she is still a small girl, crying because she has wakened in the night.\" Her eyes dropped for a moment to her hands and her lip trembled for a moment, and then became firm.\n\n\"By all your efforts this year you have kept the Scottish crown safe from capture\u2014yes, of course. What I remember, I, is that you have won me a year of my daughter's company.\n\n\"The last year, perhaps. She is safe. You, sir, with courage, kept the secret that allowed her ships to sail. Yesterday the wind moved from the south: autumn is coming, and a colder season perhaps than we have known yet. Yesterday my daughter set sail from Dumbarton: with Lord Livingstone and Lord Erskine, with her brother, with Fleming, Beaton, Seaton and Livingstone and Lady Fleming, she set sail for France, to live there and, in time, to marry the Dauphin.\n\n\"\u2026 Some will say, we should have admitted England, this importunate bridegroom; and kept unspilled blood and whole hearths for our dowry. I think not. I hope that we are choosing wisdom as well as pride, and a long peace as well as a quick harbour.\"\n\n\"And England?\" It was Lord Culter's voice.\n\n\"The King of France has taken this kingdom in perpetual shelter. He will demand of England peace between our three nations; and that all enmity between England and Scotland should cease.\"\n\nOutside, dawn had come, pale and wind-torn, with stars set tardily in its brightness. In the yellow glare of the lights, Lymond's gaze had turned to his brother. \"So they lose, after all,\" he said. \"All the King's knights. Lord Grey and Lord Wharton, Lennox and Somerset, Wilford and Dudley, Sir George Douglas, Angus and Drumlanrig. Such plotting and striving and discomfort and distress; so much gold spent; so many peoples moved across the face of Europe to confront us. It's a sad thing to woo with cannon and to lose.\"\n\nMary de Guise had her mind as well as her eyes bent on the intent, fair face below her. \"I wonder, are you with me?\" she said.\n\nThe guarded eyes lifted instantly. \"Yes\u2026 I think so. There is a divine solution, but we are only human, and Scots at that. Which means we dote on every complexity.\"\n\n\"And what award shall we give you,\" said Mary de Guise gravely, \"for all you have done for us? Apart from the unqualified love of my daughter?\"\n\nLymond's charming smile entered his blue eyes as he stood, experienced and passive, before her. \"I have no other desires, and can imagine none.\"\n\n\"No?\" said the Queen Dowager, and rising, swept Francis Crawford out of the room, ignoring her statesmen stumbling in surprise to their feet; leaving Richard faintly smiling and Lauder cursing with determination. \"No other desires? Au contraire. There are some that I shall expect to find out and one, assuredly, that I know,\" said the Queen with decision; and opened a door.\n\nIn a lifetime of empty rooms, this was another.\n\nThen there was a whisper of silk, a perfume half remembered, a humane, quizzical, intuitive presence; and a wild relief that deluged the tired and passionate mind.\n\nSybilla was there. She saw her son's eyes, and flung open her arms."
            }
        ]
    },
    {
        "title": "The Physician",
        "author": "Noah Gordon",
        "genres": [
            "historical fiction"
        ],
        "tags": [
            "medieval",
            "medicine",
            "Cole Family"
        ],
        "chapters": [
            {
                "title": "Barber's Boy",
                "text": "[ THE DEVIL IN LONDON ]\n\nThese were Rob J.'s last safe and secure moments of blessed innocence, but in his ignorance he considered it hardship to be forced to remain near his father's house with his brothers and his sister. This early in the spring, the sun rode low enough to send warm licks under the eaves of the thatched roof, and he sprawled on the rough stone stoop outside the front door, enjoying the coziness. A woman was picking her way over the broken surface of Carpenter's Street. The street needed repair, as did most of the small frame workingmen's houses thrown up carelessly by skilled artisans who earned their living erecting solid homes for those richer and more fortunate.\n\nHe was shelling a basket of early peas and trying to keep his eyes on the younger children, his responsibility when Mam was away. William Stewart, six, and Anne Mary, four, were grubbing in the dirt at the side of the house and playing secret giggly games. Jonathan Carter, eighteen months old, lay on a lambskin, papped, burped, and gurgling with content. Samuel Edward, who was seven, had given Rob J. the slip. Somehow crafty Samuel always managed to melt away instead of sharing work, and Rob was keeping an eye out for him, feeling wrathful. He split the green pods one after another and scraped the peas from the waxy seedcase with his thumb the way Mam did, not pausing as he noted the woman coming directly to him.\n\nStays in her stained bodice raised her bosom so that sometimes when she moved there was a glimpse of rouged nipple, and her fleshy face was garish with cosmetics. Rob J. was only nine years old but a child of London knew a trollop.\n\n\"Here now. This Nathanael Cole's house?\"\n\nHe studied her resentfully, for it wasn't the first time tarts had come to their door seeking his father. \"Who wants to learn?\" he said roughly, glad his Da was out seeking work and she had missed him, glad his Mam was out delivering embroidery and was spared embarrassment.\n\n\"His wife needs him. She sent me.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, needs him?\" The competent young hands stopped shelling peas.\n\nThe whore regarded him coolly, having caught his opinion of her in his tone and manner. \"She your mother?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"She's taken labor bad. She's in Egglestan's stables close by Puddle Dock. You'd best find your father and tell him,\" the woman said, and went away.\n\nThe boy looked about desperately. \"Samuel!\" he shouted, but bloody Samuel was off who-knows-where, as usual, and Rob fetched William and Anne Mary from their play. \"Take care of the small ones, Willum,\" he said. Then he left the house and started to run.\n\nThose who may be depended upon to prattle said Anno Domini 1021, the year of Agnes Cole's eighth pregnancy, belonged to Satan. It had been marked by calamities to people and monstrosities of nature. The previous autumn the harvest in the fields had been blighted by hard frosts that froze rivers. There were rains such as never before, and with the rapid thaw a high tide ran up the Thames and tore away bridges and homes. Stars fell, streaming light down windy winter skies, and a comet was seen. In February the earth distinctly quaked. Lightning struck the head off a crucifix and men muttered that Christ and his saints slept. It was rumored that for three days a spring had flowed with blood, and travelers reported the Devil appearing in woods and secret places.\n\nAgnes had told her eldest son not to pay heed to the talk. But she had added uneasily that if Rob J. saw or heard anything unusual, he must make the sign of the Cross.\n\nPeople were placing a heavy burden on God that year, for the crop failure had brought hard times. Nathanael had earned no pay for more than four months and was kept by his wife's ability to create fine embroideries.\n\nWhen they were newly wed, she and Nathanael had been sick with love and very confident of their future; it had been his plan to become wealthy as a contractor-builder. But promotion was slow within the carpenters' guild, at the hands of examination committees who scrutinized test projects as if each piece of work were meant for the King. He had spent six years as Apprentice Carpenter and twice that long as Companion Joiner. By now he should have been an aspirant for Master Carpenter, the professional classification needed to become a contractor. But the process of becoming a Master took energy and prosperous times, and he was too dispirited to try.\n\nTheir lives continued to revolve around the trade guild, but now even the London Corporation of Carpenters failed them, for each morning Nathanael reported to the guild house only to learn there were no jobs. With other hopeless men he sought escape in a brew they called pigment: one of the carpenters would produce honey, someone else brought out a few spices, and the Corporation always had a jug of wine at hand.\n\nCarpenters' wives told Agnes that often one of the men would go out and bring back a woman on whom their unemployed husbands took drunken turns.\n\nDespite his failings she couldn't shun Nathanael, she was too fond of fleshly delight. He kept her belly large, pumping her full of child as soon as she was emptied, and whenever she was nearing term he avoided their home. Their life conformed almost exactly to the dire predictions made by her father when, with Rob J. already in her, she had married the young carpenter who had come to Watford to help build their neighbor's barn. Her father had blamed her schooling, saying that education filled a woman with lascivious folly.\n\nHer father had owned his small farm, which had been given him by Aethelred of Wessex in lieu of pay for military service. He was the first of the Kemp family to become a yeoman. Walter Kemp had sent his daughter for schooling in the hope that it would gain her a landowner's marriage, for proprietors of great estates found it handy to have a trusted person who was able to read and do sums, and why should it not be a wife? He had been embittered to see her make a low and sluttish match. He had not even been able to disinherit her, poor man. His tiny holding had gone to the Crown for back taxes when he died.\n\nBut his ambition had shaped her life. The five happiest years of her memory had been as a child in the nunnery school. The nuns had worn scarlet shoes, white and violet tunics, and veils delicate as cloud. They had taught her to read and to write, to recognize a smattering of Latin as it was used in the catechism, to cut clothing and sew an invisible seam, and to produce orphrey, embroidery so elegant it was sought after in France, where it was known as English Work.\n\nThe \"foolishness\" she had learned from the nuns now kept her family in food.\n\nThis morning she had debated about whether to go to deliver her orphrey. It was close to her time and she felt huge and clumsy, but there was little left in the larder. It was necessary to go to Billingsgate Market to buy flour and meal, and for that she needed the money that would be paid by the embroidery exporter who lived in Southwark on the other side of the river. Carrying her small bundle, she made her way slowly down Thames Street toward London Bridge.\n\nAs usual, Thames Street was crowded with pack animals and stevedores moving merchandise between the cavernous warehouses and the forest of ships' masts on the quays. The noise fell on her like rain on a drought. Despite their troubles, she was grateful to Nathanael for taking her away from Watford and the farm.\n\nShe loved this city so!\n\n\"Whoreson! You come back here and give me my money. Give it on back,\" a furious woman screeched at someone Agnes couldn't see.\n\nSkeins of laughter were tangled with ribbons of words in foreign languages. Curses were hurled like affectionate blessings.\n\nShe walked past ragged slaves lugging pigs of iron to waiting ships. Dogs barked at the wretched men who struggled under their brutal loads, pearls of sweat gleaming on their shaven heads. She breathed the garlic odor of their unwashed bodies and the metallic stink of the pig iron and then a more welcome smell from a cart where a man was hawking meat pasties. Her mouth watered but she had a single coin in her pocket and hungry children at home. \"Pies like sweet sin,\" the man called. \"Hot and good!\"\n\nThe docks gave off an aroma of sun-warmed pine pitch and tarred rope. She held a hand to her stomach as she walked and felt her baby move, floating in the ocean contained between her hips. On the corner a rabble of sailors with flowers in their caps sang lustily while three musicians played on a fife, a drum, and a harp. As she moved past them she noted a man leaning against a strange-looking wagon marked with the signs of the zodiac. He was perhaps forty years old. He was beginning to lose his hair, which like his beard was strong brown in color. His features were comely; he would have been more handsome than Nathanael save for the fact that he was fat. His face was ruddy and his stomach bloomed before him as fully as her own. His corpulence didn't repel; on the contrary, it disarmed and charmed and told the viewer that here was a friendly and convivial spirit too fond of the best things in life. His blue eyes had a glint and sparkle that matched the smile on his lips. \"Pretty mistress. Be my dolly?\" he said. Startled, she looked about to see to whom he might be speaking, but there was no one else.\n\n\"Hah!\" Ordinarily she would have frozen trash with a glance and put him out of mind, but she had a sense of humor and enjoyed a man with one, and this was too rich.\n\n\"We are made for one another. I would die for you, my lady,\" he called after her ardently.\n\n\"No need. Christ already has, sirrah,\" she said.\n\nShe lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and walked away with a seductive twitch, preceded by the almost unbelievable enormity of her child-laden stomach and joining in his laughter.\n\nIt had been a long time since a man had complimented her femaleness, even in jest, and the absurd exchange lifted her spirits as she navigated Thames Street. Still smiling, she was approaching Puddle Dock when the pain came.\n\n\"Merciful mother,\" she whispered.\n\nIt struck again, beginning in her abdomen but taking over her mind and entire body so that she was unable to stand. As she sank to the cobbles of the public way the bag of waters burst.\n\n\"Help me!\" she cried. \"Somebody!\"\n\nA London crowd gathered at once, eager to see, and she was hemmed in by legs. Through a mist of pain she perceived a circle of faces looking down at her.\n\nAgnes groaned.\n\n\"Here now, you bastards,\" a drayman growled. \"Give her room to breathe. And let us earn our daily bread. Get her off the street so our wagons can pass.\"\n\nThey carried her into a place that was dark and cool and smelled strongly of manure. In the course of the move someone made off with her bundle of orphrey. Deeper within the gloom, great forms shifted and swayed. A hoof kicked a board with a sharp report, and there was a loud whickering.\n\n\"What's all this? Now, you cannot bring her in here,\" a querulous voice said. He was a fussy little man, potbellied and gap-toothed, and when she saw his hostler's boots and cap she recognized him for Geoff Egglestan and knew she was in his stables. More than a year ago Nathanael had rebuilt some stalls here, and she grasped at the fact.\n\n\"Master Egglestan,\" she said faintly. \"I am Agnes Cole, wife of the carpenter, with whom you are well acquainted.\"\n\nShe thought she saw unwilling recognition on his face, and the surly knowledge that he couldn't turn her away.\n\nThe people crowded in behind him, bright-eyed with curiosity.\n\nAgnes gasped. \"Please, will somebody be kind enough to fetch my husband?\" she asked.\n\n\"I can't leave my business,\" Egglestan muttered. \"Somebody else must go\"\n\nNo one moved or spoke.\n\nHer hand went to her pocket and found the coin. \"Please,\" she said again, and held it up.\n\n\"I'll do my Christian duty,\" a woman, obviously a streetwalker, said at once. Her fingers closed over the coin like a claw.\n\nThe pain was unbearable, a new and different pain. She was accustomed to close contractions; her labors had been mildly difficult after the first two pregnancies but in the process she had stretched. There had been miscarriages before and following the birth of Anne Mary, but both Jonathan and the girl child had left her body easily after the breaking of the waters, like slick little seeds squirted between two fingers. In five birthings she had never experienced anything like this.\n\nSweet Agnes, she said in numb silence. Sweet Agnes who succors the lambs, succor me.\n\nAlways during labor she prayed to her name saint and Saint Agnes helped, but this time the whole world was unremitting pain and the child was in her like a great plug.\n\nEventually her ragged screams attracted the attention of a passing midwife, a crone who was more than slightly drunk, and she drove the spectators from the stables with curses. When she turned back, she studied Agnes with disgust. \"Bloody men set you down in the shit,\" she muttered. There was no better place to move her. She lifted Agnes' skirts above her waist and cut away the undergarments; then on the floor in front of the gaping pudenda she brushed away the strawy manure with her hands, which she wiped on a filthy apron.\n\nFrom her pocket she took a vial of lard already darkened with the blood and juices of other women. Scooping out some of the rancid grease, she made washing movements until her hands were lubricated, then she eased first two fingers, then three, then her entire hand into the dilated orifice of the straining woman who was now howling like an animal.\n\n\"You'll hurt twice as much, mistress,\" the midwife said in a few moments, lubricating her arms up to the elbows. \"The little beggar could bite its own toes, had it a mind to. It's coming out arse first.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "A FAMILY OF THE GUILD",
                "text": "Rob J. had started to run toward Puddle Dock. Then he realized that he had to find his father and he turned toward the carpenters' guild, as every member's child knew to do in time of trouble.\n\nThe London Corporation of Carpenters was housed at the end of Carpenter's Street in an old structure of wattle-and-daub, a framework of poles interwoven with withes and branches thickly overlaid with mortar that had to be renewed every few years. Inside the roomy guild house a dozen men in the leather doublets and tool belts of their trade were seated at the rough chairs and tables made by the house committee; he recognized neighbors and members of his father's Ten but didn't see Nathanael.\n\nThe guild was everything to the London woodworkers\u2014employment office, dispensary, burial society, social center, relief organization during periods of unemployment, arbiter, placement service and hiring hall, political influence and moral force. It was a tightly organized society composed of four divisions of carpenters called Hundreds. Each Hundred was made up of ten Tens that met separately and more intimately, and it wasn't until a member was lost to a Ten by death, extended illness, or relocation that a new member was taken into the guild as Apprentice Carpenter, usually from a waiting list that contained the names of sons of members. The word of its Chief Carpenter was as final as that of any royalty, and it was to this personage, Richard Bukerel, that Rob now hurried.\n\nBukerel had stooped shoulders, as if bowed by responsibility. Everything about him seemed dark. His hair was black; his eyes were the shade of mature oak bark; his tight trousers, tunic, and doublet were coarse woollen stuff dyed by boiling with walnut hulls; and his skin was the color of cured leather, tanned by the suns of a thousand house-raisings. He moved, thought, and spoke with deliberation, and he listened to Rob intently.\n\n\"Nathanael isn't here, my boy.\"\n\n\"Do you know where he can be found, Master Bukerel?\"\n\nBukerel hesitated. \"Pardon me, please,\" he said finally, and went to where several men were seated nearby.\n\nRob could hear only an occasional word or a whispered phrase.\n\n\"He's with that bitch?\" Bukerel muttered.\n\nIn a moment the Chief Carpenter returned. \"We know where to find your father,\" he said. \"You hasten to your mother, my boy. We'll fetch Nathanael and follow close behind you.\"\n\nRob blurted his gratitude and ran on his way.\n\nHe never stopped for a breath. Dodging freight wagons, avoiding drunkards, careening through crowds, he made for Puddle Dock. Halfway there he saw his enemy, Anthony Tite, with whom he had had three fierce fights in the past year. With a pair of his wharf-rat friends Anthony was ragging some of the stevedore slaves.\n\nDon't delay me now, you little cod, Rob thought coldly.\n\nTry, Pissant-Tony, and I'll really do you.\n\nThe way someday he was going to do his rotten Da.\n\nHe saw one of the wharf rats point him out to Anthony, but he was already past them and well on his way.\n\nHe was breathless and with a stitch in his side when he arrived at Egglestan's stables in time to see an unfamiliar old woman swaddling a newborn child.\n\nThe stable was heavy with the odor of horse droppings and his mother's blood. Mam lay on the floor. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale. He was surprised by her smallness.\n\n\"Mam?\"\n\n\"You the son?\"\n\nHe nodded, thin chest heaving.\n\nThe old woman hawked and spat on the floor. \"Let her rest,\" she said.\n\nWhen his Da came he scarcely gave Rob J. a glance. In a straw-filled wagon Bukerel had borrowed from a builder they took Mam home along with the newborn, a male who would be christened Roger Kemp Cole.\n\nAfter bringing forth a new baby Mam had always shown the infant to her other children with teasing pride. Now she simply lay and stared at the thatched ceiling.\n\nFinally Nathanael called in the Widow Hargreaves from the nearest house. \"She can't even suckle the child,\" he told her.\n\n\"Perhaps it will pass,\" Della Hargreaves said. She knew of a wet nurse and took the baby away, to Rob J.'s great relief. He had all he could do to care for the other four children. Jonathan Carter had been trained to the pot but, missing the attention of his mother, seemed to have forgotten the fact.\n\nHis Da stayed home. Rob J. said little to him and maneuvered out of his way.\n\nHe missed the lessons they had had each morning, for Mam had made them seem like a merry game. He knew no one so full of warmth and loving mischief, so patient with slowness of memory.\n\nRob charged Samuel with keeping Willum and Anne Mary out of the house. That evening Anne Mary wept for a lullaby. Rob held her close and called her his Maid Anne Mary, her favorite form of address. Finally he sang of soft sweet coneys and downy birds in the nest, tra-la, grateful that Anthony Tite was not a witness. His sister was more round-cheeked and tender-fleshed than their mother, although Mam had always said Anne Mary had the Kemp side's features and traits, down to the way her mouth relaxed in sleep.\n\nMam looked better the second day, but his father said the color in her cheeks was fever. She shivered, and they piled extra covers on her.\n\nOn the third morning, when Rob gave her a drink of water he was shocked by the heat he felt in her face. She patted his hand. \"My Rob J.,\" she whispered. \"So manly.\" Her breath stank and she was breathing fast.\n\nWhen he took her hand something passed from her body into his mind. It was an awareness: he knew with absolute certainty what would happen to her. He couldn't weep. He couldn't cry out. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He felt pure terror. He could not have dealt with it had he been an adult, and he was a child.\n\nIn his horror he squeezed Mam's hand and caused her pain. His father saw and cuffed him on the head.\n\nNext morning when he got out of bed, his mother was dead.\n\nNathanael Cole sat and wept, which frightened his children, who had not absorbed the reality that Mam was gone for good. They had never before seen their father cry, and they huddled together white-faced and watchful.\n\nThe guild took care of everything.\n\nThe wives came. None had been Agnes' intimate, for her schooling had made her a suspect creature. But now the women forgave her former literacy and laid her out. Ever after, Rob hated the smell of rosemary. If times had been better the men would have come in the evening after their work, but many were unemployed and people showed up early. Hugh Tite, who was Anthony's father and looked like him, came representing the coffin-knockers, a standing committee that met to make caskets for members' funerals.\n\nHe patted Nathanael's shoulder. \"I've enough pieces of hard pine tucked away. Left over from the Bardwell Tavern job last year, you recall that nice wood? We shall do right by her.\"\n\nHugh was a semiskilled journeyman and Rob had heard his father speak scornfully of him for not knowing how to care for tools, but now Nathanael only nodded dully and turned toward the drink.\n\nThe guild had provided plenty, for a funeral was the only occasion where drunkenness and gluttony were sanctioned. In addition to apple cider and barley ale there was sweet beer and a mixture called slip, made by mixing honey and water and allowing the solution to ferment for six weeks. They had the carpenter's friend and solace, pigment; mulberry-flavored wine called morat; and a spiced mead known as metheglin. They came laden with braces of roasted quail and partridge, numerous baked and fried dishes of hare and venison, smoked herring, fresh-caught trout and plaice, and loaves of barley bread.\n\nThe guild declared a contribution of tuppence for almsgiving in the name of Agnes Cole of blessed memory and provided pallholders who led the procession to the church, and diggers who prepared the grave. Inside St. Botolph's a priest named Kempton absentmindedly intoned the Mass and consigned Mam to the arms of Jesus, and the guildsmen recited two psalters for her soul. She was buried in the churchyard in front of a little yew tree.\n\nWhen they returned to the house the funeral feast had been made hot and ready by the women, and people ate and drank for hours, released from poverty fare by the death of a neighbor. The Widow Hargreaves sat with the children and fed them tidbits, making a fuss. She clasped them into her deep, scented breasts where they wriggled and suffered. But when William became sick it was Rob who took him out behind the house and held his head while he strained and retched. Afterward, Della Hargreaves patted Willum's head and said it was grief; but Rob knew she had fed the child richly of her own cooking and for the rest of the feasting he steered the children clear of her potted eel.\n\nRob understood about death but nevertheless found himself waiting for Mam to come home. Something within him would not have been terribly surprised if she had opened the door and walked into the house, bearing provisions from the market or money from the embroidery exporter in Southwark.\n\nHistory lesson, Rob.\n\nWhat three Germanic tribes invaded Britain during the A.D. 400s and 500s?\n\nThe Angles, the Jutes, and the Saxons, Mam.\n\nWhere did they come from, my darling?\n\nGermania and Denmark. They conquered the Britons along the east coast and founded the kingdoms of Northumbria, Mercia, and East Anglia.\n\nWhat makes my son so clever?\n\nA clever mother?\n\nAh! Here is a kiss from your clever mother. And another kiss because you have a clever father. You must never forget your clever father \u2026\n\nTo his great surprise, his father stayed. Nathanael seemed to want to talk to the children, but he could not. He spent most of his time repairing the thatch in the roof. A few weeks after the funeral, while the numbness was still wearing off and Rob was just beginning to understand how different his life was going to be, his father finally got a job.\n\nLondon riverbank clay is brown and deep, a soft, tenacious muck that is home to shipworms called teredines. The worms had created havoc with timber, boring in over the centuries and riddling wharves, so some had to be replaced. The work was brutal and a far cry from building fine homes, but in his trouble Nathanael welcomed it.\n\nTo Rob J. fell the responsibility for the house, although he was a poor cook. Often Della Hargreaves brought food or prepared a meal, usually while Nathanael was home, when she took pains to be scented and goodnatured and attentive to the children. She was stout but not unattractive, with a florid complexion, high cheekbones, pointed chin, and small plump hands that she used as little as possible in work. Rob had always tended his brothers and sister, but now he had become their sole source of care and neither he nor they liked it. Jonathan Carter and Anne Mary cried constantly. William Stewart had lost his appetite and was becoming pinchfaced and large-eyed, and Samuel Edward was cheekier than ever, bringing home swear words that he threw at Rob J. with such glee that the older boy knew no solution but to clout him.\n\nHe tried to do whatever he thought she would have done.\n\nIn the mornings, after the baby had been given pap and the rest had received barley bread and drink, he cleaned the hearth under the round smoke hole, through which drops fell hissing into the fire when it rained. He took the ashes behind the house and got rid of them and then swept the floors. He dusted the sparse furnishings in all three rooms. Three times a week he shopped at Billingsgate to buy the things Mam had managed to bring home in a single weekly trip. Many of the stall owners knew him; some made the Cole family a small gift with their condolences the first time he came alone\u2014a few apples, a piece of cheese, half a small salt cod. But within a few weeks he and they were used to one another and he haggled with them more fiercely than Mam had done, lest they think to take advantage of a child. His feet always dragged on the way home from market, for he was unwilling to take back from Willum the burden of the children.\n\nMam had wanted Samuel to begin school this year. She had stood up to Nathanael and persuaded him to allow Rob to study with the monks at St. Botolph's, and he had walked to the church school daily for two years before it became necessary for him to stay home so she would be free to work at embroidery. Now none of them would go to school, for his father couldn't read or write and thought schooling a waste. He missed the school. He walked through the noisome neighborhoods of cheap, close-set houses, scarcely remembering how once his principal concern had been childish games and the specter of Pissant-Tony Tite. Anthony and his cohorts watched him pass without giving chase, as if losing his mother gave him immunity.\n\nOne night his father told him he did good work. \"You have always been older than your years,\" Nathanael said, almost with disapproval. They looked at one another uneasily, having little else to say. If Nathanael was spending his free time with tarts, Rob J. didn't know it. He still hated his father when he thought of how Mam had fared, but he knew that Nathanael was struggling in a way she would have admired.\n\nHe might readily have turned over his brothers and sister to the Widow, and he watched Della Hargreave's comings and goings expectantly, for the jests and sniggers of neighbors had informed him that she was the candidate to become his stepmother. She was childless; her husband, Lanning Hargreaves, had been a carpenter killed fifteen months before by a falling beam. It was customary that when a woman died leaving young children the new widower would remarry quickly, and it caused little wonder when Nathanael began to spend time alone with Della in her house. But such interludes were limited, because usually Nathanael was too tired. The great piles and bulwarks used in constructing the wharves had to be hewn square out of black oak logs and then set deep into the river bottom during low tide. Nathanael worked wet and cold. Along with the rest of his crew he developed a hacking, hollow cough and he always came home bone-weary. From the depths of the clammy Thames mud they ripped bits of history: a leather Roman sandal with long ankle straps, a broken spear, shards of pottery. He brought home a worked flint flake for Rob J.; sharp as a knife, the arrowhead had been found twenty feet down.\n\n\"Is it Roman?\" Rob asked eagerly.\n\nHis father shrugged. \"Perhaps Saxon.\"\n\nBut there was no question about the origin of the coin found a few days later. When Rob moistened ashes from the fire and rubbed and rubbed, on one side of the blackened disk appeared the words Prima Cohors Britanniae Londonii. His church Latin proved barely equal. \"Perhaps it marks the first cohort to be in London,\" he said. On the other side was a Roman on horseback, and three letters, IOX.\n\n\"What does IOX mean?\" his father asked.\n\nHe didn't know. Mam would have, but he had no one else to ask, and he put the coin away.\n\nThey were so accustomed to Nathanael's cough it was no longer heard. But one morning when Rob was cleaning the hearth, there was a minor commotion out front. When he opened the door he saw Harmon Whitelock, a member of his father's crew, and two slaves he had impressed from the stevedores to carry Nathanael home.\n\nSlaves terrified Rob J. There were various ways for a man to lose his freedom. A war prisoner became the servi of a warrior who might have taken his life but spared it. Free men could be sentenced into slavery for serious crimes, as could debtors or those unable to pay a severe wite or fine. A man's wife and children went into slavery with him, and so did future generations of his family.\n\nThese slaves were great, muscular men with shaven heads to denote their bondage and tattered clothes that stank abominably. Rob J. couldn't tell if they were captured foreigners or Englishmen, for they didn't speak but stared at him stolidly. Nathanael wasn't small but they carried him as if he were weightless. The slaves frightened Rob J. even more than the sight of the sallow bloodlessness of his father's face or the way Nathanael's head lolled as they set him down.\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\nWhitelock shrugged. \"It's a misery. Half of us are down with it, coughing and spitting all the time. Today he was so weak he was overcome as soon as we got into heavy work. I expect a few days of rest will see him back on the wharves.\"\n\nNext morning Nathanael was unable to leave the bed, his voice a rasping. Mistress Hargreaves brought hot tea laced with honey and hovered about. They spoke in low, intimate voices and once or twice the woman laughed. But when she came the following morning, Nathanael had a high fever and was in no mood for badinage or niceties, and she left quickly.\n\nHis tongue and throat turned bright red and he kept asking for water.\n\nDuring the night he dreamed, once shouting that the stinking Danes were coming up the Thames in their high-prowed ships. His chest filled with a stringy phlegm that he couldn't rid himself of, and he breathed with increasing difficulty. When morning arrived Rob hastened next door to fetch the Widow, but Della Hargreaves declined to come. \"It appeared to me to be thrush. Thrush is highly impartible,\" she said, and closed the door.\n\nHaving nowhere else to turn, Rob went again to the guild. Richard Bukerel listened to him gravely and then followed him home and sat by the foot of Nathanael's bed for a time, noting his flushed face and hearing the rattling when he breathed.\n\nThe easy solution would have been to summon a priest; the cleric would do little but light tapers and pray, and Bukerel could turn his back without fear of criticism. For some years he had been a successful builder, but he was beyond his depth as leader of the London Corporation of Carpenters, trying to use a meager treasury to accomplish far more than could be achieved.\n\nBut he knew what would happen to this family unless one parent survived, and he hurried away and used guild funds to hire Thomas Ferraton, a physician.\n\nBukerel's wife gave him the sharp edge of her tongue that night. \"A physician? Is Nathanael Cole suddenly gentry or nobility, then? When an ordinary surgeon is good enough to take care of any other poor person in London, why does Nathanael Cole need a physician to charge us dear?\"\n\nBukerel could only mumble an excuse, for she was right. Only nobles and wealthy merchants bought the expensive services of physicians. Ordinary folk used surgeons, and sometimes a laboring man paid a ha'penny to a barbersurgeon for bloodletting or questionable treatment. So far as Bukerel was concerned, all healers were damned leeches, doing more harm than good. But he had wanted to give Cole every chance, and in a weak moment he had summoned the physician, spending the hard-earned dues of honest carpenters.\n\nWhen Ferraton came to the Cole house he had been sanguine and confident, the reassuring picture of prosperity. His tight trousers were beautifully cut and the cuffs of his shirt were adorned with embroidery that immediately gave Rob a pang, reminding him of Mam. Ferraton's quilted tunic, of the finest wool available, was encrusted with dried blood and vomitus, which he pridefully believed was an honorable advertisement of his profession.\n\nBorn to wealth\u2014his father had been John Ferraton, wool merchant\u2014Ferraton had apprenticed with a physician named Paul Willibald, whose prosperous family made and sold fine blades. Willibald had treated wealthy people, and after his apprenticeship Ferraton had drifted into that kind of practice himself. Noble patients were out of reach for the son of a tradesman, but he felt at home with the well-to-do; they shared a commonality of attitudes and interests. He never knowingly accepted a patient from the laboring class, but he had assumed Bukerel was the messenger for someone much grander. He immediately recognized Nathanael Cole as an unworthy patient but, not wishing to make a scene, resolved to finish the disagreeable task as quickly as possible.\n\nHe touched Nathanael's forehead delicately, looked into his eyes, sniffed his breath.\n\n\"Well,\" he said. \"It shall pass.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Bukerel asked, but Ferraton didn't reply.\n\nRob felt instinctively that the doctor didn't know.\n\n\"It is the quinsy,\" Ferraton said at last, pointing out white sores in his father's crimson throat. \"A suppurative inflammation of a temporary nature. Nothing more.\" He tied a tourniquet on Nathanael's arm, lanced him deftly, and let a copious amount of blood.\n\n\"If he doesn't improve?\" Bukerel asked.\n\nThe physician frowned. He would not revisit this lower-class house. \"I had best bleed him again to make certain,\" he said, and did the other arm. He left a small flask of liquid calomel mixed with charcoaled reed, charging Bukerel separately for the visit, the bleedings, and the medicine.\n\n\"Man-wasting leech! Ball-butchering gentleman prick,\" Bukerel muttered, gazing after him. The Chief Carpenter promised Rob he would send a woman to care for his father.\n\nBlanched and drained, Nathanael lay without moving. Several times he thought the boy was Agnes and tried to take his hand. But Rob remembered what had happened during his mother's illness and pulled away.\n\nLater, ashamed, he returned to his father's bedside. He took Nathanael's work-hardened hand, noting the horny broken nails, the ingrained grime and crisp black hairs.\n\nIt happened just as it had before. He was aware of a diminishing, like the flame of a candle flickering down. He was somehow conscious that his father was dying and that it would happen very soon, and was taken by a mute terror identical to the one that had gripped him when Mam lay dying.\n\nBeyond the bed were his brothers and sister. He was a young boy but very intelligent, and an immediate practical urgency overrode his sorrow and the agony of his fear.\n\nHe shook his father's arm. \"Now what will become of us?\" he asked loudly, but no one answered."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE PARCELING",
                "text": "This time, because it was a guildsman who had died and not merely a dependent, the Corporation of Carpenters paid for the singing of fifty psalms. Two days after the funeral, Della Hargreaves went to Ramsey, to make her home with her brother. Richard Bukerel took Rob aside for a talk.\n\n\"When there are no relatives, the children and the possessions must be parceled,\" the Chief Carpenter said briskly. \"The Corporation will take care of everything.\"\n\nRob felt numb.\n\nThat evening he tried to explain to his brothers and his sister. Only Samuel knew what he was talking about.\n\n\"We're to be separated, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Each of us will live with another family?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThat night someone crept into bed beside him. He would have expected Willum or Anne Mary, but it was Samuel who threw his arms around him and held on as if to keep from falling. \"I want them back, Rob J.\"\n\n\"So do I.\" He patted the bony shoulder he had often whacked.\n\nFor a time they cried together.\n\n\"Will we never see one another again, then?\"\n\nHe felt a coldness. \"Oh, Samuel. Don't go daft on me now. Doubtless we'll both live in the neighborhood and see each other all the time. We'll forever be brothers.\"\n\nIt comforted Samuel and he slept some, but before dawn he wet the bed as if he were younger than Jonathan. In the morning he was ashamed and could not meet Rob's eyes. His fears were not unfounded, for he was the first of them to go. Most of the members of their father's Ten were still out of work. Of the nine woodworkers only one man was able and willing to take a child into his family. Along with Samuel, Nathanael's hammers and saws went to Turner Home, a Master Carpenter who lived only six houses away.\n\nTwo days later a priest named Ranald Lovell came with Father Kempton, the man who had sung the Masses for both Mam and Da. Father Lovell said he was being transferred to the north of England and wanted a child. He examined them all and took a fancy to Willum. He was a big, hearty man with pale yellow hair and gray eyes that Rob tried to tell himself were kind.\n\nWhite and tremulous, his brother could only nod as he followed the two priests out of the house.\n\n\"Goodbye, then, William,\" Rob said.\n\nHe wondered wildly if perhaps he couldn't keep the two small ones. But he was already doling out the last of the food from his father's funeral, and he was a realistic boy. Jonathan and his father's leather doublet and tool belt were given to a Companion Joiner named Aylwyn who belonged to Nathanael's Hundred. When Mistress Aylwyn came, Rob explained that Jonathan was trained to pot but needed napkins when afraid, and she accepted the wash-thinned cloths and the child with a grin and a nod.\n\nThe wet nurse kept the infant Roger and received Mam's embroidery materials. Richard Bukerel informed Rob, who had never seen the woman.\n\nAnne Mary's hair needed washing. He did it carefully, as he had been taught, but still some soap got into her eyes and it was harsh and burning. He wiped her dry and held her as she wept, smelling her clean seal-brown hair that gave off a scent like Mam's.\n\nNext day the sounder pieces of furniture were taken by the baker and his wife, name of Haverhill, and Anne Mary went to live above their pastry shop. Clutching her hand, Rob brought her to them: Goodbye, then, little girl. \"I love you, my Maid Anne Mary,\" he whispered, holding her close. But she seemed to blame him for all that had happened and wouldn't bid him farewell.\n\nOnly Rob J. was left, and no possessions. That evening Bukerel came to see him. The Chief Carpenter had been drinking, but his mind was clear. \"It may take long to find you a place. It's the times, no one has food for an adult appetite in a boy who cannot do a man's work.\" After a brooding silence he spoke again. \"When I was younger everyone said if we could only have a real peace and get rid of King Aethelred, the worst king who ever ruined his generation, then times would be good. We had invasion after invasion, Saxons, Danes, every bloody kind of pirate. Now finally we've a strong peacekeeping monarch in King Canute, but it's as if nature conspires to hold us down. Great summer and winter storms do us in. Three years in a row crops have failed. Millers don't grind grain, sailors stay in port. No one builds, and craftsmen are idle. It's hard times, my boy. But I'll find you a place, I promise.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Chief Carpenter.\"\n\nBukerel's dark eyes were troubled. \"I've watched you, Robert Cole. I've seen a boy care for his family like a worthy man. I'd take you into my own home if my wife were a different kind of woman.\" He blinked, embarrassed by the realization that drink had loosened his tongue more than he liked, and got heavily to his feet. \"A restful night to you, Rob J.\"\n\n\"A restful night, Chief Carpenter.\"\n\nHe became a hermit. The near-empty rooms were his cave. No one asked him to table. His neighbors were unable to ignore his existence but sustained him grudgingly; Mistress Haverhill came in the morning and left yesterday's unsold loaf from the bakery and Mistress Bukerel came in the evening and left cheese in tiny portion, noting his reddened eyes and lecturing that weeping was a womanly privilege. He drew water from the public well as he had before, and he tended house but there was nobody to put the quiet and plundered place into disorder and he had little to do but worry and pretend.\n\nSometimes he became a Roman scout, lying by the open window behind Mam's curtain and listening to the secrets of the enemy world. He heard drawn carts go by, barking dogs, playing children, the sounds of birds.\n\nOnce he overheard the voices of a knot of men from the guild. \"Rob Cole is a bargain. Somebody should grab him,\" Bukerel said.\n\nHe lay there guilty and covert, listening to others talk about him as if he were someone else.\n\n\"Aye, look at his size. He'll be a great workhorse when he gets his full growth,\" Hugh Tite said grudgingly.\n\nWhat if Tite took him? Rob considered in dismay the prospect of living with Anthony Tite. He wasn't displeased when Hugh snorted in disgust. \"He won't be old enough for Apprentice Carpenter until another three years and he eats like a great horse right now, when London is full of strong backs and empty bellies.\" The men moved away.\n\nTwo mornings later, behind the same window curtain, he paid dearly for the sin of eavesdropping when he overheard Mistress Bukerel discussing her husband's guild office with Mistress Haverhill.\n\n\"Everyone speaks of the honor of being Chief Carpenter. It places no bread upon my table. Quite the reverse, it presents tiresome obligations. I am weary of having to share my provision with the likes of that great lazy boy in there.\"\n\n\"Whatever will become of him?\" Mistress Haverhill said, sighing.\n\n\"I have advised Master Bukerel that he should be sold as an indigent. Even in bad times a young slave will fetch a price to repay the guild and all of us for whatever has been spent on the Cole family.\"\n\nHe was unable to breathe.\n\nMistress Bukerel sniffed. \"The Chief Carpenter will not hear of it,\" she said sourly. \"I trust I'll convince him in the end. But by the time he comes around, we shall no longer be able to recover costs.\"\n\nWhen the two women moved away, Rob lay behind the window curtain as though in fever, alternately sweating and chilled.\n\nAll his life he had seen slaves, taking it for granted that their condition had little to do with him, for he had been born a free Englishman.\n\nHe was too young by far to be a stevedore on the docks. But he knew that boy slaves were used in the mines, where they worked in tunnels too narrow to admit the bodies of men. He also knew that slaves were wretchedly clothed and fed and often were brutally whipped for small infractions. And that once enslaved, they were owned for life.\n\nHe lay and wept. Eventually he was able to gather his courage and tell himself that Dick Bukerel would never sell him for a slave, but he worried that Mistress Bukerel would send others to do it without informing her husband. She was fully capable of such an act, he told himself. Waiting in the silent and abandoned house, he came to start and tremble at every sound.\n\nFive frozen days after his father's funeral, a stranger came to the door.\n\n\"You are young Cole?\"\n\nHe nodded warily, heart pounding.\n\n\"My name is Croft. I am directed to you by a man named Richard Bukerel, whom I've met while drinking at the Bardwell Tavern.\"\n\nRob saw a man neither young nor old with a huge fat body and a weather-beaten face set between a freeman's long hair and a rounded, frizzled beard of the same gingery color.\n\n\"What's your full name?\"\n\n\"Robert Jeremy Cole, sir.\"\n\n\"Age?\"\n\n\"Nine years.\"\n\n\"I'm a barbersurgeon and I seek a prentice. Do you know what a barbersurgeon does, young Cole?\"\n\n\"Are you some kind of physician?\"\n\nThe fat man smiled. \"For the time being, that's close enough. Bukerel informed me of your circumstances. Does my trade appeal to you?\"\n\nIt didn't; he had no wish to become like the leech who'd bled his father to death. But even less did he wish to be sold as a slave, and he answered affirmatively without hesitation.\n\n\"Not afraid of work?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir!\"\n\n\"That's good, for I would work your arse off. Bukerel said you read and write and have Latin?\"\n\nHe hesitated. \"Very little Latin, in truth.\"\n\nThe man smiled. \"I shall try you for a time, chappy. You have things?\"\n\nHis little bundle had been ready for days. Am I saved? he wondered. Outside, they clambered into the strangest wagon he had ever seen. On either side of the front seat was a white pole with a thick stripe wrapped around it like a crimson snake. It was a covered cart daubed bright red and decorated with sun-yellow pictures of a ram, a lion, scales, a goat, fishes, an archer, a crab \u2026\n\nThe dappled gray horse pulled them away and they rolled down Carpenter's Street and past the guild house. He sat frozen as they threaded through the tumult of Thames Street, managing to cast quick glances at the man and now noting a handsome face despite the fat, a prominent and reddened nose, a wen on the left eyelid, and a network of fine lines radiating from the corners of piercing blue eyes.\n\nThe cart crossed the little bridge over the Walbrook and passed Egglestan's stables and the place where Mam had fallen. Then they turned right and rattled over London Bridge to the southern side of the Thames. Moored beside the bridge was the London ferry and, just beyond, the great Southwark Market where imports entered England. They passed warehouses burned and wasted by the Danes and recently rebuilt. On the embankment was a single line of wattle-and-daub cottages, the mean homes of fishermen, lightermen, and wharf workers. There were two shabby inns for merchants attending market. And then, bordering the wide causeway, a double line of grand houses, the manors of the rich merchants of London, all of them with impressive gardens and a few built on piles driven into the marsh. He recognized the home of the embroidery importer with whom Mam had dealt. He had never traveled beyond this point.\n\n\"Master Croft?\"\n\nThe man scowled. \"No, no. I'm never to be called Croft. I'm always called Barber, because of my profession.\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber,\" he said. In moments all of Southwark was behind them, and with rising panic Rob J. recognized that he had entered the strange and unfamiliar outside world.\n\n\"Barber, where are we going?\" he couldn't refrain from crying.\n\nThe man smiled and flicked the reins, causing the dappled horse to trot.\n\n\"Everywhere,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE BARBERSURGEON",
                "text": "Before dusk they made camp on a hill by a stream. The man said the gray plodder of a horse was Tatus. \"Short for Incitatus, after the steed the emperor Caligula loved so much he made the beast a priest and a consul. Our Incitatus is a passing fair animal for a poor beggar with his balls cut off,\" Barber said, and showed him how to care for the gelding, rubbing the horse with handfuls of soft dry grass and then allowing him to drink and go to grazing before they tended to their own needs. They were in the open, a distance from the forest, but Barber sent him to gather dry wood for the fire and he had to make repeated trips to accumulate a pile. Soon the fire was snapping, and cooking had begun to produce odors that weakened his legs. Into an iron pot Barber had placed a generous amount of thick-sliced smoked pork. Now he poured out most of the rendered fat and into the sputtering grease cut a large turnip and several leeks, adding a handful of dried mulberries and a sprinkling of herbs. By the time the pungent mixture had cooked, Rob had never smelled anything better. Barber ate stolidly, watching him wolf down a large portion and in silence giving him another. They mopped their wooden bowls with chunks of barley bread. Without being told, Rob took the pot and bowls to the stream and scrubbed them with sand.\n\nWhen he had returned the utensils he went to a nearby bush and passed water.\n\n\"My blessed Lord and Lady, but that is a remarkable-looking peter,\" Barber said, coming up on him suddenly.\n\nHe finished before his need and hid the member. \"When I was an infant,\" he said stiffly, \"I had a mortification \u2026 there. I'm told a surgeon removed the little hood of flesh at the end.\"\n\nBarber gazed at him in astonishment. \"Took off the prepuce. You were circumcised, like a bleeding heathen.\"\n\nThe boy moved away, very disturbed. He was watchful and expectant. A dankness rolled toward them from the forest and he opened his small bundle and took out his other shirt, putting it on over the one he wore.\n\nBarber removed two furred pelts from the wagon and flung them toward him. \"We bed outside, for the cart is full of all manner of things.\"\n\nIn the open bundle Barber saw the glint of the coin and picked it up. He didn't ask where it had been gotten, nor did Rob tell him. \"There's an inscription,\" Rob said. \"My father and I \u2026 We believed it identifies the first cohort of Romans to come to London.\"\n\nBarber examined it. \"Yes.\"\n\nObviously he knew a lot about the Romans and valued them, judging from the name he'd given his horse. Rob was seized with a sick certainty that the man would keep his possession. \"On the other side are letters,\" he said hoarsely.\n\nBarber took the coin to the fire to read in the growing dark. \"IOX. Io means 'shout.' X is ten. It's a Roman cheer for victory: 'Shout ten times!'\"\n\nRob accepted the coin's return with relief and made his bed near the fire. The pelts were a sheepskin, which he placed on the ground fleece up, and a bearskin, which he used as a topping. They were old and smelled strong but would keep him warm.\n\nBarber made his own bed on the other side of the fire, placing his sword and knife where they could be used to repel attackers or, Rob thought fearfully, to slay a fleeing boy. Barber had removed a Saxon horn which he wore on a thong around his neck. Closing the bottom with a bone plug, he filled it with a dark liquid from a flask and held it toward Rob. \"My own spirits. Drink deep.\"\n\nHe didn't want it but feared to refuse. A child of working-class London was threatened with no soft and easy version of the boogerman but instead was taught early that there were sailors and stevedores anxious to lure a boy behind deserted warehouses. He knew of children who had accepted sweetmeats and coins from men like these, and he knew what they had to do in return. He was aware that drunkenness was a common prelude.\n\nHe tried to refuse more of the liquor but Barber frowned. \"Drink,\" he commanded. \"It will set you at ease.\"\n\nNot until he had taken two more full swallows and was set to violent coughing was Barber satisfied. He took the horn back to his own side of the fire and finished the flask and another, finally loosing a prodigious fart and settling into his bed. He looked over at Rob only once more. \"Rest easy, chappy,\" he said. \"Sleep well. You have nothing to fear from me.\"\n\nRob was certain it was a trick. He lay under the rank bearskin and waited with tightened haunches. In his right hand he clutched his coin. In his left hand, although he knew that even if he had Barber's weapons he would be no match for the man and was at his mercy, he gripped a heavy rock.\n\nBut eventually there was ample evidence that Barber slept. The man was an ugly snorer.\n\nThe medicinal taste of the liquor filled Rob's mouth. The alcohol coursed through his body as he snuggled deep in the furs and allowed the rock to roll from his hand. He clutched the coin and imagined the Romans, rank upon rank, shouting ten times for heroes who wouldn't allow themselves to be beaten by the world. Overhead, the stars were large and white and wheeled all over the sky, so low he wanted to reach up and pluck them to make a necklace for Mam. He thought of each member of his family, one by one. Of the living he missed Samuel the most, which was peculiar because Samuel had resented him as eldest and had defied him with foul words and a loud mouth. He worried whether Jonathan was wetting his napkins and prayed Mistress Aylwyn would show the little boy patience. He hoped Barber would return to London very soon, for he longed to see the other children again.\n\nBarber knew what his new boy was feeling. He had been exactly this one's age when he found himself alone after berserkers had struck Clacton, the fishing village where he was born. It was burned into his memory.\n\nAethelred was the king of his childhood. As early as he could remember, his father had cursed Aethelred, saying the people had never been so poor under any other king. Aethelred squeezed and taxed, providing a lavish life for Emma, the strong-willed and beautiful woman he had imported from Normandy to be his queen. He also built an army with the taxes but used it more to protect himself than his people, and he was so cruel and bloodthirsty that some men spat when they heard his name.\n\nIn the spring of Anno Domini 991, Aethelred shamed his subjects by bribing Danish attackers with gold to turn them away. The following spring the Danish fleet returned to London as it had done for a hundred years. This time Aethelred had no choice; he gathered his fighters and warships, and the Danes were defeated on the Thames with great slaughter. But two years later there was a more serious invasion, when Olaf, King of the Norwegians, and Swegen, King of the Danes, sailed up the Thames with ninety-four ships. Again Aethelred gathered his army around London and managed to hold the Norsemen off, but this time the invaders saw that the cowardly king had left his country vulnerable in order to protect himself. Splitting up their fleet, the Norsemen beached their ships along the English coast and laid waste to the small seaside towns.\n\nThat week, Henry Croft's father had taken him on his first long trip after herring. The morning they returned with a good catch he had run ahead, eager to be first in his mother's arms and hear her words of praise. Hidden out of sight in a cove nearby were half a dozen Norwegian longboats. When he reached his cottage he saw a strange man dressed in animal skins staring out at him through the open shutters of the window hole.\n\nHe had no idea who the man was, but instinct caused him to turn and run for his life, straight to his father.\n\nHis mother lay on the floor already used and dead, but his father didn't know that. Luke Croft pulled his knife as he made for the house, but the three men who met him outside the front door were carrying swords. From afar, Henry Croft saw his father overpowered and taken. One of the men held his father's hands behind his back. Another pulled his hair with both hands, forcing him to kneel and extend his neck. The third man cut off his head with a sword. In Barber's nineteenth year he had witnessed a murderer executed in Wolverhampton; the sheriff's axman had cleaved off the criminal's head as if killing a rooster. In contrast, his father's beheading had been clumsily done, for the Viking had required a flurry of strokes, as if he were hacking a piece of firewood.\n\nHysterical with grief and fear, Henry Croft had run into the woods and hidden himself like a hunted animal. When he wandered out, dazed and starving, the Norwegians were gone but they had left death and ashes. Henry had been collected with other orphan boys and sent to Crowland Abbey in Lincolnshire.\n\nDecades of similar raids by heathen Norsemen had left the monasteries with too few monks and too many orphans, so the Benedictines solved two problems by ordaining many of the parentless boys. At nine years of age Henry was administered vows and instructed to promise God that he would live in poverty and chastity forever, obeying the precepts established by the blessed St. Benedict of Nursia.\n\nIt gained him an education. Four hours a day he studied, six hours a day he performed damp, dirty labor. Crowland owned vast tracts, mostly fens, and each day Henry and the other monks turned the muddy earth, pulling plows like staggering beasts in order to convert bogs into fields. It was expected that the rest of his time would be spent in contemplation or prayer. There were morning services, afternoon services, evening services, perpetual services. Every prayer was considered a single step up an interminable stairway that would take his soul to heaven. There was no recreation or athletics, but he was allowed to pace the cloister, a covered walk in the shape of a rectangle. To the north side of the cloister was the sacristy, the buildings in which the sacred utensils were kept. To the east was the church; to the west, the chapter house; to the south, a cheerless refectory consisting of a dining room, kitchen, and pantry on the ground floor and a dormitory above.\n\nWithin the rectangle were graves, the ultimate proof that life at Crowland Abbey was predictable: tomorrow would be identical to yesterday and eventually every monk would lie inside the cloister. Because some mistook this for peace, Crowland had attracted several noblemen who had fled the politics of Court and Aethelred's cruelty and saved their lives by taking the cowl. These influential elite lived in individual cells, as did the true mystics who sought God through agony of spirit and pain of body brought on by hair shirts, inspired pinching, and self-flagellation. For the other sixty-seven males who wore the tonsure despite the fact that they were uncalled and unholy, home was a single large chamber containing sixty-seven sleeping pallets. If Henry Croft awoke at any moment of any night he might hear coughing and sneezing, assorted snores, sounds of masturbation, the wounded cries of dreamers, the breaking of wind, and the shattering of the silence rule through unecclesiastic cursing and clandestine conversations which almost always were about food. Meals at Crowland were very sparse.\n\nThe town of Peterborough was only eight miles away, but he never saw it. One day when he was fourteen years old he asked his confessor, Father Dunstan, for permission to sing hymns and recite prayers at the riverside between Vespers and Night Song. This was granted. As he walked the river meadow, Father Dunstan followed at a discreet distance. Henry paced slowly and deliberately, his hands behind his back and his head bowed as though in worship worthy of a bishop. It was a beautiful and warm summer's evening with a fresh breeze off the water. He had been taught about this river by Brother Matthew, a geographer. It was the River Welland. It rose in the Midlands near Corby and easily slipped and wriggled to Crowland like a snake, thence flowing northeast between rolling hills and fertile valleys before rushing through coastal swamps to empty into the great bay of the North Sea called The Wash.\n\nSurrounding the river was God's bounty of forest and field. Crickets shrilled. Birds twittered in the trees and cows looked at him with dumb respect as they grazed. There was a little cockleboat pulled up on the bank.\n\nThe following week he asked to be allowed to recite solitary prayer by the river after Lauds, the dawn service. Permission was granted and this time Father Dunstan didn't come. When Henry got to the riverbank he put the little boat into the water, clambered in, and pushed off.\n\nHe used the oars only to get into the current, then he sat very still in the center of the flimsy boat and watched the brown water, letting the river take him like a fallen leaf. After a time, when he knew he was away, he began to laugh. He whooped and shouted boyish things. \"That for you!\" he cried, not knowing whether he was defying the sixty-six monks who would be sleeping without him, or Father Dunstan or the God who was seen at Crowland as such a cruel being.\n\nHe stayed on the river all day, until the water that rushed toward the sea was too deep and dangerous for his liking. Then he beached the boat and began a time when he learned the price of freedom.\n\nHe wandered the coastal villages, sleeping wherever, living on what he could beg or steal. Having nothing to eat was far worse than having little to eat. A farmer's wife gave him a sack of food and an old tunic and ragged trousers in exchange for the Benedictine habit that would make woolen shirts for her sons. In the port of Grimsby a fisherman finally took him on as helper and worked him brutally for more than two years in return for scant fare and bare shelter. When the fisherman died, his wife sold the boat to people who wanted no boys. Henry spent hungry months until he found a troupe of entertainers and traveled with them, lugging baggage and helping with the necessities of their craft in return for scraps of food and their protection. Even in his eyes their arts were clumsy but they knew how to bang a drum and draw a crowd, and when a cap was passed surprising numbers in their audiences dropped a coin. He watched them hungrily. He was too old to be a tumbler, since acrobats must have their joints broken while they are still children. But the jugglers taught him their trade. He mimicked the magician and learned the simpler feats of deception; the magician taught him that he must never give the impression of necromancy, for all over England the Church and the Crown were hanging witches. He listened carefully to the storyteller, whose young sister was the first to allow him inside her body. He felt a kinship with the entertainers, but the troupe dissolved in Derbyshire after a year and everyone went separate ways without him.\n\nA few weeks later in the town of Matlock, his luck took a turn when a barbersurgeon named James Farrow indentured him for six years. Later he would learn that none of the local youths would serve Farrow as prentice because there were stories linking him to witchcraft. By the time Henry heard the rumors he had been with Farrow two years and knew the man was no witch. Though the barbersurgeon was a cold man and bastardly strict, to Henry Croft he represented genuine opportunity.\n\nMatlock Township was rural and thinly populated, without upper-class patients or prosperous merchants to support a physician, or the large population of poorer folk to attract a surgeon. In a far-flung farm area surrounding Matlock, James Farrow, country barbersurgeon, was all there was, and in addition to administering cleansing clysters and cutting and shaving hair, he performed surgery and prescribed remedies. Henry did his bidding for more than five years. Farrow was a stern taskmaster; he beat Henry when the apprentice made mistakes, but he taught him everything he knew, and meticulously.\n\nDuring Henry's fourth year in Matlock\u2014it was the year 1002\u2014King Aethelred committed an act that would have far-reaching and terrible consequences. In his difficulties the king had allowed certain Danes to settle in southern England and had given them land, on condition that they would fight for him against his enemies. He had thus bought the services of a Danish noble named Pallig, who was husband to Gunnhilda, the sister of Swegen, King of Denmark. That year the Vikings invaded England and followed their usual tactics, slaying and burning. When they reached Southampton, the king decided to pay tribute again, and he gave the invaders twenty-four thousand pounds to go away.\n\nWhen their ships had carried the Norsemen off, Aethelred was shamed and fell into a frustrated fury. He ordered that all Danish people who were in England should be slain on St. Brice's Day, November 13. The treacherous mass murder was carried out as the king ordered, and it seemed to unlock an evil that had been festering in the English people.\n\nThe world had always been brutal, but after the murders of the Danes life became even more cruel. All over England violent crimes took place, witches were hunted out and put to death by hanging or burning, and a blood lust seemed to take the land.\n\nHenry Croft's apprenticeship was almost completed when an elderly man named Bailey Aelerton succumbed while under Farrow's care. There was nothing remarkable about the death, but word quickly spread that the man had died because Farrow had stuck him with needles and bewitched him.\n\nThe previous Sunday, in the small church in Matlock the priest had disclosed that evil spirits had been heard carousing at midnight about the graves in the churchyard, engaged in carnal copulation with Satan. \"It is abominable to our Saviour that the dead should rise through devilskill. They who exercise such crafts are God's enemies,\" he thundered. The Devil was among them, the priest warned, served by an army of witches disguised as human creatures and practicing black magic and secret killing.\n\nHe armed the awestruck and terrified worshipers with a counterspell to be used against anyone suspected of witchcraft: \"Arch sorcerer who attacks my soul, your spell shall be reversed, your curse returned to you a thousandfold. In the name of the Holy Trinity restore me to health and strength again. In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Amen.\"\n\nAnd he reminded them of the biblical injunction, Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. \"They must be sought out and eradicated if each of you does not wish to burn in the terrible flames of Purgatory,\" he exhorted them.\n\nBailey Aelerton died on Tuesday, his heart stopping as he hoed in the field. His daughter claimed she had seen needle holes on his skin. No one else had seen them for certain, but Thursday morning a mob came into Farrow's barnyard just after the barbersurgeon had mounted his horse, preparing to visit patients. He was still looking down at Henry and giving him instructions for the day when they pulled him from the saddle.\n\nThey were led by Simon Beck, whose land abutted Farrow's. \"Strip him,\" Beck said.\n\nFarrow was trembling as they ripped off his clothing. \"You are an arse, Beck!\" he shouted. \"An arse!\" He looked older unclothed, his abdominal skin loose and folded, rounded shoulders narrow, muscles soft and wasted, penis shriveled small above a huge purple sac.\n\n\"Here it is!\" Beck cried. \"Satan's mark!\"\n\nOn the right side of Farrow's groin, plainly seen, were two small dark specks, like the bite of a serpent. Beck nicked one with the point of his knife.\n\n\"Moles!\" Farrow shrieked.\n\nBlood welled, which wasn't supposed to happen with a witch.\n\n\"They are smart as smart,\" Beck said, \"able to bleed at will.\"\n\n\"I am a barber and not a witch,\" Farrow told them contemptuously, but when they tied him to a wooden cross and carried him to his own stock pond, he began to scream for mercy.\n\nThe cross was flung into the shallow pond with a great splash and held beneath the surface. The crowd quieted, watching the bubbles. Presently they pulled it up and gave Farrow a chance to confess. He was still breathing, and sputtered weakly.\n\n\"Do you own, neighbor Farrow, that you have worked with the Devil?\" Beck asked him kindly.\n\nBut the bound man could only cough and gasp for air.\n\nSo they immersed him again. This time the cross was held under until the bubbles stopped coming. And still they didn't raise it.\n\nHenry could only watch and weep, as if seeing them kill his father again. He was man-grown, no longer a boy, yet he was powerless against the witch-hunters, terrified they would take the notion that the barbersurgeon's prentice was the sorcerer's assistant.\n\nFinally they released the submerged cross and recited the counterspell and went away, leaving it to float in the pond.\n\nWhen all were gone, Henry waded through the ooze to pull the cross ashore. A pink froth showed between his master's lips. He closed the eyes that accused sightlessly in the white face and picked duckweed from Farrow's shoulders before cutting him free.\n\nThe barbersurgeon had been a widower with no family and therefore the responsibility fell upon his servant. He buried Farrow as quickly as possible.\n\nWhen he went through the house he discovered they had been there before him. No doubt they were seeking evidence of Satan's work when they took Farrow's money and liquor. The place had been picked clean, but there was a suit of clothes in better condition than those he had on, and some food, which he put into a sack. He also took a bag of surgical instruments and captured Farrow's horse, which he rode out of Matlock before they should recollect him and come back.\n\nHe became a wanderer once again, but this time he had a craft and it made all the difference. Everywhere there were ailing people who would pay a penny or two for treatment. Eventually he learned the profit that could be found in the sale of medications, and to gather crowds he used some of the ways he had learned while traveling with the entertainers.\n\nBelieving he might be sought, he never stayed long in one place and avoided use of his full name, becoming Barber. Before long these things were woven into the fabric of an existence that suited him; he dressed warmly and well, had women in variety, drank when he pleased and ate prodigiously at every meal, vowing never to hunger again. His weight quickly increased. By the time he met the woman he married, he weighed more than eighteen stone. Lucinda Eames was a widow with a nice farm in Canterbury, and for half a year he tended her animals and fields, playing husbandman. He relished her small white bottom, a pale inverted heart. When they made love she poked the pink tip of her tongue out of the left corner of her mouth, like a child doing hard lessons. She blamed him for not giving her a child. Perhaps she was right, but she had not conceived with her first husband either. Her voice became shrill, her tone bitter, and her cooking careless, and long before the year with her was over he was remembering warmer women and pleasurable meals, and yearning for surcease from her tongue."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 5",
                "text": "That was 1012, the year Swegen, King of the Danes, gained control of England. For ten years Swegen had harried Aethelred, eager to shame the man who had murdered his kinsmen. Finally Aethelred fled to the Isle of Wight with his ships, and Queen Emma took refuge in Normandy with her sons Edward and Alfred.\n\nSoon afterward Swegen died a natural death. He left two sons, Harold, who succeeded him to the Danish kingdom, and Canute, a youth of nineteen who was proclaimed King of England by Danish force of arms.\n\nAethelred had one attack left in him and he drove the Danes off, but almost immediately Canute was back, and this time he took everything except London. He was on his way to conquer London when he heard that Aethelred had died. Boldly, he called a meeting of the Witan, the council of wise men of England, and bishops, abbots, earls, and thanes went to Southampton and chose Canute to be the lawful king.\n\nCanute showed his genius for healing the nation by sending envoys to Normandy to convince Queen Emma to marry her late husband's successor to the throne, and she agreed almost at once. She was years older than he but still a desirable and sensuous woman, and sniggering jokes were told about the amount of time she and Canute spent in chambers.\n\nEven as the new king was hastening toward marriage, Barber was fleeing it. He simply walked away from Lucinda Eames' shrewishness and bad cooking one day, and resumed traveling. He bought his first wagon in Bath, and in Northumberland he took his first boy in indenture. The advantages were apparent at once. Since then, over the years he had trained a number of chaps. The few who had been capable had earned him money, and the others had taught him what he required in a prentice.\n\nHe knew what happened to a boy who failed and was sent away. Most met with disaster: the lucky ones became sexual playthings or slaves, the unfortunate starved to death or were killed. It bothered him more than he cared to admit, but he couldn't afford to keep an unlikely boy; he himself was a survivor, able to harden his heart when it came to his own welfare.\n\nThe latest, the boy he had found in London, seemed eager to please but Barber knew that appearances could mislead where apprentices were concerned. It was of no value to worry the issue like a dog with a bone. Only time would tell, and he would learn soon enough whether young Cole was fit to survive."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE BEAST IN CHELMSFORD",
                "text": "Rob woke with the first milky light to find his new master already about, and impatient. He saw at once that Barber didn't begin the day in high spirits, and it was in this sober morning mood that the man took the lance from the wagon and showed him how it should be used. \"It's not too heavy for you if you use both hands. It doesn't require skill. Thrust as hard as you are able. If you aim for the middle of an attacker's body you're liable to stick him someplace. If you slow him with a wound, chances are good that I can kill him. Do you comprehend?\"\n\nHe nodded, awkward with a stranger.\n\n\"Well, chappy, we must be vigilant and keep weapons at hand, for that is how we stay alive. These Roman roads remain the best in England, but they aren't maintained. It is the Crown's responsibility to keep them open on both sides to make it hard for highwaymen to ambush travelers, but on most of our routes the brush is never cut back.\"\n\nHe demonstrated how to hitch the horse. When they resumed traveling, Rob sat next to him on the driver's seat in the hot sun, still plagued by all manner of fears. Soon Barber directed Incitatus off the Roman road, turning onto a barely usable track through the deep shadow of virgin forest. Hanging from a sinew around his shoulders was the brown Saxon horn that once had graced a great ox. He placed it to his mouth and pushed from it a loud, mellow noise, half blast, half moan. \"It signals everyone within hearing that we aren't creeping up to cut throats and steal. In some remote places, to meet a stranger is to try to kill him. The horn says we are worthy and confident, able to protect outselves.\"\n\nAt Barber's suggestion Rob tried to take a turn at signaling, but though he puffed his cheeks and blew mightily, no sound emerged.\n\n\"It needs older wind and a knack. You'll learn it, never fear. And more difficult things than blowing a horn.\"\n\nThe track was muddy. Brush had been laid over the worst places but it demanded tricky driving. At a turn in the road they went directly into a slick and the wagon's wheels sank to the hubs. Barber sighed.\n\nThey got out and took a spade to the mud in front of the wheels and then collected fallen branches in the woods. Barber carefully placed pieces of wood in front of each wheel and climbed back up to take the reins.\n\n\"You must shove brush under the wheels as they start to move,\" he said, and Rob J. nodded.\n\n\"Hi-TATUS!\" Barber urged. Shafts and leather creaked. \"Now!\" he shouted.\n\nRob deftly placed the branches, darting from wheel to wheel as the horse strained steadily. The wheels hesitated. There was slippage, but they found purchase. The wagon lurched forward. When it was on dry road Barber hauled back on the reins and waited for Rob to catch up and climb onto the seat.\n\nThey were spattered with mud, and Barber stopped Tatus at a brook. \"Let us catch some breakfast,\" he said as they washed the dirt from their faces and hands. He cut two willow poles and got hooks and line from the wagon. From the shaded place behind the seat he pulled out a box. \"This is our grasshopper box,\" he said. \"It is one of your duties to keep it filled.\" He lifted the lid only far enough to allow Rob to stick his hand inside.\n\nLiving things rustled away from Rob's fingers, frantic and spiky, and he pulled one gently into his palm. When he withdrew his hand, keeping the wings folded between his thumb and forefinger, the insect's legs scrabbled frantically. The four front legs were thin as hairs and the hind two were powerful and large-thighed, enabling it to be a hopper.\n\nBarber showed him how to slip the point of the hook just beneath the short section of tough, ridged shell behind the head. \"Not too deep or he'll bleed molasses and die. Where have you fished?\"\n\n\"The Thames.\" He prided himself on his ability as a fisher, for he and his father often had dangled worms in the broad river, depending on the fish to help feed the family during the unemployment.\n\nBarber grunted. \"This is a different kind of fishing,\" he said. \"Leave the poles for a moment and get on your hands and knees.\"\n\nThey crawled cautiously to a place overlooking the nearest pool and lay on their bellies. Rob thought the fat man daft.\n\nFour fish hung suspended in glass.\n\n\"Small,\" Rob whispered.\n\n\"Best eating, that size,\" Barber said as they crept away from the bank. \"Your big river trouts are tough and oily. Did you note how these drifted near the head of the pool? They feed facing upstream, waiting for a juicy meal to fall in and come floating down. They're wild and wary. If you stand next to the stream, they see you. If you tread strongly on the bank, they feel your step and they scatter. That's why you use the long pole. Stand well back and lightly drop the hopper just above the pool, letting the flow carry it to the fish.\"\n\nHe watched critically as Rob swung the grasshopper where he had directed.\n\nWith a shock that traveled along the pole and sent excitement up into Rob's arms, the unseen fish struck like a dragon. After that it was like fishing in the Thames. He waited patiently, giving the trout time to doom itself, and then raised the tip of the pole and set the hook as his father had taught him. When he pulled in the first flopping prize they admired its bloom, the gleaming background like oiled walnut wood, the sleek sides splattered with rainbowy reds, the black fins marked with warm orange.\n\n\"Get five more,\" Barber said, and disappeared into the woods.\n\nRob caught two and then lost another and cautiously moved to a different pool. The trouts hungered after grasshoppers. He was cleaning the last of the half dozen when Barber came back with a capful of morels and wild onions.\n\n\"We eat twice a day,\" Barber said, \"midmorning and early evening, same as all civilized folk.\n\n\u2003To rise at six, dine at ten,\n\n\u2003Sup at five, to bed at ten,\n\n\u2003Makes man live ten times ten.\"\n\nHe had bacon, and cut it thick. When the meat was done in the blackened pan he dredged the trouts in flour and did them crisp and brown in the fat, adding the onions and mushrooms at the last.\n\nThe spines of the trouts lifted cleanly from the steaming flesh, freeing most of the bones. While they enjoyed the fish and the meat, Barber fried barley bread in the flavored fat that remained, covering the toast with husky slices of cheese he allowed to melt bubbly in the pan. To finish, they drank the cold sweet water of the brook that had given them the fish.\n\nBarber was in better cheer. A fat man had to be fed to be at his best, Rob perceived. He also realized that Barber was a rare cook, and he found himself looking toward each meal as an event of the day. He sighed, knowing he wouldn't have been fed like this in the mines. And the work, he told himself contentedly, wasn't at all beyond him, for he was perfectly able to keep the grasshopper box filled and catch trouts and place brush beneath the wheels whenever the wagon became stuck in the mud.\n\nThe village was Farnham. There were farms; a small, shabby inn; a public house that emitted a faint smell of spilled ale as they passed; a smithy with long wood piles near the forge; a tanner's that exuded a stink; a sawyer's yard with cut lumber; and a reeve's hall facing a square that wasn't really a square so much as a widening in the midsection of the street, like a snake that had swallowed an egg.\n\nBarber stopped at the outskirts. From the wagon he took a small drum and a stick and handed them to Rob. \"Bang it.\"\n\nIncitatus knew what they were about; he lifted his head and neighed, raising his hooves as he pranced. Rob pounded the drum proudly, infected by the excitement they were causing on both sides of the street.\n\n\"Entertainment this afternoon,\" Barber called. \"Followed by treatment of human ills and medical problems, great or small!\"\n\nThe blacksmith, his knotted muscles outlined by grime, stared after them and stopped pulling his bellows rope. Two boys in the sawyer's yard left the lumber they had been stacking and came running toward the sound of the drum. One of them turned and hurried away. \"Where are you bound, Giles?\" the other shouted.\n\n\"Home to fetch Stephen and the others.\"\n\n\"Stop and tell my brother's lot!\"\n\nBarber nodded in approval. \"Spread the word,\" he called.\n\nWomen emerged from the houses and called to one another as their children merged in the street, jabbering and joining the barking dogs that followed after the red wagon.\n\nBarber drove slowly down the street from one end to the other and then turned around and came back.\n\nAn old man who sat in the sun near the inn opened his eyes and smiled toothlessly at the commotion. Some of the drinkers came out of the public house, carrying their glasses and followed by the barmaid wiping wet hands on her apron, her eyes shining.\n\nBarber stopped in the little square. From the wagon he took four folding benches and set them up joined together. \"This is called the bank,\" he said to Rob of the small stage thus formed. \"You'll erect it at once whenever we come to a new place.\"\n\nOn the bank they placed two baskets full of little stoppered flasks that Barber said contained medicine. Then he disappeared into the wagon and pulled the curtain."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 7",
                "text": "Rob sat on the bank and watched people hasten into the main street. The miller came, his clothing white with flour, and Rob could tell two carpenters by the familiar wood dust and chips on their tunics and hair. Families settled to the ground, willing to wait in order to obtain a place close to the bank. Women worked at tatting and knitting while they tarried, and children chattered and squabbled. A group of village boys stared at Rob. Aware of the awe and envy in their eyes, he struck poses and swaggered. But in a little while all such foolishness was driven from his head, because like them he had become part of the audience. Barber ran onto the bank with a flourish.\n\n\"Good day and good morrow,\" he said. \"I'm comforted to be in Farnham.\" And he began to juggle.\n\nHe juggled a red ball and a yellow ball. His hands seemed scarcely to move. It was the prettiest thing to see!\n\nHis fat fingers sent the balls flying in a continual circle, at first slowly and then with blurring speed. When he was applauded, he reached into his tunic and added a green ball. And then a blue. And, oh\u2014a brown!\n\nHow wonderful, Rob thought, to be able to do that.\n\nHe held his breath, waiting for Barber to drop a ball, but he controlled all five easily, talking all the while. He made people laugh. He told stories, sang little songs.\n\nNext, he juggled rope rings and wooden plates and after the juggling performed feats of magic. He caused an egg to disappear, found a coin in a child's hair, made a handkerchief change color.\n\n\"Would you be beguiled to see me cause a mug of ale to vanish?\"\n\nThere was general applause. The barmaid hurried inside the public house and appeared with a foaming mug. Placing it to his lips, Barber downed its contents in a single long swallow. He bowed to goodnatured laughter and applause, and then asked the women in the audience if anyone desired a ribbon.\n\n\"Oh, indeed!\" exclaimed the barmaid. She was young and full-bodied, and her response, so spontaneous and artless, drew a titter from the crowd.\n\nBarber's eyes met the girl's and he smiled. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Oh, sir. It is Amelia Simpson.\"\n\n\"Mistress Simpson?\"\n\n\"I am unmarried.\"\n\nBarber closed his eyes. \"A waste,\" he said gallantly. \"What color ribbon would you like, Miss Amelia?\"\n\n\"Red.\"\n\n\"And the length?\"\n\n\"Two yards should do me perfectly.\"\n\n\"One would hope so,\" he murmured, raising his eyebrows.\n\nThere was ribald laughter, but he appeared to forget her. He cut a piece of rope into four parts and then caused it to be rejoined and whole, using only gestures. He placed a kerchief over a ring and changed it into a walnut. And then, almost in surprise, he brought his fingers to his mouth and pulled something from between his lips, pausing to show the audience that it was the end of a red ribbon.\n\nAs they watched he pulled it out of his mouth, bit by bit, his body drooping and his eyes crossing as it continued to emerge. Finally, holding the end taut, he reached down for his dagger, placed the blade close to his lips, and cut the ribbon free. He handed it to the barmaid with a bow.\n\nNext to her was the village sawyer, who stretched the ribbon on his measuring stick. \"Two yards, exact!\" he pronounced, and there was great applause.\n\nBarber waited for the noise to die and then held up a flask of his bottled medicinal. \"Masters, mistresses, and maidens!\n\n\"Only my Universal Specific Physick \u2026\n\n\"Lengthens your allotted span, regenerates the worn-out tissues of the body. Makes stiff joints supple and limp joints stiff. Restores a roguish sparkle to jaded eyes. Transmutes illness to health, stops hair from falling and resprouts shiny pates. Clarifies dimmed vision and sharpens dulled intellects.\n\n\"A most excellent cordial more stimulating than the finest tonic, a purgative gentler than a cream clyster. The Universal Specific fights bloating and the bloody flux, eases the rigors of the childbed and the agony of the female curse, and eradicates the scorbutic disorders brought back to shore by seafaring folk. It is good for brute or human, a bane to deafness, sore eyes, coughs, consumptions, stomach pains, jaundice, fever, and agues. Cures any illness! Banishes care!\"\n\nBarber sold a good deal of it from the bank. Then he and Rob set up a screen, behind which the barbersurgeon examined patients. The ill and the afflicted waited in a long line to pay a penny or two for his treatment.\n\nThat night they ate roast goose at the public house, the only time Rob had ever eaten a purchased meal. He thought it especially fine, though Barber pronounced the meat overdone and grumbled at lumps in the mashed turnip. Afterward Barber brought onto the table a chart of the British island. It was the first map Rob had seen and he watched in fascination as Barber's finger traced a squiggly line, the route they would follow over the coming months.\n\nEventually, eyes closing, he stumbled sleepily back to their campsite through bright moonlight and made his bed. But so much had happened in the past few days that his dazzled mind fought sleep.\n\nHe was half awake and star-searching when Barber returned, and somebody was with him.\n\n\"Pretty Amelia,\" Barber said. \"Pretty dolly. A single look at that wanting mouth, I knew I would die for you.\"\n\n\"Mind the roots or you'll fall,\" she said.\n\nRob lay and listened to the wet sounds of kissing, the rasp of clothing being removed, laughter and gasping. Then the slithering of the furs being spread.\n\n\"I had best go under, because of my stomach,\" he heard Barber say.\n\n\"A most prodigious stomach,\" the girl said in a low, wicked voice. \"It will be like bouncing on a great comforter.\"\n\n\"Nay, maid, here is my great comforter.\"\n\nRob wanted to see her naked, but by the time he dared to move his head the tiny bit necessary, she was no longer standing, and all he could see was the pale glimmer of buttocks.\n\nHis breathing was loud but he could have shouted for all they cared. Soon he watched Barber's large plump hands reach around to clutch the rotating white orbs.\n\n\"Ah, Dolly!\"\n\nThe girl groaned.\n\nThey slept before he did. Rob fell asleep finally and dreamed of Barber, still juggling.\n\nThe woman was gone when he was awakened in the chill dawning. They broke camp and rode from Farnham while most of its people were still in bed.\n\nShortly after sunrise they passed a blackberry bramble and stopped to fill a basket. At the next farm Barber took on provender. When they camped for breakfast, while Rob made the fire and cooked the bacon and cheese toast, Barber broke nine eggs into a bowl and added a generous amount of clotted cream, beating it to a froth and then cooking without stirring until it set into a soft cake, which he covered with dead-ripe blackberries. He appeared pleased at the eagerness with which Rob downed his share.\n\nThat afternoon they passed a great keep surrounded by farms. Rob could see people on the grounds and earthen battlements. Barber urged the horse into a trot, seeking to pass it quickly.\n\nBut three riders came after them from the place and shouted them to a stop.\n\nStern and fearsome armed men, they examined the decorated wagon curiously. \"What is your trade?\" asked one who wore the light mail of a person of rank.\n\n\"Barbersurgeon, lord,\" Barber said.\n\nThe man nodded in satisfaction and wheeled his horse. \"Follow.\"\n\nSurrounded by their guard, they clattered through a heavy gate set into the earthworks, through a second gate in a palisade of sharpened logs, then across a drawbridge above a moat. Rob had never been so close to a stately fastness. The enormous keep house had a foundation and half-wall of stone, with timbered upper stories, intricate carvings on porch and gables, and a gilded rooftree that blazed in the sun.\n\n\"Leave your wagon in the courtyard. Bring your surgeon's tools.\"\n\n\"What is the problem, lord?\"\n\n\"Bitch hurt her hand.\"\n\nLaden with instruments and flasks of medicinal, they followed him into the cavernous hall. The floor was flagged with stone and spread with rushes that needed changing. The furniture seemed ample for small giants. Three walls were arrayed with swords, shields, and lances, while the north wall was hung with tapestries of rich but faded color, against which stood a throne of carved dark wood.\n\nThe central fireplace was cold but the place was redolent of last winter's smoke and a less attractive stench, strongest when their escort stopped before the hound lying by the hearth.\n\n\"Lost two toes in a snare, a fortnight ago. At first they healed nicely, then they festered.\"\n\nBarber nodded. He shook meat from a silver bowl by the hound's head and poured in the contents of two of his flasks. The dog watched with rheumy eyes and growled when he set down the bowl, but in a moment she started to lap up the specific.\n\nBarber took no chances; when the hound was listless, he tied her muzzle and lashed her feet so she couldn't use her paws.\n\nThe dog trembled and yipped when Barber cut. It smelled abominably, and there were maggots.\n\n\"She will lose another toe.\"\n\n\"She mustn't be crippled. Do it well,\" the man said coldly.\n\nWhen it was done, Barber washed the blood from the paw with the rest of the medicinal, then bound it in a rag.\n\n\"Payment, lord?\" he suggested delicately.\n\n\"You must wait for the Earl to return from his hunting, and ask him,\" the knight said, and went away.\n\nThey untied the dog gingerly, then took the instruments and returned to the wagon. Barber drove them away slowly, like a man with permission to leave.\n\nBut when they were out of sight of the keep, he hawked and spat. \"Perhaps the Earl would not return for days. By then, if the dog were well, perhaps he would pay, this saintly Earl. If the dog were dead or the Earl out of sorts with constipation, he might have us flayed. I shun lords and take my chances in small villages,\" he said, and urged the horse away.\n\nNext morning, he was in better mood when they came to Chelmsford. But there already was an unguent seller set up to entertain there, a sleek man dressed in a gaudy orange tunic and with a mane of white hair.\n\n\"Well met, Barber,\" the man said easily.\n\n\"Hullo, Wat. You still have the beast?\"\n\n\"No, he turned sickly and became too mean. I used him in a baiting.\"\n\n\"Pity you didn't give him my Specific. It would have made him well.\"\n\nThey laughed together.\n\n\"I have a new beast. Do you care to witness?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Barber said. He pulled the wagon up under a tree and allowed the horse to graze while the crowd gathered. Chelmsford was a large village and the audience was good. \"Have you wrestled?\" Barber asked Rob.\n\nHe nodded. He loved to wrestle; wrestling was the everyday sport of working-class boys in London.\n\nWat began his entertainment in the same manner as Barber, with juggling. His juggling was skillful, Rob thought. His storytelling couldn't measure up to Barber's and people laughed less frequently. But they loved the bear.\n\nThe cage was in the shade, covered by a cloth. The crowd murmured when Wat removed the cover. Rob had seen an entertaining bear before. When he was six years old his father had taken him to see such a creature performing outside Swann's Inn, and it had appeared enormous to him. When Wat led this muzzled bear onto the bank on a long chain, it seemed smaller. It was scarcely larger than a great dog, but it was very smart.\n\n\"Bartram the Bear!\" Wat announced.\n\nThe bear lay down and pretended to be dead on command, he rolled a ball and fetched it, he climbed up and down a ladder, and while Wat played a flute he danced the popular clog step called the Carol, turning clumsily instead of twirling but so delighting the onlookers that they applauded the animal's every move.\n\n\"And now,\" Wat said, \"Bartram will wrestle all challengers. Anyone to throw him will be given a free pot of Wat's Unguent, that most miraculous agent for the relief of human ills.\"\n\nThere was an amused stir but no one came forward.\n\n\"Come, wrestlers,\" Wat chided.\n\nBarber's eyes twinkled. \"Here is a lad who is not fear-struck,\" he said loudly.\n\nTo Rob's amazement and great concern, he found himself propelled forward. Willing hands aided him onto the bank.\n\n\"My boy against your beast, friend Wat,\" Barber called.\n\nWat nodded and they both laughed.\n\nOh, Mam! Rob thought numbly.\n\nIt was truly a bear. It swayed on its hind legs and cocked its large, furry head at him. This was no hound, no Carpenter's Street playmate. He saw massive shoulders and thick limbs, and his instinct was to leap from the bank and flee. But to do so would defy Barber and everything the barbersurgeon represented to his existence. He made the less courageous choice and faced the animal.\n\nHis heart pounding, he circled, weaving his open hands in front of him as he had often seen older wrestlers do. Perhaps he didn't have it quite right; someone tittered, and the bear looked toward the sound. Trying to forget that his adversary wasn't human, Rob acted as he would have toward another boy: he darted in and tried to unbalance Bartram, but it was like trying to uproot a great tree.\n\nBartram lifted one paw and struck him lazily. The bear had been declawed but the cuff knocked him down and halfway across the stage. Now he was more than terrified; he knew he could do nothing and would have fled, but Bartram shambled with deceptive swiftness and was waiting. When he got to his feet he was wrapped by the forelimbs. His face was pulled into the bear, which filled his nose and mouth. He was strangling in scruffy black fur that smelled exactly like the pelt he slept on at night. The bear was not fully grown, but neither was he. Struggling, he found himself looking up into small and desperate red eyes. The bear was as afraid as he, Rob realized, but the animal was in full control and had something to harry. Bartram couldn't bite but it was obvious he would have; he ground the leather muzzle into Rob's shoulder and his breath was strong and stinking.\n\nWat reached his hand toward the little handle on the animal's collar. He didn't touch it, but the bear whimpered and cringed; he dropped Rob and fell onto his back.\n\n\"Pin him, you dolt!\" Wat whispered.\n\nHe flung himself down and touched the black fur near the shoulders. No one was fooled and a few people jeered, but the crowd had been entertained and was in good humor. Wat caged Bartram and returned to reward Rob with a tiny clay pot of unguent, as promised. Soon the entertainer was declaiming the salve's ingredients and uses to the crowd.\n\nRob walked to the wagon on rubbery legs.\n\n\"You did handsomely,\" Barber said. \"Dove right into him. Bit of a nosebleed?\"\n\nHe snuffled, knowing he was fortunate. \"The beast was about to do me harm,\" he said glumly.\n\nBarber grinned and shook his head. \"Did you note the little handle on its neckband? It's a choke collar. The handle allows the band to be twisted, cutting off the creature's breathing if it disobeys. It is the way bears are trained.\" He gave Rob a hand up to the wagon seat and then took a dab of salve from the pot and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. \"Tallow and lard and a touch of scent. And, oh, but he sells a good deal of it,\" he mused, watching customers line up to hand Wat their pennies. \"An animal guarantees prosperity. There are entertainments built around marmots, goats, crows, badgers, and dogs. Even lizards, and generally they take in more money than I do when I work alone.\"\n\nThe horse responded to the reins and started down the track into the coolness of the woods, leaving Chelmsford and the wrestling bear behind them. The shakiness was still in Rob. He sat motionless, thinking. \"Then why do you not entertain with an animal?\" he said slowly.\n\nBarber half-turned in the seat. His friendly blue eyes found Rob's and seemed to say more than his smiling mouth.\n\n\"I have you,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE COLORED BALLS",
                "text": "They began with juggling, and from the start Rob knew he would never be able to perform that kind of miracle.\n\n\"Stand erect but relaxed, hands at your sides. Bring your forearms up until they're level with the ground. Turn your palms up.\" Barber surveyed him critically and then nodded. \"You must pretend that on your palms I have placed a tray of eggs. The tray can't be allowed to tilt for even a moment or the eggs will slide off. It's the same with juggling. If your arms don't remain level, the balls will be all over the ground. Is this understood?\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber.\" He had a sick feeling in his stomach.\n\n\"Cup your hands as though you're to drink water from each of them.\" He took two wooden balls. He placed the red ball in Rob's cupped right hand and the blue ball in his left. \"Now toss them up the way a juggler does, but at the same time.\"\n\nThe balls went over his head and fell to the ground.\n\n\"Observe. The red ball rose higher, because you have more strength in your right arm than in your left. Therefore you must learn to compensate, to use less effort from your right hand and more from your left, for the throws must be equal. Also, the balls went too high. A juggler has enough to do without having to pull back his head and peer up into the sun to see where the balls have gone. The balls should come no higher than here.\" He tapped Rob's forehead. \"That way you see them without moving your head.\"\n\nHe frowned. \"Another thing. Jugglers never throw a ball. The balls are popped. The center of your hand must pop up for a moment so that the cup disappears and your hand is flat. The center of your hand drives the ball straight up, while at the same time the wrist gives a quick little snap and the forearm makes the smallest of motions upward. From the elbows to the shoulders, your arms shouldn't move.\"\n\nHe retrieved the balls and handed them to Rob.\n\nWhen they reached Hertford, Rob set up the bank and carried out the flasks of Barber's elixir and then took the two wooden balls off by himself and practiced popping. It hadn't sounded hard but he found that half the time he placed a spin on the ball when he threw it up, causing it to veer. If he hooked the ball by hanging on to it too long it fell back toward his face or went over his shoulder. If he allowed a hand to go slack, the ball traveled away from him. But he kept at it, and soon he grasped the knack of popping. Barber seemed pleased when he showed his new skill that evening before supper.\n\nThe next day Barber stopped the wagon outside the village of Luton and showed Rob how to pop two balls so their paths crossed. \"You can avoid collisions in midair if one ball has a head start or is popped higher than the other,\" he said.\n\nAs soon as the show had begun in Luton, Rob stole away with the two balls and practiced in a small clearing in the woods. More often than not, the blue ball met the red ball with a small clunking sound that seemed to mock him. The balls fell and rolled and had to be retrieved, and he felt stupid and out of sorts. But nobody watched except a woods mouse and an occasional bird, and he continued to try. Eventually he was able to see that he could pop both balls successfully if the first one came down wide of his left hand and the second one went lower and traveled a shorter distance. It took him two days of trial and error and constant repetition before he was sufficiently satisfied to demonstrate it to Barber.\n\nBarber showed him how to move both balls in a circle. \"It looks more difficult than it is. You pop the first ball. While it is in the air, you shift the second ball into the right hand. The left hand catches the first ball, the right hand pops the second ball, and so on, hop, hop, hop! The balls are sent into the air quickly by your pops, but they come down much slower. That's the juggler's secret, that's what saves jugglers. You have plenty of time.\"\n\nBy the end of a week Barber was teaching him how to juggle both the red and the blue from the same hand. He had to hold one ball in his palm and the other farther forward, on his fingers. He was glad he had large hands. He dropped the balls a lot but finally he caught on: first red was tossed up, and before it could drop back into his hand, up went blue. They danced up and down from the same hand, hop, hop, hop! He practiced every moment that he could, now\u2014two balls in a circle, two balls crossing over, two balls with the right hand only, two balls one-handed with the left. He found that by juggling with very low pops he could increase his speed.\n\nThey held over outside a town called Bletchly because Barber bought a swan from a farmer. It was scarcely more than a cygnet but nevertheless larger than any fowl Rob had ever seen prepared for table. The farmer sold it dressed but Barber fussed over the bird, washing it painstakingly in a running stream and then dangling it by the legs over a small fire to singe off the pinfeathers.\n\nHe stuffed it with chestnuts, onions, fat, and herbs as befit a bird that had cost him dear. \"A swan's flesh is stronger than a goose's but drier than a duck's and so must be barded,\" he instructed Rob happily. They barded the bird by wrapping it completely in thin sheets of salt pork, overlapped and molded snugly. Barber tied the package with flaxen cord and then hung it over the fire on a spit.\n\nRob practiced his juggling near enough to the fire so that the smells were a sweet torment. The heat of the flames drew the grease from the pork, basting the lean meat while the fat in the stuffing melted slowly and anointed the bird from within. As Barber turned the swan on the green branch that served as a spit, the thin skin of pork gradually dried and seared; when finally the bird was done and he removed it, the salt pork crackled and broke away. Inside, the swan was moist and delicate, slightly stringy but nicely larded and seasoned. They ate some of the flesh with the hot chestnut stuffing and boiled new squash. Rob had a great pink thigh.\n\nNext morning they rose early and pushed hard, buoyed by the day of rest. They stopped for breakfast by the side of the track and enjoyed some of the swan's breast cold with their toasted bread and cheese. When they had finished eating, Barber belched and gave Rob a third wooden ball, painted green.\n\nThey moved like ants across the lowlands. The Cotswold Hills were gentle and rolling, beautiful in their summer softness. The villages nestled in the valleys, with more stone houses than Rob had been accustomed to seeing in London. Three days after St. Swithin's Day he was ten years old. He made no mention of it to Barber.\n\nHe was growing; the sleeves of the shirt Mam had sewn purposely long now ended well above his knobby wrists. Barber worked him hard. He performed most of the chores, loading and unloading the wagon at every town and village, hauling firewood and fetching water. His body was making bone and muscle of the fine rich food that kept Barber massively round. He had become quickly accustomed to wonderful food.\n\nRob and Barber were getting used to each other's ways. Now when the fat man brought a woman to the campfire it was no novelty; sometimes Rob listened to the sounds of humping and tried to see, but usually he turned over and went to sleep. If the circumstances were right, on occasion Barber spent the night in a woman's house, but he was always at the wagon when morning came and it was time to leave a place.\n\nGradually there grew in Rob an understanding that Barber tried to cosset every woman he saw and did the same to the people who watched his entertainments. The barbersurgeon told them the Universal Specific was an Eastern physick, made by infusing the ground dried flower of a plant called Vitalia which was found only in the deserts of far-off Assyria. Yet when they ran low on the Specific, Rob helped Barber to mix up a new batch and he saw that the physick was mostly everyday liquor.\n\nThey didn't have to inquire more than half a dozen times before finding a farmer with a keg of metheglin he was happy to sell. Any variety would have served, but Barber said he always tried to find metheglin, a mixture of fermented honey and water. \"It's a Welsh invention, chappy, one of the few things they've given us. Named from meddyg, their word for physician, and llyn, meaning strong liquor. It is their way of taking medicine and it is a good one, for metheglin numbs the tongue and warms the soul.\"\n\nVitalia, the Herb of Life from far-off Assyria, turned out to be a pinch of niter, stirred well into each gallon of metheglin by Rob. It gave the strong spirits a medicinal bite, softened by the sweetness of the fermented honey that was its base.\n\nThe flasks were small. \"Buy a keg cheap, sell a flask dear,\" Barber said. \"Our place is with the lower classes and the poor. Above us are the surgeons, who charge fatter fees and sometimes will throw the likes of us a dirty job they don't wish to soil their own hands on, like tossing a bit of rotten meat to a cur! Above that sorry lot are the ruddy physicians, who are full of importance and cater to gentlefolk because they charge most of all.\n\n\"Do you ever wonder why this Barber doesn't trim beards or cut hair? It's because I can afford to choose my tasks. For here's a lesson, and learn it well, apprentice: By mixing a proper physick and selling it diligently, a barbersurgeon can make as much money as a physician. Should all else fail, that is all you would have to know.\"\n\nWhen they were through mixing the physick for sale, Barber got out a smaller pot and made some more. Then he fumbled with his clothing. Rob stood transfixed and watched the stream tinkle into the Universal Specific.\n\n\"My Special Batch,\" Barber said silkily, milking himself.\n\n\"Day after tomorrow we'll be in Oxford. The reeve there, name of Sir John Fitts, charges me dear in order not to run me out of the county. In a fortnight we'll be in Bristol, where a tavern-keeper named Potter always utters loud insults during my entertainments. I try to have suitable small gifts ready for men such as these.\"\n\nWhen they reached Oxford, Rob didn't disappear to practice with his colored balls. He waited and watched until the reeve appeared in his filthy satin tunic, a long, thin man with sunken cheeks and a perpetual cold smile that seemed prompted by some private amusement. Rob saw Barber pay the bribe and then, in reluctant afterthought, offer the bottle of metheglin.\n\nThe reeve opened the flask and drank its contents down. Rob waited for him to gag and spit and shout for their immediate arrest, but Lord Fitts finished the final drop and smacked his lips.\n\n\"Adequate tipple.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Give me several flasks to carry home.\"\n\nBarber sighed, as if put upon. \"Of course, my lord.\"\n\nThe pissy bottles were scratched to mark them as different from the undiluted metheglin, and kept separate in a corner of the wagon; but Rob didn't dare to drink any honey liquor for fear of making a mistake. The existence of the Special Batch made all metheglin nauseating, perhaps saving him from becoming a drunkard at an early age.\n\nJuggling three balls was wickedly hard. He worked at it for weeks without great success. He started by holding two balls in his right hand and one in his left. Barber told him to begin by juggling two balls in one hand, as he had already learned. When the moment seemed right, he popped the third ball in the same rhythm. Two balls would go up together, then one, then two, then one \u2026 The lone ball bobbing between the other two made a pretty picture, but it wasn't real juggling. Whenever he tried a crossover toss with the three balls he met with disaster.\n\nHe practiced every possible moment. At night in his sleep he saw colored balls dancing through the air, light as birds. When he was awake he tried to pop them like that but he quickly ran into trouble.\n\nThey were in Stratford when he got the knack. He could see nothing different in the way that he popped or caught. He had simply found the rhythm; the three balls seemed to rise naturally from his hands and return as if part of him.\n\nBarber was pleased. \"It's my natal day, and you have given me a fine gift,\" he said. To celebrate both events they went to market and bought a joint of young venison, which Barber boiled, larded, seasoned with mint and sorrel, and then roasted in beer with small carrots and sugar pears. \"When is your birth day?\" he asked as they ate.\n\n\"Three days after Swithin's.\"\n\n\"But it is past! And you made no mention of it.\"\n\nHe didn't answer.\n\nBarber looked at him and nodded. Then he sliced more meat and heaped it on Rob's plate.\n\nThat evening Barber took him to the public house in Stratford. Rob drank sweet cider but Barber downed new ale and sang a song celebrating it. He had no great voice but he could carry a tune. When he was finished there was applause and the thumping of mugs on tables. Two women sat alone in a corner, the only women there. One was young and stout and blond. The other was thin and older, with gray in her brown hair. \"More!\" the older one cried boldly.\n\n\"Mistress, you are insatiable,\" Barber called. He threw back his head and sang:\n\n\u2003\"Here's a merry new song of a ripe widow's wooing,\n\n\u2003She bedded a scoundrel to her sad undoing.\n\n\u2003The man he did joss her and bounce her and toss her\n\n\u2003And stole all her gold for a general screwing!'\"\n\nThe women shrieked and screamed with laughter and hid their eyes behind their hands.\n\n\u2003Barber sent them ale and sang:\n\n\u2003\"Your eyes caressed me once,\n\n\u2003Your arms embrace me now \u2026\n\n\u2003We'll roll together by and by\n\n\u2003So make no fruitless vow.\"\n\nSurprisingly agile for one so large, Barber danced a frenzied clog with each of the women in turn, while the men in the public house clapped their hands and shouted. He tossed and whirled the delighted women easily, for under the lard were the muscles of a dray horse. Rob fell asleep soon after Barber brought them to his table. He was dimly aware of being awakened and of the women's support as they helped Barber to lead him, stumbling, back to the camp.\n\nWhen he awoke next morning the three lay beneath the wagon, tangled like great dead snakes.\n\nHe was becoming intensely interested in breasts and he stood close and studied the women. The younger had a pendulous bosom with heavy nipples set in large brown circles in which there were hairs. The older was nearly flat with little bluish dugs like a bitch's or sow's.\n\nBarber opened one eye and watched him memorizing the women. Presently he extricated himself and patted the cross and sleepy females, waking them so he could rescue the bedding and return it to the wagon while Rob hitched the animal. He left them each the gift of a coin and a bottle of Universal Specific. Scorned by a flapping heron, he and Rob drove out of Stratford just as the sun was pinking the river."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE HOUSE ON LYME BAY",
                "text": "One morning when he tried to blow the Saxon horn, instead of merely a hiss of air the full sound emerged. Soon he proudly marked their daily way with the lonely, echoing call. As summer ended and the days grew increasingly shorter, they began to travel southwest. \"I have a little house in Exmouth,\" Barber told him. \"I try to spend each winter on the mild coast, for I dislike the cold.\"\n\nHe gave Rob a brown ball.\n\nJuggling with four balls was not to be feared, for he already knew how to juggle two balls in one hand, and now he juggled two balls in each. He practiced constantly but was forbidden from juggling while traveling in the seat of the wagon, for he often erred and Barber wearied of reining the horse and waiting for him to clamber down and collect the balls.\n\nSometimes they came to a place where boys of his age splashed in a river or laughed and frolicked, and he felt a yearning for childhood. But he was already different from them. Had they wrestled a bear? Could they juggle four balls? Could they blow the Saxon horn?\n\nIn Glastonbury he played the fool by juggling before an awestruck gaggle of boys in the village churchyard while Barber performed in the square nearby and could hear their laughter and applause. Barber was cutting in his condemnation. \"You shall not perform unless or until you become a genuine juggler, which may or may not occur. Is this understood?\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber,\" he said.\n\nThey finally reached Exmouth on an evening in late October. The house was forlorn and desolate, a few minutes' walk from the sea.\n\n\"It had been a working farm, but I bought it without land and thereby cheaply,\" Barber said. \"The horse is stalled in the former hay barn and the wagon goes into that shed meant for the storing of corn.\" A lean-to which had sheltered the farmer's cow kept firewood from the elements. The dwelling was scarcely larger than the house on Carpenter's Street in London and had a thatched roof too, but instead of a smoke hole there was a large stone chimney. In the fireplace Barber had set an iron pot hanger, a tripod, a shovel, large fire irons, a cauldron, and a meat hook. Next to the fireplace was an oven, and in close proximity was an enormous bedstead. Barber had made things comfortable during past winters. There was a kneading trough, a table, a bench, a cheese cupboard, several jugs, and a few baskets.\n\nWhen a fire was on the hearth, they rewarmed the remains of a ham that already had fed them all week. The ripening meat tasted strong and there was mold in the bread. It was not the master's sort of meal. \"Tomorrow we must lay in provision,\" Barber said moodily.\n\nRob got the wooden balls and practiced cross-throws in the flickering light. He did well but eventually the balls ended on the floor.\n\nBarber took a yellow ball from his bag and tossed it on the floor, where it rolled to nestle with the others.\n\nRed, blue, brown, and green. And now yellow.\n\nRob thought of all the colors of the rainbow and felt himself sinking into the deepest of despairs. He stood and looked at Barber. He was aware the man could see a resistance in his eyes that had never been there before but couldn't help himself.\n\n\"How many more?\"\n\nBarber understood the question and the despair. \"None. That is the last of them,\" he said quietly.\n\nThey worked to prepare for winter. There was enough wood but some of it needed splitting; and kindling had to be gathered, broken, and piled near the fireplace. There were two rooms in the house, one for living and one for foodstuffs. Barber knew exactly where to go to obtain the best provision. They got turnips, onions, a basket of squash. At an orchard in Exeter they picked a barrel of apples with golden skins and white flesh and carried it home in the wagon. They put up a keg of pork in brine. A neighboring farm had a smokehouse and they bought hams and mackerel and had them smoked for a fee, and then hung them with a bought quarter of mutton, high and dry against the time they would be needed. The farmer, accustomed to people who poached or produced what they ate, said wonderingly that he never had heard of a common man purchasing so much meat.\n\nRob hated the yellow ball. The yellow ball was his undoing.\n\nFrom the start, juggling five balls felt wrong. He had to hold three balls in his right hand. In his left hand, the lower ball was pressed against his palm by his ring finger and little finger, while the top ball was cradled by his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. In his right hand, the lower ball was held the same way, but the top ball was imprisoned between his thumb and forefinger and the middle ball was wedged between his forefinger and middle finger. He could scarcely hold them, much less juggle.\n\nBarber tried to help. \"When you juggle five, many of the rules you have learned no longer apply,\" he said. \"Now the ball can't be popped, it must be thrown up by your fingertips. And to give you enough time to juggle all five, you must throw them very high. First you toss a ball from your right hand. Immediately a ball must leave your left hand, then your right again, then your left again and then your right, THROW-THROW-THROW-THROW-THROW! You must toss very quickly!\"\n\nWhen Rob tried, he found himself beneath a shower of tumbling balls. His hands stabbed at them but they fell all about him and rolled to the corners of the room.\n\nBarber smiled. \"So here is your winter's work,\" he said.\n\nTheir water tasted bitter because the spring behind the house was choked by a thick layer of decaying oak leaves. Rob found a wooden rake in the horse's barn and pulled out great heaps of black, sodden leaves. He dug sand from a nearby bank and spread a thick layer in the spring. When the roiled water settled, it was sweet.\n\nWinter came fast, a strange season. Rob liked an honest winter with snow on the ground. In Exmouth that year it rained half the time, and whenever it snowed the flakes melted on the wet earth. There was no ice save for tiny needles in the water when he drew it from the spring. The wind always blew chill and dank from the sea and the little house was part of the general dampness. At night he slept in the great bed with Barber. Barber lay closer to the fire but his great bulk shed a considerable warmth.\n\nHe had come to hate juggling. He tried desperately to manage five balls but was able to catch no more than two or three. When he was holding two balls and trying to catch a third, the falling ball usually struck one of those in his hand and bounced away.\n\nHe began to undertake any activity that would keep him from practicing juggling. He took out the night soil without being told, and scrubbed the stone pot each time. He split more wood than was necessary and constantly replenished the water jug. He brushed Incitatus until the horse's gray pelt shone, and braided the beast's mane. He went through the barrel of apples one by one to cull out rotten fruit. He kept an even neater place than his mother had kept in London.\n\nAt the edge of Lyme Bay he watched the white waves batter the beach. The wind drove straight out of the churning gray sea, so raw it made his eyes water. Barber noted his shivering and hired a widowed seamstress named Editha Lipton to cut down an old tunic of his own into a warm kirtle and tight trousers for Rob.\n\nEditha's husband and two sons had been drowned at sea in a storm that had caught them fishing. She was a full-bodied matron with a kind face and sad eyes. She quickly became Barber's woman. When he stayed with her in the town, Rob lay alone in the large bed by the fire and pretended the house was his own. Once, in a sleety gale when cold wind found its way through the cracks, Editha came to spend the night. She displaced Rob to the floor, where he clutched a wrapped hot stone, his feet bound with pieces of the seamstress's buckram. He heard her low, gentle voice. \"Should not the boy come in with us, where he can be warm?\"\n\n\"No,\" Barber said.\n\nA short while later, as the grunting man labored on her, her hand drifted down through the darkness and rested on Rob's head as lightly as a blessing.\n\nHe lay still. By the time Barber was finished with her, her hand had been withdrawn. After that, whenever she slept in Barber's house Rob waited in the dark on the floor next to the bed, but she never touched him again.\n\n\"You don't progress,\" Barber said. \"Pay heed. The value of my prentice is to entertain a crowd. My boy must be a juggler.\"\n\n\"Can I not juggle four balls?\"\n\n\"An outstanding juggler can keep seven balls in the air. I know several who can handle six. I need only an ordinary juggler. But if you can't manage five balls, I'm soon to be done with you.\" Barber sighed. \"I've had boys in number, and of all of them only three were fit to be kept. The first was Evan Carey, who learned to juggle five balls very well but had a weakness for drink. He was with me four prosperous years past apprenticeship, until he was stabbed to death in a drunken brawl in Leicester, a fool's end.\n\n\"The second was Jason Earle. He was clever, the best juggler of all. He learned my barber's trade but married the daughter of the reeve in Portsmouth and allowed his father-in-law to turn him into a proper thief and bribe collector.\n\n\"Boy before last was marvelous. Name of Gibby Nelson. He was my bloody food and drink until he caught a fever in York and died.\" He frowned. \"The damned last boy was a twit. He did same as you, he could juggle four balls but couldn't get the hang of managing the fifth, and I rid myself of him in London just before I found you.\"\n\nThey regarded one another unhappily.\n\n\"You, now, are no twit. You're a likely chap, easy to live with, quick to do your work. But I didn't get the horse and rig, or this house or the meat hanging from its rafters, by teaching my trade to boys I can't use. You will be a juggler by springtime or I must leave you somewhere. Do you see?\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber.\"\n\nSome things Barber could show him. He had him juggle three apples, and the spiky stems hurt his hands. He caught them softly, yielding his hand a bit at each catch.\n\n\"Observe?\" Barber said. \"Because of the slight deference, an apple already held in your hand doesn't cause a second caught apple to bounce out of your grasp.\" He found that it worked with balls as well as apples. \"You make progress,\" Barber said hopefully.\n\nChristmastide crept up on them while their attention was elsewhere. Editha invited them to accompany her to church and Barber snorted. \"Are we a bloody household, then?\" But he made no objection when she asked if she could take just the boy.\n\nThe little wattle-and-daub country church was crowded and therefore warmer than the rest of bleak Exmouth. Rob hadn't been in a church since leaving London and nostalgically breathed the incense-and-people stink and gave himself up to the Mass, a familiar haven. Afterward the priest, who was difficult to understand because of his Dartmoor accent, told of the birth of the Saviour and of the blessed human life that ended when He was slain by the Jews, and he spoke at great length of the fallen angel Lucifer with whom Jesus eternally grapples in defense of all. Rob tried to choose a saint for special prayer but ended up addressing the purest soul his mind could conceive. Watch over the others, please, Mam. I am fine, but help your younger children. Yet he couldn't forbear to ask a personal request: Please, Mam, help me to juggle five balls.\n\nThey went directly from the church to a roast goose turning on Barber's spit, and a plum-and-onion stuffing. \"If a man has goose on Christmas he'll receive money all through the year,\" Barber said.\n\nEditha smiled. \"I've always heard that to receive money you must eat goose on Michaelmas,\" she said, but didn't argue when Barber insisted it was on Christmas. He was generous with spirits and they had a jolly meal.\n\nShe wouldn't stay the night, perhaps because at Christ's birth her thoughts were with her dead husband and sons, as Rob's were elsewhere.\n\nWhen she had gone home, Barber watched him clean up after their meal. \"I shouldn't grow too fond of Editha,\" Barber said finally. \"She's only a woman and we shall soon abandon her.\"\n\nThe sun never shone. Three weeks into the new year the unchanging grayness of the skies worked its way into their spirits. Now Barber began to drive him, insisting that he stay at his practice no matter how miserable his repeated failure. \"Don't you recall how it was when you tried to juggle three balls? One moment you couldn't, and then you were able. And the same thing happened with the blowing of the Saxon horn. You must give yourself every chance to juggle five.\"\n\nBut no matter how many hours he kept at it, the result was the same. He came to approach the task dully, understanding even before he began that he must fail.\n\nHe knew spring would come and he wouldn't be a juggler.\n\nHe dreamed one night that Editha touched his head again and opened great thighs and showed him her cunt. When he awoke he couldn't remember what it had looked like but a strange and terrifying thing had occurred during the dream. He wiped the mess from the fur bedcover when Barber was out of the house and scrubbed it clean with wet ashes.\n\nHe was not so foolish as to suppose that Editha might wait for him to become a man and then marry him, but he thought it would improve her condition if she should gain a son. \"Barber will leave,\" he told her one morning as she helped him carry in the wood. \"Could I not stay in Exmouth and live with you?\"\n\nSomething hard came into her fine eyes but she didn't look away. \"I can't maintain you. To keep only myself alive, I must be half seamstress and half whore. If I had you too, I should be any man's.\" A stick of wood fell from the pile in her arms. She waited until he had replaced it, then she turned and went into the house.\n\nAfter that she came less often and gave him only a scarce word. Finally she didn't come at all. Perhaps Barber was less interested in his pleasure, for he grew more fretful.\n\n\"Dolt!\" he shouted as Rob J. dropped the balls still another time. \"Use only three balls this time but throw them high, as you would in juggling all five. When the third ball is in the air, clap your hands.\"\n\nRob did so, and there was time after the handclap to catch the three balls.\n\n\"You see?\" Barber said, pleased. \"In the time spent clapping, you would have been able to toss up the other two balls.\"\n\nBut when he tried, all five collided in the air and once again there was chaos, the man cursing and balls rolling everywhere.\n\nSuddenly, spring was short weeks away.\n\nOne night when he thought Rob was asleep, Barber came and adjusted the bearskin so it lay warm and snug under his chin. He stood over the bed and looked down at Rob for a long time. Then he sighed and moved away.\n\nIn the morning Barber took a whip from the cart. \"You don't think on what you are doing,\" he said. Rob never had seen him whip the horse, but when he dropped the balls the lash whistled and cut his legs.\n\nIt hurt terribly; he cried out and then he began to sob.\n\n\"Pick up the balls.\"\n\nHe collected them and threw again with the same sorry result, and the leather slashed across his legs.\n\nHe had been beaten by his father on numerous occasions, but never with a whip.\n\nAgain and again he retrieved the five balls and tried to juggle them but couldn't. Each time he failed, the whip cut across his legs, causing him to scream.\n\n\"Pick up the balls.\"\n\n\"Please, Barber!\"\n\nThe man's face was grim. \"It's for your good. Use your head. Think on it.\" Although it was a cold day, Barber was sweating.\n\nThe pain did impel him to think on what he did, but he was shuddering with frantic sobbing and his muscles seemed to belong to someone else. He was worse off than ever. He stood and trembled, tears wetting his face and snot running into his mouth, as Barber lashed him. I am a Roman, he told himself. When I'm grown I'll find this man and kill him.\n\nBarber struck him until blood showed through the legs of the new trousers Editha had sewn. Then he dropped the whip and strode from the house.\n\nThe barbersurgeon returned late that night and fell drunkenly into bed.\n\nIn the morning when he awoke his eyes were calm but he pursed his lips when he looked at Rob's legs. He heated water and used a rag to soak them free of dried blood, then he fetched a pot of bear fat. \"Rub it in well,\" he said.\n\nThe knowledge that he'd lost his chance hurt Rob more than the cuts and the welts.\n\nBarber consulted his charts. \"I set out on Maundy Thursday and will take you as far as Bristol. It's a flourishing port and perhaps you may find a place there.\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber,\" he said in a low voice.\n\nBarber spent a long time readying breakfast and when it was ready he lavishly dealt gruel, cheese toast, eggs and bacon. \"Eat, eat,\" he said gruffly.\n\nHe sat and watched while Rob forced down the food.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" he said. \"I was a runagate boy myself and know life can be hard.\"\n\nBarber spoke to him only once all the rest of the morning. \"You may keep the suit of clothes,\" he said.\n\nThe colored balls were put away and Rob practiced no more. But Maundy Thursday was almost a fortnight away and Barber continued to work him hard, setting him to the scrubbing of the splintery floors in both rooms. Each spring at home Mam had also washed down her walls and he did that now. There was less smoke in this house than there had been in Mam's but these walls appeared never to have been washed, and there was a marked difference when he was done.\n\nOn a midafternoon the sun magically reappeared, turning the sea blue and glittery and gentling the salty air. For the first time Rob could understand why some folks chose to live in Exmouth. In the woods behind the house small green things began to finger through the wet leaf mold; he picked a potful of fern shoots and they boiled the first greens with bacon. The fishing men had ventured into the calming seas and Barber met a returning boat and bought a fearsome cod and half a dozen fish heads. He set Rob to cubing salt pork and tried the fat meat slowly in the fry pan until it was crisp. Then he brewed a soup, merging meat and fish, sliced turnip, rendered fat, rich milk, and a bit of thyme. They enjoyed it silently with a crusty warm bread, each aware that very soon Rob wouldn't be eating fare such as this.\n\nSome of the hung mutton had turned green and Barber cut away the spoiled part and carried it into the woods. There was a fierce stench from the apple barrel, in which only a fraction of the original fruit survived. Rob tipped the barrel and emptied it, checking each pippin and setting aside the sound ones.\n\nThey felt solid and round in his hands.\n\nRecalling how Barber had helped him to learn a soft catch by giving him apples to juggle, he popped three of them, hup-hup-hup.\n\nHe caught them. Then he popped them again, sending them high, and clapped his hands before they fell.\n\nHe picked up two more apples and sent all five up, but\u2014surprise!\u2014they collided and landed on the floor somewhat squashily. He froze, not knowing Barber's whereabouts; he was certain to be beaten again if Barber discovered him wasting food.\n\nBut there was no protest from the other room.\n\nHe began putting the sound apples back into the barrel. It had not been a bad effort, he told himself; his timing appeared to be better.\n\nHe chose five more apples of the proper size and sent them up.\n\nThis time it came very close to working, but what failed was his nerve and the fruit came crashing down as if dispersed from its tree by an autumn gale.\n\nHe retrieved the apples and sent them up again. He was all over the place and it was herky-jerky instead of smooth and lovely, but this time the five objects went up and came down into his hands and were sent up again as though they were only three.\n\nUp and down and up and down. Over and over again.\n\n\"Oh, Mam,\" he said shakily, although years later he would debate with himself over whether she had anything to do with it.\n\nHup-hup-hup-hup-hup!\n\n\"Barber,\" he said loudly, afraid to shout.\n\nThe door opened. A moment later he lost the whole thing and there were falling apples everywhere.\n\nWhen he looked up he cringed, for Barber was rushing at him with his hand raised.\n\n\"I saw it!\" Barber cried, and Rob found himself in a joyous hug that compared favorably to the best efforts of Bartram the bear."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE ENTERTAINER",
                "text": "Maundy Thursday came and went and they remained in Exmouth, for Rob had to be trained in all aspects of the entertainment. They worked on team juggling, which he enjoyed from the start and quickly came to perform exceedingly well. Then they moved to legerdemain, magic equal in difficulty to four-ball juggling.\n\n\"The Devil doesn't license magicians,\" Barber said. \"Magic is a human art, to be mastered the way you conquered juggling. But it is much easier,\" he added hastily, seeing Rob's face.\n\nBarber gave him the simple secrets of white magic. \"You must have a bold and audacious spirit and put a confident face on anything you do. You require nimble fingers and a clean manner of work, and must hide behind a patter, using exotic words to adorn your actions.\n\n\"The final rule is by far the most important. You must have devices, gestures of the body, and other diversions that will cause the spectators to look anywhere but at what you are truly doing.\"\n\nThe finest diversion they had was one another, Barber said, and used the ribbon trick to demonstrate. \"For this I need ribbons of blue, red, black, yellow, green, and brown. At the end of every yard I tie a slip knot, and then I roll the knotted ribbon tightly, making small coils that are distributed throughout my clothing. The same color is always kept in the same pocket.\n\n\"'Who would like a ribbon?' I ask.\n\n\"'Oh, I, sirrah! A blue ribbon, two yards in length.' They seldom ask for longer. They do not use ribbon to tether the cow.\n\n\"I appear to forget the request, going on to other matters. Then you create a bit of flash, perhaps by juggling. While you have their eyes I go to this left tunic pocket, where blue is always kept. I appear to cover a cough with my hand, and the coil of ribbon is in my mouth. In a moment, when their attention again is on me, I discover the ribbon's end between my lips and pull it, bit by bit. When the first knot reaches my teeth, it slips. When the second knot arrives I know I am at two yards, and I cut the ribbon and present it.\"\n\nRob was delighted to learn the trick yet let down by the unlovely manipulation, feeling cheated of the magic.\n\nBarber continued to disillusion him. Soon, if he wasn't yet passing fine as a magician, he did yeoman's work as a magician's helper. He learned little dances, hymns and songs, jokes and stories he didn't understand. Finally, he magpied the speeches that went with the selling of the Universal Specific. Barber declared him a swift learner. Well before his boy thought it possible, the barbersurgeon declared that he was ready.\n\nThey left on a foggy April morning and made their way through the Blackdown Hills for two days in a light spring rain. On the third afternoon, under a sky turned clear and new, they reached the village of Bridgeton. Barber halted the horse by the bridge that gave the place its name and appraised him. \"Are you all set, then?\"\n\nHe wasn't certain, but nodded.\n\n\"There's a good chap. It's not much of a town. Whoremongers and trulls, a busy public house, and a good many customers who come from far and wide to get at both. So anything's allowed, eh?\"\n\nRob had no idea what that meant, but he nodded again. Incitatus responded to the reins and pulled them across the bridge at a promenade trot. At first it was as it had been before. The horse pranced and Rob pounded the drum as they paraded the main street. He set up the bank on the village square and carried three oak-splint baskets of the Specific onto it.\n\nBut this time, when the entertainment began he bounded onto the bank with Barber.\n\n\"Good day and good morrow,\" Barber said. They both began to juggle two balls. \"We're comforted to be in Bridgeton.\"\n\nSimultaneously each took a third ball from his pocket, then a fourth and a fifth. Rob's were red, Barber's blue; they flowed up from their hands in the center and cascaded down on the outside like water in two fountains. Their hands moving only inches, they made the wooden balls dance.\n\nEventually they turned and faced each other on opposite sides of the bank as they juggled. Without missing a beat, Rob sent a ball to Barber and caught a blue one that had been thrown to him. First he sent every third ball to Barber and received every third ball in return. Then every other ball, a steady two-way stream of red and blue missiles. After an almost imperceptible nod from Barber, every time a ball reached Rob's right hand he sent it hard and fast, retrieving as deftly as he threw.\n\nThe applause was the loudest and best sound he'd ever heard.\n\nFollowing the finish he took ten of the twelve balls and left the stage, seeking refuge behind the curtain in the wagon. He was gulping for air, his heart pounding. He could hear Barber, who was not perceptively short of breath, speaking of the joys of juggling as he popped two balls. \"Do you know what you have when you hold objects such as these in your hand, Mistress?\"\n\n\"What is that, sirrah?\" asked a trull.\n\n\"His complete and perfect attention,\" Barber said.\n\nThe reveling crowd hooted and yelped.\n\nIn the wagon Rob prepared the trappings for several pieces of magic and then rejoined Barber, who consequently caused an empty basket to blossom with paper roses, changed a somber kerchief into an array of colored flags, snatched coins out of thin air, and made first a flagon of ale and then a hen's egg to disappear.\n\nRob sang \"The Rich Widow's Wooing\" to delighted catcalls, and then Barber quickly sold out his Universal Specific, emptying the three baskets and sending Rob into the wagon for more. Thereupon a long line of patients waited to be treated for numerous ailments, for although the loose crowd was quick to jape and laugh, Rob noted they were extremely serious when it came to seeking cures for the illnesses of their bodies.\n\nAs soon as the doctoring was done, they made their way out of Bridgeton, for Barber said it was a sink where throats would be slit after dark. The master was obviously satisfied with their receipts, and Rob settled into sleep that night cherishing the knowledge that he had secured a place in the world.\n\nNext day in Yeoville, to his mortification he dropped three balls during the performance, but Barber was comforting. \"It's bound to happen on occasion in the beginning,\" he said. \"It will occur less and less frequently and finally not at all.\"\n\nLater that week in Taunton, a town of hardworking tradesmen, and in Bridgwater, where there were conservative farmers, they presented their entertainment without bawdiness. Glastonbury was their next stop, a place of pious folk who had built their homes around the large and beautiful Church of St. Michael.\n\n\"We must be discreet,\" Barber said. \"Glastonbury is controlled by priests, and priests look with loathing upon all manner of medical practice, for they believe God has given them sacred charge of men's bodies as well as their souls.\"\n\nThey arrived the morning after Whit Sunday, the day that marked the end of the joyous Easter season and commemorated the descent of the Holy Ghost upon the apostles, strengthening them after their nine days of prayer following the ascension of Jesus into Heaven.\n\nRob noted no fewer than five unjoyous priests among the spectators.\n\nHe and Barber juggled red balls, which Barber, in solemn tones, likened to the tongues of fire representing the Holy Spirit in Acts 2:3. The spectators were delighted with the juggling and applauded lustily, but they fell silent as Rob sang \"All Glory, Laud and Honor.\" He had always liked to sing; his voice cracked at the part about the children making \"sweet hosannas ring\" and it quavered on the very high notes, but he did fine once his legs stopped jiggling.\n\nBarber brought out holy relics in a battered ash-wood chest. \"Pay attention, dear friends,\" he said in what he later told Rob was his monk's voice. He showed them earth and sand carried to England from Mounts Sinai and Olivet; held up a sliver of the Holy Rood and a piece of the beam that had supported the holy manger; displayed water from the Jordan, a clod from Gethsemane, and bits of bone belonging to saints without number.\n\nThen Rob replaced him on the bank and stood alone. Lifting his eyes heavenward, as Barber had instructed, he sang another hymn.\n\n\u2003\"Creator of the Stars of Night,\n\n\u2003Thy people's everlasting light,\n\n\u2003Jesu, Redeemer, save us all,\n\n\u2003And hear thy servants when they call.\n\n\u2003Thou, grieving that the ancient curse\n\n\u2003Should doom to death a universe,\n\n\u2003Hast found the medicine, full of grace,\n\n\u2003To save and heal a ruined race.\"\n\nThe spectators were moved. While they were still sighing, Barber was holding out a flask of the Universal Specific. \"Friends,\" he said. \"Just as the Lord has found the medicine for your spirit, I have found the medicine for your body.\"\n\nHe told them the story about Vitalia the Herb of Life, which obviously worked equally well with the pious as with sinners, for they bought the Specific greedily and then lined up by the barbersurgeon's screen for consultations and treatment. The watching priests glowered but had been sweetened with gifts and soothed by the religious display, and only one old cleric made objection. \"You shall do no bleeding,\" he commanded sternly. \"For Archbishop Theodore has written that it is dangerous to bleed at a time when the light of the moon and the pull of the tides is increasing.\" Barber was quick to agree.\n\nThey camped in jubilation that afternoon. Barber boiled bite-sized pieces of beef in wine until tender and added onion, an old turnip that was wrinkled but sound, and new peas and beans, flavoring all with thyme and a bit of mint. There was still a wedge of an exceptional light-colored cheese bought in Bridgwater, and afterward he sat by the fire and with obvious gratification counted the contents of his cash box.\n\nIt was perhaps the moment to broach a subject that lay heavy and constant on Rob's spirit.\n\n\"Barber,\" he said.\n\n\"Hmmm?\"\n\n\"Barber, when shall we go to London?\"\n\nIntent on stacking the coins, Barber waved his hand, not wishing to lose count. \"By and by,\" he murmured. \"In the by-and-by.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE GIFT",
                "text": "Rob mishandled four balls in Kingswood. He dropped another ball in Mangotsfield but that was the last time, and after they offered diversion and treatment to the villagers of Redditch in mid-June he no longer spent hours every day practicing his juggling, for the frequent entertainments kept his fingers supple and his sense of rhythm alive. He quickly became an assured juggler. He suspected that eventually he could have learned to manage six balls but Barber would have none of that, preferring that he use his time assisting in the barbersurgeon's trade.\n\nThey traveled north like migrating birds, but instead of flying they wended their way slowly through the mountains between England and Wales. They were in the town of Abergavenny, a row of rickety houses leaning against the side of a sullen shale ridge, when for the first time he aided Barber in the examinations and treatment.\n\nRob J. was afraid. He had more fear in him than the wooden balls had inspired.\n\nThe reasons people ailed were such a mystery. It seemed impossible for a mere man to understand and offer helpful miracles. He knew Barber was smarter than any man he had ever known, to be able to do that.\n\nThe people lined up in front of the screen, and he fetched them one by one as soon as Barber had finished with the preceding person, and led them to the partial privacy afforded by the flimsy barrier. The first man Rob took back to his master was large and stooped, with traces of black on his neck and ingrained in his knuckles and under his fingernails.\n\n\"You could do with a wash,\" Barber suggested, not unkindly.\n\n\"It's the coal, you see,\" the man said. \"The dust sticks when it is dug.\"\n\n\"You dig coal?\" Barber said. \"I've heard it's poison to burn. I've seen at first hand that it produces a stink and heavy smoke that doesn't readily rise through the smoke hole of a house. Is there a living in such poor stuff?\"\n\n\"It is there, sir, and we are poor. But lately there are aches and swellings in my joints, and it pains me to dig.\"\n\nBarber touched the grimy wrists and fingers, poked a pudgy fingertip into the swelling at the man's elbow. \"It comes from inhaling humors from the earth. You must sit in the sun when you can. Bathe frequently in warm water but not hot, for hot baths lead to a weakness of the heart and limbs. Rub your swollen and painful joints with my Universal Specific, which you may take internally with profit as well.\"\n\nHe charged the man sixpence for three small flagons and another tuppence for the consultation, and didn't look at Rob.\n\nA stout, tight-lipped woman came with her thirteen-year-old daughter who was betrothed to wed. \"Her monthly blood is stopped up within her body and never flows,\" the mother said.\n\nBarber asked if she had ever had a blood period. \"For more than a year they came every month,\" the mother said. \"But for five months now, nothing.\"\n\n\"Have you lain with a man?\" Barber asked the girl gently.\n\n\"No,\" the mother said.\n\nBarber looked at the girl. She was slim and comely, with long blond hair and watchful eyes. \"Do you vomit?\"\n\n\"No,\" she whispered.\n\nHe studied her, and then his hand went out and tightened her gown. He took her mother's palm and pressed it against the small round belly.\n\n\"No,\" the girl said again. She shook her head. Her cheeks became bright and she began to weep.\n\nHer mother's hand left her stomach and smashed across her face. The woman led her daughter away without paying, but Barber let them go.\n\nIn rapid succession he treated a man whose leg had been ill-set eight years before and who dragged his left foot when he walked; a woman plagued by headache; a man with scabies of the scalp; and a stupid, smiling girl with a terrible sore on her breast who told them she had been praying to God for a barbersurgeon to come through their town.\n\nHe sold the Universal Specific to everyone except the man with scabies, who didn't buy though it was strongly recommended to him; perhaps he didn't have the tuppence.\n\nThey moved into the softer hills of the West Midlands. Outside the village of Hereford, Incitatus had to wait by the River Wye while sheep poured through the ford, a seemingly endless stream of bleating fleece that thoroughly intimidated Rob. He would have liked to be more at ease with animals, but though his Mam had come from a farm, he was a city boy. Tatus was the only horse he had handled. A distant neighbor on Carpenter's Street had kept a milch cow, but none of the Coles had spent much time near sheep.\n\nHereford was a prosperous community. Each farm they passed had a hog wallow and green rolling meadows flecked with sheep and cattle. The stone houses and barns were large and solid and the people generally more cheerful than the poverty-burdened Welsh hillsmen only a few days' distance. On the village green their entertainment drew a good crowd and sales were brisk.\n\nBarber's first patient behind the screen was about Rob's own age, although much smaller in build. \"Fell from the roof not six days past, and look at him,\" said the boy's father, a cooper. A splintered barrel stave on the ground had pierced the palm of his left hand and now the flesh was angry as a puffed-up blowfish.\n\nBarber showed Rob how to grasp the boy's hands and the father how to grip his legs and then he took a short, sharp knife from his kit.\n\n\"Hold him fast,\" he said.\n\nRob could feel the hands trembling. The boy screamed as his flesh parted under the blade. A greenish-yellow pus spurted, followed by a stink and a red welling.\n\nBarber swabbed the wound free of corruption and proceeded to probe into it with delicate efficiency, using an iron tweezers to pull out tiny slivers. \"It's bits from the piece that damaged him, you see?\" he said to the parent, showing him.\n\nThe boy groaned. Rob felt queasy but held on while Barber proceeded with slow care. \"We must get them all,\" he said, \"for they contain peccant humors that will mortify the hand again.\"\n\nWhen he was satisfied the wound was free of wood, he poured some Specific into it and bound it in a cloth, then drank the rest of the flask himself. The sobbing patient slipped away, happy to leave them while his father paid.\n\nWaiting next was a bent old man with a hollow cough. Rob ushered him behind the screen.\n\n\"Morning phlegm. Oh, a great deal, sir!\" He gasped when he talked.\n\nBarber ran his hand thoughtfully over the skinny chest. \"Well. I shall cup you.\" He looked at Rob. \"Help him to disrobe partially, so his chest may be cupped.\"\n\nRob removed the old man's shirtwaist gingerly, for he appeared fragile. To turn the patient back toward the barbersurgeon, he took both of the man's hands.\n\nIt was like grasping a pair of quivering birds. The sticklike fingers sat in his own, and from them he received a message.\n\nGlancing at them, Barber saw the boy stiffen. \"Come,\" he said impatiently. \"We mustn't take all day.\" Rob didn't seem to hear.\n\nTwice before Rob had felt this strange and unwelcome awareness slip into his very being from someone else's body. Now, as on each of the previous occasions, he was overwhelmed by an absolute terror, and he dropped the patient's hands and fled.\n\nBarber searched, cursing, until he found his apprentice cowering behind a tree.\n\n\"I want the meaning. And now!\"\n\n\"He \u2026 The old man is going to die.\"\n\nBarber stared. \"What kind of poor shit is this?\"\n\nHis apprentice had begun to cry.\n\n\"Stop that,\" Barber said. \"How do you know?\"\n\nRob tried to speak but couldn't. Barber slapped his face and he gasped. When he began to talk the words poured, for they had been roiling over and around in his mind since before they had left London.\n\nHe had felt his mother's impending death and it had happened, he explained. And then he had known his father was going, and his father had died.\n\n\"Oh, dear Jesus,\" Barber said in disgust.\n\nBut he listened carefully, watching Rob. \"You tell me you actually felt death in that old man?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He had no expectation of being believed.\n\n\"When?\"\n\nHe shrugged.\n\n\"Soon?\"\n\nHe nodded. He could only, hopelessly, tell the truth.\n\nHe saw in Barber's eyes that the man recognized this.\n\nBarber hesitated and then made up his mind. \"While I rid us of the people, pack the cart,\" he said.\n\nThey left the village slowly but once out of sight drove as fast as they dared over the rough track. Incitatus pounded through the river ford with a great noisy splashing and, just beyond, scattered sheep, whose frightened bleating almost drowned out the roar of the outraged shepherd.\n\nFor the first time Rob saw Barber use the whip on the horse. \"Why are we running?\" he called, holding on.\n\n\"Do you know what they do to witches?\" Barber had to shout above the drumming of the hooves and the clattering of the things inside the wagon.\n\nRob shook his head.\n\n\"They hang them from a tree or from a cross. Sometimes they submerge suspects in your fucking Thames and if they drown they are declared innocent. If the old man dies, they'll say it is because we are witches,\" he bawled, bringing the whip down again and again on the back of the terrified horse.\n\nThey didn't stop to eat or relieve themselves. By the time they allowed Tatus to slow, Hereford was far behind, but they pushed the poor beast until daylight was gone. Exhausted, they made their camp and ate a poor meal in silence.\n\n\"Tell it again,\" Barber said at last. \"Leaving nothing out.\"\n\nHe listened intently, interrupting only once to ask Rob to speak louder. When he had gotten the boy's story he nodded. \"In my own apprenticeship, I witnessed my barbersurgeon master wrongfully slain for a witch,\" he said.\n\nRob stared at him, too frightened to ask questions.\n\n\"Several times during my lifetime, patients have died while I treated them. Once in Durham an old woman passed away and I was certain a priestly court would order trial by immersion or by the holding of a white-hot iron bar. I was allowed to leave only after the most suspicious interrogation, fasting, and almsgiving. Another time in Eddisbury a man died while behind my screen. He was young and apparently had been in health. Troublemakers would have had fertile ground but I was fortunate and no one barred my way when I took to the road.\"\n\nRob found his voice. \"Do you think I've been \u2026 touched by the Devil?\" It was a question that had plagued him all through the day.\n\nBarber snorted. \"If you believe so, you're foolish and a twit. And I know you to be neither.\" He went to the wagon and filled his horn with metheglin, drinking it all before speaking again.\n\n\"Mothers and fathers die. And old people die. That's the nature of it. You're certain you felt something?\"\n\n\"Yes, Barber.\"\n\n\"Can't be mistook or fancying, a young chap like you?\"\n\nRob shook his head stubbornly.\n\n\"And I say it was all a notion,\" Barber said. \"So we've had enough of fleeing and talking and must gain our rest.\"\n\nThey made their beds on either side of the fire. But they lay for hours without sleeping. Barber tossed and turned and presently got up and opened another flask of liquor. He brought it around to Rob's side of the fire and squatted on his heels.\n\n\"Supposing,\" he said, and took a drink. \"Just suppose everyone else in the world had been born without eyes. And you were born with eyes?\"\n\n\"Then I would see what no one else could see.\"\n\nBarber drank and nodded. \"Yes. Or imagine that we had no ears and you had ears? Or suppose we didn't have some other sense? And somehow, from God or nature or what you will, you've been given a \u2026 special gift. Just suppose that you can tell when someone is going to die?\"\n\nRob was silent, terribly frightened again.\n\n\"It's bullshit, we both comprehend that,\" Barber said. \"It was all your fancy, we agree. But just supposing\u2026\" He sucked thoughtfully from the flask, his Adam's apple working, the dying firelight glinting warmly in his hopeful eyes as he regarded Rob J. \"It would be a sin not to exercise such a gift,\" he said.\n\nIn Chipping Norton they bought metheglin and mixed another batch of Specific, replenishing the lucrative supply.\n\n\"When I die and stand in line before the gate,\" Barber said, \"St. Peter shall ask, 'How did you earn your bread?' 'I was a farmer,' one man may say, or 'I fashioned boots from skins.' But I shall answer, 'Fumum vendidi,'\" the former monk said gaily, and Rob's Latin was equal to the task: I sold smoke.\n\nYet the fat man was far more than a peddler of questionable physick. When he treated behind the screen he was skillful and often tender. What Barber knew to do, he knew and did perfectly, and he taught Rob a sure touch and gentle hand.\n\nIn Buckingham, Barber showed him how to pull teeth, having the good fortune to come upon a drover with a rotting mouth. The patient was as fat as Barber, a pop-eyed groaner and womanly screamer. Midway, he changed his mind. \"Stop, stop, stop! Set me free!\" he lisped bloodily, but there was no question that the teeth needed pulling, and they persevered; it was an excellent lesson.\n\nIn Clavering, Barber rented the blacksmith's shop for a day and Rob learned how to fashion the lancing irons and points. It was a task he would have to repeat in half a dozen smithies all over England during the next several years before he satisfied his master he could do it correctly. Most of his work in Clavering was rejected, but Barber grudgingly allowed him to keep a small two-edged lancet as the first instrument in his own kit of surgical tools, an important beginning. As they made their way out of the Midlands and into the Fens, Barber taught him which veins were opened for bleeding, bringing him unpleasant memories of his father's last days.\n\nHis father sometimes crept into his mind, for his own voice was beginning to sound like his father's; its timbre deepened, and he was growing body hair. The patches weren't as thick as they would become, he knew, for through helping Barber he was quite familiar with the unclothed male. Women remained more of a mystery, since Barber employed an enigmatically smiling, voluptuous doll they called Thelma, on whose naked plaster form females modestly indicated the area of their own affliction, making examination unnecessary. It still made Rob uneasy to intrude into the privacy of strangers, but he became accustomed to casual inquiry about bodily function:\n\n\"When were you last at stool, master?\"\n\n\"Mistress, when shall you have your monthly flow?\"\n\nAt Barber's suggestion Rob took each patient's hands into his own when the patient came behind the screen.\n\n\"What do you feel when you grasp their fingers?\" Barber asked him one day in Tisbury as he dismantled the bank.\n\n\"Sometimes I don't feel anything.\"\n\nBarber nodded. He took one of the sections from Rob and stowed it in the wagon and came back, frowning. \"But sometimes \u2026 there is something?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"Well, what?\" Barber said testily. \"What is it you feel, boy?\"\n\nBut he couldn't define it or describe it in words. It was an intuition about the person's vitality, like peering into dark wells and sensing how much life each contained.\n\nBarber took Rob's silence as proof that the feeling was imagined. \"I think we'll return to Hereford and see whether the old man has not continued to exist in health,\" he said slyly.\n\nHe was annoyed when Rob agreed. \"We can't go back, you dolt!\" he said. \"For if he's indeed dead, shouldn't we be putting our heads into the noose?\"\n\nHe continued to scoff at \"the gift,\" often and loud.\n\nYet when Rob began neglecting to take the patients' hands, he ordered him to resume. \"Why not? Am I not a cautious man of business? And does it cost us to indulge this fancy?\"\n\nIn Peterborough, only a few miles and a lifetime away from the abbey from which he had fled as a boy, Barber sat alone in the public house throughout a long and showery August evening, drinking slowly and steadily.\n\nBy midnight, his apprentice came looking for him. Rob met him reeling along the way and supported him back to their fire. \"Please,\" Barber whispered fearfully.\n\nHe was amazed to see the drunken man lift both hands and hold them out.\n\n\"Ah, in the name of Christ, please,\" Barber said again. Finally Rob understood. He took Barber's hands and looked into his eyes.\n\nIn a moment Rob nodded.\n\nBarber sank into his bed. He belched and turned on his side, then fell into untroubled sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE NORTH",
                "text": "That year Barber didn't make it to Exmouth in time for winter, for they had started out late and the falling leaves of autumn found them in the village of Gate Fulford, in the York Wolds. The moors were lavish with plants that made the cool air exciting with their spice. Rob and Barber followed the North Star, stopping at villages along the way to very good business, and drove the wagon through the endless carpet of purple heather until they reached the town of Carlisle.\n\n\"This is as far north as I ever travel,\" Barber told him. \"A few hours from here Northumbria ends and the frontier begins. Beyond is Scotland, which everyone knows to be a land of sheep-buggers, and perilous to honest Englishmen.\"\n\nFor a week they camped in Carlisle and went every evening to the tavern, where judiciously bought drinks soon resulted in Barber's learning about available shelter. He rented a house on the moor with three small rooms. It was not unlike the little house he owned on the southern coast but lacked a fireplace and a stone chimney, to his displeasure. They spread their beds on either side of the hearth as if it were a campfire, and they found a nearby stable willing to board Incitatus. Once again Barber bought winter's provision lavishly, in the easy manner with money that never failed to give Rob a wondering sense of well-being.\n\nBarber laid in beef and pork. He had thought to buy a haunch of venison, but three market hunters had been hanged in Carlisle during the summer for killing the king's deer, which were reserved for nobles' sport. So they bought fifteen fat hens instead, and a sack of feed.\n\n\"The chickens are your domain,\" Barber told Rob. \"They are yours to feed, to slaughter upon my request, to dress and pluck and ready for my pot.\"\n\nHe thought the hens were impressive creatures, large and buff-colored, with unfeathered shanks and red combs, wattles, and earlobes. They made no objection when he robbed their nests of four or five white eggs every morning. \"They think you're a big bloody rooster,\" Barber said.\n\n\"Why don't we buy them a chanticleer?\"\n\nBarber, who liked sleeping late on cold winter mornings and therefore hated crowing, merely grunted.\n\nRob had brown hairs on his face, not exactly a beard. Barber said only Danes shaved but he knew it wasn't true, for his father had kept his face hairless. In Barber's surgical kit was a razor and the fat man nodded grumpily when Rob asked to use it. He nicked his face, but shaving made him feel older.\n\nThe first time Barber ordered him to kill a chicken made him feel very young. Each bird stared at him out of little black beads that told him they might have grown to be friends. Finally he forced his strong fingers to clench around the nearest warm neck and, shuddering, closed his eyes. A strong, convulsive twist and it was done. But the bird punished him in death, for it didn't easily relinquish its feathers. Plucking took hours, and the grizzled corpse was viewed with disdain when he handed it to Barber.\n\nNext time a chicken was called for, Barber showed him genuine magic. He held the hen's beak open and slid a thin knife through the roof of the mouth and into the brain. The hen relaxed at once into death, releasing the feathers; they came away in great clumps at the slightest pull.\n\n\"Here is the lesson,\" Barber said. \"It is just as easy to bring death to man, and I've done so. It's harder to keep hold of life, harder still to maintain a grasp on health. Those are the tasks to which we must keep our minds.\"\n\nThe late fall weather was perfect for the picking of herbs, and they scoured the woods and moors. Barber especially wanted purslane; steeped in the Specific, it produced an agent that would cause fevers to break and dissipate. To his disappointment, they found none. Some things were more easily gathered, such as red rose petals for poultices, and thyme and acorns to be powdered and mixed with fat and spread on neck pustules. Others required hard work, like the digging of yew root that would help a pregnant woman to hold back her fetus. They collected lemon grass and dill for urinary problems, marshy sweet flag to fight deterioration of memory because of moist and cold humors, juniper berries to be boiled for opening blocked nasal passages, lupine for hot packs to draw abscesses, and myrtle and mallow to soothe itchy rashes.\n\n\"You've grown faster than these weeds,\" Barber observed wryly, and it was true; already he stood almost as tall as Barber and he had long since outstripped the clothing Editha Lipton had made for him in Exmouth. But when Barber took him to a Carlisle tailor and ordered \"new winter clothes that will fit for a while,\" the tailor shook his head.\n\n\"The boy still grows, does he not? Fifteen, sixteen years? Such a lad outgrows clothing quickly.\"\n\n\"Sixteen! He's not yet eleven!\"\n\nThe man looked at Rob with respect-tinged amusement. \"He'll be a large man! And he's certain to make my raiment appear to shrink. May I suggest that we make over an old garment?\"\n\nSo another suit of Barber's, this one of mostly-good gray stuff, was recut and sewn. To their general hilarity it was far too wide when first Rob put it on, yet much too short in the arms and the legs. The tailor took some of the material left over from the width and extended the pants and the sleeves, hiding the joined seams with rakish bands of blue cloth. Rob had gone without shoes most of the summer but soon the snows were due, and he was grateful when Barber bought him boots made of cowhide.\n\nHe walked in them across Carlisle's square to the Church of St. Mark and sounded the knocker on its great wooden doors, which were opened at length by an elderly curate with rheumy eyes.\n\n\"If you please, Father, I seek a priest name of Ranald Lovell.\"\n\nThe curate blinked. \"I knew a priest so named, served the Mass under Lyfing, in the time when Lyfing was Bishop of Wells. He is dead these ten years come Easter.\"\n\nRob shook his head. \"It's not the same priest. I saw Father Ranald Lovell with my own eyes but several years ago.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the man I knew was Hugh Lovell and not Ranald.\"\n\n\"Ranald Lovell was transferred from London to a church in the north. He has my brother, William Stewart Cole. Three years younger than I.\"\n\n\"Your brother by now may have a different name in Christ, my son. Priests sometimes bring their boys to an abbey, to become acolytes. You must ask others everywhere. For Holy Mother Church is a great and boundless sea and I am but a single tiny fish.\" The old priest nodded kindly and Rob helped him to close the doors.\n\nA skin of crystals dulled the surface of the small pond behind the town tavern. Barber pointed out a pair of ice gliders tied to a rafter of their little house. \"Pity they aren't larger. They won't fit, for you have an uncommonly great foot.\"\n\nThe ice thickened daily, until one morning it gave back a solid thunk when he walked out to the middle and stamped. Rob took down the too-small gliders. They were carved from stag antler and were almost identical to a pair his father had made for him when he was six years old. He had quickly outgrown those but had used them for three winters anyway, and now he took these to the pond and tied them onto his feet. At first he used them with pleasure, but their edges were nicked and dull and their size and condition did him in during his first attempt to turn. His arms flailing, he fell heavily and slid a good distance.\n\nHe became aware of someone's amusement.\n\nThe girl was perhaps fifteen years old. She was laughing with great enjoyment.\n\n\"Can you do better?\" he said hotly, at the same time acknowledging to himself that she was a pretty dolly, too thin and top-heavy but with black hair like Editha's.\n\n\"I?\" she said. \"Why, I cannot, and would never have the courage.\"\n\nAt once his temper disappeared. \"They were meant more for your feet than mine,\" he said. He stripped them off and carried them to where she stood on the bank. \"It's not at all difficult. Let me show you,\" he said.\n\nHe quickly overcame her objections and soon was fastening the runners to her feet. She couldn't stand on the unaccustomed slickness of the ice and clutched at him, alarm widening her brown eyes and causing her thin nostrils to flare. \"Don't fear, I have you,\" he said. He supported her weight and propelled her along the ice from behind, conscious of her warm haunches.\n\nNow she was laughing and squealing as he pushed her around and around the pond. She was Garwine Talbott, she said. Her father, Aelfric Talbott, had a farm outside the town. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Rob J.\"\n\nShe chattered, revealing a store of information about him, for it was a small town; she already knew when he and Barber had come to Carlisle, their profession, the provision they had bought, and whose house they had taken.\n\nShe soon liked being on the ice. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure and the cold turned her cheeks ruddy. Her hair flew back, revealing a small pink earlobe. She had a thin upper lip but her lower lip was so ripe it appeared almost swollen. There was a faded bruise high on her cheek. When she smiled, he saw that one of her lower teeth was crooked. \"You examine people, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\"\n\n\"Women as well?\"\n\n\"We have a doll. Women point out areas of their ailment.\"\n\n\"What a pity,\" she said, \"to use a doll.\" He was dazzled by her sidelong glance. \"Does she have a fine appearance?\"\n\nNot so fine as yours, he wished to say but lacked the courage. He shrugged. \"She is called Thelma.\"\n\n\"Thelma!\" She had a breathless, ragged laugh that made him grin. \"Eh,\" she cried, glancing up to see where the sun stood. \"I must get back there for late milking,\" and her soft fullness leaned into his arm.\n\nHe knelt before her on the bank and removed the gliders. \"They are not mine. They were in the house,\" he said. \"But you may keep them for a while and use them.\"\n\nShe shook her head quickly. \"If I bring them home he would near kill me, wanting to learn what things I did to get them.\"\n\nHe felt a rush of blood to his face. To escape his embarrassment he picked up three pine cones and began juggling for her.\n\nShe laughed and clapped her hands, and then in a breathless rush of words told him how to find her father's farm. Leaving, she hesitated and turned back for a moment.\n\n\"Thursday mornings,\" she said. \"He doesn't encourage visitors, but Thursday mornings he brings cheeses to the market.\"\n\nWhen Thursday came he didn't seek out the farm of Aelfric Talbott. Instead he loitered fearfully in his bed, afraid not of Garwine or her father but of things that were happening within him that he couldn't comprehend, mysteries he had neither the courage nor the wisdom to confront.\n\nHe had dreamed of Garwine Talbott. In the dream they had lain in a hayloft, perhaps in her father's barn. It was the kind of dream he had had several times about Editha, and he tried to wipe his bedding without catching Barber's attention.\n\nThe snow began. It dropped like heavy goose down, and Barber lashed hides over the window holes. Inside the house the air became foul, and even by day it was impossible to see anything except right next to the fire.\n\nIt snowed four days, with only brief interruptions. Searching for things to do, Rob sat next to the hearth and fashioned pictures of their various herbs. Using charcoal sticks rescued from the fire, on bark ripped from firewood, he sketched curly mint, the limp blossoms of drying flowers, the veined leaves of the wild bean trefoil. In the afternoon he melted snow over the fire and watered and fed the chickens, being careful to swiftly open and close the door to the hens' room, for despite his cleaning the stink was becoming impressive.\n\nBarber kept to his bed, nipping metheglin. On the second night of the snowfall he floundered his way to the public house and brought back a quiet blond trull named Helen. Rob tried to watch them from his bed on the other side of the hearth, for although he had seen the act many times he was puzzled by certain details which lately had made their way into his thoughts and dreams. But he was unable to penetrate the thick darkness and studied only their heads illuminated in the firelight. Barber was rapt and intent but the woman appeared drawn and melancholy, someone engaged in joyless work.\n\nAfter she had left, Rob picked up a piece of bark and a stick of charcoal. Instead of sketching the plants he tried to shape the features of a woman.\n\nHeading for the pot, Barber stopped to study the sketch and frowned. \"I appear to know that face,\" he said.\n\nA short time later, back in his bed, he lifted his head from the fur. \"Why, it is Helen!\"\n\nRob was very pleased. He tried to make a likeness of the unguent seller named Wat, but Barber could identify it only after he added the small figure of Bartram the bear. \"You must continue your attempts to recreate faces, for I believe it is something that can be useful to us,\" Barber said. But he soon grew tired of watching Rob and went back to drinking until he slept.\n\nOn Tuesday the snow finally stopped falling. Rob wrapped his hands and head in rags and found a wooden shovel. He cleared a path from their door and went to the stables to exercise Incitatus, who was growing fat on no work and a daily ration of hay and sweet grain.\n\nOn Wednesday he helped some boys of the town shovel the snow from the surface of the pond. Barber removed the hides that covered the window holes and let cold sweet air into the house. He celebrated by roasting a joint of lamb, which he served with mint jelly and apple cakes.\n\nThursday morning Rob took down the ice gliders and hung them around his neck by their leather thongs. He went to the stables and put only the bridle and halter on Incitatus, then he mounted the horse and rode out of the town. The air crackled, the sun was bright and the snow pure.\n\nHe transformed himself into a Roman. It was no good pretending to be Caligula astride the original Incitatus because he was aware that Caligula had been crazy and had met an unhappy end. He decided to be Caesar Augustus, and he led the Praetorian Guard down the Via Appia all the way to Brundisium.\n\nHe had no difficulty in finding the Talbott farm. It was exactly where she had said it would be. The house was tilted and mean-looking, with a sagging roof, but the barn was large and fine. The door was open and he could hear someone moving about inside, among the animals.\n\nHe sat on the horse uncertainly, but Incitatus whinnied and he had no choice but to announce himself.\n\n\"Garwine?\" he called.\n\nA man appeared in the doorway of the barn and walked slowly toward him. He was holding a wooden fork laden with manure that steamed in the cold air. He walked very carefully and Rob could see he was drunk. He was a sallow, stooped man with an untrimmed black beard the color of Garwine's hair, who could only be Aelfric Talbott.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said.\n\nRob told him.\n\nThe man swayed. \"Well, Rob J. Cole, you do not have luck. She isn't here. She's run off, the dirty little whore.\"\n\nThe shovel of dung moved slightly and Rob was certain he and the horse were about to be showered with smoking-fresh cow shit.\n\n\"Go away from my holding,\" Talbott said. He was crying.\n\nRob rode Incitatus slowly back toward Carlisle. He wondered where she had gone and if she would survive.\n\nHe was no longer Caesar Augustus leading the Praetorian Guard. He was just a boy trapped in his doubts and fears.\n\nWhen he got back to the house he hung the ice gliders up on the rafter and didn't take them down again."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE JEW OF TETTENHALL",
                "text": "There was nothing left to do but wait for spring. New batches of the Universal Specific had been brewed and bottled. Every herb Barber had sought, except for purslane to fight fevers, had been dried and powdered or steeped in physick. They were tired of practicing juggling, weary of rehearsing magic, and Barber was sick of the north and jaded with drinking and sleeping. \"I am too impatient to linger while winter peters out,\" he said one morning in March, and they abandoned Carlisle too early, making slow progress southward because the roads were still poor.\n\nThey met the springtime in Beverley. The air softened, the sun emerged and so did a crowd of pilgrims who had been visiting the town's great stone church dedicated to St. John the Evangelist. He and Barber threw themselves into the entertainment, and their first large audience of the new season responded with enthusiasm. All went well during the treatments until, ushering the sixth patient behind Barber's privacy screen, Rob took the soft hands of a handsome woman.\n\nHis pulse hammered. \"Come, mistress,\" he said faintly. His skin prickled with dread where their hands were glued together. He turned and met Barber's gaze.\n\nBarber whitened. Almost savagely, he pulled Rob away from listening ears. \"Are you without doubt? You must be certain.\"\n\n\"She will die very soon,\" Rob said.\n\nBarber returned to the woman, who wasn't old and appeared to be in good estate. She made no complaint of her health but had come behind the screen to buy a philter. \"My husband is a man of increasing years. His ardor flags, yet he admires me.\" She spoke calmly, and her refinement and lack of false modesty gave her dignity. She wore traveling clothes sewn of fine stuff. Clearly, she was a woman of wealth.\n\n\"I don't sell philters. That is magic and not medicine, my lady.\"\n\nShe murmured regret. Barber was terrified when she didn't correct his form of address; to be accused of witchcraft in the death of a noblewoman was certain destruction.\n\n\"A draught of liquor often gives the desired effect. Strong, and swallowed hot before retiring.\" Barber would accept no payment. As soon as she was gone, he made his excuses to the patients he hadn't yet seen. Rob was already packing the wagon.\n\nAnd so they fled again.\n\nThis time they barely spoke throughout the flight. When they were far enough away and safely camped for the night, Barber broke the silence.\n\n\"When someone dies in an instant, a vacantness creeps into the eyes,\" he said quietly. \"The face loses expression, or sometimes purples. A corner of the mouth sags, an eyelid droops, limbs turn to stone.\" He sighed. \"It isn't unmerciful.\"\n\nRob didn't answer.\n\nThey made their beds and tried to sleep. Barber rose and drank for a while but this time didn't give the apprentice his hands to hold.\n\nRob knew in his heart that he wasn't a witch. Yet there could be only one other explanation, and he didn't understand it. He lay and prayed. Please. Will you not remove this filthy gift from me and return it whence it came? Furious and dispirited, he couldn't refrain from scolding, for meekness hadn't gained him much. It is such a thing as might be inspired by Satan and I want no further part of it, he told God.\n\nIt seemed his prayer was granted. That spring there were no more incidents. The weather held and then improved, with sunny days that were warmer and drier than usual, and good for business. \"Fine weather on St. Swithin's,\" Barber said one morning in triumph. \"Anyone will tell you it means we'll have fine weather forty more days.\" Gradually their fears subsided and their spirits rose.\n\nHis master remembered his birth day! On the third morning after St. Swithin's Day, Barber made him a handsome gift of three goose quills, ink powder, and a pumice stone. \"Now you may scribble faces with something other than a charcoal stick,\" he said.\n\nRob had no money to buy Barber a natal gift in return. But late one afternoon his eyes recognized a plant as they passed through a field. Next morning he stole out of their camp and walked half an hour to the field, where he picked a quantity of the greens. On Barber's birth day Rob presented him with purslane, the fever herb, which he received with obvious pleasure.\n\nIt showed in their entertainment that they got on. They anticipated each other, and their performance took on gloss and a keen edge, bringing splendid applause. Rob had daydreams in which he saw his brothers and sister among the spectators; he imagined the pride and amazement of Anne Mary and Samuel Edward when they saw their elder brother perform magic and pop five balls.\n\nThey will have grown, he told himself. Would Anne Mary recall him? Was Samuel Edward still wild? By now Jonathan Carter must be walking and talking, a proper little man.\n\nIt was impossible for an apprentice to advise his master where to direct their horse, but when they were in Nottingham he found opportunity to consult Barber's map and saw they were near the very heart of the English island. To reach London they would have to continue south but also veer to the east. He memorized the town names and locations, so he could tell if they were traveling where he so desperately wanted to go.\n\nIn Leicester a farmer digging a rock from his field had unearthed a sarcophagus. He had dug around it but it was too heavy for him to raise and its bottom remained gripped by the earth like a boulder.\n\n\"The Duke is sending men and animals to free it and will take it into his castle,\" the yeoman told them proudly.\n\nThere was an inscription in the coarse white-grained marble: DIIS MANIBUS. VIVIO MARCIANO MILITI LEGIONIS SECUNDAE AUGUSTAE. IANUARIA MARINA CONJUNX PIENTISSIMA POSUIT MEMORIAM. \"'To the gods of the underworld,'\" Barber translated. \"'To Vivius Marcianus, a soldier of the Second Legion of Augustus. In the month of January his devoted wife, Marina, established this tomb.'\"\n\nThey looked at one another. \"I wonder what happened to the dolly, Marina, after she buried him, for she was a long way from her home,\" Barber said soberly.\n\nSo are we all, Rob thought.\n\nLeicester was a populous town. Their entertainment was well attended, and when the sale of the physick was finished they found themselves in a flurry of activity. In quick succession he helped Barber to lance a young man's carbuncle, splint a youth's rudely broken finger, and dose a feverish matron with purslane and a colicky child with chamomile. Next he led behind the screen a stocky, balding man with milky eyes.\n\n\"How long have you been blind?\" Barber asked.\n\n\"These two years. It began as a dimness and gradually deepened until now I scarce detect light. I am a clerk but cannot work.\"\n\nBarber shook his head, forgetting the gesture wasn't visible. \"I am able to give back sight no more than I can give back youth.\"\n\nThe clerk allowed himself to be led away. \"It's a hard piece of news,\" he said to Rob. \"Never to see again!\"\n\nA man standing nearby, thin and hawk-faced and with a Roman nose, overheard and peered at them. His hair and beard were white but he was still young, no more than twice Rob's age.\n\nHe stepped forward and put his hand on the patient's arm. \"What is your name?\" He spoke with a French accent; Rob had heard it many times from Normans on the London waterfront.\n\n\"I am Edgar Thorpe,\" the clerk said.\n\n\"I am Benjamin Merlin, physician of nearby Tettenhall. May I look at your eyes, Edgar Thorpe?\"\n\nThe clerk nodded and stood, blinking. The man lifted his eyelids with his thumbs and studied the white opacity.\n\n\"I can couch your eyes and cut away the clouded lens,\" he said finally. \"I've done it before, but you must be strong enough to endure the pain.\"\n\n\"I care nothing for pain,\" the clerk whispered.\n\n\"Then you must have someone deliver you to my house in Tettenhall, early in the morning on Tuesday next,\" the man said, and turned away.\n\nRob stood as if stricken. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone might attempt something that was beyond Barber.\n\n\"Master physician!\" He ran after the man. \"Where have you learned to do this \u2026 couching of the eyes?\"\n\n\"At an academy. A school for physicians.\"\n\n\"Where is this physicians' school?\"\n\nMerlin saw before him a large youth in ill-cut clothing that was too small. His glance took in the garish wagon and the bank on which lay juggling balls and flagons of physick whose quality he could readily guess.\n\n\"Half the world away,\" he said gently. He went to a tethered black mare and mounted her, and rode away from the barbersurgeons without looking back.\n\nRob told Barber of Benjamin Merlin later that day, as Incitatus pulled their wagon slowly out of Leicester.\n\nBarber nodded. \"I've heard of him. Physician of Tettenhall.\"\n\n\"Yes. He spoke like a Frenchy.\"\n\n\"He's a Jew of Normandy.\"\n\n\"What's a Jew?\"\n\n\"It's another name for Hebrew, the Bible folk who slew Jesus and were driven from the Holy Land by the Romans.\"\n\n\"He spoke of a school for physicians.\"\n\n\"Sometimes they hold such a course at the college in Westminster. It's widely said to be a piss-poor course that makes piss-poor physicians. Most of them just clerk for a physician in return for training, as you are apprenticing to learn the barbersurgeon trade.\"\n\n\"I don't think he meant Westminster. He said the school was far away.\"\n\nBarber shrugged. \"Perhaps it's in Normandy or Brittany. Jews are thick as thick in France, and some have made their way here, including physicians.\"\n\n\"I've read of Hebrews in the Bible, but I had never seen one.\"\n\n\"There's another Jew physician in Malmesbury, Isaac Adolescentoli by name. A famous doctor. Perhaps you may glimpse him when we go to Salisbury,\" Barber said.\n\nMalmesbury and Salisbury were in the west of England.\n\n\"We don't go to London, then?\"\n\n\"No.\" Barber had caught something in his apprentice's voice and had long known that the youth pined for his kinsmen. \"We go straight on to Salisbury,\" he said sternly, \"to reap the benefits of the crowds at the Salisbury Fair. From there we'll go to Exmouth, for by then autumn will be on us. You understand?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"But in the spring, when we set out again we'll travel east and go by way of London.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Barber,\" he said in quiet exultation.\n\nHis spirits soared. What did delay matter, when finally he knew they would go to London!\n\nHe daydreamed about the children.\n\nEventually his thoughts returned to other things. \"Do you think he'll give the clerk back his eyes?\"\n\nBarber shrugged. \"I've heard of the operation. Few are able to perform it and I doubt the Jew can. But people who would kill Christ will have no difficulty in lying to a blind man,\" Barber said, and urged the horse to go a bit faster, for it was nearing the dinner hour."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE FITTING",
                "text": "When they reached Exmouth it wasn't like coming home but Rob felt far less lonely than he had two years before, when he had first seen the place. The little house by the sea was familiar and welcoming. Barber ran his hand over the great fireplace, with its cooking devices, and sighed.\n\nThey planned a splendid winter's provision, as usual, but this time would bring no live hens into the house out of deference to the fierce stink chickens imparted.\n\nOnce again Rob had outgrown his clothing. \"Your expanding bones lead me straight into penury,\" Barber complained, but he gave Rob a bolt of brown-dyed woollen stuff he had bought at the Salisbury Fair. \"I'll take the wagon and Tatus and go to Athelny to select cheeses and hams, stopping overnight at the inn there. While I'm away you must clean the spring of leaves and begin to work up the season's firewood. But take the time to bring this woven wool to Editha Lipton and ask her to sew for you. You recall the way to her house?\"\n\nRob took the cloth and thanked him. \"I can find her.\"\n\n\"The new clothing must be expandable,\" Barber said as a grumbled afterthought. \"Tell her to leave generous hems which can be let out.\"\n\nHe carried the fabric wrapped in a sheepskin against the chill rain that appeared to be Exmouth's prevailing weather. He knew the way. Two years before, he had sometimes walked past her house, hoping for a glimpse.\n\nShe answered his knock on her door promptly. He nearly dropped his bundle as she took his hands, drawing him in from the wet.\n\n\"Rob J.! Let me study you. I've never seen such alterations as two years have made!\"\n\nHe wanted to tell her she had scarcely changed at all, and was struck dumb. But she noted his glance and her eyes warmed. \"While I have become old and gray,\" she said lightly.\n\nHe shook his head. Her hair was still black and in every respect she was exactly as he had remembered, especially the fine and luminous eyes.\n\nShe brewed peppermint tea and he found his voice, telling her eagerly and at length where they had been and some of the things he had seen.\n\n\"As for me,\" she said, \"I'm better off than I had been. Times have become easier, and now people are again able to order garments.\"\n\nIt reminded him why he had come. He unwrapped the sheepskin and showed the material, which she pronounced to be sound woollen cloth. \"I hope there is sufficient quantity,\" she said worriedly, \"for you've grown taller than Barber.\" She fetched her measuring strings and marked off the width of his shoulders, the girth of his waist, the length of his arms and legs. \"I'll make tight trousers, a loose kirtle, and an outer cloak, and you'll be grandly clothed.\"\n\nHe nodded and rose, reluctant to leave.\n\n\"Is Barber waiting for you, then?\"\n\nHe explained Barber's errand and she motioned him back. \"It's time to eat. I can't offer what he does, being fresh out of aged royal beef and larks' tongues and rich puddings. But you'll join me in my country woman's supper.\"\n\nShe took a loaf from the cupboard and sent him into the rain to her small springhouse to fetch a piece of cheese and a jug of new cider. In the gathering dark he broke off two willow withes; back in the house, he sliced the cheese and the barley bread and impaled them on the wands to make cheese toast over the fire.\n\nShe smiled at that. \"Ah, that man has left his mark on you for all time.\"\n\nRob grinned back at her. \"It's sensible to heat food on such a night.\"\n\nThey ate and drank and then sat and talked companionably. He added wood to the fire, which had begun to hiss and steam under the rain that came in through the smoke hole.\n\n\"It grows worse outside,\" she said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Folly to walk home in darkness through such a storm.\"\n\nHe'd walked through blacker nights and a thousand worse rains. \"It feels snow,\" he said.\n\n\"Then I have company.\"\n\n\"I'm grateful.\"\n\nHe went numbly out to the spring with the cheese and the cider, not daring to think. When he came back into the house she was in the process of removing her gown. \"Best peel the wet things off,\" she said, and got calmly into the bed in her shift.\n\nHe removed the damp trousers and tunic and spread them on one side of the round hearth. Naked, he hastened to the bed and lay down next to her between the pelts, shivering. \"Cold!\"\n\nShe smiled. \"You've been colder. When I took your place in Barber's bed.\"\n\n\"And I was sent to sleep on the floor, on a bitter night. Yes, that was cold.\"\n\nShe turned to him. \"'Poor motherless child,' I kept thinking. I so wished to let you into the bed.\"\n\n\"You reached down and touched my head.\"\n\nShe touched his head now, smoothing his hair and pressing his face into her softness. \"I have held my own sons in this bed.\" She closed her eyes. Presently she eased the loose top of her shift and gave him a pendulous breast.\n\nThe living flesh in his mouth made him seem to remember a longforgotten infant warmth. He felt a prickling behind his eyelids.\n\nHer hand took his on an exploration. \"This is what you must do.\" She kept her eyes closed.\n\nA stick snapped in the hearth but went unheard. The damp fire was smoking badly.\n\n\"Lightly and with patience. In circles as you're doing,\" she said dreamily.\n\nHe threw back the cover and her shift, despite the cold. He saw with surprise that she had thick legs. His eyes studied what his fingers had learned; her femaleness was like his dream, but now the firelight allowed him the details.\n\n\"Faster.\" She would have said more but he found her lips. It was not a mother's mouth, and he noted she did something interesting with her hungry tongue.\n\nA series of whispers guided him over her and between heavy thighs. There was no need for further instruction; instinctively he bucked and thrust.\n\nGod was a qualified carpenter, he realized, for she was a warm and slippery moving mortise and he was a fitted tenon.\n\nHer eyes snapped open and looked straight up at him. Her lips curled back from her teeth in a strange grin and she uttered a harsh rattling from the back of her throat that would have made him think she lay dying if he hadn't heard such sounds before.\n\nFor years he had watched and heard other people making love\u2014his father and his mother in their small and crowded house, and Barber with a long parade of doxies. He had become convinced that there had to be magic within a cunt for men to want it so. In the dark mystery of her bed, sneezing like a horse from the imperfect fire, he felt all anguish and heaviness pumping from him. Transported by the most frightening kind of joy, he discovered the vast difference between observation and participation.\n\nAwakened next morning by a knocking, Editha padded on bare feet to open the door.\n\n\"He's gone?\" Barber whispered.\n\n\"Long since,\" she said, letting him in. \"He went to sleep a man and awoke a boy. He muttered something about needing to clean out the spring, and hurried away.\"\n\nBarber smiled. \"All went well?\"\n\nShe nodded with surprising shyness, yawning.\n\n\"Good, for he was more than ready. Far better for him to find kindness with you than a cruel introduction from the wrong female.\"\n\nShe watched him take coins from his purse and set them on her table. \"For this time only,\" he cautioned practically. \"If he should visit you again \u2026\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"These days I'm much in the company of a wain-wright. A good man, with a house in the town of Exeter and three sons. I believe he will marry me.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"And did you warn Rob not to follow my pattern?\"\n\n\"I said that when you drink, very often it makes you brutish and less than a man.\"\n\n\"I don't recall telling you to say that.\"\n\n\"I offered it out of my own observation,\" she said. She met his gaze steadily. \"I also used your very words, as you instructed. I said his master had wasted himself on drink and worthless women. I advised him to be particular, and to ignore your example.\"\n\nHe listened gravely.\n\n\"He wouldn't suffer me to criticize you,\" she said drily. \"He said you were a sound man when sober, an excellent master who shows him kindness.\"\n\n\"Did he really,\" Barber said.\n\nShe was familiar with the emotions in a man's face and saw that this one was suffused with pleasure.\n\nHe seated his hat and went out the door. As she put the money away and returned to bed, she could hear him whistling.\n\nMen were sometimes comforters and often brutes but they were always puzzles, Editha told herself as she turned onto her side and went back to sleep."
            },
            {
                "title": "LONDON",
                "text": "Charles Bostock looked more like a dandy than a merchant, his long yellow hair held back with bows and ribbons. He was dressed all in red velvet, obviously costly stuff despite its layer of soil from travel, and wore highpointed shoes of soft leather meant more for display than rough service. But there was a bargainer's cold light in his eyes and he sat a great white horse surrounded by a troop of servants all heavily armed for defense against robbers. He amused himself by chatting with the barbersurgeon whose wagon he allowed to travel with his caravan of horses laden with salt from the brine works at Arundel.\n\n\"I own three warehouses along the river and rent others. We chapmen are making a new London and therefore are useful to the king and to all English people.\"\n\nBarber nodded politely, bored by this braggart but happy for the opportunity to travel to London under protection of his arms, for there was much crime on the road as one drew nearer to the city. \"What do you deal in?\" he asked.\n\n\"Within our island nation I mostly purchase and sell iron objects and salt. But I also buy precious things which are not produced in this land and bring them here from over the sea. Skins, silks, costly gems and gold, curious garments, pigments, wine, oil, ivory and brass, copper and tin, silver, glass, and such like.\"\n\n\"Then you're much traveled in foreign places?\"\n\nThe merchant smiled. \"No, though I plan to be. I've made one trip to Genoa and brought back hangings I thought would be bought by the richer of my fellow merchants. But before merchants could buy them for their manor houses, they were eagerly acquired for the castles of several earls who help our King Canute to govern the land.\n\n\"I'll make at least two voyages more, for King Canute promises that any merchant who sails to foreign parts three times in the interests of English commerce will be made a thane. At present I pay others to travel abroad, while I tend to business in London.\"\n\n\"Please tell us the news of the city,\" Barber said, and Bostock agreed loftily. King Canute had built a large monarch's house hard by the eastern side of the abbey at Westminster, he disclosed. The Danish-born king was enjoying great popularity because he had declared a new law that allowed any free Englishman the right to hunt on his own property\u2014a right that previously had been reserved for the king and his nobles. \"Now any landowner can kill himself a roebuck as if he were monarch of his own land.\"\n\nCanute had succeeded his brother Harold as King of Denmark and ruled that country as well as England, Bostock said. \"It gives him dominance over the North Sea, and he's built a navy of black ships that sweep the ocean of pirates and give England security and her first real peace in a hundred years.\"\n\nRob scarcely heard the conversation. While they stopped for the dinner meal at Alton he put on an entertainment with Barber, paying the rent for their place in the merchant's entourage. Bostock guffawed and wildly applauded their juggling. He presented Rob with tuppence. \"It will come in handy in the metropolis, where fluff is dear as dear,\" he said, winking.\n\nRob thanked him but his thoughts were elsewhere. The closer they drew to London, the more exquisite was his sense of anticipation.\n\nThey camped in a farmer's field in Reading, scarcely a day's journey from the city of his birth. That night he didn't sleep, trying to decide which child to attempt to see first.\n\nNext day he began to see landmarks he remembered\u2014a stand of distinctive oaks, a great rock, a crossroads close by the hill on which he and Barber had first camped\u2014and each made his heart leap and his blood sing. They parted with the caravan in the afternoon at Southwark, where the merchant had business. Southwark had more of everything than when last he had seen it. From the causeway they observed that new warehouses were being raised on the marshy Bank Side near the ancient ferry slip, and in the river foreign ships were crowded at their moorings.\n\nBarber guided Incitatus across the London Bridge in a line of traffic. On the other side was a press of people and animals, so congested that he couldn't turn the wagon onto Thames Street but was forced to proceed straight ahead to drive left at Fenchurch Street, crossing the Walbrook and then bumping over cobbles to Cheapside. Rob could scarcely sit still, for the old neighborhoods of small and weather-silvered wooden houses appeared not to have changed at all.\n\nBarber turned the horse right at Aldersgate and then left onto Newgate Street, and Rob's problem about which of the children to see first was solved, for the bakery was on Newgate Street and so he would visit Anne Mary.\n\nHe remembered the narrow house with the pastry shop on the ground floor and watched anxiously until he spotted it. \"Here, stop!\" he cried to Barber, and slid off the seat before Incitatus could come to a halt.\n\nBut when he ran across the street, he saw that the shop was a ship chandler's. Puzzled, he opened the door and went inside. A red-haired man behind the counter looked up at the sound of the little bell on the door and nodded.\n\n\"What's happened to the bakery?\"\n\nThe proprietor shrugged, behind a pile of neatly coiled rope.\n\n\"Do the Haverhills still live upstairs?\"\n\n\"No, it's where I live. I heard there had formerly been bakers.\" But the shop had been empty when he bought the place two years before, he said; from Durman Monk, who lived right down the street.\n\nRob left Barber waiting in the wagon and sought out Durman Monk, who proved to be lonesome and delighted at a chance to talk, an old man in a house full of cats.\n\n\"So you are brother to little Anne Mary. I recall her, a sweet and polite kitten of a girl. I knew the Haverhills well and thought them excellent neighbors. They have moved to Salisbury,\" the old man said, stroking a tabby with savage eyes.\n\nIt made his stomach tighten to enter the guild house, which was the same as his memory in every detail, down to the chunk of mortar missing from the wattle-and-daub wall above the door. There were a few carpenters sitting about and drinking, but there were no faces Rob knew.\n\n\"Is Bukerel here?\"\n\nA carpenter set down his mug. \"Who? Richard Bukerel?\"\n\n\"Yes, Richard Bukerel.\"\n\n\"Passed on, these two years.\"\n\nRob felt more than a twinge, for Bukerel had shown him kindness. \"Who is now Chief Carpenter?\"\n\n\"Luard,\" the man said laconically. \"You!\" he shouted to an apprentice. \"Fetch Luard, there's a lad.\"\n\nLuard came from the back of the hall, a chunky man with a seamed face, young to be Chief Carpenter. He nodded without surprise when Rob asked him to supply the whereabouts of a member of the Corporation.\n\nIt took a few minutes of turning the parchment pages of a great ledger. \"Here it is,\" he said finally, and shook his head. \"I've an expired listing for a Companion Joiner named Aylwyn, but there's been no entry for several years.\"\n\nNobody in the hall knew Aylwyn or why he was no longer on the rolls.\n\n\"Members move away, often to join a guild elsewhere,\" Luard said.\n\n\"What of Turner Horne?\" Rob asked quietly.\n\n\"The Master Carpenter? He's still there, at the house he's always had.\"\n\nRob sighed in relief; he would at any rate see Samuel.\n\nOne of the men who had been listening rose and drew Luard aside, and they whispered.\n\nLuard cleared his throat. \"Master Cole,\" he said. \"Turner Home is foreman of a crew that's raising a house on Edred's Hithe. May I suggest that you go there directly and speak with him?\"\n\nRob looked from one face to another. \"I don't know Edred's Hithe.\"\n\n\"A new section. Do you know Queen's Hithe, the old Roman port by the river wall?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"Go to Queen's Hithe. Anyone will direct you to Edred's Hithe from there,\" Luard said.\n\nHard by the river wall were the inevitable warehouses, and beyond them the streets of houses in which lived the common people of the port, makers of sails and ships' gear and cordage, watermen, stevedores, lightermen, and boat builders. Queen's Hithe was thickly populated and had its share of taverns. In a foul-smelling eating house Rob received directions to Edred's Hithe. It was a new neighborhood that began just at the edge of the old, and he found Turner Home raising a house on a piece of marshy meadow.\n\nHorne came down from the roof when he was hailed, looking displeased that his work was interrupted. Rob remembered him when he saw his face. The man had run to florid flesh and his hair had turned.\n\n\"It's Samuel's brother, Master Home,\" he said. \"Rob J. Cole.\"\n\n\"So it is. But how you have grown!\"\n\nRob saw pain flood into his decent eyes.\n\n\"He had been with us less than a year,\" Home said simply. \"He was a likely boy. Mistress Home was fairly smitten with him. We had told them again and again, 'Don't play on the wharves.' It is worth a grown man's life to get behind freight wagons when a driver is backing four horses, never mind a nine-year-old's.\"\n\n\"Eight.\"\n\nHome looked inquiringly.\n\n\"If it happened one year after you took him in, he was eight,\" Rob said. His lips were stiff and didn't seem to want to move, making talk difficult. \"Two years younger than I, you see.\"\n\n\"You would know best,\" Horne said gently. \"He's buried in St. Botolph's, on the right rear side of the churchyard. We were told it's the section where your father was laid to rest.\" He paused. \"About your father's tools,\" he said awkwardly. \"One of the saws has snapped but the hammers are quite sound. You may have them back.\"\n\nRob shook his head. \"Keep them, please. To remember Samuel,\" he said.\n\nThey were camped in a meadow near Bishopsgate, close to the wetlands in the northeast corner of the city. Next day he fled the grazing sheep and Barber's sympathy and went in the early morning to stand in their old street and recall the children, until a strange woman came out of Mam's house and threw wash water next to the door.\n\nHe wandered the morning away and found himself in Westminster, where the houses along the river dwindled and then the fields and meadows of the great monastery became a new estate that could only be King's House, surrounded by barracks for troops and outbuildings in which Rob supposed all manner of national business was conducted. He saw the fearsome housecarls, who were spoken of with awe in every public house. They were huge Danish soldiers, handpicked for their size and fighting ability to serve as King Canute's protection. Rob thought there were too many armed guards for a monarch beloved of his people. He turned back toward the city and, without knowing how he reached it, eventually was close to St. Paul's when a hand was laid on his arm.\n\n\"I know you. You're Cole.\"\n\nRob peered at the youth and for a moment was nine years old once more and unable to make up his mind whether to fight or take to his heels, for it was unmistakably Anthony Tite.\n\nBut there was a smile on Tite's face and no henchmen were visible. Besides, Rob observed, he was now three heads taller and a good deal heavier than his old foe; he slapped Pissant-Tony on the shoulder, suddenly as glad to see him as if they had been best friends as small boys.\n\n\"Come into a tavern and talk of yourself,\" Anthony said, but Rob hesitated, for he had only the tuppence given to him by the merchant Bostock for juggling.\n\nAnthony Tite understood. \"I buy the drink. I've had wages for the past year.\"\n\nHe was an Apprentice Carpenter, he told Rob when they had settled into a corner of a nearby public house and were sipping ale. \"In the sawpit,\" he said, and Rob noted his voice was husky and his complexion sallow.\n\nHe knew the work. An apprentice stood in a deep ditch, across the top of which a log was laid. The apprentice pulled one end of a long saw and all day breathed the sawdust that showered him, while a Companion Joiner stood on a lip of the pit and managed the saw from above.\n\n\"Hard times appear to be at an end for carpenters,\" Rob said. \"I visited the guild house and saw few men lolling about.\"\n\nTite nodded. \"London grows. The city already has one hundred thousand souls, one-eighth of all Englishmen. There is building everywhere. It's a good time to apply to prentice the guild, for it's rumored that soon another Hundred will be established. And since you were son to a carpenter\u2026\"\n\nRob shook his head. \"I already have a prenticeship.\" He told of his travels with Barber and was gratified at the envy in Anthony's eyes.\n\nTite spoke of Samuel's death. \"I've lost my mother and two brothers in recent years, all to the pox, and my father to a fever.\"\n\nRob nodded somberly. \"I must find those who are alive. Any London house I pass may contain the last child born to my mother before she died, and given away by Richard Bukerel.\"\n\n\"Perhaps Bukerel's widow would know something.\"\n\nRob sat straighter.\n\n\"She has remarried, to a greengrocer named Buffington. Her new home is not far from here. Just past Ludgate,\" Anthony said.\n\nThe Buffington house was in a setting not unlike the solitude in which the king had built his new residence, but it was hard by the dankness of the Fleet River marshes and was a patched shelter instead of a palace. Behind the shabby house were neat fields of cabbages and lettuces, and surrounding them was an undrained moor. He stood for a moment and watched four sulky children; carrying sacks of stones, they circled the mosquito-loud fields in a silent, deadly patrol against marsh hares.\n\nHe found Mistress Buffington in the house and she greeted him. She was sorting produce into baskets. The animals ate their profits, she explained, grumbling.\n\n\"I remember you and your family,\" she said, examining him as if he were a select vegetable.\n\nBut when he asked, she couldn't recollect her first husband ever mentioning the name or whereabouts of the wet nurse who had taken the infant christened Roger Cole.\n\n\"Did no one write down the name?\"\n\nPerhaps something showed in his eyes, for she bridled. \"I cannot write. Why did you not obtain the name and write it, sirrah? Is he not your brother?\"\n\nHe asked himself how such responsibility could have been expected of a young boy who had been in his circumstances; but he knew she was more right than wrong.\n\nShe smiled at him. \"Let's not be uncivil toward one another, for we have shared hard earlier days as neighbors.\"\n\nTo his surprise she was studying him as a woman looks at a man, her eyes warm. Her body was slimmed by labor and he saw that at one time she had been beautiful. She was no older than Editha.\n\nBut he thought wistfully of Bukerel and remembered the terrible righteousness of her niggardly charity, reminding himself that this woman would have sold him for a slave.\n\nHe gave her a cool stare and muttered his thanks, and then he went away.\n\nAt St. Botolph's Church the sacristan, an old pockmarked man with uncut hair of dirty gray, answered his knock. Rob asked for the priest who had buried his parents.\n\n\"Father Kempton is transferred to Scotland, these ten months now.\"\n\nThe old man took him into the church graveyard. \"Oh, we are become powerfully crowded,\" he said. \"You was not here two years past, for the scourge of pox?\"\n\nRob shook his head.\n\n\"Lucky! So many died, we buried straight through every day. Now we are pressed for space. People flock to London from every place, and a man quickly reaches the two score of years for which he may reasonably pray.\"\n\n\"Yet you are older than forty years,\" Rob observed.\n\n\"I? I'm protected by the churchly nature of my work and have in all ways led a pure and innocent life.\" He flashed a smile and Rob smelled liquor on his breath.\n\nHe waited outside the burial house while the sacristan consulted the Interment Book; the best the fuddled old man could do was lead him through a maze of leaning memorials to a general area in the eastern portion of the churchyard, close by the mossy rear wall, and declare that both his father and his brother Samuel had been buried \"near to here.\" He tried to recall his father's funeral and thus remember the site of the grave, but couldn't.\n\nHis mother was easier to find; the yew tree over her grave had grown in three years but still was familiar.\n\nSuddenly purposeful, he hurried back to their camp. Barber went with him to a rocky section below the bank of the Thames, where they chose a small gray boulder with a surface flattened and smoothed by long years of tidal flow. Incitatus helped them drag it from the river.\n\nHe had planned to chisel the inscriptions himself, but was dissuaded. \"We're here overlong,\" Barber said. \"Let a stonecutter do it quickly and well. I'll provide for his labor, and when you complete apprenticeship and work for wages you'll repay me.\"\n\nThey stayed in London only long enough to see the stone inscribed with all three names and dates and set in place in the churchyard beneath the yew.\n\nBarber clapped a beefy hand on his shoulder and gave him a level glance. \"We are travelers. We're able at length to reach every place where you must inquire after the other three children.\"\n\nHe spread out his map of England and showed Rob that six great roads left London: northeast to Colchester; north to Lincoln and York; northwest to Shrewsbury and Wales; west to Silchester, Winchester, and Salisbury; southeast to Richborough, Dover, and Lyme; and south to Chichester.\n\n\"Here in Ramsey,\" he said, stabbing a finger at central England, \"is where your widow neighbor, Della Hargreaves, went to live with her brother. She'll be able to tell you the name of the wet nurse to whom she gave the infant Roger, and you will seek him when next we return to London. And down here is Salisbury, where, you are told, your sister Anne Mary has been taken by her family the Haverhills.\" He frowned. \"Pity we didn't have that news when we were lately in Salisbury during the fair,\" he said, and Rob felt a chill with the realization that he and the little girl may well have passed by one another in the crowds.\n\n\"No matter,\" Barber said. \"We'll return to Salisbury on the way back to Exmouth, in the fall.\"\n\nRob took heart. \"And everywhere we go in the north,\" he said, \"I'll ask priests and monks if they know of Father Lovell and his young charge, William Cole.\"\n\nEarly next morning they abandoned London and took to the wide Lincoln Road leading to the north of England. When they left behind all houses and the stink of too many people and stopped for an especially lavish breakfast cooked by the side of a noisy stream, each agreed that a city was not the finest place to breathe God's air and enjoy the sun's warmth."
            },
            {
                "title": "LESSONS",
                "text": "On a day in early June the two of them lay on their backs by a brook near Chipping Norton, observing clouds through leafy branches and waiting for trouts to bite.\n\nPropped onto two Y-shaped branches stuck into the ground, their willow poles were unmoving.\n\n\"Late in the season for trouts to be hungry for hackles,\" Barber murmured contentedly. \"In a fortnight, when hoppers are in the fields, fish will be caught faster.\"\n\n\"How do male worms tell the difference?\" Rob wondered.\n\nNearly dozing, Barber smiled. \"Doubtless hackles are alike in the dark, like women.\"\n\n\"Women aren't alike, day or night,\" Rob protested. \"They appear similar, yet each is separate in scent, taste, touch, and feel.\"\n\nBarber sighed. \"That's the true wonder that lures man on.\"\n\nRob got up and went to the wagon. When he came back he held a square of smooth pine on which he had drawn the face of a girl in ink. He squatted by Barber and held out the board. \"Do you make her out?\"\n\nBarber peered at the drawing. \"It's the girl from last week, the little dolly in St. Ives.\"\n\nRob took back the sketch and studied it, pleased.\n\n\"Why have you placed the ugly mark on her cheek?\"\n\n\"The mark was there.\"\n\nBarber nodded. \"I recall it. But with your quill and ink, you're able to make her prettier than reality. Why not allow her to view herself more favorably than she's seen by the world?\"\n\nRob frowned, troubled without understanding why. He studied the likeness. \"At any rate, she hasn't seen this, since it was drawn after I left her.\"\n\n\"But you could have drawn it in her presence.\"\n\nRob shrugged and smiled.\n\nBarber sat up, fully awake. \"The time has come for us to make practical use of your capability,\" he said.\n\nNext morning they stopped at a woodcutter's and asked him to saw thin rounds from the trunk of a pine. The slices of wood were a disappointment, being too grainy for easy drawing with quill and ink. But rounds from a young beech tree proved to be smooth and hard, and the woodcutter willingly sliced a medium-sized beech in exchange for a coin.\n\nFollowing the entertainment that afternoon, Barber announced that his associate would draw free likenesses of half a dozen residents of Chipping Norton.\n\nThere was a rush and a flurry. A crowd gathered around Rob, watching curiously as he mixed his ink. But he was long since schooled as a performer and inured to scrutiny.\n\nHe drew a face on each of six wooden discs, in turn: an old woman, two youths, a pair of dairy maids who smelled of cows, and a man with a wen on his nose.\n\nThe woman had deepset eyes and a toothless mouth with wrinkled lips. One of the youths was plump and round-faced, so it was like drawing features on a gourd. The other boy was thin and dark, with baleful eyes. The girls were sisters and looked so much alike that the challenge was in trying to capture their subtle difference; he failed, for they could have exchanged their sketches without noticing. Of the six, he was satisfied only with the last drawing. The man was almost old, and his eyes and every line of his face contained melancholy. Without knowing how, Rob captured the sadness.\n\nWith no hesitation, he drew the wen on the nose. Barber didn't complain, since all the subjects were visibly pleased and there was sustained applause from the onlookers.\n\n\"Buy six bottles and you may have\u2014free, my friends!\u2014a similar likeness,\" Barber bawled, holding the Universal Specific aloft and launching into his familiar discourse.\n\nSoon there was a line in front of Rob, who was drawing intently, and a longer line before the bank, on which Barber stood and sold his medicine.\n\nSince King Canute had liberalized the hunting laws, venison began to appear in butchers' stalls. In the market square of Aldreth town, Barber bought a great saddle of meat. He rubbed it with wild garlic and covered it with deep slashes that he filled with tiny squares of pork fat and onion, larding the outside richly with sweet butter and basting continually while it roasted with a mixture of honey, mustard, and brown ale.\n\nRob ate heartily, but Barber finished most of it himself along with a prodigious amount of mashed turnip and a loaf of fresh bread. \"Perhaps just a bit more. To keep up my strength,\" he said, grinning. In the time Rob had known him he had increased remarkably\u2014perhaps, Rob thought, as much as six stone. Flesh ridged his neck, his forearms had become hams, and his stomach sailed before him like a loose sail in a stiff wind. His thirst was as prodigious as his appetite.\n\nTwo days after leaving Aldreth they arrived in the village of Ramsey, where in the public house Barber gained the proprietor's attention by wordlessly swallowing two pitchers of ale before imitating thunder with a belch and turning to the business at hand.\n\n\"We're looking for a woman, name of Della Hargreaves.\"\n\nThe proprietor shrugged and shook his head.\n\n\"Hargreaves, her husband's name. She's a widow. Came four years ago to be with her brother. His name I don't know, but I ask you to ponder, for this is a small place.\" Barber ordered more ale, to encourage him.\n\nThe proprietor looked blank.\n\n\"Oswald Sweeter,\" his wife whispered, serving the drink.\n\n\"Ah. Just so, Sweeter's sister,\" the man said, accepting Barber's money.\n\nOswald Sweeter was Ramsey's blacksmith, as large as Barber but all muscle. He listened to them with a slight frown and then spoke as though unwilling.\n\n\"Della? I took her in,\" he said. \"My own flesh.\" With pincers he pushed a cherry-red bar deeper into glowing coals. \"My wife showed her kindness, but Della has a talent for doing no work. The two women didn't get on. Within half a year, Della left us.\"\n\n\"To go where?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"Bath.\"\n\n\"What does she do in Bath?\"\n\n\"Same as here before we threw her away,\" Sweeter said quietly. \"She left with a man like a rat.\"\n\n\"She was our neighbor for years in London, where she was deemed respectable,\" Rob was obligated to say, though he had never liked her.\n\n\"Well, young sir, today my sister is a drab who would sooner swive than labor for her bread. You may find her where there are whores.\" Pulling a flaming white bar from the coals Sweeter ended the conversation with his hammer, so that a savage shower of sparks followed them through his door."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 17",
                "text": "It rained for a solid week as they made their way up the coast. Then one morning they crawled from their damp beds beneath the wagon to find a day so soft and glorious that all was forgotten save their good fortune in being footloose and blessed. \"Let us take a promenade through the innocent world!\" Barber cried, and Rob knew exactly what he meant, for despite the dark urgency of his need to find the children he was young and healthy and alive on such a day.\n\nBetween blasts of the Saxon horn they sang exuberantly, hymns and raunchiness, a louder signal of their presence than any other. They drove slowly through a forested track that alternately gave them warm sunlight and fresh green shade. \"What more could you ask,\" Barber said.\n\n\"Arms,\" he said at once.\n\nBarber's grin faded. \"I'll not buy you arms,\" he said shortly.\n\n\"No need for a sword. But a dagger would seem sensible, for we could be set upon.\"\n\n\"Any highwayman will think twice on it,\" Barber said drily, \"since we are two large folk.\"\n\n\"It's because of my size. I walk into a public house and smaller men look at me and think, 'He's big but one thrust can stop him,' and their hands drift to their hilts.\"\n\n\"And then they notice that you wear no arms and they realize you're a puppy and not yet a mastiff despite your size. Feeling like fools, they leave you alone. With a blade on your belt you should be dead in a fortnight.\"\n\nThey rode in silence.\n\nCenturies of violent invasions had made every Englishman think like a soldier. Slaves weren't allowed by law to bear arms and apprentices couldn't afford them; but any other male who wore his hair long also signified his free birth by the weapons he displayed.\n\nIt was true enough that a small man with a knife could easily kill a large youth without one, Barber told himself wearily.\n\n\"You must know how to handle weapons when the time comes for you to own them,\" he decided. \"It's a portion of your instruction that has been neglected. Therefore, I'll begin to tutor you in the use of the sword and the dagger.\"\n\nRob beamed. \"Thank you, Barber,\" he said.\n\nIn a clearing, they faced one another and Barber slipped his dagger from his belt.\n\n\"You mustn't hold it like a child stabbing at ants. Balance the knife in your upturned palm as if you intended to juggle it. The four fingers close about the handle. The thumb can go flat along the handle or can cover the fingers, depending on the thrust. The hardest thrust to guard against is one that is made from below and moving upward.\n\n\"The knife fighter bends his knees and moves lightly on his feet, ready to spring forward or back. Ready to weave in order to avoid an assailant's thrust. Ready to kill, for this instrument is for close and dirty work. It's made of the same good metal as a scalpel. Once having committed yourself to either, you must cut as though life depends on it, for often it does.\"\n\nHe returned the dagger to its scabbard and handed over his sword. Rob hefted it, holding it before him.\n\n\"Romanus sum,\" he said softly.\n\nBarber smiled. \"No, you are not a bleeding Roman. Not with this English sword. The Roman sword was short and pointed, with two sharp steel edges. They liked to fight close and at times used it like a dagger. This is an English broadsword, Rob J., longer and heavier. The ultimate weapon, that keeps our enemies at a distance. It is a cleaver, an ax that cuts down human creatures instead of trees.\"\n\nHe took back the sword and stepped away from Rob. Holding it in both hands he whirled, the broadsword flashing and glittering in wide and deadly circles as he severed the sunlight.\n\nPresently he stopped and leaned on the sword, out of wind. \"You try,\" he told Rob, and handed him the weapon.\n\nIt gave Barber scant comfort to see how easily his apprentice held the heavy broadsword in one hand. It was a strong man's weapon, he thought enviously, more effective when used with the agility of youth.\n\nWielding it in imitation of Barber, Rob whirled across the little clearing. The broadsword blade hissed through the air and a hoarse cry rose from his throat without volition. Barber watched, more than vaguely disturbed, as he swept through an invisible host, cutting a terrible swath.\n\nThe next lesson occurred several nights later at a crowded and noisy public house in Fulford. English drovers from a horse caravan moving north were there along with Danish drovers from a caravan traveling south. Both groups were overnighting in the town, drinking heavily and eyeing one another like packs of fighting dogs.\n\nRob sat with Barber and drank cider, not uncomfortably. It was a situation they had met before, and they knew enough not to be drawn into the competitiveness.\n\nOne of the Danes had gone outside to relieve his bladder. When he returned he carried a squealing shoat under his arm, and a length of rope. He tied one end of the rope to the pig's neck and the other end to a pole in the center of the tavern. Then he hammered on a table with a mug.\n\n\"Who is man enough to meet me in a pig-sticking?\" he shouted over to the English drovers.\n\n\"Ah, Vitus!\" one of his mates called encouragingly, and began to hammer on his table, quickly joined by all his friends.\n\nThe English drovers listened sullenly to the hammering and the shouted taunts, then one of them walked to the pole and nodded.\n\nHalf a dozen of the more prudent patrons of the public house gulped their drinks and slipped outside.\n\nRob had started to rise, following Barber's custom of leaving before trouble could begin, but to his surprise his master placed a staying hand on his arm.\n\n\"Tuppence here on Dustin!\" an English drover called. Soon the two groups were busily placing bets.\n\nThe men were not unevenly matched. Both looked to be in their twenties; the Dane was heavier and slightly shorter, while the Englishman had the longer reach.\n\nCloths were bound across their eyes and then each was tethered to an opposite side of the pole by a ten-foot length of rope bound to his ankle.\n\n\"Wait,\" the man named Dustin called. \"One more drink!\"\n\nHooting, their friends brought them each a cup of metheglin, which was quickly drained.\n\nThe blindfolded men drew their daggers.\n\nThe pig, which had been held at right angles to both of them, was now released to the floor. Immediately it tried to flee but, tethered as it was, it could only run in a circle.\n\n\"The little bastard comes, Dustin!\" somebody shouted. The Englishman set himself and waited, but the sound of the animal's scurrying was drowned out by the shouts of the men, and the pig was past him before he knew it.\n\n\"Now, Vitus!\" a Dane called.\n\nIn its terror the shoat ran straight into the Danish drover. The man stabbed at it three times without coming close, and it fled the way it had come, squealing.\n\nDustin could home in on the sound, and he came toward the shoat from one direction while Vitus closed in from the other.\n\nThe Dane took a swipe at the pig and Dustin drew a sobbing breath as the sharp blade sliced into his arm.\n\n\"You Northern fuck.\" He slashed out in a savage arc that didn't come near to either the squealing pig or the other man.\n\nNow the pig darted across Vitus' feet. The Danish drover grasped the animal's rope and was able to pull the pig toward his waiting knife. His first stab caught it on the right front hoof, and the pig screamed.\n\n\"Now you have him, Vitus!\"\n\n\"Finish him off, we eat him tomorrow!\"\n\nThe screaming pig had become an excellent target and Dustin lunged toward the sound. His striking hand skittered off the shoat's smooth side and with a thud his blade was buried to his fist in Vitus' belly.\n\nThe Dane merely grunted softly but sprang back, ripping himself open on the dagger.\n\nThe only sound in the public house was the crying of the pig.\n\n\"Put the knife down, Dustin, you've done him,\" one of the Englishmen commanded. They surrounded the drover; his blindfold was ripped off and his tether was cut.\n\nWordlessly, the Danish drovers hurried their friend away before the Saxons could react or the reeve's men could be summoned.\n\nBarber sighed. \"Let us through to him, for we're barbersurgeons and may give him succor,\" he said.\n\nBut it was clear that there was little they could do for him. Vitus lay on his back as if broken, his eyes large and his face gray. In the gaping wound of his open stomach they saw that his bowel had been cut almost in half.\n\nBarber took Rob's arm and drew him down to squat alongside. \"Look on it,\" he said firmly.\n\nThere were layers: tanned skin, pale meat, a rather slimy light lining. The bowel was the pink of a dyed Easter egg, the blood was very red.\n\n\"It is curious how an openedup man stinks far worse than any openedup animal,\" Barber said.\n\nBlood welled from the abdominal wall and with a gush the severed bowel emptied itself of fecal matter. The man was speaking weakly in Danish, perhaps praying.\n\nRob retched but Barber held him close to the fallen man, like a man rubbing a young dog's nose in its own waste.\n\nRob took the drover's hand. The man was like a bag of sand with a hole in the bottom; he could feel the life running out. He squatted next to the drover and held his hand tightly until there was no sand left in the bag and the soul of Vitus made a dry rustling sound like an old leaf and simply blew away."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 18",
                "text": "They continued to practice with arms, but now Rob was more thoughtful and not quite so eager.\n\nHe spent more time thinking about the gift, and he watched Barber and listened to him, learning whatever he knew. As he became familiar with ailments and their symptoms he began to play a secret game, trying to determine from outward appearances what bothered each patient.\n\nIn the Northumbrian village of Richmond they saw waiting in their line a wan man with rheumy eyes and a painful cough.\n\n\"What ails that one?\" Barber asked.\n\n\"Most likely consumption?\"\n\nBarber smiled in approval.\n\nBut when it was the coughing patient's turn to see the barbersurgeon, Rob took his hands to lead him behind the screen. It wasn't the grasp of a dying person; Rob's senses told him that this man was too strong to have consumption. He sensed that the man had taken a chill and soon would be rid of what was merely passing discomfort.\n\nHe saw no reason to contradict Barber; but thus, gradually, he became aware that the gift was not only for predicting death but could be useful in considering illness and perhaps in helping the living.\n\nIncitatus pulled the red cart slowly northward across the face of England, village by village, some too small to have a name. Whenever they came to a monastery or church Barber waited patiently in the cart while Rob inquired after Father Ranald Lovell and the boy named William Cole, but nobody had ever heard of them.\n\nSomewhere between Carlisle and Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Rob climbed onto a stone wall built nine hundred years before by Hadrian's cohorts to protect England from Scottish marauders. Sitting in England and gazing out at Scotland, he told himself that his most likely chance of seeing someone of his own blood lay in Salisbury, where the Haverhills had taken his sister Anne Mary.\n\nWhen finally they reached Salisbury, he received short shrift from the Corporation of Bakers.\n\nThe Chief Baker was a man named Cummings. He was squat and froglike, not so heavy as Barber but fleshy enough to advertise his trade. \"I know no Haverhills.\"\n\n\"Will you not seek them out in your records?\"\n\n\"See here. It is fair time! Much of my membership is involved in Salisbury Fair and we are harried and distraught. You must see us after the fair.\"\n\nAll through the fair, only part of him juggled and drew and helped to treat patients, while he kept watch constantly for a familiar face, a glimpse of the girl he imagined she had grown to be.\n\nHe didn't see her.\n\nThe day after the fair he returned to the building of the Salisbury Corporation of Bakers. It was a neat and attractive place, and despite his nervousness he wondered why the houses of other guilds were always built more soundly than those of the Corporations of Carpenters.\n\n\"Ah, the young barbersurgeon.\" Cummings was kinder in his greeting and more composed, now. He searched thoroughly through two great ledgers and then shook his head. \"We've never had a baker name of Haverhill.\"\n\n\"A man and his wife,\" Rob said. \"They sold their pastry shop in London and declared they were coming here. They have a little girl, sister to me. Name of Anne Mary.\"\n\n\"It's obvious what has happened, young surgeon. After selling their shop and before coming here, they found better opportunity elsewhere, heard of a place more in need of bakers.\"\n\n\"Yes. That's likely.\" He thanked the man and returned to the wagon.\n\nBarber was visibly troubled but advised courage. \"You mustn't give up hope. Someday you'll find them again, you will see.\"\n\nBut it was as if the earth had opened and swallowed the living as well as the dead. The small hope he had kept alive for them now seemed too innocent. He felt the days of his family were truly over, and with a chill he forced himself to recognize that whatever lay ahead for him, most likely he would face it alone."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE JOURNEYMAN",
                "text": "A few months before the end of Rob's apprenticeship they sat over pitchers of brown ale in the public room of the inn at Exeter and warily discussed terms of employment.\n\nBarber drank in silence, as if lost in thought, and eventually offered a small salary. \"Plus a new set of clothing,\" he said, as if overcome by a burst of generosity.\n\nRob hadn't been with him six years for nothing. He shrugged doubtfully. \"I feel drawn to go back to London,\" he said, and refilled their cups.\n\nBarber nodded. \"A set of clothing every two years whether needed or not,\" he added after studying Rob's face.\n\nThey ordered a supper of rabbit pie, which Rob ate with gusto. Barber tore into the publican instead of the food. \"What meat I find is overly tough and stupidly seasoned,\" he grumbled. \"We might make the salary higher. Slightly higher,\" he said.\n\n\"It is poorly seasoned,\" Rob said. \"That's something you never do. I've always been taken by your way with game.\"\n\n\"How much salary do you hold to be fair? For a chap of sixteen years?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't want a salary.\"\n\n\"Not have a salary?\" Barber eyed him with suspicion.\n\n\"No. Income is gotten from sale of the Specific and treatment of patients. Therefore, I want the income from every twelfth bottle sold and every twelfth patient treated.\"\n\n\"Every twentieth bottle and every twentieth patient.\"\n\nHe hesitated only a moment before nodding. \"These terms to run one year, when they may be renewed upon mutual agreement.\"\n\n\"Done!\"\n\n\"Done,\" Rob said calmly.\n\nEach of them lifted his mug and grinned.\n\n\"Hah!\" said Barber.\n\n\"Hah!\" said Rob.\n\nBarber took his new expenses seriously. One day when they were in Northampton, where there were skilled craftsmen, he hired a joiner to make a second screen, and when they reached the next place, which was Huntington, he set it up not far from his own.\n\n\"Time you stood on your own limbs,\" he said.\n\nAfter the entertainment and the portraits, Rob sat himself behind the screen and waited.\n\nWould they look at him and laugh? Or, he wondered, would they turn away and go back to stand in Barber's line?\n\nHis first patient winced when Rob took his hands, for his old cow had trod upon his wrist. \"Kicked over the pail, the bitchy thing. Then, as I was reaching to set it right, the cursed animal stepped on me, you see?\"\n\nRob held the joint tenderly and at once forgot about anything else. There was a painful bruise. There was also a bone broken, the one that ran down from the thumb. An important bone. It took him a little time to bind the wrist right and fix a sling.\n\nThe next patient was the personification of his fears, a slim and angular woman with stern eyes. \"I have lost my hearing,\" she declared.\n\nUpon examination, her ears did not seem to be plugged with wax. He knew nothing that could be done for her. \"I cannot help you,\" he said regretfully.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"I CANNOT HELP YOU!\" he shouted.\n\n\"THEN ASK TH'OTHER BARBER.\"\n\n\"HE CANNOT HELP YOU EITHER.\"\n\nThe woman's face had grown choleric. \"BE DAMNED TO HELL. I SHALL ASK HIM MYSELF.\"\n\nHe was aware both of Barber's laughter and the amusement of other patients as she stomped away.\n\nHe was waiting behind the screen, red-faced, when he was joined by a young man perhaps a year or two older than he. Rob restrained an impulse to sigh as he looked at a left forefinger in an advanced stage of mortification.\n\n\"Not a beautiful sight.\"\n\nThe young man was whitish in the corners of his mouth but managed a smile nevertheless. \"I mashed it chopping wood for the fire all of a fortnight ago. It hurt, of course, but appeared to be mending nicely. And then \u2026\"\n\nThe first joint was black, running into an area of angry discoloration that became blistered flesh. The large blisters gave off a bloody flux and a gaseous stink.\n\n\"How was it treated?\"\n\n\"A neighbor man cautioned me to pack it with moist ashes mixed with goose shit, to draw the pain.\"\n\nHe nodded, for it was a common remedy. \"Well. It's now a consuming sickness that, if allowed, will eat into the hand and then the arm. Long before it gets into the body, you will die. The finger must come off.\"\n\nThe young man nodded gamely.\n\nRob allowed the sigh to escape. He had to be doubly certain; to take an appendage was a serious step, and this one would miss the finger for the rest of his life as he tried to earn his living.\n\nHe walked to Barber's screen.\n\n\"Something?\" Barber's eyes twinkled.\n\n\"Something I need to show you,\" Rob said, and led the way back to his patient, the fat man following at a more labored pace.\n\n\"I've told him it must come off.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Barber said, and the smile was gone. \"That was correct. You wish assistance, chappy?\"\n\nRob shook his head. He gave the patient three bottles of the Specific to drink and then carefully collected everything he would need, so he wouldn't have to go searching in the middle of the procedure or shout for Barber's help.\n\nHe took two sharp knives, a needle and waxed thread, a short piece of board, rag strips for binding, and a little fine-toothed saw.\n\nThe youth's arm was lashed to the board so that his hand was palm up. \"Make a fist without the mortified finger,\" Rob said, and wrapped the hand with bandages and tied it off so the sound digits were out of the way.\n\nHe enlisted three strong men from the nearby loungers, two to hold the youth and one to grasp the board.\n\nA dozen times he had witnessed Barber doing this and twice had done it himself under Barber's supervision, but never before had he attempted it alone. The trick was to cut far enough away from the mortification to stop its progress, while at the same time leaving as much of a stub as possible.\n\nHe picked up a knife and sliced into sound flesh. The patient screamed and tried to rise out of his chair.\n\n\"Hold him.\"\n\nHe sliced a circle all around the finger and paused for a moment to soak up the bleeding with a rag before slitting the healthy section of finger on both sides and carefully flaying the skin toward the knuckle, making two flaps.\n\nThe man holding the board let go and began to vomit.\n\n\"Take the board,\" Rob told the one who had been holding the shoulders. There was no trouble with the transfer, for the patient had fainted.\n\nBone was an easy substance to cut, and the saw made a reassuring rasping as he took off the finger.\n\nHe trimmed the flaps carefully and made a neat stump as he had been taught, neither so tight as to give pain nor so loose as to give trouble, then took up the needle and thread and made a good job of it with small, thrifty stitches. There was a bloody ooze that he washed away by pouring the Universal Specific over the stump. Rob helped carry the groaning youth to where he could recover in the shade under a tree.\n\nAfter that in quick succession he bound a sprained ankle, dressed a deep sickle cut in a child's arm, sold three bottles of the physick to a widow cursed with the headache and another half dozen bottles to a man with the gout. He was beginning to feel cocky when a woman came behind the screen with the wasting sickness.\n\nThere was no mistaking it; she was gaunt and her skin was waxy, with a sheen of perspiration on her cheeks. He had to force himself to look at her, having sensed her fate through his hands.\n\n\"\u2026 do not desire to eat,\" she was saying, \"nor can I keep anything I eat, for what is not spewed forth rushes through me in the form of bloody stools.\"\n\nHe placed his hand on her poor abdomen and felt the bumpy rigidity, to which he guided her palm.\n\n\"Bubo.\"\n\n\"What is bubo, sirrah?\"\n\n\"A lump that grows by feeding on healthy flesh. You feel a number of buboes beneath your hand.\"\n\n\"There is terrible pain. Is there no medicine?\" she said calmly.\n\nHe loved her for her courage and was not tempted to lie for mercy's sake. He shook his head, for Barber had told him that many persons suffered from bubo of the stomach and each died of the sickness.\n\nWhen she had left him wishing he had become a carpenter, he saw the severed finger on the ground. Picking it up and wrapping it in a rag, he carried it to where the recovering youth lay under the tree and placed it in his good hand.\n\nPuzzled, he looked at Rob. \"What shall I do with it?\"\n\n\"The priests say you must bury lost parts to await you in a churchyard, so you may rise whole again on Judgment Day.\"\n\nThe young man thought on it and then nodded. \"Thank you, barbersurgeon,\" he said.\n\nWhen they reached Rockingham the first thing they saw was the white hair of the unguent seller named Wat. Next to Rob on the wagon seat, Barber grunted in disappointment, assuming that the other mountebank had preempted their right to put on an entertainment there. But after they had exchanged greetings, Wat put their minds to rest.\n\n\"I give no performance here. Instead, let me invite you both to a baiting.\"\n\nHe took them to see his bear, a large scarred beast with an iron ring through its black nose. \"It is sickly and would soon die of natural causes, so bruin shall make me a final profit tonight.\"\n\n\"Is this Bartram, whom I wrestled?\" Rob asked, in a voice that sounded strange in his ears.\n\n\"No, Bartram is long gone, baited four years past. This is a sow, name of Godiva,\" Wat said, and replaced the cloth over the cage.\n\nThat afternoon Wat observed their entertainment and the subsequent sale of physick; with Barber's permission, the unguent peddler climbed onto their bank and announced the bear-baiting that would take place that evening in the pit behind the tannery, admission half a penny.\n\nBy the time he and Barber arrived, dusk had fallen and the meadow surrounding the pit was illumined by the leaping flames of a dozen pitch torches. The field was loud with profanity and male laughter. Trainers held back three muzzled dogs that strained against their short leashes: a rawboned brindle mastiff, a red dog that looked like the mastiff's smaller cousin, and a large Danish elkhound.\n\nGodiva was led in by Wat and a pair of handlers. The shambling bear was hooded, but she smelled the dogs and instinctively turned to face them.\n\nThe men led her to a thick post in the center of the pit. Stout leather fastenings were attached to the top and the bottom of the pole, and the pitmaster used the lower set to tether the bear by her right hind.\n\nImmediately there were cries of protest. \"The upper strap, the upper strap!\"\n\n\"Tether the beast's neck!\"\n\n\"Fasten her by the nose ring, you bloody fool!\"\n\nThe pitmaster was unmoved by calls or insults, for he was experienced. \"The bear is declawed. Therefore it would be a dull show indeed if her head were tied. I allow her the use of her fangs,\" he said.\n\nWat untied the hood from Godiva's head and sprang back.\n\nThe bear looked about in the flickering light, staring with small puzzled eyes at the men and the dogs.\n\nShe was obviously an old beast and far from her prime, and the men shouting the wagering odds received few bets until they offered three to one on the dogs, which looked savage and fit as they were led to the lip of the pit. Their trainers scratched their heads and massaged their necks, then slipped off the muzzles and leashes and stepped away.\n\nAt once the mastiff and the smaller red dog went low on their bellies, their eyes fixed on Godiva. Growling, they darted in to snap at air and then retreated, for they were not yet aware that the bear's claws were gone and they feared and respected them.\n\nThe elkhound loped around the perimeter of the pit, and the bear cast nervous glances at him over her shoulder.\n\n\"You must watch the small red dog,\" Wat shouted in Rob's ear.\n\n\"He would seem the least fearsome.\"\n\n\"He is from a remarkable line, bred down from the mastiff to kill bulls in the pit.\"\n\nBlinking, the bear stood erect on her hind paws with her back against the pole. Godiva appeared confused; she saw the real threat of the dogs but she was a performing animal and accustomed to tethers and the screams of human beings, and she wasn't angry enough to suit the pitmaster. The man picked up a long lance and jabbed one of her wrinkled dugs, slicing off a dark nipple.\n\nThe bear howled in pain.\n\nEncouraged, the mastiff flew in. What he wanted to tear was soft underbelly, but the bear turned and the dog's terrible teeth ripped into her left haunch. Godiva bellowed and swiped. If her claws had not been cruelly removed when she was a cub, the mastiff would have been disemboweled, but the paw brushed harmlessly. The dog sensed it was not the danger he had expected and spat out hide and meat and bore in for more, maddened now by the taste of blood.\n\nThe small red dog had launched himself through the air at Godiva's throat. His teeth were as awful as the mastiff's; his long underjaw locked into the upper jaw and the dog hung beneath the bear's muzzle like a great ripe fruit from a tree.\n\nAt last the elkhound saw it was time, and he leaped at Godiva from the left, climbing over the mastiff in his eagerness to get at her. Godiva's left ear and left eye were taken out in the same slashing bite, and crimson gobbets flew as the beast shook her ruined head.\n\nThe bull dog had locked into a great fold of thick fur and loose skin; its gripping jaws placed enough relentless pressure on the bear's windpipe so that she began to suck for air. And now the mastiff had found her stomach and was tearing at it.\n\n\"A poor fight,\" Wat shouted, disappointed. \"They already have the bear.\"\n\nGodiva brought a great right forepaw down on the mastiff's back. The crack of the dog's spine wasn't heard above the other sounds but the dying mastiff wriggled away over the sand, and the bear turned its fangs against the elkhound.\n\nThe men roared their delight.\n\nThe elkhound was thrown almost out of the pit and lay where it fell, for its throat was rent. Godiva pawed at the smallest dog, which was spattered redder than ever with the blood of the bear and the mastiff. The stubborn jaws were locked in Godiva's throat. The bear folded her forelimbs and squeezed crushingly while she stood and swayed.\n\nNot until the small red dog was lifeless did the jaws relax. Finally the bear was able to brush the bull dog against the pole again and again until it fell off her into the trampled sand like a dislodged burr.\n\nGodiva dropped onto all fours next to the dead dogs but took no interest in them. Agonized and trembling, she began to lick her own raw and bleeding flesh.\n\nThere was a murmur of conversation as spectators paid up or collected their wagers. \"Too soon, too soon,\" a man next to Rob grumbled.\n\n\"The damned beast still lives and we can yet have some pleasure,\" another said.\n\nA drunken youth had picked up the pitmaster's lance and began to harry Godiva with it from the rear, poking her in the anus. The men cheered as the bear whirled, roaring, but was jerked up short by the tether on her leg.\n\n\"The other eye,\" someone cried at the rear of the crowd. \"Blind the other eye!\"\n\nThe bear rose again to stand shakily on two limbs. The good eye looked out at them with defiance but with a calm foreknowledge, and Rob was reminded of the woman who had come to him in Northampton with the wasting sickness. The drunkard was jabbing the point of the lance toward the huge head when Rob went to him and ripped the lance from his hands.\n\n\"Here, you fucking fool!\" Barber called sharply to Rob, and started after him.\n\n\"Good Godiva,\" Rob said. He leveled the lance and drove it deep into the torn chest, and almost at once blood sprang from a corner of the contorted muzzle.\n\nA sound rose from the men that was similar to the snarling made by the dogs when they had closed in.\n\n\"He's addled and we shall tend him,\" Barber called quickly.\n\nRob allowed Barber and Wat to jostle him out of the pit and beyond the ring of light.\n\n\"What kind of stupid shitepoke is this lump of a barber's assistant?\" Wat asked, enraged.\n\n\"I confess I don't know.\" Barber's breathing sounded like a bellows. These days his breathing was heavier, Rob realized.\n\nWithin the ring of torchlight, the pitmaster was announcing soothingly that there remained a strong badger waiting to be baited, and the complaints turned to ragged cheers.\n\nRob walked away while Barber apologized to Wat.\n\nHe was seated near the wagon by the fire when Barber came lumbering in. Barber opened a bottle of liquor and drank half of it off. Then he dropped heavily into his bed on the other side of the fire and stared.\n\n\"You are an arsehole,\" he said.\n\nRob smiled.\n\n\"If the bets hadn't already been settled they'd have had your blood and I shouldn't have blamed them.\"\n\nRob's hand went to the bearskin on which he slept. The pelt had grown rattier than ever and must soon be discarded, he thought, stroking it.\n\n\"Goodnight, then, Barber,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "ARMS",
                "text": "It didn't occur to Barber that he and Rob J. would come to disagreement. At seventeen years of age the former apprentice was exactly what he'd been as a whelp, full of work and sweet agreeability.\n\nExcept he drove a bargain like a fishwife.\n\nAt the end of the first year of employment he asked for one-twelfth share instead of one-twentieth. Barber grumbled but finally agreed because Rob clearly was deserving of larger reward.\n\nBarber noted he scarcely spent his wages and knew he was saving his money to buy arms. One winter's night in the tavern at Exmouth, a gardener tried to sell Rob a dagger.\n\n\"Your opinion?\" Rob asked, handing it to Barber.\n\nIt was a gardener's weapon. \"The blade is bronze and will break. The hilt is adequate perhaps, but a handle so gaudily painted can hide defects.\"\n\nRob J. handed back the cheap knife.\n\nWhen they set forth in the spring they traveled the coast and Rob haunted the harbor docks seeking Spaniards, for the best steel weapons came from Spain. But he had bought nothing by the time they had to turn inland.\n\nJuly found them in upper Mercia. In the township of Blyth their spirits belied the village's name; they awoke one morning to see Incitatus lying on the ground nearby, stiff and unbreathing.\n\nRob stood and looked bitterly at the dead horse while Barber vented his feelings through cursing.\n\n\"You think a disease did him?\"\n\nBarber shrugged. \"We saw no sign yesterday, but he was old. He wasn't young when I came by him a long time ago.\"\n\nRob spent half a day breaking ground and shoveling, for they didn't want Incitatus eaten by dogs and crows. While he dug the great hole, Barber went out and searched for a replacement. It took him all day and cost him dear, for their horse was vital to them. Finally he bought a baldfaced brown mare, three years old and not quite fully grown.\n\n\"Shall we also name her Incitatus?\" he asked, but Rob shook his head and they never called her anything but Horse. She was sweet-stepping, but the first morning they had her she threw a shoe, and they returned to Blyth for a new one.\n\nThe blacksmith was named Durman Moulton and they found him finishing a sword that made their eyes glisten.\n\n\"How much?\" Rob asked, with too much eagerness for Barber's bargaining taste.\n\n\"This is bought,\" the craftsman said, but he allowed them to hold it and feel its balance. It was an English broadsword entirely without ornamentation, sharp and true and beautifully forged. If Barber had been younger and not so wise he would have been tempted to bid for it.\n\n\"How much for its exact twin, and a matching dagger?\"\n\nThe total came to more than a year's income for Rob. \"And you must pay one-half now, should you place the order,\" Moulton said.\n\nRob went to the wagon and returned with a pouch from which he promptly paid over the money.\n\n\"We return in one year to claim the arms and pay the balance,\" he said, and the smith nodded and told him the weapons would be ready.\n\nDespite the loss of Incitatus they enjoyed a prosperous season, but when it was nearly over, Rob asked him for one-sixth.\n\n\"One-sixth of my income! To a young herring not yet eighteen years of age?\" Barber was genuinely outraged, though Rob took his outburst calmly and said no more.\n\nAs the date of their annual agreement approached it was Barber who fretted, since he was aware how greatly his situation had been improved by his journeyman.\n\nIn the village of Sempringham he heard a woman patient hiss to her friend: \"Get into the line which awaits the younger barber, Eadburga, for they do say he touches you behind the screen. They do say he has healing hands.\"\n\nThey do say he sells a shitload of the Specific, Barber reminded himself wryly.\n\nHe didn't fret that the younger man's screen usually had the longer lines in front of it. Indeed, to an employer Rob J. was gold in his pocket.\n\n\"One-eighth,\" he offered finally.\n\nThough he suffered to do so he would have gone to one-sixth, but to his relief Rob nodded.\n\n\"One-eighth is just,\" Rob said.\n\nThe Old Man was born out of Barber's mind. Always seeking to improve the entertainment, he invented an old lecher who drinks the Universal Specific Physick and goes after every woman in sight. \"And you must play him,\" he told Rob.\n\n\"I'm too large. And too young.\"\n\n\"No, you shall play him,\" Barber said stubbornly. \"For I'm so fat that one look at me would reveal who I am.\"\n\nThey both watched old men for a long time, studying how they walked in pain and the kind of clothing they wore, and they listened when old people spoke.\n\n\"Imagine what it must be like to feel your life disappearing,\" Barber said. \"You believe you'll always be able to get hard with a woman. Think about growing old and not being able to do that.\"\n\nThey fashioned a gray wig and a false gray mustache. They couldn't give him wrinkles but Barber covered his face with cosmetics and simulated an old skin made dry and rough by years of sun and wind. Rob bent his long body and developed a hobbling walk, dragging his right leg. When he spoke he made his voice higher and hesitant, as if he had learned to be a little afraid.\n\nThe Old Man, dressed in a shabby coat, made his first appearance in Tadcaster, while Barber was discoursing on the remarkable regenerative powers of the Universal Specific. Walking painfully, he tottered up and bought a bottle.\n\n\"Doubtless I'm an old fool for wasting my money,\" the dry old voice said. Opening the container with some difficulty, he drank the physick then and there and made his slow way to the side of a barmaid who had already been instructed and paid.\n\n\"Oh, you are a pretty,\" he sighed, and the girl glanced away quickly as if abashed. \"Would you do a kindness, my dear?\"\n\n\"If I'm able.\"\n\n\"Just place your hand upon my face. Merely a soft warm palm on an old man's cheek. Aaah,\" he breathed as she complied shyly.\n\nThere were titters as he closed his eyes and kissed her fingers.\n\nIn a moment his gaze opened wide. \"By the blessed St. Anthony,\" he breathed. \"Oh, it's most remarkable.\"\n\nHe limped back to the bank as quickly as possible. \"Let me have an other,\" he told Barber, and drank it at once. This time when he returned to the barmaid she moved away and he followed.\n\n\"I'm your servant,\" he said eagerly. \"Mistress \u2026\" Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear.\n\n\"Oh, sirrah, you mustn't talk so!\" She moved again, and the crowd was convulsed as he followed.\n\nWhen, a few minutes later, the Old Man limped away with the barmaid on his arm, they roared approval and then, still laughing, hurried to pay Barber their pennies.\n\nEventually they didn't have to pay a female to play against the Old Man, for Rob quickly learned to manipulate women in the crowd. He could sense when a good wife was taking offense and must be abandoned, or when a more venturesome woman would not feel abused by a juicy compliment or even a quick pinch.\n\nOne night in the town of Lichfield he wore the Old Man costume into the public house and soon had the drinkers howling and wiping their eyes over his amorous memories.\n\n\"Once I was a rutter. I well recall swiving a plump beauty \u2026 hair like black fleece, teats you would milk. A sweet thatch like dark swansdown. While on the other side of the wall her fierce father, half my age, slept all gentle and unknowing.\"\n\n\"And what age were you then, Old Man?\"\n\nHe carefully straightened an aguish back. \"Three days younger than now,\" he said in his dry and dusty voice.\n\nAll evening, fools quarreled for the right to furnish him tipple.\n\nThat night, for the first time Barber aided his assistant back to their camp instead of being supported there himself.\n\nBarber took refuge in victualing. He spitted capons and barded ducks, gorging on fowl. In Worcester he came upon the slaughtering of a pair of oxen and bought their tongues.\n\nHere was eating!\n\nHe boiled the great tongues briefly before trimming and skinning them, then roasted them with onion and wild garlic and turnip, basting with thyme honey and melted lard until outside they were glazed sweet and crisp, and inside were so tender and yielding that the meat scarcely needed to be chewed.\n\nRob barely tasted the fine rich food, being in a hurry to find a new tavern in which to play the old ass. In each new place the drinkers kept him continually supplied. Barber knew he best liked ale or beer but presently recognized uneasily that Rob would accept mead, pigment, or morat\u2014whatever there was.\n\nBarber watched closely for signs that the hard drinking would hurt his own pocketbook. But no matter how puky or sodden Rob had been the night before, he appeared to do everything as previously, save in one detail.\n\n\"I note you no longer take their hands when they come behind your screen,\" Barber said.\n\n\"Nor do you.\"\n\n\"It's not I who has the gift.\"\n\n\"The gift! You have always held that there is no gift.\"\n\n\"Now I think that there is a gift,\" Barber said. \"I believe that it's dulled by drink, and that it flees before the regular use of liquor.\"\n\n\"It was all our fancy, as you said.\"\n\n\"Listen well. Whether or not the gift has fled, you shall take each person's hands when they come behind your screen, for it's evident they like it. Do you understand?\"\n\nRob J. nodded sullenly.\n\nNext morning, on a wooded track they met a fowler. He carried a long cleft stick which he baited with doughballs imbedded with seeds. When birds came to feed on the bait, by pulling on a rope he was able to close the cleft on their legs and capture them, and he was so clever with the device that his belt was hung all around with little white plovers. Barber bought the flock. Plovers were deemed such a delicacy they were commonly roasted without being drawn, but Barber was too picky. He cleaned and dressed each little bird and made a breakfast that was memorable, so that even Rob's thunderous visage lightened.\n\nIn Great Berkhamstead they presented their entertainment before a good audience and sold a lot of physick. That night Barber and Rob went to the tavern together to make peace. For a portion of the evening all was well, but they were drinking strong morat that tasted faintly of bitter mulberries, and Barber watched Rob's eyes grow bright and wondered if his own face reddened that way with drink.\n\nSoon Rob went out of his way to jostle and insult a great burly woodcutter.\n\nIn a moment they were trying to maim one another. They were of a size and their brawling was savagely earnest, a form of madness. Benumbed with morat, they stood close and struck again and again with all their strength, using fists and knees and feet, and the blows and kicks sounded like hammers on oak.\n\nFinally exhausted, each was able to be dragged apart by a small army of peacemakers, and Barber took Rob J. away.\n\n\"Drunken fool!\"\n\n\"Look who talks,\" Rob said.\n\nTrembling with rage, Barber sat and regarded his assistant.\n\n\"It's true I may also be a drunken fool,\" he said, \"but I have ever known how to avoid trouble. I have never sold poisons. I have nothing to do with magic that casts spells or raises evil spirits. I just buy large amounts of liquor and put on entertainment that allows me to sell small flasks at fine profit. It's a living that depends upon not calling attention to ourselves. Therefore your stupidity must cease and your fists must stay unclenched.\"\n\nThey glared at one another, but Rob nodded.\n\nFrom that day Rob appeared to do Barber's bidding almost against his will as they moved southward, racing the migrating birds into autumn. Barber chose to bypass the Salisbury Fair, understanding that it would aggravate old wounds for Rob. His effort was to no avail, for when they camped in Winchester instead of Salisbury, that night Rob returned to the campfire reeling. His face had the look of bruised meat and it was evident he'd been brawling.\n\n\"We passed an abbey this morning while you were driving the wagon, yet you didn't stop to inquire after Father Ranald Lovell and your brother.\"\n\n\"It does no good to ask. Whenever I ask, no one ever knows them.\"\n\nNor did Rob speak any more of finding his sister Anne Mary or Jonathan or Roger, the brother he had last seen as an infant.\n\nHe had given them up and now sought to forget them, Barber told himself, struggling to comprehend. It was as if Rob had turned himself into a bear and offered himself anew for baiting in every public house. Meanness was growing in him like a weed; he welcomed the pain brought by drink and fighting, to drive out the pain he suffered when his brothers and sister entered his mind.\n\nBarber couldn't decide whether Rob's acceptance of the loss of the children was a healthy thing or not.\n\nThat winter was the most unpleasant they spent in the little house in Exmouth. In the beginning, he and Rob went to the tavern together. Usually they drank and exchanged talk with the local men, and then found women and brought them home. But he couldn't match the younger man's unflagging appetites, nor, to his surprise, did he wish to do so. Now it was Barber, many a night, who lay and watched the shadows and listened, wishing they would for Christ's sweet sake get it over with and shut up and go to sleep.\n\nThere was no snow at all that year but it rained incessantly, and the hiss and spatter soon offended the ear and the spirit. On the third day of Christmas week, Rob came home in a fury.\n\n\"The damned publican! He's barred me from the Exmouth Inn.\"\n\n\"For no good reason, I trust?\"\n\n\"For fighting,\" Rob muttered, scowling.\n\nRob spent more time in the house but was moodier than ever, and so was Barber. They didn't have long or pleasant conversation. Mostly Barber drank, his familiar answer to the season of bleakness. When he was able, he imitated the hibernating beasts. When he was awake he lay like a great rock in the sagging bed, feeling his flesh pulling him down and listening to his breath whistling and rasping out of his mouth. He had taken a dim view of many a patient whose breathing sounded better than his own.\n\nMade anxious by such thoughts, he rose from bed once a day to cook an enormous meal, seeking in fatty meats protection against chill and foreboding. Usually next to his bed he kept an opened flask and a platter of fried lamb congealed in its own grease. Rob still cleaned house when he was of a mind, but by February the place smelled like a fox's den.\n\nThey welcomed the spring eagerly and in March packed the wagon and drove out of Exmouth, moving across the Salisbury Plain and through the low scarpland where begrimed slaves dug through limestone and chalk to grub out iron and tin. They didn't stop in the slave camps because there wasn't a halfpenny to be earned there. It was Barber's thought to travel the border with Wales until Shrewsbury, there to find the River Trent and follow it northeastward. They stopped in all the by-now-familiar villages and little towns. Horse didn't step into a parade prance with anything like the verve that had been shown by Incitatus, but she was handsome and they dressed her mane with scores of ribbons. Business by and large was very good.\n\nAt Hope-Under-Dinmore they found a craftsman in leather who had clever hands and Rob bought two scabbards in soft leather to hold the weapons he had been promised.\n\nWhen they reached Blyth they went at once to the smithy, where Durman Moulton made them a satisfied greeting. The artisan went to a shelf in the dim recesses of his shop and came back carrying two bundles wrapped in soft animal skins.\n\nRob undid them eagerly and caught his breath.\n\nIf it was possible, the broadsword was better than the one they had so admired the previous year. The dagger was equally wrought. While Rob exulted in the sword, Barber hefted the knife and felt its exquisite balancing.\n\n\"It is clean work,\" he told Moulton, who accepted the compliment for what it was.\n\nRob slipped each blade into its scabbard on his belt, testing the unfamiliar weight. He placed his hands on their hilts and Barber couldn't resist studying him.\n\nHe had presence. At eighteen he finally had reached full growth and stood a double span higher than Barber. He was broad in the shoulder and lean, with a mane of curling brown hair, wide-set blue eyes that changed their mood more swiftly than the sea, a large-boned face and a square jaw he kept scraped clean. He half pulled from its sheath the sword that advertised him as freeborn, and slid it down again. Watching, Barber felt a chill of pride and an overpowering apprehension to which he couldn't give a name.\n\nPerhaps it was not incorrect to call it fear."
            },
            {
                "title": "A NEW ARRANGEMENT",
                "text": "The first time Rob walked into a public house wearing arms\u2014it was in Beverley\u2014he felt the difference. It was not that men showed him any more respect, but they were more careful with him, and more watchful. Barber kept telling him that he had to be more careful, too, since violent anger was one of Holy Mother Church's eight capital crimes.\n\nRob grew weary of hearing what would happen if reeve's men should drag him into churchly court, but Barber repeatedly described trials by ordeal, in which the accused were made to test their innocence by grasping heated rocks or white-hot metal, or drinking boiling water.\n\n\"Conviction for murder means hanging or beheading,\" Barber said severely. \"Often when someone does manslaughter, thongs are passed under the sinews of his heels and tied to the tails of wild bulls. The beasts are then hunted to death by hounds.\"\n\nMerciful Christ, Rob thought, Barber has become an elderly lady complete with faint sighs. Does he believe I'll go out and slay the populace?\n\nIn the town of Fulford he discovered he had lost the Roman coin he'd carried with him since his father's work crew had dredged it from the Thames. In the blackest of humors, he drank until it was easy to be provoked by a pockmarked Scot who jostled his elbow. Instead of apologizing, the Scot muttered nastily in Gaelic.\n\n\"Speak English, you damned dwarf,\" Rob snarled, for the Scot, though powerfully built, was two heads shorter than he.\n\nBarber's cautions may have taken hold, for he had the sense to unbuckle his weapons. The Scot did likewise at once, and then they closed with one another. Despite the man's lack of height it was a rude surprise to find him unbelievably skillful with his hands and feet. His first kick cracked a rib and then a fist like a rock broke Rob's nose with an unpleasant sound and worse agony.\n\nRob grunted. \"Whoreson,\" he gasped, and called upon pain and rage to extend his strength. He was barely able to stay in the fight until the Scot was sufficiently used up to make mutual withdrawal possible.\n\nHe limped his way back to the camp feeling and looking as though he had been set upon and beaten mercilessly by a band of giants.\n\nBarber was not overly gentle when he set the broken nose with a crackling of gristle. He dabbed liquor on the scrapes and bruises, but his words stung more than the alcohol.\n\n\"You're at a crossroads,\" he said. \"You've learned our trade. You've a quick mind and there's no reason you shouldn't prosper, except the quality of your own spirit. For if you continue along your present path, you'll soon be a hopeless drunkard.\"\n\n\"Pronounced so by one who will himself die of the drink,\" Rob said disdainfully. He grunted as he touched his swollen and bleeding lips.\n\n\"I doubt you'll live long enough to die of the drink,\" Barber said.\n\nNo matter how hard Rob searched, the Roman coin was not to be found. The only possession that remained to link him with his childhood was the arrowhead his father had given him. He had a hole bored through the flint and wore it on a short deerskin thong tied around his neck.\n\nNow men tended to move out of his way, for in addition to his size and the professional look of his weapons, he had a motley nose that wandered slightly on a face in various stages of discoloration. Perhaps Barber had been too angry to do his best when he had set the nose, which was never to be straight again.\n\nThe rib hurt for weeks whenever he breathed. Rob was subdued as they traveled from the region of Northumbria to Westmoreland, and then back again to Northumbria. He didn't go to public houses or taverns where it was easy to get into fights, but stayed close to the wagon and the evening fire. Whenever they were camped far from a town he took to sampling the physick and developed a taste for metheglin. But on a night when he had drunk heavily of their stock he found himself about to open a flask on whose neck was scratched the letter B. It was a container from the Special Batch of pissed-in liquor, put up to provide revenge on those who became Barber's enemies. Shuddering, Rob threw the flask away; from then on he bought liquor when they stopped at a town and stowed it carefully in a corner of the wagon.\n\nIn the town of Newcastle he played the Old Man, taking refuge behind a false beard that hid his bruises. They had a good crowd and sold a lot of physick. After the entertainment, Rob came behind the wagon to remove his disguise so he could set up his screen and begin his examinations; Barber was already there, arguing with a tall, bony man.\n\n\"I have followed you from Durham, where I observed you,\" the man was saying. \"Where you go, you draw a crowd. A crowd is what I need, and I propose we travel together and share all earnings.\"\n\n\"You have no earnings,\" Barber said.\n\nThe man smiled. \"I do, for my task is hard work.\"\n\n\"You are a fingersmith and a cutpurse, and you'll be caught one day with your hand in a stranger's pocket and that will be the end of you. I do not work with thieves.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the choice isn't yours.\"\n\n\"The choice is his,\" Rob said.\n\nThe man scarcely favored him with a glance. \"You must be silent, old man, lest you attract the attention of those able to do you harm.\"\n\nRob stepped toward him. The pickpocket's eyes widened in surprise, and he drew a long, narrow knife from inside his clothing and made a little movement toward them both.\n\nRob's fine dagger seemed to leave the scabbard of its own accord and slip into the man's arm. He wasn't conscious of effort but the thrust must have been forceful, for he could feel the point grate against bone. When he pulled the blade from the flesh it was at once replaced by spouting blood. Rob was amazed that so much gore should appear so quickly from such a skinny crane of a person.\n\nThe pickpocket backed away, holding his wounded arm.\n\n\"Come back,\" Barber said. \"Let us bind it up for you. We shan't cause you further harm.\"\n\nBut the man was already edging around the wagon and in a moment had scurried off.\n\n\"So much bleeding will be noticed. If there are reeve's men in the town they'll take him, and he may well lead them to us. We must leave here quickly,\" Barber said.\n\nThey fled as they had when they had feared the death of patients, not stopping until they were certain they weren't pursued.\n\nRob made a fire and sat by it, still dressed as the Old Man and too tired to change, eating cold turnip from yesterday's meal.\n\n\"There were two of us,\" Barber said in disgust. \"We could have rid ourselves of him.\"\n\n\"He needed a lesson.\"\n\nBarber faced him. \"Listen to me,\" he said. \"You've become a risk.\"\n\nRob bridled at the injustice, for he had acted to protect Barber. He felt new anger bubbling in him, and old resentment. \"You've never risked anything on me. You no longer provide our money\u2014I do. I earn more for you than that thief could have gathered with his pinching fingers.\"\n\n\"A risk and a liability,\" Barber said tiredly, and turned away.\n\nThey reached the northernmost leg of their route and stopped in border hamlets where the residents didn't rightly know whether they were English or Scots. When he and Barber were playing before an audience they joshed and worked in apparent harmony, but when they weren't on the bank they settled into a cold silence. If they attempted conversation it soon became a quarrel.\n\nThe day was past when Barber dared raise a hand to him, but when he was drunk he still had a filthy and abusive tongue that knew no caution.\n\nOn a night in Lancaster, camped next to a pond from which moonpainted mist rose like pale smoke, they were plagued by an army of small flylike insects and took refuge in drink.\n\n\"Always were a great clumsy lout. Young Sir Dunghill.\"\n\nRob sighed.\n\n\"I took an orphaned arsehole \u2026 molded him \u2026 would be less than nought without me.\"\n\nOne day soon he would begin to practice barber-surgery on his own, Rob decided; he'd been a long time coming to the conclusion that his path must separate from Barber's.\n\nHe had found a merchant with a store of sour wine and had bought in quantity; now he tried to drink the abrasive voice silent. But it went on.\n\n\"\u2026 ham-handed and slow of wit. How I did labor to teach him to juggle!\"\n\nSoon Rob crawled into the wagon to refill his goblet but was followed by the terrible voice.\n\n\"Fetch me a bloody stoup.\"\n\nFetch it for your miserable self, he was about to answer.\n\nInstead, taken by an irresistible notion, he crept to where the flagons of Special Batch were kept.\n\nHe took one and held it to his eyes until he saw the scratch marks that identified what it was. Then he crawled from the wagon, unstoppered the clay bottle, and handed it to the fat man.\n\nWicked, he thought fearfully. Yet no more wicked than Barber's giving Special Batch to so many through the years.\n\nHe watched in fascination as Barber took the flagon, tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and lifted the drink to his lips.\n\nThere was yet time to redeem himself. He almost heard his voice calling upon Barber to wait. He would say the bottle had a broken lip and easily replace it with an unmarked bottle of metheglin.\n\nBut he kept his silence.\n\nThe neck of the bottle entered Barber's mouth.\n\nSwallow it, Rob urged cruelly.\n\nThe fleshy neck worked as Barber drank. Then, throwing away the empty flask, he fell back into sleep.\n\nWhy did he feel no glee? Through a long and sleepless night he thought on it.\n\nWhen Barber was sober he could be two men, one of them kindly and with a merry heart, the other a baser person who didn't hesitate to dispense the Special Batch. When he was drunk there was no question, the baser man emerged.\n\nRob saw with sudden clarity, like a spear of light across a dark sky, that he was transforming himself into the baser Barber. He shivered, and a desolation crept over him as he moved closer to the fire.\n\nNext morning he rose with first light and found the discarded marked bottle and hid it in the woods. Then he restored the fire and by the time Barber stirred, a lavish breakfast awaited him.\n\n\"I haven't been a proper man,\" Rob said when Barber had eaten. He hesitated and then forced himself to go on. \"I ask your pardon and absolution.\"\n\nBarber nodded, astonished into silence.\n\nThey harnessed Horse and rode without speaking through half the morning, and at times Rob was aware of the other man's thoughtful eyes on him.\n\n\"I have long dwelt on it,\" Barber said at last. \"Next season you must go out as barbersurgeon without me.\"\n\nFeeling guilty because only the day before he had reached the same conclusion, Rob protested. \"It's the damned drink. The stuff transforms each of us cruelly. We must abjure it and we'll get on as before.\"\n\nBarber appeared moved but shook his head. \"It's partly the drink, and partly it is that you're a young hart needing to try his antlers and I'm an old stag. Further, for a stag I am exceedingly huge and breathless,\" he said drily. \"It takes all my strength for me simply to climb the bank, and each day it's more difficult for me to get through the entertainment. I would happily remain in Exmouth forever, to enjoy the soft summer and tend a salad garden, to say nothing of the pleasures I'll gain from my kitchen. While you are gone I can put up a plentiful store of the physick. Too, I'll pay for maintenance of wagon and Horse as heretofore. You shall keep for yourself the proceed from every patient whom you treat, as well as from every fifth bottle of physick sold the first year and every fourth bottle sold each year thereafter.\"\n\n\"Every third bottle the first year,\" Rob said automatically. \"And every second bottle thereafter.\"\n\n\"That's excessive for a youth of nineteen years,\" Barber said severely. His eyes gleamed. \"Let us dwell on it together,\" he said, \"for we are reasonable men.\"\n\nIn the end they agreed on the income from every fourth bottle over the first year, and on every third bottle in years following. The agreement would run for a period of five years, after which they would take stock of it.\n\nBarber was jubilant and Rob couldn't believe his good fortune, for his earnings would be remarkable for one his age. They traveled southward through Northumbria in the highest of spirits and with a renewal of good feeling and comradeship. In Leeds, after their work they spent several hours at marketing; Barber bought prodigiously and declared that he must make a dinner suitable to celebrate their new arrangement.\n\nThey left Leeds along a track that rode low beside the River Aire, through mile on mile of ancient trees towering high above green thickets and twisted groves and heathy glades. They camped early among alder beds and willows where the river widened, and for hours he helped Barber create a great meat pie. In it Barber placed the minced and mingled meat of the leg of a roe deer and a loin of veal, a plump capon and a pair of doves, six boiled eggs and half a pound of fat, covering all with a crust that was thick and flaky and oozing oil.\n\nThey ate it at great length, and nothing would suit Barber but to begin drinking metheglin when the pie raised his thirst. Remembering his recent vow, Rob drank water and watched as Barber's face reddened and his eyes grew surly.\n\nPresently Barber demanded that Rob carry two boxes of flasks out of the wagon and set them close to him, that he might help himself at will. Rob did so and watched uneasily while Barber drank. Soon Barber began to mutter untowardly about the terms of their agreement, but before things could go thwartly he sank into a sodden sleep.\n\nIn the morning, which was bright and sunny and filled with the song of birds, Barber was pale and querulous. He didn't appear to recall his overweening behavior of the previous evening.\n\n\"Let's go after trouts,\" he said. \"I could do well with a breakfast of crisp fish and the Aire appears to be likely water.\" But when he rose from his bed he complained of an ague in his left shoulder. \"I'll load the wagon,\" he decided, \"for labor often works to grease an aching joint.\"\n\nHe carried one of the boxes of metheglin back to the wagon, then returned and picked up the other. He was halfway to the wagon when he dropped the box with a thump and a clatter. A puzzled look crept into his face.\n\nHe put his hand to his chest and grimaced. Rob saw that pain was making him hunch his shoulders. \"Robert,\" he said politely. It was the first time Rob had heard Barber pronounce his formal name.\n\nHe took one step toward Rob, thrusting out both his hands.\n\nBut before Rob could reach him he stopped breathing. Like a great tree\u2014no, like an avalanche, like the death of a mountain\u2014Barber toppled and fell, crashing to the earth."
            },
            {
                "title": "REQUIESCAT",
                "text": "\"I did not know him.\"\n\n\"He was my friend.\"\n\n\"Nor ever have I seen you,\" the priest said dourly.\n\n\"You see me now.\" Rob had unloaded their belongings from the wagon and hidden them behind a copse of willows, in order to make room for Barber's body. He had driven six hours to reach the small village of Aire's Cross, with its ancient church. Now this mean-eyed cleric asked suspicious and surly questions, as if Barber had pretended to die, solely for his inconvenience.\n\nThe priest sniffed in open disapproval when his inquiry revealed what Barber had been in life. \"Physician, surgeon, or barber\u2014all of these flout the obvious truth that only the Trinity and the saints have true power to heal.\"\n\nRob was burdened with strong emotions and not disposed to listen to such sounds. Enough, he snarled silently. He was conscious of the weapons on his belt but it was as though Barber counseled him to forbear. He spoke softly and pleasingly to the priest and made a sizable contribution to the church.\n\nFinally the priest sniffed. \"Archbishop Wulfstan has forbidden priests to entice away another priest's parishioner with his tithes and dues.\"\n\n\"He wasn't another priest's parishioner,\" Rob said. In the end burial in sacred ground was arranged.\n\nIt was fortunate he had taken a full purse with him. The matter couldn't be delayed, for already there was the smell of death. The joiner in the village was shocked when he saw how large a box he must construct. The hole had to be correspondingly generous, and Rob dug it himself in a corner of the churchyard.\n\nRob had thought Aire's Cross was so named because it marked a ford on the River Aire, but the priest said the hamlet was called after a great rood of polished oak within the church. Before the altar at the foot of this enormous cross was placed Barber's rosemary-strewn coffin. By chance the day was Feast of St. Callistus and the Church of the Rood was well attended. When the Kyrie Eleison was said, the little sanctuary was almost filled.\n\n\"Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy,\" they chanted.\n\nThere were only two small windows. Incense fought with the stink, but some air came through the walls of split trees and the thatched roof, causing the rush lights to flicker in their sockets. Six tall tapers struggled against the gloom in a circle around the casket. A white pall covered all but Barber's face. Rob had closed his eyes and he looked asleep, or perhaps very drunk.\n\n\"He was father to you?\" an old woman whispered. Rob hesitated, then it seemed easiest to nod. She sighed and touched his arm.\n\nHe had paid for a Mass of Requiem in which the people participated with touching solemnity, and he saw with satisfaction that Barber wouldn't have been better attended had he belonged to a guild, nor more respectfully prayed away if his pall had been the purple of royalty.\n\nWhen the Mass was done and the people departed, Rob approached the altar. He knelt four times and signed the cross upon his breast as he had been taught by Mam so long ago, bowing himself separately to God, His Son, Our Lady, and finally to the Apostles and all holy souls.\n\nThe priest went about the church and thriftily extinguished the rush lights, and then left him mourning by the bier.\n\nRob departed neither to eat nor to drink but remained kneeling, seemingly suspended between dancing candlelight and the heavy blackness.\n\nTime passed without his knowledge.\n\nHe was startled when loud bells chimed the hour of matins, and he rose to lurch down the aisle on benumbed legs.\n\n\"Make your reverence,\" the priest said coldly, and he did so.\n\nOutside, he walked down the road. Under a tree he passed water, then returned and washed hands and face from the bucket by the door while within the church the priest completed Midnight Office.\n\nSome time after the priest went away for the second time the tapers burned down, leaving Rob alone in darkness with Barber.\n\nNow he allowed himself to think of how the man had saved him when he was a boy in London. He remembered Barber when he was gentle and when he was not; his tender pleasure at preparing and sharing food, and his selfishness; his patience in instruction, and his cruelty; his raunchiness, and his sober advice; his laughter, and his rages; his warm spirit, and his drunkenness.\n\nWhat had passed between them wasn't love, Rob knew. Yet it had been something that substituted for love sufficiently that, as first light grayed the waxen face, Rob J. wept bitterly, and not entirely for Henry Croft.\n\nBarber was buried after lauds. The priest didn't spend overly long at the graveside. \"You may fill it in,\" he told Rob. As the stone and gravel rattled onto the lid, Rob heard him mutter in Latin, something about the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection.\n\nRob did what he would have done for family. Remembering his lost graves, he paid the priest to order a stone and specified how it was to be marked.\n\nHenry Croft.\n\nBarbersurgeon.\n\nDied Jul 11 in the yr A.D. 1030.\n\n\"Mayhap Requiescat in Pace, or some such?\" the priest said.\n\nThe only epitaph true to Barber that came to him was Carpe Diem, \"Enjoy the Day.\" Yet, somehow \u2026\n\nAnd then he smiled.\n\nThe priest was annoyed when he heard the selection. But the formidable young stranger was paying for the stone and insisted, so the cleric carefully wrote it down.\n\nFumum vendidi. \"I sold smoke.\"\n\nWatching this cold-eyed priest putting away his profit with a satisfied mien, Rob realized that it wouldn't be remarkable if no stone were raised to a dead barbersurgeon. With no one in Aire's Cross to care.\n\n\"I shall be back one day soon to see that all is to my satisfaction.\"\n\nA veil came over the priest's eyes. \"Go with God,\" he said shortly, and went back into the church.\n\nWeary to the bone and hungry, Rob drove Horse to where he had left their things in the willow copse.\n\nNothing had been disturbed. When he had loaded it all back into the wagon, he sat in the grass and ate. What remained of the meat pie was spoiled, but he chewed and swallowed a stale loaf Barber had baked four days before.\n\nIt occurred to him that he was the heir. It was his horse and his wagon. He had inherited the instruments and techniques, the ratty fur blankets, the juggling balls and the magic tricks, the dazzle and the smoke, the decisions about where to go tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.\n\nThe first thing he did was remove the flasks of Special Batch and throw them against a rock, smashing them one by one.\n\nHe would sell Barber's weapons; his own were better. But he hung the Saxon horn around his neck.\n\nHe clambered onto the front seat of the wagon and sat there, solemn and erect, as though it were a throne.\n\nPerhaps, he thought, he would look around and get himself a boy."
            },
            {
                "title": "A WOMAN IN THE ROAD",
                "text": "He traveled on as they always had done, \"taking a promenade through the innocent world,\" Barber would have said. For the first days he couldn't force himself to unpack the wagon or give an entertainment. In Lincoln he bought himself a hot meal at the public house but he did no cooking, mostly feeding on bread and cheese made by others. He didn't drink at all. Evenings, he sat by his campfire and was assailed by a terrible loneliness.\n\nHe was waiting for something to happen. But nothing did, and after a bit he came to understand that he would have to live his life.\n\nIn Stafford he decided to return to work. Horse picked up her ears and pranced as he banged the drum and announced their presence in the town square.\n\nIt was as though he had always worked alone. The people who gathered didn't know there should have been an older man who signaled when to start and stop the juggling and who told the best stories. They gathered about and listened and laughed, watched enthralled as he drew likenesses, bought his doctored liquor, and waited in line to seek treatment behind the screen. When Rob took their hands he discovered the gift was back. A burly blacksmith who looked as though he could lift the world had something in him that was consuming his life, and he wouldn't last long. A thin girl whose wan appearance might have suggested illness had a reservoir of strength and vitality that filled Rob with joy when he felt it. Perhaps, as Barber had declared, the gift had been stifled by alcohol and liberated by abstinence. Whatever the reason for its return, he found himself astir with excitement and eager to be linked to the next pair of hands.\n\nLeaving Stafford that afternoon, he stopped at a farm to buy bacon and saw the barn mouser with a litter of kittens. \"Take your pick of the lot,\" the farmer told him hopefully. \"I'll have to drown most of them, for they all consume food.\"\n\nRob played with them, dangling a piece of rope in front of their noses, and they were each winsome save for one disdainful little white cat that remained haughty and scornful.\n\n\"Do you not wish to come with me, eh?\" The kitten was composed and looked to be the goodliest, but when he tried to hold her she scratched him on the hand.\n\nStrangely, it made him all the more determined to take her. He whispered to her soothingly, and it was a triumph when he was able to pick her up and smooth her fur with his fingers.\n\n\"This one will do,\" he said, and thanked the farmer.\n\nNext morning he cooked his own breakfast and fed the cat bread soaked in milk. When he gazed into her greenish eyes he recognized the feline bitchiness there, and he smiled. \"I'll name you after Mistress Buffington,\" he told her.\n\nPerhaps feeding her was the necessary magic. Within hours she was purring to him, lying in his lap as he sat in the wagon seat.\n\nIn the middle of the morning he set the cat aside when he drove around a curve in Tettenhall, and came upon a man standing over a woman in the road. \"What ails her?\" he called, and pulled Horse short. He saw she was breathing; her face was bright with exertion and she had an enormous belly.\n\n\"Come her time,\" the man said.\n\nIn the orchard behind him, half a dozen baskets were filled with apples. He was dressed in rags and didn't appear the man to own rich property. Rob guessed he was a cottager, doubtless laboring on a large tract for a landlord in return for a small soccage piece he could work for his own family.\n\n\"We were picking earliest fruit when her pains came upon her. She started for home but was quickly caught out. There is no midwife here, for the woman died this spring. I sent a boy running to fetch the leech when it was clear she was in a hard place.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" Rob said, and picked up his reins. He was prepared to move on because it was precisely the kind of situation Barber had taught him to avoid; if he could help the woman there would be tiny payment, but if he could not, he might be blamed for what happened.\n\n\"It's been time and more now,\" the man said bitterly, \"and still the physician doesn't come. He's a Jew doctor.\"\n\nEven as the man spoke, Rob saw his wife's eyes roll back in her head as she went into convulsions.\n\nFrom what Barber had told him of Jew physicians he thought it likely the leech might not come at all. He was snared by the stolid misery in the cottager's eyes and by memories he would have liked to forget.\n\nSighing, he climbed down from the wagon.\n\nHe knelt over the dirty, worn woman and took her hands. \"When did she last feel the child move?\"\n\n\"It's been weeks. For a fortnight she's been feeling poorly, as if she was poisoned.\" She had had four previous pregnancies, he said. There was a pair of boys at home but the last two babies had been born still.\n\nRob felt that this child was dead too. He put his hand lightly on the distended stomach and wished devoutly to leave, but in his mind he saw Mam's white face when she had lain on the shitty stable floor, and he had a disturbing knowledge that the woman would die quickly unless he acted.\n\nIn the jumble of Barber's gear he found the speculum of polished metal, but he didn't use it as a mirror. When the convulsion had passed he positioned her legs and dilated the cervix with the instrument as Barber had described its use. The mass inside her slid out easily, more putrefaction than baby. He was scarcely aware of her husband sucking in his breath and walking away.\n\nHis hands told his head what to do, instead of the other way around.\n\nHe got the placenta out and cleansed and washed her. When he looked up, to his surprise he saw that the Jew doctor had arrived.\n\n\"You will want to take over,\" he said. He felt great relief, for there was steady bleeding.\n\n\"There is no hurry,\" the physician said. But he listened interminably to her breathing and examined her so slowly and thoroughly that his lack of faith in Rob was apparent.\n\nEventually the Jew appeared satisfied. \"Place your palm on her abdomen and rub firmly, like this.\"\n\nRob massaged her empty belly, wondering. Finally, through the abdomen he could feel the big, spongy womb snap back into a small hard ball, and the bleeding stopped.\n\n\"Magic worthy of Merlin and a trick I'll remember,\" he said.\n\n\"There is no magic in what we do,\" the Jew doctor said calmly. \"You know my name.\"\n\n\"We met some years ago. In Leicester.\"\n\nBenjamin Merlin looked at the garish wagon and then smiled. \"Ah. You were a boy, the apprentice. The barber was a fat man who belched colored ribbons.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nRob didn't tell him Barber was dead, nor did Merlin inquire of him. They studied one another. The Jew's hawk face was still framed by a full head of white hair and his white beard, but he was not so thin as he had been.\n\n\"The clerk with whom you spoke, that day in Leicester. Did you couch his eyes?\"\n\n\"Clerk?\" Merlin appeared puzzled and then his gaze cleared. \"Yes! He is Edgar Thorpe of the village of Lucteburne, in Leicestershire.\"\n\nIf Rob had heard of Edgar Thorpe he had forgotten. It was a difference between them, he realized; much of the time he didn't learn his patients' names.\n\n\"I did operate on him and removed his cataracts.\"\n\n\"And today? Is he well?\"\n\nMerlin smiled ruefully. \"Master Thorpe cannot be called well, for he grows old and has ailments and complaints. But he sees through both eyes.\"\n\nRob had hidden the ruined fetus in a rag. Merlin unwrapped it and studied it, then he sprinkled it with water from a flask. \"I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,\" the Jew said briskly, then he rewrapped the little bundle and carried it to the cottager. \"The infant has been christened properly,\" he said, \"and doubtless will be allowed to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. You must tell Father Stigand or that other priest at the church.\"\n\nThe husbandman took out a soiled purse, the stolid misery on his face mingling with apprehension. \"What do I pay, master physician?\"\n\n\"What you can,\" Merlin said, and the man took a penny from the purse and gave it to him.\n\n\"Was it a man-child?\"\n\n\"One cannot tell,\" the physician said kindly. He dropped the coin into the large pocket of his kirtle and fumbled until he came up with a halfpenny, which he gave to Rob. They had to help the cottager carry her home, a hard ha'penny's worth of work.\n\nWhen finally they were free they went to a nearby stream and washed off the blood.\n\n\"You've watched similar deliveries?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"How did you know what to do?\"\n\nRob shrugged. \"It had been described to me.\"\n\n\"They say some are born healers. Selected.\" The Jew smiled at him. \"Of course, others are simply lucky,\" he said.\n\nThe man's scrutiny made him uncomfortable. \"If the mother had been dead and the babe alive, \u2026\" Rob said, forcing himself to ask.\n\n\"Caesar's operation.\"\n\nRob stared.\n\n\"You don't know of what I speak?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You must cut through the belly and the uterine wall and take the child.\"\n\n\"Open the mother?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you done this?\"\n\n\"Several times. When I was a medical clerk I saw one of my teachers open a live woman to get at her child.\"\n\nLiar! he thought, ashamed to be listening so eagerly. He remembered what Barber had said about this man and all his kind. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"She died, but she would have died at any rate. I do not approve of opening live women, but I was told of men who had done so with both mother and child surviving.\"\n\nRob turned away before this French-sounding man could laugh at him for a fool. But he had taken only two steps when he was compelled to come back.\n\n\"Where to cut?\"\n\nIn the dust of the road the Jew drew a torso and showed two incisions, one a long straight line on the left side, the other up the middle of the belly. \"Either,\" he said, and threw the stick far.\n\nRob nodded and went away, unable to give him thanks."
            },
            {
                "title": "CAPS AT TABLE",
                "text": "He moved out of Tettenhall at once but something was already happening to him.\n\nHe was running low on Universal Specific and next day bought a keg of liquor from a farmer, pausing to mix a new batch of physick which that afternoon he began to rid himself of in Ludlow. The Specific sold as well as ever, but he was preoccupied and a little frightened.\n\nTo hold a human soul in the palm of your hand like a pebble. To feel somebody slip away, yet by your actions to bring her back! Not even a king had such power.\n\nSelected.\n\nCould he learn more? How much could be learned? What must it be like, he asked himself, to learn all that could be taught?\n\nFor the first time he recognized in himself a desire to become a physician.\n\nTruly to be able to fight death! He was having new and disturbing thoughts that at times produced rapture and at other times were almost an agony.\n\nNext morning he set out for Worcester, the next town to the south along the Severn River. He didn't remember seeing the river or the track, or recollect guiding Horse, or recall anything else of the journey. When he reached Worcester, the townsfolk gaped as they watched the red wagon; it rolled into the square, made a complete circuit without stopping, and then left the town and traveled back in the direction whence it had come.\n\nThe village of Lucteburne in Leicestershire wasn't large enough to support a tavern, but haysel was in progress and when he stopped at a meadow in which four men wielded scythes, the cutter in the swath closest to the road ceased his rhythmic swinging long enough to tell him how to reach Edgar Thorpe's house.\n\nRob found the old man on his hands and knees in his small garden, harvesting leeks. He perceived at once, with a strange sense of excitement, that Thorpe was able to see. But he was suffering sorely from rheum sickness and, although Rob helped him to regain his feet amid groans and anguished exclamations, it was a few moments before they were able to speak calmly.\n\nRob brought several bottles of Specific from the wagon and opened one, which pleased his host greatly.\n\n\"I am here to inquire into the operation which gave you back your sight, Master Thorpe.\"\n\n\"Indeed? And what is your interest?\"\n\nRob hesitated. \"I have a kinsman in need of such treatment, and I inquire in his name.\"\n\nThorpe took a swallow of liquor and then sighed. \"I hope that he's a strong man with bountiful courage,\" he said. \"Tied to a chair hands and feet, I was. Cruel bindings cut into my head, fixing it against the high back. I'd been fed many a stoup and was close to senseless from drink, but then small hooks were placed beneath my eyelids and lifted by assistants so I couldn't blink.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes and shuddered. The tale obviously had been told many times, for the details were fixed in his memory and related without hesitation, but Rob found them no less fascinating for that.\n\n\"Such was my affliction that I could only see, fuzzily, what was directly before me. There swam into my vision Master Merlin's hand. It was holding a blade, which grew larger as it descended, until it cut into my eye.\n\n\"Oh, the pain of it sobered me instantly! I was certain he had cut out my eye instead of merely removing the cloudiness and I shrieked at him and importuned him to do nothing more to me. When he persisted I rained curses on his head and said that at last I understood how his despised folk could have killed our gentle Lord.\n\n\"When he cut into the second eye the pain was so great that I lost all knowledge. I awoke to the darkness of wrapped eyes and for almost a fortnight suffered grievously. But at length I was able to see as I hadn't done for overly long. So great was the improvement of my sight that I spent two more full years as clerk before the rheum made it sensible to curtail my duties.\"\n\nSo it was true, Rob thought dazedly. Then perhaps the other things Benjamin Merlin had told him were fact as well.\n\n\"Master Merlin is the goodliest doctor ever I did see,\" Edgar Thorpe said. \"Except,\" he added crossly, \"for so competent a physician he seems to be meeting untoward difficulty in ridding my bones and joints of great discomfort.\"\n\nHe went to Tettenhall again and camped in a little valley, staying near the town three days like a lovesick swain who lacked the courage to visit a female but couldn't bring himself to leave her alone. The first farmer from whom he bought provision told him where Benjamin Merlin lived, and several times he drove Horse slowly past the place, a low farmhouse with well-kept barn and outbuilding, a field, an orchard, and a vineyard. There were no outward signs that here lived a physician.\n\nOn the afternoon of the third day, miles from Merlin's house, he met the physician on the road.\n\n\"How do I find you, young barber?\"\n\nRob said he was well and asked after the physician's health. They chatted of weather for a grave moment and then Merlin nodded his dismissal. \"I may not tarry, for I must still go to the homes of three sick persons before my day's work is done.\"\n\n\"May I accompany you, and observe?\" Rob forced himself to say.\n\nThe physician hesitated. He seemed less than pleased by the request. But he nodded, however reluctantly. \"Kindly see that you stay out of the way,\" he said.\n\nThe first patient lived not far from where they had met, in a small cottage by a goose pond. He was Edwin Griffith, an old man with a hollow cough, and Rob saw at once that he was failing of advanced chest sickness and soon would be in his grave.\n\n\"How do I find you this day, Master Griffith?\" Merlin asked.\n\nThe old man quailed beneath a paroxysm of coughing and then gasped and sighed. \"I am same and with few regrets, save that I wasn't able today to feed my geese.\"\n\nMerlin smiled. \"Perhaps my young friend here might tend to them,\" he said, and Rob could do nothing but agree. Old Griffith told him where fodder was kept, and soon he was hurrying to the side of the pond with a sack. He was annoyed because this visit was a loss to him, since surely Merlin wouldn't spend time overly with a dying man. He approached the geese gingerly, for he knew how vicious they could be; but they were hungry and single-mindedly made for the feed with a great squabble, allowing him a quick escape.\n\nTo his surprise, Merlin was still talking with Edwin Griffith when he reentered the little house. Rob never had seen a physician work so deliberately. Merlin asked interminable questions about the man's habits and diet, about his childhood, about his parents and his grandparents and what they had died of. He felt the pulse at the wrist and again on the neck, and he placed his ear against the chest and listened. Rob hung back, watching intently.\n\nWhen they left, the old man thanked him for feeding the fowl.\n\nIt appeared to be a day devoted to tending the doomed, for Merlin led him two miles away to a house off the town square, in which the reeve's wife lay wasting away in pain.\n\n\"How do I find you, Mary Sweyn?\"\n\nShe didn't answer but looked at him steadily. It was answer enough, and Merlin nodded. He sat and held her hand and spoke quietly to her; as he had done with the old man, he spent a surprising amount of time.\n\n\"You may help me to turn Mistress Sweyn,\" he said to Rob. \"Gently. Gently, now.\" When Merlin lifted her bedgown to bathe her skeletal body they noted, on her pitiful left flank, an angry boil. The physician lanced it at once to give her comfort and Rob saw to his satisfaction that it was accomplished as he would have done it himself. Merlin left her a flask filled with a pain-dulling infusion.\n\n\"One more to see,\" Merlin said as they closed Mary Sweyn's door. \"He is Tancred Osbern, whose son brought word this morning that he has done himself an injury.\"\n\nMerlin tied his horse's reins to the wagon and sat on the front seat next to Rob, for the company.\n\n\"How fare your kinsman's eyes?\" the physician asked blandly.\n\nHe might have known that Edgar Thorpe would mention his inquiry, Rob told himself, and felt the blood rushing into his cheeks. \"I didn't intend to deceive him. I wished to see for myself the results of your couching,\" he said. \"And it seemed the simplest way to explain my interest.\"\n\nMerlin smiled and nodded. As they rode he explained the surgical method he had used to remove Thorpe's cataracts. \"It is not an operation I would advise anyone doing on his own,\" he said pointedly, and Rob nodded, for he had no intention of going off to operate on any person's eyes!\n\nWhenever they came to a crossroads Merlin pointed the way, until finally they drew near a prosperous farm. It had the orderly look produced by constant attention, but inside they found a massive and muscular farmer groaning on the straw-filled pallet that was his bed.\n\n\"Ah, Tancred, what have you done to yourself this time?\" Merlin said.\n\n\"Hurt t'bloody leg.\"\n\nMerlin threw back the cover and frowned, for the right limb was twisted at the thigh, and swollen. \"You must be in frightful pain. Yet you told the boy to say, 'whenever I arrived.' Next time you are not to be stupidly brave, that I may come at once,\" he said sharply.\n\nThe man closed his eyes and nodded.\n\n\"How did you do yourself, and when?\"\n\n\"Yesterday noon. Fell off damn roof while fixing cursed thatch.\"\n\n\"You will not be fixing the thatch for a while,\" Merlin said. He looked at Rob. \"I shall need help. Find us a splint, somewhat longer than his leg.\"\n\n\"Not to tear up buildings or fences,\" Osbern growled.\n\nRob went to see what he could find. In the barn there were a dozen logs of beech and oak, as well as a piece of pine that had been worked by hand into a board. It was too wide, but the wood was soft and it took him little time to split it lengthwise using the farmer's tools.\n\nOsbern glowered when he recognized the splint but said nothing.\n\nMerlin looked down and sighed. \"He has thighs like a bull's. We have our work before us, young Cole,\" he said. Grasping the injured leg by the ankle and the calf, the physician tried to exert a steady pressure, at the same time turning and straightening the twisted limb. There was a small crackling, like the sound made when dried leaves are crushed, and Osbern emitted a great bellowing.\n\n\"It is no use,\" Merlin said in a moment. \"His muscles are huge. They have locked themselves to protect the leg and I do not have sufficient strength to overcome them and reduce the fracture.\"\n\n\"Let me try,\" Rob said.\n\nMerlin nodded, but first he fed a full mug of liquor to the farmer, who was trembling and sobbing with the agony induced by the unsuccessful effort.\n\n\"Give me another,\" Osbern gasped.\n\nWhen he had swallowed the second cup, Rob grasped the leg as Merlin had done. Careful not to jerk, he exerted steady pressure, and Osbern's deep voice changed to a shrill prolonged scream.\n\nMerlin had grabbed the big man beneath the armpits and was pulling the other way, his face contorted and his eyes popping with the effort.\n\n\"I think we're getting it,\" Rob shouted so Merlin could hear him over the anguished sounds. \"It's going!\" Even as he spoke, the ends of the broken bone grated past one another and locked into place.\n\nThere was a sudden silence from the man in the bed.\n\nRob glanced to see if he had fainted, but Osbern was lying back limply, his face wet with tears.\n\n\"Keep up the tension on the leg,\" Merlin said urgently.\n\nHe fashioned a sling out of strips of rag and fastened it around Osbern's foot and ankle. He tied one end of a rope to the sling and the other end tautly to the door handle, then he applied the splint to the extended limb. \"Now you may let go of him,\" he told Rob.\n\nFor good measure, they tied the sound leg to the splinted one.\n\nWithin minutes they had comforted the trussed and exhausted patient, left instructions with his pale wife, and taken leave of his brother, who would work the farm.\n\nThey paused in the barnyard and looked at one another. Each of them wore a shirt soaked through with perspiration, and both faces were as wet as Osbern's tear-streaked cheeks had been.\n\nThe physician smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. \"You must come home with me now and share our evening meal,\" he said.\n\n\"My Deborah,\" Benjamin Merlin said.\n\nThe doctor's wife was a plump woman with a figure like a pigeon's, a sharp little nose, and very red cheeks. She had blanched when she saw him and she acknowledged their introduction stiffly. Merlin carried a bowl of spring water into the yard so Rob could refresh himself. As he bathed he could hear the woman inside the house haranguing her husband in a language he had never heard before.\n\nThe physician grimaced when he came out to wash. \"You must forgive her. She is fearful. Law says we must not have Christians in our homes during holy feasts. This will scarcely be a holy feast. It is a simple supper.\" He glanced at Rob levelly as he wiped himself dry. \"However, I can bring food outside to you, if you choose not to sit at table.\"\n\n\"I'm grateful to be allowed to join you, master physician.\"\n\nMerlin nodded.\n\nA strange supper.\n\nThere were the parents and four small children, three of them males. The little girl was Leah and her brothers were Jonathan, Ruel, and Zechariah. The boys and their father wore caps to table! When the wife brought in a hot loaf Merlin nodded to Zechariah, who broke off a piece and began to speak in the guttural tongue Rob had heard previously.\n\nHis father stopped him. \"Tonight, brochot will be in English as courtesy to our guest.\"\n\n\"Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe,\" the boy said sweetly, \"Who brings forth bread from the earth.\" He gave the loaf directly to Rob, who found it good and passed it to others.\n\nMerlin poured red wine from a decanter. Rob followed their example and lifted his goblet as the father nodded to Ruel.\n\n\"Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who creates the fruit of the vine.\"\n\nThe meal was a fish soup made with milk, not as Barber had made it, but hot and zesty. Afterward they ate apples from the Jew's orchard. The youngest boy, Jonathan, told his father with great indignation that rabbits were wasting their cabbages.\n\n\"Then you must waste the rabbits,\" Rob said. \"You must snare them so your mother may serve a savory stew.\"\n\nThere was a strange little silence and then Merlin smiled. \"We do not eat rabbit or hare, for they are not kasher.\"\n\nRob saw that Mistress Merlin appeared apprehensive, as if she feared he wouldn't comprehend or sympathize with their ways.\n\n\"It is a set of dietary laws, old as old.\" Merlin explained that Jews were not allowed to eat animals that didn't chew their cud and have cloven hooves. They couldn't eat flesh together with milk, because the Bible admonished that lamb mustn't be seethed in the flow of its milch-mother's teats. And they were not permitted to drink blood, or to eat meat that had not been thoroughly bled and salted.\n\nRob's blood turned cold and he told himself that Mistress Merlin had been right: he could not comprehend Jews. Jews were pagans indeed!\n\nHis stomach churned as the physician thanked God for their bloodless and meatless food.\n\nNonetheless he asked if he might camp in their orchard that night. Benjamin Merlin insisted that he sleep under shelter, in the barn which was attached to the house, and presently Rob lay on fragrant straw and listened through the thin wall to the sharp rise and fall of the wife's voice. He smiled mirthlessly in the gloom, knowing the essence of her message despite the unintelligible language.\n\nYou do not know this great young brute, yet you bring him here. Can you not see his bent nose and battered face, and the expensive weapons of a criminal? He will murder us in our beds!\n\nPresently Merlin came out to the barn with a great flask and two wooden goblets. He handed Rob a cup and sighed. \"She is otherwise a most excellent woman,\" he said, and poured. \"It is difficult for her here, for she feels cut off from many she holds dear.\"\n\nIt was good strong drink, Rob discovered. \"What section of France are you from?\"\n\n\"Like this wine we drink, my wife and I were made in the village of Falaise, where our families live under the benevolent surety of Robert of Normandy. My father and two brothers are vintners and suppliers to the English trade.\"\n\nSeven years before, Merlin said, he had returned to Falaise from studying in Persia at an academy for physicians.\n\n\"Persia!\" Rob had no idea where Persia was, but he knew it was very far away. \"In what direction does Persia lie?\"\n\nMerlin smiled. \"It is in the East. Far to the east.\"\n\n\"How came you to England?\"\n\nWhen he returned to Normandy as a new physician, Merlin said, he found that within the protectorate of Duke Robert there were medical practitioners in too goodly a number. Outside of Normandy there was constant strife and the uncertain dangers of war and politics, duke against count, nobles against king. \"Twice in my youth I had been to London with my wine merchant father. I remembered the beauty of the English countryside, and all Europe knows of King Canute's gift of stability. So I decided to come to this green and peaceful place.\"\n\n\"And has Tettenhall proved to be a sound choice?\"\n\nMerlin nodded. \"But there are difficulties. Without those who share our faith we cannot pray to God properly and it is hard to keep the laws of victuals. We speak to our children in their own tongue but they think in the language of England, and despite our efforts, they're ignorant of many of the customs of their people. I am seeking to attract other Jews here from France.\"\n\nHe moved to pour more wine, but Rob covered his cup with his hand. \"I'm undone by more than a little drink, and I've need of my head.\"\n\n\"Why have you sought me out, young barber?\"\n\n\"Tell me about the school in Persia.\"\n\n\"It's in the town of Ispahan, in the western part of the country.\"\n\n\"Why did you go so far?\"\n\n\"Where else was I to go? My family had no desire to apprentice me to a physician, for though the admission grieves me, over most of Europe my profession is composed of a poor lot of leeches and knaves. There is a large hospital in Paris, the H\u00f4tel Dieu, that is merely a pesthouse for the poor into which screaming men are dragged to die. There is a medical school in Salerno, a sorry place. Through communication with other Jewish merchants my father was aware that in the countries of the East the Arabs have made a fine art of the science of medicine. In Persia the Muslims have a hospital at Ispahan that is truly a healing center. It is in this hospital and in a small academy there that Avicenna makes his doctors.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The outstanding physician in the world. Avicenna, whose Arab name is Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina.\"\n\nRob made Merlin repeat the foreign melodiousness of the name until he had it memorized.\n\n\"Is it hard to reach Persia?\"\n\n\"Several years of dangerous travel. Sea voyages, then a land voyage over terrible mountains and vast desert.\" Merlin looked at his guest keenly. \"You must put the Persian academies out of mind. How much do you know of your own faith, young barber? Are you familiar with the problems of your anointed Pope?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"John XIX?\" In truth, beyond the Pontiff's name and the fact that he led Holy Church, Rob knew nothing.\n\n\"John XIX. He is a Pope who stands astride two giant churches instead of one, like a man seeking to ride two horses. The Western Church ever shows him fealty, but in the Eastern Church there is constant muttering of discontent. Two hundred years ago Photius became a rebellious Patriarch of the Eastern Catholics in Constantinople, and ever since, the movement toward a schism in the Church has gathered strength.\n\n\"You may have observed in your own dealings with priests that they mistrust and dislike physicians, surgeons, and barbers, believing that through prayer they themselves are the rightful guardians of men's bodies as well as their souls.\"\n\nRob grunted.\n\n\"The antipathy of these English priests toward medical men is nothing compared to the hatred which Eastern Catholic priests hold for the Arab physicians' schools and other Muslim academies. Living cheek by jowl with the Muslims, the Eastern Church is engaged in a constant and earnest war with Islam to win men into the grace of the one true faith. The Eastern hierarchy sees in the Arab centers of learning incitement to heathenism and a grievous threat. Fifteen years ago Sergius II, who was then Patriarch of the Eastern Church, declared any Christian attending a Muslim school east of his patriarchate to be sacrilegious and a breaker of the faith, and guilty of heathen practice. He applied pressure on the Holy Father in Rome to join him in this declaration. Benedict VIII was newly elevated to the Seat of Peter, with forebodings of becoming the Pope who oversaw the dissolution of the Church. To appease the discontented Eastern element, he readily granted Sergius' request. The penalty for heathenism is excommunication.\"\n\nRob pursed his lips. \"It is severe punishment.\"\n\nThe physician nodded. \"More severe in that it carries with it terrible retribution under secular law. The legal codes adopted under both King Aethelred and King Canute deem heathenism a principal crime. Those convicted of it have met with awful punishments. Some have been clothed in heavy chains and sent to wander as pilgrims for years until the shackles rust and fall away from their bodies. Several have been burned. Some were hanged, and others were cast into prison where they remain to this day.\n\n\"For their part, the Muslims do not yearn to educate members of a hostile and threatening religion, and Christian students have not been admitted to academies in the Eastern Caliphate for years.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Rob said bleakly.\n\n\"Spain may be possible for you. It is in Europe, the absolute western fringe of the Western Caliphate. Both religions are easier there. There are a few Christian students from France. The Muslims have established great universities in cities like Cordova, Toledo, Seville. If you are graduated from one of these, you'll be acknowledged a scholar. And though Spain is hard to reach, it is not nearly so hard as the journey to Persia.\"\n\n\"Why did you not go to Spain?\"\n\n\"Because Jews are permitted to study in Persia.\" Merlin grinned. \"And I wanted to touch the hem of Ibn Sina's garment.\"\n\nRob scowled. \"I don't wish to travel across the world to become a scholar. I want only to become a sound physician.\"\n\nMerlin poured more wine for himself. \"It puzzles me\u2014you are so young a roebuck, yet wearing a suit of fine stuff and weapons with which I cannot indulge myself. The life of a barber has its rewards. Then why would you become a physician, which will offer more arduous labor and questionable advantage of wealth?\"\n\n\"I've been taught to dose several ailments. I can snip off a mangled finger and leave a neat stump. But so many people come to me and pay over their coins, and I know nothing of how to help them. I'm ignorant. I tell myself that some might be saved if I knew more.\"\n\n\"And though you study medicine for a score of lifetimes, there will come to you people whose illnesses are mysteries, for the anguish of which you speak is part and parcel of the profession of healing and must be lived with. Still, it's true that the better the training, the more good a doctor may do. You give the best possible reason for your ambition.\" Merlin drained his cup reflectively. \"If the Arab schools are not for you, you must sift the doctors of England until you find the best of the poor, and perhaps you may persuade someone to take you as prentice.\"\n\n\"Do you know of any such physician?\"\n\nIf Merlin recognized the hint, it went unacknowledged. He shook his head and got to his feet.\n\n\"But each of us has earned his rest, and tomorrow we shall face the question refreshed. A good night to you, young barber.\"\n\n\"A good night, master physician.\"\n\nIn the morning there was hot pea gruel in the kitchen and more blessings in Hebrew. The family sat and broke their night's fast together, scrutinizing him covertly while he examined them. Mistress Merlin appeared perpetually cross and in the cruel new light a faint line of dark hairs was visible on her upper lip. He could see fringes peeping out from under the kirtles of Benjamin Merlin and the boy named Ruel. The porridge was good quality.\n\nMerlin inquired politely whether he had had a good night. \"I have given thought to our discussion. Unfortunately, I can think of no physician I'm able to recommend as a master and an example.\" His wife brought to the table a basket of large blackberries, and Merlin beamed. \"Ah, you must help yourself to these with your gruel, for they are flavorsome.\"\n\n\"I would like you to take me as your apprentice,\" Rob said.\n\nTo his great disappointment, Merlin shook his head.\n\nRob said quickly that Barber had taught him a great deal. \"I was helpful to you yesterday. Soon I could go alone to visit your patients during severe weather, making things easy for you.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You've observed that I've a sense of healing,\" he said doggedly. \"I'm strong and could do heavy work as well, whatever is necessary. A seven-year apprenticeship. Or longer, as long as you like.\" In his agitation he rose to his feet, jogging the table and sloshing the gruel.\n\n\"It is impossible,\" Merlin said.\n\nHe felt baffled; he'd been certain Merlin liked him. \"Do I lack the qualities necessary?\"\n\n\"You have excellent qualities. From what I have seen, you would make an excellent physician.\"\n\n\"What, then?\"\n\n\"In this most Christian of nations I would not be suffered as your master.\"\n\n\"Who would care?\"\n\n\"The priests here would care. They already resent me as one forged by the Jews of France and tempered at an Islamic academy, seeing this as cooperation between dangerous pagan elements. Their eyes are on me. I live in dread of the day when my words are interpreted as bewitchery or I forget to christen a newborn.\"\n\n\"If you won't have me,\" Rob said, \"at least suggest a physician to whom I should apply.\"\n\n\"I've told you, I recommend no one. But England is large and there are many doctors I do not know.\"\n\nRob's lips tightened and his hand settled on the hilt of his sword. \"Last night you told me to sift the best of the poor. Who is the best of the physicians of your acquaintance?\"\n\nMerlin sighed and acceded to the bullying. \"Arthur Giles of St. Ives,\" he said coldly, and resumed eating his breakfast.\n\nRob had no intention of drawing, but the wife's eyes were on his sword and she was unable to stifle a shuddering moan, certain her prophecy was being fulfilled. Ruel and Jonathan were looking at him somberly, but Zechariah began to cry.\n\nHe was sick with the shame of how he had repaid their hospitality. He tried to fashion an apology but couldn't, and finally he turned away from the Frenchy Hebrew spooning his gruel and left their house."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE OLD KNIGHT",
                "text": "A few weeks earlier he would have sought to rid himself of shame and anger through studying the bottom of a cup, but he had learned to be wary of the drink. It seemed clear that the longer he did without drunkenness, the stronger were the emanations he received from people when he took their hands, and he was placing an increasing value on the gift. So instead of liquor he spent a day with a woman in a glade on the banks of the Severn, a few miles beyond Worcester. The sun had made the grass almost as warm as their blood. She was a seamstress's helper with poor needle-pricked fingers and a hard little body that became slippery when they swam in the river.\n\n\"Myra, you feel like an eel!\" he shouted, and felt better.\n\nShe was trout-quick but he was clumsy, like some great sea monster, when they went down together through the green water. Her hands parted his legs and as she swam through them he stroked the pale tight flanks. The water was chill but they made love twice in the warmth on the bank and he left his ire in her, while a few feet away Horse cropped the grass and Mistress Buffington sat and watched them calmly. Myra had tiny pointed breasts and a bush of the silkiest brown hair. More a plant than a bush, he thought wryly; she was more girl than woman, although it was certain she had been with men before.\n\n\"How old are you, dolly?\" he asked idly.\n\n\"Fifteen year, I'm told.\"\n\nShe was exactly of an age with his sister Anne Mary, he realized, and was saddened to think that somewhere that girl was all grown but unfamiliar to him.\n\nHe was struck suddenly by a thought so monstrous that it left him weak and seemed to dim the sunlight.\n\n\"Has your name always been Myra?\"\n\nThe question produced an astonished smile. \"Why, of course that is my name, Myra Felker. What else would it be?\"\n\n\"And were you born hereabouts, dolly?\"\n\n\"Dropped by my mother in Worcester, and here I have lived,\" she said cheerfully.\n\nHe nodded and patted her hand.\n\nStill, he thought in gloomy revulsion, given the situation it wasn't impossible that someday he could bed his own sister all unknowingly. He resolved that in the future he must have nothing to do with young females who might be Anne Mary's age.\n\nThe depressing thought ended his holiday mood, and he began to gather up his clothing.\n\n\"Ah, must we leave, then?\" she said regretfully.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"for I must go a long way to get to St. Ives.\"\n\nArthur Giles of St. Ives turned out to be a crashing disappointment, although Rob had had no right to high expectation, for clearly Benjamin Merlin had made the recommendation only under duress. The physician was a fat and filthy old man who appeared to be at least slightly mad. He kept goats and must have maintained them within his house part of the time, for the place stank abominably.\n\n\"It's the bleeding that cures, young stranger. You must remember that. When all else fails, a good purifying drainage of the blood, and then another and another. That's what cures the bastards,\" Giles cried. He answered questions willingly, but when they discussed any mode of treatment other than bleeding, it became clear that Rob might profitably have taught the old man. Giles possessed no medical lore, no store of knowledge that might be tapped by a disciple. The physician offered an apprenticeship, and appeared to become furious when it was politely declined. Rob was happy to ride away from St. Ives, for he was better off remaining a barber than becoming a medical creature such as this.\n\nFor several weeks he believed he had renounced the impractical dream of becoming a physician. He worked hard at his entertainments, he sold a good deal of the Universal Specific, and was gratified by the thickness of his purse. Mistress Buffington throve on his prosperity as he had benefited from Barber's; the cat ate fine leavings and grew to full size as he watched, a large white feline with insolent green eyes. She thought she was a lioness and got into fights. When they were in the town of Rochester she disappeared during the entertainment and came back into Rob's camp at dusk, badly bitten in the right fore and with most of her left ear gone, her white fur matted with crimson.\n\nHe bathed her wounds and tended her like a lover. \"Ah, mistress. You must learn to avoid brawling, as I have done, for it avails you nothing.\" He fed her milk and held her in his lap before the fire.\n\nShe rasped his hand with her tongue. It may be that there was a drop of milk on his fingers, or the smell of supper, but he chose to see it as a caress, and he stroked her soft fur in return, grateful for her company.\n\n\"If the way were open for me to attend the Muslim school,\" he told the cat, \"I would take you in the wagon and point Horse toward Persia, and nothing would prevent our eventual arrival in that pagan place.\"\n\nAbu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina, he thought wistfully. \"To hell with you, you Arab,\" he said aloud, and went to bed.\n\nThe syllables ran through his mind, a haunting and taunting litany. Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina, Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina \u2026 until the mysterious repetition overcame the restlessness in his blood and he sank into sleep.\n\nThat night he dreamed he was locked in combat with a loathsome old knight, struggling hand to hand with daggers.\n\nThe old knight farted and mocked him. He could see rust and lichens on the other's black armor. Their heads were so close that he saw corruption and snot hanging from the bony nose, and looked into terrible eyes and smelled the sickening stench of the knight's breath. They fought desperately. Despite Rob's youth and strength he knew the dark specter's knife to be merciless and his armor infallible. Beyond them could be seen the knight's victims: Mam, Da, sweet Samuel, Barber, even Incitatus and Bartram the bear, and Rob's rage lent him strength, though he could already feel the inexorable blade entering his body.\n\nHe awoke to find the outside of his clothing damp with dew and the inside wet from the fear-sweat of the dream. Lying in the morning sun, with a robin singing its exhilaration not five feet away, he knew that although the dream was done, he was not. He was unable to give up the struggle.\n\nThose who were gone wouldn't come back, and that was the way of it. But what better way to spend a lifetime than fighting the Black Knight? The study of medicine was, in its own way, something to love in place of a missing family. He determined, as the cat came and rubbed against him with her good ear, that he would make it come to pass.\n\nThe problem was discouraging. He presented entertainments in Northampton and Bedford and Hertford in turn, and in each place he sought out physicians and spoke with them and saw that their combined knowledge of healing was less than Barber's had been. In the town of Maldon the physician's reputation for butchery was so deadly that when Rob J. asked people to give directions to the leech's home they paled and crossed themselves.\n\nIt wouldn't do to apprentice to such as these.\n\nIt occurred to him that another Hebrew doctor might be more willing to take him on than Merlin had been. In Maldon's square he stopped where workmen were raising a brick wall.\n\n\"Do you have knowledge of any Jews in this place?\" he asked the master mason.\n\nThe man stared at him, spat, and turned away.\n\nHe asked several other men in the square without better results. Finally there was one who examined him curiously. \"Why do you seek Jews?\"\n\n\"I seek a Jew physician.\"\n\nThe man nodded in sympathetic understanding. \"May Christ be merciful to you. There are Jews in the town of Malmesbury, and they have a physician there named Adolescentoli,\" he said.\n\nIt was a five-day trip from Maldon to Malmesbury, with stops in Oxford and Alveston to put on entertainments and sell physick. Rob seemed to remember that Barber had spoken of Adolescentoli as a famous physician, and he made his way into Malmesbury hopefully as evening shadows fell over the small and formless village. The inn gave him a plain but heartening supper. Barber would have found the mutton stew unseasoned but it contained plenty of meat, and afterward he was able to pay to have fresh straw spread in a corner of the sleeping room.\n\nNext morning at breakfast he asked the publican to tell him about Malmesbury's Jews.\n\nThe man shrugged as if to say, What is there to tell?\n\n\"I am curious, for until lately I knew no Jews.\"\n\n\"That is because they are scarce in our land,\" the publican said. \"My sister's husband, who is a ship's captain and has traveled to all places, says they are plentiful in France. He says they are found in every country, and that the farther east one travels, the more thickly are they sprinkled.\"\n\n\"Does Isaac Adolescentoli live among them here? The physician?\"\n\nThe publican grinned. \"No, indeed. It is they who live around Isaac Adolescentoli, basking in his eminence.\"\n\n\"He's celebrated, then?\"\n\n\"He's a great physician. People come from afar to consult him and stay at this inn,\" the publican said proudly. \"The priests speak against him, of course, but\"\u2014he put a finger to his nose and leaned forward\u2014\"I know at least two occasions when he was collected in dark of night and bundled off to Canterbury to tend to Archbishop Aethelnoth, who was thought to be dying last year.\"\n\nHe gave directions to the Jewish settlement and soon Rob was riding past the gray stone walls of Malmesbury Abbey, through woods and fields and a steep vineyard in which monks picked grapes. A coppice separated the abbey land from the Jews' homes, perhaps a dozen clustered houses. These must be Jews: men like crows, in loose black caftans and bell-shaped leather hats, were sawing and hammering, raising a shed. Rob drove to a building that was larger than the others, where a wide courtyard was filled with tethered horses and wagons.\n\n\"Isaac Adolescentoli?\" Rob asked one of several boys attending the animals.\n\n\"He's in the dispensary,\" the boy said, and deftly caught the coin Rob threw to make certain Horse was well tended.\n\nThe front door opened into a large waiting room filled with wooden benches, all crammed with ailing humanity. It was like the lines that waited beyond his own treatment screen, but many more people. There were no empty seats, but he found a place against the wall.\n\nNow and again a man came through the little door that led to the rest of the house and collected the patient who sat at the end of the first bench. Everyone would then move one space forward. There appeared to be five physicians. Four were young and the other was a small, quick-moving man of middle age, whom Rob supposed to be Adolescentoli.\n\nIt was a very long wait. The room remained crowded, for it seemed that each time someone was led through the waiting room door by a physician, new arrivals entered the front door from the outside. Rob passed the time trying to diagnose the patients.\n\nBy the time he was first on the front bench it was midafternoon. One of the young men came through the door. \"You may come with me.\" He had a French accent.\n\n\"I want to see Isaac Adolescentoli.\"\n\n\"I am Moses ben Abraham, an apprentice of Master Adolescentoli. I'm able to take care of you.\"\n\n\"I'm certain you would treat me skillfully were I sick. I must see your master on another matter.\"\n\nThe apprentice nodded and turned to the next person on the bench.\n\nAdolescentoli came out in a while and led Rob through the door and down a short corridor; through a door left ajar he glimpsed a surgery with an operating couch, buckets, and instruments. They ended in a tiny room bare of furniture save for a small table and two chairs. \"What is your trouble?\" Adolescentoli said. He listened in some surprise as, instead of describing symptoms, Rob spoke nervously of his desire to study medicine.\n\nThe physician had a dark, handsome face that didn't smile. Doubtless the interview wouldn't have ended differently if Rob had been wiser but he was unable to resist a question: \"Have you lived in England long, master physician?\"\n\n\"Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"You speak our language so well.\"\n\n\"I was born in this house,\" Adolescentoli said quietly. \"In 70 A.D., five young Jewish prisoners of war were transported from Jerusalem to Rome by Titus following the destruction of the great Temple. They were called adolescentoli, Latin for 'the youths.' I am descended from one of these, Joseph Adolescentoli. He won his freedom by enlisting in the Second Roman Legion, with which he came to this island when its inhabitants were little dark coracle men, the black Silures who were the first to call themselves Britons. Has your own family been English that long?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"You yourself speak the language adequately,\" Adolescentoli said silkily.\n\nRob told him of meeting with Merlin, mentioning only that they had spoken together of medical education. \"Did you, too, study with the great Persian physician in Ispahan?\"\n\nAdolescentoli shook his head. \"I attended the university in Baghdad, a larger medical school with a greater library and faculty. Except, of course, we didn't have Avicenna, whom they call Ibn Sina.\"\n\nThey chatted of his apprentices. Three were Jews from France and the other a Jew from Salerno.\n\n\"My apprentices have chosen me over Avicenna or some other Arab,\" Adolescentoli said proudly. \"They don't have a library such as students have in Baghdad, of course, but I own the Leech Book of Bald, which lists remedies after the method of Alexander of Tralles and tells how to make salves, poultices, and plasters. They're required to study it with great attention, as well as some Latin writings of Paul of Aegina and certain works of Pliny. And before I'm done with them, each shall know how to perform phlebotomy, cautery, incision of arteries, and the couching of cataracts.\"\n\nRob felt an overpowering yearning, not unlike the emotion of a man who gazes upon a woman for whom, instantly, he longs. \"I've come to ask you to take me as prentice.\"\n\nAdolescentoli inclined his head. \"I guessed that is why you're here. But I won't take you.\"\n\n\"Can I not persuade you, then?\"\n\n\"No. You must find yourself a Christian physician as master, or stay a barber,\" Adolescentoli said, not cruelly but with firmness.\n\nPerhaps his reasons were the same as Merlin's but Rob wasn't to know, for the physician would speak no more. He rose and led the way to the door, and nodded without interest as Rob left his dispensary.\n\nTwo towns away, in Devizes, he put on an entertainment and dropped a juggled ball for the first time since he had mastered the knack. People laughed at his banter and bought the physick but there came behind his screen a young fisherman from Bristol, roughly his own age, who was pissing blood and had lost most of his flesh. He told Rob he knew he was dying.\n\n\"Is there naught you can do for me?\"\n\n\"What is your name?\" Rob asked him quietly.\n\n\"Hamer.\"\n\n\"I think perhaps you have bubo in your insides, Hamer. But I'm not at all certain. I don't know how to cure you or ease your pain.\" Barber would have sold him more than a few bottles. \"This stuff is mostly spirits, bought cheaper elsewhere,\" he said without knowing why. He had never told that to a patient before.\n\nThe fisherman thanked him and went away.\n\nAdolescentoli or Merlin would have known how to do more for him, Rob told himself bitterly. Timorous bastards, he thought, refusing to teach him while the bloody Black Knight grinned.\n\nThat evening he was caught out by a sudden wild storm with fierce winds and drenching rain. It was the second day of September and early for fall rains, but that didn't make it less wet or chill. He made his way to the only shelter, the inn at Devizes, fastening Horse's reins to the limb of a great oak in the yard. When he pushed inside he found that too many others had preceded him. Every piece of floor space was taken.\n\nIn a dark corner huddled an exhausted man who sat with his arms around a swollen pack such as merchants used for their goods. If Rob had not gone to Malmesbury he wouldn't have given the fellow a second glance, but now he saw from the black caftan and pointed leather cap that this was a Jew.\n\n\"It was on such a night that our Lord was slain,\" Rob said loudly.\n\nConversation in the inn dwindled as he went on to speak of the Passion story, for travelers love a tale and a diversion. Someone brought him a stoup. When he told of how the populace had denied that Jesus was King of the Jews, the weary man in the corner appeared to shrink.\n\nBy the time Rob had reached the part about Calvary, the Jew had taken his pack and slipped out into the night and the storm. Rob broke off the tale and took his place in the warm corner.\n\nBut he found no more pleasure in driving away the merchant than he had gained from giving the Special Batch to Barber. The common room of the inn was full of the reek of damp wool clothing and unwashed bodies, and he was soon nauseated. Even before the rain had ceased, he left the inn and went out to his wagon and his animals.\n\nHe drove Horse to a nearby clearing and unhitched her. There was dry kindling in the wagon and he managed to light a fire. Mistress Buffington was too young to breed but perhaps she already exuded female scent, for beyond the shadows cast by the fire a tomcat yowled. Rob threw a stick to drive it away and the white cat rubbed against him.\n\n\"We are a fine lonely pair,\" he said.\n\nIf it took his lifetime, he would search until he found a worthy physician to whom he might apprentice, he decided.\n\nAs for the Jews, he had spoken to only two of their doctors. No doubt there were others. \"Perhaps one would apprentice me if I pretended to him that I were a Jew,\" he told the cat.\n\nThus it began, as less than a dream\u2014a fantasy in idle chatter; he knew he couldn't be a Jew convincingly enough to undergo the daily scrutiny of a Jewish master.\n\nBut he sat before the fire and stared into the flames, and it took form.\n\nThe cat offered up her silken belly. \"Could I not be a Jew well enough to satisfy Muslims?\" Rob asked her, and himself, and God.\n\nWell enough to study with the greatest physician in the world?\n\nStunned by the enormity of the thought, he dropped the cat and she sprang away into the wagon. In a moment she was back, dragging what appeared to be a furry animal. It proved to be the false beard he'd worn during the Old Man nonsense. Rob picked it up. If he could be an old man for Barber, he asked himself, why could he not be a Hebrew? The merchant at the inn in Devizes, and others, could be imitated \u2026\n\n\"I shall become a counterfeit Jew!\" he cried.\n\nIt was fortunate no one was passing, to hear him speak aloud and at length to a cat, for it would have been declared that he was a wizard addressing his succubus.\n\nHe had no fear of the Church. \"I piss on child-stealing priests,\" he told the cat.\n\nHe could grow a full Jew's beard, and he already had the prick for it.\n\nHe'd tell folk that, like Merlin's sons, he had been raised isolated from his people, ignorant of their tongue and customs.\n\nHe would make his way to Persia!\n\nHe would touch the hem of Ibn Sina's garment!\n\nHe was excited and terrified, shamed to be a grown man and trembling so. It was like the moment when he'd known he would pass beyond Southwark for the first time.\n\nIt was said they were everywhere, damn their souls. On the journey he would cultivate them and study their ways. By the time he reached Ispahan he would be ready to play the Jew, and Ibn Sina would have to take him in and share the precious secrets of the Arab school."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Long Journey",
                "text": "[ THE FIRST LEG ]\n\nMore shipping left London for France than from any other port in England, so he made for the city of his birth. All along the way he stopped to work, wanting to set out on such an adventure with as much gold as possible. By the time he reached London he had missed the shipping season. The Thames bristled with the masts of anchored vessels. King Canute had drawn upon his Danish origins and built a great fleet of Viking ships that rode the water like tethered monsters. The fearsome war craft were surrounded by an assorted assemblage: fat knorrs converted to deep-sea fishing boats; the private trireme galleys of the wealthy; squat, slow-sailing grain ships; two-masted merchant packets with triangular lateen-rigged sails; two-masted carracks from Italy; and long, single-masted vessels, the workhorses of the merchant fleets of the northern countries. None of the ships held cargo or passengers, for frigid windstorms already had begun. During the next terrible six months on many mornings salt spray would freeze in the Channel, and sailors knew that to venture out where the North Sea met and merged with the Atlantic Ocean was to ask for drowning in the churning waters.\n\nIn the Herring, a mariners' hole on the waterfront, Rob stood and thumped his mug of mulled cider against the tabletop. \"I'm searching for snug, clean lodging until spring sailing,\" he said. \"Is anyone here who knows of such?\"\n\nA short, wide man, built like a bull dog, studied him as he drained his cup and then nodded. \"Aye,\" he said. \"My brother Tom died last voyage. His widow, name of Binnie Ross, is left with two small ones to feed. If you're willing to pay fair I know she would welcome you.\"\n\nRob bought him a drink and then followed him a short way to a tiny house near the marketplace at East Chepe. Binnie Ross turned out to be a thin mouse of a girl, all worried blue eyes in a thin, pale little face. The place was clean enough but very small.\n\n\"I have a cat and a horse,\" Rob said.\n\n\"Oh, I would welcome the cat,\" she said anxiously. It was clear she was desperate for the money.\n\n\"You might put up the horse for the winter,\" her brother-in-law said. \"There is Egglestan's stables on Thames Street.\"\n\nRob nodded. \"I know the place,\" he said.\n\n\"She is with young,\" Binnie Ross said, picking up the cat and stroking her.\n\nRob could see no extra roundness in the sleek stomach. \"How do you know?\" he asked, thinking her mistaken. \"She's still a young one herself, just born this past summer.\"\n\nThe girl shrugged.\n\nShe was right, for within a few weeks Mistress Buffington bloomed. He fed the cat tidbits and provided good food for Binnie and her son. The little daughter was an infant who still took milk at her mother's breast. It pleasured Rob to walk to the marketplace and buy for them, remembering the miracle of eating well after a long time with a rumbling-empty belly.\n\nThe infant was named Aldyth and the little boy, less than two years old, was Edwin. Every night Rob could hear Binnie crying. He had been in the house less than a fortnight when she came to his bed in the dark. She said not a word but lay down and put her slender arms around him, silent all through the act. Curious, he tasted her milk and found it sweet.\n\nWhen they were finished she slipped back to her own bed and next day made no reference to what had happened.\n\n\"How did your husband die?\" he asked her as she was dishing out the breakfast gruel.\n\n\"A storm. Wulf\u2014that is his brother, who brought you here\u2014said my Paul was washed away. He could not swim,\" she said.\n\nShe used him one more night, grinding to him desperately. Then her dead husband's brother, who doubtless had been marshaling his courage to speak to her, came to the house one afternoon. After that Wulf came every day with small gifts; he played with his niece and nephew but it became clear he was paying court to their mother, and one day Binnie told Rob that she and Wulf would be married. It made the house an easier place in which Rob could do his waiting.\n\nDuring a blizzard he delivered Mistress Buffington of a fine litter: a white female miniature of herself, a white male, and a pair of black and white toms that presumably resembled their sire. Binnie offered to drown the four kittens as a service, but as soon as they were weaned Rob lined a basket with rags and took them to public houses, buying a number of drinks in order to give each of them away.\n\nIn March, the slaves who did the brute work of the port were moved back to the waterfront, and long lines of men and drays again began to crowd Thames Street, loading the warehouses and the ships with exports.\n\nRob asked innumerable questions of traveling men and determined his journey was best started by way of Calais. \"That is where my ship is bound,\" Wulf told him, and took him down to the slip to see the Queen Emma. She was not as grand as her name, a great old wooden tub with one towering mast. The stevedores were loading her with slabs of tin mined in Cornwall. Wulf brought Rob to the master, an unsmiling Welshman who nodded when asked if he would take a passenger, and named a price that seemed to be fair.\n\n\"I have a horse and a wagon,\" Rob said.\n\nThe captain frowned. \"It will cost you dear to move them by sea. Some travelers sell their beasts and carts on this side of the Channel and buy new ones on the other side.\"\n\nRob did some pondering, but at length he decided to pay the freight charges, high as they were. It was his plan to work as a barbersurgeon during his travels. Horse and the red wagon were a good rig and he had no faith that he would find another that pleased him as much.\n\nApril brought softer weather and finally the first ships began to depart. The Queen Emma raised her anchor from the Thames mud on the eleventh day of the month, sent off by Binnie with much weeping. There was a fresh but gentle wind. Rob watched Wulf and seven other sailors haul on the lines, raising an enormous square sail that filled with a crack when it was barely up, and they floated into the outgoing tide. Laden low with its metal cargo, the big boat moved out of the Thames, slipped heavily through the narrows between the Isle of Thanet and the mainland, crept along the coast of Kent, and then doggedly crossed the Channel before the wind.\n\nThe green coast became darker as it receded, until England was a blue haze and then a purple smudge that was swallowed by the sea. Rob had no chance to think noble thoughts, for he was pukingly ill.\n\nWulf, passing him on deck, stopped and spat contemptuously over the side. \"God's blood! We are too low in the water to pitch or roll, it is the kindest of weather and the sea is calm. So what ails you?\"\n\nBut Rob couldn't answer, for he was leaning over in order not to sully the deck. Part of his problem was terror, for he had never been to sea and now was haunted by a lifetime of tales of drowned men, from the husband and sons of Editha Lipton to the unfortunate Tom Ross who had left Binnie a widow. The oily water onto which he was sick appeared inscrutable and bottomless, the likely home of every evil monster, and he rued the recklessness with which he had ventured into this strange environment. To make matters worse the wind quickened and the sea developed deep billows. Soon he confidently expected to die and would have welcomed the release. Wulf sought him out and offered dinner of bread and cold fried salt pork. He decided that Binnie must have confessed her visits to Rob's bed and this was her future husband's revenge, to which he hadn't the strength to reply.\n\nThe voyage had lasted seven endless hours when another haze lifted itself out of the heaving horizon and slowly became Calais.\n\nWulf said a hasty goodbye, for he was busy with the sail. Rob led the horse and cart down the gangway and onto firm land that appeared to rise and fall like the sea. He reasoned that the ground in France could not go up and down or he would surely have heard of this oddity; indeed, after he had walked for a few minutes, the earth seemed firmer. But where was he bound? He had no idea as to destination or what his next action should be. The language was a blow. People around him spoke in a rattle of sound, and he could make no sense of it. Finally he stopped and climbed onto his cart and clapped his hands.\n\n\"I will hire somebody who has my language,\" he shouted.\n\nA pinchfaced old man came forward. He had thin shanks and a skeletal frame that warned he wouldn't be of much use in lifting or carrying. But he noted Rob's pale complexion and his eyes twinkled. \"May we talk over a soothing glass? Apple spirits do wonders to settle the stomach,\" he said, and the familiar English was benison to Rob's ears.\n\nThey stopped at the first public house and sat at a rough pine table outside the front door.\n\n\"I am Charbonneau,\" the Frenchman said above the waterfront din. \"Louis Charbonneau.\"\n\n\"Rob J. Cole.\"\n\nWhen the apple brandy came they drank to one another's health and Charbonneau was proven right, for the spirits warmed Rob's stomach and made him one of the living again. \"I believe I can eat,\" he said wonderingly.\n\nPleased, Charbonneau spoke an order and presently a serving girl brought to their table a crusty bread, a platter of small green olives, and a goat's cheese of which even Barber would have approved.\n\n\"You can see why I'm in need of someone's help,\" Rob said ruefully, \"for I can't even ask for food.\"\n\nCharbonneau smiled. \"All my life I've been a sailor. I was a boy when my first ship put into London, and I well remember my longing to hear my native tongue.\" Half of his time ashore had been spent on the other side of the Channel, he said, where the language was English.\n\n\"I'm a barbersurgeon, traveling to Persia to buy rare medicines and healing herbs that will be sent to England.\" It was what he had decided to tell people, to avoid discussing the fact that his real reason for going to Ispahan was considered a crime by the Church.\n\nCharbonneau lifted his eyebrows. \"A long way.\"\n\nRob nodded. \"I need a guide, someone who can also translate for me, so that I may present entertainments and sell physick and treat the ill as we travel. I'll pay a generous wage.\"\n\nCharbonneau took an olive from the plate and set it on the sun-warmed table. \"France,\" he said. He took another. \"The Saxon-ruled five duchies of Germany.\" Then another and another, until there were seven olives in a line. \"Bohemia,\" he said, indicating the third olive, \"where live the Slavs and the Czechs. Next is the territory of the Magyars, a Christian country but full of wild barbarian horsemen. Then the Balkans, a place of tall, fierce mountains and tall, fierce people. Then Thrace, about which I know little save that it marks the final limit of Europe and contains Constantinople. And finally Persia, where you want to go.\"\n\nHe regarded Rob contemplatively. \"My native city is on the border between France and the land of the Germans, whose Teutonic languages I have spoken since childhood. Therefore, if you will hire me, I'll accompany you past\u2014\" He picked up the first two olives and popped them into his mouth. \"I must leave you in time to return to Metz by next winter.\"\n\n\"Done,\" Rob said in relief.\n\nThen, while Charbonneau grinned at him and ordered another brandy, Rob solemnly consumed the other olives in the line, eating his way through the remaining five countries, one by one."
            },
            {
                "title": "STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND",
                "text": "France was not as determinedly green as England but there was more sun. The sky seemed higher, the color of France was deep blue. Much of the land was woods, as at home. It was a country of fiercely neat farms, with here and there a somber stone castle similar to the ones Rob was accustomed to seeing in the countryside; but some of the lords lived in great wooden manor houses such as were uncommon in England. There were cattle in the pastures and peasants sowing wheat.\n\nAlready Rob saw some wonders. \"Many of your farm buildings are roofless,\" he observed.\n\n\"There is less rain here than in England,\" Charbonneau said. \"Some of our farmers thresh the grain in the open barns.\"\n\nCharbonneau rode a big, placid horse, light gray, almost white. His arms were used-looking and well kept. Each night he tended the mount carefully and cleaned and polished the sword and the dagger. He was good company at the campfire and on the road.\n\nEvery farm had orchards, glorious with blossom. Rob stopped at several, seeking to buy spirits; he could find no metheglin but bought a barrel of apple brandy similar to the tipple he had enjoyed in Calais, and found that it made superior Universal Specific.\n\nThe best roads here, as everywhere, had been built in earlier times by the Romans for their marching armies, broad highways, connecting and as straight as spear shafts. Charbonneau remarked on them lovingly. \"They're everywhere, a network that covers the world. If you wished, you could travel on just this kind of road all the way to Rome.\"\n\nNevertheless, at a signpost pointing to a village called Caudry, Rob turned Horse off the Roman road. Charbonneau disapproved.\n\n\"Dangerous, these wooded tracks.\"\n\n\"I must travel them to ply my trade. They're the only way to the smaller villages. I blow my horn. It's what I've always done.\"\n\nCharbonneau shrugged.\n\nCaudry's houses were cone-shaped on top, with roofs of brush or thatched straw. Women were cooking out of doors and most houses had a plank table and benches near the fire, beneath a rude sun shelter laid on four stout poles cut from young trees. It couldn't be mistaken for an English village, but Rob went through the routine as if he were at home.\n\nHe handed Charbonneau the drum and told him to thump it. The Frenchman looked amused and then was intently interested as Horse began to prance to the sound of the drum.\n\n\"Entertainment today! Entertainment!\" Rob called.\n\nCharbonneau got the idea at once and thereafter translated everything as soon as Rob said it.\n\nRob found the entertainment a droll experience in France. The spectators laughed at the same stories but in different places, perhaps because they had to wait for the translation. During Rob's juggling, Charbonneau stood transfixed, and his sputtered comments of delight seemed to infect the crowd, which applauded vigorously.\n\nThey sold a great deal of Universal Specific.\n\nThat night at their campfire Charbonneau kept urging him to juggle, but he refused. \"You'll get your fill of watching me, never fear.\"\n\n\"It's amazing. You say you've done this since you were a boy?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He told of how Barber had taken him in after his parents had died.\n\nCharbonneau nodded. \"You were fortunate. In my twelfth year my father died and my brother Etienne and I were given to a pirate crew as ship's boys.\" He sighed. \"My friend, that was a hard life.\"\n\n\"I thought you said your first voyage took you to London.\"\n\n\"My first voyage on a merchant ship, when I was seventeen. For five years before, I sailed with pirates.\"\n\n\"My father helped defend England against three invasions. Twice when Danes invaded London. And once when pirates invaded Rochester,\" Rob said slowly.\n\n\"My pirates didn't attack London. Once we landed at Romney and burned two houses and took a cow that we killed for meat.\"\n\nThey stared at one another.\n\n\"They were bad men. It was what I did to stay alive.\"\n\nRob nodded. \"And Etienne? What happened to Etienne?\"\n\n\"When he was old enough he ran from them, back to our town, where he apprenticed himself to the baker. Today he's an old man too, and makes exceptional bread.\"\n\nRob grinned and wished him a good night.\n\nEvery few days they drove into a different village square, where it was business as usual\u2014the dirty songs, the flattering portraits, the liquorish cures. At first Charbonneau translated Rob's barbersurgeon enticements, but soon the Frenchman was so accustomed to them that he could assemble a crowd on his own. Rob worked hard, driven to fill his cash box because he knew money was protection in foreign places.\n\nJune was warm and dry. They bit tiny pieces out of the olive called France, traversing its northern edge, and by early summer were almost at the German border.\n\n\"We're getting close to Strasbourg,\" Charbonneau told him one morning.\n\n\"Let us go there, so you may see your people.\"\n\n\"If we do, we'll lose two days' time,\" Charbonneau said scrupulously, but Rob smiled and shrugged, for he had come to like the elderly Frenchman.\n\nThe town proved to be beautiful, abustle with craftsmen who were building a great cathedral that already showed the promise of surpassing the general grace of Strasbourg's wide streets and handsome houses. They rode straight to the bakery, where a voluble Etienne Charbonneau clasped his brother in floury embrace.\n\nWord of their arrival spread on a family intelligence system and that evening Etienne's two handsome sons and three of his dark-eyed daughters, all with children and spouses, came to celebrate; the youngest girl, Charlotte, was unmarried and still lived at home with her father. Charlotte prepared a lavish dinner, three geese stewed with carrots and dried plums. There were two kinds of fresh bread. A round loaf that Etienne called Dog Bread was delicious despite its name, being composed of alternate layers of wheat and rye. \"It is inexpensive, the bread of the poor,\" Etienne said, and urged Rob to try a costlier long loaf baked from meslin, flour blended from many grains ground fine. Rob liked the Dog Bread best.\n\nIt was a merry evening, with both Louis and Etienne translating for Rob to the general hilarity. The children danced, the women sang, Rob juggled for his dinner, and Etienne played the pipes as well as he baked bread. When finally the family left, everyone kissed both travelers farewell. Charlotte sucked in her stomach and stuck out her newly ripened chest, and her great warm eyes invited Rob outrageously. That evening as he lay in bed he wondered what life would be like if he were to settle into the bosom of such a family, and in such pleasant surroundings.\n\nIn the middle of the night he rose.\n\n\"Something?\" Etienne asked softly. The baker was sitting in the dark not far from where his daughter lay.\n\n\"I have to piss.\"\n\n\"I join you,\" Etienne said, and the two of them walked outside together and plashed companionably against the side of the barn. When Rob returned to his bed of straw, Etienne settled into the chair and sat watching over Charlotte.\n\nIn the morning the baker showed Rob his great round ovens and gave them a sack full of Dog Bread baked twice so it was hard and unspoilable, like ship's biscuit.\n\nStrasbourgians would have to wait for their loaves that day; Etienne shut the bakery and rode with them a little of the way. The Roman road took them to the Rhine River a short ride from Etienne's home and then turned downstream for a few miles to a ford. The brothers leaned from their saddles and kissed. \"Go with God,\" Etienne told Rob, and turned his horse toward home while they splashed across. The swirling water was cold and still faintly brown from the earth that had been washed into it by the spring floods far upstream. The trail up the opposite bank was steep, and Horse had to labor to pull the wagon into the land of the Teutons.\n\nThey were in mountains very soon, riding between high forests of spruce and fir. Charbonneau grew ever quieter, which at first Rob attributed to the fact that he hadn't wanted to leave his family and his home, but at length the Frenchman spat. \"I do not like Germans, nor do I like to be in their land.\"\n\n\"Yet you were born as near to them as a Frenchman can be.\"\n\nCharbonneau scowled. \"A man can live hard by the sea and still have no love for the shark,\" he said.\n\nIt appeared to Rob to be a pleasant land. The air was cold and good. They went down a long mountain and at the bottom saw men and women cutting and turning the valley hay and getting fodder in, just as farmers were doing in England. They ascended another mountain to small high pastures where children tended cows and goats brought up for summer grazing from the farms below. The track was a high trail, and presently they looked down on a great castle of dark gray stone. Mounted men jousted with padded lances in the tiltyard.\n\nCharbonneau spat again. \"It's the keep of a terrible man, landgrave of this place. Count Sigdorff the Even-Handed.\"\n\n\"The Even-Handed? It doesn't seem the name of a man who is terrible.\"\n\n\"He is old now,\" Charbonneau said. \"He earned the name when young, riding against Bamberg and taking two hundred prisoners. He ordered the right hands cut from one hundred and the left hands cut from the other hundred.\"\n\nThey cantered their horses until the castle could no longer be seen.\n\nBefore noon they came to a sign that pointed off the Roman road to the village of Entburg and they decided to go there and put on an entertainment. They were only a few minutes along the detour when they came around a bend and saw a man blocking the middle of the track, sitting a skinny brown horse with runny eyes. He was bald, with folds of fat in his short neck. He wore rough homespun over a body that was both fleshy and hard-looking, as Barber had been when Rob first knew him. There was no room to drive the wagon around him, but his weapons were sheathed and Rob reined Horse while they inspected one another.\n\nThe bald man said something.\n\n\"He wants to know if you have liquor,\" Charbonneau said.\n\n\"Tell him no.\"\n\n\"The whoreson isn't alone,\" Charbonneau said without altering his tone, and Rob saw that two more men had worked their mounts out from behind the trees.\n\nOne was a youth on a mule. When he rode up to the fat man Rob saw a similarity in their features and guessed they were father and son.\n\nThe third man sat a huge, clumsy animal that looked like a workhorse. He took a position directly behind the wagon, cutting off escape to the rear. Perhaps he was thirty years old. He was small and mean-looking and was missing his left ear, like Mistress Buffington.\n\nBoth of the newcomers were holding swords. The bald man spoke loudly to Charbonneau.\n\n\"He says you're to climb down from the wagon and remove your clothing. Know that when you do, they'll kill you,\" Charbonneau said. \"Garments are expensive and they don't want them ruined with blood.\"\n\nHe didn't observe from where Charbonneau had taken the knife. The old man threw it with a grunt of effort and a practiced flip that sent it hard and fast, and it thumped into the chest of the young man with the sword.\n\nShock came into the fat man's eyes but the smile still hadn't fully faded from his lips when Rob left the wagon seat.\n\nHe took a single step onto Horse's broad back and launched himself, dragging the man from the saddle. They struck the ground rolling and clawing, each trying desperately for a crippling hold. Finally Rob was able to jam his left arm under the chin from behind. A meaty fist began to smash at his groin but he twisted and was able to take the hammer blows on a thigh. They were terrible punches that numbed his leg.\n\nAlways before he had fought drunk and half mad with rage. Now he was sober, fixing on one cold, clear thought.\n\nKill him.\n\nSobbing, he grabbed his left wrist with his free hand and pulled back, trying to throttle the man or crush his windpipe.\n\nThen he moved to the forehead and attempted to pull the head back far enough to ruin the spine.\n\nBreak! he begged.\n\nBut it was a short, thick neck, padded with fat and ridged with muscle.\n\nA hand with long, black fingernails moved up his face. He strained his head away but the hand raked his cheek, drawing blood.\n\nThey grunted and strained, banging one another like obscene lovers.\n\nThe hand came back. The man was able to reach a little higher this time, trying for the eyes.\n\nHis sharp nails gouged, making Rob scream.\n\nThen Charbonneau was standing over them. He placed the point of his sword deliberately, finding a place between the ribs. He shoved the sword deep.\n\nThe bald man sighed, as if in satisfaction. He stopped grunting and moving, and lay heavy. Rob smelled him for the first time.\n\nIn a moment he was able to move away from the body. He sat up, nursing his ruined face.\n\nThe youth hung over the mule's rump, dirty bare feet cruelly caught. Charbonneau salvaged the knife and wiped it. He eased the dead feet out of the rope stirrups and lowered the body to the ground.\n\n\"The third prick?\" Rob gasped. He couldn't keep his voice from quavering.\n\nCharbonneau spat. \"He ran at first indication we wouldn't become nicely dead.\"\n\n\"Perhaps to the Even-Handed, for reinforcements?\"\n\nCharbonneau shook his head. \"These are dunghill cutthroats, not a landgrave's men.\" He searched the bodies, looking as if he had done it before. Around the man's neck was a little bag containing coins. The youth carried no money but wore a tarnished crucifix. Their weapons were poor but Charbonneau threw them into the wagon.\n\nThey left the highwaymen where they lay in the dirt, the bald corpse face down in his own blood.\n\nCharbonneau tied the mule to the back of the cart and led the bony captured horse, and they returned to the Roman road."
            },
            {
                "title": "STRANGE TONGUES",
                "text": "When Rob asked Charbonneau where he had learned to throw a knife, the old Frenchman said he had been taught by the pirates of his youth. \"It was a handy skill to have while fighting the damned Danish and seizing their ships.\" He hesitated. \"And while fighting the damned English and seizing their ships,\" he said slyly. By that time they weren't bothered by the old national rivalries and neither had any doubts left about his companion's worthiness. They grinned at one another.\n\n\"Will you show me?\"\n\n\"If you'll teach me to juggle,\" Charbonneau said, and Rob agreed eagerly. The bargain was one-sided, for it was too late in life for Charbonneau to master a new and difficult dexterity, and in the little time they had left together he learned only to pop two balls, although he derived much pleasure from tossing and catching them.\n\nRob had the advantage of youth, and years of juggling had given him strong and wiry wrists, as well as a sharp eye and balance and timing.\n\n\"It takes a special knife. Your dagger has a fine blade which would soon be snapped if you started throwing it, or the hilt would be ruined, for the hilt is the center of an ordinary dagger's weight and balance. A throwing knife is weighted in the blade, so that a quick snap of the wrist sends it easily on its way point first.\"\n\nRob quickly learned how to throw Charbonneau's knife so it presented its sharp blade first. It was harder to become skilled at hitting targets where he aimed, but he was accustomed to the discipline of practice and threw the knife at a mark on a broad tree whenever he had a chance.\n\nThey kept to the Roman roads, which were crowded with a polyglot mixture of people. A French cardinal's party once forced them off the road. The prelate rode past surrounded by two hundred mounted troops and a hundred and fifty servants, and wearing scarlet shoes and hat and a gray cope over a once-white chasuble made darker than the cope by the dust of the road. Pilgrims moved in the general direction of Jerusalem singly or in small or large groups; sometimes they were led or lectured by palmers, religious votaries who signaled that they had accomplished sacred travel by wearing two crossed palm leaves picked in the Holy Land. Bands of armored knights galloped by with shouts and war cries, often drunk, usually pugnacious and always hungry for glory, loot, and deviltry. Some of the religious zealots wore hair shirts and crawled toward Palestine on bloody hands and knees to fulfill vows made to God or a saint. Exhausted and defenseless, they were easy prey. Criminals abounded on the highways, and law enforcement by officials was perfunctory at best; when a thief or highwayman was caught in the act he was executed on the spot by the travelers themselves, without trial.\n\nRob kept his weapons loose and ready, half expecting the man with the missing ear to lead a pack of riders down on them for vengeance. His size, the broken nose, and the striped facial wounds combined to make him appear formidable, but he realized with amusement that his best protection was the frail-looking old man he had hired because of his knowledge of English.\n\nThey bought provision in Augsburg, a bustling trade center founded by the Roman emperor Augustus in 12 B.C. Augsburg was a center of transactions between Germany and Italy, crowded with people and busy with its preoccupation, which was commerce. Charbonneau pointed out Italian merchants, conspicuous in shoes of expensive fabric which rose to curling points at the toes. For some time Rob had seen Jews in increasing number, but in Augsburg's markets he noticed more of them than ever, instantly identifiable in their black caftans and narrow-brim, bell-shaped leather hats.\n\nRob put on an entertainment in Augsburg but didn't sell as much Specific as he had previously, perhaps because Charbonneau translated with less zest when forced to use the guttural language of the Franks.\n\nIt didn't matter, for his purse was fat; at any rate, ten days later when they reached Salzburg, Charbonneau told him that the entertainment in that town would be their final one together.\n\n\"In three days' time we come to the Danube River, and there I leave you and turn back to France.\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"I'm of no further use to you. Beyond the Danube is Bohemia, where the people speak a language strange to me.\"\n\n\"You're welcome to come with me, whether or not you translate.\"\n\nBut Charbonneau smiled and shook his head. \"Time for me to go home, this time to stay.\"\n\nAt an inn that night they bought a farewell feast of the food of the land: smoked meat stewed with lard, pickled cabbage, and flour. They didn't like it and got mildly drunk on heavy red wine. He paid off the old man handsomely.\n\nCharbonneau had a last, sobering piece of advice. \"A dangerous countryside lies ahead of you. It's said that in Bohemia one can't tell the difference between wild bandits and the hirelings of the local lords. In order to pass through such a land unharmed, you must have the company of others.\"\n\nRob promised he would seek to join a strong group.\n\nWhen they saw the Danube it was a more muscular river than he had expected, fast-flowing and with the menacing oily surface that he knew denoted deep and dangerous water. Charbonneau stayed a day longer than promised, insisting on riding downstream with him to the wild and halfsettled village of Linz, where a large log-raft ferry took passengers and freight across a quiet stretch of the wide waterway.\n\n\"Well,\" the Frenchman said.\n\n\"Perhaps one day we'll see each other again.\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Charbonneau said.\n\nThey embraced.\n\n\"Live forever, Rob J. Cole.\"\n\n\"Live forever, Louis Charbonneau.\"\n\nHe got down from the wagon and went to arrange his passage as the old man rode away, leading the bony brown horse. The ferryman was a sullen hulk with a bad cold who kept removing the snot from his upper lip with his tongue. The matter of the fare was difficult because Rob didn't have the Bohemian language, and in the end he felt he had been overcharged. When he returned to the wagon after hard sign-language bargaining, Charbonneau had already ridden out of sight.\n\nOn his third day of moving into Bohemia he met up with five fat and ruddy Germans and tried to convey the idea that he wanted to travel with them. His manner was polite; he offered gold and indicated he'd be willing to cook and do other camp chores, but there wasn't a smile from any of them, only hands on the hilts of five swords.\n\n\"Fucks,\" he said finally, and turned away. But he couldn't blame them, for their party already had some strength and he was unknown, a danger.\n\nHorse drew him from the mountains into a great saucer-shaped plateau ringed by green hills. There were cultivated fields of gray earth in which men and women toiled over wheat, barley, rye, and beets, but most of it was mixed forest. In the night, not far away, he heard the howling of wolves. He kept a fire burning although it wasn't cold, and Mistress Buffington mewed at the wild animal sounds, sleeping with the spiny ridge of her back hard against him.\n\nHe had depended on Charbonneau for many things, but he found that not the least of these had been companionship. Now he drove down the Roman road and knew the meaning of the word alone, for he couldn't speak to any of the people he met.\n\nA week after he and Charbonneau had parted, one morning he came upon the stripped and mutilated body of a man hanging from a tree by the side of the road. The hanged man was slight and ferret-faced and was missing his left ear.\n\nRob regretted that he wasn't able to inform Charbonneau that others had caught up with their third highwayman."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE JOINING",
                "text": "Rob crossed the wide plateau and reentered mountains. They weren't as high as those he had already crossed but they were rugged enough to slow his progress. Twice more he approached groups of travelers on the road and attempted to join with them, but each time he was refused permission to do so. One morning a group of horsemen dressed in rags rode past him and shouted something at him in their strange language, but he nodded a greeting and looked away, for he could see they were wild and desperate. He felt if he were to travel with them he would soon be dead.\n\nArriving at a large town, he went into the tavern and was overjoyed to find that the publican knew a few words of English. From this man he learned that the town was called Br\u00fcnn. The people through whose territory he traveled were mostly members of a tribe called the Czechs. He could learn little else, not even where the man had gotten his tiny store of English words, for the simple exchange had overtaxed the publican's linguistic ability. When Rob left the tavern he found a man in the back of his wagon, going through his belongings.\n\n\"Get out,\" he said softly. He pulled his sword but the fellow had leaped from the cart and was off before he could stop him. Rob's money purse was still nailed safely beneath the floor of the wagon, and the only thing missing was a cloth bag full of the paraphernalia used in tricks of magic. It gave him no small comfort to think of the thief's face when he opened the bag.\n\nAfter that he polished his weapons daily, keeping a thin coat of grease on his blades so they slipped from the scabbards at the slightest pull. At night he slept lightly or not at all, listening for any sound that would indicate someone creeping up on him. He knew he would have little hope if he were attacked by a pack such as the horsemen in rags. He remained alone and vulnerable for nine more long days, until one morning the road emerged from the woods and, to his wonder and delight and burgeoning hope, he saw before him a tiny town that had been engulfed by a large caravan.\n\nThe sixteen houses of the village were surrounded by several hundred animals. Rob saw horses and mules of every size and description, saddled or harnessed to wagons, carts, and vans of wide variety. He tethered Horse to a tree. People were everywhere, and as he pushed among them his ears were assaulted by a babble of incomprehensible tongues.\n\n\"Please,\" he said to a man engaged in the arduous task of changing a wheel. \"Where is the caravan master?\" He helped lift the wheel to the hub but won only a grateful smile and a blank headshake.\n\n\"The caravan master?\" he asked the next traveler, who was in the process of feeding two span of great oxen with wooden balls fixed to the points of their long horns.\n\n\"Ah, der Meister? Kerl Fritta,\" the man said, and gestured down the line.\n\nAfter that it was easy, for the name Kerl Fritta seemed to be known by all. Whenever Rob uttered it he received a nod and a pointing finger, until finally he came to a place where a table had been set in a field next to a large wagon hitched to six of the largest matched chestnut draft horses he had ever seen. On the table was a naked sword and behind it sat a personage who wore his long brown hair in two thick plaits and was engrossed in conversation with the first of a long line of travelers waiting to speak with him.\n\nRob stood at the end of the line. \"That is Kerl Fritta?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, that is he,\" answered one of the men.\n\nThey stared at one another in delight.\n\n\"You're English!\"\n\n\"Scotch,\" said the man, with only slight disappointment. \"Well met! Well met!\" he murmured, grasping both of Rob's hands. He was tall and spare, with long gray hair, and clean-shaven in the Britons' style. He wore a traveling suit of rough black stuff but it was good cloth, and well cut.\n\n\"James Geikie Cullen,\" he said. \"Sheep breeder and wool factor, journeying to Anatolia with my daughter in search of better varieties of rams and ewes.\"\n\n\"Rob J. Cole, barbersurgeon. Bound for Persia to buy precious medicinals.\"\n\nCullen gazed at him almost fondly. The line moved, but they had enough time to exchange information, and English words never had sounded more euphonious.\n\nCullen was accompanied by a man dressed in stained brown trousers and a ragged gray kirtle; he said this was Seredy, whom he had hired as servant and interpreter.\n\nTo Rob's surprise, he learned that he was no longer in Bohemia but unknowingly had crossed into the country of Hungary two days before. The village they had so transformed was called Vac. Though bread and cheese were available from the inhabitants, provision and other supplies were dear.\n\nThe caravan had originated in the town of Ulm, in the duchy of Schwaben.\n\n\"Fritta is a German,\" Cullen confided. \"He doesn't appear to go out of his way to be pleasant but it's advisable to get along with him, for there are reliable reports that Magyar bandits are preying on lone travelers and small parties, and there's not another large caravan in this vicinity.\"\n\nNews of the bandits appeared to be general knowledge, and as they moved toward the table other applicants joined the line. Directly behind Rob, to his interest, there were three Jews.\n\n\"In such a caravan one must travel with both gentlefolk and vermin,\" Cullen said loudly. Rob was watching the three men in their dark caftans and leather hats. They were conversing with one another in still another strange language, but it seemed that the eyes of the man closest to him flickered when Cullen spoke, as if he understood what had been said. Rob looked away.\n\nWhen they reached Fritta's table Cullen took care of his own business and then was kind enough to offer Seredy as Rob's translator.\n\nThe caravan master, experienced and quick in conducting such interviews, efficiently learned his name, business, and destination.\n\n\"He wants you to understand that the caravan doesn't go to Persia,\" Seredy said. \"Beyond Constantinople you must make another arrangement.\"\n\nRob nodded, then the German spoke at length.\n\n\"The fee you must pay to Master Fritta is the equal of twenty-two English silver pennies, but he wishes no more of these, for it is in English pennies that my Master Cullen will pay and Master Fritta says he can't easily dispose of too many. Are you able to pay in deniers, he asks.\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"He'll take twenty-seven deniers,\" Seredy said too smoothly.\n\nRob hesitated. He had deniers because he had sold the Specific in France and Germany, but he was ignorant of the fair rate of exchange.\n\n\"Twenty-three,\" a voice said directly behind him, so low he thought he had imagined it.\n\n\"Twenty-three deniers,\" he said firmly.\n\nThe caravan master accepted the offer icily, looking straight into his eyes.\n\n\"You must provide your own provision and supply. Should you lag or be forced to drop out you'll be left behind,\" the translator said. \"He says the caravan will leave here composed of some ninety separate parties totaling more than one hundred and twenty men. He demands one sentry for each ten parties, so every twelve days you will have to stand guard all night.\"\n\n\"Agreed.\"\n\n\"Newcomers must take a place at the end of the line of march, where the dust is worst and the traveler is most vulnerable. You'll follow Master Cullen and his daughter. Each time somebody ahead of you drops out, you may move up a single place. Each party to join the caravan hereafter will travel behind you.\"\n\n\"Agreed.\"\n\n\"And should you practice your profession of barbersurgeon to the members of the caravan, you must share all earnings equally with Master Fritta.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said at once, for it was unjust that he should have to give one-half of his earnings to this German.\n\nCullen cleared his throat. Glancing at the Scot, Rob saw apprehension in his face and remembered what he had said about the Magyar bandits.\n\n\"Offer ten, take thirty,\" the low voice behind him said.\n\n\"I'll agree to give up ten percent of my earnings,\" Rob said.\n\nFritta uttered a single laconic word which Rob took to be the Teutonic equivalent of \"goose shit\"; then he made another short sound.\n\n\"Forty, he says.\"\n\n\"Tell him twenty.\"\n\nThey agreed on thirty percent. As he thanked Cullen for the use of the interpreter and walked away, Rob glanced quickly at the three Jews. They were men of medium height, with faces tanned to swarthiness. The man who had stood directly behind him had a fleshy nose and large lips over a full brown beard shot with gray. He didn't look at Rob but stepped toward the table with the total concentration of someone who has already tested an adversary.\n\nThe newcomers were ordered to take their positions in the line of march during the afternoon and make camp in place that night, for the caravan would set off right after dawn. Rob found his location between Cullen and the Jews, unhitched Horse, and led him to grass a few rods away. The inhabitants of Vac were taking their last opportunity to profit from the windfall by selling provision, and a farmer came by and held up eggs and yellow cheese for which he wanted four deniers, a shocking price. Instead of paying, Rob bartered away three bottles of the Universal Specific and gained his supper.\n\nWhile he ate he watched his neighbors watching him. In the camp in front of his, Seredy fetched the water but Cullen's daughter did the cooking. She was very tall and had red hair. There were five men in the campsite behind his. When he had finished cleaning up after the meal, he walked to where the Jews were brushing their animals. They had good horses as well as two pack mules, one of which presumably carried the tent they had raised. They watched silently as Rob walked to the man who had stood behind him during his dealing with Fritta.\n\n\"I am Rob J. Cole. I wish to thank you.\"\n\n\"For nothing, for nothing.\" He lifted the brush from the horse's back. \"I am Meir ben Asher.\" He introduced his companions. Two had been with him when Rob had first seen them in the line: Gershom ben Shemuel, who had a wen on his nose and was short and looked as tough as a chunk of wood, and Judah haCohen, sharp-nosed and small-mouthed, with a bear's glossy black hair and the same sort of beard. The other two were younger. Simon ben ha-Levi was thin and serious, almost a man, a beanpole with a wispy beard. And Tuveh ben Meir was a boy of twelve, large for his age as Rob had been.\n\n\"My son,\" Meir said.\n\nNo one else talked. They watched him very carefully.\n\n\"You are merchants?\"\n\nMeir nodded. \"Once our family lived in the town of Hameln in Germany. Ten years ago we all moved to Angora, in the Byzantine, from which we travel both east and west, buying and selling.\"\n\n\"What do you buy and sell?\"\n\nMeir shrugged. \"A little of this, a bit of that.\"\n\nRob was delighted with the answer. He had spent hours thinking of spurious details to tell about himself, and now he saw it was unnecessary; businessmen didn't reveal too much.\n\n\"Where do you travel?\" the young man named Simon said, startling Rob, who had decided only Meir knew English.\n\n\"Persia.\"\n\n\"Persia. Excellent! You have family there?\"\n\n\"No, I go there to buy. One or two herbs, perhaps a few medicinals.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" Meir said. The Jews looked at one another, accepting it instantly.\n\nIt was the moment to leave, and he bade them good night.\n\nCullen had been staring over at them while he talked to the Jews, and when Rob approached his camp the Scot seemed to have lost most of his initial warmth.\n\nHe introduced his daughter Margaret without enthusiasm, although the girl greeted Rob politely enough.\n\nUp close, her red hair was something that would be pleasant to touch. Her eyes were cool and sad. Her high round cheekbones seemed large as a man's fist and her nose and jaw were comely but not delicate. Her face and arms were unfashionably freckled and he wasn't accustomed to a woman being so tall.\n\nWhile he was trying to decide whether she was beautiful, Fritta came along and spoke briefly to Seredy.\n\n\"He wishes Master Cole to be a sentry this night,\" the interpreter said.\n\nSo as dusk fell Rob began to walk his post, which started with the Cullens' site and extended through eight camps beyond his own.\n\nAs he walked, he saw what a strange mixture the caravan had brought together. Next to a covered cart an olive-skinned woman with yellow hair nursed a baby while her husband squatted near the fire and greased his harnesses. Two men sat and cleaned weapons. A boy fed grain to three fat hens in a crude wooden cage. A cadaverous man and his fat woman glared at one another and quarreled in what Rob believed to be French.\n\nOn his third circuit of the area, as he passed the Jews' camp he saw that they stood together and swayed, chanting what he realized was their evening prayer.\n\nA large white moon began to ride up from the forest beyond the village and he felt tireless and confident, for suddenly he was part of an army of more than one hundred and twenty men, and that wasn't the same as traveling through a strange and hostile land by yourself.\n\nFour times during the night he challenged somebody and found it was one of the men going beyond the camp to answer a call of nature.\n\nToward morning, when he was becoming unbearably sleepy, the Cullen girl came out of her father's tent. She passed close by him without acknowledging his presence. He saw her clearly in the washed light of the moon. Her dress looked very black and her long feet, which must have been wet with dew, looked very white.\n\nHe made as much noise as possible while walking in the opposite direction from the one she had taken, but he watched from afar until he saw her safely back, and then he began to walk again.\n\nAt first light he quit his post and made a hurried breakfast of bread and cheese. While he ate, the Jews assembled outside their tent for sunrise devotions. Perhaps they would be an annoyance, for they seemed an exceedingly worshipful people. They strapped little black boxes on their foreheads and wound thin leather strips around their forearms until their limbs resembled the barber poles on Rob's wagon, then they lost themselves alarmingly in reverie, covering their heads with prayer shawls. He was relieved when they were done.\n\nHe had Horse harnessed too early, and had to wait. Although those at the head of the caravan set out shortly after daybreak, the sun was well up before it was his turn. Cullen led on a rawboned white horse, followed by his servant Seredy riding a scruffy gray mare and leading three packhorses. Why did two people need three pack animals? The daughter sat a proud black. Rob thought the haunches of both the horse and the woman were admirable, and he followed them gladly."
            },
            {
                "title": "PARSI",
                "text": "They settled at once into the routine of the journey. For the first three days both the Scots and the Jews regarded him politely and left him alone, perhaps made uneasy by his battered face and the bizarre markings on the wagon. Privacy had never displeased him, and he was content to be left to his thoughts.\n\nThe girl rode in front of him constantly, and inevitably he watched her even after they made camp. She appeared to have two black dresses, one of which she washed whenever there was opportunity. She was obviously a sufficiently seasoned traveler not to fret over discomforts but there was about her, and about Cullen, an air of barely concealed melancholy; he assumed from their clothing that they were in mourning.\n\nSometimes she sang softly.\n\nOn the fourth morning, when the caravan was slow to move, she dismounted and led her horse, stretching her legs. He looked down at her walking close by his wagon and smiled at her. Her eyes were enormous, as deep a blue as irises can be. Her high-boned face had long, sensitive planes. Her mouth was large and ripe like everything about her, yet curiously quick and expressive.\n\n\"What's the language of your songs?\"\n\n\"Gaelic. What we call the Erse.\"\n\n\"I thought so.\"\n\n\"Och. How is a Sassenach to recognize the Erse?\"\n\n\"What is a Sassenach?\"\n\n\"It's our name for those who live south of Scotland.\"\n\n\"I sense the word isn't a compliment.\"\n\n\"Ah, it is not,\" she admitted, and this time smiled.\n\n\"Mary Margaret!\" her father called sharply. She moved to him at once, a daughter accustomed to obeying.\n\nMary Margaret?\n\nShe must be near the age Anne Mary would be now, he realized uneasily. His sister's hair was brown when she was a little girl, but there had been reddish tints \u2026\n\nThe girl was not Anne Mary, he reminded himself firmly. He knew he must stop seeing his sister in every woman who wasn't elderly, for it was the sort of pastime that might become a form of madness.\n\nThere was no need to dwell on it, since he had no real interest in James Cullen's daughter. There were more than enough soft things in the world, and he decided that he'd stay away from this one.\n\nHer father evidently determined to give him a second chance at conversation, perhaps because he hadn't seen him talking again to the Jews. On their fifth night on the road James Cullen came to visit, bearing a jug of barley liquor, and Rob said words of welcome and accepted a friendly pull from the bottle.\n\n\"You know sheep, Master Cole?\"\n\nCullen beamed when he said he didn't, ready to educate him.\n\n\"There are sheep and there are sheep. In Kilmarnock, site of the Cullen holding, ewes often run as small as twelve stone in weight. I'm told that in the East we'll find ewes twice that size, with long hair instead of short\u2014denser fleece than the beasts of Scotland, so full of richness that when the wool is spun and made up into goods, it will shed rain.\"\n\nCullen said he planned to buy breeding stock when he found the best, and bring it back to Kilmarnock with him.\n\nThat would take ready capital, a goodly amount of trading money, Rob told himself, and realized why Cullen needed packhorses. It might be better if the Scot also had bodyguards, he reflected.\n\n\"It's a far journey you're on. You'll be a long time away from your sheep holding.\"\n\n\"I left it in the reliable care of trusted kinsmen. It was a hard decision, but \u2026 Six months before I left Scotland I buried my wife of twenty-two years.\" Cullen grimaced and put the jug to his mouth for a long swallow.\n\nThat would explain their rue, Rob thought. The barbersurgeon in him made him ask what had caused her to die.\n\nCullen coughed. \"There were growths in both her breasts, hard lumps. She just grew pale and weak, lost appetite and will. Finally there was terrible pain. She took a time to die but was gone before I believed it could be so. Her name was Jura. Well\u2026 I stayed drunk for six weeks but found it no escape. For years I'd engaged in idle talk about buying fine stock in Anatolia, never thinking it would come to pass. I just decided to go.\"\n\nHe offered the jug and didn't seem offended when Rob shook his head. \"Piss time,\" he said, and smiled gently. He had already finished a large amount of the jug's contents and when he attempted to clamber to his feet and leave, Rob had to assist him.\n\n\"A good night, Master Cullen. Please come again.\"\n\n\"A good night, Master Cole.\"\n\nWatching him walk away unsteadily, Rob reflected that he hadn't once mentioned his daughter.\n\nThe following afternoon a French factor named Felix Roux, thirty-eighth in the line of march, was thrown when his horse shied at a badger. He struck the ground badly, with the full weight of his body on his left forearm, breaking the bone so the limb hung askew. Kerl Fritta sent for the barbersurgeon, who set the bone and immobilized the arm, a painful procedure. Rob struggled to inform Roux that although the arm would give him hell's pain when he rode, he would still be able to travel with the caravan. Finally he had to send for Seredy to tell the patient how to handle the sling.\n\nHe was thoughtful on his way back to his own wagon. He had agreed to treat sick travelers several times a week. Although he tipped Seredy generously, he knew he couldn't continue to use James Cullen's manservant as interpreter.\n\nBack at his wagon, he saw Simon ben ha-Levi sitting on the ground nearby, mending a saddle cinch, and he walked up to the thin young Jew.\n\n\"Do you have French and German?\"\n\nThe youth nodded while holding a saddle strap close to his mouth and biting off the waxed thread.\n\nRob talked and ha-Levi listened. In the end, since the terms were generous and the time required wasn't great, he agreed to interpret for the barbersurgeon.\n\nRob was pleased. \"How do you have so many languages?\"\n\n\"We're merchants between nations. We travel constantly, with family connections in the markets of many countries. Languages are part of our business. For example, young Tuveh is studying the language of the Mandarins, for in three years he'll travel the Silk Road and go to work with my uncle's firm.\" His uncle, Issachar ben Nachum, he said, headed a large branch of their family in Kai Feng Fu, from which every three years he sent a caravan of silks, pepper, and other Oriental exotics to Meshed, in Persia. And every three years since he was a small boy, Simon and other males of his family had traveled from their home in Angora to Meshed, from which they accompanied a caravan of the rich goods back to the East Frankish Kingdom.\n\nRob J. felt a quickening within him. \"You know the Persian language?\"\n\n\"Of course. Parsi.\"\n\nRob looked at him blankly.\n\n\"It's called Parsi.\"\n\n\"Will you teach it to me?\"\n\nSimon ben ha-Levi hesitated, because this was a different matter. This could take a good deal of his time.\n\n\"I'll pay well.\"\n\n\"Why do you want Parsi?\"\n\n\"I'll need the language when I reach Persia.\"\n\n\"You want to do business on a regular basis? Return to Persia again and again to buy herbs and pharmaceuticals, the way we do for silks and spices?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\" Rob J. shrugged, a gesture worthy of Meir ben Asher. \"A bit of this, a little of that.\"\n\nSimon grinned. He began to scratch out a first lesson in the dirt with a stick, but it was unsatisfactory and Rob went to the wagon and got his drawing things and a clean round of beechwood. Simon started him in the Parsi language exactly as Mam had taught him to read English many years earlier, by teaching him the alphabet. Parsi letters were composed of dots and squiggly lines. Christ's blood! The written language resembled pigeon shit, bird tracks, curled wood shavings, worms trying to fuck each other.\n\n\"I'll never learn this,\" he said, his heart sinking.\n\n\"You shall,\" Simon said placidly.\n\nRob J. took the piece of wood back to the wagon. He ate his supper slowly, buying time in which to control his excitement, then he sat on the wagon seat and at once began to apply himself."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE QUIET SENTRY",
                "text": "They emerged from the mountains to flat land that the Roman road divided with absolute straightness as far as the eye could see. On both sides of the road were fields with black soil. People were beginning to harvest grain and late vegetables; summer was over. They came to an enormous lake and followed its shoreline for three days, stopping overnight to buy provision at a shoreside town called Siofok. Not much of a town, sagging buildings and a crafty, cheating peasantry, but the lake\u2014it was named Balaton\u2014was an unworldly dream, water dark and hard-looking as a gem, giving off white mist as he waited early in the morning for the Jews to say their prayers.\n\nThe Jews were funny to watch. Strange creatures, they bobbed while they prayed and it seemed that God was juggling their heads, which went up and down at different times but seemed to work with a mysterious rhythm. When they were finished and he suggested that they swim with him, they made faces because of the chill but suddenly they were babbling to each other in their language. Meir said something and Simon nodded and turned away; he was camp guard. The others and Rob ran to the shore and threw off their clothes, splashing into the shallows like screaming children. Tuveh wasn't a good swimmer and wallowed. Judah haCohen paddled feebly and Gershom ben Shemuel, who had a shocking-white round belly despite his sun-darkened face, floated on his back and bellowed incomprehensible songs. Meir was a surprise. \"Better than the mikva!\" he shouted, gasping.\n\n\"What's the mikva?\" Rob asked, but the stocky man plunged beneath the surface and then began to move out from shore with strong, even strokes. Rob swam after him, thinking he would rather be with a female. He tried to recall women with whom he had swum. There were perhaps half a dozen and he had made love to each, before or after the swimming. Several times it had been in the water with the wetness lapping all around them \u2026\n\nHe hadn't touched a woman for five months, his longest period of abstention since Editha Lipton had guided him into the sexual world. He kicked and flailed in the water, which was very cold, trying to rid himself of the ache to fuck.\n\nWhen he overtook Meir, he sent a great splash into the other man's face.\n\nMeir sputtered and coughed. \"Christian!\" he shouted ominously.\n\nRob splashed him again and Meir closed with him. Rob was taller but Meir was strong! He pushed Rob under, but Rob locked his fingers in the full beard and pulled the Jew under with him, down and down. As they sank it seemed as though tiny flecks of rime left the brown water and clung to him, cold on cold, until he felt clothed in a skin of icy silver.\n\nDown.\n\nUntil, at the same moment, each panicked and decided he would drown for playfulness. They pushed apart to rise, and broke the surface gasping for air. Neither vanquished, neither victor, they swam back to shore together. When they left the water they trembled with a foretaste of autumn chill as they struggled to force wet bodies into their clothes. Meir had noted his circumcised penis and looked at him.\n\n\"A horse bit the tip off,\" Rob said.\n\n\"A mare, no doubt,\" Meir said solemnly; he muttered something to the others in their language, causing them to grin at Rob. The Jews wore curiously fringed garments next to their flesh. Naked, they had been as other men; clad, they reassumed their foreignness and were exotic creatures again. They caught Rob studying them but he didn't ask them to explain the strange undergarments, and no one volunteered.\n\nAfter they left the lake behind, the scenery suffered. Traveling down a straight and unending road, passing mile after mile of unchanging forest or a field that looked like all the other fields, soon became almost unbearable in its monotony. Rob J. took refuge in his imagination, visualizing the road as it had been soon after it was built, one via in a vast network of thousands that had allowed Rome to conquer the world. First there would have come scouts, an advance cavalry. Then the general in his chariot driven by a slave, surrounded by trumpeters both for panoply and signaling. Then on horseback the tribuni and the legati, the staff officers. They were followed by the legion, a forest of bristling javelins\u2014ten cohorts of the most efficient fighting killers in history, six hundred men to a cohort, each one hundred legionnaires led by a centurion. And finally thousands of slaves doing what other brutes of labor could not, hauling the tormenta, the giant machinery of war that was the real reason for building the roads: enormous battering rams for leveling walls and fortifications, wicked catapulta to make the sky rain darts on an enemy, giant ballista, the slings of the gods, to send boulders through the air or launch great beams as if they were arrows. Finally, the carts laden with impedimenta, the baggage, would be trailed by wives and children, whores, traders, couriers, and government officials, the ants of history, living off the spoils of the Roman feast.\n\nNow that army was legend and dream, those camp followers ancient dust, that government long gone, but the roads remained, indestructible highways that were sometimes so straight as to lull the mind.\n\nThe Cullen girl was walking near his wagon again, her horse tied to one of the pack animals.\n\n\"Will you join me, mistress? The wagon will be a change for you.\"\n\nShe hesitated, but when he extended his hand she took it and allowed him to pull her up.\n\n\"Your cheek has healed nicely,\" she observed. She colored but seemed unable to keep from talking. \"There's only the slightest silver line from the last of the scratches. With luck it will fade so there will be no scar.\"\n\nHe felt his own face go hot and wished she wouldn't examine his features.\n\n\"How did you come by the injury?\"\n\n\"An encounter with highwaymen.\"\n\nMary Cullen drew a deep breath. \"I pray God to preserve us from such.\" She looked at him thoughtfully. \"Some are saying that Kerl Fritta himself started the rumors of Magyar bandits, in order to put fear into travelers and bring them flocking to join his caravan.\"\n\nRob shrugged. \"It's not beyond Master Fritta to have done so, I think. The Magyars don't appear threatening.\" On either side of the road, men and women were harvesting cabbages.\n\nThey fell into a silence. Each bump in the road jostled them so he was constantly aware of the possibility of a soft hip and a firm thigh, and the scent of the girl's flesh was like a faint warm spice lured out of berry bushes by the sun.\n\nHe who had cozened females the length and breadth of England heard his voice thicken when he tried to talk. \"Have you always had your middle name of Margaret, Mistress Cullen?\"\n\nShe regarded him in astonishment. \"Always.\"\n\n\"Can't ever remember another name?\"\n\n\"When I was a child my father called me Turtle, because sometimes I did this.\" She blinked both her eyes slowly.\n\nHe was unnerved from wanting to touch her hair. Under the broad cheekbone of the left side of her face was a tiny scar, unseen unless you studied her, and it didn't mar her appearance. He looked quickly away.\n\nAhead, her father twisted in the saddle and saw his daughter riding in the wagon. Cullen had witnessed Rob several more times in the company of the Jews, and his displeasure was in his voice when he called Mary Margaret's name.\n\nShe prepared to leave. \"What is your middle name, Master Cole?\"\n\n\"Jeremy.\"\n\nHer nod was serious but her eyes mocked him. \"Has it always been Jeremy, then? You can't remember any other name?\"\n\nShe gathered her skirts in one hand and leaped to the ground lightly as an animal. He caught a glimpse of white legs and slapped the reins against Horse's back, furious with the knowledge that he was an object of amusement to her.\n\nThat evening after supper he sought out Simon for his second lesson and discovered that the Jews owned books. St. Botolph's school, which he had attended as a boy, had owned three books, a Canon of the Bible and a New Testament, both in Latin, and in English a menology, a list of holy feast days prescribed for general observance by the King of England. Every page was vellum, made by treating the skins of lambs, calves, or kids. Each letter had been transcribed by hand, a monumental task that caused books to be expensive and rare.\n\nThe Jews appeared to have a great number of books\u2014later he found that there were seven\u2014in a small chest of worked leather.\n\nSimon selected one that was written in Parsi and they spent the lesson examining it, Rob searching out specific letters in the text as Simon called for them. He had learned the Parsi alphabet quickly and well. Simon praised him and read a passage of the book so Rob could hear the melodiousness of the language. He stopped after each word and had Rob repeat it.\n\n\"What is this book called?\"\n\n\"It is the Qu'ran, their Bible,\" Simon said, and he translated:\n\n\u2003\"Glory to God Most High, full of Grace and Mercy;\n\n\u2003He created All, including Man.\n\n\u2003To Man He gave a special place in His Creation.\n\n\u2003He honored Man to be His Agent,\n\n\u2003And to that end, imbued him with understanding,\n\n\u2003Purified his affections, and gave him spiritual insight.\n\n\"I shall give you a list each day, ten Persian words and expressions,\" Simon said. \"You must commit them to your memory for the following day's lesson.\"\n\n\"Give me twenty-five words every day,\" Rob said, for he knew he would have his teacher only as far as Constantinople.\n\nSimon smiled. \"Twenty-five, then.\"\n\nNext day Rob learned the words easily, for the road was still straight and smooth and Horse was able to plod with loose reins while his master sat in the driver's seat and studied. But Rob saw a wasted opportunity, and after that day's lesson he asked Meir ben Asher's permission to carry the Persian book to his own wagon, so he might study it all through the empty day of travel.\n\nMeir refused firmly. \"The book must never leave our sight. You may read it only in our close company.\"\n\n\"May not Simon ride in the wagon with me?\"\n\nHe felt certain Meir was about to say no again, but Simon spoke up. \"I could use the time to prove the account books,\" he said.\n\nMeir considered.\n\n\"This one is going to be a fierce scholar,\" Simon said quietly. \"There's already in him a ravenous appetite for study.\"\n\nThe Jews regarded Rob in a way that was somehow different than heretofore. Finally Meir nodded. \"You may take the book to your wagon,\" he said.\n\nThat night he fell asleep wishing it were the next day, and in the morning he awoke early and eager, with a sense of anticipation that was almost painful. The waiting was more difficult because he could witness every one of the Jews' slow preparations for the day: Simon going into the woods to empty bladder and bowels, yawning Meir and Tuveh ambling to the brook to wash, all of them bobbing and muttering at morning prayer, Gershom and Judah serving up their bread and gruel.\n\nNo lover ever awaited maiden with more yearning impatience. \"Come, come, you slow-foot, you Hebrew dawdler,\" he muttered, going over his day's lesson of Persian vocabulary one final time.\n\nWhen finally Simon came he was laden with the Persian book, a heavy account ledger, and a peculiar wooden frame containing columns of beads strung on narrow wooden rods.\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"An abacus. A counting device, useful when doing sums,\" Simon said.\n\nAfter the caravan got under way it was apparent that the new arrangement was workable. Despite the relative smoothness of the road, the wagon wheels rolled over stones and writing was impractical; but it was easy to read, and each of them settled into his work as they moved through mile after mile of countryside.\n\nThe Persian book made no sense at all to him, but Simon had told him to read the Parsi letters and words until he felt at ease with the pronunciations. Once he came upon a phrase Simon had given him on the list, Koc-homedy, \"You come with good intent,\" and he felt triumphant, as if he had scored a minor victory.\n\nSometimes he looked up and watched Mary Margaret Cullen's back. Now she rode close to her father's side, no doubt at his insistence, for Rob had noted Cullen glowering at Simon when he climbed onto the wagon. She rode with a very straight back and her head erect, as if she had balanced on a saddle all her life.\n\nHe learned his list of words and phrases by noon. \"Twenty-five isn't enough. You must give me more.\"\n\nSimon smiled and gave him another fifteen words to learn. The Jew spoke little, and Rob became accustomed to the click-click-click of the abacus beads flying under Simon's fingers.\n\nIn the middle of the afternoon, Simon grunted and Rob knew he had discovered an error in one of the accounts. The ledger obviously contained the record of a great many transactions; it dawned on Rob that these men were bringing home to their family the profits of the mercantile caravan they had taken from Persia to Germany, which explained why they never left their campsite unguarded. In the line of march in front of him was Cullen, taking a considerable amount of cash to Anatolia in order to buy sheep. Behind him were these Jews, almost certainly carrying a greater sum. If bandits knew about rich plums such as these, he thought uneasily, they would raise an army of outlaws and even so large a caravan wouldn't be safe from attack. But he wasn't tempted to leave the caravan, for to travel alone was to ask for death. So he put all such fears from his mind and day after day sat on the wagon seat with the reins loose and his eyes fixed, as if eternally, on the Sacred Book of Islam.\n\nThere followed a special time. The weather held, with skies so autumnal that their blue depth minded him of Mary Cullen's eyes, of which he saw little because she kept her distance. Doubtless she was so ordered by her father.\n\nSimon finished checking the account book and had no excuse for coming to sit on his wagon seat each day, but their routine had been established and Meir had become relaxed about parting with the Persian book.\n\nSimon trained him assiduously to become a merchant prince.\n\n\"What is the basic Persian unit of weight?\"\n\n\"It is the man, Simon, about one-half of a European stone.\"\n\n\"Tell me the other weights.\"\n\n\"There is the ratel, the sixth part of a man. The dirham, the fiftieth part of a ratel. The mescal, half a dirham. The dung, the sixth part of a mescal. And the barleycorn, which is one-fourth of a dung.\"\n\n\"Very good. Good, indeed!\"\n\nWhen he wasn't being quizzed, Rob couldn't refrain from eternal questions.\n\n\"Simon, please. What is the word for money?\"\n\n\"Ras.\"\n\n\"Simon, if you would be so kind \u2026 what is this term in the book, Sonab a caret?\"\n\n\"Merit for the next life, that is to say, in Paradise.\"\n\n\"Simon\u2014\"\n\nSimon groaned and Rob knew he was becoming a nuisance, whereupon he held back the questions until the need to ask another popped into his head.\n\nTwice a week they saw patients, Simon interpreting for him and watching and listening. When Rob examined and treated he was the expert and Simon became the one who asked questions.\n\nA foolishly grinning Frankish drover came to see the barbersurgeon and complained about tenderness and pain behind his knees, where there were hard lumps. Rob gave him a salve of soothing herbs in sheep's fat and told him to come back again in a fortnight, but within a week the drover was back in line. This time he reported the same kind of lumps in both armpits. Rob gave him two bottles of the Universal Specific and sent him away.\n\nWhen everyone else had gone, Simon turned to him. \"What is the matter with the big Frank?\"\n\n\"Perhaps the lumps will go away. But I think they won't, I think he'll get more lumps because he has the bubo. If that is so, soon he's going to die.\"\n\nSimon blinked. \"Is there nothing you can do?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I'm an ignorant barbersurgeon. Perhaps somewhere there is a great physician who could help him.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't do what you do,\" Simon said slowly, \"unless I could learn everything there is to know.\"\n\nRob looked at him but said nothing. It shocked him that the Jew could see at once and so clearly what it had taken him such a long time to realize.\n\nThat night he was awakened roughly by Cullen. \"Hurry, man, for Christ's sake,\" the Scot said. A woman was screaming.\n\n\"Mary?\"\n\n\"No, no. Come with me.\"\n\nIt was a black night, no moon. Just past the Jews' camp somebody had lighted pitch torches and in the flickering illumination Rob saw that a man lay dying.\n\nHe was Raybeau, the cadaverous Frenchman who occupied the position three places behind Rob in the line of march. In his throat was an open, grinning rictus and next to him on the ground was a dark and glistening puddle, his escaped life.\n\n\"He was our sentry tonight,\" Simon said.\n\nMary Cullen was with the shrieking female, Raybeau's ponderous wife with whom he had constantly quarreled. Her husband's slit throat was slippery under Rob's wet fingers. There was a liquid rattling and Raybeau strained for a moment toward the sound of her anguished calling before he twisted and died.\n\nIn a moment they started at the sound of galloping. \"It's only mounted pickets sent out by Fritta,\" Meir said quietly from the shadows.\n\nThe entire caravan was aroused and armed, but soon Fritta's riders returned with word that there had been no large raiding party. Perhaps the murderer had been a lone thief, or a scout for the bandits; in either case, the cutthroat was gone.\n\nFor the remainder of the night they slept little. In the morning Gaspar Raybeau was buried hard by the Roman road. Kerl Fritta intoned the Service of Interment in hurried German, and then people left the grave and nervously prepared to resume their journey. The Jews loaded their pack mules so their burdens wouldn't tear loose if the animals had to be galloped. Rob saw that among the things packed on each mule was a narrow leather bag that appeared to be heavy; he thought he could guess the contents of the bags. Simon didn't come to the wagon but rode his horse next to Meir, ready to fight or flee if either was necessary.\n\nThe following day they came to Novi Sad, a bustling Danube River town where they learned that a group of seven Frankish monks traveling to the Holy Land had been set upon by bandits three days before and robbed, sodomized, and killed.\n\nFor the next three days they traveled as if attack were imminent, but they followed the wide, sparkling river to Belgrade without incident and took on provision in the farmers' market there, including small sour red plums of exceptional flavor and little green olives that Rob ate with relish. He had his supper at a tavern but found it not to his liking, being a mixture of many greasy meats chopped together and tasting of rancid fats.\n\nA number of persons had left the caravan at Novi Sad and more at Belgrade, and others joined it, so that the Cullens, Rob, and the party of Jews moved forward in the line of march and no longer were part of the vulnerable rear.\n\nSoon after they left Belgrade they entered foothills that quickly became meaner mountains than any they hitherto had crossed, the steep slopes studded with boulders like bared teeth. In the higher elevations, sharper air brought winter suddenly into their minds. These mountains would be hell in the snow.\n\nNow he couldn't drive with slack reins. Going up inclines he had to urge Horse with gentle little flicks of the leather and going downhill he helped by holding her back. When his arms ached and his spirits were raw he reminded himself that the Romans had moved their tormenta over this range of brooding peaks, but the Romans had had hordes of expendable slaves and Rob J. had one tired mare who required the most skillful driving. At night, dull with weariness, he dragged himself to the Jews' camp and sometimes there was a lesson of sorts. But Simon didn't ride in the wagon again and some days Rob did not succeed in learning ten Persian words."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE BALKANS",
                "text": "Now Kerl Fritta came into his own and for the first time Rob looked at him with admiration, for the caravan leader seemed to be everywhere, helping with wagon breakdowns, urging and exhorting people the way a good drover encourages dumb beasts. The way was stony. On October first they lost half a day while men of the caravan were impressed to remove rocks that had fallen across the trail. Accidents happened frequently now and Rob set two broken arms in the space of a week. A Norman merchant's horse bolted and his wagon overturned on him, smashing his leg. He had to be carried on a litter slung between two horses until they came to a farmhouse whose occupants agreed to nurse him. They left the injured man there, Rob devoutly hoping that the farmer didn't murder him for his belongings as soon as the caravan was out of sight.\n\n\"We've passed beyond the land of the Magyar and are now in Bulgaria,\" Meir told him one morning.\n\nIt mattered little, since the hostile nature of the rocks was unchanged and the wind continued to batter them on the high places. As the weather grew raw the people of the caravan began to wear a variety of outer garments, most of them warmer than they were fashionable, until they were a strange-looking collection of ragged and padded creatures.\n\nOn a sunless morning, the pack mule Gershom ben Shemuel was leading behind his horse stumbled and fell, front limbs splayed painfully until the left one snapped audibly under the considerable weight of the pack on the animal's back. The doomed mule screamed in agony like a human being.\n\n\"Help him!\" Rob called, and Meir ben Asher drew a long knife and helped him in the only way possible, by slitting the quivering throat.\n\nThey began at once to unpack the bundle that was on the dead mule. When they came to the narrow leather bag Gershom and Judah had to lift it off together, and an argument ensued in their own language. The remaining pack mule already bore one of the heavy leather bags and Rob was able to see that Gershom was protesting, with justification, that the second bag would quickly overtax the animal.\n\nIn the stalled caravan to their rear there were outraged shouts from those who didn't countenance falling behind the main body.\n\nRob ran back to the Jews. \"Throw the bag into my wagon.\"\n\nMeir hesitated, then he shook his head. \"No.\"\n\n\"Then go to hell,\" Rob said roughly, enraged at the implied lack of trust.\n\nMeir said something and Simon ran after him. \"They'll lash the pack onto my horse. May I ride in the wagon? Only until we're able to buy another mule.\"\n\nRob motioned him onto the seat and climbed up himself. He drove for a long time in silence, for he wasn't in a mood for Persian lessons.\n\n\"You don't understand,\" Simon said. \"Meir must keep the bags with him. It isn't his money. Some belongs to the family and most is owed to investors. The money is his responsibility.\"\n\nThe words made him feel better. But it continued to be a bad day. The way was hard and the presence of a second person in the wagon increased Horse's labor so that she was visibly fatigued when dusk caught them on a mountaintop and they were required to make camp.\n\nBefore he or Simon could eat their supper they had to go to see patients. The wind was so strong it forced them behind Kerl Fritta's wagon. Only a handful of people were there to see him, and to his surprise, and Simon's, among them was Gershom ben Shemuel. The tough, chunky Jew lifted his caftan and dropped his trousers and Rob saw an ugly purple boil on the right cheek of his arse.\n\n\"Tell him to bend over.\"\n\nGershom grunted as the point of Rob's scalpel bit, making yellow pus spurt, and he groaned and cursed in his own language as Rob squeezed the boil until all the putrescence was gone and only bright blood appeared.\n\n\"He won't be able to sit a saddle. Not for several days.\"\n\n\"He must,\" Simon said. \"We can't leave Gershom.\"\n\nRob sighed. The Jews were proving to be a trial today. \"You can take his horse and he'll ride in the back of my wagon.\"\n\nSimon nodded.\n\nThe smiling Frankish drover was next. This time new tiny buboes covered his groin. The lumps in his armpits and behind his knees were larger and more tender than they had been, and when Rob asked, the big Frank said they had begun to pain him.\n\nHe took the drover's hand into his own. \"Tell him he's going to die.\"\n\nSimon glared. \"Be damned,\" he said.\n\n\"Tell him I say he's going to die.\"\n\nSimon swallowed and began to speak softly in German. Rob watched the smile dwindle from the big, stupid face, then the Frank pulled his hands from Rob's grasp and raised the right one, turning it into a fist the size of a small ham. He spoke in a growl.\n\n\"Says you're a fucking liar,\" Simon said.\n\nRob stood and waited, his eyes meeting the drover's, and finally the man spat at his feet and shambled away.\n\nRob sold spirits to two men with ragged coughs and then treated a whimpering Magyar with a disjointed thumb\u2014he had caught it in the saddle girth and his horse had moved.\n\nThen he left Simon, wanting to escape this place and these people. The caravan was spread out; everyone had sought a large boulder to camp behind, as protection from the wind. He walked beyond the final wagon and saw Mary Cullen standing on a rock above the trail.\n\nShe was unearthly. She stood holding open her heavy sheepskin coat with both arms spread wide, her head back and her eyes closed as if she were being purified by the full wash of the wind that swept against her with all the strength of water in full flow. The coat billowed and flapped. Her black gown was plastered against her long body, outlining heavy breasts and rich nipples, a soft roundness of belly and a wide navel, a sweet cleft joining strong thighs. He felt a strange warm tenderness that surely was part of a spell, for she looked like a witch. Her long hair streamed behind her, playing like writhing red fire.\n\nHe couldn't tolerate the thought of her opening her eyes and seeing him watching her, and he turned and walked away.\n\nAt his own wagon he gloomily contemplated the fact that its interior was too fully packed to carry Gershom lying on his stomach. The only way to supply the needed space was to abandon the bank. He carried out the three sections and stared at them, remembering the countless times he and Barber had stood on the little stage and entertained their audience. Then he shrugged and, picking up a large rock, smashed the bank into firewood. There were coals in the firepot and he coaxed a fire to life in the lee of the wagon. In the growing darkness he sat and fed the pieces of the bank to the flames.\n\nIt was unlikely that the name Anne Mary would have been changed to Mary Margaret. And a baby's brown hair, even though it had reddish tints, wouldn't have grown into such an auburn magnificence, he told himself as Mistress Buffington came and mewed and lay next to him close to the fire and out of the wind."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 33",
                "text": "Midmorning on October twenty-second, hard white grains filled the air, flying before the wind and stinging when they struck bare skin.\n\n\"Early for this shit,\" Rob said morosely to Simon, who was back in the wagon seat, Gershom having toughened his cheek and returned to his horse.\n\n\"Not for the Balkans,\" Simon said.\n\nThey were into loftier and more rugged steeps, mostly forested with beech, oak, and pine, but with entire slopes as bare and rocky as though an angry deity had wiped away part of the mountain. There were tiny lakes made by high waterfalls that plummeted into deep gorges.\n\nAhead of him, Cullen father and Cullen daughter were twin figures in their long sheepskin coats and hats, indistinguishable save that he was able to watch the bulky figure on the black horse and know it was Mary.\n\nThe snow didn't accumulate and the travelers struggled against it and made headway, but not fast enough for Kerl Fritta, who raged up and down the line of march, urging greater speed.\n\n\"Something has put fear of Christ in Fritta,\" Rob said.\n\nSimon gave him the quick, guarded glance Rob had noted among the Jews whenever he mentioned Jesus. \"He must get us to the town of Gabrovo before the heavy snows. The way through these mountains is the great pass called the Balkan Gate, but it's already closed. The caravan will winter in Gabrovo, close to the entrance to the gate. In that town there are inns and houses which take in travelers. No other town near the pass is large enough to harbor a caravan as large as this one.\"\n\nRob nodded, able to see advantages. \"I can study my Persian all winter.\"\n\n\"You won't have the book,\" Simon said. \"We shan't stay in Gabrovo with the caravan. We go to the town of Tryavna, a short distance away, where there are Jews.\"\n\n\"But I must have the book. And I need your lessons!\"\n\nSimon shrugged.\n\nThat evening, after he had tended to Horse, Rob went to the Jews' camp and found them examining some special cleated horseshoes. Meir handed one to Rob. \"You should have a set made for your mare. They keep the animal from slipping on snow and ice.\"\n\n\"Can I not come to Tryavna?\"\n\nMeir and Simon exchanged a glance; it was apparent they had discussed him. \"It's not in my power to grant you the hospitality of Tryavna.\"\n\n\"Who has such power?\"\n\n\"The Jews there are led by a great sage, the rabbenu Shlomo ben Eliahu.\"\n\n\"What is a rabbenu?\"\n\n\"A scholar. In our language rabbenu means 'our teacher' and is a term of the highest honor.\"\n\n\"This Shlomo, this sage. Is he a haughty man, cold to strangers? Stiff and unapproachable?\"\n\nMeir smiled and shook his head.\n\n\"Then may I not go to him and ask to be allowed to stay near your book and Simon's lessons?\"\n\nMeir looked at Rob and didn't pretend to be happy with the question. He was silent for a long moment, but when it was clear that Rob was prepared to wait stubbornly for a reply, he sighed and shook his head. \"We will take you to the rabbenu,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "TRYAVNA",
                "text": "Gabrovo was a bleak town of makeshift stick buildings. For months Rob had been yearning for a meal he hadn't cooked himself, a fine meal served to him at the table of a public house. The Jews paused in Gabrovo to visit a merchant, just long enough for Rob to visit one of the three inns. The meal was a terrible disappointment, the meat heavily salted in a vain attempt to hide the fact it was spoiled, and the bread hard and stale, with holes in it from which, no doubt, weevils had been picked. The accommodations were as unsatisfactory as the fare. If the remaining two hostelries were no better, the other members of the caravan faced a hard winter, for every available room was crammed with sleeping pallets and they would slumber cheek by jowl.\n\nIt took Meir's group less than an hour to travel to Tryavna, which proved to be much smaller than Gabrovo. The Jewish quarter\u2014a group of thatch-roofed buildings of weather-silvered boards, huddling together as if for mutual comfort\u2014was separated from the rest of the town by hibernating vineyards and brown fields in which cows cropped the stubs of coldwithered grass. They turned into a dirt courtyard, where boys took charge of their animals. \"You'd best wait here,\" Meir told Rob.\n\nIt wasn't a long wait. Soon Simon came for him and led him into one of the houses, down a dark corridor that smelled of apples and into a room furnished only with a chair and a table piled with books and manuscripts. In the chair sat an old man with snowy hair and beard. He was roundshouldered and stout, with drooping dewlaps and large brown eyes that were watery with age but managed to peer into Rob's very core. There were no introductions; it was like coming before a lord.\n\n\"The rabbenu has been told you're traveling to Persia and need the language of that country for business,\" Simon said. \"He asks whether the joy of scholarship isn't reason enough to study.\"\n\n\"Sometimes there is joy in study,\" Rob said, speaking directly to the old man. \"For me, mostly there is hard work. I'm learning the language of the Persians because I hope it will get me what I want.\"\n\nSimon and the rabbenu jabbered.\n\n\"He asked if you are generally so honest. I told him you're sufficiently forthright to tell a dying man he is dying, and he said, 'That is honest enough.'\"\n\n\"Tell him I have money and will pay for food and shelter.\"\n\nThe sage shook his head. \"This isn't an inn. Those who live here must work,\" Shlomo ben Eliahu said through Simon. \"If the Ineffable One is merciful, we'll have no need for a barbersurgeon this winter.\"\n\n\"I don't have to work as a barbersurgeon. I'm willing to do anything useful.\"\n\nThe rabbenu's long fingers rooted and scrabbled in his beard while he considered. Finally he announced his decision.\n\n\"Whenever slaughtered beef is declared not to be kasher,\" Simon said, \"you'll take the meat and sell it to the Christian butcher in Gabrovo. And during the Sabbath, when Jews may not labor, you'll tend the fires in the houses.\"\n\nRob hesitated. The elderly Jew looked at him with interest, caught by the gleam in his eyes.\n\n\"Something?\" Simon murmured.\n\n\"If Jews may not labor on your Sabbath, isn't he damning my soul by arranging for me to do so?\"\n\nThe rabbenu smiled at the translation.\n\n\"He says he trusts you do not yearn to become a Jew, Master Cole?\" Rob shook his head.\n\n\"Then he is certain you may work without fear on Jews' Sabbath, and bids you welcome to Tryavna.\"\n\nThe rabbenu led them to where Rob would bed at the rear of a large cow barn. \"There are candles in the study house. But no candles may be lighted for reading here in the barn, because of the dry hay,\" the rabbenu said sternly through Simon, and put him to work at once mucking out stalls.\n\nThat night he lay on the straw with his cat on guard at his feet like a lion. Mistress Buffington deserted him occasionally to terrorize a mouse but always came back. The barn was a dark, moist palace, warmed to comfort by the great bovine bodies, and as soon as he became accustomed to the eternal lowing and the sweet stench of cow shit he slept contentedly."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 35",
                "text": "Winter came to Tryavna three days after Rob did. Snow began to fall during the night and for the next two days alternated between a winddriven bitter sleet and fat flakes that floated down so big they looked like sweet things to eat. When it ended he was given a great wooden snow shovel and helped remove the drifts from before all the doors, wearing a leather Jew's hat he found on a peg in the barn. Above him the looming mountains glittered white in the sun and the exertion in the cold air made him optimistic. When the shoveling was done there was no other work and he was free to go to the study house, a frame building into which the cold oozed and was pitifully fought by a token fire so inadequate that it wasn't unusual for people to forget to feed it. The Jews sat around rough tables and studied hour after hour, quarreling loudly and sometimes bitterly.\n\nThey called their language the Tongue. Simon told him it was a mixture of Hebrew and Latin, plus a few idioms from the countries in which they traveled or lived. It was a language designed for disputants; when they studied together they hurled words at one another.\n\n\"What are they arguing about?\" he asked Meir, amazed.\n\n\"Points of the law.\"\n\n\"Where are their books?\"\n\n\"They don't use books. Those who know the laws have memorized them from hearing them from the mouths of their teachers. Those who haven't yet memorized the laws are learning them by listening. It's always been thus. There is Written Law, of course, but it is there only to be consulted. Every man who knows Oral Law is a teacher of legal interpretations as his own teacher taught them, and there are a multitude of interpretations because there are so many different teachers. That's why they argue. Each time they debate, they learn a little bit more about the law.\"\n\nFrom the start in Tryavna they called him Mar Reuven, Hebrew for Master Robert. Mar Reuven the BarberSurgeon. Being called Mar set him apart from them as much as anything else, for they called each other Reb, an honorific indicating commendable scholarship but ranking below that of someone designated a rabbenu. In Tryavna there was but one rabbenu.\n\nThey were a strange people, different from him in appearance as well as custom. \"What's the matter with his hair?\" a man named Reb Joel Levski the Herdsman asked Meir. Rob was the only one in the study house without peoth, the ceremonial hair locks that curled beside each ear.\n\n\"He knows no better. He's a goy, an Other,\" Meir explained.\n\n\"But Simon told me this Other is circumcised. How can that be?\" said Reb Pinhas ben Simeon the Dairyman.\n\nMeir shrugged. \"An accident,\" he said. \"I've discussed it with him. It has nothing to do with the covenant of Abraham.\"\n\nFor several days Mar Reuven was stared at. In turn he did some staring of his own, for they seemed more than passing strange to him with their headwear and earlocks and bushy beards and dark clothing and heathenish ways. He was fascinated with their habits during prayer. They were so individualized. Meir donned his prayer shawl modestly and unobtrusively. Reb Pinhas unfolded his tallit and shook it out almost arrogantly, held it in front of him by two corners, and with an upward motion of his arms and a flick of his wrists sent it billowing over his head, to settle over his shoulders as soft as a blessing.\n\nWhen Reb Pinhas prayed he bobbed back and forth with the urgency of his desire to send his supplication to the Almighty. Meir swayed gently when he recited the prayers. Simon rocked with a tempo somewhere in between, ending each forward motion with a little shudder and a slight shaking of the head.\n\nRob read and studied his book and the Jews, behaving too much like the rest of them to stay a novelty. For six hours every day\u2014three hours following the morning prayer service, which they called shaharit, and three hours after the evening service, ma'ariv \u2014the study house was jammed, for most of the men studied before and after completing the day's work by which they earned their living. Between these two periods, however, it was relatively quiet, with only one or two tables occupied by fulltime scholars. Soon he sat among them at ease and unnoticed, oblivious to the Jewish babble as he worked on the Persian Qu'ran, beginning to make real progress at last.\n\nWhen their Sabbath came he tended the fires. It was his heaviest day of work since the snow shoveling but still so easy he was able to study for part of the afternoon. Two days later he helped Reb Elia the Carpenter put new rungs into wooden chairs. Other than that there was no labor but the study of Persian until, near the end of his second week in Tryavna, the rabbenu's granddaughter Rohel taught him to milk. She had white skin and long black hair that she wore braided about her heart-shaped face, a small mouth with a womanly swelling of the lower lip, a tiny birthmark on her throat, and large brown eyes that always seemed to be on him.\n\nWhile they were in the dairy one of the cows, a foolish thing that believed she was a bull, mounted another cow and began to move as if she owned a penis and had entered the other beast.\n\nThe color mounted from Rohel's neck into her face, but she smiled and gave a little laugh. She leaned forward on her stool and placed her head against a milch cow's warm flank, her eyes closed. Skirt tautened, she reached between her spread knees and grasped the thick teats beneath the swollen udders. Her fingers rippled, pressing swiftly in turn. When milk drummed into the bucket Rohel drew a breath and sighed. Her pink tongue crept out to wet her lips and she opened her eyes and looked at Rob.\n\nRob stood alone in the shadowy gloom of the cow barn, holding a piece of blanket. It smelled strongly of Horse and was only a little larger than a prayer shawl. With a quick movement he sent the blanket over his head to settle about his shoulders as nicely as if it were Reb Pinhas' tallit. Repetition was giving him a confident motion in donning the prayer shawl. Cattle lowed as he stood and practiced a prayerful swaying, sedate but purposeful. He preferred to emulate Meir in prayer rather than more energetic worshipers like Reb Pinhas.\n\nThat was the easy part. Their language, strange-sounding and complex, would take a long time to master, especially while he was exerting such an effort to learn Persian.\n\nThey were a people of amulets. On the upper third of the right-hand doorpost of every door in every house was nailed a little wooden tube called a mezuzah. Simon said each tube contained a tiny rolled parchment; inscribed on the front in square Assyrian letters were twenty-two lines from Deuteronomy 6:4-9 and 11:13-21, and on the back was the word Shaddai, \"Almighty.\"\n\nAs Rob had observed during the journey, each morning except on the Sabbath each adult male strapped two small leather boxes to his arm and head. These were called tefillin and contained portions of their holy book, the Torah, the box bound to the forehead being close to the mind, the other fastened to the arm, hard by the heart.\n\n\"We do it to obey the instructions in Deuteronomy,\" Simon said. \"'And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be upon thy heart \u2026 And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thy hand, and they shall be for frontlets between thine eyes.'\"\n\nThe trouble was Rob couldn't tell, simply by watching, how the Jews put on the tefillin. Nor could he ask Simon to show him, for it would have been strange for a Christian to want to be taught a rite of Jewish worship. He was able to count that they wrapped ten loops of the leather around their arms, but what they did with the hand was complicated, for the leather strip was wound between the fingers in special ways he couldn't determine.\n\nStanding in the cold, ripe-smelling barn, he wrapped his left arm with a piece of old rope instead of the leather tefillin strip, but what he did to his hand and fingers with the rope never made any sense.\n\nStill, the Jews were natural teachers and he learned something new every day. In the school of St. Botolph's Church the priests had taught him that the God of the Old Bible was Jehovah. But when he referred to Jehovah, Meir shook his head.\n\n\"Know that for us the Lord our God, Blessed be He, has seven names. This is the most sacred.\" With a piece of charcoal from the fireplace he drew on the wooden floor, writing the word in both Persian and in the Tongue: Yahweh. \"It is never spoken, for the identity of the Most High is inexpressible. It is mispronounced by Christians, as you've done. But the name isn't Jehovah, do you understand?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\nAt night on his bed of straw he reviewed new words and customs, and before sleep overwhelmed him he remembered a phrase, a fragment of a blessing, a gesture, a pronunciation, an expression of ecstasy on a face during prayer, and he stored these things into his mind against the day when they would be needed.\n\n\"You must stay away from the rabbenu's granddaughter,\" Meir told him, frowning.\n\n\"I have no interest in her.\" Days had passed since they had talked in the dairy, and he hadn't been near her since.\n\nIn truth, he had dreamed of Mary Cullen the night before and had awakened at dawn to lie stunned and hot-eyed, trying to recall details of the dream.\n\nMeir nodded, his face clearing. \"Good. One of the women has observed her watching you with too much interest, and told the rabbenu. He asked me to have a talk with you.\" Meir placed a forefinger against his nose. \"One quiet word to a wise man is better than a year of pleading with a fool.\"\n\nRob was alarmed and disturbed, for he had to stay in Tryavna to observe the ways of the Jews and study Persian. \"I don't want trouble over a woman.\"\n\n\"Of course not.\" Meir sighed. \"The problem is the girl, who should be married. She has been betrothed since childhood to Reb Meshullum ben Moses, the grandson of Reb Baruch ben David. You know Reb Baruch? A tall, spare man? Long face? Thin, pointed nose? He sits just beyond the fire in the study house?\"\n\n\"Ah, that one. An old man with fierce eyes.\"\n\n\"Fierce eyes because he's a fierce scholar. If the rabbenu weren't the rabbenu, Reb Baruch would be the rabbenu. They were always rival scholars and the closest of friends. When their grandchildren were still babies they arranged a match with great joy, to unite their families. Then they had a terrible falling-out that ended their friendship.\"\n\n\"Why did they quarrel?\" asked Rob, who was beginning to feel sufficiently at home in Tryavna to enjoy a bit of gossip.\n\n\"They slaughtered a young bull in partnership. Now, you must understand that our laws of kashruth are ancient and complex, with rules and interpretations about how things must be and how things must not be. A tiny blemish was discovered on the lung of the animal. The rabbenu quoted precedents that said the blemish was insignificant and in no way spoiled the meat. Reb Baruch cited other precedents that indicated the meat was ruined by the blemish and couldn't be eaten. He insisted he was right and resented the rabbenu for questioning his scholarship.\n\n\"They argued until finally the rabbenu lost patience. 'Cut the animal in half,' he said. 'I'll take my portion, and let Baruch do whatever he pleases with his.'\n\n\"When he brought his half of the bull home, he intended to eat it. But after deliberating, he complained, 'How can I eat the meat of this animal? One half lies on Baruch's garbage pile, and I should eat the other half?' So he threw away his half of the beef as well.\n\n\"After that, they seemed to oppose each other all the time. If Reb Baruch said white, the rabbenu said black, if the rabbenu said meat, Reb Baruch said milk. When Rohel was twelve and a half years old, the age when her elders should have begun talking seriously about a wedding, the families did nothing because they knew that any meetings would end in quarreling between the two old men. Then young Reb Meshullum, the prospective bridegroom, went on his first foreign business trip with his father and other men of his family. They traveled to Marseilles with a stock of copper kettles and stayed almost a year, trading and making a fine profit. Counting the time of traveling they were gone two years before they returned last summer, bringing a caravan shipment of well-made French garments. And still the two families, held apart by the grandfathers, do not arrange for the marriage to take place!\n\n\"By now,\" Meir said, \"it's common knowledge that the unfortunate Rohel might as well be considered an agunah, a deserted wife. She has breasts but suckles no babies, she's a woman grown but she has no husband, and it has become a major scandal.\"\n\nThey agreed that it would be best for Rob to avoid the dairy during the hours of milking."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 36",
                "text": "It was well that Meir had spoken to him, for who knew what might have happened if he had not been made to see clearly that their winter's hospitality didn't include the use of their women. At night he had tortured voluptuous visions of long, full thighs, red hair, and pale young breasts with tips like berries. He felt certain the Jews would have a prayer asking forgiveness for spilled seed\u2014they had a prayer for everything\u2014but he had none and he hid the evidence of his dreams under fresh straw and tried to lose himself in his work.\n\nIt was hard. All around him was a humming sexuality encouraged by their religion\u2014they believed it a special blessing to make love on the eve of the Sabbath, for instance, perhaps explaining why they so dearly loved the end of the week! The young men talked freely of such matters, groaning to one another if a wife was untouchable; Jewish married couples were forbidden to copulate for twelve days after the flow of menses began, or seven days after it ceased, whichever period was longer. Their abstinence wasn't over until the wife marked its end by purifying herself through immersion in the ritual pool, called the mikva.\n\nThis was a brick-lined tank in a bathhouse built over a spring. Simon told Rob that to be ritually fit, the mikva water had to come from a natural spring or a river. The mikva was for symbolic purification, not cleanliness. The Jews bathed at home, but each week just before the Sabbath, Rob joined the males in the bathhouse, which contained only the pool and a great roaring fire in a round hearth over which hung cauldrons of boiling water. Bathing stripped to the skin in the steamy warmth, they vied for the privilege of pouring water over the rabbenu while they questioned him at length.\n\n\"Shi-ailah, Rabbenu, shi-ailah!\" A question, a question!\n\nShlomo ben Eliahu's answer to each problem was deliberate and thoughtful, full of scholarly precedents and citations, sometimes translated for Rob in far too much detail by Simon or Meir.\n\n\"Rabbenu, is it truly written in the Book of Guidance that every man must dedicate his oldest son to seven years of advanced study?\"\n\nThe naked rabbenu explored his navel reflectively, tugged at an ear, scrabbled in his full white beard with long pale fingers. \"It is not so written, my children. On the one hand\"\u2014he poked upward with his right forefinger\u2014\"Reb Hananel ben Ashi of Leipzig was of this opinion. On the other hand\"\u2014up went his left forefinger\u2014\"according to the rabbenu Joseph ben Eliakim of Jaffa, this applies only to the first sons of priests and Levites. But\"\u2014he pushed the air at them with both palms\u2014\"both of these sages lived hundreds of years ago. Today we are modern men. We understand that learning is not just for a firstborn, with all other sons to be treated as if they were mere women. Today we are accustomed to every youth spending his fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth year in the advanced study of Talmud, twelve to fifteen hours a day. After that, those few who are called may devote their lives to scholarship, while the others may go into business and study only six hours a day thereafter.\"\n\nWell. Most of the questions that were translated for the visiting Other were not the sort that would start his heart to hammering or even, in truth, maintain his constant attention. Nevertheless, Rob enjoyed Friday afternoons in the bathhouse; never had he felt so at home in the company of unclothed men. Perhaps it had something to do with his bobbed prick. If he had been among his own kind, by now his organ would have been the subject of rude stares, snickering, questions, lewd speculation. An exotic flower growing by itself is one thing, but it is quite another when it is surrounded by an entire field of other flowers of similar configuration.\n\nIn the bathhouse the Jews were lavish in feeding wood to the fire and he liked the combination of wood smoke and steamy dampness, the sting of the strong yellow soap whose manufacture was supervised by the rabbenu's daughter, the careful mixing of boiling water with cold spring water to create a lovely warmth for bathing.\n\nHe never went into the mikva, understanding that it was forbidden. He was content to loll in the vaporous bathhouse, watching the Jews steel themselves to enter the tank. Muttering the blessing that accompanied the act or singing it loudly, according to their personalities, they walked down the six dank stone steps into the water, which was deep. As it covered their faces they blew vigorously or held their breath, for the act of purification made it necessary to immerse oneself so totally that every hair of the body was wet.\n\nEven if invited, nothing could have convinced Rob to enter the chill dark mystery of the water, a place of their religion.\n\nIf the God called Yahweh truly existed, then perhaps He was aware that Rob Cole was planning to pass himself off as one of His children.\n\nHe felt that if he entered the inscrutable waters something would pull him into the world beyond, where all the sins of his nefarious plan were known and Hebrew serpents would gnaw his flesh, and perhaps he would be personally chastised by Jesus."
            },
            {
                "title": "WINTER IN THE STUDY HOUSE",
                "text": "That Christmas was the strangest in his twenty-one years. Barber hadn't raised him to be a true believer, but the goose and the pudding, the nibbling of the headcheese called brawn, the singing, the toasting, the holiday slap on the back\u2014these were a part of him, and this year he felt a yawning loneliness. The Jews didn't ignore him on that day from meanness; Jesus was simply not in their world. Doubtless Rob could have found his way to a church, but he didn't. Strangely, the fact that no one wished him a joyous Christ's Day made him more of a Christian in his own mind than ever he had been.\n\nA week later, at dawn of Our Lord's new year of 1032, he lay on his bed of straw and wondered at what he had become, and where it would take him. When he wandered the British isle he had thought himself the very devil of a traveler, but already he had traveled a far greater distance than was encompassed by his home island, and an endless unknown world still lay before him.\n\nThe Jews celebrated that day, but because it was a new moon, not because it was a new year! He learned to his befuddlement that by their heathen calendar it was mid-annum of the year 4792.\n\nIt was a country for snow. He welcomed each snowfall and soon it was an accepted fact that after each storm the big Christian with his great wooden shovel would do the work of several ordinary shovelers. It was his only physical activity; when he wasn't shoveling snow he was learning Parsi. He was sufficiently advanced to be able to think slowly in the Persian language now. A number of the Jews of Tryavna had been to Persia and he spoke Parsi with anyone he could trap. \"The accent, Simon. How is my accent?\" he asked, irritating his tutor.\n\n\"Any Persian who wishes to laugh will do so,\" Simon snapped, \"because to Persians you'll be a foreigner. Do you expect miracles?\" The Jews in the study house exchanged smiles at the foolishness of the giant young goy.\n\nLet them smile, he thought; he found them a more interesting study than they found him. For example, he quickly learned that Meir and his group weren't the only strangers in Tryavna. Many of the other males in the study house were travelers waiting out the rigors of the Balkan winter. To Rob's surprise, Meir told him that none of them paid as much as a single coin in return for more than three months' food and shelter.\n\nMeir explained. \"It is this system that allows my people to trade among the nations. You've seen how difficult and dangerous it is to travel the world, yet every Jewish community sends merchants abroad. And in any Jewish village in any land, Christian or Muslim, a Jewish traveler is taken in by Jews and given food and wine, a place in the synagogue, a stable for his horse. Each community has men in foreign parts sustained by someone else. And next year, the host will be the guest.\"\n\nThe strangers quickly fit into the life of the community, even to relishing the local babble. Thus it was that one afternoon in the study house, while Rob was conversing in the Persian tongue with an Anatolian Jew named Ezra the Farrier\u2014gossip in Parsi!\u2014he learned that a dramatic confrontation would take place the next day. The rabbenu served as shohet, the community slaughterer of meat animals. Next morning he would slaughter two beasts of his own, young beeves. A small group of the community's most prestigious sages served as mashgiot, ritual inspectors who saw to it that the complicated law, down to the finest detail, was observed during the butchering. And scheduled to preside as a mashgiah during the rabbenu's slaughtering was his onetime friend and latter-day bitter antagonist, Reb Baruch ben David.\n\nThat evening Meir gave Rob a lesson from the Book of Leviticus. These were the animals Jews were allowed to eat of all those on earth: any creature that both chewed its cud and had a split hoof, including sheep, cattle, goats, and deer. Animals that were treif\u2014not kasher\u2014included horses, donkeys, camels, and pigs.\n\nOf birds they were permitted to eat pigeons, chickens, tame doves, tame ducks, and tame geese. Winged creatures which were an abomination included eagles, ostriches, vultures, kites, cuckoos, swans, storks, owls, pelicans, lapwings, and bats.\n\n\"Never in my life have I tasted so fine a meat as cygnet lovingly larded, barded in salt pork, and then roasted slowly over the fire.\"\n\nMeir looked faintly repulsed. \"You won't get it here,\" he said.\n\nThe next morning dawned clear and cold. The Study House was nearly empty after shaharit, the early prayer service, for many wandered to the rabbenu's barnyard to watch shehitah, the ritual butchering. Their breath made small clouds that hung in the still, frosty air.\n\nRob stood with Simon. There was a small stir when Reb Baruch ben David arrived with the other mashgiah, a bent old man named Reb Samson ben Zanvil, whose face was set and stern.\n\n\"He's older than either Reb Baruch or the rabbenu but is not as learned,\" Simon whispered. \"And now he fears he'll be caught between the two if an argument should arise.\"\n\nThe rabbenu's four sons led the first animal from the barn, a black bull with a deep back and heavy hindquarters. Lowing, the bull tossed his head and pawed the earth, and they had to enlist help from the bystanders in controlling him with ropes while the inspectors went over every inch of his body.\n\n\"The tiniest sore or break in the skin will disqualify an animal for meat,\" Simon said.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nSimon looked at Rob in annoyance. \"Because it is the law,\" he said.\n\nFinally satisfied, they led the bull to a feeding trough filled with sweet hay. The rabbenu picked up a long knife. \"See the blunt, square end of the knife,\" Simon said. \"It's made without a point so there's less likelihood it will scratch the animal's skin. But the knife is razor-sharp.\"\n\nThey all stood in the cold while nothing happened. \"What are they waiting for?\" Rob whispered.\n\n\"The precisely right moment,\" Simon said, \"for the animal must be motionless at the instant of the death cut, or it is not kasher.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, the knife flashed. The single clean stroke severed the gullet and the windpipe and the carotid arteries in the neck. A red stream sprang in its wake, and the bull's consciousness vanished as the blood supply to the brain was cut off at once. The bovine eyes dimmed and the bull went to its knees, and in a moment was dead.\n\nThere was a pleased murmur from those who watched but it was as quickly stilled, for Reb Baruch had taken the knife and was examining it.\n\nWatching, Rob could see a struggle that tightened the fine old features. Baruch turned to his elderly rival.\n\n\"Something?\" the rabbenu said coldly.\n\n\"I fear,\" Reb Baruch said. He proceeded to show, midway down the cutting edge of the blade, an imperfection, the tiniest of nicks in the keenly honed steel.\n\nOld and gnarled, his face dismayed, Reb Samson ben Zanvil hung back, certain that as the second mashgiah he would be called upon for a judgment he didn't want to make.\n\nReb Daniel, the father of Rohel and the rabbenu's oldest son, began a blustering argument. \"What nonsense is this? Everyone knows of the care with which the rabbenu's ritual knives are sharpened,\" he said, but his father put up his hand for silence.\n\nThe rabbenu held the knife up to the light and ran a practiced finger just beneath the razor-sharp edge. He sighed, for the nick was there, a human error that made the meat ritually unfit.\n\n\"It's a blessing that your eyes are sharper than this blade and continue to protect us, my old friend,\" he said quietly, and there was a general relaxing, like a releasing of pent-up breath.\n\nReb Baruch smiled. He reached out and patted the rabbenu's hand, and the two men looked at one another for a long moment.\n\nThen the rabbenu turned away and called for Mar Reuven the BarberSurgeon.\n\nRob and Simon stepped forward and listened attentively. \"The rabbenu asks you to deliver this treif bull's carcass to the Christian butcher of Gabrovo,\" Simon said.\n\nHe took Horse, for she was in sore need of the exercise, hitching her to their flatbed sleigh onto which a number of willing hands loaded the slaughtered bull. The rabbenu had used an approved knife for the second animal, which was judged to be kasher, and the Jews already were dismembering it when Rob shook the reins and directed Horse away from Tryavna.\n\nHe drove to Gabrovo slowly and with great enjoyment. The butcher shop proved to be exactly where it had been described, three houses below the town's most prominent building, which was an inn. The butcher was large and heavy, an advertisement of his trade. Language did not prove a barrier.\n\n\"Tryavna,\" Rob said, pointing to the dead bull.\n\nThe fat red face became wreathed in smiles. \"Ah. Rabbenu,\" the butcher said, and nodded vigorously. Uncarting the creature proved to be hard but the butcher went off to a tavern and returned with a pair of helpers, and with rope and effort at length the bull was unloaded.\n\nSimon had told him the price was fixed and there would be no haggling. When the butcher handed Rob the few paltry coins it became clear why the man smiled with joy, for he had practically stolen a whole excellent beef, simply because there had been a nick in the slaughtering blade! Rob would never be able to understand people who, for no valid reason, could treat good cowflesh as if it were trash. The stupidity of it made him angry and filled him with a kind of shame; he wanted to explain to the butcher that he was a Christian and not one of those who behaved so foolishly. But he could only accept the coins in the name of the Hebrews and place them in his purse pocket for safekeeping.\n\nHis business done, he went directly to the tavern of the nearby inn. The dark public house was long and narrow, more like a tunnel than a room, its low ceiling blackened by the smoky fire around which nine or ten men loafed, drinking. Three women sat at a small table nearby and waited watchfully. Rob inspected them while he had a drink\u2014a brown raw whiskey that wasn't at all to his liking. They were clearly tavern whores. Two were well past their prime, but the third was a young blonde with a wicked-innocent face. She saw the purpose of his glance and smiled at him.\n\nRob finished his drink and went to their table. \"I don't suppose you have English,\" he murmured, and it was a safe guess. One of the older women said something and the other two laughed. But he took out a coin and gave it to the younger one. It was all the communication they needed. She tucked the coin into her pocket, left the table without another word to her companions, and went to where her cloak hung on a peg.\n\nHe followed her outside and in the snowy street he met Mary Cullen.\n\n\"Hello! Are you and your father having a good winter?\"\n\n\"We are having a wretched winter,\" she said, and he noted that she looked it. Her nose was reddened and there was a cold sore on the tender fullness of her upper lip. \"The inn is always freezing and the food is very bad. Are you really living with Jews?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How can you?\" she said thinly.\n\nHe had forgotten the color of her eyes and their effect on him was disarming, as if he had chanced upon bluebirds in the snow. \"I sleep in a warm barn. The food is excellent,\" he told her with great satisfaction.\n\n\"My father tells me there is a special Jew's stink called foetor judaicus. Because they rubbed Christ's body with garlic after he died.\"\n\n\"Sometimes we all smell. But to immerse themselves from head to foot each Friday is the custom of their kind. I trust that they bathe more often than most.\"\n\nShe colored, and he knew that it must be difficult and rare to obtain bath water in an inn such as there was in Gabrovo.\n\nShe regarded the woman who patiently waited for him a short distance away. \"My father says that anyone who will consent to live with Jews never can be a proper man.\"\n\n\"Your father seemed a nice man. But perhaps,\" he said thoughtfully, \"he is an arse.\" They began walking away from one another at the same moment.\n\nHe followed the blond woman to a room nearby. It was untidy with the soiled garments of women and he suspected that she shared the room with the two others. He watched her as she undressed. \"It's cruelty to look on you after seeing that other one,\" he said, knowing she knew not a word of what he said. \"She may not always have a pleasant tongue, but \u2026 it's not beauty, exactly, yet few women can compare to Mary Cullen in appearance.\"\n\nThe woman smiled at him.\n\n\"You're a young whore but already you look old,\" he said to her. The air was cold, and she shucked her clothing and slipped quickly between the filthy fur covers to escape the chill, but not before he saw more than he liked. He was a man who appreciated the musk-lure of women but what rose from her was sour stink, and her body hair had a hard and plastered look as if juices had dried and redried untold times without feeling the plain honest wetness of water. Abstinence had produced such hunger in him that he would have fallen on her, but the brief glimpse of her bluish body had shown him overused, caked flesh he didn't want to touch.\n\n\"God damn that red-haired witch,\" he said morosely.\n\nThe woman looked up at him in puzzlement.\n\n\"It isn't your fault, dolly,\" he told her, reaching into his purse. He gave her more than she would have been worth even if value-giving had been attempted, and she pulled the coins under the furs and clutched them next to her body. He hadn't begun to take anything off, and he straightened his clothing and nodded to her and went out into fresher air.\n\nAs February waned he spent more time than ever in the study house, poring over the Persian Qu'ran. He found himself constantly amazed by the Qu'ran's unremitting hostility toward Christians and bitter loathing of Jews.\n\nSimon explained it. \"Mohammed's early teachers were Jews and Syriac Christian monks. When first he reported that the Angel Gabriel had visited him, and that God had named him Prophet and instructed him to found a new and perfect religion, he expected these old friends to flock after him with glad cries. But the Christians preferred their own religion and the Jews, startled and threatened, actively joined those who disclaimed Mohammed's preachings. For the rest of his life he never forgave them, but spoke and wrote of them with revilement.\"\n\nSimon's insights made the Qu'ran come alive for Rob. He was almost halfway through the book and he labored over it, aware that soon they would travel again. When they reached Constantinople he and Meir's group would go different ways, not only separating him from his teacher Simon but, more important, depriving him of the book. The Qu'ran gave him intimations of a culture remote from his own, and the Jews of Tryavna gave him a glimpse of still a third way of life. As a boy he had thought that England was the world, but now he saw that there were other peoples; in some traits they were alike, but they differed from one another in important ways.\n\nThe encounter at the slaughtering had reconciled the rabbenu with Reb Baruch ben David, and their families began at once to plan for the wedding of Rohel to young Reb Meshullum ben Nathan. The Jewish Quarter hummed with excited activity. The two old men walked about in the highest spirits, often together.\n\nThe rabbenu made Rob a gift of the old leather hat and loaned him, for study, a tiny section of the Talmud. The Hebrew Book of Laws had been translated into Parsi. Though Rob welcomed the opportunity to see the Persian language in another document, the meaning of the segment was beyond him. The fragment dealt with a law called shaatnez: although Jews were allowed to wear linen and to wear wool, they weren't allowed to wear a mixture of linen and wool, and Rob couldn't understand why.\n\nAnyone he asked either didn't know or shrugged and said it was the law.\n\nThat Friday, naked in the steamy bathhouse, Rob found his courage as the men gathered about their sage.\n\n\"Shi-ailah, Rabbenu, shi-ailah!\" he cried. A question, a question!\n\nThe rabbenu paused in soaping his great sloping belly and grinned at the young stranger, and then spoke.\n\n\"He says, 'Ask it, my son,'\" Simon said.\n\n\"You are forbidden to eat meat with milk. You are forbidden to wear linen with wool. You are forbidden to touch your wives half the time. Why is so much forbidden?\"\n\n\"To necessitate faith,\" the rabbenu said.\n\n\"Why should God make such strange demands of the Jews?\"\n\n\"To keep us separate from you,\" the rabbenu said, but his eyes twinkled and there was no malice in the words, and Rob gasped as Simon poured water over his head."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 38",
                "text": "Everyone participated when Rohel, the granddaughter of the rabbenu, was married to Reb Baruch's grandson, Meshullum, on the second Friday of the month of Adar.\n\nEarly that morning everyone assembled outside the house of Daniel ben Shlomo, the bride's father. Inside, Meshullum paid a handsome bride price of fifteen gold pieces. The ketubah, or wedding contract, was signed and Reb Daniel presented a handsome dowry, returning the bride price to the couple and adding an additional fifteen gold pieces, a wagon, and a span of horses. Nathan, the groom's father, gave the fortunate couple a pair of milch cows. When they left the house, a radiant Rohel walked past Rob as if he were invisible.\n\nThe entire community escorted the pair to the synagogue, where they recited seven blessings under a canopy. Meshullum stamped on a fragile glass to illustrate that happiness is transient and Jews must not forget the destruction of the Temple. And then they were man and wife, and a day-long celebration was under way. A flutist, a fifer, and a drummer provided music and the Jews sang lustily, My beloved is gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens and to gather lilies, which Simon told Rob was from the Scriptures. The two grandfathers spread their arms in joy, snapped their fingers, closed their eyes, threw back their heads and danced. The wedding celebration lasted until the early hours of the morning and Rob ate too heavily of meat and rich puddings and had too much to drink.\n\nThat night he brooded as he lay on his straw in the warm blackness of the barn, his cat at his feet. He remembered the blond woman in Gabrovo with less and less disgust and willed himself not to think of Mary Cullen. He thought resentfully of skinny young Meshullum, lying at that moment with Rohel, and hoped the boy's prodigious scholarship would enable him to appreciate his good fortune.\n\nHe woke well before dawn and felt rather than heard the changes in his world. By the time he had slept again and awakened and risen from his bed, the sounds were clearly audible: a dripping, a tinkling, a rushing, a roar that grew in volume as more and more ice and snow gave way and joined the waters of the unlocked earth, sweeping down the mountainsides and signifying the coming of spring."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE WHEAT FIELD",
                "text": "When her mother died, Mary Cullen's father had told her he would mourn Jura Cullen for the rest of his life. She had willingly joined him in wearing black and avoiding public pleasures, but when a full year of mourning ended on the eighteenth of March, she told her father it was time for them to return to the routines of ordinary living.\n\n\"I continue to wear black,\" James Cullen said.\n\n\"I shall not,\" she said, and he nodded.\n\nShe had carried all the way from home a bolt of light woollen stuff woven from their own fleece, and she inquired carefully until she found a fine seamstress in Gabrovo. The woman nodded when she conveyed what she wanted, but indicated that the cloth, of a nondescript natural color, had best be dyed before cutting. The roots of the madder plant could give red shades, but with her hair that would make her stand out like a beacon. The center wood of oak would give gray, but after her steady diet of black, gray was too subdued. Maple or sumac bark would give yellow or orange, frivolous colors. It would have to be brown.\n\n\"I've gone all my life wearing nut-husk brown,\" she grumbled to her father.\n\nNext day he brought her a small pot of a yellowish paste, like slightly turned butter. \"It is dye, and fiercely expensive.\"\n\n\"Not a color I admire,\" she said carefully.\n\nJames Cullen smiled. \"It's called India blue. It dissolves in water and you must be careful not to get it on your hands. When the wet cloth is taken from the yellow water it changes color in the air and thereafter the dye is fast.\"\n\nIt produced a rich, deep blue cloth such as she had never seen, and the seamstress cut and sewed a dress and a cloak. She was pleased with the garments but folded them and put them away until the morning of the tenth of April, when hunters brought the news to Gabrovo that the way through the mountains was open at last.\n\nBy early afternoon, people who had been awaiting the thaw throughout the countryside had begun to hasten into Gabrovo, the departure town for the great pass known as the Balkan Gate. Provisioners set up their wares, and milling mobs began to shout for the right to buy supplies.\n\nMary had to make the innkeeper's wife a gift of money to persuade her to heat water over the fire at such a frenzied time and carry it upstairs to the women's sleeping chambers. First Mary knelt over the wooden tub and washed her hair, now long and thick as a winter pelt, then she squatted in the tub and scrubbed herself until she glowed.\n\nShe dressed in the newly made garments and went to sit outside. Drawing a wooden comb through her hair as it dried sweet in the sun, she saw that the principal street of Gabrovo was crowded with horses and wagons. Presently a large pack of men, wildly drunk, galloped their horses through the town, uncaring about the havoc caused by the pounding hooves of their mounts. A wagon was overturned as horses bucked and shied, their eyes rolling in fright. While men cursed and fought to hold the reins and horses whickered and screamed, Mary ran inside before her hair was fully dried.\n\nShe had their belongings packed and ready by the time her father appeared with his manservant, Seredy.\n\n\"Who were the men who stormed through the town?\" she asked.\n\n\"They call themselves Christian knights,\" her father said coldly. \"There are almost eighty of them, Frenchmen from Normandy on pilgrimage to Palestine.\"\n\n\"They are very dangerous, lady,\" Seredy said. \"They wear mail vests but they travel with wagons laden with full armor. They stay drunk and \u2026\" He averted his eyes. \"They ill-treat women of all sorts. You must stay close to us, lady.\"\n\nShe thanked him gravely, but the thought of having to depend upon Seredy and her father to protect her from eighty drunken and brutal knights would have been amusing were it not grim.\n\nMutual protection was the best reason for traveling in a large caravan, and they lost no time in loading the pack animals and leading them to a large field on the eastern edge of the town, where the caravan was assembling. When they rode past Kerl Fritta's wagon, Mary saw that he had already set up a table and was doing a brisk business in recruiting.\n\nIt was something of a homecoming, for they were greeted by a number of people they had known on the earlier portion of the trip. The Cullens found their place well toward the middle of the line of march because so many new travelers had formed up behind them.\n\nShe kept a careful watch, but it was almost nightfall before she saw the party for which she'd been waiting. The same five Jews with whom he had left the caravan returned on horseback. Behind them she saw the little brown mare; Rob J. Cole drove the garish wagon toward her and suddenly she could feel her heart beating in her chest.\n\nHe looked as well as ever and appeared glad to be back, and he greeted the Cullens as cheerfully as if he and she had not walked angrily away from one another last time they had met.\n\nWhen he had taken care of his horse and came into their camp, it was only neighborly of her to mention that the local merchants had scarcely anything left to sell, lest he was short of provision.\n\nHe thanked her kindly but said he had bought supplies in Tryavna with no difficulty. \"Do you have enough yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes, for my father bought early.\" She was vexed that he made no mention of the new dress and cloak, though he studied her for the longest time.\n\n\"They are the exact shade of your eyes,\" he said finally.\n\nShe wasn't certain but took it for a compliment. \"Thank you,\" she said gravely and, as her father approached, forced herself to turn away to study Seredy setting up the tent.\n\nAnother day went by without the caravan's departure, and up and down the line there was grumbling. Her father went to see Fritta and came back to tell her the caravan master was waiting for the Norman knights to leave. \"They have caused great mischief and Fritta wisely prefers to have them ahead of us instead of harrying our rear,\" he said.\n\nBut the following morning the knights hadn't departed and Fritta decided he had waited long enough. He gave the signal that started the caravan on the last long leg toward Constantinople, and finally the ripple of forward movement reached the Cullens. The previous autumn they had followed a young Frank and his wife and two small children. The Frankish family had wintered away from the town of Gabrovo; it had been their declared intent to resume the trip with the caravan, but they hadn't appeared. Mary knew that something terrible must have occurred and prayed Christ to watch over them. She now rode behind two fat French brothers who had told her father they hoped to make their fortunes buying Turkish rugs and other treasures. They chewed garlic for health and often twisted in the saddle to stare stupidly at her body. It entered her mind that, driving his wagon behind her, the young barbersurgeon might be watching her too, and at times she was wicked enough to move her hips more than demanded by the motion of the horse.\n\nThe giant serpent of travelers soon wound to the pass that led through the high mountains. The sheer mountainside fell away below the twisting trail, down to the glittering river, swollen with the melt of snows that had imprisoned them all winter.\n\nOn the other side of the great defile were foothills that gradually turned into rolling land. They slept that night in a vast plain of shrubby growth. Next day they traveled due south and it became clear that the Balkan Gate separated two unique climes, for the air was softer this side of the pass and with every hour they traveled it grew warmer.\n\nThat night they stopped outside the village of Gornya, camping in plum orchards with the permission of the farmers, who sold some of the men a fiery plum liquor as well as green onions and a fermented milk drink so thick it had to be eaten with a spoon. Early the following morning, while they were still encamped, Mary heard a rumbling as of distant thunder. But it quickly grew louder and soon the wild screams and shouts of men were part of the noise.\n\nAs she came out of the tent she saw that the white cat had left the barbersurgeon's wagon and stood transfixed in the road. The French knights galloped past like demons in a nightmare and the cat was lost in a dust cloud, but not before Mary had seen what the first hooves had done. She wasn't conscious of screaming but knew she was running toward the road before the dust had settled.\n\nMistress Buffington no longer was white. The cat had been trodden into the dust and Mary lifted the poor broken little body and for the first time became aware that he'd come out of his wagon and stood over her.\n\n\"You'll ruin your new dress with the blood,\" he said roughly, but his pale face was stricken.\n\nHe took the cat and a spade and went away from the camp. When he returned she didn't approach him, but she noted from afar that his eyes were reddened. Putting a dead animal into the ground wasn't the same as burying a person, but it wasn't strange to her that he was able to weep over a cat. Despite his size and strength, his vulnerable gentleness was the quality that drew her.\n\nFor the next several days she let him be. The caravan stopped heading due south and turned east again, but the sun continued to shine hotter each day. It was already clear to Mary that the new clothing which had been made for her in Gabrovo was largely a waste, for the weather was too warm for wool. She rummaged through the summer clothing in her baggage and found some lighter garments but they were too fine for traveling and would quickly be ruined. She settled on a cotton undergarment and a rough, sacklike work dress to which she gave a minimum of form by knotting a cord around her waist. She placed a broadbrimmed leather hat upon her head, although her cheeks and nose were already freckled.\n\nThat morning, when she got off her horse and started to walk for exercise as she was wont to do, he smiled at her. \"Come ride with me in my wagon.\"\n\nShe came without fuss. This time there was no awkwardness, just a deep gladness to sit on the seat next to him.\n\nHe dug behind the seat and came up with a leather hat of his own, but such a head covering as the Jews wore.\n\n\"Wherever did you get it?\"\n\n\"It was given me in Tryavna by their holy man.\"\n\nPresently they saw her father sending him such a sour look they both began to laugh.\n\n\"I'm surprised he allows you to visit,\" he said.\n\n\"I've convinced him you are harmless.\"\n\nThey looked at one another comfortably. His was a handsome face despite the homely fact of his broken nose. She realized that however impassive his large features might remain, the key to his feelings was his eyes, deep and steady and somehow older than his years. She felt in them a great loneliness to match her own. How old was he? Twenty-one years? Twenty-two?\n\nShe realized with a start that he was speaking of the farming plateau over which they were passing.\n\n\"\u2026 mostly fruits and wheat. Winters here must be short and mild, for the crops are advanced,\" he said, but she wasn't to be robbed of the intimacy they had gained in the last moments.\n\n\"I hated you that day in Gabrovo.\"\n\nAnother man might have protested or smiled, but he made no response.\n\n\"Because of the Slav woman. How could you go with her? I hated her, too.\"\n\n\"Don't waste your hatred on either of us, for she was pitiable and I didn't lie with her. Seeing you spoiled such for me,\" he said simply.\n\nShe never doubted he would tell her truth, and something warm and triumphant started to grow in her like a flower.\n\nNow they could talk about trifles\u2014their route, the way animals must be driven to make them endure, the difficulty of finding cooking wood. They sat together all afternoon and talked quietly about everything except the white cat and themselves, and his eyes said other things to her without words.\n\nShe knew it. She was frightened for several reasons but there was no place on earth she would rather be than sitting next to him on the uncomfortable, swaying wagon under the battering sun, and she went obediently but reluctantly when at last her father's peremptory call summoned her away.\n\nNow and again they passed a small flock of sheep, which were mostly scruffy, though her father invariably stopped to inspect them and went with Seredy to interrogate the owners. Always the shepherds advised that for truly wonderful sheep he must go beyond to Anatolia.\n\nBy early May they were a week's travel from Turkey, and James Cullen made no attempt to conceal his excitement. His daughter was dealing with an excitement of her own, but she was making every effort to conceal it from him. Although there was always a chance to cast a smile or a glance in the barbersurgeon's direction, sometimes she forced herself to steer clear of him two days in a row, for she was afraid that if her father sensed her feelings he would order her to stay away from Rob Cole.\n\nOne night as she was cleaning up after supper, Rob appeared in their camp. He nodded to her politely and went directly to her father, holding out a flask of brandy as a peace offering.\n\n\"Sit you down,\" her father said reluctantly. But after the two men had shared a drink her father became friendlier, no doubt because it was pleasant to sit in fellowship and converse in English, and also because it was difficult not to warm to Rob J. Cole. Before long, James Cullen was telling their visitor what lay before them.\n\n\"I'm told of a breed of Eastern sheep, lean and narrow-backed, but with tails and rear legs so fat the animal may live on stored reserves when food is scarce. Their lambs have a silky fleece of rare and unusual luster. Wait a moment, man, let me show you!\" He disappeared into the tent and came out with a hat made of lambskin. The fleece was gray and tightly curled.\n\n\"Finest quality,\" he said eagerly. \"The fleece stays this curly only until the fifth day of the lamb's life, but then the fur remains wavy until the beastie is two months old.\"\n\nRob inspected the hat and assured her father it was a fine skin.\n\n\"Oh, it is,\" Cullen said, and put the hat on his head, which made them laugh because it was a warm night and a fur hat was made for snow. He put it back in the tent and then the three of them sat before the fire and her father gave her a sip or two from his glass. The brandy was hard to swallow but made the world safe for her.\n\nThunder rumbled and shook the purpled sky and sheet lightning illuminated them for long seconds during which she could see the hard planes of Rob's face, but the vulnerable eyes that made him beautiful were hidden from her.\n\n\"A strange land, with regular thunder and lightning and never a drop of rain,\" her father said. \"I well mark the morning you were born, Mary Margaret. There was thunder and lightning then as well, but there was a teeming Scots rain that fell as though the heavens had opened and were never to close.\"\n\nRob leaned forward. \"That would have been in Kilmarnock, where you have your family holding?\"\n\n\"No, it was not, 'twas in Saltcoats. Her mother was a Tedder of Saltcoats. I had taken Jura to her old Tedder home because in her heaviness she had a great longing for her mother, and we were celebrated and coddled for weeks and overstayed her time. She was caught out with labor, and so it was that instead of in Kilmarnock like a proper Cullen, Mary Margaret was born in her grandfather Tedder's house overlooking the Firth of Clyde.\"\n\n\"Father,\" she said gently. \"Master Cole can have no interest in the day of my birth.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" Rob said, and he asked question after question of her father and listened at length.\n\nShe sat and prayed that the lightning would not resume, for she had no wish for her father to see that the barbersurgeon's hand rested on her bare arm. His touch was like thistledown but her flesh was all stirred feelings and dither bumps, as though the future had brushed her or the night were chill.\n\nOn the eleventh of May the caravan reached the western bank of the Arda River and Kerl Fritta decided to camp there an extra day to allow for wagon repairs and the buying of supplies from nearby farmers. Her father took Seredy and paid a guide to go with them across the river into Turkey, impatient as a boy to begin his search for the fat-tailed sheep.\n\nAn hour later, she and Rob mounted double on her saddleless black horse and rode away from the noise and confusion. As they passed the Jews' encampment she saw the thin young one ogling. Simon it was, the youth who served as Rob's teacher; he grinned and nudged one of the others in the ribs to watch them ride by.\n\nShe scarcely cared. She felt dizzy, perhaps because of the heat, for the morning sun was a fireball. She put her arms around his chest so as not to fall off the horse and closed her eyes and leaned her head against his broad back.\n\nA distance from the caravan they passed two sullen peasants leading a donkey laden with firewood. The men stared but didn't return their greeting. Perhaps they had come from afar, for there were no trees in that place, only broad fields empty of workers because planting was long since over and the crops weren't yet ripe enough to be reaped.\n\nWhen they came to a brook, Rob tethered the horse to a bush and they left their shoes and waded down a dazzling brightness. On both sides of the reflecting water grew a wheat field and he showed her how the tall stalks shaded the ground and made it invitingly dark and cool.\n\n\"Come,\" he said, \"it's like a cave,\" and crawled into it as if he were a great child.\n\nShe followed more slowly. Nearby a small living thing rustled through the tall ripening grain and she gave a start.\n\n\"Just a tiny mouse, already frightened off,\" he said. As he moved to her in the cool, dappled place, they contemplated one another.\n\n\"I don't want to, Rob.\"\n\n\"Well, then you won't, Mary,\" he said, although she could see in his eyes how thwarted he felt.\n\n\"Could you merely kiss me, please?\" she asked humbly.\n\nSo their first overt intimacy became a clumsy, moody kiss doomed by her apprehension.\n\n\"I don't like the other. I've done it, you see,\" she said all in a rush, and the moment she had dreaded was accomplished.\n\n\"You've experience, then?\"\n\n\"Only once, with my cousin in Kilmarnock. He hurt me awfully.\"\n\nHe kissed her eyes and her nose, her mouth softly, while she fought her doubts. After all, who was this? Stephen Tedder had been someone she had known all her life, her cousin and her friend, and he had caused her true agony. And afterward had roared with laughter at her discomfort, as if it were clumsily funny of her to have let him do such a thing to her, like allowing him to push her onto her bottom in a mud slough.\n\nAnd while she was thinking these unpleasant thoughts, this Englishman had changed the nature of his kisses, his tongue caressing the inside of her lips. It was not unpleasant and when she tried to imitate him, he sucked her tongue! But she began to tremble again when he undid her bodice.\n\n\"I just want to kiss them,\" he said urgently, and she had the odd experience of looking down at his face moving toward her teats, which she had to acknowledge with grudging satisfaction were heavy but high and firm, already flushed with rosy color.\n\nHis tongue gently rasped the pink border and made it all bumps. It moved in narrowing circles until it was flicking her hardened rose-colored nipple, which he drew on as if he were a babe when it was between his lips, all the while stroking her behind the knees and inside her legs. But when his hand went to the mound she went all rigid. She could feel the muscles in her thighs and stomach lock, she was that tense and fearful until he took his hand away.\n\nHe fumbled his clothing and then found her hand and made her a gift. She had glimpsed men before by accident, coming upon her father or one of the workers urinating behind a bush. And she had witnessed more on those occasions than when she had been with Stephen Tedder; so she had never seen, and now she couldn't refrain from studying him. She hadn't expected it to be so \u2026 thick, she thought accusingly, as if it were his fault. Gaining courage, she stroked the cods and gave a low laugh when it made him twitch. It was the bonniest thing!\n\nSo she was soothed as they fondled each other, until she was trying on her own to consume his mouth. Soon their bodies were all warm fruits and it wasn't so terrible when his hand left off making her buttocks feel firm and round and came back between her legs to dabble richly.\n\nShe was at a loss about what to do with her hands. She put a finger between his lips and felt his saliva and teeth and tongue, but he pulled away to suck her breasts again and kiss her belly and thighs. He found his way into her first with one finger and then with two, wooing the little pea in quickening circles.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said faintly, lifting her knees.\n\nBut instead of the martyrdom for which her mind was prepared, she was amazed to feel the warmth of his breath on her. And his fish of a tongue swam into her wetness between the hairy folds she herself was shamed to touch! How ever shall I face this man again? she asked herself, but the question was quickly gone, strangely and wonderfully vanished, for she was already shuddering and bucking wickedly, her eyes closed and her silent mouth half open.\n\nBefore she had returned to her senses he had insinuated himself. They were truly linked, he was an extension of snug, silken warmth in her very core. There was no pain, only a certain feeling of tightness that presently eased as he moved slowly.\n\nOnce, he stopped. \"All right?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, and he resumed.\n\nDirectly she found herself moving her body to meet his. Soon it became impossible for him to exercise restraint and he moved faster and from a greater distance, jarringly. She wanted to reassure him, but as she studied him through slitted eyes she saw him rear his head back and arch into her.\n\nHow singular to feel his great trembling, to hear his snarl of what seemed to be overwhelming relief as he emptied into her!\n\nFor a long time then in the dimness of the man-tall grain they scarcely moved. They were quiet together, one of her long limbs flung across him and the sweat and the liquids drying.\n\n\"You might get to like it,\" he said finally. \"Like malt ale.\"\n\nShe pinched his arm as sharply as she could. But she was pensive. \"Why do we like it?\" she asked. \"I have watched horses. Why do animals like it?\"\n\nHe appeared startled. Years later, she would understand that the question separated her from any woman he had known, but now all she knew was that he was studying her.\n\nShe couldn't bring herself to say so, but he was already separated from other males in her mind. She sensed he had been remarkably kind to her in a way she didn't fully comprehend, save that she had a prior boorishness as comparison.\n\n\"You thought more of me than of yourself,\" she said.\n\n\"I didn't suffer.\"\n\nShe stroked his face and held her hand there while he kissed her palm. \"Most men \u2026 most people are not so. I know it.\"\n\n\"You must forget the damned cousin in Kilmarnock,\" he told her."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE OFFER",
                "text": "Rob gained some patients from among the newcomers and was amused when he was told that when Kerl Fritta had recruited them he boasted that his caravan was doctored by a masterful barbersurgeon.\n\nIt gave his spirits a special lift to see those he had treated during the first part of the journey, for never before had he tended to the health needs of anyone for so long a time.\n\nPeople told him the big grinning Frankish drover whom he had treated for bubo had died of the disease in Gabrovo in midwinter. He had known it would happen and had told the man of his coming fate, yet the news threw him into gloom.\n\n\"What's gratifying is an injury I know how to mend,\" he told Mary. \"A broken bone, a gaping wound, when the person is hurt and I'm secure in what must be done to make him well. It's the mysteries I loathe. Diseases about which I know nothing at all, perhaps less than the afflicted. Ailments that appear out of the air and defy all reasonable explanation or plan of treatment. Ah, Mary, I know so little. I know nothing at all, yet I'm all they have.\"\n\nWithout understanding everything he said, she comforted him. For her part, she drew no small comfort from him; one night she came to him bleeding and racked with cramp, and she spoke of her mother. Jura Cullen had started her monthly course on a fine summer's day and the flow had turned to gush and then to hemorrhage. When she died Mary had been too torn by grief to cry, and now each month when her flux came she expected it to kill her.\n\n\"Hush! It wasn't ordinary monthly bleeding, it had to be something more. You know that's true,\" he said, holding a warm and soothing palm to her belly and solacing her with kisses.\n\nA few days later, riding with her on the wagon, he found himself talking of things he had never told anyone: the deaths of his parents, the separation of the children and their loss. She wept as though she could never stop, twisting in the seat so her father wouldn't see.\n\n\"How I love you!\" she whispered.\n\n\"I love you,\" he said slowly and to his own amazement. He had never said the words to anyone.\n\n\"I never want to leave you,\" she said.\n\nAfter that, when they were on the trail often she turned in the saddle on her black gelding and looked at him. Their secret sign was the fingers of the right hand touched to the lips, as if to brush away an insect or a bit of dust.\n\nJames Cullen still sought forgetfulness in the bottle and sometimes she came to Rob after her father had been drinking and was sleeping soundly. He tried to discourage her from doing this because the sentries usually were nervous and it was dangerous to move about the camp at night. But she was a headstrong woman and came anyway, and he was always glad.\n\nShe was a quick learner. Very soon they knew each other's every feature and blemish like old friends. Their largeness was part of the magic and sometimes when they moved together he thought of mammoth beasts coupling to thunder. It was as new to him as to her, in a way; he had had a lot of females but never had made love before. Now he wanted only to give her pleasure.\n\nHe was troubled and struck dumb, unable to understand what had befallen him in so short a time.\n\nThey pushed ever deeper into European Turkey, a part of the country known as Thrace. The wheat fields became rolling plains of rich grasslands and they began to see flocks of sheep.\n\n\"My father is coming alive,\" Mary told him.\n\nWhenever they came to sheep Rob saw James Cullen and the indispensable Seredy galloping out to talk with the shepherds. The brown-skinned men carried long crooks and wore long-sleeved shirts and loose trousers pulled tight at the knees.\n\nOne evening Cullen came alone to call on Rob. He settled himself by the fire and cleared his throat uncomfortably.\n\n\"I wouldn't have you think me blind.\"\n\n\"I hadn't supposed you were,\" Rob said, but with respect.\n\n\"Let me tell you about my daughter. She has some learning. She has Latin.\"\n\n\"My mother had Latin. She taught some to me.\"\n\n\"Mary has a good deal of Latin. It is an excellent thing to have in foreign lands, because with it one can talk with officials and churchmen. I sent her to the nuns at Walkirk for teaching. They took her because they thought they would lure her into the order, but I knew better. She doesn't take to languages, but after I told her she must have Latin, she worked at it. Even then I dreamed of traveling to the East for fine sheep.\"\n\n\"Can you get sheep back to your home alive?\" Rob doubted it.\n\n\"I can do it. I'm a good man with the sheep,\" Cullen said with pride. \"It was always just a dream, but when my wife died I decided we would go. My kinsmen said I was fleeing because I was mad with grief, but it was more than that.\"\n\nThey sat in a thick silence.\n\n\"You've been to Scotland, boy?\" Cullen asked finally.\n\nHe shook his head. \"Closest I've come is the English north and the Cheviot Hills.\"\n\nCullen snorted. \"Close to the border perhaps, but not even close to the real Scotland. Scotland is higher, you see, and the rocks are bonier. The mountains have good streams full of fish and plenty of water left over for grass. Our holding is in rugged hills, a very large holding. Vast flocks.\"\n\nHe paused, as though to choose his words carefully. \"The man who marries Mary will take them over, be he the right sort,\" he said finally.\n\nHe leaned toward Rob. \"In four days' time we'll reach the town of Babaeski. There my daughter and I shall leave the caravan. We'll swing due south to the town of Malkara, where there is a large animal market at which I expect to buy sheep. And then travel to the Anatolian Plateau, where I place my highest hopes. I would be content if you were to accompany us.\" He sighed and gave Rob a level look. \"You're strong and in health. You've courage, else you wouldn't venture so far to do business and better your position in the world. You are not what I would have chosen for her, but she wants you. I love her and wish her happiness. She is all I have.\"\n\n\"Master Cullen,\" he said, but the sheep raiser stopped him.\n\n\"It's not something to be offered or acted upon lightly. You want to think on it, man, as I have.\"\n\nRob thanked him politely, as if he had been offered an apple or a sweetmeat, and Cullen returned to his own camp.\n\nHe spent a sleepless night, staring at the sky. He was not so great a fool not to recognize that she was rare. And miraculously, she loved him. He would never meet such a woman again.\n\nAnd land. Good God, land.\n\nHe was offered a life such as his father had never dreamed, nor any of their forebears. There would be assured labor and income, respect and responsibilities. Property to be handed down to sons. A different existence than he had ever known was being handed to him\u2014a loving female with whom he was besotted, and an assured future as one of the world's few, those who owned land.\n\nHe tossed and turned.\n\nNext day she came with her father's razor and proceeded to trim his hair.\n\n\"Not near the ears.\"\n\n\"It is there it has gotten especially unruly. And why don't you shave? The stubble makes you look wild.\"\n\n\"I'll trim it when it's longer.\" He pulled the cloth from his neck. \"You know that your father spoke to me?\"\n\n\"He spoke to me first, of course.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to Malkara with you, Mary.\"\n\nOnly her mouth indicated what she was feeling, and her hands. Her hands appeared to be in repose against her skirt but grasped the razor so tightly the knuckles showed white through her translucent skin.\n\n\"Will you be joining us elsewhere?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. It was difficult. He was unaccustomed to speaking honestly to women. \"I'm going to Persia, Mary.\"\n\n\"You do not want me.\"\n\nThe stunned bleakness in her voice made him realize how unprepared she was for such an eventuality.\n\n\"I want you, but I've turned it over and over in my mind and it isn't possible.\"\n\n\"Why, impossible? Have you already a wife?\"\n\n\"No, no. But I'm going to Ispahan, in Persia. Not to seek opportunity in commerce, as I had told you, but to study medicine.\"\n\nHer confusion was in her face, asking what medicine was, compared to the Cullen holding.\n\n\"I must be a physician.\" It seemed an unlikely excuse. He felt a strange kind of shame, as though he were acknowledging a vice or other weakness. He made no attempt to explain, for it was complicated and he didn't understand it himself.\n\n\"Your work gives you misery. You know that to be fact. You came to me and told me so, complaining that it torments you.\"\n\n\"What torments me is my own ignorance and inability. In Ispahan, I can learn to help those for whom now I do nothing.\"\n\n\"Cannot I be with you? My father could come with us and buy sheep there.\" The pleading in her voice and the hope in her eyes caused him to steel himself against comforting her.\n\nHe explained the Church's ban against attending Islamic academies, and he told her what he intended to do.\n\nShe had paled as she gained understanding. \"You are risking eternal damnation.\"\n\n\"I cannot believe my soul will be forfeit.\"\n\n\"A Jew!\" She wiped the razor clean on the cloth with preoccupied movements and returned it to its little leather bag.\n\n\"Yes. So you see, it's something I must do alone.\"\n\n\"What I see is a man who is mad. I have closed my eyes to the fact that I know nothing about you. I think you have said farewells to many women. It is true, is it not?\"\n\n\"This is not the same.\" He wanted to explain the difference but she wouldn't allow it. She had listened well and now he saw the depth of the wound he had made.\n\n\"Do you not fear I'll tell my father you've used me, so he may pay to see your death? Or that I'll hasten to the first priest I meet and whisper the destination of a Christian who makes mockery of Holy Mother Church?\"\n\n\"I've given you truth. I could neither cause your death nor betray you, and I'm certain you must treat me the same way.\"\n\n\"I'll not be waiting for any physician,\" she said.\n\nHe nodded, loathing himself for the bitter veil over her eyes as she turned away.\n\nAll day he watched her riding very erect in the saddle. She didn't turn around to look at him. That evening he observed Mary and Master Cullen talking seriously and at length. Evidently she told her father only that she had decided not to marry, for a while later Cullen shot a grin at Rob that was both relieved and triumphant. Cullen conferred with Seredy, and just before dark the servant brought two men into the camp, whom Rob took to be Turks from their clothing and appearance.\n\nLater he guessed they had been guides, for when he awoke the next morning, the Cullens were gone.\n\nAs was customary in the caravan, everyone who had traveled behind them moved up one place. That day, instead of following her black gelding, he now drove behind the two fat French brothers.\n\nHe felt guilt and sorrow but also experienced a sense of relief, for he had never considered marriage and had been ill prepared. He pondered whether his decision had been made out of true commitment to medicine or if he had merely fled matrimony in weak panic, as Barber would have done.\n\nPerhaps it was both, he decided. Poor stupid dreamer, he told himself in disgust. You'll grow tired one day, older and needier of love, and doubtless you will settle for some slovenly sow with a terrible tongue.\n\nConscious of a great loneliness, he yearned for Mistress Buffington to be alive again. He tried not to think of what he had destroyed, hunching over the reins and staring in distaste at the obscene arses of the French brothers.\n\nThus for a week he felt as he had after a death had occurred. When the caravan reached Babaeski he experienced a deepening of guilty grief, realizing that here they would have turned off together to accompany her father and start a new life. But when he thought of James Cullen he felt better about being alone, for he knew the Scot would have been a troublesome father-in-law.\n\nStill, he didn't stop thinking of Mary.\n\nHe began to come out of his moodiness two days later. Traveling through a countryside of grassy hills, he heard a distinctive noise coming toward the caravan from far away. It was a sound such as angels might make and eventually it drew near and he saw his first camel train.\n\nEach camel was hung with bells that chimed with every strange, lurching step the beasts took.\n\nCamels were larger than he had expected, taller than a man and longer than a horse. Their comic faces seemed both serene and sinister, with great open nostrils, floppy lips, and heavily lidded liquid eyes half hidden behind long lashes that gave them an oddly feminine appearance. They were tied to one another and laden with enormous bundles of barley straw piled between their twin humps.\n\nPerched atop the straw bundle of every seventh or eighth camel was a skinny, dark-skinned drover wearing only a turban and a ragged breech-cloth. Occasionally one of these men urged the beasts forward with a \"Hut! Hut! Hut!\" that his ambling charges seemed to ignore.\n\nThe camels took possession of the rolling landscape. Rob counted almost three hundred animals before the last of them diminished into specks in the distance and the wonderful tinkling whisper of their bells faded away.\n\nThe undeniable sign of the East hurried the travelers along their way as they began to follow a narrow isthmus. Although Rob couldn't see water, Simon told him that to their south lay the Sea of Marmara and to their north the great Black Sea, and the air had taken on an invigorating salt tang that reminded him of home and filled him with a new sense of urgency.\n\nThe following afternoon, the caravan crested a rise and Constantinople lay before him like a city of his dreams."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE LAST CHRISTIAN CITY",
                "text": "The moat was wide and as they clattered across the drawbridge Rob could see carp large as pigs in the green depths. On the inside bank was an earthen breastwork and twenty-five feet beyond, a massive wall of dark stone, perhaps a hundred feet high. Sentries walked the top from battlement to battlement.\n\nFifty feet farther and there was a second wall, identical to the first! This Constantinople was a fortress with four lines of defense.\n\nThey passed through two sets of great portals. The huge gate of the inside wall was triple-arched and adorned with the noble statue of a man, doubtless an early ruler, and some strange animals in bronze. The beasts were massive and bulky, with big floppy ears raised in anger, short tails to the rear, and what appeared to be longer tails growing rampantly out of their faces.\n\nRob pulled at Horse's reins so he could study them, and behind him Gershom hooted and Tuveh groaned. \"You must move your arse, Inghiliz,\" Meir shouted.\n\n\"What are these?\"\n\n\"Elephants. You have never seen elephants, you poor foreigner?\"\n\nHe shook his head, twisting on the wagon seat as he drove away so he could study the creatures. So it was that the first elephants he saw were the size of dogs and frozen in metal that bore the patina of five centuries.\n\nKerl Fritta led them to the caravanserai, an enormous transportation yard through which travelers and freight entered and left the city. It was a vast level space containing warehouses for the storage of the varied goods, and pens for animals and rest houses for humans. Fritta was a veteran guide and, bypassing the noisy horde in the caravanserai yard, he directed his charges into a series of khans, man-made caverns dug into adjoining hillsides to provide coolness and shelter for caravans. Most of the travelers would spend only a day or two at the caravanserai, recuperating, making wagon repairs or swapping horses for camels, then they would follow a Roman road south to Jerusalem.\n\n\"We'll be gone from here within hours,\" Meir told Rob, \"for we are within ten days' travel of our home in Angora and eager to be freed of our responsibility.\"\n\n\"I'll stay a while, I think.\"\n\n\"When you decide to leave, go to see the kervanbashi, the Chief of Caravans here. His name is Zevi. When he was a young man he was a drover and then a caravan master who took camel trains over all the routes. He knows the travelers and,\" Simon said proudly, \"he is a Jew and a good man. He'll see that you journey in safety.\"\n\nRob grasped wrists with each of them in turn.\n\nFarewell, chunky Gershom, whose tough arse I lanced.\n\nFarewell, sharp-nosed, black-bearded Judah.\n\nGoodbye, friendly young Tuveh.\n\nThank you, Meir.\n\nThank you, thank you, Simon!\n\nHe said goodbye to them with regret, for they had shown him kindness. The parting was more difficult because it took him from the book that had led him into the Persian language.\n\nPresently he drove alone through Constantinople, an enormous city, perhaps larger than London. When seen from afar it had appeared to float in the warm clear air, framed between the dark blue stone of the walls and the different blues of the sky above and the Sea of Marmara to the south. Seen from within, Constantinople was a city full of stone churches that loomed over narrow streets crowded with riders on donkeys, horses, and camels, as well as sedan chairs and carts and wagons of every description. Burly porters dressed in a loose uniform of rough brown stuff carried incredible burdens on their backs or on platforms that they wore on their heads like hats.\n\nIn a public square Rob paused to study a lone figure that stood atop a tall column of porphyry, overlooking the city. From the Latin inscription he was able to learn that this was Constantine the Great. The teaching brothers and priests of St. Botolph's school in London had given him a thorough grounding in the subject of this statue; priests were greatly taken with Constantine, for he was the first Roman emperor to become a Christian. Indeed, his conversion had been the making of the Christian Church, and when he had captured the metropolis called Byzantium from the Greeks by force of arms and made it his own\u2014Constantinople, city of Constantine\u2014it became the jewel of Christianity in the East, a place of cathedrals.\n\nRob left the area of commerce and churches and entered the neighborhoods of narrow wooden houses built cheek by jowl, with overhanging second stories that might have been transported from any number of English towns. It was a city rich in nationalities, as befit a place that marked the end of one continent and the beginning of another. He drove through a Greek quarter, an Armenian market, a Jewish sector, and suddenly, instead of listening to one impenetrable babble after another, he heard words in Parsi.\n\nStraightaway he asked for and found a stable, run by a man named Ghiz. It was a good stable and Rob saw to Horse's comfort before leaving her, for she had served him well and deserved a lazy rest and lots of grain. Ghiz pointed Rob toward his own home at the top of the Path of the Three Hundred and Twenty-nine Steps, where a room was for rent.\n\nThe room proved worth the climb, for it was light and clean and a salt breeze blew through the window.\n\nFrom it he looked down over the hyacinth Bosporus, on which sails were like moving blossoms. Past the far shore, perhaps half a mile away, he could see looming domes and minarets keen as lances and realized they were the reason for the earthworks, the moat, and the two walls surrounding Constantinople. A few feet from his window the influence of the Cross ended and the lines were manned to defend Christendom from Islam. Across the strait, the influence of the Crescent began.\n\nHe stayed at the window and stared over at Asia, into which he would delve deep and soon.\n\nThat night Rob dreamed of Mary. He awoke to melancholy and fled the room. Off a square called August's Forum he found public baths, where he took the chill waters briefly and then sat lolling in the tepidarium's hot water like Caesar, soaping himself and breathing steam.\n\nWhen he emerged, toweled dry and glowing from the last cold plunge, he was enormously hungry and more optimistic. In the Jewish market he bought little fishes fried brown and a bunch of black grapes that he ate while he searched for what he needed.\n\nIn many of the booths he saw the short linen undergarments every Jew had worn at Tryavna. The little vests bore the braided embellishments called tsitsith which, Simon had explained, allowed Jews to carry out the biblical admonition that all their lives they must wear fringes on the corners of garments.\n\nHe found a Jewish merchant who spoke Persian. He was a doddering man with a down-turned mouth and there were food stains on his caftan, but in Rob's eyes he was the first threat of exposure.\n\n\"It's a gift for a friend, he is my size,\" Rob muttered. The old man paid him small attention, intent on the sale. Finally he came up with a fringed undergarment that was large enough.\n\nRob didn't dare buy everything at once. Instead, he went to the stables and saw that Horse was fine.\n\n\"Yours is a decent wagon,\" Ghiz said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I might be willing to buy.\" \"Not for sale.\"\n\nGhiz shrugged. \"An adequate wagon, though I would have to paint it. But a poor beast, alas. Without spirit. Without the proud look in her eyes. You would be fortunate to have that animal off your hands.\"\n\nHe saw at once that Ghiz's interest in the wagon was a diversion to direct attention from the fact that he had taken a fancy to Horse.\n\n\"Neither is for sale.\"\n\nStill, he had to fight a smile at the idea that so clumsy a diversion had been attempted on one for whom diversion had been a stock in trade. The wagon was close at hand and it amused him, while the stableman was busy in a stall, to make certain unobtrusive preparations.\n\nPresently he drew a silver coin from Ghiz's left eye.\n\n\"O Allah!\"\n\nHe convinced a wooden ball to vanish when covered by a kerchief, then he caused the kerchief to change color, and change color again, green to blue to brown.\n\n\"In the Prophet's name \u2026\"\n\nRob drew a red ribbon from between his teeth and presented it with as pretty a flourish as if the stableman were a blushing girl. Caught between wonderment and fear of this infidel djinni, Ghiz gave in to delight. And thus part of the day was spent pleasantly in magic and juggling, and before he was through, he could have sold Ghiz anything.\n\nWith his evening meal he was served a flask of fiery brown drink, too thick and cloying and too plentiful. At the next table was a priest, and Rob offered him some of the drink.\n\nPriests here wore long flowing black robes and tall, cylindrical cloth hats with stiff little brims. This one's robe was fairly clean but his hat bore the greasy story of a long career. He was a red-faced, pop-eyed man of middle age, eager to converse with a European and improve his facility with Western languages. He knew no English but tried Rob in the Norman and Frankish tongues and finally settled for speaking Persian, a trifle sulkily.\n\nHis name was Father Tamas and he was a Greek priest.\n\nHis mood sweetened over the liquor, which he drank in large draughts.\n\n\"Are you to settle in Constantinople, Master Cole?\"\n\n\"No, in a few days I'll travel East in hopes of acquiring medicinal herbs to take back to England.\"\n\nThe priest nodded. It would be best to venture East without delay, he said, for the Lord had ordained that one day there would be a righteous war between the One True Church and the Islamic savage. \"Have you visited our Cathedral of St. Sofia?\" he demanded, and was aghast when Rob smiled and shook his head. \"But, my new friend, you must, before you leave! You must! For it is the churchly marvel of the world. It was raised at the order of Constantine himself, and when that worthy emperor first entered the cathedral he fell upon his knees and exclaimed, 'I have built better than Solomon.'\n\n\"It is not without reason that the head of the Church makes his quarters within the magnificence of the Cathedral of St. Sofia,\" Father Tamas said.\n\nRob looked at him in surprise. \"Has Pope John moved to Constantinople from Rome, then?\"\n\nFather Tamas contemplated him. When he seemed satisfied that Rob was not laughing at his expense, the Greek priest smiled frostily. \"John XIX remains Patriarch of the Christian Church in Rome. But Alexius IV is Patriarch of the Christian Church in Constantinople, and here he is our only shepherd,\" he said.\n\nThe liquor and the ocean air combined to give him a deep and dreamless sleep. Next morning he allowed himself to repeat the luxury of the Augustine Baths, and in the street bought a breakfast of bread and fresh plums as he walked to the Jews' bazaar. At the market he selected carefully, for he had given thought to each item. He had observed a few linen prayer shawls in Tryavna but the men he had respected most there had worn wool; now he bought wool for himself, a four-cornered shawl adorned with fringes similar to those on the undergarment he had found the day before.\n\nFeeling passing strange, he bought a set of phylacteries, the leather straps they placed on their forehead and wound around an arm during the morning prayers.\n\nHe had made each of the purchases from a different merchant. One of them, a sallow young man with gaps in his mouth from missing teeth, had a particularly large display of caftans. The man didn't know Parsi but gestures served them well. None of the caftans was large enough, but the merchant motioned that Rob must wait, and then he hurried to the booth of the old man who had sold Rob the tsitsith. Here there were larger caftans, and within a few moments Rob had purchased two of them.\n\nLeaving the bazaar with his possessions in a cloth bag, he took a street on which he hadn't walked and soon saw a church so magnificent it could only be the Cathedral of St. Sofia. He entered enormous brazen doors and found himself in a huge openness of lovely proportion, with a reaching of pillar into arch, of arch into vault, of vault into a dome so high it made him smaller than life. The vast space of the nave was illuminated by thousands of wicks whose soft clear burning in cups of oil was reflected by more glitter than he was accustomed to in a church, icons framed in gold, walls of precious marbles, too much gilt and blaze for an English taste. There was no sign of the Patriarch but, looking down the nave, he saw priests at the altar in richly brocaded chasubles. One of the figures was swinging a censer and they were singing a Mass but were so far away that Rob couldn't smell the incense or make out the Latin.\n\nThe greater part of the nave was deserted and he sat in the rear surrounded by empty carven benches, beneath the contorted figure hanging from a cross that loomed in the lamplit gloom. He felt that the staring eyes penetrated his depths and knew the contents of the cloth bag. He hadn't been raised in piety, yet in this calculated rebellion he was strangely moved to religious feeling. He knew he had entered the cathedral precisely for this moment, and he rose to his feet and for a time stood in silence and met the challenge of those eyes.\n\nFinally he spoke aloud. \"It needs be done. But I am not forsaking you,\" he said.\n\nHe was less certain a short time later, after he had climbed the hill of stone steps and was again in his room.\n\nOn the table he propped the small square of steel in whose polished surface he had been accustomed to shaving, and he took his knife to the hair that now fell long and tangled over his ears, trimming until what was left were the ceremonial earlocks they called peoth.\n\nHe disrobed and put on the tsitsith fearfully, half expecting to be stricken. It seemed to him that the fringes crawled over his flesh.\n\nThe long black caftan was less intimidating. It was only an outer garment, with no connection to their God.\n\nThe beard was still undeniably sparse. He arranged his earlocks so they hung loosely beneath the bell-shaped Jew's hat. The leather cap was a fortunate touch because it was so obviously old and used.\n\nStill, when he had left the room again and entered the street he knew it was madness and it wouldn't work; he expected anyone who looked at him to howl with laughter.\n\nI shall need a name, he thought.\n\nIt wouldn't do to be called Reuven the BarberSurgeon as he had been known in Tryavna; to succeed in the transformation he required more than a piss-weak Hebrew version of his goy identity.\n\nJesse \u2026\n\nA name he remembered from Mam's reading the Bible aloud. A strong name he could live with, the name of the father of King David.\n\nFor his patronymic he chose Benjamin, in honor of Benjamin Merlin, who had, albeit unwillingly, shown him what a physician could be.\n\nHe would say he came from Leeds, he decided, because he remembered the look of the Jewish-owned houses there and could speak in detail of the place if need should arise.\n\nHe resisted an urge to turn and flee, for coming toward him were three priests and with something akin to panic he recognized that one of them was Father Tamas, his dining companion of the previous evening.\n\nThe three proceeded as unhurriedly as pacing crows, deep in conversation.\n\nHe forced himself to walk toward them. \"Peace be unto you,\" he said when they were abreast.\n\nThe Greek priest slid his glance disdainfully over the Jew and then turned back to his companions without replying to the greeting.\n\nWhen they had passed him, Jesse ben Benjamin of Leeds indulged in a smile. Calmly now and with more confidence he continued on his way, striding with his palm pressed against his right cheek, as the rabbenu of Tryavna had been wont to walk when deep in thought."
            },
            {
                "title": "Ispahan",
                "text": "[ THE LAST LEG ]\n\nDespite the change in his appearance he still felt like Rob J. Cole when he went to the caravanserai at midday. A large train to Jerusalem was in the process of organization and the great open space was a confusing maelstrom of drovers leading laden camels and asses, men trying to back wagons into line, riders on horseback milling dangerously close, while animals screamed their protests and harried humans raised their voices in condemnation of the beasts and one another. A party of Norman knights had claimed the only shade, on the northern side of the storehouses, where they lounged on the ground and hurled drunken insults at passers-by. Rob J. didn't know if they were the men who had killed Mistress Buffington, but they might well have been, and he avoided them with distaste.\n\nHe sat on a bale of prayer rugs and watched the Chief of Caravans. The kervanbashi was a burly Turkish Jew who wore a black turban over grizzled hair that still contained traces of its former red color. Simon had told him that this man, name of Zevi, could be invaluable in helping to arrange safe travel. Certainly, all quailed before him.\n\n\"Woe be unto you!\" Zevi roared at an unfortunate drover. \"Hie you from this place, dullard. Lead your animals away, for are they not to follow the beasts of the merchants of the Black Sea? Have I not told you twice? Cannot you ever recall your true place in the line of march, O misbegotten?\"\n\nIt seemed to Rob that Zevi was everywhere, settling arguments between merchants and transporters, conferring with the caravan master concerning the route, checking bills of lading.\n\nAs Rob sat and watched, a Persian sidled up to him, a small man, so skinny he had hollows in his cheeks. From his beard, to which flecks of food still clung, it was evident he had eaten millet gruel that morning, and he wore a dirty orange turban, too small for his head.\n\n\"Where do you travel, Hebrew?\" \"I hope to leave soon for Ispahan.\"\n\n\"Ah, Persia! You wish a guide, effendi? For I was born in Qum, a hart hunt from Ispahan, and I know every stone and bush along the way.\" Rob hesitated.\n\n\"Everyone else will take you the long, hard way, along the coast. Then through the Persian mountains. That is because they avoid the shortest route through the Great Salt Desert, fearing it. But I can take you straight across the desert to water, avoiding all robbers.\"\n\nHe was strongly tempted to agree and leave at once, remembering how well Charbonneau had served. But there was something furtive about the man and in the end he shook his head.\n\nThe Persian shrugged. \"If you change your mind, master, I am a bargain as a guide, very cheap.\"\n\nA moment later one of the highborn French pilgrims, passing the bale where Rob was sitting, staggered and fell against him.\n\n\"You shit,\" he said, and spat. \"You Jew.\"\n\nRob stood, his color mounting. He saw that the Norman was already reaching for his sword.\n\nSuddenly Zevi was upon them. \"A thousand pardons, my lord, ten thousand pardons! I shall tend to this one,\" he said, and shoved the astonished Rob away before him.\n\nWhen they were clear, Rob listened to the rattle of words that came from Zevi and shook his head.\n\n\"I don't speak the Tongue well. Nor did I need your help with the Frenchman,\" he said, searching for the words in Parsi.\n\n\"Indeed? You'd have been killed, young ox.\"\n\n\"It was my own affair.\"\n\n\"No, no! In a place crowded with Muslims and drunken Christians, killing a single Jew would be like eating a single date. They would have killed many of us and therefore it was very much my affair.\" Zevi stared at him furiously. \"What kind of Yahud is it who speaks Persian like a camel, doesn't speak his own tongue, and seeks to brawl? What is your name and where are you from?\"\n\n\"I am Jesse, son of Benjamin. A Jew of Leeds.\"\n\n\"Where in hell is Leeds?\"\n\n\"England.\"\n\n\"An Inghiliz!\" Zevi said. \"Never before have I met a Jew who was an Inghiliz.\"\n\n\"We're few and scattered. There is no community there. No rabbenu, no shohet, no mashgiah. No study house or synagogue, so we seldom hear the Tongue. That is why I have so little of it.\"\n\n\"Bad, to raise your children in a place where they don't feel their own God or hear their own language.\" Zevi sighed. \"Often it is hard to be a Jew.\"\n\nWhen Rob asked whether he knew of a large, protected caravan bound for Ispahan, he shook his head.\n\n\"I have been approached by a guide,\" Rob said.\n\n\"A Persian turd with a little turban and a dirty beard?\" Zevi snorted. \"That one would take you straight into the hands of evil men. You would be left lying in the desert with your throat cut and your belongings stolen. No,\" he said, \"you will be better off in a caravan of our own people.\" He thought for a long moment. \"Reb Lonzano,\" he said finally.\n\n\"Reb Lonzano?\"\n\nZevi nodded. \"Yes, it may be that Reb Lonzano is the answer.\" Not far away an altercation broke out between drovers and someone called his name. He grimaced. \"Those sons of camels, those diseased jackals! I have no time now, you must come back after this caravan has departed. Come to my office late in the afternoon, in the hut behind the main hostelry. All things may be decided then.\"\n\nWhen he returned a few hours later he found Zevi in the hut that served as his retreat in the caravanserai. With him were three Jews. \"This is Lonzano ben Ezra,\" he told Rob.\n\nReb Lonzano, middle-aged and the senior, was clearly the leader. He had brown hair and a brown beard that hadn't yet grayed, but any youthfulness gained thereby was offset by his lined face and serious eyes.\n\nBoth Loeb ben Kohen and Aryeh Askari were perhaps ten years younger than Lonzano. Loeb was tall and lanky and Aryeh stockier and square-shouldered. Both had the dark, weather-beaten faces of traveling merchants but they kept them carefully neutral, awaiting Lonzano's verdict concerning him.\n\n\"They are tradesmen bound for their home in Masqat, across the Persian Gulf,\" Zevi said, and then turned to Lonzano. \"Now,\" he said sternly, \"this pitiable one has been brought up like a goy, all unknowing in a far-away Christian land, and he needs to be shown that Jews can be kind to Jews.\"\n\n\"What is your business in Ispahan, Jesse ben Benjamin?\" Reb Lonzano asked.\n\n\"I go there to study, to become a physician.\"\n\nLonzano nodded. \"The madrassa in Ispahan. Reb Aryeh's cousin, Reb Mirdin Askari, is a student of medicine there.\"\n\nRob leaned forward eagerly and would have asked questions, but Reb Lonzano would suffer no diversions. \"Are you solvent and able to pay fair portion of the expenses of travel?\"\n\n\"I am\".\n\n\"Willing to share work and responsibilities along the way?\"\n\n\"Most willing. In what do you trade, Reb Lonzano?\"\n\nLonzano scowled. Clearly, he felt that the interviewing should be directed by him, not at him. \"Pearls,\" he said unwillingly.\n\n\"How large is the caravan with which you travel?\"\n\nLonzano allowed the barest hint of a smile to twitch the corners of his mouth. \"We are the caravan with which we travel.\"\n\nRob was confounded. He turned to Zevi. \"How can three men offer me protection from bandits and other perils?\"\n\n\"Listen to me,\" Zevi said. \"These are traveling Jews. They know when to venture and when not. When to hole up. Where to go for protection or help, any place along the way.\" He turned to Lonzano. \"What say you, friend? Will you take him along, or will you not?\"\n\nReb Lonzano looked at his two companions. They were silent and their bland expressions didn't change, but they must have conveyed something, for when he looked back at Rob he nodded.\n\n\"All right, you are welcome to join us. We leave at dawn tomorrow from the Bosporus slip.\"\n\n\"I'll be there with my horse and wagon.\"\n\nAryeh snorted and Loeb sighed.\n\n\"No horse, no wagon,\" Lonzano said. \"We sail on the Black Sea in small boats, to eliminate a long and dangerous land journey.\"\n\nZevi placed a huge hand on his knee. \"If they are willing to take you, it is an excellent opportunity. Sell the horse and wagon.\"\n\nRob made up his mind, and nodded.\n\n\"Mazel!\" Zevi said in quiet satisfaction, and poured red Turkish wine to seal their bargain.\n\nFrom the caravanserai he made straight for the stable, and Ghiz gasped when he saw him. \"You are Yahud?\" \"I am Yahud.\"\n\nGhiz nodded fearfully, as if convinced that this magician was a djinni who could alter his identity at will.\n\n\"I have changed my mind, I shall sell you the wagon.\"\n\nThe Persian threw him a sullen offer, a fraction of the cart's worth.\n\n\"No, you shall pay a fair price.\"\n\n\"You may keep your frail wagon. Now, should you wish to sell the horse \u2026\"\n\n\"I am making you a gift of the horse.\"\n\nGhiz narrowed his eyes, trying to see danger.\n\n\"You must pay a fair price for the wagon, but the horse is a gift.\"\n\nHe went to Horse and rubbed her nose for the last time, thanking her silently for the faithful way in which she had served him. \"Bear this in mind always. This animal works willingly but she must be fed well and regularly and kept clean so she is never afflicted with sores. If she is in health when I return here, all will go well with you. But if she has been abused \u2026\"\n\nHe held Ghiz's gaze, and the stableman blanched and looked away. \"I shall treat her well, Hebrew. I shall treat her very well!\"\n\nThe wagon had been his only home for these many years. And it was like saying goodbye to the last of Barber.\n\nIt was necessary to leave most of its contents, a bargain for Ghiz. He took his surgical instruments and an assortment of medicinal herbs. The little pine grasshopper box with the perforated lid. His arms. A few other things.\n\nHe thought he had exerted discipline, but he was less certain the following morning when he carried a great cloth bag through the still-dark streets. He reached the Bosporus slip as light was graying, and Reb Lonzano looked sourly at the bundle that bowed his back.\n\nThey were taken across the Bosporus Strait in a teimil, a long, low skiff that was little more than a hollowed tree trunk that had been oiled and outfitted with a single pair of oars manned by a sleepy youth. On the far shore they were landed at Uskudar, a town of shacks clustered along the waterfront, facing slips whose moorings were crowded with boats of all sizes and descriptions. To Rob's dismay he learned that they faced an hour's walk to the little bay where the boat was moored that would take them through the Bosporus and along the coast of the Black Sea. He shouldered his ponderous bundle and followed after the other three men.\n\nPresently he found himself walking alongside Lonzano.\n\n\"I have heard from Zevi what happened between you and the Norman at the caravanserai. You must keep a tighter rein on your temper, lest you endanger the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Yes, Reb Lonzano.\"\n\nAt length he heaved a sigh as he shifted his bag.\n\n\"Is anything wrong, Inghiliz?\"\n\nRob shook his head. Holding his bundle on his aching shoulder as the salt sweat ran into his eyes, he thought of Zevi and grinned.\n\n\"It is hard to be a Jew,\" he said.\n\nFinally they reached a deserted inlet and Rob saw, bobbing on the swell, a wide, squat cargo vessel with a mast and three sails, one large and two small.\n\n\"What sort of boat is that?\" he asked Reb Aryeh.\n\n\"A keseboy. A good boat.\"\n\n\"Come!\" called the captain. He was Ilias, a homely blond Greek with a sun-darkened face in which a gap-toothed grin gleamed whitely. Rob thought him too indiscriminating a businessman, for already waiting to board were nine shaven-headed scarecrows with no eyebrows or lashes.\n\nLonzano groaned. \"Dervishes, Muslim begging monks.\"\n\nTheir cowls were filthy rags. From the girdle of rope tied around each waist hung a cup and a sling. In the center of each forehead was a round dark mark like a scabby callus; Reb Lonzano told Rob later that it was the zabiba, common to devout Muslims who pressed their heads into the ground during prayer five times a day.\n\nOne of them, perhaps the leader, placed his hands to his breast and bowed to the Jews. \"Salaam.\"\n\nLonzano returned the bow. \"Salaam aleikbem.\"\n\n\"Come! Come!\" the Greek called, and they waded into the welcoming coolness of the surf to where the boat crew, two youths in loincloths, waited to help them up the rope ladder into the shallow-draft keseboy. There was no deck or structure, simply an open space taken up by the cargo of lumber, pitch, and salt. Since Ilias insisted that a center aisle be left to allow the crew to manipulate the sails, little room remained for the passengers, and after their bundles had been stowed, the Jews and the Muslims were jammed together like so many salt herrings.\n\nAs the two anchors were lifted the dervishes began to bellow. Their leader, whose name was Dedeh\u2014he had an aged face and, in addition to the zabiba, three dark marks on his forehead that appeared to have been made by burning\u2014threw back his head and cried into the sky, \"Allah Ek-beeeer.\" The drawn-out sound seemed to hover over the sea.\n\n\"La ilah illallah,\" chorused his congregation of disciples.\n\n\"Allah Ek-beeer.\"\n\nThe keseboy drifted offshore, found the wind with much flapping of her sails, and then moved steadily eastward."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 43",
                "text": "He was jammed in between Reb Lonzano and a skinny young dervish with a single burn mark on his forehead. The young Muslim smiled at him presently and, digging into his pouch, came up with four battered bits of bread, which he distributed to the Jews.\n\n\"Thank him for me,\" Rob said. \"I don't want any.\"\n\n\"We must eat it,\" Lonzano said. \"Otherwise they will take grave offense.\"\n\n\"It is made of a noble flour,\" the dervish said easily in Persian. \"Truly an excellent bread.\"\n\nLonzano glared at Rob, doubtless peeved because he didn't speak the Tongue. The young dervish watched them eat the bread, which tasted like solidified sweat.\n\n\"I am Melek abu Ishak,\" the dervish said.\n\n\"I am Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\nThe dervish nodded and closed his eyes. Soon he was snoring, which Rob saw as a sign of his wisdom, for traveling in a keseboy was exceedingly dull. Neither the seascape nor the nearby land ever appeared to change in any detail.\n\nStill, there were things to think about. When he asked Ilias why they hugged the shoreline, the Greek smiled. \"They cannot come and get us in shallow water,\" he explained. Rob followed his pointing finger and saw, far out, tiny white puffs that were the great sails of a ship.\n\n\"Pirates,\" the Greek said. \"They hope perhaps we'll be blown out to sea. Then they would kill us and take my cargo and your money.\"\n\nAs the sun grew higher a stench of unwashed bodies began to dominate the atmosphere in the boat. Much of the time it was dissipated by the sea breeze but when it wasn't, it was markedly unpleasant. He determined that it came from the dervishes and tried to lean away from Melek abu Ishak, but there was no place to go. Still, there were advantages to traveling with Muslims, for five times a day Ilias brought the keseboy to the shore in order to allow them to prostrate themselves in the direction of Mecca. These intervals were opportunities for the Jews to have hurried meals ashore or to scurry behind bushes and dunes to empty bladders and bowels.\n\nHis English skin had long since been tanned on the trail, but now he felt the sun and the salt curing it into leather. As night fell the absence of the sun was a blessing, but sleep soon threw the sitters from their perpendicular positions and he was pinned between the dead weights of a noisily slumbering Melek on his right and an oblivious Lonzano on his left. When finally he could take no more he used his elbows and received fervent imprecations from both sides.\n\nThe Jews prayed in the boat. Rob put on his tefillin each morning when the others did, winding the leather strip around his left arm the way he had practiced with the rope in the barn at Tryavna. He wrapped the leather around every other finger, bending his head over his lap and hoping no one would notice he didn't know what he was doing.\n\nBetween landings, Dedeh led his dervishes in prayer afloat:\n\n\"God is greatest! God is greatest! God is greatest! God is greatest!\"\n\n\"I confess that there is no God but God! I confess that there is no God but God!\"\n\n\"I confess that Mohammed is the Prophet of God! I confess that Mohammed is the Prophet of God!\"\n\nThey were dervishes of the Order of Selman, the Prophet's barber, sworn to lives of poverty and piety, Melek told Rob. The rags they wore signified renunciation of the luxuries of the world. To wash them would indicate abnegation of their faith, which explained the stink. The shaving of all body hair symbolized removing the veil between God and his servants. The cups carried in their rope belts were a sign of the deep well of meditation, their slings were to drive away the devil. The burns in the forehead aided in penitence, and they gave bits of bread to strangers because Gabriel had brought bread to Adam in Paradise.\n\nThey were on ziaret, pilgrimage to the saintly tombs in Mecca.\n\n\"Why do you wind leather about your arms in the morning?\" Melek asked him.\n\n\"It's the Lord's commandment,\" he said, and he told Melek of how the order was given in the Book of Deuteronomy.\n\n\"Why do you cover your shoulders with shawls when you pray, sometimes but not always?\"\n\nHe knew too few answers; he had picked up only superficial knowledge from observing the Jews of Tryavna. He fought to conceal his agony at being questioned. \"Because the Ineffable One, Blessed be He, has instructed us to do these things,\" he said gravely, and Melek nodded and smiled.\n\nWhen he turned away from the dervish he saw that Reb Lonzano was studying him with his heavily lidded eyes."
            },
            {
                "title": "SALT",
                "text": "The first two days were calm and easy, but on the third day the wind freshened and produced a heavy sea. Ilias skillfully maintained the keseboy between the dangers of the pirate ship and the pounding surf. At sunset sleek dark shapes rose from the blood-colored waters and curved and lunged alongside and under their boat. Rob shuddered and knew genuine fear, but Ilias laughed and said they were porpoises, harmless and playful creatures.\n\nBy dawn the swells rose and fell in steep hills and seasickness returned to Rob like an old friend. His retching was contagious even to hardened sailors and soon the boat was filled with sick and heaving men praying in a variety of languages for God to put an end to their misery.\n\nAt the worst of it Rob begged to be abandoned ashore, but Reb Lonzano shook his head.\n\n\"Ilias will no longer stop to allow the Muslims to pray on land, for here there are Turkoman tribes,\" he said. \"Any strangers they don't kill are made their slaves, and in each of their tents are one or two mistreated unfortunates who are in chains for life.\"\n\nLonzano told the story of his cousin who, along with two strapping sons, had attempted to move a caravan of wheat into Persia. \"They were taken. They were bound and buried up to their necks in their own wheat and left to starve, not a pretty way to die. Finally the Turkomans sold the wasted bodies to our family for Jewish burial.\"\n\nSo Rob stayed in the boat and thus, like a series of bad years, passed an interminable four days.\n\nSeven days after they had left Constantinople, Ilias piloted the keseboy into a tiny harbor around which were clustered some forty houses, a few of them rickety wooden structures but most built of sun-hardened clay blocks. It was an inhospitable-looking port, but not to Rob, who ever after would remember the town of Rize with gratitude.\n\n\"Imshallah! Imshallah!\" exclaimed the dervishes as the keseboy touched the dock. Reb Lonzano recited a blessing. With darkened skin, a thinner body, and a concave belly, Rob leaped from the boat and walked carefully over the heaving earth away from the hated sea.\n\nDedeh bowed to Lonzano, Melek blinked his eyes at Rob and smiled, and the dervishes went away.\n\n\"Come,\" Lonzano said. The Jews plodded as though they knew where they were going. Rize was a sorry place. Yellow dogs ran out and barked at them. They passed giggling children with sores in their eyes, a slatternly woman cooking something over an open fire, two men asleep in the shade as close as lovers. An old man spat as they went by.\n\n\"Their main business is selling livestock to people who arrive by boat and continue through the mountains,\" Lonzano said. \"Loeb has a perfect knowledge of beasts and will buy for all.\"\n\nSo Rob gave over money to Loeb, and presently they came to a small hut next to a large pen containing donkeys and mules. The dealer was a wall-eyed man. The third and fourth fingers of his left hand were missing and in removing them somebody had done a crude job, but he had stumps that were useful to him as he pulled halters, separating the animals for Loeb's inspection.\n\nLoeb didn't bargain or fuss. Often he scarcely seemed to glance at an animal. Sometimes he paused to check eyes, teeth, withers, and hocks.\n\nHe proposed to buy only one of the mules and the seller gasped at his offer. \"Not enough!\" he said angrily, but when Loeb shrugged and walked away, the sullen man stopped him and accepted his money.\n\nAt another dealer's they bought three animals. The third dealer they visited took a long look at the beasts they led and nodded slowly. He separated animals from his herd for them.\n\n\"They know each other's stock and he sees that Loeb will take only the best,\" Aryeh said. Soon all four members of the Jewish party had a tough, durable little donkey for riding and a strong mule to serve as pack animal.\n\nLonzano said they were only one month's travel from Ispahan if all went well, and the knowledge gave Rob new strength. They spent a day traversing the coastal plain and three days in foothills. Then they were in the higher hills. Rob liked mountains, but these were arid and rocky peaks where foliage was sparse. \"It is because most of the year there is no water,\" Lonzano said. \"In the spring there are wild and dangerous floods and then the rest of the time it is dry. When there is a lake, it is likely to be salt water, but we know where to find sweet water.\"\n\nIn the morning they prayed, and afterward Aryeh spat and looked at Rob in contempt. \"You don't know shit. You are a stupid goy.\"\n\n\"You are the stupid one and you speak like a swine,\" Lonzano told Aryeh.\n\n\"He doesn't even know how to lay on the tefillin!\" Aryeh said sullenly.\n\n\"He has been brought up among strangers and if he doesn't know, this is our opportunity to teach. I, Reb Lonzano ben Ezra ha-Levi of Masqat, shall give him some of the ways of his people.\"\n\nLonzano showed Rob how to lay on the phylacteries correctly. The leather was wound three times around the upper arm, making the Hebrew letter shin, then it was wrapped seven times down the forearm and across the palm and around the fingers in such a way as to spell out two more letters, dalet and yud, forming the word Shaddai, one of the Unutterable's seven names.\n\nDuring the wrapping there were prayers, among them a passage from Hosea 2:21-22: And I will betroth thee unto Me forever \u2026 in righteousness and in justice, and in loving kindness and in compassion. And I will betroth thee unto Me in faithfulness, and thou shalt know the Lord.\n\nRepeating them, Rob began to tremble, for he had promised Jesus that despite donning the outer appearance of a Jew he would remain faithful. Then he recalled that Christ had been a Jew and doubtless during his lifetime had laid on the phylacteries thousands of times while saying these same prayers. The heaviness in his heart lifted and so did his fear, and he repeated the words after Lonzano while the straps around his arm empurpled his hand in a way that was most interesting, for it indicated that blood had been trapped in the fingers by the tight binding, and he found himself wondering whence the blood had traveled and where it would go from the hand when the straps were removed.\n\n\"Another thing,\" Lonzano said as they unwrapped the phylacteries. \"You mustn't neglect to seek divine guidance because you don't have the Tongue. It is written that if a person cannot say a prescribed supplication, he should at least think of the Almighty. That, too, is prayer.\"\n\nThey were not a dashing sight, for if a man isn't short there is a certain lack of proportion when he rides an ass. Rob's feet barely cleared the ground, but the donkey was easily capable of bearing his weight over long distances and was an agile beast, perfectly suited for going up and down mountains.\n\nHe didn't like Lonzano's pace, for the leader had a thornbush switch and kept tapping his donkey's flanks with it, urging it on.\n\n\"Why so fast?\" he growled finally, but Lonzano didn't bother to turn.\n\nIt was Loeb who answered. \"Bad people live near here. They'll kill any travelers and especially have a hatred for Jews.\"\n\nThe route was all in their heads; Rob knew nothing of it and if any mishap should occur to the other three, it was doubtful he would survive this bleak and hostile environment. The trail rose and fell precipitously, writhing between the dark and brooding peaks of eastern Turkey. Late in the afternoon of the fifth day they reached a small stream moving moodily between rock-strewn banks.\n\n\"The Coruh River,\" Aryeh said.\n\nThe water in Rob's flask was almost gone but Aryeh shook his head when he started for the river.\n\n\"It runs salty,\" he said bitingly, as if Rob should have known, and they rode on.\n\nRounding a bend at dusk, they came upon a boy tending goats. He sprang away when he saw them.\n\n\"Shall we go after him?\" Rob said. \"Perhaps he runs to tell bandits we are here.\"\n\nNow Lonzano looked at him and smiled, and Rob saw that the tension was leaving his face. \"That was a Jewish boy. We're coming to Bayburt.\"\n\nThe village had less than a hundred people, about one-third of them Jews. They lived behind a stout, high wall built into the mountainside. By the time they reached the gate in the wall it had been opened. It closed behind them at once and was locked, and when they dismounted they had security and hospitality within the walls of the Jewish quarter.\n\n\"Shalom,\" the Bayburt rabbenu said without surprise. He was a small man who would have looked perfectly natural astride a donkey. He had a full beard and a wistful expression about the mouth.\n\n\"Shalom aleikhum,\" Lonzano said.\n\nRob had been told in Tryavna of the Jewish system of travel, but now he saw it as a participant. Boys led their animals away for care, other boys collected their flasks to wash them and fill them with sweet water from the town well. Women brought wet cloths that they might wash, and they were led to fresh bread and soup and wine before gathering in the synagogue with the men of the town for ma 'ariv. After the prayers they sat with the rabbenu and some of the town leaders.\n\n\"Your face is familiar, no?\" the rabbenu said to Lonzano.\n\n\"I've enjoyed your hospitality before. I was here six years ago with my brother Abraham and our father of blessed memory, Jeremiah ben Label. Our father was taken four years ago when a small scratch on his arm mortified and poisoned him. The will of the Most High.\"\n\nThe rabbenu nodded and sighed. \"May he rest.\"\n\nA grizzled Jew scratched his chin and broke in eagerly. \"Do you recall me, perhaps? Yosel ben Samuel of Bayburt? I stayed with your family in Masqat, ten years ago this spring. I brought copper pyrites on a caravan of forty-three camels and your uncle \u2026 Issachar?\u2026 helped me sell the pyrites to a smelter and obtain a load of sea sponges to take back with me for a fine profit.\"\n\nLonzano smiled. \"My Uncle Jehiel. Jehiel ben Issachar.\"\n\n\"Jehiel, just so! It was Jehiel. Is he in health?\"\n\n\"He was in health when I left Masqat,\" Lonzano said.\n\n\"Well,\" the rabbenu said, \"the road to Erzurum is controlled by a scourge of Turkish bandits, may the plague take them and all forms of catastrophe dog their steps. They murder, they exact ransom, whatever they please. You must go around them, over a small track through the highest mountains. You won't lose your way, for one of our youths will guide you.\"\n\nSo it was that early the next day their animals turned off the traveled track shortly after leaving Bayburt and picked their way over a stony path that in places was only a few feet wide, with sheer drops down the mountainside. The guide stayed with them until they were safely back on the main trail.\n\nThe following night they were in Karakose, where there were only a dozen Jewish families, prosperous merchants who were under the protection of a strong warlord, Ali ul Hamid. Hamid's castle was built in the shape of a heptagon on a high mountain overlooking the town. It had the appearance of a galleon-of-war, dismantled and dismasted. Water was brought to the fortress from the town on asses, and cisterns were kept full in case of siege. In return for Hamid's protection, the Jews of Karakose were pledged to keep the castle's magazines full of millet and rice. Rob and the three Jews didn't glimpse Hamid but left Karakose gladly, not wishing to remain where safety lay at the caprice of a single powerful man.\n\nThey were passing through territory that was extremely difficult and dangerous, but the travel network was working. Each night they had a renewed supply of sweet water, good food and shelter, and advice about the countryside ahead. The worry lines in Lonzano's face all but disappeared.\n\nOn a Friday afternoon they reached the tiny mountainside village of Igdir and stayed an extra day in the small stone houses of the Jews there in order that they need not travel on the Sabbath. Fruit was grown in Igdir and they gorged gratefully on black cherries and quince preserves. Now even Aryeh relaxed and Loeb was gracious to Rob, showing him a secret sign language with which Jewish merchants in the East conducted their negotiations without speaking. \"It's done with the hands,\" Loeb said. \"The straight finger stands for ten, the bent finger for five. The finger grasped so only the tip is showing is one, the whole hand counts for one hundred, the fist for one thousand.\"\n\nHe and Loeb rode side by side the morning they left Igdir, bargaining silently with their hands, making deals for nonexistent shipments, buying and selling spices and gold and kingdoms to while away the time. The trail was rocky and difficult.\n\n\"We're not far from Mount Ararat,\" Aryeh said.\n\nRob considered the towering, unwelcoming peaks and the sere terrain. \"What must Noah have thought on leaving the ark?\" he said, and Aryeh shrugged.\n\nAt Nazik, the next town, they were delayed. The community was built down the length of a large rocky defile, with eighty-four Jews living there and perhaps thirty times as many Anatolians. \"There will be a Turkish wedding in this town,\" they were told by the rabbenu, a skinny old man with stooped shoulders and strong eyes. \"They have already begun to celebrate and they are excited in a mean way. We do not dare leave our quarter.\"\n\nTheir hosts kept them locked within the Jewish section for four days. There was plenty of food in the quarter, and a good well. The Jews of Nazik were pleasant and polite, and although the sun was fierce there the travelers slept in a cool stone barn on clean straw. From the town Rob heard sounds of fighting and drunken revelry and the breaking of furniture, and once a hail of stones came raining down on the Jews from the other side of the wall, but no one was injured.\n\nAt the end of four days all was quiet and one of the rabbenu's sons ventured forth to find that the Turks were exhausted and docile following the wild celebration, and the following morning Rob left Nazik gladly with his three fellow travelers.\n\nThere followed a trek through country devoid of Jewish settlement or protection along the way. Three mornings after they left Nazik they came to a plateau containing a great body of water surrounded by a wide perimeter of white cracked mud. They got down from their donkeys.\n\n\"This is Urmiya,\" Lonzano told Rob, \"a shallow salt lake. In the spring, streams carry minerals here from the mountainsides. But no stream empties the lake, and so the summer sun drinks the water and leaves the salt around the edges. Take a pinch of salt and place it on your tongue.\"\n\nHe did, gingerly, and made a face.\n\nLonzano grinned. \"You are tasting Persia.\"\n\nIt took him a moment to get the meaning. \"We are in Persia?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is the border.\"\n\nHe was disappointed. It seemed a long way to travel for \u2026 this. Lonzano was perceptive. \"Never mind, you will be enamored of Ispahan, I guarantee it. We had best remount, we still have long days to ride.\"\n\nBut first Rob pissed into Lake Urmiya, adding his English Special Batch to Persia's saltiness."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE HUNTER",
                "text": "Aryeh made his loathing plain. He was careful to watch his words in front of Lonzano and Loeb, but when the other two were out of earshot his comments to Rob were apt to be cutting. Even when speaking to the other two Jews, he was often less than pleasant.\n\nRob was larger and stronger. Sometimes it took an act of will to keep from striking Aryeh.\n\nLonzano was perceptive. \"You must ignore him,\" he told Rob.\n\n\"Aryeh is a \u2026\" He didn't know the Persian word for bastard.\n\n\"Even at home Aryeh wasn't the most pleasant of men, but he does not have the soul to be a traveler. When we departed from Masqat he'd been married less than a year and he had a new son he didn't want to leave. He has been sullen ever since.\" He sighed. \"Well, we all have families, and often it is hard to be a traveler far from home, especially on the Sabbath or a holy day.\"\n\n\"How long have you been gone from Masqat?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"This time it is twenty-seven months.\"\n\n\"If this merchant's life is so hard and lonely, why do you follow it?\" Lonzano looked at him. \"It is how a Jew survives,\" he said.\n\nThey circled the northeast corner of Lake Urmiya and soon were in high, bare-earth mountains again. They stayed overnight with Jews in Tabriz and Takestan. Rob could see little difference between most of these places and the villages he had seen in Turkey. They were bleak mountain towns built on stony rubble, with people sleeping in the shade and stray goats near the community well. Kashan was like that too, but Kashan had a lion on its gate.\n\nA real lion, huge.\n\n\"This is a famous beast, measuring forty-five spans from nose to tail,\" Lonzano said proudly, as if it were his lion. \"It was slain twenty years ago by Abdallah Shah, father of the present ruler. It played havoc on the cattle of this countryside for seven years and finally Abdallah tracked and killed it. In Kashan there is a celebration each year on the anniversary of the hunt.\"\n\nNow the lion had dried apricots instead of eyes and a piece of red felt for a tongue, and Aryeh scornfully pointed out that it was stuffed with rags and dried weeds. Generations of moths had eaten the sun-hardened pelt down to bare leather in spots, but its legs resembled columns and its teeth were still its own, large and sharp as lance-heads, so that when Rob touched them he felt a chill.\n\n\"I wouldn't like to meet him.\"\n\nAryeh smiled his superior smile. \"Most men go through life without seeing a lion.\"\n\nThe rabbenu of Kashan was a chunky man with sandy hair and beard. His name was David ben Sauli the Teacher, and Lonzano said he already had a reputation as a scholar despite the fact that he was still a young man. He was the first rabbenu Rob had seen wearing a turban instead of a leather Jew's hat. When he spoke to them the worry lines came back into Lonzano's face.\n\n\"It isn't safe to follow the route south through the mountains,\" the rabbenu told them. \"A strong force of Seljuks is in your way.\"\n\n\"Who are the Seljuks?\" Rob said.\n\n\"They are a herdsmen nation that lives in tents instead of towns,\" Lonzano said. \"Killers and fierce fighters. They raid the lands on both sides of the border between Persia and Turkey.\"\n\n\"You can't go through the mountains,\" the rabbenu said unhappily. \"Seljuk soldiers are crazier than bandits.\"\n\nLonzano looked at Rob and Loeb and Aryeh. \"Then we have but two choices. We can remain here in Kashan and wait for the trouble with the Seljuks to pass, which may take many months, perhaps a year. Or we can skirt the mountains and the Seljuks, approaching Ispahan through desert and then forest. I haven't traveled on that desert, the Dasht-i-Kavir, but I have been over other deserts and know them to be terrible.\" He turned to the rabbenu. \"Can it be crossed?\"\n\n\"You would not have to cross the entire Dasht-i-Kavir. Heaven forbid,\" the rabbenu said slowly. \"You need only to cut across a corner, a journey of three days, going east and then south. Yes, it is sometimes done. We can tell you how to go.\"\n\nThe four regarded one another. Finally Loeb, the inarticulate one, broke the thick silence. \"I don't want to stay here for a year,\" he said, speaking for all of them.\n\nEach of them bought a large goatskin waterbag and filled it before leaving Kashan. It was heavy when full. \"Do we need this much water for three days?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"Accidents occur. We could be on the desert a longer time,\" Lonzano said. \"And you must share your water with your beasts, for we are taking donkeys and mules into the Dasht-i-Kavir, not camels.\"\n\nA guide from Kashan rode with them on an old white horse as far as the point where an almost invisible track branched off from the road. The Dasht-i-Kavir began as a clay ridge that was easier to travel over than the mountains. At first they made good time, and for a little while their spirits lifted. The nature of the ground changed so gradually it disarmed them, but by midday, when the sun beat on them like brass, they were struggling through deep sand so fine that the hooves of the animals sank into it. All the riders dismounted, and men and beasts floundered forward in equal misery.\n\nIt was dreamlike to Rob, an ocean of sand extending in every direction as far as he could see. Sometimes it formed into hills like the great sea waves he dreaded, elsewhere it was like the flat smooth waters of a still lake, merely rippled by the west wind. There was no life he could detect, no bird in the air, no beetle or worm on the earth, but in the afternoon they passed bleaching bones heaped like a careless pile of kindling behind an English cottage, and Lonzano told Rob the remains of animals and men had been collected by nomadic tribes and piled there as a reference point. This sign of people who could be at home in such a place was unnerving and they tried to keep their animals quiet, knowing how far a donkey's braying would carry on the still air.\n\nIt was a salt desert. At times the sand they walked on wound between morasses of salt mud like the shores of Lake Urmiya. Six hours of such a march thoroughly exhausted them and when they came to a small hill of sand which cast a shadow before the shallow sun, men and beasts crowded together to fit into the well of comparative coolness. After an hour of shade they were able to resume walking until sunset.\n\n\"Perhaps we had best travel by night and sleep in the heat of day,\" Rob suggested.\n\n\"No,\" Lonzano said quickly. \"When I was young, once I crossed the Dasht-i-Lut with my father and two uncles and four cousins. May the dead rest. Dasht-i-Lut is a salt desert, like this one. We decided to travel by night and soon had trouble. During the hot season, the salt lakes and swamps of the wet season dry quickly, in places leaving a crust on the surface. We found that men and animals broke through the crust. Sometimes beneath it there is brine or quicksand. It is too dangerous to go by night.\"\n\nHe wouldn't answer questions about his youthful experience on the Dasht-i-Lut, and Rob didn't press him, sensing it was a subject best left alone.\n\nAs darkness fell they sat or sprawled on the salty sand. The desert that had broiled them by day became cold by night. There was no fuel, nor would they have kindled a fire lest it be seen by unfriendly eyes. Rob was so tired that despite his discomfort he fell into a deep sleep that lasted until first light.\n\nHe was struck by the fact that what had seemed like ample water in Kashan had dwindled in the dry wilderness. He limited himself to small sips as he ate his breakfast of bread, giving far more to his two animals. He poured their portions into the leather Jew's hat and held it while they drank, enjoying the sensation of placing the wet hat on his hot head when they were finished.\n\nIt was a day of dogged plodding. When the sun was highest, Lonzano began to sing a phrase from the Scriptures: Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. One by one the others picked up the refrain, and for a while they praised God with juiceless throats.\n\nPresently there was an interruption. \"Horsemen coming!\" Loeb shouted.\n\nFar off to the south they saw a cloud such as would be raised by a large host and Rob was afraid that these were the desert people who had left the travel marker of bones. But as the sight swept nearer they saw that it was only a cloud.\n\nBy the time the hot desert wind reached them the donkeys and the mules had turned their backs to it with the wisdom of instinct. Rob huddled as best he could behind the beasts and the wind clattered over them. Its first effects were those of fever. The wind carried sand and salt that burned his skin like flakes of hot ash. The air became even heavier and more oppressive than before, and the men and the animals waited doggedly as the storm made them part of the land, coating them with a frosting of sand and salt two fingers thick.\n\nThat night he dreamed of Mary Cullen. He sat with her and knew tranquility. There was happiness on her face and he was aware her fulfillment came from him, which made him glad. She began to work embroidery and, without his understanding how or why, it turned out that she was Mam, and he experienced a rush of warmth and security he hadn't known since he was nine years old.\n\nThen he awoke, hawking and spitting drily. There was sand and salt in his mouth and ears, and when he got up and walked it rubbed abrasively between his buttocks.\n\nIt was the third morning. Rabbenu David ben Sauli had instructed Lonzano to walk east for two days and then south for a day. They had gone in the direction Lonzano believed to be east, and now they turned in the direction Lonzano believed to be south.\n\nRob had never been able to tell east from south, north from west. He asked himself what would become of them if Lonzano didn't truly know south or truly know east, or if the Kashan rabbenu's directions weren't accurate.\n\nThe piece of the Dasht-i-Kavir they had set out to cross was like a small cove in a great ocean. The main desert was vast and, for them, uncrossable.\n\nSupposing that, instead of crossing the cove, they were heading straight toward the heart of the Dasht-i-Kavir?\n\nIf that was the case, they were doomed.\n\nIt occurred to him to wonder whether the God of the Jews was claiming him because of his masquerade. But Aryeh, although less than likable, wasn't evil, and both Lonzano and Loeb were most worthy; it wasn't logical that their God would destroy them to punish one goy sinner.\n\nHe was not the only one entertaining thoughts of despair. Sensing their mood, Lonzano attempted to start them singing again. But Lonzano's was the only voice raised in the refrain and eventually he stopped singing, too.\n\nRob poured a sparing final portion for each of his animals and let them drink from his hat.\n\nWhat remained in his leathern bottle was about six mouthfuls of water. He reasoned that if they were nearing the end of Dasht-i-Kavir it wouldn't matter, while if they were traveling in the wrong direction this small amount of water was insufficient to save his life.\n\nSo he drank it. He forced himself to take it in small sips, but it was gone in a very brief time.\n\nAs soon as the goatskin was empty he began to suffer thirst more severely than ever. The swallowed water seemed to scald him internally, followed by a terrible headache.\n\nHe willed himself to walk but found his steps faltering. I cannot, he realized with horror.\n\nLonzano began to clap his hands fiercely. \"Ai, di-di-di-di-di-di, ai, di-di di, di!\" he sang, and went into a dance, shaking his head, whirling, lifting his arms and knees to the rhythm of the song.\n\nLoeb's eyes glinted with tears of anger. \"Stop it, you fool!\" he shouted. But in a moment he grimaced and joined in the singing and clapping, cavorting along behind Lonzano.\n\nThen Rob. And even sour Aryeh.\n\n\"Ai, di-di-di-di-di-di, ai, di-di di, di!\"\n\nThey sang through dry lips and danced on feet that no longer had feeling. Eventually they fell silent and ceased the mad prancing, but they continued to plod, moving one numbed leg after the other, not daring to face the possibility that they were indeed lost.\n\nEarly in the afternoon they began to hear thunder. It rumbled in the distance for a long time before it heralded a few drops of rain, and shortly afterward they saw a gazelle and then a pair of wild asses.\n\nTheir own animals suddenly quickened. The beasts moved their legs faster and then began to trot of their own volition, scenting what lay ahead, and the men mounted the donkeys and rode again as they left the extreme boundary of the sand over which they had struggled for three days.\n\nThe land evolved into a plain, first with sparse growth and then more verdant. Before dusk they came to a pond where reeds grew and swallows dipped and wheeled. Aryeh tasted the water and nodded. \"It is good.\"\n\n\"We mustn't let the beasts drink too much at once or they will founder,\" Loeb cautioned.\n\nThey watered the animals carefully and tied them to trees, then they drank and tore off their clothes and lay in the water, soaking among the reeds.\n\n\"When you were in the Dasht-i-Lut did you lose men?\" Rob said.\n\n\"We lost my cousin Calman,\" Lonzano said. \"A man of twenty-two years.\"\n\n\"Did he fall through the salt crust?\"\n\n\"No. He abandoned all self-discipline and drank his water. Then he died of thirst.\"\n\n\"May he rest,\" Loeb said.\n\n\"What are the symptoms of a man dying of thirst?\"\n\nLonzano was obviously offended. \"I don't wish to think on it.\"\n\n\"I ask because I'm to be a physician, and not out of curiosity,\" Rob said, and saw that Aryeh was gazing at him with dislike.\n\nLonzano waited a long moment and then nodded. \"My cousin Calman became confused with the heat and drank with abandon until his water was gone. We were lost and every man took care of his own water. We weren't allowed to share. After a while, he began to vomit weakly but there was no liquid to bring up. His tongue turned quite black and the roof of his mouth was a grayish white. His mind wandered, he believed he was in his mother's house. His lips were shriveled, his teeth were exposed, and his mouth hung open in a wolfish grin. He alternately panted and snored. That night under cover of darkness I disobeyed and dripped a little water on a rag and squeezed it into his mouth, but it was too late. After the second day without water, he died.\"\n\nThey lay silent in the brown water.\n\n\"Ai, di-di-di-di-di-di, ai, di-di di, di!\" Rob sang finally. He looked into Lonzano's eyes and they grinned at one another.\n\nA mosquito settled on Loeb's leathery cheek and he slapped himself. \"The beasts are ready for more water, I think,\" he said, and they left the lake and finished tending to their animals.\n\nNext day they were back on their donkeys at dawn, and to Rob's intense pleasure they soon found themselves passing countless little lakes surrounded by garlands of meadow. The lakes exhilarated him. The grass was as high as a tall man's knee and had a delicious odor. It was full of grasshoppers and crickets, as well as tiny gnats that burned when they bit him and immediately left an itching welt. A few days earlier, he would have rejoiced at seeing any insect, but now he ignored the large and brilliant butterflies of the meadows while he slapped at bites and called down heaven's curses on gnats and mosquitoes.\n\n\"Oh, God, what is that?\" Aryeh cried.\n\nRob followed his pointing finger and in full sunlight he perceived an immense cloud rising to the east. He watched with growing alarm as it approached, for it looked like the dust cloud they had seen when the hot wind struck them in the desert.\n\nBut from this cloud came the unmistakable sound of hooves, as of a great army sweeping down on them.\n\n\"The Seljuks?\" he whispered, but no one answered.\n\nPale and expectant, they waited and watched as the cloud came nearer and the sound grew deafening.\n\nAt a distance of about fifty paces there was a clatter as if a thousand practiced horsemen had reined up at a word of command.\n\nAt first he could see nothing. Then the dust thinned and he saw wild asses, in countless number and in prime condition, and ranged in a well-formed line. The asses stared in intent curiosity at the men and the men gazed at them.\n\n\"Hai!\" Lonzano shouted, and the herd wheeled as one and renewed its flight, moving northward and leaving behind a message about the multiplicity of life.\n\nThey passed smaller herds of asses and enormous herds of gazelles, sometimes feeding together and obviously seldom hunted, because they paid the men little mind. More ominous were the wild pigs that seemed to abound. Occasionally Rob glimpsed a hairy sow or a boar with wicked tusks, and on all sides he heard the animals grunting as they rustled and rooted in the tall grass.\n\nNow they all sang when Lonzano suggested it, in order to warn the pigs of their approach and prevent startling them and provoking a charge. Rob's skin crawled and his long legs, hanging over the sides of the little donkey and dragging through the deep grass, felt exposed and vulnerable, but the pigs gave way before the male loudness of the singing and made them no trouble.\n\nThey came to a swift-moving stream that was like a great ditch, its sides almost vertical and rampant with fennel, and though they traveled upstream and downstream there was no easy place to cross; finally they just drove their animals into the water. It was very difficult, with donkeys and mules trying to climb the overgrown far bank and slipping back. The air was rich with curses and the sharp smell of crushed fennel, and it took them a while to complete the fording. Beyond the river they entered a forest, following a track like the ones Rob had known at home. The country was wilder than English woods; the high canopy of treetops interlocked and shut out the sun, yet the undergrowth was greenly rank and teeming with wildlife. He identified deer and rabbits and a porcupine, and in the trees were doves and what he thought was a kind of partridge.\n\nIt was the sort of track Barber would have liked, he thought, and wondered how the Jews would react if he were to blow the Saxon horn.\n\nThey had rounded a curve in the track and Rob was taking his turn in the lead when his donkey shied. Above them, on a large branch, crouched a wildcat.\n\nThe donkey reared and behind them the mule caught the scent and screamed. Perhaps the panther could sense overwhelming fear. As Rob scrabbled for a weapon the animal, which appeared monstrous to him, sprang.\n\nA bolt, long and heavy and fired with tremendous force, slammed into the beast's right eye.\n\nThe great claws raked the poor donkey as the cat crashed into Rob and unseated him. In a moment he was stretched on the ground choking on the muskiness of the cat. The animal lay athwart him so that he was facing the hindquarter, noting the lustrous black fur, the matted arsehole, and the great right rear paw that rested inches from his face, with obscenely large, swollen-looking footpads. The claw somehow had been ripped recently from the second of the four toes, which was raw and bloody and indicated to him that at the other end of the cat there were eyes that were not dried apricots and a tongue that was not red felt.\n\nPeople came out of the forest. Nearby stood their master, still holding his longbow.\n\nThe man was dressed in a plain red calico coat quilted with cotton, rough hose, shagreen shoes, and a carelessly wound turban. He was perhaps forty years old, with a strong build, erect bearing, short dark beard, aquiline beak of a nose, and a killer's light still in the eyes as he watched his beaters pulling the dead panther off the huge young man.\n\nRob scrambled to his feet, trembling, willing himself to control his bowels. \"Catch the fucking donkey,\" he demanded of no one in particular. Neither the Jews nor the Persians understood, for he had spoken in English. At any rate the donkey was turned back by the strangeness of the woods, in which perhaps other dangers lurked, and now returned to stand and quiver like her owner.\n\nLonzano came to his side and grunted in recognition. Then everyone was kneeling in the prostration rite that later was described to Rob as ravi zemin, \"face upon the ground,\" and Lonzano pulled him down without gentleness and made certain, with a hand on the back of his neck, that his head was properly lowered.\n\nThe sight of this instruction gained the hunter's attention; Rob heard the sound of his footsteps and then glimpsed the shagreen shoes, stopped a few inches from his obeisant head.\n\n\"It is a large dead panther and a large untutored Dhimmi,\" an amused voice said, and the shoes moved away.\n\nThe hunter and the servants bearing his prey departed without another word, and after a time the kneeling men rose.\n\n\"You are all right?\" Lonzano said.\n\n\"Yes, yes.\" His caftan was ripped but he was unharmed. \"Who is he?\"\n\n\"He is Al\u0101-al-Dawla, Shahanshah. The King of Kings.\"\n\nRob stared at the road down which they had departed. \"What is a Dhimmi?\"\n\n\"It means 'Man of the Book.' It is what they call a Jew here,\" Lonzano said."
            },
            {
                "title": "REB JESSE'S CITY",
                "text": "He and the three Jews parted ways two days later at Kupayeh, a crossroads village of a dozen crumbling brick houses. The detour through Dasht-i-Kavir had taken them a bit too far east, but he had less than a day's journey west to Ispahan, while they still faced three weeks of hard travel south and a crossing of the Straits of Hormuz before they were home.\n\nHe knew that without these men and the Jewish villages that had given him haven, he wouldn't have reached Persia.\n\nRob and Loeb embraced. \"Go with God, Reb Jesse ben Benjamin!\"\n\n\"Go with God, friend.\"\n\nEven sour Aryeh affected a crooked smile as they wished each other a safe journey, no doubt as happy to say goodbye as Rob was.\n\n\"When you attend the school for physicians you must tender our love to Aryeh's kinsman, Reb Mirdin Askari,\" Lonzano said.\n\n\"Yes.\" He took Lonzano's hands. \"Thank you, Reb Lonzano ben Ezra.\"\n\nLonzano smiled. \"For one who is almost an Other you've been an excellent companion and a worthy man. Go in peace, Inghiliz.\"\n\n\"Go you in peace.\"\n\nTo a chorus of good wishes they went in different directions.\n\nRob rode the mule, for after the attack by the panther he had transferred his bundle to the back of the poor frightened donkey and now led the beast. He made slower time with this arrangement but excitement was rising in him and he wished to travel the last portion deliberately, in order to savor it.\n\nIt was well he was in no hurry, for it was a trafficked road. He heard the sound that pleased him so, and soon he overtook a column of belled camels, each burdened with great twin baskets of rice. He traveled behind the rearmost camel, glorying in the musical tinkling of the bells.\n\nThe forest ascended to an open plateau; wherever there was sufficient water there were fields of ripened rice and opium poppies, separated by expanses of flat, dry rockiness. The plateau in turn became white limestone hills, cast in a variety of changeable hues by sun and shadow. In several places the limestone had been deeply quarried.\n\nLate in the afternoon the mule crested a hill and Rob looked down upon a little river valley and\u2014twenty months after he had left London!\u2014he saw Ispahan.\n\nHis first and predominant impression was of dazzling whiteness with touches of deep blue. It was a voluptuous place full of hemispheres and curves, with great domed buildings glittering in the sunlight, mosques with minarets like airy lances, green open spaces, and mature cyprus and plane trees. The southern quarter of the city was a warm pink where the sun's rays were reflected from sand hills instead of limestone.\n\nNow he couldn't hang back. \"Hai!\" he shouted, and heeled the mule's flanks. The donkey clattering behind, they swung out of line and passed the camels at a fast trot.\n\nA quarter of a mile from the city, the trail turned into a spectacular cobblestoned avenue, the first paved road he had seen since leaving Constantinople. It was very broad, with four wide lanes separated from one another by rows of tall matched plane trees. The avenue crossed the river over a bridge that was really an arched dam creating an irrigation pool. Near a sign that proclaimed the stream to be Zayandeh, the River of Life, naked brown-skinned youths splashed and swam.\n\nThe avenue brought him to the great stone wall and a unique arched city gate.\n\nInside the wall were the large homes of the wealthy, with terraces, orchards, and vineyards. Pointed arches were everywhere\u2014arched doorways, arched windows, arched garden gates. Beyond the rich neighborhood were mosques and larger buildings with vaulted domes, white and round with little points on top, as though their architects had fallen madly in love with the female breast. It was easy to see where the quarried rock had gone; everything was white stone trimmed with dark blue tile set to form geometric designs or quotations from the Qu'ran:\n\nThere is no God but He, the most merciful.\n\nFight for the religion of God.\n\nWoe be unto those who are negligent at their prayer.\n\nThe streets were full of turbaned men, but no women. He passed a huge open square; and then, perhaps half a mile later, another. He relished the sounds and the smells. It was unmistakably a municipium, a large warren of humanity such as he had known as a boy in London, and for some reason he felt it right and fitting to be riding slowly through this city on the north bank of the River of Life.\n\nFrom the minarets male voices, some of them distant and thin, others near and clear, began to call the faithful to prayer. All traffic ceased as men faced what was apparently southwest, the direction of Mecca. All the men in the city had fallen to their knees, caressing the ground with their palms and dropping forward so their foreheads were pressed into the cobbles.\n\nRob stopped the mule and alighted out of respect.\n\nWhen the prayers were done he approached a man of middle age who was briskly rolling up a small prayer rug he had taken from his nearby oxcart. Rob asked how he might find the Jewish quarter.\n\n\"Ah. It is called Yehuddiyyeh. You must continue on down the Avenue of Yazdegerd, until you come to the Jews' market. At the far end of the market there is an arched gate, and on the other side you will find your quarter. You cannot miss it, Dhimmi.\"\n\nThe place was lined with stalls that sold furniture, lamps and oil, breads, pastries giving off the scent of honey and spices, clothing, utensils of every sort, vegetables and fruits, meats, fish, chickens plucked and dressed or alive and squawking\u2014everything necessary to material life. He saw displays of prayer shawls, fringed garments, phylacteries. In a letter-writer's booth an old man with a lined face sat hunched over inkpot and quills, and a woman told fortunes under an open tent. Rob knew he was in the Jewish quarter because there were women vending in the stalls and shopping in the crowded market with baskets over their arms. They wore loose black dresses and their hair was bound in cloths. A few had face veils, like Muslim women, but most did not. The men were dressed like Rob, with full, bushy beards.\n\nHe wandered slowly, enjoying the sights and sounds. He passed two men arguing over the price of a pair of shoes, as bitterly as enemies. Others were joking, shouting at one another. It was necessary to talk loud in order to be heard.\n\nOn the other side of the market he passed through the arched gate and wandered down close, narrow bystreets, then descended a winding and rugged declivity to a large district of wretched houses, irregularly built, divided by small streets with no attempt at uniformity. Many of the houses were attached to one another, but here and there a house was set apart, with a small garden; although these were humble by English standards, they stood out from the neighboring structures as though they were castles.\n\nIspahan was old, but Yehuddiyyeh seemed much older. The streets were convoluted, and from them ran alleys. The houses and synagogues were of stone or ancient brick that had faded to a pale rose. Some children led a goat past him. People stood in groups, laughing and talking. Soon it would be time for the evening meal, and the cooking smells from the houses made his mouth water.\n\nHe wandered through the quarter until he found a stable, where he arranged for the animals' care. Before he left them he cleaned the claw scratches on the donkey's flank, which were healing nicely.\n\nNot far from the stable he found an inn run by a tall old man with a handsome smile and a crooked back, named Salman the Lesser.\n\n\"Why the Lesser?\" Rob couldn't refrain from asking.\n\n\"In my native village of Razan my uncle was Salman the Great. A renowned scholar,\" the old man explained.\n\nRob rented a pallet in a corner of the large sleeping room.\n\n\"You wish food?\"\n\nIt enticed him, small pieces of meat broiled on skewers, thick rice that Salman called pilah, small onions blackened by the fire.\n\n\"Is it kasher?\" he asked cleverly.\n\n\"Of course it is kasher, you need not fear to eat it!\"\n\nAfter the meat Salman served honey cakes and a pleasing drink he called a sherbet. \"You come from afar,\" he said.\n\n\"Europe.\"\n\n\"Europe! Ah.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\nThe old man grinned. \"The way you speak the language.\" He saw Rob's face. \"You'll learn to speak it better, I'm certain. How is it to be a Jew in Europe?\"\n\nRob didn't know how to answer, then he thought of what Zevi had said. \"It's hard to be a Jew.\"\n\nSalman nodded soberly.\n\n\"How is it to be a Jew in Ispahan?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's not bad here. The people are instructed in the Qu'ran to revile us, and so they call us names. But they're accustomed to us and we're used to them. There have always been Jews in Ispahan,\" Salman said. \"The city was started by Nebuchadnezzar, who, according to legend, settled Jews here after taking them prisoner when he conquered Judea and destroyed Jerusalem. Then, nine hundred years later, a shah named Yazdegerd be came enamored of a Jewess who lived here, name of Shushan-Dukht, and made her his queen. She made things easier for her own people, and more Jews settled in this place.\"\n\nRob told himself he couldn't have chosen a better disguise; he could blend in among them like an ant in an anthill, once he had learned their ways.\n\nSo that after dinner he accompanied the innkeeper to the House of Peace, one of the dozens of synagogues. It was a square building of ancient stone whose cracks were filled with a soft brown moss, though there was no dampness. It had only narrow loopholes instead of windows, and a door so low that Rob had to stoop to enter. A dark passage led to the interior, where lamps showed pillars supporting a roof too high and dark for his eyes to make it out. Men sat in the main portion, while women worshiped behind a wall in a small recess at the side of the building. Rob found it easier to perform the ma'ariv worship in the synagogue than in the company of only a few Jews on the trail. Here there was a hazzan to lead the prayer and an entire congregation to mumble or sing as each individual chose, so he joined in the swaying with less self-consciousness about his poor Hebrew and the fact that often he couldn't keep up with the prayers.\n\nOn the way back to the inn, Salman smiled at him shrewdly. \"Perhaps you would like some excitement, a young man such as yourself, eh? At night here the maidans, the public squares in the Muslim sections of the city, come alive. There are females and wine, and music and entertainments such as you cannot imagine, Reb Jesse.\"\n\nBut Rob shook his head. \"I should like that, another time,\" he said. \"Tonight I keep my head clear, for tomorrow I transact a matter of the utmost importance.\"\n\nThat night he didn't sleep but tossed and turned, wondering whether Ibn Sina was a man with whom one could talk easily.\n\nIn the morning he found a public bath, a brick structure built over a natural warm spring. With strong soap and clean cloths, he scrubbed himself free of the accumulated grime of travel, and when his hair had dried he took a surgical knife and trimmed his beard, peering at the reflection in his polished steel square. The beard had filled out, and he thought he looked a proper Jew.\n\nHe wore the better of his two caftans. Setting his leather hat squarely on his head, he went into the street and asked a man with withered limbs to direct him to the school for physicians.\n\n\"You mean the madrassa, the place of teaching? It is next to the hospital,\" the beggar said. \"On the Street of Ali, near the Friday Mosque in the center of the city.\" In return for a coin the lame man blessed his children down to the tenth generation.\n\nIt was a long walk. He had opportunity to observe that Ispahan was a place of business, for he glimpsed men laboring over their crafts, shoemakers and metalsmiths, potters and wheelwrights, glass blowers and tailors. He passed several bazaars in which goods of all sorts were sold. Eventually he came to the Friday Mosque, a massive square structure with a splendid minaret on which birds fluttered. Beyond it was a marketplace with a preponderance of bookstalls and small eating places, and presently he saw the madrassa.\n\nOn the outer perimeters of the school, nestled among more bookshops placed to serve the needs of the scholars, were long, low buildings that contained living quarters. Around them children ran and played. Young men were everywhere, most of them wearing green turbans. The madrassa buildings were constructed of blocks of white limestone, after the manner of most of the mosques. They were widely spaced, with gardens in between. Beneath a chestnut tree heavy with unopened spiky fruit, six young men sat on folded legs and gave their attention to a white-bearded man who wore a sky-blue turban.\n\nRob drifted close to them. \"\u2026 Socrates' syllogisms,\" the lecturer was saying. \"A proposition is logically inferred to be true from the fact that two other propositions are true. For example, from the fact that, one, all men are mortal, and, two, Socrates is a man, it can be logically concluded that, three, Socrates is mortal.\"\n\nRob grimaced and moved on, touched by doubt; there was much he didn't know, too much he didn't understand.\n\nHe paused before a very old building with an attached mosque and lovely minaret to ask a green-turbaned student in which building medicine was taught.\n\n\"Third building down. Here, they teach theology. Next door, Islamic law. There is where they teach medicine,\" he said, pointing to a domed building of white stone. It was so slavishly similar to the prevailing architecture of Ispahan that ever after Rob was to think of it as the Big Teat. Next to it was a large one-story building whose sign proclaimed it to be the maristan, \"the place for sick people.\" Intrigued, instead of entering the madrassa he walked up the maristan's three marble steps and through its wrought-iron portal.\n\nThere was a central courtyard containing a pool in which colored fish swam, and benches under fruit trees. Corridors radiated from the courtyard like the rays of the sun, with large rooms off each corridor. Most of the rooms were filled. He had never seen so many ill and injured people gathered in one place, and he wandered in amazement.\n\nThe patients were grouped according to affliction: here, a long room filled with men who suffered from fractured bones; here, victims of fevers; here\u2014he wrinkled his nose, for clearly this was a room reserved for patients with diarrhea and other diseases of the excretory process. Yet even in this room the atmosphere wasn't as oppressive as it might have been, for there were large windows, with the flow of air impeded only by light cloths which had been stretched over the windows to keep insects away. Rob noted slots at the tops and bottoms of the casements so shutters could be slipped into place during the winter season.\n\nThe walls were whitewashed and the floors were of stone, which was easy to clean and made the building cool compared to the considerable heat outside.\n\nIn each room, a small fountain splashed!\n\nRob paused before a closed door, held by the sign on it: dar-ul-maraftan, \"abode of those who require to be chained.\" When he opened the door he saw three naked men, their heads shaved and their arms bound, chained to a high window from iron bands fastened around their necks. Two sagged, asleep or unconscious, but the third man stared and began to howl like a beast, tears wetting his slack cheeks.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" Rob said gently, and left the maniacs.\n\nHe came to a hall of surgical patients and had to resist the temptation to stop at each pallet and lift the dressings to examine the stumps of amputees and the wounds of the injured.\n\nTo be exposed to this many interesting patients every day, and to be taught by great men! It would be like spending one's early life in the Dasht-i-Kavir, he thought, and then discovering that you owned an oasis.\n\nThe sign on the doorway to the next hall was too much for his limited Persian, but as he entered it was easy to see that it was devoted to the diseases and injuries of the eye.\n\nNearby, a stalwart male nurse quailed before a tongue-lashing.\n\n\"It was a mistake, Master Karim Harun,\" the nurse said. \"I thought you told me to remove the bandages of Eswed Omar.\"\n\n\"You donkey's prick,\" the other man said in disgust. He was young and athletically slender, and Rob saw with surprise that he wore the green turban of a student, for his manner was as assured as that of a physician who owned the hospital floor he trod. He wasn't in any way feminine but was aristocratically handsome, the most beautiful man Rob had ever seen, with glossy black hair and deepset brown eyes that flashed with anger. \"It was your mistake, R\u016bmi. I told you to change the dressings of Kuru Yezidi, not those of Eswed Omar. Ustad Juzjani couched the eyes of Eswed Omar himself and ordered me to see that his bandages weren't disturbed for five days. I passed the order to you and you failed to obey it, you shit. Therefore, if Eswed Omar should fail to see with the utmost clarity, and should the wrath of al-Juzjani fall on me, I'll slit your fat ass like a roast of lamb.\"\n\nHe noticed Rob, standing there transfixed, and scowled. \"What is it you want?\"\n\n\"To speak with Ibn Sina about entering the school for physicians.\"\n\n\"Doubtless you do. But the Prince of Physicians isn't awaiting you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then you must go to the second floor of the building next door and see Hadji Davout Hosein, the deputy governor of the school. The governor is Rotun bin Nasr, distant cousin of the Shah and a general in the army, who accepts the honor and never comes to the school. Hadji Davout Hosein administers, it is he you must see.\" The student named Karim Harun then turned back to the nurse with a scowl. \"Now, do you think you can change Kuru Yezidi's dressings, O you green object on a camel's hoof?\"\n\nAt least some of the medical students lived in the Big Teat, for the shadowy first-floor corridor was lined with tiny cells. Through an open door near the stairway landing Rob saw two men who seemed to be cutting a yellow dog that lay on the table, perhaps dead.\n\nOn the second floor he asked a man in a green turban to direct him to the hadji and was ushered, ultimately, into the office chamber of Davout Hosein.\n\nThe deputy governor was a small, thin man, not yet old, who wore an air of self-importance, a tunic of good gray stuff, and the white turban of one who has made his way to Mecca. He had little dark eyes and on his forehead a very distinct zabiba bore witness to the fervor of his piety.\n\nAfter they had exchanged salaams he listened to Rob's request and studied him narrowly. \"You've come from England, you say? In Europe? \u2026 Ah, what part of Europe is that?\"\n\n\"The north.\"\n\n\"The north of Europe. How long did it take you to reach us?\" \"Not quite two years, Hadji.\"\n\n\"Two years! Extraordinary. Your father is a physician, a graduate of our school?\"\n\n\"My father? No, Hadji.\"\n\n\"Hmmm. An uncle, perhaps?\"\n\n\"No. I shall be the first physician in my line.\"\n\nHosein frowned. \"Here we have scholars descended from long lines of physicians. You have letters of introduction, Dhimmi?\"\n\n\"No, Master Hosein.\" He felt rising panic. \"I am a barbersurgeon, I already have had some training \u2026\"\n\n\"No references from some of our distinguished graduates?\" Hosein asked, astounded.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"We don't accept for education any person who appears.\"\n\n\"This isn't a passing fancy. I have traveled a terrible distance because of my determination to be trained in medicine. I have learned your language.\"\n\n\"Poorly, I may say.\" The hadji sniffed. \"We do not simply train in medicine. We do not produce tradesmen, we fashion educated men. Our students learn theology, philosophy, mathematics, physics, astrology, and jurisprudence as well as medicine, and upon being graduated as well-rounded scientists and intellectuals they may take their choice of careers in teaching, medicine, or the law.\"\n\nRob waited with a sinking feeling.\n\n\"Surely you must comprehend? It is impossible.\"\n\nHe comprehended almost two years.\n\nTurning his back on Mary Cullen.\n\nSweating under the burning sun, shivering in glacial snows, beaten by storm and rain. Through salt desert and treacherous forest. Laboring like a bloody ant over mountain after mountain.\n\n\"I will not leave without speaking with Ibn Sina,\" he said firmly.\n\nHadji Davout Hosein opened his mouth but saw something in Rob's eyes that made him close it. He paled and nodded quickly. \"Please to wait here,\" he said, and left the room.\n\nRob sat there alone.\n\nAfter a time, four soldiers came. None was as large as he but they were muscular. They carried short, heavy wooden batons. One of them had a pocked face and kept smacking his baton into the meaty palm of his left hand.\n\n\"What is your name, Jew?\" the man with the pocked face asked, not impolitely.\n\n\"I am Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\n\"A foreigner, a European, Hadji said?\"\n\n\"Yes, from England. A place a great distance from here.\"\n\nThe soldier nodded. \"Did you not refuse to leave at Hadji's request?\"\n\n\"That is true, but\u2014\"\n\n\"It is time to leave now, Jew. With us.\"\n\n\"I will not leave without speaking with Ibn Sina.\"\n\nThe spokesman swung his baton.\n\nNot my nose, he thought in anguish.\n\nBut blood began to pour at once, and all four of them knew where and how to use the clubs with economic efficiency. They hemmed him in so he couldn't swing his arms.\n\n\"To hell!\" he said in English. They couldn't have understood but the tone was unmistakable, and they hit harder. One of the blows cracked him above the temple and he was suddenly dizzy and nauseated. He tried at the very least to succeed in being sick in Hadji's office chamber but the pain was too great.\n\nThey knew their job very well. When he was no longer a threat, they stopped using the batons in order to beat him very skillfully with their fists.\n\nThey made him walk out of the school, one of them supporting him under each arm. They had four large brown horses tethered outside and they rode while he staggered between two of the beasts. Whenever he fell, which happened three times, one of them dismounted and kicked him hard in the ribs until he got to his feet. It seemed a long walk but they went just beyond the madrassa grounds to a small brick building, shabby and unprepossessing, part of the lowest branch of the Islamic court system, as he would learn. Inside there was only a wooden table, behind which sat a cross-looking man, bushy-haired, full-bearded, and wearing black clerical robes not unlike Rob's caftan. He was in the process of opening a melon.\n\nThe four soldiers led Rob to the table and stood respectfully while the justice used a dirty fingernail to scrape the seeds from the melon into an earthen bowl. Then he sliced the melon and ate it slowly. When it was gone he wiped first his hands and then the knife on his robe and turned toward Mecca and thanked Allah for the food.\n\nHaving finished praying, he sighed and looked at the soldiers.\n\n\"A crazy European Jew who has disturbed the public tranquility, mufti,\" the soldier with the pocked face said. \"Taken on complaint of Hadji Davout Hosein, against whom he threatened violent deeds.\"\n\nThe mufti nodded and dug a bit of melon from between his teeth with a fingernail. He looked at Rob. \"You are not a Muslim, and you are accused by a Muslim. The word of an unbeliever may not be accepted against one of the faithful. Do you have a Muslim who will speak in your defense?\"\n\nRob tried thickly to talk but no sound came, though his legs buckled with the effort. The soldiers yanked him erect.\n\n\"Why do you behave like a dog? Ah, well. An infidel, after all, unused to our ways. Therefore, it requires mercy. You shall hand him over to be kept in the carcan at the discretion of the kelonter,\" the mufti told the soldiers.\n\nIt added two words to Rob's Persian vocabulary, which he pondered as the soldiers half dragged him from the court and again herded him between their mounts. He guessed correctly on one of the definitions; though he didn't know it then, the kelonter, whom he supposed to be some kind of jailkeeper, was the provost of the city.\n\nWhen they arrived at a great and grim jail, Rob thought that carcan surely meant prison. Inside, the pockfaced soldier turned him over to two guards who hustled him past forbidding dungeons of foul dankness, but they emerged finally from the windowless dark into the open brilliance of an inner court where two long lines of stocks were occupied by groaning or unconscious human misery. The guards marched him along the line until they came to an empty device, which one of them unlocked.\n\n\"Thrust your head and right arm into the carcan,\" he ordered.\n\nIt was instinct and fear that made Rob pull back, but they were technically correct in interpreting it as resistance.\n\nThey struck him until he fell and then began to kick him, as the soldiers had done. Rob could do nothing but curl himself into a ball to hide his groin and throw up his arms to protect his head.\n\nWhen they were finished savaging him, they shoved and maneuvered him like a sack of meal until his neck and right arm were positioned, then they slammed down the heavy upper half of the carcan and nailed it closed before abandoning him, more unconscious than not, to hang hopeless and helpless under the unshaded sun."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CALAAT",
                "text": "They were peculiar stocks indeed, made of a rectangle and two squares of wood fastened in a triangle, the center of which gripped Rob's head so that his crouching body was half suspended. His right hand, the eating hand, had been placed over the end of the longest piece and a wooden cuff nailed over his wrist, for while in the carcan a prisoner wasn't fed. The left hand, the wiping hand, was unfettered, for the kelonter was civilized.\n\nAt intervals he drifted into consciousness to stare at the long double row of stocks, each containing a wretch. In his line of sight at the other end of the courtyard was a large wooden block.\n\nOnce he dreamed of people and demons in black robes. A man knelt and placed his right hand on the block; one of the demons swung a sword that was larger and heavier than an English cutlass and the hand was taken off at the wrist while the other robed figures prayed.\n\nThe same dream again and again in the hot sun. And then a difference. A man knelt so the back of his neck was on the block and his eyes bulged at the sky. Rob was afraid they would decapitate him but they took his tongue.\n\nWhen next Rob opened his eyes he saw neither people nor demons but on the ground and on the block were fresh stains such as are not left by dreams.\n\nIt hurt him to breathe. He had been given the most thorough beating of his life and he couldn't tell if there were broken bones.\n\nHe hung in the carcan and wept weakly, trying to be silent and hoping no one was watching.\n\nEventually he tried to relieve his ordeal by speaking to his neighbors, whom he could just manage to see by turning his head. It was an effort he learned not to make casually, for the skin of his neck quickly rubbed raw against the wood that held him fast. To his left was a man who had been beaten unconscious and didn't move; the youth on his right studied him curiously but was either a deaf mute, incredibly stupid, or unable to make sense of his broken Persian. After several hours a guard noticed that the man on his left was dead. He was taken away and another put in his place.\n\nBy midday Rob's tongue rasped and seemed to fill his mouth. He felt no urge to urinate or void, for any wastes had long ago been sucked from him by the sun. At times he believed himself back in the desert and in lucid moments remembered too vividly Lonzano's description of how a man dies of thirst, the swollen tongue, the blackened gums, the belief that he was in another place.\n\nPresently Rob turned his head and met the new prisoner's eyes. They studied one another and he saw a swollen face and ruined mouth.\n\n\"Is there no one of whom we can ask mercy?\" he whispered.\n\nThe other waited, perhaps puzzled by Rob's accent. \"There is Allah,\" he said finally. He was not himself easily understood because of his split lip.\n\n\"But no one here?\"\n\n\"You are a foreigner, Dhimmi?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe man directed his hatred at Rob. \"You have seen a mullah, foreigner. A holy man has sentenced you.\" He appeared to lose interest and turned his face away.\n\nThe waning of the sun was a blessing. Evening brought such a coolness as to be almost joyful. His body was numb and he no longer felt muscular pain; perhaps he was dying.\n\nDuring the night the man next to him spoke again. \"There is the Shah, foreign Jew,\" the man said.\n\nRob waited.\n\n\"Yesterday, the day of our torture, was Wednesday, Chahan Shanbah. Today is Panj Shanbah. And each week on the morn of Panj Shanbah, in order to attempt a perfect soul-cleansing before Jom'a, the Sabbath, Al\u0101-al-Dawla Shah holds audience during which anyone may approach his throne in the Hall of Pillars to complain of injustice.\"\n\nRob couldn't stifle the reluctant stir of hope. \"Anyone?\"\n\n\"Anyone. Even a prisoner may demand to be brought to place his case before the Shah.\"\n\n\"No, you must not!\" a voice bawled from the darkness. Rob couldn't tell from which carcan the sound came.\n\n\"You must put it out of your mind,\" the unknown voice said. \"For the Shah almost never reverses a mufti's judgment or a sentence. And the mullahs eagerly await the return of those who waste the Shah's time with a wagging tongue. It is then that tongues are taken and bellies are ripped, as this devil surely knows, this evil son of a bitch who gives you false advice. You must place your faith in Allah and not in Al\u0101 Shah.\"\n\nThe man on his right was laughing slyly, laughing as if caught out in a practical joke.\n\n\"There is no hope,\" the voice said from the darkness.\n\nHis neighbor's mirth had turned into a paroxysm of coughing and wheezing. When he caught his breath the man said viciously, \"Yes, we may look for hope in Paradise.\" No one spoke again.\n\nTwenty-four hours after Rob was placed in the carcan he was released. He tried to stand but fell, and lay in agony as blood reentered his muscles.\n\n\"Go,\" a guard said finally, and kicked at him.\n\nHe struggled to his feet and limped out of the jail, hurrying from that place. He walked to a great square with plane trees and a splashing fountain from which he drank and drank, surrendering to a thirst without end. Then he plunged his head into the water until his ears rang and he felt that some of the prison stink had been washed away.\n\nIspahan's streets were crowded and people glanced at him as they passed.\n\nA fat little vendor in a tattered tunic was fanning flies from a pot cooking on a brazier in his donkey cart. The aroma from the pot brought such a weakness it gave Rob a fright. But when he opened his purse-pocket, instead of sufficient funds to keep him for months, it contained one small bronze coin.\n\nHe had been robbed while unconscious. He cursed bleakly, not knowing whether the thief had been the pockfaced soldier or a jail guard. The bronze coin was a mockery, a wry joke on the thief's part, or perhaps it had been left through some twisted religious sense of charity. He gave it to the vendor, who ladled out a small portion of a greasy rice pilah. It was spicy and contained bits of bean and he swallowed it too quickly, or perhaps his body had been overtaxed by deprivation and sun and the carcan. Almost at once he cast up the contents of his stomach into the dusty street. His neck was bleeding where it had been tormented by the stocks and there was a pounding behind his eyes. He moved into the shade under a plane tree and stood there thinking of green England, his own Horse and cart with money beneath the floorboards and Mistress Buffington sitting next to him for company.\n\nThe crowd was denser now, a flood of people flowing through the street, all headed in the same direction.\n\n\"Where are they going?\" he asked the food vendor.\n\n\"To the Shah's audience,\" the man said, staring askance at the battered Jew until Rob moved away.\n\nWhy not? he asked himself. Did he have another choice?\n\nHe joined in the tide that swept down the Avenue of Ali and Fatima, crossed the four-laned Avenue of the Thousand Gardens, turned into the immaculate boulevard marked Gates of Paradise. They were young and old and in-between, hadjis in white turbans, students in green turbans, mullahs, beggars whole and maimed and wearing rags and castoff turbans of all colors, young fathers holding babies, porters bearing sedan chairs, men on horseback and on donkeys. Rob found himself trailing a dark-caftaned gaggle of Jews and hobbled just behind them, an errant gosling.\n\nThey passed through the small coolness of an artificial woods, for trees were not plentiful in Ispahan, and then, although they were still well within the town walls, past numerous fields on which sheep and goats grazed, separating royalty from its city. Now they approached a great green lawn with two stone pillars at either end like portals. When the first house of the royal court came into view Rob thought it the palace, for it was larger than King's House in London. But there was house after house of the same size, mostly built of brick and stone, many with towers and porches and each with terraces and extensive gardens. They passed vineyards, stables, and two racing tracks, orchards and gardened pavilions of such beauty he wanted to leave the crowd and wander in the perfumed splendor, but knew it was doubtless forbidden.\n\nAnd then a structure so formidable, and at the same time so sweepingly graceful that he didn't credit it, all breast-shaped roofs and girded battlements on which sentries with glittering helms and shields paced beneath long colored pennants that fluttered in the breeze.\n\nHe plucked at the sleeve of the man in front of him, a stocky Jew whose fringed undergarment peeped from his shirt. \"What is the fortress?\"\n\n\"Why, the House of Paradise, home of the Shah!\" The man peered at him worriedly. \"You are bloodied, friend.\"\n\n\"Nothing, a small accident.\"\n\nThey poured down the long approach road, and as they drew near he saw that the main section of the palace was protected by a wide moat. The drawbridge was raised, but on the near side of the moat, next to a plaza that served as the palace's great portal, was a hall through whose doors the crowd entered.\n\nInside was a space half as large as the Cathedral of St. Sofia in Constantinople. The floor was marble; the walls and the lofty ceilings were stone, cleverly chinked so daylight softly illuminated the interior. It was the Hall of Pillars, for next to all four walls were stone columns, elegantly wrought and fluted. Where each column joined the floor, its base had been carved into the legs and paws of a variety of animals.\n\nThe hall was half filled when Rob arrived, and immediately people entered behind him, pressing him in among the party of Jews. Roped-off sections left open aisles down the length of the hall. Rob stood and watched, noting everything with a new intensity, for his time in the carcan had impressed upon him that he was a foreigner; actions that he would think of as natural the Persians might consider bizarre and threatening, and he was aware his life might depend on correctly sensing how they behaved and thought.\n\nHe observed that men of the upper class, wearing embroidered trousers and tunics and silk turbans and brocaded shoes, rode into the hall on horseback through a separate entrance. Each was halted approximately one hundred and fifty paces from the throne by attendants who took his horse in return for a coin, and from that privileged point they proceeded on foot among the poor.\n\nPetty officials in gray clothing and turbans now passed among the people and called out requests for the identities of those with petitions, and Rob made his way to the aisle and laboriously spelled out his name to one of these aides, who recorded it on a curiously thin and unsubstantial-looking parchment.\n\nA tall man had entered the raised portion at the front of the hall, on which sat a large throne. Rob was too far away to see detail, but the man wasn't the Shah, for he seated himself at a smaller throne below and to the right of the royal place.\n\n\"Who is that?\" Rob asked the Jew to whom he had spoken previously.\n\n\"It is the Grand Vizier, the holy Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh.\" The Jew looked at Rob uneasily, for it had not gone unnoticed that he was a petitioner.\n\nAl\u0101-al-Dawla Shah strode onto the platform, undid a sword belt, and placed the scabbard on the floor as he took the throne. Everyone in the Hall of Pillars performed the ravi zemin while the Imam Qandrasseh invoked the favor of Allah upon those who would seek justice of the Lion of Persia.\n\nAt once the audience began. Rob could hear clearly neither the supplicants nor the enthroned, despite the hush that suddenly fell. But whenever a principal spoke, his words were repeated in loud voices by others stationed at strategic locations in the hall, and in this way the words of the participants were faithfully brought to all.\n\nThe first case involved two weather-beaten shepherds from the village of Ardistan, who had walked two days to reach Ispahan to bring their dispute before the Shah. They were in fierce disagreement over the ownership of a new kid. One man owned the dame, a doe that had long been barren and unreceptive. The other said he had readied the doe for successful mounting by the male goat and therefore now claimed half-ownership of the kid.\n\n\"Did you use magic?\" the Imam asked.\n\n\"Excellency, I did but reach in with a feather and make her hot,\" the man said, and the crowd roared and stamped its feet. In a moment the Imam indicated that the Shah found in favor of the feather wielder.\n\nIt was an entertainment for most of those present. The Shah never spoke. Perhaps he conveyed his wishes to Qandrasseh by signal, but all questions and decisions appeared to come from the Imam, who did not suffer fools.\n\nA severe schoolteacher, with his hair oiled and his little beard cut to a perfect point, and dressed in an ornate embroidered tunic that looked like a rich man's castoff, presented a petition for the establishment of a new school in the town of Nain.\n\n\"Are there not already two schools in the town of Nain?\" Qandrasseh asked sharply.\n\n\"They are poor schools taught by unworthy men, Excellency,\" the teacher replied smoothly. A small murmur of disapproval arose from the crowd.\n\nThe teacher continued to read the petition, which advised the hiring of a governor for the proposed school, with such detailed, specific, and irrelevant requirements for the position that a tittering occurred, for it was obvious the description would fit only the reader himself.\n\n\"Enough,\" Qandrasseh said. \"This petition is sly and self-serving, therefore an insult to the Shah. Let this man be caned twenty times by the kelonter, and may it please Allah.\"\n\nSoldiers appeared flourishing batons, the sight of which made Rob's bruises throb, and the teacher was led away, protesting volubly.\n\nThere was little enjoyment in the next case\u2014two elderly noblemen in expensive silk clothing who had a mild difference of opinion concerning grazing rights. It prompted what seemed an interminable soft-voiced discussion of ancient agreements made by men long dead, while the audience yawned and whispered complaints about the ventilation in the crowded hall and the aching in their tired legs. They showed no emotion when the verdict was reached.\n\n\"Let Jesse ben Benjamin, a Jew of England, come forward,\" someone called.\n\nHis name hung in the air and then bounced echo-like through the hall as it was repeated again and again. He limped down the long carpeted aisle, aware of his filthy torn caftan and the battered leather Jew's hat that matched his illused face.\n\nAt last he approached the throne and performed the ravi zemin three times, as he had observed to be proper.\n\nWhen he straightened he saw the Imam in mullah black, his nose a hatchet imbedded in a willful face framed by an iron-gray beard.\n\nThe Shah wore the white turban of a religious man who had been to Mecca, but into its folds had been slipped a thin gold coronet. His long white tunic was of smooth, light-looking stuff worked with blue and gold thread. Dark blue wrappings covered his lower legs and his pointed shoes were blue embroidered with blood-red. He appeared vacuous and unseeing, the picture of a man who was inattentive because he was bored.\n\n\"An Inghiliz,\" observed the Imam. \"You are at present our only Ingbiliz, our only European. Why have you come to our Persia?\"\n\n\"As a seeker of truth.\"\n\n\"Do you wish to embrace the true religion?\" asked Qandresseh, not unkindly.\n\n\"No, for we already agree there is no Allah but He, the most merciful,\" Rob said, blessing the long hours spent under the tutelage of Simon ben ha-Levi, the scholarly trader. \"It is written in the Qu'ran, 'I will not worship that which you worship, nor will you worship that which I worship \u2026 You have your religion and I my religion.'\"\n\nHe must be brief, he reminded himself.\n\nUnemotionally and keeping his language spare, he recounted how he had been in the jungle of western Persia when a beast had sprung upon him.\n\nThe Shah seemed to begin to listen.\n\n\"In the place of my birth, panthers do not exist. I had no weapon, nor did I know how to fight such a creature.\"\n\nHe told how his life had been saved by Al\u0101-al-Dawla Shah, hunter of wildcats like his father Abdallah Shah who had slain the lion of Kashan. The people closest to the throne began to applaud their ruler with sharp little cries of approbation. Murmurs rippled through the hall as the repeaters passed the story out into the crowds who were too far from the throne to have heard it.\n\nQandrasseh sat motionless but Rob thought from his eyes that the Imam was not pleased with the story nor the reaction it drew from the crowd.\n\n\"Now hasten, Inghiliz,\" he said coolly, \"and declare what it is that you request at the feet of the one true Shah.\"\n\nRob took a steadying breath. \"Since it is also written that one who saves a life is responsible for it, I ask the Shah's help in making my life as valuable as possible.\" He recounted his futile attempt to be accepted as a student in Ibn Sina's school for physicians.\n\nThe story of the panther had now spread to the far corners of the hall, and the great auditorium shook under the steady thunder of stamping feet.\n\nDoubtless Al\u0101 Shah was accustomed to fear and obedience but perhaps it had been a long time since he had been spontaneously cheered. From the look of his face, the sound came to him like the sweetest music.\n\n\"Hah!\" The one true Shah leaned forward, his eyes shining, and Rob knew he was remembered in the incident of the killing of the panther.\n\nHis eyes held Rob's for a moment and then he turned to the Imam and spoke for the first time since the beginning of the audience.\n\n\"Give the Hebrew a calaat,\" he said.\n\nFor some reason, people laughed.\n\n\"You shall come with me,\" the grizzled officer said. He would be an old man before many years, but for now he was still powerful and strong. He wore a short helm of polished metal, a leather doublet over a brown military tunic, and sandals with leather thongs. His wounds spoke for him: the ridges of healed sword cuts stood out whitely on both massive brown arms, his left ear was flattened, and his mouth was permanently crooked because of an old piercing wound below his right cheekbone.\n\n\"I am Khuff,\" he said. \"Captain of the Gates. I inherit chores such as yourself.\" His eyes went to Rob's raw neck and he smiled. \"The carcan?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The carcan is a bastard,\" Khuff said admiringly.\n\nThey left the Hall of Pillars and walked toward the stables. Now on the long green field men galloped their horses at one another, wheeling and brandishing long shafts like reversed shepherd's crooks, but no one fell.\n\n\"They seek to strike each other?\"\n\n\"They seek to strike a ball. It is ball-and-stick, a horsemen's game.\" Khuff studied him. \"There is much you don't know. Do you understand about the calaat?\"\n\nRob shook his head.\n\n\"In ancient times when someone found favor in the eyes of a Persian king, the monarch would remove a calaat, an item of his own clothing, and bestow it as a token of his pleasure. The custom has come down through the ages as a sign of royal favor. Now the 'royal garment' consists of a living, a suit of clothes, a house, and a horse.\"\n\nRob felt numb. \"Then am I rich?\"\n\nKhuff grinned at him as though he were a fool. \"A calaat is a singular honor but varies widely in its sumptuousness. An ambassador from a nation that has been Persia's close ally in war would be given the most costly raiment, a palace close in splendor to the House of Paradise, and a remarkable steed whose harness and trappings are encrusted with precious stones. But you are not an ambassador.\"\n\nBehind the stables was a vast stock pen that enclosed a swirling sea of horses. Barber had always said that in selecting a horse one should look for an animal with a head like a princess and a hind like a fat whore. Rob saw a gray that fit the description perfectly and had additional regality in the eyes.\n\n\"Can I have that mare?\" he asked, pointing it out. Khuff didn't bother to answer that it was a horse for a prince, but a wry smile did strange things to his twisted mouth. The Captain of the Gates unhitched a saddled horse and mounted. He rode into the milling mass and skillfully separated from the herd an adequate but dispirited brown gelding with short, sturdy legs and strong shoulders.\n\nKhuff showed him a large tulip brand on the horse's near thigh. \"Al\u0101 Shah is the only horse breeder in Persia, and this is his mark. This horse may be traded for another bearing the tulip but must never be sold. If he should die, cut off the skin with the mark on it and I will exchange it for another horse.\"\n\nKhuff gave him a purse containing fewer coins than Rob might earn by selling the Specific at a single entertainment. In a nearby warehouse the Captain of the Gates searched until he found a serviceable saddle from the army's stores. The clothing he issued was similarly well made but plain, consisting of loose trousers that fastened at the waist with a drawstring; linen wrappings that went around each leg outside the pants, like bandages worn from ankle to knee; a loose shirt called a khamisa that hung over the trousers, knee-length; a tunic called a durra; two coats for the different seasons, one short and light, the other long and lined with sheepskin; a cone-shaped turban support called a qalansuwa; and a brown turban.\n\n\"Do you have green?\"\n\n\"This is better. The green turban is poor, heavy stuff, worn by students and the poorest of the poor.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless I want it,\" Rob insisted, and Khuff gave him the cheap green turban and a hard look of scorn.\n\nMinions with watchful eyes leaped to do the captain's bidding when he called for his personal horse, which turned out to be an Arab stallion bearing resemblance to the gray mare Rob had coveted. Riding the placid brown gelding and carrying a cloth bag laden with his new garments, he rode behind Khuff like a squire, all the way to Yehuddiyyeh. For a long time they wended the narrow streets of the Jewish quarter, until finally Khuff reined up at a small house of old, dark-red brick. There was a small stable, merely a roof on four poles, and a tiny garden in which a lizard blinked at Rob and then vanished into a crack in the stone wall. Four overgrown apricot trees cast their shade on thornbushes that would have to be cut out. Inside the house were three rooms, one with an earthen floor and two with floors of the same red brick as the walls, worn into shallow troughs by the feet of many generations. The dried mummy of a mouse lay in a corner of the dirt-floored room and the faint, cloying stink of its decay hung in the air.\n\n\"Yours,\" Khuff said. He nodded once and then went away.\n\nEven before the sound of his horse had vanished, Rob's knees gave way. He sank to the dirt floor, then he allowed himself to lie back and know no more than the dead mouse.\n\nHe slept for eighteen hours. When he woke he was cramped and aching, like an old man with frozen joints. He sat in the silent house and watched the dust motes in the sunlight that shone through the smoke hole in the roof. The house was in slight disrepair\u2014there were cracks in the clay plaster of the walls and one of the windowsills was crumbling\u2014but it was the first dwelling that had been truly his since his parents died.\n\nIn the small barn, to his horror his new horse stood waterless, unfed, and still saddled. After removing the saddle and carrying water in his hat from a nearby public well, he hurried to the stable where his mule and donkey were boarded. He bought wooden buckets, millet straw, and a basket of oats and bore them home on the donkey.\n\nWhen the animals were tended, he took his new clothes and walked toward the public baths, stopping first at the inn of Salman the Lesser.\n\n\"I've come for my belongings,\" he told the old innkeeper.\n\n\"They've been kept safe, though I mourned for your life when two nights passed and you didn't return.\" Salman stared at him fearfully. \"A story is being told of a foreign Dhimmi, a European Jew, who went before the audience and won a calaat from the Shah of Persia.\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"It was indeed you?\" Salman whispered.\n\nRob sat heavily. \"I haven't eaten since you fed me last.\"\n\nSalman lost no time in setting food before him. He tried his stomach gingerly on bread and goat's milk and then, feeling nothing but famine, graduated to four boiled eggs, more bread in quantity, a small hard cheese, and a bowl of pilah. Strength began to steal back into his limbs.\n\nAt the baths he soaked long, soothing his bruises. When he put on his new clothing he felt like a stranger, though not so much of a stranger as he had felt the first time he put on the caftan. He managed the leg bindings with difficulty, but wrapping the turban would require instruction and for the time being he retained the leather Jew's hat.\n\nBack at the house, he rid himself of the dead mouse and assessed his situation. He had a modest prosperity but that wasn't what he had requested of the Shah, and he felt a vague apprehension that was presently interrupted by the arrival of Khuff, still surly, who unrolled a flimsy parchment and proceeded to read it aloud."
            },
            {
                "title": "ALLAH",
                "text": "Edict of the King of the World, High and Majestic Lord, Sublime and honorable beyond all comparison; magnificent in Titles, the unshakeable Basis of the Kingdom, Excellent, Noble and Magnanimous; the Lion of Persia and Most Powerful Master of the Universe. Directed to the Governor, the Intendant, and other Royal Officers of the Town of Ispahan, the Seat of the Monarchy and the Theater of Science and Medicine. They are to know that Jesse son of Benjamin, Jew and BarberSurgeon of the Town of Leeds in Europe, has come into our Kingdoms, the best govern'd of all the Earth and a well-known refuge of the oppress'd, and has had the Facility and the Glory to appear before the Eyes of the Most High, and by humble petition beg the assistance of the true Lieutenant of the true Prophet who is in Paradise, to wit, our most Noble Majesty. They are to know that Jesse son of Benjamin of Leeds is assured of Royal Favor and Good Will and is hereby granted a Royal Garment with Honors and Beneficences and that All should treat him accordingly. You must also know that this Edict is made on rigorous Penalties and that there is no infringing it without being expos'd to Capital Punishment. Done on the third Panj Shanbah of the Month of Rejab in the name of our most high Majesty by his Pilgrim of the Noble and Sacred Holy Places, and his Chief and Superintendent of the Palace of Women of the most High, the Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh, Vizier. It is necessary to arm one's self with the Assistance of the most High God, in all Temporal Affairs.\n\n\"But, of the school?\" Rob could not resist asking hoarsely.\n\n\"I do not deal with the school,\" the Captain of the Gates said, and departed as hurriedly as he had come.\n\nA short time later two burly porters delivered to Rob's door a sedan chair bearing the hadji Davout Hosein and a quantity of figs as a token of sweet fortune in the new house.\n\nThey sat among the ants and the bees on the ground in the ruins of the tiny apricot garden and ate the figs.\n\n\"They are still excellent apricot trees,\" the hadji said, studying them judiciously. He explained at great length how the four trees could be brought back through assiduous pruning and irrigation and application of the horse's manure.\n\nFinally Hosein fell silent.\n\n\"Something?\" Rob murmured.\n\n\"I have the honor to extend the greetings and felicitations of the honorable Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina.\" The hadji was sweating and so pale that the zabiba on his forehead was especially pronounced. Rob took pity on him, but not so much that it diminished the exquisite pleasure of the moment, sweeter and richer than the dizzying fragrance of the small apricots that littered the ground beneath his trees, as Hosein rendered to Jesse son of Benjamin an invitation to enroll in the madrassa and study medicine at the maristan, where he might aspire eventually to become a physician."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Maristan",
                "text": "[ IBN SINA ]\n\nRob J.'s first morning as a student dawned hot, a sullen day. He dressed carefully in the new clothes but decided it was too warm for leg wrappings. He had struggled without success to learn the secret of winding the green turban and finally he gave a coin to a street youth who showed him how to strap the folded cloth tightly around the qalansuwa and then tuck it in neatly. But Khuff had been right about the heaviness of the cheap stuff; the green turban weighed almost a stone, and in the end he took the unfamiliar burden from his head and put on the leather Jew's hat, a relief.\n\nIt made him instantly identifiable as he approached the Big Teat, where a group of young men in green turbans stood talking.\n\n\"Here is your Jew now, Karim,\" one of them called.\n\nA man who had been sitting on the steps rose and approached him, and he recognized the handsome, lanky student he had observed castigating a nurse during his first visit to the hospital.\n\n\"I am Karim Harun. And you are Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The hadji has assigned me to show you around the school and the hospital and to answer your questions.\"\n\n\"You will wish you were back in the carcan, Hebrew!\" somebody called, and the students laughed.\n\nRob smiled. \"I do not think so,\" he said. It was obvious that the entire school had heard of the European Jew who had gone to jail and then won admittance to the medical school on the intervention of the Shah.\n\nThey began with the maristan, but Karim walked much too fast, a cranky and perfunctory guide who evidently wished to complete an unwelcome task as quickly as possible. But Rob J. was able to learn that the hospital was divided into male and female sections. Men had male nurses, women had female nurses and female porters. Physicians and a patient's husband were the only men allowed to approach the women.\n\nThere were two rooms devoted to surgery, and a long, low-ceilinged chamber filled with shelves of neatly labeled jars and flasks. \"This is the khazanat-ul-sharaf, the 'treasure house of drugs,'\" Karim said. \"On Mondays and Thursdays, physicians hold a clinic at the school. After patients are examined and treated, the druggists make up physick prescribed by the physicians. Maristan druggists are accurate to the smallest grain, and honest. Most druggists in the town are whores who will sell a bottle of piss and swear it is rose water.\"\n\nIn the school building next door, Karim showed him examining rooms, lecture halls and laboratories, a kitchen and a refectory, and a large bath for use of faculty and students. \"There are forty-eight physicians and surgeons, but not all are lecturers. Including yourself, there are twenty-seven students of medicine. Each clerk is apprenticed to a series of different physicians. The apprenticeships vary in length for different individuals, and so does the entire clerkship. You become a candidate for oral examination whenever the bastardly faculty decides you are ready. If you pass, they address you as Hakim. If you fail, you remain a student and must work toward another chance.\"\n\n\"How long have you been here?\"\n\nKarim glowered, and Rob knew he had asked the wrong question.\n\n\"Seven years. I've taken examinations twice. Last year, I failed the section on philosophy. My second attempt was three weeks ago, when I made a poor thing of questions on jurisprudence. What should I care about the history of logic or the precedents of the law? I'm already a good physician.\" He sighed bitterly. \"In addition to classes in medicine you must attend lectures in law, theology, and philosophy. You may choose your own classes. It's best to return often to the same lecturers,\" he disclosed grudgingly, \"for some of them are merciful during the oral examinations if they've become familiar with you.\n\n\"Everyone in the madrassa must attend morning lectures in each discipline. But in the afternoon, law students prepare briefs or attend the courts, would-be theologians hie themselves to mosques, future philosophers read or write, and medical students serve as clerks at the hospital. Physicians visit the hospital in the afternoon and students attach themselves to these men, who permit them to examine patients and propose treatment. The physicians ask endless instructive questions. It's a splendid opportunity to learn or\"\u2014he smiled sourly\u2014\"to make yourself a complete arsehole.\"\n\nRob studied the handsome, unhappy face. Seven years, he thought numbly, and nothing but uncertain prospects ahead. And this man no doubt had entered the study of medicine with far better preparation than his own sketchy background!\n\nBut fears and negative feelings vanished when they entered the library, which was called the House of Wisdom. Rob had never imagined so many books in one place. Some manuscripts were scribed on animalskin vellums, but most were made of the same lighter material on which his calaat had been written. \"Persia has a poor parchment,\" he observed.\n\nKarim snorted. \"Not parchment at all. It is called paper, an invention of the slanted-eyes to the east, who are very clever infidels. You don't have paper in Europe?\"\n\n\"I've never seen it there.\"\n\n\"Paper is but old rags beaten and sized with animal glue and then pressed. It is inexpensive, afforded even by students.\"\n\nThe House of Wisdom dazzled Rob as no other sight he had ever seen. He walked quietly about the room and touched the books, noting the authors, only a few of them names he knew.\n\nHippocrates, Dioscorides, Ardigenes, Rufas of Ephesus, the immortal Galen \u2026 Oribasius, Philagrios, Alexander of Tralles, Paul of Aegina \u2026\n\n\"How many books are here?\"\n\n\"The madrassa owns almost one hundred thousand books,\" Karim said proudly. He smiled at the disbelief in Rob's eyes. \"Most of them were translated into Persian in Baghdad. In the university at Baghdad is a school for translators, where books are transcribed onto paper in all the languages of the Eastern Caliphate. Baghdad has an enormous university with six hundred thousand books in its library, and more than six thousand students and famous teachers. But there is one thing our little madrassa has that they lack.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" Rob asked, and the senior student led him to a wall in the House of Wisdom entirely devoted to the works of one author.\n\n\"Him,\" Karim said.\n\nThat afternoon in the maristan Rob saw the man the Persians called the Chief of Princes. At first glimpse, Ibn Sina was a disappointment. His red physician's turban was faded and carelessly wound and his durra was shabby and plain. Short and balding, he had a bulbous, veined nose and the beginning of dewlaps beneath his white beard. He looked like any aging Arab until Rob noted his keen brown eyes, sad and observant, stern and curiously alive, and felt at once that Ibn Sina saw things not visible to ordinary men.\n\nRob was one of seven students who, with four physicians, trailed behind Ibn Sina as he made his way through the hospital. That day the Chief Physician paused not far from the pallet of a wizened man with skinny limbs.\n\n\"Who is student clerk of this section?\"\n\n\"I, Master. Mirdin Askari.\"\n\nSo this was Aryeh's cousin, Rob told himself. He looked with interest at the swarthy young Jew whose long jaw and square white teeth gave him a homely, likable face, like that of an intelligent horse.\n\nIbn Sina nodded toward the patient. \"Tell us of that one, Askari.\"\n\n\"He is Amahl Rahin, a camel driver who came to the hospital three weeks ago with intense pain in the lower back. At first we suspected he had injured his spine while drunk but the pain soon extended into his right testicle and right thigh.\"\n\n\"How of the urine?\" Ibn Sina asked.\n\n\"Until the third day his urine was clear. Light yellow in color. On the morning of the third day his urine showed blood, and that afternoon he passed six urinary calculi, four like grains of sand and two of them stones the size of small peas. Since then he has had no further pain and his urine is clear, but he will take no food.\"\n\nIbn Sina frowned. \"What have you offered him?\"\n\nThe student appeared puzzled. \"The usual fare. Pilah of several sorts. Hens' eggs. Mutton, onions, bread \u2026 He will touch nothing. His bowels have ceased to function, his pulse is fainter, and he grows progressively weak.\"\n\nIbn Sina nodded and looked at them. \"What ails him, then?\"\n\nAnother of the medical clerks gathered his courage. \"I think, Master, that his intestines have become twisted, blocking the passage of food through his body. Sensing this, he will allow no nourishment to enter his mouth.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Fadil ibn Parviz,\" Ibn Sina said with courtesy. \"But in such an injury the patient will eat, only to cast up his food.\" He waited. When no other observations were forthcoming, he approached the man on the pallet.\n\n\"Amahl,\" he said, \"I am Husayn the Physician, son of Abd-Ullah who was son of al-Hasan who was son of Ali who was son of Sina. These are my friends and would be thine. Where are you from?\"\n\n\"The village of Shaini, Master,\" the man whispered.\n\n\"Ah, a man of Fars! I have spent happy days in Fars. The dates of the oasis in Shaini are large and sweet, is it not so?\"\n\nTears formed in Amahl's eyes, and he nodded dumbly.\n\n\"Askari, go now and fetch our friend dates and a bowl of warm milk.\"\n\nIn a short time the food was brought, and the physicians and the students watched as the man began to eat the fruit hungrily.\n\n\"Slowly, Amahl. Slowly, my friend,\" Ibn Sina warned. \"Askari, you shall see to the change in our friend's diet.\"\n\n\"Yes, Master,\" the Jew said as they walked away.\n\n\"This must be remembered about the sick people in our care. They come to us but they do not become us, and very often they do not eat what we eat. Lions do not relish hay because they visit the kine.\n\n\"Dwellers in the desert subsist mainly on sour curds and similar preparations of milk. The inhabitants of the Dar-ul-Maraz eat rice and dry foods. The Khorasanis want only soup thickened with flour. The Indians eat peas, pulse, oil, and hot spices. The people of Transoxiania take wine and meat, especially horse flesh. The people of Fars and Arabistan eat mainly dates. The Bedouins are accustomed to meat, camel's milk, and locusts. The people of Gurgan, the Georgians, the Armenians, and the Europeans are wont to take spirits with meals and to eat the flesh of cows and pigs.\"\n\nIbn Sina looked flintily at the men gathered about him. \"We terrify them, young masters. Ofttimes we cannot save them and sometimes our treatment kills them. Let us not starve them as well.\"\n\nThe Chief of Princes walked away from them, his hands behind his back.\n\nNext morning, in a small amphitheater with rising tiers of stone seats, Rob attended his first lecture at the madrassa. Out of nervousness he was early, and he was seated alone in the fourth row when half a dozen clerks entered together.\n\nAt first they paid him no attention. From their conversation it was evident that one of them, Fadil ibn Parviz, had been notified he would be examined for his fitness to become a physician, and his fellow clerks were reacting with envious gibes.\n\n\"Only one week before your examination, Fadil?\" said a short, plump clerk. \"You will piss green with fear, I think!\"\n\n\"Shut your fat face, Abbas Sefi, you Jew's nose, you Christian's prick! You needn't be afraid of the examination, for you'll be a clerk even longer than Karim Harun,\" Fadil said, and they all laughed.\n\n\"Salaam, what have we here?\" Fadil said, noticing Rob for the first time. \"What's your name, Dhimmi?\"\n\n\"Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\n\"Ah, of jail fame! The Jew barbersurgeon of the Shah's calaat. You'll find it takes more than a royal decree to make a physician.\"\n\nThe hall was filling. Mirdin Askari was picking his way up the stone tiers to a vacant place, and Fadil called to him.\n\n\"Askari! Here's another Hebrew arrived to be made into a leech. You'll soon quite outnumber us.\"\n\nAskari looked over at them coolly, disregarding Fadil as he might have ignored a bothersome insect.\n\nFurther comment was cut off by the arrival of the lecturer, a worried-looking teacher of philosophy named Sayyid Sa'di.\n\nRob received an inkling of what he had assumed by fighting to become a medical clerk, for Sayyid looked about the room and noted a face that was strange to him.\n\n\"You, Dhimmi, what is your name?\"\n\n\"I am Jesse ben Benjamin, master.\"\n\n\"Jesse ben Benjamin, tell us how Aristotle described the relationship between the body and the spirit.\" Rob shook his head.\n\n\"It is in his work, On the Soul,\" the lecturer said impatiently.\n\n\"I don't know On the Soul. I've never read Aristotle.\"\n\nSayyid Sa'di stared at him with concern. \"You must begin to do so at once,\" he said.\n\nRob understood little that Sayyid Sa'di spoke about in his lecture.\n\nWhen the class was over and the amphitheater was emptying, he made his way to Mirdin Askari. \"I bring you the best wishes of three men of Masqat, Reb Lonzano ben Ezra, Reb Loeb ben Kohen, and your cousin, Reb Aryeh Askari.\"\n\n\"Ah. Was their trip successful?\"\n\n\"I believe it was.\"\n\nMirdin nodded. \"Good. You are a Jew from Europe, I hear. Well, Ispahan will seem strange to you, but most of us are from other places.\" Their fellow medical clerks, he said, included fourteen Muslims from countries of the Eastern Caliphate, seven Muslims from the Western Caliphate, and five Eastern Jews.\n\n\"I'm only the sixth Jewish clerk, then? I would have thought us more numerous, from what Fadil ibn Pardiz said.\"\n\n\"Oh, Fadil! Even one Jewish medical clerk would be too many to please Fadil. He's an Ispahani. Ispahanis consider Persia the only civilized nation and Islam the only religion. When Muslims exchange insults, they call each other 'Jew' or 'Christian.' When they're in a good mood, they consider it the soul of wit to call another Mohammedan 'Dhimmi.'\"\n\nRob nodded, remembering that when the Shah had called him \"Hebrew\" people had laughed. \"It makes you angry?\"\n\n\"It makes me work my mind and arse hard. So I can smile when I leave the Muslim clerks far behind me in the madrassa.\" He looked at Rob curiously. \"They say you're a barbersurgeon. Is it true?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't talk about it,\" Mirdin said cautiously. \"Persian physicians believe barbersurgeons to be \u2026\"\n\n\"Less than admirable?\"\n\n\"They are not in favor.\"\n\n\"I don't care what's in favor. I make no apology for what I am.\"\n\nHe thought he saw a flicker of approval in Mirdin's eyes, but if so it was gone in a moment.\n\n\"Nor should you,\" Mirdin said. He nodded coolly and made his way out of the amphitheater.\n\nA lesson in Islamic theology taught by a fat mullah named Abul Bakr was only slightly better than the philosophy class. The Qu'ran was divided into one hundred and fourteen chapters called suras. The suras varied in length from a few lines to several hundred verses, and to Rob's dismay he learned he could not be graduated from the madrassa until he had memorized the important suras.\n\nDuring the next lecture, by a master surgeon named Abu Ubayd al-Juzjani, he was ordered to read Ten Treatises on the Eye by Hunayn. Al-Juzjani was small and swarthy and fearsome, with an unblinking stare and the disposition of a newly awakened bear. The rapid accumulation of assigned scholarly work chilled Rob, but he was interested in al-Juzjani's lecture about the opacity that covered the eyes of so many people and robbed them of vision. \"It is believed such blindness is caused by a pouring-out of corrupt humor into the eye,\" al-Juzjani said. \"For this reason early Persian physicians called the ailment nazul-i-ab, or 'descent of water,' which has been vulgarized into waterfall disease or cataract.\"\n\nThe surgeon said most cataracts began as a small spot in the lens that scarcely interfered with vision but gradually spread until the entire lens became milky white, causing blindness.\n\nRob watched as al-Juzjani couched the eyes of a dead cat. Soon thereafter, his assistants passed among the clerks and distributed animal corpses so they might try the procedure on dogs and cats and even hens. Rob was given a brindle cur with a fixed stare, a permanent snarl, and no front paws. His hands were unsteady and he had no real idea of what to do. But he took courage from recalling how Merlin had rid Edgar Thorpe of his blindness because he had been taught this operation at this school, perhaps even in this very room.\n\nSuddenly al-Juzjani was leaning over him and peering at the eye of his dead dog. \"Place your needle upon the spot at which you intend to couch and make a mark there,\" he said sharply. \"Then move the tip of the needle toward the outer angle of the eye, level with and slightly above the pupil. This would make the cataract sink below it. If you are operating on the right eye, you hold the needle in your left hand, and vice versa.\"\n\nRob followed the instructions, thinking of the men and women who had come behind his barbersurgeon's screen through the years with opaque eyes, and for whom he had been able to do nothing.\n\nTo hell with Aristotle and the Qu'ran! This was why he had made his way to Persia, he told himself exultantly.\n\nThat afternoon he was among a group of clerks following al-Juzjani through the maristan like acolytes trailing a bishop. Al-Juzjani visited patients and taught and commented and questioned the students as he changed dressings and removed stitches. Rob saw that he was a surgeon of skill and diversity; his patients in the hospital that day were recovering from cataract surgery, a crushed and amputated arm, the excision of buboes, circumcisions, and the closing of a wound in the face of a boy whose cheek had been perforated by a sharp stick.\n\nWhen al-Juzjani was through, Rob made the trip through the hospital again, this time behind Hakim Jalal-ul-Din, a bonesetter whose patients were rigged with complex systems of retractors, couplers, ropes, and pulleys that Rob regarded with awe.\n\nHe had waited nervously to be called upon or questioned, but neither physician had acknowledged his existence. When Jalal was done, Rob aided the porters in feeding patients and cleaning up slops.\n\nHe went in search of books when he was finished at the hospital. Copies of the Qu'ran could be found in ample number in the madrassa library, and he discovered On the Soul. But he learned that the single copy of Hunayn's Ten Treatises on the Eye had been taken by someone else, and half a dozen students had applied before him to study the book.\n\nThe keeper of the House of Wisdom was a kindly man named Yussuful-Gamal, a calligrapher who spent his spare time with quill and ink, making extra copies of books bought from Baghdad. \"You have waited too long. Now it will be many weeks before Ten Treatises on the Eye will be available to you,\" he said. \"When a book is advised by a lecturer you must hurry to me at once or others will get here first.\"\n\nRob nodded wearily. He carried the two books home, stopping along the way at the Jewish market to buy a lamp and oil from a spare woman with a strong jaw and gray eyes.\n\n\"You're the European?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe beamed. \"We are neighbors. I am Hinda, wife of Tall Isak, three houses north of you. You must visit.\"\n\nHe thanked her and smiled, warmed.\n\n\"For you, the lowest price. My finest price for a Jew who wormed a calaat out of that king!\"\n\nAt the inn of Salman the Lesser he stopped for a meal of pilah, but was dismayed when Salman brought two more neighbors to meet the Jew who had won the calaat. They were burly young men, stonecutters by trade\u2014Chofni and Shemuel b'nai Chivi, sons of the widowed Nitka the Midwife, who lived at the end of his street. The brothers patted his back, bade him welcome, tried to buy him wine. \"Tell us of the calaat, tell us of Europe!\" Chofni cried.\n\nTheir fellowship was tempting, but he escaped to the loneliness of his house. When he had tended the animals he read the Aristotle in the garden and found it difficult, for meaning eluded him and he was smitten by his ignorance.\n\nAs darkness fell he moved indoors and lighted the lamp, and then he turned to the Qu'ran. The suras appeared to be arranged according to length, with the longest chapters first. But which were the important suras that must be memorized? He hadn't an idea. And there were so many introductory passages; were they important?\n\nHe was desperate and felt he must begin somewhere.\n\nGlory to God Most High, full of Grace and Mercy; He created All, including Man \u2026\n\nHe read the passages again and again, but before more than a few verses had been committed to memory, his heavy lids closed. Fully dressed, he sank into deep sleep on the lamplit floor, like a man seeking to escape a sore and vexatious wakefulness."
            },
            {
                "title": "AN INVITATION",
                "text": "Rob was awakened each morning by the rising sun glinting through his chamber's narrow window, reflected golden off the tile roofs of Yehuddiyyeh's crazily leaning houses. People appeared in the streets at daybreak, the men going to morning prayers in the synagogues, the women hurrying to tend stalls in the market or to shop early for the best produce of the day.\n\nIn the house next door to the north lived a shoemaker named Yaakob ben Rashi, his wife Naoma, and their daughter Lea. The house to the south was occupied by a bread baker named Micah Halevi, his wife Yudit, and three small children, all females. Rob had lived in Yehuddiyyeh only a few days before Micah sent Yudit to Rob's house to deliver a round, flat loaf for his breakfast, still warm and crisp from the oven. Everywhere he went in Yehuddiyyeh, people had a kind word for the foreign Jew who had won the calaat.\n\nHe was less popular in the madrassa, where the Muslim students never called him by name and took open pleasure in addressing him as Dhimmi, and where even the Jewish students called him \"European.\"\n\nIf his experience as a barbersurgeon wasn't generally admired, it was still useful in the maristan, where within three days it was apparent that he could bandage, bleed, and set simple fractures with a skill equal to a graduate of the school. He was relieved of the chore of collecting slops and given duties that more directly involved the care of sick people, and that made his life a little more bearable.\n\nWhen he asked Abul Bakr which of the one hundred and fourteen suras of the Qu'ran were the important ones, he couldn't get an answer. \"All are important,\" the fat mullah said. \"Some are more important in the eyes of one scholar, others are more important to another scholar.\"\n\n\"But I can't be graduated from this place unless I have memorized the important suras! If you don't tell me which they are, how am I to know?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" the theology lecturer said. \"You must study Qu'ran, and Allah (exalted is He!) will reveal them.\"\n\nHe felt the weight of Mohammed on his back, the eyes of Allah on him always. Everywhere he turned in the school, there inescapably was Islam. A mullah sat in every class to make certain Allah (great and mighty is He!) was not profaned.\n\nRob's first class with Ibn Sina was an anatomy lesson at which they dissected a large pig, forbidden to Muslims as food but permitted for study.\n\n\"The pig is a particularly good anatomy subject, because its internal organs are identical to man's,\" Ibn Sina said, deftly cutting away the skin.\n\nThis one was full of tumors.\n\n\"These smooth-surfaced growths are likely to cause no harm. But some have grown so fast \u2026 see, like these\u2014\" Ibn Sina said, tipping the heavy carcass so they could better observe, \"\u2014that clumps of flesh have crowded against one another like the sections in a head of cauliflower. The cauliflower tumors are deadly.\"\n\n\"Do they appear in humans?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"We do not know.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we look for them?\"\n\nNow the room was silent, the other students contemptuous of the stranger and infidel devil, the assisting instructors watchful. The mullah who had slaughtered the pig had lifted his head from his prayer book.\n\n\"It is written,\" Ibn Sina said carefully, \"that the dead shall rise and be greeted by the Prophet (may God bless him and greet him!), to live again. Against that day, their bodies must be unmutilated.\"\n\nAfter a moment, Rob nodded. The mullah returned to his prayers, and Ibn Sina resumed his anatomy lesson.\n\nThat afternoon Hakim Fadil ibn Parviz was in the maristan, wearing a physician's red turban and receiving the congratulations of the medical clerks because he had passed the examination. Rob had no reason to like Fadil but he was excited and glad nevertheless, for any student's success might one day be his own.\n\nFadil and al-Juzjani were the physicians who made the rounds of patients that day, and Rob followed them along with four other clerks: Abbas Sefi, Omar Nivahend, Suleiman-al-Gamal, and Sabit bin Qurra. At the last moment al-Juzjani and Fadil were joined by Ibn Sina and Rob could feel the general heightening of nervousness, the small excitement that always occurred with the presence of the Chief Physician.\n\nSoon they came to the place for tumor patients. On the pallet closest to the entrance lay a still, hollow-eyed figure, and they paused well away from him. \"Jesse ben Benjamin,\" al-Juzjani said. \"Tell us of this man.\"\n\n\"He is Ismail Ghazali. He doesn't know his age but says he was born in Khur during the great spring floods there. I have been told that was thirty-four years ago.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani nodded approvingly.\n\n\"He has tumors in his neck, under his arms, and in his groin that cause him great pain. His father died of similar disease when Ismail Ghazali was a small boy. It agonizes him to urinate. When he does, his water is deep yellow with casts like small red threads. He cannot eat more than a few spoonfuls of gruel without vomiting, so he has been fed lightly and as often as he will accept nourishment.\"\n\n\"Have you bled him this day?\" al-Juzjani asked.\n\n\"No, Hakim.\"\n\n\"Why have you not?\"\n\n\"It is unnecessary to cause him further pain.\" Perhaps if Rob hadn't been thinking of the pig and wondering whether Ismail Ghazali's body was consumed by cauliflower growths, he would not have trapped himself. \"By nightfall he will be dead.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani stared.\n\n\"Why do you think this?\" Ibn Sina asked.\n\nAll eyes were on Rob, but he knew better than to attempt an explanation. \"I know it,\" he said finally, and Fadil forgot his new dignity and guffawed.\n\nAl-Juzjani's face reddened with anger, but Ibn Sina raised his hand to the other physician and indicated that they should continue.\n\nThe incident drained Rob's optimistic excitement. That evening he found study to be impossible. The school was a mistake, he told himself. There was nothing that could make him what he was not, and perhaps it was time to acknowledge he wasn't meant to be a physician.\n\nYet next morning he went to the school and attended three lectures, and in the afternoon he forced himself to follow al-Juzjani on his inspection of patients. As they set off, to Rob's anguish Ibn Sina joined them as he had on the previous day.\n\nWhen they arrived at the tumor section, a stripling youth lay on the pallet closest to the door.\n\n\"Where is Ismail Ghazali?\" al-Juzjani asked the nurse.\n\n\"Taken during the night, Hakim.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani made no comment. As they continued on their way, he treated Rob with the icy contempt due an alien Dhimmi who had made a fortunate guess.\n\nBut when they had completed their visitations and had been dismissed, Rob felt a hand on his arm and turned to look into the old man's unsettling eyes.\n\n\"You will come to share my evening meal,\" Ibn Sina said.\n\nRob was nervous and expectant that evening as he followed the Chief Physician's directions, riding the brown horse along the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens to the lane leading to Ibn Sina's home. It proved to be an enormous twin-towered residence of stone set among the terraced orchards and vineyards. Ibn Sina, too, had been given a \"royal garment\" by the Shah, but his calaat had come when he was famous and venerated, and the gift had been princely.\n\nRob was admitted to the walled estate by a gateman who expected him and took his horse. The path to the house was of stone crushed so fine that his footsteps sounded like whispering. As he approached the house, a side door opened and a woman emerged. Young and graceful, she wore a red velvet coat full at the waist and with tinsel edges, over a loose cotton gown of yellow-printed flowers, and although diminutive she walked like a queen. Beaded bracelets clutched her ankles where the scarlet trousers were fastened tightly and ended in woollen fringes over sweet bare heels. Ibn Sina's daughter\u2014if indeed that was who she was\u2014scrutinized him with large dark eyes as curiously as he assessed her, before averting her veiled face from a male, according to Islam.\n\nBehind her came a turbaned figure, enormous as a bad dream. The eunuch's hand was on the jeweled hilt of the dagger in his belt, and he didn't avert his eyes but watched Rob balefully until he saw his charge safely through a door in a garden wall.\n\nRob was still gazing after them when the front door, a single great stone slab, opened on oiled hinges and a manservant admitted him into spacious coolness.\n\n\"Ah, young friend. You are welcome to my house.\"\n\nIbn Sina led the way through a series of large rooms whose tiled walls were adorned with rich woven hangings the colors of the earth and the sky. The carpets on the stone floors were thick as turf. In an atrium garden in the heart of the house, a table had been set close to a splashing fountain.\n\nRob felt awkward, for a servant had never before helped him to be seated. Another brought an earthen tray of flat bread and Ibn Sina sang his Islamic prayer with unmusical ease. \"Do you wish your own blessing?\" he asked with grace.\n\nRob broke one of the flat loaves and it was easily done, for he had become accustomed to the Hebrew thanksgiving: \"Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" Ibn Sina said.\n\nThe meal was simple and excellent, sliced cucumbers with mint and heavy soured milk, a light pilah prepared with bits of lean lamb and chicken, stewed cherries and apricots, and a refreshing sherbet of fruit juices.\n\nWhen they had eaten, a man whose ringed nose marked him a slave brought wet cloths for their hands and faces, while other slaves cleared the table and lighted smoky torches to drive away insects.\n\nA bowl of plump pistachios was brought and they sat and cracked the nuts with their teeth and chewed companionably.\n\n\"Now.\" Ibn Sina leaned forward and his remarkable eyes, that could convey so many things, shone bright and attentive in the torchlight. \"Let us speak of the reason you knew Ismail Ghazali would die.\"\n\nRob told him how, when he was nine years old, by taking his mother's hand he had become aware that she would die. And of how, in the same way, he had learned of his father's impending death.\n\nAnd he described the others since, the occasional person whose hand in his had brought the piercing dread and awful revelation.\n\nIbn Sina questioned him patiently as he reported each case, plumbing his memory and making certain that no detail was overlooked. Slowly, the reserve in the old man's face disappeared.\n\n\"Show me what you do.\"\n\nRob took Ibn Sina's hands and looked into his eyes, and in a little while he smiled. \"For now, you need have no fear of death.\"\n\n\"Nor do you,\" the physician said quietly.\n\nA moment passed and then, Good Christ! Rob thought. \"Is it truly something you can feel as well, Chief Physician?\"\n\nIbn Sina shook his head. \"Not as you feel it. In me, it manifests itself as a certainty somewhere deep inside\u2014strong instinct that a patient will or will not die. Down through the years I have talked with other physicians who share this intuition, and we are a larger brotherhood than you may imagine. But never have I met one in whom this gift is stronger than in you. It is a responsibility, and to be equal to it you must make an excellent physician of yourself.\"\n\nIt brought unpleasant reality, and Rob sighed ruefully. \"I may end up no physician, for I am not a scholar. Your Muslim students have been forcefed on classical learning all their lives, and the \u2026 other Jewish clerks were weaned on the fierce scholarship of their study houses. Here in the university they build on these foundations, while I build on two paltry years of schooling, and vast ignorance.\"\n\n\"Then you must build harder and faster than the others,\" Ibn Sina said without sympathy.\n\nDespair made Rob bold. \"Too much is demanded in the school. And some of it I neither want nor need. Philosophy, Qu'ran\u2014\"\n\nThe old man broke in scornfully. \"You make a common error. If you have not studied philosophy, how can you reject it? Science and medicine teach of the body, while philosophy teaches of the mind and the soul, and a physician requires all these as he needs food and air. As for theology, I had memorized the Qu'ran by the age of ten. It is of my faith and not of your own but it will not harm you, and memorizing ten Qu'rans would be small price if it would gain you medical knowledge.\n\n\"You have the mind, for we see you grasp a new language, and we detect your promise in a dozen other ways. But you must not fear to allow learning to become a part of you, so that it is as natural as breathing. You must stretch your mind, wide enough to take in all we can give you.\"\n\nRob was silent and watchful.\n\n\"I've a gift of my own, as strong as yours, Jesse ben Benjamin. I can detect a man in whom there may be a physician, and in you I feel a need to heal, so strong that it burns. But it is not enough to have such a need. A physician is not declared by calaat, which is fortunate since there are already too many ignorant physicians. That is why we have the school, to winnow the chaff from the wheat. And when we see a clerk who is worthy, we make his testing especially severe. If our trials are too much for you, then you must forget us and go back to being a barbersurgeon and selling your spurious ointments\u2014\"\n\n\"Physick,\" Rob said, glaring.\n\n\"Your spurious physick, then. For to be hakim must be earned. If you desire it, you must punish yourself for the sake of learning, seek every advantage in keeping up with the other clerks and in excelling them. You must study with the fervor of the blessed or the cursed.\"\n\nRob drew a breath, his eyes still locked hotly with Ibn Sina's, and told himself he hadn't struggled across the world to fail.\n\nHe rose to take his leave and was struck by a thought. \"Do you own Hunayn's Ten Treatises of the Eye, Chief Physician?\"\n\nNow Ibn Sina smiled. \"I do,\" he said, and hurried to fetch the book and give it to his student."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE MAIDAN",
                "text": "Early on a hurried morning three soldiers called upon him. He tensed and readied himself for anything, but this time they were all politeness and respect and their batons remained sheathed. Their leader, whose breath revealed he had breakfasted on green onions, bowed deeply.\n\n\"We are sent to inform you, master, that there will be a formal session of the court tomorrow after Second Prayer. Recipients of a calaat are expected.\"\n\nThus, on the following morning Rob found himself once again under the arched and gilded roofs of the Hall of Pillars.\n\nThis time the masses of people were absent, which Rob thought a pity, for the Shahanshah was resplendent. Al\u0101 wore a turban, a flowing tunic, and pointed shoes of purple, trousers and leg wrappings of crimson, and a heavy crown of worked gold. The Vizier, the Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh, sat a smaller throne nearby, dressed as always in mullah black.\n\nThe calaat beneficiaries stood away from the thrones as observers. Rob couldn't see Ibn Sina and recognized no one nearby save for Khuff, Captain of the Gates.\n\nThe floor surrounding Al\u0101 was spread with carpets lustrous with threads of silk and gold. Seated on cushions on both sides of the throne and facing it was a host of richly caparisoned men.\n\nRob went to Khuff and touched his arm. \"Who are they?\" he whispered.\n\nKhuff looked at the foreign Hebrew with scorn but answered patiently, as he was trained to do. \"The empire is divided into fourteen provinces, in which there are five hundred and forty-four Considerable Places\u2014cities, walled towns, and castles. These are the mirzes, chawns, sultans, and beglerbegs who govern the principalities over which Al\u0101-al-Dawla Shah holds sway.\"\n\nPerhaps the ceremonies would soon begin, for Khuff hurried away and stationed himself inside the door.\n\nThe ambassador from Armenia was the first of the envoys to ride into the hall. He was a man still young, with black hair and beard but otherwise a gray eminence, riding a gray mare and wearing silver foxes' tails on a gray silk tunic. One hundred and fifty paces from the throne he was stopped by Khuff, who helped him dismount and conducted him to the throne for the kissing of Al\u0101's feet.\n\nThat accomplished, the ambassador presented the Shah with lavish gifts from his own sovereign, including a large crystal lantern, nine small crystal looking-glasses set into gold frames, one hundred and twenty yards of purple cloth, twenty bottles of fine scent, and fifty sables.\n\nBarely interested, Al\u0101 welcomed the Armenian to the court and bade him thank his most gracious lord for the gifts.\n\nNext, in rode the ambassador from the Khazars, to be met by Khuff, and the whole performance was played again, save that the gift of the Khazar king was three fine Arabian horses and a chained baby lion that was not tamed, so that in its fright the beast shat upon the gold and silk carpet.\n\nThe hall was still, awaiting the Shah's reaction. Al\u0101 did not frown or smile, but waited as slaves and servants hastened to remove the offending matter, the gifts, and the Khazar. The courtiers at the Shah's feet sat on their cushions like inanimate statues, their eyes on the King of Kings. They were shadows, ready to move with Al\u0101's body. At last there was an imperceptible signal and a general relaxing as the next envoy, from the Am\u012br of Qarmatia, was announced and rode a reddish-brown horse into the hall.\n\nRob continued to stand and gaze respectfully, but within himself he turned from the court and began to do his lessons, silently reviewing. The four elements: earth, water, fire and air; the qualities recognized by touch: cold, heat, dryness, and moisture; the temperaments: sanguineous, phlegmatic, choleric, and saturnine; the faculties: natural, animal, and vital.\n\nHe pictured the separate parts of the eye as Hunayn listed them, named seven herbs and medications that were recommended for agues and eighteen for fevers, even recited several times the first nine stanzas of the Qu'ran's third sura, entitled \"The Family of 'Imran.\"\n\nHe was becoming pleased with this preoccupation when it was interrupted, and he saw that Khuff was engaged in a tight exchange of words with an imperious white-haired old man on a nervous chestnut stallion.\n\n\"I am presented last because I am of the Seljuk Turks, a deliberate slight to my people!\"\n\n\"Someone must be last, Hadad Khan, and this day it is Your Excellency,\" the Captain of the Gates said calmly.\n\nIn a high fury, the Seljuk attempted to move the large horse past Khuff and ride to the throne. The grizzled old soldier chose to pretend that the steed and not the rider was at fault. \"Ho!\" Khuff shouted. He grasped the bridle and struck the horse sharply and repeatedly across the nose with his baton, causing the animal to whinny and step back.\n\nSoldiers controlled the chestnut as Khuff helped Hadad Khan to dismount with hands that were not overly gentle, and walked the ambassador to the throne.\n\nThe Seljuk performed the ravi zemin perfunctorily and in a shaking voice offered the greetings of his leader, Toghrul-beg, presenting no gifts.\n\nAl\u0101 Shah said no word to him, but dismissed him coldly with a wave of his hand, and the proceedings were done.\n\nSave for the Seljuk ambassador and the shitting lion, Rob thought the court had been exceedingly dull.\n\nIt would have pleased him to make the little house in Yehuddiyyeh better than it had been when Al\u0101 Shah bestowed it on him. The work would have taken a few days at most, but an hour had become a precious commodity, and so the windowsills went unrepaired, the cracked walls remained unplastered, the apricot trees were not pruned, and the garden was rank with weeds.\n\nFrom Hinda, the woman merchant in the Jewish market, he bought three mezuzot, the little wooden tubes containing tiny rolled parchments of Scripture. They were part of his disguise; he affixed them to the right-hand post of each of his doors, no less than one handbreadth from the top, as he remembered mezuzot had been placed in the Jewish houses of Tryavna.\n\nHe described what he wanted to an Indian carpenter and drew sketches in the earth, and with no difficulty the man made him a rough-hewn olivewood table and a pine chair in the European style. He bought a few cooking utensils from a coppersmith. Otherwise, he bothered so little about the house he might have been living in a cave.\n\nWinter was coming. The afternoons were still hot but the night air that drifted through the windows turned raw, announcing the change in season. He found several inexpensive sheepskins in the Armenian market and bedded in them gratefully.\n\nOn a Friday evening, his neighbor Yaakob ben Rashi the shoemaker prevailed upon Rob to come to his home for the Sabbath meal. It was a modest but comfortable house, and at first Rob enjoyed the hospitality. Naoma, Yaakob's wife, covered her face and said the blessing over the tapers. The buxom daughter, Lea, served the good meal of river fish, stewed fowl, pilah, and wine. Lea mostly kept her eyes modestly downcast, but several times she smiled at Rob. She was of marriageable age and twice during the dinner her father made careful hints about a sizable dowry. There seemed to be general disappointment when Rob thanked them and left early to return to his books.\n\nHis life developed a pattern. Daily religious observance was compulsory for madrassa students but Jews were allowed to attend their own services, so each morning he went to the House of Peace Synagogue. The Hebrew of the shaharit prayers had become familiar but many of them were still as untranslatable as nonsense syllables; nonetheless, the swaying and chanting was a soothing way to begin his day.\n\nMornings were taken up by lectures in philosophy and religion that he attended with grim purposefulness, and a host of medical courses.\n\nHe was getting better at the Persian language, but there were times during a lecture when he was forced to ask the meaning of a word or an idiom. Sometimes the other students explained but often they didn't.\n\nOne morning Sayyid Sa'di, the philosophy teacher, mentioned the gashtagh-daftaran.\n\nRob leaned toward Abbas Sefi, who sat next to him. \"What is gashtagh-daftaran?\"\n\nBut the plump medical clerk merely cast him an annoyed look and shook his head.\n\nRob felt a poke in his back. When he turned he saw Karim Harun on the stone tier behind and above him. Karim grinned. \"An order of ancient scribes,\" he whispered. \"They recorded the history of astrology and early Persian science.\" The seat next to him was empty and he pointed to it.\n\nRob moved. From then on, when he attended a lecture he looked about; if Karim was there, they sat together.\n\nThe best part of his day was the afternoon, when he worked in the maristan. This became even better in his third month at the school, when it was his turn to examine new patients. The admission process amazed him with its complexity. Al-Juzjani showed him how it was done.\n\n\"Listen well, for this is an important task.\"\n\n\"Yes, Hakim.\" He had learned always to listen well to al-Juzjani, for almost at once he had known that, next to Ibn Sina, al-Juzjani was the best physician in the maristan. Half a dozen people had told him al-Juzjani had been Ibn Sina's assistant and lieutenant most of their lives, but al-Juzjani spoke with his own authority.\n\n\"You must make note of the patient's entire history, and at first opportunity you will review it in detail with a senior physician.\"\n\nEach ill person was asked about his occupation, habits, exposure to contagious diseases, and chest, stomach, and urinary complaints. All clothing was removed and a physical scrutiny was done, including appropriate inspection of sputum, vomit, urine, and feces, an assessment of the pulse, and an attempt to detect fever by the warmth of the skin.\n\nAl-Juzjani showed him how to run his hands over both the patient's arms at the same time, then both legs, then each side of the body together, so that any defect, swelling, or other irregularity would be revealed because it felt different from the normal limb or side. And how to strike the patient's body with sharp, short blows of the fingertips in an attempt to discover illness by hearing an abnormal sound. Much of this was new and strange to Rob, but he quickly became familiar with the routine and found it easy because he had worked with patients for years.\n\nHis difficult time began early in the evening, after he had arrived back in his house in Yehuddiyyeh, for that is when the battle began between the need to study and the need to sleep. Aristotle proved to be a sapient old Greek and Rob learned that if a subject was captivating, studying changed from a chore to a pleasure. It was a momentous discovery, perhaps the single thing that allowed him to work as doggedly as necessary, for Sayyid Sa'di quickly assigned him readings from Plato and Heraclitus; and al-Juzjani, as casually as if he were requesting another log on the fire, asked him to read the twelve books dealing with medicine in Pliny's Historia naturalis\u2014\"as preparation for reading all of Galen next year\"!\n\nThere was constantly Qu'ran to memorize. The more he consigned to his memory, the more resentful he became. Qu'ran was the official compilation of the preachings of the Prophet, and Muhammed's message had been essentially the same for years on end. The book was repetition upon repetition, and filled with calumny against Jews and Christians.\n\nBut he persevered. He sold the donkey and the mule so he wouldn't have to spend time tending and feeding them. He ate his meals quickly and without pleasure, and frivolity had no place in his life. Each night he read until he could read no more, and he learned to put minuscule amounts of oil in his lamps, so they would burn themselves out after his head dropped into his arms and he slept over his books at the table. Now he knew why God had given him a great, strong body and good eyes, for he taxed himself to the limit of his endurance as he sought to make himself a scholar."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 52",
                "text": "One evening, aware only that he could study no more and must escape, he fled the little house in Yehuddiyyeh and plunged into the night life of the maidans.\n\nHe had grown accustomed to the great municipal squares as they were during the day, sunbaked open spaces with a few people strolling or curled asleep in a patch of shade. But he found that by night the squares became seamy and alive, riotous celebrations jam-packed with the males of common-class Persia.\n\nEveryone appeared to be talking and laughing at once, producing a clamor louder than several Glastonbury Fairs. A group of singing jugglers used five balls and were droll and adept, making him want to join them. Muscular wrestlers, their heavy bodies gleaming with animal grease to make it difficult for opponents to gain a hold, struggled while onlookers screamed advice at them and made wagers. Puppeteers performed a lewd play, acrobats leaped and somersaulted, hucksters of a variety of food and wares vied for the passing trade.\n\nRob stopped in a torchlit bookstall, where the first volume he examined was a collection of drawings. Each sketch showed the same man and woman, cleverly depicted in a variety of lovemaking positions he had never met even in his imagination.\n\n\"The entire sixty-four in pictures, master,\" the bookseller said.\n\nRob hadn't the slightest idea what the sixty-four were. He knew it was against Islamic law to sell or own pictures of the human form because Qu'ran said Allah (exalted is He!) was the one and only creator of life. But he was captivated by the book and bought it.\n\nHe went next to a refreshment place where the air was thick with babble and ordered wine.\n\n\"No wine. This is chai-khana, a tea house,\" the effeminate waiter said. \"You may have chai or sherbet, or rose water boiled with cardamons.\"\n\n\"What is chai?\"\n\n\"Excellent drink. It comes from India, I think. Or perhaps it is carried to us down the Silk Road.\"\n\nRob ordered chai and a dish of sweetmeats.\n\n\"We have a private place. You wish a boy?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nWhen the refreshment came the drink was very hot, an amber-colored liquid with a flat, mouth-puckering taste; Rob couldn't decide whether he liked it, but the sweetmeats were very good. From the upper galleries of the arcades near the maidan came plangent melody, and when he looked across the square he saw that the music was being played on polished copper trumpets eight feet long. He sat in the dimly lighted chai-khana, gazing out at the crowd and drinking chai after chai, until a storyteller began to regale the patrons with a tale of Jamshid, the fourth of the hero kings. Mythology attracted Rob not much more than pederasty, and he paid the waiter and wove his way through the crowd until he was at the edge of the maidan. For a while he stood and watched the mule-drawn carriages that were driven slowly around and around the square, for he had heard of them from other students.\n\nFinally he hailed a well-kept coach with a lily painted on its door.\n\nInside, it was dark. The woman waited until the mules had begun to draw the carriage before she moved.\n\nSoon he could see her well enough to know that the plump body was old enough to have mothered him. During the act he liked her, for she was an honest whore; she made no simulations of passion or pretense of enjoyment, but cared for him gently and with skill.\n\nAfterward, the woman pulled a cord, signifying completion, and the pimp on the box drew the mules to a halt.\n\n\"Take me to Yehuddiyyeh,\" Rob called. \"I'll pay for her time.\"\n\nThey lay companionably in the swaying coach. \"What are you called?\" he asked.\n\n\"Lorna.\" Well trained, she didn't ask his name.\n\n\"I am Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\n\"Well met, Dhimmi,\" she said shyly, and touched the tightened muscles in his shoulders. \"Why are these like knots of rope? What do you dread, a great young man like you?\"\n\n\"I fear I'm an ox when I must be a fox,\" he said, smiling in the dark.\n\n\"You are no ox, as I have learned,\" she said drily. \"What is your trade?\"\n\n\"I study in the maristan, to be a physician.\"\n\n\"Ah. Like the Chief of Princes. My own cousin has been his first wife's cook as long as Ibn Sina has been in Ispahan.\"\n\n\"You know his daughter's name?\" he said after a moment.\n\n\"There is no daughter, Ibn Sina has no children. He has two wives, Reza the Pious, who is old and sickly, and Despina the Ugly, who is young and beautiful, but Allah (exalted is He!) has blessed neither woman with issue.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Rob said.\n\nHe used her once more in comfortable fashion before the carriage reached Yehuddiyyeh. Then he directed the driver to his door and paid them well for making it possible for him to go inside and light his lamps and face his best friends and worst enemies, the books."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE SHAH'S ENTERTAINMENT",
                "text": "He was in a city and surrounded by people but it was a solitary existence. Each morning he came into contact with the other clerks, and each evening he left them. He knew that Karim and Abbas and some of the others lived in cells at the madrassa and he assumed that Mirdin and the other Jewish students lived somewhere in Yehuddiyyeh, but he had no idea what any of their lives were like away from the school and the hospital. Much like his own, he supposed, filled with reading and study. He was too busy to be lonely.\n\nHe spent only twelve weeks admitting new patients to the hospital, then he was assigned to something he loathed, for apprentice physicians took turns servicing the Islamic court on days when sentences were carried out by the kelonter.\n\nHis stomach roiled the first time he returned to the jail and walked past the carcans.\n\nA guard led him to a dungeon where a man lay tossing and moaning. Where the prisoner's right hand should have been, a hempen cord bound a coarse blue rag to a stump, above which the forearm was dreadfully swollen.\n\n\"Can you hear me? I am Jesse.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord,\" the man muttered.\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\n\"I am Djahel.\"\n\n\"Djahel, how long since they took your hand?\"\n\nThe man shook his head in bewilderment.\n\n\"Two weeks,\" the guard said.\n\nRemoving the rag, Rob found a packing of horse dung. As a barbersurgeon he had often seen dung used in this way and he knew it was seldom beneficial and perhaps was harmful. He shook it off.\n\nThe top of the forearm next to the amputation was ligated with another piece of hemp. Owing to the swelling, the cord had sunk into the tissue and the arm was beginning to turn black. Rob cut the cord and washed the stump slowly and carefully. He anointed it with a mixture of sandalwood and rose water and packed it in camphor in place of the dung, leaving Djahel groaning but relieved.\n\nThat was the best part of his day, for he was led from the dungeons to the prison courtyard for the beginning of the punishments.\n\nThey were much as he had witnessed them during his own confinement, save that while in the carcan he had been able to retreat into unconsciousness. Now he stood stonily among mullahs who chanted prayers while a muscular guard lifted an oversized curved sword. The prisoner, a gray-faced man who had been convicted of fomenting treason and sedition, was forced to kneel and lay his cheek against the block.\n\n\"I love the Shah! I kiss his sacred feet!\" the kneeling man screamed in a vain attempt to avert the sentence, but no one answered him and the sword was already whistling. The blow was clean and the head rolled to come to rest against a carcan, the eyes still protruding in anguished fear.\n\nThe remains were removed and then a young man who had been caught with another's wife had his belly opened. This time the same executioner wielded a long, slim dagger, a ripping from left to right that efficiently spilled the adulterer's bowels.\n\nFortunately, there were no murderers, who would have been drawn and quartered, then set out to be consumed by dogs and carrion birds.\n\nRob's services began to be required after the minor punishments.\n\nA thief who was not yet a man soiled himself in his fright and pain as his hand was taken. There was a jar of hot pitch but Rob didn't need it, for the force of the amputation sealed the stump, which he had only to wash and dress.\n\nHe had a messier time with a fat, weeping woman who had been convicted of mocking the Qu'ran for the second time and thus was deprived of her tongue. The red poured through her hoarse, wordless screaming until he succeeded in pinching off a blood vessel.\n\nWithin him there was a lush blossoming of hatred for Muslim justice and Qandrasseh's court.\n\n\"This is one of your most important tools,\" Ibn Sina told the medical students solemnly. He held up the urine glass, which he had told them was properly called a matula. It was bell-shaped, with a wide, curved lip designed to catch urine. Ibn Sina had trained a glass-blower to make the matulae for his doctors and students.\n\nRob had known that if urine contained blood or pus, something was wrong. But Ibn Sina already had lectured for two weeks on urine alone!\n\nWas it thin or viscous? The subtleties of odor were weighed and discussed. Was there the treacly hint of sugar? The chalky smell that suggested the presence of stones? The sourness of a wasting sickness? Or merely the rank grassiness of someone who has eaten asparagus?\n\nWas the flow copious, which meant the body was flushing out the disease, or sparing, which could signify that internal fevers were drying up the system's fluids?\n\nAs to color, Ibn Sina taught them to look at urine with an artist's eye for the palette, twenty-one nuances of color, from clear through yellow, dark ocher, red and brown, to black, showing the various combinations of contenta, or undissolved components.\n\nWhy all this fuss about piss? Rob asked himself wearily. \"Why is the urine so important?\" he asked.\n\nIbn Sina smiled. \"It comes from within, where important things happen.\" The master physician read them a selection from Galen which indicated that the kidneys were the organs for separating out the urine:\n\nAny butcher knows this from the fact that he sees every day the position of the kidneys and the duct (called the ureter) which runs from each kidney into the bladder and by studying this anatomy he reasons what their use is and the nature of their functions.\n\nThe lecture left Rob enraged. Physicians shouldn't need to consult with butchers, or learn from dead sheep and pigs how humans were constructed. If it was so bloody important to know what was happening within men and women, why didn't they look within men and women? If Qandrasseh's mullahs could be blithely evaded for coupling or a drunken binge, why didn't physicians dare to ignore the holy men to gain knowledge? No one spoke of eternal mutilation or the quickening of the dead when a religious court cut off a prisoner's head or hand or tongue or slit his belly.\n\nEarly next morning two of Khuff's palace guardsmen, driving a mule cart laden with food supplies, stopped in Yehuddiyyeh to fetch Rob.\n\n\"His Majesty will go visiting today, master, and commands your company,\" one of the soldiers said.\n\nWhat now? Rob asked himself.\n\n\"The Captain of the Gates urges you to hurry.\" The soldier cleared his throat discreetly. \"Perhaps it would be best if the master were to change into his best clothing.\"\n\n\"I am wearing my best clothing,\" Rob said, and they sat him in the back of the cart atop some sacks of rice and hurried him away.\n\nThey traveled out of the city in a line of traffic consisting of courtiers on horseback and in sedan chairs, mingled with all manner of wagons transporting equipment and supplies. Despite his homely perch Rob felt regal, for he had never before been conveyed over roads newly graveled and freshly watered. One side of the road, where the soldiers said only the Shah would travel, was strewn with flowers.\n\nThe journey ended at the home of Rotun bin Nasr, general of the army, distant cousin to Al\u0101 Shah and honorary governor of the madrassa. \"That is he,\" one of the soldiers told Rob, pointing out a beaming fat man, voluble and posturing.\n\nThe handsome estate had extensive grounds. The party would begin in a commodious groomed garden, in the center of which a great marble fountain splashed. All around the pool tapestries of silk and gold had been spread, strewn with cushions of rich embroidery. Servants hurried everywhere, carrying trays of sweetmeats, pastries, perfumed wines, and scented waters. Outside a gate at one side of the garden, a eunuch bearing an unsheathed sword guarded the Third Gate, leading to the haram. Under Muslim law only the master of a house was allowed in the women's apartment and any male transgressor could have his belly ripped, so Rob was happy to move away from the Third Gate. The soldiers had made it clear that he wasn't expected to unload the cart or otherwise work, and he meandered outside the garden into an adjacent open area crowded with beasts, noblemen, slaves, servants, and an army of entertainers who appeared all to be rehearsing at the same time.\n\nA nobility of four-legged creatures had been assembled. Tethered twenty paces apart were a dozen of the finest white Arabian stallions he had ever seen, nervous and proud, with brave dark eyes. Their trappings were worthy of close inspection, for four of the bridles were adorned with emeralds, two with rubies, three with diamonds, and three with a mixture of colored stones he couldn't identify. The horses were clad in low-hanging, blanketlike garments of gold brocade set with pearls, and tethered with tresses of silk and gold to rings atop thick gold nails that had been driven into the ground.\n\nThirty paces from the horses were wild beasts: two lions, a tiger, and a leopard, all magnificent specimens, each on its own large piece of scarlet tapestry, tethered in the same manner as the horses and with a golden water bowl.\n\nIn a pen beyond, half a dozen white antelopes with long horns straight as arrows\u2014unlike any deer in England!\u2014stood together and nervously eyed the cats, which blinked at them sleepily.\n\nBut Rob spent little time with these animals and disregarded gladiators, wrestlers, bowmen, and the like, pushing past them toward a huge object that immediately captured his attention, until finally he stood within touching distance of his first live elephant.\n\nIt was even more massive than he had expected, far larger than the brazen elephant statues he had seen in Constantinople. The beast stood half again higher than a tall man. Each of its four legs was a stout column ending in a perfectly round foot. Its wrinkled hide seemed too large for its body and was gray, with large pink splotches like patches of lichen on a rock. Its arched back was higher than the shoulder or the rump, from which dangled a thick rope of tail with a frazzled end. The enormous head caused its pink eyes to seem tiny in comparison, although they weren't smaller than a horse's eyes. On the sloping forehead were two little humps, as if horns were unsuccessfully striving to break through. Each gently waving ear was almost as large as a warrior's shield, but the most extraordinary feature of this extraordinary creature was its nose, which was longer and thicker by far than its tail.\n\nThe elephant was cared for by a small-boned Indian in a gray tunic and white turban, sash, and trousers, who told Rob upon questioning that he was Harsha, a mahout or elephant tender. The elephant was Al\u0101 Shah's personal combat mount and was named Zi, short for Zi-ul-Quarnayn or \"Two-Horned One,\" in honor of the wicked bone protuberances, curved and as long as Rob was tall, that extended from the monster's upper jaw.\n\n\"When we go into battle,\" the Indian said proudly, \"Zi wears his own mail and long, sharp swords are fixed on his tusks. He is trained to the onslaught, so that the charge of His Excellency on his trumpeting war elephant is sight and sound to chill any enemy's blood.\"\n\nThe mahout kept servants busy carrying buckets of water. These were emptied into a large gold vessel from which the animal sucked water into its nose and then sprayed it into its mouth!\n\nRob stayed near the elephant until a flourish of drums and cymbals announced the arrival of the Shah, then he returned to the garden with the other guests.\n\nAl\u0101 Shah wore simple white clothing, in contrast to the guests, who might have been costumed for an affair of state. He acknowledged the ravi zemin with a nod and took his place on a sumptuous chair above the cushions near the pool.\n\nThe entertainment began with a demonstration by swordsmen wielding scimitars with such strength and grace that the assemblage fell quiet and gave their attention to the clash of steel on steel, the stylized circling of a combat exercise as ritualized as a dance. Rob noted that the scimitar was lighter than the English sword and heavier than the French; it required both a duelist's skill at the thrust and strong wrists and arms for hacking. He was sorry when the display came to an end.\n\nAcrobat-magicians made a great and busy show of planting a seed in the earth, watering it, and covering it with a cloth. Behind a screen of tumbling bodies, just at the climax of their acrobatics, one of them swept off the cloth, jabbed a leafy twig into the ground, and covered it again. Both the diversion and the deception were nakedly apparent to Rob, who had been watching for them, and he was amused when finally the cloth was removed and people applauded \"the magical growing tree.\"\n\nAl\u0101 Shah was visibly restless as wrestling began. \"My longbow,\" he called.\n\nWhen it arrived he strung and unstrung it, showing his courtiers how easily he bent the heavy weapon. Those nearest him murmured their admiration at his strength, while others took advantage of the relaxed mood to converse, and now Rob learned the reason for his invitation; as a European, he was as much a displayed oddity as any of the animals or the entertainers, and the Persians regaled him with questions.\n\n\"Do you have a Shah in your country, that place \u2026?\"\n\n\"England. Yes, a king. His name is Canute.\"\n\n\"Are the men of your country warriors and horsemen?\" an old man with wise eyes asked curiously.\n\n\"Yes, yes, great warriors, fine horsemen.\"\n\n\"What of the weather and climate?\"\n\nColder and wetter than here, he told them.\n\n\"What of the food?\"\n\n\"It is different from yours, not so many spices. We do not have pilah.\"\n\nIt shocked them. \"No pilah,\" the old man said with contempt.\n\nThey surrounded him, but out of inquisitiveness rather than friendship, and he felt an isolation in their midst.\n\nAl\u0101 Shah rose from his chair. \"Let us to the horses!\" he exclaimed impatiently, and the crowd streamed after him to a nearby field, leaving the wrestlers still grunting and tugging at one another.\n\n\"Ball-and-stick, ball-and-stick!\" someone called, and there was immediate applause.\n\n\"So, let us play,\" the Shah agreed, and chose three men to be his teammates and four men to oppose them.\n\nThe horses that were led onto the field by grooms were tough little ponies at least a hand smaller than the pampered white stallions. When all were mounted, each player was given a long, limber stick that ended in a crook.\n\nAt each end of the long field were two stone columns, about eight paces apart. Each team cantered its horses to these goals and lined up in front of them, the riders facing one another like opposing armies. An army officer who would serve as judge stood off to the side and rolled a wooden ball, about the size of an Exmouth apple, into the center of the field.\n\nThe people began to shout. The horses hurtled toward one another at a dead gallop, the riders screaming and brandishing their sticks.\n\nGod, Rob J. thought in terror. Look out, look out! Three of the horses came together with a sickening sound and one of them went down and rolled over, sending its rider flying. The Shah brought his stick around and stroked the wooden ball soundly, and the horses plunged after it with flying sward and a pounding of hooves.\n\nThe fallen horse was neighing shrilly as it struggled to stand on a broken hock. A dozen grooms came and cut its throat and dragged it from the field before its rider had gained his feet. He was holding his left arm and grinning through clenched teeth.\n\nRob thought the arm might be broken, and approached the injured man. \"Shall I help you?\"\n\n\"You are a physician?\"\n\n\"A barbersurgeon and a student at the maristan.\"\n\nThe noble grimaced at him in amazed disgust. \"No, no. We must summon al-Juzjani,\" he said, and they led him away.\n\nAnother horse and man had joined the game at once. The eight riders apparently had forgotten they were playing and not fighting a battle. They battered their mounts against one another, and in their attempts to flail at the ball and drive it between the goalposts, they struck dangerously close to their opponents and the horses. Even their own mounts weren't safe from their sticks, for the Shah often stroked at the ball close behind his horse's flying hooves and beneath the beast's belly.\n\nThe Shah was given no quarter. Men who undoubtedly would have been slain if they had directed a cross look at their sovereign lord now apparently were doing their best to maim him, and from the grunts and whispers of the spectators, Rob J. judged that they wouldn't have been displeased if Al\u0101 Shah were struck or thrown.\n\nHe was not. Like the others, the Shah rode recklessly, but with a skill numbing to watch, directing his pony without using his hands, which held the stick, and with little apparent gripping of his legs. Instead, Al\u0101 maintained a strong, confident seat and rode as if he were an extension of his horse. It was a standard of horseback riding Rob had never met, and he thought with hot embarrassment of the old man who had asked about English horsemanship and had been assured of its excellence.\n\nThe horses were a wonder, for they followed after the ball without slackening speed but could wheel instantly and gallop in the opposite direction, and time and again only this fine control prevented horses and riders from careening into the stone goalposts.\n\nThe air became choked with dust and the spectators screamed themselves hoarse. Drums were pounded and cymbals jangled ecstatically when someone scored, and presently the Shah's team had driven the ball between the posts five times to their opponents' three, and the game was over. Al\u0101's eyes glistened with satisfaction as he dismounted, for he had scored twice himself. In celebration, as the ponies were led away two young bulls were staked in the center of the field and two lions were turned loose upon them. The contest was puzzlingly unfair, for no sooner had the great cats been released than the bulls were pulled down by their handlers and brained with axes, the felines then being allowed to tear the still-quivering flesh.\n\nRealization came to Rob that this human assistance was given because Al\u0101 Shah was the Lion of Persia. It would have been unseemly and the most evil of portents if, by mischance during his own entertainment, a mere bull had gained victory over the symbol of the stalwart might of the King of Kings.\n\nIn the garden, four veiled females swayed and danced to the music of pipers while a poet sang of the houri, the fresh and sensuous virgin women of Paradise.\n\nThe Imam Qandrasseh could have had no objection; though occasionally the curve of a buttock or a thrusting of breast could be seen in the loose stuff of their voluminous black dresses, only the gesturing hands were uncovered, and the feet, rubbed red with henna at which the assembled nobles stared hungrily, reminded of other hennaed places hidden by the black cloth.\n\nAl\u0101 Shah rose from his chair and walked away from those around the pool, past the eunuch holding his naked sword, and into the haram.\n\nRob seemed to be the only one staring after the king as Khuff, the Captain of the Gates, came up and began to guard the Third Gate with the eunuch. The level of bright conversation rose; nearby, General Rotun bin Nasr, the host of the king's entertainment and the master of the house, laughed too loudly at his own joke, as if Al\u0101 had not just gone in to his wives in full view of half the court.\n\nIs this, then, what may be expected of the Most Powerful Master of the Universe? Rob asked himself.\n\nIn an hour the Shah was back, looking benign. Khuff slipped away from the Third Gate and gave an imperceptible sign, and the feasting began.\n\nThe finest white plate was set on cloths of Qum brocade. Bread of four sorts was brought, and eleven kinds of pilah in silver basins so large a single dish would have served the assemblage. The rice in each basin was of a different color and flavor, having respectively been prepared with saffron, or sugar, or peppers, or cinnamon, or cloves, or rhubarb, or pomegranate juice, or the juice of citrons. Four of the enormous trenchers each contained twelve fowl, two contained braised haunches of antelope, one was heaped high with broiled mutton, and four contained whole lambs that had been cooked on a spit to a tender, juicy crackliness.\n\nBarber, Barber, a pity you are not here!\n\nFor one who had been taught the appreciation of savory food by such a master, in recent months Rob had had more than his share of hurried, spartan meals in order to devote himself to the scholar's life. Now he sighed and tasted everything with a will.\n\nAs the long shadows turned to dusk, slaves fixed great tapers to the horny carapaces of living tortoises and lighted them. Four oversized kettles were carried in, each hauled from the kitchen on poles; one was full of hens' eggs made into a cream pudding, one held a rich clear soup with herbs, another was filled with hashed meat made pungent with spices, and the last with slabs of fried fish of a type unfamiliar to Rob, the meat white and flaky like plaice but with the delicacy of trout.\n\nShadows turned to darkness. Night birds cried; otherwise the only sounds were soft murmurings, belches, the tearing and crunching of food. Once in a while a tortoise sighed and moved, and the light cast by its candle shifted and flickered, like the moon's glow shivering on water.\n\nAnd still they ate.\n\nThere was a plate of winter salad, root herbs preserved in brine. And a bowl of summer salad, including Roman lettuce and bitter, peppery greens he had never tasted before.\n\nA deep porringer was set before each person and filled with a sweet-and-sour sherbet. And now servants bore in goatskins of wine, and cups, and dishes of pastries and honeyed nuts and salted seeds.\n\nRob sat alone and sipped the good wine, neither speaking nor addressed, watching and listening to everything with the same curiosity with which he had tasted the food.\n\nThe goatskins were emptied of wine and full ones were brought, an inexhaustible supply from the Shah's own storehouse. People rose and went off to relieve themselves or to vomit. Some were sodden and inert from drink.\n\nThe tortoises moved together, perhaps out of nervousness, pooling the light in a corner and leaving the rest of the garden in darkness. Accompanied by a lyre, a boy eunuch with a high, sweet voice sang of warriors and love, ignoring the fact that near him two men were fighting.\n\n\"Slit of a whore,\" one of them snarled drunkenly.\n\n\"Face of a Jew!\" the other spat.\n\nThey grappled and rolled, till they were separated and dragged off.\n\nEventually the Shah became nauseated and then unconscious, and was carried to his carriage.\n\nAfter that Rob slipped away. There was no moon and the way from Rotun bin Nasr's estate was hard to follow. Out of a deep and bitter urge, he walked on the Shah's side of the road and once stopped to piss long and satisfyingly on the strewn flowers.\n\nHorsemen and driven conveyances passed him but no one offered a ride, and it took him hours to return to Ispahan. The sentry had grown accustomed to stragglers returning from the Shah's entertainment, and the soldier waved him wearily through the gate.\n\nHalfway across Ispahan Rob stopped and sat on a low wall and contemplated this strangest of cities, where everything was forbidden by the Qu'ran and committed by the people. A man was allowed four wives but most men seemed willing to risk death to sleep with other women, while Al\u0101 Shah openly fucked whomever he pleased. Taking wine was proscribed by the Prophet as a sin, yet there was a national craving for wine and a large percentage of the populace drank to excess, and the Shah owned a vast storehouse of fine vintages.\n\nMusing on the puzzle that was Persia, he went home on unsteady legs under pearling skies and to the lovely sound of the muezzin from the minaret of the Friday Mosque."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE MEDICAL PARTY",
                "text": "Ibn Sina was accustomed to the pious doomsaying of Imam Qandrasseh, who could not control the Shah but who had been warning his advisers with increasing stridency that wine-drinking and licentiousness would bring retribution from a force higher than the throne. To this end the Vizier had been collecting intelligence from abroad and presenting a pattern of evidence that Allah (all-powerful is He!) was furious with sinners all over the earth.\n\nTravelers along the Silk Road had brought word of disastrous earthquakes and pestilential fogs in the part of China watered by the Kiang and Hoai rivers. In India, a year of drought had been followed by plentiful spring rain, but the burgeoning crops were devoured by a plague of locusts. Great storms had battered the coast of the Arabian Sea, causing flooding that drowned many, while in Egypt there was famine due to the failure of the Nile to rise to the requisite level. In Maluchistan, a smoking mountain opened and spewed forth a river of molten rock. Two mullahs in Nain reported that demons appeared to them in their sleep. Exactly one month before the fast of Ramadan there was a partial eclipse of the sun, and then the heavens appeared to burn; strange celestial fires were observed.\n\nThe worst portent of Allah's displeasure came from the royal astrologers, who reported with great trepidation that within two months there would be a grand conjunction of the three superior planets, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars, in the sign of Aquarius. There were disputes about the exact date when this would occur, but no disagreement about its gravity. Even Ibn Sina heard the news gravely, for he knew that Aristotle had written of the menace inherent in the conjunction of Mars and Jupiter.\n\nSo it seemed preordained when Qandrasseh summoned Ibn Sina one bright, terrible morning and told him pestilence had broken out in Sh\u012br\u0101z, the largest city in the territory of Anshan.\n\n\"What pestilence?\"\n\n\"The Death,\" the Imam said.\n\nIbn Sina blanched and hoped the Imam was wrong, for the Death had been absent from Persia for three hundred years. But his mind went directly to the problem. \"Soldiers must be ordered down the Spice Road at once, to turn back all caravans and travelers coming from the south. And we must send a medical party to Anshan.\"\n\n\"We do not gain very much from Anshan in taxes,\" the Imam said, but Ibn Sina shook his head.\n\n\"It is in our self-interest to contain the disease, for the Death moves readily from place to place.\"\n\nBy the time he had returned to his own home, Ibn Sina had decided he couldn't send a group of his own colleagues, for if the plague should reach Ispahan the physicians would be needed in their own territory. Instead, he would select one physician and a party of apprentices.\n\nThe emergency should be used to temper the best and the strongest, he decided. After some consideration, Ibn Sina took quill, ink, and paper and wrote:\n\n\u2003Hakim Fadil ibn Parviz, leader\n\n\u2003Suleiman-al-Gamal, third-year clerk\n\n\u2003Jesse ben Benjamin, first-year clerk\n\n\u2003Mirdin Askari, second-year clerk\n\nThe party should also contain some of the school's weakest candidates, in order to give them a single, Allah-sent opportunity to redeem their unfavorable records and go on to become physicians. To this end he added to the list the names:\n\n\u2003Omar Nivahend, third-year clerk\n\n\u2003Abbas Sefi, third-year clerk\n\n\u2003Ali Rashid, first-year clerk\n\n\u2003Karim Harun, seventh-year clerk.\n\nWhen the eight young men were assembled and the Chief Physician told them he was sending them to Anshan to fight the Death, they couldn't look at him or at one another; it was a form of embarrassment.\n\n\"You must each wear arms,\" Ibn Sina said, \"for it is impossible to determine how people will act when there is a plague.\"\n\nThere was a long, shuddering sigh from Ali Rashid. He was sixteen years old, a round-cheeked boy with soft eyes, so homesick for his family in Hamadh\u0101n that he wept day and night and couldn't apply himself to his studies.\n\nRob forced himself to concentrate on what Ibn Sina was saying.\n\n\"\u2026 We cannot tell you how to fight it, for it hasn't appeared in our lifetimes. But we have a book compiled three centuries ago by physicians who survived plagues in different places. We shall give this book to you. Doubtless it contains many theories and remedies of little value, but among them might be information that will be effective.\" Ibn Sina stroked his beard. \"Against the possibility that the Death is caused by atmospheric contamination from putrid effluvia, I think you must kindle huge fires of aromatic woods in the vicinity of both the sick and the healthy. The healthy should wash in wine or vinegar and sprinkle their houses with vinegar, and they should sniff camphor and other volatile substances.\n\n\"You who will care for the sick should do these things also. You would do well to hold vinegar-soaked sponges to your noses when you approach the afflicted, and to boil all water before drinking, to clarify it and separate off the impurities. And you must manicure your hands daily, for the Qu'ran says the Devil hides beneath the fingernails.\"\n\nIbn Sina cleared his throat. \"Those who survive this plague must not return immediately to Ispahan, lest you bring it here. You will go to a house which stands at Ibrahim's Rock, one day's distance to the east of the town of Nain, and three days' east of here. There you will rest for a month before coming home. Is it understood?\"\n\nThey nodded. \"Yes, Master,\" Hakim Fadil ibn Parviz said tremulously, speaking for all in his new position. Young Ali was weeping silently. Karim Harun's handsome face was dark with foreboding.\n\nFinally Mirdin Askari spoke up. \"My wife and children \u2026 I must make arrangements. To be certain they'll be all right if \u2026\"\n\nIbn Sina nodded. \"Those of you with responsibilities have only brief hours to make these arrangements.\"\n\nRob hadn't known Mirdin was married and a father. The Jewish clerk was private and self-reliant, sure of himself in the classroom as well as in the maristan. But now his lips were bloodless, and moved in silent prayer.\n\nRob J. was as frightened as any at being sent on this errand from which there might be no return, but he struggled for courage. At least he would no longer have to serve as leech at the jail, he told himself.\n\n\"One thing more,\" Ibn Sina said, gazing at them with a parent's eyes. \"You must keep careful notes, for those who will fight the next plague. And you must leave them where they will be found if something should happen to you.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 55",
                "text": "Next morning, as the sun bloodied the tops of the trees they clattered over the bridge across the River of Life, each man on a good horse and leading either a packhorse or a mule.\n\nAfter a while Rob suggested to Fadil that one man be sent ahead as scout and another ride far back as rear guard. The young hakim pretended to consider and then he bawled out the orders.\n\nThat night Fadil agreed at once when Rob suggested the same system of alternating sentries that had been employed by Kerl Fritta's caravan.\n\nSeated around a thornbush fire, they were by turns jocular and grim.\n\n\"I believe Galen was never so wise as when he considered a physician's best choice of action during plague,\" Suleiman-al-Gamal said darkly. \"Galen said a physician should flee the plague, to live to treat another day, and that is exactly what he did himself.\"\n\n\"I believe the great physician Rhazes said it better,\" Karim said.\n\n\u2003\"Three little words the plague dispel:\n\n\u2003Quick, far and late, where'er you dwell.\n\n\u2003Start quick, go far and right away,\n\n\u2003And your return till late delay.\"\n\n\u2003Their laughter was too loud.\n\nSuleiman was their first sentry. It should have been no great surprise the following morning when they awoke to discover he had slipped away during the night, taking his horses with him.\n\nIt shook them and filled them with gloom. When they made camp the following evening, Fadil named Mirdin Askari to be sentry, a good choice; Askari guarded them well.\n\nBut the sentry at their third camp was Omar Nivahend, who emulated Suleiman and fled with his horses during the night.\n\nFadil called a meeting as soon as the second desertion was discovered.\n\n\"It's no sin to be afraid of the Death, else each of us is eternally damned,\" he said. \"Nor, if you agree with Galen and Rhazes, is it a sin to flee\u2014though I side with Ibn Sina in thinking a physician should fight pestilence instead of showing it his heels.\n\n\"What is a sin is to leave your companions unguarded. And it is worse to steal off with a pack animal bearing supplies needed by the sick and the dying.\" He gazed at them levelly. \"Therefore, I say that if anyone else wishes to leave us, let him go now. And I promise on my honor that he will be allowed to do so without shame or prejudice.\"\n\nThey could hear each other's breathing. No one came forward.\n\nRob spoke up. \"Yes, anyone should be allowed to go. But if the departure leaves us sentryless and unguarded, or if he takes with him supplies needed by the patients toward whom we travel, I say we must ride after such a deserter and kill him.\"\n\nAgain there was a silence.\n\nMirdin licked his lips. \"I agree,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Fadil said.\n\n\"I agree also,\" said Abbas Sefi.\n\n\"And I,\" Ali whispered.\n\n\"And I!\" said Karim.\n\nEach of them knew it was no empty promise, but a solemn vow.\n\nTwo nights later, it was Rob J.'s turn to serve as sentry. They had made camp in a stony defile where moonshine created monsters of the looming rocks. It was a long and lonely night that gave him opportunity to think of sad things he otherwise managed to crowd out of his mind, and he dwelt on his brothers and his sister, and on those who were dead. He had long thoughts about the woman he had allowed to drift through his fingers.\n\nToward morning he was standing in the shadow of a great rock, not far from the sleeping men, when he became aware that one of them was awake and appeared to be making preparations for leaving.\n\nKarim Harun stole through the encampment, taking care not to disturb the sleepers. When he was clear, he began to run lightly down the trail, and soon he was out of sight.\n\nHarun had neither taken supplies nor left the party unguarded, and Rob made no attempt to stop him. But he felt a bitter disappointment, for he had begun to like the handsome and sardonic clerk who had been a medical student for so many years.\n\nPerhaps an hour later he drew his sword, alerted by the sound of pounding footsteps coming toward him in the gray light. He stood and confronted Karim, who stopped in front of him and gaped at the ready blade, his chest heaving and his face and tunic wet with sweat.\n\n\"I saw you leave. I believed you had run away.\"\n\n\"I did.\" Karim fought for breath. \"I ran away \u2026 and I ran back. I am a runner,\" he said, and smiled as Rob J. put away his sword.\n\nKarim ran every morning, returning to them drenched in sweat. Abbas Sefi told comical stories and sang filthy songs and was a cruel mimic. Hakim Fadil was a wrestler, and in their camps at night the leader threw them all, having trouble only with Rob and with Karim. Mirdin was the best cook among them and cheerfully accepted the duty of preparing the evening meals. Young Ali, who had Bedouin blood, was a dazzling horseman and loved nothing better than serving as scout, ranging far ahead of the party; soon his eyes shone with enthusiasm instead of tears and he displayed a youthful energy that endeared him to all.\n\nTheir growing companionship was pleasant and the long ride might have been enjoyable except that, in camp and during rest pauses, Hakim Fadil read to them from the Plague Book that Ibn Sina had entrusted to him. The book offered hundreds of suggestions by various authorities, all of whom claimed to know how to fight the plague. A man named Lamna of Cairo insisted that an infallible method was to give the patient his own urine to drink, at the same time reciting specified imprecations to Allah (glorified is He!).\n\nAl-Hajar of Baghdad suggested the sucking of an astringent pomegranate or plum at the time of an epidemic, and Ibn Mutillah of Jerusalem strongly recommended the eating of lentils, Indian peas, pumpkin seeds, and red clay. There were so many suggestions that each was made worthless to the bewildered medical party. Ibn Sina had written an addendum to the book, in which he had listed practices that seemed reasonable to him: the lighting of fires to create acrid smoke, washing down walls with limewater, sprinkling vinegar, and giving victims fruit juices to drink. In the end, they agreed to follow the regimen suggested by their teacher and to ignore all other advice.\n\nDuring a pause in the middle of the eighth day Fadil read from the book that, of every five physicians who had treated the Death during the Cairo plague, four had themselves died of the disease. A quiet melancholy took hold of them as they resumed the ride, as if they had been informed of the sealing of their fate.\n\nNext morning they came to a small village and learned it was Nardiz and that they had entered the district of Anshan.\n\nThe villagers treated them respectfully when Hakim Fadil announced they were physicians from Ispahan, sent by Al\u0101 Shah to help those afflicted by the plague.\n\n\"We do not have the pestilence, Hakim,\" the head of the village said thankfully. \"Although rumors have reached us of death and suffering in Sh\u012br\u0101z.\"\n\nNow they traveled expectantly, but they passed village after village and saw healthy people. In a mountain valley at Naksh-i-Rustam, they came to great rock-hewn tombs, the burial place of four generations of Persian kings. Here, overlooking their windswept valley, Darius the Great, Xerxes, Ataxerxes, and Darius II had lain for fifteen hundred years during which wars, pestilences, and conquerors had come and faded into nothingness. While the four Muslims paused for Second Prayer, Rob and Mirdin stood before one of the tombs in wonder as they read the inscription:\n\n\u2002I AM XERXES THE GREAT KING, THE KING OF KINGS,\n\n\u2002THE KING OF COUNTRIES OF MANY RACES,\n\n\u2002THE KING OF THE GREAT UNIVERSE, THE SON OF DARIUS THE KING,\n\n\u2002THE ACHAEMENIAN.\n\nThey rode past a great ruined place of broken fluted columns and strewn stone. Karim told Rob it was Persepolis, destroyed by Alexander the Great nine hundred years before the birth of the Prophet (may God bless him and greet him!).\n\nA short distance from the ancient remains of the town they came to a farm. It was quiet save for the bleating of a few sheep grazing beyond the house, a pleasant sound that carried cleanly through the sunlit air. A shepherd seated beneath a tree appeared to be watching them, and when they rode up to him they saw he was dead.\n\nThe hakim just sat his horse like the rest of them, staring at the body. When Fadil failed to take the lead, Rob dismounted and examined the man, whose flesh was blue and already hard and stiff. He had been dead too long for his staring eyes to be closed, and an animal had been gnawing at his legs and had eaten away his right hand. The front of his tunic was black with blood. When Rob took his knife and cut open the garment he could find no sign of plague but there was a stab wound over the heart, large enough to have been made by a sword.\n\n\"Search,\" Rob said.\n\nThe house proved to be deserted. In the field beyond, they found the remains of several hundred slaughtered sheep, many of the bones already picked clean by wolves. All about, the field was greatly trampled, and it was apparent that an army had stopped there long enough to kill the shepherd and take meat.\n\nFadil, his eyes glassy, didn't give a direction or an order.\n\nRob lay the body on its side and they mounded it over with stones and large rocks to preserve the rest of it from the beasts, then they were glad to ride from that place.\n\nEventually they came to a fine estate, a sumptuous house surrounded by cultivated fields. It too appeared deserted, but they dismounted.\n\nAfter Karim had knocked loudly and long, a peephole in the center of the door was opened and an eye stared out at them.\n\n\"Begone.\"\n\n\"We are a medical party from Ispahan, bound for Sh\u012br\u0101z,\" Karim said.\n\n\"I am Ishmael the Merchant. I can tell you few remain alive in Sh\u012br\u0101z. Seven weeks ago, an army of Seljuk Turkomen came to Anshan. Most of us fled before the Seljuks, taking women, children, and animals within the Sh\u012br\u0101z walls. The Seljuks beleaguered us. The Death already had broken out among them and they gave up the siege within a few days. But before they departed they sent the bodies of two of their plague-dead soldiers over the walls by catapult, into the crowded town. As soon as they were gone, we hastened to take the two corpses outside the wall and burn them, but it was too late, and the Death appeared among us.\"\n\nNow Hakim Fadil found his tongue. \"Is it a fearsome pestilence?\"\n\n\"No worse can be imagined,\" said the voice behind the door. \"Some persons appear to be immune to the disease, as was I, thanks be to Allah (whose mercy abounds!). But most who were within the walls are dead or dying.\"\n\n\"What of the physicians of Sh\u012br\u0101z?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"There were in the town two barbersurgeons and four physicians, all other leeches having fled as soon as the Seljuks departed. Both barbers and two of the physicians labored among the people until they too were dead, and quickly. One leech was down with the disease and only a single physician remained to care for the afflicted when I abandoned the city myself, not two days since.\"\n\n\"Then it appears that we are badly needed in Sh\u012br\u0101z,\" Karim said.\n\n\"I have a large clean house,\" the man said, \"stocked with ample supplies of food and wine, vinegar and lime, and a plentiful store of hemp plant to chase away troubles. I would open this house to you, for it is my protection to let in healers. In but a little while, when the pestilence has run its course, we can enter Sh\u012br\u0101z to our mutual profit. Who will join my safety?\"\n\nThere was a silence.\n\n\"I,\" Fadil said hoarsely.\n\n\"Do not do this, Hakim,\" Rob said.\n\n\"You are our leader and our only physician,\" Karim said.\n\nFadil didn't appear to hear them. \"I shall come inside, merchant.\"\n\n\"I shall come inside too,\" Abbas Sefi said.\n\nBoth men slid from their horses. There was the sound of a heavy bar being eased slowly free. They glimpsed a pale, bearded face as the door opened only far enough to allow the two men to slip inside, then it was slammed again and barred.\n\nThose outside stood like men adrift on the open sea. Karim looked at Rob. \"Perhaps they are right,\" he muttered. Mirdin said nothing, his face troubled and uncertain. The youth Ali was about to weep again.\n\n\"The Plague Book,\" Rob said, remembering that Fadil carried it in a large purse he wore on a strap around his neck. He went to the door and hammered on it.\n\n\"Go away,\" Fadil said. He sounded terrified; doubtless he feared to open the door lest they fall on him.\n\n\"Hear me, you shitepoke,\" Rob said, seized by fury. \"If we are not given Ibn Sina's Plague Book, wood and brush will be gathered and piled high against the walls of this house. And I will delight in setting it afire, you false physician.\"\n\nIn a moment the drawing of the bar was heard again. The door opened and the book was thrown out to fall in the dust at their feet.\n\nRob picked it up and mounted. His fury didn't last as he rode away, for part of him yearned to be with Fadil and Abbas Sefi in the merchant's safe place.\n\nHe traveled a long time before he could bring himself to turn in the saddle. Mirdin Askari and Karim Harun were far back, but coming after him. The youth, Ali Rashid, brought up the rear, leading Fadil's packhorse and Abbas Sefi's mule."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE DEATH",
                "text": "The trail traversed a marshy plain almost in a straight line and then became tortuous in a rocky chain of bare mountains that they crossed for two days. Finally descending toward Sh\u012br\u0101z on the third morning, they saw smoke from afar. As they drew near, they came upon men burning bodies outside the wall. Beyond Sh\u012br\u0101z they could see the slopes of its famous gorge, Teng-i-Allahu Akbar, or Pass of God Is Most Great. Rob noticed dozens of large black birds soaring above the pass and knew that at last they had found the pestilence.\n\nNo sentry was at the gate when they passed into the city.\n\n\"Were the Seljuks inside the walls, then?\" Karim said, for Sh\u012br\u0101z had a raped look. It was a pleasantly arranged city of pink stone, with many gardens, but everywhere raw stumps marked where once large trees had given shade and green majesty, and even the rosebushes of the gardens had been taken to feed the funeral pyres.\n\nDreamlike, they rode down empty streets.\n\nAt last they spied a man with a stumbling gait, but when they hailed him and moved to approach, he fled behind some houses.\n\nSoon they found another pedestrian, and this time they boxed him in with their horses when he tried to run away, and Rob J. drew his sword.\n\n\"Answer and we do you no harm. Where are the physicians?\"\n\nThe man was terrified. He held before his mouth and nose a small packet, probably of aromatic herbs. \"The kelonter's,\" he gasped, pointing down the street.\n\nOn the way they passed a charnel wagon. Its two burly collectors, their faces more heavily veiled than if they'd been women, stopped to pick up the small body of a child from where it had been left at the side of the street. There were three adult cadavers, one male and two female, in the wagon.\n\nAt the municipal offices, they presented themselves as the medical party from Ispahan and were stared at with astonishment by a tough man with a military look and an old man, enfeebled; both had the slack faces and staring eyes of long sleeplessness.\n\n\"I am Dehbid Hafiz, the kelonter of Sh\u012br\u0101z,\" the younger man told them. \"And this is Hakim Isfari Sanjar, our last physician.\"\n\n\"Why are your streets empty?\" Karim said.\n\n\"We were fourteen thousand souls,\" Hafiz said. \"With the coming of the Seljuks, an additional four thousand scurried behind the protection of our wall. After the outbreak of the Death, one-third of all those in Sh\u012br\u0101z fled the city, including,\" he said bitterly, \"every rich man and the entire government, content to leave their kelonter and his soldiers to guard their property. Nearly six thousand have died. Those who are not yet stricken cower inside their homes and pray to Allah (merciful is He!) that they may remain so.\"\n\n\"How do you treat them, Hakim?\" Karim asked.\n\n\"Nothing avails against the Death,\" the old doctor said. \"A physician may hope only to bring some small comfort to the dying.\"\n\n\"We are not yet physicians,\" Rob said, \"but medical apprentices sent to you by our master Ibn Sina, and we shall do your bidding.\"\n\n\"I give you no bidding, you shall do as you may,\" Hakim Isfari Sanjar said roughly. He waved his hand. \"I give you only advice. If you would stay alive as I have, each morning with your breakfast you must eat a piece of toast soaked in vinegar of wine, and each time you speak with any person, you must first take a drink of wine,\" he said, and Rob J. realized that what he had mistaken for the infirmity of old age was instead an advanced state of drunkenness.\n\nRecords of the Ispahan Medical Party.\n\n\u2002If this compendium is found after our deaths, generous reward will be realized upon its delivery to Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina, Chief Physician of the maristan, Ispahan. Inscribed on the 19th Day of the Month of Rabia I, in the 413th Year After the Hegira.\n\n\u2002We have been in Sh\u012br\u0101z four days during which 243 have died. The pestilence begins as a mild fever followed by headache, sometimes severe. The fever becomes extremely high just before the appearance of a lesion in the groin, in an armpit, or behind an ear, commonly called a bubo. There is mention in the Plague Book of such buboes, which Hakim Ibn al-Khat\u012bb of Andalusia said were inspired by the Devil and always in the shape of a serpent. Those observed here are not serpent-shaped but round and full, like the lesion of a tumor. They may be as large as a plum, but most are the size of a lentil. Often there is vomiting of blood, which always means death is imminent. Most victims die within two days of the appearance of a bubo. Some few are fortunate in that the bubo suppurates. When this occurs it is as if an evil humor passes from the patient, who may then recover.\n\n\u2002(signed)\n\n\u2002Jesse ben Benjamin Clerk\n\nThey found an established pesthouse in the jail, the prisoners having been freed. It was packed with the dead, the dying, and the newly afflicted, so many it was impossible to comfort any. The air was filled with groans and cries, and heavy with the stench of bloody vomit, unwashed bodies, and human waste.\n\nAfter conferring with the other three clerks, Rob went to the kelonter and requested the use of the Citadel, in which soldiers had been housed. This granted, he went from patient to patient in the jail, assessing them, holding their hands.\n\nThe message that flowed into his own hands was generally dreadful: the cup of life turned into a sieve.\n\nThose close to death were moved to the Citadel. Since this was a large percentage of the victims, those not yet moribund could be nursed in a cleaner and less crowded place.\n\nIt was Persian winter, cold nights, warm afternoons. The peaks of the mountains were dazzling with snow and in the mornings the clerks needed their sheepskin coats. Above the gorge, black vultures soared in growing numbers.\n\n\"Your men are throwing bodies down the pass instead of burning them,\" Rob J. told the kelonter.\n\nHafiz nodded. \"I have forbidden it, but I believe you are right. Wood is scarce.\"\n\n\"Every body must be burned. Without exception,\" Rob told him firmly, for it was something about which Ibn Sina had been adamant. \"You must do what is necessary to make certain.\"\n\nThat afternoon three men were beheaded for dumping bodies in the pass, execution adding to the death all around them. It wasn't what Rob had intended, but Hafiz was resentful.\n\n\"Where are my men to get wood? All our trees are gone.\"\n\n\"Send soldiers into the mountains to cut trees,\" Rob said.\n\n\"They would not come back.\"\n\nSo Rob delegated young Ali to take soldiers into houses that had been deserted. Most of the houses were of stone but they had wooden doors, wooden shutters, stout roof beams. Ali drove the men to rip and tear, and the pyres roared outside the city wall.\n\nThey tried to follow Ibn Sina's instructions about breathing through vinegar-soaked sponges, but the sponges hampered their work and were soon discarded. Heeding the example of Hakim Isfari Sanjar, each day they choked down vinegar-soaked toast and drank a good deal of wine. Sometimes by nightfall they were as drunk as the old hakim.\n\nIn his cups, Mirdin told them of his wife Fara and his small sons Dawwid and Issachar who awaited his safe return to Ispahan. He spoke with nostalgia of his father's house by the Arabian Sea, where his family traveled the coast buying seed pearls. \"I like you,\" he said to Rob. \"How can you be friend to my terrible cousin Aryeh?\"\n\nNow Rob understood Mirdin's initial coolness. \"A friend of Aryeh? I am not a friend of Aryeh. Aryeh is a shit!\"\n\n\"He is, he is a shit, exactly!\" Mirdin cried, and they rocked with laughter.\n\nHandsome Karim drawled stories of sexual conquest and promised he would find young Ali the most beautiful pair of teats in the Eastern Caliphate when they returned to Ispahan. Karim ran every day, through the city of death. Sometimes he jeered at them until they ran with him, hurling themselves through the empty streets past vacant houses, past houses in which the nervous undiseased huddled, past houses before which bodies had been placed to await the charnel wagon\u2014running from the dreadful sight of reality. For they were touched by more than wine. Surrounded by death, they were young and alive, and they tried to bury their terror by pretending they were immortal and inviolate.\n\nRecords of the Ispahan Medical Party.\n\nInscribed on the 28th Day of the Month of Rabia I, in the 413th Year After the Hegira.\n\nBloodletting, cupping, and purging appear to have little effect. The relationship of the buboes to dying of this plague is interesting, for it continues to hold true that in the event the bubo bursts or steadily evacuates its green smelly discharge, the patient is likely to survive.\n\nIt may be that many are killed by the terribly high fever that eats the fat from their bodies. But when the buboes suppurate, the fever drops precipitously and recuperation begins.\n\nHaving observed this, we have labored to ripen the buboes that they might open, applying poultices of mustard and lily bulbs; poultices of figs and boiled onions, pounded and mixed with butter; and a variety of drawing plasters. Sometimes we have cut open the buboes and treated them like ulcers, with but little success. Often these swellings, affected partly by the distemper and partly by their being too violently drawn, become so hard no instrument can cut them. These we have attempted to burn with caustics, with poor results. Many died raving mad with the torment and some during the very operation, so that we may be said to have tortured these poor creatures even to death. Yet some are saved. These might have lived without our presence in this place, but it is our comfort to believe we have been of assistance to a few.\n\n(signed) Jesse ben Benjamin Clerk\n\n\"You bone-pickers!\" the man screamed. His two servants dumped him unceremoniously on the pesthouse floor and fled, doubtless to steal his belongings, a commonplace thievery in a plague that appeared to corrupt souls as fast as bodies. Children with buboes were being abandoned without hesitation by their terror-crazed parents. Three men and a woman had been beheaded that morning for looting, and a soldier was flayed for fucking a dying female. Karim, who had led soldiers armed with buckets of limewater to cleanse houses in which there had been pestilence, said every vice was for sale and reported witnessing so much rutting that it was clear many were grasping at life through a wildness of the flesh.\n\nJust before midday the kelonter, who never entered the pesthouse himself, sent a white and trembling soldier to bring Rob and Mirdin to the street, where they found Kafiz sniffing a spice-studded apple to ward off disease. \"Be advised that the count of those who died yesterday was down to thirty-seven,\" he told them triumphantly. It was a dramatic improvement, for on the most virulent day, in the third week after the outbreak, 268 had perished.\n\nKafiz told them that by his reckoning Sh\u012br\u0101z had lost 801 men, 502 women, 3,193 children, 566 male slaves, 1,417 female slaves, 2 Syrian Christians, and 32 Jews.\n\nRob and Mirdin exchanged a knowing glance, neither of them having missed the kelonter's listing of the victims in their order of importance.\n\nYoung Ali came walking down the street. Something odd, for the boy would have passed them without a sign had not Rob called his name.\n\nRob went to him and saw that his eyes were strange. When he touched Ali's head, the familiar terrible burning chilled his heart.\n\nAh, God.\n\n\"Ali,\" he said gently. \"You must come inside with me now.\"\n\nThey had already seen many die, but witnessing the swiftness with which the disease possessed Ali Rashid, it was as if Rob and Karim and Mirdin suffered in the youth's pain.\n\nFrom time to time Ali lurched in sudden spasm, as if something had bitten him in the stomach. Agony made him shudder with convulsion and arch his body into queer, contorted positions. They bathed him with vinegar and in the early afternoon they had hope, for he was almost cool to the touch. But it was as if the fever had gathered itself and when the fresh assault came he was hotter than before, his lips cracked, his eyes rolling up into his head.\n\nAmong all the cries and groans his were almost lost, but the other three clerks heard the terrible sounds clearly because circumstances had made them his family.\n\nWhen night came, they took turns sitting by his bed.\n\nThe boy was lying racked on the tumbled pallet when Rob came to relieve Mirdin before dawn. His eyes were dull and unknowing and fever had wasted his body and transformed the round adolescent face, from which high cheekbones and a hawkish beak had emerged to give a glimpse of the Bedouin man he might have become.\n\nRob took Ali's hands and experienced the dwindling.\n\nNow and again, as an escape from the helplessness of doing nothing, he moved his fingers to Ali's wrists and felt the pulse beats, weak and blurred like the wing strokes of a struggling bird.\n\nBy the time Karim came to relieve Rob, Ali was gone. They could no longer make a pretense of immortality. It was obvious that one of them soon would be next and they began to know the true meaning of fear.\n\nThey accompanied Ali's body to the pyre and each prayed in his own way as it burned.\n\nThat morning they began to witness the turning; it was obvious that fewer were brought to the pesthouse with the illness. Three days later the kelonter, barely able to suppress the wishfulness in his voice, reported that on the preceding day only eleven persons had died.\n\nWalking near the pesthouse, Rob noted a large group of dead and dying rats and saw a singular thing when he inspected them: the rodents had the plague, for almost all of them displayed a small but indisputable bubo. Locating one that had died so recently that the warm furry body still crawled with fleas, he laid it on a large flat rock and opened it with his knife as neatly as though al-Juzjani or some other anatomy teacher were peering over his shoulder.\n\nRecords of the Ispahan Medical Party.\n\nInscribed on the Fifth Day of the Month of Rabia II, 413th Year After the Hegira.\n\nVarious animals have died as well as men, word having reached us that horses, cows, sheep, camels, dogs, cats, and birds have perished of the pestilence in Anshan.\n\nDissections of six plague-killed rats were of interest. External signs were similar to those found in human victims, with staring eyes, contorted muscles, gaping lips, protruding tongue of blackish color, bubo in the groin area or behind an ear.\n\nUpon dissection of these rats it becomes clear why surgical removal of the bubo is most often unsuccessful. The lesion is likely to have deep, carrot-like roots which, after the main body of the bubo has been removed, remain imbedded in the victim to wreak their havoc.\n\nOn opening the abdomens of the rats I found the lower orifices of all six stomachs and the upper bowels to be quite discolored by green gall. The lower intestines were speckled. The livers of all six rodents were shriveled and in four of the rats the hearts were shrunken.\n\nIn one of the rats the stomach was, so to say, internally peeled.\n\nDo these effects occur to the organs of human victims of this plague?\n\nClerk Karim Harun says Galen wrote that man's internal anatomy is precisely identical to the pig's and the ape's, but dissimilar to the rat's.\n\nThus, while we do not know the causal events of plague death in humans, we may be bitterly certain they are occurring internally and thus are barred from our inspection.\n\n(signed) Jesse ben Benjamin Clerk\n\nWorking in the pesthouse two days later, Rob felt an uneasiness, a heaviness, a weakness in the knees, a difficulty in breathing, a burning within as though he had eaten heavily of spices, although he hadn't.\n\nThese sensations stayed with him and grew as he worked all through the afternoon. He fought to ignore them until, looking into a victim's face-\n\n\u2014inflamed and distorted, the brilliant eyes starting out of the man's head\n\n\u2014Rob felt he was seeing himself.\n\nHe went to Mirdin and Karim.\n\nThe answer was in their eyes.\n\nBefore he would allow them to lead him to a pallet he insisted on fetching the Plague Book and his notes and giving them to Mirdin. \"If neither of you should survive, these must be left by the last man where they can be found and sent to Ibn Sina.\"\n\n\"Yes, Jesse,\" Karim said.\n\nRob felt calm. A mountain had been moved from his shoulders; the worst had happened and therefore he had been freed from the terrible prison of dread.\n\n\"One of us will stay with you,\" good, grieving Mirdin said.\n\n\"No, there are many here who need you.\"\n\nBut he could sense them hovering and watching him.\n\nHe determined to note each separate stage of the disease, marking it well in his mind, but got only as far as the onset of high fever and a headache so formidable it made the skin of his entire body sensitive. The covers became heavy and irritating and he threw them off. Sleep overcame him.\n\nHe dreamed he sat and conversed with tall, spare Dick Bukerel, the long-dead Chief Carpenter of his father's guild. When he awoke he could feel the heat becoming more oppressive, the frenzy within him increasing.\n\nDuring a fitful night he was troubled by dreams more violent, in which he wrestled a bear that gradually grew thinner and taller until he was the Black Knight, while everyone who had been taken by the plague stood by and witnessed the thrashing struggle in which neither could pin the other.\n\nIn the morning he was awakened by soldiers dragging their miserable load from the pesthouse out to the charnel wagon. It was a familiar sight to him as medical clerk, but seeing it as one of the afflicted was different. His heart beat throbbingly, there was a far-off buzzing in his ears. The heaviness in all his limbs was worse than before he had gone to bed, and a fire raged within him.\n\n\"Water.\"\n\nMirdin hastened to fetch some, but as Rob shifted himself to drink, he caught his breath in anguish. He hesitated before looking at the place where he felt the pain. Finally he uncovered it and he and Mirdin exchanged a fearful look. Under his left arm there was a hideous bubo of a livid purple hue.\n\nHe grasped Mirdin's wrist. \"You shan't cut it! And you mustn't burn it with caustics. Do you promise?\"\n\nMirdin ripped his hand free and pushed Rob J. back down onto the pallet. \"I promise, Jesse,\" he said gently, and hurried away to fetch Karim.\n\nMirdin and Karim pulled his hand behind his head and tied it to a post, leaving the bubo exposed. They heated rose water and soaked rags to make compresses, changing the poultices faithfully when they cooled.\n\nHe grew hotter with fever than he had ever been, man or child, and all the pain in his body concentrated in the bubo, until his mind turned away from the unremitting agony and wandered.\n\nHe sought coolness in the shade of a wheat field and kissed her, touched her mouth, kissed her face, the red hair falling over him like a dark mist.\n\nHe heard Karim praying in Persian and Mirdin in Hebrew. When Mirdin came to the Shema, Rob followed along. Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart \u2026\n\nHe feared to die with Jewish scripture on his lips and strove for a Christian prayer. The one that came to mind was a chant of his boyhood priests.\n\nJesus Christus natus est.\n\nJesus Christus crucifixus est.\n\nJesus Christus sepultus est.\n\nAmen.\n\nHis brother Samuel sat on the floor close by the pallet, doubtless a guide come to fetch him. Samuel appeared the same, down to the wry and quizzical expression on his face. He scarcely knew what to say to Samuel; Rob had grown to manhood but Samuel was still the boy he had been when he died.\n\nThe pain was even more intense. The pain was terrible.\n\n\"Come, Samuel,\" he cried. \"Let us be gone!\"\n\nBut Samuel only sat and stared at him.\n\nPresently there was such a sweet and sudden easing of the pain in his arm that the relief was as sharp as a fresh hurt. He could not allow himself false hope, and he forced himself to wait patiently for someone to come.\n\nAfter what seemed an inordinately long time, he was aware of Karim leaning over him.\n\n\"Mirdin! Mirdin! All praise to Allah, the bubo has opened!\"\n\nTwo grinning faces hovered above him, the one darkly handsome, the other homely with the goodness of saints.\n\n\"I'll put in a wick so it will drain,\" Mirdin said, and for a while they became too busy for thanksgiving.\n\nIt was as if he had come through the stormiest of seas and now drifted in the calmest and most peaceable of backwaters.\n\nThe recovery was as swift and uneventful as he had seen in other survivors. There was a weakness and shakiness, natural following the high fevers; but clarity returned to his mind and there was no further mixing of past and present events.\n\nHe fretted, wishing to make some small use of himself, but his caretakers would have none of it and kept him supine upon his pallet.\n\n\"It means all to you, this practice of medicine,\" Karim observed keenly one morning. \"I knew it, and therefore made no objection when you seized leadership of our little party.\"\n\nRob opened his mouth to protest but closed it quickly, for it was true.\n\n\"I was infuriated when Fadil ibn Parviz was made the leader,\" Karim said. \"He does well in examinations and is highly regarded by faculty, but as a working physician he is a calamity. Further, he began his apprenticeship two years after I started my own and he is a hakim while I am still a clerk.\"\n\n\"Then how could you accept me as leader, who hasn't yet apprenticed a full year?\"\n\n\"You are different, taken out of the competition by your enslavement to healing.\"\n\nRob smiled. \"I've seen you, these hard weeks. Aren't you owned by the same master?\"\n\n\"No,\" Karim said calmly. \"Oh, don't misunderstand, I desire to be the best of doctors. But at least as strongly, I need to become rich. Wealth isn't your strongest ambition, is it, Jesse?\"\n\nRob shook his head.\n\n\"When I was a child in the village of Carsh, which is in the province of Hamadh\u0101n, Abdallah Shah, the father of Al\u0101 Shah, led a great army across our countryside to move against bands of Seljuk Turks. Wherever Abdallah's army stopped, misery came, a plague of soldiers. They took crops and animals, food that meant survival or disaster to their own people. When the army moved on, we starved.\n\n\"I was five years old. My mother held her newborn daughter by the feet and dashed her head against the rocks. They say many resorted to cannibalism, and I believe it.\n\n\"First my father died, and then my mother. For a year I lived in the streets with beggars and was a beggar boy. Finally I was taken in by Zaki-Omar, a man who had been my father's friend. He was a noted athlete. He educated me and taught me to run. And for nine years he fucked my arse.\"\n\nKarim fell silent a moment, the stillness broken only by the soft moaning of a patient across the room.\n\n\"When he died, I was fifteen. His family threw me out, but he had made arrangements for my entrance to the madrassa and I came to Ispahan, free for the first time. I made up my mind that when I have sons they will be safe, and that kind of safety comes from wealth.\"\n\nAs children they had met similar catastrophes half a world apart, Rob thought. Had he been slightly less fortunate, or had Barber been a different sort of a man \u2026\n\nThe conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mirdin, who sat on the floor on the other side of the pallet from Karim. \"Nobody died in Sh\u012br\u0101z yesterday.\"\n\n\"Allah,\" Karim said.\n\n\"No one died!\"\n\nRob took each of them by the hand.\n\nPresently Karim and Mirdin clasped hands too. They were beyond laughter, beyond tears, like old men who had shared a lifetime. Linked, they sat and looked at one another, savoring survival.\n\nIt was ten more days before they pronounced Rob strong enough to travel. Word of the plague's end had spread. It would be years before there were trees in Sh\u012br\u0101z again but people were beginning to come back, and some brought lumber. They passed a house on whose windows carpenters were hanging shutters, several more where men were putting up doors.\n\nIt was good to leave the city behind and head north.\n\nThey traveled without haste. When they came to the house of Ishmael the Merchant, they dismounted and knocked, but no one answered.\n\nMirdin wrinkled his nose. \"There are dead nearby,\" he said quietly.\n\nEntering the house, they found the decomposed bodies of the merchant and Hakim Fadil. There was no sign of Abbas Sefi, who doubtless had fled the \"safe refuge\" when he saw that the other two were stricken.\n\nSo they had one last responsibility before they left the land of the plague, and they spoke prayers and burned the two bodies, building a hot fire with the merchant's expensive furniture.\n\nWhere eight had left Ispahan with the medical party, three rode back from Sh\u012br\u0101z."
            },
            {
                "title": "A MURDERED MAN'S BONES",
                "text": "When he got back there seemed an unreality about Ispahan, full of healthy people laughing or squabbling. For a time it was strange for Rob to walk among them, as if the world were tipped on end.\n\nIbn Sina was saddened but not surprised to learn of the desertions and deaths when they got home. He received the record book from Rob eagerly. During the month in which the three clerks had waited in the house at Ibrahim's Rock, to make certain they didn't bring home the plague, Rob had written at length, resulting in a detailed account of their work in Sh\u012br\u0101z.\n\nHe made it plain in his reports that the other two clerks had saved his life, and he had written of them with warm praise.\n\n\"Karim too?\" Ibn Sina asked him bluntly when they were alone.\n\nRob hesitated, for it seemed presumptuous of him to evaluate a fellow student. But he drew a breath and answered the question. \"He may have trouble with the examinations but he is already a wonderful physician, calm and resolute during disaster and tender with those in torment.\"\n\nIbn Sina seemed satisfied. \"And now you must go to the House of Paradise and report to Al\u0101 Shah, for the king is eager to discuss the presence of a Seljuk army in Sh\u012br\u0101z,\" he said.\n\nWinter was dying but not dead, and the palace was cold. Khuff's hard boots rang on the stone floors as Rob followed him down dark corridors.\n\nAl\u0101 Shah sat alone at a great table.\n\n\"Jesse ben Benjamin, Majesty.\" The Captain of the Gates withdrew as Rob performed the ravi zemin.\n\n\"You may sit with me, Dhimmi. You must pull the tablecloth over your lap,\" the king instructed. When Rob did so, it was a pleasant shock. The table was set over a grill in the floor, through which heat drifted pleasantly from ovens below.\n\nHe knew he mustn't look at the monarch too long or too directly, but he had already noted evidence that confirmed the marketplace gossip of the Shah's continuing dissipation. Al\u0101's eyes burned like a wolf's and the flat planes of the lean, hawkish face looked slack, doubtless the result of consuming too much wine too steadily.\n\nBefore the Shah was a board divided into alternately light and dark squares, set with elaborately carved bone figures. Next to it were cups and a pitcher of wine. Al\u0101 poured for them both and downed his wine quickly.\n\n\"Drink it, drink it, I would make you a merry Jew.\" The red eyes were commanding.\n\n\"I ask your kind permission to leave it. It doesn't make me merry, Majesty. It makes me surly and wild, so I can't enjoy wine like more fortunate men.\"\n\nThe Shah's attention had been gained. \"It causes me to awake each morning with a powerful pain behind the eyes and a trembling of the hands. You are the physician. What is the remedy?\"\n\nRob smiled. \"Less wine, Highness, and more riding out in the pure Persian air.\"\n\nThe sharp eyes searched his face for insolence and found none. \"Then you must ride out with me, Dhimmi.\"\n\n\"I am at your service, Majesty.\"\n\nAl\u0101 waved his hand to show it was understood. \"Now, let us speak of the Seljuks in Sh\u012br\u0101z. You must tell all.\"\n\nHe listened attentively while Rob recounted at length what he knew about the force that had invaded Anshan.\n\nFinally he nodded. \"Our enemy to the northwest encircled us and sought to establish themselves to our southeast. Had they conquered and occupied all of Anshan, Ispahan would have been a morsel between grinding Seljuk jaws.\" He slapped the table. \"Allah be blessed for bringing them the plague. When they come again, we will be ready.\"\n\nHe pulled the large checkered board so that it sat between them. \"You know this pastime?\"\n\n\"No, Sire.\"\n\n\"Our ancient pursuit. When you lose it is called shahtreng, the 'anguish of the king.' But mostly it is known as the Shah's Game, for it is about war.\" He smiled, amused. \"I shall teach you the Shah's Game, Dhimmi.\"\n\nHe handed one of the elephant figures to Rob and let him feel the creamy smoothness. \"Carved from an elephant's tusk. You see, we both have an equal array. The king stands in the center, his faithful companion, the general, in attendance. On each side of them is an elephant, casting comfortable shadows as dark as indigo about the throne. Two camels are next to the elephants, with men of fast intent mounted on them. Then come two horses with their riders, ready to fight on the day of combat. At each end of the battle lines a rukh, or warrior, raises his cupped hands to his lips, drinking his enemies' blood. In front move the foot soldiers, whose duty is to come to the assistance of the others in the fighting. If a foot soldier presses through to the other end of the field of battle, that hero is placed beside the king, like the general.\n\n\"The brave general never moves in the battle more than one square from his king. The mighty elephants run through three squares and observe the whole battlefield two miles wide. The camel runs snorting and stamping through three squares, thus and so. The horses also move over three squares, and in jumping them one of the squares remains untouched. To all sides rage the vindictive rukhs, crossing the whole field of battle.\n\n\"Each piece moves in its own area, and makes neither less nor more than its appointed move. If anyone approaches the king in battle he cries aloud, 'Remove, O Shah!' and the king must retreat from his square. Should the opposing king, horse, rukh, general, elephant, and army close the road before him, he must look about him on all four sides with knit brows. If he see that his army has been overthrown, his road barred by water and the ditch, the enemy to left and right, before and behind, he shall die of weariness and thirst, the fate ordained by the revolving firmament for a loser in war.\" He poured himself more wine, drank it down, and glowered at Rob. \"Do you comprehend?\"\n\n\"I believe so, Sire,\" Rob said cautiously.\n\n\"Then let us begin.\"\n\nRob made mistakes, moving some of the pieces incorrectly, and each time Al\u0101 Shah corrected him with a growl. The game didn't last long, for very quickly his forces were slain and his king taken.\n\n\"Another,\" Al\u0101 said with satisfaction.\n\nThe second contest was concluded almost as swiftly as the first, but Rob began to see that the Shah anticipated his moves because he had set ambushes and lured him into traps, just as though they were fighting a real war.\n\nWhen the second game was finished, Al\u0101 waved his hand in dismissal.\n\n\"A proficient player can ward off defeat for days,\" he said. \"Who wins at the Shah's Game is fit to govern the world. But you have done well, your first time. It is no disgrace for you to suffer shahtreng, for after all you are but a Jew.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 58",
                "text": "How satisfying to be in the little house in Yehuddiyyeh again, and to slip back into the hard routines of the maristan and the lecture halls!\n\nTo Rob's great pleasure he wasn't sent back to serve as jail surgeon, but instead was apprenticed in fractures for a time, to serve with Mirdin as clerks under Hakim Jalal-ul-Din. Slim and saturnine, Jalal appeared to be a typical leader of Ispahan's medical society, respected and prosperous. But he differed from most of the Ispahan doctors in several important aspects.\n\n\"So you are Jesse the BarberSurgeon, of whom I have heard?\" he said when Rob reported to him.\n\n\"Yes, Master Physician.\"\n\n\"I can't share the general scorn for barbersurgeons. Many are thieves and fools, true enough, but also among their number are men who are honest and clever. Before I became a physician I was of another profession despised by Persian doctors, a traveling bonesetter, and after I became hakim I am the same man I was before. But though I don't damn you as a barber, still you must work hard for my respect. If you don't earn it, I shall kick your arse from my service, European.\"\n\nBoth Rob and Mirdin were happy to work hard. Jalal-ul-Din was famous as a bone specialist and had developed a wide variety of padded splints and traction devices. He taught them to use fingertips as if they were eyes that could peer beneath bruised and crushed flesh, visualizing the injury until the best course of treatment was clear. Jalal was especially skillful in manipulating chips and fragments until they were back in their rightful places, where nature could make them part of bones once again.\n\n\"He appears to have a curious interest in crime,\" Mirdin grumbled after their first few days as Jalal's assistants. And it was true, for Rob had noted that the physician spoke inordinately long about a murderer who had shriven his guilt that week in Imam Qandrasseh's court.\n\nOne Fakhr-i-Ayn, a shepherd, had confessed that two years earlier he had sodomized and then slain a fellow shepherd named Qifti al-Ullah, burying his victim in a shallow grave outside the city walls. The murderer was condemned by the court and promptly executed and quartered.\n\nA few days later, when Rob and Mirdin reported to Jalal, he told them that the body of the murdered man was to be removed from its crude grave and reburied in a Muslim cemetery with benefit of Islamic prayer to insure his soul's admission to Paradise.\n\n\"Come,\" Jalal said. \"It is a rare opportunity. Today we shall be grave-diggers.\"\n\nHe didn't disclose whom he had bribed, but soon the two clerks and the physician, leading a laden mule, accompanied a mullah and a kelonter's soldier to the lonely hillside which the late Fakhr-i-Ayn had pointed out to authorities.\n\n\"Have a care,\" Jalal said as they used their spades.\n\nPresently they saw the bones of a hand, and soon after that removed the entire skeleton, laying the bones of Qifti-al-Ullah on a blanket.\n\n\"Time for food,\" Jalal announced, and led the donkey to the shade of a tree a distance from the grave. The animal's pack was opened to give forth roast fowl, sumptuous pilah, large desert dates, honey cakes, a jug of sherbet. The soldier and the mullah fell to eating eagerly, and Jalal and his clerks left them to the heavy meal and the nap that would surely follow.\n\nThe three of them hurried back to the skeleton. The earth had done its task and the bones were clean save for a rusty stain around the place where Fakhr's dagger had punched through the sternum. They knelt over the bones, murmuring, scarcely aware that the remains once had been a man named Qifti.\n\n\"Note the femur,\" Jalal said, \"the largest and strongest bone in the body. Is it not apparent why it is difficult to set a break that occurs in the thigh?\n\n\"Count the twelve pairs of ribs. Do you note how the ribs form a cage? The cage protects the heart and the lungs, is that not marvelous?\"\n\nIt was remarkably different to be studying human bones instead of a sheep's, Rob thought; but it was only a small part of the story. \"The human heart and lungs\u2014have you seen them?\" he asked Jalal.\n\n\"No. But Galen says they are very much like the pig's. We have all seen the pig's.\"\n\n\"What if they are not the same?\"\n\n\"They are the same,\" Jalal said crankily. \"Let us not waste this golden chance for study, for soon those two will return. Do you witness how the upper seven pair of ribs are attached to the breastplate by flexible connective stuff? The next three are united by a common tissue, and the last two pairs have no attachment to the front at all. Is Allah (great and mighty is He!) not the cleverest designer, Dhimmis? Is it not a wondrous framework on which He has built his people?\"\n\nThey squatted in the hot sun over their scholarly feast, making an anatomy lesson of the murdered man.\n\nAfterward, Rob and Mirdin spent time in the academy's baths, washing away the funereal feeling and easing muscles unaccustomed to digging. It was here that Karim found them, and at once Rob saw from his friend's face that something was wrong.\n\n\"I am to be reexamined.\"\n\n\"But surely that is what you want!\"\n\nKarim glanced at two faculty members conversing at the other end of the room and lowered his voice. \"I'm afraid. I'd almost given up hope for another examining. This will be my third\u2014if I fail this time all will be over.\" He looked at them bleakly. \"At least now I'm able to be a clerk.\"\n\n\"You will trot through the examination like a runner,\" Mirdin said.\n\nKarim waved off any attempt at lightheartedness. \"I'm not concerned with the medical portion. It's the portion on philosophy, and the portion on the law.\"\n\n\"When?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"In six weeks.\"\n\n\"That gives us time, then.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will study philosophy with you,\" Mirdin said calmly. \"Jesse and you will work on the law.\"\n\nInside, Rob groaned, for he scarcely considered himself a jurist. But they had been through the plague together and were linked by similar boyhood catastrophes; he knew they must try. \"We begin tonight,\" he said, reaching for a cloth to dry his body.\n\n\"I have never heard of anyone staying apprentice for seven years and then being made a physician,\" Karim said, and he made no attempt to hide his terror from them, a new level of intimacy.\n\n\"You will pass,\" Mirdin said, and Rob nodded.\n\n\"I must,\" Karim said."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE RIDDLE",
                "text": "Two weeks in a row, Ibn Sina invited Rob to dine with him.\n\n\"Hoo, the Master has a favorite clerk,\" Mirdin gibed, but there was pride and not jealousy in his smile.\n\n\"It's good that he takes an interest,\" Karim said seriously. \"Al-Juzjani has had Ibn Sina's sponsorship since they were young men, and al-Juzjani became a great physician.\"\n\nRob scowled, unwilling to share the experience even with them. He couldn't describe what it was like to have an entire evening as the sole beneficiary of Ibn Sina's mind. One evening they had talked of the heavenly bodies\u2014or, to be precise, Ibn Sina had talked and Rob had listened. Another evening, Ibn Sina had held forth for hours on the theories of the Greek philosophers. He knew so much and could teach it effortlessly!\n\nIn contrast, before Rob could teach Karim, he had to learn. He determined that for six weeks he would stop attending all lectures save for selected ones on the law, and he drew books on law and jurisprudence from the House of Wisdom. Tutoring Karim in law would not simply be a selfless act of friendship, for it was an area Rob had neglected. In helping Karim he would be preparing himself for the day when his own ordeal of testing would begin.\n\nIn Islam there were two branches of law: Fiqh, or legal science, and Shar\u012b'a, the law as divinely revealed by Allah. When there was added to these Sunna, truth and justice as revealed by the exemplary life and sayings of Mohammed, the result was a complex and complicated body of learning that might make scholars quail.\n\nKarim was trying, but it was obvious he was sorely tried. \"It's too much,\" he said. The strain was apparent. For the first time in seven years, except for the period in which they had fought the plague in Sh\u012br\u0101z, he wasn't going to the maristan daily, and he confessed to Rob that he felt strange and ripped out of his element without his daily routine of caring for patients.\n\nEach morning, before he met with Rob to study the law and then with Mirdin to study the philosophers and their teachings, Karim ran in the first gray light. Once Rob tried to run with him but he was soon left behind; Karim ran as if trying to outdistance his fears. Several times, Rob rode the brown horse and paced the runner. Karim sped through the stirring city, past the grinning sentries at the main gate of the wall, across the River of Life and into the countryside. Rob didn't think he knew or cared where he was running. His feet rose and fell and his legs moved with a steady, mindless rhythm that appeared to lull and comfort him as if it were an infusion of buing, the strong hempseed they gave to people with hopeless pain. The daily expenditure of effort bothered Rob.\n\n\"It takes Karim's strength,\" he complained to Mirdin. \"He should save all his energy for studying.\"\n\nBut wise Mirdin pulled his nose and stroked his long equine jaw and shook his head. \"No, without the running I think he would not be able to get past this hard time,\" he said, and Rob was wise enough to defer, for he had great faith that Mirdin's everyday wisdom was as formidable as his scholarship.\n\nOne morning he was summoned, and rode the brown horse down the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens until he came to the dusty lane leading to Ibn Sina's handsome house. The gateman took his horse, and by the time he had walked to the stone door Ibn Sina was there to greet him.\n\n\"It is my wife. I would be grateful if you would examine her.\"\n\nRob bowed, confused; Ibn Sina had no lack of distinguished colleagues who would be pleased and honored to examine the woman. But he followed him to a door leading to a stone stairway like the inside of a snail shell, and they ascended the north tower of the house.\n\nThe old woman lay on a pallet and stared through them with dull and unseeing eyes. Ibn Sina knelt by her.\n\n\"Reza.\"\n\nHer dry lips were cracked. He moistened a square of cloth in rose water and wiped her mouth and face tenderly. Ibn Sina had a lifetime of experience in how to make a sickroom comfortable, but not even clean surroundings and newly changed garments and the fragrant wisps of smoke rising from incense dishes could mask the stink of her illness.\n\nThe bones seemed almost to violate her transparent skin. Her face was waxen, her hair thin and white. Perhaps her husband was the greatest physician in the world but she was an old woman in the final stages of bone sickness. Large buboes were visible on her skinny arms and lower legs. Her ankles and feet were swollen with gathered fluids. Her right hip was largely deteriorated and Rob knew that if he were to lift the bed gown he would find that more of the advanced growths had invaded other external parts of her body just as, from the odor, he was certain they had spread to her intestines.\n\nIt wasn't to confirm a terrible and obvious diagnosis that Ibn Sina had summoned him. Now he knew what was required of him and he took both her frail hands in his, talking to her softly. He took longer than necessary, gazing into her eyes, which for a moment seemed to clear. \"Da'ud?\" she whispered, and her grip on his hands strengthened.\n\nRob looked at Ibn Sina questioningly.\n\n\"Her brother, dead these many years.\"\n\nThe vacancy returned to her eyes, the fingers clutching his grew slack. Rob returned her hands to the pallet and they withdrew from the tower.\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"Not long, Hakimbashi. I believe a matter of days.\" Rob felt clumsy; the other man was far too senior to him for the standard condolences. \"Is there nothing, then, that can be done for her?\"\n\nIbn Sina's mouth twisted. \"I am left to showing her my love with stronger and stronger infusions.\" He took his apprentice to the front door and thanked him, then returned to his afflicted wife.\n\n\"Master,\" someone said to Rob.\n\nWhen he turned he saw the huge eunuch who guarded the second wife. \"You will follow, please?\"\n\nThey passed through a doorway in the garden wall, the opening so small each of them had to stoop, into another garden outside the south tower.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked the slave curtly.\n\nThe eunuch made no reply. Something drew Rob's glance and he looked to where a veiled face stared down at him through a small window.\n\nTheir eyes held and then hers moved away in a swirl of veils and the window was empty.\n\nRob turned to the slave and the eunuch smiled slightly and shrugged.\n\n\"She bade me bring you here. She desired to look upon you, master,\" he said.\n\nPerhaps Rob might have dreamed of her that night but there was no time. He studied the laws of ownership of property and, as the oil in his lamp was burning low, he heard the clopping sound of hooves that came down his street and appeared to stop outside his door.\n\nThere was a tapping.\n\nHe reached for his sword, thinking of thieves. It was far too late for callers. \"Who is there?\"\n\n\"Wasif, master.\"\n\nRob knew no Wasif but thought he recognized the voice. Holding the weapon ready, he opened the door and saw he had been right. It was the eunuch, holding the reins of a donkey.\n\n\"Were you sent by the hakim?\"\n\n\"No, master. I am sent by her, who wishes you to come.\"\n\nHe had no reply. The eunuch knew better than to smile, but there was a glint behind the grave eyes that took in the Dhimmi's amazement.\n\n\"Wait,\" Rob said rudely, and shut the door.\n\nHe came out after a hasty washing-up and, mounting the brown horse without a saddle, wended through the dark streets behind the huge slave, whose splayed feet dragged furrows in the dust as he rode astride the poor donkey. They plodded past silent houses in which people slept, turning into the lane whose deeper dust muffled the animals' hooves, and then into a field that extended behind the wall of Ibn Sina's estate.\n\nA gate in the wall took them close to the door of the south tower. The eunuch opened the tower gate and, bowing, motioned for Rob to go on alone.\n\nIt was like the fantasies he had had on a hundred nights while lying alone and aroused. This dark stone passage was twin to the stairway in the north tower, circling like the whorls of a nautilus shell, and when he emerged at the top he found himself in a commodious haram.\n\nIn the lamplight he saw that she waited on a large cushioned pallet, a Persian woman who had prepared herself to make love, her hands and feet and cunnus red with henna and slick with oil. Her breasts were a disappointment, scarcely larger than a boy's.\n\nRob removed her veil.\n\nShe had black hair, also treated with oil and pulled back tight against her round skull. He had imagined the forbidden features of a Queen of Sheba or a Cleopatra and was startled to find instead a haunting young girl with a trembling mouth that she now licked nervously with a flick of pink tongue. It was a heart-shaped, lovely face with a pointed chin and a short, straight nose. From the thin right nostril dangled a small metal ring just large enough to admit his little finger.\n\nHe had been in this country too long: her uncovered facial features were more exciting to him than her shaven body.\n\n\"Why are you called Despina the Ugly?\"\n\n\"Ibn Sina decreed it. It is to fool the Evil Eye,\" she said as he sank to the pallet beside her.\n\nNext morning he and Karim studied Fiqh again, the laws of marriage and divorce.\n\n\"Who makes the marriage settlement?\"\n\n\"The husband makes the marriage contract and presents it to the wife, and he writes the mabr, the amount of the dowry, into the agreement.\"\n\n\"How many witnesses are needed?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Two?\"\n\n\"Yes, two. Who has the greater rights in the haram, the second wife or the fourth wife?\"\n\n\"All wives have equal rights.\"\n\nThey turned to the laws of divorce, and the grounds: barrenness, shrewish behavior, adultery.\n\nUnder Shar\u012b'a, the penalty for adultery was stoning, but this had given way, two centuries before. An adulterous woman of a rich and powerful man might still be executed in the kelonter's jail by beheading, but the adulterous wives of the poor often were given a severe striping with a cane and then divorced or not, depending upon the husband's wishes.\n\nKarim had little trouble with Shar\u012b'a, for he had been raised in a devout household and knew the laws of piety. It was Fiqh that haunted him. There were so many laws, about so many things, that he knew he couldn't remember them all.\n\nRob thought about it. \"If you can't recall the exact wording of the Fiqh, then you should turn to Shar\u012b'a or Sunna. All the law is based on the sermons and writings of Mohammed. Therefore, if you can't remember the law, give them an answer from religion or from the life of the Prophet and perhaps they will be satisfied.\" He sighed. \"It is worth trying. And in the meantime we'll pray, and memorize as many of the laws of the Fiqh as we are able.\"\n\nNext afternoon at the hospital he followed al-Juzjani through the halls and paused with the others at the pallet of a skinny little rat of a boy, Bil\u0101l. Close by sat a peasant with dumb, accepting eyes.\n\n\"Distemper,\" al-Juzjani said. \"An example of how colic can suck the soul. What is his age?\"\n\nCowed but flattered to be addressed, the father ducked his head. \"He is in the ninth season, lord.\"\n\n\"How long ill?\"\n\n\"Two weeks. It is the side sickness and has killed two of his uncles and my father. Terrible pain. Come and gone, come and gone. But three days ago it came and did not leave.\"\n\nThe nurse, who addressed al-Juzjani fawningly and doubtless wished they would finish with the child and move on, said he had been fed only sherbets of sweetened juices. \"Everything he swallows, he spews or shits.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani nodded. \"Examine him, Jesse.\"\n\nRob pulled down the blanket. The boy had a scar under the chin but it was fully healed and not part of his illness. He placed a palm on the thin cheek and Bil\u0101l tried to move but didn't have the strength. Rob patted his shoulder.\n\n\"Hot.\"\n\nHe ran his fingertips slowly down the body. When he reached the stomach, the boy screamed.\n\n\"The belly is soft on the left and hard on the right side.\"\n\n\"Allah tried to protect the site of the distemper,\" al-Juzjani said.\n\nAs gently as possible Rob used his fingertips to outline the area of pain from the navel across the right half of the abdomen, regretting the torture he produced each time he pressed the belly. He turned Bil\u0101l and they saw that the rectum was red and tender.\n\nWhen he had replaced the blanket he took the small hands and heard the old Black Knight laughing at him again.\n\n\"Will he die, lord?\" the father asked matter-of-factly.\n\n\"Yes,\" Rob said, and the man nodded.\n\nNobody smiled at the opinion. Since they had returned from Sh\u012br\u0101z, Mirdin and Karim had told certain stories that had been repeated. Rob had noticed that now no one hooted when he dared to say somebody would die.\n\n\"Aelus Cornelius Celsus has described the side sickness in his writings and should be read,\" Hakim al-Juzjani said, and turned to the next pallet.\n\nWhen the last patient had been visited, Rob went to the House of Wisdom and asked Yussuful-Gamal, the librarian, to help him find what the Roman had written of the side sickness. He was fascinated to learn that Celsus had opened the bodies of the dead to advance his knowledge. Still, there wasn't much knowledge of this particular complaint, which Celsus described as distemper in the large intestine near the cecum, accompanied by violent inflammation and pain on the right side of the abdomen.\n\nWhen he was through reading, he went again to where Bil\u0101l lay. The father was gone. A stern mullah perched over the boy like a great raven, intoning from the Qu'ran while the child stared at his black robes, his eyes stark.\n\nRob pulled the pallet so the little one was looking away from the mullah. On a low table the nurse had left three Persian pomegranates round as balls, to be eaten with the evening meal, and he took them now and popped them one at a time until he had them flowing over his head from hand to hand. Just like olden days, Bil\u0101l. He was a very unpracticed juggler now but with only three objects there was no trouble and he made the fruits play tricks.\n\nThe boy's eyes were as round as the flying objects.\n\n\"What we need is melody!\"\n\nHe didn't know any Persian songs and he required something lively. There emerged from his mouth Barber's raucous old dolly song.\n\n\u2003\"Your eyes caressed me once,\n\n\u2003Your arms embrace me now \u2026\n\n\u2003We'll roll together by and by\n\n\u2003So make no fruitless vow!\"\n\nNot a suitable song for a child to die by, but the mullah, glaring at his antics in disbelief, was supplying solemnity and prayer while Rob supplied some of the joyousness of life. They didn't understand the words at any rate, so there was no disrespect. He gave Bil\u0101l several choruses and then saw the child leap into a final convulsion that arched his small body into a bow. Still singing, Rob felt the final pulse flutter into nothingness in Bil\u0101l's throat.\n\nHe shut the eyes, cleaned the snot from the nose, straightened and bathed the body. He combed Bil\u0101l's hair and tied the jaw closed with a cloth.\n\nThe mullah still sat cross-legged, chanting from the Qu'ran. His eyes glared: he was able to pray and hate at the same time. Doubtless he would make complaint that the Dhimmi had committed sacrilege, but Rob told himself that the report would not show that just before he died, Bil\u0101l had smiled.\n\nFour nights out of seven the eunuch Wasif came for him and he stayed in the tower haram until the early hours of morning.\n\nThey gave language lessons.\n\n\"A prick.\"\n\nShe laughed. \"No, your lingam. And this, my yoni.\"\n\nShe said they were adequately matched. \"A man is either as a hare, a bull, or a horse. You are as a bull. A woman is either as a deer, a mare, or an elephant, and I am as a deer. That is good. It would be difficult for a hare to bring joy to an elephant,\" she said seriously.\n\nShe was the teacher, he the student, as if he were a boy again and had never made love. She did things he recognized from the pictures in the book he had bought in the maidan and a number that weren't depicted in the book. She showed him kshiraniraka, the milk-and-water embrace. The position of the wife of Indra. The auparishtaka mouth congress.\n\nIn the beginning he was intrigued and delighted as they progressed through the Turnabout, the Knocking at the Door, the Coition of the Blacksmith. He became cranky when she tried to teach him the proper sounds to make when coming, the choice of sut or plat as substitution for the groan.\n\n\"Do you never simply relax and fuck? It is worse than memorizing Fiqh.\"\n\n\"It is more pleasurable after it is learned,\" she said, offended.\n\nHe was unaffected by the reproach in her voice. Also, he had decided that he liked women to keep their hair.\n\n\"Isn't the old man sufficient?\"\n\n\"He was more than enough, once. His potency was famous. He loved drink and women, and when the mood was on him he would do a snake. A female snake,\" she said, and her eyes glittered with tears as she smiled. \"But he hasn't lain with me for two years. When she became very sick, he stopped.\"\n\nDespina said she had belonged to Ibn Sina all her life. She had been born to two of his slaves, an Indian woman and a Persian who had been his trusted servant. Her mother died when she was six. The old man had married her at her father's death, when she was twelve, and had never freed her.\n\nRob fingered her nose ring, symbol of her slavery. \"Why has he not?\"\n\n\"As his property as well as his second wife, I am doubly protected.\"\n\n\"What if he were to come here now?\" He thought of the single stairway.\n\n\"Wasif stands below and would divert him. Besides, my husband sits next to Reza's pallet and doesn't let go of her hand.\"\n\nRob looked at Despina and nodded and felt the guilt that had been growing without his knowledge. He liked the small and beautiful olive-skinned girl with tiny breasts and a plump little belly and a hot mouth. He was sorry about the life she led, a prisoner in this comfortable jail. He knew Islamic tradition kept her shut up most of the time within the house and the gardens and he didn't blame her for anything, but he had come to love the shabby old man with the magnificent mind and the big nose.\n\nHe got up and began to put on his clothing. \"I would be your friend.\"\n\nShe wasn't stupid. She watched him with interest. \"You've been here almost every night and have had your fill of me. If I send Wasif in two weeks' time, you will come.\"\n\nHe kissed her on the nose just above the ring.\n\nRiding the brown horse slowly home in the moonlight, he wondered whether he was a great fool.\n\nEleven nights later, Wasif knocked at his door.\n\nDespina was almost right, he was powerfully tempted and wanted to nod in agreement. The old Rob J. would have hurried to reinforce a story that for the rest of his life could have been pulled forth whenever men tippled and bragged\u2014of how he had gone to the young wife again and again while the old husband sat in another part of the house.\n\nRob shook his head. \"Tell her I can't come to her any more.\"\n\nWasif's eyes glittered beneath great, black-dyed lids, and he smiled scornfully at the timid Jew and rode his donkey away.\n\nReza the Pious died three mornings later as the muezzins of the city chanted First Prayer, a suitable time for the ending of a religious life.\n\nIn the madrassa and the maristan people spoke of how Ibn Sina prepared the woman's body with his own hands, and of the simple burial, which he had allowed only a few praying mullahs to attend.\n\nIbn Sina didn't come to the school or the hospital. No one knew where he was.\n\nA week after Reza's death, one evening Rob saw al-Juzjani drinking in the central maidan.\n\n\"Sit, Dhimmi,\" al-Juzjani said, and signaled for more wine.\n\n\"Hakim, how is the Chief Physician?\"\n\nIt was as if the question was unasked. \"He thinks you are something different. A special clerk,\" al-Juzjani said resentfully.\n\nIf he were not a medical clerk, and if al-Juzjani were not the great al-Juzjani, Rob would have thought the other man jealous of him.\n\n\"If you are not a special clerk, Dhimmi, you will reckon with me.\" Al-Juzjani fixed him with a shining stare, and Rob realized the surgeon was quite drunk. They fell silent as the wine was served.\n\n\"I was seventeen years old when we met in Jurj\u0101n. Ibn Sina was only a few years older, but Allah! It was like looking straight into the sun. My father struck the bargain. Ibn Sina was to apprentice me in medicine, I would be his factotum.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani drank reflectively. \"I attended him. He taught me mathematics, using the Almagest as text. And he dictated several books to me, including the first part of The Canon of Medicine, fifty pages every golden day.\n\n\"When he left Jurj\u0101n I followed, to half a dozen places. In Hamadh\u0101n, the Am\u012br made him vizier but the army rebelled and Ibn Sina was thrown into prison. At first they said they'd kill him, but he was released\u2014the lucky son of a mare! Soon the Am\u012br was tormented by colic and Ibn Sina cured him, and the vizierate was given to him a second time!\n\n\"I stayed with him whether he was a physician or a prisoner or a vizier. He had become as much my friend as my master. Every night pupils would gather in his house, while by turns I read aloud from his book called Healing and someone else read from the Canon. Reza made sure we always had good food. When we were finished we drank lots of wine and went out and found women. He was the merriest of companions and played the way he worked. He had dozens of beautiful cunts\u2014perhaps he fucked remarkably, as he did everything else better than most men. Reza always knew but she loved him anyway.\"\n\nHe looked away. \"Now she is buried and he is consumed. So that he sends old friends from him, and every day he walks the city alone, bestowing gifts to the poor.\"\n\n\"Hakim,\" Rob said gently.\n\nAl-Juzjani stared.\n\n\"Hakim, shall I see you to your home?\"\n\n\"Foreigner. I would like you to leave me now.\"\n\nSo Rob nodded and thanked him for the wine, and then he went away.\n\nRob waited a week and then rode to the house in full daylight and left his horse with the man at the gate.\n\nIbn Sina was alone. His eyes were at peace. He and Rob sat together comfortably, talking sometimes, and sometimes not.\n\n\"Were you already a physician when you wed her, Master?\"\n\n\"I became hakim at sixteen. We were wed when I was ten, the year I memorized the Qu'ran, the year I began the study of healing herbs.\"\n\nRob was awed. \"At that age I was struggling to become a faker and a barbersurgeon.\" He told Ibn Sina how Barber had apprenticed him as an orphaned boy.\n\n\"What had been your father's work?\"\n\n\"A carpenter.\"\n\n\"I know of European guilds. I had heard,\" Ibn Sina said slowly, \"that in Europe there are very few Jews and they are not allowed in the guilds.\"\n\nHe knows, Rob thought in anguish. \"A few are allowed,\" he muttered.\n\nIbn Sina's eyes seemed to pierce him gently. Rob couldn't rid himself of the certainty that he was undone.\n\n\"You yearn so desperately to learn the healing art and science.\"\n\n\"Yes, Master.\"\n\nIbn Sina sighed, nodded, looked away.\n\nNo doubt, Rob noted with relief, his fear had been mistaken; for soon they talked of other things.\n\nIbn Sina recalled the first time he had seen Reza as a boy. \"She was from Bukhara, a girl four years older than I. Our fathers were tax collectors both, and the marriage was amicably arranged save for brief difficulty because her grandfather objected that my father was an Ismaili and used hashish during holy worship. But presently we were wed. She was steadfast all my life.\"\n\nThe old man turned his eyes on Rob. \"You still have the fire in you. What do you want?\"\n\n\"To be a good physician.\" The kind only you make, he added silently. But he believed Ibn Sina understood.\n\n\"You are already a healer. As for worthiness \u2026\" Ibn Sina shrugged. \"To be a good physician, you must be able to answer an unanswerable riddle.\"\n\n\"What is the question?\" Rob J. asked, intrigued.\n\nBut the old man smiled in his sorrow. \"Perhaps one day you may discover it. That is part of the riddle,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE EXAMINATION",
                "text": "On the afternoon of Karim's examination, Rob went through his customary activities with special energy and attention, attempting to divert his mind from the scene he knew would soon take place in the meeting room just off the House of Wisdom.\n\nHe and Mirdin had recruited Yussuful-Gamal, the kindly librarian, as their accomplice and spy. While going about his duties in the library Yussuf was able to witness the identities of the examiners. Mirdin waited outside for the news, which he promptly brought to Rob.\n\n\"It is Sayyid Sa'di for philosophy,\" Yussuf had told Mirdin before hurrying back inside for more. That wasn't bad; the philosopher was difficult but would not go out of his way to fail a candidate.\n\nBut from then on, the news was terrifying.\n\nNadir Bukh, the autocratic, spade-bearded legalist who had failed Karim on his first examination, would test for the law! The mullah Abul Bakr would question on matters of theology, and the Prince of Physicians himself would examine on medicine.\n\nRob had hoped that Jalal would sit on the board for surgery, but Rob could see Jalal at his usual duties, tending to patients; and presently Mirdin came rushing in and whispered that the last member had arrived and it was Ibn al-Natheli, whom none of them knew well.\n\nRob concentrated on his work, helping Jalal put traction on a dislocated shoulder, using a clever device of ropes of Jalal's own design. The patient, a palace guard who had been thrown from his pony during a game of ball-and-stick, finally lay like a wild animal in rope restraints, pop-eyed with the sudden release from pain.\n\n\"Now you will lie for several weeks, at ease while others struggle with the onerous duties of soldiering,\" Jalal said cheerfully. He directed Rob to administer astringent drugs and to order an acid diet until they could be certain the guardsman had not developed inflammation or a hematoma.\n\nThe binding of the shoulder with cloths, not too tight but sufficient to restrain movement, was Rob's last chore. When he was finished he went to the House of Wisdom and sat and read Celsus, trying to hear what was being said in the examining room and gaining only the unintelligible murmur of voices. Finally he abandoned the effort and went to wait on the steps of the medical school, where presently he was joined by Mirdin.\n\n\"They are still inside.\"\n\n\"I hope it is not drawn out,\" Mirdin said. \"Karim isn't the sort who can deal with too long a testing.\"\n\n\"I am not certain he can deal with any testing. He puked for an hour this morning.\"\n\nMirdin sat beside Rob on the steps. They spoke about several patients and then lapsed into silence, Rob scowling, Mirdin sighing.\n\nAfter a longer time than they would have thought possible, Rob stood. \"Here he is,\" he said.\n\nKarim threaded his way toward them through the clusters of students.\n\n\"Can you tell from his face?\" Mirdin said.\n\nRob couldn't, but well before Karim reached them, he shouted the news. \"You must call me hakim, clerks!\"\n\nThey charged down the steps.\n\nThe three of them embraced, danced, and shouted, pummeling one another and making such a row that Hadji Davout Hosein, passing, showed them a face pale with indignation that students of his academy should behave in such a fashion.\n\nThe rest of the day and the evening became a time they would remember for the remainder of their days.\n\n\"You must come to my rooms for refreshment,\" Mirdin said.\n\nIt was the first time he had asked them to his home, the first time they opened their private worlds to one another.\n\nMirdin's quarters were two rented rooms in a joined house hard by the House of Zion Synagogue, on the other side of Yehuddiyyeh from Rob's neighborhood.\n\nHis family was a sweet surprise. A shy wife, Fara: short, dark, low-arsed, steady-eyed. Two round-faced sons, Dawwid and Issachar, who clung to their mother's robes. Fara served sweetcakes and wine, obviously in readiness for the celebration, and after a number of toasts the three friends went forth again and found a tailor who measured the new hakim for his black physician's robes.\n\n\"This is a night for the maidans!\" Rob declared, and at eventide they were in a dining place overlooking the great central square of the city, eating a fine Persian meal and calling for more of a musky wine which Karim scarcely needed, being drunk on physicianhood.\n\nThey dwelled over each question of the examination, and each answer.\n\n\"Ibn Sina kept asking me questions about medicine. 'What are the various signs obtained from sweat, candidate?\u2026 Very good, Master Karim, very complete \u2026 And what are the general signs that we use for prognosis? Will you now discuss proper hygiene for a traveler on the land and then on the sea?' It was almost as though he were aware that medicine was my strength and the other fields my weakness.\n\n\"Sayyid Sa'di bade me discuss Plato's concept that all men desire happiness, which I am grateful, Mirdin, that we studied so completely. I answered at length, with many references to the Prophet's concept that happiness is Allah's reward for obedience and faithful prayer. And that was one danger dealt with.\"\n\n\"And what of Nadir Bukh?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"The lawyer.\" Karim shuddered. \"He asked me to discuss the Fiqh regarding punishment of criminals. I couldn't think. So I said that all punishment is based on the writings of Mohammed (may he be blessed!), which declare that in this world we all depend upon one another proximately, though our ultimate dependence is always on Allah now and forever. Time separates the good and pure from the evil and rebellious. Every individual who strays will be punished and every one who obeys will be in complete consonance with God's Universal Will, on which Fiqh is based. The command of the soul thus rests wholly with Allah, who works to punish all sinners.\"\n\nRob was staring. \"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"I don't know now. I didn't know then. I saw Nadir Bukh chewing the answer to see if it contained meat he hadn't recognized. He seemed about to open his mouth to demand clarification or ask further questions, in which case I should have been doomed, but then Ibn Sina asked me to expound upon the humor of blood, whereupon I gave back his own words from the two books he has written on the subject, and the questioning was over!\"\n\nThey roared until they wept, and drank and drank again.\n\nWhen finally they could drink no more they staggered to the street beyond the maidan and hailed the donkey coach with the lily on the door. Rob sat in the driver's seat with the pimp. Mirdin fell asleep with his head in the ample lap of the whore named Lorna, and Karim rested his head upon her bosom and sang gentle songs.\n\nFara's quiet eyes were round with concern when they half-carried her husband into his rooms.\n\n\"He is ill?\"\n\n\"He is drunk. As are we all,\" Rob explained, and they returned to the coach. It carried them to the little house in Yehuddiyyeh, where he and Karim dropped to the floor as soon as they were inside the door, falling asleep in their clothes.\n\nDuring the night he was awakened by a quiet rasp of sound and knew Karim was weeping.\n\nAt dawn he was awakened again, by the rising of his visitor.\n\nRob groaned. He should not drink at all, he thought gloomily.\n\n\"Sorry to disturb. I must go and run.\"\n\n\"Run? Why, on this of all mornings? After last night?\"\n\n\"To prepare for chatir.\"\n\n\"What is chatir?\"\n\n\"A footrace.\"\n\nKarim slipped out of the house. There was the slap-slap-slap as he began to run, a receding sound, soon gone.\n\nRob lay on the floor and listened to the barking of cur dogs that marked the progress of the world's newest physician, roaming like a djinn through the narrow streets of Yehuddiyyeh."
            },
            {
                "title": "A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY",
                "text": "\"The chatir is our national footrace, an annual event almost as old as Persia,\" Karim told Rob. \"It's held to celebrate the end of Ramadan, the month of religious fasting. Originally\u2014so far back in the mists of time that we've lost the name of the king who sponsored the first race\u2014it was a competition to select the Shah's chatir, or footman, but through the centuries it has drawn to Ispahan the best runners of Persia and elsewhere and taken on the qualities of a great entertainment.\"\n\nThe course began at the gates of the House of Paradise and wound through the streets of Ispahan for ten and one-half Roman miles, ending at a series of posts in the palace courtyard. On the posts were hung slings, each containing twelve arrows and assigned to a specific runner. Every time a runner reached the posts he took an arrow from his sling and placed it in a quiver on his back, then he retraced his steps for another lap. Traditionally the race began with the call to First Prayer. It was a grueling test of endurance. If the day was hot and oppressive, the last runner to remain in the race was declared the winner. In races run during cool weather men sometimes finished the entire twelve laps, 126 Roman miles, usually collecting the final arrow some time after Fifth Prayer. Although it was rumored that ancient runners had achieved better times, most ran the course in about fourteen hours.\n\n\"No one now living can remember a runner who finished in less than thirteen hours,\" Karim said. \"Al\u0101 Shah has announced that if a man finishes in twelve hours or less, he will be awarded a magnificent calaat. In addition he will earn a reward of five hundred gold pieces and an honorary appointment as Chief of the Chatirs, which carries with it a handsome annual stipend.\"\n\n\"This is why you've worked so hard, run so far every day? You think you can win this race?\"\n\nKarim grinned and shrugged. \"Every runner dreams of winning the chatir. Of course I would like to win the race and the calaat. Only one thing could be better than being a physician\u2014and that is being a rich physician in Ispahan!\"\n\nThe air turned, becoming so perfectly moist and temperate that it seemed to kiss Rob's skin when he left the house. The whole world seemed in full youth, and the River of Life roared day and night with snowmelt. It was foggy April in London but in Ispahan it was the month of Shaban, softer and sweeter than the English May. The neglected apricot trees in the little yard burst into whiteness of stunning beauty, and one morning Khuff rode up to Rob's door and collected him, telling him Al\u0101 Shah wished his company on a ride that day.\n\nRob was apprehensive about spending time with the mercurial monarch, and surprised the Shah had remembered his promise that they would ride together.\n\nAt the stables of the House of Paradise he was told to wait. He waited a considerable time; eventually Al\u0101 came, followed by such a retinue Rob could scarcely credit it.\n\n\"Well, Dhimmi!\"\n\n\"Majesty.\"\n\nAl\u0101 Shah waved off the ravi zemin impatiently and they were quickly into the saddle.\n\nThey rode deep into the hills, the Shah on a white Arabian stallion that fairly flew with easy beauty, Rob riding behind him. Presently the Shah settled into an easy canter and waved him alongside.\n\n\"You are an excellent physician to prescribe riding, Jesse. I have been drowning in the shit of the court. Is it not pleasing to be away from all people?\"\n\n\"It is, Majesty.\"\n\nRob stole a look behind them a few moments later. Far back, here came the entire world: Khuff and his guardsmen, keeping a wary eye on the monarch, equerries with spare mounts and pack animals, wagons that rolled and clanked as they were dragged over the rough open ground.\n\n\"Do you wish a more spirited animal to ride?\"\n\nRob smiled. \"It would be a waste of Your Majesty's generosity. This horse is suited to my mastery, Excellency.\" Actually, he had grown fond of the brown gelding.\n\nAl\u0101 snorted. \"It is clear you are no Persian, for no Persian would lose an opportunity to better his mount. In Persia riding is all, and man-children emerge from their dames with tiny saddles between their legs.\" He dug his heels exuberantly into the Arabian's flanks. The horse sprang past a dead tree and the Shah turned in the saddle and fired his enormous longbow over his left shoulder, roaring with laughter when the great bolt of an arrow missed its mark.\n\n\"Do you know the story behind this exercise?\"\n\n\"No, Sire. I saw it done by horsemen at your entertainment.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is often performed by us, and some are excellently skilled at it. It is called the Parthian shot. Eight hundred years ago, the Parthians were just one of the peoples of our land. They lived east of Media, in a territory that was mostly terrible mountains and an even more terrible desert, the Dasht-i-Kavir.\"\n\n\"I know the Dasht-i-Kavir. I crossed a bit of it to come to you.\"\n\n\"Then you know the kind of people it would take to live on it,\" Al\u0101 said, reining the stallion strongly to keep it by the gelding's side.\n\n\"There was a struggle for the control of Rome. One of the contenders was the aging Crassus, governor of Syria. He needed a military conquest to equal or surpass the exploits of his rivals, Caesar and Pompey, and he decided to challenge the Parthians.\n\n\"The Parthian army, one-quarter the size of Crassus' dread Roman legions, was led by a general named Suren. It consisted mostly of bowmen on small, fast Persian horses and a tiny force of cataphracts, armored horse soldiers wielding long, deadly lances.\n\n\"Crassus' legions came straight at Suren, who retreated into the Dasht-i-Kavir. Rather than turn north into Armenia, Crassus gave chase, plunging into the desert. And something wonderful happened.\n\n\"The cataphracts attacked the Romans before they had a chance to complete their classic defensive square. After the first charge the lancers withdrew and the archers moved in. They used Persian longbows like mine, more powerful than the Romans'. Their arrows pierced Roman shields, breastplates, and greaves, and to the amazement of the legions, the Parthians kept loosing arrows accurately over their shoulders as they retreated.\"\n\n\"The Parthian shot,\" Rob said.\n\n\"The Parthian shot. At first the Romans kept their morale, expecting the arrows soon would be depleted. But Suren brought in new supplies of arrows on baggage camels, and the Romans couldn't fight their customary war at close quarters. Crassus sent his son on a diversionary raid and the youth's head was returned to him on the end of a Persian lance. The Romans fled under cover of night\u2014the most powerful army in the world! Ten thousand escaped, led by Cassius, future assassin of Caesar. Ten thousand were captured. And twenty thousand, including Crassus, were killed. Parthian casualties were insignificant, and since that day every Persian schoolboy has practiced the Parthian shot.\"\n\nAl\u0101 gave the stallion his head and tried it again, this time shouting with delight as the arrow slammed solidly into the bole of a tree. Then he raised his bow high in the air, his signal for the others in the party to come up.\n\nA thick rug was carried to them and unrolled and over it soldiers quickly raised the king's tent. Soon, while three musicians softly played dulcimers, food was brought.\n\nAl\u0101 sat and motioned for Rob to join him. They were served breasts of various game fowls baked in savory spices, a tart pilah, bread, melons which must have been kept in a cave through the winter, and three kinds of wine. Rob ate with pleasure while Al\u0101 tasted little food but drank steadily, all three wines.\n\nWhen Al\u0101 ordered the Shah's Game a board was brought at once and the pieces set up. This time Rob remembered the different moves but the Shah had an easy time defeating him thrice in succession, despite having called for more wine and quickly dispatching it.\n\n\"Qandrasseh would enforce the edict against wine drinking,\" Al\u0101 said.\n\nRob didn't know a safe reply.\n\n\"Let me tell you of Qandrasseh, Dhimmi. Qandrasseh understands\u2014wrongly, wrongly!\u2014that the throne exists principally to punish those who overstep the Qu'ran. The throne exists to enlarge the nation and make it all-powerful, not to worry about the mean sins of villagers. But the Imam believes he is Allah's terrible right hand. It is not enough that he has risen from being the head of a tiny mosque in Media until he is Vizier to the Shah of Persia. He is distant kin to the Abbasid family, in his veins flows the blood of the Caliphs of Baghdad. He would like one day to rule in Ispahan, striking out from my throne with a religious fist.\"\n\nNow Rob could not have answered had the words been there, for he was stricken with terror. The Shah's wine-loosened tongue had put him at highest risk, for if Ala, sobering, should regret his words it would be no great task to arrange the witness's swift disposal.\n\nBut Al\u0101 showed no discomfiture. When a sealed jug of wine was brought, he tossed it to Rob and led him back to the horses. They made no attempt to hunt but simply rode through the lazy day and grew hot and nicely tired. The hills were bright with flowers, cuplike blossoms of red and yellow and white, on thick stalks. They weren't plants he had seen in England. Al\u0101 couldn't tell him their names but said each came not from a seed but from a bulb like an onion.\n\n\"I am taking you to a place you must never show to any man,\" Al\u0101 said, and led him through brush until they were at the ferny mouth of a cave. Just inside, amid a stench like slightly rotting eggs, was warm air and a pool of brown water lined with gray rocks blotched with purple lichens. Already Al\u0101 was undressing. \"Well, do not tarry. Off with your clothes, you foolish Dhimmi!\"\n\nRob did so with nervous reluctance, wondering whether the Shah was a man who loved the bodies of men. But Al\u0101 already was in the water and assessing him unabashedly but without lust.\n\n\"Bring the wine. You are not exceptionally hung, European.\"\n\nHe realized it would not be politic to point out that his organ was larger than the king's.\n\nThe Shah was more sensitive than Rob had credited, for Al\u0101 was grinning at him. \"I don't need to be made like a horse, for I can have any woman. I never do a woman twice, do you know that? That is why a host does not hold more than one entertainment for me, unless he gets a new wife.\"\n\nRob settled gingerly into hot water odorous with mineral deposits, and Al\u0101 opened the wine jug and drank, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Sweat sprang from his cheeks and forehead until the part out of the water was as wet as the portion of his body that was submerged. Rob studied him, wondering what it was like to be supreme.\n\n\"When did you lose your maidenhead?\" Al\u0101 asked, eyes still closed.\n\nRob told him of the English widow who had taken him into her bed.\n\n\"I, too, was twelve years old. My father ordered his sister to begin to come to my bed, as is our custom with young princes, very sensible. My aunt was tender and instructive, almost a mother to me. For years I thought that after every fucking came a bowl of warm milk and a sweetmeat.\"\n\nThey soaked in contented silence. \"I would be King of Kings, European,\" Al\u0101 said finally.\n\n\"You are King of Kings.\"\n\n\"That is what I am called.\"\n\nNow he opened his eyes and looked directly at Rob, an unblinking brown stare. \"Xerxes. Alexander. Cyrus. Darius. All great, and if each was not Persian by birth, they were Persian kings when they died. Great kings over great empires.\n\n\"Now there is no empire. In Ispahan, I am the king. To the west, Toghrul-beg rules over vast tribes of nomadic Seljuk Turks. To the east, Mahmud is the sultan of the mountainous fasts of Ghazna. Beyond Ghazna, two dozen weak rajahs rule in India but they are a threat only to one another. The only kings strong enough to matter are Mahmud, Toghrul beg, and I. When I ride forth, the chawns and beglerbegs who rule the towns and cities rush outside their walls to meet me with tribute and fawning compliments.\n\n\"But I know the same chawns and beglerbegs would pay the same homage to either Mahmud or Toghrul-beg if they should ride that way with their armies.\n\n\"Once in ancient days there was a time like now, when there were small kingdoms and kings who fought for the prize of a vast empire. Finally only two men held all the power. Ardashir and Ardewan met in single combat while their armies watched. Two great, mailed figures circling each other in the desert. It ended when Ardewan was bludgeoned to death and Ardashir was the first man to take the title Shahanshah. Would you not like to be that kind of King of Kings?\"\n\nRob shook his head. \"I want only to be a physician.\"\n\nHe could see puzzlement on the Shah's face. \"Something new. All my life no one has failed to take an opportunity to flatter me. Yet you would not exchange places with the king, it is clear.\n\n\"I have made inquiries. They say that as an apprentice you are remarkable. That great things are expected when you become hakim. I shall need men who can do great things but do not lick my arse.\n\n\"I will use guile and the power of the throne to stave off Qandrasseh. The Shah has always had to fight to keep Persia. I will use my armies and my sword against other kings. Before I am through, Persia will be an empire again and I shall truly be Shahanshah.\"\n\nHis hand clamped Rob's wrist. \"Will you be my friend, Jesse ben Benjamin?\"\n\nRob knew he had been lured and trapped by a clever hunter. Al\u0101 Shah was recruiting his future loyalty for his own purposes. And it was being done coldly and with forethought; clearly, there was more to this monarch than the drunken profligate.\n\nHe would not have chosen to be involved in politics and he regretted riding out into the country that morning. But it was done, and Rob was very aware of his debts.\n\nHe took the Shah's wrist. \"You have my allegiance, Majesty.\"\n\nAl\u0101 nodded. He leaned back again, into the heat of the pool, and scratched his chest. \"So. And do you like this, my special place?\"\n\n\"It is sulfurous as a fart. Sire.\"\n\nAl\u0101 was not a man to guffaw. He merely opened his eyes and smiled. Eventually he spoke again. \"You may bring a woman here if you like, Dhimmi,\" he said lazily."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 62",
                "text": "\"I don't like it,\" Mirdin said when he heard that Rob had ridden with Al\u0101. \"He is unpredictable and dangerous.\"\n\n\"It's a great opportunity for you,\" Karim said.\n\n\"An opportunity I don't desire.\"\n\nTo his relief, days went by and the Shah didn't summon him again. He felt the need for friends who were not kings and spent much of his free time with Mirdin and Karim.\n\nKarim was settling into the life of a young physician, working at the maristan as he had before, save that now he was paid a small stipend by al-Juzjani for daily examination and care of the surgeon's patients. With more time to himself and a bit more money to spend, he was frequenting the maidans and the brothels. \"Come with me,\" he urged Rob. \"I'll bring you to a whore with hair black as a raven's wing and fine as silk.\"\n\nRob smiled and shook his head.\n\n\"What kind of woman do you want?\"\n\n\"One with hair red as fire.\"\n\nKarim grinned at him. \"They don't come that way.\"\n\n\"You need wives,\" Mirdin told them placidly, but neither of them heeded him. Rob turned his energies to his studies. Karim continued his solitary womanizing, and his sexual appetite was becoming a source of merriment to the hospital staff. Knowing his story, Rob was aware that within the beautiful face and the athlete's body was a friendless little boy seeking female love to blot out terrible memories.\n\nKarim ran more than ever now, at the start and end of each day. He trained hard and constantly and not only by running. He taught Rob and Mirdin to use the curved sword of Persia, the scimitar, a heavier weapon than Rob was used to and one requiring strong, supple wrists. Karim made them exercise with a heavy rock in each hand, turning the rocks up and down, before and behind, to make their wrists quick and strong.\n\nMirdin was not a good athlete and couldn't become a swordsman. But he accepted his clumsiness cheerfully, and he was so endowed with intellectual power it scarcely seemed to matter that he wasn't fierce with a sword.\n\nThey saw little of Karim after dark\u2014abruptly, he stopped asking Rob to accompany him to brothels, confiding that he had begun an affair with a married woman and was in love. But with increasing frequency Rob was invited to Mirdin's rooms near the House of Zion Synagogue for the evening meal.\n\nOn a chest in Mirdin's home he was amazed to see a checkered board such as he had seen only twice before. \"Is it the Shah's Game?\"\n\n\"Yes. You know it? My family has played it forever.\"\n\nMirdin's pieces were wooden, but the game was identical to that Rob had played with Al\u0101, save that instead of being intent on swift and bloody victory, Mirdin was quick to teach. Before long, under his patient tutelage, Rob began to grasp the fine points.\n\nHomely Mirdin offered him small glimpses of peace. On a warm evening, after a simple meal of Fara's vegetable pilah, he followed Mirdin to wish six-year-old Issachar a good night.\n\n\"Abba. Is our Father in Heaven watching me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Issachar. He sees you always.\"\n\n\"Why cannot I see Him?\"\n\n\"He is invisible.\"\n\nThe boy had fat brown cheeks and serious eyes. His teeth and jaw already were too large and he would have his father's inelegance, but also his sweetness.\n\n\"If He is invisible, how does He know what He looks like?\"\n\nRob grinned. Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, he thought. Answer that, O Mirdin, scholar of oral and written law, master of the Shah's Game, philosopher and healer \u2026\n\nBut Mirdin was equal to it. \"The Torah tells us He has made man in His own image, after His likeness, and therefore He does but glance at you, my son, and sees Himself.\" Mirdin kissed the child. \"A good night, Issachar.\"\n\n\"A good night, Abba. A good night, Jesse.\"\n\n\"Rest well, Issachar,\" Rob said, and kissed the boy and followed his friend from the sleeping chamber."
            },
            {
                "title": "FIVE DAYS TO THE WEST",
                "text": "A large caravan arrived from Anatolia and a young drover came to the maristan with a basket of dried figs for the Jew named Jesse. The youth was Sadi, eldest son of Dehbid Hafiz, kelonter of Sh\u012br\u0101z, and the figs were a gift symbolizing his father's love and gratitude for the plague-fighters of Ispahan.\n\nSadi and Rob sat and drank chai and ate the delectable figs, which were large and meaty, full of crystals of sugar. Sadi had bought them in Midyat from a drover whose camels had carried them from Izmir, across the whole of Turkey. Now he would drive the camels east again, bound for Sh\u012br\u0101z, and he was caught up in the great adventure of travel and proud when the Dhimmi healer requested that he carry a gift of Ispahan wines to his distinguished father, Dehbid Hafiz.\n\nThe caravans were the only source of news, and Rob questioned the youth closely.\n\nThere had been no further sign of the plague when the caravan had departed Sh\u012br\u0101z. Seljuk troops had been sighted once in the mountainous eastern part of Media but they appeared to be a small party and did not attack the caravan (praise be to Allah!). In Ghazna the people were afflicted with a curious itching rash and the caravan master would not stop there lest the drovers lie with the local women and contract the strange disease. In Hamadh\u0101n there was no plague but a Christian foreigner had brought a European fever to Islam and the mullahs had forbidden the populace from all contact with the infidel devils.\n\n\"What are the signs of this disease?\"\n\nSadi ibn Dehbid demurred, for he was no physician and didn't bother his head with such matters. He knew only that no one save the Christian's daughter would go near him.\n\n\"The Christian has a daughter?\"\n\nSadi could not describe the sick man or his daughter but said that Boudi the Camel Trader, who was with the caravan, had seen them both.\n\nTogether they sought out the camel trader, a sly-eyed, wizened man who spat red saliva from between teeth blackened from chewing betel nut.\n\nBoudi barely remembered the Christians, he said, but when Rob pressed a coin on him his memory improved until he recalled that he had seen them five days' travel to the west, half a day beyond the town of Datur. The father was middle-aged, with long gray hair and no beard. He had worn foreign clothing black as a mullah's robes. The woman was young and tall and had curious hair a little lighter in color than henna.\n\nRob looked at him in dismay. \"How ill did the European appear?\"\n\nBoudi smiled pleasantly. \"I do not know, master. III.\"\n\n\"Were there servants?\"\n\n\"I saw no one attending them.\"\n\nDoubtless the hirelings had run off, Rob told himself. \"Did she appear to have sufficient food?\"\n\n\"I myself gave her a basket of pulse and three loaves of bread, master.\"\n\nNow Rob fixed him with a stare that frightened Boudi. \"Why did you give her foodstuffs?\"\n\nThe camel trader shrugged. He turned and rummaged in a sack, and pulled out a knife, hilt first. There were fancier knives to be found in every Persian marketplace but it was the proof, for the last time Rob had seen it, this dagger had swung from the belt of James Geikie Cullen.\n\nHe knew if he confided in Karim and Mirdin they would insist on accompanying him, and he wanted to go alone. He left word for them with Yussuful-Gamal. \"Tell them I'm called off on a personal matter and will explain on my return,\" he said to the librarian.\n\nOf others, he told only Jalal.\n\n\"Going away for a time? But why?\"\n\n\"It's important. It involves a woman \u2026\"\n\n\"Of course it does,\" Jalal muttered. The bonesetter was cranky until he found that there were enough apprentices to serve the clinic without discomforting him, and then he nodded.\n\nRob left next morning. It was a long trip and undue haste would have worked against him, yet he kept the brown gelding moving, for always in his mind was the picture of a woman alone in a foreign wilderness with her sick father.\n\nIt was summer weather and the runoff waters of spring already had evaporated under the coppery sun, so that the salty dust of Persia coated him and insinuated itself into his saddle pack. He ate it in his food and drank a thin film of it in his water. Everywhere he saw wildflowers turned brown, but he passed people tilling the rocky soil by turning the little moisture to irrigate the vines and date trees, as had been done for thousands of years.\n\nHe was grimly purposeful and no one challenged or delayed him, and at dusk of the fourth day he passed the town of Datur. Nothing could be done in the dark, but next morning he was riding at sunrise. At midmorning in the tiny village of Gusheh, a merchant accepted his coin, bit it, and then told him everyone knew of the Christians. They were in a house off Ahmad's wadi, a short ride due west.\n\nThe wadi eluded him but he came upon two goatherds, an old man and a boy. At his question about the whereabouts of Christians, the old man spat.\n\nRob drew his weapon. He had an almost-forgotten ugliness in him. The old man could sense it and, with his eyes on the broadsword, he raised his arm and pointed.\n\nRob rode in that direction. When he was out of range, the younger goatherd put a stone in his sling and launched it. He could hear it rattling in the rocks behind him.\n\nHe came upon the wadi suddenly. The old riverbed was mostly dry but had been flooded earlier in the season, for in shady places there was still green growth. He followed it a good way before he saw the little house built of mud and stone. She was standing outside boiling a wash and when she saw him she sprang away like a wild thing, into the house. By the time he was off his horse, she had dragged something heavy against the door.\n\n\"Mary.\"\n\n\"Is it you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThere was a silence, then a grating sound as she moved the rock. The door opened a crack, and then wider.\n\nHe realized she had never seen him in the beard or the Persian garb, although the leather Jew's hat was the one she knew.\n\nShe was holding her father's sword. The ordeal was in her face, which was thin, making her eyes and the large cheekbones and long thin nose all the more prominent. There were blisters on her lips, which he recalled happened to her when she was exhausted. Her cheeks were sooty except for two lines washed by tears from the smoky fire. But she blinked and he could see her become as sensible as he remembered.\n\n\"Please. Will you help him?\" she said, and led Rob quickly into the house."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 64",
                "text": "His heart sank when he saw James Cullen. He didn't need to take the sheepman's hands to know he was dying. She must have known too, but she looked at him as though she expected him to heal her father with a touch.\n\nThere hung over the house the fetid stink of Cullen's insides.\n\n\"He has had the flux?\"\n\nShe nodded wearily and recited the details in a flat voice. The fever had begun weeks before with vomiting and a terrible pain in the right side of his abdomen. Mary had nursed him carefully. After a time his temperature had subsided and to her great relief he had begun to get well. For several weeks he had made steady gains and was almost recovered, and then the symptoms had recurred, this time with even greater severity.\n\nCullen's face appeared pale and sunken, and his eyes dull. His pulse was barely perceptible. He was racked with alternating fever and chills, and had both diarrhea and vomiting.\n\n\"The servants thought it was the plague. They ran away,\" she said.\n\n\"No. Not the plague.\" The vomitus wasn't black and there were no buboes. Small consolation. His abdomen had hardened on the right side until it was boardlike. When Rob pressed on it, Cullen\u2014although he appeared to be lost in the deep softness of coma\u2014screamed.\n\nRob knew what it was. The last time he had seen it, he had juggled and sang so a little boy could die without fright.\n\n\"A distemper of the large intestine. Sometimes they call it the side sickness. It is a poison that began in his gut and has spread through his body.\"\n\n\"What has caused it?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Perhaps the bowel has become kinked or there is an obstruction.\" They both recognized the hopelessness of his ignorance.\n\nHe worked hard over James Cullen, trying anything that might possibly help. He gave enemas of milky chamomile tea and when they didn't do anything he administered doses of rhubarb and salts. He applied hot packs to the abdomen, but by then he knew it was no use.\n\nHe stayed next to the Scot's bed. He would have sent Mary into the next room to get some of the rest she had denied herself, but he knew the end was near and reasoned she would have plenty of time to rest later.\n\nIn the middle of the night Cullen just gave a little leap, a small start.\n\n\"It's all right, Da,\" Mary whispered, rubbing his hands, and there was a slipping away, so quiet and easy that for a little while neither she nor Rob knew that her father was no longer alive."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 65",
                "text": "She had given up shaving him a few days before he died and there was gray beard to be scraped from his face. Rob combed his hair and held the body in his arms while she washed it, dry-eyed. \"I am glad to do this. I wasn't allowed to help with my mother,\" she said.\n\nCullen had a long scar on the right thigh. \"He got that chasing a wild boar into the brush, when I was eleven. He had to spend the winter in the house. We made a cr\u00e8che together for Yuletide and it was then I came to know him.\"\n\nAfter her father had been prepared, Rob carried more water from the brook and heated it on the fire. While she bathed he dug a grave, which proved devilishly hard, for the soil was mostly stone and he hadn't a proper tool. In the end he used Cullen's sword and a stout sharpened branch for prying, and his bare hands. When the grave was ready, he fashioned a rood of two sticks lashed together with the dead man's belt.\n\nShe wore the black dress in which he had first seen her. He carried Cullen in a winding sheet that was a wool blanket they had brought from their home, so beautiful and warm he regretted placing it in the grave.\n\nIt required a Holy Mass of Requiem and he couldn't even speak a proper burial prayer, not trusting himself to get the Latin right. But a psalm that had been one of Mam's came to mind.\n\n\"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.\n\nHe maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.\n\nHe restoreth my soul; He guideth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.\n\nYea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.\n\nThou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over.\n\nSurely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.\"\n\nHe closed the grave and fixed the cross. When he walked away she remained kneeling, her eyes closed and her lips moving with words only her own mind could hear.\n\nHe gave her time to be alone in the house. She had told him about turning loose their two horses to forage for themselves on the thin growth in the wadi, and he rode out to find the animals.\n\nHe saw they had built a pen with a thornbush fence. Inside he found the bones of four sheep, probably killed by animals and eaten. Doubtless Cullen had bought many more sheep that had been stolen by humans.\n\nCrazy Scot! He never could have brought a flock all the way to Scotland. And now he would not bring himself home either, and his daughter was left alone in an unfriendly land.\n\nAt one end of the stony little valley Rob discovered the remains of Cullen's white horse. Perhaps it had broken a leg and had been easy prey; the carcass was almost consumed, but he recognized the work of jackals and went back to the fresh grave and armored it in heavy, flat stones that would prevent the beasts from digging up the body.\n\nHe came upon her black mount at the other end of the wadi, as far from the jackals' feast as it had been able to get. It wasn't difficult to put a halter on the horse, which appeared eager for the safety and security of servitude.\n\nWhen he returned to the house he found her composed but pale. \"What would I have done, had you not appeared?\"\n\nHe smiled at her, remembering the barricaded door and the sword in her hand. \"What was needed.\"\n\nShe was tightly controlled. \"I would like to return to Ispahan with you.\"\n\n\"I want that.\" His heart leaped, but he was chastened by her next words.\n\n\"There is a caravanserai there?\"\n\n\"Yes. Busily trafficked.\"\n\n\"Then I'll join a protected caravan traveling west. And make my way to a port where I may be able to book passage home.\"\n\nHe went to her and took her hands, the first time he had touched her. Her fingers were rough from work, unlike a haram woman's hands, but he didn't want to release them. \"Mary, I made a terrible mistake. I can't let you go again.\"\n\nHer steady eyes contemplated him.\n\n\"Come with me to Ispahan, but live there with me.\"\n\nIt would have been easier if he hadn't felt constrained to speak guiltily of Jesse ben Benjamin and the need for pretense.\n\nIt was as if a current ran between their fingers, but he saw anger in her eyes, a kind of horror. \"So many lies,\" she said, quietly. She pulled herself away from him and went outside.\n\nHe went to the door and watched her walking away from the house over the broken ground of the riverbed.\n\nShe was gone long enough for him to worry, but she returned.\n\n\"Tell me why it is worth the deception.\"\n\nHe forced himself to put it into words, an embarrassment he undertook because he wanted her and knew the truth was her due.\n\n\"It's being chosen. As though God has said, 'In the creation of human beings I made mistakes and I charge you with working to correct some of my errors.' It isn't a thing I desired. It sought me out.\"\n\nHis words frightened her. \"Surely that is blasphemy, to set yourself as one who corrects God's mistakes?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" he said gently. \"A good physician is but His instrument.\"\n\nShe nodded, and now he thought he saw in her eyes a glimmer of understanding, perhaps even envy.\n\n\"I would always share you with a mistress.\"\n\nSomehow she had sensed Despina, he thought foolishly. \"I want only you,\" he said.\n\n\"No, you want your work and it will come first, before family, before anything. But I have loved you so, Rob. And want to be your wife.\"\n\nHe put his arms around her.\n\n\"Cullens are married in the Church,\" she said into his shoulder.\n\n\"Even if we could find a priest in Persia he wouldn't marry a Christian woman and a Jew. We must tell people we were married in Constantinople. When I finish my medical training we'll return to England and be properly wed.\"\n\n\"And meantime?\" she said bleakly.\n\n\"A hand-held marriage.\" He took both of her hands in his.\n\nThey regarded one another soberly. \"There should be words, even with a hand-held marriage,\" she said.\n\n\"Mary Cullen, I take you for my wife,\" he said thickly. \"I promise to cherish and protect you, and you have my love.\" He wished the words were better but he was deeply moved and didn't feel in control of his tongue.\n\n\"Robert Jeremy Cole, I take you for husband,\" she said clearly. \"I promise to go where you go and ever to seek your well-being. You have had my love since first I saw you.\"\n\nShe gripped his hands so hard they hurt and he could feel her vitality, a throbbing. He was aware that the fresh grave outside made joy indecent, yet he felt a wild mixture of emotions and he told himself their vows had been better than many he had heard in a church.\n\nHe packed her belongings on the brown horse and she rode the black. He would trade the pack off between the animals, transferring it each morning. On the rare occasions when the way was smooth and flat, both he and Mary sat the one horse, but most of the time she rode and he led the way on foot. It made for slow travel, but he wasn't in a hurry.\n\nShe was more given to silence than he recalled and he made no move to touch her, sensitive to her grief. Camping in a brushy clearing by the side of the road on the second night of their trip to Ispahan, he lay awake and listened to her finally weeping.\n\n\"If you're God's helper, correcting mistakes, why could you not save him?\"\n\n\"I don't know enough.\"\n\nThe weeping had been a long time coming and now she couldn't stop. He took her into his arms. While they lay with her head on his shoulder, he began to kiss her wet face and finally her mouth, which was soft and welcoming and tasted as he remembered. He rubbed her back and stroked the lovely hollow at the base of her spine and then, as their kiss hardened and he felt her tongue, he groped through her underclothing.\n\nShe was weeping again but open to his fingers and spreading to accept him.\n\nWhat he felt more than passion was an overriding regard for her and a thanksgiving. Their joining was a delicate, tender rocking in which they scarcely moved at all. It went on and on, on and on, until it ended exquisitely for him; seeking to heal he was healed, and seeking to comfort he was comforted, but to bring her some measure of solace he had to finish her with his hand.\n\nAfterward he held her and talked softly, telling her of Ispahan and Yehuddiyyeh, and the madrassa and the hospital, and Ibn Sina. And of his friends the Muslim and the Jew, Mirdin and Karim.\n\n\"Do they have wives?\"\n\n\"Mirdin has a wife. Karim has a lot of women.\"\n\nThey fell asleep wrapped in one another.\n\nHe was awakened in the harsh gray light of morning by the creaking of saddle leather, the slow thudding of hooves in the dusty road, someone's ragged coughing, men talking as they sat their walking beasts.\n\nLooking over her shoulder through the thorny brush that separated their hiding place from the road, he watched a force of mounted soldiers riding past. They were fierce-looking, carrying the same eastern swords as Al\u0101's men but with bows that were shorter than the Persian variety. They wore ragged robes and once-white turbans stained dark with sweat and dirt, and they exuded a stink that reached Rob where he lay in agony, waiting for one of his horses to give him away or for a rider to glance through the bushes and see him and the sleeping woman.\n\nA familiar face came into view and he recognized Hadad Khan, the hot-tempered Seljuk ambassador to the court of the Al\u0101 Shah.\n\nThese were Seljuks, then. And riding next to white-haired Hadad Khan was another figure known to him, a mullah named Musa Ibn Abbas, chief aide to the Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh, the Persian Vizier.\n\nRob saw a total of six other mullahs and counted ninety-six horse soldiers. There was no knowing how many had ridden past while he slept.\n\nNeither his horse nor Mary's whinnied or made any other sound to reveal their presence, and eventually the last Seljuk rode past and Rob dared to breathe, listening to their sounds growing fainter.\n\nPresently he kissed his wife to waken her and then lost no time breaking their rude camp and starting on their way, for he had found a reason for hurrying."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CHATIR",
                "text": "\"Married?\" Karim said. He looked at Rob and grinned.\n\n\"A wife! I didn't expect you would heed my advice,\" Mirdin said, beaming. \"Who arranged this match?\"\n\n\"No one. That is,\" Rob said hastily, \"there was a nuptial agreement more than a year ago, but it wasn't acted upon until now.\"\n\n\"What is her name?\" Karim asked.\n\n\"Mary Cullen. She's a Scot. I met her and her father in a caravan on my eastward journey.\" He told them something of James Cullen, and of his illness and death.\n\nMirdin seemed scarcely to be listening. \"A Scot. That is a European?\"\n\n\"Yes. She comes from a place north of my own country.\"\n\n\"She is a Christian?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"I must see this European woman,\" Karim said. \"Is she a pretty female?\"\n\n\"She's so beautiful!\" Rob blurted, and Karim laughed. \"But I want you to judge for yourself.\" Rob turned to include Mirdin in the invitation, but saw that his friend had walked away.\n\nRob didn't relish reporting to the Shah what he had seen, but he knew he had committed his loyalty and had little choice. When he appeared at the palace and asked to see the king, Khuff smiled his hard smile.\n\n\"What is your errand?\"\n\nThe Captain of the Gates hurled a glance like a stone when Rob shook his head in silence.\n\nBut Khuff bade him wait and went to tell Al\u0101 that the foreign Dhimmi Jesse wished to see him, and presently the old soldier ushered Rob in to the royal presence.\n\nAl\u0101 smelled of drink but listened soberly enough to Rob's report that his Vizier had sent pietist disciples to meet and confer with a party of the Shah's enemies.\n\n\"There has been no report of attacks in Hamadh\u0101n,\" Al\u0101 said slowly. \"It was not a Seljuk raiding party, therefore doubtless they met to discuss treachery.\" He examined Rob through veiled eyes. \"To whom have you spoken of this?\"\n\n\"To no man, Majesty.\"\n\n\"Let it remain so.\"\n\nInstead of further talk, Al\u0101 placed the board of the Shah's Game between them. He was visibly pleased to encounter a more difficult opponent than heretofore he had met in Rob.\n\n\"Ah, Dhimmi, you grow skilled and cunning as a Persian!\"\n\nRob was able to hold him off for a time. In the end, Al\u0101 ground him into the dust and it was as always, shahtreng. But each recognized that their game had turned a corner. It was more of a struggle now, and Rob might have been able to hold out even longer if he were not so eager to return to his bride.\n\nIspahan was the most beautiful city Mary had ever seen, or perhaps it was because she was there with Rob. She was pleased with the little house in Yehuddiyyeh, although the Jewish quarter was shabby. The house wasn't as large as the house in which she and her father had lived by the wadi in Hamadh\u0101n, but it was of sounder construction.\n\nAt her insistence Rob bought plaster and a few simple tools and she vowed to repair the house while he was gone, her first day alone. The full heat of the Persian summer was on them, and the long-sleeved black dress of bereavement soon was sodden with perspiration.\n\nIn the middle of the morning the most handsome man she had ever seen knocked at the door. He was carrying a basket of black plums, which he set down so he could reach out to touch her red hair, frightening her. He was chuckling and looked awed, dazzling her with his perfect white teeth in his tanned face. He spoke at length; it sounded eloquent and graceful and full of feeling, but it was in Persian.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she said.\n\n\"Ah.\" He understood at once and touched his chest. \"Karim.\"\n\nShe lost her fright and was delighted. \"So. You are my husband's friend. He's spoken of you.\"\n\nHe beamed and led her, protesting in words he couldn't understand, to a chair where she sat and ate a sweet plum while he mixed plaster to exactly the correct consistency and spread it on three cracks in the interior walls, and then replaced a windowsill. Shamelessly, she also allowed him to help her cut out the large, wicked thornbushes in the garden.\n\nKarim was still there when Rob came home and she insisted that he share their meal, which then they had to delay until darkness had fallen, for it was Ramadan, the ninth month, the month of fasting.\n\n\"I like Karim,\" she told Rob when he had gone. \"When shall I meet the other one\u2014Mirdin?\"\n\nHe kissed her and shook his head. \"I don't know,\" he said.\n\nRamadan seemed a most peculiar holiday to Mary. It was Rob's second Ramadan in Ispahan, and he told her it was a somber month, supposed to be devoted to prayer and shriving, but food seemed foremost on everyone's mind because Muslims were proscribed from taking nourishment or liquid from dawn to sunset. Vendors of food were absent from the markets and the streets, and the maidans remained dark and silent all month, though friends and families assembled at night to eat and fortify themselves for the next day's fasting.\n\n\"We were in Anatolia last year during Ramadan,\" Mary said wistfully. \"Da bought lambs from a herdsman and gave a feast for our Muslim servants.\"\n\n\"We could give a Ramadan dinner.\"\n\n\"It would be pleasant, but I am in mourning,\" she reminded him.\n\nIndeed, she was torn by conflicting emotions, at times racked by such grief that she felt crippled by the pain of her loss, at other times giddily aware she was the most fortunate of women in her marriage.\n\nOn the few occasions when she ventured from the house, it seemed to her that people stared at her with enmity. Her black mourning dress wasn't dissimilar from the costume of the other women of Yehuddiyyeh, but doubtless her uncovered red hair marked her as a European. She tried wearing her wide-brimmed traveling hat, but she saw women point her out in the street just the same, and their coldness toward her was unabated.\n\nUnder other circumstances she might have felt loneliness, for in the midst of a teeming city she was able to communicate with but one person; but instead of isolation she felt a privacy that was complete, as though only she and her new husband peopled the world.\n\nIn that waning month of Ramadan they were visited solely by Karim Harun, and several times she saw the young Persian physician running, running through the streets, a sight that made her catch her breath, for it was like watching a roe deer. Rob told her about the footrace, the chatir, which would be held on the first day of the three-day holiday called Bairam that celebrated the end of the long fast.\n\n\"I've promised to attend Karim during the running.\"\n\n\"Will you be his only attendant?\"\n\n\"Mirdin will be there too. But I believe he will need the two of us.\" There was a question in his voice and she knew he was troubled that she might consider it a disrespect toward her father.\n\n\"Then you must,\" she said firmly.\n\n\"The race itself isn't a celebration. It could not be considered wrong for one in mourning merely to look on.\"\n\nShe thought about it as Bairam approached and in the end decided her husband was right, and that she would watch the chatir.\n\nEarly on the first morning of the month of Shawwal there was a heavy mist that gave Karim hope it would be a good day, a runner's day. He had slept fitfully but told himself that doubtless the other competitors had spent the night the same way, trying to keep their minds from dwelling on the race.\n\nHe rose and cooked himself a large pot of peas and rice, sprinkling the coarse pilah with celery seed that he measured with careful attention. He ate more than he wanted, stoking himself like a fire, and then returned to his pallet and rested while the celery seed did its work, keeping his mind blank and serene with prayer:\n\n\u2003Allah, make me fleet and sure of foot this day.\n\n\u2003Let my chest be like unto a bellows that does not fail\n\n\u2003And my legs strong and supple as young trees.\n\n\u2003Keep my mind clear and my senses sharp\n\n\u2003And my eyes ever fixed on Thee.\n\nHe didn't pray for victory. When he was a boy, Zaki-Omar had told him often enough: \"Every yellow dog of a runner prays for victory. How confusing for Allah! It is better to ask Him to grant speed and endurance and use them to take the responsibility for victory or defeat upon oneself.\"\n\nWhen he felt the urge he rose and went to the bucket, squatting a long and satisfying time to move his bowels. The amount of celery seed had been correct; when he was through he was emptied but not weakened, and he would not be deterred that day by a cramp in the midst of a lap.\n\nHe warmed water and bathed from a bowl by candlelight, wiping himself dry quickly because the dwindling dark contained a coolness. Then he anointed himself with olive oil against the sun, and twice wherever friction might cause pain\u2014nipples, armpits, loins and penis, the crease of buttocks, and finally his feet, taking care to oil the tops of his toes.\n\nHe dressed in a linen loincloth and linen shirt, light leather footman's shoes, and a jaunty feathered cap. Around his neck he suspended a bowman's quiver and an amulet in a small cloth bag, and threw a cloak over his shoulders to guard against chill. Then he let himself out of the house.\n\nHe walked slowly at first and then more rapidly, feeling warmth beginning to unlock his muscles and joints. There were as yet few people in the streets. No one noticed him as he entered a brushy copse to indulge in one last nervous piss. But by the time he reached the starting point by the drawbridge of the House of Paradise a crowd had gathered there, hundreds of men. He made his way carefully through it until by prearrangement he came upon Mirdin at the very rear, and it was here a short time later that Jesse ben Benjamin found them.\n\nHis friends greeted one another stiffly. Some trouble between them, Karim saw. He put it out of his mind at once. This was a time to think only of the race.\n\nJesse grinned at him and questioningly touched the little bag hanging from his neck.\n\n\"My luck,\" Karim said. \"From my lady.\" But he shouldn't talk before a race, he could not. He gave Jesse and Mirdin a quick smile to show he meant no offense and closed his eyes and brought in blankness, shutting out the loud talk and boisterous laughter all around him. It was harder to shut out the smells of oils and animal grease, body odor and sweaty clothing.\n\nHe said his prayer.\n\nWhen he opened his eyes the mist had turned pearly. Looking through it, he was able to see a perfectly round red disc, the sun. The air had changed and already was heavy. He realized with a pang that it would be a brutally hot day.\n\nOut of his hands. Imshallah.\n\nHe removed his cloak and gave it to Jesse.\n\nMirdin was pale. \"Allah be with you.\"\n\n\"Run with God, Karim,\" Jesse told him.\n\nHe didn't answer. Now a hush had fallen. The runners and the onlookers were gazing up at the nearest minaret, the Friday Mosque, where Karim could see a tiny, dark-robed figure just entering the tower.\n\nIn a moment the haunting call to First Prayer floated to their ears and Karim prostrated himself to the southwest, the direction of Mecca.\n\nWhen the praying ended everyone was screaming at the top of his lungs, runners and spectators alike. It was frightening and made him tremble. Some shouted encouragement, others called upon Allah; many simply howled, the bloodcurdling sound men might make when attacking an enemy's wall.\n\nBack where he was standing the movement of the front runners could only be sensed but he knew from experience how some were springing forward to be in the first rank, fighting and shoving, heedless of who was trampled and what injuries were inflicted. Even those who were not slow in rising from prayer were at risk, because in the churning maelstrom of bodies, flailing arms would strike faces, feet would kick nearby legs, ankles would be twisted and turned.\n\nIt was why he waited in the rear with contemptuous patience as wave after wave of runners moved away ahead of him, assaulting him with their noise.\n\nBut finally he was running. The chatir had begun and he was in the tail of a long serpent of men.\n\nHe was running very slowly. It would take a long time to cover the first five and one-quarter miles, but that was part of his plan. The alternative would have been to station himself in front of the crowd, then, assuming he wasn't injured in the melee, surge forward at a pace guaranteed to move him safely ahead of the pack. But this would have used up too much energy at the outset. He had chosen the safer way.\n\nThey ran down the wide Gates of Paradise and turned left to stay for more than a mile on the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens, which dropped and then rose, giving a long hill on the first half of the lap and a short but steeper hill on the return. The course turned right onto the Street of the Apostles, which was only a quarter of a mile long; but the short street fell on the way out and was a laborious run on the return. They padded left again onto the Avenue of Ali and Fatima, and followed it all the way to the madrassa.\n\nAll kinds of people were in the pack. It was fashionable for young nobles to run for half a lap, and men in silk summer clothing ran shoulder to shoulder with runners in rags. Karim hung back, for at this point it wasn't a race so much as a running mob, full of high spirits over the end of Ramadan. It wasn't a bad way for him to begin, for the slow pace allowed his juices to begin to flow gradually.\n\nThere were spectators but it was too early for a dense crowd to line the streets; it was a long race and most people would come to watch later. At the madrassa he looked at once toward the long roof of the one-storied maristan, where the woman who had given him the amulet\u2014it was a lock of her hair in the little bag\u2014had said her husband had arranged for her to watch the chatir. She wasn't there yet but two nurses stood on the street in front of the hospital and shouted \"Hakim! Hakim!\" Karim waved as he ran by, knowing they would be disappointed to see him at the end of the pack.\n\nThey wound through the madrassa grounds and on to the central maidan, where two great open tents had been raised. One for courtiers, carpeted and lined with brocades, contained tables bearing all manner of rich victuals and wines. The other tent, for runners of common birth, offered free bread and pilah and sherbet and appeared no less welcoming, so that here the race lost almost half its contestants, who made for the refreshment with glad cries.\n\nKarim was among those who ran past the tents. They circled the stone ball-and-stick goals and then began to retrace the course to the House of Paradise.\n\nNow they were fewer and strung along a distance, and Karim had room to set his pace.\n\nThere were choices. Some held with pushing the first few laps smartly to take advantage of the morning cool. But he had been taught by Zaki-Omar that the secret of completing long distances was to select a pace that would drain his last bit of energy at the completion, and to stay with that speed unvaryingly. He was able to fall into it with the perfect rhythm and regularity of a trotting horse. The Roman mile was one thousand five-foot paces but Karim ran about twelve hundred steps to a mile, each covering a little more than four feet. He held his spine perfectly straight, his head high. The slap-slap-slap of his feet against the ground at his chosen pace was like the voice of an old friend.\n\nHe began to pass some runners now, though he knew that most were not men in serious contention, and he was running easily when he returned to the palace gates and collected the first arrow to be dropped into his quiver.\n\nMirdin offered balm to be rubbed into his skin against the sun, which he refused, and water, which he took gratefully but sparingly.\n\n\"You are forty-second,\" Jesse said, and he nodded and sprang away.\n\nNow he ran in the full light of day and the sun was low but already strong, clearly signaling the heat to come. It wasn't unexpected. Sometimes Allah was kind to runners but most chatirs were ordeals through the Persian heat. The high points of Zaki-Omar's athletic career had been to win second place in two chatirs, once when Karim was twelve years old and again the year he was fourteen. He remembered his terror at seeing the exhaustion in Zaki's red face and popping eyes. Zaki had run as long and as far as he had been able, but in both races there had been one runner who could run longer and farther.\n\nGrimly, Karim removed the thought from his mind.\n\nThe hills seemed no worse than they had on the first lap and he ascended them almost without thought. The crowds began to be thicker everywhere, for it was a fine sunny morning and Ispahan was enjoying a holiday. Most businesses were closed and people stood or sat along the route in groups\u2014Armenians together, Indians together, Jews together, learned societies and religious organizations en masse.\n\nWhen Karim came to the hospital again and still couldn't see the woman who had promised to be there, he felt a pang. Perhaps, after all, her husband had forbidden her to come.\n\nThere was a solid clump of spectators in front of the school and they cheered and waved him on.\n\nAs he approached the maidan he saw it was already as frenzied as if it were a Thursday evening. Musicians, jugglers, fencers, acrobats, dancers, and magicians played to large audiences, while the runners made their way around the outside of the square almost unnoticed.\n\nKarim began to pass spent contenders lying or sitting by the side of the road.\n\nWhen he collected his second arrow Mirdin again tried to give him an ointment to protect his skin from the sun but he refused it, though he knew with a private shame it was because the ointment was unsightly and he wanted her to see him without it. It would be available if needed since, by prearrangement, on this lap Jesse would begin to follow him on the brown horse. Karim knew himself; the first testing of his soul was coming, for he invariably felt distress after 25 Roman miles.\n\nProblems came almost on schedule. Halfway up the hill on the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens he became aware of a raw place on the heel of his right foot. It was impossible to run such a long race without damaging his feet and he knew he must ignore the discomfort, but soon it was joined by a sticking pain in his right side that grew until he gasped whenever his right foot jarred against the road.\n\nHe signaled to Jesse, who was carrying a goatskin of water behind his saddle, but a warm drink tasting of goaty leather did little to ease his discomfort.\n\nBut when he drew close to the madrassa, at once he spotted on the hospital roof the woman for whom he'd been looking, and it was as if everything that had been troubling him fell away.\n\nRob, riding behind Karim like a squire trailing his knight, saw Mary as they approached the maristan and they smiled at each other. Dressed in her mourning black, she would have been inconspicuous were her face not unadorned, but every other female in sight wore the heavy black street veil. The others on the roof stood slightly apart from his wife, as if afraid lest they be corrupted by her European ways.\n\nThere were slaves with the women and he recognized the eunuch Wasif standing behind a small figure disguised by a shapeless black dress. Her face was hidden behind the horsehair veil but he could note Despina's eyes, and where they were turned.\n\nFollowing her gaze to Karim, Rob saw something that made it difficult for him to breathe. Karim had found Despina too and held her with his glance. As he ran past her, his hand went up and touched the little bag suspended around his neck.\n\nIt seemed to Rob a naked declaration to all, but the sound of the cheering didn't change. And although Rob tried to study the crowd for Ibn Sina's presence, he didn't see him among the spectators as they went past the madrassa.\n\nKarim ran away from the pain in his side until it dwindled, and he ignored the discomfort in his feet. Now the time of attrition had begun and all along the way men in donkey-drawn wagons were busy picking up runners who couldn't go on.\n\nWhen he claimed his third arrow he allowed Mirdin to smear him with the ointment, made of oil of roses, oil of nutmeg, and cinnamon. It turned his light-brown skin yellow but was good against the sun. Jesse kneaded his legs while Mirdin applied the salve, then held a cup to his cracked lips, giving him more water than he desired.\n\nKarim tried to protest. \"Don't want to have to piss!\"\n\n\"You're sweating too hard to piss.\"\n\nHe knew it was true, and he drank. In a moment he was away again and running, running.\n\nThis time when he passed the school he was aware that she saw an apparition, the melted yellow grease streaked by rivulets of sweat and muddied dust.\n\nNow the sun was high and hot, baking the ground so the heat of the road penetrated the leather of his shoes and seared his soles. Along the route men stood and held out containers of water, and sometimes he paused to drench his head before darting off without thanks or a blessing.\n\nAfter he had collected the fourth arrow, Jesse left him, to reappear in a short time on his wife's black mount, doubtless leaving the brown horse to water and rest in cool shade. Mirdin waited by the post containing the arrows, studying the other runners, according to their plan.\n\nKarim kept running past men who had collapsed. Someone stood bent over at the waist in the middle of the road, weakly vomiting nothing. A muttering Indian stopped hobbling and kicked off his shoes. He ran half a dozen steps, leaving the red tracks of his bloody feet, and then stood quietly and waited for a wagon.\n\nWhen Karim passed the maristan on the fifth lap Despina was no longer on the roof. Perhaps she had been frightened by his appearance. It didn't matter, for he had seen her and now occasionally he reached up and grasped the little bag containing the thick locks of black hair he had cut from her head with his own hands.\n\nIn places the wagons and the feet of the runners and the hooves of the attendants' animals raised a fearful dust that coated his nostrils and throat and made him cough. He began to close down his consciousness until it was small and remote somewhere deep inside, dwelling on nothing, allowing his body to continue to do what it had done so many times.\n\nThe call to Second Prayer was a shock.\n\nAll along the route, runners and spectators alike prostrated themselves toward Mecca. He lay and trembled, his body unable to believe that the demands on it had halted, however briefly. He wanted to remove his shoes but knew he wouldn't get them back on his swollen feet. When the prayers were finished, for a moment he didn't move.\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"Eighteen. Now it is the race,\" Jesse told him.\n\nKarim started up again, forcing himself to run through the heat shimmer. But he knew it was not yet the race.\n\nIt was harder to climb the hills than it had been all morning but he kept to the steady rhythm of his running. This was the worst, with the sun directly overhead and the real testing before him. He thought of Zaki and knew that unless he died he would keep going until at least he had won second place.\n\nUntil now he hadn't had the experience, and in another year perhaps his body would be too old for such punishment. It would have to be today.\n\nThe thought allowed him to reach within himself and find strength when some of the others were searching and finding nothing, and when he slid the sixth arrow into his quiver, he turned at once to Mirdin. \"How many?\"\n\n\"Six runners are left,\" Mirdin said wonderingly, and Karim nodded and began to run again.\n\nNow it was the race.\n\nHe saw three runners ahead and knew two of them. He was overtaking a small, finely made Indian. Perhaps eighty paces in front of the Indian was a youth whose name Karim didn't know but whom he recognized as a soldier in the palace guard. And far ahead but close enough for him to identify was a runner of note, a man from Hamadh\u0101n named al-Har\u0101t.\n\nThe Indian had slowed but picked up the pace when Karim drew even, and they went on together, matching stride for stride. He had very dark skin, almost ebony, under which long, flat muscles gleamed in the sun as he moved.\n\nZaki's skin had been dark, an advantage under a hot sun. Karim's skin needed the yellow salve; it was the color of light leather, the result, Zaki always said, of a female ancestor being fucked by one of Alexander's fair Greeks. Karim thought something like that probably was true. There had been a number of Greek invasions and he knew light-skinned Persian men, and women with snowy breasts.\n\nA little spotted dog had come from nowhere and was pacing them, barking.\n\nWhen they passed the estates on the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens people held out melon slices and cups of sherbet but Karim didn't take any, being fearful of cramps. He accepted water, which he put into his cap before setting it back on his head and reaping momentary relief until the hat dried in the sun with remarkable swiftness.\n\nThe Indian grabbed green melon and gobbled as he ran, discarding the rind over his shoulder.\n\nTogether they passed the young soldier. He was already out of contention, a full lap behind, for there were only five arrows in his quiver. Two dark red lines ran down the front of his shirt from nipples rubbed raw. Every time he took a step his legs buckled slightly at the knees and it was clear he wouldn't be running much longer.\n\nThe Indian looked at Karim and gave a white-toothed grin.\n\nKarim was dismayed to see that the Indian was running easily and his face was alert but relatively unstrained. Runner's intuition said that the man was stronger than Karim and less tired. Perhaps faster, too, if it should come to that.\n\nThe spotted dog that had run with them for miles suddenly swerved and cut across their path. Karim jumped to avoid him and felt the brush of the warm fur, but the dog smashed solidly into the other runner's legs and the Indian fell to the ground.\n\nHe started up as Karim turned to him, then he sat back in the road. His right foot was twisted crazily and he gazed at his ankle in disbelief, unable to comprehend that his race was done.\n\n\"Go!\" Jesse shouted to Karim. \"I will take care of him. You go!\" And Karim turned and ran as if the Indian's strength were transferred to his own limbs, as if Allah had spoken with the Dhimm\u012bs voice, because he was beginning truly to believe that now might be the time.\n\nHe trailed al-Har\u0101t most of the lap. Once, on the Street of the Apostles, he came up close behind and the other runner glanced back. They had known one another in Hamadh\u0101n and he saw recognition in al-Har\u0101t's eyes, and an old familiar contempt: Ah, it is Zaki-Omar's bum boy.\n\nAl-Har\u0101t increased his pace and soon led him again by 200 paces.\n\nKarim took the seventh arrow and Mirdin told him of the other runners as he gave water and smeared the yellow ointment.\n\n\"You are fourth. In first place is an Afghan whose name I don't know. A man from al-Rayy is second, name of Mahdavi. Then al-Har\u0101t and you.\"\n\nFor a lap and one-half he trailed al-Har\u0101t like one who knew his place, sometimes wondering about the two who were so far ahead they weren't in his sight. In Ghazna, a place of towering mountains, Afghan men ran trails so high the air was thin, and it was said that when they ran at lower altitudes they didn't tire. And he had heard that Mahdavi of al-Rayy also was a good runner.\n\nBut while descending the short, steep hill on the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens he saw a dazed runner at the edge of the road, holding his right side and weeping. They passed him by, but soon Jesse brought the news that it had been Mahdavi.\n\nKarim's own side had begun to hurt again and both his feet gave him pain. Call to Third Prayer caught him just beginning the ninth lap. Third Prayer was a time that had worried him, for the sun was no longer high and he feared his muscles would stiffen. But the heat was unrelenting and pressed down like a heavy blanket as he lay and prayed, and he was still sweating when he rose and began to run again.\n\nThis time, though he kept his pace, he seemed to overtake al-Har\u0101t as if the Hamadh\u0101n man were walking. When he drew abreast, al-Har\u0101t tried to make a race of it but soon his breathing was loud and desperate and he was lurching. The heat had him; as a physician, Karim knew that the man could die if it was the kind of heat sickness that brought on a red face and dry skin, but al-Har\u0101t's face was pale and wet.\n\nNevertheless he stopped when the other staggered to a halt.\n\nAl-Har\u0101t still had enough contempt in him to glare, but he wanted a Persian to win. \"Run, bastard.\"\n\nKarim left him gladly.\n\nFrom the high slope of the first descent, gazing down the straight stretch of white road, he caught sight of a small figure moving up the long hill in the distance.\n\nAs he watched, the Afghan fell and then got to his feet and began to run again, finally turning out of sight onto the Street of the Apostles. It was hard for Karim to hold himself in rein but he kept to his pace and didn't see the other runner again until he had achieved the Avenue of Ali and Fatima.\n\nThey were much closer. The Afghan fell again and got up to run raggedly; he may have been accustomed to thin air but the mountains of Ghazna were cool and the Ispahan heat served Karim, who kept closing the distance.\n\nWhen they ran past the maristan he didn't see or hear the people he knew because he was concentrating on the other runner.\n\nKarim reached him after the fourth and final fall. They had brought the Afghan water and were applying wet cloths as he lay gasping like a landed fish, a squat man with broad shoulders and dark skin. He had slightly slanted brown eyes that were calm as they watched Karim pass him.\n\nVictory brought more anguish than triumph, for now there had to be a decision. He had won the day; did he have it in him to try for the Shah's calaat? The \"royal garment,\" five hundred gold pieces, and the honorary but well-paid appointment as Chief of the Chatirs would go to any man who completed the entire course of 126 miles in less than twelve hours.\n\nRounding the maidan, Karim faced the sun and studied it. He had run all through the day, almost 95 miles. It should be enough and he ached to turn in his nine arrows and collect the prize of coins, then to join other runners now splashing in the River of Life. He needed to soak in their envy and admiration and in the river itself, a sinking into green waters that was more than earned.\n\nThe sun hovered above the horizon. Was there time? Was there strength in his body still? Was it Allah's wish? It would be very close, and perhaps he could not complete another 31 miles before the call to Fourth Prayer signaled the setting of the sun.\n\nYet he knew that total victory might banish Zaki-Omar from his bad dreams more completely than lying with all the women of the world.\n\nAnd thus when he had collected another arrow, instead of turning toward the officials' tent he started around for the tenth time. The white dust road before him was vacant, and now he was running against the dark djinn of the man to whom he had yearned to be a son and who had made him, instead, a whore."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 67",
                "text": "When the race had dwindled to the last man and the chatir was won, the spectators had begun to disperse; but now all along the way, people saw Karim coming alone and they flocked to regather as they realized he was trying to gain the Shah's calaat.\n\nThey were sophisticated in matters of the annual chatir and knew the toll exacted by running through a day of crippling heat, and they raised such a hoarse roar of love that the sound seemed to pull him around the course, a lap he almost enjoyed. At the hospital he was able to pick out faces beaming with pride, al-Juzjani, the nurse R\u016bm\u012b, Yussuf the librarian, the hadji Davout Hosein, even Ibn Sina. When he sighted the old man his eyes went at once to the roof of the hospital and he saw that she was back and knew that when he was alone with her again, she would be the real prize.\n\nBut he began to experience his gravest trouble on the second half of the lap. He was accepting water often and pouring it over his head, and now fatigue made him careless and some of the water splashed onto his left shoe, where almost immediately the wet leather began to abrade the abused skin from his foot. Perhaps it made a tiny alteration in his stride, for soon he developed a cramp in the right hamstring.\n\nWorse, when he came down toward the Gates of Paradise the sun was lower than he expected. It was directly over the far hills, and as he started on what he prayed was the last lap but one, weakening swiftly and fearful that there was insufficient time, he was taken by the deepest melancholy.\n\nEverything became heavy. He stayed with the pace but his feet were transformed into stones, the quiver full of arrows struck him a ponderous blow in the back with every step, and even the little bag containing her locks of hair pushed against him as he ran. He threw water on his head more often and felt himself fading.\n\nBut the people of the city had caught a strange fever. Each of them had become Karim Harun. Women screamed as he passed. Men made a thousand vows, shouted his praises, called upon Allah, implored the Prophet and the twelve martyred Imams. Anticipating him by the approaching cheers, they watered the street before he came, scattered flowers in his path, ran alongside and fanned him or sprinkled scented water on his face, his thighs, his arms, his legs.\n\nHe felt them enter his blood and bones and he caught their fire. His stride strengthened and steadied.\n\nHis feet rose and fell, rose and fell. He kept the pace, but now he didn't hide from the hurt, seeking instead to pierce the smothering fatigue by concentrating on the pain in his side, the pain in his feet, the pain in his legs.\n\nWhen he took the eleventh arrow, the sun had begun its slide behind the hills and had the shape of half a coin.\n\nHe ran through the deepening light, his last dance, up the first short incline, down the steep drop to the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens, through the flat, up the long climb, his heart pounding.\n\nWhen he attained the Avenue of Ali and Fatima he threw water on his head and couldn't feel it.\n\nPain ebbed along with every response as he ran on. When he reached the school he didn't look for friends, more concerned with the fact that he had lost the sensory experience of his limbs.\n\nYet the feet he couldn't feel kept on with their rise and fall, propelling him forward, slap-slap-slap.\n\nThis time at the maidan no one watched the entertainments but Karim didn't hear the roar or see them, running in his silent world to the end of a fully ripened and dwindling day.\n\nWhen he entered the Avenue of the Thousand Gardens again, he saw a shapeless dying red light on the hills. It seemed to him that he moved slowly, so slowly, across the flat and up the hill\u2014the last hill he must climb!\n\nHe swept downward, the most dangerous time, for if his senseless legs made him stumble and sprawl, he wouldn't get up again.\n\nWhen he made the turn and entered the Gates of Paradise there was no sun. He watched blurred people now who seemed to float above the ground, silently urging him on, but in his mind his vision was clear as a mullah entered the narrow, winding stairway of the mosque, climbed to the little platform in the high tower, waited for the last ray's dying \u2026\n\nHe knew he had only moments.\n\nHe tried to will dead legs to longer strides, straining to quicken the ingrained pace.\n\nAhead of him, a small boy left his father's side and ran out into the road; he froze, staring at the giant who lumbered down on him.\n\nKarim swept the child up and lifted him to his shoulders as he ran, and the roar shook the earth. When he reached the posts with the boy, Al\u0101 was waiting, and as he grasped the twelfth arrow the Shah took off his own turban and exchanged it for the runner's feathered cap.\n\nThe surge of the crowd was checked by the call of the muezzins from minarets all over the city. The people turned toward Mecca and dropped into prayer. The child he still held began to wail and Karim released him. Then the prayer was over, and when he rose, king and nobles were at him like nattering puppies. Beyond, the common people began to scream again and pushed forward to claim him, and it was as if Karim Harun suddenly owned Persia."
            },
            {
                "title": "The War Surgeon",
                "text": "[ THE CONFIDENCE ]\n\n\"Why do they dislike me so?\" Mary asked Rob.\n\n\"I don't know.\" He made no attempt to deny it; she wasn't a fool. When the smallest Halevi daughter toddled toward them from the house next door, her mother Yudit, who no longer brought gifts of warm bread for the foreign Jew, ran to snatch up her daughter wordlessly, fleeing as from corruption. Rob took Mary to the Jewish market and discovered he was no longer smiled upon as the Jew of the calaat, no longer the favorite customer of Hinda the woman merchant. They passed their other neighbors Naoma and her stout daughter Lea and the two women looked away coldly, as if Yaakob ben Rashi hadn't hinted to Rob over a Sabbath meal that he might become part of the shoemaker's family.\n\nWherever Rob walked in Yehuddiyyeh he saw conversing Jews fall silent and stare. He noted the meaningful nudge, the burning resentment in an occasional glance, even a muttered curse on the lips of old Reb Asher Jacobi the Circumciser, bitterness directed against one of their own who had partaken of forbidden fruit.\n\nHe told himself he didn't care: what were the people in the Jewish quarter to him, really?\n\nMirdin Askari was something else again; it wasn't Rob's imagination that Mirdin was avoiding him. These mornings he missed Mirdin's big-toothed smile and comforting companionship, for Mirdin invariably presented a wooden face as he offered a brief greeting and then moved away.\n\nFinally he sought Mirdin out, finding him sprawled in the shade of a chestnut tree on the madrassa grounds, reading the twentieth volume of Al-Hawi of Rhazes, the final volume. \"Rhazes was good. Al-Hawi covers all of medicine,\" Mirdin said uncomfortably.\n\n\"I've read twelve volumes. I'll reach the others soon.\" Rob looked at him. \"Is it so bad that I've found a woman to love?\"\n\nMirdin stared back. \"How could you marry an Other?\"\n\n\"Mirdin, she's a jewel.\"\n\n\"'For the lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil.' She's a Gentile, Jesse! You fool, we're a dispersed and beleaguered people struggling for survival. Each time one of us marries outside our faith it means the end of future generations of us. If you can't see that, you aren't the man I thought you to be and I won't be your friend.\"\n\nHe had been deluding himself\u2014the people of the Jewish quarter did matter, for they had freely given him acceptance. And this man mattered most of all, for he had given friendship and Rob did not have so many friends that he could throw Mirdin away. \"I'm not the man you thought me to be.\" He felt a compulsion to speak, believing absolutely that he didn't misplace his trust. \"I haven't married outside my faith.\"\n\n\"She's a Christian.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe blood drained from Mirdin's face. \"Is this a stupid jest?\"\n\nWhen Rob said nothing he gathered up the book and scrambled to his feet. \"Miscreant! Should it be true\u2014if you're not mad\u2014not only do you risk your own neck, you've endangered mine. If you consult Fiqh you'll learn that by telling me, you've criminalized me and made me party to the deception unless I inform on you.\" He spat. \"Son of the Evil One, you've placed my children in danger and I curse the day we met.\"\n\nAnd Mirdin hurried away.\n\nDay after day passed and the kelonter's men didn't come for him. Mirdin had not informed.\n\nAt the hospital, Rob's marriage wasn't a problem. The gossip that he had married a Christian woman had circulated among the maristan staff, but he was already regarded as an eccentric\u2014the foreigner, the Jew who had gone from jail to a calaat\u2014and this unseemly union was accepted as only one more aberration. Other than that, in a Muslim society where each man was allowed four wives, the taking of a woman caused little stir.\n\nNevertheless, he felt his loss of Mirdin deeply. These days he saw little of Karim, either; the young hakim had been taken up by the nobles of the court and was feted at entertainments day and night. Karim's name was on everyone's lips since the chatir.\n\nSo Rob was as alone with his bride as she was with him, and he and Mary settled easily into life together. She was what the house had needed; it was a warmer and more comfortable place. Smitten, he spent every spare moment with her, and when they were apart he found himself remembering pink moist flesh, the long, tender line of her nose, the lively intelligence in her eyes.\n\nThey rode into the hills and made love in the warm sulfurous waters of Al\u0101's secret pool. He left the ancient Indian picture volume where she would see it, and when he tried the variations the book depicted, he found she had studied it. Some of the practices were pleasing and others brought them hilarity. They laughed often and joyously on the bed mat, playing strange and sensuous private games.\n\nHe was ever the scientist. \"What causes you to become so wet? You're a well that sucks me in.\"\n\nShe drove an elbow into his ribs.\n\nBut she wasn't embarrassed by her own curiosity. \"I like it so when it is little\u2014limp and weak and feels like satin. What causes it to change? I had a nurse once who told me it became long and heavy and dense because it filled with pneuma. Do you think that's so?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Not air. It fills with arterial blood. I've seen a hanged man whose rigid prick was so full of blood it was red as a salmon.\"\n\n\"I haven't hanged you, Robert Jeremy Cole!\"\n\n\"It has to do with scent and sight. Once, at the end of a brutal journey, I rode a horse that was almost unable to move, so great was his fatigue. But he smelled a mare on the wind, and even before we saw the animal his organ and muscles were like wood and he was running toward her so eagerly I had to pull him back.\"\n\nHe loved her so, she was worth any loss. Still, his heart leaped one evening when a familiar figure appeared at their door and nodded a greeting.\n\n\"Come in, Mirdin.\"\n\nPresented to the visitor, Mary looked at Mirdin curiously; but she provided wine and sweet cakes and left them almost at once, going to feed the animals with the wise instinct he already cherished.\n\n\"You're truly a Christian?\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"I can take you to a distant town in Fars where the rabbenu is my cousin. If you request conversion by the learned men there, perhaps they'll agree. Then there would be no reason for lies and deceits.\"\n\nRob looked at him and slowly shook his head.\n\nMirdin sighed. \"If you were a knave you would agree at once. But you're an honest and faithful man as well as an uncommon physician. That's why I can't turn my back on you.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\n\"Jesse ben Benjamin isn't your name.\"\n\n\"No. My true name is\u2014\"\n\nBut Mirdin shook his head warningly and held up his hand. \"The other name mustn't be spoken between us. You must remain Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\nHe looked at Rob appraisingly. \"You've blended yourself into Yehuddiyyeh. In some ways you rang false. I told myself it was because your father was a European Jew, an apostate who strayed from our ways and neglected to pass his birthright to his son.\n\n\"But you must remain constantly alert lest you make a fatal error. Uncovered, your deceit would bring a terrible sentence from a mullah's court. Doubtless, death. If you should be caught, it might imperil the Jews here. Though your deception is no fault of theirs, in Persia it's easy for the innocent to suffer.\"\n\n\"Are you certain you want to become involved with so much risk?\" Rob asked quietly.\n\n\"I've thought it out. I must be your friend.\"\n\n\"I'm glad.\"\n\nMirdin nodded. \"But I have my price.\"\n\nRob waited.\n\n\"You have to understand what you pretend to be. There's more to being a Jew than donning a caftan and wearing your beard a certain way.\"\n\n\"How shall I gain this understanding?\"\n\n\"You must study the Lord's commandments.\"\n\n\"I know the Ten Commandments.\" Agnes Cole had taught them to each of her children.\n\nMirdin shook his head. \"The ten are a fraction of the laws that make up our Torah. The Torah contains 613 commandments. These are what you must study, along with the Talmud\u2014the commentaries dealing with each law. Only then will you see the soul of my people.\"\n\n\"Mirdin, that's worse than Fiqh. I'm being smothered by scholarship,\" he said desperately.\n\nMirdin's eyes glinted. \"It's my price,\" he said.\n\nRob saw he was serious.\n\nHe sighed. \"Be damned. All right.\"\n\nNow for the first time Mirdin smiled. He poured himself some of the wine and, ignoring the European table and chairs, sank to the floor and sat with his legs folded beneath him. \"So let us begin. The first commandment is, 'Thou shalt be fruitful and multiply.'\"\n\nIt occurred to Rob that it was exceedingly pleasant to see Mirdin's warm, homely face here in his house. \"I'm trying, Mirdin,\" he said, grinning at his friend. \"I'm doing the best I can!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "SHAPING JESSE",
                "text": "\"Her name is Mary, like Yeshua's mother,\" Mirdin told his wife in the Tongue.\n\n\"Her name is Fara,\" Rob said to Mary in English.\n\nThe two wives studied each other.\n\nMirdin had brought Fara to visit, along with their brown-skinned little boys, Dawwid and Issachar. The women couldn't converse, lacking common language. Nevertheless, soon they were communicating certain thoughts amid giggling, hand signals, eye-rolling, and exclamations of frustration. Perhaps Fara became Mary's friend at her husband's command but from the start the two women, dissimilar in every way, shared a bond of mutual esteem.\n\nFara showed Mary how to pin up her long red hair and cover it with a cloth before leaving the house. Some of the Jewish women wore veils in the Muslim style but many simply covered their hair, and that single act made Mary inconspicuous. Fara guided her to market stalls where the produce was fresh and the meat good, and pointed out merchants to be avoided. Fara taught her to kasher meat, soaking and salting it to remove excess blood. And how to place meat, capsicum powder, garlic, laurel leaves, and salt in a covered earthen pot which was then heaped with hot coals and allowed to bake slowly all through the long shabbat to become spicy and tender, a delectable dish called shalent that became Rob's favorite meal.\n\n\"Oh, I would so like to talk with her, to ask her questions and tell her things!\" Mary said to Rob.\n\n\"I'll give you lessons in the Tongue.\"\n\nBut she would have none of the Jews' language or the Persians'. \"I'm not quick with foreign words, as you are,\" she said. \"It took years for me to learn English, and I had to work like a slave to gain command of Latin. Will we not go soon to where I may hear my own Gaelic?\"\n\n\"When the time is proper,\" he said, but he made her no promise of when that would be.\n\nMirdin undertook to manage Jesse ben Benjamin's reacceptance by Yehuddiyyeh.\n\n\"Jews since King Solomon\u2014no, before Solomon!\u2014have taken Gentile wives and survived within the Jewish community. But always they've been men who made it clear through their daily living that they continued to cleave to their people.\"\n\nAt Mirdin's suggestion it became their custom to meet twice a day for prayer in Yehuddiyyeh, for shaharit in the morning at the little synagogue called the House of Peace, which Rob favored, and for ma 'ariv at day's end in the House of Zion Synagogue near Mirdin's home. Rob found it no hardship. He had always gained tranquility from the swaying and reverie and rhythmic chanted prayer. As the Tongue grew ever more natural to him, he forgot that he came to the synagogue as part of a disguise and sometimes he felt that his thoughts might reach God. He prayed not as Jesse the Jew or as Rob the Christian, but as one reaching for understanding and comfort. At times this happened while he said a Jewish prayer but he was as likely to find a moment of communion in a relic from his boyhood; sometimes, while all about him men babbled blessings so ancient they may well have been used by a Judean carpenter's son, he petitioned one of Mam's saints or prayed to Jesus or to His mother.\n\nGradually, fewer glares were directed at him, and then none, as the months passed and those in Yehuddiyyeh became accustomed to the sight of the big English Jew holding a fragrant citron and waving palm branches in the House of Peace Synagogue during the harvest festival of Sukkot, fasting alongside the others at Yom Kippur, dancing in the procession that followed the scrolls in celebration of the Lord's giving the Torah to the people. Yaakob ben Rashi told Mirdin it was obvious that Jesse ben Benjamin was seeking to atone for his rash marriage to an alien woman.\n\nMirdin was shrewd and knew the difference between protective coloration and total commitment of a man's soul. \"I ask one thing,\" he said. \"You must never allow yourself to be the tenth man.\"\n\nRob J. understood. If religious folk waited for a minyan, the congregation of ten male Jews that would allow them to worship in public, it would be a terrible thing to deceive them for the sake of his illusion. He made the promise promptly, and he was always careful to keep it.\n\nAlmost every day, he and Mirdin made time to study the commandments. They used no book. Mirdin knew the precepts as oral law. \"It's generally agreed that 613 commandments can be gleaned from the Torah,\" he said. \"But there's no agreement on their exact form. One scholar may count a precept as a separate commandment, another scholar may count it as part of the previous law. I'm giving you the version of the 613 commandments that was passed down the long generations of my family and taught me by my father, Reb Mulka Askar of Masqat.\"\n\nMirdin said 248 mitzvot were positive commandments, such as the directive that a Jew must care for the widow and the orphan, and 365 were negative commandments, such as the admonition that a Jew must not accept a bribe.\n\nLearning the mitzvot from Mirdin was more enjoyable than Rob's other studies because he knew there would be no examinations. He enjoyed sitting over a cup of wine and listening to the Jewish law, and he soon found that their sessions helped him in his study of Islamic Fiqh.\n\nHe worked harder than ever but savored his days. He knew that life in Ispahan was far easier for him than for Mary. Though he returned to her eagerly at the end of each day, every morning he left her for the maristan and the madrassa with a different kind of eagerness. That was the year of studying Galen and he immersed himself in descriptions of anatomical phenomena he couldn't see by looking at a patient\u2014the difference between arteries and veins, the pulse, the working of the heart like a constantly squeezing fist pushing blood from it during systole, then relaxing and refilling with blood during diastole.\n\nHe was taken from apprenticeship to Jalal and turned from the bonesetter's retractors, couplers, and ropes to the surgeon's inventory of tools, for he was assigned to al-Juzjani.\n\n\"He dislikes me. All he allows me to do is clean and sharpen instruments,\" he complained to Karim, who had spent more than a year in al-Juzjani's service.\n\n\"It's the way he starts each new clerk,\" Karim said. \"You mustn't be discouraged.\"\n\nIt was easy for Karim to talk about patience these days. Part of his calaat had been a large and elegant house, from which he now ran a practice consisting largely of the families of the court. It was fashionable for a nobleman to be able to remark casually that his physician was Persia's hero-athlete, Karim of the chatir, and he attracted patients so swiftly that he would have been prosperous even without the prize money and stipend he had been awarded by the Shah. He blossomed out in expensive raiment and came to their house bearing generous gifts, delicacies of food and drink, and once even a thick Hamadh\u0101n rug to cover their floor, a wedding gift. He flirted with Mary with his eyes and said outrageous things to her in Persian which she declared that she was grateful not to comprehend, but she soon became fond of him and treated him like a naughty brother.\n\nAt the hospital, where Rob might have expected Karim's popularity to be more restrained, it was not. Clerks clustered about and followed after him as he tended his patients, as though he were the wisest of the wise, and Rob couldn't disagree when Mirdin Askari grinned and remarked that the best way to become a successful doctor was to win the chatir.\n\nOn occasion al-Juzjani interrupted Rob's work to ask the name of the instrument being cleaned, or its use. There were many more instruments than Rob had used as a barbersurgeon, surgical tools specifically designed for special tasks, and he cleaned and sharpened rounded bistouries, curved bistouries, scalpels, bone saws, ear curettes, probes, little knives for opening cysts, drills for removing foreign bodies lodged in bone \u2026\n\nAl-Juzjani's method made sense after all, for at the end of two weeks, when Rob began to assist him in the maristan operating room, the surgeon had but to mutter a request and Rob could select the proper tool and hand it over at once.\n\nThere were two other surgical clerks who already had apprenticed under al-Juzjani for months. They were allowed to operate on uncomplicated cases, always to the master's caustic comments and close criticism.\n\nIt took ten weeks of assisting and observing before al-Juzjani would allow Rob to make a cut, even under supervision. When the opportunity came, it was to remove the index finger of a porter whose hand had been crushed beneath a camel's hoof.\n\nHe had learned by watching. Al-Juzjani always applied a tourniquet, using a thin leather thong similar to the ones employed by phlebotomists to raise a vein prior to bleeding. Rob tied the tourniquet deftly and performed the amputation without hesitation, for it was a procedure he had done many times through the years as a barbersurgeon. Always he had worked impeded by blood, however, and he was delighted with al-Juzjani's technique, which allowed him to make a flap and close the stub without wiping and with scarcely more than a drop of ooze.\n\nAl-Juzjani watched closely with his usual scowl. When Rob had finished the surgeon turned away without a word of praise, but neither had he growled nor pointed out a way that would have been better, and as Rob cleaned the table after the operation he felt a glow, recognizing a small victory."
            },
            {
                "title": "FOUR FRIENDS",
                "text": "If the King of Kings had made any moves to curtail the powers of his Vizier as a result of the disclosures Rob had made, they were invisible. If anything, Qandrasseh's mullahs seemed to be more ubiquitous than ever, and more stringent and energetic in their zeal to see that Ispahan reflected the Imam's Qu'ranic view of Muslim behavior.\n\nSeven months had gone by without a royal summoning. Rob was content that this was so, for between his wife and his medical training, his hours were too few.\n\nOne morning, to Mary's alarm he was called for by soldiers, as on the previous occasions.\n\n\"The Shah wishes you to ride with him this day.\"\n\n\"It's all right,\" he assured his wife, and went with them. At the great stables behind the House of Paradise he found an ashen-faced Mirdin Askari. When they conferred, they agreed that behind their summoning was Karim, who had come to be Al\u0101's favorite companion since gaining athletic celebrity.\n\nIt was so. When Al\u0101 came to the stables Karim walked directly behind the ruler and his face wore the broadest of smiles as he followed the Shah to his two friends.\n\nThe grin became less confident as the Shah leaned forward to listen to Mirdin Askari, who was audibly muttering words in the Tongue as he prostrated himself in the ravi zemin.\n\n\"Come! You must speak Persian and tell us what you are saying,\" Al\u0101 snapped.\n\n\"It is a benediction, Sire. A blessing Jews offer when they see the King,\" Mirdin managed to say. \"'Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has given of His glory to flesh and man.'\"\n\n\"The Dhimmis offer prayer of thanks when they see their Shah?\" Al\u0101 said, amazed and pleased.\n\nRob knew it was a berakhah said by the pious upon sighting any king but neither he nor Mirdin saw any reason to point this out, and Al\u0101 was in a splendid mood as he swung onto his white horse and they rode after him into the quiet countryside.\n\n\"I'm told you have taken a European wife,\" he called to Rob, twisting in the saddle.\n\n\"That's true, Excellency.\"\n\n\"I have heard she has hair the color of henna.\"\n\n\"Yes, Majesty.\"\n\n\"A female's hair should be black.\"\n\nRob couldn't argue with a king and saw no need; he was grateful to have a woman Al\u0101 didn't value.\n\nThe day was spent much as the first in which Rob had ridden in the Shah's company, save that now they traveled with two others to share the burden of the monarch's attention, so there was less strain and more pleasure than on the previous occasion. Al\u0101 was delighted to discover in Mirdin a profound knowledge of Persian history, and as they rode slowly into the hills the two talked of the ancient sacking of Persepolis by Alexander, which the Persian in Al\u0101 decried and the militarist in him applauded. At midmorning in a shady spot Al\u0101 practiced against Karim with the scimitar, and while they whirled and the swords clanged and clashed, Mirdin and Rob talked quietly of surgical ligatures, discussing the relative merits of silk, linen thread (which they both agreed decomposed too easily), horsehair and, Ibn Sina's favorite, human hair. At midday there was rich food and drink under the shade of the king's tent, and the three took turns being bested at the Shah's Game, although Mirdin fought valiantly and in one contest almost succeeded in winning, making victory all the more sweet for Al\u0101.\n\nWithin Al\u0101's secret cave the four soaked companionably, loosening their bodies in the warm water of the pool and their spirits with an unending supply of fine drink.\n\nKarim rolled the wine on his tongue appreciatively before swallowing and then favored Al\u0101 with his smile. \"I was a beggar boy. Have I told you that, Excellency?\"\n\nAl\u0101 returned the smile and shook his head.\n\n\"A beggar boy now drinks the wine of the King of Kings.\"\n\n\"Yes. I choose as my friends a beggar boy and a pair of Jews.\" AL\u0101's laughter was louder and more sustained than theirs. \"For my Chief of Chairs I have lofty and noble plans, and I have long liked this Dhimmi,\" he said, giving Rob a friendly, slightly drunken shove. \"And now another Dhimmi appears to be an excellent man, worthy of notice. You must stay in Ispahan when you finish the madrassa, Mirdin Askari, and become a physician to my court.\"\n\nMirdin colored in discomfort. \"Sire, you do me honor. I beg you not to take offense, but I ask your good will in allowing me to return home to the lands along the great gulf when I become hakim. My father is old and ailing. I shall be the first physician in our line, and before he dies I wish him to see me settled in the bosom of our family.\"\n\nAl\u0101 nodded carelessly. \"What does it do, this family that lives on the great gulf?\"\n\n\"Our men have traveled the shores as long as any can remember, buying pearls from the divers, Majesty.\"\n\n\"Pearls! That is good, for I acquire pearls when I can find good ones. You shall be the making of your kinsmen, Dhimmi, for you must tell them to search out the largest perfect pearl and bring it to me, and I will buy it and make your family rich.\"\n\nThey were weaving in their saddles by the time they rode home. Al\u0101 strove to sit erect and addressed them with a fondness that might or might not survive the painful sobering that was certain to follow. When they reached the royal stables and his attendants and sycophants closed in and hovered, the Shah chose to flaunt them.\n\n\"We are four friends!\" he shouted within the hearing of half the court. \"Just four good men who are friends!\"\n\nIt was repeated quickly and traveled through the city, as all gossip did that involved the Shah.\n\n\"With some friends, wariness is necessary,\" Ibn Sina cautioned Rob one morning about a week later.\n\nThey were at an entertainment given for the Shah by Fath Ali, a wealthy man whose mercantile firm was responsible for selling wines to the House of Paradise and most of the nobles of the court. Rob was happy to see Ibn Sina. Since Rob's marriage, with typical sensitivity the Chief Physician seldom asked for his company in the evening. Now they strolled past Karim, who was surrounded by admiring courtiers, and Rob thought that his friend appeared to be as much a prisoner as an object of adulation.\n\nTheir presence was demanded by the fact that each was the recipient of a calaat, but Rob was bored with royal entertainments; while they might differ in detail, they were cursed by a general sameness. In addition, he was resentful of the demands on his time. \"I would greatly prefer to be working in the maristan where I belong,\" he said.\n\nIbn Sina looked about cautiously. They were walking alone on the merchant's estate and would have a brief period of freedom, since Al\u0101 had entered Fath Ali's haram moments before.\n\n\"You must never forget that dealing with a monarch is not like dealing with an ordinary man,\" Ibn Sina said. \"A king is not like you or me. He drops a hand carelessly and someone like us is put to death. Or he wiggles a finger and someone is allowed to live. That is absolute power, and no man born of woman is able to resist it. It drives even the best of monarchs slightly mad.\"\n\nRob shrugged. \"I never seek the Shah's company, nor have I any desire to stew in politics.\"\n\nIbn Sina nodded in approval. \"There is this about monarchs in the East: they like to choose physicians as their viziers, feeling that healers somehow already have Allah's attention. I know how easy it is to answer the lure of such an appointment and I have drunk the intoxicating wine of power. Twice when I was younger I accepted the title of Vizier in Hamadh\u0101n. It was more dangerous than the practice of medicine. After the first time, I narrowly escaped execution. I was thrown into the castle-prison called Fardaj\u0101n, where I languished for months. After I was released from Fardaj\u0101n, Vizier or not, I knew I couldn't stay in Hamadh\u0101n in safety. With al-Juzjani and my household I made my way to Ispahan, where I have been under Al\u0101's protection ever since.\"\n\nThey turned back, retracing their steps toward the gardens in which the entertainment was being held.\n\n\"Fortunate for Persia that Al\u0101 allows great physicians to pursue their profession,\" Rob said.\n\nIbn Sina smiled. \"It fits his plans to be known as a great king who fosters the arts and the sciences,\" he said drily. \"Even when he was a young man, he hungered after an empire of influence. Now he must seek to make it wider, trying to eat up his enemies before they devour him.\"\n\n\"The Seljuks.\"\n\n\"Oh, I should fear the Seljuks most if I were Vizier in Ispahan,\" Ibn Sina said. \"But it is Mahmud of Ghazna whom Al\u0101 watches most intently, for the two are cut from the same fabric. Al\u0101 has made four raids into India, capturing twenty-eight war elephants. Mahmud is closer to the source, he has raided India more often and has more than fifty war elephants. Al\u0101 envies and fears him. It is Mahmud who must be eliminated next if Al\u0101 is to proceed with his dream.\"\n\nIbn Sina stopped and placed a hand on Rob's arm. \"You must take great care. It is said by thoughtful men that Qandrasseh's days are numbered as Vizier. And that a young physician will take his place.\"\n\nRob said nothing, but he remembered suddenly that Al\u0101 had spoken of having \"lofty and noble plans\" for Karim.\n\n\"If it is true, Qandrasseh will strike without mercy at anyone he may see as the friend or supporter of his rival. It isn't enough to have no political ambitions for yourself. When a physician deals with those in power he must learn to bend and sway or he will not survive.\"\n\nRob wasn't certain he would be skilled at bending and swaying.\n\n\"Don't be overconcerned,\" Ibn Sina said. \"Al\u0101 changes his mind often and swiftly, and one cannot plan on what he will do in the future.\"\n\nThey resumed walking and reached the gardens shortly before the subject of their discussion returned from Fath Ali's haram, looking relaxed and in a good mood.\n\nHalfway through the afternoon, Rob began to wonder whether Ibn Sina ever had been host to an entertainment for his Shah and protector. He went up to Khuff and casually asked the question.\n\nThe grizzled Captain of the Gates slitted his eyes in concentration, then he nodded. \"A few years since,\" he said.\n\nClearly, Al\u0101 would have had no interest in the first wife, old Pious Reza, so it was virtually certain that he had claimed sovereign right to Despina. Rob pictured the Shah climbing the circular staircase in the stone tower while Khuff guarded the approach.\n\nMounting the girl's small, voluptuous body.\n\nFascinated now, Rob studied the three men, each surrounded by idolizing and deferring nobles. The Shah was ringed by his usual attendance of arse kissers. Ibn Sina, grave and composed, quietly answered questions of scholarly looking men. Karim, as always nowadays, was virtually hidden by the admirers who sought to speak to him, to touch his clothing, to bathe in the excitement and glow of his sought-after presence.\n\nThis Persia seemed to seek to make every man a cuckold in turn.\n\nHe felt natural and right with surgical instruments in his hand, as if they were interchangeable parts of his own body. Al-Juzjani gave him more and more of his own precious time, showing him with painstaking patience how to do every procedure. The Persians had ways of immobilizing and desensitizing patients. When hemp was soaked in barley water for days and the infusion was swallowed, it allowed someone to remain conscious but deadened the pain. Rob spent two weeks with the master pharmacists of the khazanat-ul-sharaf learning to mix concoctions that put patients to sleep. The substances were unpredictable and hard to control, but sometimes they allowed surgeons to operate without the convulsive shudderings and moans and screams of pain.\n\nThe recipes seemed to him more like magic than medicine.\n\nTake the flesh of a sheep. Free it from fat and cut it into lumps, piling the pieces of meat over and around a goodly amount of braised henbane seeds. Set this in an earthenware jar beneath a heap of horse dung until worms are generated. Then place the worms in a glass vessel until they shrivel up. When required for use, take two parts of these and one part of powdered opium, and instill this into the nose of the patient.\n\nOpium was derived from the juice of an Eastern flower, the poppy. It was grown in Ispahan fields but the demand outpaced the supply, for it was used in the mosque rites of Ismaili Muslims as well as in medicines, so some of it was imported from Turkey and from Ghazna. It was the base of all pain-killing formulae.\n\nTake pure opium and nutmeg. Grind and cook them together and allow them to soak in old wine for forty days. Keep on putting the bottle in the sun. Soon it will be a paste. When a pill is made from this and administered to anyone, he will at once fall unconscious and be without sensation.\n\nThey used another prescription most of the time, because it was the one that was preferred by Ibn Sina:\n\nTake equal parts of henbane, opium, euphorbia and licorice seeds. Grind each of them separately and mix the whole together in a mortar. Place some of the mixture upon any kind of food and whosoever eats thereof will fall asleep immediately.\n\nDespite Rob's suspicion that al-Juzjani resented his relationship with Ibn Sina, he was soon busily using all the instruments of surgery. Al-Juzjani's other clerks thought the new apprentice had more than his share of choice work and grew surly, taking out their jealousy on Rob by mutterings and mean insults. Rob didn't care, for he was learning more than he had dared dream was possible. One afternoon, having for the first time performed alone the procedure that dazzled him above all others in surgery\u2014the couching of eyes blinded by cataracts\u2014he at tempted to thank al-Juzjani, but the surgeon interrupted him brusquely.\n\n\"You've the knack for cutting flesh. It's not something many clerks have, and my special instruction is selfish, for I'll get a great amount of work from you.\"\n\nIt was true. Day after day he did amputations, repaired every kind of wound, tapped into abdomens to relieve the pressure of accumulated fluids in the peritoneal cavity, removed piles, stripped varicose veins \u2026\n\n\"I think you begin to like cutting too much,\" Mirdin said shrewdly as they sat together in Mirdin's house one evening over the Shah's Game. In the next room, Fara listened while Mary put her sons to sleep with a lullaby in the Erse, the language of the Scots.\n\n\"I am drawn to it,\" Rob admitted. Lately he had given thought to becoming a surgeon after winning the designation of hakim. In England surgeons were considered below physicians in status, but in Persia they were addressed by the special title of ustad and enjoyed equal respect and prosperity.\n\nBut he had reservations. \"Surgery is satisfying so far as it goes. But we're limited to operating on the outside of the bag of skin. The inside of the body is a mystery handed down in books more than a thousand years old. We know almost nothing about the internal body.\"\n\n\"That's the way it must be,\" Mirdin said placidly, and took a rukh with one of his own foot soldiers. \"Christians, Jews, and Muslims agree it is sin to desecrate the human form.\"\n\n\"I don't speak of desecration. I speak of surgery, I speak of dissection. The ancients didn't cripple their science with admonitions of sin, and what little we now know came from the early Greeks, who had the freedom to open the body and study it. They dissected the dead and observed how man is fashioned within. For a brief moment in those long-ago days their brilliance illuminated all of medicine, and then the world fell into darkness.\" He brooded and the game suffered, so that Mirdin quickly captured the other rukh and one of his camels.\n\n\"I think,\" Rob said at length, almost idly, \"that during all these long centuries of dark ignorance, there have been small, secret fires.\"\n\nNow Mirdin's attention was drawn from the board.\n\n\"Men who have had the strength to dissect dead humans in stealth. Defying the priests in order to do the Lord's work as physicians.\"\n\nMirdin stared. \"Dear God. They would be treated as witches.\"\n\n\"They would not have been able to report their knowledge, but at least they would have gained it for themselves.\"\n\nMirdin now looked alarmed.\n\nRob smiled at him. \"No, I would not,\" he said gently. \"I have enough trouble pretending to be a Jew. I simply do not have the necessary variety of courage.\"\n\n\"We must show gratitude for tiny blessings,\" Mirdin said drily. He had been made sufficiently uneasy and diverted so that now he played poorly, giving up an elephant and two horses in swift succession, but Rob hadn't yet learned enough about pressing through to victory. Quickly and coolly Mirdin rallied his forces and, within a dozen moves, to Rob's chagrin he was once again forced to experience shahtreng, the anguish of the king."
            },
            {
                "title": "MARY'S EXPECTATIONS",
                "text": "Mary had no female friend other than Fara, but the Jewess was enough. The two women learned to sit for hours and talk to one another, communications devoid of the questions and answers characterizing most social conversation. Sometimes Mary talked and Fara listened to an outpouring of Gaelic she didn't understand, sometimes Fara spoke the Tongue to an uncomprehending Mary.\n\nThe words were curiously unimportant. What mattered was the play of emotions across the facial features, the expressions of the hands, what was in the voice, secrets conveyed by the eyes.\n\nThus they shared their feelings and for Mary it was an advantage, for she spoke of things she wouldn't have mentioned to one she had known so short a time. She revealed her sorrow over the loss of her father; her loneliness for the Christian Mass; the power of her longing when she awoke from dreaming of the young and beautiful woman Jura Cullen once had been, and then had to lie in the little Yehuddiyyeh house as, like a cold and loathsome creature, the realization crept into her mind that her mother was long dead. And she spoke of things she wouldn't have mentioned no matter how long she and Fara had been friends: of how she loved him so much that sometimes it caused a trembling she couldn't control; of moments when desire flooded her with such warmth that for the first time she understood mares in heat; of how she would never again watch a ram mounting a ewe without thinking of her limbs around Rob, his taste in her mouth, the smell of his firm warm flesh in her nostrils, the hot magical extension of her husband making her one with him as they strove to get him into the core of her body.\n\nShe didn't know if Fara spoke of such things but her eyes and ears told her that betimes what Mirdin's wife talked about was intimate and important, and the two dissimilar women became linked by love and high regard, a bond of friendship.\n\nOne morning Mirdin laughed and clapped Rob's shoulder in delight. \"You've obeyed the commandment to multiply. She's expecting a child, you European ram!\"\n\n\"It isn't so!\"\n\n\"It is so,\" Mirdin said firmly. \"You'll see. In this, Fara is never wrong.\"\n\nTwo mornings later Mary paled after eating her breakfast and spewed up the food and drink, requiring Rob to clean and scrape the packed-earth floor and carry in fresh sand. That week she began regularly to be plagued by vomiting, and when her monthly flow was absent, no doubt remained. It should have been no surprise, for they'd been unflagging in their lovemaking; but she'd long since begun to think that perhaps God didn't favor the union.\n\nHer periods ordinarily were difficult and painful and she was pleased to be relieved of them, but the frequent nausea made the exchange no great bargain. Rob held her head and cleansed her when she was sick and thought of the coming child with both delight and foreboding, nervously wondering what sort of creature would grow from his seed. Now he unclothed his wife with more ardor than ever, for the scientist in him gloried in the chance to note the changes down to the slightest detail, the widening and purpling in the areolae of her nipples, the greater fullness of her breasts, the first gentle curving of belly, a rearrangement of expressions caused by the subtle swelling of her mouth and nose. He insisted that she lie on her stomach so he could judge the accumulation of fat in the hips and buttocks, the slight thickening of her legs. At first Mary enjoyed the attention but gradually she lost patience.\n\n\"The toes,\" she grumbled. \"What of the toes.\"\n\nHe studied her feet gravely and reported that the toes were unchanged.\n\nThe attractions of surgery were spoiled for Rob by a spate of geldings.\n\nThe making of eunuchs was a commonplace procedure, and two types of castrations were performed. Handsome men, selected to guard the entrances of harams, where they would have little contact with the women of a house, suffered only the loss of their testicles. For general service inside the harams, ugly men were prized, with premiums paid for such disfigurements as a mashed or naturally repelling nose, a misshapen mouth, thick lips, and black or irregular teeth; in order to render such men completely functionless sexually, their genitalia were entirely removed and they were compelled to carry a quill for use whenever they wished to pass water.\n\nOften young boys were castrated. Sometimes they were sent to a school for the training of eunuchs in Baghdad, where they were taught to be singers and musicians or thoroughly grounded in the practices of business or in purchasing and administration, turning them into highly prized servants, valuable pieces of property like Ibn Sina's eunuch slave, Wasif.\n\nThe technique for gelding was basic. In his left hand the surgeon grasped the object to be amputated. Holding a sharp razor in his right hand, he removed the parts with a single sweep of the blade, for speed was essential. At once a poultice of warm ashes was clapped to the bleeding area, and the male was permanently altered.\n\nAl-Juzjani had explained to him that when castration was performed as a punishment, sometimes the poultice of ashes wasn't administered and the patient was allowed to bleed to death.\n\nRob came home one evening and looked at his wife and tried not to consider that none of the men or boys he had operated on would ever make a woman swell with life. He put his hand on her warm abdomen, which had not really grown much larger yet.\n\n\"Soon it will be like a green melon,\" she said.\n\n\"I want to see it when it is a watermelon.\"\n\nHe had gone to the House of Learning and read about the fetus. Ibn Sina had written that after the womb shuts over the semen, life is formed in three stages. According to the Master of Physicians, in the first stage, the clot is transformed into a small heart; in the second stage, another clot appears and develops into the liver; and in the third stage, all of the chief organs are formed.\n\n\"I've found a church,\" Mary said.\n\n\"A Christian church?\" he said, and was amazed when she nodded. He hadn't known of a church in Ispahan.\n\nThe week before, she and Fara had gone to the Armenian market to buy wheat. They had made a wrong turn down an alley, narrow and smelling of piss, and she had come upon the Church of Archangel Michael.\n\n\"Eastern Catholics?\"\n\nShe nodded again. \"It's a tiny, sad church, attended by a handful of the poorest Armenian laborers. Doubtless it is tolerated because it's too weak to be a threat.\" She'd returned twice, alone, to stand and envy the ragged Armenians who entered and left the church.\n\n\"Mass would be in their language. We couldn't even offer the responses.\"\n\n\"But they celebrate the Eucharist. Christ is present on their altar.\"\n\n\"We would risk my life to attend. Go to the synagogue with Fara to pray, but offer your own silent prayers. When I'm in the synagogue I pray to Jesus and the saints.\"\n\nShe lifted her head and for the first time he saw the smoldering behind her eyes.\n\n\"I need no Jews to allow me to pray,\" she said hotly.\n\nMirdin agreed with him about rejecting surgery as a profession. \"It's not only the gelding, although that is terrible. But in places where there are no medical clerks to service the mullahs' courts, the surgeon is called upon to tend prisoners after punishments. Better to use our knowledge and skills against illness and hurt than to trim the stubs and stumps of what could have been healthy limbs and organs.\"\n\nSitting in the early morning sun on the stone steps of the madrassa, Mirdin sighed when Rob told him about Mary and her yearnings for a church. \"You must pray your own prayers with her when you're alone. And you must take her to your own people as soon as you're able.\"\n\nRob nodded, studying the other man thoughtfully. Mirdin had been bitter and hateful when he had thought Rob a Jew who had rejected his own faith. But since gaining the knowledge that Rob was an Other, he had shown the essence of friendship.\n\n\"Have you considered,\" Rob said slowly, \"how each faith claims that it alone has God's heart and ear? We, you, and Islam\u2014each vows it is the true religion. Can it be that we're all three wrong?\"\n\n\"Perhaps we're all three right,\" Mirdin said.\n\nRob felt a welling of affection. Soon Mirdin would be a physician and return to his family in Masqat and when Rob was hakim he too would go home. Doubtless, they would never meet again.\n\nWhen he met Mirdin's eyes he was certain his friend shared his thoughts.\n\n\"Shall we see each other in Paradise?\"\n\nMirdin stared at him gravely. \"I shall meet you in Paradise. Solemn vow?\"\n\nRob smiled. \"Solemn vow.\"\n\nThey clasped wrists.\n\n\"I think of the separation between life and Paradise as a river,\" Mirdin said. \"If there are many bridges that cross the river, should it be of great concern to God which bridge the traveler chooses?\"\n\n\"I believe not,\" Rob said.\n\nThe two friends parted warmly and hurried off, each to his own labor.\n\nRob sat in the surgery with two other clerks and listened to al-Juzjani warn them of the need for discretion regarding the operation that would follow. He wouldn't give the patient's identity in order to protect her reputation, but he let it be known that she was the close relative of a powerful and famous man, and that she had cancer of the breast.\n\nBecause of the gravity of the disease, the theological prohibition known as aurat\u2014which forbade any but a woman's husband to look upon her body from neck to knee\u2014would be disregarded to enable them to operate.\n\nThe woman had been plied with opiates and wine and was carried in to them unconscious. She was full-formed and heavy, with wisps of gray hair escaping from the cloth that bound her head. She was loosely veiled and fully draped save for her breasts, which were large, soft, and flaccid, indicating a patient no longer young.\n\nAl-Juzjani ordered each of the clerks in turn to palpate both breasts gently in order to learn what a breast tumor feels like. It was detectable even without palpation, a visible growth in the side of the left breast, as long as Rob's thumb and three times as thick.\n\nHe was very interested in watching; he had never seen a human breast opened before. Blood welled as al-Juzjani pressed the knife into the yielding flesh and cut well below the bottom of the lump, desiring to get it all. The woman moaned and the surgeon worked quickly, eager to finish before she awoke.\n\nRob saw that the inside of the breast contained muscle, cellular gray flesh, and clumps of yellow fat like that in a dressed chicken. He could clearly make out several pink lactiferous ducts running to join at the nipple like the branches of a river merging at a bay. Perhaps al-Juzjani had nicked one of the ducts; reddened liquid welled from the nipple like a drop of rosy milk.\n\nAl-Juzjani had the tumor out and was sewing rapidly. If such a thing were possible, Rob would have said the surgeon was nervous.\n\nShe is related to the Shah, he told himself. Perhaps an aunt; maybe even the very woman of whom the Shah had told him in the cave, the aunt who had inducted Al\u0101 into sexual life.\n\nGroaning and almost fully awake, she was carried away as soon as the breast was closed.\n\nAl-Juzjani sighed. \"There is no cure. The cancer will kill her in the end, but we can attempt to slow its progress.\" He saw Ibn Sina outside and went to report on the operation while the clerks tidied the surgery.\n\nSoon Ibn Sina entered the surgery and spoke briefly to Rob, patting his shoulder before taking leave of him.\n\nHe was dazed by what the Chief Physician had told him. He left the surgery and walked toward the khazanat-ul-sharaf, where Mirdin was working. They met in the corridor leading from the pharmacy. Rob saw in Mirdin's face all the emotions that were churning within him. \"You also?\"\n\nMirdin nodded. \"In two weeks?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He tasted panic. \"I'm not ready for testing, Mirdin. You've been here four years, but I've been here only three years and I'm not yet ready.\"\n\nMirdin forgot his own nervousness, and smiled. \"You are ready. You've been a barbersurgeon and all who have taught you have come to know what you are. We have two weeks to study together, and then we shall have our examination.\""
            },
            {
                "title": "THE PICTURE OF A LIMB",
                "text": "Ibn Sina was born in a tiny settlement called Afshanah, outside the village of Kharmaythan, and soon after his birth his family moved to the nearby city of Bukhara. While he was still a small boy his father, a tax collector, arranged for him to study with a teacher of Qu'ran and a teacher of literature, and by the time he was ten he had memorized the entire Qu'ran and absorbed much of Muslim culture. His father met a learned vegetable peddler named Mahmud the Mathematician, who taught the child Indian calculation and algebra. Before the gifted youth grew his first facial hairs he had qualified in law and delved into Euclid and geometry, and his teachers begged his father to allow him to devote his life to scholarship.\n\nHe began the study of medicine at eleven and by the time he was sixteen he was lecturing to older physicians and spending much of his time in the practice of law. All his life he would be both jurist and philosopher, but he noted that although these learned pursuits were given deference and respect by the Persian world in which he lived, nothing mattered more to an individual than his well-being and whether he would live or die. At an early age, fate made Ibn Sina the servant of a series of rulers who used his genius to guard their health, and though he wrote dozens of volumes on law and philosophy\u2014enough to win him the affectionate sobriquet of Second Teacher (First Teacher being Mohammed)\u2014it was as the Prince of Physicians that he gained the fame and adulation that followed him wherever he traveled.\n\nIn Ispahan, where he had gone at once from political refugee to hakimbashi, Chief Physician, he found a city with a large supply of physicians, and more men constantly becoming healers by means of simple declaration. Few of these would-be physicians shared the dogged scholarship or intellectual genius that had marked his own entry into medicine, and he realized that a means was needed to determine who was qualified to practice and who was not. For more than a century, examinations had been given to potential physicians in Baghdad, and Ibn Sina convinced the medical community that in Ispahan the qualifying examination at the madrassa should create or reject physicians, with himself as chief medical examiner.\n\nIbn Sina was the foremost physician in the Eastern and Western Caliphates, yet he worked in an educational environment that did not have the prestige of the largest facilities. The academy at Toledo had its House of Science, the university in Baghdad had its school for translators, Cairo boasted a rich and solid medical tradition that went back many centuries. Each of these places had a famous and magnificent library. In contrast, in Ispahan there was the small madrassa and a library that depended on the charity of the larger and richer institution in Baghdad. The maristan was a smaller, paler version of the great Azudi hospital in Baghdad. The presence of Ibn Sina had to make up for a lack of institutional size and grandeur.\n\nIbn Sina admitted to the sin of pride. While his own reputation was so towering as to be untouchable, he was sensitive about the standing of the physicians he trained.\n\nOn the eighth day of the month of Shawwa, a caravan from Baghdad brought him a letter from Ibn Sabur Y\u0101q\u016bt, the chief medical examiner of Baghdad. Ibn Sabur was coming to Ispahan and would visit the maristan the first half of the month of Zulkadah. Ibn Sina had met Ibn Sabur before and steeled himself to withstand the condescension and constant smug comparisons of his Baghdad rival.\n\nDespite all the costly advantages medicine enjoyed in Baghdad, he knew that the examining there was often notoriously lax. But here at the maristan were two medical clerks as sound as any he had seen. And at once he knew how he could send word back to the Baghdad medical community about the kind of physicians Ibn Sina made in Ispahan.\n\nThus, because Ibn Sabur Y\u0101q\u016bt was coming to the maristan, Jesse ben Benjamin and Mirdin Askari were called to the examining that would grant or deny their right to be called hakim.\n\nIbn Sabur Y\u0101q\u016bt was as Ibn Sina remembered him. Success had made his eyes slightly imperious beneath his puffy lids. There was more gray in his hair than had been there when the two of them had met in Hamadh\u0101n twelve years before, and now he wore a flamboyant, costly costume of particolored stuff that proclaimed his position and prosperity but, despite its exquisite workmanship, couldn't hide the fact that he had added greatly to his girth since his younger days. He toured the madrassa and the maristan with a smile on his lips and lofty good humor, sighing and commenting that it must be luxury to be able to deal with problems on so small a scale.\n\nThe distinguished visitor seemed pleased to be asked to sit on the examining board that would question two candidate clerks.\n\nThe scholastic community of Ispahan didn't have a depth of excellence but there was sufficient brilliance at the top of most disciplines to make it easy for Ibn Sina to enlist an examining board that would have been respected in Cairo or Toledo. Al-Juzjani would question on surgery. The Imam Yussef Gamali of the Friday Mosque would test on theology. Musa Ibn Abbas, a mullah who was on the staff of the Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh, Vizier of Persia, would test on law and jurisprudence. Ibn Sina himself would deal with philosophy; and in medicine, the visitor from Baghdad was subtly encouraged to present his most difficult questions.\n\nIbn Sina was unbothered by the fact that both his candidates were Jews. Some Hebrews, of course, were dullards who made poor doctors, but in his experience the most intelligent of the Dhimmis who came to medicine had already traveled half the distance, for inquiry and intellectual argument and a delving after truths and proofs were part of their religion, ingrained in them in their study houses long before they became medical clerks.\n\nMirdin Askari was summoned first. The homely, long-jawed face was alert but calm, and when Musa Ibn Abbas asked a question regarding the laws of property he answered without flamboyance but fully and completely, citing examples and precedents in Fiqh and Shar\u012b'a. The other examiners sat a little straighter when Yussef Gamali's questions merged law with theology, but any thought that the candidate was at a disadvantage because he was not a True Believer was dispelled by Mirdin's profundity. He used examples from Mohammed's life and recorded thoughts as his arguments, acknowledging the legal and social differences between Islam and his own religion where they were relevant, and where they were not, weaving Torah into his answers as a shoring up of Qu'ran, or Qu'ran as a buttressing of Torah. He used his mind like a sword, Ibn Sina thought, feinting, parrying, now and then sinking a point home as if it were made of cold steel. So many-layered was his scholarship that, although each man who listened shared erudition with him to a greater or lesser degree, nonetheless it numbed them and filled them with an admiration for the revealed mind.\n\nWhen his chance came, Ibn Sabur loosed question after question like arrows. The answers always were given without hesitation, but they were never the opinion of Mirdin Askari. Instead, they were citations from Ibn Sina or Rhazes or Galen or Hippocrates, and once Mirdin quoted from On Low Fevers by Ibn Sabur Y\u0101q\u00fbt, and the physician from Baghdad kept his face impassive as he sat and listened to his own words come back at him.\n\nThe examining went on far longer than most, until finally the candidate fell silent and looked at them and no more questions came from the seated men.\n\nIbn Sina dismissed Mirdin gently and sent for Jesse ben Benjamin.\n\nHe could feel a subtle change in the atmosphere as the new candidate came in, tall and broad enough to be a visual challenge to older, ascetic men, with skin leathered by the sun of West and East, wide-set brown eyes that held a wary innocence, and a fierce broken nose that made him look more like a spear-carrier than a physician. His large, square hands seemed fashioned to bend iron but Ibn Sina had seen them stroke fevered faces with great gentleness and cut into bleeding flesh with an absolutely controlled knife. His mind had long been a physician's.\n\nIbn Sina purposely had brought Mirdin to testing first, to set the stage and because Jesse ben Benjamin was different from the clerks to whom these authorities were accustomed, with qualities that couldn't be revealed in an academic examination. He had covered material prodigiously in three years but his scholarship wasn't as deep as Mirdin's. He had presence, even now in his nervousness.\n\nHe was staring at Musa Ibn Abbas and appeared white about the mouth, more nervous than Askari had been.\n\nThe Imam Qandrasseh's aide had noted the stare, which was almost rude, and abruptly the mullah began with a political question whose dangers he didn't bother to hide.\n\n\"Does the kingdom belong to the mosque or to the palace?\"\n\nRob did not answer with the swift and unhesitating surety that had been so impressive in Mirdin. \"It is spelled out in Qu'ran,\" he said in his accented Persian. \"Allah says in Sura Two, 'I am setting in the earth a viceroy.' And in Sura Thirty-eight, a Shah's task is stated in these words: 'David, behold, We have appointed thee a viceroy in the earth, therefore judge between men justly, and follow not caprice, lest it lead thee astray from the way of God.' Therefore, the kingdom belongs to God.\"\n\nIn giving the kingdom to God, the reply had avoided the choice between Qandrasseh and Al\u0101, yet it was a good and clever answer. The mullah did not argue.\n\nIbn Sabur asked the candidate to differentiate between smallpox and measles.\n\nRob quoted from Rhazes' treatise entitled Division of Diseases, pointing out that the premonitory symptoms of smallpox are fever and pain in the back, while in measles the heat is greater and there is marked mental distress. He cited Ibn Sina as if the physician were not there, saying that Book Four of the Qan\u016bn suggests that the rash of measles usually emerges all at once, while the rash of smallpox appears spot after spot.\n\nHe was steady and unwavering and didn't try to draw into his answer his experience with the plague, as a lesser man might have done. Ibn Sina knew him to be worthy; of all the examiners, only he and al-Juzjani knew the magnitude of the effort this man had put into the past three years.\n\n\"What if you must treat a fractured knee?\" al-Juzjani asked.\n\n\"If the leg is straight, one must immobilize it by binding it between two rigid splints. If it is bent, Hakim Jalal-ul-Din has devised a way of splinting which serves well for a knee as well as for a fractured or dislocated elbow.\" There was paper and ink and a quill next to the visitor from Baghdad, and the candidate moved to these materials. \"I can draw a limb so that you may see the placement of the splint,\" he said.\n\nIbn Sina was horrified. Though the Dhimmi was a European, surely he must know that one who drew a picture of a human form, in whole or in part, would burn in the hottest of hell's fires. It was sin and transgression for a strict Muslim even to glance at such a picture. Given the presence of the mullah and the Imam, the artist who mocked God and seduced their morality by recreating man would go to an Islamic court and never be named a hakim.\n\nThe seated examiners reflected a variety of emotions. Al-Juzjani's face indicated vast regret, a small smile trembled on Ibn Sabur's mouth, the Imam was perturbed, the mullah already angry.\n\nThe quill flew between inkpot and paper. It made a quick scratching and in a moment it was too late, the drawing was done. Rob handed it to Ibn Sabur and the man from Baghdad studied it, transparently disbelieving. When he passed it to al-Juzjani, the surgeon could not prevent a grin.\n\nIt seemed to take a long time to reach Ibn Sina but when the paper arrived he saw that the limb depicted was \u2026 a limb! The bent branch of an apricot tree without doubt, for it was drawn in leaf. A knotted gnarl cleverly took the place of the injured knee joint, and the ends of the splint were shown tied well above and below the knot.\n\nThere were no questions regarding the splint.\n\nIbn Sina looked at Jesse, taking care to mask both his relief and his affection. He vastly enjoyed glancing at the face of the visitor from Baghdad. Settling back, he began to ask his student the most intriguing philosophical question he could formulate, secure that the maristan of Ispahan could afford to show off just a little more."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 73",
                "text": "Rob had been shaken when he recognized Musa Ibn Abbas as the Vizier's aide, whom he had seen in secret meeting with the Seljuk ambassador. But he had quickly realized that on that occasion he himself hadn't been observed, and the mullah's presence on the examining committee posed no special threat.\n\nWhen the examination was finished he went directly to the wing of the maristan that contained the surgical patients, for he and Mirdin had agreed that simply to sit and wait together to learn their fate would be too hard. The interval was best spent working, and he threw himself into a variety of tasks, examining patients, changing dressings, removing stitchings\u2014the homely jobs to which he had become accustomed.\n\nTime passed, but there was no word.\n\nPresently Jalal-ul-Din came into the surgery\u2014which surely must mean the examiners had dispersed. Rob was tempted to ask if Jalal knew their decision but couldn't bring himself to do so. As Jalal gave his customary greeting he offered no indication that he was aware of the clerk's agony of waiting.\n\nThe day before, they had labored together over a herdsman who had been savaged by a bull. The man's forearm had snapped like a willow in two places when the beast trod on it, and then the bull had gored his victim before being diverted by other herdsmen.\n\nRob had trimmed and sewn the torn muscles and flesh of the shoulder and arm and Jalal had reduced the fractures and applied splints. Now after they examined their patient, Jalal complained that the bulky rag dressings made a clumsy juxtaposition with the splints.\n\n\"Can the dressings not be removed?\"\n\nIt puzzled Rob, for Jalal knew better. \"It is too soon.\"\n\nJalal shrugged. He looked at Rob warmly and smiled. \"It must be as you say, Hakim,\" he said, and left the chamber.\n\nThus was Rob informed. It dizzied him, so that for a time he stood without moving.\n\nEventually he was claimed by his routine. Four sick men remained to be seen and he went on, forcing himself to give the care of a good physician, as though his mind were the sun focusing on each of them small and hot through the crystal of his concentration.\n\nBut when the last patient had been tended he allowed his feelings to take him again, the purest pleasure he had experienced in his life. Walking almost drunkenly, he hurried home to tell Mary."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE COMMAND",
                "text": "Rob had become hakim six days before his twenty-fourth natal day, and the glow lasted for weeks. To his satisfaction, Mirdin didn't suggest that they go to the maidans to celebrate their new status as physicians; without making too much of it, he felt that the change in their lives was too important to be marked by an evening of drunkenness. Instead, the two families met at the Askaris' house and rejoiced together over an evening meal.\n\nRob and Mirdin went to watch each other being measured for the hakim's black gown and hood.\n\n\"Will you go back to Masqat now?\" Rob asked his friend.\n\n\"I'll stay here several more months, for there are things I still must learn in the khazanat-ul-sharaf. And you? When will you return to Europe?\"\n\n\"Mary can't travel safely while pregnant. We'd best wait until the child has been born and is strong enough to withstand the journey.\" He smiled at Mirdin. \"Your family will celebrate in Masqat when their physician comes home. Have you sent word that the Shah wishes to buy a great pearl from them?\"\n\nMirdin shook his head. \"My family travels the villages of the pearlfishers and buys tiny seed pearls. They then sell them by the measuring cup, to merchants who sell them in turn to be sewn into garments. My family would be hard pressed indeed to raise the sums needed to buy great pearls. Nor would they be eager to deal with the Shah, for kings seldom are willing to pay fairly for the large pearls they love so well. For my part, I would hope that Al\u0101 has forgotten the 'great good fortune' he has bestowed on my kinsmen.\"\n\n\"Members of the court inquired after you last evening and missed your presence,\" Al\u0101 Shah said.\n\n\"I cared for a desperately ill woman,\" Karim replied.\n\nIn truth, he had gone to Despina. Each of them had been desperate. It was the first time in five nights that he had been able to escape the fawning demands of spoiled courtiers, and he had valued every moment with her.\n\n\"There are ill people in my court who need your wisdom,\" Al\u0101 said peevishly.\n\n\"Yes, Excellency.\"\n\nAl\u0101 had made it clear that Karim had the favor of the throne, but Karim already was tired of the members of noble families who often came to him with imagined complaints, and he missed the bustle and genuine labor of the maristan, where he could be ever useful as a physician instead of an ornament.\n\nYet each time he rode into the House of Paradise and was saluted by the sentries he was newly moved. He thought often of how astounded Zaki-Omar would have been to see his boy riding with the King of Persia.\n\n\"\u2026 I am making plans, Karim,\" the Shah was saying. \"Formulating great events.\"\n\n\"May Allah smile on them.\"\n\n\"You must send for your friends, the pair of Jews, to meet with us. I would speak to all three of you.\"\n\n\"Yes, Majesty,\" Karim said.\n\nTwo mornings later Rob and Mirdin were summoned to ride out with the Shah. It gave them a chance to be with Karim, whose time these days was fully occupied in the company of Al\u0101. In the stable yard of the House of Paradise, the three young physicians reviewed the examinations, to Karim's pleasure, and when the Shah arrived they mounted and rode behind him into the countryside.\n\nIt was by now a familiar excursion, save that on this day they were overlong practicing the Parthian shot, which only Karim and Al\u0101 could perform with even a random hope of success. They dined well and spoke of nothing serious until all four of them were seated in the hot water of the cavern pool, drinking wine.\n\nThat was when Al\u0101 told them calmly that he would lead a large raiding party out of Ispahan in five days' time.\n\n\"To raid where, Majesty?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"The elephant pens of southwest India.\"\n\n\"Sire, may I go with you?\" Karim asked at once, his eyes alight.\n\n\"I hope that all three of you may come,\" Al\u0101 said.\n\nHe spoke to them at length, flattering them by making them privy to his most secret plans. To the west the Seljuks clearly were preparing for war. In Ghazna, the Sultan Mahmud was more truculent than ever and eventually would have to be dealt with. This was a time for Al\u0101 to build his forces. His spies reported that in Mansura a weak Indian garrison guarded many elephants. A raid would be a valuable training maneuver and, more important, might provide him with priceless animals which, covered in mail, made awesome weapons that could turn the tide of a battle.\n\n\"There is another goal,\" Al\u0101 said. He reached to his scabbard lying next to the pool and pulled out a dagger whose blade was of an unfamiliar blue steel, patterned with little swirls.\n\n\"The metal of this knife is found only in India. It is unlike any metal we have. It takes a better edge than our own steel and holds it longer. It is so hard, it will cut into ordinary weapons. We shall look for swords made of this blue steel, for with enough of them, an army would conquer.\" He passed the dagger so each could examine its tempered keenness.\n\n\"Will you come with us?\" he asked Rob.\n\nBoth knew it was a command and not a request; the note had now come due and it was time for Rob to pay his debt.\n\n\"Yes, I'll come, Sire,\" he said, trying to sound glad. He was light-headed with more than wine and could feel his pulse racing.\n\n\"And you, Dhimmi?\" Al\u0101 said to Mirdin.\n\nMirdin was pale. \"Your Majesty has granted me permission to return to my family in Masqat.\"\n\n\"Permission! Of course you have had permission. Now it is for you to decide whether you will accompany us or not,\" Al\u0101 said stiffly.\n\nKarim hastily seized the goatskin and splashed wine into their goblets. \"Come to India, Mirdin.\"\n\n\"I'm not a soldier,\" he said slowly. He looked at Rob.\n\n\"Come with us, Mirdin,\" Rob heard himself urge. \"We've discussed fewer than a third of the commandments. We could study together along the way.\"\n\n\"We'll need surgeons,\" Karim said. \"Besides, is Jesse the only Jew I have met in my life who is willing to fight?\"\n\nIt was goodnatured rough teasing, but something tightened in Mirdin's eyes.\n\n\"It isn't true. Karim, you're stupid with wine,\" Rob said.\n\n\"I will go,\" Mirdin said, and they shouted in pleasure.\n\n\"Think of it,\" Al\u0101 said with satisfaction. \"Four friends together, raiding India!\""
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 75",
                "text": "Rob went to Nitka the Midwife that afternoon. She was a thin, severe woman, not quite old, with a sharp nose in a sallow face and snapping raisin eyes. She offered him refreshment half-heartedly and then listened without surprise to what he had to say. He explained only that he must go away. Her face told him the problem was part of her normal world: the husband travels, the wife is left at home to suffer alone.\n\n\"I've seen your wife. The red-haired Other.\"\n\n\"She is a European Christian. Yes.\"\n\nNitka stared pensively and then appeared to make up her mind. \"All right. I'll attend her when her time comes. If there is a difficulty, I'll live in your house during the final weeks.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" He handed her five coins, four of them gold. \"Is it enough?\"\n\n\"It is enough.\"\n\nInstead of going home, he left Yehuddiyyeh again and went uninvited to the house of Ibn Sina.\n\nThe Chief Physician greeted him and then heard him gravely.\n\n\"What if you should die in India? My own brother Ali was killed taking part in a similar raid. Perhaps the possibility has not occurred to you because you are young and strong and see only life for yourself. But if death should take you?\"\n\n\"I'm leaving my wife with money. Little of it is mine, most was her father's,\" he said scrupulously. \"If I die, will you arrange travel back to her home for her and the child?\"\n\nIbn Sina nodded. \"You must be careful to make such work unnecessary for me.\" He smiled. \"Have you given thought to the riddle I have challenged you to guess?\"\n\nRob stood in wonder that such a mind still could play childish games.\n\n\"No, Chief Physician.\"\n\n\"No matter. If Allah wills, there will be plenty of time for you to guess the riddle.\" His tone changed and he said brusquely, \"And now, sit closer, Hakim. I think we would do well to talk for a time of the treatment of wounds.\"\n\nRob told Mary as they lay abed. He explained that there was no choice; that he was pledged to repay Al\u0101 and that, at any rate, his presence in the raiding party was a command. \"Needless to say, neither Mirdin nor I would chase a mad adventure if it could be avoided,\" he said.\n\nHe didn't go into detail about possible mishaps but told her he had arranged for Nitka's services for the birthing, and that Ibn Sina would help her in the event of any other problem.\n\nShe must have been terrified but she didn't carry on. He thought he detected anger in her voice when she asked questions, but that may have been a trick of his own guilt, for deep within himself he recognized that part of him was excited about going soldiering, happy to live a childhood dream.\n\nOnce in the night he placed his hand lightly on her belly and felt the warm flesh that was already rising, beginning to show.\n\n\"You may not be able to see it the size of a watermelon, as you said you wished to do,\" she said in the darkness.\n\n\"Doubtless I'll return by then,\" he told her.\n\nMary retreated into herself as the day of departure came, becoming again the harder woman he had found alone and fiercely protecting her dying father in Ahmad's wadi.\n\nWhen it was time for him to go she was outside, wiping down her black horse. She was dry-eyed as she kissed him and watched him leave, a tall woman with a growing middle who held her large body now as if she were always tired."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CAMELEER",
                "text": "It would have been a small force for an army but it was large for a raiding party, six hundred fighting men on horses and camels and twenty-four elephants. Khuff commandeered the brown horse as soon as Rob rode up to the mustering place on the maidan.\n\n\"Your horse will be returned to you when we come back to Ispahan. We will use only mounts that have been trained not to shy at the scent of elephants.\"\n\nThe brown horse was turned into the herd that would be taken to the royal stables and to Rob's consternation and Mirdin's great amusement he was given a scruffy gray female camel that looked at him coldly as she chewed her cud, her rubbery lips twisting and her jaws grinding in opposite directions.\n\nMirdin was given a brown male camel; he had ridden camels all his life and showed Rob how to twist the reins and bark a command to cause the single-humped dromedary to bend its front legs and drop to its knees, then fold its hind legs and fall to the ground. The rider sat sidesaddle and jerked the reins as he voiced another command, and the beast unfolded itself, reversing the order of its descent.\n\nThere were two hundred and fifty foot soldiers, two hundred horse soldiers, and one hundred and fifty on camels. Presently Al\u0101 came, a splendid sight. His elephant was a yard taller than any of the others. Gold rings adorned the wicked tusks. The mahout sat proudly on the bull's head and directed his progress with feet dug in behind the elephant's ears. The Shah sat erect in a cushion-lined box on the great convex back, a splendid sight in dark blue silks and a red turban. The people roared. Perhaps some of them were cheering the hero of the chatir, for Karim sat a nervous gray Arabian stallion with savage eyes, riding directly behind the royal elephant.\n\nKhuff shouted a hoarse, thunderous command and his horse trotted after the king's elephant and Karim, and then the other elephants fell into line and moved out of the square. After them came the horses and then the camels, and then hundreds of pack asses whose nostrils had been surgically slit so they could take in more air when they labored. The foot soldiers were last.\n\nOnce again Rob found himself three-quarters of the way back in the line of march, which seemed to be his customary position when traveling with large assemblages. That meant he and Mirdin had to cope with constant clouds of dust; anticipating this, each had exchanged his turban for the leather Jew's hat, which afforded better protection from both dust and sun.\n\nRob found the camel alarming. When she knelt and he settled his considerable weight on her back she whined loudly and then grunted and groaned as she clambered to her feet. He couldn't believe the ride: he was higher than when on a horse; he bounced and swayed, and there was less fat and flesh to pad his seat.\n\nAs they crossed the bridge over the River of Life, Mirdin glanced over at him and grinned. \"You shall learn to love her!\" he shouted to his friend.\n\nRob never learned to love his camel. When given a chance the beast spat ropy globs at him and snapped like a cur so that he had to tie its jaws, and aimed vicious backward kicks at him such as are employed by an uglytempered mule. He was wary of the animal at all times.\n\nHe enjoyed traveling with soldiers in front and behind; they might have been an ancient Roman cohort, and he was pleased to fancy himself part of a legion bringing its own kind of enlightenment where it went. The fantasy was dispelled late each afternoon, for they didn't make a neat Roman camp. Al\u0101 had his tent and soft carpets and musicians, and cooks and hands aplenty to do his will. The others picked a spot on the ground and rolled up in their clothing. The stink of the excretions of animals and men was ever present, and if they came to a brook it was foul before they left it.\n\nAt night, lying in the dark on the hard ground, Mirdin continued to teach him the laws according to the Jewish God. The familiar exercise of teaching and learning helped them forget discomfort and apprehension. They went through commandments by the dozens, making excellent progress and causing Rob to observe that going to war could be an ideal environment for study. Mirdin's calm, scholarly voice seemed a reassurance that they would see a better day.\n\nFor a week they used their own stores and then all provisions were gone, according to plan. One hundred of the foot soldiers were assigned as foragers and moved ahead of the main party. They scoured the countryside with skill and it was a daily sight to see the men leading goats or herding sheep, carrying squawking fowl or laden with produce. The finest was chosen for the Shah and the rest distributed, so that each night there was cooking over a hundred fires and the raiders ate well.\n\nA daily medical call was held at each new encampment; it was within sight of the king's tent to discourage malingerers, but still the line was long. One evening Karim came to them there.\n\n\"Do you want to work? We're in need of help,\" Rob said.\n\n\"It's forbidden. I'm to stay close to the Shah.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" Mirdin said.\n\nKarim gave them his crooked smile. \"Do you want more food?\"\n\n\"We have enough,\" Mirdin said.\n\n\"I can get what you want. It will take several months to reach the elephant pens at Mansura. You may as well make your life on the march as comfortable as possible.\"\n\nRob thought of the story Karim had told him during the plague in Sh\u012br\u0101z. Of how an army passing through the province of Hamadh\u0101n had brought a bitter end to Karim's parents. He wondered how many babies would be brained against the rocks to save them from starvation, because of the passing of this army.\n\nThen he felt ashamed of his animosity toward his friend, for the raid into India wasn't Karim's fault. \"There is something I'd like to ask for. Ditches should be dug on the four perimeters of each new camp, to be used as latrines.\"\n\nKarim nodded.\n\nThe suggestion was implemented at once, along with an announcement that the new system was an order of the surgeons. It didn't make them popular, for now each evening weary soldiers were assigned to ditchdigging, and anyone who awoke in the night with cramps gripping his bowels had to stumble about in the darkness seeking a trench. Violators who were caught received canings. But there was less of a stench and it was pleasant not having to worry about stepping in human shit as they broke camp every morning.\n\nMost of the troops viewed them with bland contempt. It hadn't escaped general notice that Mirdin had reported to the raiding party without a weapon, requiring Khuff to issue him a clumsy excuse for a guardsman's sword, which usually he forgot to wear. Their leather caps also set them apart, as did their habit of rising early and walking from the camp to don prayer shawls and recite benedictions and wind leather thongs around their arms and hands.\n\nMirdin was bemused. \"There are no other Jews here to scrutinize and suspect you, so why do you pray with me?\" He grinned when Rob shrugged. \"I think a small part of you has become a Jew.\"\n\n\"No.\" He told Mirdin how, on the day he had assumed a Jewish identity, he had gone to the Cathedral of St. Sofia in Constantinople and promised Jesus that he would never forsake Him.\n\nMirdin nodded, no longer grinning. They were wise enough not to pursue the subject. They were aware of things about which they could never agree because they had been raised in differing beliefs regarding God and the human soul, but they were content to avoid these pitfalls and share their friendship as reasoning men, as physicians, and now as bumbling soldiers.\n\nWhen they reached Sh\u012br\u0101z, by prearrangement the kelonter came to them outside the city with a pack train laden with provender, a sacrifice that saved the Sh\u012br\u0101z district from being indiscriminately stripped by the foragers. After he had paid his homage to the Shah the kelonter embraced Rob and Mirdin and Karim and they sat with him and drank wine and remembered the days of the plague.\n\nRob and Karim rode back with him as far as the city gates. Turning back, they succumbed to a flat, smooth stretch of road and the wine in their veins and began to race their camels. It was a revelation to Rob, for what had been a rolling, cumbersome walking gait turned into something else when the camel ran. The beast's stride lengthened so that each step was a pushing leap that carried her and her rider through the air in a level, hurtling rush. Rob sat her easily and enjoyed various sensations; he floated, he soared, he became the wind.\n\nNow he understood why the Persian Jews had coined a Hebrew name for the variety which the general populace had adopted\u2014gemala sarka, the flying camels.\n\nThe gray female strove desperately, and for the first time Rob felt affection for her. \"Come, my dolly! Come, my girl!\" he shouted as they sped toward the camp.\n\nMirdin's brown male won but the contest left Rob in high spirits. He begged extra forage from the elephant keepers and gave it to her and she bit him on the forearm. The bite didn't break the skin but it was nasty, a purpled bruise that gave him pain for days, and that was when he gave the camel her name, Bitch."
            },
            {
                "title": "INDIA",
                "text": "Below Sh\u012br\u0101z they found the Spice Road and followed it until, to avoid the mountainous inland terrain, they moved to the coast near Hormuz. It was winter but the gulf air was warm and perfumed. Sometimes after they had made camp late in the day the soldiers and their animals bathed in the warm saltiness from hot sandy beaches while sentries kept a nervous watch for sharks. The people they saw now were as likely to be blacks or Baluchis as Persians. They were fisher folk or, at the oases that sprang from the coastal sand, farmers who grew dates and pomegranates. They lived in tents or in mud-plastered stone houses with flat roofs; now and then the raiders moved through a wadi where families lived in caves. Rob thought it a poor land, but Mirdin grew exhilarated as they traveled, looking about with soft eyes.\n\nWhen they reached the fishing villag of T\u012bz, Mirdin took Rob by the hand and led him to the water's edge. \"There, on the other side,\" he said, pointing out at the azure gulf. \"There is Masqat. From here, a boat could bring us to my father's house in a few hours.\"\n\nIt was tantalizingly close, but next morning they broke camp and went farther away from the Askari family with every step.\n\nAlmost a month after they had departed from Ispahan they moved beyond Persia. Changes were made. Al\u0101 ordered three rings of sentries around the camp at night, and each morning a new watchword was passed to every man; anyone who tried to get into their camp without knowing the word would be killed.\n\nOnce on the soil of the foreign land of Sind the soldiers gave way to their instinct for marauding, and one day the foragers drove women back to the camp the way they drove animals. Al\u0101 said he would allow them to have females in the camp for this night only and then no more. It would be difficult enough for six hundred men to approach Mansura undetected, and he wanted no rumors to go before them because of women taken along their way.\n\nIt would be a wild night. They saw Karim selecting four of the women with great care.\n\n\"Why does he need four?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"He doesn't select them for himself,\" Mirdin said.\n\nIt was true. They observed Karim leading the women to the king's tent.\n\n\"Is this why we struggled to help him pass the examination and become a physician?\" Mirdin said bitterly. Rob didn't answer.\n\nThe raiders passed the other females from man to man, choosing lots for turns. Groups stood and watched the rutting and cheered, the sentries being relieved so they could come and share in these first spoils.\n\nMirdin and Rob sat off to one side with a goatskin of bitter wine. For a time they attempted study, but it wasn't the occasion to review the Lord's laws.\n\n\"You've taught me more than four hundred commandments,\" Rob said wonderingly. \"Soon we'll be finished with them.\"\n\n\"I've merely listed them. There are sages who devote their lives to trying to understand the commentaries on just one of the laws.\"\n\nThe night was filled with screams and drunken sounds.\n\nFor years Rob had governed himself well in avoiding strong drink, but now he was lonely and in sexual need undampened by the ugliness taking place about him, and he drank too eagerly.\n\nIn a little while he was truculent. Mirdin, amazed that this was his mild and reasoning friend, gave him no excuse. But a passing soldier jostled him and would have been the object of his anger if Mirdin hadn't soothed and cozened, coddling Rob like a spoiled child and leading him to a sleeping place.\n\nWhen he awoke in the morning the women were gone and he paid for his foolishness by having to ride the camel with a terrible head. Ever the medical student, Mirdin added to his pain by questioning him at length, at last coming away with a greater understanding that to some men wine must be treated as if it were a poison and a bewitchery.\n\nMirdin hadn't thought to bring a weapon to battle but he had brought the Shah's Game and it was a blessing, for they played each evening until darkness came. Now finally the contests became hard-fought and close, and on occasion when luck was with him, Rob won.\n\nOver the game board he confided his concern for Mary.\n\n\"Doubtless she's fine, for Fara says that having babes is something women have learned to do long since,\" Mirdin said cheerfully.\n\nRob wondered aloud whether the child would be daughter or son.\n\n\"How long after her menses had stopped did the fucking take place?\"\n\nHe shrugged.\n\n\"It is written by al-Habib that if intercourse takes place on the first to fifth day after the end of bleeding, it will be a boy. If from the fifth to the eighth day after her period, a girl.\" He hesitated, and Rob knew it was because al-Habib also had written that if the mating occurred after the fifteenth day, there was a possibility the child would be a hermaphrodite.\n\n\"Al-Habib also writes that brown-eyed fathers make sons and blue-eyed fathers make daughters. Yet I come from a land where most men have blue eyes, and they have always had many sons,\" Rob said crossly.\n\n\"Doubtless al-Habib wrote only of normal folk such as are found in the East,\" Mirdin said.\n\nSometimes, instead of playing the Shah's Game they reviewed Ibn Sina's teachings on the treatment of battle wounds, or they inspected their supplies and made certain they were in readiness as surgeons. It was fortunate that they did, for one evening they were invited to Al\u0101's tent to share the king's evening meal and answer his questions about their preparations. Karim was there, greeting his friends uncomfortably; it soon became apparent he had been ordered to question them and judge their efficiency.\n\nServants brought water and cloths that they might wash their hands before eating. Al\u0101 dipped his hands in a beautifully chased golden bowl and wiped them dry on pale blue linen towels worked with Qu'ranic phrases in gold thread.\n\n\"Tell us how you'll treat slash wounds,\" Karim said.\n\nRob told what Ibn Sina had taught: oil was to be boiled and poured into the wound as hot as possible, to ward off suppuration and evil humors.\n\nKarim nodded.\n\nAl\u0101 had been listening palely. Now he gave firm instructions that if he himself were mortally struck, they were to dose him with soporifics to ease the pain the very moment after a mullah had led him in final prayer.\n\nThe meal was simple by royal standards, spit-roasted fowl and summer greens gathered along the way, but it was better prepared than the fare to which they were accustomed, and it was served on plates. Afterward, while three musicians played dulcimers, Mirdin tested Al\u0101 at the Shah's Game but was easily bested.\n\nIt was a welcome change in their routine, but Rob was not unhappy to leave the presence of the king. He didn't envy Karim, who nowadays often rode on the elephant named Zi, seated in the box with the Shah.\n\nBut Rob hadn't lost his fascination with elephants and watched them closely at every opportunity. Some were laden with bundles of war mail similar to the armor worn by human warriors. Five of the elephants carried twenty extra mahouts brought along by Al\u0101 as excess baggage in the hopeful expectation that on the trip back to Ispahan they would be occupied in tending the elephants taken at Mansura. All the mahouts were Indians captured in previous raids, but they had been excellently treated and lavishly rewarded, as befit their value, and the Shah was certain of their loyalty.\n\nThe elephants took care of their own foraging. At the end of each day their small, dark keepers accompanied them to vegetation where they ate their fill of grass, leaves, small branches, and bark, often gaining their food by knocking down trees with startling ease.\n\nOne evening the feeding elephants frightened from the trees a chattering band of manlike, furry little creatures with tails, which Rob knew from his reading to be monkeys. After that they saw monkeys every day, and a variety of bright-plumaged birds and occasional serpents on the ground and in the trees. Harsha, the Shah's mahout, told Rob that some of the snakes were deadly. \"If someone is bitten, a knife must be used to open the site of the bite and all the poison must be sucked away and spat out. Then a small animal should be killed and the liver tied to the wound to draw it.\" The Indian warned that the person doing the sucking must not have a sore or a cut in his mouth. \"If he does, the poison will enter and he will die in half an afternoon.\"\n\nThey passed Buddhas, great sitting gods at which some of the men jeered uncomfortably but which nobody defiled, for though they told each other that Allah was the one true God, there was an amused, subtle menace in the ageless figures that made them realize they were a long way from their homes. Looking up at the looming stone gods, Rob fought them off with a silent recitation of the Paternoster from St. Matthew. That evening perhaps Mirdin fought them off as well, for, lying on the ground surrounded by the Persian army, he taught an especially enthusiastic lesson in the Law.\n\nIt was the night when they reached the five hundred and twenty-fourth commandment, on the face of it a puzzling edict: \"If a man has committed a sin worthy of death, and he be put to death, and thou hang him on a tree, his body shall not remain all night upon the tree but thou shalt surely bury him the same day.\"\n\nMirdin told him to mark the words well. \"Because of them, we don't study human dead as did the heathen Greeks.\"\n\nRob's skin prickled and he sat up.\n\n\"The sages and scholars draw three edicts from this commandment,\" Mirdin said. \"First, if a convicted criminal's body is to be treated with such respect, then the body of a respected citizen certainly should also be swiftly interred without being subjected to shame or disgrace. Second, whoever keeps his dead unburied overnight transgresses a negative commandment. And third, the body must be interred whole and uncut, for if one leaves out even a small amount of tissue, it's as if no burial took place at all.\"\n\n\"This is what's done the mischief,\" Rob said wonderingly. \"Because this law forbids leaving a murderer's body unburied, Christians and Muslims and Jews have kept physicians from studying that which they seek to heal!\"\n\n\"It's God's commandment,\" Mirdin said sternly.\n\nRob lay back and studied the darkness. Nearby, a foot soldier snored loudly and beyond that unpleasant sound someone hawked and spat. For the hundredth time he asked himself what he was doing in their midst. \"I think your way is disrespect for the dead. To throw them into the earth with such haste, as if you can't wait to get them out of sight.\"\n\n\"It's true we don't fuss over the corpse. After the funeral we honor the memory of the person through shiva, seven days in which the mourners stay inside their house in grief and prayer.\"\n\nFrustration welled, and Rob felt as savage as if he had wallowed in strong drink. \"It makes little sense. It's an ignorant commandment.\"\n\n\"You shall not say that God's word is ignorant!\"\n\n\"I'm not speaking of God's word. I'm talking of man's interpretation of God's word. That has kept the world in ignorance and darkness for a thousand years.\"\n\nFor a moment Mirdin was silent. \"Your approval isn't required,\" he said finally. \"Nor is wisdom or decency. Our agreement was simply that you would study God's laws.\"\n\n\"Yes, I agreed to study. I didn't agree to close off my mind or withhold my judgment.\"\n\nThis time Mirdin didn't reply.\n\nTwo days later, they came at last to the banks of a great river, the Indus. There was an easy ford a few miles north but the mahouts told them that sometimes it was guarded by soldiers, so they traveled south a few miles to another ford, deeper but still passable. Khuff set a party of men to building rafts. Those who were able swam to the far bank with the animals. Those who were not swimmers poled across on the rafts. Some of the elephants walked on the river bottom, submerged save for their trunks, which extended out of the water and gave them air! When the river became too deep even for them, the elephants swam as well as horses.\n\nOn the other side the raiders reassembled and began to move north again, toward Mansura, making a wide sweep around the guarded ford.\n\nKarim summoned Mirdin and Rob to the Shah, and for a time they rode with Al\u0101 on Zi's back. Rob had to concentrate on the king's words, for the world was different atop an elephant.\n\nAl\u0101's spies had reported to him in Ispahan that Mansura was but lightly guarded. The old Rajah of that place, who had been a fierce commander, had recently died and it was said his sons were poor soldiers who undermanned their garrisons.\n\n\"Now I must send out scouts to confirm this,\" Al\u0101 said. \"You shall go, for it occurs to me that two Dhimmi merchants can approach Mansura without raising comment.\"\n\nRob resisted the impulse to glance at Mirdin.\n\n\"You must keep your eyes open for elephant traps near the village. Sometimes these people build wooden frames through which project sharp iron spikes, and bury them in shallow trenches outside their walls. These devastate the elephants, and we must know that they are not in use here before we commit our beasts.\"\n\nRob nodded. When one rode an elephant all things appeared possible. \"Yes, Majesty,\" he told the Shah.\n\nThe raiders made camp, where they would wait until the scouts returned. Rob and Mirdin left their camels, which were obviously military beasts bred for speed and not for burden, and led two asses away from the encampment.\n\nIt was a fresh, sunny morning. In the overripe forest savage birds challenged and shrieked, and a company of monkeys scolded them from a tree.\n\n\"I should like to dissect a monkey.\"\n\nMirdin was still angry with him, and was finding even less enjoyment in becoming a secret observer than in being a soldier. \"Why?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Why, to discover what I may,\" Rob said, \"even as Galen dissected Barbary apes to learn.\"\n\n\"I thought you had determined to be a physician.\"\n\n\"That is being a physician.\"\n\n\"No, that is being a dissector. I'll be a physician, spending all my days caring for the people of Masqat in time of sickness, which is what a physician does. You can't fix your mind whether to be a surgeon or a dissector or a physician or a \u2026 a midwife with balls! You want it all!\"\n\nRob smiled at his friend but said nothing more. He had little defense, for to a great extent what Mirdin accused him of was true.\n\nThey traveled for a time in silence. Twice they passed Indian men, a farmer up to his ankles in the muck of a roadside irrigation ditch, and two men in the road lugging a pole from which hung a basket filled with yellow plums. This pair hailed them in a language neither Rob nor Mirdin could comprehend and they could but answer with a smile; Rob hoped they wouldn't walk as far as the encampment, for now anyone who came upon the raiders would at once become a slave or a corpse.\n\nPresently half a dozen men leading donkeys came toward them around a bend in the road and Mirdin grinned at Rob for the first time, for these travelers wore dusty leather Jew's hats like their own, and black caftans that bore witness to hard journeying.\n\n\"Shalom!\" Rob called when they were close enough.\n\n\"Shalom aleikhem! And well met.\"\n\nTheir spokesman and leader said he was Hillel Nafthali, spice merchant of Ahwaz. He was bluff and smiling, with a livid strawberry birthmark that covered the cheek under his left eye, and he appeared willing to spend the entire day in introductions and the recital of pedigrees. One of the men with him was his brother Ari, one was his son, and the other three were husbands of his daughters. He didn't know Mirdin's father but had heard of the pearl-buying Askari family of Masqat, and the exchange of names went on and on until finally they reached a distant Nafthali cousin with whom Mirdin had acquaintance, thus satisfying both sides that they were not strangers.\n\n\"You've come from the north?\" Mirdin said.\n\n\"We've been to Multan. A small errand,\" Nafthali said with a satisfaction that indicated the magnitude of the transaction. \"Where do you travel?\"\n\n\"Mansura. Business, a bit of this, a bit of that,\" Rob said, and the men nodded with respect. \"Do you know Mansura well?\"\n\n\"Very well. In fact, we spent last night there with Ezra ben Husik, who deals in peppercorns. A most worthy man, always excellent hospitality.\"\n\n\"Then you have observed the garrison there?\" Rob said.\n\n\"The garrison?\" Nafthali gazed at them, puzzled.\n\n\"How many soldiers are stationed in Mansura?\" Mirdin asked quietly.\n\nUnderstanding dawned, and Nafthali drew back, appalled. \"We do not become involved in such things,\" he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.\n\nThey began to turn away, in a moment they would be gone. Rob knew it was time for a show of faith. \"You must not continue very far down this road on peril of your life. Nor must you turn back to Mansura.\"\n\nThey gazed at him palely.\n\n\"Then where shall we go?\" Nafthali said.\n\n\"Lead your animals off the road and hide in the woods. Stay hidden as long as necessary\u2014until you have heard a great many men going by. When they have all passed, return to the road and go to Ahwaz as fast as you are able.\"\n\n\"We thank you,\" Nafthali said bleakly.\n\n\"Is it safe for us to approach Mansura?\" Mirdin asked.\n\nThe spice merchant nodded. \"They are accustomed to seeing Jewish traders.\"\n\nRob was unsatisfied. Remembering the sign language that Loeb had taught him on the way east to Ispahan, the secret signals by which Jewish merchants in the East conducted their business without conversation, he held out his hand and turned it, the signal for How many?\n\nNafthali gazed at him. Finally he placed his right hand on his left elbow, the sign for hundreds. Then he spread all five fingers. Hiding the thumb of his left hand, he spread the other fingers and placed them on his right elbow.\n\nRob had to be certain he understood. \"Nine hundred soldiers?\"\n\nNafthali nodded. \"Shalom,\" he said with quiet irony.\n\n\"Peace be with you,\" Rob said.\n\nThe forest ended and they could see Mansura. The village lay in a small valley at the bottom of a stony slope. From the height they could see the garrison and its arrangement: barracks, training grounds, horse corrals, elephant pens. Rob and Mirdin took careful note of the locations and impressed them in their memories.\n\nBoth the village and the garrison were enclosed in a single stockade made of logs set into the ground side by side, with sharpened tops to make the barricade difficult to climb.\n\nWhen they drew near the wall Rob jabbed one of the asses with a stick and then, followed by shouting and laughing children, he pursued the animal around the outside of the wall while Mirdin went the other way, ostensibly to cut off the creature's escape.\n\nThere was no sign of elephant traps.\n\nThey didn't tarry, but turned west again at once. It didn't take long to return to the encampment.\n\nThe watchword of the day was mahdi, which meant \"savior\"; after they had given it to three lines of sentries they were allowed to follow Khuff into the presence of the Shah.\n\nAl\u0101 scowled when hearing of nine hundred soldiers, for he had been led by his spies to expect far fewer defenders at Mansura. Yet he was undaunted. \"If we are able to surprise, advantage will yet be on our side.\"\n\nDrawing on the ground with sticks, Rob and Mirdin indicated the details of the fortifications and the location of the elephant pens, while the Shah listened attentively and made his plans.\n\nAll morning the men had been tending equipment, oiling harness, whetting blades to edges of perfect sharpness.\n\nThe elephants were given wine in their buckets. \"Not much. Just enough to make them sullen and ready to fight,\" Harsha told Rob, who nodded wonderingly. \"It is given to them only before battle.\"\n\nThe beasts appeared to understand. They moved about restlessly and their mahouts had to be alert as the elephants' mail was unpacked, draped, and fastened. Special long, heavy swords with sockets instead of hilts were fitted onto the tusks, and now added to their aura of brute strength was a wicked new lethality.\n\nThere was a burst of nervous activity when Al\u0101 ordered out the entire force.\n\nThey moved down the Spice Road, slowly, slowly, for timing was all, and Al\u0101 wanted them to arrive at Mansura with day's end. No one spoke. They met only a few unfortunates along the way, who were taken at once, bound, and guarded by foot soldiers so they could not give alarm. When they came to the place in the road where Rob last had seen the Jews of Ahwaz, he thought of the men hiding somewhere nearby and listening to the sounds of the animals' hooves and the marching feet and the soft jangling of the elephants' mail.\n\nThey emerged from the forest as dusk began to claim the world, and under cover of the gloom Al\u0101 deployed his forces along the top of the hill. Behind each elephant, on which four archers sat back to back, were swordwielding men on camels and horses, and after the cavalry would come foot soldiers with lances and scimitars.\n\nTwo elephants, naked of battle gear and bearing only their mahouts, moved away on signal. Those atop the hill watched them slowly descending through the peaceful gray light. Beyond them, cooking fires glowed throughout the village as the women prepared the evening meal.\n\nWhen the two elephants reached the stockade they lowered their heads against the timbers.\n\nThe Shah raised his arm.\n\nThe elephants moved forward. There was a cracking and a series of thuds as the wall fell. Now the Shah's arm came down and the Persians began to move.\n\nThe elephants ran down the hill eagerly. Behind them, the camels and horses began to lope and then to gallop. From the village there arose the first faint cries.\n\nRob had drawn his sword and was using it to tap Bitch's flanks, but she needed no urging. First there was just the swift thudding of hooves and the music of the mail, then six hundred voices began to scream their battle cry and the beasts joined, the camels moaning, the elephants trumpeting wild and shrill.\n\nThe hairs rose on the back of Rob's neck, and he was howling like an animal when Al\u0101's raiders fell upon Mansura."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE INDIAN SMITH",
                "text": "Rob had swift impressions, like glimpsing a series of drawings. The camel made its way through the splintered ruin of the wall at top speed. As he rode through the village the fear in the faces of the people frantically scurrying gave him a strange feeling of his own invulnerability, a carnal knowledge compounded of both power and shame, like the feeling he had experienced long ago in England when he had baited the old Jew.\n\nWhen he reached the garrison a fierce battle already was in progress. The Indians fought on the ground, but they knew elephants and how to attack them. Foot soldiers carrying long pikes tried to jab out the elephants' eyes and Rob saw that they had been successful against one of the armorless elephants that had pushed down the wall. The mahout was gone, doubtless slain, and the beast had lost both eyes and stood blind and trembling, screaming piteously.\n\nRob found himself staring into a grimacing brown face, seeing the drawn-back sword, watching the blade come forward. He didn't remember deciding to use his broadsword like a thin French blade; he simply shoved and the point entered the Indian's throat. The man fell away and Rob turned to a figure struggling at him from the other side of the camel and began hacking.\n\nSome of the Indians had axes and scimitars and tried to take the elephants out by chopping at their trunks or their treelike legs, but it was an unequal contest. The elephants attacked, their ears in their rage spread wide like sails. Bending their trunks inward and folded beneath their deadly sworded tusks, they surged like ramming ships, falling upon the Indians in charges that overturned many. The giant animals raised their feet high, as in a savage dance, and brought them down in stampings that shook the earth. Men caught beneath the driving hooves were pulped like trodden grapes.\n\nHe was imprisoned in a hell of killing and fearful sounds, gruntings, trumpetings, screams, curses, shouts, the groans of the dying.\n\nZi, being the largest elephant and royally caparisoned, attracted more attackers than any other, and Rob saw that Khuff stood and fought near his Shah. Khuff had lost his horse. He wielded his heavy sword, whirling it around his head and shouting great oaths and insults, and atop the elephant Al\u0101 sat and used his longbow.\n\nThe battle roiled, the men laboring with a fury, all caught up in the serious work of butchery.\n\nPlunging the camel after a lancer who parried and ran, Rob came across Mirdin on foot, the sword at his side looking as if it had not been used. He held a wounded man under the arms and was dragging him out of the fighting, oblivious to all else.\n\nThe sight was like a shock of icy water. Rob blinked and jerked the camel's reins, sliding off before Bitch had truly knelt. He went to Mirdin and helped him bear the fallen man, who was already gray from a wound in the neck.\n\nFrom that time, Rob forgot about killing and strove as a physician.\n\nThe two surgeons laid the wounded in a village house, bringing them in one by one while the slaughter went on. All they could do was collect those who were down, for their carefully prepared supplies were on the backs of half a dozen asses scattered who knew where, and now there was no opium or oil, no great bundles of clean rags. When cloths were needed to stanch the flow of blood, Rob or Mirdin cut them from the clothing of one of the dead.\n\nVery soon the fighting became a massacre. The Indians had been surprised, and while half of them had been able to find arms and use them, the others had resisted with sticks and rocks. They were easily slain, yet most fought desperately in the sure knowledge that if they surrendered they faced shameful execution or lives as slaves or eunuchs in Persia.\n\nThe bloodletting carried into the darkness. Rob drew his sword and, carrying a torch, went to a nearby house. Inside was a small, slim man, his wife, and two small children. The four dark faces turned toward him, their eyes fixed on his sword. \"You must go unseen,\" Rob told the man, \"while there is still time.\"\n\nBut they didn't know Persian and the man said something in their strange tongue.\n\nRob went to the door and pointed out into the night at the distant forest, and then returned and made urgent shooing movements with his hands.\n\nThe man nodded. He looked terrified; perhaps there were beasts in the forest. But he gathered his family and soon they had slipped through the door.\n\nIn that house Rob found lamps, and in others he discovered oil and rags and brought them back to the wounded.\n\nLate in the night, as the last of the fighting ended, Persian swordsmen killed all enemy wounded and the looting and raping began. He and Mirdin and a handful of soldiers walked the field of battle with torches. They didn't bring in the dead or anyone clearly dying, but sought Persians who might be saved. Soon Mirdin found two of the precious pack asses and, working by lamplight, the surgeons began to treat wounds with hot oil and sew and dress them. They cut off four ruined limbs, but all but one of those patients died. Thus they worked through the terrible night.\n\nThey had thirty-one patients and when dawn brought light to the grisly village they found seven more who were wounded but alive.\n\nAfter First Prayer, Khuff brought orders that the surgeons were to tend to the wounds of five elephants before resuming work on the soldiers. Three of the animals had been cut in the legs, one had an arrow through the ear, and the trunk of another had been severed, so that at Rob's recommendation she and the elephant that had been blinded were put down by lancers.\n\nAfter the morning meal of pilah, the mahouts moved into the elephant pens of Mansura and began to sort the animals there, talking to them softly and moving them about by tugging their ears with the hooked goads called ankushas.\n\n\"Here, my father.\"\n\n\"Move, my daughter. Steady, my son! Show me what you can do, my children.\"\n\n\"Kneel, mother, and let me ride on your beautiful head.\"\n\nWith tender cries the mahouts separated the trained beasts from those which still were half wild. They could take only docile animals that would obey them on the march back to Ispahan. The wilder ones would be released and allowed to return to the forest.\n\nThe voices of the mahouts were joined by a competing sound, a buzzing, for blowflies already had found the corpses. Soon, with the rising heat of day, the smell would be intolerable. Seventy-three Persians had perished. Only one hundred and three Indians had surrendered and lived, and when Al\u0101 offered them opportunity to become military bearers they accepted with eager relief; in a few years they might earn trust and be allowed to carry arms for Persia, and they preferred being soldiers to becoming eunuchs. Now they were at work digging a mass grave for the Persian dead.\n\nMirdin looked at Rob. Worse than I had feared, his eyes said. Rob agreed but was comforted that it was over and now they would go home.\n\nBut Karim came to see them. Khuff had killed an Indian officer, Karim said, but not before the Indian's sword had sliced almost halfway through the softer steel of Khuff's oversized blade. Karim brought Khuff's sword to show them how deeply it had been cut. The captured Indian sword was fashioned out of the precious swirl-patterned steel and now Al\u0101 wore it. The Shah personally had overseen the interrogation of prisoners until he learned that the sword had been made by a craftsman named Dhan Vangalil in Kausambi, a village three days to the north of Mansura.\n\n\"Al\u0101 has decided to march on Kausambi,\" Karim said.\n\nThey would capture the Indian smith and take him to Ispahan, where he would make weapons of rippled steel to help the Shah conquer his neighbors and restore the great and far-flung Persia of ancient days.\n\nIt was said easily but proved more difficult.\n\nKausambi was another small village on the west bank of the Indus, a place of a few dozen rickety wooden houses leaning into four dusty streets, each of which led to the military garrison. Again they succeeded in keeping their attack a surprise, creeping up through the forest that kept the village pinned against the riverbank. When the Indian soldiers recognized the assault they exploded from the place like a pack of startled monkeys, streaming away into the wilderness.\n\nAl\u0101 was delighted, thinking that enemy cowardice had given him the easiest of victories. He lost no time in putting his sword to a throat and telling the terrified villager to lead them to Dhan Vangalil. The swordmaker turned out to be a wiry man with unsurprised eyes and gray hair and a white beard that sought to hide a young-old face. Vangalil agreed readily to go to Ispahan to serve Al\u0101 Shah; but he said he would choose death unless the Shah allowed him to bring his wife, two sons, and a daughter, as well as various supplies needed to make the rippled steel, including a large stack of square ingots of hard Indian steel.\n\nThe Shah agreed at once. Before they could depart that place, however, scouting parties came back with disturbing news. The Indian troops, far from fleeing, had set up positions in the forest and along the road and were waiting to fall upon anyone seeking to leave Kausambi.\n\nAl\u0101 knew the Indians couldn't contain them indefinitely. As had been the case at Mansura, the hidden soldiers were poorly armed; further, they were forced to live off the wild fruits of the land. The Shah's officers told him that doubtless runners had been sent to bring Indian reinforcements, but the nearest known military force of any size was in Sehwan, six days away.\n\n\"You must go into the forest and clean them out,\" Al\u0101 ordered.\n\nThe five hundred Persians were divided into ten units of fifty fighters each, all foot soldiers. They left the village and beat the brush to find their enemy as though they were hunting wild pigs. When they came upon Indians, the fighting was fierce and bloody and prolonged.\n\nAl\u0101 ordered all casualties to be removed from the forest lest they be counted by the enemy and give him knowledge of dwindling strength. And so the Persian dead were laid in the gray dust of a street in Kausambi, to be buried in mass graves by the prisoners from Mansura. The first body to be brought in, at the very start of the forest fighting, was that of the Captain of the Gates. Khuff was dead from an Indian arrow in the back. He had been a strict, unsmiling man but a fixture and a legend. The scars on his body could be read like a history of hard campaigns for two Shahs. All that day, Persian soldiers came to look at him.\n\nThey were coldly angered by his death and this time they took no prisoners, killing even when an Indian wished to surrender. In turn, they faced the frenzy of hunted men who knew they would be shown no mercy. The warfare was unrelievedly ugly, either jagged arrows or men doing their worst with sharp metal, all slashing and stabbing and screaming.\n\nTwice a day the wounded were assembled in a clearing and one of the surgeons went out under heavy guard and gave first treatment and brought the patients back to the village. The fighting lasted three days. Of the thirty-eight wounded at Mansura, eleven had died before the Persians had departed that village and sixteen more had perished in the three-day march to Kausambi. To the eleven wounded who survived in the care of Mirdin and Rob, thirty-six new maimed were added during the three days of the forest battle. Forty-seven more Persians were killed.\n\nMirdin performed one more amputation and Rob three, one of them involving only the fixing of a skin flap over a stub made perfectly below the elbow when an Indian sword took a soldier's forearm. At first they treated wounds the way Ibn Sina had taught: they boiled oil and poured it as hot as possible into the wound to ward off suppuration. But on the morning of the last day Rob ran out of oil; remembering how Barber had tended lacerations with metheglin, he took a goatskin of wine and bathed each new wound with strong drink before dressing it.\n\nThat morning the last outburst of fighting had begun immediately after dawn. At midmorning a new group of wounded arrived and bearers carried in someone wrapped from head to ankles in a purloined Indian blanket. 'Only wounded here,' Rob said sharply.\n\nBut they set him down and stood, waiting uncertainly, and he noticed suddenly that the dead man was wearing Mirdin's shoes.\n\n\"Had he been an ordinary soldier we would have placed him in the street,\" one of them said. \"But he is hakim, so we have brought him to hakim.\"\n\nThey said they were on the way back when a man sprang from the brush with an ax. The Indian had struck only Mirdin and then was himself cut down.\n\nRob thanked them and they went away.\n\nWhen he removed the blanket from the face he saw it was indeed Mirdin. The face was contorted and seemed puzzled and sweetly cranky.\n\nRob closed the tender eyes and bound the long, homely jaw shut. He didn't think, moving as if drunk. From time to time he left to comfort the dying or care for the wounded, but always he came back and sat. Once he kissed the cold mouth but didn't believe Mirdin knew. He felt the same way when he tried to hold Mirdin's hand. Mirdin was no longer there.\n\nHe hoped Mirdin had crossed one of his bridges.\n\nEventually Rob left him and tried to stay away, working blindly. A man was brought in with a maimed right hand and he did the last amputation of the campaign, taking the hand just above the joint of the wrist. When he came back to Mirdin at midday, flies had gathered.\n\nHe removed the blanket and saw that the ax had cleaved Mirdin open at the chest. When Rob bent over the great wound, he was able to pry it wider with his hands.\n\nHe was bereft of awareness of either the odors of death within the tent or the scent of the hot crushed grass underfoot. The groans of the wounded, the buzzing of flies, and the far-off shouts and battle sounds faded from his ears. He lost the knowledge that his friend was dead and forgot the crushing burden of his grief.\n\nFor the first time he reached inside a man's body and touched the human heart."
            },
            {
                "title": "FOUR FRIENDS",
                "text": "Rob washed Mirdin and cut his nails, combed his hair and wrapped him in his prayer shawl, from which half of one of the fringes was cut away, according to custom.\n\nHe sought out Karim, who blinked as if slapped upon hearing the news.\n\n\"I don't want him in the mass grave,\" Rob said. \"His family will certainly come here to get him and bring him home to Masqat for burial among his people in sacred ground.\"\n\nThey chose a place directly in front of a boulder so large elephants couldn't move it, taking precise bearings and pacing off the distance from the rock to the edge of the nearby road. Karim used his privilege to obtain parchment, quill, and ink, and after they had dug the grave Rob carefully mapped it. He would redraw a good chart and send it to Masqat. Unless there was incontrovertible evidence that Mirdin had died, Fara would be considered an agunah, a deserted wife, and she would never be permitted to marry again. That was the law; Mirdin had taught it to him.\n\n\"Al\u0101 will want to be here,\" he said.\n\nHe watched Karim approach the Shah. Al\u0101 was drinking with his officers, bathing in the warm glow of victory. Rob saw him listen to Karim for a moment and then wave him away impatiently.\n\nRob felt a surge of hatred, remembering the king's voice in the cave, and what he had told Mirdin: We are four friends.\n\nKarim returned and said shamefacedly that they must proceed; he muttered broken fragments of Islamic prayer as they filled in the hole, but Rob didn't try to pray. Mirdin deserved sorrowing voices raised in Hashkavot, the burial chant, and the Kaddish. But the Kaddish had to be said by ten Jews and he was a Christian pretending to be a Jew, standing numb and silent as the earth closed over his friend."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 80",
                "text": "That afternoon the Persians could find no more Indians in the forest to kill.\n\nThe way from Kausambi was open. Al\u0101 appointed a hard-eyed veteran named Farhad to be his new Captain of the Gates, and the officer began to bawl orders calculated to whip the force into readiness to leave.\n\nAmid general jubilation, Al\u0101 made an accounting. He had gained his Indian swordmaker. He had lost two elephants at Mansura but had taken twenty-eight there. In addition, four young, healthy elephants had been found by the mahouts in a pen in Kausambi; they were work animals, untrained for battle but still valuable. The Indian horses were scrubby little animals ignored by the Persians, but they had discovered a small herd of fine fast camels in Mansura and dozens of pack camels in Kausambi.\n\nAl\u0101 was aglow with the success of his raids.\n\nOne hundred and twenty of the six hundred who had followed the Shah out of Ispahan were dead, and Rob had the responsibility for forty-seven wounded. Many of these were grievously injured and would die during travel, but there was no question of leaving them behind in the ravaged village. Any Persian found there would be killed when fresh Indian forces came.\n\nRob sent soldiers through every house to collect rugs and blankets, which were fastened between poles to make litters. When they left at dawn the following morning, Indians carried the litters.\n\nIt was three and a half days of hard, tense travel to a place where the river could be forded without fighting. In the early stages of the crossing two men were swept away and drowned. In the middle of the Indus the current was shallow but swift and the mahouts placed the elephants upstream to break the force of the water like a living wall, yet another demonstration of the true value of these animals.\n\nThe terribly wounded died first, those with perforated chests or slashed bellies, and a man who had been stuck in the neck. In one day alone, half a dozen succumbed. Fifteen days of travel brought them into Baluchistan, where they camped in a field and Rob placed his wounded in an open-sided barn. Seeing Farhad, he sought an audience, but Farhad was all posturing and pompous delay. Fortunately Karim overheard and at once brought him to the tent to see the Shah.\n\n\"I have twenty-one left. But they must lie in one place for a time or they will die too, Majesty.\"\n\n\"I cannot wait for wounded,\" Al\u0101 said, eager for his triumphal march through Ispahan.\n\n\"I ask your permission to stay here with them.\"\n\nThe Shah stared. \"I will not spare Karim to remain with you as hakim. He must return with me.\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\nThey gave him fifteen Indians and twenty-seven armed soldiers to bear litters, and two mahouts and all five of the injured elephants so the animals might continue to receive his care. Karim arranged for sacks of rice to be unloaded. Next morning the camp was filled with the usual frenzied bustle. Then the main body moved out onto the trail and, when finally the last of them had gone, Rob was left with his patients and his handful of men in a sudden lack of noise that was at the same time welcome and discomfiting.\n\nThe rest benefited his patients, out of the sun and the dust, and spared the constant jolting and shaking of travel. Two men died on their first day in the barn and another on the fourth day, but those who hung on were the tough ones who clutched at survival, and Rob's decision to pause in Baluchistan allowed them to live.\n\nAt first the soldiers resented the duty. The other raiders soon would be back in Ispahan to safety and triumphant acclaim, while they had been given prolonged risk and a dirty job. Two members of the armed guard slipped away during the second night and were not seen again. The weaponless Indians did not attempt to flee, nor did the other members of the guard. Soldiers by profession, they soon realized that next time any of them might be struck down, and they were grateful that the hakim would risk himself to help their kind.\n\nHe sent out hunting parties every morning and small game was brought back and dressed and stewed with some of the rice Karim had left them, and his patients gained in strength even as he watched.\n\nHe treated the elephants as he did the men, changing their dressings regularly and bathing their wounds in wine. The great beasts stood and allowed him to hurt them, as if they understood he was their benefactor. The men were as stolid as the animals, even when wounds mortified and he was forced to cut stitches and rip open mending flesh so he could clean away the pus and bathe the wound in wine before closing it again.\n\nHe witnessed a strange fact: in virtually every case he had treated with the boiling oil, the wounds had become angry, swollen, and full of suppuration. Many of these patients had died, while most of the men whose wounds were treated after the oil had run out were without pus, and these men lived. He began to keep records, suspecting that this single observation perhaps had made his presence in India worth something. He was almost out of wine, but he had not manufactured the Universal Specific without having learned that where there were farmers, kegs of strong drink could be obtained. They would buy more along the way.\n\nWhen finally they left the barn at the end of three weeks, four of his patients were well enough to ride. Twelve of the soldiers were burdenless and thus could trade off with those who carried litters, allowing some to rest at all times. Rob led them off the Spice Road at first opportunity and took a circuitous route. The longer way would add almost a week to their travel, which made the soldiers sullen. But he wouldn't risk his tiny caravan by following the Shah's larger force through a countryside in which hatred as well as starvation had been sown by the ravaging Persian foragers.\n\nThree of the elephants still limped and were not given loads, but Rob rode on the back of the elephant whose trunk had received minor slashes. He was happy to leave Bitch and would be content never to ride a camel again. In contrast, the elephant's broad back offered comfort and stability and a king's view of the world.\n\nBut the easy travel allowed unlimited opportunity for him to think, and the memory of Mirdin was with him every step of the way, so that the ordinary wonders of a journey\u2014a sudden flight of thousands of birds, a sunset that set the sky to flaming, the way one of the elephants stepped on the lip of a steep ditch to crumble it and then sat like a child to slide down the resulting earth ramp\u2014these things were noticed but brought little joy.\n\nJesus, he thought. Or Shaddai, or Allah, whoever You may be. How can You allow such waste?\n\nKings led ordinary men into battle and some who survived were poor stuff and some were purely evil, he thought bitterly. Yet God had permitted one to be cut down who had had the qualities of saintliness and a mind scholars envied and coveted. Mirdin would have spent his life seeking only to heal and serve mankind.\n\nNot since the burial of Barber had Rob been so moved and shaken by a death, and he was still brooding and in despair when they reached Ispahan.\n\nThey approached in late afternoon, so that the city was as he first had seen it, white buildings, blue-shadowed, with roofs of reflected pink from the sand hills. They rode directly to the maristan, where the eighteen wounded men were handed over to others for care.\n\nThen they went to the stables of the House of Paradise, where he rid himself of responsibility for the animals, the troops, and the slaves.\n\nWhen that was done, he asked for his brown gelding. Farhad, the new Captain of the Gates, was nearby and overheard, and he ordered the groom not to waste time trying to locate one horse in the milling herd. \"Issue the hakim another mount.\"\n\n\"Khuff said I would get back the same horse.\" Not everything had to change, he told himself.\n\n\"Khuff is dead.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless.\" To his own great surprise, Rob's voice and stare became hard. He had come from carnage that had sickened him but now he yearned for something to strike, violence as a release. \"I wish the same horse.\"\n\nFarhad knew men and recognized the challenge in the hakim's voice. He had nothing to gain from brawling with this Dhimmi and a great deal to lose. He shrugged and turned away.\n\nRob rode beside the groom, back and forth through the herd. By the time he saw the gelding he was ashamed of his ugly conduct. They separated the horse from the others and put a saddle on it while Farhad hovered and didn't hide his contempt that this flawed beast was what the Dhimmi had been prepared to fight for.\n\nBut the brown horse trotted eagerly through the dusk to Yehuddiyyeh.\n\nHearing noises among the animals, Mary took her father's sword and the lamp and opened the door between house and stable.\n\nHe had come home.\n\nThe saddle was already off the brown horse and he was in the act of backing the gelding into the stall. He turned, and in the poor light she saw he had lost considerable weight; he looked almost like the thin, half-wild boy she had met in Kerl Fritta's caravan.\n\nHe reached her in three steps and held her without speaking, then his hand touched her flat belly.\n\n\"Did it go well?\"\n\nShe gave a shaky laugh, for she was weary and torn. Only by five days had he missed hearing her frantic screams. \"Your son was two days in coming.\"\n\n\"A son.\"\n\nHe placed his large palm against her cheek. At his touch the flooding relief made her tremble, so that she came close to spilling oil from the lamp and the flame flickered. When he was away she had made herself hard and strong, a leather woman, but it was deepest luxury to trust again that someone else was shielding and capable. Like turning from leather back into silk.\n\nShe set down the sword and took his hand, leading him inside to where the infant lay asleep in a blanket-lined basket.\n\nSuddenly she saw the round-faced bit of humanity through Rob's eyes, tiny red features swollen from birthing travail, fuzz of darkish hair atop his head. She felt annoyance at the kind of man this was, for she couldn't tell if he was disappointed or overjoyed. When he looked up, mixed with pleasure there was agony in his face.\n\n\"How is Fara?\"\n\n\"Karim came and told her. I observed shiva with her, seven days. Then she took Dawwid and Issachar and joined a caravan bound for Masqat. With God's aid, by now they are among kinsmen.\"\n\n\"It will be hard for you without her.\"\n\n\"Harder for her,\" she said bitterly.\n\nThe child began a thin wailing and Rob picked him from the basket and gave his little finger, which was taken hungrily.\n\nMary wore a loose dress with a drawstring at the neck, sewn for her by Fara. She opened the garment and lowered it beneath her full breasts, then took the babe from him. Rob lay down alongside them on the mat as she began to nurse. He moved his head onto her free breast and soon she felt his cheek's wetness.\n\nShe had never known her father to weep, or any man, and Rob's convulsive shaking frightened her. \"My dear. My Rob,\" she murmured.\n\nInstinctively, her free hand gently directed him until his mouth was on the nipple. He was a more tentative suckler than his son and when he drew on her and swallowed, she was vastly moved but tenderly amused: for once, part of her body was entering him. She thought fleetingly of Fara and, with no little guilt, thanked the Virgin that it had not been her husband who had been taken. The two pairs of lips on her, one tiny and the other large and so familiar, filled her with a tingling warmth. Perhaps it was the Blessed Mother or the saints working their magic, but for a time the three of them became one.\n\nFinally Rob sat up, and when he leaned over and kissed her, she tasted her own warm richness.\n\n\"I am not a Roman,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "Hakim",
                "text": "[ THE APPOINTMENT ]\n\nThe morning after his return Rob studied his man-child in the light of day and saw that the babe was beautiful, with deep blue English eyes and large hands and feet. He counted and gently flexed each tiny finger and toe and rejoiced in the slightly bowed little legs. A strong infant.\n\nThe child smelled like an olive press, having been oiled by his mother. Then he smelled less pleasing and Rob changed a baby's cloth for the first time since tending his brothers and sister. Deep within him he still yearned to find William Stewart, Anne Mary, and Jonathan Carter one day. Wouldn't it be joy to show this nephew to the long-lost Coles?\n\nHe and Mary quarreled about circumcision.\n\n\"It will do him no harm. Here every man is circumcised, Muslim and Jew, and it's an easy way for him to be more easily accepted.\"\n\n\"I don't wish him to be more easily accepted in Persia,\" she said wearily. \"I wish him to be accepted at home, where men aren't bobbed and knobbed but are left to nature.\"\n\nHe laughed and she began to cry. He comforted her and then, when he could, escaped to confer with Ibn Sina.\n\nThe Prince of Physicians greeted him warmly, thanking Allah for his survival and speaking sadly of Mirdin. Ibn Sina listened with close attention to Rob's report of treatments and amputations performed at the two battles, being especially interested in his comparisons between the efficacy of hot oil versus wine baths for cleansing open wounds. Ibn Sina showed himself more interested in scientific truth than in his own infallibility. Even though Rob's observations contradicted what he himself had said and written, he insisted that Rob write his findings. \"Also, this thing concerning wine in wounds should be your first lecture as a hakim,\" he said, and Rob found himself agreeing with his mentor.\n\nThen the old man looked at him. \"I would like you to work with me, Jesse ben Benjamin. As assistant.\"\n\nHe had never dreamed of this. He wanted to tell the Chief Physician that he had come to Ispahan\u2014from so great a distance, through other worlds, surmounting so many problems\u2014only to touch the hem of Ibn Sina's garment.\n\nInstead, he nodded. \"Hakimbashi, I would like that.\"\n\nMary made no difficulty when he told her. She had been in Ispahan long enough so it didn't occur to her that her husband could refuse such an honor, for in addition to a comfortable salary there would be the immediate prestige and respect of association with a man who was venerated like a demigod, loved above royalty. When Rob saw her joy for him, he took her into his arms. \"I will take you home, I promise you, Mary. But not for a time yet. Please trust me.\"\n\nShe did. Yet she recognized that if they were to remain for a longer time, she must change. She determined to make an effort to bend to the country. Reluctantly, she gave in concerning the matter of the child's circumcision.\n\nRob went to Nitka the Midwife for advice. \"Come,\" she said, and led him two streets away to Reb Asher Jacobi the mohel.\n\n\"So, a circumcision,\" the mohel said. \"The mother \u2026\" Musing, he looked at Nitka through narrowed eyes, his fingers scrabbling in his beard. \"An Other!\"\n\n\"It doesn't have to be a brit, with all the prayers,\" Nitka said impatiently. Having taken the serious step of delivering the Other's man-child, she slipped easily into the role of defender. \"If the father asks for the seal of Abraham on the child, it is a blessing to circumcise him, isn't it so?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Reb Asher admitted. \"Your father. Will he hold the child?\" he asked Rob.\n\n\"My father is dead.\"\n\nReb Asher sighed. \"Will other family members be present?\"\n\n\"Only my wife. There are no other family members here. I'll hold the child myself.\"\n\n\"A time of celebration,\" Nitka said gently. \"Would you mind? My sons Shemuel and Chofni, a few neighbors \u2026\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\n\"I'll attend to it,\" Nitka said.\n\nNext morning she and her two burly stonecutter sons were the first to arrive at Rob's house. Hinda, the disapproving merchant from the Jewish market, came with her Tall Isak, a gray-bearded scholar with bemused eyes. Hinda was still unsmiling but she brought a gift, a swaddling garment. Yaakob the Shoemaker and Naoma, his wife, gave a flagon of wine. Micah Halevi the Baker came, his wife Yudit carrying two large loaves of sugared bread.\n\nHolding the sweet little body supine in his lap, Rob had doubts when Reb Asher cut the foreskin from the tiny penis. \"May the lad grow in vigor\u2014of mind and body\u2014to a life of good works,\" the mohel declared, as the baby shrieked. The neighbors lifted bowls of wine and cheered, and Rob gave the boy the Jewish name Mirdin ben Jesse.\n\nMary hated every moment. An hour later when everyone had gone home and she and Rob were alone with their child, she wet her fingers in barley water and touched her screaming son lightly on the forehead, the chin, and one earlobe and then the other.\n\n\"In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, I christen you Robert James Cole,\" she said clearly, naming him for his father and his grandfather.\n\nAfter that, when they were alone she called her husband Rob, and it was the child to whom she referred as Rob J.\n\nTo the Most Respected Reb Mulka Askari, Pearl Merchant of Masqat, Greetings.\n\nYour late son Mirdin was my friend. May he rest.\n\nWe were surgeons together in India, from whence I have brought these few things, sent to you now via the kind hands of Reb Moise ben Zavil, merchant of Qum, whose caravan is bound this day for your city with a manifest of olive oil.\n\nReb Moise will give to you a parchment chart showing the precise location of Mirdin's grave in the village of Kausambi, that his bones some day may be moved if that is your wish. I also send the tefillin which daily he wound on his arm and which he told me you gave to him when he entered into minyan on reaching his fourteenth year. In addition, I send the pieces and board of the Shah's Game, over which Mirdin and I spent many a happy hour.\n\nThere were no other belongings with him in India. He was, of course, buried in his tallit.\n\nI pray the Lord may bring some measure of understanding to your bereavement and to ours. With his passing a light went from my life. He was the finest man ever I have valued. I know that Mirdin is with Adashem, and I hope that one day I may be worthy to be with him again.\n\nPlease convey my affection and respect to his widow and stalwart young sons and inform them that my wife has given birth to a healthy son, Mirdin ben Jesse, and sends them her loving wishes for a good life.\n\n\u2002Yivorechachah Adonai V'Yishmorechah, May the\n\n\u2002Lord Bless You and Keep You. I am\n\n\u2002Jesse ben Benjamin, hakim\n\nAl-Juzjani had been Ibn Sina's assistant for years. He had achieved greatness in his own right as a surgeon and was the most notable success among the former assistants, but all of them had done well. The hakimbashi worked his assistants hard, and the position was like an. extension of training, an opportunity to continue to learn. From the beginning Rob did far more than follow Ibn Sina about and fetch things for him, as sometimes the assistants of other great men were called upon to do. Ibn Sina expected to be consulted when there was a problem or his opinion was required, but the young hakim had his confidence and was expected to act on his own.\n\nFor Rob it was a happy time. He lectured in the madrassa concerning wine baths for open wounds; few people attended, for a visiting physician from al-Rayy lectured that morning on the subject of physical love. Persian doctors always crowded into lectures dealing with the sexual, a curiosity to Rob, for in Europe the subject wasn't a physician's responsibility. Still, he attended many such lectures himself, and whether because of what he learned or despite it, his marriage prospered.\n\nMary healed quickly from the birthing. They followed the prescriptions of Ibn Sina, who cautioned that abstinence should prevail between man and wife for six weeks following a birth and advised that the new mother's pudenda should be gently treated with olive oil and massaged with a mixture of honey and barley water. The treatment worked wonderfully well. The six weeks' wait seemed an eternity, and when it was over, Mary turned to him just as eagerly as he embraced her.\n\nSeveral weeks later, the milk in her breasts began to dwindle. It came as a shock because her supply had been copious; she had told him she had milky rivers in her, milk enough to supply the world. When she had given suck it had relieved the painful pressure in her breasts, but too soon the pressure was gone and now the pain came from hearing little Rob J.'s thin, hungry wailing. They saw that a wet nurse would be necessary, and Rob talked with midwives and through them found a strong, homely Armenian woman named Prisca who had more than enough milk for her new daughter and the hakim's son. Four times a day Mary carried the child to the leather shop of Prisca's husband Dikran and waited while little Rob J. took the teat. At night Prisca came to the house in Yehuddiyyeh and stayed in the other room with the two babies while Mary and Rob tried to be stealthy about lovemaking and then enjoyed the luxury of uninterrupted sleep.\n\nMary was fulfilled and happiness made her luminous. She bloomed with a new assurance. Sometimes it seemed to Rob that she took full credit for the small and noisy creature they had created together, but he loved her all the more.\n\nIn the first week of the month of Shaban the caravan of Reb Moise ben Zavil came through Ispahan again on the way to Qum and the merchant delivered gifts from Reb Mulka Askari and his daughter-in-law Fara. Fara had given the child Mirdin ben Jesse six small linen garments, sewn with love and care. The pearl merchant had sent back to Rob the Shah's Game that had belonged to his dead son.\n\nIt was the last time Mary wept for Fara. When she had dried her eyes, Rob set up Mirdin's figures on the board and taught her the game. After that, they played often. He didn't expect much, for it was a warriors' game and she was but a woman. But she learned quickly and would capture one of his pieces with a whoop and battle cry that would have been credible in a Seljuk marauder. Her swift skill in moving a king's army, if unnatural in a female, nevertheless wasn't a great shock, for he had learned long since that Mary Cullen was an extraordinary creature.\n\nThe advent of Ramadan caught Karim unprepared, so intent upon sinfulness that the purity and shriving implicit in the month of fasting seemed impossible to achieve and too painful to contemplate. Not even the prayers and the fasting could banish his thoughts of Despina and his unflagging yearning for her. Indeed, because Ibn Sina spent several evenings a week in various mosques and breaking the fast with mullahs and Qu'ranic scholars, Ramadan provided a secure time for the lovers to meet. Karim saw her as often as ever.\n\nDuring Ramadan, Al\u0101 Shah too was diverted by prayer meetings and other demands on his time, and one day Karim had an opportunity to return to the maristan for the first time in months. Happily, it was a day when Ibn Sina was away from the hospital, caring for one of the members of the court who was down with fever. Karim knew the taste of guilt; Ibn Sina always had treated him fairly and well, and he had no desire to spend time with Despina's husband.\n\nThe visit to the hospital was a cruel disappointment. Medical clerks followed him through the halls as usual\u2014perhaps even in greater number than before, for his legend had grown. But he knew none of the patients; anyone he had treated here was either dead or long since recovered. And though once he had walked these halls with a sure confidence in his own skills, he found himself fumbling as he asked nervous questions, uncertain of what he was looking at in patients who were the responsibilities of others.\n\nHe managed to survive the visit without making himself out to be a fool, but he had the grim awareness that unless he could spend time in the true practice of medicine, the abilities he had gained so painfully through many years soon would be gone.\n\nHe had no choice. Al\u0101 Shah had assured him that what lay ahead for them both would make medicine seem pale by comparison.\n\nThat year Karim didn't run in the chatir. He hadn't trained and he was heavier than a runner should be. He watched the race with Al\u0101 Shah.\n\nThe first day of Bairam dawned even hotter than the day when he had won, and the race was very slow. The king had renewed his offer of calaat to anyone who could repeat Karim's feat and finish all twelve laps of the city before Final Prayer, but it was clear that no one would run 126 Roman miles that day.\n\nIt developed into a race by the fifth lap, dwindling to a struggle between al-Harat of Hamadh\u0101n and a young soldier named Nafis Jurjis. Each of them had set too quick a pace the previous year and had ended the race in collapse. Now, to avoid this, they ran too slowly.\n\nKarim shouted encouragement to Nafis. He told Al\u0101 that this was because Nafis had survived the Indian raids with them. In truth, although he liked the young soldier, it was because he didn't want al-Harat to win, for he had known al-Harat as a child in Hamadh\u0101n, and when they met Karim still sensed his contempt for Zaki-Omar's bum boy.\n\nBut Nafis wilted after collecting his eighth arrow and the race was al-Harat's alone. It was already late afternoon and the heat was brutal; sensibly, al-Harat signaled that he would finish the lap and claim his victory.\n\nKarim and the Shah rode the final lap well ahead of the runner so they could be at the finishing line to greet him, Al\u0101 on his savage white stallion and Karim astride his head-tossing Arabian gray. Along the route Karim's spirits rose, because the people knew it would be a long time, if ever, before a runner ran another chatir such as he had run. They embraced him for this with roars of joy, and for being a hero of Mansura and Kausambi. Al\u0101 beamed, and Karim knew he could look upon poor al-Harat with benevolence, for the runner was a farmer of poor land and Karim soon would be Vizier of Persia.\n\nWhen they passed the madrassa he saw the eunuch Wasif on the hospital roof and next to him the veiled Despina. At sight of her Karim's heart leaped and he smiled. It was better to go by her like this, on a priceless horse and dressed in silk and linen, than to stagger past stinking of sweat and blind with fatigue!\n\nNot far from Despina a woman without a veil grew impatient with the heat and, removing her black cloth, shook her head as if in imitation of Karim's horse. Her hair fell and fanned forth, long and billowing. The sun glinted in it gloriously, revealing different shades of gold and red. Next to him he heard the Shah speak.\n\n\"It is the Dhimmi's wife? The European woman?\"\n\n\"Yes, Majesty. The woman of our friend Jesse ben Benjamin.\"\n\n\"I thought it must be she,\" Al\u0101 said.\n\nThe king watched the bareheaded female until they had ridden past her. He asked no further questions, and soon Karim was able to engage him in conversation concerning the Indian smith Dhan Vangalil and the swords he was making for the Shah with his new furnace and forge behind the stables of the House of Paradise."
            },
            {
                "title": "AN OFFER OF REWARD",
                "text": "Rob continued to start each day at the House of Peace Synagogue, partly because the strange mixture of chanted Jewish prayer and silent Christian prayer had become pleasing and nurturing.\n\nBut mostly because in some strange way his presence in the synagogue was the fulfillment of a debt he owed to Mirdin.\n\nYet he was unable to enter the House of Zion, Mirdin's synagogue. And though scholars sat daily and argued the law at the House of Peace, and it would have been a simple matter to suggest that somebody tutor him in the eighty-nine commandments he hadn't examined, he hadn't the heart to finish that task without Mirdin. He told himself that five hundred and twenty-four commandments would serve a spurious Jew as well as six hundred and thirteen, and he turned his mind to other things.\n\nThe Master had written on every subject. While a student, Rob had had a chance to read many of his works on medicine, but now he sampled other kinds of writing by Ibn Sina and felt ever more in awe of him. He had written on music and poetry and astronomy, on metaphysics and Eastern thought, on philology and the active intellect, and commentaries on all the books of Aristotle. While a prisoner in the castle of Fardaj\u0101n he wrote a book called Guidance, summarizing all the branches of philosophy. There was even a military manual, The Management and Provisioning of Soldiers, Slave Troops, and Armies, which would have served Rob well if he had read it before going to India as a field surgeon. He had written on mathematics, on the human soul, and on the essence of sorrow. And again and again he had written about Islam, the religion given him by his father and which, despite the science that permeated his being, he was able to accept on faith.\n\nThis is what made him beloved of the people. They saw that despite the luxurious estate and all the fruits of royal calaat, despite the fact that the learned and glorious men of the world came to seek him out and plumb his mind, despite the fact that kings vied for the honor of being recognized as the Master's sponsor\u2014despite all these things, even as the lowliest wretch among them, Ibn Sina raised his eyes heavenward and exclaimed:\n\nLa ilaha illa-l-Lah;\n\nMuhammadun rasulu-l-Lah.\n\nThere is no God but God;\n\nMohammed is the prophet of God.\n\nEach morning before First Prayer a crowd of several hundred gathered in front of his house. They were beggars, mullahs, shepherds, merchants, poor and rich, men of every sort. The Prince of Physicians carried out his own prayer rug and worshiped with his admirers, then when he rode to the maristan they walked alongside his horse and sang of the Prophet and chanted verses from the Qu'ran.\n\nSeveral evenings a week pupils gathered at his house. Customarily there were medical readings. Every week for a quarter of a century al-Juzjani had read aloud from Ibn Sina's works, most frequently from the famous Q\u0101n\u016bn. Sometimes Rob was asked to read aloud from Ibn Sina's book entitled Shifa. Then a lively discussion period would follow, a combination drinking party and clinical debate, often heated and sometimes hilarious but always illuminating.\n\n\"How does the blood get to the fingers?\" al-Juzjani might cry in despair, repeating a clerk's question. \"Do you forget Galen said the heart is a pump that sets the blood into motion?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" Ibn Sina would interject. \"And the wind sets a sailing ship into motion. But how does it find its way to Bahrain?\"\n\nFrequently when Rob took his leave he was able to glimpse the eunuch Wasif standing hidden in the shadows near the door to the south tower. One evening Rob slipped away and went to the field behind the wall of Ibn Sina's estate. He wasn't surprised to find Karim's gray Arabian stallion tethered there, tossing his head impatiently.\n\nWalking back to his own unhidden horse, Rob studied the apartment atop the south tower. Through the window slits in the round stone wall the yellow light flickered and teased, and without envy or regret he recalled that Despina liked to make love by the light of six candles.\n\nIbn Sina inducted Rob into mysteries. \"There is within us a strange being\u2014some call it the mind, others the soul\u2014which has great effect on our bodies and our health. I first saw evidence of this as a young man in Bukh\u0101r\u0101, when I was beginning to be interested in the subject that led me to write The Pulse. I had a patient, a youth of my own age called Achmed; his appetite had flagged and he had lost weight. His father, a wealthy merchant of that place, was distressed and begged for my help.\n\n\"When I examined Achmed I could see nothing wrong. But as I tarried with him a strange thing occurred. My fingers were on the artery in his wrist while we chatted in friendly fashion about various towns in the area of Bukh\u0101r\u0101. The pulse was slow and steady until I mentioned the village of Efsene, where I was born. Then there was such a tremolo in his wrist that I became frightened!\n\n\"I knew that village well, and I began to mention various streets, to no great effect until I came to the Lane of the Eleventh Imam, whereupon his pulse quickened and danced again. I no longer knew all the families in that lane, but further questioning and prodding produced the information that on that street lived Ibn Razi, a worker in copper, and that he had three daughters, the eldest of whom was Ripka, very beautiful. When Achmed spoke of this female, in his wrist the fluttering reminded me of an injured bird.\n\n\"I spoke to his father, saying that healing for him lay in marriage with this Ripka. It was arranged and came to pass. Shortly thereafter, Achmed's appetite returned. When last I saw him, some years past, he was a fat and contented man.\n\n\"Galen tells us that the heart and all the arteries pulsate with the same rhythm, so that from one you can judge of all, and that a slow and regular pulse signifies good health. But since Achmed, I have found that the pulse also may be used to determine the state of a patient's agitation or peace of mind. I have done so many times, and the pulse has proven to be The Messenger Who Never Lies.\"\n\nSo Rob learned that, in addition to the gift that allowed him to gauge vitality, he could monitor the pulse to garner information about the patient's health and mood. There was ample opportunity to practice. Desperate people flocked to the Prince of Physicians seeking miracle cures. Rich or poor, they were treated the same, but only a few could be accepted as patients by Ibn Sina and Rob, and most were turned over to other physicians.\n\nMuch of Ibn Sina's clinical practice consisted of the Shah and valued members of Al\u0101's entourage. Thus one morning Rob was dispatched to the House of Paradise by the Master, who informed him that Siddha, the wife of the Indian swordmaker Dhan Vangalil, was ill with a colic.\n\nAs translator Rob sought out the services of Al\u0101's personal mahout, the Indian named Harsha. Siddha proved to be a pleasant, round-faced woman with graying hair. The Vangalil family worshiped Buddha, so the prohibition of aurat did not apply and Rob could palpate her stomach without worrying about being denounced to the mullahs. After examining her at length he determined that her problem was one of diet, for Harsha told him that neither the smith's family nor any of the mahouts was furnished with a sufficient supply of cumin, turmeric, or peppers, spices to which they had been accustomed all their lives, and on which their digestions were dependent.\n\nRob set the matter right by personally seeing to the distribution of the spices. He had already won the regard of some of the mahouts by tending to the battle wounds of their elephants, and now he won the gratitude of the Vangalils as well.\n\nHe brought Mary and Rob J. to visit them, hoping that the mutual problems of people transplanted into Persia would serve as a basis for friendship. Alas, the sympathetic spark that had ignited immediately between Fara and Mary didn't reappear. The two women eyed one another uncomfortably with rigid politeness, Mary trying not to stare at the round black kumkum painted in the middle of Siddha's forehead. Rob didn't bring his family to visit the Vangalils again.\n\nBut he returned to them alone, fascinated by what Dhan Vangalil could accomplish with steel.\n\nOver a shallow hole in the ground Dhan had constructed a smelting furnace, a clay wall surrounded by a thicker outer wall of rock and mud, the whole girdled with bands of sapling. It stood the height of a man's shoulders and a pace wide, tapering to a slightly narrower diameter at the top to concentrate the heat and reinforce the walls against collapse.\n\nIn this oven Dhan made wrought iron by burning alternating layers of charcoal and Persian ore, pea to nut size. Around the oven a shallow trench had been dug. Sitting on the outer lip with his feet in the trench, he operated bellows made from the hide of a whole goat, forcing precisely controlled amounts of air into the glowing mass. Above the hottest part of the fire, ore was reduced to bits of iron like drops of metal rain. They settled through the furnace and collected at the bottom in a blob-like mixture of charcoal, slag, and iron, called the bloom.\n\nDhan had sealed a removal hole with clay that he now broke away so he could drag out the bloom, which was refined by strong hammering requiring many reheatings in his forge. Most of the iron in the ore went into slag and waste, but that which was reduced made a very good grade of wrought iron.\n\nBut it was soft, he explained to Rob through Harsha. The bars of Indian steel, carried from Kausambi by the elephants, were very hard. He melted several of these in a crucible and then quenched the fire. After cooling, the steel was extremely brittle and he shattered it and stacked it on pieces of the wrought iron.\n\nNow, sweating among his anvils, tongs, chisels, punches, and hammers, the skinny Indian displayed biceps like serpents as he wedded the soft and hard metals. He forge-welded multiple layers of iron and steel, hammering as if possessed, twisting and cutting, overlapping, folding the sheet and hammering again and again, mixing his metals like a potter wedging clay or a woman kneading bread.\n\nWatching him, Rob knew he could never learn the complexities, the variables needing subtle skills passed down long generations of Indian smiths; but he gained an understanding of the process through asking innumerable questions.\n\nDhan made a scimitar and cured the weapon in soot dampened with a citron vinegar, resulting in an acid-etched, \"watermarked\" blade with a blue, smoky undertone. Fashioned out of the iron alone, it would have been soft and dull; made only from the hard Indian steel, it would have been brittle. But this sword took a fine edge that could cut a dropped thread in midair, and it was a supple weapon.\n\nThe swords Al\u0101 had ordered Dhan to make weren't meant for kings. They were unembellished soldiers' arms, to be stockpiled against a future war in which superior scimitars might give Persia a needed advantage.\n\n\"He will run out of the Indian steel before many more weeks,\" Harsha observed.\n\nYet Dhan offered to make Rob a dagger, out of gratitude for what the hakim had done for his family and the mahouts. Rob refused regretfully; the weapons were beautiful but he wanted no more to do with killing. But then he couldn't resist opening his bag and showing Dhan a scalpel, a pair of bistouris, and two knives used for amputations, one blade curved and thin and the other large and serrated for cutting through bone.\n\nDhan smiled broadly, showing the gaps of many missing teeth, and nodded his head.\n\nA week later, Dhan handed over instruments in patterned steel that would take the keenest edge and hold it like no other surgical tools Rob had ever seen.\n\nThey would outlast his own life, he knew. It was a princely gift and called for a generous gift in return, but he was too overwhelmed to think of that for the moment. Dhan saw his enormous pleasure and basked in it. Unable to communicate with words, the two men embraced. Together they oiled the steel objects and wrapped them individually in rags, then Rob carried them off in a leather bag.\n\nFilled with delight, he was riding away from the House of Paradise when he met a returning hunting party led by the king. In his rough hunting clothes Al\u0101 looked exactly as he had when Rob had first glimpsed him, years before.\n\nHe drew up his horse and bowed, hoping they would pass him by, but a moment later Farhad cantered up smartly.\n\n\"He wishes you to approach.\"\n\nThe Captain of the Gates wheeled his mount and Rob followed him back to the Shah.\n\n\"Ah, Dhimmi. You must ride with me for a time.\" Al\u0101 signaled that the soldiers who accompanied him were to hang back, and he and Rob walked their animals toward the palace.\n\n\"I have not rewarded your service to Persia.\"\n\nRob was surprised, having thought all awards for service during the Indian raids long since were past. Several officers had been promoted for valor and soldiers had been given purses. Karim had been praised so lavishly in public by the Shah that market gossip had him soon to be named to any number of exalted posts. Rob was content to have been overlooked, happy that the raids were now history.\n\n\"I have it in mind to present you with another calaat, calling for a larger house and extensive grounds, an estate suitable for a royal entertainment.\"\n\n\"No calaat is necessary, Sire.\" In a dry voice he thanked the Shah for his generosity. \"My presence was a small way of repaying my enormous gratitude to you.\"\n\nIt would have been more graceful for him to speak of love for the monarch, but he could not and Al\u0101 didn't seem to take his words to heart, in any case.\n\n\"Nevertheless, you deserve reward.\"\n\n\"Then I ask my Shah to reward me by allowing me to stay in the small house in Yehuddiyyeh where I am comfortable and happy.\"\n\nThe Shah looked hard at him. Finally he nodded. \"Leave me, Dhimmi.\" He dug his heels into the white horse and the stallion sprang away. Behind, his escort hastened to gallop after him, and in a moment the horse soldiers were streaming past Rob with a pounding and a clatter.\n\nThoughtfully, he turned the brown horse and made his way homeward again to show the patterned steel instruments to Mary."
            },
            {
                "title": "A CLINIC IN IDHAJ",
                "text": "That year winter came hard and early to Persia. One morning all the mountain peaks were white, and the next day huge chill winds swept a mixture of salt, sand, and snow into Ispahan. In the markets the merchants covered their goods with cloths and longed for spring. Bulky in anklelength sheepskin cadabis, they huddled over charcoal braziers and kept themselves warm with gossip about their king. Though much of the time they reacted to Al\u0101's exploits with a chuckle or a wry, resigned glance, the latest scandal brought a pinched gravity to many faces that was not a result of the raw winds.\n\nIn the light of the Shah's daily drinking and debauchery, the Imam Mirza-aboul Qandrasseh had sent his friend and chief aide, the mullah Musa Ibn Abbas, to reason with the king and remind him that strong drink was an abomination to Allah, forbidden by the Qu'ran.\n\nAl\u0101 had been drinking for hours when he received the Vizier's delegate. He listened to Musa gravely. When he perceived the subject of the message and caught the careful admonishing tone, the Shah stepped down from his throne and approached the mullah.\n\nDisconcerted but not knowing how else to behave, Musa continued to speak. Presently, with no change of expression, the king had dribbled wine over the old man's head, to the astonishment of all present\u2014courtiers, servants, and slaves. Throughout the remainder of the lecture he had dripped strong drink all over Musa, wetting his beard and his clothing, then dismissed him with a wave of his hand, sending him back to Qandrasseh sodden and totally humiliated.\n\nIt was a show of contempt for the holy men of Ispahan and was widely interpreted as proof that Qandrasseh's time as Vizier was coming to an end. The mullahs had grown accustomed to the influence and privileges Qandrasseh had given them, and next morning in every mosque in the city dark and disturbing prophecies were heard concerning the future of Persia.\n\nKarim Harun came to consult with Ibn Sina and Rob about Al\u0101.\n\n\"He isn't like that. He can be the most unselfish of companions, merry and lovable. You saw him in India, Dhimmi. He is the bravest of fighters and if he is ambitious, wanting to be a great Shahanshah, then it is because he is even more ambitious for Persia.\"\n\nThey listened to him silently.\n\n\"I've tried to keep him from drinking,\" Karim said. He looked miserably at his former teacher and his friend.\n\nIbn Sina sighed. \"He is most dangerous to others early in the morning, when he awakens with the sickness of yesterday's wine in him. Give him senna tea then, to purge the poisons and take the ache from his head, and sprinkle ground Armenian stone in his food to rid him of melancholia. But nothing will protect him from himself. When he drinks you must stay out of his presence if you can.\" He regarded Karim gravely. \"You must also take care as you go about the city, for you are known as the Shah's favorite and are generally regarded as the Qandrasseh's rival. Now you have powerful enemies with a great stake in stopping your climb to power.\"\n\nRob caught Karim's eye. \"You must take care to lead a blameless life,\" he said meaningfully, \"for your enemies will pounce on any weakness.\"\n\nHe recalled the self-loathing he had felt when he had made the Master a cuckold. He knew Karim; despite his ambition and his love for the woman, Karim had a basic goodness and Rob could guess at the anguish he felt in betraying Ibn Sina.\n\nKarim nodded. As he took his leave he grasped Rob's wrist and smiled. Rob smiled back; it was impossible not to respond. Karim still had his handsome charm, though it was no longer carefree. Rob saw great tension and restless uncertainty in Karim's face, and he looked after his friend with pity.\n\nLittle Rob's blue eyes regarded the world fearlessly. He had begun to make crawling motions and his parents rejoiced when he learned to drink from a cup. At Ibn Sina's suggestion Rob tried feeding him camel's milk, which the Master said was the most healthful food for a child. It was strong-smelling and had yellowish lumps of butterfat but the little boy swallowed it hungrily. From then on, the woman Prisca no longer suckled him. Each morning Rob fetched camel's milk from the Armenian market in a stone crock. The former wet nurse, always holding one of her own children, peered from her husband's leather stall to watch for him every morning.\n\n\"Master Dhimmi! Master Dhimmi! How is my little boy?\" Prisca called, and she gave him a luminous smile each time he assured her that the child was fine.\n\nBecause of the bitter air, patients in number came to the physicians with catarrh and aching bones and inflamed and swollen joints. Pliny the Younger had written that to cure a cold the patient should kiss the hairy muzzle of a mouse, but Ibn Sina pronounced Pliny the Younger not fit to be read. He had his own favorite remedy against the affliction of phlegm and the rigors of rheumatism. He carefully instructed Rob to assemble two dirhams each of castoreum, galbanum of Ispahan, stinking asafetida, asafetida, celery seed, Syrian fenugreek, galbanum, caltrop, harmel seed, opopanax, rue gum, and kernel of pumpkin seed. The dry ingredients were pounded. The gums were steeped in oil for a night and then pounded, and over them was poured warm honey bereft of froth, the wet mixture then being kneaded with the dry ingredients and the resulting paste put into a glazed vessel.\n\n\"The dose is one mithqal,\" Ibn Sina said. \"It is efficacious if God wishes.\"\n\nRob went to the elephant pens, where the mahouts were snuffling and coughing, dealing less than cheerfully with a season unlike the mild winters they had known in India. He visited them three days in a row and gave them fumitory and sagepenum and Ibn Sina's paste, with results so indecisive he would have preferred to dose them with Barber's Universal Specific. The elephants didn't look splendid as they had in battle; now they were draped like tents, festooned with blankets in an attempt to keep them warm.\n\nRob stood with Harsha and watched Zi, the Shah's great bull elephant, cramming himself with hay.\n\n\"My poor children,\" Harsha said softly. \"Once, before Buddha or Brahman or Vishnu or Shiva, the elephants were all-powerful and my people prayed to them. Now they are so much less than gods that they are captured and made to do our will.\"\n\nZi shivered as they watched, and Rob prescribed that the beasts be given buckets of warmed drinking water to heat them from within.\n\nHarsha was doubtful. \"We have been working them and they labor well despite the cold.\"\n\nBut Rob had been learning about elephants in the House of Wisdom. \"Do you know about Hannibal?\"\n\n\"No,\" the mahout said.\n\n\"A soldier, a great leader.\"\n\n\"Great as Al\u0101 Shah?\"\n\n\"At least as great, but from a time long gone. With thirty-seven elephants he led an army over the Alps\u2014high, terrible mountains, steep and snow-covered\u2014and he didn't lose an animal. But cold and exposure weakened them. Later, crossing smaller mountains, all but one of the elephants died. The lesson is that you must rest your beasts and keep them warm.\"\n\nHarsha nodded respectfully. \"Do you know that you are followed, Hakim?\"\n\nRob was startled.\n\n\"That one there, sitting in the sun.\"\n\nHe was just a man huddling in the fleece of his cadabi, seated with his back to the wall to hide from the cold wind.\n\n\"Are you certain?\"\n\n\"Yes, Hakim, I saw him follow you yesterday too. Even now, he keeps you in his sight.\"\n\n\"When I leave here can you follow after him cleverly, so we may discover who he is?\"\n\nHarsha's eyes gleamed. \"Yes, Hakim.\"\n\nLate that evening Harsha came to Yehuddiyyeh and tapped on Rob's door.\n\n\"He followed you home, Hakim. When he left you here, I followed him to the Friday Mosque. I was very clever, O Honorable, I was invisible. He entered the mullah's house wearing the ragged cadabi and after a short time emerged clad in black robes, and he went into the mosque in time for Final Prayer. He is a mullah, Hakim.\"\n\nRob thanked him thoughtfully and Harsha went away.\n\nThe mullah had been sent by Qandrasseh's friends, he was certain. Doubtless they had followed Karim to his meeting with Ibn Sina and Rob and then had watched to determine the extent of Rob's involvement with the prospective Vizier.\n\nPerhaps they concluded he was harmless, for next day he watched carefully but could see no one who might have been trailing after him and, so far as he could tell, in the days that followed he wasn't spied on again.\n\nIt remained chill, but spring was coming. Only the tips of the purplegray mountains were white with snow, and in the garden the stark branches of the apricot trees were covered with tiny black buds, perfectly round.\n\nTwo soldiers came one morning and fetched Rob to the House of Paradise. In the cold stone throne room small knots of blue-lipped members of the court stood about and suffered. Karim was not among them. The Shah sat at the table over the floor grille through which oven heat drifted. After the ravi zemin was out of the way he motioned for Rob to join him, and the warmth trapped by the heavy felt tablecloth proved to be pleasant.\n\nThe Shah's Game was already set up, and without conversation Al\u0101 made his first move.\n\n\"Ah, Dhimmi, you have become a hungry cat,\" he said presently.\n\nIt was true; Rob had learned to attack.\n\nThe Shah played with a scowl on his face, eyes intent on the board. Rob used his two elephants to do damage and quickly gained a camel, a horse and rider, three foot soldiers.\n\nThe onlookers followed the game in rapt, expressionless silence. Doubtless some were horrified and some delighted by the fact that a European nonbeliever appeared to be besting the Shah.\n\nBut the king had vast experience as a sneaking general. Just as Rob began to think himself a fine fellow and a master of strategy, Al\u0101 offered sacrifices and drew his enemy in. He employed his own two elephants more adroitly than Hannibal had used his thirty-seven, until Rob's elephants were gone, and his horsemen. Still Rob fought doggedly, calling upon all Mirdin had taught him. It was a respectable time before he was shahtreng. When it was over, the courtiers applauded the king's victory and Al\u0101 allowed himself to look pleased.\n\nThe Shah slipped a heavy ring of massy gold from his finger and placed it in Rob's right hand. \"About the calaat. We now give it. You shall have a house large enough for a royal entertainment.\"\n\nWith a haram. And Mary in the haram.\n\nThe nobles watched and listened.\n\n\"I shall wear this ring with pride and gratitude. As for the calaat, I am quite happy with your Majesty's past generosity and I shall remain in my house.\"\n\nHis voice was respectful but it was too firm and he did not turn his eyes away quite fast enough to prove humility. And all who were present heard the Dhimmi say these things.\n\nBy the following morning, it had reached Ibn Sina.\n\nNot for nothing had the Chief Physician twice been a vizier. He had informants in the court and among the servants at the House of Paradise, and from several sources he heard about the rash stupidity of his Dhimmi assistant.\n\nAs always in time of crisis, Ibn Sina sat and thought. He was aware that his presence in Al\u0101's capital city was a source of royal pride, enabling the Shah to compare himself to the Baghdad caliphs as a monarch of culture and a patron of learning. But Ibn Sina was also aware that his influence had limits; a direct appeal would not save Jesse ben Benjamin.\n\nAll his life Al\u0101 had dreamed of being one of the greatest Shahs, a king with an undying name. Now he was preparing for a war that could take him either to immortality or to oblivion, and it was impossible at this moment for him to allow anyone to obstruct his will.\n\nIbn Sina knew that the king would have Jesse ben Benjamin killed.\n\nPerhaps orders already had been given for unidentified assailants to fall upon the young hakim in the streets, or he might be arrested by soldiers and tried and sentenced by an Islamic court. Al\u0101 was capable of political craft and would use the execution of this Dhimmi in a manner that would serve him best.\n\nFor years Ibn Sina had studied Al\u0101 Shah and he understood the workings of the king's mind. He knew what must be done.\n\nThat morning in the maristan he summoned his staff. \"Word has reached us that in the town of Idhaj are a number of patients too sick to travel here to the hospital,\" he said, which was true. \"Therefore,\" he told Jesse ben Benjamin, \"you must ride to Idhaj and hold a clinic for the treatment of these people.\"\n\nAfter they discussed herbs and drugs that must be taken with him on a pack ass, and medicines that could be found in that town, and the histories of certain patients they knew to be ill there, Jesse said goodbye and left without delay.\n\nIdhaj was a slow, uncomfortable three-day ride to the south, and the clinic would take at least three days. It would give Ibn Sina more than enough time.\n\nNext afternoon, he went alone into Yehuddiyyeh and rode directly to his assistant's house.\n\nThe woman answered the door holding her child. Surprise and brief confusion showed in her face when she saw the Prince of Physicians standing on her threshold, but she recovered quickly and showed him inside with proper courtesy. It was a plain home but kept well, and it had been made comfortable, with wall hangings and rugs on the earthen floors. With commendable dispatch she placed an earthen plate of sweet seed cakes before him, and a sherbet of rose water flavored with cardamon.\n\nHe hadn't counted on her ignorance of the language. When he tried to talk with her it was quickly obvious that she had only a few words of Persian.\n\nHe wanted to converse at length and with persuasion, wanted to tell her that when first he had recognized the quality of her husband's mind and instincts, he had hungered after the large young foreigner the way a miser lusts for a treasure or a man desires a woman. He had wanted the European for medicine because it was clear to him that God had fashioned Jesse ben Benjamin to be a healer.\n\n\"He will be a shining light. He is almost realized, but it is too soon, he is not yet there.\n\n\"All kings are mad. To one with absolute power, it is no more difficult to take a life than to bestow a calaat. Yet if you flee now, it will be a resentment for the rest of your lives, for he has come so far, dared so much. I know he is no Jew.\"\n\nThe woman sat and held the child, watching Ibn Sina with growing tension. He tried speaking Hebrew with no success, then Turkish and Arabic in quick succession. He was a philologist and a linguist but knew few European languages, for he learned a tongue only in pursuit of scholarship. He spoke to her in Greek without response.\n\nThen he turned to Latin and saw her head move slightly and her eyes blink.\n\n\"Rex te venire ad se vult. Si non, maritus necabitur.\" He repeated it: The king wishes you to come to him. If you do not, your husband will be slain.\n\n\"Quid dicas?\" What do you say? she said.\n\nHe repeated it very slowly.\n\nThe child was beginning to fuss in her arms, but the woman paid her baby no heed. She stared at Ibn Sina, her face drained of color. It was a face like stone but he saw it contained an element he hadn't noted before. The old man understood people and for the first time his anxiety abated, for he recognized the woman's strength. He would make the arrangements and she would do what was necessary.\n\nSlaves bearing a sedan chair came for her. She didn't know what to do with Rob J., so she brought him along; it was a happy solution, for in the haram of the House of Paradise the child was received by a number of delighted women.\n\nShe was taken to the baths, an embarrassment. Rob had told her it was a religious obligation for Muslim women to remove their pubic hair every ten days by means of a lime-and-arsenic depilatory. Similarly, the hair of the armpits was plucked or shaved, once a week by a married woman, every two weeks by a widow, and once a month by a virgin. The women attending her stared in undisguised disgust.\n\nAfter she had been washed, three trays of scents and dyes were offered but she used only a bit of perfume.\n\nShe was led to a room and instructed to wait. It was furnished only with a large pallet, pillows, and blankets, and a closed cabinet on which stood a basin of water. Somewhere nearby, musicians played. She was cold. When she had waited what seemed a long time, she picked up a blanket and wrapped herself.\n\nPresently Al\u0101 came. She was terrified but he smiled at seeing her standing cowled in the blanket.\n\nHe waggled his finger for her to remove it, and then motioned impatiently that she was to take off the robe too. She knew she was thin compared to most Eastern females, and Persian women had gone out of their way to inform her that freckles were Allah's just punishment on someone so shameless she did not wear the veil.\n\nHe touched the heavy red hair on her head, lifted a handful to his nostrils. She hadn't perfumed her hair and its lack of scent made him grimace.\n\nFor a moment Mary was able to escape by worrying about her child. When Rob J. was older, would he remember having been brought to this place? The glad cries and soft cooing of the women? Their tender faces beaming down at him? Their hands caressing him?\n\nThe king's hands were still at her head. He was speaking in Persian, whether to himself or to her she couldn't tell. She dared not even shake her head to signify she didn't understand, lest he interpret the gesture as disagreement.\n\nHe went straight to an examination of her body patch. He was most curious about her hair.\n\n\"Henna?\"\n\nShe understood the single word and assured him the color wasn't henna, in language which of course he didn't comprehend. He pulled a strand gently through his fingertips and tried to wash out the red.\n\nIn a moment he took off his single loose cotton garment. His arms were muscular and he was thick in the waist, with a protruding, hairy belly. His entire body was hairy. His pizzle seemed smaller than Rob's and darker.\n\nIn the sedan chair on the way to the palace she had had fantasies. In one, she had wept and explained that Christian women were forbidden by Jesus to perform this act outside of marriage; and as though it were a story about one of the saints, he had taken pity on her tears and, out of kindness, had sent her home. In another vision, having been forced into this to save her husband, she had been freed to enjoy the most lascivious physical release of her lifetime, a ravishment by a supernatural lover who, although able to command the most beautiful women in Persia, had selected her.\n\nReality resembled neither imagining. He examined her breasts, touching the nipples; perhaps the coloring differed from those he was accustomed to. The chill air had made her breasts hard but they didn't maintain his interest. When he pushed her to the mat she silently begged the help of the blessed Mother of God whose namesake she was. She was an unwilling receptacle, kept dry by fear and anger at this man who had come close to ordering the death of her husband. There were none of the sweet caresses with which Rob warmed her and turned her bones to water. Instead of being a vertical stick Al\u0101's organ was drooping and he had difficulty in pushing into her, resorting to olive oil that he splashed irritably on her instead of himself. Finally he squeezed greasily inside and she lay with her eyes closed.\n\nShe had been bathed but discovered he had not. He wasn't vigorous. He seemed almost bored, grunting softly as he worked. In a very few moments he gave an unroyal little shudder for so large a man and a disgusted moan. Then the King of Kings pulled out with a small sucking of oil and strode from the room without a word or a glance.\n\nShe lay in sticky humiliation where he had left her, not knowing what to do next. She would not allow herself to weep.\n\nEventually she was called for by the same women and taken to her son. She dressed hurriedly and scooped up Rob J. Sending her home, the women placed a rope bag of green melons in the sedan chair. When she and Rob J. reached Yehuddiyyeh she thought of leaving the melons in the road, but it seemed easier to carry them into the house and let the sedan chair go on its way.\n\nThe melons in the marketplaces were poor, because they were stored in caverns throughout the Persian winter and many spoiled. These were in excellent condition and perfectly ripe when Rob returned from his mission to Idhaj, and they proved to have an uncommonly fine flavor."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE BEDOUI GIRL",
                "text": "Strange. To enter the maristan, that cool, sacred place with its stinks of illness and its rough medicinal smells and groanings and cries and bustling sounds, the song of the hospital. It still made Rob catch his breath, still made his heart pound to enter the maristan and find trailing behind him, like baby geese following their mother, a gaggle of students.\n\nFollowing him, who not long before had trailed others!\n\nTo stop and allow a clerk to recite a history of affliction. Then to approach a pallet and speak with the patient, watching, examining, touching, smelling out disease like a fox snuffling to find an egg. Trying to outwit the fucking Black Knight. At length, to discuss the sick or injured person with the group, receiving opinions often worthless and absurd but sometimes wonderful. For the clerks, a learning; for Rob, an opportunity to mold these minds into a critical instrument that analyzed and proposed treatment and rejected and proposed again, so that sometimes as a result of teaching them he reached conclusions that otherwise would have eluded him.\n\nIbn Sina urged him to lecture, and when he did, others came to hear him but he never was truly at ease before them, standing and sweating earnestly while discoursing on a subject he had carefully reviewed in the books. He was aware of how he must look to them, bigger than most and with his broken English nose, and aware of how he sounded, for now he was fluent enough with the language to be conscious of his accent.\n\nSimilarly, because Ibn Sina demanded he be a writer, he fashioned a short article on the wine treatment of wounds. He labored over the essay but took no joy from it even when it was finished and transcribed and placed in the House of Learning.\n\nHe knew he must pass on learning and skills, as these things had been passed to him, but Mirdin had been wrong: Rob did not want to do everything. He would not fashion himself after Ibn Sina. He had no ambition to be philosopher and educator and theologian, no need to write or preach. He was forced to learn and seek so he could know what to do when he must act. For him, the challenge came each time he held a patient's hands, the same magic he had first felt when he was nine years old.\n\nOne morning a girl named Sitara was brought into the maristan by her father, a bedoui tentmaker. She was very sick, nauseous and vomiting and racked by terrible pain in the lower right part of her rigid belly. Rob knew what was wrong but had no idea how to treat the side sickness. The girl groaned and could barely answer but he questioned her at length, seeking to learn something that might show him the way.\n\nHe purged her, tried hot packs and cold compresses, and that night he told his wife about the bedoui girl and asked Mary to pray for her.\n\nMary was saddened by the thought of a young girl stricken as James Geikie Cullen had been stricken. It brought to mind the fact that her father lay in an unvisited grave in Ahmad's wadi in Hamadh\u0101n.\n\nNext morning Rob let blood from the bedoui girl and gave drugs and herbs, but all he did was to no avail. He saw her turn febrile and glassy-eyed and begin to fade like a leaf after frost. She died on the third day.\n\nHe went over the details of her short life painstakingly.\n\nShe had been healthy prior to the series of painful attacks that had killed her. A twelve-year-old virgin who had reached her womanly bleeding but recently \u2026 what had she in common with a small male child and his middle-aged father-in-law? Rob could see nothing.\n\nYet all three had been killed in precisely the same way.\n\nThe breach between Al\u0101 and his Vizier, the Imam Qandrasseh, became more public at the Shah's audience. The Imam was seated on the smaller throne below Al\u0101's right hand, as was customary, but he addressed the Shah with such cold courtesy that his message was clear to all who attended.\n\nThat night Rob sat in Ibn Sina's home and they played at the Shah's Game. It was more a lesson than a contest, like a grown man playing with a child. Ibn Sina seemed to have thought out the entire game in advance. He moved the pieces without hesitation. Rob could not contain him but perceived the need for planning ahead, and this foresight quickly became a part of his own strategy.\n\n\"Small groups of people are gathered in the streets and in the maidans, speaking softly,\" Rob said.\n\n\"They become worried and confused when the priests of Allah are in conflict with the lord of the House of Paradise, for they fear the quarrel will destroy the world.\" Ibn Sina took a rukh with his horseman. \"It will pass. It always passes, and those who are blessed will survive.\"\n\nThey played for a time in silence and then he told Ibn Sina of the death of the bedoui girl, recounting the symptoms and describing the two other cases of abdominal distemper that haunted him.\n\n\"Satira was my mother's name.\" Ibn Sina sighed. But he had no explanation for the girl's death. \"There are many answers we have not been given.\"\n\n\"They will not be given unless we seek them out,\" Rob said slowly.\n\nIbn Sina shrugged and chose to change the subject by relating court news, disclosing that a royal expedition was being sent to India. Not raiders this time, but merchants empowered by the Shah to buy Indian steel or the ore from which to smelt it, for Dhan Vangalil did not have any steel left to make the patterned blue blades that Al\u0101 valued so highly.\n\n\"He has told them not to return without a full caravan of ore or hard steel, if they must go to the end of the Silk Road to get it.\"\n\n\"What is at the end of the Silk Road?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"Chung-Kuo. An enormous country.\"\n\n\"And beyond that?\"\n\nIbn Sina shrugged. \"Water. Oceans.\"\n\n\"Travelers have told me that the world is flat and is surrounded by fire. That one can venture only so far before dropping into the fire that is Hell.\"\n\n\"Travelers' babble,\" Ibn Sina said scornfully. \"It is not true. I have read that outside the inhabited world all is salt and sand, like the Dasht-i-Kavir. It is also written that much of the world is ice.\" He gazed pensively at Rob. \"What is beyond your own country?\"\n\n\"Britain is an island. Beyond it is an ocean and then Denmark, the land of the Northmen from which our king came. Beyond that, it is said there is a land of ice.\"\n\n\"And if one goes north from Persia, beyond Ghazna is the land of the Rus\u2014and beyond that is a land of ice. Yes, I think it true that much of the world is covered with ice,\" Ibn Sina said. \"But there is no fiery Hell at the edges, for thinking men have known always that the earth is round as a plum. You have voyaged on the sea. When sighting a distant oncoming ship, the first thing seen on the horizon is the tip of the mast, and then more and more of the craft as it sails over the curved surface of the world.\"\n\nHe finished Rob off on the game board by trapping his king, almost absentmindedly, and then summoned a slave to bring wine sherbet and a bowl of pistachios. \"Do you not recall the astronomer Ptolemy?\"\n\nRob smiled; he had read only enough astronomy to satisfy the requirements of the madrassa. \"An ancient Greek who did his writing in Egypt.\"\n\n\"Just so. He wrote that the world is round. Suspended beneath the concave firmament, it is the center of the universe. Around it circle the sun and the moon, making the night and the day.\"\n\n\"This ball of a world, with its surface of sea and land, mountains and rivers and forests and deserts and places of ice\u2014is it hollow or solid? And if it is solid, what is the nature of its interior?\"\n\nThe old man smiled and shrugged, in his element now and enjoying himself. \"We cannot know. The earth is enormous, as you understand, who have ridden and walked over a vast piece of it. And we are but tiny men who cannot burrow deeply enough to answer such a question.\"\n\n\"But if you were able to look within the center of the earth\u2014would you?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"Yet you are able to peer inside the human body, but you do not.\"\n\nIbn Sina's smile faded. \"Mankind is close to savagery and must live by rules. If not, we would sink into our own animal nature and perish. One of our rules forbids the mutilation of the dead, who will one day be rescued from their graves by the Prophet.\"\n\n\"Why do people suffer from abdominal distemper?\"\n\nIbn Sina shrugged. \"Open the belly of a hog and study the puzzle. The pig's organs are identical to the organs of man.\"\n\n\"You are certain of this, Master?\"\n\n\"Yes. So it has been written since the time of Galen, whose fellow Greeks would not let him cut up humans. The Jews and the Christians have a similar prohibition. All men share this abhorrence of dissection.\" Ibn Sina looked at him with tender concern. \"You have overcome much to become a physician. But you must practice your healing within the rule of religion and the general will of men. If you do not, their power will destroy you,\" he said.\n\nRob rode home gazing at the sky until the points of light swam before his eyes. Of the planets he could find only the moon and Saturn, and a glowing that might have been Jupiter, for it shed a steady brilliance amidst the starry glittering.\n\nHe realized Ibn Sina was not a demigod. The Prince of Physicians was simply an aging scholar caught between medicine and the faith in which he had been piously reared. Rob loved the old man all the more for his human limitations but he had a sense of being somehow cheated, like a small boy realizing the frailties of his father.\n\nWhen he reached Yehuddiyyeh he was reflective while he saw to the needs of the brown horse. Inside the house Mary and the child were asleep, and he undressed with quiet care and then lay awake, thinking on what might cause distemper of the abdomen.\n\nIn the middle of the night Mary awoke urgently and ran outside, where she retched and was ill. He followed; obsessed by the disease that had taken her father, he was aware that vomiting was its first sign. Though she objected, he examined her when she reentered the house, but her abdomen was soft and there was no fever.\n\nAt last they returned to their pallet.\n\n\"Rob!\" she called at length. And again: \"My Rob,\" a cry of distress, as from a nightmare.\n\n\"Hush, or you will wake him,\" he whispered. He was surprised, for he hadn't known her to have bad dreams. He stroked her head and comforted her, and she pulled him to her with a desperate strength.\n\n\"I'm here, Mary. I'm here, O my love.\" He spoke soft, quiet things to her until she calmed, endearments in English and Persian and the Tongue.\n\nOnce again a short time later she started but then she touched his face and sighed and cradled his head in her arms, and Rob lay with his cheek on his wife's soft breast until the sweet slow thudding of her heart pulled him also into his rest."
            },
            {
                "title": "KARIM",
                "text": "The warming sun drew pale green shoots out of the earth as spring surged into Ispahan. Birds flashed through the air carrying straw and nesting twigs in their beaks, and the runoff gushed from brooks and wadis into the River of Life, which roared as its waters rose. It was as if Rob had taken the hands of the earth into his own and could feel nature's boundless, eternal vitality. Among other evidences of fertility was Mary's. Her nausea continued and worsened, and this time they didn't need Fara to tell them she was pregnant. He was delighted but Mary was moody, quicker to show irritation than heretofore. He spent more time than ever with his son. The little face lighted when Rob J. saw him, and the baby crowed and wriggled like a tail-wagging puppy. Rob taught him to yank at his father with joy.\n\n\"Pull Da's beard,\" he said, and felt pride in the strength of the tugging.\n\n\"Pull Da's ears.\"\n\n\"Pull Da's nose.\"\n\nThe same week that the child took his first tentative, unsteady steps, he also began to talk. It was no wonder that his first word was Da. The sound of the small creature addressing him filled Rob with such awed love that he found his good fortune hard to believe.\n\nOn a mild afternoon he persuaded Mary to walk to the Armenian market with him while he carried Rob J. At the market he set the baby down near the leather booth so Rob J. could take several shaky steps toward Prisca, and the former wet nurse screamed with delight and swept the child into her arms.\n\nOn the way home through Yehuddiyyeh they smiled and greeted this one and that, for if no woman had taken Mary into her heart since Fara had left, neither did anyone curse the European Other any more, and the Jews of the quarter had grown accustomed to her presence.\n\nLater, while Mary was cooking their pilah and Rob was pruning one of the apricot trees, two of the small daughters of Mica Halevi the Baker ran from the house next door and played in the garden with his son. Rob delighted in the sound of their childish shrieks and foolishness.\n\nThere were worse people than the Jews of Yehuddiyyeh, he told himself, and worse places to be than Ispahan.\n\nOne day, hearing that al-Juzjani was to teach a class in dissection of a pig, Rob volunteered to assist. The animal in question proved to be a stout boar with tusks as fierce as a small elephant's, mean porcine eyes, a long body covered with coarse gray bristles, and a robust hairy pizzle. The pig had been dead for a day or so and smelled it, but it had been fed on grain and the predominant odor when the stomach was opened was of beery fermentation, slightly sour. Rob had learned that such odors were not bad or good; all smells were of interest, since each told a story. But neither his nose nor his eyes nor his searching hands taught him anything about abdominal distemper as he searched the belly and gut for signs. Al-Juzjani, more interested in teaching his class than in allowing Rob access to his pig, was justifiably irritated by the amount of time he spent grubbing.\n\nAfter the class, no wiser than before, Rob went to meet with Ibn Sina in the maristan. He knew at first sight of the Chief Physician that something untoward had taken place.\n\n\"My Despina and Karim Harun. They have been arrested.\"\n\n\"Sit, Master, and ease yourself,\" he said gently, for Ibn Sina was shaken and puzzled and old-looking.\n\nIt was the realization of Rob's most dreadful fears. He forced himself to ask the questions that were required and was not surprised to learn that the charges were adultery and fornication.\n\nQandrasseh's agents had followed Karim to Ibn Sina's house that morning. Mullahs and soldiers had burst into the stone tower and found the lovers.\n\n\"What of the eunuch?\"\n\nFor the time it takes to blink, Ibn Sina looked at him and Rob hated himself, aware of all that was revealed by his question. But Ibn Sina only shook his head.\n\n\"Wasif is dead. Had they not killed him by stealth, they would not have gained entrance to the tower.\"\n\n\"How can we help Karim and Despina?\"\n\n\"Only Al\u0101 Shah can help them,\" Ibn Sina said. \"We must petition him.\"\n\nAs Rob and Ibn Sina rode through the streets of Ispahan the people turned their eyes away, unwilling to shame Ibn Sina with their pity.\n\nAt the House of Paradise they were greeted by the Captain of the Gates with the courtesy usually shown to the Prince of Physicians, but they were ushered into an anteroom instead of the Shah's presence.\n\nFarhad left them and returned presently to tell them the king regretted he could not spend time with them that day.\n\n\"We shall wait,\" Ibn Sina said. \"Perhaps an opportunity will present itself.\"\n\nFarhad was glad to see the mighty fallen; he smiled at Rob as he bowed.\n\nAll that afternoon they waited, and then Rob took Ibn Sina home.\n\nIn the morning they returned. Again Farhad was careful to be courteous. They were led to the same anteroom and allowed to languish, but it became clear the king wouldn't see them.\n\nNevertheless, they waited.\n\nIbn Sina seldom spoke. Once, he sighed. \"She has ever been as a daughter to me,\" he said. And, after a time: \"It is easier for the Shah to treat Qandrasseh's bold stroke as a small defeat than to challenge the Vizier.\"\n\nThroughout the second day they sat in the House of Paradise. Gradually they understood that, despite the eminence of the Prince of Physicians and the fact that Karim was Al\u0101's favorite, the king would do nothing.\n\n\"He is willing to concede Karim to Qandrasseh,\" Rob said bleakly. \"As though they were playing the Shah's Game and Karim is a piece that will not be grievously missed.\"\n\n\"In two days there will be an audience,\" Ibn Sina said. \"We must make it easy for the Shah to help them. I will make public request that the king grant them mercy. I am the woman's husband and Karim is the beloved of the people. They will roar to support my request to save their hero of the chatir. The Shah will allow it to appear that he grants mercy because of the will of his subjects.\" If this happened, Ibn Sina said, Karim might be given twenty strokes and Despina beaten and sentenced to confinement for life in her master's house.\n\nBut as they left the House of Paradise they came upon al-Juzjani, who had been awaiting them. The master surgeon loved Ibn Sina as much as any man. Out of that love, he brought him bad news.\n\nKarim and Despina had been taken before an Islamic court. Testimony had been given by three witnesses, each an ordained mullah. Doubtless to avoid torture, neither Despina nor Karim had attempted to offer a defense.\n\nThe presiding mufti had sentenced each of them to death on the following morning.\n\n\"The woman Despina will be decapitated. Karim Harun will have his belly ripped.\"\n\nThey gazed at one another in dismay. Rob waited for Ibn Sina to tell al-Juzjani how Karim and Despina yet might be saved, but the old man shook his head. \"We cannot avert the sentence,\" he said heavily. \"We can only make certain their end is merciful.\"\n\n\"Then there are things to be done,\" al-Juzjani said quietly. \"Bribes to be paid. And instead of the medical clerk in the kelonter's prison we must substitute a physician we trust.\"\n\nDespite the warmth of the spring air, Rob was chilled. \"Let it be me,\" he said.\n\nThat night he was sleepless. He rose before dawn and rode the brown horse through the dark city. At Ibn Sina's house he half expected to see the eunuch Wasif in the gloom. There was neither light nor life in the tower rooms.\n\nIbn Sina gave him a jar of grape juice. \"It is heavily infused with opiates and a powder of pure hempseed called buing,\" he said. \"Herein lies the risk. They must drink a lot of it. But if either of them drinks too much to walk when they are summoned, you shall die with them.\"\n\nRob nodded to show he understood. \"God's mercy.\"\n\n\"God's mercy,\" Ibn Sina said. He was chanting from the Qu'ran before Rob left the room.\n\nAt the prison he told the sentry he was the physician and was given an escort. They went first to the women's cells, in one of which a woman could be heard alternately singing and sobbing.\n\nHe was afraid the terrible sound came from Despina but it didn't; in a tiny cell, she waited. She was unwashed and unperfumed and her hair hung in lank locks. Her small, finely made body was clad in a dirty black garment.\n\nHe set down the jar of buing and went to her and lifted her veil.\n\n\"I have brought something for you to drink.\"\n\nTo him she would ever after be femina, a combination of Anne Mary his sister, Mary his wife, the whore who had serviced him in the carriage on the maidan, and every female put upon by the world.\n\nThere were unshed tears in her eyes but she refused the buing.\n\n\"You must drink. It will help you.\"\n\nShe shook her head. Soon I will be in Paradise, the fearful eyes begged him to believe. \"Give it to him,\" she whispered, and Rob bade her goodbye.\n\nThe footsteps echoed as he followed the soldier along a corridor, down two short flights of stairs, into another stone tunnel and then another tiny cell.\n\nHis friend was pale.\n\n\"So, European.\"\n\n\"So, Karim.\"\n\nThey embraced, holding each other hard.\n\n\"Is she \u2026?\"\n\n\"I've seen her. She is well.\"\n\nKarim sighed. \"I hadn't talked with her for weeks! It was just to hear her voice, you understand? I was certain I wasn't followed, that day.\"\n\nRob nodded.\n\nKarim's mouth trembled. Offered the jar, he grasped it and drank deeply, finishing two-thirds of the liquid before handing it back.\n\n\"It will work. Ibn Sina mixed it himself.\"\n\n\"The old man you worship. Often I dreamed of poisoning him so I could have her.\"\n\n\"Every man has wicked thoughts. You wouldn't carry them out.\" For some reason it seemed vital that Karim should know this before the narcotic took effect. \"You understand?\"\n\nKarim nodded. Rob watched closely, fearful he had drunk too much buing. If the infusion worked quickly, a mufti's court would reconvene to kill a second physician.\n\nKarim's eyes drooped. He remained awake but chose not to talk. Rob stayed with him in silence until finally he heard footsteps approaching.\n\n\"Karim.\"\n\nHe blinked. \"Is it now?\"\n\n\"Think of winning the chatir,\" Rob said gently. The footsteps stopped, the door opened; they were three soldiers and two mullahs.\" Think of the happiest day of your life.\"\n\n\"Zaki-Omar could be a kindly man,\" Karim said. He favored Rob with a small, vacant smile.\n\nTwo of the soldiers took his arms. Rob followed directly behind them, out of the cell, down the stone corridor, up the two flights of stairs, into the courtyard where the sun smote a brassy blow. The morning was soft and beautiful, an ultimate cruelty. He could see Karim's knees buckle as he walked but any observer would think it was caused by fear. They went past the double row of carcan victims to the blocks, scene of his nightmares.\n\nSomething awful already lay next to a black-gowned form on imbrued ground, but the buing cheated the mullahs; Karim did not see her.\n\nThe executioner seemed scarcely older than Rob, a short, beefy man with huge arms and indifferent eyes. His strength and skill and the keenest whetted blades were what Ibn Sina's money had bought.\n\nKarim's eyes were glazed as the soldiers brought him forward. There were no goodbyes; the executioner's stroke was swift and certain. The point came up into the heart and brought death at once as the wielder had been bribed to do, and Rob heard his friend make a sound like a loud discontented sigh.\n\nIt was left to Rob to see that Despina and Karim were carried from the prison to a cemetery outside the city walls. He paid well for prayer to be chanted over both new graves, a bitter irony: the praying mullahs were found among those who had witnessed the deaths.\n\nWhen the funeral was over, Rob finished the infusion that remained in the jar and allowed the brown horse to carry him back unguided.\n\nBut as they neared the House of Paradise he reined up and studied it. The palace was particularly beautiful that day, its colorful pennons streaming and fluttering in the spring breeze and the sun glittering on the guidons and halberds and making dazzle of the sentries' weapons.\n\nHe could hear Al\u0101's voice. We are four friends\u2026 We are four friends\u2026\n\nHe shook his fist. \"UN-WOR-THYYYY!\"\n\nThe sound rolled toward the wall, reaching and startling the sentries.\n\nTheir officer came down to the outermost guard. \"Who is it? Can you tell?\"\n\n\"Yes. I believe it is the hakim Jesse. The Dhimmi.\"\n\nThey studied the figure on the horse, observing him shaking his fist once more, noting the wine jar and the horse's slack reins.\n\nThe officer knew the Jew as one who had stayed behind the returning force of Indian raiders to tend the wounds of soldiers. \"His face is full of drink.\" He grinned. \"But he is not a bad shit, that one. Let him be,\" he said, and they watched the brown horse carry the physician toward the city gates."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE GRAY CITY",
                "text": "So he was the last surviving member of the Ispahan Medical Party. To think of both Mirdin and Karim beneath the earth was to suck on an infusion of rage and regret and sadness; yet, perversely, their deaths made his days sweet as a loving kiss. He savored life's ordinary juices. A deep breath, a long piss, a slow fart. To chew stale bread when he was hungry, sleep when he was tired. To touch his wife's clumsy girth, listen to her snore. To bite his son's stomach until the gurgling howl of infantile laughter brought tears to his eyes.\n\nThis, despite the fact that Ispahan had become a somber place.\n\nIf Allah and the Imam Qandrasseh could bring low the hero athlete of Ispahan, then what ordinary man would now dare break the Islamic rules set down by the Prophet?\n\nWhores disappeared and the maidans no longer were riotous at night. Mullahs patrolled the streets of the city in pairs, alert for a veil that covered too little of a woman's face, a man slow in responding with prayer to a muezzin's call, a refreshment-house owner stupid enough to sell wine. Even in Yehuddiyyeh, where females always were careful to cover their hair, many Jewish women began to wear the heavy Muslim veils.\n\nSome sighed in private, missing the music and gaiety of remembered nights, but others expressed satisfaction, and at the maristan the hadji Davout Hosein thanked Allah during a morning's prayer. \"Mosque and state were born of one womb, joined together and never to be sundered,\" he said.\n\nEach morning more worshipers than ever came to Ibn Sina's home and joined him in prayer, but now when he was through with worship the Prince of Physicians returned inside his house and wasn't seen until it was time to pray again. He gave himself fully to grieving and introspection and didn't come to the maristan to teach or to treat patients. Some who objected to being touched by a Dhimmi were treated by al-Juzjani, but these were not many and Rob was busy all the time now, tending to Ibn Sina's patients as well as his own responsibilities.\n\nOne morning a skinny old man with stinking breath and dirty feet wandered into the hospital. Qasim ibn Sahdi had legs like a knob-kneed crane and a moth-eaten wisp of white beard. He didn't know his age and he had no home because for most of his life he had made his way as a menial in one caravan after another.\n\n\"I have traveled everywhere, master.\"\n\n\"To Europe, whence I came?\"\n\n\"Almost everywhere.\" He had no family, he said, but Allah watched over him. \"I reached here yesterday with a caravan of wool and dates from Qum. On the route I was stricken with a pain like a wicked djinn.\"\n\n\"Where, pain?\"\n\nQasim, groaning, clutched at his right side.\n\n\"Has your gorge risen?\"\n\n\"Lord, I am pukingly ill and know a terrible weakness. Yet as I dozed, Allah spoke, saying that nearby was one who would heal me. And when I awoke I asked people if there was a place of healing nearby and I was directed to this maristan.\"\n\nHe was led to a pallet, where he was bathed and fed lightly. He was the first patient with abdominal distemper whom Rob had been able to observe in an early stage of the disease. Perhaps Allah knew how to make Qasim well, but Rob did not.\n\nHe spent hours in the library. Finally courtly Yussuful-Gamal, the Keeper of the House of Wisdom, asked him what it was that he sought so assiduously.\n\n\"The secret of abdominal illness. I am trying to find accounts of ancients who opened the human belly before it was forbidden to do so.\"\n\nThe venerable librarian blinked and nodded gently. \"I shall try to help you. Let me see what I am able to find,\" he said.\n\nIbn Sina wasn't available and Rob went to al-Juzjani, who didn't have Ibn Sina's patience.\n\n\"Often people die of distemper,\" al-Juzjani said, \"but some come to the maristan complaining of pain and burning in the lower right abdomen, and the hurting goes away and the patients are sent home.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nAl-Juzjani shrugged and gave him an annoyed glance and would spend no more time on the subject.\n\nQasim's pain disappeared too after a few days, but Rob didn't want to release him. \"Where shall you go?\"\n\nThe old drover shrugged. \"I shall find a caravan, Hakim, for they are my home.\"\n\n\"Not all who come here are able to leave. Some die, you understand that.\"\n\nQasim nodded seriously. \"All men must die in the end.\"\n\n\"To wash the dead and prepare them for burial is to serve Allah. Could you do such work?\"\n\n\"Yes, Hakim. For it is God's labor, as you say,\" he said solemnly. \"Allah brought me here and it may be that He wishes me to stay.\"\n\nThere was a small storeroom next to the two rooms that served as the hospital's charnel house. They cleaned it out together and this became Qasim ibn Sahdi's living quarters.\n\n\"You will take your meals here after the patients are fed, and you may bathe in the maristan baths.\"\n\n\"Yes, Hakim.\"\n\nRob gave him a sleeping mat and a clay lamp. The old man unrolled his worn prayer rug and declared the room the finest home he had ever had.\n\nIt was almost two weeks before Rob's busy schedule allowed him to meet Yussuful-Gamal in the House of Wisdom. He brought a gift of appreciation for the librarian's help. All the vendors were displaying large, fat pistachios but Yussuf had few teeth for chewing nuts and instead Rob had bought a reed basket filled with soft desert dates.\n\nHe and Yussuf sat and ate the fruit late one night in the House of Wisdom. The library was deserted.\n\n\"I have gone back in time,\" Yussuf said. \"Far as I am able. Into antiquity. Even the Egyptians, whose embalming fame you know, were taught it was evil and a disfigurement of the dead to open the abdomen.\"\n\n\"But \u2026 when they made their mummies?\"\n\n\"They were hypocrites. They paid despised men called paraschistes to sin by making the forbidden initial incision. As soon as they made the cut the paraschistes fled lest they be stoned to death, an acknowledgment of guilt that allowed the respectable embalmers to empty the abdomen of organs and get on with their preservation.\"\n\n\"Did they study the organs they removed? Did they leave behind written observations?\"\n\n\"They embalmed for five thousand years, altogether eviscerating almost three-quarters of a billion human beings who had died of every ill, and they stored the viscera in vessels of clay, limestone, or alabaster, or simply threw them away. But there is no evidence that they ever studied the organs.\n\n\"The Greeks\u2014now that was different. And it happened in the same Nile region.\" Yussuf helped himself to more dates. \"Alexander the Great stormed through this Persia of ours like a beautiful, youthful god of war, nine hundred years before the birth of Mohammed. He conquered the ancient world, and at the northwestern end of the Nile River delta, on a strip of land between the Mediterranean Sea and Lake Mareotis, he founded a graceful city to which he gave his own name.\n\n\"Ten years later he was dead of a swamp fever, but Alexandria already was a center of Greek culture. In the breakup of the Alexandrian empire, Egypt and the new city fell to Ptolemy of Macedonia, one of the most scholarly of Alexander's associates. Ptolemy established the Museum of Alexandria, the world's first university, and the great Alexandria Library. All branches of knowledge prospered, but the school of medicine attracted the most promising students of the entire world. For the first and only time in man's long history, anatomy became the keystone, and dissection of the human body was practiced on an extensive scale for the next three hundred years.\"\n\nRob leaned forward eagerly. \"Then it is possible to read their descriptions of the diseases that afflict the internal organs?\"\n\nYussuf shook his head. \"The books of their magnificent library were lost when Julius Caesar's legions sacked Alexandria thirty years before the start of the Christian era. The Romans destroyed most of the writings of the Alexandrian physicians. Celsus collected what little was left and tried to preserve it in his work entitled De re medicina, but there is only one brief mention of 'distemper seated in the large intestine principally affecting that part where I mentioned the cecum to be, accompanied by violent inflammation and vehement pains, particularly on the right side.'\"\n\nRob grunted in disappointment. \"I know the quotation. Ibn Sina uses it when he teaches.\"\n\nYussuf shrugged. \"So my delving into the past leaves you exactly where you were when I began. The descriptions you are seeking do not exist.\"\n\nRob nodded gloomily. \"Why do you suppose that the only brief moment in history when physicians opened human beings came with the Greeks?\"\n\n\"They did not have the advantage of a single strong God who forbade them to desecrate the work of His creation. Instead, they had all those fornicators, those weak and squabbling gods and goddesses.\" The librarian spat a mouthful of date seeds into his cupped palm and smiled sweetly. \"They could dissect because they were, after all, only barbarians, Hakim,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "TWO ARRIVALS",
                "text": "Her pregnancy was too far advanced to permit her to ride, but Mary went on foot in order to buy the foodstuffs needed for her family, leading the donkey which bore her purchases and Rob J., who rode in a sling on the animal's back. The burden of her unborn child tired her and vexed her back, and she moved slowly from one marketplace to another. As she generally did when she attended the Armenian market, she stopped in the leather shop to share a sherbet and a hot loaf of thin Persian bread with Prisca.\n\nPrisca always appeared happy to see her former employer and the baby she had suckled, but today she was especially voluble. Mary had been trying hard to learn the Persian tongue, but she could make out only a few words.\n\nStranger. From afar. Same as the hakim. Like you.\n\nIt was with no enlightenment and mutual frustration that the two women parted, and that evening Mary was irked as she reported the incident to her husband.\n\nHe knew what Prisca had been trying to tell her, for the rumor had quickly reached the maristan. \"A European is newly arrived in Ispahan.\"\n\n\"From what country?\"\n\n\"England. He's a merchant.\"\n\n\"An Englishman?\" She stared. Her face was flushed, and he noted the interest and excitement in her eyes and the way her hand remained unnoticed at her breast.\n\n\"Why have you not gone to him at once?\"\n\n\"Mary \u2026\"\n\n\"But you must! Do you know where he is staying?\"\n\n\"He's in the Armenian quarter, that's why Prisca knew of him. It's said that at first he would consent to stay only with Christians.\" Rob smiled. \"But when he saw the hovels in which the few, poor Armenian Christians live, he quickly rented a finer house from a Muslim.\"\n\n\"You must write a message. Ask him to come to us for an evening meal.\"\n\n\"I don't even know his name.\"\n\n\"What matter? Hire a messenger. Anyone in the Armenian quarter will direct him,\" she said. \"Rob! He will have tidings.\"\n\nThe last thing he wanted was dangerous contact with an English Christian. But he knew he couldn't deny her this opportunity to hear of places closer to her heart than Persia, so he sat and wrote the letter.\n\n\"I am Bostock. Charles Bostock.\"\n\nAt a glance, Rob remembered. On his first return to London after becoming the barbersurgeon's boy, he and Barber had ridden for two days in the protection of Bostock's long line of packhorses laden with salt from the brine works at Arundel. In camp they had juggled and the merchant had given Rob tuppence to spend when he reached London.\n\n\"Jesse ben Benjamin. Physician of this place.\"\n\n\"Your invitation was writ in English. And you speak my language.\"\n\nThe answer could only be the one Rob had established in Ispahan. \"I was reared in the town of Leeds.\" He was more amused than concerned. Fourteen years had passed. The puppy he had once been had grown into a strange sort of a dog, he told himself, and there was little likelihood that Bostock could connect that juggling boy with this over-tall Jewish physician to whose Persian home Bostock had been drawn.\n\n\"And this is my wife Mary, who is a Scot from the north country.\"\n\n\"Mistress.\"\n\nMary had ached for finery but her ponderous belly had made her best blue dress an impossibility and she wore a loose, tentlike black gown. But her scrubbed red hair gleamed richly. She wore an embroidered headband and her only piece of jewelry, a little crochet of seed pearls that hung between her brows.\n\nBostock still had long hair held back with bows and ribbons, but now his hair was more gray than yellow. The ornate red velvet suit he wore, complete with soiled embroidery, was too warm for the clime and too costly for the occasion. Never were eyes so sharply weighing, Rob thought, so obviously calculating the worth of every animal, the house, their raiment, each piece of furniture. And with a mixture of curiosity and distaste assessing the swarthy and bearded Jew, the Celtic red-haired wife so perfectly ripe with child, and the sleeping baby who was further proof of the shameful union of this mixed pair.\n\nDespite his unhidden displeasure the visitor yearned to hear English as eagerly as they, and all three soon were chattering. Rob and Mary could not restrain themselves and their questions poured forth.\n\n\"Have you intelligence of Scots' lands?\"\n\n\"Was it good times or bad when you departed London?\"\n\n\"Was it peace there?\"\n\n\"Was Canute still the king?\"\n\nBostock was made to sing for his supper, though the latest news was almost two years old. He knew naught of the lands of the Scots nor of the north of England. Times had remained prosperous and London was growing apace, with more dwellings being raised each year and the ships straining the facilities of the Thames. Two months before he had left England, Bostock reported, King Canute had died a natural death, and the day he had landed in Calais he learned of the death of Robert I, Duke of Normandy.\n\n\"Bastards now rule on both sides of the Channel. In Normandy, Robert's illegitimate son William, although he is still a boy, has become Duke of Normandy with the help of his dead father's friends and kinsmen.\n\n\"In England, succession rightfully belonged to Harthacnut, the son of Canute and Queen Emma, but for years Harthacnut has made an un-British life in Denmark and so the throne has been usurped by his younger half-brother. Harold Harefoot, whom Canute had acknowledged to be his bastard son out of a little-known Northampton woman named Aelfgifu, is now the King of England.\"\n\n\"Where are Edward and Alfred, the two princes Emma bore by King Aethelred before her marriage to King Canute?\" Rob asked.\n\n\"They are in Normandy under the protection of Duke William's court, and it may be presumed that they are gazing across the Channel with great interest,\" Bostock said.\n\nStarved as they were for details of home, by now the smells of Mary's meal had made all three hungry for food as well, and the merchant's eyes warmed somewhat when he saw what she had prepared in his honor.\n\nA brace of pheasants, well oiled and frequently basted, stuffed in the Persian manner with rice and grapes, and pot-cooked slowly and long. A summer salad. Sweet melons. An apricot-and-honey tart. Not least, a skin of good pinkish wine, bought at expense and peril. Mary had gone with Rob to the Jewish market, where at first Hinda had vehemently denied she had wine, glancing about fearfully to see who had overheard their request. After much pleading and the exchange of three times the ordinary cost, a wineskin had been dug from the middle of a bag of grain and Mary had carried it home hidden from the mullahs in the sling next to her sleeping child.\n\nBostock devoted himself to the meal but presently, after a great belch, declared that he would be leaving for Europe in a few days' time.\n\n\"Reaching Constantinople on churchly business, I couldn't resist continuing eastward. Know you that the King of England will elevate to thane any merchant-adventurer who dares to make three trips to open foreign parts to English trade? Well, that is true, and it's a fine way for a free man to attain noble rank and at the same time gain high profits. 'Silks,' I thought. If I might follow the Silk Road I could bring back cargo that would allow me to buy London! I was happy to reach Persia, where I have bought, instead of silks, rugs and fine weavings. But I shall never return here, for there's little profit in it\u2014I must pay a small army to get them back to England.\"\n\nWhen Rob sought to find similarity in their eastward routes of travel, Bostock revealed that from England he had gone first to Rome. \"Combining business with an errand for Aethelnoth, the Archbishop of Canterbury. At the Lateran Palace, Pope Benedict IX promised me ample reward for expeditiones in terra et mari and commanded me in the name of Christ Jesus to ply my merchant's way to Constantinople, there to deliver papal letters to Patriarch Alexius.\"\n\n\"A papal legate!\" Mary exclaimed.\n\nLess a legate than a messenger, Rob surmised drily, though it was plain Bostock enjoyed Mary's wonder.\n\n\"For six hundred years, Eastern Church has disputed Western Church,\" the merchant said, thick with importance. \"In Constantinople Alexius is viewed as the Pope's equal, to Holy Rome's aversion. The Patriarch's damned bearded priests marry\u2014they marry! And they neither pray to Jesus and Mary nor treat the Trinity with sufficient awe. Thus the letters of complaint are carried to and fro.\"\n\nThe ewer was empty and Rob took it into the next room to replenish it from the wineskin.\n\n\"Are you a Christian?\"\n\n\"I am,\" she said.\n\n\"Then how have you become chattel to this Jew? Were you taken by pirates or Muslims and sold to him?\"\n\n\"I am his wife,\" she said clearly.\n\nIn the next room Rob paused in the task of filling the ewer with wine and listened, his lips drawn in a mirthless grin. So great was the Englishman's contempt for him that Bostock didn't bother to lower his voice.\n\n\"I would accommodate my caravan for you and the child. You could have a litter and bearers until you've given birth and are able to sit a horse.\"\n\n\"It is not a possibility, Master Bostock. I am my husband's, gladly and by agreement,\" Mary said, but she thanked him coolly.\n\nHe replied with grave courtesy that it was Christian duty, what he would want another man to offer his own daughter if, Jesus forbid, she might find herself in similar circumstances.\n\nRob Cole returned wishing to do Bostock bodily harm, but Jesse ben Benjamin behaved with Eastern hospitality, pouring wine for his guest instead of throttling him. Conversation was resentful and sparse, however. The English merchant departed almost immediately after he was done eating, and Rob and Mary were left with one another.\n\nThey were occupied with their own thoughts as they gathered up the ruins of the meal.\n\nFinally she said, \"Shall we ever go home?\"\n\nHe was astonished. \"Of course we shall.\"\n\n\"Bostock was not my only chance?\"\n\n\"I swear it.\"\n\nHer eyes glistened. \"He's right to hire a protecting army. The journey is so dangerous \u2026 how shall two children travel so far and survive?\"\n\nThere was more of her than fit, but he took her carefully into his arms. \"After we reach Constantinople we will be Christians, and we will join a strong caravan.\"\n\n\"And between here and Constantinople?\"\n\n\"I learned the secret as I traveled here.\" He helped her to lower herself to the mat. It was difficult for her now, because no matter how she lay, soon some part of her ached. He held her and stroked her head, talking to her as though telling a comforting story to a child. \"From Ispahan to Constantinople I shall remain Jesse ben Benjamin. And we shall be taken in by Jewish village after Jewish village, and fed and safeguarded and guided, like a man crossing a dangerous stream by stepping from one safe rock to another.\" He touched her face. Placing his palm on the great warm stomach he felt the unborn child move and was filled with gratitude and pity. That is how it would happen, he assured himself. But he couldn't tell her when it would come to pass.\n\nHe had become accustomed to sleeping with his body curled around the huge hardness of her stomach but one night he was awakened to feel wetness as well as warmth, and when he had gathered his wits he struggled into his clothes and ran for Nitka the Midwife. Although she was accustomed to people hammering on her door while the world slept, she emerged cranky and snappish, ordering him to be quiet and patient.\n\n\"She has cast out her water.\"\n\n\"All right, all right,\" she grumbled.\n\nSoon they made a caravan through the black street, Rob lighting the way with a torch, Nitka following with a great bag of washed rags, trailed by her two burly sons grunting and gasping under the weight of the birthing chair.\n\nChofni and Shemuel set the chair next to the fireplace like a throne and Nitka ordered Rob to kindle a fire, for in the middle of the night the air was cool. Mary climbed into the chair like a naked queen. When the sons left they carried away Rob J. for safekeeping during his mother's labor. In Yehuddiyyeh neighbors did such things for one another, even when one of them was a goya.\n\nMary lost her royal bearing with the first pain, and the grunting, grinding cry that issued from her throat filled Rob with dismay. The chair was of stout construction so it could withstand any amount of bucking and thrashing and Nitka went about the task of folding and stacking her rags, obviously undisturbed as Mary gripped the handles at the side of the chair and sobbed.\n\nHer legs trembled all the time but during the terrible cramping they shook and jerked. After the third pain Rob stood behind her and pulled her shoulders against the back of the chair. Mary showed her teeth and snarled like a wolf; he wouldn't have been surprised if she had bitten him or howled.\n\nHe had cut off men's limbs and become inured to every foul disease, but he felt the blood rushing from his head. The midwife looked at him hard and, taking a fold of flesh on his arm between her wiry fingers, she squeezed. The painful pinch restored his senses and he did not disgrace himself.\n\n\"Out,\" Nitka said. \"Out, out!\"\n\nSo he went into the garden and stood in the dark, listening to the sounds that followed him out of the house. It was cool and quiet; he thought briefly about vipers coming out of the stone wall and decided he didn't care. He lost track of time, but eventually knew that the fire would be in need of tending, so he went back inside to replenish it.\n\nWhen he looked at Mary, her knees were spread wide.\n\n\"Now you will bear down,\" Nitka commanded sternly. \"Work, my friend. Work!\"\n\nTransfixed, he saw the crown of the baby's head appear between his wife's thighs, like the pate of a monk with a wet red tonsure, and he fled for the garden again. He was there a long time until he heard the thin wail, then he went back in and saw the infant.\n\n\"Another boy,\" Nitka said briskly, clearing mucus from the tiny mouth with the tip of her little finger.\n\nThe thick, ropy umbilicus looked blue in the thin light of dawn.\n\n\"It was much easier than the first time,\" Mary told him.\n\nNitka cleaned and comforted, and gave Rob the afterbirth to bury in the garden. The midwife accepted generous payment with a satisfied nod and went home.\n\nWhen they were alone in their bedchamber they embraced, then Mary asked for water and christened the child Thomas Scott Cole.\n\nRob held and examined him: slightly smaller than his older brother had been, but not a runt. A lusty, ruddy man-child with round brown eyes and a patch of dark hair that already contained glints of his mother's redness. He decided that in the eyes and the shape of the head, the wide mouth and the long, narrow little fingers, the new child bore close resemblance to his brothers William Stewart and Jonathan Carter when they were newly born. It was always easy to tell a Cole baby, he told Mary."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE DIAGNOSIS",
                "text": "Qasim had been keeper of the dead for two months when the pain returned to his abdomen.\n\n\"What is it like?\" Rob asked him.\n\n\"It is bad, Hakim.\"\n\nBut obviously it wasn't as bad as it had been before. \"Is it a dull pain, or sharp?\"\n\n\"It is as if a djinn lives within me and claws at my insides, twisting and tearing.\" The former drover succeeded in terrifying himself; he gazed beseechingly at Rob for reassurance that this was not indeed the case.\n\nHe wasn't feverish as he had been during the attack that had brought him to the maristan, nor was his abdomen rigid. Rob prescribed frequent dosing with a honey-and-wine infusion, which Qasim took to eagerly since he was a drinker and had been sorely tried by the enforced religious abstinence.\n\nQasim spent several pleasant weeks, slightly inebriated as he lazed about the hospital exchanging views and opinions. There was much to gossip about. The latest news was that Imam Qandrasseh had deserted the city, despite his obvious political and tactical victory over the Shah.\n\nIt was rumored Qandrasseh had fled to the Seljuk Turks, and that when he returned it would be with an attacking Seljuk army to depose Al\u0101 and place a strict Islamic religionist\u2014perhaps himself?\u2014on the throne of Persia. In the meantime, life was unchanged and pairs of somber mullahs continued to patrol the streets, for the wily old Imam had left his disciple, Musa Ibn Abbas, as keeper of the faith in Ispahan.\n\nThe Shah remained in the House of Paradise as if in hiding. He didn't hold audiences. Rob hadn't heard from Al\u0101 since Karim had been put to death. There was no summoning to entertainment, no hunting or games or invitations to the court. When a physician was required at the House of Paradise in place of the indisposed Ibn Sina, al-Juzjani or someone else was demanded, but never Rob.\n\nBut a gift for the new son had come from the Shah.\n\nIt arrived following the Hebrew naming of the baby. This time Rob knew enough to invite the neighbors himself. Reb Asher Jacobi the mohel asked that the child might grow in vigor to a life of good works, and cut off the foreskin. The babe was given suck on a wine sop to quiet his yowl of pain and in the Tongue was declared to be Tam, son of Jesse.\n\nAl\u0101 had bestowed no gift when little Rob J. was born, but now he sent a handsome small rug, light blue wool interwoven with lustrous silk threads of the same shade and embossed in darker blue with the crest of the royal Samanid family.\n\nRob thought it a handsome rug and would have laid it on the floor next to the cradle, but Mary, who was pettish following the birth, said she didn't want it there. Instead, she bought a sandalwood chest that would protect it from moths and put it away.\n\nRob participated in an examining board. He knew he was there in Ibn Sina's absence and it shamed him that someone might think him presumptuous enough to assume he could take the place of the Prince of Physicians.\n\nBut there was no help for it, so he did his best. He prepared for the board as though he were a candidate himself and not an examiner. He asked thoughtful questions designed not to undo a candidate but to bring out knowledge, and he listened attentively to the answers. The board examined four candidates and made three physicians. There was embarrassment over the fourth man. Gabri Beidhawi had been a medical clerk for five years. He had failed the testing twice before, but his father was a rich and powerful man who had flattered and cozened the hadji Davout Hosein, the administrator of the madrassa, and Hosein had requested that Beidhawi be tested again.\n\nRob had been a student with Beidhawi and knew him for a lazy wastrel, careless and callous in treating patients. During the third examining he showed himself to be ill prepared.\n\nRob knew what Ibn Sina would have done. \"I reject the candidate,\" he said firmly and with little regret. The other examiners hastened to concur, and the board was adjourned.\n\nSeveral days after the examinations, Ibn Sina came to the maristan.\n\n\"Welcome back, Master!\" Rob said, gladdened.\n\nIbn Sina shook his head. \"I haven't returned.\" He appeared tired and worn, and he told Rob he had come for an evaluation which he wished performed by al-Juzjani and Jesse ben Benjamin.\n\nThey sat with him in an examining room and talked with him, gathering the history of his complaint as he had taught them to do.\n\nHe had waited at home, hoping soon to resume his duties, he told them. But he had never recovered from the twin shocks of losing first Reza and then Despina, and he had begun to look and feel poorly.\n\nHe had felt lassitude and weakness, an inability to make the effort required for the simplest of tasks. At first he had attributed his symptoms to acute melancholia. \"For we all know well that the spirit can do terrible and strange things to the body.\"\n\nBut lately his bowel movements had become explosive and his stools had been besmeared with mucus, pus, and blood; and so he had requested this medical examination.\n\nThey performed the search as though they would never have another chance to inspect a human being. They overlooked nothing. Ibn Sina sat with sweet patience and allowed them to prod and press and thump and listen and question.\n\nWhen they were through, al-Juzjani was pale but put on an optimistic face. \"It is the bloody flux, Master, brought on by the aggravation of your emotions.\"\n\nBut Rob's intuition had told him something else. He looked at his beloved teacher. \"I believe it is schirri, the early stages.\"\n\nIbn Sina blinked once. \"Cancer of the intestine?\" he said, as calmly as if talking to a patient he had never met.\n\nRob nodded, trying not to think of the slow torture of the disease.\n\nAl-Juzjani was ruddy with rage at being overruled, but Ibn Sina soothed him. That is why he had asked for the two of them, Rob realized\u2014he had known al-Juzjani would be so blinded with love he would be unable to find a loathsome truth.\n\nRob's legs felt weak. He took Ibn Sina's hands in his own, and their eyes met and held. \"You are still strong, Master. You must keep your bowels open, to guard against the accumulation of black bile that would cause the cancer to grow.\"\n\nThe Chief Physician nodded.\n\n\"I pray I've made an error in diagnosis,\" Rob said.\n\nIbn Sina favored him with a small smile. \"Prayer can do no hurt.\"\n\nHe told Ibn Sina he would like to visit him soon and pass an evening with the Shah's Game, and the old man said Jesse ben Benjamin would always be welcome in his house."
            },
            {
                "title": "GREEN MELONS",
                "text": "On a dry and dusty day near the end of the summer, out of the haze to the northeast came a caravan of one hundred and sixteen belled camels. The beasts, all in a line and spewing ropy saliva under the exertion of carrying heavy loads of iron ore, wound into Ispahan late in the afternoon. Al\u0101 had hoped Dhan Vangalil would use the ore to make many weapons of blue patterned steel. Tests by the swordsmith, alas, subsequently would prove the iron in the ore to be too soft for that purpose, but by nightfall news brought by the caravan had created a stir of excitement among some in the city.\n\nA man named Khendi, the caravan's captain of drovers, was summoned to the palace to repeat details of the intelligence for the Shah's own ears, and then he was taken to the maristan to tell his tale to the doctors there.\n\nOver a period of months Mahmud, the Sultan of Ghazna, had become gravely ill, with fever and so much pus in his chest that it caused a broad, soft bulge in his back, and his physicians had decided that if Mahmud was to live, this lump would have to be drained.\n\nOne of the details Khendi brought was that the Sultan's back had been smeared with a thin wash of potter's clay.\n\n\"Why was that?\" one of the newest physicians asked.\n\nKhendi shrugged, but al-Juzjani, who served as their leader in Ibn Sina's absence, knew the answer. \"The clay must be watched attentively, for the first patch to dry indicates the hottest part of the skin and is therefore the best place for cutting.\"\n\nWhen the surgeons opened the Sultan corruption sprang forth, Khendi said, and to rid Mahmud of the remaining pus, they inserted drains.\n\n\"Did the cutting scalpel have a round blade or a pointed one?\" al-Juzjani asked.\n\n\"Did they dose him for the pain?\"\n\n\"Were the drains fashioned of tin or of linen wicks?\"\n\n\"Was the pus dark or white?\"\n\n\"Were there traces of blood in it?\"\n\n\"Lords! My lords, I am a drovers' captain and not a hakim!\" Khendi exclaimed in anguish. \"I have the answers to none of these questions. I know only one thing more, masters.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" al-Juzjani asked.\n\n\"Three days after they cut him, lords, the Sultan of Ghazna was dead.\"\n\nThey had been two young lions, Al\u0101 and Mahmud. Each had come early to his throne to follow a strong father, and each had kept the other in sight while their kingdoms watched, aware that one day they would clash, that Ghazna would eat Persia or Persia would eat Ghazna.\n\nIt had never come to pass. They had circled each other warily and at times their forces had skirmished, but each had waited, sensing the time was not right for total war. Yet Mahmud never was out of Al\u0101's thoughts. Often the Shah dreamed of him. It was always the same dream, with their armies massed and eager and Al\u0101 riding out alone toward Mahmud's fierce Afghan tribesmen, hurling down the single combat call to the Sultan as Ardashir had roared challenge to Ardewan, the survivor to claim his destiny as the true and proven King of Kings.\n\nNow Allah had intervened and Al\u0101 would never meet Mahmud in combat. In the four days after the arrival of the camel caravan, three experienced and trusted spies rode separately into Ispahan and spent time in the House of Paradise, and from their reports the Shah began to perceive a clear picture of what had occurred in the capital city of Ghazni.\n\nImmediately following the Sultan's death, Mahmud's son Muhammad had attempted to mount the throne but was thwarted by his brother Abu Said Mas\u016bd, a young warrior with the firm support of the army. Within hours, Muhammad was a shackled prisoner and Mas\u016bd had been declared Sultan. Mahmud's funeral was a wild affair, part grim leavetaking and part frenzied celebration, and when it was through Mas\u016bd had called his chieftains together and declared his intention to do what his father never had done: the army was put on notice that it would march against Ispahan within days.\n\nIt was intelligence that would finally bring Al\u0101 out of the House of Paradise.\n\nThe planned invasion was not unwelcome to him, for two reasons. Mas\u016bd was impetuous and untried, and Al\u0101 was pleased by the chance to pit his generalship against the stripling's. And because there was something in the Persian soul that loved war, he was shrewd enough to realize that the conflict would be embraced by his people as a foil to the pious restrictions under which the mullahs had forced them to live.\n\nHe held military meetings that were small celebrations, with wine and women making their appearances at the proper times, as in days gone by. Al\u0101 and his commanders pored over their charts and saw that from Ghazna there was only one route that was feasible for a large force. Mas\u016bd must cross the clay ridges and foothills to the north of the Dasht-i-Kavir, skirting the great desert until his army was deep into Hamadh\u0101n. Thence they would turn south.\n\nBut Al\u0101 decided that a Persian army would march to Hamadh\u0101n and meet them before they could fall upon Ispahan.\n\nThe preparations of Al\u0101's army was the sole topic of conversation, not to be escaped even in the maristan, though Rob tried. He didn't think of the impending war because he wished no part of it. His debt to Al\u0101, while it had been considerable, was paid. The raids in India had convinced him he never wanted to go soldiering again.\n\nSo he worried and waited for a royal summons that didn't come.\n\nIn the meantime he worked hard. Qasim's abdominal pains had disappeared; to the former drover's delight Rob continued to prescribe a daily portion of wine and returned him to his duties in the charnel house. Rob was caring for more patients than ever, for al-Juzjani had taken on many of the duties of Chief Physician and had turned over a number of his patients to other physicians, Rob among them.\n\nHe was stunned to hear that Ibn Sina had volunteered to lead the surgeons who would accompany Al\u0101's army north. Al-Juzjani, who had gotten over his anger or hidden it, told him.\n\n\"A waste, to send such a mind to war.\"\n\nAl-Juzjani shrugged. \"The Master wishes one last campaign.\"\n\n\"He is old and won't survive.\"\n\n\"He has looked old forever but he hasn't yet lived sixty years.\" Al-Juzjani sighed bitterly. \"I believe he hopes an arrow or a spear will find him. It wouldn't be tragedy to meet a quicker death than now appears to lie in store for him.\"\n\nThe Prince of Physicians quickly let it be known that he had chosen a party of eleven to accompany him as surgeons to the Persian army. Four were medical students, three were the newest of the young doctors, and four were veteran physicians.\n\nNow al-Juzjani became Chief Physician in title as well as in fact. It was a grim promotion in that it caused the medical community to realize that Ibn Sina would not be back as their leader.\n\nTo Rob's surprise and consternation he was named to fill some of the duties al-Juzjani had performed for Ibn Sina, although there were a number of more experienced physicians al-Juzjani could have selected. Also, since five of the twelve who had gone with the army were teachers, he was told he would be expected to lecture more often and to teach when he visited his patients in the maristan.\n\nIn addition, he was made a permanent member of the examining board and was asked to serve on the committee that oversaw the cooperation between the hospital and the school. His first meeting on the committee was held in the lavish home of Rotun bin Nasr, governor of the school. The title was an honorific and the governor didn't bother to attend, but he had made his home available and had left orders that a fine meal should be served to the gathered physicians.\n\nThe first course consisted of slices of large green-fleshed melons of singular flavor and melting sweetness. Rob had tasted this type of melon only once before and was about to remark on it when his former teacher, Jalal-ul-Din, grinned widely at him. \"We may thank the governor's new bride for the delicious fruit.\"\n\nRob didn't understand.\n\nThe bonesetter winked. \"Rotun bin Nasr is a general and the Shah's cousin, as you may know. Al\u0101 visited here last week to plan the war and no doubt met the youngest wife. After royal seeds have been planted, there is always a gift of Al\u0101's special melons. And if the seeds result in a male crop, then there is a princely gift, a Samanid rug.\"\n\nHe didn't manage to get through the meal but pleaded illness and left the meeting. With his mind in turmoil he rode straight to the house in Yehuddiyyeh. Rob J. was off playing in the garden with his mother but the infant was in the cradle and Rob took Tam into his arms and inspected him.\n\nJust a small, new baby. The same child he had loved when he left the house that morning.\n\nHe returned the boy and went to the sandalwood chest and removed the carpet bestowed by the Shah. He spread it on the floor next to the cradle.\n\nWhen he glanced up, Mary was in the doorway.\n\nThey looked at one another. It became a fact then, and the pain and pity he experienced for her was wrenching.\n\nHe went to her, intending to take her into his arms, but instead he found that both of his hands were gripping her very tightly. He tried to speak but no words came.\n\nShe tore away and kneaded her upper arms.\n\n\"You have kept us here. I have kept us alive,\" she said with contempt. The sadness in her eyes had changed to something cold, the reverse of love.\n\nThat afternoon she moved out of his chamber. She bought a narrow pallet and set it down between the sleeping places of her children, next to the carpet of the Samanid princes."
            },
            {
                "title": "QASIM'S ROOM",
                "text": "Unable to sleep all that night, he felt bewitched, as if the ground had disappeared beneath his feet and he must walk a long way on air. It wasn't unusual for someone in his situation to kill the mother and the child, he reflected, but he knew Tam and Mary were safe in the next room. He was haunted by mad thoughts but he wasn't mad.\n\nIn the morning he rose and went to the maristan, where all was not well either. Four of the nurses had been taken into the army by Ibn Sina as litter bearers and collectors of the wounded, and al-Juzjani had not yet found four more who met his standards. The nurses who were left in the maristan were overworked and sullen, and Rob visited his patients and did his physician's work unassisted, sometimes pausing to clean up what a nurse had not had time to set right, or bathe a feverish face or fetch water to ease a dry and thirsty mouth.\n\nHe came upon Qasim ibn Sahdi lying whey-faced and groaning, the floor next to him soiled with vomitus.\n\nIll, Qasim had left his room next to the charnel house and given himself a place as a patient, aware that Rob would find him as he made his way through the maristan.\n\nHe had been afflicted several times within the past week, Qasim said.\n\n\"But why have you not told me!\"\n\n\"Lord, I had my wine. I took my wine and the pain went away. But now the wine doesn't help, Hakim, and I cannot bear it.\"\n\nHe felt feverish but not burning, and his abdomen was tender but soft. Sometimes in his pain he panted like a dog; his tongue was coated and his breath was strong.\n\n\"I'll make you an infusion.\"\n\n\"Allah will bless you, lord.\"\n\nRob went directly to the pharmacy. In the red wine Qasim loved he steeped opiates and buing, then hurried back to his patient. The eyes of the old keeper of the charnel house were filled with fearful portent as he swallowed the potion.\n\nThrough the thin fabric screens of the open windows, sounds had been invading the maristan in increasing volume, and when Rob went outside he saw that the city had turned out to bid its army farewell.\n\nHe followed the people to the maidans. This army was too large to be contained in the squares. It spilled over and filled the streets throughout the central portion of the city. Not hundreds, as in the raiding party that had gone to India, but thousands. Long ranks of heavy infantry, longer ranks of lightly armed men. Javelin hurlers. Lancers on horses, and sword cavalry on ponies and camels. The press of the crowd was tremendous, as was the hubbub: cries of farewell, weeping, the screams of women, obscene badinage, commands, words of farewell and encouragement.\n\nHe pushed his way forward like a man swimming against the human tide, through the stink, an amalgam of human odor and camel sweat and horseshit. The sun-glitter on the polished weapons was blinding. At the head of the line were the elephants. Rob counted thirty-four. Al\u0101 was committing all the war elephants he owned.\n\nRob didn't see Ibn Sina. He had made his farewells to several of the departing physicians in the maristan, but Ibn Sina hadn't come to say goodbye nor had he summoned Rob, and it was obvious he preferred no words of leavetaking.\n\nHere came the royal musicians. Some blew long golden trumpets and others rang silver bells, heralding the swaying approach of the great elephant Zi, a ponderous force. The mahout Harsha was dressed in white and the Shah clad in the blue silks and red turban that was his costume for going to war.\n\nThe people roared in ecstasy at seeing their warrior king. As he raised his hand in royal greeting, they knew he was promising them Ghazna. Rob studied the Shah's rigid back; at that moment, Al\u0101 was not Al\u0101\u2014he had become Xerxes, he had become Darius, he had become Cyrus the Great. He was all conquerors to all men.\n\nWe are four friends. We are four friends. Rob felt dizzy, thinking of the occasions when it would have been so easy to kill him.\n\nHe was far back in the crowd. Even if he had been up front, he would have been cut down the moment he hurled himself at the king.\n\nHe turned away. He didn't wait with the others to see the departing parade of those bound to glory or to death. He struggled out of the crowd and walked unseeingly until he came to the banks of Zayendeh, the River of Life.\n\nHe took from his finger the ring of massy gold Al\u0101 had given him for his service in India and dropped it into the brown water. Then, while in the distance the crowd roared and roared, he walked back to the maristan.\n\nQasim had been dosed heavily with the infusion but he appeared to be very ill. His eyes were vacant, his countenance pale and sunken. Though the day was warm he was shivering, and Rob covered him with a blanket. Soon the blanket was soaked and when he felt Qasim's face, it was hot.\n\nBy late afternoon the pain had become so powerful that when Rob touched his abdomen, the old man screamed.\n\nRob didn't go home. He stayed in the maristan, returning often to Qasim's pallet.\n\nThat evening, in the midst of Qasim's agony, there was complete relief. For a time his breathing was quiet and even, and he slept. Rob dared hope, but within a few hours he was reclaimed by fever and his body became ever hotter, his pulse rapid and at times barely perceptible.\n\nHe tossed and thrashed in delirium. \"Nuwas,\" he called. \"Ah, Nuwas.\" Sometimes he spoke to his father or to his uncle Nili, and again and again to the unknown Nuwas.\n\nRob took his hands and his heart sank; he didn't let go, for now he could offer only his presence and the meager comfort of a human touch. At length the labored breathing simply slowed and then stopped. He was still holding the callused hands when Qasim died.\n\nHe placed one arm beneath the knobby knees and the other under the bare bony shoulders and carried the body into the charnel house, then he went into the room next door. It stank; he would have to see that it was scrubbed. He sat among Qasim's belongings, which were few: one extra garment, shabby; a prayer rug, tattered; some paper sheets and a tanned leather on which Qasim had paid a scribe to copy several prayers from the Qu'ran. Two flasks of forbidden wine. A loaf of stale Armenian bread and a bowl of rancid green olives. A cheap dagger with a nicked blade.\n\nIt was past midnight and most of the hospital slept. Now and again a patient cried out or wept. Nobody saw him remove Qasim's meager belongings from the little room. While he was carrying in the wooden table he met a nurse, but the shortage of help had given the man courage to look the other way and hurry past the hakim before he could be given more work than he already had.\n\nIn the room, under two of the legs at one end Rob placed a board so the table tilted, and on the floor under the lower end he set a basin. He needed ample light and he prowled the hospital, stealing four lamps and a dozen candles, which he set around the table as though it were an altar. Then he brought Qasim from the charnel house and laid him on the table.\n\nEven as Qasim lay dying, Rob had known he would break the commandment.\n\nYet now the moment was at hand and he found it difficult to breathe. He wasn't an ancient Egyptian embalmer who could call in a despised paraschiste to open the body and absorb the sin. The act and the sin, if any, must be his own.\n\nHe picked up a curved, probe-tipped surgical knife called a bistoury and made the incision, slicing open the abdomen from the groin to the sternum. The flesh parted crisply and began to ooze blood.\n\nHe didn't know how to proceed and he flayed the skin away from the sternum, then he lost his nerve. In all his life he had had but two peer friends and each had died by having his body cavity cruelly violated. If he were caught he would die the same way but in addition there would be flaying, the ultimate agony. He left the little room and nervously prowled the hospital, but those who were awake paid him no heed. He still felt as though the ground had opened up and he walked on air, but now he believed he was peering deep into the abyss.\n\nHe fetched a small-toothed bone saw to the makeshift little laboratory and sawed through the sternum in imitation of the wound that had killed Mirdin in India. At the bottom of the incision he cut from the groin to the inside of the thigh, making a large, clumsy flap that he was able to fold back, exposing the abdominal cavity. Beneath the pink belly the stomach wall was red meat and whitish strands of muscle, and even in skinny Qasim there were yellow globules of fat.\n\nThe thin inner lining of the abdominal wall was inflamed and covered with a coagulable substance. The organs appeared healthy to his dazzled eyes except for the small intestine, which was reddened and angry in many places. Even the smallest vessels were so filled with blood they looked as if they had been injected with red wax. A little pouchy part of the gut was unusually black and adhered to the abdominal lining; when he attempted to separate them gently by pulling, the membranes broke and exposed two or three spoonfuls of pus, the infection that had caused Qasim so much pain. He suspected that Qasim's agony had stopped when the diseased tissue had ruptured. A thin, dark-colored, fetid fluid had escaped from the inflammation into the cavity of the abdomen. He dipped a fingertip into it and sniffed it with interest, for this might be the poison that had produced fever and death.\n\nHe wanted to examine the other organs but he was afraid.\n\nHe sewed up the opening carefully, so that if the holy men were right and Qasim ibn Sahdi should be resurrected from the grave, he would be whole. Then he crossed the wrists and tied them and used a large cloth to bind the old man's loins. He carefully wrapped the body in a shroud and returned it to the charnel house to await burial in the morning.\n\n\"Thank you, Qasim,\" he said somberly. \"May you rest.\"\n\nTaking a single candle to the maristan baths, he scrubbed himself clean and changed his garments. But still he fancied the odor of death remained on him and he rinsed his hands and arms in perfume.\n\nOutside, in the darkness, he was still afraid. He could not believe what he had done.\n\nIt was almost dawn when he settled himself onto his pallet. In the morning he slept deeply and Mary's face turned to stone as she breathed another woman's flowery scent that seemed to foul their house."
            },
            {
                "title": "IBN SINA'S ERROR",
                "text": "Yussuful-Gamal beckoned Rob into the scholarly shade of the library. \"I want to show you a treasure.\"\n\nIt was a thick book, an obviously new copy of Ibn Sina's masterwork, Canon of Medicine.\n\n\"This Qan\u016bn isn't owned by the House of Wisdom. It is a copy made by a scribe of my acquaintance. It is for sale.\"\n\nAh. Rob picked it up. It was lovingly done, the letters black and crisp on each ivory-colored page. It was a codex, a book with many gatherings\u2014large sheets of vellum folded and then cut so each page could be freely turned. The gatherings had been finely stitched between covers of soft tanned lambskin.\n\n\"It is costly?\"\n\nYussuf nodded.\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"He will sell for eighty silver bestis. Because he needs money.\" He pursed his lips, aware he didn't have that much. Mary had a large sum, her father's money, but he and Mary no longer \u2026\n\nRob shook his head.\n\nYussuf sighed. \"I felt you should own it.\"\n\n\"When must it be sold?\"\n\nYussuf shrugged. \"I can keep it for two weeks.\"\n\n\"All right, then. Keep it.\"\n\nThe librarian looked at him doubtfully. \"Will you have the money then, Hakim?\"\n\n\"If it is God's will.\"\n\nYussuf smiled. \"Yes. Imshallah.\"\n\nHe placed a stout hasp and a heavy lock on the door of the chamber next to the charnel house. He brought in a second table, a steel, a fork, a small knife, several sharp scalpels, and the kind of chisel stonecutters call a quarrel; a drawing board, paper and charcoals and leads; thongs, clay and wax, quills, and an inkstand.\n\nOne day he took several strong students to the market and brought back the fresh carcass of a hog, with no little effort. No one appeared to think it odd when he said he would do some dissecting in the little room.\n\nThat night, alone, he carried in the corpse of a young woman who had died a few hours before and placed her on the empty table. Her name had been Melia.\n\nThis time he was more eager and less afraid. He had thought about his fear and didn't think he was driven to his actions by witchery or the work of a djinn. He believed he had been allowed to become a physician to work toward the protection of God's finest creation, and that the Almighty wouldn't frown at his learning more about so complex and interesting a creature.\n\nOpening both the pig and the woman, he prepared to make a careful comparison of the two anatomies.\n\nBecause he began his double inspection in the area where abdominal distemper takes place, he was brought up short at once. The pig's cecum, the pouchlike gut from which the large intestine began, was substantial, almost eighteen inches long. But the woman's cecum was tiny in comparison, only two or three inches long and as wide as Rob's little finger. And halloo! \u2026 attached to this tiny cecum was \u2026 something. It looked like nothing so much as a pink worm, uncovered in the garden, picked up and placed within the woman's belly.\n\nThe pig on the other table did not have a wormlike attachment, and Rob had never observed a similar appendage on a pig's bowel.\n\nHe drew no swift conclusions. He thought at first that the small size of the woman's cecum might be an anomaly, and that the wormlike thing was a rare tumor or some other growth.\n\nHe prepared the corpse of Melia for burial as carefully as he had done with Qasim, and returned her to the charnel house.\n\nBut in the nights that followed he opened the bodies of a stripling youth, a middle-aged woman, and a six-week-old male infant. In each case, with rising excitement, he found that the same tiny appendage was there. The \"worm\" was a part of every person\u2014one tiny proof that the organs of a human being were not the same as the organs of a swine.\n\nOh, you damned Ibn Sina. \"You bloody old man,\" he whispered. \"You're wrong!\"\n\nDespite what Celsus had written, despite what had been taught for a thousand years, men and women were unique. And if this was so, who knew how many magnificent mysteries might be uncovered and answered simply by looking for them within the bodies of human beings.\n\nAll his life Rob had been alone and lonely until he had met her, and now he was lonely again and could not bear it. One night when he came into the house he lay down next to her between the two sleeping children.\n\nHe made no move to touch her but she turned like a wild creature. Her hand found his face with a stinging blow. She was a large female and strong enough to do hurt. He took her hands and pinned them to her sides.\n\n\"Madwoman.\"\n\n\"Do not come to me from Persian harlots!\"\n\nIt was the aromatic, he realized. \"I use it because I've been dissecting animals in the maristan.\"\n\nShe said nothing for a moment but then she tried to move free. He could feel the familiar body against him as she struggled and the scent of her red hair was in his nostrils.\n\n\"Mary.\"\n\nShe became calmer; perhaps it was what was in his voice. Still, when he moved to kiss her it wouldn't have surprised him to be bitten on the mouth or the throat, but he was not. It took him a moment to realize she was kissing him back. He stopped holding her hands and was infinitely grateful to touch breasts that were rigid but not with death.\n\nHe couldn't tell if she was weeping or merely aroused because she was making little moaning sounds. He tasted her milky nipples and nuzzled her navel. Beneath this warm belly shiny pink and gray viscera were coiled and twined like sea creatures in congress, but her limbs were not stiff and cold and in the mound first one of his fingers and then two found heat and slipperiness, the stuff of life.\n\nWhen he thrust inside her they came together like clapping hands, pounding and slamming as if trying to destroy something they couldn't face. Exorcising the djinn. Her nails punished his back as she banged straight at him. There was only a quiet grunting and the slap-slap-slap of their mating until finally she cried out and then he cried out, and Tam bawled and Rob J. awoke with a scream, and together the four of them laughed or wept, the adults doing both.\n\nEventually things were sorted out. Little Rob J. returned to sleep and the infant was brought to the breast, and as she fed him, in a quiet voice she told Rob of how Ibn Sina had come to her and instructed her about what she must do. And so he heard how the woman and the old man had saved his life.\n\nHe was surprised and shocked to hear of Ibn Sina's involvement.\n\nAs for the rest, her experience was close to what he had already guessed, and after Tam fell asleep he held her in his arms and told her she was his own chosen woman for always, and smoothed the red hair and kissed the nape of her white neck where freckles didn't dare appear. When she slept too he lay and stared at the dark ceiling.\n\nIn the days that followed she smiled a lot and it saddened and angered him to see the trace of fear in the smiles, though by his actions he tried to show his love and gratitude.\n\nOne morning, caring for a sick child in the house of a member of the court, he saw next to the sleeping pallet the small blue carpet of Samanid royalty. When he looked at the boy he observed swarthy skin, a nose already hooked, a certain quality in the eyes. It was a familiar face, made even more familiar whenever he looked at his own younger son.\n\nHe broke with his schedule and went home and picked up little Tam and held him to the light. The face was brother to that of the sick child's.\n\nAnd yet Tam did also sometimes look remarkably like Rob's lost brother Willum.\n\nBefore and after the time he had spent in Idhaj on Ibn Sina's errand, he and Mary had made love. Who was to say this was not fruit of his own seed?\n\nAnd he changed the child's wet cloth and touched the small hand and kissed the so-soft cheek, and returned him to his cradle.\n\nThat night he and Mary made tender and considerate love that brought them release but wasn't the same as once it was. Afterward he went out and sat in the moon-washed garden next to the autumnal ruins of the flowers on which she had lavished her care.\n\nNothing ever remains the same, he realized. She wasn't the young woman who had followed him so trustingly into a field of wheat, and he wasn't the youth who had led her there.\n\nAnd that was not the least of the debts for which he yearned to repay Al\u0101 Shah."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE TRANSPARENT MAN",
                "text": "Out of the east there arose a dust cloud of such proportion that the lookouts confidently expected an enormous caravan, or perhaps even several great caravans merged into a single train.\n\nInstead, an army approached the city.\n\nWhen it reached the gates it was possible to identify the soldiers as Afghans from Ghazna. They stopped outside the walls and their commander, a young man wearing a dark blue robe and snowy turban, entered Ispahan accompanied by four officers. No one was there to stop him. Al\u0101's army having followed him to Hamadh\u0101n, the gates were guarded by a handful of aged troopers, old men who melted away at the foreign army's approach, so that Sultan Mas\u016bd\u2014for it was he\u2014rode into the city unchallenged. At the Friday Mosque the Afghans dismounted and went inside, where reportedly they joined the congregation at Third Prayer and then sequestered themselves for several hours with the Imam Musa Ibn Abbas and his coterie of mullahs.\n\nMost of the inhabitants of Ispahan didn't see Mas\u016bd, but as the Sultan's presence was made known, Rob and al-Juzjani were among those who went to the top of the wall and looked down upon the soldiers of Ghazna. They were tough-looking men in ragged trousers and long loose shirts. Some of them wore the ends of their turbans wrapped about their mouths and noses to keep out the dust and sand of travel, and quilted bed mats were rolled behind the small saddles of their shaggy ponies. They were in high spirits, fingering arrows and shifting their longbows as they looked upon the rich city with its unprotected women, the way wolves would look at a warren of hares, but they were disciplined and waited without violence while their leader was in the mosque. Rob wondered if among them was the Afghan who had run so well against Karim in the chatir.\n\n\"What can Mas\u016bd want with the mullahs?\" he asked al-Juzjani.\n\n\"Doubtless his spies have told him of Al\u0101's troubles with them. I think he intends to rule here some day soon and bargains with the mosques for blessings and obedience.\"\n\nIt may have been so, for soon Mas\u016bd and his aides returned to their troops and there was no pillaging. The Sultan was young, hardly more than a boy, but he and Al\u0101 could have been kinsmen: they had the same proud, cruel predator's face. They watched him unwind the clean white turban, which was then carefully stowed away, and put on a filthy black turban before he resumed the march.\n\nThe Afghans rode to the north, following the route taken by Al\u0101's army.\n\n\"The Shah was wrong in thinking they would come by way of Hamadh\u0101n.\"\n\n\"I think the main Ghazna force is in Hamadh\u0101n already,\" al-Juzjani said slowly.\n\nRob realized he was right. The departing Afghans were far fewer in number than the Persian army and there were no war elephants among them; they had to have another force. \"Then Mas\u016bd is springing a trap?\"\n\nAl-Juzjani nodded.\n\n\"We can ride to warn the Persians!\"\n\n\"It is too late, or Mas\u016bd wouldn't have left us alive. At any rate,\" al-Juzjani said with irony, \"it little matters whether Al\u0101 defeats Mas\u016bd or Mas\u016bd defeats Al\u0101. If the Imam Qandrasseh truly has gone to lead the Seljuks to Ispahan, ultimately neither Mas\u016bd nor Al\u0101 will prevail. The Seljuks are fearsome, and they are as numerous as the sands of the sea.\"\n\n\"If the Seljuks come, or if Mas\u016bd returns to take this city, what will become of the maristan?\"\n\nAl-Juzjani shrugged. \"The hospital will close for a while and we'll all scurry to hide from disaster. Then we'll come out of our holes and life will be same as before. With our Master I have served half a dozen kings. Monarchs come and go, but the world continues to need physicians,\" he said.\n\nRob asked Mary for the money for the book, and the Qan\u016bn became his. It filled him with awe to hold it in his hand. Never had he owned a book before, but so great was his delight in proprietorship of this book that he vowed there would be others.\n\nYet he didn't spend overly long reading it, for Qasim's room drew him.\n\nHe dissected several nights a week and began to use his drawing materials, hungry to do more but unable because he required a minimum of sleep in order to function in the maristan during the day.\n\nIn one of the corpses he studied, that of a young man who had been knifed in a wineshop brawl, he found the little cecum appendage enlarged and with its surface reddened and rough, and he surmised he was looking at the earliest stage of the side sickness, when the patient would begin to get the first intermittent pangs. He now had a picture of the progress of the illness from onset to death, and he wrote in his casebook:\n\nPerforating abdominal distemper has been witnessed in six patients, each of whom died.\n\nThe first decided symptom of the disease is sudden abdominal pain.\n\nThe pain is usually intense and rarely slight.\n\nOccasionally it is accompanied by an ague and more often by nausea and vomiting.\n\nThe abdominal pain is followed by fever as the next constant symptom.\n\nA circumscribed resistance is felt on palpation of the right lower belly, with the area often agonized by pressure and the abdominal muscles tense and rigid.\n\nThe condition comes to an appendage of the cecum which in appearance is not unlike a fat, pink earthworm of common variety. Should this organ become angry or infected it turns red and then black, fills with pus and finally bursts, its contents escaping into the general abdominal cavity.\n\nIn that event death follows rapidly, as a rule within half an hour to thirty-six hours of the onset of high fever.\n\nHe cut and studied only those parts of the body that would be covered by the burial shroud. This excluded the feet and the head, a frustration because he was no longer content with examining a pig's brain. His respect for Ibn Sina remained unbounded, but he had become aware that in certain areas his mentor had himself been taught incorrectly about the skeleton and the musculature and had passed on the misinformation.\n\nRob worked patiently, uncovering and sketching muscles like wire and like strands of rope, some beginning in a cord and ending in a cord, some with flat attachment, some with round attachment, some with cord only at one end, and some that were compound muscles with two heads, their special value apparently being that if one head is injured the other will take over its function. He began in ignorance and gradually, in a constant state of fevered and dreamlike excitement, he learned. He made sketches of bone and joint structure, shape, and position, realizing that such drawings would be invaluable in teaching young doctors how to deal with sprains and fractures.\n\nAlways when he finished working he shrouded and returned the bodies and took his drawings away with him. He no longer felt that he peered into the pit of his own damnation, but he never lost the awareness of the terrible end that awaited him if he were discovered. Dissecting in the uneven, flickering lamplight of the airless little room, he started at every noise and froze in terror on the rare occasion when someone walked past the door.\n\nHe had good reason for his fear.\n\nEarly one morning he removed from the charnel house the body of an elderly woman who had died only a short time before. Outside the door he looked up to see a nurse coming toward him, carrying the body of a man. The woman's head lolled and one arm swung as Rob stopped wordlessly and gazed at the nurse, who bent his head politely.\n\n\"Shall I help you with that one, Hakim?\"\n\n\"She's not heavy.\"\n\nPreceding the nurse, he went back inside and they laid the two bodies side by side and left the charnel house together.\n\nThe pig he had dissected had lasted only four days, rapidly reaching a state of ripeness that made disposal a necessity. Yet opening the human stomach and gut released odors far worse than the sickly-sweet stench of porcine rot. Despite soap and water, the smell permeated the place.\n\nOne morning he bought a new hog. That afternoon he walked past Qasim's room to discover the hadji Davout Hosein rattling the locked door.\n\n\"Why is it locked? What is inside?\"\n\n\"It's a room in which I am dissecting a pig,\" Rob said calmly.\n\nThe deputy governor of the school gazed at him in disgust. These days, Davout Hosein looked at everything with stern suspicion, for he had been delegated by the mullahs to police the maristan and the madrassa for infractions of Islamic law.\n\nSeveral times that day, Rob observed him hovering watchfully.\n\nThat evening Rob went home early. Next morning when he came to the hospital he saw that the lock on the door of the little room had been forced and broken. Inside, things were as he had left them\u2014but not quite. The pig lay covered on the table. His instruments had been disarranged but none was missing. They had found nothing to incriminate him, and he was safe for the moment. But the intrusion had chilling implications.\n\nHe knew sooner or later he would be discovered, but he was learning precious facts and seeing marvelous things and was not ready to stop.\n\nHe waited two days, in which the hadji left him alone. An old man died in the hospital while holding a quiet conversation with him. That night he opened the body to see what had accomplished so peaceful a death and found that the artery which had fed the heart and the lower members was parched and shrunken, a withered leaf.\n\nIn a child's body he saw why cancer had received its name, noting how the hungry crablike growth had extended its claws in every direction. In another man's body he found that the liver, instead of being soft and of a rich red-brown, had turned into a yellowish object of woody hardness.\n\nThe following week he dissected a woman several months pregnant and sketched the womb in the swollen belly like an inverted drinking glass cradling the life that had been forming in it. In the drawing he gave her the face of Despina, who would never give life to a child. He labeled it the Pregnant Woman.\n\nAnd one night he sat by the dissection table and created a young man to whom he gave the features of Karim, an imperfect likeness but a recognizable one to anybody who had loved him. Rob drew the figure as if the skin were made of glass. What he couldn't see for himself in the body on the table he drew as Galen had claimed it existed. He knew some of this unsubstantiated detail would be inaccurate, but still the drawing was remarkable even to him, showing organs and blood vessels as if the eye of God were peering through man's solid flesh.\n\nWhen it was completed he exultantly signed his name and the date and labeled the drawing the Transparent Man."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE HOUSE IN HAMADH\u0100N",
                "text": "All this time there had been no news of the war. By prearrangement four caravans laden with supplies had gone out in search of the army, but they were never seen again and it was supposed they had found Al\u0101 and had been absorbed into the fighting. And then one afternoon just before Fourth Prayer a rider came, bearing the worst possible intelligence.\n\nAs had been surmised, by the time Mas\u016bd had paused in Ispahan his main force already had found the Persians and was engaging them. Mas\u016bd had sent two of his senior generals, Ab\u016b Sahl al-Hamd\u00fbn\u012b and T\u0101sh Farr\u0101sh, to lead his army along the expected route. They planned and executed the frontal attack perfectly. Splitting their force in two, they hid behind the village of al-Karaj and sent forth their scouts. When the Persians drew close enough, Ab\u016b Sahl al-Hamd\u016bn\u012b's host streamed from around one side of al-Karaj and T\u0101sh Farr\u0101sh's Afghans came around the other side. They fell upon Al\u0101 Shah's men on two flanks, which rapidly drew together until the Ghazna army was reunited across a giant semicircular line of combat, like a net.\n\nAfter their initial surprise the Persians fought bravely but they were outnumbered and outmaneuvered, and they lost ground steadily for days. Finally they discovered that at their back was another Ghazna force led by Sultan Mas\u016bd. Then the fighting grew ever more desperate and savage, but the end was inevitable. In front of the Persians was the superior force of the two Ghazna generals. Behind them, the cavalry of the Sultan, small in number and vicious, waged a conflict similar to the historic battle between the Romans and the ancient Persians, but this time Persia's enemy was the ephemeral harrying force. The Afghans struck again and again and always melted away to reappear in another rear sector.\n\nFinally, when the bloodied Persians had been sufficiently weakened and confused, under cover of a sandstorm Mas\u016bd launched the full power of all three of his armies in all-out attack.\n\nNext morning, the sun disclosed sand swirling over the bodies of men and beasts, the better part of the Persian army. Some had escaped and it was rumored Al\u0101 Shah was among them, the messenger said, but this wasn't certain.\n\n\"What has befallen Ibn Sina?\" al-Juzjani asked the man.\n\n\"Ibn Sina left the army well before it reached al-Karaj, Hakim. He had been afflicted by a terrible colic that rendered him helpless, and so with the Shah's permission the youngest physician among the surgeons, one Bibi al-Ghur\u012b, took him to the city of Hamadh\u0101n, where Ibn Sina still owns the house that had been his father's.\"\n\n\"I know the place,\" al-Juzjani said.\n\nRob knew al-Juzjani would go there. \"Let me come too,\" he said.\n\nFor a moment jealous resentment flickered in the older physician's eyes, but reason quickly won and he nodded.\n\n\"We shall leave at once,\" he said.\n\nIt was a hard and gloomy trip. They pushed their horses hard, not knowing if they would find him alive when they arrived. Al-Juzjani was made dumb by despair and this wasn't to be wondered at; Rob had loved Ibn Sina for relatively few years, while al-Juzjani had worshiped the Prince of Physicians all his life.\n\nIt was necessary for them to circle to the east to avoid the war, which for all they knew, was still being fought in the territory of Hamadh\u0101n. But when they reached the capital city that gave the territory its name, Hamadh\u0101n appeared sleepy and peaceable, with no hint of the great slaughter that had taken place only a few miles away.\n\nWhen Rob saw the house it seemed to him that it suited Ibn Sina better than the grand estate in Ispahan. This mud-and-stone house was like the clothing Ibn Sina always wore, unprepossessing, shabby and comfortable.\n\nBut within was the stench of illness.\n\nAl-Juzjani jealously asked Rob to wait outside the chamber in which Ibn Sina lay. Moments later Rob heard a low murmur of voices and then, to his surprise and alarm, the unmistakable sound of a blow.\n\nThe young physician named Bibi al-Ghur\u012b emerged from the chamber. His face was white and he was weeping. He pushed past Rob without greeting and rushed from the house.\n\nAl-Juzjani came out a short while later, followed by an elderly mullah.\n\n\"The young charlatan has doomed Ibn Sina. When they arrived here, al-Ghur\u012b gave the Master celery seed to break the wind of the colic. But instead of two danaqs of seed he gave five dirhams, and ever since then Ibn Sina has passed great amounts of blood.\"\n\nThere were six d\u0101naqs to a dirham; that meant that fifteen times the recommended dosage of the brutal cathartic had been given.\n\nAl-Juzjani looked at him. \"I myself served on the examining board that passed al-Ghur\u012b,\" he said bitterly.\n\n\"You weren't able to look into the future and see this mistake,\" Rob said gently.\n\nBut al-Juzjani wasn't to be consoled. \"What a cruel irony,\" he said, \"that the great physician should be undone by an inept hakim!\"\n\n\"Is the Master aware?\"\n\nThe mullah nodded. \"He has freed his slaves and given his wealth to the poor.\"\n\n\"May I go in?\"\n\nAl-Juzjani waved his hand.\n\nInside the chamber, Rob was shocked. In the four months since he had last seen him, Ibn Sina's flesh had melted. His closed eyes were sunken, his face looked caved in, and his skin was waxen.\n\nAl-Ghur\u012b had done him harm, but mistreatment had only served to hasten the inevitable result of the stomach cancer.\n\nRob took his hands and felt so little life that he found it hard to speak. Ibn Sina's eyes opened. They bore into his; he felt they could see his thoughts, and there was no need for dissembling. \"Why is it, Master,\" he asked bitterly, \"that despite all a physician is able to do, he is as a leaf before the wind, and the real power lies only with Allah?\"\n\nTo his mystification, a brilliance illuminated the wasted features. And suddenly he knew why Ibn Sina was attempting to smile.\n\n\"That is the riddle?\" he asked faintly.\n\n\"It is the riddle \u2026 my European. You must spend the rest of your life \u2026 seeking \u2026 to answer it.\"\n\n\"Master?\"\n\nIbn Sina had closed his eyes again and didn't answer. For a time Rob sat next to him in silence.\n\n\"I could have gone elsewhere without dissembling,\" he said in English. \"To the Western Caliphate\u2014Toledo, Cordova. But I'd heard of a man. Avicenna, whose Arab name seized me like a spell and shook me like an ague. Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina.\"\n\nHe couldn't have understood more than his name, yet he opened his eyes again and his hands put a slight pressure on Rob's.\n\n\"To touch the hem of your garment. The greatest physician in the world,\" Rob whispered.\n\nHe scarcely remembered the tired, world-whipped carpenter who had been his natural father. Barber had treated him well but had stopped short of affection. This was the only father his soul had known. He forgot about the things he had scorned and was conscious only of a need.\n\n\"I ask your blessing.\"\n\nThe halting words Ibn Sina spoke were pure Arabic but it was unnecessary to understand them. He knew Ibn Sina had blessed him long before.\n\nHe kissed the old man goodbye. When he left, the mullah had settled by the bed again and was reading aloud from the Qu'ran."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE KING OF KINGS",
                "text": "He rode back to Ispahan by himself. Al-Juzjani had remained in Hamadh\u0101n, making it plain that he wished to be alone with his dying Master in the final days.\n\n\"We shall never see Ibn Sina again,\" Rob told Mary gently when he returned home, and she averted her face and wept like a child.\n\nAs soon as he had rested he hurried to the maristan. Without either Ibn Sina or al-Juzjani the hospital was disorganized and full of loose ends, and he spent a long day examining and treating patients, lecturing on wounds and\u2014a distasteful chore\u2014meeting with the hadji Davout Hosein regarding the general administration of the school.\n\nBecause of the uncertain times, many of the students had left their apprenticeships and returned to their homes outside the city. \"This leaves few medical clerks to do the work of the hospital,\" the hadji grumbled. Fortunately, the patient population was correspondingly low, people instinctively feeling more concern about impending military violence than about illness.\n\nThat night Mary's eyes were red and swollen and she and Rob clung to one another with a tenderness that had almost been forgotten.\n\nIn the morning when he left the little house in Yehuddiyyeh he could feel change in the air like dampness before an English storm.\n\nIn the Jewish market most of the shops were uncharacteristically empty, and Hinda was frantically packing up the goods in her stall.\n\n\"What is it?\" he said.\n\n\"The Afghans.\"\n\nHe rode to the wall. When he climbed the stairs he found the top lined with strangely silent people and at once saw the reason for their fear, for the host of Ghazna lay assembled in great strength. Mas\u016bd's foot warriors filled half the small plain outside the western wall of the city. The horsemen and camel soldiers were encamped across the foothills, and war elephants were tethered on the higher slopes near the tents and booths of the nobles and commanders, whose standards snapped in the dry wind. In the midst of the camp, floating above all, was the serpentine banner of the Ghaznavids, a black leopard's head on an orange field.\n\nRob estimated this Ghazna army to be four times as large as the one Mas\u016bd had led through Ispahan on his way west.\n\n\"Why haven't they entered the city?\" he asked a member of the kelonter's police force.\n\n\"They have pursued Al\u0101 here and he is within the city walls.\"\n\n\"Why should that hold them outside?\"\n\n\"Mas\u016bd says Al\u0101 must be betrayed by his own people. He says if we deliver the Shah, they will spare our lives. If we do not, he promises a mountain of our bones in the central maidan.\"\n\n\"Will Al\u0101 be delivered?\"\n\nThe man glared and spat. \"We are Persians. And he is the Shah.\"\n\nRob nodded. But he did not believe.\n\nHe descended the wall and rode the horse back to the house in Yehuddiyyeh. The English sword had been stored away, wrapped in oily rags. He strapped it to his side and bade Mary to take out her father's sword and barricade the door behind him.\n\nThen he remounted the horse and rode to the House of Paradise.\n\nOn the Avenue of Ali and Fatima, people stood in worried groups. There were fewer persons in the four-laned Avenue of the Thousand Gardens and no one in the Gates of Paradise. That usually immaculate royal boulevard showed signs of neglect; caretakers had not groomed or pruned the landscaping of late. At the far end of the road was a solitary sentry.\n\nThe guard stepped out to challenge as Rob approached.\n\n\"I am Jesse, hakim at the maristan. Summoned by the Shah.\"\n\nThe guard was little more than a boy and looked uncertain, even frightened. Finally he nodded and stepped aside so the horse might pass.\n\nRob rode through the artificial woods created for kings, past the green field for ball-and-stick, past the two racing tracks and the pavilions.\n\nHe stopped behind the stables, at the living quarters that had been given to Dhan Vangalil. The Indian weapons-maker and his elder son had been taken to Hamadh\u0101n with the army. Rob didn't know if the two men had survived, but their family was gone. Their little house was deserted and someone had kicked in the clay walls of the smelting furnace Dhan had built with such care.\n\nHe rode down the long graceful approach road to the House of Paradise. The battlements were empty of sentries. His mount's hooves clattered hollowly across the drawbridge, and he tethered the horse outside the great doors.\n\nInside the House of Paradise his footsteps echoed through the empty corridors. Finally he came to the audience chamber in which he had always come before the king, and he saw that Al\u0101 sat in a corner alone on the floor, his legs crossed. Before him was a ewer half-filled with wine, and a board set up with a problem in the Shah's Game.\n\nHe looked as rank and untended as some of the gardens outside. His beard was untrimmed. There were purple smudges under his eyes and he was thinner, making his nose more of a harsh beak than ever. He stared up at Rob standing before him with his hand on the hilt of his sword.\n\n\"Well, Dhimmi? Have you come to avenge yourself?\"\n\nIt was a moment before Rob realized Al\u0101 was talking of the Shah's Game and already rearranging the pieces on the game board.\n\nHe shrugged and took his hand from the hilt, arranging the sword so he could be comfortable as he sat on the floor opposite the king.\n\n\"Fresh armies,\" Al\u0101 said without humor, and opened by moving an ivory foot soldier.\n\nRob moved a black soldier. \"Where is Farhad? Was he slain in the fighting?\" He had not expected to find Al\u0101 alone. He had thought he would have to kill the Captain of the Gates first.\n\n\"Farhad was not slain. He has fled.\" Al\u0101 took a black soldier with his white horseman, and at once Rob used one of his ebony horsemen to capture a white foot soldier.\n\n\"Khuff would not have deserted you.\"\n\n\"No, Khuff would not have run away,\" Al\u0101 agreed absently. He studied the board. Finally, at the end of the battle line he picked up and moved the rukh warrior carved in ivory with killer's hands cupped to his lips, drinking his enemy's blood.\n\nRob baited a trap and sucked Al\u0101 in, giving up an ebony horseman in exchange for the white rukh.\n\nAl\u0101 stared.\n\nAfter that the king's moves were more deliberate and he spent more time in contemplation. His eyes gleamed as he gained the other white horseman but cooled when he lost his elephant.\n\n\"What of the elephant Zi?\"\n\n\"Ah, that was a good elephant. I lost him too at the Gate of al-Karaj.\"\n\n\"And the mahout Harsha?\"\n\n\"Killed before the elephant died. A lance through the chest.\" He drank wine without offering any to Rob, directly from the pitcher and spilling some on his already filthy tunic. He wiped his mouth and beard with the back of his hand. \"Sufficient talk,\" he said, and settled into play, for the slight advantage was with the ebony pieces.\n\nAl\u0101 turned grim attacker and tried all the ruses that once had worked so well, but Rob had spent the last years pitted against finer minds; Mirdin had shown him when to be daring and when to be cautious and Ibn Sina had taught him to anticipate, to think so far ahead that now it was as though he led Al\u0101 down the very paths in which annihilation of the ivory pieces was a certainty.\n\nTime passed, and a sheen of sweat appeared on Al\u0101's face, though the stone walls and stone floor kept the room cool.\n\nIt seemed to Rob that Mirdin and Ibn Sina played as part of his mind.\n\nOf the ivory pieces there came to be on the board only the king, the general, and a camel; and soon, his eyes holding the Shah's, Rob took the camel with his own general.\n\nAl\u0101 placed his general before the king piece, blocking the line of attack. But Rob had five pieces left: the king, the general, a rukh, a camel, and a foot soldier, and he quickly moved the unthreatened foot soldier to the opposite side of the board, where the rules allowed him to exchange it for his other rukh, no longer lost.\n\nIn three moves he had sacrificed the newly reclaimed rukh in order to capture the ivory general.\n\nAnd in two more moves his own ebony general periled the ivory king. \"Remove, O Shah,\" he said softly.\n\nHe repeated the words three times, while he positioned his pieces so there was no place for Al\u0101's beleaguered king to turn.\n\n\"Shahtreng,\" he said finally.\n\n\"Yes. The agony of the king.\" Al\u0101 swept the remaining pieces from the board.\n\nNow they examined one another and Rob's hand was back on the hilt of his sword.\n\n\"Mas\u016bd has said if the people don't deliver you up, the Afghans will murder and pillage in this city.\"\n\n\"The Afghans will murder and pillage in this city whether they give me up or don't give me up. There is only one chance for Ispahan.\" He clambered to his feet, and Rob rose so a commoner would not be seated while the ruler stood.\n\n\"I will challenge Mas\u016bd to combat, king against king.\"\n\nRob desired to kill him, not to admire or like him, and he frowned.\n\nAl\u0101 bent the heavy bow few men could have bent, and strung it. He pointed to the sword of patterned steel Dhan Vangalil had made, where it hung on the far wall. \"Fetch my weapon, Dhimmi.\"\n\nRob brought it and watched him strap it on. \"You go against Mas\u016bd now?\"\n\n\"Now appears a good time.\"\n\n\"You wish me to attend you?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\nRob saw shocked disdain at the suggestion that the King of Persia would be squired by a Jew. Instead of being angry, he felt relief; for it had been said impulsively and regretted as soon as uttered, since he could see no sense or glory in dying alongside Al\u0101 Shah.\n\nYet the hawk's face softened and Al\u0101 Shah paused before leaving. \"It was a manly offer,\" he said. \"Consider what you would like as reward. When I return, I shall issue you a calaat.\"\n\nRob climbed a narrow stone stairway to the highest battlements of the House of Paradise, and from this aerie he could see the houses of the wealthiest part of Ispahan, Persians standing atop the wall of the city, the plain beyond, and the Ghazna encampment that stretched into the hills.\n\nHe waited for a long time with the wind whipping his hair and beard, and Al\u0101 did not appear.\n\nAs more time elapsed he began to blame himself for not having killed the Shah, certain Al\u0101 had gulled him and then made good an escape.\n\nBut presently he saw.\n\nThe western gate was hidden from his sight but there on the flat plain beyond the wall the Shah emerged from the city, astride a familiar mount, the savagely beautiful white Arabian stallion, which was tossing its head and prancing smartly.\n\nRob watched Al\u0101 ride straight for the enemy camp. When he was close, he reined up the horse and stood in the stirrups as he shouted his challenge. Rob couldn't hear the words, only a thin, unintelligible shouting. But some of the king's people could hear. They had been raised on the legend of Ardewan and Ardeshir and the first duel to choose a Shahanshah, and from the top of the wall rose the sound of cheering. In the Ghazna camp, a small group of horsemen rode down from the area of officers' tents. The man in the lead wore a white turban but Rob couldn't tell if it was Mas\u016bd. Wherever Mas\u016bd was, if he had heard of Ardewan and Ardeshir and the ancient battle for the right to be King of Kings, he cared nothing for legends.\n\nA troop of archers on fast horses burst from the Afghan ranks.\n\nThe white stallion was the fastest horse Rob had ever seen, but Al\u0101 didn't try to outrun them. He stood in the stirrups again. This time, Rob was certain, he shouted taunts and insults at the young Sultan who would not fight.\n\nWhen the soldiers were almost on him, Al\u0101 readied his bow and began to flee on the white horse, but there was no place to run. Riding hard, he turned in the saddle and loosed a bolt that felled the leading Afghan, a perfect Parthian shot that drew cheers from those watching on the wall. But an answering hail of arrows found him.\n\nFour arrows found his horse as well. A red gush appeared at the stallion's mouth. The white beast slowed and then stopped and stood, swaying, before it crashed to the ground with its dead rider.\n\nRob was taken unawares by his sadness.\n\nHe watched them tie a rope to Al\u0101's ankles and then pull him to the Ghazna camp, raising a trail of gray dust. For a reason Rob didn't understand, he was especially bothered by the fact that they dragged the king over the ground face down.\n\nHe took the brown horse to the paddock behind the royal stables and removed the saddle. It was a task to open the massive gate alone but the place was as unattended as the rest of the House of Paradise, and he manhandled it himself.\n\n\"Goodbye, friend,\" he said.\n\nHe slapped the horse on the rump and when it joined the herd he shut the gate carefully. Only God knew who would own the brown horse by morning.\n\nAt the camel paddock he collected a pair of halters from the impedimenta hanging in an open shed and chose the two young, strong females he wanted. They knelt in the dust chewing their cuds, watching his approach.\n\nThe first tried to bite off his arm when he drew near with the bridle; but Mirdin, that most gentle of men, had shown him how to reason with camels, and he punched the animal so hard in the ribs that the breath whistled from between the square yellow teeth. After that the camel was tractable and the other animal gave no trouble, as though it learned by observation. He rode the larger and led the second beast on a rope.\n\nAt the Gates of Paradise the young sentry was gone, and as Rob traveled into the city it appeared Ispahan had gone mad. People were rushing everywhere, bearing bundles and leading animals laden with their belongings. The Avenue of Ali and Fatima was in an uproar; a runaway horse careered past Rob, causing the camels to shy. In the marketplaces, some of the merchants had abandoned their goods. He saw covetous glances directed at the camels, and he took his sword from its sheath and held it across his lap as he rode. He had to make a wide berth around the eastern part of the city in order to reach Yehuddiyyeh; people and animals already were backed up for a quarter of a mile as they tried to flee Ispahan through the eastern gate to evade the enemy camped beyond the western wall.\n\nWhen he reached the house, Mary opened the door at his call, her face ashen and her father's sword still in her hand.\n\n\"We are going home.\"\n\nShe was terrified but he saw her lips moving in thanksgiving.\n\nHe took off the turban and Persian clothing and put on his black caftan and the leather Jew's hat.\n\nThey assembled his copy of Ibn Sina's Canon of Medicine, the anatomical drawings rolled and inserted into a length of bamboo, his casebook, his kit of medical tools, Mirdin's game, foodstuffs and a few drugs, her father's sword and a small box containing their money. All this was packed on the smaller camel.\n\nFrom one side of the larger camel he hung a reed basket and from the other, a loosely woven sack. He had a tiny amount of buing in a small vial, just enough to allow him to wet the end of his little finger and let Rob J. suckle the fingertip, and then do the same for Tam. When they were sleeping he placed the older boy in the basket and the baby in the sack, and their mother mounted the camel to ride between them.\n\nIt wasn't quite dark when they left the little house in Yehuddiyyeh for the last time, but they didn't dare delay, since the Afghans could fall upon the city at any moment.\n\nDarkness was complete by the time he led the two camels through the deserted western gate. The hunting trail they followed through the hills passed so close to the Ghazna campfires that they could hear singing and shouting, and the shrill cries of the Afghans working themselves into a frenzy for the pillaging.\n\nOnce a horseman seemed to be galloping straight at them, yipping as he rode, but the hoofbeats veered away.\n\nThe buing began to wear off and Rob J. started to whimper and then to cry. Rob thought the sound doomingly loud, but Mary took the boy from the basket and silenced him with her teat.\n\nThere was no pursuit. Soon they left the campfires behind, but when Rob looked back whence they had come a roseate nimbus had appeared low in the sky and he knew Ispahan was burning.\n\nThey traveled all night and when the first thin light of morning came, he saw he had led them out of the hills and no soldiers were in sight. His body was numb, and his feet \u2026 he knew that when he stopped walking pain would be another enemy. By this time both children were wailing and his gray-faced wife rode with closed eyes, but Rob didn't stop. He forced his tired legs to continue to plod, leading the camels west, toward the first of the Jewish villages."
            },
            {
                "title": "The Returned",
                "text": "[ LONDON ]\n\nThey crossed the great channel on March 24, Anno Domini 1043, and touched land late in the afternoon at Queen's Hythe. Perhaps if they had come to the city of London on a warm summer's day the rest of their lives might have been different, but Mary landed in a sleety spring rain carrying her younger son, who, like his father, had retched and vomited from France till journey's end, and she disliked and mistrusted London from the damp bleakness of the first moment.\n\nThere was scarcely room to disembark; of fearsome black naval ships alone, Rob counted more than a score riding the swells at anchor, and merchant craft were everywhere. They were, all four, exhausted by travel. They made their way to one of the market inns Rob remembered at Southwark but it proved a sorry haven, crawling with vermin that added to their misery.\n\nAt earliest light next morning he set out alone to find them a better place, walking down the causeway and over London Bridge, which was in good repair, the least changed detail of the city. London had grown; where there had been meadows and orchards he saw unfamiliar structures and streets that meandered as crazily as those in Yehuddiyyeh. The northern quarter of the town made a complete stranger of him, for when he was a boy it had been a neighborhood of manor houses set off by fields and gardens, the properties of old families. Now some of these had been sold and the land converted to use by the dirtier trades. There was an iron works, and the goldsmiths had their own cluster of houses and shops, as did the silversmiths and the copper workers. It was not a place he chose to live, with its pall of misty wood smoke, the stink of the tanneries, the constant clang of hammers on anvils, the roaring of the furnaces, and the tapping, beating, and banging of work and industry.\n\nEvery neighborhood came up lacking something in his eyes. Cripple gate was hard by the undrained moor, Halborn and Fleet Street remote from the center of London, Cheapside too crowded with retail business. The lower part of the city was even more congested but it had been a heroic part of his childhood and he found himself drawn back to the waterfront.\n\nThames Street was the most important street in London. In the squalor of the narrow lanes that ran from Puddle Dock on one end of it and Tower Hill on the other lived porters, stevedores, servants, and other unprivileged folk, but the long stretch of Thames Street itself and its wharves were the prosperous center of the export, import, and wholesale trades. On the south side of the street, the river wall and the quays compelled a certain amount of alignment, but the north side ran crazily, sometimes narrow, sometimes broad. In places, great houses pushed gabled fronts out as pregnant overhangs. Sometimes a small fenced garden poked out or a warehouse stood back, and most of the time the street was filled with humanity and animals whose vital effluvia and sounds he remembered well.\n\nIn a tavern he inquired about empty housing and was told of a place not far from the Walbrook. It proved to be next to the small Church of St. Asaph, and he told himself Mary would like that. On the ground floor lived the landlord, Peter Lound. The second floor was to let, being one small room and one large room for general living, connected to the busy street below by the steep stairway.\n\nThere was no sign of bugs and the price seemed fair. And it was a good location, for along the better side streets on the rising land to the north, wealthy merchants lived and kept their shops.\n\nRob lost no time in going to Southwark to fetch his family.\n\n\"Not yet a fine home. But it will do, will it not?\" he asked his wife.\n\nMary's eyes were timid and her reply was lost in the sudden ringing of the bells of St. Asaph's, which proved to be very loud.\n\nAs soon as they were settled he hurried to a sign-maker's and ordered the man to carve an oak board and blacken the letters. When the sign was done, it was fastened next to the doorway of the house on Thames Street, so all might see it was the home of Robert Jeremy Cole, Physician.\n\nAt first it was pleasant for Mary to be among Britons and speak English, although she continued to address her sons in Erse, wanting them to have the language of the Scots. The chance to obtain things in London was heady fare. She found a seamstress and ordered a dress of decent brown stuff. She would have wished a blue such as the dye her father once had given her, a blue like summer sky, but of course that was impossible. Nevertheless, this dress was comely\u2014long, girdled, with a high round neck and sleeves so loose they fell away from her wrists in luxurious folds.\n\nFor Rob they ordered good gray trousers and a kirtle. Though he protested the extravagance, she bought him two black physician's robes, one of light unlined stuff for summer and the other heavier and with a hood trimmed in fox. New garments were overdue him, since he still wore the clothing bought in Constantinople after they had completed the trail of Jewish safe places like following a chain, link by link. He had trimmed the bushy beard to a goatee and traded for Western dress, and by the time they joined a caravan, Jesse ben Benjamin had disappeared. In his place was Robert Jeremy Cole, an Englishman taking his family home.\n\nEver frugal, Mary had kept the caftan and used the material to make garments for her sons. She saved Rob J.'s clothing for Tam, though this was made difficult by the fact that Rob J. was large for his age and Tam slightly smaller than most boys because he had experienced grave illness on their journey west. In the Frankish town of Freising both children had been taken by quinsy throats and watery eyes, and then racked by hot fevers that terrified her with the thought of losing her sons. The children had been febrile for days; Rob J. was left with no visible defect but the illness had settled in Tam's left leg, which became pallid and appeared to be lifeless.\n\nThe Cole family had come to Freising with a caravan that was soon scheduled to depart, and the caravan master said he wouldn't wait for illness.\n\n\"Go and be damned,\" Rob had told him, because the child required treatment and would receive it. He had kept hot moist bandages on Tam's limb, going without sleep in order to change them constantly and to engulf the small leg in his large hands and bend the knee and work the muscles again and again, and to pinch and squeeze and knead the leg with bear fat.\n\nTam recovered, but slowly. He had been walking less than a year when stricken; he had had to learn again to creep and to crawl, and this time when he took his first steps he was off balance, the left leg being slightly shorter than the other.\n\nThey were in Freising not quite twelve months waiting for Tam's recovery and then for a suitable caravan. Although he never learned to love the Franks, Rob came to mellow somewhat regarding Frankish ways. People had come to him there for doctoring despite his ignorance of their language, having seen the care and tenderness with which he treated his own child. He had never stopped working on Tam's leg, and although the boy sometimes dragged his left foot a bit when he walked, he was among the most active children in London.\n\nIndeed, both her children were more at ease in London than their mother, for she couldn't reconcile herself. She found the weather damp and the English cold. When she went to the marketplace she had to steel herself against slipping into the spirited Eastern haggling to which she had grown affectionately accustomed. The people were generally less amiable here than she had expected. Even Rob said he missed the effusive flow of Persian conversation. \"Though the flattery was seldom more than sheep jakes, it was pleasant,\" he told her wistfully.\n\nShe felt herself in turmoil concerning him. Something was amiss in their marriage bed, a joylessness she couldn't define. She bought a looking-glass and studied her reflection, noting that her skin had lost luster under the cruel sun of travel. Her face was thinner than once it had been, and her cheekbones more pronounced. She knew her breasts had been altered by nursing. Everywhere in the city, hard-eyed tarts walked the street and some of them were beautiful. Would he turn to them, sooner or later? She imagined him telling a whore what he had learned of love in Persia and drew pain from the thought of them rolling about in laughter as once she and Rob had done.\n\nTo her, London was a black quagmire in which they already stood ankle deep. The comparison was not accidental, for the city smelled more foul than any swamp she had encountered in her travels. The open sewers and dirt were no worse than the open sewers and dirt of Ispahan, but here there were many times the number of people and in some neighborhoods they lived crammed together, so the accumulated stench of their bodily wastes and garbage was an abomination.\n\nWhen they had reached Constantinople and she found herself once again among a Christian majority she had indulged in an orgy of churchgoing, but now that had palled, for she found London's churches overpowering. There were far more churches in London than there had been mosques in Ispahan, more than a hundred churches. They towered over every other sort of building\u2014it was a city built between churches\u2014and they spoke with a constant booming voice that made her tremble. Sometimes she felt she was about to be lifted and carried away by a great churchly wind stirred up by the bells. Though the Church of St. Asaph was small, its bells were large and reverberated in the house on Thames Street, and they rang in dizzying concert with all the others, communicating more effectively than an army of muezzins. The bells called worshipers to prayer, the bells witnessed to the consecration of the Mass, the bells warned laggards about the curfew; the bells rocked the steeples for christenings and weddings and sounded a grim and solemn knell for every soul passing on; the bells clanged the alert for fire and riot, welcomed distinguished visitors, pealed to announce each holy day, and tolled with muffled tones to mark disasters. To Mary, the bells were the city.\n\nAnd she hated the damned bells.\n\nThe first person brought to their door by the new sign was not a patient. He was a slight, stooped man who peered and blinked through narrowed eyes.\n\n\"Nicholas Hunne, physician,\" he said, and cocked his balding head like a sparrow, awaiting a reaction. \"Of Thames Street,\" he added meaningfully.\n\n\"I've seen your sign,\" Rob said. He smiled. \"You're at one end of Thames Street, Master Hunne, and I now establish myself on the other end. Between us there are enough ailing Londoners for the distraction of a dozen busy physicians.\"\n\nHunne sniffed. \"Not so many ailing folk as you may think. And not such busy physicians. London is already too crowded with medical men, and in my opinion an outlying town would make a better choice for a physician just starting out.\"\n\nWhen he asked where Master Cole had trained, Rob lied like a rug dealer and said he had apprenticed for six years in the East Frankish Kingdom.\n\n\"And what shall you charge?\"\n\n\"Charge?\"\n\n\"Yes. Your fees, man, your schedule of fees!\"\n\n\"I haven't given it sufficient thought.\"\n\n\"Do so at once. I'll tell you what is the custom here, for it wouldn't do for a newcomer to undercut the rest. Fees vary depending upon the patient's wealth\u2014heaven's the limit, of course. Yet you must never go beneath forty pence for phlebotomy, since bloodletting is the staple of our trade, nor less than thirty-six pence for the examination of urine.\"\n\nRob stared thoughtfully, for the quoted fees were ruthlessly high.\n\n\"You shan't bother with the rabble who cluster at the far ends of Thames Street. They have their barbersurgeons. Nor will it be fruitful to yearn after the nobility, since these are tended by only a few physicians\u2014Dryfield, Hudson, Simpson, and that lot. But Thames Street is a ripe enough garden of rich merchants, even if I have learned to get payment before treatment is begun, when the patient's anxiety is highest.\" He cast Rob a shrewd glance. \"Our competition need not be all disadvantage, for I've found it impressive to call in a consultant when the afflicted is prosperous, and we shall be able to employ one another with profitable frequency, eh?\"\n\nRob took several steps toward the door, ushering him out. \"I prefer to work largely alone,\" he said coolly.\n\nThe other colored, for there was no mistaking the rejection.\n\n\"Then you will be content, Master Cole, for I shall spread the word and no other physician will come within hailing distance of you.\" He nodded curtly and was gone.\n\nPatients came, but not often.\n\nIt was to be expected, Rob told himself; he was a new herring in a strange sea, and it would take time for his presence to be realized. Better to sit and wait than to play dirty, prosperous games with such as Hunne.\n\nMeantime, he settled in. He took his wife and children to visit his family graves and the little boys played among the markers in the churchyard at St. Botolph's. By now he acknowledged, deep in the most secret part of himself, that he would never find his sister or his brothers, but he took comfort and pride in this new family he had made, and he hoped that somehow his brother Samuel and Mam and Da could know about them.\n\nHe found a tavern he liked on Cornhill. It was called The Fox, a workingmen's public house of the kind in which his father had sought refuge when Rob was a boy. Here he avoided metheglin again and drank brown ale, and he discovered a contractor-builder named George Markham who had been in the carpenters' guild at the same time as Rob's father. Markham was a stout, red-faced man with black hair gone snowy at the temples and at the bottom of his beard. He had been in a different Hundred than Nathanael Cole but remembered him, and it turned out he was nephew to Richard Bukerel, who had been Chief Carpenter then. He had been a friend of Turner Home, the Master Carpenter with whom Samuel had lived before he had been run over on the docks. \"Turner and his woman were killed by marsh fever five years ago, along with their youngest child. That was a terrible winter,\" Markham said.\n\nRob told the men in The Fox that he had been abroad for years, learning to be a physician in the East Frankish Kingdom. \"Do you know an Apprentice Carpenter named Anthony Tite?\" he asked Markham.\n\n\"He was a Companion Joiner when he died last year of the chest disease.\"\n\nRob nodded, and they drank in silence for a time.\n\nFrom Markham and others at The Fox, Rob caught up on what had been happening to England's throne. Some of the story he'd learned from Bostock in Ispahan. Now he discovered that after succeeding Canute, Harold Harefoot proved a weak king but with a strong guardian in Godwin, Earl of the West Saxons. His half-brother Alfred, who called himself the Atheling or Crown Prince, came from Normandy, and Harold's forces butchered his men, put out Alfred's eyes, and kept him in a cell until he died horribly from the festering of his tortured eye sockets.\n\nHarold quickly ate and drank himself to death and Harthacnut, another of his half-brothers, returned from fighting a war in Denmark and succeeded him.\n\n\"Harthacnut ordered Harold's body dug up from Westminster and thrown into a fenny marsh near the Isle of Thorney,\" said George Markham, his tongue loosened by too much drink. \"His own half-brother's body! As if it were a sack of shit or a dead dog.\"\n\nMarkham told how the corpse that had been King of England lay in the reeds while tides ebbed and flowed over it.\n\n\"Finally, a few of us sneaked down there in secret. Cold it was, that night, with a heavy fog that mostly hid the moon. We placed the body in a boat and guided it down the Thames. We buried the remains decently in the tiny churchyard of St. Clement's. It was the least Christian men could do.\" He crossed himself and took a deep draught from his cup.\n\nHarthacnut had lasted only two years as king, dropping dead one day at a wedding feast, and at last it was Edward's turn. By then Edward had married Godwin's daughter and he too was firmly dominated by the Saxon earl, but the people liked him. \"Edward's a good king,\" Markham told Rob. \"He's built a proper fleet of black ships.\"\n\nRob nodded. \"I've noted them. Are they fast?\"\n\n\"Fast enough to keep the sea lanes free of pirates.\"\n\nAll this royal history, embellished with tavern anecdotes and recollections, created thirsty throats that demanded to be whetted, and it required many a toast to the dead brothers and certainly to the living Edward, monarch of the realm. So several evenings Rob forgot his inability to manage spirits and reeled from The Fox to the house on Thames Street, and Mary was faced with the task of undressing a surly sot and putting him to bed.\n\nThe sadness in her face deepened.\n\n\"Love, let us go away from here,\" she said to him one day.\n\n\"Why, where should we go?\"\n\n\"We could live in Kilmarnock. There is my holding there, and a circle of kinsmen who would be warmed to see my husband and sons.\"\n\n\"We must give London more chance than that,\" he said gently.\n\nHe was no fool, and he vowed to be more careful when he went to The Fox, and to go there less often. What he didn't tell her was that London had become a vision for him, more than just an opportunity for a living as a leech. He had absorbed things in Persia that were now a part of him, things they didn't know here. He yearned for the open exchange of medical ideas that had existed in Ispahan. That required a hospital, and London would be an excellent location for an institution like the maristan.\n\nThat year the long wintry spring turned into a wet summer. Each morning thick fog hid the waterfront. By midmorning, on days when it didn't rain, the sun cut through the gray gloom and the city was coaxed into instant life. This moment of rebirth was Rob's favorite time for walking, and on a particularly lovely day the dissolution of the fog came when he was passing a commercial wharf on which a large party of slaves was stacking iron pigs for shipment.\n\nThere were a dozen piles of the heavy metal bars. They had been stacked too high, or perhaps there was an irregularity in one of the rows. Rob was enjoying the gleam of the sun on the wet metal when the driver of a dray, with loud commands and a cracking of his whip and tugging on his reins, backed his dirty white horses too far and too fast, so that the rear of the heavy wagon hit the pile with a thud.\n\nRob long had vowed that his boys would not play on the docks. He hated drays. Never did he see one but that he thought of his brother Samuel being crushed to death under the wheels of a freight wagon. Now he watched in horror as another accident occurred.\n\nThe iron bar at the top was jarred forward, so that it teetered at the edge and then began to slide over the lip of the pile, followed by two more.\n\nThere was a shouted cry of warning and a desperate human scattering, but two of the slaves had others in front of them. They fell as they scrabbled, so that the full weight of one of the pigs of iron came down on one of them, crushing life from him in an instant.\n\nOne end of another pig slammed down on the other man's lower right leg, and his screaming incited Rob to action.\n\n\"Here, get it off them. Quickly and carefully, now!\" he said, and half a dozen slaves lifted the iron bars from the two men.\n\nHe had them moved well away from the pile of iron. A single glance was all that was necessary to ascertain that the man who had taken the full brunt was dead. His chest was crushed and he had been throttled by a broken windpipe, so that his face already was dark and engorged.\n\nThe other slave no longer was screaming, having fainted when he was moved. It was just as well; his foot and ankle were fearsomely mangled and Rob could do nothing to restore them. He dispatched a slave to his house to fetch his surgical kit from Mary, and while the wounded man was unconscious he incised the healthy skin above the injury and began to flay it back to make a flap, and then to slice through meat and muscle.\n\nFrom the man arose a personal stink that made Rob nervous and afraid, the stench of a human animal who had sweated in toil again and again until his unwashed rags had absorbed his rotten smell and compounded it and made it almost a tangible part of him like his shaven slave's head or the foot Rob was in the process of removing. It caused Rob to remember the two similarly stinking stevedore slaves who had carried Da home from his job on the docks, home to die.\n\n\"What in hell do you believe you're doing?\"\n\nHe looked up and struggled to control his expression, for standing next to him was a person he had last seen in the home of Jesse ben Benjamin in Persia.\n\n\"I am tending a man.\"\n\n\"But they say you're a physician.\"\n\n\"They are right.\"\n\n\"I am Charles Bostock, merchant and importer, owner of this warehouse and this dock. And I'm not so foolish, God's arse, as to hire a physician for a slave.\"\n\nRob shrugged. The kit arrived and he was ready for it; he took up his bone saw and cut off the ruined foot and sewed the flap over the blood-oozing stump as neatly as al-Juzjani would have demanded.\n\nBostock was still there. \"I meant my words precisely,\" he was saying. \"I ain't to pay you. Not a ha'-penny shall you get from me.\"\n\nRob nodded. He gently tapped the slave's face with two fingers and the man groaned.\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Robert Cole, physician of Thames Street.\"\n\n\"Are we acquainted, master?\"\n\n\"Not to my knowledge, master merchant.\"\n\nHe collected his belongings, nodded, and went away. At the end of the dock he risked a glance back, and he saw Bostock standing as one transfixed, or deeply puzzled, and continuing to stare after him as he made his escape.\n\nHe told himself Bostock had seen a turbaned Jew in Ispahan, with a bushy beard and Persian clothing, the exotic Hebrew Jesse ben Benjamin. And on the dock the merchant had spoken with Robert Jeremy Cole, a free Londoner in plain English garb, his face \u2026 transformed? \u2026 by a closetrimmed beard.\n\nIt was possible Bostock wouldn't remember him at all. And equally possible that he would.\n\nRob worried the question like a dog with a bone. It was not so much that he was frightened for himself (although he was frightened) as that he was concerned over what would happen to his wife and sons in the event that trouble should claim him.\n\nAnd so when Mary chose to talk about Kilmarnock that evening he listened with a dawning realization of what had to be done.\n\n\"How I wish we could go there,\" she said. \"I've a yearning to walk the ground I own and to be again among kinsfolk and Scots.\"\n\n\"There are things I must do here,\" he said slowly. He took her hands. \"But I think that you and the young ones should go to Kilmarnock without me.\"\n\n\"Without you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe sat perfectly still. The pallor seemed to heighten her high cheekbones and cast interesting new shadows in her slender face, making her eyes appear larger as she examined him. The corners of her mouth, those sensitive corners that always betrayed her emotions, told him how unwelcome was the suggestion.\n\n\"If that is what you want, we shall go,\" she said quietly.\n\nIn the next few days he changed his mind a dozen times. There was no outcry or alarm. No armed men came to arrest him. It was obvious that though he had seemed familiar to Bostock, the merchant hadn't identified him as Jesse ben Benjamin.\n\nDon't go, he wanted to tell her.\n\nSeveral times he almost said it, but always something kept him from uttering the words; within him he carried a heavy burden of fear, and it could do no harm if she and the boys were safely elsewhere for a time.\n\nSo they spoke of it again. \"If you can get us to the port of Dunbar,\" she said.\n\n\"What is in Dunbar?\"\n\n\"MacPhees. Kinsmen to Cullens. They will see to our safe arrival in Kilmarnock.\"\n\nDunbar proved no problem. It was by then almost the end of summer, and there was a flurry of sailings as owners of ships attempted to crowd in last short voyages before storms closed off the North Sea for another winter. In The Fox, Rob heard of a packet boat that stopped at Dunbar. It was called the Aelfgifu after Harold Harefoot's mother, and its captain was a grizzled Dane who was happy to be paid for three passengers who would not eat much.\n\nThe Aelfgifu would leave in less than two weeks, and it demanded hurried preparation, mending of clothing, decisions about what she would take and what she would not.\n\nSuddenly, their leavetaking was a few days away.\n\n\"I'll come for you in Kilmarnock when I'm able.\"\n\n\"Will you?\" she said.\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nOn the night before departure she said, \"If you cannot come \u2026\"\n\n\"I shall.\"\n\n\"But\u2026 if you do not. If the world should keep us apart in some way, know that my kinsmen will raise the boys to manhood.\"\n\nThat served to annoy him more than it reassured, and it so fueled his fears that he was sorry he had suggested that they part from him.\n\nThey touched each other carefully, all the familiar places, like two sightless people wishing to store the memory in their hands. It was a sad lovemaking, as though they knew it was for the last time. When they were done, she wept soundlessly and he held her without words. There were things he desired to say but could not.\n\nIn the morning he put them aboard the Aelfgifu in gray light. She was built along the lines of a stable Viking ship but only sixty feet long, with an open deck. There was one mast, thirty feet high, and a large square sail, and the hull was built of thick overlapping planks of oak. The king's black ships would keep pirates far out to sea and the Aelfgifu would hug the coast, putting in to deliver and take on cargo and at first sign of a storm. It was the safest sort of boat.\n\nRob stood on the dock. Mary was wearing her invincible face, the armor she wore when she had girded herself against the threatening world.\n\nThough the boat was only rocking in the swells, poor Tam already looked greenish and distressed. \"You must continue to work his leg,\" Rob called, and made massaging motions. She nodded to show she understood. A crewman lifted the hawser away from the mooring and the boat swung free. Twenty oarsmen pulled once and it was sucked into the strong outgoing tide. A good mother, Mary had placed her boys on cargo in the boat's very heart, where they couldn't fall overboard.\n\nShe leaned down and said something to Rob J. as the sail was raised.\n\n\"Fare thee well, Da!\" the thin, obedient voice shouted clearly.\n\n\"Go with God!\" Rob called.\n\nToo soon they were indeed gone, though he stayed where he was and strained his eyes peering after them. He didn't wish to leave the dock, for it struck him that he had come again to a place he had been when he was nine years old, without family or friends in the city of London."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE LONDON LYCEUM",
                "text": "That year on the ninth of November a woman named Julia Swane became the chief topic of conversation in the city when she was arrested as a witch. It was charged she had transformed her daughter Glynna, age sixteen, into a flying horse and then had ridden her so brutally the girl was permanently maimed. \"If true, it is heinous and wicked, to do that to one's child,\" his landlord told Rob.\n\nHe missed his own children grievously, and their mother. The first ocean storm had come more than four weeks after they had left him. By that time they must long since have landed at Dunbar, and he prayed that wherever they were, they would wait out storms in safe places.\n\nAgain he became a solitary wanderer, revisiting all the parts of London he had known and the new sights that had emerged since his boyhood. When he stood before King's House, which once had seemed to him the perfect picture of royal magnificence, he marveled at the difference between its English simplicity and the soaring lushness of the House of Paradise. King Edward spent most of the time in his castle at Winchester, but one morning outside King's House Rob witnessed him walking in silence among his housecarls and henchmen, pensive and introspective. Edward looked older than his forty-one years. It was said his hair had gone white when he was very young, on hearing what Harold Harefoot had done to their brother Alfred. Rob didn't think Edward nearly so kingly a figure as Al\u0101 had been, but he minded himself that Al\u0101 Shah was gone and King Edward was alive.\n\nFrom Michaelmas onward that autumn was cold and scourged by winds. Early winter came warm and rainy. He thought of them often, wishing he knew exactly when they had arrived in Kilmarnock. Out of loneliness he spent many an evening at The Fox but tried to keep his thirst in check, not wishing to fall into brawling as he had done in his youth. Yet the drink brought him more melancholy than ease, for he felt himself turning into his father, a man of the public houses. It caused him to resist the drabs and the available females made more attractive by a troubling horniness; he told himself bitterly that despite the drink he must not become entirely transformed into Nathanael Cole the married whoremaster.\n\nThe advent of Christmas was difficult, a holiday that begged to be spent with family. Christmas Day he ate a purchased meal at The Fox: the headcheese called brawn and a mutton pie, washed down by a prodigious amount of mead. Making his way home he came upon two sailors beating a man whose leather cap was in the mud, and Rob saw that he wore a black caftan. One of them held the Jew's arms behind his back while the other delivered punches that thudded sickeningly each time they landed.\n\n\"Cease, damn you.\"\n\nThe puncher paused in his work. \"Shove away, master, while it's yet safe.\"\n\n\"What has he done?\"\n\n\"A crime committed a thousand years ago, and now we'll send the stinking Frenchy Hebrew back to Normandy dead.\"\n\n\"Leave him be.\"\n\n\"You like him so, we'll watch you suck his cock.\"\n\nAlcohol always built an aggressive fury in him and he was ready. His fist smashed into the tough and ugly face. The accomplice released the Jew and sprang away as the sailor he had knocked down climbed to his feet. \"Bastard! You'll drink the Saviour's blood from this fucking Jew's cup!\"\n\nRob didn't chase them when they ran. The Jew, a tall man of middle age, stood with heaving shoulders. His nose was bloody and his lips smashed but he seemed to weep more from humiliation than from hurt.\n\n\"Halloa, what is happening?\" asked a newcomer, a man with frizzy red hair and beard and a large vein-purpled nose.\n\n\"It isn't much. This man was waylaid.\"\n\n\"Hmmm. You're certain he was not the instigator?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe Jew had won control of himself and found his voice. It was clear he was expressing gratitude, but he spoke in voluble French.\n\n\"Do you understand that language?\" Rob asked the red-haired man, who shook his head scornfully. Rob wanted to speak to the Jew in the Tongue and wish him a more peaceful Festival of Lights, but in the presence of the witness he didn't dare. Presently the Jew picked up his hat and went away, and so did the bystander.\n\nOn the riverfront Rob found a small public house and rewarded himself with red wine. The place was dark and airless and he carried the flask of wine onto a dock to drink, sitting on a piling his father might have set, with the rain soaking and the wind buffeting him and the dangerous-looking gray waves curling through the waters below.\n\nHe was satisfied. What better day to have prevented a crucifixion?\n\nThe wine wasn't a regal vintage and it stung when swallowed, but nonetheless it pleased him.\n\nHe was his father's son and could enjoy drink if he allowed himself.\n\nNo, the transformation already had taken place; he was Nathanael Cole. He was Da. And in some strange way he knew he was also Mirdin and Karim. And Al\u0101 and Dhan Vangalil. And Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina (oh, yes, especially he was Ibn Sina!) \u2026 But he was also the fat highwayman he had killed years ago, and that pious old shit, the hadji Davout Hosein \u2026\n\nWith a clarity that numbed him more than the wine, he knew he was all men and all men were part of him, and that whenever he fought the fucking Black Knight he was simply fighting for his own survival. Alone and drunk, he perceived that for the first time.\n\nWhen he had finished the wine he slid from the piling. Carrying the empty flask, which soon would contain medicine or perhaps somebody's piss to be analyzed for a fair fee, he and all the rest of them walked carefully and unsteadily from the dock toward the safety of the house on Thames Street.\n\nHe hadn't remained behind without wife and children to turn into a sot, he told himself severely on the following day, when his head had cleared.\n\nDetermined to tend to the details of healing, he went to an herb seller's shop on lower Thames Street to renew his supply of medicinals, for in London it was easier to buy certain herbs than to try to find them in nature. He had already met the proprietor, a small, fussy man named Rolf Pollard who appeared to be a capable pharmacist.\n\n\"Where shall I go to find the company of other physicians?\" Rob asked him.\n\n\"Why, I should say the Lyceum, Master Cole. It's a meeting held regularly by the physicians of this city. I don't have details, but doubtless Master Rufus does,\" he said, indicating a man at the other end of the room who was sniffing a branch of dried purslane to test its volatility.\n\nPollard led Rob across the shop and introduced him to Aubrey Rufus, physician of Fenchurch Street. \"I've told Master Cole of the Physicians' Lyceum,\" he said, \"but couldn't recall the particulars.\"\n\nRufus, a sober fellow about ten years older than Rob, ran a hand over his thinning sandy hair and nodded pleasantly enough. \"It's held first Monday eve of each month, dinner hour in the room above Illingsworth's Tavern on Cornhill. Mostly it's an excuse to make gluttons of ourselves. Each man buys his own food and drink.\"\n\n\"Must one be invited?\"\n\n\"Not at all. It is open to London physicians. But if an invitation is more pleasing, why I invite you now,\" Rufus said affably, and Rob smiled and thanked him and took his leave.\n\nSo it happened that on the first Monday of the slushy new year he went to Illingsworth's Tavern and found himself in the company of a score of medical men. They sat around tables talking and laughing over drink, and when he came in they inspected him with the furtive curiosity a group always directs at a newcomer.\n\nThe first man he recognized was Hunne, who scowled when he saw Rob and muttered something to his companions. But Aubrey Rufus was at another table and motioned for Rob to join him. He introduced the four others at the table, mentioning that Rob was recently arrived in the city and set up in practice on Thames Street.\n\nTheir eyes contained varying amounts of the grim wariness with which Hunne had regarded him.\n\n\"Under whom did you prentice?\" asked a man named Brace.\n\n\"I clerked with a physician named Heppmann, in the East Frankish town of Freising.\" During the time they had spent in Freising while Tam was ill, Heppmann had been their landlord's name.\n\n\"Hmmph,\" Brace said, doubtless an opinion of foreign-trained physicians. \"How long an apprenticeship?\"\n\n\"Six years.\"\n\nHis questioning was diverted by the arrival of the victuals, overdone roast fowl with baked turnips, and ale that Rob drank sparingly, not wanting to make a fool of himself. After the meal it turned out that Brace was the lecturer of the evening. He spoke on cupping, warning his fellow physicians to heat the cupping glass sufficiently, since it was the warmth in the glass that drew the blood's ugliness to the surface of the skin, where it might be eliminated by bleeding.\n\n\"You must demonstrate to the patients your confidence that repeated cupping and bleeding will bring cures, so they may share your optimism,\" Brace said.\n\nThe talk was ill prepared, and from the conversation Rob knew that by the time he was eleven Barber had taught him more about bleeding and cupping, and when to use them and when not to use them, than most of these physicians knew.\n\nSo the Lyceum was quickly a disappointment.\n\nThey seemed obsessed with fees and income. Rufus even envyingly joshed the chairman, a royal physician named Dryfield, because each year he was furnished with a stipend and robes.\n\n\"It's possible to heal for a stipend without serving the king,\" Rob said.\n\nNow he gained their attention. \"How might this happen?\" Dryfield asked.\n\n\"A physician might work for a hospital, a healing center devoted to patients and the understanding of illness.\"\n\nSome looked at him blankly but Dryfield nodded. \"An Eastern idea that is spreading. One hears of a hospital newly established in Salerno, and the H\u00f4tel Dieu has long been in Paris. But let me warn you, folk are sent to die in the H\u00f4tel Dieu and then forgotten, and it is a hellish place.\"\n\n\"Hospitals needn't be like the H\u00f4tel Dieu,\" Rob said, troubled that he couldn't tell them of the maristan.\n\nBut Hunne cut in. \"Perhaps such a system works well for the greasier races, but English physicians are more independent of spirit and must be free to conduct their own businesses.\"\n\n\"Surely medicine is more than a business,\" Rob objected mildly.\n\n\"It is less than a business,\" Hunne said, \"fees being what they are and new shitty-legged come-latelys arriving in London all the time. How do you count it as more than a business?\"\n\n\"It is a calling, Master Hunne,\" he said, \"as men are said to be divinely called to the Church.\"\n\nBrace hooted. But the chairman coughed, having had enough of wrangling. \"Who will offer the discourse next month?\" he asked.\n\nThere was a silence.\n\n\"Come now, each must do his share,\" Dryfield said impatiently.\n\nIt was a mistake to offer at his first meeting, Rob knew. But nobody else said a word and finally he spoke. \"I'll lecture, if it's your desire.\"\n\nDryfield's eyebrows went up. \"And on what subject, master?\"\n\n\"I'll speak on the subject of abdominal distemper.\"\n\n\"On abdominal distemper? Master \u2026 ah, Crowe, was it?\"\n\n\"Cole.\"\n\n\"Master Cole. Why, a talk on abdominal distemper would be splendid,\" the chairman said, and beamed.\n\nJulia Swane, accused witch, had confessed. The witch's spot had been found in the soft white flesh of her inner arm, just beneath the left shoulder. Her daughter Glynna testified that Julia had held her down and laughed while she was used sexually by someone she took to be the Fiend. Several of her victims accused her of casting spells. It was while the witch was being tied into the dunking stool before immersion in the icy Thames that she decided to tell all, and now she was cooperating with the evil-rooters of the Church, who were said to be interviewing her at length regarding all manner of subjects relating to witchcraft. Rob tried not to think of her.\n\nHe bought a somewhat fat gray mare and arranged to board her at what had been Egglestan's stables, now owned by a man named Thorne. She was aging and undistinguished but, he told himself, he wouldn't be playing ball-and-stick on her. He rode to patients when summoned, and others found their way to his door. It was the season for croup and though he'd have liked Persian medicinals such as tamarind, pomegranate, and powdered fig, he made up potions with what was at hand: purslane steeped in rose water to produce a gargle for angry throat, an infusion of dried violet to treat headache and fever, pine resin mixed with honey to be eaten against phlegm and cough.\n\nOne who came to him said his name was Thomas Hood. He had carroty hair and beard and a discolored nose; he seemed familiar and presently Rob realized the man had been the bystander at the incident between the Jew and the two sailors. Hood complained of thrushlike symptoms but there were no pustules in his mouth, no fever, no redness in the throat, and he was far too lively to be afflicted. In fact, he was a constant source of personal questions. With whom had Rob apprenticed? Did he reside alone? What, no wife, no child? How long had he been in London? Whence had he come?\n\nA blind man would clearly see this was no patient but a snoop. Rob told him nothing, prescribed a strong purgative he knew Hood wouldn't take, and ushered him out amid more questions he ignored.\n\nBut the visit bothered him inordinately. Who had sent Hood? For whom was he inquiring? And was it only coincidence that he had observed Rob's routing of the two sailors?\n\nOn the following day he learned some possible answers when he went to the herb seller's to buy ingredients for remedies, and again found Aubrey Rufus there on the same errand.\n\n\"Hunne is speaking against you when he can,\" Rufus told him. \"He says you are too forward. That you have the appearance of a ruffian and blackguard and he doubts you are a physician. He seeks to close membership in the Lyceum to any who haven't prenticed to English physicians.\"\n\n\"What is your advice?\"\n\n\"Oh, do nothing,\" Rufus said. \"It's apparent he cannot reconcile him self to sharing Thames Street with you. We all know Hunne would rip away his grandfather's ballocks for a coin. No one will pay him heed.\"\n\nComforted, Rob returned to the Thames Street house.\n\nHe would overcome their doubts with scholarship, he decided, and fell to work preparing the discourse on abdominal distemper as though he would be giving it in the madrassa. The original Lyceum near ancient Athens was where Aristotle had lectured; he wasn't Aristotle, but he had been trained by Ibn Sina and would show these London physicians what a medical lecture could be like.\n\nThere was interest, certainly, because every man attending the Lyceum had lost patients who had suffered agony in the lower right portion of the abdomen. But there was also general scorn.\n\n\"A little worm?\" drawled a wall-eyed physician named Sargent. \"A little pink worm in the belly?\"\n\n\"A wormlike appendage, master,\" Rob said stiffly. \"Attached to the cecum. And suppurating.\"\n\n\"Galen's drawings show no wormlike appendage on the cecum,\" Dryfield said. \"Celsus, Rhazes, Aristotle, Diascorides\u2014who among these has written of this appendage?\"\n\n\"No one. Which does not mean it isn't there.\"\n\n\"Have you dissected a pig, Master Cole?\" Hunne asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then you know that a pig's innards are same as a man's. Have you ever noted a pink appendage on the cecum of a pig?\"\n\n\"It was a small pork sausage, master!\" a wit cried, and there was general laughter.\n\n\"Internally, a pig appears to be same as a man,\" Rob said patiently, \"but there are subtle differences. One of these is the small appendage on the human cecum.\" He unrolled the Transparent Man and fixed the illustration to the wall with iron pins. \"This is what I am talking about. The appendage is depicted here in the early stages of irritation.\"\n\n\"Suppose the abdominal illness is caused precisely in the way you have described,\" said a physician with a thick Danish accent. \"Do you then suggest a cure?\"\n\n\"I know of no cure.\"\n\nThere were groans.\n\n\"Then why does it matter a whitebait whether or not we understand the origin of the disease?\" Others voiced agreement, forgetting how much they loathed Danes in their unified eagerness to oppose the newcomer.\n\n\"Medicine is like the slow raising of masonry,\" Rob said. \"We are fortunate, in a lifetime, to be able to lay a single brick. If we can explain the disease, someone yet unborn may devise a cure.\"\n\nMore groans.\n\nThey crowded about and studied the Transparent Man.\n\n\"Your drawing, Master Cole?\" Dryfield asked, noting the signature.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is an excellent work,\" the chairman said. \"What served as your model?\"\n\n\"A man whose belly was torn.\"\n\n\"Then you've seen only one such appendage,\" Hunne said. \"And no doubt the omnipotent voice that summoned you to our calling also told you the little pink worm in the bowel is universal?\"\n\nIt drew more laughter and Rob allowed himself to be stung. \"I believe the appendage on the cecum is universal. I have seen it in more than one person.\"\n\n\"In as many as \u2026 say, four?\"\n\n\"In as many as half a dozen.\"\n\nThey were staring at him instead of at the drawing.\n\n\"Half a dozen, Master Cole? How did you come to see inside the bodies of six human folk?\" Dryfield said.\n\n\"Some of the bellies were slit in the course of accidents. Others were laid open during fighting. They were not all my patients, and the incidents occurred over a period of time.\" It sounded unlikely even to his own ears.\n\n\"Females as well as men?\" Dryfield asked.\n\n\"Several were females,\" he said reluctantly.\n\n\"Hmmmph,\" the chairman said, making it clear he thought Rob a liar.\n\n\"Had the women been dueling, then?\" Hunne said silkily, and this time even Rufus laughed. \"I call it coincidence indeed that you have been able to look inside so many bodies in this manner,\" Hunne said, and seeing the fierce glad light in his eyes, Rob was aware that volunteering to give a lecture at the Lyceum had been a mistake from the start.\n\nJulia Swane didn't escape the Thames. On the last day of February more than two thousand people gathered at daybreak to watch and cheer as she was sewn into a sack, along with a cock, a snake, and a rock, and cast into the deep pool at St. Giles.\n\nRob didn't attend the drowning. Instead he went to Bostock's wharf in search of the thrall whose foot he had removed. But the man wasn't to be found and a curt overseer would say only that the slave had been taken from London to another place. Rob feared for him, knowing that a slave's existence depended on his ability to work. At the dock he saw another slave whose back was crisscrossed with whipping sores that seemed to gnaw into his body. Rob went to his house and made up a salve of goat grease, swine grease, oil, frankincense, and copper oxide, then he returned to the wharf and spread it on the thrall's angry flesh.\n\n\"Here, now. What in the bloody hell is this?\"\n\nAn overseer was bearing down on them, and although Rob hadn't quite finished spreading the salve, the slave fled.\n\n\"This is Master Bostock's wharf. Does he know you're here?\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter.\"\n\nThe overseer glared but didn't follow, and Rob was glad to leave Bostock's wharf without further trouble.\n\nPaying patients came to him. He cured a pale and weepy woman of the flux by dosing her with boiled cow's milk. A prosperous shipwright came in with his kirtle soaked in blood from a wrist so deeply cut that his hand seemed partially severed. The man readily admitted he had done it with his own knife, seeking to end his life while despondent with drink.\n\nHe had almost reached the mortal depth, stopping just short of the bone. Rob knew from the cutting he had done in the maristan's charnel house that the artery in the wrist rested close to the bone; if the man had sliced a hair deeper he would have achieved his drunken desire for death. As it was, he had severed the tough cords that governed movement and control of the thumb and first finger of his hand. When Rob had sewn and dressed the wrist, those fingers were stiff and numb.\n\n\"Will they regain movement and feeling?\"\n\n\"It's up to God. You did a workmanlike job. Should you try again, I think you'll kill yourself. Therefore, if you desire to live, you must shun strong drink.\"\n\nRob feared the man would try again. It was the time of year when cathartics were needed because there had been no greens all winter, and he made up a tincture of rhubarb and within a week dispensed it all. He treated a man bitten in the neck by a donkey, lanced a brace of boils, wrapped a sprained wrist, and set a broken finger. One midnight a frightened woman summoned him well down Thames Street\u2014into what he had come to regard as no-man's land, the area midway between his house and Hunne's. He would have been fortunate had she summoned Hunne, for her husband was grievously taken. He was a groom at Thorne's stables who had cut his thumb three days before, and that evening he had gone to bed with pains in his loins. Now his jaws were locked, his spittle became frothy and could scarcely pass through his clenched teeth, and his body assumed the shape of a bent bow as he raised his stomach and supported himself on his heels and the top of his head. Rob never had seen the disease before but recognized it from Ibn Sina's written description; it was episthotonos, \"the backward spasm.\" There was no known cure, and the man died before morning.\n\nThe experience at the Lyceum had left the taste of ashes in Rob's mouth. That Monday he forced himself to attend the March meeting as a spectator who held his tongue, but the damage already was done and he saw that they regarded him as a foolish braggart who had allowed his imagination to rule. Some smiled at him in derision while others regarded him coldly. Aubrey Rufus didn't invite his company but glanced away when their eyes met, and he sat at a table with strangers who didn't address him.\n\nThe lecture concerned fractures of the arm, forearm, and ribs, and dislocations of the jaw, shoulder, and elbow. Given by a short, round man named Tyler, it was the poorest kind of lesson, containing so many errors in method and fact that it would have sent Jalal the bonesetter into a rage. Rob sat and kept his silence.\n\nAs soon as the speaker was done, they turned their conversation to the witch's drowning.\n\n\"Others will be caught, mark my word,\" said Sargent, \"for witches practice their foul art in groups. In examining folks' bodies, we must seek to detect and report the devil's spot.\"\n\n\"We must take care to appear above reproach,\" Dryfield said thoughtfully, \"for many think physicians are close to witchcraft. I've heard it said that a physician-witch can cause patients to foam at the mouth and stiffen as though dead.\"\n\nRob thought uneasily of the stable groom who had been taken by episthotonos, but no one accosted or accused him.\n\n\"How else is a male witch recognized?\" Hunne asked.\n\n\"They appear much as any other men,\" Dryfield said. \"Though some say they cut their pricks like heathens.\"\n\nRob's own scrotum tightened with fear. As soon as possible he took his leave and knew he wouldn't return, for it wasn't safe to attend a place where life could be forfeit if a colleague should witness him passing water.\n\nIf his experience at the Lyceum had resulted only in disappointment and tarnished reputation, at least he had hope in his work, and rude health, he told himself.\n\nBut the following morning Thomas Hood, the red-haired snoop, appeared at the house on Thames Street with two armed companions.\n\n\"What can I do for you?\" Rob asked coldly.\n\nHood smiled. \"We are all three summoners for the Bishop's Court.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" Rob asked, but he already knew.\n\nIt pleased Hood to hawk and spit onto the physician's clean floor. \"We are come to place you in arrest, Robert Jeremy Cole, and bring you to God's justice,\" he said."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE GRAY MONK",
                "text": "\"Where are you taking me?\" he asked when they were on their way. \"Court will be held on the South Porch at St. Paul's.\"\n\n\"What is the charge?\"\n\nHood shrugged and shook his head.\n\nWhen they arrived at St. Paul's he was ushered into a small room filled with waiting folk. There were guards at the door.\n\nHe had a sense that he had lived through this experience before. In limbo all morning on a hard bench, listening to the gabble of a flock of men in religious habit, he might have been back in the realm of the Imam Qandrasseh, but this time he wasn't there as physician to the court. He felt he was a sounder man than he had ever been, yet he knew that by churchly reckoning he was as guilty as anyone hailed to judgment that day.\n\nBut he was not a witch.\n\nHe thanked God that Mary and their sons weren't with him. He wanted to request permission to go to the chapel to pray but knew it wouldn't be granted, so he silently prayed where he was, asking God to keep him from being sewn into a sack with a cock, a snake, and a stone and cast into the deep.\n\nHe worried about the witnesses they might have summoned: whether they had called the physicians who had heard him tell of poking about within human bodies, or the woman that had watched him treat her husband who had stiffened and foamed at the mouth before dying. Or Hunne, the dirty bastard, who would invent any sort of lie to make him out a witch and be rid of him.\n\nBut he knew that if they had made up their minds, witnesses wouldn't matter. They would strip him and see his circumcision as proof, and they would search his body until they decided they had found the witch's spot.\n\nDoubtless they had as many methods as the Imam for gaining a confession.\n\nDear God \u2026\n\nHe had more than enough time for his fear to mount. It was early afternoon before he was called into the clerics' presence. Seated on an oak throne was a squinting elderly bishop in faded brown wool alb, stole, and chasuble; from listening to others outside Rob knew he was Aelfsige, ordinary of St. Paul's and a hard punisher. To the bishop's right were two middle-aged priests in black, and to his left, a young Benedictine in severe dark gray.\n\nA clerk produced Holy Writ, which Rob was bade to kiss and swear solemn oath that his testimony would be true. It began matter-of-factly.\n\nAelfsige peered at him. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Robert Jeremy Cole, Excellency.\"\n\n\"Residence and occupation?\"\n\n\"Physician of Thames Street.\"\n\nThe bishop nodded to the priest on his right.\n\n\"Did you, on the twenty-fifth day of December last, join with a foreign Hebrew in unprovoked attack on Master Edgar Burstan and Master William Symesson, freeborn London Christians of the Parish of St. Olave?\"\n\nFor a moment Rob was puzzled and then he felt tremendous relief as he realized they weren't stalking him for sorcery. The sailors had reported him for coming to the aid of the Jew! A minor charge, even if he were to be convicted.\n\n\"A Norman Jew named David ben Aharon,\" the bishop said, blinking rapidly. His vision appeared to be very bad.\n\n\"I have never before heard the Jew's name nor those of the complainants. But the seamen have reported it untruly. It was they who had been unfairly ganging on the Jew. That was why I intervened.\"\n\n\"Are you a Christian?\"\n\n\"I am baptized.\"\n\n\"You attend regular service?\"\n\n\"No, Excellency.\"\n\nThe bishop sniffed and nodded gravely. \"Fetch the deponent,\" he told the gray monk.\n\nRob's sense of relief dissipated at once when he saw the witness.\n\nCharles Bostock was richly clothed and wore a heavy gold neck chain and a large seal ring. During his identification he told the court he had been elevated to the rank of thane by King Harthacnut in reward for three voyages as a merchant-adventurer, and that he was an honorary canon of St. Peter's. The churchmen treated him with deference.\n\n\"Now then, Master Bostock. Do you know this man?\"\n\n\"He is Jesse ben Benjamin, a Jew and a physician,\" Bostock said flatly.\n\nThe nearsighted eyes fixed on the merchant. \"You are certain of the Jew portion?\"\n\n\"Excellency, four or five years ago I was traveling the Byzantine Patriarchate, buying goods and serving as envoy from His Blessed Holiness in Rome. In the city of Ispahan I learned of a Christian woman who had been left alone and bereft in Persia by the death of her Scottish father, and had married a Jew. Upon receiving invitation, I could not resist going to her home to investigate the whisperings. There, to my dismay and disgust, I saw that the stories were true. She was wife to this man.\"\n\nThe monk spoke for the first time. \"You're certain this is he, good thane, the same man?\"\n\n\"I am sure, holy brother. He appeared some weeks ago on my wharf and tried to charge me dear for butchering up one of my thralls, for which of course I would not pay. When I saw his face I understood that I knew it from somewhere, and I studied on the matter until I recalled. He is the Jew physician of Ispahan, of that there is no doubt. A despoiler of Christian females. In Persia, the Christian woman already had one child by this Jew and he had bred her a second time.\"\n\nThe bishop leaned forward. \"On solemn oath, what is your name, master?\"\n\n\"Robert Jeremy Cole.\"\n\n\"The Jew lies,\" Bostock said.\n\n\"Master merchant,\" the monk said. \"Was it only a single time that you saw him in Persia?\"\n\n\"Yes, one occasion,\" Bostock said grudgingly.\n\n\"And you did not see him again for almost five years?\"\n\n\"Closer to four years than five. But that is true.\"\n\n\"Yet you are certain?\"\n\n\"Yes. I tell you, I have no doubt.\"\n\nThe bishop nodded. \"Very well, Thane Bostock. You have our thanks,\" he said.\n\nWhile the merchant was escorted away, the clerics looked at Rob and he struggled to remain calm.\n\n\"If you are a freeborn Christian, does it not seem strange,\" the bishop said thinly, \"that you are brought before us on two separate charges, and the one states that you aided a Jew and the other states that you are a Jew yourself?\"\n\n\"I am Robert Jeremy Cole. I was baptized half a mile from here, in St. Botolph's. The parish book will bear me out. My father was Nathanael, a journeyman joiner in the Corporation of Carpenters. He lies buried in St. Botolph's churchyard, as does my mother, Agnes, who in life was a seamstress and an embroiderer.\"\n\nThe monk addressed him coldly. \"Did you attend the church school at St. Botolph's?\"\n\n\"Two years only.\"\n\n\"Who taught the Scriptures there?\"\n\nRob closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow. \"That was Father \u2026 Philibert. Yes, Father Philibert.\"\n\nThe monk glanced inquiringly at the bishop, who shrugged and shook his head. \"The name Philibert isn't familiar.\"\n\n\"Then Latin? Who taught you Latin?\"\n\n\"Brother Hugolin.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the bishop said. \"Brother Hugolin taught Latin at the St. Botolph's school. I recall him well. He has been dead these many years.\" He pulled his nose and regarded Rob nearsightedly. Finally he sighed. \"We shall check the parish book, of course.\"\n\n\"You will find it as I have said, Excellency,\" Rob told him.\n\n\"Well, I shall allow you to purge yourself by oath that you are the person you claim to be. You are instructed to appear again before this court in three weeks' time. With you must come twelve free men as compurgators, each willing to swear that you are Robert Jeremy Cole, Christian and freeborn. Do you understand?\"\n\nHe nodded and was dismissed.\n\nMinutes later he stood outside St. Paul's scarcely crediting that he was no longer exposed to their sharp and pecking words.\n\n\"Master Cole!\" someone called, and he turned and saw the Benedictine hastening after him.\n\n\"Will you join me in the public house, master? I would like to speak with you.\"\n\nNow what? he thought.\n\nBut he followed the man across the muddy street and into the tavern, where they took a quiet corner. The monk said he was Brother Paulinus, and both of them ordered ale.\n\n\"I thought that in the end the proceedings went well for you.\"\n\nRob said nothing, and his silence raised the monk's eyebrows. \"Come, an honest man can find twelve other honest men.\"\n\n\"I was born in St. Botolph's Parish. Which I left as a young boy,\" Rob said gloomily, \"to wander England as a barbersurgeon's helper. I will have damn-all of a time finding twelve men, honest or otherwise, who remember me and will be willing to travel to London to say so.\"\n\nBrother Paulinus sipped his ale. \"If you do not find all twelve, the issue is thrown into doubt. You will then be given an opportunity to prove your innocence by ordeal.\"\n\nThe ale tasted of despair. \"What are the ordeals?\"\n\n\"The Church uses four ordeals\u2014cold water, hot water, hot iron, and consecrated bread. I can tell you that Bishop Aelfsige favors hot iron. You will be given holy water to drink and holy water will be sprinkled on the hand to be used for the ordeal. Your choice of hand. You will pick a white-hot iron from the fire and carry it nine feet in three steps, then you will drop it and hasten to the altar, where the hand will be wrapped and sealed. In three days the wrapping will be removed. If your hand is white and pure within the wrapping, you will be declared innocent. If the hand is not clean, you will be excommunicated and given over to civil authority.\"\n\nRob tried to conceal his emotions, but he had no doubt that his face had lost color.\n\n\"Unless your conscience is better than those of most men born of women, I think you must leave London,\" Paulinus said drily.\n\n\"Why are you telling me these things? And why do you offer me advice?\"\n\nThey studied one another. The man had a tight-curled beard and tonsure the light brown of old straw, eyes color of slate and just as hard \u2026 but secretive, the eyes of a man who lives within himself. A slash of righteous mouth. Rob was certain he had never seen this man before he had entered St. Paul's that morning.\n\n\"I know you are Robert Jeremy Cole.\"\n\n\"How do you know it?\"\n\n\"Before I became Paulinus in the Community of Benedict I was named Cole. Almost certainly I am your brother.\"\n\nRob accepted it at once. He had been ready to accept it for twenty-two years and now he felt a rising jubilation that was cut short by a quick and guilty caution, a sense of something amiss. He had started to rise, but the other man was still seated, watching him with an alert calculation that caused Rob to sit back into his chair.\n\nHe heard his own breathing.\n\n\"You are older than the baby, Roger, would be,\" he said. \"Samuel is dead. Did you know that?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Therefore, you are \u2026 Jonathan or \u2026\"\n\n\"No, I was William.\"\n\n\"William.\"\n\nThe monk continued to watch him.\n\n\"After Da died you were taken by a priest named Lovell.\"\n\n\"Father Ranald Lovell. He brought me to the Monastery of St. Benedict in Jarrow. He lived only four more years himself, and then it was decided I should become an oblate.\"\n\nPaulinus told his story sparely. \"The abbot at Jarrow was Edmund, who was the loving guardian of my youth. He challenged and molded me, with the result that I was novice, monk, and provost, all at an early age. I was more than his strong right arm. He was abbas et presbyter, devoting himself wholly and continuously to reciting the opus dei and learning, teaching, and writing. I was the stern administrator, Edmund's reeve. As provost I was not popular.\" He smiled tightly. \"When he died two years ago I was not elected to replace him, but the archbishop had been watching Jarrow and asked me to leave the community that had been my family. I am to take ordination and serve as auxiliary bishop of Worcester.\"\n\nA curious and loveless reunion speech, Rob thought, this flat recital of career with its implicit admission of expectation and ambition. \"Great responsibilities must lie in store for you,\" he said bleakly.\n\nPaulinus shrugged. \"It is with Him.\"\n\n\"At least,\" Rob said, \"now I need find only eleven other compurgators. Perhaps the bishop will allow my brother's testimony to count for several others.\"\n\nPaulinus didn't smile. \"When I saw your name in the complaint, I made an inquiry. Given encouragement, the merchant Bostock could testify in interesting detail. What if you are asked whether you have pretended to be a Jew in order to attend a heathen academy in defiance of the Church?\"\n\nThe tavern girl came to them and Rob waved her away. \"Then I would reply that in His wisdom God has allowed me to become a healer because He did not create men and women solely for suffering and dying.\"\n\n\"God has an anointed army which interprets what He intends for man's body and his soul. Neither barbersurgeons nor heathen-trained physicians are anointed, and we have enacted churchly laws to stop such as you.\"\n\n\"You have made it difficult for us. At times you have slowed us. I think, Willum, that you have not stopped us.\"\n\n\"You will leave London.\"\n\n\"And is your concern because of brotherly love, or fear that the next auxiliary bishop of Worcester will be embarrassed by an excommunicated brother who has been executed for heathenism?\"\n\nNeither spoke for an endless moment.\n\n\"I have searched for you all my life. I always dreamed of finding the children,\" he said bitterly.\n\n\"We are no longer children. And dreams are not reality,\" Paulinus said.\n\nRob nodded. He pushed back his chair. \"Do you know of any of the others?\"\n\n\"Only the girl.\"\n\n\"Where is she?\"\n\n\"She is dead these last six years.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Now he stood heavily. \"Where shall I find her grave?\"\n\n\"There is no grave. It was a great fire.\"\n\nRob nodded, then he walked away from the public house without looking back at the gray monk.\n\nNow he was less afraid of arrest than of killers hired by a powerful man to get rid of an embarrassment. He hurried to Thorne's stables and paid his bill and took his horse. At the house on Thames Street, he paused only long enough to collect the things that had become essential parts of his life. He was weary of leaving places in a desperate hurry and then of traveling vast distances, but he had become swift and expert at it.\n\nWhen Brother Paulinus was seated at his evening meal in the refectory at St. Paul's, his blood brother was departing the city of London. Rob rode the plodding horse over the muddy Lincoln road leading to the north country, chased by furies but never escaping them because some of them were carried within himself."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE FAMILIAR JOURNEY",
                "text": "The first night he slept soft on a hay pile by the side of the road. It was last fall's hay, ripe and rotten below the surface, so he didn't burrow into it, but it still gave off a little heat and the air was mild. When he awoke in the dawning his first thought was the bitter realization that he had left behind in the house on Thames Street the Shah's Game that had been Mirdin's. It was so precious to him that he had carried it across the world from Persia, and the reality that it was lost to him forever was a stab.\n\nHe was hungry but didn't want to try for a meal at a farmhouse, where he would be well remembered to anyone who might be seeking after him. Instead, he rode half the morning with an empty belly until he came to a village with a marketplace, where he bought bread and cheese to satisfy his hunger and extra to carry with him.\n\nHe brooded as he rode. Finding such a brother was worse than never finding him, and he felt cheated and denied.\n\nBut he told himself he had mourned Willum after they had lost each other as boys, and he would be happy not to set eyes upon the cold-eyed Paulinus again.\n\n\"Go to hell, auxiliary bishop of Worcester!\" he shouted.\n\nThe yell sent the birds fluttering out of the trees and caused his horse to prick up its ears and shy. Lest it lead anyone to think the countryside was under attack, he sounded the Saxon horn, and the familiar moan drew him back into his childhood and youth and was a comfort to him.\n\nIf there were pursuers they would search along the main routes, so he turned off the Lincoln road and followed the coastal roads linking the seaside villages. It was a trip he had made a number of times with Barber. Now he sounded no drum and gave no entertainment, nor did he seek out patients for fear a search was under way for a fugitive physician. In none of the villages did anyone recognize the young barbersurgeon of long ago; it would have been impossible to find compurgators in these places. He would have been doomed. He knew he was blessed to have escaped, and the bleakness left him as he realized that life was still full of infinite possibilities.\n\nHe half-recognized some places, noting that here a landmark house or church had burned to the ground, or that there, where a new dwelling had been raised, forest had been cleared. He made painfully slow progress, for in places the tracks were deep muck and soon the horse was in very bad shape. The horse had been perfect for carrying him to midnight medical calls at a dignified pace, but it was unsuitable for traveling open country or muddy roads\u2014elderly, broken-down, and dispirited. He did his best by the beast, stopping frequently to lie on his back by a riverside while the animal cropped the new green grass of spring and rested. But nothing would make the horse young again, or fit to ride.\n\nRob husbanded his money. Whenever permission was given or sold he slept in warm barns on straw, avoiding people, but when it was unavoidable he sheltered in inns. One night in a public house in the harbor town of Middlesbrough, he watched two seamen putting away a fearsome amount of ale.\n\nOne of them, squat and broad, with black hair half hidden by a stocking cap, pounded the table. \"We need a crewman. Bound down the coast to port of Eyemouth, Scotland. Fish for herring all the way. Is there a man in this place?\"\n\nThe tavern was half full, but there was a silence and a few chuckles, and no one stirred.\n\nDare I? Rob wondered. It would be so much faster.\n\nEven the ocean was better than floundering the horse through the mud, he decided, and he rose and went to them.\n\n\"Is it your boat?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am the captain. I am Nee. He is Aldus.\"\n\n\"I am Jonsson,\" Rob said. It was as good a name as any other.\n\nNee peered up at him. \"A big fucker.\" He took Rob's hand and turned it over, prodding at the soft palm contemptuously.\n\n\"I can work.\"\n\n\"We'll see,\" Nee said.\n\nRob gave the horse away that night to a stranger in the tavern, for there would be no time to sell it in the morning and the animal would have brought little. When he saw the weathered herring boat he thought it was as old and as poor as the horse, but Nee and Aldus had spent their winter well. The boat's seams were caulked tightly with oakum and pitched, and it rode the swells lightly.\n\nHe was in trouble a short time after they were under way, leaning overboard and vomiting while the two fishermen cursed and threatened to throw him into the sea. Despite the nausea and vomiting he forced himself to work. Within an hour they let out the net, dragging it behind them as they sailed and then all three of them hauling together to bring it in, empty and dripping. They let it out and pulled it back again and again, but they brought in few fish, and Nee became short-tempered and ugly. Rob was convinced that only his size kept them from treating him badly.\n\nThe evening meal was hard bread, bony smoked fish, and water that tasted of herring. Rob tried choking down a few bites but cast it up. To make matters worse, Aldus had a loose stomach and soon made the slop bucket an offense to the eyes and nostrils. It was nothing to faze one who had worked in a hospital, and Rob emptied the bucket and rinsed it in sea water until it was clean. Perhaps the accomplishment of the homely chore took the other two men by surprise, for after that they didn't curse him.\n\nThat night, lying cold and desperate as the boat heaved and yawed in the darkness, Rob crawled again and again to the side, until he had nothing left in him to vomit. In the morning the routine began again, but on the sixth dragging of the net, something changed. When they tugged on it, it seemed anchored. Slowly, laboriously, they gathered it in, and finally it brought them a silvery, wriggling stream.\n\n\"Now we catch herring!\" Nee exulted.\n\nThree times the net came in full, and then with lesser amounts, and when there was no more room to store fish they steered before the wind for land.\n\nNext morning the catch was taken by merchants who would sell it fresh and sun-dried and smoked, and as soon as Nee's boat had been unloaded, they put out to sea again.\n\nRob's hands blistered and smarted and toughened. The net tore and he learned how to tie the knots needed to make repairs. On the fourth day, without his notice, the queasy illness disappeared. It didn't come back. I must tell Tam, he thought gratefully when he realized.\n\nEach day they inched farther up the coast, always putting into a new harbor to sell the latest catch before it could spoil. Sometimes on moonlit nights Nee would see a spray of fish tiny as raindrops, breaking water to escape a feeding school, and they would drop the net and drag it along a path of moonshine, pulling in the gift of the sea.\n\nNee began to smile a lot and Rob heard him tell Aldus that Jonsson had brought good fortune. Now when they put into port of an evening, Nee bought his crew ale and a hot meal and the three of them sat up late and sang. Among the things Rob learned as a crewman was a number of filthy songs.\n\n\"You would make a fisherman,\" Nee said. \"We'll be in Eyemouth five, six days, repairing nets. Then we go back toward Middlesbrough because that is what we do, drift for herring between Middlesbrough and Eyemouth, back and forth. You want to stay?\"\n\nRob thanked him, pleased the offer was made, but said he would leave them in Eyemouth.\n\nThey arrived a few days later, sailing into a crowded, pretty harbor, and Nee paid him off with a few coins and a clap on the back. When Rob mentioned his need for a mount, Nee led him through the town to an honest dealer who said he could recommend two of his horses, either a mare or a gelding.\n\nThe mare was a prettier animal by far. \"I once had good luck with a gelding,\" Rob said, and chose to try a gelding again. This one was no Arabian horse but a scrubby-looking English native with short, hairy legs and a tangled mane. It was two years old and strong and alert.\n\nHe arranged his pack behind the saddle and swung up onto the animal, and he and Nee saluted one another.\n\n\"May you find good fishing.\"\n\n\"Go with God, Jonsson,\" Nee said.\n\nThe wiry gelding gave him pleasure. It was better than its appearance and he decided to call it Al Borak, after the horse Muslims believed carried Mohammed from earth to the seventh heaven.\n\nDuring the warmest part of each afternoon he tried to pause at a lake or a stream to give Al Borak a bath, and he worked at the tangled mane with his fingers, wishing he had a strong wooden comb. The horse seemed tireless and the roads were drying, so he traveled faster. The herring boat had taken him beyond the land with which he was familiar and now everything was more interesting because it was new. He followed a bank of the River Tweed for five days, until it turned south and he turned north, entering the uplands and riding between ridges that were too low to be called mountains. The rolling moors were broken in places by rocky cliffs. This time of year snowmelt still rushed down the hillsides and each stream crossing was a feat.\n\nFarms were few and widespread. Some were large holdings, others were modest crofts; he noted that most were well kept and had the beauty of order that could be achieved only through hard work. He sounded the Saxon horn often. The crofters were watchful and guarded but no one tried to harm him. Observing the country and its people, for the first time he comprehended certain things about Mary.\n\nHe hadn't seen her in many long months. Was he on a fool's errand? Maybe by now she had another man, perhaps the damn cousin.\n\nIt was terrain pleasing to men but designed for sheep and cows. The tops of the hills were largely barren but most of the lower slopes consisted of rich pastureland. All the shepherds used dogs and he learned to fear them.\n\nHalf a day beyond Cumnock he stopped at a farm to ask permission to sleep that night on their hay, and he found that the day before, the woman of the place had had a breast ripped off by one of the dogs.\n\n\"Praise Jesus!\" her husband whispered when Rob said he was a physician.\n\nShe was a stout female with grown children, and now she was out of her mind with pain. It had been a savage attack, as if she had been bitten by a lion. \"Where is the dog?\"\n\n\"The dog is no more,\" the man said grimly.\n\nThey forced grain liquor into her. It made her choke, but it helped her while Rob trimmed ragged flesh and sewed. He thought she'd have lived anyway, but there was no doubt she was better off because of him. He should have watched over her a day or two, but he stayed a week, until one morning he realized he was still there because he wasn't far from Kilmarnock and he was afraid to finish his journey.\n\nHe told her husband where he wanted to go and the man showed him the best way.\n\nHer wounds were still on his mind two days later when he was accosted by a great growling cur that blocked the horse's way. His sword was half drawn when the animal was called off. The shepherd said something crisp to Rob in the Erse.\n\n\"I haven't your language.\"\n\n\"Ye be on Cullen land.\"\n\n\"That's where I want to be.\"\n\n\"Eh? Why is that?\"\n\n\"I'll tell that to Mary Cullen.\" Rob appraised him and saw a man who was still young, but weathered and grizzled and as watchful as the dog. \"Who are you?\"\n\nThe Scot stared back at him, seeming undecided about whether he wanted to answer. \"Craig Cullen,\" he said finally.\n\n\"My name is Cole. Robert Cole.\"\n\nThe shepherd nodded, appearing neither surprised nor welcoming. \"Best follow,\" he said, and started off afoot. Rob hadn't seen him signal the dog but the beast held back and trailed close behind the horse, so that he came in between the man and the dog, delivered like a stray thing they had found in the hills.\n\nThe house and barn were of stone, well-laid long ago. Children stared and whispered as he rode in, and it took him a moment to realize his sons were among them. Tam spoke quietly to his brother in the Erse.\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"He said, 'Is that our Da?' I said you was.\"\n\nRob smiled and wanted to gather them up, but they shrieked and scattered with the rest of the children when he swung from the saddle. Tam still hobbled but was able to run with ease, Rob noted gladly.\n\n\"They're just shy. They'll be back,\" she said from the doorway. She kept her face averted and wouldn't meet his eyes; he thought she wasn't glad to see him. Then she was in his arms, where she felt so fine! If she had another man, right there in the barnyard they gave him something to think about.\n\nKissing her, he discovered she was missing a tooth, to the right of the middle of her upper jaw.\n\n\"I was struggling to get a cow into the pen and fell against her horns.\" She was crying. \"I am old and ugly.\"\n\n\"I didn't take a damned tooth to wife.\" His tone was rough but he touched the gap with a gentle fingertip, feeling the wet, warm springiness of her mouth as she sucked his finger. \"It wasn't a damned tooth I took to my bed,\" he said, and though her eyes still glittered, she smiled.\n\n\"To your wheat field,\" she said. \"Right down in the dirt next to mice and crawling things, like a ram doing a ewe.\" She wiped her eyes. \"You'll be worn and hungry,\" she said, and took his hand and led him into a kitchen house. It was strange for him to see her so at home here. She gave him oat cakes and milk and he told her of the brother he had found and lost, and about fleeing London.\n\n\"How strange and sad for you\u2026 If it hadn't happened, would you have come to me?\"\n\n\"Sooner or later.\" They kept smiling at one another. \"This is a beautiful country,\" he said. \"But hard.\"\n\n\"Easier with warmer weather. Before we know, it will be plowing time.\"\n\nHe could no longer swallow the oat cakes. \"It is plowing time now.\"\n\nShe still colored easily. It was a thing that would never change, he noted with satisfaction. As she led him to the main house they tried to keep hold of one another but it led to tangled legs and bumped hips, so that soon they were laughing so hard he feared it would interfere with the lovemaking, but that didn't prove to be a problem."
            },
            {
                "title": "LAMBING",
                "text": "Next morning, both with a child before them in the saddle, she led him through the enormous, hilly holding. Sheep were everywhere, lifting black faces, white faces, and brown faces from the new grass when the horses passed. She took him a distance, showing everything proudly. There were twenty-seven small crofts on the outskirts of the large farm. \"All the crofts-men are my kin.\"\n\n\"How many men are there?\"\n\n\"Forty-one.\"\n\n\"Your entire family is gathered here?\"\n\n\"The Cullens are here. The Tedders and the MacPhees are our kinsmen too. The MacPhees live a morning's ride away, through the low hills to the east. The Tedders live a day's ride to the north, through the clough and across the big river.\"\n\n\"With the three families, how many men do you have?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a hundred and a half.\"\n\nHe pursed his lips. \"Your own army.\"\n\n\"Yes. It is a comfort.\"\n\nThere seemed to him to be unending rivers of sheep.\n\n\"Fleeces and hides are why we keep the flocks. The meat spoils quickly, so we all eat it. You will grow weary of mutton.\"\n\nHe was pulled into the family business that morning. \"Spring birthings already have begun,\" Mary said, \"and night and day everyone must help the ewes. Some of the lambs have to be killed in the third to tenth day of life, when the pelts are finest.\" She turned him over to Craig and left him. By midmorning the shepherds had accepted him, observing that he was cool during problem births and knew how to whet and use knives.\n\nHe was dismayed by their method of altering newborn male lambs. They bit off the tender gonads and spat them into a bucket.\n\n\"Why do you do that?\" he asked.\n\nCraig grinned at him with a bloody mouth. \"Gotta take the balls. Can't have too many rams, can ye?\"\n\n\"Why not use a knife?\"\n\n\"This is the way 'twas always done. Fastest way, and causes the lambs t'least pain.\"\n\nRob went to his pack and took out the scalpel of patterned steel, and soon Craig and the other shepherds grudgingly acknowledged that his way also was efficient. He didn't tell them he had learned to be fast and skillful in order to spare pain to men in the process of turning them into eunuchs.\n\nHe saw that the shepherds were independent men, and with indispensable skills.\n\n\"No wonder you wanted me,\" he told her, later. \"Everyone else in this bloody country is kin.\"\n\nShe flashed a tired smile, for they had been skinning all day. The room stank of sheep but also of blood and flesh, not uncomfortable smells for him because they were reminders of the maristan and the hospital tents in India.\n\n\"Now that I'm here, you'll need one less shepherd,\" he said to her, and her smile faded.\n\n\"Whisht,\" she said sharply. \"Are you crazy?\"\n\nShe took his hand and led him out of the skinning room to another stone outbuilding. Inside were three whitewashed rooms. One was a study. One clearly had been set up as an examining room, with tables and cabinets duplicating the room he had used in Ispahan. In the third room there were wooden benches on which patients would sit while waiting to see the physician.\n\nHe began to learn about the people as individuals. A man named Ostric was the musician. A skinning knife slipped and sliced into an artery in Ostric's forearm, and Rob halted the bleeding and closed the wound.\n\n\"Shall I be able to play?\" Ostric said anxiously. \"It's the arm that bears the weight of the pipes.\"\n\n\"A few days will make all the difference,\" Rob assured him.\n\nSeveral days later, walking through the tanning shed where the pelts were cured, he saw Craig Cullen's old father Malcolm, cousin to Mary. He stopped and studied the man's clubbed and swollen fingertips and saw how his fingernails had curved strangely as they grew.\n\n\"For a long time you've had a bad cough. And frequent fevers,\" he told the old man quietly.\n\n\"Who has been telling you?\" Malcolm Cullen said.\n\nIt was a condition Ibn Sina had called \"Hippocratic fingers,\" and it always meant lung disease. \"I can see it in your hands. Your toes are the same way, are they not?\"\n\nThe old man nodded. \"Can you do ought for me?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" He placed his ear against the chest and heard a crackling sound such as made by boiling vinegar.\n\n\"You're full of fluid. Come to the dispensary some morning. I'll drill a small hole between two ribs and tap that water, a little at a time. Meanwhile, I'll study your urine and watch the progress of the disease, and I'll give you fumigations and a diet to dry up your body.\"\n\nThat night Mary smiled at him. \"How have you bewitched old Malcolm? He is telling everyone you have magical powers of healing.\"\n\n\"I've done nothing for him yet.\"\n\nNext morning he was the only one in the dispensary; there was no Malcolm or any other living soul. Nor the morning after that.\n\nWhen he complained, Mary shook her head. \"They won't come until after lambing is done, it's their way.\"\n\nIt was true. No one came to him for ten days more. Then it was the quieter time between the lambing and the labor of shearing, and one morning he opened the dispensary door and the benches were filled with people and old Malcolm wished him a fine day.\n\nAfter that they came readily each morning, for word spread in the cloughs and vales among the hills that Mary Cullen's man was a true healer. There never had been a physician in Kilmarnock and he recognized that he would spend years trying to undo some of the self-doctoring. In addition, they led their ailing animals or, if they could not, they weren't bashful about summoning him to their barns. He became well acquainted with foot rot and sore mouth. When opportunity arose, he dissected a cow and some sheep so he could know what he was doing. He found them nothing like a pig or a man.\n\nIn the darkness of their bedchamber, where these nights they were willingly employed in the task of starting another child, he tried to thank her for the dispensary, which, he'd been told, was the first thing she had done on returning to Kilmarnock.\n\nShe leaned over him. \"How long would you stay with me without your work, Hakim?\"\n\nThere was no sting in the words, and she kissed him as soon as she said them."
            },
            {
                "title": "A KEPT PROMISE",
                "text": "Rob took his boys into the forest and the hills and searched out the plants and herbs he wanted, and the three of them gathered the medicinals and brought them back, drying some and powdering others. He sat with his sons and taught them carefully, showing them each leaf and each flower. He told them about the herbs\u2014which was used to cure the headache and which for cramp, which for fever and which for catarrh, which for bleeding nose and which for chilblains, which for quinsy and which for aching bones.\n\nCraig Cullen was a spoonmaker and turned his craft toward the fashioning of covered wooden boxes in which the pharmacy herbs could be kept safe and dry. The boxes, like Craig's spoons, were decorated with carved nymphs and sprites and wild creatures of every sort. Seeing them, Rob was inspired to draw some of the pieces that made up the Shah's Game.\n\n\"Could you make something like these?\"\n\nCraig looked at him quizzically. \"Why not?\"\n\nRob drew likenesses of each piece and the checkered board. With very little guidance Craig carved everything, so that presently Rob and Mary once again spent some of their hours at a pastime taught him by a dead king.\n\nRob was determined to learn Gaelic. Mary owned no books but set out to teach him, beginning with the eighteen-letter alphabet. By now he knew what must be done to learn a strange language and all through the summer and autumn he labored, so that by early winter he was writing short sentences in the Erse and trying to speak it, to the amusement of the shepherds and his sons.\n\nAs he had supposed, winter there proved hard. The bitterest cold came just before Candlemas. After that was the time of the huntsmen, for snowy ground helped them track venison and fowl and hunt down catamounts and wolves that harried the flocks. In the evenings there were always people gathered in the hall in front of a great fire. Craig might be there whittling, others would sit and repair harness or accomplish whatever homely tasks could be done in warmth and company. Sometimes Ostric played his pipes. They made a famous woollen cloth at Kilmarnock, dying their best fleeces the colors of heather by steeping them with lichens picked from the rocks. They wove in privacy but congregated in the hall for waulking, the shrinking of the fabric. The wet cloth, which had been soaked in soapy water, was passed around the table while each woman pounded and rubbed it. All the while they sang waulking songs, and Rob thought that their voices and Ostric's pipes made a singular sound.\n\nThe nearest chapel was a three-hour ride and Rob had believed it wouldn't be difficult to avoid priests, but one day in his second spring in Kilmarnock there appeared a small, plump man with a tired smile.\n\n\"Father Domhnall! It is Father Domhnall!\" Mary cried, and hastened to bid him welcome.\n\nThey clustered about him and greeted him warmly. He spent a moment with each, asking a question with a smile, patting an arm, dropping a word of encouragement\u2014like a good earl walking among his churls, Rob thought sourly.\n\nHe came to Rob and looked him over. \"So. You are Mary Cullen's man.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are you a fisher?\"\n\nThe question disconcerted him. \"I fish for trouts.\"\n\n\"I'd have wagered so. I would take you after salmon tomorrow in the morning,\" he said, and Rob said he would go.\n\nNext day they walked in gray light to a small, rushing river. Domhnall had brought two massive poles that were surely too heavy, and stout line and long-shanked feathered lures with barbs hidden treacherously in their handsome centers. \"Like men I know,\" Rob observed to the priest, and Domhnall nodded, regarding him curiously.\n\nDomhnall showed him how to fling the lure and bring it back through the water in little surges that resembled the darting of a small fish. They did it again and again with no result, but Rob didn't care, for he was lost in the rush of the water. Now the sun was up. High overhead he watched an eagle floating on nothing, and somewhere nearby he heard the cry of a grouse.\n\nThe big fish took his lure at the surface with a slash that sent a spout of water into the air.\n\nIt began to run upstream at once.\n\n\"You must go toward him or he'll break the line or tear out the hook!\" Domhnall shouted.\n\nRob was already splashing into the river, clattering after the salmon. Expending its first surge of strength the fish almost did him in, for he fell several times in the frigid water, following over the stony bottom and floundering in and out of deep pools.\n\nThe fish ran again and again, taking him up and down the river. Domhnall had been shouting instructions, but once Rob looked up at the sound of a splash and saw that Domhnall now had troubles of his own. He had hooked a fish and was in the river too.\n\nRob fought to keep the fish in the middle of the stream. Eventually the salmon seemed under his control, though it felt dangerously heavy at the end of his line.\n\nSoon he was able to skid the feebly struggling fish\u2014so big!\u2014into shingled shallows. As he grasped the shank of the lure, the salmon gave one last convulsive leap and the hook tore free, bringing with it a strip of bloody tissue from within the fish's throat. For a moment the salmon lay motionless on its side and then, as Rob saw a thick haze of blood rise darkly from its gills, it flipped into deep water and was gone.\n\nHe stood trembling and disgusted, for the blood cloud told him he had killed the fish, and now it had been wasted.\n\nMoving more by instinct than out of hope, he walked downstream, but before he had taken half a dozen steps he saw a silvery patch in the water ahead and splashed toward it. He lost the pale reflection twice as the fish swam or was moved by the river. Then he saw he was right on top of it. The salmon was dying but not quite dead, pressed against the upstream side of a boulder by the strong current.\n\nHe had to immerse himself in the numbing water to take it in both arms and carry it to the bank, where he ended its pain with a rock. It weighed at least two stone.\n\nDomhnall was just landing his fish, which wasn't nearly as large.\n\n\"Yours is enough flesh for us all, eh?\" he said. When Rob nodded, Domhnall returned his salmon to the river. He held it carefully to let the water do its work. The fins moved and waved as languorously as if the fish were not struggling to maintain its existence, and the gills began to pump. Rob saw the quiver of life run through the fish, and as he watched it move away from them and disappear into the current, he knew that this priest would be his friend."
            },
            {
                "title": "Chapter 101",
                "text": "They took off their sodden garments and spread them to dry, then lay near them on a huge sun-warmed rock.\n\nDomhnall sighed. \"Not like catching trouts,\" he said.\n\n\"The difference between picking a flower and felling a tree.\" Rob had half a dozen bleeding cuts on his legs from falling in the river, and innumerable bruises.\n\nThey grinned at one another.\n\nDomhnall scratched his round little belly, white as any fish's, and lapsed into silence. Rob had expected questions, but he perceived it was this priest's style to listen intently and wait, a valuable patience that would make him a deadly opponent if Rob should teach him the Shah's Game.\n\n\"Mary and I are not married in the Church. Do you know that?\"\n\n\"I had heard something.\"\n\n\"Well. We have been truly wed, these years. But it was a hand-held union.\"\n\nDomhnall grunted.\n\nHe told the cleric their story. He didn't omit or make light of his troubles in London. \"I would like you to marry us, but I must warn that perhaps I've been excommunicated.\"\n\nThey dried lazily in the sun, considering the problem.\n\n\"If this auxiliary bishop of Worcester could have done, he would gloss it over,\" Domhnall said. \"Such an ambitious man would rather have a missing and forgotten brother than close kin scandalously driven from the Church.\"\n\nRob nodded. \"Suppose he could not cover it over?\"\n\nThe priest frowned. \"You have no sure proof of excommunication?\"\n\nRob shook his head. \"But it is possible.\"\n\n\"Possible? I cannot run my ministry according to your fears. Man, man, what do your fears have to do with Christ? I was born in Prestwick. Since ordination I have never left this mountain parish and I expect I will be pastor here when I die. Other than yourself, never in all my life have I encountered anyone from London or from Worcester. I have never received a message from an archbishop or from His Holiness, but only from Jesus. Can you believe it is the will of the Lord that I not make a Christian family of the four of you?\"\n\nRob smiled at him and shook his head.\n\nAll their lives the two sons would remember the wedding of their parents, and describe it to their own grandchildren. The Nuptial Mass in the Cullen hall was small and quiet. Mary had a dress of light gray stuff and wore a silver brooch and a roeskin belt studded with silver. She was a composed bride, but her eyes shone as Father Domhnall declared that ever more and in sanctified protection she and her children were irreversibly joined to Robert Jeremy Cole.\n\nThereafter Mary sent invitations for all her kinfolk to meet her husband. On the appointed day the MacPhees came west through the low hills and the Tedders crossed the big river and came through the clough to Kilmarnock. They came bearing wedding gifts and fruit cakes and game pies and casks of strong drink and the great meat-and-oats puddings they loved. At the holding, an ox and a bull were slowly turning on spits over open fires, and eight sheep and a dozen lambs, and numerous fowl. There was the music of harp, pipe, viol, and trump, and Mary joined in when the women sang.\n\nAll afternoon, during the athletic contests, Rob met Cullens and Tedders and MacPhees. Some he admired at once and others he did not. He tried not to study the male cousins, who were legion. Everywhere, men began to become drunk, and some tried to force the groom to join them. But he toasted his bride and his sons and their clan, and for the rest he put them off with an easy word and a smile.\n\nThat evening, while the roistering was still in high progress, he walked from the buildings, past the pens and away. It was a good night, starry but still not warm. He could smell the spice of the gorse, and as the sounds of the celebration faded behind him he heard the sheep and the nickering of a horse and the wind in the hills and the rushing of streams, and he fancied he could feel taproots emerging from the soles of his feet and pushing deep into the thin, flinty soil."
            },
            {
                "title": "THE CIRCLE COMPLETED",
                "text": "Why a woman should quicken with new life, or not, was the perfect mystery. After bearing two sons and then passing five years in barrenness, Mary ripened with child following their wedding. She was careful at her work, quicker now to ask one of the men to help her with a task. The two sons trailed after her and did light chores. It was easy to see which child would be the sheepman; at times Rob J. seemed to enjoy the work, but Tam was always eager to feed the lambs and begged for a chance to shear. There was something else about him, seen first in the crude outlines he scraped into the earth with a stick, until his father gave him charcoal and a pine board and showed him how things and people might be pictured. Rob didn't have to tell the boy not to leave out the flaws.\n\nOn the wall above Tam's bed hung the rug of the Samanid kings, and it was understood by everyone that it was his, the gift of a family friend in Persia. Only once did Mary and Rob face the thing they had compressed and pushed into the recesses of their minds. Watching him run after a straying ewe, Rob knew it would be no blessing for the boy to learn he had an army of foreign stranger-brothers he would never see. \"We will never tell him.\"\n\n\"He is yours,\" she said. She turned and held him in her arms, and between them was the thickening bulge that was to be Jura Agnes, the only daughter.\n\nRob learned the new language, for it was spoken all about him and he applied himself. Father Domhnall loaned him a Bible written in the Erse by monks in Ireland, and as he had mastered Persian from the Qu'ran, he learned the Gaelic from Holy Scripture.\n\nIn his study he hung the Transparent Man and the Pregnant Woman and began to teach his sons the anatomical charts and answer their questions. Often when he was summoned to tend a sick person or an animal, one or both of them went with him. On such a day Rob J. rode behind his father on Al Borak's back, to a hill-croft house that stank of the dying of Ostric's wife, Ardis.\n\nThe boy watched as he measured out and gave her an infusion, and Rob poured water on a cloth and handed it to his son.\n\n\"You may bathe her face.\"\n\nRob J. did it gently, taking great care with her cracked lips. When he was finished Ardis fumbled, taking the young hands in hers.\n\nRob saw the tender smile change into something else. He witnessed the confusion of first awareness, the pallor. The starkness with which the boy thrust away her hands.\n\n\"It's all right,\" he said. He put his arms around the thin shoulders and held Rob J. tight. \"It is all right.\" Only seven years old. Two years younger than he had been himself. He knew, wonderingly, that his life had completed a great circle.\n\nHe comforted and tended Ardis. When they were outside the house, he took his son's hands so Rob J. could feel his father's living strength and be reassured. He looked into Rob J.'s eyes.\n\n\"What you felt in Ardis, and the life you detect in me now \u2026 to sense these things is a gift from the Almighty. A good gift. It isn't evil, don't fear it. Don't try to understand it now. There will be time for you to understand it. Don't be afraid.\"\n\nThe color was returning to his son's face. \"Yes, Da.\"\n\nHe mounted and swung the boy up behind his saddle, and took him home.\n\nArdis died eight days later. For months after that, Rob J. didn't come to the dispensary or ask to accompany his father when he went to tend the sick. Rob didn't urge him. Even for a child, he felt, involving oneself with the world's suffering had to be a voluntary act.\n\nRob J. tried to interest himself in herding the sheep with Tam. When that palled, he went off alone and picked herbs, hour after long hour. He was a puzzled boy.\n\nBut he had complete trust in his father, and the day came when Rob J. ran after Rob as he was riding out of the farmyard. \"Da! May I go with you? To tend the horse and such?\"\n\nRob nodded and pulled him up behind the saddle.\n\nSoon Rob J. began coming to the dispensary sporadically and his instruction resumed; and when he was nine years old, at his own request he began to assist his father every day as apprentice.\n\nThe year after Jura Agnes was born, Mary gave birth to a third male child, Nathanael Robertsson. A year later there was the stillbirth of a boy who was christened Carrik Lyon Cole before burial, and then two difficult miscarriages in succession. Though she was still of childbearing age, Mary didn't become pregnant again. It grieved her, he knew, for she had wanted to give him many children, but Rob was content to see her gradually regain her strength and spirit.\n\nOne day when his youngest child was in his fifth year, a man in a dusty black caftan and bell-shaped leather cap rode into Kilmarnock, leading a laden ass.\n\n\"Peace unto you,\" Rob said in the Tongue, and the Jew gaped at the language and answered, \"Unto you, peace.\"\n\nA muscular man with a great, unkempt brown beard, skin burnt by travel, and exhaustion pulling at his mouth and making lines in the corners of his eyes. He was Dan ben Gamliel of Rouen, and a long way from home.\n\nRob saw to his beasts and gave him water in which to wash and then set before him unforbidden foods. He found his own grasp of the Tongue was poor, for a surprising amount had slipped away from him, but he made the blessings over the bread and the wine.\n\n\"Are you then Jews?\" Dan ben Gamliel said, staring.\n\n\"No, we are Christians.\"\n\n\"Why do you do this?\"\n\n\"We owe a great debt,\" Rob said.\n\nHis children sat at the table and stared at a man who looked like no one they had ever seen, listening in wonder as their father joined him in uttering strange blessings before they ate their food.\n\n\"After we have eaten, you may care to study with me.\" Rob felt the rise of an almost-forgotten excitement. \"Perhaps we may sit together and study the commandments,\" he said.\n\nThe stranger peered at him. \"I regret\u2014No, I cannot!\" Dan ben Gamliel's face was pallid. \"I am not a scholar,\" he muttered.\n\nMasking his disappointment, Rob took the traveler to a good place to sleep, as it would have been done in a Jewish village.\n\nNext day he rose early. Among the things he had taken from Persia he found the Jew's cap and prayer shawl and phylacteries and went to join Dan ben Gamliel at morning devotions.\n\nDan ben Gamliel stared as he bound the little black box to his forehead and wound the leather around his arm to form the letters in the name of the Unutterable. The Jew watched him sway and listened to his prayers.\n\n\"I know what you are,\" he said thickly. \"You were a Jew and you became an apostate. A man who has turned his back on our people and our God and given his soul to the other nation.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't so,\" Rob said, and saw with regret that he had disrupted the other's praying. \"I will explain when you have finished,\" he said, and withdrew.\n\nBut when he returned to summon the man to the morning meal, Dan ben Gamliel wasn't there. The horse was gone. The ass was gone. The heavy load had been picked up and carried away, and his guest had fled rather than expose himself to the dread contagion of apostasy.\n\nIt was Rob's last Jew; he never saw another nor spoke the Tongue again.\n\nHe felt his memory of Persian slipping from him too, and one day determined that before it abandoned him, he must translate the Q\u0101n\u00eein into English so he might continue to consult the Master Physician. It took him a dreadfully long time. Again and again he told himself that Ibn Sina had written The Canon of Medicine in less time than it took Robert Cole to translate it!\n\nSometimes he regretted wistfully that he hadn't studied all the commandments at least once. Often he thought of Jesse ben Benjamin but increasingly made peace with his passing\u2014it was hard to be a Jew!\u2014and he came almost never to speak of other times and places. Once when Tam and Rob J. were entered in the running contest that each year celebrated the feast day of St. Kolumb in the hills, he told them of a runner named Karim who had won a long and wonderful race called the chatir. And rarely\u2014usually when engaged in one of the mundane tasks that marked the even rhythm of a Scot's days, mucking the pens or moving drifted snow or hewing firewood\u2014he would smell the cooling heat of the desert at night, or remember the sight of Fara Askari kindling Sabbath tapers, or the enraged trumpet call of an elephant charging into battle, or the breathless sensation of flying perched atop the long-legged stagger of a racing camel. But it came to seem that Kilmarnock had always been his life, and that what had happened before was a tale he had heard told around the fire when the wind blew cold.\n\nHis children throve and changed, his wife turned finer with age. As the seasons slipped by, only one thing was constant. The extra sense, the healer's sensitivity, never abandoned him. Whether he was called lonely in the night to a bedside or hurried of a morning into the crowded dispensary, he could always feel their pain. Hastening to struggle with it, he never failed to know\u2014as he had known from the first day in the maristan\u2014a rush of wondering gratitude that he was chosen, that it was he whom God's hand had reached out and touched, and that such an opportunity to minister and serve should have been given to Barber's boy."
            }
        ]
    }
]